solemnly-mischievous

[solemnly-mischievous]

this fic is going to be the fucking death of me

bad habits [ 18+ ]

JAKE LOCKLEY X FEM READER

⤷ implied steven x reader and marc x reader preexisting relationship.

In which Jake becomes a bad habit you can't kick, leaving you craving more each time you promise yourself you'll stop.

warnings: SMUT, jake lockley deserves his own warning, s3x (p in v), oral (m+f receiving), throat-fucking, edging, praise, rough s3x, pain kink, degradation, use of a belt as a leash, masochism, possessiveness, corruption kink, gunplay, glove kink, choking, spanking, exhibitionism, breeding kink, creampie, car sex. this fic contains very dark themes, please read at your own discretion. minors do not interact.

ANY INTERACTIONS FROM MINORS OR AGELESS ACCOUNTS WILL RESULT IN ALL WORKS BEING REMOVED AGAIN.

Jake was like a bad habit you couldn’t quite get rid of. More accurately, it was like an addiction you couldn’t kick, one that left you craving more and more each time. You definitely felt guilty, knowing Marc and Steven had no idea. You loved both of them so goddamn much, there was no question about it. 

But Jake? Jake managed to get you hooked from a single hit, practically crawling back for more each time.

You’d met him shortly after you began working with Marc and Steven when he’d forced himself into control to slaughter down the group of Harrow’s disciples you were fighting off. You’d known immediately it wasn’t Marc or Steven. He’d clutched at the dripping crescent blades, blood splattered across his unmasked face as he stared you down from across the arena. Jake escorted you back to your shared flat, where he had warned you not to tell Marc or Steven what had happened while you cleaned the blood from his face. Your heart had kicked up at a dizzying speed, and you’d nodded and promised not to. When Steven and Marc asked what had happened the next morning, you brushed it off with a guilty conscience and a sick feeling in your stomach.

The next time Jake appeared was a similar scene, jumping to your defense to brutally beat down another group of disciples with his bare fists. He’d given you the same consuming, dark stare, this time walking forward to grip your upper arm with one blood-soaked hand. “We’re going home. Come on,” was all he’d told you. You repeated the same events as before, cleaning the blood from his face once again and this time his knuckles as well. You’d climbed into bed and waited for him to replicate their nighttime routine before slipping into bed beside you. When you asked why he’d stepped in, he had paused for a moment, the air thick with tension. “You’re important to them.”

Steven and Marc had woken up disoriented, and once again the lies slipped off your tongue. It carried on like that for a few weeks, Jake appearing to jump in and viciously slaughter anyone who got a step too close to you on a mission. You would clean the blood from him, ignoring your rapidly-pounding heart and the throbbing heat between your legs. Eventually, the tension between the two of you thickened to an almost suffocating presence, and you’d forced yourself to confront it. 

“It can be a one-time thing, just to… get it out of our systems,” you said in a hushed voice, catching Jake’s heated gaze in the dim bathroom light. There’s still blood smeared across his lower lip, a few loose curls of his combed-back hair falling in his face. “One time won’t hurt.”

You were hooked on that first kiss, the heated way Jake slanted his mouth against yours, and the metallic taste of blood on his lips. The way he directed you to your knees in front of him, unbuttoning his jeans and fucking your throat until you had tears on your face. He’d wiped the drool away with his fingers and forced it back into your mouth, then bent you over the bed and fucked you until you were rambling sheer nonsense. He’d wrapped your hair around his fist, pulling you up against him so he could put his mouth near your ear and promise you’d never forget his cock. When you woke up the next morning, his cum was still leaking from between your legs.

Jake had been right— you didn’t forget. In fact, it began plaguing your dreams and waking thoughts, your brain looping how fucking good it had felt to have his hand wrapped around your throat and his bruises on your hips. The next time he’d jumped to defend you, you barely made it through the door to the flat before your lips were on his. “This is the last time,” you’d said definitively between the heated strokes of his tongue against yours.

“Mmm. Whatever you say, angel.” 

Each time became the “last time,” until you eventually gave up fighting it and caved into the intoxicating addiction you’d developed for Jake’s touch. When Steven and Marc had begun to suspect the presence of another alter, it meant that your risky affairs with Jake dwindled down. After Khonshu cut his deal with Marc and Steven, you’d carried the knowledge that they were not, in fact, as free as they’d thought. You’d been in the passenger seat alongside him when he’d put bullets through Harrow’s skull with a sadistic smile before driving away. It was growing increasingly harder to hide, especially now, when Marc and Steven would find cum on your sheets in the mornings after their blackouts. Jake had decided it was best if you’d kept your little encounters to the confines of his car, a white Rolls Royce, one he’d cheekily reminded you was soundproof. 

And so, your midnight drives to secluded areas began.

This brings you to now, with Jake sitting across from you on the red leather seats in the backseat. “You know,” he notes, “I think Steven spoils you a little too much. He pleases you into behaving, gets you all fuckin’ wet and messy for him until you go all soft and sweet. Marc? He’ll fuck you until you act right, I’ll give him that.” He slings his jacket to the slide, spreading his legs as he adjusts. You eye the way he lifts his hips ever so slightly as he does, his thick thighs spread. It takes everything in you not to beg him to let you ride his thigh, and the thought of it makes you shudder. “Me?” He laughs lowly, shaking his head. “You won’t get off that easy with me.”

Your sharp inhale as you meet his gaze has his sadistic grin widening further. “Why not?”

He begins rolling the sleeves of his shirt up to his elbows, keeping his heated stare on your anxiously-shifting frame. He folds his arms across his broad chest, head tilted. “Because you can’t seem to get that little attitude of yours in check. And I plan to make you beg to come, to edge you over and fucking over until you’re crying and begging me to let you come on my cock.”

The words have your thighs pressed together, and you cross one leg over the other to suppress the overwhelming intensity of it. You glare, crossing your own arms in an imitation of his stance. “Oh, sure.” 

Jake laughs at that, patting his thigh. “Funny. Come here.”

Your gaze zeroes in on his thigh, then back up to his eyes. “And if I don’t want to?” You ask, voice hoarse. The hold he has on you makes you go fucking weak for him every time, unable to walk away from it. 

His brows narrow slightly. “Now.” Oh. You swallow, beginning to stand and walk to him, but he shakes his head. You freeze instantly as he leans forward, propping his elbows on his knees. “Crawl to me.” Your stomach flip-flops, your breath catching in your throat. Ever so slowly, you sink to your knees, crawling across the floor of the backseat to where he patiently waits. “There you go,” he muses, reaching to grip your jaw with one gloved hand.

Jake brings your mouth up to his, and you rise onto your knees to meet the heat of the kiss, fingers clutching his wrist. “Jake—” You gasp, already breathless from the fierce, jaw-bruising intensity he meets you with. His free hand comes up to knot in your hair, knotting the hair around his fist and tugging roughly. You whimper at the pain that follows. He tilts your head back when he pulls away, forcing you to stare up at him. Your throat bobs as you swallow nervously, breathing heavily with swollen lips.

“If you promise to behave, I might let you come tonight,” he offers, the tempting compromise coated with the sickly-sweet warning of what happens if you don’t cooperate. 

To be fair, you’d brought this upon yourself after taunting Jake about treating you like a damsel in distress. You’d spit out some sarcastic comment about him needing to take care of you in battle when you were perfectly capable of protecting yourself. His short response was enough to shut you up— They touch you, I kill them. The simple statement had you embarrassingly wet, more than you would admit to yourself.

“Come up here,” Jake instructs, guiding you to straddle his lap with his hand still knotted in your hair. You settle with your thighs on either side, your throbbing pussy pressed directly onto his erection. You shift your weight, bringing your hands up to hold the side of his face. You stroke your fingertips across the slight stubble that’s grown in, and he tilts his head to the side as he watches you. He finally releases your hair to tug at the bottom of your sweater. “Let’s get this off, hmm?” He lifts it over your head and sets it aside, leaving you in your bralette and jeans. He undoes the back of the bra with deft fingers, tossing it aside as well. 

Jake lowers his mouth against your chest, sucking at your skin with his hands pressed against your back to hold you still. Your fingers lace through his hair, tightening as his teeth knick the skin. “Shame I can’t mark you up anymore,  I liked seeing the proof of who you belong to,” he utters, moving up to drag your mouth back to yours. 

You love Steven and Marc to death, and you adore the life you’ve built with them. You hate thinking about the fact that Jake unquestionably owns part of you, one you won’t let out to Marc or Steven, no matter how much reassurance they give you. Part of you that craves Jake’s sadistic nature, the joy he takes in dishing out pain, and the addictive pleasure you get from being on the receiving end of it. There’s something about the aggression the both of you let out, the cathartic release following the wild and feral fucking you have with Jake compared to the mind-numbing orgasmic bliss you get from Marc and Steven. 

You roll your hips against his, basically dry humping his lap with your jeans still on. “No,” he snaps, immediately removing you from your place in his lap to press you against the red leather of the seats. He kneels to undo the zipper of your jeans, ripping them down your legs and tossing them to the floor. He doesn’t bother to remove your underwear, pushing the fabric to the side to delve two still-gloved fingers inside you.

You moan instinctively, grabbing the headrest of the seat behind you with one hand and digging your fingers into his curls with the other. Seeing Jake on his knees for you is a rare occurrence, one you embrace greedily when you get the opportunity. He stares up at you with his fingers still inside you, stroking in and out of you in the adept manner he’s perfected. “I’ll give you one freebie,” he offers with a hint of condescension. “One sweet little orgasm, and we’ll see after that. Depends on how good you’re willing to be for me.”

You nod vigorously, soaked pussy clenching around his two thick, skillful fingers. The lewd, echoing sounds of your wetness echo through the car, and you sink your fingers further into his hair and pull hard. He snarls at you, pulling out his fingers to completely shred off the panties you had on. The split fabric falls to the ground as he drops his head, mouth closing around your clit as his gloved fingers sink back into your dripping cunt. 

“Oh, fuck, fuck—” Your back arches, hips lifting to meet each movement of his fingers, his tongue strumming your clit in the way that drives you fucking insane. You’re almost entirely sure your eyes roll back as he works you towards your rapidly approaching orgasm, chanting his name. “Jake—”

“That’s right, angel. That’s fuckin’ right.” He closes his mouth around your clit and sucks hard, and you fall apart at the seams. Two minutes. That’s how long it takes for you to come from the excruciatingly blissful fucking stimulation of his tongue, leaving you pressing your palm to your mouth to smother the sob you let out. Part of you is mortified that he managed to make you come so quickly. Jake drags his tongue up through your soaked folds, swallowing your cum with a moan. “Taste so fucking good every time. Better than candy,” he muses, a breath away from your cunt with his fingers still inside of you. 

“Christ, you’re such a fucking pervert.” You pull roughly at his hair. 

He groans low in his throat, spreading your thighs further. “Mmm. Maybe.” He looks up at you, smiling arrogantly as your body jolts under his gloved touch. “But I think you like it, don’t you, angel?”

“Oh, fuck off.” Everything in you is itching to get a reaction from him, to goad him into tossing you around like he typically does. This painfully slow teasing isn’t fucking enough with him. “Are you gonna fuck me, or just sit down there?” He doesn’t respond, instead of taking a slow drag of your wetness into his mouth with closed eyes. 

You kick at his shoulder enough to jostle him back, and his hand immediately slaps the side of your thigh, gripping the flesh roughly as he drags you toward him. Your eyes widen, face flushed as he leans over you now. “So you’re gonna be a fuckin’ brat now? Couldn’t just ask nicely?” 

You know he doesn’t mean it, not really. Something in Jake is constantly itching for a fight, for something rougher and harsher, and he loves the way you push him for it. He’d rather let you lash out with anything you’re holding in, give you that opportunity to spill out any frustration you have. He likes letting you fight him for it, and he knows how much you enjoy it when he forces you to submit. You know exactly which buttons of his to press to get the reactions you want, how to get him to snap and use you so violently that you’re begging to come through tears. You both need it, both need the anger and roughness that builds up to your release, leaving you gasping for oxygen and clutching at him. 

You shove at his shoulder with your hands this time, eyes narrowed. “Fuck you, Jake.” Come on. Snap, already. 

“Fuck me?” He shakes his head, amused at your outburst. “No, baby.” He grips your jaw as he stands over you now, slipping his soaked, gloved fingers into your mouth. “Suck.” You lock your eyes onto his and bite down slowly, watching his jaw tick. Jake forces his fingers in further until they hit the back of your mouth, far enough that you feel yourself gag. “I said fucking suck.” His fingers are buried to the base, crescent-moon adorned knuckles against your lips. 

There he is. You nod slowly, eyes watering. He patiently waits for you to lick your own cum from the rich, dark leather with your tongue, his head tilted ever so slightly to the side. Eventually, he withdraws his fingers and you gasp in a breath, your chest heaving. “Thank you,” you whisper out, eager to take everything he has to offer. 

Jake strokes your hair back, the tender movement punctuated by the lock of his fingers into your hair again. He gives it a rough tug, and you can’t hide the pitiful moan it draws out of you. “You think you deserve to ride my cock, baby?” 

Jake allowing you to ride him was a selfish pleasure you would normally beg him for, getting on your knees to take him down your throat. “Yes, please, I wanna feel you—” You rush out the words, staring up at him with pleading eyes. 

He ponders this for a moment. “How bad do you want it?”

Fuck. He wants you to beg again. The notion twists your insides, and you drop to shaking knees as he seats himself where you’d previously been. Your fingers make quick work of his belt, then tug his slacks down so they rest at his ankles. Your gaze flashes to the belt and back to him, a minuscule moment anyone else would brush away as coincidence. Jake knows you better than that. 

He reaches to grab the belt, still in his dark boxer briefs and a button down shirt with the tie loosely knotted around his neck. He wraps the belt around his fist, leaning forward to tower over you even while seated. “What’s got you lookin’ at the belt, baby?”

Deny deny deny. “The uh, craftsmanship is really something, was it expensive, or—?” The weak lie hangs in the air, and he shakes his head. 

“Can’t help you feel good if you don’t tell me what you want from me,” he reminds you, his knuckle coming under your chin to lift his gaze to yours. 

You take a sharp breath. “I want it around my neck.”

One thick eyebrow quirks up, a lazy half-smile gracing his features. “You want me to fuck your throat with this belt—” He holds his belted fist in front of your gaze, watching the way your eyes grow wide. “—around your pretty neck?” You nod slowly, and he drops your face to unwrap the belt from his hand. He unbuttons his shirt, tossing it aside. Painfully slow, he loops the belt around your neck, not buckling it but leaving the end out for him to grip. It’s tight enough to keep you aware of its presence, but not tight enough to hurt. 

You reach for his underwear, pulling them off to wrap your hands around his throbbing cock. He grits out a swear, tightening his hold on the end of the belt. You look up at him through your lashes as you lower your mouth onto him, struggling to force the girth and length of his cock as far into your mouth as you can. The head hits the back of your throat, and you feel tears spring to your eyes at the feeling. It’s at this moment, gagging loudly around him with your fingers clutching his thighs that he decides to tighten the loop around your neck. You instantly feel the press of the leather against your skin, and you try to swallow instinctively. 

You can’t move, held down against him as he slowly begins to fuck your throat, using the belt around your neck as a directive pressure. With each slow roll of his hips into your mouth, the belt tightens, and the dizzying hold forces salty tears to drip down your cheeks. The casual movements of his thrusts have you pressing your legs together in arousal, feeling your wetness still dripping down your thighs from his mouth on you earlier. You moan against him, and the vibration has his hold on the belt closing in further. 

“Taking my cock so well, angel,” Jake murmurs, looping the end of the belt around his fist to drag you further down. Your shoulders shudder in response to the deeper angle of his cock down your throat, until eventually you squeeze your eyes shut and tap at his knee twice. He lets you up quickly and you gasp for breath, a mix of drool and precum staining your lips and chin. You look up at him sweetly, your cheeks stained with the mascara you had on, leaving dark streaks under your eyes. 

He smiles, wiping away the smeared makeup with his thumb before gripping your chin. “Pretty little thing, such a good fucking girl for me, hmm?” Your spirited nod has his grin widening further. “Wait right here,” he instructs, standing up to reach through the partition screen to the front seat. When his hand returns, he has his gloved hands wrapped around his gun. The sight of it has your breath quickening, your fingers digging into your knees. Oh, hell. He knows. He always knows.

Jake turns the pistol over in his hand, emptying the barrel and dropping the bullets to the ground. “You know, I see the way you look at this,” he says nonchalantly, waving the gun in front of your face. Your eyes follow the movement from side to side, breathing hitching. “And while I love how good that pretty throat of yours feels…” He drops the gun to rest against your lips, leaning forward. “I would love it more if you did the same for this.”

You drag your tongue across the underside of the barrel, You close your mouth around the barrel of the gun, sucking slowly, the same way you had with his cock. His breath audibly hitches as your tongue grazes the finger around the trigger. He murmurs something in Spanish, watching your eyes flutter as you hollow your mouth around the cold metal. 

“So fucking dirty for me, ready to suck my gun off just so you can ride my cock, huh?” You wrap your fingers around his wrist as you allow him to fuck your mouth with the gun, humming softly around the cold metal. It has you sopping wet, your thighs slick with arousal the more you try to press them together. While you know it’s not loaded, the chamber is completely empty, the click of the safety coming off has you pulling it deeper into your mouth without thinking. It’s instinctive, a feral part of you that loves the risk. He swears, tightening his hold on the belt while forcing the gun further into your mouth. “You’d let me do this to you even if it was loaded, wouldn’t you?”

You think about it for a moment— Would you? The belt around your throat tightens, and you moan loudly in response. You would. You definitely would. You pull back, staring at the way your spit glistens on the barrel of the gun. “Would do it for you. Always.” 

Jake tosses the gun aside, pulling you up on his lap, using the belt to guide you. “Of course you would.” His voice is laced with smugness, knowing damn well the hold he has on you. “Come kiss me, baby.”

You lean forward, kissing him with a smile. You sigh into his mouth as his tongue works yours, his fingers reaching to lace through your hair again. “I want—” You whisper the words against his lips. “—I want to ride you. Please?”

He bucks his hips up against you, feeling the way you glide across the length of his cock. He whistles, bringing his free hand down to smack your ass roughly. “Fuck, you’re wet. You liked when I fucked your mouth with my gun that much?” You nod as you continue to kiss him, grinding down against his cock again with a whimper. “Such a good listener,” he mocks, removing the belt from around your neck. “You’re so wet for me, angel.”

You lift yourself up slightly, reaching beneath you to line up his cock with your entrance. You ease down onto his cock gradually, savoring the painful stretch that accompanies his length each time he fucks you. You wrap your arms around his neck, burying your face in his shoulder with a muffled cry as he fills you to the hilt. His hand is pressed against your back, the other gripping your hip as you grind down. 

“Fuck, baby. Take my cock so well each time.” His hips jerk up, eliciting a sharp gasp from you into his ear. He slowly works you up and down, feeling the way you clench around him messily with each slow thrust. “That’s right, angel, ride my cock. Come on.”

You whimper again, your fingers lacing through his curls as you pull him closer, chest to chest. The windows have fogged up, and the heat and intensity has you clutching at him for dear life. You bite your bottom lip hard enough that the metallic taste of blood fills your mouth, your tongue darting out to swipe it away. Jake’s eyes drop to your swollen lip, darkening. His mouth closes around yours, drawing your bottom lip into his mouth and sucking gently. You whine at the vulgarity of it, the filthy nature of the action. He pulls back to grip your face, admiring how glassy and hooded your eyes look as you at him in your fucked-out state. 

Jake kisses behind your ear, his voice low. “You wanna know a secret, angel?” At your brisk nod, he continues while fucking up into you. “I think I should fill up these pretty holes of yours, then buy you a cute little plug so you can walk around still feeling my cum fucked into you all day.” He gropes at your ass roughly, and you clench around him at the visual he’s painted for you, fingers  into his hair. “You want that? Or maybe I’ll just let it leak out of you, buy you a pretty dress, and let it drip down your legs when we eat dinner. Somewhere nice.” He slaps your ass hard enough that it burns before caressing the flesh with his palm. 

You press your face further into Jake’s shoulder with a broken moan, fingers digging into the muscles of his upper arms. “Fuckfuckfuck.” 

“You wanna know something else?” He spanks you again, and you’re sure that you’re going to have a blistered red handprint on the skin once he’s done with you. “I think we should leave Steven and Marc a little surprise, let them know I’m here. And that you’re mine, no matter how well they might fuck you when I’m not around to take care of this pretty little cunt.” You shudder in a breath as he reaches for his phone. “You wanna film something for them to find?”

Fuck, you shouldn’t. You shouldn’t be doing this in the first place, fucking Jake without them knowing. But as much as you try to deny it, to yourself and to Jake, the idea has you clamping down around his cock. The thought of filming yourself getting utterly fucking ruined by Jake in ways they couldn’t imagine makes you heady with pleasure, your heart racing with the thrill of it. 

Slowly, you nod, and he beams at you proudly. “That’s my girl, so good. My pretty little whore, huh? So willing to take my cock that you’ll do anything for it.” You should deny it, spit back some comment about how you were Marc and Steven’s before Jake, but you can’t get the words out. 

He fucks up into you, hard, and you cry out at the full feeling it creates. He eases you onto your back on the seats, still inside of you as he clicks open the camera app. You hear the faint beep as the camera starts, and you stare up at Jake. He holds the phone above you, making sure to get a good view of his cock sinking in and out of you, drenched in your wetness. “So wet for me, huh?” He muses, his palm splayed out across your stomach. You’re so pleasure-drunk from this new deeper angle that you can only moan, head tipped back against the cushioning of the seat. 

Your hands frantically search for something to hold onto, anything, until you finally settle on wrapping your fingers around the bottom of the seat. Are you going to fucking pass out? You might pass out. 

“No,” Jake snaps, fingers gripping your jaw roughly and forcing your gaze to his. “You fucking look at me.” The hand on your jaw slides down ever so slowly, tightening around your throat. Your eyes flutter with your moan, head tipping back against the cushioned seat.

“Jake, I’m close,” you whimper out, voice broken as you use your free hand to rub your clit, nudging his thumb out of the way.

“Oh, you’re close? You wanna come, baby?” His voice drips with false sympathy, and he presses his palm down against your lower stomach and oh fuck—

“Oh fuck, please, I’m gonna come, Jake. I need to come, please—” The pressure of his hand against your stomach and your fingers vigorously circling your clit have your hips arching against him as he hits a spot that has your eyes nearly crossing. 

“You know, the more you beg the more fun this is for me. You get so fucking desperate, it’s cute.” Jake slams into you harder and you almost sob, pulling your fingers away from your clit to cover your face. He brushes your hands away, groping roughly at one of your breasts and making sure to tilt the camera at your face. “Stop hiding, angel, show them how fucking pretty you look coming for me.”

“But you said—”

“I know, I didn’t say you could yet, did I?” He drops his own hand to rub at your clit, and the noise you make is broken and pitched. 

“Please, Jake, this isn’t fair—”

“Since when have I ever been fair?” He laughs at that, and your stomach twists with a painful mix of embarrassment and arousal. Jake keeps you like that until you’ve lost track of time, teetering on the edge of an orgasm each time before he yanks you back seconds before you come. You cry out, fist hitting the seat with frustration as he draws back to laugh at your desperation. “This is just sad, baby, don’t you wanna come?”

Your chest heaves as you gasp for breath, struggling to maintain your hold on your sanity and the world around you. “Please, fuck, please.”

“On your knees.” You quickly roll to prop yourself on your hands and knees, arching your ass up in the air so he can slip inside you easily. He passes you the still-filming phone and with your shuddering hands, you prop it against the door of the car. The all-encompassing angle shows off your arched back and blissed-out expression, complete with Jake’s arrogant grin as he fucks you into submission. “Go on, pretty baby.” Jake’s use of Marc’s nickname has you whining louder, attempting to press your face into the seats. 

He leans forward, hand fixed on your jaw to face you towards the camera and reflect your  glassy-eyed stare on the screen. “Show them how fucking filthy you are for me, my pretty little whore.” He allows his gloved hand slips past your lips again and presses down on your tongue. “Come on,” he says mockingly. “Smile for the camera, baby.” You’re drooling around his fingers, watching the spit drip onto the seats through hazy eyes. Eventually, he pulls away and you gasp, reaching back for something to hold onto.

Instead, he pins both of your wrists to the small of your back with one hand, using the other to press your face into the leather of the seats. You sob brokenly into the leather, squirming to arch back against him and feel him deeper. “Moremoremore please—” 

You press your hips back, and he reaches forward to grip your hair and yank you back. Your back is now flush against his chest, his hand slipping up your chest to grip your throat. You moan at the feeling, your head tipping back further. “Fuck, Jake—” 

“Louder, angel. Let them know who you fuckin’ belong to,” Jake sneers, teeth knicking at the shell of your ear. You shudder as his free hand reaches to rub your clit, hard enough that your entire body spasms. 

“Jake—” Your voice is raw as you reach behind you to grab the back of his neck. “Jake, I’m gonna come—”

He scoffs. “Oh?”

You nod quickly. “Please, I need to—”

He pulls his fingers from your clit to slap your ass, his teeth sinking into your shoulder. The combination has your body melting against him, barely held together by his touch. “No.” He snarls out the word, his grip on your throat tightening. “Don’t you dare. Don’t you dare fucking come.” 

You’re barely holding on by a thread, your ability to think straight completely blurred beyond recognition. “Come in me? Please, I want to feel you, I want to come with you, please—” You’re in tears at this point, begging desperately for the release he’s continually denied you.

“Mmm, no. But your begging is so sweet that I might consider it.” He reaches behind him, still keeping you pressed against his chest, and you hear the click of the safety of his gun. The blood rushes to your cheeks, and you clamp down around him as he forces your head back down to the cushion.

Jake holds the gun against the back of your head, and the cold metal is still wet from your spit against your scalp. “Bet they’re gonna hear how wet you get with a gun to your head, baby.” Your wetness is obscenely loud, echoing through the back seat as he fucks you open, his cock nearly splitting you in half. He rubs the opening of the barrel against your split lower lip, coaxing your mouth open. Obediently as ever, you draw the barrel into your mouth, sucking in the same slow, measured manner you had done with his cock earlier. “You think they’re gonna jerk off to this later, watching you come with my gun in your mouth? How soft that pretty face of yours gets when you come for me?”

You whimper around the barrel of the gun, nodding as your eyes flutter. “Jake, ‘m gonna come,” you mumble, beginning to go limp in the seats as he grips your hips. 

He tosses the gun aside once again and leans his head down to kiss the back of your neck, making direct eye contact with the camera as he smiles. You’re barely functioning, entirely cock-drunk on the feeling of how well he fills you with each deep stroke. “I know, baby,” he purrs, running a hand up and down your back. He grips your face to turn you towards the camera. 

Your eyes are hooded, makeup smeared under your eyes from the brutally blissful torment Jake’s inflicted upon you. You whisper out a soft “Fuck, Jake…” as he fucks into you harder, brushing your hair to the side to you make eye contact with him through the screen. Your eyes go a little wider, transfixed by the repetitive action of him thrusting into you so fucking deep that your toes curl. Your back is no longer arched in the air, and he continues to fuck you into the seats with his hands gripping the flesh of your ass almost angrily. Your dreamy stare remains locked on the camera as he pulls you back to meet each stroke. 

“You want me to fill you up, angel? Breed this pretty little pussy?” Jake’s hand comes down on your ass so hard that you let out a cry, eyes rolling back. Your stomach lurches the way it does when you reach the top of a coaster, seconds before you drop. You hang there, breath caught in your throat as you wordlessly wait for him to give you the permission you so badly crave. “Go on,” he whispers, placing a soft kiss behind your ear. “Come for me, angel.” 

You break. Instantly. You come undone sobbing Jake’s name into the seats, begging him to come inside you and wreck you. You feel his hips stutter to a halt, pressing himself pressing as deeply inside of you as he can, buried to the hilt. You feel the twitch of his cock inside of you, eyes lazily focused on his reflection in the camera. His head is tipped back, jaw tense as he exhales heavily, moaning. 

Jake plants a kiss on the top of your head before switching off the video, pulling out of you to settle you into his lap. “Did so good for me, baby,” he murmurs against your shoulder, tracing his fingers up and down your back. You’re slumped against him, trying to force your lungs to breathe properly and for your heart to stop beating in your ears.

﹏

Marc stares at the phone in awe, the sounds of your cries in his ears as he watches the video. Neither he nor Steven had filmed it, and neither recognized the red leather seats of the car or the fogged-up tinted windows. It wasn’t him. It wasn’t Steven. But it was you, splayed out and sobbing for release. Your pitiful whines as you grip the seats echo in his head, watching as you press your head further back against the gun, the way you drool around his fingers. 

“Smile for the camera, baby.”  

Beside him, your soft breaths fan your hair against the pillow, looking so sweet and gentle as you sleep. Marc’s eyes flicker back to the video, to the gun in your mouth and the dazed look in your eyes as you begged. 

I can’t believe that’s her, Steven whispers, and he blinks slowly again. It’s their face, their body, but not them. She looks so… 

“Wrecked?” Marc offers the word, voice hoarse as he stares at your makeup-smeared eyes and your tongue stroking at the hilt of the gun’s barrel.

Jake, Jake, Jake, Jake, Jake. The name rings in their ears, and Marc can’t help but slide down his pants to grip his cock, watching your lust-drunk state as Jake utterly ruins you in front of the screen. 

“You think they’re gonna jerk off to this later, watching you come with my gun in your mouth?” 

They do exactly that as they wait for you to wake up.

#i can’t. i can’t #this is #christ #oh my god #i know ive been inactive but this was enough to get me back on this side blog i am about to spontaneously combust #im going to hell for being completely utterly obsessed with this #and i will be glad for it #fic recs

[solemnly-mischievous]

hello everyone! this has me DEAD

Okay okay okay okay

THIS HAS BEEN ON MY MIND FOR A WHILE

Imagine railing sub!Matt and he is just whimpering underneath you and shaking and you're teasing him while he is cuffed and you're teasing him so much and he would give anything to touch you because he can feel smell and taste how soft and sweaty your skin is but he can't touch you and it starts to frustrate him. So because he is a switch, Dom!Matt starts getting angrier and more frustrated through to process so while you're riding him he breaks the fucking cuffs to touch you and takes control over you before you can even realize what's happening you're flipped over on your stomach and his hand is on the back of your neck pressing it down into the mattress. And he fucks you from behind so hard that he permanently dips the mattress on the spot where he pounded the life out of you and there is a disturbing amount of scars on your back and shoulders. And all you can do is cry and shiver into the mattress.

I am not sorry

chanting

SWITCH MATT SWITCH MATT SWITCH MATT

porn under the cut bestie gn reader no description of body parts other than matt being inside you, y'all already know how it is also this ends awkwardly bc i never know how to end it but alas enjoy

"what a pretty boy matthew," you purr, rolling your hips over his again to hear the broken sound it pulls from deep in his chest. his face is flushed, tears building in his eyes until they fall down his cheeks. you lean down to brush them off gently, moving further down until you can croon directly into his ear, "all tied down, being so good matty."

you can hear the jingle of metal that's hooked into his bed frame on both sides, latched around his wrists to keep him still. nipping at his earlobe causing his whimper to catch in his throat and his eyes flutter shut under the unforgiving waves of pleasure that threaten to drown him under you.

"please," he chokes out, his mouth chasing after yours when you sit back up, desperate for a kiss. you can't help but oblige when he looks like this, red and teary and needy all for you. when you finally pull back, unfortunately you can't help the small laugh either, at seeing him so thoroughly broken under just your touch and words.

"pretty boy can't do anything but take it, huh?" your words are mean despite the sickly sweet tone and matt lets out a loud whine in response as you continue your movements above him. your own pleasure builds at the feeling of him stretching you out, slow ministrations adjusting until he's hitting you just right and stars flare up behind your closed eyes as you throw your head back with a gasp.

there's no warning aside from a loud crack on either side of him and your eyes fly open too late. his hands are on you faster than you can figure out what's going on, only catching the quick gleam of metal swinging empty where his wrists just were. once he has you under his touch, it's only one strong snap of his hips up into yours, your loud moan and he's got you flipped before you can say a word.

"aw sweetheart, wanna talk about taking it? let's see how well you fare," his voice is low and threatening, sending a shock through you that melts your brain dipping down into incoherence. matt leans down this time, slipping his tongue into your mouth for a messy kiss that takes all your breath with him when he pulls back. one last kiss, short and sweet before he flips you again until your face is pressed into the pillow below you and he bucks into you roughly, reentering you without pause.

the room is filled with your muffled broken noises that fall from your lips, his skin meeting yours as he sets a brutal pace, lips trailing along your back to nip and bite at your shoulders, marking you as he goes. he grunts in your ear, whispering a few words, "good, taking me so good baby,"

your garbled mess of words is unrecognizable but you can feel the sweet smile that graces his lips still pressed to your skin. matt's hot tongue laps along the marks that litter your back, and you can feel your eyes roll into the back of your head. matt finally slows down, grinding until all he's hitting is the spot that makes you cry.

words tumble from you broken soft pleas that only spur matt on, hand moving to wind into your hair and pull until you're lifted off the bed enough that he can finally hear you. nothing but, "please, matty, oh god, please, please, ma-tty."

"aw look at you, using your pretty words to try to get your pretty little way. i'm gonna use you and ruin you the way i know you need." he picks the pace back up, unrelenting until every thrust has the top of your head bumping into the wall behind your shared bed, not that you notice. not with drool pooling on the silk below you, or tears streaming down your face, your back arching to get as much of him as he'll give.

and he gives.

soft grunts and growls of affection and praise pour from him as he does exactly what he promised, head tucking into your neck to suck at the skin, pulling bruises to fruition.

"cum in me, cum in me, cum in me," the words are barely more than a prayer, gasped out to the god above you, falling instead on a sinners ear who's more than happy to provide.

matt grins above you, hands framing your hips. his voice is condescending in a way that swears to give you what you ask, "want me to fill you up, sweetheart? wanna feel me for days? i can fix that until you can't even think about anyone but me."

#fic recs #ezra you’ve done it again #switches switching in the middle of a scene…..that’s some good shit

[solemnly-mischievous]

i've emerged from an inadvertent hiatus just to reblog this because i read this last night and i have not stopped thinking about it. the tension?? the banter?? frank fucking castle??? matt murdock???? "starving." holy shit i all but GASPED. this is a work of fucking art do yourself a favor and read it, reblog it, bookmark, engrave it onto your soul

sacrilege

Frank Castle x f!reader x Matt Murdock

A/N: it took precisely 27 seconds of me watching them yell at each other to start writing whatever the fuck kind of mess this is. This is so unbelievably self indulgent and filthy, I should be ashamed of myself… but I’m not. Enjoy!

Summary: You get tag teamed and walk away full of cum. I don’t know what else to say 🤷🏼‍♀️

Word count: 6.1k (jesus)

Warnings: Swearing, brief violence, SMUTTTT 18+ ONLY light knife use/play, thigh humping, voyeurism, rough handling, a slice of degradation, praise kink, choking, biting, scratching, a clit smack or two, finger sucking and a purposeful gag, vaginal fingering, spitting, oral sex (f), unprotected p in v sex, use of belt around the neck, masturbation (m), creampies, brief cum eating, reader will need some pain relief, a hot bath and a big sleep after this tbh

———

He’s infuriating.

He’s infuriating, and yet, you just can’t leave it alone. You push, and push, and push, until the inevitable snap comes and you get a taste of the Punisher, rough and unforgiving as he all but slams you into the wall, thick forearm pressing against your throat and a finger in your face in warning.

“Stay out of my business next time.”

You squirm, glaring heartedly up at him. “Oh you are such a fucking dick! I was only trying to help! Fuck you!”

“Watch your mouth when you’re talkin’ to me—”

“Yeah? Or what?” You shove at his chest, “Or what, Castle?”

Keep reading

#fic recs #matt murdock

[solemnly-mischievous]

the seven stages of matt murdock’s jealousy

Pairing: Matt Murdock x Reader

Summary: a step-by-step explanation of matt murdock’s jealousy

Warning: none!

Note: this concept is funny in my head and hopefully not only funny in my head too. i have the feeling matt can (and will) be a little bit petty when he is jealous.

1. Curiosity

“How can I help you tonight?”

Your soft, polite laugh was the first thing he picked up amidst the crowded bar. Matt tapped his feet on the sticky floor gently, humming half-heartedly at the conversation exchanged between Karen and Foggy, mind long gone focusing on the sound of your voice.

“I’m thinking of having a cocktail tonight. Any recommendations?”

“I think I have a few,” the bartender replied. Young man, probably in his late 20s or early 30s. Incredibly confident too. “Can I catch your name?”

“Y/N.”

“Beautiful name for a beautiful person.”

Matt raised his eyebrows to his hairline and took a swig of his beer. The sound of your giggle though, bubbly and delighted, was the one that tugged the corner of his lips downwards.

“Oh, look at that,” Karen’s voice was nothing but excited. She nudged Foggy gently. “I think the cute bartender is flirting with Y/N.”

Foggy inched closer to the table, craned his neck to get a better look at the said event unfolding across the room. “Ah,” there was a smile in his voice. “Definitely flirting.”

“What?” Matt tilted his head. “What’s going on?”

“Sssh!” Karen waved a dismissive hand. “Oh my God!”

“What?” Matt demanded.

“Sly bastard,” Foggy barked a laugh. “He pulled a cheap party trick on them!”

Karen let out a soft giggle. “I think it’s cute, though. Oh, by the way, the cute bartender pulled a magic trick where he sort of pulled a lime from behind their ear,” Karen turned around to face him. “Like out of nowhere. It’s impressive, though. I’ve only seen those with coins.”

Matt took another swig of his beer, drowning out any more questions that started to form on his tongue when his friends let out another round of delighted squeal. Karen was the most excited out of the two of them, he suspected something with the way you giggling girlishly had something to do with that.

2. (Feigned) Indifference

You walked back into the table with a notable skip on your steps. Foggy and Karen cheered when they finally caught a clear glimpse of you with a cocktail in hand, and immediately scooted themselves to make room for the star of the night.

Matt took a huge swig of his beer as you sat next to him, the overwhelming smell of your new perfume—unfamiliar but not unwelcome, and definitely good—filled his lungs to the brim.

“I see someone managed to catch some attention tonight,” Karen teased with a smile.

You choked out a laugh. “He was just being polite,” you shook your head, your earring jingling softly with your movement. “And put out a show.”

“With that party trick?” Foggy asked incredulously. “He’s hitting on you!”

“Nobody is hitting on anybody, okay!” you insisted stubbornly. “He’s entertaining a customer and that’s it.”

Matt tilted his head, a soft rustling sound caught his attention. He furrowed his eyebrows slightly, tried to tune out some overlapping noises to catch another fleeting moment of the foreign noise.

He shook his head and frowned. Another party trick. “You might want to check the bottom of your glass,” Matt jerked his chin towards your glass.

“What? What’s in there?” you inhaled sharply. Your heartbeat spiked momentarily, then being replaced with a slight skip and accompanied by a burst of breathy laughter. “Oh damn. He slips his number.”

“Oh damn,” Karen teased.

“I guess you can say love is in the air,” Matt muttered, earning a round of laughter from his friends.

3. Irritability

Matt felt like he was going to lose his mind any moment now.

The sound of soft buzzing and obnoxious typing filled every wall of the office, followed by either a humming sound or a breathy chuckle, both obnoxious and unnecessary. It chimed every now and then within ten-minute intervals, and by the time the lunch break rolled, it quickly devolved into three-minute intervals.

Matt sighed quietly into his palm. He ignored the sound of paper rustling underneath the weight of his elbows pressed into it, his finger nudging up his glasses to pinch the bridge of his nose.

Tap. Tap. Tap, tap, tap. Tap.

He gritted his teeth and shut his eyes, mentally counting backward from ten. The sound sneaked and rattled his skull like a loud chime of a bell, and he was positive the sound of ten cars honking right on his ears would be a lot more merciful than this.

A soft, brief knock on the door made him jump.

“You guys don’t happen to see where the stapler goes, do you?” Karen peeked her head through the crack of the door. She darted her eyes and fixed her gaze on him. “Matt? Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” he answered through gritted teeth.

“Do you need Tylenol? I think we have some laying around somewhere.”

“No, I’m good.”

You perked your head up from your phone, probably for the first time today. “I think Foggy was the last one who used it.”

“I’ll check with him,” Karen sighed. “Are you texting the cute bartender from last week?”

Matt held the urge to roll his eyes and smoothen the paper against his desk, the small bumps of braille tickled his skin.

“Yeah,” You giggled. It made his skin crawl. “Do you wanna grab lunch together, by the way? I’ll help you find the stapler.”

Karen clicked her tongue cheekily. “Only if you tell me everything.”

You stood from your seat eagerly and grabbed your purse. Your phone buzzed again—probably from the bartender—the sound muffled while being shoved inside. If he had to listen to another buzzing sound for another minute, Matt swore he would do something. He didn’t know what. But something.

“You want to come with us?” You stopped right in front of his desk. You paused before adding, “Are you sure you’re—”

“Yes, I’m okay,” Matt interrupted hotly. “Also, no, thank you. I need to finish up for a little bit.”

You muttered a soft okay, hand patted his shoulder gently before you went. The thrilling sound of your voice talking about being asked on a date, mixed together with Karen’s loud gasp and excited squeal, fading away with a creak of the door closed behind. Matt groaned loudly and sunk into his seat lower, somewhat annoyed that the smell of your hand cream lingered on his shirt.

4. Denial

The smell of fresh-brewed coffee greeted him like a warm hug, calling his name softly like a lullaby lulling him to sleep. Matt sat straighter on his seat as Foggy slipped into the seat across him, coffee carefully balanced on his hands. He had been rambling on and on about the new hole-in-the-wall coffee shop he had spotted on his way home for ages, and he seized the occasion of visiting a client’s house as a perfect opportunity to drag Matt into his new favorite place.

Matt muttered a thank you and sipped his coffee. So far he had no complaint he could think about, not that he had many in the first place anyway.

“So,” Foggy started and rubbed his hands together. “We’ll take this case?”

Matt hummed. “Karen and Y/N already did some small background research, they’re already on board.”

“Cool,” Foggy said, his voice far away.

Matt raised a questioning eyebrow at that. He had a feeling that the case-related talk had not been what he intended.

“Do you wanna talk about it?”

Bingo.

“It?”

Foggy made a vague noise and gestures around. “Whatever has been going on lately, I don’t know,” he shrugged. “To be very honest with you, you looked like someone whose dog had been stolen and about to pull John Wick anytime soon.”

“Who?”

“Nevermind,” Foggy sipped his coffee and shook his head. “My point is, I know you and I know when you’re bottling up something. You know you can talk to me about anything, right?”

Matt let out a confused chuckle. “I appreciate it, really. But I’m fine.”

“No, because ever since we—” Foggy stopped abruptly and snapped his fingers. “Oh, I get it. I think I know what’s going on.”

“You do?”

“Matt Murdock, you’re jealous.”

Matt sputtered, nearly choked on his coffee. “I’m what?”

Foggy was practically bouncing on his seat now. “It makes sense. You’ve been walking around like you’re about to fight someone with a pencil ever since we went out for a drink and you always withdraw yourself from a conversation every time Nicholas is mentioned!”

“Nicholas?”

“The bartender.”

Matt huffed against the rim of his mug. “We’re on a first-name basis now?”

“See? That’s jealousy speaking,”

“Foggy,” Matt shook his head disapprovingly. “I’m not jealous.”

“I think you do.”

Matt let out a mirthless chuckle, one that pulled forcefully through his teeth before he could register it. “What? Why would I be jealous?”

Foggy shrugged. “I don’t know. Why would you?”

“I wouldn’t because I’m not.”

“Or maybe because you have a huge fat crush on Y/N?”

“I don’t have a crush on anyone, Foggy.”

“Anyone but them?”

Matt furrowed his eyebrows. “Anyone, especially them.”

“Okay, okay,” Foggy said in defeat, but the palpable humor in his voice betrayed him. “We’re descending to the fourth stage apparently. God, I can’t believe I miss out on the first three stages. Stage three should be obvious!” he clicked his tongue disappointedly. “Let’s just agree to disagree.”

5. Eventual Anger

He wasn’t jealous, okay?

It’s just stupid. Everyone around him hadn’t stopped talking about something something Nicholas, and Matt would just love to have a normal and lovely conversation without that said name mentioned every two sentences.

Matt fastened the muay thai ropes around his hands hastily, the ghost of his conversation with Foggy left him vexed.

It didn’t help that you were seemingly unable to resist the temptation of revolving the conversation around it, and Karen encouraging the conversation to flow out only made it worse. You and Karen would giggle and gasp and giggle and gasp like high school girls, tugging the corner of his lips downwards and downwards, deepening with each new topic.

And God helped him. You and Karen always managed to find a fresh topic about Nicholas somehow.

He stood up quietly and rested his hand against the smooth surface of the punching bag. Foggwell’s empty gym had been one of his constants, one he could always count on to not fail him when he needed it the most. It had met a failure tonight however when he was unable to grasp the peacefulness of an empty gym in the night like he usually did.

Matt felt bile rise in his throat. He landed a hard punch on a punching bag, rage sputtering out with every exhale and faltering with every inhale. He punched again, again, and again, with every fiery wrath course through his knuckles until the sound of the city faded behind and only his hitched breaths remained.

He landed a punch for every reminder of Nicholas-related conversation. He landed a punch for every reminder of your delighted laugh whenever his name was mentioned. He landed a punch for every reminder of the way your heart skipped a beat when your phone buzzed and another for every reminder of the sound of you typing on your phone. He landed a hard blow for the night when everyone went out for a drink together and a small blow for a creeping sting that slowly crawled to his chest.

Matt grabbed the swaying punching bag and rested his forehead against it. He inhaled sharply, trying to manage his breath after landing punches after another.

6. Brooding Contemplation

Matt wrapped his arms around himself loosely, his fingers clutched his sleeve until his knuckles turned white. The wind from the rooftop above amplified the busy sound of the city from below, hushes of conversations mixed together with the rumbling of engines.

He rocked himself on his heels, silently listening to the city bustling with life underneath him. Perhaps it would help him to silence voices inside his head—it had been loud since his last conversation with Foggy—and shoo away the reminder of someone being asked on a date.

“My, my,” Foggy’s voice came from behind, carried by the flutter of the wind. “Look what I found here.”

Matt turned his head towards him briefly and sighed. He grunted a greeting before pulling himself tighter, suddenly overcome with a desire to curl himself up into a ball.

“Everyone has been looking for you. You’re just sort of disappear.”

“Life is…” Matt made a vague gesture around him, ignoring Foggy’s word completely. “Sometimes I wonder if I was put here to endure suffering.”

Foggy coughed into his hand. “You’re spiraling faster than I thought.”

“What?”

“Welcome to stage six, my friend.”

Matt pursed his lips. “I feel like I’m doing a lot of things the wrong way and this is my punishment.”

“This is both hilarious and concerning,” Foggy shook his head. “Why don’t we go downstairs before they conduct a searching party for you? We can grab something to eat.”

7. Drastic Measures

Matt found you sat alone on your desk, unusually silent without your phone clutched on your hand—it still buzzed crazily like a swarm of bees—and instead a pen and a notebook opened in front of you.

“Hey,” you greeted him with a smile. “How are you?”

Matt rested his cane on the crook of his arm. “I’m good.”

“Has the night been kind to you?”

He caught the skittishness around the topic immediately. Matt smiled reassuringly. “As kind as it can get.”

“Alright. That’s cool,” you sighed in relief. “Because I’ve been going through days without you getting on my nerves, and that’s honestly concerning.”

Matt smirked and shook his head. “Miss me much?”

“Don’t get me wrong, I’ve been having the most peaceful days in my life,” you clicked your pen and closed the notebook with a soft thud.

“I hope you don’t plan on extending your peaceful week.”

“Eh, it does get boring after a while,” you shrugged with a grin. “I like to add some excitement by dealing with a menace in my life. I’m adventurous in that way.”

Matt snorted and poked you with the tip of his cane. “Excuse you, I’ve been told I’m a great company.”

“A great company to annoy you, sure.”

“One of my many talents,” Matt grinned slightly. He folded his cane and collapsed into a chair with a sigh. “So… you’re going on a date tomorrow?”

You hummed. “Supposedly.”

Matt balanced his cane on his lap silently, carefully threading through the tangle of his thoughts, and blurted out, “Don’t go on a date with him.”

That caught you off guard. “What?”

“Don’t go on a date with him.”

Silence stretched painfully for a while. “Why not?”

Matt pursed his lips. “Don’t…” he paused, words dying down on the edge of his tongue. “Just don’t.”

“Just don’t?”

“Just don’t,” Matt nodded quietly and whispered, “Please.”

You stared at him carefully, eyes scrutinizing him searching for answers hidden beneath the lines. You scoffed out a mirthless laugh after a while and started to gather your things scattered on your desk, carefully shoved them into your bag.

“I sort of wish you could provide a better answer than that,” you stood from your seat and chuckled mirthlessly again. “You know, I contemplate rejecting him. But since you stuck your nose up on my business, I’m tempted to say yes just to spite you.”

Matt raised an eyebrow. “Reject him? Why?”

You shrugged. “Turns out he’s not my type.”

“What’s your type then?”

“A fellow lawyer,” you tidied up a stack of paper and placed it gently on your desk. “Columbia law graduate preferred. Would be nice if he graduates with a summa cum laude too,” you slung your bag on your arm and sighed. “Well, I still have a date scheduled tonight with my bathtub. So I guess I’ll see you on Monday.”

Matt turned around slowly to follow the fading sound of your footsteps walking away from him. He raised an eyebrow and rested a hand against his cane before bolting out for the door.

#oh YES #the BANTER?? the MONOLOGUE?? #the characterization???? #yes yes yes #fic recs

[solemnly-mischievous]

holy fuck holy fuck im late to this but ezra your writing once again BLOWS ME AWAY it’s so good and?? the characterization??? this is by FAR my favorite matt characterization ive ever read. the way you describe his thoughts and inner conflict ESPECIALLY with foggy & karen… you’re gonna spoil us this is SO GOOD

newsflash asshole, chapter two || matt murdock

hey y'all here we go with chapter two!!! this is pretty sad so i just wanna give you guys a warning that there's some heavy descriptions and emotions in this chapter

this is chapter two of twenty five but don't worry our besties will finally interact in chapter three

words: just over 2k again

ao3 link

gif credit: @hiddlesisterhood

Touch starved– the absolute bare minimum way to describe Matt Murdock. There didn’t seem to be a word or term that fully encapsulated the way he longed for even the smallest of touches. Not that he would admit it, no the trademark Catholic guilt wouldn’t allow him to ever confess to something like desire. The way that guilt was stitched into every fiber of his being, sewn together at the seams.

That same way the hunger for connection was wired into his bones, sunken down in a place no one could get to, not even him. It ached– He ached– in a way far worse than any injury had ever hurt; those healed. They got better with time, with meditation, sometimes even medicine though he’d never admit to that either. Even when he tried, it never healed as much as he hoped, or needed. Stick. Elektra. They couldn’t fix him, couldn’t heal the Devil. Instead he opted to push everyone away, coming to terms with the fact that maybe he didn’t deserve to feel the warmth he so desired. Maybe the cost of the Devil, of his abilities, was that no matter how much he helped, he would always be on the outside looking in on what he loved.

The city, the people. The people.

He coped. Poorly, of course. Went to work. Nelson and Murdock Attorneys at Law, during the day and spent his nights as Daredevil fighting the few things he had even a modicum of control over. In the repetition was some peace, the monotony holding his mind together, luring him into auto pilot. Sleep, wake, work, change, work again. Again. Again.

It wasn’t all bad; there were times when he played Matt Murdock so well that he had fun for bits and pieces. Usually when he was with Foggy and Karen, he could let himself go for a bit. Keeping himself on a tight leash, but it still allowed him to drink, joke, even go so far as to make Karen teach him how to play pool. Staying up late working on cases at Josie’s with them was the closest he ever got to feeling whole.

It always made him freeze, touch, no matter where it came from. He always expected the worst and maybe that was the Devil’s fault, expecting it to hurt, knowing he deserved it. He’s sure it never showed, the slight tightening around his eyes when Foggy reached out to clap his shoulder over a solved case, when Karen leaned into his side grinning when a story finally cracked open under her touch, even the way Claire would mournfully brush her fingers around wounds she had sewn up. He didn’t let himself enjoy, but couldn’t stop the way his body reacted; canting towards everything, anything. He couldn’t avoid it either, not with Foggy as his best friend. Foggy, a man well renowned for being the kindest shining light of a person. Foggy loved in many ways, each one louder than the last, constantly giving pieces of himself without thought or hesitation. Someone who loved so deeply without fear of what it could do to him; someone who didn’t have to worry that the pieces of himself he gave were jagged, sharp, dangerous. Wrong.

The craving for touch that wormed its way under his skin couldn’t be trained out of him. He tried, like a dog with a shock collar. He tried to carve it out and when that didn’t work he prayed. Begged. Pleaded. Please, God. Every time they hung in the air suffocating him with no response.

So he fed the desire in the night. In the crunching of bone under his fists. In the throb of bruises that would be dark for days. The fight satiating as much of the urge as was possible. When his mind tried to remind him it wasn’t enough, he pushed. Pushed his body farther, running himself ragged along Hell’s Kitchen, hit harder, leaving himself open at times to be hit back just to feel something. Yet, the Devil was never satisfied, even when he quieted down, there was still the thrum in the back of Matt’s head, the thirst for action, only ever chained up.

In every rhythm he found there was always something to drag him out, to pull apart every piece of solid ground he ever stood upon. He’d tried time and time again to get better, to be better. Be a better man, a better lawyer, a better friend. Tried to fix what he always seemed to break, who he always seemed to break. In the aftermath of Foggy finding out his secret he’d become reckless and unruly, losing the only thing that ever tethered him to this world. But then they had worked through that, through tears and broken hearts, through broken promises and shattered hearts.

At the sight of what he could lose Matt tried again, opened himself up for connection, fought to be there and present. To love and be loved by Foggy and Karen, find his place in the world; lawyer by day Daredevil by night. It even started to work, his struggle to find land among oceans of guilt and self hatred, a tiny island of reprieve. Of family. Night’s spent at Josie’s playing pool once more, drinking and laughing into the late hours. Cases spent all crowded around one table, Karen taking notes while Foggy and Matt mock argued their way into perfecting speeches for court.

Difficult and consuming, but his heart ached with the new weight of allowed connection. Felt too heavy to be sitting in a chest once so hollowed out it had become the expectation. Then as all good things in Matt Murdock’s life, it ended. This time a little more dramatically than before, this time in a building collapsing on top of him, crushing him underneath his own failure.

He died.

He should have died.

It would have been better if he had died.

For him, for Foggy, for Karen.

Everyone.

That’s why he didn’t tell them, that’s why he told himself he didn’t tell them. Until Foggy did that thing that Foggy did best, and he relentlessly wormed his way back into Matt’s life. The endless dedication something Matt would never fully understand. Never really feeling worthy of the kind of love that Foggy gave, not deserving of the care in which Karen took of him. But where the voices in his head said that it was wrong- that he was wrong, his family once more, were louder.

The debt of his life returned to him again, held out in Foggy’s gentle hands, is one will not be able to repay. Not in full. So when Foggy and Karen ask the worst of him, he has no choice but to say yes.

“So, there’s this benefit on Saturday that Marci was talking to me about and I realized that we all got invited, so we should go.” Foggy’s words are meant to be casual, tossed over his shoulder as he brews another pot of coffee on Thursday morning. It’s not enough for Matt to not sniff out the trap, laid in the leaves on the trail ahead of him.

Except it’s Foggy, and despite every instinct in Matt’s body he can’t find it in himself to distrust Foggy. So he prods the earth in front of him, and continues down this path placed out. “Benefit?”

“Yeah, actually I heard a couple of my old friends will be there. It’ll be nice to see them again, what about you Matt, you in?” Karen, while a much better liar than Foggy, her words are still slightly off, almost forced. Alarm bells ring and flash in his head and Matt has to take a moment to actively work to shut them off, whatever scheme the two of them are obviously planning can’t be that bad. Not to mention he owes it to them to play along, after everything he’s put them through, if it'll make them happy for him to get dressed up and go be miserable at a party for one night, who is he to say no.

“I don’t have any other plans so I guess I’ll be dragged along,” he shrugs, thinking his assent will be the end of the conversation.

“You should wear that one suit, the tux,” Karen throws out, going back to the papers on her desk that had previously held her attention. In her words a better picture of what lay in store for him this weekend starts to form.

“Sure Karen, I’ll wear the tux.”

—

He regrets agreeing to this. Putting on the tux and getting ready, already dreading what lay in store for him tonight. It’s not helped by the way Karen immediately adjusts his bowtie the second she sees him, nor by Foggy’s barely contained energy, bouncing off the walls. It is a small gift, one he can easily give, and one that clearly makes them so happy. But God, does he not want to spend the night stiffly dressed doing pleasantries among people he couldn’t possibly be less interested in talking to.

He prepares for a night of schmoozing hopefully offset by at least half as much boozing if he has any say in it. Maybe drinking will be the way he makes it through this night, just drinking and hiding in a corner hoping everyone is willing to overlook the grumpy blind lawyer dragged along by his golden retriever friends.

“Wanna make this into a drinking game?” Foggy offers picking up on the nerves radiating off of Matt. All packed into a small cab wasn’t helping to calm himself, it felt stupid to be hesitant over a party.

“Foggy, that’s a terrible idea.” Karen reaches out to bat at Foggy’s arm, hands moving from where she had been fixing her hair. It dissolves into childish swinging of hands and giggles, the two of them had really solidified their friendship in the months that Matt had been missing.

“It might be a bad idea, but it sounds fun,” Foggy tosses back from the front seat, his voice almost a sing-song.

Karen knew the best way to shut this down, shoving Foggy’s shoulder to push him back into his seat from where he hung off halfway in the back. “If we get trashed at this benefit, Marci will be pissed.”

“Ugh, fine.”

Before the argument could continue the cab pulled up outside and Foggy handed over several bills quietly before the three of them climbed out. The air was crisp, the very beginning of fall around the corner curling around them. Matt could smell the storm coming, probably several hours off, the underlying buzz of thunder and lightning humming in the ground beneath him. It was his favorite part of his senses, storms, what had once been overwhelming was now some of his favorite sounds and smells. The clean smell of rain, the relaxing thrum on his roof, even the feel of energy wrapped all around him.

“Matt, come on, it won’t be that bad. Who knows, maybe there will be someone who’s not an annoying prick.”

Matt was pulled out of his thoughts by Foggy’s loud laugh, he turned to follow his friend's voice, Foggy wrapped his arm around Matt’s elbow to drag him the rest of the way in the doors.

“Yeah, well I really doubt that Fog,” he grumbles under his breath, the sounds and smells of the party already hitting him and he could feel an oncoming headache behind his temples. He felt Karen step up next to him and he tapped his cane in front of the three of them, hoping it’d ward off anyone thinking of saying ‘hello’.

“Foggy,” Karen whispers and Matt feels the air shift as she reaches behind his back to bat at Foggy’s arm once more, she certainly did a lot of hitting him, but Foggy never seems to mind. Matt is reminded of the way they brought the event up originally, that something underlying her tone again and is already irritated over whatever set-up he’s about to walk into led by his two closest friends.

#might be my favorite matt fic on tumble dot com #matt murdock #fic recs #if u haven’t read this yet what are u doing?? GO READ IT

[solemnly-mischievous]

in my completely unbiased and utterly fair opinion i think you should definitely post part two as soon as humanely possible

newsflash asshole, chapter one || matt murdock

i'm really really so anxious to post and start this it's my fucking baby and i'm so excited for it i just hope it lives up to the hype in my head and in all of yours too

this is chapter one of twenty five and it's just setup for reader

words: just over 2k

ao3 link

gif credit: @saradanversrogers

“One of these days that nose of yours is gonna get you into more trouble than you can handle.”

“I’m not so sure about that dad, I can handle anything.”

“I know you think so goose, but be careful.”

-

Maybe he had been right. This kind of job didn't lend itself to early nights, or stress free weekends. No, it had you staring at your laptop screen, that burned your eyes after all of these hours, six cups of coffee in at three in the morning. This was a job that had you so stressed you felt like pulling out your hair, and giving up at least twice every case. A job that frequently gave you four new questions for every answer. That had you digging so often you sometimes worried you wouldn’t realize until too late that your hard work was only for it to be your own grave.

There was an answer there, somewhere simmering under the surface, you could feel it. All it needed was just a little more, and it’d crack open under your touch. At least that's what you told yourself, justification for the past couple weeks run ragged. Hours and hours spent doing research online, tracking down people and stories and any clue you could possibly get your hands on. You know what he’d say if he could see you right now, eyes sunken in dark circles, surviving solely off way too much caffeine for one person, and spite.

“Goose, you can’t find anything with your eyes half closed.”

“Half closed, dad, what does that even mean?”

All of your hard work leading up to tonight, you had almost all the pieces by now, just missing one final one. A big one, and the picture would be complete. Despite the low buzz of excitement from being close to the end you’d learned long ago to never take what you thought was complete to mean there was truly nothing left, too many times you’d almost put out a story to realize your picture was only done because you hadn’t bothered to zoom out and see the peripherals.

That was when you were young and foolish, running in thinking you could Nancy Drew a solution without a plan. You weren't nearly half as reckless as you had been, years of experience for better or worse had taught you an important lesson. Caution. Cutting corners was too dangerous, not when the stakes were this high and any misstep could mean lives on the line.

Like yours.

Yeah, something like that.

While the years might have taught you caution, they bred routine. Planted and watered, nurtured and grown until roots went so deep they wound into your core. You had a system for everything, a contingency plan for your contingency plan. Too often plan B turned C and D and you couldn’t afford to not be prepared. So you dug, shovel in hand, dirt caked under your fingernails, insistent to uncover every crack and crevice, leave no stone unturned. There was always more if you were willing to look for it. The most vital part of your customs was used when strings got too tangled, when clarity took too long, and answers felt too muddled. Pulling out a thick notebook and digging through the drawer in your desk it came from until you found a pen, the cap chewed to hell from last time. You began scribbling, writing out everything you knew, from the beginning.

It was simple really; write it all down. If you’d written it all down then write it all down again.

It helped to do this, to refresh the facts in your head to see the dots that needed connecting, be able to touch them under your fingertips in a way that a computer could never satisfy. Things that had made no sense before often clicked into place on this step, hidden carved-out pathways of connections buried so deep they were thought lost.

Once everything was written out you paused, pen cap once more finding a place between your teeth as you pondered. Lines connected pieces from one page to another, segues that wouldn't have made sense to anyone looking in on your work, a connect-the-dots with a picture only you could fully form.

It felt like several more hours that you scanned the pages methodically before the loud buzz of your phone startled you out of your focus. The muscles in your neck ached, making their annoyance at your posture very well known, you stretched them this way and that, listening to the crack of stiff joints as you snatched the incessant phone off the wood beside your laptop and checked to see who was calling.

Karen Page

“Hey Karen, what are you doing up?” Her soft chuckle came through the phone and you couldn't help but smile. She had become a really good friend in the year since you’d met, the news world a worse place for her leaving to go back to Nelson, Murdock and now Page.

“I might have something for you and I figured you would be up at this ungodly hour,” shit, she knew you too well.

“You figured right, whatcha got for me?”

Karen didn't hesitate to spin into her story, an informant she’d worked with a couple times back when she was at the Bulletin had heard that she and you were somewhat close and got a message to her. She couldn't tell for sure just how reliable his information was, it had been hit or miss before based on whether he was using, but he was right more often than not and any lead was better than no lead.

“There's just one catch.”

Your eyebrows raised and you leaned back in your chair. Now this was new, Karen had never withheld anything from you before, aside from that one time. Even then it was less her refusing to tell you, and more her asking you not to push. So if she had a string attached to this, it had to be important.

“O-kay, I’ll bite.”

“Go to a party with a friend of mine.”

“What?”

“There’s a benefit this weekend, stuffy and annoying, yes, but we’re all going. Join us, meet a friend of mine, the friend of mine.”

Ahh, there it was. The friend of hers, you’d asked her a couple months ago for an introduction. She’d agreed, but said it would take time, that he needed space for now. Stability. You of all people could understand that, so you thought no more of it forgetting you had even asked. This was an interesting turn of events, and you'd most likely be able to wrap everything up before then anyways.

“Does he know, or is it one of your and Foggy’s ambushes?” Karen hesitated with a sigh, you'd come to that conclusion a lot faster than she'd hoped. Not surprising, it hadn't taken you long to figure things out before why should this be any different.

“It's an ambush,” no point in lying now, and you hummed in thought. It sounded like a bad idea, ambushing a man like that but you'd really wanted to meet him for a long time, and how many chances would you get.

It didn’t quite matter, your mind made up before she’d even finished the offer. “Alright, deal. Now where can I find your little informant?”

-

Which brought you here, to a stuffy party you’d never attend of your own free will. Uninterested in schmoozing with rich annoying assholes, with rich annoying asshole interests. Having had to dig so far into your closet you weren’t sure how you didn’t get lost, just to find the one dress you had that semi fit the description of formal. One you’d originally bought for some date planned years ago, dark green satin that draped delicately across your chest, fabric ending just below mid thigh. The date had fallen through, and so had the guy, and the dress had sat untouched and forgotten until tonight.

It had felt weird getting ready, dressing up, like putting on a show. Putting on a costume and getting ready to play a role, the performance of pretending to care. About these people or their thoughts or opinions, especially the thoughts and opinions having to do with you. Certain you’d made unspoken enemies out of more than a few of the people bound to be in attendance, the rich socialite type did tend to like their business to be in the dark. In back alleyways, and small font, whispered catches and hidden traps. All things that were extremely difficult to do with a nosey, stubborn reporter shining light into corners, and hacking through endless red tape, broadcasting any and everything they found on their way to the bottom.

The whole situation had you anxious, out of your depth. Had you not agreed to his, had Karen’s information not been the final crack in the case that you’d needed to finish it out, you might not have been here. Yet here you were, a glass of wine in one hand trying to hide off in the back by the bar until your friend showed up. Eyes glued to your phone as you waited for her to text you, she’d promised to let you know when they got there.

Pulling up now.

You pulled in a deep breath, trying to calm your nerves and clear your head. When that didn’t work you quickly downed your drink and headed towards the doors. Skirting around people like a maze, trying to not get noticed on your way by. You didn’t want anything getting in the way of this meeting, you’d been looking forward to meeting him for so long, the idea of him so built up in your head from all you’d heard about him from Karen.

She thought the world of him, it showed in more than just her words too. The way she spoke about him, the conviction in which she defended his actions, actions that weren’t even publically attributed to him. It was hard to not wonder, not be interested in seeing for yourself if he was just as good of a person as she made him out to be. Not that you thought she would be lying, but sometimes it was easy to see the best in your friends, your family, and that they were.

Family.

The three of them so convoluted they were almost one being, Nelson, Murdock and Page. You’d met Foggy before, spent more than enough time with him and Karen back in the days where you and she worked more parallel than you did now. Hours of drinking and laughing and crying, they were great people, ones you cherished even from your distanced version of friendship. To be honest you were jealous of the bond they had, you weren’t always good at friendships or making connections, not long term ones. Sure you had tons of acquaintances, people who knew you and you knew but they almost never went further than surface deep. Karen had probably been the first person you’d officially called a friend in years, Foggy close behind.

You heard them before you saw them, Foggy’s boisterous laugh carrying into the party. “Come on, it won’t be that bad. Who knows maybe there will be someone who’s not an annoying prick.”

“Yeah, well I really doubt that Fog,” his voice was low, almost melodic in the way it washed over you. They finally stepped into the room, all huddled together and you froze.

Matt Murdock.

He wore the sleek black tux like he was born to, the sharp lines of the suit contrasting against the delicate build of his cheekbones. Small red sunglasses sat atop the bridge of his nose, and you studied his every feature. Watched the way his hands shifted and moved, holding his cane out in front of him to tap against the marbled floors. He was surrounded on either side by his friends, Foggy wearing a brown suit, one of the only expensive ones he kept after quitting Hogarth, Chao, and Benowitz. He had been weirdly fond of that specific one, though he refused to admit why, that it had been the suit he wore when he found out Matt was still alive. After that he couldn’t bear to be rid of it, selling all the rest in order to help fund the rebuild of their practice.

Karen’s eyes skimmed the room searching for yours, the long dark blue of her own dress accenting the slight red in her hair. When she picked you out, a small spread across her face and you saw her lean behind Matt to knock her hand into Foggy’s arm and once more you were reminded of what this was.

A set-up.

#obviously its still up to you #but #i cannot wait to see us interact with mr murdock #like. YES that good shit please #i will once again reiterate that ur fics are so fuckin good #and i am very. very excited #!!!!!

[solemnly-mischievous]

I just read “the bet” and I don’t think i’lll ever recover. I’m just… obsessed. Obsessed is the word.

hey thank you so much!! i'm glad you liked it :)

#james potter being hot is a universally beloved experience

[solemnly-mischievous]

oh my god hell yeah??

newsflash asshole, chapter one || matt murdock

i'm really really so anxious to post and start this it's my fucking baby and i'm so excited for it i just hope it lives up to the hype in my head and in all of yours too

this is chapter one of twenty five and it's just setup for reader

words: just over 2k

ao3 link

gif credit: @saradanversrogers

“One of these days that nose of yours is gonna get you into more trouble than you can handle.”

“I’m not so sure about that dad, I can handle anything.”

“I know you think so goose, but be careful.”

-

Maybe he had been right. This kind of job didn't lend itself to early nights, or stress free weekends. No, it had you staring at your laptop screen, that burned your eyes after all of these hours, six cups of coffee in at three in the morning. This was a job that had you so stressed you felt like pulling out your hair, and giving up at least twice every case. A job that frequently gave you four new questions for every answer. That had you digging so often you sometimes worried you wouldn’t realize until too late that your hard work was only for it to be your own grave.

There was an answer there, somewhere simmering under the surface, you could feel it. All it needed was just a little more, and it’d crack open under your touch. At least that's what you told yourself, justification for the past couple weeks run ragged. Hours and hours spent doing research online, tracking down people and stories and any clue you could possibly get your hands on. You know what he’d say if he could see you right now, eyes sunken in dark circles, surviving solely off way too much caffeine for one person, and spite.

“Goose, you can’t find anything with your eyes half closed.”

“Half closed, dad, what does that even mean?”

All of your hard work leading up to tonight, you had almost all the pieces by now, just missing one final one. A big one, and the picture would be complete. Despite the low buzz of excitement from being close to the end you’d learned long ago to never take what you thought was complete to mean there was truly nothing left, too many times you’d almost put out a story to realize your picture was only done because you hadn’t bothered to zoom out and see the peripherals.

That was when you were young and foolish, running in thinking you could Nancy Drew a solution without a plan. You weren't nearly half as reckless as you had been, years of experience for better or worse had taught you an important lesson. Caution. Cutting corners was too dangerous, not when the stakes were this high and any misstep could mean lives on the line.

Like yours.

Yeah, something like that.

While the years might have taught you caution, they bred routine. Planted and watered, nurtured and grown until roots went so deep they wound into your core. You had a system for everything, a contingency plan for your contingency plan. Too often plan B turned C and D and you couldn’t afford to not be prepared. So you dug, shovel in hand, dirt caked under your fingernails, insistent to uncover every crack and crevice, leave no stone unturned. There was always more if you were willing to look for it. The most vital part of your customs was used when strings got too tangled, when clarity took too long, and answers felt too muddled. Pulling out a thick notebook and digging through the drawer in your desk it came from until you found a pen, the cap chewed to hell from last time. You began scribbling, writing out everything you knew, from the beginning.

It was simple really; write it all down. If you’d written it all down then write it all down again.

It helped to do this, to refresh the facts in your head to see the dots that needed connecting, be able to touch them under your fingertips in a way that a computer could never satisfy. Things that had made no sense before often clicked into place on this step, hidden carved-out pathways of connections buried so deep they were thought lost.

Once everything was written out you paused, pen cap once more finding a place between your teeth as you pondered. Lines connected pieces from one page to another, segues that wouldn't have made sense to anyone looking in on your work, a connect-the-dots with a picture only you could fully form.

It felt like several more hours that you scanned the pages methodically before the loud buzz of your phone startled you out of your focus. The muscles in your neck ached, making their annoyance at your posture very well known, you stretched them this way and that, listening to the crack of stiff joints as you snatched the incessant phone off the wood beside your laptop and checked to see who was calling.

Karen Page

“Hey Karen, what are you doing up?” Her soft chuckle came through the phone and you couldn't help but smile. She had become a really good friend in the year since you’d met, the news world a worse place for her leaving to go back to Nelson, Murdock and now Page.

“I might have something for you and I figured you would be up at this ungodly hour,” shit, she knew you too well.

“You figured right, whatcha got for me?”

Karen didn't hesitate to spin into her story, an informant she’d worked with a couple times back when she was at the Bulletin had heard that she and you were somewhat close and got a message to her. She couldn't tell for sure just how reliable his information was, it had been hit or miss before based on whether he was using, but he was right more often than not and any lead was better than no lead.

“There's just one catch.”

Your eyebrows raised and you leaned back in your chair. Now this was new, Karen had never withheld anything from you before, aside from that one time. Even then it was less her refusing to tell you, and more her asking you not to push. So if she had a string attached to this, it had to be important.

“O-kay, I’ll bite.”

“Go to a party with a friend of mine.”

“What?”

“There’s a benefit this weekend, stuffy and annoying, yes, but we’re all going. Join us, meet a friend of mine, the friend of mine.”

Ahh, there it was. The friend of hers, you’d asked her a couple months ago for an introduction. She’d agreed, but said it would take time, that he needed space for now. Stability. You of all people could understand that, so you thought no more of it forgetting you had even asked. This was an interesting turn of events, and you'd most likely be able to wrap everything up before then anyways.

“Does he know, or is it one of your and Foggy’s ambushes?” Karen hesitated with a sigh, you'd come to that conclusion a lot faster than she'd hoped. Not surprising, it hadn't taken you long to figure things out before why should this be any different.

“It's an ambush,” no point in lying now, and you hummed in thought. It sounded like a bad idea, ambushing a man like that but you'd really wanted to meet him for a long time, and how many chances would you get.

It didn’t quite matter, your mind made up before she’d even finished the offer. “Alright, deal. Now where can I find your little informant?”

-

Which brought you here, to a stuffy party you’d never attend of your own free will. Uninterested in schmoozing with rich annoying assholes, with rich annoying asshole interests. Having had to dig so far into your closet you weren’t sure how you didn’t get lost, just to find the one dress you had that semi fit the description of formal. One you’d originally bought for some date planned years ago, dark green satin that draped delicately across your chest, fabric ending just below mid thigh. The date had fallen through, and so had the guy, and the dress had sat untouched and forgotten until tonight.

It had felt weird getting ready, dressing up, like putting on a show. Putting on a costume and getting ready to play a role, the performance of pretending to care. About these people or their thoughts or opinions, especially the thoughts and opinions having to do with you. Certain you’d made unspoken enemies out of more than a few of the people bound to be in attendance, the rich socialite type did tend to like their business to be in the dark. In back alleyways, and small font, whispered catches and hidden traps. All things that were extremely difficult to do with a nosey, stubborn reporter shining light into corners, and hacking through endless red tape, broadcasting any and everything they found on their way to the bottom.

The whole situation had you anxious, out of your depth. Had you not agreed to his, had Karen’s information not been the final crack in the case that you’d needed to finish it out, you might not have been here. Yet here you were, a glass of wine in one hand trying to hide off in the back by the bar until your friend showed up. Eyes glued to your phone as you waited for her to text you, she’d promised to let you know when they got there.

Pulling up now.

You pulled in a deep breath, trying to calm your nerves and clear your head. When that didn’t work you quickly downed your drink and headed towards the doors. Skirting around people like a maze, trying to not get noticed on your way by. You didn’t want anything getting in the way of this meeting, you’d been looking forward to meeting him for so long, the idea of him so built up in your head from all you’d heard about him from Karen.

She thought the world of him, it showed in more than just her words too. The way she spoke about him, the conviction in which she defended his actions, actions that weren’t even publically attributed to him. It was hard to not wonder, not be interested in seeing for yourself if he was just as good of a person as she made him out to be. Not that you thought she would be lying, but sometimes it was easy to see the best in your friends, your family, and that they were.

Family.

The three of them so convoluted they were almost one being, Nelson, Murdock and Page. You’d met Foggy before, spent more than enough time with him and Karen back in the days where you and she worked more parallel than you did now. Hours of drinking and laughing and crying, they were great people, ones you cherished even from your distanced version of friendship. To be honest you were jealous of the bond they had, you weren’t always good at friendships or making connections, not long term ones. Sure you had tons of acquaintances, people who knew you and you knew but they almost never went further than surface deep. Karen had probably been the first person you’d officially called a friend in years, Foggy close behind.

You heard them before you saw them, Foggy’s boisterous laugh carrying into the party. “Come on, it won’t be that bad. Who knows maybe there will be someone who’s not an annoying prick.”

“Yeah, well I really doubt that Fog,” his voice was low, almost melodic in the way it washed over you. They finally stepped into the room, all huddled together and you froze.

Matt Murdock.

He wore the sleek black tux like he was born to, the sharp lines of the suit contrasting against the delicate build of his cheekbones. Small red sunglasses sat atop the bridge of his nose, and you studied his every feature. Watched the way his hands shifted and moved, holding his cane out in front of him to tap against the marbled floors. He was surrounded on either side by his friends, Foggy wearing a brown suit, one of the only expensive ones he kept after quitting Hogarth, Chao, and Benowitz. He had been weirdly fond of that specific one, though he refused to admit why, that it had been the suit he wore when he found out Matt was still alive. After that he couldn’t bear to be rid of it, selling all the rest in order to help fund the rebuild of their practice.

Karen’s eyes skimmed the room searching for yours, the long dark blue of her own dress accenting the slight red in her hair. When she picked you out, a small spread across her face and you saw her lean behind Matt to knock her hand into Foggy’s arm and once more you were reminded of what this was.

A set-up.

#lets GO #everyone read this rn i'm so excited #matt murdock #fic recs #!!!!!!

[solemnly-mischievous]

quiet || marauders

this is a repost because the old post featured a name i don't use anymore! sorry for any confusion and/or inconveniences :)

contains: degradation, orgasm delay/denial, objectification, hard dom!remus x hard dom/switch!sirius x switch!james x sub!reader, reader can't make any sound and the boys have fun with that

word count: 1.2k

-----

"Fuck!"

A sharp slap on your thigh makes you yelp instantly after your outburst, and you whisper a quick apology. Remus grabs your chin and makes you look up at him—he doesn't seem impressed.

"What did we say about making sounds, hm?" he reprimands you. It's a trick, of course—you start to say that they told you to be quiet, but a small smirk from Sirius alerts you to the trick question.

You stay quiet, stifling whimpers of pleasure as James works his tongue expertly between your legs.

Remus smiles at you, somewhat condescendingly. "Good girl."

With the No making sounds rule that Remus put into play earlier that night, the boys seem to be trying extra hard to get you to break.

James—who's always been the best at giving head—is showing no mercy in his movements, each flick of his tongue making you want to scream. He's the one that made you yelp in the first place.

Sirius trails kisses down your neck and collarbone and leaves dark bites scattered on your skin, each scrap of his teeth making you squirm and bite down moans. He seems intent on getting you to come apart.

And Remus?

Remus hasn't moved a single muscle since he told you to be quiet, aside from reaching over to remind you whenever you disobeyed. He's sitting in front of you, in a chair, watching as Sirius and James slowly, methodically, make you into an incoherent mess.

Watching as you plead with him with your eyes, begging to be allowed to moan or whine or scream because it just feels too good.

And the thing is, Remus isn't making you stay quiet because of anything. It's not a punishment, not some kind of reminder or reprimand. No, Remus is making you stay quiet just because he can, and the thought alone makes you want to whimper.

"C'mon, Pads," Remus says now, lazily reaching out to stroke Sirius' hair, tucking it behind his ear. "You can do better than that, can't you? You can make her scream."

You glare at Sirius, as if to say Don't you fucking dare.

He, of course, takes that as a challenge, and grins back. In the dim light of the room, his eyes gleam gold. "I'll see what I can do, Moony."

James, as if hearing Remus' words, presses a hard kiss against your clit and you can't help but buck your hips up and whine out a desperate, fast, "James, please—"

"Second strike," Remus says, disappointed. Sirius pinches your nipple and you try to squirm away from him to no avail—he only flicks it again in delight. "You make one more sound, darling, and we'll stop for the night."

Then, to James—completely ignoring your pleading gaze—Remus praises, "Good job, Prongs. Why can't Padfoot be as good as you, hm?"

Sirius bristles, and his pinch on your nipple tightens, causing you to squirm. "That's not bloody fair. He's working her cunt. I've got, what, her tits?" He gives them a small slap for emphasis, and you glare.

Remus regards him thoughtfully. "Thought you loved her tits, what're you complaining about now?"

"No—well, yeah, I love them, but you know how much more sensitive her clit is. James' got an unfair advantage."

You listen to them argue, argue over you, as if you were nothing but a doll for them to tease and use. It's an intoxicating feeling, and it's all you can do to not let out a whine, your eyes squeezing shut in pleasure.

James flicks his tongue against your clit and, in a frankly cruel move, slides two fingers inside of your soaked cunt in one smooth movement. You jerk suddenly, mouth open in a silent gasp, as James’ fingers slowly start fucking you.

“Oh, look at that,” Sirius murmurs. You hear a belt unbuckle and you imagine your boyfriend touching himself, stroking his cock to the sight of you silently coming apart.

“So fucking pretty,” Remus agrees, and you crack one bleary eye open to see him also reaching inside his trousers, getting off to the sight of you.

“Such a whore for us,” Sirius coos, and you bite your lip because you think you’re going to fucking cry from how good everything feels—James’ tongue, Remus’ stare, Sirius’ words—

You want to come.

The desire to climax comes so fast you reel with the strength of it, and all too fast you panic because you don’t have permission.

Frantically, you meet Sirius’ amused gaze, then Remus’, silently begging both of them to understand, to grant you permission, to do something. All the while, James doesn’t let up—whether or not he knows you’re close is unclear, but it doesn’t matter because you can’t tell him.

Please, please, please, you silently beg Remus, who looks at you impassively, the only sign of him being affected being the way he’s still stroking himself and the way he’s looking at you—with a sort of almost feral hunger.

“I think she’s trying to tell you something, Moony,” Sirius snickers, and you turn to try to glare at him, but it only turns into another pleading look.

“What are you trying to tell me, pup?” Remus asks, and you stare at him in disbelief. “Come on. Tell me.”

It’s a trap, and you know it very well—but what choice do you have? You try to plead with him anyway, your eyes wide and glimmering and desperate, and he hums thoughtfully.

“Is the little whore close?” he asks, and you nod, almost panicking in your desire to come. James slows down slightly upon hearing Remus’ question, and you could’ve kissed him for that mercy alone, but then the werewolf tsks.

“Did I say you could slow down, Prongs?”

James mumbles an apology and before you can even catch your breath, he goes back to making you want to scream in pleasure and frustration.

“Now, pet,” Remus says, meeting your gaze. “You know what to do if you want to come, don’t you? Or have you gone stupid from just trying to stay quiet?”

You shake your head and then nod, and you bite back a curse because what did he want you to do?

“Oh, poor little stupid whore,” Sirius sympathizes, his tone tinged with amusement. “Gone already?”

“S’alright,” Remus murmurs. “Can’t expect a slut like her to be able to answer questions, no matter how easy they are.”

I’m close I’m close I’m so fucking close, please, please—

It’s either disobey or disobey—there’s no winning. Tears of frustration well up in your eyes, and Remus makes sounds of reassurance, except they sounded more like mockery.

“I’ll make it easier for you, pet. Give you a little reminder.” Remus sighs as he fists his cock, taking his sweet time as he pleasures himself to the sight of your frustration. “What good girls do when they want to come, puppy, is they beg.”

Remus leans down, so close his lips are almost brushing yours, and you fight the urge to whimper.

“So go on then, darling.” His tone is laughing. He knows what he’s done—what corner he’s forced you into. And he revels in your torment.

“Go on and beg for me.”

#marauders #marauders x reader #james potter x reader #remus lupin x reader #sirius black x reader #james potter #remus lupin #sirius black #harry potter #hp #marauders era #marauders imagine #remus lupin imagine #james potter imagine #sirius black imagine #marauders smut

[solemnly-mischievous]

a slow day || matt murdock

It's a slow day in Hell's Kitchen, and you decide to bother Matt about it. He fixes the problem.

it's been a while! i've missed you guys. here's some daredevil content (finally branching out after a good while of promising to do so) - i'll catch up with hp requests soon! :)

contains: d/s, praise, degradation, thigh riding, slight edging, slight themes of exhibitionism and verbal humiliation, matt is soft and nice and caring though! it's just the right mix, fluff

word count: 2.8k

———

It's a slow day in Hell's Kitchen, and you were getting bored.

It wasn't to say that Hell's Kitchen was boring. It wasn't to say that the office was boring (in fact, Foggy barged into Matt's office earlier and said something about firecrackers and arson, which sounded promising). It wasn't even to say that the day was boring.

No, you're just bored.

Matt doesn't seem to share your sentiment. He seems perfectly content at his desk, recordings playing from his laptop, deep in thought. He's working a new case—a new case that was a bit tough, according to him, but nothing he couldn't handle.

Of course he could handle it. Matt Murdock is nothing if not relentless.

But right now, in your opinion, he's relentless in the wrong direction. (The right direction, of course, would be your direction.)

You've been leaning against the doorway of his office for a while now, simply watching him work. The way his fingers rest on the armrests of his chair, the way he tilts his head every now and then as if he was listening to the busy streets of the city, the way his hair ruffled as he pushes it back unconsciously—you see it all, and you drink it all in.

Matt Murdock is possibly one of, if not the most, attractive men you've ever seen. And he's yours, all yours—and aren't you just the luckiest person in the universe for that?

"Like what you see?" Matt's voice cuts through your reverie, and you blink a few times. You see him smirk, glasses hanging precariously low on his nose, flashing in the afternoon sun.

"I don't know what you're talking about," you say, teasingly.

"Mm. Yeah, sure. Like you haven't been standing there for five minutes, doing nothing but staring." His tone is equally playful, and he reaches out to pause the recordings. Foggy often joked that you were the only one that could get Matt away from his work—and it was probably an accurate joke.

"Maybe I was staring at the ungodly amount of paperwork you have balancing at the edge of your desk," you return. "Why do you keep them there, anyway? Trophies?"

"I forget to get rid of them. It's not like they're an eyesore," he jokes, and you huff out a laugh. "What's up, sweetheart?"

There it is—sweetheart. His casual New Yorker accent saturates the word, syllables curling and ending too soon. It's a pet name he's only recently taken to calling you, and you've long suspected it's because he knows how your breath hitches whenever he uses it.

"I'm bored," you murmur, leaning your head dramatically against the doorframe. "It's a slow day and I'm bored."

"Poor baby." Matt's tone is laughing. "All the crime and murder not enough for you?"

"Yeah, it's really become dull these past days," you deadpan. "I think we should get some domestic terrorism in the mix, really spice it up a bit."

Matt laughs now, a rich sound you'd give the world to hear over and over again. "I'll be sure to leak your complaints to the darkest depths of Hell's Kitchen. I'm sure some amateur criminal would be delighted to accommodate you."

"I'd be flattered," you fake-sigh. "They know how to treat a lady."

"Oh?" His eyebrows flicker upward. "You insinuating that I don't, now?"

"I'd never imply such a thing," you say, knowing full well you are.

"Hm." Matt's lips crook in a sideways smile. "I see how it is."

You feel bored. You feel bold. You feel like challenging him just a little bit, pushing him just to see what he'll give back to you. "Oh, you do now?"

"I think I do." He's full on smiling now, and it's a slow promising smile that makes you shudder, just a bit. "You're bored, and you want me to do something about it, don't you?"

You squirm a bit, blushing. "Well, that would certainly be ideal."

"And what would you like me to do?" His tone is dark, suggestive, and some part of you wants to shout with joy because oh, Matt Murdock wants to play.

"I don't know," you say. "What would you like to do to me, hm?"

"What would I like to do to you?" Matt tilts his head. Listening. Checking to make sure there was no one else in the office. "I'd like to sit you up on this desk, spread your thighs apart, and eat you out until all you can do is whine my name. Think you'd be bored then?"

Your breath gets stuck in your throat and your heartbeat quickens exponentially, which only leads to Matt laughing at you—at how easily you get riled up by his words.

"I—no," you manage, not very eloquently because now all you can think of is Matt's fingers digging into your thighs, his tongue doing illegal things, his soft rumble of a laugh as you clutch his hair and moan.

"No, I shouldn't do that? No, you wouldn't be bored?"

"I—I wouldn't be bored," you say quickly.

"Good," Matt says, sounding amused. Sounding wicked. "But alas, I'm busy. Busy with all this paperwork. And the case, of course—can't forget about the case."

Huh?

"But—"

"But?" And there's a grin in his voice, the fucker. "What, you wouldn't want to keep me from serving the citizens suffering from injustice, would you?"

You want to throttle him. "I—no?"

"Good," Matt says. "But now that you mention it, I think I'm getting a little bored as well. C'mere."

Your mind is a blur of arousal and confusion but you obey, walking over to Matt and letting him pull you onto his lap. Your legs go around him, your crotch pressed right onto his thigh, and that tiniest bit of friction makes you want more.

So you buck your hips a bit, and Matt tsks, reaching out to steady you. "None of that."

"But—"

"Shh." And then he resumes the recording, his and Foggy's voice overlapping with some witness', and you stifle the urge to whimper in frustration, instead choosing to lean your head against Matt's shoulder and listen to the steady beat of his heart.

But then Matt drops a hand down to your thigh and begins touching you in teasing short caresses, smoothing his palm out against your legs and moving them upwards, pushing your skirt up. You try to press up into his touch, wanting more.

He pushes you back into place. "Don't move."

"Matt—"

"Shh," he says again, softly but firmly. "I gotta listen to this, alright? Be good."

Be good. You would. You could.

His hands continue their soft journey up your thighs, under your skirt, teasing with the hem of your panties. You breathe out harshly, trying to get him to take the hint already.

Matt does not take the hint. Instead, Matt hums softly and takes his hands off of you entirely.

The prick.

So you play a bit dirty and grind up against him, against where you can feel him pressing into you, already worked up as well despite how unruffled he looks. Your crotch presses against him and he inhales, sharply, his heightened senses working against him.

“You teasing now, hm?” Matt asks in a low voice, soft and dark against your ear.

“I would never,” you lie, and he chuckles before reaching up to circle your jaw with his hand, tugging your face closer to his and pressing a slow, languid kiss to your lips.

"You're wearing that chapstick I like," Matt murmurs, pulling away. His tongue flickers out to taste his lips, as if still chasing the taste of you.

"It wasn't like I chose it for you," you maintain, once again being untruthful. "You know, the world sometimes isn't all about you."

"I'd beg to differ." His tone is warm, amused.

You bite back a laugh. "Then beg."

"Mm, I'd watch your tone now if I were you." Matt shifts in his seat, ever-so-slightly, but even that's sufficient to put enough friction on your cunt that you let out a small whine. "Might wanna be nice if you wanna get what you need, baby."

"Sorry," you gasp. "Sorry, please."

"Please, what?" He brings a hand up to stroke your face, his hips doing just the barest movements to keep you stimulated and wanting. "What do you need, hm? Tell me."

"Need—need you," you try.

"And you have me."

"Need your touch—"

"Which you also have." Stupid lawyer logic, showing up at the worst times.

"Need your cock, please, Matt," you breathe, grinding up against him again, already soaking wet in your panties. With you only wearing a skirt, your slick's probably already soaked through to his pants by now.

And it has. "So wet for me, aren't you, sweetheart?" Matt teases. "Haven't even touched your clit yet and I can already feel you soaking through my pants, like the needy little whore you are."

You groan in pleasure at his words. "Fuck—'m not—"

"Not wet? Not needy?" His voice lowers, dark and smooth. "Not a whore?"

You whimper. "I—"

"You what, hm?" Matt scoffs, the sound going straight to your cunt. Despite his harsh tone, there's a hand working its way into your skirt again, this time circling light touches through soaked fabric around your sensitive clit.

He continues, "You're begging for my cock while we're still at the office, where anyone can walk in at any time, whether it be Foggy or Karen or other clients; you're begging me to ruin you just because I whispered dirty things into your ears and touched you a little bit. Tell me—what does that make you?"

"It—I... a whore, Matt, please," you whisper, pushing your hips into his touch and whining when he finally takes the slightest bit of mercy on you, drawing aside the elastic of your panties and swiftly sinking a finger into your soaked cunt. "Oh, god."

"What was that?" Matt starts working his finger slowly, in and out, enough to keep you desperate but not enough to get you anywhere.

"Sorry," you manage, having slipped up. No blasphemy.

"That's right. Pretty whores like you don't need God, do they?" His thumb circles your clit and keeps you soaked wet with pleasure as his middle finger joins his index, slowly pushing into you. "No. No, all they need is a good, proper fuck."

"Yes, yes, please," you gasp, moving your hips in tandem with his movements, all but riding his fingers. With how worked up you are, all the teasing words and touches and now overwhelming pleasure, you're quickly reaching your edge. Just a little more.

"But," Matt says, withdrawing his touch entirely, suddenly, "we're still at work."

You keen at the loss of contact, whining with frustration. "But—"

"No." It's a tone that allows no argument. And you know, full well, how much of a stubborn bastard Matt Murdock is. That whatever game he's playing, he's going to get what he wants—even if what he wants seems to be to tease you out of your mind.

But you're desperate and needy and dripping, so you venture an attempt anyway.

"Please," you whisper to a seemingly unconcerned Matt.

"Please?" Matt hums softly. "You want to feel good? You want to come?"

"Yes, please."

A short pause, as if he were deliberating. Then a small laugh, as if a thought amused him.

"Alright then," Matt says, casual and airy. You pause in confusion—no way it was that easy. "You wanna get off so bad, hm?"

He pushes his leg up against you, against your clothed cunt that was so soaked through it was practically bared, and grinds his thigh into your sensitive clit, relishing in the sound of your groan.

"Ride my thigh."

The world stutters to a stop. "Huh?"

"You heard me." Matt murmurs, hands going around to circle your waist, pressing possessive touches into bared skin where your blouse rode up. "You wanna come so bad, you're going to have to do it yourself."

You whine in protest—not at the idea of riding his thigh, which was (as everything is about Matt Murdock) insanely hot, but at the idea of him not fucking you.

A thought strikes you. "But—but what if someone sees?"

He huffs out a short laugh, pulling you closer to his chest. "Weren't so worried about that when you were begging me to fuck you on this desk, were you?"

"Circumstances have changed," you try, and Matt chuckles again.

"No one will see," he reassures you, tone softer—breaking from his dominant character for just a second. "And I'll let you know if anyone's in the building, before they even reach the office. If you don't want to do it, that's okay. It's always okay."

Once again, you praise whatever God there was for just how goddamn lucky you are to have him.

"Okay?" Matt repeats, gentle and patient.

"Okay," you agree, slowly getting wet from the anticipation. You lean forward and kiss him, hard, and both of you groan into the kiss—the sound going straight to your arousal. You start moving your hips, pressing your cunt into the smooth material of Matt's trousers, rolling your body against his.

"That's it," Matt murmurs, pushing his leg up against you to give you more delicious friction. "There we go, so good for me."

You whine at the praise, at the pleasure, and he smirks at the pretty sounds you make. He's always loved hearing you moan.

"C'mon, make yourself feel good." Matt slips his right hand into your blouse, reaching up till he cups you through your bra—his left hand slides up, cupping your cheek and sliding down to rest around your neck. Not to choke you—just to have you feel the warmth of his touch.

"Riding my thigh just because I'm too busy to fuck you, isn't that right?" Matt's voice is more of a mocking coo, faux-sympathy dripping down his words. You whimper at it, the condescension, but it only makes your hips move faster. "So eager, so desperate."

His fingers trace the outline of your lips, your jawline, the way your throat bobs as you swallow down a moan. You lean into his touch, and he reciprocates, cupping your face tenderly and pulling you close to tease your lips with the barest touch of his.

"That's it," Matt repeats, soft and gentle as you let out a pleasured moan when he jerks his thigh up to meet your clit. "Fuck, you sound so pretty, sweetheart."

"Matt—Matt, I'm—close," you gasp, already worked up from the teasing and edging he'd put you through earlier. "Can I—can I please—"

And for a second you think he might tease more, just to hear you whimper, but then Matt presses his leg up against you—coaxing one more pleasured whine from your throat—and leans in so his lips are right next to your ear.

"Come for me, sweetheart," he murmurs into your ear, and you do, letting out a low moan as your hips stutter and your orgasm washes over you, your thighs and legs trembling as the pleasure rushes through you in an overwhelming burst.

Matt eases you through it. His leg moves against you to help you ride out the orgasm, and you let out small sounds of alternating bliss and overstimulation as he does so.

"Okay, okay—too much," you whisper as the overstimulation comes out on top. Matt hums in acknowledgement, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead and stilling his movements.

"Alright?" he asks, pulling back. His tone is gentle and worried, and his hands come up to trace your facial features carefully—his way of seeing if you were uncomfortable or overwhelmed.

You nod, taking comfort from his light touch and leaning forward so your head rests on his shoulder. The movement jostles you, and a shudder of overstimulation runs through you, but soon you're comfortably nestled against Matt's chest. "All good."

"Good, you did so good, so perfect for me, sweetheart," Matt praises, and you smile and bury your face in his shirt. He smells like coffee and the shampoo he keeps back in his apartment.

"Stay," you mumble into the soft fabric, eyelids already a little heavy. That was normal—drowsiness is a common occurrence after orgasms, after all. You feel, rather than hear, him laugh softly, and his hands come up to rest against your back—a grounding presence.

"Stay," Matt agrees, taking care to not move his legs too much as he pulls his chair closer to his desk. "You can stay as long as you want, sweetheart. Keep me company. Rest a while."

"Mhm," you hum, already drifting off a little. "Rest sounds good."

"Sure does." His voice is affectionate, amused, and you make a sound of happy assent against him before your eyes slowly slide shut.

You doze off to the sound of Matt's calm breathing, steady heartbeat, and the warmth of his hand never once leaving your back.

#matt murdock #matt murdock x reader #matt murdock x you #matt murdock smut #matt murdock x reader smut #matt murdock drabble #daredevil #daredevil x reader #daredevil smut #daredevil x reader smut #matt murdock imagine #daredevil imagine

[solemnly-mischievous]

don’t get me wrong, i love protective!marauders as much as you all do, but... the marauders seeing the reader getting harassed by someone and wanting to step in but the reader handles herself perfectly?

“Is that Malfoy?”

Sirius chances a peek around the corner and ducks back with his hands in fists. “Oh, that bloody git, what the fuck’s he doing?”

“He’s talking to her,” Remus relays, his werewolf hearing coming in handy.

“Well, what’s he sayin’?” Sirius grumbles.

Remus’ face hardens with anger as, down the hall, Lucius repeats his advances even as you decline him. “Something wildly inappropriate.”

James doesn’t need further incentive, all traces of the soft-hearted boy gone from his face—it’s all righteous fury and protective anger and a readiness to swing a punch as he storms around the corner.

Just in time to see you knee Lucius Malfoy in the balls.

“Fuck!” Malfoy chokes out, keeling over and clutching himself as you watch him coldly. James skids to a halt a few feet away, Remus and Sirius right behind him, and the three watch in awe as you grab Lucius by the front of his robes.

“What don’t you understand about the word ‘no’, huh?” You scoff. “You’re lucky I didn’t go for my wand instead. Couldn’t promise you’d even still have anything to hold onto.”

“I was just being nice,” Lucius protests.

“Yeah, well, if I ever see you being nice when someone’s already firmly told you to stop, it’s a Stinging Hex right where it hurts the most.”

You let go of Malfoy and walk towards the Marauders, beaming as you see them. “Shall we, boys?”

“Remind me to never get on your bad side,” Sirius says with a low whistle, and James is grinning as he slings an arm around your shoulder.

“Our girlfriend is a badass,” James says in a sing-song voice.

“So fucking badass,” Remus agrees.

bonus:

“If you fuck with her,” Sirius sneers at Regulus’ pure-blood friends as they blanch from his glare, “you’ll find yourself missing a few of your favorite body parts, and with a few extra warts where there weren’t warts before. And then she’ll let me at you.”

#marauders x reader #marauders #marauders era #marauders imagine #james potter x reader #sirius black x reader #remus lupin x reader #james potter imagine #sirius black imagine #remus lupin imagine

[solemnly-mischievous]

oh, holy fucking shit

kinktober day 26- cock ring

poly marauders x fem!reader. sub james, sub reader, switch/dom sirius, dom remus. edging, cock rings, d/s, punishment, crying, teasing, hand jobs, blowjobs

“Gods, Remus,” James grits out as the lycanthrope works the ring onto his soft- though quickly swelling- cock, his face contorted in discomfort. “I’m sorry. Please, y’gotta let me cum.”

“We don’t have to do anything, baby boy, especially not after the attitude you gave us earlier.” Sirius retorts, gaze severe as he pulls your shirt over your head then moves on to help you step out of your skirt and panties, leaving you nude.

“‘M sorry.” The male whimpers, his tone already turned breathy and weak. Part of you feels for him; James is usually so good, it’s not like him to act up- and when he does, punishments are rough for him.

“It’s too late for that, angel. Its been decided.” Remus says, sounding not mean but firm. He turns to look at you where you stand a few feet away, right in front of Sirius, his cool hands resting on your bare hips. “Now come here, bunny. You’re gonna help us punish James.”

“I feel bad, daddy.” You mumble as Sirius guides you closer, your gaze fixated on James’s pouting lips and furrowed brows. Remus scoffs.

“No need to feel bad, darling, he deserves it. We punish you when you’re bad, yeah? ‘S only fair he gets the same treatment.” He explains, nodding his head in James’s direction. “So c’mon, I want you on your knees in front of him.”

You frown but do as Remus instructed, shooting James a sympathetic look as he whimpers and his cock throbs at the sight of you lowering to your knees before him.

“Gods, she looks pretty down there, doesn’t she, baby boy?” Sirius taunts with a low whistle, smirking as he sits beside the bespectacled male and slings an arm over his shoulder. James lets out another whimper.

“Go ahead and touch him, doll. Stroke that pretty cock.” You pout at Remus’s command but again obey, spitting in your hand before reaching out to grasp James’s reddening shaft.

“Fuck,” James grits as you make contact with his heated skin. You can feel the member throb in your grasp as you give it a slow, firm stroke.

“The ring makes you all sensitive, doesn’t it?” Sirius croons, smirking as he watches the way James’s abdominal muscles twitch with his effort not to thrust upwards. “So sensitive, but you still can’t cum. Poor thing.”

James only groans in response as you speed up your stroking, relishing in the way his cock strains within the restrictive silicone. The head is turning almost purple as he’s continuously stimulated and denied any release.

“Use your mouth too, bunny.” Remus instructs. You flash James an apologetic look before leaning forward to lick a stripe up his stiff length. Then you run the very tip of your tongue through his slit, tasting weak traces of precum there. James lets out a choked sob at the attention to his sensitive tip, and you notice tears pricking at the corners of his pretty blue eyes.

“Daddy,” you whimper upon seeing the oncoming tears, sounding remorseful. “He’s gonna cry.”

“‘S okay, bunny.” Remus assures with a smirk as Sirius chuckles. “This is a punishment, remember? A few tears’ll be good for him. Might remind him to be a good boy for us.”

“I’ll be a good boy, daddy!” James gasps out, fingers curling desperately in the duvet below him. “Please.”

“A bit longer, James, you’re alright.” Remus dismisses his plea for mercy, resulting in another sob from the submissive boy. “Keep going, Y/n.”

You lean forward once more, now taking the head of James’s cock between your lips, suckling gently and swirling your tongue around it. James cries out at the feeling, and fat tears spill from his waterline to roll down the expanse of his rouged cheeks.

You suck for some time- feeling his shaft pulse and twitch inside your mouth- until he’s reduced to continuous, pitiful sobs. Sirius is rubbing his back, cooing condescendingly about what a “poor thing” he is, and how “if only you’d been good, then you’d have cum already.”

Eventually you hear the metallic zip of a fly from behind you, and Remus’s voice pipes up.

“Alright, bunny, that’s enough.” You pull off James’s cock with a pop and he lets out a relieved sob. His face is red and tear streaked, his eyes are glistening with fresh tears, and his chest is heaving- he looks absolutely debauched.

You turn your head and see Remus taking his long, hard dick out of his own trousers. “Now Jamesie’s gonna watch you make Pads and I cum.”

#sub james has my whole heart #fic recs

[solemnly-mischievous]

Hi, this is my first time every requesting something on Tumblr so sorry if I word things weirdly. I was wondering if you would write a poly! Marauders x reader smut? (Don't know how to word it.) Where there's sub! James, dom! Remus over all, and switch! Sirius and reader. Only if you're comfortable of course!

i'm honored to be your first request, anon. fantastic prompt. hope you like it!

Contains: Orgasm delay/denial, degradation, begging, a bit of tears, mean dom!Remus, riding, blowjobs, slight spanking

Word count: 2.6K

------

If someone asked you what your favorite thing in the whole world to do is, you'd probably say teasing James.

Because there's something just so deliciously wonderful about the way he whines and pants and pleads when you dangle his pleasure in front of him, when he gets on his knees and begs for you to ruin him.

If someone asked Sirius what his favorite thing in the whole world to do is, he’d probably say watching you tease James.

Because he loves to tease, too, and he loves nothing more than to delight in watching you ruin James as he chimes in with comments and mocking coos of his own, making James fall even further into that submissive haze.

“Oh, poor baby,” Sirius murmurs now, reaching out to brush James’ hair out of his eyes as he keens when you pull away from his cock for the third time. “Is she being too mean to you?”

“Yes,” James breathes, bucking his hips up to meet empty air. “Siri, Sirius please, please touch me—”

“I am touching you,” Sirius reminds him laughingly, and you hum in amusement as James tries to glare at the two of you but fail because all he wants is to feel good, but you’re not touching him—

“Use your words,” you say to James.

“I—”

At this point, you probably would’ve had better luck asking James to operate heavy machinery. But he tries, tries to be good, for you and Sirius.

“Please,” James whispers, almost mournfully, and you do take pity for him—you’ve been teasing him all day, giving him subtle glances and touches during class, pulling him into closets and classrooms and kissing him roughly, palming him through his trousers before leaving him there. Sirius helped, too—all but jerking James off during Potions.

James had been all too glad to get on his knees for you when you were back in your dorm, but then you still weren’t nice at all.

“Please touch my cock, please," James begs. You and Sirius are too occupied with teasing him that you don't hear the dorm room door open and close.

"This is an interesting sight."

You jump and Sirius stiffens.

"Remus," you exclaim, whirling around and finding your boyfriend leaning against the doorframe with a faintly amused look on his face. "You're back! I didn't think you'd be back so early."

"Clearly," Remus says, deadpan. He glances at you, then Sirius, then James, kneeling on the floor. Ignoring both of you, he leans down and lifts James' head up to meet his gaze. "How are you, baby?"

James lets out a frustrated whine, which is answer enough for Remus.

"Are they being mean to you, Jamie?" Remus' hand slips down, cupping James' cheek.

"Yes."

"Really?" Remus kisses his forehead, tender and gentle. "That's not very nice, is it? You think we should get them back?"

James' mouth slants into a crooked grin, and he tilts his head back, still lost in a haze of pleasure and denial. "Yes, sir."

"Oh, good boy." Remus ruffles his hair and straightens up, eyeing you and Sirius. "Strip."

"But—" Sirius begins to say.

Remus shakes his head. "Strip, or there'll be consequences."

You obey faster than Sirius, unbuttoning your shirt and pulling off your skirt, tossing them haphazardly onto James' bed. When you're down to your panties and bra, you look at Remus.

He looks back at you, expectantly.

Reaching behind your back, you make a show of unclipping your bra and letting it drop to the floor. You slide your panties off equally slowly, making eye contact with James—who's been pulled onto Remus' bed—as you do so, who stares at you with a kind of hunger.

You hear Sirius curse, and turn around. Your mouth goes dry at the sight of him—it's not that you've never seen him naked before, but Merlin, if it doesn't blow you away how attractive he is every time.

"Fuck," you whisper, taking in bare skin and dark hair and just Sirius fucking Black.

"I could say the same," Sirius murmurs, all but devouring you with his gaze. "Fucking gorgeous, darling."

You both turn to Remus, who's sitting next to James, a hand wrapped around the brunet's cock and stroking him slowly. James is breathing hard, and clearly fighting the urge to buck his hips into Remus' touch.

"Kiss," Remus says, barely even looking at you and Sirius—though that isn't true in the least; he'd gotten several long, good looks at both of you when you weren't noticing—as he works James expertly.

Sirius glances at you, smirking, and leans in to capture your mouth in his. The kiss is open and sloppy and utterly filthy, and when he presses up against you to sink his fingers into your hair, you feel his cock, half-hard, against you.

Of course you grind up against him.

He groans into your mouth and laughs, murmuring, "Oh, the things you fucking do to me."

"Just kiss me," you whisper back, and he obliges.

"Sit on Sirius' bed," Remus says, and the two of you break apart long enough to obey. Sirius' bed is right next to Remus', which means the four of you are facing each other on opposite beds—allowing for Remus and James to have a perfect front-row view.

Remus pauses for a bit, thoughtful, then says your name. "Suck him off."

"Huh?"

"You heard me, pet. Go make him feel good with your mouth," Remus instructs, and Sirius exhales with arousal. "Be a good girl and suck him off for me, hm?"

Fuck, Remus could make you feel so submissive so easily. With James, it's easy to switch—both of you enjoy both roles equally, and it's almost second nature for you two to fall into opposing roles. With Sirius, it's more fun subbing, but when you do manage to have him on his knees for you, it's quite a sight.

But Remus?

Remus could have you on your knees and begging with a single word.

So you drop to your knees and Sirius spreads his legs, and you take him into your mouth, your tongue swirling around the head and working his shaft. He groans with pleasure, fisting your hair in his hands. "Fuck, your mouth's bloody magical."

James lets out a small sound as Remus' hand speeds up on his cock, going from slow, torturously teasing strokes to a rhythmic thrusting. Remus' own trousers are getting a bit too tight for comfort as he watches James fall apart, Sirius' head tilting back in pleasure, and you working Sirius' cock. It's a sight out of the world's filthiest wet dream.

"Sirius," Remus says. "You'll tell me when you're close."

"Yes, okay, oh, fuck—"

"Yes, what?"

"Yes, sir," Sirius pants as you take him all the way into your mouth, his cock almost gagging you as it pushes against the back of your throat. But you don't gag—the boys had made sure of that.

"Fuck her throat," Remus orders, and the words had barely left his mouth when Sirius tightens his grip on your hair and begins thrusting into your mouth, using your throat like nothing but a hole, and you moan.

"Oh, she fucking likes that," Sirius murmurs, chasing his own pleasure as he gives you yours.

"Such a little whore," Remus agrees. "Don't you think so, James?"

His hand speeds up on James, and the boy cries out. "I—"

"Answer me," Remus says, and he thumbs the tip of James' cock harshly, eliciting a sensitive gasp from the other.

"Yes," James exhales, "fuck, fuck, sir, can I come?"

"Mm," Remus says. Then he stops moving his hand. "No."

"Fuck," James whimpers, bucking his hips slightly to chase a touch that isn't there. Arousal sparks in your gut at your boyfriend's desperate sound, and you moan around Sirius' cock.

"So pretty," Sirius coos, fucking your throat without abandon—and then: "Fuck, 'm close, bloody hell—"

"Stop," Remus says, almost bored, and Sirius makes the same sound James did, only breathier and frustrated instead of mournful, and his hips still. "Good boy."

Then Remus says your name, and you pull off Sirius' cock, turning around to look at him. "I want you to ride him, love."

"Okay," you agree, breathless with want.

"Here's the catch." Remus' hand wraps around James' cock again, and the brunet gasps. "None of you can come until I give permission."

"Okay," Sirius parrots, eyes already flickering towards you in desire.

"I'm not done yet," Remus snaps. "I'll only give permission if two of you ask for me to allow the third to come. Doesn't work if you beg for yourself. Doesn't work if only one other person asks. I want to hear both, understood?"

Fuck.

"Yes, sir," you murmur, and you hear Sirius and James echo the sentiment. You're beginning to regret teasing James for so long earlier—no way he's going to be nice to you. The smirk he sends you now confirms that theory.

"Good," Remus praises. "Sirius, get on the bed."

Sirius does, and you clamber on after him, already soaked from the anticipation. You're so keyed up, you won't last long at all, and as you lower yourself onto Sirius' cock, the sound he makes is enough to have you dripping.

"You feel so fucking good, love," Sirius murmurs heatedly, hands coming to rest on either side of your hips, almost possessively. You lean down and kiss him, deeply, as you begin to move your hips, and he gasps into the kiss.

You can hear James moan from the other bed, and the sound of Remus' belt unbuckling. Pulling away from Sirius, you watch as Remus directs James' mouth onto his cock. Fuck, that was a sight.

Remus locks eyes with you, his gaze dark and turned on and ridiculously fucking hot. "Ride him faster, pet. Make him beg."

"No, be nice," Sirius objects, but then you start moving your hips in circles and he gasps with the pleasure that courses through him. "Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck."

James whines around Remus' cock as he watches the two of you, and Remus reaches down to grip the boy's soft curls of hair. "Getting all worked up watching 'em have fun, hm? Keep being good and make me feel nice, alright, baby? Then you can have your fun."

"Mm," James hums in assent.

"Fuck," you whisper, as Sirius' cock drags across that one spot that made you want to cry with pleasure. Combined with what was essentially hours of foreplay, you couldn't help but blurt, "Close, 'm close, fuck, please, can I come?"

"That fast?" Remus asks patronizingly, then sighs with mock disappointment. "Well, it's up to them, isn't it?"

"Let her come," Sirius says, immediately.

"James?" Remus checks.

James doesn't pull off of Remus, but his eyes glint and he shakes his head slightly.

"No?" Remus sounds amused.

"James—" you gasp.

James pulls off long enough to confirm, "No."

Fuck.

"Stop," Remus orders you, and you whine, already chasing your own release with a vengeance. "Sirius, stop her."

Firm hands grab onto your hips and stop them from moving, and you could almost cry.

"Spank her a few times," Remus says. "Hard."

Sirius doesn't look sympathetic at all as he delivers several hard slaps to your thighs and your ass, each impact leaving a stinging red mark and drawing a whine from your throat. It leaves you aching, hurting, wanting more.

"Fuckin' pathetic," Remus scoffs, and James hums in agreement around Remus' cock. "So desperate for an orgasm that you're willing to disobey? Start riding him again. This time, you don't get to even ask for permission. James can ask for you."

Cruel bastard. Sly, genius, cruel bastard.

You start moving your hips again, and Sirius groans with pleasure at the stimulation. This time, you're careful not to let the tip of his cock brush that fucking spot inside of you, but Remus catches on. Of course he catches on.

"Sirius, grab her hips and tug her forward."

"No, no, please," you plead, because you know it's going to be too much, but Sirius only winks at you and tightens his grip on your hips and pulls you closer to him, and you cry out as his cock nestles right where it makes you see stars.

"I won't ask again, pet." Remus' voice is strained from pleasure, from the sight of you and Sirius and from James' skilled mouth. "Be good, or I'll ask Sirius to fuck James while he sucks me off and make you watch, and you won't get to fucking touch at all. Go to bed all needy and aching, and we might not even touch you for a week."

You want to cry. You want to kiss him. You don't know.

"Now ride Sirius, baby." You do, every movement of your hips and shallow thrust of his cock into you torture in and of itself, dragging laboriously against the inside of your cunt and sparking overwhelming pleasure with every twitch. Too much.

But you speed up, bouncing faster on Sirius' cock, until he's gasping and moaning with every movement and gripping your hips so tight they'll almost certainly bruise come morning.

"Can I come?" Sirius gasps.

"Yes," you almost beg. "Sirius, Sirius, please."

James nods around Remus, and Remus gives him permission, and Sirius moans as he spills into you, filling you up so fucking deliciously, and you help him through the orgasm even though the only thing you want is release of your own.

The sight is enough to have Remus groaning as well, releasing into James' mouth, who makes a show of swallowing every drop.

"Good boy," Remus praises him, and you whine—you want to be good, too.

Then Sirius is tapping at your hip and you're easing off him, his release dripping out of your swollen cunt and down your thighs.

"Oh, poor thing," Sirius murmurs as he watches how your eyes widen with desperation and want.

"Touch her," Remus urges him, and he does, sinking two fingers into your cunt in one smooth movement and making you gasp. "That's it, pet. Make those pretty, pathetic noises for us."

"Please," you whimper, flicking your gaze over to James.

"Please?" he echoes, mischief dancing in his eyes. Sirius crooks his fingers just right and you arch your back, whining from the pleasure and desperation. Tears prickle at your eyes and you let them fall as sensations overwhelm you, too much of everything all at once.

Finally, the brunet takes pity on you.

"Can she come?" he asks Remus.

"Let her come," Sirius agrees, even as he fucks his fingers in and out of you even rougher and you almost choke on a cry, bucking your hips into the sensation.

"Please," you gasp, shooting one last pleading look at Remus.

"She can come," Remus relents, and Sirius curls his fingers and you scream as you orgasm, almost blacking out from the ecstatic pleasure that courses through you. Your hips stutter and Sirius fucks you through your orgasm, until everything cools and you start whining with the overstimulation.

"Alright, enough," Remus says, and Sirius withdraws his fingers, covered in your fluids and his, and he licks them clean as he maintains eye contact with you. And then he winks.

Then Remus says your name, and you look over. "You gotta repay the favor now, baby. James hasn't come yet."

You look at James, whose cock is still hard and aching, whose eyes no longer sparkle with mischief but with the very same desperation you'd displayed minutes ago.

"Oh, baby," you murmur. "C'mere. I'll make you feel good, 'kay?"

#marauders #marauders era #marauders x reader #james potter x reader #remus lupin x reader #sirius black x reader #marauders imagine #james potter imagine #remus lupin imagine #sirius black imagine #james potter smut #sirius black smut #sirius black x reader smut #remus lupin smut #hp #harry potter #poly marauders #marauders x reader smut #marauders smut

[solemnly-mischievous]

with the band | s. black & r. lupin

you’re bored and bratty, but sirius is not paying any attention to you. your attempts at making him jealous result in triple the fun you asked for with the company of a certain green eyed drummer - and all in the middle of a nightclub.

PAIRINGS: rockstar!sirius black x fem reader / drummer!remus lupin x fem reader

WORD COUNT: 3,1k

CONTENTS: NSFW 18+, sub!reader, semi-public sex, exhibitionism, fem masturbation, little instance of degradation, praise kink, is this considered a threesome? idk

A/N: same universe as groupie love but can be read as a stand-alone. idk band!marauders has me on a chokehold at the moment. I just want to be a rockstar’s gf so bad smh

Keep reading

#how does this not have more notes?? #this is so good oh my god #band!marauders is such a concept #fic recs

[solemnly-mischievous]

late night with the marauders, lounging together on a couch, remus with his head tipped back and a book cast aside as he smiles at the sound of your laughter. james has his head in your lap, looking up at you adoringly, and sirius has a cigarette in one hand and the front of your shirt in another, bunching it up as he pulls you close and exhales smoke into your mouth.

it's cold outside but the four of you are more than warm enough together, casual touches and murmured affectionate nothings lingering in the air between you. james tugs at your shirt and you lean down, kissing him, and he tastes smoke and chocolate and sirius on your breath. remus does the same with sirius, biting the black-haired boy's lips teasingly, and sirius smirks back at him.

"we should go to sleep," you murmur after the fire quiets down and the moonlight shines into the window, the crescent moon still bright enough to cast pale shadows on the floor, in sirius' hair, reflecting off james' glasses.

sirius takes one last drag from his cigarette and extinguishes it with a wordless spell, leaning back onto remus' chest.

"mm," remus hums agreeably. "yeah, maybe we should."

the four of you stay there till morning, where the early sun finds you all asleep on each other - sirius against remus, you leaning against sirius, james resting on your lap.

#marauders #marauders era #harry potter #marauders x reader #james potter #remus lupin #sirius black #james potter x reader #remus lupin x reader #sirius black x reader #marauders imagine #sirius black imagine #remus lupin imagine #james potter imagine

[solemnly-mischievous]

wrote a little bit of a request that had sub!james and now i can't stop thinking about how james potter, messy-haired heartthrob, quidditch player, the cute one of the marauders, is the world’s biggest switch who would absolutely wreck you, but also get on his knees and beg if you just told him to.

(cw: edging, overstimulation, semi-public play, degradation, light themes of masochism—all the fun things)

the best part about james is how much of a switch he is. one day, he could be dominant, demanding, teasing, utterly infuriating—pulling you into bathrooms and fingering you right there over the sink, edging you with his tongue until you cried and pleaded, calling you his pretty little whore, leaving large and deep bruises all over your neck and collarbone just so he could show you off to the rest of the marauders. she's mine, you see that?

("James, oh, fuck!"

He glances up at you, hair falling in his glasses, a mischievous smile tugging at his lips. "What's wrong?"

Casual. Entirely fucking casual, like he hasn't got two fingers deep inside of you, thrusting slowly but deeply, slowly driving you insane with the sensation.

"Please, please, go faster," you plead, gripping the porcelain of the sink as he takes his damn time making you fall apart. You glance at the locked door of the bathroom—sure, it was locked, but what if someone heard?

"Go faster?" James muses, thumbing your clit and making you gasp. Then he pulls away entirely, and you let out a small cry as he brings his fingers to your mouth. You swirl your tongue over his fingers, barely tasting yourself, as you mourn the loss of the pleasure he gave.

"I think you forget sometimes, darling whore, that I call the fucking shots.")

.

and then another day, he's submissive, obedient, needy—he begs you to take control and he kinda secretly likes being hurt a bit, especially when it's from overstimulation or from being edged so much he becomes painfully desperate and sensitive. he makes the prettiest sounds you've ever heard, all breathy whines and whimpers and pleads, and he'll even beg to simply touch you, to be your obedient good slut. i'm yours, i'm all yours, just please, please let me touch.

("Too much," James gasps, bucking his hips—in an attempt to get away or an attempt to get more, you're not quite sure.

"Too much?" you echo. "Color?"

"Green," he gasps, even as he keens at your touch.

"Good boy," you praise, gripping his oversensitive cock and jerking him off slowly, enjoying the way he twitches and gasps at your touch. "S' not too much, is it? I say when it's too much, isn't that right?"

"Ye—yes, oh, fuck," James groans. "Please, please, fuck, don't stop."

"Don't stop?"

"It's too much—"

"Good." And you speed up, just a bit. "Now, let's make you come one more time, shall we?')

.

just... james potter.

#wish i had a james potter #who doesnt?? #james potter #marauders #marauders era #james potter imagine #james potter smut #james potter x reader #james potter x reader smut #harry potter #hp #marauders smut #marauders imagine

[solemnly-mischievous]

the bet || james potter

James claims he can make you come in thirty minutes. You call bullshit. He takes it as a challenge.

Thanks for 500 followers! It's been a hot second since I wrote here, I've missed it - hope you enjoy!

Contains: D/s, dirty talk, fingering, cunnilingus, overstimulation, praise, James is slightly mean (but in a nice way), reader's a bit of a brat

Word count: 2.3K

------

"No way."

James smirks as you make a disbelieving face at him. "No way?"

"No way," you repeat, snickering. "You're full of shit, James Potter."

"Really?" He elbows you, and there's a faint blush on his face but it's overpowered by the teasing look in his gaze. Your best friend feigns offense. "You don't think I could do it?"

The two of you are sitting in the Marauders' dorm room, the rest of the boys out and about on their own business—Peter had Potions, Sirius was in Hogsmeade, and Remus in the library. That left you and James alone, and the two of you had intended to work on your Charms homework together.

Intended being the key word there.

"No," you drawl. "Thirty minutes? No fucking way."

"I think you're biased because you've never been with anyone good enough," James snarks. He peers at you through loose curls and skewed glasses, and your heart skips a beat. "Your last hookup was... what, that Ravenclaw bloke? He doesn't even look like he could turn you on, let alone get you there in thirty minutes."

You blush at how explicit the conversation's become, but you're not about to back down now. You keep eye contact with your best friend as you challenge, "Sure, whatever, like you're much better."

"Oh, but I am," James murmurs, and he doesn't look away.

You barely refrain from making an embarrassing sound, but James seems to catch how flustered you are anyway. Smirking, he sits up straighter. "You're cute when you blush."

"Bugger off," you mutter. "Just because you're a flirt doesn't mean you're good with girls. You probably can't even tell when they're faking it."

"Really," he says, and it's a fucking challenge, you can tell, because he's got that glint in his eye that only comes out before a Quidditch game or a risky prank and oh god. "I'd be willing to bet a week's worth of Potions homework on that."

"Prongs, you're bloody terrible at Potions."

"Defense Against the Dark Arts, then." He flicks your ear, and a familiar dynamic returns between you two. "Brat."

"Jerk," you mumble. But James is pretty spectacular at DADA, one of your worst subjects. Plus... Fuck, how could you turn that challenge down? James could've wagered a piece of pocket lint and you would've taken it.

"Fine," you say, and James' eyes widen with a mixture of surprise and delight.

"You're agreeing?" he asks incredulously.

"I can't wait for you to fail so I can lord it over you for eternity," you tease, trying to ignore how excited you were over the idea. Over James, his teasing glances and smirks and his lips and his fingers and everything, because damned if you haven't been fantasizing about James Potter ever since you met him. "I'll wager a week of Potions homework."

"I don't need a wager from you," James dismisses, almost bouncing with excitement. "Bloody hell, darling, I didn't think you'd agree, is this a dream?"

"Someone's excited." You raise an eyebrow. "So eager to lose?"

"Oh, you're going to regret your words," he warns. "Mark my words."

You laugh, but there's something in his tone that sounds sincere. And maybe, just maybe, it turns you on. Just maybe.

"What are you waiting for, the—"

And then James is kissing you, his soft lips pressing against yours, and his fingers fist your hair and he's tugging, kissing you with such a ferocity you'd think he was starving for it.

Because he is.

James pulls away just long enough to whisper "Bed" and the two of you stumble over to his—Remus'? Sirius'? Doesn't bloody matter—bed. You gasp and laugh and arch your neck as he trails a slow path down the sensitive skin there.

"You're sure you want this?" he whispers in your ear, along with an almost tender murmur of your name.

"You have no bloody clue," you giggle, and that's more than enough confirmation for James as he tugs at your tie, undoing the buttons of your blouse enough to reveal your bra.

"Can I..."

You pull him back up to kiss him gently and murmur, "Clock's ticking, Potter. Whatever you want to do to me, you have my full permission."

Because, you know, he's going to need all the help he can get to get you to come in thirty minutes. Obviously. Not because you've been craving his touch for so goddamn long.

"So eager," James murmurs, almost laughingly, and he trails a hand down your unbuttoned shirt. In one bold movement, he pushes your bra up and exposes your breasts to the chill air of the dorm, and you let out a breathy gasp.

James stares at you for a few seconds, taking it in. Then he reaches out, flicks a nipple, and laughs at the small sound of protest you make. "You're so fucking pretty. I knew you'd be. Thought about it for s'long, but the real thing doesn't compare at all."

He thought about it?

And then James leans down to take a nipple into his mouth, teasing it gently with the edge of his teeth and soothing it with his tongue, and you whine softly. You never knew how bloody sensitive you were there.

"Your sounds, too," he muses. "I've never imagined them to be so pretty."

You're on the edge of making a sarcastic quip back but then he backs up and pushes your skirt up and oh.

"Oh," James says, mirroring your thoughts. But his voice is fused with amusement, satisfaction—with hunger. He traces a light, faint line up your thigh and at the edge of your panties, and then, oh so lightly, he presses down on where it fucking aches.

"You're so wet already, darling," he teases, and he presses down more and you gasp with how good even that slightest bit of stimulation feels. "Where are your little taunts now, hm?"

I don't know I don't know I don't know is the only thing flashing in your mind. And is it pathetic that you've become such a mess with, what, three light touches and a few kisses?

Absolutely.

Does it bother you?

Not at all.

"James," you grit out, "if you don't touch me right now, I swear—"

"Oh, there you are," he says, nonchalantly, casually, as if he isn't currently leaning down to press an open-mouthed kiss through your soaked panties, as if he isn't the first person ever to turn you on so much, as if he isn't your best friend who you want so fucking badly to ruin you.

You buck your hips up to meet his touch and he pulls away, and you let out a petulant "James."

He says your name back to you in the same tone, mockingly. "Stay still now, pet. Be good."

Be good.

You shudder at his words and you pray to Merlin he doesn't notice, but of course he does.

"You like that?" A smile plays on James' lips. "Hm."

He glances at the clock that hangs above Remus' bed—so you are on James' bed, after all—and hums thoughtfully. "Only eight minutes in, and you're already such a mess. I'm starting to think I might win this bet, after all."

"Stop bloody monologuing," you plead.

"So impatient," James tsks, but he obliges and finally, finally, pulls your panties off your legs. He tosses the soaked fabric aside and taps your lips with his index finger. "Open."

You part your mouth and close your lips around his fingers, swirling your tongue around them and making eye contact with James the entire way. He knows what you're insinuating. He bloody well knows.

"Fucking tease," he mutters, and you wink at him.

When he's satisfied that his fingers are wet enough, James pulls them out of your mouth, and both your gazes are a bit glazed over with desire. He has the upper hand, though, because when he glances at you and smirks and sinks a finger into your tight cunt something in you breaks and you let out a broken gasp.

"You're so responsive," James murmurs, fucking you slowly with one finger. "I haven't even really done anything yet."

He circles your clit with his free hand, drawing deep, slow circles around your most sensitive part, and you buck your hips imperceptibly with every little touch.

"Faster," you whisper.

"What was that?" And he slows down, the bastard.

But really, what have you got to lose by a bit of begging?

"Go faster," you plead.

"Ask nicely," James teases. It's a bit of a test, too—a Do you like this? Is this alright? and your heart swells because fuck, you love this boy so much.

"Please," you breathe. Yes, it's okay, please make me feel good, James—

James smiles, slow and pretty. "All you had to do was ask."

And he starts pumping his finger in faster, leaning down to work your clit with his tongue as he finger-fucks you, and somewhere along the line he decides you're loose enough and he slips a second finger in and you gasp at the burn, at how good it feels—

His tongue is magic, you decide, because there's no conceivable way he could be making you feel that good on his own. No bloody way.

"James," you whisper, because you're getting close somehow, already, and you're well aware of how much of a hypocrite you are but you don't care. "James, oh, don't stop."

But he does, lifting his head up from where his tongue has been working magic and giving you a smirk, his lips covered in slick. "Oh, desperate, are we? Getting close, pet?"

"Maybe," you say reluctantly.

"Maybe?" James raises an eyebrow. He flicks his gaze toward the clock. "Eight minutes left. If you're only maybe getting close, then perhaps I should forfeit, hm?"

And to your horror, he actually starts drawing his fingers out, and you panic. "No! No, no, no, James, I'm close, please, don't stop."

And he laughs, flicking your clit lightly and enjoying how you squirm. "Brat," he says again.

But then he starts fucking you again, his fingers working magic, and when he leans down and presses a final, languid kiss onto your sensitive clit, you whimper out a strangled version of his name and you come, swift and bright and intense.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," you whimper, because it feels so good and you're riding a high you've never felt before. No one's ever made you feel this good—not even close. "Holy shit."

But then you come down from the high and you realize that James isn't stopping.

"Ja—ah, fuck," you gasp, as your clit starts to protest from overstimulation. "Please, Merlin, oh—"

He lifts his head up but his fingers don't stop working you as he locks gazes with you, all innocent and doe-like. "What's the matter?"

"Too much," you pant. "It's—too much."

"Is it?" To emphasize, he thumbs your clit, and you gasp.

"I—"

"There's five minutes left on the clock, pet," James says, and he watches as realization dawns on your face—the unspoken price of losing the bet. "C'mon now, love, you can take it, can't you?"

And you know you could say no. You could push him away, tell him to stop, and he would do it.

But you don't want to.

You want to be good for him.

And so you nod your head and he grins so wide, so delightedly, that in that moment you would've let him do whatever the bloody hell he wanted to you.

"Good girl," he praises you, and your cunt clenches around his fingers in arousal.

James speeds up again, fucking you roughly, and you whimper as your sensitive, too sensitive cunt takes the abuse. You let out a desperate whine, squirming at every little touch as you let James utterly, thoroughly, take you apart.

"Fuck, fuck, oh god, it's—" You squeeze your eyes shut and moan as waves of pleasure start to overtake you, melting away your earlier discomfort into something sharp and desperate and familiar. "James, I'm going to—"

"Come for me, love," James murmurs, and you do, coming for the second time with a loud gasp and his name on your lips like a mantra, right as the clock hits thirty minutes exactly. "That's it, that's it, so fucking pretty, pet, you're so good for me."

You come down from your high slowly, eyes squeezed shut and chest heaving with every breath. You wonder what you look like—fucked out and blissed and ruined, no doubt.

You hear someone say your name. Again. And another time.

Opening your eyes, you see James hovering anxiously above you, murmuring your name worriedly. "Are you alright?"

It takes you a moment to find the right words. "I think," you say, slowly, "it's fair to say you won this bet."

He cracks a mischievous grin, and a soft touch at your chest alerts you to how he's buttoning up your shirt, oh-so-gently. "You think so?"

"Mhm." You smile back. "Guess I'm doing your Potions homework next week."

"Oh, pfft," he scoffs. "I'm already getting Wormtail to do them. Here, relax."

A wet rag sponges at your thighs and in-between your legs. It's soothing, comforting, and you sigh contentedly. But a realization hits.

"You didn't get off," you say, almost accusingly. You glance down, and sure enough, James is visibly hard. You try not to think about how much that alone turns you on.

"Don't worry about me, love."

"But—"

"Shh." James leans over and presses a soft kiss to your forehead. He gets into bed next to you, snuggling up close. "Next time, yeah? You can make it up to me next time."

Next time. You could almost cheer.

"Alright," you say, leaning against his shoulder. He's all too happy to let you do so. "Next time it is."

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