#was she in denial? did she know all along there was something dark in him?

[angrylesbianstereotype]

I know it’s not at all plot relevant and I definitely don’t think it’s necessary to elaborate further on Walter’s backstory to explain why he is Like That but I still really want to know what the deal with his mom was? They set it up- she’s still alive, they’re seemingly estranged, or at least, he doesn’t tell her about his diagnosis and we don’t see him speaking with her once over the course of the series even after Skyler accidentally reveals it to her, her husband died of Huntington’s, she doesn’t get along with her daughter-in-law- she is mentioned very sparingly even though it feels like the writers definitely had a story in mind for her. As much as I hate Walter, I like to think he didn’t want to tell her out of some measure of love for her, because of how his dad died and how much she worried about his health as a kid, rather than it just being another facet of their estrangement. I think it would be boring and kind of a cop-out to have her be abusive and have that serve as an explanation for her son's dickhead behavior (understatement), but I guess in the context of how he treats his family and Jesse it's very maybe-the-poison-drips-through. Maybe she could be stifling out of fear for his health, maybe he felt like he had to constantly reassure her, and that's why Walt is so resentful of his family's attempts to care for him after his diagnosis and of his familial attachments in general. Not trying to be the blame the mom person, I just want to know why they were estranged and how it ties back into Walter’s motivations and apocalyptic midlife crisis. Also could be a maybe-the-poison-drips-through but he dialed it up to an eleven bc he’s Walter situation, like she wasn’t outright abusive like he is but she could be protective to the point of being controlling like Walt is with Jesse.

[hier--soir]

be good

no outbreak joel miller x f!reader

pairing: sub!joel miller x dom!f!reader summary: joel was never really the submissive type. until he met you, and realised he'd do whatever you asked of him. warnings/tags: [18+ MINORS DNI] no outbreak au, established relationship, strangers at a bar role play, dom!reader, sub!joel, dirty talk, joel miller is desperate, face sitting cunnilingus, f!masturbation, save a horse ride a cowboy, size kink, praise kink, light choking, mean!reader, pet names used for joel [honey, baby, sugar], orgasm denial, reader talks joel through it, 90% porn 10% plot lmao. word count: 7.6k masterlist a/n: folks i've been gagging for something with joel just being so good for his partner and [begrudgingly] doing whatever she tells him too... and then i listened to 'sex with me' by rihanna and got even more inspired so here we go. [i swear i will post something soon with an actual plot jfc]

He’d been watching you all night.

Pip’s Bar was busy. Though it wasn’t your usual haunt, it was one of the more popular spots in Austin, and on a Saturday night it was absolutely teeming with people. Strangers lined the bar, drinking and talking and trying fruitlessly to chase down two overworked bar tenders. A mass of bodies gyrated and swayed in the middle of the room, moving to the fast rhythm of a bassline that shook the rickety old floorboards. You were lost in the midst of it, dancing alone and yet connected to the foreign bodies that crowded you from every angle, suffocating you until you were slick with sweat and sticky from spilt alcohol. Swallowed whole by the writhing, heaving pack of dancers, your every breath and movement synced with theirs.

And he’d been watching you, all night.

He’d arrived at Pip’s not long after you. And since then, he had hardly moved from the same spot across the room. He leant against the wall, one hand gripping a glass and the other propped on his hip. He looked bored, uninterested in everything happening around him, and yet every time you glanced his way those eyes were already burning a hole into your skin. The truth was that he’d never had much patience for the whole thing, but you trusted he enjoyed it just as much as you did. Knew he’d do whatever you asked him to, even if it included going to a bar and pretending you were strangers. Even when it meant him watching you dance all night, rubbing yourself against strangers, and pretending you didn’t know him until one of you finally broke.  

Your arms stretched high above your head, hips swaying from side to side as you muttered the lyrics of the song underneath your breath. Once again, you glanced back in his direction while you danced. You allowed your torso to sway with the movements of your hips, hands dropping to rest lacklustre by your sides. You offered him a quick smile, but his face hardly moved, body rigid. He lifted the glass to his mouth, playing coy, and you chuckled under your breath, closing your eyes and revelling in the heavy bass that vibrated through your body. When you opened them again he was gone, the wall where he’d once stood now devoid of his presence. You didn’t give it much thought, until suddenly a pair of hands were on your waist, pulling you back against a solid body. A gasp of soft surprise exhaled from your mouth, and you felt the hands squeeze gently. When you turned around, there was already a sly smile was painted across your lips.

The dim lighting in the bar did him no justice; casting too many shadows across his strong jawline, his straight aquiline nose, hiding the perfect shade of his dark pink lips.

He stared down at you with a simmering intensity as you pressed your chest against his. The room was hot, and sweat beaded along your hairline, but it didn’t stop you from dancing slowly against him, gliding your curves against his body, maintaining eye contact all the while.

A faded denim button up covered his chest, the thin material doing nothing to disguise the toned, strong body beneath it. The fabric was slightly coarse, and it was rough against the thin mesh of your shirt. You always loved waiting to see what he would wear, how he would dress up for you. Tonight’s shirt was new, something he’d bought specifically for the occasion, and you loved it. Your nipples hardened a little, and you smirked as he snaked an arm around your waist to press his palm to the spot in between your shoulder blades, holding you against him.

“What’s your name?” you asked over the music, noting the way his eyes drifted to your mouth when you spoke. God, he was so easy.

“Joel.” Those deep, brown eyes bore into your own, drinking in the details of your face as his hips moved slowly against yours. He was always antsy to get this part over and done with, but he played along for you.

“Are you single?” you asked, revelling in the way his mouth went to respond before his brain could catch up. The beginning of the word no formed on his lips, and you almost grinned at how loyal he was, even when you wanted him to lie.

“Yes,” he said.

“You’ve been watching me all night, Joel.”

You reached up to fix his collar where part of it had been turned up. He didn’t respond immediately, mulling his thoughts over in his head, contemplating what he thought you might want to hear.

“It’s okay,” you spoke again when you sensed he was overthinking it, allowing your hand to glide down his shoulder and over the firm muscles of his upper arm. “I liked it.”

“And your name?” he asked, almost shouting to be heard over the music. You smirked at the deep bellow of his voice; at the way it gave the pumping music a run for its money. The thick, Texan drawl of it always managed to spark a fire in your belly.

When you told him, he repeated your name slowly, as if it were foreign to him; rolling it around in his mouth, tasting out the syllables on his tongue. The hand on your back held strong, and you could almost feel the individual tips of his fingertips leaving indents in your skin.

A gyrating body jostled into you from the side suddenly, and you stumbled forward. Joel tightened his grip on you, keeping the both of you standing up right. You flashed him a grateful smile, and your eyes dipped to stare at his mouth. The urge to kiss him was strong, but you held yourself back, knowing the payoff would be worth it if you could just hold off a little longer.

You didn’t waste much time though. “What brings you to Pip’s? Y’here to meet someone?”  

A spark of desire flashed through his eyes, and his grip tightened inconceivably. Your body thrummed with excitement as you gained the upper hand so successfully, and so quickly. Joel cleared his throat, face relaxing back into a neutral expression.

“Didn’t want to come here at all,” he spoke plainly, glancing down to where your chests rubbed together. His eyes trailed over your torso, the mesh fabric of your shirt allowing him a full view of your breasts, clad in a thin lace bra. “Brother dragged me along.”

You hummed, almost grinning at the mention of Tommy, who would blush beet red if he knew what the two of you were doing at Pip’s. You opened your mouth to speak again, but he beat you to it.

“Did you?” he asked quickly. “Come here lookin’ for someone?”

You quirked an eyebrow and shook your head once. “No, I didn’t.” Bold faced lie.

His left hand rested on your hip, and he squeezed your waist once, holding your midriff solidly against his own. You could feel his heart beating, a rapid badoom badoom badoom that knocked rhythmically against your sternum. You draped an arm around the back of his neck, gripping the collar of his shirt.

“But maybe I could be persuaded,” you spoke slowly, testing the waters. “If you’re good.”

His eyes darkened a shade at your wording, and a soft exhale rushed out of his mouth, breezing against your face. His lips were a hairsbreadth away from touching yours, but he hesitated, eyes flickering back up to yours, as if asking for permission. Perfect.

You kissed him gently at first, slotting your lips against his and moving tentatively, exploring him as if it were the first time. His hold on you stiffened as he pressed back, running his tongue eagerly along the seam of your mouth. Your hand drifted from his collar to his hair and you gripped it softly, tugging on the wavy curls. Joel was taller than you, and yet he was crouching somewhat, so that your mouths would be level. Simplifying things for you; always so eager for the game to end. He struggled with it – the standing across the room, watching you, waiting for you to invite him over with a smile. But after an hour of dancing, you were willing to let him have it.

You parted your lips and allowed him to swipe his tongue greedily into your mouth. He tasted like whiskey and mint and soda water. It burnt your mouth, and inspired a dull ache in your abdomen. He gained confidence, kissing you harder, deeper, and so you sunk your teeth into his bottom lip. Not hard enough to draw blood, but enough to make him pause. A warning.

You pulled away. “Have you been drinking, Joel?”

His chest rose and fell quickly. Lips swollen and red. You could feel him pressing against your stomach, already half-hard from just a little kiss. Poor baby, so desperate.

“Only had two.” His voice was stilted. “I drove here.”

“Good,” you nodded, gripping his hand and leading him out of the throng of dancing bodies.

“Good?” Joel shouted back, eyebrows raised.

“Good that your car is here,” you clarified. “Means you can drive us back to my place.”

Joel walked through your apartment like he’d never been there a day in his life, and you adored him for it.

He rested on the edge of your bed, nursing a cold beer that you’d swiped from the fridge for him. He stuck out in your bedroom, but you suppose he always had. The queen-sized bed looked like a double with him on it, his broad frame taking up most of the mattress. And the contrast between your floral wallpaper and his dark, masculine figure was so stark that you almost giggled as you watched him from across the room. His eyes felt heavy on you, following you wherever you moved, lest he miss a single thing. They raked over your figure, basking in the bare flesh you had on show, monitoring your hands as you removed your jewellery and discarded it. It caused a prickling heat to rise across your skin, and you liked it – the way he seemed so eager, so uncontained.

“What’re you doin’ all the way over there?” Joel asked. His fingers were long, wrapping around the entirety of the beer bottle, making it look miniscule in his grip.

You bent to take off your shoes. “I’m admiring you.”

His lips pursed, beer bottle pausing in the air halfway to his lips. When he spoke, his voice was deeper somehow. “Well, you should come over here.”

“Would you like that?” you straightened up, smiling sweetly.

“Yes,” he responded. His voice was measured, quiet. But you could tell he was frustrated by your relaxed demeanour. It was always the way it went. Joel was so impatient. He knew what was going to happen, knew what awaited him, and he couldn’t fucking stand the tension build up.

“Maybe if you’re good,” you winked, padding over to where he sat. You stood over him, knees brushing against knees.

“I can be good,” he spoke gruffly, depositing his beer bottle on the ground with a gentle clink.

“Is that so?” you asked softly, pulse quickening. He nodded, wiping his palms on his jeans before splaying them on the bed beside him. A slick heat had formed in your underwear, the near-ruined material sticking uncomfortably to your skin. “You’re gonna do what I want? Whatever I ask of you?”

You could see the way his jeans tightened over his crotch, cock clearly straining against the rough material at your words. He swallowed, nodding again. Slowly, so slow it was painful, you leant forward and pressed a chaste kiss to his lips. His scent filled your nostrils and you inhaled it deeply, sighing against his mouth as everything that was Joel Miller invaded your senses. Your tongue flicked against his mouth and then you were dragging it past his lips, over his teeth, rolling it against his own tongue. A warm, heavy hand gripped the waistband of your pants and long fingers fumbled with the button, but you pulled back, tutting as you shoved his hands away from you. He looked dejected, wet lips parted as he frowned up at you.

“Take your clothes off,” you ordered softly, and he grunted, but did as you asked. “And then lay on the bed.”

Making quick work of it, he stripped out of his shirt and jeans, tossing them haphazardly into the corner of the room. Finally, he tugged his briefs down, before laying back on the mattress.

Splayed on the bed, not a single inch of Joel Miller was left to the imagination. His body sunk into the soft blankets on the bed, and his cock stood at painful attention. It gave you pause, as he stared at you, and you stared at his cock. He was big—bigger than most guys you’d slept with in the past—and he knew it too. Had always been proud of the fact. His tip was ruddy and swollen, with a small pearl of pre-come resting on his slit, taunting you. A thick, pulsing vein travelled down the side of him. You thought about how he would taste, in that moment. How heavy he would be on your tongue, how your jaw would ache, and you’d struggle to breathe as his tip glided against the back of your throat. You were salivating just thinking about it.

“You like what you see?”

You simply took your clothes off in response. Taking your time, you dragged your shirt over your head before peeling your trousers off, underwear following it and landing in a pile on the floor until you stood naked as the day you were born. Joel watched closely, dark eyes monitoring your hands as you removed layer after layer. His gaze dipped to the spot between your thighs, and you saw his cock twitch.

You straddled his thighs, resting just above his knees and taking care not to make contact with his length. As soon as you settled above him his hands rested naturally on your waist, gripping and kneading the flesh beneath his palms. You decided to allow it, just for a moment, as your gaze travelled down his chest and the dark smattering of hair there, past his happy trail, all the way to where he wanted you the most.

His hips shifted on the mattress, cock bobbing against the soft flesh of his tummy and leaving a shiny smear where the tip brushed his skin.

“So handsome,” you traced your fingers over his stomach. “You’ve got such a pretty cock, Joel.”

“Yeah?” he grunted, eyes trained on your hands as they wandered toward his hips. The power you felt in moments like this were unmatched. With this broad, strong man laying beneath you, completely at your mercy, hanging on the precipice of your every word. Even if he struggled to admit it, even when it seemed like he was using all of his will power to let you have your fun, you both knew that you were in charge. And it was invigorating.

“Yes,” you implored, your heart warming at the way his chest seemed to puff with pride at your words.

Your fingertip traced alone his hipbone and he shivered at the featherlight touch, goosebumps breaking out across his skin. “So pretty and thick. I love it like that, you know? When it’s so big that it hurts at first. No matter how wet I am, there’s still that sting.” You dug your nails into the soft of his upper thigh to emphasise your point. He didn’t respond, eyes darkening as he watched you.

“So big that it fills me up until it’s like I can’t breathe, and I’m so cock drunk that I can’t focus on anything except you and how deep you are.” You placed your spare hand on your lower stomach, splaying your fingers. “When I can feel it here.”

Joel’s breathing had started to labour, chest rattling as heavy exhales drifted through parted lips. His hands dragged from your waist to the crease where your thigh met your hips, and his grip was bruising. You knew he loved it when you talked like that, knew it drove him crazy. And you couldn’t deny it made a fresh wave of heat roll through your stomach to think about him stretching you out just right.

“And I love this,” you continued softly, dragging your fingers from his thigh to graze the moustache that rested above his top lip. He smirked at that, tongue darting out to swipe at your fingers. Your stomach tensed at the feeling of the wet muscle touching you, pussy fluttering around nothing, devastatingly empty. 

Joel whispered your name against the palm of your hand. Smiling, you traced the tip of your index over his lips before pressing down, watching it slide easily into his mouth. He closed his lips around the digit immediately, grazing his teeth over it before sucking gently.

“Oh, you’ve got such a pretty mouth,” you said. “You gonna show me what you can do with it?”

He moaned around the digit, strong hands pulling your hips forward so you were edging your way up his torso.

“Mmh,” you hummed lowly, dragging your soaked finger from his mouth. You tapped it once against his left hand and gave him a sly smile. “But none of this, okay? I don’t want to feel your hands on me, not for a second. Do you understand?”

Joel’s brow furrowed, eyes dimming as he slowly pried his fingers away from your flesh, lowering his hands to rest in the sheets.

“So that’s how it’s gonna be?” he asked softly, tongue swiping out to wet his lower lip.

You nodded, using your knees to shift further up his chest until you were hovering just above his collarbones. Joel’s eyes darted between your thighs, and a soft sigh left his lips as he gazed at the way your lips had parted ever so slightly, giving him a glimpse of your glistening core. When you paused there for a moment too long, he looked back up to your face, expression almost begging you to movepleasejustmovejustalittlebitcloser.

So you put him out of his misery; rested your knees on either side of his head before lowering your aching cunt to meet his mouth.

Joel groaned in relief as his nose buried itself in your hair, tongue darting out to swipe between your soaked folds. You gasped in delight, rutting yourself against him in encouragement. The coarse hairs of his moustache scraped against your clit and you whined at the sensation, reaching up to rest your hands atop the headboard.

Joel licked a firm stripe up your core with the flat of his tongue, and your shoulders tensed as he set to work. He wasted no time setting a hard and fast pace, letting out messy groans as his tongue rubbed firm circles around your clit. You exhaled heavily, teeth biting down on your lower lip. He dragged his tongue to your entrance and dipped it inside you, so quickly that you flinched, before he was back to rubbing your clit, swiping the tip of his tongue back and forth, back and forth, back and forth. He was so overzealous, so hungry for it; exhaling hot air against you while he lathed sloppy kisses against your pussy.

“Hey,” you rasped, reaching down to run your fingers through his hair. Joel didn’t let up, simply flicking his tongue across your clit again. You jolted, tightening your grip in his hair and inching your hips away from his face. “Hey.”

His eyes flashed open, lips parting as his mouth tried to follow you when you pulled away.

“Wha—?” he couldn’t finish his sentence as you took his bottom lip between your thumb and index finger, squeezing it once.

“Slow down,” you said firmly. His cheeks flushed. “Moving that fast, a girl might start to think you’re trying to get it over with as quick as possible.”

Joel shook his head in a daze, mumbling a meagre apology against your fingers. Those big browns gazed up at you, wide and sad, reminiscent of a Labrador being told off for eating his dinner too fast. You pressed back down over his face, murmuring a gentle reminder for him to go slow.

He was soft then. Meticulous. Calculated. Every lick, every suck, every graze of teeth, was thought out and purposeful. You could feel more slick oozing out of you as his tongue massaged the flesh between your clit and your entrance.

“That’s it,” you praised breathlessly. “That’s perfect, doing—ohh—doing so well for me.”

Within minutes he had you on the edge, holding the headboard in a white-knuckle grip and grinding down against his mouth as breathy moans fell from your lips. It was reverent, the way he ate you out like it was his favourite thing to do in the world. And as liquid fire began to twist in your stomach, and your thighs burned with the intensity of holding yourself up above him, you could swear you felt him moving. Sparing a glance over your shoulder, you bit down on your lip to stifle the whimper that threatened to escape you at the sight of him.

The muscles of his long tanned legs were tense, the soft flesh of his hips flexing as he thrusted upward subconsciously, his leaking cock desperately seeking for contact but being rewarded with nothing but the humid air of your bedroom.  

You thought about how easy it would be to turn around. To lean down and take him in your mouth. To slide your lips over his head; to taste his salt while his tongue glided through your folds. Just the thought had you careening over the edge, body jerking as you gasped and sighed and grinded the swollen mess of yourself down against his face. Joel moaned gratefully, dark eyes flicking open to watch you as you came. You could feel him everywhere; his facial hair scraping against your twitching inner thighs as his nose bumped against your clit and his tongue lapped at your entrance, sucking and swallowing down everything you had to offer until you were gasping and prying yourself away.

On shaking legs, you made your way back down his body. As you moved, you rubbed your pussy against his torso, smearing a shimmering trail of your slick across his skin. Joel let out a brief, wrecked moan, stomach tensing as you passed over it and then lifted yourself up. His pink tongue darted out to swipe at his lips, savouring the glistening remnants of your taste. Resting on your knees, you hovered above him, smiling breathlessly.

“Fuck.” You admired the sight, pouting your lips out teasingly. “Made such a mess on you, I’m sorry, baby.”

“Jesus.” His voice was pained. “S’perfect.”  

“And it’s all for you,” you hummed, trailing a finger absentmindedly over his collarbone. “You looked so pretty like that. All messy haired and fucked out while I rode your face. So good for me, I’m tempted to let you go down on me all night.”

“I want to,” Joel exhaled heavily. A soft blush had risen across his chest, and he glowed under the shower of praise. “Think about it all the time.”

“Is that right?” you asked demurely.

“S’right,” he mumbled. “Think about the way you taste. About spreading you out and spending hours with my head between your thighs.”

The words were so hot they almost made you forget about the game you were playing.

You looked down, brain shifting gears and mouth going dry at the sight of your puffy lips hovering so beautifully close to the tip of his cock. He was so hard it looked painful. Stiff and pulsing, the vein down the side of his length visibly throbbed. Pre-come dripped down his length, pooling at the base of him.

“Oh, honey,” you cooed, and Joel looked down, groaning at the sight of you so close to where he was just aching. With a soft gasp, you noticed yourself begin to drip. “Look at that.”

Together, you watched a strand of your slick drip out of you, and land directly on the tip of his cock. Joel’s entire body jolted, and a pitiful moan escaped his mouth at the first stimulation he’d received all night. On instinct, his hands rushed forward and gripped your hips, stomach tensed as he thrusted upward into the air. You could see it in his eyes, the burning desire to grab you and pull you close, roll on top of you and just split you open. But this was your night, and you were the one calling the shots.

You tutted softly. “I said, hands off. Don’t make me tie them to the bed,” you clipped. He cursed, hands dropping immediately. “Mmh, you’ll do whatever I tell you to, won’t you?”

He whispered your name hoarsely, lips shifting below his wet moustache.

You ignored him, smiling at the way his cock twitched whenever you spoke. “So needy, so fucking desperate for me to touch you.”

“Yes,” he admit to it through gritted teeth. “God, fuckin’—please. Anything, I’ll do anything. Need to feel you, please baby, I need it.”

You hummed quietly, pondering as you gazed down at the sweaty mess of a man beneath you. “I’ll bet you say that to all the girls, huh handsome?”

His lips parted, harsh exhales rushing past chapped lips. “Only you,” he said firmly.

The corner of your mouth twitched up and you gave an approving nod, admiring the sincere gleam in his eye.

“Good boy,” you murmured. He groaned softly, eyes almost closing at the words. “But I’ve decided I don’t think I’ll use my mouth on you tonight. Or my hands, for that matter.”

Joel frowned, lips curling into a deep grimace as he twisted the sheets in his fists.

“Because,” you continued. “All I want your cock to feel, all night, is my cunt. Nothing else. Do you understand?” 

His jaw slackened and then he was nodding, muttering yeahokayyesyes.

“Yes what, Joel?”

“Please,” his voice cracked.

A wide grin spread easily across your face as you shuffled down the bed, settling your knees on either side of his waist.

“You such a tease,” he groused under his breath.

“Uh-huh,” you chuckled darkly. “And we both know you love it.” He stayed silent, knowing you were right, and watched as you splayed a hand across his stomach, using his body for leverage as you—finally—pressed your folds against his cock. Joel’s stomach tightened as you glided along his length, spreading your slick from his head to his base.

“Can I…?” he trailed off, eyes darting from your face and to where the two of you were touching. You nodded once, unable to look away as he reached down to grip himself, strong fingers wrapping around his length and squeezing once while he notched his tip at your entrance. The lingering sensitivity from your previous orgasm had you shuddering at the contact, walls contracting at the thought of him finally being inside of you.

You pushed his hand away swiftly, placing it back onto the bed. A harsh gasp ripped from your throat as you sunk down on him, gravity taking away any chance for your body to adjust to him slowly. The stretch stung a little, and your mouth hung open, spilling breathy whines.

“Jesus Christ,” you heard Joel exhale, voice ragged.  The muscle in his jaw moved underneath his skin, the muscles in his arms straining as he focused all of his willpower on not fucking touching you. 

“Fuck,” you whimpered. “Y-you’re so deep, stretching me out so good, just how I like it.” You tightened around him and a deep groan tumbled from Joel’s mouth, lids fluttering as his eyes all but rolled back into his head. You wiped the sweat off his forehead and cupped his cheek in your palm.

“Talk to me, honey,” you ran the pad of your thumb across his cheekbone. “Tell me how it feels.”

He grunted, heady brown eyes opening to peer up at you. His hips flexed beneath you and you bit your lip to stop from crying out at the way his cock shifted inside you. Slowly, knees painful from the pressure, you lifted almost entirely off him, before sinking back down. And then you did it again, and again, setting a deliberately unhurried pace and never once taking your eyes off his face.

The room already smelt like sex, a heady mixture of sweat and come, and a warm fog settled over your mind as the moment enveloped you.

You rotated your hips in a circle and delighted in the way he slammed the palm of his hand down onto the bed, teeth gnawing on his bottom lip. His eyes were half-shut, vision drifting to the ceiling as his head sunk into the pillow behind him. Within a second your hand tightened on his face, fingertips pressing gently into either side of his jaw, angling his face back towards you. His eyes flashed open, fully alert now.

“Look at me,” you whispered. “Wanna see those pretty eyes on me while I fuck you.”

He groaned at the words, pushing himself up into a seated position so your chests were almost touching. The new angle made you moan, and you loved the way the softest part of your stomachs brushed against each other every time you lowered your hips against his. Maintaining your hold on his face, you knocked your forehead lightly against his, nudging his nose with yours.

“Come on,” you urged, speeding up the rhythm just a little. “Tell me, baby, I—fuck—I wanna hear you. Do you feel good?”

“Yes,” he choked out. His voice was rough and wanton with need, and he wet his lips quickly upon hearing it. He almost looked shy, with his flushed cheeks and pouted swollen lips.

You hummed, hand drifting from his cheek to hover over his neck. Joel stiffened, nose pressing against your cheek as his head dropped forward doggedly. You let your fingertips graze the side of his neck, thumb brushing over his Adam’s apple.

“Is this what you want?” you murmured.

“Yes,” he repeated against your skin and you grinned, applying soft pressure on either side of his neck.

He moaned a low, tortured sound in response, and you leaned back to watch his mouth hang open as the sensation heightened everything he was feeling. With your free hand you stretched down to take one of his off the bed, and placed it firmly on the plush globe of your ass cheek. Joel’s eyes shot open in surprise, hand tightening instinctively.

He squeezed, gripping the flesh so tight it had you gasping, taking full advantage of the new freedom he’d been afforded. He used his hold to push you up and down faster, quickening the pace of your hips. And every time he bottomed out, he held you down on him for a second longer than you’d planned to allow, ensuring you felt every inch of him, every ridge and vein as he throbbed inside you, pressing against the deepest part of your core. You could already feel bruises forming where the tips of his calloused fingers squeezed you, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care.

Until you began to notice the signs, that is – the way his jaw slackened and his eyes glazed over. Relaxing your grip on his neck, you instead stroked your fingers along the skin there, feeling his thrumming pulse; listening to his hoarse laboured breaths; watching the way the rise and fall of his chest had rapidly increased. His cock twitched inside you.

“C’mon,” you whispered. “Tell me.”

“M’so fuckin’ close,” he garbled out mindlessly.

“Yeah?”

 “Y’feel so good,” he gasped, words slurring together. “Squeezin’ me so fuckin’ tight, s’like you were made f’me.”

“Mmm, I know,” you hummed, dropping your hand to press down over his stomach. The muscles contracted under your fingers, tensing over and over again as you moved along his cock. “But you can’t come yet, Joel.”

His eyes snapped to your face, lips silently forming your name.

“I mean it,” you warned in a low voice, hips never ceasing their movement. “I’m not done with you.”

“You can fuck me again,” he shook his head. His face all but crumpled, pupils blown so wide that his eyes were almost entirely black. “Can fuck me as many times as you want, do whatever you want with me.”

You grinned breathlessly. “I know.”

“Please,” his voice cracked, abdomen tensing as you sunk down on him with a particularly heavy thrust. A high-pitched moan left your lips as you grinded your clit against the coarse hair at his base. “M’so close, darlin’.”

“No, Joel,” you admonished quickly, tone clearly too condescending for his liking.

Anger flashed across his face. Sharp and fast, but impossible to miss.

“Fuck you,” he hissed. You clenched around him without meaning to, the fire in your abdomen burning hotter as you watched his patience wane.

Swallowing down a moan, you gave him a measured look, and stopped moving entirely, relaxing your thighs against his.

“That’s not very nice,” you ground out. Joel’s expression loosened, panic glinting in his eyes. “What ever happened to southern hospitality, huh sugar? Do you think you deserve anything if that’s how you’re going to talk to me?” Not waiting for a response, you lifted your hips up, and his cock began to slide out of you painfully slow.

“No, no,” his hands lifted off the bed, hovering warily in the air over your thighs. “Wait, m’sorry, fuck—”

You ignored him, lifting up until you were completely separated. You gasped in unison at the loss, and you fought against the voice in your head that told you to just forget it – to end the entire charade. But you held strong.

“Is that any way to speak to a woman?” you teased, resting your ass on the meat of his thighs. The corners of his mouth were downturned, eyebrows furrowed as he stared despondently at you, face the picture definition of frustration. His length hung heavy in between you, glistening with a thin layer of slick and pre-come.

“I’m sorry,” he repeated softly, and your stomach twisted at the earnestness in his eyes. He meant it, and you knew that. Your sweet, kind, loving man… so quick to temper. And forgiving him too fast would be just setting a bad example.  

“You know I can do this without you,” you lied dolefully, stroking a hand along the damp skin of your own thigh. “You’re nothing special, y’can’t do anything I couldn’t do just as well to myself.”

His frown deepened at your words, hurt flashing across his features. But he knew better than to speak in that moment – knew better than to dig himself into an even deeper hole by trying to argue.

“I want you to watch me,” you ordered sternly, fingers stroking thoughtfully through the coarse hair on your mound. “And if you touch me, or yourself, I won’t make you come tonight. Not even once. If you want to touch yourself so badly, be my guest, but you’ll be finishing yourself off.”

Dark eyes flashed down, jaw flexing as he watched your fingers dip to slide between your folds. You let out an exaggerated sound, gaze trained on the way his eyes devoured your movements. You spotted the muscle in his bicep tightening and loosening intermittently, and noticed that he was gripping the bedsheets so tight that you almost worried they would tear.

Moving carefully, you trailed a finger to the apex of your core and began to run circles over your clit, humming genuinely as the pleasure that had been building inside of you was reignited.

It used to make you shy, the way you touched yourself. The way your brain would run hazy with pleasure, and your hands would take on a mind of their own, grazing over your body as you shivered beneath your own touch. But now? It made you feel fucking formidable. The way you squeezed your breasts, made yourself gasp as you pinched and rolled your nipples. To rub a hand over your lower stomach and press against the soft flesh there, putting pressure on all the nerves underneath the skin to stimulate your g-spot. You were greedy, never stinging away or pulling back from what you knew felt good. It was intoxicating, knowing every intricate part of what made your own body tick. And you knew for a fact that it was like a drug to Joel to see you touch yourself. 

His dark eyes glared at your fingers, awestruck as he watched your movements, tongue swiping greedily over his lips as if in an attempt to taste you again. And when you moaned, he did too, soft groans slipping past his lips and hands fisting in the bedsheets as he watched your fingers disappear inside yourself over and over again.

“That’s it,” Joel said roughly. “Add another finger for me, wanna see you stretch yourse—.”

“Shut up,” you muttered, refusing to do as he asked. He grunted, lips pursing closed. “You like watching me like this? Seeing how I touch myself?” He moaned his assent, raking a hand through his unruly curls.

You were already so high strung, so pent up, that it didn’t take long for you to bring yourself to the precipice. And as you approached to your end, expression contorting in pleasure, Joel’s eyes dragged upward to focus on your face instead of your pussy. Devastated, his eyes flicked once back down to your slick fingers, unsure of what he wanted to see more, before steadfastly holding eye contact with you. And as the high washed over you in sharp, twitching waves, he held your gaze, eyes raking across your features and delighting in the way your jaw hung open in a stupor. 

You rode the waves of your pleasure for a moment, only the stopping the ministrations of your soaked fingers when your clit began to burn with oversensitivity. Your eyes slowly flicked open to find Joel’s gaze still trained on your face, although his expression was lax now. His lips formed a small, somewhat dazed smile, and you felt heat rise in your neck at the way he stared at you. All lust forgotten for a moment, he simply watched.  

“What’re you lookin’ at?” you teased softly, your own mouth lilting into a grin.

“I’m admirin’ you,” he repeated your words from earlier in the night, and you huffed out a short laugh.

“You were so good, Joel,” you responded kindly, leaning forward on trembling legs to cup his face. “So patient, let me fuck myself on top of you and didn’t try to touch me once. Did everything I asked, just like you said you would.”

“Of course,” he murmured, turning to press a chaste kiss to the inside of your palm. “I’m sorry.”

Confusion flitted through you, and then you relaxed, remembering the way he had cursed at you. “It’s okay, honey. Why don’t you c’mere?”

Still smiling, he pushed back into a seated position, this time pressing his chest flush to yours. You looped an arm around his neck, toying with the short curls at the base of his neck as he lined himself back up to your entrance. Once he was in position, he gave you a quick look to check in, and in response you simply sunk your hips over him, letting him fill you to the brim once more. He sighed in relief, forehead pressing against yours.

Tilting your chin forward, you dragged your lips lightly across his, kissing him for the first time in what felt like hours.

“Where do you want to touch me?” you asked.

“Everywhere,” he breathed into your mouth.

Your fingers tightened on the back of his neck, tongue trailing lazily along the seam of his lips. “Then touch me, baby.”

His hands were on you in a second. Calloused palms running over the skin of your back, your shoulders, your hips, fingers gripping flesh for leverage as he began to fuck up into you. He had always been an attentive lover, with a keen eye for attention to detail. And it was never as apparent as when he was touching you. Because as he held you against his chest, dragging you harshly over his cock, he did everything just the way you liked it - the way you did it when you were touching yourself.

His palm pushed on your lower stomach, applying pressure there to intensify the feeling against your g-spot. And when your hands drifted to touch your breasts, his hands came up to cover yours, and you squeezed them together until he brushed your hands away to twist and play with one of your nipples, mouth dropping to flick his tongue against the other.  

It was intoxicating. Both of you so drunk on the feeling of each other, of finally throwing out the pretence and just being together, that you found yourself hurtling towards the edge faster than ever.

As if he read your mind, Joel’s mouth left your breast, face pulling back to watch you, saying “I’m not gonna last.”

“It’s okay,” you panted heavily. “You can—I want you to come.”

“Need to feel you,” he frowned, shaking his head dizzily. “Want to feel you come around me, please.”

“I will,” you swore. “Come on, give it to me.”

“It’s yours,” he whimpered, wrapping an arm around your waist to hold you to him. “Fuckin’ take it, it’s yours.”

His hips begun to falter in their movement, and you picked up the slack with ease, rotating your hips against him to maintain the pace he’d set. His cock jumped inside of you in quick, jerking movements, and as soon as you felt his hot release inside you, your own orgasm hit like a freight train, walls pulsing around him, sucking him in as deep as you could take him. Your vision blacked out for a second, the intensity of multiple orgasms finally catching up to you and making you almost lightheaded. Extended moans and laboured breaths mingled in the air, forming a raucous symphony as you rode out your highs. Sweat beaded across his temples and dripped down the hard lines of his face. Your lower half shook with the intensity of it, thighs bracketed firmly against the outside of his hips. Joel sung your name, wet lips pressing the word into the flesh of your neck and repeating it there, embedding it into your sweat-soaked skin like it was all he knew how to say anymore.

“Fuuck,” he dragged out once your hips stopped moving, his teeth nipping gently against your pulse point.  

“Oh honey,” you murmured, head lolling forward to peck his forehead. “Don’t tell me you’re throwing in the towel? I seem to remember you saying something about how I could fuck you again, and do whatever I want with you.”

“Yeah, yeah,” his shoulders shook as he laughed quietly, keeping his face hidden in the crook of your neck. “Give me a damn minute.”

Although you could feel his length softening inside of you, and a mix of both of your come was steadily seeping out past his girth to make a mess of your thighs, you didn’t move just yet. And Joel seemed more than content to stay put, his strong arms enveloping your body almost entirely as he held you against his chest, breaths slowly beginning to even out. You shifted your head to the side to peer at his face, smiling when you saw that his eyes had indeed fallen shut.

“Lay down,” you encouraged quietly, letting out a quiet huff of surprise when he simply fell backwards into the mattress, dragging you down with him. Adjusting your legs to rest more comfortably on either side of him, you laid your head against his collarbone, pressing soft kisses to the burning skin of his chest.

“Just a minute,” he mumbled in assurance, although his eyes stayed closed and his breaths deepened.

“Are you okay?” you asked softly. “Can I get you some water? Something to eat?”

He hummed; eyes cracking open to peer blearily at you. “Water sounds about right.” You nodded, moving to get up from the bed, but he held you down, palm solid on your lower back. “Not just yet though,” he added quickly. “Just stay with me for a minute.”

“Okay baby,” you kissed his collarbone, allowing him a few more minutes of rest before you forced him to drink a litre of water and allow you to clean him up. His fingers mindlessly traced a pattern onto the skin of your back, stirring goosebumps across your flesh.

Slowly, a smirk slid across your face and you tilted your chin up to gaze at him once more. “Just saying though—you should probably get out of here before my boyfriend gets home. He’s pretty quick to anger, and I have a feeling he’d kill you if he found out what we just did.”

Joel groaned loudly, hand reaching up to press over your mouth and muffle your laughter. “Jesus, do you ever stop talking?”

[pedropascallme]

Crush

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!Reader

Summary: “The door opened and you turned toward it out of impulse. The man that was suddenly in front of you was Tess’s age, you guessed. Dark hair greying, sleeves of his denim button down rolled up to the elbows, face…mean. Joel Miller in the flesh.”

Warnings: Smut (18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT), age gap (reader is late 20s/early 30s, Joel is canon typical age), p in v sex, fingering, oral (m and f receiving), kinda mean!Joel, degradation, praise kink, orgasm denial/edging, I will sprinkle in queer Tess. If I missed anything please let me know!

Soundtrack: Crush by Ethel Cain

Joel had a problem with saying no.

He knew it made him seem soft, but he just couldn’t get it out. There was something about becoming a father that increased the negative connotation of the word; using it as a response meant hampering the needs of someone who trusted you. Or the wants. And it was always the wants he fell victim to. Sarah knew his weaknesses—she was his biggest one. A goldfish, extra dessert, a slumber party— “Sure, darlin’.”

Sarah was all he cared about, and he’d give her everything she ever wanted, even when it meant looking like a pushover.

But his window had passed; all will to live drained and replaced by pure survivalism. He pretended to get over it out of instinct, willing himself to push everything down in order to keep going.

He didn’t mind saying no anymore. He had nobody to say it to, anyway.

Maybe that made him a bad man.

~~~

You had befriended Tess by chance. She frequented the same spots you did—speakeasies and back allies, surrounded by men she wanted nothing to do with. 

At least you had that much in common with her.

Tess was older than you by maybe twenty years, and you knew nearly nothing about her. You knew her name, you knew what she did to get the extra rations she kept in her front pocket, and you knew she lived with Joel Miller. You had never pried about their relationship, and all you knew of Joel was that he was as gorgeous as his reputation was mean.

She had the tendency to be hot headed, there was no doubt that she could be rough, although you felt her fire was what drew you to her in the first place. Another person who had lost everything obviously wasn’t inaccessible, but it helped that she was one of the few women that you had seen around. When she had thrown a punch so hard it nearly shattered her hand, you grabbed her and walked her home while she stumbled along with you.

No matter how watered down the whiskey in the QZ was, enough of it would do the trick.

“You ok?” You grabbed her by the waist, catching her before she fell, distracted by the blood on her knuckles. You didn’t know if it was hers or the man whose bottom tooth she had loosened.

“Guys here are as bad as fucking raiders…” She mumbled, looking down at her feet. “Could’a walked home myself.” You knew she could’ve, but the thought of letting her stagger home by herself so close to curfew made you uneasy. 

Some things never change. 

“Didn’t want you to,” You kept walking, one stride ahead of her at all times. “Could’ve been dangerous.”

“They know not to fuck with me,” she was giggling now, and she looked almost girlish with her features softened. “Living with Miller has its perks.”

“Wouldn’t want your boyfriend having to exact revenge just cause I let you walk home drunk.”

“What?” Tess stopped walking.

“Aren’t—sorry, are you and Joel not—?”

Tess snorted, “Joel and I are not an item. I don’t, y’know. He’s not my type.” She had sobered almost instantly. “I like my partners…feminine.”

Oh. Oops.

“Sorry.” 

“Don’t be. We get it a lot. Easy living with each other cause we’re the only two that know how to empathize with the other.” She started walking again, leaving you with space to catch up. You didn’t inquire further about what she meant, it wasn’t something anybody wanted to discuss, ever. Loss and death were everywhere, there was no need to reflect on past experiences. Especially with someone like Tess who, in all honesty, intimidated you mightily. You just jogged to meet her pace. 

You followed her into the building, not that you could really explain why.

She had pushed the door open and motioned to you, silently telling you to come into what once could’ve been passed off as a $3,000/month studio apartment. She dropped her belongings on the kitchen table, getting two glasses and pouring watered-down sambuca into each one. You hated the taste, but appreciated that she seemed to genuinely want to spend time with you.

“You remember anything?” She prompted after finishing her drink.

“What?” You had barely touched yours. The anise flavored booze had a different burn than whiskey.

“Before.”

“I was little. I remember seeing Attack of the Clones. And that Scooby Doo movie.”

“I was in my thirties when those came out,” she laughed, “I fucking loved Scooby Doo.” You found yourself laughing along with her. She deadpanned after a moment, examining you.

“You’re still young. Not fair to you to have seen all that as a kid.”

“I guess. But I didn’t think episode two was all that bad.” You tried to laugh through the sudden solemnity. Tess rolled her eyes and smiled, shaking her head as she reached for the bottle to refill her glass.“But it’s not fair that anybody had to see any of that. Ever.” You could hardly call yourself eloquent, but she knew what you meant.

“What are you doing here?” She took smaller sips of her drink this time.

“Same thing as you.”

“Why?”

You didn’t know. “Gotta do something.” 

She nodded, “I want you with me.”

“Tess, I’m flattered—I am, but I don’t, I mean—”

“I want you to work with me.” She smiled into her glass, amused by your flustered response.

Oh. Oops.

“Oh. I...mean, ok. Yeah, ok.”

The door opened and you turned toward it out of impulse. The man that was suddenly in front of you was Tess’s age, you guessed. Dark hair greying, sleeves of his denim shirt rolled up to his elbows, face…mean.

Joel Miller in the flesh.

“Joel.” Tess was stern.

“What’s this?” Joel’s voice sent a shiver down your spine. You realized you had never spoken to him, never been spoken to by him. You’d only ever gawked from across the room. You felt yourself straighten your posture.

“Business. New teammate.” Tess took another sip from her glass.

Joel walked across the room, grabbing the liquor bottle and taking a swig from it before placing it back into a cabinet. He looked at you, giving you the up-and-down from where he stood at the counter.

“No.” He turned, walking into the bedroom.

Wide-eyed with concern and embarrassment, you looked at Tess. 

“Be here at nine tomorrow. PM.” She said, finishing her drink and getting up to take her place on the couch.

You let yourself out.

~~~

It was obvious when you arrived the following night that Joel was still irked by your presence. Also obvious was that Tess had made him swallow his pride. She gave you your instructions at the kitchen table while you nodded along. Joel was statuesque and showed no signs of emotion or consideration towards her words. 

And when Tess had explained that it would be you and Joel and only you and Joel, your brows furrowed and he still hadn’t budged. 

“I’ve gotta be here,” she dictated, words coming out slowly as though she was speaking to children, “Don’t need all of us gone, it’d be too much attention. I’ll cover.”

“I can cover.” You blurted out, suddenly nervous about being alone with Joel.

“No.” Joel spoke for the first time all night. You shrunk back into yourself and kept listening.

“—Into the sewer, out to the east, all we need is booze, maybe some pharmaceutical shit if you can grab any.”

You probed, “Pharmaceuticals?” 

“For us.” Tess had finished giving you the rundown, getting up from the table and walking into the bedroom, leaving you alone with Joel.

Saying nothing, he immediately started towards the door, leaving you to follow.

~~~

Contrary to popular belief, the sewers were not your ideal hang out. No matter how many times you went down there, it took days to scrub the feel and smell off of your body. If Joel cared about the dank surrounding, he didn’t show it.

When you popped the grate to crawl out, he moved to lift you slightly, but that was the only interaction you’d had on your journey. You wanted to get this over with, desperately wanted to be back in the company of anybody you could converse with. You made quick work of collecting what you needed and making your way back into tunnels below. Joel hadn’t said a word since he had objected to you taking watch, and you didn’t know why that bothered you so much; plenty of people didn’t speak to you, and you relished in it. You could walk around the QZ and not a soul would approach you—it was safer that way. Easier, too. But Joel’s silence made your head spin almost as much as his voice did. You kept looking at the way his biceps flexed under his shirt, the stern look on his face and the scar on his right temple. 

Despite his cold exterior, you felt at ease in his presence. Sure, his domineering attitude was somewhat troubling to you, but his lack of emotions made you feel less paranoid. You weren’t as preoccupied with looking over your shoulder as you would’ve been otherwise thanks to his presence, and the gun slung over his shoulder acted as additional reassurance. If anything were to happen, you doubted he’d have any trouble dealing with it.

Maybe the smell of the sewer was making you delirious. Or maybe you were experiencing a genuine attraction to him—not that you expected a man that wouldn’t speak to you to feel any sort carnal desire for you. Even so, you found your mind wandering on the route back to the QZ; you could imagine him smoking the cigarettes your grandfather used to buy, Marlboro reds that he kept in a silver case. The thought of a cigarette hanging between Joel’s lips made you shiver, though you tried to tell yourself you were just cold from the clammy tunnels. You tried to hide the curious looks you shot at him, the way you studied his hands and thought up reasons as to why they would be so calloused. It could’ve been from the work he did now, but the thought of him pre-outbreak, working with his hands in the heat, wiping the sweat that dripped down his forehead...

You heard a clang somewhere along the route. Looking up, you could make out a shadow growing larger, then smaller. An unmistakable clicking followed. 

Perhaps it was due to the unexpected encounter, or the daydreams still playing in the back of your head, but you found yourself frozen. If you could think straight, it would be embarrassing, but every noise was deafening, and you could feel your heartbeat in your skull. 

And then you were on the floor. Joel’s full weight pinning you down before he rose up again and two shots rang out. You tried your best to regain your composure, blinking rapidly and staring into nothing. Joel looked down at you, face painted with his routine grimace only inches away from your own.

“This,” he breathed heavily, voice frayed, “is why I said no.” 

But he waited for you to get up and brush yourself off before he kept walking.

“You’re a fuckin’ amateur.” He continued homewards.

~~~

You went with Tess after that. Nobody gave you an explanation—you didn’t need one. You had fucked up, made more apparent by the dismay painted on Joel’s face at your continued appearances in the apartment. You couldn’t bring yourself to look at him, let alone speak to him, maybe attempt to apologize. He didn’t want to hear it; you knew as much as he did. You couldn’t even crawl back like a guilty dog with your tail between your legs, because you knew you’d just get swatted by the morning paper. And, worse, despite the obvious friction, Joel was constantly on your mind. It was humiliating that a man who never spoke to you could be the focal point of your private moments. You thought of his hands entirely too often, his name slipping out between hushed gasps in the darkness of your bedroom.

Your breaking point was the night you walked into the apartment, opening the door to barking laughter that ceased on his end the moment you crossed the threshold. It was purposeful, the way he drew his mouth into a frown as soon as your line of sight had connected. Scowling, his eyes followed you. You felt heat rise in your face and pool in your stomach.

You scowled back. You wouldn’t endure his attitude anymore. 

It went on like that for weeks. You figured that if you got under his skin he’d crack, forcing him to interact with you on a higher level—even if it was shouting at you. 

Joel Miller was a bad man, a mean man. You knew as well as anybody, and it pissed you off as much as it turned you on. 

~~~

You had let yourself into the apartment, flipping through an old magazine to pass the time you spent waiting for Tess.

When the door opened, your gaze met Joel’s. You turned back to skimming a story about Ewan McGregor, brows furrowed as you internally questioned what had happened to him in all this. 

You started the countdown for the game you were playing: Who would break first? You glanced up once or twice to see where Joel was, and he remained in the same spot in front of the doorway, dark eyes fixed on you. You crossed your legs.

“Tess isn’t here.” He spoke, and you stopped your countdown, congratulating yourself as tonight’s winner.

“I know.”

“She’s not coming.”

“I’m reading.” You turned the page, eager to read about who was dating who in August of 2000. 

Joel stayed in his spot by the door before making his way to the liquor cabinet—which you had discovered were most of the cabinets in this house. He put a glass in front of you and sat across, a glass of his own in his hand as he leaned forward to put his weight on the table.

“Jared Leto and Cameron Diaz.” You mused. Joel tipped back his glass, glaring at you. “Do you ever wonder if any of these people are still out there somewhere?”

“No.”

“Imagine killing some infected schmuck and realizing it was Ryan Gosling.” You smiled, enjoying your one-sided conversation. “I’d feel kinda bad…”

“’Least you’d be puttin’ him out of his misery.”

You looked up, surveying Joel, trying to find a trace of anything that could’ve prompted his sudden embrace of your goading. “Uhuh,” you raised an eyebrow, “just don’t think I could do it.”

“You scared?”

“Of you?”

“Of surviving.”

“No. Just of an infected Ryan Gosling.” You put down the magazine. “What’s your problem, Miller?”

“What’s yours?”

“I don’t have a problem.”

“Then neither do I.” He got up to refill his glass, and you had déjà vu, recalling how Tess had sat you down at the table months earlier to invite you into their professional lives. She had been much friendlier even then than Joel ever was. 

“You can’t fight for shit.” You turned to see Joel leaning against the counter, a bottle of whiskey in hand. You tried not to let your frustration at him show. “Hard to get good at this shit when you freeze at the first sign of trouble.”

“Shut up.” You brushed him off. You picked up the magazine again, trying to find your place.

“You know I’m right.” He drank from the bottle. For some reason you couldn’t stop yourself from standing up and facing him.

“What?” 

“Y’know you can’t fight for shit. Couldn’t to save your own life. You know that. I know that. Why’d’ya think Tess always goes with you?” He put the bottle down and crossed his arms. Wrath boiled in your chest; you wanted to rationalize, tell yourself that he was mad you were winning the game he made you start playing so he opted to hit below the belt; but, Jesus, he had gotten you where it hurt. You had long prided yourself in having the ability to survive, taking care of yourself and doing whatever it took for you to see the next day. For him to waltz into the space you had found some form of comfort in, where Tess drank with and felt for you, to imply that you were a failure—just some fucking kid with a knife?

You put as much weight behind the punch you threw towards him as you could muster, aiming at for his face in the hopes that a black eye might help him register your dedication to staying alive. He barely moved, grabbing your wrist to stop any real strength your blow might’ve had.

“You can do better.” Joel provoked you further. You were breathing hard but not heavy, staring into the eyes of the man you wished you could see for the evil everybody said he was. “Do better.” He continued. You grabbed him by the collar, nose to nose; you could smell the liquor on his breath, and you were sure he could smell it on yours. You were far from drunk, and the seething anger sobered you more than a cold shower ever could.

So you had no excuse for kissing him, which is probably why it was a quick peck, testing the waters and feeling as though you owed it to yourself as much as to him to see if this was one-sided. 

“That’s better.” He snaked an arm around your waist and cupped the opposite hand over the back of your head. You didn’t say a word, barely breathed at his response, before you attached yourself to him again. You forgot all about testing the waters and immediately dove in; you kissed him with an open mouth, tongue, teeth and all. He licked into you, pulling you in closer. He separated from you to speak.

“Bed.” Forever and always a man of few words. You stumbled over each other as he pulled you towards the bedroom, neither of you bothering to say anything else as you were pushed onto the bed. Joel straddled your chest, looking down at you and undoing his belt, brown eyes blown out with complete exasperation and lust. 

“Y’been botherin’ me since day one,” he pulled his cock from the confines of his jeans, “bad fuckin’ attitude.” He stroked himself, still looking at you.

“Doesn’t seem to be bothering you now.” You taunted him, reaching up to wrap both hands around him and sitting up as best you could to lick across the tip of his cock. He pushed his hips forward and you took the initiative to swallow as much of him as you could; no small feat, considering his size. You managed half before you gagged. He just laughed. 

“Gonna be quiet ‘round me, might as well put yourself to good use while you’re doin’ it.” He threw his head back as you licked circles over the head of his cock, hand working every inch you couldn’t push past your gag reflex. You made a noise in response to his words, though it was unclear if you meant it as an agreement or a rebuttal. You pulled yourself off of him, placing a kiss on the vein that ran up the underside of his cock. You looked up at Joel, content with your work, his breathing heavy. His hand came up to your jaw, prying your mouth open and sliding his thumb inside. You closed your lips around it and sucked, you heard him groan. He took his thumb out after a few more seconds.

“Open.” He placed his wet thumb on your chin. You opened wide, sticking out your tongue slightly, expecting him to give you his cock again. Instead, he spit directly into your mouth, before pressing on your lower jaw to force it closed. “Swallow.” You did as you were told. He shuffled himself further down your body, leaning down to kiss you, pushing his tongue between your lips before he continued moving downwards; he pulled the buttons of your flannel apart, kissing and sucking on the skin he revealed before licking over the burgeoning bruises. You thanked whatever God was out there that you had given up bras so long ago, as if it was all in anticipation of this moment. Joel’s mouth reached the waistband of your jeans, and he continued placing open mouthed kisses over your stomach as he undid your button and fly, pulling the fabric down your legs and revealing your panties. He bent forward into you, pressing his face into your clothed core, his nose and open mouth fanning hot breath across you. 

“Need a good lay.” You weren’t sure if he was talking about you or himself, though he answered your silent question soon after; “That’ll keep you from bitchin’ over everythin’.” He licked a straight line over your folds, tasting the tangy wet that seeped through the fabric of your underwear. You let out a shrill whine when his tongue danced over your clit, and reached down to shed yourself of the final layer of clothing that covered your bottom half. He caught your wrist and pushed it aside. “No,” He looked up at you as he licked over you again, “been playin’ your fuckin’ game for weeks. S’my turn. Don’t get greedy, now.”

You moaned when he released your wrist from his grasp, only to begin rubbing circles over you. “Pl—ease, Joel!” You arched your back, lifting yourself up to him in an attempt to gain more friction.

“Say it again.”

“Please,” it was barely audible, “please, Joel. Please, please…” Your eyes were hooded as you begged for more. Either he was satisfied by your attempt or took pity on you for coming undone over practically nothing, but he slid the panties down your thighs and threw them over his shoulder. He admired your naked cunt, ghosting a finger over your slit and collecting what you’d already released. He leaned back down and attached his lips to your clit, pushing his finger into you and bending it upwards. You gasped, grabbing a fistful of his hair and tugging, earning a satisfied grunt from him. He rhythmically sucked your clit in time with the movements of his finger, adding another slowly and then increasing the pace. Over and over, he brushed the spongey spot inside of you that made you clench around him, tugging his hair tighter. 

“Go—ing to, Joel, fuck! Joel—!” You were panting, fist gripping his hair.

“No.”

“Please!” You were trembling.

“No.” He was unforgiving, absolutely ruthless as he fucked his fingers into you faster, licking tight and fast over your clit. You were close to tears now, grabbing onto the pillow underneath you to stabilize yourself. You were sweating, and he was the one doing all the work, but, Christ, it took effort to hold off on cumming when he was knuckle deep in your pussy like that.

“Now.” He said, pushing up against the spot you needed him to touch most, sucking hard on your swollen clit. You all but yelled, body turning to jelly, your eyes screwed tight—all while Joel continued his ministrations. He stared at you open mouthed as you trembled. He slowed once you stopped shaking, sliding his fingers out of you and licking them clean. 

“Still gonna act like a bitch now?” He peppered kisses over your thighs.

“F…fuck y—ou, Joel Miller.” You wheezed out. He laughed, standing up to remove his shirt and trousers. 

“’F’I’d known you wanted it I’d’ve done it a month ago.” He crawled over you, pressing kisses into your neck.

“Fuck you.” You finally caught your breath, and he pushed himself up enough to meet you face to face. “You’re a bad person. Everybody in the QZ knows you’re a bad man.”

“Then why are you in my bed?” He was half sincere.

“You tell me.”

“Can see the way you look at me. Terrible at keepin’ secrets. ‘Nother reason you need someone to protect you out there.” He scoffed, and you pulled him down for a kiss. Though bruising in force, you were gentler with each other. Neither of you felt inclined to use teeth this time around.

Joel pushed himself up and onto his knees, sliding his cock over your clit and pushing his tip into you slightly. You whimpered, trying to wordlessly urge him to sink into you. 

“Ask me.”

“Please.”

“More.”

“Please, Joel, need it…”

“Need what, sweet thing?” You closed your eyes, savoring the nickname as it rolled off his tongue. 

“Need your cock. Joel, please, I need you to fu—” He cut you off with one sharp thrust, pushing his full length into you and bottoming out. You felt your eyes roll back in your head, and Joel brought a hand down to rest on the side of your face.

“Atta girl,” his mouth hung open as he began shallowly thrusting into you, “take it all, darlin’.”

You whined, hands scrambling to touch him wherever you could reach; his shoulders, his chest, his thigh if you stretched down a bit further. It only spurred him on.

“Fuckin’ pathetic.” He pushed his hips into yours, attempting to get even deeper inside of your warm, inviting pussy. “Been such a bitch with me ‘nd now you’re so eager, huh? Li’l slut, needed t’get fucked s’all?” All you could do was let out a wonton moan, loving how he stretched you. “Gonna be nice from now on?” You couldn’t respond, could only think the word no as he sped up, sliding all the way out and all the way back into your cunt. “Answer me, girl.”

“F—uck, n—no!” You stammered. 

He brought a hand down harsh on your clit, pulling out so just the tip of his cock was seated shallowly inside of you. You squeezed around it. “Don’t be a bitch,” he spanked your pussy again, “tell me the truth.”

Tears pricked your eyes in frustration, and you nodded your head yes.

“Words.”

“Yes! I’ll be good, I’ll be so good, wo—won’t give you attitude, Joel, I—I won’t be such a bitch, I pr—omise.”

“I like you a li’l bitchy,” he slid his cock back into you, resuming the punishing pace, punching up into you. “Like my pretty li’l bitch. Like this tight fuckin’ pussy.” He flattened himself on top of you, chest pressing into yours with every breath he took and every rough shove of his cock against your cervix. The slight pain was worth the abounding pleasure. He reached under your midriff, sliding his hands between the flannel you still half-wore to meet your skin, wrapping his arms around you and pressing you into him further. You wrapped your own arms around his waist, completely lost in him. 

“Y’needed this as much as I did,” he groaned into your ear, “tell me, sweet thing.”

“Needed—oh, fuck, I needed it.” You whispered against the skin of his shoulder. He managed to reach a hand down between you, fingers finding your clit. You buried your face into him, suddenly very aware of what was happening; your daydreams coming to fruition, winning the game in a manner leagues above what you had hoped for. The attention was staggering. The tears you had held back during his earlier taunting escaped, spilling over your cheeks and smudging into the sweat on Joel’s skin. It was overwhelming in the best way. Anxiety inducing in the worst. 

“So good, being so—so fuckin’ good, darlin’.” He was getting sloppy with his thrusts, rhythm failing as he neared his own high. He pulled away from you, shifting positions to hold you so that you could be face to face. You couldn’t count how many times today you had found yourself staring at Joel Miller. “You’re so good.” A fully earnest sentiment, punctuated by every inch of his cock. “Want you to cum, need you to cum for me again.” He was practically begging, words coming out in moaned whispers. He kissed the tear streaks over your cheek and down to your lips, the wiry hair of his short mustache rubbing against your top lip in a manner that made your skin instantly sore, but it felt too good to be connected to him like this to complain at all. He continued his movements, fingers running over your clit at a heightened pace and cock throbbing inside of you. You squeezed around his cock, arms squeezing his torso, and you felt yourself coming undone. 

“There you go. Feel you fuckin’ squeezin’ me. Gimme one more, sweetheart.” You were pushed over the edge, once again cumming for Joel Miller in a way you had only ever imagined. He held you tight, letting you wrap yourself around him while you came, whispering his name and tangling your fingers in his hair. He managed a few more deep thrusts before pulling out and spilling across your stomach, chanting your name. Your breathing was labored, and Joel admired how he had painted you with his spend.

He stood up, walking out of the room, and you felt the urge to cry again, feeling suddenly abandoned after something so new and intimate. But he walked back in with a threadbare towel, wiping down your stomach and the wet between your thighs. You were both silent as he finished cleaning you up. He exited once more to rid himself of the towel before reuniting with you in bed. He lay beside you for a moment before turning to hold you. You turned to face him.

“It’s a shame you wiped me clean. Wanted a taste.” You failed to keep your tone even and unbothered, the crack in your voice apparent as you tried your hand at humor.

“Next time.” You looked up to find him staring at you once again. His usual scowl replaced by something softer. You fell back into a semi-comfortable silence.

“I am a bad man.” He spread his fingers out between your shoulder blades.

“Joel—”

“I am,” the words came out harsher than he had meant them to, “I’ve done bad shit just to get by. It’s fuckin’ embarrassin’ to kill someone just to see another day of this. Bad’s an understatement.” He took a deep, shaky breath. “I’m hard on you cause I don’t want you gettin’ hurt. Don’t wanna be out with you if somethin’ happens. Don’t wanna be away from you if somethin’ happens. Wouldn’t be able to—”

“I can take care of myself.”

“I know. S’fuckin’ awful. Shouldn’t have’ta fend for yourself.” He swallowed.

“Have to to survive, Joel. Made it this far.”

“No,” he countered, “shouldn’t have to survive. You should be livin’. Shouldn’t need’a run with a crowd like me ‘nd Tess.”

“Don’t you think we’re a little past that? I’d be doin’ the same thing even if I didn’t have you two to do it with.”

“I’ve seen how you freeze up.”

“I knew you’d be there.” You nearly snapped, astonished that after all this he was still hung up over the first run you did with him, despite the effortless shots he had taken. Even more astonished that he hadn’t realized that despite the external bitterness he had fashioned and the constant stream of “no” that left his mouth, you knew even then that he’d keep you protected. He looked away from you, and you nuzzled your face into the crook of his neck, trying to show him that for all your bite you were capable of being docile when the moment called for it.

“Shouldn’t wanna hang around bad people.” Joel’s eyes looked into the nothing of the distance as he muttered. “Shouldn’t have to risk everything just to do bad things.”

“Good men die, too, Joel,” You were firm, “I wanna be…” You trailed off. He looked back to you and traced a finger over your collar bone, admiring the marks that had formed from his kisses. “Wanna be around you. With you.” You saw a faint smile creep across his face.

“Not a good man?”

You scoffed, “Never a good man. Wouldn’t know how to handle me.” He laughed softly. You allowed his hands to roam over your body while you mirrored his movements, tracing your fingers over the scars that littered his chest. “Come with me on the next run.” You weren’t asking.

For the first time in 20-odd years, Joel was unable to say no.

[kikixreverie]

Need to know

Best friend!Bucky x Fem!reader

Summary - When your best friend starts acting strange and you're left confused about his feelings, Natasha manages to convince you to try to make him jealous, what could go wrong?

Word count - 5k

Warnings - kind of smut, Dry-humping, slight dirty talk, a lot of kissing, fluff, jealousy

A/n - This was a request from an anon but Tumblr ate the ask... and I don't have it written down, but it was something along the lines of 'Best friend!bucky x reader where she asks him advice about a guy to make him jealous'. I wrote this months ago and it definitely wasn't supposed to be this long but here we are. I have edited it about 50 times now and still feel kinda anxious about it since I haven't posted in a while so I really hope you enjoy!

-------------------------------------

You had always been close with Bucky. Always. Having met in your teenage years and grown up together, you were thick as thieves, he'd been your best friend for now the majority of your life. Someone you'd always go to over anyone else when problems would arise at home or school, and he did the same with you.

He had found you hiding out in the library on your second day at your new school, picking at your food with distaste as you sat alone. You were surprised at the fact that the boy had even talked to you in the first place, offering a small wave of his hand and a kind smile when you first saw him, but when he asked politely if he could sit with you and didn't hesitate to pull his lunch from his backpack and complain as dramatically as possible that there was just 'far too much food in his bag and no way he could eat it all', you remember smiling the most you had in weeks, rolling your eyes as you took the fruit he had offered you wordlessly.

You'd been best friends ever since, and there was always this unspoken understanding between you, one that you never had with Steve, as much as you loved him, or Natasha, as close as you are. It was always different with Bucky, always a different atmosphere between the two of you.

That was also unspoken. You'd mentioned it once to Natasha, explained to her that somehow, just being in the same room as him managed to calm that ever-looming anxiety you tended to feel, and when you'd meet his eyes across the distance, you always knew exactly what he was trying to tell you without any words needing to be spoken, that for weeks after your childhood pet passed away when you were 15, Bucky held your hand every single day because your anxiety had spiked and he had noticed the constant shake to them. That became a hard habit to lose.

Her response was 'the look', almost deadpan, wordlessly saying to you 'I know you're not a fucking idiot, c'mon now'.

You had blushed and changed the subject.

Of course there were times you might've looked at him a bit differently, you met at a fairly young age, and it was after meeting him that your interest in boys grew.

Watching the scrawny boy you'd known since you were 13 get his braces off and grow a sudden foot taller was a lot for your growing heart to handle, and then that Brooklyn-boy charm came in and girls were falling at his feet, not one of them knowing or caring about who he was, just hypnotised by those light blue eyes. You always hoped he was too distracted by those girls to notice how desperately hard you tried not to fall under his spell too.

So yeah sure, there may have been a time during your mid-to-late teens and possibly your early twenties that you might have liked him in a' more than a friend' way.

But that didn't mean anything had to come of it.

However, there's a certain red-headed Russian woman in your life that, for some reason, refuses to let you hide in your dark pit of misery and denial.

You shouldn't have even mentioned it. the one time you willingly brought up the topic of James Barnes with the all-knowing Natasha and she had immediately fed your delusions.

"I'm not saying he was jealous at all, Nat, I'm just saying... he looked kind of upset."

"What kind of upset? Did he look sad? Angry? Were his eyebrows all furrowed? ooh, did his fists clench? I bet his fists clenched. The jaw definitely clenched. He's a jaw clencher for sure-"

"Nat, Stop! He just..." You groaned, throwing your head back dramatically as you leaned against her kitchen counter, "He just seemed off."

"Okay, but did his jaw-"

"Yes! Now can we stop talking about it."

She stopped what she was doing to stare at you, her eyebrows raised, "You do realise you're the one that brought it up right?"

You sighed and pressed your palm to your forehead, before dragging it down your face, and Natasha tutted, wrapping her arms around you in a tight squeeze.

"You're stressing yourself out too much about all this, babe. Why don't you just ask him how he feels."

You pulled back from the comforting embrace quickly, but still stayed in her arms, "Fuck that. No. No way. Then he'd know, he'd know why I asked, or he'd at least ask me why I asked and then I'd either have to run away or lie to him and I've never been able to-"

"Okay, breathe angel. Stop this, you can't do this forever, honey. I know you're scared of losing him but this is what could break your friendship if you let it, half the time you're avoiding him because you are so scared of him knowing how you feel." Said Natasha, before she pulled away to continue with her cooking.

"What do you mean how I feel?" You asked, feeling your cheeks grow hot when she sighed and shook her head, not even looking your way.

"Nope, no, not even gonna get started on that one. You know exactly what I'm talking about."

You opened your mouth to argue but she only gave you another look, and your mouth snapped closed.

It was silent for a moment and you leant your elbows on the counter, holding your face in your hands as you watched her expertly sprinkle different spices into her food, but you knew not to get too comfortable in her silence, Natasha was scheming, and that was definitely something to be frightened of.

You practically jumped out of your skin when she finally broke the silence, "I have an idea, but I need you to have an open mind and actually listen for once, okay?"

You hesitated, struggling to hold the intense eye-contact she was currently giving you. A part of you was ready to say no, tell her to leave it be and let you wither in a pit of sadness, but the rest of you leaned in to her words, wanting, no, needing something to happen, anything after years of this constant stalemate, this strange game of cat and mouse between yourself and your best friend. You were constantly holding your breath around Bucky, waiting for something inevitable to happen. What that would be? You had no idea, but you couldn't do it anymore.

"...go on." You finally said, having made up your mind without realising. Natasha almost seemed surprised, but you weren't sure that was even possible. She nodded and gave you a smile.

"You wanna know if he was jealous? Give him a reason to be and then figure out if he is, that way, you'll have more of an idea of how he's feeling, and when it comes to talking to him about your feelings, you might actually do it this time. Plus, you might get some info on how to get him even more interested."

You thought over her words, still confused as to what her grand plan was, "And how might I do that exactly?"

"Say you've got a date, ask him for advice, play with him a little bit. Works every time, trust me."

She said it like it was no big deal, and you were stuck on the way her smirk widened when she said 'play with him a little bit'.

"I just told you I can't lie to him." You replied.

Natasha simply raised her eyebrow at you, "As if you haven't been lying to him since you were 15."

"Hey, that's not lying, it's just... concealing certain parts of the truth."

She tilted her head in your direction but you ignored her, turning away completely and crossing your arms over your chest with a huff.

"Don't lie then, tell him that your interested in some guy and play it off like your asking for advice. He doesn't have to know that he is said guy and its all a secret ploy to make his jaw clench again."

"Nat." You groaned.

"What?"

"Why would I ask him for advice though? He knows I'd go to you."

Nat sighed this time, frustrated with your excuses, "Tell him you wanted advice from a guy."

"But Steve-"

"Just do it! If he's actually jealous he'll be more focused on the fact that your trying to get into pants that aren't his." She raised her voice, dropping her wooden spoon into the simmering pot to turn to you, that Russian accent peaking through her words.

"Nat, I'm telling you now, he isn't jealous."

She almost started to argue, but then she spotted that dejected look in your eye and stopped herself, taking a deep breath to calm her frustrations and think of a good response, "Are you saying that because you believe it? Or because you want him to be jealous so bad you wish he wasn't, because you're terrified of losing him."

You went silent, staring down at the floor when you realised you had no response for her.

"Thought so." She said before shuffling closer, pulling you in for a hug, "Look babe, you need to stop worrying about what could happen, and just focus on what is happening right now. If you're not ready to tell him how you feel, you don't have to. Trying this won't hurt, and it won't hurt your friendship, okay? Go one step at a time, you're getting too ahead of yourself."

You thought about it for a while as you enjoyed the hug, before you pulled back and nodded, thanking her for the advice and apologising for being difficult, she only chuckled and began to dish up the food.

"No worries honey, I'm used to it."

It's not like you had ever said you'd actually do it, and you never exactly planned to. But Natasha's plan had started to loom over every interaction you had with Bucky, so much so that without realising you had started to avoid him, and that only made you feel worse.

It took a sleepless night of tossing and turning and missing your best friend like crazy when you finally made the decision. You can't do this forever, why not just say fuck it for once.

It started when Bucky had invited you to his place for a movie night, like he did every weekend, like he had the past two weekends where you had declined, but this time you said yes, and decided that this would be the night you tried to make him jealous.

You weren't proud of it, and a part of you felt incredibly guilty as you stood at his door and knocked. No matter how many times Natasha told you this was harmless, you still couldn't believe her.

"Are we knocking now? What happened to 'your place is my place'?" Bucky asked as he opened the front door to let you in, barely moving aside so your arm brushed against his when you walked past him.

"Ha ha. Just didn't know if it was locked or not." You punched his shoulder and he scrunched up his face in mock offense.

"Sure. Go sit down and pick a movie, I'm just getting some snacks ready." Bucky said, nodding to the couch before he turned and walked into the kitchen, black sweatpants so low on his hips you could just about see the waistband of his boxers, wearing a black t-shirt with his hair pulled back into the low bun you'd helped him learn how to do.

You nodded slowly, watching him walk away for a few seconds before rolling your eyes at your own idiotic behaviour and slumping down across Bucky's couch, the remote in your hand as you lazily flicked through Netflix.

"Any particular genre?" You shouted out to Bucky, who came out from the other room to shrug his shoulders at you.

"Like I said, doll, whatever you'd like. Only fair after I made you come with me to see that god-awful movie Pheobe forced me to watch."

You snorted a laugh, frowning when he walked away again, your mind wandering to the last time you went to the movies with Bucky, over a month ago now, when he had forced you to third-wheel his second date with 'Pheobe' for no apparent reason.

It was almost humiliating the way she had pulled you aside in the bathroom.

-

"I seriously don't mean to be rude but... why are you here?" Pheobe whispered, despite the fact that every stall was empty and Bucky was stood outside the building, but your face grew heated as the woman across from you voiced the exact question you'd been asking yourself all night, "Like, at first I thought you were a lesbian, but after that story you told earlier I'm assuming you're not, which is fine, but why are you here? I told Bucky this was a date. Does he really not like me at all?"

You were stumped, opening and closing your mouth like a blank-minded fish, searching for the answer that you didn't have, only coming up empty, "Honestly Phoebe, I have no idea. I'm sure he does like you, maybe he just wanted me to come to..."

"Maybe he just wanted to go on a date with you."

"What?!"

"You heard me. I think I'm the third-wheel here." Her voice went quiet, and you instantly felt bad.

"No, Pheobe. That's absurd, he's my best friend."

"You might want to re-think that."

--

"What did you pick?" Bucky asked, placing the bowl of popcorn in-between you as he sat down and you smiled at him, pushing away the memory.

"Twilight." You replied, sinking back into your seat as you grabbed and handful of popcorn and shovelled it into your mouth.

Bucky nodded as his eyes focused on the screen, his jawline prominent as he chewed, licking his lips of the salty flavouring, a light stubble on his jaw from not shaving in a few days-

"You good?"

You gulped loudly, taking a breath as you met his eyes, embarrassed that you'd been caught staring, "Yup." You said, nodding as you turned to look at the screen again, ignoring his amused chuckle.

Your mind wandered to the conversation you'd had with Natasha only hours ago.

'Don't overthink it, just bring it up when you get the chance, be casual about it'

No overthinking, casual. Easy. Maybe now would be a good time to bring it up, casually, without overthinking anything.

"Actually-" You started, clearing your throat when it immediately closed up and your fight or flight was begging to kick in, your mind instantly wondering to all of the negative repercussions this could-

You were definitely overthinking right now.

"Yes?" Bucky asked, still half watching the movie before he fully turned to face you, sensing that this sounded fairly serious.

Definitely not casual either.

"I wanted to uh, talk to you about something." The temptation to smack yourself on the forehead was growing unbearably stronger by the second, but you imagined that would probably raise some concern. Your hands twitched by your sides instead.

"What is it?"

"Well, it's kind of- I basically, well." You tried to awkwardly laugh it off, but sighed instead, just fucking say it, fucking lie to your best friend to find out if he's jealous, "There's this guy."

His eyebrows raised, lips parting, before he quickly snapped his mouth shut and furrowed his eyebrows, taking on a sort of clinical expression as he nodded, motioning for you to continue.

"He's uh... I really- like... him, and... he's..." You took a breath, too many pauses, "different, you know?"

He scrunched his face up, "Different? What does that even mean."

"I don't know I just-" You covered your face with your hands, regretting every decision that had led you to this point. "I really want him to like me."

It was quiet for a moment, and you wanted to peak at him, but couldn't.

Bucky sighed, hands gently taking hold of your wrists to pull your hands away from your face, "Look sweetheart, if he's really a smart guy, he'll already like you. Any person would be lucky to have you, you don't need to change for anyone."

You rolled your eyes at him but smiled nonetheless, "I know Buck, thank you. I just..."  

Don't overthink it.

"I was wondering if maybe, you might give me some advice? I'm seeing him on Monday and I guess I just want to make him want me, you know?"

He paused, still holding onto your wrists, "Want you?"

"Yeah, you know like- I wanna know what guys really like. I want to make sure he'll never forget me. That sort of thing."

"Sweets, I don't know if you should be asking me that. Why don't you just talk to Natasha if it's that important." He said, letting go of your wrists and pulling away.

"Because I want to hear it from a guy, and Steve's far too awkward for this conversation. C'mon Buck, please. I want you to teach me."

"You want me to teach you?" He asked, more than slightly breathless, and you quickly realised that this sounded much less like getting advice for a guy you like and more trying to get info on what Bucky liked sex-wise.

You did not plan for it to go down that route, and you wondered if you should pull it back, change the subject and try this again another time, without getting too explicit, but the way Bucky had almost whispered those words, was driving you insane. You wanted this to go further. "Yeah, I want to give this guy the night of his life."

He clenched his jaw, and tried not to laugh at the situation, almost tempted to text Natasha at that very moment and break the news. 'Jaw has clenched, I repeat, the jaw has clenched'. You managed to keep that temptation under control, still finding the situation slightly humorous before you actually realised what this meant.

Holy fuck, he's jealous.

You knew now was as good a time as any to push further, and with your new-found realisation, came a new-found confidence, the nerves pushed to the back of your mind, the only thing left of them being the fluttering in your chest.

"What do you think I should wear?" You held back a smirk when he leaned forward in his seat, elbows rested on his knees as he dropped his face into his hands. You kept pushing, "Remember that green dress I wore to your birthday last year? Do you think I should wear that one? You'd think he'd like that? Would you like it if it were you?"

"What do you mean if it were me?"

You froze, your cheeks heating up, that heat spreading to your neck as you quickly tried to save yourself whilst keeping this strange relaxed smoothness to your voice. "If you went on a date with Pheobe, and she wore that dress, would you like it?" You asked, before deciding to push it even further. Natasha's voice echoed in your mind 'play with him a little', "Would you think about taking it off her?"

He didn't even hesitate to reply, turning his head to look at you as he continued to sit forward, an almost angered air to his words, "It wouldn't suit her."

"You don't like it? But I thought-"

"Yes, I liked the dress, you looked fucking gorgeous in it. It just would suit her." He urged, the words coming out in one breath, his voice straining over the final word as if it was physically uncomfortable to say, like he held a certain distaste for the word. Her.

You could sense the atmosphere in the room changing, warping with the darker, heavy feeling that radiated off the man you were teasing without him even realising it, and although you knew you should probably stop, that you were getting on his nerves and for some reason this seemed to be a touchy subject, that nagging, red-headed voice was seeping into your thoughts again, telling you to go further, so you continued to push.

"Would he like it do you think?" You asked, tilting your head, keeping that sickly sweet innocent look on your face, he sighed and closed his eyes, his tongue wetting his lips again, teeth biting at the soft skin.

"If he had half a brain he'd fucking love it." He breathed, eyebrows furrowing along the words 'fucking love it' and you knew exactly what he was thinking of, the picture he had in his head.

Your smile faded, watching the way he opened his eyes but kept them trained to his feet. That heat grew in your chest, that weight, that feeling, weaving its way around your heart and seeping into your bloodstream, it carried through your veins, and suddenly you had never felt closer to your teenage self than you did now, like she had pushed the older you aside and taken her place, because she knew this feeling, she was the only version of you to ever fully accept and admit it for what it was, that the reason she blushed so much when her best friend asked her to prom because he'd rather go with you than some random girl he didn't care about, was because you loved him, and of course you still do now, of course you do.

You thought of what Pheobe said that night, you thought of what Natasha was constantly telling you, or that time Steve accidentally slipped that Bucky had a crush on you when you were younger, and you looked at him now, quickly realising that it was never them who warped your idea of Bucky's feelings, it was you.

The feeling had encapsulated your entire being now, the realisation of yours and his feelings and you decided that you had both waited far too long if this is what you wanted.

And you wanted him.

So you continued to play, speaking with a much more serious air this time, you didn't smirk, you just watched him as you spoke.

"I guess that's settled then, I just need to know what to wear under it." You practically whispered it, the warm apartment feeling sweltering now.

"Fuck." He whispered to himself, dropping his head in his hands again, "What are you doing?"

He looked at you from his bent position, almost looking desperate. No, he did look desperate, and you hated and loved it at the same time, for two very different reasons, you understood exactly what he was feeling, having been a victim to his teasing one too many times.

You parted your lips to talk, thinking for a second that you might actually be upsetting him, but then his eyes dropped to watch the movement, staring at your lips as he released a breath.

"I'm asking you for advice, Buck." You said quietly, eyes darkening as you leaned closer, your nose almost touching his and his eyes dropped again, entranced by your lips, "What about kissing?"

His lips parted, eyes darting up to meet yours, but he made no move to go back, in fact, you realised with a feather-light touch of his nose to yours, that he had inched closer to you, "What?"

His eyes were soft as he waited for you to speak, no apprehension to be seen.

"I need to know how to kiss him, how guys like it, you know?" He moved back an inch, that not so subtle disappointment in his eyes, "How do you like to be kissed, Buck?"

He shook his head in a barely there movement, eyes still not leaving yours, swallowing roughly when he caught you looking at his lips.

You moved closer to him, filling that inch that he had put between you, your heart thumping faster in your chest when he did the same, like he was magnetised, he looked at your lips again and you decided to take the chance.

"Like this?" You asked, before filling the gap completely and your pressed your lips to his, kissing him soft and slow, your stomach fluttering when he didn't hesitate to reciprocate, kissing you back the exact way you were guiding him to, but you pulled back before letting it continue for long, his breath fanning out across your lips, you gaze fluttered to his eyes for a moment, "Or like this?"

You kissed him again, this time harder, more urgency in it, your right hand lifting to his shoulder before you slid it to the nape of his neck, a sudden desperate need for his lips on every inch of your skin overcoming your thoughts when his arms wrapped around your waist.

You pulled away again and he tried desperately hard to follow you, eyes opening to voice his frustration when you wouldn't let him.

But you brushed your thumb across his bottom lip, silencing him, "Or maybe like this."

This, this was definitely the one.

You kissed him soft and slow, but this time parted your lips to brush your tongue across his, relishing in the noise that escaped him when you did so, and the way he then did the same to you, parting his lips in a way that breathed hot air into the kiss.

You were so enraptured with the taste of him that you barely even noticed when he pulled you onto his lap, your knees digging into the couch on either side of him. You only realised when his thighs between yours had suddenly stopped your ability to squeeze your thighs together in hopes of relieving that throbbing ache that had formed between them.

This kiss continued much longer than you had planned it to, forgetting what you were going to do next, but you didn't mind much, too caught up in the way his lips were so stupidly soft and his tongue was hot and wet, and his hands were huge and grasping at your clothes with a desperation so similar to the way you pulled his hair.

You pulled away again, much to his dismay as he practically growled and rolled his eyes in frustration. He rested his head back against the couch and licked his kiss swollen lips.

You needed more, barely letting yourself think about the fact that you had just kissed Bucky, The Bucky, Your Bucky.

"What about this, Buck? You like it when a girl does this?" You asked and he frowned, looking up at you in almost annoyed confusion, opening his mouth to speak but then you moved forward on his lap, sitting in a way that your core was pressed against his, his cock twitching in his sweatpants when you rolled those hips of yours, the annoyance and confusion faded and he reached for your hips, eyes fluttering shut when you made the movement again, biting your lip when it stimulated your clit, "Do you think you could come from this, Bucky? Or would you need more? Would you want my hand, or my mouth? Or would you just be begging to fuck me at this point."

He groaned at practically every question, his hands holding your hips as you grinded yourself on him, his cock now achingly hard as his hips started to lift slightly.

"Fuck, sweetheart, what is this? Why are you doing this?" He asked, his voice urgent and needy as he forced himself to stay still under you, gripping your hips tighter to signal for you to stop your movements, much to either of your dismay, "Please tell me this isn't all for some fuckin' guy."

You froze, confused for a second, before realising he still had no idea, and that guilt you had shoved away creeped back in.

Your heart was in your throat as you finally told him the truth, "It is, but he's you Buck. It was always you, it's always been you."

His lips parted, eyes widening slightly at what you had just confessed to him, "I'm the guy you were asking me advice about?"

"Well yeah, who else am I gonna get better advice about what you like from? Better to hear it from the horses mouth, eh?" You smiled sheepishly, shrugging your shoulders as you watched him huff a laugh with a shake of his head.

"Natasha, right?" He asked, raising an eyebrow but you didn't respond, probably looking very guilty of his accusation, "Well, I guess I should tell you that we may have been two-timed by her. She actually gave me the very same advice a few months ago, I just never had the guts to take it as far as you did."

"You talk to Nat about me?" You teased, but he only smiled gently, soft eyes watching you.

"Of course I do, how could I not tell her all about the girl I've been in love with since I was 15." He confessed quietly, blush reddening his cheeks, "God, she must be sick of me talking about you."

You laughed quietly, trying not to settle into the disbelief of it all and instead focus on your excitement, that teenage girl inside of you was screaming with glee and kicking her feet. You didn't let realisation that James Barnes just confessed he'd loved you the whole time you'd loved him be tainted with regret about wasted time.

"She must be sick of us both, I've been doing the same thing ever since I met her."

He smiled at you and you smiled back, pressed your forehead against his.

"What do we do now?" You asked, still very much feeling the physical after-effects of your intense make-out session.

Bucky huffed a laugh, "I'd love to say go to the bedroom, but not yet, I think we should work up to that."

You nodded and smiled, understanding what he meant and feeling thankful he was able to voice it for you, "Agreed."

"We could do this for a while longer though, still got four and a half twilight movies left to go." Bucky joked, his fingers finding their way under your shirt to brush against soft skin.

"Hm, sounds like an excuse to make out with your best friend all night."

"Maybe it is." He whispered back before he kissed you again, using his hand on your back to press you against him.

It felt so natural to the both of you, your bodies fitting together perfectly, no awkwardness or anxiety. You knew you'd both need to talk properly soon, but that could wait a few movies more, for now you could settle with kissing him until you ran out of air.

[backmuscles21]

Punishment

Tonowari x Reader x Ronal

Summary: I think the title speaks volumes. Tonowari gets angry at you for getting hurt and so he punishes you for it and Ronal happens upon you two.

Warnings: smut, porn without plot, punishment, rough sex, orgasm denial, explicit language, face fucking, dom/sub undertones, dub con, slight brat taming

Your skimwings just hit the shore, the hunting party was back. You knew the second you got off and onto the shore, you were going to get it. While on your hunting trip, you were chasing down a decent-sized fish, it would be a good score. However, as you did, you weren’t really paying attention to your surroundings, just the water below you. Turns out the rocks were closer than you thought and when you went to turn, you realized and had to maneuver not to hit them.

It just made it worse; you ended up falling off your skimwing and scrapping your hip against the jagged rock. You hissed in pain and looked at your hip, your thigh, hip, and lower side was red and angry, along with some blood seeping out of the lines of shredded skin. It wasn’t too bad, not the worst thing you’ve dealt with. You’d heal quickly and it wouldn’t stop you from hunting or working.

Tonowari quickly made his way out to you, he grabbed your spear in the water and gave you his hand.

“Are you alright, yawne?”

“Yeah, I’m fine its nothing.”

You could see the rage pooling in his eyes, he would never show it here but he was pissed. He was angry that you’d get hurt like that, that you’d be that stupid and get yourself hurt. You knew when you got home, you’d be taught a lesson and punished for your negligence. He moved around to your other side to look at your injury, the salt water making it redder as the salt sunk into the wound making it sting.

“Ronal will have a field day when you get home.”

“She will be fine. It's not that bad. I’ve come back with worse.”

He looked up at you with annoyance, “I know.”

As you came back with nets full of fish, you were glad to be done for the day and get to relax. As you got off your skimwing and it swam off, you saw Tonowari speed walking up to you, he looked pissed.

Was it bad that it was making you more wet?

He grabbed your bicep and sped back to your shared mauri; he pushed you in first. His eyes were dark, he looked so mad that you felt small and weak.

But that’s what he wanted, that’s what you wanted.

“On your knees.”

You didn’t move right away and clearly that only made Tonowari angrier.

“I said get on your knees,” he was using his chief voice and man did that do something to you.

You started to move, but not fast enough, he walked up to you and pushed you down to your knees by your shoulders. He undid his loin cloth and took his cock out, already semi-erect, he started to stroke it and once it was hard enough, he pushed his hips closer to your mouth.

“Open.”

You opened your mouth a little, you were pissing him off more by being bratty. You knew you deserved this punishment, but you wouldn’t go down without a fight. His hand went to your jaw and squeezed till your mouth opened fully and he started to push the tip in.

“You will take all of me. Till I cum down your throat.”

Your hands settled on his thick thighs and he started to thrust his hips back and forth making his tip hit the back of your throat. You gagged every time and that only made him want to continue, your nails dug into his muscular legs and tears pricked your eyes. He was fucking your mouth and you were so horny for this. He was using you the way you wanted him to and he was good at it.

You could feel the throbbing on your tongue and the roof of your mouth, he was very close. He had rough and deep puffs of air coming from his nose which also told you he was about to cum. When he did, you felt it slide right down your throat, his hand on your head gripped your braids tightly.

“I’m nowhere near done with you yet. You worried me today for something as stupid as you not paying attention. Now our mate has to heal you. She is busy enough as it is.”

He didn’t want to hurt your feelings he just wanted you to know where he came from.

He got on his knees in front of you and picked you up to lay you on your back. He as a Metkaiyna woman, both of your mates were taller than you, Tonowari having at least a whole foot on you. He was huge, him leaning over you turned you on more, and he made you feel so small and tiny.

You were eating this shit up.

He took your loincloth off and fingered you for a moment to ensure you were wet enough for him to slide in. He touched you and he smirked at you; he knew right away he didn’t even need to. You were already soaking from the moment he stared at you out on the water. You wanted him to fuck you like this, you wanted him to manhandle you, you wanted him to bruise you. He slowly pushed inside and once he bottomed out; he took no prisoners.

His hips thrusted in and out of you so fast, the top of your head hit the floor right away as you moaned out in pleasure. Your hands gripped his biceps to help ground yourself as he fucked you hard. He was hitting deep every time, you couldn’t take it, it was so fast and he was good at fucking.

The things this man made you feel.

Your legs peddled as you tried to get away from the intense pleasure and overstimulation. Your body knew where this headed, you were going to cum if he kept fucking you this good.

“Wari, please, can I cum?”

“No.”

“I have to, please, Tonowari, I can’t-“

“You will.”

He kept fucking you harder, you were crying out at this point. Tears slipped down your temple to your hairline, you were trying so hard to hold back your orgasm. Your legs kept trying to push your body away from him, his hands held your hips down as he just kept thrusting.

“Tonowari! Please, please, I have to cum. Please Wari. I need to. I can’t hold it back. Please.”

Your moans were more like cries and pleas, your body was so overstimulated and you just wanted to cum. You were lost in your own thoughts of trying not to cum, Tonowari was grunting and focused on how he moved in and out of you. Neither of you heard Ronal enter the mauri until you both heard her footsteps.

“What is going on in here?”

Your head turned to look at her, she kneeled by your head and pushed your baby hairs back from your sweaty forehead. Tonowari stopped his thrusts briefly when he saw Ronal and now, he’s back at it, making your eyes slam shut. Ronal knew that Tonowari was being rougher on you than he normally was, he didn’t get like this unless he was mad.

“What happened?”

“Look at her hip,” Tonowari grunted

She looked at your hip closest to her and nothing than the other and she could see how red and angry it was.

“Please, Wari, please, I can’t last.”

Your body was squirming heavily, you just needed to cum.

“Has she cum yet?” Ronal looked at Tonowari and he shook his head.

Her fingers rested on your lower stomach before diving down to your clit and rubbing, you arched more and screamed.

“Cum, sevin, cum.”

And you did, it was the most intense orgasm of your life. When you came so did Tonowari who, in the process of punishing you, was also edging himself.

“Now, someone tell me what happened?”

Your body was still shaking coming down from your orgasm, your breaths were still laboured.

“Hunting accident. Stupid hunting accident,” you breathed out.

Tonowari grabs you and lays you on his chest as you start to go unconscious. Ronal moves to get some herbs to make an antiseptic and anti-inflammatory paste for your scrape. She applies it gingerly on your body as you sleep on your mate’s muscular body.

“Next time you’re angry like that, don’t torture the poor girl.”

“I think she liked it. Should have seen how wet she was, I slid right in. No prep or nothing.”

“Still, she passed out right after.”

“Then I did my job right.”

She scoffed laying next to him and throwing her arm over your back to slowly rub your lower back, she knew you’d be sore tomorrow.

[scribeofnight]

⸝⸝ ꒰ 𝐅𝐋𝐀𝐒𝐇𝐄𝐒 𝐎𝐅 𝐏𝐔𝐑𝐏𝐋𝐄 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐎𝐅 𝐘𝐎𝐔. 🫧ㆍ₊⊹

✦ 𝗉𝖺𝗂𝗋𝗂𝗇𝗀 ;; rafayel x afab!reader ✦ 𝗀𝖾𝗇𝗋𝖾 ;; slightly suggestive, slight fluff - mostly brainrots ✦ 𝗍𝖺𝗀𝗌 ;; clothed grinding! slight making out! spoilers for + heavily based off of raf's myth! ambiguous ending! reader is in denial! reciprocated love! sadistic rafayel! slight demeaning / derogatory tone! mean rafayel! ✦ 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝖽 𝖼𝗈𝗎𝗇𝗍 ;; 2.9k ✦ 𝗌𝖼𝗋𝗂𝖻𝖾'𝗌 𝗇𝗈𝗍𝖾 ;; my first ever proper rafayel fic. i really tried to write smut but i was and never will be one - for now, at least. it's been so long since i wrote something but, the rafayel girlies in the LADS official discord server and i were talking, and i just HAD to write this out, you know? i rushed this out in like 3 days in between classes and studying, so not my best work... t-t anyway! enjoy~

You supposed that it was a good thing - after all, the ocean was loved by you, as though it was real, and true. You imagined what it would be like, to be loved by the ocean (and you refuse to believe the image of him appearing in your mind as soon as you think it).

It was yet another sleepless night - you could tell. The sands from the bay billowed into the air, mingling into the ocean’s scent as though in a romantic waltz, the howling barely audible yet so loud to you. You did not know what to do; for you were never this sensitive to the  ocean’s gaze and touch until before…him.

You swing your feet down to the carpeted floor, cashmere wool tickling your bare feet imperceptibly as you make your way towards the window, praying to the stars that the marble flooring beneath the carpet was not too cold. It had been chilly of late, more so with his absence, you realised. You try to push away these foreign feelings, dawning on you like a stormcloud, fogging over violent seas. It made sense not to indulge in them - a princess falling in love with a Lemurian? That would be unheard of (you dare not say you wished it was just).

Pulling open the door to the balcony carefully, so that it would not creak, you peeked out, finding dark clouds rapidly looming in the sky, a big mass of darkness. You sighed softly, dejection almost visible in your bodily language as your shoulders drooped lightly, a mirage of exhaustion creeping into your features. If Miss Natasha saw you as such, she would be berating you for your ‘unlady-like posture’. You could almost hear her, you realised, giggling to yourself quietly as you made your way back to your bed, the short distance from the balcony to your bed covered in a few mere strides.

Miss Natasha only meant well ever since she had found you unconscious near the ocean. Without a second doubt, she had taken you in and fed you, gave you shelter and some work to keep yourself occupied with - along with a name. She would press a warm towel to the red mark of a koi fish - that she found burnt just under your left breast, on your ribcage - whenever it burnt. You did not realise it before, but Miss Natasha knew what it was; and for your safety, she had to keep quiet.

You gingerly sat down on your bed, looking out the window through the fluttering gaps of the billowing curtains, the moon illuminating your room, bathing it in its romantic glow. You fiddled with your fingers, picking and pulling at the skin around your nails - one habit that always warranted you a harsh reprimanding and an earful, as well as a manicure from Miss Natasha.

A flash of purple caught your eyes as you spotted the fishtail beacon next to you - one that he had given.

You knew he always smelled like the ocean from the infrequent times that you both have met - sea salt, with a hint of lavender and burnt sugar. Oftentimes, you wished you could bottle it up and store it away. A little reminder of him, locked away in a part of your chambers for you to use whenever you missed him - which was often, but it is not like you would admit it out loud.

“Holding it like this, I’ll sense Your Highness’s presence.”

His voice echoed in your ears from that night; the warm timbre, that look he gave you when teaching you how to use it, the warmth from his hands as they enveloped yours… you shook your head to clear the thoughts. Hesitantly, you reached out to hold the fishtail beacon in your palm, tracing the detailed fins and tail, a smile worming its way to your face as you sighed softly. You could almost feel it - feel him - if you closed your eyes.

Thinking of, there are a lot of things you would not admit out loud - especially about him. You rubbed your eyes carefully, the revelation somehow exhausting you.

“Your Highness has been harassing my fishtail beacon for quite some time now. Did Your Highness wish to see me?”

Your head snapped up, all sense of weariness gone as you gaped at the purple clad man in front of you, leaning against the wall next to your window. You swallowed harshly at the realisation of how he looked like he belonged there, in your bedchambers, your head spinning.

You asked dumbly, despite you gripping the fishtail beacon tightly in your hands, your fingers still fiddling with its end. You pretended to not notice Rafayel’s full body shiver as you caressed the fishtail beacon, and you certainly did not notice his breath hitch, nor his voice get deeper.

“Rafayel, what are you doing here?”

“Imagine my surprise when I found Your Highness daydreaming while grasping my beacon as so. Tell me, Princess…”

“Your Highness is caressing my beacon so tenderly. I inferred that perhaps Your Highness was in danger and came rushing over, as a good companion would,”

Rafayel remarked smugly, his voice dripping with confidence, words rolling out like warm ocean waves under the glittering sun. He clicked off his mask, placing it on your bedside table before taking a seat next to you, gently pulling the beacon out of your hands, his voice taking on a raspier edge.

His face moved closer to yours, the fishtail beacon discarded somewhere in the folds of your satin sheets, his breath ghosting over your face lightly. You could feel his gaze weigh heavy on you, eyes glowing slightly in the dark as they bore into your eyes, his lips pulled up in a light smirk before he pulled away slightly, placing a few more inches of space between the two of you.

You cleared your throat carefully, reaching out to grasp the sleeve of Rafayel’s robe, tugging on it and pulling him closer to you as you stood up as well, guiding him to turn to face you.

“What is it that you were so preoccupied with while my beacon was in your hands? Was it perhaps… me?”

Rafayel murmured, his voice saturated with a lilt you could not quite identify before he cleared his throat, standing up quickly, his back to you as he sighed. His shoulders were drawn together, clearly tensed as he hunched into himself. You could hear him muttering illegibly to himself, only catching the words ‘shouldn’t have’ and ‘what was I thinking’. 

You murmured, gently brushing his hair back. You watched his eyes widen in surprise before his body stiffened, his adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed harshly, a light blush coating his cheeks at the proximity, his breathing slightly erratic.

“Rafayel.”

His voice broke off into a whimper as you tugged him closer, your fingers threading through the hair at his nape, effectively silencing him. You felt his arms gingerly rest on your waist, neither pushing nor pulling as you nudged your nose against his cheek, sighing quietly.

“Your Highness, I- I apologise; it seems as though the waves tonight are slightly uncontrollable tonight- i must retur-”

He parted his lips, his tongue darting out to wet them lightly as his eyes flickered from your lips and back to your eyes. He turned his face away, a hint of shyness evident as his crimson shaded ears made his feelings obvious, maybe perhaps his thoughts as well.

“Tell me what it is that you are thinking of, Rafayel.”

Your voice, albeit hushed, held a lot of power over him, you realised. You would not blame him - after all, if he spoke to you like this, you would react just as he is at the moment - trembling slightly beneath your touch, his breathing erratic as his ears burn red. His body was so warm, so warm that it burnt through your clothes, seeping into your skin and warming your bones.

He started quietly, inhaling sharply as you pressed closer, your head tucking into his neck as you sighed quietly. You could feel his pulse thrumming rapidly under your cheek - your only solace to find out it was just as fast, if not faster than your heartbeat. His grip on your waist seemed to tighten as he sighed audibly, gently pulling a few inches away from you.

“Your Highness- this is hardly appropriate-”

His voice resounded in the room, shaking you to your core despite the confusion. You blinked up at him, your arms still loosely wrapped around his neck, your lips parted in slight confusion. He stared down at you, a small smirk playing on his lips as he realised your innocence. Quickly clearing his throat, he ignored the burning of his ears, bending his knees slightly as his hands slid from your waist to the back of your thighs. Pressing a kiss right on your left rib cage, he tapped the back of your thighs gently once more, as you shivered while entrapped in his arms.

“Jump.”

With a soft, low chuckle, he guided you to a nearby wall, his breath fanning over your face carefully, barely breaking a sweat as he carried your weight. You stared up at him, taking in his features, getting drunk almost, as you counted the number of his beauty marks that you could see, swallowing the saliva that pooled in your mouth at the sight of him so close to you.

“Jump for me, princess.”

Unsure of what his intentions were, yet blinded by all you had, you followed his words, hopping carefully, yet hesitantly. In that moment, as you gasped, he gripped your thighs tightly, guiding your legs to wrap around his waist, one hand sliding to the small of your back, pressing your upper body against his as his other hand held you up from under our thighs, his fingers brushing your butt lightly.

He murmured as he propped you against the wall, his head dipping down into your neck as he pressed a chaste kiss there, his hand sliding up from your back to your waist, his grip on your waist tightening as he shifted such that his knee was between your legs, digging into your skin deliciously.

“You’re staring, Your Highness,”

You sound so utterly wrecked, and nothing had happened at all. You felt his knee jerk slightly, pressing into your core once more, pulling a strangled moan out of your lips. Panicking, he quickly looked up at you, covering your mouth with his hands, his knee rocking back and forth as he watched your eyes roll back in pleasure.

“Rafayel…”

He murmured, a mischievous glint in his eyes as he dipped his down towards your ear, nibbling your earlobe sensually, a soft groan escaping his lips as his hot breath fanned across your ear, shivering from the feel of how close he was to you.

“Quiet now, Your Highness. We can’t have everyone finding out how debauched and indecent the princess is when around her Lemurian companion, can we?”

He continued, pressing feverish kisses down your jaw and neck, gently biting down on your collarbone, licking the bite soothingly as he smirked at your muffled whimpers, his hand still firmly clamped over your lips. You had not registered that his knee had moved away from your core, and that he was grinding against you, his erection so prominent as it dug into your core through the layers of fabric, broken gasps and moans tumbling off your lips, barely muffled by Rafayel's slender fingers, his hand on your mouth pressing down further, fueling your pleasure as your eyes rolled back, the drag of his erection and both of your clothes so delicious.

“Unless you’re into that - then I’d be happy to oblige.”

“Awww...~ Awh, you're so adorable, princess... What, can't handle a bit of pain? Have I spoiled you too rotten, my dearest jewel? Maybe I should increase your pain tolerance. What do you say to that, Your Highness?”

“I have no problem in showing off what is rightfully mine.”

A jolt of electricity went through your spine as you heard his words, a gasp tumbling out your lips, barely muffled by the Lemurian’s slender hand. Your fingers once again threaded through his hair, tugging him up to meet your face as he rocked his body against you, soft moans and grunts falling from his red lips, as he brought a finger to the mark he had left on the junction where your neck meets your shoulder, pressing down on it slightly, watching you squirm as you try to shy away from the pain.

You groaned at his words, your toes curling as he seemed unaffected by the way you writhed under him, a small pout gracing your lips as your tongue darted out to wet your lips, tugging the purple-haired man closer. He could see the desperation in your eyes, and you were sure as hell that he could feel the damp stickiness between your thighs through your clothes. He watched patiently, a predator tracking its prey, watching a shaky exhale falling from your plush lips as his eyes darkened imperceptibly.

"Already so wrecked? You sound so debauched, Your Highness. Do you have no shame? Letting your Lemurian pet given to you as a gift have his way with you... I suppose I really should protect you, hm..?"

“Rafayel,”

Your voice sent a shiver down Rafayel’s spine as he grinded particularly roughly against you, his hips jerking violently into yours as you both moaned out in unison before Rafayel pushed you up further against the wall, clamping both hands down on your lips before shuddering once more, grinding into you slowly, carefully, his teeth gnawing on his bottom lip.

He groaned into your ear, his voice getting rougher as desire tinged his voice with saccharine, timber dripping with sugar-sweet honey a sharp contrast to the drunken lilt of pure heady, unadulterated pleasure seeping into both of your veins. The air was hot, so excruciatingly hot - so tense and you could not think of anything else except wanting to feel him deep, deep inside of you, quenching a never before known thirst that sparked and ebbed from your core, through your whole body, tingling with need, and want, and so much more that you just could not put into words.

Rafayel obliged, bending down and slotting your lips together in a frenzied, sloppy kiss. He panted against your lips, his body rocking into yours slightly rougher; more desperate, as he bit your lower lip, his tongue sliding into your mouth as he twirled it around your tongue, his hand moving to hike your nightgown up, both of your desperate, poorly muffled moans reverberating around the room and travelling between your lips, eyes squeezed shut and fingers tangled in hair and squeezing hips, squeezing so hard you were sure you could see faint red imprints tomorrow. You could feel his bulge rubbing onto your core deliciously, the friction and roughness making your toes curl as you moaned into the kiss, helplessly holding on to Rafayel as your nails dug into his shoulders, his clothes only getting in the way. The heady scent of lust and sweat clouded the room, creating a deliciously suffocating atmosphere that only fueled the need for him to be closer, closer, closer.

“Rafayel, please.”

You begged, your voice so broken, so utterly filthy sounding to Rafayel, and oh, did his head spin. Who was he if not a weak man to his princess’ desires?

He groaned in frustration, breaking the kiss, his eyes trailing a string of saliva that followed as he parted your lips gently, his tongue coming out to wet his lips - more so lick off the remnants of your kiss as he pressed his forehead against yours, pants leaving his mouth as your breaths intermingled, his hands carefully slipping out of your nightgown as he sets you down gently, still trapping you against the wall.

“I would love nothing more than to be yours for eternity, Your Highness.”

“Your Highness… are you…?”

His voice trailed off, filled with uncertainty and yet equal amount of desire as he looked at you, his eyes shimmering with want, ocean blue overshadowing the stiff peaks of pink dotting his irises, the mole on the left side of his nose very much distracting you. You gulped, feeling heat pool further to your core but you shook your head, cupping the taller’s cheeks gently and tugging him down, guiding his lips closer to yours.

“Would you let me have you for myself tonight, Your Quintessence?”

Rafayel froze, his body stiff against your tender hold, ensnared by your words as he gazed at you with wide eyes, his mouth slightly open, clearly not expecting his formal title to fall from your plush, red-bitten lips. You giggled softly, caressing his cheek gently and he gaped at you, admiration, awe and love swirling with the pure want in his eyes, concocting an addicting potion - befitting of a siren, you think, to cast a spell with just his eyes - before he surged forward, pressing a multitude of kisses across your face, suppressing his laugh as he swallowed harshly, audibly, your eyes trailing to his Adam’s apple as it bobbed with the gesture, quickly flicking back to his eyes as he flashed an impatient smile, his eyes storming over with clouds of desire, his grip on your waist tightening as he presses close, tilting his head such that his lips are brushing against yours, his canines catching on your earlobe.

♡₊˚ 🪼・ copyright @scribeofnight all rights reserved ;; do not copy, steal, plagarize, reword or repost to other platforms without proper permission || all credits to original owners and creators of the characters from the media + pictures that are not my own.

[asumofwords]

Smoke, Fire and Ash

Warnings: This fic includes noncon, dubcon, manipulation, violence, death, forced marriage, and inc3st. Tags will be added as the fic goes on. Miscarriage, death of a foetus, blood, depression, anger, angst, grief.

This is a dark!fic. 18+ only. Read at your own discretion. Please read the warnings before continuing.

Summary: You are the eldest daughter of Rhaenyra and Daemon Targaryen. You are forced to navigate the difficult surroundings of your upbringing and the eventual disintegration between your family and the Hightower's relationship. What will happen when your older and estranged uncle suddenly takes a more sinister interest in you? (Dark!Aemond x Reader)

Masterlist

Characters: Aemond Targaryen X Reader, HOTD characters.

Note: Hello sweethearts, please read the trigger warnings for this one. Tread carefully as always, and I love you all. I have absolutely LOVED seeing you all talking and thinking and even plotting on what is happening! Makes me so happy <3

Chapter 91: The Absence of Three

Aemond escorted you back to your chambers as you whimpered and hissed in pain. It was so overwhelming, and unlike anything you felt before. The pain came in waves, and it felt like your hips were being crushed together, your whole core clenching in agony. 

Aemond kept asking you what was wrong, kept whispering to you what was happening, and each time he came to your side as you clutched the back of the chaise, another wave crashing through you, you grit your teeth and pushed him away with a curse.

“I shall fetch the Maester.”

“He’s dead.” You growled, hands rubbing against the front of your dress as anxiety climbed higher and higher within you.

“I shall fetch the other.”

“No.” You snipped, doubling over again. 

And then you felt it.

Something wet and warm between your legs which felt familiar and foreign all at once. But you knew. Of course you knew. Because your body knew.

Aemond watched in confusion as you reached a hand beneath your skirts, grunting as you moved under the different layers. 

Just as you mother once had.

Your fingertips pressed against the warm, wetness, and with slow movements, you brought it back out and away, your hand hovering in front of you. 

But you knew. 

You already knew.

They were covered in blood. 

“What’s happening?” Aemond asked, spotting the blood.

But it was too late.

And you knew.

And he knew that too, but he was in denial. A sick and twisted attempt to undo what had been done, to have faith in his precious Seven that the child would be saved.

But deep down, he knew, just as you did.

It felt like the day your mother had lost your sister. Now only you in her place.

Is this what she had felt? Was this the agony she had endured?

But Rhaenyra's pregnancy was further along than yours, and she had to give birth to the body of your sister who was already still. 

Would you face the same fate?

Agony rolled through you again, and you sobbed. Aemond rushed to your side, holding your back and one arm as you grunted. You squeezed his hand as the pain did not let up, nor ease.

As if thinking he could help, the fool that he was, the man that he was, for men don't truly know the horrors of being a woman, Aemond raced towards the door and called for the knight to bring the Maester.

You laughed humourlessly at him, watching as he turned around in confusion, your knuckles white against the back of the chaise.

“It’s too late.” You sobbed angrily, pushing away from the chaise as you stumbled towards the wardrobe, bending over as your hand reached behind it, Aemond watching with a hawklike expression. 

“What are you doing?” His brows were furrowed from across the room, rooted to the spot as he watched you rummage at a wall.

“Something I should have done in the first place.” You spat back at him, pain, and anger, and grief moving through you. Your fingers finally found what they were looking for, grazing the small vial that you had wedged there, not too long ago. 

Aemond took slow steps towards you, suspicion in his eye as you whimpered once again. With great determination, you pulled the vial from the wall, uncorking it with your teeth and bringing it to your lips.

The ruta root slid down the vial and into your waiting mouth. 

Aemond stormed towards you, snatching the vial from your hand as he looked at it. You chewed hastily and swallowed, ignoring the foul taste on your tongue.

Aemond looked ready to break, his hand grasping your cheeks painfully, forcing you to open your mouth as his eye searched inside, finger following to try and feel or scoop what you had eaten, only to find nothing but remnants of the root. 

“What have you done?” He asked in a rush, panic in his voice.

He thought you were trying to kill yourself.

“Ensured that it’s dead.” You sneered, the vile, bitter taste of the root on your tongue.

“What?” Aemond breathed, “Where did you get that?” The Prince panicked, looking at the vial in his hand once more as he turned it over rapidly.

“A parting gift from our Maester.” You grit, pushing away from him, and limping back towards the fire.

You stood by the chaise again, leaning against its back as your fingers dug into the wood. You bent forward, hand against your stomach in pain as another wave of agony rolled through you. 

Aemond rushed towards you, trying to guide you to sit, but you slapped his hands away, irritation and pain and anger continuing to swallow you whole. The Prince stood and stared at you with his brow drawn, obvious fear in his eye as he watched you whimper and whine. 

It was all too much. All too much.

Everything was too much. But your body took over, inhaling deeply despite your lungs feeling withered, and your throat feeling shut. A pain that came from nowhere and everywhere at once. Something that was concentrated and spread out, as though it was creeping up along your spine and into your ribcage.

Aemond moved from your periphery as another sob left your lips, a tear falling from your eye to drip onto the stone below.

When he came back to you, he did it carefully, whispering your name to coax you to look at him. And so you did. You looked at him with watery eyes, and a face full of agony and grief, and eyes flickering with rage.

Slowly, as though approaching a startled animal, Aemond lifted his hand. In his palm was a small cloth. A handkerchief or napkin, or perhaps even just a scrap of material. You did not know, nor did you care, as he moved to gently wipe at your face, swiping the light sheen of sweat that had gathered on your brow, and the stray tears that streaked down your cheeks.

Aemond waited for the Maester to arrive, tension in his shoulders as he hovered about you, unsure of how to tend to you as waves of contractions wracked your body.

“You did this.” You whispered, not looking at him, eyes locked on the fire place, where two dearly missed figures had begun to appear, “We lost the babe because of you.”

It was all a blur when the new Maester arrived, ordering you to lay in bed as he tried to give you Moon Tea to help with the continuation of the miscarriage. But you refused it,  pushing it away from you, knowing the ruta root would do the job.

Aemond had ensured the Maester that he would get you to drink it, and had spoken quietly to him at the side of the room as to what to do if you became worse, or pale, or fevered with chill.

It was, in that moment, that you realised that this was the Maester that had once had sewn his face shut. A Maester who had tended to Aemond and his healing. A Maester that Aemond clearly trusted. 

You lay in the bed in pain, feeling the wet blood between your thighs as you cried quietly.

It felt so familiar. To be in that bed, crying and bleeding.

Was it a curse? Was this what you were destined to? To be burdened with the pain of being a woman?

To be born a woman is to be cursed.

Another wave coursed through you and you curled on your side, clutching at your stomach as you tried to hum to yourself softly, anything to distract yourself from the pain that slid through you like a knife, your body reacting on its own, clenching and tensing. 

Aemond sat himself on the edge of the bed, the mattress dipping beneath his weight as he watched you cry and groan, shifting with the pain as your body began to get the urge to push.

It was so strange. It was just as Alicent said.

Your body would know what to do. 

But it was too early.

And it was too late. 

And the child that had begun to grow within you was gone.

Aemond brushed the hair that had stuck to your face from your sweat or tears, hushing you as the contractions rolled through you hotly.

You sobbed, grasping his hand as you squeezed, hoping to channel the pain through him.

“I’m sorry.”

-

The next days blurred together, and you found that you barely had the strength to leave the bed. The pain slowly subsided, but the sorrow had burrowed its way inside of you like mould. No matter how much you had tried to scrub it free, it would always come back.

The Maester had come to check on you multiple times a day, checking your condition, and ensuring that you passed the embryonic tissue completely.  

It was after the third day that you found the strength to leave the bed. And it made you ache even more for you mother, as she lost her father, the throne and her daughter all in one day. She had to burn her daughter, and stand before the council, all in one day. She was crowned, all in one day.

She was stronger than you. 

Stronger than most.

And you wished she was here. 

As you shifted amongst the sheets, you moved to stand, but the sound of the sheets rustling caused Aemond to jump from his seat, padding across the chambers towards you as he offered you an arm, and held the top of yours gently. 

Whincing, you shied away from his touch, “Please, don’t.”

“Let me help you.” Aemond insisted, and reached to try and grab your arm again.

Anger erupted from you, “You’ve helped plenty.” You snapped.

You moved slowly, grasping a cloak from its spot in the wardrobe, throwing it over your shoulders before slowly shuffling out of the chambers.

Pain was still in your body, grief was still in your chest. 

You moved down to the Godswood, where you would always go and sit. To talk to the Gods. To talk to yourself. To simply be. But all you could do was think.

Did you do this to yourself?

When you thought of such things beneath its branches?

When you thought of losing the child to spite him?

Had you wished for this and the Gods had delivered?

That silken stillness of grief was back.

The leaves above you were quiet, no breeze to rustle them, nor birds to sing amongst their branches. It was all so quiet. So still. The world seemed to have stopped. Or it had stopped for you.

You sat for a time in your grief beneath the leaves of the Godswood, wondering what your child could have been, what they would have been like.

But it was not just the child that had been lost. You sat with the knowledge that the Maester was no longer here. And your allies in the Keep had dwindled dramatically. 

Perhaps now, more than ever, was the time to ask for the star fruit. 

But the eyes on you would be sharper right now, and your movements had to be more calculated and secretive moving forward.

They would all be waiting to you to act.

Or waiting for your family to react. 

It was no longer as safe as you thought at the Red Keep.

Not that it ever really was. 

Beneath the shade of the Godswood was where you sat until a familiar head of chestnut brown came to stand before you, a usual vision of green.

Alicent looked down at you sadly, and gave her shallow condolences.

You swallowed the lump that formed in your throat, keeping your eyes to the branches of the tree instead of letting them drop to the woman before you.

If you looked down, you were sure tears would spill over. 

“How are you faring?” She asked tentatively, tone gentle.

All that the Dowager Queen got in response, was a soft rustle of the breeze and the silence of nothing. She stood for a moment more, if only waiting for your resolve to break, for you to turn and face her, seek her out as a daughter, like the one she was missing. 

But you didn’t. 

And so the older woman left you to be alone with the Old Gods.

You counted your breaths, and mentally filled the cracks in your chest with a thick, goopy paste, similar to the one the Maester had given you.

You thought of each stroke of your hand, filling in the gaps with the paste until there was nothing left to show. As though the cracks were never there to begin with.

Each stroke of the paste you counted, and each stroke you inhaled deeply.

On the twenty-seventh stroke in your mind, the twenty-seventh breath in your lungs, and the twenty-seventh count in your head, the gentle sound of feet atop grass pulled your attention away from the mental image and repetitive motions.

But the person did not come to stand in front of you, nor did they move to stand beside you, or even pass through the small courtyard. Instead, the feet stopped on the opposite side of the tree, and the rustling of robes indicated they had sat down beneath the Godswood.

Just by the action alone, a habit, muscle memory, memory itself, you knew it was him. 

Aemond had sat beneath the crimson leaves and white speckled bark of the ancient Weirwood tree, behind you and hidden away, much like how he did as a child. And though, you could not see him, you could feel his presence greatly.

It struck a cord in your already string plucked chest.

“I did not tell Larys.” He whispered to you, voice almost lost to the wind.

“I told no one of what you did.” Your uncle paused, and you rested you head back against the bark, looking up into the shadowed sky, “He must have found out through his spiders.”

And once again, you believed him. 

It wasn’t him.

He had not told Aegon.

Larys had.

You are both silent for some time, basking in the familiarity of it all until you heard him shift, and soon a shadow was cast across you, for however brief it was, before he sat himself down. His shoulder gently brushed against yours as he sat close to you, yet made no move to touch you with his hands. 

And you were thankful for it.

As you sat in the silence, your mind raced away from you again, the sticky paste that you had crammed into the cracks, slowly dripped away to reveal them once more. With each drip of the paste, another crack was revealed, and with each crack revealed, another chip of your resolve crumbled away.

You realised that Larys didn’t care for Alys. 

You had threatened him, and told him there were things that he didn’t know in your stupidity. In your anger. And in your moment of triumph against him;

You had hinted that you had an ally. 

And so he had spun his web, and waited for his prey to lay a foot on one of his strings.

The Maester got caught in the web that was crafted to catch him.

You sat shoulder to shoulder, looking up at the branches together in the quiet knowing of your shared loss. Another thing that you would both endure. Another piece of grief to bring you two closer together.

“I don’t think I can survive much more loss, Aemond.” You whispered, surprising yourself to find your voice.

The One-Eyed Prince turned his head to finally look at you, hand coming to your lap to hold yours, touching the scar from the ceremony gently as he always did, almost as if he doesn’t believe that it is real.

As if he doesn’t believe that it is there. 

That he would wake up one day, and you would be gone.

“I am sorry for my part in it.” His voice was steady.

Your heart clenched.

“No you’re not, because you wouldn’t let me suffer the way you do.” The words passed your lips, gentle and quiet, fragile as snow, the words lingering in delicate silk around you. A fatal movement of a hand could cause them to break, to crumple and fall apart. Even the breeze could blow too steadily, and whisk the silk threads away. 

But they held strong. And they hovered above the two of you heavily.

“I am truly alone in this Keep.” You breathed.

You could feel Aemond’s eye on the side of your face, his hand tightening around yours.

“You are not alone.” He countered, head turned to look at you completely.

A small laugh escaped you, too tired to hold it in, too weary to stamp it out, and so you let it be, let it crackle from your dry lips that were bitten raw.

You looked down to where he held your hand. A hand that had hurt you. A hand that had taken from you. A hand that had given. A hand that had held, and caressed, and stroked. A hand that now loved, and cherished you.

The hand of the man who has so many sides.

“You and I both know that that is not the truth,” You confessed, “As much as we both wish otherwise.”

Thanks so much for reading along with me, if you wish to be added to the tag list please let me know :) Likes and reblogs are greatly appreciated ! Enjoy <3

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[buckychristwrites]

About You | Day 7 | j.t.

Summary: Your job? Pop culture journalist for The Independent. Your assignment? To write a profile on the cocky footballer that you're publicly feuding with.

Word Count: 3.8k

Warnings: Cussing. Enemies to lovers

A/N: Let me know what you think! :)

Masterlist | About You Masterlist | Main Blog

“Hello, Will!” 

The kit man startled, dropping the three massive duffel bags onto the ground. Your hand covered your mouth instantly. 

“I’m sorry,” You said as you approached, helping him pick them back up to store in the side compartment of the coach. He rapidly shook his head.

“Wait. Erm…” He stammered before bolting into the bus, which you just then realised was filled with the team. Though you couldn’t hear everything that was said, you could just make out, “Is she still the enemy?” You glanced up at the windows to find every team member pressed against them, waving to you in friendly greeting. It took no time to find Jamie, who was smiling while speaking, but you weren’t able to make out what he was saying. 

Will stumbled back out of the coach and approached with a look of relief.

“Right,” He said as he picked up one of the bags. “It’s okay.” You looked between him and the baboons in the windows.

“What was all that about?”

His cheeks turned the same shade as a fire engine. There was something incredibly endearing about it.

“I had to ask if I’m allowed to talk to you,” He admitted in such a low tone that you wouldn’t have heard if you weren’t right next to him. “Since erm… since you’re the enemy and all.” He grunted when he threw his bag in. “Jamie said it’s alright, though. He said I can talk to you now.” Dropping the duffle bag into the compartment, you nodded.

“I understand.” 

You went towards the door of the coach to find Jamie standing at the top of the steps, his arms crossed over his chest. You knew what was coming before he had even opened his mouth.

“You know the terms,” Was all he said with an expectant expression. You sighed deeply before reaching into your back pocket for the cap and throwing it on your head. He looked you up and down before beaming at you.

“Welcome aboard!” He exclaimed before moving out of the way to let you in. 

The team all stared at you as you entered, their eyes jumping from your face to the hat you sported. Slowly, they all began to react; yelling out, laughing, bouncing in their seats. Jamie flopped down in a seat against the window, looking quite pleased with himself. You ran your hands over your face in embarrassment. Despite that, you were laughing right along with them.

“You did the impossible, Tartt,” Isaac said, shaking his head. “You turned the enemy to the dark side.” Jamie lifted his hands with his palms facing up. 

“What can I say?” He asked. “It’s impossible not to love me.” 

You stumbled over your own feet. Multiple arms shot out to help you. You grabbed one to steady yourself, though you felt your cheeks grow hot when you saw it was Jamie’s.  

“Sit down, Clumsy,” He said, sitting back in his seat so you could have the aisle one. Folded hands in lap, you looked around awkwardly. This was the most tense you had felt in a while, and it was almost impossible to hide it.

“You alright?” He asked you, leaning forward to force eye contact.

“I’m fine!” 

Of course he didn’t believe you. But you didn’t have an answer as to what was off about you. The rest of your day prior, as well as the better part of this morning, was spent with you staring at your living room ceiling with your laptop abandoned on the floor. The article continued to remain a figment in your head, no writing having been started. You didn’t want to admit to yourself what was happening inside your mind. And your heart, apparently. So you decided the best course of action was to be in complete, utter denial. 

“Are you nervous?” You asked in a weak attempt to change the subject. To your absolute delight, he took the bait.

“I’m always nervous before a match,” He said, lowering his voice. You pulled your notepad from your purse.

“What about it makes you nervous?” 

He pondered quietly, lips pursed together.

“I don’t wanna let my team down.” He sat up straight. “I feel like I’ve failed them when we lose.” A moment of silence passed between the two of you. When he looked at you again, he snorted. “I just can’t take you seriously in that hat.” 

“Does that mean I can take it off?”

“Of course not.” 

He pulled out his phone and immediately pointed it towards you. Instead of hiding like you normally would, you scrunched up your face. 

“Is this for instagram?” You asked him once you were sure he was finished. He shook his head before smirking at his phone.

“Just for me.” 

God fucking dammit.

Swallowing hard, you nodded without a word. Jamie laid his head comfortably against the seat, a bemused smile on his face. It was hard for you to do the same. 

The coach rumbled to life. It wasn’t a long drive to Chelsea, which you were thankful for. The match tonight was a late one, and you couldn’t wait to get home and into bed. 

The whole compartment was roaring with life; Loud conversations, ongoing laughing, hands tapping on knees. You listened. Something about the chaos was incredibly calming to you. Maybe it was just that you had grown accustomed to it. 

Maybe you were learning to love it.

The vehicle came to a stop, everyone quickly piling out. You made sure your press pass was on proper display on your chest. It was so strange, coming to an actual match. You had only ever watched them practise. The energy here at the new stadium was new, and it was a mix of exhilarating and anxiety inducing. 

“You gonna take some pictures for the article?��� Jamie asked. You shrugged. 

“Only if you guys do things worth taking pictures of.” 

He gave you one of his famous cocky smirks. 

“Deal.” 

You made yourself comfy in the dugout after the teams had come out. Chelsea fans were going crazy for their team, but not before singing a commemorative chant to Roy Kent. With his usual hard glare, he looked around and gave a touching salute to his former fan base. 

The second team gathered in the seats around you. When you saw Colin hobble his way over, you were surprised.

“Did you get hurt?” You asked him. He nodded sadly.

“Had a bit of a fall yesterday,” He admitted. “Bad luck.” You pushed your bottom lip out in a frown.

“Sorry.”

He shrugged. “It’ll be nice to get a slight break, honestly.” He sighed. “It gets hard being blamed for the losses sometimes.” You’d heard that at times. Not for all of the games, of course, but for some. 

“It can’t be all on one player for a whole team’s loss, can it?” You asked. He eyed you.

“If only everyone had the same sense as you.” 

The whistle blew to start the game, bringing the conversation to an end. 

“Let’s go, guys!” Coach Beard yelled while clapping his hands. 

Dani was dribbling the ball, heading towards the goal. When a Chelsea member made his way to take it, Dani passed to Isaac, who passed to Richard, and then to Jamie. 

You couldn’t look away. He tore down the field before kicking the ball. It flew over the heads of multiple players before landing in the opposing team’s net. 

The scream that left your mouth was involuntary. As the players surrounded Jamie in celebration, you and Colin jumped out of your seats. You clapped your hands so hard that they were stinging by the time you decided to sit down. 

Sports was never something you got into, but here, watching this game right on the sidelines filled you with a type of adrenaline and excitement that you had never experienced before. It was addicting. 

“You ever been to a match before?” Colin asked. You shook your head, making him raise his eyebrows. “First game and you’re in the dugout?” He snorted. “You really did turn things around with Tartt.” You shrugged.

“I think we both just…” You paused, trying to find the best way to articulate your thoughts. “… fundamentally misunderstood each other.” Colin glanced at the field before looking back at you.

“Seem to understand each other a lot now, yeah?”

You looked out at the pitch in time to make eye contact with Jamie. He gave you a wide smile, lifting his chin up high. You waved him away, but you couldn’t even attempt to hide your smile. When you looked back at Colin, he was giving you a knowing look. 

“Fuck off, Colin.” 

The fans in the stand erupted again, and when you both looked up, you discovered that AFC Richmond had scored once again. You and Colin were on your feet once more. This time, the team was cheering for Sam, who you had seen Jamie pass the ball to before you stopped paying attention. 

“I’m just sayin’,” Colin continued as the two of you dropped back into your seats. “The rest of the team and I have noticed how much time you two spend together.” You gave him a look of confusion.

“I’m writing a piece about him,” You reminded him in the most defensive voice. “I’m supposed to spend time with him. Was Trent Crimm not around all the time when he wrote his Richmond piece?” 

Colin shook his head. 

“It’s different,” He said. “Trent didn’t look at us, and we didn’t look at him, the way the two of you have started lookin’ at each other.” You shook your head. 

“Maybe you’re just reading into things too much,” You said. Colin laughed before nodding. 

“Sure,” He said. “Maybe I am.” 

The rest of the first half was a blur for you. A pit had fallen in the centre of your stomach, and you were too busy thinking about that and the conversation with Colin to pay attention to the match. When the whistle blew to mark halftime, you jumped. 

The team (and you) filed into the tunnel to head back to the changing room. He didn’t speak or get your attention, but you knew Jamie was right behind you. 

One of the Chelsea players was headed in the opposite direction. Whether it was meant for you or for one of the players, it was unclear, but you were suddenly shoulder checked so hard that you lost your balance and would’ve hit the floor had it not been for Jamie.

“Oi, watch where you’re fuckin’ goin’, mate,” He said angrily whilst helping you stabilize yourself. Instinct made you touch your shoulder with the opposite hand. It was incredibly sore. The team had stopped walking, all of them either glaring at the aggressor or surrounding you. It wasn’t until then that you noticed the offending player was coming back.

“Who’s this little bird, Tartt?” He asked, voice sinister as he got closer to you. You would’ve taken a step away from him on your own, but Jamie hooked a hand around your arm and pulled you gently backwards before shielding you behind him. 

“She’s a journalist with the Independent,” He said in a tone you had never heard from him before. It was so low and angry, it was almost like he was warning the player that he would find out what happens when one fucks around. His words only seemed to feed into the player’s attitude.

“Ahh,” He said. “So you can only get a woman’s attention if she’s being paid for it, I see.” 

You took a step forward while placing a hand on Jamie’s bicep. His jaw was tensed together, the muscles along his jawline flexing, and he never broke eye contact with the aggressive player.

“Let’s walk away,” You whispered to him, trying to pull him towards you. Though he said nothing, he didn’t fight you, instead allowing himself to put distance between him and the other man.

He peaked over Jamie’s shoulder to look at you again. “Tell her if she’d like to write for a real man, I’m available. Although she wouldn’t have much time for writing when we’re together-“ 

He never got to finish his sentence, for Jamie immediately head butted him in the nose before tackling him to the ground. 

The explosion into chaos was biblical.

You threw your arms around Jamie as you tried to yank him away. More Chelsea players ran from down the hall in an effort to aid their nasty friend. The Richmond players all piled forward, some cheering Jamie on, some trying to help you in pulling him away. Everyone was yelling. It felt impossible to breathe, not that you were able to think about it. You were so wrapped in the brawl that you didn’t notice the tears that had begun to stream down your face. Was it the anger? Or the anxiety? You’d never know.

The Chelsea player was begging for Jamie to stop, but he didn’t, instead continuing to punch and hit and do whatever damage he could. You weren’t sure how he was able to fight the strength of all of these professional footballers, attributing it to the incredible adrenaline coursing through him.

Somewhere in the mix, you got elbowed, hard, in the face. Black spots and stars filled your vision. You fell away from Jamie and hit the floor. In your ear, you could hear someone talking to you, but you couldn’t hear through the ringing in your ears. Two separate arms lifted you and helped you away. When you felt oriented again, you found Sam and Dani right in your face, looking at you in concern. You were on the floor with your back pressed against the wall. When did I sit down?

“Are you alright?”

“Is it broken?”

“Should we take her to hospital?”

You said nothing, just bringing your hand up to your nose. The sight of blood on your fingertips made you queasy. This time, you knew you were crying. The pain was indescribable as it seemed to ripple through your entire head.

“What the FUCK!”

It could be heard above the noise, but didn’t cause it to stop. A body broke through the crowd, reaching around and yanking Jamie with every ounce of strength off the Chelsea player, who had been properly clobbered. The anger in Roy’s face was something you had never seen before. Jamie was still staring at the offending player, wild eyed and fists at the ready, while Roy continued to pull him down the hallway. Finally, Jamie sniffed and turned to face forward, forcing himself out of Roy’s grip but continuing to follow him. It would appear that he didn’t notice your predicament at all.

The crowd dispersed. When the teammates who were involved with the brawl turned, they all looked flabbergasted at the sight of you. 

“Who fuckin’ did this?” Isaac demanded. 

“I don’t know,” You said with a shaky voice. “A stray elbow got me.” Isaac glared at the men surrounding him, all of them raising their hands and informing him of their innocence. Isaac, however, was unconvinced as he continued to glare at them all. Coach Beard came into view. His eyes widened when they fell on you. 

“Come on, let’s get her out of the middle of the hallway.” 

Sam helped you stand slowly before slowly guiding you down the hall. Blood dripped down your face, which forced you to cover your nose with the sleeve of your jumper. You wondered how bruised your face would be in the morning. 

The door to the locker room burst through and everyone piled in. In the corner stood Roy, who was facing a disgraced looking Jamie. The second you entered, he stood up immediately. 

“Wha-”

Roy put an arm out in front of Jamie in an attempt to stop him from moving. You were swiftly guided away by Coach Beard. He took you to a quiet room off the side of the changing room. The door swung shut, and you were thankful for the silence. A few chairs were scattered throughout the room. You gently sat down in the closest one, not wanting to sit down too hard and cause more pain to shoot through your head. Coach kneeled in front of you with a towel. You couldn’t recall him ever grabbing a towel. Without needing told, you moved your hand away from your face to allow him to tend to it. 

“You didn’t see who did it?” He asked softly as he dabbed at your face. 

“No,” You told him. He nodded.

“Roy’s pulling Jamie from the game,” He admitted to you. When your eyes widened, he shook his head. “He did some amazing shit on the field today, but he’s not in the headspace for it now. He’ll hurt someone.” Pause. “He’ll hurt someone else.” You said nothing. He was right, and you knew it. When he pulled the towel away, he studied you for a moment. “He’s gonna want to come in here. That okay?” 

For you, it was no question.

“Yeah, that’s fine.” 

He nodded as if he already knew you’d say that, then stood. 

“I’m sorry that player disrespected you,” He said in earnest. “You’ve been a pleasant addition, and you didn’t deserve that.” He didn’t give you any time to respond before walking out the door. 

Within seconds, the door was thrown open and there was Jamie. When his eyes found you, his face crumbled. Instinctively, you brought your hands back up to hide your face, your sleeves padding your nose. In two quick strides, he was in front of you, lowering himself to his knees.

“What happened?” He asked in a whisper. You felt sick at the idea of even telling him. 

He grabbed your arms and tried to pull them away, but you fought him. He said your name with exasperated breath. When he finally was able to pull them down, you turned away from him. 

Why was this so hard? Why was it impossible to let him look at you when you let everyone else do it without a fight? 

Placing a tender hand on either side of your head, he slowly turned your head to face him. You stared at his eyes as he studied your face. There was something about the way you could see him fall apart just by his eyes alone that made you want to scream. The guilt was breaking through his expression. 

“Did I do this?” 

“No.”

Because that was the only thing you knew for certain. 

You found yourself leaning into his touch as his thumbs began running up and down your cheeks. The throbbing in your face was consuming your thoughts, and you wanted nothing more than to be lying in your bed with the lights off, curtains closed and blankets covering every single inch of your body.

“Can we go somewhere else?” You asked him. He nodded, immediately standing up. Your cheeks, so warm just a moment before, were left ice cold. He helped you up and led you out of the changing room. The two of you were well down the hallway before you noticed that your hand was still being held by his.

The two of you walked outside, careful to not be spotted by anyone else, and the next thing you knew, he was opening the door of the coach and ushering you inside. He opened a window to let some fresh, cool air replace the staleness that had taken over the inside before making his way to the pair of seats you both had occupied on the drive there. Dragging your feet, you made your way over and sat down next to him. 

He was being painfully quiet as he pulled at his fingers in his lap. You watched him, knowing the tell all too well at this point.

“Jamie.”

“I feel awful,” He said in a choked voice. “I just…” He swallowed. “I don’t think I can tell ya how sorry I am.” You instantly shook your head.

“I don’t blame you at all.” You stared down at your lap. “I can’t believe you knocked him around like that.” His hands froze, balling up into fists.

“I didn’t like how he was talkin’ to ya.” 

In the years you had been on Earth, you had never felt more protected than you did in this moment, with Jamie Tartt, a man who had just gotten into a row with another man for hurting you physically and emotionally. And he had been prepared to fight whomever had hit your nose as well, had you known who did it.

You stared at him, and wanted to tell him to look at you. But instead, you just continued to stare.

“Thank you, Jamie.”

He finally looked up, letting his fingers relax once more. When his eyes found you again, his expression softened. A hand raised off his lap, but he immediately dropped it back down. You sighed, running your fingers over your hair.

“God, I’m exhausted,” You exhaled. It felt like you had been awake for several weeks, and not just for the day. Jamie laid back into his seat before patting his shoulder.

“You can lay on down if ya want,” He said. “Grab a few winks.” It took a few seconds for you to process what he was saying, making you shake your head.

“I can’t ask you to do that,” You told him, but he made a fart noise with his mouth.

“You didn’t ask, I offered,” He countered. “We both had a long day. I’d love a rest meself. Please. It won’t bother me.” When you opened your mouth to argue, he gave you a tired glare, which made you shut up immediately.

Hesitantly, you turned slightly away from him before laying back and resting against his shoulder. It took a few seconds of shifting, but before long, you were in the perfect position. Your eyes began to droop immediately. As if you were made to sleep in this exact spot. 

“All comfy?” He asked, voice gentle. “Need me to move at all?” You shook your head, eyes still glued closed as you could feel your body begin to properly relax

“This is perfect.”

Within the hour, the rest of the team made their way back to the coach. Upon entry, they found the both of you still sleeping. You were still in the same position you had been in the entire time, but now Jamie was asleep as well. His head was resting atop your own, his arm appearing to be across your back with his hand on your hip. They all quietly made their way to their seats, but obviously not before snapping a few pictures, first.

[iknowsescapingjourneys]

Synopsis: Being in love with Coriolanus Snow is putting her life in his hands. She trusts he'll treat it kindly. She trusts wrong.

aka: reader has hanahaki disease for a man she's not sure is even capable of having feelings.

Pairing: Coriolanus Snow x Reader ; third person perspective

Words: 5.7k

18+, mdni

tw: author's first smut, brief mentions of vomiting, suffocation, mentions of blood, unrequited love, death, angst, handjobs, oral (male receiving), headpushing, minor humiliation, nipple play, nonconsensual oral (female receiving) if you squint (reader gets overstimulated and wants to stop, coryo doesn't), piv, unprotected sex, creampie, minor orgasm denial

a/n: please let me know how this is, i have never written smut in my life but this man deserved it.

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Roses.

What a lovely flower. The overlapping intricacies of the petals, the meadow honey musk that filled the air in their presence. The romantic connotations. The connotation to him.

What a lovely flower indeed.

She’d found they were awfully persistent too. Her knees were raw and red from the recurrent contact on the cold marble floors of the Academy bathroom. Bloodied petals littered the water of the gaudy gold toilet bowl, an attempt of the Capitol’s to show off wealth they’d only just regained after the war.

Her trembling frame lurched forward once more with another fit of coughs mixed with the sickening feeling of needing to vomit. She was well aware that nothing from any of her meals would find their way back up, but the nauseousness in and of itself was enough to find herself desperately wishing the agonizingly long school day would be over. More than anything she wanted to curl into her plush mattress and excessive amount of blankets and drift off to a slumber full of dreams of a better life.

Maybe a life where she wasn’t plagued by unrequited love. Crushes, she’d dealt with. She wasn’t exactly used to rejection, but she was certainly able to realize when she wasn’t someone’s cup of tea and excuse herself. Crushes weren’t the same thing as being in love though. That was something she was well aware of.

To fall in love was to put your life into another person’s hands. In fate’s hands, even. A good person would cherish and appreciate the paramount responsibility that had been placed upon them and do anything in their power to ensure that no harm was caused. Unfortunately, even the best of people can’t compel themselves to truly love someone that they don’t harbor genuine feelings for.

So in the grand scheme of things, all she could really do was force the remaining petals up her throat and into the water below her tear streaked face, rise to her feet, and flush the toilet on the way out of the stall. She stopped for a moment when she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror, drudging forward until she was face to face with herself.

She wasn’t sure if she still recognized that woman. The dark circles under her eyes, the smear of red at the corner of her lips. The light in her eyes drained to a pitiful dullness. She turns the sink on, wetting her thumb and dragging it along the corner of her mouth. At least that was something she could fix.

Her hands smoothed out the skirt of her uniform, and she did an unsteady spin in front of the large mirror to ensure that she was looking, at the very least, presentable. When she was tolerant of her appearance, she pushed the large wood door open, scampering back into the hallway and back to a class she hadn’t been able to focus on for the last week and a half.

A dozen eyes flickered to her face when she came in through the side entrance, though she found only one lingered on her after all the others had returned to the papers on their desk.

There was an entire ocean in that gaze. An entire sky. The entirety of the very planet they stood on swirled in the orbs that followed her from the door to her seat. His thin lips curled into a polite smile and she felt her heart skip a beat, accompanied by that ever familiar itch in her throat. She pressed the back of a shaky hand to her lips and muffled a cough, hoping to ease the feeling.

Coriolanus Snow was beauty incarnate. Platinum blond curls that fell in his face when he was deep in thought, sharp features that softened when he spoke about something that excited him, and those eyes. She could get lost in them. Some days she was sure she already had.

Ever perceptive, she watched as the blond cocked an eyebrow at her, a silent question. She waved him off with a less than convincing hand movement, which only caused him to cock his eyebrow higher.

Her second attempt was slightly more convincing with a jesty eye roll and a significantly more convincing wave of her hand, which she’d finally managed to subdue the shakiness in.

Still, it was no surprise that when the class had been dismissed and she’d finished collecting her things, Coriolanus was waiting outside of the classroom for her. His large hand found the small of her back, easily guiding her into the divot between a classroom and the hallway. She shuddered as the pad of his thumb brushed against the corner of her lip, the feeling quickly bringing on a coughing fit she had to turn away from him to subdue.

“You’d flounder as an actress.” His voice fills the air, and her body stiffens. He was far from stupid, and she’d known that from the beginning. Still, she’d thought at this point that she was doing well enough to hide it so that she’d be able to finish out the school year.

She turned to him, heart so far into her stomach that she could feel it thudding there, only adding to the nauseousness that was flooding her system once more.

“I never claimed to be a good liar.” She responds, her eyes falling to the crimson liquid pooled on his thumb. Delightful.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” He asks, taking a step forward, and she takes a step back on instinct. The muscles in his arm flex like he’s holding himself back from doing something, and she finds herself wishing he’d either touch her or go the fuck away.

There’s a tone to his voice that she doesn’t quite recognize. It’s certainly not loving, but it’s not feeling like rejection either. She tries to clear her throat, (easier said than done), before she croaks out, “I didn’t think you’d want anything to do with me.”

To be fair, her reluctance doesn’t come from any form of self depreciation. She knew Coriolanus though, and she knew that in the entirety of the time she’d known him, he’d never shown interest in any of their fellow classmates. He always seemed too busy to bother with the base instincts of attraction. There had even been a rumor at one point that the Snow heir had been asexual, far too logical to indulge in senseless behaviors such as romance.

His voice dips lower for a moment, “Assumptions are rarely beneficial.” The words come out in a drawl, or at least, they replay in her head that way. He takes another step forward and her back hits the walls roughly, unaware that she’d run out of space.

“Let me walk you home. We can talk about this more in private.” He offers his hand, long nimble fingers stretched out in a proposition. She takes it carefully, each one of her manicured fingers individually slotting themselves between his. The feeling sends warmth through her frame, spreading out through each and every nerve in her body. She finds herself squeezing it idly, almost in an attempt to reassure herself that the events were grounded in reality. When he squeezes her smaller hand back, she allows some of the tension to flood from her body.

Coriolanus is nothing short of a gentleman the entire walk home. He opens the doors for her, walks on the side of the sidewalk nearest the road, and pulls her closer when they walk past a group of men that he surmises makes her uncomfortable. Her heart pounds so wildly that she makes him stop halfway to her family home so that can clear her throat of the abundance of silky petals that had jammed themselves in the soft tissue.

She’s surprised at how gentle he is with her, the way his hands collect her hair and hold it out of her face, how his free one strokes up and down her back to comfort her. She has to stop him despite her appreciation when it only causes more coughing.

It’s not unusual when she finds her home empty when they finally arrive. Her parents, ever busy people, tended to not return until sometime in the late evening when her mother would throw a meal she’d prepared into the oven, and they’d have a silent and often uncomfortable family dinner. A true Capitol tradition, if her friend’s accounts were to be believed. She found herself wondering if anyone in the “happiest place in Panem” actually even liked each other.

When she wiped her lips and felt the sticky, hot blood transfer to the back of her hand, she was reminded of why so many affluent names might stifle those emotions.

“Can I get you anything? A water? Some apple juice?” She knew that was showing off by her offer of fruit juice, still such a scarcity in the Capitol. Agriculture had been hit hard in the war. But Coriolanus was in her home, and she was going to pull out all of the stops.

His lips twitched up into a smile, and her heart fluttered once again. “Water is fine. I won’t waste your delicacies.” He responds modestly, and she’s reminded again of what a gentleman he is. She knew that her parents would approve. Now she just needed to play her cards right. Nothing in the world sounded quite as sweet as being paraded on the arm of the young man of Snow.

She happily pours him a glass of water, the thick engravings of their family crest sparkling in the ray of sunshine that slipped through the silk curtains. Wealth was something her family far from lacked.

Love, however, was scarce.

She hoists herself onto the marble counters, watching him as he sips from the glass. She can’t help but to think to herself that she could sit here for the eternity of the day, watching his lips part around the cup and his Adam's apple bob with each sip.

The silence should be awkward, and she worries that it is for him, but she finds herself woefully unable to figure out where to begin a conversation like this. She lets out a breath of relief she hadn’t even realized she’d been holding when he rises to his feet, sets the water on the dining room table, and begins speaking for her.

“I’m astounded that someone as beautiful as you could be fearful that a man would not reciprocate their feelings.” He says, and his voice is so hushed and he’s suddenly so close to her that she can feel her throat close up in a mix of anxiety and absolute and utter infatuation.

“You always seemed so preoccupied and I feared that perhaps romance was something that didn’t cross your mind, and-” She cut herself off when she realized she was blabbering on, the words dying suddenly in her throat. She feels like a fool around him, as if her brain is no longer connected to her mouth. She’s convinced something in him causes her entire body to short circuit.

“No one else seemed worthy of distraction.” He replies when the silence hangs in the air for a moment too long, and she’s thankful for the words, not just because of the way they make her heart swell and her limbs feel electric, but also because it gives her a moment to regain her footing instead of opening her mouth just to verbally tumble around the floor once more.

“I’m nothing special,” She replies humbly, her eyes trailing to the floor. It was not as if this was her first time being courted, but it was certainly the first time she felt inclined to accept. Still, she knew there was a game to be played here. Everything in the Capitol seemed to be a game of some sort.

“You can skip the modesties with me,” He begins, lithe fingers reaching forward and gripping her chin softly, forcing her eyes to his. She found herself getting lost in the oceanic pools once more. “I can see right through them. I much prefer honesty.” He finishes his thought with a finality that cuts her denial from her lips before she can even speak it.

“May I kiss you?” He asks before she can even right herself on this new playing ground, but after a moment, she nods, stricken wordless even further. He wastes no time in pressing his lips to hers, and she finds that he’s not nearly as gentle as she would have imagined. His lips are forceful and she’s jolted back slightly by the force. In response to this, his hands find her hips, fleshy and pliable, and he pulls her forward again, devouring her whole. There is no fighting for dominance, she needs no verbal cues to know it would be pointless. Despite this being her confession, she is clearly no longer the one in charge.

The room seems to be spinning for a moment as her brain struggles to catch up to the rushed intimacy, and when she finally regains her footing, her hands desperately reach out for his broad shoulders, digging into the red wool of his Academy jacket. He peels himself away from her to shrug it off of his shoulders, letting it pool on the kitchen floor beneath their feet. He stares at her face for a moment, stroking his thumb along her flushed bottom lip, and she parts them instinctively.

He falters for a moment before he shoves the digit into her mouth, stroking across her tongue. Her lips seal around the digit, her tongue moving to explore every centimeter of his salty skin. Coriolanus grunts at the sensation, his eyes flickering back and forth between her lips and her eyes, shifting slightly to accommodate the tightening in the front of his pants.

Emboldened by his response, she eagerly sucks at the pollex, letting her eyes fall until half-lidded, imitating acts she was sure they’d find themselves in relatively soon.

With more restraint than she’d previously given him credit for, he pulls his thumb from her lips and dives back down to encapture them once more, bending and molding her until she’s not sure where she ends and he begins. Her teeth clash against his once and he grunts at the unpleasant feeling, his hand moving to her jaw and keeping her steady as to ensure that he could take what he wanted without her petulant, inexperienced movements.

His roughness is unprecedented, so unlike the gentle hesitant touches from any of her prior romances. She finds it’s not unpleasant, though slightly surprising. The unfamiliarity of it doesn’t stop the heat that continues to pool between her thighs, especially when his pearly white canines sink into her bottom lip, drawing a cry from her throat before her brain has even finished fully processing the feeling.

The residual stinging was clue enough of a puncture in the sheer skin, only proven further when he pulls away and the carmine fluid has tinted his teeth. His pink tongue glides over them effortlessly, and her mouth falls agape slightly when his azure eyes flutter shut and he groans at the taste, his hips stuttering forward just enough to catch her attention.

It’s clear he’s growing impatient with the lack of true intimacy, especially when he wraps a hand in her hair, guiding her roughly to the tiled floor in front of him. She resists slightly as her bottom slips from the high counter, and as a result, she hits the ground rougher than she’d intended.

He seems to find it no priority to ensure she’s okay, instead spending the time eagerly pushing down the flowing kilt like fabric of his uniform, followed by the slacks beneath them. His eager cock twitched behind the cotton fabric of his briefs, and despite her discomfort on the way down to her resting place, she finds herself reaching out wantonly, her hand trailing over the thick outline in the fabric.

The man above her sucks in a choked breath at the sensation, and it encourages her to continue on. She crawls forward on the cold floors, her fingers hooking into the elastic waistband and helping the fabric bunch at his knees where the rest of his clothing resided. His cock sprung up, heavy and leaking, hitting his stomach and leaving a smear of precum on the blue undershirt of his uniform.

She reaches up, hand curling around the velvety length, solid and hard at its core but oh so soft and smooth as her hand glides along the skin. She pulls her hand back, spitting on it eagerly. Saliva runs down her chin slightly, but she finds it easy to ignore as she slathers the makeshift lube over his erection.

“Fuck, darling.” He hisses, and she finds herself wondering if the exclamation is at the sensation or at her eagerness. She decides she won’t deprive him of either, just in case. Her hand slides up and down his dripping cock, collecting what she can of the precum droplets pooling on top to help the slickness of her ministrations. When she finds there’s no resistance to her movements, she tightens her fist around him, speeding up the strokes around his velvety shaft. His hips stutter a few times in an attempt to find her rhythm before he’s fucking her hand, hunched over as his nails dig into the thick fabric of her jacket. Every jut of his hips pulls a soft grunt from his lips, his eyes falling closed as he enjoys the pleasure that she’s happy to give him.

When she’s sure he’s sufficiently hard, and his length is throbbing eagerly in her soft palm, she gently pulls her hand back. His hips thrust into the empty air once before he realizes she’s not got her hand curled around him anymore, and he whines, oh god, he whines, at the loss of contact. The noise sends heat directly between her legs and she unconsciously shifts in an attempt to lessen the sudden increase in pressure.

She eagerly sits up on her haunches, sticking her tongue out as far as she can as she moves forward, letting the heaviness of his cock rest on the pink muscle. His fingers curl in her hair and attempt to guide her forward, but she glances up at him with a look of warning, pressing gently into his hip bone to keep him from sliding any deeper. She was going at her pace, and he’d find a way to respect that.

She slowly dips her head further down his shaft, taking him in centimeter by painfully slow centimeter as his nails dig into her scalp punishingly. She finds his lack of patience almost comical in a way. How a man so poised and level headed in most circumstances can be brought to primal nature by the minutest amount of pleasure. A man is a man, after all.

It doesn’t take long for her to crave more from him, desperate to see him crumble at her hands. He’s so incredibly prepossessing, and she finds that this is better than anything her clearly uninventive mind could have conquered up. The way his blond curls cling to his forehead encourages her further, and she wraps her hand around the base of his dick to ensure she doesn’t get too eager and choke herself on his length. Her cheeks hollow when she begins to bob her head, spit quickly budding on the edges of her lips. Coriolanus groans above her, his grip growing tighter in her hair. Her eyes widen when his hips snap forward, her lips meeting her wrapped hand in less than a second. She gags suddenly, hints of sickness swirling in her stomach as tears prick her eyes. His cock twitches in her throat, and she notices the way the veins in his wrist bulge with how roughly he’s gripping onto her.

She’s just managing to gather her bearings when his patience seems to fade completely, and his hands move to the back of her head, shoving her hand away from his shaft before thrusting forward once more, her nose pressing into the course curls of his pubes. Her stomach heaves and she struggles to swallow down the much stronger surge of nausea. He wastes no time in pulling himself back out until his tip brushes against the inside of her lips before he’s back down her throat once more.

He leans over her, the tight V of his adonis belt pressed into her forehead as one of his hands rests on her shoulder to keep him upright. His groans fill the air around them, accompanied by the noise of her gagging around his cock with each thrust. Spittle drips down her chin, dirtying her uniform. She has no time to swallow any of it, instead focusing on staying alive as she’s used as a living sex toy.

“Such a pretty mouth, baby. You’re doing such a good job,” Coriolanus chokes out between licentious groans, and just that smallest amount of praise seems to make his rough treatment that much easier to handle. His dick leaps in her mouth, once, twice, and then he’s pulling out of her mouth, his hand wrapping around the base of his shaft so tightly that she watches as the color drains from his fingers. He leaks precum so heavily that it drips to her tiled floor, and a few moments later, when he seems to have effectively staved off his impending orgasm, he pushes her head down towards it.

She cocks an eyebrow, looking up at him in confusion. “Lick it up, doll. Don’t want any of it to go to waste.” He smirks, shoving her head down once again. Her face blossoms into a blush, humiliated by the thought of licking something off the floor like a pitiful dog, but she leans down, pink tongue dragging across the porcelain flooring. The thick liquid is salty and clings to her tongue, lingering behind no matter how many times she attempts to swallow it down.

His fingers grip her chin gently, a sharp contrast to the way his hips brutalized her mouth moments before, and tilts her face up. Her eyes meet his icy orbs, and his lips curl into a soft smile. “What a good girl. So obedient.” He hums, and her dripping cunt clenches around nothing.

“Let’s get you undressed, hm?” He supplicates, and she nods, swallowing heavily, the saliva soothing her sore throat as he helps her to her feet, guiding her until her back hits the closest wall. He guides her jacket off her shoulders, letting it fall to the floor in the pile with his. His agile fingers easily undo the buttons of her shirt, and his head dips down, placing kisses on each expanse of newly exposed skin.

When the final button is undone, the fabric bunched up around her arms, he shoves it away eagerly. Her bra is unclasped with such ease that she has no doubts that he has some form of experience with them, and the realization causes a confusing heaviness in her chest. She does her best to shove it down, especially when his pale lips find the soft flesh of her breast, white teeth nipping hard enough that it draws a yelp from her. He quickly drags his tongue along the reddening flesh before his lips suction around it, sucking harshly. She writhes between him, pleasure blossoming in her lower stomach. Her pussy throbs needily, soaking the pink cotton underwear hidden beneath her skirt.

His nose drags against her sensitive skin as he makes his way down to her nipple, the bud already hardened by her arousal and the cool air. His tongue brushes against her and her back arches slightly, her mouth falling open in a soft whimper. She opens her mouth to implore him to continue, but before words can even fall from her lips, he’s picking her up, carrying her back over to the counter, settling her on it before his large hands drag her pants down her legs, growling under his breath slightly as they get stuck on her shoes, impatiently tugging until both her shoes and burgundy pants fly halfway across the room. He doesn’t even bother with her skirt, simply shoving it up until it bundles around her stomach.

She bashfully closes her legs, embarrassed of the slick arousal that’s soaked a nearly transparent oval into the crotch of her panties. Snow’s lips turn down at the corners, glancing up to meet her eyes before he’s pulling her thighs apart, his tongue running across his bottom lip as he takes in the sight. He runs a finger down the front of her underwear and she squirms, her canines biting into the soft skin of her bottom lip.

He shoves her panties to the side, exposing her glistening cunt to him. He groans deep in his throat, his head falling forward slightly. “Shit, darling, all this for me?” His voice is deeper than she’d ever recalled hearing it, and it only serves to get her more excited, legs spreading slightly wider to give him a better view. He whistles lowly, a seductive grin climbing his lips before his hands find her thighs, pushing them even further apart as he leans down towards her. His tongue meets her clit immediately and she jolts slightly, the sudden, intense pleasure too much to handle right off the bat. Her reaction only seems to fuel his enthusiasm, and he begins to lap at her bundle of nerves like a dehydrated dog. She undulates frantically, attempting to escape further up the counter but held in place by his strong hands. The sensation is overstimulating, overwhelming, far too much far too fast.

“C-Co-Coryo!” She cries, tears beginning to bud in her eyes as she writhes in desperation. Her hands shove at his head, trying to push him off. His gorgeous blue eyes glint as he stares up at her, taking in every movement, every reaction. He doesn’t stop, doesn’t even slow down. If anything, his grip tightens on her legs, delving further into her sopping heat.

The coil in her stomach tightens in a way that’s so intense that it hurts, her legs shaking as he continues to eat her out like it’s the last meal he’ll ever have in his life. Her vision goes black when his lips wrap around her clit and his lips form a suction that’s so pleasurable that she sees stars, and she’s not entirely sure she hasn’t died on the spot. Her hips jerk uncontrollably, her protests devolving into nothing but incoherent babbling as she orgasms so violently that it genuinely hurts more than it brings her pleasure. She doesn’t even realize she’d been crying until she’s in a coherent mindset again and finds that her cheeks and neck are drenched in the evidence of just how overstimulating his mouth had been.

In the time it had taken her to come back to some semblance of reality, Coriolanus had already spread her juices over his dick, the angry red cockhead and shaft glistening in her arousal as his hand pumped over it a final few times.

“You ready, pretty girl? I know you’re gonna take my cock so well.” He purrs, his lips still glistening with her fluids. She jolts slightly when his tip rubs against her entrance, her pussy sore and overwhelmed from his onslaught. The hand not guiding his cock presses into her lower stomach, keeping her stationary as he presses into her, her cunt clenching around him so tightly that she’s not even sure he’ll be able to stuff himself inside her.

His head falls forward, chin to chest as a strangled noise leaves his lips, and she watches as his knees buckle for just a moment. “You didn’t warn me you were so fucking tight.” He grunts, his eyelids fluttering as he struggles to gain control of himself. His hips snap forward in one, swift movement, and her fingers find the edge of the counter, a scream ripped from her lips. His palm covers her mouth quickly, his lips finding the shell of her ear as he shushes her, stilling as deep inside her as he can.

“It’s okay, baby. Just gonna hurt for a second. It’s okay.” He comforts, or attempts to, and she finds herself brought to the brink of tears for the third time during their encounter. She struggles to control her breathing, her toes curled tightly in an attempt to distract from the pain.

His impatience blossoms again, and rather than waiting for any semblance of approval from her, he waits until he’s no longer at risk of blowing his load like a preteen boy before he pulls out to the very tip, thrusting himself back into her roughly. She cries out in discomfort, but it seems the two noises sound similar enough for him to take the noise as assent.

He ruts into her with such force that her breasts bounce with each thrust, slapping against her skin roughly. Each time his cock sinks into her wet cunt, he lets out a strangled grunt, ever vocal of the pleasure her body supplied him with. One of his hands travels down her leg, gripping onto her calf. He forces it up and back up into the air, the angle letting his girthy cock press even deeper into her. His nails dig halfmoon circles into the soft flesh, marking her up. Pleasure begins to wind in her stomach as the pain subsides, and she whines wantonly, her forearms shaky as they pressed into the granite counter tops, keeping her upper body raised.

It’s barely been three minutes but she can already feel his cock twitching inside of her as his thrusts lose their rhythm, falling into a directionless pounding of his hips into hers. His breath comes out in pants, his free hand grabbing at any part of her he can reach, squeezing and groping her needily.

“Gonna… fucking hell, dar-ling, gonna cum for you.” He rasped, and not a second later, his hips stuttered as his cock pulsed inside her. She could feel each twitch of his fill her up with rope after rope of hot cum, the warmth radiating from inside of her before beginning to pour out of her aching hole, pooling on the counter below her. He stays inside her for a moment, hips pressed into hers before he slowly withdraws his cock, shuddering as the head slides out of her cunt. His eyes immediately fall to the combination of their fluids beneath her, and he collects them on her fingers, trailing them back up her sopping pussy before shoving it back inside her. She can feel the kindlings of pleasure die in her stomach, forgotten and discarded.

He pulls his fingers away, wiping them on her thigh before pressing a chaste kiss to her sweaty forehead. He helps her down from the counter before beginning to collect his clothing, redressing in a way that settles an unwelcome feeling of rejection in her stomach. “Are you leaving?” She questions softly, and he turns to her, a soft smile tugging at his lips.

“I have a project due, doll. Surely you understand.” He replies in a tone that she can tell should have been reassuring but was decidedly not. “Of course.” She swallows roughly, giving a polite nod of her head as he grabs his bag from her kitchen table. She pulls her clothes on with the unsteadiness of a baby deer, watching him collect his things as if nothing had happened.

“I’ll see you tomorrow then?” She asks, looking up at him pleadingly. He places a kiss on her cheek, running fingers through her messy hair. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world.” He replies before he’s out the door and heading in the direction of the Corso.

The relief from impending death doesn’t feel as good as she’d imagined. Requited love feels like soreness between her legs and a heaviness in her chest. She chokes down the feelings, busying herself in cleaning up the kitchen. Her parents would be the cause of her untimely death if they found what she’d done.

She finds that despite the sun being out, she’s dreadfully tired. She vows to wake up early in the morning to finish her homework, and stalks up to her bedroom, burying herself in the plush sheets of her overly expensive bed. She doesn’t know when she starts crying, but she knows it doesn’t end until she’s exhausted herself asleep.

_________________ ✾✾✾ _________________

She’s startled awake gasping for air. It doesn’t matter how many times her mouth opens, she can’t suck in air. She flails frantically, falling off the side of her bed with a thud on the carpeted floor. She wrestles with the blankets, suddenly killer constrictors. Panic rises in her chest, and she coughs, swallows, heaves frenetically. She crawls, hands and knees to the in suite bathroom, hunched over the toilet.

She shoves her fingers into her mouth, desperately attempting to clear her airways. It triggers her gag reflex but nothing comes up. Her stomach heaves, tears streaming down her face. She can see the darkness of death begin to seep into the corners of her vision. She tries to scream but the sound dies in her throat with her breath.

She continues to shove her fingers down her throat, increasingly frantic as she feels herself growing weak at the lack of oxygen. She heaves again, and finally, she feels the object loosen. Her fingers brush against it the next time she shoves her fingers down, and finally, she gets it up, accompanied by such an excess of blood that she’s not sure how she’s still somewhat upright.

Lying in that puddle of blood is a full rose, stem and all. The thin stalk of the flower is littered in thorns, the petals covered in droplets of crimson liquid. She doesn’t understand. This should have been over. He’d loved her back.

Her hands move to her throat suddenly, the suffocating feeling returning. Her hands clench into fists, pounding on the granite flooring. She knows this one isn’t coming up.

She finds that more than anything, she’s tired. She curls up on the cold floor, fingers curling around the rose. Her cheek presses into the warm puddle of her own blood. The thorns on the rose draw more from her shaking hand. Coriolanus Snow was just like his roses - beautiful.

Beauty - a deceitful bait with a deadly hook.

[elvisalltheway101]

——𝔹𝕒𝕓𝕪, 𝕥𝕒𝕜𝕖 𝕚𝕥 𝕒𝕤 𝕚𝕥 𝕚𝕤——

Summary: Reader and Rodrick want to explore in the bedroom…seems like we’ve got a new favorite, folks?

Author’s note: OKAY SO. Literally, how the fuck did Rodrick pop the hell back into my life? Well…I was cleaning out my attic and I literally found dvds of diary of the wimpy kid and decided to watch them. Not knowing, I would fall back in love with him again- So, I decided to just explore and such and here I am, going to write my first smut about Rodrick Heffley.

Author ain’t gon shut up yet: Also all thank yous’ and appreciation to @coveredinsoot for inspiring me with their very inspirational post about their personal thoughts on Rodrick being submissive🤭. So thank you!

warnings: submissive rodrick heffley, edging (male receiving), slight dacryphilia (?), uncut cock, orgasm denial, dominant reader, blow job, hand job, hm…that’s bout it. Oh and it’s not proofread…like I said this is my first time writing smut, so like…cut me some slack 😭🙏

mwah, enjoy!

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Crawling over and plopping down next to him, in your light purple pajama set. You slide your hands up his chest, resting your chin on his shoulder and looking up at him with a sigh. So pretty, his hair tossled and messy, and his eyes closed in thoughts, while humming, and tapping his fingers on his tummy.

“Whatcha humming?” Y/N asks, dancing and gliding the tip of her fingers up his belly, watching his tummy heave and his muscles tighten.

“I-I’m just tryna create a new band song,” he sighs out and glances down at your fingers that trace down further and tickle gently against his happy trail.

“What are you doing?” He breathes out and props himself on his elbows. His eyes trail down and watch, and you can’t help but look into his eyes smeared with eyeliner that’s behind those bangs. Y/N giggles and shrugs, while also slowly and gently moving to settle between his legs. A fine seating or pillow to lay for sure, as she plants her hands on his thighs, parting them. Her eyes trailing from his eyes and face, to his chest that rises and falls in excitement and slight nervousness, then to his lower belly. His lower belly that shows beautiful hair in a straight line, that proves his physical maturity and only leads to the goods, his happy trail.

“Look…I-I wanna try something new, okay? I won’t say anything other than that, so if you’re uncomfortable about anything with it. Tell me, hm?” Y/N speaks out in a smooth, quiet tone, then leaning down to place a reassuring kiss on his waist. Rodrick nods slowly, biting his bottom plump lip, waiting.

Wanting to take it slow, you hook your fingers to the waistband of his pajama shorts, and dragging them down his long legs. Ending with a soft thud to the floor, you snuggle back into the nest you’ve stationed yourself between his legs. Now, your eye to eye with his dark red boxers, only hearing your soft, calm breathing and his heavy ones. Y/N leans down to press a firm kiss to his bulge, tucked in along with his right leg. That earns a groan, his legs squirming slightly as he buries his face into his elbow.

Your eyes widen when you pull back from the intimate kiss, his length partially hard was now stiff. You smirk to yourself, glancing up to search for any discomfort in his actions but only seeing his pouty lips glistening in his saliva, and his arm draped over his red blushed face. You then hook your fingers into his boxers waistband and slide it down. Your eyes don’t meet just yet with his manhood, since you followed the boxers until it met with other clothing on his bedroom floor. Finally picking up your eyes, you see him in all his glory, also hearing a sigh of relief leave his lips:

His long length of his uncut manhood lays heavily on his lap, the tip a pretty red that rests onto his pretty dark and curly patch of pubic hair and hides under his foreskin. He looks like breakfast, lunch, dinner in one, only waiting for desert. Trailing your eyes down, you see the fleshy length that follows, his long manhood such a beautiful pink, with outlines of such sensitive veins. Then to be topped off, or down I must say, his pretty sacks that hang and rest tightly to him.

You don’t realize that with every second that passes on, he twitches slightly under your gaze, his lower belly taking shallow breaths as you can see his thighs tighten also.

“Please…touch me.” His nearly whines in a huff and rough voice. You smile gently, happily obliging as you reach up and gently take hold of his firm length. He lets out a hum of satisfaction, before you swipe your thumb against his tip, gently pulling down his foreskin. He gasps, hips suddenly bucking up into your fist, while his hands fly to the sheets and ball them into his clenched fists. His tip becomes shiny with little precum that builds at the top. You can help but smirk and place a gentle, patient hand on his hip that calms and steadies him. His breathing is already heavy as it is, and his belly tightens and relaxes, over and over again in rhythm with his breathing.

Then you begin, your hand wrapped around his penis, moves ever so gently up and down. Slight flicks and twists of your wrist has him a soft moaning mess underneath you. One of his hands come flying to the headboard behind him, squeezing tightly at it regime his other hand moves to squeeze your shoulder.

More precum builds, glistening down his shaft and then his thighs clench and tighten around you. You use his arousal as a lubricant, sliding with ease, as you look up and see the familiar facial expression that is written all over. With gritted teeth, his eyes closed in concentration and such pleasure, and the bangs that stick to his sweaty forehead…you know he’s at his peak.

Quickly pulling your hand away to squeeze his thigh, his eyes shoot open wide with confusion. “B-baby, w-what?” He stutters out, twitching pathetically underneath your chin. You don’t answer, as you then lean down to drag your hot wet tongue firm against his sensitive tip. He throws his head back, and you hear his beautiful songs, such pretty sounds. Only for you. His hips dare to dive in deeper between your hips, but you place your hands hard and stern to still them. He lets out a whine and has both hands to his headboard, squeezing so tightly to it. Here’s a beautiful sight really, he lays here so prettily in all his glory, his sharp jaw is pointed up, as his Adam’s apple bobs up and down with each swallow of air he takes, and his chest and belly dip up and down in heavy breaths.

You lower your mouth, taking more of his fleshy manhood that prods at the back of your throat. Your eyes glossy with tears that come by gag reflex, but you ignore it all, only swallowing your saliva. This drives him insane, a high, loud moan erupts from him, and his eyes are squeezed so tightly. It feels so so good. His warm precum builds and runs down your throat, as he then pulls himself to his hands. Placing them steadily as his jaw drops, and his head hangs as his chest rises and falls fast as a shooting star.

Once again, you pull away.

He whines and gasps, looking down at you. Your gorgeous sight, that hovers over his cock that’s wet and shiny from your saliva. His tip is a furious red, and his penis twitches ever so much…in need of a release. He pouts his lips, and looks into your eyes as tears of frustration build up and blurry his vision. He darts out his tongue to wet his dry lips and he furrows his eyebrows.

“Baby, p-please. I-it’s hurting, I-I need to, ah god. Please, please.” He whimpers, as his fingers dig into the sheets and his hips drive up for any friction that will help relieve him. It’s no use though, his glistening hard, angry cock slightly just wags back and forth, too hard and firm to even move by now, and his ball sacks so tightly to him. His thighs tremble and he sniffles, tears running down his face.

“Baby, take it as it is.” Is all you say before diving back, putting your hot pink muscle against his sensitive tip, and then taking him all the way. Shoving him so deep down your throat, that he nearly screams in pleasure, balling the sheets tightly in his hands. He takes short gasps as he throws his head back. Your hand goes to cup gently his testicles, and then you pull back once more with a “pop” sound.

He gasps and bites roughly at his lip, then dipping his head back to down to meet your eyes. You raise your chin, while moving your fist along his length, and meet his glossy windows to the soul.

“Y/N, please, please, please. I-I can’t take it anymore. It hurts bad, fuck!” He cries out, and he feels more pity for himself as he watches his cock peek out and back into your fist. Tears swell into his eyes, running down fast on his cheeks, pouty lips and furrowed brows. So red, nearly purple, and desperate for a release. Desperate for just a little taste out of this sexual torture.

You sigh and nod, then dipping your head down to kiss tenderly each thigh and then sitting up. “Okay baby, you can let yourself go.” You say reassuringly, then picking up the pace of your fist, and squeezing almost at his cock.

He gasps out of relief, with such a huge grin and bites his lip, throwing his head back and biting his lip harshly. He bucks his hips into your fist, and you travel your free hand to cup and squeeze softly at his sacks that has your desert. What you’ve both been waiting for. You then place hot kisses on his tip, so angry and frustrated, dragging your tongue across. You only suck on his tip, salty drops of precum floods onto your tongue. He moans and nods vigorously, as your loose hair tickles his inner thighs. Then you swallow around him, squeezing his cock into your hand, and pressing gently on his ball sack.

Driving him over the edge, he grunts and lets out a cry of raw pleasure. Diving his hips and shoving him all into your mouth, his sacks of sperm hits against your chin wetly and sloppily. He lets out a long sigh and breathy moan, as his hot strings of salty cum coat your tongue and the back of your throat. You swallow happily, pulling away and wiping your lips with the back of your hand. You smile and can’t help but giggle at the sloppy mess beneath you:

He lays back catching his breath, while his slowly softening manhood rests against his now damp from sweat dark curls of hair, little spurts of his remaining sperm add to the hot mess. You hum and smile, leaning up to plant a proud kiss to his chin.

“You did so good, Baby. I’m proud of you.”

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That’s it!

tagging: @coveredinsoot bc it felt right too

[flowerandblood]

Glass Cuts Deepest (6)

[ professor! • Aemond x student! • female ]

[ warnings: kissing, fluff, angst, trauma, mention of rape, indecent student-teacher relationship ]

[ description: A female painting student is finally able to choose the specialisation she has dreamt of - stained glass. She wants to become a student of the best specialist in this field, but he, for some reason, refuses to accept female students into his workshop. She finds out that he once slapped a female student of one of the other professors. Nevertheless, she makes an attempt to find out what happened then and to convince him to teach her. Slow burn, sexual tension, dark, agressive Aemond, great childhood traumas. ]

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Previous and next chapters: Masterlist

_____

He felt like killing Cregan for suggesting in front of everyone that they should take Wright with them to install the stained glass windows instead of consulting him in private, putting him in a position where he couldn't disagree.

He knew he would be tense throughout their stay there because of her and was furious.

After Lyanna gave her testimony to the police along with the other girls who wanted to accuse Lannister of harassment and the statement she made, the professors who had not spoken to him in years suddenly began to approach him, offering to shake his hand in greeting.

He did not reciprocate their gestures.

No one asked him if he had a reason for doing what he did, no one was interested in his feelings then.

He did not need their pity now.

Lyanna after couple of days wrote him an e-mail saying that the charges had been filed, that she would tell the court about everything she saw, willing to take any punishment for not reacting then, and asked him if he would agree to testify to confirm their words.

He replied to her without any politeness, with only one word.

Yes.

He noticed something else and although he didn't want it to matter to him, he felt a tickle in his chest when he caught Wright glancing over her shoulder at him, that warmth again sounded in her greeting and farewell.

Looking at her, he felt the discomfort caused by how much he craved her good opinion, flocking to her like a moth to the light, tired and worn out, wanting at last to find a refuge somewhere.

He had the impression that the last years of his life had been a perpetual tossing in agony, a running to nowhere, feeling breathless and drained of strength, of emotion, so that the fact that he felt anything for her was something shocking, new, revealing to him.

He realised, albeit with a great deal of despair and denial, that she had aroused his affection.

That he wanted to get closer to her, although he didn't know how he was supposed to achieve this.

He didn't want to do it in a literal, physical way, but in a spiritual way.

A safe one.

One in which he could not be hurt.

Even so, these musings remained in his mind as he was unable to make anything out of himself or show anything, embarrassed by his thoughts and weakness, so everything was as it was before.

It was this realisation that made the thought of travelling in her company give him panic attacks − he didn't know himself what he wanted anymore, he didn't understand himself.

On top of that, he reminded himself all the time that she was his student, that he had stigmatised Jason for the same behaviour. He fell into state of depression and sadness explaining to himself that he had to focus on work and not on her.

The whole drive passed in general calm − he tried to concentrate on what Cregan was saying and on driving, refraining with poor effect from glancing in the mirror to see her face, sitting in the back behind them, gazing out of the window at the view.

He could feel the heat in his chest as he looked at her and knew that it was very, very bad.

When they arrived, unpacked and set off for the church he felt that perhaps everything would go without any problems, Cregan thankfully filling their space with his chatter made it bearable for all of them.

Once he had made sure that none of the stained glass quarters had been damaged in transit he decided that they could return to their hotel and after a little shopping each of them locked themselves in their rooms.

He couldn't sleep knowing she was in the room next door, in addition it was hot and he was wriggling in his bed.

He felt disgusted with himself, but he was also overcome by a kind of joy, because he thought he would never feel such a thing, especially for a woman.

Meanwhile, he was melting more and more each day at the sight of her, her understanding of his needs, her distance, her respect, her warmth made him feel safe around her − he knew she would never violate his space, that she would not judge him, even though he was such a wicked man.

He swallowed loudly at the thought that he was beginning to fear that he was falling in love with her.

It seemed tacky to him, a professor falling for his female student, all the inappropriateness of it which made it all the more exciting.

He figured that it probably wasn't about that after all.

It was about her way of being.

About who she chose to be.

When he looked at her, he felt like touching her.

Her cheek, her hand, her hair, without any subtext, just to see how soft her skin was, how she smelled, whether it felt good.

To rediscover the touch.

To make him no longer afraid of it.

He swallowed loudly at the thought that she would surely scold him if she heard what his thoughts sounded like.

He got up, deciding that he needed a cigarette because he wasn't going to fall asleep anyway, and walked out onto the balcony, sitting down comfortably.

He put the cigarette in his mouth and pressed the lighter to it, lighting it lazily from the flame that appeared in front of his face.

He took a drag and sighed heavily, letting the smoke out through his nose, looking at the night silhouette of the city around him.

He jumped up in his seat, shocked when he heard the sound of the door opening on the other side and noticed her head poking out towards him.

Her hair was loose.

As soon as she saw him, she immediately backed away, terrified.

"I'm sorry." She mumbled embarrassedly, and he moved restlessly in his chair, frowning his eyebrows, his heart pounding like mad.

"Stay. I'm finishing up anyway." He said lowly feeling how fast and anxious his breathing was, all tense, desperate.

Stay.

For a moment he heard no sound on the other side, but her balcony door remained open. She came out after a while − he swallowed loudly noticing her bare, slim legs.

She sat down quickly on the other side of the table, leaning against the backrest, looking out at the city, not at him, all tense.

He thought, taking another drag, feeling his hands tremble slightly, that he could just sit like that and stare at her for hours, admiring her from afar.

He could see that she felt uncomfortable, that the silence between them made her feel like an intruder after all, so with a light, casual movement of his hand, he moved the open pack of cigarettes towards her. She gave him a surprised look and shook her head.

They glanced at each other for a long moment, and he felt there was something in the air, some kind of tension that had been building between them for weeks.

He cocked his head, shaking the ash from his cigarette into the ashtray with his finger.

"Are you afraid of me?"

He saw her look at him, startled, moving restlessly in her seat and swallowed loudly.

"I'm not afraid. I just don't understand you, Professor." She said with some kind of weariness, lowering her gaze. He chuckled at her words, amused.

Interesting.

"And what is it you want to understand?" He asked defiantly, his cigarette burning slowly in his hand − he was focused on her response, uncertainty ran across her face, she pressed her lips together not knowing where to look.

"What has happened to you."

He felt his whole body suddenly tense up and he froze in mid-motion − he felt like his heart had stopped beating for a second. She glanced at him and turned pale, seeing the look on his face.

"Careful now. You're treading on thin ice." He said in a deep, cold voice, taking another drag, not taking his eyes off her, her bottom lip quivering in terror.

"Please. Please, sir, let me understand." She whispered softly, and he felt a squeeze in his heart.

He hesitated.

He didn't want to talk about it, but on the other hand he was eager to get closer to her, he wanted her to understand him.

He didn't want her pity, though, and usually that's what he got.

He decided that if he didn't tell her now, she would never be able to fully approach him.

The same invisible wall would remain between them.

He pressed the remnants of his cigarette to the ashtray, letting the smoke out through his nose.

"I was raped by a woman when I was 16."

He glanced at her reaction and saw exactly what he had feared.

She froze completely, drawing in the air in disbelief, her eyes big and terrified, her body beginning to shake. He clenched his jaw thinking of the scene she was about to make, of her crying and wailing over his sad fate, telling him it wasn't his fault, how sorry she was.

He didn't give a shit.

He didn't want her sympathy, her tears, her despair.

He wanted her.

He wanted to be a man in her eyes, not a victim.

He reached for another cigarette and slipped it into his mouth, lighting it with a nonchalant, light-hearted gesture, taking another drag, looking at her pityingly, seeing that she was in a decreasing state. He let the smoke out with a quiet hiss.

"It's a pity you can't see yourself. They should give a Nobel Peace Prize to every woman who looks at me like that when she learns about it." He murmured annoyed, taking another drag, looking at her with rage, feeling like telling her to pull herself together.

He saw tears run down her cheeks, her pink, full lips parted in an involuntary, accelerated, terrified breath. She wiped them away, but to no avail; she couldn't stop it apparently. He shook his head, sighing disapprovingly, tired.

"Always this crying." He muttered dryly, shaking off the ash into the ashtray with an impatient gesture of his finger.

He saw something flash across her face, some kind of pain, as if he had slapped her, and after a moment she stood and walked out, closing the door from her balcony behind her, leaving him alone.

He felt his heart pounding hard, looked towards her windows completely shocked.

This was something he hadn't expected.

He swallowed loudly, burning his cigarette quickly, immediately regretting what he had said, how he had reacted, recognising that he had asked too much of her, that he had told her something like that, and then humiliated her even though she had not said a word.

He made up his own mind about how she felt without asking her opinion, fearing that she would confirm his suspicions.

He stood up and ran a hand over his face, heartbroken, knowing he had screwed up. He walked to her balcony door and knocked on it, sighing loudly, massaging his forehead.

"Please, open. I'm sorry." He said in a tired, broken voice loud enough for her to hear him.

He shuddered as he heard movement on the other side − the door opened and she stood in front of him, closer than ever, looking at him with her face red and swollen from tears, her eyes full of pain, sadness and regret.

He knew he had hurt her and she had done nothing to deserve it.

He hurt her because he knew she couldn't be his.

He was punishing her for his own desperation.

He looked at her and couldn't get anything out of himself, his nose filled with her scent, again the same coconut shampoo he'd smelled when she'd first come to him. He felt a tickle in his fingertips, a warmth in his lower abdomen.

"I am not a good person. I do and say worse and worse things. I'm tired of myself and the people around me. I feel like I'm spiralling down and there's nothing I can do about it. I can't understand why you cared so much about me teaching you, but what I said just a moment ago was an expression of my pure cruelty." He said in despair, knowing that he had screwed up, that he was an aggressive, insane, broken man who had struggled for years with his trauma, which he could not overcome.

His mother never forgave herself for taking Alys on holiday with them back then − she didn't know what she was capable of and wanted to report it to the proper authorities immediately, but his father wouldn't allow any charges to be brought to the police.

He said they wouldn't prove anything against her in court anyway, and it would affect his future campaign for parliament badly.

Now, years later, he realised with painful disappointment that his father simply did not believe him at the time.

He did not have the heart to tell his already remorse-ridden mother that he was not coping, that therapy was not working.

For years she thought he had forgotten, that all was well, and when she found out he had hit a woman, she turned on him, saying that this was not how she had raised him, that he had gone from being a victim to being an abuser.

Her words completely devastated him and even though he knew he had done wrong, he cried like a baby all night after the phone call from her.

She was his only friend, his one confidant and she had left him.

He thought he deserved it.

She swallowed loudly at his words, lowering her gaze.

"I wanted to work with you because you are the best. Because you are to me the model of an artist, a hard-working man doing everything with care and attention to detail. I respect you very much in this regard, sir, and I try not to make you feel uncomfortable with me, although I am only now beginning to understand what this discomfort is caused by." She choked out with difficulty, looking at him with an understanding from which he grew hot.

She tried to comprehend him, not to judge him, not to reject him despite how he treated her, even though she had every right to do so.

She tried, and he did nothing to deserve it.

He didn't deserve that she stood in front of him and listened to him, didn't deserve that she changed her clothes before their class especially for him, that she was careful not to hurt him.

He swallowed loudly, feeling all-consuming shame, tears welling up in his eyelids as he looked at her.

He had a feeling she noticed it because her lips parted slightly, looking at him with concern.

He wanted to touch her.

For the first time since that day, he wanted to touch someone like that.

"Will you let me touch your cheek?" He whispered quietly, with shame, as if he had just told her his most disgusting hidden secret, more disgusting than rape, more disgusting than slapping his student.

Nothing seemed worse to him than the fact that he desired her.

He was sure she would look at him in disgust, that she would tell him it was inappropriate, ask him how could he propose such a thing, but she kept looking at him, something in her eyes that made him feel hot.

She nodded her head.

He stared at her in disbelief, not believing that she had agreed, that he was allowed to do such a thing.

He swallowed hard, lifting his trembling hand slowly and ran his fingertips lightly, gently, delicately over her tear-warm skin. He drew in a breath feeling how soft she was, how she sank under his touch.

He couldn't help himself and touched her again, his thumb trailed over her soft, wet lips and she sighed softly, her gaze warm, tender, misty.

"You are so beautiful." He whispered in pain, wanting her to understand what he felt, unable to muster any other confession, heartbroken at his weakness, his vulnerability, exposed to any hit from her, to any kind of rejection.

She blinked at his words and blushed in embarrassment, lowering her gaze for a moment, raising it again to his face, his fingers continued to stroke the soft skin of her cheek.

"You are beautiful too, sir." She whispered softly, and he felt heat spilling over his chest, his heart starting to pound like crazy at the thought that she was reciprocating his affection, that she had a weakness for him too.

He felt himself get completely hard at the thought and it terrified him.

He wasn't ready, he didn't know what he should do now.

He shuddered when he saw her raise her hand and quickly grabbed her wrist, scared, looking at her pleadingly.

"No. Don't touch me." He said quickly, breathing hard. "Please."

She lowered her hand, looking at him with worry and understanding, and he let her go, breathing unevenly, terrified and aroused at the same time, wanting only to stay with her, to be by her side, to sit beside her, to do anything as long as he could look at her.

"May I touch your hand?" She asked quietly, uncertainly, and he looked at her, fighting with himself, wanting it and not wanting it at the same time, afraid of what she wanted to do, what she was thinking about.

He nodded, deciding that he would trust her.

Her fingers slipped into his free hand and grasped it lightly, non-committally, leading him with her to her room.

He felt his heart pounding hard when he saw that she was leading him towards her bed and immediately panicked, knowing that he couldn't do this, that he didn't want to.

"I don't −" He began, and she let him go, sitting down on her bedding, extending her hand to him, looking at him with eyes that didn't show what he expected.

"I know. That's not what I want either." She whispered, and he felt immense relief, swallowing loudly, trying to relax.

That's not what I want either.

"Turn your back to me." He commanded, looking at her with his eyes wide open, breathing anxiously, wanting to make sure he was in control of what was happening, that she didn't suddenly touch him or make any violent gesture.

She obediently did as he asked, laying on her side with her back to him, her hair spread in disarray on the pillow around her head, her bare legs lying casually on top of each other.

He watched her figure for a moment, pulling off his shoes, and then carefully and slowly lay down behind her at a safe distance, smelling the intense scent of her shampoo and her shower lotion.

He swallowed loudly, unable to tear his gaze away from her hair, from how soft they looked, from how long he'd been thinking about what it would feel like to hold it between his fingers.

He licked his lips involuntarily at the thought.

"Can I touch your hair?" He whispered, feeling that it was immoral, perverted, but he couldn't help himself, being so close to her, his length pulsed hard in his trousers, demanding any form of intimacy with her, one that didn't threaten him.

He needed her.

He saw that she nodded, moving to arrange herself more comfortably, her chest rising and falling in accelerated breaths.

He lifted his hand and placed it on her head, then combed his fingers through her hair in a slow, unhurried motion.

With his movement, an even more intense scent of her shampoo reached his nostrils, the structure of her curls was soft and surprisingly smooth, as if he were touching a newly bought brush of natural bristles.

Surprised by this pleasant sensation, he stroked her like this, resting the weight of his hand on her head, playing with a strand of her hair once in a while, fascinated by this unforced, almost innocent closeness.

He glanced at her, feeling that she wasn't moving, wondering with a pain in his heart if she was terrified or afraid he would do something to her.

"Is it pleasant? Are you uncomfortable?" He asked quietly with his heart pounding hard, wanting to know if he should stop, not wanting to do to her what his mother's friend had done then, during their holiday together many years ago.

He wanted her to be comfortable, to be calm, to feel safe.

He heard her swallow quietly, and after a moment her soft, warm, slightly hoarse voice echoed through the room.

"No. It's very pleasant. I think I'll fall asleep if you don't stop, sir."

He felt heat spilling over his chest at these words, at this proof that she felt comfortable enough to fall asleep beside him, that his touch was not unpleasant, unwanted to her.

They laid like this, not saying anything or moving, listening to their own breaths.

He watched the back of her head, her body rising and falling in her breath, feeling her soft hair under his fingertips, and thought that in two years' time, when Cregan finished his habilitation he wanted to leave.

He wanted to set up his own workshop, to get away from the rector and the professors who harassed their students, to be able to decide for himself who he wanted to hire and who he didn't, without having to listen to anyone's judgement.

He swallowed aloud at the thought that, knowing that he wouldn't then be the supervisor of her thesis and wouldn't have a say in her final grade and degree, what he was doing now would no longer be so questionably moral.

That he could then allow himself to desire her.

He woke at dawn with his nose snuggled into her hair, his arm embracing her, his hand holding her palms in a subconscious gesture to not let her touch him. He hummed as he felt her fingertips wandering over the top of his hand, forming a circle-like shape each time.

He felt a pleasant shudder every time she did this, his manhood pulsed hard, thirsty and additionally swollen as the morning wore on, pressing against her buttocks before him.

He grunted quietly, pulling back, not wanting her to think he was encouraging or expecting her to do anything, melting his face into her hair, seeking refuge from the lust he felt.

"What's going to happen now?" She asked quietly, uncertainly, her fingers continuing to run over his palm.

He murmured quietly, lying behind her with his eyes closed, inhaling the scent of her skin and shampoo, feeling bliss, peace and contentment. He ran his thumb over her lying hand, feeling the soft structure of her skin beneath his fingers.

"We shall see. Okay?" He whispered, not wanting to promise her anything or pretend that nothing had happened between them. He wanted them to just let this unfold as it was meant to, without rushing.

He was comfortable as it was now.

"Okay." She said softly, warmly, and he smiled involuntarily.

He leaned in, placing a tentative, gentle kiss on her neck, from which she shuddered all over. He tightened his arm more firmly around her body, holding her in an iron grip.

"Don't move. Tell me if you want me to stop." He whispered, trailing his lips slowly lower, brushing against her skin with a quiet click, leaving wet marks, sliding a piece of her t-shirt with his nose, placing one last kiss on her bare shoulder, sliding back down.

Hearing their breaths quicken, feeling them curl into each other's embrace, feeling her head tilt back in with a sigh, he found it more intimate and arousing than any porn movie he'd ever seen in his life.

"So beautiful. So good." He whispered in between his soft, warm kisses, feeling her fingers tighten on his hand, seeking to escape the tension − he knew she was trying not to make any sudden movements and he was grateful to her for that.

"It feels so good." She whispered sweetly, softly, and he hummed under his breath, feeling his heart pounding hard, his lips pressed against her neck again, feeling the taste of her skin melt across his palate, the word he had longed to say for so long escaping his lips like a sigh.

"Mine."

_____

Aemond Taglist:

(bold means I couldn't tag you)

@its-actually-minicika @notnormalthings-blog @nikstrange @zenka69 @bellaisasleep @k-y-r-a-1 @g-cf2020 @melsunshine @opheliaas-stuff @chainsawsangel @iiamthehybrid @tinykryptonitewerewolf @namoreno @malfoytargaryen @qyburnsghost @aemondsdelight @persephonerinyes @fan-goddess

[gay-dorito-dust]

Well for a part two I was thinking it could happen a few years later or something like that. Daemon and reader are married, she is pregnant but she doesn't know that yet. I was thinking it would be sweet for Daemon to figure that out. Maybe Caraxes gets extremely overprotective of reader. They could have a small argument wholr caring for Caraxes and it would turn in the dragon growling at Daemon when he would rise his voice at the reader. It all becomes real when she faints one morning after getting out of bed so Daemon calls the maesters and they confirm that she's pregnant. and maybe the moment of the birth, Daemon holding his first child and getting to place a dragon egg inside the crib. Just general sweetness. I would be very pleased if you'd like to write this ! If not it's perfectly fine ! Thank you !

I love your brain! It’s filled with fascinating ideas. Also I love protective Caraxes. It’s just perfect.

Newsflash: I’m shit at writing birth scenes cuz I’ve never done it by I tried my best despite some possible inaccuracies.

Reader is female per request. Just letting ppl know beforehand before I forget.

Here’s part 1 for those who haven’t read it.

Your love for your Daemon has often left you blindsided to his darker impulses that you had soon became repulsed by your sudden faux ignorance to his crimes you’ve long kept silent about. Yet you found yourself still in love with him as the day you understood the word and shown said love in a multitude of ways that you probably shouldn’t have; so when news of Rhea Royce -Daemon’s bronze bitch of a Lady wife before you- having passed away on a hunting trip, the cause having that been of her horse being frightened by some means, crushing and as an result paralysing the poor woman. Those minor details didn’t catch your eye but what was added onto it oh most definitely did; apparently it was said that her head had been caved in and along with the apt timing of Daemon’s visitation at the Vale almost corresponded perfectly to the time of Rhea Royce’s death also too perfectly to be ignored by the public.

It fell together so seamlessly that it was no longer thought to be an outlandish accusation to assume that Daemon Targaryen, your husband, had killed Rhea Royce out of cold blood. You found yourself at a loss for words, torn between creating a false narrative to save face and protect Daemon’s ‘innocence’ and going mad within your denial of the truth presented before you as clear as day. It was obvious that to live someone was one thing but to defend their unjust cruelty towards others was another. Maegor was called ‘the cruel’ for good reason, given the how history written him to be; as it seemed history held an eternal grudge against house Targaryen and was willing to bury those who bore the name as repercussions for the wars they’ve waged and the homes, families and kingdoms that now laid to ruins because of them. It was only a matter of time before Daemon received similar treatment long after his passing, have his history written through venomous words and accounts from those who only ever spoke ill of him in life and death. It was also a matter of time before history treated you just as equally horrid as it would Daemon, Rhaenyra and Viserys.

Unfortunately you knew that many of the cousin members and even the king would already be privy to whom the most likely culprit was, given how eagerly Daemon was of disgracing Rhea’s name and insulting her beauty by claiming that the sheep of the Vale were prettier then her in front of an audience. You also knew that you’d sooner be caught in the crossfire unwillingly as a means of tarnishing your name along with his for keeping dark secrets concerning the kings brother for as long as you have in hopes of toppling you both and be done with it once and for all. No matter how much you wished to fight by Daemon’s side you have found yourself unable in your current state as of late; you know naught of how or when it came about but it is believed that it had started the first morning after you and Daemon consummated the marriage. Only then did it seem to linger longer then you had hoped days prior and have yet to speak a word of it to Daemon never less the Maesters but that could wait as there were more pressing matters to confront your beloved on firstly.

“Is it true?” Daemon’s ear picked up at your voice as he lowered himself from Caraxes back, “my spouse, you look as radiant as ev-“ “silence your silver tongue husband and answer me, is it true?” You cut him off venomously, not particularly in the mood for his honeyed words. “Why don’t you cease speaking in riddles and tell me what ales you so much to bare the vipers venom on your words.” Daemon began to hate the fact that slowly and surely enough your eyes were beginning to open and see him for whom the seven kingdoms truly saw him as. No longer were you carefree kids anymore and sooner or later uncomfortable realisations would have inevitably been made. Yet Daemon didn’t think that they’d poisoned your mind so quickly as they have and for which he would have their tongues for so they would never speak a word within your presence to doubt his character ever again; because to Daemon you were merely voicing the accusations that the kingdom have made against him, that it was the Seven kingdoms and his own brother that were forcing you into thinking him, your beloved, a villain in means of causing a rift between you too.

Daemon has fought tooth and nail to have you and he wasn’t planning on letting you slip over to their side so easily. Yet when the words flew from your lips and into his skin, Daemon could feel the prickling feeling of ice flooding his once fiery veins. “That you killed Rhea Royce as a means of selfishly securing yourself of the royalties of Runestone.” The air between you felt as though at a boiling pit and a subzero zone simultaneously as it only became increasingly difficult to breath in either conditions. Caraxes seemed to physically stiffen at your words as his eyes shifted from you to the back of Daemon’s head who’s silence didn’t help his case nor hinder; feeling as though you were in danger the Blood Wrym moved to shield you until he practically eclipsed the entrance to the cavern like stable of his. No matter how good natured his actions may have been they didn’t simmer the unease within your chest when Daemon looked at you like a stranger.

“Your believing them too now?“ he says eerily, lingering in the air to further build upon the unsettling feeling within your stomach as everything within you screamed, urged you to run from the one person who sworn to keep you safe since a young age. So when you didn’t and his hand laid upon your cheek felt as cold as ice as your breath hitched at the contact and instinctively pulled yourself away from his grasp and in the the broad front of Caraxes who towered over you silently in thought. “They’re poisoning your mind my beloved, they’ll say anything to cause conflict between use because they are jealous that what we have is real in comparison to them. We made our own choice whilst they did not in they wanted to spend their putrid lives with; they want to see us fight, the want to see us collapse so they may move in and claim whatever they want as their own. What evidence do they even hold over me to stake their claim?” Daemon’s eyes searched your tearful ones only to find that deep down you were at war with your heart. “Your visitation to the Vale is enough evidence, you snide comments is enough evidence, your eagerness to bed another whilst still in relations with her is enough evidence to be made against you Daemon. They have everything you have ever said against Rhea Royce and had it engraved in their memory for moments like this. Your carelessness has brought about your own end my beloved and in due time everyone will know. If they don’t already.”

You felt yourself fighting hard to remain able to withhold your ground during your squabble as your consciousness wavered in and out of focus as Daemon’s words only sounded muffled in your ears as though you’ve been held underwater; yet it didn’t take a fool to not notice the enraged look upon his face as he closed the distance between you two, gripping your wrist a tad too tightly for your liking and along with the anger in his eyes made you all the more fearful that in your moment of weakness, Daemon would take the life of his second victim, his sweet childhood friend, out of fear that you’d betray him like everyone else did. It scared you to think that the one person you’ve loved more then anything held the ability to kill you right then and there without any witness nearby to oversee the curfuffle nor come to your defence. Instead you closed your eyes and awaited the worst when Caraxes leaned his long next over you to shove Daemon away, causing his hand to loose grip of your wrist as he fell on his backside harshly. “Caraxes! What is your issue! You’ve been like this for awhile now!” Daemon yelled up at his dragon who merely roared in his face, silencing the Targaryen quickly.

Neither you nor Daemon were quite certain what had caused Caraxes sudden change in personality because in recent memory the dragon had always been seen more so by your side then Daemon which raised some rumours that have long since been forgotten by mostly everyone. In reality however Caraxes was merely protecting you and the unborn babe within your womb and in turn had be growing protective of you ever since he could sense the additional life next to yours. So when Daemon exuded a threatening presence towards you and in extension his kin, was Caraxes final straw. Daemon had ruined everything in his life thus far and the dragon didn’t want the only consistent in his life since he was a babe himself to face because of his human’s impulsiveness; To Caraxes you were just as much apart of him as Daemon was and to be apart from you was akin to loosing a limb, all though it maybe gone, you can still feel it’s presence episodically.

Whenever moments like the one between you and Daemon were to ever arise, Caraxes felt the need to protect you, his mother, and going against his Targaryen counter part to ensure your safety even if it means harming another to achieve it. “Caraxes.” You whispered faintly before allowing the dragon to encouragingly nudge you out of the stables, allowing you to rest your full weight against him as he escorted you back to the castle, where he’d await to see you from the windows of your chambers before clambering back to the stables to whack Daemon upside the head with his tail for good measure before forcefully shoving him out also. Still angry at him for threatening yours and your child’s safety.

The next morning became a struggle for you in particular. The mere act of getting out of bed had become a difficult task as you heaved with all your strength to push yourself in to a sitting position before trying your luck once more to push yourself to you feet when all suddenly became black and your body slumped to the floor; causing a great thud that alerted Daemon, who had long since calmed down from your argument, to quickly take to his sword and rush up to your chambers in perpetration to fight off whoever sneaked into your room whilst you were in your most vulnerable state. Only to find your body pressed uncomfortably against the cold chamber floor, unmoving, fearing the worst; Daemon threw away his sword to one side as he rushed to your aid, cradling you in his arms, his face a mere contrition of all the emotions he was feeling in that moment. Guilt over never apologising to you for his heinous actions against you, anger over his own need to protect his pride when he swore to protect and defend you just as much, sadness for how your dream life seemed to have taken for the worse then he promised you and an overwhelming feeling of being lost without you guiding him like the light he knew you were.

Daemon wasn’t the only one who heard your fall as several servants rushed not too long after the prince to check upon you but not out of your safety but only out of fear of what Daemon would do to them if they had left you in such a state. However as much as they prayed to be spared of any punishment, it seemed to have gone unheard as when they opened the door to witness Daemon hold you in his arms so crushingly tight; they were met with fierce violet eyes that pierced through them and into their souls in hopes of sparking a fire that would kill them from the inside out. “What are you idiots standing there gawking like seagulls?! Fetch the Maesters!” Daemon roared in anger, watching as they scrambled, shoved, pulled one another behind the other as they raced to get out of the room to evade Daemon’s wrath. The prince scoffed in disgust but his features quickly soften as he looked down at you with all the regret one man could ever bare upon his face; the day of your argument haunts him so but nothing haunted him more then the look of fright within your eyes at his sudden outburst, almost as though you were anticipating a repeat of his actions at the Vale.

He didn’t care what anybody thought about him, he couldn’t care less if in their eyes they see a monster but he couldn’t stand to be viewed the same in yours. As children he swore to protect you from all those who’d dare chase you harm but he didn’t know that there would come a day where he’d be the one bringing harm to your front doorstep. Now he wasn’t certain he was going to be given the time to repent for his actions as he held you close against his chest, refusing to let go even as the maesters came through the doors, tried their might to pry you from his arms only for him to tighten his hold before giving in to their pleas to check you over under the circumstances that he were to stay by your side. “My prince,” the Maester began after checking you over thoroughly before coming to a resolution, “it seems that your spouse is with child and has fainted but luckily has not sustained any injury that would cause her highness nor your child any prolonging issues.” Daemon’s eyes never left you face as the news struck him. All this time you’ve been with child and he has the nerve to place you in a stressful situation where your emotions would be tested to their limitations; He grasped your hand tightly in his, “thank you, you may leave us.” He dismissed the Maesters who bowed and left your chambers so the prince could shed his tears in peace. “We’re going to have a child.” Daemon muttered to himself, resting his head gently against your stomach, “we’re going to have a child. Oh gods bless this day and the many more to come until their arrival. I promise to better myself not only for you my love but for myself, Caraxes and our unborn child.” He promised.

The day of your child birth came swift and soon though not without excruciating pain. Though it was all the more rewarding when you got to hold your child within your arms with Daemon by your side. “Healthy as a horse your highness.” The midwife claimed before handing you the child that clutched to your fingers, cooing. You looked to Daemon who only stared down at the child with love, reaching a finger out to stroke his cheek and smiling when the child’s smaller fingers grasped onto his longer nimble one like a life line. “Have any thoughts on what we should name them my love.” You asked softly as to not disrupt the baby form their slumber. “I believe it is in your right to name the child as only one of us had bled to give them life my beloved.” Daemon said, kissing your slightly sweaty forehead gingerly, never breaking his gaze from the babe bundled in the blooded cloth. “Rhaenar.” You concluded post haste, smiling when the child cooed at the chosen name, giving their incoherent approval. “Rhaenar it shall be.” Daemon replied, holding you tightly against him as you both looked at your child, taking in the features they inherited from the both of you from Daemon’s facial features to your eyes and so forth. The silence lingered for as long as you allowed until Daemon removed himself from your side to elsewhere in the room, leaving you albeit confused until you saw him return with a pitch black dragon egg within his hands. You were aware of the Targaryen customs for when a new child under their house is born, they are gifted an dragon egg that will hatch into their bonded dragon; So to bare witness to it for your own child left a warmth within your chest knowing that for good or for bad, you were a Targaryen as much as your child was.

“I handpicked this myself,” Daemon explained as he placed the dragon egg into the crib with care, “may I?” He asked, gesturing to the child. “Of course they are your child as well Daemon.” You chuckled as you handed Rhaenar over to him, watching with love and adoration in your eyes as he cradled the child to his chest, smiling brightly when the child reached for his face to which he leaned down for the child to poke and pull lightly at his platinum locks. “I shall protect you and your mother from all harm but that also means that when you get older you must uphold that same promise also.” Dameon spoke softly to the child before angling them so they were facing you on the bed, “your mother is the most beautiful in all the seven kingdoms, even if she does bite my head off from time to time.” You scoffed playfully, “I do no such thing Rhaenar, don’t listen to your fool of a father. He tripped over his one feet when I said yes to being his.” Daemon covered the child’s ears as he glared at you playfully, “don’t want you ruining my reputation in front of our child now or else he’ll think I’m soft.” “You are soft though Daemon, hate to break it to you.” He chuckled in response as he placed the baby down in the crib though not before pressing a kiss to their forehead and a quick ‘I love you’ to join you in bed. “Such a tragic fate to befall a man to unconditionally love his child and lady.” He joked, stealing a kiss from your lips. “Yes how unfortunate indeed.” You joined in, snuggling against his side as you both watched over your child protectively.

Bonus:

Caraxes strained his long neck to the window of your chambers to get a look at the child, cooing softly as he watched the two newly made parents snuggle up in bed whilst watching over their child. The babe would grow into someone extraordinary under you and Daemon’s parentage the dragon concluded. Though he’d soon smack Daemon once more for claiming that he chose the dragon egg when in actual fact it was Caraxes who had chosen the egg. Daemon was going to gift an ugly mishmash of a brownish-red egg before his dragon pointed him to a more suitable egg. If one squinted however not only would you be able to see that while it was an entirely pitch black egg there was hints of fiery red here and there. Caraxes was happy to see his family grow slightly larger, though more so he was happy that his Targaryen decided to grow up for the sake of you and the family. He couldn’t be more prouder…now how was he going to explain that he practically demolished some architectural structures just to bare witness to the childbirth…

[5ungchan]

DENIAL ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡. THE FOOL

HIS DENIAL WAS HIS BIGGEST DELUSION. THREADED IN BETWEEN HER FINGERS, SHE TUGS AT HIS HEART STRINGS AND HE IGNORES THE OBVIOUS. HE’D SOLD HIS SOUL LONG AGO. DANCING TO THE TUNE OF THE DEVIL; SHE’D PROMISED HIM A WISH, AND HE’D FAILED TO OBTAIN IT.

WARNINGS: MANIPULATION, GASLIGHTING, GUILT TRIPPING, EMOTIONAL MIND-FUCKING. LEGITIMATE FUCKING: BRATTY, BITCHY READER. FEMALE BODY WORSHIP, CUNNILINGUS, FINGERING, INABILITY TO CUM, SWITCH IN DYNAMICS, DETAILED CHOKING. SWEARING, ANGST, SLIGHTLY DARK CONTENT. POST-NUT CLARITY, ISH.

WORD COUNT: 5.7K

SHOTARO STRUGGLED WITH STAYING SOBER.

He drank you up like it was the only thing he'd ever known. Having never seen any of your insecurities. Shotaro basked in your presence, admiring everything from the surface. It was superficial. Of course, he'd fallen in love with a facade ⏤ a mirage. A woman that refused to let on more than she should. He couldn't see her insecurities because she'd projected them onto him. Making him feel as though, he was the one that needed to change ⏤ not her. She wanted to be loved, and so she used him to feel important: to feel validated. Forcing him to mould his very mind, body and soul to her standards.

WHATEVER SHE SAID, HE DID ⏤ SHE WANTED TO BE THE ONLY THING ON HIS MIND.

Regardless, he couldn't say no. In fact, he straight up refused to acknowledge the fact you'd contorted him so well. Meshing his mind like it was clay; pulling and twisting, making sure you'd dug your fingers into him. Manipulating his mind into believing that he couldn't live without you. Whatever he thought, you had a say in it. Being the judge of his actions, controlling the bits and pieces of his life. It was all easier said than done. But it felt as though, he was bound to fall apart at the seams. He lacked what you wanted in total. He couldn't always deliver. And when that occurred, you pushed him away. Disregarding everything he'd done for you.

SHOTARO SHOULD KNOW BETTER — SUNGCHAN TELLS HIM.

His best friend Sungchan couldn't wrap his head around what Shotaro saw in you. Beauty? Sure, but that was quickly shrouded by just how nasty your personality was. The tall, overly sociable giant got along with everyone, everyone but you. It meant a lot if he didn't like you. He knew you were two-faced, with an ulterior plan behind every move. Every time you'd pushed Shotaro away, Sungchan was there to help his best friend. Although, it hurt him watching his best friend scurry back to you. He was hoping that tonight, this horrid cycle would end for good.

"Gullible, naive...or are you just flat out refusing to acknowledge the truth?" Asks Sungchan.

Annoyed, he leans against the marble kitchen counter, bottle of soju in hand. Staring down at Shotaro like he was a mother scolding his child.

"She's serious about me!" Protests Shotaro, "...Really, she wants to get back together."

Rolling his eyes, Sungchan can't help but drink his frustrations down. A conversation repeated once too many times. He hated you, hated how you stole his best friend from him. Stepping all over his dignity, Shotaro was no longer capable of making a choice for himself. The bitter words ⏤ insults, that he associated with you get stuffed back down his throat. Chugging his soju, he slams the empty bottle back onto the counter.

"You deserve better."

"She's the only one I want. I think you two just...got off on the wrong foot?" Shotaro tries to offer an excuse, protecting your name despite the fact, you'd never do the same. Sighing, he finds it impossible to make Sungchan see eye-to-eye with him about you.

"Like I said: Gullible, naive ⏤ you're honestly stupid as fuck. You know she's bad for you! Said it before yourself, but you're stubborn. Refusing to accept the truth and settling for something so wrong, since you've never known anything right."

A scowl flashes onto Shotaro's face and his chest pangs, "The fuck are you on about? Who do you think you are? Running your mouth about what's good for me?"

"I'm your best friend Shotaro. Been through hell with you ⏤ had your back every time she had you running back."

"Then be happy for me."

Rolling his eyes, Sungchan can't believe the words that are fluttering past Shotaro's mouth. It was all nonsense, it wasn't like him. Not like the Shotaro he grew up with and knew. Arguing was pointless at this rate. Either he learned through his own boundaries, or fell hard on his face from you kicking him out.

"She'll be here tonight. Prove me wrong then. Show me you can stand up for yourself. That you know better than I do."

It's almost as though the walls have ears. A third eye lingering from somewhere in between the drywall and framework. It has a chill running down Sungchan's spine when he notices his words have an effect. Most people would say that the cat dragged someone in after being gossiped about, but in this case: you are the feline.

Strutting into the room with your shoulders held back, chin pointed slightly upwards. You didn't look at the ground, no, you looked straight ahead. People moved aside at the sight of you and it had an effect. From Sungchan's perspective it's almost as if the room had dimmed down. Everything was much darker than before. Were there always this many people in the room? It almost felt claustrophobic as he watches you scan the room, making your dramatic greetings. A cluster of 'hi's' and 'hello's' mixed in with hugs and waves, to the party-goers you knew. Somehow, you knew everyone. But nobody knew you like he did.

Contrary to his negative emotions, Shotaro is a complete different story. The cold soju bottle squeaks, growing tight within his grasps. The condensation running down the label and into his sweaty palms. He's frozen in awe ⏤ like always. His sugar brown eyes widen, lips falling apart before he subconsciously begins to chew on his bottom lip. You always managed to light up the room. Friendly to everyone, you practically glimmered underneath the lights. The chatter and loud house music falls silent. The world is muted, on pause as the room freezes in time. With admiration, he watches as you turn on the spot, stopping when you spot him from the living room.

A soft smile spreads onto Shotaro's face as he practically beams with happiness. Waving in your direction as you meet his gaze with a blank stare. Monotonous, unbothered ⏤ it felt like you weren't even looking back at him, but at the wall behind. Your eyes dart towards Sungchan who glares in return, rolling his eyes as he slowly raises the middle finger. The fool and his companion you think. Typical.

WITHOUT A SECOND GLANCE, YOU TURN BACK AROUND.

Shotaro feels his heart drop down to his stomach. It feels so empty inside the cavity of his chest that he can't help but feel cold. Maybe you didn't want to make a scene in front of everyone? As if anyone was looking. Everyone was getting to the point of being too drunk. However, he's sure you have your reasons. Perhaps, you wanted to keep things on the down low until things were official.

“See? She doesn't want you. Not like how you want her," Whispers Sungchan. Having leaned in close, he places a hand on Shotaro's shoulder making a futile attempt at consolidating him. "You can do so much better. She's not the only girl in this crowd ⏤ Ningning! Over by the window. She's cute, go chat her up!"

Shrugging Sungchan's hand off, he pushes his half full drink into his hands.

"You go chat up Ningning."

Shotaro immediately walks off, abruptly leaving his best friend in the dust. The sourness from their conversation making him feel somewhat motivated to prove Sungchan wrong. Staggering in your direction, the happiness practically beams from his face.

Awkwardly standing behind you, he pokes at your lower back, "Let's talk please?"

Once he's got your attention, he presses his palm flat against your back. Sliding it over to rest atop your hip, wrapping his arm around you.

"⏤So talk."

"Can we go somewhere more private?"

Pausing, you take a deep breath. Truthfully, you didn't even know if you were serious about getting back with him. What was the point of going somewhere private? Regardless, you didn't want to cause a scene. Shaking his grasps off you and silently departing from the living room.

Shotaro meekly follows you through the hallway, each of his footsteps feeling heavier than the last. He feels as though he's walking towards his death sentence, the unease fills his body as he tries to maintain his composure. He wanted to talk, so he'd talk. You didn't even need to look behind yourself, you knew he was following you.

Stepping inside an empty room, you plop yourself onto the bed. The sound of the frame creaks as you cross your legs and impatiently wait for Shotaro to begin.

"Make it quick will you? I don't want anyone wondering where I am," you say.

Shotaro pauses. Shuffling his feet against the floor, he treads carefully with his next words. He doesn't want you storming out of the room, nor does he want you to leave this room without him by your side.

"What's been on your mind lately?" He questions. Sitting next to you on the bed, he can't help but feel hurt. You don't make eye contact, opting to keep your eye on the door. Was Sungchan panning out to be right after all? Shaking his head, he doesn't want to lose hope, not yet.

"What's it you want to hear?" You prefer to give him a vague response.

"I want you to look at me," he begins, slowly placing his palm on your shoulder and nudging you, "Like how you used to."

Sighing, you turn your head to face him. Meeting his gaze, those soft brown eyes of his practically twinkle with some sort of anticipation and hope. A soft smile stretches onto his face when you follow his request. But it falters just as quickly, unlike him, you don't smile back. You hardly did anymore.

"You used to have all the love in the world for me...where'd it all go?" Shotaro can't help but whisper those words to you. Scared of the truth, terrified of how you'd react to him for asking such a thing.

"You're kidding. What makes you think I had all the love in the world...for you?" Scoffing, you can't help but let out a dry laugh at how ridiculous he sounds.

Tilting your head to the side, you lean back and stare at him coyly, "Actions speak louder than words 'Taro. Don't just sit there mumbling about this and that."

Placing your hand atop his thigh, you gently slide your hand up and down the expanse of the area, "Show me what you mean, and I'll respond accordingly."

As expected, you're met with silence on his end. He's flustered. Evident in the way his cheeks are dusted with a subtle pink.

"Sho’," you begin as you continue to lean back. Moving just until you fall against the pillows with a soft 'thump'. Bending your knees, you split them apart slowly. Allowing your skirt to pool upwards, slyly flashing your unclothed cunt. The missing article of clothing that was in question was currently stuffed into the glovebox of your car. You'd planned this.

"...'Taro. Won't you come and find out what I mean?"

Jutting out your bottom lip, you pout at him as if you were some innocent girl. He's oblivious to discern the fact that you'd just refused to look at him earlier, and now? You had all of your attention focused on him.

Feeling content with yourself when you see him stand up to crawl towards you. His knees buckle with a certain mixture of excitement and nervousness.

"You know, you've always been my favourite dancer, my favourite boy. Always so fluid, so expressive. Willing to comply whenever, wherever."

"I just want to do well for you," he sighs. He’d always tried to have your best interests at heart.

Dragging your index finger against the slit of your folds, and coating the tip in your slick, wetness before bringing it up to your lips; tasting yourself. Swirling your tongue around, before withdrawing it from your mouth with a gentle 'pop', "Mmm. Sweet, always so sweet."

He's already ensnared. Silently accepting your offer with a soft smile plastered on his face. Innocent looking, but truly the opposite when it came to you. Shotaro rests at your legs, wrapping an arm around either of your thighs. His palms gently holding onto the skin.

Leaning inwards, Shotaro inhales the scent of your skin. Admiring the body lotion you'd put on. It's much more faint, than it would've been from it's initial application, but it's a scent he'd recognized. Rubbing his nose against the grain of your inner thighs, he grows dizzy from the scent of those faint roses.

With his eyes shut closed, his lips part, tongue sticking out to lick across the faint stretch marks that decorate your skin. Puckering his lips, he alternates between soft kisses to wet streaks of his tongue. Admiring every inch of your body, that was nestled so closely to where your pussy was.

To Shotaro, this is heaven. You were the very woman of his dreams. He was always eager to please you, never saying no to your advances as he constantly navigated your body. He thought he did a good job, but he'd be foolish to think that he'd be able to dominate you. The tables were always turned against him, he was just too blinded to see.

Suddenly, you feel the tip of his nose poke at the top of your labia. Reaching for his head, you gently fist a bunch of his hair and nudge him forwards.

Shotaro drags his tongue up and down your slit, starting off slow before making contact with your clit. The feeling of the papillae on his tongue is enough to make your body shudder. Flicking the bud back and forth, switching to circular movements around the nerve as you spread your legs further apart.

The sound of his tongue lapping against the vulnerable flesh of your body and your soft huffs is enough to make the room hot. It feels closed off, suffocating even, as he gets lost in between your legs. Resorting to plunging his fingers into your depths as he takes a breather. Lifting his head to watch how you've got yours thrown back, mouth agape as your eyebrows furrow with pleasure. He’d always looked up at you, admiring the way you shone with ecstasy.

WITH SUCH A EUPHORIC LOOK ACROSS YOUR FACE, SHOTARO CAN'T HELP BUT FEEL CONVINCED YOU LOVE HIM.

The curvature of his fingers hovers just above your g-spot. The place that always made you shudder, one that you had no trouble reaching yourself. However, for some reason: he never went beyond that. Blindly missing the physical cues your body made. Shotaro couldn't understand why your walls seemed to tense up around his fingers, thinking that this was probably where it felt best. He always guessed incorrectly.

"You're so beautiful. Fuck⏤ it feel good?"

Nodding your head, you silently agree that it does. Until it doesn't.

You hate how he plunges his fingers into you with no objective. Never reaching where they should be. Was he stupid? Huffing, you urge him to add another finger. Maybe now it'll help him reach deeper.

He does. The outcome remains the same.

Instead, you watch as he grows pathetically weak. With his forehead pressed against your pubic bone. Dazed and drowsy, he's drowning in how good you smell. His tongue stretched out to taste you more and more. His free hand moving downwards to palm himself through his sweats.

"Mmph, you're so sweet. So good, so, so..." he doesn't finish as he continues to help himself to your wetness.

Annoyed, you lift your head to stare him down. You always had to cum first, he should know that. He wasn't neglecting you per se, but he grew distracted by how his own length was pulsating against the fabric of his boxers. He wanted to release himself, but he needed to focus on you.

"Fucking hell. Shotaro, stop."

He doesn't hear you, not until you tug at his hair roughly. Forcing him to look upwards. Those brown eyes of his glowing with lust as he freezes when he realizes you're being serious.

"What's wrong? I thought you were enjoying this?"

Closing your knees up, you push him aside as you roll your eyes in annoyance, "Enjoy myself?"

You can't help but feel amused with how lost Shotaro looks. The worry is evident in his face, in his tone, as he sits upwards. Fingers fidgeting with the hem of your skirt.

"What did I do wrong?" he asks, as he's eager to fix things.

"You can never do this right. Always starting off well before getting lost in...whatever this is," groaning, you look away from him, "You can't even fuck me properly and yet you're asking if I've ever loved you."

Shotaro can't help but scoff at how insensitive you sound, "What?"

"Do I need to repeat myself? Seriously, you're not good enough for me. Never was, never will be," you complain, having felt so annoyed with him.

Clearly he'd never be able to meet your standards.

"You can't be serious? You know, I'd always told myself otherwise but you really are acting like a bitch."

"Hmm? Well it's about time you started realizing things," You retort. Lifting your hands up to stare at your nails, you brush him off. Ignoring the way he stares at you completely stunned. It wasn't like your rude remarks were happening for the first time either.

You can't help but roll your eyes, "Why so quiet? There's no reason to be so surprised."

Shotaro feels as though he's been slapped in the face. He'd been falling for quite some time, but now? He'd finally hit the ground hard. The reality of things made him feel embarrassed. All of it practically soaking into his system: you'd finally awakened something in him.

IT HAPPENS WITHIN SECONDS, CATCHING YOU OFF GUARD.

You're completely shocked when you feel Shotaro's hand against your face. His thumb digging into your cheek, while the rest of his fingers occupied the other side. Roughly turning your head to face him.

"I want you to fucking look at me when I speak," he demands.

Raising an eyebrow, you feel stunned. This was new. The way his face had fallen still, his eyebrows furrowed angrily as the creases around his eyes made him look all too serious. He was no longer cute and soft. In fact, he looked so upset that it was quite comedic to you. Maybe, just maybe, you'd pressed one too many of his buttons. Pushing him into overdrive. You can't help but laugh. Your hot breath reflecting against his palm.

"You're laughing?" Shotaro's in complete disbelief, pressing harder against your face and pushing it against the pillows. "What'll it take for you to finally take me seriously?"

Your laughter persists, the way your voice is almost too shrill for his liking. There was no allure to it, it wasn't seductive ⏤ it made his ears ring.

"For fucks sake! Take me seriously for once!" He demands as he moves his hand away from your face and down towards your throat. Wrapping his calloused fingers around your neck, the pads of his fingertips press down roughly into your skin. His fingernails digging in deep as he squeezes hard against your larynx.

Your laughing comes to a halt, instead, you're gargling. With your spit getting stuck in between your mouth and throat. Your airway's obstructed as you can't help but choke. The sound of your hacking and wheezing echoes through the room as he presses harder.

Somehow Shotaro enjoys seeing you like this. The way your face grows slightly hotter, a darker red. Your eyes rolling back into your head with drool seeping from the corner of your mouth. Releasing your neck, Shotaro can't help but feel proud with himself. Finally, you'd be able to take him seriously.

"See? You're so much better when you're not ordering me around, or talking back."

However, the sudden cockiness in Shotaro's demeanour disappears when he notices how you've refused to move much at all. Your chest heaving slowly as he tries to shake you awake.

"Y/N?" He asks.

He receives no response, no sign. Your body lays there limp.

"Y/N?" Shotaro calls out, shaking your body as he uses his hand to gently slap you on the cheek. The worry is evident in his tone as he calls out to you.

"I-I'm so sorry. I had no idea, I didn't mean to go so far!" He protests as he holds you in his arms.

A raspy cough leaves your body, as you weakly raise your hand to rub your eyes. You couldn't see very well, everything was doubled but you'd managed to focus your gaze on him. Taking in the sights: he was worried, oh sooo worried. The Shotaro you knew was already back. But so soon?

Noticing your consciousness, his eyes widen with joy. Hugging you tightly in his arms and pressing your head gently against his chest. A string of apologies flutter past his lips as he rubs your back gently, using his free hand to pat your hair.

A series of raspy coughs leave your mouth, as you can't help but giggle. Sounding like a broken record as you scratch at your throat, the pain was immeasurable. However, the situation was way too worth it to acknowledge the pain.

"Tha-that...all you got?" You question. Lifting your head from his chest to weakly challenge him. Physically you were shaken up, but mentally you couldn't help but feel turned on.

Using whatever energy you had left, you push yourself off of him. Removing yourself from his grasps and falling back onto the mattress. Huffing slowly, your chest heaves up and down with each breath you take. You're practically shaking as your system tries to level back to it's norm.

"Shotaro," you begin, as your fingers blindly play with the buttons of your shirt. You manage to pop open a few buttons before giving up, flashing bits of your skin and cleavage behind the fabric.

Surprising him with a coy smile, you reach out to pull him by his shirt. He follows your lead, leaning in close as you stare at him dead straight in the eyes.

"That’s it?" You question, "Couldn't have gone all the way huh? Now use that...that rage, to fuck me. I want you to ravage me, pull me apart for everything I've done."

"What? I legitimately thought I'd ended you..." Shotaro mumbles in disbelief.

You scoff in response, "Baby. There's no way you could kill me. If one of us dies in this fucked up relationship; it'll be you."

Shotaro opens his mouth to retort, trying to change your mind and to get you to relax and heal. He gets no chance as you tug at his shirt, getting rid of whatever minimal distance there was and kissing him roughly. Your lips push against his as you slip your tongue in between, allowing the wetness to push through and mesh with his.

You don't let him pull away and he obliges, falling into your grasps like always. Cherishing each kiss as he meets your rough advances with his usual tenderness.

"I love it when you're you," you say in between kisses, "When you disagree with what I do, taking control for yourself."

Shotaro doesn't respond. It's not that he doesn't want to, he just no longer thinks it's worth the effort as he uses his hands to reach for his pants. Tugging them down quickly, his erection having resurfaced. He figures it's pointless to ask if you're ready, to go slow. It used to always be about you. However, things changed after today and it had to progress the way he wanted. If you thought he was still soft with his behaviour, you were wrong.

Pulling his lips away from yours, he looks downwards to line your entrance up with his cock. The tip of his dick is hot, slightly more pink than the rest as precum leaks from it's tip. He doesn't tease you: refusing to rub himself in between your folds, or tap at your clit with his member. No, he just helps himself. Pushing inwards with a groan.

It's unlike anything he's ever felt before. The way your walls squeeze against his flesh, he isn't sure if you're contracting your walls yourself, but he simply doesn't care anymore. The role of pillow princess was no longer yours. You'd simply become nothing more than a cum rag for him.

HE’D BE DONE WITH YOU AFTER THIS.

Pulling his hips back, he snaps them forwards pushing into you with force. Starting a pace that he liked, that he wanted. For once, he's the one looking down at you. Holding your hips in place as he fucks into you roughly. Trying his best to ignore the way you furrowed your eyebrows, whilst biting down on your lip. Your eyes are shut tight, eyelashes fluttering against the grain of your skin.

The bruises that decorate your neck are oddly beautiful. Clearly, you'd enjoyed receiving them too. Then it hits him, the sound of your moaning. Weak, toned down and much more hoarser than usual. The sweetness that typically coated your moans and came out with such femininity was gone now. You were quieter, less whinier and demanding.

He liked you this way: submissive. But did he really enjoy you in this way? Helplessly laying there. Allowing yourself to be fucked at his mercy. You had stars in your eyes looking at him like he was everything. But this wasn’t him, you were enamoured by an amalgamation of him caused by all your manipulation.

Shotaro finds himself falling in and out of focus. The pleasure that he feels practically radiating throughout his body is insane. Although, he can't help but feel somewhat unhappy with himself. He couldn't feel content with what this was. It wasn't right.

There was nothing more that he wanted than to see you genuinely embrace him. Loving him for who he was, reciprocating his actions in a positive way. Such a thing wouldn't have been possible in this lifetime. You just weren't built that way, with absolutely no empathy in your body. He can't help but feel that he's wasted so much on someone who regarded him as nothing.

He can't do this anymore. Watching as you shudder beneath him, the muscles in your body tensing up as your back arches from the mattress, your toes curling in unison. You'd came for the first time; evident in the way your insides clung onto him, your hands desperately reaching out for his body. But he hadn't. He simply couldn't.

Wordlessly pulling out, he searches around for his pants. Putting them on hastily, and patting down his clothes in a weak attempt to make himself presentable. Taking one last glance at you, he feels sick to his stomach. How could such a person force him to go so far as an individual. Initially it seemed beautiful, it felt hot and somewhat kinky. But the reality of things had come unraveled. This wasn’t him.

He couldn't recognize the work he'd done. With your clothes barely covering your body, the slight twitching in your legs as you simply followed him with your eyes. You don't move, he assumes you're too fatigued.

But for once, you've kept your eyes on him and it seems like finally, he's won over your heart. The bliss in your eyes is insurmountable, you're practically glowing with some twisted sense of adoration. The light sweat that adorns your body make it feel as though you're on fire. Just as Lucifer had been cast away from the heavens, plummeting down to the ground. Devilishly attractive, deceiving and cunning: you were sadistic in your intentions. It all showed on the surface now.

"Leaving so soon?" you ask, meekly calling out from the bed as you watch him walk towards the door. He hadn't even helped you clean up. It was unlike him.

"Not gonna help me clean up?" Further questioning him, when he doesn't respond.

Shotaro pauses by the door. He wants to turn around, to give in and go wash you up. But he thinks that if he did, he wouldn't be able to walk away ever again.

"You'll manage," he begins. Turning around to glance at you with a soft smile on his face. The kindness in his body was always overflowing. He was genuine, meant everything that he did, and yet you made him feel like a monster.

"Don't bother calling anymore."

THE DOOR OPENS QUIETLY, SHUTTING CLOSED BEHIND HIM.

Shotaro promised himself he would've walked out that room with you by his side. He'd imagined you'd be hand in hand, laughing with each other. Thinking that things could go back to what they once were. But Sungchan was right about him, he was naive and in fact, he was hopeless. Having faith in things that simply wouldn't occur.

Re-entering the party scene, he scans the room for Sungchan. Feeling surprised when he sees him actually talking to Ningning. His footsteps are quicker and much lighter than before as he pushes past the crowd, approaching the two of them. It feels as though the giant weight on his shoulder has been left behind.

"Guess you took up my offer then?" Shotaro begins as he teasingly nudges Sungchan in the side with his elbow.

Sungchan looks stunned as he looks at Shotaro from head to toe, side to side, "Huh? Yeah, your offer, my idea. Either way, where's...you know?"

"I ended it," Shotaro quickly responds, the smile on his face doesn't falter. As he turns his attention towards Ningning, "You must be Ningning, right?"

The doe-eyed girl nods eagerly, giving him a soft smile. Although before she can respond, her smile falters. Looking straight past Shotaro, she almost looks scared. Confused, he glances at Sungchan for any clue as to what was going on. The look on his face is the same as hers. In fact, he's speechless with his mouth wide apart. It's as if the two of them had seen a ghost.

"Ended what?" A voice asks. One that he knew all too well.

Slowly turning around, he can't help but feel like his souls left his body. You're standing there with a bright smile, and yet the look in your eyes is emptier than ever. The clothes on your body are perfectly normal ⏤ presentable. Even your hair rests nicely against the frame of your face, just a tad bit dishevelled ⏤ one could've assumed you'd been dancing a bit too hard tonight.

Everything about you is normal except for the blue and purple bruises that mark your skin. The array of red and violet petechiae patches on your skin make your neck look as though you'd been attacked. And you were.

The feeling of your arm wrapping around Shotaro's waist makes his skin erupt into goosebumps. He's uncomfortable, but you pretend as if nothings wrong. Tilting your head to the side innocently. Staring at Sungchan and Ningning as if everything was well.

"Aren't you gonna introduce me?" You ask as you stare directly at the girl opposite to you. It was obvious you made her uncomfortable as she laughs awkwardly, scanning the room for any sort of excuse to attend to. Her eyes refuse to remove themselves from your neck. She leaves without a word, practically dashing for an exit.

Frowning, you can't help but pout, "What's her deal?"

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" He hisses. Pushing you off him as he runs a hand through his hair. You made him beyond frustrated, especially tonight.

"Babe?"

"Don't 'babe' me! I told you we're done!" He protests.

"Done? Who said you made the calls again?"

Sungchan can't help but step into the situation, pushing you back a step with his hand outstretched as you swat at him.

"Stay out of it," you warn.

"Leave Shotaro alone. He's already ended things with you," counters Sungchan as he steps forward again, eager to get into your personal space.

You can't help but scoff at his attitude. Did he think you were scared of him? Tilting your head to the side, you purse your lips in thought. Standing on your tippy toes to suddenly grab at Sungchan's throat with your hand. Guffawing when his eyes widen in surprise, "Just kidding~ I wouldn't hurt you."

Instead of clinging onto his neck, you move upwards to hold him by his chin. Tilting his head to focus on your neck, "But I will warn you."

"Seen the damage already haven't you? Yeah. ‘Bet it was the first thing you saw."

Sungchan being much taller and stronger than you, removes your grasp with ease as he glares down at you, "Don't fucking touch me."

"Shotaro didn't end anything. Not after this," You state as you rub against your neck softly. It hurt but you'd toned up your performance, dramatically wincing at how sore and numb things felt.

Pushing Sungchan aside, you motion at him to move over as you smile at Shotaro. The room falls cold as he stares back at you, mimicking the look of a deer caught in the headlights. You'd pushed him to do this. He’d succeeded in complying with your taunting, but failed to keep what dignity he’d had left in himself.

"What do you want from me?" He fearfully questions.

Leaning in close, you force him into your grasps. Wrapping a tight hug around him as you breath down his neck.

"I told you that you were my favourite dancer ⏤ my favourite boy. ‘Told you that I'd play you a tune you couldn't resist. Tonight you proved that, and you'll continue to do so in the following days," whispering into his ear. Your words carry a strong warning, foreshadowing what's to come, "When will it happen? Who knows."

With a quick kiss against his cheek, you detach yourself, taking a few steps back from him. Walking backwards as you head for the door.

"Oh, not to worry though. You'll manage!" You yell out from the loudness of the crowd, "Don't forget to pick up when I call ‘Taro."

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED: 5UNGCHAN— 2024 AND BEYOND

[elfqueen006]

The Lifeguard Part 2

Sunny Day Jack x Reader

--- Tags/CW: summer camp au, camp counselor au, aforementioned murder, angst, rivals to lovers, horror, slasher au. (ik I said "enemies" before but rivals is more fitting for their dynamic) A/N:I make Jack cuss a lot here, Idk if it's fitting. Minors DNI

Jack liked Skylar. He really did.

He liked Ian too, despite his less than effective counseling skills.

He liked both of them. But the stress had caught up with him in the worst way. The bar. Seeing them together. The mention of your name… It just sent him over the edge.

He would like to think that in another life he would’ve been great friends with the two of them. But the remnants of that sweet dream lay six feet under the dirt behind the shed.

It was getting late, so the counselors were wrapping up activities for the day. He snuck behind the cabins, treading carefully till he reached the outhouse shower. Jack spends a long amount of time soaking fully clothed. At first, its’ to see if this is all a dream. When he doesn’t wake up he discards the costume completely and scrubs furiously at his naked body. It doesn’t matter that the washrag here was used by several different people within the week. In Jacks’ mind, his soul is dirtier than anything within these four walls.

Knock, knock.

“Jack?”

Silence.

“Jack, you in there?”

“...What do you want?” He bites out.

“Where have you been, man? Bill’s got everyone in a frenzy! We had to wrap things up early til’ we found you!” You said.

“...I was where you sent me, where else?” Jack said.

“Oh…” a pause. “Oh.”

His blood pressure rises from the snicker you make behind the door. A slight creak indicates your leaning on it.

“Sooo, how was she?”

Jack doesn’t bother switching off the faucet as he flings the door open and stalks towards you menacingly. His yellow eyes are wide and erratic. It pierces something in your chest.

“How was she?” Jack repeated darkly, “How she was, is that what you asked me?”

You stumble back against the cabin wall. “I-I didn’t mean it like-”

“I went to see how she was and I caught your boyfriend between her legs, so you should ask him.”

Your eyes go wide as saucers. You searched his face for humor, a change in expression, fidgeting or any trace of dishonesty though all it held was the cold, hard, truth. Jack bit back a twitch of a smirk on his lips as he watched your face go through different phases of denial. Your ego along with your spirit was crumbling at his words. And he took a sick satisfaction in it. There was, though, still an air of guilt – or rather, a reminder to feel guilty. You had been cheated on after all. But he hasn't acknowledged it too much. After all, the offender was dead and the offended was suffering. It’s about as fair a trade can get.

“Tell Bill I’m taking a sick day.” Jack said coldly.

When he’s done, you are gone. It isn’t as refreshing as he’d hoped. Showering. Though he does admit, unintentionally sticking it to you did give him a needed amount of dopamine to get through the night. He tries not to look at his fingernails so much, though. They are still tinged red at the tips, with remnants of gore stuck underneath.

Jack waits till everyone has gone to sleep to use the lobby’s laundry room. He learned that blood washes out with cold water at a young age. So he’s sure to scrub out the extra dark spots before letting the rest rinse out via a wash cycle. Before putting in the pants though, a phone had fallen out of the back pocket.

Skylar’s phone. Shit.

He’d meant to toss it in the dirt along with Ian’s. But must’ve unconsciously held onto it… as if she’d need it back.

When Jack picks it up it vibrates with a message. From you. The ID reads ‘Bitch <;3’. He has to admit… it is very you.

sky, it reads, sky pick up wut happened at the shed??

…

i know you see this

jack says he saw you with ian. tell me he’s fuckin wit me

Especially with how long the dots float then stop, then float again, indicating you’re trying desperately to figure out what words to say. And then backtracking on them.

sky QUIT leaving me on read i’m so serious rn

…

I KNOW YOU SEE THIS BITCH!!!

Jack stops there. Pocketing the phone. He sighs, “Gonna be a long day tomorrow.”

—

You texted all through the night. Jack had to eventually turn  it on silent and shove it in his nightstand drawer. Though when he woke up and checked it again, there were 50+ messages waiting for him. You hadn’t stopped until two in the morning. It was a virtual moodswing of desperate pleas, cusses, and threatening emojis. As he scrolled back up to the texts from a month before, it seemed as though emojis were really your whole thing. Most notably ones with hearts, laughter, and occasionally the wine emoji.

Jack was almost grateful Skylar wasn’t on the receiving end of either anymore. Whether it be by voice or text, you were a very chatty person.

It was business as usual. Kids clamored to him once more (some were crying, poor dears) and he got an earful from Bill again. The day was so… normal. It was almost as if the dear departed counselors never existed.

FFFFT!

A sharp whistle could be heard across campus. Jack looked over to your high chair and immediately picked up on the drastic change in atmosphere around you. 

Instead of your usual lounging, you sat upright with your arms crossed stiffly. Your leg bounced impatiently. In addition to your usual red lifeguard leotard you now wore a pair of black sunglasses.

“Keep the water out of your mouth, David!” You shout, “You wanna catch something?”

A counselor - whose name tag read ‘Shaun’ - came up beside him. “What’s up with the lifeguard? She’s been in a shit mood all day…” He asked.

Jack shrugged, “I couldn’t tell ya.”

Every slight mishap earned the kids a taste of that shrill whistle. He felt bad they had to deal with your sour mood. Of course he knew the cause, and that only added to the guilt…

FFFFT!

He had to put a stop to this.

There was an odd sense of deja vu as he marched up to your high chair. This time he knocked on the ladder. You look down at him through your shades.

“What?” You snap.

“Get down here, I need to talk to you.” Jack said.

“Can’t you see I’m doing something?”

“Y/N-”

“As in my job?”

“Now.”

You narrow your eyes at him before hopping down the chair. You saunter up to him and snatch off your shades. There’s a venomous look in your eyes. “What is it?” You said.

Jack folded his arms. “First off, I appreciate the initiative you’re taking in your position as of late,”

“Thanks. Can I go now?”

“However… I can’t say I agree with the way you’re going about it.”

Your eye twitches and you throw your head back with a bitter laugh. “You’ve gotta be fuckin’ kidding me…” You mutter.

“Far from it, actually.”

“What do you want from me?” You said, “You say you want me to take my job seriously, but now you say you don’t like how I’m doing it? Can you make up your damn mind?!”

Jack then leans down just inches away from your face, “What I want is for you to leave your emotions at the door when mentoring these kids,” He hissed, “And if you can’t do that I will exercise my ability as a counselor to get you removed. Are we clear?”

You held each others’ gazes for a while. And with you already at your lowest, you’d been the first to give in. You sigh, “...Crystal.”

He nods and puts on a big smile, feeling a bit of smug satisfaction. “Good. Enjoy the rest of your shift, Y/N.”

He ignores your muttered demand that he “go to hell”  and walks off. Though not without hearing your whistle once more.

FFFT!

“Hey, I’m not kidding about the lake water – cut that shit out!”

—

Though you loosened the reins, the kids had avoided you like the plague. The counselors gave you heavy side eye the rest of the day. And once it was time to eat dinner, you asked Bill if you could excuse yourself. He allowed it.

You sat on the steps of the lodge, staring out at the lake. The water was still and began to reflect the deep purple in the sky. Crickets chirped and you even spotted a few fireflies. It was such a calm scene, and yet the whole time you were feeling like shit.

You pull out your phone and go to Skylar’s contact which had been changed from ‘Whore<3’ to ‘Dirty skank die die’. Not your most creative nickname.

All the texts you sent were still on read. Though with all that you’d said, you now wonder if it were better this way. It was like you were a completely different person in these. You always liked to say you weren’t for the drama, but you were certain if you showed this to any reality show host they’d fire everyone on set and make you their star. You hung your head and groaned.

Before you could wallow any further the sound of an engine came close to you. You look up and Sunny Day Jack puts the Moke in neutral and leans over in his drivers’ seat.

“Hey, why the long face, camper? Lose your group?” Jack quips.

“You’re not funny.” You said blandly.

“Well, that’s why I’m a camp counselor first.” Jack said. “Why aren’t you inside?”

“I’m not feeling the menu…” You reply.

“Don’t you always go nuts for spaghetti night?”

“What’s it to you?”

Jack rolls his eyes, “You always scream out that spaghetti night “is your bitch”, so if you’re not managing it like a decent pimp something has to be wrong…”

A twitch of a smirk plays on your lips and you gesture blandly to the lodge with an exaggerated sigh. “My bitch knows her way around the corner. It’ll be fine.”

“If that’s the case then, I’m sure you’d want something to put on your stomach nonetheless…”

“That being…?”

He grins, “I’ve been wanting a change of palette myself. And the local Popov’s just started serving burgers. You in?”

[skyfallslayer]

The Darkness In Me || Story 2: Auld Acquaintances

-Kingpin!Matt Murdock x Vigilante!Reader-

Main Masterlist || Series Masterlist

🖤 Series Summary: You were shocked to find out your childhood friend turned out to be the Kingpin of the underworld, but you had to put those thoughts aside to bring him down. You were Hell’s Kitchen vigilante, its protector. There's no valid reason not to stop him. However, when your hidden feelings for him start to surface once more, how will you be able to even think about bringing him down?

🖤 Story Summary: Deciding you have no choice anymore, especially how your new partner scared you half to death, and the police in this city seemed not to care, your hundred percent committed to becoming a vigilante. But before you could do this, you run into an old childhood friend and his business partner. But unknowingly to you, he’s not the same little boy you remembered hanging out with. He’s… something else entirely.

🖤 Date: 10/08

🖤 Rating: Mature

🖤 Word Count: 7,962

🖤 Warning: Alcohol Consumption; Small Reference to Past Abuse/Child Abuse; Small Reference to PTSD; Small Reference to Past Non-Con/Rape; Heavy Language; Talks of Murder(ing); Talks of Death/Dying; Disability Talk; Nightmares. READ AT YOUR OWN RISK!

🖤 A/N: Let me know if I missed anything above. Any who, this is where all the fun begins! Plus, Matt's finally here! Along with a few other familiar faces. I don't have much else to say, except enjoy!

You felt like your head was going to split with each memory. But… this was normal for you, believe or not. I guess it comes with the job. Or… did it just naturally come to you with your life?

You suppose so. Could you blame yourself for having these? Could you point fingers at yourself for causing these obstacles? You shouldn’t. It’s not like any of it was your fault, but there was no one here to tell you to not take the blame. No one to coddle you and tell you that everything will be alright.

.

You could still smell the smoke and feel the glass in your skin. Your whole world was sideways as you stared in shock and denial as the victims never moved.

“MOM! DAD!” You screamed, your lungs burning with fear as they never would be able to call back to you; To tell you that they’re okay and everything will be fine.

.

.

“No! Stop! IT HURTS!!” Your pleading sobs were on death’s ears as your Aunt continued pushing your head face down onto the table; Detest in her eyes. 

“After the stunt you pulled, there’s no way I want another mutant in this household.” She spat, letting the people she hired do their work as they started making an incision in the base of your neck.

You tried wiggling out their grasp but to no avail. “Please! It was an accident! I didn’t mean to!!”

.

.

You felt his hand touch your thigh after he kicked you in the dirt; His companions howling with laughter in the background. Like this situation you were brought into was the highlight of their week.

“Awe, baby girl. You’ve got to know your place or you ain’t going to be moving up.” One cooed, cupping your face with his hands, giving you enough view of the stars on his uniform. Certainly more than you have right now. 

You tried to crawl back, but the two other people present had blocked you from behind, busting a gut again. The other man’s hands were back on your face again, and he was chuckling too.

“Awe. Don’t worry, sweetheart. Just a little taste is all I need.” He slimed before smacking his lips over yours, ruining you.

.

.

It was stupid mistake.

You should have waited for your partner instead of running off on your own. 

You’re an idiot. You’re an idiot. You should have waited. You should have waited. You–

You honestly thought the universe would grant you this. To grant you a chance to catch the man you’ve been hunting for weeks, but…

No.

No. Now you’re laying on the ground, your spine feeling funny as you feel the pool of blood grow around your head.  

Damn it. You thought. You really thought you had this one in the bag as you started to fade to black just as your partner’s voice broke out into a scream.

.

.

“Pl-Please. Y-You have to let me go. I-I have to…” You croaked as your veins felt hot and bubbly, your mind started to buzz, and your eyes started to lose their natural color.

You kept begging and pleading but they wouldn’t listen. You know their criminals, and you know they deserve any kind of punishment but…

You don’t want a repeat of what happened in your childhood. You actually want to avoid hurting anyone again with your abilities, you–

But they started grabbing you and beating you, they started pulling at your limbs and clothes, spewing slurs and hate ‘cause you were the one with the shiny gold badge, you were the one that was supposed to bring them in. And they weren’t having it.

You continued to try to reason with them, feeling the buzzing getting louder and louder, and your fingertips started to glow red and–

They pulled you one last time, which was enough for everything to go haywire, which was enough for you scream an apology and you realize you were–

.

“NOOOO!!” You gasp awake, your hands frantically attacking the air. It took you always a couple seconds to realize where you were and that everything was just a dream a nightmare. Your adrenaline died down with your heart beat, your shaky breaths were cooling too. 

“A dream…” You pants, and lick your chapped lips. “Always a dream…”

Subconsciously, you touched the back of your neck feeling the scar. You were surprised you could still feel how prominent it is after all these years. Especially since maybe you deserved it being there.

You sighed with your eyes closing, taking a deep breath before deciding to look at the clock; Unfortunately realizing it was time to go to work.

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

You finished getting ready, packing up your bag while you waited for your toast to pop. You groaned at your appearance, you took note of the dark circles under your eyes when you passed by the cheap mirror you bought for yourself, and quickly strolled to your bathroom for some concealer. You did the best you could to look somewhat normal, washing your hands afterwards, and nearly dried off your hands on the costume you wore the other night.

You paused as you remember randomly putting it on before deciding you were going to kick your neighbour’s ass for hurting his wife. A stupid hoodie with cargo pants and a bandana you didn’t even realize you had. Not to mention that you did have some old mittens on that had to be tossed when you couldn’t get the blood off them (And trust me, you’ve tried every remedy out there).

To be honest, you were debating going out there after that night. Even though it felt… good… you weren’t sure how people in the public would feel if suddenly a vigilante decided to show up out of the blue. 

You frown, and almost left it.

Almost.

A split step outside the bathroom, and you had already made your mind up. “Oh, fuck it.” You mumbled and snagged it off your hook, rolling it up and stuffing it into your bag (along with the boots you wore that night). 

You grabbed your piece of toast and were ready for whatever work throws at you today.

And not that you were ready for any of this today.

When you finally entered the police department you immediately felt everyone’s surprised stare towards you. Every. Single. Person. They were all staring at you, not even trying to hide it. However, they weren’t surprised by the fact that you finally decided to come into work several days later, but by the fact that you were actually at work. You could tell that they were surprised that you were still… well…

Alive.

I guess they really thought that this ‘Kingpin’ was going to get you.

Cowards. You were scared of nothing. You kept a straight face as you walked past everyone who was still gawking at you like a zoo animal. You somehow managed to keep your cool even when Grimm came running up next to you.

“L-Lieutenant! You’re okay!” He spewed out, looking and sounding like was actually worried (Was he?). “We were wondering if you–”

You throw up the bird and give him a cold glare. “Fuck off, Grimm.” You reply, and exited the area for the locker rooms in the back. But as you were passing by, a man next to the water fountain caught your attention.

“Lieutenant, huh?” His voice raspy and low, almost like he was giving up and fighting at the same time. “You wouldn’t happen to be the new girl, are you?”

You pause your movement to get a good look at him. A man, who you assumed was just a bit older than you, stood about five-eleven with dark hair with the sides shaved, and had a nasty looking scar over his right eye. You took notice of the pack of cigarettes in his hand and how wrinkled his clothes were. 

Interesting.

“That would be.” You said, keeping your guard up in case this was another asshole. You watched him as he checked you out head-to-toe before chuckling quietly.

“Huh. So that would make you my new partner.” He said, with a bit of amusement.

Now it was your turn to act surprised. “Wait… you’re Castle?”

“That’ll be me.” He shifts his stance towards you and holds his calloused hand out. “Captain Frank Castle.”

You shook it. “Detective Y/N L/N.” 

“You introduce yourself as Detective?”

“I like it that way. Gives me… a more mysterious vibe.”

He snorts, his lips quirking up into a smile. “I like you already. See, I prefer Captain. Gives me… a sense of dominance when I’m out in the field.”

You tilt your head, playing coy. “Well, I can certainly see that.”

“Hmm. Sassy. You remind me of someone I know.” His smile fades a little before standing straighter, shoving the pack of cigarettes into his pocket.

“Hopefully that’s a good thing.” You reply, smirking.

“Maybe…”

“Yo! Castle!” A cop said from down the hall. “Boss wants a word with you. Now!”

Frank sighs, throwing his head back. “Ah, our bastard Commander needs a word. Fun.” He said, blowing one last puff of air before putting out the bud on the water fountain, littering. “We’ll catch up later, kid.”

Kid? You raised an eyebrow at him as he watched him walk away. The man that was officially your partner. The man that’ll have to be your mentor for a while. The man that…

.

.

.

Seemed just as messed up as you are.

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

You weren’t even at the station for an hour when Grimm suddenly appeared next to you, scaring the living hell out of you. “Jesus, man.” You reply, nearly spilling your coffee. “What?”

“So what did he make you do?” He asked, a mixture of worriedness and curiosity (a very odd but seemingly dangerous mix you do say so yourself).

“What?”

“What did he make you do?” He repeated, making you bat your eyes at him, puzzled. 

“Who? Our Commander? Or Castle?” You asked, because you were not following. “Frankly, I haven’t really spoke much to any of them, except–”

“No, no, not them. Him.”

“Who’s ‘him’?”

“You know… the big boss.” Grimm subtly looked around before whispering, “The Kingpin.”

You scoffed immediately. “What made you think he made me do something?” You asked, watching him get taken back by your answer.

“W-Well, you’re… alive, So I thought–”

You sigh, and start walking back towards your desk with him on your heels. “What makes you think I wasn’t alive?”

“Well, we didn’t see you for a couple days. So we thought–”

“I wasn’t feeling it. And besides, I told you, I ain’t following this… ‘program’ unless he comes face-to-face and tells me himself. I don’t want any of his goons coming and telling me to do something.”

“B-But–” Grimm speeds up so he’s slightly ahead of you. “That’s how he does business. He rarely makes an actual appearance. He–”

“Then I ain’t doing anything that’s not an order from my Commander.” You said, picking up the speed as well, hoping to get away from him and end the discussion (or at least see if he takes the hint). You start taking a sip of your drink, but unexpectedly, he knocks it out of your hands, letting it fall to the floor. You looked at him in disbelief just as he grabbed you by the shoulders.

“Lieutenant, listen to me. If you don’t accept the program, bad things are going to happen. And since, it sounds like you’re all alone in your life, there will be no blackmail, only death.” Grimm explained, and his hands started trembling at the thoughts he was thinking. “I-I could, or a-anyone here, could reach out to him; We can ask him to give you an assignment instead of accepting and waiting for an invitation. We can just–”

You threw his hands off of you, giving him the cold glare from earlier. “I’m going across the street for a new coffee. I’ll be back.” You start walking away once more. “Or maybe I should just bring a whole case of booze for myself, seeing how this day’s already turning out.”

You felt everyone’s eyes on you again as you started leaving the precinct. And of course, the little leech that had attached itself to you was still following you, even to the outside world.

He stops on top of the stairs, shouting, “You have to accept the program, L/N! It’s the only guarantee that everything will be alright here!”

You growled under your breath as you turned around. “Will you shut the fuck up already?! I ain’t accepting shit unless he tells me himself!” You watched as he shuttered, and everyone passing by looked at you like a madman. “What are you all looking at?! Do your own fucking jobs and stop worrying about mine!”

That seemed to do the trick, as they all disbanded, heading back inside to mind their own business. You groaned and closed your eyes while running a hand through your hair, just thinking. You can’t believe this shit was still going on. I mean, you should have expected it, but you were holding onto a slimmer of hope that everything was going to be a-okay.

Jesus, Why can’t they leave me–

“You changed your name.” A voice creeped up from behind you, feeling the air get knocked out of you. Trying to not look so startled as your head whips around, looking down the stairs. That voice sounded… what exactly?

You were met with, in your opinion, a very handsome looking man, probably around your age; Nicely combed chestnut colored hair with a pair of red shades, complementing the slick black, neatly pressed suit he had on. He looked like a man ready for business.

Even though he was kind of captivating to look at, you just continued to stare as your brain processed everything that he just said. 

And It did take you a minute to finally understand why he sounded familiar, a memory buried just beneath the surface of your delegate mind.

You blinked, slowly putting it together, finally stringing the courage to say–

“...Matthew… Matthew Murdock?” You asked, still unsure. 

He chuckles softly, flashing those pearly whites. “That would be me.”

Your eyes widened with shock as you took a step down towards him. “Oh my… oh my god. I didn’t think… I didn’t think I’d see you again. Your–” You trail off when you finally notice the cane he was holding. Though, it was not just any regular cane that anyone could have. 

Cane and shades. Oh my god, he’s–

He strangely sensed what you were looking at, and gave you a bittersweet look. “I know I look different since the last time we’ve seen each other.” 

Your face flushed with embarrassment. “Oh, I-I didn’t mean–”

“No, no. I know. I get it. Um…” He shifts his weight around, copying with your own feelings. “Are you… free to get some coffee?”

“Coffee? Um…” You shake your head when you even give your job another thought, and smile. “Sure. I’d love to.”

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

“So…” You were trying to figure out how to start this conversation as you both leave the cafe, drinks in hand. “How… How’ve you been? Since it’s been, um…”

“So…” You were trying to figure out how to start this conversation as you both leave the cafe, drinks in hand. “How… How’ve you been? Since it’s been, um…”

Wait. How long has it been? You thought, racking your brain which he seemed to have read.

“Twenty years? Give or take.” He said, with a small smile.

You gasp under your breath. “Jesus, it’s really been that long?”

“It sure has.” He said, a sadness in his undertone. “Um… I’ve been good. I can’t complain.”

You smile softly. “Well, that’s good to hear, Matt–” You shake your head again. “Uh, Matthew. Not, Matt, I uh–”

He chuckles. “You can call me Matt, Y/N. No need to be formal.”

“I can?” You asked, and he nodded. You sigh. “I’m sorry, I’m just… trying to get used to this feeling again. Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize. I get it.” He grins just like you remember from your childhood. “When you do get used to it, should I… call you ‘Peaches’ again?”

“Don’t you fucking dare!” You teased immediately, and pointed. “That name’s embarrassing.” 

“Why? I think it’s adorable.”

“Not in the way I got it!”

“So you confused it for another fruit, I think it should still hold up.”

“I was four! You big tease.” You both had arrived at a crosswalk, and subconsciously you grabbed onto his arm for him to stop. You quickly realized what you did, completely embarrassed.

Way to make it awkward, Y/N!! 

“Shit, sorry! I-I shouldn’t have grabbed onto you like that!” You said, as you try to iron out the wrinkle on his sleeve you made.

“It’s okay, Y/N. I’m used to people grabbing me like that.” He says, truthfully. “My friend Foggy helps string me along all the time.”

You raised an eyebrow. “I’m sorry… Foggy? Please tell me that’s–”

He holds his hand up. “It’s a nickname. He’s my old college roommate who snores like a foghorn.”

“Oh, thank goodness. I was about to say. Who names their kid that?”

He laughs. “Foggy probably would.”

“What’s his real name?”

“Franklin. Nelson.” Matt says as they start crossing the street.

“Franklin ‘Foggy’ Nelson.” You tilt your head at him. “So an old roommate?”

“Roommate, friend, and partner. We’re attorneys.” He clears up after feeling your confused stare on him. “We started our own law firm.”

You looked at him in awe. “Really? You’re a lawyer?”

“Yep.”

“Wow. That’s amazing. Just like your Mother.” You missed how his face fell as you thought of the beautiful brunette woman, always dressed like a goddess in your young eyes (She also made the best pie you’ve ever eaten). You smile at the memory, as the two of you get to the other side. “How is Maggie, by the way?”

“She’s…” You could feel how tense the air had become. “Passed away.”

You nearly stopped in your tracks, the wind getting knocked out of you. “Oh, shit. I’m sorry I didn’t know.” You sigh. “Jeez, I am really fucking up today, aren’t I?”

“You didn’t know though.” He points out as you shake your head.

“I know, I know, but still.” 

Times like this I wish I had telepathy as a power. 

You took a moment to process this before deciding to carefully test the waters. “Do you mind me… asking how it happened?”

“Not at all.” He replies, sadly. “Uh, car accident. Same one that blinded me.”

“Jesus. I’m so sorry, Matt.”

“It’s okay. She had a good life. I can dwell too much on what happened.” He stops and points with his stick. “Uh, here it is.”

You look up at the office building, a few signs lingering in the front to show what’s there. Of course your eyes beeline to the one you were looking for. “Nelson and Murdock: Attorneys at Law.” You read aloud, not hiding your smile. “Not bad, Mr. Attorney.”

“Please, Attorney’s fine.” He joked, sensing your happiness.

“Wow.” You look back at it and then back at him again, wondering, “Can I see?”

He seems taken back by it, but happily obliges. “Uh, of course.” He gestures to the door. “Head up the stairs, second on the left.”

You curiously head inside as he follows you, letting you lead until he has to unlock the door. Once you are inside, color yourself impressed by it. Now, it’s not the fanciest law office you’ve ever seen or been in, but it was definitely something you could rant about.

You whistle slowly, nodding in excitement. “Whoa. Sweet place.” You said, spinning back around to him.

“I don’t think it’s that luxurious.” Matt said, letting you walk around.

“Why not? I mean, sure, it’s small, but not a lot of people who start their own business would get something like this. It’s amazing.” 

He quirks a smile. “I guess. Still could’ve got something better.”

“And how would you do that?” You raise an eyebrow with a teasing look. “You won the lottery and haven’t told Foggy yet?”

“Something like that…” He shifts his weight over, looking slightly uncomfortable. “Can I ask you something?”

“Shoot.” You reply, tossing your empty cup away, listening.

“Why did you change your name?”

You paused. “Hmm?”

“What’s with L/N?” He asked, confused. “What happened to Maximoff?”

Your heart sank. You didn’t expect him to realize so soon. “Uh…”

Suddenly the door opens to a bubbly blond man. “Matt, you’re here. We have a client who’s urgently coming over here– or is that her?” He looks puzzled, holding his head. “I swear it was a man on the phone…”

“Oh, I’m not a client.” You said, shaking your head. 

“Foggy, this is Y/N. I ran into her this morning.” Matt replies, gesturing towards you with his walking stick.

“Y/N?” His hazel eyes widened. “Wait, like… Y/N? As in your childhood friend?” Foggy asked, with a grin.

“You… talked about me?” You said, looking over at Matt who seemed almost embarrassed by that.

“Oh, Matty here wouldn’t shut up about you.” Foggy steps closer holding out his hand that you take. “Foggy Nelson.”

“Y/N L/N.”

“Pleasure to meet you, Miss. So what brings you here? I remember Matt saying something like, ‘you moved many years ago’.”

“Yeah, actually. Why are you back here?” Matt asked, curiously. “‘Cause I’m pretty sure you’re not here on a vacation.”

“Uh…” You cleared your throat, nervously. “You would be correct. I… I was on a job, I’m a detective, and I kind of… messed a very tiny thing up that my superior lost his shit on; Instead of demoting me, my punishment was to relocate back here.”

Foggy whistles slowly. “Damn. What did you do?”

“I’m… still not hundred percent sure about that myself.” You shrugged. “I still think it wasn’t a big deal.”

A laugh. “Well, Thank you for being honest, Miss L/N.”

“Please, Y/N’s fine, Mr. Nelson.”

“And please call me, Foggy. Mr. Nelson was my father.”

You snort, and lightly elbow Matt in the arm. “Oh, I like him. I can see why you attached yourself to him.”

“Are you kidding?” Foggy scoffed playfully. “I’m the one who attached myself to him.”

Matt grins, following along. “Well, I can’t exactly see what got attached to me.” 

“Oh, you’ve got blind jokes now, too?” You asked, not surprised. 

“Of course, what else would I do?”

“Was he a smartass like this when you were kids?” Foggy asked, making you nod eagerly. 

“Oh, yeah. You have no idea.” You reply, honestly. You remember Matt always being a bit of smart ass, even at a young age. A quick look at your watch told you it was time. “I know you have a client coming, so I should probably take my leave.”

“You sure?” Foggy asked, sounding disappointed. “You could pretend to be our secretary.”

You laugh. “I would love to play pretend, but I’m technically still on the clock. So…”

“Awe. I just met you and I want you to stay.”

“It’s not like she’s disappearing again, Foggy.” Matt says, before shifting in your direction. “Right?”

“I promise I won’t disappear again.” You smile. “Uh, well… you know where I work. Come by anytime.”

“Will do.” 

You take your leave, and as soon as they don’t hear your footsteps, Foggy faces his friend with the biggest, cartoonish look on his face.

“I can practically hear you grinning.” Matt said, hearing him skip towards him like a kid.

“Oh, come on!” Foggy says, bouncing on the balls of his feet. “I don’t need super hearing like you to see she was flustered. I think you might be leaning away from the childhood friend zone, Matt.”

“Foggy, I haven’t seen her since I was nine. Maybe she was just happy to see me too.

“Okay, again, don’t need super hearing to tell you’re lying. Besides, you’re Matthew Murdock; The guy who somehow picks out all the pretty women wherever he goes.”

“And… how would I know if Y/N’s beautiful?”

“I don’t know. You describe her as being cute.”

“Yeah, and I was saying that from a nine year old’s point of view.” Matt points out, hearing him sigh. Although, the quietness didn’t last long when he admits that his curiosity has peaked. “What does she look like now?”

Foggy grins again, slinging his arm over his shoulder. “Okay! She’s gotten taller, Obviously. She was wearing a white blouse with a black blazer and pants, very professional looking.” He explains as his friend listens along. “Uh, she still had (Y/H/C) colored hair, which was tied up in a messy bun, and had a few strands in her face, probably from this weather. Uh, you know, (Y/E/C) eyes, uh, some makeup, but not too much. Just the right amount. Uh–”

Matt chuckles. “You’re really going into this one.” He tilts his head playfully. “Shall I set up a date?”

Foggy lightly swats him in the arm. “Can it.” He says, before looking quite prideful of himself. “I, my dear friend, am a happily married man. I think Marci might throw me off the roof If I did.”

“And probably stage it like an accident.”

“Exactly.” He points and sits down in one of the chairs. “I love her too much to do that. But you, on the other hand, don’t have to hesitate.” Foggy points out as his friend sighs. “Come on, Matt. What’s the harm in it? What are you afraid of? Your disability? Your heightened senses? ‘Cause I don’t think she’s going to care about either of those.”

“She’s going to care about something…” Matt mumbles, making the blond perk up.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

Foggy hums and straightens up. “Well, if it’s not going to be a date, you can at least invite her out to the bar on Thursday with us. Because I deserve to know about your childhood.”

Matt raises an eyebrow. “I’ve told you about my childhood.” 

“Yeah, but I want it from her point of view. You know–” He shrugs. “Maybe you left out some embarrassing details?”

He laughs and shakes his head. “Okay, let’s get that paperwork ready for our client, alright?” 

Foggy sighs, playfully. “Fine. Party pooper.” He whines, and then smiles. “But seriously, drinks with her, por favor?”

“I guess I can.” Matt said, admitting defeat as his friend shoots his hands in the air, standing up from his chair towards the printer.

“Thank you!” He sings, getting a laugh…

And a very subtle…

Frown.

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

You shut the locker you were using loudly before carefully making sure everything was still inside (You still weren’t sure who could even trust in this place). Once you saw everything is, you slung your bag over your shoulder and exited the room, surprised to find your new partner just outside like on repeat.

“Captain?” You said, confused (You wondered if he needed something, or maybe you two finally had a case together).

“Detective.” Frank said, after a puff from his cigarette. “Where’d you run off to this evening?”

“Just some fresh air.” You reply, shocked that he didn’t even sound mad. “Plus, I… ran into someone I knew. Decided to catch up.”

“Hmm. I get it. It can get suffocating here.” His dark eyes trailed down from your face, looking deep in thought (It was starting to make you nervous).

“Captain?” 

“Your badge is all twisted in your collar.” 

You didn’t even get the chance to look at it yourself before he was leaning in close and started fixing it himself. You stood stiff and confused, not sure what to even say or do. And you really weren’t sure what to do when you suddenly felt his lips by your earlobe.

What is he–

“The walls have ears.” He whispers, making you quietly gasp. You watch him pull away with a smile, and then loudly say, “Want to come with me to the vending machine?”

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

You trained yourself to relax, realizing that you officially know now that someone in the building was watching and eavesdropping on you. You had to act like you were completely unaware of anything, just like you have been since you started here. You stood next to Frank as he was acting like he was trying to decide what he wanted as he started speaking quietly to you.

“I can tell you’re not in the program.” Was the first thing he said, surprising you once again.

“How can you tell?” You asked, also looking preoccupied.

“‘Cause you don’t look scared to death when someone starts talking to you.”

“I could say the same thing about you.”

“Well…” His frown comes and goes on his face. “Hate to break it to you, but I am.”

You let the shock hit your face before washing it away. “You accepted it?” You asked, as he nodded. You couldn’t even believe it. “Why? And what did they make you do?”

“I had to.” Frank admitted. “I needed to prove myself to the… cause.”

“What did you do?”

He glances at you for a second. “I killed the cop that went against the program’s orders.” He must have seen the way you paled because he apologized. “Sorry. But I didn’t enjoy it if that’s what you’re wondering. I’m just trying to stop all this bullshit.”

“Stop?” You asked, intrigued. 

“Yeah. Like it should have all those years ago.” 

“What do you mean?”

“There was a different Kingpin who ran the city years ago. His name was Wilson Fisk, and unlike the new one, he showed the world who he was; He wasn’t afraid of anything or anyone. Until… something or someone slipped up, and he was finally charged for all his crimes.”

“Weird.”

“Yeah. The public thought it was all over, and they still do. They don’t even realize that another person has claimed the throne of the underworld. Except us on the task force.”

You inhale sharply. “Jesus.”

“Yeah.” He mutters, not even hiding his frown. “Listen, Detective. I’ve read your file and color me impressed; Like, really fucking impressed. You’ve done some amazing things in your career.”

Your heart flutters at the compliment. “Thanks.” However you couldn’t help but wonder what if he was aiming at something else. “But…?”

“But… there will be consequences if you don’t expect the program.”

You scoffed quietly. “So I’ve been told.”

“And you should take it to heart, Kid.” He said, sincerely. “Look, I admire your… hard headedness, and I’ll try to support your decision as much as I can, ‘cause you’re my partner. But you’re going to face the worst of the worse. You’re going to have verbal and physical threats, your job’s going to get tougher, and you’re probably going to have people try to kill you.”

“So I’ve been told.” You said again, making him grow quiet. 

Very quiet. You could almost sense the–

“I might have to kill you.” 

And then your eyes widened again, this time, your fear really showed. You saw that Frank seemed uncomfortable by what he said (and could you even blame him?).

“I’m your partner, I’m going to be the closest person to you while you’re working here, so it’s highly likely. And I really don’t want to.” Frank meets your gaze, guilt inside his orbs. “But I have a family, Kid. If it comes down to a choice, I’m going to have to choose them over you. You understand?”

You nod slowly. “I understand.”

“Good.” He decides to finally pick what he wanted out of the machine, finishing with, “Just consider everything I said. Because I want to work with you, you seemed like a good fit for me; And I want you to be by my side if we take this guy down.” He reaches down to grab the candy, handing it over to you with a smile. “I’ll see you around.”

You take it in your grasp, watching him leave the room with his work façade on and airtight. Now you were left with all your emotions swirling, leaving you to think everything over rapidly.

I wonder how many people are like Frank. Would I be the same way if I still had my family? It hurts you think about it, but who wouldn’t in a situation like this?

You glanced down at your bag.

.

.

.

That once glance is what you needed to make your choice.

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

Dawning the all black attire once more, you walked along the dark parts of the city, keeping your eyes peeled and ears open for anything useful. But after a few hours out into the night, you almost headed home in defeat until you caught wind of something.

You carefully walked down the steps of the fire escape, looking down at what was the backdoor of a bodega, open, and two people having a tense conversation. You say the shop owner, a guy your age, talking to someone who you deemed shady. 

“Where’s the rest?” The shady man asked after rummaging through a duffle back that he handed. 

“T-That’s all of it.” The shop keeper said.

“That can’t be all of it. You’re low this month.”

“W-Well profits have been down, so–”

“That’s no excuse.” The shady man grabs him by the collar (which was the last straw in your eyes). “My boss ain’t going to like that.”

“I-I don’t know what you want me to do! I don’t have any–”

You finally dropped to the ground, startling them. The shady man tries to hide his fear by putting up a tough look. “Who the fuck are you?” He sneered, right before you blasted him into the door.

“Get inside.” You told the shopkeeper, which he wastes no time to do. You walked closer and kneeled before the man who was groaning in pain. “So you like to steal money from the innocent. Why?”

He peaked his eyes open, gritting through his teeth. “Who–” Then he sighs. “Oh, you’re a masked… woman? I’m letting a woman beat me?”

“You sure are, buddy.” You snagged his hand just as he started reaching for his gun, and used your strength to apply pressure. “I’ll leave you be if you just answer my question.” You squeezed more getting a peep out of him. “Why are you taking his money?”

“Ugh, c-cause my Boss owns this block, he gets half of the businesses to pay for their protection.”

“So they pay you so you can protect them?”

“Yes!”

“Do you?”

“I don’t know, I’m just the messenger– Ah!!”

You twisted in the opposite direction, making him wiggle under your grasp. “Who’s your Boss? The Kingpin?”

“The Kingpin? Fuck no! I-I mean, we partner with him, but we don’t directly talk to him unless it’s something serious– Ow!”

Interesting. So they’re independent? Or, they believe they’re independent? You have put that information on the backburner for now.

“So who’s your Boss?” You asked, as he shakes his head.

“I ain’t telling you that!”

“Alright then, who’s the Kingpin?”

“He’s–” Then he froze which got you interested.

“Oh, so you know stuff about him? Well that’s perfect.” You use your other hand to pin him to the door. “Tell me everything.”

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

With just a few pieces of information, it was enough to get you going. Enough to start doing what you thought was necessary. Over the next few weeks, your little night job caught the eyes of the public. What started off with just one newspaper flooded into more. Soon you saw the silhouette picture of you everywhere you go (Might seem a little narcissistic, but you kind of felt a rush from it). But… not everyone felt great about your appearance. What started off with a phone call from one of his men, pleading him to turn on the tv, soon fueled his rage. 

The Kingpin, The God of the Underworld, The Western Sun of The Hand, listened intensely to everything the news reporter is saying.

[More Vigilantes? Looks like Queens isn’t the only one having a masked hero, looks like one decided to spawn in our neck of the woods. Nicknamed ‘The Masked Man’ has been helping out our rougher parts, and bringing rightful criminals to justice. This week alone, ten wanted men from a local gang have been placed on the steps of a few police stations. Although authorities are grateful that they’ve been brought in, just like what happened with Queens’ Ghost-Spider, they’re still hesitant against this new helper. But of course, the public have a different opinion, and are praising this new hero with gratitude. Up next, we have–]

The Kingpin clenches his fists with bitterness, and grits through his teeth with, “Those fucking idiots.”

Why didn’t any of them tell him that this was happening frequently? Or that this was happening at all? Why did he have to find out through a goddamn news station? 

He could tell his men on the other side of the phone was doing his best not to tremble as he spoke,

[‘Do you want us to see if we can draw him out, Sir?]

“Not yet. I have somewhere to be, and I want to meet this person myself. So, wait for my orders.”

[‘Yes, Sir. Enjoy your night.’]

He hung up the phone, tossing it onto his desk as he let out a heavy sigh. One that was loud enough to make his friend crack a joke as he waltzed in.

“Whoa. What did the desk do to you?” Foggy jokes, getting a snort as a reply.

“Oh, I could make a list.” Matt quips back with a smile.

“Well, if you’re caught up with the news, our last client just left. Which means, we can finally go get drinks!” Foggy starts spinning on his heels for the exit. “Come on! She’s supposed to meet us there! You can’t keep a lady waiting.”

“Of course.” Matt calls out, turning the tv off. The next words could be chilling to anyone that wasn’t his friend. And that was…

.

.

.

“What kind of gentleman would I be?”

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

The three of you clink your glasses and yell, “Cheers!”

“Y/N, I’m glad you could finally make it to our weekly outing.” Foggy replies, chirpy as usual (You could see now how he attached himself to Matt).

“Thank you for the invitation, again. I’m sorry I’m…” You chuckled. “Week’s late. Work’s been pinning me down like crazy.”

“Have you had any cases?” Matt asked, curiously.

“Uh… not really. It’s more like stopping a few robbers, and just going over cold cases. But then we got short staff last week, and somehow I got stuck being a traffic cop. I haven’t been one of those since the academy.”

“Do you miss San Francisco?” Foggy asked, as you shrugged.

“Eh, sometimes. I mean, I liked the people I work with; I miss my old partner Max the most. But my new one, Frank, he’s pretty good, a little lazy sometimes, but still good.”

“So what made you want to be a detective?”

“Is this twenty questions now?” Matt asked, tongue and cheek.

“What?” Foggy said, looking between the two. “I’m just curious. You can’t tell me you’re not.”

“Well, uh—”

“Yeah, he’s curious. Please tell us, Y/N.”

You laugh at their shenanigans, reminding you of your youth. “Uh, let’s see.” You start racking your brain on the reason why. “Honestly… it kind of just happened. I saw it on one of those career guides in my last year of high school and I just went with it. Part of me just thought it sounded cool, and the other part of me just likes the idea of helping someone.”

“Huh.” Foggy takes her answer in dearly. “That’s interesting.”

Another laugh. “I guess.”

“One more question.”

“Shoot.”

“Being in the law enforcement, you know, as someone who has to… uphold the law. How do you feel about these vigilantes in New York? Because–” He points to himself. “I think they’re doing the right thing, despite… ‘breaking’ the law so to speak. Now, Matt on the other hand–” He points to the blind man. “Slightly disagrees with me.”

“Oh, really?” You asked, intrigued. 

“I…” Matt begins, shifting in his seat. “Just want to make sure the right guy pays.”

“Huh.” You take that in, storing it away. “Well, it doesn’t really bother me. As long as they’re helping and not hurting the right people, I can side with them.”

“See?” Foggy said, looking in his friend’s direction and slapped him on the shoulder.  “I’m not crazy. And this is coming from a detective of all people.” He sighs blissfully. “Although, my only criticism is, the media needs a better name for this person. Masked Man ain’t cutting it.”

“And what would you call this person? Ghost-Spider 2.0?” Matt asked, interested now (And so were you).

“No, no. This person isn’t a copycat. They need something cool, something, maybe sinister? I mean, have you read one of the reports that say that the person had glowing red eyes? Or that another report said that they swear they fly? So it has to be kind of the nose here. Like… Red Angel, no! Red Devil! Or… Devil Man! Or… uh…”

“Like… Daredevil.” You said, the word clicking in your head. That seemed to get him really excited as he looked like a child in a toy store.

“That’s it! Daredevil! That’s perfect.” He gasps. “Maybe I should have that idea sent somewhere.”

“Daredevil.” You tested, almost getting butterflies from in. “I like it.”

“Oh, I know. It’s perfect.”

You hummed happily. “Alright, enough about a complete stranger. How about the two of you? How did you guys decide to become lawyers?”

Matt hums, thinking. “I guess… mine was kind of just heritage.” He admits, implying his mother’s legacy.

“Well, my mom wanted me to be a butcher, but I told her ‘no’.” Foggy replies, making you tilt your head, confused.

“A butcher?” You asked, as Matt groans.

“Oh, you just opened a can of worms, Y/N.” He says, confusing you more.

“Why?”

Then Foggy claps his hands together, startling you a bit. “Oh, my deary, this is a tale I must tell everyone. But first, I’m hungry. I’m going to buy nachos for the table. Be right back.”

And then he left, and it wasn’t even a second later when the suspense was broken. “You know, if he’s too much, I can make an excuse for you to leave.” Matt half heartedly jokes.

“No, no, I like Foggy.” You smile his way. “I’m glad you both have each other. He seems good for you.”

“You sound almost jealous.”

Yeah, well… maybe?

“Well, let’s be real, Matt, I’m not exactly the same kid I was when I left.” You say, honestly.

“Oh come on, you can’t have changed that much.”

“You have no idea.”

He hums again, leaning closer. “Well, I guess that could imply me as well.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

You scoot closer too. “Well… we can just try starting over?”

“Oh, yeah?” He tilts his head. “What about picking up where we left off? Slowly figuring out the missing pieces, Peaches?”

“Oh,yeah? Mr… Bratty-Matty?”

“Oh… Bratty-Matty? You really were a sly kid–” His fingers brush over your. “Weren’t you?”

You chuckle, your heart fluttering. “Maybe…”

“Maybe?” He repeats, then his blank gaze looks away from you. “I can hear Foggy coming back.”

You look up to confirm it. “Yeah, he is.” Which you were kind of sad about.

Seemingly reading your mind, he said, “Hey? If you’re free in the next few days, do you want to catch up? Just you and me?”

You smile, cheeks feeling red. “Yeah. I’d love that.”

“Perfect.”

He removes his hand just as Foggy came back, only for you to grab it under the table. You felt him squeeze back, and start listening to the blond man’s tale about how he became a lawyer.

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

“Sure you don’t want us to walk you home?” Foggy asked, as they all stood outside on the curb, a cab pulling in front of them.

“I’m like one block this way. I’ll be okay.” You said, smiling. “But thanks anyway.”

“Nice seeing, Y/N.” Matt said, as he started folding up his walking stick.

“You too.” You watch them start getting in before blurting out, “Hey, Matt?” You get his attention. “Call me.” That makes him smile, and Foggy cheers on.

“Ooooh.” 

“Alright, get in the cab, Nelson.” Matt said, getting in himself.

“Bye, Y/N.”

You wave them goodbye before walking away. Hands in your pocket, and a new pep in your step, you strolled the sidewalk without a care in the world.

I can’t wait to meet him again. You felt like a teenager again with your little highschool crushes. 

I wonder what Matt looked like as a teenager? It still saddens you that you lost touch with him all those years back. You always wonder happened to him and why he stopped writing.

Was it because of the accident? Or was it something else? You shake your head.

I’ll just have to ask him next time. Hmm? You stopped your movements in front of a store that you haven’t yet explored, and read the sign before getting an idea.

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

You plopped the stuff you grabbed onto the counter, everything between some new fabric scraps to some spray paint. You look around nonchalantly as the cashier, who looks like he’s done with this place, starts ringing everything up. You occasionally tuned in on the beeping and the sound of the plastic bag opening before he decided to strike up a conversation.

“You going to comic con or something?”

“Hmm?”

“You going to comic con?” He repeats, and you shake your head.

“No.” You raise an eyebrow. “What makes you say that?”

“The materials you’re buying suggest that you’re making something. A costume?”

You smile, prideful. “Something like that.”

And you could already picture that you weren’t going to be sleeping tonight.

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

The trembling, beat up goon, kneeled with his head on the floor in front of the man dressed in a blood red suit, a cane shielding the blade everyone saw him use.

“Speak.” Matt hissed, everyone holding their breaths when he spoke.

“I-I swear, this person literally looked like the devil! I-It had horns and c-could fly!” The man shook with every word, biting his lip as he awaited an answer.

“A devil?”

“Y-Yes! A devil! I-It took out the whole truck! Beat up all our guys! Pushed the weapons into the Hudson!”

Matt furrows his brows. “Pushed them into the Hudson? How? Those crates are almost a ton. How is that possible?”

“It’s got some kind of superpower! The whole truck was engulfed in red before being pushed in with a wave of its hand! I s-swear! I’m telling you the truth, my King!”

With a wave of the hand? Matt clenched his can, and anyone could see how angry he was now.

“Sir? What do you want us to do?” Someone behind him asked, and it was no brainer what he wants to do; He’s thought about time and time again.

“Do we still have some of those hallucination vials on hand?” Matt asked, hearing him nod.

“Yes, Sir. We should have a case of them lying around.”

“Good. Get ready.”

“Sir?”

.

.

.

“Because I’ve just declared war on this Devil.”

*Decided to draw what the reader's costume looks like so you can get an Idea.* Ignore the resolution. Idk why it came it out that way. lol.

-Taglist Is Open-

@utterlynuts @etanordoesbullsh1t @mattmurdocksstarlight @l3xiluve @lunaticgurly @margoo0 @swift-enchanted @athenniene

@up-in-space-reading @itwasthereaminuteago @lazyxsquirrel @yeonalie @scoliobean @kayden666

@nkmblackhyuuga

[danidrabbles]

Trifocal

Part 5 of Triumvirate

Summary: A well-deserved holiday, as seen through the eyes of three people.

Pairing: Javier Peña x f!reader x Katie

Rating: Explicit.

Word count: 6.8k

Warnings: female reader, established polyamorous relationship, threesome (f/f/m), romance, smut (oral / piv mentions / fingering / dirty talk / D/s elements / orgasm denial / sex toys / overstimulation / ass play, but in a blink and you’ll miss it type of way), alcohol consumption mentions... Please let me know if I missed something!

Notes: The Triumvirate trio goes on holiday! We're taking a bit of a jump here from Part 2 to Part 5, because we find Javier, Katie and Reader in a relationship together. How did they get here? Some hints in this one will have to satisfy for now, but we're working on Part 3 and Part 4 to show you the full story! A very big thank you to my writing partner in crime @javier-pena, without whom Triumvirate wouldn't exist in the first place, who patiently checked this for mistakes and who almost singlehandedly kept my belief in myself as a writer alive over the past year.

----

Javier never takes a holiday.

You urged him into this one, as you had done with every holiday you had taken together, and while you were planning it together, he realized he couldn't remember the last time he took time off before he met you. It’s not like he never had any time, he just never really felt the urge. Work kept him busy, and the girls and alcohol kept him distracted. It wasn't until he met you that things became… easier, more balanced. You certainly helped him to take it easier on himself, to bear the importance of his job but to stop feeling like the weight of the world was on his shoulders.

To take holidays.

One of the simpler parts of planning had been figuring out where to go. Katie’s desire to visit Europe outweighed every other option, especially after the embassy had cancelled her work trip to Spain. He’d been the one who had to break it to her, and the look on her face, the quick succession of surprise, disappointment, and forced acceptance, made his heart ache. Suggesting a holiday to Europe earned him one of her signature smiles, the one that makes him want to give her anything she wants just to see it.

The distance had been a pleasant prospect, too. He can’t get called back into the office when he’s nearly 6000 miles away…

Two days ago, the three of you arrived at the place you rented, and he immediately felt as close to relaxed as he had in a long time. It’s secluded, spacious, gives the option to hide away and be as you all want; it’s easier, being here and being the three of you together. 

The small town you’re staying in offers anonymity in a way that makes him feel at ease to walk around the way the both of you are now, in front of him. His eyes travel from your linked hands, up to your profiles as you talk, and smile, and lick away at your ice cream.

He likes to watch you with her. It gives him a chance to observe you in a way he never gets to, and it’s like he falls in love a little more every time. Though he can’t deny that Katie offers you something he finds difficult to provide, something… carefree. It’s something he struggled with at the very start of this, the thought that maybe he wasn’t the best match for you — that you belonged with her.

You’ve made it very clear you are right where you belong: With her and with him.

“Here, try this,” Katie says, offering her cone up to your mouth, watching your tongue dart out to swipe along the cold treat. 

She watches you with dark eyes, and Javier finds himself equally affected. It’s something else he gets out of this that he still struggles to come to terms with. That it’s okay that he likes it. That you do as well, and so does Katie.

As if she can read his mind, she turns to him with an expression that makes him feel warm. The pride he finds in her eyes — the awareness that you get to share all of this, that everything between the three of you always runs in a circle of sorts — is something he relates to. He acknowledges her look with a jerk of his head, and it makes her face break into a smile. After, she turns back, accepting your offer of your ice cream for her to taste.

As she does, Javier’s eyes drop down to the little camera bag Katie carries with her. If he had a camera, he would take a picture now, when the two of you are unaware of how he’s watching.

Click.

Another time.

----

Katie feels like she’s dreaming.

Because being here is like a dream. It’s something she’s wanted for as long as she can remember, and it’s everything she expected it to be — the people are friendly and easy-going, the food is delicious, the landscape is beautiful…

The street in front of her is a perfect example: narrow and cobblestoned, ivy growing up the side of the small, crooked houses. It’s almost like a fairytale. She excuses herself, untangles herself from your grip and reaches into her bag to find her photo camera.

She bought it with the first paycheck she got after she started working at the DEA. It felt like something worth celebrating, to materialize the pride she felt over moving to an unknown city and taking a new job. It’s not even like she needed a camera, per se, but walking past a camera store in Bogotá, she was drawn in by the pictures in the window. It got her thinking. It would be nice to document her life, use the film to take pictures of the city, her new friends, to show them to her dad when she’s back in the States.

This holiday definitely feels like something worth commemorating; a way to celebrate your relationship after the tests it has faced. 

It’s the three of you. It feels right. It is right.

She gets the feeling again later, when you’re taking a break from sightseeing, sitting at a table in front of one of the restaurants for a drink.

Javier and you are sitting opposite her, lost in conversation, and she lands in it too late after studying the menu too long to really participate, but it’s fun to watch. Neither of you are particularly animated, but you’re equally engaged, not letting the other win until—

“Jesus, fine!” you laugh, shoving at Javier's shoulder. “You’re so stubborn.”

Katie can tell it’s meant to chastize him, but it just comes out fond. Javier simply grins, then lets his hand fall on your thigh in affectionate victory. The look you give him in return stirs something deep in Katie’s chest, makes her want to reach for her camera to capture it, but the moment passes.

She’ll get her chance one of these days, she reasons.

----

“Anyone else want something to drink?” you ask, stretching where you’re laid out on the big lounge bed beside the pool. The curtains surrounding it billow in the wind while you get up before you pad down the poolside. 

On your way to the kitchen, you gaze down into the water. Katie floats by, on her back, topless, eyes closed behind the sunglasses perched on her nose. She thanks you and asks for a beer. Javi, on the opposite side of the pool, sitting in the shallow end, does the same.

Once inside, you allow yourself an extra second in front of the open refrigerator, basking in the cold air, before plucking two beers and a bottle of water from the door. You fill a glass with water, and bring it to your lips to take a large gulp that slides pleasantly cold down your throat. 

You’ve been here for the better part of a week now, and you could get used to this. The warmth is different from the sweltering Colombian heat, the passage of time here makes the days seem twice as long and it feels like the first time you haven’t been worried about any aspect of your relationship with Javi and Katie. With everything out in the open, there’s finally time to enjoy it.

When you gaze up at the pool through the window, you see the two of them clearly had the same thought. 

They’re in the shallow end, Katie in Javi’s lap, their kisses innocent until Javi’s mouth opens under Katie’s for a kiss that’s obscene. Javi takes hold of the bottom of her breast and dives down to close his mouth around her nipple. Katie cups his head, pulling him closer as her mouth falls open.

You shiver at the sight, and can imagine all of it; Javi’s mouth there, his moustache on the sensitive skin, your own mouth there, the sound Katie makes when you let your teeth play with her. Heat licks up the base of your spine, and you hesitate, not sure if you should act on it and join them, or take a mental picture of this and let them have their moment. It’s decided for you when Katie’s eyes suddenly find yours through the window, and she smiles before beckoning you to her with her free hand.

You almost smash the glass as you put it down on the counter, forget their drinks, and walk through the door with hurried determination. Plunging into the pool via the side closest to you, you wade towards them, finding your place behind Katie and between Javi’s knees. You pepper her warm shoulder with kisses until you reach her neck and find that spot where she’s sensitive.

“Hmm, you feel good,” she sighs, her hand tangling in your hair and holding you in place.

Your hand curls around her body, cupping her other breast with a squeeze. “So do you,” you whisper in her ear.

Under the water, Javi’s hand finds the side of your thigh, squeezing before Katie’s hand knocks him away. He pulls away from her with a wet gasp, and a confused look in his eyes.

“Kiss her,” she says, framing his jaw with her hand and leading him to your face over her shoulder.

His mouth lands on yours, kissing you with fervour as Katie’s hand disappears back under the water. You hear the water slosh around you, feel how your knees slide along the bottom of the pool as Javi’s body presses more of Katie’s up against you. She moves between you, her hand finding his lap until he bucks into her touch. 

Javier breaks away from you with a growl, his eyes dropping down to watch where Katie’s hand undoubtedly circles his cock. You watch with him, hands roaming Katie’s soft skin. In turn, Katie twists her free hand behind her back, her palm sliding down your abdomen and past the waistband of your bottoms. Her movements are limited on account of the angle, and the fabric that isn’t giving, but she finds your clit with expert precision and circles it with one of her fingers.

With a gasp of her name, you try to widen your thighs to give her more space, teeth sinking into her shoulder when she works a finger into you. As you do, you slide your hand around her hip, attempt to return the favour, but she stops you with a soft, “Don’t,” as she slides a second finger inside. “Just enjoy it, sweetheart.”

You know that this is how she likes it — playing the role of observer and participant, getting the chance to let her mouth run knowing it will only make you wetter, Javi harder. It comes natural to her in a way that you wish you had a little more in you — in a way that reminds you of Javi.

Javi’s hand comes up to twist her in his direction until he can look into her eyes. He looks intimidating, his hair slicked back from the water, his eyes dark, but Katie doesn’t seem to notice. Or pushes on in spite of that. 

“Feeling a little left out?” she asks, the control she has over the situation making her bold, and brazen, and you grind down against her hand in response.

“Careful,” he replies, his voice deep and raspy, before kissing her and biting at her lip.

She threads that edge, pushing closer, squeezing him in her grip. “Or what, Javier?” she asks.

You watch with curious eyes as Javi’s top lip trembles with a hint of a snarl, before his eyes go a little softer and his jaw goes slack. You know this expression, she’s doing that thing he likes where she circles his frenulum with her thumb – that thing you taught her.

“Hmm, I thought so.”

The words make you throb — she’s so sexy like this, when she wins, holds the both of you in the palm of her hand and knows exactly how to play you.

“We’re going to move this over there…” she tells you, eyes dark with lust, with an idea, as she nods into the direction of the lounge bed you were seated on earlier, “...where Javi’s going to fuck you.” 

She says it so matter-of-factly, and you’ll never get used to it. Her hand slides out of your bikini bottoms, and resurfaces to take your chin between her thumb and forefinger. You find yourself nodding along at her words with lust-filled conviction. It fuels her, a pleased expression gracing her features. The kiss she places on your parted lips is chaste, but her words after are anything but,

“And I think I’ll sit on this pretty face.”

----

Two days later, you find yourself sightseeing once more.

“I saw pictures of this in the travelling brochure, but it’s much bigger in person,” Katie says. 

Her head is thrown back to look up at the castle she’s referring to, at everything she told you and Javier about when she pressed you to go here; battlements, towers and turrets, arrow slots, cream coloured bricks, baby blue roofs and spires… It was a sizable drive, but her enthusiasm for it sold it pretty much right away.

The last time you saw her so passionate about explaining something was when she talked about the time she went fly fishing with her dad.

Without looking away, Katie reaches for the little bag hanging by the side to find her camera.

“Why don’t you give that to me?” you ask when she takes it out. “I want to–”

“Didn’t I tell you?” she interrupts happily. “It’s so pretty”

“And it’ll be even prettier with you in the picture with it,” you say, clarifying your intent. You take great pride in watching the realization wash over her face — her understanding, a blush, the way she hides a smile — you love being able to do that to her.

“You’re such a flirt,” she says, playfully narrowing her eyes at you before shoving the camera against your chest and turning to find a good spot to stand.

Seeing her through the rectangled little glass makes her seem like she is the only person there. And in that small moment, she is. As you change the angle, make sure the light looks right, that the colours will come out like they’re supposed to, she flashes you a radiant smile, and it doesn’t leave you unaffected. You capture her just like that.

Click.

It occurs to you that you never told her about the photography class you took when you were in school, and you almost do, until you see Javier at the edge of your view, making your mind change directions. He’s fiddling with his hands, nervous. It’s easy to imagine how a workaholic like him would find it difficult to wind down. It’s crowded here, and he’s vigilant, even far away from his DEA duties. 

“Javi — Javier!” you shout, waving him in Katie’s direction.

He nods in understanding, makes his way towards her and hangs his sunglasses off his shirt. They’re facing each other, engaging in a conversation you can’t hear from your distance. Then Javier tilts her chin up and wipes a thumb over the tip of her nose — some sugar from the donut she had earlier, maybe? Katie’s nose scrunches up. Javier keeps his index finger hooked under her chin, smiles at the face she makes. 

It’s the perfect moment.

Click.

“Excuse me,” a voice next to you asks in a thick accent. “Should I take a picture of the three of you?” When you look up, a man is looking at you expectantly, holding his hand out for the camera. “You will have some proof you were here also.”

You assess him quickly: He's pushing a stroller with a small, sleeping girl inside, and there's a woman by his side who gives you an encouraging smile. Not exactly the kind of people who would take the camera and hit the ground running.

“That would be nice, thank you.”

You jog towards Katie and Javier, and you know your smile in the picture will be genuine when Javi puts his arms around your shoulder, pulls you close, then does the same to Katie. After a few moments, the man gives you a thumbs up, and when you’ve made your way back to him, he places the camera in your hands as you thank him again for his offer.

“You are very brave for going on a holiday with a couple,” the woman says.

“I’m sorry?”

“Those two,” she says, looking in Javier and Katie’s direction. “Very in love, no?”

You follow her gaze, and find them looking at the castle, Katie’s back against Javier’s chest, his arms around her, his chin resting on her head.

“Oh,” you say, smiling and trying to hide the fondness in your voice. “Don't worry, it's not as bad as you'd think.”

As soon as the family is out of view, you raise the camera back up and find Katie and Javi through the viewfinder.

Click.

----

It's been five days since Katie got the better of him in the pool, and Javier can't let it go.

It's not like he didn't enjoy it; far be it for him to complain about watching her sit on your face until she came all over it while he fucked you. If he’s really honest with himself, it’s the fact that someone stepped to him and succeeded, and that instead of feeling threatened, he feels invigorated by it. He feels that way every time she manages that.

This afternoon, she’d been so sweet. It's a joy to experience this trip through her enthusiastic eyes, and his attraction to her soars when he hears her talk about all the research she’s done about all the places you visit together. She also makes meeting people and small talk seem effortless; it’s like Katie has never met a stranger.

So no, he doesn’t want to "get back at her", because it isn't like that, but he’s in the mood for something. The desire is making him itch, especially now that she’s getting cheeky.

After a dip in the pool to escape the afternoon heat, you’re out for a late dinner, and she's back to pushing his buttons. It doesn’t help that she looks gorgeous. Her air-dried curls look more wild than usual, and her cheeks have gone freckled, slightly red, all from the sun. Seated across from him, she keeps finding his calf under the table to stroke the top of her foot along it. All the while, she’s seated next to you, scanning the menu for desert. Or pretending to, anyway. It all comes to a sudden halt when she excuses herself to find the bathroom.

"So, what is it?” you ask as soon as she’s out of view.

"What?" he replies.

You close the menu in a way that makes him think you know you won’t be staying for dessert, and put it on the table. "Your big plan for her.” Placing your hands on the table’s edge, you look at him with a raised brow. “That's what you're thinking about, aren't you?"

In any other scenario, he would feel like he got caught thinking about something he shouldn’t – someone he shouldn’t. Your tone doesn’t match that, though. Your tone is encouraging, your interest piqued. When he doesn’t answer, you lean over the table, move closer, and the movement pushes your chest against your hands, presses the tops of your breasts up in your top in a way that distracts him.

Leaning back in his chair, he purses his lips in thought. "Remember, before we left, when you asked me if there was anything you should bring?"

Your expression instantly goes from playfully inquisitive to something giddy and knowing. "Yes."

"That's my plan," he decides, watching as Katie makes her way back to the table with nothing but mischief in her eyes. "And you're going to help me."

----

“Stop.”

Javier’s voice is so stern it sends shivers down Katie’s spine, the deep timbre of it seemingly reverberating off the walls. The small vibrator he has pushed against her clit stops buzzing, and the two fingers you have pushed inside her stop moving and curling. Her back lands back against the bed where it had been arched up from, the sheets damp with her sweat.

Katie’s pretty sure she shouldn’t enjoy this as much as she is. She’s aware this is more for your shared pleasure than for her lone benefit, but it’s a byproduct that suits the three of you all too well. Because the truth is, she loves being at your mercy; a participant in something the two of you are doing together. 

Ever since sleeping with the two of you for the first time, she’s never once been bothered by the time you were together before she joined you. How could she? Javier and you were clearly perfect for each other, a team in so many ways. She complements you, but not in a way that she’s inferior in this relationship — you’re all equal. There’s a little bit of both of you in her, and she knows that plays its part in why this works.

Despite enjoying the teamwork, it’s getting harder and harder to take — and to stay dignified. She’s been worked up to the edge two times now, and the desire to get vocal about it is rising in her throat. 

She’d mistaken it for something else at the start of this, thought having the two of you in bed, on either side of her outstretched legs, was a simple shared moment of pleasure and not an assertion of dominance. The first time the both of you had brought her to the edge and stopped before she could tip over, she’d tried to finish the job herself, a hand flying between her legs. Javi had warned her not to with a, “Hands above your head. And keep them there or I’ll find something to tie them up with,” to which she had curled her fingers around the bars of the headboard. 

They’ve gone numb now.

“Give her a taste,” Javi says. 

Katie gasps as your fingers slip from her cunt in a wet rush and present themselves at her lips. She opens obediently, her lips closing around them to taste her own desire with a hum.

“More,” Javi tells you.

Katie’s eyes flick over to him, watch as he takes himself in hand while you slip further down her tongue. The tip of him is slick with pre-come, and he uses it to stroke himself to the sight of the two of you.

The slick sounds mix together, filling the bedroom in tandem. You pull your fingers back before sliding in deeper, and repeating. Katie knows you’re pushing her, she can tell from the look in your eyes, the way you slide along the back of her throat and push a little further each time. It makes her heart race, makes her try to hold out and build up the anticipation, but you get what you’re looking for when she lets out a choked sound. Tears form at her waterline when you do it again, and she clenches around nothing when you compliment her with a,

“Well, don’t you sound pretty.”

Katie heaves a wet gasp for air when you allow her one, feels the trails of spit sliding down the corners of her mouth, her chin, before she chokes again when you push your fingers back down her throat. 

“Enough,” Javi says, letting go of himself. His palm lands wetly on Katie's thigh, spreading her open to slide the toy back between her legs. 

Following his lead, your fingers find her opening, use her saliva to add to the wetness and glide back inside. 

You go again.

It’s when Javier tells you to stop for a fourth time that Katie loses her composure. 

One moment she feels like a livewire, like she’ll come from just the right caress, the next everything stops, leaving her feeling frustrated and tender. She’s so close she can taste it, desperately clenching around your stilled fingers, a phantom buzz still between her legs even without the toy. 

“Please,” she cries out. “Please, keep going."

Katie’s watery eyes flash to you when she feels your hand twitch, slightly, but still. “Javi,” you begin, voice soft and unsteady. Your conviction is wavering, she can see the confliction in your eyes. She knows it’s not because you think she can’t handle it. It’s more in your desire to please, the satisfaction you get out of her getting off. You move with every intention to continue pumping and curling… until Javier's hand closes around your wrist.

“Feel that?” Javier asks, addressing Katie with a voice that sounds like the complete opposite of yours – clear, in control. His hand moves, your wrist moves, Katie cries out, and the headboard creaks in her grip. “She wants to give it to you. Think we should do that, baby? Do you want to come?”

Katie nods, and it crosses her mind that this must be what it’s like to feel fucked dumb, the deep desire and need so raw on the surface that she feels like it’s the only thing she needs. “Please, Javi,” she begs, her voice coming out raw. “Can I come?”

His expression is unreadable. It reminds her of when she’s been on the other side of the interrogation room glass, watching him question people with iron determination. She knows that he knows how to get what he wants. So much so, that it’s almost a shock when the vibrator clicks back to life, when Javier’s thick fingers spread her open and bare her clit so he can circle, circle, circle.

“Oh, please,” she babbles, writhing against the sheets when your fingers start moving in tandem, as she races towards her peak again. Everything pulls taunt, the muscles in her abdomen contracting before Javi’s hand lands there and pushes down, keeping her in place and making your fingers hit that perfect spot. “Pleasepleaseplease–”

Katie comes with a shout, rolling her hips as best as she can with the way her movement is restricted. Her hands fly down, clutching the damp sheets as the oversensitivity burns through her limbs. You stop moving, but keep your fingers in place. Javi, however, doesn’t let up.

“J-Jav,” Katie stutters, eyes pleading as something new and devastating begins tingling up her legs.

“You wanted to keep going,” Javier says, the device click-click-clicking under his thumb as he increases the vibrations. Her sweat runs cold. “So put your hands back up and let's see how long you can last.”

----

The first time Katie wakes, it’s 3:06 am. She’s squished in between the two of you, your breath softly fanning out against her chest while Javi snores puff out softly against the back of her neck. Her eyelids feel heavier every time she blinks, until she falls back into a dreamless sleep. 

The second time she wakes, two hours have passed. 

Nothing else has changed.

----

When you wake, it's close to the afternoon, and it’s just you and Katie in bed. You can tell she’s still far away, breathing heavily, and you can’t blame her after the night she’s had. As you contemplate getting up, your rumbling stomach decides for you; some food would be nice. Carefully, you untangle yourself from her, then find a shirt on the floor and slip it on.

In the kitchen, you find a bowl and fill it with some fruit, then circle the house to look for Javi. You find him by the open backdoor, a cigarette between his lips and his yellow-tinted sunglasses on his nose.

He’s someone who struggles to unwind, to allow himself that, but you’re proud of how he’s doing on this trip. Especially these past few days; you haven’t heard him and Katie talk about work for a solid five days. He matches it in looks, his hair more dishevelled, more buttons on his shirts undone (if any are done up at all).  

You greet him by sliding your hand up from his back to his shoulder, and step outside to stand next to him. The concrete below your feet is warm from the morning sun, the sky is a clear blue, and a little breeze plays with your hair; tell-tale signs it will be another day in paradise.

“She still asleep?” Javier asks, before hollowing his cheeks around the cigarette.

You let your index finger play with the grapes in your bowl, pop one in your mouth and answer, “Yep.”

“Maybe we were a little too hard on her,” he prompts, taking another drag.

As you chew, you look at him from the corner of your eye, watching a little smile lifts one corner of his mouth as he puffs out the smoke. He knows as well as you do that she likes it, maybe more than she’d like to admit. By your count, she came five times. You bask in the knowing silence. It’s both thrilling and comforting, knowing what goes on in her mind, knowing it also occupies his.

“I liked doing that with you,” you say, rolling the one grape you have left around in your bowl. “A lot.”

“Yeah…” Javi says around an exhale, his final plume of smoke before putting his cigarette out. He takes the bowl from your hands, sets it down on the garden table by his side. With a little sway, he takes you in his arms, looking down at you with a playful expression, “...I noticed. Who knew you’d like it so much to be knuckle deep inside another woman, hmm?”

You inhale sharply at the lewdness of his words, but smile at the truth in them. “Well, I could say the same for you.”

He hums again, before a small frown puts a crease between his brows. “Aren’t you glad we figured that one out together?” His voice is softer, and his tone is different — less lighthearted, more serious.

“Yes,” you assure him, hands sliding up his bare chest on their way to cupping his cheeks. “Very glad.”

He leans down to press his lips to yours; it’s chaste and soft, and full of emotion. You return it with the same sentiment.

“I’m going back to bed,” you tell him when you pull away. “Are you coming?”

He strokes his nose against yours, and nods.

----

This isn’t what Javier expected from “going back to bed”.

It had started with just you, pushing him on the empty bed, straddling him before crawling down to lazily suck him off… until Katie emerged from the bathroom. She watched at first, but quickly became a participating voyeur, kneeling behind you and flipping your shirt up to bare your pussy to her.

"Sweetheart, look at you," she’d cooed, her hands circling the soft skin of your ass, the slick sound of her parting your lips following. "Getting so wet from sucking his cock."

Javier had gotten up on his elbows just in time to watch her lean down to taste you. With a stutter of his hips, he forced more of himself into your mouth.

Three groans echoed through the room.

Katie has you close to it now, he can tell by the way you’re distracted, moaning around his length while she holds you tightly against her. With a sound that makes him throb in your mouth, she pulls away to watch herself slide two fingers into you. The visual and physical stimulation makes Javier’s eyes go out of focus for a second, glassy with pleasure until he catches Katie looking up at him over the curve of your ass. Without breaking his gaze, Katie flicks her tongue up between your cheeks, and it goes straight to his cock when you come up with a gasped, “F-Fuck, Katie, keep doing that, you’re going to make me come.”

Your forehead drops against Javi's thigh, your hand clumsily stroking him as your free hand reaches back to palm the back of Katie’s head and push her back down until you come with a cry. You tremble in the aftermath, your puffs of breath making goosebumps rise along his sensitive skin. 

"Holy shit,” you manage to huff out after a while. “Come here.” Letting go of him, you turn over on your back to pull Katie to you. 

Javier watches her land on top of you with a giggle, kiss you, pull your shirt over your head as you exchange whispered words. He can’t make out all of it, but his cock jumps where it’s curved back against his stomach when the words “taste him together” reach his ears. 

For a moment, it had felt like his orgasm was ebbing away, but when the two objects of his desire untangle and turn until they’re on their stomach, side by side between his legs, he feels the fire reigniting in his gut.

You take turns on him in a bobbing of heads that you’ve almost perfected over time. Even without looking, he could tell who is who. You take him deeper, add a twirl of your tongue when you come off of him that makes his toes curl. Katie is sloppier, like you taught her, her spit sliding down his length as she sucks on his tip. But watching is better — much better. 

It’s hypnotic, watching you work together and share a wet kiss over the tip of him before you focus back on his cock. Except this time, Katie kisses you once, twice, then tells you to, “Keep going,” while she slips from between his legs and disappears from his view.

It makes Javier zero in on you, only vaguely registering the mattress dip behind him. Your hand curls around the base of him, holding him steady in the absence of Katie’s help, and just when you slide up, eyes on his, your mouth open along the underside of him, wet, warm, familiar, when his head falls back into the pillow with a grunt of pleasure…

…there’s a click.

When Javier opens his eyes, he finds Katie kneeled behind him, camera in hand, lowering it from in front of her face to watch as you jerk his cock. Unable to resist, he reaches for her, pulls her down for an upside-down kiss that he can feel her smile into. He likes this about her, her playful nature, how easy it seems to come to her despite everything that has happened between the three of you, and how she has the best ideas. 

“Give that here,” he whispers when he pulls away, “and get back down there with her.”

Katie swallows hard, on account of the order, he suspects, something he noticed she likes coming from him. With a nod, she places the camera on the mattress next to him, before crawling back between his legs.

You’re still in your place, curious eyes following Katie’s every move and accommodating her body next to yours again. Katie brushes your hair aside, kissing your jaw, your cheek, before wrapping her hand around the base of his cock and offering him to you. 

It takes him back to the start of your holiday.

His thighs tremble when both of your mouths go back to sucking him off, sliding up and down the side of his cock again, and again, and again—

“Take a picture, baby,” you prompt hoarsely.

He’s surprisingly steady as he picks the camera up with one hand and lifts it to his face. It looks so much more erotic through the viewfinder, like a snippet from a dirty movie. It fills him with a sensation that tingles up his legs and blooms up between his hips. He must make a sound, something he’s unaware of, because you and Katie look up at him at the same time, with bright eyes, spit-slick lips still wrapped around either side of his dick—

Click.

It happens with an accidental twitch of his finger, but he has a feeling it’s for the best when he feels himself throb, twitching between your lips… “I’m gonna—” he begins, managing to toss the camera back on the bed before coming with a stutter of his hips and a deep moan.

It coats both of your faces, slipping down cheeks, and lips, and necks… He gets a taste of it when the both of you crawl back up to him, gets it fed back to him off fingers and lips and tongues. The aftermath puts him in a daze, and the way both your hands are stroking along every part of him make him feel intimately cherished. It also reignits something deep in his gut that makes him stir, and hungry for something else - more.

You squeal when he sits up and flips you over with a growl.

Later, when you’re all spent and satiated once more, he watches as Katie reaches for something next to the bed. She produces her camera from the floor, and he feels guilty for discarding it so carelessly earlier. 

It must show on his face, because she’s quick to assure him. “Don’t worry, it’s sturdy.” She puts the camera back in her bag, “But I don’t think we can ever get these developed.” 

Javi snickers at that. Katie’s right, it was fun while it lasted, but seeing the results means bringing the film to a store and allowing them to be seen by others to get them developed, which would be…impossible. It’s a shame, but not the end of the world. At least, that’s what he thinks, until he looks at Katie, when he sees a smile on her face that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. Just as he goes to assure her that the real thing is better than the pictures anyway, something clicks. 

It isn’t about your private photos, it’s about the others.

He takes her hand and pulls her against him, pressing a kiss on her brow. You stir next to him, turning to face him in the early stages of sleep, and as he watches you, a plan begins to form.

----

“Is this like last time?” Katie asks.

The excitement in her voice makes you laugh, and when her head whips in your direction. Javi’s hands almost slip from their position over her eyes as he leads her blind through his apartment. You’ve been back in Colombia for a week now, but there’s still unfinished business from your trip.

“Don’t make fun of me!” she splutters, covering Javi’s hands with her own to keep them in place. “You look sexy in blue lace. Though it was more fun taking it off you. You really missed something, Jav.”

“Apparently,” he replies, eyebrow raised.

You wave his expression away. “Yes, yes,” you say, cheeks heating at her recollection of the blindfolded fun you got up to during Javi’s latest business trip. “It’s not like that…” you watch her purse her lips in disappointment, “...but I think you will like it.”

Javier and Katie come to a halt in front of one of the doors, and you open it before motioning for Javier to take his hands off Katie’s eyes. When he does, she blinks her eyes back into focus, undoubtedly still confused by what it is that you’re showing her when she looks into the black of the room. It’s completely dark on account of the taped off window, but when you flick the lightswitch, the room is bathed in red light. It highlights all the equipment — the enlarger, trays, photo paper, timer, a line of rope from corner to corner…

“I took a course on this a couple years ago,” you explain. “I dug up most of the equipment, we got you some new supplies. I could teach you, help you develop our holiday pictures.”

“Wow,” Katie whispers, stepping inside to let her eyes roam around the room. “You giving up your office for me, Javi?”

Javier crosses his arms in front of his chest and shrugs, before leaning against the doorpost. “I have an office at the office, and… this is more important to me.”

There’s a sparkle in her eye when he says that, something you recognize from yourself when Javi expresses his affection in a way that you didn’t see coming. 

She looks back at you. “Can you… show me now?” It’s clear she’s trying to mask the eagerness in her voice, but she’s doing a horrible job, and you love it.

Who could say no to that?

“Of course.”

Katie smiles brightly, turning on her heels back to the living room to retrieve her camera.

You approach Javier, and he uncrosses his arms to make room for you, to let you slide a hand up his chest and say, “Good idea, baby,” before cupping his cheek and giving him a kiss.

As you do, you hear a click.

----

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