#so made it myself even if it barely makes sense

[cpvnksabm]

you know, in general i am the #1 defender of ricky potts as disability rep (before the erasure rewrites) especially when it comes to his pre-cyclone backstory. but occasionally i do remember the details about ricky's parents, specifically, how stupid it is. i spend most of my time in this fandom internally screaming "stop haphazardly changing rickys backstory, youre erasing the parts that made him special to me" but this part is one of few things in the whole musical that i actually do want changed. because if you take it at face value it makes no sense at all.

direct quote from the script:

"when Richard lost his power of speech, the Potts family took a vow of silence; usually communicating in a series of strange gestures that only they understood. The only time they interacted with one another was when they read comics, or fed the cats… they had fourteen cats."

there is so much weird shit going on here.

first of all. vow of silence? i have never in my life heard of that being someone's response to having a nonspeaking child. i am not nonverbal myself but based on what ive heard from people who are, i understand that not being able to just talk out loud for ease of communication, it complicates every interaction... so why would ricky's parents, presumably non-disabled (the term "vow of silence" definitely implies a choice and not like, selective mutism or anything), do that voluntarily?

no seriously. why. the script makes no attempt to explain their reasoning behind this or how ricky feels about it. why did they do this. is it a symbolic gesture? an attempt to better understand what their son is going through? i can't see it helping ricky in any tangible way. in fact, not being able to have his parents stand up for him (especially as a disabled person who is chronically ignored, especially as a child) would probably make his life harder.

i'm going to guess that the reasoning behind this out-of-universe, the general concept the writers were trying to communicate, was something like "one of the problems with how society treats disabled people is that sometimes they get too much support, and people make really drastic life changes to give them help that they don't even need"...

...and on top of directly contradicting the rest of ricky's backstory ("the most appalling cruelty humanity can muster: complete indifference", anyone?), this is just not true! the idea that disabled people are given/offered "too much" help is a myth and a stereotype. the vast majority of disabled people in real life have less than what they need, and have to struggle to get by. every organisation that is supposed to help disabled people, at every level, is biased toward giving the bare minimum or less - not to giving people more than they need.

to my knowledge, the whole "my son cant speak so im taking a vow of silence" thing, this has just... never happened in real life. not only would it Not Even Help it's just... not an idea that occurs to most parents of nonspeaking children. because why would it? it's ridiculous! the potts family "vow of silence" is just a ridiculous overexaggeration of the concept of "parents of disabled children make sacrifices for their children", and i dont like it.

now, if you want you can handwave all this away with "yeah this would be insane and ultimately unhelpful, but the musical never says that it is helpful, so for all we know ricky doesnt like it and it isnt good and his parents are just insane for doing that". and if that was the case, it would kind of fit with a recurring theme in the musical of performative efforts to "help" ricky that actually just make him more miserable. although i would say that a literal vow of silence is waaaay too big of a life commitment for parents to realistically do performatively. but then again, ricky's parents are clearly already odd people, with the 14 cats and the "strange gestures", so maybe it's just their characterisation...

and that reminds me. why the hell are they communicating with "strange gestures that only they understand".

i think most of the fandom interprets this as referencing ASL. but based on the description that's not what ASL is. sign languages are languages, with their own complex grammar, vocabulary, etc. they are not "strange gestures". this is like if noel's lament ended with our Objective Omniscient Narrator Karnak saying "monique and the priest communicated with a series of strange sounds that only they understood" and then they just spoke regular ass french.

but of course the script never says they're using ASL, and to my knowledge no production has ever actually done ASL for the "gestures", that part is really just fanon.

if you interpret the "strange gestures that only they understood" wording more literally - there is such a thing as home sign! home sign is a communication system made of gestures, generally not considered a complete language, that develops in households where communicating in language (either spoken language or sign language) is not an option. primarily, this is something that happens to linguistically isolated deaf children. if a child cannot hear well enough to learn & communicate with spoken language, and their parents don't give them an opportunity to learn sign language, they develop their own communication methods.

even this isn't quite what's happening in the musical if you take it literally, though, because home sign is developed by the child, by the child who doesn't have access to language. ricky could be d/Deaf or hard of hearing, which would impact his ability to hear and thus learn spoken language, but there's nothing in the musical to really point to this and so i dont think its what the writers were going for. the phrasing of the "vow of silence" thing implies that it was ricky's parents' choice to develop their own communication method consisting of gestures, rather than just an existing language including the language they presumably all already knew and communicated with prior to the "vow of silence".

this truly just boggles the mind. how did this happen? was there a point where mr potts sat down with the family and said "okay, so when we all take a vow of silence, this gesture will be how we ask each other when the cats food bowl was last fulled"? i will give canon the benefit of the doubt on one thing - while it isnt specified in the script, based on how degenerative (neuromuscular) disorders work in real life, it's likely ricky losing his speech would have been a gradual process rather than an overnight thing, and therefore i suppose the parents could have had enough warning time to develop the basics of a signed conlang. but they could have also used that time to learn an existing sign language, which im sure would have been easier for everyone. or they could have used that time to say "considering english exists in forms that dont require talking out loud (AAC), it would probably be easier to learn that rather than a new language, and also why are we taking a vow of silence anyway, how does that help our kid".

of course we dont know exactly how this language of "strange gestures" came to be. because canon, rather than elaborating on any of this, simply dropped the out-of-context claim on our feet. but depending on exactly how it went down, if you take it seriously, i think it could range from "bizarre form of child abuse/neglect that would have a severe impact on rickys communication and social life for years to come" to "technically harmless but really weird and convoluted".

and while we're on the subject of potential neglect. may i remind you, the last part of the section on ricky's parents:

"The only time they interacted with one another was when they read comics, or fed the cats… they had fourteen cats."

This is, frankly, maddening. it seems to imply that ricky's family ignored him a lot due to his disability which, while depressing, is definitely consistent with the rest of his backstory - being ignored at school/in uranium in general, retreating into his own imagination to cope. and i've said time and time again that the ableism ricky faces, being constantly ignored and condescended to and having to literally die and have his disability be magicked away in the afterlife before anyone actually listens to him, this is the most realistic part of the whole musical.

with that being said uhhh. that ending line might be consistent with the rest of rickys backstory but its NOT consistent with everything else karnak said about rickys parents, as recently as thirty seconds ago! are you telling me these parents took a vow of silence in some sort of weird symbolic solidarity with their kid, went as far as creating their own gestural communication system (/signed conlang) to facilitate communicating through this vow of silence... and then barely interacted with the kid they had sacrificed so much for?

if i take karnak completely at his word here, the only explanation i can come up with is that ricky was the subject of some linguistic experiment that his parents came up with. and frankly im not convinced the experiment is scientifically or ethically sound.

okay, in all seriousness,

i know the potts family is not conducting an unethical linguistic experiment. or at least, i know that is not the intended subtext of the musical. it's possible to come up with contrived situations in which these bizarre decisions would be realistic in-universe, but we all know that ride the cyclone is a work of fiction. and when things are this contrived... the most reasonable explanation is simply "the writers never thought that hard about it".

and that's disappointing! this blatantly nonsensical detail stayed in the musical for years, and apparently nobody thought to be like "hey, does this make sense? should we fact-check this?". this part of rickys backstory stayed the same until his entire backstory was overhauled to remove his disability in 2022 and, tbh, i dont think that was actually that anyone realised this part didnt make sense and tried to fix it, more likely that it just happened to get thrown out while they were doing disability erasure.

everything about this short paragraph indicates the writers being unwilling to research. which is bad writing practice in general and particularly bad when you're writing about disabilities!

i find this particularly disappointing because, as ive said, most of ricky's backstory was very realistic in the old scripts, and surprisingly well done; this is one of the aspects of disability rep where they just, completely dropped the ball. unfortunately, that was years ago, and now rtc has so thoroughly gone off the deep end in terms of disability ""representation"" that it's hardly worth it to nitpick the worst details in the best versions of the script...

but, still, i wanted to share my thoughts on this. it's surprisingly under-discussed in the fandom. i see a lot of people attempting to explain how rtc's disability rep was always flawed, some better than others... and i thought it would be good to go through and actually nitpick what rtc did wrong in the first place so we can all try to do better.

anyway, to the half-dozen people still reading this. fic writers. if you are a stickler for Canon Compliance then please understand that the canon here is nuts. i'm not saying don't put it in your fics, personally i sometimes love to write fics that i call Canon Malicious Compliant, which is when you stubbornly refuse to acknowledge what the author probably meant to say and instead explore the fucked-up explanations of what the author literally did say. i would love to see some fics that explore how ricky would actually feel about the "vow of silence" thing, and how it would impact him & his relationship with his parents, rather than just having it as a background info that isn't acknowledged as the weird thing it clearly is.

alternatively, to the large section of the fandom that is willing to say "I recognize the canon has made a decision, but given that it's a stupid-ass decision, I've elected to ignore it" - can i suggest CODA!Ricky, as in Child Of Deaf Adults, as an alternative headcanon that stays close to the canon while actually making sense? this would explain why his parents use a sign language at home way better than the "their kid cant speak so naturally they took a vow of silence" nonsense. obviously, headcanon what you want, this is the one part of canon that is really so nonsensical you might as well ignore it and treat it as a blank space in which to write whatever hcs you want, i just wanted to suggest one possible (more reasonable) explanation

[coltermorning]

A Standing Offer Pt. 2 (RDR2 Fanfic, Arthur Morgan x F!Reader, 18+)

Summary: When your car ends up with a minor problem, you’re forced to interact with Arthur again.

Author’s Notes: Part two of this one.

Tags: Arthur Morgan x reader, high honor Arthur Morgan, eventual smut

AO3 Link

~

A Standing Offer

Word count: 3418

Part Two

“That aren’t gonna buff out, Artur.”

Arthur was doing his best to ignore the Irishman at his side, sweat beginning to bead across his forehead for his efforts. He was trying hard to get your bumper back in working order, but it was proving more difficult than he’d thought.

“What is it they call insanity? Doing the same ting over again and expecting different results?”

“Quit while you’re ahead,” Arthur grumbled.

“Exactly what you should doing there.”

Arthur stood so fast that Sean jumped back to avoid him. Arthur laughed at him. “What you so jumpy for? I’m just getting another cover for this buffer.”

“Oh, sure you are,” Sean said. “Very funny.”

“Unless you think I have reason to beat your teeth in,” Arthur suggested.

“Me? Never,” Sean answered, following Arthur along as he made for the part he was looking for.

“Shit, there’s reason enough to give you a good beating every day,” Arthur said, scanning the shelves on the wall. He found the right cover for the buffer machine and took it off the shelf, feeling along it to see if it would do the trick. He wasn’t quite pleased, but it was worth trying at least.

“You always this nasty toward your friends?” Sean teased.

Arthur finally turned to him. “To my coworker who won’t go work his job, keeping me from mine in the process? Yes.”

“Ahh, you love me though. Besides, I know what it is. You’re just hung up on that girl. What’s her name? Ruby?”

Arthur really could have punched him then, and John and Javier too for ever mentioning you in the first place.

“I ain’t hung up on anyone. Now go do the job you’re hired to do before I fire you myself.”

Sean let out a bark of a laugh. “You wish you could, English.” But, thankfully, he let Arthur be and went back to the old Chevy he had been assigned a week ago.

Even though Arthur’s shadow was gone, he found himself even more aggravated when he continued buffing out the bumper. The breaks in the plastic that resulted when the piece bent back into its proper shape weren’t going anywhere.

Arthur put the buffer down and rocked back on his knees, hands on his hips. This weren’t good. Either you’d need a new bumper, or you would have to come up here and confirm that you were all right with the damage. The second one was cheaper, but Arthur wanted no reason for the boys at the shop to keep ribbing him over you. It didn’t make any goddamn sense, as far as he was concerned. John and Javier were the two idiots who had cornered you in that club. He’d barely even spoken to you in comparison. But no, all he’d heard since was how sweet on you he was, volunteering to fix up your car cheap. He wished he’d never even offered.

Truth be told, Arthur didn’t quite know why he’d done it. There was the obvious, that he felt bad for all the damage his truck had caused that you would have to pay for. But beyond that, he’d told himself the minute he left the Rouge that he would block all thought of you off. True, he couldn’t keep his eyes off you that night, and also true, he couldn’t stop thinking about the way you’d spoken to him. But it was your job to act as you had toward him. He didn’t think he’d ever have reason to see you again anyway. When he got out of his truck in all that buzzing traffic, the last person he’d expected was you, shouting at some poor girl enough to make her look like she was shrinking into her clothes. He was so amused by your change in behavior that he’d told himself right then and there to be done with it all. He couldn’t fall for a stripper who had only paid him any mind because she was getting paid to do so. So, he’d told you the damage, determined to leave it there, then the words that he would help you came spilling out of his mouth before he could stop them. And he’d regretted them every moment since.

Arthur wiped his sweaty forehead with the back of his arm, knowing either way, the shape the car was in at least warranted a call. Best to get it over with sooner rather than later.

~

A number you didn’t have saved in your phone crossed your screen, distracting you from your reality TV. You would normally damn whoever it was and ignore it, but a lot of random numbers had been calling you since moving and starting a new job. You groaned loudly and picked it up.

“Hello?”

“Y/N? This is Arthur.”

Well, well. You didn’t like the excitement that bolted through you one bit.

“Hey,” you said simply, not wanting to make this some big deal. Simple phone call, back to your show.

“I got a problem with your car.”

Just perfect. Couldn’t you have one relaxing day?

“What is it?”

“I got the front bumper back in place, but the breaks in the plastic won’t buff out.”

“So…”

“So you’ll either have to keep it like this or order a new bumper.”

“Oh.” That was an easy decision. “It doesn’t affect driving it, does it?”

“No, just cosmetic.”

You grinned at his use of the word cosmetic. “Easy enough. Leave it like it is.”

“Can do,” he said. And, just before you were about to hang up and go back to your show, “I’ll need you to come look at the damage and sign off on it.”

Christ. You really didn’t need to go see this man in person again. You would have to go back up there to get your car anyway, but you were hoping Arthur would already be busy with another car by then. “Can’t you just sign it for me? Take this as my personal attestation that I won’t sue you?”

“Afraid not,” he said simply.

“Ugh. Fine. When do I need to come up there?”

“It’s ready now. Anytime before five.”

“Great,” you said with as much sarcasm as you could muster. “Be there soon.”

“Bye,” he said, and hung up before you could.

“Bye,” you said in a sing-song voice, tossing your phone across the couch. This was just not what you needed right now. You were thrilled the car was done so soon, but you were determined to get this man out of your head. Going to see him at his shop, where he dressed like masculinity given form, would not help. But you sucked it up and called an uber anyway, at least glad that you wouldn’t have to inconvenience Janiyah by bumming a ride anymore.

The entire ride to the shop, you watched the traffic from the back seat and did your best to hold your tongue. But truly, you would have to move closer to the club or something. This road rage was taking years off your life.

Before you could do something stupid enough to ruin your uber rider rating, you arrived at Arthur’s shop. It was named Van der Linde Auto Shop—a mouthful of a name that you’d told them to change upon learning it. Because of it, though, you’d learned that Arthur didn’t own the place, that his last name was Morgan, and way too many other personal things about the guys who worked here. John and Javier included. The owner hadn’t been in the last time, and neither had the rest of their little gang of merry men. But today as you walked up in broad daylight, the place was crawling with them.

“Y/N,” someone called out from your right, and you squinted into the sunlight to find John. There laid another problem—because of the business with the cars and the cops, they now knew your real name.

John loped over, pausing his work on a ridiculously jacked-up truck you had a sneaking suspicion was his.

“Hey. Arthur’s just inside. Said to let him know when you got here.”

“Well, here I am,” you said, curious over John’s enthusiasm. You wondered if it was due to flattery or guilt. Most men couldn’t help feeling one or the other toward you after meeting you a second time.

“This way,” he said, sure as ever. You followed him in through the shop’s big bay doors, thinking he was likely feeling both. But you refrained from calling him on it, remembering the woman he and Arthur had been arguing about at the club. No need to insert yourself there.

“Arthur! Y/N’s here,” John called out to the floor.

You couldn’t see Arthur but heard him call out, “Give me a minute. Almost done here.”

You turned to John and smiled. “Thanks for the help.”

The scars across his face stretched as he smiled back. “No problem. See you.” Then he turned to go, and you could only laugh under your breath at his confidence.

“Yeah, see you.”

Wanting to get out of here as quick as you could, you went looking for Arthur. There were cars in the way and four other men you could see working—Javier and three others you’d never met—but no Arthur. Javier waved at you with a shit-eating grin on his face. You didn’t even want to know, just waved back. But you did spot your car near the back of the shop, so you made for it. Only, you saw sudden movement by your feet and stopped, taking in the sight of…holy fuck.

There were two work boots and a very familiar pair of well-fitting jeans sticking out from under the car at your side. Arthur was on his back on one of those stupid roller things, and the way he reached up to work on the underside of the car revealed a sliver of very chiseled, deliciously sweaty abdomen. You had two seconds to imagine your tongue on those muscles before you mentally kicked yourself and behaved.

You nudged one of his boots. “So, should I come down there, or..?”

There was a moment’s hesitation before he pushed himself out from under the car, rising up and putting those abs to work. You forced yourself not to watch them. Even though the rest of him looked just as good in a black shirt that stretched across his broad chest. He had black streaks across his arms and hands from whatever he had been doing with the car, and he started to wipe them away with a dirty rag.

“What part of ‘give me a minute��� didn’t you get?” he asked, though he sported a smug look as he said it.

You just shrugged. “You look done to me.” Not just done—hot as fuck, you thought to yourself. The way he cleaned his hands with that rag made his forearm muscles turn over, bulging. Something about the movement and the black shirt as opposed to the white one he had been in the last time...

Now that you took him all in, you realized he was undoubtedly threatening in a way that ran past the seams of his shirt and down his coarse arm muscles to his able hands. This man was barely-contained power. And yet, you still wanted it all for yourself.

“I am done,” he said. “But make no mistake, if I weren’t, you’d be waitin’.”

“You sure know how to charm a girl,” you replied lazily, easily. It was so easy to flirt with him you made a point to keep the chit chat to a minimum from then on.

He smirked and threw the rag on top of the car, rolling the contraption he’d been lying on back under the car with his boot. “Car’s over here,” he said, leading the way. You watched his ass in those jeans again, not really caring to divert your gaze. If this was the last time you saw him, it was best to take in the view.

He stopped just before your car and pointed at the front bumper. “Scratches are just there.”

You leaned down to get a better look and were pleasantly surprised. They really weren’t bad. You certainly wouldn’t be buying a whole new bumper just to fix a few pieces of fractured plastic. They were noticeable, but the thing was drivable and had two properly-shaped bumpers again. That was the best you could ask for at the price he was offering.

You straightened up and turned to him, and his gaze flicked back to your face. From where it had been on your ass.

This was a dangerous game the two of you were playing.

“Looks fine to me,” you said. “Where do I sign?”

He just grunted in response, motioning for you to follow him. You really wished he wasn’t so gruff. Rude, really. If he’d just accepted your dance back at the club, he would be gone from your thoughts entirely. But no. He had to make things difficult, like he knew you were a sucker for a challenge.

Arthur led you back to the shop’s corner office, one you noted was walled with glass. Likely so whoever was in here could see what was happening on the shop floor, though your mind went to less innocent things, like what all those workers would think of what a mess Arthur could make of you on this very desk. You shook that thought off before it could take root and looked to Arthur. He had found the form he wanted from the filing cabinet and laid it down on the desk, beginning to fill out the details of the repair. You watched his shoulders and back muscles work against the tiny weight of the pen on paper. This man really was a sight to admire.

“There, if you’ll just…sign there,” he said finally, flipping the paper around for you to sign. He held the pen out to you, and you impulsively tried to catch his gaze as you took it, but he wouldn’t look up. Coward.

You set your purse down in the chair at your side and signed. When you finished and handed him back the pen, he gathered up all the paperwork and the receipt. Then you paid and knew it was time to go or else risk getting hung up on this idiot.

“Here’s the keys,” he said, handing them over. “Try your best to drive a little better from now on.”

“Shut up,” you quipped. “Like you wouldn’t be happy to have me back in.”

He chuckled and shook his head, his face tingeing red. “Go before I charge you for keeping me from my job.”

You gave him one last long look, memorizing that handsome face, before turning on your heel. “Thank you, Arthur.”

All he said in response as he followed you back to the floor was, “Be sure to put it in reverse to back out of here. That’s the one with the ‘R’.”

“Shut the fuck up,” you shot back, though you gave him a smile and a laugh as you did, secretly hoping that just as it usually did at the Rouge, the look would linger.

~

It took you until you got out of your car back at your apartment to realize you didn’t have your purse. It, and your phone, and your wallet, were still sitting in that goddamn chair at Arthur’s shop.

You let out a groan and slapped a hand to your forehead, debating turning right around to go get it. You would need it for work tonight. But you also didn’t want to see Arthur again. You’d spent the entire ride home cursing yourself a fool for how you’d acted toward him at the shop. It was infuriating, really, how you just wanted to be done with him, but seeing him made you turn into the world’s biggest, most obnoxious flirt. You could not get involved with this man. It went against every instinct you had in your professional life. So, you did what any sane person would do when faced with such a problem and avoided it. You stomped upstairs and slammed your apartment door shut behind you, leaving that problem for a later, much wiser, version of yourself.

After eating a ridiculous amount of junk food and bingeing reality TV for the rest of the day, you finally gave in and left a little earlier than usual to go get your purse back before work. You only hoped that John or Javier or literally anyone other than Arthur would be the one to retrieve it for you when you got there.

Upon arriving, not only were you disappointed, you were debating turning right back around and leaving. It was late enough on a Wednesday night that everyone else had left for the day, and only Arthur’s gray truck remained sitting just in front of the office. Fuck.

All you could do was go in and get your shit and leave with as few words as possible, and that’s exactly what you aimed to do as you parked beside him and walked up to the door. But then you saw him through the glass office windows walking around the shop carrying some power tool, lifting his shirt up to wipe his sweat away. You watched that glorious body in silence, not moving a muscle to go inside as he used the tool to saw a piece off of a car. Fuck him and his stupid sculpted body.

Before you could move, he looked up and saw you standing there. He startled a little but set the tool down and walked over to you, opening the door. “Jesus, you trying to scare the shit out of me?”

“Sorry,” you managed. “I was just…I left my purse.”

“Oh. Where?”

You pointed inside the shop to the chair that held the tiny bundle of leather you could have burned up with the spite you felt toward it.

He held the door open wider for you and motioned for you to come in.

“Sorry about that,” you said honestly. “Didn’t mean to take up so much of your day.”

He huffed a laugh. “You sure about that?”

You stopped and turned toward him. “What do you mean?”

He crossed the room and took your purse, handing it to you in an annoyingly courteous way that made you think get out now before you do something stupid.

“Just that I’m starting to think you like my company,” he said, meeting your eye with a smile so charming that it made your flirting look pitiful in comparison.

You were lost on a comeback and settled for a simple, “I’m just forgetful is all.” Even though that couldn’t be farther from the truth—he had distracted you into forgetting your purse earlier.

“Uh huh,” he quipped. “And you just happened to be looking my way when I spotted you watching me work through that window, right?”

You felt your face heat. “Something like that.”

He really smiled now. “‘Course.”

He let the silence stretch enough for you to feel a panic you normally never did when it came to men.

“Well, thank you,” you said, turning for the door. “I owe you.”

“Nah, you don’t owe me anything. We’re even,” he said as he stepped forward and opened the door for you.

You passed him and walked into the night air, about to do the very thing you knew you shouldn’t. But you did, because he was a good person under all that toughness.

“Not even a dance?” you quipped, turning on him with a raised eyebrow.

His face hardened, his jaw clenching just a heartbeat long enough for you to know the comment had its desired effect. But then he leaned against the doorway and crossed his arms in amusement.

“You want to know why I turned you down before? Why I will every time you ask?”

Your heart started racing in a way no man had made it race in years. “Why?”

“Because I don’t pay for it. If I get what I want from you, it ain’t going to be for any money.”

You just stared at him. He stood straight and let the door fall in, retreating back into his shop. “Night,” he said without looking back. And you were left watching him go, for once the one allowing a man’s words to linger.

[pancake-perry]

Why I found Till's death in Blink Gone so impactful (as a Till fan.)

(I mostly just made this for myself. It's very self-indulgent. May contain some bias and is not meant to be insightful.)

If It wasn't already obvious, Till is my favorite character. I think all of them are equally complex and likable, but I personally have taken a greater liking to Till.

So I naturally find his performances, and therefore his supposed death(I say supposed cause I'm still not completely convinced he's dead), more impactful. But I also think it's because the creators genuinely did a wonderful job organizing the events of Blink Gone.

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The first thing we are greeted with is a shot of their outfits. Luka is wearing white and Till is wearing green. Both Sua and Ivan died in white, so seeing Luka in white automatically associates him with losing the competition.

However, when you take into account that white is a frequent color choice for Luka, you begin to doubt that assumption.

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Mizi and Hyuna appear to have infiltrated the building and are planning to stop the performance. Hyuna is badly hurt and Mizi is stealthily navigating through hallways in order to reach Till. I found myself wondering if the two would be able to successfully pull it off and make it out alive.

It creates suspense.

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It then cuts back to the actual performance.

Watching Luka remain composed while basically bullying the much less composed Till was concerning to say the least. What's worse is how Till was taunted. Luka employs a particularly upsetting tactic in which he uses the traumatic memories of the previous round against Till. How original.

Keep in mind that Till has barely had any time to process Ivan's death, so the dying image of Ivan is still very fresh in his mind. Painfully fresh.

Though understandably distracted, he does his best to regain stability.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-

Yet despite his efforts, it's all just too overwhelming for him. He becomes visibly exhausted. He looks like he's on the verge of collapsing. This is the point where I thought he was truly done for.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-

But then he spots Mizi in the crowd and hope is immediately restored.

They give you a false sense of hope. You think, "wait, maybe he does actually have a fighting chance!" Heck, even Luka is caught off guard by Till's sudden revival.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-

Then...

Bam!!!

Whatever sliver of hope you had is absolutely demolished with zero mercy.

I won't lie, I cried. I started sobbing.

The sweet xylophone scene after did not help whatsoever.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-

What hurts the most is watching Till try so desperately to survive. Unlike Sua and Ivan, he had not yet accepted death. He wanted to live.

Unfortunately, his efforts proved to be futile.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-

[fandoms-in-law]

A Chain is Forged

Summary: Steve had noticed the webs of connections that meant the Upside Down was involved increasing, growing in prevalence around the town. He'd thought Starcourt Mall was safe from them. He didn't like learning that was because the webs were focused far underneath it.

Part of my witch Steve AU: au idea, Nets& Webs

Author's note: I have 3 more parts of this in the works. I just can't motivate myself to get them properly finished so thought posting this might help.

~

When he was told to get a job Steve wondered if he should have carried on retying his parents connections to him for the first time in years. He doubted it would change anything though, so carried on accepting the instruction.

If he did a couple of charms to ensure wherever accepted his application couldn’t be brought or bullied by his parents and should be somewhere he could find more important connections for himself, well, that was nobodies business but his own.

He hadn’t expected Scoops Ahoy to be the one that stuck though.

~

Thinner than a spiders thread but still strong; that was the connection that Steve saw appear for his coworker the day he started with Scoops Ahoy and it confused him.

There were two other staff members they might work with and both of them had embroidery floss connections, easily snapped, so he wasn’t sure why Robin was different, beyond the likelihood they’d share the most shifts together.

“Enough staring at the air, Harrington. We’ve got customers incoming.” She clicked where he’d been debating the string before pointing over the counter.

Perhaps the difference was that she didn’t care about who he’d been in school one bit and, even if she seemed to dislike him, was getting to honestly know him.

~

At least the mall didn’t appear to be a focus of the webs at the moment too.

Steve had looked after the first time they dealt with the Upside Down and spiders could build their webs quickly. Once when Nancy was trying to make him study in the library he’d even found a book that mentioned caves made of spiders webs.

It only made him call the web of the Upside Down’s connections a web more resolutely, but also he worried that would be the fate of Hawkins. It meant he kept watch on the connections around him, hoping they would never be swallowed into the web of monsters the lab had brought to it.

Each time he saw more webs appearing he wanted to tear and break them, but couldn’t bring himself to do so. What worse thing could doing that thoughtlessly cause?

~

“I don’t think we’re going to be heroes, Dustin.” Steve groaned.

He’d thought there was no chance the Russians had anything to do with the mess of webs the lab had caused growing recently; had hoped the webs that were near the mall were because of the tunnels from last time since none ever seemed to be in the building except when the kids and their connections from fighting it were around.

But now Erica and Robin were touching the web and they hadn’t left the damn lift yet.

“Doubted you would from the start. The army doesn’t like small town kids getting honours over them for this shit.” Robin quipped, “Why have you seen sense now?”

He shrugged, trying to think up a plausible excuse, “Unless we’re lucky hiding whenever those doors open we’re more likely to just be missing people, right now.”

“Then let’s get hiding places sorted now!” Dustin insisted, jumping up and looking at the various things in the lift with them.

Steve wasn’t hopeful that any hiding place would be good enough to save them.

~

Their hiding places had only delayed this. Stopping Dustin and Erica from getting captured too was barely a victory and Steve no longer cared about the damage he could be doing.

He was captured, had no guarantee the kids were safe and was certain that Robin wasn’t, so he was going to fight with every method he could.

His hands might’ve been restrained but he cut and hacked at every string, thread and rope the Russians in his cell had. They deserved no connections and he’d do all he could to make it so.

He’d answer questions, obscure anything he knew and tear away, seeing the changes, the anger and pain the bastards would never understand.

Even when they knocked him out he was grimly satisfied knowing he’d done more damage to them than any pain they could be putting Robin through or his kids might face.

~

There was another rope among his connections: That was Steve’s first thought when he woke after the torture, feeling the weight of his connections before any physical sensations.

He was right but also wrong. There was a new rope there, pulling off into the Russian basement, probably to Erica, he thought when he opened his eyes, but the weight came from a chain going behind him to Robin as she babbled pleas for him to wake up and threats to their capturers.

~

“I didn’t want the web to get you; To get anyone else.” Steve muttered into the toilet. Throwing up wasn’t fun, even if the high from whatever they’d been given had been and he blamed those two things for the empty belief that he could talk to the toilet in place of Robin and she wouldn’t hear.

Robin let out a confused grunt, “What web? Are you still drugged?”

“Yeah, throwing up doesn’t get rid of something injected. Are we still telling the truth?” He asked, glad there wasn’t any compulsion to explain more.

“Try lying to me, about whatever web you mentioned, maybe?” She offered, a thud suggesting she’d kicked her legs up the cubicle wall.

He groaned, deciding to give it a go and hoping she’d let him end after one sentence. Coming down from a beating and drugs was not how he wanted to explain his powers to anyone. “That’s what connections to the Upside Down look like. Okay, you tell me something now.”

“Not something you want to explain?” She wryly muttered, “Ask me something. I don’t know what to say.”

Steve shrugged, “When was the last time you wet yourself?”

He was listening and taking part in the conversation to the best of his abilities. He wanted to understand what Robin was saying and how she reacted to the confession he found himself making, but the chain distracted him.

It had changed colour when he described Robin as his crush, thrumming with emotion, and with everything they’d just gone through he couldn’t remember what a murky dark blue usually meant beyond that he’d usually been the one it came from in the past. It had been years since he’d seen the shade though: Of that Steve was sure.

He much preferred the rich green it became when he joked about Tammy being a dud, a playful, joyful colour that he tried to get the kids to show as often as he could.

~

The Upside Down was shut down and Steve hoped it would be for good now. Lingering webs did not support that hope, but at least they were far far fewer than had been around Hawkins just a few days before.

After the fire, Steve had gotten home late and only just mustered up the energy to shower before curling into his bed, whining when his injuries made getting comfortable so much more difficult.

He hadn’t been surprised that Robin called and then got her Dad to bring her over early the next morning and was actually more surprised that Dustin and Erica hadn’t tried the same thing. They had both radioed him instead, checking he was alive and updating him on anyone else they’d spoken to that morning. Erica did complain that now she had to copy her brother in asking for a radio which wasn’t cool at all.

“Why are there stones in your sofa, Steve?” Robin called, having been set on collapsing onto a couch while he got drinks and snacks.

Steve smiled at the question since most people didn’t notice them at all. “They’re crystals. Dad hates them.” He knew that wasn’t an explanation, but wanted to go into explaining how he could see connections as well as witchcraft slowly, with humour if possible now.

“Why are you hiding crystals in your sofa then?” Robin asked, watching as he carried the tray he’d put together through.

He shrugged after putting the tray down to avoid anything spilling, “First it was because they’re meant to encourage peace and communication but now it’s because my parents stay here less when I’ve got them placed. My dad is anything but peaceful apparently.”

“Is that like, witch stuff?” Her nose scrunched as if just asking that was absurd.

He nodded, “Yeah, but not to the extent you’re probably imagining now.”

She straightened, leaning towards him, looking eager, “Explain.”

~

A week had past since they fought the mindflayer and Robin became the first person Steve fully explained his witchcraft too and one thing kept confusing Steve.

Usually if a connection confused him, he’d have to just watch, try and learn from seeing how the person it was for interacted, and make guesses, but this was multiple connections and he could talk to Robin about them now.

That was why after all the kids had been with him for the afternoon, he began, “I don’t get it. The connections didn’t change.”

Robin looked from him, to the door as if one of the kids would come back in to explain, “What connections?”

“To Hopper.” Steve pointed out the door. “Nobodies connections changed except growing sad.”

She frowned at him, stating as if he was missing something obvious, “Well, he did die.”

“These aren’t connections to someone dead! I’ve seen those with Barbara Holland and Bob Newby. They change when someone dies. Hopper’s haven’t.” He folded his arms with a huff, “And I don’t get it.”

“Do you think he survived?” Robin asked slowly, but had to follow it up with the obvious next question, “Why wouldn’t he have come to us then?”

Steve looked at her thinking, his expression slowly getting sadder, “I’m going to strengthen those connections and do everything I can to send him help, but yeah, I guess the happier alternative for now is depressingly that he died.”

[niinnyu]

Revenge is best served with friends helping you.

[galactaknightyaoi]

When I first got into Kirby, I didn't expect to like, actually get into it. I thought it'd be like any other hyperfixation I'd had up to that point, that it would go away within a few months and I'd never think about it again.

Given I was so deeply in denial, I didn't care about being fully accurate and had some stuff that was really goofy and/or underdeveloped and unexplained. Stuff I'd made up to just work for the limited time I would be there.

Still, I came up with a few headcanons that I got attached to, and when I started realizing this was here to stay, I still chose to be stubborn and had to work backwards to keep these stupid headcanons, but adapt them into something a bit more fitting and polished.

It led to some cool stuff, like for example, my orbs aren't very magical, this was something I had settled on early on. But after I got invested, I had to think about what that actually meant and the implications of it like, how can they do this without magic? And what about that? What about this canon thing, how do I explain it?

I found decent enough explanations for all of these. But as a result of my unserious beginnings and continued stubborness, now I get really embarrassed at the time to actually talk about my headcanons and the stuff I've come up with.

Because what do you mean your Galacta Knight is half-dragon?

[interactivefictionramblings]

[Heaven’s Secret 1 spoilers.]

Tbh, I don’t understand why Sepha didn’t just send Malbonte - not Bont or Mal, Malbonte - down to Earth, as a fallen angel, to be with his parents? Like, he wouldn’t have ever been able to come back, right? So it’d ‘solve the threat.’

I mean, I guess the answer is just ‘plot,’ but it’s a boring answer. The little bit we got of Sepha, I got the impression he’s not even able to grasp his own cruelty—like he doesn’t try to be, yet still is, anyway. And I guess part of that makes sense, with him being an unbelievably ancient deity and all, but it doesn’t explain his actions about Malbonte, when Earth was right there.

Like

?????????

[arolesbianism]

I wanna take a crack at making some fake screenshot graphics for my Sif Odile duo loopers au but I do not feel confident enough in my ability to mimic isat's art style and I also have a crippling fear of drawing backgrounds

[rafesbimbo]

Hiii!! Can I request gynecologist rafe x fem reader that can’t orgasm and he helps her (some smut)

Tysm, love your stories!! <3

warnings: smut, taboo, age gap (19/29), medical kink, orgasm therapy, fingering, dirty talk, dominant!rafe, nervous!reader, lowercase

pairing: gynecologist!rafe cameron x fem!reader

you’re not sure what’s worse—the paper gown, the stirrups, or the fact that the man standing between your knees is painfully attractive.

dr. rafe cameron.

“first time?”

he asks, voice low and smooth. he doesn’t look like any doctor you’ve ever seen. slicked-back hair, perfect teeth, sleeves rolled up to show strong, veiny forearms. his gold watch catches the light.

you nod. “yeah.”

his eyes flick down to your trembling knees. “nervous?”

“a little,” you whisper, even though your heart’s beating so hard it’s making your chest ache.

he hums, scribbling something on the clipboard.

“you’re nineteen. no birth control. no active partners. but you made this appointment yourself. so what’s goin’ on, baby?”

your cheeks burn.

god.

this is so embarrassing.

you look down at your hands, fingers fidgeting in your lap.

“i… i can’t finish.”

his brow lifts. “what do you mean?”

you hesitate. then, in a small voice, “i’ve never had an orgasm. not with someone. not by myself.”

he doesn’t laugh. doesn’t make a face. he just stares at you for a second like he’s reading you.

“how long you been tryin’?”

you shrug. “a couple of years.. i thought something was wrong with me.”

he steps closer. “nothing’s wrong with you.” a pause. “some girls just need a little help.”

your breath catches. “you mean…?”

his voice drops. “i mean, if you’re open to it, i can do an internal evaluation. a hands-on assessment. we’ll go slow. see if we can figure out what’s keepin’ you from letting go.”

you blink up at him, wide-eyed. “that’s… allowed?”

he smiles. “with your consent? yeah, baby. i’m licensed to make you feel good.”

you shiver.

he helps you lie back on the table, spreading your legs gently into the stirrups. the gown falls open. you’re bare under it. skin prickles as the cool air hits your center.

his eyes drag down your body, hungry. “pretty little thing,” he mutters, almost to himself. then louder, “i’ll start with just one finger.”

you nod, breath shaky.

he gloves up, squirts a little lube onto his fingers, and presses one thick finger inside you. slow. smooth. your body clenches around the intrusion, and he pauses.

“tight,” he murmurs. “you ever use toys?”

you shake your head. “just fingers.”

“makes sense.” he pushes deeper, his other hand resting on your thigh to keep you still. “gonna feel around a little. let me know if anything feels good.”

you can’t speak—you’re already panting. he curls his finger upward, and your hips jolt.

he smirks. “there she is.”

he presses again. and again. and each time your back arches a little more. you’re gasping now, whimpering when he adds a second finger, stretching you wider.

his thumb brushes your clit, slow and steady. “you’ve been waitin’ for this, huh?”

“y-yeah,” you breathe.

“just needed someone to show you how your body works. someone who knows how to make you cum.”

his fingers speed up, thumb rubbing harder. your thighs shake, breath ragged.

“rafe—i—”

he mumbles low. “that’s dr. cameron to you, baby. say it.”

“dr. cameron,” you whine.

“that’s right. say it again when you come.”

your whole body is burning. your hands clutch the paper beneath you, hips grinding into his palm. it builds so fast you almost don’t believe it—your first real orgasm crashing through you like lightning, loud and hot and blinding.

you moan his name as you fall apart, legs trembling. he doesn’t stop until you’re whimpering, too sensitive to take it.

he finally pulls out, fingers glistening. he watches the way your pussy flutters, still clenching around nothing.

“fuck,” he mutters. “we’re definitely gonna need a follow-up appointment.”

[bi-writes]

anatomy of us (2) | alpha!ghost x f!omega!reader

type: limited series, part 2 (7.2k), AO3 in an attempt to tame an unruly alpha, you are given. he did not come with warning labels. but neither did you.

series cw: reader described as plus-sized/curvier, alpha/beta/omega dynamics + universe, dark!simon, mature language and content, suggestive language and content, graphic depictions of murder + violence, military criticism, protective!simon, dubcon (but reader does consent), possessiveness, dom/sub dynamics, size kink, praise kink, unprotected piv, cumplay, oral (fem!receiving) 18+

PART 1

Tradition is not something you are fond of.

It’s something forced on you. When you question it, it’s offensive–how dare you question these things, made sacred over time? Why would you want to betray thousands of years of history? Time makes it definitive. Your being makes it natural. You submit because that is the natural thing to do, so in that sense, you submit to it all.

That is your duty. That is your calling. When you are claimed, you belong to them. You are property. Autonomy be damned–your place is on your knees, keeping your mouth shut, and any behavior against that is nothing short of a punishable offense, proper. Disobedient omegas make for troublesome households.

To keep you in line, you must be held at a short length from your alpha. It is what is done. It is what is expected.

Tradition.

Simon keeps a hand on you, curled at the base of your spine as he leads you back to where the sleeping quarters are. You know it’s for your protection, but the better part of you wants to smack him off of you whenever you feel his palm press just slightly against you. When you make it back into your room, Simon pauses in the doorway after he opens it for you. He looks nervous almost, sheepish. You turn to face him, looking him up and down. “You can come in if you want. I’m not gonna carry all my stuff by myself, you could probably carry a fucking tank looking at you.”

Simon finally comes inside, ducking his head a little to make it in. You know this room wasn’t meant to house an alpha, but it’s still startling to see him do it, taking up way too much space to be anything but claustrophobic. He watches as you pack your things, stuffing your clothes into your bags and picking up small trinkets around the bedside table and desk. After the bag starts to get heavy, you shove it into his arms as you look towards the bed. It’s a standard issue twin-sized, with barely enough sheets to keep you warm and a lumpy pillow that you hate. You make a face at it before turning around and putting more things into Simon’s arms as you empty the closet.

“Tha’ it?” Simon mutters, still able to peek over the mountain of items that he holds, and you shrug.

“That’s it.”

Simon’s own room is like a hospital room. It’s too clean–there’s nothing personal anywhere, no pictures or barely any clothes other than military issue fatigues. The only civilian clothes he has wouldn’t even make you think twice if you saw him in a bar–Simon will always look like a soldier, through and through, and his room stinks like it. It smells clinical, and nothing about it is cozy or warm. You stand in the middle of the room as Simon puts your things down. You ring your hands together nervously, eyeing the bed with one single, thin sheet on it. It’s too small of a bed for the both of you. It’s too small of a bed just for Simon–you don’t want to think about the kind of sleeping arrangements you’ll need to fit with him on it.

“Wot’s wrong?” Simon asks lowly. You look over your shoulder at him. He’s putting your things into the closet. He’s divided it in half already, and some of your clothes are already hung up next to his. You look back at the bed, pursing your lips.

“There’s not enough blankets,” you say softly. “A-And…And the pillows, here, I don’t like them.”

Simon turns back to your bag, picking up another shirt to hang. You glare at the back of him. It doesn’t do anything; he doesn’t erupt in flames like you might have hoped, but it does give you a moment to notice how well those jeans fit him.

Fuck. Keep it together.

“I’ll get you more blankets,” he shrugs. “And a different pillow.”

The answer is immediate. No fuss. You want to complain, to bite back at him for it, but you don’t know how you would explain your displeasure. You’re looking for a reason to tell your omega that she’s a scheming, hopeless, naïve little shit.

“...I don’t have to win you when y’r already mine.” Isn’t that what he had said? Isn’t that what he had said when he gripped you by the throat and made you realize that everything you had thought about alphas was true? Hadn’t he already shown you that none of them are redeemable?

Not Kate. Not John. Certainly not Simon–they’re all scheming, terrible fucking people, and you cannot wait until you can sink your teeth into Simon’s jugular and rip it out.

Belonging to, being one’s own, fuck if you care. Simon can claim ownership all he wants, but he’ll never tame you. Your omega might be pulling the strings at the moment, but you’re going through withdrawals, you think. Your medication was your lifeline. It kept you from falling off the tightrope, and you just need to learn how to stay upright without it. You can. When you get it back, when it’s in your hands again, she’ll understand.

She has to understand that only you know what’s good for you.

Simon places the rest of your things on his desk. A couple personal things, like your jewelry and some knickknacks, and then your bag with the rest of your clothes to be folded and put away. You take a seat on the edge of the bed, taking a deep breath. At least before, you could pretend like things were still a little normal. You could pretend that in your own room, you were simply waiting for another assignment, that you were just waiting for Kate to give you a call and move you somewhere new, somewhere safer.

“Am I just supposed to stay here and wait for you?” You ask finally. Simon shuffles around the room. He doesn’t look at you; instead, he takes a seat at a desk way too small for him and spreads a few papers around, frowning when he reads something that he doesn’t like. “Is that…is that my job?”

“Dunno.” Simon takes his phone out of his pocket, and he starts typing. “Don’t really feel like babysittin’.”

“I can take care of myself, you know,” you tell him. “I…I have combat experience. I was in training before this.”

Simon snorts, still focused on his phone. He shakes his head a little.

“Cute,” he mutters. “Tha’s cute.”

Patronizing shit.

“I bet I can shoot a target ten times better than you,” you spit at him. His fingers hover over the screen for just a moment, irritated, before he goes back to typing. “And I can hold my own. I don’t need a babysitter.”

Simon puts his phone back into his pocket. He crosses his arms over his chest, letting out a deep breath before coming over to stand in front of you. You tip your head back, and he reaches down with a hand to cup under your jaw, holding you there. Just like that–your omega has you. You lean in, just that much. Simon sees it in your eyes, and he sniffs, looking you over.

Maybe he thinks you’re pathetic. In some sense, you agree with him, because what the fuck is wrong with me? You get one look into Simon’s eyes, and something chemical in you fires. You bend, and you relax, and you know if he asked you to open your mouth so he could spit in it, it would take a tremendous amount of effort to tell him no. It angers you and excites you all the same, and the conflicting flashes under your ribs bring tears to your eyes.

You hate yourself. You hate yourself for not being able to say no. You hate yourself for being everything they said you would be. You hate yourself for being nothing like you thought you were.

You’re soft. Sweet. All bark, no bite, a spiteful kitten that deep down, aims to please. The only thing that really baffles you, though, is why you only feel this way with Simon.

Is it because they told you that you were his mate? Is it because he’s done something, that he’s projecting some kind of scent? Has he already unknowingly changed your very makeup so your body knows that you are bound to him? When you look into John’s eyes, you see alpha. You see big, salivating dog, and if you could, you’d rip the hairs of his beard out just to see him in pain.

But Simon–it’s like you can’t move. Every time you look at him, and he looks at you, he holds you there. Just like now, he’s got you, and you feel like he can read everything you’re feeling. He’s being fed your secrets, and you hate him for it, but I can’t look away, please look away, please don’t make me–

“Need to get you somethin’ to eat,” Simon says finally. “And it’s time to meet the rest of the lot.”

Simon is starting to get used to keeping a hand on you. It annoys you a little, to feel his hand at your back, but the annoyance dissolves when you realize this base is filled with sneering alphas. They holler and yell, and they are very large and angry, but they still are small compared to Simon. They quiet whenever they walk past you, and even the whiff of omega doesn’t deter them with Simon behind you.

In the mess hall, you see Captain Price sitting at a table with two others. When you get closer to the table, you cough a little, stumbling back, and Simon catches you around the waist to hold you upright. The stench of alphas hits you like a truck, and Simon grunts as he tells you relax, fuckin’ hell.

You give him a hard stare–how the fuck would he know? There’s four alphas in your close vicinity, and they’re all puffing their chests and smiling, and it stings to smell them all at once. You turn your head a little to shield yourself, and when you filter everything else out but Simon, it frustrates you a little how much of him seems to calm you down.

Smells so good. Get closer. Press your nose to it, I-I want more–

“I see you two are getting along nicely,” John comments, leaning back in his chair. You roll your eyes a little, and when you lock eyes with him, you purse your lips and try to look anything but pleased. Simon guides you to sit down; he motions to the bench, just to the left of where someone else is already sitting–a big, burly soldier with crazy blue eyes. He has a terrible haircut, short along the sides with tufts of curls falling down the middle and over his forehead. He’s wiggling his eyebrows at his lieutenant behind you. Across from him, there’s another alpha with dark eyes and soft skin, and he’s smiling like an idiot around the rim of his plastic cup. You’re a little nervous–you had spent most of your time on your old base surrounded by betas who barely gave you a glance, and now you’re off your meds and being hit with a million different sensations everywhere you go. Simon’s touch on your back eases your shoulders a little.

“Tha’s Johnny,” Simon points to the one next to you. “Tha’s Gaz. ‘n I’m sure ya had the pleasure of our Captain.”

“Yeah, looks like your beard is still in tact, so glad to see it,” you say curtly, crossing your arms over your chest. The two sergeants laugh, ducking their heads, and John raises a brow before looking at Simon with a clenched jaw. Simon just shrugs, stretching his arm out on the back of your chair, and you get the feeling this happens often–John giving Simon that look, and Simon merely brushing it off. You smile to yourself a little, looking at Simon from over your shoulder. When you meet eyes, he stares back, looking over your face. He lingers on your lips for just a second too long before looking back up again.

I bet he tastes good under that mask. Let’s find out.

“Hungry?” He asks, and you blink. Your omega has never been inside of your head like this. You nearly opened your mouth and asked him for it, asked him please, please–let me taste, I won’t look, just let me taste you. You swallow her down a little, and you just nod to keep yourself moving. Simon stands up to make his way towards where the food is, and you watch curiously as instead of standing in line, he pushes open a door into the kitchen and disappears behind it.

“LT’s been gettin’ ye special meals,” Johnny says with a full mouth. You frown a little, and not just cause he’s chewing with his mouth a little too open.

“What do you mean?”

“He has the cooks make you somethin’ special,” Gaz says as he takes a sip of water. He leans back, smiling again, and it irks you a little. Alphas are brutes, disgusting big things with too many hormones, and you hate that this one gets to be pretty, too. Not that John or his sergeant aren’t attractive, but this one definitely enjoys a good mirror selfie, and it shows. “Something not on the menu. He didn’t like that you weren’t eating much, at the beginning. Made a fuss, and now he gets you better food.”

“He can do that?”

“Well, would ye say no to tha’ big man?” Johnny snorts, dipping his crusty bread in sauce. You look back towards the door, and Simon comes out holding a tray. He sets it down in front of you, and you bite your lip looking down at it. It smells so good, and you pick up your fork gently, sticking it into the pasta and twirling it. When you take a bite and sigh, Simon takes a seat next to you, and you can barely hear the sweet rumble in his chest of satisfaction.

Providing for you. Taking care of you. He’s so capable, isn’t he? Look at what he does for you.

If Simon notices you scoot closer to him, he doesn’t say anything. You don’t react either–it wasn’t a conscious choice.

Simon’s shower has hot water. Not that the showers you’d had were cold, but the communal showers were just that–communal. Shared, and although your escort always made sure you were the only one in there while you showered, it was still feeding off a water heater that always had barely any juice left. Lukewarm showers, so you tried to finish quick.

Simon’s shower turns the water scalding. You giggle with relief when you stand under it, letting it loosen your sore muscles and relieve your aching bones. It feels good, and you take a little longer in there, taking your time and enjoying the heat.

When it’s time to wash your body, you realize you’re missing your own soap. You look around for something else, noticing the unlabeled bottle that rests on a ledge. You squirt a pump of it into your palms, and when you raise it to your nose, your eyes flutter shut.

It’s the eucalyptus you smelled on Simon. A little plastic aftersmell, which you know is from whatever backwater dollar store the military buys it from, but on Simon, it smells so good. You lather it in your hands and hold it up to your nose, and you sigh deeply.

He’s just outside. Why don’t you call for him? I bet he’s listening. I bet he’s waiting for us.

You slide your hands down your arms. With the heat of the water, the whole bathroom starts to smell like it, and you let your hands slide down further, over your waist, between your thighs. When your fingers touch your puffy clit, you’re nearly jolted back into reality.

“Fuck–” You gasp, reaching for the level, shutting the water off. The last of the water curls down the drain, and you cough as you look around. You curl your toes, grounding yourself, and then you get out of the shower and reach for the towel. When you look into the mirror, your pupils are blown wide, and you feel like you don’t recognize yourself. You drop the towel and dress yourself, trying to keep your mind occupied with menial tasks.

Get your shit together.

When you open the bathroom door, Simon is back from his little errand he had run. He’s carrying a few blankets and a thick comforter, and there’s a few new pillows on the bed with it. You use the towel to keep drying the wet strands of your hair, and Simon turns around when he hears you walk in further.

You pass by him wordlessly as you reach the bed. You put your hands on the blankets that he put down, and you close your eyes when you feel how soft they are. Threaded cotton and fleece, lots of thick feathers in the comforter to make it nice and fluffy. When you turn to look over your shoulder, Simon does a terrible job of pretending like he wasn’t just staring at your ass in the little sleep shorts you’re wearing. You want to snap at him, but your omega pinches your tongue.

Take them off. Take them off. Take them off.

“So, what…” You clear your throat. “How are we supposed to sleep in that bed? T-Together?”

Simon tilts his head to the side. You start to despise the mask. You hate that you can’t tell what he’s thinking, not even a little, and after the rather joyous conversations you’ve had with Simon (barf), you can’t say you’re entirely excited to be in this close of a space with him.

“Don’t worry,” Simon murmurs. “I’ll be good.”

Oh, that totally makes you feel better.

Prick.

He makes you get into bed and turn facing the wall as he turns out the lights. He pulls at the edge of his mask uncomfortably, and you realize he doesn’t want you to see his fine. Fine, you think to yourself, throwing the sheets back with a huff, bet you’re fucking ugly mug would blind me anyways.

You cuddle under all the blankets, snuggling into the new pillow that sinks under your head. You hum gently, closing your eyes, and you aren’t able to see Simon rubbing his chest warmly as he watches you. He sucks on his teeth, not truly understanding what he feels, but knowing that it’s soothing the beast in him to take care of you.

It rattles him. Simon isn’t used to this. He’s not used to feeling like he doesn’t have control. He resisted this for so long. He tried so hard to fight, he said no to Kate over and over and over again.

Omegas to Simon were liabilities. To care was to have a target on your back. To be mated meant having something to lose.

Ask Price, is what he told her, ask the fuckin’ sergeants, anyone but me, but she wouldn’t hear it. It had to be him, it had to be, and then she locked him into a room with her, and she leveled with him.

She told him that you are special. That you are precious. That omegas like you don’t exist, that you are one in a single generation, and there isn’t anyone else in the world that will do except for him.

Price, married to the field. The sergeants, immature and might as well be titled barracks bunnies. But Simon–purebred, quiet, controlled. Terrified of himself and what he is. His unofficial pack that he defends with his entire being, that is the only alpha worth giving to you.

Kate had thought about it before. What it might be like to push the hair away from your neck and sink her teeth there. As easy as putting her signature to paper, she could have the CIA running laps to keep you protected, but she knew that wasn’t the life for her. It couldn’t be.

In every situation, Kate would have to choose that lesser evil, and in her world, it would mean her choice would unlikely be you.

Simon? Simon answered to no one. Unlike his sergeants, he cared little for authority; he wouldn’t blink twice saying no to his superior. Unlike his Captain, Simon didn’t mind choosing the bloody way out. He was the first with his finger on the trigger, and the last to sweep a room. Kate knew–if Simon had to choose between the greater good and the omega he claimed?

Fuck the greater good. That, she could count on.

If Kate only asked for one thing, it would be this. She did promise you. She promised she would keep you away from it all. She promised that she would make things right. She promised that she would protect you, but even Kate answers to others, and the reality of this kind of world is that the only way to really protect you was to give you away.

To put you into the same world that you had only begged to be kept away from.

Nobody likes playing matchmaker, but maybe putting together the most stubborn and angry people in the world might save you from yourselves. At least she hoped so.

You’re nearly asleep when you feel Simon come to bed. All the lights are off, and it’s pitch black in the room. There’s some shuffling around the room, and then you feel the blankets move. All of the sudden, a heat stronger than you’ve ever felt takes up the entire bed. Pressed against your back, a solid chest, and then a huge arm falls over your waist.

“We cuddling now?” You mumble sleepily, and Simon breathes out slowly, not responding. When you fall asleep, it’s unnervingly easy. Your omega purrs, digging her nails into you, and when you turn your head in the dark and feel the brush of his unmasked face against yours, she preens.

He’s right there–just a little taste. Just a little. Please, please, please–

Omegas cannot claim, but they can bite. It takes everything inside of you not to sink your teeth into him.

“You smell that? Smells like fuckin’ sweets, mates.”

You take off your headphones and safety glasses, looking over your shoulder. There’s a few recruits a few lanes down from you, wiggling their eyebrows and licking their lips. One of them crudely grabs his crotch, winking at you. You make a face.

Gross.

“Let me see you, baby. Smell so good.”

You holster the gun you’re holding, leaning against the counter with your hip. You raise a brow, tilting your head to the side.

“Are you done?” You ask, and they take that as their cue to start walking closer. An invitation.

They don’t get very far. You smell him before you see him. On instinct, your shoulders relax with that whiff of charcoal. You push off the counter just in time for him to come up behind you, and you feel the heat of his chest as it presses against your back. The recruits in front of you stop immediately, and you feel a disgusting sense of satisfaction when Simon bends over your shoulder to look at you.

“‘n wot’s this?” Simon growls. You shrug, crossing your arms over your chest.

“I don’t know. They wanna have a dick-measuring contest, but I think they’re afraid they’re gonna lose,” you say. You let out an annoyed sigh, turning again to put your safety glasses on. You put the headphones back over your ears and take the gun out of your holster, turning the safety off as you line it up with the paper targets near the back of the course. “You know. Cause my dick is way bigger.”

You unload the clip just for fun. You’re supposed to be practicing on accuracy, which for you meant slower, spaced-out shots to try and hit the same spot over and over, but the sound of the gun going off again and again helps distract you from the laughing, untrained dogs that are littered across the shooting range.

When you put the gun down after emptying the magazine, Simon is salivating. The paper target head is obliterated, each bullet almost next to its last. When you turn around, Simon tilts his head to the side. You holster the gun, starting to walk, and Simon lets his eyes drop to the sway of your hips as you pass by him. It’s not a conscious decision, the way his fingers curl into fists and squeeze hard.

“Told you,” you say to him. “Huge dick, right, baby?”

Something flares in Simon’s chest when he hears it. Like a switch, his legs start moving, following you, and when he passes by a recruit that is standing much too close to you, Simon shoves the recruit back so hard, they smack their nose against the wall and curses from the impact, blood dripping under their bruised nose.

The rest of the day, you don’t see another rookie walk even five feet into your vicinity. Even without a mark on your neck, you are claimed, and right before you leave your room for dinner, Simon is fitting a dark hoodie over your head. The smell overwhelms you. It’s soaked in his scent, and you turn to face him, looking at him suspiciously. Your omega keeps you from questioning him. She wants you to start walking, because she knows he’ll touch you when you do.

It’s that night that Simon asks John for you to join them. All Simon does is slide the shredded paper target across his desk. John picks it up, tacking it onto the wall. He chuckles, shaking his head. It’s an impressive piece of paper, but being a good shot isn’t the only reason someone is cleared to work with them. Even besides that, it’s forbidden.

“Omegas aren’t allowed in the field, Simon,” John reminds him. “You know that.”

“Think tha’s why we should take her,” Simon mutters. “She’s a distraction. A good one.”

“A weapon,” John frowns. He can already hear Kate screaming into his ear if she ever saw you geared up between them on an op.

“A tool.”

“And what does she think of that, eh?” John slips his hat off, tossing it onto his desk. He sighs, running a hand over his beard, and he shakes his head. “And Kate…Kate would hang my fuckin’ head.”

“Not Kate’s responsibility anymore, she’s mine,” Simon bites back. He knows it’s wrong. In all honesty, the sentiment tasted bad from the moment he said it to you, but it is easier to let you believe that he’s using you then try and make you understand him. You wouldn’t understand. You wouldn’t get his reasons, and that’s fine, so if he has to be the bad guy, so be it.

The least he could do is make himself useful. Put your skills to work, poke your mind. See what you can really do.

“Don’t let your girl hear you talkin’ like that, Simon,” John says lowly. “Not her, and certainly not Kate.”

“But you agree,” Simon continues, chuckling lowly. “I speak for her. ‘n I think she’d be right in on it, Captain. Wot else is she to do, eh? Sit in my fuckin’ quarters and wait f’me? Wot kind of life is tha’? She needs this. She’s good. I can teach ‘er. She’ll learn. Well and good she will, I know it.”

John sniffs, running a big hand over his short hair before tapping a pen over the target paper on the wall.

“I need her OK,” John relents finally. “I need to hear it from her. I get that, I’m alright with it. But she has to know what she’s getting into, Simon. And no one but you is responsible for her. If she gets into something, I’m not gonna risk Soap or Gaz for it–”

“I know,” Simon mutters. “She’ll be my shadow. I’ll teach ‘er.”

She’ll be good. She’ll be good because she’s mine.

“Bravo-7, sitrep.”

“Eyes on target. Waiting on confirmation.” Simon looks over his shoulder for a moment, where you’re sitting as his cover. You look cute, he thinks. All geared up. He lets his eyes sweep over the cargo pants that are cinched around your waist. Your nice curves. Thick thighs. Fuck, you smell good, even with all the sand up his nose and the smoke clinging to his mask. You have your rifle tucked into your elbow, and you’ve got it aimed towards the door of the roof.

“Is it always so fucking hot?” You ask, running your wrist over your lip. You’re sweating; you can feel it dripping down the back of your neck and along your back. You’re wearing a lot of gear, but you’ve done this before, and you don’t remember it being so uncomfortable. It must be the climate–you’re not used to this kind of desert, and you need to get it together.

Despite the irritation you feel every time you look at Simon, your omega wants to please him. She wants to show him she can do this, that she’s capable, and you’re starting to not like that she’s behaving as if you and her are one and the same.

I’m in control. Shut the fuck up. Let me focus.

“Just watch the door,” Simon mutters, turning back to focus. He adjusts the scope of his rifle, taking a deep breath as he leans into the stock. He gets his target into his line of sight, and he narrows his eye a little more to watch the group more closely on the ground. It’s hard to ignore you. Normally, the person covering him goes almost unnoticed. Their scent never affects him, not enough to make him look away from his scope, but there’s something in the air way too close to him, and he scrunches his nose a little as he adjusts his position on the ground. “You stink, by the way.”

“Shut the fuck up,” you snap. “Not my fault.”

“Certainly is y’r fault.”

“You reek, too, you ass,” you mumble, wiping your forehead again. You adjust how you’re sitting, clearing your throat. It’s scratchy, and you’re starting to itch a little all over, too. “Like wet dog.”

Simon smiles under his mask. He keeps his index finger next to the trigger, and you keep yours on it.

“How much longer do we have to do this? I mean…I thought you were SAS. Don’t you guys…get your hands real dirty? I mean, don’t you go tearing doors down? Get a lot of action? I mean, we’re just sitting ducks on a roof here right now.”

“Wot, you wanna go kick some doors down now?” Simon asks. He shakes his head. “The real job is boring. We do things nice and clean, we only get dirty when we ‘ave to. If I can get a target from 1000 yards away, then tha’s wot I’ll do. Besides. This is wot I’m good at.”

“Yeah, you look real good there on your knees, honey.”

Simon blinks hard when something strong hits his nose. It stings, makes his eyes water. He coughs a little, dropping his head for a moment.

“Fuckin’ Christ,” Simon hisses. “Wot the fuck is wrong with ya?”

“I-I don’t know,” you whisper. You take your hand off your rifle for a moment to adjust the collar of your shirt, but it doesn’t help. You shift a little, loosening your tactical vest. You want to take it off, but you know that’s a bad idea out here. It’s hard to think clearly, though, when your brain is cloudy and you’re starting to see things in double every so often. “It’s…it’s too hot.”

Simon huffs, “‘n when was the last time you had a heat?”

“I’ve…I’ve never.” You clear your throat. “I’ve never had one.”

Can you smell him? I can smell him. He smells so good.

Simon nearly leaves his post. He grips his rifle tight, gloved hands squeezing the metal, and he turns to look at you incredulously.

“Fuckin’ repeat tha’?”

“I know you’re blind and dumb, but don’t tell me you’re fucking deaf, too,” you mumble. You swallow, wiping your face again, and Simon presses on the radio on his shoulder.

“Bravo-7 to Bravo-6, how long do we got?”

“Just observation on target for now. Why?”

“Need 10 minutes.”

Simon shuts off the radio. You blink, starting to see double pretty consistently now, and you take a shaky breath as you grip your rifle a little tighter. You hear shuffling behind you, and you look back to see Simon moving from his position.

“What are you doing? Simon–”

“Get over ‘ere.” Simon sets his rifle down. “Tha’ wasn’t a fuckin’ suggestion, tha’ was an order!”

There’s something different in his voice at the end. Something more animal that lilts his drawl, and it makes you coherent enough to start moving–like his voice made all the fog clear up for just a few moments, long enough for you to realize you need him.

Closer. Closer. Closer.

You put your rifle down, crawling over to him, and just as you stumble, Simon catches you. You put your hands on his shoulders, falling into his lap, and he hoists you up until you’re straddling him. You feel him starting to tug on your cargos, and even in your daze, you squeeze his shoulders.

“S-Simon? What are you…What are you doing?”

“Y’r gonna go into heat soon,” Simon mutters. Alarm bells go off in your head, and you dig your nails into his shoulders. He can see it clearly–the panic on your face.

“H-Heat? R-Right now?”

“Not right now,” Simon clicks his tongue. “More like a…pre-heat. Get y’r bloody pants off–”

When Simon tugs your cargos down enough, you gasp when you see the mess your panties are in. They’re soaked, drenched until the cotton is a darker color, sticking to your cunt, and you whimper as Simon tugs you back into his lap with your pants around your ankles. It’s awkward and messy, and you’re sweating bullets, hot and bothered, and your chest feels tight. There’s nothing romantic about it, nothing sweet about the way Simon turns you in his lap. It’s hurried, but you’re just as desperate, clawing to whatever piece of him you can touch and trying to sink into him. If you could, you’d pry him open and force yourself to tuck yourself inside of him. You want to live there forever. You want to be in his skin, soaking it all in–you want it. You want this, don’t you?

He’s touching us! He’s touching us! Let him in!

“W-What’s happening t-to me?”

“‘s olright,” Simon whispers in your ear. “I’ve got ya. There we are…” He cups your pussy, making you squirm. You jolt in his lap, throwing your head back against his shoulder, and he hums as you sink into his touch. Something inside you curls and lights on fire. Your vision blurs, and his scent surrounds you. “Oh…fuck…tha’ wot ya needed, swee’eart? Yeah…”

Yes! Yes! Yes!

“Simon–” Your back arches, and you push your hips into his hand. When he touches your clit, your omega seizes inside your head, and it’s a feeling like you’ve never felt before.

She takes the reigns; and God, does she fucking pull.

You palm at the zipper of his pants. There’s something there, something you want–and you need it. There’s something in your chest that blinds you, that familiar voice in your head that chants–take it out, take it out, take it out.

“‘m workin’ on it, love,” you hear from behind, and you realize you’re talking. You’re out of your body, you think. You’re not yourself. When you feel him in your daze, big and throbbing under your hand, you whine. It comes from deep within your chest, a bubble of nonsense, and Simon coos. He drags your hips closer, and his cock slips under you, between your folds, and you use your palm to keep him pressed to you. You can’t see him, but you felt him when you first met him, and you’re feeling him now.

If there was any doubt that he was anything but an alpha, that thought disappears when his fat tip kisses your clit. He’s hot and throbbing under your hand, and he is more than enough to appease the voice in your head that’s screaming for some kind of inherent relief that it knows he can give.

“Simon, I need it–I need it–”

“I know, love.”

Fuck, Simon would win any dick-measuring contest, you think. Barely the tip of him, and you’re baring your teeth, gripping his thighs and digging your nails into him as you try and breathe through the stretch. He’s not even fully hard yet; the blood is rushing to his cock, and you moan and cry as he sits you down further and further and further–

“What the fuck–what is it you have in your fucking pants, a-a fucking pipe–?!”

“Y’r so much prettier when y’r mouth ain’t runnin’,” Simon mutters. “Ahh–fuck–’s mine, oll mine–”

You put your hands on his knees and throw it back. You’re feral, brain foggy, and all you can think about is getting yourself off. Your body clings to Simon like a thick, curling vice, pussy clamping around him and taking him to the root. You’re dripping down your thighs, wetting his cargos, and you’re thankful that he’s wearing black, otherwise you can’t think about the mess you’d really be leaving on him. The sounds are lewd. Frantic smack, smack, smack against his thick thighs, and the sound is only making you drool for more. He’s so big. He’s hitting you deep, and you swear your insides have never been stretched this far, but it’s like your body is molding itself to fit him. Like you’re making room for him.

It’s so good. It feels right. Your omega growls like an animal, crying with relief. It’s the only thing she’s ever wanted, and she has it in her hands, and she licks at your scent gland until it practically vibrates. Simon’s face is pressed to it, like he can hear her calling. His mask is the only thing separating you, but you can feel his teeth straining against the fabric. They cut over the gland, wet like his tongue is poking against it, too, and your omega screams.

Bite me, bite me, bite me.

“Not yet,” Simon grunts. “Won’t take.”

“You’ll make it take.”

He laughs, and then he punches the air out of you with a nice thrust. Then he’s on you. Suddenly, you’re on your knees, your tummy against the sandy rooftop, with a stallion of a soldier on top of you, taking you like his last meal.

He sounds like more bear than man. Growling, spitting, both hands on either side of your head as he fucks you into the floor. There’s a smile on your face, soft relief that leaves you in your pretty moans and gurgled pleas. It feels so good. The tip of his cock curves and hits against the same place each time, sending pulses that rack your body over and over and over again. Your thighs are shaking, and then Simon slips one hand under you and cups your pussy, fitting it just right until you can grind down on his palm in perfect timing with the way the fat tip of him hits you just well enough. It should hurt. You’ve never taken anything so big–of course you’ve practiced, but nothing can prepare you for the real thing.

This is still practice. You’re not in your heat, not really, and Simon hasn’t lost his fucking mind yet.

Like a fiend, you chase it. The stars, the mountain to climb, the beautiful end. You get up a little more onto your knees and you wrap a hand around his neck, force him against your jaw. You goad him on with pretty words, soft moans–that’s it, right there, please.

It’s not his first time. It’s not his first time relieving an itch he can’t scratch, and it’s not his first time taking an omega by the neck and pounding into her until she can’t speak, but it’s the first time his resolve shatters.

He wants to bite. He’s never felt the urge to bite. If it wasn’t for the mask, his teeth would be an inch deep in your neck, and he’d be memorizing what your blood tasted like for the first time. Your scent is just that much off that he knows it isn’t the right time, but fuck–the need is there. It’s clear.

Special. One of a kind. No one like her. Soft. Sweet. Mine.

His knot swells a little, but it doesn’t lock. You’re not in a proper heat, so it’s not right just yet, but you can feel the edge of it, like the preface to a glorious poem. Thick and spongy, hot, and when he comes, your eyes roll back in your head. It feels like being thirsty for days on end and finally getting that sweet drink of crystal clear water. He pumps you full, creamy and thick and dribbling between your thighs as you squeeze them together. Subconsciously, you’re trying to keep it inside, and Simon groans when as he latches his mouth over your scent gland under the mask and sucks–so hard, it pinches you just right.

The stars align. The tide wanes. You mumble softly, dopey smile on your face, and when your own high hits you, and you’re squirting into his hand, you let his rumbling, low voice pull you back to earth.

“I ‘ave ya, swee’eart,” he says. “Shhh…easy, kitty…Shh…yeah, easy.”

You sigh with relief. Simon handles you with ease. He picks you up, gets you to sit back on your heels. You don’t see it, but Simon fits his wet fingers under the mask, and you keen when you hear him suck on his fingers and hum.

He likes us. Hear that? He likes us.

“Want you to eat me,” you giggle suddenly, and Simon wipes you down, picking your pants back up and zipping them. He pats your ass gently, smoothing a hand over the back of your neck. He knows you’re still in a different headspace. He knows there’s still something else drawing your breath, but he’s trying not to think about it too much. It sounds so much like you.

“Do plenty o’tha’ when we’re in the thick o’it, kitty.”

Back in the humvee, Johnny is smiling like an idiot. He’s sitting next to Kyle, hitting him with his elbow as he wiggles his eyebrows at you and Simon sitting across from them. You tilt your head to the side, glaring.

“What?” You snap, and Johnny cackles. His eyes are flashing, and he reeks like happiness.

“Smells like ye had fun.”

“My gun is loaded, shithead,” you warn him. “And I know how the fucking safety works.”

When Johnny moves to sit in the front near your captain, you try not to think about the sudden warmth over your knee, and the squeeze of Simon’s hand on you.

NEXT

[tender-rosiey]

sake and sass — ryomen sukuna x f!reader

a/n: was imagining drunk sukuna so now he is here and we have made him drink enough for three elephants so yes he is drunk drunk and you kinda take advantage of that to boss him around cuz why not

sukuna rarely drinks. not because he dislikes it, but because it takes an absurd amount of alcohol to even faze him. tonight, though? tonight, he’s hit that threshold.

the room reeks of sake, and sukuna’s massive frame is sprawled across the cushions like a spoiled tyrant—robe disheveled, crimson eyes slightly hazy.

the usually indomitable king of curses looks dangerously close to tipping over.

“you’re drunk,” you state bluntly, arms crossed as you observe the man you call your husband.

he scoffs, waving a sake bottle with an air of arrogance that doesn’t quite land. “nonsense. I don’t get drunk.”

“you don’t?” you reply, deadpan. “so why are you swaying like a tree in a storm?”

he sits up straighter��or tries to, at least.

one of his four hands gestures vaguely in your direction, the movement wobbly but pointed. “watch your tongue, woman. you’ve grown far too bold for your own good.”

you sigh, stepping closer despite his poorly disguised glare. “sukuna, you’re making a fool of yourself. just lie down before you hurt yourself.”

“hurt myself?”

he lets out a bark of laughter, though it’s slurred at the edges. “the great sukuna doesn’t—” he pauses, narrowing his eyes in a glare. “wait, did you just call me a fool?”

“I did,” you reply matter-of-factly, reaching for the bottle in his hand. “and you’re proving me right by the second.”

he jerks the bottle away, a scowl pulling at his lips. “touch it, and I’ll crush your fingers.”

“like you could even aim right now,” you retort, snatching the bottle before he can react.

his eyes narrow dangerously, but instead of retaliating, he slumps back against the wall, arms crossing over his broad chest. “you’re insufferable,” he mutters.

“and you’re impossible,” you counter, setting the bottle far out of his reach.

his gaze follows you as you move, sharp despite the alcohol dulling his senses.

“you think you’re so clever, don’t you?” he growls. “always strutting around. that smug little grin of yours—I’d rip it off if it didn’t…” he trails off.

“if it didn’t what?” you prompt, leaning closer with an amused grin.

his brows knit together, and he glares at you like it’s your fault the words are spilling out.

“none of your damn business,” he snaps, voice low and heated. “always grinning, always back-talking. you’re insufferable. insolent. infuriating.”

“and yet here you are, married to me,” you quip, unable to resist teasing him.

“because no one else could survive you,” he bites back.

you blink, momentarily caught off guard. “is that your way of saying you like me?”

“don’t flatter yourself,” he grumbles, his ears turning an unmistakable shade of pink which you honestly can’t tell if it’s embarrassment or just the alcohol.

you laugh softly, crouching beside him with a damp cloth. “you’re a real romantic, sukuna.”

“shut up,” he snaps, but he doesn’t pull away when you press the cloth to his face, wiping away the traces of spilled sake.

you’re careful not to press too hard as you wipe his face, trying to clean up the mess he’s made of himself without provoking his drunken temper.

but it seems sukuna has no plans of cooperating tonight.

as soon as you pull the cloth away, one of his hands shoots out to grab your wrist. his crimson eyes, though hazy, are filled with devilishness.

“enough with the fussing,” he growls, tugging you closer. “you’ve done your part. now, take that robe off.”

you blink at him, utterly unimpressed. “oh, absolutely not.”

“you dare to deny me?” he snaps, his voice dipping into something far too commanding for a man who can barely sit upright.

“I dare,” you reply, pulling your wrist free. “now sit still, or I’ll tie you down.”

he glares at you, two of his hands fumbling to tug at the collar of your robe. “you wretched, stubborn woman,” he snarls, his movements clumsy.

“always thinking you’re above the rest—thinking you can deny me. I could level cities, but you think you can boss me around?”

“I don’t think; I know,” you reply flatly, dodging his clumsy attempts to grab at your robe. “now, go to bed.”

“bed?” he scoffs, attempting to rise to his full height, only to stumble back onto the cushions.

“I don’t need a bed. I need my wife, right here, shutting that sharp little mouth for once.”

“you need water and sleep,” you deadpan, retrieving a fresh cup of water from the tray nearby. you thrust it into his hand, ignoring the glare he shoots your way. “drink.”

he sniffs the cup like a suspicious child, frowning. “this isn’t sake.”

“brilliant observation,” you reply dryly. “drink it anyway.”

his crimson gaze narrows on you, clearly debating whether defiance is worth the effort.

with a low growl, he downs the water in one gulp before tossing the cup aside dramatically. “there. satisfied?” he mutters.

“not even remotely,” you reply, grabbing his arm and pulling. “up. you’re going to bed.”

to your surprise, he lets you tug him halfway to his feet before deciding he’s had enough of listening.

one of his lower arms snakes around your waist, pulling you flush against him. his breath is warm against your neck, and his grin is downright wicked.

“you’re always like this,” he mutters, his lips brushing dangerously close to your ear. “impossible. insolent. arrogant. bossing everyone around.”

“someone has to, considering how you’re acting right now,” you reply, jabbing a finger into his chest.

“and smug,” he growls, his voice dipping into something darker.

“always grinning at me like you’ve bested me somehow. do you think you’re clever, woman? that you’re better than me?”

“right now? yes,” you reply, yanking the hem of his robe to cover more of his chest.

he catches your wrist again, his grip firm but not painful.

“you’re not better than me,” he hisses, though his voice is softer now, almost petulant. “you’re just...impossible. and clever. and—damn it—too damned beautiful for your own good.”

you freeze for a moment, caught off-guard by the unexpected admission.

“don’t look at me like that,” he snaps, his glare returning in full force. “your face is annoying enough without adding that stupid look to it. it’s maddening.”

“noted,” you say with a small smile, gently prying his hand off your wrist. “now lie down before you embarrass yourself further.”

he doesn’t move, his gaze locking onto yours.

“you’re unbearable,” he declares, voice rising in irritation. “always acting like you’re untouchable. damned arrogance and a damned grin.”

“mmhm,” you reply nonchalantly, guiding him to lie down. “and yet you keep me around.”

“because I have no choice,” he retorts right away, though there’s no heat behind the words.

“you’re mine. mine to deal with. mine to hate. mine to…” he grits his teeth, his gaze averting. “mine to keep, damn it.”

you blink.

“don’t get the wrong idea,” he adds quickly, his voice sharper now.

“I’m not saying I enjoy your insufferable company. but I’d rip apart anyone who thought they could take you from me.”

“sweet dreams to you, too,” you reply, tucking the covers around him as he finally starts to drift off.

“insolent woman,” he mutters one last time before his breathing evens out, the alcohol finally pulling him under.

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[rafesangelita]

♡ dbf!rafe and swan!reader’s first time..

warnings: heavy petting, praise, body worship, mentions of insecurities and being overlooked, tit sucking, major size difference, reassurance + comfort, belly bulge, crying squirting, creampie

a/n: read more about dbf!rafe and swan!reader here <3 this fic takes place right after the last paragraph in the au!! also— sooo sorry for writing this in large paragraphs, run-on sentences have me in a chokehold at the moment..

wc: 1.5k

“you don’t care about getting in trouble?” rafe whispered against your lips, your arms wrapped tightly around his neck as you pressed kisses along his jaw. you moaned when you felt his hands grope the globes of your ass, your eyes fluttering closed as his cologne filled your senses. this was wrong on sooo many levels, and while both of you knew it, neither of you could bring yourselves to stop. “i won’t tell if you don’t..” rafe groaned, his palms running over your thighs as he laid you down on his pristine sheets. leaning down, you shuddered as rafe ran the tip of his nose down the valley of your breasts, his lips ghosting over your flesh until he reached the waistband of your leggings.

hooking his fingers into the soft material, you looked away as rafe slowly pulled down the pink spandex, your cheeks growing hot as he admired the sight before him. here you were, left in nothing but a matching lace set, the dim lighting of his room reflecting off of your skin as your hair splayed out beautifully around your face. glancing at the pearl studs peeking out from your earlobes, rafe took in every single detail he could catch. from the delicate curve of your lips, to the way your lashes fluttered up at him the more you grew shy at being underneath his intense gaze. you had never been paid this close attention to, your eyes glossing over as you saw nothing but adoration take over rafe’s features.

touching you as if you were made of glass, goosebumps spread across your skin as he caressed you ever so gently. he marveled at the sight of your tits threatening to spill out of the white lace of your bra, his knuckles skimming your cheek while he stroked your face. “the fact that you could call yourself anything but perfect is beyond my comprehension right now,” rafe whispered in disbelief, “you don’t even look real.” you blinked, his words making something stir in your chest. “i’m not perfect to anyone, rafe. not even myself.” he couldn’t believe he was hearing those words come out of your mouth right now. “you are to me,” rafe shushed you, “i’ve seen you at your lowest points, that has to count for something.”

he was right. he has seen you gasp for air and hyperventilate when you made a mistake on stage so subtle no one even noticed the little mishap. he has seen you with mascara running down your cheeks, your makeup smudged and ruined from all the crying. he has heard you scream in agony when you’ve nearly worked yourself to death, and despite all of that he was still here, looking at you as if you’re the only reason he had to believe that something pure and true can still exist. reaching up for his face, you brought him back down so you could kiss him, your legs wrapping around his waist as you took him between your thighs. he kissed you unlike anyone has ever kissed you before— slow and bruising.

cupping you through your bra, you gasped softly as your hands started working to unbutton his shirt, the tight fitted tee he was wearing underneath making you pull away momentarily to appreciate his biceps in all their toned glory. god, he looked amazing for his age. snaking a hand underneath your back, rafe prompted you to sit up a little bit before he unclasped your bra, discarding it to the side as he wasted no time in taking one of your tits in his mouth. arching into him, you cradled his head as he circled your sensitive bud with his tongue. sliding your panties down your legs next, your thighs closed upon seeing the way he admired your bare cunt, a small shred of insecurity overpowering you in this moment.

“you don’t ever have to hide yourself from me.” rafe reassured you, your stomach flipping as he began sliding off his belt. “you’re absolutely breathtaking like this.” you watched as he stripped himself of any remaining clothing, your eyes traveling down the expanse of his torso until they settled on his length. to say you were intimidated by the sheer size of him would be an understatement, the tip alone looked like it would have you wincing in pain. rafe lifted the back of your thighs and pinned your knees to your chest as his cock rested hot and heavy between your slick folds. “i’m gonna take care of you, sweetheart, don’t worry..” surrendering to the man above you, you let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding.

drawing his hips back, rafe made sure his length nudged your clit with each stroke, the sensation making you jolt. it wasn’t until the head of his cock prodded your entrance that you panicked, your walls stretching around the intrusion as a mixture of both pleasure and pain made you cry out. “it hurts!” you moaned, your chest rising and falling as rafe slowly but surely continued sliding into you. rafe watched your face as he stuffed you full, your eyebrows pinching together as tears welled up in your eyes. “you’ll feel better soon, i promise..” rafe’s voice filled your ears but everything sounded muffled with the way he had a bulge poking up from your tummy.

as much as rafe knew he probably should’ve ‘prepped’ you, and engaged in foreplay, he was desperate to feel you wrapped around him, the months of tension between you two finally coming down to this very moment. “are you okay?” he asked, thumbing your bottom lip to watch it bounce back in place. “yes, i just need a second.” you breathed out, looking down at where you two were connected. he might as well have been splitting you open with his cock, the base of his length making you delirious as he bottomed out completely. leaning down, you felt a lot better once you felt rafe’s body weight on your own, your chin tucked in the curve of his neck as he pulled out and thrusted back in slowly.

you squealed upon feeling him hit your cervix, your arms wrapping tightly around his shoulders as his stomach slapped against your clit. you were so full of cock, you couldn’t think straight, your thoughts melting away into a puddle of nothing as he slammed in and out of your tight hole. in all of his years of living, rafe had never felt anything this good before, his jaw falling slack as he groaned and grunted in your ear. “oh, fuckkk—” rafe gritted out in pure astonishment, “you’re killing me here.” tugging at the hair on the nape of his neck, you felt your eyes roll to the back of your head as he continuously hit that sweet spot inside of you, the force of his thrusts knocking you further up his bed.

clinging onto him like your life depended on it, you felt an unfamiliar pressure beginning to build in your core, your whimpers growing hysterical as the band in your stomach threatened to snap at any moment, your orgasm just within arm’s reach as rafe wrapped his fingers around your throat. as if you couldn’t be more full than you already were, rafe angled his hips and managed to plow into you even deeper, the tears in your eyes finally spilling over and running down your cheeks at the overwhelming sensation wracking through your body. “rafe!” you screamed, a broken sob ripping from your throat as you felt a stream of wetness flow out of you and soak rafe’s lower half.

grabbing your hand, rafe pressed your palm over your stomach where he glided underneath your flesh, your orgasm rendering you speechless as he spilled into you, your pussy milking him for everything he had. with you being utterly fucked out, and rafe being pussy drunk, you two moved in slow motion as he brought you down from both of your highs, your shared breaths being the only sound that you could register at the moment. waiting until the aftershocks of your orgasm subsided, both you and rafe hissed as he pulled out, his cum spilling out of you in white dribbles. cursing at the sight, rafe pressed a kiss to your temple, his eyes shutting momentarily before he sighed.

“look at me,” he lifted your chin, your eyes blinking up at his face, “this changes a lot of things, okay? i don’t know what’s gonna happen with your dad, or what he’s gonna think about this, but i’m certain about one thing; and that’s the fact that you don’t have to put up with any of his shit anymore. i’m gonna be there for you.. in any way you need me to be. how your parents could overlook someone as talented and beautiful as you? i have no idea, but you’re not overlooked anymore, i promise you that.” he whispered, his words mending something you didn’t even know was broken in the first place. “don’t worry about going back home tonight, alright? you can be here for as long as you’d like.”

[foxy-eva]

Uncovered

Summary: You have to go undercover as a stripper. Spencer is a little too impressed by your pole dancing skills. 

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader 

Category: Smut

Content Warnings: (18+, minors DNI) implied case related violence (including the mention of guns), implied age gap, pole dance, lap dance, jealous Spencer, heavy kissing, grinding, oral (male receiving), handjob, fingering, unprotected penetrative sex (birth control mentioned)

Word count: 5.4k

Author’s Note: I wrote this for @imagining-in-the-margins Undercover Challenge!

Masterlist

“We could do an undercover mission,” you suddenly blurted out while staring at the evidence board. 

Your words caught the attention of the rest of the team. For days you hadn’t gotten any closer to catching the unsub and you were getting tired of waiting for another victim. 

“You’re right. The last two times he went after the new girls at the strip club,” Luke stated. “We could lure him out that way.” 

“Going undercover as a stripper? It's risky but it could work,” JJ agreed. “I'm not gonna do it, though.” 

As if on cue, everyone's eyes were suddenly on you.

It made sense, you were the youngest on the team and fit the unsub's type the most. 

“Absolutely not,” Spencer disagreed as he shook his head. “It's too dangerous and she's too inexperienced.” 

“Hey!” You scolded your coworker. “I can handle myself. And I have plenty of experience!”

“As a stripper or undercover agent?” Luke joked to lighten the mood. 

Rolling your eyes, you huffed, “As a profiler! And just for the record, I took some pole dancing lessons a while ago.” 

You were met with surprised looks and raised eyebrows. Before anyone had the chance to make an inappropriate remark, you clarified, “It’s a great workout, actually.” 

Emily found your eyes. Ultimately she was the one who'd have to make this decision. “Are you sure you're okay with this?” 

You thought about it for a moment before you nodded. You were certain that your team would protect you no matter what. There was nothing to worry about. 

After a day of preparation, everything was ready for the undercover mission. It was still early when you and Spencer arrived at the club. It wouldn't be for another hour until the first guests would show up. 

“I'm gonna go change,” you said before you disappeared in a room in the back while Spencer took a look around the club to make sure all the hidden cameras were in place. 

After you closed the door behind you, you took a deep breath and pulled out a lacy purple bodysuit that would cover your skin just enough to hide the microphone. After you shed your clothes, you taped the wire to your body before slipping into the piece of lingerie. When you checked yourself in the mirror, your heart started racing at the thought of dancing on a stage dressed like that.

You didn’t even care that a bunch of strangers would see you like that. But Spencer would be there, too and that was a thought you could barely handle. When Emily decided he should be the one present while everyone else waited in the surveillance truck outside, you almost wanted to call the mission off. 

Nobody on your team knew how much you were pining for Spencer. Countless sleepless nights had been filled with fantasies of sharing intimate moments with him. And now you had to strip in front of him in a room full of strangers while potentially being targeted by a serial killer. That wasn’t quite what you had imagined. 

Despite covering up the most important parts, the one-piece left very little to the imagination. By applying a dramatic amount of make-up and fixing your hair, you tried to distract yourself from the thought. Once you were done, you inspected your work in the mirror. You looked so different, it was almost shocking. 

Earlier you were worried that everybody would be able to tell at first glance that you weren’t actually a professional stripper but now you were sure you’d pass well. You closed your eyes for a moment and thought back to the pole dance lessons you took a while ago to spice up your workout routine. It had been a while but you were confident you still remembered most of the moves. 

A knock on the door had your eyes shoot open again. 

“Are you decent?” You heard Spencer’s voice on the other side. 

“No,” you laughed as you opened the door. “But that’s kind of the point.” 

As he took in the sight in front of him, Spencer’s eyes widened and his mouth opened slightly. The subtle rosy shade spreading over his cheeks let your heart jump. 

“You look…” Spencer started but failed to finish his sentence. 

“I know, it’s a lot,” you finally sighed. 

“It’s very different from your usual work attire,” he chuckled. “You look beautiful, though.”

His words seemed sincere. They made you smile. There was a moment of silence between the two of you before Spencer continued talking. 

“The manager of the club asked about a name to introduce you to the crowd.”

“Oh I gotta pick a stripper name! That’s fun. Do you have any ideas?” You asked him before adding, “You’re from Vegas after all.” 

“Crystal, Candy, Ginger, Diamond, Amber, Karma… all very popular stripper names. They don’t really suit you, though,” he said with furrowed brows as if he was really thinking about it. 

“What’s your suggestion?” 

A smirk spread over his face before he leaned down enough for you to feel his body heat. “Vixen,” he teased. 

His choice made you laugh out loud. It was not surprising to you that he’d pick something that could be interpreted as both, a compliment and an insult. “That’s perfect.” 

“Are you already wearing your wire?” He asked while scanning your body once more. 

“Yeah, you can’t tell, can you?” You wondered as you traced your finger over the lace of your bodysuit, following the wire underneath the fabric. Spencer audibly gulped when you brushed your hand over your breast. It wasn’t even intentional but made it very obvious that your outfit had at least some effect on him. 

He shook his head. “Do you think it might come loose when you move on stage?” He wanted to know. 

You hadn’t thought about that before. Wire spilling out from your cleavage would certainly bust your undercover mission. 

“Maybe I should do a little practice run?” You suggested and Spencer agreed. 

Spencer followed you back to the club and took a seat in first row while you got up on the stage. Taking a few steps around the platform, you made yourself familiar with the space available. The pole was right in the middle. You walked around it slowly, tentatively letting your hand move along it. The light was so bright you could barely see the seats. 

After searching for a second, you found Spencer’s eyes staring up at you. 

“Could you keep your eyes on me to make sure the wire… or anything else… doesn’t show?” 

He raised his eyebrows and repeated your words, “Anything else?” 

“Spencer, I’m wearing a tiny skin-tight bodysuit and I’m about to swing my body around a pole. I’m sure you know what I mean. I don’t want to show more than what these people pay for,” you snickered. 

“It would certainly guarantee great tips,” he joked. 

His words made you laugh, “I hope you brought small bills.”

After taking a deep breath, you followed the steps you had memorized from your pole dance classes. First, you slowly walked around the pole before bending down while dramatically arching your back. Then, you squatted down before slowly standing up straight again. With your hand on the pole you walked around it a little faster to gather some momentum before jumping up and hooking one leg around the pole. Holding that position for a second, you took another deep breath until you slowly slid down again. 

You repeated different variations of those moves several times until you were sure you had tested your outfit enough. Walking to the edge of the stage, you found Spencer immediately offering you a hand to help you get down. 

“That was very impressive,” he praised you, making your heart skip another beat. 

When you looked at him you noticed how his cheeks seemed heated and his pupils were dilated a little more than usual. The tension between you was palpable and made you curious about how far you could take this with him. There were still a few minutes left until your team would turn on the cameras and microphones. 

This undercover persona you had taken on really boosted your confidence. 

“What if the unsub asks me for a private dance?” You said while motioning your head towards a more secluded area of the club. 

“There are cameras everywhere and I can assure you that I won’t let you out of my sight. I’ll keep you safe.” The firm tone of his voice didn’t leave any room for doubt. 

“Thank you. But maybe… I should practice that, too? To be safe?” 

Spencer raised his eyebrows at your suggestion before nodding. “You’re right. We should talk this through.” 

He walked right behind you when you approached the section of the club with private booths for lap dances. “You should take this one,” he said while pointing at the booth in the middle and sitting down at the table closest to it. “Leave the curtain open a crack, this way I can watch from here.” 

He stayed at the table while you did as he said, leaving the curtain open just enough for him to peek through it. Then, you walked back out of the booth to take Spencer’s hand in yours. 

“Come on,” you said with a nervous tremble in your voice.

There was little resistance from him when you pulled him from his seat to lead him into the booth. He sat down and watched your every move as you closed the curtain completely. 

“That’s not what we just discussed,” he reminded you, hinting at the closed curtain. 

“I know,” you said and winked. “But you’re not the unsub.”

“Club rules state that the customers aren’t allowed to touch the dancers but they can touch them. You don’t have to do that, though. If anyone really asks for a private dance, I’d suggest you keep an arm’s length of distance.”

“Unless it’s you?” You snickered as you approached him. 

“Very funny,” he deadpanned. “And just for the record, you can also decline a private dance. You don’t have to do anything you’re not comfortable with. As far as we know the unsub jumps his victims after the show on their way to the car.” 

Your stomach turned at the thought of giving a lap dance to a serial killer. This really was a line you didn’t want to cross but that didn’t mean you couldn’t play along to spend more time with your favorite coworker. 

“Okay, no more unsub talk,” you said with a playful tone. “I gotta practice the lap dance now.” 

It seemed as if Spencer only realized now what you had in mind all along. You almost couldn’t believe that he thought you only wanted to talk this through. “Are you okay with this?” You asked to make sure. He confirmed by nodding. 

“So, cutie,” you purred while brushing your hands over your sides. “What do you like?” 

“Uhm…” he stuttered as he watched you move your body slowly in front of him. 

Turning to your side, you arched your back to give him a perfect view of the curve of your backside. “Maybe this?” You teased. 

Spencer licked his lips and audibly exhaled. His hands were placed on his thighs and you noticed how his fingers trembled slightly, as if he had to hold back from reaching out to touch you. To your surprise he actually answered, “Yes.” 

Finding his eyes, you noticed how the gold of his irises had almost entirely been swallowed by the black of his pupils. You stepped closer until there was barely any distance between the two of you. He looked up at you with a certain hunger written all over his face. Placing your hand on his shoulders, you leaned forward to let him take a look at your cleavage. 

“How about this?” You breathed and watched as his Adam’s apple bobbed. 

“You really are a vixen,” he groaned and closed his eyes for a moment. 

That was when you dared to let your eyes drop to his lap, a smirk spreading over your face when you noticed the bulge straining against his pants. Heat started rushing to your center at the realization of the effect you had on him. 

More than anything did you wish you could just drop down to your knees right then and there to take care of him. Licking your lips, you allowed yourself to imagine how his cock would feel pressed against your tongue. 

Then Spencer opened his eyes again, forcing you to get back at least some of your composure. You knew you didn't have much time until your undercover mission officially started. It would certainly not be long enough to do what you really craved. 

Still, you needed to be closer to him, even if it was just for a second. 

“You seem tense,” you said as you took his hands in yours to move them away from his thighs. Then, you sat down on his lap, straddling him. “You should relax a little.” 

His eyes were wide when he looked at you and you could feel the heat radiating from his body. You brought his hands to your waist, urging him to touch you but he hesitated. 

“Touching the dancers is against the club rules,” he mumbled. 

“Good thing I don’t actually work here,” you quipped. 

Suddenly you heard a high-pitched noise ringing in your ear. By the way Spencer jumped, he must have heard it too. “Sorry about that,” you heard Emily’s voice through the ear piece. “We were having technical difficulties. Can you guys hear me? The microphones should be working now.” 

“Yes we can hear you,” Spencer answered. 

“Damn, what are you guys doing?” You heard Luke’s voice and were reminded that the entire club was equipped with surveillance cameras. 

Quickly getting up from Spencer’s lap, you cleared your voice and explained, “I uhm… was just practicing a lap dance.” 

“Please tell me I don’t have to file a report to HR,” Emily sighed and you weren’t sure if she was joking or not. 

“We just decided that private dances are off limits for her tonight,” Spencer informed your team leader as he got up from his seat and walked out of the booth right after you. 

You turned your head to find his eyes. “Did we now?”

Spencer nodded, “It’s too dangerous.”

“Yeah we can’t risk giving civilians heart-attacks,” Penelope giggled through your ear-piece. “You look amazing, by the way.” 

After talking everything through with your team once more, you went backstage again to freshen up and fix your hair and make-up. It wouldn’t be long until it was your turn on the stage. 

When a very sweet dancer named Karma returned from the stage, she waved at you and said, “Vixen, you’re up next. Good luck, they are gonna love you!” 

Your heart was pounding louder than the music when you approached the stage. The club was full, the air was hot and filled with the sweet perfumes of the dancers before you. The light was so bright you could barely see the crowd. 

You tried to find him, anyway.

Spencer sat at the same spot as before when you finally found his eyes. He wore a soft smile and nodded at you, encouraging you to stick to the plan. 

The club owner’s voice blared through the speakers, “Everyone make some noise for our new arrival Vixen!”

The crowd cheered and you started moving, following the steps you had practiced and repeating them in different variations over and over again. Every once in a while you looked for Spencer’s soft smile for reassurance and he was always there to provide just that. The longer you danced, the more you were reminded why pole dancing was a whole body workout after all. 

When your muscles started aching, your time was finally up. You left the stage and disappeared in the changing room to sip some water and wait for further instructions. 

“A tall man with a blue baseball cap asked the manager for a private dance with you,” Spencer informed you through your ear-piece. “He seemed very agitated when his request was denied. I’m gonna keep my eyes on him, he might be our unsub.” 

“Thank you,” you whispered into your microphone, making sure the other women there wouldn’t notice. 

It made you feel safe to know that Spencer had your back. You were certain that if anyone would lay as much as a finger on you, they would immediately feel the barrel of his gun on the back of their head. 

You changed into your regular clothes and put on a jacket, getting ready to leave the club just like you rehearsed with your team. 

“Is everyone in position?” You heard Emily’s voice. After everyone confirmed, she told you to leave the club through the backdoor. 

Despite the exhaustion, your nerves were on edge, aware that the unsub might try to attack you any moment now. You had your gun in your purse and your hand ready to quickly grab it as you walked out the door. 

Looking around, you didn’t see anyone, not even the members of the team even though you were certain they were there. They still needed probable cause to make an arrest. 

“Suspect is approaching,” Spencer whispered. 

Even though you expected him, you were still startled when you suddenly felt his presence behind you. 

“You owe me a lap dance,” the man snarled at you as you turned around. 

You already had your hand wrapped around your gun in your purse when he started approaching you with his arms reached out. 

Spencer quickly appeared behind him with his gun pointed at the unsub, yelling, “FBI, don’t move!” He froze and stepped back. “If you touch her, you’re dead,” Spencer growled. 

The rest of your team appeared to help with the arrest and hand the guy over to the local police. Relief washed over you when you realized that your undercover mission was successful. Once you got back to your hotel room, you couldn’t wait to wash off your make-up and take a shower. 

After getting cleaned up you slipped into your pajama shorts and an oversized shirt, ready to get into bed. A firm knock on your hotel room door disrupted your plan. You had a feeling who you might find on the other side. 

Spencer stood in the hallway, a concerned look on his face. “I just wanted to make sure you’re okay,” he said as you stepped aside to invite him in. 

“I’m okay,” you confirmed with a tired smile on your face. 

His sight grazed over your outfit, almost as if he were caressing your body with his eyes. 

Spencer was still wearing his dress shirt and black pants and you wondered what he would look like in casual clothes. It was hard to imagine him in a simple t-shirt and sweatpants. 

“You look more like yourself again,” he said, hinting at your clean face and casual clothes. 

“Do you already miss Vixen?” You quipped. 

“No,” he countered without hesitation. “I prefer you like this. You're even more beautiful without any make-up on.” 

His straightforwardness let heat rush to your cheeks. It was as if the time you spent at the club with him changed something between the two of you. You always hoped for your feelings to be mutual but could never be sure before. 

Spencer seemed tense when he continued speaking. “This was your first undercover mission and I know this one was very intense.” 

You tried to lighten the mood. “So you don’t usually have to dance half-naked in front of serial killers when you go undercover?” 

“Rarely,” he chuckled before being quiet for a second. “I know we asked a lot of you tonight.” 

You thought back to when you suggested that mission. “You didn't. You never even wanted me to go undercover.”

“Yeah, I really did not want that,” he agreed. 

“There was no need to worry, I knew you'd have my back,” you reassured him. 

Spencer stepped closer to you, his eyes fixated on yours, a slight glimmer visible in the warm amber of his irises. “Can I be honest with you?” 

With a nod you confirmed, prompting Spencer to keep talking. 

“This mission was like torture to me.” 

You felt your heart stop for a moment and a pit form in your stomach. Thinking back to earlier that night, you started to feel bad for being so bold. 

“I'm very sorry. I never wanted to make you uncomfortable.” 

To your surprise, your words made him chuckle. “That's not what I'm talking about. You didn't make me uncomfortable.”

That was relieving to hear. It also made you curious. “Then explain it to me, please.”

He took a step towards you. His tone was tense when he said, “It was torture because I hated seeing all those men looking at you, lusting after you. Nobody should be allowed to see you like that.”

Another step in your direction. Now your chests were almost touching and you were sure that Spencer must have been able to hear the accelerated beating of your heart. 

He leaned down, his hot breath ghosting over the skin of your neck before he whispered, “Nobody but me.”

It was then that all your remaining self-restraint broke. Swinging your arms around his neck, you pulled him against your body while capturing his lips with yours. With the same amount of eagerness he reciprocated your actions.

With one hand in the nape of your neck and the other on your back, he secured your position pressed against his body. A timid moan escaped your lips, an invitation Spencer gladly accepted by deepening the kiss. Time stood still as you got lost in this kiss, all the yearning and longing of the past few months finally unraveling. 

Greedy hands found the buttons of his shirt, hastily undoing them one by one. He moved with you as you let the fabric slide over his shoulders and drop to the floor. With your hands against his chest, you moved Spencer to the edge of the bed, urging him to sit down. There was no resistance from him, he happily followed your lead. 

You climbed into his lap just like you did at the club earlier, only this time there was no holding back from either of you. Spencer welcomed you on top of him like a queen on a throne. His hands wandered from your waist down to your hips, playfully squeezing your flesh before gently stroking your thighs. The sighs falling from your mouth only spurred him further on. 

“I’ve wanted this for so long,” you confessed with a shaky breath. 

“Me, too,” Spencer answered. “You have no idea how much I want you.”

Ever so slightly you shifted in his lap until you felt his hardness pressed against your core. A subtle twitch gave away how good the sudden pressure felt for him. When you dared to roll your hips against him once, Spencer whimpered into the kiss, a sound so delicious it sent a shockwave right to your center. 

“I would have loved to do that earlier,” you snickered before you began moving. 

Spencer groaned, “That would have been my downfall.”

Grinding against him, your kiss was interrupted by heavy breaths and desperate moans from the both of you. Spencer buried his fingertips into your hips so hard you were sure you’d find their imprints still visible in the morning. The friction you created between your legs let your arousal soak through your panties. There was still so much you wanted to do with him, so you decided to slow down the movement of your hips before it got too much for either of you.  

Your lips left his in favor of kissing along his jawline, his stubble tickling your cheek. A rumble rolled through his chest when you began nipping the sensitive skin of his neck. His hands found the seam of your shirt and pushed it upwards, revealing your skin to him. Leaning back, you let him pull it over your head and toss it aside. 

There was a moment of silence while he took in the glory that was your exposed body. 

When he found your eyes again, he purred, “You’re so beautiful, it’s almost unreal.”

A soft kiss was placed against your collarbone while his hands found their home on your breasts, gently exploring the softness your body had to offer. When he placed your hardening peaks between his fingertips to apply some pressure, you moaned louder than you had anticipated. 

Spencer looked at you as if he was witnessing a miracle, his cheeks heated, his eyes wide and pupils blown to the rim. “You’re absolutely perfect,” he praised you. 

To his surprise, you got up from his lap without a warning and he whined in protest. Then, you fell to your knees in front of him, your hands flying to the waistband of his pants in an instant. 

“There’s another thing I wanted to do earlier,” you cooed as you undid his pants.

“You’re gonna be the death of me,” he panted as he helped you shed the rest of his clothes. 

When Spencer’s body was completely unveiled right in front of you, you took your time to let your sight roam over his body. His chest was flushed and heaving, his tummy looked soft and had a trail of hair leading down to the dark curls at the base of his cock. You wrapped your fingers around his shaft and watched as a bead of precum rolled over the swollen tip. 

Leaning closer, Spencer could feel your hot breath against him. He watched you intently only to shut his eyes for a second when you gave his hardness a gentle squeeze. He twitched against your palm in response. Your tongue swiped over your lips to wet them. You could feel your mouth watering.

Then Spencer did something you hadn’t expected. He begged. 

With a soft and broken voice, you heard him say, “Please…”

To end his suffering, you began kissing along his shaft before licking over his tip. Spencer shuddered beneath you and made sounds so desperate you could have gotten drunk on them. Your lips closed around him and Spencer threw his head back, muttering some curse words you had never heard from him before. 

He felt hot and heavy against your tongue when you sank down on him slowly. You began moving with a steady rhythm, your hand covering what your throat couldn’t. 

“Feels so good,” he muttered. 

You would have been very happy to let him fall over the edge this way, curious to taste his release but when he got close to his breaking point, you felt his hand on your jaw. 

“Slow down, please.” 

After releasing him from your mouth, you placed a soft kiss on his tip before looking at him. 

“Tell me what you need,” you said while you kept slowly stroking his erection. 

He grabbed your wrist to stop you from touching him. “I need you,” he cooed and helped you get up from the floor. “Come here.” 

After guiding you onto the mattress, he laid down beside you before he kissed you once more. One of his hands moved down your body, over your chest, your stomach and finally, between your legs. He brushed over the fabric of your shorts, certainly noticing how damp they already were. Slipping his hand beneath the waistband, he pushed down your shorts a little. 

Hurried and ungracefully, you quickly got rid of your shorts and panties to give him full access to your skin. Your desperate action made Spencer chuckle but he didn’t say anything. Instead he kissed you again while he pushed your thighs apart with his hand. 

Then, he finally made contact with two of his fingers. He dragged them along your folds, spreading your arousal even more before finding your swollen bud. 

“You’re so wet,” he breathed against your lips.

You smirked into the kiss while one of your hands wrapped around his erection again. “And you’re so hard,” you teased him. 

Spencer didn’t let you distract him, he seemed determined to bring you pleasure by the way he circled your most sensitive spot. When he was sure you were ready, his fingertips found your entrance and slowly sank into you. The intrusion was very welcome. Your walls began fluttering against his digits the faster he moved. 

“Spencer…,” you sighed when you got closer to the edge much sooner than you had anticipated. 

Lazily you stroked his length while he worked his hand against your core. Spencer knew what he was doing and you could have easily unravelled this way. That was not what you wanted right then, though. 

“I need your cock,” you sighed instead. “Need it inside me.”

He groaned at your words before he removed his hand from your center. You couldn’t believe your eyes when he brought them to his mouth to clean your essence off his fingers. Never before had you seen anything so sinful. It turned you on more than you thought was possible. 

Now it was your turn to beg. “Fuck me, Spencer. Now, please!” 

Your desperation made him smirk. “You’re on birth control, right?” He wanted to make sure as he kneeled between your legs. 

“Yes I am. I also just got tested. So will you please fuck me now?” 

“Gladly,” he groaned as he leaned over you. 

He guided his cock to your folds and dragged it along them to coat it with your arousal before he slowly pushed into you. Inch by inch he sunk into you, stretching you open to accommodate his size. When you had enveloped him completely, he captured your lips in a kiss once more. 

Your core pulsed around him as if your body was begging him to finally start moving. He obliged as he began pushing into you, slowly at first but quickly accelerating his motions until the bed frame was shaking. 

“Fuck,” he whined. “You feel so good. So tight for me.” 

The room filled with the sound of your bodies colliding and the song of pleasure falling from your lips. 

You were at a loss for words, already blissed out and dancing along the edge of glory after just a few thrusts. Moans and sighs escaped your throat as you got even tighter around him. Spencer noticed the state you were in and changed the angle slightly to provide even more pressure. 

“Come for me,” he whispered as he dropped his hand to where your bodies met to draw circles around your nub with his thumb.  

And how could you deny him that? With a particularly forceful push you reached your breaking point, your entire body shaking beneath him as you came. Spencer guided you through the euphoria with precise thrusts, determined to maximize your pleasure. When you clenched around him one final time, he finally lost his composure, too. 

“I’m so close,” he mumbled as he pushed into you erratically. “Where do you want me to…?” 

“Inside,” you sighed. “Come inside me, please!” 

Hearing those words pushed him over the edge, spilling his essence into you as you ground your hips against his. He collapsed into your arms and you were happy to catch him. A tired kiss was placed on your cheek before Spencer buried his face into the crook of your neck. 

You held him tightly against your body, even when breathing became a little more difficult with his weight on top of you. Gentle fingertips drew circles on his back until you felt the mixed evidence of your shared desire dripping down your thighs. 

“We should get cleaned up,” you breathed, urging Spencer to get up. 

“Stay,” he said. “I can take care of that.” 

He disappeared in the bathroom for a moment, cleaning himself up before returning with a damp towel. Sitting down beside you, he touched your thigh and cooed, “Open up for me please.” 

After hesitating for a moment, you did as he asked and he began to thoroughly and carefully rid you of any remaining stickiness. You shuddered when the towel moved over your sensitive bud and Spencer apologized although there was nothing to be sorry for. No man before him had shown you so much care and affection and it warmed your heart. When he was done, he put the towel aside and found his home inside your embrace, where he stayed for the rest of the night. 

Thank you for reading! Please like, reblog and leave a comment to show your support and help me stay motivated to write more stories!

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[heesimp]

step dad heeseung whos soo manipulative toward you, always shushing you and saying its okay, praising you and telling you how much better you are but you have to keep it a secret 🫣

unedited and sorry for the late responses. just a little busy!

content warnings: dubcon, creampie, mentions of making porn, stepdad!hee

++++

You truly don’t know how he does it. Heeseung knows how to say all the right things and make your guilt and worries fade away with a simple touch of his hands.

It started so innocently at first. His compliments felt too inappropriate for a stepdad, but Heeseung always told you he said the truth. Then it was holding your hand in public when the two of you were alone. It’s just to keep you safe so he’ll know where you are at all times.

Then it crossed a boundary. Heeseung kissing your cheek when he sees you because he says that’s what good stepfathers do. Touching your body because you look tense and need to relax. Eating your pussy because he wants you to know what it feels like should you ever get a boyfriend. Making you stroke his cock so you know how to do it when the time eventually comes.

And then there’s tonight.

Heeseung’s naked body is pressed directly on top of yours underneath the blankets like it makes all of it okay. He insisted that you slept next to him because his wife was out of town, and it made sense when he gave you those deer eyes and told you he missed you. Even when he pulled your ass close to his crotch under the guise of cuddling you, did it feel normal and common practice.

He’s no stranger to the feeling of your pussy, nor do you shy away from his big, leaking cock. Heeseung kisses your throat and puts you on your back as he slides your panties down your leg until his bare cock situates itself against your wet, puffy folds.

“My princess,” he mutters against your lips. The wet smacks, paired with the wet squelched, makes Heeseung feel like he’s in some movie. “Feels good, yeah?”

“S-So good,” you squeak. His hot, building tip keeps brushing against your erect clit.

“Doing so good f’me. Can I put my dick inside? Let me make you feel good, baby. Please let me feel you.”

Who are you to say no?

The stretch is almost unbearable but Heeseung shushes your cries with his lips. You focus on kissing him and keeping your legs spread open to accommodate his tall body. Heeseung’s hands rub circles against your hip in an attempt to soothe the pain, and he forces himself not to shove the entirety of his cock into you.

“Best pussy I’ve ever had,” he moans against you. He pushes another inch inside. “I could do this all day if you let me.”

“Please…”

“You want that?” Heeseung taunts. “Want my dick in you all the time?”

“I do, but…it feels wrong.”

He shakes his head and kisses you tenderly. “What’s wrong about having sex with someone you love? Don’t you love me?”

“I do…”

“I love you, baby.” He kisses you again and bottoms out, balls pressed to your ass. Heeseung hears you gasp and feels you clamor for his shoulders, wrapping your legs around him in an attempt to ground yourself. “I’ll show you what good sex feels like, but you can’t tell anyone, okay?”

And it goes like that. You cum first. He cums inside of you too, but doesn’t let up. It’s like your pussy was made for him with the way you’re taking it like a champ.

“So much better than your mom,” he mutters as he slangs his hips. The sound makes him so hard that he thinks he might burst any second. “We could be fucking all day.”

Heeseung smirks when you moan and when he feels you clench around him. He’s so hard that it hurts. He doesn’t get like that with anyone else.

“I know you like it when I’m inside you,” Heeseung whispers by your ear. His warmth breath makes your toes curl and paired with his thrusts, you wonder if this is what Heaven feels like. “Might take a picture so I can fuck myself to you when you’re away.”

He grins like a madman when you arch your back and moan.

“Yeah? My pretty stepdaughter wants to make porn with me, doesn’t she?” Heeseung’s dick lodges deeper inside of you. “Slutty little pornstar. I’ll make you cum and squirt on camera.”

“Oh god!”

“So hot.” He lifts himself up and braces both palms beside your head when he starts lifting his hips to plow right into you until you’re both finishing at the same time. He pulls out quickly, but not enough to spare you from the dripping cum that hits your slit and leaks down your body.

[bitters-n-sweets]

ask me again — jack abbot x fem!reader When Jack casually asks you to marry him, it sparks a conversation that you both haven’t had.

warnings: reader doesn’t want kids, reader was married before, jack also don’t want kids, self indulgent, i would say fluff with a dust of angst a/n: this is for the readers who don’t want kids, because i’m seeing a lot of dad!jack content recently—THAT I ADORE—and though I love reading them, I don’t want kids myself soooo here we are masterlist

The room is dim, lit only by the yellowish light filtering through the blinds. Your chest is still rising and falling from the high you haven’t quite come down from yet. Jack’s hand rests lazily on your hip, thumb brushing the dip of your waist like he can’t bring himself to stop touching you, even after some of the most intense sex you’ve ever had.

You roll your head to the side, watching him as he watches you.

He’s staring at you, slightly smiling. Not in a creepy way, not even in that smug way he gets sometimes after he's made you fall apart beneath him. This is different. Like he’s adoring you. Like he’s grateful for you. Like he’s trying to memorize how you look right now, make sure he won’t ever forget.

“Marry me.”

It’s not dramatic. Not a grand declaration. It sounds like he’s talking to himself more than you, like it slipped out without much thought.

You slowly push yourself up, resting on your elbows, looking at him. “What?”

He blinks like he didn’t realize he said it. “I mean it.”

“Jack…”

“I’m not saying we need to run off tonight or book a chapel in Vegas or something,” he says gently, following your posture. “I just… I’ve thought about it. About us.”

You don't respond. His words settling into your chest like the Titanic—sinking. Drowning. You’re naked but feel bare, vulnerable in every sense of the word. You lay back down, grabbing the edge of the blanket and pulling it over your chest.

Jack watches your silence. He doesn’t know what it means, but it sure damn feels like a rejection. Marriage was not something you talked about yet—and now he’s cursing himself for bringing it up like this, at the worst possible time, in the worst possible way.

You’ve turned your back to him, pretending to sleep. But he knows you’re still awake by the way your body shifts, the way your breaths stutter every now and then.

So he plays your game, pretends to sleep, pretends he doesn’t want to hold you the way he always does before bed.

Jack wakes up a few hours after that. He feels your side of the bed is cold and his mind assumes the worst: You left. He feels a twinge in his chest and tries to swallow it away, but then he smells coffee. He gets up, reaches for his crutches, and limps into the kitchen—where he finds you standing against the counter, wearing his shirt, holding a mug.

Relief washes over him. You didn’t leave after all.

You glance up and offer a small smile, already pouring him a cup. “You want coffee?”

Jack walks over to you. He puts his crutches down and reaches out for you. If it were any other day, he’d crush you in a hug with no hesitation, but now he fears he might scare you away.

You feel his touch on your shoulder and look back, putting his mug down and embracing him, letting him lean his weight on you.

“I’m sorry.” You say, as if knowing his thoughts.

“I thought you left.” He whispers.

You break away from the hug and search for his eyes. “I’d never leave you, Jack. I just… I needed a second. To think.”

He nods in understanding. “You wanna talk?”

You nod back, giving his coffee mug and then sitting on the counter. You take a deep breath. “You know I was married before, right?”

Jack nods.

“It wasn’t good. I’ve said that before. But... the part I never really admitted is that it wasn’t just him. I wasn’t a great wife, either. I didn’t have dinner waiting every night, I barely made it home most days. I lived at the hospital. And I—I don’t want kids.”

You look up, expecting to see some flicker of concern, hesitation—something.

But Jack just watches you calmly.

“I know,” Jack says, stepping closer. Close enough that he’s between your knees, hands resting lightly on your thighs.

Your throat tightens. “You know?”

“You told me once,” he says, brushing your hair behind your ear. “Early on. We were talking about long shifts, and you said you couldn’t imagine adding a baby on top of that. I remembered.”

You blink, stunned. You hadn’t even remembered saying that.

“And for what it’s worth...” Jack says, “With my age and everything I’ve seen… no, I don’t want kids. The world has enough people in it. Having a child… couldn't guarantee it will make anything better.”

You swallow the lump in your throat. “So you’re okay with not having the white-picket-fence life? Even if it was with someone you loved?”

“I am with someone I love,” he says. “And no—I’ll take a shitty apartment and the chaos of hospital life if it means I get to come home to you.”

You laugh, and it sounds a little like relief.

Jack leans in again, arms wrapping around you. His voice is quiet in your ear. “I meant it. I want to marry you. Maybe not now, we can plan for it, have any kind of wedding you want. Or not want. You can call me old-fashioned, but I really want to be able to call you my wife.”

You sniffle, trying not to cry.

“No pressure though.” He adds, and you laugh again.

You lean into his chest, the drowning feeling finally going away. “Ask me again,” you whisper. “Someday. When we’re both ready.”

“I will.” He kisses your temple.

[juletheghoul]

ache

a/n: another dope, unhinged request that sent me clean into the sun. I will have girl reciprocate in another chapter! Thanks so much for loving my version of Marcus, hopefully you like where this is going. This is un-beta'd, barely edited. All mistakes and errors are mine! Hope you enjoy what I came up with! (this is before chapter IX)

Warnings; 18+ no minors, vague but big-legal age gap, piv sex, dirty talk, Marcus' pov, Marcus makes girlie squirt, *feelings*, master / slave dynamic (power imbalance), Marcus calls reader Girl, reader calls Marcus Dominus - let me know if I missed any!

Pairing: Marcus Acaciusx F!Reader

word count: 1.6k (😅)

reblogs are appreciated

Masterlist series masterlist

----

He’d been away from his home for longer than he wished to be. Away from her. 

He’d been resigned to be gone for two days, three if he was being generous. That was the time he’d been prepared to spare. Those three days had stretched to three weeks.

An endless parade of niceties and feasts and courtesies extended. His presence was essential it seemed, and so he’d had to grit and bear it. He’d slept in those foreign beds and craved her warmth, her smell and her touch so much so that a rage filled him, a restlessness that only soured his mood more and more. 

Had he not put his foot down he might have been gone from his house for three months instead of three weeks. He’d fought wars quicker than this. 

Only when he was on his journey back home, back to her did the smile return to his face. Only waning when his journey had taken longer than expected, and by the time he’d finally stepped foot inside his house the moon was high, and she was sleeping peacefully in her bed. He’d watched her for a time from her doorway, almost willing her to sense him and wake. She didn’t, and he didn’t have the heart to disturb her, so he retreated back to his chambers and fell into a fitful sleep. 

Even in his dreams, she haunted him. He could smell her, feel the warm clutch of her cunt around his cock, hear her passion in his ear. He could taste her lips, could feel himself spilling inside her. 

He woke with a gasp, cock aching, heart racing and sweat beading on his brow. The moon was still bright, and the hour late, or early, he could not tell. The only thing he knew for certain was that if he didn’t go to her now, he’d die.

-

The heavy blanket of sleep shifts to gossamer, fine as silk. The dream, so clear just a moment ago slips away, forgotten as your room comes back into focus. A heavy weight presses beside you, a soft caress pulls you further into wakefulness. Too tired to be scared, you turn towards the feeling, the soft press of familiar lips at your shoulder and are both startled, and delighted to see your Dominus in bed with you. He’d been gone so long, you almost wept to be within his embrace once more. 

“Dominus, you’re home.” It’s not a question, more a sleepy, contented statement. 

“Yes, Girl, I am at last home.” You press closer, heart swelling that he would crawl into your bed with you. His passion so great, it pressed hot and hard against your belly. “I dreamt about you Girl, could not wait until morning.” His hands roamed, sweeping from your back down to grab at your ass, pulling you ever closer in the quiet dark of your chamber. 

“You dreamt about me Dominus?” You smiled into the warm skin of his neck, butterflies swarming in your belly at his confession.

“Yes Girl, I was hoping you would be awake when I got home, I wanted you so bad I ached but you were asleep and I couldn’t bring myself to wake you. I found no peace in sleep, even in my dreams I craved you.” His lips descend, soft and so welcome where they meet yours, his tongue insistent. “Did you miss me Girl?” He shifts, pushing you onto your back and fitting himself between your thighs. the heft of him makes your cunt turn to liquid. The absence of him these three long weeks had been difficult, so accustomed had you become to him taking you that feeling him now could have made you weep with joy. 

“Yes Dominus, I have been so empty without you, I have missed the feel of you here–” You reach down and grasp him in hand, delighting in the gasp he breathes into your face and guide him into your soaked cunt. “I missed you here Dominus, needed you here desperately. I have gone without your gift for so long.” 

His forehead is pressed to yours, your legs bent and high on his ribs while you both catch your breath. Your heart races as he adjusts and rests on his arms, bracketed around your skull. Your nipples harden against his chest as he presses soft kisses to your face, your cunt leaks when he starts to move, a slow, but heavy thrust. His cock is so stiff, so filling that it takes a moment for you to adjust, for that stretching burn to subside.

The moans slip out with every push and pull of his hips into yours and when you move your legs a little higher and tilt your hips he hits something divine. His cock pressing against an undiscovered, almost forbidden part of you with every roll of his hips. 

“Is that where you like it?” He keeps his stroke steady, hitting the spot he knows he’s found and you can barely form a thought, all you can focus on is the fullness, on the delicious feeling in your hips, in the deepest part of you. “Answer me Girl, did you miss me fucking you?” He doesn’t speed up, only thrusts harder. 

“Yes Dominus, yes, I missed it so much–” He moans and it heightens the pleasure building in your core, in the base of your spine. His tongue is obscene in your mouth, your hands clutch at him, moving from where they clawed at his back up to curl into his waves, gripping at him like talons. 

His pace picks up, faster, harder and the feeling grows, something heavy, something altogether too big building unlike anything you've ever felt before. Big enough to almost frighten you. You pull away from his kiss, frantic to warn him. 

“Dominus, wait–something–God’s above–” You moan out because he doesn’t stop, he only shifts cat-quick to push at the back of your thigh up towards your chest, opening you up wider and hitting at that same spot harder.

It’s so loud, the wet plunge of him into the cunt he owns, the cunt that weeps and gapes for him and him alone. Your heart races, sweat beads at your hairline and his, the sound of the bed rocking with his movements; all of it ignored and unimportant compared to the feeling.

“Dominus–” your eyes drift down to where he fucks into you, hands pressing at his chest as the crushing wave inside finally crests. 

Your body pushes him out with a wet gush and a scream. Your hands claw at him, your body bows almost on its own as you soak him in your climax. He doesn’t stop, instead he holds you down, his strength showing it’s face as he fucks you through the strongest climax of your life. 

“That’s it Girl, take it, take my cock, and my gift.” He groans it, filling you to the brim despite your inability to do anything but lay there under him, soul outside your body, and shake with the force of the pleasure he’d given you. 

He smiles as he cleans himself after, moving to you to wipe down the mess he’d made of your sex.

Your legs still shake. 

“I had heard rumours in my youth that if you were skilled enough, you could pleasure a woman enough to make her burst like a fountain.” He has a smugness about him as he presses the damp cloth to your skin. You are silent still, shocked at the way he’d made you feel, at what he’d made your body do. “You are the first to prove them right. Have you ever done that before, Girl? Has any other man ever made you do that?” 

“No Dominus, I have never felt anything like that before.” A shyness creeps in, a vulnerability you don’t know how to express. Your eyes cannot quite meet his and despite the pride you can see in him, he senses it. 

“Did you enjoy it? I do not want to chase that again if you did not enjoy it.” He tosses the rag back into your basin, and slips into your bed with you, gathering you into his arms. You are grateful to feel his warmth, to have the comfort of his embrace. 

��I did Dominus, I enjoyed it immensely, I am just–I–I,” You stutter, unsure how to explain how you feel and the curiously emotional response that amount of pleasure has borne in you. 

“What is it Girl, tell me. I wish to understand.” He pulls you into the crook of his neck, his hands rubbing at your back. 

“I do not know Dominus, It is strange. The pleasure was great, greater than any other time we have lain together but it is so much more. It is as though now I am tied to you, I cannot get close enough. If you leave me here now, in this bed I shall die without you.” A shyness creeps in and warms your face, an embarrassment at the intense need you have for him now. So much more than when you are aroused.

“I will not leave you, Girl. I would never leave you. I must confess, seeing how much you enjoyed that changed me as well.” He pulls your sheet up, tucking the both of you in for what is left of the night. “There is an intense pride in me now, that I could be the one to make you feel that good.”

“You always make me feel good, Dominus.” You press your lips to his neck, rubbing at his chest while you make yourself comfortable in his embrace. 

“As do you, Girl. I was a mess while away from this house, away from you.” You smile into his neck before moving up to press your lips to his. There is no more need for words after that, instead you both fall into an easy rhythm of soft kisses, and gentle sweeps of your palms. A reacquainting of yourselves with one another, as though it’s been years since your last meeting instead of less than a moon’s turn. 

In the safety of the dark, it was okay. The lines of your roles could be blurred, you could kiss him as often as you pleased, you could press yourself closer, and speak words of devotion without fear. You could ignore that this was a slaves bed and not his place.

When morning came, you would wake alone and serve once more, but here, in the dark; that could wait. 

-

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