#three rereads and then we might be ready

[dollfaceksj]

the pink pill | myg version (m) — “no one else”

➥ banner by @jkndigo.

➥ PAIRING: yoongi x fem!reader

➥ SUMMARY: In each of these universes, you find yourself consuming what is known as the pink pill. This pill is essentially a drug that enhances your libido to the max and you’ll quite literally never experience arousal like you do when you’ve taken this pill. Thankfully, in each universe, there’s a man that’s ready to help you explore and reach your peak of sexual euphoria.

➥ GENRE: smut ⋆ porn with plot ⋆ exes

➥ CATEGORY: one-shot [part of the pink pill series]

➥ WARNINGS: explicit sexual content, angst, exes but also idiots, degradation kink, unprotected sex (dont be like them), rough sex but also love-making??, did i mention a bit of angst, multiple positions guys yoongi is catching up for missing u all those times likeee, spankingggg, making out w tongue, overstimulation, claiming/possessiveness, multiple orgasms for reader, extremelyhorny!reader, cocky exboyfriend!yoongi…. yeah., hes a sick son of a bitch but thats why we like him besides he’s pretty tame in this i have worse yoongi’s up my sleeve this is nothin, neither of you have moved on, mutual pining but mutual STUBBORNNESSSSS for fucks sake, filthy words, creampie, oral sex (f. rec), embarrassingly quick climaxes likeee, minors DNI

➥ WORDCOUNT: 9.8k

a/n: and at last, yoongi’s ver of the pink pill is finally out!!! thank you for loving jk’s version! i hope you enjoy yoongi’s. beware of a bit of angst and complicated feelings<33

⋆ TAGLIST ⋆

⋆ MASTERLIST & CONCEPT VIDEO ⋆

Your trembling thumb hovers over the blue arrow next to your unsent message, eyes scanning over the message over and over again. Your heart might implode in your chest the moment you hit send, which is why you’ve been staring at the message that would cause more cons than pros for the past 5 minutes.

Well, would it, though? It’s just a favor. You need a favor.

It’s like your brain is talking directly to your heart. Your brain is telling you how bad of an idea this is whilst your heart is just rolling its non-existent eyes at the nagging, as if your heart isn’t about to slide up your airways into your esophagus, travel straight up your burning throat and launch out of your mouth. You need to calm down.

The aggravating lump in your throat doesn’t let up.

And that’s when the pad of your thumb impulsively hits the damn blue arrow that’s been mockingly staring at you for the past few minutes.

[11:12PM]

from: You

to: Ignore

can you come over

Once the small letters that say ‘delivered’ pop up under your blue message, you internally scream into the void. Your eyes stay glued to your phone, the back of your phone is becoming slimy in your grasp due to the sweat your palms are rapidly producing.

You barely blink as you stare at the screen, your lips twitching as you wait and attempt to ignore the anxiety bubbling in your chest.

Your gaze slowly shifts upwards on the conversation, rereading old messages. The last you heard from him was 4 months ago. The two of you broke up around 9 months ago but still slept together for a good 2-3 months after.

The last message between you two from 4 months ago was you asking him when he could come pick up the rest of his shit. He came, picked up his shit and that’s when you last saw him. You barely exchanged any words. You had anticipated having sex one last time but he just wordlessly collected his stuff and left.

So, it’s understandable why you’d be so worried about asking him to come over and… well, ask him if he can fuck the shit out of you.

Your heart plummets into the pit of the earth when you notice the ‘delivered’ has turned into ‘read 11:13PM’.

Fuck. Fuck. FUCK.

He’s not responding.

Why is he not responding?

One minute passes. Two minutes pass. Three minutes. Four.

You’ve been staring at your phone the entire time and not once did the bubble that indicates he’s typing pop up.

What if he doesn’t even want to talk to you?

Fuck.

What the fuck were you even thinking?

⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆

After cleaning up the coffee table that was covered in snacks and empty cans that you used to take your mind off the excruciating arousal pooling in your core, you start heading into your once-shared bedroom with your head held down. It’s been 12 minutes since you sent that message and you haven’t gotten a response.

You’re a damn loser.

You plan to start slipping out of your plain shirt and shorts, cringing when you realize you’ve completely soaked through your cotton shorts. How fucking embarrassing. What the hell is in that pill?

Right as your fingers tuck under the hem of your shorts to pull them down your legs, you hear a rhythmic knock on your front door.

What? Who could…

Wait.

It possibly couldn’t be.

The lump returns to your throat at lightning speed as you start heading down your corridor, sluggishly dragging your feet across the floor.

You press your hand flat against the door in an attempt to gather your thoughts and collect your breath before you slowly start opening up, his familiar feline eyes staring at you with an agitated look pooling in them.

“What do you want?” He doesn’t even have the decency to greet you, he just stands there with his hands shoved into the pockets of his sweatpants.

You quietly swallow as you cross your arms over your chest, stepping to the side to wordlessly invite him in. When he gives you a raised eyebrow in confusion, you say, “I don’t need my neighbors hearing my business.”

The exasperated sigh he lets out slightly stings but he walks in nonetheless. You close the door behind him but he’s showing no intentions or moves to take his shoes off. He just stands in front of the door, annoyance draped over his features.

You silently stare up at him, hoping he doesn’t notice your strange demeanor.

“So? Are you gonna tell me what you want or are you just gonna stare at me and continue to waste my time?” His words are blunt and brutal—the bitterness that he still holds in his heart for you hasn’t left him, it seems.

You finally find the courage to speak up and quietly say, “I need a favor, Yoongi.”

He blankly stares at you for a few moments. Humorlessly laughs at your request. Drops his head. Shakes it from side to side in disbelief.

You can’t help but glare at his reaction, fighting the urge to roll your eyes and spew insulting words at him. This is kind of selfish of you.

“Why would I do you a favor?” he asks once he’s stopped laughing, staring you down with hooded eyelids and no traces of mock amusement left on his face.

“I’ll owe you,” you say, failing to hide the clear annoyance in your tone. You want to strangle him.

“You already owe me.” His response is almost immediate, leaving you speechless for a few seconds as you stare up at him with a frown etched onto your brows.

“Excuse me? What the fuck do I owe you?”

He tilts his head to the side with an irritated look on his face before he says, “I don’t know, you wasted 3 years of my fucking life?”

You exaggeratedly roll your eyes at his words, shaking your head in exasperation. “I could quite literally say the same to you.”

He takes a moment to gather his thoughts, his intense stare down never letting up.

He decides to ignore your remark and repeats, “What do you want, Y/N?”

You swallow again, looking to the side to avoid his penetrating gaze as you think about how the fuck you’re going to ask him what you want to ask him.

How do you even begin to ask?

Hey, you haven’t heard from me in months but could you fuck me real quick?

“What? Do you need money?” he asks in a neutral tone, although you can sense the concern tinged in his words.

“No,” you mumble, the collar of your shirt is starting to feel like it’s closing in around the perimeter of your neck with the goal of suffocating you.

He continues, “Then what? An alibi?”

You throw your head back in exasperation as you groan, “Don’t be ridiculous.”

It’s quiet for a moment and it makes you look at him. You notice he’s staring straight at you like he’s trying to figure out what’s going on and what you aren’t telling him.

“Need some lovin’?” he asks with a certain humorous tone, the joke causing you to glance up at him through your lashes with big eyes.

It seems like only then that he takes notice of your swollen lips, your dilated pupils, the thin layer of sweat on your forehead and the quickened breathing with the way his eyes scan your entire face and the frown on his brows slowly disappearing when the realization dawns on him.

He narrows his eyes at you and his hands leave his pockets, swiftly moving to cross over his chest as his lips twitch, something you can only describe as him trying to stifle a smirk. “You actually asked me to come over so I could come fuck you?”

Your mind travels at incomprehensible speed to come up with an answer, leaving you scrambled and almost stuttering. You blurt out, “It’s your fault.”

This makes his brows pinch together in utter confusion. “How the hell is it my fault?”

A deep sigh pushes past your lips as you drop your arms from your chest, hands resting on your hips as you look at the floor in shame. “I was cleaning shit up and I came across that dumb pink pill you bought that you wanted me to try but never got the chance to,” you explain, peeking up at him through your lashes momentarily before averting your gaze again.

“Pill? What pink pill?” he repeats, the frown on his face deepening further as the word leaves his mouth.

“Yes, that stupid pink pussycat pill, Yoongi. We bought it as a joke to try on our anniversary but then we had that stupid fight.” You try to get him to recall the events of a year ago, the quick wince on his face at the mention of your anniversary fight doesn’t go unnoticed by you. “Anyway, I didn’t want it to go to waste and I was wondering what it might feel like or if it even works. So, I took it earlier today, for shits and giggles.”

He slowly nods to your words as the memories come back to him, seemingly remembering how excited he was for you to take that pill. “So, I reckon the pill is doing what it said it would?”

You merely grunt in response.

He’s silent for a few seconds before quietly chuckling, shaking his head. His chuckle is so deep and sultry, it shoots a tingle right down your soaked panties.

You huff, “What’s so amusing, you dickhead?”

He glances at you through his brows for a moment before averting his gaze, his eyes roaming his surroundings as he looks around your once-shared home. “I’m just flattered, is all.”

“Flattered?” you repeat, a disapproving frown on your features. He’s turning this entire thing into a compliment for himself.

You really can’t fucking stand him.

“You could’ve flaunted that pretty face out at some bar and gotten someone to fuck you without needing to offer any favors,” he explains, giving you a glimpse of his thought process, those words making your body heat up all over again.

Damn him.

You know Yoongi has always found you insanely attractive but him so nonchalantly reminding you has set your insides aflame.

“You know I don’t do that stuff,” you mumble with a shake to your head.

His bitter, humorless chuckle booms in your ears. Why does it sound like he’s literally inside your head? “That’s exactly how we met, you dirty liar.” He reminds you of how his hips were slamming into yours an hour after you met him and no rebuttal comes to your mind.

You silently stare at him, bringing your hand up to wipe some of the sweat off your hairline with the back of your index finger.

“Yeah, you know what? I don’t know why I even texted you. You can leave,” you say, a surge of anger coursing through your veins as you reach for the door handle but Yoongi is quicker than you.

His hand quickly reaches for yours, fingers wrapping tightly around your wrist. “I can tell you why you did,” he quips, cockily.

You glare up at him but make no effort to remove his hand from your skin, the single touch of his skin against yours sends lava down all your veins and every single one of your nerve-endings. Fuck, you wish you could pounce him right fucking now. You finally gather your thoughts and say, “Oh, please, do enlighten me.”

“You asked me here because you don’t want all that arousal to go to waste on someone that doesn’t know your body like I do.” He starts closing the gap between you two, face closing in on yours. “They won’t do the things you like.”

Your throat tightens at his proximity and his words, your lungs seconds away from imploding in between your ribcage.

“And you’re too shy to tell them because you know you like filthy things.” He moves his other hand up to trace the shell of your ear with the tip of his index finger, his eyes glued to how his finger glides down your skin.

If he noticed his touch instantly awoke the goosebumps on your skin, he doesn’t comment on it and continues to play with your ear, fingers coming down to rub your earlobe in between the pads of his thumb and index finger.

“No one knows your body like I do, no one else.” He drops his hand from your ear to trace the collar of your shirt, the tip of his finger occasionally grazing your neck. “No one knows how filthy you are. How needy you are. How you like to be touched and kissed. That’s how I know,” he concludes.

He adds, “You clearly haven’t moved on.”

He was doing so well, too.

Haven’t moved on? Son of a bitch.

“Yeah, well, what about you?” you blurt out. You watch as his thick eyebrows scrunch together in smug mockery.

“What about me? Don’t turn this on me, sweetheart. You’re the one asking me to come fuck you.” He starts to take off his shoes, kicking them aside like he used to do.

Cocky asshole.

“You showed up 10 minutes after a simple ‘come over’ text, no questions asked.” You remind him of tonight’s events and his face slowly turns into a scowl, his usual quick witty comebacks suddenly nonexistent.

“So what?” he mumbles, not in the mood to fight you for this any longer because he knows he’ll lose.

“Just admit you want this as bad as I do instead of being smart about it,” you say, rolling your eyes as you take a step back to create some more distance between you two. You hadn’t realized he’d gotten that close.

He shrugs his shoulders with an air of nonchalance, rolling his tongue against the inside of his cheek. “I wouldn’t say as bad as you.”

Right, because you took that pill and your arousal is off the charts.

He must think he’s sooooooo funny.

“You’re a lia–”

Before you can even finish speaking, he takes a step closer and it inevitably traps you in between his body and the wall behind you. He arrogantly adds, “Want me to push my fingers into your panties and check?”

Fuck.

He shouldn’t still have the ability to knock the oxygen right out of your lungs with just silly words. He shouldn’t.

You stare up at him with a furrow in your brows, eyes wide and lips almost quivering, simply at the thought of him touching you. Damn him.

And he knows.

Because his gaze drops to your lips before back to your eyes, the corners of his own lips curling up at something he’s thinking about.

“What?” you grumble, your voice barely coming out and leaving you for dead in your time of need.

“Nothing.” He shakes his head and adds a shrug to his shoulders for extra nonchalance. “I just think after you ran your mouth like this, it’d be more fun to make you beg for it.”

Your hands come up to his chest, pressing flat against him to push him back but he doesn’t budge an inch because there’s no real strength behind the push and he knows it.

“I hate you,” you quietly say, hands still pressed up against his chest with the tiniest bit of pressure to make it seem like you don’t want him.

Unfortunately, Yoongi knows you too well.

“That’s fine, as long as you’re good to me.” The words leave his mouth in a breathy chuckle that drapes over your lips as his face closes in on yours, plump lips grazing the skin of your jaw. “You were always so good to me.”

“Why did you leave me, then?” Your voice comes out a bit choked, a big gulp following your question and it’s almost like you’re attempting to swallow the words back down. You can’t believe you just blurted that out. Is one of the side effects of that dumb pink pill being emotional as hell?

He freezes for a few seconds before pulling away and searching for your eyes. His expression is decorated by a frown and his pretty lips are pressed into a thin line.

He doesn’t say anything for a while, just lets the deafening silence settle around you. Stares at you as if one of the world’s greatest unsolved mysteries is being revealed to him and the answer is in your irises. Watches as you idly blink at him and it makes his lips twitch. Seems to be in deep thought and you can’t figure out what’s going through his mind for the life of you.

Then, he speaks.

“Why didn’t you stop me?”

His words paired with his intense gaze sends a jolt of electricity down your spine, leaving your legs to wobble like they’re made of jelly.

You both stare at each other for a while in complete silence. His familiar, black, feline eyes staring into yours so intimately summon a vine that wraps around your heart, digging its sharp thorns into your most beloved organ until it bleeds out all over your insides.

He’s right.

You clearly haven’t moved on.

“Let’s just,” you pause and shake your head free of those thoughts. You don’t bother to finish your sentence as you wrap your fingers around his wrist, leading him toward your once-shared bedroom and he simply lets you.

As soon as you walk in, you let go of his hand and reach for the hem of your shirt. You yank it off your body without a second of hesitation before tossing it somewhere on the floor and it makes him chuckle for some reason.

You turn to glare at him. “Something funny?” you snark, arms crossing over your chest like a child that wanted the purple lollipop instead of the yellow one.

He stares at you from the entrance of your room, an amused smile still on his pretty lips. His eyes scan the walls and the furniture as he slowly makes his way in, shoving his hands into the pockets of his sweatpants. “I see that you’ve changed the entire room.”

Your eyes follow the direction of his gaze, scanning around the room as if you’d forgotten what you changed about the place. “Yeah.”

He struts toward you, getting so close that he’s practically pressed up against you. His onyx eyes stare you down, one of his infamous unreadable expressions plastered on his face. “Trying to act like I never existed?” he asks, hands still buried in his pockets and fuck, how you wish he would just give in and touch you.

You simply blink up at him, your eyes pingpong-ing between his eyes from left to right continuously as you try to think of a way to answer.

Should you lie? Should you just be honest?

As if on cue, your question is answered when he lazily places his right hand on your hip, pulling you even closer to him.

Be honest.

“No.” You shake your head slightly, never breaking eye contact with the enticing man in front of you. “I was never going to forget about you if everywhere I looked just reminded me of you.”

His hand tenses on your hip, a muscle in his jaw tenses up and your eyes are just in time to catch the way his Adam’s apple bounces up and down.

You shift your eyes back up to his, blinking your eyelids at him so innocently yet so full of temptation. He slowly starts nodding his head as if he just had an epiphany and then moves his hand from your hip to your waist.

“Can I kiss you?” he asks, thumb rubbing circles onto your bare skin.

You shrug your shoulders smugly. “Thought you’d never ask.”

He doesn’t need anything else. His lips are on top of yours the moment the words leave your mouth, teeth clashing at how quickly he lunges at you.

His mouth devours you like a man starved as his other hand grips the back of your head to keep you in his grasp, his tongue forcing its way into your mouth.

Several soft moans resound in your throat that he simply swallows, hand balling into a fist on the back of your head, gripping your hair at the root.

You mewl, your hands coming up to squeeze his biceps as you try to grind your hips into his. Fuck, you’re like a fucking animal in heat.

“Fuck, I’m barely touching you and you’re this needy,” he whispers against your open mouth before shoving his tongue back in.

Your insides are set ablaze when he starts pushing you backwards with his own body until your calves hit the mattress and automatically makes you fall backwards, dropping onto your bed.

He wastes no time climbing on top of you, lips leaving a trail of wet kisses down the column of your throat to the strap of your bra as he gently starts tugging them off your shoulders.

You automatically arch your back off the mattress, encouraging him to unclasp your bra and he does.

Whilst he unclasps your bra, he coats your collarbones in soft kisses and absentmindedly throws your bra to the side as he brings his hand back up to fondle your breast in his large hand.

“Fuck,” you whisper, every single inch of his touch electrifies your body and sets your soul alight. Damn, you’ve missed this.

His thumb gently teases your erect nipple, rolling it around whilst he continues to nibble on the skin of your neck.

Your hips involuntarily buck upwards into nothing and you almost flinch at the way his breath grazes your neck when Yoongi softly chuckles, clearly finding your extreme level of arousal amusing.

“Can you just stop teasing me?” you whine, legs spreading wider and wider without a second thought.

“You’re gonna have to ask a lot nicer if you want me to do that, sugar.” He lifts his head off your shoulder and closes in on your other breast, wrapping his lips around it whilst his hand slowly travels down your stomach to your clothed sex. He starts sucking on your nipple and the effects of that pill makes it so it feels like he’s touching you all over, on every part of your body, on every inch of your skin. Causes you to squirm and moan under him like a fish separated from a body of water.

“Fuck,” he chuckles, “I should’ve made you take that pill so fucking long ago. Look at you.”

You simply grumble, “Fuck you.”

He lifts his head off your breast to stare at you directly in the eyes and you instantly regret running your mouth. “Yoongi, I just want–”

Smack!

“Ow!” you cry out, the warmth of the slap on your pussy spreading through your skin like wildfire. You instantly whimper, “I’m sorry.”

The apology means nothing to him, though.

He shakes his head. “Always running that fucking mouth of yours.” His fingers tuck under the hem of your shorts and he slides them down your legs before tossing them aside like he has personal beef with the article of clothing.

“Holy shit,” he whispers as he glances at the massive wet patch on your panties and all the slick smeared around your inner thighs, eyes practically bulging out of his eye sockets.

You can’t help but frown, though. “What?”

“No wonder,” he says, seemingly answering his own unspoken question. “You are completely soaked. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you this fucking horny.”

You whine, tucking your thumbs under the hem of your panties to drag them down your legs and he doesn’t even try to stop you, just simply stares at you in awe but your panties don’t budge an inch when you stop and decide to just give in, in hopes he’ll fall for your tricks.

“Please, just,” you yelp, “fuck me. Please. I think I’ll die if you don’t.”

He throws his head back as he laughs, his gorgeous neck on full display for you. “Don’t be so dramatic.”

“Yoongi,” you pause, “I’m so fucking serious. I’ve been thinking about you fucking me all day. I need you to. Please.”

He searches your face and seemingly takes note of the desperation and earnestness in your eyes. Shortly after, he drags his gaze down your exposed body, simply staring at your naked figure.

Sprawled out on your bed, lips swollen, a thin layer of sweat coating your skin, pupils dilated, breasts bare with nipples standing at attention and your arousal that has already started dripping onto your sheets.

He slowly starts to nod his head and in the blink of an eye, he yanks his own shirt off.

The view of his bare chest brings back so many memories, all the times he fucked you good come rushing back to you and it isn’t fucking helping your case.

A persistent lump forms in your throat that refuses to disappear but that’s when you realize that it’s not just a lump but words. The words ‘I miss you’ are forcing their way to the tip of your tongue, threatening to spill.

But you absolutely refuse to let that happen.

Just bite your tongue.

“All day, huh?” he muses, talking more to himself. He quickly ditches his sweatpants in the meantime and tosses them off the bed. “What took you so long to text me?”

You silently watch as he crawls back over to you in just his black boxers, settling right next to your body and supporting his own weight with his elbow while his other hand returns to your panties. Teasingly plays with the hem. Presses his lips against your neck. Inhales your scent.

You stay quiet for a few moments, eyes shut tightly at the tip of his fingers brushing against your pelvis. So close yet so far. “My pride,” you finally reply.

He simply chuckles at your words and slowly tucks his fingers under the hem of your panties, groaning when the back of his knuckles brush against the sticky patch of your arousal on the inside of your panties. “I don’t think I’ve seen this amount of wetness. Not even in porn.”

His skin finally makes contact with your sex, running right up your wet slit and collecting all of your arousal on the tip of his finger. “Holy fucking shit, Y/N.”

You mewl, hips already thrusting up into his hand but he simply uses his palm to press down on your pelvis.

“Stay still.” The demand makes your insides twist into a wringed out shirt and makes your pussy clench around nothing.

“I can’t,” you whimper, legs shaking at the simple touch of his fingers smearing your arousal all over your sex. “I’m trying to but I can’t.”

It’s like you have no control over your body whatsoever. You just want to be fucked.

“Why can’t you?” he quips as he plunges two fingers right into you, groaning when your slick walls tightly hug his fingers. He already knows, he just likes to push your buttons.

“Because I want you,” you breathe out, moaning at the sensation of his fingers slowly pumping into you. Your sensitivity is off the fucking charts, just his fingers being buried in your pussy without any movement whatsoever could have you cumming in no time.

“I can tell,” he cockily chuckles. His sultry laugh is so full of mockery, the type that would usually piss you the fuck off but in this moment turns you the fuck on. “I just need to prep you, baby. Can’t be hurting you simply because you’re writhing like an animal in heat.”

You quickly shake your head. “I don’t need any fucking prep,” you moan as his hand picks up in pace. “Please, just fuck me. I’m already wetter than I’ve ever been. You literally just said it yourself.”

He lifts his head off your collarbones and searches your eyes for a moment, a stern frown on his brows. “Are you sure?”

Yoongi’s always been into manhandling you and being rough but only when it’s pleasurable for you. He’d usually go down on you or work you towards an orgasm using just his fingers, in hopes it’d have you ready to take him.

So, no, he’s not used to just jumping in and fucking you.

You quickly nod your head. “Never been more sure.”

He stares at you for a moment longer but the sincerity in your eyes is prominent. He then simply spreads your folds with his sticky fingers, smearing your arousal all over your sex before pulling his fingers out of your pussy, the sounds leaving your sex almost embarrassing you.

He slides his hand out of your panties and glances at his hand, eyes scanning his fingers coated in your pussy slick.

“Fuck, look at that,” he whispers but doesn’t even grant you the time to look when he immediately shoves his fingers into his mouth, sucking all your arousal off his digits.

“Yoongi,” you whine, clenching around nothing as you watch him.

“Fuck, princess,” he grunts as he pulls his fingers out of his mouth. “It’s been too long. I’m gonna need to eat that.”

You want to protest but he’s already pulling you toward him by your thighs, settling in between them as he’s now face to face with your slick-covered panties.

“I want to be fucked,” you whine, staring down at him between your legs but his eyes are just focused on your panties.

He replies, “And I want to fucking eat you out so you’re gonna have to be patient, you little brat.”

You don’t have the time to whine any more when he pushes your panties to the side and the single action could have you coming undone, right here, right now.

He idly stares at your glistening pussy like he’s Monkey D. fucking Luffy and he found the One Piece after years of venturing the seas.

“Why are you staring like that?” you quietly ask, unfortunately not possessing enough strength to close your thighs out of self-consciousness.

With a simple shake of his head, his face closes in on your sex and he licks a long stripe up your pussy, collecting a great amount of your arousal in a single swipe of his hungry tongue.

But you’re oozing so much wetness that he simply keeps going, licking all around your sex before focusing on your swollen, angry clit. He wraps his lips around your sensitive pleasure nub and starts sucking, coating his entire chin in your juices.

“Fuck!” you cry, reaching over to pull on his roots, fingers tangled in his soft black locks.

The sensitivity you’re experiencing is too much. “I’m gonna fucking cum, Yoongi.” You’re not even joking.

“Already?” he hums in mockery before wrapping his lips around your clit again and sucks some more with no regard of overstimulating you.

You quickly nod your head and within the next few seconds, you’re cumming all over his tongue and around his mouth. A cry rips through your throat and you’re sobbing at this point, pulling so hard on his roots that it causes him to hiss in pain.

Grinding your hips up into his face, into his nose, into his mouth. You can’t believe how quickly that stupid pink pill has you levitating off the bed, it’s like you don’t even belong on Earth anymore.

The orgasm hits you like none ever before, leaving you even more sensitive. You came within barely, what? A minute of stimulation? Two? Oh, you’re so done for.

You push against Yoongi’s head in hopes he’ll stop and he does—after giving your swollen clit one last slurp.

“Holy shit.” You can’t believe that just happened.

“That was really fast. What was that? A minute? A minute and 30 seconds?” he laughs as he sits up, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

“It’s that fucking pill,” you mumble defensively, trying to catch your breath.

A low chuckle leaves his mouth before he glances down at the bulge in his boxers. “Well,” he pauses, “you should take that pill more often.”

You roll your eyes with all the brattiness you can muster, hoping it annoys him as much as he annoys you. “This is the last time I’m even letting you in here, I hope you know that.”

His eyes shift back up to yours and he tilts his head to the side in question, blinking at you with a glimmer in his eyes that you can’t quite describe.

You stare back, trying your best not to look fucked out right now but you know you’re failing horribly at it when he simply shakes his head and lets out a bitter chuckle.

“You just wanted to use me one last time, hm?” he scoffs as his fingers tuck under the hem of his boxers, sliding them down his thighs and tossing them off the bed.

A surge of guilt spreads through your chest when you realize how that must’ve sounded to him. “You know that’s not what I meant, Yoongi.”

“No?” he muses, placing his hands on the back of your thighs before pushing them all the way against the mattress on each side of your body. You know your body isn’t supposed to be able to do this, apparent by the strain in your inner thighs but for some reason, it doesn’t bother you as much.

“No,” you whimper as he uses his own weight to keep your thighs spread, sliding his rock hard dick in between your folds handsfree, but not entering you just yet. It has you squeezing your eyelids shut, trying to focus on the feeling of his rock hard cock—all the ridges and veins on his dick—rubbing so good against your swollen clit.

“I don’t believe you,” he says, watching as you squirm from the slightest bit of friction that he has full control over. It makes you want to smack that grin right off his face.

“I swear,” you sniff, not even being able to thrust your hips up for more friction because Yoongi’s weight and strength keeps you restrained.

He simply hums in response, continuing to slide his dick over your slit, completely coating his shaft in your slick. “If you want me to believe you,” he pauses as his eyes shift up to yours, “you’re going to have to beg and convince me. Tell me how what you just said isn’t true.”

“Please,” you say, no hesitation. “Please, I didn’t mean that. I–just fuck me. I swear I don’t want anyone else to be in your position right now, I only want you. No one else knows me like you, no one.”

He continues to simply watch your face twist in borderline agony from the lack of friction, the sensation you so desperately crave.

“That so?” His tone is filled with so much arrogance that it makes your veins burn with lava.

You merely hum in response and finally crack your eyelids open, just to see him staring into your eyes with that familiar glint in his. Fuck.

“Ready?” he whispers, lining his tip up with your hole and cockily chuckles when you eagerly nod your head.

He abruptly freezes. “Ah, fuck, wait.” His dick is not on your slit anymore and it makes you frown at him.

“What?”

He groans, “I have no condoms.”

For fuck’s sake.

“I mean,” you start, “you’re the last person I had sex with. Did you have sex with anyone after me?”

You’re not sure you even want to hear about it but in this moment you’d do anything to just have him finally fuck the shit out of you.

He avoids your gaze as he keeps it glued to his dick sliding up and down your slit. “I have.”

Oh.

“But it was protected, always,” he adds with a quickness, tone calculated and quiet.

Oh.

Okay.

That’s good but it doesn’t make you feel any better.

You have to swallow your emotions at this moment because your pussy is basically screaming at you to just swallow your pride. “Okay, then just do it without.”

He peers up at you through his thick brows with a frown. “Are you sure?”

You mumble, “For fuck’s sake.” Your hand quickly reaches for his shaft but he slaps it away just as quickly.

“I know you’re horny as fuck but I need you to be 100%,” he pauses when he sees you glaring at his dick. “Look at me, dammit.”

Your eyes shift to his and you childishly groan. “Yes, Yoongi, I 100% consent to letting you fuck me raw. Now, will you please just–”

He doesn’t even let you finish talking as he slides his dick right into you, bottoming out completely. You yelp at the intrusion, your slick walls stretching around his shaft so well, like it always has.

“Holy shit,” he whispers with closed eyes, the disgusting squelching coming from your sexes is proof of your arousal and the moans falling from his lips as your pussy tightly hugs him sounds like a choir of angels sustaining a high C.

You try to keep quiet, you try not to squirm, you try not to say the craziest things right now. Like ‘I love you’, or ‘I’ve missed you so much’ because you’re just horny and dumb.

“Move,” you whimper, needing more than he’s giving you right now. He hears you loud and clear, sliding out of you and right back in. The disgusting squelching reaches your ears but you can’t bring yourself to care at the moment, not when Yoongi finds it hot and throws in occasional ‘fuck, listen to that’s and ‘you’re so fucking wet’s.

You cuss, eyes rolling to the back of your head when your sensitivity reaches its peak. A few more thrusts will already have you cumming, you’re sure of it.

He continues to thrust, slowly starting to pick up his pace and he finally cracks his eyelids open. His eyes find yours as he stares at you—scanning your pretty face that he loves to look at—especially when it’s twisted in pleasure like that.

Brows furrowed, lips swollen, pupils dilated, mouth agape, a thin layer of sweat draped over your forehead and building up in your hairline.

Somewhere along the line, the eye contact becomes too intense for you. Your hand snakes around the back of his head, closing the distances between you two by pulling him closer to you, licking and sucking on the honey tinted skin of his neck.

After a while of sucking and nipping at his neck and his thrusts never coming to a halt, your orgasm starts approaching you rapidly again. “I’m gonna cum,” you cry, tears pricking in your eyes from the pure pleasure that’s setting all your insides ablaze.

“Already?” he murmurs as he leans down, kissing away the tears that have subtly started rolling down your temples. “But I have yet to ruin you.”

Fuck.

“Whatever, though. I guess you’re just going to lose count of the amount of orgasms I’ll fuck you through.” He states it so nonchalantly because he knows only he could ever make you feel like this, make you desperate like this, make you a needy mess like this.

His hips continue to harshly snap into yours, the indescribable sensation of being fucked at this angle and pace has your thighs clenching. Unsurprisingly not long after, your orgasm hits you full force once again.

A sob rips through your throat, your trembling hands grab at his shoulders, nails painfully digging into his skin as he fucks you through your high. His low chuckle rings in your ear, breath hitting your throat as he lowers his face into the crook of your neck.

“Cumming all over my dick and sucking marks on my neck. Are you trying to claim me again?” he whispers, knowing how possessiveness was big a turn on for the both of you back in your relationship.

You simply cry under him, the orgasm lasting longer than any you’ve ever had before. His dick kisses your cervix repeatedly, your breasts bounce continuously from the momentum of his thrusts and the sound of his skin slapping yours only increases in volume the longer he fucks you.

“I asked you something,” he says, lifting his head off your shoulder to stare down at you. “Where’d that bratty mouth that I love so much go?”

You simply grunt in response, teary eyes glaring at him as you slowly come down from your high. The corners of his lips curl up in a twisted smirk at the sight in front of him, you know he enjoys seeing you in this state and him being the sole cause of it pleases him greatly.

The overstimulation is starting to catch up to you. Your hand basically moves on its own, pressing flat into his lower abdomen in order to get him to slow down.

However, it means nothing to him. He simply continues to thrust into you like he’s got something to prove. “Answer me, Y/N. Do you want to claim me again?” he repeats.

You mewl, sinking your cranium further into your soft pillows, exposing more of your throat and neck to him as tears continue to pour out of your eyes.

“Fuck you,” you whimper, digging your nails into the skin around his belly button but it doesn’t elicit a single reaction from him.

He simply chuckles at your snarky comment as he lowers his lips onto your throat, sucking and nipping at it. You know he expected you to say that. No one else knows you like the back of their hand like he does.

“There’s my girl,” he mumbles against your skin. His words paired with the simple act of kissing your neck has all your insides clenching and twisting with something you can’t quite describe.

Butterflies?

Something you’re not going to admit out loud.

“I don’t appreciate you talking to me like that, though.” With one more thrust, he pulls out of you and harshly flips you onto your stomach. You don’t even have the time to react when he gently grabs your hips yet roughly hoists your ass up off the mattress.

A sharp sting spreads through your asscheek and that’s when you realize his rough hand came down on your bum, spanking you hard.

“Ow!” you screech in pain yet pleasure, every vein in your body pumping blood faster and faster as you anticipate exactly why, of all people, you called Yoongi over.

He doesn’t even give you the time to come down from that spanking before he gives you another one. And another one. And another one.

“You ask me to come over after not talking to me for months, then beg me to fuck you. I give you what you want and you still have the audacity to be so rude to me?” He clicks his tongue loudly and immediately after the scolding, spanks you yet again. “Biting the hand that feeds you. Tsk. I should cum in that filthy mouth of yours for talking to me like this.”

He shoves his dick back inside without a warning and continues to assault your poor asscheeks, rough palms continuously coming down to your ass in loud smacks.

You hoarsely cry out under him, most likely from the embarrassment because thanks to that damn pill you might cum from just being spanked at this point.

As if he heard your thoughts, the spanking comes to an end and his hands are now flat on your back, keeping you pressed into the mattress with his weight while he starts fucking into you again. “You like getting fucked from the back, right?”

Your ass bounces back against his hips with each thrust, adding more and more sensations to your body. You’re not going to last for very much longer.

He mumbles, “No, that’s not it.” He leans forwards, pressing his chest into your back, lips grazing the shell of your ear and he places his hands against the mattress on each side of your waist, supporting his own weight. “You just love being fucked like a slut.”

Fuck.

“Isn’t that right? You don’t care in what position you get fucked in, as long as you’re getting fucked, hm? Like the horny slut you are.” He remembers exactly what you like and it’s embarrassing. “My slut, though. No one else’s.”

And you admit that yes, you wouldn't just want any stranger to talk to you like this.

It only works with Yoongi because he knows you. Because he understands you. Because he loves you.

Or he did once, at least.

But him showing up at your front door, no questions asked, 10 minutes after you asked him to, might be proof of something you both are trying to deny. Not like it matters.

“Fuck, I’m gonna cum,” you moan. You’ve already lost count but it doesn’t matter, not when he’s fucking you so good.

“Cumming so quickly from just being talked to like this. I bet you’ve missed my filthy mouth just as much as I missed yours,” he whispers into your ear, pressing soft kisses to your skin in a way only a lover should. “I fucking love it.”

The soft kissing and the low volume of his voice are a stark contrast to the rough pounding of his hips and the degrading words leaving his lips.

And you can’t help but love it.

“Tell me I’m right,” he demands as he picks up the pace, snaking one hand around to wrap around your throat and pull you up until the back of your head collides with his shoulder. “Tell me it’s true.”

Now with your orgasm approaching, he knows you’d do anything to get there.

He knows you too well.

“Fuck, I love it!” you cry as your nth orgasm washes over you, your body violently jerking under him from the overstimulation you’re experiencing.

“I know you do,” he chuckles as he fucks you through your orgasm. “That’s my girl. My fuckin’ girl.”

Fuck.

He has no idea what those words do to you.

Well, it’s Yoongi. He definitely knows what it’s doing to you.

Because you are not his girl. Not anymore.

But you don’t have the energy to correct him nor do you want to. Because at this moment, it feels like the two of you never separated. Like you never spent a day apart. All of the nostalgia, love and hate comes rushing back to you. Surely it’s that stupid pink pill’s fault.

He pulls out in a swift motion and turns you onto your side before he lies down behind you on his side as well, chest pressed into your back as he pulls you closer.

Fuck, how many positions is he going to fuck you in? Is he making up for all the time you spent apart?

Now that you’re in spooning position, he gently places his hand under your thigh and lifts it up to spread your legs. His hand leaves your thigh as he uses the same hand to guide his dick to your pussy again.

Your thigh almost wants to give out and drop, your chest still dramatically rising and falling as you chase your breath.

Another cocky chuckle rumbles in his chest at how you struggle to even move now, his hot breath draping over your neck and his hand returning to the same spot on your inner thigh as he lifts your leg again and pushes into you.

Your head falls back, falling deeper into his embrace and he welcomes that by pressing soft kisses to your shoulder. “I don’t know how I survived all those months without y–” he pauses, “your pussy.”

Hmph. He’s the pussy if he doesn’t want to admit he misses you.

But then again, he was never that type. Yoongi was never the type to show his love through words but rather through actions and services, he had difficulties expressing his affection with words.

Like when it took him a year to say ‘I love you’ yet everyday after he came home from an exhausting day at work, he’d pull your feet into his lap and massage them in hopes of offering you some kind of relief.

Or when the topic of wedding vows came up and he said he finds them useless yet he’d buy you a fresh set of bouquets every week until down to the very week you broke up.

Or when he’d place a glass of water on your nightstand everyday when he left for work, whether he fucked the shit out of you the night before or not.

Yoongi always just showed you.

And now that he’s balls deep in your pussy, now that the effects of that pill are clouding your mind, now that his proximity is distorting your mind and setting all your nerve-endings alight again, you have to consciously stop yourself from asking him to come back home—back to you.

Your mind is so distorted that you don’t even recall the bad moments or the reason for your break up right now. You just miss him.

“How are you feeling?” he whispers in your ear, thrusting his hips into you at a considerably slower pace but by no means lacking in strength and passion.

“Like I’m fucking floating on a cloud,” you mumble back, body almost falling limp at his proximity and his dick rubbing your walls so deliciously.

He simply chuckles, “That’s what I like to hear.”

He continues to fuck into you, occasionally groaning and fondling your breast. “Fuck,” he mumbles, pressing another kiss to the back of your neck.

“Yoongi, I–”

“I know.”

You don’t even know.

You don’t even know what you were going to say.

But his confident ‘I know’ proves to you that he knows.

Thanks to his slow pace, it takes your orgasm a little longer to approach and thank fuck for that.

“I’m gonna cum soon,” he tells you, rubbing your tummy from the back. “Where do you want it?”

“I don’t care where you cum as long as you kiss me during it.”

Damn. Why the fuck would you say that?

Great. He just abruptly stopped thrusting. You’re such a fucking idiot.

You would have never been able to admit this if you didn’t take that stupid pill or even if you weren’t facing him with your back.

He swiftly pulls out and wraps his fingers around your bicep to turn you around, making you face him now. Still in spooning position but this time facing each other, he pulls you close, lifting your leg onto his hip as he guides his dick back into you and propping your head up on his bicep.

His hand finds its way back to your asscheek and squeezes the soft skin in his rough hand as he pulls you even closer, pressing your chest right into his.

“Cum with me, baby. You’re doing so good.”

He’s so mean for doing this. So mean for the things he says, so mean for fucking you exactly as you like it, so mean for making you feel like you still belong to him. Like he belongs to you.

He thrusts his hips into you faster and sure enough, the effects of the pill get to work because your stomach starts twisting from the inside immediately after the change of pace and his request of cumming together.

Your fucked out eyes meet his determined ones, staring into those black bottomless pits of his as he chases his own release.

He simply stares back, eyes occasionally dropping to your lips. In this moment, his eyes are everywhere you look, his breath hits every inch of your skin, his hand on your hip holds you so tightly that you think be might crack your hipbone. He’s inside your head. He’s everywhere. He’s everything.

It seems like he wants to say something but his attention gets disrupted by the sound of something buzzing on the nightstand behind you.

It’s his phone.

He tears his eyes away from yours, reaching for it whilst still being inside of you and by the guilty look on his face, it doesn’t take a genius to decipher it must be someone whose arms and bed he found comfort in after separating from you.

When he thinks you must’ve realized, he tosses his phone off the bed and returns his attention to you.

But he doesn’t owe you anything. Not an explanation. Not an apology. Not even love.

It’s quiet for a few moments, just your occasional soft moaning and his heavy breathing as you close your eyes to avoid his gaze.

Until you crack your eyelids open again and find out he’s been staring at you the entire time. Your walls tightly clench around him again, indicating your orgasm is close. “Just call me your girl again,” you whisper, allowing the vulnerability to escape your system once again.

Dumb bitch.

“You are. You are my girl,” is all he says before pressing his lips against yours as promised, grabbing a handful of your asscheek as he snaps his hips into yours and forces his tongue into your mouth.

You let his tongue force itself past your swollen lips, crying into his mouth as another orgasm sends electricity down all your limbs, making your brain explode with ridiculous amounts of dopamine and launching you straight to your Utopia.

You murmur some shit into his mouth that even you don’t understand, voice coming and going whenever it pleases, more and more slick gushing out of your completely drenched pussy. Tears continue to escape and roll down your temples, your nose is runny, your voice is hoarse.

A soft moan resounds in Yoongi’s throat when his own orgasm hits him, thrusts getting inconsistent and rough as he starts painting your walls with his warm cum, groaning loudly into your mouth which you happily welcome.

This is otherworldly.

Nothing will ever feel like this moment right here and you’re not sure whether you’ve accepted that yet.

He fucks both of you through your orgasms, pumping his load into you like it belongs inside of you and fuck, have you missed the feeling.

With a few more sloppy thrusts, creating a mess everywhere, his thrusting comes to a halt yet he never stops kissing you.

He curls his arm so your head shifts on his bicep even closer towards his face, keeping his dick buried in you, eliciting a simple sigh in content from the ex-girlfriend in his arms.

After an extra few minutes of nonstop making out with a man that was once yours, you’re the one that pulls away. Your stomach clenches with something you can’t describe when you watch him still chase your lips until he realizes you’ve pulled away, making him slowly open his eyes.

Is it guilt? Is it desire? Is it regret?

Fuck. Fuck. This whole idea just wasn’t smart.

You did your best to rid yourself of the stain he planted on you, closing the mark where he sunk his fangs so deeply into your skin, into your soul. You’re letting him reopen it and you’re so damn fucking stupid for it.

And you don’t understand why he’s the only one you want. No one else.

He stares at you for a moment before pressing his forehead against yours, still trying to catch his breath.

You stay unmoved for a few more moments before he delicately pecks your lips again and gently pulls his softening dick out of you, your nose scrunching when his load starts to leak out of you and onto your sheets.

He doesn’t say much else as he gets up from your bed, eyes searching the floor for something before he hunches over and slides his boxers back up his legs.

He leaves your bedroom without another word, making you simply frown at the ceiling but he quickly reappears with a glass of water and a damp towel.

He hasn’t changed a bit.

He takes care of you like nothing’s changed, cleaning your body up, changing the sheets while you don’t move a muscle, tucking you under the fresh covers and making sure you drink your water before opening the windows in an attempt to get some fresh air after you’ve fogged up the windows in the room.

He sits at the edge of your bed, gently tracing your hairline with the tip of his finger. “How are you feeling?”

If only he knew.

Your mouth slightly curls at the corners, a lazy smile plastered on your lips. “I feel amazing.”

Another sultry chuckle leaves his mouth as he nods his head in agreement.

This is nice.

But your mind changes when you silently watch him rising to his feet and slowly reaching for his clothes.

Ugh.

You’ve been vulnerable enough.

You asked him to come do one thing and he did it. You can’t ask much more of him.

But your heart works faster than your brain.

“Can you stay the night?” you quietly ask, fidgeting with your fingers under the sheets, relieved that he can’t see.

He glances at you over his shoulder, a frown on his brows. It seems like he thinks about it for a moment before parting pretty his lips to say, “What?”

Fuck.

Your voice goes even quieter, thinking of a way to reformulate the question. “Do you want to stay the night?”

He idly blinks at you, eyes staring straight into your soul as if you just asked him the most absurd question that you could’ve asked him. “Do you want me to?”

The neutral tone of his voice simply makes you shrug your shoulders in response, avoiding his intense gaze that always makes you feel like no one else exists in his mind but you.

Stupid.

“Y/N,” says Yoongi, quietly. Your eyes twinkle up at him, the clear look of a dilemma plastered on your face. He closes the distance between you two, hovering over your body before repeating his question with a bit more bluntness. “Do you want me to?”

Your swollen bottom lip is trapped between your teeth, veins pumping with anxiety and anticipation.

You sniffle a bit in hopes that it makes the tension and silence less awkward. “Yeah.”

Your eyes trail his features, remembering how gorgeous he actually is. How could you ever forget? His thick brows, his sharp eyes, his plump lips, his soft nose, his beautiful hair.

The next few words that leave his mouth rip you right out of your thoughts.

“Then I’ll stay,” he pauses, “for however long you want me to.”

⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆

⋆ MASTERLIST & CONCEPT VIDEO ⋆

⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆

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[bellaxgiornata]

Falling For the Devil [Part eighty-seven: "The Week of Distractions"]

Pairing: Matt Murdock x Fem!Reader

Summary: You and Matt spend your first week living together and quickly find out just how distracting you both are to each other.

Or Lots of sex ensues.

[Series of one-shots about Reader meeting, falling for, and dating Matt Murdock.]

Warnings: 18+ for this series; contains humor, fluff, romance, angst, smut (like...a lot of it later in the series), language, some violence

Word Count: 17.9k (yes, you read that right)

a/n: This installment is just smut. Lots of it. I'll mention there's Dom/Sub undertones, rough sex, and face-fucking in this installment (let me know if anything else might need to be noted). We do not get the full smut scenes because it's a smut montage and this would've gotten even more out of hand in length. I'd also like to thank @theetherealbloom for Monday's scene inspired by an ask! There is alternating POVs but I messed up and the last two are Reader (I was too tired to rewrite it at that point) and we get ALL the sides of Matt in here plus Spicy Reader. Feedback is greatly appreciated!

Tag List: @ninacotte @mattkinsella @stilldreaming666 @murdocksclient @madscamp02 @1988-fiend @lina-mar @pinkratts @schneeflocky @acharliecoxedfan @yarrystyleeza @theetherealbloom @danzer8705 @lionalsowrites @harperdoodle

Saturday

Matt’s fingers ran over the braille reader as he sat at the kitchen table, rereading a file on his laptop. Foggy had emailed him a handful of files yesterday morning before they’d left the office early to help you unpack and move into his place. Matt hadn't planned on looking at them over the weekend, he didn't think he’d have a chance to work on them until he was back in the office on Monday, but you’d been exhausted all morning today so Matt had suggested you take a nap after lunch. Which was what you were currently doing on the leather sofa nearby, his blanket draped over you.

You’d fallen asleep probably fifteen minutes ago now and Matt had quickly become very absorbed in the case he was working on. It had truthfully been frustrating him, though. There were a few particular details that he couldn’t seem to make sense of no matter how hard he tried. He’d read them over and over, running a hand through his hair in frustration and quietly cursing to himself. He was about ready to pull up his email and send a message to Foggy when he heard you make a soft noise from over on the couch.

Matt’s hand hesitated on the braille reader, his ears perking up before his head turned in your direction. He hadn’t been paying much attention to your sleeping form over on the couch while he had been working, knowing how tired you’d been since it had taken you so long to finally relax and fall asleep last night. Though after his talk with you in the kitchen around three in the morning, he’d noticed your nerves had leveled back out to their usual state and stayed there. Which he assumed meant you’d finally calmed and were beginning to adjust to living together now.

But as he focused on you just to his left, he was almost instantly hit with the scent of your arousal in the air. Matt felt his cock twitch in his sweatpants in response. How had he not noticed it earlier? Admittedly it was very faint, likely because you’d only recently become turned on by whatever it was you were dreaming about–something Matt was rapidly becoming curious about. 

As he tuned in closer to your body, he noticed your pulse was a little faster than usual when you were asleep. Even your breathing was hitching ever so slightly, something his ears were easily able to pick up on when he focused. No doubt you were dreaming about something sexual. That thought had Matt’s mind quickly shifting away from his work, his tongue slipping out to wet his lips. 

It had been a few days since you’d both had sex–since Wednesday morning, to be exact. Right before he’d had to leave your place for work and you’d had to get ready for work yourself. Though Tuesday night had certainly been something at your place, but it had been the only time this week you and Matt had had sex. He’d been craving it–craving that connection with you again–which was probably why he’d been so overzealous Tuesday night and Wednesday morning, but he’d known you’d been stressed and busy this week with the move and hadn’t bothered to bring up sex since.

Matt’s eyes snapped shut the moment you made another noise. It was a soft hum that vibrated in the back of your throat, something that sounded like a muffled moan. Jaw clenched, Matt turned away from you in his chair and tried to focus back on his braille reader. It didn’t feel right that he was sitting here listening to you like this while you weren’t even awake. 

For a few minutes he tried hard to ignore the growing scent of your arousal, but it was no longer just lightly wafting towards him. No, now the scent of it was beginning to hang heavy in the air around him. Not only that, but he’d heard the gentle rustle of fabric as your thighs involuntarily squirmed together in your sleep, which was clearly only further increasing Matt’s favorite smell through the apartment. 

Hanging his head in his hands as he slumped over the kitchen table, he became achingly aware that he was already half hard. Would it be so wrong if he disappeared into the bedroom for a few minutes? Took care of himself while you were asleep? Would jerking off to the scent of you in the air really be that wrong?

Before he could come to a conclusion, he’d heard you lightly moan again. Except this time it was followed by the softest, pleasure-filled utterance of his name in your sleep. Matt’s eyes once again snapped shut before he pressed the heels of his palms against them. 

This was sheer torture. Was it always going to be like this with you here now? With your arousal often coating the air around him, wonderfully suffocating him? He wasn’t sure he would survive that, not without constantly needing to fulfil the urge to either fuck you or bury his face in your cunt.

It didn’t help that he heard you calling his name again, the scent of you strong in his nose. With the heels of his hands still pressed against his closed eyes, his lips parted. Matt let the faint taste of you roll onto his tongue, a quiet whimper falling out of him as he heard you say his name again. His hips shifted on the chair, an uncomfortable feeling tightening in his gut. He needed to do something about his growing erection, there was no other option. But as he removed his face from his hands, he startled when he felt something touch his shoulder.

“Shit, sorry Matt!” you said, immediately withdrawing what was apparently your hand on him. “I was trying to get your attention for the past minute. You weren’t answering and you looked like you were in pain and I–”

He had turned towards you in the chair, hearing the way your words had cut off and your pulse had sped up when he did. No doubt you’d immediately noticed the tent of his sweatpants. Seconds later he heard you curse as you most likely pieced together why he was in his current state. And then immediately after that he swore he caught the spike in adrenaline in conjunction with the increase in that particular scent.

“Oh, I–I didn’t realize…” you trailed off.

Matt shot you a sheepish smile. “I guess this is something I didn’t exactly think about, either. Having you here all the time means you’re going to, well, become aroused at times and…that tends to have an effect on me. Obviously.”

Matt heard the way you were shifting back and forth on your feet in front of him, your lip slipping between your teeth. He wished it was his teeth gnawing on the soft flesh instead of yours–and that thought didn’t help his current situation.

“Do you…need to keep working?” you asked him carefully. 

A slow smile slid across Matt’s mouth before he turned even further towards you in the chair. “No,” he answered huskily. “I don’t need to work at all, actually. I was just keeping busy while you napped. Why, do you care to share what you were dreaming about?”

“Well,” you began, gradually lowering down to your knees before him, “I can show you what it was about, if you’d like?”

“Mmm,” Matt hummed out, enjoying the flirtatiousness in your tone as your hands landed on his thighs. “I would definitely like that.”

He felt your hands sensually slide up his thighs, the warmth of them lingering behind on his skin beneath his sweatpants and causing Matt’s cock to further strain against its confines uncomfortably. Your fingers curled around the waistband of both his sweatpants and boxers before gradually pulling them just halfway down his thighs. His hard cock sprang forth immediately, a faint sigh of relief falling out of him. 

As your hands landed back on his now bare upper thighs, your fingers running through the hair along his legs, Matt’s ears picked up on the excited noise that you emitted ever so softly. It was so quiet he was sure you hadn’t even realized you had made it. Your breathing had picked up, too, coming in faster and heavier. His own heart accelerated in his chest at the sound of your tongue gliding along your lips hungrily as one of your hands made its way towards his cock. 

You were becoming even more increasingly aroused now because you wanted to suck his cock–you were eager for it. Your body was practically screaming that at Matt. And that in itself was only further exciting him.

Your warm, soft hand gripped the base of him and Matt’s eyelids slowly fluttered closed at the contact. You had gripped him with the slightest of pressure and it had him desperate for more. He could tell how close your mouth had lowered to him, the heat of your breath falling over the sensitive skin of his cock with each exhale that passed between your plush lips. A moment later he felt the warm drip of your saliva land on the tip of him. Matt fought the urge to buck up into your hand as he impatiently waited for more, already longing to feel any part of you. 

Fortunately you didn't keep him waiting much longer, either. Your hand slid up the length of him, coating his cock in your saliva with a few pumps of your fist around him. Then he felt your warm tongue lightly swipe over the head of his cock, swirling a few times around it. Behind his closed lids, Matt's eyes momentarily rolled back. His lips parted once again, the taste of your arousal still thick in the air as it landed along his tongue. He was practically salivating at the tangy sweetness of it.

"This is what you were dreaming about, sweetheart?" Matt breathed out, enjoying the feel of your tongue gradually licking up the length of him. "My cock in your mouth? That's what you wanted?"

Your mouth sucked the tip of him straight inside before you hummed out an affirmative noise to his question. The vibration from your mouth shot straight up through the length of him, a burst of pleasure racing through Matt’s entire body. He groaned low in response, the noise a deep rumble in his chest. 

You had become exceptionally good at giving him head–honestly you'd become amazing at everything with him in the bedroom. Gradually he'd noticed that you had learned how to use his heightened senses to make him feel unbelievably good instead of accidentally overstimulating him. No one he'd ever been with before had been that perceptive of his body. No one had ever been so goddamn enjoyable to be with. But you were like this every damn time with him.

You sucked him further into your mouth, eager to take more of him already. Matt practically growled in response–you were unexpectedly enthusiastic this afternoon. His hand darted out, firmly gripping a fistful of your hair at the back of your head. His own head dropped back over his shoulders at the feel of your resulting moan in response to his grip, half of his cock in your mouth vibrating with the noise. 

The sensation felt so fucking good that his hips involuntarily snapped a fraction forward, sending himself just a bit further into your mouth. He'd quickly tried to restrain himself, but he'd certainly caught the resulting hum of pleasure from you again immediately afterwards. He whined at the feel of it, a coiling pleasure building at the base of his spine. He had begun to tremble from the effort of holding himself back, refraining from accidentally fucking into your mouth again, not wanting to hurt you or push your boundaries.

A moment later he felt you gradually slip your mouth off of him, your hand soon taking over as his head rolled forward again. He was close to apologizing, wondering if he'd done something wrong, but the languid strokes of your hand up and down the shaft of him had his words slow to form. You’d spoken before he had a chance to, and what you said next had Matt already wanting to cum.

"You don't need to hold back, baby," you told him. 

Your thumb ran over the head of him, the pad of it swiping over a particularly sensitive spot. Matt moaned out, a shudder running through his body. Fuck, were you really offering him that ?

"Are–are you sure?" Matt panted out. "We don't have to."

"Use me, Matt," you urged, thumb circling the tip of his cock again and causing Matt’s hips to squirm in the chair. "I want to try that with you."

“Fuck, sweetheart,” he breathed out, his other hand lightly grasping your chin, his thumb brushing over your dampened lips. “You’re really sure?”

Your lips wrapped firmly around his thumb, drawing it into your mouth as a hum of affirmation left you. Matt bit down hard on his own bottom lip when your tongue gently began to lap at the pad of his finger. How were you so good at this? At turning him on like this?

Your lips eventually released his finger, your mouth angling downwards to lightly place a kiss to the palm of his hand. And then you’d quickly maneuvered out of his grasp before sucking his cock hungrily back into your mouth. A flurry of curses flew out Matt in return, his hand gripping your hair tighter as you took him a little deeper. His abdominals tightened in pleasure at the feel of your warm mouth around him.

Carefully testing his boundaries, his hips ever so slightly rolled forwards up off the chair, his cock sinking deeper into your mouth. Your hands eagerly grasped onto his hips, an excited noise coming from your full mouth. 

" Ahh –fuck–sweetheart," Matt hissed out, his words broken. "You really want me to–to fuck your mouth?"

You once again hummed out an affirmative noise along Matt's cock, the feel of it causing him to moan out in pleasure. Not needing any further encouragement, Matt’s other hand lowered to lightly grip you by the throat. The scent of you grew thicker in the air as Matt heard the way your thighs had pressed together, his ears picking up on the slight rocking of your hips as you searched for friction. That only turned him on more–because you were getting turned on by this. 

When his hips rolled forward again, he could feel your throat relaxing as you took him deeper. A low, throaty groan fell out of Matt as his head fell completely over the back of the chair, his senses engulfed by you. Your nails further dug into his bare hips, encouraging him to fuck your eager mouth. 

And Matt was all too happy to oblige as he fucked up into your mouth yet again, a hiss of pleasure sneaking past his gritted teeth.

Sunday  

"Okay, so I've finally finished making a list and was about to run to the store for groceries for the week," you told Matt, making your way out of the bedroom as you skimmed over the list on your phone again. "Was there anything else you needed?"

Glancing up as you came to a stop just behind the leather couch, you saw Matt straighten back up from beside the dishwasher, the muscles of his upper torso flexing and pulling visibly as he moved. You hadn't expected him to still be shirtless after his shower, but he was wearing nothing but his sweatpants that were currently hanging low on his hips. His hair was still damp and clinging to his forehead, too.

Blinking hard, you tried to ignore the pleasant shock at finding Matt shirtless, damp, and doing the dishes. Though admittedly the sight had raised your body temperature just a bit, and judging by the cocky smile that slipped onto Matt’s face before he turned and headed over to the shelf to put away the plates in his hands, he’d noticed. Clearing your throat, you tried to focus back on your task of working on the grocery list for the week.

“Is there uh, anything else you would like me to pick up?” you asked. 

“Oh, I think you know exactly what I would like,” Matt teased, turning back around to face you.

You swallowed hard, your eyes once again drawn up towards him from the phone you held in your hand. He was grinning back at you with a devious look in his eyes. Your mouth felt like it was going dry at the sight of him just standing there half-dressed in the kitchen. Internally you chastised yourself, because watching Matt put away a load of clean dishes with his shirt off and his hair damp shouldn’t have had this much of an effect on you, but it fucking did. And his usual teasing wasn’t helping at all. 

“You–you, uh…” you began, but you quickly trailed off.

It was hard trying to focus on your words when your eyes were glued to his defined and toned chest as he made his way back to the dishwasher. Your eyes followed his movements as he bent over, intentionally turning so his ass was pointed straight at you. You watched as the fabric of his sweatpants pulled taut over it as he closed the dishwasher. Clearing your throat, you tried to focus again as he slowly rose back to his full height.

“I mean was there, uh something? You–you wanted?” you asked slightly breathless.

He chuckled, turning back towards you and leaning his arms over the kitchen countertop as his attention fixed on you. His head was tilted just a bit to the side, an amused smirk on his beautiful mouth.

“Trail mix, remember?” he replied, all faux innocence. “You know I love when you make it, sweetheart.”

“Right,” you said a little nervously, nodding as you glanced back down at your phone. “I’ll uh, I’ll add it to the list.”

Your fingers flew across the keypad on your phone as you added each ingredient of the trail mix Matt loved so much to the list. Though your fingers slowed their typing when you saw Matt push off of the countertop out of your peripheral. He was gradually making his way out of the kitchen and over towards you, your heart beating a little harder with each step he neared. Apparently it didn’t matter that you’d both just had sex yesterday afternoon after your nap because you found yourself quickly distracted from your typing because of his presence.

Matt stopped just in front of you, that cocky smile still on his face. He reached out and grabbed your phone, slowly sliding it out of your grip. You stood there dumbfounded, watching as he turned and effortlessly tossed your phone onto the kitchen table just to the side of him. When he turned back around, he placed one hand on either side of the leather couch, boxing you in between his arms. 

“Something on your mind besides the grocery list, sweetheart?” he asked. 

“What? No, I was just focused on getting the–the list together,” you replied quickly.

Matt shook his head, leaning forward towards your ear and whispering, “ Lie .”

You licked your lips, your eyes focused on his own lips with him suddenly standing so close to you. The hot breath from his mouth kept washing over yours as he continued to gaze down at you with that darkened, hungry stare of his.

“Well, I mean I was trying to focus on the list,” you conceded awkwardly, “but then you’re–you’re over in the kitchen making dishes somehow look weirdly sexy.” With a hard swallow you added, “And honestly that’s not fair, Matt. Putting away clean plates shouldn’t look so good.”

Matt’s bottom lip slipped between his teeth as he grinned back at you in amusement. The sight alone of him shirtless like that, so close to you while he caged you between those powerful arms of his, had you wanting to lunge at him. To crush your mouth to his and beg him to fuck you. You did your best to refrain though.

“I could tell you were enjoying yourself,” he teased. “But it seems now you might need a little–” he paused, leaning over to whisper in your ear again, “– help before you go to the store.”

Eyes widening back at him, you were about to open your mouth and respond, but then he abruptly turned his face towards yours and dove forward, pressing his lips to yours. Taken by surprise, it took you a moment to react. But when his teeth bit gently down onto your lower lip and tugged, your hands flew up and grabbed onto his broad shoulders, nails digging into his bare skin. 

Matt grunted in response before he released your lip, his hands landing on your hips and gripping them firmly. Effortlessly he spun you around, your back now facing him as your own hands flew out, grasping onto the back of the couch to balance yourself at the unexpected movement. Looking at Matt over your shoulder, you spotted that lustful look spread across his face. 

“What’re you doing, Matty?” you asked curiously.

He pressed himself to the back of you and you immediately felt his half-hard cock against your ass. Your cunt clenched tight around nothing instantly and his fingers dug into your hips over your shirt as if he knew.

“Bend over, sweetheart,” Matt ordered. “Bend over the couch, for me.”

Inhaling a shaky breath, your attention returned to the couch before you. Slowly you leaned over it, the backrest pressing against your abdomen. You rested your hands on a cushion, trying to hold yourself up. Seconds later you felt Matt’s arms wrap around your waist, his fingers deftly undoing the button of your jeans before lowering your zipper. Soon after, he was tugging your pants and underwear down your thighs and then slipping them entirely off of you. Goosebumps rose along your now bare lower half just before you felt Matt’s rough, warm hands lovingly smoothing their way along the backs of your thighs. 

“You can’t get enough of me, can you?” Matt asked from just behind you. 

One of his hands made their way between your thighs, lightly teasing a finger between your dampening folds. Your hips twitched in response, your body instinctively asking him for more. Matt hummed out a pleased noise.

“I”ll never have enough of you,” you whispered back.

“That’s my girl,” Matt praised quietly.

The pad of his index finger began rubbing gently against your clit, the sensation immediately causing your eyes to snap shut. You were vaguely aware of his other hand leaving your thigh, your focus mainly on what his fingers were doing to you. But soon you felt the telltale weight of Matt’s cock landing against your ass and you gasped in delighted surprise.

“Should I fuck you before you go to the store, sweetheart?” Matt asked. “Would you like that? For me to fill you with my cum before you pick up the groceries for our place?”

You whined in response, desperately trying to press yourself back into him the best you could in this position. Because yes, you absolutely wanted that. To feel the pleasant ache of your cunt after he’d fucked you so thoroughly while you wandered the produce aisle. Having the memory of his hands and his mouth on you like a brand against your skin as you filled the cart with the groceries you’d both be sharing this week. Something about that had you dying to feel him inside of you, filling you so well like he always did.

“Yes, Matty, please,” you whimpered. 

Both of his hands grasped onto your thighs, sliding you a little more forward over the couch. You instantly sunk down onto your forearms along the couch cushion before you, your head turning over your shoulder to where he was standing behind you. From what you could see of Matt, he’d pushed his sweatpants and boxers partway down his thighs. Your eyes lingered on his face and the way his brows were pinched together, his nostrils flaring as he swiped his cock back and forth between the slick that had very quickly accumulated between your folds. He looked absolutely pleased as he did, his tongue darting out for a moment to dampen his lips.

Soon you felt him lining himself up with your entrance, and when just the tip of him gradually entered you, you gasped out. Head falling forward, it dropped between your shoulders as you felt Matt continue to slowly ease himself inside of you until he was fully sheathed, entirely filling you up. With your hips a bit higher above you, raised by the backrest of the leather couch that you were draped over, you wrapped your legs around Matt’s waist to help balance yourself. 

Still fully sheathed inside of you, Matt just held himself there. He didn’t make any attempt to fuck you at all. It was a moment before you became desperate for more, your hips squirming needily as you made a noise of frustration. Matt’s right hand continued to grip your right thigh as his left hand began gliding back and forth along your lower back. The feel of it sent a shudder through you.

“You want more, sweetheart?” he asked.

“ Yes ,” you begged.

“Mmm,” Matt hummed out, clearly pleased at how badly you already needed him. “Then you’re going to have to fuck yourself on my cock, sweet girl.”

You perked up at his words, your head slightly raising at what he’d just said. A rumbling chuckle fell out of him behind you at your reaction.

“Go on, sweetie,” he urged huskily. “Use me. Fair is fair, right?”

For a moment you were stunned, continuing to lay immobile in the position you were in over the back of the couch. But you quickly found yourself becoming impatient, wanting more than just the fullness of him inside of you. 

Slowly you began to move your hips, arching your back just enough until you felt Matt's cock almost slipping out. You rolled your hips roughly back into him, taking him fully inside of you in one swift, delicious movement. A soft cry of pleasure flew out of you at the feel as you did it again, quickly increasing your pace as your breath came in sharper. You heard Matt moan behind you, both of his hands firmly gripping your thighs.

"That's it," he encouraged, his own breaths growing ragged. "Take what you need, sweet girl. I'm all yours."

Monday 

Matt was exhausted as he stood in the elevator waiting for it to slowly ascend to the top floor of his apartment building. He absently twirled his cane between both hands, his posture reflecting just how tired he was as his shoulders slumped forward a bit. His focus was admittedly not even on the space around him, but on you up in the apartment as he waited.

He’d told you that he’d be home late this evening because he, Foggy, and Karen had been working on a case. The three of them had been close to finally finding the break they needed and none of them had wanted to stop until they’d found it. Truthfully he’d expected it to take longer than it had, so Matt had given you a later time to expect him home and begged you not to wait for him for dinner. But thankfully they’d finished a little bit ago and Matt hadn’t wanted to linger around the office afterwards. Figuring he’d surprise you at home a little earlier than intended, he hadn’t given you a call to let you know he was on his way back when he’d left.

Which was why he was delighted to hear you were up in the apartment making dinner. And by the sounds of what he could hear–the pop music you were currently blaring on your phone in conjunction with your slightly elevated heart rate–you must have been dancing while you were cooking. Probably because you’d thought he wasn’t around to ‘see’ you doing it.

He grinned at that thought, wondering how adorably embarrassed you might become when he came through the front door and surprised you. He even had already thought of a way to tease you, hoping to hear your heart beat erratically in your chest and to feel the heat of your cheeks as you flushed. He would never stop loving the way your body reacted to him.

And over the past few days, Matt had absolutely loved having you at what had now become both of yours’ place, watching as you slowly began to settle in and grow comfortable in the space. Besides the fact that it seemed like your sex lives had become somehow even more active than before, he’d loved the little moments with you. Making dinner together over the weekend before cleaning up the dishes, playfully teasing each other and sharing lingering touches while you did. He loved coming back from his nights out as Daredevil to you curled up on the sofa wrapped in his blanket waiting for him. Both times when he had come back he’d hurried over to you, excitedly kissing you before he quickly stripped out of the suit so he could cuddle up with you for a few minutes before he carried you off to bed. 

And now he was coming home to you after a stressful day at work, excited that you were already here–and making dinner for the both of you. It thrilled Matt to know that you didn’t have to rush back to your apartment for anything ever again. Because you were always here with him. At home. And that thought had his own heart beating a little harder.

When the elevator doors opened, Matt didn’t hesitate to make his exit. His cane tapping along the floor, he made the familiar trek down the hallway back towards his apartment, a wide grin on his face as he focused on you inside. It smelled like you were making spaghetti and Matt’s stomach growled; he hadn’t really ate much for lunch earlier today, having been too busy with the case. He certainly was grateful you were making dinner.

Reaching the apartment door, he opened it, not surprised to find it unlocked despite how many times he’d told you to lock it when he wasn’t home. The grin briefly faltered on his face–he’d have to remind you about that again . But as he pushed the door open, he was immediately hit with the overpowering smell of your pheromones. It was so thick in the air that Matt had paused, frozen entirely on the spot just in the hallway.

Because of course with your elevated heart rate in a hot kitchen you’d be sweating just a bit, which in turn would increase your pheromones. It made sense. You were cooking pasta sauce on the stove, a pot of water boiling beside it, and it felt like you had the oven on. And you were, in fact, dancing in the kitchen. Which initially he’d found sweet and endearing, but with the scent of your pheromones heavy in the air and the sexual lyrics coming out of your phone, the way your hips were shaking in the kitchen right now had suddenly become something else to Matt.

Stepping into the apartment, he closed the door behind himself and made sure to lock it. He hung his cane up on the hook nearby first, his heart pounding harder in his chest as he heard the shift in the air around you in the kitchen. God, the way you were moving your hips with your lip caught between your teeth was drawing forth a reaction from himself that he had not anticipated. 

Quickly slipping out of his shoes, he stuffed them under the nearby bench before he briskly made his way down the entryway hall. Considering you weren’t expecting him home yet, your music was fairly loud, and you were currently focused on the stove as you continued to dance, you hadn’t noticed him come in. Matt wasn’t surprised by that.

And he didn’t want to alert you to his presence quite yet either. He wanted to continue to enjoy the seductive way you were moving without you noticing him for just a bit longer. He figured this wasn't something he would get to witness often. 

Slowly he slipped the strap of his briefcase over his head before tossing it onto the sofa, his focus never wavering from you. He made his way over to the kitchen, pausing just in the entrance of it. Closing his eyes, Matt stood there and allowed himself to feel the movements you were making through the currents of air around him. Each shake of your hips or slide of your hands through your hair slightly shifted the air around him and it was somehow quickly making him hard. The delicious and sweet scent of your pheromones filling his nose only further fueled his own increasing need, his dress pants gradually becoming uncomfortable.

Goddammit, you were sexy.

He’d already fucked you this morning in the shower and twice yesterday–once before you left for the grocery store and then another time before you’d both gone to sleep after he’d returned home from his night out as Daredevil. Yet for some goddamn reason it felt like he was in need of you again. Longing for you. Hungry for you.

Matt’s teeth ground together, no longer able to resist the call of your body. Crossing the distance between the pair of you, he came up behind you and carefully wrapped his arms around your waist. He felt you startle in his hold, your pulse jumping in brief shock as your head abruptly turned. You’d stopped dancing, though you’d calmed a bit when you’d realized it was him.

“Shit, Matt,” you breathed out, a hand landing over your thundering heart. “You really do need to start wearing a bell. You scared me half to death. Wasn’t expecting you back for another hour.”

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, nuzzling his face into the back of your neck. “I couldn’t resist.”

“What do you mean?” you asked, confusion in your tone.

Matt’s arms tightened around your waist, his mouth lingering beside your ear. He inhaled deeply, his eyes rolling back as he picked up on the faintest hint of your arousal peaking through the smell of your pheromones. 

You’d often joked that his cocky teasing and his insatiable sexual appetite would be the death of you. But right now, it felt like you were going to be the death of him .

“Don’t stop,” he whispered into your ear. 

He felt the exact moment you realized what he meant. Embarrassment did in fact flood your body, heating your cheeks as you tried to pull away from him. Matt only tightened his hold around you.

“ Matt !” you shrieked. “You were watching me?”

It was the response he’d been intending to pull from you when he was in the elevator. He loved your usual adorable shriek of embarrassment which he’d generally follow up with a cocky, smartass teasing remark. And he’d had one ready, too, until he’d opened the apartment door and been bombarded by your pheromones. Now all he wanted was for you to keep rhythmically moving your hips–preferably against his face with no fabric blocking you from his mouth.

“Your pheromones are everywhere,” he told you. “Wasn’t expecting that. Just wanted to come home early and surprise you.” 

One of his hands slid down your front, cupping you over your cotton shorts. He felt the slight jolt from your body at the sudden contact, but he could feel your blood rushing southwards towards his hand. You were enjoying him touching you like this.

“Don’t stop,” he repeated.

"Matt, I'm not–"

You stopped mid-sentence when his mouth landed on the space between your neck and your shoulder. He purred in satisfaction at the taste of you mixed with the faint taste of the pasta sauce you'd been cooking. His hand began gradually rubbing you over your shorts, his other one trying to encourage the sway of your hips against him. 

"Matt, the food," you protested weakly.

He released your hip long enough to turn both burners off on the stove. He broke away from your neck just long enough to whisper, "Dinner can wait."

It was a moment before he felt you finally give in. Gradually your hips began to move, almost timidly at first, and Matt pressed himself into you from behind with a low, rumbling growl of satisfaction. He began to lightly nip at the skin of your neck, his own hips moving in tandem with the sensual sway of yours. He was quickly losing all ability to control himself though, his hand still rubbing at you over your shorts as he continued to grind himself against your ass.

"I want to taste you," he said.

" Matt ," you whispered, his name a mix of a moan and a reprimand. 

His hand stopped its movement against you over your shorts, sliding its way up towards your other hip. He grinned in smug satisfaction against your neck when he caught the incredibly faint whimper that vibrated in your throat, the noise not quite leaving your mouth in response to the absence of his touch. You clearly wanted this, too.

His hands abruptly spun you around until he had you facing himself. Still grasping tight to your hips, he continued to encourage the sensual sway of them against himself as he began to walk you backwards through the kitchen and away from the hot stove. As he moved, Matt's mouth crashed down onto yours in a frenzied kiss–you tasted like coffee and strawberries for some reason and it only had him frantically trying to taste more. 

Matt didn't stop walking you backwards until he'd accidentally backed you right into the fridge. Your mouth broke away from his quickly, expelling a soft gasp of surprise at the impact.

He felt your hands slide their way up his chest, clutching eagerly at his shoulders and rumpling his dress shirt between your fingers. Your breath was shallow and sharp, your heart loudly thrumming in your chest. Matt could feel the increase of your body temperature, the smell of your arousal clouding his mind as he heard your head fall back against the fridge. Your body clearly wanted a release, which countered what you said next.

"Matt, I don't think I can take another round of sex," you whispered. "I'm still sore from this morning. And literally all of the other times the past few days."

He leaned in, placing a soft kiss to your lips. When he broke away, Matt gradually kneeled down to the floor before you, his hands caressing the bare bit of your thighs that your shorts didn’t cover. He felt the prickle of goosebumps rise along your skin under his hands. He could also hear the pounding of your pulse in the artery along your inner thigh, the scent of your arousal strong beside his nose. 

He wanted you so damn bad right now. But he would never make you do anything.

Exhaling a sharp breath, he rested his forehead against your left thigh. "We don't have to do that," he replied quietly. "I just want to taste you. And I can be gentle, sweetheart." He leant forward, placing a kiss to your thigh and feeling the muscle twitch beneath his lips. "But you can say no. You can always say no."

Your hand was suddenly running through his hair, slow and tender. His eyelids lowered, lips parting as he let the taste of you in the air coat his tongue. A rumbling groan rolled its way up from his chest, the sound mingling with the music from your phone in the kitchen as your other hand began massaging his scalp, too. The feel of your hands on him wasn't helping the throbbing of his cock in his dress pants.

“If you have me, then I get to have you,” he heard you breathe out above him.

“ Fuck, sweetheart, ” Matt moaned.

His mouth opened, teeth lightly nipping at your thigh as his eyes clenched shut. Matt didn’t know how he’d gone so long without having you in his life. Foggy wasn’t wrong when he’d joked the other week saying that you had tamed the Devil–because like hell if he wouldn’t fall on his knees and worship you every chance he got. 

Releasing your thigh from his teeth, his hands made their way up towards the top of your shorts. Curling his fingers into the waistbands of both articles of clothing, he yanked down the shorts and your underwear in one swift movement, grinning when he heard your surprised gasp.

“Only if I get to have you first,” Matt purred out.

He tossed your clothes somewhere behind himself in the kitchen before gliding a hand up your thigh and towards your soaked folds. Humming in satisfaction, he ran a couple of fingers between them, coating them with your slick. You were so incredibly wet for him already. 

He slid a finger up towards your clit, catching the slight sigh that left your lips when the pad of his index finger gently grazed it. For a moment his eyes closed, reveling in the quiet, content noises you and your body made as he alternated his focus between lightly stimulating that sensitive bundle of nerves and teasing your soaked entrance, loving the way your back arched off of the fridge each time. One of your hands had fallen down to grip his shoulder, the other still lightly massaging his scalp as he continued to pleasure you–and like hell if it wasn’t only further stimulating him in return.

Eventually teasing you got to be far too much for Matt. With his left hand still massaging your right thigh, his other hand left your clit and instead reached down, gripping onto your calf. Abruptly he lifted it from the ground, grinning up at you when your hand roughly gripped his shoulder to balance yourself, a surprised yelp falling out of you. He raised your leg as high as he heard your body would comfortably let him, pinning it against the cold metal of the fridge door behind you. He heard the sound of your mouth opening, probably about to protest, but he immediately dove forward, swiping the flat of his tongue up the length of you. Instead of words, you released an indistinguishable noise of pleasure that had the smug grin returning to his lips. 

“You like that, sweetheart?” he asked.

“Mhmm,” you hummed back, head nodding quickly.

He heard the way your head fell back against the fridge with a soft thud after. Matt slid his tongue over you again, his eyes falling shut as he savored the taste of your slick on his tongue. Letting it linger in his mouth for a moment, he reveled in the heady, delicious taste of you before he finally swallowed it down with a throaty groan that had your fingers curling tighter in his hair. 

“I’m going to have my fill of you,” Matt breathed out, his face turning up towards where you were above him as he sent you a devilish smile. “And I want you to ride my face as hard as you want. You hear me?”

He heard the stutter of your heart in response to his demand before you cursed under your breath.

“Fuck, Matt,” you whined.

“Mmm,” he hummed, shaking his head as he lowered his face back towards your cunt before him. “Thought we couldn’t do that tonight?”

He chuckled as he heard you call him a smartass, but you didn’t remotely complain when he dove forward again, this time lapping at your entrance before slipping his tongue inside of you. All the while he held your right leg up against the refrigerator door in a firm grip, grinning when he felt it beginning to tremble as you began rhythmically grinding your cunt against his face. He intentionally pressed his nose against your clit, his mouth spurred on by the loud moans flying out of you and merging with the music still playing on your phone.

He was definitely going to have his fill of you tonight.

Tuesday 

Needing to catch up on laundry after you'd come home from work, you'd decided to skip making dinner tonight, figuring you and Matt could order something instead. You'd sent him a text earlier letting him know your plan before throwing a load of clothes into the washer. Matt had shown up from work shortly after, just when you'd managed to gather everything out of the dryer that neither of you had had the energy to deal with the past couple of days.

Now the pair of you were on opposite sides of the bed from each other, both focused on sorting out the last bit of laundry from the laundry basket on the mattress between the pair of you. You reached your hand in, pulling out another pair of your socks from the basket before you sorted them together along the bed. 

“I believe these are yours,” Matt’s playful tone cut through the silence.

You glanced up from your pile of socks at his voice, catching him holding a pair of your black, silk panties in his hands. He had a mischievous look on his face as he held them up, his fingers rubbing the fabric back and forth between them. They were definitely not your everyday underwear. Rolling your eyes at Matt, you reached a hand out to take them from him, but he immediately drew his hand back from your reach, a wide grin forming on his lips.

“On second thought, I don’t know if I’m quite done with these yet,” he teased.

“Matt, those are clean and I’d like them to stay that way for right now,” you said.

“Does that mean I can dirty up the ones you’re wearing now, then?” he asked, his head tilting to the side as his eyebrows rose up onto his forehead.

You gaped back at him, shock written across your face. “What?” you asked.

He held out the silk panties to you and you snatched them from his hand before he could pull them out of your reach again. Matt chuckled at your reaction, clearly amused that he’d riled you up a little. You watched as he reached into the almost empty laundry basket, pulling out another pair of his black boxers.

“If those are clean and I can’t dirty them up,” he began, “then it stands to reason that I can dirty up the underwear you’ve got on now.”

You reached into the basket, pulling out the last two pieces of clothing as you made a face. “Do I want to know what you mean by that?” you asked him. “Because I’m guessing you mean something sexual by that.”

“I definitely mean something sexual by that,” he answered you.

With a sigh you glanced up at Matt, raising a single brow at him. He picked up his neatly folded pile of black boxers, shooting you a cheeky smile from the otherside of the bed. 

“ How do you still want to have sex?” you asked him in astonishment. “Do you have a secret stash of performance pills around here somewhere?”

A bark of laughter flew out of Matt as he turned, making his way over to the dresser. You picked up some of your own neatly folded laundry, making your way to the dresser beside him to put them away.

“Oh sweetheart,” Matt purred, leaning over towards you when you were standing next to him, “I think we both know I don’t need any help in the bedroom.”

You felt your cheeks heat as you slid your clothes into the drawer before making your way back to the bed. Picking up the stack of your bras, you teased back, “Maybe you need help getting out of the bedroom.”

Matt laughed again, passing you on your way to the dresser as he made his way back to the bed to grab his stack of clean socks. 

“Pretty sure we’ve gotten out of the bedroom often in the past few days,” he joked back.

“Oh my God, Matt,” you said with a grin, rolling your eyes again as you put away your bras. “That isn’t what I meant and you know it.”

He chuckled, shaking his head at you as he returned to the dresser. He slipped his socks into the open drawer beside you, an amused smile on his lips. Closing the drawer you had open, you turned and rested your hip against the dresser, eyeing him curiously.

“What’s with all the sex though?” you asked him. 

Matt closed his drawer, turning and copying your body language as he leaned against the dresser, too. One of his dark brows rose up onto his forehead as he gazed back at you, his eyes landing on your chin. There was a cocky expression on his face that was only growing the longer he stared at you.

“You tell me,” he said. “I seem to recall someone getting turned on by me just innocently doing dishes the other day.”

“Okay, well you’re apparently turning into a horn dog over laundry ,” you shot back.

“Well in all fairness,” Matt began, “your scent has officially blended with mine here. Probably not something I imagine you can pick up on, but I can. And I like it.” 

He reached a hand out, grabbing onto your hip. You stiffened when his thumb slipped under your shirt, brushing back and forth along your skin.

“I like it a lot," he said huskily.

Drawing in a deep breath, you tried to focus the topic on something besides sex for the evening. Though the growing hunger in Matt’s eyes was making that difficult. 

"We should probably order dinner," you told him, clearing your throat. "Is there something you want?"

"You," he purred, a devilish smirk on his lips.

His whole hand slipped under your shirt next, the warmth of it hard to ignore as his palm slid up along your ribcage. Matt continued to stand there, leaning against the dresser and smirking back at you. He knew damn well what he was doing to you and he was doing it on purpose. It wasn't long before you began to feel that all too familiar urge to wipe the smirk off of his face growing within you.

A slow, sinful smile gradually drew itself across your lips as you stared back at him. You watched the way his eyes narrowed suspiciously at you in return, his head tilting to the side. The smirk on his face faltered a little.

"You want me, Matt?" you asked innocently.

Your hand landed on his forearm, your fingers lightly running along the dark hairs there. His hand gripped your ribcage under your shirt instantly in response. 

"Yes," he answered carefully. "But clearly you have something in mind."

"Well," you began slowly, "if you want me, then I think maybe tonight you should have to follow my rules, Matthew." You grabbed onto his thick forearm and tugged it out from underneath your shirt. "And the first rule is no touching me."

His lips parted in surprise as he stared back at you in stunned silence. You lowered Matt's hand to his side, the sly smile still on your mouth at how fast that smirk had just vanished from his.

“Sound like a game you want to play, Matty?” you questioned him.

"What's the second rule?" he asked huskily.

A thrill shot through you. You'd never done this with Matt before, but the thought of having power over him in a completely new way had you feeling smug for once. Because he was always teasing you, always riling you up. Hell, living with him was like constantly being teased by him, especially with the way this first week had gone so far. Seeing him everywhere you looked–seeing your lives blended together–had you constantly wanting him this week.

Enjoying the way he was quietly waiting on you to answer, your hands reached out and grabbed onto the knot of his tie, yanking him towards you. Your smile grew wider when he willingly stumbled forward a step.

"The second rule is that you only cum when I say you can," you told him, undoing the knot of his tie with your fingers. "Since you do that to me so often, I think it's about time I do it back to you."

Slowly you slipped his tie out from underneath his shirt collar, enjoying the way you saw his throat bob when he roughly swallowed at your words. Eyes glancing down, you saw the way his hands had curled into fists at his sides. Clearly you were having an effect on him already and that went straight to your cunt.

"What do you say, Matty?" you asked coyly, hands beginning to unbutton his shirt. "You still want me?"

"Yes," he answered immediately. 

Another little thrill shot through you at how fast he'd answered. You might enjoy this more than you'd initially thought. 

"Get undressed and get on the bed then," you ordered him.

Your hands grabbed onto the hem of your shirt as Matt’s hands replaced yours on his buttons. His fingers deftly flew through each one, undoing them with such speed that you found yourself impressed. You were barely sliding your cotton shorts down your legs when you saw Matt making his way back to the bed, tossing the laundry basket haphazardly onto the floor and out of the way before he climbed up onto it. 

Eyes following his movements, you watched as he sunk down onto his knees. His gaze was very intensely on you, his eyes focused along your chest as if he was tuned into your heartbeat. Chewing your lip, your eyes dropped down to his hardening cock that was expectantly waiting for you. Matt’s voice suddenly popped into your mind and you remembered all of those times that he’d taken control in the bedroom with you–ordering you around–and an idea quickly came to you.

Crossing your arms over your chest, your head canted to the side. “Touch yourself for me, Matty,” you ordered.

You grinned when you saw his eyebrows shoot up onto his forehead in surprise yet again, the corners of his own lips curling upwards at your boldness. Tonight you were certainly being far more brazen with him than you ever had been before. But watching as he grabbed his cock in his hand, beginning to stroke himself while he still focused on you, was definitely worth stepping out of your comfort zone for. Because it was certainly a mental image you were going to store away for later.

Except, he looked far too cocky right now on the bed. That smirk was back on his lips and you were determined to knock it off of him tonight. Eyes narrowing back at him, you uncrossed your arms, one hand slowly sliding its way down your stomach and towards your clit. A burst of pleasure raced through you the moment you began circling the sensitive bud, a soft moan leaving you. Matt’s smirk slowly faded from his mouth as his hand stuttered to a halt along his cock.

“I didn’t say stop, Matty,” you reminded him.

He audibly sucked in a sharp breath, his hand gradually continuing its movement. Biting your lip, you slid two fingers further downward, dipping them into yourself with a wet sound that you knew was loud enough for his ears to catch by the way his eyes clamped shut. 

“You smell so good ,” he whispered.

"Do I?" you breathed out, slowly sliding your fingers in and out of yourself. “Someone want a taste?” you asked coyly, sliding your fingers back out.

“Yes– fuck . Please, yes,” he begged, his chest beginning to heave.

Crossing your way towards the bed, you slowly held out your hand towards him. Matt’s lips parted expectantly, his head turning up towards you. Instead you grabbed him by the chin with your fingers, hearing the slight whine he emitted just before you leaned in to kiss him. 

You assumed the scent of your arousal along his chin–with you denying him the taste of it on his tongue–had driven him further into a frenzy. He began fiercely kissing you, his lips ravenously connecting to yours over and over as he practically growled against your mouth. His teeth were biting and pulling against your bottom lip, his hand working himself even faster. The sight of his urgent desire for you drew out a low moan from within your own chest. 

Releasing his chin, you straightened beside the bed. With another rumbling growl, Matt’s free hand released the tight grip he’d had on the silk sheets and flew out towards your hip, but you immediately shifted to the side just as he’d remembered the rule you’d given him. His hand hung there in the air just inches from your waist, a frustrated noise coming from Matt.

“You know, for someone who likes to tease excessively, you sure can’t handle much of it in return,” you pointed out.

Matt grunted in response, his hand halting its movements on his cock. You could already see the glisten of pre-cum on his fingers, but you refrained from saying anything about him not following directions because you caught the abrupt shift in his demeanor to something…else.

“Because I’m aware of vastly more going on with your body than you are of mine,” he replied through clenched teeth. “Takes far more control than you think for me to not touch you right now. You know I love when you let loose with me, sweetheart. And this is…the most comfortable you’ve ever been with me. But it’s also so–” he rumbled a noise in his chest that sounded like the Devil growling now, “– tempting not to listen to you.”

A shiver ran down your spine at his words and his tone of voice. One of these days you would be tempted yourself to see what happened if you pushed the Devil just far enough. But tonight was not the night for that.

“I’ll show you some mercy tonight,” you conceded. “But the rules still stand: you still can’t touch me and you still can’t cum until I give you permission. Think you can handle that much, Devil?”

Matt’s eyes narrowed back at you, that dark look on his face still present. After a moment, he gave you a single nod.

“That’s my good Devil. Now lay down,” you ordered. 

Gradually Matt drew his legs out from underneath himself, slowly lowering onto his back on the bed as he continued to focus on you with that darkened expression. You delighted in watching his naked form as he moved, enjoying the movement of his muscles along his arms and abdomen visibly shifting. 

Matthew Murdock was unbelievably beautiful– especially naked and wound up.

“You’re enjoying this,” he rumbled out.

You climbed up onto the bed, throwing a leg over his hips so you were straddling him. Hands landing on his chest, you lightly scratched your nails upwards towards his shoulders and then gradually back down towards his hips. You saw the goosebumps raise along his skin as you did, his head rolling back just a bit along the pillow in pleasure as he moaned out.

“So are you,” you pointed out.

Reaching a hand down, you grabbed onto the base of Matt’s cock, grinning when you heard him groan at the touch. Carefully you lined him up with your entrance before very deliberately sinking down onto him, your eyes closing as your cunt stretched around his girth. Matt loosed a curse into the bedroom, your eyes opening in time to catch him roughly fisting the sheets in both of his large hands.

Leaning forward, your hands landed on his broad shoulders as your face hovered above his. His eyelids fluttered open, his eyes hooded with lust as they landed along your cheek.

“Be a good Devil for me now,” you whispered, leaning down to kiss his lips lightly. “And I won’t make you wait too long to cum.”

“ Fucking hell ,” he growled. “Sweetheart, you’re going to regret– ahhh, fuck !”

Grinning at how he’d broken off mid-sentence when your hips slowly rocked against him, your nails bit into his shoulders. Setting a slow, delicious pace, you began to fuck Matt, a pleased hum leaving you at the feel of him inside of you. Matt's breath quickly came in short pants, a series of whimpers falling out of his lips. 

“So hard not to–to touch you,” he breathed out.

“You’re doing so good for me, Matty,” you praised.

Reaching a hand up, you stroked his cheek, enjoying the rasp of his beard against your fingers. Matt immediately nuzzled into your palm, pressing his cheek further into it as his brows pinched together. You continued rhythmically riding his cock at your leisurely pace, thumb stroking the length of his cheekbone. 

“You’re so beautiful, Matt,” you murmured.

A slow, euphoric smile slipped across his lips, his eyes opening as he focused around your face. “Getting a little–little sentimental on me right now, sweetie?” he panted out with an amused huff. “Already losing your edge?”

You shook your head, the grin still on your mouth. "Not a chance, Matthew," you assured him. "I still want to hear you beg."

Hips picking up their pace, you watched as his eyelids closed again. Your hand returned to his shoulder as you leaned in close to his ear, noticing the way he shuddered when your breath tickled his skin.

"Because I know how much you fall apart for praise," you whispered into his ear.

Beneath you, Matt's back arched off of the bed, his cock burying itself further into you as he did. With a soft gasp, your nails dug even further into his shoulders. Encouraged by your grip, Matt’s own hips began thrusting upwards into you, meeting your hips roughly and matching your pace.

"Mmm, that's my good Devil," you whispered into his ear. "But you're not cumming yet. I'm not quite done with you."

Matt loosed a loud groan through the bedroom at your words, his head once again rolling back along the pillow. His teeth ground together as he hissed out a sharp breath between them, his hips sharply fucking up into you so hard that your eyes briefly rolled back. 

You were definitely going to enjoy riling up the Devil tonight. 

Wednesday 

A loud crack of thunder rolled through the city, the sound echoing off the tall buildings and managing to cut straight through what had been a peaceful, deep sleep. Matt gradually grew alert on the bed, taking a moment to orient himself with his senses as he lay there. From the lack of extra noise among the tenants in his building, the quieter noises coming up from the streets of Hell’s Kitchen below, and your deep, even breaths beside him, he realized it was either still quite late or very early.

Outside the apartment, the rain soon came down against the windows in a steady, almost soothing downpour. The sound was somewhat relaxing–something akin to white noise–making it easier for Matt to ignore many of the extra noises of the city outside his apartment. He closed his eyes again, trying to focus back on falling asleep. Occasionally the rain felt like it had a dampening effect when he was in his apartment, which often helped lull Matt into a deeper sleep at night. Thunder, on the other hand, often disrupted it–as did the loud rumbling crack of another thunderous boom that roared through Hell’s Kitchen. 

Tuning into your body pressed to the front of him, Matt's tired mind tried to focus on the soft, rhythmic exhalations leaving you. Your heart was beating at a calm, level pace as you slept, the sound always a comfort to Matt. Readjusting his hold around your waist, he shifted along the back of you, drawing himself even closer to your warm, almost bare body. His head rested on the same pillow just behind yours, his mouth right above your shoulder. 

As he relaxed further into the mattress, trying to get comfortable while he focused on you instead of the storm, his lips accidentally brushed along your shoulder. Matt inhaled deeply, the scent of your peach shampoo and your soft skin filling his nose. The faint taste of just you lingered on his mouth from where his lips had just grazed you and he found his tongue drowsily slipping out to taste you from them again. He moaned quietly, the noise blending in with the sound of the rain outside. 

Leaning a bit forward, he placed a barely there kiss on the top of your shoulder. With his mouth lingering against your skin, Matt contentedly hummed out a faint pleased noise as something slowly stirred awake within himself. He never could seem to get over just how soft your skin was, or how intoxicating it was to taste. Whether it was the taste of your lips themselves, or the delicate skin of your neck, the soft swell of your breasts, the inviting expanse of your shoulders, or the delicious, addicting taste of your cunt, Matt could never get enough. He always was left wanting more of you. 

His arm unconsciously tightened around your waist, his hips pressing forward into you. His bare cock twitched awake as he slotted himself between the roundness of your ass, the silk of your underwear not as satisfying to him as just feeling you against his own skin. A rumbling noise vibrated in his throat as another crack of thunder rang through the bedroom.

Matt placed another kiss on your shoulder, his tongue slipping out to taste even more of you as he did. Briefly the thought flickered in his mind that he should stop. You both had work in the morning and he didn’t want either of you to be tired. There was a part of him that didn't want to wake you just because the storm had woken him. But the moment the tip of his tongue swiped along your skin and he caught the taste of you on it, his eyes clamped shut even tighter and a strangled whine left him. 

He needed you. 

Matt leaned further forward, his nose tracing up the length of your neck, his parted lips grazing your bare skin at the same time. He could feel you stirring awake beside him, your skin dotting with goosebumps beneath his hands. Your breath immediately hitched in your throat, your heart beat no longer steady and even but a sharp staccato in his ears as you gradually awoke. 

“Matt?” your sleep-riddled voice whispered out.

He almost purred at the sound of it. Your voice alone could do things to him, things he didn't quite understand himself. He nuzzled into your neck before placing an open-mouthed kiss along the skin there. He just needed more of you, especially after the frustrating night he'd had as the Devil earlier.

And then there it was–the faint scent of your arousal hitting his nose. A slow, satisfied smile crept its way along his lips. Without fail, he so easily always managed to turn you on. He would never tire of how your body reacted to him. 

"Matty, what're you–"

He sucked a patch of skin just beneath your jaw into his mouth, your question dying on your lips as you audibly inhaled a sharp breath. He felt your ass shift against his rapidly hardening cock, a quiet sigh falling out between your lips next. He released the skin from his mouth, his nose rubbing along the line of your jaw. One of Matt's hands released your waist, slowly sliding its way up your stomach and continuing further upwards.

"The storm woke me," he quietly explained, his large hand palming the soft mound of your breast. "Tried to focus on you to fall back asleep, but–" he inhaled the scent of your arousal in the air deeply, salivating at the faint taste of it in his mouth, "–you were distracting."

He felt both of your hands latch onto his wrists, felt the sting of your nails biting into his skin. A hiss of pleasure flew from him and he ground his aching cock back into your ass even more firmly. 

" Sweetheart ," he moaned, shifting so his mouth was beside your ear when he spoke next. "Your body is begging me," he whispered, enjoying the shudder that ran through you. "Can I have you? Please?"

"Baby," you whimpered, ass eagerly grinding back against him as you nodded along the pillow. "Yes, yes. Need you, Matty."

Without waiting for further encouragement, his fingers gently tugged at your nipple. You gasped in surprise, your nails further biting into his wrists. Further spurred on by the noises of pleasure coming from you, his other hand slid down from your waist, slipping past the waistband of your silk underwear. He immediately found his way between your folds, growling at how wet you already were when he touched you. 

"Oh, sweetheart ," he breathed out, running his two fingers back and forth between your slick. God, you were soaked already. "You want me this badly?"

He felt your head shift over your shoulder towards him, a desperate noise barely escaping you. It sounded like a muffled whine stuck in your throat and it had Matt's cock throbbing with need. 

"Yes, baby," you answered softly. "Always."

His teeth grit together at the term of endearment he usually only heard from you in moments like these. But the truth in your words had a sharp grunt barreling out of him as his two fingers made their way towards your clit. The moment he grazed it he felt your back arch against him, a little moan coming from you in response. 

"That feel good, sweetie?” he asked.

His lips began trailing slow, sweet kisses along your neck, his two fingers gently circling the sensitive bundle of nerves. He felt another shudder shoot through your body, your breath catching yet again.

“Yes,” you whispered back. 

He felt one of your hands release its hold on his wrist, reaching back behind yourself and towards him. You managed to grab his bare ass and another whimper fell out of you. He smiled against your neck, running his nose back and forth against you when he felt you practically clawing at it as he continued the ministrations of his fingers along your clit. You really had a thing for his ass.

“ More ,” you begged.

His fingers slid down, teasing your soaked entrance. You whined and quickly shook your head. Matt’s brows knitted together in confusion. But then he felt your hand leave his ass, blindly finding its way to his cock. His hips twitched when your fingers curled around the girth of him, your head turning over your shoulder towards him again.

“I want you ,” you whispered.

You began stroking him, your arm twisted behind your back at an awkward angle as you did. Your hand felt so fucking good on him, but it wasn’t what he wanted to feel, either. He knew exactly what you’d meant. A rumbling noise left Matt, the sound of the storm outside entirely forgotten to him now as he focused solely on you. 

His fingers quickly slipped out of your underwear, sliding down the front of them until he hooked the damp fabric between his fingers and tugged it to the side. Your hand soon released him, flying out in front of yourself to grip a handful of the silk sheets. Behind you, Matt’s hand landed on your hips, shifting you where he needed you before he grasped onto the base of his cock and lined it up with your entrance. 

He heard the sharp inhale of your breath the moment the tip of him barely pushed into you. Your hips eagerly ground back against him, silently begging him to fill you. Without hesitation, Matt gradually plunged himself fully inside of your wet cunt, reveling in the delicious twitch of your muscles contracting all around him as you adjusted to fit him. His eyes fluttered closed, a low moan falling from his lips. You were so warm and wet and tight. 

You felt perfect .

Matt continued to knead the breast he’d had in his palm, his other hand making its gradual way back to where it had been working your clit. He heard you curse under your breath, your head turning over your shoulder towards him. Knowing exactly what you’d wanted, his mouth landed on yours. While his hips set a rhythmic, steady pace as he pumped into you, his mouth placed soft, lingering kiss after soft, lingering kiss against yours. 

Eventually he heard the way your hand released the sheets you’d been gripping. Instead, he felt you turn at the waist as he continued to lovingly roll his hips forward into you over and over, your hand coming up to tenderly cup his cheek. Matt’s tongue slid along your bottom lip in a slow glide, a beautiful whine falling out of you in return and meeting his ears. He took the opportunity to slip his tongue into your mouth, lapping languorously against your own. 

And that was how the night carried on, with Matt’s hips sensually rolling forward into yours repeatedly as you eagerly tried to match his pace with your own hips, the pair of you attached at the mouth and panting heavily between kisses. The roll of thunder and steady patter of rain became nothing but muted background noise to Matt as he listened to every sound of pleasure coming from you.

Thursday 

You’d had a long week at the Bulletin and you were happy as hell that tomorrow was finally Friday. While things had been great between Matt and you this first week of living together–more than great when it came to your sex lives, and your aching cunt was proof of that–you’d still been stressed at work. There was a story you’d been struggling with writing and it had been frustrating you to no end for the past few days. Though admittedly, the constant sex with Matt this week had been helping you relieve your frustration when you were off of work, even if it was incredibly distracting. 

But he wasn’t home right now because he was out as Daredevil, scouring the rooftops and beating up bad guys this evening. Which was fine, it wasn’t the first time he’d gone out doing just that while you were together–certainly not the first time this week–and it definitely wouldn’t be the last time. You'd quickly grown accustomed to his occasional absences in the evening, even if you still found yourself worrying about him.

A little while ago you had decided to put your laptop away, forget about work, and get cozy on the couch with one of your shows. Even though it was still strange being able to watch your shows on an actual television in Matt’s living room, you’d curled up under his plaid blanket and gotten comfortable. And that was where you'd remained the duration of the evening, waiting for his inevitable return.

You’d managed to get through a few episodes of the comedy you were watching before you finally heard the roof access door swing open. Instantly your head rose from the pillow you’d been resting on, glancing up at Matt’s Daredevil-clad form. You winced when he slammed the door shut behind himself, the loud noise reverberating around the apartment. Peeling his gloves from his hands, he aggressively stalked his way over to the stairs. His boots hit each step on his descent down them with a heavy thud . Absolutely everything about his body language told you that he’d had an awful night out as the Devil and he was internally fuming .

When he’d reached the last step, pulling the helmet from his head with one hand, you thought you might say something to him. Maybe ask if there was something you could do to help him relax. But the moment you’d opened your mouth, drawing in the slightest breath, Matt’s head snapped in your direction and you froze. His jaw was clenched and his eyes almost looked black. Your mouth immediately closed. Clearly, Matt was not in the mood for talking right now.

Settling back onto the couch, you watched as he made his way towards the closet behind the two armchairs to your left. He roughly yanked the doors open before opening the lid of his father’s steamer trunk. You heard the heavy drop of his gloves and his helmet, moments later hearing the sound of his billy clubs dropping into the trunk next. Silently you watched him kneel down, untying the laces of his boots one at a time. When he finished, both boots were gruffly disposed of into the trunk before he was standing back up, reaching for the zipper behind himself along his back.

Your eyes openly lingered on the gradual reveal of Matt’s muscled back as the zipper of his suit slowly exposed himself to you. He released the zipper once he’d undone the suit all the way down just to the top of his ass where you could see the waistband of his boxers peeking out. Biting your lip, you watched the muscles of his back flex and pull as he took a minute to slide one skin tight sleeve off of himself before removing the other. And then he bent over, his round, muscular ass directly in your line of sight as he slowly stripped the suit down each of his legs. Once he’d slipped the armor entirely off of himself, he was left in nothing but those tight, black boxers he always wore. 

You could feel yourself getting turned on despite how irritated he seemed. You couldn’t help but watch as he folded his suit up in obvious frustration before stuffing it in the steamer trunk. He slammed the lid of it down a bit harder than necessary before he rose to his now bare feet, shutting the doors to the closet. Afterwards, he turned swiftly towards you, his focus easily finding you on the couch where you suddenly stopped breathing under the weight of his stare. His entire body looked tense, his shoulders tight and the muscles twitching in his cheeks.

“I’m going to shower,” he stated simply.

He stood there a moment, running a hand across his forehead as he stared back at you. You only nodded, unable to trust your voice. Because he had to know you were aroused right now with his senses, but he must have had a bad enough night out as Daredevil that he hadn’t even remotely wanted to remark on it.

Wordlessly Matt stalked off down the hall to the bathroom, flipping on the light and closing the door partially behind himself. Seconds later you heard the shower turn on. You tried your best to ignore the thought of Matt naked and soon to be wet under the spray of water in the other room. Though admittedly trying to force your thoughts away from everything sexual that was running through your mind now wasn’t easy. Attention returning to the show you’d been watching, you readjusted yourself on the couch and made yourself comfortable all over again. 

Inevitably your gaze wandered back to the bathroom when you distinctly heard the glass door of the shower shut. Eyes narrowing, you stared at the light peaking through the crack of the bathroom door. Because why would Matt have turned the light on to shower? You knew he hated the buzz that lights emitted, and if he was frustrated, that extra noise would’ve only irritated him further. He had no use for the light anyway, he only ever turned lights on in a room when it was meant for your benefit.

It was a second before the realization hit you, your eyes growing wide. He definitely had noticed you were in the mood when he’d been stripping out of his suit, then. Turning the bathroom light on and keeping the door partially open must’ve been a sort of silent invitation for you. Maybe he’d been too riled up to use his words, or maybe…

Maybe Matt wanted something more than the sweet love making you both often had together. Maybe he wanted something even more than the naughty, playful sex, too. Maybe he needed something more tonight to relieve his frustration.

Something more like rough sex with a wound up and irritated Devil.

Because you knew Matt. And you knew he probably wouldn’t quite know how to verbalize what he wanted, let alone feel comfortable enough asking for that. He hated the thought of hurting you. But you’d encountered this with him a few times before, knowing that when he was this uptight returning from a patrol that hadn’t gone well as Daredevil, he usually needed a release. And he often enjoyed using you as that release–rather roughly, too.

Bottom lip slipping between your teeth, you immediately sat upright on the couch. You were more than willing to let him fuck you. The thought of him loosing the Devil on you already had a dampness forming between your thighs. You loved the sharp, rough edges of Matt just as much as you loved the sensitive, soft sides. And it had been awhile since you’d seen the Devil make an appearance in your sex life.

Tossing the blanket off of yourself, you turned off the television and rose from the couch before making your way down the hall and towards the bathroom. You slowly pushed open the bathroom door, stepping inside. You could see him washing himself through the frosted glass of the shower doors, making no move to acknowledge that you were in the bathroom. But he obviously knew you were there–especially with how aroused you were and how much you’d come to learn this week that scent alone easily affected him. There was no way he couldn’t smell it.

Grabbing the hem of your shirt, you slipped it up and over your head, your bare breasts exposed to the warm steam wafting through the bathroom as you tossed the article of clothing to the ground. Slipping your fingers inside both your sleep shorts and your underwear’s waistband, you slid them down your legs before they dropped to the floor. You stepped out of them, hesitantly making your way over to the shower before slowly sliding the glass door back.

You hesitated just outside of it, one hand lingering on the glass as Matt’s head once again abruptly snapped in your direction. He was standing under the spray of the water, his dark hair soaked and clinging to him. Your eyes followed a few beads of water as they raced down his scarred and toned chest, your pulse increasing at the sight. You could see the obvious tension in his muscles as you quietly took in the sight of him naked before you. 

“Do you…need some help coming down from tonight?” you asked him.

Your eyes caught the way his hands clenched into fists at his sides, nostrils flaring as he expelled a sharp breath.

“Would that be too much?” he gruffly questioned back.

“No,” you answered, shaking your head as you finally stepped into the shower. “I love all the sides of you, Matthew. I’ve told you that before.”

You turned around, sliding the shower door closed after yourself as some of the warm spray overhead began to cascade down your back. A surprised gasp fell out of you when you felt Matt’s hands suddenly grabbing your hips, his fingers firmly digging into your skin. Even you felt the way your pulse stuttered in response, his chin hovering just over your left shoulder.

“Are you sure?” the dark, gravelly voice you knew as the Devil asked, his mouth just beside your ear. “Because I have no desire to be gentle tonight, sweetheart. I don’t want to hurt you.”

You inhaled a deep breath, excitement shooting through you at his words and the tone he’d spoken them with. It had been far too long since he’d let himself loose with you like this. Turning your head just over your shoulder, you spotted the wild look in his eyes. That only thrilled you further.

“I’ve told you before, Matty,” you whispered back. “Sometimes I like when you hurt me.”

His fingers dug into your hips even further, his lip pulling back into something akin to an animalistic snarl. A second later he’d shoved you up against the shower door, the cold glass pressed entirely to the front of you a sharp contrast to the warm water falling down your body. You could feel the heat from Matt’s naked body radiating off of him with how close he was standing behind you now, but it wasn't quite close enough to touch yours.

“You can say no,” Matt’s deep voice reminded you.

Head still turned over your shoulder, your cheek pressed against the glass of the shower door, your eyes remained fixed on his face. 

“But I’m saying yes,” you whispered back.

A growl tore out of Matt as he yanked you away from the door, roughly turning you around towards himself before he slammed his mouth hard onto yours. His hands snaked their way around to your back, his blunt fingernails digging into your skin as he drew you in tight, crushing you to the front of himself. You could feel his already hard cock pressed between your slick bodies as his teeth gnashed at your bottom lip. A hiss of pleasure slipped from your mouth as your hands flew up, your own nails clawing at his thick biceps that held you firmly to him.

Matt’s mouth quickly retreated from yours, his teeth snapping at your earlobe before shifting downwards to your neck. As your head fell back over your shoulders, your eyes closing, you felt him nipping along the length of your collarbone. The sharpness of his bites was quickly soothed by the warm water running down the pair of you, Matt’s name slipping from between your lips as a moan. 

Matt responded instantly to the sound of it, quickly spinning you before slamming your back into the tile wall of the shower. His flushed face hovered just before yours, his chest heaving as he stared hungrily back at you. He looked absolutely wild with his dark gaze fixed along your cheek.

“You cum when I say or you don’t cum at all,” he ordered, his eyebrows rising onto his forehead, a cocky smile on his face as he repeated to you what you'd said to him the other night. “And you don't touch yourself unless I say so. Am I clear?”

“Mhmm,” you hummed out, nodding quickly.

One of his hands shot out between the pair of you so fast that you didn’t realize he’d even moved until you felt him gripping you by the neck. His hold was just firm enough to put pressure on your throat, just enough without actually hurting you, as he pinned you to the wall. Your thighs clenched together, more wet heat building between them as you squirmed against the shower wall. You just wanted to feel him inside of you already.

“Use your words,” Matt demanded gruffly. “Am I clear?”

“Yes, Matt,” you answered immediately.

That smug smirk remained on his lips as he stared back at you pinned to the wall by your throat.  His tongue slipped out slow and purposeful between his lips, his eyes momentarily closing in pleasure. You heard a low, rumbling noise stir deep from within his chest.

“You really do like this, don’t you?” he asked, that low, gravely tone of the Devil slipping out as he opened his eyes. “You like it when I’m rough with you?”

His hand tightened a little further around your throat and your hips desperately ground forward, searching for him. He shifted just out of your reach and you whined in response. 

“Yes,” you answered him.

“You want my cock?” he asked next.

You nodded vigorously in response. “Yes, Matt, yes.”

That self-satisfied smirk drew itself across his lips once again, that dark look never leaving his face. “Then you’re going to beg me for it, sweetheart. Turn around,” he ordered.

He released his hold on your throat and you obediently spun on the spot. There was not a single thought in your mind besides how badly you wanted to feel him fucking you right now. Pressing the front of yourself to the shower wall, you looked over your shoulder at him behind you, waiting for instruction.

You saw Matt’s hand draw back just a bit before he swung it forward, the sharp crack of the slap he landed on your ass echoing through the shower. You could feel the desperate ache of your cunt begging for him to fill you as the sharp sting remained long after his palm had left your ass.

“Beg me to fuck you,” Matt ordered.

“Please, Matt,” you breathed out. “I’ve missed you all night. I was–was waiting for you to come home. Needed you.”

“Yeah?” he asked.

His hand drew back again before he landed another sharp slap against your ass. His palm lingered this time, briefly soothing the sting before he brutishly grabbed the soft mound of flesh and squeezed. Your eyes clamped shut, your ass pressing back into him in search of more.

“I need you,” you whined. “Need you to fill me, Matt. Fuck me until I can’t think–until I can’t walk.”

A pleased rumble sounded from him behind you, both of Matt’s hands playing with your ass he roughly kneaded the flesh between them. You could feel the slick steadily dripping down between your thighs now, your fingers uselessly gripping at the tile wall.

“Haven’t had enough of my cock?” he shot back. “Been fucking you all week and you still want more?”

“Mhmm,” you hummed out, nodding quickly. “Always want more. Always need you.”

Matt groaned loudly at your words, his hands sliding up from your ass to grip your hips. You felt him grind his hard cock against your ass and you soon realized how much he’d enjoyed hearing that.

“Please let me have you, Matt,” you begged, desperation creeping into your voice. “Please fuck me. I need you, baby. Need to feel you inside of me. No one–” a surprised gasp fell out of you as two of his fingers began teasing your entrance. “No one makes me feel as–as good as you do,” you panted out, eyes closing when he dipped his fingers inside of you.

“So wet for me,” he growled out. 

You felt him abruptly thrust both thick digits all the way into you and your forehead dropped forward against the shower wall. A cry slipped out of you as a warm wash of bliss flooded your body at finally receiving something from him. Matt’s mouth came down to your shoulder, his teeth sinking firmly into your skin as a snarl rippled out of him. There was nothing gentle about the way he continued fingering you against the tile wall, though. Every aggressive pump emitted a loud, squelching noise as your hands helplessly clawed at the tile, your ragged breaths loud in your own ears. Matt’s teeth released your shoulder a few moments later, his lips just grazing your earlobe.

“I didn’t say you could stop begging,” he reminded you. “And you aren’t cumming yet, sweetheart.”

His fingers slipped out of you and you whined instantly at the loss of contact. Your body aching with desire, you spun around to see Matt had backed away from you. Inevitably your eyes dropped down from the lustful expression on his face to the particular appendage you most desired. Tongue slipping out to wet your lips, you stared longingly at him.

“You want it?” he asked.

“Yes,” you whispered.

“Then show me,” the gravelly voice of the Devil demanded.

Taking a step towards him, you quickly sunk down to your knees on the wet floor before him. Without hesitation, you eagerly took him into your mouth, your nails running along his thighs as you did. One of Matt’s hands landed on the back of your head, fisting your hair firmly in his grip as he held on tight. His other hand roughly cupped a breast as he bent forward, firmly kneading the flesh in his hand. He loosed a loud moan that echoed in the shower, the warm spray falling over the pair of you as you vigorously sucked his cock. You couldn’t resist the urge to press your thighs together at the sound of his pleasure, your hips absently rocking as you searched for friction. But that only encouraged Matt’s grip to tighten on your hair.

“I told you that you cum when I say or you don’t cum at all,” Matt warned. “Are you going to listen to me?”

You immediately stopped your movements, humming an affirmative noise in response that had Matt moaning out as it vibrated against his cock. You knew how much that affected him every time you did it. One well placed moan while he was in your mouth could have him cumming instantly. 

His grip eased on your hair. “That’s my good, sweet girl,” he praised. “Now show me how bad you want me.”

Friday

Standing shoulder to shoulder with Matt at the bedroom closet–and trying your best to ignore his distracting presence as he stood clad in nothing but a pair of his black boxers–you undid the top buttons of the blouse you were planning to wear to work, sliding it off the hanger. Beside you, Matt's hands slowly ran over the various tags on the different hangers of his suits. Your gaze flickered towards them at the movement, watching the way his fingers deliberately ran over the braille of each tag while he searched for the suit he was going to wear today. Every morning when he did this it always held your attention for far longer than necessary, and you swore he intentionally read slower because he knew. 

Your tongue slid out, wetting your lips as you blinked hard and forced yourself to tear your attention away from his hands. With a hard swallow, you tried to focus back on getting yourself ready for work. Putting your arms through the sleeves of your blouse, you shifted your attention downwards as you began buttoning it up. Though you'd barely buttoned a handful of buttons before you heard Matt huff out an amused breath beside you. 

Fingers pausing their movement, your gaze gradually slid up towards Matt's face. There was a self-satisfied smirk on his lips as he slid his arms into the sleeves of his dark blue dress shirt, his bottom half still clad in his black boxers as he stared back at you. Quirking a brow at him as he stood beside you, you had a feeling you knew what that look was about. 

"We can make time, sweetheart," Matt said, his gaze dropping down as he also began buttoning up his own shirt now. "I told you that earlier."

Unable to stop yourself, your eyes dropped down to his fingers, watching as they deftly slid a button through the hole in his shirt before they slowly shifted to the button above it, repeating the action. It was a moment before you realized your own fingers were still holding onto the button you’d stopped on of your blouse. Clearing your throat, you once again tore your eyes away from his hands, but you couldn't deny there was a part of you considering his offer now.

"I told you, I can't be late for work, Matt," you repeated for the fourth time this morning.

"There's been an attempted robbery near fifty-sixth and tenth," Matt informed you. "Police apprehended the suspect, but you could always use it as an excuse. Foot traffic is slowed because they’ve had to block off the area." He shrugged a shoulder. "Tell Ellison it slowed you down on your walk to work. That you were investigating for a possible story. He won't know you were actually late because we had sex."

"Matt," you whined, hands dropping to your sides as you turned completely towards him. "How are we going to ever accomplish anything living together if we can't keep our hands to ourselves for a single day?"

Matt chuckled, his hands falling from his own partially buttoned shirt as he copied your movements, turning and facing you. "I am absolutely not complaining about the increase in sex,” he teased.

You rolled your eyes before crossing your arms over your chest. “I’m serious, Matt,” you grumbled. “We need to figure out a way to take a bit of a breather.”

“If I recall correctly, you’re the one who woke up aroused,” Matt pointed out.

“Because you were humping my ass, Matt,” you countered.

“Because you were moaning my name in your sleep and literally dripping, sweetheart,” Matt snapped back. “You think it’s that easy for me to just ignore that?” He took a step towards you, towering above you with narrowed eyes and a clenched jaw. “This whole place permanently smells like your pheromones and half the time it smells like your arousal when you’re just looking at me. I can barely breathe without getting turned on and wanting to fuck you.”

Something stirred within you at his words and that edge to his voice. It wasn’t fair that you found him sexy when he got irritated, but admittedly you hadn’t thought about how you living here would constantly affect him. You hadn’t thought about the way your scent would mix with his and turn him on–something he’d been telling you the other day–or how he’d often have to smell you aroused and have that scent lingering in the apartment all the time, too.

“You’re getting aroused right fucking now, too, I can smell you,” he pointed out.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered automatically.

Matt’s expression fell instantly at the tone of your voice, the tension easing out of his shoulders as he ran a hand across his mouth. Shaking his head, he focused back on you. “Don’t–don’t apologize, sweetheart. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to snap at you. You’re not doing anything wrong.”

“You’re right though,” you agreed. “You do pick up on all these other things that I don’t and I can’t imagine how difficult it is for you to not act on anything. Because I have a hard time refraining sometimes. And it–it doesn’t help that I love you and I just always want to be with you like that. And there’s the whole, you know, excitement of everything,” you admitted shyly.

A grin tentatively slipped back onto Matt’s face as he hummed out a curious noise. “Excitement of what, exactly, sweetheart?” he asked. 

“Of us living together,” you answered nervously. “Waking up and falling asleep next to you all of the time. Spending our evenings together. And our weekends. And–and what living together might mean for the future,” you added softly.

Matt’s hands reached out, smoothing the hair from your face before both of his large palms cradled it between his hands. He lowered his forehead towards yours, his eyes closing as he did.

“You’ve been thinking about the future?” he whispered.

“Yes,” you answered.

“And that’s also why you’re such a horn dog yourself this week?” he teased.

You couldn’t resist the snort of a laugh that fell out of you, Matt’s smile only widening on his face at the sound. 

“In very simple terms, yes,” you admitted, eyelids lowering as you felt his thumbs brushing back and forth along your cheeks. “But also, I’m not used to seeing you wander around fresh out of the shower performing domestic tasks. Honestly, the fact that you clean is a turn on in itself.”

“I see the bar isn’t very high for you,” Matt teased.

“I guess not,” you joked back.

Silence fell between the pair of you as you both stood there in front of the closet, Matt’s forehead still pressed to yours as his hands still cupped your cheeks. You became very aware of the increase in your pulse and the way Matt’s lips had parted, his hot breath rolling out of his mouth and landing against yours. Swallowing hard, your hands reached up, slowly grasping onto Matt’s forearms and rumpling the fabric of his dress shirt. Matt’s nose lightly bumped yours, the gesture causing your lips to involuntarily part. 

“I’m sorry for being an ass this morning,” he whispered, his lips brushing yours as he spoke. “It just takes a lot to resist the pull I have for you.”

“I’m sorry for not initially being more understanding,” you murmured, hands sliding up to grip his biceps. “Didn’t realize how hard it would be for you to adjust to me being here.”

Matt’s lips connected to yours for a moment, lingering in a sweet kiss. Your grip tightened around his arms in response before he pulled away from you just a fraction.

“I love having you here,” he assured you. “Please don’t think otherwise.”

“I know,” you whispered, lips drawing into a smile. “You tell me that at least ten times a day, Matty.”

He leaned forward, placing a peck to your lips that had you giggling.

“Just want to make sure you know,” he replied.

“We uh, we do need to figure out the constantly being distracted by sex thing though,” you told him. “Because it’s–it’s getting a little out of hand.”

Matt hummed out a noise of agreement before he turned the pair of you just a bit to your left and began to walk you backwards. Your brows furrowed together as he did, watching as Matt’s lips drew into a playful smile. It was only a few steps before you felt your back hit the wall beside the closet. 

“We do need to figure that out,” Matt agreed huskily. 

His hands slid their way down your neck, continuing their descent over your exposed chest where your bra was on display because your blouse still remained unbuttoned, eventually making their way down to your hips. His face was hovering just a few inches from yours now, that familiar look of desire darkening his eyes as they stared hungrily back at you. 

“But maybe we can figure it out this weekend,” he suggested. “Because right now all I can think about is fucking you against this wall.”

As if to emphasize his point, his hips rutted forward into you with just enough force that your back hit the wall and a gasp slipped out of your lips. You’d certainly noticed how hard he was through his boxers and your eyelids fluttered shut as you whispered a curse. 

“Just be late for work this once,” he pleaded. “I’ll make it worth it.”

Bottom lip rolling between your teeth as Matt ground his hips forward into you again, you took a moment to consider his offer. Truthfully your cunt was sore from the use it had gotten this past week since you’d moved in with Matt, and even some of your muscles were sore from all of the different positions he had managed to contort you into throughout the week. But you’d be lying if you said you didn’t mind going into work today and being this wound up the entire time, because you knew you’d be kicking yourself for not taking Matt up on his offer. 

Resigning yourself to the only outcome that you knew was going to come of this, you sighed and released your hold on Matt, unbuttoning your blouse as Matt flashed a triumphant smile back at you. His own hands were quick to undo the few buttons he had managed to button on his shirt.

“Just don’t make me so late that the robbery story won’t be believable, Matty,” you told him. “I don’t need your dick getting me fired.”

He laughed, pulling his dress shirt off and tossing it somewhere behind himself near the bed. “Noted, sweetheart,” he replied, sliding his boxers down his thighs.

You’d barely removed your own underwear, not even having a chance to undo your bra, before Matt had scooped you up in his arms and shoved you back into the wall. There was a devilish smile on his lips and a dark gleam in his eyes as he maneuvered you in his arms, freeing a hand to line his cock up with your cunt that admittedly had been soaked since you’d woken this morning. You moaned when the tip of him pushed into you, your arms wrapping around his neck. 

“That’s it,” Matt praised, gradually sinking you down onto his cock. “That’s my good, sweet girl. Let me make you feel good. You want that, don’t you?”

Your head rolled back against the wall, breath already coming in shallow. “Yes.” 

You felt the slow slide of his cock as he dragged himself almost entirely out of you, but then in one swift, powerful thrust, his hips snapped forward and his cock plunged all the way back into you. Your eyes clamped shut, a cry of pleasure tearing from you as he hit that spot deep inside, the delicious sting causing your walls to squeeze him. Matt groaned out, his hips slowly moving backwards before he roughly slammed into you again, your head lightly bumping back into the wall behind you.

“Want you to think about this later, sweetheart,” Matt told you. “When you’re stuck at work, frustrated over the story I know you’ve been stressed about.” 

He slammed himself back into you and you cried out again, goosebumps raising along your arms at the sound of his voice. Your hands slid up the back of Matt’s neck, making their way into his hair and gripping the strands roughly between your fingers.

“Just remember I’ll be here when you come home,” he grunted out, thrusting himself inside you again. “I’ll always be here.” 

“Fuck–Matty,” you whimpered out, back arching along the wall as his pace increased. “I love you.”

His eyes closing tightly shut at your words, his hips stuttered momentarily before he readjusted his grip on you. Leaning forward, he pressed his forehead to yours again, grunting with each sharp snap of his hips as he continued to fuck you.

“I love you, too,” he breathed out, pressing a kiss to your lips. “I love you so fucking much.” His fingers dug into your hips and thighs as he fucked you harder into the wall. “I’m all yours, sweetheart. Always yours.”

Roughly you tugged his mouth down towards yours, kissing him hard as your fingers tightened around the fistfuls of his hair. Matt was kissing you back with a ferocious need, the kiss all tongue and teeth. Loud, throaty moans filled the bedroom, mingling with the sounds of skin on skin as Matt continued to mercilessly fuck you into the wall beside the closet. All thoughts of work and needing to keep your hands to yourselves were completely lost from either of your minds as you cried out his name through the bedroom.

#matt murdock x reader #matt murdock x you #matt murdock smut #matt murdock series #daredevil smut #matt murdock #daredevil

[minisugakoobies]

Sunny! I’d like to request #5 on the dirty texts with anyone - smutty dealers choice!

Ooooh, dealers choice?? Hmmm… I gotta go Yoongi on this one, I have not (and will never) recovered from the D Day tour. 😵‍💫

This was supposed to be a drabble but it's well over 1k so… sorry about that!! 💕

Title: Out of the Bag Now Pairing: Yoongi x Reader Genre: friends to lovers?, a bit cracky, smut, Coworkers!AU Rating: M(18+) Warnings: accidentally dirty texts, misunderstandings, mutual pining, masturbation (m), almost turns into phone sex, reader is flustered af (in the best way!), ends on a cute note, prompt is highlighted in bold

You: Okay, so we have everything ready for the presentation tomorrow?

Yoongi: Yeah, we're good to go

Yoongi: Nothing to worry about, so try to get a good night's sleep

Yoongi: I know you didn't sleep before March's shareholder meeting

Glancing at the last text message, you sigh wistfully.

For over a year now, you've been madly in love with your coworker, Min Yoongi. Ok, love might be stretching it a bit. You're wildly in lust with the man.

He's everything you've ever wanted in a partner - cool, calm, collected, clever as fuck with an acerbic wit that always makes you laugh (while praying that you'll never been on the receiving end of its sharp sting). Plus, he's absolutely gorgeous, the kind of guy that people would use an example of "have you ever seen a man so beautiful you cried?"

Or maybe that's just you.

But he is strikingly handsome, and makes your knees go weak when he favors you with one of his rare smiles. They usually come out when he's being sweet to you. Like when he's making sure you're getting enough sleep.

So yeah, you're head over heels for him. If only you had the guts to do anything about it.

You: I'll try

You: But you too! No late night movie marathons again, Yoongi

You: Boss's orders

That's just a dumb joke between the two of you. You're colleagues, on the same level, but Yoongi had insisted that you take the lead on this project, since you had more familiarity with the product than he did. Another check in the "pros" column - he's a man who supports his other colleagues and isn't afraid to take orders.

Yoongi: Yes boss

Yoongi: You can't see it but I'm saluting you right now

He sends a few emojis through and you giggle. For the last few weeks, the two of you have been texting back and forth after hours. It's mostly shop talk, but lately the conversations have dragged on and on, drifting into the late night hours. As this one has. You've already finished your nightly skincare and have moved on to your dental routine.

Yoongi: Seriously though, try not to stress about tomorrow

You: Honestly, I'm not! I'm feeling pretty confident about this

Yoongi: Good. Then you can just relax tonight

You: That's the plan

You balance your phone in one hand while using your electric toothbrush with the other. Yoongi cracks a joke, and your response is a little mangled by your sole thumb's lack of dexterity.

You: Sorry abour any typos

You: I'm like typing with one hand

Three grey dots dance across your screen for a few seconds.

Yoongi: Oh shit, you're REALLY relaxing. I didn't realize it was that type of conversation

You spit into the sink, brow furrowing as you reread his message. What does he mean by that?

Then you scroll up and nearly scream. "I'm like typing with one hand"?? Oh my god, why the fuck did you say that to him? He doesn't know that you meant you were brushing your teeth!

Frantically, you start typing out a response, erasing and starting over a few times, trying to figure out the best way to say "hey no I'm a dumbass who was just brushing my teeth and not touching myself to you" even though the fact is that you have touched yourself while thinking about him, several times actually, but that's neither here or there -

and then a new message appears.

Yoongi: Hold on, let me catch up

Excuse me??

Your phone buzzes with an incoming call and you nearly throw it into the sink in shock when you see that it's Yoongi calling. It takes a few seconds for the command to answer the call to get from your brain to your finger.

"Yoongi?"

A happy sigh greets you. "Fuck, that's better. Wanted to hear your voice."

The floor seems like the safest place to be right now, so you collapse onto it, leaning back against the cabinets under the sink.

"You did?"

"Oh yeah. You've got such a pretty voice, YN. Bet it sounds even sweeter when you're coming," Yoongi rumbles, that's the only word for it, he rumbles in that deep-ass voice of his, and you slide until you're just lying on your back, staring up at the bathroom ceiling, waiting for death to claim you, because how the fuck are you supposed to go on living after this?

"I - um - thank you?"

Yoongi laughs, but there's a slight hiccup in it, and it dawns on you what he's doing right now while he's talking to you. He's catching up. Images flood your brain - Yoongi lying on a couch, or maybe on a bed, hand tucked into his pants, fingers wrapped around a hard cock - and you choke on your own saliva.

"You ok?"

"Yeah! Yes. I'm fine, thank you."

He chuckles again, and it's physically impossible but you swear you can feel the vibrations through the phone. "You sure? You sound a little flustered."

"Oh, I'm sorry." What the fuck are you supposed to be saying to him right now? You're pretty sure it's not apologizing, but that's what you do anyway.

"Don't be. It's really cute."

Well thank fuck for that.

"Yoongi," you steady yourself with a deep breath, "what I said earlier… I didn't mean I was touching myself."

Silence. A lot of silence. It's a relief when he speaks again, but it fades quickly as you catch the disappointment in his voice.

"Oh shit, really? I - fuck." Now who's flustered? "What - what were you doing?"

"Brushing my teeth."

"Oh. Huh." He sighs, sounding deflated. "Guess I just jumped to a conclusion that I… wanted."

"Oh," you echo. "That's…" Incredible? Unbelievable? The best thing you've heard since you were born?

"Listen, YN, I'm so sorry. This whole thing was just - fuck, just really inappropriate, and if I've made you feel uncomfortable, I'm truly sor-"

Sitting up, you wave your arm to stop him. As if he can see you right now. "No, no! Yoongi. Wait. It's not like that. I wasn't doing anything right now but… but I have."

More silence. You bite your lip as you wait for him to catch up, for real this time.

"You mean…"

"I mean, I've t-touched myself while thinking about you. Before." Clearing your throat, you cover your eyes with your free hand, hiding your face from an invisible audience. Somehow, it emboldens you to keep talking. "A lot, actually."

He exhales shakily. "Really?"

"Yeah. Yeah, really." Uncovering your face, you stand, propping yourself up against the counter as you stare at yourself in the mirror. Is that really you having this discussion right now? You start to laugh.

"I don't think I'm getting the joke," Yoongi says slowly.

"Holy shit, this is just so surreal, Yoongi," you inform him. "I never in a million years thought I'd be admitting that I - Jesus, that I masturbate to thoughts of you! Not over the phone like this. Maybe after like-"

"A date?"

You huff out another laugh. "After a dozen, maybe. This is… I'm extremely out of my depth here."

"Well, if it makes you feel better, I think you're doing a great job." He's laughing now, too, and it makes you grin so wide your cheeks actually hurt. "How about this - you let me take you on a date tomorrow night, to celebrate our successful presentation, and maybe by the end of the night, we'll know where we stand on the timeline for surprising confessions?"

"Okay. Yeah. Yes." You close your mouth to prevent yourself from continuously accepting his offer.

"Great. Then… I'll see you tomorrow." His voice drops to a soft whisper. "Sweet dreams, YN."

"Good night, Yoongi."

Okay, so you may have lied to him. Because there's no way you're getting any sleep tonight.

Masterlist 💜 Find me on AO3 💜 

© 2023 by minisugakoobies. Crossposted to AO3. Please do not copy or repost.

#bts smut #yoongi smut #yoongi x reader #bts scenarios #bts fanfic #min yoongi x you #min yoongi x reader #min yoongi fanfic

[juniperskye]

I Almost Do Pt. 2

Sneak Peek: Part 2 to a Song Fic I wrote using “I Almost Do” by Taylor Swift. One in which the reader faces the internal battle of how to express her feelings and fears to the man that she loves. Will they end up together again?

Aaron Hotchner x Fem Reader

Angst/Fluff

Word count: 2563

Warnings: No use of y/n, age gap, mentions of anxiety, some language, mentions of food, mentions of pregnancy (kind of), mention of marriage, talk of past unhealthy relationship, talk of insecurities, let me know if I missed any!

Not edited - please be kind.

I do not consent to having my work translated or reposted to any other site. That being said I do not own the characters portrayed in this story.

Part 1.

Aaron was ready to surrender all hope and go to bed when the three little dots appeared. He was anxious to see what you’d reply, but glad that you’d actually return his message this time around. He was quick to check his phone when it alerted him to a new message. A small smile broke out on his face when he read your reply…

You were shocked to see Aaron’s message to say the least. You had been hoping for this, practically begging for it last time you talked to Penelope, but now that it was happening, it was like your consciousness had left your body and was now looking down on you waiting for your brain to start firing off neurons and compute some sort of response to this man that you were hopelessly in love with. But you hesitated. Why did you hesitate? Why aren’t your fingers moving along the keys formulating a simple text telling Aaron that you too had been thinking of him and that you wanted nothing more than to be back in his arms.

That pit in your stomach. That sickly sinking feeling you get when you know you might be making the wrong choice, or when you are so nervous because you don’t know the outcome of the situation that hasn’t occurred yet. But you can’t know the outcome if you don’t take the leap. But…the nerves, the anxiety, that sickly sinking pit in your stomach…they nag at you, whispering “make the safe choice”, “make the choice in which we already know the outcome”, “don’t take unnecessary risks”.  

You shake your head; you can’t let fear keep you from the possibility of happiness. You can’t let these nerves, this anxiety, that sickly sinking pit in your stomach run your life. Not anymore. So, you won’t. For once you are going to let your heart decide.

Your fingers move to type out a reply, the nerves, anxiety, and that stupid pit in your stomach SCREAMING at you to turn back, delete the text, lock your phone and go to bed. You reread the text over and over again, questioning every individual character neatly placed within the confines of the grey tones plastered amongst the text screen, this is it. Send.

You: There is so much I want to say, but I am not entirely sure a text is the best way to express everything I am feeling right now. You have been on my mind nonstop lately and I miss you. And…that scares me.

Aaron couldn’t help but smile. This was one of the many things he loved about you, you tended to overthink and that led to rambling and nerves and fidgeting. Watching you in those moments was beautiful because you allowed him to see a vulnerable piece of you and it was warm and intimate, and it was you. He could practically feel your racing heart and shaking hands through his phone. He knew what it meant for you to share that you were scared, it was something that had been brought up early on in your relationship.

**Aaron would notice that after sustaining an injury while on a case, you tended to shut down for a short while (usually until there were obvious signs of healing) and when he confronted you about it, you had broken down. Everything about your relationship with Aaron had terrified you. He had come into your life with the force of a battering ram, you had been swept off the hinges, your once secure defenses all came crumbling down. You wept, hot salty tears paving tracks down your cheeks, hiccupping out apologies.

A flash of panic had crossed Aaron’s features, quickly melting into concern and gentle shushing. Him telling you that there was no need for apologies. He simply wanted to know what had you in such a state. He held you until you had calmed, and you finally explained to him that you would shut him out because that was easier than admitting that you loved him so much that it physically hurt. When he came home with cuts, bruises, gunshot wounds, stab wounds, hell, after nearly being blown up, you felt this wave of nausea along with earth shattering pain that one of these times it wouldn’t be him calling you to inform you he was on his way, but a call from Dave or Derek or maybe even Penelope to let you know that he was gone forever. That he would never look at you with those beautiful whiskey eyes. He’d never pull you closer and nuzzle his nose into the nape of your neck in the early hours of the morning. He’d never kiss your knuckles or call you sweetheart ever again, and you couldn’t live with that.

You told Aaron that you had never felt this way before, that you had come to learn that your soul was not your own, but it belonged to him. The two of you were written in the stars and you had figured it out the moment you met him. Aaron hugged you then, reassuring you that he was okay, and things would work out. For a moment you believed him, and things were okay…until they weren’t.**

Aaron wanted so badly to call you up, tell you to come over…but he knew that it wouldn’t be that easy. Things between you had been left shattered, fragile shards of glass so thin that you can’t pick up the pieces without making a bigger mess of things. He knew he needed to tread lightly, careful not to put too much pressure on you and make sure you knew he would move at whatever pace you were comfortable with.

Aaron: How would you like to meet up for lunch? We can talk about things, see where that leads? You: Yeah, ok. Lunch sounds good. Aaron: Are you free tomorrow? I have a mandatory day off.

You scoffed at his message. Aaron despised mandatory days off, he always made sure to bring case files home so he could review and revise them on these days. He had said it felt like a waste of time, that there was no point in sitting around and doing nothing all day while I was out at work. Your thoughts were interrupted by the alert of another message coming in.

Aaron: I don’t know why I even suggested it, I know you work on Fridays. I can schedule a day off for this weekend. You: Tomorrow works for me. I actually got a promotion, so my schedule is different now. We can catch up on that later though. Is 12:30 alright?

Aaron felt a pang in his chest. He hadn’t known that you’d been up for a promotion at work, and he wonders when that even happened. Had it been back when he was letting his work consume his entire life? Had he completely zoned out during a conversation in which you would’ve excitedly told him about this new position and all the doors it could open for you in your career? Or had this been a change you’d felt you needed post breakup to keep your mind occupied? He would find out, and he would make up for it either way because damnit this ache he is feeling right now is horrible and he doesn’t think he could handle feeling this way forever.

Aaron: Oh, congratulations! 12:30 is great. Maggie’s? You: Thanks. Maggie’s sounds good. See you tomorrow.

You internally cursed Aaron for choosing Maggie’s. That had been your place, he had intentionally picked it because of your shared history there, you were sure of it. Maggie’s was where you had your first official date, it is where he said he loved you for the first time, Maggie’s was the home of many conversations of the future you two thought you’d share.

You thought about texting Aaron back telling him that you’d rather go to that new café on Grand. Somewhere neutral to your relationship but you ultimately decided against it. You figured it was time to go to bed, heading to the bathroom to brush your teeth when your phone went off again.

Aaron: See you tomorrow.

Aaron had hoped that his choosing of Maggie’s would put you at ease, somewhere familiar and comfortable. He was anxious to see you, worried that he wouldn’t be able to keep himself from pulling you in to him the second he saw you. After you had left that night, he had realized that you had brought so much into his life, you brought this warmth and radiated this vibrancy that he had grown accustomed to, so when you ended things his life went back to the cold, dull mundane that it had previously been. He hoped tomorrow would be good, that things would take a turn for the better.

Aaron: Goodnight You: Goodnight Aaron.

You were shocked that you slept through the night. You wondered if that was a sign that today was going to be a good day. That you would meet up with Aaron and things would go exactly as they are meant to. The universe has a plan…right? You needed to get ready for this lunch. Taking a deep breath and a quick stretch, you mentally prepare yourself. It’s just Aaron, he knows you better than anyone, things would be okay.

You took some time getting ready. Wanting to be in a positive head space you figured some self-care would be a great place to start. You took a shower, styled your hair, put on some light makeup and got dressed. You had debated wearing something that you knew would get a reaction out of Aaron but decided against it. Opting for something comfortable, you threw on your favorite pair of jeans and a thick knit sweater. You paired this outfit with your favorite jewelry and some loafers. Checking the time, you grabbed your purse and keys and made your way out the door. The ride to Maggie’s was all too familiar, muscle memory taking you there, allowing you to get lost in your thoughts.

Nerves, anxiety and that sickly sinking pit in your stomach, you anticipated their arrival. Only, they didn’t come. When you arrived at Maggie’s, you parked and made your way to the door. They still hadn’t made themselves present. Part of you wondered if it was because your body was waiting to hit you with all of those feelings in the form of Aaron standing you up, but that thought slipped your mind the moment you saw him stand and wave you over.

You walked over to him, his body twitched in such a way that you knew he wanted to hug you but also knew it wouldn’t be appropriate. Not now anyway. He gestured for you to sit, and you did. He looked so good. Tired, maybe even a little sad, but still so damn good. You looked to each other to begin what was to be an awkward dance of small talk until one of you opened the flood gates of the conversation that would determine the outcome of all this.

“We have known each other far too long to indulge in small talk. I think it is best if we just lay it all out on the table.” Aaron began.

“Agreed. But we should probably order first, I am starving, and I would hate to entangle our server in this discussion.”

“Good idea.” Aaron agreed and flagged the waitress down.

You placed your orders and ended up making some small talk waiting for the food to come. When it did arrive, Aaron politely asked our server that we be left alone for a while. He did it in that charming way that he does, he has always had a way with words, and with people.

“I think I should start. I made a lot of mistakes and some of which were selfish, and they hurt you in ways that I will never be able to make up for. But I need you to know that I am so sorry for shutting down and not communicating with you. I don’t want to make excuses, God knows nothing can excuse my actions, but I do want to explain that I let immature teasing from Dave and Derek get the better of me. It struck some insecurities within myself that I thought I had overcome but seemingly hadn’t.” Aaron shook his head at himself.

“Wait a minute, what teasing? What insecurities? Why are you just now telling me all of this?”

“Derek had asked me about our future, if we would get married, and if you would want children. I told him I wasn’t sure but that you and I would work through that together as it came up in our relationship. That is when Dave chimed in and kindly reminded me that I am quite a bit older than you and if we did have children, well, at their graduations you would look like their mother, and I would look more like their grandfather. Sweetheart I know that we had talked about the age difference, and you’ve made it very clear that it doesn’t change your feelings for me, but I can’t help but wonder if I am holding you back from a life that you deserve.” Aaron’s eyes grew misty.

“Aaron, I know that we haven’t talked about all that, but I think that was kind of the biggest fault in our relationship. We took things day by day, and while that can be a beautiful and exciting thing, it doesn’t allow for growth since you don’t know what you are aiming for. I would love to get married and have children, and have a beautiful life with you, but the truth is, we don’t know what the future holds. We can’t be certain that we would even be able to conceive, or that we will be together forever. But if I have learned one thing over these last few months, it is that I get to choose to take the leap. So, there is something I am certain of, and that is my love for you. It hasn’t changed, but I need you to open up to me as I have for you. I need you to communicate with me Aaron and I need you to be all in. What do you say?”

Aaron looked to you with bright eyes, hope shining through. In his eyes you could see forever, you just needed him to jump in. You were shocked at how bold you had been, but it was as if a fog had cleared the moment you stepped foot into Maggie’s. You heart and head in perfect sync telling you, this is it. You were meant to take this risk and be happy.

It was up to Aaron. Would he be willing to push aside his insecurities and jump into this once and for all?  Could the fact that the two of you had the last five months to grow and mature and reflect on your wrongdoings be enough to thrust your forward into a healthy successful relationship? Would any of that even matter? Would Aaron leap? You sat with bated breath awaiting his reply, silently willing him to say something, grab you and just kiss you, something! But then he spoke…

“I’m all in sweetheart.”

#criminal minds fandom #criminal minds #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotch hotchner #ssa aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner fic #hotch x y/n #hotch x reader #hotch x you #aaron hotch x you #aaron hotch x reader #aaron hotch imagine #aaron hotch fluff #aaron hotch fic #aaron hotch fanfiction #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner x female reader #aaron hotchner x y/n #spencer reid #emily prentiss #david rossi #derek morgan #penelope garcia #jennifer jareau #aaron hotchner angst #aaron hotch angst #criminal minds angst

[bimboficationblues]

One Piece in Review, Part 2: Into the Grand Line (Ch. 42-100)

Welcome back to my One Piece reread review. In this part, we'll be covering the rest of the East Blue saga: Baratie [ch. 42-68], Arlong Park [ch. 69-95], and Loguetown [ch. 96-100]. Previous parts can be found here: Part 1 [1-41].

A number of major shifts happen in this segment of the story and it's for this reason that I think it's one of my favorite parts. At the conclusion of Syrup Village, our protagonists graduated from unnamed, utilitarian ships to their own caravel, the Going Merry, which allows them to be intentional about where they're heading. They also adopt a symbol, the skull and crossbones topped with Luffy's signature straw hat, which foretells how they'll eventually be dubbed the Straw Hat Pirates.

The creation of a flag and the addition of a ship with personality means that they now genuinely have something like a group identity, which is going to be tested quickly. And the increased size of the ship corresponds to the scope of the conflicts and world they're going to be involved in from here on out. As such, I think this segment of the story is a marked improvement along the dimensions of conflict, characterization, and scope. The main thrust of this story segment is getting the crew ready to enter the next phase of their journey - the Grand Line.

Villains/Conflicts:

Starting with the Baratie arc, the pattern established in the first three arcs - go to a new locale, confront a local villain while pursuing specific goals, recruit a new member - starts getting shaken up in unique ways or shifts away from that formula. For instance, after adding the ship's cook Sanji, the group's membership will not increase for about 80 chapters. In general, recruitment will become a lot more sparse throughout the remainder of the series, solidifying a central cast for the time being.

Also in Baratie we find a slightly more complex struggle at work. The main villain, Don Krieg, is in the unfortunate position of being sandwiched between two of the stronger early villains of One Piece, Captain Kuro and Arlong. He's something of a redundant character, repeating both Morgan and Kuro's respective traits of "belief in rank as strength" and "utilizing deception and underhanded tactics to advance his goals." He does have some good foil aspects, inverting Zoro's willingness to recognize a loss as such and Sanji's fundamental gratitude for what others have done for him. But what Krieg really does is give us 1) a rival in pursuit of the One Piece, and 2) an insight into the terrors of the Grand Line, explaining that he lost nearly his entire massive crew and fifty ships within one week there. It's a good way of setting the stakes in anticipation of finally making the voyage into this now repeatedly-teased part of the world.

In the prelude to the typical showdown between Luffy and Krieg, the figure of Dracule Mihawk comes in to basically disrupt the whole formula and tell everyone that these little backwater spats in the East Blue are not going to last, and we're not even *close* to the ceiling of how far things can escalate. Mihawk, while an antagonist, also isn't quite a villain: he basically shows up to fuck with the Krieg pirates like Bugs Bunny tormenting the opera singer, and only gets into a conflict with the Straw Hats when Zoro does something extremely, extremely dumb prideful. This is also kind of an upset, since it sees Zoro making a stab (ha) at his dream at a surprisingly early point. But the gulf between where the crew is at now, and where they need to end up, ends up being demonstrably enormous.

Though Krieg is a middling villain, the combined threat of him and Mihawk gives the Baratie arc its central thesis: willpower as its own kind of might. Luffy's battle against Krieg demonstrates how far willpower can take you, while Zoro's fight with Mihawk demonstrates that it's not sufficient without the force to substantively back it up. It also contrasts Zoro quite directly with Krieg, in that the latter persistently refuses to recognize when he's lost, while the former accepts defeat and (when given the opportunity to do so) learns from it, a lesson that will be necessary for taking the Grand Line seriously.

The titular antagonist of the next arc, Arlong, on the other hand, is an all-time great One Piece villain both for his place in the story now, and the long-term implications of his character as the story unfolds. The central conflicts of Arlong Park are about money, trust, and race. That last is probably the least substantively interesting right now, but becomes really fascinating later on. Arlong presents himself and his crew as "the master race," but in reality they come from a population that is socially subjected. But at this juncture of the story, we have a straightforward story about tributary exploitation. The sheer brutality of how Arlong treats the local humans he's extorting is unrivaled by anything prior to this, leaving lasting physical and psychological scars on the people. Since Arlong and his crew are explicitly presented as being products of the Grand Line, it really adds to the menace of that place.

Structurally, Arlong Park is also one of the most interesting of the early One Piece arcs, essentially split into two halves. The first is figuring out what's going on with Nami, why she's acting hostile to the others and why she's seemingly allied herself with Arlong, and reuniting the crew after a separation. This segment finds the group wheeling and dealing and clawing their way out of trouble, narrowly evading destruction by Arlong, as Nami in turn tries to push them away protectively while still preserving her plan and goals. After Nami's backstory is revealed, the story shifts into a more intense, battle-packed segment, with each Straw Hat confronting their own opponent for the first time, except for Nami, who stands alongside her community in support. They all work as a unit to overcome their opponents, learning more about how they interact and rely on each other. It has some of the genuinely most exciting and emotionally impactful storytelling in shonen manga that I've ever read.

The final arc of the East Blue saga, Loguetown, is one of many transitional arcs in the series (along with later arcs like Jaya, Long Ring Long Land, Amazon Lily, Zou, and the two "Post-" epilogue arcs). While these transitional arcs usually have their own conflicts, they are largely playing setup for upcoming ones. Loguetown is no exception, but it's the briefest of the bunch. A few key points:

Luffy gets his first bounty, 30 million beri. This is a big deal - while a lot of One Piece fans treat bounties like they represent power levels, they actually represent a social relationship between a pirate (or just an enemy of the government in general) and the World Government. With Luffy's bounty exceeding all of those he defeated so far in the East Blue, it illustrates that he's considered a substantive, if not huge, threat, and a sociopolitical indicator that he is ready for the Grand Line.

We get to see the place where the Pirate King died, but not only that, where he inaugurated a new historical epoch. This ties in heavily to another constant theme of One Piece, the idea of an inherited will: Luffy is nearly executed, and behaves in the exact same way that Gold Roger did when he was about to be executed. Visiting this place right before entering the next part of the sea suggests that Luffy is kind of picking up the spirit of Roger and starting his own legend from here on out.

We get the introduction of Captain Smoker, who is the first Marine in the series that isn't either a total bastard or a total incompetent, but remains an antagonistic force to the Straw Hats. This is used to plant the seed of different ideologies and conflict within the Marines as an institution. Smoker will be in pursuit of the Straw Hats throughout the next saga.

We get essentially the first taste of the Grand Line and what it's like: lots of Devil Fruit powers, new and strange technology, strong marine and pirate presence, major challenges, and the hint of deeper intrigue with the arrival of Dragon, who rescues Luffy from Smoker.

It's also in this series of arcs that I think we actually start to see Luffy and the crew meaningfully get challenged in terms of strength and ability. In previous situations, it was only contrivance or mistakes that got Luffy and the crew into trouble. But Krieg, while a blowhard, is definitely still a threat, whose unpredictability presents a serious challenge to Luffy (as does the environment in which they fight, as this is the first time we really get to see Luffy at risk from the tradeoff of the Devil Fruit). Arlong and his fishmen are the biggest threat that the whole crew has confronted so far, shown to be capable of upending entire villages. As fishmen, and former subordinates of a famous Grand Line pirate, they're also specifically denoted as products of the Grand Line, so confronting and successfully defeating them is an illustration of the fact that the Straw Hats are, at last, ready to enter that segment of the sea. And of course, Smoker and Mihawk outclass all of them easily for now, reminders that there is a long way to go.

Characterization:

Because of the increasing intensity and danger of the conflicts here, we get a lot more opportunities in this segment to see the Straw Hats develop and grow. In the first three arcs that I covered in the last post, the Straw Hats are visibly forming connections with each other; for instance, you can see it in the relaxed poses that Luffy and Usopp have around each other or the way the whole group drinks together. But it's only after the events of Baratie and especially Arlong Park that they begin to cohere as a group, rather than a bunch of individuals with their own self-interested goals that point in approximately the same direction. (I say "begin" because this is, as ever, a long game.)

Small or quiet character moments that were scattered throughout the previous three arcs start paying off, most notably for Nami in Arlong Park, but also for Luffy, Zoro, and Usopp. So, let's take them one by one (minus Zoro - I think I've exhausted what I have to say about him for the moment in the section on Mihawk above).

Usopp: Usopp doesn't get a lot to do in Baratie, mostly cowering on the sidelines with some minor character work, but in Arlong Park he basically has a miniature character arc which, in turn, sets up his long-term character arc. At its start, he's on some of his worst behavior, ditching Zoro potentially to die; while he has his heroic moments trying to protect Nojiko and Genzo from the Arlong crew's wrath, he repeatedly demonstrates having a somewhat blinkered view of the world, ranging from both the small (snide remarks about tattoos) to the big (his quickness to write Nami off and tendency to act rashly). It reveals a character that is struggling to understand his place in the world and the crew. At his lowest moment, when he's faked a death so that the Fishman Pirate he's fighting will leave him alone, he starts comparing himself to his crewmates, and their determination and willingness to put themselves on the line for each other.

At its conclusion, we finally get to see him stand on his own two feet (literally, since Zoro had to carry him during Syrup Village) in order to defeat a powerful opponent. We also really get to see him as a fighter, which is essentially a kind of guerilla-style, improvisational, hit-and-run approach, making him stand out within the crew's battle dynamics.

Luffy: I think Luffy sometimes gets regarded as a static or at least simplistic character, especially since what his Damage is doesn't get fully exposed until right before the timeskip. But what Luffy is going through in the first half of the series is the process of learning what it is to be a captain, and how to apply his philosophy of life to the process of leadership. This is illustrated by how he is contrasted against the various captains of other crews throughout the East Blue.

At the core of Luffy's character is an ideal of freedom. When Luffy inspires other people through his convictions and dedication to his dream of becoming Pirate King, there's certainly a typical shonen "power of friendship" vibe to it, fitting for the Romantic idealism (centered around willpower and emotions) that governs the logic of One Piece. But I think it's worth noting that Luffy usually removes obstacles in people's paths towards realizing the things they care about, rather than trying to impose his beliefs and choices onto them, or directly "liberate" them. One of the first things he did on his journey is liberate Coby, an enslaved child - not by first defeating his master, but by inspiring him to overcome the mental barriers that were preventing him from pursuing his goals. Free your mind and your ass will follow.

It's a recurrent element that Luffy basically does not give a shit about his friends' personal histories, and those histories are almost always presented through extended memory sequences (basically the character's internal thoughts) rather than literal explanations to other characters. Even in the rare instance where that isn't the case, like when Nojiko explains her sister Nami's personal history to Sanji, Usopp, and an unconscious Zoro, Luffy deliberately opts out. That's in part because, although *readers* need that information to give context and pathos to the characters, Luffy really doesn't. Luffy wants his friends to be able to live as they desire and that means moving forward, not back; the past, at a certain point, becomes another obstacle to pursuing one's dreams.

All four of the other main characters get inspired by the way Luffy acts and comports himself towards them in some way during this section of the story.

He disallows interference in Zoro's duel with Mihawk, but puts himself on the line after Zoro loses, demonstrating that he doesn't *just* care about his own dream but also Zoro's. This is where Zoro's loyalty to Luffy really cements, in his proclamation that he will never lose again and that Luffy is going to be the Pirate King.

He inspires Sanji to pursue his dreams by showing what it looks like to live life without regrets and to consistently put yourself on the line for your convictions, something Sanji is already familiar with but hesitant to fully embrace - and shows that sometimes causes seem more impossible than they actually are.

When Nami is at her lowest, darkest point, Luffy remains steadfast, even as she screams at him and tries to drive him away - and when, in a moment of peak vulnerability, she asks for his help and puts her trust in him out of desperation, he recognizes the pain she's been through and how hard it is for her to do so. In turn he gives her his hat to show that the relationship of trust is mutual: they can depend on each other, it is not weakness or a guaranteed loss of security.

But also, Luffy is learning from them, in a way. He's learning how to be their leader.

Nami: It's only in Arlong Park that we start to understand exactly what kind of strain Nami is under, but there have been hints leading up to it. I mean, look at this face:

Those are the eyes of a tired woman.

Nami's whole life has been governed by money. As a child she didn't have enough of it, it was simultaneously a source of strain on her relationship with her sister and mother and an aspiration to make her dream of mapping the world possible. Then, upon the arrival of Arlong, money is the thing that tears their family apart: Bellemere doesn't have enough to pay tribute for herself and her daughters, so she makes a calculated maternal sacrifice to preserve their well-being. This was an unqualifiedly kind thing to do, but the tragic irony is that in doing so, Nami was opened up to abuse and enslavement by Arlong, who makes use of her natural talents at map-making and sets her a "task": if she can gather 100 million beri for him, she can free herself and her village.

Nami learns a variety of lessons from this course of events. Her money-lust is one - because money, in her mind, offers a guarantee of safety and security, that the things you really value won't be taken away from you. But the others are: relying on people you love will only get them killed, and if you just persist, if you just maintain the will to keep going and survive, eventually you will be free. The combination of these lessons lead her to repeatedly reject the Straw Hats from helping her or letting them into her burden. Nami believes in her own, constant self-sacrifice. While the substantive conflict of Arlong Park is about defeating the evil pirate lording over innocent villagers, the thematic and structural conflict is for Nami to learn that she doesn't have to hold onto these beliefs.

There are some complaints that circulate about how Nami doesn't take an active role in the final fight. Given Oda's inconsistent habit of sidelining female characters from the action (and it is inconsistent), I understand the concern. But I actually really like this choice in this case. Because Nami has been fighting. For eight years she has scraped her way towards freedom, getting shot and risking imprisonment or death and serving someone who could and would crush her sister's skull on a whim if he wanted to. She banked everything on a plan that gave her a semblance of control, that wouldn't require her to ask for help because doing so would just get people she cares about killed. And when it turns out that the plan can be disrupted by corruption and half-truths, she breaks. Her footing has been pulled out from underneath her, so now she has to take a leap of faith, and put her trust in others.

At the end of it all, she has a scar from where Arlong's tattoo was on her. Arlong influenced her deeply, for good and ill, and it's impossible to let go of that history entirely. But in the process she forges a new tattoo: a pinwheel and a tangerine, symbols of her mother and her community leader/father figure, a representation of how she's forging a new path for herself.

Sanji: Then there's the new introduction, the crew's cook. Sanji is a character that inspires a lot of mixed feelings in people. We will definitely get to the problems he presents down the line, but at this point in the story, I think Sanji is actually my second-favorite character in the crew after Nami. Like the rest of the crew, he has some notable vices, namely a tendency towards womanizing and "lovesickness" (which will get boiled down for jokes into 'perversion' as the series goes on, frustratingly) and a uniquely hot head even compared to Luffy and Nami. At the same time he's capable of tremendous compassion, effortlessly witty and suave (at least when he's not distracted), and demonstrates great tactical intelligence, like when he deduces the fish-man Kuroobi's weakness in the middle of a literally high-pressure scenario.

But as with many of the core cast's virtues and vices, they are rooted in personal histories. Sanji owes his life to his father figure Zeff, despite a contentious relationship. This theme of gratitude is central to Baratie: Sanji feeds a starving subordinate of Krieg's, and then Krieg himself, even despite knowing that it's a bad idea. Because Sanji knows intimately what it's like to be hungry. The subordinate, Gin, is tremendously grateful, while Krieg behaves like a total ingrate, making him a foil to both character. While Sanji's gratitude to Zeff is a defining feature of his character that we slowly get to see unpacked throughout the arc, his gratitude is shown to not be taking on a healthy expression, keeping him stuck in a small pond when he could be out there pursuing the All Blue (a mythical ocean with fish from all over the world). Gratitude doesn't mean dying for somebody, but living for them.

We also get a sense of the unfortunate gendered emotional repression that Sanji's experienced, and though I'm not totally sure the author would agree with my assessment, it's clear that Sanji's relationship with Zeff is based on passive-aggression, each trying to get the other to cooperate with what they *think* the other wants without being forthright. Zeff is deliberately trying to strain their relationship so that Sanji will pursue his dreams. Sanji feels such a mix of survivor's guilt and loyalty to Zeff, along with fear that his dream is itself foolish or doomed to failure, that he doesn't dare pursue his goals, and as such gets incensed by Zeff's backhanded attempts to push him out of the nest, taking it as a dismissal of his skills. At this juncture of the story, this is easy to read as a little like "real men don't cry or talk," but what's notable is that in the end of the Baratie arc, Sanji pushes past all that crap, just for a moment, in a genuine moment of emotional honesty. But this central emotional issue is still something that will stick with him, and comes up post-timeskip during the Whole Cake Island arc.

Part of the reason I'm spending a lot of time talking about Sanji is that Baratie, and then Arlong Park, are the first arcs where the whole shape of the conflict really centers around a dilemma that one of the main characters is facing; Zoro and Nami's introductory arcs are a little sparse and utilitarian, and Usopp's emotional conflict at Syrup Village was similar but less actively tied into the ongoing conflict. Sanji has lofty aspirations, but he's selfless and loaded with a lot of complicated emotions that hold him back from pursuing them. So seeing Zoro and Luffy put themselves on the line both for his home, AND for their own selfish aspirations, is a big deal.

So, that's the Straw Hats' arcs, for the most part. What I think is core is that each of them is in the process of recognizing things about themselves and learning to be part of a team, how they fit into a "crew."

Additionally, it's in these three arcs that we start seeing increased characterization for secondary and tertiary characters as well as secondary antagonists. There's not a lot to hold onto when you look back at a lot of the minor allies and enemies of previous arcs. Compare them to how much ongoing attention and characterization Patty, Gin, Zeff, Nojiko, Genzo, Hatchan, and Bellemere get, as well as how actively present in the action they are. This goes a long way towards making the world feel more alive and also gives the conflicts more weight: we care what happens to the Baratie or to Arlong Park, much more than unnamed villagers. Oda's character writing is definitely improving.

Unfortunately it's in this expanded focus that we see what is, in my view, a key weakness of One Piece: sometimes it outgrows characters in a way that leaves the story feeling a little uneven or bloated. Tashigi is the worst example of this, in my view, as she and Smoker get a huge amount of attention in Loguetown and Alabasta, only to sort of peter out as the Straw Hats grow past the need for Marines hunting them down. That might not remain the case forever - I suspect and hope that Smoker and Tashigi get a good role to play in the final saga - but it's hard to say.

Setting and Scope:

As I mentioned, the introduction of a ship marks a profound change in the way that One Piece works. By giving the crew a means of travel that is sturdier and more reliable than the impromptu vessels they've been relying on so far, they now have something like a "home" as well as a means to make more deliberate decisions about their next destinations.

The world starts to take on a greater shape in some major ways, and most of them are directed towards sparking further intrigue about the Grand Line and establishing it as a credibly wondrous but dangerous place. For example, the existence of non-human species such as fishmen is introduced during Arlong Park, a story element that will have huge ramifications down the line. As another example, we get some more information about Devil Fruits and how they work, most notably by introducing the concept of different Devil Fruit "types." These are later elaborated on as Zoan (animal transformations), Logia (elemental bodies), and Paramecia (kind of a grab bag). We also get Krieg's observation that the Grand Line is practically lousy with Devil Fruit users, which bears out once the Straw Hats encounter Smoker, a now empowered and redesigned Alvida, and Buggy all in the same spot just outside of the Grand Line.

We also learn, by way of Mihawk, about the "Seven Warlords of the Sea" (who going forward I will alternately refer to as the Seven Warlords or the Shichibukai). Again, this shows how outclassed the Straw Hats are by the grander scope of their world, but what it also does is lay down the groundwork for one of the series' central conflicts, and I'd argue its most important: the corrupt and authoritarian World Government.

There's also, notably, a mention of "Three Powers" that control the Grand Line, and what the third one is will go unexplained until almost three hundred chapters later! I noted in the previous post that Oda, unlike someone like Akira Toriyama or Hirohiko Araki, doesn't write by the seat of his pants as much. This was maybe being charitable: instead what I'd say is that Oda rarely cheats. When Oda is backfilling or retroactively adding something, it rarely feels out of place, he usually leaves his mysteries and vague worldbuilding details open to enough interpretation that future explanations maintain their plausibility. This has a dual effect: it adds more fantastical details to the world, fitting as the crew gets closer to the super-fantastical Grand Line, but it also drives home how underprepared the crew is for some of the dangers they're going to encounter.

Another, smaller way that the world starts expanding in scope is the introduction of the "cover stories," many of which anime fans will miss out on. These are used not just to add fun details but to meaningfully flesh out later plot points. We get one story which documents the aftermath of Buggy's defeat which sets up his and Alvida's presence in Loguetown, and another about Coby's early days in the Marines that foreshadows important characters and points towards major growth for him.

The locations also take a step up from the somewhat dull environs of Shells Town and Syrup Village (I'm kind of an Orange Town defender now). The Baratie, for instance, is a delightfully charming setting that is fun to experience both when it's working as normal and when it turns into a combat zone. Arlong Park has a distinct geography and unique setting details like paddy fields, pools, and a Sea King that really make it feel dynamic and lived-in in a way that Syrup Village simply doesn't. Also, I believe it's the first time that Oda starts doing little maps as the characters plan out their next moves, which really helps ground the action and give an idea of how the setting works.

So, overall, this is actually one of my favorite segments of the early story. I think it clears away some of the growing pains of the early chapters, and shows that other aspects weren't in fact growing pains at all. It also introduces just an absolute mountain of motifs, characterization points, and setting details. This second half of East Blue is an excellent demonstration of the two things that Oda frequently excels at: an epic adventure full of fantastical things and places, and slow-burn character development for an ensemble cast. Additionally, the Romantic themes have started to lock into place: the ability to reshape the world through strength of will and commitment to one's convictions. Finally, I think Oda's artwork is steadily improving, though his extremities still need work.

I really like the take that these first 100 chapters form a sort of "prologue" for the series as a whole, since Chapter 100 is called "The Legend Begins," has a very explicit thesis statement, and ends with the crew reaffirming their individual dreams as a collective ritual before they enter the Grand Line.

In terms of the evaluation of each section: Baratie is a solid arc with a couple of things I could nitpick, but it's really carried by how different it feels from what's come before and the strength of Sanji's character arc within it. Arlong Park is one of the most emotionally moving in the whole series, and unquestionably has the best action of the East Blue. Finally, Loguetown is a thrilling cap-off to the first "part" as the series transitions into the next phase of the story: the Baroque Works Conspiracy.

Whew. This was a doozy to write, and to some extent it's possible I would have been better served dividing these arcs up to focus on them each in more detail...but here we are!

#op reread

[pitviperofdoom]

So I decided a little while ago to do a full series reread of Redwall. I’m still early in it, I just finished Redwall and started Mossflower, and you know what? Might as well express my thoughts as I go. Blacklist “redwall reread” if you don’t want to see this, there WILL be spoilers.

So! Thoughts, on reflection, about Redwall:

Something I forgot along the way is just how competent Matthias is right from the start. Granted he lives in a society that hasn’t seen war in several generations so it’s not like he has a lot of competition, but he still goes from Bumbling Novice Who Doesn’t Quite Fit In to a martial and tactical powerhouse alongside Constance, the one who closed negotiations by picking up an entire banquet table and throwing it.

And not only that, people listen to him! As soon as negotiations break down, Matthias jumps in with a plan and all his elders listen. I watched the animated series growing up, which was... not super great, quality wise, but enjoyable enough for a kid. And one of the changes the show made was playing up Matthias’s childishness and inexperience. In the adaptation, when everyone’s panicking about the legendary warlord marching on the abbey, Matthias jumps in with this rallying speech about how they’ll fight back, and the abbot scolds him for it. “No more talk of fighting,” when Cluny the Scourge is almost at their doorstep. In the original book?

“Do? I’ll tell you what we’ll do. We’ll be ready.” The Abbot could not help shaking his head in admiration. It seemed that young Matthias had hidden depths. “Why, thank you, Matthias,” he said. “I could not have put it better myself. That’s exactly what we will do. We’ll be ready!”

(Years later, a certain wizard in a certain film adaptation would ask a question calmly.)

This book has a beaver in it. And a horse. And the mention of a dog. And Portugal.

Speaking of which, one of the many things that I think sets this book apart from the rest is that it feels like Jacques is making an attempt to write a book that takes place in a smaller Mouse World that exists within a larger world. The abbey is mouse-sized, of course, but an entire army of rats rides in on a single horse-drawn hay cart. Matthias climbs hay bales in a barn and falls into a cat’s mouth. Again, Portugal exists.

Idk what my point is, it just goes to show that BJ really was gradually building this world as he wrote it. I didn’t obsess so much over canon continuity, I just came up with my own explanations for things.

Ah, phonetic accents. I have mixed feelings about phonetic accents these days. I know logically that it’s better to avoid them, but like. I read the moles’ dialogue and try to imagine what it would look like without every word misspelled to exaggerate the dialect, and I just. Couldn’t visualize it. Moles just aren’t moles if you aren’t rereading their lines two or three times to parse what they’re saying. (Excepting Egburt the Scholar, of course, but I won’t see him for several books.)

I think my lifelong obsession with ferrets can be traced back to Killconey. I just. I know he’s a villain but I just love this guy so much. He’s adorable, he’s got a solid head on his shoulders, and he never tries to screw over his comrades, murder his comrades, bully his comrades, or flat-out lie to Cluny to get ahead, like SOME people, Cheesethief. RIP Killconey you were a good henchman and Cluny shouldn’t have thrown you at Matthias to get chopped in half.

Sela named her son Chickenhound no wonder he didn’t mourn her. Of course, his idea of a better name was “Mousedeath” so it’s not like he had room to judge.

Portugal????

#redwall #redwall reread

[grapenehifics]

Making of Monday: Can't Stop the Suns Part 1

(I am thinking SO positively rn that I am calling this part 1, like I will remember to actually write more. YMMV; we'll see how I do.)

I'm hard at work on the concluding chapters of Pick Up the Pieces right now, and working on Pick Up the Pieces means I also need to do a fair bit of rereading An Uncivil War, so it's very much on the forefront of my brain, and also I have yet to participate in a single MoM, so: here's some backstory on An Uncivil War.

Okay I actually need to back up even farther than that, all the way to Solsbury Hill and February 2020. I started Solsbury Hill - it wasn't called that, then; it didn't have a name, just 'weird doc file/outline I'll probably never finish because I don't have a track record of finishing creative writing projects, ever' - and then the very next month I started working from home AND season 7 of Clone Wars premiered.

To get ready for season 7 - and because I was home a lot more during the day, now, and didn't have to commute to work - we decided to do a rewatch of Clone Wars season 1 through 6. And you know how we joke about plot bunnies, and why they're called that? That the hardest idea is your first one and once you have that the ideas just keep multiplying? So, I'm sitting on an outline for what would become Solsbury Hill, and we're watching Clone Wars, and we get to season 5, and the episode with Ahsoka's trial, and I think to myself, huh. That's weird. Why is Obi-Wan acting like that? Why is he not sticking up for our Padawan? If he had, I bet things would have turned out differently. Ahsoka might not have left the Order. Anakin might not have turned to the Dark Side. Clone Wars is full of all these little things that individually might not be enough to push Anakin over the edge, but they start stacking up, collectively...

From there, it was a pretty easy leap to, 'what if Obi-Wan left the Order instead of Ahsoka', and that created this whole domino effect because Anakin would obviously leave with him, right, and Ahsoka was getting kicked out anyway, and now I've got this scenario with three Jedi on the run in the middle of a war.

And that was fascinating to me. Once I started thinking about it I couldn't stop. But I was also getting really into Solsbury Hill, at that point, so this new story needed to take a backseat. I dumped a bunch of notes into a Word doc and went back to my AU.

It turns out, though - and this was the first time I'd learned this about myself - that I liked having both an AU and a canon project going at the same time. Solsbury Hill and An Uncivil War both used such different parts of my brain and required a different skillset and researching vastly different things, and if I got bogged down in one it was nice to be able to switch to the other one and hack away at that one for a while. So I ended up, from early 2020 until August 2022 when I posted the first chapter of Solsbury Hill on AO3, working on both projects nearly simultaneously, although obviously Solsbury Hill (despite being three times longer) got to the finish line first.

For a long time - almost three years - An Uncivil War was just called, An Uncivil War. And it had this expansive outline that I just kept cracking away at, and whenever I came across something cool in another piece of Star Wars media or another show premiered or I read another book I'd think 'Ooh, that's neat! That's going in the fic!' and I'd add it to my to-do list. And at some point I looked at my word count and realized I was pushing 100k and not anywhere close to the end of the story I wanted to tell.

So, I started thinking about sequels, and series. I had (still have) this outline, fortunately, and there was one pretty obvious stopping point at what was then the mid-point of the plot. (I say, 'then' because it has since, of course, expanded. It turns out I'm very bad at guessing word counts.) So I took half my outline, dumped into a brand-new doc, called that one Pick Up the Pieces, and wrote the 'ending' of An Uncivil War, as much as possible, as if it were the ending, just in case I for some reason never got around to writing Pick Up the Pieces.

Because it was important to me that An Uncivil War be able to stand on its own. It's got a beginning, a middle, and an end, and the end calls back to the beginning, and the main threat to the characters is resolved, and they talk about what they're going to do next but even if that was the only story you had, it should still be a satisfying conclusion (or, at least, I hope it is).

But it isn't the entirety of the story I wanted to tell. Because they originally were one big story, I actually had maybe half of Pick Up the Pieces already written by the time I started posting An Uncivil War, so while the first part took me three years to write, the second has technically only taken me a year, but I was definitely not starting from scratch.

I also - and this should shock absolutely no one - was once again wildly off in my word count estimate. Pick Up the Pieces is, right now, already as long as An Uncivil War (120k), and I've still got three chapters left to go...plus a bunch more things in my outline I haven't gotten to yet.

So, in true Star Wars tradition, I'm now plotting a part three! Pick Up the Pieces, like An Uncivil War before it, has a logical ending point, so it will wrap up there, but the plot will move merrily along to the next thing on my to-do list, which is in fact the same to-do list I've had since March 2020. (It's a good thing I love this story so much or I would have quit long ago.) Part Three, at the moment, is tentatively titled Sometimes Fate Steps In, and I'm really, really sorry to have to admit that that's where all the smut is going to be. (I know. It's Solsbury Hill all over again.)

(I do love it, though. I feel like I should...apologize, to my fics, somehow, for having a favorite? I do have a favorite, though. It's this series. I love it so damn much. This is the one thing I write where, if you told me right now that I would never get a single comment or kudos on it, I would still write it anyway, because I just get so much enjoyment out of researching and writing it and re-reading it.)

(Which is not to say you shouldn't comment on it. Please, please do! You will absolutely make my day, week, month, year! But I love it enough to do it anyway.)

#making of monday #obikin #an uncivil war #pick up the pieces

[failedaethercore]

The Missing Messenger

Inspired by @wolfofcelestia's amazing work found here.

✧𖤐✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧𖤐 ✩

This (my fourth fic ever lol) was written in a fever state to get it out of my system since this had been consuming me all day today while I did my adulting. Please be kind, I know there are likely a lot of mistakes, But I am trying my best to learn and grow as a writer while writing all these fics.

Also I know I wrote something similar in my last fic, but I think I've ironed it out better this time. So bear with me while I work towards a new theme haha

Rafayel x fem!MC/reader, Xavier, Zayne, confessions, fluffy stuff at the end I swear ;;

Please be warned, this is a dark work and is not a good idea to read if you are easily triggered.

CW: torture, depression, allusions to rape, blood, guns, death, please let me know if I need to add any more (can't think of what else, I swear I'm not here to hurt any of you lovely people)

✧𖤐✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧𖤐 ✩

Rafayel was laying on his sofa, one arm artfully draped over his eyes as he sighed in defeat. His latest piece was causing him so much trouble, which made him feel like just giving up and moving on to something else. But he was too far along to call it quits just yet, he wanted to see it finished.

So when his phone hummed quietly near his hand, he let out another dramatic groan and picked it up, praying it wasn't Thomas bothering him to find out when the painting would be done. It was just a text. From you.

Y/n: Hey, I saw there's a new cafe down near the plaza, you wanna go when we both have some time? Apparently they have rose flavored milk tea and really good snacks. I really wanna try it!

Rafayel smirked and sent a quick series of replies.

Rafayel: That might be a little difficult, I'm in the middle of my magnum opus and cannot be torn away! Even if it caught fire, I can never leave my studio until my vision reaches fruition!

Rafayel: But maybe you can bring me some when you come visit...perhaps...this afternoon?

He could sense you rolling your eyes as he sees the word “read” next to his texts. He lets himself full on grin, hoping you'll agree.

Y/n: I do have today off...but wouldn't you like a break? You've been cooped up all week, I thought.

Rafayel: Don't you understand y/n? I must see this through! ...But I could use a little break, if you're willing to drop everything right now and bring me an iced latte with soy milk and plenty of brown sugar boba.

Y/n: And a slice of cheesecake?

Rafayel: You know me so well, it's almost like we're friends.

Y/n: Or enemies.

He chuckles to himself, texting you always managed to brighten his foulest moods, despite the aching in his chest when his thoughts lingered too long on how you were unlikely to ever want to be more than that...just friends.

He sighed and waited for a moment, staring at the screen to see if you were going to say anything else. When it had been long enough, he figured you were getting ready to come over, and he slumped back onto the sofa once more, leaving his phone on his chest as he stared up at the blue coming through the skylights in the ceiling.

✧𖤐✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧𖤐 ✩

He didn't think it would take this long to get ready, but he was patient. He may whine and complain and give you the hardest time for making him wait...but he had already waiting so long for you, what is one more hour? Or two...o-or three...

His phone vibrated again, alerting him of a text messsage. He stopped his idle paint mixing, having wanted something to do while he waited for you, and looked down at his phone set beside him.

Y/n: I love you, Rafayel

His chest suddenly felt full and warm, he could feel his heart beginning to beat quickly, and he swore he could feel his ears redden in the delight that phrase had brought him. He reread it several times, pinched himself, even slapped his face with his free hand, just to make sure he hadn't fallen asleep while waiting for you.

He quickly typed a reply once he had confirmed he wasn't dreaming.

Rafayel: Well it's about time! Thought I would have to be the first one to admit it, at this rate...

But the message wasn't read right away. Maybe you were walking over from the cafe now? And you just wanted to confess before your visit. He had no idea why you were being so honest with yourself (and him), but he was so happy he couldn't care about that right now.

He hums happily for a while, waiting even more impatiently for you to arrive. But now it's been an hour. Then two. He checks his phone. Neither of you had ever agreed on a time to meet, but he didn't think you'd make him wait so long...

Rafayel: Y/n? Are you coming? Are you okay?

His joy started to melt into chilling fear, dripping down his spine as he realizes that his confession was left unread, after all this time. That's when the panic sets in fully. Something is wrong.

✧𖤐✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧𖤐 ✩

Rafayel is in his trendy sports car before he can even think about what he's doing. Acting on pure instinct alone, he's already across the bridge and meeting the afternoon traffic that Linkon City is known for on a normal Thursday. For a moment he ponders if he should break the law, eyes darting hastily around the intersection before he floors it through a red light, not even bothering to slow down. He was a madman behind the wheel already, notorious for making you white knuckle the armrest whenever you rode with him. But now he was terrified, and determined.

He regains his senses while swerving to avoid a line of slowed cars, and quickly presses a few buttons on the car's touch screen, attempting to call you. Maybe your phone had just died. Please let him be a silly fool who worries over nothing. It rang for a while, before rolling over to voicemail, your standard message of “Hey, this is y/n, sorry I missed your call, leave me a message after the beep! Beep! No, not that one” followed be a giggle and then another beep. “Y/n please be okay, you've been quiet for a while, just starting to worry about my bodyguard here...I'm heading over to see if maybe you just fell asleep, since it's your day off! You better answer your door!”

Before he forgot, he decided to make one more call, pressing another button and starting a call with Thomas.

Thomas sounds elated to hear from Rafayel, thinking he had finally finished the painting and that Thomas could set up a new exhibition around it and the other dozen paintings Rafayel had finished earlier.

“Rafayel! It's about time, do you kno-” Before Thomas can begin nagging Rafayel about making him wait so long for just one painting, Rafayel cuts him off. “Something's wrong with y/n! She won't pick up her phone and I need you to track her down somehow. She's usually not this quiet, you have to help me Thomas!” The man was taken aback, his feet falling off his desk that he had leaned up there confidently at the beginning of the call. He sat upright and had no idea how to respond for a moment, Rafayel never begged for anything. Ever. At least not to him, anyways.

Rafayel waited for Thomas to reply, then shouted at the man. “Thomas! Go find Y/n! I need to know she's okay!” Thomas broke his silence with a stuttered “Y-yeah sure!” before hanging up quickly to make some calls of his own.

Rafayel pressed the gas pedal to the floor, as he sped down the road to come to a screeching halt in front of your apartment complex. He jumped out, not even bothering to make sure the engine was off, but just managing to remember to put the damned thing into park.

He bolted up the stairs, taking each step three at a time, as his long legs screamed at him from the sudden exertion on his usually lazy muscles. He knew your apartment number by heart, knowing exactly where you slept every night, just to occasionally check in and make sure you got home from a hunt okay. Even if he never knocked on the door, he looked up at the window in your apartment until the light came on, and he could see you open the window to let in some fresh air.

He knocked hard on the door, urgency spurring his continued knocks on as he waited impatiently. “Y/n! Hey! You home?!” There was no evidence of tampering that he could detect, the door looked like it always did, so when he had to break it down to get in, he felt a little guilty. Nevermind, he could easily replace it with a better one and the building's manager would be fine with it. He was praying you were just half asleep on your bed and would just scold him for freaking out over nothing.

When he found your apartment empty, not a soul in the place, while the windows were left wide open...his heart, already halfway down to his stomach, finishes it descent into his gut, while tears threaten his eyes. No...this can't be real. He's dreaming, all of this is a lie. He pinches himself again, and again, trying to bring himself out of this nightmare.

When he decides that he is truly not dreaming, he tries to call your phone again, only to hear your phone ringing under the sofa. The song you set as his ringtone would have probably made him chuckle and tease you if this wasn't such a terrifying scenario.

He picks it up from the floor, and looks at it. A photo of him smiling with you while you both pose in front of the camera glows before his eyes. That's when it all starts to blur a little, as tears begin to truly tug at the edges of his sight. He couldn't hold them back anymore, and let out a shout of your name, unable to contain his emotions because he had just found you again.

Moments later, a silver-haired man came barging into the apartment from the balcony, obviously drawn by the commotion from below. When Rafayel saw him, he was immediately on guard, drawing a dagger from behind his back, summoned from a plume of flame in his hand.

The man looked around quickly before drawing his own weapon, a sword borne of light held aloft and pointed at Rafayel. “Where is y/n. What are you doing in her apartment?” Rafayel stares down the weapon with indifference, not even registering the question before he lunges forward, another dagger being summoned to his empty hand as the sound of metal hitting metal fills the space.

✧𖤐✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧𖤐 ✩

The fight only lasted a few minutes, but both men were so fast, and so evenly matched, they both fell to the floor quickly, panting, covered in cuts and bruises. At some point Rafayel had punched the man in the face, and at another point the man had gotten a good slice into the front of Rafayel's expensive shirt.

While both of them caught their breaths, the man asked another question. “Where is y/n...and who are you?” He had never met a match in battle, and was honestly a little stunned.

“Well who the hell are you? How do you know her name and where she lives?!”

The man slumps his back against the wall near the television, running his hand through his starlit hair. “Xavier...I'm her upstairs neighbor, and her Hunter partner.” Rafayel lets out a sigh and withers at the fact.

“I'm...Rafayel...she's my bodyguard. Did you hear anything in here earlier?” He is immediately brought back to the entire reason he was even here. “Y/n left her phone, she never leaves without it.” Xavier stares as Rafayel holds up your phone, the tiny charm hanging off it indicating it was definitely yours. He had no idea who gave you the tiny red fish charm, but he had always secretly been a little jealous.

“Then...the noises earlier...” Xavier stares down at the floor. “I thought y/n was exercising for some reason, even though it was her day off...I heard some shuffling noises...but I didn't think anything of it because I couldn't sense any Wanderers.” Rafayel's eyes narrow with every word, until his glare can be felt like a radiating heat from the depths of hell. He would bore a hole right through Xavier's head if he could.

Xavier sheepishly looked away, his quiet and sleepy demeanor made meek in that moment as guilt struck him like lightning. “I didn't realize. ...We need to find her.”

Before both men departed your apartment, Rafayel making a call to get your apartment door repaired, Xavier promising to contact your old friend Zayne who works at the nearby hospital, they agreed to exchange numbers and keep in touch. Their expressions grim as they went their separate ways.

✧𖤐✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧𖤐 ✩

Rafayel's soul had now been shredded, drowned, disintegrated, and finally blown away like sands in the storm. This happened nearly on the daily for him, as every moment of you being missing driving him further into madness.

It had been weeks so far.

Where were you?

✧𖤐✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧𖤐 ✩

You had been texting with Rafayel when you had nodded off, meaning to get up and get ready to go get tea and snacks to bring to his studio and spend time with him. You were excited, but work had been draining your energy of late, so you let yourself nod off for a bit. Rafayel could wait, plus you enjoyed his bratty pout when you made him wait a little bit.

You awoke to the shufflling sound of something opening your window from the balcony. Or rather...someone. You realized how late it was in the same moment you realized what was going on. Men in neutral and dark clothes, face coverings, and holding rope and other supplies silently entered your apartment, thinking you were still asleep.

You quickly sent a text, knowing there was no saving you now. You could beat them up, you could take out maybe three of them in your current condition. Your energy still low from that last mission. “I love you, Rafayel” the last thing you send, as you don't know if you're going to come back from this as more figures climb into the room, you can hear their boots quietly touching onto the floor.

You jumped up from your position on the couch and ran to secure your concealed weapon you kept in the kitchen. A firearm for in case a Wanderer got too close to the apartment complex, or something like this happening. Unfortunately for you, one of them had a taser gun, and shot you in the back, taking you down before you can even reach under the counter for the weapon strapped there.

You can't make out much as your senses are blacking out from the pain. But you make out a low chuckle from one of the figures, a man with piercing eyes glowers down at you as he puts his boot on your head and grinds it into the floor a little. “...You're going to regret going for that.”

✧𖤐✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧𖤐 ✩

It had been what felt like an eternity. Your figure was chained to the floor, the shackles on your wrists and ankles constantly chafing and making your joints ache from their weight. You were losing your muscles from all the lack of exercise, but that didn't mean you didn't still suffer the brutality of your captors.

Every single day, at some point during the day, the door to the pitch black cell would open, light would pour in, and then it would begin.

The first time, you had let yourself feel a glimmer of hope. Rafayel? Had he found you? But no...it was the man with the piercing eyes, everyone wearing masks still despite clearly being in a safe location. They could never be too cautious, it seemed. “You're going to tell us everything you know about Lemurians and where we can find them.”

Your face went a little slack. You knew very little about them, and only knew maybe...two? Three? One of them...you would never reveal their identity to these monsters. You had just arrived at this point, but the shackles were already hurting you, and the taser to your back still stung and caused your nerves to shiver with what you hoped didn't look like fear.

“Don't worry, you don't have to answer right away. Let's have some fun with this first...” At first your face distorts into disgust, until the man pulls out a blade and you see the cloth mask over his face wrinkle in a way that could only mean he was smiling maliciously. His eyes glint with joy at the prospect of hurting you.

But you never broke. Not once. You swore to yourself that death would be better than letting them know about Rafayel. After everything he had confided in you, after everything he had given to you, you would guard it with your dying breath before this scum found a drop of information. So you didn't struggle, you didn't fight, you let the torture continue for forever, as the outside world spun on without you. You wouldn't let others suffer because of your weakness, your failings.

You blamed yourself for being too lax, being too comfortable in your life, when you knew danger was a constant part of your everyday life. Your vigilance had slipped for a moment, and you were the reason you were in this situation now.

✧𖤐✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧𖤐 ✩

Once Zayne had been made aware of the situation, he had stopped working for a few days, searching in his own way to find you. The days turned into weeks, before he had to return to his work, guilt riding him on both fronts as he didn't want to give up the search, but he couldn't leave his patients to die.

Xavier had assured him he would be notified as soon as you were located, and Zayne tried his best to take comfort in that, at least. Rafayel was being driven mad, to the point of having barely slept and not eaten for far too long.

He was delirious, laying on the floor of his torn apart studio, as it was too many reminders of you, in some ways. His heart was gone, he felt numb all over, and his mind swam as he stared up at the darkening sky in the ceiling. He had searched through his underworld connections, but couldn't pry anything from anyone. No one knew a thing about it, apparently. But he knew you didn't just vanish into thin air.

So when all felt lost, he decided to try his last resort. You had his heart beating in your chest. From lives lived long ago, you have been reborn with that same heart time and time again. You were breathing because he gave you his everything the first time you had met. And now he had to pull it to him. He struggled for a while to try and tune into whatever frequency it was, he was rusty and hadn't really done anything like this in what felt like centuries.

So when he finally knew he had it, he could sense other Lemurians in Linkon City, he could sense the vast ocean and the creatures that reside there...he could even faintly sense others further still, but not you.

You were a blank space. An empty void stood where your usual place in the universe hung. He didn't realize he had stopped breathing until his lungs screamed for air. He sat up suddenly and gasped, choking on the air briefly before he coughed and started to sob into his hands.

You were gone. Not a trace. Nothing.

✧𖤐✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧𖤐 ✩

You were bloody and covered in scarring wounds, broken bones and twisted muscles. Today had been burns on your bare flesh, followed by mild drowning in sea water. But they lost interest, saying you probably liked it, since clearly you liked fish and all that.

You were struggling to breathe through your broken ribs, but you tried to keep steady, breathing through your nose slowly as you kept a stoic expression on your bruised and puffy face. Every day had been something new, something awful. But the taste of the deep salt water had hardened your resolve. You didn't know why Rafayel couldn't find you, but you would escape. You would find him and he would keep you safe again. You had to believe that, despite the fear that this was actually some elaborate play to make you loyal or something.

You were given too much time in the darkness by yourself. Your mind would race to horrible scenarios at the drop of a hat already, but now you had concocted a horrible fantasy where Rafayel had been the mastermind behind all of this, and that you were being tested to be sure you were loyal to him no matter what. But that made you more fearful that whoever Rafayel was running from must be even worse than this.

So you steeled yourself every day, when the shuffling of feet could be heard outside your door, you would sit up and just stoically stare at a spot in your vision that did not exist. Grounding your mind in what you had to tell yourself to survive this.

He was looking for you. He would come. As soon as you could make your move, he would find you. Somehow. If he was truly behind this, then Xavier and Zayne would find you. You had been gone far too long for you to not be missed. This was your courage. And you would be doubly damned by the Gods if you let yourself fail now.

✧𖤐✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧𖤐 ✩

The day finally came. They had become less vigilant, as you had never once made an effort to break free, and the fire had quickly died in your eyes. They were almost ready to just let you go, figuring you didn't know anything. The only things they could ever extract from you were screams and grunts of agony. You had even overheard them talking amongst themselves several times, talking about their personal lives as if it was another day at an office job.

So when you were ready, you had snuck a small thin object, you think it was a broken paperclip, to pick the locks on your shackles. You made quick work in the inky darkness that surrounded you, but left the shackles on, to lure them into your plan.

The shuffling sounds came up again, and you were ready. You waited for them to casually open the door, like they had been doing so recently, as you let your eyes adjust to the change in light. They were chatting as if it were just a Tuesday, while you let yourself sprint to the door, pushing through the armed guards. They had forgotten you were a trained Hunter, apparently. Because you managed to pull one of their guns and shoot the other point blank.

The one whose weapon you had confiscated had fallen to the ground and to be sure he wouldn't follow, you shot him in the leg. You made a run for the stairs, apparently you were deep underground. It explained the lack of windows and fresh air in the cell.

The stairs were narrow, so it made it difficult as more and more guards began to pour down to apprehend you, and you could only climb over so many grasping bodies as they struggled to hold you while their injuries otherwise incapacitated them. Before long you were forced to throw the empty gun aside and take things head-on. You punched and bit and kicked your way as far as you could, every ounce of your being put into surviving and escaping. But before long you were dragged down and pinned to the stairs, a boot holding you firmly in place by the center of your back.

The man with the piercing eyes chuckled darkly. “I see you have more fight in you than we had thought...I like that.” He pulled your head up by your hair, at least what was left of it, and forced you to look at his other boot. “Lick it, peasant.”

You blacked out from exhaustion before you could do anything, and he tsked angrily. “Fucking bitch...she shot so many of these idiots. Now I have to clean this up.” He turned to those of his men who were still standing or able to stand, and began barking orders. “Carry out the wounded, shoot those who won't make it, and put her back in the cell. This time...I won't let her keep this worthless hope she keeps clinging to. I will take her tonight, and break her.”

✧𖤐✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧𖤐 ✩

It had been months now, and Rafayel was wallowing in the abyss of life without you again. But this time was different. You had been ripped from him and he couldn't even find your body to bury. Every day he prayed you were alive, but then cursed himself for it, knowing if you were, you were most likely suffering.

The day had come, and he was burying his face in a hoodie you had accidentally left in his studio one time, sobbing uncontrollably as his phone kept ringing in the background. He ignored it, Thomas' frantic motions against the drowning undercurrent of Rafayel's soul would never be enough to save either of them.

So when he felt your presence, he bolted upright, tears staining his otherwise beautiful but now gaunt face, and he stared in the direction of where he felt you. He had checked there. Many times, in fact. He had suspected you were in the N109 zone, but how you had eluded him for so long, he had no clue. But now you were somewhere he could find you. And he would be damned by the ocean once more if he let this chance slip by.

His flashy sports car was in need of a wash, and so was he, but he hopped in, before speeding off to reach your location all the faster, once again a demon behind the wheel.

But no sooner had he gotten oriented enough to know which road to take, you vanished again. But he suspected you were in that general vicinity, and wasted no time to get to his usual spot where he could enter the zone without interference.

✧𖤐✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧𖤐 ✩

You were reshackled and struggling to breathe as the man with the piercing eyes was holding you by your throat so that you were partly suspended in the air. Your eyes were squeezed shut. Your escape attempt had failed, and now you knew the final thing that could be taken from you, aside from your life, would be ripped from your body forever.

Tears sprang to life in the corners of your eyes as you imagined Rafayel finding your body after all of this, somehow, and how it would break him. You couldn't give in, but despair was gripping your heart harder than the man currently holding your neck.

“I'm going to break you in so my men can each have a turn. After your little stunt, a lot of them need some comfort and closure from what you did.” Your eyes shot open, and you glared up at him with all the defiance you could muster. And it was greater than the will of the Gods themselves, as the man actually stilled for a moment in shock.

His composure resumed quickly, and he took off his mask to reveal a sinister, toothy grin on what might have once upon a time been a handsome face. There were scars and an obviously previously broken nose, but seeing the rest of his face only steeled your resolve. If he wanted to break you, you would put up the fight of your life.

So when the door opened slowly, the faintly brighter light from outside peeking in to drape across a shadowy figure, he snapped up to yell at whoever it was. “Don't you know I'm busy in here?! Wait your turn, ya filthy fucker!” He dropped you to go push the figure outside and shut the door, but before he could reach a hand out to touch the shadow before you both, his hand was sliced off in a blur.

He paused, taking a moment to process what had happened in a fraction of a second. Then he screamed. That's when the shadow stepped into the light filling the cell, and your eyes adjusted enough to see him.

It was Rafayel, covered in soot and blood, a dagger held in his delicate hand as he stared down the man shouting about his hand that was now laying on the floor, blood draining down to the center of the cell, where a drainage grate resided underneath you. Your eyes welled with tears as you stared in shock. He had found you.

Finally. He was here.

His eyes snapped to you, the look of murderous intent softening before he looked over your frail figure. Clearly they were starving you slowly, and all the scarring and blood, filth, everything that they had done to you, rushed into his mind before he snapped back to the man who had finally regained his senses enough to pull out a dagger.

Rafayel slit his throat and turned him to ash before he could so much as aim the thing. The dagger fell to the ground with a clatter, as well as any other metallic accents to his clothes. You gasped as Rafayel's eyes nearly glowed with hate. He would never forgive anyone who so much as glanced upon you in this state. But when he was done, he swiftly softened, his hands finding the shackles and unlocking them in one smooth motion before you register what's going on.

You manage a hoarse, quiet whisper of his name. “Rafayel...” He softly shushes you and picks you up gently, holding you close against his chest as your thin frame drapes across his arms. “You're okay...I've got you, y/n.” You smile, for the first time in a millennia. It hurts so much to smile, and the tears sting your wounds, but you can't stop it. And before long, you're blacking out as Rafayel ascends the stairs slowly, being sure not to jostle you while he tries to still his heart.

It ached so much to see you in this state, but it brought him so much exuberant joy to see you at least still alive. You drew breath, and that meant he could hold your warm hand again, and slowly help you regain your footing after this harrowing experience.

✧𖤐✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧𖤐 ✩

He took you to your friend Zayne, since he was a doctor, before anyone else. Xavier was soon notified, and before long you were in your own VIP hospital room. Rafayel never left, even when you were being stripped naked and washed down carefully, and even Zayne had to look away with a blush. Rafayel kept watch, and nearly hissed at a nurse who tried to shoo him out of the ICU room.

Zayne had asked all the staff attending to you to be very careful, and even warned them that Rafayel might not cooperate if asked to leave the room. He had acquiesced to the fact that the purple haired man was going nowhere. Which he secretly couldn't blame him. He remembers the night you were admitted.

When you had been carried into the hospital by Rafayel, Zayne stood still in his tracks when he glanced up to find you looking half dead in his arms. Zayne shouted orders louder and faster than ever, and before long Rafayel was following a gurney into an operating room, despite many personnel pushing against him. He was firm, and unrelenting, so Zayne sighed and made him clean up and put on scrubs to stay sterile.

Rafayel silently watched over the surgery, his eyes looked like he was making a prayer to the last God or Goddess still listening, and asking for the only wish he would ever ask again.

That was a week ago.

You were looked after, and whenever he could, Rafayel held your hand. His sharp eyes kept staring into your soul, praying, willing you to wake once more. He kept his focus on you, unless a nurse came in with a new IV bag, a new drug, then he became vigilant to ensure it was safe. Zayne had given up on assuring him that he would never do you harm, because Rafayel nearly interrogated every nurse that came into the room, even to check your temperature.

But he finally relented to his situation, when he demanded Xavier keep watch while he passed out in the chair next to you, hand still holding yours. Zayne also stood vigil whenever he could spare the time, and a rotating shift of sorts came into being while you were unconscious.

A nurse had taken pity on your hair, as it had been pulled out in places, and shorn in others to shame you. She had done her best to wash it and trim it so that it would look better than it had been (she made sure to do it while Zayne was taking a shift, so she wouldn't have to fight a certain someone over it). Another nurse would bring food for whoever was on shift, though it was usually barely touched. Rafayel especially couldn't bring himself to eat, except when he collapsed once or twice, and Zayne pointed out how guilty you would feel knowing he was starving himself to death.

So after a great deal of staring down from Zayne and Xavier collectively, Rafayel conceded and ate some food. But he never left the room, even then. He thought the food was disgusting, and could barely swallow. But he willed himself to do it, for your sake.

Another week passed, and you were finally making stirrings. Your hand flexed a little in Rafayel's grip, and he sat straight up in that same moment, light returning to his dulled eyes, the numb restless sleep escaping from his form. You stirred, making a groan as the morphine had worn off. “Nnnnh...” Rafayel had to resist tightening his grip on your hand, as your poor fingers had been broken when punching a guard in the dick. If he had known that fact, he would be so proud of you, broken fingers and all.

He hit the nurse call button immediately, and started to shush you as you struggled slightly. “Shhh...y/n, you're safe. You're at the hospital. It's me, Rafayel...I promise...you're okay now...” You heard his voice over the high pitched tinnitus piercing your senses, and you sighed, settling back into the bed as you could barely move anyways. You tried to turn your head to look at him, but your muscles ached even doing that. “It's okay, I'm right here.” He squeezed your palm gently to let you know it was true. “I'm not going anywhere, okay?”

Zayne was notified upon Rafayel's press of the nurse call button, and came rushing in within a few minutes, despite being on the other side of the hospital. He was panting as Rafayel was talking softly to you, as your eyes began to close again. “Did she wake up? Did she say anything?” Rafayel nods then shakes his head, as he strokes your cheek through the bandages, as you fall back into your slumber, this time your muscles relax and you let yourself drift into a dream, instead of the never ending nightmares from before.

It took another two days before you woke up again, but this time you were more coherent, and you managed to sit up with the assistance of the adjustable bed. You stared at Rafayel for a long time before a whisper managed to escape your lips. “...you found me...” Rafayel almost didn't hear you, but he gave you the saddest smile upon realizing your words. “I did...I'm sorry it took me so long...” You tried to shake your head, but it was too much, so you just whispered. “No...you made it just in time...thank you...”

Your voice was hoarse and weak, but your once tight and guarded heart now relaxed and relished in the affection as Rafayel still held your hand, and gently brushed the hair out of your face, or caressed your cheek to comfort you, and many other tiny gestures that melted your heart as he whispered soft words to you. “You're going to be okay, y/n...Zayne is here, and Xavier will be in soon too...everyone missed you so much...” He looks down at his hand holding yours for a moment before he lets out a soft whisper you almost don't hear. “...especially me...”

You give another smile, although it hurts, it is genuine and happy. Hearing that somehow gives you confidence that you were right to trust him. He would never have done this to you, he would have never put you through hell like this just as some sick test. He clearly cared about you, how could you ever have thought those horrible things?

The nurse call button was pressed once more, and soon Zayne came rushing in, while Rafayel was texting Xavier with one hand to do his due diligence and let his new...I guess he'd call him a friend? Know what was going on. Zayne began to check on your wounds, checking every inch of you that he could to make sure you were mending.

“You seem to be doing better, y/n. Do you think you can manage some water?” A tiny nod from you prompts him to step out to hail a nurse, but there's already a crowd of them outside the door, and he sends one to get water for you. You glance at Rafayel as he just smiles warmly at you, his haunted face being pulled into a new expression for the first time in months. “...I want rose milk tea...” You let yourself smirk cheekily as Rafayel gives your hand a quick squeeze. “Soon, y/n...just wait until you can manage something more than water first, okay?” You nod a little and then turn your head slightly when a nurse brings in a pitcher of water, a glass, and a straw on a tray.

You have your first sip of water for the first time in what feels like forever, and you feel refreshed once more in that moment. The cool water slides down your throat and then sinks into your empty stomach, where it suddenly growls loudly in response. “O-oh...” Rafayel chuckles a little, and Zayne clears his throat. “You'll be able to eat solid foods soon, y/n. Just please be patient until we can take care of the bigger problems first.” You nod, and take another sip. You try to take a long, greedy sip, but Rafayel pulls the straw away.

“You're going to choke if you drink too fast...” He chides gently as you pout at him a little. But you understand, as you almost choke on the water you managed to get into your mouth.

Xavier comes in, panting, as he had to push past the mass of nursing staff and hospital personnel outside the door, and leans on the foot of the bed staring at you, mouth agape. “Y/n...you're awake!” You give him a small smile and nod. Your voice is still weak and rough, but you manage a teasing “...and still kicking.”

✧𖤐✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧𖤐 ✩

It had been a month since your first day awake, and you had been released from the hospital to your apartment yesterday. You had to hobble around with a cane, as you still suffered from muscular atrophy, and some serious fractures. Bone mending had come a long way since the need for casts or months of recover, but you still had to be careful while you puttered around your apartment, already bored out of your mind.

You got to catch up on some shows yesterday, but that started to bore you, and some of the darker elements brought you flashing back to your time in that cell again. So you'd turn off the tv and stare at the black screen's reflection of you, still thin, weak, and pale. The scars would fade with time, but you also figured it might make you look tougher to other Hunters, so you were almost proud of them.

Your phone buzzed against your thigh, as you looked down. It was Rafayel texting you.

Rafayel: Are you home?

Y/n: Yeah...I'm under house arrest for the foreseeable future...

Rafayel: Good. I'm outside, I can see your light on. Can you meet me at the door?

Y/n: Just wait, I can come unlock it

Before you have a chance to grab your cane, there comes a gentle knock at the door. You grin a little as you slowly make your way to the door, where Rafayel stands behind a large bouquet of...yellow dandelions? How did he know they were your favorite? And don't most people regard them as an annoying weed? You let out a gasp at the display before you. He was wearing his best suit, and had something behind his back, as he beamed a beautiful smile at you.

He had been with you at the hospital the entire time, but he had been eating more, resting more, and spoke more and more like himself once again. So you had watched him come back from the brink of an abyssal spiral into depression he might not have survived, while he watched you come back from the brink of death.

He handed the bouquet to you before gently guiding you back into your apartment. “Come on...I have a treat for you, y/n. I promise you'll love it...” Before you can say anything, he shuts the door behind him and goes to set a large bag of takeout on your small dining table. You let out a weak laugh, as it still aches to strain your ribs too much. But you smile at him as he sets out all the containers on the surface, going to grab some plates and utensils, as you slowly make your way to the chair nearest you.

“Rafayel, you didn't have to do all this...aren't you tired? You barely slept yesterday...”

Rafayel shakes his head adamantly, like a spoiled child being told they had to do something they didn't want to do. “I had to, y/n. If it's for you, nothing is too much...” You blush at his statement, having been reminded recently of the last text you had sent Rafayel before you were sure you were going to be killed.

“O-oh...by the way...Rafayel...y-you can disregard that text from before...y-y'know...that one...”

He stops what he's doing and strides over to you in two long steps. His eyes are piercing through your soul and deep into your heart, exposing every facet of you in a far more embarrassing way than simply baring your naked skin to him. He takes your free hand in both of his and gives your aching knuckles the softest of kisses. “I will never forget that text...” He whispers a breath over your knuckles. You blush more and try to pull it away reflexively. “A-ah...i-it's okay...” He shakes his head and holds your hand against his chest now. “No, y/n. It's not okay...I didn't find you before everything happened to you...” He takes a hand away from yours to gently stroke along your jaw and then run his thumb across your cheek.

“I love you, too, y/n.”

✧𖤐✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧𖤐 ✩

a/n: this kept me up all last night writing an outline on my phone, so if I didn't finish this I would be upset with myself haha

If you have any requests, please feel free to send an ask, I would love to hear them!

#love and deepspace #fanfic #love and deepspace rafayel #rafayel #xavier #zayne #torture #fluff #confessions #neer writes #please be gentle

[decepti-thots]

☕️ actually been meaning to ask you about this for ages bc you've mentioned before you have thoughts abt it; cdrw having less fic about them then you might expect for a canon couple?

I think there are a few reasons!

One is that the CDRW arc in the comics is not the kind of romantic arc that tends to appeal most to fandom. A lot of ship fic is "getting together" fic, because that's a way to make the ship the built-in plot of the fic. It provides a ready made beginning, middle and end that is near-guaranteed to be satisfying to anyone invested in the ship. But CDRW are introduced as a long-established couple, and their story is tied much more strongly to the overarching plot of the comic than it is to conventional romance beats.

Two is that it's actually kind of hard to find an obvious canon gap to write a story in during the events of the comic. Their arc is really... jam packed? So many of the big emotional moments of it just play out on page, is the thing. By contrast, look at, say, Dratchet. There is so much room to play with there. Even with Cygate, there was a period during the comic being published where you had room to write ahead and pre-empt the actual resolution we got, during the downtime. CDRW doesn't have as many options there to do that, and I feel like it might seem a less obvious choice for someone looking to write A Romance Fic.

Three is something I realised after talking to folks about the ship, which is that anecdotally I have discovered that a lot of people like CDRW but find it harder than expected to get a grip on. Chromedome in particular seems to stump people; I've written a little bit before about how I think the structure of his arc in the comic winds up catching people off guard because of how it doesn't follow the expected emotional trajectory post-Overlord. And I think between that and the fact that he's a character who people sometimes struggle to get a handle on the interior motivations of, he can be hard for some people to really find the voice of apparently. And Rewind, too, is deceptively tricky, because he is actually a very weird character. His motivations are weird, his intensity is weird, I find a lot of people who haven't revisited the source material recently tend to misremember him as a much more straightforwardly tropey character than canon Rewind actually is. A lot of the CDRW stuff out there I have seen tends to do this to both of them actually, slot them into a kind of m/m ship template that they vaguely resemble on the surface but is totally inadequate once you start paying attention. (Cygate also got this.)

When you put all of this together, I think CDRW grabbed people as fic fodder a lot less. And there's the built in sense of "canon gave us everything" that comes from them getting so much focus that I think smooths over that absence so it doesn't really seem obvious in fandom, where they just tend to hang around in fic as a background pairing.

anyway. people. we should write more cdrw fic i think. they are Insane and there are actually a bunch of things the comic brushes over tbh. and the AU potential! oh my god, there are so many opportunities for weird plot divergences!!! i am guilty bc i have a halfwritten longfic that i never managed to wrangle fully in google docs that i am sheepishly avoiding eye contact with (but will one day return to i swear) (look i'm in Big Bang mode right now folks but one day)

Sidenote: I'd love to hear other people's perspective on that third point... do people have opinions on this? I am going off stuff from a while ago and I know there's been a bunch of folks doing rereads lately. How are we feeling about CD and Rewind as characters these days.

#except for nate who has written like. a very meaningful percentage of the cd/rw focused fic on ao3. was it over 40% or something absurd #s/o to nate for single handedly carrying cd/rw on their back holy shit #ask meme #ETA: ok it was fully 25% #that's still amazing that's SO much lmao

[butterflydm]

wot reread: the gathering storm (prologue - chapter 6)

spoilers through the gathering storm.

Okay, here we go. Ready to head into the last three books. My own memory of reading these books should not necessarily be trusted, lol, as I have learned with my reread as a whole and how different many of my opinions & beliefs are from what they were before. Some things were confirmed for me (yep, Tuon was a huge waste of potential) but other things were contradicted (nope, Mat is not a Bad Friend like he gets represented by much of fandom, but has been incredibly loyal throughout the series, even after Rand kinda starts being an asshole to him). So this will be interesting for me, to see how much I may have remembered or forgotten.

1. So this first section of the prologue seems mostly about setting up the Bad Vibes that are coming with the Last Battle. A farmer in the Borderlands sees strange clouds, has a vision, and decides it’s time to turn his scythe into a weapon (along with other people around him). I assume this is Rand being unwittingly ta’veren at people en masse, inspiring them to head north to help with the Last Battle (though that begs... several questions).

2. *sigh* Once again, we are all about being inside the slavers’ heads and not caring about the slaves. Next PoV section is a sul’dam. I am just... tired of sul’dam at this point. Okay, anyway, they’re freaking out because their damane have been shielded by Rand. This is apparently an extension of Rand’s ending scene in KoD, from the PoV of one of the sul’dam of that battle, because she talks about Rand losing his hand and then “picking it up like a glove”. I’m gonna try to get past my now-instinctive annoyance with all things Seanchan and see if I can figure out the purpose of this scene.

3. “The promise of freedom might be part of some scheme” seems like such a twisted line to put into the mouth of a slaver, just saying. “Freedom” for her but not for the women that she views as tools and pets.

4. Again it is so frustrating that Nynaeve doesn’t spill the sul’dam secret here, just like it was frustrating at the end of Knife of Dreams! She wants to heal the injured damane, she hates that Rand is sending them back into slavery, so why is she giving a helping hand to the Seanchan Empire by not spilling the damn sul’dam secret to the Dragon Reborn? And the sul’dam likely wouldn’t even believe her, at least not now, so it’s not like the actual scene would change that much! (but Rand would believe her and then maybe he would have some options) Jordan was stacking the deck as hard in favor of the Seanchan as possible and he also just HATED anyone sharing useful information with Rand ever, at any time.

5. Yeah, this scene was definitely written by Jordan because I’m getting just as pissed off about Rand’s storyline as I was at the end of Knife of Dreams, lol. I feel like I could have guessed this scene was by Jordan even if I didn’t already know, because I am so annoyed at Nynaeve carrying around the Idiot Ball of protesting against Rand’s decision but not giving him any reasons to make a different one, even though SHE KNOWS THINGS that he doesn’t know. This is definitely Jordan’s CoT/KoD energy. Just. Talk to Rand. About the actionable information that you have! Rather than refusing because Women Only Talk About Important Things To Women and Men Only Talk About Important Things To Men. I am hitting you with a pillow in my head, Nynaeve. Please know that.

6. ...what the actual fuck. Rand is completely letting the Seanchan off the hook for being terrible and blaming everything on Semirhage (”I rest more easily, now”). What the fuck? They are still SLAVERS, Rand. Anyway, he talks here about how he MUST have peace which... I’ve talked about this before but giving Rand this attitude kinda completely nullifies any plot need for Mat to marry Tuon. Rand is already prepared to roll over for the Seanchan, with no need for a marriage tie to convince him. The Mat-Tuon marriage is just so completely pointless in every possible way, because Rand was willing to bend regardless and ready to hand Tuon the keys to the kingdom, essentially.

7. ...have I mentioned recently that I really hate the direction that Jordan decided to go with the Seanchan in CoT & KoD? Man, it was such an intense and interesting storyline with fascinating (though horrific) throughlines all the way through Winter’s Heart, and then Jordan salted the cake instead of using sugar and now the whole storyline is just... inedible and deserves nothing but being tossed in the trash.

8. On the plus side, the sul’dam doesn’t think about the male a’dam even once, so it’s possible that Semirhage actually DID duplicate them herself and Rand was able to confiscate her entire stash, leaving none for Slaver Overlord back in Ebou Dar. On the minus side... everything else in this scene.

9. Oh, it’s Tylee. Perrin’s slaver BFF and the person that he sold 200+ women to. If you’ll recall from Knife of Dreams, he’s chill that she’s a slaver because she was nice to him personally and helped him out, so he didn’t care about what she might be doing to anyone else because slavery is just too hard to fight, y’all. Perrin Aybara: moral integrity of swiss cheese. Anyway, it’s been two weeks, Tylee’s missing her BFF and hoping she doesn’t have to face him across a battlefield later on; echoes of Mat & Tuon lol. Oh, yeah, and the hauntings that Elayne & her people were experiencing in Knife of Dreams (I think) are affecting the Seanchan now too. It is a little funny that, because of when they landed, Tylee & lots of the Seanchan just think that the Westlands is a place where food rots really really quickly, not knowing that it’s the Dark One’s touch.

10. Oh, nice the Seanchan army gets attacked by Trollocs! Sweet move by the Dark One. I approve. This is like when the gholam killed Tylin. I can’t imagine why I would possibly be upset that the invading slaver army is getting killed off by the ‘bad guys’. Theory time: before Jordan decided to go all-in on alliances, turning the Seanchan army into chaos makes sense as to where he was potentially planning to go with them, at least for me? We’ve seen the results of a complete breakdown of society among the Aiel, and seeing that begin among the Seanchan as a result of the sul’dam secret being openly revealed would have a great deal of sense as a plotline, and it would have taken them out of the equation so that Rand wasn’t fighting battles on two fronts. There’s not really any need for the Seanchan troops to bolster the Westland troops in the Last Battle -- the Dark One literally only has as many people/Shadowspawn fighting on its side as the author decides. That’s a completely flexible number.

idk idk, it’s hard to say where Jordan was planning to go with the plotline originally except it feels like he radically changed his mind between Winter’s Heart and Crossroads of Twilight.

11. Checking in with Graendal. Let’s see... her deal was that she was sowing chaos by sending very bad orders to Ituralde by pretending they were from his king, and then Moridin snatched her up and said she had to work for him now. This section essentially works as a catch-up on the Plot Thus Far from the Forsaken’s point of view. Okay, the purpose of the Forsaken gathering is that Mesaana and Demandred want to rescue Semirhage from Rand. Demandred seems to care more about getting to Lews Therin/Rand than actually saving Semirhage, though. Anyway, Moridin is pissed off (his hand hurts lol) and tells them that they are absolutely NOT to rescue Semirhage under any circumstances. After Mesaana and Demandred leave, he lets Graendal know that Rand is going to Arad Doman and that she must make certain that he does not establish peace there (but don’t hurt him or kill him).

12. Oh, nice, Ituralde pulled a reverse Trojan Horse on the Seanchan army that was going after him. (this is the... northern front of the Seanchan? The northwestern front?) Though, honestly, it’s almost frustrating to see him still doing so well when I know his PASSIONATE AND SINCERE DEFENSE OF HIS HOME ends up getting cut off at the knees because We Must Ally With The Slavers At All Costs. I bet if someone told Ituralde about the sul’dam secret, he’d have been able to do something useful with it.

13. Sanderson gets rid of the first of many dangling plot threads by having Faile unceremoniously kill Masema rather than dragging that story out any longer. Good for her, etc. Done and dusted. I do have to laugh a little bit about Faile telling everyone not to tell Perrin, because Perrin can sell two hundred women into slavery but isn’t willing to kill a man who has created a murderous cult (despite being fully willing to kill people at other times). I mean, that does track with how he behaved in the last few books.

14. And now we are out of the prologue and into the main story, starting with a Rand PoV. We pick up with him in Arad Doman, where he can feel that Aviendha is getting closer. I find it... somewhat sad that this section here is the first time we’ve really gotten Rand thinking in depth on the bonding, at least from what I recall. Elayne bonded Rand with the three of them back in Winter’s Heart and we NEVER got Rand’s emotional reaction to that (or his emotional reaction to sleeping with Elayne!). He notes their worry and thinks that he can’t regret letting them bond him, even though he should. And he thinks about how he’s ‘using’ Min here, which is a very interesting tie-in (for me) to his regrets about ‘using’ Mat back in The Fires of Heaven (Min has sometimes superficially felt like “a Mat that Rand is allowed to sleep with” at times, in terms of how she’s been treated in the story -- lots of knives, has protested they aren’t a hero, treated as an emotional connection to Rand’s past, though that feels a lot more honest for Mat than Min). In terms of the “Min forcing herself into a pleasing mold for Rand” watch, we learn that she’s recently taken to bathing with lavender soaps. Rand notes that he finds it somewhat odd that Min dresses up her trousers & shirts with lace... which is hilarious, because she’s literally only doing it for him and his internal thought on it is “???”. Hey, Min. Maybe if you. Maybe if you had a conversation with Rand about your relationship, you’d find out that he liked you just fine the way you were, before you started making yourself miserable and dolling yourself up for him every day. Just a thought.

15. It’s so hilarious that Min manages to sound jealous when talking about how Rand is thinking about Semirhage, the Forsaken who is currently his prisoner. She’s got a gift. “You’re thinking about her again.” I would have respected Min so much more as a character if she’d just shanked Semirhage herself and then dealt with the fallout of how that affected her relationship with Rand. Honestly, what is the point of all her hidden knives if NOT to kill someone unexpectedly. But Min is very much a reactive/passive character when it comes to plot beats, so she just worries uselessly instead and damsels around the place.

16. He takes a moment to think about Elayne and what he can sense of her emotions from this far away -- he thinks that she’s relieved, which makes him hope that she’s won the throne, or closer to it. Okay, at this point in time, Rand is thinking about how he needs to make a truce with the Seanchan for the Last Battle but “after that, the Light could burn them all”. So Rand isn’t currently operating under any kind of belief at this point that the Seanchan aren’t worth fighting. He actually.. and I’m curious if this is from Jordan’s notes or if this bit was pre-written or if it’s all Sanderson, because I don’t think Jordan ever has Rand think about this clearly in the earlier books, but here it’s clear that the reason Rand believes full-bore that he MUST have peace with the Seanchan is because of what the ‘Finn told him (honestly, between this and Mat’s marriage prophecy, the ‘Finn carried a lot of water for the Seanchan -- I guess we shouldn’t be surprised that 'Finn, some of whom wear human skin, are fans of slavers, lol). That does make his choice here more understandable -- Rand has been prophecy-obsessed for books -- but it still means that Mat’s marriage is completely pointless from a narrative or tactical standpoint, lol. I wonder if that’s why Jordan decided to go for a ~romance~ angle for Mat? Because he realized that he’d voided out the narrative and tactical reasons, but the prophecy was already out there in the text, so he kinda had to figure out a new angle?

17. Hey. Hey, Min. You also know the sul’dam secret. You’ve been hanging out with Rand since Lord of Chaos and banging him since A Crown of Swords, and are really the one person who has most intimately witnessed how incredibly difficult this entire war against the Seanchan has been for him and how he’s failed at trying to stop them... could you maybe give him some useful information between all the sex? Maybe take a break from telling Rand’s secrets to Cadsuane and tell the Seanchan’s secrets to Rand instead. Just a thought.

18. Next up is Egwene, and serving Elaida this night at dinner. Ah, the first sentence is a reminder of all the corporal punishment that happens at the White Tower. And we can’t even blame this on Elaida, because the White Tower was like this before, and back twenty years ago in New Spring. And the Wise Ones are like this too. This was very much a Jordan thing (likely carried over from how he ‘learned’ at the Citadel). Note that even Egwene doesn’t think that beating your students is actually a bad thing in any way. She sees herself still crying when she gets beaten as a personal weakness that she needs to train out of herself, but thinks that Silviana is just ~doing her duty~ when she beats people to the point of tears.

19. Egwene is doing her best to point out the dissent and cracks that already exist in the Tower as a result of Elaida’s leadership, and feels like she’s getting through to people. Egwene is still getting forkroot every day, and almost always has two Red Ajah Sisters as ~guards~, specifically Katerine and Barasine, it sounds like, who are part of the group who captured her originally. Egwene has also been doing what she can to remind the Tower of Elaida’s ‘failures’ (like not successfully capturing Rand, and the failure of her force that was sent to subdue to the Black Tower). We also learn that the Dark One’s touch is increasing here too, with hallways shifting locations and now an actual tapestry changing to be more violent and bloody. Egwene has learned the wisdom of not stretching herself too thin - “ You scrubbed a floor clean by first picking a single spot and getting to work”.

20. As Egwene is arriving Elaida’s quarters, a ‘haunted’ Gray Sister is leaving. Is this the ‘ferret’ sent from Salidar who got commandered by the Black Ajah hunters and blackmailed into honeytrapping Elaida?

21. lol, the Amrylin’s quarters that Egwene imagines that Siuan must have had sound way more ~spy-focused~ than I remember Siuan’s quarters actually being. She had the one box that was set to destroy important papers if anyone else opened it, I think, and then just simple furnishings for the rest.

22. Egwene being certain that she would have taken Green (which is also the Ajah she pretended to be in Cairhien) -- honestly, would not pick that Ajah for her and it really feels like it’s left-over from Jordan basically deciding that Green is the Liking Men Ajah and Red is the Hating Men Ajah and everyone else is chopped liver, lol. Egwene just does not vibe Green for me at all! Brown for love of learning, White for finding legal loopholes, or Blue for ~vibes~ and dedicating herself to a cause all seem like they would suit her better. But she wants to marry the man she’d like to take as a Warder so... Green it is.

23. Oh, yeah, the Gray sister is Meidani, and Egwene recognizes her name as belonging to one of the ‘ferrets’, and Egwene is here to be Elaida’s server at her dinner date with poor Meidani, who deserved better than being blackmailed into spending time with Elaida. Egwene notes that Meidani looks terrified! (does Elaida not notice Meidani’s fear because she’s self-centered or does she enjoy it because she’s sadistic? the question of the hour. Ah, soon answered. She’s enjoying Meidani’s fear).

24. When Meidani mentions that some Sisters are worrying over the Seanchan (a worry that Elaida dismisses), we get a vivid reminder from Egwene’s memories of how hellish her experience with the Seanchan was and how monstrous they are to women who can channel -- she STILL gets PTSD flashbacks from her time in the collar and has not-too-deeply-buried trauma from it. I genuinely wish I could go back in time and get Jordan to answer some pointed questions about what the POINT of all this was? It’s so weird to me that the ‘boys’ and the ‘girls’ are being given such RADICALLY different vibes in their respective Seanchan-related interactions, starting in Crossroads of Twilight (Mat’s vibes with them are pretty horror-based in Winter’s Heart). Was it meant to be a critique on how so-called ‘good’ people are actually sometimes willing to support evil as long as the evil doesn’t hit close enough to home? But the evil SHOULD have been hitting close enough to home, at least for Rand and Mat, because Mat and Rand both care deeply about specific women who can channel! Mat grew up with Egwene & Nynaeve; he had a whole book about becoming friends with Elayne; he knows that his little sister can channel! Rand is literally IN LOVE with two women who can channel! Just... ???

25. Egwene blames Elaida here for everything that’s gone wrong and... eh. Elaida IS a bad leader but she was put into place as an unwitting puppet by the Black Ajah (so she foils/mirrors both Egwene and Rand -- Rand worries a lot in the early books that he will be turned into a puppet, and Egwene was raised to Amyrlin Seat with the intention of being used as a puppet), so removing Elaida might help a bit, but removing the Black Ajah would help more.

26. I like Egwene’s moment with Meidani here a lot -- she reassures her, gives her something solid to stand on to give her a bit of courage, validates the trauma that Meidani has undergone during her time back in the White Tower. This is a really good little moment here, that shows Egwene as a genuinely good leader. And I also like Egwene using deep breathing to help herself calm her own anger.

27. Serving Elaida at dinner has changed Egwene’s focus -- it’s more important (in her PoV) to keep her attention on holding the Tower together rather than removing Elaida from power, as she believes that Elaida will overreach and remove herself from power. I mean, again... I kinda gotta give Egwene an “eh” on this analysis too. Elaida has been able to force a LOT of things into being that go against Tower custom, so I’m not so sure as Egwene is that she would eventually just go ‘too far’ and get pulled down by the Hall.

28. It’s interesting to me that Rand laughing in the box during Lord of Chaos was meant to mark an internal ‘breaking’ point for him & LTT but Egwene laughing while being beaten is meant to mark an internal ‘breakthrough’ (in a positive way). Honestly not sure what it means in the narrative tbh. It’s positioned here as Egwene finally understanding what embracing pain means (as the Aiel say to do).

29. We go from Egwene Thinking Like An Aiel (TM) to an Aviendha chapter. Aw, it’s sweet that Aviendha is trying to see the Domani refugees from Elayne’s perspective and not just her own. We also once again here have the vibe of Rand-Elayne-Aviendha being one complete relationship (with Rand-Min being a completely separate relationship). That’s really the vibe that Rafe needs to break down in order to make the four-person relationship not feel like a harem. Because here, Aviendha thinks about how she plans to marry Rand with Elayne and doesn’t spare a single thought for Min (and why would she, tbh? she’s met Min ONCE). But it’s just so weird that there’s a narrative expectation that Aviendha and Elayne need to be close and be first-sisters in order to both be with Rand, but Min can do whatever and is never touched by the limits or cultural rules that bind other people or even by Rand’s own protectiveness. Min doesn’t need to be Aviendha’s first-sister; Min doesn’t fall under the category of “avoid her to protect her”. That contributes both to the harem vibes of Min being a completely separate relationship, and also to the vibes of Min being a plot device instead of a character that other people might actually interact with and have expectations about.

30. Honestly, this whole song-and-dance about how Aviendha can’t approach Rand until she ~earns honor~ just feels kinda silly. Rand, Aviendha, Elayne, and Min all CONFESSED THEIR LOVE and BONDED. She is INSIDE HIS HEAD. It’s just plain silly that she’s been moved into Rand’s plotline and proceeds to completely avoid him (and equally silly that Rand just passively allows Aviendha to avoid him while having sex with Min every night... sadly, it’s completely in character for Min to jealously hoard Rand. So far, Min has had one moment of selflessness in this entire relationship and, even then, she ended up being the person who has benefited the most from bonding Rand). This is a place where I do think that Jordan might have written things differently, simply because it makes zero sense to send Rand, Aviendha, & Min all to Arad Doman if it’s not to actually forge together that specific neglected side of the relationship. Aviendha and Min should be bonding! Rand and Aviendha should be spending time together (including sex! Aviendha doesn’t have hang-ups about sex before marriage and now things are good with Elayne, so it should be go time). Aviendha going to the place where Rand is only to not hang out with Rand at all is... just a bizarre narrative choice (especially when we get to The Event later on; at that point it’s ridiculous that Aviendha wouldn’t come running).

31. Okay, as the Aiel approach the place where Rand is, Amys... sort of grills Aviendha, and we get this weird “Min will be easy to work with/we will reach accommodation” conversation where they feel more like they’re going to be business partners than sharing in a romantic relationship with the same person. Again, yeah, it’s just so weird that Min exists in this odd bubble all on her own. Aviendha believed that she and Elayne NEEDED to be first-sisters in order to share Rand, but Min is just... idk, going to be over there somewhere, I guess. I do like Aviendha’s semi-annoyed thoughts that she loves Rand because of HER choice, not because of Min’s viewing. This is a major reason why I like Aviendha’s relationship with Rand more than Min’s with Rand. Min-Rand (and, of course, Mat-Tuon) is very much “prophecy first and then force the love to happen by brainwashing yourself into it because you don’t think you have a choice” and I’m... not into that vibe, essentially.

32. I like the actual tone and vibe of Aviendha’s PoV here -- I just feel like it should have been followed up with actual Rand-Aviendha interactions in this book. This PoV itself actually vibes really well with Egwene’s last PoV and I definitely see why they decided to place them next to each other.

33. Oh, hey, @markantonys - I’m at your boy’s first PoV chapter in this book! lol, anyway, Gawyn is watching some of the... rebels’ army? It sounds like. I’m pretty sure he has zero clue that Egwene has been captured by the White Tower. Pretty sure he’s on an information diet. Gawyn does know that the general he’s faced against here is Gareth Bryne. Gawyn is struggling with his duty. Gawyn really is... he kinda is one of the purest examples of someone who is actually faced with what we’re constantly told Rand is bringing to everyone everywhere -- the emotional turmoil and chaos amid breaking old ties and forging new ones. Because Gawyn thinks here that Bryne ‘should’ be with Elayne in Caemlyn, then immediately asks himself, well, where should I be?

34. This actually continues the theme from Egwene through Aviendha and now to Gawyn -- so far, we’ve had a series of characters considering themselves, their duty, their honor, and their strengths. Questioning the foundations of what they know about themselves. Egwene ‘finds’ herself through embracing pain and dedicating herself to her duty; Aviendha wonders why the Wise Ones treat her as if she has no honor; Gawyn thinks here -- he wasn’t certain he had duty, or honor, left to him.

35. Anyway, I’m glad that Gawyn has slowed down enough to give himself a chance to actually, um. Think. His duty is to Elayne and Egwene, he thinks here, so why is he on the side that is opposed to them? SUCH a good question, Gawyn. He’s thinking through why Elaida might have put him here, outside the city, when his Younglings can’t possibly actually make a dent in the rebels’ army. The gears in his head are turning! Genuinely, I am very pleased, lol. Will of the Amrylin or not, this was a deathtrap. Argh, no, after all that thinking and questioning, he rides back to his camp. GAWYN. YOU WERE SO CLOSE.

36. Rand next. “What he wanted no longer mattered.” Hmm. Rand is thinking about this in the context of how he is constantly surrounded by Aes Sedai these days but. Hmm. Rand thinks about Mat, as you do, and is given a vision of Mat dicing. Rand hopes that they will be reunited soon. I am stabbing the narrative with shearing scissors.

37. So, Rand is currently hanging out with Bashere. Whose wife was almost killed recently. And who then agreed to talk to a mysterious person because his wife almost died. I’m just putting that out there.

38. I genuinely loved Rand’s conversation with Harine here. It felt like it had give-and-take, though we can see how Rand is definitely on the edge of exhaustion and impatient, and it’s nice to have a Sea Folk character who is actually having a conversation with someone instead of just trying to browbeat them. He asks her how the Atha’an Miere handle men who can channel and then (when he finds out that, unsurprisingly, it’s a death sentence, either immediate or somewhat lingering) tries to talk to her about saidin being clean now and how that means that the way people treat male channelers needs to be changed. Literally! Why did it take so long for any conversations about this to happen in the books? Why was Rand just lazing around for two books post-cleansing when he could have been doing PR like this? Again, yeah, I really like this conversation! He believes he’s going to die at Shayol Ghul, so he’s not doing this for himself. He’s doing this for the other men who are like him, and all the ones who will follow. This is a really good moment. And we can see the turmoil (and the LTT memories!) in Rand in this moment, as he tries to convince her that saidin is clean and that more men don’t need to die to protect the world (just him). And it feels like we’re really getting into his head so far, re: LTT’s memories and him thinking about the bonding earlier.

39. Literally this chapter of Rand’s PoV has been TUGGING at my HEARTSTRINGS. Rand worrying that his death will lead to destruction and turmoil among the nations because he’s strung them so tightly together! Regretting that he didn’t help the world during the last breaking because he was so consumed by what he’d done and his grief and guilt over Ilyena! Rand worried about men who can channel still facing hatred and death sentences! Rand talking with Elza (lol) and Corele about the taint being gone and yet people not acting as if it is and Corele being frank and honest but also KIND with him. And we ARE still on theme from the previous three chapters -- duty is heavier than a mountain. Rand thinks here about how duty binds him as tightly as prophecy does. And Rand’s thoughts here on wanting to leave the world a better place very much echo Egwene’s thoughts on how she wants to focus on holding the White Tower together and rebuilding it rather than being arrow-focused on bringing down Elaida. Your duty is to the future and not the past.

40. I don’t care about Semirhage’s interrogation by Cadsuane because Semirhage should have just been killed at the end of Knife of Dreams. Things in the section that I DO care about -- how is Merise and Narishma’s relationship as Aes Sedai & bonded Asha’man going? Oooh, Cadsuane feels like Merise is ~flaunting~ having an Asha’man Warder. Going well, then? Seems to be going well enough.

41. See, I do like Ituralde’s PoV sections but... they should have been Mat’s. MAT should be the main general/soldier PoV that we see. Mat should never have been yeeted off into the Seanchan storyline; it’s just been so ill-fitting and annoying, and Jordan had to introduce a new PoV character just to give us the “war sucks” kind of storyline that Mat’s memories and situation were literally invented to give us. Mat just... every time he leaves a storyline, he leaves such big holes that require MULTIPLE people to try to patch up and fill. When he left Rand, he needed to be replaced by both Bashere and Min. When he left Elayne, there was a whole completely random army and ~dashing commander~ who showed up who had never been mentioned before to fill the spot in her plotline that would have been better suited to Mat & the Band. And Mat should have been the general fighting AGAINST the Seanchan and coming up with clever tactics against them, not the court jester capering for the slaver overlord’s disdainful amusement. Endless, ENDLESS sighs over the direction that Jordan decided to go with Mat’s plotline.

42. “Abandoning ones’ homeland to invaders... well, Ituralde couldn’t do that. Not even if the fight was impossible to win.” Honor and duty, even onto death. The theme continues. The note here, “the ravens had begun” (their work of eating the carrion of the battlefield) - perhaps is the reason that Jordan decided to make the Seanchan’s main symbol the same as the Shadow’s - the Prince of Ravens is the prince of the butcher’s bill after a battle (which possibly also leads into another name). 

(to borrow the question Gawyn asked himself -- where is YOUR honor, Mat? where is your duty? It’s not in the arms of the woman who invaded your homeland, despises your friends, would enslave your family. Cords of duty and prophecy but, while in Rand’s case, both prophecy and duty drag him towards Shayol Ghul, in Mat’s case, they each pull in opposite directions. Duty, loyalty, and honor say that he should be by Rand’s side during the Last Battle. Prophecy demands he abandon his homeland to allow it to be ripped apart by the ravens. So, Mat, why does your prophecy ask that you abandon duty, loyalty and honor... and why do you allow yourself to follow that prophecy when it tells you to sacrifice everything to the blood-soaked avatar of war and death? where is your duty, Mat Cauthon?)

43. lol, I feel like this bit here with Leane and Egwene is Sanderson poking at one of Jordan’s oddities/kinks -- “Odd, how a novice to be instructed could be beaten but a prisoner to be interrogated could not.” IT REALLY IS, Sanderson. It really is. (I mean, it could be Jordan poking fun at himself but. It kinda vibes like someone else) Anyway, the Weird Relocations caused by the Dark One are increasing. That’s the main thing in this section.

Notes for this section: it’s confirmed in Sanderson’s retrospective that the first two parts of the prologue -- the farmer and the sul’dam -- were written by Jordan.

#wot reread #the gathering storm #wot #wheel of time #wot book spoilers #wot spoilers #the wheel of time #rand al'thor #egwene al'vere #aviendha #gawyn trakand #i also manage to talk about #mat cauthon #despite him not appearing in this section

[saints-who-never-existed]

Rereading The Terror

Chapter Forty: Peglar

It's difficult to say what Peglar is more surprised by at the start of this chapter, the grisly sight of Irving's entrails on the ground or that he's been chosen by Crozier to come out on this fact-finding excursion in the first place. They're quite a big party all together. There's Lt. Little, Mr Johnson (lasher of Hickey et al, I believe), Mr Farr, Dr. Goodsir, Lt. Le Vesconte, First Mate Robert Thomas, and a compliment of four Marines - Pearson, Hopcraft, Healey & Pilkington. "Harry Peglar hoped he was not flattering himself to think that, for whatever reason, Captain Crozier had chosen people he trusted for this outing. Malcontents and incompetents had been left behind at Terror Camp; the sea lawyer Hickey heading up a detail to dig Lieutenant Irving's grave..."

Hodgson is there also. I initially got hyped up thinking he'd been left behind with the 'malcontents and incompetents' but I still find it interesting that he's very separated indeed from that list of trusted men.

Peglar reflects on how fucked Crozier looks ("as if his eyes were ready to bleed") and about the effects of scurvy he himself is already feeling. He's shitting blood, covered in bruises, and loses more teeth every time he tries to brush them. Most notably, he hasn't told any of this to Bridgens yet. :(((

They head down to the valley where the dead Netsilik lie. For all he was a brain-foggy mess before, Hodgson is clearly more on the ball here and notes immediately that someone has returned to the site and moved both objects and bodies.

Once there, Goodsir settles down to autopsy some stomachs for evidence of seal meat consumption. Peglar likens his medical tools to an ice saw and no less than three of the Marines have to look away from the sight of it for squeamishness...

We are then treated to this outstanding and rightly famous conversation: "This group had so much food with them," said Lieutenant le Vesconte. "Imagine how much the main hunting party might have with them. We might be able to feed all one hundred and five of us." Lieutenant Little smiled over his breath-rimed coat collars. "Would you like to be the one to walk into their village or larger hunting party and politely ask them for some food or hunting advice? Now? After this?" Little gestured toward the sprawled, frozen bodies and patches of red on the snow."

Hodgson is also very much back on his bullshit, convinced the Netsilik will return and kill the Expedition in their sleep. Peglar is not at all impressed, wondering "if he would become unmanned like this if and when [?] he saw a spectacle similar to what Hodgson had seen..."

Goodsir finds what he was looking for ("[snapping] the frozen stomach contents into smaller bits with an audible crack") and announces it to the rest of the men, who are then sworn by Crozier to the strictest secrecy.

Peglar mulls everything over as they make their return to Terror Camp. He anticipates writing it down in his famous papers but what he wants even more is to talk it over with Bridgens. "He wanted to hear what his dear wise Bridgens might have to say about all this." :')))

#The Terror #The Terror AMC #Observations #Random Observations #Meta #Rereading The Terror #Terror Spoilers #Harry Peglar #Francis Crozier #George Hodgson #Henry Le Vesconte #Dundy #Harry Goodsir #Edward Little #John Bridgens

[whilereadingandwalking]

On October 4 at the Newberry Library, Lauren Groff (Fates and Furies) and Rebecca Makkai (The Great Believers) came together for a conversation about craft. The event was part of the Writers on Writing series presented in partnership with StoryStudio Chicago.

Groff is currently on book tour for The Vaster Wilds, which she says is a historical fiction triptych made up of three books “singing in different registers about how we got where we are.” In 2019, she threw all three books into her editor’s lap and “ran away crying.” She wanted to “send three books across time, sort of skipping a stone,” all in their own ways examining women in religion and nature.

For both writers, each book is purposefully very different from the last. Makkai even feels that she has to almost detonate the last book with the new one, shift completely. Themes might emerge from their books, but it’s not something they actively push for—you tell a story, and the bigger vision will appear. Groff tries not to over-intellectualize her books for risk of “killing” them. As long as you “write into your urgencies,” she says, patterns will inevitably appear across your work.

Groff has a unique drafting process, which she attributes partially to her OCD and the need to work both with and around it. To break her perfectionism, she writes her drafts long-hand, straight through, no editing. She can’t read her own handwriting, so there’s little rereading: when she’s done, she puts that draft in a box, and starts over. What she remembers is what will be important—what she cuts provides a meaningful backbone to what she keeps. “By breaking, I’m building,” she says. Each draft builds on the last.

Makkai noted that Groff scatters omniscience throughout her books, using it in unexpected moments. “For me,” Groff explains, “omniscience is a way of disrupting the linear timeline.” If a protagonist lives step by step, an omniscient voice breaks through vertically, like spikes, shaking up the storyline, reminding the reader that the character is just one person in a big world. 

Omniscience isn’t a popular point-of-view these days, and Groff has a theory about why. “I’m attracted to omniscience always, and I actually think it’s because I was raised in a Godly family,” she says. People are afraid of God nowadays, and their secular distrust and faith in the individual experience lead them to believe that 1st person POV is the most stable, truthful one to use.

Makkai’s students nowadays are drawn to polyphonic, multi-person perspectives in their novels, incorporating more and more voices. She wonders if, to Groff’s point, as we as a society decide that only the individual can faithfully transmit their own experience, and we work to privilege more and more voices, if students are attracted to including as many voices as possible rather than shift into what they might feel is a more prescriptive 3rd person POV.

Sometimes, writing a book itself can be a religious experience. Every time Groff writes a novel, there’s a point when “the world is sort of shrinking into the book, and then, the book blooms outward”—and suddenly everything you see is part of the book. Makkai says that she knows her book is ready and good when she’s clearing her mind during yoga, letting all thoughts go, and what’s left is the book. 

#writing #writing advice #writing community #rebecca makkai #lauren groff #the vaster wilds #book events

[firstelevens]

ok definitely sighing at myself this time, sambucky, NOT the hands one, the one about waking up in the morning you're welcome

19. the way you sound in the morning

(now on AO3)

Bucky is on his second cup of coffee and three chapters into The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy when Sam finally stirs beside him, mumbling something unintelligible into the pillow before blearily opening one eye.

He immediately shuts it again. “S’too bright,” he says, turning his face back into the pillow. “Why?”

“Well, there’s this big star in the sky called the sun…” Bucky starts, and breaks off laughing as Sam shoves his thigh. 

He covers Sam’s hand with his own and answers the question that he was actually asking. “I turned off your alarm. You got flung into the side of a spaceship yesterday; I figured you could stand to skip your morning run just this once.”

He hears Sam huff into the pillow before turning his head again, squinting against the light. “Betty,” he says through a yawn. “The- the thing. The jam.”

“I called Miss Betty, who called Miss Harriet, who called her nephew. It’s already been dropped off.”

Sam relaxes a little, slumping back against the pillow. Bucky picks up his coffee again and turns back to his book, trying hard not to smile when Sam makes a little noise of confusion as Bucky’s hand moves away from his.

He’d be hard pressed to choose, but if he had to pick, he thinks this might be his favorite version of Sam. The rest of the world gets Captain America, upstanding and decisive and always moving; friends and family get Sam Wilson, warm and silly and ready with a listening ear or a helping hand. Bucky’s the only one who gets to see this Sam, and that, too, only on the rare slow morning when the world hasn’t beaten down their door for one reason or another.

It’s a familiar enough routine. Bucky stays where he is, head bowed over his book, rereading the same sentence over and over until the mattress jostles as Sam sits up. Half a moment later, there’s warmth at his back and arms around his waist, Sam’s forehead pressed into the crook of his neck.

He doesn’t say anything, just wordlessly grumbles into Bucky’s t-shirt. It will never stop being funny to Bucky that–for all his pre-dawn exercise routines and chipper 7 AM briefings at the Compound–Sam is emphatically not a morning person. (It will also never stop making Bucky’s stupid heart stutter a little that Sam is comfortable enough to not-be-a-morning-person around him, but he’s learned to expect that by now.)

“You can go back to sleep if you want,” he murmurs, turning a page he definitely didn’t read. “AJ’s game isn’t until four.”

Sam shakes his head against Bucky’s shoulder. “I’m awake,” he says, his voice still a little rough with sleep. “I’m up.”

Bucky snorts. “Sure you are, sweetheart.”

Even half-asleep, Sam is still a menace: he retaliates with a nip to Bucky’s jaw and almost makes him spill his coffee.

As Bucky yelps and sets the mug on the nightstand, he feels rather than hears Sam let out a quiet laugh. He’s loose-limbed against Bucky’s back, none of the usual weight sitting on his shoulders, and Bucky wonders if he could get away with turning off Sam’s alarm a little more often. 

“You’re lucky that wasn’t my first cup,” he says, nudging Sam’s side.

“You’d forgive me if it was,” says Sam. He punctuates it with a kiss, right over where the line of his shoulder meets the vibranium, and Bucky is inclined to agree. There’s still a touch of that sleepy growl coloring his voice when he asks, “Long night?”

Bucky shrugs the shoulder that Sam hasn’t staked a claim on. “It was fine. Alpine kept me company; we watched cartoons.”

It’s a mark of how far they’ve come that Sam just hums in acknowledgment. “Bet she was thrilled,” he says. “Your undivided attention? For hours on end? It’s all she could ever want.”

“Strong words, from a man who basically slapped away my coffee cup because I stopped holding his hand.”

All at once, Sam seems to come awake. One second, he’s mumbling sleepily into Bucky’s shirt, the next second he’s tackling him to the bed, a full smirk on his face as he pins Bucky in place.

“Next time,” he says, plucking Hitchhiker’s Guide from Bucky’s hands, “try to make sure that the book you’re baiting me with is right side up.”

Bucky feels a flush creep up his neck, but at this point, it’s hard to tell whether that’s from embarrassment or the way Sam is looking at him, laughter and heat and tenderness all tangled together.

He grins back unapologetically. “Still worked.”

That would be Sam’s cue to kiss him, but instead he hesitates, looks from the book in his hand to Bucky and back. “Am I going to lose your place in this if I throw it?”

Bucky grabs the book and flings it somewhere behind him. He’s still laughing when he finally pulls Sam down for a kiss.

#I don't know what happened here y'all I blacked out and this appeared #sambucky #zainab does ask meme things #this is me practicing the theory of 'if it sucks hit da bricks' by abandoning the prompt that was giving me trouble in favor of this #my fic #Sam x Bucky #philtstone #phil I know this is not ur flavor at all and I do apologize for that #taylor swift prompt fics

[charliespringverse]

iwbft – saturday: a brief summary of my annotations

all highlighted quotes: 80

· ouch/ow/owie: 5

· real/felt/relatable/so true: 1

· aroace: 0

· ☹/☹☹/☹☹☹: 3

'I'm not! It's just... you're more fragile than ... than ...' 'What? than you and Lister?' — i'd say it's a fairly even split tbf

I just realised ...that... there's nothing happy or good in the world... nothing that is truly good or truly happy...' — everyone in this book would benefit from some therapy

'Happy birthday, Jim, Happy birthday, my guy, Love from Lister and Ro, Your best pals till we die' — I LOVE THEM !!!!!!!!

'You were the only person apart from Jimmy and Lister who saw me as normal,' — agony x

I want to be more than this. I am more than this.' 'You are. You always were.' — i need to be shot

"Why, yes, hello, I am here, and I've just split up with my boyfriend. I'm single and ready to mingle.' Rowan shouts "Too soon!' from the kitchen. — would die 4 them

Wait, she's sorry? But this was my fault, wasn't it? — i mean she's not been Spectacular this week

And the three of us laugh. And I imagine this must be what it's like to have real friends. — god i could actually sob over this line. i cross fingers they remained besties post-canon

You're part of my truth.' He blinks. 'You're part of mine too.' — makes me feral

'Do what? What could I possibly do to you that's worse than what you're doing to me?' — FUCKING OW?

You don't have it, do you? I ask her with my eyes. She shakes her head at me. — nonverbal communication sets my brain on fire (/pos?)

Are we all going to be trapped here forever, kept still by in- decision? No one doing exactly what they want? Wouldn't be much different to being back in the band, would it. — my feelings are hurt

'You're only nineteen. Not dead yet!' 'Nineteen years too old.' I laugh at him but can't help hearing the slight sincerity in his voice. — THERAPY. PLEASE.

For a moment I think he might want to kiss me again, but instead he just presses his head into the crook of my neck, nestling his cheek on my shoulder, and wraps his arms round my shoulders. He smells vaguely smoky, and a little of alcohol, but he feels so warm. — they ♡

It's my fault that Lister is gone. He's been hinting at not being okay again and again and again. — i find it v interesting the way jimmy's claustrophobic narration puts the reader in the same self-absorbed position – like the shit that seems obvious in a reread slips by at first

'Choose, then,' says Jimmy. Stay or go.' — parallels innit

'We'll find him,' she says to me as we run, and it's like a real- life angel has promised, a real-life angel knows exactly what is going to happen for the rest of time.' — she sees him as a holy figure until she knows him, he views her as such After knowing her

#sorry this is late pride was such a day #anyway get well soon lister #iwbftreread

[veliseraptor]

i was not!tagged by @feralkwe and decided this looked like fun so

Rules: Go to your published works on AO3 and list the first fic you ever published there, the last fic you published, any fic that you wrote for a fandom/ship only once, your favorite fic you wrote in the fandom/ship that has the most works, the fic you wish more people read, the fic you agonized over the most, the fic that sprang fully formed from your mind without any effort, and a work you are proud of—for whatever reason.

the first fic you ever published there: This was a bit of a challenge and relied on my memory because of all the fics I've posted backdated, but since I knew it was a Yuletide fic and I joined in 2009...apparently I wrote a fuckton of fic for Yuletide that year, but I think it was either The Gravedigger, Lingering On, or Memorial.

the last fic you published: I need to finish editing and posting the fic I'm stalling about and have been for the last three weeks. But as of right now the most recent fic I posted was jiggety-jig, a short little thing about Pete being very fucked up psychologically.

any fic that you wrote for a fandom/ship only once: If I count 616 as one fandom (rather than parsing out by series) which I feel like I should, then I'm going to go with we too (three) could be glorious, my (thus far!) only Crimson Peak fic, though I'd kind of like to write more.

your favorite fic you wrote in the fandom/ship that has the most works: good god am I meant to look through the 293 (jesus) works I wrote for the MCU trying to remember/decide a favorite? I guess the answer is "yes, Lise, you chose to do this meme." I ended up pretty proud of Will to Live, I guess. It was a fun concept and I'm pretty pleased with the execution of it. Maybe I should reread that one. If I can cheat and do a series, though, I might have to choose Remember This Cold, even if not all of it is created equal - I just am proud of the damn thing, unevenness or not. It's a magnum opus of some kind.

the fic you wish more people read: I have written a lot of fics, you guys, and there's a lot of them that I wish got more attention. I decided I got to pick five, and because considering I'm clocking in at just over 1k to choose from I think I can be forgiven.

let's start with two from my current main fandoms, the people are gone and the place is empty, an a-Qing and Xue Yang AU that I'll never continue even though I kind of want to, and like a trigger (get me ready to shoot), which isn't exactly underread overall but is one of my Kinnporsche fics that's less read and very important to me personally. I'm weirdly fond of Foundling though I understand why it's not everybody else's favorite fic, since it might tread too close to Odin apologism for some. For a flashback to Supernatural fic, (and we all end up alone) remains one of my favorites I wrote for that fandom. And then there's Ouroboros, the second-person fic about Ishamael. so I'm not surprised that people don't gravitate toward that one, but I like it.

the fic you agonized over the most: There's kind of two answers to this question, and it's sort of "the work I agonized over the most because it was hard technically" and "the work I agonized over the most because it took me eight years to write and that's a long fucking time to be writing a single thing and a lot of room for me to doubt myself a thousand times." And they're not the same fic!

I'm going to stick with fics that I actually have finished, because ones I haven't I feel like "agonized over" is self-evident. And for that...might have to award this one to (speaking of Remember This Cold) we live until we die, for being in at least some ways the culminating fic of nearly a decade of writing and having parts in it I'd been planning for five solid years. It was a lot of pressure (self-induced but perceived from outside as well) to be working under.

the fic that sprang fully formed from your mind without any effort: I know there are a few of these but the one that springs to mind immediately is could be raining. Had the idea and wrote it basically in the span of 24 hours and I don't remember any agony about it.

a work you are proud of—for whatever reason: I feel like as far as my longfics go the backyard is full of bones might be my best one. It is - and if you know me, you know it's very hard for me to say this - a good fic.

tagging anyone who wants to do this one. that means you. but especially @ameliarating, @lu-sn, and @fatalism-and-villainy.

#lise memes #confessions of a frustrated writer

[what-a-strange-creature--moved]

Slow Dance

Bella x Jacob | AU - No Cullens Word Count: 2,645 | Rating: G, no warnings Summary: At her father's insistence, Bella agrees to go to prom with an old friend. A/N: I think this is my favorite one so far. 💘 Written for day three of my February writing challenge previous | next (18+) Read on AO3

It started with Charlie, of all people.

“I just wanna make sure you’re not missing out on anything,” he’d told me, as if that would be enough of an explanation to cool my rage. I still don’t know what he was thinking, arranging for me to go to prom without even asking me first.

“I just can’t believe you’d do something like this. It’s my life! It’s not fair!” I hadn’t yelled at my dad like that since I was a kid and I knew how petulant I sounded as the words left my mouth.

The argument we had that night two weeks ago had been fiery and, ultimately, pointless. Part of his plan had been to find a date for me — because I certainly wasn’t going to ask anyone myself — which led him right to the door of an old friend. Jake was more than happy to accompany me to prom, and with someone else so excitedly involved… well, I couldn’t slam the brakes on the whole operation now, could I?

Now that the day is here though, I could imagine all the things I would rather be doing instead of dolling myself up. I could be rereading a book for the millionth times. I could be doing laundry. Researching colleges to apply to in the fall. Talking to Mom on the phone, thanking her over and over for never putting me in a situation like this.

As I finish curling my hair, I stare at myself in my bathroom mirror, harshly, critically. A medium-sized burn radiates heat and blooms brightly on my neck beneath my left ear. My makeup, painstakingly applied on my own, will certainly pale in comparison to the other girls I’ll see, who I’m sure went to a department store to have it done by a professional. So unused to formal clothing, I decided I would put my dress and shoes on before starting on my face and hair, just so I could get comfortable in it, but now my feet are aching and my body itches everywhere the fabric touches.

My dad better hope this will all be worth it.

“You almost done, Bells?” Charlie calls from the living room. “You kids’ll need to leave soon.”

“Be down in a minute,” I yell back as I yank the curling iron’s cord from the wall. I run my fingers through my hair, spraying some hairspray in short bursts like Mom taught me. Some of the strands still clump together, but overall it’s not my worst attempt.

I take a step back and really take it all in, looking between the sink mirror and the full-length mirror on the bathroom door. When I picked out my prom dress, I’d been feeling very dramatic and angry, only a couple days off from my argument with Charlie. I chose a black velvet dress that sweeps the floor and hugs my body in a way I’m not entirely comfortable with now. In the store, I liked the deep, dark purple floral pattern that covered it, but in this dingy lighting, it looks too much like old lady wallpaper. This all goes without mentioning the thin straps and the low neckline — I really don’t know what I’d been thinking.

Honestly though, I don’t look too different than I normally do. Kind of. Maybe a little paler than usual while wearing such dark colors. And the black eyeliner is a little intense…

Oh boy.

I brush my hair over my shoulders, partly covering my face, and hope that’s enough to make me feel more like myself; at least I have a place to hide.

“Are you trying to skip out on taking pictures with me?” Jake yells up the stairs. “Because I think you might get your wish.”

“Shut up, I’m ready!” I laugh, and it’s enough to finally get me to leave the bathroom.

Here goes nothing.

//

I didn’t get to avoid having my picture taken. Charlie and Billy snapped a couple of Jake and I in the living room, a candid one as he tied the corsage around my wrist and one of us posed, our arms loosely around each other’s waists. My smile felt strained in spite of my best efforts, but Jake exuded such confidence that I’m sure the photos will turn out at least half alright.

And though we pull into the venue’s parking lot a few minutes after prom had kicked off, we still manage to catch the photographer as he takes pictures of the couples going into the building. Once again, I can only guess how the photo will turn out, how much of an evident contrast there will be between Jake and I simply because he’s more comfortable in his own skin than I could ever imagine being myself.

“I’m surprised Forks High was willing to shell out the money for a place like this,” Jake says lowly, so close that his breath tickles my ear. I shiver, then sweep my hair over my shoulder, a curtain of separation.

I turn my head, leaning in so I can speak just as quietly.

“My friend Jess told me the prom committee had to do a lot of fund raising. It looks great, though.” Apparently, it had taken an unreasonable amount of convincing for the school board to approve a Paris-themed prom at a local private venue instead of using the school gym like every other year. Somehow, they pulled it off.

“Is this anything like the dances back in Arizona?” he asks, nudging my side with his elbow.

I smile up at him. “I wouldn’t know.”

Then I take a step away from him as I lead him toward the table my friends are seated at near the DJ booth.

Ever since I walked down the stairs at my house, I’ve noticed a difference in Jake.

He hasn’t said too much about the way I look, which is both a relief and a worry. A relief because I don’t want any attention drawn to myself, but I worry because I still feel like I look ridiculous.

At first sight, all he did was smile that broad smile of his and say, “Nice dress.”

Which Charlie followed up with, “Kind of showy, though,” before I could respond.

I could feel how red I turned as I stood at the base of the stairs, arms crossed over my chest.

Eventually, Billy said consolingly, “You look very nice, Bella,” and I mumbled, “Thanks,” and then we moved on to the exchange of flowers.

Since then though, Jake has found every reason to be much closer to me than he ever has been. When he speaks, it’s soft and close to my ear. When I move, he moves as if he’s a shadow, attached to me. Each time I stumble — an inevitable thing when I wear nice shoes, no matter how short the heel is — he grabs my arm or waist and balances me again, whether or not I need the help.

It’s new. It’s… interesting. I try to maintain a little distance, but it doesn’t feel right to tell him to back off. He’s not bothering me or anything.

“Well, well, well, look who it is!” Mike says as Jake and I walk up to the table. He has an arm slung over Jessica’s shoulder, but I catch the quick elevator glance he gives me. Sometimes I want to smack him. “Bella and… uh, the La Push guy. What’s your name again?”

I open my mouth to respond, but I’m beat to the punch.

“It’s Jacob.” As he speaks, Jake pulls out a chair then gestures for me to sit down. I take the seat, blessedly next to Angela. She smiles excitedly at me, tells me she loves my dress and hair, and her infectious energy has me smiling back and complimenting her, too.

“Oh yeah, I totally forgot,” Mike says, though from the way he says it, it doesn’t really seem like he’d forgotten. “And how do you know Bella? I can’t remember.”

“Our dads are friends,” Jake replies as he sits down beside me. “We’ve known each other since we were kids.”

“That’s right, that’s right,” Mike says, nodding as if he’s working through the information. “But it’s been a while since you’ve seen each other?”

I glance over at Jess to find she’s already looking at me. She seems just as confused as me, though I can tell by the hard line of her mouth that she wants Mike to stop talking. I hope she can see in my eyes that I want the same thing.

For his part, Jake appears unfazed. His hands are clasped on the table, the sleeves of his white button-up rolled to the elbows. He looks at Mike for a long moment, then says, “You don’t have a very good memory, do you?”

Mike scoffs, stammers a bit, looks around at the rest of us, but there’s no way for him to recover. Tyler and Lauren tease him openly while Jess drops her head into her hands. I try to hold my laughter in, covering my mouth with my hand, and I look over to see Angela doing the same.

“God, Mike, stop being weird,” Jess says, slapping his shoulder with her clutch. “Let’s dance.”

Then she drags him out of his seat as the opening notes of an upbeat pop song shake the room. Lauren and Tyler follow suit, leaving me to talk with Jake and Angela for a while. Now freed of any strange tension, it’s fun to joke around and people-watch with them. It’s easy to forget how much I’d been dreading this.

After a few songs, Angela leaves to join Eric at the DJ booth, and then it’s just Jake and I at the table, a comfortable silence settling between us.

I take a moment to really look at him for the first time tonight. His button-up and black dress pants are simple and well-worn. He didn’t wear a suit jacket and the deep purple tie he’d came in with as well as the boutonniere I’d pinned on him are now abandoned on the table. I look at his long, shiny hair and warm skin, and I’m struck with a sense of affection I can’t place.

I think back to days when we were kids on the pier of a lake, me running from him as he tried to put bait worms down the back of my shirt. I fought hard to put a stop to those summers in Forks with Charlie, but when I recounted the highlights from those years, Jake was there for most of them.

Maybe that’s where the flutter in my chest is coming from: it’s nice to remember someone so fondly and, years later, be fond of them still.

After a moment, Jake looks over at me, his grin widening when our eyes meet.

“Are you having a good time?” he asks, brows raised. He sounds a little skeptical.

“Of course. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“From what I’ve heard, you reeeeally don’t want to be here.”

I grimace, then shake my head, turning away from him.

“That’s true,” I mumble. “I don’t normally do things like this.”

He leans in toward me, close enough that he curls an arm around the back of my chair to support himself. Once again, I’m struck by his proximity. I can smell the cologne he’s wearing and I’ve only seen him a handful of times since coming back to Forks, so I have no way of knowing if he’s the type of guy that wears cologne all the time or if it’s just for tonight, but it’s masculine and warm.

“Do things like what?” he asks, and it takes my brain a moment to catch up to our conversation.

“Um, well, I don’t really get dressed up or go out with… people,” I say, flushing. “And I definitely don’t dance.”

He frowns, tilts his head. “Why not?”

I scoff. “I’m too much of a klutz for that. Plus, it’s not my thing.”

“Oh, c’mon,” he teases, giving my shoulder a gentle squeeze. I jump at the skin-on-skin contact. “How do you know it’s not your thing if you don’t try?”

“The klutz thing kind of answers that for me,” I respond. “Unless you want to see me flail all over the place.”

“You won’t flail all over the place.”

“You just want to point and laugh at me,” I tease, crossing my arms in a put-on huff. “And here I thought we were friends.”

He gives me a long look, his teeth digging into his lip. I wait for what he might say next, watching his mouth for his next joke. No other reason.

“I won’t laughing at you, Bella,” he says, his voice that same quiet, low tone, somehow perfectly audible despite the thumping of the music. “I promise.”

I don’t know what to say next, suddenly sharply focused on Jake’s hand, his cupping my shoulder, and his dark brown eyes and his cologne. Lost as I am, I’m aware that I don’t know what to make of this feeling at all. I’m never in situations like this with a boy. Every “date” I’ve been on has been slapped together for me, but this is the only time I’ve been relaxed enough to not look for a way out. Maybe it’s Jake’s natural affability, or maybe it’s the fact that I just know him, but my level of comfort makes me feel as if I’m about to shiver out of my seat. I hope I’m not actually shaking as much as I feel like I am.

Jake seems more alert than I am currently. His chin lifts and his eyes pull away from mine.

“Oh, here’s a good song,” he says. That’s when I hear the change that’s taken place: a slower tempo, a softer melody. Couples on the dance floor hold each other close and begin to sway back and forth.

Jake stands, holds out a hand to me.

“Come on,” he says, then smiles widely. “I won’t take no for an answer.”

I give him a half-glare, one without any ire behind it — I’m sure if I pressed the issue enough, he would back off — but I grab his hand and let myself be led away from my safe little corner.

In a choice that feels only slight purposeful, Jake stops near Mike and Jess, who are spinning in a tight, absent circle not looking at each other, then turns to face me. He places one hand on my waist while the other brushes my hair back over my shoulders, away from my face. It’s a move I don’t expect, my face flooding with heat.

When his other hand finds my waist, I place my hands on his shoulders and we begin to dance.

After a moment, he says, “See? No flailing.”

“We’re barely doing anything.”

“Were you expecting a waltz?”

“Maybe.”

He huffs a laugh, rolls his eyes. Then, in another move I don’t expect, he pulls me closer to him. I look up into his face, so kind and familiar. I feel the way his chest moves as he breathes, a inch of two away from mine. I don’t know how long this song has been playing or how many minutes are left in it, but time feels a little irrelevant all the sudden.

Jake opens his mouth with a quick breath, then closes it. I hum, give him a questioning look, but he shakes his head.

“What?” I ask, brows furrowed. I’ve never known him to second-guess something he wanted to say, at least to me.

He holds my gaze for a moment, grinning shyly.

“You look so beautiful tonight,” he says. Soft. Low.

The smile that grows on my face is hundred-watt, but I can’t help it.

“Thank you.”

“Of course.”

Perfect.

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