#the image falls apart. there’s a part of your brain that KNOWS they are a predator and is afraid

[collegeoflore]

i just think there’s no point if he’s not a little scary is all. he just needs to be kind of freaky.

[vanillakook]

THE ROOMMATE ꔫ - JJK

synopsis: your hot roommate brings out the dirtiest side of you

parings: roommate!jk x pervy!roommate!reader

warnings: mature language and content, spying, solo masturbation, lewd thoughts, slight jealously, underwear stealing, abnormal behavior (on both parts) mentions of pillow humping, wet dreams, fantasies, etc.

genre: smut, drabble

word count: 660

a/n: quick little one shot as a thank you for all the love you’ve been showing me, i promise to keep writing the filthiest works for you guys <3

pervy!roommate!reader who has jungkook completely fooled. he thinks his cute housemate is so innocent. what he doesn’t know is that you’re a deranged slut that’s been yearning for him since you’ve laid eyes on him.

pervy!roommate!reader who’s attraction to jungkook starts off as something sane. your behavior progresses into stuffing your pussy to the thought of him, stealing his used boxers and trotting around in them when he’s not home, and staining the same pillows he lays his head on with your sticky cum.

pervy!roommate!reader who goes brain dead whenever jungkook is speaking to her. whether it’s about your half of the rent or what groceries you want him to go get, the only thing you can think about his having his dick down your throat.

pervy!roommate!reader who wakes up with her panties clinging to her pussy from the wet dreams she has about jungkook, desperately wishing to make the images of getting destroyed by him into a reality. every morning is a constant routine of rubbing your sensitive clit, hoping he’s listening to your soft cries for him on the other side.

pervy!roommate!reader who feels like she hits the jackpot when she catches jungkook fisting his huge cock in his room. the door is cracked open just the right amount to where she can spy. it’s so wrong to invade his privacy, she has time to walk away, to shut his door even. instead she feels her fingers creeping up to cup her breast, rolling it around while her teeth sink into her bottom lip. this could be her moment, her chance to finally relieve his dick that looks like it’ll burst any second if it doesn’t have a cunt squeezing around it. instead she falls back, rubbing one out while watching him before going back to bed.

pervy!roommate!reader who’s visibly upset every time jungkook brings a girl over, dramatically slamming her bedroom door and making noises around the apartment to disturb him and his company. suddenly she needs jungkook for every little issue she has which causes his little hookup to dip out on him. he’d be more upset if his roommate wasn’t enough eye candy for him to get off to alone. either way he’s satisfied.

pervy!roommate!reader who’s scent on jungkooks pillows doesn’t go unnoticed. he’s breathing you in every night in the spot where he lays his head. your aromas make his dick stand up, aching and hurting from neglect. he could call someone over, he has girls lined up and waiting for him. yet the only thing that sounds satisfying is his pretty little roommate. he thinks he’s going crazy when he hears your small pants and moans of his name with the wet, sloppy sounds of your cunt following after.

pervy!roommate!reader who’s panties start going missing and popping up with globs of white substances in them and notices her roommate avoiding her more often. jungkook is suddenly too busy to hang out and too busy to have dinner with you. jungkook starts getting risky, leaving his door open while pumping his cock. he only does it when you’re not home, just in hopes that you’d walk in and drop to your knees when you saw him struggling to cum without your touch.

pervy!roommate!reader who’s nerves are running rampant at her and jungkooks game of cat and mouse. when he sends her a “we need to talk” text various scenarios and thoughts begin to go through her head. yet nothing could prepare her for jungkook’s distressed expression as she sits in front of him on the sofa and he runs a tired hand over his face while hovering over her. her eyes widen, watching the bulge in his pants grow to an inhuman size. and she sure as hell wasn’t prepared for his next proposal, something she thought she’d never hear from him.

“doll, as much as i love licking your slick off my pillows how about you use my cock from now on? yeah?”

masterlist

most recent work

[l0vergirls]

just a little something that's been on my mind for a while now, like it's actually rotting my brain.

cw: stalking, a bit nsfw near the end, just general yandere stuff, not proof-read!!!!! so sorry if its a bit messy !!!!

★ (romantic) yandere!batfam x reader

imagine being the shared darling of the batfam.

it only takes one of them for the rest to fall in love with you, too.

let's say you meet tim during one of the days he actually decides to go to class, and he's thanking the heavens he did.

slowly, he starts to integrate himself into your daily life, and into your friend group. they all love him, of course. who wouldn't love the kind, funny, and handsome tim drake?

during all of this, he'd already told his brothers about you, and because they can't hide anything from bruce, he finds out about you too. unsurprisingly, they come to appreciate you as much as tim has.

and suddenly, you get a particularly handsome new neighbour in the apartment across from you (which you didn't know was even up for rent) and somehow always seems to be in the middle of stripping when you're home. almost as if he can feel your eyes on him. of course, you make sure not to get caught, and avert your eyes as soon as the cloth leaves his waist.

later, you find out his name is jason, and make a good friend out of him. he smokes on his balcony, while you drink coffee on yours.

barely a week after that, you get a new regular at the café you work at. his name's dick grayson. he says it's probably best for you to yell out his last name for his orders too. he's a detective, which explains the late nights he comes into the café. he's always got a stupidly handsome smile on his face, which only adds onto his neverending charm.

and during the occasion that you're walking home alone, you always seem to run into one of the many vigilantes that guard gotham.

you meet both batman and robin during one of your walks home. you're not scared of them, as most people are; you're merely fascinated at the tall figure that towers over you, and his more colourful counterpart that is also taller than you. robin seems to be just a couple years younger than you. and batman... you can't seem to get a read on the man.

you greet them both as calmly as you can, a small smile on your lips. you get nods of acknowledgment from both of them, which you suppose is the most you're getting.

batman doesn't seem to like that you're walking alone, so he sends robin to walk you home. you don't understand why, and you tell them you've walked this route many times already, that they probably have worse things to take care of.

he tells you that you can never be too sure in gotham. with the way he says it, in that gravelly tone, you can't find yourself to disagree.

on your walk, now with robin's company, you feel safer. you also find out this robin is a man of few words, very unlike the last few robins yet much like batman.

the next night, you run into red robin, who has an air of familiarity around him. he's real friendly— in fact, it's almost like talking to a friend. you think you've seen his smile before.

the night after that, you meet nightwing in all of his spandex-clad glory. he's charming, almost flirty.

and for a week, you don't bump into any of the vigilantes, but you do feel watched. you should be frightened, by all means, but you have a feeling deep in your stomach that tells you they won't hurt you. whoever they are.

you see red hood after that week. he's the more intimidating one of the bunch, you reckon. you've nothing to be scared of, knowing he (along with all the others) only goes after the real awful people. you're not guilty of anything, as far as you know.

his voice is almost robotic, as if being run through a voice changer. it doesn't do much to help his image, though you suppose that's the point. he asks what a little thing like you is doing walking around these parts. you say you're just heading home, like all the times you've met one of them.

he lets you on his motorcycle. if you were paying enough attention, maybe you would've felt his heart beating a mile a minute.

your days go on like this for a while. class, work, walk home with one of gotham's protectors. rinse and repeat.

unbeknownst to you, cameras have been planted all around your apartment. in many angles of your bedroom too, save for your bathroom. they've decided to give you privacy in there. no matter how much dick begged.

though they do have clips saved of you walking around in just a towel, or your underwear. god knows what they're doing with those.

but truly, can you blame them? you've invaded the deepest crevices of their minds, your smell lingering on their noses, and the shape of your lips following them in their dreams.

oh, they can vividly see— almost feel your lips on theirs, and they wonder what you look like when your face is scrunched up from pleasure, as their fingers enter you.

but they'll have to wait a little longer. and they'll be damned if they lose you, when you're playing right into their hands.

this got so long !!!! i had to let this all out somewhere <//3 definitely gonna add more but i needed to cut it off at this 😭😭😭😭

[fayes-fics]

Awakening

Pairing: Anthony Bridgerton x fem!reader

Summary: You experience an awakening a few days into your arranged marriage with the Viscount.

Warnings: 18+ smut, minors DNI, female masturbation, slightly dom/sub (use of little one/my lord), innocence, corruption kink, vaginal fingering, oral sex (m to f).

Word Count: 3.4k

Authors Note: Unbetaed. Request fill for Anon, HERE, about Anthony being arranged married to an innocent reader. Sorry it's taken me so long to write this, Nonny, but I hope you still enjoy it, even though I changed the parameters of the request slightly. Enjoy <3

Viscount Anthony Bridgerton is most perplexing. 

He is all at once both the best and the worst person you know. A providing husband, but an absent one. A polite, undisputable gentleman, but one who has barely said more than a handful of words to you, his supposed wife. An arrangement was brokered with your father, and now, merely weeks later, you are walking the halls of Aubrey Hall as the new Viscountess Bridgerton but barely feel as if you know your husband.

The night before your wedding, you had received a very vague talk from your mother about how you should expect your new husband to enter your bedchamber and perform his “spousal rights” and that, as his wife, you must allow whatever he decides to do. You still have no earthly idea what that might mean; your room has never once yet seen his presence—on that night or, indeed, any of the four nights since. Part of you worries you have somehow failed to be the wife he needs; part of you is relieved he has not done anything to you that you must endure in some way.  

There is one thing you are certain of, though. While Anthony may be distant, almost an absence from your life, always busy with some business or other, there is no doubt you find his countenance pleasing. He is so very dashing and handsome. Earlier today, he swept in from a hunt wearing very tight tan breeches, and the sight caused a funny, warm tingling low in your gut. Between your legs, really.  He nodded politely as he swept past you in the hallway, continuing his discussion with his brother as he did so. You twist to watch his retreating figure, wishing you could have the opportunity to speak with him, but the view of his shapely bottom in those tight trousers is at least partial compensation. 

So as you lay under the covers on your fifth night alone, your ladies' maids having brushed your hair and taken their leave, you sigh deeply and snuggle into the crispy white sheets. Your thoughts turn to your husband again and that outfit he was wearing. The way those trousers clung to him, the movement of muscle as he strode purposefully. And that sensation rears again—the pulsing between your legs. It seems like your body needs something, but you do not know what. Flushed for some reason, you push away the covers. Before you know it, curiosity has the better of you. While you replay the image of him walking in your mind, your legs fall apart, your hand reflexively falling between them to provide a remedy—almost like an itch you need to scratch.

Your fingers slide through folds of flesh there, and strangely, there is unfamiliar sticky dampness. When you pass your fingers over a particular spot where your two lips meet, you get a pleasurable spike that makes your mouth slack.

Oh.

Almost without meaning to, you keep touching that spot, a call and response that is impossible to resist. The more you rub right there, your body swelling slightly under your movements, the better you feel. A languid buzz in your brain that feels both stimulating and relaxing. When your husband's image pops into your head again, everything suddenly gets sharper and more urgent. And so you do. You think of him. His handsome face, the way his forearms flex when you sit across from him at dinner, and he eats with his sleeves rolled up and again those legs and bottom in those tight trousers. Tumbling images that speed up in your mind as your fingers do the same, powerless to resist. 

You are soon gasping and writhing, yet you do not stop; it feels too good. Something almost violent happens in your body, your lungs restricting, your brain buzzing, and suddenly, with a crest of physical delight, you are experiencing something completely novel. There is a squeezing, rippling inside, and you cry out as a remarkable ecstasy takes your body. When eventually the feeling subsides, you collapse back down, panting and bewildered; your whole body flushed, your fingers, still resting between your legs, wettened with a slick substance that could only have come from within you. 

Whatever just happened, it's nothing you have been told about before. Not fully understanding, all you know is you want to experience it again. It's addictive, powerful, and so very relaxing once over. You instantly fall into a deep, sated slumber and wake up the most refreshed you have felt in many months.

And so it becomes a habit. 

Whenever you feel the need and have a private moment, you retire to your room and touch your body until you feel that pinnacle—often thinking upon the Viscount as you do so. His name even falls from your lips, breathy, almost a tasty morsel, as you find your peak. It is no longer something you only do when you retire to bed for the night. You find yourself doing so any time of day, whenever the mood strikes you, an addictive, fun, illicit thrill. You wonder idly if such a thing is taboo, but you struggle to believe something that feels so good could ever be unacceptable behaviour as long as you are in private, alone.

One week after your wedding, on an uneventful afternoon, you put down your needlework and huff a sigh, your eyes drawn by movement outside. There, riding towards the house at speed across the lawn is Anthony. It's a sunny summer day; he wears only a shirt billowing in the breeze with sleeves pushed up around his elbows. And again, those tan breeches flexing around his legs as the horse gallops, him moving with the beast in a rhythmic motion. Time seems to stand still as you are inexorably drawn to the window to watch the sight coming closer and closer. The whole time your breath becomes more rapid, that telltale throbbing between your legs flares. You decide there is only one course of action.

When he veers off to the left towards the stables to the side of the house, you turn heel and run up the stairs. Keen to have that incredible high. This new, enthralling image will be the star of your thoughts this time. You pass his valet on the stairs and politely nod before scurrying and closing your bedroom door behind you.

You drop your underwear onto the floor, hitching up your dress and chemise around your hips as you throw yourself onto your bed, not even bothering to pull back the bedspread, so very keen to touch yourself.

It doesn't take much, that familiar slick already there, painting your fingers as you slide them against your nub, one hand reaching behind to grasp the headboard as you writhe on your fingers, all thoughts of Anthony and that repetitive bouncing motion of him upon his steed. So wrapped up in pleasure, his name on your lips, you do not hear the knob turning and the door opening.

“My valet told me you were here….” his loud baritone voice rings out around the room but grinds to a halt mid-sentence.

You squeal in surprise; the star of your fantasies standing right before you, skin sunkissed and his hair tousled from his ride, a look of utter shock painting his face.

Instinctively, you clamp your knees together and attempt to push down your dress, but it’s too little, too late. He has seen exactly what you were doing, and now he looks distressed, hIs breathing uneven.

“Did you…. Did you say my name?” The tone is not one you have heard from him before, rough but straining.

You sit up slightly and avert your gaze downwards, abashed he has interrupted your private moment.

“Yes,” you confess quietly.

He takes a hesitant step forward towards the bed and swallows heavily.

“You were touching yourself? And... and saying my name?” he looks almost winded.

“Yes,” again, it's soft, and you chew your lower lip, thinking perhaps you are about to be chastised. He certainly looks very… agitated.

“Do you know what you are doing to yourself?” he blurts out, a vein in his forehead prominent as he locks his jaw.

“Not really,” you admit, “only that when I think of you, I get an ache between my legs, and it feels wonderful when I touch it.”

He makes a strangled noise and closes his eyes, his head tipping back slightly.

“I… I did not expect to consummate yet,” he mutters heavily, “I thought I had more time.” He seems to be talking to himself as much as you.

“What does that mean? Consummate?” you inquire, your mother's words coming to the forefront. Perhaps this is what she was referring to.

“As your husband, I have perhaps been neglectful of my spousal duties,” he says slowly, his head tipping back down to look at you, his eyes intense.

“Duties?” you frown.

“What you were doing to yourself…” he begins, moving closer now so he stands by the bed, “it is because you desire me. I had not considered that may be the case.” He twists his mouth into a thoughtful pout, but you do not miss how he seems to stare at your breasts as they rise and fall inside your stays. “But now that I know it is true… it… changes things.”

“How?” you look up at him, wanting to understand.

A smirk tugs at the left corner of his mouth. “It means there are things I can teach you, things you should know that can happen between a man and a woman. Things you will find pleasurable, just like when you touch yourself. It is my responsibility, as your husband, to show you such things now.” His hand reaches out, and you inhale sharply as it lands upon your raised knee.

“You make it sound more like an obligation than something you want to do,” you respond, voice wavering at the distraction his hand is causing, the viscous throbbing between your legs even heavier now.

“Oh, nothing could be further from the truth; I want to, now that I know you desire it too.” His voice is a soft thrum that makes your nipples peak and a shiver run down your spine.

“Why have you not come to me before, husband?” it sounds breathy even to your ears.

“I thought you disliked me. That this was an arrangement you were enduring. That I should be polite and respectful. Keep my distance, at the least, until you adjust to your new life as Viscountess. Until an heir is needed. But now I know that is not the case…” 

His voice is a pleasant low rumble as his hand starts to move, slightly calloused fingertips skirting the soft skin of your inner thigh, your dress and chemise bunching around his toned forearm as he does so.

“What are you…?” your breath quickening now.

“Shhhh, Viscountess, let me help you,” he hushes, and you stare at him with wide eyes as his warm fingers reach your folds. He hisses at the heat and wetness he finds there. “Oh, you really do like me,” he purrs, and something in you makes you lean slowly back onto the padded plush headboard, unable to look away from his face.

“Yes…” you whimper as his thumb, much broader than yours, makes a sideways swipe over your swollen nub.

“How often?” he murmurs, shifting to take a seat on the bed next to you, his thumb never wavering in its slow, intoxicating rhythm,

“How often wh-what?” You stutter, rapidly losing the ability to form words as your body riots, grasping the bedspread on either side of you, scarcely believing how amazing it feels when someone else touches you, especially him.

“How often do you touch yourself and think of me?” his voice gravelly.

“Everyday… so-sometimes m-more than once,” you pant out, your lips tingling, holding his fiery gaze.

“Oh, you naughty little thing,” he growls, and it sets your face aflame. “Touching yourself multiple times a day and thinking of me. Do you reach a peak every time?”

“Y-yes, my lord….”

His eyes flash; he leans in closer so you can smell spiced cologne and traces of his natural body scent, heightened from his riding exertions.

“Please call me that when I'm touching you,” he asks, but it almost sounds like an order, one you are happy to obey.

“Yes, my lord,” you respond instantly.

“Good little one,” he compliments, and the praise makes something bloom inside you, an urgent want to please him.

He changes his thumb’s motion to a circular pattern and presses more insistently. You gasp loud, glancing down at the slight of his toned arm flexing as he moves, his fingers obscured by your dress rucked up around his wrist.

“Tell me, have you put your fingers inside yourself?” his tone still velvety.

“No? What do you mean? I just,” you pause to whimper, “do as you are right now.”

His face turns into a handsome smirk you can't look away from.

“Would you like to find out how it feels to have someone inside your body, little one?” The question is molten, and you swear your entire skin feels too heated and tight.

You just nod, snagging your lower lip with your tooth, and then your eyes bulge as a finger slips lower and presses into a fleshy barrier that resists his touch.

“I can feel you are still intact, a chaste maiden indeed,” he rumbles, and part of you wonders what that means, but you do not ask. “Luckily, there is just enough of an opening for me to do this…” 

You moan as a single finger pushes a fraction into your body, something completely novel and profound. You stare at him open-mouthed

“Oh, my dear little thing, I have barely even put the tip of my finger inside and look at you. Wait until it's my cock,” he warns darkly.

“Your what?” 

He grabs your hand off the bedding and guides it to the junction of his thighs. Something is hot and hard under there, and you cannot hide your shock even as your hand curls around it and squeezes instinctually.

He growls. “That’s it, feel it. My cock is going to go inside you, right here….” he lectures, and his finger that was teasing pushes deeper into your pussy, aided by the pool of wetness leaking from within.

Again you moan at the invasion, and he looks so proud, pumping the digit slowly as his thumb restarts its movements on your clit.

“Oh my god,” you exclaim in a harsh whisper, the feeling so utterly mindblowing.

“No, your lord,” he corrects, preening from what he can do to your body.

“My l-lord….” you amend stutteringly.

He nods his approval and leans over you, his breath warm on your face as he observes your expressions, gauging your response to each move he makes. It's so overwhelming that he is touching you inside and outside your body.

You are rapidly losing the ability to do anything besides make noises and chase sensation; your knees falling further apart, your hand still on his cock, pressing unconsciously with the same rhythm his fingers play your body. He glances down at his lap, his other hand moving from its grip on your wrist to cover yours, his hips tilting a fraction, pressing more insistently into your palm. 

“Would you like to come right now?” his breath almost as ragged as yours.

“W-what is that?” you stumble.

He huffs a bemused sound. “When you reach your peak, little one. It is called coming.”

“Yes, please, my lord,” you answer the instant you understand, spiralling fast now, your lungs heaving, your slit hot and slippery, where he teases you.

“Close your eyes,” he murmurs, and you obey instantly. 

He gently removes your hand from his cock, and his fingers slip out of your body. You sense movement on the bed, and he manhandles your feet outwards and upwards towards your hips. Cotton brushing the back of your thighs, and a wave of warm air across your inner thighs, so open and exposed now. A few seconds later, you feel something entirely new— a wet, hot, thick mass sliding through your folds unlike anything else. Your eyes fly open, and you startle to see that Anthony has crawled between your legs and his head is now buried at the apex of your thighs. Then you cry out as he does the same thing again, realising he is using his tongue.

“What the….?” you can't even complete the sentence.

“It is not just my fingers I can use, little one,” he tutors, his tone dusky, his breath hot on the patch of hair between your legs as he pulls up slightly to talk, his eyes burning into yours.

You watch, mesmerised, as he flattens his tongue wide and lowers his face to lick a long strip through your entire slit, morphing into a spear as he maps your clit, swirling around all sides. It's so intense your channel flutters, wishing his fingers were still inside you. 

“Yes, that is it, you like that, do you not? Come on,” he coaxes as he takes a deep breath, inhaling your body scent. The way he is handling you, so absorbed in you, a euphoric feeling burns behind your ribs at the idea he wants your pleasure.

He envelopes your clitoral hood and sucks hard. His eyes flashing with pride as he has to grab your hips and hold you down, your back arching off the bed, crying out without caring if anyone can hear. The way he growls as you do so tells you exactly how much he wants to hear it, his pride that he can do this to you.

Something primal washes over you as he bites gently on your swollen clit, holding it between his teeth as you feel two fingers at your entrance pushing in, making you cry as you stretch around him, your body accommodating them even as you feel so filled.

“Anthony… Anthony, my lord,” you chant repeatedly as he holds you down with one strong arm and rocks his fingers shallowly into your body, his tongue swirling. It’s a sight that you can’t look away from. His hips flex into the bed almost involuntarily, as if his cock needs friction, too.

You feel that tide rising somehow more potent when orchestrated by him, a white-hot burning where he plays you and a tension in all your muscles.

“Give it to me,” he snarls, muffled, feeling the ripples around your clit and pussy against his face and fingers.

He redoubles his efforts, almost mercilessly lashing you with his tongue, varying pressure and speed. Entirely without meaning to, your hands fly into his hair, loving the sensation of thick curls sinking between your fingers as you grasp his strands, making him cry out right into your body. And it’s precisely what you need.

Every fibre of your being held taut and shaking now snaps, the pressure inside you like a dam breaking, so much more intense than you have ever experienced from just your fingers. Something almost inexplicable, ephemeral, your body experiencing a hundred different things firing at once. Your world contracting and exploding. You can feel your own heartbeat in your extremities, a rush of blood in your ears, eyes screwed shut as you shudder under him, and yet he moves with you as your hips roll in waves, his mouth never leaving your body. You know you are leaking onto his face, your inside clenching powerfully around his fingers. Dimly, you are aware the noises you make are loud, but you find yourself unable to prevent it and don't even want to.

As you recover, he crawls over your prone body as you lay there panting, fundamentally changed in the sharing of this experience with him, of him to be the one to make your body reach its peak. A true awakening of your senses.

It’s then he kisses you for the first time since a cursory brush of lips at the altar on your wedding day. His face musky with your juices, his lips hot, soft and damp as they press to yours. This is so different to that kiss. It's lingering and hot, his lips plush on yours.

His handsome face breaks into a dazzling smile as he looms over you, the back of his hand gently brushing down your cheekbone as you stare up at him dazed, the taste of yourself seeping through your lips. “Rest for now, my dear wife.” His tone is softer now, the use of wife instead of little one making your breath catch.  “I shall return tonight, and you shall become a woman,” his voice laden with untold promise.

Anthony taglist: @makaylan @foreverlonginguniverse @iboopedyournose @colettebronte @aintnuthinbutahounddog @margofiore @writergirl-2001 @heeyyyou @enichole445 @enchantedbytomandhenry @ambitionspassionscoffee @chaoticcalzoneranchsports @crowleysqueenofhell @bridgertontess @queenofmean14 @fiction-is-life @lilacbeesworld @eleanor-bradstreet @divaanya @musicismyoxygen84 @benedictspaintbrush @sorryallonsy @lilithseve @cayt0123 @hottytoddyhistory @elizah99 @fictionalmenloversblog @debheart @malpalgalz @amanda08319 @panhoeofmanyfandoms @delehosies @Mlovesbridgerton @m-rae23 @kmc1989 @desert-fern @corpseoftrees-queen @jeanfreau @magical-spit @bunnyweasley23

[thexsilentxwordsmith]

https://twitter.com/sluttywh0r3/status/1738661113154220340?t=VYLoAeMTbPq_UQ-a7lMuVA&s=19

You were both so horny but you just ran out of your birth control and didn't have any condoms so Simon said he'd pull out only to have you riding him and refusing to get off of him and begging him to cum inside you

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Fem!Reader

READ IT HERE

9-1-1, yes hello? There is an attempted murder in progress. Yes, it is on my sanity, thank you.

Seriously, you guys are trying to kill me, right? Because there is no way in hell I am supposed to read that and stay sane. I'm gonna have to take a minute just to get through the rest of this post after the flood of images that just entered by brain.

But damn if it ain't a pretty scenario to think about. I am mean come on, just thinking about you and Simon being so fucking out of your minds horny for each other that you are willing to risk everything is hot as hell. Just him heavy breathing in your ear, telling you how good he wants to make you feel, the vibration from his voice making your clit throb as his lips leave trails of tingles along the side of your neck from the warmth of his lips.

Just the feeling of you under his fingertips has him panting as he tries to shove his hands in your pants, in your shirt, or both if he's lucky. He needs to make you come, it's the only thing he cares about in that moment; he needs to know that he has the power to make you fall apart and it consumes him until it is agony.

Probably wouldn't even make it to the god damn bed before he is ripping off your clothes as fast as those thick fingers can get into them and then immediately throwing your legs on his shoulders and thrusting inside you the second he can; he'd just drag you onto the floor with him and spread your thighs wide. That massive, virile man isn't going be able to create anything more than a few coherent words before it's all grunts like an animal in heat.

"We'll be careful. Com' on, sweetheart...Mmmm fuck... swear I'll fuckin' pull out. Just need ta be inside ya."

(I can feel the flames licking at me right now just for thinking about this lol).

Then you end up on top and Simon is on cloud fucking nine watching you completely lose your mind at how good it feels that the minute you start begging him to come inside you, that promise he made to you about pulling out flies out the fucking window without a second thought. You pleading with him to fill you up is going to awaken that feral part of his brain that he will not be able to control and it's gonna be all over.

"Christ, can't say no to ya ever, pretty girl. Ya want it inside ya, that's what your gonna fuckin' get."

He'd be so out of it, high off the feeling of you riding him into oblivion that he will not even fight you on it. He isn't even going to hesitate to keep going all the way until you both are a whole god damn mess and you are leaking his cum. Shit he'd make sure you got everything you want by keeping your hips locked together with his tight grip as he begins to slam up into you harder and harder, loudly grunting from the strain through that point of no return. The risk would be 100% worth it at that point.

And you'd be so gone with his cock shoved so far in you that your brain cannot even create a single thought other than to come on it. So what if this hot as hell romp leads to an oopsie; he'd make a great dad, right?

Don't worry, he's thinking the same thing and he's fine with it.

"Jus' don't fuckin' stop."

Give me a bit to write this all out cause I really really REALLY need this to be a full fledged fic.

[not-neverland06]

How About a Nuke?

Part VIII / Part IX

(Completed) Series Masterlist

Cooper Howard x fem!reader, The ghoul x fem!reader A/N: PLEASE READ, we have reached the end of their journey and I am so sad/happy/excited about it. I don’t even know how to feel honestly. I just want to thank everyone who has commented, messaged or reblogged this story. Your kind words and funny little depressed memes have been really uplifting for me. I was actually considering just giving up on this blog when I posted the first chapter. I haven’t had much inspiration lately or interaction I feel like, and you all have helped reignite that spark within me. Summary: There’s something keeping you tied to Cooper Howard, an invisible string wrapped around you both. You’ve fought against it as long as you could but he’s not gonna let you fight for much longer.

It’s been a month and the bounty on her head gets bigger everyday. Normally the compound hires privately, they don’t like going through the agencies. He figures with Sylvie dead they’re struggling to find a new leader and they’re falling apart. Or they’re just desperate for her head on a stick. 

He sees her face everywhere, crudely drawn images of her varying in their accuracy. In some she has a hat like his on, in others her nose is the wrong shape, or her eyes are all wrong. No one seems to have a good grasp on who she is. Out of curiosity and a strange need to know she’s still alive, he’s asked around. 

There are different rumors as to where she’s hiding out. Some think she’s taken to hiding out in the caves near Filly. Anyone with half a brain knows that the area’s overrun by irradiated bears and other mutated freaks. 

There are those that say they’ve seen her wandering through the sands. Following that lead had led him nowhere. He doesn’t know where she is and it’s driving him insane. She’s like a constant itch in the back of his mind that he just can’t scratch. Days and nights are spent thinking about her and he hates it. 

He’s not sure what he’d do when he does find her. Whether he’d shoot her to repay the favor or just tie her up to keep her from leaving again. He’s conflicted on how he feels about her. He’s bothered that he feels anything towards her at all. And he knows that when she shot him, she was shooting to kill. 

She had no way of knowing that he would heal from that bullet. She’d watched him bleed out on the ground and left him for dead. He was impressed, as much as he wanted to be mad, he was almost proud in a way. 

Throughout their tumultuous lives and times together she’d always had to be guided by him. He’d shown her the ways of whatever world they were living in. She’d relied on him and he enjoyed it. The time had to come when eventually she wouldn’t need him anymore. 

It’s outside of Filly that he finds the most accurate poster of her so far. She looks like she did in their first movie together. A proper outlaw, wanted all across the Wastelands for her crimes against a bunch of sick fucks. If he could kill Sylvie again, he would. He’d kill all of them. 

Not that he’s condemning them because of what the compound’s doing. He’s dabbled in organ trade before, eaten people, he’s done a lot of fucked up shit. But he draws the line at trying to hurt her. He’s the only one who should be allowed to fuck with her.

He takes the poster down and whistles softly at the price under her name. It’s enough to keep him happy for a longtime. If he never wanted to take on another bounty he wouldn’t have to. Course, he was never in this for the money. A man’s gotta have something to entertain himself with at the end of the world. 

He wonders if she’s even still alive. Maybe a Deathclaw got her a day after she left him behind. He could have walked past her corpse and never even known it. He folds the poster up and slips it in his bag. He doesn’t know why he bothers keeping it. Possibly because it’s the closest thing to her that he’s got, but he doesn’t feel like lingering on that thought for long. 

He tugs his hat lower on his head and heads through the tunnel leading to Filly. He’s caused a lot of issues here over the years. Usually he kills most of the people who could identify him as an instigator, but he doesn’t feel like pushing his luck today. He needs more supplies and he knows Ma June won’t sell to him if he causes a fight beforehand. 

It’s louder than normal today, more people rushing around. They’re all congregating around something in the center of the marketplace. He turns to the left, heading up the stairs to try and get a better look at what’s got everyone so excited. 

“They found her!” A boy shouts, fidgeting in his spot next to him. He glances at him from under his hat and the boy pales before scurrying away from him. His lips turn up in a cruel grin and he finally gets a good look at what’s happening. 

She’s kneeling in the middle of the marketplace, two Knights on either side of her. He’s more surprised by the fact that she actually has picked up a hat in her time away from him. 

She seems to be playing into the outlaw routine more than he thought she would. 

You’re embarrassed, honestly, that you let these two idiots capture you. Them and their useless little squires. 

You’ve found odd jobs through the Brotherhood when they need assistance looking for relics of the old world. Though, you’re really not sure how much use a toaster oven can be to them, but they pay good money for it. 

Once your bounty was posted and they figured out who you were, though, that stopped being useful. You can’t even hunt bounties because the agencies would just grab you and turn you over to the compound.

They clearly didn’t give a shit about women, you don’t get why they’re making this whole Sylvie situation such a big deal. 

You had to bribe Ma June by buying some of her junk, but eventually she’d helped you find some work in Filly. The people here are stupid enough that they don’t recognize you when they see you. Most of them are high or drunk so the only thing you have to worry about is wandering hands and not stepping in the middle of their brawls. 

From the patrons of the bar you hear stories about yourself. How you slaughtered the entire compound, even the children, which is so far from the truth you can’t help but scoff. Or how you apparently slept with a ghoul and you're carrying his mutant baby. 

You don’t even know where they got that one from. 

They also seem to think you wander through the sands, shooting anyone who gets in your way. It’s a comfort that no one seems to have caught onto you yet. But it’s also disheartening to know that all that’s left of civilization is a bunch of psychopathic idiots. 

What happened to natural selection?

You know your stint in Filly is up when two Knights walk in, their squires struggling to carry their bags behind them. You pull your hat further over your head and duck behind the bar. You try to keep your back to them and let the old man, Marley, who runs the bar deal with them. 

His shaky voice is cautious as he greets them, “What are Knights doing so far out here?”

One of their distorted voices rings out through the, now quiet, bar. “We got bored. Wanted to shoot some shit.”

You roll your eyes and focus on cleaning the cup in front of you. You spit into it, not enough water to properly clean it, and scrub at it with a stained towel. Marley hums, clearly displeased with the answer. You can hear his tottering steps approaching you and wince, praying he’s not going to do what you think he is. 

He tugs on your shirt with a shaky hand and you slump forward in defeat. “Deal with these jackasses,” he mutters, taking drinks over to a different table. 

You pour the only alcohol the bar has into two cups and keep your head down as you approach. “Heard that a woman took over for Knight Damien.”

One of them scoffs and shakes his armored head, “What the fuck is this world coming to?” You don’t know how they’re planning on drinking their liquor with the helmets on but you’re not going to ask stupid questions. You drop the cups in front of them, but your hand slips and one of them tips over into a Knight’s lap. 

“I’ve got it, sire.” Their squire lunges forward and begins vigorously scrubbing their armor. Your face curls up in distaste and you’re about to walk away when a metal hand grips your wrist. 

“Holy shit, it’s her!” Oh, you’re so screwed. 

They’ve got a fucking leash on you, it’s humiliating. The scarred and dirt-covered faces of the citizens of Filly surround you. They’re all leering, shouting at you and begging the Knight’s to share in the bounty. But the Knight’s aren’t listening, they’re just congratulating each other. 

“What do you think they’ll give us?”

One of them shoves their squire and he goes toppling into his large bag, feet flailing in the air. “Hopefully better fucking squires. I’m getting sick of this one’s stupid face.” 

The squire kneels down and shouts in a shaking voice, “I’m sorry if I’ve disappointed you, sire!” God, you really hate these people. You wished they would just shoot you. Having to sit here and listen to them talk was making your brain go numb. 

The Knight’s distorted laugh rings out through his helmet. The other one glances over at you, “What do you think she did? I’ve never seen the compound this pissed off.”

“I dunno. Hey!” You know he’s talking to you, that they want an answer, you really don’t care to give them one. “What’d you do?” They stare at you for a moment and then he sighs when you don’t respond. He shoves his squire towards you and the kid goes stumbling over his feet. “Make her talk.”

He nods rapidly, head bobbing up and down. “Of course, sire.” Your hands twitch to your side and you give him a wicked grin as he approaches. 

He’s debating going down there and trying to help her when the first shot goes off. He doesn’t even see it happen, he just watches as one of the squires drops to the ground. 

Those who don’t want to get caught in the crossfire are quick to move away from the area, hiding in their shops or shoving past him to get through the tunnel. He heads down the stairs, taking his time and trying to figure out where the shot came from. 

The second squire moves towards her and his head flies back, a hole between his eyes and his brains splattering across the ground. One Knight shoves the other one and points at their dead squire’s, “Did you not take her fucking gun?”

He’s been in those suits. He remembers how it felt, the power you get from being in them. How they make you feel like a big man. He also remembers how fucking slow they could be. She’s on her feet and running for cover before they can even start to grab her. 

She dives behind a stall and tugs a knife out of her boot, sawing at the ropes around her wrists. He can’t reach her before the fighting starts. Someone in the remaining crowd shouts, “Grab her! Get the bounty!” And all hell breaks loose. 

Someone runs at him and he shoots them before they can grab him. Shots start going off, the Knight’s mowing down anyone who tries to swoop in on their bounty. Everyone else is shooting blindly, just trying to get rid of the competition so they can claim her bounty as their own. 

He ducks under the hail fire and slides next to her as she’s reloading her gun. She glances over at him and frowns, “Didn’t I kill you?”

He hears a shout and watches as some half-feral woman charges at them. She shoots her dead and turns back to him. He gives her a wry smile, “You want to do this now, sweetheart?”

She peers over her cover and surveys the chaos going on around them. She sighs and glances back at him, “Why aren’t you dead?” 

He tugs one of his specially made bullets out of his bag and loads it into his gun. He lifts himself to his knees and aims at the weak spot on the Knight’s chest plate. They both watch as blood explodes out of the neck of the power armor, the Knight’s friend cussing as he watches him die. 

“Next time,” she turns to look at him, “aim for the head,” he instructs. She glares at him before making her way to Ma June’s shop. He follows, not willing to let her out of his sight again, and she ducks behind the barrels of supplies in front of the shop. 

“Clearly,” she winces as the Knight’s gun starts firing off again, “I’m not making it out of here on my own.” They dive to the side as bullets rip through the barrels they’re leaning against. They’re not gonna have cover for much longer.

He grins at her, “Sounds like you’re asking me for a favor, darling.”

The sounds of screams and bodies dropping is nearly deafening. A few feet away a bullet catches a man in the throat and he drops to the ground. They watch as he chokes on his blood and tries to claw his way to safety. Steps rapidly approach them and she turns to shoot a different man, his body dropping an inch away from them. 

He turns back to her and his lips turn down, “After you tried to kill me? You want my help,” he laughs at her and she glares. 

Before she can speak a voice rings out above them, “I got her!” He shoots at the woman on the upper level above them, half of her leg gets blown off and she tumbles over the railing, narrowly missing the pair. 

He turns back to her, “You’re asking a lot, darling.”

“You’ve fucking shot me, twice. I’m not asking you for anything.” Her lips turn down in a sneer and she looks at him like the very sight of him disgusts her. “I don't need your help. I don't need you.” She glances back over her shoulder, surveying the gore and the bullets flying around them. She checks her gun and he sees just how little ammo she has left. “I’ll handle this myself.” She snaps the chamber of her gun closed and moves to get up. He grabs her wrist and yanks her back down, ignoring the angry expression on her face. 

“Look, you might not want my help, but you need it, sweetheart. Just stay here.” 

You watch as Cooper runs off, his guns firing before he’s even fully standing. You only wait a second before you’re running into Ma June’s and out her back door. She shouts at you as you barrel through her shop, knocking over her displays and shelves, but you can’t waste any time getting the hell out of dodge. 

You’re surprised Cooper was stupid enough to think you would actually wait for him. The Knight’s had called for an air evac out of Filly and if you stay there any longer you’ll be back in the compound before you can blink. 

You’ve spent a month evading them, you’re not about to let yourself get caught because of Cooper. 

You can’t believe he’s not dead. It’s not like you’ve been losing sleep over killing him, but it’s been hard to cope with the fact that you killed the man that was once the love of your life. Seeing him again, though, you wished you had shot him in his smug face. 

You’d forgotten, in the time apart, just how condescending he could be. He seemed to think you needed him to survive. You didn’t. 

At best, he provided the comfort of company. Poorly. 

Despite how much he undervalued you, you were perfectly capable of taking care of yourself. You didn’t need him to save you. You would have figured your way out of there on your own, eventually. You’ve handled yourself a month in the Wastelands without him. You learned how to carve an existence for yourself out here and you did it without help. 

You race into the woods beyond Filly, putting as much distance between you and the sounds of fighting as quickly as you can. The trees around you begin to shake, the ground vibrating and a swirl of dirt and leaves rises into the air and whips you in the face. 

You look up and begin pushing yourself faster. One of the Brotherhood’s Vertibird’s is circling Filly. “This is not a hostile landing! Please remain calm!” You blame your distraction on the announcement. 

You would have heard him coming up behind you if you hadn’t been listening to whatever the Brotherhood was saying. Rope loops around your arms and you’re yanked backwards. Your head thumps painfully hard against the forest floor, rocks scraping you as you’re dragged across the ground. 

Cooper’s face appears over yours, a cruel smile on his lips. “Now, this seems awfully familiar.” He walks around you, boots straddling your waist and grabs you by the front of your shirt, yanking you back to your feet. “I thought I told you to stay put, sweetheart.”

You frown at him, shoving your leg up between his. He groans, doubling over while you shimmy out of the loose rope. “Honestly, after all the shit that’s happened you think I’m gonna listen to anything you say?” You step back from him, brushing the dirt off your clothes as best you can. 

You sigh in frustration when you realize that when the Knight’s had grabbed you, you’d lost your supplies. Cooper looks up at you and scoffs, “Missing something?” You eye his bag on the ground and start to go for it. He pulls the hammer of his gun back and you glance towards him. You’d forgotten what a quick draw he could be.

He’s fully recovered now, eyes narrowed in on you and gun pointed right at your chest. “See, a bullet to the chest might not kill me, but I reckon it’ll do a hell of a lot of damage to you. Why don’t you back up for me, sweetheart?”

You let go of his bag and slowly back away from him. He keeps his gun trained on you and stoops down, throwing his bag back over his shoulder. Your eyes dart to the hat on his head and your lips curl up when you spot the hole you’d put in it. 

Two hundred years and he’s kept that hat nearly pristine, you take no small amount of pride in being the one to ruin it. 

“The Brotherhood will be swarming these woods in a few minutes. They’re not gonna be too happy about one of their Knight’s being dead. Come with me, I can help you out.”

You scoff, “Like I’ll ever trust you again. You’ve shot me, sold me, and left me for dead, Cooper.”

He huffs, eyes narrowing and lips curled in a sardonic grin. You can tell he’s getting pissed off. “The choice is yours,” he tucks his gun back in his holster and turns on his heels. You watch in surprise as he stalks away from you. You had fully expected him to put up more of a fight, it almost hurts that he left so easily again. 

Then you hear the sounds of orders being shouted behind you. Metal creaking and stomping through the underbrush and you realize he hadn’t left but forced you between a rock and a hard place. You could follow him or let yourself get captured by the Brotherhood. 

“Fuck,” you mutter under your breath. You risk a glance over your shoulder and spot a rapidly approaching party of squires. You run in the direction Cooper went and find him leaning casually against a tree, a satisfied look on his face when he spots you. “Don’t say a word,” you warn, shoving past him. 

He glances at her from across the fire and finds himself feeling almost at ease for the first time in a month. It’s been a while since he’s looked up to actually find her staring back at him. She might look like she wants to kill him, but she’s here. 

“You have to admit, we make a pretty good team, darling.”

She gives him an unimpressed look, “Yeah, Cooper, we’re so great at murdering people.” She looks over to the dead bodies of the raiders they’d stolen this camp from and shakes her head. “I forgot how much death you surround yourself with.”

“I surround myself with? Might I remind you, you fired the first shot, sweetheart.” Granted, he had shoved her out of her hiding spot and given her no choice about it. 

Her head shoots up and she glares at him, “You made me!” She opens her mouth and he grins. He enjoys provoking her like this. Even if the last time he had she’d shot him because of it, but it’s fun to rile her up. She always gets so pissed off, it entertains him to no end. 

To his disappointment, she closes her mouth and shakes her head, choosing not to engage with him. He sighs and rips off a piece of jerky. “When did you turn into such a wet fucking blanket?”

Her eyes flare with anger, despite that, he can hear how hurt she really is. “Maybe when you sold me!”

He tilts his head and runs his tongue over his teeth, “You ever gonna let that go? I told you it was a mistake. How was I supposed to know they were gonna breed you like a prize pig?”

She scoffs, the noise high pitched and shocked. She shakes her head and stares at him with wide eyes, “You are unbelievable.” He shrugs and takes a swig from the flask he’d stolen off one of the raiders. He’s not sure how they make their alcohol, or if they trade for it, but it’s fucking disgusting. He frowns at the flask and drains the rest of it before tossing it into the woods behind him. 

She sighs and runs a hand over her face, her voice tired as she asks, “What’s the plan here, Cooper?” 

He picks at his teeth and shakes his head, “With what?”

She leans against the log behind her and gestures at herself. “With me. What, are you going to wait for me to pass out so you can tie me up and send me back to the compound? I’ve seen the price on my head. I know how valuable I am to everyone in the Wastelands.”

He doesn’t know why what she’s saying bothers him so much but it does. “You really think I’d send you back there?”

Her face is devoid of anything as she responds, “Why wouldn’t you?”

It’s the bluntness with which she asks that, that bugs him. Like there’s no other possibility but him betraying her. Taking advantage of her while she was vulnerable and weak and then handing her over to the people who want her dead. He wouldn’t do that to her. 

He didn’t go through all this fucking trouble to find her just to lose her again. He wants to tell her as much but she’s on her feet and grabbing her bag before he can. “Look, I appreciate the help today, but I’m not interested in starting this partnership back up again. I think it’s better if we just part ways.”

He whips his gun out before he can think about what he’s doing. She freezes, still bent over and eyes his gun warily. “I’m afraid that’s not an option, darling.” He can’t let her leave again. And maybe this isn’t the best way to go about it, but he doesn’t know how else to stop her. 

“You gonna shoot me, Cooper?” She whispers, her own hand twitching for the revolver at her side. He stands up and grabs her wrists, ignoring the way she struggles against him. He binds her hands with his rope and he sits back down, 

“I’m not gonna turn you in and I’m not gonna shoot you. But you’re not getting out of here that easy, sweetheart.”

Her eyes narrow in on his, her fists clenched tightly in anger. “I killed two men with my hands bound today. What’s stopping me from killing you?”

He shrugs, “Nothing. There’s nothing stopping you, just like there’s nothing stopping me. But I’m not killing you, am I? See,” he leans forward, “I’ve fought too hard and spent too much time looking after you to just let you go now. We’re in this together, whether you want it or not.”

Her lips split in a sneer and she throws herself down on the log. “You’re all the fucking same. You treat me like a goddamn dog that needs to be beat into submission. I’m not some misbehaving pet, Cooper!” Her eyes well up and her voice breaks, “You don’t get to just leash me and expect me to be okay with it.”

“I’m under no illusions that you’re happy here, sweetheart.” He runs a hand down his face and she shakes her head in disbelief. 

“Then just let me go,” she’s bordering on begging now and his chest squeezes the longer she stares at him with those pleading eyes of hers. It’s not something he’s familiar with, this feeling, this longing for her to just shut the fuck up and stop making this so damn difficult for him. 

“I can’t,” he mutters, wanting her to just drop it. 

“Why not?” She snaps, dropping any pretenses of trying to get him to sympathize with her.

He surges forward and grabs her by the jaw. Her eyes widen in shock and he smashes their lips together, teeth clashing painfully. There’s nothing gentle or sweet about this kiss. Her teeth are ripping into his scarred lips until the taste of copper is spreading on his tongue. He groans, digging his fingers into her cheeks until her lips part. 

His tongue probes against hers, the taste of his blood spreading into her mouth as well. She whimpers, the noise stirring something in him he’d forgotten about. There’s an old desire bubbling in him that’s making him blind to the rest of the world. He wants her, more than he ever wants to admit. 

He’s wanted her for a long time before this and they both know it. How hard he’s fought against it, against moments like these. He didn’t think he was still capable of this feeling, this desire for her. But it’s consuming. She’s ruining him, running him in circles until he thinks he’s going insane. 

But it’s not the same gentle passion it once was. It’s as twisted as he’s become. The desire to possess, consume, covet until she’s his and only his to do with what he wants. His teeth dig into her, letting her blood overcome the taste of his own. He groans, his free hand grabbing her waist and yanking her closer. 

She tastes so much sweeter than he does, he wants to rip a chunk of her off and eat her whole. He’s so distracted he doesn't even notice her pulling out her gun until he’s shooting back from her. He lands roughly on the forest floor and groans, hands clutched over the bleeding hole in his gut. Pain radiates through his abdomen and he rolls onto his side.

He looks up at her in shock. She’s spitting their blood onto the ground, her bound hands wiping at her lips. “Asshole,” she mutters. She tucks her gun back in her holster and looks over at him. 

His eyes are wide in disbelief as he struggles to sit back up. The movement causes another wave of pain and he hisses through gritted teeth, “You shot me!”

She rolls her eyes and gives him a blank look, “You’ll live.” He limps back to his own seat and lifts his shirt, watching as the hole closes over slowly and the blood stops leaking. She watches as he heals and sighs, “Unfortunately.” He tugs it back down and sighs at the state of his shirt. 

“My shirt won’t.” He digs a finger into the hole and tugs on it, watching as it rips wider. Two hundred years he’s kept these clothes, she ruins them in a month. Un-fucking-believable. 

“Sew it,” she gripes, still wiping at her mouth. “I can’t believe you just fucking kissed me,” she frowns and spits again, bits of crimson lingering on her lips. 

He sighs and leans back against the tree. “Felt right in the moment.” It did, he wants to do it again. They’re even now, they’ve both shot each other twice. No reason for her to shoot again. 

He wants to feel the way she shivers against him and moans into his mouth. She can be pissed all she wants but she kissed back, she can’t deny that. He’s sure if she wasn’t tied up she’d be a bit more receptive to him. Or maybe she just needs time to cool off after the whole compound incident, a month seems like a reasonable amount of time. Then again, women are so damn unreasonable. 

She tugs a knife out of her boot and positions it between her knees. She places it between her wrists and saws at the rope until it falls free. She slides the knife back in her boot and tosses the ruined rope at him. 

He catches it with a sigh and glances up at her. “Why didn’t you do that earlier?”

Her eyes are alight with a challenge, “I wanted to see if you would let me go yourself.” Well, clearly, he had failed her little test. “I wanted to see if there was even a possibility I could ever trust you again.”

He gives her an unimpressed look, slightly pissed off about his shirt. He never should have taught her how to shoot. If he’d known it would come back to bite him in the ass he wouldn’t have. “And?”

She gives him a disbelieving look and shakes her head. “And instead of letting me go, you kissed me.“ She throws her hands up in astonishment and glares at him. “Why the hell would you think that was a good idea?”

He smirks and revels in the way she shivers at the sight. “Well, darling, I’ve always been better with actions not words.”

“Yeah,” her voice is a challenge, eyes hard and jaw clenched tightly in frustration. He loves the sight of her all riled up. He loves it even more knowing he’s the one getting her like this. “What were you trying to tell me with that little display?”

He doesn’t answer her question, not wanting to just yet. “You liked it, didn’t you?” Her mouth snaps shut and she looks away from him. He laughs, leaning back and giving her a smug look. “You can be pissed off at me as much as you want, sweetheart,” the nickname rolls off his tongue like a taunt and she sneers at him. “But you want me just the same as you used to.”

“Do you like hurting me? Is that why you keep me around? You’ve been alone for two hundred years, Cooper. And for the majority of them you’ve harbored this hatred for me because you thought I had abandoned you just like everyone else.” 

Her words strike a place deep inside him that has him on edge. She knows what she’s doing. He’s forgotten, in his time with her, that in the same way he can get under her skin, she can do it too. She knows him just as well, she’s just always been the better half of their duo. She never feels the need to stoop to the level he does. But she’s doing it now and it feels like a kick in the teeth. 

“And I’m the only one that’s actually stuck by you.” She laughs, but there’s an underlying pain to it. She looks away from him and wipes at her cheeks and his fists clench within his gloves. “Is this your revenge? You think by torturing me you get back at everyone whose ever fucked you over. I’m sick of it, Cooper. I’m not gonna let you use me anymore.”

“I feel for you,” he forces the words out. He doesn’t want to tell her this. He shouldn’t have to tell her this. She should just stick with him, it’s what they’d always done, it’s how it always should be. Them, together. But she’s fighting against that, against him, so much that he doesn’t have a choice. 

She’s backed him into a corner he doesn’t know how to get out of. “In a way I haven’t in a very long time. I can’t let you go. Don’t you get that, sweetheart? We’re in this together.”

She shakes her head and he sighs. “No,” she looks at him and just shakes her head again. “No, you don’t love me, Cooper, or you don’t want me at least. I’m not the same girl I was, that’s what you’re after. That idea in your head, of us together, that’s who I was. You were right, the Wastelands changes you. I can’t be her for you and I don’t want to be.”

He chuckles and she shrinks away from the sound in suspicion. “Newsflash, darling, I’m not the same man. I loved you a long time ago, sweetheart, but I’m not capable of that anymore. Not for the girl you were, anyway.”

She nodded, her arms wrapped around herself. She looked like she accepted the answer, but he could see beyond that, could see that she thought he was rejecting her. It hurt, she could hate him as much as she wanted, but that still hurt her. “Good,” she muttered, “she’s gone.”

“Well, good.” She shrank further into herself and he grinned.  “You. You as you are now. That’s what I want. I don’t give a shit about who we were, the only person I’ve wanted since I’ve been out here has been you. You’re the only person I’ve met who can actually keep up with me. I don’t give a shit if anyone in this godforsaken Wasteland lives or dies, but I give a shit about you. You’re also the only one who can knock me on my ass.”

Her eyes darted to the hole in his shirt and a small grin came over her lips. “Haven’t been shot a lot, have you, cowboy?”

“No,” he chuckles again and grins at her, “I haven’t. Though, I am still pretty pissed about the hole in my hat.”

Her tone loses a bit of her playfulness and she glares at him, “You more than earned that.”

He acquiesces and holds up his hands in surrender, “Maybe.” She scoffs at that and rolls her eyes. “But I think we’re even now.”

“Barely,” she mutters, rubbing at the bruises on her wrists. She glances up at him and sighs, a surrender in her eyes. “But, it’s close enough now.”

He stands up and she eyes him warily as he throws himself down on the log next to her. He holds out a hand, “What do you say, darling, partners?”

She sighs and stares at his hand for a long time. He doesn’t mind, he leaves it there, hovering between them. He knows she’ll take it. “Deny it as much as you want but this is how it’s meant to be. You can keep fighting it or save us both some time.”

She reaches forward and tentatively wraps a hand around his, she uses it to yank him forward, their faces separated by an inch. “Shoot me again,” she whispers, “and I won’t miss the next time I knock you on your ass.”

“Oh shit,” you jump at the kickback on the rifle and nearly drop it to the ground. Cooper laughs and reaches around you, taking it from you. 

“Maybe I should have started you off with something with a little less kick to it.” He props the rifle against the tree and glances over to the cans you’d been shooting at. Well, you’d gotten one out of five at least. 

In all fairness this was the first time you’d ever handled a gun, you’re sure you’re doing fine for a beginner. He sucks on his teeth and looks at your targets. The serious look on his face cracks and he’s clearly trying to fight off laughing. 

You shove at his shoulder, smiling, “Shut up. I’ve never used one of these things before.”

He picks the rifle back up and starts laughing now, “You mean a gun?” 

You throw your arms in the air in defeat and slump into the patio chairs he’s dragged to the back of the cabin. “This is pointless, anyway.” He cocks the rifle and lifts it up to aim properly. In quick succession he knocks the remaining four cans off the fence. You roll your eyes at him, “Show off.”

He smiles and takes a seat next to you. You remain silent for a while, gazing across the yard and to the towering mountains across from his cabin. You appreciate him inviting you here. When you’d told him how overwhelmed you’d been feeling with all the new publicity you hadn’t expected him to drag you all the way out to his mountain home. 

You wouldn’t have accepted if you’d known it was just going to be you and him. You’d thought he was bringing his wife and kid, too. Spending a long weekend playing house with Cooper wasn’t going to do anything in getting rid of your crush. It was just getting worse the longer you were around him.

Waking up everyday and having him be the first person to greet you was going to send you into an early grave. You swear your heart’s never beat this fast around anyone else. He seems to be the only man who's ever had you feeling this head over heels. 

“I think it’s important you learn.”

You glance over at him, surprised at how serious he sounds. He’s still staring out at the mountains, but his gaze is distant. His mind is some place else. “Why?” You ask, voice quiet, afraid to spoil the moment.

He finally blinks, gaze darting down to his hands and the rifle still in them. “It’s easy for people to dismiss the war nowadays. They weren’t there, they didn’t watch as hundreds of good men and women died for them.” You frown, sometimes it’s easy to forget that he’d been fighting on the frontlines. He’s so good at being a socialite, you feel guilty that even you sometimes forget he was a soldier before he was Cooper Howard. 

His voice is heavy, the tension thick around the both of you. “They seem to think the war is over. I know it’s not, it’s just going to get worse. People can bury their heads in the sand as long as they want, but when the fighting is at their front door, what are they going to do?”

You reach out, hand covering his own. He finally looks up at you and you smile. “I appreciate it, Cooper.”

His eyes quickly look at your hand before looking back at you. “For what?”

You shrug, moving closer to him and lacing your fingers with his. You shouldn’t indulge yourself like this, but you can’t help it. He seems so sad and you only want to make him feel better. You just want to take care of him, the way he takes care of you. 

“For always looking out for me. You’re always there, I appreciate it. I appreciate you.”

The sad cast over his face finally breaks and he smiles at you. His hand squeezes yours once, then again and he looks back out at the mountains without saying anything else. You don’t think he needs to, that either of you needs to. Sometimes you understand each other better without words. 

You’ll always be there for one another.

You eye him warily and he holds the jerky out further. “Aren’t you a little curious?” He taunts, waving the jerky around in front of your face. You know he thinks you won’t take it. That he’s just screwing with you. He’s been doing this ever since you agreed to tag along with him. Teasing you at every given opportunity. 

You snatch it from his hands and rip a piece of it off. It kind of tastes like beef, if not a little sweeter. There’s also that metallic radiated tang to it. You chew it slowly, savoring the slightly caught off guard look on his face. You swallow it down, forcing your face to stay straight and not give away how disgusted you feel right now. 

He chuckles, leaning back and looking at you with something that seems like appreciation. “I hope you know that was ass jerky.”

You gag now, glaring at him and tossing the rest of the jerky at his smug face. “You’re such a dick.” You take a swig from your canteen and swirl the water around your mouth. It gets rid of the taste well enough but you’re never going to get over the fact that you swallowed a part of someone’s ass. 

He suddenly gets serious, swatting at your arm and motioning to the front of the store. You crouch beside him, watching as a raider walks out of the front doors. You don’t get why they chose an old movie store for their hideout, but Cooper had it on good authority that they had a decent cache of supplies inside. 

The last time you’d followed him into one of these things, you’d nearly died, and then he’d sold you. You’re still not fully trusting of him. The only reason you’re with him now is because you need extra security from bounty hunters after getting booted out of Filly. 

If he wasn’t such a good shot, you would have never given him a second glance. Despite how much he insists the compound was an honest mistake, you find the trust slow to come. You’ll let him take the lead on this one, you’re not confident in him having your back if things take a turn. 

He moves forward and you hang back, keeping watch while he slits the guard’s throat. He lowers the body quietly to the ground and you creep behind him, following him through the doors of the store. 

This group is smaller than the last one you dealt with. Only five of them with no extra guards outside. Cooper ducks behind a dust covered shelf before they can spot either of you. You go to the other side of the store, moving slowly along the edge until you have a good shot. 

You take out one man and Cooper manages to hit two more before they start firing off their own guns. You dart back behind the shelf, willing to let Cooper handle the last two. But one of them dives behind the shelf and grabs at you. 

Another shot goes off and his friend’s body hits the ground while he rounds the corner with you. He’s got an arm wrapped around your throat and the barrel of his gun pushing so hard into your skull you can feel an indent forming. 

It wouldn’t be hard to shoot this guy, you still have your gun in your hand. Cooper seems to realize that, too, from the questioning look he gives you. You drop your gun to the floor, you want to see what he’ll do. 

Maybe you’re stupid, gambling with your life like this. But you don’t feel any fear, not from the guy holding you hostage at least. You just keep your eyes locked on Cooper’s. They’re so familiar to you, yet so distant. Like a stranger you’ve known all your life. 

He slowly rises from the floor, hands raised in the air in surrender. “Alright, let’s just see if we can’t talk this out like gentlemen.”

The guy holding you jerks you roughly, gun banging painfully against your temple. You wince but remain quiet. “Stay back or I’ll blow her goddamn brains out!”

Cooper’s eyes dart from your face to the guy. He huffs, frowning and pursing his lips like he’s trying to think of a way to talk himself out of this. He could leave, he’s got enough time to make it through the door before he fires at him. 

Or he could help you. 

It’s the only reason you let yourself get caught. If he wants your trust he’s going to have to prove it. Cooper looks at you and a grin splits across his face. It’s like he’s read your mind, from the knowing look on his face you think he might’ve. 

Then again, you never really needed words to talk to each other. 

With a speed that never fails to catch you off guard his hand darts under his jacket and he draws his gun. He’s shooting the man before you even get a chance to brace yourself. Your body gets dragged back slightly by the dead weight but Cooper moves forward and wraps a hand around your shirt, tugging you into him. 

Your hands shoot out, bracing yourself against his chest. He peers at you from under his hat and grins, “You didn’t really think I was gonna let you go that easy did you, darling?” Your eyes dart down to his lips, you feel like you can still taste him. 

The timing of his kiss might not have been appropriate, but he certainly hadn’t made it forgettable. Nothing about him was forgettable. As much as you wished he could be. You hated yourself for still letting yourself fall into his trap. 

Hollywood might have once labeled you as the most seductive actress of your generation, but Cooper had you beat. He kept you coming back even when you knew you shouldn’t. He had you wrapped around him and all you wanted to do was squeeze until he let you go. 

You push off of him, ignoring how much you want to pull him closer. You move towards their pile of supplies, “Let’s see what we’ve got.”

There are a few different posters set up in the old movie store that intrigue him. But the one that’s caught his attention the most is set up directly behind her. Her back is to it, so she hasn’t gotten a chance to see it yet, but it’s all he can focus on. 

The Outlaw and The Sheriff

Their first movie together. 

He looks at her and huffs out a laugh, she glances up at him for a moment before she begins rifling through her bag again. She looks like she walked right off the fucking poster, hat and all. She’s the spitting image of herself, but she seems so different. 

Maybe it’s the eyes. The light there has changed, dimmed slightly from how it used to be. She used to seem so naive to the world, like a little lamb that just needed some guidance. Now, he wonders just how much of the world she’d seen before he found her. If maybe she had never been as innocent to it’s cruelties as he’d once assumed. 

She stepped into this new role of hers just as quickly as he had. You didn’t just change that quickly without knowing already just how awful people could be. 

“Sweetheart,” she looks up and he points behind her. She turns around and looks up to the poster.

She scoffs, moving to stand beside him, “I always hated how I looked in that.”

He glances over at her and shakes his head, “Probably shouldn’t show you a mirror anytime soon, then.” Her hands reach up to fiddle with the brim of her hat and she smiles, a real smile for once. 

“No, I suppose not.” Her hands trace over her lips, he glances back at the poster. At that old signature of hers. She always had to have those red lips. “It’s so different,” she whispers and he knows she didn’t mean for him to hear. Her eyes glisten and he frowns. 

He shouldn’t have shown her. It’s not like he enjoyed seeing those fucking Vault-Boy posters, he sure as hell hated seeing clips of himself. Why would she enjoy seeing who she used to be? Who they used to be?

Things used to be so simple. He loved her, she loved him. Now he’d fucked up so much he wasn’t sure she could ever look at him the way she used to. He didn’t want who she was before, he couldn’t handle that. This new her, well, he didn’t give her near enough credit. 

But he wouldn’t hate seeing someone look at him like that again. Endless adoration and unflinching loyalty. He knew he would follow her anywhere, he’d realized that a while ago. He didn’t have anything in the Wastelands, nothing but hate and spite to keep him going all this time.

Now, he had her. He just needed her to realize that she had him just the same. She had him wrapped around her and he hated it and loved it at the same time. Hated her and loved her for it all the same. 

He tugs his glove off before he reaches for her. He cups her cheek, thumb tracing over her lips before she turns towards him. His eyes meet hers and he smiles slightly at the familiarity and mystery to them. So much of her he recognizes and then there are these new parts he’s yet to discover. 

He wants to discover all of her. Learn everything he can about her all over again, feed his desire to consume her entirely. 

She pulls him in this time, her lips chapped and cracked. Her arms wind around his neck, yanking him closer and he tugs at her. She tastes as sweet as he remembers and it only makes him crave more. More of her, more of anything she’ll let him have. 

She pulls back from him, pressing her hand against his chest, slowly backing him against the wall. He lets her ease him to the floor and she throws a leg over his lap. She settles herself above him, both her hands tightly grasping his neck, crushing their bodies together, eyes gazing intently into his own. He doesn’t know what she’s looking for in him but she seems to find it when she leans in once more. 

She isn’t giving him a chance at control, she’s got a leash on him, pulling back anytime he tries to lead. He relents, following her as she slowly explores him. 

He’s not sure how long this peace between them will last before one of them inevitably fucks up. But they’re stuck together now. It doesn’t matter what happens, he’s not letting her get away from him again. 

She’s his, always has been, always will be. It’s been that way since before the fallout. He’s led her, guided her.

He had loved her as a different man. History always seems to repeat itself with them. As twisted as the world is, as twisted as they’ve become, they always seem to drift back together. No matter how much the both of them fight against it. 

He’s giving in now, giving into her. 

end. — I do not own the characters or the game/show Fallout, but this writing is my own all rights reserved © not-neverland06 2024. do not copy, repost, translate & recommend elsewhere.

[14thgalerie]

the one

• pairing: theodore nott x riddle!reader

• now playing: hayloft by mother mother / you that i want by divine

• word count: 1.7k

• genre: angst, fluff, hint of smut

— short one that i kept thinking of.

Theo slumped in his chair, fatigue weighing heavily on him. The clock on the wall opposite him ticked relentlessly, unforgiving of his sleepless state. He had long abandoned any hope of finding any rest. He hadn’t been able to since that fateful night when everything felt right in his life.

His mind wouldn’t grant him solace. Each time his weary eyelids dared to meet from the pure exhaustion of the stress of OWLS, the ongoing war, his brain kept feeding him images of you. You, who kept haunting him from the very forefront of his mind. 

The natural curve of your eyelashes. The way it fluttered against his cheeks as your lips made a blazing trail across his cheeks. Gentle whispers that drown him in sheer bliss still send shivers down his spine. 

His tie lay abandoned, discarded beside him, next to the pile of papers swept aside in his frustration earlier. The long, emerald fabric had felt too suffocating amidst the overwhelming thoughts of you.

He couldn’t help but wonder if you would also be writhing in bed, unable to fall asleep as he does. Would your dreams torment you with the brief time his hands tangled onto your hair, wayward? Does your dormant body spin cruel variations of that time, telling him tantalising tales of what could’ve occurred if only your insufferable blonde companion hadn’t so abruptly interrupted?

He had never loved you.

Not in the way you wanted.

This desire to fill the emptiness in your heart, to have somebody give you the time and day has obscured that truth. A part of you knew, from the very beginning, but this desperation forced you to turn yourself blind.

Draco was there, a constant presence in your life, a perfect match to have by your side. Born only 24 hours apart, and 10 years of your childhood spent solely with him.

In truth, you both used the other, a fact that you ignored. He relied on you for protection and status as your partner, while you clung to him to feel the fleeting sense of warmth. But the perpetual storm of reality always wearing you both down and, you were rapidly losing the strength to keep yourself afloat.

Unspoken words hung heavy in the air between the both of you as the year progressed and the inevitable return of your father neared. At first, you had both kept your feelings at bay, not wanting this to jeopardise your friendship altogether. But as time went on, it became a routine. Venom spit from raised voices, threats of abandonment and indifference to each other, reconciliation accompanied by hollow promises and sex.

“Are you a bloody fool? She is my best friend and yet again, Draco ‘can’t-keep-his-boxers-on’ Malfoy decided that didn’t matter!” You screamed in frustration, but it didn’t seem to matter when he didn’t even so much as falter at the volume. 

“We aren’t even together, so why should it?” He carelessly replies, an air of indifference surrounding him.

“We aren’t? You truly are an insufferable git, I spent two years committing myself to you, and you never thought to mention that little detail before?” You scoffed, incredulous at the idea. It was foolish and outrageous, and not at all like how the man you know would think. Despite your differences with one another, he would still treat you with at least the respect you give to a friend, but now…

“Oh please! Don’t act as if your mind has not been completely filled with that mindless buffoon.” 

“For Merlin’s sake, do not dare turn this on me…” You challenged him. 

“Or what? Threaten to have your father kill me? Well, surprise, darling, I’m no stranger to that already.” He humorlessly chuckles. “I’ve seen you. I’ve seen that god-awful lovesick look on your face at the mere sight of his back. I am not the complete bloody fool you think I am.”

It hurt, truly, despite the fact that this started as a hilarious excuse of a relationship. You cared for Draco and to see him constantly destroy everything and everyone in his path of destruction left you unable to conjure up any more excuses for him.

“I am done, Draco. We can stop whatever awful pretentious act we put ourselves to and live on our own as you seem to hardly care for even yourself anymore these days.” You laugh, defeat etched on your face.

He never gave you the love that you sought, the kind that Theo had laid bare in complete display for you in just under seven minutes in that tiny closet. 

“You came back to me.” He whispers, close enough for his lips to touch the corner of your lips but there’s just a stutter of breath. It makes you want to instinctively kneel and look up to him and beg religiously for mercy, the way he speaks.

“I did.” You reply. Unmoving, but your patience wears thin.

“Look at you,” He mutters, his hand tugging at your head by your hair, exposing your neck to him, and your knees nearly buckle at his breath that burns against your jaw. “I haven’t even touched you properly yet and you’re almost like putty in my hands already.”

“Shut it, Nott.” You quickly remark a decision you notably regret when you are left standing in the middle of the room all by yourself. The cold air from the ajar window left your skin tingling with an uncomfortable feeling akin to when Draco touched you in the past weeks.

You scoff, the sound more as if you were nearly pleading. “What are you doing?”

“You know I hate it when you act like a brat.” He inclined his head, and the movement leaves chills running through your spine for the action is almost similar to someone sinister. But weirdly, it makes you want to tease him even more.

“Oh please, Theo. I’m not blind, as if you don’t dream of it.” You slowly approach him, your fingers make a motion of dragging along the ends of the poster beds. “The way I see your eyes tremble when I contradict every single thing you say. I know you are depraved when your thoughts are only of my mouth…”

You hear a sharp intake of breath when you come near. “The way you would just love it if you could shut me up by having my lips wrapped around you. I know you, Theo.”

His lips twitch into a mirthless smile, he reaches almost mindlessly for your collar. His thumb barely touches the skin of your neck. “Yes, you do.”

His eyes are intense as they dart to your mouth. Your tongue unconsciously makes a sweep against your dry lips.

“I suppose Draco will show me exactly how.”

Taking a page of this man’s book is terrifying but you are tired of this game of tug that you keep playing.

“That would be wise. ”

He’s still looking at your lips.

“I’ll go then.” You try again, unwilling to make the move.

“Go on, you won’t hear a sound of protest from me.” But you remain standing in front of him, the will to move weak against the desire to have him.

“Really?”

“No.”

Theo grabs the back of your head, tangled his fingers in your hair, and made a mess of your mouth. With his lips attached to yours, you grab him by his shirt and the both of you kiss as if you were third years again. Your teeth clashed into each other time and time again and you couldn’t find it in you to slow down. 

The need to kiss him, to feel what you’ve been thinking of for several nights on end.  You push back at him, desperate to feel the same hunger and need in him, as he kisses you deeper and more profound than you ever thought possible.

The soft, selfish hands that you wished so badly to wipe clean off the bodies of other women move up from the bottom of your back to move you impossibly closer until you are almost one. His voice is ragged when he pulls away, a thin thread of saliva still connecting you.

He says against your cheek, “I love you. I’d die for you. Nobody can ever give you what I could make the pain go away like I could, not even that dense fuck who has a deeper sense of self-preservation than his parents.”

You swallow, agonised by the sudden slow pace that he moves. Not an ounce of energy dared to waste to defend your ex. “I will love you anywhere.”

You shiver at the raw and pure intensity that laced the declaration. You almost want to ask, to hear how. But you don’t think your mind could properly comprehend the ability to piece together the right words to ask.

His heart is pounding from beneath your fingers as you feel the pulse on his neck, almost leaping it out as if all it wants is for you to finally claim it as yours. Encase it in a glass case and put it on display for all else to see.

“In a bookstore, by the water fountain, the sidewalk, in the flames of your home.” His hands come down to your hips, his fingers digging in so harshly that by morning sunlight, purple will be painted on your skin but it feels so heavenly that you don’t push them away.

“I love you, not for the protection you provide and for your substantial looks, but for all the small things you do that bear your soul to me.” 

Your hands meet around the back of his neck as he carries you by your thighs towards his bed. Pulling at the fabric that keeps him away from you.

“I’ll love you even as you tell me you hate me. I love you enough that I will scour the face of this earth for a place where I can take you away from your nightmares.” 

“I-“ He sighs into your lips, completely delighted by the intimacy that only his mind could conjure up in the lone nights. “I love you.”

You move for the buttons of his polo, while he moves to pull your shirt from you. A race that leaves you both fumbling when you feel his hand carving a path against your waist and up to your chest. You are left scalding, tiny bounces of light flickering in your eyes.

“I will be at your string’s end.”

masterlist

[angel-of-the-moons]

A Benevolent Hand

Khonshu x Fem!Moon Knight!Reader

TW/CW: NSFW, Smut, masturbation (Fem), fingering, dirty talking, degradation(?), Khonshu wants to actually fuck you but won't admit it because he's a prideful shithead

MINORS DNI I AM NOT RESPONSIBLE FOR CONTENT YOU CONSUME

A/N: did I stay up until ten last 4am to spit this shit out? Enjoy whatever horny poetry my sleep deprived brain supplies you. Be free, my horny little doves *yeets y'all into a field*

Also idk why but this gif does things to me

🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑

It was a dull, dead night. There were no evildoers to stop, no killers to send to the sands of the Duat.

Even Badr told you to go home and rest, you deserved it after your diligent work and devotion to your god.

But, of course... "settling in" for the night wasn't something you know how to do anymore.

You've been Moon Knight for so long you weren't even sure what normal people did during quiet nights at home, anymore.

You ate, showered, exercised in the cramped space of your seedy apartment, before sitting on the couch to idly flip through channels, clicking your tongue and reminding yourself to sign up for some streaming services or pirate some stuff at the local library.

You were so bored you settled on an old corny horror film from the 80s, R-Rated and strangely enough, uncensored. But then again, adult channels were still a thing apparently, so you settled in for some cheap blood and guts, stupid busty camp counselors and a masked killer.

But of course, the sex scenes were there, as well. It didn't show anything like porn would, but the actors did a good job of "having" sex beneath the covers, their bodies flushed and sweaty as they went at it like rabbits, panting and saying things to each other in shared breaths.

They were gonna die, that's how these things went. You have sex in a horror movie, you die. The psychos from Scream got that part right about the ole cliché.

But... The way they acted with each other, playing out the part of a couple very much in love and very horny had you... bothered.

You craved that kind of intimacy. Sure, you can go out and find someone to hook up with, have a forgettable one night stand with some idiot at a bar... but it didn't have the physical closeness that was acted out on the cheap flat screen in front of you.

Being a Fist of Khonshu was often lonely life. You couldn't engage in the seeming frivolity of a relationship that was seen every day you walked down the street. No bed warmed by another body, no good morning kisses, no... love?

You shoved those melancholy feelings aside for now, deciding to focus on the throbbing heat blossoming between your legs.

You bit your lip and slid your hand down your front, slipping it beneath the waistband of your pajamas and beneath your underwear, touching the slick wetness that began to coat and soak through the fabric covering you as the movie droned on.

Your fingers slowly started circling your clit as you breathed out a hot puff of air, eyes closing momentarily as you imagined it.

You, with a man who was head over heels with you, tangled up in the sheets.

Sweaty, groping hands pawing at slick skin, tongues dancing as you kissed like you were all the two of you needed to breathe--

Your fingers began to increase their movements, gathering your sweet juices on your fingers to lubricate your clit as you circled with more need.

You dropped your head onto the back of your couch with a pathetic groan, eyes closing as you let the mental image take a better shape, using the sounds from the TV to help mold the scene for you and your faceless, imaginary lover.

You grunted and kicked off your bottoms and underwear, discarding them on the floor as you spread your legs, one foot resting on the cushion to allow better access as your other hand groped at your breast over the fabric of your threadbare tank top.

"Fuck." You cursed aloud to yourself, falling back into your fantasy as your fingers played with your wet, puffed folds.

Your lover would slowly slink down your body, his lips and tongue pressing on your skin until his mouth reached your hip bones.

He would kiss your clit before licking up your slit, his tongue teasing your entrance, tracing it before he wrapped his lips around the bundle of nerves at the top.

You let out a heady moan, your toes curling as you held back the urge to plunge your fingers inside of you; for now settling on focusing your attention on your twitching clit.

You roll your hips in time with your hand, sliding your hand beneath your top to squeeze your breasts and roll your nipple between your fingertips.

Your lover would lick, kiss, nip, and tease you. He would rut his nose against your clit as his tongue--

Your mental fantasy bubble popped when you felt a very large, very warm, and very real hand slide down your torso, leaving a blazing trail beneath your skin in its wake.

"I sometimes forget how often mortals have these urges." The deep, raspy voice that the hand belonged to sighed out, his tone dripping with... disappointment? Boredom?

You snatch your hand away from your core and instinctively try to close your legs, to conceal your shame as the ancient being crowded around you, the dry smell of sand and spices assaulting your nose as his heat threatened to overwhelm you as he leaned over the back of the couch.

"K-Khonshu--!" You sputter, almost gawking as his bare hand slides to replace yours, his large, thick fingers spreading your lips and gathering your wetness on his digits.

"A rather needy thing, aren't you?" His voice murmured, almost a humored huff coming from him as his thumb circled your clit, sending bolts of pleasure jolt up your spine.

You bite your lip to stifle the whimper that wanted to come out; shame blending in an intoxicating cocktail as your very ethereal and otherworldly benefactor began to pick up where you left off.

"You were being so loud a moment ago." He chastised, his fingers moving very quickly over your clit, his mind focused on how the little nub was swollen and twitched beneath his grasp.

"Don't bother concealing it from me, now, you needy little thing. You're like a cat in heat, right now." You could feel his voice rumble through your, your bones trembling and the deep baritone vibrating your clit as your hand gripped weakly at his forearm.

Your stubborn pride told you not to, not to give in, that this was probably one of the most shameful things a god could catch their follower doing, but...

Most gods wouldn't participate, now would they? Surely, they would chastise you, or walk away and leave you alone to tend to yourself.

When you didn't comply, he grunted and pulled his hand away, your dripping cunt lamenting the loss of his warm touch; hips chasing him for more.

The characters in the movie long moved past the intense love-making between the protagonists. One of them screamed as they found the dead body of one of their friends.

"Disobedient little runt. I will not give you what you want so easily, especially not if you defy me."

The threat was cold, and... oh, fuck it.

"I--I'm sorry." You whimpered, your head dropping back once more, this time hitting the stiff bicep of his other arm he used to brace himself on the couch.

"Good girl." He purred, his hand once more resuming his cruel, blissful torture.

You hiccuped and moaned, rolling your hips once more, this time into the touch of another as heat bloomed low in your belly; molten lava creeping through your veins like thick molasses.

Your chest heaved as his other arm curled around you, his hand taking the soft weight of your breast into his palm, kneading the mound of flesh and pulling your nipple in perfect synchronicity with his other.

"Oh, ffuuuh--" You panted, your body caged from behind as the ancient deity whose age was beyond counting helped you rub one out on your dingey, shitty couch in the dead of night.

You felt your womb throb, wanting desperately to have something inside--

"Poor thing." Khonshu tsk'd. "Could you not find someone--something--to satisfy you? Here you are, rutting against my hand like it is all you know how to do. Pathetic."

You moaned louder this time, arching your back at the words he spat at you. You weren't one for this kind of dirty talk... but having it come from him had your head spinning like you had just gotten off of the tilt-a-whirl on Coney Island--but in a sinfully delicious way.

"Perhaps I should have left you alone. You seemed quite consumed by your little fantasy." He mused, his thumb pressing so hard against your clit that it had you seeing stars behind your eyelids.

"What were you imagining, little dove?" He rasped lowly, the dry, smooth side of his beak sweeping against you, feeling almost cool to your blazing cheek as you leaned into it.

"A nobody? Playing house with you? Laying you down in bed and devouring you like a banquet, perhaps?"

Oh, little did he know how close to the truth he actually was.

Or maybe he did know, and was using it to merely drive you over that mind-numbing precipice you wanted so desperately to fling yourself off of?

You could never tell with him, not when he was playing his mind games.

"I... Uh--ah--" You whine.

Khonshu's fingers pull up enough to slap your clit, the sudden feeling making your body jerk against him as the sound of your went cunt was heard even over the volume of your forgotten movie.

"I am reciting rhetoric. I will talk, and you will listen." He growls, his hand sliding down, his palm grinding against your clit as his fingers toy with your fluttering entrance.

Oh, you were so close, so fucking close. If he would just--

"I don't understand how mortals can function when urges like these are so strong." He sighed boredly, as if he wasn't currently fucking you with his hand, teasing your needy hole but not giving what you were truly craving...

"You are destined for more than a pathetic little house with a yard and a garden. You were meant to carry out my will."

That irked you, deep down. Yes, you knew attaining that very thing was highly unlikely for you, but he didn't have to insult you for fantasizing about being normal.

"F-fuck you." You managed to spit out, eyes crossing as they rolled back into your skull, your voice lacking the conviction and venom you wanted it to.

"You seem to be doing just that, my dear." He tipped his head to the side in a jerking motion.

He gave you not a moment to ponder his words as he hooked a thick finger inside of you, curving upwards and pressing hard against that textured spot inside your spongy walls, making you cry out and lift your hips off of the couch

"...In a manner of speaking." He sighed, pumping his finger in and out, paying extra attention to that oh so delicious spot within you, mapping out your very insides with methodical precision, quickly finding the method to get the best reactions out of you as your walls clenched down around him.

"Look at you, so desperate that you are letting me do this to you." Khonshu mocked softly, a chuckle coming from him as his fingers plucked your nipple and his palm ground hard onto your clit.

"Do you like this? Your god giving you such special attention?"

You keened, panting hard as your orgasm began to swell, each pulsing wave battering down the shores of pride and resolve you had struggled to build over the years of serving out the will of this... god.

"Ah... You are close, are you not?" He teased you, "Let's see..."

He managed to slip another finger inside of you, a groan actually rumbling out of him. You never thought you'd heard a sound like that from him.

But then again, you never expected him to finger-fuck you in your own couch before, either.

"You're tight, little bird." He growled, his voice strained as he scissored his fingers in and out of you, shoving you forcefully to the edge of the shores of your oblivion.

"When was the last time you bedded anyone other than your own hand? Months? Years?" He huffed, pumping them in and out of you rapidly, now.

You were so close you could feel the waters of sybaritism that you could taste the very petals of a lotus on the tip of your tongue.

"No wonder you have been so testy as of late."

Almost.

So close.

Just a bit more!

He leaned over, holding you to him almost like a child clutching a beloved toy; only it was far from something so innocent as you ride his hand like your life depended on it.

Your mouth open, your tongue just barely peaking over your bottom lip as you finally dove into the warm waters, silently waiting for the petals of a lotus to fall onto the wet, writhing muscle; drowning in each drop as your orgasm dragged you out to tide, drowning you as your god dabbled with your most intimate parts in such hedonistic fashion.

You were so lost in your post-coital haze that you didn't even register his hand leaving you until his body retracted; leaving you bereft of his warmth.

You turned your head in time, your eyes bleary, blood-shot and faraway as you watched him turn, toying with the sticky wetness coating his skin.

"Don't fall into this trap again, little dove." The god of the moon tells you over his shoulder, before disappearing in a cloud of mist.

But most certainly not before you had taken notice of the prominent bulge beneath his bandages and robes...

[heybank]

umm so i wrote a little fic/blurb idk i don't think it's good but it's something that's been stuck in my head for a while with my own little oc named grace but her name is only mentioned a few times so it could totally be ignored and seen as reader.

anyway this is my first ever fic so please be kind to me and if you have suggestions or other fic ideas i'd love to hear them.

not proof read and lowercase intended.

and if you think it's awful please lie to me i'm fragile 😔

deny

you are a lover girl. a hopeless romantic, someone who dreams of finding "the one" and living happily ever after. kie often says you tend to fall in love a little with everyone you meet. you can't help it though, you have so much love in you, it feels like you'll burst at the seams if you don't share it with others.

you think you're in love with your best friend jj maybank. no one understands you the way the wild blond haired boy does. no one can communicate with you with just a single look the way jj does. no one makes your heart beat out of your chest and your tummy flutter the way his dimpled smile does, eyes crinkling at the corners, a slight sunburn on his nose because lord know that boy doesn't use the sunscreen you bought him.

so yeah you're in love with jj maybank but then yesterday a different boy kissed you. pope heyward, your other best friend, genius extraordinaire whom you thought was maybe in love with kie but no- he kissed you and you felt a tingle in your ever beating heart. heat filled your cheeks and your ears became fuzzy. that was a new feeling when it came to pope. it made you excited to explore because as much as you love jj, you don't think the boy would ever return your undying affection because your friendship meant too much.

----

you stood in the threshold of popes bedroom, gasp stuck in your throat, eyes wide and mouth open at the sight before you. you’re not sure how to process what you’re seeing.

before you on the bed that pope kissed you on not even 24 hours ago, is jj maybank, your closest friend, kissing the heyward boy.

so many emotions flow through you at the sight before you.

shock because not once has jj; or pope for that matter mentioned or even hinted that they liked men- or each other. then again, jj has always liked beautiful people and pope is certainly that.

sadness because you and pope had literally just kissed. maybe you were naive to think a simple kiss meant something more to the boy, but it was pope, you don't think there's a mean bone in his body. then again you’ve always been too much of a romantic, too blinded to really see what’s in front of you. blinded by your want and need to be loved that perhaps you create situations in your mind that you interpret as reality? maybe you need to contact your therapist again. you're sounding even more delusional than before.

lastly, you feel jealousy. the angry green monster rumbling around in your tummy, making its way up your throat. you’re not sure what exactly is making you jealous because the image of the two boys kissing is surely confusing. are you jealous because pope is kissing another person who isn’t you? a part of you is jealous because he’s kissing jj. or maybe it’s that jj is kissing pope or that maybe they’re kissing eachother and they're not kissing you? you're not sure at this point. dear diary jealousy is a disease babes, and you are infected.

you must have made a noise because next thing you know, the two boys are pulling apart, a string of spit still connecting them and for a second your love rattled brain is jealous of it. the spit that is, because deep down you’ve always known that you wanted them both… to be the one to connect them. you feel slightly crazy being jealous of spit.

jjs face goes beat red and then flushes pale, like a ghost. he looks terrified and like he might vomit all over the floor in a second.

“grace!” popes panicked voice reaches your ears but they’re still kind of ringing from the shock of seeing your supposedly straight best friends kiss.

in your heartbroken haze you wonder if you're being a bad ally right now. you love the gays you swear! you just never pictured pope and jj as being a part of the gays ™.

you clear your throat, “jb and kie are waiting for us downstairs. we were going out on the boat today, remember?”

you try and say that as gently as possible because jj still looks like he’s going to pass out and pope isn’t much better.

popes hands are shaking as he reaches for you and a part of you wants to pull away but you’re not mean. you’ve never been mean so even if your feelings are hurt you’ll always put your best friends feelings above your own. and it looks like pope needs to touch you. maybe to hold your hand and reassure him you’re really standing there, witnessing something that you probably shouldn’t have.

so many emotions flicker through popes eyes. you can’t really see his blush but you’re sure if you touch his face it would be hotter than the sun.

pope grabs your hands in his shaking ones. you can feel how clammy they are and you hazard a look back to jj who has yet to even move. you’re a little concerned he’s gone into shock.

you let out a soft sigh and smile at the boys, a smile that is mostly genuine.

you squeeze popes hand and make eye contact with the panicked blonde boy on the bed.

“it’s ok jj. i won’t say anything if you don’t want me to.” you speak kindly, as if you’re talking to a scared feral cat.

you only see jj swallow hard. “for what it’s worth, i understand the appeal... wanting to kiss pope and all.” you tease hoping to cut the obvious tension in the room. you feel like you're the one choking now.

jj and pope both let out huffs like they’re afraid to laugh but also relieved you’re not upset.

“you’re not mad?” jj croaks like he still has a frog lodged in his throat. he looks at you with soft wonder, like you’re the best thing in his life. his stare makes your tummy flutter.

“of course not. you guys are my best friends. i only ever want you to be happy!” you reply honestly. jj deserves happiness after the shit life he’s been dealt. he deserves good things and if you have to set aside your feelings in order for him to have good things then by golly you’ll do that.

“grace, about yesterday-“ pope starts off,

“don’t worry buddy, already forgotten.” you cut him off. hopefully saving him the strife of having to apologize to you about the kiss and saving you the embarrassment of him telling you he regrets your kiss. you don't think you could survive hearing that out loud.

you march over to jj still holding popes hand, effectively dragging the boy with you. you throw your arms tightly around jjs neck and after a heartbeat, jj returns your hug. you move your head to look at pope and nod at him, encouraging him to join the hug.

“now c’mon. you know how pissy jb gets when he’s made to wait” you giggle.

you lead the boys out of popes room and home and into the twinkie without giving them an option of saying no.

“finally! i thought y’all died or something. what took so long” john b huffs in exasperation.

“my fault jb!” you quickly chirp so the boys don’t have to panic and think of a lie “pope showed me the new book he got and it’s my favourite and i starting gushing and you know me i can’t shut up and… well i forgot why i went up to get them in the first place” you giggle with a sheepish smile.

“you’re so lucky you’re cute, grace” kie laughs teasingly.

you see pope and jj making eye contact. you have a feeling you might need to play therapist for them soon. pope doesn’t know how to talk about his feelings without beating around the bush and well, jjs favourite thing to do is deny deny deny.

actually, that’s exactly what you’re gonna do too! deny you have feelings for pope. deny you have feelings for jj. deny you ever saw them kiss and deny that them kissing only upset you because you weren’t a part of it. deny that a part of you enjoyed it. deny that your feelings matter in this situation and deny that if given the chance, you’d love to be in between a beautiful jj maybank and pope heyward sandwich.

yep, deny deny deny. this is gonna be a long freaking summer.

[forthevillains]

Only good girls get what they want

Albert Wesker X fem! reader (18+)

You had no idea just how you ended up in such situation. Legs spread deliciously as your eyes kept darting away from the mirror sitting opposite you. The thing being so large that you had no other choice than to look at your sinful reflection.

"So good for me..." a sweet whisper from the man behind you made you shiver in anticipation as tingles spread inside your stomach, making you try and attempt to press your thighs together, rub them, hide your arousal from his eyes filled with pure greed, yet you couldn't. He wanted you, he would've swallowed you whole if that was possible. The red orbs stared into your own through the reflection in the mirror, his blonde hair that used to be slicked back was now messy and his chin lay comfortably on your shoulder as he took the image in. Wesker adored you, each part of your body, in every position he put you in, how you prayed for him as if he was your God, repeating his name over and over in a state of pure bliss, however this was his favorite one - having you already in front of him, with his knees keeping your legs spread, making you vulnerable, desperate and unable to do anything but fall apart in his arms, under the sweetness of his touch.

His fingers were glued to your aching cunt, covered in that sweet wetness of yours. It felt too heavenly to have your arousal coating his fingers, especially knowing that no other man is ever going to touch you like that. Not on his watch, not while you're his. Not when you're locked up with him and only him... He's stained your brain with how much of a pleasure he has to offer and it is indeed the truth that no man could ever make you feel like this. So dumb from the way his body makes you feel.

He rubbed your clit in painfully slow circles with his rough digits while his eyes kept piercing through you, making your skin burn under his intense gaze. You couldn't help, but whimper, your eyes closing shut from the overwhelming pleasure.

"Eyes on me, my sweet little girl," Wesker commanded as soon as he noticed and the movements of his stopped, yet he didn't move away. "Or else you won't get to cum." When he added that, your eyes flung open only to be met with those terrifyingly attractive irises of his.

His fingers spread your folds, the middle finger finding its place on your shamefully revealed clit and his movements began all over again, abusing it while he applied a bit of pressure, only to have you squirming around as you tried your best to keep quiet. Yet still, he was taking his time. He wasn't always like this, no, he was often too busy to be like that, however whenever he got the opportunity, he would be your worst nightmare, teasing you with painfully slow pace, not giving you what you wanted, barely even bringing you near your climax, just so that he could watch as you grew more desperate, needy, whiny... It was all just for him and that control over your body was enough to satisfy his ego.

"P-Please..." you begged, stuttering over your words, oh you poor thing... That only earned you a chuckle.

"What are you begging for, darling?"

"Faster..." you whispered and that earned you a slap right at your pussy, making you yelp in both, pain and surprise.

"Now... What have I told you about being too greedy?" He was greedy himself and yet, you were deprived of that opportunity. Or at least you couldn't talk about it. Wesker on the other hand couldn't help it, nor did he have a need for that, because your beautiful body is all for him after all.

His fingers returned to your aching core, though this time - his fingers slid lower. He circled your entrance with his wet fingers, drawing an impatient sigh out of you. One of your hands shot up to hold onto his muscular forearm and at the very moment, he pushed two digits inside of you, making you gasp. Your grip on him tightened, nails digging into his skin as he withdrew his fingers out of your dripping cunt only to push them right back in. He continued with that movement, in and out, in and out, hard and quick. You threw your head back to lean against him, your breath ragged and eyes rolling back.

"Look at yourself, dearheart, look how pretty you look with my fingers inside of you." Wesker's voice sounded heavenly to you when he whispered those words. Though everything about this man seemed so angelic, you could've sworn he fucked like the devil himself. Each time he took you, he made you see stars, making you forget about everything you had left in your head apart from him. So lovely.

His other hand shot up to catch your jaw and turn your head towards the mirror. "Open your eyes, my dear." And you do. Your eyes wide open now, staring right into his through the reflection. He looked back at you, a playful grin on his lips as he still fingered you in almost brutal pace.

"That's it."

Your mouth fell agape, any desperate attempts to muffle your moans were useless by now and the sight of your naked form surrounded by his muscular one made your legs tremble. You held onto him like your life mattered on it as warmth covered your entire body and you bucked your hips against his hand in desperation. You were close. So close...

Just when you were about to come undone on his fingers, he pulled them out of you, making you whine in response.

"Not yet, dearheart, the night has just begun," Wesker gave you a smug grin, his eyes fixated on yours when he brought his digits coated in your arousal to his lips, tasting you. The sight alone made you whimper, only imagining how good it would feel if he tasted you properly.

He made sure to lick his fingers clean while he made you watch. Impatience in you only grew, your heart racing as he forced you to just watch. It was pure torture.

You squirmed in his hold. "Please... Touch me again," you begged.

"Patience," he clicked his tongue. "Be a good girl and you might get what you want." Though his orders were direct, you knew better than that. He wanted you to obey, without him having to remind you. The thought of you struggling to keep up with him turned him on so much and he had the whole night to continue with the teasing, edging you until you would be so sensitive it'd become a dangerous play whenever he'd touch you.

You ached for him, to feel his skin on you, to feel him all over you, inside of you.

"Yes sir." You muttered silently as you stared at him and noticed a smug grin form on his face again.

One of his hands took a hold of your breast, squeezing it almost painfully before his thumb slid over your hardened nipple, making your breath hitch. That seemed to satisfy him enough. He was holding himself back from fucking you senseless at this point, every other sound from you only added to the fuel. What a pathetic feelings for a man like him and yet, he was caught up enough not to care one bit.

He began kissing your neck, gently, his tongue sliding over your skin, wettening it before he began to suck on it. You gasped. Completely engulfed by mixture of pain and pleasure you could only think of how purple your neck is going to be the next day. He kept sucking and biting, becoming rough, only to shove his fingers back into your aching hole, forcing a loud moan out of you.

His fingers moved in and out of you quickly while he kept looking at you through the mirror. That was an observation - he needed to know whether you'll listen to him or not. A sigh escaped him, enjoying the beautiful sight before him. You were indeed trying to be good for him.

Your mouth fell agape and you fought the urge to close your eyes and seek support of his body behind hours. You trembled with each thrust of his fingers, not even knowing how many he stuffed you with. You were so wet, he slid in so easily, making your vision go blurry so that you couldn't even count.

Your eyes were locked together as he brought you closer to your orgasm, enjoying every moan of yours. It was like a music to his ears, absolutely angelic.

It was your body that seemed to be giving up on you. You were close again, gripping his arm roughly, hoping for some stability. Though when he brought you over the edge, your eyes immediately rolled back, a loud cry escaped you. If you'd only known...

"Now have I given you permission to cum?"

There was the catch you didn't count on. He didn't stop there, working you through your orgasm, the movement of his fingers only intensified. Tears formed in your eyes while he kept overstimulating you, you tried to desperately push his hand away, the amount of pleasure becoming painful, yet he didn't budge.

A low chuckle escaped Wesker at your pathetic attempts of stopping him. "But I suppose that since you wanted to cum so badly, I'll just make you do it again and again, until you learn how to ask politely."

[b00kdiary]

Wildest dreams (IV)

ACOTAR The Batboys x Plus size reader

Where the reader finds herself gaining the attention of the most notorious males in Prythian and it seems that even her wildest dreams couldn’t prepare her for the night they would share.

Notes: This has Rhys, Cassian and Azriel with a plus-size reader since I literally couldn’t decide who it should be and thought that the best fantasy in the world would be all three :) Here’s to all my thick, fat, plus-size girlies who want some bat-boy love too xo

Warning: mature themes (18 +) swearing, body-image issues, smut and the bat boys being utterly infatuated with their thick, beautiful lady

Part I Part II Part III Part V

Rhysand’s room was bigger than my entire apartment.

That’s all I could think as we winnowed in and I spotted the ornate and large armoires, nightstands and table, the plush sofa, the floor-to-ceiling windows, and the bed large enough to fit five males.

Or three males with wings and one female.

I opened my mouth to retort something about how ridiculously lavish this entire place was but as I turned on my heels, I stopped short at the sight of the three males before me. They were watching me, their bodies still as death, and yet their eyes shone like stars, dark and enthralling, sweeping over my body like a caress of the wind.

I felt myself tighten, a shiver running down my spine at the need and arousal wafting off of them and as Rhysand moved to the side, smirking wildly and then leaned his back against the wall, tucking his hands into his pant pockets, I knew that it was happening.

“Do your worst darling” Rhysand purred, his voice like silk in my mind.

I bit my lip, my eyes moving back over to Azriel and Cassian, both of whom stood near the doorway, their attention patient yet hungry upon me.

But I didn’t want to be patient anymore.

My legs were shaking and numb, but I steeled my nerves and in the near silence of the room began walking over to the Illyrian males. I saw their bodies stiffen, their eyes tracking my slow and deliberate movements as I neared them.

I approached Cassian first, a shy smile gracing my face as his expression lifted into a cheeky and knowing grin and as I stood before him, close enough to feel the warmth of his skin and the strong male musk of his body, all I could comprehend was how badly I needed him.

“Kiss me” I breathed, my words near-silent as my hands grazed up to lay at his chest and I tilted my chin to look into his eyes.

To see the exact moment that he lost control.

Cassian surged forward with grace and ferocity, his head ducking to capture my lips and I felt a whoosh of air spring from my lungs at the impact. I gasped, back arching and nails curling into the fabric of his shirt at the first taste of the sweetness of his lips, at the way his hands instantly moved around my body to grip me against him like a vice.

His lips were hungry against mine, devouring and satiating as he trapped me to him, fingers digging into my flesh. I moaned as his tongue entered my mouth, invading and battling against mine, a struggle that I more than happily lost.  

My brain was fogging over at the sheer demand and want that Cassian kissed me with, at the feeling of his strong hands and muscled chest, the feeling of how much larger he was in comparison to me.

I whined slightly as I pulled away, laughing quietly at the look of disdain on Cassian’s face. My chest was rising and falling in harsh waves, but I inhaled deeply, gathering myself before shifting my body and turning to lock my gaze on Azriel.

I waited, cocking my head to the side as we remained locked, his stare wholly dark, a small tilting smirk playing at the corner of his lips.

“Yes, sweetheart?” Azriel mused, raising a brow at me and I suppressed the laugh that threatened to escape me.

“Aren’t you going to come join the fun?” I asked, my voice shaking but I raised my chin in defiance all the same. Azriel chuckled lowly and my entire body lit up as he began to stalk over, his body and dark shadows exuding power and dominance.

My body prickled in anticipation as he came to stand before me, stopping close enough that his chest brushed against my taut nipples, so sensitive that I inhaled sharply at the feeling. Azriel smirked, eyes shining, noticing that subtle shift in my heart rate and breathing.

“I want you to kiss me, Shadowsinger,” I said, lifting a shaky hand to trail my fingers softly over the smooth skin revealed at the base of his throat. I gasped as he caught my hand in his own, his large and scarred fingers closing tightly over mine and he tugged me closer, his breath at my ear.

“I don’t like being told what to do, sweetheart,” He said, low and sinister “Why don’t you try again?”

He pulled back marginally, his eyes narrowing in a challenge and though a part of me wanted to push back and give him hell, I couldn’t ignore how heavy my breasts felt or ignore the steady and throbbing ache that tormented between my thighs.

“Azriel” I whimpered, shivering at the smooth touch of his fingers now at my cheek, “Please.”

That’s all it took, I saw his smirk turn feral and then he had his hand around my throat, firm but not painful as he pulled me in and crashed his lips against mine. I moaned, eyes fluttering shut, and my body melted into the security and firmness of his hold, the feeling of his hand at my throat making my pussy soak and my head spin.

Azriel’s kiss was different to Rhysand’s reverence or Cassian’s ferocity, his lips moved against mine in deep, languid strokes, passionate and indulgent in a way that had every flick of tongue or scrape of his teeth shredding more and more of my self-control.

I arched my back as Cassian pressed against it, his hands stroking over the flesh at my waist and hips, squeezing and kneading the flesh. My body was electric as Azriel pulled back, but I barely had time to comprehend as Cassian’s lips dipped to the juncture of my throat and began sucking and biting against the sensitive skin.

I gasped, eyes screwing as my body and mind overwhelmed itself, the feeling of hands tugging and gripping and their mouths kissing and biting across my skin and neck. Azriel was now at my breasts, kneading and pinching the sensitive flesh and I groaned, my head lolling back and resting against Cassian’s chest.

The material of my clothes was irritating against my skin and in my frenzy of need, I didn’t hesitate to start tugging at the cloth. I watched as Azriel and Cassian both paused, deep and satisfied hums escaping them as I tugged down my dress, my breasts falling out and exposed to the harsh wind.

“Fuck” Cassian swore, his fingers tightening as he eyes my exposed chest and any feeling of vulnerability or shame washed away at that look. I twirled, capturing Cassian’s lips in mine, my back now pressed to Azriel’s chest as his hands moved to cup and fondle my breasts. I sighed into Cassian’s mouth as Azriel tugged at my nipples and I felt my whole body tremble at the feeling.

I bit lightly against Cassian’s lip as I drew back earning a gruff chuckle and a swift and harsh tug of his hands at my breast, and Azriel huffed out a laugh at the whimper of pain and pleasure that escaped me at the action.

“Please,” I pleaded, eyes wide as I raised my gaze to Cassian then turned my head to the side to look at Azriel.

“You want more angel?” Cassian asked, trailing a finger around my nipple in a whisper of touch and I groaned, nodding my head desperately in response. Azriel smirked, his head dipping to press a sweet kiss against my collarbone before he and Cassian both pulled back from me.

Alarm filled me at the sudden loss of warmth, but I watched as Rhysand walked over, grinning as he stopped just before me.

“Take a seat on the bed darling, we’ll take care of you,” He said softly, his hand gently as he tucked a piece of my hair behind an ear.

I nodded, moving to the huge bed and carefully, I sat on the edge. I watched with bated breath as they all stood, towering over me and I suddenly felt silly that my breasts were out, and they were all fully clothed.

As if hearing my thoughts, Rhysand’s gaze dropped and he marvelled at my breasts in the light, moonbeams streaming in through the open space and cascading over my skin. I blushed at the appreciation in his eyes, and he grinned in response.

I leaned back onto my arms as Azriel silently came forward, my breath stuttering in my chest as he dropped to a knee at my feet. He smiled softly, his scarred hands trailing down the exposed skin of both thighs before he lifted my right, bending it at the knee.

I furrowed my brows, but my heart fluttered as I watched his attention drop to the lacing of my heels and with swift fingers, he began undoing the ties.

It was oddly serene, watching as he untied and then removed my right heel, placing it at his side on the floor. He held my ankle, pressing a tender kiss to my shin before slowly lowering my foot back down and grabbing my left leg. Again, with unhurried agility, he untied and removed my left shoe, and I watched as they disappeared, magicked to cauldron knows where.

Cassian and Rhysand moved to sit on either side of me on the bed, and I sighed at the feeling of their thighs against mine and their hands on my skin.

Rhys kissed my jaw and cheek, his hands trailing against my neck and then lower, cupping my breast. I exhaled harshly, my eyes fluttering shut at the feeling, of pleasure filling me as his hands began to tug and roll the taut bud between his fingers. I sighed contently as his hand moved downwards, tracing over my stomach and then to the side of my waist.

And my body froze as his hand reached the two strings knotted together at my waist.

He immediately paused there when he felt me clam up, my breath halting in my lungs as I realised what he intended to do.

“May I untie this darling?” He asked quietly. I swallowed hoarsely, my head slowly shifting to meet his eyes. I was weary, insecurities and worries eating at me but the small and encouraging smile that Rhysand gave made the breath ease in my lungs.

I inhaled and exhaled to steady myself, my eyes closing for a moment to gather my wits. I focused on the feeling of Azriel’s hands at my thighs, the small, soothing circles he drew there, then on the feeling of Cassian’s chest pressed to my side and back, that strong wall of safety.

And then to the sweetness in Rhysand’s eyes.

That lack of judgement, the whole desire that I knew he felt, they all felt when they saw me.

I blinked my eyes open and with a steady exhale, nodded my head.

“Yes, you can untie it.” The words escape me with an easy exhale and Rhysand’s lip tilts at the corner, the stars in his eyes twinkling as he looks from me, down to that knot at my side. I try and force myself to breathe as he swiftly unties the knot and with nimble fingers, begins to unwrap the material to expose my body beneath.

Their eyes are all on me and I feel Cassian’s rough fingers trail my skin, helping Rhys to tug the dress down my arms, letting it pool around me on the bed. My face was heated, feeling my stomach, breasts and legs all bare to their eyes, the lace panty I wore covering my most intimate part.

I cringed moving my arms to cover myself, to cover all the parts I disliked that the moon was highlighting but Rhysand clucked his tongue, his hands gently pulling my arms away. I met his stare and saw the fire burning in them as his gaze trickled down my flesh, and not even for a second did I see him look unimpressed.

“So beautiful,” Cassian muttered hoarsely against my neck, kissing the flesh there and the sweet words made me purr, my eyes fluttering at the contact. I bit my lip, looking from Rhys to Cassian and then Azriel, and they all looked insatiable still, making sure to show me how much they adored my body with their dark eyes and feral smiles.

I turned my head, silent as I brought my lips to Cassian and he groaned as I dragged him into a deep, slow kiss, my hands moving to Rhysand, pulling him to touch me, needing the feeling of him on me. Cassian grows wilder, teeth and tongues clashing as he devours me, and I moan as Rhys fondles my breasts, the ache between my thighs growing.

I pull away when Azriel begins tracing over the band on my underwear, still on his knees before me, looking as if he was ready to worship every inch of my skin, so dark and tempting. I saw the question in his eyes as he looked at my underwear, and when I lifted my hips, he smirked, his hands gentle as he tugged the material down my legs, inch by inch.

He marvelled at the spot between my thighs, his breath hitching as he pulled the material down the last inch and discarded it on the floor behind him. None of them seemed to be breathing, not as I slowly parted my legs, my body trembling slightly before settling them on Rhys and Cassian on either side, their hands possessively clamped down on the flesh, keeping me spread wide open.

Azriel kneeled and stared, his chest rising and falling unevenly, rattled as he admired me and my body heated at the look, at the desire but that ache was steadily growing and I shifted uncomfortably, needing him to touch me.

“Come on, Az,” Cassian muttered, his freehand running soothingly through my hair, running it down my exposed back and I shivered in response, “She’s been such a good girl for us, stop teasing her.”

Azriel smirked, raising a brow at me as if in challenge and I pouted, my breathing stuttered and harsh in the silence of the room. But then my breathing stopped entirely when Azriel lifted both hands, resting them on either side of my thighs, and with his shining eyes locked on mine, his head moved forward- inching to where I needed him.

The first flick of his tongue had a moan mewling out of me and my back arched, resting against Rhys and Cassian beside me. Azriel huffed, the breath cool against the most sensitive part of me and then dove back in, still soft, his tongue whirling against my clit- still teasing.

“Oh Cauldron, Azriel, please.” I moaned and Rhysand laughed under me, his hand tracing my nipples, cupping, and fondling my heavy breasts, but it wasn’t enough. Azriel kissed my thigh, and just as I was about to growl at him, he latched onto my clit, and I gasped.

Azriel ate me like a man starved, his tongue lapping against me in long languish strokes one second and then flicking hard and fast against me the next, drawing wave after wave of pleasure from me. I moaned, my hips bucking, and Cassian and Rhys were at my side, holding me down, watching and pressing sweet kisses to my neck, or pinching against my nipple.

Azriel groaned against me, the deep heady rumble reverberating against my core and making me clench, my eyes falling shut at the overwhelming feeling that wrecked through me. I had males go down on me before, rarely, but it had never felt like this.

“How does she taste brother?” Rhysand mused, suckling against my neck and I curved my neck to the side to allow him better access, feeling his sly smirk against my skin. My body shook as Azriel pulled back, a light sheen of wetness coating his uptilted lip and an ethereal shine glinting in his hazel eyes.

“Like heaven, Rhys,” Azriel breathed, moving to lick a bold stripe up the length of my core, making me whimper and writhe, “Like fucking heaven.”

He goes back in, grinning against me as I pant, my hand coming to lace into his hair, my fingers knotting into the silken locks, tugging at the root when his teeth scrape against me. My moan is almost embarrassingly loud, but Azriel feeds off it, suckling harder and my toes curl when I feel two fingers prod me, and something in me coils as he pushes those two scarred fingers in and curls.

“Fuck, watching you like this is maddening angel,” Cassian groans, his head dipping and his mouth latching onto my nipple, his teeth biting against me. He does this in tandem with Azriel’s fingers fucking in and out of me and I’m a moaning, writhing mess before them.

“I can’t-“ I cry out, too many hands, too many sensations, too much pleasure. Then suddenly there’s a flash through my mind and I’m looking at myself, and Cassian and Azriel- through Rhysand’s eyes.

My body is arched, and Cassian looks feral as he toys and sucks at my breasts, looking euphoric as he pleasures me. And then Azriel, who sucks and nibbles on my clit, clueing onto how I’ve started to tremble, and my breath has begun stuttering, his fingers a steady, firm rhythm plunging into me, the sound so lewd.

“Look at how perfect you look, Darling,” Rhys purrs, caressing my mind “I think we could all stay here for the rest of our fucking lives and worship you.”

Azriel runs his teeth against my clit, his fingers curling inside me in tandem and that dam of pleasure and ruin within me snaps. My back arches, and I watch myself, moaning and chanting Azriel’s name as release courses through me, making me shake and buck and writhe.

He doesn’t relent, still nibbling slowly and his fingers curling in and out of me and Cassian pulls back watching me, admiring me as my chest rises and falls with sharp, desperate breaths.

“Fuck,” Cassian muttered, and I nearly had to beg Azriel to stop teasing me, when he plucked off from my clit, slowly easing his soaking fingers from my pulsing and aching core.

My face was flushed, and my body was sweaty and hot from it all, and as my eyes fluttered open and met with Azriel, my cheeks heated with shyness. He grinned, his mouth still wet and his fingers running soothingly across my thighs, easing the tension, and shaking in them, guiding me down from my high.

I didn’t say anything, instead, I ran my hand down Azriel’s hair and neck and slowly pulled him up onto his knees and his face closer to me. I tasted the sweetness on his lips, tasted myself on his lips, and groaned into it as he pushed his tongue into my mouth, kissing me deep and slow and needy.

I drew back hesitantly from the kiss, my face inches from the Shadowsinger’s and the adoration in his eyes made my heart skip a beat. He looked over me, seeing the sweat and heat, my heart still racing, and his eyes softened.

“We can stop here if you’d like,” He said quietly, his eyes showing he meant it, “We don’t need to keep going.”

“I want to,” I ran my thumb over his lips gently and then sat up, looking at a smiling Cassian and then at Rhys, who was smirking, gratification and pride shining in his purple eyes. “I want to, so bad.”

And that’s all it took.

_____________

@satellitesunshine @queenofangrymoths @highlady-ofillyria @ladespedidas @magical-mischief-makers @lyracarvahall @ummmmmwat @eerievixen @bitchyinternetinfluencer @meritxellao @rachelnicolee @fanfictioniseverything @queen-of-arda @magdalenka @bunnymallowo @azzydaddy

[shiorimakibawrites]

Cat Man Do: Part 2 (Daredevil Fan Fic)

Pairing: Matt Murdock x Fem! Reader Seconding Pairings: Foggy Nelson x Marci Stahl, implied Karen Page x Frank Castle Word Count: 11,000 Summary: It is a day of discovery for you. Warning(s): Swearing, sexual fantasies, referenced masturbation, kissing, dirty talk, referenced marking/hickies, oral sex (female receiving), vaginal fingering, unprotected P in V sex, referenced oral sex (male receiving), referenced animal abuse (not graphic) Series Masterlist Matt Murdock/Daredevil Masterlist General Masterlist Tag List: @loves0phelia, @nowheredreamer, @beezusvreeland, @indestructeible, @what-i-call-men, @reblog-reblog666, @flynnethenerd, @mattmurdocks6thscaleapartment, @yarrystyleeza, @bellaxgiornata, @reluctanthalfwayofoptimism, @bluerobin35 Also posted on AO3

Cat Man Do

Part 2 of 2

“And that’s the last of it,” you said to yourself as you put the last of the dishes into the drying rack. While you dried off your hands, you did a quick survey of your handiwork. The apartment was now back to its normal state of relative tidiness. The only remaining mess was the nest of blankets that Trouble had burrowed himself into and presumably napping it.

It had been tempting to peek. Very tempting. But you knew yourself. If you did that, you wouldn’t be able to resist petting him. Then you would probably give into the urge to see if he liked any of the cat toys you still had . . . then boom, the housework would be completely forgotten.

It wasn’t that you hated housework. It was just boring. Which made any number of procrastinating distractions rather appealing. Listening to music or podcast on your phone usually helped. Singing along with your favorite songs or learned something interesting made it feel like the dull but necessary work wasn’t taking so long. Thought you had to avoid certain ones while doing housework because sometimes they got you arguing with the people in the magic box instead of doing what you were supposed to. Like ironing your work clothes . . .

Other days, your brain decided to turn whatever was coming out of your phone into white noise and simply daydreamed. Today was one of those days. Fortunate for getting your work done, those daydreams stayed innocent. Imaging Matt having his way with you on your kitchen table, for example, would have been rather distracting. Case in point, even just the thought of that fantasy was making you squirm.

Keeping them sweet didn’t prevent Matt from taking the staring role. Far from it. Which was embarrassing for all different reasons. It was one thing to have sexual fantasies about an attractive man. Picturing that same man saying three little words with that deeply fond smile on his face had different implications.

Implications that made you feel stupid. You knew falling in love with your boss was a bad idea. The king of bad ideas. Mousy secretary falls in love with her incredibly attractive boss is the premise for a romance novel, not a recipe for true love forever. You were going to get your heart broken. Probably not today. Maybe not tomorrow. But someday.

You weren’t looking forward to it. Watching women hit on him already felt like a knife to your heart. Watching while he meet someone else and fall in love with them was going to be agony. Assuming you stayed around to watch. Which you likely wouldn’t do. You weren’t that much of masochist.

The worst part was that you wanted Matt to find his special someone. The person who would make him laugh and help him find joy. Someone who would comfort him when he was sad, take care of him when he was sick. For him to know that someone loved him, that they wanted to stay forever . . . you wanted that for him.

Maybe it was selfish but you just wished that special someone was you.

You knew it was unlikely. Matt had never stated an interest in you beyond friendship. Yes, he flirted. But Matt flirted with everyone. And yes, you had gone on all those outings with him. But those were friend outings, not dates. And yes, on those occasions when Matt asked him to guide him, it seemed like he was reluctant to let go of your arm afterward. Or how he kept holding your hands after they had gotten warmed up after forgetting your gloves last week, only dropping them when the office phone rang . . .

But he never said anything. Sometimes it seem liked he might. Moments where he said he had something to tell you, something that he wanted to ask, that seem like maybe . . . then nothing. Either the universe intervene – phone calls, fire alarm, sudden loud argument between two food truck drivers – or it wouldn’t be exactly what you were hoping for. Like asking if you would be his plus-one at some fancy party being thrown by Columbia Law alum next weekend. That wasn’t a date. It was just practical since he and Foggy had only gotten their invitations to said party this week . . . It was a very deliberate snub considering Marci had received hers month ago . . .

Granted, you hadn’t said anything to him either. In part because you wanted to avoid ruining what you already had. You genuinely liked being Matt’s friend. You valued that relationship and didn’t want to lose it. Or make things incredibly awkward. But big part of it was simply that you weren’t ready to hear ‘I’m flattered but . . .’

You’d probably never be ready. Because no matter how kindly someone tries to let you down, rejection always stung . . .

“Enough moping,” you told yourself sternly. You had a mystery to explore.

But first you were going to check on Trouble. He had been rather quiet. Too quiet. He might simply be asleep but your experience said that sometimes the too quiet cat was a cat getting into mischief. You walked over to the blanket cocoon and peeled back the layers until you found the lithe, brown form. A pair of yellow-green eyes blinked sleepily at you. You couldn’t resist. There were few things cuter than a drowsy cat. You reached over and started lightly scratching behind the ears. Trouble purred and bumped his head more firmly into your hands.

“Hey there, sleepy kitty,” you said. “Enjoy your nap?”

He made one of those trilling noises which only made your smile grow. And encouraged you to keep petting him. Which wasn’t a hardship.

“Your coat is so soft, Trouble,” you said. “Feels like velvet.”

Like your new dress, the one you had let Marci and Karen talked you into buying for the fancy party. You hadn’t intended to buy anything when you accompanied them to the stops. You had fully intended to just wear one of the dresses you already owned. But then you saw it.

A pretty black dress made of velvet that looked like it was your size. Curious, you had checked. It was. Moreover, it was marked off enough to within your limited budget. Which made it very tempting. A temptation that Marci enthusiastically enabled. Come on, at least see how it fits . . .

It fit perfectly, hugging your curves just right. Offered tantalizing glimpses of skin without showing off more than you were comfortable with. You had felt beautiful wearing it. Which meant Marci and Karen didn’t have to push very hard to convince you to buy it. Karen sweetened the deal by reminding you that Matt loved velvet. And that maybe feeling so pretty would give you the confidence boost you needed to tell him how you felt.

Something that both Karen and Marci seemed very certain would be received well. You weren’t nearly so sure but you brought the dress.

In the name of making you feel as pretty and confident as possible, Karen and Marci decided you also needed new shoes and underwear. When you objected that you couldn’t afford to do that, Marci countered that she would pay. Which was why you were now the proud owner of a pair of heels that cost a frankly ridiculous amount of money. Because when Marci decided to treat someone, she didn’t believe in going cheap.

The underwear set had been more reasonably priced but still seemed like a lot for a bra and panties. Even if they were made of high quality silk and lace. But they had looked good on you too and Karen had asked you to imagine if everything went well and the night ended with your dress on Matt’s bedroom floor . . .

You didn’t know what had flustered you more. Your own imagination or that evil, knowing grin on Karen’s face or Marci supplying lewd details of Matt’s sexual prowess. Not from her own experience but she knew people who had slept with him. People whose stories she trusted to be accurate.

Karen insisted that the underwear had to be dark red. Saying with a mysterious smile that Matt would find it hot. Which just confused you. For obvious reasons, purely visual elements like color didn’t hold any appeal for Matt . . .

“Why?” you mused out loud. But since Karen wasn’t here to pester, your only answer was a questioning meow from Trouble. Which probably had more to do with you getting so lost in your head that you had stopped petting him than anything else.

“Sorry, Trouble,” you said, resuming the pets. “Got distracted. Trying to figure out why Karen thinks Matt would find me wearing red silk underwear sexy.”

Trouble made the strangest sound you had ever heard from a cat. Like he couldn’t decide which cat noise to make and kept switching tracks part-way through each one. If he had been human, you would have said he was sputtering.

It was such a funny reaction that you couldn’t help giggling.

Matt’s current form prevented him from blushing. Which he supposed he should be thankful for. His sputtering already had you giggling. He could only imagine your reaction to seeing his cheeks go what he had been told was a lovely shade of dusty pink.

What was Karen up to? Telling you something like that?!

The fact that it was true was immaterial. Now he would have fantasies about running his hands over your curves, feeling your petal soft skin encased in silk . . . and the idea of you wearing Daredevil red immensely pleased that possessive streak that ran deep inside him . . .

But he didn’t need help coming up with impure thoughts about you. He already spent far too much time touching himself while imaging you spread out on his bed, exploring every inch with his hands and mouth, the sounds of your pleasure filling his ears . . . Fantasies that were going to be a lot more vivid now that he knew exactly what those noises sounded like and just how sweet your arousal tasted . . . even if tasting it from the air was a poor substitute for tasting it directly from the source . . .

Matt shook himself. He shouldn’t be thinking about that.

You turned your attention toward your pack and the mystery inside it. You moved the pack over to the couch and started pulling out the suit.

The red color was brighter than you expected, dark scarlet instead of the maroon it had looked under the dim light of your flashlight. The webbing between panels wasn’t black either. It was a deep, deep red that almost black. Like those really good cherries that you loved but could never remember what they were called. It was was just as heavy as you remembered, with the heft that reminded you of an old friend’s bulletproof vest. But more flexible . . . actually, looking at all of the webbing interwoven into it, you’d guess a lot more.

“It seems Daredevil is a bendy vigilante,” you mused outloud. “Probably not as bendy as Spider-Man but that guy is made out of silly-putty. Or at least his spine is.”

The suit was a little scuffed but otherwise looked fine. No holes, rips, or tears that you could find. No visible blood . . . you sniffed. You couldn’t smell any blood either. Just sweat. Something clean that you recognized as saddle soap. The fainter odor of plain soap along with something very familiar.

“Huh,” you said, eyeing the suit. “Daredevil and Matt wear the same cologne. Small world.”

Next, you checked the pouches on the belt. There weren’t that many. They contained a prepaid cell phone that you set aside to look at more closely later, zip ties, fold-up cash, and business cards. Curious, you shuffled through the cards. Nelson & Murdock, Alias Investigations, Chikara Dojo, FEAST, Helping Hands . . . . Each business or charity was separated by paper clips or rubber bands.

“Curious,” you murmured, wondering why . . . maybe he just didn’t want to spend time shuffling through them looking for a particular one? Or didn’t think he would always have time to do that? Maybe he had folded up the cash for the same reason. As long as he remembered how each card was bundled or bill folded, he could get out the right one without looking at them.

You turned your attention to the phone but was immediately stymied. The phone refused to turn on. It didn’t look broken. Which probably meant that it needed to be charged. Guess you weren’t the only one who forgot to put their phone on the charger. Or maybe Daredevil used a phone while fighting crime a lot more than anyone would expect. You grumbled as you got off the couch. You weren’t sure if your charger would work with this phone. Thankfully it did but the batteries were practically dead. Investigating the phone would have to wait.

In the meantime, you inspected the helmet. It was the same color as the suit but not the same materials, something more rigid. But it seemed to be in good shape. You couldn’t see or feel any cracks. You traced the edge of the characteristic horns and mask. You were unable to resist to urge to put the helmet on your own head. It probably looked ridiculous. There was nothing superhero about your oversized tee shirt featuring a gray cat calling itself ‘purr-fect’ and sweat pants. But you were curious. What did the world look like to the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen?

The answer was very red. You had expected a reddish tint from the color of the lenses. But it was more intense than you expected. It was also less . . . clear than you would have thought. The lenses weren’t opaque – you could see through them. But tinted dark like a pair of sunglasses.

“Odd,” you said, wondering why Daredevil had what was effectively sunglasses built into his helmet. It seemed peculiar. Especially for a vigilante that operated almost exclusively at night. And had a known habit of cutting lights to places before going in. The consensus in the hero forums was that Daredevil must be able to see in the dark. But, you frowned, even the best night vision still needed some light . . . even nocturnal animals couldn’t see in total darkness . . .

“If he has superhuman night vision,” you thought outloud, pulling off the helmet. “Maybe his eyes are really light sensitive?”

Trouble meowed loudly. It sounded almost like a no.

“Vetoing that theory, Trouble?” You asked, glancing over at him. He had crawled out of the blanket cocoon and was doing the big stretch. Which, by the rules of cat companions everywhere, you had to comment on. “Ohhh, big stretch!”

He meowed again. You laughed. It was almost like he was answering you.

You smiled and shook your head. Despite Trouble’s rejection, the theory was plausible. Someone whose eyes worked very well at low light could very well be someone that found bright light painful. And while he worked at night, New York City wasn’t all that dark after sundown. Nowhere near as dark as it was out in the forest.

Granted, Hell’s Kitchen was darker at night than most of the city. Streets lights and other sources of lighting that had gotten damaged in the Incident still hadn’t been repaired or replaced. Somehow there was never enough money in the budget. At least not for something like street lights. Some of the landlords were similarly disinclined. Others had died during the aforementioned alien invasion and similar attacks on the city. And many of those estates were a byzantine nightmare of disputed wills, shell companies, and other assorted legal headaches.

You knew this because Nelson & Murdock was one of the many laws firms attempting untangle this particular Gordian knot. The progress had been slow and uneven. Matt and Foggy had muttered many unkind words about property law, estate law, the lawyers involved in creating this mess, and especially the lawyers trying to keep the knot intact because the mess benefited their clients . . . which yes, was their job. But they didn’t have be so smug about it . . .

The color of the lenses was another question mark. Why red? Then you remembered something you had read . . . red lenses or red lights helped people kept their eyes dark adapted or helped them adjust to low-light conditions quicker. Of course that little nugget had been discovered during a romp through Wikipedia Wonderland. So massive grain of salt . . .

Of course, it could simply be aesthetics. It fit with the Devil theme. You imagined that seeing the sudden glint of those red lenses from out of the shadows would be quite intimidating.

“Or maybe he just likes red,” you muttered to yourself, putting the helmet down on the coffee table.

You drummed your fingers against your thigh, staring at the suit . . . why? Why would Daredevil abandon his suit and (possibly) walk into the night wearing (possibly) only whatever was under the suit?

“Which couldn’t be much,” you mused, your face flushing at the thought. Most images of the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen were either low-quality, out-of-focus, or too shadowy to make out much. But from what you could tell, the suit was close-fitting. No much room for anything but him in there. Or nothing at all. Which was an idea that made your flush worse.

Matt might have been the leading man in your fantasies but he wasn’t the only one to appear. You had entertained thoughts about Daredevil. Very dirty thoughts. Which was really saying something considering some of the ones involving Matt . . . but there was just something about the vigilante that could made you feel feral.

You had the feeling that those fantasies were about to get more vivid. Because now, you knew what the suit looked like up close. What it felt like under your hands. Granted what it felt like without Daredevil actually in it. Which was, if you were being perfectly honest, a little disappointing. You might be carrying the torch for Matt but that didn’t stop other men from being attractive. Or your mind from idly (and somewhat guiltily) wondering if Daredevil’s suit struggled to contain his muscles the same way Matt’s suits struggled to contain his . . .

Something touched your thigh. You jumped before realizing it was just Trouble putting one of his paws on your leg. Probably looking for attention. You reached down to start petting him, scratching him behind the ears. Which he seemed to enjoy, purring as he crawled onto your lap. You were easily tempted away from your mystery.

“You’re a total lap cat, aren’t you?” you asked. Your only answer was louder purring.

You were starting to feel almost sleepy, sitting here with a purring cat in your lap. Especially on a day like this, gray and unusually quiet for New York. Which made the notification chime from your phone inordinately loud. Checking it required disturbing Trouble. Which he made very clear that he didn’t like.

“I know, I know, you were comfortable,” you said, checking the notifications. Mostly text messages from friends and family making sure you were okay. You had just sent off a couple of replies when you caught something out of the corner of your eye.

Looking away from your phone, you peered at the suit. What . . . oh. There was something inside the crumpled suit, a bit of fabric peeking out. Curious, you sat down your phone and touched it. Silk. You gave it a gentle tug and the cloth came out.

Immediately, you felt your face flush again. It was underwear. Specifically a pair of men’s black boxers. Black silk boxers. The Devil of Hell’s Kitchen wore black silk boxers. For reasons you couldn’t really explain, this made you giggle.

The universe was a peculiar place. One where a blind defense attorney and a vigilante had interesting things in common. They both liked silk. They wear the same cologne. And estimating from the suit, Daredevil and Matt were the same height and had a similar build.

And apparently knew a lot of the same people. Matt carried a lot of the same business cards, personally knew the owners. Though you were a little unclear on how he had met some of them. Jessica Jones, you could see. She lived and worked in Hell’s Kitchen and her zero-tolerance policy for assholes often got her trouble with the cops. But the others were less clear . . . It didn’t help that when you had asked, the story you had gotten had been rather vague.

It wasn’t the only story where Matt, Foggy, and Karen got evasive. Another sign that there were secrets in the office of Nelson & Murdock. And not the normal client-confidentiality type secrets . . .

Glancing back at the suit, you noticed something else. Something you couldn’t believe you had missed. It didn’t look like it had been stripped off. None of the zippers or other fasteners were undone. You frowned, looking closely at it again. How could he have gotten it off without undoing any of the fasteners?

All thoughts of Daredevil were driven out of your head when Trouble let out a pained yowl. You snapped your head up to see him fall off the couch, writhing and twisting like he was having a seizure. You rushed toward him but then something weird happened. Trouble began to grow and swell, becoming bigger and bigger . . . body twisting and jerking the entire time . . . until what was laying on your floor wasn’t a cat. It was a man.

A very familiar man. Matt Murdock lay there, his body still twitching and spasming. His chest heaved and his forehead was beaded with sweat.

You couldn’t believe your own eyes. Had that really just happened? You pinched yourself. It hurt. So not a dream. You reached out and touched Matt’s shoulder. It was solid and warm under your hand. The muscles still twitching from . . . whatever that was. But gradually the twitching stopped and the tension in Matt’s jaw eased.

“Sorry,” he said. His voice was strained. “Didn’t want you to find out this way.”

Find out what? That he turned into a cat? Or . . . you looked at the suit. Then it clicked. All of the pieces suddenly made sense. Matt was Daredevil. The suit didn’t look like it had been stripped off because it hadn’t. The person wearing it had merely gotten much, much smaller.

“You’re Daredevil?” you asked, just to be sure.

“Yes.”

“And you turn into a cat?” you asked. You hoped not. He was a very cute cat but that transformation had looked like hideously painful.

His lips twitched into something like a smile. “Not usually. This was the first time.”

“Okay,” you said. You took a deep breath. Than another. Your boss was Daredevil. He had been turned into a cat. You had taken him to your apartment. He might have observed you having a dirty dream about him. This was fine. You were fine. Everything was fine.

Another breath. “Expected development?”

“No. Magic spell. I think.”

“Magic spell?” you repeated. “Like actual magic? You know, nevermind. Of course, magic is real. Why the hell not? We were invaded by aliens. There is a Norse God living uptown. Why wouldn’t magic be real?!”

You were babbling. But you couldn’t help it. It didn’t help that Matt was really smiling now. With the dimple and everything. Which had always left you flustered. Especially when combined with that fond look. Even if it almost immediately faded to something sober and tentative.

“Let me sit up and I’ll explain everything.”

“Okay,” you said. But as he started to push himself into a sitting position, you noticed something. Something that left you even more flustered. Matt was naked. Completely naked. Not a single stitch on him. You could see his . . . everything. Feeling your cheeks burn, you jerked back and whirled around to face the wall.

“Sweetheart?”

You felt your heart beat faster at the pet name. He had never called you that before. At work, he was entirely professional. And when you were at Josie’s or an outing, he just called you by your name.

“Clothes,” you said, feeling little frantic. You needed answers – to so many things – but you couldn’t have that conversation with him while he was naked. You would get . . . distracted. But none of your clothes would fit him . . . wait, the boxers! Where . . . you looked . . . there!

You scurried forward and snatched the boxers off the floor. Keeping your eyes firmly on his face, you went and dropped the underwear into what you hoped was his lap. “Your boxers. This isn’t a naked conversation.”

A soft huff of laughter. “No, it isn’t. Thank you, sweetheart.”

Sweetheart again? It wasn’t a slip of the tongue? Your cheeks couldn’t get any warmer but they sure tried.

You turned away again to give him some privacy while he dressed. For a given value of dressed. Considering it was only underwear. You fidgeted with the hem of your shirt and tried not to think about that. Or his . . . everything. You had limited success.

“I’m decent. You can look now.”

‘That’s debatable,’ you thought after you turned to face him. Yes, everything that needed covering was now covered. But the boxers fit him snugly enough that very little was left to the imagination. Not that you really needed your imagination anymore . . . . And that wasn’t even taking into account the rest of him.

You had known he had muscles. You just hadn’t realized he had quite so many muscles . . .

Matt realized that you had gotten distracted when it took a couple of times calling your name to get your attention. He was well aware that you were attracted to him but it was still gratifying to his ego to experience your body’s reaction to him. And the way the temperature and blood shifted to your face when you realized that you had been caught staring was rather cute.

But he soon sobered, remembering what you had just discovered. What he needed to explained. “Do you remember how I lost my eyesight?”

“I remember,” you said.

“Those chemicals didn’t just blind me,” he said. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. He squared his shoulders, bracing himself for your inevitable reaction. Then he explained how his remaining senses had been enhanced to a superhuman degree. How he could hear everything happening around him, for several blocks. Further if he was focusing on someone he was familiar with. How he could very likely find Foggy, Karen, or you anywhere in this city if he needed to.

That his other senses were just as keen. Did his best to describe his world on fire. The others had poked fun of his metaphor but it was the best one he had found. He felt the usual frustration at not having the right words, the perfect words, to describe how he experienced the world. Words that help someone else understand his world without the misconceptions.

But such words didn’t seem to exist. He had to make do with the ones he had.

He took another deep breath, continuing in a very firm voice. “My senses do not change the fact that I cannot see. There are things my senses cannot tell me. Like what color anything is. Times when my world on fire isn’t as reliable as I would like such as when I’m tired or ill. My cane and other adaptive equipment aren’t props. I’m not pretending to be blind. I am blind.”

“Someone actually said that to you?” you said, sounding shocked. It was the first time you had spoken when he had started talking.

“Yes,” he said, trying not to remember how Foggy had spit out those words. Hardly the most painful thing that had been said that awful night . . . but the clear disgust in his voice had stayed with Matt for a long time . . .

“Who?” you demanded, your heartbeat sharply rising. He heard the shift of bone and muscle as your hands curled into fists. It was sweet that your first reaction was defend him. If it was completely unnecessary.

“Doesn’t matter,” Matt said, waving it off. “They didn’t really understand the explanation at first. Neither of us were in the right head space for the conversation. We’ve talked more since then and now they get it. And they apologized for that particular misunderstanding.”

You sighed.

You weren’t entirely surprised. Matt tended to be forgiving. Along with a rather concerning habit of ignoring or downplaying things when he was the one being treated poorly . . . And, as you silently reminded yourself, you didn’t know the whole story. That wouldn’t make what they said okay but it might make it understandable . . .

Regardless the decision to forgive or not to forgive was ultimately Matt’s, not yours. And he had obviously chosen to forgive whoever it was. Best to let it go and change the subject.

“Do you want some coffee?” you asked. “Or something else to drink?”

That bit of gravel in his voice might do all sorts of tingly stuff to your insides but he had been talking for a while. His mouth must be getting dry.

“As long you are making it anyway, coffee would be great,” Matt said.

“Coming right up,” you said and went into the kitchen. As you set up the coffee to brew, you did your best to process anything you had just learned.

Matt was Daredevil. It explained a lot. Foggy and Karen certainly knew. It was the only explanation for why they went along with Matt’s very obvious lies about how he had been injured. And why they didn’t seem . . . well, you couldn’t say that there was no concern. You had seen the pinched look of Foggy’s face when Matt was moving like it hurt him to breath. The worried, accessing look Karen gave particularly colorful bruises.

And yet, they had accepted every single one of his excuses from the plausible to the silly without question. Told you there was nothing to worry about when you expressed concern about Matt’s well-being. Even through sometimes neither looked like they really believed that . . .

Now you realized that they were concerned. It was just a different kind of concerned. Because they weren’t wondering how Matt kept getting hurt. They weren’t racking their brains trying to figure out who was hurting him or if all those worrying signs were related to some kind of health problem. Like maybe he was having seizures or something like that but was refusing to see the doctor . . .

But every theory you came up with kept hitting the wall for not being able to explain why Foggy and Karen didn’t seem to share your concerns. Why they clearly loved Matt but ignored that something troubling was obviously going on with him. . . . It hadn’t made any sense.

Now it did. Matt was Daredevil. They knew he was Daredevil. And knew his injuries were from fighting crime.

Matt had super senses. Which meant, you realized with a certain amount of horror, he had absolutely heard you moaning his name while touching yourself this morning. You buried your face in your hands with a soft groan. There was no hiding your non-platonic feelings anymore. The cat was out of the bag. Pun fully intended.

“What’s wrong?”

You jumped. You weren’t expecting his voice to be so close. He wasn’t crowding you or anything. His position by the edge of the counter that divided the kitchen from the living room was a couple feet away from where you were standing in front of the coffee pot. But you hadn’t heard him moving around. Apparently he didn’t need to be cat shaped to walk silently through walls.

“Sorry,” he said, though the little twitch of his lips belied that apology. “Didn’t mean to startle you.”

“Somehow,” you said, willing your heart to slow back down. “I doubt that.”

“Do you?”

“I saw those lips twitch,” you pointed out. “You think making me jump is funny.”

“That is quite the accusation,” he said with mock seriousness. “Do you have any evidence?”

Using his courtroom voice was cheating. Especially when he was only wearing boxers. Pure cheating. You pulled out your stubborn streak, standing with your fists on your hips. “I know what I saw. I will not be fooled by your twisty-turny lawyer tricks into saying otherwise, Mr. Murdock.”

“That sounds like a challenge, sweetheart.”

The pet name said with that almost purring voice sent tingles down your spine. And brought renewed heat between your legs. Rather annoyingly the cocky smirk on his face did nothing to diminish that ardor. Maybe if he had been wearing more than boxers . . . or if he didn’t look so good half-naked . . .

A soft cough brought you back to the present. You felt your cheeks get warm again, realizing that you had been so busy staring at his abs that you hadn’t noticed him talking.

“Distracted?” he asked, a teasing grin spread wide across his face.

“No,” you said quickly, feeling the warmth in your cheeks intensify.

He hummed, tilting his head slightly to one side. “Lie.”

“What?”

“Oh, did I forget to mention that I can tell when someone is lying?” He said, feigning innocence. It wasn’t a very convincing performance. He was far too amused.

“No, that detail hadn’t come up yet,” you said. “How?”

“Mostly your heartbeat. It changes when someone is lying.”

Suddenly, something you had observed at the office now made sense. Your job was more on the reception and secretarial side but sometimes you acted as their paralegal. When acting in that role, you had seen Foggy subtly nudge Matt who would give a little shake or nod of his head. You hadn’t know what to make of it at the time. Now you realized that Foggy was checking to see if their client or whoever else they were interviewing was telling the truth.

When you asked about your theory, Matt was quick to confirmed it. A moment later, the coffee finished brewing. You pulled down the two mugs, then doctored them to each of your coffee preferences.

“You seem to be taking this rather well,” he remarked, after taking a sip of his coffee.

You shrugged. “It’s not that surprising once I started thinking about it.”

“It’s not?”

“No.”

Matt chuckled. “What, you didn’t believe that I got that black eye tripping over a curb?”

“Not even a little bit.”

“Come on, I thought that one was very plausible.”

“Only for someone who doesn’t know you,” you said. “Or your friends pretending for the sake of your secret identity.”

He laughed. “Fair enough.”

You drank more of your coffee, enjoying the comfortable quiet. To avoid getting distracted by his half-naked body again, you kept your eyes on his face. Which probably wasn’t the best plan. Matt’s handsome face was a distraction in its own right. Especially when he wasn’t wearing his dark glasses. It wasn’t the first time you had seen him without them but the sight always pleased you. It meant Matt trusted you. Not with all of his secrets, obviously, but enough that he didn’t feel the need to hide himself.

Along with those lovely hazel eyes, there were further delights. The generous mouth, good cheekbones and that strong jaw dusted with facial hair. Heavily dusted today. He hadn’t shaved lately. So he had the very start of a beard. You had never seen Matt with a beard. You bet that he would look good with one . . .

“Penny for your thoughts?” Matt said, interrupting your attempts to imagine him with a beard.

“Nothing important,” you said. “Just noticed you hadn’t shave lately and was idly wondering if you were growing a beard.”

Matt made a thoughtful humming sound. “It is tempting this time of year but they get so itchy during the summer.”

“That sounds like the voice of experience,” you said.

“It is,” he said. “Wore one for a couple years during college. Shaved it off just after starting L1.”

“Any particular reason why?” you asked, making a mental note to ask Foggy if he had any pictures of bearded Matt. You needed to see them. For science. Or something.

“An especially muggy day in August when the air conditioners decided to stop working. And the girl I was seeing at the time liked me clean-shaven. Said my beard was too rough when I kissed her.”

A salacious grin spread across his face. “Among other activities.”

“Did she?” you said, trying and failing to sound nonchalant. Because your mind had immediately become consumed with imagining the delicious contrast between prickly beard on your thigh while his soft lips . . . warmth flooded your cheeks.

You saw Matt’s nostrils flare. Then the tip of his tongue slipped out to run across his lips. He made a soft moan that went straight to your cunt. It was impossible not to get worked up. Not with those images in your head. Not with that sound. You were equally unable to stop your breath from hitching as he stepped closer. And closer, stopping just shy of touching you.

“Can I kiss you?” he asked. His voice had always done things to you but that huskier timber really made you shudder. There was only one answer you could give.

“Yes.”

And he was kissing you. Gentle at first, a delicate press of the lips with your head cradled in his hands. But it didn’t remain that way for long. Not after all those months of pent-up desire. Now that you didn’t have to resist kissing him, you all but devoured his mouth.

Matt matched your eagerness, seemingly just hungry for your mouth as you were his. Even the need for air barely kept your lips apart. The entire world might as well have disappeared. You were aware of nothing else. Only that mouth kissing you and greedily swallowing every moan you made. Only those large, warm hands sliding down your body, skimming the sides of your breasts until coming to rest on your hips. Only his body against yours. The edge of the counter digging into your back barely even registered.

At least to you. Matt made some grumpy-sounding noise, then his hands were gripping your hips and lifting you up onto the counter. Your startled yelp turned into a moan when he slot himself between your legs. Any lingering doubts you had about him finding you physically attractive were dispelled at the feeling of his growing erection rubbing against your core. You couldn’t contain a second louder, stuttered moan. Even with too many clothes in the way, it felt incredible . . .

“If you want me to stop,” he rumbled, nuzzling your neck. “Tell me to stop. Tell me no.”

“Don’t stop,” you said, your voice dangerously close to begging. But you didn’t care. You had wanted this for so long. “Please don’t stop.”

“I won’t, sweetheart. Not unless you want me to.” he said, then one hand abandoned its place on your hip to tug lightly at your shirt. “May I?”

“Yes, yes,” you said, rising your arms to help Matt pull off your shirt. Despite the heater chugging away, your skin still immediately pebbled. Your nipples had already tightened into peaks. You kissed him again as your shirt was tossed . . . somewhere. You weren’t paying attention to your shirt. All of your attention was Matt and the hungry, almost feral look on his face.

Matt ran his hands over your body, exploring every inch of bare skin from the tips of your fingers to the waistband of your sweatpants. So soft, even softer than he had dreamed. Keeping his hands to himself the next time you were at work was going to take some serious self-discipline. He blazed a trail of kisses down your neck until he found a spot that had you shuddering.

There, he applied little nips and lathed at the skin until he was satisfied there would be a mark. One that by happy coincidence should peek out from behind the collar of your work blouses. Good. That should let any would-be suitors know that you were taken. It was selfish but he didn’t want share this delightfully soft skin with anyone.

Or how responsive you were. He greedily took in all your reactions. The dancing rhythm of your heart. The breathy moans as his mouth continued its downward journey. The gasps when he started lapping at one peaked nipple while squeezing the other breast in his hand. The way you cried out his name when he latched onto that nipple and sucked. The way you arched your back, begging for more. How your nails bit into his shoulder when he obliged, swirling his tongue around the hardened nipple. The whines when he removed his mouth from that breast . . . and how it turned into a wordless cry when he gave the other breast the same attention.

Best of all, the scent of your arousal soaking through your panties. All because of him. You smelled just as sweet as you had been this morning. Only this time he wasn’t a cat. Soon, he would be on his knees. Soon, his face would be buried in that wonderfully drenched pussy . . .

Soon . . .

You were burning. A fire that Matt had lit, then steadily built with his hands and mouth until you burned with need. An urgency that the man himself didn’t seem to feel. He moved at a speed that could be best described as languid.

“M-matt,” you whined.

“Yes?” he asked, lifting his head from your breast. Seeing his lust-darkened eyes and kiss-swollen lips made the growing ache in your cunt worse. “What does my sweet girl need?”

My sweet girl . . . . Your cunt clenched desperately around nothing. “Need you.”

“Gotta be more specific than that,” he said. “Tell me what you want.”

You were half naked on your kitchen counter and fully ready to have sex with this man and yet somehow that question still managed to fluster you. “Maattt.”

“I’m not a mind reader, sweetheart. You have to tell me what you want,” he said, sounding almost conversational. But his voice was too husky, his eyes too hungry, for that. The way his thumbs rubbed the skin just about the waistband of your sweatbands was another dead giveaway.

Your mouth opened, then closed.

“No need to be shy, sweet girl,” he continued, pausing to give another little nip to the top of your right breast. A spot that you hadn’t realized that so sensitive until he started lavishing it with attention. “No one but me will hear you.”

Biting your bottom lip, you considered that. He was right. It was just you and him. And you trusted him . . . Maybe you should start with something simple?

“My pants and underwear,” you said, managing to keep your voice steady. “I want them off.”

The smirk he flashed you was all kinds of wicked. “As you wish.”

His fingers hooked into the waistband of your pants and started tugging it down. Along with your panties. In a sharp contrast to his earlier leisurely pace, he quickly yanked down the clothes and tossed them aside. Like with your shirt, you found yourself too distracted to notice or care where your clothes went.

Matt gripped your knees and spread your legs wide. He then sank down to his knees, shifting forward until he was tantalizingly close to where you desperately wanted him. The sight once again had your cunt clenching around nothing. A deep rumble, almost like a growl, erupted from him. It matched the feral expression spreading across his face.

“Tell me what you need,” he demanded, his voice a growl full of gravel. You shuddered. You had never heard him speak like that. But it worked you up just as much as his courtroom voice. His hands tightened on your thighs. “My fingers?”

He lifted one hand away from your leg, then ran a single thick finger through your folds. You gasped when that finger brushed over your clit, then groaned with disappointment when that fleeting touch was all you got. Then felt your mouth go dry when he raised the finger to his mouth and licked off your slick. Especially when Matt let out a low moan, briefly closing his eyes in clear pleasure.

“Or my mouth,” Matt continued. You gasped when he leaned forward and gave the entire length of your cunt a single lick. You tried to lift your hips but Matt’s hands clamped down on your thighs and pinned you down to the counter.

“Matt!” you pleaded but the grip on your legs remained firm.

“Tell me,” He said, then blow a puff of air against your desperate cunt. He nuzzled your inner thigh, his rough stubble sending sparks down your spine. “What does this beautiful pussy want?”

“Maatt.”

“Tell me, sweet girl.” He kissed your inner thigh. Then another kiss. It rapidly became clear that your desperate cunt wasn’t going to get the attention it wanted unless you said the words.

“Matt!”

“Tell me.”

“Your mouth,” you begged. “Please, I need – fuck!”

Matt did another long, slow lick up your entire slit. After a teasing swipe across your clit, he turned his attention to your soaked entrance. There he lapped with soft, little licks which were obscenely loud. Like he was messily eating an ice cream cone. One that he clearly enjoyed, making a low noise that sounded remarkably like purring. The vibration contributed to making your own, much louder moans. Instinctively you tried to squirm but his hands kept you right where he wanted you. You could feel that familiar pressure start to build.

He pulled away. No! You started to protest but was cut off by Matt lifting your legs and throwing them over his shoulders. Then his mouth was back on you, his tongue circling your entrance before slipping inside you. Your hands scrambled for something to hold onto as his tongue fucked into you again and again

That something ended up being Matt’s hair. But he didn’t seem to mind, rewarding every tug on the hair twisted tightly in your fingers with a loud groan. Then his tongue slipped out of you, switching its attention to your clit. You cried out. He altered between teasing licks and stronger lapping as you chanted his name.

Matt wrapped his lips around your little bud and sucked. You almost screamed. Your legs began to tremble as you started hurling toward your peak. Then he thrust two thick fingers inside you. Your thighs squeezed his face between them. Close, you were so close . . . then his fingers curled. You fell over the edge calling out his name.

Your cunt clenched tightly around his fingers. Fingers that continued to work you through your orgasm. His mouth remained latched onto your clit, sending wave after wave of white-hot pleasure. Only you started to whimper from oversensitivity did he lift away from your clit. He withdrew his fingers, replacing them with his mouth. You let out warbling moan as he noisily lapped at your entrance.

By the time he pulled away, you were a limp puddle on your own kitchen counter. Despite your recent orgasm, your cunt clenched again. Because Matt looked thoroughly debauched. His hair mussed, eyes half-lidded, those pink lips swollen and glistening with your slick. While you watched, his tongue slide out and slowly licked it off.

Matt knew you were watching him. It was obvious from the way your heartbeat sped up. The hitch in your already heavy breathing. The fresh slick dripping out of your cunt, even more tempting now that he knew just how sweet you tasted. He settled for the slick clinging to his two fingers, putting them in his mouth and sucking them clean. Not as nearly as good as getting it directly from your cunt but the strangled groan you made watching him do it was its own reward.

Fingers now clean, he carefully lowered your legs from his shoulders and rose to his feet. Matt heard you shifting, pushing yourself back into an upright position. Then, your hands reached out and tugged his head down to kiss him. You moaned into his mouth at the taste of yourself.

But you didn’t stop there. Your hands leisurely made their way down his torso until you reached his boxers. Your fingers dipped under the waistband, then hesitated.

“May I?” you asked.

“Please,” he answered, eager to see what you would do.

Permission granted, you peeled his boxers down. His cock eagerly sprang free of its confines. As Matt finished pushing his boxers off, you felt a tinge of nerves. His cock hadn’t looked small during your brief glimpse earlier. But it had been flaccid then. Now that his cock was fully erect, you realized he was rather more . . . impressive than you had first thought. Or even imagined and Past You had been rather hopeful that he had a big dick . . .

“Sweetheart?”

The clear concern in Matt’s voice had your head snapping up. He was frowning at you, his brow furrowed with worry.

“You know you don’t have do anything, right?” he asked, his tone deadly serious. “If you want to stop right now, we will.”

“No,” you said, rapidly shaking your head. “I want to.”

He frowned, his head titling slightly to one side. Listening, you realized. Doing his human lie detector thing. “But?”

“I’m just a little nervous,” you said, tapping your fingers against your bare thigh.

“Why?” he asked.

You felt your cheeks warm. “It’s . . . um . . . you’re . . . ah . . . bigger. Than any . . . of my exes.”

“Is that so?” Matt looked distinctly smug. “I can be gentle. But if you’d like to wait –”

“No,” you interrupted. Because nerves wasn’t your only reaction to seeing his cock. Feeling suddenly bold, you reached over and wrapped your hand around his cock. And feel another tinge of nerves and anticipation at realizing that Matt wasn’t just long, he was thick. You started stroking him, slowly adjusting the firmness of your grip as you watched the reactions on his face. He moaned, his hands finding their way back to your hips.

You noted, with a certain amount of satisfaction, that he looked a lot less smug now.

Feeling more confident, you continued, “I don’t want to wait. I want this.” Your thumb swiped across the tip, smearing the weeping pre-cum. His hips jerked and out of his mouth came a beautiful groan that you immediately wanted him to make again. “Inside me.”

His hands tightened on your hips. That feral look was creeping back in. “I don’t – ah – have a condom.”

“Don’t want one,” you said. You knew it was a dumb thing to do. Reckless. But you were tired of all of the barriers that had been separating the two of you. The thought of another one just rubbed you the wrong way.

Your hand slide off of his cock. A faint whine escaped his throat. Tempting you to put your hand back. But it felt . . . coercive . . . to be giving him a handjob while asking him if he wanted a condom after you had just made it clear that you didn’t want one. Especially since you knew Matt had a people-pleasing streak.

“But I, um, have a box of condoms in my bedroom. If you’d rather wear one,” you offered, feeling renewed warmth in your cheeks. It had been an impulse purchase during one of those rare periods when you were both determined to tell him your feelings and confident it would go well . . . only to chicken out once you were actually in front of Matt.

“I don’t think many man would rather wear one,” he said. “As long as you were sure . . .”

“I am.”

“Okay,” he said. “When did you buy these condoms?”

There was a peculiar note in his voice. He sounded almost . . . jealous? But that couldn’t be right. Why would Matt be jealous?

“Last month,” you said. “Past Me, um, had a moment where she, ah, . . . was very confident that you’d agree to a date? And that sex might happen afterward?”

A smile spread across his face. “Past You would have been right. Past Matt would have agreed in a heartbeat.”

“What about Current Matt?” you asked, daring to hope.

“Current Matt agrees with Past Matt,” he said. “I would love to go on a date with you.”

Your heart gave a leap. “You would?!”

“Of course,” he said, utterly matter of fact. Like he was stating something obvious. The sky is blue. Grass is green. Matt Murdock wanted to go on a date with you. “I’ve wanted to ask you for a while.”

“Why didn’t you?” you asked.

“In part because you didn’t know about Daredevil,” he said. “Not telling a one-night stand is one thing. Not telling my girlfriend is something else.”

“Girlfriend?” you repeated.

“Yes,” he said. “If you would like to be.”

“I would like that,” you said, smiling.

“Good,” he said. Then he suddenly laughed.

“What’s so funny?”

“All the ways I pictured asking you to be my girlfriend,” Matt said. “Standing in your kitchen naked wasn’t one of them.”

“Me neither.” You giggled. “We’ve done this all topsy-turvy.”

“We have,” he agreed. “Normally, I’d take you to dinner before burying my face in your sweet cunt.”

The reminder sent fresh arousal pooling between your legs. Despite that toe-curling orgasm, that particular body part was eager for more. A desire that only increased when his pink tongue darted out to slowly lick his lips. Then he made another soft moan. The same soft moans he had made while eating you out . . . your heart raced as something finally clicked together in your mind.

“Can you taste, um, . . ?” you trailed off, feeling your cheeks burn. You couldn’t say it.

“How wet that pussy is for me?” Matt said, his eyes darkening. “Yes. Having my mouth on you is better but from the air, the aroma of it, is still . . . intoxicating.”

Part of you was embarrassed. Especially when you thought about this morning, that Matt hadn’t just heard you touching yourself. But another, larger part of you was powerfully turned on. There was something very hot about knowing that just the taste of you, the smell of you, was putting that hungry look on his face.

You squirmed. Then something else occurred to you. “Technically you have taken me to dinner many times.”

“Very true,” Matt said, then chuckled. “Foggy has been saying that we’ve been dating for months.”

“Karen said the same thing,” you said. “Maybe they are right?”

“Definitely,” Matt said. “And we’ve been idiots.”

“Total idiots,” you agreed, then pulled him down for another kiss.

You could still faintly taste yourself in his mouth. Before you knew it, your hands were buried in his hair. Matt used his grip on your hips to pull you over to the counter’s edge. He pressed himself against you. Despite the intervening conversation, he was still hard. Feeling himself grind his cock against your cunt had felt good before. But now? Without any clothes in the way? It stoked that banked fire inside you into an inferno.

You wanted . . . no, you needed him. You didn’t care that you were in your kitchen. You needed that cock filling your achingly empty cut. You needed him to fuck you stupid.

“Matty,” you whimpered, breaking away from the kiss. “Need you.”

“What do you need, sweet girl?” He rumbled against your throat. “What does your pretty pussy need?”

This time you didn’t hesitate. “Needs your cock. Needs you to fuck me.”

He growled. You expected him to line himself up, to start fucking you right then and there. Instead he shifted his grip to your thighs and lifted you off the counter. Startled, your hands abandoned his hair in favor of his shoulders to steady yourself as he carried you out of the kitchen. Given the small size of your apartment, it didn’t take to figure out where he was taking you.

Sure enough, soon he was lowering you down onto your bed. He kissed you deeply as his knees encouraged your legs wider. Not that you needed much encouragement. He grinded against you, coating his cock in your slick. Sparks raced down your spine every time the head nudged your clit. It was so good. It was not enough. Your cunt clenched desperately around nothing.

“Stop teasing me,” you begged. “Please . . . fuck me.”

Which was apparently all he needed to hear. Matt took himself in hand, lining himself up with your entrance. Then, finally, he was inside you. You gasped, nails digging into his back. It was just the tip of him but the stretch was noticeable. Despite the clear hunger on his face, he didn’t move. Stayed right where he was while your cunt fluttered around him until you were ready for more. Slowly, he pressed in deeper and deeper. Until his cock was fully sheathed inside you.

You felt so good. So deliciously full. No one had ever filled you like this. Then Matt started to move, gently rocking his hips into you. Pleasure washed over you with each back and forth movement of his cock so deep inside you. You couldn’t stop moaning. You could feel yourself climbing back toward that precipice.

“Taking me so well,” Matt said, then groaned when your cunt clenched around him at the praise. “Ready for more, sweetheart?”

Your answer was another stuttered moan.

“Words, sweet girl. I need words.”

“More,” you managed to moan out. “More. Mo-”

You were cut off by sharp snap of his hips. His first real thrust into you. You cried out wordlessly. Cries that only got louder as the thrusts got faster and deeper. Instinctively, your hips began to move. You thought he couldn’t get any deeper. You were wrong. As soon as you matched his rhythm, you felt him sink just a little further inside you.

“That’s it, sweetheart,” Matt grunted. “Just like that.”

Matt was always handsome. But there was something indescribably beautiful about how he looked now. The pull and flex of his muscles as he moved in and out of your body. Skin kissed with sweat. Hair, a fluffy chaotic mess. His face, for once, with no sign of worry or stress. Just pure pleasure. The grunts and moans spilling out of his mouth with each thrust only added to the beatific vision on top of you.

Your climax had been steadily building but now you were teetering on that edge. Just a little bit more . . .

Matt must have sensed it somehow because his next thrust was slower but impossibly deep and hard. You gasped, your back arching. He did it again. Your body began to shake, toes curling . . . Close, you were so close . . .!

“Matty,” you whimpered.

“Let it go, sweetheart,” Matt grunted. “Cum on my cock.”

Another impossibly deep thrust and you did.

Matt groaned as your cunt gripped his cock tightly as you cried out his name. He never stopped moving, drawing out your orgasm until you were a babbling, shaking mess underneath him.

Only then did he start chasing his release. He pumped into you hard and fast, his entire world narrowed down to you. The delightful pain of your nails raking up and down his back. Your heart pounding in his ears. The guttural noises you made as he fucked you. The obscene sound of skin slapping against skin, the wet squelch of your cunt as he moved in and out . . . you were so fucking wet. All for him. Because of him.

He wasn’t going to last much longer. Not with the way your cunt kept clamping down on his cock like a vice. Feeling his balls start to draw up, he tried to withdraw. He intended to release himself on your stomach. But you loudly protested, back arching and frantic hands grabbing his ass in a bid to him keep inside you.

“Don’t stop, don’t stop,” you begged. “Please, don’t stop.”

“Gonna cum,” he managed to grit out.

Your hands only gripped his ass tighter. “Cum inside me. Wanna feel it.”

Truth. “Sweetheart.”

“Matty, please.”

That did it. He couldn’t resist your begging. With one last hard thrust, he buried his cock deep inside you and came.

Breathing hard, it was tempting to collapse on top on you. But he couldn’t. He was too heavy. He carefully pulled out of you and collapsed next to you. Still catching his breath, he gathered you in his arms, pressing your back against his chest. Perfect. Matt liked a good cuddle afterward. Didn’t understand what some men had against it. Your soft, naked body against his, smelling like sex and his pheromones? Yes, please.

For a moment, Matt attributed your little restless movements as simply getting comfortable. But quickly he realized that wasn’t entirely it. He reached between your legs. Felt you jolt when his fingers found your clit. Then moaned as he started rubbing gentle circles. You were already very sensitive. It didn’t take long for you to reach your peak again.

Matt buried his nose in the back of your neck. In a little while, he’d need to get up and get a washcloth. Clean up the mess he had made between your legs. But not right now. Right now, he was just going to enjoy having you in his arms.

The storm broke that night, after dumping almost ten feet of snow on the Big Apple. The powers that be had crews out clearing the streets and restoring downed power lines bright and early the next morning but it took several days to get the city fully up and running again.

You and Matt weren’t trapped in your apartment the entire time. Just a couple days. Despite the fact that neither of you were used to living with anyone, it was . . . comfortable. You cooked together in your tiny kitchen without much trouble. He did his share of the housework without prompting or complaint. You discovered during the brief power outage that, in addition to being a lie detector, Matt was a human furnace. Also that he was cuddler.

Once his phone was charged enough, Matt called Foggy and let him know that he wasn’t dead. He made Matt put him on speaker-phone so he could tell you both ‘I told you so.’ A sentiment echoed by Marci and Karen. Among many, many others.

The sex continued to be mind-blowing. And frequent. Because you both were having a hard time keeping your hands to yourselves. A shower became Matt fingering you, then fucking you against the wall. Watching a movie turned you kneeling between his legs, taking his cock into your mouth. Blissful Puddle was a very good look on him.

By time Daredevil slipped out of your window on the third night, your cunt had been given quite the workout and you had lost track of your orgasms.

Life went back to normal. Well, as normal as dating a vigilante could be. You worked. Matt saved people, in and out of the courtroom. You and Matt still went on your outgoings together, only with a lot more hand-holding and kissing. And often followed by enthusiastic sex in either your places or his. Matt quickly fulfilled his promise to introduce you to his silk sheets. You were very happy.

Tonight as you headed up to Matt’s apartment, you were filled with curiosity. Matt told you that he had a surprise. Then you reached his door, he pulled his usual trick of opening the door just as you raised your hand to knock. Just to make you jump.

“Having fun, Trouble?” you asked, entering the apartment.

“I don’t know what you are talking about,” he denied. But his eyes were too filled with mirth to make his protests believable.

“Lie.”

His lips twitched. But you were distracted away from whatever smartass remark that was about to come out of his mouth by movement behind Matt. You looked and to your surprise, it was a cat. A little brown-and-gray tabby standing in front of the slightly ajar bedroom door, its tail curled into a question mark.

“When did you get a cat?”

“I didn’t,” Matt said. “You did.”

“Me?”

“Yeah, assuming you want her.” He smiled. “I promise this one wouldn’t turn into a vigilante.”

“Certain of that?” You asked. The question was only partially teasing. The recent events had only cemented your desire for another feline companion. But, as much as you were happy with how things had worked out, starting to get attached to a cat only to discover that you couldn’t keep it wasn’t fun.

“Very. According to my magic expert, she’s just a cat.”

You filed away ‘magic expert’ as something to pester him about later. “Where did you find her?”

“Dumpster,” Matt answered, his expression turning grim. “Inside a knotted pillowcase.”

You stared at him in horrified disbelief. Not at Matt’s story. You believed him. But at the sheer cruelty. You knew people could be cruel. You weren’t that naive. But it still shocked you.

“Someone actually did that?”

“They did.” His voice reflected the same anger, the same horror, you were feeling. “Not the first time I’ve found something like that. Wouldn’t be the last.”

He took a deep breath. Visibly reigned in his temper, saving it for the streets or the heavy bag. “Normally I take the animals to an all-night shelter but they’re full right now. They’d still find somewhere for her with one of their fosters or something . . . but I found this one by the same dumpster where you found me. So I thought, maybe it was a sign.”

You smiled. The cat redistribution system at work. And that was that. The cat was officially yours.

You named her Blizzard.

END NOTES

Gordian knot is a legendary knot that became a metaphor for an intractable problem solved by bold stroke. Or in this particular case, one which Matt and Foggy dearly wish they could solve with one bold stroke.

That red light/red lenses thing comes from Wikipedia so treat it with the appropriate level of skepticism.

In Nelson vs Murdock, Foggy had every right to be hurt and angry with Matt. But even if it was deserved, doesn’t make what he said less painful to Matt. Personally, I think Foggy had hit that point of angry-hurt where you just want the other person to feel as badly as you do. And since Foggy is Matt’s best friend, he knows exactly which words will hurt the most. Moreover, I think he was too upset that tonight to really absorb Matt’s explanation about his senses. Hence some of his caustic comments during Season 2.

I have no proof that this incarnation of Matt has ever worn a beard. But shh, we’re having fun here.

It is my understanding that New York City during August is not only hot but miserably humid.

[everythingelseisextra]

Stand Your Ground

Part Eleven: Work

Description: You are found. Warnings: Discussion and description of self harm scars, language, canon-typical violence Word Count: 2593 Tag List: @theshelbyslimited  @ttaechii  @weaponizedvirtue  @Majesticcmey  @Optimisticsandwichgladiator  @zablife  @princesssterek  @mm0thie  @callsignvenus @babayaga67 @globetrotter28 @shelbydelrey @look-at-the-soul

You’re not yourself. You’re floating above your body like a ghost, the sensations you could be experiencing numbed out by fear and necessity. You watch yourself waver and wonder if you’ll stay standing, or if the terror will be too much and you’ll fall to your knees. Your grip on Tommy’s arm loosens as he opens his mouth to speak. You shake your head, let go, and make a beeline towards the nearest exit. Each step you take reverberates through you, pounding through your skull, but still, you’re disconnected, unattached to yourself. Footsteps follow you, and you can’t tell who they belong to, so panic pushes you into a jog. A white horse prances out of the corner of your eye. Voices speak and you can’t understand them and it doesn’t matter anyway, all you need to do is get out, get away, save yourself. 

The footsteps following you speed up and your vision starts to blur, the edges darkening, specks of light shining through. You gasp for breath, trying to keep yourself moving while the ground beneath your feet sways. Shoulders caved in, arms wrapped around you, trying to keep yourself from falling entirely apart. 

Someone grabs your arm and yanks you to the side. You blink up to find hazel eyes, a face with skin pulled so tight and pale that it looks like a skull. You go limp in his grip, leaning back against the wall behind you, because it’s easier this way. At this point, it’s easier to just let it happen. You can’t feel his hand on your arm, can’t feel his breath on your face, can’t register that he’s moving closer, trying to get a good look at your face. 

“It is you.” His lips twitch up. “What a coincidence. Liszt will be thrilled.” 

You watch his hand tighten on your arm, watch his other one gently touch your hip, trying to draw you closer. You comply. Your eyes are trapped on the ground, you can’t move, can’t feel, can barely see. You need to fight, you know it, but you can’t, because you no longer belong to yourself, no longer live in your own body. For the next few minutes, or for however long it takes, you belong to him, and you’ll be numb, unfeeling, because that way, it won’t hurt. 

Fight. Comply. Fight. Comply. Opposite orders clash in your mind and you remain frozen. Your eyes slide closed and you’re asleep, dreaming while his hand travels down your side, pressing you to him.

My body is here and I am inside. 

My body is here and I am inside. 

My body is here and I am inside. 

Gunshot. Hot blood splatters. The man slumps onto you and you’re drenched in liquid carmine. You take in a sharp breath, and, suddenly, you’re crying, sobbing. His dead weight pushes you down to your knees and you shake violently, forced back into your body. Heaving breath shudders through your chest and you shove his body off of you, watch as it limply falls away. For a moment, all you have is the warm blood covering and the image of the side of his head blown open, skull shattered and brain matter leaking through. And you’re crying and pathetic, brought to your knees by nothing more than a light touch on your hip and a familiar face. 

And then you look up and find unaffected blue eyes staring down at you. You look away. You’re meant to be brave, to be a fighter, to take shit from no one and defend yourself with a ferocity that rivals the gangster you’ve found yourself side by side with. And he saw you freeze up, saw you allow it to happen, no sign of fighting back or self-preservation. What’s worse is that none of it matters. You can’t stay here. You can’t keep the horses, can’t settle down, can’t make a life here. Four months was all you got on the outskirts of Birmingham, and it’s over. They found you.

Tommy reaches out a hand for you, his voice quiet. “On your feet, soldier.”

You can’t. You can’t unwrap your arms from around yourself. You can’t move. Somewhere in history, someone stole the teeth out of your fight. 

“I said, on your feet.” He’s insistent. You look at his hand and try to convince yourself that it will not hurt you. Slowly, you reach up and take it, and he pulls you to your feet. 

Your white shirt and beige jodhpurs are patterned with blood, and your body trembles. You try to hold yourself still, try to pull yourself together, but your body keeps the score, and it’s so used to losing. 

“Now, we’re leaving him here. We’re going to Arrow and we’re cleaning you up.” He kicks the body out of the way and starts to walk, still holding your hand, bringing you stumbling after him. 

You open your mouth to speak but find your voice, once again, trapped in your throat. There’s a lifetime’s worth of words burnt inside of you, never to be spoken, never to heal. And you swallow hard and look away, another tear dripping slowly down your cheek. 

You’re waiting for the silence in you to break, afraid of what you might say when it does but more scared of how he might react when you tell him. Once you’re in the car, and the quiet washes over you, your shaking stops and the blood on your body cools. 

As he drives, his eyes stay on the road, his hands on the wheel. Your feet are on the seat, your knees up to your chest, and your eyes are wide open, scared. 

You’re traveling down a rich neighborhood when he breaks the silence. Your eyes quietly take in the grandeur you will never have. His voice is steady and soft, speaking to you like he would to a frightened horse. “You want to hide. Run off somewhere and forget all this shit again. You go off somewhere where no one knows who you are and you’re not living anymore. You’re waiting. Waiting to die.” 

Your lip quivers. You try to speak, try to force some words out, and find you can’t. So you shake your head, looking down at the floor. 

“There’s no outrunning this. You have to know that by now. Fifteen years you’ve been running.” His eyes move to you, a quick, soft glance, checking in. “Time to stand your ground and fight.” 

“I can’t.” Your voice croaks and you clear your throat, looking over at him to repeat yourself clearer. “I can’t.”

“Why not?” 

“I’m not a fighter. I’m not like you, I try to be brave and strong and then, when I’m in actual danger, I freeze up. I think I tried to fight when I was younger and they trained me to just give in, because it would be worse if I didn’t.” 

“Did you ever have someone to fight for you?” 

You pause, releasing a slow breath, trying to keep yourself calm while your heart clenches in your chest. “No.”

He nods, looking back at the road. “So it’s different.”

“What, you and I against them?” You squeeze your legs to your chest, looking over at him. “I know you’re capable, but I think even you can’t win this one.”

He’s quiet for a moment, then glances at you. “I have friends. Family.”

“And it’s not fair to ask them to fight for some girl.” You shake your head. “I have to go. I have to leave.”

“They’ll fight for you if I ask them to.” 

“I said no.” 

“You’re worth fighting for.”

“I’m telling you, I’m not.” You close your eyes. “I matter to one person, and that’s you. I don’t exist to anyone else.”

“Yes. You matter to me.” He pulls the car in front of a manor that you consider unnecessarily large and stops it, turning to look at you. “I don’t give a shit if the rest of the world doesn’t care; you matter to me. I protect my own.” 

You open your eyes to blink over at him. “You’re not gonna let up on this, are you?” 

“No.” He shakes his head

“I don’t want to start a war.” 

“You’re not. They did.” 

“I’m not a fighter, Tom, I can’t— I can’t just sit by and watch you do this for me.” 

“Don’t say that.” His jaw tightens and he looks over at you, an ember of anger in his eyes. “‘I’m not a fighter.’ What is it you told me? Every day that you wake up and face the same fight that you did the day before is a triumph. That’s what you do.” 

You chuckle humorlessly. “That’s a metaphor.” 

“Not for me.” His words grow hard. “Not for you.” 

You sigh. “Tom, I—”

“You’re staying.” He starts the car and pulls into the manor’s massive driveway, circling around a fountain.

“That’s my choice, actually.”

“No. Not this time. I will make you stay if you don’t choose to do so.”

“So I’m going from one warden to another?” Your voice matches his, firmness to it, some fight in your words. “You’re going to keep me prisoner if I decide I want to leave? Is that what you’re saying?”

He stops the car and turns it off, then turns to consider you. “I have reasons to want to keep you here.”

Your blood freezes over, your eyes widen. “What the fuck does that mean?”

He reaches out, tenderly cupping your cheek in his hand, drawing you towards him. You’re too shocked, too out of your element, to realize what’s about to happen until it’s happening. His lips on yours, soft but slightly chapped, gentle and chaste, almost shy. You tense up, and his thumb gently strokes your cheek, coaxing you into relaxation. It’s only a moment, and then he pulls away, but your cheeks are flushed and you’re breathless, slightly dizzy.

“Oh,” you say. 

He chuckles, a low, precious sound, and you immediately want to hear it again and again and again. Your mind swirls.

“Are we clear?” His voice is back to softness. 

“Crystal.” 

Arrow House boasts a kind of splendor you can only describe as ghostly. Each room settles into a kind of haunted organization, echoing each other in a maze-like standardization. The bedrooms stand with perfectly made beds and almost hospital-level cleanliness. There’s a lack of clutter that you personally find makes the home seem cold, untouchable, like it hovers elsewhere, not fully existing in our universe. Still, Tommy leads you to one of the spare bedrooms, and leaves you there to undress. You close the curtains to the window and sit in the semi-light, a bluish tint to the room as sunrays try to make their way through the blinds. The bedsheets are dark brown, matching the beige walls, and it feels stagnant, empty. You suddenly understand his constant need for work. 

You fold the bloody clothes and toss them on the tile floor in the bathroom, so they can be cleaned later. You’re mostly undressed, your shirt and jodhpurs off, when he knocks on the door. 

“You decent?” 

“No,” you answer, quiet enough so only he can hear. “But you can come in.”

There’s a pause before he opens the door and steps inside. His arms carry a folded pile of clean clothes belonging to Ada that you’ll be borrowing. His eyes flick over you and he closes the door behind him, stepping back to lean against it, as if trying to stay as far from you as possible.

“It’s okay,” you say. “I don’t mind you seeing.”

You’ve grown to have a certain carelessness with your body, at least in circumstances like these. So many people have seen you, have looked at your shape and judged it, that it no longer feels private to you. You have no shame in the way you appear, and you know, somewhere in the days you’ve spent with him, that he would never break the shape you take. 

He looks back at you, and you stand from where you sit on the bed, allowing him to see you. You’re a collection of scars and memories, blood and bone and thin, wiry muscle, and across your body, there are patterns. On your stomach there are deep scars from men who needed to hurt you to feel they were in control. On your back, shallow and faint marks tell where you were scratched by clients clutching at you. And, on your thighs, there are symmetrical, straight lined scars, almost pearlescent, some larger than others. 

He approaches you slowly, meeting your eyes before he reaches out to gently trace the scar tissue on your stomach. Your skin quivers beneath his touch, like a horse trying to shake a fly, but you face him unwaveringly. His fingers travel lightly down to your thighs, brushing against the raised, parallel scars. 

“Who did this to you?” He sounds almost in awe, respectful, but behind his words is an anger that you can feel in your chest. His touch sparks through you, warm and shivering faintly, a dialectic. 

“Oh, Tom,” You shake your head, a wavering smile on your lips. “I did.” 

You look away, swallowing hard, smile falling. You repeat yourself with a choked voice. “I did.”

He takes your chin in his hand and turns your head so you meet his eyes. “This is why. This is why you’re staying with me.”

“I can’t.” You lean into his touch. “You know I can’t.”

“Aren’t you tired of being alone?” He traces your lips, gentle. “Is it not worth staying so you have a family? Am I not worth staying for?”

You pull away from him. “That’s unfair and you know it.” 

“No,” he shakes his head. “No, not unfair. Honest. You promised me you’d linger.” 

You take in a sharp breath, sitting back down on the bed so you don’t have to hold your own weight, don’t have to hold your head up so high. “I don’t want to get you hurt.” 

“You underestimate the Peaky Blinders.” He kneels down in front of you, taking your hands in his and looking up at you, blue eyes a frozen ocean during a storm. “You underestimate me.”

“Maybe.” You bite your lip, curling your hands into fists inside of his. “Maybe I do.”

“Stay. Stay, and maybe— maybe I can have a do-over.” He rests his head against your bare knees. “Maybe I can have a second chance.” 

You look down at him, at this man literally on his knees for you, and your heart goes out to him. Something in you lets go of the fear, and you realize that he’s let you waltz right into his life, let you see parts of him he shows no one else. He saved your life and took you home and got you fresh clothes and you didn’t thank him, and he asked for nothing in return but your presence in his life. He asked for nothing but for you to stay. 

Some people are so desperate for softness that they forget that even the gentlest creatures still have teeth. But he promised he wouldn’t hurt you, and now, you realize you’re indebted to him. You owe him. He forced himself into your life and saw your loneliness and told you that you were enough for him, even if indirectly. 

And so, quietly, you answer him. “Okay. I won’t run away this time. I’ll let you show me how to live.”

[paddockbunny]

Don’t Blame Me - prologue

Summary : You had it bad. You had it so damn bad for a man that was not your boyfriend. And when you arrive in Brazil and find out all the drivers were staying in the same hotel…what happens when it’s suddenly all out there to you, on a plate? Rating : 18+ Pairing : Daniel Ricciardo x Reader Word Count : SNIPPET/ONE SHOT Trigger Warnings : 18+, NSFW, adult language, no warnings yet for this mini chapter. Images : curated from Pintrest Authors Note: This is inspired by a post from @extra-ricciardo 💖 there will be a full imagine on this and it will be expanded upon - I’ve just not had the strength to be able to write it yet because I’m focusing on some health stuff x

Daniel was one of those guys. The type that would get under your skin. The type to get stuck in your brain and consume it. Devour every single corner of your mind. He would infiltrate the deepest, darkest parts of your conscience and even reach down deep into your soul. He was the type of guy that you couldn’t help but let yourself indulge and run away with the possibilities of being with him no matter how hard you tried to control it. Daydreaming over what it would be like to spend a night with him - and wake up naked beside him the following morning. He was the type of guy not to realise how every single time he so much as glimpse in your direction your skin darkened with an impossible blush. A burning, intense heat would crawl upon your neck and your cheeks when those deep mocha eyes shot a sideways glance at you.

Daniel was one of those guys. But he wasn’t your guy.

You were taken. Already claimed by another. You didn’t know Daniel even existed until after you had already started dating someone whom he considered one of his closest friends - but the feeling deep in your soul ignited the moment you were introduced and you were sure that if only you had met him first you would have, well, swiftly set about making him yours. He just had this raw magnetism that made you feel like a moth to a flame. When you were near him he intoxicated you. And you were positive he felt the same. There were flashes of it. You could see it in his eyes. He would slow down so he could walk closer to you, came to check in on you and make sure you were catered too, and you would catch him staring - even while you were with your boyfriend.

But again, you continually had to remind yourself, he wasn’t yours.

You knew that most girls would kill to have been you. You were dating a champion. A world champion. One that loved you. Really, really, loved you. He had fallen first and hard - so hard in fact he almost gave himself a concussion. He was all in within one single month. He wooed you with dinner at fancy restaurants and sent so many flowers to your apartment that it began to resemble a florists. He worked hard at making you fall for him and before Daniel you figured this was it, it was end game for you. But even you knew the fantasies of Daniel fucking Ricciardo weren’t harmless. Sure, if you were just a fan and you had a normal boyfriend then ok, they would have been totally normal. But your boyfriend was Max Verstappen. So no, the fantasies were not just harmless. They were dangerous, risky, worrying even.

But it didn’t stop your brain from imagining Daniel naked, every single time you so much as heard his name.

And it didn’t stop you wishing that someday you those images inside your head would turn into reality…

Find Part 1 Here

[goosewriting]

Like a Lost Dalmatian

summary: after the accident at Alchemax, Jonathan Ohnn is nowhere to be found, until he finally finds his way home. but he’s not the same as he once was. 

relationship: The Spot x gn!reader

warnings: hurt & comfort, my try at describing what his skin feels like lmao

word count: 2.6k 

A/N: the very moment i saw spot in the movie trailer, i knew he’d be my fav. and finally i got around to writing something for him. i just want him to be happy 😩<3 

(english is not my first language. constructive criticism and grammar corrections are very appreciated!)

— — —

It’s been a week since the accident. What exactly happened, you still don’t know. You only know there were  sightings of several spider-people in the city after Spiderman died. Phenomena that you could only describe as “glitches” started spreading throughout the city, and Jonathan had told you to stay inside.

That was seven days ago. You haven’t heard from your boyfriend since.

It isn’t rare for him to have delayed responses to your texts, especially when there’s a time crunch at work. You’re still not sure what exactly they worked on at Alchemax, but whatever his role was, it was fairly important. And this time it clearly went very wrong, one of your biggest fears becoming a reality: the image of a scientist mixing liquids from different vials appears in your brain. The two substances swirl, mixing together, and the scientist almost gives in to thinking it was successful, but then it ends in an explosion. Except that it wasn’t just a random scientist coughing through the smoke his little experiment caused, while taking off the goggles that left a cartoony imprint on his face. No, this time it was the real world, and the whole Alchemax building exploded. The building where your boyfriend works.

With a shaky sigh, you scroll through your chat history for what feels like the hundredth time today; still no new messages from him. You’ve been calling nearby hospitals and the police station every morning and every evening, but you still refuse to lose hope.

But you don’t allow yourself to let the image of Jonathan buried under several tons of rubble into your brain. He’s smart. He's resourceful. And he’s careful. You know the last project at Alchemax was very important, and he talked passionately about it for weeks on end. If he saw danger approaching, he’d leave. He must have. He wouldn’t be stubborn enough to stay back to try and save some of his research with the building literally falling apart over him, right? … Right?

You shake your head to rid yourself of those thoughts. After giving your phone one last hopeful look that immediately turns sour, you groan in frustration, throwing the device onto the couch cushion next to you. Bringing up your knees to your chin, you hug your legs and look out the window of your flat. Your floor is pretty high up, so the setting sunlight dances over the skyline, bathing part of your floors and furniture in a warm golden hue. Your gaze follows some of the glistening particles in the air, resenting the sun for giving you such a view without being able to share it with Jonathan. He would have loved it, stretching out his hand and looking at the light shining through his fingers like a veil of gold, telling you some fun facts about photons or something. 

A sniffle escapes you, and your face contorts into a grimace, trying to hold back your tears. No, not yet, you tell yourself. If I give in, I'll be mourning. And if I do that, it means I’ve accepted he’s—

Your train of thought is interrupted by the sound of the entrance door clicking shut. Quickly wiping over your face with the back of your sleeve, you get up to your feet, looking around your living room for something to weaponise. However, the only things on your coffee table are the remains of the barely touched take-out you had for dinner. Grabbing the plastic fork, you hold it in front of you menacingly. 

“Who's there?” you demand, taking a careful step towards the hallway. You hear some shuffling and curses under someone’s breath.

“Don’t make me ask you again,” you say, louder this time. “You seriously chose the wrong place to rob today.”

Just as you turn the corner to the short hallway leading to the front door, you choke back a gasp, fork still in hand, albeit trembling slightly.

Even though it’s rather dark, as the sunlight from the windows doesn’t reach this far, you see there’s a person in front of you. Or at least you think it’s a person? Perhaps more of a person-shaped blob, that hurriedly puts on Jonathan's coat, scarf and beanie that were hanging on the rack next to the door.

“Hey, you take those off!” you start, about to approach the stranger.

“Wait!” he says, and you stop abruptly, the fork falling from your hand as you recognise his voice. “Please don’t freak out, a-and don’t come closer. Please.”

You stand frozen in place for a moment, your brain reeling. The wave of relief and happiness from knowing Jonathan's alive clashes with another, much bigger one: the clear feeling that something isn’t right. It feels very close to dread. 

“Okay,” you speak much more gently now. As you take a deep breath, you inspect him further: the coat reaches to his knees, but he doesn’t seem to be wearing trousers underneath, nor shoes. His face is covered by the hat and scarf that he wrapped around his whole head several times. His legs, his hands, and every other visible part of him is of a strange chalk-like white colour with some darker parts, but the lack of proper light might be playing a trick on you. So without hesitating, you take the steps needed to reach the light switch, and Jonathan shrinks in on himself with a slight shriek when the hallway lights up, trying to cover himself even more.

“Don’t look at me, not yet!” he essentially pleads, turning his back to you. “There's some explaining to do before you see me.”

“You’re damn right you have to explain yourself,” you retort, perhaps a little harsher than intended. “I thought you were dead, Jonathan. Where were you?!”

“There… there was an accident,” the man before you starts explaining, and you cross your arms over your chest defensively. 

“Yeah, no kidding,” you mutter. You can see that he’s fidgeting with the hem of the scarf, and you let your arms fall to your sides again with a sigh.

“Did you get hurt? Do you have, like, a huge scar? Singed your eyebrows off?” you try to sound reassuring, but his whole demeanour is just… odd. “Whatever it is, Jonathan, I'm sure it’s fine. Let me see. Please?”

As you talk, you shorten the distance and reach him, gently placing your hand on his arm. It breaks your heart a little that he flinches at that. It's clear he wants to shake you off, but he lets you turn him around to face you, and you start by taking off the heavy coat, letting it fall to the floor as it slides off of him.

You’re taken aback at the sight, as where you expected there to be a human body in the shape of your boyfriend, there now was a rather comically proportioned one, sans clothes, completely white with dark spots all over.

“Is that a new onesie?” you try to joke, but your voice betrays you. Jonathan doesn’t react. Instead, his large hands shoot up to grab your wrists as you’re about to untangle the scarf.

“Please don’t freak out,” is all he says, and you pull the rest of the garments off of him. You take a step back away from him and bring your hands up to cover your mouth when you see him. 

“Where’s your face?!” you ask with a mix of confusion, fear, and even some strange fascination at the sight before you. Jonathan goes on to tell you about the reactor at Alchemax, how they were trying to cross the bridge to a different dimension, and instead ended up bringing spider-people to this universe. He doesn’t hide the resentment in his voice when he talks about how in the end, the new Spiderman with the black suit blew it all up while he was still there. While he talks, you keep walking around him, looking at this new body of his, poking him here and there. 

Once he’s done explaining, you look at the big, oval black spot on his face for a long moment, then quickly pinch his belly.

“Ow! Stop- stop that!" Jonathan says, taking both of your hands in his to stop you from trying to poke and tickle him, and you chuckle. 

Wait, why are you laughing? This situation is… insane, honestly. He's clearly aggravated. As you should be too, you reprimand yourself. Why are you reacting like this? Lifting your gaze again to where his eyes would be, you erupt into a big smile as you can feel the tears coming, definitely of relief this time. 

“Are you… are you not mad?” Jonathan asks, carefully. You take one more moment to marvel at how he’s speaking when he has no mouth. 

“I mean… yes? No?” you shrug and shake your head in disbelief, holding onto his hand to guide him to the living room. “Sure, I'm mad because you wouldn’t answer my calls. But no, how could I be mad when you were probably… adjusting to—“ With your free hand, you gesture at him. “All of this.”

“Right, my phone,” Jonathan remembers, turning his face away from you for a moment, as if thinking back to something. “It must have… exploded. Like the rest of, well, everything.” 

You let go of his hand to cup his face and turn him to look at you. Well, at least you hope that’s what you’re doing.

“The only thing that matters, Jonathan, is that you’re alive,” you say, and you mean it. “And you’re back home. With me.”

His shoulders slump slightly at your words, and the spot on his face twirls to the side ever so slightly. It would take some time to learn how to read his new face, but you’re sure you’ll get there. 

“So you’re not… disgusted? You won’t tell me to pack my stuff and leave?” he asks in an impossibly small voice and you can feel your very soul shattering into a million pieces. 

“Is that why you took so long to come back?” you retort instead, grazing over the sides of his face with your thumbs. He nods. “Oh, Jonathan… If that isn’t proof that you’re still you in there, then I don’t know what is. And that's the very reason why I do, in fact, not care what you look like.”

You sit down on the couch, and when he follows, you pull his face closer to place a kiss on the white part at the side.

“I’ve always loved you, and always will. Still do,” you assure him, giving his other cheek a kiss as well, for good measure. Then you smile to yourself, unable to bite your tongue. “Of course I won't tell you to leave. Even when you do look like a lost Dalmatian.”

“Ah, there it is, okay,” he chuckles, and his whole body language changes, sitting a little more upright. He places his hands over yours, and even though there are no eyes, you can still feel his tender gaze on you. 

“I love you too,” he whispers in a shaky voice. “And right now I wish I still had lips,” he adds with a sigh. You chuckle.

“We’ll figure it out,” you assure him with a smile. Your hands fall from his face to his shoulders, and once again you find yourself exploring his white exterior, running your hands up and down on his arms, bringing your face closer to the spots to inspect them further.

“So, how does it feel?” you ask suddenly, brushing over his arm with your fingertips. He leans back, thinking it over.

“It’s… strange, for sure,” he starts, trying to put it into words. “I feel lighter, for some reason. Like my insides are made of paper or something. But I don’t think I’m that fragile.”

You hum in response, bringing your eyes up to the spot on his face.

“How can you see, though?” you wonder. “Or talk? Can you smell? Taste?”

“It’s hard to explain,” Jonathan says, tilting his head to the side. “My whole perception changed. It’s more like I can sense what is in front of me. Does that make sense?”

“Like echolocation?” you propose.

“Not really, I’m not producing any high-frequency sounds myself, so…” He straightens up again. “As for the rest of your question: I can still eat and taste and smell, which I’m very relieved about.”

“I bet!” you chuckle, and take one of his hands into both of yours, admiring the blue lines that seem to both wrap around and go through him all at once.

“How does it feel to you?” he asks after a moment. Your head whips back up to look at him. For a second you’re confused as to what he means, then you look back down at his hand.

“Oh, uhm,” you crease your brows in concentration, focusing on how Jonathan feels against your skin. “Well, at first it’s cool to the touch. But if you linger, there’s a warmth that irradiates from you. It’s also smooth, but there’s still some texture to it. Not like fabric, but not quite like paper either.”

Jonathan just nods, seeing that you’re still trying to come up with a better comparison.

“Oh! I know,” you finally say. “It’s like a dumpling. A big, pudgy dumpling. But dry, thankfully.”

“Pudgy?” he asks in mock offence, removing his hand from yours. 

“Well, yeah, you’re squishy!” you retort with a laugh, poking his side to make your point. 

Except that you didn’t poke anything, because instead of touching the white part, you look down at where your hand disappears into a black spot all the way to your wrist. You immediately pull back your hand, checking to see if all your fingers are still there. A sigh of relief leaves you as you see your limb is intact.

“Oh, yeah, be careful with those,” Jonathan warns, carefully plucking a spot from his arm with his index finger and thumb, then releasing it mid-air, where it levitates. He wriggles his fingers like a magician building suspense before pulling a rabbit out of his hat. “Check this out.” And with that, his hand is gone in the void. After a couple of seconds, he retracts his arm. The spot disappears and he places what he’s holding in your own hands. It’s the plastic fork you left in the hallway.

Your eyebrows are so high up in surprise, your forehead is all scrunched up. Your eyes go from the fork to his face, then back to the fork. 

“Your spots are… portals?” you ask in complete disbelief, your mind already coming up with a multitude of uses and things you want to try. But that will have to wait until tomorrow, because now that you have Jonathan back in (relatively) one piece, you can feel the sleep deprivation of the last couple of days catching up to you all at once. 

Standing up with effort, as your whole body feels impossibly heavy all of a sudden, you stretch out your hand to your boyfriend. 

“It’s late, let’s go to bed,” you say as he takes your hand. “Tomorrow we can start with the experiments.”

“E-Experiments?” he repeats in surprise.

“Well, duh,” you reply as if it was obvious. “We have to see how far your new powers can reach.”

“Right,” he says with a chuckle. This is such a you thing to propose given the whole situation. 

Despite not feeling his body like he once did, Jonathan is glad that at least the familiar warmth is still spreading within him when he looks at you.

~~~~~

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[sphylor]

I very nicely ask for some more written on the forcedmasc sensitive little dick stuff. (Only if you want to ofc <3)

Idk man that's just- gahhh phantom having the most sensitive little tdick that just needs attention but is so sensitive, and just imaging Dews hot tongue slowly eating him out-

cw: forcemasc, dubcon, edging, bruising and biting. pussy cunt clit cock dick all used for Phantom's anatomy <3 (also i know i didnt write the eating out part but just imagine that i did bfhdhhf)

"you're seriously telling me no ones ever sucked your dick before?" Dew lifted his head to meet Phantom's eyes, which they rolled in response.

"i keep telling you. i dont have a dick... its just a-"

"-i dont know how anyone could've resisted themselves," Dew interrupted, not letting the quint finish what they were saying. "Its just so cute. practically begging to be blowed." he looked down at the little nub again and circled it with the tip of his claw. Phantom hissed and Dew smiled. "if you dont think its a dick then i guess I'll just have to show you that it is." he dipped down and the quint ghoul yelped at the sudden heat on his little cock.

They tried to pull away but Dew gripped their thigh so tight they knew it would bruise. something about the idea of that excited Phantom and so the struggled more, making Dew grip tighter and tighter until the fire ghoul pulled away to bite at the soft skin on the inside of their thigh.

"Keep still or you'll get nothing at all." Dew hissed but Phantom knew it was an empty threat. even so, they settled back into position and let Dew suckle on their clit.

Phantom knew now how hot the fire ghoul's mouth would feel around them but they still got a shock when it happened again. it was like being enveloped by the sun. Dew brushed the tips of his forked tongue over the sensitive nub every now and then, making Phantom mewl and whimper as the quint ghoul quickly began to fall apart. they were so sensitive these days that it didnt take long before they were a drooling, desperate mess.

and then Dew started bobbing on the short length. every single braincell dripped straight of their leaking cunt. there wasnt much to work with but Dew sure put on a show, hollowing his cheeks and moaning around their cock. the vibrations from the moaning almost sent them straight over the edge and just as they were about to cum Dew pulled off and sat back.

"w-wait, no! where are you going?"

"its okay, bug, im not going anywhere." Dew grinned, his chin covered with Phantom's slick. "i just this this hole of yours deserves attention too, especially seeing as it keeps winking up at me." Dew glamoured away his claws and ran the pad of his index finger around the opening of Phantom's cunt, which desperately clenched around nothing, seeking to be filled.

"oh satanas, fuck, Dew please eat out my pussy, oh fuck." Phantom begged as their hips began to rut up into the air.

the fire ghoul pulled his finger away. "i want to hear you ask for it properly."

"But- Dewwwww.-" Phantom whined and hid their flushed face in the crook of their elbow.

"fine then." Dew moved to stand and leave.

"pleeease eat out my hole..." Phantom whispered, shame coursing through whatever of their brain was left in that moment. but it disappeared when he saw Dew smile.

"now there's a good boy." Dew cooed down at them before dipping down once again to lap at the slick dripping from Phantom's cunt.