#pretty much every fucking day we have another mass shooting
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as an american living in a southern state and working in a public workplace, i am so fucking scared
#tw guns and gun violence#i probably shouldn’t be up reading gun violence statistics in the middle of the night#but here i am#it’s just so fucking scary#and the fucked up thing is#nobody cares#we’re all supposed to just go on about our days as if something couldn’t happen any fucking minute#like i’m not a fucking martyr#my job will NEVER be as important to me as my safety#fuck that#i care too much about myself and my own life than to be a peace of meat risking my life out here#while some politician sits high and mighty on their untouchable throne just waiting to cast their ‘thoughts and prayers’ on the next victims#pretty much every fucking day we have another mass shooting#and it seems like#the less anybody does something about it#the more people are gonna feel like they can get away with it like idk but#WHY ISNT ANYONE DOING ANYTHING ABOUT IT?????#fuck the us#fuck our government#and fuck those goddamn guns
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it takes a man
it takes a man for me to vigorously research a new area of the world
it took the man who couldn't do better for me to read up on Wittgenstein and join logic and philosophy lectures
it took the man who brought stories to my life to understand that a great story doesn't necessarily mean an entirely happy one
it took the man who showd me grounhopping to see the value of football in Czech society
it took the man who brought light into my life not to kill myself
it took the man who is yet to be named to understand in how much of a bubble we are here in the West, in how much of a bubble we are here in Prague, in how much of a bubble I am
there are babies being murdered in Karachi
there are babies being murdered in Karachi
there are babies being murdered in Karachi
because desperate people do desperate things
when I was leaving school, I said: "I am very much looking forward to not having to see another WW2 or North Korea or China or Russia or any other documentary in my life, if I don't want to"
but that's the point of education
to not let us forget
to confront us with all the realities of this world
to not let us just close our eyes and pretend that if I can't see the suffering, the suffering isn't there
there is a man from a culture I don't know much about
and he finds me cute
and he was surprised when I didn't think that reading about Taliban is boring
and he was enthralled when I quoted Dr. Who
and I have been reading about his corner of the Earth for three days straight because I am immensly interested
and I have the same undue feeling that I had when Russia attacked Ukraine
when there was a mass shooting in the city I consider home
was it just profound luck that put me in what we like to call 'the civilised world' when I was born?
was it god?
was it a coincidence?
I have been thinking about what I'm gonna say when we come across the topic of personal belief systems
"My relationshiop with God/god is complicated. I was raised roman catholic, so essentially I was raised to hate or atleast suppress quite a big part of me. I understand how believing in The Lord helps my mum and her mum every day, and I am glad they have something like that.
Personally, I am not sure he exists, but if he does, then I am pretty damn sure he doesn't give a fuck. And that pisses me off. Because if a french pilot can formulate the thought you are responsible for what you have tamed, then so can god. And I cannot make my peace living in a world made by a god so cruel he chooses to not do anything about all the wrong stuff. So... I think that I try to not think about it much to save my sanity."
in any case, it took a south Asian journalist for my bubble to burst once again
my precious safe bubble of mint tea and insurance covered therapy and driving to my parents' house on Sundays when I don't feel like riding the bus
there are babies being murdered every day in Karachi because desperate people do desperate things
I am so glad that I can worry about what to wear for the date we have tomorrow
and at the same time it's so wrong, so undue, so fucking unfair
because there is a woman my age half way across the world
(and one half way across the city, probably)
who is pregnant and worried and desperate
and I cannot help her
and I worry about what am I going to wear for a date with a guy she once saw on the news
and in moments like this the world doesn't make any sense to me
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Forest Fun (Male!Reader x Tentacle Monster)
Pairing: Male!Reader/Tentacle Monster
Warnings: NSFT (18+ content) ahead, Dubious Consent, Breeding, Aphrodisaics
Word Count: 1448 Words
Summary: You encounter a creature in the woods, a creature all too eager to keep you to themselves.
Request: hi! can i request an nsfw tentacle monster x male reader? maybe dubcon and breeding if thats okay, i just feel theres a lack of tentacle nsfw on here. thank you and i hope you have a good day!
When you’re finally able to open your eyes, your entire body feels like solid cement. Each miniscule movement is tiresome, like swimming through a thick soup and drowning under the excess pressure.
You’re exhausted, but your senses are slowly returning to you. There's something moving, undulating, all around you. You can feel the muscles pushing and stretching across your body, caressing every nook and cranny. You’re so tired that it almost feels like a massage.
“Hnng...Hmm..” You moan, finding that only your face is untouched by….whatever it is that’s fondling you. The air is muggy and hot, your whole body coated in a light sheen of sweat. Your clothes rub uncomfortably against your skin. You want them off, you want them off now.
“Pretty….Pretty boy.”
A voice whispers, slow and raspy. The unfamiliar tone and it’s breath brushing against the back of your neck should send you running, but you’re so tired. The voice is so soothing, so full of adoration, you can’t help but sink into its tendrils.
The mass of tentacles begins to move you, pushing you further up and away from the ground. They continue to caress and fondle you, but a couple apply pressure; Spreading open your legs or sneaking under your work shirt.
That’s right, you were working. You had heard from your neighbors that the peaches from the forest were so juicy and delicious, they would fill your stomach for days. You had gone at the crack of dawn, heeding your Mother’s warning about the dangerous night, with a packed day-bag and your foraging clothes. After that, things are blurry.
You involuntarily gasp as a tentacle brushes against your crotch. The tiny touch sends shockwaves up your belly and down into your toes. A low purr vibrates against your back. The tentacles around your legs slowly move up your thighs, their grip growing tighter as they grow tantalizingly close to your growing bulge. You find yourself thrusting your hips upward, desperate for that fleeting sensation once more.
A tentacle slowly slithers up your shoulder and to your neck, affectionately squeezing at your jugular before coming up to pet your jaw. Your eyes lazily sweep down to it, lips parted as your breath grows heavier and heavier. That tentacle brushes against your bottom lip, pulling it down, admiring the color as your face grows more and more flushed.
In a quick movement, one tentacle wraps and boldly squeezes your erection, pressing through the pant’s fabric. You gasp and the tentacle near your mouth takes its chance; A thick, sugary liquid drops from it’s tip, right into your mouth.
The liquid glides down your throat like honey, leaving behind a thick coating and stirring a strong sensation in your gut.
You thought you were hot before, but the molten magma that shoots through your veins like adrenaline proves you so hilariously unprepared. Every nerve feels inflamed, your body burning but very much alive. The humid tentacles feel like cool aloe vera, temporarily satiating your overwhelming desire. You can’t help but moan around the tentacle which creeps into your mouth and begins playing with your tongue.
“....More…”
Two tentacles begin fondling your cock through your pants, one focusing on your balls while the other focuses on your sensitive head. The moan that leaves you is positively sinful, one which the tentacles like very, very much.
“Cute noises.” The voice whispers, echoing all round your head. It makes a sound very similar to a chuckle as you continue to groan from it’s ministrations, a damp spot forming at the center of your pants. “Want more.”
One tentacle leaves your weeping cock, deftly undoing your trouser buttons and pulling them down. It’s assisted by several other tentacles, which pet your thighs as they are revealed to the outside. Your underwear quickly follows.
Your moans devolve into whimpers and grunts as a tentacle wraps around the base of your cock, slowly working it’s way up to the head. It plays with the globs of pre-cum, massaging it into your shaft. The other tentacles resume fondling your balls, it’s sticky underside imitating the feeling of a tongue, sucking and tugging.
A cold wetness drips down your cock and into the crevice of your ass, forcing you to jerk and clench your lower body. A smaller tentacle follows it, kneading the moisture into your skin before tentative poking at your asshole. Your body clenches once more and even the unabashed lust you feel doesn’t assuage your anxiety.
“Don’t worry.” The voice whispers, a tentacle soothingly stroking up your chest and shoulders. “Feel good, it will feel really good.”
You gag around the tentacle in your mouth, trying to voice your protests, but a tight squeeze to your cock silences it with a moan. The tentacle caressing your ass continues, rubbing the natural lube around your tight hole and lightly prodding it with it’s tip.
Your heart pounds in your chest, your shirt soaked through with sweat. Tentacles writhe underneath the fabric, pushing it up and over your nipples, tweaking them with a surprising amount of dexterity. The streaks of pleasure that run down your abdomen causes you to relax your muscles, your mind easily distracted by the delicious feeling. The tentacle groping your tongue leaves your mouth, uninhibiting your languid moans. In that moment, another tentacle pushes into your asshole.
“A-Ah!”
“See?” The voice laughs, slurred and drunk on lust, “Feels good.”
The voice is right; Although the shock had caused your lower body to tighten, the tingles of euphoria wracking your body quickly overshadowed any uncomfortableness. The pressure is foreign but the way the tentacle writhes and presses against your insides has your keeling for more. The tentacle widens in girth as it goes deeper and deeper, the pressure on your cock feeling more and more jarring as it stretches you open.
Your tongue rolls out of your mouth, saliva pooling down your chin as the tentacle writhes inside of you. Your eyes begin to lose focus, all your energy hyperattentive to touch, smell, the sounds of this creature gleefully pleasing you.
“Like that? Pretty boy likes it?”
You nod, eyes rolling into the back of your head as the tentacle around your cock squeezes your cock-base.
“Sooo...good.” You slur, hips lazily thrusting back into the tentacle, craving something more. “Faster, faster. Please.”
The creature acquiesces, the tentacle picking up its pace and fucking you harder. It leaves only the tip with each thrust, before shoving it and hitting your prostate. Another tentacle wraps around your cock, focusing on your shaft while the other fondles your head, almost savoring the taste of your sweaty dick. You feel your balls begin to tighten as the sensations overwhelm you, your noises devolving into hasty breathes and squeaks.
“Please, please-” You don’t even know what you are begging for at this point. You just know you need it and you need it fast.
“Yesssss.” The creature hisses. “Want our cum? Pretty boy wants us to fill him up?” You nod, nearly crying as the tentacles around your cock halt and the tentacle in your ass slows it’s pace. “We will do it, fuck pretty boy full of us. But,” The tentacle around your cock-head pulses and you nearly jump from the pleasure, “We want pretty boy’s cum too. Want to feel it.”
You nod your head desperately.
“Yes! Yes, you can have it, anything! Please, just give me all your cum, please.”
The creature purrs against your neck, it’s tentacles easily proceeding. You let out a cry of relief as the tentacle fucking your asshole grows sloppier and sluppier with it’s thrusts. The tentacles wrapped around your cock stroke you with a frenzy, that rising heat in your belly slowly reaching it’s apex.
“Fuck, fuck!” You shout.
“Yes, yes, pretty boy. Cum, cum for us.” The creature growls.
In a crashing wave, your orgasm washes over you. Your cum shoots through the air, covering your lower belly and even your chest. Tentacles quickly wrap all around your torso, lapping it up from your skin.
The tentacle in your ass keeps thrusting, pushing through the aftershocks of your orgasms, before it begins to spasm. A gush of hot liquid coats your insides, all other tentacles constricting around you as stream after stream of cum fills you.
It’s hard to catch your breath, even form a thought, as you sink into post-orgasm exhaustion. The tentacles continue to pet you, but even their movements are sluggish as they massage your thoroughly wrecked body. Your clothes have been half-hazardly strewn about the forest, your naked bottom dripping and exposed to the elements. But neither you or the creature seem to care.
#reader insert#my writing#tentacle monster#male reader#male reader insert#monster/human#monster/reader
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𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘺 𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘭𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘢𝘵𝘵𝘪𝘵𝘶𝘥𝘦.
𝘧𝘵. 𝘪𝘻𝘶𝘬𝘶, 𝘣𝘢𝘬𝘶𝘨𝘰, 𝘥𝘢𝘣𝘪 (+𝘩𝘢𝘸𝘬𝘴), 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘢𝘪𝘻𝘢𝘸𝘢.
𝘨𝘦𝘯𝘳𝘦: 18+ 𝘴𝘮𝘶𝘵. 𝘦𝘹𝘱𝘭𝘪𝘤𝘪𝘵 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘵.
𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘥𝘴: 1.5𝘬
𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴: 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘷𝘺 𝘥𝘦𝘨𝘳𝘢𝘥𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯, 𝘵𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘵𝘰𝘺𝘴/𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘶𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯, 𝘣𝘳𝘶𝘪𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨/𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘶𝘯𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘵𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘴𝘦𝘹, 𝘪𝘮𝘱𝘢𝘤𝘵 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘺, 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘦𝘦𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦, 𝘤𝘩𝘰𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘥𝘢𝘤𝘳𝘺𝘱𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘪𝘢, 𝘤𝘶𝘮𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘺/𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘮𝘪𝘭𝘥 𝘦𝘹𝘩𝘪𝘣𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯, 𝘧𝘦𝘮!𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳
𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘱𝘰𝘳𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘺𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘦 𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳 18. 𝘯𝘰 𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘵, 𝘴𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘭𝘰𝘤𝘬. 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘬𝘴 𝘴𝘰 𝘮𝘶𝘤𝘩 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘭𝘺, 𝘪 𝘢𝘥𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘦𝘢𝘤𝘩 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘩𝘰𝘳𝘦𝘴. 𝘦𝘯𝘫𝘰𝘺. 𝘮𝘸𝘢𝘩.
“man, fuck you, the horse you rode in on, and your weak ass dick! just leave me the fuck alone.” you spit, arms crossed as you shoot the man in front of you a glare hot like jet fuel.
𝘪𝘻𝘶𝘬𝘶:
izuku midoriya is one of the sweetest people to grace the earth
there’s no doubt about it.
but know he is not afraid to put yo ass in a fucking headlock and pound his way into you, voice thick and raspy as he asks you just who the fuck you think you’re talking to.
he’s grown up quite a bit since high school
and refuses to get bitched by anyone, especially his own girlfriend.
a saccharine smile inches across peony pink lips, spreading over porcelain teeth
“you uh... you wanna repeat that, honey?”
you know you’ve made a mistake
he’s got that look in his eye, ravenous and wicked
“look...izuku, baby, i’m sorry. i didn’t mean to snap like that—“
“that’s not what i asked. i asked you...if you wanna repeat that.”
would definitely strap your ankles to a spreader bar, reveling in the way you continue to writhe against it
only to cry out in desperation once you realize that the more you struggle, the wider your legs go
or he’ll make you cry as you struggle to form a coherent apology, words choppy from the the remote controlled vibe is sending shockwaves through your heavily sensitive clit
he’d kneel above you, smile wide and innocent as he turns it up to the second most powerful setting, hard-on growing at the sight of your head lolling back while you try to appease him with sorry after sorry
“i-izuku—fuck, fuck! mmh— it’s too much....please, please, ‘m sorry! i didn’t mean it, ’m too sensitive—please just let me make it up to you baby—“
“all you gotta do is say the magic words sweetheart, and i’ll give you what you need.”
yeah, he’s one of those motherfuckers.
“remind me who’s pussy this is, and this’ll all be over with.”
“god, fine!! it’s yours okay! nobody else’s..now please, please fuck me izuku, i need you—“
doesn’t hold back for a second when he’s staking his claim all over your body, a calloused thumb roving over your clit gently, mindful of your sensitivity but edging you closer and closer to a fifth orgasm
happily smears strings of thick, sticky cum all over your stomach to mark you as his
and doesn’t hesitate to lick it off the supple, soft skin of your torso, the milky white substance congealing with transparent slippery saliva
he grasps your face firmly, fingers pushing your cheeks inwards and causing your spit slicked lips to jut out in a pretty little pout
“open.” he mutters before dripping the salty concoction onto your awaiting tongue, a throaty groan rumbling in his chest as he watches you happily swallow every last drop
“good girl.”
the aftercare is immaculate, izuku taking his time to wipe you clean so tenderly, lips pressing against each and every bruise, your body pliant as he whispers sweet reassurances into your sweat soaked skin
“much better now, right?”
you nod, eyes heavy as you sink into the warmth of his chest, hands clinging to him like he could disappear at any moment
“happy i could help you relieve some of that tension honey.”
“but talk to me like that again, and i promise you that’ll be the last time you call anything about me weak, especially how i fuck you. got it?”
prepare to be not only throughly sore the next day, but to have to conceal fingerprint shaped bruises on your hips and thighs
takes pictures of your fucked out face to have for future incidents where you decide you wanna talk like you have zero home training
and isn’t afraid to flash katsuki one or two whenever he gets to talking about how he could take you from him.
𝘣𝘢𝘬𝘶𝘨𝘰:
“so that’s how you wanna act, hm? if you needed some dick you should’ve just fuckin’ said so instead of always runnin’ your damn mouth.”
he whirls you around, pelvis pressing into the small of your back, rivulets of sweat beading at the base of your neck from his close proximity
he’s such a glutton for putting little bitches like you in their place.
blade sharp canines dragging against the curve of your neck, pathetic attempts to maintain your resolve falling from unsteady lips
“the hell’s wrong with you—you already know i’m with izuku...i’m not doing this shit to him again—”
but you were already gone when his lips slotted against yours, body throbbing at the contact
now izuku was a good lover, a giver, a pleaser at heart
always putting your enjoyment above his
but eventually one grows tired of slick tongues and curved fingers, pretty whines and gentle kisses
you wanted “fuck you”s, spit flying along sick expletives hurled at your bowed, desperate figure, sweet sticky semen coating your throat after it was abused and stroked as though you were a piece of plastic.
and as luck may have it, katsuki was more than willing to provide.
yet today you’d had enough, his subtle touches when you passed one another had garnered izuku’s attention; you’d reassured the male that it was nothing to bother with, that the two of you were just coworkers.
at least when his balls aren’t in your slutty fucking mouth, thick bubbled spit dripping onto your home screen as you text izuku that you’ll be home late for “stir-friday” once again.
the best sex was on days like today, when you got just a little too reckless at the mouth
when you needed a not so gentle reminder of who’s leaving you breathless all hours of the night
takes his time with you, fingers teeming with a slight brine as they’re sloppily thrust into your mouth with a “shut the fuck up talking to me like you don’t know who the fuck i am.”
degradation? baby, you’ve met the man.
“wanna act like a bitch, that’s fine. just don’t complain when i leave you limping like one, got it?”
you’re shoved atop a desk, it’s contents forgotten as katsuki latches onto a tit and proceeds to leave mark after mark, striving to rid any trace of your lover
panties tugged to the side, fingerpads waltzing up the length of your—no, his pussy
kisses down your sternum and the plush skin of your stomach, flipping you opposite him before snaking his tongue between your southernmost lips, devouring you like a man starved
but doesn’t let you cum, not yet anyway
“katsuki—please, i need it, don’t fucking tease..”
hates when you whine because it chips at his hard exterior, he’d give anything to pull another cry from you
“beg for it then. you had so much to say earlier, eh? go ahead and put your mouth to better use, fuckin’ slut.”
spanks you while he eats it from the back cause he can
and don’t even get me started on his size kink
lives for making you feel small against his large stature and even larger ego
“damn, you’re tight...thought deku would’ve broken you in a bit more for me by now—”
his pace is angry and unforgiving like his mouth, leaving you no mercy when he finally takes his place between your thighs
“that’s it...take that shit. don’t run...come on, tell me who’s dick you go dumb for, say it—“
“yours! j-just yours, never ‘zuku. fuck! m’ so fucking close please, please—“
cant fill you up like he wants, but settles for painting your body with splotches of white, watching them mix with your now-purpling bruises
and when izuku calls your phone on the hour to ask when you’ll be home, that cocky fuck answers
“relax. your little girlfriend and i are at the office with some reports, she’s so damn uptight...been on my dick this entire time. “
“should probably loosen her up more, maybe she’d be less annoying.”
𝘥𝘢𝘣𝘪:
he secretly loves it when you get like this
while dabi loves the rush of tossing around some brainless slut with a thing for fucking mass murderers
pussy was much better when it came with a little resistance, a little push back before he got what he wanted
“dabi come on..let her be. i’m sorry sweetness, this guy botherin’ you?”
his counterpart, keigo, was a top tier scumbag with grade-A looks, words mingling with a dulcet voice that could turn water into wine if he pleased
sienna wings bristled against his shoulder blades as he leaned down, an arm coming across your chest casually, bent over the back of the couch
“don’t call me that shit. actually, both of you are bothering me.” you grit, a hand swatting away tanned nimble fingers that were slowly making their way towards a breast
“see what i mean kei? she’s being a fucking brat. can’t stand bitches like her, always thinking they’re too good for guys like us.”
dabi takes a seat to your left, cyan eyes raking over the curve of your hips ravenously, staples gleaming in the bar’s gentle yellow glow
he was going to have so much fun breaking you in.
“ i think i know what her problem is....somebody just wants a little attention, right? hell, look at how she’s dressed...”
keigo’s eyes have taken on a darker energy, a hand winding around the width of your neck and squeezing lightly
“i don’t want anything from either of you assholes—wait, the hell are you trying to—ah!”
taking advantage of your pliant state, dabi’s hands begin to roam over exposed skin, a scarred set of hands slithering up your top
his abrasive fingers tweak your nipples roughly, rolling them between a forefinger and thumb with a lustful glare
“come on...don’t you want us to make you feel good? tell us you don’t want us to cream you like a fuckin��� twinkie, and we’ll leave your bitchy ass high and fucking dry, just like this.”
you hate them, the last thing you want is for either of these douchebags to be what gets you off
but god do keigo’s lips feel like heaven on earth when they’re against your pulse point like that, and dabi’s profuse experience shows in the way he manipulates your body to make you sigh in ecstasy, fingers slipping past drenched lace with ease to tease your sensitive clit...
“we—we shouldn’t do this out here, someone might see...s-shit, ah fuck—”
“so what? don’t want everyone to see how much you like getting double teamed?” keigo taunts, tongue darting out to soothe the harsh bruise he’d finished sucking into the skin beneath your ear
“nah, i think we’ll take you right here. besides, it’s just us and the boss man tonight. ‘should let him watch though, maybe he’d learn a thing or two about what a good fuck really looks like instead of that hentai shit.”
“so...you in or not? my hand’s starting to cramp.”
you nod, the motion serving at the catalyst for a number of debaucherous things that would soon happen to your body
marking is an absolute must
keigo’s practically feral once he knows you’re his to play with, love bites littering the expanse of your tits, neck, even the inside of your thighs
dabi marks you too, but he’s not nearly as nice as keigo, leaving handprints all over your ass, each one accompanied by a harsh yet tolerable burn
you can thank his quirk for that
they’re sloppy and they know it, dabi’s spit creating web-like strings connecting your pussy lips together, the metal barbell wedged between tongue muscle retreating from beneath your trembling thighs
meanwhile keigo’s reveling in the way your spit coats his dick in an effortless gloss, a hand keeping your head steady as he drives into your throat with reckless abandon
the saliva making its way down through the valley of your breasts while you struggle to breathe, eyes watering in both panic and pleasure as the two use you like a toy
they take turns, metal and heady sweat flood your tastebuds when dabi takes on keigo’s previous stance
dabi certainly makes sure you give his balls special attention. it doesnt enhance his pleasure, he just likes seeing you get so nasty for him.
not so high and mighty when you’re gargling the dick of one of japan’s most wanted, are you?
keigo’s dick reaches depths you didn’t think possible, tip prodding your innermost spots and making you sputter pathetically around dabi’s length, eyes burning as you try to control the heat in your lungs
“nah nah nah, don’t get all teary eyed now—thought it was “fuck us and our weak ass dick”? hm? well this weak ass dick’s makin’ you choke like a two dollar whore, and keigo’s about to pump that sloppy cunt full of cum...still think you’re better than us?”
you’re tossed between the two men like a ragdoll, until your body’s spent and you’re bred so good that you drip with their mix of fluids every time you shift a little
the men don’t hesitate to compliment your endurance, praising you for being “such a good little fucktoy”.
which in dabi’s words, is the closest you’ll ever get to a “sorry for bothering you”.
𝘢𝘪𝘻𝘢𝘸𝘢:
let me tell you a thing or two about shota.
he has no time, or tolerance, for bullshit.
between his atrocious sleep schedule, nightly patrols, and his day job as a high school teacher, he doesn’t have the capacity for mind games
so when you’d snapped on him like that, he did what he felt like was the most logical thing
he left you alone. he wasn’t about to get into some childish argument all because he didn’t give you the reaction you’d wanted over a dress
aizawa’s not a reactive man by nature
so when you’d purchased the sultry number, seams tight and neckline waivering on indecent
he’d merely hummed at the article of clothing in approval, committing the sight to memory before going back to finish reviewing his lesson plans for next week
which to you, wasn’t good enough. you wanted him to exhibit some sort of lust, something that made you feel like you still had him in the palm of your hand
it wasn’t like the two of you weren’t having sex, no not at all. but you wanted to feel like he wasn’t just attracted to you, but craved, desired, was desperate for your touch every now and again
and when he’d given his...lackluster feedback, you exploded, the two of you briefly exchanging words before you’d said that. shota was in no mood to argue, so he excused himself from the room to continue his work
“sorry if i actually want to, you know, feel desired by my own boyfriend? god, it’s like you don’t even look at me anymore.”
that comment stung, even recalling your wounded tone made his heart ache
was he really not paying attention to you?
but, unsurprisingly, the feelings of anger didn’t abate. just what made you think you could play these games with him, the two of you were grown, you knew if you wanted something all you had to do was ask—it made no sense
steel pen tip digging into the hurried scrawl of kaminari’s essay....if you could even call it that, he rose from his desk, relieved his tense neck from the presence of hair by knotting it into a high ponytail
beginning to strip as he made his way toward your shower
you wanted him to look at you? alright. he’d do exactly that, and then some. just remember, be careful what you wish for.
“shota? look... i’m sorry for how i acted earlier. i should’ve just communicated how i felt instead of blowing up on you like that, i just get frustrated with how much you work and how we never see each other, and it makes it hard for me to—mmph!”
he meets your lips with a subdued roughness, hands splayed across your hips, water trickling across stiffened knuckles while he fumbled and scoured for any piece of you he could manage to grasp
“you said you feel like i don’t look at you anymore.”
“lets fix that. i have a proposition for you. if you manage to hold eye contact with me for however long it takes for you to cum, my body’s yours to do whatever you want with.”
“however...look away for even a second, and i’ll have no problem reminding you just how much you can take before you’re begging for me to fuck you. you know how...efficient i can be. sound fair?”
now something he’d alluded to, but never said about this little agreement? there was no way for you to win.
on days where his exhaustion levels weren’t at an all time low, he’d find himself lapping at the slightly acidic, rich nectar between your thighs for hours and hours on end
so what made you think you even had the resolve to maintain eye contact the entire time?
you lose, though that was to be expected
and shota couldn’t be happier about it
now while it’s practically canon that he’s into bondage, let’s switch things up a bit
honestly, he’s the type to love proving a point.
he’ll make you ride his dick, not letting you stop for a second even though he’s practically in your stomach at this point
bad at it? he doesn’t care. your knees are giving out? not his problem.
“sho-please, i can’t, ‘s too big...fuck—“
“damn, and to think i had ‘weak ass dick’ before. now you can’t take it? pick a side sweetheart, your desperation is showing.”
he’s not incredibly vocal in the bedroom as that’s just not who he is
but makes an exception when it comes to making fun of you
“come on, you can swallow more than that, right? tch. you’ve gotten lazy.”
is another one of those “take a photo for future reference” type of people. but he’s respectful of not only your privacy but his own, and keeps it in the hidden photos folder of his camera roll like a sane adult.
he had to learn the hard way about the importance of concealing scandalous materials that one time hizashi was using screen sharing to suggest a new learning course during a staff meeting
only for the blonde to scroll and several pairs of eyes in the room to be blessed (or cursed) with the sight of a rather ecstatic looking woman bent in a position that would make a gymnast blush
also likes to give you sloppy, shallow half strokes to drive you to the point of insanity before spreading your ass cheeks and molding your body to the bed beneath you
“you wanna know what i was thinking about when you walked out with that dress on? hm? i wondered... ‘how long it would take before we used it as a cumrag after i was done with you?’ i thought about doing this.”
oh, and by the way, there’s a mirror above your bed for a reason. but we’ll get into that some other time, won’t we?
#izuku midoriya x reader#bakugo x reader#dabi x reader#hawks x reader#aizawa x reader#deku smut#bakugo smut#dabi smut#hawks smut#aizawa smut#mha smut#mha x reader#bnha x reader#kittybutmakeitferal#thanks once again for 1k you nasties!
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Pretty Things Don’t Need To Think
Kuroo decides he's had enough of his smart, independent girlfriend. He wants her to be his good little housewife instead.
Pairing: Kuroo Tetsurou x Fem!Reader
Contains: 18+ oh boy... dubcon, big dick kuroo, dumbifciation, misogyny, manhandling, oral sex (deepthroating), pee in vee sex, degradation, manipulation, pwp, breath play, mouth spitting, creampie, thigh riding, slapping, spit, porn watching, crybaby reader but kuroo is a meanie so :3
Word count: 4.6k
Notes: my first time writing smut n it’s mindlessly self-indulgent i just had this weirdly specific fantasy that i need to get out byeee
Kuroo loved the fact that you were smart. He loved the fact that you could debate and argue with him for hours on the most obscure topics. He love that you were always interested in his nerdy rambles and he found it adorable that you would sometimes go off on your own nerdy rambles. When he met you, he was so used to fucking brainless bimbos that he was surprised to find a girl that he both wanted to sleep with and have a conversation with. Your intellect was one of the many reasons he wanted to pursue a relationship with you beyond sex. One of the many reasons why he planned on marrying you.
Kuroo also loathed the fact that you were smart. Not loathed exactly. He just hated your stupid fucking degree. He hated the fact that it demanded so much of your time and energy that you sometimes had to put your studies before him. You wanted to be doctor, always wanted to apparently. You wanted it so bad he felt a little ashamed for how much it annoyed him.
But he didn’t understand it. You were going to be the wife of Kuroo Tetsurou, President of the Japan Volleyball Association. Is that not enough of an achievement?
You didn’t seem to think so.
Now Kuroo’s not a misogynist by any means. If he were, he wouldn’t even let you get this stupid degree. He doesn’t want you to be some mindless Stepford Wife who only cooks and cleans and says “Yes, dear” “No, dear.” Of course he believes in equal rights and all that bullshit but he just doesn’t see any reason for you to work. Financially, there’s no need. More importantly, as his wife you would be too busy taking care of him, his home and his children for you to even thinking about having a job. He would let you get this degree purely for you to soothe your own ego, so you could feel like you’ve accomplished something.
And this is the fucking thanks he gets.
Coming home every day to see you hunched over the dining room table, 4 different textbooks open, papers scattered everywhere. He works hard every day to make a comfortable life for the two of you but asking to come home to a clean apartment and dinner on the stove is too much to ask apparently.
You don’t even register that he’s in the room until he places two large warm hands on your shoulders, causing you to jump, quickly soothed with a kiss to the top of your head.
“Hi baby” he mutters against your scalp, gently massaging your shoulders.
“Hmm. Hi Tetsurou.” you turn your head to look at him, eyes bloodshot and bleary from staring at your computer all day. “How was your day?”
“Same old.” He places a chaste kiss on your lips. “How’s it going here? Are we winning?” He glances at your notes, Intercranial mass lesions. Subarachnoid Haemorrhage. Spontaneous Intracerebral Haemorrhage. He wonders why you do this to yourself. Pretty things like you shouldn’t have to think.
You groan. “Not at all. This neuro final is gonna kick my ass.”
He chuckles, hands gently massaging your shoulders. “You say that every time and every time you ace it baby.” Instead of asking you where his dinner is, he asks “Have you eaten today? What do you want for dinner?”
“ I’m not hungry Tetsu. You can order whatever you like.” He clenches his jaw in irritation. You can’t even be bothered to give him your full attention for 10 minutes? The man who works so hard so that you can afford to sit at home and study the whole day?
No.
He’ll get your attention one way or another.
“Angel,” he drops his voice an octave or two, leaning down so his mouth is pressed right against the shell of your ear. “How about you take a break yeah? Wanna help you relax.” He starts to kiss your neck. He hears your breath hitch. He’s got you. “You worked so hard today plus I reaaaaally miss you.”
With that he begins to leave wet kisses on your neck, feeling you melt into him. His hands move away from your shoulders, gently groping at your chest.
You suddenly go rigid. “Tetsu, not right now.” He doesn’t want you to know how pissed he is but he can’t help it, he groans in frustration. “I’m sorry,” you mutter weakly “I really need to get through these last 3 chapters.”
“Yeah right. Got it.” He storms off with a huff. He’s furious. Your little studious shtick has been nothing more than an irritation for him. But this is too far. He hasn’t come in a month, since you started prep for finals. You’ve been too busy to take care of him. You suggested porn and he laughed in your face. Why would he jerk off when you have a perfectly good pussy? Don’t be ridiculous.
“Tetsurou don’t be mad please.”
“Not mad baby. Keep studying. That’s important to you right?” He’s not convincing anyone but you don’t have the time or energy to engage.
You let out a heavy sigh before turning back to your laptop, falling back into studying like the whole interaction never happened. It made him even angrier. How you couldn’t care less about him right now.
“Just gonna watch some TV. That okay with you, love?” He says sounding sickly sweet, almost sarcastic. If you notice, you don’t make any mention of it.
“Mmhm. Just keep it down please.” You don’t even bother to fucking look at him.
You don’t wanna pay attention to him? You want him to just jerk off? Fine then, have it your way. Kuroo throws himself down on the couch as he rips off his tie with a little more force than necessary.
This is petty.
He makes quick work of the buttons of his dress shirt.
This is childish.
He quickly unbuckles his belt and pulls his slacks down just far enough to take his soft dick out of his boxers.
This is your fault.
You pushed him to do this.
He takes his phone and uses his internet browser to take him to the first porn site he can think of. He doesn’t really care about the kind of video so “Busty blonde slut gets destroyed” seems like a good a choice as any. He clicks on the video and sets up his phone to mirror on the TV screen. With the volume about as loud as it can go, he presses play.
The loud exaggerated moans and gagging startle you. Your head shoots up and you see your boyfriend, lidded gaze fixed on the flat screen TV in front of him. He’s panting, letting out little moans. You crane your neck to see what he’s watching and you see on the TV a bleach blonde girl with massive tits being an absolute trooper as she gets facefucked relentlessly.
“Kuroo, what the fuck?” God he hates when you call him by his last name mostly because you only do that when you’re really annoyed at him.
“Hm? What is it baby?” Now it’s his turn to not even glance in your direction. He’s too focused on the way the girl on screen’s throat is bulging as the man thrusts into her mouth. Maybe he should watch porn more often.
“What are you doing?” He can hear the irritation building in your voice. He hears the chair scrape along the hardwood floor as you stand up to get a better look at him. He knows you can see exactly what he’s doing now.
He smirks, turning to look at you for just a split second before his attention is back to being on screen. “Watching ah fuck watching TV”. He starts to stroke himself faster now, knowing you’re watching him. He’s a little embarrassed by how turned on he is. Cock already rock hard, his tip bright red and shiny from leaking so much pre-cum.
“Do you have to do… that… here? I can’t concentrate.” You clench your fists and your sides.
Oh you’re pissed. But this isn’t exactly the reaction he wants from. He’ll make it work though.
“Not my problem babe. Shit.” He takes his free hand down to play with his swollen balls and god, if he weren’t so determined to dump this load inside you he might have come right then and there.
“Kuroo!” You shout. He’s still not looking at you. How could he when the girl on the screen is getting absolutely railed. He only hears the sound of your barefeet on the hardwood floor as you storm over to the couch. He’s not sure what your plan was when you decided to come over here, but it doesn’t even matter anymore because the second you’re close enough he yanks you by your wrist and forces you into his lap.
“Tetsu!” You thrash and struggle in his hold but it’s no use. He’s bigger and stronger than you.
He wraps his arm around your neck, pulling you into a chokehold. “Oh I’m Tetsu now?” he laughs bitterly
“Let me go! Please!” You still haven’t given up getting out of this, tears threatening to spill from your eyes.
“Shut up. I want you to watch this.” He’s forcing you to look at the screen now. “Look at that yeah? Look at how she’s taking that big cock.”
A hard palm strikes you across your cheek. “Stop squirming and watch.”
The blonde woman is bent over a coffee table while the man behind her rams his dick into her without abandon. Kuroo can’t decide if he finds her whining hot or annoying.
“Looks like it feels good huh babe?” His head is buried in the crook of your neck. “Wanna make you feel good like that.” He places a quick kiss to your temple before pulling your t-shirt over your head, your bare chest now exposed to the cool air.
“Tetsu please.”
“Please what baby?”
Please let me go.
But the way he’s hands are gripping at your breasts, pulling and twisting your nipples, you can’t form any words. Only whimpers.
“Please make you feel good? That what you want baby?” He whispers as he slots his thigh between your legs.
“Yeah yeah please Tetsu.”
Kuroo has turned his focus onto your neck. Harsh sucks, leaving bruises and bite marks in his wake. He wants to laugh at how pathetic you are. Just a few minutes ago, you were adamant on ignoring his presence and now you’re writhing in his lap begging you to touch him.
“Really? I thought you needed to study.”
“No no no Tetsu, only need you.” Just a quickie. You’re both pent up. 10… 15 minutes tops. Then you’ll go back to studying. That’s what you tell yourself.
“That’s right baby.” He grips your hips and grinds you down on to his thigh. “I know exactly what you need.” You take your cue from him and begin riding his thigh, neurology notes long forgotten as he goes back to assaulting your neck. The combination of the sensation of your clothed clit rubbing against his thigh and visual stimulation of the explicit content on your TV makes you dizzy with pleasure.
Your movements become frantic. You’re practically humping his leg at this point. He knows you’re close which is why he wraps one arm around your torso, pulling you back into his chest.
“Baby please.” You whine. Oh, you’re really crying now.
“Oh angel, you were gonna come just from that? Just from humping my thigh and watching some other bitch get eaten out? My angel must be so pent up huh?”
You can’t do anything except whimper and nod.
“Mmhm yeah my baby has been working too hard. Thinking too much. You’re too cute for that you know baby.”
You keep nodding, no idea what you’re actually agreeing to, too busy keening at the praise. You keep trying to move your hips but he just tightens his hold.
“It’s okay though baby I know how to take care of you. Your man knows how to turn off that little brain of yours.”
His hand slides into you shorts, fingers pressing on to your clit over the top of your soaked panties. The moan you let out might rival the porn star on screen, who now by the way, is riding the face of her co-star while she sucks his cock.
He slips his other hand into your panties and starts rubbing quick “Yeah that’s it. Feel good babe?” You melt into his chest. “Yes Tetsu! So good!”
Kuroo pushes his long middle finger into your dripping hole. So tight and warm, he has to bite back a moan of his own. A few slow pumps, before he lets his index finger enter you as well. He’s done going slow now, he starts fucking you with his fingers, thumb brushing over your clit every now and then.
You were so close before, it takes almost no effort on Kuroo’s part to get you there again. You throw your head back on to his shoulder, muscles tensing in anticipation of your impending release. “Tets- gonna cum, gonna cu-“ The second you feel the waves of your orgasm crash on to you, Kuroo has his hands off you entirely, reaching for the remote and turning off the explicit movie.
Ruined. He ruined your orgasm.
You open your eyes and you see Kuroo looking every bit the smug bastard and your own teary eyed reflection in the black screen. “Tetsurou… Why? Why would you-“ You can’t even get the sentence out before he delivers a harsh smack to your clit.
“You think you deserve to come?” A large hand wraps tight around your throat as he lets out a humourless laugh. “You’re stupider than I thought.”
“No Tetsu ‘m not stupid” You manage to rasp out but that just makes him squeeze even tighter.
“What was that? I thought I heard a stupid bitch say something.”
You claw at his had trying to get air into your lungs but Kuroo doesn’t budge.
“Please! Sorry! Please!” is all you can manage to get out. Just as you start to see spots, Kuroo lets go.
Airways burning, you sputter out a “thank you” but your boyfriend doesn’t seem to care. “You’re sorry? Show me how fucking sorry you are.” He’s shoves you on to the floor unceremoniously.
While Kuroo removes his slacks and boxers, you try to compose yourself. You know what’s coming but first you need to stop coughing and stop crying. After a minute of deep breathing, you open your eyes and find yourself face to face with Kuroo’s monster cock.
And you’re not exaggerating. The thing is terrifying. Long and girthy, the biggest you’ve ever seen. He’s unbelievably hard with bulging veins, the tip almost purple with arousal. You’re mesmerised by it.
Perhaps the only thing scarier than his dick right now is the man attached to it. He’s staring down at you with so much condescension, small smirk playing on his lips. He wraps his hand around his thick base. “You good princess? Get to it.” He tuts.
You place one of your hands on his throbbing member as you tentatively stick out your tongue to lick at his tip where pre-cum is dribbling out. You slowly start to stroke him up and down as you swirl your tongue around the head. Kuroo is being kind, letting you go slow. If you think he’s doing this for your benefit, you’re mistaken. He wants to take his time with this. More importantly, he’s got about a month’s worth of cum stored up in his balls and he wants to make sure that every single drop goes inside your little cunt.
You take what you can fit (just less than half) into your mouth, lips stretched wide around his dick, the head is poking at the back of your throat while your hands work the rest of his shaft. You look up at him with wide, apologetic eyes. He can tell by the way you’re looking at him you want him to know how sorry you are.
It’s cute.
He grabs you by your hair and pulls you off of him. ”Aw baby, that’s it? I thought you were sorry.”
A mixture of saliva and pre-cum dribbles down your chin. “Tetsu I am sorry. I’m so sorry!” You whimper.
“Yeah?” Kuroo whispers. His grip on your hair tightens as he tilts your head up to look at him. You stare up at your boyfriend, as he bends down to kiss you. Again, it’s surprisingly gentle but is quickly contrasted with the way he uses the other hand to grab your face, squeezing harshly to make you pucker your lips and keep your mouth open.
He smiles down at you, almost lovingly before he puckers his lips as well, letting a fat glob of spit drop from his mouth into yours.
It’s gross. It’s degrading. It’s cruel.
And that’s why you swallow it down almost immediately, without being asked.
“Good girl” He whispers and gives you a kiss on the nose as a reward. The simple praise shoots straight to your pussy and now you’re greedy for more.
Kuroo leans back and assumes his previous position but this time flexing his elbows and putting his hands behind his head. He’s still wearing his dress shirt, unbuttoned so you can admire his delicious torso. Toned and tanned with the trail of dark hair running all the way to his groin. He looks completely relaxed with his eyes closed and for a moment you find yourself enamored by how stunning he is. How stunning your man is. You want to please him now more than ever. You want him to call you his good girl again. You steady yourself on your knees and prepare for the task at hand
You start off with a few shallow bobs on his cock. Then you take a deep breath through your nose before taking as much of him in your throat as you can. “Holy shit.” He breathes out. His hips thrust up reflexively while you try to suppress your own reflex, trying to keep him has deep as possible for as long as possible. You’ve had lots of practice deepthroating your boyfriend’s dick but somehow it hasn’t gotten any easier.
You pull off of him but not completely, just enough to open up your airway to let much needed air into your burning lungs. You twist your hands around the exposed part of him. You look up at him and he’s giving you that fond smile again and it makes your heart swell in your chest. It’s all the motivation you need to take him back into your throat. Again you take him as far as you can but there’s still a good inch or so that you can’t take no matter how hard you try.
“Aw baby you need some help?” Kuroo coos from above you. You look up at him with big watery eyes and nod as best you can with his dick lodged in your oesophagus. He lets out a hum. “Anything for my baby.” He places one of his large hands on the back of your head and pushes you down until your nose meets his pelvis.
Your throat muscles are spasming around the impossibly large, impossibly deep intrusion but Kuroo keeps you there, seemingly reveling in your gags. Your drool dribbles from your lips, down his balls on to the black leather of the couch. You try breathing through your nose but you struggle. However, your discomfort is completely eclipsed by Kuroo’s moans and grunts. If it makes him feel good you’ll keep him in there as long as he wants. You’ll let him thrust into your mouth until he comes if he so choses.
Lucky for you, that’s not what he wants tonight.
You pulls you off his dick by once again but slowly this time. He watches the string of drool that connects your lips and drags you away until it snaps. He take his heavy shaft and slaps it against your right cheek. You let out a gasp and a smirk starts to play on his lips. Before you know it he’s smacking and dragging his cock all over your face, covering you in a mixture of your saliva and his pre-cum. “God damn. Prettiest fuckin’ girl in the world right here on her knees for me.” He says as he leans back to admire his handiwork. “Open” he says. You obey without hesitation and he spits in your mouth again.
You swallow eagerly. “Thank you Tetsuro.” Your throat feels raw but you smile at him, absolutely giddy, nonetheless.
“Get up here, pretty girl.” Kuroo helps you to your feet and shimmy out of your bottoms before guiding you on to his lap so you’re straddling him. Immediately two of his fingers are inside you again, your slick cunt offering no resistance whatsoever. “You know angel, I’m still not sure how sorry you actually are.” He’s scissoring his fingers, stretching out your walls. If he were a different man, he’d thrust into you right now without any prep but he sees how fucked out you already are, there’s no need to punish you any further. His fingers move at a tortuous pace, squelching as he thrusts them in and out of you.
You’re panting. “Anything, I’ll do anything.”
The slow drag of his fingers grazing that spot inside you as he pulls out makes your eyes flutter shut. When you open them again, Kuroo is holding the same fingers in front of your face. Your boyfriend keeps is hazel eyes locked on yours as he sticks out his tongue to lick up the arousal soaking his digits.
“Hmm ‘course you will.” He slaps his fat cockhead on your sensitive clit making you squeal.
He drags his tip from your clit to your dripping slit over and over again getting it nice and wet.
You chant “Tetsu please” like some twisted prayer. You desperately want to make up for your earlier ruined orgasm.
“Wanna see you bounce on my cock, angel.”
You oblige him wordlessly, taking hold of his shaft and lining in him up with your entrance. You slowly lower yourself on to him wincing at the way he stretches you out. The prep was minimal and his fingers are no match for the size of his cock. You have to stop to breathe and blink away tears. You lift up your hips and lower yourself down slowly again, taking a little more of him inside you. You repeat the process a couple more times.
As much as watching your struggle to take his cock strokes his ego, Kuroo is growing bored. It’s time to take matters into his own hands.
Kuroo grips your hips and takes you by surprise as he thrusts up into you, making you take the whole thing. You let out a shrill cry as the tip of his cock nudges at your cervix. A heavy smack lands on your ass. “I said bounce angel.”
“So big Tetsu fuck. So big.” You whine as he pulls you up, before he sheaths his dick fully inside you, making you shriek for a second time.
God you could be such a crybaby sometimes. You were starting to piss him off again. He pulls out of you completely and says “Turn around.”
“Tetsu no please! Wanna see you.” You pout, your eyes welling up with tears.
Another smack. This time across your face. You reach up to touch the sore skin on your cheek, it feels hot. “Don’t talk back to me you stupid slut.”
You whimper but obey his command. You don’t want Kuroo to be angry at you.
“Now sit on it.” He spanks you another time before gripping your ass and guiding his cock into you until your ass meets his groin.
Playtime is over.
Kuroo slips his hands under your thighs, grabbing the back of your knees and folding your body in half. Now he’s really fucking you. His thrusts are rough, cock knocking against your cervix repeatedly as he sinks himself into your sopping cunt over and over again. The sound of his balls slapping against your ass and the squelching of your dripping pussy make for the lewdest symphony you’ve ever heard.
“Tetsurou ‘m close. Please” you cry. The way his dick is rubbing against your sweet spot means you won’t last long.
“No.”
Despite his denial, he doesn’t ease up on his thrusts. You’re trying to concentrate on holding back your orgasm but honestly you can’t concentrate on anything except Kuroo pistoning his fat cock in and out of you.
“Look at you.” You see your reflection in the black TV screen. “You see that?” He gives one particularly hard thrust to emphasise his point. “Fucked stupid huh?”
“Yeah Tetsu Yeah.” It’s no mirror but you can see all that you need to. You see your boyfriend using your body like a fleshlight, thrusting up into you at a relentless pace. You see your cunt split open on his cock. You see yourself being completely and utterly owned by him.
“My girl is such a fucking whore huh? My own personal porn star.”
“Need to cum nnggh let me cum please.” You’re teetering so close to the edge and Kuroo’s filthy mouth is not helping your situation in the slightest.
“Why should I let you cum hm? You’re so good when you’re desperate. Think I should keep you like this.”
“Please Tetsu. Please. Wanna be good! Wanna be your good girl Testu! Wanna take care of you! Please.”
He likes the way that sounds.
His good girl. His wife. His. His. His.
“Cum for me angel. Cum. Right now.” He says, lips pressed against your ear.
He doesn’t need to tell you twice. With the way he’s pounding his dick into your tight little pussy you have no choice but to spiral into orgasm. Your pussy spasms around his cock, pulling him deeper inside you. The hot coil in your tummy that’s been building unravels and the bliss hits you so hard you see starts. Kuroo keeps fucking up into you as you cream around him. As you come down, you go limp in his arms. That doesn’t stop him from using you though.
His grip around your thighs tightens and that’s how you know he’s getting close. “You gonna be a good girl for me? You gonna take this fat fucking load? Yeah? Take all of it deep in your cunt?” He growls right into your ear.
“Tetsu gimme pleasepleaseplease” You beg him as you cry from overstimulation, barely able to form the words.
“Take it. Take it. Fuck!” He growls as he shoots his load right into your tight, gooey pussy. You feel his hot cum fill up your womb and the sensation is so overwhelming it makes you go cross-eyed, tongue lolling out of your mouth. He grunts, still rutting into you through his orgasm. When he’s done he pulls out of you, smiling as he watches his cum leak out of your spent hole.
Kuroo loves the fact that you’re smart. But when you’re like this? Absolutely cum drunk, eyes glazed, body covered in bruises and willing to do anything he asks you to? He fucking adores you like this.
“Go take care of dinner princess, then your man is gonna take care of you some more.” He swats you on your ass.
You giggle and let your wobbly legs carry you to the kitchen with your boyfriend’s cum running down between your thighs, thoughts of your upcoming final completely fucked out of your head.
Along with every other thought not revolving around your future husband.
Kuroo reaches for his phone to text his assistant and tell her to cancel all his meetings for tomorrow. He has to go ring shopping.
#haikyū!!#haikyuu!!#hq x you#haikyu x reader#kuroo x you#kuroo imagine#kuroo smut#kuroo tetsuro x reader#hq smut#dark fic#tw dubcon#tw dumbification#tw breath play#tw manipulation#tw manhandling#tw degradation#tw slapping#tw spitting
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Please recommend some of your fav Rio fics!
Of course, anon! Since you asked for Rio fics, I'm going to guess you meant Rio POV fics? If not, I'm sorry, haha, because that's what I've collated, but I hope you give these a shot regardless! They're all fics I think are pretty great. ;-)
Below a cut, because this got long.
But when he does reappear at the store—she still doesn't hear him coming, she needs to work on that—she's wearing a fuckin' dress, and he's glad she hasn't seen him yet because he can't stop himself from grinning.
Maybe it ain't for him, but given the fact that he doesn't think he's seen her legs since he came back—aside from that one night at the bar when she was definitely feeling herself—it seems like this is an intentional break in the pattern. Either way, he fuckin' loves the idea that she's been dressing up all week, not sure if he's coming but wanting to be ready if he does.
Now Use Both Hands by ms_scarlet / @mego42
6k words. Explicit. Beth x Rio. S3 canon divergence.
Ooooof, this fic causes me physical pain, but I love it a whole lot. Meg really captures Beth and Rio at their most acidic, their most sharp edged, while also managing to balance that with the feelings they desperately don’t want to have. It’s a bit magic, and the fact that she follows this up with another fave, Listening Through the Air Shaft is *chef’s kiss*.
- - - -
When he wakes, he's in a hospital bed, mouth dry as bone and he can taste blood, stale and metallic, on his tongue. The pain in his chest has been dulled by the drugs, but it still lingers, a persistent ache that spikes with every breath.
By all rights, he's a dead man walking.
Ten hours, they had him in surgery. From the look of his chart, he'd flatlined twice, and he can feel the consequences of that, see it in the bruises on his chest, the exhaustion lining the faces of his family. He'd woken to a little hand in his, Pop's cheeks damp with tears, and shit, it'd been close. Too close.
Bury a Friend by @ejunkiet
>1k words. Mature. Beth x Rio S3 canon divergence.
Pivoting from 3.01, this fic is a wonderful, quiet character study that looks at Rio in the aftermath of the shooting before he explodes back into Beth’s life. It pulses with emotion and with the promise of catharsis, and it’s just a really special little fic. The Rio voice is terrific too.
- - - -
He finally gets what he needs one day when Elizabeth’s wearing this tight black sweater with a keyhole that shows off just enough to make Rio’s jaw rock. It’s so out of the ordinary, so unlike her ugly li’l sweaters or her surburban mama button-ups, he does a double take, head whippin’ around so fast that she catches it immediately. Then she catches where his gaze lands, where it keeps landin’ through their whole stilted, irritated conversation, and he sees her chest pinken til he can count her freckles. He sucks his lower lip into his mouth, and her lips fall open just the smallest bit, and then she looks up at him.
Eyes locked on each other, Rio takes a step closer. Elizabeth doesn’t back away.
I Will Collect You and Capture You by @foxmagpie
17k words. Explicit. Beth x Rio S3 canon divergence.
I feel like I've recced this fic 1,200 times at this point, haha, but it really is one of my favourite fics in the fandom. It has this sort of grip on you as a reader that almost embodies Beth's grip on Rio in the story, and the way it builds and builds and releases only to build and build again is really delicious, affecting writing.
- - - -
“Com’n her and her lady friends were shakin’”
“Shakin’ about the lemon on the fuckin’ granite, sure.”
They chuckled as the car rolled on, the suburbs slipping away with the sun.
“Think they’ll pay up?”
There was a groan as Rio shifted in his seat, flexing his fingers along the dash.
“Neighborhood like this? Everybody knows someone who knows someone with a trust fund.”
Mick’s lighter flickered, followed by long, rasping inhale. “And a boat.”
Smoke swirled lazily through the open window up into the purple sky.
“And a boat.” Echoed Rio.
Drivin' through the Suburbs by gangfriend / @00gangfriend00
5k words. Teen+. Mick + Rio friendship, Beth x Rio. Canon compliant.
It takes a lot to make me laugh out loud in a fic, but this one does multiple times. It's just insanely fun, and captures Rio and Mick at their most boyish in a way I find utterly charming. It's really, really delightful.
- - - -
She’s got her crimes wrapped up and categorized in folders with labels and post-its. Wrapped up in gift paper with a big blue bow on it. And she’ll probably ask Turner do you want freshly baked cookies or some shit when they go raiding her kitchen.
Rio should really get it under control. Her, get her under control.
She opens the door and slumps onto the front seat, her eyes set angrily on him. Nineteen voicemails and she’s still got things to say: he sees it in the twitch of her hand, the restless, frustrated pattern. Any minute now she’s going to settle on new words to voice her complaints like he’s here to listen. Like he’s got the time— like he cares. Like he’d better.
It’s a Work Thing by isoldewas
>1k words. Mature. Beth x Rio. 2.12 canon divergent.
I'm a bit of a sucker for a good canon divergent fic, and this one pivots the car break up in 2.12 in a smutty way that just works unfairly well. It's such a great little fic that really settles well into Rio's headspace during the messiness of s2, and I love it.
- - - -
They settle in their respective places and Rio takes the opportunity to give Elizabeth the same once over that asshole did. Her ass really does look great in those pants and she could fill out any shirt. Her eyes linger over him too, tracing his skin, the bar tattoos peeking out from under his t-shirt that she’s seen a million times but she devours at every opportunity. Then her eyes meet his and she gives him that small, crooked lil’ smile.
He’s not one for religion, but every so often he takes his mom to Spanish mass. All the viejitos and pious Catholic types think he’s a banger but his ma’s still excited to show him off. He sits with her in the pew and when the priest asks for the congregation to give thanks to God, he says a prayer for the riches that have come to him, the health and brilliance of his son, the vitality of the other little ones in his life now, and Elizabeth. And when he thinks of her in those moments, he sees her in his mind’s eye with this exact look on her face.
A Bit of a Stretch by @septiembrre
5k words. Teen+. Beth x Rio. Established relationship.
Beth and Rio do a yoga class together! There’s such a lived-in feel to this fic that it feels impossible not to fall a bit in love with it – their relationship is explored in a way that feels true to who the characters are, while sanding down the edges to create something that feels sweet in the way they usually aren’t in canon. It's a great fic, but more than that, it really just works in a way that's a lot more complicated than it looks, and it’s all the more charming for it.
- - - -
He’s happy to keep kissing her like this. To savour it. Realises she’s undone the last few buttons of his shirt at some point as she shoves it down his shoulders. Doesn’t have a second to think about his ugly scars pressed to her skin. Can just feel her little hot palms snaking up his back and grippin’ him tight. Refusing to let any light between them as they kiss for what feels like hours.
He realises these are the lips he’s been tasting. Searching for in other women when his night’s got too unbearably quiet, hunting for an echo of the thing he really wanted. Comin’ up short every damn time. Sweet and soft and lethal. Unique to her.
It’s longing in a way he’s never felt. This is the taste of it.
As Good as This by @riosnecktattoo
5k words. Explicit. Beth x Rio. 4.05 canon divergence.
Okay, I know I just said how much I loved canon divergence fics, but it bears repeating – I love canon divergence fics, haha. This is such a great alternate take on how the wire scene in 4.05 goes down, and it simmers with tension from the opening line. The way it escalates as Rio navigates this newest betrayal works really well too, and it results in a pretty sexy and surprisingly emotional sequence. Magic!
- - - -
“Do we have a deal?” She asks.
When he turns to look at her she’s smiling, and that’s when he realizes he’s absolutely fucked. He’d just fucked himself out of almost a quarter of a million dollars. He lets his eyes drop down her body, licks his lips and nods.
“I choose the place,” he says and turns on his side to face her. “You owe me half - with interest,” he says and slides a hand into her hair. She’s damp, the sweat slowly cooling.
“That’s not what - “ she opens her mouth to protest and he takes that opportunity to slide his mouth across hers and lick into her mouth.
Long Nights by zetuslapetus / @querenaxx
2k words. Explicit. Beth x Rio. S3 canon divergence.
Rio and Beth bone while negotiating a deal! What's not to love, haha. This has such a fun checks and balances feel to it which just makes me want to peel my skin off, it's so good. It's exactly the way I like my Beth and Rio - hot and snarky and constantly trying to get a leg over the other, literally and figuratively. It's the best.
- - - -
He should go out and find someone to fuck. Maybe text one of his hookups. See if Jen’s working. He has options.
He knows what he should do.
But it turns out fucking other people is a worse hell than the one they create when they’re together.
And now that he’s yielded to this wicked ecstasy, he knows he’ll do anything to keep sitting in the fire with her.
To Sit in Hell with You by @daydreamstew
2k words. Beth x Rio. Explicit. s4 canon divergence.
Canon-divergent from 4.06 – Beth and Rio keep hooking up after the time at his grandma’s place. It’s fun and sexy while also keeping the complicated push-pull and lack of communication at the heart of them. Deeelightful.
- - - -
“Does it make it easier?” Maddie asks him once they’re spent, maybe emboldened because he has already brought her into their bed. Which may be unfair, because Lee had been in their bed from the beginning.
“What?” He seems lost in his thoughts, his arm behind his head. In a few minutes he’ll get up and get ready to get back to the factory. Like always, she’ll be looking for her keys so she won’t be late for work.
“Getting it out of your system before you see her.”
Rio glances at her. “I don’t always see you when I see her.”
It’s so rare for him to explicitly mention this woman, however tenuously, and Maddie waits for more. Rio’s gotten like this about a few women in his life but it doesn’t happen often.
Sure am Using You by aniara
2k words. Explicit. Rio x OC, Rio x Beth.
It's not for everyone, but I absolutely love fics that feature characters with other people in ways that tell you something about the characters' feelings about somebody else. In this fic, Rio's fucking one of his childhood friends, but it's all about Beth really, and the way both Rio and the OC negotiate that is really compelling writing, and feels so in character for Rio. I really love it.
- - - -
Rio dreams of her that night, again. It’s irritatingly pedestrian – Elizabeth’s kissing him deep and then, ah, suddenly his gun’s in her hand and she shoots him, with a double encore. It’s always variations on the same futile theme. When he wakes it’s not that he’s freaked, unaware of reality or his whereabouts. But he’s been soaked in anger for so long. He can’t think straight, not on her. It’s honestly terrifying. Cos stubbornly keeping his head on right is – that’s him. Maybe her entire raison d’etre is destroying every single one of his attributes though.
He ain’t sure if his subconscious is desperately screaming that he’s made the wrong move, letting her live. Or if it’s the total opposite. Could be fucking neither. It’s not – it’s not getting any easier. And that main reason for not biting the bullet, that he’d be mad as hell for being mad as hell at himself over killing her, it's not smelling any less idiotic.
Climbing up the Walls by s_t_c_s / @sothischickshe
8k words. Explicit. Beth x Rio. S3 canon divergence.
Another canon divergence from 2.13 and an interpretation of how s3 could've gone, and another one I really love. There's a throughline of chaotic frustration to this fic that rings true to Rio's character for me, and the way that that reverberates through his moments not just with Beth, but alone and with other women, feels really textured and interesting and real. It's pretty great.
#this was fun to put together#so many good fiicccss#truly a blessed fandom#beth x rio#beth boland#rio#nbc good girls#gg fic#fic recs#welcome to my ama
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Hey there^^ Haven't done a request for quite a while but I'm pretty stuck myself and I could really use something to lift my mood, too, and your writing always does that :) So, I thought of Satan or Lucifer with prompt 3 and 34, maybe? If it's not too much it'd be nice if the reader could be rather anxious (my anxiety is really acting up these days .-.) but that's not that important
Have a nice day and stay healthy ^^
Blue
Hi Blue! Thank you for requesting ^-^ I decided to do some Satan bc I have another Lucifer request and this way we can have some variety :D Please enjoy! ^-^
Pills - “Be a good girl and sit still. You don’t want me to be unhappy right?”
Stickers - “One more time. I’m giving you one more chance to stop fucking resisting.
»»———————— ♡ ————————««
“Be a good girl and sit still. You don’t want me to be unhappy, right?”
His demand sounded reasonable, and his voice was calm. Still, the hand clutching your thigh was too rough with your skin, the fingers digging into it painfully. Immediately, you stopped bopping your foot, a nervous habit you hadn’t even noticed you started.
How long had you been sitting in his lap for now? An hour? Two? It felt like the whole morning and was probably more like the entire day, but through the partially hidden window in Satan’s room, you couldn’t make out the time of day, even if the Devildom had varying daytime-lightning outside. But this way, you could only count the pages Satan had already read as any indications of time, even though it wasn’t a reliable source.
Clenching your fists on top of your legs, you wondered what else there was you could do. Perhaps it was one thing to read the day away, but it was an entirely different one when you were just the lapdog to someone doing it. Even if you showed interest in books, Satan preferred to keep you close to him, and unfortunately, his favorite reading chair didn’t allow two people to read comfortably. That, and the constant fear you might actually find something useful to slip out of his grip, made him decide that you could read only with him or not at all.
It was just a problem that the language of the book he was reading wasn’t one you could understand.
All you were reduced to was a stiff, anxious, warm body sitting on top of him, hoping that soon Satan would decide to do anything else. You couldn’t live with his suggestions of taking baths together or being left alone for hours to no end while he took care of daily business, but this was the third day in a row where things were simply... too calm.
You had been quick to cease bringing up arguments. Satan had scared you once when he grew angry before your life took this turn by his side. Still, it was nothing compared to the violent and oppressive force he used on you now when you acted ‘unsuitable’, as he called it. Part of you wanted nothing more than to scratch his face, bite and kick, but when you brought up the courage to stand up for yourself and your rights, his exuding magic alone made you crumble to your knees in primal, inferior fear, knowing all the bad things he would do to you if you pushed it any more than you already had.
Wherever he took the patience from, it was wearing thin regardless of its masses.
That, and that alone, was the reason you even listened to what he said.
Looking down at yourself, you might not have been able to see any bruises left on you, but you felt them in every flinching of your muscles. The soreness, the pain - they never disappeared, and Satan wasn’t going to help you forget by applying magic to heal them.
Instead, he caressed your thigh with his hand, fingers circling over your skin menacingly. Perhaps from an outside view, it looked almost sweet, but you felt nothing short of a warning from his touch. Every touch was calculated. A game. Maybe he truly wanted to help you calm, but you wouldn’t have put it past Satan to actually try and provoke you to do something stupid. It was his way of forgiving the bad things he did to you, much like an eye for an eye. He disapproved of many things, but he couldn’t quite justify his actions if you didn’t act up. Satan swore up and down that he preferred cats over dogs, but god beware you’d behave like one. Unknown sadistic tendencies seemed to ride him when it came to you, and from what you understood, you were his place of comfort and peace when you were in his arms and his punchbag if you made his days worse than they needed to be.
But arguably, you were just his; all he needed, either way.
Worse thoughts crossed your mind than this. Ideas of how similar he was to Lucifer when it came to oppressing, but you would have taken the eldest brother’s help without even a moment of hesitation. At the same time, you wanted nothing more than to get away from Satan.
Encountering a sudden change of mood was what you feared the most. It happened too often. Satan wasn’t that hard to please, but he unexpectedly and sharply changed moods for no apparent reasons, just like a teenager.
What if he read a passage in his book he disliked? What if your foot began to bop again? What if your breathing was too loud? What if he decided you were too heavy... When would it stop? When would the worries finally go away?
He loved you. He told you he loved you, so why were you a prisoner in his room? Why did he refuse to let you go? See other people? Sleep in your own bed for a change? And why was he enraged every time such a wish crossed your mind?
The book in his hand lowered as you sunk deeper and deeper into your panicked thoughts, wondering what you should do from now on to stay on his good side and maybe regain your privileges. So many emotions fogged your senses; you didn’t even hear him take a deep breath as his eyes narrowed while they focused on your leg, nervously bopping up and down again.
However, you did notice the sudden jerk as he threw you off his lap, pain shooting through your body as you scrapped your knees on the floor. You hit the stacks of books Satan threw you into, hardcovers falling down on you, making you yelp as they felt like bombs raining down onto your body.
“What’s the matter this time?” he asked, standing up and closing the book. It took a lot of courage to look up at him, Satan’s pretty face and perfect posture as intimidating as the waspish shine in his deep green eyes. You perceived it as cold and belittling as he looked down on you, standing over your legs.
“I want to go home--” you whispered, close to tears as you averted your eyes from his, unable to look at him when he glared back at you so resentfully.
“[Name],” he called out to you in the most condescending way you could imagine someone speaking your name. However, you no longer could bear looking him in the eyes, and so, you let your head hang low, expecting the worst but hoping it was over soon.
“How long will you keep complaining. I was so good to you the last few days, wasn’t I? It’s all because you said you were unhappy with me, so I bettered myself, yet, you behave just the same. When will you realize this is home?”
Hearing this from him, you felt your heart break. Hearing that this dangerous, painful situation should be a norm and comfort for you made you want to throw up. But at the same time, it rose your spirits, and before you knew it, you were back on your wobbling feet, the pain being suppressed by adrenaline as you grabbed Satan by the collar. In retrospect, you realized you had been just like a frightened animal and snapped as he came too close for comfort.
“THIS ISN’T MY HOME! YOU ARE KEEPING ME HERE AGAINST MY WILL! WAKE UP, SATAN!” you screamed at him as loud as you could. Perhaps you wished for a stunned realization overcoming him, or maybe that someone else could hear you outside this little, private room. But it wasn’t like anyone came running to help anyway.
Instant regret flooded your mind as you felt his hands grip your wrists, the book he had held onto falling to the ground with a loud thud. A zip of magic sparked from where he grabbed you, burning through your body like venom. It was no question who was the stronger animal in this struggle, your body falling back and down into the pile of books with just one step Satan took forward. But with your hands still anchored in his clothes, you pulled him with you, and on top, giving him a chance to pin you down on the uncomfortable bed of books.
Though it felt like your bones were breaking under the pressure and awkward position, your will hadn’t been affected as much yet, your body instinctively pushing against him, even though it was futile.
“One more time. I’m giving you one more chance to stop fucking resisting.” The words escaped him through clenched teeth, a hostile fire flickering in his eyes that you were forced to stare into. You knew you had it coming for you. His rage. His anger. There was no way out now, and once again, you had made the situation worse for you than needed. Finally, as you felt your ragged breath fill your lungs unreliably, you calmed down, tears shooting to your eyes while the sobs escaped from your mouth.
For a minute or two Satan merely let you bawl it out, the streams of tears falling down your cheeks and onto the books beneath you, but it was of no concern to either of you. At least now, he didn’t tell you to cease your sadness too, and you realized all he wanted was for you to stop attacking him, even if it was unfair when he apparently was allowed to.
Instead, you found yourself being scooped into his arms, face pressed into his shoulder as you hugged him instinctively. His hold was right out of a book about how to console crying children, his hands perfectly falling to your head and back, calmingly rubbing over the hurt part of your body.
“Please...” you sobbed into his shirt.
“I love you. I will always love you, even if you do this to me,” he assured you. You didn’t want it. Not his love, not being held by him like this, not him playing the victim in this scenario. As if it was your fault he had to do these terrible things.
“Just... please...”
“Forever. We will stay together.”
His words did nothing to help you, even more crying ensuring as they laid down heavily on your mind.
“You’re all I have. All that only belongs to me,” Satan whispered while you shook your head softly, rubbing in the wet stains into his clothes and wishing it was all just a nightmare that you could wake up from.
“That’s why, from now on, I will be the only one for you as well.”
But you never woke up from it.
[You can find the prompt list here]
#Satan#satan obey me#yandere satan#yandere!satan#obey me!#obey me#obey me! shall we date#yandere obey me#yandere!obey me#yandere#yandere imagines#yandere headcanons#yandere scenarios#yandere fanfiction#yandere writing#yandere oneshot#yandere drabble#yandere x reader#yandere x darling#Yandere TW#lovelove prompts#cutelittlevamp
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Detour, Part 4
Given your previous declaration of your intent to wear his skin, you release a bit of your hold over him to see his reaction. Scott, apparently unfazed, looks to the distance, no doubt planning an escape route. The guy isn’t stupid, so you try to make out his gameplan. You catch the briefest glimpse he takes of the patch of skin where the medallion used to be and you are immediately reminded of the moment of lost control of him in your possession of Alex. ‘Motherfucker. Of course he had a plan’. Despite the risk, you decide to proceed. Scott may have that bod, and his steel will, but that pales in comparison to the years of lust and envy brewing in you. ‘Fuck it, worse case scenario we accidentally give this egomaniac god-like power. What could go wrong? Might as well fuck with him a little’.
You mess with your body’s vocal cords to make sure both your old voice and Alex’s speak. With a unified moan you state “I can’t wait to take a Scottie joyride”.
You say your part to Scott. “You know, even with how much of an asshole you were back then, I always masturbated , every night, to the fantasy of that thick horse dick ravaging me and shuddering inside my little body.” You chuckle. “Who could have known that in just a few short years, we could both be masturbating that thick horse dick together, to the reality of my little body shuddering inside you.”
Alex adds: “I’ve always wondered what it would feel like, moving around in that tower of muscle”. You lick your lips. “Besides, you have some pretty yoked friends, Scott. Well, since we’re gonna be parading your skin around, we have some pretty yoked friends. We can’t wait to use you, to use that thick horse dick of yours, to cum inside them, to inject them with a little Alex. But don’t worry, even when we get sick of wearing you, we’ll never really leave. We’re gonna fill you in so deep, you’ll never fully get us out. You’re gonna be our little Scottie fuck doll till the day you die.”
With Alex still in the driver’s seat, you walk toward your best friend. He makes you rub your chest a little. “The truth is, Scottie, he feels amazing inside me. I love him in here and I know he’s here to sta-ayy” Alex moans a little “God I love being his puppet. I can feel his strings all inside me, worming into me, slipping, writhing, controlling me.” The Alex-y you makes you show Scott your right hand for effect, which starts spasming unnaturally before you make a quick, veined fist. You chuckle at this attempt to scare him into submission but then begin to ponder if it would actually be possible to transform your entire body that way for the possession. You and Alex strip naked. You then start masturbating your shared body right in front of Scott, as he looks away in revulsion at the sight of his corrupted best friend furiously beating his meat. “Thank you for helping me find my soulmate Scott- well, my soul master. I can’t wait for my little strings to become your little strings” he pouts “Cmon Scott. You’re so cute when you’re angry.” “Hate me Scott! Hate your best friend! Hate the faggot from high school that’s inside him! I want you livid when we fill you up. I want you boiling. Your anger really gets me going. When we pilot you around, I’m gonna make you watch. I’m gonna make you watch the new faggot Scott, faggot you corrupting and controlling your own friends!“ When you finally release, you bring a little to your mouth for inspection.
“We taste even better than expected” you say, breathless, half moaning, “here try some.” you scoop up the rest and try to push it to Scott, who quickly turns to the side. It smears his cheek instead.
You lean your face right in front of Scott’s- till your foreheads touch- and run your Alex-y fingers gently through his sweaty hair. You take a deep inhale from you position. Subtle, musky, another scent you just can’t quite place, it’s altogether manly. He smells uniquely Scotty. You can’t wait till you also smell uniquely Scotty. You rest all of your sweaty naked body right on top of Scott, still facing him. He winces slightly at the additional weight.
“Get the fuck off me!”
Scott spits right at your face. You take a little taste. ”MMhmmmmmm, I cant wait to have all that running inside me, even your spit tastes good”. He grimaces in disgust. Using your power to mentally restrain his movements, you grab his neck and give it a squeeze to force his mouth open. You scoop the bit of the Alex cum on his cheek into his now gaping maw with your thumb. You corral the spit on your face earlier into your mouth and mix it with your own, which you spit back right at his mouth. “Here’s a little primer for what we’ll taste like when we become one” you say with a dirty wink. With your powers, you force him to swallow your new “together” potion.
“You were always the grand prize“ you say, while you trace your fingers all over your soon-to-be body. “After I let you sell your friend out, did you really think I’d just leave you after that. This new me, Alex, he was just a little detour. How could I know he’d be this into it,” You run your fingers through your hair, “but, in the end, I have to thank you. We were important little detour because- [moan] he completes me” Alex delicately guides your fingers around Scott’s nipples. You tug on them to bring his sweaty chest to yours and in your dark embrace you whisper seductively in his ear “You’ll complete us too....” Scott shudders and you moan in fake disappointment, “you’re such a greedy little asshole, you know, you can’t keep all that man to yourself. We wanna have fun too. We can’t wait to get inside that Scottie party.”
With your newfound powers, you start liquefying parts of yourself, as scott watches in horror. You start with the arm- naked, pungent, sweaty skin become a noxious, sticky, amorphous mass. It’s a horrific sight, for sure, but it becomes even more horrific to Scott when you will your newly created slime to start moving. You make sure to give him a close up of the wriggling stringy fibers of yourself inside the goo.
At this point, Scott really starts panicking.
“Look man, I’m sorry! I know I shouldn’t have been such a piece of shit to you in High School. Please! Cmon! You already have Alex.” Son of a bitch! You knew it! Of course he still remembers you!
Caught and preoccupied in your transformation, Scott finds the power to push you off him several feet back. Adrenaline, no doubt, but the man is also pure muscle, so it’s no surprise. “Get the fuck off me! Don’t fucking go near me, you creep!”
“Oh Scott”, you moan his name in a mocking tone. “You are such a great friend. Give me a hug”. Slimy tendrils from your body shoot out force Scott back to your sweaty embrace. You shove your pits at his face. “Mmmmphh!” he shouts in disgust and nausea. You take another deep whiff of his sweaty chest and armpits. Intoxicatingly musky, and again, uniquely Scotty. “When I’m inside you, I’m gonna make you stinky like me” you laugh “we’re gonna smell great together. We’re gonna feel great together. And to your friends? We’re gonna taste great together,“ you exhale, as you lick your thick Alex-y lips and smile an out of place angelic smile.
“You’re never gonna fucking take me, asshole!” He shouts.
You ignore him as you continue your little monologue and start slithering in some of your fleshy mass into his mouth. “And don’t worry,” an unholy harmony of your old voice and Alex’s voice says, “We forgive you for high school. Well.... “. You now moan with a mix your old voice and some new borrowed Scott vocals that your parts have already claimed. “You’ll forgive you.” You now lodge his throat full of you as your liquid tendrils greedily rush down his throat. You want to give Scott the complete experience, so more of your slimy tendrils snake through his biceps and pits, around his vascular back and throat and start jamming straight into his asshole. He moans involuntarily as he feels your wriggling mass pass the g-spot into his prime real estate. As odd as it sounds coming out of him, he even sounds alpha when he moans. You make sure to keep this area stimulated, since you can no longer restrain his body mentally. To complete his Alex infestation, you start pumping his cock to loosen a passage for yourself and then feed more slime into his piss slit. This particular action causes his mouth to open even wider than before, which you use to stuff even more slime inside.
Despite the raw pleasure he’s in and despite your mass still continually flowing into him, Scott stands and takes shaky steps toward the door. That iron will always did turn you on. You can’t wait to make it yours. You double your speed, and start writhing and twisting erratically as you continue to flow in. When it becomes clear that he is determined to continue, you start streaming into any entryway you can find. Every orifice, every hole in his body- even some small cuts he had on his arm- are flooded with your liquid. His towering form finally falls to the ground, unconscious from the effort he expended, while the last parts of you slip inside.
When Scott wakes, he immediately straightens up. He’s impossibly full, filled to the brim with you inside him, still squirming, slipping through his body parts rhythmically. A little dribbling of yourself spills out and oozes out of his mouth, but you quickly force it back inside him before he reach for it. He needs to take all of you.
Your future face contorts into one of pain and struggle until it settles in into a scornful, hateful, contempt. ‘How much energy does this guy fucking have?’ you think in panic, as Scott roars and in one fell swoop, flexes all the thick muscles in his body to subjugate your mass. He still looks a little bloated, but the squirming inside him stops. He smirks as feels your powers flow through him. He investigates himself and the new control he has over body parts. He flexes his arms as he starts willing parts of his body to expand and constrict on command. Scott walks up to his mirror. “I told you you couldn’t fucking take me” he says with a smirk. If Alex was a sports car, sleek and smooth, Scott would be a fucking truck, and a massive one at that. The man exudes raw power so it’s no wonder you’re struggling reining him in. Before all hope is fully lost, you feel a spark in you.
“You’re right” Scott’s voice states, unprompted. The squirming and wriggling inside him starts up again and his eyes roll back. “It’s a good thing he took a little detour taking and corrupting my tight piece of ass,” Scott moans uncharacteristically. Scott’s beefy arms start fidgeting uncontrollably “because this...little Alex puppet is... gonna show his best friend how to be a little good meat-suit for his new m-master” he forces through Scott’s vocal cords. Scott’s whole body is now trembling uncontrollably. The writhing inside him has started up again, though this time far more energetic. It was coming from everywhere. He feels his fingers, his legs constrict and relax unnaturally. He screams as his body starts scratching himself everywhere erratically and convulsing, trying to get you out. But you’re in too deep. You’re in his veins, in his muscles, in every fiber of his being. Arms still twitching from the control Alex demands, Scott starts involuntarily pumping his meat. “FUUUUUuuuuCK!!!” he roars in his mix of ecstasy and struggle, before everything in him stops.
----------
Scott sits, unexpressive, motionless. Then, a bit of movement. The corners of his lips stretch slightly and upward into a deranged smile. You twist his nipples hard and do another uncharacteristic moan in amazement. Goddamn he’s sensitive. Raw ecstasy decorates his face- your face as you begin to explore the rest of you. You reward his body for yielding to you by finishing the job you started earlier and continue pumping his meat. You release in a maelstrom. Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck. In the midst of your orgasm, you feel your body puff and expand massively, impossibly, taut, as deep inside Scott you integrate the core of your being into him fully. You subjugate your new muscles and skin around yourself and force them to re-constrict around their new owner. Tighter. Tighter. You feel his muscles from inside him as you pull them ever tighter until the invisible barrier between you two tears and his hunky form coalesces into you. The Alex part of you forces Scott to smile through the process of his own takeover. “AAAARRRGGH!” Scott screams in one last shout of defiance as your insides and his finally become one.
Your eyes go wide and start fluttering while you lick yourself clean. ‘mmmmmm fuck’ Of course it tastes fucking amazing, every piece of the new you is amazing. You flex your first of many trademark “he’s the shit-and he knows it-Scotty sneers,” this new face of yours exactly reflecting one you’ve seen a thousand times in high school torment. A face that Alex had never seen until now, on account of being his best friend. Finally, fully, Scott is yours.
Then his vitality hits. Fuck. Pure power!! “MIIINE” You scream with your new vocal cords as you start punching the air with your power. You adopt a boxer’s stance and- left hook. Right hook. Fuck. With each strike you can feel your own force as this new body executes your every whim. “MIIIINE!” Raw testosterone, raw power. Goddamn. You rush over and start punching and slamming your new beefy hands on the floor maniacally, reveling in finally feeling what it must have felt like in high school from the other side. “MIIINE!” This new jock body is limitless. You run a sweaty hand on his dick, and unsurprisingly it hardens instantly on command. You furiously start masturbating again in a frenzy, if only to release some of his pent up power. “Mine.” As Scott, you have ascended. In Scott, you are a god. With this body, with this soul, you can do anything you fucking want.
You piece together an outfit out of the clothes strewn about the apartment: Alex’s dirty used underwear and his old shirt, which fit impossibly tight on you. Alex always did like to keep things a little tighter than they should be- well, he is you, so you do too and now Scott does as well. You slip your new vascular legs through Scott’s skinniest pair of jeans and your new beast arms through his leather jacket. You‘ve always fancied Alex-your scent so you want to make sure you imprint it into this Scott-bod you now have. Then again, people have pretty unique scents. With you inside Scott, you’re fairly certain this new Scott naturally emanates a noxious combination of both their scents. You don’t put any cologne or deodorant on- why would you ever try to diminish this proof of your dominance over their bodies.
You check yourself in the mirror and give your nipples one delightful final little twist, your run your fingers through your hair, and give your new self one hell of a Scottie smile before you step out into the world, a new man henceforth.
-End Part 4-
Whew, what a ride. Hope y’all had fun. Not really sure where else I could take this so this is the final part for now.
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The Way To Hell - Final Chapter
Summary: Post Mi6, Alternate Canon. August escapes Hunt with his face intact and is currently the most dangerous man on earth. Unwilling to back down from his murderous agenda, he plots to continue where he stopped while a trained assassin is sent to bring him down.
Pairing: August Walker x OFC (Ingvild) 🖤
Word count: 5k (including epilogue)
Warnings: 18+, smut, boomer Walker, some fluff, sexual intercourse, cock-warming, mentions of torture, implied insanity, slight mentions of gore, violence, murder, mass-shooting and death. Please proceed with caution
A/N: The ending is here and I hope I did it justice, I hope I did right by you. I will reblog my kudos, but first I must thank @agniavateira for being my beta and a source of inspiration and @raspberrydreamclouds for the cover art.
*No permission is given for reposting my work, copying it, ideas or parts it and claiming it as your own*
Now allow me to die out of stress and anxiety.
Title: See You in Hell
Down by the valley, there is a serenity that exists only in fairy tales. Damp grass caresses her naked back, the pointy little tips ticking the base of her spine, leaving a fresh trail of dew. Pure mountain mist breathes life through blue hills caked with ice; white fog vales over the forest’s lush greenery and looms above the lake’s water like a lost-love phantom.
Lying with her eyes shut, she listens to the harmony of life surrounding her: the little fish bouncing in the river, the butterflies procreating mid-air and the hummingbird chirping with bliss. Yet the most beautiful sound is the low, melodic baritone humming and reverberating against her inner thighs.
”Angel,
With those angel eyes
Come and take this earth boy
Up to paradise.”
”Boomer Walker…” she teases, “Is that a song from your time?”
Ascending a trail of kisses up her pelvis, he scoffs and shakes his head. “I’m starting to suspect that you have a kink for older men,” he answers with a throaty growl, shifting his weight further over her abdomen. The soft fur of his torso grazes between her thighs, and she sighs with pleasure.
”Do you want daddy to fuck you?”
”That’s gross!” she curls her nose and tries to hit his head playfully, but August snaps at her wrists with perfect instinct, pinning her hands against the wet meadow. His tongue flicks over the slant of her neck while he aligns his cock at the little piece of heaven between her legs.
Sensual yet rough, his massive girth splits her walls while his lips shower her with honeyed kisses. Ingvild throws her head back, lacing her fingers with his and coils herself beneath his large body.
“August...” she pants, feeling the air gradually diminishing from her lungs with every thrust, “I think I’m dying...”
Never halting or slowing his rhythm, August lowers his head to peer into her eyes. Fingers drenched with blood snap at her jaw.
“Stay with me, Ingvild.” He demands, letting out a husky groan, though his voice is but an echo.
A grey, thick mist wafts around the darkening forest, covering her with a bone-chilling breeze; his calling carries on the distance.
“Stay, princess...”
“Don’t leave...”
“Stay. We’ve only just begun.”
Ice bites its sharp fangs into the little creases between her cracked bones as another bucket filled with frosty water showers her trembling body. The stabbing pain lasts for a lingering moment, reminding her that she’s still very much alive.
It must be the 10th bucket, or maybe 12th? She lost count at some point. Day and night melt into one another in this place, and the hours don’t make much sense.
Muffled complaints vibrate in her ears. Vaguely her sight picks on two silhouettes arguing when the world abruptly flashes white, and her jaw soaks a terrible blow. Fully crashing onto the hard marble, she tries to recover, but a sudden kick rips through her abdomen.
“Your methods are too slow, Issac!” A grey-haired agent chides, standing over the girl with his foot still drawn, “Walker could be setting his bomb somewhere across the globe any minute now, and you’re taking your sweet time with her as if she’s an art project.”
The scrawny torturer frowns and turns his back at him. Walking toward the metal desk, he browses through different equipment. “My methods always work, the pretty little girl was taught to endure pain,” he grunts in exasperation and gestures at the bloodstained bandage around her hand, “she did this to herself.”
Sighing with a mixture of frustration and disgust, the CIA agent takes another swing at Ingvild’s torso, the pointy edge of his shoe colliding with the scar at her gut.
Bloodshot eyes rise with wrath, violent tides of aftershock course at her viscera. She peers at the men through the haze of pain when a third figure appears in the room, standing calmly whilst Issac and the agent argue among them.
Tall, broad, and charismatic, the handsome man strides toward her. His tailored steel-coloured suit envelops his statuesque body as if he is made of iron.
“You’re taking it so well, princess,” he praises in his deep, melodic baritone while crouching down to take a closer look. Ingvild lifts her head, slowly breaking into a weak grin. Onyx orbs replace the storm-touched eyes, but that chiselled face still belongs to her beautiful monster.
“Did you tell them anything about where I am headed?” he asks and gives her a pout, reaching his index finger and thumb to squeeze her bruised cheek affectionately.
Swallowing the aching dryness in her throat, she manages to shake her head meekly. “No… I said nothing,” her voice cracking as she whispers. Her chapped lips stretch into a pale, awkward grin.
Tiny lines form at the corner of his void-like eyes as he smiles back, radiating with dangerous delight.
“That’s my good girl.”
The grey-haired agent throws a glance over his shoulder, scrutinising Ingvild while he stands next to Issac, who is twirling a scalpel back and forth between his boney fingers.
“Who is she talking to?”
“Not very sane this one,” Issac explains as he examines the silver blade against the light, “multiple mental disorders, dissociative personality, psychotic.”
Pushing the agent aside with his free hand, Issac steps forward. He leers at Ingvild, who stares at nothing for a long second before averting her eyes back at them.
“We just need to dig a little deeper and the little bird will sing,” he exclaims and moves closer before dropping to his knees. One of his icy hands lands on her shoulder, forcing her flat on her back. Shuddering at his frozen touch, she closes her eyes; in the bleak nothingness, she recalls the night in the lake where August let her die.
“Pretty little Ingvild, have you heard of vivisection?” Her torturer asks as he lines his twig-like finger over the spine of the scalpel. Sensing his digits sneaking beneath the hem of her shirt, she shoots her eyes open yet remains still and intrepid.
The tiny black marbles beneath Issac’s brows glint with twisted joy, appeased at the sight of the scar as he exposes her torso. Ingvild expects the pain of the blade when something tepid and unpleasantly wet slithers across her gut like a little pink slug.
“Umm… Issac…?” The agent interrupts, furrowing his brow with confusion and disgust as he stares at his colleague licking the girl’s torso.
“What?!” Issac snaps at him, his eyes narrowing with spite, “you wanted me to go harder on her!”
“Yes, but…”
“But shut up and let me do my job!” He yells and returns his glare to Ingvild who blinks at the ceiling silently. Disrupted by his touch, she bites her tongue, fighting to hold back the acrid substance that threatens to emerge from her gut.
“You fight very hard to protect a man who doesn’t give a fuck about you, little bird,” his snake-like voice hisses as he leans down to half-whisper in her ear, “just tell me where he is and I won’t cut you open.”
Ingvild sucks the air in through gritted teeth and turns her head to look away from the obnoxious little man. She seeks for her beautiful monster, finding him leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. August’s empty glance wears a calm grin.
“He is in this room,” Ingvild jests faintly, her sardonic laughter stretching thin, her chest heaving, exhausting whatever strength is left in her muscles. August’s smirk widens with hers, large dimples are slicing into his cheeks.
Ticking his tongue, Issac allows the sharp edge of the scalpel cut a skin-deep line into her flesh. Ingvild stares at him stoically, not moving a muscle as shy drops of blood begin trickling down her navel.
“Are you sure about your response?” he asks, ghosting the scalpel over her abdomen while crooking an eyebrow.
Ingvild bites her lip, pretending to think about her answer for a few seconds. Lifting her head up, she inches her lips toward Issac’s ear. The scrawny man listens intently.
“August Walker is the devil, and the devil is everywhere.”
A peal of sinister chuckles spills from her lips as she throws her head back onto the ground, staring at Issac’s disapproving glare.
But her laughter soon dies.
Taut pressure pierces into her flesh, the blade penetrating deep, cutting through tissue and muscle as if it was soft cheese. Ingvild clenches her jaw, her mind flooded by charring white light that dismantles every thought while the blade continues to swerve.
For a brief moment, she finds herself in Bergen, hands covered with thick blood, holding the gushing wound in her stomach with shock. August stands above her, toying with his favourite knife and staring at the red taint.
“Time to fall, angel.”
Scattered musings run behind her eyes: Liam, the nuns at the orphanage, August, and even Erica. She’s reminded of every hit she was forced to take, every country she visited, all blending into a bizarre parade of death.
“C’mon girl, just tell us where he is!” She hears the other man shout as he steps closer with an urgent expression. “Just give us something, a country, a region, anything to make this stop, you can still do the right thing.”
The heavy stench of iron fills her nose; the warm, thick liquid trickles down her bare skin, spilling in a cross on the map of her torso. The pain now is undeniable, making her lips heavier as she makes an attempt to answer.
“I don’t…. know… any August.”
The CIA agent scoffs violently and balls his fists. “Deeper!” He orders Issac, who like a composer, trails the blade further through her gut, cutting into sinew and brittle tendons. Ingvild trembles, feeling her body grow weaker.
In her mind, she can hear caged screams.
“You will die for a man who doesn’t even care if you bleed!” The agent rasps, spit coming out of his mouth as he rages above her.
‘Stop!’
“He won’t even remember you once you die!”
‘Resist, don’t show pain. You’ve been through this before, you already died.’
“No one will.”
Swallowing every ounce of pain, she fights to remember her training, her past. Her mind scrambles for Fjellstrekninger forest, for the green pines and their stringy needles, for the scent of beech and the damp ground. She tries to imagine the silver-blue mountains of Bergen, that last time she hiked there before going to meet Liam at the gas station.
How strange that at the very same day she encountered the most wanted man on earth, not knowing she was destined to be his.
But none of these images appear before her.
‘You can’t escape this.’
Her screams shudder through the entire floor.
“Are you out of your goddamn mind?”
August flicks his tongue over his bottom lip, glowering at the driver who gawks at him with disbelief and shakes his head. Pushing the phone against his chin, he stares forward at the rainy road, reciting in his mind the words of the MI6 and CIA apostles.
‘Erica captured a woman in her late 20s, having her tortured for information for a couple of days now. Can’t promise you she’s alive. No one goes in there.’
“I wasn’t asking,” August answers, throwing him an icy glare, “we’re taking the chopper to the Mi6 fortress in London. I don’t need to tell you what happens if you question my decisions.”
The driver tenses his fingers around the steering wheel and shakes his head once again. He means to say something, but the scowl on August’s face shuts him up right away.
“Who is she? What is she to you?”
August huffs and lowers his gaze, eyes dropping to the plutonium case and then forward through the windshield, watching the heavy rain clouds that stretch before the sky. As he blinks his eyes shut, his mind plays a vision of an inferno; cracked ground and scorched skies. He sits on a throne made of bones and drinks wine from a chalice made of human skull.
His angel sits on his knee, naked and pure, her iridescent wings tucked against her back. She stares at him with a smile full of admiration, her fingers brushing over his moustache.
‘Your angel of destruction.’
“She’s just an asset.”
‘Hell lives inside you August, it always has. Rotting you from the inside as it begs to be let out. And you will unleash it, won’t you? Your suffering must be shared.’
Vast shadows gather outside the double-pane windows of the main hall. The thick storm clouds paint the sky pitch black, swallowing the stars alive one by one. Light wanes just in time for the harbinger of chaos to march into the well-secured lobby of the sizable Mi6 fortress.
If fairytales were to be true, the devil would arrive riding a monstrous mare with hooves made of flames. But if anything, he is but a man in a tailored suit and a long trench-coat. The leather soles of his midnight-black shoes squeak as he marches on, leaving a trail of mud on the cream-coloured marble.
“Evening sir,” the security guard greets and gestures August to pass through the large weapon detector with nothing but a quick exchange of knowing looks.
The corners of August’s lips curl into a small smile beneath his moustache while he scrutinises the surroundings. Gold and pearly pillars spread across the vast hall, a false facade hiding a decaying world and the self-indulgent ghosts that harbour it. So lost in their own little lie, it takes them more than a few minutes to notice the hellhound who stepped into their haven.
It begins as a small rumble, like a seismic wave. The first tremor vibrates through the ground and the walls follow with a convulsing shudder. Gasps, chatter, and widened eyes stab at him with shock, yet they all seem to suffer from the same affliction.
Standing paralysed, they ogle at the most wanted man on earth as he combs his fingers through his hair and walks toward the elevators located at the end of a narrow, red corridor. Unapologetically confident and ever so relaxed and condescending, he ignores them.
A true king among peasants.
“Is that?...”
“What the fuck?!”
“How the fuck did he pass security???”
His confidence is nothing but theatrics, as his blue eyes carry toward the large elevators with a glossy sparkle breaking on his corneas. He tries so hard to envision her beautiful face yet all he sees is a pile of dry bones.
“Stop! Hands in the fucking air, Walker!”
‘Ah, took them long enough.’
Standing between the carpeted walls of the narrow corridor, only mere inches from the silver doors, August slowly spreads his long fingers and lifts his hands in the air. His keen ear catches at least three firearms as the guards cock their guns at his direction, panting with fright.
“Turn around so we can see you, piece of shit!!!” A presumingly young hero barks behind him.
“Someone call Director Sloane down here right now, she’s not going to believe it!!!”
The soft rumbling in the lobby grows into impending thunder. A flash of pale purple lightning floods the lit vicinity for a split second, echoing the small grin that spreads across August’s beaming face.
“Oh, I don’t think so, son,” he speaks serenely, almost like a tender fatherly coo. Not bothering to turn, he tilts his head up and inhales sharply.
“Go.”
Sharp gasps of shock and terror reverberate between the walls of the fortress as sudden darkness veils the main hall. The smell of their fear is almost as delightful as the strong smoky scent of gunpowder. Like shooting stars, the rapid gunfire pierces through the night. Cries, incoherent screams, and panicked gasps make for a beautiful concert, so much that he wishes he could stay, but he has a girl to rescue.
‘If she’s still alive…’
Swallowing the bitter bile, he enters an elevator and presses the button for the basement level. He watches the flickering beams of light as his men continue to execute the remaining agents before the doors shut in.
Drawing out his handgun and relieving the safety, he leans against the shuddering metal and stares at the neon red number while reminiscing on the day he met a pretty girl with an unpleasant smile.
“Too bad, I would have loved to see you again.”
“Well then, if our destinies were meant to be entwined, you will.”
The basement level seems completely abandoned and eerily silent. No wails nor cries carry on the chilly air.
His Ingvild is forbearing, she would never show her suffering. Would she?
Inching toward the interrogation cell, his hand runs across the naked concrete walls, sensing the coarse texture against the pads of his fingers. Opaline droplets of sweat bead his forehead and his lungs sink with the effort.
Muffled voices perk his ears the closer he gets: two men, no woman. No sounds of violence, no signs of her in there whatsoever.
‘Angel, are you being brave for me?’
Arriving at the door, he takes a deep breath and gingerly pushes the handle. The pungent scent of salt and iron pervades his nostrils as he steps a foot into the shower of blinding white light. The brightness hurts and for a moment it feels as everything before him fades.
Until his sight sharpens and he notices the two shadowy figures standing with their backs facing him. They look like vultures preying upon a corpse.
Her corpse.
‘No! Change this! Make this right!’
Wings of cherry-dark blood spread from her snow-pale body. Motionless, his girl lies with her top huddled around her chest to expose her bleeding gut.
‘You are too late…’
Pure, undistilled rage burns within August’s throat, so ferocious it stings in his eyes, making his entire body tremble. He lifts his hand and fires the gun hastily, shooting both men in the back of their heads before they even get the chance to turn and look at the man who executed them.
“Ingvild!” August pants, rushing and falling to his knees before her.
“Angel?” He presses one hand to her gut, trying to pressure her gushing wounds while his fingers etch around her nape to pull her closer to his face. Blood, still sticky and warm, tarnishes his clean outfit while he cradles her in his arms.
“Please don’t do this to me…” He whispers, shifting his hand to caress her bruised face, recalling the last time she was dead in his arms.
The world kept spinning on its axis when she died back at the lake. So why does it feel like right now it stopped in its place?
Pressing her to his chest, August shuts his eyes and shudders with fury. All emotions come to life, and every one of them hurt.
“You are not here…”
A deep quivering sigh of relief soars from his throat, mouth cracking into a smile at the sounds of her hoarse whisper and delicate moans. Blinking faintly, Ingvild half-opens her eyes and stares at him through heavy lids.
“I am here,” he whispers, brushing away the sticky strands of hair from her face and squeezes her cheek beneath his thumb, “I came to take you, we have to go.”
Shifting his arms, he tries to lift her up, but his petite woman is suddenly made of the heaviest rocks; her stiff muscles protest in his grip, making it impossible for him to manoeuvre her out of fear she will bleed to death.
“We were both at the garden,” she mumbles drowsily, licking her bloodied teeth before breaking into a maddened smile that quickly dies as she depletes her remaining strength. “I’m tired, I want to stay here and dream.”
“Ingvild, we don’t have time for this,” August warns with concern, noticing how her eyes roll back and her lashes flutter shut, “there’s a helicopter waiting for us on the roof. You have to get up, you have to survive this, you have to come with me! Please!”
Fat, oily tears roll down her temples, mingling with the blood and tangy sweat on her face. Opening her eyes again, she peers at her beautiful monster, recognising the familiar ocean and its eternal unrest.
Did he come here for her, or is it just a dream?
“Why?”
‘Tell her.’
Brow lifting and face softening, his hands clutch her tightly. He rocks her from side to side, holding her protectively. Ingvild senses the wrath that pours from his heart, the thundering beat throwing its fists against his ribcage as their bodies collide.
“You know why,” August suggests huskily, nearly begging, bargaining not to admit, not to say the words he was always so afraid of. But naively, her gaze pleas in return, the child-like innocence piercing a hole through his chest.
“Tell me,” she begs him.
‘She needs you to say it.’
“Because I need you.”
The words nearly crack on his tongue, his throat suddenly so dry it sears. He glances down at the fallen angel, sensing the most excruciating thirst, where the only way to stop it is by stealing several deep kisses from her lips.
“I need you by my side,” he murmurs above her lips between desperate, helpless kisses, hoping to breathe life into his weakened valkyrie, “stay with me, angel.”
An awkward stretch tugs at her cheeks, hurting as if someone slices them with a blade from side to side. For the first time in her life, true laughter crisps her face, followed by crystal-like tears that run down her sullen eyes.
“I love you, August.”
Every nerve in his body tingles with tendrils of light, reaching out deep within his gut and spreading throughout his tendons. For a moment, he feels divine, sanctified by the words of his angel, his woman, his by free will.
Offering her a brief smile, he captured her lips for one last stolen kiss. His thick moustache scratches at her tender flesh while a little hum plays on his tongue.
She tastes like blood and honey - the tarty flavour of victory.
“We have to go now, princess, I have to finish this.”
Gingerly rising to his feet, he hooks a hand below her knees and places the other against her bruised spine. Bloody footprints trail behind him as he carries her outside the white room, trying to make for their freedom.
Locked down in her office, Director Erica Sloane inhales and exhales by practice, brushing a hand through her sweat-slick hair while trying to call every backup unit. Bullets still rip through the air in every story; the sirens howl while red lights flicker from outside. She puts her hands around her ears, trying to shut the noises out, uncertain if the screams she is hearing are her people still being slaughtered, or her mind playing tricks.
Walker is many things: an idealist, a manipulative snake, a monster. But this is a side of him she never anticipated. There is no need to question his motives this time. She is smart enough to figure it out.
To risk so much, a man must feel deeply for a woman.
Her anxiety spikes as guilt seeps in when her phone suddenly rings.
“Director Sloane,” she pants against the receiver. Somehow, as she hears the deep, measured breath, she knows.
‘Walker.’
“Hello, Erica, did you miss me?”
Erica clenches her jaw and stares spitefully into nothing, “Hardly.”
She hears him scoff from the other line, her mind piecing together that horrible, pretentious grin of his. The bile climbs up her throat just from the vision.
“We don’t have much time, but I just wanted to thank you.” August pauses, sighing with the bliss of a madman at her ear, “You see, if not for Lacey, if not for you kicking me to the curb the way you did - I would have never become what I was meant to be. And you sent me an angel to light my way…”
“You’ve manipulated her.”
“No, you did,” August interrupts calmly, “I set her free. I will set them all free and unite them.”
The anger simmers in her gut to the point of nausea. She holds her breath, counts to ten and tries to gather her thoughts. ‘August wants a bargain,’ she thinks, but for a reason, it feels like he already won.
“Can you come and look out of the window for me, please?” He asks politely.
Turning her head at the window, she narrows her eyes and bites her plump lips with hesitation.
“If I had a sniper on you, you’d be dead 5 minutes ago,” he assures her.
She gets up from her office chair slowly, her fingers reaching to uncover the blinds. The storm weakened, yet heavy clouds still loom from above like a noxious mist. She seeks for August on the horizon, listening carefully to the sounds on the line. She realises they are coming from above. Her sharp eyes detect the helicopter: far, yet close enough to see his shit-eating grin and that hand that waves at her.
He has the girl with him. Who knew a monster could care.
“You know, you are the only woman in the CIA I haven’t fucked.” He provokes and then hangs up suddenly.
Erica watches as the helicopter takes off, her eyes widening with fear as the notion of her own demise resonates like a stinging slap.
The blast takes her along with the entire building within a split second.
Standing on the cliff by the edge of the valley, August stares down at the tranquil scar that swerves amidst lush, fertile mountains. The crystalline Indus river lies before his eyes, its sweet water so clear that the sky mirrors upon the brim.
It’s not every day when a simple man becomes a god.
The melancholic beauty of nature makes his fingers tighten around the detonator, thumb ghosting over the button as he allows himself a couple of last seconds to inhale the air of the old world.
Oh, how many will die for this god to receive his halo.
‘I wish you were here, my Ingvild…’ August muses with anguish, feeling an awkward jab at the spot where his heart should have been.
A sudden rumbling noise of a helicopter makes his gut weave.
‘That better not be Ethan fucking Hunt! I should have thrown him off the cliff in Norway!’
Alarmed yet stoic as ever, he draws his gun, aiming it at the aircraft inching its way to land on the other side of the flat terrain. The last thing he needs right now is someone meddling with his affairs, but it quickly becomes clear to him that if someone wanted a monster like him dead, they would have sniped him from the air before he could even see them coming.
‘Did you forget the woman is nothing but a valkyrie?’
“What are you doing here?” He calls out at Ingvild and frowns at the pilot, abruptly struck with anger. “I specifically asked to make sure she stays rested!”
The pilot shrugs while Ingvild makes her way toward August with mild effort. Dark circles rest beneath her eyes, yet she is still so very beautiful to him, especially when she frowns.
“She was very persuasive and horrendously stubborn,” the pilot retorts.
“Yeah, tell me about it,” August mutters to himself and watches the little battered woman making every attempt to remain stoic as she steps closer. A shadow of a malicious grin creeps on her frosty eyes.
Once upon a time, she promised him she will always find him. She has no intention of breaking that promise.
“Did you think I’ll let you do this without me, August Walker?” She sulks at him as she finally moves to stand in front of him. Every nerve in her body is inflamed with pain, yet the thought of not being here at the birth of the new world brings greater agony than imagined.
Something she compares to missing out on the birth of a child.
“We are in this together now, this is our cause, our better world. You don’t get to leave me behind.”
Her hand reaches for his wrist, thumb pressing to feel his quickening pulse. Wonder paints his eyes and his lips gape softly. He promised himself Lacey will never cross his thoughts again; yet he can’t help but think about that night in his study and the pain of betrayal.
‘How is she even real?’
Gently peeling her fingers off his wrist, he looks at the detonator. He then takes her hand in his, placing the device in her slender grasp.
“Forgive me, my darling. You’re right,” he apologises and turns her over to view the horizon. A shiver surges through her as she senses the weight in her palm when August moves to stand behind her, resting his chin on the top of her head.
“We do this together.”
Pesky little honeysuckles flutter within her chest as his arms wrap around her carefully. One of his hands holds hers, raising it up slightly to position the device in front of her chest.
“Do it angel, set them free.”
Taking a deep breath, Ingvild slides her fingertip over the red button. Scattered images of her life briefly flash through her mind, ending with the single moment where their gazes first met that day in Bergen.
Bright heavenly light cleanses the sky and loud thunder rips through the earth. Standing on the trembling ground, August and Ingvild stare into the distance while slowly turning to face each other. They hold their hands together, both gaping with awe as rich golden hues pour into the sky.
Enamoured, and lost within one another’s beauty, they share a long, lingering kiss.
Epilogue.
Sharp and heavy, the blade split the wood in half as if it was made out of soft butter. Resting the blunt side of the leaden axe over his shoulder, he pauses and observes the pile of firewood on the ground. His lips move in silence as he counts before crouching down to pick up another log and place it on the stump.
Strong shades of pink and orange spread between the clouds, kissed by the drowsy sun as it makes its way to slumber beneath the earth. It’s been 8 months since the coming of their new world. Even though there is still work to be done, August decided a hideout was necessary to let her mend her wings.
“Loki!”
Ingvild rushes into the green field with a wide, toothy smile. Feral rivers of chestnut-brown reach the small of her back, floating behind her as she runs around giggling.
‘That smile, like honey. So pure, so real.’
Playful barks answer her call, and a German Shepherd puppy appears from across the green hill, jumping over one of the logs ecstatically and wags its tail.
“Careful or I’ll cook him for dinner,” August mutters and points the axe at Loki’s direction. The pup tilts its head at him and barks with playful rage, growling and baring its needle-like teeth.
Ingvild pauses and gives August an icy stare before grabbing the large puppy and holding him to her chest, “You’re a shitty liar August Walker, you love him. Always sneaking him bacon when you think I'm not looking and snuggling him in your sleep.”
August shrugs, brushing away her comment before sticking the axe into the tree stump. “Get inside, time for dinner.” A small grin stretches on his lips as he sees her walking away, kissing the puppy on his wet little nose.
The scent of cedarwood burning at the mantle and brewed coffee welcomes her home as she enters the cabin, immediately filling her chest with mellowness. She allows Loki down on the ground before walking into their cosy bedroom where she removes her trousers and remains in an oversized sweater and black thigh-high stockings that August gifted her after they left Kashmir.
When she returns to the living room, August is sitting at the study with his laptop open. A small wrinkle lines his forehead while he runs two fingers over his moustache. A map and coordinates are visible on the screen, along with a messaging platform which she only assumes is a conversation with one of the apostles.
Loki lies guarding at his feet.
“Come here, princess,” August calls, reaching out his arm toward her. “I have something to show you.”
Sneaking toward him like a large feline, Ingvild takes his hand and lets him guide her to his lap. Her legs fall to each side of his thighs, and August rests his chin at the small crook of her neck where it always belonged.
“What are you looking for?” She asks, casually pulling the sleeve over her wrist to scratch at a peeling hammer tattoo gracing her skin.
“Don’t touch it, let it heal.” August answers and takes her hand in his, entwining their fingers together tightly. An illustration of an angel wing decorates the same spot on his arm. As she glances at the way the black ink is embedded into his flesh, she can’t help but smile and ever so slightly grind herself on the semi-rigid bulge beneath her ass.
August growls against her neck, grazing his stubbles over her supple skin before reaching a hand to unzip his tracking trousers and pull out his swelling manhood. After a soft scuffle of her panties, he lifts her hips and slides himself fully within her wet, angelic cove.
“August…” She sighs, fluttering her eyes shut for a split second, embracing both pain and pleasure. When August fills her, she is ethereal, as if a piece that was missing all her life has finally made it back home.
“You always look so beautiful with me inside you,” he murmurs against her neck, planting bristly kisses down her jawline before returning his glare forward. Ingvild only moves slightly above him, swaying slow and smooth on his thick, throbbing girth and squeezing him tight between her walls to relish in their bond.
“I have a present for you.” He opens a tab on his browser while his fingers toy with her clit with surprising tenderness.
“What is it?” She moans as he presses down on her sensitive pearl.
“I found Liam,” he explains, a twinge of pride and a spit of revenge hanging on his baritone. He growls slightly as her cunt clenches around him by his words. “He’s hiding out in Sao Paulo. I plan to bring you his head.”
Sucking on her bottom lip, she grinds a little harder, feeling August deep in her gut. The temptation to ride him hard and rough is too great, but this sweet slow torture always brings her to a higher ground of ecstasy when they finally fuck.
“Can it wait, my beautiful monster?” She asks sweetly, reaching her talons to clutch his thigh as he pushes further in and bottoms out inside her with a grunt. “I’d like to stay here for a while and be your angel for a little bit longer.”
August lifts his cerulean gaze back to Ingvild, the clear sky in his deep irises slightly darken as he observes the serene look on her face. His hand rises to cup her chin and turn her head to the side to meet his possessive lips. He cages her mouth with his, devouring her with the lust of a hungry man.
“You will always be mine and mine alone Ingvild,” he promises as he ends the kiss with a nibble on her chin. Ingvild licks his saliva off her mouth and stares back at him with the oxymoronic union of innocence and sinister urge before she leans back and continues to look at his plans.
‘Who is she to you?’
‘She is my queen, and I am the king of hell.’
_______________________________
Additional Notes: Song lyrics by Elvis Presely - Angel. Additional Inspiration by Nine Inchs Nails - We’re in this together.
Disclaimer: I own no rights to Mission Impossible’s franchise or August Walker.
#henry cavill#august walker#august walker x ofc#august walker fanfiction#henry cavill fanfiction#the way to hell#henrycavill
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Useless - Dark!Steve Rogers x Reader (part two)
Warnings: 18+ Adult content!, Werewolves, A/B/O, Possessive behavior, Dark, Non con/dub con, Forced marriage, power imbalance, general misogyny, Punishments, spanking, smut, violence, oral (male receiving) .
Summary: “Trying to fight this is useless doll, we’ll always end up right back here.” You’re the bottom of the pack, an Omega, and Steve has chosen you for his mate.
Word count: 3.4k.
The pain is all consuming, devouring you from the inside out. It’s the first thing you notice when coming to. A chill wrecks through your body adding another layer to the dull aches and stabbing pains that radiate everywhere. Wolves heal fast and you’re used to being better within hours of getting hurt. You’ve never been this damaged though, never experienced this level of pain. You groan as you open your eyes.
“Hey sweetie, how are you feeling?”
You’ve known Bruce Banner forever. He’s like a big brother. He held you after you presented as an Omega, let you cry in his arms and told you everything would be ok. He’s been there for you ever since. Waking up to him instead of Steve gives you a sense of comfort and you relax a tiny bit.
“Everything hurts.”
Bruce holds your hand and gives you a sad look.
“Why didn’t you just submit?”
You don’t answer and Bruce continues.
“Everyone is so hurt you know? Some of the wolves who had to watch came back in tears and most of them still refuse to even talk about what happened.”
Anger rises in you. You’re the one who was almost killed. You’re the one being forced to mate someone against your will. They sat by and watched while Steve almost beat you to death. You feel no sympathy for anyone who watched what happened.
“It was my right.”
“Having the right to run doesn’t change how others will view your actions. We care about you Y/N. We don’t like seeing you hurt like this. And if you had actually succeeded we may never have seen you again. You’re a tiny little Omega. You wouldn’t last out there and you know it.”
“I’m strong,” you say in a quiet voice.
“Your will is strong...”
He gives you a kiss on the forehead.
“...But your body is weak.”
He checks your temperature and writes it down on a piece of paper beside your bed.
“You have a fever. I’m not worried about it yet but we do need to keep an eye on it. You really did a number on yourself.”
“I didn’t do this to myself.”
Bruce rolls his eyes.
“You have nobody but yourself to blame.”
You sigh and turn your head away.
“When can I go home?”
Bruce ignores your question effectively giving you an answer. Steve won’t let you go home, not after what happened the night before. Bruce goes into his bag and pulls out two pill bottles, shaking out a few pills from each.
“Here, take these.”
“What are they?”
“That one is a pain reliever and the other one is a sedative.”
You shake your head.
“I don’t want them.”
“They’ll help your wolf take over. You’ll heal twice as fast with them.”
“I don’t want to be healed faster.”
Bruce raises his eyebrows. He understands your meaning. The longer you take to heal the longer you have to think of your next move. They won’t let you go, not anymore. If you leave it will be against pack laws. A message will go out to every pack in the world asking them to look for you. Leaving is much more complicated now. You need time to consider if it’s even something you want to do.
“Don’t do this sweetie, just be a good girl for once, ok?”
“Can I have a little time at least first?” Your mind is running with your options and you don’t want to be put out again.
“No.” Steve's voice is deep and commanding. He walks through the bedroom door and pats Bruce on the back. Steve gives you a look that makes you want to run or hide or do anything you can to get away from him. Fighting him made you really realize just how much bigger and stronger he is.
“Thank you Bruce. I’ll see you later.”
“I wouldn’t leave her alone.” Bruce eyes you wearily.
“I won’t”
Bruce kisses your forehead before leaving.
You watch Steve take his shirt off and throw it into a laundry basket. There’s a bite mark on his arm. It’s deep and still not even close to being healed, You got one in and that’s impressive. He slides into bed next to you and you wince as he runs his hands over your bruises.
“I can move past this.”
He expects you to apologize but you bite your tongue and close your eyes. Steve reaches over you grabbing a glass of water and the pills Bruce left.
“Take your medicine.”
You let him place the pills in your mouth and gulp them down with the water. He grips your jaw gently and you open up showing you swallowed. Whatever Bruce gave you is powerful and it doesn’t take long for the pain to start receding and your eyes to get heavy.
“That’s it doll, you need to sleep.”
---
“I heard it was rough.”
“I could barely watch, she just kept getting up.”
“Is she going to be ok Bruce?”
“I’m keeping an eye on everything...”
“What is it?”
“She’ll try to run again. I know her, I can tell.”
“Even after we brand her?”
“The brand won’t deter her, it will just piss her off.”
“Do you think we shouldn’t do it?”
“I think it’s worth the risk, she’ll try either way but with the brand she’s less likely to get far.”
“She’s always been a strong willed little thing. We should have dealt with this much earlier”
“I’ve never liked saying no to her.”
“the rebellion has always been endearing.”
“Letting her get that job with the humans was our biggest mistake. She has these ideas of independence now.”
“We’ll have to watch her closely for the next few months...”
“...She’s waking up.”
You open your eyes and see a group of wolves standing beside your bed. You know all the pack Alphas individually but have never been alone in a room with all of them. Tony is like a second father and Carol like a mother despite the fact that neither of them are all that much older than you. Most of their scolding in the past has been almost playful. The look they give you now is more serious than you’ve ever seen them. Sam and Thor are like big brothers, always teasing and playing with you. You’ve gotten into plenty of trouble with them in the past. Having them now standing over you instead of with you is scary. You can tell that your relationship with them will never be the same. You try to sit up and whimper as pain shoots through your body. Bruce runs to your side and gently pushes you down.
“Just lie still sweetheart.”
“Why is everyone here?”
They exchange looks.
“Why do you think we’re here?” Tony asks.
“Because I ran?”
“Yes honey, because you ran.” Carol says.
“You need to understand that when you live in a pack you have to give up certain liberties.” Sam says
“I don’t want to be in the pack though. I was going to leave. I knew what I was doing.”
“Sweety, you were never going to leave. How many rogue Omegas have you met?” Carol asks.
“It’s our responsibility as your pack to take care of our Omegas. No pack would ever let one go, it’s disgraceful. Look at yourself Y/N, You can’t take care of yourself out there. We wouldn’t be good Alphas if we let you do whatever you wanted.” Tony says.
A brand is brought out and you shake your head as fast as your sore body will let you.
“You didn’t think there wouldn’t be consequences to your stunt?” Steve says.
You didn’t. You thought the worst that would happen would be ending up in the same position as before. You accepted that you would be hurt fighting an Alpha but branding is not something you thought they would ever do.
“Nobody brands anymore, It’s inhumane.”
“Nobody runs either.” Thor sits next to you and picks your hand up.
“If I was an Alpha…”
“You’re not an Alpha,” Tony says sternly.
You look at your Alphas and pull your blanket over your face. Thor pulls it back and Tony crouches beside the bed.
“We ignored your behavior for a long time and that’s on us. We should have started punishing you years ago. We failed. We didn’t give you what you needed as an Omega and it got us here. We’re not going to make that mistake again. You’re not an Alpha or a Beta Y/N, you’re an Omega. We need to treat you like one,” Tony says.
--
The brand is just another thing on your list of body parts that hurt. Bruce comes each day to change the bandage where they branded your arm. He checks your temperature and makes sure you’re eating and drinking. Within a few days you start feeling better, getting up for short walks, and within the week Your bruises turn from deep blues and purples to lighter greens and yellows.
“How do you feel?”
“Much better.”
“I think you’re out of the woods. You can resume activities now just take it easy for another week to be sure. I’ll be back tomorrow to check on you again.”
“I’m not ready Bruce.”
“It’s going to be ok.”
Bruce walks out of the room. You hear the quiet voices of him with Steve and dread what comes next.
You stand up and pace as you wait. Steve walks in and you back up to the wall. He’s barely talked to you all week. At first you thought it was just because he’s angry. Then you started noticing the bulge in his pants and the long showers and realized he’s just been trying not to fuck you until Bruce gives the all clear. He walks over to you and leans in smelling your neck. You flinch involuntarily and take a few shaking breaths.
“You’re scared of me,” he says.
You look down ashamed.
“That’s progress.”
you press yourself into the wall as if you could push yourself through to the other side.
“I have something for you.” Steve hands you a package and you open it pulling out a dark green chemise.
He puts a hand on your cheek and leans in for a kiss. He’s more gentle than you expected giving you little pecks on your cheek and nose.
“I got a lot of pretty things for you to wear.”
He kisses your forehead.
“Why don’t you put it on for me.”
You know he meant for you to change in front of him but you go to the bathroom instead and he doesn’t say anything. You look at your body in the mirror. You’ve lost weight and more importantly muscle mass. There are still multiple bruises healing across your body. You look down at the brand they gave you and back at your eyes. It’s an archaic practice, branding wolves. It used to be common for unruly wolves but doesn’t happen often anymore. The mark lets every other pack know that you’re a runaway. If you run and any wolf, even a rogue, sees the mark on your arm they’ll do everything they can to get you back to where you belong.
“come out and show me.” You hear from the bedroom.
You take a deep breath and splash your face before walking out. Your heart is beating so loudly you’re sure Steve can hear it from the other side of the room.
“I knew the green would look good on you.”
Steve looks you up and down as he walks toward you slowly. He glides his hands down your body and lifts you, placing you on the bed.
“I’ve been waiting so long for this.”
He flips you over without warning and You press your head to the bed. He pulls down your underwear and puts his knee in between your legs pushing them apart. You feel one hand on your back and one in between your legs. His finger glides over your clit before dipping into your pussy. He pumps his finger in and out slowly while his other hand presses down on your back.
“There you go, you’re doing great.”
You start losing yourself in the sensation, chasing an orgasm. He pulls away, replacing his fingers with his dick and pushes in slowly stretching you.
You start to panic and seize up but Steve holds you down, thrusting into you harder. You cry out in pain and he shushes you.
“Take it.” He says into your ear as he gives a hard thrust.
His hot breath is on your back and before you know it he’s biting down marking you forever.
It’s almost like a virus but instead of your body fighting it off it overwhelms you, changing you from the inside out. You will have this bond with Steve forever. The feeling pushes you into an unexpected orgasm and you arch your back. Your pussy clenches around Steve and he comes inside of you. Both of you are still for a few minutes in the wake of what just happened. You start shaking and wiggle out from under Steve, crawling into the middle of the bed and curling into a ball. Steve gently moves you so you’re under the blanket. He crouches beside you and looks at the mark he left. It will scar over. Every wolf who sees it will know you’ve been taken. There’s an almost drug-like calm that having your Alphas cum inside of you gives you but the pleasure you feel is overshadowed by the stress of everything. You start crying softly.
“hey, none of that.” Steve says. He wipes your tears away and slides into bed with you, engulfing you in his arms. You press yourself against him and he rubs your back
Steve doesn’t let you out of the house for two full weeks. Every part of your life is filled with him. Every little misstep and rebelion is squashed down immediately. It’s stifling.
You sit looking out the window one morning and Steve walks over to you, pulling you into his lap. You lean against him and trace circles on the back of his hand.
“You’re getting better.” He says proudly.
You’re not getting better, you're getting smarter. You’re biding your time until you can run. You’ll carry marks of this pack for your whole life. You’ll experience anxiety and depression but it will be your choice. If you ever come back it will be your choice. That’s all you’ve ever wanted, a choice.
Steve gets a text and pushes you off to read it without you seeing. He shakes his head and looks at you apologetically.
“I have to deal with some pack business.”
“Oh?” you try not to seem happy.
Steve grabs the back of your neck, holding it so you can’t look away.
“Stay inside until I get back.”
“Yes Alpha.”
He lets you go and quickly gets his stuff together. You watch him leave from the window and start roaming around looking for anything that could help you escape. You open a cabinet and move some tools aside, finding a pair of handcuffs. You stare at them for several minutes letting the knowledge that they exist wash over you. There’s no doubt in your mind that Steve wouldn’t hesitate to put you in these. You won’t hesitate either. You put them back where you found them and walk to the front door.
You’re not going to run right now. You know you won’t make it far on foot and Steve took the car. You just want to rebel a little bit. You want to show yourself that you’re strong enough to do something your Alpha told you not to. something your mate explicitly forbade.
You open the door and take one liberating step out. You feel free.
“Y/N.”
You look up to see Bucky Barns. He motions for you to get back in the house and follows you in. Bucky has been your friend since birth.
“I wasn’t going to run.”
Bucky pulls out his phone and types a quick text. He motions for you to sit on the couch.
“Please Buck, I swear I wasn’t running.”
“Hey, I don’t like this either but the Alphas gave strict orders for you.”
He gets a text and reads it scratching his chin. He gives you an apologetic look and you scoot away from him.
He grabs you quickly pushing you down over his knee and landing a hard smack on your bottom. It’s humiliating. You’ve never had this kind of relationship with Bucky. He’s always been an easy going Alpha and one of the only ones you’ve ever felt truly comfortable around. You try your hardest to get out of his lap but he keeps giving harder and harder spankings. You’re not sure how many it ends up being, only that he doesn’t quit until after you give up physically and emotionally. He pulls you into his arms and shushes you.
“You get why we have to do this right?”
You hug him back and nod. It’s working. You know that if you don’t get out you’ll eventually give in to all of it. Bucky holds you until Steve returns.
“Thanks Bucky.”
“Any time.” Bucky moves you out of his lap and makes his way to the front door.
You pull your legs up against your chest and watch Steve take off his shoes and hang up his jacket. He slowly rolls his sleeves up and crosses his arms.
“I’m sorry.” you whisper.
Steve walks toward you slowly and crouches down. He doesn’t say anything and the silence fills you with anxiety. He runs the back of his hand over your face before pulling your arms off of your knees. He stands up and undoes his jeans, pulling out his hardening cock. It twitches and grows and he grabs under your jaw, pulling you up towards his cock. You open up and he pushes into your mouth. He doesn’t say anything as he fucks your mouth. You close your eyes and try not to think about the feeling between your legs. He comes down your throat and pulls away from you still not talking to you. He walks to the kitchen and gets you a glass of water setting it on the end table next to the couch. You lie down and he places a blanket over you.
“Don’t leave the couch until I tell you to.”
This time you listen.
---
You lie awake in bed staring at the ceiling. Don’t hesitate.
Steve starts snoring gently and you pick his hand up and drop it. He doesn’t wake up and you jump out of bed and tiptoe to the living room. You fill your bag with whatever you think you can possibly need and head to where you found the handcuffs. You hold them in your shaky hands and take a breath. Don’t hesitate.
Steve wakes up the moment you close the shackle on his wrist. He reaches out for you and you run.
“Do not dare leave this house Y/N,” He yells as you reach the door.
You falter at the command. Fighting an Alpha command is like walking through glass. Every step cuts into you. It gets easier once you shut the door behind you. His voice still makes you want to turn around and go back but it’s much easier to fight now. You take his car, forcing yourself to drive at a normal speed so that nobody is suspicious.
You park at a train station several towns over but run half a mile and take a bus out of town instead of the train. You change busses at random making your way across the country.
You stare at the brand they gave you. You’ll have to be careful. They won’t stop hunting you and if they catch you you’ll never get away again. Your life now is one of running and hiding but also one of freedom and adventure. You don’t know what’s coming next. You let yourself be hopeful for the first time since you presented as an Omega. Your designation doesn’t define you. The wolves who claimed you, who owned you don’t define you. You decide what you want in life now.
How many rogue Omegas have you heard of?
“One.”
PART THREE
AN - This ending feels nice... but I also have a third part in my head. I’m debating if I want Steve to come get his Omega or not. LMK what Y’all think about ending it here vs. having the reader caught.
#dark!fic#dark!steve rogers#dark!steve x reader#alpha!steve rogers#alpha!steve#Werewolf!Steve Rogers
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resolutely, yours. | kth
summary: When your best-friend slash pain-in-your-ass, Kim Seokjin, drags you to a New Year’s Eve party that you didn’t want to go to in the first place, what better way is there to pass the time than to stay sober and watch all your classmates go berserk? Well, that is until Kim Taehyung steps into the picture, of course.
pairing: taehyung x reader
genre: fluff
word count: 2.7k+
warnings: profanity, slight alcohol consumption, implied drug usage (two words only, i swear), college party antics should say enough
A/N: first fic of the year! W O O! this was supposed to be for tae’s birthday but i guess it’s fitting since it is the new year. a special thanks to miss mei @sugacouture for her likeness and @koushiningg aka the eternal hypewoman. this fic (drabble) is rly short but i do have a lot coming up in store! for now, hope u enjoy and happy new year everyone!
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You are going to murder Kim Seokjin.
The spiked punch that fills your red solo cup up to its brim has been waiting to be quaffed down for thirty-seven minutes now. Roughly five minutes before that, Seokjin had somehow managed to drag you through the front doors of the fraternity party he’s been wanting you to accompany him to for weeks now.
And it only takes ten minutes for the proclaimed party animal and people-person, Kim Seokjin, to vanish from your side. He leaves you to fend for yourself in a jungle full of plastered college students—priorities at the moment are to either drink so much liquid regret that they can’t even remember their own names, or to find someone to make out with when the clock strikes at midnight. From simple observation, you notice that most, if not everyone here, fall under both categories.
Well, the exception being you, of course.
One thing to note is that you actually do have a decent tolerance for alcohol. You were no stranger to it, and it would serve as a dutiful companion to you when times called for it. Like last week after your last final that you knew you fucking bombed.
However, the humidity of the room due to the accumulation of bodies that left little to no room for fresh air, in addition to the strong stench of alcohol mixed with sweat mixed with God knows what, just was not the ideal place for you to get wasted. It didn’t stand close in comparison to drinking with a solid group of close friends, or by yourself in the comfort of your bed while a shitty rom-com plays in the background on your laptop.
The atmosphere is suffocating all of your senses— tears pricking at the corners of your eyes due to the strong odor of the room, the curled front pieces of your hair dampening and sticking to your temples, your mouth and throat dry as the Sahara Desert because, of fucking course, there is absolutely no water to be seen.
The small black dress and heels that Seokjin forced you to wear was worsening the situation greatly—your legs practically glued stuck to the stool you were sitting on, leading to ugly red marks and stinging skin if you tried to stand up.
You could not take being inside any longer. Instead of passing out from being piss drunk, you were almost adamant that you were going to pass out from the grueling mix of heat exhaustion and secondhand high.
Your grip on the solo cup significantly tightens, nearly crushing the plastic in half. You quickly stand up from the stool you were sitting in, the sensation akin to getting your legs waxed as you take a deep inhale through your nose, mentally preparing yourself to dive into this sea of financially obligated, depressed monsters.
Peculiarly, you manage to shove your way through a good chunk of the mass, your eyes set on the door that leads towards the balcony. Your ankles almost completely give into your weight a concerning number of times, and if it wasn’t for all of the arms of oblivious partygoers that you had clung onto for dear life, you probably wouldn’t be able to stand on your own two feet by now.
Solely occupied with trying to navigate your way through the crowd, you don’t even realize that someone bumped into you and spilled your drink all over your dress until you reach the balcony. The cold, night breeze passes over your body, leaving chills on the huge wet patch on your dress. The one goddamn time your dress sees the light of day, you just so happen to find a way to ruin it.
“Fucking hell!” You holler into the vacant balcony, your hands coming up to carefully poke at the wet patch on your dress. You wince as the soaked, freezing fabric comes in contact with your bare stomach. Angry, you chug down the rest of the drink inside your cup and chuck it off the balcony, too enraged to even react to its strong taste.
Shivering, you walk deeper onto the balcony, cradling yourself and staring at your shoes, a string of curses spewing from your lips. You scold yourself for not bringing a jacket while simultaneously plotting your revenge against Seokjin. A pair of black loafers intrude your vision, accompanied by a husky voice that calls out to you,
“Oh shit, are you okay?”
Your head shoots up, your eyes meeting the ones of the man standing in front of you. He towers above you significantly despite you wearing heels. His eyes are only a tad obscured by the soft, brown curls of his hair, perfectly styled and gelled to have that ‘purposefully messy’ look. The only difference being that models stood no chance against him when he was the blueprint himself. The black button up he’s clad in exquisitely accentuates every crevice of his lean, chiseled body. And his eyes that were already alluring on their own, were adorn with hazel-colored contacts that you swear you could stare at for hours upon hours. He is so otherworldly beautiful, you temporarily forget to breathe.
And you also forget that you are just staring at him, and he is staring back at you with a smile.
Times like this is when you wish you were at least a little buzzed. Sober ‘you’ is way too socially inept to fend for themself sadly. “O-oh i’m fine, someone just spilled their drink on me.”
Maybe it’s the way the moon sits behind him and casts a halo-like glow around his figure or how he’s just been staring straight into your eyes this whole time, like it’s second nature whilst you can only hold eye contact with him for two seconds before instinctively shying away. To say that his presence frightened you was an understatement. You were about to take cover and hide under the patio table like a five-year-old if he kept looking at you like that.
He blinks, his mouth stretching into a wide grin, rectangular-shaped and having the ability to ease your nerves. He places his drink on a patio table, dusting his hands on his pants, “Here, I’ll get you some napkins, just stay here.”
Stunned, it isn’t until he leaves that you yell out to him as he steps back inside the chaos, “Thank you!”
You carefully sit down on a patio chair, your arms still wrapped around your shivering torso while you try to breathe warm air into your cupped hands.
The man steps out onto the balcony minutes later, his fists full of paper towels as he hands them to you. “Here you go.”
You graciously take them, blotting your dress with the paper towels, your nose scrunching at the scent of alcohol that you had no choice but to inhale. “Thank you so much, really.” You say— still very much shocked to know that chivalry isn't quite dead yet. “It’s Taehyung, right?”
He nods, “Yeah, and you’re Y/N?
Your pause, your hand hovering over your dress as you look up and nod with a forced smile, “No but really, thank you. You didn’t have to.”
“Don’t worry about it, I’m sorry that it happened in the first place,” he says apologetically, as if it was his fault, “it seems like everyone’s already out of their minds, and it isn’t even midnight yet.”
“Hey, don’t apologize,” you assure him, which seems to work because his eyes soften a bit, “besides, I guess it’s my fault for coming here in the first place. I knew something like this was gonna happen and now here I am, smelling like cheap, convenience store vodka.”
He chuckles, and you swear you’ve never been so elated to make someone laugh until now, “I somehow managed to beat the crowd. I’ve literally just been standing out here by myself for a good hour now.”
You sigh in envy, “Must be nice.”
“Too bad you couldn’t make it, it’s been awfully quiet up here.” He says, pivoting on his heel to look at the rest of the empty balcony.
Your eyes trail to the commotion inside the house, the crowd still going strong, “Are we really the only sober ones here?”
He shakes his head, “Nah, we’re just the only ones stupid enough to show up at a college party on New Year’s Eve, expecting to have a good time sober while everyone’s getting plastered.”
The unexpected truth pill causes you to enter a fit of laughter, small clouds of air leaving your mouth every time you exhale. He laughs along with you. “Yeah we are pretty stupid, I do admit.” You concur, while rubbing at your arms that were covered in goosebumps.
“Do you want my jacket?” He asks you while pointing to the black blazer that’s slung on top of the chair next to you.
You wrinkle your nose, “Are you sure?”
“Yes, before I put it on you myself,” he giggles with a roll of his eyes.
Shaking your head, you grab the blazer and wrap it around your shoulders. You stand up from your seat and turn towards him, brow quirked. “A-are you not cold? It’s fucking freezing out here.”
“I’m fine, I swear,” he counters, reaching out to help you slip your arms into his huge jacket sleeves, “I’m also not wearing a sleeveless dress.” He teases, eyeing you up and down as he takes in how oversized his jacket is on you. He thinks it looks much better when you’re wearing it, but he won’t tell you that.
“Right…” you drag out, following his footsteps as he motions you to follow him towards the edge of the balcony.
You two stand next to each other, leaning against the edge, arms nearly brushing against one another.
“So Taehyung, what brings you here in the first place?” You ask, knowing that he seems just as displeased to be here as much as you are.
“I got dragged here by a friend, Park Jimin, in particular.” He responds with a frown, “I have no idea where the fuck he is now, he literally left me as soon as we got here.”
Turning towards him incredulously, your brows raise and the corner of your lip curls into a smirk, “You don’t say.”
Confused, but also curious about the expression painted across your face, he quirks a brow, “Hm?”
You close your mouth, crossing your arms tighter around yourself, “I got dragged here by a friend too. Kim Seokjin. That asshole left me as soon as we got here too.”
He steps back, scoffing in disbelief, “Wow, we really just got stood up by our own friends.” Taehyung proclaims into the vacant balcony, for both him and you— the thought of it sounding even more pathetic after being said out loud.
“They’re pretty goddamn close to losing that title now.” You quip, shaking your head in dismay.
His head rocks back, a lively laugh leaving his lips due to your comment which makes you smile at the fact that you are even able to make him laugh like this.
“Damn it Y/N, you should’ve came out sooner, we could’ve been having a good time out here.” He tells you with a pout as his laughter starts to dwindle.
Sighing heavily, you too, feel regretful about the missed opportunity, “I really should have.”
He nudges you with his elbow, “At least you’re here now.”
The bass-boosted music from inside the house ceases, the room becoming momentarily quieter while someone bellows out, “Hey look, it’s the countdown!”
Everyone’s focus shifts towards the gigantic flat screen TV that hung above the fireplace, making you realize where the fraternity funds truly go to. You and Taehyung exchange glances before shrugging and moving closer to all the commotion since it was New Year’s Eve, above all.
He leans against the doorframe and you stay close to his side, the number ten flashing brightly on the screen—the crowd’s shouts getting louder as it reaches the final ten seconds of the year.
Instead of shouting out the numbers with the rest of the mass, you and Taehyung are simply witnessing it all fold out in silence.
“EIGHT!”
‘You got any New Year’s resolutions?!” You nudge him while attempting to yell over the noise.
His head whips towards you, “Me?!”
“SEVEN!”
Your brows furrow, “Does it look like I’m talking to anyone else?!”
His mouth splits into a grin once more, folding over in laughter just enough to meet eye-to-eye with you.
“SIX!”
“I mean! I didn’t have one originally!”
The crease in your brows dissipate, “Well, what changed?!”
“FIVE!”
His head tilts to the side, “I came here!”
You mirror his head tilt, confused as ever, “Um, so you wanna go to more parties next year?!”
“FOUR!”
He slaps a palm against his forehead, “From what you know about me, does it look like I like parties?!”
“How the hell would I know?!”
His jaw drops, “Y/N—!”
“THREE!”
“—I wanna get to know you better Y/N!”
Your jaw drops as well, “What?! Me?!”
“TWO!”
“Is there any other Y/N standing in front of me?!”
“I– oh...”
“ONE! HAPPY NEW YEAR!” The crowd shouts together in unison despite all being under the influence. A confetti cannon erupts, flying around the room and falling into people’s hair as the mass starts to split into pairs, all partaking in the traditional New Year’s kiss that you personally haven’t had much luck in participating in yourself.
You rip your gaze away to look at Taehyung. He smiles, pulling a piece of confetti out of hair, making your cheeks flush. “Happy New Year, Y/N.”
“Happy New Year, Taehyung.”
The small amount of alcohol you consumed when you first stepped foot onto the balcony leaves you slightly buzzed. Just enough to leave you with the right amount of courage to vouch for the nickname.
You take a daring step towards the man in front of you, “I also have a resolution of my own, Taehyung.”
He takes an even more daring step towards you, having the audacity to lean down— your faces only inches apart. “And what is that, may I ask?”
Grabbing onto the collar of his shirt, you close the gap in between the two of you, locking your lips with his. The kiss isn’t short enough to be a peck but isn’t long enough to be considered making out. You pull away enough to be able to see his face, “Is to get to know you better too.”
He chuckles, “Y/N, your lips taste like spiked punch.”
Pouting, you bump your forehead into his, “All I drank was whatever you saw me have at the balcony, I swear.”
He pecks your nose, your frown immediately wiping away as he does so, “I trust you.”
You smile, giving him a peck on the mouth, “As you should.”
“I’d kiss you again, but you probably can’t stand being here any longer. Let’s get out of here.” He tells you, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear.
You slide your arm onto his, interlocking his fingers with your own, “I think you’ve already completed your resolution Taehyung. You seem to know me so well already.”
Pushing through the crowd, he hooks an arm onto your waist while he shoves a path for you two to get through, “Too bad I don’t know where you wanna go though.”
You hum, thinking for a moment before your grumbling stomach answers for you, “I’m hungry, let’s go grab burgers or something.”
You don’t see the way Taehyung is fondly staring at you because you’re too busy trying to open the front door. At last, you manage to pry it open, stepping back outside while Taehyung’s holding you in his arms. It’s not that cold this time.
Taehyung’s hands land on both of your shoulders— turning you around to face him as he swiftly latches his lips onto yours. You stumble back, but his hand is quick to support you as he kisses you deeply. You kiss him back, letting your fingers curl around the curls of his hair.
He pulls back this time, letting his forehead rest on yours, “Y/N, I think you are the one that’s completed your resolution. How the hell did you know that I fucking love burgers?”
-
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MASTERLIST
#bts ff#bts fluff#btswritingcafe#taehyung ff#bts smut#bts fanfiction#bts angst#taehyung fluff#bangtanedu#btsghostie#heartsforbts#magicshopnet#btsguild#castlebangtan#bts scenarios#taehyung x reader#bts x reader#taehyung smut#bts smau#bts fake texts#bts fanfic#taehyung fanfic#taehyung fake texts#taehyung angst#taehyung imagines#bts imagines#bts updates#bts#bangtanuniversity
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Midnight Magic
A/N: Wrote a smutty part 2 to accompany you lovely folks! 🥰🥰
MASTERLIST
Henry Cavill x Reader
Also, if I keep tagging you and you’re not interested or want to be tagged; please let know!
Word Count: 1855k
Warnings: MUCH PROMISED FLUFF, dirty talk, implied smut, foreplay, kissing, language, teasing
***********************************************
Y/N wasn’t someone to demand attention but tonight was a different story entirely. Whether it be the holiday magic in the air or the sheer happiness exuding from her beaming smile, they’d never know for sure. She glazed into the fireplace awaiting the arrival of her midnight kiss to show up. The embers flickered uncontrollably creating a spellbinding illusion of comfort. The cerulean blue hue of her dress was majestically magnificent, custom designed to perfection leaving little to the imagination. Paired with a sexy high slit revealed the majority of her right leg; just enough access.
This New Year’s Eve Henry had the peculiar notion to get dressed up as if they were enjoying the evening out. Y/N almost died of happiness then and there seeing the childish reflection in her husband’s hypnotic orbs. 2020 was one helluva year and though it brought them closer than ever as a couple, Y/N wasn’t blind to the hardships occurring throughout the world.
His loins stirred excitedly as lust glazed over his features growing semi-hard. The only barrier holding them from going at it like teenagers. He licked his lips in anticipation eager to have his wife all to himself. No lavish parties or parades of people to entertain this year, just the lot of them, alone and horny. He continued admiring her from afar pouring two flutes of champagne for the pair.
“You look positively scrumptious this evening, Mrs. Cavill.”
Henry silently crept from behind sneaking up unsuspectingly slow. Goosebumps riddled her gorgeous skin rippling in masses. His breath ticked the tiny, delicate hair adorning her neck shooting a pleasurable surge to her limbs. Both endlessly love drunk on one another. His sensational touch alone kicked every sense into overdrive, heightened every emotion he emitted. Y/N reached back entangling her fingers with his newly deemed ‘quarantine curls’ she’d loved to tug on. Small bites traced down her neck leaving small marks in his wake of destruction.
“May I add how delectable you are in a tuxedo, Hen? My god, my poor ovaries must be working overtime.”
A salacious smirk broke out on his lips eyeing her lustfully.
“You haven’t the finest clue what I want to do to you right now, my love.”
Her hips grinded back on their on accord knocking the air from his lungs. All his remaining blood rushed to the tip of his cock as his belly stirred in playful chaos. They swayed back and forth to the melody playing in the background both reflecting on their last year together.
Henry lined himself up with the shell of her ear wrapping his bulky arm firmly around her waist drawing her as close as possible.
“I’m truly astounded this is our 12th year celebrating as a couple.”
Y/N smiled thinking back when they first met. The year was 2008, Henry was a newly promoted regular to a Showtime series called The Tudors. Y/N was a brilliant writer, the brains behind the complex operation. Henry considered her the beauty and brains; Y/N hated when he talked down about himself saying she’d never once doubted the man who became a wonderful husband and even better daddy.
One unparticular day he’d spotted her struggling to balance a pretty hefty pile of scripts and tumbled right into him. Luckily, his super-size and strength kicked in just in time catching the eye of the attractive stranger. In that moment, Henry knew there was something about this woman he craved to figure out. He was just the lucky bastard on the reciprocating end.
“And thank god your parents volunteered to take the kiddos for the evening. Some private adult time is just what the doctor ordered. We owe them BIG time.”
Y/N winked leading him to decipher the meaning behind her blanket statements. She stepped from his grasp breaking his hold on her. He whined at the loss causing Y/N to eye him curiously.
Oh, you little tease.
Henry’s frisky nature broke through lighting the atmosphere around them. Due to the ongoing pandemic and what not, Henry and Y/N found themselves in wintry London at their main hub of a home. Henry’s roots were deep-rooted and his plea so passionate as she agreed to move across the world with him. Their lives halted for the better allowing the family to spend more time than usual as a unit. Though initially hectic and overwhelming, they were secretly thankful for these little moments with their four children. It was a time they so dearly valued at their imaginative ages.
“Oh, I bet my pops could sense the sexual tension oozing off you, darling. You smell mouthwatering.”
“Hush! Besides it is completely natural to pursue a sexual relationship with my husband outside of our children. Gotta keep you coming back for more…”
“Oh sweets, you have no earthly idea how bad I want to fuck you every day of my existence. You are absolutely divine and somehow all mine.”
“I can’t take all the credit. Nobody’s ever made me cum the way you managed to figure out. You play me like a damn instrument.”
“With pleasure.”
“Ugh, you’re insatiable.”
“Oh, come on. Your sex drive is just as insane as mine. Admit it!”
Y/N bit the inside of her lip collecting her thoughts. Henry pried and teased her ribs forcing her to his whims.
“Fine, fine, you win! I’m a ravenous feign when it comes to you. You’d think having kids would cool my jets but then I see these gorgeous faces I birthed and it’s like I reset. Poof, just like that.”
“Well you’re a phenomenal Mum and quite the MILF too.”
Henry inhaled her perfumed scent taking a long sip of bubbly; anything to keep him from combusting.
“Let’s toast, love. We must.”
“My my, how time flies when you’re having fun.”
Her manicured fingers reached for the chilled glass looking up at Henry and his three-month-old beard. She rose her glass slightly higher in preparation for his speech. Her eyes gleamed with pride as she admired her husband.
“Thank you for loving me, Henry. Seriously, you changed my life in so many profound ways.”
The sap in him was beginning to show as his eyes watered with unshed tears; “My love, it is I who should be thanking for you the unending shower of love and affection. You are the beautiful mother of our four wonderous kids who are the absolute lights of my life because of you. You’re a woman worthy of many praises than my silly ramblings. Cheers to you and for another adventure of a year!”
She swatted his chest immediately shutting him up; “Don’t say that! I am just as equally lucky to have found someone who gets me for …me. It’s a wonderful feeling to have you by my side even if I did have to kiss a few frogs.”
“No doubt I the best possible selection.”
Y/N played along jesting back; “I wouldn’t go that far, maybe the easiest?”
Gob smacked Henry’s wit was rapid fire; “If memory serves, you were there too. And just as ravenous.”
“I was about to get nailed by an insanely hot British man. Can you blame me?”
“One look from you and I was a bloody puddle. I had to recite rugby players to keep from losing my shit.”
No matter life’s challenges the past years of their lives, their resolution to stay equals and lovers was stronger than ever. A sinful glow overcame Y/N as she stared directly up at him; “Cheers to you fucking me stupid then?”
“As you wish.”
She refused to glance away maintaining his smoldering gaze; her Y/C eyes screamed sex. His pupils dilated just as his heart speed up voraciously. Both subconsciously tilted their heads oppositely neither daring to move first, unwilling to yield. Y/N challenged his masculinity testing him. Many words could be used to describe Y/N but priss wasn’t one of them.
“Oi, you are a true keeper.”
Y/N checked the matching wrist watch completing her outfit; “T-minus 15 seconds until 2021 is here.”
Still unbreaking of her gaze, Henry stayed silent taking in the beauty of his wife. He could stare at her for the rest of his god given days and die a spectacularly happy man.
10,9,8
“Oh Hen, another marvelous journey with you. Can’t wait to see what 2021 has in store for us.”
7,6
She stared down at his inviting pout unable to look away nor did she truly want to.
“Maybe thinking about another baby?”
Her eyes bulged from her skull as shock illuminated from her pores.
“You’re joshing me?”
His lack of response was more than confirmation enough.
5,4
“There’s something so ridiculously sexy about you being pregnant. I always knew I wanted kids but with you, oh with you I want to have as many as humanly possible. Our very own football team.”
Confusion stamped her features at his terminology. Sometimes Henry forgot they were from different countries.
“Football as in soccer. You know the game with the checkered ba—”
Y/N cut him off; “Jeez baby, save your mansplaining. I’ve been on this side of the pond long enough to understand your oh so clever references.”
3,2
The pros and cons bounced around in her head, doubt never far behind but the mischievous joy coming off him was tantalizing; “Let’s do it.”
2,1
Cheers rang ecstatically from the television as fireworks commanded their attention but they only had eyes for one another. Henry closed the gap kissing her feverishly. He was forever seared into her brain ruined for all other men. Lost in the moment, Y/N barely had time to set her glass down untrusting of her own balance anymore. Henry followed shortly behind. Now with her newfound freedom, Y/N wrapped her arms around his neck locking him in place. His questioning tone was almost cause for concern before his façade shattered.
“Really? I do so enjoy seeing you round with my babe. So, fucking irresistible.”
Henry’s jacket was long removed strewn over the couch. That left him standing only in his tight button up and trousers. Y/N merely leaned back his direction bringing his attention towards the zipper aligning her spine. Henry chuckled undoing her dress too easily watching the zipper flair apart. He couldn’t resist admiring the flex of her muscles and how striking she was. Tugging the material over the curvy hips, Y/N noticed Henry was far too overdressed.
“Take off your clothes, now.”
“You bossin me round, babe?”
His muscular tush ignited in minimal pain as her hand connected with his ass whipping rather harshly. A small red welt appeared instantly. Henry stood shocked as Y/N’s smug smile decorated her face.
“You really shouldn’t push me. I don’t like my authority questioned.”
Henry’s mood shifted at her use of roleplay knowing he was in for a well and good night. Henry stripped removing his boxer briefs last. Y/N strutted towards her bedside dresser pulling out a pair of metal handcuffs. Dangling them in front of him, she grinned bashfully; “You’re going to sit your ass on that bed and I’m going to tie you up now. Got it?”
~~~~~~~~~
Tags: @thedeadhearted @giveusbackourbucky @henry-cavill-obsessed @onlyhenrys @omgkatinka @thereisa8ella @threeminutesoflife @homewreckingwreck @gemini0410 @maan14@bluegalaxyprime @sofiebstar @whyyykitkat @encounterthepast @readermia @ly-canthropewrites @scorpionchild81 @henrythickcavill @snowbellexx @stephartrave @agniavateira @cap-barnes @henryfanfics101 @mary-ann84 @westcoast-nightowl @poledancingdinos @justaboringadult @peakygroupie @nalathefirefly @vikingsbifrost @bloodyinspiredfuck @moderapoppins @cooldiva1234 @icedcoffeeismythang @titty-teetee @summersong69 @kaatelyyynn @missursulacalmet @michelehansel @iloveyouyen @shyshu @star017 @raynosaurus-rex @radkesgirl83 @starrynite7114 @wheretheriversrunintothesea @i-love-scott-mccall @darkbooksarwin @ellieseymour70 @designerwriterchic @studywithrosie01 @dangerouslovefanfic @lebguardians @crazybutconfidentaf @hen-cavill @cavill-sass @oh-for-fic-sake @icedbottles @buckysgoldenheart @brexrif @gryffindorwriter @laketaj24 @foxyjwls007 @lawsofthejungle @henrycavillfanpage @kaboogie21 @fangirl199812 @gothicninibalor @qualitynightkoala @strictlybuckybarnes @toomanyfandomsshreya@hersilencescreams-blog @viking-raider @sesamepancakes @madbaddic7ed @fuckoffbard @funfickgirl22 @inlovewithhisblueeyes @wolvesandhoundshowltogether @hoeforhenry @henrycavills-babe @abschaffer2 @loving-this @one-of-those-fanfiction-blogs @lovelycavills
#henry cavill#henry cavill x reader#henry x reader#henry x you#henry x y/n#henry cavill x you#henry cavill x y/n#my writing#midnight magic#henry cavill imagine#henry cavill oneshot#henry cavill fluff#henry cavill fic#fanfic#fanfiction#henry cavill fanfic
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Devotion
Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader [Priest AU]
Warnings: priest!Bucky, explicit language, smut, loss of virginity (Bucky), sex in a church, altar sex, desecrating and blasphemous thoughts and actions, oral sex (M receiving), unprotected sex. Both parties are consenting adults.
Summary: Father James wants you to be his first, and hopefully his one and only.
The white collar around his neck brands his soft skin like scorching iron when you pull it down to you, your cotton candy lips as sweet as sin as they melt into his, your body pliant and warm. He’s never known that doing wrong would feel so good.
There’s fire burning within him, his skin feverish, his breath ragged, as he gives into the temptation of the flesh. He’s tried resisting at first, back when he still thought of himself as Father James.
The lord is my shepherd, and I lack nothing.
But he’s strayed from the herd the day you’ve shown up at the confessional, your soul so light, and bright, your sins not weighing you down, and there’s no way for him to find his path back to salvation, not when nothing’s ever felt as right as his hands on your body and your sweet moans in his ears.
“Wait.”, he stutters when your hands reach his belt, eyes downcast and chest heaving. The cross around his neck has never felt heavier. “I- I’ve never done this before.”
He’s embarrassed. It’s always been right, the way it’s supposed to be, but not now, not when all he wants to do is get on his knees and worship every inch of your body, not when all he wants to do is please you until you are as devoted to him as he is to you.
He’s expecting you to laugh at his face for being a virgin in his late 20s, but you don’t; there’s a small smile on your lips as understanding dawns in your eyes.
“We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do, or feel comfortable with.” you whisper in a soft voice, and he doesn’t think he’s ever seen you so caring, “We can just sit here and hold hands. I won’t force you to do anything, ever. And I don’t want you to feel like we have to do this.”
He ponders your words for a second, his hands still hesitant on your hips. He’s never touched a woman before, but he wants to touch you, he wants all of you, only you, more than he’s ever wanted anything before.
“I want to-, I want you, I want you to be the one.”
He wonders if you understand how much, and if the fire in your eyes is only lust, or love.
“Are you sure?” you ask one more time, and when he reassures you he’s never been more sure about anything in his life, you slant your mouth against his again. Teeth clattering, tongues intertwining, he doesn’t know where to put his hands, so he draws circles on your waist until you take pity on him, and you move his arms so he can graze the flesh of your breasts, revelling in the way your nipples stiffen under his caresses. His back hits the marble top of the altar, and his breath hitches when you palm him through his pants.
When he raises his gaze he sees Jesus on the cross, and he’s almost ashamed of himself, until you reach inside his briefs and stroke his cock, and a strangled moan escapes him, the cross forgotten by now.
You're intrigued by his shyness, your desire to ruin him, tarnish his soul with the same stains on yours, growing with each soft caress. He has no clue how to touch a woman, but you feel the coil in your core build rapidly anyways.
He’s so pretty under the candlelight, his flushed cheeks, the speckles on his nose, the blue of his eyes completely swallowed by darkness. You wonder how a man so innocent could be so intoxicating.
“I want you, James.”
Four words are all it takes for something primal, something animalistic to snap inside him, his hands relying on instinct as they roam all over your body, his mouth sucking bruises on the tender flesh of your neck, the whimpers that escape you like music in his ears.
A sweep of your arms, the golden cups hit the ground, the clattering reverberating in the empty church.
It’s exhilarating the way he’ll preach tomorrow morning at 10 and you’ll be there, on the first bench.
“Please.”, he whines, “Do something.”
A wicked glint crosses your eyes. “Beg me. Beg for me like you pray for your Lord.”
Frustration does things to the body that make you forget the shame and humiliation that burn your cheeks. “Please angel, please touch me, I need it so bad, I’ll do anything for you.”
Your chuckle is pure evil against the tears pooling in his eyes and his hips grinding on you in a weak attempt to soothe his aching cock.
You don’t need to be told twice before you get on your knees, ready to worship him.
“What are you doing?” he stammers, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down as you free his cock and it springs up, his girth almost intimidating.
“What does it look like I’m doing?” you deadpan, before you lick the tip, your hand stroking his shaft slowly enough to torture him.
“I didn’t- I didn’t know you could-” he inhales sharply when you take him in your mouth, and his eyes roll to the back of his head, all thoughts forgotten as you bob your head like a woman on a mission. Dark thick hair rub against your nose as you fight against the ache in your jaw, swallowing him whole.
It doesn’t last long however, and you hear him curse when you fondle with his balls, a choked groan and some incoherent words escaping him before he cums deep in your throat, his heady taste reaching your tongue when your choke on his release, cum dripping down on your chin.
He tries to speak, justify himself, embarrassed by his admittedly short performance, and he doesn’t need experience to understand that it’s bad, very bad, but words fail him, his mind focused on the electricity that shakes his body as the tight knot in his belly unravels, and he sees stars for a second. You don’t let him sulk long before you sit on the altar and beckon him to join you.
“On the altar?” he asks, hesitancy clear in his voice, some remnants of his pure soul lingering somewhere inside him.
“Yes, sweet boy, I want you to fuck me on the altar.”
He blushes deeper, a small smile finding its way on his face despite the embarrassment.
You straddle him, your need to have him buried balls deep inside you growing the more you taste him on your tongue. You wish to ruin him and be ruined by him.
You grind your hips on his, feeling him grow hard again. You walls throb, and you’re desperate to release the ache in your cunt.
In a blur all your clothes and his cassock are on the ground. He marvels at your curves, your soft skin, your glistening folds.
It can’t be wrong when it feels so right. Love can never be wrong, he hopes.
Hungry kisses, heated touches, you grab him in your hand, your gaze boring into one another’s as you sink onto his cock. He grunts and wills his pleasure back this time, hoping he won’t embarrass himself again.
It feels so good, therefore it can’t be wrong, your walls accommodating him, clenching on him, his girth stretching you just right, your clit brushing against his pubic bones.
It’s wrong, but it feels so right to fuck him on the holy countertops he breaks the bread and pours the wine on, under the watchful eyes of saints and cherubs. Some are disappointed, some smirk, you think.
You grind your hips, feeling your core get hotter, his cock brushing against all the right places. “God, you feel so good, you’re doing so good, sweet boy.” you moan, the tip of his thick cock hitting the spongy spot inside you.
“I can’t last much longer.” he groans, his strong arms around you. He grabs you, and moves you, desperately trying to hold himself back and please you.
More sloppy thrusts before his hot load shoots inside you again, painting your walls and filling you so nicely that it tips you over the edge, your orgasm shaking you from the core to every limb, your cunt clenching down on his cock and milking every last drop he has to offer.
There’s no words as you pant against one another, the air heavy with incense and sex. When his cock goes soft inside you, his cum drips onto the altar cloth where he’ll preach Sunday mass tomorrow morning.
“I can’t wait to see you tomorrow.” you mumble in his ear, “And watch you squirm as you preach and remember how good it felt to be in my pussy, on this same altar.”
God, he’s so fucked.
-
This oneshot can be read on its own, or as a part of no sweeter innocence than our gentle sin. It takes place before the second confession… the one where they masturbate in the confessional. Maybe send in some priest!Bucky hc or ideas if you want to read more of these two?
A/N: If you liked this, please consider reblogging and leaving some feedback. You don’t have to, but it helps me immensely. Thank you for reading, love you all.
#bucky x reader#bucky barnes smut#priest!bucky#bucky imagine#bucky fanfic#marvel smut#james barnes x reader#bucky barnes
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incomparable
pairing | logan x mc
word count | 7.4k
warnings | there’s a lot of angst in this one, and it’s definitely an emotional hurt/comfort fic! if you don’t like the idea of logan trying to move on, then this one isn’t for you!
tags | @raleighcarrera, @pixeljazzy, @senatorraines, @dionneserrano, @blainehayes, @rodappreciationweek
author’s note | a while ago, my sweet friend and fellow mod @/pixeljazzy suggested a fic plot that’s angsty and absolutely demonic, aka logan tries to move on, so i decided to write it! i’d been working on this before the mods decided to create the time capsule challenge, so i’m very content that this fits into the theme well !!! and to clarify, this is an au where my mc raquel writes down her experience with the mpc and ends up publishing it and unintentionally becomes a best selling author! also yes rodaw brought me out of my choices writing break and i’m not mad at it at all
•─────────────────•
She wasn’t Raquel.
That much was obvious – she was taller. Her shoulders were broader. Her hair was short, bluntly cut at her collarbones, and dark brown.
She was tattoo free. The skin of her arm was bare – a clean slate. Untouched.
She seemed more innocent, too. Not in the way that Raquel was when they first met.
This woman was grown with a full time job and a comfy apartment in the heart of the city, but… there was something missing.
She probably had no clue that there was a seedy underbelly to her home. Didn’t have the misfortune of crossing paths with someone like him when he was at his worst.
She was privileged enough to go about her life while a whole microcosm of crime happened right under her nose. And she didn’t want to know. Didn’t need to know.
Logan wasn’t exactly jazzed to shatter another woman’s innocence the way he did with Raquel.
This girl seemed… safe. Level headed, secure, and millions of miles away from the life he’d abandoned.
It kind of happened by accident. Meeting her, that is.
It wasn’t a carefully crafted “accident” like with Raquel. She actually just… caught his eye.
He’d gotten an honest job as a mechanic on the outskirts of L.A., working mostly with the struggling working class that had long been banished to the dingiest corners, despite being the most important cogs in the city’s machine.
The autoshop was family owned, and had been for generations – the owner, Nicandro, had accepted Logan as his own, and Logan had practically become a part of the Alvarez family.
He hadn’t anticipated finding his own home in the same city that’d chewed him up and spat him out time and time again.
A couple months into working there, he was finally settling into his routine. Nine-to-five job on weekdays, community college classes on weekends, and the occasional Saturday mass when he was invited by the Alvarezes.
He was functioning. He had a routine. And then this girl came in and disrupted it all.
The Honda Civic girl.
When the average looking car pulled up outside, he didn’t give it a second glance.
He went back to work, arms deep in the engine, grimy and stained from repairing Miss Anita’s ancient artifact she insisted on saving even though it was less than a thousand miles away from crumbling cartoon-style till only the wheels were left.
(But she was family to the Alvarezes, so Nicandro insisted on repairing the car for free nearly every week when she needed something new tweaked.)
He heard her voice from across the room and still didn’t look up from his hands.
“Hi, this is embarrassing, but my engine light thingy came on and I have no clue what it means,” she said with a nervous laugh. “I’m on my way out of town for a couple of days, so I thought I’d stop and get it checked out before you closed for the night.”
“Aye, Lo, can you help her out real quick? We’ve gotta truck coming in with parts soon and I gotta keep watch,” Nicandro called across the garage, shooting Logan a toothy grin as soon as he looked up.
“Sure,” Logan smiled politely, scrubbing his forearm over his brow, the sweat managing to hold a couple strands of his hair captive against his skin.
He was assuming it’d be a typical oil change, but the second she came into view, the ghost of the last time he left L.A. gripped his heart and squeezed until adrenaline shot through every vein in his body.
Her t-shirt, tucked neatly into her denim shorts, read “Langston”.
It wasn’t the sweatshirt, but it was the same design, same color.
He knew staying in L.A. was a gamble, but he was willing to risk it. Staying away from Raquel was priority for her safety, but… he couldn’t bury the inkling of hope that pushed its way to the surface when he walked into a coffee shop or a bookstore – places he knew she’d love.
Once he saw the shirt and her big brown eyes, he was done for.
She wasn’t Raquel, but something about her lived in this stranger.
Before he could stop himself, he was comparing her to his first love – a disaster waiting to happen.
Their first date was anything but – she insisted on bringing him a vanilla milkshake from his favorite burger place to his work.
“How’d you know I was working?” He asked earnestly, mirroring her soft smile.
“I didn’t. Nicandro told me vanilla milkshakes were your favorite and I didn’t want to ruin the surprise so…” she shrugged, her cheeks flushed. “I’ve, uh, brought milkshakes up here every day this weekend.”
He laughed – a real genuine surprised laugh – and took a sip from the styrofoam cup. “You didn’t let them go to waste, did you?”
“Nah, Nicandro’s been really happy with me.”
“Yum,” he hummed. “I’m happy with you, too.”
She grinned in delight, taking a sip from hers. “I’m glad my hard work paid off.”
She stayed there for his whole lunch break, and they chatted, casual conversation with no substance, and he actually enjoyed himself.
The last time he remembered having casual conversations about nothing with a girl his age, he was curled underneath the sheets with Raquel, tracing the outlines of her sleeve of tattoos. He could’ve listened to her talk for hours.
This girl… she was pretty tolerable – she listened to him (hung on every word, even) and cared about what he had to say, even though it was a laid back, low stakes conversation.
“My name’s Renée, you know. I realized I haven’t told you,” she smiled, resting her cheek on her hand. She was facing him, and they were seated on the same side of the old wooden table out back behind the garage.
“Renée,” he repeated, shaking the styrofoam cup to gather the last bit of milkshake at the bottom before tipping it back to lap it up. “I’m Logan.”
“Logan,” she nodded. “It suits you.”
“S’not my real name,” he shrugged.
He didn’t know why he was telling her that. If he told her too much, it’d end the same.
She tipped her own cup back, tapping the bottom to get little stray ice chunks out. “Fine by me. I still think it suits you.”
She was way too trustworthy of a man she didn’t know, but… wasn’t that what attracted him to Raquel in the first place?
Without a shred of judgement in her eyes, Raquel took everything Logan said as the truth, despite how many times he’d fucked up. Betrayed her.
Renée didn’t look at him like he was a criminal and… well… he wasn’t one anymore. He was still in the criminal mindset, though, since he’d been ostracized for so damn long.
The next couple weeks were uncomfortable – not because Renée made him uncomfortable in the slightest. If anything, she was doing the opposite, and that was the problem.
He’d had to reopen himself to caring about another woman, and to say it was a difficult task was an understatement. The gates were stubborn, rusted shut, so much so that he had to force them apart, ignoring the grating screech of metal and the inevitable pain that came with being vulnerable again.
They went on a few dinner dates. She brought him lunch at work. She invited him to her apartment. They went to a food truck festival together.
Renée disrupted his routine, and it was a breath of fresh air.
He’d gotten so comfortable with his quaint life and his work family that he hadn’t pushed himself to do much more than that.
But the first time she held his hand, he froze.
She casually grabbed his hand to lead him through a crowd and his body reacted like he’d been electrocuted. It wasn’t wrong, but it felt wrong.
“Are you good?”
“I’m fine,” he reassured her, wiping his clammy palm against his jeans before letting her grab his hand again.
It wasn’t wrong, but it was wrong.
He should’ve ended it that moment, but he didn’t. He’d convinced himself that if he could push through the initial weirdness of it all, he’d be happy. Eventually.
So he went through the motions with her, trying his hardest to push his comparisons of her to Raquel to the back of his mind, but every so often it’d bubble to the surface.
It’d manifest in the most random ways.
She liked Coke icees, not cherry.
Oh we watched that rom-com together, and she hated it because it was too corny.
She likes that TV show as background noise because she thinks it’s dumb, and I do, too.
It was unhealthy to think of Raquel that much – to compare Renée to her that much – but he couldn’t help it.
The last time he was happy, safe, loved, was with Raquel. He hadn’t chased that feeling for a long time (because he wasn’t sure he could find it again), but with Renée he was getting closer to what he used to have.
Maybe it was selfish, but he wanted that warmth – that comfort – again.
She wasn’t Raquel, but she’d have to do.
A month into their casual dating, Renée kissed him. Well, she tried.
She’d insisted on driving him to a boujee rooftop bar near her place and was thoroughly buzzed off a couple of cosmopolitans less than an hour into them being there.
The party was in full swing around them, the corny ass cover band on their fourth “tribute” to Billy Joel.
He was out of his element to say the least.
Just as he was about to lean over to tell her he needed to use the bathroom, she’d wrapped her arms around his neck and smashed her mouth against his, planting sloppy, sugary, open mouthed kisses on his parted lips, frozen in shock.
“Logan,” she breathed, squeezing him tighter, not even registering how tense he was.
“Renée… hey, hey,” he said, gently but firmly pulling her away from him. “I think you’ve had a bit too much to drink.”
Her big brown eyes welled up with tears and his chest twinged with guilt, the distant memory of the first time he’d betrayed Raquel floating around the back of his brain.
“I’m sorry I – I don’t know what came over me –” she turned away from him, dabbing her eyes with the crook of her finger.
“It’s okay. No need to apologize,” he reassured her, rubbing his palm in small circles on her back. “We’re good.”
“I wanted our first kiss to be special and I royally screwed that up,” she sighed, swivelling back till she was facing him again.
“Can’t do worse than me.”
She chewed her lip, trying to hold back a smile. “Oh yeah?”
“I was a girl’s first kiss… five minutes after we’d outrun the cops.”
Her laugh was a surprised one, her bright smile replacing her disappointed expression almost immediately.
“That’s surprising. I never pegged you as a law breaking type,” she blinked, the alcohol clearly making her a bit more ballsy than she normally was.
It was his turn to laugh – he doubled over, nearly knocking over her half empty glass in the process.
“I used to be quite a troublemaker.”
Despite her not-so-subtle hints over the next few weeks, he couldn’t bring himself to kiss her.
She probably thought he was the prudiest of the prudes, the local catholic church’s golden boy, the working man’s poster child of abstinence till marriage.
He just couldn’t bring himself to do it. Yet.
He was wearing himself down more and more each day – he was on the track to kiss her in… a couple months to a year. Probably.
Two months in, she invited him to a swanky event her job was hosting.
She was one of many accountants working in the financial department for a large publishing company. She had a really cool gig, and she knew it. She never bragged, but she was proud of her accomplishments.
So why was she dating a mechanic who was making a third of her income? He had no idea.
Either way, he tried to enjoy himself. The car that picked them up was luxurious, and that and the food and booze reflected just how much money their company had made that year.
The venue was huge and packed to the brim with hundreds of people, the standing tables a couple feet apart all throughout the ballroom.
“Damn, they weren’t playing around with this, huh?” He mused, taking a sip from his mug, filled to the brim with locally brewed beer.
“Yep, they’re serious about giving a warm welcome to new authors,” Renée said over the rim of her drink, gesturing vaguely to the room around them.
“Yeah, so is that what they’re doing?”
“Mhmm. Every year we hold a big party to celebrate our deals for that year. It’s really just to pat ourselves on the back and give our new authors a sense of comfort here, you know?”
“Can I get a booklist or something? I might wanna check out some of these books afterwards. I feel guilty as hell eating duck, drinking their expensive ass alcohol, and rolling back home without, ya know, doing anything,” he shrugged, the fabric of his hand me down suit straining with effort at the motion.
“One of the authors insisted on not being included in any of the party promos so… she kinda ruined it for everybody. But she’s our number one best seller for this year, so…” she rolled her eyes, tipping back the last of her cosmo.
“And don’t worry about it. We budgeted for this and we’re good,” Renée nodded, giving Logan’s hand a squeeze over the table.
“So what’s the itinerary for the night?” Logan asked, rolling his mug around by its base, the beer swirling around the edges, just barely kissing the rim, but not quite overflowing.
It was stupid to relate to a fucking mug of beer, but he did.
Anytime he pushed himself to his limit with Renée, he retreated, never breaking past that threshold, that barrier he set in place for himself long before he’d ever met her.
“The President is gonna give some speech – he’s that guy right there –” she said, scooting around the table till her arm was pressed against the sleeve of his jacket, “Then the Vice President – that woman – is gonna introduce the guests of honor, and they’ll give introductions. Then a brief presentation from my boss about how much money we raked in this year, then… yep. We can leave.”
“Sounds painless enough.”
She laughed, leaning her head against his shoulder. “Thanks for coming with me, Lo. I really appreciate it.”
Before he could register what was happening, she’d tipped his chin towards her, pressing a tender, gracious kiss on his lips.
She pulled back, a soft smile tugging at her lips.
He mirrored her smile, but inside he was screaming.
He felt nothing. The kiss elicited absolutely nothing from him.
She kissed him and it felt like he was kissing a friend. Completely platonic.
He’d sunk months into getting comfortable with her just for it to blow up in his face. The second he’d let his guard down so things could progress naturally, it backfired.
He’d taken Raquel for granted. Being with her was so effortless that he didn’t have to think about it, and he let that slip away without trying to get her back.
He thought he was doing the right thing by her, but it was hurting him more than he’d ever anticipated.
It wasn’t that he considered her another notch in the bedpost. It was the opposite – the bedpost didn’t exist anymore.
There was only her. No one else. No matter how many times he tried to remedy his broken heart, it’d just bring him right back to her: the only woman that ever had the privilege of making herself a home there.
“I, uh, need to go to the restroom. Excuse me,” he said, jabbing his thumbs toward the double doors, heading outside before she had a chance to respond.
He pushed his way out of the room, his heart in time with the slap of his shoes against the flooring.
As soon as he was out of the doors, he kept walking, striding past the laggards mingling in the hallway, past the bathrooms, past the security, till he felt the dirty L.A. air coat his lungs.
God, if he could only catch his breath maybe he could go back in there and salvage the night. Maybe even make himself look less like a skittish idiot.
Despite the fact that his brain was wired to unintentionally treat her like a friend, he didn’t want to hurt this girl.
He didn’t smoke often – just a taste of nicotine when he was drunk or the occasional cigarette when he was stressed.
There was a crumpled pack in his glove box that’d been there for months.
Why didn’t he just drive? He was fucking stranded. He couldn’t run. Couldn’t put distance between him and this situation that he’d willingly put himself in.
None of this was Renée’s fault. There wasn’t a single aspect of the situation that was her fault.
She was a girl who wanted to date a boy because of reciprocated interest.
He felt like the biggest loser in the world. Here she was, a beautiful girl with a lust for life and ambitions that dwarfed anything he’d ever imagined for himself.
And all she wanted to do was love him.
And he wouldn’t let her. Couldn’t let her.
His back slid against the brick wall until he was squatting, arms braced against his knees while he tried to gulp down fresh air as fast as the wind whipped at him.
He’d managed to find the one corner of the building that was completely unoccupied. For once, he was thankful for his gut instinct to lurk in the shadows.
He’d barely gotten a minute of solitude before the door closest to him flew open, a blur of tulle streaking across his peripheral.
The person’s breaths were labored, panicked, as they ran the opposite direction until they were at the edge of the pavement.
They bent down, just like he had, and clasped both hands over their mouth, letting out a small muffled scream.
When she was finished with that, she tilted her chin upwards, her skin illuminated by the light from the parking lot that spilled onto their side of the building.
If he thought breathing was difficult before, it got a whole lot worse when she noticed he was there.
She jumped, yelping like a wounded animal before stumbling back, catching herself with her hands. “Oh my god, I didn’t know anyone was here – I’m sorry –”
Pushing herself back up to stand, she brushed her palms off and shook the tulle skirt clean. “I’m just a little stressed. Sorry again for the outburst.”
That can’t be her. There’s no way, he thought, his mouth drying out when he got a clear view of her face.
“Raquel?” He asked, timidly, voice cracking on the first syllable.
She froze, searching the shadows, her hands white knuckling her skirt.
He didn’t speak, and neither did she. He couldn’t tell how long they’d been quiet when he pushed himself to his full height and took a step towards her.
“No, no, no, there’s no way,” she whispered, stumbling backwards, catching herself on the brick wall.
“It’s – uh, it’s me –” he said, laying his palm flat against his chest. “It’s Logan.”
His voice trembled, the effort of speaking (despite nearly being rendered speechless) was more than he could handle – it was as if he had to manually pick up his words like stones and drop them, and they were heavy, and he was weak.
She slapped a hand over her mouth, eyes wide. She didn’t respond.
“I… uh, what are you doing here?” He asked finally, forcing the question past his lips.
If he didn’t say something he’d be drinking her in all night. It’d been a couple years, but she looked exactly the same.
Yeah, her hair was mid-length, the ombre traded for a black tone, and she’d gotten a few more tattoos that he could see, but she was the same old Raquel.
Same old Raquel, but professionally styled. He wasn’t self conscious of his hand-me-down suit until he noticed how polished she looked.
“I could ask you the same thing,” she breathed, a strained tone followed by a struggled breath.
His heart dropped to his stomach. He’d completely forgotten about Renée.
He opened his mouth. Closed it. Opened and closed it again, like a fucking fish out of water. There was no way to beat around it.
“I’m a plus one.”
Her perfectly gelled brows furrowed, and his gut clenched at the motion.
He was scared as hell, but damn did she look exactly like she did when she was hunched over a textbook, scrawling notes as quick as her brain summarized the words on the page.
“You didn’t… deliberately come here to see me?” She asked, searching his face for something (the truth, probably).
He ran a hand through his unruly hair, an inch or so shorter than she’d last seen it.
Why’d he have to run into her after he’d gotten a trim? He’d imagined this moment going so many different ways, and every scenario he’d pictured them looking like they did the moment they parted – if he had it his way, every detail would be exactly the same as the day he disappeared into the night, from his head down to his shoes.
“I, uh… No, I didn’t,” he stammered, taking another step her way, and that time she didn’t move back.
Shaking her head, she watched him, expression incredulous. “I don’t know what to say.”
“Just because I didn’t come here for you doesn’t mean I’m not happy to see you,” he said, reaching out towards her.
He thought she’d flinch away, but she stayed planted in place, her eyelids fluttering shut when he stroked the pad of his thumb against her jaw, revelling in how soft her skin was. Just like he remembered.
“So beautiful,” he murmured. “The most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen.”
She turned her head just enough till she could kiss his palm, leaving a streak of lipgloss on his calloused skin. “This doesn’t feel real.”
“It is, baby,” he reassured her, before testing her even further by tugging her into a hug. “This isn’t a dream, but it sure feels like one.”
She ran her hands across his back, like she was refamiliarizing herself with his frame, before squeezing him tight, her arms shaking with effort. “You smell exactly the same.”
He laughed, burying his nose into her crown, pressing a kiss there. “You do, too. Like lavender’n’heaven.”
Raquel was in front of him, just as warm and pretty as she was the last time he’d seen her. She even felt the same in his arms, molding to his shape like no time had passed.
Adrenaline surged in his veins, and he took advantage of his momentary courage by tipping her chin upward to get a good look at her.
God, she was so fucking pretty.
Nothing else mattered to him anymore. His mechanic job, his car, his friendships, his home in L.A. –
He’d made a home in those dark brown eyes, and he was willing to drop everything and follow her to the ends of the earth if that meant he’d be back in the one home he’d ever known.
She blinked away a few tears, her bottom lip trembling, dimpling her chin.
He cupped her face between his palms, cradling her face as gently as he would with something breakable, soaking in the moment for as long as he could.
He could’ve held her like that and re-committed every inch of her face to memory, but she broke first, closing the gap by pressing her lips against his and Christ did she taste sweet.
Their mouths, arms, bodies, slotted together perfectly, not an inch of space between them.
Just as he parted his lips for her, she stiffened, retreating from him immediately.
“You taste like cherry. I hate cherry.”
Her tongue darted out to lick her bottom lip. “You hate cherry.”
He went rigid, the details from a few minutes before flooding back to him. Renée was wearing cherry gloss.
“Oh my god… you’re here with someone?” She asked, but she said it with such conviction, because she knew it was true, and she was begging for it not to be.
His mouth popped open and shut again. “I’m sorry –”
“You don’t have to apologize. You’ve moved on and that’s okay. I’m happy for you.” Her voice was trembling with each word – the stones were heavy, and she was struggling, and he could tell.
“No, Raquel, it’s not like that. I promise –”
“Please don’t make me any promises, Lo. I don’t know if my heart can take it,” she said, palms up in surrender.
And she said his nickname. It sounded wrong coming from anyone but her.
“I’m serious, baby, I didn’t think I’d see you again, especially at a schmooze fest like this.”
She blinked, once, twice, processing what he’d said. “So… not only did you insult me by showing up with another woman, but you’re insulting this event that I’ve worked so hard to attend, and you’re insulting me.”
“Raquel… I never meant it that way, I… I don’t know. I don’t know.”
“You don’t know?”
He dug the heel of his palms into his eyes, groaning in frustration. “I stayed in L.A. in case I ever saw you again, but I didn’t think it’d be this soon, and I dreamed up lots of scenarios but none of them went like this. I fucked it up majorly and I don’t know how to fix it. I don’t fucking know.”
She didn’t say anything for a while, her arms folded across her chest while she mulled over his words. “I never tried moving on.”
It hit him like a gut punch, grabbing his organs and twisting till pain shot throughout his body. “You didn’t?” Was all he could manage.
“No, I couldn’t. There’s no way I could when I’m still in love with you.”
She screwed her eyes shut, a sob leaving her before she could contain it.
“Raquel, please believe me –” Logan pleaded, stepping towards her. “If I woulda known you were gonna be here, trust me, I’d be dressed better and you’d be my date and I’d be showing you off to the world –”
Her watch buzzed, startling the both of them. “I… have to go. We can talk after, if you want.”
“Yes, please. That’s all I want,” he laced his fingers with hers, gently tugging her hand towards his lips to press a soft kiss on her knuckles. “I’ll find you after. I promise.”
Giving him one last once over, drinking him in, like she was second guessing if he was real, she stepped back through the doors.
He took a few deep breaths to compose himself before heading in – explaining his outburst to Renée hadn’t crossed his mind till he walked back inside.
He made his way back to the table, running over how he was going to apologize, but nothing stuck. He couldn’t think of anything but Raquel.
Renée was sipping on her second drink of the night, and his beer looked like it’d been dipped into as well.
“Are you okay?” She asked immediately. “I’m sorry about kissing you like that I just – I just thought you were comfortable enough. I screwed up again, Lo, and I’m so sorry.”
“Renée…” He couldn’t get over how unnatural “Lo” sounded coming from her. “The way I’ve been acting has nothing to do with you, okay? You’ve done nothing wrong.”
“Kinda sounds like you’re breaking up with me,” she laughed once, rolling her eyes. They widened as soon as it dawned on her. “Wait… are you?”
“Can we talk outside? I really want you to hear me out –”
“Logan, if you’re gonna dump me, at least respect me enough to not do it in the parking lot,” she sighed, chugging the rest of her drink.
“Yeah, you’re right,” he agreed, sliding his half empty mug of beer her way. “I do respect you, though. A lot. You’re an amazing person.”
Sighing, she tipped back the beer, gulping until he could see her eyes through the transparent bottom of the glass. “I’ve definitely heard this spiel before.”
“I’m gonna tell you this story, and you’re probably not gonna believe it, but it’s true, and it was my life – it is my life,” he started, leaning against the table so she could hear his low tone.
“Years ago, I met the woman of my dreams, and she was innocent and way too fucking good for me. I was breaking the law daily by doing jobs with crews of criminals like me, living off the grid, making money in ways I’m not too proud of.
“She was a part of one of my last jobs before I left L.A. to lay low and I, uh, I fell in love with her. I’m still in love with her. I don’t know what my life would look like if I wasn’t in love with her, you know?”
Her face screwed up in disgust, and she all but slammed the mug down, whispering furiously. “Are you mocking me? Did you seriously just regurgitate the plot of Ride or Die to me? That’s the story you’re going with? One that isn’t even your own?”
“Huh, what? What are you –”
The speakers crackled and a mic squeaked as who Logan assumed to be President tapped the surface of it, cutting off his response.
“Hello everyone, I hope you’re all having a wonderful night so far. As most of you may know, my name is Arnie Harris, and I’m the President of Harris Publishing. When my grandfather founded Harris Publishing back in 1901, he only did so because he wanted to be able to publish a few of his wife’s poems as a gift. Publishers refused to register it under her name, so he made his own company so my grandma could achieve her dream of being a published author, and throughout the years, we’ve been committed to giving voices to women and minorities alike.
“This year’s been one of our best yet, and I’m so thankful to our new authors for seeing something in us and our mission statement. A big thank you to everyone here tonight – Editing, Marketing, Finance, all the staff and employees, hell, the caterers here tonight, valets, everyone. Tonight wouldn’t be possible without you.”
He droned on for a bit longer before the Vice President took the stage, and she began introducing the newest authors that they’d signed that year.
They’d copped quite a few best sellers, which was impressive. Each author took the stage briefly to thank Harris Publishing and give a brief summary of their goals for the next few years.
Renée was ignoring him at that point, refusing to even look his way. He’d be more upset about that if he wasn’t scanning every inch of the room for Raquel, trying desperately to spot the rose colored tulle and midnight hair in the crowd.
“– and the last author of the night, the number one young adult New York Times’ Best Seller for five months and counting, Raquel Olvera with Ride or Die!”
His head snapped towards the stage, his eyes wide. “What the fuck –”
“Renée, she… who…”
“She’s our top seller. The one I said didn’t wanna be in the promos?” She answered flatly, still staring straight ahead.
“Renée, that’s – that’s her, that’s the girl I’m in love with –”
“Oh, please –” She stopped when she saw how genuinely caught off guard he was. “Oh my god, you’re not lying.”
“No, that’s her – I didn’t think – I ran into her outside and she said we’d talk later, but I – I didn’t think she was coming back inside for this –”
“You’re who she wrote about,” Renée whispered, her eyes as wide as Logan’s were, words beginning to slur just a bit. “Holy shit, I just thought the names were a coincidence, but no, you’re him.”
“What… huh?”
“Oh, Logan…” Her eyes filled with tears. “Ride or Die is about you, your old crew, and how she fell in love with you.”
His heart sank. “About me?”
She nodded. “She changed most of the names but kept some, including yours. The ending… you really had to leave L.A. to flee the cops?”
He nodded. “The feds were on our tails.”
“My god… she’s so in love with you. You have to go to her,” Renée shook her head, her hair swaying around her. “No hard feelings at all. You can’t let her go – I’m serious.”
She’d taken the stage, and had begun thanking people while Logan and Renée whispered furiously at each other. By the time they looked up, she was beginning her speech.
“I never really set out to become a writer. Even though I’m a published author, I don’t really feel like one. Every time I step back to assess the response I’ve gotten to ‘Ride or Die’, I’m rendered speechless without fail. I just wanted an outlet to get my story out, and surprisingly – thankfully – the lovely staff of Harris Publishing decided to take a chance on me. I never thought this level of success was possible, and I’m so grateful for everyone here.”
She held for applause, smiling as though she was grateful for each clap.
“But beneath the positivity and praise I’ve received, I’m still healing. I’m still hurting. Most people know that ‘Ride or Die’ is somewhat of a true story. And yes, I know there’ve been discussions on whether this is a fake autobiography and that I wrote this for attention. Honestly, for the first year after they left, I wished that it was fake, because I was in a lot of pain. Emotionally, I was in shambles.
“I’ve loved telling my story as a form of therapy, but I wouldn’t wish this pain on anyone. The love of my life vanished into the night and I couldn’t do a single thing about it. No closure, no healing, no moving on.
“Stagnancy’s been the norm for me for so long that I forgot what life was like when I was smiling every day. I’m still getting used to happiness being an everyday feeling for me.”
Raquel shook her head, taking a deep breath and dabbing at the corner of her eyes. The audience took this cue to clap again, encouraging her to continue.
Logan watched the monitor on the wall, which zoomed into her face, catching her dazzling brown eyes. He was in awe. She was tough as nails with a heart of gold and he still didn’t deserve her.
“I thought that a life without love was bleak, and that I was doomed to suffer because I didn’t know if I’d ever see Logan again.”
She took another deep breath, squaring her shoulders.
“I’ve realized that I’m surrounded by more love than I know what to do with. By those who love my story, who resonate with my story, and who want or already have a Logan of their own. I get to experience love every day through that affirmation, and I took it for granted till… well, tonight, honestly.
“The end of the story wasn’t really the end of the story for me. I thought that ‘Ride or Die’ was the first and final book, and I’ve been terrified for a while that by the time the hype for this book died down, so would my hope, and I’d have to move on… but like I’ve said, the closure I’ve craved is in everyone that carries my story with them. You’re all healing me by making me feel seen and heard and loved.
“This might be a lot for a speech at a fancy event at the publishing company that signed me, but through all of you who’ve made this possible, I feel like the version of me from years ago when I hopped in a sports car with a stranger who later turned out to be the love of my life.
“The adrenaline, the lust for life, feeling alive – I owe it all to you. Thank you.”
The cheers were raucous by the time she stepped off stage.
Logan’s throat was tight – she still loved him no matter how much it hurt.
Jesus fucking Christ, he would never deserve her.
Renée was sniffling next to him, hand over her mouth. “Logan, you seriously need to go to her. You can’t let her get away again.”
He pulled her in for a quick hug, leaning down to kiss her cheek. “Thank you, sweetheart. You really do deserve so much better than me.”
She grinned and patted his cheek lightly. “You’ve never been more right.”
He turned, darting towards the doors, shoving past anyone and everyone to get outside.
When he made it out of the doors, he ran smack into Raquel.
Thankfully, the only people outside of the room were the security guards, who’s attention was focused on the front door.
Raquel pulled him down the hallway and stopped at the last door on the left, a sign with her name on it taped to the outside of the door.
She fumbled with the keycard, her hands trembling.
“Shit –” she cursed, the card tumbling from her hands and onto the tile floor.
He snatched it off the ground and scanned it in one swoop. Within seconds, she’d shoved the door open and slammed it behind them.
His heart was racing. The last time she’d been this hasty was their final kiss, and he couldn’t fathom going through that again.
She stood in front of him, his back to the door, her gaze trained on his chest.
From his height he can see that her face is contorted, but she buries her face in her hands before he can get a good look.
“She looks just like me.” Her voice was a mere whisper, like she couldn’t manage anything more than that.
His heart sank to his feet. “Raquel –”
“You say you didn’t know I was going to be here, but then why’d you date someone that works at the same company my book’s being published at?”
“I know it’s hard to believe, but I didn’t come here with the intention of hurting you,” he started, gently resting a palm on her shoulder. “Especially knowing how hard it’s been for you, I –”
He broke his sentence off, cursing himself. “Shit, I didn’t know you were having just as hard a time as me. I figured you’d go to college and meet someone better than me. I don’t know.”
“You can’t just say you expected me to move on because you clearly haven’t. What, is her name Rachel or something?” She pulled back, putting a step of space between them.
He shook his head. “Renée.”
“It even starts with the same letter,” she shook her head, biting her lip. “You thought I’d move on so you started dating the first person that reminded you of me?”
“I – I’m –” He stuttered, dumbfounded that she’d gotten it in one try, as much as he didn’t want to admit it out loud.
“I want you to understand why I’m upset, Lo. You came back to L.A. because you thought there was a possibility that you’d see me again, but you ‘figured I’d move on’. You’re seeing a girl that looks like she could be related to me, yet you’re avoiding discussing that.
“I’m mad because while I’ve been trying to heal, you’ve been making yourself suffer, and that’s not fair to Renée. You had no idea if you were gonna see me again so you tried to get the next best thing. You have to see why that’s fucked up, Lo.”
“Even if I was dating Renée because she reminded me of you, none of that matters now.”
“You can’t just dump Renée because you took one look at the girl you dated for a month years ago and decided you wanted her instead –”
“Stop. Don’t try to downplay your role in my life, Raquel. You’re not ‘just the girl I dated’, alright? I loved you then and I love you now.”
“You can’t love me and string her along at the same time, Logan,” she furiously whispered, her voice nearing hysterics.
He blinked, shaking his head. “Did… you think I was coming here to show you that I’d moved on? And wanted to rub it in your face?”
She chewed the inside of her lip, her dark brown eyes downcast. “Maybe.”
“Renée ended things first. Just now, actually. The minute she realized that I’m the Logan from your book, she told me I needed to go to you,” he reassured her, reaching out to tip her chin up with a crooked finger, forcing her to meet his eye.
“Raquel, I had no fucking clue you’d written about us and the old crew. All these years, I’ve always known how much I love you but… goddamn, I didn’t know you loved me the way I loved you.”
Her eyes glistened, her surprised laugh coming out as a soft sob.
“So… you really do love me? It wasn’t just circumstance?” She asked, leaning into his palm when he slid his hand up to cup her cheek.
“It doesn’t matter how we felt back then, baby. None of that matters now because we fell for each other while we were apart,” he smiled softly, leaning in to press a soft kiss on her lips.
“God, I love you,” she whispered against his lips, deepening the kiss.
“Say it again,” he murmured. “I need to hear it again.”
“I love you,” she repeated, louder, more confident this time. “I’ll say it as many times as you want, as long as you say it back.”
“I love you,” he said, no hesitation, tangling his fingers through her hair and pulling her in again.
The only time they came up for air was to whisper sweet affirmations against each other’s skin before delving back into silently relearning what they could about each other.
Logan had never been the best with words, and he was at peace with that. He knew that when it mattered, he’d show it. And in the dim lighting of Raquel’s green room, he showed her over and over just how much she meant to him.
Kiss by kiss, they adhered themselves to each other, undoubtedly deciding they’d never let each other go again.
She wasn’t Raquel. That much was obvious. She’d grown into much more than the timid girl he’d met on her 18th birthday, and even more than the headstrong driver he’d left behind.
And he loved her this way and that way – any way he could get her. His love for every version of her was boundless, incomparable to anything he’d ever felt before.
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More Than Meets the Eye #31 - Ammo and the Anti-Glowup
So, the Lost Light disappeared, stranding all the crew in space in their little escape pods. 200-some robots just lost their homes and worldly possessions. That’s absolutely horrible. What a devastating thing to happen.
Anyway, here’s Drift with a flashback sequence.
No hips, fingers all the exact same length, hockey pucks embedded in his forearms- Rojo, this is a crime you’ve committed. When will the long arm of the law stop your sinful, pancake-shaped hands?
About two years prior to current events, Drift, Riptide, and Pipes- yes, Pipes!- were wandering around trying to find a ship for the space yacht trip. The gang’s here to see who owns the big honkin’ ship outside. Problem is, Drift is unintentionally terrifying because he has a great deal of swords.
Now, you may say to yourself “isn’t it a bit odd that the species that has members who literally turn into guns would be nervous around a guy with swords?” This is a valid critique, until you remember that at least some of the folks who turn into guns were born that way, and Drift was very much NOT born bladed the fuck out. There’s an entire miniseries devoted to explaining this, it’s called Drift. The swords are a choice, one that he makes every day.
Drift is willing to pay an honestly absurd amount of money for the ship, if he can just find the dude with the paperwork- don’t ask where he got the money. Pipes isn’t being terribly helpful in finding them, so Riptide decides that now is the time to start practicing being proactive and pulls a Coyote Ugly.
No, no, he doesn’t.
He does climb up on a table and start yelling for the ship’s owners to reveal themselves, though. Which they do.
Now it’s time for the world-building portion of our comic issue. Let’s learn about chirolinguistics.
Drift, staying true to his Mary Sue nature, uses his near-perfect Hand skills to strike up a deal with the owners of the ship. This would be impressive, if it didn’t just look like the most convoluted hand-holding session in the friggin’ universe.
Still, Drift is rich enough to make Jeff Bezos weep with envy, so the arrangements are made and the lads go on their way, talking some mad shit about the original name of the ship as they do.
So it is revealed to us that the Lost Light is named after a festival for honoring the dead and disappeared, which makes the fact that Rewind and Chromedome were there all the more sad.
Back in the present, Megatron tells Riptide to shut up so they can figure out what the hell they’re going to do about this whole “our home and also ride has ceased to exist” situation. He’s putting an awful lot of distance between himself and the rest of the Autobots as he does it, something that isn’t lost on the more bitter people of the crowd.
But why were we even talking about the Lost Light in the first place? Not to reminisce, believe it or not. See, it’s time for Nautica to get a little panel time, and she’s going to use it to be a massive fucking nerd and explain how the quantum engines work. As she does, Ratchet notes that his hands feel funny. Must be the weight of his hand-stealing sins manifesting itself in his joints.
Nautica explains that the engines run off of improbability- it is highly unlikely, but not impossible, that the ship can reach light speed, and riding the fine line between what can happen and what can’t, results in the creation of power for the engines. If this sounds familiar, it’s because Brainstorm gave us a watered down version of this explanation back in issue #2. If it sounds familiar for a different reason, it’s because this is how the Heart of Gold runs in Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy. Again, I’m not sure why it is that the British love this concept so much, but there you are.
Oh, it appears someone has a question. Let’s see what they want to know about, shall we?
…Rojo, what the fuck is this.
Our muppety friend here isn’t too keen on how much of a smarmy asshole Nightbeat is being right now, though I’d assume it actually has something to do with the fact that Nightbeat got smacked around with the pretty-boy stick while Getaway very much did not. While the two bicker- there’s a lot of bickering in Season Two- Nautica presents a theory on what happened to the ship; it went too far in the direction of “can’t” and made itself cease to be.
Megatron gives not a shit about quantum improbability, though. He only cares about how they’re going to get out of this mess. Which, y’know. Valid.
Blaster picks up a radio from Rodimus, who tells the gang that they’re to meet up on a nearby planet to regroup and figure out their next move. The call drops before he can get more than a couple Megatron-directed insults in, however. Megatron, in response, tries to be the bigger person, and almost immediately fails. We do get a headcount though, which is good, logistically speaking. This information is communicated to us by way of a splash page full of character head shots. We’ve got 20 ‘bots on board this ship.
Yep. 20. No more, no less.
As our friends approach the planet, we’re informed that it’s actually a Lectureworld- a planet devoted to the study of a single field. Except it’s actually a Smartplanet now, and it’s been privatized by the Galactic Council, so you’ve got to pay to go there. Cyclonus thinks that that’s bullshit, and I can’t help but agree. Crosscut tries to network with they guy about his play, probably because word got around that Cyclonus is rich as hell, when the lights cut out. When they come back on, Crosscut is nowhere to be found.
It’s time for a Whodunnit.
Tailgate immediately pegs Megatron as the culprit in this disappearance, and breaks out a gun over the matter. Megatron thinks that this is absolutely adorable, which only serves to further infuriate our marshmallow friend. I guess he’s still mad about the whole “I was a Decepticon for five minutes and got brainwashed over it” thing, and wants someone to pin the anger on who’s socially acceptable to hate.
Cyclonus and Ratchet both think that Tailgate’s not going about this the right way, but the guy is simply too het up to listen to them. Tailgate suggests that they lock Megatron in the engine room for the time being and-
OKAY WHO LET HIM HAVE THAT
Riptide breaks out his gun, and soon we’ve got a standoff going between the three of them. Cyclonus tries to deescalate, which makes Gears and Huffer break out their guns. Then Hound breaks out his gun, though he seems to be doing his own thing, by pointing it in Nautica’s direction.
Broski, I think that might be animal cruelty.
Megatron manages to shoot Ravage “unconscious” and catches him by the friggin’ throat, stating that he has zero idea how this guy got here. With the heat off the two of them for a moment, Megatron communicates to Ravage to play ‘possum for the time being. Ravage responds, and I wonder exactly how he’s doing that, considering I don’t think he has enough fingers to effectively utilize Hand as a language. Or fingers at all, really.
While this is going on, Cyclonus snatches the gun out of Tailgate’s hand, admonishing him for being reckless about picking his fights. Generally speaking, you don’t want to try to go toe-to-toe with a guy who’s responsible for the deaths of literal billions. Getaway swoops in to comfort Tailgate, calling him gutsy. I wonder if this will become a trend.
Swerve says a thing, as he is wont to do, and it’s made known that multiple folks have disappeared during this incredibly brief standoff.
Wow, Chromedome just fucked off, huh? He wasn’t even in that sequence, just left.
Everyone’s positively baffled by the current happenings. There doesn’t seem to be any rhyme or reason to who’s being taken. I guess we’ve got a mystery on our hands.
And who better to solve a mystery than a detective?
Nightbeat wrangles all the leftover folks into a corner of the room, so they can figure out what the common denominator is with all the disappearees. He starts with the easy stuff.
And by “easy”, I mean the super-special racism Tyrest subscribed to.
If you’ve read Eugenesis, you know that Nightbeat was also part of the first wave of cold-constructed bodies there. However, the general populace wasn’t nearly as chill about it as they were in IDW. Also, Wheeljack was his dad. No word on if that particular tidbit made it into IDW lore.
It’s at this point that we learn about M.T.O.s- made to order soldiers. They were cold-constructed ‘bots created en masse during the war in order to keep up with the demands for troops. Pretty fucked up, if you think about it, being born to die like that.
Now where have we heard that name before…
Chromedome, can your love life not be part of the plot for five minutes, my guy?
Nautica makes the honestly horrific claim that a lot of folks owe their existence to Megatron being a warmongering fuck, and even Megatron himself seems rather uncomfortable with the idea. Some thoughts we keep to ourselves, Nautica, even if they might be technically true. And even if Ammo wants to tack on his two cents on the matter.
What did they DO to you, Ammo? You’re supposed to be hot! Where are my three-paragraphs of description as Hound stares slack jawed the entire time? I miss Polyhex Wars.
Anyway, it’s Megatron’s turn to get poked with the questioning stick, and he’s not having it. He claims that by revealing his mode of creation, he’s risking a repeat of Functionist ideology. This would be valid, if people weren’t literally disappearing without any sort of explanation as to why. As it is, he’s being a stubborn asshole, but I guess he didn’t get his reputation by being a decent person who knew when to back down, now did he?
It’s at this point that Ratchet remembers he knows all the info Nightbeat’s looking for, and the conversation on Megatron’s birth is shelved for another day. I’m sure it won’t be a major plot point later, not in the slightest.
As it turns out, Nightbeat’s theory doesn’t hold water, and folks are still popping out of existence. We get another splash page, this time with everyone’s mode of creation listed under their names, and we move on to other theories about what the fuck is going on. While Nightbeat has a minor crisis over what the answer could possibly be, the MTOs in the group reminisce on the Ten-Step Program, a series of tests they were put through to make sure they worked well enough to get handed a gun and shoved out the door. Riptide wasn’t a fan.
Riptide has more wood panelling than a 70’s-style ranch house, and I think that’s very brave of him.
It’s at this point that Ratchet remembers it’s been quite a bit since he last shat on religion, and takes the time to do so while informing the reader about Information Creep. This is a concept we’ve seen mentioned previously, during Chromedome’s runaround in Overlord’s brain, but it’s here where we get the juicy implications.
Because memories can become corrupted in the brain due to extreme age, what ought to be objective fact has to be reinterpreted due to missing pieces. This is why nobody knows what the Knights of Cybertron got up to, or if they’re even actually real at all.
The lights go out again, and when they cut back on, Cyclonus is missing, leaving only his sword behind. Tailgate is extremely distraught by this, but Nightbeat gives not a fuck about Tailgate’s impending breakdown. He only cares about the truth!
And then a giant eyeball shows up.
It’s Ultra Magnus, coming to us live from his shuttle, via holomatter avatar! He shrinks down to a far more reasonable size, in a panel reminiscent of the first time IDW readers saw Megatron.
Don’t get me wrong, this is a neat parallel, I’m just… not terribly sure why it’s happening. One could say it reflects a reversal in power dynamics, but that theory gets tossed out the window when you remember that this isn’t actually Verity. I suppose it’s just a cool little thing.
Because the comms aren’t working, Ultra Magnus has been forced to use this avatar to communicate with the folks in the Rod Pod. Megatron asks just what the hell is going on, but unfortunately Magnus isn’t sure either. Then his shuttle disappears, and it’s bye-bye grunge girl Magnus.
It’s at this point that Nightbeat decides it’s time to stop pussyfooting around and get serious. He tells Ratchet to throw HIPPA directly in the garbage and write down everything he knows about the Autobots who crewed the Lost Light. And he does mean everything, as we get the splash page again, this time with lots of neat info on our friends, including spark type.
Spark types will become plot-relevant in the storyline after this, but for now let’s focus on some weird gender essentialism that got slapped into the first print of this issue.
As we know very well by this point, Transformers as a franchise has a tumultuous relationship with the idea of women existing. You would think that the awkward introduction of other genders we got in “Dark Cybertron” would have been the end of things being weird in IDW. However, you would be wrong.
In an effort to explain why genders exist, Roberts had the idea to make it spark-based. Nautica, in the solo print of this issue, has an estriol-positive spark. Estriol is a type of estrogen, which is the hormone that develops and maintains feminine secondary sex characteristics, when present in certain levels, in conjunction with other hormones. Biology
This “spark = gender” idea is, generally speaking, not a great idea to be presenting us with, especially when the writer is a cishet male, because it implies biological essentialism- the idea that a personality trait/quality of a person is innate and predetermined by their biology, as opposed to social, cultural, or individual experiences. Because this story doesn’t exist in a vacuum, it’s irresponsible to reduce the experience of being a woman to a single, physical, unchangable asset, especially when all other assets of the same class have zero effect on one’s gender identity. You don’t exactly see many nonbinary robots running around, now do you? And there are definitely more than two spark types, despite the Transformers as a species being... very binary.
It also makes female Transformers into an “other”, which is a problem that has existed from the very start of the franchise, in some form or fashion, and really doesn’t need to be perpetrated anymore than it already is.
The estriol spark type was removed in the trade edition, and Roberts has expressed regrets over its inclusion, having realized that it was potentially offensive.
Getting back to the story, Swerve, Tailgate, and Ratchet have disappeared, though Ratchet seems to have left his hands behind. His stolen, Pharma-original hands.
That’s still fucked up to me. I don’t think it’ll ever not be fucked up.
Riptide reveals the reason that he wasn’t in Season One of MTMTE was because when he went back to grab a receipt for the ship two years prior, he’d discovered that the original owners were worshipers of Mortilus, Cybertronian god of death, and knew about the nasty little problem that was the sparkeater from the first storyline. When Riptide went to confront them about it, they beat him up so bad he was unconscious for two solid days.
Which is a long-ass time to be unconscious. That might have been a coma, Riptide. Jesus, I hope someone got him to a hospital after this beatdown happened, or at least scraped him off the floor.
With this last piece of the puzzle, we finally have the common denominator in this big ol’ mystery. Everyone who disappeared was on the Lost Light when it took off from Cybertron in issue #1, and everyone left behind- Skids, Getaway, Nightbeat, Nautica, Megatron, and Ravage- didn’t join until afterwords.
Of course, having the answer doesn’t do us much good when everyone is still missing, and Megatron seems to agree with me, because he’s about to throw hands, when Nautica lets them know that they’ve arrived at the rendezvous. Problem is, so has something else.
...
I’m sure it’s fiiiiiiiiiiiiine!
#transformers#jro#MTMTE#issue 31#maccadam#Hannzreads#text post#long post#incoming analysis#overthinking about robots#comic script writing
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Critical Role: Don’t You Know?
(Read on AO3)
Rating: Gen
Summary: Clarabelle just giggles, revealing a little gap between her two front teeth. “What?” she asks. “Don’t you know? Caduceus never starts tickle fights, he knows he’s gonna lose!”
“Belle,” Caduceus says loudly, “maybe you should go check on the tea-”
Beau likes to think she has a good sense for potentially incriminating information, and right now it’s pinging off the fucking walls. “No, no, no, tell me more.”
Wordcount: 3.7k
A/N: fill for this anon prompt! and for a bunch of people who want to see poor Cad get absolutely wrecked, apparently XD
spoilers for C2E92 and C2E96 - and a little side note that i may have forgotten the timing of certain Greater Restorations while planning this fic, so let's just pretend that the clerics had two more of them to cast that day 🤦
---
Beau doesn’t like feeling jealous. It’s not a frequent feeling, around the Nein, since they’re all pretty much the same level of fucked up, but watching Caduceus and his siblings sit in amiable silence as they work through prepping whatever grows around here that passes for dinner is starting to get to her.
Maybe it’s just too soon, after going back home to Kamordah. She’s fine, or she will be - she loves her friends and they love her and her parents don’t and that’s fine, but -
She grits her teeth. All she has to do is sit here in this corner and wait for Caduceus’ mom to finish making tea in the other room, and then she can take it and run and leave this happy little family tableau to their own devices. She’s got a bottle of wine and access to a trickster cleric, it’s not going to be that hard to have a good evening.
She’s still mulling over what kind of pranks she can play in a petrified temple when the littlest Clay - who’s still a good head taller than her, because fucking firbolgs - finishes scraping the peel off the last unidentified vegetable in her stack and drops her knife with a bright little clank as she turns to her brother. There’s no way Caduceus hasn’t noticed that for every one she’s done herself she’s snuck another into his pile, but Beau’s not going to be the one to rat her out. “Okay, I’m done, lemme look at your hair! I bet I can fix it, I have all my dyeing stuff with me.”
Caduceus eyes his own pile and, very slowly, starts pushing it in his older sister’s direction. Beau chokes back a snort.
Said sister’s eyes narrow. “No!”
The little one pouts at both of them. “But Calliope, look at him, he needs help!”
Big sister - Calliope - takes advantage of the little circle the three of them are sitting in to shove both of their shoulders simultaneously. “No. If you two are taking a break, then so am I!”
Caduceus rumbles out a laugh, already starting to undo his braid. “Sure, but you’re explaining why we’re not done to Mom.”
It’s a low move. Beau approves entirely.
Calliope scoffs and tosses her paring knife in his direction handle-first, laughing herself when he yelps and dodges. “Oh, we’ll see who’s doing the explaining.”
She’s smiling, though, as she gets up and stretches. Beau takes one look at her insanely toned arms and has to swallow convulsively to get her saliva flowing again.
As she wanders off, Caduceus shakes the last of his hair loose and flops the whole pink mass over onto his face. “Don’t pull too hard, Clarabelle, it’s pretty fragile right now.”
“I’m not a baby, Caduceus,” Clarabelle snarks, and promptly climbs halfway into his lap to bury her hands in it and start bemoaning the state of his roots.
The quip slips out of Beau’s mouth reflexively. “You know he’s just luring you in so he can tickle you, right?”
It’s kind of their thing, her and Caduceus, whenever one of their group is standing anywhere in his vicinity and his hands are free. The reactions are great - the warning makes Jester bounce excitedly, Fjord and Caleb go all red and sputtery, Yasha look up in quiet anticipation - fuckin’ adorable, by the way - and Nott threaten to kill them all as she darts away.
And if she’s a little too invested in the way Caduceus huffs and throws her a quiet little smile before reeling his victim in, like they’ve got an inside joke that’s just for the two of them - well, that’s just an unexpected benefit of the chaos.
Today, though, two pink heads snap in her direction. Caduceus makes a panicked little sound, barely audible under all the floof, and isn’t that interesting.
Clarabelle just giggles, revealing a little gap between her two front teeth. “What?” she asks. “Don’t you know? Caduceus never starts tickle fights, he knows he’s gonna lose!”
“Belle,” Caduceus says loudly, “maybe you should go check on the tea-”
Beau likes to think she has a good sense for potentially incriminating information, and right now it’s pinging off the fucking walls. “No, no, no, tell me more.”
Clarabelle beams. “Calliope!” she yells. “C’mere, we have to tickle Caduceus!”
Caduceus’ ears shoot up in obvious alarm. He lunges forward and makes a decent attempt at smothering her through all the hair in his way, but Calliope’s already turning around.
Beau shivers - apparently the smug Caduceus look is genetic. “Did I hear that right, Belle? Caduceus has been going out and starting tickle fights?”
Caduceus lets go of his sister and gets halfway up before Clarabelle tackles him with a war cry. They’re wrestling on the ground, lanky limbs everywhere and absolutely terrible form, by the time Calliope lopes over.
She reaches in with one hand and hauls her seven-foot-tall brother up into a sitting position by the collar of his shirt - fuck, that’s hot. Beau firmly suppresses the urge to fidget as Calliope tugs one of Caduceus’ arms up over his head and yanks his sleeve down to his elbow. “Well, Caduceus? Got anything to say for yourself?”
Caduceus actually whines. It takes serious effort not to gape in shock. “I didn’t do anyth-ING-NO-”
His protests dissolve into near-silent squeaks as Calliope starts to tickle his - hands? Beau watches closely as she drags her fingertips up his forearm, fluttering them lightly in the crease of his elbow, and commits the technique to memory.
Caduceus’ helpless grin is wider than she’s ever seen it. He braces his feet on the floor and tries to twist free, elbows akimbo. “Calliope! Stohop it, I’m - heh - I’m not-”
She snorts. “Not a chance, we’ve got - how many years has it been again?”
“Two hundred!” Belle chirps, and dives in to worry at the backs of Caduceus’ ears with blunt fingernails. The trembling, stuttery sounds he’s making jump an octave as he frantically shakes his head from side to side.
“Ten,” he snickers. “Belle - heeeh, hehe - cut it out, I’m - mmm! - I’m serious, come ohohon-”
Clarabelle turns back to Beau. “See?”
Oh, Beau sees. She’s gonna get so much mileage out of this.
Caduceus looks over at her too, eyebrows furrowing, but Calliope’s already talking over the both of them. “Well, that’s a lot of years to catch up on, I’d better pull out the big guns.”
Caduceus’ eyes widen. Beau decides to help the panic along and mouths big guns? in his direction, slipping her notebook out and opening it to a fresh page.
Caduceus yelps and throws himself forward with alacrity she’s never seen from him, ripping his arm from Calliope’s grip and nearly scrambling past Clarabelle before his big sister takes a step forward and scoops him up under the arms. “Nice try,” she tells him. “Might have worked, if you weren’t so scrawny.”
She drops him on top of Clarabelle. “Hey!”
“Sorry, Belle, you gotta stay out of the way!”
“No, I’m helping!” she insists, and dutifully wrestles her way on top of Caduceus to start tickling his ears again.
Caduceus wheezes and curls into a ball, trying fruitlessly to shove her away. “Belle - Belle!-”
“Let’s see, let’s see…” Calliope muses, crouching down and plucking a booted foot from the pile of limbs. “Legs?”
She grabs Caduceus’ calf and squeezes it like a piece of dead meat. He squeals. “Yep, still ticklish.”
Caduceus kicks her in the knee with his other leg and she staggers back for a moment before surging forward to grab at his hips. “Ow! Oh, now you’re in for it.”
He can’t do anything but flail as she wrestles him onto his back and urges Clarabelle to sit on his belly to keep him pinned. “Nonono! M’sorry - eheheeeeh, Belle, stoppit! - I’m sohohorry! Don’t!”
There’s a pause. Beau leans forward, half excited and half trying to sense genuine distress. She’s never heard Caduceus plead like this - not her fault, the fucker has apparently been hiding his ticklish spots for months, but it’s not like she wouldn’t be willing to jump in and save him.
And maybe she wants to see what Calliope’s arms can do up close. Maybe.
Calliope adjusts her grip on him and smirks. “Heh. No, I think I’m gonna. Belle, you got him?”
“Yep!” she says cheerfully, bare feet planted on each side of his ribcage. Caduceus has managed to press one big palm over her face, keeping her at arm’s length and away from his ears, but she just wriggles her bare toes under him and into the backs of his ribs. “Tickle, tickle, Caduceus!”
Caduceus guffaws and squirms like his life depends on it, but there’s nowhere to go. “Noooo - hahaaaheeh - stop, stop, not my ribs-”
He keeps begging as Calliope levers a hand under his back and starts rooting around for something with a focused expression. She finds it, too - Caduceus screams and arches his back nearly in half as he abandons Clarabelle and grabs desperately for her hands instead. “Pleeeheease! HHAHAH - nonnono - eheaahaaa!”
Beau can’t even see what she’s tickling, but there’s enough potential here to topple a regime. “Fuck,” she whispers. Does this make her the most powerful tickler in the Nein now? Is this what ascending feels like?
She’s surprised that the rest of the Nein haven’t come running yet, with all the noise he’s making. But then again, she and Cad and Caleb are the best at paying attention to their surroundings and Caleb definitely isn’t in a hurry to run towards hysterical laughter.
She doesn’t mean to make any sound herself, but amidst all his struggling Cad’s ears twitch in her direction. “Beau,” he pleads. Shrieks again. “Help mmm-ahahahAA-”
“Hm, who’s that?” Calliope stops tickling, judging from Caduceus’ wheezed relief, and turns to look in her direction. Beau swears that her hair flutter in a nonexistent breeze. “Right, you, the non-important one.”
Beau nearly bites her tongue in despair - why does she have to be such a disaster around every hot woman she meets? “Yep, that’s me.”
Calliope looks at her for a moment, considering. “You look like a fighter. What are you doing all the way over there - you’re not scared of him, are you?”
It’s never been less tempting to confess the time she accidentally hit Cad in the face with some of her weeks-old pocket bacon and he tickled her until she cried. She clears her throat. “Uh, no. No. It looks like you’re doing a pretty good job already, I mean, he’s really-”
Calliope yanks her arm free and uses it to beckon her over. “Eh, come here - Belle, watch it, I’m going to flip him.”
Caduceus squawks in renewed panic as one of his sisters tumbles off him and the other wraps her arms around him and twists him facedown like a wrestling move from the back-alley brawls Beau used to sneak into as a teenager - and, once again, hot.
She swallows again and strolls over as casually as she can while Calliope pins him across the shoulders with her forearm. “Riiight - here.”
She doesn’t even touch, just points to the backs of Caduceus’ thighs, but he obviously knows where she’s leading. “Beau, no,” he yelps.
He tries to pull his legs up beneath him. Beau automatically grabs him just under the knees and drags him out flat. “Hey, hey, where do you think you’re going?”
Calliope raises an approving eyebrow. Beau tries not to blush. “It’s his worst spot - he’s ticklish there if you so much as look at him wrong.”
“We chased him up a tree once,” Clarabelle pipes up. She’s tap-tap-tapping blunt fingernails across Caduceus’ back, sending him shivering. “He stayed up there all night until Dad went to get him.”
“Beau, don’t,” Cad rasps. She’s heard him sound perkier seconds after coming back from the dead. He’s laughing still, quietly, and it sounds somewhere between the lava of the volcano forge they stayed in once and Frumpkin’s rusty purrs.
“Not so fun when you’re the one doing the begging, huh,” Beau tells him. She flicks him, once, in the back of the leg and looks incredulously at his siblings. “So you’re telling me his absolute worst spot… is his fucking butt?”
Calliope shrugs. “He’s so weird, isn’t he?”
All three of them laugh at that, even Caduceus, so Beau figures it’s all right. “Yeah, we’ve noticed. We’re all weird though, it’s kind of our thing.”
“Sure,” Calliope says. “He’s weird and ticklish, though, so if I wanna pin him down and get all his worst spots then he’s just gonna have to deal with it-”
Caduceus peels his face off the ground and gasps out a few strangled syllables that reverberate in the warm air.
Both of his sisters shriek as their eyes fill with black ichor. “Caduceus!” Calliope yells, letting go of him and grabbing for her face with one hand and her holy symbol with the other. “What did you do?”
Caduceus props himself up on his elbows, panting. “Oh, it’s just something I picked up,” he tells her smugly. “Don’t worry, it’ll wear off.”
“After how long,” Calliope growls.
Clarabelle giggles, still draped over Caduceus’ back. “Oh, this feels weird!”
He laughs and starts to crawl out from under them, but Beau’s not done with him yet. Mercifully un-blinded, she snags him around the knees again. “Wow, usually you’re the one telling us not to be mean to people.”
Caduceus rolls onto his side and looks sharply back at her, sighing in relief when she holds her hands up in surrender. “Well, I know these people.” He shoves gently at Clarabelle, wriggles a finger into her side when she doesn’t move. She squeaks. “They deserve it.”
He grins down at her, unrepentant and bratty, and Beau can’t help but grin back.
“So are your thighs really that bad?” she asks. “Or-” she jerks her chin over at Calliope, who’s started praying. “-did you just decide to be a jerk all of a sudden? Also, how the fuck did we not know how ticklish you are? You wreck us all the time!”
Caduceus shrugs. “S’easy to get in your heads,” he says. Beau bristles a little at that, but he’s not wrong - Caduceus has this way of looking at them like he’s going to take them apart one way or another, and the tickling is probably the safer route. Doesn’t hurt that they can always trust him to set them right after, either.
“And they’ll get me eventually, might as well have some fun with it.” He fixes Beau with a stern look. “Now you, on the other hand-”
She interrupts him. “Hey Cad, how long’s that spell supposed to last?”
He blinks. “A minute, why?”
Beau points wordlessly over his shoulder at a clear-eyed Calliope. “Uh.”
Caduceus twists around. “Oh, dear.”
That’s all he has time for before Calliope grabs his shoulders and twists him facefirst back into the ground. “You know,” she tells him, “I was going to go easy on you. Was. You’re lucky I’m not calling Colton in here.”
“That’s ‘cause Colton’s a jerk,” Caduceus says, muffled and remarkably calm.
“So are you, apparently,” Calliope retorts. She forms a vibrating claw with one hand and digs it into his spine, and Caduceus shrieks. “You can’t just blind people!”
“I’m telling Mom and Dad!” Clarabelle agrees, wiping one last black tear from her eye and lunging back in to knead mercilessly at the backs of Caduceus’ ribs.
Caduceus shrieks again, kicking helplessly, and tumbles straight back into hysterical laughter. “Come - hahaAAA - come on!”
Beau’s fairly sure that he’s going to hurt himself if she jumps in, but Calliope looks breathlessly over at her and grins with a bloodthirsty look that Beau recognizes all too well. She usually saves it for enemies, though, or Caleb if he’s being particularly insufferable. “Is that what he does to you guys too? Go on, get some revenge!”
And well, put like that…
It takes a bit of effort to pin one of Caduceus’ flailing legs, especially when he catches wind of what she’s doing and starts kicking even more frantically. “Hold fucking still,” she yells.
Caduceus is losing it, less put together than she’s ever heard him. “I cahahan’t!”
Beau jams the ball of her thumb into the nerve cluster just above his knee until his leg goes dead. “There, that wasn’t so hard, was it?”
“What was that?” Clarabelle says, sounding delighted. “Can I learn how to do that, Callie?”
Beau ignores her, focusing in on her prey. “Let’s see, how many apologies am I looking for?” She’s pretty sure she deserves every single time that Caduceus has tickled her to pieces, but the opportunity to tease Caduceus the way he does with them is too good to pass up. “I’ve lost count at this point, guess we’ll just start the ball rolling and see what happens.”
She squeezes mercilessly at the back of his thigh, making sure he can feel it through his homespun trousers, and he laughs a bit louder and squirms as best as he can, but it’s not enough-
“Huh,” she says, trying to channel Caduceus, and watches his sisters dig into his back for a moment. Something something destiny, calm, balance-
Oh. She grins and spiders her fingers ever so lightly over the vulnerable spot, and Caduceus howls.
Beau settles in, satisfied, and keeps spidering until he’s thrashing and laughing too hard to get more than a couple broken words out. He’s not anywhere near out of breath, not yet, so she figures they’ve got at least a couple more minutes of squeaking, ticklish Caduceus and she’s going to enjoy every single one of them.
“Oh, dear,” someone says, unexpectedly close. Beau whips around to see Caduceus’ mom, holding a whole tray of mismatched teacups and looking like she’s desperately trying not to laugh.
Caduceus’ ears twitch. “MOM,” he wails. “SAVE ME, I’M GONNA DIE.”
She does laugh then, a little misty-eyed, and juggles the tray so she can prop a hand on her hip. “Calliope, Clarabelle, be nice to your brother,” she chides. “He came a long way to find us.”
“But he blinded us!” Clarabelle tattles, painfully earnest even as she grins from ear to ear. “He hasn’t even said sorry yet!”
“Clarabelle Clay.”
Beau’s spine locks up in instant parental-dissatisfaction panic, but Clarabelle just laughs and echoes back “Mo-oom,” before moving her hands and sprawling forward onto her brother. Calliope stops too, with one last dig into his back that inspires a final agonized wiggle, and sits back on her hands triumphantly as Caduceus wheezes and scrambles up to safety.
Beau rocks to her feet, sticking her hands in her pockets, and takes in the full glory of a seven-foot-tall firbolg doing his level best to hide behind his mother. Clarabelle and Calliope get up too and grab their tea, the former sticking her tongue out as Caduceus peeks at her with narrowed eyes.
“If you two are done,” Caduceus’ mom says firmly, “it looks like there are still vegetables that need attending to.”
“Oh, yeah,” Calliope says, and fixes Clarabelle with a look.
“Yeah!” Clarabelle echoes, looking innocently back.
She yelps as Calliope drags her away. Beau shuffles her feet for a moment as Caduceus’ mom turns to her. “Uh - if some of those are for us, I can take them - I know you guys probably want your time alone-”
Caduceus ducks a little further down, and his mom laughs again. “Oh, dear, you can stay as long as you like, but these will be better hot.”
“Got it.” Beau smirks up at Caduceus. “I have to go talk to Jester, anyway.”
She grabs the tray and speed-walks back across the room, barely hearing Caduceus’ hurried “I’ll go help her” before his heavier footsteps echo behind. If it were Fjord or Caleb she’d channel her ki to beat him handily back to the others, but, well - he doesn’t deserve it, really.
He’s walking fast, anyway - once she slows down, it’s only a couple seconds before she can feel his warm presence at her side.
He holds a hand out for the tray. “Don’t tell them.”
Beau looks at him then, still smug, and grimaces. “Oh, Duceus, you’ve got something on your face.”
He makes a face and wipes at his running nose with his sleeve, still trying to catch his breath. “Don’t tell them,” he says again. “I mean, they’ll find out eventually, and none of you are as mean as Calliope so it’ll be okay, but - please.”
She pretends to think it over. “I don’t know, I think your sister’s kind of great.”
Caduceus sighs heavily. “I’m not surprised.”
“I won’t tell them.” She does reach over to nudge at his spine though, expertly balancing the tray, and laughs as he squirms away from her. “You have to… make tea for me every night though. For a week.”
Caduceus blinked. “I already do that, you asked me to.”
“Which is exactly why I’m not gonna rat you out, Caduceus. You’re just a little bit less of an asshole than the rest of us.”
Caduceus looks - surprisingly pleased, at that. Beau tells herself it’s more about the prospect of not having Jester try to jump him every morning than her approval. “I appreciate it.”
Beau hands the tray over and crosses her arms, looking up at him. “You don’t really mind though, do you? Seems weird that you’d keep getting all of us, if you did.”
He shrugs. “I don’t, it’s just- it’s different around family. They already know everything about me.”
That jealousy sneaks out onto her tongue, quick and bitter, before she realizes it. “Well, I wouldn’t know.”
Beau looks away then, speeding up to get ahead of him. She manages to take a single step before something tickles at the back of her armpit and she nearly drops all of her stuff.
She curses and whirls around. “Caduceus!”
He looks evenly back at her. “Yeah, you would.”
It takes a second to connect the conversational thread, but she can’t help but smile once she does. “Thanks, Caduceus.”
He smiles back. “You’re welcome.”
“Deal’s off though,” she quips, and before he can react she’s sprinting down the hallway as fast as she can.
She’s not going to tell on him, but for tickling her? He’s gonna have to chase her down if he wants to make sure.
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