#my feet are numb from sitting cross-legged

[gamermattsgf]

Cherry popper // nerd Matt

Warnings: extreme smut / sub Matt x dom fem reader / glasses kink / praise kink / handjob / overstimulation / wave ride / virgin!matt / slight mention of breeding if you squint

Summary: the reader is in desperate need of help with calculus, something which Matt is willing to give her. However, Matt wants to be taught something in return, something that does not require a pen and paper… sex

Author’s notes: another sub Matt, but this time he’s a cutsey little nerd with glasses. Obvi this is 18+ but idrc, if u don’t have a problem with reading it by all means go on ahead and knock urself out. Also I got super carried away with this one it’s so long lmaoo sorry.

“Girl you make me numb, when we kiss until my tongue hurts” - Pink bubblegum, Lavi Kou

‘You want me to do what?’ You question in bewilderment, looking at the way Matt sits on the floor of your room cross-legged with his hands twisted in his lap shyly.

‘Please don’t make me say it again…’ he whines with a rosy blush on his cheeks, his glasses rested on his nose and framing his averted eyes as he manages to look anywhere but right at you. You sigh with your eyebrows furrowed, before leaning up onto your knees from your sitting position opposite him.

‘So let me get this straight, to pay for my tuition, instead of money you want me… to teach you, how to fuck someone properly?’.

Matt suddenly slaps his hands over his face, hiding how red he gets with embarrassment. ‘Stop. It sounds so stupid when you say it like that…’ he groans, his glasses smooshed right into his eyes. Your mouth can’t help but curl in amusement at this odd request, not that you mind though…

‘Well what better way is there to say it?’ You laugh through your teeth before deciding to carefully knee your way over to him. As you go, you mind not to step on all of the outspread papers with physics problems scrawled over them in Matt’s messy handwriting.

When he hears papers rustling from underneath you, he splits his middle and pointer finger apart so that he can secretly peek at your advancing figure from through his hands. Before he can say anything else, you reach him and carefully wrap your hands around his wrists so that you can pull the makeshift cover he made away from his face. ‘I don’t know…’ he sighs in frustration ‘I’m just umm… I’m just not very good at it…’.

It looks like it physically hurts him to admit this, as though he’s stepping on broken glass after every word. His wince after his frustrated confession is adorable.

‘I don’t mind y’know’ you shrug nonchalantly, not seeing the big problem with it and thinking that his nervous request is really quite cute instead. Matt perks up immediately, his eyes snapping straight to yours.

‘Really? You’d do that for me? I didn’t think you’d actually say yes… I thought it was so pathetic, I immediately regretted opening my mouth after I’d said it and I-’ he rambles to you in disbelief, using the sound of his own voice to calm his nerves after your unexpected agreement.

‘Matt, get on the bed’ you interrupt him with an amused quip, ceasing his endless stream of ranting conversation. He shuts up immediately, his eyes as wide as saucers at your commanding tone. Swallowing, his Adam’s apple feathers downwards before he’s standing up shakily.

‘Oh- yeah right, sorry…’ he nervously laughs. ‘Didn’t think we were gonna start right away…’ he speaks whilst moving his socked feet so that he can timidly sit down onto the edge of the bed, as if afraid that the mattress would swallow him whole if he moved up any further.

‘Sure, why not. You’re cute, plus, how else am I supposed to pay for my session today if we don’t start hm?‘

He watches you as you also gravitate to your feet, before loftily stepping over your books and folders so that you can make your way over to him. You observe the way his hands splay out to the sides of him as his knuckles twist your sheets within his palms. His veins are practically popping out from his skin with how hot his body is already. He’s scared. You can tell.

‘I- I suppose that’s true…’ he stutters timidly, trying to distract himself again with meaningless chatter, before you move right into his space.

You smirk. This is going to be fun. Your core flutters gently after voicing ‘spread your legs puppy’ because he does exactly what he’s told, albeit with slight apprehension. To ease his nerves, you decide to offer him a springboard to get him warmed up.

‘Why don’t we start with a little kissing, think you can do that for me? You suggest, placing your cupped hands onto the tough muscles between his collarbones and neck over his pressed shirt, stroking the skin with your thumbs comfortingly. Matt nods his head, as if in a daze. ‘Alright. So, the key to a good kiss is to start slow’ you begin, pushing his chin and up and ducking your head down.

You press your lips into his, getting a feel for their shape and wetness before Matt can’t help but let out a subdued whimper at the contact. You smile into it. Pulling back, Matt leans his head upwards as if needy to reconnect them, but you still have to give him his lesson. ‘Nothing open mouthed yet, you need to tease them first before you give them what they want, ‘kay?’ You lecture him, and he watches you attentively from his position on the bed beneath you. ‘Yeah okay… makes sense’ he shrugs cluelessly.

‘After that, only briefly use your tongue, maybe lick their bottom lip a little- like this’ you connect you lips once again before slicking out your tongue to pass it over the fullness of his lip.

Matt’s eyes are closed and his head is tilted to the side in enjoyment. You retract to feather your nose against his. ‘Okay now you try…’ you command him, with words of encouragement. Matt’s eyes peek open to flick down to your lips briefly, before closing them and getting lost in the moment whilst he leans down to capture your set in his.

Perhaps too lost.

You yelp quietly when Matt slots your bottom lip in between his teeth and bites harshly, tugging it down, only to let it recoil back up into place between his heavy kiss. He’s a little sloppy with it and you jump back, clearly caught off guard. His eyes snap open and look and your puzzled expression.

‘Sorry! M’so sorry, was that not good?’ He worriedly bumbles, thinking that he’s messed up grandly. But you only shake your head, pressing one of your hands up into your lips to graze over them. ‘No… that was actually really good, keep doing that…’ you utter in disbelief. Matt sighs gratefully, before you lurch forward to join your selves together a little harsher this time. Your teeth clash melodically, and saliva is exchanged at a quickened pace.

It only gets more frantic after you mumble ‘gimme your tongue baby’. Matt obeys obediently and dips his tongue to lick into your mouth. Is it messy? Yes. Does it make you wetter than anything though? Also yes. ‘Good boy’ you eek out in between pants and heavy tongue brushes.

As you kiss, you lift one of your knees up into your mattress, and prominently press it towards Matt’s crotch. He takes this as a sign for him to shuffle further up onto the bed, which he does so, still with your mouths connected and your lips feathering wetly.

After a while of just letting your mouths get familiar with one another, you pull away to face Matt.

‘Let’s do something easy for your first lesson shall we? Have you ever touched yourself before?’ You gently ask, kneeling in between a poor Matt’s spread legs. His chest is heaving shyly and his face is practically as red as a tomato. ‘Umm… well- yeah, a couple of times…’ he looks down to the floral bed covers of your bed whilst the frame of his glasses slides delicately down his nose. You reach out your fingertips to quickly brush his shaggy brown hair strands from out of his eyes before pouting.

‘Aw puppy… you don’t have to be shy, I’m not gonna judge’. After clearing his hair away, one of your fingertips drops to curl and stroke against his right cheek which burns hot with fiery humiliation. He gazes up at you with the eyes of a baby deer’s before gulping as his Adam’s apple bobs again.

‘Can you… can you show me how to do it properly?’ He breathlessly asks, shyly averting his gaze whilst you tilt your head with a cheeky smile pointed right at him. ‘Of course baby boy, that’s what mommy’s here for isn’t it?’.

Matt likes the mommy comment a lot more than he’s willing to admit. Scratch that, he loves it. He feels so safe, so babied within your hold, and he wants to stay here forever. Swallowing nervously, he doesn’t know what to do with his hands.

Smacking your lips at the sight of Matt obviously fidgeting in anticipation, you decide to reach your own hands to grab his wrists. ‘C’mere, gimme those pretty hands’. He looks at you with heaving shoulders, now even the back of his neck as red as anything with embarrassment.

You could tell that he’s humiliated because of how much he’s enjoyed this. He also definitely doesn’t want it to stop. So you don’t let it.

Moving from in between his spread legs, you straddle his lap as you place your thighs onto either side of his hips, squeezing them softly, which makes him choke out a tiny gasp. Equally, you’re leant forward enough to fully be able to pin his wrists to the bed so that now he’s completely defenceless.

‘Oh, before we start, tits are really important too. If you want to get a girl wet, you need to play with them’ you coach him once again. Matt pays the upmost attention to what you have to say, his head nodding hurriedly once again.

Deciding to mess with the poor nerdy boy further, you mischievously smirk before mumbling ‘I suppose we could merge two lessons into one… I’m not wearing a bra, so does my baby boy want to see mommy’s tits…?’. Matt gulps and fumbles another ‘oh god’ in utter disbelief whilst you watch the way his pupils flick to your heavy chest and dilate. ‘I’ll take that as a yes then’ you conclude based off of the way he’s practically drooling for them. Poor boy has probably never seen a naked pair in real life before.

Using one of your hands, you reach it to the bottom of your shirt and pull it up over your tits, that quickly spill out and reveal themselves to be resting gently on your chest. ‘F-fuck’ you hear Matt say, and a part of you throbs after physically feeling his cock swell upwards from underneath you. ‘Yeah? You like them?’ You tease, squeezing them together with your arms and then letting them jiggle back into their resting positions. Matt’s cock rises more and presses up into your heat whilst he nods hypnotically, his mouth hung open with his fingers twitching uncontrollably.

‘Wanna taste them honey?’ You coo motherly, before leaning forward and thrusting them into his face, he looks at them in disbelief and blinks with a small ‘can I?’, before you encourage him with a ‘go on baby boy… they’re all yours, this is important’, which finally gets him to open his mouth and give one of them a timid little kitten lick first to test the waters, before he slots the hard bud into his mouth fully and prods his tongue over it.

‘Try sucking on them… that’ll drive a girl crazy…’ you mumble breathlessly, already feeling your slick wetness trickle from your hole as Matt quietly begins to suck harshly on your nipple.

This ripples pleasure all down your spine, and you can’t help but curse into the air, your hands still in a firm clamp over his wrists. However, as he constantly sucks, you begin to rock your lower half backwards and forwards, which only thickens him more. You can feel him throb achingly from below your clothed cunt.

He uncontrollably now moans loudly into your tit, still sucking on it defencelessly because of the way his wrists are continuously compromised by the control of your hands. Licking your tits is the only thing giving him friction whilst your lower halves sensually rub together.

‘I bet you’re so big Matt’ you suddenly decide to seductively mumble, wanting to see just how far you can get this perfectly sweet boy worked up. The same sweet boy who comes to class every morning with a smile on his face, ridiculously smart clothes on and an impossibly strict attitude to learning and note taking.

You wonder what that Matt would say about this one, that sits here in your bed, his notes for studying scattered all messily across the floor, forgotten about, as he instead enjoys your tits and freely moans into your skin at your dirty praise.

‘I bet that deep down you’re an absolutely filthy fucking slut. I just know you’re nice and thick. I can feel you so much already… and you’ve been keeping it all to yourself. How selfish of you’ you tut. Matt hisses quietly, his eyes screwed up in a puppyish way as you compliment him. His stretch is definitely going to burn so fucking good when you finally think he’s prepared enough to fuck you.

‘Can I be the first one to see, pretty please?’ You pout, and Matt has to pull away from your hard tit just to gaze up at you moonily with his mouth hung open, tit drunk already and his shoulders heaving. With his permission of a shaky nod and the lick of his lips, his watery blue eyes flick downwards and innocently look at the way you now shuffle back to your starting position between his spread legs. Both of you look down at the tent formation of his pants in between his thighs, before one of your hands just can’t help itself. It glides up to cup him slowly.

‘See that? That was dirty talk… also very important for someone’s pleasure, we can practice more of that next time though…’

‘Yes please!’ Matt breathes, seemingly eager and liking the idea of hearing more of what you have to say to him in that kind of tone.

The light touch of pressure sets Matt off immediately and he has to fully expand his chest before expelling out a choked up whine of pleasure. He uncontrollably throws his head back and bucks his hips greedily up into the rub of your flattened palm.

‘Ugh… ugh… f-fuck’ he jerkily moans a continuous whimper, before unexpectedly cursing with a shaky pant at the pressure of your hand. ‘Jesus Matt you’ve got a dirty little mouth don’t you?’ You respond. It’s cute how he doesn’t know how to react, and so all of his pressure transforms into helpless sounds. You smirk even wider, loving what it does to your confidence.

‘A very important step is to always ask permission, just so the girl doesn’t feel pressured okay?’. Feeding your hands into the waistband of both his pants and underwear, you coax him to lift his hips upwards and he’s such a good boy because he does exactly what he’s told with no follow-up questions asked.

‘O-okay… please… please can you touch me now- I’m really sore’ Matt acknowledges before panting impatiently and helping you shimmy his pants off.

After you struggle to pull them down you see why when his cock bobs hungrily into the air, his tip already wet and sticky and pink like his lips that are currently bitten between his teeth self consciously. He look in between his cock and you as you observe him, his hips squirming shyly underneath the scrutiny of your stare. You practically drool as you gawk at him, wanting your mouth on his cock but also wanting to sit on it at the same time.

His thickness is perfect and the inconspicuous vein running up the side of him makes you clench. His happy trail also oddly attractive, but he simply sits there sheepishly and watches you take him in.

‘You’re… you’re not disappointed… are you…?’ He pitifully mumbles, looking down at one of his hands that distractedly picks against the lint on your bed covers. You find it within yourself to gasp at his utterly ludicrous statement.

Careening your face into his, you get up onto all fours, and he nervously jumps back a little, before almost choking on his breath after you spit into your hand and waste no time in wrapping it around him.

‘Matt you’ve got such a pretty cock…’, you praise and Matt then opens his eyes to gaze up at you with his glassy pupils, his mouth also open and expelling the cutest little pants every time your hand strokes downwards. Your spit is sticky, and Matt arches his back at the slimy consistency of your hand jerking him slowly.

‘Oh…’ he stutters with breathless embarrassment, his face going even more red at yet again another compliment before his back arches and his toes curl at the feeling of you thumb coming up to touch his sensitive tip.

‘How long does it normally take you to cum puppy?’ You muse in fascination, watching the way Matt squirms from underneath you. ‘Uh- I- umm… maybe -fuck- a couple of minutes?’ He mumbles, his voice sounding a little delirious as he struggles to concentrate on the sound of your voice. He’s too focused on the slow circular rub of your thumb against his tip. You raise your eyebrows. ‘Jesus Christ we’re gonna have to build that up’ you state, knowing that he’s definitely not going to last long.

And you’re right, it doesn’t take him long at all. Because only a couple of minutes after working on him, he gives you no other warning besides a loud moan and a hitched ‘I- I think I’m gonna-’ before a thick layer of cum spurts from out of his tip and splatters onto his stomach accidentally. This catches you off guard.

‘Shit’ You state in awe as you continue to pump him, curiously watching the way he whines as if he’s about to cry with his eyes scrunched shut over his squinted glasses.

Matt gets breathless very quickly, his chest heaving as his fists claw at your bedcovers and his legs spread unconsciously.

‘Ow- ow, ouch- fuck!’ He suddenly starts to cry instead of his euphoric whimpers. You quickly realise he’s falling overstimulated due to his orgasm and you let go of him. But when you do, you realise something…

‘Fuck baby you’re still kinda hard’.

Matt’s flushed face tilts downwards to look at his lower half, his stomach an absolute mess coated in him cum, but his cock still painfully throbbing.

Wasting no time at all, your hand leans forward again. Quickly you’re whipping your fingers over Matt’s stomach to scoop up some of his lukewarm cum. You wrap his cock back up into your fist and Matt tenses, hissing in aggravated pain.

‘What are you doing?!’ He pants out, before scrunching his face up uncomfortably.

‘Teaching you how to wave ride off of your first orgasm puppy, it looks like you need one’ you say, effortlessly slipping back into your teaching mode before you decide to use your other hand to grab his glasses from off of his face.

Matt watches with carnal desire at the sight of you slipping them onto your own face, the frame just low enough on your nose so that you can see over his prescription lenses. Something about you wearing his glasses just makes him feel feral with lust for you. It’s not like he hasn’t fantasised about something like this before, he’s just always felt really shy around girls and has never been able to execute it until now. He hasn’t exactly been oozing sex appeal as of late…

‘There, that’s better isn’t it?’ You sigh and admire the way he wriggles around beneath you, clearly in overstimulation.

Matt moans as if he’s in heat whilst deciding to bend his arm and hide his face into the crook of his elbow, his other shaky hand twisting the bedsheets and turning white at the pressure he keeps on them as you continue to touch him into oblivion. He utters high pitched pants and whimpers at regular intervals, especially after everytime your hand squeezes tightly around him, his throbbing cock slickly gliding over your hand with every bounce.

‘Ugh fuck you’re gonna make me feel so full later Matt’ you utter, his cock feeling so lengthy and thick around your small hand.

He only shakes his head in return, his cock throbbing in approval at the phrase as he releases hot breaths into the already thick atmosphere. Below you, simple instincts of his take over and he’s beautifully responsive to your touch by greedily thrusting upwards into your hand.

Pouting and humming sadly, one of your hands comes up to pet his right cheek below the cover of his arm. ‘Why are you hiding from me baby boy?’, to which Matt’s incoherent mumbles are just as naive and innocent as the rest of his actions thus far. As if his cheeks aren’t red with humility at himself enough, they invade more of his face now and even turn the tops of his ears a dusty cherry shade.

‘Cause- it’s so- so embarrassing…’ he stutters a tiny choked-up whine at not wanting you to look at him whilst he becomes extremely overstimulated.

He feels humiliated because the sounds and faces he makes after his first orgasm are even worse than the ones he made the first time, his cock already swollen and sensitive. Perhaps he also feels disgusted by himself and would prefer not to register the way his body is reacting? But to be completely honest, if you didn’t know any better Matt sounded like he wanted to be fucking breeded on the spot because he was moaning for you to take him that loudly.

‘Aw puppy… nothing to be embarrassed about… I’d be acting just the same if it were you who were touching me, I wanna see that pretty face when I make you cum’

Timidly and with slight apprehension, he carefully lifts his arm from off of his face and reconnects eyes with yours. ‘Can you…’ he peeps, but quietens again, nervous to say it in front of you. But you nod your head encouragingly. ‘Go on baby’. He continues…

‘Can you call me a good boy again?… I- I really like it…’ he mumbles guiltily, his eyes refusing to meet your intense gaze as they wander about the floor instead. You throb at his submissive response.

‘That gonna help you cum baby?’ You question teasingly, and Matt nods quickly, a shaky hum in approval choking its way up his throat.

‘Fuck you’ve been so great for your first lesson… such a good boy, taking my hand so well, and so brave for taking two orgasms at once aren’t you?’ You praise him, and Matt arches his back once more, his blue eyes tearing up at just how sensitive he is now. He twitches furiously in your hand as his head throws itself back.

‘Need to cum now puppy?’ You pout playfully and quicken your hand. His breaths pant at the new pace. ‘Y-yes’ he wheezes, so you easily let him.

‘Go on sweet boy, you’re allowed’.

At this, he cries out, another even stronger level two orgasm hitting him and rattling through his gut. He’s loud, but you love it, and stroke his cock until all of his cum is spent.

Coming down from his high, he looks exhausted after the earth shattering orgasm you have just given him. All you do is smile and giggle as his rising and falling stomach calms itself little by little. Getting up from the bed, you hover over him before leaning in to kiss his cheek softly. He looks at you with his mouth hung open and his blue eyes babied.

‘Now it’s time to teach you about aftercare’ you muse sweetly, before shuffling off to find a cloth to clean Matt up, who is left on your bed with a dreamy smile on his lips…

Author’s notes p.2: thank you to my bbg @strniohoeee for helping my indecisive ass pick this idea to write next out of all of my drafts. Love love love. If you see any typos… no u don’t. The question is… do I do a Chris one now? Or another Matt one. Pls request ;)

[vanteguccir]

Fainting spells | Matt Sturniolo

Matt Sturniolo x reader

Summary: Where Y/N has severe low blood pressure, but seems to forget about it when getting up too quickly, causing her to pass out, but her boyfriend, Matt, is there to help her come back.

Warning: Fainting.

Requested?: Yes, by @heartzz4k

Author's note: That is my work, I DON'T authorize any plagiarism! | English isn't my first language, so I'm sorry if there's any grammar error.

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"Do you want some popcorn, baby?" Y/N asked in a whisper, turning her head slightly to the right side, her eyes running over Matt's side profile.

Matt gently caressed the girl's legs that rested on top of his own, humming and reaching for the TV remote, pausing the movie.

"Yes, please." He nodded, finally looking back at her, a small smile appearing on his face. "You want help?"

"No, baby. I got this." Y/N muttered, receiving an "okay" from Matt, who grabbed his phone from the bedside table, ready to distract himself while he waited for his girlfriend and the food.

Y/N straightened her position on the bed before throwing her legs off the mattress, standing up abruptly.

She took minimal steps forward before feeling an immense heat rise through her body. Her skin felt like it was burning, and her heart started racing as her feet and hands felt numb. Her vision went completely dark, thousands of white dots flashing in the middle of the pitch black.

Y/N tried to lean on the mattress, but the distance between her hand and the bed made her lose her balance. Her legs weakened, causing her body to hit the floor with a dull thud, her mind blacking out instantly.

Matt lifted his head abruptly at the sound, his brow furrowed as his eyes searched for its source. A shock went through his brain when he saw his girlfriend lying on the floor.

The boy quickly crawled onto the bed until he reached the other side of the mattress, throwing himself on the floor, crouching down and sitting on top of his own bent legs.

"Hey baby, come on, talk to me." His eyes roamed the girl's body frantically, waiting for a reaction, only then realizing that his girlfriend was completely unconscious.

Y/N had severe low blood pressure, which caused her body and mind to weaken with the simplest things, from not eating much throughout the day or not eating anything salty, to standing up abruptly from a sitting or lying position; Matt knew about that, having witnessed several situations in which his girl went unconscious or almost, already knowing how to deal with it.

He quickly turned her body so that she was lying upright on the floor and face up, his hands worked on lifting her legs a few centimeters off the floor, carefully watching her body's reactions.

It didn't take more than seconds and soon his blue eyes caught the fingers of his girlfriend's hands moving slightly - almost imperceptibly -, followed by her eyelids trembling, her eyelashes caressing her cheeks with the movements.

"There you go, baby. Open your eyes for me." Matt asked in a low voice, stroking her ankles gently, waiting for Y/N to wake up so he could let them go.

"Matt?" Her voice was airy, her eyes slowly opening as her pupils seemed to try to adapt to the environment around herself.

"Yes, baby. It's Matt." The brunette finally released her legs, slowly resting her heels on the floor before crawling to the side of Y/N's head. He placed his right hand on her cheek, pushing back the strands of hair that was on her face and caressing the soft skin with the tip of his fingers.

"Hey." Y/N whispered, finally managing to open her eyes fully, focusing on Matt's face, which was bent over hers, watching her intently.

"Hi my love, are you back with me?" His voice was soft, a smile stretching on his face as he saw the red color of her cheeks slowly return.

Y/N nodded, finally feeling her senses fully. She smiled and closed her eyes for a few seconds, enjoying Matt's caresses.

The girl slowly lifted her torso, sitting on the cold floor, crossing her legs and resting her right thigh on Matt's bent knees.

"I'm sorry." She muttered, lowering her head in shame for interrupting their movie afternoon.

"Hey, no. Don't apologize. It's natural of your body, and it's okay." Matt interrupted her self-deprecation, his right hand traveling to Y/N's chin, pressing the area upwards so that she lifted her head again, their eyes connecting. "Okay?"

"Okay." She whispered back, her tongue escaping her lips momentarily, wetting them.

Matt quickly extended his torso, standing on his knees on the floor, his hand grabbing the Stanley cup full of water that always sat on the nightstand on Y/N's side of the bed. She always felt thirsty at night but hated having to get up and go to the kitchen.

"Here. Drink, sweetheart." He brought the cup closer to Y/N's face, pressing the pink straw against his girl's bottom lip, watching her carefully as she opened her mouth slightly, taking small sips of the contents. "There you go."

His hand holding the cup moved away from Y/N's face after she appeared satisfied, pushing his hand slightly.

"Are you feeling any pain? You hit the ground pretty hard, baby." Matt's tone was full of concern, his eyes inspecting the exposed skin of her body for any injuries.

"My shoulder is sore, I think I must have fallen on it." Y/N frowned, her hands traveling to her pained shoulder, touching the area lightly, a wince escaping her lips.

"It's okay, baby. Don't press it to avoid making it worse. I'm going to get some ice so we can put it there before it turns purple." He lifted himself off the ground, placing the cup on the bedside table again.

Matt curved his upper body slightly, sealing his lips over the top of Y/N's head for a few seconds, exhaling her sweet smell.

"I love you, I'll be right back." He murmured against his girl's hair before straightening his spine and walking out of the room in quick steps.

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My asks are always open. Feel free to send requests or anything at all 🩷💋

And remember to treat people with kindness always!

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[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

the girl next door 14

Warnings: this fic will include elements, some dark, such as age gap, manipulation, chronic illness, noncon/dubcon, coercion, and other untagged triggers. Please take this into account before proceeding. It is up to curate your online consumption safely.

Summary: A new neighbour moves in and upends your already disarrayed life.

Author’s Note: Please feel free to leave some feedback, reblog, and jump into my asks. I’m always happy to discuss with you and riff on idea. As always, you are cherished and adored! Stay safe, be kind, and treat yourself.

This lewk but silverfox

Your bleary-eyed sleep drapes over you like a shroud. You sleep sways between bouts of heavy blackness and shallow delirium. You’re vaguely aware of your unfamiliar surroundings even as you sink into the depths of your unconscious. The rustle of leaves and buzz of crickets outside the window blend with the vacuities of your dreams.

You shift; your arm painful as it’s caught beneath you. Your eyelids stay slitted as you move your weight off it and wiggle your fingers, the numbness painful your elbow throbs. The canopy drapes like shadows around the posts and the ceiling is fuzzy above you. Your eyes threaten to roll back again as your drowsiness has you heavy. 

The window casts shades of black and grey against the wall, a silverish blue tint hinting off the mirror. You babble, your throat and tongue prickly and dry, your temples thrumming. You groan as the feeling slowly seeps back into your arm. 

The open door draws your gaze. You move your head to the side to see past your shoulder. You blink and squint. You can’t quite see past your own fatigue. Is someone there? You swear there’s a figure, ghostly in your blurred sight. 

You close your eyes and something creaks, low and soft, as if the house is settling. You peek out beneath your lashes again. The shadow looms closer. It can’t be real. It doesn’t feel real. Your head lolls and you drift back into sleep. 

You wake again. You don’t know how long after. The blanket hangs over the edge of the bed, a cool breeze blowing in through the open window. You’re on your stomach, your arm dangling over the side with the covers.  

The coolness tickles your lower back and emphasizes the bareness of your skin. Your pajamas are low on your hips, the string undone. There’s a warmth nestled between your legs despite the goosebumps across the rest of your body. You roll onto your back, your shirt tangle up by your chest. It’s as if you’ve been thrashing in your sleep. 

The door is open. Not just a little. All the way. 

Your body is achy. You reach to pull the blankets off the floor. As you wrap yourself in them, you feel a wet spot on the sheet. You recoil and feel around your pants. You wouldn’t have had an accident. Maybe... oh no. 

You sit up and set your feet. It takes effort to stand. Your hips hurt and your crampy. It must be your period. 

You cross the room and turn on the light. You shut the door and pull down your pajamas. No blood. You touch yourself gently, delving meekly between your folds. They’re wet and swollen, tender even, but no blood on your fingers. You’ve woken like this before. You know it’s just... your biology. Still, it feel different, more than the usual discharge. 

You shuffle back to the bed and check the sheet. There’s definitely something on it but you don’t know what it is. It seems too far down to be drool. Sweat? You peel apart the quilt and the sheet and heap the latter on the corner of the bed. You shut off the light and lay back down. 

Despite your addled nerves, it doesn’t take much to get back to sleep. You wake only as the tweeting of birds punctures your subconscious. You groan and a gentle tap comes on the door frame. The door is already open as Steve stands in the frame. 

“Uh, morning,” he says, “just checking if you wanted some coffee?” 

You lift your head and stare at him. You sit up and hug yourself, pulling your shirt away from your chest as it clings to your shape. You try to shake the sleep away and wipe your eyes. 

“If it’s okay, yes please,” you answer in a croak. 

“Sure thing, sweetie,” he grips the frame and smiles. He only wears a pair of grey sweatpants and a muscle shirt. The top exposes his muscular arms and the side of his chest and ribcage. The neckline is unhemmed and gives a generous view of the top of his pecs. “Anything else you need?” 

“No thanks,” you scratch your throat and turn your legs over the edge of the bed. 

“You like waffles? French toast? I’ll make a good breakfast for you and your mom before you head out,” he offers. 

“I think that’s okay,” you stand and cross your arms. “Is my mom awake?” 

“I haven’t checked yet,” he says, “I let her have the bed to herself. She was really tired...” he gives a coy look, “and she snores.” 

“Ah, yeah, okay,” you look at him awkwardly. 

“You wanna wash up? Shower’s just down the hall,” he points over his shoulder with his thumb, “I can grab you a towel.” 

“I’ll wait until I get home but uh, could I use the bathroom?”  

“Yep, just down the hall on the right. I’m going to put the coffee on then come back to get your mom, okay?” 

“Okay,” you agree, slowly crossing the room. 

He turns and strides off. You wait until he’s down stairs to go out in the hall. The bedroom across from his studio, the one you assume is meant for him, is shut. You turn right and find the bathroom. 

You lock the door and rinse your face with cold water, trying to ease the tension in your forehead. You sit on the toilet, a tingly heat seeping from you as you let your bladder go. You linger, letting your pee trickle out as you hear Steve coming back up the stairs. You quickly wipe and pull up your pants. 

You wash your hands slowly, listening through the wall. You hear the door then Steve calls your mom’s name. You look at yourself in the mirror. Something feels strange. You don’t know if it was the surreal night or just being in a different place. 

You come out into the hall and see Steve in the bedroom, just by the half-open door. His face is pale as he holds his phone to his ear. He sees you and raises his hand, waving before he gently closes the door. What’s going on? 

You stand there, uncertain, uneasy. Something’s going on. You hear his voice, the tone is tremulous. You pick your nails but you’re too nervous to knock and ask. You don’t want to overstep. You stand stuck in place, unsure what to do next. 

Then you hear the sirens. They’re distant at first but get louder and louder. You turn to the stairs and rush down as they get closer. You go to the front door and unlock it. You open it as the ambulance stops right outside. 

You watch the paramedics as they unload a gurney and roll it up the walk. It has to be a mistake. There's no reason for them to be here. 

They come right up the porch, “miss, someone called us from this address?” 

“They did?” You bat your lashes. 

“Please, move,” the man says but not unkindly, just matter-of-fact, “we need to get inside.” 

You step back and hold the door open. They carry the gurney upstairs and your heart shrivels up. You follow them to the second floor and they enter the main bedroom where Steve is. Where your mom is. You can hear their voices as they talk calmly and Steve’s as he tries frantically to explain. 

“I don’t know... she was sleeping in here last night. She was fine. I put her to bed and I slept on the couch since she was snoring and... she won’t wake up. I tried to... I tried. I felt a pulse but she’s not responding--” 

“Sir, we got it. Why don’t you go catch your breath?” A man says. 

“I’m sorry, I usually... I’m not like this. I was in the army, I know... I know CPR--” 

“It’s okay, sir, just let us get her out of here. We’ll take care of her,” the paramedic says. 

Your eyes fill with tears. The world around you dulls and static scratches in your ears. Steve comes out as your lips part and you gape at him dumbly. He comes to you, touching your arm as his voice garbles in your fuzzy brain. You blink at his chest and suddenly, you’re pressed against it. 

He hugs you tightly as he rocks you. You hear his heart racing. Or is that yours? 

You sniffle, too weak to pull away from him, “is my mom okay?” 

He pets your head and coos, “I don’t know, sweetie, but they’re gonna help her, alright? She’s going to the hospital.” 

“Hospital,” you echo numbly. “Hospital?” 

[lowkeycasanova]

swole mouth

plot: luffy gets his wisdom teeth removed

luffy x reader modern au?

just him being all soft while he's high on drugs

word count: 1k

Luffy, normally confident and carefree, was a mess in the days leading up to his appointment. You had to physically pull him out of bed this morning and he mumbled and grumbled about how he didn't wanna go. You coaxed him with the idea of getting food on the way. And he was dumb enough to believe you until you pulled right up to the dental office.

He was mad as hell.

He crossed his arms and wouldn't even look at you while you two sat on the chairs in the waiting room. It was quiet in there. Soft music playing overhead and the only other person there was an older woman a few feet away reading a magazine.

You turned your attention to Luffy. "Hey. This is for your own good. If you don't get them removed, it'll cause pain and your other teeth will get pushed around."

His scowl persisted.

The receptionist called his name and again, you had to drag him. You were met with the dental assistant, a friendly guy in crisp blue scrubs, attemping to ease Luffy's nerves with a reassuring smile.

It wasn’t that Luffy was afraid of the pain. His concern was the drug, nitrous oxide.

‘Laughing gas’, as it was called.

His mind is already loose and he says things with no filter. The thought of speaking nonsense without having control of it was embarassing.

Before going to the room down the hallway, Luffy gives you one last look.

"Don't be mad at me if I say something inappropriate."

**

"Y/N!!!" you hear from your seat mixed with the sound of giggles.

oh boy.

There he is. Barely able to stand on his own two feet while the dentist holds up the majority of his body weight. His arm thrown over the man's shoulder. You stand up and make your way over, biting back a smile at Luffy's giggling.

"Hiiiiii."

He picks up his head, that dopey grin stretched across his swollen cheeks.

"Hey," you laugh. "We gotta get you in the car."

"Okie dokie." he picks up his feet, lazily shuffling them across the floor.

Trying to get him into the car was harder than you thought. It's a mix of limp arms and legs, whining, and he nearly bumped his head. You and the dentist are both out of breath my the time he's situated in the passenger seat.

"Can I drive?"

"No."

Another pout and whine.

You close the door and turn back to the dentist, who gives you a rundown on how the procedure went and hands you a pamphlet on the aftercare and follow up appointment.

"You left me with a handful." you smile.

He laughs. "Luffy's gonna be okay. He'll probably fall asleep and wake up completely fine. Let me know if there's anything that seems abnormal."

You nod and tell him goodbye.

Once you get in the car, Luffy seems out of it. He's leaning his head against the window, staring off into space.

You pat his leg. "Let's get you home."

Getting his attention, he turns to face you. "You're gonna take care of me?" he mumbled. You see the gauze squished in his mouth. It's stained with red near the back, controlling the active bleeding.

You tried not to laugh but you couldn't help but have an adorable smirk tugging at your lips at his expression. As if he really appreciated you being there with him.

**

He nodded off to sleep in the car, only for you to arouse him up when you got back home. He blinks his eyes a few times, all disoriented. You finally get him inside the house and sit him down on the couch.

He slumps into the cushions, eyes half-lidded as you gently remove his shoes.

His eyes suddenly become wide and he reaches up to touch his face. "My wips. I can't feel my wips! They're...they're gone!"

His lips. Still numb from the procedure.

He's franctically touching his face where he knows his lips should be. You stop him because he shouldn't be touching his mouth at all.

"Luffy stop! Your lips aren't gone. They're right here." You use your fingers to gently tug on them.

He goes cross eyed attempting to look.

"Really?"

"Yes, really."

"Yup." you say, then patting his cheek in reassurance.

He copies your action. Patting his right cheek, then his left.

Right.

Left.

Then both at the same time over and over again.

"Hehehehe." he giggles. "It's like a balloon."

"You're right." you chuckled at his antics. "I'll bring you a blanket to make you more comfortable."

You turn from him, going around to the hall closet, pulling a cozy blanket out. With it in your hands, you make your way back over to where he was sitting to find him gone.

Not surprising.

He wouldn’t be able to sit still sober.

There's the sound of whimpering coming from the bathroom around the corner. You follow the sound to find him standing in front of the mirror. He's staring at his relfection, gauze out, mouth agape, and tears about to well up in his eyes.

"My teeth...the dentist...he...he...s-stole them!"

"Luffy, he did not steal them." You breathed in an attempt to not laugh. "He took them out because they were going to cause problems. And you have to keep to gauze in." you tell him, pinching the white material and helping it back into the corners of his mouth.

"But-" he mumbles, convinced he's been robbed and you guide him back to the couch. He gives you a look of confusion, his numbness preventing him from arguing any further. You take a moment to admire his goofy expression before focusing on the task at hand.

"Alright, I'll be back. Don't go anywhere." you tease. Turning back on your heel, you add, “And don’t pull that gauze out again.”

“So hostile.” he mumbled.

Heading to the kitchen, you start to find what soft foods he can have since he can'y have anything solid for a while. Deciding on ice cream, you prepare it in a bowl and return to him.

He's sprawled out underneath the blanket you gave him, eyes closed and a soft snore coming from his mouth. The anesthesia has clearly taken its toll. You smile to yourself and decide not to disturb his much needed sleep.

[keravnous]

the hunter! ; tangerine x fem!reader (smut, 18+)

read pt. 1 here | read pt. 2 here | read pt. 3 here

Tangerine expected someone else - but he'll do just fine with you, too.

(Based on that one scene from the Kraven The Hunter trailer where he turns around in that chair with the loaded crossbow)

warnings: kids, this is dark; this is like the darkest version of tangerine my brain has cooked up thus far; he is a sociopath by source sooo: manipulation; dub-con/non-con, coercion, gun kink, anger issues, crying, blood, murder/injuries, daddy kink, masturbation, slight dumbification, name-calling, pet names, corruption kink, spit kink

SO I SAW THE KRAVEN THE HUNTER TRAILER AND I REALLY COULDNT HELP MYSELF

"You fucking asshole!", you scream at the top of your lungs, bursting through the large door of your husband's office. It slams back into the lock just as you come to a halt on the expensive fur carpet in the middle of the spacious room.

His chair is facing the wall, a lit cigarette slowly glimming away in the ashtray. It lights up your rage like a match to gasoline.

"I am fucking speaking to you, you fucking dickhead! Can't you keep your dirty-ass dick out of that disgusting bitch you call a secretary for one day?", you are fuming, heart racing as you stomp down with your left heel, throwing your expensive and ridiculously small purse at him, missing the chair by nearly a whole foot. It crashes into the massive painting hanging behind the desk, where it leaves a nasty cut before falling to ground uselessly.

Your husband does not react and that, oh that, that get's you going alright, makes your blood race through your veins so hard you can hear it in your ears.

"I am fucking speaking to you -- turn the fuck around you coward!", you yell, hands clutched to tight fists, your jewellery cutting into the flesh.

Slowly, comedically slowly even, the chair turns. The man sitting in it puts his feet up on the table, legs clad in an expensive navy pin-stripe as he crosses them. And that --

That is not your husband.

The man, sitting in a chair that clearly isn't his, in an office that surely doesn't belong to him, is lean and a lot more handsome than the man you so reluctantly married a few years ago. His face is expressionless, bland like piece of paper, except for the anger pooling around his eyes. He is wearing an expensive looking pin-stripe suit and his hair is neatly combed back, 70s porn stache trimmed just as carefully - the only thing that looks out of place is the blood splattered on his face like freckles, one large splatter on his left cheek.

He is also pointing a gun at you. An actual fucking gun.

"And who the fuck are you, Lady?", he says, casually, but a little irritated nonetheless.

You choke on your own tongue, backing up a little. This is not good. It has your fight or flight kicking in, muscles in your back and legs tensing up and brain going numb, fingers starting to tingle.

"Don't ya move an inch", he growls, his gun following your movement. You freeze. You wonder if he will actually shoot you. You wonder what he is doing here.

"I-, I--"

The man rolls his eyes at you - pretty, pretty eyes; blue like the sea - and huffs out an exasperated sigh.

"Fuckin' answer me." His tone sends shivers down your spine and, if you did not already do so by his gun, you now know for sure that he is not playing around.

"I-", you take a deep breath, voice shaking and thin, "I- I am Markov's wife?"

It comes out more like a question, than an answer, really. You hope it will do; you hope he is happy with what is the - for you, rather sad - truth.

Tangerine cocks an eyebrow, leans back in the leather chair, gun still pointing at you. "'S that so?"

"Y-yes", you gulp.

"Didn't know he had a wife", he mutters, more to himself, really.

Tangerine can feel how the wheels in his head start to turn - the intel didn't suggest a marriage. It genuinely surprises him - not only because people in this profession rarely have spouses - but also because the young lady in front of him is way too pretty. Angelic, even. Too good for a boastful, careless cockroach of a criminal like Markov is. And he wants her, wants to own her. Wants to take take take. He wonders just how quickly she will break.

You, in the meantime, sense an opening.

"W-what do you want? I can g-give you money", you hastily stumble over the words, anxiety crawling up your spine, "A-all of it!"

The man raises his eyebrows, snorts amused. "No, love, I don't need your money."

"A-anything, p-please - just, just", and the dam breaks, eyes tearing up as your eyes zero in on the gun, "Just please d-don't kill me."

Something in his eyes changes, a dark shadow dancing over his face, eyebrows shooting up in surprise and then he pulls back the hammer of his revolver with his thumb. Your knees buckle a little as you hear the bullet snapping in place.

"Care to say that again, eh?" - Anything for your life, really.

"P-please don't kill me", you nearly sob, voice small and quiet, and you are ready, willing to put it all in there, "Please, I am begging you, Mister. I- I don't know why you're here, this - this is one big misunderstanding, I don't know anything about my husband's business. J-just let me go, please."

He does not move. You don't want to die, you are young, you still have a life to live. Maybe you will finally file for divorce. Maybe you will buy a house in Europe. Maybe, maybe, maybe -- You don't want to die.

"Please."

Tangerine says nothing for a moment, then his lips tilt up. "Tell me, love, d'ya beg for him that prettily, too? Or 's that just f'me?"

You blink. "What?", you blurt out.

"Jus' lemme hear it again, sugar - sounded so sweet, that."

You do not know what game he is playing but you really aren't ready to die yet either, so you give in.

"Please", you beg, looking at him with big, teary eyes - the barrel of the revolver stares back, a small black hole of ultimate death -, "Please, let me live." His lips tilt up and you decide to make a move on it, catch him off-guard.

"I-I'd do anything, I give you whatever you want!", you are growing desperate now, your brain trying its hardest to come up with something that will safe your ass. And that, that has his eyebrows knotting together.

The man seems to mull it over for a short while, eyes you up and down. Your skin tingles with it, feels numb and like it is on fire at the same time. "Did ya just say Anything, love?"

"I-I did, y-yes", and your voice grows desperate, "I'd do anything - just don't kill me, please, what do you want, I'll do --"

You ramble on and Tangerine rolls his eyes at you, exhales annoyed.

"Fuckin' shut up", he growls and you do, chin quivering a little with the tears still pooling in the corners of your eyes. You blink them away, sniffling a little.

"Here's what we're gonna do, love", he smiles cooly, shows his teeth like a predator, eyes drilling into you, "We're gonna have a little fun. And once we're done, I'll let ya go. How does that sound? Agreed?"

You have a suspicion what fun means, both, painfully clear and enforced by the way his gaze wanders over your body and you gulp. You really don't have a choice now, do you?

So you can hear yourself say: "Y-yes."

"Yes --?", he lifts his gun a little, gestures with it, "C'mon be a good girl."

Your eyes widen. You are not stupid; you know what he most likely wants to hear - you have met men like him before your marriage - and despite it making your stomach tingle a little it also makes painfully clear what he is imagining as A little fun.

Your voice is small, fingers fumbling with the hem of your tweed blazer. "Y-yes, Daddy", shivers run down your spine as his eyes turn dark dark dark, gaze transfixed by you and then he barks out a mean laugh.

"Fuckin' hell", what?, "I wanted you to thank me, you dumb fuckin' thing, not be a complete 'n utter slut about it."

Shame burns on your cheeks and you scramble for words - anything to say, to excuse or justify yourself - as mortification swallows you whole, crawls up your spine and mingles with your fear, has your head swimming.

"What a poor lil' airhead ya are", he grins at you meanly, "But I like it, go 'head, keep callin' me that. Probably gets you all wet, dunnit?"

You shake your head wildly - "N-no" - bottom lip quivering a little and he knows you are lying.

And Tangerine starts to grow bored. He has been feeling quite bored for a good while - since he blew Markov's lights out to be exact. He wishes he had not done it so soon, would have rather tied him up and let him watch how he has his way with his wife. Tangerine sighs, puffs his cheeks and let’s go off a breath dramatically, looks you straight in the eye.

"Alright, listen. I just don't have all day, so ya better get going, before I pop ya too", he waves his revolver at you, "Get undressed. 'n do it slowly."

You nod - I don't want to die, I don't want to die, I don't want to die - fingers brush over the first button of your blazer, as he interrupts you: "Ah ah ah, what d'ya say?"

Your eyelids flutter and your knees feel like giving in. "Y-yes, Daddy."

Tangerine hums deep in his throat. "Atta girl - now keep going."

With shaking hands, cold sweat pooling between your fingers, you start to slowly unbutton the first few buttons of your costume's blazer. It's a Chanel tweed set, since you had just been out with some friends for lunch, before one of them told you about what had she'd seen yesterday. Part of you wishes you had never left the restaurant, just shrugged it off and ordered another drink instead. You don't even know why you fight for this marriage - you never really spoke to him; he never touched you or even really looked at you - not that you minded that much. But it's losing your status, the money he brings in, that you'd miss and thus, you had grown a nice pair of manicured claws over time.

See where that got you.

Your blazer falls to the ground with a thud and Tangerine licks his lips. And that is when another part of you, very quietly at the back of your mind, is a little glad you came here. It's in his eyes mostly, a strange and unknown hunger, like an animal gone wild. And it ignites something in you, shoots pleasure straight down your loins and has your breath hitching.

No one, no one has ever looked at you like that, like he is close to dashing over the desk and swallowing you whole, eating you up and ripping you apart with razor-sharp teeth.

Your blouse follows next, as you pop open the first few buttons, pulling the thin fabric out of your short tweed skirt. It flows to the ground shortly after, leaves you in your bra, skirt, and heels. Tangerine does not give you as much as a few seconds to accommodate to being partially exposed to him, his eyes gleaming dangerously.

"Skirt's next, darlin'."

You inhale audibly through your lips and Tangerine chuckles quietly at that as you unhook the clasp on your skirt, slooowly pulling down the zipper at the side. You feel ridiculous, like a very bad caricature of a housewife stripping for her husband. It's nothing like you imagined it to be, fingers buried deep inside of you, imagining your husband to be someone else, someone prettier, someone who valued you - someone who you'd love to get dirty for. You don't feel sexy or tempting - but to him you certainly do look the part, the way your body quivers and shakes, all shy by avoiding his gaze.

The expensive tweed falls to the floor and you step out of the fabric of your clothing, pooling around your feet. You gulp, carefully looking up at him. You wonder if he likes what he sees, if it's enough for him to spare your life, to --

Tangerine's heart skips a beat, a sharp noise erupting in his ears. The lingerie you are wearing, a stunning pale-pink lace set, hugs your curves nicely and leaves nothing to the imagination - with the way your nipples poke through the bra, the string cupping your cunt, dipping a little into the cleft of your folds.

He can also see the damp patch on your lacey string and it makes his dick rock-hard, pressing against his slacks. He lifts an eyebrow, as he looks at you. "Who would've thought", and you blush, swallowing, "He married a common whore."

The humiliation burns on your cheeks, turns them red and your mouth goes dry, but there's also fresh wetness pooling between your legs at his words. Oh, you are fucked.

He reads you like an opened book, watches you shifting uncomfortably. "Say it", he whispers softly.

You swallow, licking your lips, before replying quietly: "I am a common whore - Daddy."

"That you are, darlin', aren't ya", Tangerine grins, "Get that bra off, show me what ya got."

You reach back and unclasp the soft lace, pulling the strings over your shoulders and down your arms, carelessly throwing the fabric to the side. Tangerine tilts his head a little, his eyes assessing your tits. He seems satisfied, waves his revolver at you.

"Touch yourself, I wanna see those pretty tits movin'", swallowing, your hands come up, damp with cold sweat and cup your tits, bouncing and squeezing them a little, pressing them together. You do not dare looking at him, gaze focussed on the desk instead, hands brushing over your breasts.

You just started rolling your left nipple between your index finger and thumb, gasping quietly, the slight pain and pleasure running straight between your legs as he suddenly moves. You flinch, arms immediately clutching around your exposed chest while he gets up, deliberately strolls over to you.

Maybe he is not satisfied, he surely isn't, it must've been too little, not enough he's gonna kill you, kill you, kill you --

"Such perfect fuckin' tits", he weighs his revolver in his hands, the metal of it clinking against his rings, and closes in on you. "Have ya been touched often?", the barrel of the gun hooks underneath your chin and your lift your head with it obediently, looking up at him. Adrenaline pumps through your veins, your eyes big and teary again. You don't think he's one to slip on the trigger but it still has anxiety crawling up your spine - don't kill me, don't kill me, don't kill me --

"Answer me, ya stupid twat."

You just wish he would take that fucking gun away from your face.

"N-no", you answer truthfully. The last time you had sex was literal ages ago, in your time at Harvard. Since your parents had married you off you haven't been touched by another fucking human being, assured so by the constant observation of your husband's men. He was allowed to cheat, but God forbid you had some fun. So, you had retreated to fucking yourself, lacking any physical contact, making every single time you masturbated feel shallow and incomplete. Tangerine watches the way your face changes as you reminisce.

"Oh, ya poor thing", he coos, his hand coming up to cup your cheek and you look up at him, "Bet that felt horrible, didn't it?"

And you nod, his thumb caressing your cheek and you get a first good look at him. He is really pretty. The blood looks good on him, bright red in a glooming contrast to his blue eyes. Your head swims with it a little. "How did that make ya feel, eh?"

"Lonely", you croak, before you can stop yourself, a few tears running down your cheeks, pooling between his fingers and rings.

He hums in his throat. "Bet it did", something dances across his eyes, "D'ya want someone to take care of ya? D'ya want to stop feeling so bloody lonely all the time?"

The truth behind his words runs you over like a freight train, barely leaves you wondering with how he got that about you so fast, brain erupting in a static noise.

You do. You feel lonely, locked up in a golden cage of money and bodyguards, with no one opening its door to spend some time with the little bird inside.

"Y-yeah", you whisper, blinking away the tears.

"Wanna know something, love?", and you nod, carefully, not to spook him into shooting, "I could be that person. How's that sound, eh? I could keep ya safe -"

Tangerine's hand leaves your cheek and touches your waist instead, a feather-light touch that has goosebumps spreading all over your body.

"I could touch ya -", his hand sprawls over your lower back, "'N keep you happy, get ya lots'n lots of pretty, sparkly things."

Your breath hitches, brain slowly growing mushy because - because, despite the gun underneath your chin, that does sound heavenly. It sounds easy. Painless. Better. A little exciting even.

"C'mon, how's that sound?", he coos, hand running over your back, to your side again, thumb toying with the hem of your string.

"Sounds so good, Daddy", you sigh, images of a new life, a different life flashing by.

"Mh, I know it does. I could take you with me, make ya mine. You'd love that, wouldn't ya?", his fingers dance over your abdomen, dipping lower and between your legs. His thumb presses down on the damp patch, rubs over your clit, his bracelet rustling.

And it is like your brain has completely given up, surrendering yourself to this very handsome man. But you just can't since - "I-I am married", you croak, a little helplessly, like you don't quite know what to make out of that either.

He does, anger flickering behind his eyes like someone pulled a lighter out and ignited his gaze.

Tangerine growls, the barrel of his revolver pressing against your temple roughly, thumb rubbing smaller circles over your clit through your dampened string, "You belong to me now, d'ya understand? There's nothing he can do about it, y'hear me?"

"Y-yes Daddy, I do", you whine, eyelids fluttering and small tears running down your cheeks.

"Oh, stop fuckin' crying - I can feel how wet ya little cunt's gotten, fuckin' slut", and you blink up at him, a small gasp escaping your mouth as your gazes meet through teary eyes.

You just look so fucking hot to him. Adrenaline from his kill still pumps through his veins and it makes him so so mad, his ears ringing. He feels like he is about to fucking burst and your tears only spurr him on, making something in his stomach growl, stretching its claws out.

Tangerine is too far gone already, everything tinted red red red and he just wants to lash at you, bury his teeth in your throat and end your life like that, bury his dick deep inside of you and feel you twitch around him while blood spurts from your open wound, flows from your mouth. He wants.

But you are also so very very pretty to him, tears running down your cheeks, lips plush and quivering a little and nipples hard like glass, testing his patience with the way they poke out at him.

"Or actually, don't", his lips curl up into a cold smile, "I like to see you cry, hm? Y'real pretty like this."

And you sob heavily, his words making your head swim. Pretty pretty pretty - when was the last time someone called you pretty?

"Oh, darlin'", Tangerine whispers, gun grazing your temple, thumb rubbing small and hard circles on your clit, "Don't be hurt by Daddy, hm? I don't mean to hurt ya, now do I?"

"N-no", you shake your head a little, "Di-didn't hurt m-me."

"Mhm, you are such a good girl, aren't ya? Never hurt by your new Daddy, eh?"

You shake your head again but this time, his face grows stern. "Ah ah ah, words, love. Use your words."

"N-no, y-you could never hurt me."

"Yeah, I couldn't, how could I? I can say anything to you, call you whatever I like and you would never be hurt, would ya?"

And you do not want him to be angry, do not want him to think that he could hurt you - so that he doesn't accidentally slip and does just that - and you notice that fresh tears stream down your cheeks.

"I-I wouldn't, no", you blink away the tears and Tangerine smiles at you.

"That's right. I can call you whatever I like", his thumb speeds up and you moan sweetly, "What d'ya think? Doesn't slut fit you well?"

He says it with such adoration that you cannot help but sigh, nodding. "Y-yeah, it does", you reply quietly, ready to wear it with pride.

"Alright then, slut - take that sorry excuse of a panty off."

You follow his command, shaking fingers hooking underneath the hem of your string, pulling it down slowly.

"Faster, you dumb fuckin' slut."

"Uh-huh", you mumble, nodding, and hastily shoving your string down your legs until it falls down and pools at your feet - a pretty pink on a bright fur carpet. Now, with being fully naked, you feel incredibly vulnerable.

You still wonder if he really won't hurt you. You decide that if you stick by rules, he most likely won't.

Tangerine slowly walks around you, like a predator surrounding its prey, then comes to a halt behind you. The barrel of his revolver presses against the nape of your neck and then glides over your body - down down down - cold metal against warm skin, and then he reaches around your waist. The gun grazes your abdomen and slips between your legs, barrel running cooly through your folds. And you can't hold back the moan crawling up your throat, parting your lips, has you inhaling sharply.

"Yeah, that's more like it, innit?", he rubs the cold metal along your folds, "I can fuckin' smell how wet your cunt is."

And you can hear it, too - the way your pussy squelches obscenely around the barrel, wetness dripping down your thighs. Your knees buckle as the metal rubs along your clit, has you moaning shyly.

Tangerine wraps one arm around you, holds you upright with your back pressed flush against his chest and your heartbeat starts to pick up as you feel his hard dick pressing against your ass, hotly through his slacks.

"Lift your leg, love", he whispers, moustache brushing over the shell of your ear and you comply like you are a fucking robot, and his large hand wraps around the back of your knee, holds your leg up. You mewl as the gun wanders further, barrel brushing against your hole and then dips in with barely any effort, so so slick by your juices and your breath hitches, whole body trembling as the cold metal enters you.

"O-oh", you gasp dumbly, your body sacking back against him. The barrel isn't too big, barely larger than a finger, and rather short but it still feels - good? Tangerine starts to fuck you with it slowly, moves the gun in and out of you and your head swims with the thought, that he could just pull the trigger and blow your lights out, could leave you here bleeding to death.

Your legs start to shake, anxiety and lust mingling dangerously, and in a desperate attempt for any leverage your hand shoots up, reaches back and finds the back of his neck, clutches onto it, fists the pristine white banker's collar of his shirt.

"Yeah, that feels fuckin' good, dunnit?"

"Uh-huh", you breathe, the cold metal pumping in and out of you has lust pooling your stomach and you look down to where his tattooed arm wraps around your waist, where the black sparrow and the golden bracelet vanish along your pussy - watching the way you can see the grip and trigger moving against your folds.

You should be scared, afraid of him and afraid of the gun fucking into you - but you just aren't. Lust washes over your brain, makes everything go just a little hazy, wraps you in cotton candy - hot and syrupy, sweet.

"My god - shit", you breathe, your cunt aching to be touched and you wish for the barrel to just be a bit longer, able to fuck you properly, reach the parts only his cock could - the one that's pressing against your ass hotly, pulsing through his slacks. Instead, you roll your hips once, best you can with his iron grip on your thigh, meeting the thrusts of his gun.

It has you whining, the way the cold metal presses against your hot and slick skin, throwing your head back, resting on his shoulder. Tangerine moves in, like a hungry animal, lips and stache brushing over your exposed shoulder, tickling the naked skin while his eyes wander down your body - taking in your desperate thrusts, bouncing tits and hard nipples. You are fucking hot, maybe the hottest thing he has seen in a while, hotter than the tarts he fucks sometimes.

You seem clean - innocent and virginal and it nearly makes him bust a nut thinking about you: on all fours crawling towards him, sucking his cock until your throat bruises and you are a crying mess, tied to the bedposts taking him like a good fucking personal sex doll would. He groans against your skin, fingers digging into the soft flesh of your leg.

The sound has you vibrating. It leaves you wanting, wanting to feel more, to feel full; to hear more of him, more of where that came from. You can't hold yourself back. "D-daddy", you moan, the feeling of his hard dick pressing against you and the warmth that his firm chest radiates leaving you a little dizzy, "N-need your cock."

Tangerine chuckles against your shoulders. "Oh, now you're wantin' something, eh? What about me, love? What about our little deal?"

"'S for y-you, too", you whine helplessly.

"Oh no no no", he sounds genuinely amused, presses the gun snugly against your aching cunt and your legs tremble, "Don't ya try to get me all soft 'n shit, hm? You'll lose, love, you'll lose."

His tongue darts out, licks a fat stripe over your neck, testing your sweat mingling with your expensive perfume. It takes all his willpower not bury his teeth into your soft flesh until he draws blood and life fades from your eyes.

"N-need m-more", you gasp, hole clenching around the short barrel, cunt needy and aching and squirting against his fingers and the gun in anticipation.

"Well, then -- Why don't ya show me how you got yourself off all those years, hm? Show me how to work that sweet cunt of yours", his lips brush over the nape of your neck and your knees buckle at the soft touch, "Show Daddy how to do it."

Tangerine pulls the gun out of you and you gasp, eyelids fluttering, hole clenching around nothing at the loss, wanting the friction back and he slowly puts your leg back down. His hand brushes up your thigh and waist, rests on your shoulder, presses down a little. And you turn to puddy in his hands, knees giving in and you sink down, landing on your knees with a soft thud.

The fur feels soft around your knees and you lay your head back obediently, looking up at him through hazy eyes. You can see him swallowing, licking his lips. His revolver drips with your juices.

His hand grabs your chin, slight pressure on your throat and then he moves in, rubs his crotch over the back of your head. You can feel his hard, big dick against your skull and you can't help your mind from wandering there, wondering how might he taste.

"Feel that? That's what ya fuckin' slutty behaviour does t'Daddy", he bows down, grins at you and then, without warning, spits.

You flinch as his saliva hits your face, lands across your forehead and you cheeks. His thumb spreads it out, rubs it into your skin and you moan, humiliation pooling in your stomach and shooting down between your legs.

Tangerine chuckles, straightens back up and the hand leaves your face, your throat. "Spread ya legs, I wanna see what's gonna be mine."

You comply, sitting down on your ass and planting your feet in front of you, heels digging into the soft fur. He strolls around you, makes is way back to the desk.

"'N you fuckin' whore better put on a fuckin' good show for me, too", he growls, "It's what ya want, innit? Be a good girl f'me?"

It kind of is. The part of your brain that just doesn't want to die is oddly silent. There is something else, something that buries its claws deep deep in your mind and tears and tears and tears until everything is a little mushy and your brain complies - good girl good girl good girl.

Tangerine leans against the table, crosses his feet and places his hands on the edges, gun dangling from his slender fingers. "C'mon love, ya better don't wanna keep me waiting."

You look down at yourself and a surprised gasp leaves you mouth - you are incredibly wet, thighs sticky with your own juices. You run your fingers through your folds in awe, feeling your own slick, and you moan as you brush by your clit. You need more, body and cunt aching for it and your index finger starts to rub over your clit.

Squelching sounds erupt between your legs and you mewl at the sensation, your cunt so responsive, hole fluttering and your free hand darts out, grabs the fur beneath you.

"Such a pretty fuckin' cunt ya got", and your gaze darts up at him, stomach doing a funny little flip as your eyes meet his, breath hitching in your throat.

Tangerine licks his lips, gestures with his gun. "Rub faster, I wanna hear more of ya sweet moans, slut."

You comply immediately, rubbing your clit faster and you do moan for him, gasping with the pleasure shooting through your body, igniting your nerves. You throw your head back, not waiting for his next instruction, adding a second finger, rubbing large and quick circles around your clit, hips bucking and rolling against them, heightening the sensation.

Arching your back you moan and gasp, lust swallowing you whole and taking over your brain - eradicating anything and everything despite the need to feel more more more.

"C'mon, I know you wan'it, push one in and finger yourself", and your other hand flies to your wanton pussy; index finger briefly, impatiently circling your hole before eagerly dipping in, burying itself deep in one quick thrust. You hiss, quickly exchanged by a sweet gasp as you bottom your finger out.

You start to move it in and out of you, rubbing it along your walls and you can't help but sink onto your back, mewling as it enters you deeper, slips back in more easily. You feel so so dirty, naked in nothing but your jewellery and heels with his spit across your face, but you have never felt better either.

"O-one more, please", you beg, "Please, let me have one more."

Don't you just beg so prettily? He wonders if you will beg like that when he will shove a plug up your ass and fuck your throat, stuffing your cunt with a vibrator. He wonders if you will ask for another one to fuck your ass.

Oh, he will ruin you alright. "Since you ask so nicely", he coos, "Go ahead, slut. Whatever ya need."

Pushing a second finger in, the circles you rub on your clit become smaller and faster. You moan in rhythm with your fingers thrusting into you, curling them a little. Your legs go a little limp, knees darting away from each other, giving him an even better view of your assault on your pussy, the way your slick spreads up to your thighs. Your cunt gushes around your fingers as you force them in deeper, squirts against your hand.

Tangerine watches you coming apart smugly, weighs his revolver in his hands. Who would've thought a simple gun was enough to get you to buckle, give in and surrender yourself to him?

You are his now, he will never let you got. He will keep you and train you and make you needy and dumb for no one else but him.

The thought nearly makes his chest burst with the power trip it sends him on, and he spreads his legs a little, feels his hard cock pressing against his slacks. He can't fucking wait to get in that sweet sweet cunt of yours - show you how a real man fucks his wife, fucks what belongs to him. Tangerine can see, even from where he is standing, that you are fucking tight - the way your hole stretches around your delicate fingers has him licking his lips.

He can't fucking wait to claim you.

"Yeah, I can see he never fucked you properly", Tangerine rasps, shakes his head in silent disapproval as you mewl, arching your back, "I'd take care of you, y'know? Y'want that, don't ya?"

You nod nod nod, moaning as your fingers brush over your walls, stretching you out as you scissor yourself open - thinking about how good his huge fucking dick would feel inside of you instead - your hole fluttering around your digits.

"Bet ya do, lil' slut. Daddy's gonna take real good care of ya, ya'd never ever have to think again. Jus' lemme do the thinking."

"Shit, please, yes", you moan, rocking down on your fingers, pushing a third one in. You are so so full, juices squelching around your hole and wetting your hand and the fur underneath you but it's not enough. You start to pump the in and out of you quicker, deep thrusts hitting the spot inside of you just right.

"Yeah, I'd tell you exactly what to do", Tangerine hums, "I'd be coming home and tell my little slut to bend over the fuckin' kitchen table, stuff her tight 'n needy holes, 'n what would she say?"

"I-I'd thank y-you", you nearly cry out, your whole body feeling light and shuddering at the thought.

"Mhm, atta girl - and if I put ya pretty throat on a leash? Drag ya through the house and stuff ya full of toys? What would ya say to Daddy?"

"T-thank you, Daddy", you huff, chest heaving with your rapidly approaching orgasm, legs tensing up and toes curling.

"And what would ya say when I let ya cum, slut?"

"Thank you!", you sob, the two fingers on your clit rubbing mercilessly, your other hand fucking you hard and fast.

"That's a good girl. Lemme hear it then, cum you fuckin' whore."

Your orgasm hits you like a fucking train, your cunt pushing your fingers out as you convulse around them - a high pitched chant Thank you thank you thank you falling from your lips. Your arms fall to the side uselessly as you ride your orgasm out, wave after wave of warm squirt wetting the fur, as you moan and roll your hips, leaving you breathless.

Your eyes flutter open as you hear footsteps, see him approaching. He is still holding his revolver, the outline of where his large cock is pressing angrily against his expensive trousers.

"Too sad your husband couldn't just see that, eh?", there is genuine joy marking Tangerine's features, making his bright eyes gleam.

Oh shit - that reminds you of something.

"W-where is he?", you croak, legs still shaking with your recent orgasm, body sinking into the fur.

"Oh, love", he seems to smile at you, but his eyes don't join in on his lips tilting up, "He's right 'ere, ain't he?"

He points his revolver away from you, to the side and your eyes warily follow the movement. There is nothing there except the locked closet and --

And a dark pool of something on the ground, a trail of it slooowly creeping your way over the polished floor boards. It looks like-

You stretch your arm out, fingers darting out and the index finger dipping into the liquid. It's still warm and sticky.

And red. It does not take a genius to get what it is.

Tangerine licks his lips as he watches you, how realization creeps in, changes your facial expression. You look horrified and his dick twitches at the sight.

He closes in on you, bows down over your exposed body and grabs your hand roughly, pulls it in. "Would'ya mind cleaning that up f'me, love?", and your eyelids flutter and you do, like you are on autopilot, licking your dead husband's blood from your finger.

"Mhm", Tangerine hums and you gag a little around the metallic taste, which makes his face light up. He pulls his finger from your mouth, unbuckles his belt instead. "I think, I really might just keep ya."

"Y-you said you'd let me go", you gasp as his hand dips between your legs.

"Well, love - change of plans, innit?"

[vulpisnocturna]

Bloodstained Rubies - Chapter II - Captivity

Chapter I

Read on AO3

Warnings: captivity, coercion, violence (not against reader), psychological manipulation, Yandere Chrollo

Word count: 6k

Your mouth felt pasty and dry, and your temples were throbbing, head spinning and arms and legs weak, as though numbed by keeping them in one position too long. You didn’t remember going to sleep the night before.

Shit, had you forgotten to set an alarm? Were you late for work?

You opened your eyes, blinking in the dim sunlight. Sunlight...?

Fuck. If there was sunlight, it meant you were definitely late. You stood up, still groggy from sleep, your head spinning, but when you went to pull the duvet up, the bed in front of you looked different. Nothing like yours. You looked around: it was a large bedroom, with a stone fireplace and a rust-coloured loveseat in front of it, a walk-in closet with the sliding door left ajar, a large bay window covered by sage green curtains-

You did a double take. Sitting on an armchair next to the window, a book on his lap, sat a man staring at you.

No, not any man. Chrollo.

You stumbled back, shards of the night before rising to the surface of your mind. He had- broken in, and drugged you, and God, where were you? What had he done to you? You took a step back, your heartbeat deafening in your ears, fingertips trembling, gut-twisting panic taking a hold of you as you looked around, glancing at the door.

You had to get out, had to leave, had to escape-

‘Calm down, darling’ came his unruffled, soft voice, and you stared at him, continuing to walk backwards, keeping your eyes on him. Anything- Anything to hit him with-

‘W-where am I? What did you do to me?’ you stammered, voice shaking as you glanced around you. Lamp. You could hit him with the lamp. Or maybe the vase on the dresser?

‘This is our apartment for the time being, my love’ he said, calmly closing the book he was holding and setting it down on the coffee table next to him, ‘you will notice you are wearing the clothes you were wearing yesterday night, all except your shoes. I did not undress you, nor did I act in any untoward way. Now, please, take a seat’

Darling? My love? Our?

You shuddered. He was completely insane. He had kidnapped you. Kidnapped you and locked you God knew where.

Your chest felt tight, and air was not reaching your lungs. Your legs were weak, and you couldn’t help but flinch when he stood up, calmly walking towards you. He had a weird cross tattoo on his forehead, which you assumed had been covered by the cloth when you had met him. Was he a Satanist?

Your brain was swarmed with visions of him using you for some kind of twisted ritual, strapping you an altar and using a butcher’s knife to carve you open in some gory sacrifice.

‘Stay right there! Don’t take another step!’ you yelled, voice deranged with terror, and Chrollo tilted his head at you as you picked up the cylindrical glass vase and held it like a bat.

‘I understand you must have your misgivings about me, darling-‘ he started, but you didn’t want to hear anything he had to say, any of his perverse pet names and delusions.

‘Shut the fuck up! Not another word’ you shouted, retreating towards the door. A muscle in his jaw twitched, and his eyes darkened, his fingers flexing at his side as he took another few steps towards you.

You bolted to the door, slamming it behind you and running down the corridor, catching sight of what you thought might be the front door next to the living room. You couldn’t hear his footsteps, and you didn’t turn around, pulling on the doorknob. Locked. The keys. Keys. There, in the bowl on the accent table next to you. You grabbed them, fingers shaking as you tried one of the two and frantically turned it, pulling on the handle again. It didn’t open. You tried the other one. Nothing.

You turned around, screaming when you found him staring at you a few feet away. You threw the vase at him, and his hand moved so quickly you barely even saw it, shattering the vase mid-air, making the glass rain next to him. You screamed, flattening yourself against the door, eyes wide and sawed breaths tearing through you.

Glass crunched under his boots, and you went to punch him when he got too close, but he was much faster. Before you knew it, he had picked you up and flung you over his shoulder. You hit his back and flailed around, uncaring if he dropped you, but it was like hitting a wall.

‘If you are set on continuing with this futile behaviour, I will have to restrain you, dearest’ he said calmly, coldly, as he carried you to the bedroom again. You screamed your lungs out, yelping when he tossed you on the bed and climbed over you. You swung blindly, thrashing around, throwing yourself away from him. He dragged you back by your leg, catching your arms and pinning them down above your head with one hand, his other one pinning your leg with such strength that you could not move a muscle. He put his leg over your other one, effectively cutting out all movement.

‘Are you finished?’ he asked, and you started screaming, calling for help, and you saw his lips tighten as he grabbed something from his pocket. His forehead cloth. He stuffed it in your mouth, leaning over to open the drawer of the nightstand. Rope. It was rope. You let out muffled grunts, writhing underneath him, but he tied your wrists to the headboard anyway. He pinned your legs down, taking another rope and tying your ankles to the foot of the bed.

Chrollo let out a sigh, impassively staring at you before he got up and lifted the armchair, setting it down next to the bed and sitting on it.

‘This would not have been necessary if you behaved. I advised you this would be the case, but I can see you want to be a brat. Very well then. One way or another, you will listen to me’ he said, and you stared at him with a mixture of hatred and terror, which he did not seem perturbed by.

‘My full name is Chrollo Lucilfer’ he said, looking at you, resting his elbows on his knees. You stared back, though your eyes were much harsher than his.

Chrollo Lucilfer. Assuming it was his family name was ludicrous. You wouldn’t be surprised if he actually did not even have parents and had just spawned from Satan himself.

‘I am not looking to kill or harm you in any way. In fact, it is quite the opposite. You see, I have nothing but the deepest devotion for you. I first caught a glimpse of you at that library you always used to visit on Saturdays a month ago, and came to realise you were the most captivating woman I had ever met. Your life was truly heart-rending, my love. Stuck in a miserable job undeserving of your talents and intellect, living in a dingy, unsafe neighbourhood, with mindless, mediocre acquaintances and no one to care for you or protect you... I had to intervene. You see, you are so oblivious, darling. This world is a very dangerous one for someone like you; you cannot hope to defend yourself. I had to take you with me, so that I could protect you. I would never be able to live with myself if something happened to you’ he said, his voice sickeningly soft, his big grey eyes making a mockery of fondness.

Something had happened to you. He had happened to you. And what were you going to do? What was there to do? He seemed... too strong. Maybe he wasn’t human, and he actually was Lucifer himself.

‘Now, I understand you may think me unfair for taking you from your life, but let me reassure you: your life with me will far exceed the quality of your previous one. Anything you want- except, of course, to run from me or see past acquaintances, I will give you. Whether it be food, books, paintings, jewellery... ask, and providing it will be my pleasure. You won’t have to live month to month, money will never be an issue for you ever again. Of course, I will also offer you any and all kind of affection and companionship your heart desires. I will take interest in your interests, and it would please me immensely if you did the same with mine. I can appreciate that this is a sudden change and we skipped some steps in our relationship, therefore, I will not force myself on you- unless, of course, you want me to. I can be patient, darling, because when we finally make love, I want it to be unforgettable’ he said, his voice slightly breathy as he uttered the last sentences.

You squirmed, biting hard around the cloth that smelled just like him, hoping your eyes would do the talking for you. Insane. He was crazy if he thought you would ever want him- anywhere near you. You would find a way out. If he thought he could make you into his meek little prisoner, he was sorely mistaken.

‘Do not glare at me like that, my love. It only makes you look more ravishing. Especially in such a compromising position- relax; I will not attempt to take you now. You are far too shaken as of now. Alas, there are also some rules to this new life, because I cannot trust you yet. First of all, do not attempt to run from me. I will find you, and when I do, the results will not be pretty. I will not physically harm you, but your acquaintances... well, I do not have any issues with paying them a visit. Secondly, I will be sleeping in this bed, and so will you. It’s an obvious step in our relationship, and I want to be able to hold you at night. My third rule is that were you to ask anyone for help, they would have to be disposed of. I would not be pleased’ he sighed, and you gulped, looking at him. Was he... a murderer? Would he kill your friends, your family?

‘My occupation will require us to move often, but I will make it as comfortable as possible for you. You don’t have to do anything. And I want to reiterate that I don’t expect you to be my maid. You are my woman, and you don’t have to clean or cook unless you feel like you want to. Of course, I would love it if you cooked a meal for us, but I can care after myself and you. Oh, and one last thing. I think it is quite clear now, but do not attempt to attack me. You won’t be able to injure me, and you will end up in this unfortunate position again. The time I will leave you like this will depend on how displeased I am with your attempt’ he said, running a hand through his hair and getting up.

Your eyes followed him, and you tried to process the delusional rant he’d gone on, but you struggled to think anyone could be so fucked up. He was... obsessed with you? Wanted you to be his girlfriend?

‘Now. It’s been more than twenty-two hours since I visited you at your house. You need to eat. I’m going to make you something quickly’ he said, walking out of the room, leaving you gagged and tied up on the bed.

Crazy. He was completely crazy. What if you had to go to the bathroom? And did he really think you were going to eat anything he gave you?

You were actually surprised to see him come back only ten minutes later holding a plate with a ham and cheese toastie. You eyed it suspiciously as he sat on the armchair and placed it on the nightstand, undoing the bindings on your hands. He removed your gag, and you coughed, wiping your lips and glowering at him.

‘Don’t do anything foolish, darling’ he said, taking the plate and putting it on your lap, staring at you intently as you gingerly took one half in your hands. You glanced at him. Like hell you trusted that.

You put it down, slamming it on the nightstand even though you were starving, not having eaten since lunch on Sunday.

‘It’s a normal sandwich. Eat it’ he said, smiling passively at you. A fake smile. You bristled.

‘Fuck you’ you hissed, but his smile did not waver.

‘Alright. You are suspicious of me, that is fair enough. Mhm. Wait here, darling’ he said, getting up and leaving the room once more.

Yeah, as if.

You went to undo the rope binding your feet, but found that from the neck down, you were completely paralysed. Nothing you did made you move. What had he done? You hadn’t eaten nor drank anything he’d given you. You could move just fine a second ago.

You were starting to panic when he came back and your body started working again, though you still felt weird.

He sat down, holding a knife and a pomegranate. Your brow furrowed, and you stared at him as he placed a bowl on his thigh and started cutting the pomegranate into sections.

‘If you cannot trust me to prepare a meal for you, at least have some fruit. Here, I am showing you the entire process. The knife doesn’t touch the fruit, it cuts into the surface of it. You can eat it with your hands, so you can be sure that you wouldn’t run into any issues. Is that enough for you?’ he asked, cutting the pomegranate into quarters like it was made of butter and splitting it apart with his hands, tapping the knife on the back to make the seeds fall into the bowl. You watched the whole process like a hawk, and he did not put anything on the seeds, nor did he touch them with his knife.

That should mean it was safe, right?

He discarded the shell of the pomegranate on the plate where the sandwich lay untouched, handing you the bowl. You stared at it, and then back at him, but he had already pulled out a book and opened it, flicking through the pages.

You narrowed your eyes, taking up a few seeds and eating them. They tasted so sweet. You wouldn’t tell him that, but pomegranates were one of your favourite fruits. It was one of those things where you liked them a lot, and yet, the hassle of peeling them always persuaded you not to have them.

‘Let me tell you a story, darling. It’s about Nen; I imagine you are not familiar with the term. Every human being possesses aura, but only a few of them can actually use it. I won’t make it complicated, but when aura is released and utilised, it can enhance physical attributes such as strength, speed, endurance, resistance and so on. When one masters Nen, they can develop abilities. There’s all kinds of fascinating abilities, but one must stay within the grounds of one’s own Nen category. Those are Enhancement, Transmutation, Conjuration, Emission, Manipulation and Specialisation. All of those grant different powers, such as Enhancers being able, for example, to make their blows much stronger and Conjurers being able to use objects they craft in their own mind. All of those, except for Specialists’ he said, going on a long-winded explanation that you wanted to not care about, but it was so odd and outlandish that you just had to listen.

Was he talking about superpowers? And that was real? Though it would explain the inhuman speed and strength he had...

You were almost finished with the pomegranate, and you were ashamed to say you wanted more, even though you would not ask.

‘I am a Specialist. That means I do not fit into any of the other categories, and my power is simply not clear-cut. Specialists have wildly diverging abilities, and mine is called Bandit’s Secret. Can you see this book I’m holding?’ he said, holding up the weird handprint book he had in his hands. Now that you thought about it, there was a sort of light around his hand, like a hazy shroud covering it.

‘You can, can’t you? That’s because I just forced you to release your aura, darling. When I went to get that pomegranate, I used one of my Nen abilities to paralyse your body. That triggered the release of your Nen. With Bandit’s Secret, I can steal other people’s Nen abilities and make them mine’ he said, flicking through the book. You stared at him, nonplussed.

So he had asshole superpowers. What a shock.

You couldn’t see what he could possibly mean to achieve by releasing your aura or whatever. You finished your pomegranate and put the bowl down on the nightstand.

‘’I happen to have an ability called Apple of the Gods. I stole it just for you, my dear. Are you familiar with the myth of Hades and Persephone? Legend goes that Hades happened to fall in love with Persephone, Demeter’s daughter and the goddess of spring, and he abducted her, taking her to the Underworld with him. There, Persephone happened to eat one of the pomegranates that grew there, and was thus trapped in Hades’ kingdom because she had eaten the food of the Underworld. She was subsequently allowed to spend six months with her mother, which is when spring and summer would return to the world of the living, and though she had been taken by Hades, with time, she came to love him and find joy in his companionship’ he said, smiling softly at you with those eerie grey eyes. Your terrified gaze lowered to your red stained fingers, to the shell of the pomegranate you had just eaten.

No, he was just being delusional. This was another tale of obsession to justify his actions to himself. It wasn’t real. It wasn’t possible.

‘This ability allows me to form a bond with any individual who willingly eats food I have offered them. With this bond, I can instantly tell where they are, at all times. So long as the target eats the food, and I reveal to them the workings of my ability, the bond will snap in place. Truly, darling, you are my Persephone. We cannot be separated’ he said, giving you that placid smile that made your head spin.

No, no, no.

It wasn’t real. It wasn’t- you would just throw up. Yes, you would vomit it. You jammed two fingers in your throat, pushing.

‘Oh, no you don’t’ you heard, and you were pinned down to the bed again, your hand pried from your mouth and slammed against the mattress. You yelped in pain, and the grip eased ever so slightly, still way too steely for you to even move.

‘Darling, darling... you are such a brat’ he crooned, dipping his head to press his lips on your cheek. You let out a strangled scream, turning your head, squirming underneath him as he kissed your jaw.

‘There. I’ll have to tie you up again, sweetheart. Just for a few hours, hm? And if you keep screaming, I’ll have to make you sleep again. You don’t want that, do you?’ he said softly, tying your wrists to the headboard again and lifting his head. Your eyes filled with tears, and you let out a strangled sob as teardrops trickled down your temples, dampening your hair.

‘Shh, shh, my love. It pains me to have to do this too, but with the way you’re behaving, how can I expect you to stay by my side? You’ll see it’s all worth it soon. I’ll make you so happy’ he shushed you, his thumb wiping your temples, his soft lips pressing again on your cheek, on your forehead.

Two days earlier, you would’ve felt butterflies in your stomach if he did that. Now, all you felt was revulsion, fear and hatred.

He gracefully got up, smiling down at you.

‘I have business to attend to. Be a good girl and wait for me to come back. If you don’t try to get out of those knots, I will untie you when I return’ he said, walking over to the wardrobe and getting another cloth, this time a white one, and wrapping it around his forehead.

He walked away, closing the bedroom door behind him and leaving you to let out your anguish.

Chrollo let out a soft sigh, smiling to himself as he parked the car in front of the house he had visited a mere week earlier. It had taken him an hour and a half to drive there, which meant it was almost midnight now. You didn’t need to know what he was doing. But he had held on to his resentment for long enough, and it need be dealt with.

A dull, mediocre detached house in a suburban neighbourhood equally average greeted him. He made quick work of picking the lock, slipping inside and smiling slightly as he eyed the landing in front of the door. Ahh. How should he do it? Quickly, as to not waste time and go back to his darling straightaway? Or slowly and painfully, as punishment for coveting you?

He walked up the stairs, following the sound of quiet snoring to a small, messy bedroom that smelled stuffy. He grabbed the man’s arm, throwing him into the corridor, where he landed against the wall, the sound of crunching like a symphony to his ears.

Too much strength, Chrollo thought, astounded by how weak civilians were. If he didn’t control his strength, he would die straightaway. After all, judging by his wailing and writhing, he must have broken a few vertebrae.

‘Stop screaming or I will take your tongue’ he said calmly, and the man looked at him, convulsing on the floor, sweat beading his reddened face. He was pleased to see he was cognisant and his legs were in a cast, and even more to see him tremble. He conjured his book, flicking through the pages. Indoor Fish, perhaps? No, not enough pain. Maybe he should have called Feitan.

‘Who... are you?’ the man gurgled, and Chrollo turned to him, still flicking through his book in search of the perfect ability.

‘A week ago, you had lunch with a woman and revealed to her you had wanted her for yourself in the past. You and I both know you still desire her. How could you not? She is truly delightful. However, that woman happens to belong to me. I saw the messages you sent her after that. Telling her you couldn’t help but wish you’d told her sooner. And just this morning, you wrote to her that you missed her, and asked her to go on a date with you. That is unacceptable. Thinking of you coveting her, imagining touching her with your filthy hands... it truly is unbearable. Therefore, I’m afraid I will have to kill you’ he said, going back to his Indoor Fish. After all, it was perfect to truly punish his mind for its filthy thoughts.

‘You’re insane! What- what have you done with her?’ the man stammered, and Chrollo sighed, his fish appearing around him.

‘That is none of your concern. All you need to know is that I can offer her what her heart desires. You, with your weakness and meagre intellect, your lack of insight into her and paltry excuse of affection... you could never be enough for her. I can protect her, cherish her, give her anything. And she is already mine’ he said, and watched as his fish ate part of his hand with impassive interest.

‘What’s happening?’ he screeched, looking at his hand, and Chrollo glanced at him, the corners of his lips tugging upward slightly.

‘Oh, my apologies. You cannot see Nen. There are two fish swarming you now. They are carnivorous creatures who enjoy the taste of human flesh. Whilst they feast on your body, you will not bleed nor will you feel any pain. Though your sanity may not survive the experience, your body will, until they disappear’ he explained, leaning against the doorframe of the bedroom, ‘see? Right about now, I believe one of them is about to take a bite of your calf. Fascinating, is it not?’

‘Please, let me live... I won’t think about her anymore- I won’t, you can have her!’ he started to cry, crawling on the ground. Chrollo lifted his chin, looking down at the maggot in front of him. How you could stand being around such a pitiful creature was beyond him. Perhaps, you had never had better. But you and Chrollo were perfect pieces of a puzzle, completing each other. You had made his heart beat again, given him long-forgotten emotions and breathed life into his soul. Now, he must also devote himself to you and repay the debt whilst keeping you with him. He knew you would help him find himself.

‘So this is the extent of your devotion to her. Pathetic. Is this what you call love?’ he asked, turning him on his stomach with his foot. One of the fish devoured his legs, and he looked at him, sobbing.

‘I don’t- love her... please, spare me... why can’t I feel anything? Where are... my legs?’ he asked dumbly. Chrollo clucked his tongue, already growing bored. He missed you. Perhaps he should cut this short.

‘Are you not listening to me, Hans? I think I have explained in detail what’s happening to you. Tell me, if I told you that the price for your life would be my beloved’s, the woman you claimed to love, would you allow me to kill her for you to live?’ he asked, turning the light on in the bedroom and going over to the nightstand, where a photo of you and Hans smiling was the centrepiece. Chrollo took it out of the frame, ripping Hans out of it and smiling at your smiling face.  One day, he knew you’d smile like that for him.

‘Yes! Yes, anything! Kill her, let me live- I don’t want to die, I don’t want to die’ sobbed Hans, and Chrollo sneered, mildly disgusted. He had seen humans curse their own kin under torture, but to think that it would take so little, and without any pain as well...

How could you have ever enjoyed his company? When he had no loyalty whatsoever? He took his phone out, texting Feitan. He should be close by, as he had asked him to be that morning.

‘How distasteful. Truly, Hans, you are making me feel glad I took her from people such as you. Apologies, I am just going to answer a quick call’ he said, answering the phone call.

‘What’s the job, Danchō?’ Feitan’s voice rang in his ear, and Chrollo smiled, twirling the picture of you in his fingers.

‘Hello, Feitan. I have a present for you. How long do you think you can keep someone alive after they have lost their legs and a hand? Oh, and their tongue, though I cauterised that one’ he asked, changing his power to his fire conjuring ability, carefully heating up his Ben’s Knife just as the fish disappeared and Hans started screaming and convulsing, staring at him with wide, terrified eyes. Chrollo pried his jaw open, cutting his tongue with the hot knife and cleaning the blood on his shirt before he ripped the sheets into bandages.  

‘If you stop the bleeding, they can last a few hours’ said Feitan on the line, and Chrollo tied the tourniquet around Hans’ thighs and wrist, gagging him for good measure. He’d heard enough out of him anyway.

‘Alright. I’ll send you the address. Be quick’ he said, ending the call and stepping over the puddle of blood on the linoleum to walk into the bathroom and wash his hands.

‘Don’t worry, Hans. My friend should be here in a few minutes. In the meantime, try to stay alive, won’t you?’ he said, closing Bandit’s Secret and letting it disappear.

‘Personally, I am particularly fond of her smile. That she would smile at you, laugh at any tawdry joke that you may come up with... it is quite irritating. I’m sure you don’t understand. Your love for her is a mere façade, is it not? Does it make you feel better about yourself to associate with someone far superior than you are? Though even she must have found you lacking. I’m now quite certain it was only her kindness that allowed her to nurture a friendship with you’ he mused, thinking you must truly be cantankerous by now. Poor girl, he’d left you tied up for hours now. He would be home soon, though. He could not wait to fall asleep next to you.

It took Feitan only ten minutes to arrive, and when he did, Chrollo called to him to come upstairs, where he lifted an eyebrow, looking down at Hans.

‘Who is he?’ he asked, and Chrollo smiled at him, straightening up and starting to descend the stairs.

‘Someone who was in my way. Do what you want with him. Text me when he dies. That’s all’ he said, closing the front door behind him and getting in his car.

When he got home, he was pleased to see you had made no attempts to free yourself, and your eyes were overflowing with rage and only a hint of fear when he walked in, though they were raw and puffy. Ahh, you were filled with so much more fire than your friend was. He was truly undeserving of you.

‘Let me undo these, darling. You must be so sore’ he said, undoing the bindings and cradling you in his arms, kissing the top of your hair, inhaling the sweet, floral scent of it as you thrashed in his hold.

‘There. You’ll behave now, won’t you? Let me make you some food. You must be starving. Please, feel free to use the bathroom whilst I’m in the kitchen. But don’t try to lock yourself in there to hide from me. If you do, I’ll have to take away the lock’ he said, smiling at you. You pressed your pretty lips together, saying nothing as you pushed him away and walked over to the bathroom, slamming the door behind you.

Chrollo sighed, getting up and walking over to the kitchen, opening the fridge and cutting up some vegetables. He was happy to hear the bathroom door open a mere ten minutes after he left you in the bedroom, and you appeared in front of him not long after.

‘Hello, darling. I am making stir fry noodles, I know you like that. Don’t worry, I have no reason to poison them. I’ll even eat some from your plate to prove it. And as far as it concerns the pomegranate earlier, it’s been digested already, so throwing up is useless, and so is refusing this food. If you do refuse it, I will have no choice but to force feed you. Your choice’ he said, watching you seethe with a placid smile. Now that he had taken care of your pathetic friend and was back with you, he was feeling much better.

‘I hate you’ you said hoarsely, and Chrollo pushed the vegetables in the pan, washing the knife and putting it back in the drawer that he locked with Nen.

‘For now’ he replied smoothly, starting to heat up the vegetables and grabbing a packet of egg noodles from the fridge.

‘I’ll always hate you’ you continued, balling up your small, delicate hands into fists as you stood in front of the breakfast bar. Chrollo gave you a sly smirk.

‘We’ll see, dearest’ he said simply, grabbing chopsticks and plates and setting them at the table. He poured you a glass of water from the tap, putting it on the table.

‘Please, sit. It will be ready in a few minutes’ he said, watching as you swallowed and eyed the water greedily, deciding to choose your battles wisely and sit down, avidly gulping down the tall glass of water he had poured you.

Chrollo smiled, filling up a jug with more water and setting it in front of you. You drank again, and he went back to put the noodles in the pan, grabbing some chopsticks and stirring them.

When it was ready, he put a generous amount in your plate, and the rest in his, setting down the pan and sitting down.

‘So, what will it be, darling?’ he asked, watching with great interest as your shoulders hunched and quivered just before you glowered at him.

‘Stop calling me that. I’m not your darling, or any of the sick pet names you’re throwing at me’ you snarled, and Chrollo tilted his head, starting to eat.

‘Well, actually, you are my darling. You are the dearest person to me, my beloved, and my love. Therefore, whether you agree with my usage of them or not, they are true, accurate representations of my feelings. Besides, watching your reaction to them is quite endearing. Your anger is quite sweet, darling’ he drawled, relishing in teasing you, seeing that cute expression on your face when your eyebrows lowered and your mouth twisted into an angry pout.

Getting a reaction out of you was all he wanted, whatever it was. He was a patient man, he could wait for your smiles and soft eyes. For now, he was amused by how much they burnt with rage. It was fascinating to see someone so emotional, so affected by anything he might say or do.

‘Will you eat, or will I have to make you?’ he pressed after a few seconds, and he thought you might break the chopsticks from the tight hold you had on them, but you did start to eat. Satisfied, Chrollo went back to his meal.

‘I’m going to get you some clothes and books tomorrow. For now, you can wear one of the outfits I got from your house. Unless, of course, you don’t want to. I’m not opposed to you wearing nothing. Quite the opposite, actually’ he continued, riling you up, watching you take the bait so, so easily.

‘Fuck you’ you snarled again. It was impressive how quickly you had discarded your fear of him in favour of boldness. It was thrilling to have someone outside of the Spider who wasn’t afraid of him.

‘If you insist, darling’ he taunted with a smirk, letting out a soft laugh at your sneer.

Despite your misgivings, you finished all your food, and Chrollo got up, putting the plates in the dishwasher and going over to you. You immediately got up, putting the table between your bodies.

‘I have left toiletries for you in the bathroom. Let me get you a change of clothes, my love’ he said, walking over to the bedroom and stepping into the closet, retrieving a clean change of clothes from the things he’d taken from your house. Sadly, he had only found one set of pyjamas he liked: it was a black T-shirt and matching black shorts, which would no doubt make your legs look amazing. He could hardly wait.

He handed them to you as you stood near the bedroom door, possibly wanting to avoid losing sight of him. How sweet, he thought.

‘I’m not wearing that’ you hissed, grimacing at the shorts he’d handed you.

‘You prefer just wearing the shirt? Let me take these back, then’ he said, taking the shorts from you, but your eyes widened and you pulled on them, snatching them from his hand, making him chuckle.

‘Just as I thought. Don’t worry, I won’t walk in the bathroom as you change. Your privacy in there is yours, so long as you do not decide to hide there’ he said, and you chewed on your bottom lip, cautiously closing the bathroom door behind you.

He took the opportunity to change and brush his teeth in the main bathroom, going back to the bedroom to see you standing in front of the window. He sighed, his eyes raking down your lovely figure, taking in the length of your legs and thighs. He wanted to run his hands on your soft skin, kiss them, grip them until you whimpered...

Chrollo closed the bedroom door with Nen once again, not wanting you to avoid him any longer. He’d missed you, wanted you for too long to lose any more precious moments. He walked over to you, catching you when you tried dodging him and stepping away.

‘Darling, it’s time for bed now. Remember, I said we’d sleep together. You don’t have to worry, I won’t touch you inappropriately’ he said, lifting you up when you started to try to wrench yourself from him and carrying you over to the bed. He flung the covers away, lying down with you, holding you to him. Your little punches and kicks felt like nothing against him, and he smiled, wrapping his arms around you more tightly, revelling in the warmth and feel of your body even as you yelled and cursed at him.

‘Darling, if you don’t stop yelling, I’ll kiss you’ he said, and you shut up immediately, making him chuckle. Though you continued hitting him.

Chrollo patiently waited until you were done with your futile attempt, and after about fifteen minutes, you were panting, your blows nothing more than taps now.

‘There. I hope it’s out of your system now’ he said, turning you to spoon you. You squirmed weakly, but it did not last long. Soon, exhaustion caught up with you, and you fell asleep.

Chrollo left your side to pull the blanket over the both of you, draping an arm around your waist and kissing your shoulder, stroking your hair gently.

‘Tomorrow will be easier for you, my love. And you will seek out my embrace in no time, I can assure you’ he said softly, closing his eyes and letting himself feel at peace with you. As it was meant to be.

Chapter III

[m00nsbaby]

Why won't you love me?

Steven x F!Reader.

Tags & warnings. Mentions of Marc x reader, unrequited love, angst.

Word count. 2.3

Summary.

You say you can't wait and need to make a change, You told me it's so hard to be lonely. Why won't you love me? We're together, all alone tonight, So helpless from the other side, So why won't you love me? Can you tell me why, my love? Can you tell me why?

Steven really can't remember the last time he was happy.

Truly happy.

Last week, he felt joyful when he finally got a book he had been searching for a long time. This week, he watched a documentary about world history that made him smile, but he never went beyond fleeting moments of mild joy.

He knew well that joy and happiness were immensely different things.

And the thing was, Steven Grant not only carried the weight of a life filled with gaps or being Marc's protective cushion for any trauma he had to face; the universe thought it would be funny to add unrequited love to the mix.

"Hey." His stomach fluttered when you looked at him. Under his breath, he played with his sleeves that were longer than his arms.

You smiled back at him.

"Steven." You were resting on his couch after spending the night with Marc. You were wearing his t-shirt, and the neckline was so loose that he could see the marks on your neck.

His stomach churned.

"I don't know why… I thought Marc…" He stammered. "I'm sorry."

"Why?"

"Because Marc isn't here."

You laughed, but the furrowed brow in your expression revealed your confusion. Steven was used to people looking at him like that.

As if no one could understand him.

"Steven." The way your name rolled off your tongue stole his breath. "Don't apologize; it's your body too. If anything, forgive me for invading your space."

"I like having you here."

And you didn't say more; you just kept smiling and turned your attention back to the TV.

It wasn't that you didn't have affection for Steven; it was impossible not to love him, but you were aware of his feelings. You knew that if you made a wrong move, he would take it the wrong way. You would never forgive yourself for giving him false hope.

Nevertheless, he thought all night about how you let him sit next to you on the couch to eat his cereal, even allowing your feet to touch his leg.

The bond strengthened gradually, with small gestures that unfortunately never went beyond Steven's eye.

When Marc started to be in charge more often, Steven asked you in an extremely intimate way to take care of Gus now that he found it easier to lose track of time.

"You're the best." His cheeks were flushed when he handed you the chocolates with a name in a language you didn't even recognize.

"Steven, you don't have to thank me." You laughed as your arms wrapped around him for a few seconds. A friendly hug, such an immediate response that receiving a gift and thanking with a big hug seemed like muscle memory to you. "It's nothing."

Not to mention the times you organized his apartment, and more importantly, his books.

The way you cared for him and welcomed him every time your paths crossed always made him feel… important, special. Appreciated, perhaps was the word he was looking for.

Spending time with him was for you like spending time with your boyfriend's younger brother, although your time with Marc was sacred, so your encounters with Steven were very limited.

"Sorry," was the first thing he whispered as he blinked to adjust to the lighting of the place.

You and Marc had taken a nap on the carpet in your room, and your body felt numb, a switch with Steven had probably been triggered by a bad dream. His heart nearly stopped when he felt your fingers intertwined with his.

"Don't apologize, Steven," you repeated for the thousandth time, your eyes still half-closed as you stretched.

You assumed that both of you would go back to sleep when the silence lingered, but it was interrupted a few minutes later by the boy clearing his throat.

"I'm not sleepy."

And you laughed.

"Do you want to play Jenga?"

And in less than 10 minutes, both of you were sitting on the carpet, face to face with the wooden pieces in between.

"Truth or dare?"

"Truth."

"Have you ever been drunk?" Yes, you had spent the same 10 minutes asking Steven how many of Marc's experiences he had lived firsthand.

There weren't many, to be honest.

"Never." And he pulled out his piece. "Truth or dare?"

"Truth."

"Do you… Do you see yourself with Marc in the future?"

The question made you smile, partly out of tenderness, partly because the idea certainly caught your attention.

"Of course I do, sweetheart." Ouch.

And you pulled out your piece.

"Truth or dare?"

"Dare."

"Take a shot. Whatever you want." And it was that small action that triggered a horrible butterfly effect for Steven.

The night went well; you could safely say that you played for at least two hours because even though Steven hadn't consumed alcohol, Marc's body was more than accustomed to the delightful burn of the liquid running down his throat.

You continued until both were giggling and flushed from the warmth provided by the whiskey.

"Truth or dare?"

"Truth."

"Have you kissed anyone before?"

Steven momentarily thought he hadn't heard you correctly.

"Huh?" His heart had done a 360° flip. "No, never."

And maybe it was the alcohol, but you felt disgustingly sorry for him. It wasn't fair that he was living his life this way, through someone else.

He looked at you, expectantly, as if the idea had caused one of those cartoonish lightbulbs to appear and light over your head.

You moved a bit closer to him, and he did the same, his body pushing the Jenga tower until it undid hours of work. Both of you stared at it for a few seconds before returning to what you were doing.

He was the first to close his eyes on instinct, and when he was just millimeters away, you took a moment to analyze his features.

It was fascinating how Steven and Marc looked so different even though they shared the same body. Steven's features appeared relaxed, without Marc's tense jaw or furrowed brow. Your fingers caressed his cheek, and like a puppy seeking affection, he leaned his head into your touch.

One more nudge, and you kissed his lips. Slow, soft, careful to let him set his own pace. The pace of someone who didn't know how to kiss back.

His hand, like muscle memory, went to your neck, his thumb tracing your jawline slowly, and all you could think was that no one had ever been so gentle with you. It was the slight pressure on your neck that made you react and pull away.

You did your best to forget it, but Steven thought about it every night that came after that.

Of course, after that, your relationship changed for the worse, and your encounters became even more limited by your choice.

"I saw it on my way here from work." Steven was offering you a beautiful yellow flower, one of those that seem to be taken from a magazine.

You half-smiled, taking the flower and examining it more closely.

"Thank you, Steven." There was no hug, and there probably wasn't a genuine smile.

You didn't exchange words with him for the rest of the day, but he watched from the headspace as you returned to Marc's arms when he took charge again.

That smile that was never directed at him, and that warm touch he would never feel while in control of the body.

Marc felt a lump in his throat, wondering why he suddenly felt so sentimental, without even imagining that Steven's broken heart was starting to overflow everywhere in a way that he no longer had control over.

Steven never liked being looked at with pity. That's what Marc's expression on the other side of the mirror screamed.

"I can't do anything about it, buddy."

Perhaps the most painful part of accepting his feelings for you was having to deal with the idea that Marc explained to him that it wouldn't bother him at all if he were involved in the relationship, but the problem was that you weren't interested at all.

"I don't understand." His voice choked, and Marc could only feel that pressure in his chest when you don't know how to help someone you care about. "I don't like being alone, Marc."

He finally sobbed, lowering his head and letting the tears freely run down his face.

"You're not alone, Steven."

"You know what I mean." And he did, but it was a topic he didn't even know how to address. It hurt him, but he couldn't force you to reciprocate.

In fact, he didn't even feel comfortable playing the friend who speaks well of you to matchmake. There was no way he wanted to get involved in that way.

"I love her." He whispered, his chest undergoing small contractions from the force of his tears. "I love her, Marc."

"I know." That was all he could say.

And although Marc didn't know how to comfort him, the worst part was when he was alone.

There was nothing that terrified Steven more than being alone, which is curious because most of his memories are of him being alone, except for his weekly calls to his mother.

His fingers brushed against your side of the bed as he wondered if someday he would have the privilege of being the one to wrap his arms around you to sleep. If someday he could feel your warmth closer to him than usual.

Tears never took long to come when he imagined himself in Marc's place.

This time he let them flow without protest, and all he could think was that his body was too emotionally drained to sob, scream, or do anything other than cry and hug his pillow, begging for this nightmare to end.

Would he ever have something that made him happy? Could he ever taste what emotional peace is like?

Although that distant future mattered little to him as his body curled up on the bed, exerting force on his pillow until his arms hurt. His love for you was killing him.

Or maybe, he had invested so much emotionally in you that he didn't realize he wasn't dependent on you. That if he wasn't happy like this, then something as trivial as having you wouldn't give him what he was searching for.

Life always dealt him bad hands; he had realized that a long time ago. But right now, on a Wednesday night, it only confirmed his theory of terrible luck.

Your legs were up on the couch, and the only thing illuminating the dark apartment was the TV light over both of you.

As it turned out, Marc had fallen asleep with his head in your lap. Your right hand had your fingers intertwined with his over his chest; you could comfortably feel it rise and fall with his breathing. Your left hand had been hidden in his curls for quite a while now.

Steven woke up, but he didn't open his eyes when he became aware of the situation, even though it hurt his heart.

Your fingers were so delicate that they gave him shivers, and without letting go of you, he slowly turned so that he was facing the TV. You took it as an insignificant movement; Marc always did it while he slept.

"I love you," you whispered when you felt him relax again. You placed a kiss on his shoulder and returned your attention to the screen.

Steven could only think that he didn't want the night to end. He wanted to stay there for life if that were possible.

In his throat burned the thought that it would be Marc who would wake up in that same position in a few hours, and he was terrified that this might be the most he could get from you, and he was sure that it would happen.

You didn't feel Steven's tears on you; you were too focused on the TV to think about anything other than maybe Marc was relaxed enough to drool on you.

"Can we talk?"

"I'd prefer that we didn't, Steven."

He swallowed hard, and you continued to pour your cup of coffee without looking at him.

"Please, just…"

The cup slammed onto the kitchen counter, and he jumped in surprise when you finally raised your gaze to him.

"No, Steven. There's nothing to talk about." You couldn't bear to listen to him; you had been avoiding it for a long time to avoid dealing with this.

The idea of having to finish breaking his heart made you feel like vomiting, but slowly you were starting to feel cornered by the situation.

"Don't do it, please." Your voice broke when you saw tears fill his eyes. He was trembling, and you didn't know if it was because of the multitude of emotions he had pent up inside him or if he was starting to fear your increasingly agitated reactions.

You didn't want to hurt him, but you had a limit that was slowly breaking.

"I'm not interested, Steven." He remained silent, looking at you with a pout that was probably impossible to resist. "I never was."

Maybe this was what he needed to open his eyes, to understand that you were doing this for his own good.

"I l-love you, I really do." He stammered. He had a whole list of things he wanted to say to you, but his brain simply refused to express itself confidently when he noticed how angry you seemed.

Your eyes were filled with tears now too.

"You don't, Steven." You had to take a breath to keep from shouting. "You don't even know me; we haven't even spent a full day together. Do you understand that?"

He nodded slowly. The slow movement finally allowed tears to flow freely down his face.

"I love Marc."

After those words, both Steven and you stopped hearing each other. You both muttered meaningless things while you hurried to the bedroom to get dressed, with Steven walking behind you trying to convince you.

Not having space for yourself was suffocating you, and you rushed out of the apartment, with the image of Steven, sweet, sweet Steven, crying as if he had suffered the worst loss of his life, etched in your mind.

[streamingcolors-gvf]

Skin Deep- Part 9- 2/2

Pairing: Josh Kiszka x f!reader x Jake Kiszka

Word count: 7k

A/N: Thank you all for being so patient with me getting this out. I apologize it being in two parts, but there was a lot more detail I wanted to add. I apologize for any editing mistakes.

Feeding the Jake girlies again!

Hope y’all enjoy!

As always, I appreciate all the love, feedback and support from you guys

Warnings: cursing, sexually explicit content 18+ - MINORS DNI!! (Oral m!receiving, oral f!receiving, edging, dirty talk, toys, sq*irting)

Masterpost, Part 9 1/2

“Ready as I’ll ever be,” you sigh. 

“That’s the spirit,” he chuckles softly, causing the calming sound to vibrate against you. His laughter is quickly becoming something you crave. He releases his hold around your waist and gives your asscheek a playful squeeze. “Go ahead and eat and I’ll grab that numbing cream for you.”

You stand there as he breaks away from you, watching him shuffle through the trays of his black tool chest in his station. “You don’t have to.”

Drawer after drawer he searches, sifting through its contents while explaining over his shoulder, “Shading and color work is arguably more painful than the linework, dove. I want you to be as comfortable as possible.”

You chuckle, sitting down on the couch to open up your to-go container of food. “Here I thought you were some kind of sadist that gets off on causing me pain.”

He’s half-turned away from you on his swivel chair, but you can see the smirk playing on his face. “Not this kind.”

His comeback makes your face flush with heat. The thought permeates, rendering you silent for a minute, trying to find something to say while you pop open the to-go lid to your noodles. “I would ask you to elaborate but your answer might scare me.”

He turns on his chair to face you, showing you a confused expression. “Scare you? I highly doubt that.”

You meet his gaze for a split-second before dropping your eyes to the floor as you admit sheepishly, “You make me nervous, Jake. You must know that.”

It’s cathartic, confessing how much he truly affects you. You wait for his reaction, expecting a witty remark thrown your way. But when too much time passes, it sends anxiety through you like an incoming wave of nausea. You glance up, catching a flash of uncertainty cross his features before seeing his face contort into a look of concern. 

For a brief moment, you see his exterior crack, revealing a glimpse of the same vulnerable man you saw hours ago laid before you. The light has dimmed, and a switch has been flipped between you. Something you said clearly bothers him, and you wish for nothing more than to peek inside his mind and decipher those thoughts. 

Instead of giving you a hint at what he’s thinking, he turns away with the stiffest movements.  He deflates, asking in a voice heavy with defeat,  “Am I too much for you?” 

“What do you mean?”

He pauses, eyes scanning over his workstation while he decides what to say next. He eventually sighs as he stands to his feet, gathers a pair of gloves, the cling-wrap, and the tube of numbing cream in hand, and walks over to you. “The way you left…last time,” He trails off and clears his throat. “Am I too…aggressive?”

“No!” You blurt out, piecing together what he’s shown you. The guilt reappears like an old friend. “No. I really like that with you.” The words feel innocent enough, but the implication behind them makes you flustered. 

He sets the supplies down on the table and lowers himself to his knees. “My goal is not to scare you or upset you like that, dove. I just gotta know that you’re okay…after.”

You hang onto every word. There’s seriousness in his tone, but he sounds far from angry with you. “Okay, you’re right. I’m sorry.”

He responds to your apology with a closed-lip smile and reaches out to give your knee a reassuring squeeze. “You have nothing to be sorry for.”

You want to kiss him, to take his hand from your leg and pull him into you. Forget the tattoo and just have him fuck you right here and now. You imagine it, and nearly lose yourself in the fantasy. He breaks your daydreaming with a pat on your thigh. “Let’s get this on you.”

While he pulls on a pair of gloves, you stand from the couch and come to the realization that you have nothing underneath the borrowed sweatpants. “Uh… slight problem.”

“What?”

You laugh nervously, hooking the band of the pants to expose your bare hip to him. “I didn’t wear any underwear here.”

His eyes widen and his brows jump into his hairline, staring at you in silent awe as a grin spreads across his lips. “Good thing we’re alone, huh?”

“You want me to Winnie-the-Pooh-it in here?”

A giggle breaks free — a real, genuine unfiltered laugh. Hearing it for the first time feels surreal. The way it sounds just like Josh’s catches you by surprise somehow. “Fucking right.” With a gloved finger, he gestures to you to pull them down. “Let’s go.”

You shouldn’t feel this bashful about undressing in front of him. He’s seen you naked more times than you can count, but somehow a blush blooms up your chest into your cheeks. You shimmy the sweatpants down, letting the loose fabric collect around your ankles. 

Unlike the first time you met him, his eyes linger on your body — the part of your body that’s inches from his face. After a few beats of time, he looks away and grabs the small tube off the table, squeezes out a liberal amount of cream onto his fingers, and starts applying it onto your thigh. It’s a thick layer, covering the entirety of your unfinished tattoo. You’re so focused on what his hands are doing, that you’ve completely forgotten about your meal that’s getting colder by the second. 

He then takes the cling film and starts wrapping your upper leg. Staying true to his professionalism, he’s meticulous and thorough, making sure to secure it tight enough that it doesn’t come undone. It’s intimate with how his fingers graze between your thighs and hip. 

He lets out a satisfied sigh, “Alright, so we’ll keep this on for about an hour and then get started.” 

“An hour?” 

“Yeah.” He peels off his gloves and picks up your sweatpants to carefully pull them over the cling wrap. “Gives enough time for the cream to absorb into the skin. Since I’m not worried about a stencil, it can sit while I get set up.” You nod along even though he’s working on cleaning off the coffee table. He notices your food and nudges the plastic tray toward you. “Eat.”

“Yes, sir,” you tease with an unquestionable air of sarcasm. 

He turns on his heels as soon as you say it, shooting you a fiery look that says “You’re going to pay for that later”.  You can’t help but laugh and salute him, which only makes him roll his eyes at you. 

He retreats to his corner of the room, and you eat your stir-fried noodles with the uncomfortable crinkle of saran wrap against your skin. Just as he would for any other client, he goes on to set up for your tattoo. You’re becoming familiar with the steps, all the things Josh had done with your chest piece. They share similarities in their process, the only difference being Jake using a traditional coil machine instead of Josh’s handheld one. 

You feel the urge to fill the silence with small talk, but you manage to suppress it by scrolling away on your phone. With Josh, he would have been chattering away, leaving small opportunities for you to get a word in. Thinking of him, you check your messages to see if he replied. 

You finally set your phone down and finish up the last bit of your noodles. Jake has been busy working in silence, listening and nodding along to the music playing softly around him.

Once the hour timer goes off, he helps unwrap the clingfilm from your leg. He wipes it down and sanitizes the area. The steps are the same as the last time you got tattooed by him, minus the addition of numbing cream and the use of a stencil.   

After you settle into a comfortable position on the prepped table, he lets you control the Bluetooth to the music you like and starts the process. The fact that you don’t have underwear on becomes an insignificant detail as soon as the machine makes contact. You watch him pass the ink-dipped needles in tiny circles across your flesh, deep in concentration. Minutes go by, and you feel more compelled than ever to ask him questions, enticing him to reveal little bits of information about himself you have yet to learn. He seems quieter than the first time he tattooed you, but the hold of his fingers on your leg feels far more affectionate. It makes you believe that you’re not just a client, you’re someone he cares deeply about.  

You’ve tried your best, but a question that’s been eating away at you for days finally slips out. “So, is everything okay between you and Josh?”

“Okay?” He pulls the needle away from your skin, seemingly taken aback by your question.“Like talking and shit?” You nod, making him ask again, “Yeah, why?”

You chew at the inside of your cheek, questioning whether you should venture further into the topic. “I dunno. He seemed pretty pissed at you the other day,” you start, gauging his reaction before continuing. “And I haven’t seen you guys together since everything happened. Things just seem tense since… yeah.”

The needle makes contact again, punching the pockets of ink deep into your flesh, making you wince. “Yeah, we’re good. I don’t think we would be good at living together or running our own business if we let all of your disagreements get in the way.”

You hum, but you’re not convinced. The skeptical look you give him makes him snort a laugh. “We’re twins, dove. I understand him a lot better than you think.” 

You stretch to lay back, trying to focus your attention on anything other than the fact your numbing cream is starting to wear off. “Bizarre to think you were a single cell at one point.” 

“Don’t remind me,” he groans with faux annoyance and the loud buzzing from the machine takes over. “He did tell me that you talked.”

You wonder how that conversation played out between them. “We did.” When he doesn’t ask a follow-up question, you fill in, “How are you feeling about it?”

“How do I feel about it?” 

You sit up so you can look at him. “Yeah.”

He straightens and lets out a heavy breath, like the thought has been weighing on him as well. “Listen, if the decision about being exclusive or not was up to me? I’m not fucking sharing you. Plain and simple. Even with him.” He breaks eye contact with you, dropping his focus to your swollen leg. “And we both know that’s not happening. So that’s a decision left to you.” He glances up, catching your stunned expression. “And that’s what it seems like he’s done. Leave it up to you.” 

“Oh…” 

You’re not sure what to say to him. While the honesty is something you appreciate, the sting from the edge of his tone remains. There’s a bitterness in his voice that you can’t quite place. You’ve been convincing yourself all day that you’re getting closer to him, even if it’s baby steps, but this feels like another wall — another way for him to have his guard up with you. 

You retreat into your thoughts and slump back against the table. Before the machine makes contact with your skin again, his other hand squeezes around your calf. The way his gloved thumb rolls across the skin is meant to be comforting. 

He checks in with you every ten to fifteen minutes to alleviate the tension. Your answers are short, but not angry. All you can do is lay here going over his words in your head as the pain comes through with a vengeance.

He reads your body language, taking the signs that he needs to finish up sooner rather than later. The final passes of the needle feel like a hot scrape of a blade, nearly sending you over the edge. You couldn’t be more grateful for the cool water soothing over your raw skin.

“Wanna see?” He asks after gently patting you dry, bringing you out of the dark corner of your mind. You nod, and with his help, you’re able to sit up to see the final design. 

“Oh my god, Jake,” you gasp in shock, turning your leg side to side to admire it fully. It goes beyond your vision, exceeding all expectations you could have ever had. He brought your idea to life. Intricate details now fill in the spaces that were left from the last time. It’s feminine, decorating and accentuating the curvature of your body. You realize within seconds of its value, knowing that he could charge you at least a thousand dollars for this piece. “It’s so beautiful. Thank you.”

Your praise brings out a boyish innocence within him. As soon as the words leave your lips, his shoulders relax and a wave of relief washes over him. You ask him to take a picture to send to Josh since your phone is tucked away in your bag. He applies ointment and wraps the clear Saniderm in the same way he did last time.

You leave him to clean up and close down his station for tomorrow, making it look as though the two of you were never here. He ties the final knot in the garbage bag, calling out to you from across the room, “Do you have to go by the house for anything before I drop you off?”

Hooking your bag over your shoulder, you spin around to face him. “Drop me off?”

He shuffles over to you, bag in hand. “Uh…yeah.” He’s been trying to read you, but your body language right now is telling a different story, causing awkwardness to settle in the space between you. You can’t help but note how he feels so far away despite the fact he’s only a few from you. He then clears his throat and scratches the back of his neck.  “I just thought you might want some time to yourself tonight.”

“I don’t.” Your response clips the air with a harshness you didn't intend. Hurt resurfaces and tries to sour your mood, but the last thing you want is to leave the night off on a bad note. You don’t want your time with him to end, making you ask, “Would you come back to my place with me?”

You look up at him, gauging what his response is going to be. You brace for him to decline your offer, only to be surprised when a smile creeps across his face again. “Are you inviting me to your apartment, dove?”

You don’t even bother holding back a smile of your own. Making your way toward the stairs, you throw your back to make him chase you, “Yes.”

Bringing a man back to your place at night is an entirely different game. You felt nervous showing Josh your apartment days ago, but Jake on your heels as you ascend the creaky staircase makes your heart thump so wildly against your chest you’re scared you might have a heart attack. 

The fluorescent light, a bulb that probably hasn’t been replaced for decades — so old you can see the collection of insects that have made their way inside the glass — flickers above you. 

The atmosphere in here is eery — reminiscent of a scene straight out of a horror movie— and Jake is quick to pick up on it. “I’m not going to get murdered or anything, right?”

You laugh, looking over your shoulder to see him standing one step behind you. “I think I’m supposed to be the one asking you that.”

“That would be a rookie move for a killer,” he says, matter-of-factly between heavy breaths.

You finally reach the landing and turn to face him. “Would it?”

You strike a curious brow, making him pause and lean an elbow against the railing. “It would.” He takes the moment to look around, take in the finer details, and gesture to the stagnant air with an open hand. “I don’t know the layout of your apartment, escape routes, where to get rid of a body…when your roommate is going to be home.”

You hum, giving him a more than amused look. “I’m impressed. You seem well-versed in the topic of murder.”

He chuckles an airy laugh through his nose. Despite the topic, it’s that persuasive smile that’s going to be the death of you. “I’ve seen my fair share of true crime documentaries, dove.”

As silly as it is, you’re thankful that you’ve both loosened up enough to have this banter. Imagining him binging crime documentaries instead of cooking shows, you take the next step up the second flight of stairs. “Well, I’ll try not to be disturbed by the fact you’ve taken notes.”

“Don’t lie and say it hasn’t made you wet thinking about it.” He says it so boldly, loud enough that you’re positive that the sound carried through the walls into your neighbor's apartment. 

You’re blushing and flustered as you search for your key on the metal ring. “Horned up about you being a murderer?”

He presses himself against you, close enough to speak softly into your ear, “What a plot twist that would be.” His hand finds your untattooed hip, making you rock back into him. “Sounds kind of hot, right?”

You know he can feel you grinning like an idiot. He lowers his voice, teasing you with a certain rasp that makes your spine tingle, “Women love being scared.”

You giggle, thinking about the weird looks you’re going to get from your neighbor the next time you cross paths. With the warmth of his breath ticking the back of your neck, you unlock the deadbolt and doorknob. You break the seal of the door, and step in, ushering him to follow. His movements are cautious and quiet, maybe even borderline slightly uncomfortable.

“Don’t worry. My roommate isn’t home,” you reassure while shrugging off your jacket and bag onto the chair.

He relaxes enough to pull off his own jacket. “Good to know.” You take it from him to hang on the hook, watching as he looks at the space around him. “I’m not gonna lie…I was beginning to worry walking up, but you have a nice place here.”

Before you can thank him, you’re interrupted by a welcoming chirp from Tater Tot, a sound that tells you that he missed you. There’s never a worry in your mind about his food and water always being topped off. Your roommate, Haley, spoils him as if he was her own. He’s well cared for, but time away from him has been an adjustment. You’ve never spent more than a couple of hours away from him at a time. 

You smile when you hear the hefty thud of his paws hitting the linoleum floor in the kitchen. Within seconds, you see him come from around the corner and trot toward you and Jake. “The famous Tater Tot. I’ve heard a lot about you, big guy,” Jake chimes with a level of excitement that surprises you. You give him a puzzled look, eliciting an explanation. “Josh. He wouldn’t shut up about your damn cat at work all week.”

“Why am I not surprised?” You huff and laugh, watching Tater Tot slowly approach Jake’s leg to give it a testing sniff before rubbing his face across it. 

Jake’s face lights up from the feline’s acceptance, and lowers to a crouching position to give him a few careful pets. 

After the cat darts off back to his spot on the counter, Jake takes the chance to meander further into the living room, leaving you by the front door. He’s quiet, letting his eyes lead the way around the small room. 

The need to say something takes over. “I know it’s not as nice as your place. Yeah, the building is old as shit, but the rent is controlled and dirt cheap for this part of town. I can’t complain too much.” You’re rambling, throwing anything out there to fill the silence. He listens, glancing over the framed artwork and posters adorning your walls. “I think Haley and I have done a pretty good job at making it comfortable.”

He pivots on his heel, giving you a soft smile. “It’s lovely. It feels like you.”

The compliment swims around in your head. It isn’t flashy or showy, but your apartment feels like home. Admittedly, it’s taken you a while to get there on a barista budget, but the humble space is more than you could’ve asked for.

“Thank you.” You’re suddenly hit with the feeling that you’re being a terrible host, making you offer, “Can I get you anything? Something to drink? I can make some food if you want...”

He smirks to himself as he makes his way past the bookshelf filled with novels and knick-knacks. “You don’t have to entertain me, dove.” 

“I know. You’re right.”

He rocks on his heels, giving you a reassuring smile. “I’m okay. Really.”

You chew on your lip for a few seconds but ultimately bite the bullet. “I’m gonna jump in the shower and change out of these clothes really quick.”

“Take your time.” 

Showering at the twins’ house has been a treat the past few weeks. You’ve been pampered by the spacious walk-in enough to realize how much you’ve been missing it with your own. 

You step into the ancient clawfoot tub and draw a shower curtain that lets more water onto the floor than keeps in. There’s no point in bothering with waiting for the water to warm up. It takes ages to get the right temperature. You’ve learned the hard way that it can go from scalding, melt-your-skin-right-off hot to frigid in a matter of seconds — and that’s on a good day with how finicky the water heater is. 

Unreliable water temps and cramped spaces aside, knowing he’s out there in your living room makes it even harder to enjoy your shower. Careful to avoid your fresh tattoo, you scrub and clean your body, doing the necessities before cutting the water that was seconds away from running ice cold. 

After wrapping a towel around yourself and drying your wet hair enough to brush the tangles out, you dash across the hall into your bedroom. 

You fish out one of those oversized sleep t-shirts you thrifted from the men’s section out of your dresser. Thinking that underwear might rub against your tattoo, you decide against it, continuing your trend of going commando for the evening. 

You giggle at the juxtaposition of you now, dressed in a gimmicky giant t-shirt that was bought at a gift shop somewhere, in comparison to that drunken late-night phone call when you sent him pictures of yourself in lingerie. 

“What’s so funny?” 

You startle at the sound of his voice. He’s standing in the open doorway with his arms crossed, making you wonder how long he’s been standing there. 

You catch a glimpse of yourself and try not to fixate on the fact you look like a wet sea otter — hair slicked back against your scalp, face blotchy from the shower without an ounce of makeup in sight. “Thinking about how I probably have never looked less sexy than I do right now.” 

He leans a shoulder against the frame, clicking his tongue before pouting out his bottom lip. “Oh, that’s not true. Phil’s Crab Shack merchandise has never been hotter. The “Got Crabs?” on the back really adds a nice touch.”

“You’re an asshole,” you scoff with a dramatic eye roll before laughing. 

He smiles but doesn’t laugh with you. “How’re you feeling?”

There’s a dull throb in the area, but nothing unbearable. At least for now. “It’s a sore but I’ll be okay. I’ll probably feel it more in the morning.”

Concern washes over him for the second time tonight, making him straighten, “Did you take anything?”

“Some Tylenol.”

“Good.” He nods. You notice how he has yet to enter your room. He’s lingering at the door, shifting back and forth on his feet. 

“You okay? Looks like you’re itching to bolt out of here.” 

His eyes find yours as he lets out a heavy sigh, “I’m not. I just don’t want to overstay my welcome.”

You wonder where his confidence went — the ego that leaves you trembling with excitement. The Jake you’re familiar with would have started ripping your clothes off the second you stepped into your apartment. A roommate would have been the least of his worries, overstaying his welcome wouldn’t have even crossed his mind. You stare at him, but his eyes are glued to the floor, making it impossible to gauge what he’s feeling. “I already told you I wanted you to come over tonight.”

“Right.”

“So are you gonna come over here or what?” You challenge him, emphasizing your point with the loud smack of your hands against your legs.

You are the switch, causing something to ignite inside him. He takes the bait, sauntering over to you in a few strides. You’re expecting his embrace, but the strength of his calloused fingers wrapping around the nape of your neck takes you by surprise. You can’t help the yelp you let out as he pulls you into a kiss. 

You’ve been testing him all day, and now you deserve the way he’s shoving his tongue into your mouth. You’ve been craving this urgency, that aggression that’s been locked up and buried inside for the entire day. With a heavy groan and a spiteful nip on your lip, he grinds himself against you, causing your following moan to echo into his parted mouth. Hungry for more, you reach down to feel his hardening cock with your hand. He becomes distracted by the touch, allowing you to stroke him over the jeans. Realizing what you’re doing, he knots his fingers in your damp hair and pulls just hard enough to break your kiss. 

He’s panting, sending his warm breath across your wet lips as he speaks, “I don’t think sex is a good idea tonight.” He swallows thickly to collect his thoughts. “If I fuck you, I can’t promise it will be gentle… and I don’t want to hurt you.” 

Even with seemingly thoughtful intentions, you never predicted being turned down by him. Confusion and disappointment are quick to cast over your features while your insecurities try to weasel their way into your mind. “But you fucked me the first night I got it. What’s changed?”

He reconnects the kiss before peppering your jawline. The sensation of his lips brushing against your skin pulls you back in, making you forget that he’s rejected the idea of sleeping with you. When his lips meet the shell of your ear, he coats your senses with a honeyed voice. “Everything.”

The word trickles down your spine, seeping into your body like a masked poison —making you clench your thighs with need. You want him. You want to feel him in your hands and on your tongue, even if it means sacrificing your own pleasure for it. 

You decide to take the initiative, kissing that hidden spot behind his ear where the dagger is inked into the flesh. He hums, causing the sound to vibrate within his chest while his grip tightens around your body. You nip and suck the path down his neck, fighting the temptation to leave your mark. 

You continue your kisses down his torso, making sure to wet the thin fabric of his t-shirt with your tongue. Before you have the chance to settle onto your knees, he reaches out and takes hold of your forearm to stop you, “You don’t have to do that.”

“Let me,” you insist softly, looking up to catch the rapid rise and fall of his chest. He won’t admit it outright, but the way his resolve weakens at the sight of you on your knees is unmistakable. “I want to take care of you,” you add, tracing along the waistband of his jeans. He doesn’t need more convincing than that, and his fingers relax around your arm, allowing it to fall free from his grasp. 

You rub up and down his legs, massaging the fatigued muscles of his upper thighs while avoiding his obvious erection with each roll of your palm. You take your time, ignoring the fact you have no underwear on and your kneecaps are digging into your floor. 

You make a show of popping the button of his jeans and slowly pulling down the brass zipper, giving him a visual that will be hard to forget. You peel back the denim, exposing the recognizable band of his black Calvin Kleins and the soft skin of his tattooed stomach peeking out beneath his t-shirt. Lifting it, you place wet kisses just below his navel. He’s warm against your lips, squirming from the ticklish touch. You give him a little more, tugging at his jeans by the belt loops as you nip and suck at the high points of his hip bones. 

He groans and bucks forward slightly to chase the feeling. Now that you’ve let go of it, he takes his t-shirt and bunches it up in a tight fist against his stomach while the other hand finds the crown of your head. 

You explore the stretchy, silken material of his boxer briefs against your lips, gliding along the contours of his body until you reach his cock. 

“Fuck,” he slips out. He’s stayed rather silent up until now, only really giving you ragged breaths and a few groans. 

You can’t help but giggle at his current state as you slide his boxers down his legs inch-by-inch until his cock springs free. No matter how many times you see it, it will always surprise you. You can’t help but stare, fixating on the memory of how he feels and tastes. You finally break away to look him in the eye as you hold him by the base and lean forward to kiss the head. 

You tease him, licking and kissing down the length of his shaft, withholding the gratification of his being fully in your mouth from him. He’s fighting an internal battle by growing more impatient by the second while not wanting the feeling to stop. 

An idea sparks in your mind. Acting on impulse, you break away and open the drawer of your nightstand. Before he has the chance to complain or ask what you’re doing, you retrieve a sleek, black silicone vibrator. 

With the toy in hand, you find your place again. You catch his stunned expression before he laughs, albeit, a rather fucked-out laugh, “Oh, hello. When were you gonna tell me about that?” 

You smile, convinced that he probably thinks you’re about to use it on yourself. “I’m telling you about it now.” With a wicked smirk, you click the on button, spurring the toy to life.  

“Kinky. What other stuff are you hid— oh, fuck!” The moan curse is ripped from him the second you bring the vibrator to the underside of his cock. “Heyyy…” he tries to protest, but the word gets dragged out through a feral growl. 

You run it up and down his length while sealing your lips around the tip of his cock. You taste him, swirling your tongue around him and clicking the button again, increasing the intensity of the toy. His fingers instantly tighten around your hair and you can feel him throw his head back. 

You can sense his core getting rigid, and pull him from your mouth with a wet pop of your lips while also taking the toy away. “Fucking hell, babe,” he mutters through labored breaths now that you’ve given him a chance to regain his composure. “I’m not gonna last another minute if you keep doing that.”

Holding him in a tight fist, you press the end of the vibrator to his frenulum — that special, oh-so-sensitive spot on the underside of his cock. And the moan that escapes from his chest is indescribable. The sound alone makes it all worth it. You drink in the rare sight as you play with him, watching how his stomach muscles flex with his building climax, how his knuckles have turned ghost-white around his t-shirt, to how sweat has started to collect around his throat. 

He’s so hard, flushed with color and glistening from your spit. His violent shaking is your cue to pull it away and give him a few teasing strokes of your hand. “Feel good?”

“Fuck you,” he sighs, the sound falling into a breathy laugh. 

“I wish you would,” you tease, taking him back into your mouth once again. Holding the toy in your hand, you keep it pressed against him while gliding his cock across your tongue. You increase the power again with another push of the button to feel the vibrations through him. 

You would consider him a verbal man during sex, but now you’ve reduced him to incoherent curses. The reactions of his body are praise enough, giving away the fact he’s close before his words do. 

Accepting the loss of control, he breathes your name out of desperation and as a final warning. Within seconds of it leaving his lips, his warm cum fills your mouth. You swallow him down, guiding him through the violent orgasm that racks his body. After switching off the toy, you lick him clean until he shudders from overstimulation, and carefully tuck his softening cock back into the safety of his boxers. 

“What the fuck was that?” He huffs, combing back his sweaty hair from his face with his fingers. You laugh in response, making him look down to see your shit-eating grin as you wipe your mouth dry with the back of your hand. The look in his eyes is far from satisfied. It smolders with lust —that dominance that you’ve been searching for.

“Get on the bed. Lay back,” he instructs, pointing behind you. You do as you're told, biting back on your bottom lip knowing what you’re in for. As you settle on the mattress, he kicks his jeans off his legs and pulls his t-shirt off his back. 

Standing at the side of your bed, he gives you a full view of his body. There are too many pieces to count, from the mermaid and pirate ship on his legs to the massive skull with its sword in the center of his chest. Weeks together and you still haven’t had the chance to admire every single one. 

“Open your legs.” He gestures with a sweeping motion of a pointed finger. You let them fall to the side, showing him your bare pussy. As if the sight tortured him, his brows furrowed and his mouth fell open. “Sometimes I can’t believe how hot you are,” he admits, crawling onto the bed toward you. 

He settles between your legs, careful to avoid the Saniderm covering your thigh. Taking the toy from its spot on the blanket, he clicks the button again and starts dragging it up and down your inner thigh. “Let you have a taste of control… it’s addicting isn’t it?” You focus on the feeling of the vibrations, anticipating where it's going to go before it gets there. He massages it over your lips with a gentle touch before pressing it directly against your clit.  “Can’t let it go right to your head.” 

You cry out and go to snatch the toy from him, making him click his tongue in disapproval, “Aht! You’re a better girl than that, dove.” He switches the pressure, bringing it back to your clit. You writhe against the bed in response, allowing your eyes to close. He chuckles, watching your body in real time to something that’s not his mouth, fingers, or cock. “This nifty little thing does feel good now doesn’t it?” 

You’re surprised by the wet feeling of his tongue. He licks through you, compensating for where the toy doesn’t reach. The roll of his tongue is sinful, focused directly on your clit. 

“You like it sweet and slow, don’t you?” he coos, blanketing your cunt with his heat. He’s making you feel so good you have completely forgotten about the pulsing pain of your tattoo. He flicks his tongue over your clit, teasing you, “Should I get a tongue ring too?… spoil your clit like he does?” 

“Jake,” you scold breathlessly. The combination of the vibrator and the velvet softness of his mouth overwhelms you. You’re in the same position as he was minutes ago, pushed right to the edge of your release within seconds. 

He pulls the toy away, making you whine in complaint. “Tell me, baby.” He taps it against your swollen clit as he mumbles through his kisses to your thigh, “What do you think of when you’re using this?” 

“Fuck…I dunno. You and Josh I guess.” It’s not a lie, but there’s no way you can give him more details than that. While your mind fogs with your building orgasm, you know the answer you gave him won’t suffice. 

He hums, drawing the tip of the vibrator everywhere but where you want it most. “Who do you think of more?” 

“That’s not fair,” you huff in frustration. You’re so close,  knowing that he will drag it out as long as he wants. 

“I know, but I don’t care,” he rasps with calm collectedness. 

You swallow the dryness on your tongue and open your eyes to stare at your ceiling, searching for an answer that will make sense. “I think of you in different ways.”

“Oh? How so?” He brings the vibrator to your entrance, holding it there as he waits for your response. 

“Uh... oh, fuck,” you moan, the sounds becoming increasingly more desperate. “I don’t know.”

“Yes, you do.” He slips the vibrator inside you, but only an inch. It’s enough to scramble your thoughts like a mental blender. The noise you make is feral, causing him to shush you softly. “Tell me and I’ll let you cum.”

“I think about you when I want to be fucked hard. When I want you to rail me into the bed I forget my name.”

“Interesting.” He hums as he guides the toy inside you another inch and clicks the button again. “And him?”

“Jake, please!” You cry out, but his hand wraps around your wrist like a cuff. 

“Just a simple answer, baby girl. I’ll give you what you want,” he sings, coaxing you further into bliss. 

“I think about Josh when I want to be eaten out…when I want to be the one to ruin him,” you blurt out the answer without processing what it could mean. 

“Does he eat your pussy better than me?” he asks, sliding the toy all the way inside you until it nudges against your cervix. When you stall, mostly because of the vibrations against your g-spot, he adds, “You wouldn’t be the first girl to tell me how good he is.”

“Huh?”

He chuckles at your reaction, “Word around the shop travels fast, and there might’ve been a girl or two that he’s fooled around with in the past that had a lot to say about it. The things I had to overhear…but I wouldn’t blame you.”

“Oh,” you pant, trying your best to focus on his words while he fucks you slowly with the toy. 

“You didn’t answer me.”

“He’s the best I’ve ever had,” you admit sheepishly. The movement of his hand doesn’t stop, and his expression doesn’t change. 

He smiles, nipping at the flesh of your thigh. “Well, I guess I have a new challenge for myself, huh?” He licks a path from your inner leg to your clit, sucking the bundle of nerves into his mouth. You realize within seconds that you’re at the mercy of their competitiveness.

He swirls his tongue at the same pace as the toy. The feeling is unreal, a pleasure that’s going to corrupt you from this day forward. He’s thrown you to the cliff’s edge, and all you can do is accept your fate. You whine, clawing at the back of his hand draped across your stomach, “Oh my god, Jake.”

“I know, I know, dove,” he soothes with a calming lilt, voice mumbled by the fact his face is buried into your pussy. He laps at you with an unprecedented fervor, making you cum harder than you have with him yet. You see stars, or blackout entirely — the details you’ll never be sure of. Without warning, a gush of warm wetness pools beneath you, soaking the sheets. 

You come to and freeze all movements not sure what to do next. He lifts his head from between your legs and retrieves the vibrator from inside you before tossing it to the side. Embarrassment starts to take over, and your thoughts begin to race with ideas of how you’re going to explain yourself.

“That has got to be the hottest fucking thing I’ve ever seen,” he breathes in pure awe, looking down at the mess he helped create. Ashamed, you hide behind your hands.

You peek through your splayed fingers, mumbling against your palm.“Wait…really?”

He pulls your fingers down from your face with a gentle hand. “Fuck yeah. Why didn’t you tell me that you could squirt?”

You shake your head in disbelief. “I …I honestly didn’t know.”

He lifts his pierced brow. “You mean… you haven’t done that with him?”

“No,” you confess, blushing bright red and still reeling from what had just happened. “At least I don’t think so?” 

“Fucking A!” He shouts into the open room, making you scold him with a violent shush. He laughs, kissing you deeply as he falls back on the bed beside you. “A fucking win for once. About damn time.”

“Both of you are idiots,” you groan as you try to sit up. Exhausted, you grimace at the scene before you. “Now I gotta change my sheets and mattress cover.”

TAGLIST:

@gretavanbitches @dannyandthekiszkas @asparrowofthedawn @ageofnations @welightthefire @garbagevanfleet @lvnterninthenight @pennylanefics @writingcold @alexxavicry @gvfficrecs @jakeyboiiiiiii @doodle417 @richjaaasss @pr41sethemoon @gretavanflowerpowerrr @joshskittytickler @tripthelightfatality @maddie-van-fleet @sarakay-gvf @josiee-gvf @milkgemini @sammiejane22 @gretavanbear @capturethechaos @welllauragvf @averagemisfit03 @myownparadise96 @givemeyourtots2 @gretavangroove @objectsinspvce @myownparadise96 @feilores @josh-iamyour-mama @givemeyourtots2 @joshkiszkasbigtoe @lightmylove-gvf @mydarlingdanny @shutupdevvie @twinszka @busybeingtrash @carlybubs @demonrat444 @high-fidelity1 @jake-kiszkas-smirk @sunandthemoontwinflames @gvfcinema @klarxtr @sacredthethreadgvf @gracev0609

[multiwreckedmess]

Kinktober Day 13

Prompt: Body Worship Pairing: Boyfriend!San x reader WC: 1.6k Summary: The change of seasons has always been difficult for you and today is no different. Some days you just need some help.

This is a work of fiction, it does not represent San or any Ateez member. Although this isn’t necessarily an 18+ work, for my comfort and boundaries please if you are under the age of 18 do not interact with this. 

I’m going to put the TW/CW above the cut this time as TBH, it’s not really smut.

TW/CW: depression, self-hatred, vague self-harm references, leg shaving, San bathes reader. 

 Everything hurt. That’s all you knew as you laid in bed. A deep ache that resonated in your bones consumed your being. Nothing helped, rolling to your side, laying on your back, leg up and on your stomach, just pain.  “It’s because you rolled around in bed all day,” San chides from the doorway as you groan. “You need to get up and stretch, just to rebalance your body. It’s not even about working out. If your blood pools in one spot you’ll feel off.”  “I think I’m sick,” you sniff. Your sinuses are on fire, swollen and pulsing in your skull.  San sighs. The sort of illness plaguing you was not the type remedied by chicken noodle soup or ibuprofen. It was one that needed time and care and understanding. One that would flare up unexpectedly, inappropriately, uninvited.  Flinging back the covers you shriek as cold air hits you like a truck, grappling for the covers. Two strong warm arms scoop you up into the air as San carries you bridal style to the bathroom. “I think a bath will help,” he says, sitting you on the closed lid of the toilet.

 The running water in the empty tub is loud, thundering as it hits the basin. The loudness numbs your ears for a bit. You barely notice as San busies himself as you list to the side, leaning on the side of the sink. Everything still hurts. Your jaw hurts as you adjust it, seeing if you can relieve the pain circling your ears and throat.  Squatting to eye level smiles at you, trying to hide the flicker of concern in his eye. “Hey hon, i gotta take your shirt off.”  “Start with pants please!” You stick your legs straight out in front of you and wobble your feet. San obliges, taking care to wait for your toes to point so the fabric slips right off. Not that it’s particularly difficult, seeing as they’re a pair of ratty sweats.  The bath is half full as he scoops your shirt over your head, leaving you in just a pair of underwear. You shiver and stare at the steaming tub, arms crossing over your stomach and chest. He leans over to check the water temperature, back flexing under his white cotton shirt. Hugging yourself tighter you hate to compare yourself but can’t help it. A veritable god while you…well…your self evaluation faired far worse. The comparison stung each time you thought about it, each remembrance a tiny papercut on an unhealing body. Yet he was like a salve, patiently covering and waiting, unable to prevent but trying to ease what pain he could and somehow that burned you even more than the initial cut.  “I’m going to wash you,” he says slowly, waiting for your fierce objection. Instead you look up at him, mouth a straight line, and nod.  “My legs are hairy.”  He shrugs, turning to the water. “Okay.”  “I just thought you should know.”  “Do you want me to shave them?” He offers sincerely as he turns off the tap. Steam rising from the tub in soft curls, you let your eyes trace their outline as you think.  “Do you know how?”  He shrugs again, “can’t be more difficult than shaving my face.”  “Okay but they’re MY legs and YOUR hands. It’s a little different than doing it to yourself.” You can hear the tension in your own voice raising, almost to a forced laugh. The reaction feels strange and foreign even though it comes from your own body. Twisting on the lid of the toilet seat you dip your toe into the water. It’s hot, a little too hot. Your toe numbs quickly in the water, tingling as you withdraw it.  “It was just an offer, you can say no.” San helps you, sliding down your underwear, the last barrier between you and the elements.  “No, it-it sounds nice.” You stutter. Sighing as you slide yourself from your perch into the tub. The water burns but you need that. The cauterizing sear removes the sin. Or so you feel. Burn off the exoskeleton so you can feel again.  San looks concerned as you slip down into the water. “Isn’t it too hot?”  “I’ll get used to it.”

 Hugging your knees to your chest, the soft washcloth moves in slow concentric circles across and down your back. The gentleness with which San treats you hurts almost more than the sting of the cool air. Guilty isn’t the right word for the twist in your gut. The kindness just hurts sometimes.  “I love how soft your skin is when you’re fresh out of the shower.” San murmurs. “I love how the smell of soap and skin clings to you. I love how I’m the only one who gets to see these freckles on your back like this.” His list goes on as he cups handfuls of water to splash down your spine. He would bathe you all the time if you’d let him. The ritual is soothing and intimate. Every word he says a truth he rarely gets to voice without you complaining. When you are like this though, lulled into a docile state by the water, he can praise you as much as he wants.  “Feels nice,” you’re muffled by your own knees. Not like it is difficult to tell what you are saying.  San leans over the edge of your tub, kissing your shoulder softly, supporting your back as he lays you against the back of the tub. Working the washcloth down your arms and over you chest, you wince as he gets to your soft tummy.  “It’s exposure therapy, if its too much you can tell me.” San hopes you won’t tell him. The plush squish of your stomach is something he rarely can indulge in. Washcloth as a flimsy excuse his fingers glide over your buttery soft skin. He can feel your lungs hitch in anticipation so he presses harder. You’d figured that one out together, if he pressed harder you could tolerate it more. “You know how much I love soft things. I’m a connoisseur of soft things and you are the crown jewel of my findings.”  “That doesn’t help,” you mutter sourly. “What if I don’t want to be soft.”  San nods, there’s nothing to say to it. Instead he heads south, skimming past your clit, it’s not the point of today. Instead he focuses on your thighs, equally soft and plush as your stomach but more easily tolerated. You always complain how they hurt, that your hips are tense. Hips carry a lot of trauma. He half washes, half massages your thighs. Letting the soap lubricate his squeezed pulls of your muscle.  You moan, loudly. He can feel the thud of the knot in your quad as he presses past it. You moan again, slipping further into the tub So he does it again, and again, and again until you shudder and arch up, water splashing around you. “Did you just-”  “I don’t know-” you sit bolt upright, looking at each other shocked. “It felt really good.”  “Good to know.”

 You relax back again. Soft and pliant he treats you like a doll, limbs limp as he moves them. Holding your leg, the water drips on his cotton shirt, clinging semi-transparaent to his abs. Slowly he lathers your calve with shea butter infused soap, then wets the razor. Funnily enough he didn’t even care if your legs had hair or not. Really if any part of you had hair or not, he wouldn’t mind as long as it was you. But you liked the sleek touch so he was happy to oblige.  Another person shaving your legs is exceedingly strange. But it’s nice. You hate the process of hair removal but love the results. Laying back loosely, San takes more care than you ever would with your razor. He’s meticulous and methodical in his removal, particularly around your ankle bone, riddled with scars. You consider telling him that at this point your ankles are made of steel callus but the delicate way he lifts the pressure of the razor is endearing.  It’s almost more intimate than taking his cock. At least for San it is. He could so easily hurt you like you’d hurt yourself. It would be even easier for him, it wasn’t his skin that the razor’s edge was pressed against, he didn’t know the feeling, he could only watch and hope his pressure was enough but not too much. Knowing if he slipped the sting would be worse coming from a person who loved you instead of your own hands focused his wandering mind.  Giving into help wasn’t easy for you. Each time San places the razer to your ankle you have to remind yourself to relax. Using your full will to control the flex of your calves as he runs the length carefully. Even with his time and care one leg is done quickly, dipping back into the now lukewarm water as he retrieves the second leg. At least someone should love you even if you can’t.  “San?”  His face lifts, eyes sparkling, “yes dear?”  “I love you.”  Still holding your leg he leans sideways to kiss you ever so briefly. “I know you do.”

Sorry I had a hell of a couple of days and WAS NOT MONITORING and my queue broke. here’s to getting back on track. Sorry this wasn’t really smut????

[just-here-with-my-thoughts]

Day 19: "Please Don't" / Adrenaline Crash

@febuwhump prompt: "Please Don't" @badthingshappenbingo prompt: Adrenaline Crash

Fandom: The Bad Batch Characters: Hunter, Omega, Wrecker, Tech, Echo (Did you read Day 5: Rope Burns / Bound & Gagged and Day 12: Semi-Conscious / Over-the-Shoulder Carry? This is a continuation! Follow the links above to catch up on the story so far) Word Count: ~3005 Click here to read on AO3 Also available in Russian (with thanks to @tech-o-mania for the amazing translation!)

Synopsis: Hunter loses control as he hunts down the mercenaries who captured and injured Omega.

Art by the awesome @collophora of my gorgeous Feral Hunter! Thank you so much for this beautiful pic and letting me post it with my fic, everyone go view collophora's original post HERE and tell them how great they are! <3

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Omega swings her legs as she sits on the edge of the table, watching as Tech methodically extracts embedded strands of hessian from the wound on her left wrist. Her right is already swathed in bandages, the bacta gel bringing a soothing numbness that dulls the pulsing pain to a background throb.

She draws her breath in as a hiss though her teeth at a particularly painful pull, and Tech glances at her to check she is okay. He doesn’t continue until she nods to give him permission to do so.

The com at the engineer’s wrist crackles to life. “Come in, Tech.” It is Wrecker’s voice, low and urgent.

Tech pauses his ministrations to answer the com. “What is it, Wrecker?”

“I need backup.”

The big clone’s voice over the com is deadly serious, none of his usual joviality.

“What is your status?” asks Tech, his voice taking on a more clipped edge.

“It’s Hunter.”

Tech quickly looks up at Echo, and Omega doesn’t miss the alarmed look that passes between them.

“Will you and Omega be alright by yourselves?” Tech asks, putting the tweezers back in the medkit and standing.

Echo nods, resting a hand on Omega’s shoulder. “Don’t worry about us. Go help Wrecker.”

“Help Wrecker with what?” asks Omega, getting to her feet and looking first at Tech, then Echo. “Are they in trouble?”

“You are still in need of treatment,” says Echo firmly, trying for a smile which comes out too tense to be reassuring. “I’m sure Tech will manage without us.” He gestures back to the table. “Sit back up, and I’ll finish your wrists.”

Tech is gathering his equipment, and Omega leans past Echo to see him set his pistol to stun.

“I want to go with Tech,” she protests softly. “I want to check that Hunter and Wrecker are okay.”

Echo and Tech exchange another look. Omega is getting pretty tired of the unspoken conversations they share with their eyes.

“Finish attending to Omega’s wounds,” says Tech eventually. “Then you may follow… carefully.”

*

Hunter’s pistol is in his left hand, balanced on his forearm which is crossed in front of his body, vibroknife held blade outwards. The hum of adrenaline is in his veins, pulse pounding, slowly building to a tense knot of pain at the base of his skull which will surely become a migraine later.

Two more mercenaries up ahead, just out of sight. He can hear them.

Hunter doesn’t have to think about softening his footfalls. The predator’s stealth comes naturally to him.

In moments he is around the corner and the two men are ten paces ahead, weapons out as they scout the corridor.

They don’t know that death shadows their movements.

In his ear, the com pings. Hunter shakes his head, shutting it off irritably. Not now. Whatever his brothers want, it can wait.

He rolls to his toes, picking up speed. Closes the gap in a sprint.

One shot with his pistol. The laser-burn eats through the first man’s skull. The second turns but Hunter is on him, and the vibroknife tears out his throat before he can cry for help.

Hunter pauses for a moment, surveys his work. That makes four of them he has eliminated now. Four of them who harmed his Omega. Four of them who will never threaten her again.

A high-pitched whine, like tinnitus, sets up in his head. He pulls his helmet off, rubbing his ears, trying to chase away the source of the sound.

His helmet is dropped to the floor, forgotten, as he sets off to find the rest of his quarries.

*

Tech tilts his datapad towards Wrecker. “I have picked up the bounty hunters’ com channel. They seem concerned that they cannot raise a number of their companions.”

Wrecker looks up from fitting binders to the two mercenaries he has captured. “Hunter won’t waste any time,” he says gruffly.

“He may have deactivated his com, but I can still track his locator beacon,” says Tech. “Leave these two here. We must catch up to Hunter as soon as we can.”

*

Hunter crouches on the narrow gangway, watching the knot of mercenaries in the hangar below. Five left. Their conversation drifts to him but it is just noise. He can’t make his head understand the words.

It doesn’t matter what they are saying. Hunter will be among them soon, and their words will give way to screams and then they will be dead. He plans to make sure of that.

The migraine closes its vice-like grip on his consciousness and Hunter pulls his bandana off, trying to ease the pressure at his temples. A faint aurora halos his vision, sparkling in the periphery. His back teeth ache.

He creeps along the perforated metal walkway, feeling it sway a little from the suspension cables that keep it aloft. He holsters the pistol, curling the fingers of that hand around the rail instead. His right hand continues to clutch the vibroknife like it is an extension of himself.

Almost directly above them. From here he can drop onto the group, break his fall with one of their bodies, before wreaking his vengeance.

Hunter climbs silently to the railing. Leans over the edge, gravity pulling at his body, braced now on the outside of the walkway.

Ready to drop.

*

Echo spots the pair of bodies before Omega does. He stops her with a hand on her shoulder and ventures forwards cautiously, already knowing what he will find.

He is surprised to see the half-skull of Hunter’s helmet staring up at him from between the fallen mercenaries. He scoops it up and checks the wiring. The com is undamaged. It has been deliberately disabled.

Behind him he hears Omega.

“Tech, come in. Did you find Wrecker and Hunter?”

She has her bandaged hands pressed to her com, trying to raise her brothers. Echo hurries back to her, Hunter’s helmet in hand. Omega’s eyes go wide as she sees it.

“Is Hunter okay?” she asks in a fearful whisper, reaching out to brush the side of the helmet. The fresh bandages across her palms come away stained red.

“Don’t worry,” mutters Echo, “it’s not his blood.”

There is a moment of confusion before the meaning of his words dawns on Omega. She leans past him to peer down the corridor. Two bounty hunters. Not unconscious. Dead.

“Oh,” she says in a small voice. Then, looking up at him with a determined frown, “We need to find Hunter.”

*

Wrecker and Tech press tightly to the door-frame, one on either side of the corridor that has brought them to this hangar. Tech’s datapad says this is where Hunter should be, but all they can see are the clustered mercenaries.

Wrecker is the first one to look up. His hands move in a quick signal sequence, drawing Tech’s attention to their brother in his ambush position.

“Hunter,” breathes Tech. And as though it is a command, Hunter drops.

The chaos is immediate. Hunter is amongst the mercenaries, pistol forgotten, knife indiscriminately biting through cloth and armour into flesh. Panicked cries answer his sudden appearance. Blaster fire greets him.

Tech and Wrecker recognise Hunter’s grunt of pain like it is their own. They take a single moment to share a nod, and then they too join the fray.

Wrecker charges in, shoulder down, crashing into a mercenary and knocking him away from Hunter. Tech skirts the edge of the hanger, diving into a roll to evade a stray blaster bolt. He comes up with his pistol ready, gaze flitting over the knot of combatants before choosing his target. He knows this is the quickest way to end this.

Omega’s voice comes over the com but doesn’t answer. He needs all his considerable wits about him if he wants to take down his younger brother.

He steadies his aim.

He fires at Hunter.

*

Somewhere beyond the roaring in his ears Hunter is dimly aware that he is injured. There is a lingering trace of heat as the laser-burn crawls against his skin, softened from deadly to merely painful by the layer of his armour. It slows him, but he doesn’t let it stop him.

He ducks a wild haymaker meant to knock him to the ground and comes up inside the man’s guard. The mercenary yells as Hunter’s forehead connects with his nose, blood gouting from the broken cartilage, and Hunter winces at the shout pierces his already tender headache.

The migraine is stabbing behind his eyes now, his vision winking in and out in bright flashes. He has to finish this fight soon, or he won’t be able to.

The sudden jolt of a stun blast catches him in the back. He feels the sensation ripple forwards across his chest, electric, followed by numbness. The blast threatens to short out his enhanced senses.

With difficulty he fights the blackness that follows the stun bolt, dragging his awareness back to the fight. Two others still standing. To his surprise, he realises Wrecker is one of them.

Then Hunter feels an attacker leap onto his back. He howls in panic and anger; instinct directs him to dip his body, rolling the assailant over his shoulder. He grabs them and slams them into the floor, a blow designed to stun.

Recognises the helmet. The goggles.

“Tech?” he slurs in confusion.

And, “TECH!” The shout is echoed by Wrecker, scooping up their fallen brother.

The final mercenary takes advantage of the distraction. Two blaster bolts hit into Wrecker’s back, staggering him, and he clutches Tech to his chest protectively. Hunter watches as the bounty hunter retreats, fleeing for the bikes they came in on.

His prey's footsteps are still reverberating at the edge of Hunter’s enhanced hearing when others approach from behind him. He whirls, sees Echo and Omega.

“What happened?” demands Echo, crossing to Hunter. With one hand he pushes Omega behind him, making sure she doesn’t step round and see the Sergeant. Doesn’t see the feral gleam in his eyes, the sharp and dangerous expression of his open-mouthed panting.

“I’ll find him.” Hunter’s voice is a subhuman growl. “I’ll end it.”

*

Omega paces anxiously, glancing towards the farthest exit to the hanger. Tech is conscious but dazed, propped up against a storage crate as Echo checks his pupils. She worries for Hunter, but she has been told to stay put.

Wrecker finishes restraining the still-living mercenaries and rolls his shoulders, easing out the stiffness of the injuries he sustained. His own blaster is loose in his hands, still set to stun.

The bodies have been hidden to one side, smeared trails of red marking the route they had been pulled. So much for out of sight, out of mind. Omega curls up over her injured hands, rubbing at her wrists through the bandages. The rope burns itch under the healing bacta gel.

“Tech will be fine,” reports Echo, “but one of us should stay with him. Omega?”

“I’m going after Hunter,” she announces, before she can be asked to play medic. She turns and looks at Echo with her mouth set in an unhappy line.

Echo calmly meets her gaze. “Hunter won’t want you to see him like this,” he says softly.

“Hunter needs me.” She is the embodiment of stubbornness. “I know it.”

Wrecker’s big hand touches her shoulder gently.

“I’ll keep her safe, Echo,” he says, voice strained with an ache of worry. He pushes his helmet back down onto his head, the snarling skull hiding the concern in his eyes.

“Let’s go, kid.”

*

Hunter is exhausted, muscles trembling as he forces them to continue. He has to do this. The image of Omega’s injuries is burned behind his retinas, the scent of her fear cloying. He failed to protect her once. He won’t do so again.

One more mercenary, and the job was done. There would be no-one left to threaten her. And if this group didn’t return, perhaps whoever was hunting them would think twice before sending more agents to kidnap her.

Protect Omega. Blood pounds in his head. Every footstep is a hammer-fall on the anvil of his overwrought senses.

Protect Omega.

A blaster shot hits his right hand. The vibroknife is flung free of his grasp, spinning into the air and embedding in the wall above his head. Hunter startles, the pain in his hand almost enough to stop him from evading the follow-up shot aimed for his heart. He twists at the last moment, the blaster bolt grazing his chest-plate.

Then his feral instincts are back, taking over, shutting down the thoughts that are distracting him and driving him forwards into the fight.

Hunter lunges, closing the distance to his would-be ambusher in a burst of speed that belies his injured state. He doesn’t remember that he has a pistol. Instead he barrels into the man, tackling him to the floor. The two of them roll, fighting for dominance, and Hunter comes out on top. Slugs the man. Pain explodes in his knuckles but he doesn’t stop. Again. And again.

Under the onslaught the mercenary’s face is transforming to a swollen, bloody pulp. He writhes and bucks under Hunter, throwing the sergeant off and scrambling for escape. Hunter leaps after him and they are back to brawling, only it isn’t a brawl. The man is sobbing, arms over his head, trying to shield himself from Hunter’s incoming blows. Pleas dribble with bubbled blood from broken lips. The man weeps for mercy.

Hunter’s onslaught continues. One more mercenary, and the job is done.

Protect Omega. Protect her at all costs.

*

Omega and Wrecker round the corner and Wrecker pulls them up short. Hunter is locked in combat with the final mercenary, the sickening sound of fist hitting flesh and the crepitus of broken bone reaching them across the otherwise empty room.

Omega recoils, watching the scene with fascinated horror. The brutality makes her sick to her stomach, but she can’t look away.

Hunter’s hair is loose, missing the bandana that usually tames it, and hangs lank and sweaty about his face. Blood streaks his fists and spatters his armour. The air is punctuated by his soft grunts and laboured breath, and the moans and whimpers emanating from the figure that is huddled beneath his fury.

Wrecker lays his hand on Omega’s shoulder, trying to coax her away. “Omega,” he says, and his voice quavers. He crouches in front of her, interposing himself between her and the brutal scene, and pushes his helmet back on his head to lock gazes with her.

“What is he doing?” Omega whispers in horror, brown eyes wide as she searches Wrecker’s face for answers.

Wrecker merely shakes his head. “You should get outta here, kid. Head back to the Marauder, wait for the others.”

He stands and turns away from her, dropping the blaster and moving towards Hunter with his hands held up defensively. It is like he is approaching a wild animal, wary of attack.

“Hunter, stop it. Please, vod. He’s down, he surrendered. This isn’t right.”

If Hunter hears him he gives no sign. His punches keep flying, sluggish but solid. His victim lets out a single broken sob.

Omega’s com chirps.

“Omega, are you alright?” It is Tech, his voice weak-sounding as he recovers from concussion.

“We found Hunter,” she whispers, riveted on Wrecker’s careful advance.

Wrecker nears Hunter and his victim, one hand extended. “It’s me, Hunt,” he says, softening the brash edge of his voice. “Time to stop. Okay, vod?”

Hunter doesn’t hear him. Or ignores him. It is hard to tell.

“Is Wrecker able to handle the situation?” asks Tech.

Omega shakes her head. “No,” she says, voice trembling with determination. “But if Wrecker can’t make Hunter stop, I will.”

“Be careful, Omega,” Tech warns her, and she steels herself for what is to come.

She steps past Wrecker, ducks to evade his grasp as he tries to stop her. On shaky legs she closes the distance. Hunter, her Hunter, is a creature she does not recognise. Ruthless, bloodstained, no glimpse of gentleness or mercy.

Hunter leans back, winding up for a huge hit. Omega darts in front of him, catching hold of his fist, levelling her intense brown-eyed stare into the wildfire of his fury.

Omega positions herself directly in front of the exhausted sergeant. Hunter is on his knees, tattooed face glazed in sweat and blood that almost certainly does not belong to him. His shoulders heave as he gulps in great lungfuls of air.

“Don’t,” she says. A plea. A command. “Please don’t.”

For a moment Hunter’s eyes turn glassy and unfocused, pupils trembling with rapid dilations before he eventually blinks and manages to fix his gaze on the girl before him.

“Omega?” he croaks weakly, and staggers to his feet. He sways a little, then replants his feet and braces a hand against her shoulder to steady himself. “You’re meant to be with Tech.”

Unexpectedly, he retches. Omega takes a startled step back as Hunter heaves bile, his whole body trembling. When he is done he wipes his mouth slickly on the back of his hand, glancing round in confusion.

Wrecker steps forwards, caution still written in his posture. “Hey, Hunter,” he says softly, a greeting to his brother as he returns to his senses.

Hunter sags against Omega, his arms going round her in relief, and she can feel the uncontrolled quaking of his body as adrenaline fatigue truly sets in.

Quickly Wrecker steps in to support him, taking some of his weight from Omega. But Omega wraps her arms tightly round Hunter’s waist, pressing her face against his chest, ignoring the scent of blood and blaster-fire as she feels his trembling hand run through her hair.

“I forgive you, Hunter,” she whispers, fingers digging into the cracks of his armour as they both cling to each other with equal ferocity. “I forgive you.”

[morphodae]

Venti x Reader

Hurt/Comfort ; can very well be read as platonic a/n: Reader has a Vision (this blurb is part of a scrapped work of mine)

•─────────────••─────────────•

Stars brought about hope as they spread their promises in a wide span across the night sky. Neverending and peaceful, their distant glow told tales of humanity and gods alike. Perhaps that’s why you were drawn to such a sight, sprawled on your back as the cool breeze of Starsnatch Cliff tickled your front.

The idea of something greater brought you peace as much as it spurred uncertainty, yet you decide not to dwell on it, for your mind holds boundless thoughts whipping around in a dance of equals. Venturing out to the starry cliffside, with fingers plucking absently at strands of grass, you allow your mind to empty, soaring off into Celestia and becoming one with nothingness. Tonight, you would continue to bask in its warm embrace of solidarity.

Your tired muscles had long grown numb to the overuse it experienced daily, even as a Vision holder. A refreshing reprieve from the long days you did dirty work for the Guild always had you going back to the picturesque cliffside, staring up at numerous constellations littered with hypothetical tales.

As you reach out to trace the nonsensical patterns, you feel a small gust of wind from behind, blowing small strands of hair forward. Your hyperactive senses, trained to perfection over the years, can easily recognize the familiar scent and feeling associated with the presence behind you.

“Another late night?” the cheery bard remarks, “let’s hope my company can relieve your mental blight.”

You find the corners of your mouth lifting into a passionless smile at the rhyme, the young bard’s presence always seeming to find you on that cliffside when you needed company the most. Yet, you do not move from your spot staring up at the night sky, nor did the green-clad bard feel the need to converse any more than needed. Countless nights spent in mutual, yet comfortable, silence had given way to unspoken understanding between the two of you. In fate's own way, you consider the bard named Venti a good friend.

“If you do not wish to talk, perhaps my lyre can lift your spirits?” Venti smiles, sitting cross-legged a few feet away.

You sit up on the grass, offering the young bard a nod and a smile. “You know what? I think that sounds like a lovely idea. Thank you.”

“Always so polite!” Venti beams, long fingers already beginning to warm a tune on his lyre.

The soothing strumming of music fills your ears in a melody that could lull you away to a peaceful alternative. Ever grateful for your visitor's respect, your mind can finally rest from its nightly strife of overwhelming fatigue.

One day, you would find your worth and become even stronger to protect the ones you love.

Those closest to you were there as long as you could remember; bringing you a beacon of blazing joy in the darkest moments where humans showed the worst parts of themselves, eating away at any light that dared to glow from the innocence of a child.

No more lives would be lost if you could help it, not if they meant everything to you.

But — everything had its time and place.

For now, Venti was a perceptive god, you note. His identity long known to you from a celestial traveler after the dragon Dvalin’s defeat not long ago.

Closing your eyes, letting the sadness seep away into nothing, you supposed that even Archons could be good friends capable of just as much love as you had.

As the night stars twinkle above in harmony with Venti’s song, so too does the Vision secured tightly over the fabric covering your heart.

•─────────────••─────────────•

[sweetyyhippyy]

Mutual Feelings. Eddie Munson x Fem! Reader. *FLUFF*

(Not my pictures. Just my edit.)

Summary: Eddie wants to ask his crush out on a date, but his nerves get the best of him. Little does he know that she wants to ask him out too. 

TW: idiots in love? embarrassment. cursing.

Word Count: 1.3k

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Today was going to be the day.

He was finally going to do it.

He was going to finally talk to her.

Well, technically he had already talked to her, multiple times actually, but nothing ever personal. Eddie wanted to know everything about her; her favorite color, food, animal, everything.

The two of them had 2nd period world history together, their desks side by side for the past 4 weeks. Any paired assignment they had in class automatically made them partners, which is how Eddie found himself completely enamored with her.

Each day she would walk into class and smile at him as she passed by his desk to get to hers. A cute, warm little “good morning, Eddie.” Would make his ears perk up like a dog and his heart flutter fast.

She was so far out of his league, and he knew that. But he had to try talking to her outside of class, even if it killed him.

Today he decided not to sit at his usual spot in the cafeteria. Instead he walked out of the cafeteria to where some people ate outside, knowing that’s where she was.

It didn’t take long for him to spot her sitting at one of the tables outside with her friends, laughing and giggling together.

He walks to the table, holding his head high, a pep in his step and confidence coursing through his veins.

One of her friends makes eye contact with Eddie, motioning her head toward him, and like a punch to the gut, all of his confidence exits his body.

He reaches the table, his mouth opening and no words coming out of it.

She turns around, an instant gleaming smile plastered on her face. “Hey, Eddie.”

“H-hey.” He stutters, running at the back of his head nervously.

Between the silence and her friends giving strange looks to her and Eddie, his skin was crawling.

Any planned out conversation he had in his head (or the conversation he practiced in the mirror that morning) was long gone and all there was playing in his head was elevator music.

“Um, are you okay? You look sick.” She furrows her brows in worry.

“Y-y-yeah totally fine. I’m fine. I um…” His chocolate eyes widen at the awkward atmosphere he was putting out. “I gotta go.” He walks in the opposite direction, cursing himself out along the way.

“What the fuck was that, you stupid idiot. You can talk to her about fucking world history, but not tell her hi.” He grumbles to himself, stomping into the cafeteria and plopping himself at the table with the rest of his friends, not saying a word to them. He crosses his arms across his chest, much like a toddler who didn’t get their way.

“Lemme guess, you didn’t talk to her?” Gareth teases, a shit eating grin on his face.

Eddie raises an eyebrow at him, his jaw clenched tight. “Not. A. Fucking. Word.”

***

Eddie roamed the halls with the hall pass balled up in his hand, his “quick” bathroom run turning into an adventure around the school. He turns the corner to go down one hallway and spots her at her locker, her back turned toward him.

“Fuck, fuck.” Eddie stops dead in his tracks, his legs going numb and his knees trembling. Even if he wanted to move, he couldn’t.

In one swift motion, she shuts her locker and turns to walk toward Eddie, not yet registering that he was practically a statue just a few feet from her while she opens the folder in her hand to fish something out.

“Move you jackass.” Eddie thinks to himself, but it’s too late.

Finally she looks up, her eyes widening in surprise first before a smile blossoms. “Hey you.” She stops in front of him, fixing her hair nonchalantly. “Whatcha doing?”

“I um, I had to use the bathroom.” He nervously points toward the bathrooms behind her, even though he has already gone.

“Oh, I’m sorry.” She giggles. “I didn’t mean to interrupt you on your quest. I’ll let you get going.”

“No. Talk to her, you pussy. Tell her she looks nice.” Eddie clears his throat nervously, trying to figure out how to spit the words out.

“Eddie?” She furrows her brows in concern.

“Yeah, yeah.” His voice cracks, much like a boy going through puberty and making himself look like a fool in front of her. Eddie sighs and storms off toward the bathroom, pushing the door open harshly.

She stands in the hallway by herself, an annoyed sigh leaning her lips. She wasn’t annoyed with Eddie, but with herself.

“I didn’t mean to interrupt you on your quest.” She inmates herself in a mocking tone, waving her hands around. “God what a fucking dweeb. I can say stupid shit like that, but I can’t just talk to him normally. Idiot.”

***

Procrastinating was an art that she perfected whether it was book reports, essays, research papers, you name it. The only place she ever managed to get her last minute assignments done was the library.

Technically she should have been in P.E., running a mile around the track, but instead her nose was stuffed in the middle of a book she was assigned to read for the past month, trying to perfect the art of speed reading a 468 page book by tomorrow morning.

Her eyes scanned the page, trying to absorb the words into her brain and make sense of what she was reading. But she felt like she was being watched, a slight shiver being sent through her body.

She quickly turns around, seeing a lanky body creeping around. “Hello?” She calls out quietly, narrowing her eyes to get a better look at who it was.

Eddie trudges over, giving her a small, timid wave as he bears the table she was sitting at.

“Oh, hey.” She giggles, placing a spare piece of paper in between the pages in her book. “Sorry, I didn’t know it was you.”

“Yeah, I was just…” He flaunts a random book he picked off the shelf. “Picking up some light reading.”

“Yeah, the encyclopedia is a great start.” She giggles.

Eddie looks at the book in his hand, sighing at his stupidity. “God I’m an idiot.” He sighs under his breath. “I’m going to go. I’m sorry for bothering you.” Starting to walk away.

“Eddie, wait!” She calls out for him, cringing at her volume in the library.

He turns around, raising a curious eyebrow at her as he walks back toward the table and sitting across from her.

“Okay, I’m facing my worst fear right now by making the first move but here I am. Do you maybe want to grab something to eat? Or go out to a movie? You can totally say no if you want to, I get it if you aren’t into it.” She shrugs her shoulders, her hands slightly shaking under the table.

Eddie can’t help but chuckle to himself, looking at the girl he had been crushing on for weeks, who apparently had a crush on him too. “Yeah I would love to take you out. Shit, I’ve been trying to ask you out all day but I’ve been too big of a chicken shit.” A wave of relief rolling over his body.

Her cheeks grow hot at him admitting his feelings were mutual, butterflies erupting in her tummy. She takes her bottom lip between her teeth, concealing a smile.

“So how about I pick you up tonight at 7:30? We can go eat whatever you want, your choice.” His round eyes soft on her the longer he stares back at her features.

“Yeah, that sounds great.” She opens her notebook and rips a page out, quickly jotting down her address on it, along with her phone number. She slides the paper toward him, gathering her stuff up quickly to go run and tell her friends the events that just unfolded.

Before she walks away, she bends down to press a sweet kiss to Eddie’s cheek. “I’ll see you tonight.” As she walks away, she couldn’t believe how bold she just was.

Eddie sits in the chair with a love struck smile on his face, butterflies in his stomach as well. He looks at the paper with her address and home phone number written in pink pen, a little heart at the end of her address.

As long as he showed her a good time tonight, he knew he could win her over.

[callsignfate]

Personal Exile Pt. 5

Day Four of Writemas/Birthday posts!

If you want to see the scheduled posts go here If you want to see more posts like this go here

TW: Self degrading jokes (you call yourself mutt), if I've missed any let me know!

♤~♤~♤~♤~♤~♤~♤~♤~♤~♤~♤~♤~♤~♤

Your sleep was cut short as your ass and back burned from the stagnant position you had stayed in for hours, sleeping sitting on the floor next to her in your bed.

You were exactly what the others had nicknamed you as 'Valeria's mutt.' You had learned after listening to it so many times that you ended up translating it for yourself one night out of curiosity and boredom. Sleeping at her feet on the floor now, no less. You chuckled at your own thought quietly before you slowly staggered to your feet.

The burning and numb feeling had turned into painful needles that stabbed all over your lower back down to your feet as you moved your painfully numb legs towards the door once you had grabbed your usual gear. You glanced back at Valeria, still sleeping soundly. You walked out into the hall and then outside into the quiet morning. If you hadn't checked the time, you wouldn't have known that it was early morning from how dark it was. You scanned the patrols, recognizing a few of the men, none of them interesting to you.

You paced the hallways endlessly, taking in the art and decorations as you mindlessly looked around. Eventually, the windows brightened, and the sun showed through them as you sighed and headed back towards Valeria's office.

The door was slightly ajar; you opened it fully to see Valeria sitting at her desk, looking between papers looking better than she did last night.

"Well, look who's looking better already," you said, pushing the door open and walking in with a playful smirk.

She didn't even glance up at you, as always. "Did you sleep in bed with me?" She asked, not taking her eyes off the papers.

"As if I'd dare sleep in bed with thee, El Sin Nombre," you said playfully, putting your hand to your chest and bowing as if she were royalty and you were a mere servant.

"Where did you sleep?" She asked, only glancing at you briefly after tearing her eyes from her papers.

"On the floor like your so-called mutt," you said, putting emphasis on your nickname that you knew Valeria had also heard of. "It fits—I listen to you while you hold the metaphorical leash you have me on. I do your bidding, sorry—biting, then I sleep at your feet like a dog," you continued, and Valeria's eyes finally tore away from her work, studying you carefully. The air in the room seemed to shift with the unspoken tension between you two.

The corners of Valeria's lips curled into a sly smirk as she leaned back in her chair, regarding you with a mix of amusement and something unreadable. "Mutt or not, you always come back."

You approached her desk, leaning against it with a confident grin. "Well, I have to stick around for my favorite tyrant. Who else would put up with your demands and your charming lack of appreciation?"

Valeria chuckled, a sound that carried a hint of genuine warmth. "Charming, indeed. But don't mistake my lack of verbal praise for a lack of acknowledgment, mutt. You know your place."

"Right at your feet, metaphorical leash and all," you retorted, enjoying the playful banter that always danced between you two.

She finally set her papers aside and locked eyes with you. "Did you at least get some rest?" There was a subtle softness in her voice, a rare moment of concern that betrayed a deeper connection than your banter suggested.

You shrugged nonchalantly, "As much as one can on a cold, hard floor."

A contemplative look crossed Valeria's face. "Next time, take the damn bed. I'm not going to have my mutt complaining and unable to do her job because of a sore back."

The sincerity surprised you, but you met it with a nod. "Sure thing, boss. Now, what's on the agenda for today? More biting or just general mayhem?"

Valeria's eyes gleamed with a mischievous spark. "Let's start with a bit of both and see where the day takes us. We've got some dealings with the rival gang this afternoon, and I want you on the front lines."

You feigned a dramatic sigh. "Ah, the front lines. Always my favorite place to be."

Her smirk widened. "You love it, admit it."

"I live for the chaos you create," you replied, playing along. "Anything else, or shall I prepare myself for the impending mayhem?"

"Actually," she said, leaning forward, "we've got a new recruit coming in today. Some fresh blood eager to prove themselves. Show them the ropes, teach them the way things work around here."

You raised an eyebrow. "A babysitting job? That's a first."

Valeria's tone turned serious. "This recruit has potential. Keep an eye on them, assess their strengths, and report back to me. Understood?"

"Crystal clear, boss. Babysitting duty it is," you said with a smirk, appreciating the trust she placed in you for this task.

As the day unfolded, you found yourself navigating the delicate balance of chaos and order that defined your world. The streets echoed with the sounds of the city awakening to another day, and you, Valeria's mutt, moved with purpose. The new recruit proved to be a quick learner, and you shared the tricks of the trade with a certain level of amusement. It was a different kind of dynamic, one that reminded you of your early days under Valeria's careful watch.

♤~♤~♤~♤~♤~♤~♤~♤~♤~♤~♤~♤~♤~♤

A/N: Im sorry for this taking so long to post I spent so much time preparing for the birthday posts and 'writemas' that it ended up on the back burner but here it is!

If you want to see the scheduled posts go here If you want to see more posts like this go here

[sloppysequinz]

Baby's first house party, Part 3

Find part 1 here and part 2 here

Keg stand just barely won the part 2 poll, so let's get into it.

You follow your gorgeous new friend out the back door and into the yard. Your legs feel far away, like they've somehow been attached to your body with an extra joint of jello. Four--was it four? drinks on your first night out was the best idea ever.

Crossing the trampled grass, your clumsy feet catch on the uneven ground and you stumble. Maybe it should be embarrassing, but you just feel too good--you laugh as the world moves underneath you, arms wheeling. Your guide catches your hand and you don't fall. Instead, you find yourself staring at your joined hands, then her tiny skirt, then her gorgeous cleavage. There's a necklace hidden between her tits. Are you blushing or just flushed from being drunk?

"Wooooah, baby, you ok?" She asks. She peers into your eyes and you grin widely. You want her to look at you like that forever. Her eyes are green, you think. It's hard to focus on them. You nod. Does it matter if you're ok if she's looking at you like that? She smiles and straightens, linking arms with yours. You walk arm in arm across the grass, her shoulder holding you steady. "You meant it when you said you wanted to cut loose, huh?" she teases. "You're doing amazing, are you sure this is really your first party?"

"It really is!" you insist. "I only turned 21 last week."

"Aww, you waited until you were actually 21? You're precious!" she coos, stroking your arm. You can't feel your toes but you can feel where she touched your skin--it's as though your arm is the only part of your body to exist in the material world. Your hips knock into her wide hips as you walk and she giggles and knocks back into you purposefully. You can feel the roundness of her hips and ass and the alcohol seems to rush to your groin faster.

Finally, you draw up to the group of people on the lawn and she drops your arm to hold out her hands, as though presenting the scene to you.

"Well then, do you know what this is?"

You shake your head. It's a giant silver barrel sitting in a bucket of ice. People with red cups are milling around it in a vague line, occasionally messing around with a hose on top.

"This magical little contraption is called a keg, and it holds all the beer one could ever want." She announces. She spins to you and winks, wobbling a little. "And trust me, when you're me, you want a looooot." She pats her soft belly. You almost reach out. You want to know how soft it is. Your inhibitions are still enough in place not to, but you steal a glance at her chest. The cold night air has made her nipples hard under her shirt. Your world tilts and spins. Parties are the best place in the universe, you're absolutely sure.

Suddenly, the crowd around the keg starts chanting someone's name. They part as a man approaches the keg, a drunken grin on his face. He grabs either side of the keg and the other men in the crowd cheer and fist bump.

"Is he going to...lift it?" You ask, confused. It looks heavy. She laughs.

"Oh no, honey," she replies. "They're going to lift him!" She points and you see three of the man's friends emerge from the crowd and surround him. Two of them grab their friend, and much to your surprise, the man is hoisted into a handstand on the keg as the crowd hoots and hollers. The third friend shoves the hose into his mouth and the crowd begins to count: "1!..2!...3!...." as he begins to swallow.

You're transfixed. The barrel is full of beer, right? How much is he drinking? The thought brings an unexpected twinge of lust. You have to admit it: now that you know how good being drunk feels, it's hot to think about how drunk he's going to be.

Your friend catches you staring and shakes your shoulder excitedly. "Oh my god, you want to try? I thought it would be too intense but you look pretty into it!"

"I don't know...uhm..." your tongue feels numb. "I dunno if I can drink that much...." As you keep watching, the guy in the air kicks, clearly a signal, as the two men holding him set him down. Newly back on his feet, he puts his arm over the shoulder of one of his friends and is stumbles back toward the house with his hand on his stomach. Taunts and cheers from the crowd follow him. You can hear him bragging about how long he was up there between burps and giggles.

"You don't know until you try, right?" She says. Without waiting for you to respond, she grabs your arm and drags you towards the crowd. You follow obediently, feet twisting under you. Everything seems so hazy out here in the dark. The only thing that's clear to you is your desire to keep following.

"Charlie! Eddie!" Your friend calls. The two men who helped the last guy onto the keg turn to look. "We've got a keg virgin here primed to go!" she raises your arm and waves it, making you blush.

"Hell yeah!" one replies. "Fuck yeah!" replies the other. You can't really tell them apart, your vision is wavy. "Let's pop that keg cherry STAT!" one of them says. You can hear the little crowd of people echoing the sentiment loudly and enthusiastically. Someone slaps you on the back and you grin. You feel warm and welcome and transcendent.

"Hey, baby, look here." Your friend calls out to you, pulling you back into the moment. She's smiling at you from next to the keg. You eagerly stumble up to stand next to her. She starts pointing things out. "Ok, put your hands on the handles, either side, here. Yep, just like that." You grab the keg, the cold metal feels alien on your clumsy hands. She's messing around with a contraption on top of the barrel. "I'm just gonna prime the pump so it's ready. Charlie and Eddie," she nods at the two guys you just met, "are going to lift you, ok?" She waits for a confirming nod from you before continuing.

"Once you're up, I'm gonna put the hose in your mouth. Just breathe through your nose and focus on swallowing, ok? And kick your leg when you're done. You don't have to be up there as long as the last guy, it's your first time. Even trying is enough to get you cred with these idiots." She gestures toward the crowd, grinning. Somebody hoots in acknowledgement. Charlie and Eddie move up to stand on either side of you. Your friend reaches out to touch your face, gentle and concerned, watching you closely. "We'll wait for you to say you're ready, ok? And it's fine to chicken out."

You barely hesitate. "I'm ready!" you call out, way louder than you meant to, drawing a laugh from the crowd. You sound drunk, even to you. Your friend smiles and ruffles your hair.

"Ok, here we go!"

Charlie and Eddie reach down and grab your legs. These guys must lift, they're manhandling you like it's nothing. Faster than you can blink, you're upside down, and the world is spinning faster than it already was. Before you can process it, your friend leans forward and presses her fingers between your lips. You open your mouth without question.

"Good job, baby," she said, quiet enough that only you can hear. "Open up wider for me." She slides her fingers over your tongue briefly and you hear her giggle. "You're a good listener." She slides the tube into your mouth and traces her fingers over your lips as they close around it. Her touch is gentle, her long fingernails scraping against you delicately. She straightens up and her tits are level with your face, your nose only inches away as she bounces eagerly on her toes and calls out to the crowd. You're too far gone to care that you're staring.

"Alright everybody....START!"

Beer floods into your mouth, bitter and cold and unfamiliar. You almost choke, but you remember what she told you: breathe through your nose and focus on swallowing. Those two things take up all of your limited brainpower. You can only vaguely hear the crowd yelling.

"1!...2!...3!...4!...5!...6!...7!...8!...9!...10!..."

Beer goes up your nose and you kick your leg, almost involuntarily. The hose is removed from your mouth and the boys set you down gently. The crowd is cheering. You focus on staying standing. It's harder than you remember. The beer is cold and heavy in your belly, stretching it and weighing it down. It feels amazingly dense and you run your hand across your full belly to caress it. The rush of blood and alcohol to and from your head is delicious and disorienting. You're not sure where you are. You just feel full and drunk and happy.

Then, your friend throws her arms around you, pressing her soft, warm body into yours. "That was amazing!" She cries. "Ten whole seconds on your first try! You're a natural born partier, baby!" Charlie and Eddie both slap you on the back, making you sway harder. Your friend laughs at your lack of coordination, sliding under your arm to hold you up.

"Do you know what 'three sheets to the wind' means, honey?" She asks. You shake your head. You're smiling but you don't know why. You think you're probably drunk. She begins leading you back towards the house. "It means you're a ship who can't navigate because there's no wind."

"Does it mean I'm drunk?" you slur.

"It means you're fucking wasted, baby."

"It feels goooood...."

"I know it does, honey. That's why we do this!"

As you stagger across the grass, you lean into her, pressing your face into the side of her neck. The heaviness of your body, your taught belly, the warmth in your groin, the emptiness in your brain...you could get addicted. You can't believe how kind she was to show this to you.

"C'mon," she laughs, tugging you along. "I think it's time we go back inside..."

I think we have time for one more activity before the night is over. So far, two of my favorite party activities have been second choice in the polls, so we'll choose from those. What's our last stop for the night?

[heauxvibez]

Born Again Virgin

W.I.P Wednesday <3

"I'm going to be a born-again virgin," Amaia admitted to her best friends, Kaydence and Micah. There she sat crisscrossed on their living couch being as vulnerable as possible.

They exchanged glances before bursting into laughter, filling the living room with their mirth. It was hard to believe that their friend, was going to attempt to reclaim her virginity, long gone by now.

Both women sprawled out on the couch, tears streaming down their faces as they continued their fit of giggles. Amaia felt insulted; how could her own two friends think that this was a laughing matter?

Crossing her arms over her chest, Amaia glared at the two women. They calmed down, sitting up straight while wiping tears from their eyes, though a few giggles still managed to escape their lips.

"That was the best joke I've ever heard in my life!" Kaydence said, leaning against the armrest of the couch. Micah nodded in agreement, sitting with her legs crossed.

"I'm serious, guys. It's about time that I... become celibate." Once her friends realized that she was serious, their eyes almost popped out of their sockets. Amaia's declaration left them taken aback. She had been able to get any man she wanted with her looks and her body; if she found an attractive man in the donut shop, he'd be in her bed that night.

"Why?" Micah asked.

"My body count is higher than my age. I feel disgusted and ashamed of myself," she explained, palming her face.

"So what, sex is amazing! I'd have it every day if I could... oh wait, I do," Kaydence said with a wide smile on her face. She stared off into the distance while twirling a tendril of her hair around her finger.

Micah and Amaia laughed, knowing that their best friend was sex-crazed. There wasn't a single piece of furniture in the place they shared that she hadn't had sex on, and it had consistently been disinfected, if not thrown away.

"So, when do you plan on having sex again?" Amaia stared at Micah, her lips protruding out as she pondered the mind-numbing question. Well, now, she wasn't just going to have sex with whoever she wanted; she needed to control herself and her sexual needs, which needed fulfillment almost all the time.

"If I do find the right guy, I'm going to wait until that relationship is stable before we start having sex, you know?"

"No, I don't know," said Kaydence, breaking her small daydream and shaking her head in disagreement.

Micah nudged her, causing her to mouth 'what' while rubbing her arm.

"We understand, and we..." she darted her eyes at Kay, "support your decision. I mean, we all need a break from sex sometimes, right?"

A loud scoff echoed throughout the room, and they both looked at the woman who continued to shake her head. Kaydence mumbled a few incoherent words, causing them to roll their eyes.

Amaia stood to her feet, grabbing her purse from the coffee table.

"Anyways, I have to go to work, but I'll see you girls later."

Kaydence threw up a peace sign, while Micah waved.

As Amaia closed the door of the condo behind her, she stumbled over a box.

"What the-"

Boxes were scattered all over the hallway, each labeled. Some were labeled Kitchen, others Living Room, Bedroom, and Bathroom. Someone was moving in right across from her and had the nerve to leave their boxes in the hallway, where she nearly killed herself.

Her eyes looked up to see the door open, exposing the nearly vacant condo. She saw the figure of someone running back and forth quickly, but she couldn't make out the face. She could tell that he/she was in quite a rush, though.

She rolled her eyes, kicking a few boxes out of the way.

"Damn inconsiderate neighbor. Trying to kill me with their dusty boxes," she muttered as she fumbled with her car keys.

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

This is a story I worked on a looonngggg time ago and I want to revamp it and make it a Roman story. It's inspired by one of my favorite shows. It's definitely still a work in progress, definitely more details to add to fill the gaps/space. Let me know what ya'll think!

Tags: @harmshake @southerngirl41 @spritelucozade

[blckfyres]

can i request #41 with aemond thank you!!!

btw i’m so excited about this and if you’re up for it im so down to send you more requests but i don’t want to overwhelm you 🖤

i'm alive! life got in the way but your dear author managed to get a big job! this is my first time writing smut so i’m not super happy with it, but please enjoy take on a blackwood!reader's reaction to aemond returning from storm's end with some slowburn gratuitous smut. our aemond is a tough nut to crack.

request a song prompt!

The Bloody Post

Warnings: smut, slightly sub!aemond dom!reader, choking, murder, kinslaying aftermath

WC: 4586 (i wish i were sorry)

Prompt 41: "Love will save you from misery, and tie you to the bloody post" - Love Will Save You, Swans

The palace halls were filled with a turgid emptiness tonight. Smoke hung heavy on the cold stone walls, flame from the torch sconces stuttering death rattles in the biting cold. You pulled your thick robe closer to you as you hurried, leaving a trail of hushed condensation behind you as you breathed like dragon smoke. 

It was desolate nights like these that made you miss home, where your mother kept all of the hearths lit, ready for your return from the barren gardens of Raventree Hall. You would often sit at the dead weirwood, even as a girl, chattering to the Old Gods and petitioning your dreams on the necroding white bark. You did not need a reply to know they heard you – you could always feel it in the sprawling coil of the white roots, more familiar to you than your own blood. 

Targaryens had their occasional dreamers, but the blood of the First Men ran thick with greensight – you, who could hear the whispers of long-forgotten gods, and things yet to come to pass. You were a long way away from home, but you could still feel that magic in your bones – thrumming, cold, knowing.

It’s how you were jolted awake tonight – dreams of a dragon’s jaws at your throat, and a mother’s screams in your ears. It’s why you scrambled out of your room before your legs had even registered moving, and how you could always feel him before you saw him. When it came to your love for eachother, neither of you had ever needed eyes.   

Your feet traversed the freezing flagstones bare – you had been too hurried to find your sandals, hearing the roar of Vhagar’s return from the east wing as soon as you crossed the threshold into the hall. 

Something in that roar made you sure it belonged to Aemond rather than his mount, and your already-freezing blood ran colder. You had awoken for a reason, then. You could feel him more strongly now – the sensation of cold rain spittle on his neck was keeping him anchored. Outside.

You didn’t think twice about the sudden turn you made towards the palace gates. You felt talons of broken stones slashing the skin of your soles as you walked outside, and thanked the blood you would leave in your wake. My debt for the warning, paid in full. Paid to the Old Gods in blood. 

The downpour became heavier the closer you got to the palace walls, and you searched for your lover desperately through the thick, mummer’s drape of a storm.

Your legs became victim to the biting cold, as numb as his resolve felt to you. You needed to find him before his family did. He needs me. You thought, as your wet shift slithered against your legs. He won’t be able to wash the blood from his hands by himself. 

Out of both breath and heat, you surveyed the grounds again. Lightning struck two leagues north of the castle, illuminating the grounds and the tall figure you suddenly noticed stalking towards you. You watched Aemond lurch closer, you – a phantom in his path. He could walk right through me, you thought. And I would let him. 

You had barely registered the distance he had closed before you felt Aemond’s freezing hands grip the hair closest to your scalp– desperate, stinging, a shipwrecked sailor clinging to dissolving driftwood. The little breath you had left was crushed against him like a paltry sacrifice. 

Your voice was little more than a guttural choke as you grabbed his shoulders. You hoped your grip was iron – you couldn’t feel your hands.

 “What is it, what’s happened?” 

Aemond stared at you, and his silence was as telling to you as the whispers of your gods. But you needed to hear it, gods, you needed to hear him say it. You needed to know what to fix - for him to tell you where to sew his flesh, even though you could see the gaping wound. 

Aemond watched you implore him with your eyes, unable to do much else than bask in the overwhelming comfort of your presence as he gripped you, the same way he used to imagine gripping dragon reins as a boy. You were two rusted anchors clinging to each other for dear life so you wouldn’t fall apart. You were sure that your nails had pierced through his leathers by now, how could they not have? 

Another bolt of lightning illuminated the tableaux in front of you again, and this time you could see the state of of the prince clearly. His naked eye was half-crazed, his silver hair a matted ash, and arms trembling as they held his hands to your head. You had never seen him panicked before, not like this. 

Aemond’s arms dropped from your hair - gone was the strength he had to hold them up. They tumbled down your body, and his hands gripped whatever of you they could find to keep afloat, drowning you as he held you. He didn’t know what he needed, he just needed. 

Your lover’s sudden cold touch pulled you back to the present, your mind suddenly sobered – you needed to know what you had to prepare for. 

“Aemond.”  You barked, ripping his hands off of your form. 

The panic in you rose like bile, shrouded in your demand. You weren’t sure if the roaring in your ears was Vhagar’s or your own.

Aemond took a deep breath through his clamped teeth, breathing between his teeth as he yanked you towards him once more, gripping you even tighter than before. 

He shook his head like a child in denial, and dread gripped your lungs like a tourniquet. You struggled against the steely muscles of his arms, looking up desperately to read his face.

“Storm’s End,” He searched your eyes for a wisdom that evaded you. “Luke.”

It was the first time he had called his nephew by the name used by the boy’s mother. A mother’s love, transfigured to an uncle’s guilt. And that’s when you knew. Perhaps, If you were honest with yourself, you knew the moment you awoke - your gods have never deceived you. Denial. You thought. A pretty, pretty thing.

The prince began to scramble at your silence, though brusquely, justifying it to himself just as much as you under the bluntness of his tone.

“It was an accident. I only meant to scare the boy, and Vhagar –”

Only. You gripped his leathers again, like you were trying to tear at his skin. You wanted to howl at him, rend his flesh like a wild animal, to peck at his eye like the ravens on your weirwood – rage. Rage at his arrogance, his stupidity, his pain, his projection.

But all you could do was sob, move your attention up to hold his weathered face in your hands, and hate yourself for the gentleness of your touch. 

He needed you, and you would carry him as you would his sins, paint yourself with the same brush and blood-red paint. He would not be alone. Tonight, you would fix him, and tomorrow, you would break him down again – repaired, reborn. 

This is what love is, you supposed. Getting blood on your own hands because you can’t help holding theirs. 

Aemond pressed his forehead to yours in desperation, as if to meld into you to make you see, understand. You would never forgive it, but he knew you would face the seven hells with him, hand in hand. 

You caressed his face through your tears, and pressed your lips to his suddenly, needing comfort in him just as much as he needed you. You forgot your own hatred for vulnerability when it came to Aemond. Aemond, who would raze kingdoms and caress your cheeks with gentle thumbs in the same breath.  Love. You thought. All it is is your blood on the line and your head on the block. 

You caressed your lover’s eyebrow with your free thumb as you kissed him slowly, and you felt the tension in his body dissipate at your tenderness, your acceptance of him despite his sins. But the tenderness was little match for the violent need you both felt.

Your lips danced against his in their usual battle, and he clutched at the soaking underclothes that clung to your body. You felt him fight tears of his own, his despondency turn into desire. Aemond pulled you against him tighter, like he wanted to dissolve into you, consume you. He got like this sometimes – all gnashing canines breaching lips, and moans more violent than dragonsong. But you couldn’t let him succumb yet. Not here. 

You stopped him with a flat palm to his chest, an action that usually made him crack a smile. Dohaeris, you would whisper wickedly, before he pushed you down to devour you from under your skirts.

He didn’t stop kissing you this time, a man too starved to serve. But you needed time with him – away from the tumult of war councils and the retribution the gods might strike down on him, a kinslayer.

“They’ll be looking for you,” You murmured against persistent pecks against your lips, letting his fervent kisses wash that ugly word away, if only for tonight. 

You looked at him expectantly, waiting for him to steer you through the hidden tunnels of the castle to his chambers. He ignored you, lips harsh against yours once again, hands rending the robe from your shoulders with a snarl as if its mere existence offended him. You did your best not to arch into his touch – it was liquid wildfire.

You knew that he would fuck you right here if you allowed it, and your core clenched at the thought. He grunted in victory when he noticed your reaction, and moved his attention to your collarbone and neck – he bit and kissed languidly, in the way he knew made you writhe.

You fought the urge to yank his head back and claim his mouth with your tongue, your body was beginning to betray your sound mind – you weren’t sure if the wetness between your legs was the rain or your own.

“Aemond.” you said weakly, tugging at his hair to try and reveal his face to you.

Aemond grunted against the valley of your neck, licking a hot trail up to your ear to distract you. He needed your hands on him now – he would break apart without them, crumble to ash.

“Aemond.” you commanded, nails digging into the scruff of his neck to get his attention.

He pried himself away from you with a hiss, tenderness rearing its head at the familiar, steely stubbornness of your gaze. He could never deny you, not really. 

“Unless you want the entire palace to see me bare,” you challenged, eyebrow raised.

You stepped closer to him, hand on his chest once more. You reached up to caress his neck, lips against his ears in a whisper that you were surprised was not lost in the storm. “Or am I not yours?”

Aemond stared at you for a moment, your heaving breasts and wild eyes, the way the rain hung from your lips. He knew exactly what you were doing, yet he never had the strength to resist you. You, his conniving, feral love.

Aemond hummed without a word, taking your wrist and pulling you with him towards the unsuspecting wooden door you would often use.

If it were any other time, you’d have the strength to smile. You could always rely on your lover’s jealousy, if nothing else.

The walk to your chambers was a short one through the passageways, though this time you made the journey in complete darkness. Something about his unusual lack of restraint had you wetter than ever before, and now you were the one dragging him behind you, his hand protectively on your waist as if you’d disappear if he ever let go.

You weren’t certain about how you got so close to your bed  – it was all a flurry of tongues, teeth, and desperation. You had never felt him move this fast before, save in his sparring matches. The prince’s need was palpable, a forest fire raging in the blood, forcing him to burn and lick like flame. 

Faster than you could register, Aemond moved behind you and gripped your back against him, hard.

His pale palm was firm against your throat and clear in its instruction. You sighed at it, arching your neck back against his shoulder - bare and willing against the jaws of the dragon. 

The prince’s other hand held your lower half flush to his clothed cock, and began to rock you against him. The friction was all-consuming, and you suddenly understood how the clash of battle could be glorious. You cursed his leathers for the distance they put between the two of you, and began to blindly move your hands behind you to free him from them.  

Aemond snarled at the feeling of you trying to weave your way through his grip. Insolent. He readjusted his grip with a hiss, moving the source of his pressure to your clit as he continued to grind. He needed you still, to tame something, someone — he fumbled for control as if he were holding water with open fingers.

The dual friction ended what little control you had over your hands. Your eyes rolled back as they would during your visions, but the only god you saw this time was a dragon, devouring what little restraint you had left stored in your neck and shoulders. 

Aemond groaned at the feeling of you jolting against his cock, sharply lapping at your ears and neck and biting what resistance your muscles dared present into submission. You fought to keep your head clear, grappling for a tether in a thick fog of pure want.

As your mind cleared, you began to feel the tremble in his hands, how his eye refused to open, his unwillingness to remove his leathers. A struggle for control.

You felt your resolve strengthen against his blunt bites to your temple. No. You thought. Not this time. Not like this. He needs me. 

You took a deep breath, a final bolster before you tore yourself from his grip and whipped around at a speed that mirrored his own.

The dragon may have strength, but the raven has cunning and speed.

You watched his pale face balk in shock, lips parted and eye wide and heavy. Before he could revert back to his scrambled dominance against you, you brought your soft, uncalloused fingers to the sliver of scar tissue that peeked out from his eyepatch.

You stroked the raised, pale flesh with your thumb softly, and feeling the muscles jump, unused to contact. His eye began to flicker closed slightly, nostrils flaring. You watched him fight against his reflexes, unravelling like a half-tamed serpent.

When you replaced your lone thumb with two fingers, Aemond’s breathing stilled entirely, and for a moment you worried you had gone too far. The candlelight of your room was suddenly oppressive, seeking the reflecting glint of the sapphire underneath the eye patch.

You fought to remain eye contact, and swallowed at the intimacy of the gesture – somehow you felt like the one laid bare, as if the jaws of the dragon were stilled and coiled to strike. The metallic scent of danger did little but strengthen your resolve, and you pressed your lips to his, still parted in shock.

You caressed him as you always did, lulling him into the familiarity of your embrace to calm him. The kiss did little to dampen the fire between you, try as you might – there was always something within the both of you yearning for the other, like fire and blood.

“Ñuhon,” You whispered into his mouth, your rudimentary Valyrian holding a rustic beauty he had yet to find in even the libraries of Oldtown. “Ñuhon se sȳz.” Mine. Mine and good.

Aemond growled under the praise, and tried his best to mask his desperate, preening sob with a low grunt. Your core clenched at his response, fighting the urge to guide his fingers into you.

You shook the thought from your core. Not tonight.

You continued to caress his scar as you kissed him, paying little mind to the tense coil of his balled fists and thrumming heartbeat. You could feel him slowly softening into your languid ministrations, a low pant forming at the apex of his burning lungs as you continued to touch his scar.

You moved your other hand to massage his scalp in encouragement. Your movements were repetitive, deliberate – it was as if you felt afraid to frighten a stray cat. You felt his neck erupt in gooseflesh when your tongue grazed his bottom lip, the tension in his muscles stark against his involuntary preening. 

Still fighting me.

Your kisses were plush and languid with the promise of wildfire. When you opened your eyes to meet his, he simply stared at you. Your eyes were probing, imploring in a way that made him fight the urge to panic. 

You sighed as you ran your hands along whatever lands you could reach: chest, fangs, fingers, lips, talons.

“Ivestragī nyke,” you whispered, thumb soothing the sharp contours of his eye. Let me.  

There was a long pause before you saw him nod, almost imperceptibly.

You pulled him to you once again, and this time, his hands moulded against your curves in silent submission. You sighed as you felt his tension dissolve in a way that made you want to sob. 

You began to move him against you, wings in the wind, and he moulded himself around you like a wave to the moon.

His forehead slowly dropped to rest against yours heavily, exhausted, as you began to unbutton the stiff leather of his doublet. You would burn it in the morning.

You rubbed your nose against his in comfort, your heart straining at the relieved huff he let out.

You struggled slightly against the latching of his leathers, hands still freezing from the storm. But he was patient, eye closed and almost serene.

His skin looked more pallid than usual in the candlelight, and you observed the stark contrast of skin between the two of you as your hand found his bare chest. You imagined this was how he felt taming Vhagar as a boy — raw muscle, the touch of the untouchable.

You felt Aemond’s abdominal muscles tense at your cold touch, and then relax slightly at the feeling of your full lips on his chest.

Aemond felt your tongue against his flesh, a violent gentleness that took his breath away. It felt like the old gods rather than the seven – primordial, familiar, scorching. Devastating, but gentle nevertheless — as gentle as wildfire could be.

You marked your territory slowly, kissing and licking whatever bare, scarred skin you could find in front of you until you felt Aemond’s muscles begin to tremble in earnest.

You lost yourself in the act and in his warmth, whispering whatever broken Valyrian you could remember under your breath as you mapped the contours of his flesh: Dohaeris. Serve. Nuhon. Mine. Rapa. Soft. Gevie. Beautiful. You suddenly knew how Aegon the Conqueror felt when he looked out on his lands. 

You tore your lips from him with great effort, finally looking up at his face when you felt him let out a long-held breath.

You felt the slick from your mouth leave a trail connecting your lips to him, and your stomach jolted when you saw the way he looked at you.

His eye was heavy with something you didn’t recognise, and his cheeks flushed. You licked your already-wet lips and felt your own face grow as hot as your core – he had been watching you the entire time, with a religious reverence and a hard cock. 

The sight of him more wrecked than you had ever seen him, his scarred, bare chest and straining leathers ignited something deep within you – perhaps that dominance, that aggression that your parents had tried so hard to cull.

You stared at him through heavy lashes, pushing his shoulders down with a nod of your head. Aemond heeded your instruction without argument, sitting at the edge of your ornate, mahogany bed without his eye leaving yours. 

There was something deeply erotic about the way he was looking up at you, and you both knew it. Your chest was heaving under your damp shift, now eye level with your lover as you stood over him. You wanted to break him, and then make him again, like a god. There was a pulsating power in the air, and it belonged to you. Is this how dragons feel?

You observed the way his lips parted in need – had it been any other night, he would have pulled you flush and taken your nipple into his mouth with a desperate urgency. But this time, he simply waited for instruction, single blue eye begging as violent need consumed him from the inside out. 

Your fingers weaved their way into Aemond’s scalp as you kissed him with a sudden ferocity that you had little strength to fight, relishing in his grunt as you climbed and straddled his lap. You didn’t wait to remove his trousers, swallowing his groans of relief as you loosened the ties to relieve the tension. 

He could have sobbed when he finally felt your hand make contact with his strained cock. He could already feel the tip weeping, and could do little to stop the flow of precum that escaped when you began to lick at his ear and neck as you pumped him. 

“Ñuhon,” You repeated in unison with his strangled grunts. “Aōhon.” Mine. Yours.

He did not need to hear anything else but that broken phrase for the rest of his life. 

He clutched you like he did Vhagar’s scales when he claimed her when you began to remove his eyepatch. Your hand never faltered on his cock as you stared at him, pupils dilating when you revealed the sapphire nestled deep within sensitive scar tissue. 

You felt all that he did, he knew. He could see it in the way your pupils swallowed your irises whenever you would swipe a thumb over his tip.

Those eyes will be my undoing, he vowed, finally closing his open eye and letting it roll back into the blackness where the Stranger no doubt waited for him.

You relished his hiss of ecstasy when your free hand yanked at the hair close to his scalp, punctuating the pull with the squeeze of your hand on the tip of his cock. Aemond finally let out a strangled moan, all grunting restraint forgotten.

“Ivestragī jikagon,” Let go. You commanded, feeling yourself gush onto his drenched leathers at sight beneath you. You couldn’t stop yourself from rutting against his thigh, joining his moans to create a symphony that sounded closer to dragonsong.

You felt something ignite in you when you remembered his eyepatch in your hand. Spurred on by the prince desperately fucking himself into your hand beneath you, you quickly placed it over your lover’s head and guided it to sit around his neck. Pretty, you thought.

Aemond’s eye snapped open at the sudden sensation, eyes darkening as you slowly started to pull the leather tight. The pleasure that shot through Aemond almost winded him, his groans built from the pit of his stomach as you began to choke him. 

“Kessa,”  Yes. He repeated it like a prayer, though it still sounded too much like a command for your liking.

You couldn’t look away from each other as you began to fasten your pace on his cock and wind the strap tighter. Aemond’s pupils were blown and his teeth bared, your instruction forgotten as he began to desperately tug your core over to his cock.

You felt his entire body tremble and his cockhead darken even more – he would not last long, judging by his desperate need to sheath himself in you. You ignored the agony between your legs, that desperate ache to ride him – your work was not done.

You nipped at his shoulder in reprimand at his attempt to put you off of your strategy, punctuating the bite with another tug at his neck. You relished at his flared nostrils and his wrecked gaze. His eyes were pleading, desperate, adoring. If you didn’t know better, you could see tears begin to form. 

“Ivestragī jikagon, Aemond.” Let go, Aemond. 

He growled at that, defiant until you shifted your weight to hover your core over his cock. The sound the prince let out was more dragon than human, and it made you tighten your leash and hold his gaze — daring him to disobey you and fuck up into your warmth.

Gods. You groaned at his heady glare. You would need to be quick, your own resolve was becoming little more than dornish sand.  

You weaved both hands into your lover’s silver hair and you straddled him, carefully holding your weight. You lowered yourself slightly and slowly with a hiss, until his cockhead barely breached you, nestled in the very opening of your walls. 

The prince cursed within a groan. Aemond’s grip on your hips was bruising – the wetness between your legs did nothing to put out his fire. He groaned at the heat, legs shaking at being held over the edge like this.

He almost toppled over as he felt your tongue on his scar and your core clenched around his tip. 

“Kessa ao ivestragī jikagon hen bisa?”  Your words were a honeyed, panted command. Will you finally let go of this? 

It was all too much for him. Your wanton acceptance of the ugliest part of him, the way you fit perfectly into his hold. He found himself nodding slightly, begging, and the overwhelming feeling of acceptance wormed its way through his core.

Something about the ease of it after all of these years was infuriating. He could do little else other than adore you, and beg for his destruction at your soft hands.

“Yes, yes I –” He shuddered as you began to let more of him in, the scorching warmth of you enveloping his cock until you were fully seated. 

“Fuck,” You whimpered, feeling him completely fill your walls, everything you had.

You threw your head back as you began to ride him, sobs escaping you at the sheer feeling of fullness and the sound of him begging, babbling in Valyrian.

He watched you, enraptured as your hips began their familiar, snake-like dance against him. In his haze, he wondered how you, his anchor, had your palms anchored onto his chest. 

You smiled at him slyly, something unspoken resolved during the whole affair – it felt lighter. He felt lighter. “Would you like to be released, my prince?” 

You punctuated the address with a swivel of your hips, a clench of your core, and a caress of his balls behind you. 

“Wretched woman.” He groaned weakly, gripping you for dear life as he tried to ward off his release. Impossible. “You save me from misery and tie me to the bloody post.” 

His words did little more than spur you on. You lay flat against him, your chest on his as you began to ride him faster. The fire in your core was stronger than it had ever been, punctuated by your squelching wetness as you rode him. You let your lover adjust you so he could hit that sweet spot within you – he needed to please you, he always did. You allowed it, arching to allow his fingers to resume their familiar, circular position on your clit. 

Your vision behind your eyes was bright white, brighter than the heavens as you felt your release chase after you. You weren’t certain your body would be here when you awoke, you were on fire. You would both be little more than ash when you awoke, and you would love each other more for it. 

You felt the coil tighten past human comprehension for the both of you, an ouroboros of pleasure as you fed eachother. You saw your tears before you felt them, falling onto the prince under you like flutterings of volcanic ash. 

“Let go, Aemond.” 

Your final command was weak, but he followed it anyway, his eyes black and his throat hoarse as he released into you with a series of sobs and bites.

You stroked his scar as he came, barely registering the action past the involuntary shakes of your own release – white hot, powerful, older than time itself. Aemond watched you as you came, a creature, the goddess Syrax herself. Made for him, whatever he was now. Kinslayer. Made for you. 

Aemond held you flush against him in the quiet aftermath, your head nestled into his shoulder. You continued to ride him slightly, slowly, wanting to drain him fully and feel it deep within you. He groaned softly as you did, attempting to get his shaking muscles under control before his grandfather came to find him. His eye felt sharper, his head clearer, and his heart lighter. Something had shifted. 

You lifted your head with great effort, noting the long tear tracks on his cheeks. You have never seen Aemond cry, and you never would. But this was close enough. He met your thoughtful gaze with a serious look, searching. Almost as if he expected a recoil from him after the lustful haze. He found none, hoping his eye conveyed his gratitude — it was a weight his tongue couldn’t possibly manage.

Instead, you did as you always did. Unmake him and whatever wisdom he thought he had, while you gripped his hand in yours. 

“You cannot control a dragon.”

He huffed.

“You control me well enough, my love.”