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heavenbarnes · 1 year ago

Text

I wanna make it (so badly)

Art Donaldson x Fem Reader

Warnings/Contains: reader is AFAB with she/her pronouns, swearing, inappropriate employer/employee relationship, dry-humping, a lot of heavy petting, implied age gap, effective-infidelity (reader tested, tashi approved), oral sex (f!receiving), art is a bit of a pervert and mega-pathetic (endearing), references to religion (worship).

Word Count: 5.8k

i white knuckled the steering wheel on the way home from this film thinking about art donaldson- this is, essentially, an ode to that

Youth tennis lessons, $20/h, call for details

Finding work was hard, keeping work was harder.

Cleaning, baby-sitting, pet-sitting, pet-walking. There was virtually nothing you hadn't tried.

Odd jobs, odd hours, and the occasional odd employer.

You'd played tennis for the last couple years of college. Nothing remotely competitive but you and your friends had looked cute in the skirts and they'd give you whole hours out of class to play.

You were above average with a good arm and better patience.

Another odd job to add to your growing list.

You'd been particular about where you'd posted the ads, the neighbourhoods you'd chosen. Only the ones with manicured lawns and white picket fences.

Tacking the paper to boards in upmarket cafes, fancy supermarkets, ladies-only gyms.

The kind of people that want their kids playing tennis and could find their way to increase your pay- if you did well.

You always did very well.

So your little car looked a little out of place in this neighbourhood, fingers holding the scribbled post-it note with the address. Your scrawling handwriting detailing the "Donaldson's" were enquiring within.

Pulling up outside the house, you had a quiet inkling that you might've been out of your depth. Whoever owned this house deserved more than an above-average-ex-college-student that only learnt the sport to spend time with friends.

But they'd requested you, you'd have to let them come to that conclusion on your own.

Your knuckles only hit the door once before it was being swung open by someone that looked destined to be a security guard, like he'd come out the womb with his future decided.

What the fuck had you gotten yourself into?

He'd left you in the "formal lounge" to sit smack-bang in the centre of a couch that wouldn't even fit in the lobby of your apartment building- let alone the apartment itself.

As you admired a painting on the wall that you'd only ever seen in books, high heels on the stone floors made you jump in your seat.

The most beautiful woman you might ever see in your life appeared before you and said your name in a way that had you standing from your seat.

Your face faltered just enough that you hoped she didn't notice. There was something about her that told you she noticed everything.

Fuck me, that's Tashi Duncan.

If you know a thing about tennis (or even just watched the news) you know exactly who this woman is. You remember her more from your childhood but you remember her all the same.

The woman that once held the world by the balls.

She apologised for her husband's absence, that he was busy. It wasn't lost on you that the "husband" she casually referred to was Art Donaldson, US Open champion.

The Donaldson's.

Ah fuck.

Tashi went on the explain that they were wanting to begin lessons for their daughter Lily. You assumed this was the one you could hear running circles around the informal lounge.

"With all due respect, am I not the least qualified person in this home for that?"

You watched a perfectly formed cheekbone lift in what was nearly a smile. Strangely enough, something in the pit of your chest was dying to make her do that again.

There was something about her that demanded to be impressed.

You were no exception to the rule.

"My husband and I have seen some of your matches, we liked what we saw."

How? Your 'matches'- if you can even call them that, were nothing of note. You don't even think faculty bothered to watch them. You weren't quite sure why they'd even recorded them.

A silly part of you began to wonder how they'd even got a hold of them- until you remembered who they were.

The Hermes and Peitho of tennis.

"You did? I always thought of myself as more of a casual player."

"And that's what we liked, we know better than anyone how brutal tennis can become. We want someone to help Lily enjoy the game."

Oh, okay then.

You'd made a quasi-college-career out of purely enjoying the game. You were sure you could foster the same spirit for the six-year-old performing the entire 'Encanto' soundtrack in the other room.

Tashi laid down a tight schedule, Monday to Friday, 3pm to 6pm. You would teach Lily the wonders of the game on the court behind their home.

Their home you'd come to find out was a luxury rental when you'd complemented Tashi on another of the art pieces that'd apparently come with the place.

You'd also come to find out they typically live in hotel rooms, but they'd settled in this area for the time being as Art had a good thing going with a regular playing schedule and a sporting-goods deal.

You nodded along like you could begin to understand a life like that.

As she showed you back to your car (the one you suddenly felt humiliated for her to see you own), she called your name one last time from the doorway.

"You undersell yourself, we'll give you eighty an hour."

She left you choking on your tongue with one foot in the car and the other on an Italian cobblestone.

You were never going to walk or sit another dog again.

Lily was going to win her first Grand Slam by ten if that's what they'd pay you.

As your peeled your car from their turn-around area, you watched a Jeep Wrangler slow as it passed you. You couldn't see through the tint but you just knew it was him.

And you knew he was watching you.

The minute you'd told your roommate the situation you'd come into, she'd called bullshit.

A few texts from Tashi's now saved icon and a weird little photo you'd taken from inside the guest bathroom, it'd been enough to convince her.

"Fucking hell, are you God's favourite or something?"

You'd argue you were quite the opposite, she of all people should know. She'd seen some of the states you'd come home in after your other random jobs.

Felt good to be the winner.

Even just once.

In the air of some girlish fascination, she brought up a Youtube video of "Tashi Duncan Career Highlights" courtesy of "tennisguy779."

You'd protested it, rolling your eyes while feigning disinterest. No use, the minute you caught her out the corner of your eye- you were captivated.

It was entirely possible to imagine she hovered above the court, like there was a greater force placing her exactly where she needed to be, exactly when she needed.

It was even easier to believe she was just that good.

As you watched her play, listened to the sounds the game could draw from her- you wondered if this was how she and Art had felt.

Had they curled up in their informal lounge like you were right now? Had Tashi studied your every move meticulously like you assume? Had Art passed comment on your form? Did he think you were any good?

Tennisguy779's lineup changed quickly to "Art Donaldson Career Highlights" and you felt your chest constrict. An inexplicable feeling washed over you.

Like you'd been caught with God's forbidden fruit.

Your roommate had tried to question why you'd effectively flown off the couch, only to be met with a muttered 'goodnight' as you shut the bedroom door behind you.

Thin walls meant you drifted off to sleep that night with the rhythmic sounds of Art, grunting his way through an ATP Challenger.

It was no surprise you dreamt of him.

The Donaldson's tennis court was down a steep set of stairs, set back into an oasis of lush greenery.

Perfect for a 6-year-old's first lessons.

You didn't know if it was the grand balcony that overlooked the court or the fact a well-manicured Tashi stood atop it, but you felt positively observed.

Lily was in the midst of showing you how she could do a cartwheel (she couldn't) when the voice in the back of your head started echoing a promise of $80/h.

"Alright, lets channel some of that into your elbow."

Give a six-year-old a racquet half the size of her and she's going to blow effective chunks, but at least she has the spirit. Maybe it's her energy, maybe it has been a while since you've been on the court-

The kid's running you ragged.

Coupled with her height, you're spending more time bent over than you are up straight and it's all going to your head. All you can hope is Tashi isn't up there watching you stumble after the ball.

But you're sure there are eyes on your back.

Lily is a quick learner and you work out a tradeoff of one tennis skill for one spinning heel kick (mandatory that you watch).

Roll on 6pm and she's dog-tired, however, she's managed to hit the ball at least twice. Surely that's earned your keep. She lays star-fished on the turf and murmurs something about a piggyback.

You know you're about to earn your keep.

By the top of the staircase, you're more than happy to hand over a Lily-shaped-sack-of-potatoes to Tashi's mother. As you emerge from behind an ornate gargoyle, your suspicions proved correct.

Art Donaldson had been watching your every move.

Left alone on the balcony with him, you're acutely aware of the fact he's standing between you and your exit, and he's just had a full show of you bent over and flitting about his tennis court.

That and you still haven't said so much as 'hello' to the man.

You dwell on it for a moment and then there's that feeling back in the pit of your stomach, like any minute you'll be caught with fruit in hand- in throat.

The Original Sin.

Luckily, Art made the decision for you, crossing the space to shake your hand. If he noticed the way your hand trembled, he didn't seem to mind.

"It's nice to finally meet you."

You wished you had more to say to him, or maybe something more intelligent. Something better than a quiet "and you."

He was the better conversationalist, thankfully. Head motioning to the court, he looked down his nose at you when he spoke.

It should've felt condescending. It didn't.

"How did she go out there?"

"Yeah, really good- not a Disney character I can't name now."

He laughed.

Really laughed, like the joke was better than it was.

Like there was a preening little flutter inside you that said "do it again!"

You shrugged your shoulders like making him happy came naturally as you squinted up at him, as if he was the sun.

"You were watching? You must've seen her picking it up?"

Because he was the expert. Because he is the champion.

He hummed as he nodded, eyes skywards like there might've been something more important behind the clouds.

"Must've been distracted."

Within an instant- his eyes flickered to your own and you were sure he watched them change. He must've seen something he liked, the corner of his lip quirked up before he spoke again.

"Come on, I'll sort your payment and then we'll let you get home."

And for whatever reason, his hand fit perfectly in the small of your back as he lead you inside.

And how quickly did you become a strange piece of furniture in the Donaldson's home- in their life?

An ottoman for Tashi to rest her tired feet on.

An abstract piece on the wall for Art to admire when he passes it.

A projection of constellations across the ceiling to keep Lily bright behind the eyes.

At least you belonged- there was no doubt that this was where you belonged.

That wasn't to say your tennis skill had improved any, lesson after lesson you still couldn't wrap your head around why they'd even signed you on, let alone kept you.

"Ok, don't watch that one either- maybe just do what I say and not what I do."

You hadn't nailed a single one, at this point you couldn't blame Lily for skipping around pretending her racquet was a horse.

Wasn't like she'd be learning anything if she was paying attention.

"Ok, here we go just- ok right, when your parents ask how today went, please be kind."

"Your elbow is too low."

It was a miracle you didn't scream.

Art entered the court with a swagger that you could only assume struck fear when he was your opponent.

Right now it struck pure embarrassment and Lily wasn't helping.

"Daddy, she didn't hit a single one!"

"Alright, I don't think daddy needs to know that-"

"Daddy knows, daddy's been watching."

Daddy really needs to stop calling himself that.

Lily and her racquet took off for another tour of The Grand National as Art approached you with quiet determination.

It was like waiting for impact, his eyes never wavered off his daughter as he made towards you. At the last moment, he snapped his attention in your direction- with a smile that should've felt condescending.

It wasn't.

"If your elbow is too low you lose topspin and power."

If you deserved the $80/h you were earning, you might've known that.

As Art stepped up to you, the turn of the planets on their axis slowed down and it could've been entirely possible to believe it was only you two.

And Lily upon her trusty steed.

The gallops of her tennis shoes thinned out as Art placed one hand around your elbow, lifting it higher. His other hand held your waist as he pulled your back flush to his chest.

"Lily, go find grandma."

Then it really was just you two.

Your heart hammered against the shell of your ribcage, blood rushing around your ears as you felt Art's chin perch at your shoulder.

"If your elbow is high enough," His hand lifted it up and you let it stay there. "And your hip is turned."

He didn't have to say it with the gravel in his voice, but he did. He didn't have to hold your hips as he moved them, but he did. He didn't have to stay without so much of an inch between the two of you, but he did.

With one hand in the curve of your waist, he tossed the ball into the air with the other- then he whistled.

Like the obedient thing you didn't know you were, you raised the racquet and sent the ball flying through the air without even blinking.

As the streak of green hit the court and rolled away, you found yourself lying in wait, as if you were waiting for something- your next command?

"Good girl."

There it was.

Under the all consuming effect that Art Donaldson just seemed to have on people, you'd entirely forgotten you were in a position you could be 'caught' in. By his all consuming wife, of all people.

So, you should've moved.

Quite honestly you should've straightened up and cleared your throat and thanked him and told him it was time for you to go home.

You should've moved.

But Art wasn't moving. If anything he was staying purposefully still at your backside.

Obedient thing you seem to be.

"Show me that again?"

So,

You teach Lily the bare basics of tennis for three hours and receive $80 on the hour.

Then Art spends three hours of his spare time teaching you to perfect your swing- in a way that couldn't ever vaguely resemble professional.

A simple transactional arrangement.

Your tennis improves on a slow but sure basis and he gets the most off-court action he's seen since college.

Even if it is just heavy petting on astro-turf.

A hand under the hem of a tennis skirt. A pressing hip against your own. A deep breath as your hair brushes past him.

You figure Art will take what he can get.

And it's never enough to raise alarm. Sure, there's that fluttering in your chest that warns you might get 'caught' but you're never quite sure what one might 'catch' if they found you out.

It's undoubted who that 'one' is though.

The one who holds the cards- holds the throat, maybe.

Tashi, who's presence precedes her perhaps more than her reputation. Even when she isn't there, she's there.

So, when Art's hand lingers too long on the outside of your thigh and you think you can feel it verging into the territory that'll change everything- it's Tashi on your mind.

You're beginning to think your conscience sounds a lot like Tashi.

Who are you if not obedient to the Donaldson's?

Chasing Lily around a court.

Adhering to Tashi's every request.

Being Art's fantasy.

Being Art's.

Most of the time, anyway. Three hours a week.

Something to keep him bright behind the eyes, maybe. Something to keep him happy. Something to keep him-

Winning?

He tells you he plays better with you around. The way he says it makes you giggle, a girlish little noise that sort of just slips out. He serves the ball with his eyes on you and, sure enough, it lands smack where he wanted it too.

Everything where he wants it. When he wants it.

Shy and inconsequential touches and glances shared just between you.

Until, well- until they weren't.

"Would you like a coffee?"

Tashi's mother had taken Lily off to bed, leaving you and Art separated by an island. Kitchen island.

He braced both palms against it as he watched you watch the door, wondering if you should cut and run, wondering if someone else might come through it.

Talking yourself out of it. Whatever it might be.

"Yes please."

Even he looked surprised, brows raising an inch as he turned to the Nespresso machine. You took the moment to watch his back, the muscles moving under the cool-dry fabric of his shirt.

You spent all your time pretending not to notice him that actually allowing yourself the chance to study him made you lightheaded.

Had he always looked this captivating?

He broke your focus with a coffee cup, sliding it towards you as he rounded the bench. His eyes didn't even waver off you as he took a sip of his own.

It wasn't lost on you that he managed to tongue foam off the tip of his nose.

This was the longest you'd stuck around after a tennis lesson, longest you'd allowed yourself to be in his presence. You weren't quite sure how big this thing could get.

Your mouth was opening before your brain had decided it was a good idea.

"Mr. Donaldson-"

"Art."

"Uh, Art- I really appreciate the help you've been giving me- uh, you know- with tennis."

He placed his coffee mug down, nodding as he did it. "My pleasure."

Naturally.

That brain of yours was still firing off at a mile a minute. There was a very tiny voice right at the back that said it was up to you how this night would end- you had a choice to make.

Placing your coffee mug beside his, you scanned his face to find him already looking at you. Perhaps the choice was already set.

Maybe it was fate.

All he said was your name, it could've been the way he said it- but your whole body was losing the rigidity it'd formed when he first asked you to stay longer. When he'd made the choice.

Crossing the small gap between you two, Art was careful to keep one hand on the kitchen bench as the other hovered beside you. Not touching you,

Yet.

One step closer and the tip of Art's nose was touching yours. You think you might've been able to smell the coffee off his breath.

It thinned out- leaving you with his sweat. Musk. Art.

A sudden surge of morals overcame you, your voice broke out as a gasp.

"What about Mrs. Donaldson?"

"Actually, it's still Duncan."

You screamed.

Right in his face.

Tashi's voice made you jump out of your skin.

However, Art didn't move. As you turned your head to gauge the way his wife stalked across the kitchen, you felt his nose brush against your cheek.

Tashi retrieved a tall bottle of Pellegrino from the fridge, taking a poignant sip as her eyes flitted between the two of you.

What a fucking sight.

Her husband, eyes shut and face pressed pathetically to their daughter's tennis instructor- his hands itching to close around your waist.

You, young and bleary eyed looking utterly caught. Staring up at her like she might decide your fate.

It took all your strength to find your words.

"I’m not here to teach tennis, am I?”

“No, of course not. You’re frankly terrible at tennis.”

There's the Tashi you were expecting.

Her words should've stung, but they didn't. They couldn't, not when her husband was laying his hands against your back and rubbing soothing circles down the length of your spine.

Not when his lips were mouthing wet kisses along your cheek.

Not when she was right. Spade's a spade.

"Why am I here?"

She snorted, a real dissatisfactory sound- like she hoped you were smarter than that. She was halfway to her bedroom before she cut you loose.

"Careful, he makes that sound before he cums."

And he had, just like she'd said.

Art had cum in his shorts, pressed up against your thigh with his face still smushed against your own.

And you'd taken it, obedience in spades.

You'd stood there and let him hump your leg like a bad dog and you'd even pat his head and whispered kind words in his ear after the mess he'd made.

Then you slipped out the front door to your car and you'd pretended not to notice that there were two bedroom lights on upstairs.

You hadn't even divulged the freaky details to your roommate when you got home.

But the showerhead knew all about them.

Visions of Art on the clouds of steam- replayed in your head the sounds he'd made right in your ear.

How he'd whimpered your name when he splashed his boxers like a fucking teenager.

It was no surprise you dreamt of him.

You even showed up next day, valiantly. You didn't run for the hills or even straight to a tabloid about how weird the Donaldson's really were.

And maybe that's why you hadn't told your roommate either.

Because telling someone what Tashi allowed? What Art liked?

That'd mean you'd have to admit your dirty little secret.

You loved it.

When you showed up, something was different. No usual chatter in the house, no shoes by the front door. You checked out the front window to see what you'd missed when you arrived.

Tashi's car was gone.

"She's taken her mom and Lily to the ballet."

At least you didn't scream this time.

You were lucky your back was to him, lest he see the self-righteous little smile that broke when the words settled.

"Oh, ok."

"I'll see you on the court."

Oh, ok.

Lest he see the disappointment that took over.

Following him close behind, you didn't know why you were effectively surprised that he still wanted to continue with your lessons. You'd half expected- hoped, he'd bend you over the kitchen island.

Tennis was fun too, you guess.

Thinking about it, something that bold didn't seem the style of the man who'd nearly blacked out rubbing up on you. Beckoning you onto the tennis court with two fingers and a wry smile did, however.

You fell into your usual position, hip turned and elbow curved on your side of the court. You waited for him to appear behind you, chest melding into the curve of your back.

It never came.

Art took long strides towards the net, vaulting it in one smooth motion. He ended up parallel to you, waiting with a ball and racquet in either hand.

The smile had left his face, a rather blank expression taking over as he sized you up. And there was that fear- knowing what it felt like to be on the wrong side of him.

This was going to hurt.

From the moment he pressed the ball to the neck of his racquet, it was all over. Your feet were never in one place for more than a second, your arms burned above you, your head permanently on a swivel.

Art didn't look like he'd broken more than a sweat.

You knew he had, you could see it in the neck of his shirt. But he didn't look it.

He looked calm, he looked in control, he looked-

Like he was enjoying himself.

For every rally that you managed, you thought you saw an inkling of pride set in his features.

For every serve that you missed, you knew you saw unbridled lust.

Not a point scored in your favour, you hit the ball towards him one last time before you collapsed to the turf. Flat on your back, reminiscent of your first lesson here.

You watched the clouds shift over your head, listening to your pulse thick and fast in your ears. Just underneath it, you could hear footfalls approaching.

No hurry, but impending.

Soon, the sun above you was eclipsed by Art Donaldson. His golden hair shone with the halo of light behind it.

Now this was God's favourite.

"You can't be giving up this easily?"

Forcing a laugh, you threw your arm up and over your eyes. "Wanna bet?"

Turns out he did- turns out Art struggled to do anything but win.

Somehow, you found it within yourself to stand back up. This time it was only a practice, you weren't brave enough to face off against him another round.

This was more your speed.

The hand that wasn't holding your elbow was curving around your front, the pleats of your tennis skirt lifting over his fingers. You felt a warm hand slowly moving across the front of your underwear.

Two fingers migrated south, pressing against the seam of you- he must've felt the pure heat radiating beneath his fingertips.

Turning your head even an inch, you found the curve of his nose pressing into your cheek.

"I didn't give up."

He hummed, the vibration rolled across your shoulders.

"Mmm, you didn't."

The hand sans-racquet dropped between your thighs to press his palm into your cunt. It was Art who flexed your fingers and cupped it.

"Where's my prize?"

There was no trophy, no podium, no medal.

But there was Art between your legs, slinging a knee over each shoulder like he might've been the real winner.

You'd never been inside the 'changing shed' behind the court, of course it was nicer than your actual home.

Your head made contact with the hard wood behind you, bench digging into your ass as you felt a hot mouth moving against the seat of your underwear.

Running your fingers through his hair, your gripped the ends of it- tugging him closer until you felt the flat of his tongue through the thin fabric.

Needy fingers tugged the ruined garment down your thighs, tucking him into the pocket of his shorts. You knew all too well that you'd never see them again.

You were sure Art would be seeing a lot of them.

His tongue ran up the split, one long stroke before you felt the curve of his nose press to your clit. The ridge of it moved as his tongue retreated back to your entrance.

With everything he had.

Your eyes had been rolling back in your head as you arched your back, the moment you were able to find a semblance of control- your gaze fell before you.

Naturally, Art was already looking up at you. Two hands splayed across each side of your hips as he pulled back to wrap his lips around your clit.

You couldn't help the hazy little smile on your face as you watched his eyes.

Utterly devotional.

The more you tugged on his hair, the hungrier he seemed. Pulling from the root seemed to spur him on, seemed to tell him 'good job' and he was responsive.

His tongue flicked beneath your clit, pressing it to his upper lip as he brought two fingers to your entrance. He stroked a couple times, making your hips twitch against him, before he sunk in to the last knuckle.

Turns out Art had a style about him. One he brought to the tennis court and, seemingly, to the floor of his changing shed.

The style was calculated.

Every move he made was engineered to get something out of you- a reaction, a whimper, a twitch. He was doing what he did best.

Playing a game.

Art struggled to do anything but win.

"Fuck- Mr. Donaldson."

"Art."

Even muffled against your cunt, you were good at following his orders. Even more so when he was the decider of your imminent orgasm.

You threaded your fingers in the sides of his hair, pulling his face flush against you so you could ride his mouth. Taking every last thing from him you could.

It drew the most pathetic moan you'd ever heard, straight out of his chest and hit you straight at your core. The burning coil tight within your stomach was unraveling quickly.

You heard the murmurings of words, among the blood rushing in your ears. Easing up just enough, you let him pull back to speak.

"Tell me this feels good, please."

Your chest thumped, the sight of Art helpless between your legs was one thing. Hearing him beg?

You might black out.

"Art- you feel so fucking good," Dragging him right back where you needed him, the tip of his tongue drove against your clit. "You're gonna' make me cum."

He whined.

A heady drawn-out sound that quite literally sent you over the edge. Your hips lifted off the bench, the heel of your foot digging into his back and making his whine turn into a whimper.

Your orgasm broke you apart until it felt like white-hot flame licking up your sides. Of course, Art never relented, drinking in everything you could give him- literally.

The moment you felt the peak begin to subside, the urge was ramping right back up. Like he knew what he was doing, his eyes locked back onto yours as he sucked at your clit.

He was going for gold.

A quick second orgasm hit, seemingly out of nowhere. Your thighs clenched around Art's head, his hands coming to each of them.

You relaxed yourself a bit, feeling like it might be too much- until you felt him pressing your thighs even harder to either of his ears.

Oh, ok.

Art Donaldson knew what he liked.

You physically had to push him off you, watching him fall back on his outstretched palms as you let yourself breathe for what felt like the first time.

Wet eyes, wet chin, chest rising and falling like he'd run a marathon- Art sat sprawled out before you like he'd stumbled upon an alter (he had).

Breathless, you gestured towards him. Your hand dropped a little as your eyes fell between his legs, wordlessly offering a deal.

A deuce.

His cheeks flushed, more so than they already were. His eyes fell an infinitesimal amount before he spoke up.

"Uh- I already have."

Of course he had. He makes that sound before he cums.

Instead, you heard him shuffle back onto his knees as he all but crawled towards you. He draped his upper half into your lap, head resting against the soft cotton of your skirt.

Coming off the other side of a high, the reality of your situation began to settle for you. Why they'd really called you here- what purpose you really served.

All you could do was gently stroke a hand across Art's head, feeling him go limp against you. Boneless, but not spineless.

He must've known you were going to speak, he must've heard the intake of breath or just felt you shift. He cut you to the chase- beat you to the punchline.

Art nuzzled his face further into your lap as you felt him mumble against your thigh.

"I can't lose- you."

#art donaldson smut #art donaldson x reader #art donaldson x reader fic #challengers fic #art donaldson fic #challengers smut #art donaldson x fem reader #art donaldson x fem!reader

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dasketcherz · 1 year ago

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If you got hacked, the next big thing you could do is secure your personal accs by changing your passwords for every one of them as much as possible asap for good measure and then immediately file a report to discord support

ok hi usually i dont post these kinda things but

recently theres been a discord scam going around and i havent seeeeen anyone bring it up? nor was i able to find a lot of info online about it

essentially, the scammer (using the account of someone you’ve friended OR someone in a server your in) will approach you and tell you that theyve falsely reported you + that your account could be deleted if you dont appeal to discord. this is the message that was sent to me v

and this is a version sent to my friend (the same email screenshot was also included after this message) v

once you reach out to the user listed in the email, they’ll ask you to fill out your information, then boot you from the account. by that point they will have access your account and will more than likely use it to spread to more people

as shown the scam itself tends to have some variety- not all of its gonna be word for word, exactly the same- so be careful! if you suspect someone you know has been caught up in the scam, be sure to block and to reach out on other platforms if possible.

stay safe !

(bonus- a closer up of the email + some scam advice from a friend)

(scam advice from friend)

#signal boost #this has been goin on for a while now #and i've heard many ppl are getting hacked left and right cuz this hasnt been well spread information to warn others #unfortunately i fell victim to it too #they got smart by not relying on link attachment or askin for your personal infos right away cuz they knew it is an overdone method #of scamming #they weaponize instilling fear in you so you are rendered vulnerable into complying immediately #especially if you dunno the discord policy system #they exploit that to trick you into self sabotaging the security of your own account #i was lucky that i did not have any of my personal accs linked to my discord when i got hacked #so none of my personal virtual possessions was jeopardized #and i got my acc back thank goodness #so please stay aler!#keep your guard up and keep a look out for these signs of suspicious activity

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wooskirbyplushie · 5 months ago

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Our Little Secret ~ K.HJ

✰ idol!hongjoong x fan!reader where the guys catch hongjoong not so secretly slip a paper into your hand at a fanmeet

✰ word count: 3.6k

✰ warnings: some cussing (nothing crazy), pet names (love), female!reader, glasses!hongjoong cuz that’s enough to drive me insane tbh, she/they pronouns used for reader

✰ a/n: hey so i randomly got this idea one day and decided to execute it lol. tbh im not sure if i’ll keep updating this or not just because it was only supposed to be a little drabble but im 87% sure i’ll continue it just so my friends don’t hold me at gunpoint to finish it😭😭

✰ italics are used for inner thoughts, bold italic is just to emphasize words, also don’t pay attention to the timestamps for the texts later on k that’s it

dividers are created by @cafekitsune tysm !

you were late, you were so late, and you couldn’t blame anyone but yourself.

today has been marked in your calendar for almost 2 months, the day that ateez finally had a fanmeet in your city. you had saved up for the event for so long that when they announced it you didn’t hesitate to snatch your card out of your wallet to buy tickets for you and your best friend, kaylani.

but today you completely fucked your schedule up. oversleeping was not in your plans and neither was having to iron your outfit and rush to catch the train, just for it to delay for 15 minutes. in addition to the 5 minute bus ride from the station turning into a 30 minute walk because the bus you and your friend needed to catch didn’t run that day. who knew?

by the time you finally got to the venue, security were already trying to lock up the doors. i mean, it made sense considering they started meeting fans almost two hours ago.

“hey!!” kaylani shouted to try and get the guards attention. one of them looked up, utter confusion on his face as he watched two young girls jogging at them from across the parking lot.

“please we- we have tickets. the train made us late, but we cannot miss this event” you breathed out as fast as possible, trying to catch your breath at the same time. lani shuffled around for her phone to pull up the virtual tickets before the guards shrugged and scanned both tickets to let you in. “you girls either have really incredible or really horrible timing” one of the guys commented and told you to have fun.

you both squealed the second you got inside.

following the arrows and signs, you reached the auditorium that ateez was having their fanmeet in. now usually, fanmeets had a show in the first half and the actual meet in the second. but thankfully this time around it was swapped, meaning you guys didn’t miss any of the actual show. would it possibly be delayed because you were late? ehhh you’d cross that bridge when you got to it.

“we’re really here holy shit that’s ateez 20 feet away from us-“ you started rambling before lani cut through your thoughts with another squeal. she saw her bias, that had to be the only reason

“ITS JONGHOOO AHHHH”

“wow kaylani, it’s almost like he’s in the grou- AHHH LOOK ITS HONGJOONG”

kaylani rolled her eyes and mocked you. “wow y/n it’s almost like he’s in the group.” touché.

it wasn’t long before you realized they had changed quite a bit for this fanmeet. for example, the boys weren’t sitting in age order, or what you and lani called “fanchant order”. jongho was first and hongjoong was last, which didn’t really matter, but you knew your heart would race more and more as you got closer to your bias.

joong was your ult bias and had been for 4 years. you loved all of the members (duh) but the thought of possibly holding that man’s hand sent you over the moon. sure he held other girls hands, but this was gonna be your moment.

“bro. bro we’re next” kaylani whisper shouted while gripping your shoulder.

“unhand me you fein- oh god that’s jongho like he’s real.”

“RIGHT THATS THE CHOI JONGHO. 4TH GEN VOCALIST AHHHH” if you couldn’t tell she was a jongho ult before, it was super evident now. and because of that, you let lani go first.

******

if she could’ve, kaylani would’ve talked jongho’s ear off for 40 minutes. luckily he seemed intrigued by what was being said, laughing and giggling along with your friend. and now you wish you went first instead.

eventually she moved to wooyoung and was out-yapped, while you talked to jongho, really just telling him all of your favorite runs and verses he had. then you moved down again, and again, got to san and almost forgot your morals. he had you giggling for your life and the blush on your face was impossible to hide. he was THE ateez flirt.

but you and kaylani kept moving. to be real, since you were the last people in the room, there was no real rush but you decided to be mindful of the boys time.

yunho and yeosang were adorably nerdy and a hint of shy in real life, seonghwa really knew how to catch you off guard. one second you were talking about his lego collection and the next he was spewing out compliments and grabbing your hand. you tried to turn your face to hide your blush again, but you turned right into hongjoong’s direction and almost screamed. he was staring at you, and hard. what you hadn’t realized was kaylani whispering how much you “loved him” and how he was your “ultimate bias and first choice for a husband.”

yea you were either gonna go back to jongho and tell him how she brought his photocard to prom, or you were going to murder her.

you finished with seonghwa and slowly moved to hongjoong while lani stood off to the side and snuck a few pictures. “so. i’m your ult huh?” hongjoong questioned, arms folded across his chest.

you gulped, “y-yea you’ve always stuck out to me,” your voice came out in a whisper. hongjoong chuckled and leaned forward a bit.

“i’m your ult but you have no problem flirting with san and seonghwa in front of me, yea?”

“i don’t see the difference between that and you holding a bunch of fans hands, flirting with them.”

your mouth worked faster than your brain could, and you regretted it the second you finished the sentence, slapping your hand over your mouth.

hongjoong tilted his head and raised an eyebrow over the rim of his glasses. god he looked good in glasses. “quite the mouth on you…”

“y/n” you finished his sentence.

“y/n..” he trailed off like he was letting your name marinate on his tongue. “really pretty name for a really pretty person”

now you were really blushing. you didn’t care if it was fan service, he was servicing the hell out of you and you were eating it up. “thank you joong..” and he smirked in return.

******

you talked for a while (ok like 5 minutes) praising joong just like you did all the other members. he asked you what your favorite songs were, and san jumped in when he heard you mention desire. “honestly such a hater, desire is a masterpiece!!” you exclaimed as the top desire defender in tinyville. joong and san laughed before san walked off backstage and hongjoong picked up his sharpie, doodling while you talked.

you just kept going, your level of yapping surpassing kaylani while she was talking to jongho. hongjoong was eating it up though, especially when you started listing your favorite rap verse from him, even saying you could tell an ateez song by his signature giggle.

“it’s a bit embarrassing but i’ve listened to the songs so much that i just know? your music saved me, genuinely.” you trailed off before joong grabbed your hand.

“i honestly think it’s adorable.” he replied with a genuine smile. his smile was warm and bright, like lights on a christmas tree in december. you were soon brought back to reality when a guard told joong he had to wrap up with you so they could move on to the show. he nodded while messily writing something on a small piece of paper with his non dominant hand, still holding your hand with his other.

“well i guess this is goodbye, y/n. it was really nice talking to you and your friend” joong said, subtly crumbling a paper up in his hand before going to slip it into your own.

you weren’t dumb, you played like you didn’t even realize, following along with his skit. “it was really nice to meet you joongie,” you replied with a soft smile before you both got up and walked in your respective directions.

******

“you aren’t slick joong, i saw that.” san whispered while the group got dressed for the next part of the show. he was putting on a school boy uniform, adjusting the blue tie that went with it. hongjoong sat next to him, tying the shoes that he swapped into.

“doesn’t matter if you saw it, managers didn’t see it.” he responded with a shrug. joong knew him getting caught would mean having to change his number and most likely block you if you ever reached out to him, but in his head it was worth the risk.

“if i saw it, how do you know they didn’t see it captain?”

“because i waited till they turned around. and to be honest, i don’t care if they saw. i liked her.”

“liked who?” wooyoung asked as he walked over to steal san’s cologne. “because if you mean the last two people that came in, i don’t blame you! the last one was extremely pretty..”

joong just shot wooyoung a side eye before grabbing his phone, letting out a small sigh at the sight of no notification from you. he thought you guys had a little connection, right? then again-

“she probably just thought you were servicing her. ya know, your job.” san said stiffly, fixing a few stray strands of hair. joong clicked his phone off and threw it to his side with a slight head shake. maybe san was right, you probably didn’t look much into it considering it was his job to service his fans. maybe the managers did see him and they took the paper after you were out of joong’s sight. he was getting stressed over a girl he just met and even though his friends were talking to him in logic, hongjoong refused to learn that language.

he let out another small sigh before ruffling his hair and clapping his hands together to gather the group to get on stage. he had to clear his mind so he could perform. “alright guys let’s do this. hana dul set,”

“fightingggg!!” the boys yelled in unison and cheered, hyping each other up for what was to come. one by one, the boys started leaving the dressing room to take their places in the wings of the stage curtains.

seonghwa made sure everyone made it out, before looking back to see hongjoong lagging behind. “you coming bub?” joong looked at hwa, then his phone on the couch, and back to hwa before sending him a quick nod and walking out the door.

he’d be able to make it through the show.. right?

******

“soooo we’re just gonna ignore what happened back there? you know i saw that right love?” kaylani pressed you while fixing her lip gloss, making you jump out of your thoughts.

“what happened?? we just had a normal conversation!”

“normal my ass. you talked for like five minutes and then KIM HONGJOONG SLID YOU HIS-“

you slapped your hand over her mouth. you were in the empty bathroom but there was no reason to take any chances of a manager, or even worse, a fan overhearing and reporting back to one. “kay, i love you. dearly. but please lower your voice love…”

she sighed behind your hand and obliged before complaining about you smudging her lip combo. you rolled your eyes and pulled the crumbled sheet of paper from out of your jacket pocket to show your friend. the numbers were a bit wayward, but joong was writing with his left hand so it was understandable. he somehow still managed to make it legible enough for you to understand though.

“it’s his kakao talk im assuming. i still have the app from when you and i had to use it when i was in seoul.”

“do you know for sure it’s his number ?”

“of course i don’t know for sure kay, im trying not to lose my mind right n-“

“text it.”

that may have seemed like the obvious answer but you were still extremely nervous about getting caught. and the idea of getting caught by a manager was still circling around in your brain. “there’s a chance that he’s waiting for your text ya know. just text it and see.” kaylani finished with a shrug, her lips popping as she finished up her lip combo. you took a deep breath before shakily grabbing your phone and opening your kakao talk.

what were you even going to say ? hi ? that sounded basic but there really wasn’t much else to do. there was no reason to say your full name because, well, what if it wasn’t truly him ? lani must’ve gotten bored of watching you stare at your phone without typing anything because after a few seconds your phone was in her hands as she drafted up and sent a message for you.

“KAYLANI !???”

“it’s fine, i just said hey and that it was the girl from the fanmeet. unless he’s going around giving his number out to every pretty girl like a whore, he’ll know it’s you.”

she handed your phone back to you before throwing her hands on your shoulders and flashing you a slight smile. “it’ll be fine ok? now let’s go watch our boys do the utmost embarrassing shit!”

you nodded in response and stepped out of the bathroom to make your way to your seats.

now what your best friend didn’t know when you bought your tickets was that you saved enough for front row. and the surprise was pretty evident by the screech she let out once you dragged her to the seats in front of the stage.

“no way no way we’re this close HOLY- y/n forget hongjoong will you please marry me???”

you just laughed and playfully pushed lani towards her seat, “get off of me and sit down goofball.”

******

“2 minutes to showtime!!”

the lights were dimming as the members stood in the wings of the stage, mic packs being adjusted and pinned onto the boys. wooyoung was humming some vocal warmups to himself before he walked over to hongjoong. “jeez captain, lighten up. you look like yeosang told you that hwa was his favorite hyung and not you…”

hongjoong jumped, unnoticeable to wooyoung, and scoffed in response to his statement. “please, as if that would ever happen.”

“ah you’re right. you look like your mom told you that bumjoong is the favorite child.”

“is there a point to your escapades or do you just enjoy annoying me?”

a look of fake hurt flashed across wooyo’s face in response, “ouch. you must really be missing your pretty girlfriend to talk to your best friend like that joongie.”

hongjoong spun towards wooyoung and gave him, yet another, death glare. “keep your voice down are you insane ? listen, we have a job to do, get focused on that.” and with that he stormed back to his place on stage. just take a few breaths and it’ll be fine… no reason for you to snap on your members.

“places guys; 10 seconds!”

he didn’t think it was possible, but that 10 seconds was both the longest and shortest time of hongjoong’s career. he knew you were in the crowd, he knew he had to do his best just for you. but what he wasn’t expecting when he scanned the crowd was to make direct eye contact with you and your friend in the front row.

oh he was soooo fucked.

so fucked that hwa had to elongate his intro and improvise an extra end part to get joong to snap out of his daze.

“ah i’m sorry, i got caught up looking at all of our beautiful atiny! hi guys, my name is kim hongjoong, captain of ateez!!”

the crowd seemed to take it well, i mean his job was fan service. but in truth, he was lying, he was only looking at you. and to his surprise, you were looking back; in fact he could feel your eyes on him frequently, and anytime he didn’t it was just because you and your friend were laughing together.

hongjoong kept finding himself on your side of the stage, often sending you flirty glances and winks during his verses; and god you were eating it up. not to mention how obsessed he was with getting you to smile. unfortunately for him though, he had to give that same energy to everyone for his actions to not be so obvious. even more unfortunately for him, san and wooyoung were on his ass the entire time, which caused seonghwa to send suspicious glances joong’s way. fuck.

hwa approached joong halfway through the show, once they were offstage during yunho and mingi’s unit performance. “fess up, why are you clinging to one side of the stage and why do you keep zoning out?? it’s not a good look and it’s making us look unorganized on stage.“

hongjoong just toyed with the hem of his sleeve in silence. to be honest he was trying to focus but he was drunk on the thought of being able to make you smile. there wasn’t anything he could say to get hwa off of his back, so he opted for a shrug.

“are you not feeling ok? you should’ve said something beforehand joong-“

“i’m fine.” please just drop it…

“fine.” hwa started, preparing his mic to get back on stage. the irritation was evident in his actions, but his voice was still soft. “but you’re the leader, just know this shit is on your shoulders if management says something.”

hongjoong just nodded in response, following seonghwa’s actions in fixing his mic. “that’s 50,000 won for calling me leader and not captain by the way.” he retorted with a smirk before running back on stage to meet the audience’s cheers.

******

“okay atiny, you guys enjoying the show?” yeosang asked, receiving a loud roar of approval from the crowd.

“i take that as a yes! but unfortunately…” jongho started his sentence, and atiny realized that the show was coming to an end. “hey hey we don’t want to leave either, but we have one more performance for you guys! are you ready??”

the rest of the guys were set up on a prop couch for the last song, each of them holding a red or white rose, as they waited for jongho to join them. once he did, the speakers started playing the instrumental of seventeen’s “ready to love” and seonghwa started off the cover, the crowd going insane.

eventually the boys got to the ending and handed out (or really threw) their roses to people in the crowd. and to no one’s surprise, hongjoong sat on the edge of the stage and handed his white rose to you, his fingers gliding over yours during the hand off, causing a goofy smile to take over your face with a light pink blush. kaylani teased you after making sure to get the entire interaction on video, you simply rolling your eyes and covering the camera in response. joong winked before getting up to join the members for their final bow and go back to their green room.

“thank you atiny!! we’ll be back soon” san yelled as the curtains closed and yunho and mingi peaked out to wave one last time.

******

hongjoong was the first one back in the room, his mind filled with your smile and whether or not you texted him. he loosened his tie and jogged over to the couch where he left his phone, anxious but also eager. but when he heard the members following close behind, joong grabbed his phone and rushed to the bathroom; mostly to avoid being teased by wooyoung, reprimanded by seonghwa, and shamed by san.

“you ok captain?” mingi asked from the other side of the door. “you left kinda in a hurry..”

“y-yea i’m fine, drank a lot of water earlier.”

mingi just shrugged it off with a low “okay” and went back to the other members, hongjoong letting out a small breath that he didn’t realize he was holding. he clicked his phone on and surprisingly saw a kakao notification from an unsaved contact. hongjoong’s face lit up brighter than his phone screen as he opened the app to reply.

but wait. was it you or a stalker?

did someone else possibly see the paper he gave you?

was he overthinking? yes. but most of it seemed logical.

joong sighed before he reread your message.

?: hey

?: it’s the girl from the fanmeet

still he had to confirm it was you.. and he had a pretty decent idea of how to do it.

joongie: really? then say something i said to you earlier

joong figured you would take a while to write back but you actually replied right away.

?: “really pretty name for a really pretty person”

joongie: i’m glad you texted me y/n :)

he just smiled at his phone, thinking of what to text you next. should he ask to facetime you maybe? should he flirt or was it too early for that? joong’s mind had a million tabs open at once but he really wanted to live in the current moment-

until wooyoung decided to be obnoxious and bang on the bathroom door like the police.

“hey some of us actually have to pee ya know!”

open tab number one million and one, strangle jung wooyoung…

#kim hongjoong #ateez fanfic #ateez #ateez x reader #hongjoong #ateez fic #ateez hongjoong #wooyoung #san #seonghwa #yunho #mingi #yeosang #jongho #ateez texts

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alicearmageddon · 2 years ago

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"The North Korean regime in the ‘50s developed a series of remarkably effective torture techniques, techniques that were so effective, in fact, that they were able to make captured American airmen admit to all sorts of atrocities they had not in fact committed, all the time, being convinced they had not, actually, been tortured. The techniques were quite simple. Just make the victim do something mildly uncomfortable—sit on the edge of chair, for example, or lean against a wall in a slightly awkward position—only, make them do it for an extremely long period of time. After eight hours the victim would be willing to do virtually anything to make it stop. But try going to the International Court of Justice at The Hague and tell them you’ve been made to sit on the edge of a chair all day. Even the victims were unwilling to describe their captors as torturers. When the CIA learned about these techniques—according to Korean friends of mine, they’re actually just particularly sadistic versions of classic Korean ways of punishing small children—they were intrigued, and, apparently, conducted extensive research on how they could be adopted for their own detention centers.

Again, sometimes, in Palestine, one feels one is in an entire country that’s being treated this way. Obviously, there is also outright torture, people who are actually being shot, beaten, tortured, or violently abused. But I’m speaking here even of the ones that aren’t. For most, it’s as if the very texture of everyday life has been designed to be intolerable—only, in a way that you can never quite say is exactly a human rights violation. There’s never enough water. Showering requires almost military discipline. You can’t get a permit. You’re always standing in line. If something breaks it’s impossible to get permission to fix it. Or else you can’t get spare parts. There are four different bodies of law that might apply to any legal situation (Ottoman, British, Jordanian, Israeli), it’s anyone’s guess which court will say what applies where, or what document is required, or acceptable. Most rules are not even supposed to make sense. It can take eight hours to drive 20 kilometers to see your girlfriend, and doing so will almost certainly mean having machine guns waved in your faces and being shouted at in a language you half understand by people who think you’re subhuman. So you do most of your dalliance by phone. When you can afford the minutes. There are endless traffic jams before and after checkpoints and drivers bicker and curse and try not to take it out on one another. Everyone lives no more than 12 or 15 miles from the Mediterranean but even on the hottest day, it’s absolutely impossible to get to the beach. Unless you climb the wall, there are places you can do that; but then you can expect to be hunted every moment by security patrols. Of course teenagers do it anyway. But it means swimming is always accompanied by the fear of being shot. If you’re a trader, or a laborer, or a driver, or a tobacco farmer, or clerk, the very process of subsistence is continual stream of minor humiliations. Your tomatoes are held and left two days to rot while someone grins at you. You have to beg to get your child out of detention. And if you do go to beseech the guards, those same guards might arbitrarily decide to hold you to pressure him to confess to rock-throwing, and suddenly you are in a concrete cell without cigarettes. Your toilet backs up. And you realize: you’re going to have to live like this forever. There is no “political process.” It will never end. Barring some kind of divine intervention, you can expect to be facing exactly this sort of terror and absurdity for the rest of your natural life."

-David Graeber, Reflections from a Visit to the West Bank

#palestine #free palestine #israel palestine #david graeber #west bank #anarchism

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therobotsarestuckinmyhead · 12 days ago

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♡ "ENTERTAINMENT" — Megatron [TFA]

scenario: maybe law-enforcement officers and Megatron can get along, only if he’s in a cell though.

setting: takes place post season three. Megatron is locked up in Trypticon for a year or so. after team Strika fails to bust him out.

cross posted on ao3!

Trypticon Prison, Kaon. What a wonderful place to work at. You mentally prepare yourself for him as you type in the codes into the door-panel of the maximum security wing. You let out a long vent before you enter the wing, the large metallic door whirrs open with a hydraulic hiss.

“If it isn't my favorite Autobot.”

You have to physically hold back a resigned sigh at the sound of the smooth velvety voice you had yet to grow accustomed to despite him being locked up here for nearly a year now. Autobot has become his name for you, you sincerely hoped that he didn’t know your name even if it had been quite a while since he's been under your custody. You trudged along a trolley containing the trays of low-grade fuel for all the Decepticon prisoners of the wing which was basically just him.

Megatron sat in his rather-cramped-for-his-size cell with one leg on top of the other as he leaned onto a wall, his helm resting on the barrier that you were so grateful for. Other than the occasional sounds from the two of you, it was only the static from the energy barrier that could be heard. This sector was eerily quiet, just Megatron and his silence. His loyal soldiers were in the other corridor of the same wing right next to Megatron’s isolated holding, it made sense why the cunning spawn of a glitch had an entire cell block for him. You couldn’t trust the mecha with even an energon scrap...

Trypticon was once one of the mightest Decepticons that had ever been a Decepticon. But after Trypticon’s defeat thanks to the introduction of Omega Sentinels, the stasis locked Trypticon was repurposed into an Autobot POW camp– empty halls with cells specifically built to accommodate Decepticons for millennia. But as the years went on, Trypticon was yet again repurposed but this time as a civilian prison. The old warden, Codexa, had given you a long lecture on the history of Trypticon years ago when you first joined. The place was a fortress, virtually inescapable. Only the worst of the worst were locked up in here.

But after the whole Allspark incident a year ago, Decepticons were back in the cells of Trypticon. The leader of the ruthless Decepticons, the infamous warlord, Megatron himself along with most of the remaining lackeys of the already crippled Decepticon ranks had been captured and as the days go by, they just seem to find more and more. The sector was almost half-filled.

The possibility that there were still more out there remains to be the current speculation. Every bot had their optics zoomed in for any suspicious activity nowadays. Especially in Kaon, where you lived. Given it was the former capital of the Decepticon empire, it made sense.

You were initially relieved, like any other Autobot would’ve been knowing that the fearsome Decepticons were finally put down.

But when you heard the news from Highbrow that The Megatron would be imprisoned in the wing you were in charge of? Primus, you felt your spark drop. The fact that High-Command seriously believed you were tough enough to handle the Megaton was comical. You were a senior guard so it sort of made sense why they assigned him to you but this was no murderer, criminal mastermind or Cryotek that you had gotten used to… this was a seasoned war-criminal that had quite literally killed more bots than has ever lived.

The worst part? The mech had landed himself a life imprisonment so he was here to stay. He was not going anywhere any time soon. Miraculously, he avoided a death-sentence… and you’ll never know how. No bot knew how actually. Tyrest must've had a few screws loose. Some think it was an inside job. Nobody really trusted Autobot High Command after the literal head of Cybertron Intelligence was a damn Decepticon Spy. Even if the historic millennias long war had an official and actual conclusion, there was a newfound mistrust… and Sentinel Prime didn’t really help out with that when he was Acting Magnus.

Either way, whether you liked it or not. Megatron was in your care for almost over a year now and it was… unpleasant.

Even despite your years of experience as a Prison Guard, Megaton was just too much. He was unpredictable and easily bored. In fact, Megaton was, from what you could understand, incredibly bored. To a point where around two months into his imprisonment, he tried to actually converse with you. You honestly didn’t know what to feel about that.

“Bored as usual, I assume?” You shot back at the grey mech trapped behind an energy barrier, tone refusing to hide your disapproval of his antics. He chuckled and then let out a sigh, expression momentarily softening and then returning to its usual sharp stare and slight smirk.

“Incredibly.” He practically purred that out, his piercing crimson optics narrowed at you in interest. It sent a shudder up your spine but you were an experienced guard, your frame did not betray you.

It started off small at first. He’d try casual small talk with you. You never replied… at first but somehow Megatron just knew how to rile you up enough to get the reaction and response he wanted. Of course you wouldn’t just let him get away with it. You’d stand up to yourself with your own sharp glossa. You had a pride! You might’ve not been a big military big-shot but you were a senior guard nonetheless and Megatron was exploiting that little shred of ego for his own amusement.

But that escalated, fast. Now he was full blown hitting on you sometimes. Might’ve found it amusing if it were literally any other prisoner. But him? That just didn’t even make sense nor did it sit right with you. He was clearly the proud, elegant, quiet and calculating type… to see him act like the total opposite for that was unnerving to say the least. More importantly, it brought up a bigger question:

Just how bored was he?

“You're lucky then. I have guard duty tonight.” You frowned, clearly not happy with the predicament of having to spend the night in Trypticon of all places with Megatron of all bots. You always ended up with the night shift, following orders you didn’t want to follow. Megatron knew that, he relished it.

“Don't make this any more unbearable than it has to be.” You sighed, resigned. He won't listen, he's Megatron after all but maybe for once, out some sense of.. non-existent pity, he might.

Megatron was quite happy with your predicament and it was evident in the small laugh he let out at your words and the way his derma slightly curved upwards.

“You can’t expect me to not make it unbearable,” He said with the usual sly grin, “Especially not when you give me such… entertaining reactions dear. After all, its unbearable for just you.”

“Do you do this with Fort Max too?” You raised an optical ridge as you opened the fuel chute, putting in some low-grade energon cubes.

Megatron clearly didn't like the mention of your fellow guard, his signature smirk slightly faltering at the mention of the mech. Made sense, the younger guard was silent with a hatred for Cons that rivalled Magnus’ own. Megatron hummed.

“Mmm. He’s not half as entertaining as you.” He sighed, Megatron wouldn’t show it to anyone but he did not like Fort Max.

“So I’m the only guard you annoy like this?” You huffed, shutting the fuel dispensing chute and making sure to lock it. Prison guards were supposed to maintain a menacing aura but clearly, the warlord was never intimidated and Megatron had a talent of making your exterior stoicism crack.

“Perhaps.” From all of your time stuck guarding him, you were aware that this was his fancy way little way of saying yes. The mech was quite dramatic for a bot in a cell.

“Am I supposed to feel flattered or concerned?” You scoff at his words, he spoke as if you were some sort of exception to a rule you weren't aware of.

“You tell me Autobot.” He leaned in closer, the static of the energy barrier cackling as he did so. Megatron looked as amused as ever.

“Concerned then.” Your optics narrowed at him, maintaining your usual nonchalant demeanour. If it weren’t for the tone of your voice, Megatron would’ve had a hard time reading you.

“Of course.” Megatron gave a slight smile, amused at the predictability of your answer. Even if you kept up your stoic façade, Megatron has been alive for long enough to see right through it. He was determined to shake that mask off of you, the slight flustered reactions you’d often give as a response were so entertaining and your annoyed ones even more so.

And that was just from his words.

“You don't find even a slight thrill in our little… thing?” He cooed, mockingly.

“There is no thing. There never has been a thing between us.” You retort, clearly unamused and annoyed by his implied words. Megatron feigned a mock offence, a servo on his chassis. How he loved playing his little game, even if it was one-sided.

“You're quite cold sparked.”

“And you don't know how to shut up.” You hissed, annoyance increasing as the moments went by. There was that snark he had grown to be so fond of. His smile grew slightly.

“You forget who you talk to, Autobot.” Megatron replied amused but the slight warning in his tone didn’t go unnoticed. You let out an amused laugh.

“Says the one in a cell.”

Now that, that got to him a bit. He absolutely despised being made ever so blissfully aware of his own predicament. Megatron kept his composure but his optics momentarily shone with pure rage at your gentle reminder. You were quite brave, he admitted that. Not a lot of ‘Bots or ‘Cons spoke to him in such a manner, not even that meddling nuisance Starscream. It was slightly amusing, refreshing even but Megatron will never tolerate two things– disrespect and insubordination.

That mouth of yours would cost you someday. He’d make sure of that.

However, the grey mech was a master of control. The both of you were aware of the fact that you mouthed off as much as you wanted only because of the purple energy barrier that kept the two of you separated and you thanked Primus with every glow of your spark everyday that Trypticon never faced power outages, unlike the rest of Kaon.

“Such a bold little Autobot but that mouth of yours will bite you back someday.” His voice was low but Megatron had his signature smile.

“Some day in the next… what? Five million years? I have time until then.” You shot him back with your own cocky grin. Megatron let out an amused chuckle. Even if you were able to get under his plating (funnily enough, a feat only his own soldiers managed to do), he’d be lying if he said he didn't find the exchanges between you two amusing and entertaining.

You were leaning against the wall opposite to the energy barrier now, a gun in servo. It was more like a standard prison guard uniform given how you rarely had to ever really use it but a necessary precaution given how they had to deal with Decepticons now.

“So cocky.” He huffed as he shifted on his seat a little, playfulness never leaving his demeanor. Megatron was still leaning against the energy barrier, he shifted a little to catch a better glimpse of you. You didn't really respond to that and let the silence take over for once which allowed Megatron’s deep red optics to actually study you carefully for once.

You were much taller than the average Autobot. It probably was a mandatory upgrade given your rather unsavory profession and clearly, you had some experience on you but you weren’t as old as to be alive during The Great War. Maybe the first generation of post-War Cybertronians, he assumed. But clearly nowhere near as experienced as he was. You had some combat training, he could tell from the way you held your gun. Your servos weren’t gripping the blaster like most amateurs end up doing. You had some skill. A useful, tidbit of information.

While Megatron wouldn’t say it outright, he had grown seemingly interested in your life. What was your name? Why did you work here? What made you pick this as a profession? Did you live in Kaon? He only ever heard bits and pieces of your life from the conversations he overheard across the empty halls. It's not like he wanted to listen but he was bored and quite literally had nothing better to do. His audials were more sensitive than most, especially given how he was a seasoned fighter. He needed to rely on every sense he had on the battlefield.

“What?” You raise an optical ridge with a quizzical look, questioning his lingering stare.

“Hm. I'm curious. You know, we've spoken for so so long, dear yet… I don't even know your name.” Megatron spoke, a slight mock gentleness to his tone.

“Not happening.” You deadpan, the one thing that kept you comfortable was knowing that Megatron was behind this cell and he’d never see the stars again with absolutely no knowledge on anything about you, other than some basic information. The last thing you want to hear is him calling out your designation with his velvet, silky voice… even if it did sound strangely hot. Wait what? You quickly threw away that thought as soon as it came, mentally scolding yourself for even thinking such a thing. why would you even think that?

“They don’t teach you manners at Autobot boot camp, do they?” A hint of annoyance laced his tone. But he knew it was not a matter. He’d find out your name, eventually.

“Nah. Not really.” You couldn’t help but chuckle slightly at his annoyance. Megatron didn’t like the taste of his own medicine, it would seem. Who would’ve guessed?

“Besides, professionalism. You’re the only prisoner that I’ve met who wants to know a guard personally”

Megatron holds back a snort. “Professionalism? You? Don’t mock my intellect.” He retorts, Megatron thought you were quite hilariously casual with your duties. When he found out he’d be under the supervision of a senior guard, he was expecting some rough and tough old mecha that was absolutely no-nonsense. Not a slightly stern and strangely amusing bot.

“Very funny.” You mutter, optics narrowing at him in disapproval. Oh, how he cherished your look of reproval. “I’m not even permitted to speak to you. Its against the code of conduct.”

There it was. That stick up your pipes. “So prim and proper…” The ex-warlord rolled his red optics as he remarked. Such a prude but it was a part of your charm. It oddly suited you. Ultra Magnus definitely would’ve liked the way you do things but he was glad you weren't working under the Magnus, oddly.

“But even then, why do you want to know that?” You are curious, what’s with the sudden interest? Wasn’t he the one that thought of you as just ‘entertainment’? He just grinned at your little question.

“Hm. Like you said, pet: ‘Not happening’.”

“Touché.”

The boredom must’ve been chewing him out if he was interested in your life, that was what you could conclude and honestly, you could care less if he died from his own boredom. But oddly enough, despite how weary you are around him (and how you fear him on the inside), a part deep within your spark would slightly miss this strange back-and-forth banter between the two of you.

“Wait. Pet?” You’re taken off-guard by his new nickname. Megatron always had one for you. This had to be by far the worst. A sly grin formed across his faceplates, you were so reactive to his words at times. Made his little game all the more fun.

“Mhm. You heard me, pet.” He cooed with a teasing softness, his velvety voice and it’s lilt provides emphasis on his playful mocking. He had that usual cocky look to his faceplates that you wish you could just slap off of him. Scratch that, you would not miss this banter.

“Again. You’re the one in a cage.” You retort in an effort to get back at him, slightly gritting your denta as your faceplates begin to form a sour expression. He was trying to get under your plating again and it was working, Megatron had your personality pinned down and discredit at this point, he was always an observant mech— He knew how to make you take the bait, hook, line and sinker.

“Maybe so but you’re the little guard dog following orders like some organic puppy.” Megatron’s tone was as mocking as ever. The anger continuing to bubble up. “So devoted to protecting your master, aren’t you?” He swore he saw your vents puff out steam at that one. It was all so amusing.

“Never compare me to an organic ever again,” You felt a slight disgust at the prospect of being compared to an organic which Megatron took notice of and chuckled, he shared your disdain. “And even then, I’m quite sure that pets don’t paid.” Working in the most hardcore penal facility on Cybertron did come with a massive paycheck.

“A monetary minded Autobot I see?” Megatron remarks, a smug snarkiness dripping from his tone. He was smart enough to know that wasn’t the reason why any bot would pick a job in a maximum security prison. “You must get along well with Swindle in the other wing then hm?”

You scoff, taking offence in being compared to Swindle. Unsavory memories of having to stop the cheapskate fraud from selling energon cubes, literally just the coverings guised as ‘special grade prison food’ to Blitzwing creeped onto your processor. A frown took over your features. “Please. He’d sell his own protoform if he could.”

That made Megatron laugh, it startled you. A deep, rumbling laugh. A genuine laugh— not him being amused or snarky or smug or teasing. Actual humor. You had never heard him laugh. The thought of Swindle selling his literal life was funny to him, strangely. Your priceless ‘caught off guard’ face made it all the more hilarious to him. You really were his only source of entertainment. Megatron hated law-enforcement. It was a well known fact. But to your dismay and his surprise, you might’ve wiggled your way up to be an exception but the proud mech would never admit that.

“Oh, you’re adorable...” Its slightly out of character, but he says this between held back laughs.

“...excuse me?”

second one this might take longer than i thought... also, this one is kinda old so im not very proud of it. im gonna go back to the few requests i have left now

#transformers #transformers x reader #cybertronian reader #reader insert #tfa x reader #tfa megatron x reader #megatron x reader #megatron #tfa megatron #transformers animated #tf animated #tfa #my favorite Megatron #he lives in my head rent free #i've never wanted a megatron so badly in my life until i watched TFA #i think it's the voice dunno #HES SO FINE 🤩🤩🤩

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seeingivy · 7 months ago

Text

ivy

satoru gojo x f!reader

**part of my satoru gojo as taylor swift songs series

“i’m not particularly fond of attending these meetings, kento.” you state.

in the grand scheme of things, the deal that you make with nanami kento is the best case scenario. and if you were looking at this retroactively, with every option exhausted, you’d keep your complaints to yourself. that deep down, you’d know that you virtually have nothing to complain about. that things could be drastically more dangerous than they were.

but you don’t look at everything in the grand scheme of things. or retroactively. especially when you’re trying to get nanami kento to be nice to you. you turn to your side to give him a particularly pained look, one that he sees through almost immediately, and stops in his tracks with an immediate flick to your forehead with his fingers.

you rub the sore spot on your forehead while you shoot him a glare, one that makes him smile at you rather fondly.

“such a shame. they’ve requested your presence, dearest.” he responds, tone dry.

you lean your head against the back of the carriage, letting out your best attempts of a dramatic groan, which earns you a laugh from nanami. he mimics your motions, before very politely gesturing for you to take your hand in his. his hand is warm, as you feel along the jagged length of the scar on his palm. he flips your hand over in his, before mimicking the exact motion and pressing against your almost identical scar as well.

if you looked at that one retrospectively, it was very foolish of you and nanami to slit slashes into your palms as a symbol of the promise to keep one another’s deepest secrets. granted, you attest most of the theatrics to the fact that you were twelve, that you were twelve and read far too many fantasy books, and that sometimes your head was stuck in wonderland. and while the premise of the action – of the two of you divulging each other's secrets to someone else was basically unthinkable now – the mark served as almost a soft spot.

the promise of your friendship. that like the scar that was indented into your skin, it was always going to be there no matter what.

“i really do apologize. i tried my best to get you out of it.” nanami adds.

you nod, absentmindedly leaning across the length of the chair to rest your head on his shoulder. he welcomes the touch, his fingers rubbing soothing circles into the lacy fabric covering your arms, as you mentally prepare yourself for the encounters that’s about to occur at this dinner. at the fact that most of them were going to be unpleasant, that you’d have to swallow down fake niceties for an hour, just to keep up appearances.

as the newly minted lord of his household, following the passing of his beloved father, nanami’s expectations and responsibilities went up tenfold. training new guards, making sure that all the soldiers are up to his standard, attending meetings with other prominent families in the area – the mix of all the events meant that you didn’t see him very often. definitely not as much as you did when you were growing up, significantly less than the first year that the two of you were married.

and when you became the respective lady of the house, if you could really even call yourself that, some of his responsibilities seemed to bleed into yours. there were dinners that you had to attend in lieu, pleasantries that you had to exchange on his behalf, and staffing protocols that you had to run.

the job was stressful. particularly stressful, because it required the two of you to keep up a very elaborate system of lies and ruses to keep people at bay. to make sure that you rehearsed your story over and over again, to make sure that you didn’t even give anyone a reason to question your relationship, to keep things as safe and secure as they were.

the truth was that you weren’t really the lady of the house, at least not in the traditional way. there was nothing standard about your marriage to nanami kento, because calling it that would be a disservice to the relationship that the two of you actually had.

you postulate that the more appropriate term would be partners. that in the twenty years that nanami kento lived across the courtyard, the two of you had forged your own version of what was important to a relationship. found your own way to protect your vested interests, which involved one another.

nanami had a very simple vested interest, which was to keep you safe. the shouting that he heard across the street didn’t fall deaf on his ears, and unlike others, wasn’t something that he could stomach to ignore. he was perceptive, a part of you was almost inclined to call it cunning, his solemn offer to protect you.

you had a very simple vested interest, which was to safeguard nanami’s happiness. and if that meant that you had to marry nanami kento for appearances, so that he could secretly convene with who he really loved behind closed doors, you’d do it over and over again. only because he’s deserving of love. and because his lover is awfully kind.

“i’ve switched guards. haibara is going to accompany you for the night.” nanami states.

“thank you. i appreciate that.”

nanami squeezes your hand once, as the carriage comes to a rocking stop.

“nonsense. there’s no one else i’d trust to keep you safe.

out of all the events that you were required to attend, you were least fond of the dinner parties. there was something suffocating about the ambiance – of the pink flush everyone had from the wine, the sweltering in the air from the high concentration of people, the food that made your stomach tense with pressure.

it’s why you duck out of there when they switch the plates for dessert which you know from experience is one of the only chances that you get. people were too busy – fawning over the chefs, complimenting the hosts – to notice that you had momentarily made your escape, which at this point, you desperately needed.

you make your way out of the main ballroom to the foyer, your quick feet leading you to the open balcony. there’s a quiet wind in the air tonight, sending a small coat of goosebumps across your arms, as you lean against the railing and eye the courtyard below. there’s old cobblestones, blanketed in the snow that fell two nights prior, and you wish you could run out there instead of having to retreat back in.

“are you not going to eat dessert?”

you basically flinch at the sound of the voice, deep and full at your side, as you put distance between yourself and the stranger who has materialized at your left. you take the quiet second to ogle him in full – snow white hair, bright blue eyes – before you clear your throat. he reminds you of the snow – the way his eyes glimmer in the crescent moon.

“i apologize. i was looking for the bathroom.”

he narrows his eyes at you.

“on the balcony?”

you swallow hard.

“i took the second to admire at the view. that’s all.”

he gives you a thoughtful nod, mimicking the position you were in earlier, by crossing his arms over the railing and looking down at the courtyard.

“clover blooms in the fields during spring.” he states.

“sorry?”

“you should return in the spring to see the clover blooms. do you like to look at views such as these?” he asks.

you give him a polite nod, before making a quick show of the sparkling ring on your finger. you were far too accustomed to the conversation – to the setting and parties like these – to know that there was an ulterior motive. that there was no way that he could have been asking simply to know. you can tell that he gets the hint, that he knows you’re trying to make it obvious from the way his eye falls to your hand, before he offers you a nod in recognition.

“i’m married.” you murmur.

“is that right?” he asks.

you take another step away, the backs of your knees hitting the railing, as you cross your hands over your chest and stick your freezing hands back into the warmth underneath your arms. there was something unsavory left in the air, mainly in the fact that you felt horrible when you had to reject people as such, as you attempt to terminate the conversation in any way that you can.

“yes.”

“does being married to nanami kento truly count?” he asks.

you feel your throat dry.

“sorry, what?”

he gives you a smile. there’s something glimmering in his eyes, a sensation, a feeling that you’re not able to place.

“does being married to nanami kento truly count when he’s very clearly got eyes for his beloved guard?” he asks.

you can feel your heart drop to the bottom of your chest. and from the look on his face, from the fact that he notes the immediate frown that graces your face, tells you that any attempt you would make to cover up would fall on deaf ears.

“that’s not true.” you whisper.

he leans forward, inching a few feet away from your face, before whispering. there’s a musky smell to him, resembling fresh pine, as he whispers back in response.

“how much do you want to bet, lady nanami?”

“is something bothering you?”

nanami kento is exceedingly polite. it’s very rare for him to push boundaries, for him to question or attempt to parse something out of you. it was one of the first things that you were able to appreciate about him – that he was curious, attentive enough to figure out things without you ever having to do the work of spilling it out.

the look in his eyes so unassuming – so calm – that there’s a part of you that doesn’t want to divulge what occurred. only because you can imagine the expression that’s going to follow, that you might not ever see the calm look ever again, and the safe bubble that the two of you had made such hard attempts to protect was going to pop.

“you were quiet the entire way over.” he adds.

the guards leave the room, all except one, as the doors to the main dining room are pulled shut. you note that haibara relaxes at his post against the wall, walking up to join you at nanami’s side, offering you a reassuring smile.

“someone knows.” you whisper.

nanami tilts his head to the side in confusion.

“what?”

“someone knows. about haibara.” you whimper.

the silence in the room is haunting. you look up to see that the two of them refuse to look at one another – that the gears in nanami’s head are turning, that the fear is settling in haibara’s chest – as you swallow hard.

you can’t help but frown at them. the calm look is gone. and replaced with something that you fear you’ll never get used to.

“who?” nanami asks.

“what happened?” haibara adds.

you shrug.

“i went to get air when they switched for desserts. this guy, he came and talked to me on the balcony. he…he asked me if being married to you counts when you’ve very clearly got eyes for your guard?”

you can tell that whatever flicker of hope that nanami was holding out for has diminished in quick seconds. that the hopes to make it out to be a misunderstanding, to ignore it all together were impossible, because someone had figured you all out. down to knowing that it was haibara that was behind the shut door at the end of the hall in nanami’s room.

there’s a sharp knock on the door.

“who’s that?”

“i invited someone from the party over. he’s an old friend of mine, i’ll…i’ll go retrieve him. we’ll discuss this later.”

you give him a nod, turning back to watch nanami swiftly march down the length of the hallway, before he disappears behind the corridor. you absentmindedly reach for haibara’s hand at your side, noting that he almost immediately interlocks his fingers with yours, as you feel the warmth burning in your eyes.

there was a difference in the way that nanami and haibara loved one another. something that was almost institutional, something entirely unavoidable.

it was the one thing that you and haibara had in common; that the two of you were willing to risk anything for kento. in the disastrous case that the two of them were found out, it was probable that haibara would be exiled. that he’d have to flee for having desecrated lady nanami in his illicit affair.

if nanami’s…predilections…were discovered, you knew for a fact that you’d no longer be allowed to keep your residence here. that no matter what defense you made, you wouldn’t make a slim escape that you did the previous time, that your parents would drag you back to that forsaken house by your hair if they had to.

and nanami kento would be alone. he’d be disgraced, surely people’s opinions of him would sway. but in the grand scheme of things, his solution was simple; to say that he was enticed, to move on as he was, to pretend like he had not forsaken the two people that he cared about the most.

on the heels of your worst nightmare coming true, nanami kento’s left in the dark, only because he can’t possibly understand what the two of you are going to be left to deal with in the aftermath.

“what are you going to do?” you whisper.

“run away.”

“what?”

haibara shakes his head.

“you could come with me. i would protect you.”

you shake your head.

“nanami can protect you.”

“but he shouldn’t.” he whispers.

you nod.

“he’d lose all credibility if…if he were to defend me.”

“he can come with us.”

you can hear nanami’s footsteps echoing down the hallway, animated chatter echoing against the walls as you let go of haibara’s hand, giving him one last look, before watching him retreat to his spot against the wall. you swear there’s a sheen glimmering in his eyes.

you run your hair through the loose waves left by the braid, massaging the tense points where the pins were digging into your scalp before standing up and preparing yourself to exchange niceties with the man walking down the hall.

only to find that nanami’s walking into the room with him.

the exact stranger that had cornered you on the balcony. you can feel your throat dry again, that he’s going to corner haibara while he’s actually in the room, that he’s going to rub your wrongdoings in your face, and you can’t help but reach for the stray knife that’s strewn across the table.

“we’re not exactly sure what we’re going to do.” nanami states, shooting you a halfhearted smile of acknowledgement as he walks into the room.

the stranger gives you a smile. and it sends a course of anger running through you, enough for you to clench the knife in your fist.

“this is your wife?” satoru asks.

nanami nods.

“she truly does care for you. evidently enough to get homicidal on your behalf.” he states.

“what?” nanami asks.

you watch as the stranger sticks his arm around nanami – that he’s so friendly with him that nanami allows it, that nanami’s must have made a grave mistake and that’s how you were found out – as he points towards your hand.

“she’s got a butter knife in her hand. and the look on her face isn’t exactly savory.”

“y/n. put the knife down.” nanami murmurs.

you widen your eyes at him.

“kento. that’s the guy.” you whisper.

nanami pauses.

“what guy?”

“the guy who asked me the question. the one that knows about…you know.”

nanami’s eyes widen – and you swear that you hear haibara release a breath of relief behind you – before turning back to the guy. this time you’re unable to place the look that’s simmering in nanami’s eyes, something that you’re assuming is a mix between searing anger and painstaking relief.

“did i do something?” he asks.

nanami gives him a peachy smile, before reaching forward and punching the stranger straight across the nose. there’s a bright crimson color that leaks out almost immediately, coupled with an obscene whining nose that comes out of his mouth.

you note that nanami takes the second to exchange a look with haibara, that you were right – that there was sense of unrelenting relief that they share, before you turn back to the two of them.

“what the hell was that for?” the stranger whines.

nanami wipes the red blood on his knuckles away with a napkin, before reaching forward and squeezing your shoulder once. in reassurance. that everything was going to be fine.

“you unnecessarily stressed my wife out. i’m almost inclined to let her stab you as she was intending.” he states.

“she was going to stab me?” he asks.

“you walked up to her and divulged our greatest secret. and left out that the reason that you knew was because i told you.”

“i figured that she knew. surely, she knows who i am.” he defends.

“as always, you give yourself too much importance, satoru. and knowing you, the fact that you purposely chose not to introduce yourself had to have been deliberate.”

you watch as haibara offers satoru a hand, extending him a napkin for the blood that’s dribbling out of his nose. satoru welcomes it, not without giving haibara an embrace on his own, before turning to give nanami a guilty smile. he only rolls eyes

“i’m satoru gojo. it’s a pleasure to meet you, lady nanami.”

you sigh.

“right. you’re his friend from…”

“vienna. correct.” he finishes.

you wipe your sweaty palms against the pleats of your dress before sticking your hand out and shaking his, the searing cold in his touch taking you off guard. he shoots you an apologetic smile, before placing one of his hands over his chest.

“my apologies for causing you distress, my lady. that was never my intention.”

you smile.

“from what i’ve heard about you, i’m inclined to believe that’s a blatant lie.” you states.

satoru smiles – at what you assume is mainly the fact that he was important enough to have been mentioned to you by nanami – before giving you a mock bow.

“guilty as charged.”

“i’d keep your jokes to a minimum while you’re here.” nanami states.

satoru ignores his comment all together.

“i didn’t get your name.”

“y/n.”

“he’s going to be staying in the room across from yours.” nanami adds.

you turn towards him.

“he’s going to live here?” you ask.

nanami gives you a sly grin.

“i’m sure he won’t be offended by your late night singing. god knows that he’ll join in if you start belting again.”

you can feel your cheeks burn. only at the fact that nanami’s divulging your late night habits to this stranger, this stranger who seems intrigued by what he’s just mentioned, and you shake your head dismissively.

“it’s not that. he’s more than welcome to stay, obviously, i would just…like a warning next time.”

“you know. you never did answer my question.”

you nearly flinch at the sound of satoru gojo’s voice, as you turn to find him seated on the bench in the middle of the garden. he’s less…less formal than the last time you saw him – his hair unstyled, his shirt plain – and with his legs crossed.

you divert your gaze back to the ivy that’s growing against the length of the pathway, make a mental note that you should probably trim it tomorrow, before eyeing the flower bed to your left.

“sorry. what was that?” you ask.

satoru pats the seat on the bench next to him, patiently waiting for you to join him at his side, before he even makes any attempt to divulge. you can tell that he’s not going to take no for an answer, that he’s very keen on interrupting whatever it is you’re doing here, and that he enjoys pestering you – for whatever reason.

you’re careful to keep a sizable distance between the two of you, as you take your place next to him.

“you never answered my question. do you enjoy looking at views like this one?” he asks.

“oh. right, from the other day. yes, i do.”

satoru nods.

“did you know that my room gives me a perfect view of this very garden?” he asks.

“i wasn’t aware, no. i’ve never been inside your room.”

satoru grins.

“do you need a formal invite?”

“what?”

satoru scoots closer to you on the bench, giving you an almost devious smile, before leaning closer and whispering.

“you have to know that you’re always welcome where i am.”

you roll your eyes, scooting to the edge of the bench, in attempts to put a distance between the two of you again. he takes the hint, learning back towards his side, before twisting the flower he’s very clearly plucked from the nearby tree in his fingers.

“i’ve seen you come down here every single day. once in the morning, once in the evening. you tend to the flowers on the left, sometimes you sit near the pond on the right. sometimes you trim the ivy.”

you make your best attempts not to make a face.

“are you cataloging every movement i make?”

“i make my best efforts not to. i can’t help that i’m so intrigued by you.”

“what’s so intriguing about me?” you ask.

satoru leans his head against the back of the bench, shiftling slightly closer to you, in order to bask in the slightest streams of light that were peering in between the leaves.

“wouldn’t it be easier for you to just trim the ivy from the garden for good?” he asks.

you shake your head.

“i love the ivy. and yes, sometimes it takes up space where it shouldn’t, but that’s just how ivy is. it grows wherever there’s room for it.”

satoru pauses, almost like he’s mulling the thought over, before he reaches for your wrist. his fingers are ice cold as he wraps them around your skin and maneuvers your hand so it’s facing palm up. you note that his eyes slightly waver at the jagged skin, before he places the flower in his fingers in your palm.

“kento has a very similar scar.” he notes.

you nod.

“my fault. i told him a secret. he told me one too. and we decided that a bloody shake on it was what he had to do to solidify the fact that we would keep one another’s secrets.”

satoru gives you a look. almost like he’s impressed.

“that’s some dedication.”

“kento is very special to me. in ways that i understand might be difficult to comprehend.”

satoru shrugs, as he wraps his fingers around yours, closing the flower he gifted you into your hold.

“nanami kento, who albeit i will admit is very attractive, made his very first moves on me when i came to vienna. and while i could empathize with his affection for me, hell i was even flattered, it was something that i couldn’t reciprocate. and by proxy, i tried to find solutions for him. like setting him up with friends of mine, guards that i had met on my travels.”

like haibara.

“granted, it seems that he didn’t even need my help. he’s found an almost perfect solution on his own. even your chefs and lady’s maids are sworn to your deep promises of loyalty. i will admit that i tried the same ruse that i played on you with them and not one of them gave in.”

you smile.

“i hand pick our staff myself.” you respond.

you pause.

“and our ruse is perfect.”

satoru shakes his head.

“while i’m inclined to believe that, coupled with the determination in your voice, my gut tells me that it’s not exactly true. it’s what peaks my curiosity the most, the fact that you so willingly participate, when you’re the one receiving the short end of the stick” he states.

you can’t help but be defensive.

“i get to live here. tend to the garden. my lady’s maids are very kind to me. nanami and haibara treat me with the respect, which is the bare minimum, but they’re also my closest confidantes. i’d even wager to say that…that in some strange way they’re my closest friends. that and the fact that i’m the one holding our sweet favor together means that things usually go my way, which definitely helps.”

satoru scoots even closer.

“that can’t be enough.” he whispers.

“enough for what?”

“you. their friendship, this garden – that can’t be enough for you to forsake the idea of love. of having your own partnership.”

there’s a sharp prickling in your chest, as you shake your head.

“i’m more than grateful for what i have. kento is kind, very kind, and he always has been. while he may not be my husband in the traditional sense, i…i do view him as my partner. he takes care of me. i try my best to do the same. most people would kill to be so lucky.”

satoru smiles.

“that’s not what i said.”

“what?’

“i didn’t ask you what you were grateful for. i suggested that there was no way that you could watch the two of them without yearning for what they have. that there wasn’t a part of you that craved for…to be that intimate too.”

“i am not fond of kento in that way.”

“not with kento. it’s evident that it’s strictly platonic; that and his predilections don’t necessarily work well in your favor to begin with. but someone. anyone. even just the idea of it, being someone’s closest confidante, in every respect.”

you slightly slump down in the chair.

“it’s a magnificent curse that you’ve given yourself. the exact thing that you long for is the one thing that you’ve set yourself up to not have. surely, nanami kento was not worth all of that?”

you shake your head. and he gets the message – that for you, it is.

“a fatal flaw.” satoru murmurs.

“what do you mean?”

satoru reaches forward, for the stray strands of the braid that fall loosely around your face, and tucks them behind your hear.

“exceedingly kind. with everyone but yourself it seems. so agreeable, it seems that you forget you’re part of the equation too.”

you pinch your lips in a line.

“i’m a phenomenal friend.” you joke.

“never been that good at the whole friendship thing.”

you scoff.

“i wonder why.”

he rolls his eyes in response, before extending his hand out to you. it makes you nervous, sliding your hand into his hold – accompanied by the course of energy that runs down your spine when you do – as he runs his thumb over the jagged scar on your palm.

“could i be so lucky as to be your friend?” he asks.

you feel your throat dry.

“what?”

he smiles again.

“are all friendships this demanding? surely, you won’t make me humble myself to make me ask again.”

you laugh.

“i can’t help but fear that you have an ulterior motive.” you murmur.

“well, that’s natural of course. but i can’t be so blatantly forward. i know i’m teetering in dangerous waters by flirting with a married woman. trying to romance her by drinking her husband’s wine.”

his blatant admission makes your cheeks burn, even in the dead of the night, when you rethink the conversation before going to bed. and in retrospect, that’s when you pinpoint it to.

the exact moment where satoru gojo plants his roots in your dreamland.

in the dead of night, you knock on nanami’s door. if you had your wits about you – which you almost never did – you would have avoided this all together. thinking through your decisions would have prevented you from interrupting what you did and the smallest part of you feels guilty.

“did you want something, y/n?”

nanami looks flushed. bright pink cheeks, the faintest beads of sweat on his forehead, and panting.

“why are you out of breath?” you ask.

nanami narrows his eyes at you. and it takes you three seconds to realize that you’ve interrupted him after the sun dipped past the horizon, the exact time that he’s asked you to give him his privacy, as you widen your eyes.

“oh god. kento, i’m…”

“no, no. it’s alright. i know you wouldn’t bother if it wasn’t something important. I’ll ask haibara to leave.”

you reach forward, grabbing onto the door, as you give nanami a pleading look.

“can he stay actually? maybe both of your input will be helpful?” you murmur.

nanami gives you a confused look, before giving you a kurt nod. he shuts the door – the quiet sound of muffled voices and scattering behind the door – before he returns, fully dressed this time with haibara at his side. the latter gives you a smile, gesturing for you to enter, as you take a seat at the vanity.

you would be offended on satoru gojo’s stance – that you were the one left with the worst cut of your deal – if it wasn’t something that haibara had said to you first. it was an impassioned defense that you heard from him moments before you married kento – that you were deserving of love, that he couldn’t let you sign your life away from him – and you can tell it weighs on him often.

you figure it’s why he’s so kind. why he’s so sweet. because he feels guilty for the potential he’s taken away.

“sorry. i didn’t mean to interrupt, i just…wanted some advice.” you mumble.

“we’re always here to help you. whatever you need.” haibara responds.

“what’s going on?” kento asks.

once you start talking, you can’t help but stop. you can’t help but go on and on – about satoru gojo, about how his piercing blue eyes send a shiver down your spine, that his earnest curiosity about you is something that you find endearing, a feeling you’ve you’ve never been privy to – to be the object of someone’s affections and it’s driving you insane.

“it’s ridiculous, kento. he…he asks me questions. all the time. about what i hated about grade school, why i dislike my mother, why i would suggest that you and i slit our palms to seal our promise. and the crazy part is that he seems intrigued by it – he actually wants to know about me.”

kento offers you a kind smile.

“is it so shocking to believe that someone would be interested in you? surely you don’t think so little of yourself.”

“it’s getting hopeless. every morning i go down to the garden early, i’m…i’m fidgeting with my hair for these moments that we steal in his free time. and it’s ridiculous…it’s ridiculous because i know it’s just begged and borrowed time, but god. god is this how the two of you feel when you spend time together? i’m…i’m itching for more and i’m insatiable.”

“well, i think that-” haibara starts.

“it’s like a goddamn fire. he makes these ridiculous jokes, he makes me laugh, and now i can feel him there in the pit of my stomach, and…and i can’t get rid of him. i’m scared that it’s never going to go away, that he’s just always going to have these roots in me because i’m so desperately fond of him, i love being around him so much, and it just…just makes me despair that he’s going to leave soon.”

you’re panting at the end of the rant, two wide eyed stares being offered to you, before they exchange a look.

“sorry, y/n. what was the question?” haibara asks.

you give him a breathy laugh before sinking back down to your chair and placing your head in your hands.

“this is…this is how the two of you feel, correct? I…i’ve never felt this way for someone before, i’d half convinced myself that i’d never know what it feels like to have someone care for me this way or want that for myself, but i just…that’s what it is right?”

kento gives you a smile.

“yes.”

you groan.

“you know, i’m starting to understand why you almost ran away, kento. not being able to exact these feelings is excruciating.” you murmur.

haibara gives you a confused look.

“why can’t you see it through?”

you look up at him.

“surely, i can’t.”

kento smiles at you again.

“why not? we’re certainly not morally opposed to it.” he states.

you feel your throat dry.

“you’re not?” you whisper.

kento closes the distance between the two of you. he holds his hand out to you, jagged scar facing up, as you place your hand in his.

“i mean. i find myself dreading every interaction that i have with him and unable to understand what you’re seeing. but surely you must know that i would have no problem with you pursuing…whatever it is.”

you sigh.

“really?” you whisper.

“of course.”

“well, i figured that you would. but…do you think that he likes me?”

haibara places a hand on your shoulder and squeezes.

“what’s not to like?”

you give the two of them a grin.

“the fact that i’m already married.”

the two of them laugh, enough for it to ease the anxiety that’s wavering in your stomach, as you sigh.

“i’m sure he can get over it.”

there’s a rapid knock at the door, the three of you sitting up as one of your lady’s maid shoots you a meek smile from the doorway, her quiet voice breaking the silence.

“lord nanami.”

“yes, what is it?” he asks.

“the nurses in the east wing told me to alert you that your guest has returned. he appears to be severely injured.”

nanami gets there first. haibara half drags you there. only because it makes your stomach wrench – knowing that satoru’s hurt, that he’s down the hallway writhing in pain, that he left on a dangerous mission without divulging where he was going.

“what was he there to do?” you whisper.

haibara frowns.

“he’s been negotiating to find a place in the area. and granted, his family’s powerful, and…and sometimes people make power plays with heirs and such and it’s…it’s really just semantics, i wouldn’t worry.” he murmurs.

you give haibara a nod, letting him push open the door to the dimly lit room in the wing, where one of nanami’s nurses is very carefully attending to a gash on satoru’s forehead. you can tell that most of the damage has been cleaned up – evidence by the loads of bloodied washcloths in the bin closest to you – as well as the acidic smell of the antiseptic lingering in the air.

satoru cranes his head to the door, earning him a scold from the nurse working on his forehead, as he splits a smile. you can’t help but feel the tears bubble up in your eyes as you close the distance, reaching forward to cup the side of his face and watching the dried red come back on your hand.

“why are you making that face?” you whisper.

he can’t help but smile – that the line he’s repeated to you multiple times is one that you’re parroting now.

“just thinking.” he whispers back.

“penny for your thoughts?” you ask.

you can feel the dryness in your throat as you dip your hand to where his is, the ice cold feeling sending a shiver up your spine. he mimics your motions, his hand finding its way to yours, as you look down at the intertwined fingers.

“nanami kento has just told me that you’re very fond of me. enough to be so worked up over it that you interrupted his…evening plans.”

you shoot nanami a glare over your shoulder, one that he merely shakes his head to dismiss, before you turn back and run your hand through the messy tresses of satoru’s hair.

“i’m not fond of you.” you murmur.

“don’t break my heart now. i’m already injured.” he complains.

you smile, at the attitude, before reaching for his hand that’s firm on your cheek and pressing a kiss to the palm of his hand.

“well, don't act so daft and i won't say things like that.”

satoru scoffs.

“i did this for you. i can’t exactly live close by if i don’t make deals with people around here. and how was i supposed to know that they were out to get me?”

you laugh.

“just be careful. all of my pain fits in the palm of your hand.” you whisper.

satoru furrows his eyebrows at you.

“what’s that supposed to mean?”

you swallow hard.

“my heart’s yours. you can break it, especially if you’re being careless like this, so just….tread lightly, please.”

satoru looks over at you, eyebrows raised to mark his intrigue, as he reaches for the scar on your hand. it’s something that he touches often – soft fingers running down the length, his curious voice asking you to repeat the story over and over again.

“in the palm of my hand?” he asks.

you shakily nod.

“do i really hold so much power?” he repeats.

“well. you’re relentless. you’ve always been relentless and i just couldn't help it. it's all your fault" you groan.

satoru gives you an ear splitting smile, before shaking head.

"i disagree. ivy grows where there's room for it."

you reach forward and run your thumb over his lips. and he welcomes the touch, pressing a kiss to the scar on your palm, marking a new promise - one that he's privy to this time.

"you let it happen. just as hard as i was trying to pursue it."

an: what tf is going awn. also no way this is the first evermore song. AND I JUST REALIZED I'VE NEVER DONE A FOLKLORE SONG?

taglist: @invisible-mori @porridgesblog @k0z3me @sugu-love @yihona-san06 @bsenpai @sweetenertea @skzismyhome @mykyoon @violetmatcha @rebeccawinters @luna0713hunter @shotenvinsoot @itzmeme @gojoswifeyyys-world @cutiejg @chilichopsticks @torureadz @dreamxiing @mamamamamarga

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vanilladove · 1 year ago

Text

♱ ໒꒱ ⋆ﾟ⊹ sinful angel

gif creds the-chikyuu-times

𐙚 ⋆˚.⋆ pairing: hacker!fyodor x camgirl!reader

𐙚 ⋆˚.⋆ genre: smut w/ plot; 18+ only mdni!!!!!!

𐙚 ⋆˚.⋆ content warnings: light bsd manga spoilers, dubious consent + manipulation, sexwork mentions, sex toy use, slight exhibitionism/voyeurism, some degrading (+ lots of praise to balance it out)

𐙚 ⋆˚.⋆ summary: you've caught the eye of cybercriminal fyodor dostoevsky, who regards you as his sweet angel. watching you isn't enough to satisfy the lurking demon, who wants nothing but to corrupt you. translation notes: "milaya" = sweetheart, "shlyukha" = whore

𐙚 ⋆˚.⋆ word count: 5.7k

Fyodor sighed in annoyance, running his hands through his dark hair as he looked at all the computer screens in front of him. He was tracking down an arms dealer that was nothing but a pawn ready to be disposed of. The monitor displayed footage from the dealer's apartment, and showed him standing in the lobby making a phone call.

By the way he was hurriedly whispering, Fyodor could tell he was trying to be discreet. It was useless. The dealer was too occupied trying to hide his words from the security guard that he didn't even realize Fyodor had hacked into his phone and was listening in on the whole conversation. It had already been thirty minutes, and the hacker felt restless, waiting for the stupid pawn to just go back to his room and find the sweet gift awaiting him—another henchman ready to shoot him dead.

The dark haired man anxiously bit his fingernail until he heard something—no, it must've been the voice of an angel—through the recording of the dealer's phone conversation. His eyes narrowed onto the source of the voice from the screen.

There you stood, wearing a pastel pink and white lacy top, white cotton maxi skirt, white flats, and a ribbon in your flowing hair. You sweetly greeted the security guard, giving them a fresh pastry that you'd presumedly just bought. Your saccharine voice and mannerisms struck Fyodor's cold heart, snapping him out of his boredom. A precious anomaly in a world of pawns and subordinates, an angel.

His magenta eyes followed your movements towards the elevator, and his fingers instinctively typed in code to display the elevator's camera feed onto a different monitor, noting your floor number and the room number transcribed onto your keys. Pulling up another set of cameras for your floor's hallway and your attached balcony, Fyodor watched as you entered your unit and set your bag down on the dining table, pulling out a strawberry custard tart and going to the kitchen to pull out a mug and a teabag. He smiled, watching you brew his favorite blend of black tea and pulling out your laptop to find a show to watch while enjoying your midday treat. In his eyes, you were a woman of fine taste. An elegant lady that held herself to the highest standards of purity and grace. Your apartment was clean, with the right amount of cute, feminine touches and white lace everywhere. Truly a sight for sore eyes, and the perfect relief for an overworked criminal mastermind like himself.

The dealer's phone call suddenly ending interrupted Fyodor's daydreams as he turned his back to the screen showing you and watched the dealer take the elevator. He guessed it would take forty-five minutes or so to get the job done and cover all the tracks of the murder. After that, he promised his attention would be on you again.

♱ ໒꒱ ⋆ﾟ⊹

Fyodor Dostoevsky was a lonely man. Throughout his many lifetimes, he'd never sought out a companion, nor did he necessarily have the desire to. More and more, he found himself displeased by the new generations of sinners, unimpressed by virtually everyone. He didn't care much for consuming media, but for some reason he had a strong urge to watch the movie with you. Judging your character, he was sure you were watching some cheesy rom-com or a soapy drama. He was intrigued and bewitched by you and your sweet nature, which was why he couldn't help hacking into your laptop to see what you were watching, planning a 'movie-date' of sorts in his mind.

What he wasn't expecting to see was you spread open, in white lace lingerie and stockings, touching yourself.

Fuck, were you recording yourself?

His eyes widened, watching your manicured nails circle around your glossy clit, panting as you ran your fingers up and down your opening. Your thin panties were pulled to the side, leaving your bare cunt on display, slick dripping down. You whined and bucked your hips as you slipped two fingers inside, whining from the stretch.

"A-ahh, f-fuck—" You whimpered, your arousal leaking more from the pressure of your movements. You were moaning louder now, your other hand coming underneath your knee to expose your stocking and give a better view to the camera.

"Mmm—I'm gonna cum—make sure to watch, 'kay?"

Fyodor watched in utter shock as he witnessed you in a complete state of lustful pleasure. His angelic fixation was actually nothing more than a sinful temptress, a camgirl. As disappointed as he wanted to be, he couldn't ignore the strain against his pants. Seeing your blissful state, the bunched up lace, and listening to your sweet voice was enough to make him painfully hard for you.

With a groan, he leaned back into his padded chair, freeing his pulsing cock and tightly stroking up and down his length, eyes squinting yet open so he could still see your sensual body on the monitor screen.

He shamefully squeezed his leaking tip, trying to time his movements with your soft moans. Fyodor carefully trained his gaze on your pussy, closely watching your arousal drip down your slit, and how you gradually squeezed your thigh harder for relief.

You suddenly popped your fingers out and rubbed fast around your now swollen clit, body moving slightly as you heaved your chest from the feeling. You were practically whimpering at this point, close to finishing. Fyodor stroked faster to match your neediness, starting to buck his hips into his hand. His face was surely flushed a rosy pink by now, matching the color of his darkened tip.

“C-cumming—guys, I’m cumming—” You jerked up slightly, fingers leaving your clit to lightly spread your folds as your cum dripped out of your loosened hole, dampening the fuzzy white blanket below you. Your legs were shaking a bit as the orgasm washed over you, but Fyodor’s eyes widened again after you slowly wiped the excess cum around the outside of your pussy and the crevices between your thighs, leaving your skin glossy and shiny. You giggled sweetly, causing more blood to rush straight to his hard cock.

“Ahh, I kinda made a mess, didn’t I?! Let’s try this one next~!” You slowly pulled out a pink dildo, kissing the tip of it loudly and carefully rubbing it around your slit to lubricate it with your juices, gasping anytime it hit a sensitive spot.

God, you vixen. You knew what you were doing.

The hacker couldn’t resist, sweat starting to bead at his forehead as his breath got thicker in the air, cock feeling heavier and tighter while watching you tease yourself with the sex toy. He couldn’t help but wish it was his cock instead of that fake dildo that was slipping in and out of his pretty angel’s cunt as he fucked up into his fist more intensely. Borderline growls left his lips as he tried to chase his own release, which he cursed himself for since it wasn’t coming out fast enough.

As your own moans got louder and more broken, Fyodor could feel himself getting equally as lost into his own delusions, trying to satiate the long suppressed lustful desires. One orgasm wasn’t enough, he needed—no, craved—more, and long after your stream had ended, he couldn’t hold himself back from exploring your page, going through your different videos with one hand stroking his unsatisfied dick.

♱ ໒꒱ ⋆ﾟ⊹

Catching his breath, Fyodor cleaned himself off afterwards, feeling ashamed yet incredibly turned on from his actions. It was probably the hardest he’d came in a long time. As much as he wanted to continue to obsess over you, he was rudely interrupted by Nikolai barging into his space. Fyodor turned his chair immediately and glared at the white-haired jester.

Nikolai smirked mischievously, “What the hell, Dos, you watchin’ porn or something?” He taunted, causing Fyodor to scowl and throw his dirty napkins at him, which Nikolai swiftly avoided.

“None of your business…and knock before you enter my room.”

Fyodor gritted his teeth. Was it his own noisy groans or the audio of your moans playing out loud that Nikolai could hear? He secretly hoped it was the former since he didn’t want anyone else hearing his angel’s precious voice, especially not in such a lewd state.

“Well whatever, I was just letting you know that I killed and disposed of the dealer, so I expect my payment.” Nikolai waved his hands dismissively before pausing, tilting his head in a coy manner before grinning at Fyodor again, “By the way, if she’s a cam girl, you can usually tip her if you want a more personal interaction.”

Fyodor narrowed his eyes again, throwing more badly-aimed tissues at Nikolai. “Get. Out.” He threatened sternly, sick of Nikolai’s antics. The jester didn’t care, only laughing pridefully and singing “Dos likes a girlllll~” before leaving.

After waiting for his footsteps to disappear, Fyodor pulled up your account again. Coincidentally, you went by the alias of “angel” and dedicated your whole page to a soft, lacy aesthetic, becoming the perfect sinful object of desire for your subscribers. He found the paid chat and calls for your account, and swiftly made an encrypted account to send you a message, noticing you were still online.

demonfyo: My angel, how are you? Your beauty has entranced me, and it’s all I can think about…

angel ଘ(੭◌ˊᵕˋ)੭* ੈ♡‧₊˚: hiiiiiiiii~♡ oh, how you flatter me demonfyo, i’m blushing (￣▽￣;) i’m feeling very playful atm hehe what abt you?

demonfyo: I’ve been trying to pray and repent all night, but I can’t get your pretty pussy and voice out of my thoughts.

angel ଘ(੭◌ˊᵕˋ)੭* ੈ♡‧₊˚: sounds like my charm is working hehe ૮꒰ ྀི >⸝⸝⸝< ྀི꒱ა i'm happy i could help you get off lots ♡

demonfyo: Can you bless me with a short call, darling? I need you.

angel ଘ(੭◌ˊᵕˋ)੭* ੈ♡‧₊˚: yesyes! do you want to do a video call? ૮₍´˶• . • ⑅ ₎ა

demonfyo: No, I just want to hear your sweet voice for a bit before I go to bed. Is that alright?

The incoming message notification sent your heart racing. Somehow, the new user had caught your attention. Swinging your legs cutely on your soft sheets, you couldn’t help but feel giddy about the mysterious sender. Typically, those who paid for messages got straight to the point, often explicitly stating their feelings towards you with no filter or immediately requesting a personalized video call. Seeing someone address you so adoringly certainly pulled on your heartstrings a bit, and the mystery behind what the new sender wanted was making you excited. You pressed the call button, anticipating the voice on the other side.

You cleared your throat, "Hihi, This is Angel~! Is this demonfy—"

"Fyodor. Call me Fyodor, angel". Your mysterious caller's deep, husky voice startled you. From the way he was messaging you, you half expected it to be some horny old man, but the man calling you sounded attractive. Fuck, you were getting a little turned on—thanks to your secret voice kink.

Of course, your small reactions didn't go unnoticed by Fyodor, who was intently watching you on his monitor. He smirked pridefully after seeing the rose on your cheeks and the way you slowly clenched your thighs together from hearing his voice.

"F-Fyodor. Umm, h-hi. Was there anything you wanted to talk about?" You quickly tried to regain some composure, nervous about talking to someone desirable, not just the usual degenerate. It didn't fool Fyodor, though, who you could hear sneering on the other side. You bit your lip—even his laugh was hot.

Fyodor spoke slowly, "Stuttering, huh...Do I make you nervous, milaya?" Your breath hitched, which he caught again. You were too fun to tease. "You're not used to being intimate with other men? Even though you're a camgirl?"

"N-no, it's not that...I'm just not used to non-sexual conversations." You huffed, trying to sound less flustered, "And I don't get intimate with other men; it's just me in front if the camera. N-not that I'd be opposed to having a special guest though—!"

He smiled at that, noting how hot and bothered you were getting, "Would you do it with me, then? I could make you feel better than that cheap pink dildo."

"W-what?!" You quickly shot out, gripping the sheets for balance, drawing another mocking laugh from Fyodor, which made you instantly regret it. Pull yourself together, girl! Maybe he's trying to roleplay!

"Yes, I would,” you muttered, trying to recover your confidence and add a flirty tone to your voice, “Would you whisper dirty things in my ear?”

Fyodor tilted his head, watching you bite your lip before whispering sweetly into the microphone, “Only if you begged me to, my sweet girl. You like my voice that much?”

“Maybe~” You teased, starting to feel tension build up again in your core. You lightly moved across your sheets, trying to relieve some of your pent-up arousal—even though you knew it wouldn’t be enough. Fyodor sighed watching you sink further into your bed, eyes starting to gloss over.

“Touch yourself and dream of me tonight, and it might happen,” your caller whispered, admiring you through the screen and smiling when you gasped and gripped the sheets tighter. “Sweet dreams, my pretty angel. I’ll see you tomorrow.” He whispered the last part to himself and ended the call before you could even process what he said or respond, making you double back at the empty screen.

You pouted, already missing Fyodor’s voice, but that didn’t take your attention away from how wet you were. Even your fatigue couldn’t stop your heartbeat, and you hastily opened your drawer of toys and reached for a baby pink vibrator, silently cursing yourself for being so horny and cursing your caller for leaving you hanging. You laid back in your bed, pulling aside your shorts as you covered you eyes in shame. No one had ever had this much of an effect on you. Imagining Fyodor’s sultry voice, you turned on the toy and moved it downwards, unaware of the violet eyes trained on you and following every movement and sound.

♱ ໒꒱ ⋆ﾟ⊹

You closed your laptop and stretched after editing some videos to tease your fans with. It was raining hard outside, ruining your plans to go out and get your usual strawberry tart. Sighing and opening your fridge, you thought about what to make for dinner.

You settled on pasta and grabbed a pot, filling it with water and turning on the stove. You went to grab some noodles before turning around and realizing the stove wasn’t turning on. Confused, you tried pushing the buttons on your oven and microwave, but they weren’t responding. A power outage? Strange, but at least your internet was still working. You really needed to call maintenance, but it could wait. You instead opened a food delivery app, ordering some vodka pasta and tiramisu and laying down annoyedly on your couch, drinking some rosé that you poured for yourself. Resting for about 20 minutes, a knock on your door woke you up.

A bit buzzed, you walked to the door and opened it to see your delivery person. He had shoulder length dark hair and a big hat was covering his face.

“Thanks!” You said sweetly, grabbing the paper bag from the man. He nodded slowly and you noticed the drops of water beading off the front strands of his hair. Oh, right, it was pouring outside. “U-Um, wait! Before you go, let me grab you a towel and some tip money. I feel kinda bad about the weather.” You tried to offer some sympathy and set your food on your dining table before going into your room to fish out some extra change from your wallet. Rushing back to the door, you were surprised to see that the delivery man was gone, and your door was now shut.

“Where did he go?” Muttering under your breath, you opened the door to look out into the hallway before sighing and closing the door. Maybe he was in a rush…at least you got to keep your money…

Your eyes widened right after closing the door, though, and a shiver ran down your spine as you felt warm air against your ear, “Hello, my angel.” You shrieked as you whipped around to see the same delivery man without his hat and a pair of glowing purple eyes staring back at you menacingly.

Alarmed, you tried to open the door and scream loudly for help, but the dark-haired man pulled your body against him and put a hand to your mouth, the other pulling you in and and resting on your back. “Why so scared, milaya? Didn’t you want to see me last night?” You yelped instinctively as you recognized the husky voice, which made you turn cold.

Fyodor.

“F-Fyodor! W-What are you doing here?!” You tried to back up, but he followed you, still holding you tightly as your back hit the door. He only grinned evilly, eyes low and mentally undressing you—not that your floral lace set was hiding anything, especially since you were bra-less and only had a skimpy white thong on. His hot breath fanned over your face as you took him in. He was much taller than you with a relatively thin frame, and his voice matched his ghostly, handsome appearance—like the attractive villain in a movie. But his touch was cold, so cold.

“You’re so beautiful, angel, yes, much more in person,” he whispered lowly, dragging his lips down from your ear to your jaw, “I’ve always taken a liking to pretty people, and you, milaya, are no exception.” You were shaking, fearful of his intentions—it was no secret that people into your work were suspicious. He looked up at you with an almost predator-like expression. “I’m going to move my hand. If you know what’s good for you, don’t scream. Understand?”

He was taunting you, but you were to afraid to fight back, and you nodded slowly in compliance, earning a cunning smile from him as well as a peck on your forehead as he moved his hands away from your mouth to slowly caress your cheeks. Your mouth was sealed shut from fear. “Good girl…I’m going to reward you now.” He whispered slowly before moving his head down to capture your lips in a slow kiss. You tried to keep your eyes open, but they closed upon feeling his soft touch.

Despite intruding into your apartment and forcing himself on you, he kissed you sensually, like a lover. Your hands pressed against his chest, but as he slipped his tongue in your mouth, your hands went to tangle in his long hair, still slightly damp from the rain, drawing a low groan from him. His knee came in between your leg, and the sudden pressure made you moan into the kiss, the shock causing you to break away from him and pant to catch your breath. You cursed your face for betraying you—your cheeks felt hot and you were sure you were blushing like crazy. Not to mention the fact that you could feel your nipples hardening beneath your long sleeve top.

As much as you wanted to blame your body’s reactions on the rosé you were drinking earlier, a part of you knew it was because of his voice, which you’d been fantasizing about since the call. Not to mention, being a cam girl made you turned on by the thought of your caller visiting you. As ashamed as you were, you knew Fyodor was enjoying every bit of your internal struggle, the sly smirk still on his face as he felt your heat on his clothed thigh. He quickly went to your neck, nipping and kissing your sensitive skin, somehow knowing where your sweet spots were and leaving light hickeys, making you whimper every time. His leg simultaneously grinded against your cunt, weakening the little balance you had left. You were starting to feel lightheaded and dizzy, wrapping your arms around Fyodor’s shoulders and playing with his hair.

Before pulling away and lowering his leg, he gently kissed over your hickeys along with the tears starting to prick your needy eyes. “Fyodor…” You started quietly, suddenly bashful and unable to make eye contact. He gave you a soft smile before tucking some loose strands of hair behind your ear. You looked so cute gripping onto his shirt for what seemed like dear life, too flustered to even look up. How easily his pretty vixen fell apart for him.

“Yes, my angel?” He responded, still gazing at your face affectionately, like he was deeply devoted to you.

“Can we…” You trailed off, not sure what to say since your heart, head, and arousal were all screaming different things at you. Fyodor stroked your face with his knuckles slowly, enjoying how fragile you were under him, how corrupted your mind became. His questioning deep hum vibrated through your body, making you shiver and hold your breath.

The demon had captivated his innocent angel, bringing out her most sinful desires and conjuring the unholy courtesan that she really was. “C-can you fuck me? Please, Fyodor, I want you—“ You begged, forcing your doe eyes to look into his piercing orbs. His lips twisted upwards, and he slowly stepped back from you, turning you around and leading you backwards to your nearby plush couch, encouraging you to continue.

“I dreamt of you last night after our call, but it wasn’t enough. I tried so many toys, but I really wanted you…” You whined, making Fyodor push you back faster. “I kept thinking about how good your dick would feel inside of me, and the things you would say to me. What kind of things do you lik—“ Your rambling was cut off by your legs hitting the edge of the couch, and Fyodor swiftly pulling you seated into his lap, your back hitting his lean chest.

He seemed to be satisfied with your pleas, not pushing you for anymore and driving you into an embarrassing silence. He rested his head on your shoulder and exhaled, lazily wrapping his arms around your waist, “I know, angel, I was watching you.” You moved your head an inch to the side, even more flustered about your words.

“…Oh, on my website and livestreams?” Fyodor shook his head slowly, making your stomach drop. He grabbed your chin and moved your face around your room.

“No, here, there, and…here!” He guided your face from your smart fridge to your balcony camera and finally to your laptop camera. He smiled upon feeling you gulp nervously. “Ah, I guess I watched your livestreams and videos, too, but it’s more fun to watch you alone from different cameras,” he mentioned it too naturally, like that wasn’t considered creepy or an invasion of privacy. He frowned teasingly, “You should really get a stronger security system, angel. Lots of hackers are out there, and they love to target helpless, sweet girls like you.” He smiled to himself; not like any security systems could protect you—he could bypass all of them.

“Oh, about that…you wouldn’t mind streaming this, would you?” Your body froze, but he continued. His hands left your waist to glide down your arms, moving his fingers on top of yours. He reached over to your laptop and dragged your fingertip on top of a key to unlock it, going over to your bookmarked website and hitting the record button to start a livestream. He hid the live comment notifications, so your attention would be only on him. Your heart was beating rapidly as you were too shocked—realizing that Fyodor was a cyberstalker and about to make his presence known—trying to move his hand, but the one minute timer was already counting down on the screen.

Fyodor sighed after seeing your appalled expression, seeing the timer at 50 seconds. "Angel, that's no good...your viewers won't like it if you don't show them a pretty face. I want you to enjoy this as much as I will." He pushed you off his lap onto the floor, and the force of your knees hitting the floor finally brought you back to the present.

"H-hey, wha—" You snapped, placing your hands on Fyodor's thighs to steady your kneeling figure. He only looked back at you lovingly again while petting your head. Shit, that expression made you wet weak.

He bent down to your level to kiss your lips while looking into your eyes with a sympathetic expression, "Please, angel, be good for me..." You closed your eyes for a moment to savor his sweet gesture, "Or at least do it for your loyal viewers." He smirked, reminding you of your job. To perform. He was just giving you the option to enjoy it or not.

You only turned your head and pouted, earning another snide laugh from Fyodor, before he swiftly pulled off his pants and boxers, revealing his springing hard-on. Your eyes widened. It was long, not too thick, and the pale mauve-ish tip was already starting to leak some pre-cum. Definitely bigger than your dildos.

He clicked his tongue, "Angel, time's up." The counter was at five seconds, and Fyodor placed his hand behind your head, pulling you closer to his length. "If you're still embarrassed or upset, you can just start—no need to do an introduction." He cooed, offering some faux condolences which made you narrow your eyes at him for trying to mansplain your own job.

You heard the beep notifying you that your stream had started, so you lowered your head to his tip and kissed it softly, using kitten licks to collect his built-up arousal around the slit. His hand gripped your hair tighter as he sighed from your motions, pleased that you were complying. Flashing doe eyes at him, you ran your tongue up and down his cock, placing kisses along the way and paying special attention to the throbbing veins around the side. He let out a low growl as you captured his heavy balls in your mouth, popping them in and out of your swollen lips. The intimate, sweet way you worshipped his dick was perfect.

"Angel..." He grunted, pulling your head back and signaling for you to stop teasing him. You sat up straighter and kissed his sticky tip one last time before gently taking it into your mouth and sucking slowly, working your way down to the base while swirling your tongue around his length. You looked up to see him flushed, now groaning in heat from the way you passionately sucked him off like a lover—not to mention how well you were taking him despite his big size. "Mmmm—you're doing so g-good...God y-you little—a-ahh—"

Fyodor threw his head back in ecstasy, your small bobbing motions and the sloppy sounds making him breathe heavily, both of your eyes clouded over with pure lust. Watching him become weak under your tongue was gratifying to say the least—you were clenching your thighs together, sure the viewers could see the wet spot on your thin shorts. His cock felt heavenly in your mouth, but you really wanted him in your—

He pushed your head flush against his pelvis, and it took everything in you to not gag from the abrupt intrusion as his tip poked the back of your throat. "I'm close, take it a-all, milaya—" Fyodor's groans got louder as you slowly pulled away, sucking along what you could and using your hands to pump whatever was left. You hummed along his cock, the vibrations making him close his eyes and tug on your hair, tears forming and starting to run down your face. He heaved deeply as he opened his eyes to look down at your pretty face, stroking your soft skin adoringly. You could tell he was close, so you moved closer to his tip, running your tongue across his sensitive slit, driving him over the edge. A deep grunt followed by the twitching motions of his aching cock were your final warnings as you got into a better position to follow his commands. You sturdied yourself against his thighs as his cum spilled down into your throat, making you moan.

Fyodor pulled your strands harshly, angling your head to ensure not even a single drop leaked out, making you lightheaded from the lack of air from what felt like being held still for forever. You turned to the camera, opening your mouth to prove you swallowed it all, and cleaning the residual cum on your mouth with your fingers before sucking them clean, the sight getting Fyodor hard again. Your lewd actions prompted a deep laugh from the dark-haired man, who was breathing heavily and busy coming down from the heaven you'd just sent him to, "My angel has quite a dirty mouth on her, doesn't she? You seem more like a succubus to me."

You simpered cheekily, stripping what was left of your floral lace set, teasing Fyodor and reveling in his intense gaze. You slowly rose up and sat in his lap, purposely pressing your ass against his stomach and spreading your folds with your fingers, teasing his tip with your entrance, making you hiss in lust. "Hey, Fyodor, can you put it insid—"

You were cut off with a harsh slap to your pussy and a rough yank on your hair, making you squeal in pain and pushing you back down against his chest. Fyodor pulled your hair at an upwards angle to face him, glaring into your lively eyes and inciting fear into them. "Don't forget I'm the one that's in control, shlyukha." His warning sent shivers throughout your body, and you nearly screamed when you felt him thrust into you, walls tightening around him, and you choked as he pushed deeper inside you, body stiff from how he just punished you. You gasped as he relentlessly filled you up with his length and stretched your spasming cunt—which you were sure was lewdly squeezing around him on camera. You could feel your eyes running again as he bottomed out in you—touching spots that even your biggest toys couldn’t reach.

He only smirked as he heard your whines and whimpers, which he knew would soon be replaced by pleasured cries because of how wet you got from giving him a blowjob. He kissed your tears away before guiding your hips back and forth on his cock, being more gentle and placing more kisses down from your ear to your neck. Upon hearing soft moans leave your lips, Fyodor drew small circles on your puffy clit, using his free hand to clasp your hands behind your back. Smirking after feeling you start to ride him to meet his thrusts, he playfully bit your ear, "Ha, I knew deep down you were just a sinful little slut."

More tears fell from your eyes as you felt Fyodor's dick reach your g-spot, the sensation sending a burning fire through your body. It was intense, much more so than anything you'd done solo. It was like all you could focus on was him, how rough yet passionately he was fucking you, how your head was full of his sultry, deep voice only, and how stuffed you were of his cock. You could feel yourself starting to unravel, moaning loudly as Fyodor pinched your sensitive nipples while gingerly kissing and nipping at your hickies.

"F-Fyodor, you're so m-mean". You murmured, the different sensations making you quiver under his touch. The blinding pleasure lolled your head forward, your front strands of hair covering your eyes, but you could still see Fyodor's magenta orbs cutting into yours through your peripheral, holding an intimidating expression.

His fingers swiped some stray layers to the side, his panting breath fanning over the shell of your ear, "I never said I was a nice man, milaya." You bit your lip after feeling him kiss under your ear, his gentle touches mixed with his unrelenting assault on your pussy driving you to your climax. Fyodor smiled as he felt you squeezing his cock so desperately and watched how your eyes fluttered, lashes wet from your tears but still framing your eyes so beautifully. "You're close, aren't you, angel? It's fine, let it all out on camera. Let everyone see how indecent you are." His finger circled faster around your clit and he groaned feeling you clench around his length again. "Show your loyal fans how much you love being fucked by a stranger." Another faint bite to your neck paired with a particularly rough thrust sent you over the edge. Juices dripping down from the spot your bodies connected, you cried out from the force of your orgasm washing over you.

Sighing from relief, Fyodor slowed your bouncing movements with slow strokes to bring you down from your high. Catching your breath again, you turned to face your cyberstalker, eyes dreamily looking at him, secretly tugging on his cold heart. You brought your face up, yearning to kiss him, but he only tilted your chin down and kissed your forehead instead, making you pout as he stared at you blankly. "I-I can't kiss you?" You asked, suddenly shy. Fyodor exhaled slowly, finding your faux innocence adorable. He didn’t tell you, but he wasn’t the type of man that enjoyed tasting himself on his lips—it was dirty, and that type of sinfulness was reserved for you and your lips only.

"So needy...this isn't enough for you, my angel?" You yelped as he roughly pulled you down on his member and came inside of you, the abrupt warmth flooding your insides and drawing a low moan from you. Fyodor kissed your neck before letting your restricted hands go and shutting your laptop to end the livestream. His phone buzzing made him turn his head, and he calmly moved to pull out of your snug cunt. He grunted as he felt your pussy gripping onto his cock tightly, trying to milk him completely dry. You whimpered when he finally pulled out, feeling empty and stretched out, already missing him pounding your walls as his cum flowed out of you, coating your plush inner thighs and staining your previously spotless couch.

He kissed your reddened cheek to offer some aftercare and sat up from the couch, grabbing his discarded clothes from the floor and putting them back on.

"You're leaving, Fyodor?" You looked up at the man, now fully clothed and checking his phone. He gave you an unreadable smile and glanced at you longingly.

"Yes, milaya. I have business to attend to." He pet the top of your hair gently before walking past your figure. Hearing you huff in disappointment, he looked back and smirked, "I may come back sometime, though, angel. If you beg me nicely enough..." Your eyes sparkled upon hearing his words, which almost made him go back for another round. He held a hand out to signal his leave and disappeared, walking out the door like a ghost, like he didn't just break in arrive, leaving you with your cold dinner.

♱ ໒꒱ ⋆ﾟ⊹

Exiting your apartment complex, Fyodor grinned arrogantly upon seeing the livestream recording that had successfully downloaded onto his phone. You didn't know, but he'd already hacked into your laptop before visiting and made the stream private—there was no way he'd let anyone watch him corrupt his pretty angel.

Now all he had to do was watch and wait. Wait for his angel to summon the demon she had sinned for again.

#vanilladove #vanilladovebsd #fyodor x reader #fyodor dostoevsky x reader #fyodor x reader smut #bsd smut #bsd fyodor #fyodor dostoevsky x reader smut #fyodor dostoevsky #fyodor dostoevsky bsd #bsd x reader #bungo stray dogs x reader #bungo stray dogs #bungou stray dogs #fyodor texts like an old man it’s canon idc #why do i always write long smuts smh #im changing my layout i feel like it's prettier now -v-

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sashayed · 2 months ago

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I Knew I Loved You When You Showed Me Your Minecraft World

It wasn’t the upside-down crosses in your mansion or even the lone, giant cigarette burning in the sky. You walked me around and I watched the back of your head suddenly overcome by the feeling of knowing I was beyond what could be recovered from the dark pixels of the forest vibrating in a virtual wind distant panpipe music blowing through your speakers It’s not that I didn’t love you before it is just – there are some things which cannot be said and some feelings which, if articulated too early and forced towards the surface go blind & it’s better to hold them off, or wait them out & never say their name aloud until the pressure of what is unspoken becomes impossible to hold back and articulates itself within the body like mice, running wild through a field of burning grass. The train disappears underground and comes back up again The cigarette distributes its vague cancers into the sky Outside the sky is firing navy shadows like a T-shirt gun And spring is on the wind like wifi When I was miserable you came and showed me card tricks When the moon was full we pissed into the bushes like animals I watch you sleep, like a security guard looking at a famous painting with a searchlight walk me to the graveyard on the edge of your map nothing must hurt you, not even me

Hera Lindsay Bird Pamper Me to Hell and Back, 2018

#poetry #national poetry month #hera lindsay bird

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pascalissmoked · 2 months ago

Note

Hello, I am wondering if u take request for a Tony Stark x female reader, who is also best friend of Tony Stark before he came Iron Man but she has been by his side through everything as well. But it’s a fluff one shot as at the end where they both reveal their feelings for each other which they had from the moment they met and they have their first kiss between them as well.

Ofcoursee, here it is! Hope you like it :)

Virtual Insanity

Summary: In which the infamous line "make love not war" isn't well-respected by this pair of friends. When cyberbullying at Stark industries level develops into a game between these two collegues and friends, something more begins to unravel between the two.

Word Count: 1.7K Warnings: none except Tony's unsufferable ego (all jokes)

A/N: This is a short oneshot. Might turn into more. I'm also still working on the "Soft in the right hands" series for bucky so stay tuned!

You’d known Tony Stark long enough to remember when he didn’t wear the suit — physically or emotionally.

Back then, he was all sharp smiles and sharper intellect, more interested in building arc reactors with cocktail napkin schematics than charming investors. Reckless with nearly everything except the way he treated you. Somehow, against all odds, you’d slipped past the velvet rope that guarded the real him — the sleepless inventor who showed up on your fire escape at 3AM with a bottle of Scotch and a theory about thermal diffusion that couldn’t wait till morning.

You were best friends before Afghanistan. Before Iron Man. Before Stark Tower had its own AI department and a floor reserved just for “Tony’s regrets, part I through XXV.”

And none of that stopped him from hacking your firewall during lunch.

You were approximately three minutes into a well-deserved lunch break — grilled cheese in hand, Spotify playlist on shuffle, and the sanctity of a lab entirely free of explosions — when your firewall went up in flames.

Digitally speaking.

The code on your main monitor began to twitch. Literally twitch. Then twist. And then it smiled at you. A little pixelated smiley face blinked up from the line of code you’d just written, followed by a dancing ASCII cat wearing sunglasses.

“Oh my God,” you muttered, setting your sandwich down like it had betrayed you.

You knew that coding style.

You knew exactly who was responsible.

With the patience of a saint and the energy of someone who was one click away from snapping, you launched into the system’s backend, pulling apart the layers of the digital graffiti with expert ease, unraveling each line of smug Stark-ware. And sure enough, right at the root folder, embedded in a hidden command string, was a line of text:

"Nice firewall, sweetheart. 7/10. Would hack again. - T.S."

Your eye twitched. Your soul twitched.

He didn’t just breach your system. He decorated it. That wasn’t a hack — it was a housewarming party in enemy territory.

The man had billions of dollars, a global tech empire, multiple Iron Man suits, and — apparently — nothing better to do than hack into your secure files during his downtime like a caffeinated raccoon with a superiority complex.

You were going to kill him. Slowly. Or worse — give him a lecture so long and boring it could be classified as psychological warfare.

And thus, the war began.

With your jaw clenched and your heart pounding in that very specific, very annoying way it only ever did around Tony, you stormed out of your lab and stomped down the hallway of Stark Tower.

You bypassed three interns and a mildly offended elevator AI before slamming open his door like righteous judgment. Finally, you flung open the doors to his R&D suite without knocking.

Tony didn’t flinch.

Sleeves rolled up, arc reactor glowing, fingers dancing across a holographic interface. He looked up. Grinned.

“Hey, sunshine,” Tony said lazily from behind a table cluttered with open panels, a half-dismantled drone, and at least three coffee cups. “I was just thinking about you."

“You’re a menace.”

“I’ve been called worse.” He finally looked up, dark eyes glinting with amusement. “But usually by people who didn’t bother updating their encryption protocols.”

You crossed your arms. “You hacked into my system during lunch, Stark. That’s below the belt. I was eating grilled cheese.”

“Maybe next time add some brie and fig jam. Class it up a little.” He grinned. “You’re welcome, by the way. I just gave you a free security audit.”

You stared at him, deadpan. “Did your ego eat your moral compass for breakfast?”

He stood, sauntering over like confidence incarnate in a Henley and jeans, and leaned against the edge of the workbench — arms crossed, smirk fully loaded.

“I’d argue my ego is my moral compass. And it always points due north to: mess with you.”

“You hacked my system,” you repeated.

He tilted his head. “If I can break in, so can Hydra. I’m doing you a favor.”

You crossed your arms. “This is the third time this month you've done something like this. Last week, you turned my digital assistant into a sassy version of yourself. I had to argue with my microwave for twenty minutes before it would heat my soup.”

He beamed. “He’s got a personality now! Named him Toasty.”

“I’m going to rewrite your DNA.”

“Only if we cuddle after.”

You were going to scream. Or kiss him. It was a very fine line these days.

“I’m going to kill you,” you said conversationally.

He grinned wider. “You’re going to miss me.”

So instead, you narrowed your eyes and said, “I hope you like Shakespeare just as much as JARVIS does.”

He blinked. “What?”

You pulled your phone from your pocket, already typing."Your little AI pet seems to have brushed up on his Shakespeare, because he’s about to speak exclusively in iambic pentameter for the next twenty-four hours."

“Wait. No—”

“And make all puns food-themed.”

Tony’s jaw dropped. “You’re a monster.”

You shrugged, already walking toward the door. “Some people bake sourdough for fun. I emotionally sabotage billionaire AIs.”

Tony groaned. “JARVIS

, don’t you dare—”

“Verily, sir,” JARVIS chimed in serenely from the overhead speaker, “I find thy attitude rather cheesy, like brie upon a croissant most greasy.”

Tony’s head hit the desk.

You smirked. “Toasty says hi.”

It went on like that for weeks.

Tony retaliated by installing a movement sensor in your lab. Every time you entered, SexyBack blared at full volume. FRIDAY wouldn’t let you disable it. She said it was “legally classified as a morale booster.”.

It was a war.

You replaced his AI’s voice with Gilbert Gottfried reading Twilight.

Tony responded by having your smartwatch shout hourly affirmations about his hair.

You hacked his suit’s startup sequence. Now it greeted him with:

“Iron Man: The Human Hot Pocket. Online.”

It didn’t stop there.

He replaced your screensaver with a live feed of himself winking, finger guns included.

You programmed his coffee maker to scream “INCOMING!” every time it dispensed espresso.

Naturally, collateral damage was inevitable.

Bruce’s tablet was cursed to play Baby Shark whenever opened. He developed a twitch.

Sam’s Falcon gear announced all takeoffs with: “I’m a little teapot, short and stout.”

Steve’s toaster quoted Pride and Prejudice in Cher’s voice.

“It is a truth universally acknowledged,” it belted one morning, “that a single man in possession of breakfast must be in want of jam.”

He punched a wall. You both got fined.

Even Clint, ever the stealthy one, wasn’t spared. Every time he drew an arrow, it whispered “pew pew” in Tony’s voice.

The tower teetered on the brink of chaos.

Pepper threatened to move to Dubai.

It was late.

The Tower was asleep, mostly. Except for Tony, who you found in the R&D lounge, hoodie on, arc reactor glowing soft under worn fabric. He looked… still. A rare moment for a man who moved like his thoughts could outrun time.

“You gonna yell at me for the coffee pot thing?” he asked, not looking up.

“I should,” you said, easing into the seat beside him. “FRIDAY tried to launch a counterstrike when I made a cappuccino.”

“She’s passionate.”

Silence fell. He just stared at you like he was debating something he’d rehearsed a hundred times in his head.

You blinked. “What?”

Tony opened his mouth. Closed it. Then, “Do you want me to stop?”

You frowned. “Stop what?”

“The pranks. The hacking. I mean, I know it’s probably childish and annoying and… I don’t know. Maybe I just like having a reason to see you all worked up, to just see you more.”

You sat back, heart thudding.

“That,” you said slowly, “is the least emotionally articulate confession I’ve ever heard.”

He rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah, well. I build flying suits, not feelings.”

You stood and walked over, stopping inches from him. His breath hitched, and yours did too.

“For the record,” you said, “I love your flying suits. But I also kind of love… this.”

He blinked. “The chaos?”

“The banter. The sabotage. The way your face lights up when you think you’ve outsmarted me, even though I’m always two steps ahead.”

“Debatable,” he muttered.

You leaned in, lips brushing the shell of his ear.

“And I love the way you look at me like I’m the only firewall you’ve never wanted to break.”

He stilled.

Then: “I’ve been in love with you since the day you fried that Russian botnet and called it ‘a poorly coded insult to my intelligence.’”

You smiled.

And then, you kissed him.

It was messy and hot and gloriously overdue. His hands cupped your face like he’d been dying to do it for years, and your fingers curled into his shirt like gravity had given up and he was your anchor now.

When you finally pulled back, breathless, he whispered, “I should have hacked you sooner.”

You smacked his shoulder. “Shut up and kiss me again.”

He did.

And that night, neither of you changed each other’s passwords.

You called a truce.

Sort of.

Now your prank war has a rulebook and a scoreboard. Nat is the referee. Bruce runs support (begrudgingly). Steve is still in therapy.

JARVIS still speaks in sonnets during thunderstorms. Toasty hosts a podcast. FRIDAY hosts a revenge fund.

A year later, Tony proposed via custom hologram code embedded in your firewall — romantic, glitchy, and absolutely extra.

You said yes.

And now, sometimes, late at night, you’ll find yourselves coding side-by-side, teasing each other like always — except now, there’s no more pretending.

Just love. Loud, messy, sarcastic love. With bad lighting, too much coffee, and more happiness than either of you thought you’d ever deserve.

And every morning, when you walk into the lab, “SexyBack” still plays.

You don’t stop it anymore.

A/N: Thank you so much for reading. Don't hesitate to leave a comment behind <3

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mattsunsdollie · 2 months ago

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The Dating Lottery

ft Kylian Mbappe

Dating Kylian was something so unexpected. I think you guys would meet at a time where you were not prepared for it. You were in Spain for a family vacation, in which you surprised your dad with tickets to see Real Madrid, but also to tour the stadium before hand.

You and your family would be touring, taking pictures in the rooms and on the field. When all of a sudden you hear loud noises and laughter.

Turning around you see the team coming out for an early practice. You’re obviously caught off guard and stunned, but time seems to stop as you make eye contact with Kylian.

The tour guide quickly leading you and your family off the field, while Kylian is still maintaining eye contact with you. In fact as you walk away he’s breaking his neck.

He jogs over asking if you guys wanted a photo with the team, and of course your father says yes. You all pose together, one by one while your dad gets his shirt signed.

Everyone was so lovely but you couldn’t help but feel shy under Kylians gaze. When it was your turn to take a photo with him, he has a tight grip around your shoulder. His cologne taking up all the air around you.

While everyone was seemingly occupied he took the opportunity to ask for your number. After a bit of small talk, the tour was over. He was a sweetheart and treated everyone in your family with so much respect.

When you returned later that night for the game the security guard informed you per Kylians request you and your family would be in a suite.

You messaged him explaining how he didn’t have to do that, but he insisted. After that day he made it very clear he was interested in you, and not in a friendly way.

The more you two got to know each other just confirmed he wanted to date you. You had technically been in a talking stage with Kylian but he wanted to make things official.

So for your birthday he flew you out back to Spain. When you entered the blacked out car you saw roses, and a lot of them. Kylian was sitting with the large bouquet of red roses.

He kissed your hand, telling you there was still another surprise. When the car stopped he made you cover your eyes. He guided you through an unknown area and when you opened your eyes you saw a beautiful scene.

It was a dinner table with flowers and candles. With a sign asking you to be his girlfriend. He would definitely be the type of boyfriend to do big romantic gestures.

And don’t even think about telling him something is “too much” or “too expensive”. He works hard for his money and he enjoys spending it on the people he loves.

Growing up birthdays were taken very serious. He celebrated your birthday for the whole month. You also did the same, spoiling him to the best of your abilities.

His teammates would always say you spoiled him rotten. Whenever you were visiting you would leave him cooked meals ready for the upcoming week. He would come to trainings showing off his container of food, making the rest of the boys jealous.

You knew he was serious on the field, but off it Kylian was a different person. He was always laughing and cracking jokes. He would always point out how that was a good balance.

He was an amazing observer, you wouldn’t need to tell him something because he already knew just by watching you. You never had to mention something more than once. If you say you liked this specific purse, that may have been way out of your price range. Well it wasn’t out of Kylians, and he wanted to spoil you.

Quickly into the relationship he wanted to move you to Spain. You had to explain you still have family you needed to be around. But that doesn’t mean he wasn’t persistent.

The distance meant nothing to him, he would still make everything feel “normal”. He would plan virtual lunch dates, where he orders you both the same food. Little things like that, or falling asleep on the phone made the distance feel less.

He would come up with any excuse to fly to you or have you fly to him. His favorite time was during his off season where he could book month long vacations with you.

Often times during those retreats his mind would wander off to how life would be like with you living with him.

He does not argue one bit. You could tell him jump and he would ask how high. This man adores you and will do anything to make you feel loved.

He often spoke to you in French, whether you knew the language or not. He felt so comfortable with you that it would slip out. He definitely planned on teach you it though.

Would send you voice memos throughout his day explaining what he had seen or what he was doing.

For your first anniversary he got you a locket with your first photo together. On the back were his initials in a classic cursive font.

He would rarely call you by your first name Instead he would call you nicknames in all three languages.

He thought that he could wait until his retirement to have a family. But after being with you he realized he didn’t want to wait. He had no intention on letting you go, but he did have the intention on changing your last name.

#mattsunsdollie #the dating lottery #kylian x you #kylian fluff #kylian x reader #kylian fanfic #kylian imagines #kylian mbappe imagine #kylian mbappe #fanfic #fluff #real madrid mbappe #real madrid #soccer #football #imagines

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cherryrainn · 1 year ago

Note

hii!! may i request platonic yandere vox headcanons with a teen reader? if it's not too much, maybe slight mentions of the other vees as well? fluff and/or angst is fine! THANK YOU!!!

PLATONIC YANDERE VOX HEADCANONS .

; pairing ; yandere! vox & teen! reader (platonic)

; note ; thank you for your ask!

; warnings ; stalking, obsessive behavior, manipulation, intrusive surveillance, unhealthy power dynamics, unwanted influence

vox's obsession with you stems from a genuine desire to protect you.

the moment he noticed any negative or inappropriate comments directed at you online, he immediately took action.

vox's definition of protection, however, involves silencing the source permanently.

vox keeps an unrelenting eye on your social media accounts. he's on every platform you use, monitoring comments, likes, and shares.

if anyone seems to be taking too much interest in you, vox swiftly intervenes, making sure they think twice before interacting with you again.

vox is not one to tolerate any disrespect towards you. whether it's in the virtual world or the real one, anyone who dares to harmlessly tease or criticize you finds themselves facing unexpected consequences.

vox's definition of justice is brutal and immediate.

you might not always notice, but vox is never too far away.

he takes it upon himself to keep a watchful eye on you, sometimes even hiring additional security to ensure your safety. his influence allows him to infiltrate various aspects of your life without you realizing it.

vox's technological prowess allows him to delve deep into your life without leaving a trace. he knows your schedule, your friends, and even your most guarded secrets.

vox can be overly intrusive in his attempts to safeguard you. he might manipulate situations to ensure you're always in a controlled environment.

while he believes he's acting in your best interest, the suffocating protection might make you feel confined.

vox is a master manipulator. he uses his charm and influence to shape the narrative around you. if there's any negative information floating around, vox is quick to turn the tables, making sure you emerge unscathed, even if it means redirecting blame onto someone else.

vox has made it clear to the other vees that you are off-limits. valentino and velvette might not fully understand vox's obsessive protective nature, but they respect his wishes.

vox's word is law when it comes to your safety.

#VOX #hazbin vox #hazbin hotel vox #hazbin hotel #vox x reader #y/n #reader insert #x reader #ask #headcanons #platonic #teen reader #yandere

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yandere-paramour · 4 months ago

Text

Chapter Eight

This movie meant nothing to you, but you took pains to make it look like you were enthralled. Atalanta tended to sleep early and deeply; as long as you remained careful, you doubted she would wake up if you got out of bed. Once you got out of the door, you could most likely escape out of the back door of the building. Atalanta would start a manhunt for you as soon as she woke up at around five in the morning, so you had approximately a four hour window where you had to get out of the city or hopefully the state. It was all premeditated, and it was time to put this all into action.

You started the plan with step one; you yawned.

“Are you tired, my love? Shall we turn the movie off and head to sleep? I don’t want you to be tired tomorrow,” She stroked your cheek with her thumb.

“Nooo,” You whined pitifully, “I want to finish the movie, but I’m cold…”

“Oh, well,” You physically watched her hatch the idea you planted in her head, “You can always come over here with me.”

You gave her the most grateful wide eyes, promptly moving over to cuddle with her.

Inwardly, you cheered; the plan had worked! Pretending to fall asleep early, acting relaxed and snuggly and crawling up to rest yourself onto her chest. You felt a little bad seeing the expression of joy overtake her face, but not bad enough to stop. If you slept on her chest and pinned her down, she couldn’t drink anything and she wouldn’t get up in the night to urinate and find you gone. She held you as you lightly dozed for the remainder of the movie, and you had to bite back a smile as she carried you lovingly down the hall to your shared bedroom.

She lay your “sleeping” body into bed, pulling the soft covers over you and tucking you in securely. Brushing your hair out of your face, she leaned down to press a tender kiss your forehead.

“Sleep well, my Darling girl. I’ll see you in the morning,” With that, Atalanta climbed into her side of the bed, settling into her usual sleeping position on her stomach.

She forgot to give you your sleeping medication! And she forgot to turn on the security alarm! Just like you anticipated. Atalanta would never take a chance on disturbing your rest if it wasn’t absolutely necessary. That’s also why she didn’t institute the mandatory before-bed cuddle time as well. If you didn’t have to pretend to be asleep, you would do a happy little dance.

It didn’t take long before you heard Atalanta’s soft snores, but you waited an extra half hour just to make sure. Slowly, you rolled out of bed, landing lightly on the floor like a cat. Heading to her closet, you took a close look at her shoes, picking the smallest and most athletic ones. As you noted earlier, the door was virtually silent, and it was easy for you to open and close without waking Atalanta. You made your way to the front door and unlocked it. This was it. You had won.

At least, you thought you had won.

You came face to face with two guards in matching uniforms sitting at a small table outside the door, playing some card game. You stared at them; they stared at you. All three of you were frozen in time simply staring. It was approximately one in the morning, did these two work all night? Shit, this was really putting a kink in your plans.

“Ma’am, I think you need to get-” The female one spoke slowly like one would to a feral animal as the male one stood up with his hands up non-threatening.

You didn’t have time to waste. In a split second impulsive decision, you tried to bolt past them. Accidentally upturning the table, cards rained down to the floor. You stamped down any guilt inside you; guilt was what kept you in that apartment for so long. The staircase was so far, and these two looked strong; you doubted you could outrun them without both the element of surprise and a significant head start.

Unfortunately, you were correct. Contrary to his bulky build, he was faster than he looked, and the past few days of being on constant muscle-relaxant sleepy medication had weakened you; he caught up in just a few steps. Throwing himself at you, he quickly pinned your arms to your sides in a restraint hold, rendering you unable to punch. With your back pressed to his chest, he lifted you right off your feet, leaving your lower body dangling in the air. Not ready to accept defeat, you fought fiercely, trying to bite his arms and use your feet to kick at his knees.

“Miss Montclair,” The female guard not holding you called loudly inside the house, careful not to cross the threshold, “Miss Montclair, please come to the front door.”

Oh no, oh no, she was calling Atalanta. You struggled even harder, trying to slam the back of your head into his nose to break it. You tried to use the momentum of your legs to swing out of his hold, thrashing wildly, but he held on tightly. He bent and straightened his legs, creating the effect of bouncing you in his arms like an unruly toddler. He repeated soothing phrases, trying to get you to calm down your flailing and give in.

“What is all the commotion so early in the morning?” A drowsy Atalanta was descending the stairs slowly, taking all the time in the world, but there was no mistaking the acerbic tone in her voice. Even in her blue silk pajamas with her butterscotch hair wisping in all directions, she commanded an authority that forced the entire room to take notice.

She froze you in a second, stopping your kicking and screaming. Behind you, the guard let out a sigh, obviously thanking the heavens that you weren’t trying to shatter his nasal bone anymore and he could soon go back to his paid card game.

“And what, might I ask, is happening here?” Atalanta asked in a way that made it clear she was talking to you.

“I-I was just-” You scrambled around, looking for something plausible to claim; you didn’t want to throw anyone under the bus but it was unavoidable, “I-I-I mixed up the doors and I accidentally went out the front door and then the guards just grabbed me! I was trying to find the kitchen!”

Atalanta listened politely, eyes scanning the situation, waiting for you to finish your lie before she spoke, “My love, my life, my Darling… do you honestly expect me to believe that? Do you think me a fool? I thought we were better than that.”

Your stomach dropped right down to your feet. Fuck.

“Abebe, Silva, please inform me of what really happened,” She was moving closer to you, each step causing a freezing feeling to spread further and further throughout your chest.

The guard who caught you immediately ratted you out, telling Atalanta how you slunk out of the apartment, saw the guards, and tried to make a run for it before being caught by the big guard. Your face burned in shame and embarrassment. Somehow hearing someone else telling the story was far worse than telling it yourself. You felt like a naughty child being scolded.

“Thank you, Silva. I’ll take it from here,” She said.

The guard holding you loosened his hold, making sure you were firmly on your feet before setting you down entirely. He gave you a gentle push back into the apartment, being kind but making it clear you had nowhere else to go but inside. You knew what this was, what was coming next.

After a second of your hesitation, Atalanta got visibly more aggrieved, crossing the space between you both in two strides. She took your wrist firmly, almost painfully, into her hold, pulling you towards her with a single jerk. When you were close enough, she let go of your wrist and wrapped an arm around your waist possesively, pulling you close to her and keeping an authoritative hand on your hip.

The guards inclined their heads to Atalanta in a gesture of respect and deference, than closed and locked the door, leaving you and Atalanta alone in the night. More than a little afraid, you turned back, almost finding the gall to look her in the eyes.

The hazel eyes that had looked at you with such warmth just hours ago were now filled with a kind of resolution that made you nervous.

“A-Atalanta, I’m so-” You started.

She held up a hand to stop your words, “Let’s go upstairs and have a talk, Darling.”

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late-to-the-party-81 · 3 months ago

Text

Holding out for a hero

So, for @saiyanprincessswanie’s Writing Challenge, I decided to write a little PWP, and picked the following from her list;

Character - Curtis Everett

AU - Bodyguard

Trope - Forbidden Love

Quote - You look cute wearing my clothes

It then transpired that I couldn’t write a ‘little PWP’ without a lot of plot finding its way in, so yeah, this isn’t a two minute read.

Beta’d by @gremlin-girly - thank you Grem!

Mood board by me and dividers by @firefly-graphics

Likes are loved, but reblogs are golden.

Join my tag list here

Master list | CE Characters Master list

Summary: You hated attending galas for your father and you absolutely hated being guarded by stupid handsome Curtis, with his stupid grumpy face and stupid hostile mannerisms. The guy obviously despised you, but you couldn’t stop your brain and body from wanting him.

Relationship: Bodyguard Curtis Everett x CEO’s daughter Reader

Word Count: 7.9k

CW: Mild Angst, attempted kidnapping, attempted murder, canon typical violence, gun violence, minor character injury (they're not explicitly dead, but they'd not explicitly still alive either), action, protective Curtis, only one bed, enemies to lovers, forbidden love, schmoopy smut, hopeful ending, open ending.

Fuck this gala, fuck your overbearing father and, most of all, fuck Curtis Fucking Everett.

Safe to say, you weren’t in the best of moods.

When your father needed to show face at some hoity-toity shindig, but couldn’t be bothered to attend himself, he’d wheel you out — the pretty little heir to his empire — to keep his investors and partners happy. Then, because you were just oh-so-precious to him, he’d send you with Curtis Everett as your babysitter bodyguard. It was ridiculous. Yes, your dad was rich — a Fortune 500 CEO — but the idea that someone would try and snatch you to get to him seemed laughable in your mind. Your father didn’t care about you, not as a person — not as his daughter. He only cared about what you represented and how you could help him advance even further, and anyone who knew him well would know that too, friends and competitors alike.

Then, just to add insult to injury, it had to be Curtis he sent with you out of all of your available security staff. Stupid handsome Curtis with his stupid grumpy face and stupid hostile mannerisms. It was obvious that the number two of your family's protection detail detested you, but for some reason that didn’t stop your brain and body from wanting him. Tall, blue-eyed and stoic, with a buzzcut and dirty blonde facial hair, Curtis looked like every ‘bad boy’ fantasy come to life. However, once again, you had to put up with him hovering three feet behind your right elbow for the entire evening; your body virtually vibrating with awareness. Even if he didn’t hate you, you wouldn’t — couldn’t — act on your feelings. Your father would pitch a fit about you getting involved with ‘the help’.

Ninety minutes after arriving at the gala you’d had enough of, well, everything. What you wouldn’t give to be at home, sitting on your bed in your pajamas, with a pint of ice cream and a trashy romance novel. Your bra was too tight, your dress too revealing, — seriously, what father picked something like this for his daughter to wear, even if she was in her mid twenties? — your heels too high and the ballroom too bright and noisy. Drunk guests milled around you, trying to make business connections and secure deals and you really couldn’t care less.

In front of you, an associate of your father’s was talking to you about investments and shares while simultaneously trying to look down your neckline. The one good thing about Curtis was that he made sure that people kept their hands to themselves. He looked angry enough at the best of times that no one wanted to risk making it worse. Although, the leers still made you feel gross and disgusting.

Having had enough of the conversation, you laughed loudly —- and fakely —- and rested your hand on the arm of the old man ogling you. “I hope you’ll excuse me, Bryn, but I need to freshen up.” Your companion nodded and you suppressed a small smile — if anyone ever paid attention to how often you used that excuse at these events, they’d think you had a recurring UTI. Turning away, you were once again begrudgingly grateful for Curtis presence due to the way his bulk walking behind you stopped anyone from staring at your backside.

As you got to the washroom, you paused with your hand on the door and looked over your shoulder at the perma-scowl watching you. “You gonna follow me in here too?” you taunted with a raised brow. Curtis just rolled his eyes at you, then turned to stand parallel to the wall, arms behind his back at parade rest. You shook your head and strolled into the opulent washroom.

After using one of the stalls and washing your hands, you moved over to one of the large, backlit mirrors and opened your clutch. You were re-slicking your mascara, your mouth pulled into an ‘O’ when another woman, similar in age to you, came and stood at your side. She pulled some gloss from her bag and reapplied it with a smack of her lips.

“Some party, huh?” she said. You smiled in return. No matter the venue, there was always something about the camaraderie that always formed inside the ladies washroom.

“Would it be wrong of me to say that I am both insanely bored and over-peopled?” you stated beneignly.

Your new partner in crime snorted in solidarity. “If that’s wrong, I don’t wanna be right. It seems that this is the only place to get some quiet as well as intelligent conversation.”

“Absolutely, but I’d also love to get some fresh air,” you replied. “Just ten minutes on my own, but he won’t let me out of his sight.” You pulled a face in the mirror.

“You talking about ‘Big, Tall and Grumpy’ outside?” She jerked her thumb towards the door. “Protective boyfriend?”

“Something like that”, you mumbled, not feeling comfortable enough to admit you had a bodyguard, female solidarity non-withstanding.

“You want me to run interference? Distract him for you so you can sneak out onto the terrace?”

It was obviously a terrible idea but, in that moment, it was everything you wanted. And anyway, you thought, what harm could it do? “Would you? He’ll be pissed at me, but it’ll be worth it.”

“No problem. I’m sure the make-up sex will be worth it too.” She winked at you and walked out of the washroom as you tried not to think about an angry Curtis fucking you. You failed miserably.

“Fuck,” you bit out under your breath, before doing one last check of your makeup in the mirror and moving over to the door. You could hear your new friend talking outside, her laugh purposely a little too loud and you pushed the door open a crack.

She was hanging off Curtis’ arm, having dragged on it enough so that he was now angled away from the where you would exit.

“You sure look lonely, are you sure you don’t wanna go have some fun?” Her voice was wheedling and a little bit slurred as she put on her best display of a drunk socialite out for some entertainment. “I bet you could show me a really good time.”

Taking a deep breath, you pushed the door open further and slipped out, grateful for the plush carpet of the hallway that muffled the click of your heels.

“Sorry Miss,” Curtis said gruffly. “But I’m not interested.”

You took some quiet, calculated steps, heading for the corner up ahead, hoping that you’d be able to get there without being spotted.

“You don’t think I’m attractive?” your co-conspirator carried on in a high-pitched, offended tone that was bound to draw some on-lookers. However, you didn’t wait to find out how Curtis was going to deal with it, instead closing those last few feet that would give you a few minutes of freedom.

You darted round the corner, heading back toward the ballroom, where you skirted the edge, taking the most direct route to the large French windows and the coolness of the night. You weren’t alone straight away — you had to meander through the groups of people enjoying their cigarettes, cigars and vapes first, trotting down a few steps that lead to the lower terrace which surrounded the formal gardens. After a few feet you spied a bench and sank down onto it without any grace, huffing out a sigh.

Finally!

You were certain it wouldn’t take Curtis long to find you, so you were determined to make the most of your interlude, despite how brief it might be. You pulled your phone out of your clutch and shot a text off to your bestie, bemoaning at how utterly boring this evening had been. The pair of you could have been video chatting while painting your nails instead.

Resting your head on the back of the bench you looked up at the night sky. Despite the glow of lights from the ballroom, you actually had a good view, with only a few wispy clouds floating in front of the moon and stars. You were always taken aback by just how many stars there were, twinkling away above your head, billions of miles away and thousands of years in the past. The feeling of insignificance was actually comforting. You may be only a small, tiny stitch in the tapestry of the universe, but you were here just the same.

After a few minutes of star-gazing you decided you ought to return inside and face the music — hopefully Curtis wouldn’t be too mad. You stood up and started to walk back towards the steps and the groups of other people, when something snagged your wrist and halted you in your tracks. Anxiety sparked inside you, but when you turned you saw that it was just your bathroom friend and you relaxed again.

“Hey,” you said jovially. “Thanks for the assist — it worked really well, and I’m feeling a lot better.”

She smiled back at you, feline and knowing. “Oh definitely,” she replied. “It worked like a charm.” Her hand tightened on your wrist and you winced as you looked down at it.

“What are—“ in the next moment what little light there was vanished as something was placed over your head. The hand on your wrist disappeared as well, but that was replaced by what felt like a pair of thick arms wrapping around your torso. You shrieked as you were hefted up into the air and kicked your legs, but it seemed ineffectual.

“Quick, to the van,” came the harsh command from the woman who you now realised had betrayed you. You tried to shout again, but the fabric over your head got caught in your mouth. You captors were moving, taking you with them to goodness knows where and it was going to be all your fault for ditching Curtis.

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

“Hey! Let her go!” A voice rang out and you could have cried in relief when you recognised it as Curtis’. However, the man holding you didn’t obey, which frankly was to be expected.

“Keep going,” the woman shouted and suddenly the night was shattered by the sharp retort of a gunshot. You heard a muffled curse and the sound of scraping gravel, before another gun responded. The woman screamed and in the next moment you were tumbling through the air as your male captor threw you to the ground. You landed mainly on grass, but from your knees down you were still on the gravel path and you felt the small pieces of stone and flint cut into you through your pantyhose. You didn’t have time to pay the pain any mind as two more gunshots from beside you echoed through the air. One answered back.

You dragged the fabric from your head, scrabbled onto the grass and clambered to your feet. You needed to get away and back toward Curtis. You stepped forward and immediately your heels sunk into the soft ground.

“Fuck!” you cursed, and yanked your feet out of your shoes, leaving them where they lay as you ducked low and attempted to to take a circuitous route back toward your bodyguard. Another gunshot, immediately followed by a shout from behind you, had you looking over your shoulder where you saw a man-shaped shadow drop to the floor — Curtis must have taken out the guy assisting in your attempted kidnapping.

“Curtis!” you cried out into the darkness, trying to identify where he was. You could hear shouting coming from further away, from back toward the main house. Probably other gala goers or security staff investigating the gunshots.

When Curtis found you and dragged you against him in a rather uncharacteristic display, you couldn’t help but mutter out “oh thank god” into the cotton of his dress shirt. However, he soon widened the gap between you again.

“We’ve gotta get out of here, Princess. Your safety is compromised.”

Your brows pinched together in confusion. “But you got them — surely it’s all good now?”

“We don’t know if it was only those two — there could be more of them.” He took one of your hands in his — boy, did the adrenaline coursing through your body react to that — and started to drag you across the garden, obviously intending to take a non-direct route to where the valets had parked the car. You went along with him blindly, until he stepped off the grass and his foot crunched on the gravel.

“Curtis, stop!” You yanked on his hand to halt him and he whirled around, frustration evident in his eyes, despite the dim light.

“I told you, Princess. We can’t stop. It’s not safe.”

You shook your head. “I know that, but… I can’t walk on that — I don’t have my shoes.”

Curtis quickly glanced down and you wiggled your toes — toes that were only covered by shreds of nylon — at him. “Oh.” In any other situation, such an exclamation coming from such a big guy would have been funny. However, in the next moment, he swept you up into his arms and you let out a soft ‘oof’ as you landed against his chest. Holding you carefully, he picked his way across the gravel towards a stand of trees and edged his way between them. A minute or so later, you moved out of the trees and into a clear strip of land that was obviously being used as the night’s parking lot. Curtis looked around and then confidently set off down one of the rows until he reached the sports car he’d driven you here in. “Stay here,” he ordered as he put you down and a shiver of something that definitely wasn’t fear zipped through you. You told your brain this was not the right time to get turned on. Although, saying that, any time you were around your bodyguard wasn’t the right time.

You leant against the cold metal and watched Curtis scurry — you’d never, ever, imagined him scurrying — down another row only for him to reappear a few moments later up another, the car key clutched in his fist. “Get in quickly,” came the next gruff command as he unlocked the car, the lights giving a brief flash and the horn a short honk.

Yanking the door open, you threw yourself in and grabbed at the seatbelt. The engine roared into life and the wheels spun on the grass as Curtis threw it into reverse. You managed to engage the clip by the time he’d managed to turn the car and return to forward motion, but you still had to hold onto the door handle as you were both bounced across the grass. Curtis ignored the indignant shouts of the valets as he pulled onto the tarmac drive and floored the accelerator. He didn’t even slow to look as he peeled onto the road at the foot of the driveway and you gritted your teeth.

“Do you really think I’m still in danger?” you asked as soon as you could relax your jaw.

Curtis snorted. “Princess, you’re in danger everytime you leave the goddamn mansion.”

“It’s not that bad,” you replied, outraged.

He snorted again, but louder. “You don’t know anything. Your father, Rogers, and I protect you from nearly all of it. That way you don’t have to worry your pretty little head about anything except your clothes and your ponies.”

“Hey,” you cried with scowl. “You might think you know what’s going on with me, but I can tell you that you don’t have the first idea.”

Curtis looked at you, disbelieving, with one eyebrow raised, and you were going to retort again, when his expression suddenly changed to one of confusion and then worry. At the same time, the car started to slow. “What the fuck?” In a matter of moments, you’d come to a complete stop and Curtis smacked at the steering wheel before pulling on the handbrake, all the time continuing to curse under his breath.

“Stay here,” he growled. “Do not get out.” He opened his door and had just gotten one leg out when he stopped. You watched him, confused, as he leant over the centre console — and over your legs — to open the glove box. Inside was a pistol and he looked at you ruefully as he pressed it into your hand. “Do you know how to use this?” he asked.

You raised both your brows. “Curtis, Daddy taught me to shoot not long after I started kindergarten.” You ejected the clip, checking it was full, before replacing it and cocking it to place a bullet in the chamber. “I’ve got your back.” You thought later it must have been a trick of the light, but you could have sworn you saw Curtis smile. He did give you a firm nod though, before getting out and popping the hood. He was only under it a few moments before he slammed it shut and walked around the car. He did not look happy. You turned in your seat to keep him in view, until he ducked down by the rear wheel. You wound down your window and leant out. “Curtis?”

In an instant, he was back on his feet and yanking at your door. “Out!” he barked and the panicked tone in his voice shook you to your core. “Get out now!” For once you didn’t wait to be told twice. There was a pungent scent in the air — the scent of gasoline and you looked toward the rear of the car, trying to work out where it was coming from, before something else caught your eye.

“Curtis!” Terror ran through you as you pointed at the glowing orange and blue line that appeared to be getting closer and closer to you.

“Run!” Curtis shouted and before you even had a chance to think his large hand had wrapped around your upper arm and he was dragging you away from the car and into the trees that lined the road. It felt as though you were running forever, yet you’d only taken a few steps when there was a loud boom from behind you and a wave of heat that sent you staggering. It was only Curtis’ grip on your arm that stopped you from falling over. You looked back over your shoulder and saw a huge fire flickering at you from between the trees.

Your car.

“What in the actual fuck?” You couldn’t hold back your confused panic.

“Someone put a hole in the gas tank — wanted to make sure we didn’t get far. And the fact that they set it alight suggests they don’t just want to kidnap you, Princess. We need to get out of here.”

“And go where?” you asked, your terror becoming more tangible and threatening to bubble up your throat. “I don’t have any shoes and I don’t have my phone. It was in my clutch, which I think is still in the gardens.”

“Don’t worry, Princess,” Curtis placated. “I’ve got my phone. We’ll find somewhere to lay low and I’ll call for extraction.” He pulled it from his pocket and tapped the screen to wake it up.

Nothing.

He tapped it again.

And again.

“Sonofabitchfuckingpieceofjunk.”

You signed. “Battery died?”

“Battery died,” he confirmed.

Silence fell between you momentarily.

“What now?” You tried to keep the tremble from your voice — you had to pull it together. Now was not the time for hysterics.

“We get out of here.” Curtis crouched down again and began to unlace his shoes.

“What are you doing?” You watched as he took one shoe off, then his sock and put the shoe back on. He repeated the same action with the other leg and then passed you his socks.

“As strong as I am, I can’t carry you forever. Put these on. They should protect your feet a little and you should try to walk on soft ground as much as you can. I’ll carry you over anything dangerous.”

Your brow furrowed, but you pulled on the still warm socks as he’d asked. It did make some sense. “Where are we going to go?”

“We can’t follow the road — we’d be too obvious for anyone looking for us. We ought to go further into the woods and hole up for the night. It’ll be easier to get help in the morning.”

“If you haven’t noticed, I’m not really dressed for an impromptu camp out.”

“Princess, I don’t think we really have a choice. Now, do you want me to carry the gun? Going back to how you’re dressed, there’s not really anywhere you can put it while we walk.”

You shook your head in resignation at the whole situation and handed it over. You might know how to use a gun, but that didn’t mean you were comfortable carrying one around, especially while you were running. “Which way then?”

“East,” Curtis answered decisively. “It’s the direction we need to go in anyway, and wherever we end up, we can set off again with the sunrise.”

“This is the last time I go to one of these galas, I swear.”

“Finally something we can agree on.”

The worst part about slogging through a forest in the dark with Curtis, while escaping from people who apparently wished to kill you not kidnap you, was that every third step seemed to be into boggy ground; soaking your sock-covered foot and covering you in mud up to your mid-calf.

“This fucking sucks,” you grumbled under your breath as the mud slurped around your ankle for the umpteenth time.

“It’s not exactly a picnic for me either, Princess,” Curtis bit back and in the low light you saw him lean his palm against a tree so he could pull his own foot from the sucking mire. “And you do realise this whole mess is of your making.”

“Oh, here we go!” Anger and frustration felt far more comforting than fear, so you lent into it. “You do realise that if people — my father, Rogers, you — would just let me breathe once in a while then maybe I wouldn’t feel the need to seek out solitude, even if it is just for ten minutes.” You stomped past him with as much dignity as you could muster in the circumstances.

“You’re spoiled, you know that?” Curtis called after you, and you turned on your heel. He took two strides towards you and grabbed your arms. The moon took that moment to come out from behind a cloud and shine down onto him through the tree branches. “You don’t know anything about what’s going on in the world. How much shit I have to go through to keep you safe.”

“Well I’m sorry for being such an fucking inconvenience to you and everyone else. I didn’t ask for this life, to be used as a pawn in my father’s business dealings and a target for his enemies.” You shook his arms off you and stalked a few steps away. “I’m surprised he hasn’t even tried to arrange a marriage for me like some kind of medieval princess. I wouldn’t put it past him. And I’m so sorry that you get paid to babysit a spoiled rich brat that you detest.” You threw your hands up in the air. “I’m sorry that my misery is such a fucking problem.” With that you turned your back on him and continued to walk through the forest, Curtis following you a few heartbeats later.

You could have cried when an hour later the pair of you came upon a small clearing with an equally small cabin sitting in it. You started to sprint toward it, when Curtis yanked you back.

“Nope,” he grunted as he set you behind him. “You stay here, while I check it out.” He dug into his waistband and passed you the gun from the car. “Don’t hesitate to use this if you have to.”

You resisted the urge to salute him as he ducked low and moved quickly towards the meagre building. It was difficult to keep an eye on him in the gloom, but you just about managed to follow his progress as he circled it and then quietly made his way inside. He was inside for less than a minute before he strolled back out. You assumed his nonchalance indicated that all was well inside. Carefully you picked your way over to him.

“It’s not as nice as you’re used to, Princess, but it’ll do for a few hours until the sun comes up.”

You rolled your eyes and shouldered your way past him into the dreary interior. There was only one room and from what you could make out it was filled with a variety of old wooden furniture. “Is there any way to make any light? I can’t see shit.”

Curtis shifted behind you and you heard the scraping of various drawers. “I’ve found matches. See if you can find a lamp, or some candles.”

With your hands out in front of you, you felt around and let out a small shout of triumph as they connected with a lantern. “Here!” You turned, almost bumping into Curtis, and clumsily passed him the lantern. Shuffling backwards you reached out behind you until you found one of the rickety chairs and lowered yourself down into it. As Curtis coaxed the lantern into life, suffusing the small space with a yellow glow, you found yourself suddenly feeling cold. Thinking about it, it was strange that you hadn’t felt cold before now - you’d been schlepping through the darkness for the last hour or so, with only your evening dress and a pair of socks on. Then, as you thought about it further — thought about everything that had happened — you started to shiver. The cold was seeping further and further into your bones. You wrapped your arms around yourself and felt yourself shaking.

“Princess? Shit. You’re going into shock.” You heard Curtis’ voice as if from underwater. A warmth settled across your shoulders and a deep musky smell that was all Curtis filled your nose. “Let me clear the bed, then we’ll get you all bundled up and warm.”

“I-I’m s-sorry for be-being such a p-pain,” you chattered out as you watched him move uncharacteristically quickly around the room. “You m-must hate m-me even m-more.”

“Contrary to your opinion, I don’t hate you. Find you incredibly exasperating? Yes. Think watching you is a waste of my skills? Yes. Hate you? No.” He frowned as he looked down at the meagre coverings available on the narrow cot and then turned back at you. “However, I do have some different bad news for you. You need to take off your dress and those socks.”

“W-what?” You were sure your eyebrows were joining up with your hairline. “W-why?” Curtis started to unbutton his shirt and you couldn’t help but stare at him, dumbfounded.

“Those socks are sodden and your dress is covered in mud and other stuff.” He shrugged out of his shirt to reveal the white vest he was wearing underneath, and then held the removed garment out to you. “You should get changed into this and climb into the bed. I’ll try to rinse out the socks and your dress.”

You felt heat rush to your cheeks at the idea of Curtis seeing you without your clothes on. You wanted it, but at the same time the idea was mortifying. “You won’t look?”

For the first time ever, Curtis smiled at you. “Princess, I’ve seen you wearing a bikini that appeared to be made from cobwebs and wishes. I wouldn’t hesitate to guess that whatever underwear you got on under that dress covers more of you than that thing did. But I also assure you, I won’t look. In fact, I’m gonna go to the well I saw out back and pull up some water. You get changed and into that bed.” He strode out swiftly, with what looked like a ceramic mixing bowl in his hands.

As soon as he disappeared through the door you shrugged out of Curtis’ jacket, despite the chill that seemed to seep into your bones, and yanked at the zipper of your dress. It pooled at your feet and you kicked it, and the socks, across the scarred wooden floor. With only a moment's hesitation, you also took off your bra — no way were you going to try and sleep in that —, carefully folded it, and placed it under the flat pillow. You were shaking now, feeling so cold that you might as well be made of ice — so brittle you could shatter any moment.

Grabbing Curtis’ shirt, you fought your way into it, your fingers fumbling the tiny buttons as you did it up. It fell to your mid-calf and while more comfortable than your dress, it wasn’t any warmer. Thrusting your arms back into his suit jacket helped a little, but the chill didn’t start to leave you until you clambered under the musty blankets on the cot.

Curtis returned after a few minutes and he gave a curt nod when he noticed that you’d done as he said. He picked up your dress and socks and started to rinse them out in the bowl of water. You watched him under the flicker of the lantern light and as you did so you felt a heavy tiredness weigh down on you. Your eyelids drooped as you observed Curtis, saw how his bare arms moved, how his muscles bunched, as he scrubbed and rang out the fabric.

You didn’t recall seeing him finish. He was there, in front of you, when you let your eyes close for just a second, but in the next moment there was something — someone — firm and warm settling behind. You opened your eyes in drowsy confusion to find that it was dark again — the lantern had been put out.

“W-what’s going on?” you asked sleepily, trying to sit up

“Shh, Princess,” Curtis rumbled as he slung his arm around your waist and pulled you back down. “It’s just me. Gotta keep you warm. Go back to sleep. Everything will be better in a few hours.”

“Thank you for saving me,” you slurred before letting yourself fall back to sleep.

You woke with a start, jerking so suddenly that you rolled off the bed and landed on the floor with a shout.

“Fuck!” You fought your way out of your blanket burrito and rubbed at your elbow.

“Morning, Princess.” You looked up from your inelegant sprawl to find Curtis smirking at you in the glow of sunrise. For a moment you were confused, until the memories all rushed back in with terrifying clarity.

“Do we need to go?” you blurted out in a rush.

Curtis climbed up from the cot with long-limbed grace, his undershirt and suit trousers all creased. You looked down at yourself to discover his shirt and jacket weren’t in any better state. He crossed the room to check on the state of your dress and his socks. “We ought to wait for a bit longer, otherwise you’re going to get very cold again.” He stopped back in front of you and held out his hand. You took it, allowing him to pull you to your feet. However, he must have tugged harder than he meant to, because you ended up crashing into his chest, your forehead almost connecting with his chin. His arms wrapped around you to stop you from careening back over.

“Oof!”

“Careful there, Princess,” Curtis chuckled.

You took a half step back and looked at him, perplexed, although you didn’t slip his hold entirely. “You’re uncharacteristically chipper this morning? Where’s Mister Stoic and Grumpy.”

“When it’s laugh or cry, always laugh — it makes people wonder what you’re up to.”

The amused snort came out of you unbidden. “And it’s only just gotten bad enough for you to enact that philosophy? Well, regardless, you’re a lot more fun to be around when you’re like this.”

“And you look cute wearing my clothes,” he threw back.

That comment made your head spin on your shoulders. “You think I’m cute?”

“I’m not blind or stupid, Princess.” His answer came with a soft smile.

“But you don’t like me,” you argued.

“I like you just fine. Told you that last night.”

“But you’re always mean and glaring and grumpy. And mean.”

“Because you’re exasperating. I told you that as well.”

“How do I exasperate you?” From where you were standing you had an excellent view of Curtis’ mouth. You’d dreamed of those pink, plush lips and what they’d be able to do to you. You had a good chance to think about it in the seconds he was formulating his reply. And then his tongue poked out and licked over his lower lip and you swore you stopped breathing.

“How are you not exasperating?” His voice was low and soft, with a new and unknown cadence to it. It sent a shudder of awareness through your body. Or maybe that was due to the fact that you were standing so close to him, half dressed in his clothes. “I know you’re intelligent, Princess. I’ve heard you argue with your father often enough to know you’re not an airhead, but for some reason that’s the image you choose to show the world. And then those outfits of yours. I’m just a man after all — I’m not made of stone.”

Your eyes darted up to his and you couldn’t help but notice how dark they’d become, despite the steadily increasing illumination from the windows. You felt heat flame your cheeks and quickly lowered them again, just to be captivated once more by his lips. “What’s wrong with my outfits?” you asked. You had more than an inkling, but for some reason you needed to hear him say it. It was though you were right on the cusp of something.

“You goddamn know there’s nothing wrong with them,” Curtis growled, “apart from how they drive me crazy — like that fucking bikini for starters.”

“Not all of my outfits are skimpy”, you replied, your voice small and tinged with embarrassment.

“Yeah, but they fit you real well, Princess. Just yesterday morning, when you were wearing those jeans and you bent down to get that bowl from the kitchen cupboard. Thought I was gonna damn near combust.”

You scowled at him. “You shouldn’t have been looking.”

Curtis’ arms moved from their limp hold round your back and waist to take hold of your arms once more. You looked up again and the intensity you saw in his eyes was a little scary. “Have you ever tried not looking at a work of art? Known the torture of being so close to the thing you crave, but not able to touch it. You drive me to distraction, Princess, but I can’t seem to say no. You think I don’t like you, but if that were true, why would I request to be on your detail as often as possible? Why would I be grinding my teeth when I see all those rich men, young and old, ogle you like you’re just a piece of flesh to be bartered and sold? I want the one thing I can never have, so forgive me for looking less than happy most of the time.”

Your eyes grew wider with each word of his impassioned outburst, and you felt hope unfurl and bloom inside you. Your every fantasy was within your reach and at this moment you couldn’t care less about your father’s inevitable disapproval. You reached up to cup Curtis’ stubbled face and watched his eyes close as he pressed into your touch. “What if I said you can have me?”

His long eyelashes fluttered and he gave you a stricken look. “Please don’t tease me, Princess. I don’t think I could take it.”

“I’m not teasing, Curtis. I want you too. I’ve been trying to hide my feelings for you forever. It didn’t feel that difficult when I thought you despised me, but now that I know, I can’t not tell you the truth. I dream of you.” With your free arm you shook off one his hands and moved it to your waist.

“Your father—” He started to argue, but you cut him off.

“Isn’t here. You want me. I want you. We’re both adults and we’re both sober. What my father does or doesn’t want is immaterial.”

He let out a groan and his hand tightened on your waist. “You’re sure? Because I won’t wanna stop once we start. I obviously will, if you ask — if you change your mind — but I’m asking; please don’t put me through that if this is just some joke to see how much I can take.”

“It’s not a joke,” you breathed out as you reached up onto your toes and finally pressed your lips to his.

The kiss turned from soft searing instantly, as though that one action had broken down both your defences. Curtis clutched you like a lifeline, pulling you impossibly close as his mouth moved over yours. His facial hair scratched you in just the way you’d imagined countless times and your hand fisted into his undershirt. When he lifted you, your legs wrapped around him, bringing your scantily covered core in contact with the bulge in his pants, and he let out a grunt that sent a thrill straight through you.

Curtis spun on his heel and dipped, carefully placing you on the small cot as he knelt on the floor. He ripped his mouth from yours so he could slide his jacket from your shoulders and work on the small buttons of his shirt and you watched him with lust-filled eyes. “This is the worst outfit you’ve ever worn, Princess. Whoever recommended this look to you should be shot. Far too distracting.” You giggled at his joke and he grinned back at you, a sight that you had never thought to see.

When his fingers fumbled the buttons again, you brushed them away and tackled them yourself. “I’d have thought you’d have been better at undoing the buttons on your own shirt,” you teased.

“In my defense, they’re currently backwards and all the blood in my body is rushing away from my brain. It’s not my fault I’ve lost my fine motor skills.” He kissed down your throat and your chest as the opening of his shirt revealed each new inch of flesh. When you finally undid the last button, Curtis swept the white fabric open and off your body. Then, he sat back on his heels and stared at you. He had such a sweet and disbelieving expression, like a child that had opened a plain looking present only to find the toy they’d been dreaming about inside.

“You alright there, Curtis?” You pushed up onto your elbows and stretched out your left foot, placing it on his right thigh and rubbing your sole up and down his upper leg.

“I just don’t know where to start,” he admitted. “I’ve dreamed of this moment so many times, and now it’s here, I'm frozen with indecision.”

You sat up fully, your legs bracketing his and your bare breasts hanging tantalisingly in front of his face. “You could start by touching me and then move on to kissing me? Maybe, if you play your cards right, I’ll return the favour.”

Curtis knelt up and rested his hands on your waist, his face a hair’s breadth from yours. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

He captured your lips this time and as he did so, his hands slid up your rib cage. You moaned when his thumbs, rough with callouses, brushed over your nipples and you tried to slide your own hands up, under his vest to duplicate his touch. “Off,” you mumbled against him, and he pulled his hands, and mouth, away long enough to comply, removing the vest and also wriggling out of his wrinkled pants.

Curtis’ hands returned to your body, roving over your skin as though he was trying to learn everything about you by touch alone. With your hand on the back of his neck, you pulled him down on top of you, his hips cradled by your thighs. Now there were only two thin pieces of material separating you, and you couldn’t help but tilt your hips to rub against him.

“Princess! Oh god!” Curtis shuffled down your body and while you were momentarily frustrated by the lack of friction where you wanted it, it did mean that he could take one of your nipples in his mouth. Your own hands grasped at his head, revelling the feel of his short hair under your fingers and palms. This was better than your wildest dreams. You touched and kissed each other for what felt like millennia. It felt so good and it was difficult to imagine that anything could top it, but eventually those last two barriers were lost and Curtis’ cock was nestled between your wet folds.

“Fuck,” he muttered as his hips rocked and he coated himself in more of your arousal. You whined in response, eager for him to fuck you.

“Curtis, please!”

“I don’t — don’t have a condom,” he stuttered out.

You dug your heels into his ass and cupped his face in your hands. “Don’t care. It’s fine. You know I’ve got an implant, you took me to my doctor’s appointment three months ago, and I haven’t had a boyfriend since that dweeb Jason last year. Please! Fuck me already. I need you.”

“You’re sure?”

God, he was the sweetest, but also so very annoying. “Are you trying to exasperate me in retaliation? I’m absolutely sure. I need your cock inside me. I want you to make me come and I want to feel you come. Is that enough for you, Curtis?”

“Yes, so much.” As his tongue invaded your welcoming mouth, his hips shifted, the tip of his cock catching on your opening before he started to ease his way inside the clutch of your body. His kiss muffled your cries and whimpers and you tried to concentrate on the feeling of him within you, of him filling and stretching you. You wanted to commit every moment to memory, just in case this was the only time. You hoped it wouldn’t be, but when you both got out of this, there was no telling what would happen.

Curtis’ strokes were slow and deep — wonderfully unhurried — and he held you as close to him as possible. Your legs were crossed at the ankles in the small of his back and you had one hand on the nape of his neck and the other on his shoulder, your nails curling into his powerful muscles. The thought of marking him, claiming him as yours, was intoxicating, and sent your arousal spiralling higher. You rocked your hips in time with his movements, feeling so wonderfully in sync, like this was always meant to be. And maybe this had been inevitable; especially now you knew that the desire between you had been mutual? Despite your previous assumptions about his feelings for you, you had always been drawn to him. His grace. His quiet competency. Everything about him was magnetic.

Your orgasm, when it came, was as unhurried as everything else; cresting and crashing over you like waves on a warm beach, leaving you dizzy but still yearning for more.

“Oh fuck! Feels so good,” Curtis muttered against your lips, and you knew that he’d been waiting, had been holding himself back, until you’d had your pleasure. You clenched down on him purposefully and listened to him moan. You couldn’t help but do it again.

“Princess! ‘M gonna come. Can’t hold it back.”

“I want it, Curtis. Please. Come in me. I wanna feel you.”

His thrusts became uncoordinated and more frantic, and you squeezed him with your body while whispering in his ear. You’d never thought you’d be one for dishing out the dirty talk, but it definitely seemed to be working for both of you at this moment in time.

In less than a minute, Curtis was groaning and gasping into your neck and you could feel the warmth of his cum inside you.

“Fuck, Princess!” Curtis panted out and you giggled at how completely fucked out he sounded. “Don’t laugh at me,” he groused.

“But I’ve now decided that you’re cute when you’re grumpy.” You rubbed your palm over his short hair, and snuggled into his hold. The way his bulk covered you and pressed you down onto the bed made you feel safe.

“‘M not cute,” he argued, but you could feel his mouth smiling against your neck.

The pair of you lay in silence for a few minutes, before you let out a heavy sigh. “I suppose we ought to get going. Go and find help and get home.”

Curtis pushed himself up on his forearms and dropped a kiss to the tip of your nose, before pushing away from you and standing up. “Unfortunately, I agree with you.” He retrieved his briefs from the floor and put them back on, before passing you your panties.

“I don’t suppose there’s anything resembling a clean cloth around here?,” you asked him, realising how disgusting you felt.

“The best I can do is this,” Curtis replied as he passed you his undershirt. “Let me go and get you some water. Afraid it will be cold, though.” He dragged up his pants and pulled his shoes on, before heading back outside with the same old bowl he’d used last night. As you waited for him to come back in, you got up from the bed and started to poke around the small cabin. In a random drawer, which required a hard yank to open, you discovered some safety pins which gave you an idea. Another drawer yielded up a knife. When Curtis returned a few minutes later, he found you kneeling on the floor, the raggedy blanket from the bed lain out in front of you.

“What are you doing?” he asked with a smile as he watched you cut a hole from the centre of it.

“Making a poncho,” you said. “That way I will have something more than my evening dress to cover me and you can keep your jacket.” You folded the blanket in half and used the safety pins to create some side seams, leaving enough space on each side to stick your arms through.

“Aren’t you resourceful?”

You poked your tongue out at him and took hold of the bowl. In a few moments you had cleaned yourself up as best you could and pulled your underwear back on, along with your slightly damp dress and Curtis’ socks. You wrinkled your nose as the squishy feeling, but you knew it was the best that could be done. With your ‘new’ poncho pulled over your head, you were ready to set off.

You held out your hand to Curtis. “You ready to continue rescuing me?”

The skin around his eyes crinkled as he grinned at you. “Of course. I’ll always be here to look after you.”

The pair of you stepped out into the morning light and set off walking, hopefully towards help. But whatever happened next, you’d have each other.

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