#I feel like he’d feel naked without his mask on his head

[cupcakeslushie]

More fluff! (+ just an itty bitty teeny smidge of PTSD for Raph)

Prev || Hueso

I’ve googled so many turtle facts since joining this fandom lol. Never knew a group of turtles was called a bale lol.

Casey wasn’t in Leo’s picture so he’s a stranger, but come on even feral, Leo would hop on protecting this kid the moment he saw him.

Tomorrow is gonna be me trying to catch up on my inbox and working on Sep!au pages, so this’ll be the last of feral Leo for a bit!

[yanderenightmare]

TW: obsession, obsessive thoughts

fem reader

Thinking about when the playboy finally falls in love…

It’s so silly, soft as it may sound, untrue even given his record of sleeping around, but sometimes all he wants is pure unadulterated love. A hug once in a while would be nice – maybe a chaste kiss on his cheek – or cuddles.

You hadn’t believed a lick of it. You’d only laughed in his face with a shake of your head, telling him that must have been the worst pick-up play you’d ever been the victim of. 

It’s cliché, but he’s been obsessed with you ever since.

He feels like such a loser thinking about it – for real now – rolling his eyes with a hidden smile while looking at the candid picture he’d snapped of you. 

Chewing on this tongue while fantasizing such ridiculous things – virginal nothings such as handholding or resting his head in your lap and feeling you play with his hair. Sleeping together with your clothes on – spooning each other all clingy and soft...

Whispering sweet little nothings against the shell of his ear – teasing him. Playfighting – making you squeal and giggle as he grabs you and pins you beneath him in the bed. Tickling – making you laugh. Or kissing your nose and head and hand. 

Oh, and making breakfast together, eating lunch, and sharing dinner. 

Don't get him started on showering – helping each other wash – backrubs and headscrubs. How good your hands would feel carding through his hair as you rub in soap and rinse it out. Or just face masks. A whole evening in the bubble bath.

Watching some stupid romcom in fluffy bath robes afterward with your dopey tired head falling to rest on his shoulder. Snoring and mumbling small sweet little nothings to each other.

Saying good morning. Saying goodnight. Have a nice day. Good luck. I love you. I love you more. I love you most.

And there’s more.

Baby-names.

You haven't even gotten his dick wet once – he hasn’t even scored a kiss yet, and he’s already thinking about knocking you up and putting a ring on it.

You would look too good with his brat on your knee…

Bouncing them, breastfeeding, playing peek-a-boo games, zerbert, and doing the Simba from The Lion King – all with a great big beaming smile on your face. A smile that even the sun would envy.

Not to mention the kid itself. 

He would love the ever-living life out of a little baby version of you – pouty plump lips and mochi cheeks – spluttering and hiccupping on earth-shattering sobs when scuffing her dainty little knees on the pavement – asking for piggyback rides and candy before dinner.

Or a little miniature of him. Seeing you lull little devil-faced Junior to sleep.

Fuck it, you should get both. A truckload.

He’s shaken from his thoughts when his friend snaps his fingers.

“You’ve been staring at your phone forever. What’re you looking at that’s so important?”

He can’t believe how far down the rabbit hole he’d just spiraled. Thinking about a girl without picturing her naked. He must be losing it.

“… I’m not sure…”

BNHA – Bakugou, Dabi, Hawks, Shinso, Denki

JJK – Gojo, Sukuna

HQ – Oikawa, Kuro, Bokuto, Miya twins, Suna

BLLK – Reo, Nagi, Rin

AOT – Eren

[velvetures]

Hi baby!! I like your writing sm it's amazing 💓💓 If RQs are open I would like to request König stealing from readers dirty panties to use when he's self pleasuring~ she finds out and confronts him and one thing leads to another and next thing you know he's got her thighs locked on the side of his head while she rides his face so he can finally taste what he's been wanting for weeks. Thank you so much I know you'll do great with this req

Do Me?... A Favor

A/N: God, I love this! I had such a great time writing this and might've needed a lil' break halfway through. This trope has a special place in my heart. (I'm mentally unwell) So I hope you enjoy! Forgive me for being so late on this. Summary: König steals your panties and does dirty things with them. You catch him, and... well... you and I both know exactly what happens after that. T/W: !!NS/FW 18+ ONLY!!!, thievery of panties, male masturbation, fem-reader, dirty talk, fantasy mentions, face riding, exhibitionism if you have 20/20 vision, fem-recieving oral, spanking?, prob missed something... I don't proofread, ya'll better know this by now.

GIF and Story Below Cut

Extended missions with KORTAC usually meant that König would be within touching distance of you for days on end. Hearing you talk with his squad and watching you make jokes that got almost every single one of the stone-cold men melting with affection for you. There wasn’t a single one of them that didn’t absolutely adore you; Jump at the chance to help you, offer to take watches, ask to be paired with you, or just try and be the lucky one that got to either sleep with you or next to you. As Colonel, König always had his hands full maintaining order when the girl from the United States sector was sent to help them out.

On a personal level though, König struggled to hide the desperation and pathetically overwhelming feelings of jealousy he had when seeing anyone get that close to you. Having known you the longest, spent the most time alone with you, trusted you with his own mind and vice-versa, the Colonel -problematically- believed he had a bit more of a right to you than any of this men. Perhaps your own behavior towards him didn’t help out much either. So little and gutsy, you always liked teasing him. Tempting him to wrestle and always so confident you’ll win, and toying with his mask; begging so innocently to see the “handsome face” under there.

You’d been like that with him for so long, he couldn’t tell the difference between close friendship and flirting anymore. Blurring lines and also his own ability to control the compulsions to get just a little bit more of you. In any sick or twisted way he might be able to get his hands on. No man could resist your charms and beautiful little face. Especially König, who melted from a towering 6’10 to a weak and desperate boy crawling after you like a lost puppy.

He wasn’t proud of it. Then again, he didn’t care all that much. Especially when he found a way to satisfy his more carnal and disgusting desires for you that couldn’t even be tortured out of him.

In his defense, you’d been the one who started it. Calling out his name when you were in the small bathroom of the safe house and asking him to grab some clothes out of your rucksack, having forgotten to get them yourself. Half dazed knowing you were naked with just a thin, open, door between you had the Colonel making a beeline for your bag and ripping it open to do exactly what you’d asked of him.

Now… if any of his men would’ve asked him if he had a thing for panties, he would’ve very sternly disagreed with the whole idea.

But when he laid eyes on your panties, balled up and stuffed in a little side pocket in white, black, pink, and some cute patterns, the darker side of his mind slipped. Throwing him into an entirely different kind of temptation that he’d never entertained before. He’d hardly been able to deliver your clean clothes to you without incident, and spent the rest of the evening with his brain consumed with fantasies of what you looked like in all those pretty things. Surely your ass looked downright sinful with that material stretching over it and cradling your body closer than he’d ever have the opportunity to. Fuck… even your thighs would be that much more brilliant with the crease made that much more obvious by the hemline of the panties. The images kept flowing long into the night after he should’ve been asleep, his own watch hour ticking closer with each minute.

Struggling with the urge to palm his hard cock and just try to ease some of the pressure. Begging for some type of solution to his weakening self-control. König was up and headed to the bathroom, ready to take care of his painfully throbbing erection before he could even stop to think about how wrong it was to jerk himself off less than fifteen feet away from you and his men. The moment he unzipped his jeans and freed his drooling cock, his mask was shoved up so he could spit in his hand, and stuck his mask between his teeth to try and muffle his own sounds of pleasure.

Thoughts of what you’d look like gasping for breath on top of him, impaling your little body on his cock, spurred König to smear his own spit over his length. Fisting the head and rotating his palm around the tip with a deep rumble in his chest. He wished he could’ve seen you in the shower… soft skin wet and dripping with lathered soap. Rubbing those tiny hands over your body and rinsing away the sweat he’d seen soaking your shirt and running down your neck earlier during your rotation. His hazy vision cut to the shower, looking at it with a mental picture of you taking use of the handheld shower head. Putting it between your plush thighs and watching your tremor.

Only some small and purple sitting in the corner of the floor next to the bathtub froze his movements. Every muscle tensed at the sight of it, and while precum drooled from his swollen head, the Colonel couldn’t believe what he was seeing. The massive man didn’t even need to get off his seat on the toilet to pick up the delicate scrap of material and dangle it in front of his face. Taking into account his interaction with you, he couldn’t believe that your dirty underwear had fallen out of the balled up clothes you’d worn all day.

König’s cock twitched at the disturbed idea of smelling them. His body goading his mind to forgo the moral line of doing such a thing, and just do it. You wouldn’t know… his men would never find out… As long as he put them back in your rucksack before morning, there’d be no reason for anyone to question it. Besides, he was so turned on. And it wasn’t hurting anyone for him to just use a piece of your clothes to help let off some steam…

König ripped his mask off his head and let it drop to the floor next to his boot, and hesitantly lifted your panties up to barely touch he tip of his nose. The silky fabric was so damn feminine… so much like you in many ways. He rubbed them between his fingers, slowly moving his other hand up and down his cock; Nearly teasing himself with the full experience. Denying the satisfaction of experiencing your scent intimately. The otherwise self-composed Colonel couldn’t wait another moment, and buried his nose into your dirty panties with a lustful growl muffled by his hand.

His balls tightened with pure excitement, spitting more clear fluid down his shaft and filling the small bathroom with vulgar sucking sounds of his fingers sliding up and down with more desperation. Your scent was nothing short of a sweet and salty pheromone jolt of a daydream that made his brain go to nothing but static and arcs of electricity. His dick throbbed as his second inhale came as a much deeper and purposeful acceptance of this new and still very taboo action.

“F-fuucckk…” König had to whimper into your panties, his hips twitching up into his own fist.

“S-so fucking good…” Even with the very real risk of someone hearing him moaning, König continued whispering and whining his praise and pleads for you into the crotch of your panties. Going so far as to lose his willpower and reach out his tongue to feel the soft fabric and give his tastebuds one, lingering, taste of your sweet cunt. The tangy and candy-sweet remainder lingering in the threads of your panties utterly ripped König’s orgasm out of him.

His toes curling in his boots, his stomach flexing and his one fist tightening around the base of his shaft as thick and pearly release dripped hotly over veins and the between his balls before dripping in quiet drops onto the floor. The Colonel sat for full minutes, working over himself slowly and hiding his panting breath against your used underwear. He felt so goddamn monstrous for using you like this. Going behind your back and cumming over his fist like an animal in rut. Denying just how good of a release he had wasn’t possible either though. Not only had his most recent solo attempts been miserably unsatisfying, but his most horrific thought after cleaning up his evidence was that he wanted nothing more than to pocket your panties and keep them.

The Colonel blamed his own rotation on watch as the reason behind why he pocketed your panties instead of putting them back in your rucksack.

Two days later, you were still quietly in search of your panties that had apparently disappeared into thin air. You’d turned your bag inside out, went through the bathroom at least five times, and checked every other room of the safe house thinking someone might’ve found them and just tossed them somewhere they believed you’d see them. Searching came up with zero sign of your panties, and you felt like you were going insane. Not that it really mattered if they were gone… You had packed plenty of spares in the case you -for some reason- needed two back-ups for every day you were gone and couldn’t buy more. It was more so just the simple fact that you’d been so unobservant to misplace a pair of bright, purple, fucking panties.

Being surrounded by nothing but men only added to your silent mortification.

“You alright Sergeant?” One of the KORTAC guys paired on your rotation nudged your shoulder with his elbow, drawing your attention back to the -quite serious- task at hand.

“You look a little distracted, everything okay?” The look on his face made you think he was concerned that the cold weather was getting to you.

You shook your head. “M’fine. Just lost something, and I can’t fucking find it anywhere.”

He chuckled, adjusting his rifle against his chest. “Something important?”

“No. Not at all,” You sighed, seeing your breath fog up in front of your view of the forest and the heavy snowfall. “Just can’t figure out where it went and I’ve turned the whole house over.”

The Lieutenant at your side looked back towards the edge of the perimeter and then back to you with a little shrug. “Well, i suppose you could go in early. Get warm and have another look around. You’ve already had more shifts than plenty of the other guys.” He patted you on the back and jerked his head back in the direction of the safe house and outlying buildings.

You couldn’t help but grin under your face mask, eyes squinting to show your appreciation and giving him a quick ‘thanks’ before jogging back through the snow. You passed a few of the other guys out on rounds and either waved or called out a short word or two so as to let them know you’d come in for a few hours. Typically König was the one who dictated the different schedules to ensure no one got left out in the snow too long. Kicking off the frozen slush and snow off your boots, you waddled yourself inside and set out to get warmed up and find the Colonel.

Maybe he’s seen my underwear… You muse a bit mortified, unclipping your heavy overalls and yanking your tac vest over your head. God, it was a thought that made you shiver not just from the cold nipping at the wet cuffs of your winter layers and damp socks.

It wasn’t very secret that you had a very soft spot for König. He was just so damn sweet to you, and might’ve always given you a little bit of preferential treatment when you got sent to KORTAC on collaborating missions. Whether he did it because of his belief that you were a woman -and much smaller- than any of his men, or maybe for a more personal motive, you didn’t know. Really having the courage to bring up the topic was extremely intimidating. Joking around and teasing the massively tall and handsome solider was one thing. Asking him to lay out how he truly felt about you as more than an occasional partner was very different.

By the time you’d changed into some dry and comfortable clothes to hang out in for the rest of the evening, you noticed that the few guys lingering in the living room had left out. Leaving you alone, with the entire couch to yourself and a quiet house that gave leeway for a really good nap right in front of the wood-burning stove blaring heat right at you. Thank god for the KORTAC guys being so nice to you, and making sure that you didn’t have a hell-on-earth experience for your first winter in Russia.

You’d not really even gotten settled on the couch when you heard a somewhat loud thump from down on the other end of the house. Nearly like a head or hand smacking against the wall in one of the little rooms -made bedrooms- once you’d all arrived a little over a week ago. It didn’t happen again, and trying to just ignore whatever fools the guys could be making out of themselves outside to make that sort of noise, you just went ahead and closed your eyes again.

Thump.

Your eyes snapped open and stared at the ceiling, tuning your ears to the sounds emanating from the far end of the house. You waited patiently, and a third heavy and thud met your ears. Immediately you were up and on your feet, standing in the entry to the hallway leading that way, seeing that only one door was halfway shut, and it was König’s room at the very end. Eyebrows furrowed and hands resting on your hips, you stared at the door waiting for some kind of sign as to what exactly was happening. Surely one of the others weren’t setting up some kind of prank for the Colonel to come back to… right?

Oh god… he’d be soo mad. We’d all get ripped new asses if that happened.

And it wouldn’t have been the first time you’d faced König’s wrath for nothing more than someone thinking a harmless prank was acceptable. Even if the Colonel was extremely lenient on you, he wasn’t to be toyed with. He was a hard and cold man when it was called of him, and you really didn’t want to risk being thrown back out in the snow within the next twelve hours. What had your feet moving was another small and muffled sound, almost like a clipped and high-pitched sort of thing. It didn’t settle right, and you’d got to the door and pushed it open just a few more inches to tell whoever was in the Colonel’s room to get the fuck out.

You were the one struck speechless.

Through the small gap in the door and frame, you saw none other than König laying on the too-small cot with his shoulders propped up against the wall, mask rucked up over the bottom half of his face, and a distinct, purple, material pressed against his mouth and nose. The sensation of your heart and stomach jumping into your throat nearly choked you of oxygen. You could hardly drag your eyes away from his massive hand teasing his thick and hard cock. Once again, that thud reverberated through the room and it was nothing more than the erotic sight of him throwing his head back against the drywall with an -almost- silenced moan.

“Jesus Christ…” The whispered words fell from your awestruck mouth before you could stop yourself. Breathless, but damn sure loud enough for the Colonel to hear you and his dark eye to snap right to where you’d been peeking through the doorway. His whole body stiffened, and his hand stopped. Even dropping your dirty panties right into his lap. The purple fabric fluttering down to rest at the base of him.

“Shit!” You gasped, turning right around and hiding your face in your hands.

You could hear fabric shuffling and enough of a panicked movement to realize König planned on at least talking to you. Somehow having the sheer guts to not immediately act like nothing had ever happened. You heart thumped right at the back of your throat for what felt like and eternity before you heard the door behind your creak open and the distinct pattern of labored breathing. You jumped when his massive hand rested on your shoulder, nudging you to turn around.

“W-we… need to talk,” He mutters downright guilty. “About, what you just - just saw.” Swallowing the massive wave of conflicting feelings welling up in your mind, stomach, and in your pussy, you nod your head and wait until your hear König walk back into the bedroom before turning around and walking through the door to face him.

Right away your eyes fall down to his belt and take note of the -very large and still very hard- outline of his erection straining against his belt and the zipper of his jeans. Your face flushed bright red, realizing he’d pinned his cock beneath the leather strap around his waist to keep it as under control as possible. Before you could draw your eyes away, one of his hands falls down to shield his arousal, and you hear him clear his throat nervously. It draws your attention back up to his re-masked face. Noticing his eye darting anywhere but your eyes and the rise and fall of his wide shoulders. Comparing reactions, it seems that the Colonel is far more effected than you are.

Maybe you weren’t as… upset as you should be.

“I must apologize for my… disturbing behavior,” He blurts out with a raspy tone, visually shrinking a bit. “I… can’t begin to…” Trailing off, you watch him rub at the back of his neck, in thought and obviously tense.

“I just couldn’t help but - you’re just so…”

Eyebrows furrowed and your interest piqued, you take a step closer; Seeing your used panties tucked under his pillow and a small little glimpse of purple peeking out. Screams in the back of your mind make the very dangerous assumption that he’s still somewhat possessive over the item. It makes the growing wetness in your panties more significant, forcing your to flex your thighs together.

“I’m so, what?” You press softly, your head tilting up at him with the shortening gap between you.

The Colonel audibly swallows, “So… pretty.” You’ve never heard such a whimpering and weak sound from him. Almost like it’s a desperate thought he couldn’t help but admit to you. It stokes a fire inside your belly, and you’re very quick to push just a little more.

“So you stole dirty panties?” A low, gravelly whine escapes from under his mask as shakes his head.

“They were on the floor… And I was so frustrated, I didn’t mean for you find out. I just - just needed to know…” His voice stiffens, but he’s still struggling to defend his actions, and not totally own up to the fact that you’d caught him using your scent to get himself off.

“How many times have you used them, Colonel?” Your voice lowers a little, pussy clenching in anticipation of his answer; Fluttering wet walls that silently beg for more stimulation than the pressure your thighs can provide.

König squirms where he stands, sighing heavily. “Six. Six times… Fuck, I’m so sorry.” His head drops in guilt that actually squeezes your chest with sympathy. He’d always held the biggest piece of your heart, and seeing him so hard on himself for being -not only human- but having been no more desiring for you than you’d been for him… you just couldn’t stand letting him do this anymore.

“Well that just won’t do, will it?” You’re pulling your sweatshirt over your head and dropping it on the floor before König can look up and register what you’re doing. Halfway through pushing your pants down your thighs, you hear a sharp gasp and a little grunt of a sound.

“What are you doing?” His voice has flattened, and you peek up to see his wide eyes roaming all over your exposed skin. You just smile, standing there in a soft bralette and some panties and shrug like this wasn’t making your knees quake under your weight.

“I’m gonna give you fresh pair.” You lick your lips nervously, slipping your fingers under the waistband and begin to tug them down.

“Wait!” He almost shouts, taking a couple steps closer to you and grabbing your wrists to keep you from moving. “F-fuck… just, hold on a second.” He’s panting heavily, staring at you with dilated eyes.

For a long moment, you just stand there feeling his hot skin burning against your own. Silently staring at each other like trying to read the other’s thoughts without attempting to just do it the easy way and ask. You can smell the mint of his toothpaste and that all-too-comforting scent of sandalwood lingering on his body from some kind of cologne or deodorant you’d never quite seen him apply. You’re about to ask him a question when you feel his fingers trailing down your inner wrists towards your hips, and finally resting on the waistband of your panties. Heavy hands being much more gentle than you’d ever experienced, raising chills on your massive expanse of bared skin.

“Can I…?”

His eyes dart between his hands and your eyes with such an innocent look that you’re nodding your head before you actually think it through. Implicit trust had always made you and the Colonel a good pair on the field. Never pausing to think there might be a day like today were you’d test just how good things cold be in the bedroom. He’s down on one knee and nearly eye-level with you, fingers rubbing the fabric withholding the ultimate of your intimate regions… His face so close that it’s brushing against you stomach. Steadying yourself, you grab ahold of his shoulder; Needing some kind of grounding since you can’t really feel your bare feet on the freezing cold floor.

Squeezing the meat of your hips, the Colonel hisses.

“Always thought you were the tiniest thing… Wanted to know how someone so small could be so deadly,” His teasing evolved into slowly pulling at your underwear. Dragging them over the swell of your ass and leaving them there for a moment.

“Lucky me, knowing better than anyone how you can kill a man so slowly.”

He’s slow but purposeful in pulling your panties down your legs, his head following them instead of taking the first look at your bared skin. Reverently, he picks up your bare feet one-by-one and helps you out of the material, immediately rubbing the fabric between his long fingers. Your stomach drops when you realize that he’s purposefully feeling the crotch. Giving away the sheer arousal you’d collected there in mere minutes. It should’ve bothered you, made embarrassment floor your system. Only it just proved to make your legs feel weak under you. Almost visually shaking when the Colonel slid your panties under the hem of his hood.

“Want to tase what I do to you,” He murmured, giving you the exact answer of how pressed you were to find out what was happening under that bleached t-shirt of a shield.

“Need you to watch me…” Your cunt clenched hearing him sound so broken.

Nodding dumbly, your gaze never left König’s eyes. Seeing his heavy lids close, just to open back up drunkenly with a low groan that nearly penetrated your very bones. Wet sucking sounds emanating from under the mask, his tongue lapping at your soaked gusset and leaving no question as to just how fucking hungry he was for it. Spit-covered cotton sucked dry by one of the most powerful and intimidating men on the face of the planet; Down on a knee in front of you and literally lost to your taste. Lips parted and awestruck, you tried to force some words out.

“You look so hot like that, sir.” Breathless, it’s clear just how much it’s effecting you too.

Using his title has his eyes snapping up to you. Dark and dilated pupils, wide shoulders rising and falling quickly, and one hand still circled around your ankle to prevent your -impossible- escape from him. The Colonel is off his knee and has you lifted off the ground with only one arm before you can blink. Spinning you around and dropping you down on his cot; His massive body looming over yours. Downright terrifying save for the sight of your pink underwear hanging limply in his fist. That intimidating shadow of his erection -somehow- bigger than before, twitches against his belt. You’re driving him wild sitting so innocently with your thighs clenched together on his bed. Looking like you hadn’t the slightest idea just how badly he wanted to utterly destroy you right there and now.

“Sergeant?” Maintaining his composure takes every last fiber of concentration. Seeing your head tilt to the side in silent question and anticipation nearly doubles the weight of his balls.

“You must be so needy. Waiting so patiently for someone to give you satisfaction,” He steps closer, hips less than a foot away from you. Tempting your baser instincts to lean forward and swipe your tongue over a wet spot resting just over the tip of his cock.

“Your sweet cunt tastes like she’s been neglected… Have you been neglected Sergeant?” Almost mocking, you can’t begin to challenge him. Right away your nodding your head, flexing your thighs and crossing your ankles to attempt some small relief of pressure.

“König - I -” You’re fumbling for the right words when he chuckles lowly, bending just far enough to place his palms on across your thighs and squeeze just a little.

Meeting your forehead with his own, you’re right back to where you always felt with him. Safe and like he somehow understood everything about you without ever asking. Unique to König, he could always tell when something was wrong or you just weren’t quite on your game for some reason or another. You always thought it’s what made you such a good pair. And if you had to admit it, you’d have thought you knew just about everything about him too; But now after this, there’s a question lingering if all of his sweetness was just out of friendship, or something much more significant swirling around behind that shroud of a mask. Either way, you wanted to find out more. Get closer and explore the Colonel in a way you’d never believed possible.

“If you want this… me,” Just above a mere whisper, he paused to look between the small gap withholding you from him. “I need you to say so, meine perle.” Hearing your longstanding pet name in this connotation felt so very different, yet so much more impactful than on just your feeling of standard closeness. Giving you the suspicion that König hadn’t just thought it was a simple throwaway nickname.

“Please, please. I want you.” Your answer feels confident. Specifically choosing to ask for him, and him alone.

König met your lips with heavy intention. Cradling your neck with one hand and leaning your weight back against the bed; All the while crawling overtop of you. You could barely taste your own tangy arousal on his tongue, fighting for the chance to take the other fully. While König did try to resist your little bites at his bottom lip and your fingers prying at his shirt, it didn’t take long for him to finally happily give up. Rolling onto his back and pulling you to straddle him. Helping you along with the subtle movement of your bare cunt against his clothed cock and the ridges of his zipper.

“Mm,” He pulled away from you far too soon, admiring you sitting atop him so delicately. Pink cheeks, kiss-swollen lips, and a look in your eyes that made his whole body truly feel desired ****************and appreciated. Maybe even loved.

“Come here, meine perle. Let me give you everything you want.” Pulling your head down to meet his lips one last time, you sighed.

Sinking against him with so many fuzzy feelings of happiness and surreal recognitions of just how crazy this was. Of how one single change of your day had brought you to König’s room.

“Süßes Mädchen, ich will dich probieren..” It was the last coherent thing you could remember König saying as he effortlessly pulled your bare cunt closer to his face with an utterly wrecked look on his face and his tongue licking at his lips.

Hip flexors and thighs quivering, you could hardly keep your eyes focused on the Austrian below you. With your legs spread and framing his head and his hot palms cradling the entirely of your ass to keep you from squirming too much, König had spent the better part of half and hour with his tongue buried in your cunt. Snarling and growling like a hungry dog who’s chain had finally snapped. Between your almost totally fried nerves and the nudge of his thick nose rubbing against your clit while tongue-fucking your hole, you’d nearly pleaded and moaned yourself mute with a sore throat. ail scratches had been scraped into the drywall in front of you, and the strength in your legs had long faded into boneless mush that König hardly needed the endurance to hold steadily. The Colonel had been nothing but painfully patient and determined to give your more orgasms than your body could withstand.

You’d been ordered to count them, and it’d never been more challenging to count to four.

“Bitte meine Perle, komm, fick mein gesicht.” You never wanted to follow an order so badly. But fuck if you came again, you weren’t sure you’d ever resurface from the sensation. The previous had almost left you sitting full-weight on his face and blacked out in overwhelming pleasure. Mentally preparing wasn’t an option though. König wasn’t stopping for anything. Including your weak whimpers and whines that protested the command despite your desire to listen to him as closely as possible.

“C-can’t do it again-” Your voice cracks pathetically.

A loud crack of his palm smacking against the flesh of your ass releases a guttural moan from you. Spanking you firmly for the denial, and nipping at your swollen and abused little clit in punishment. You whine again, knowing your choice in the matter is being denied. König’s hunger for your release dripping out from the corners of his mouth motivates him to wrap his lips around your swollen bud and suck. Using the tip of his tongue to flick against the painfully sensitive end. That movement had brought you to release the first time, and it worked just as efficiently again to rip your pleasure out of your body right into the Colonel’s waiting mouth.

Your shaking and tears being to roll over your cheeks as König uses his own strength to help ride you through the aftershocks that cause your thighs to tremor and your stomach to flex and waver. The only somewhat meaningful things you’re able to do is use one hand to run your fingers through his hair and try to keep yourself grounded to the cot and König. By the time you feel sensation in your toes again, König has already gotten you settled back in his lap with his massive arms snaked around your bare body, holing you tight against his chest.

You feel slickness not just of your own between your thighs, looking up at the Colonel with a question tugging at your eyebrows. There was no mistaking that König had finished some time through your turn and he’d either been really good at hiding it, or you’d been totally inconsiderate of noticing.

“Schön, meine Perle. Das hast du so gut gemacht,” His wet lips press to your forehead reassuringly.

“Did perfectly, so good at following orders.” His hands cradle your flushed cheeks carefully.

Thumbs brushing over your cheekbones and sliding up until he can wipe the sheen of sweat clinging in the hair of your eyebrows. You look downright angelic to him like this. Raptured by nothing more than his own desire to give you everything he possibly could of his physical and emotional being. Giving himself the most intimate position to see just what he’d fantasized about for so long. You, being loved by him. Adored just for being yourself. Pleasured, because you deserved it.

“König… didn’t you..?” Your little pants and confused look made him smile, leaning forward to capture your lips in a sweet kiss.

He chuckled lowly against your mouth. “I did. Twice, actually.” He pecked the tip of your nose like a little praise for you.

You weren’t in any shape to fuss with the Austrian, however you did your best to put up a fight. “Let me… I wanna give you-”

“I’ve had just enough to satiate me for now,” His voice rasped a bit. “Besides, my men will be coming in for shift changes. And I don’t have enough faith in either of us to stay that quiet, meine perle.”

It was your turn to go shy and quiet, looking towards the shut -and locked- bedroom door, but forgetting that you weren’t the only two people in the area. Actually, thee was a good chance many of the men could’ve heard you making little to no effort to quiet yourself. One glance at the Colonel still holding you close to him, and you must’ve given him some sort of expression because he started laughing softly again.

“Kein Problem. Meine Männer reden nicht über uns.” You believed him.

But it was still a little intimidating. Now that it seemed everything was out it in the open, you had a lot of questions about what was going to happen, how things would work between you, or if there was even a possibility of somethingserious. The observant Colonel didn’t miss a single beat of your heart in that moment.

“Das bedeutet nicht, dass ich ihnen keinen Gesprächsstoff gebe, meine Perle,” His head nudged yours sweetly, despite his very flirty tone. “I’d like to keep you to myself. That is… if you’re okay with that?”

Nothing could stop the grin that spread onto your face.

“Ich liebe es, dein zu sein, mein König,” You wrapped you arms around his neck, kissing his ear softly. “Auch wenn du mein Höschen stiehlst.”

Reblogs & Comments are Appreciated

[sunshine-and-moonshine]

Ghostly Fun

Requested: No

Warnings: Poltergeist!Reader, Public sex, sex in front of Price, ectoplasm, Reader is a mischievous little shit, Price yells at Ghost

A/N: I like Poltergeist!Reader a little too much.

Ghost learned long ago that your touch was quite….solid, despite the fact that you were supposed to be incorporeal. You could phase through things, and most of the time you did, but you were always able to touch him whenever you wanted. You could even touch him when you weren’t visible to his eyes.

He’d learned that you were touchy. Very touchy. Which wasn’t too much of a problem for him, it’s just that you liked to get touchy at very inappropriate times. He’d scolded you god only knows how many times because of how you kept trying to cuddle up to him when he was sniping or for when you kept begging for kisses when he was trying to listen to his teammates through his headset, your creaky coos echoing in his ears and blocking out their voices.

It peaked today though. You’d made him miss another shot because you decided you wanted to run your icy fingers up his sides, jolting him so badly that he missed the target’s head by an inch. He could still hear your mischievous little giggle as he cursed and aimed again.

And now here he stood, Price screaming at him so loudly that his face was red, spit flying onto Ghost’s mask as his Captain demanded to know what the HELL was wrong with him lately. But all he could think about was the fact that you were giggling again, and he could feel your hands running oh so slowly up and down his sides, your lips pressing against the back of his neck.

And he knew he was fucked, feeling a pit of dread and arousal pool in his stomach as your hand slipped through the front of his pants, cold fingers delicitely running along his length, teasing him just the slightest bit.

He couldn’t focus, could barely force himself to move or speak to his angry Captain as you toyed with him, your amusement clear from your wide smile that he could feel against his skin. You didn’t care about the consequences, you only wanted to make him squirm.

And then you were pressing against him, you giggles turning to soft moans as you rutted against the back of his leg at the same time that you wrapped your hand fully around his cock. His leg was growing wet and he suddenly realized you were naked, leaking your ectoplasm all over him, sure to stain his clothes with your fluids.

Price was getting louder and Ghost was trying so hard to actually hear what he was saying, but it was all in vain as you adjusted yourself to be even closer to him somehow, shuddered as you rut against him harder. You whines and cries growing in pitch, tightening your hand on his cock and pumping faster. He was close. So close. But he had to hold off-

But then you whispered “Simon” into his ear in that whispy and rough voice of yours and he was lost, creaming himself in front of his superior as your giggles returned, clearly proud of yourself while he struggled to keep any kind of composure and dignity he had left, his breathing heavy through his mask.

“What the fuck is on your leg?” Price suddenly said, breaking Ghost out of the fog of his mind, his voice incredulous as he pointed at the long wet trail of your ectoplasm that ran down the side of Ghost’s trousers.

Ghost looked right into Price’s eyes and, without a hint of shame, said “I pissed myself.”

After all, who’d believe it was ghost cum?

[peachie-bumblebee]

MIGUEL O’HARA NSFW ALPHABET

MINORS DNI

HELLOOOO

CW: GENERAL ADULT CONTENT. MENTIONS OF BDSM AND PAIN, UNDERWEAR THIEF

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex):

It really depends on whether or not you’re in a relationship. If he’s in love with you, then he’s gonna scoop you up and clean you off- maybe even take a bath with you if he’s letting himself be intimate like he used to be. He’ll praise you softly as you go to sleep, sure to forget his words by morning. If he’s not in love with you, then it’s less charming. Miguel WILL leave.

B = Body part (favorite of partners, favorite of theirs):

The curve of their neck and throat. He can’t help himself. Hipbones. He isn’t that egotistical when it comes to his own looks, but he knows his back looks good. Don’t press him on his ass though. He knows he has a great ass, but you’ll never hear him say that.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically):

Like i’ve said- he gets embarrassingly leaky if he’s being dominated. He’ll even cum untouched if you really try.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs):

…Panty thief if he’s in love. He’ll tuck your underwear away after he tugs them down and touches himself with them pressed against his face. Literally if anyone ever brought it up he’d disintegrate on the spot and possibly start chasing them on all fours. (He’s a little touchy, if you haven’t noticed.)

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?):

He had a kid. And if you’re gonna say “oh, that was another universe-” you can, but you cannot convince me that there is a universe where Miguel doesn’t fuck. He fucks. He knows just where to put his hands during doggy.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying):

He likes to have a grip on those hipbones, if he can. He’s gonna physically overpower 99% of people, so it’s gonna involve folding his partner in half and manhandling them most every time. He also loves to be on his knees with his hands behind his back, but that might be a little harder.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.):

He’s not a joker. Maybe, MAYBE, if he was married, he might make a small joke every once in a while. But I cannot picture him having silly sex.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.):

He’s naked under that suit, and I can’t imagine that would feel great on his body if there was too much hair. I’m not fully sure how any spider-person gets their hair on under the mask, but I DO know that he has the prettiest happy trail known to man. It’s not too much- still almost downy soft.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect):

Like stated before, it can go both ways. I can’t see him doing a lot of soft kisses unless there was MAJOR long term feelings. Most romantic he gets most of the time is telling his partner how good they are or begging for then.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon):

Eyes roll back into his head and he has his hand clamped over his mouth, sometimes biting on his rolled up shirt.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks):

Bondage, switching, candle wax, temperature play, blindfolding, manhandling, biting.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do):

If his partner was a spider person I can see them fucking in some corner on a rooftop, his hips pistoling up into them as they grab forward on the wall.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going):

Lace, being teased, getting too annoyed at work- LMFAO. teasing and being teased riles him up big time.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs):

He’s not gonna use a flogger or a paddle on someone. I can’t see it.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.):

He has a BIG oral fixation (i’m biased) and loves anything going into his mouth. He also is particularly sensitive to having his balls sucked on.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.):

It’s rough nearly always. Your organs are thoroughly rearranged.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.):

Miguel is a BIG office quickie guy IF nothing is going on- but so so much of the time, something is always going on. Some of the time all he can squeeze in is a good over-the-desk 15 minutes before he’s back to managing all of the multiverse. The last thing he needs is Lyla popping up where she doesn’t belong.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.):

Things that are risky to normal people aren’t as risky to him. He can hear if people are coming from a long while away. He’s faced constant danger. Fucking you in an unused room on an unused floor of the spider society is not a risk to him.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?):

Do I even need to say it? He can go for hours. He’s enhanced. However, he does last longer if he’s the one in charge; either way, he can go for a long while. His partner is gonna be sore and incoherent much faster than he’d be, regardless whether or not they’re super or not.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?):

Someone got him a flashlight once and told him it’d help him with the stick up his ass. He’s used it a couple times and pretends like he hasn’t. He wouldn’t own a dildo but isn’t opposed to getting pegged. If his partner wanted a sex toy used on them, he’d take a lot of joy in torturing them with it.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease):

He’s an AWFUL tease. It’s constant. He also cannot bear being teased and will either beg or fuck his partner over the nearest table within a few comments.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.):

PRETTY MOANS!! It’s a damn shame he rarely ever lets you hear them. He’ll also curse, praise, and demean under his breath. He tries so hardly to stop from moaning when he cums; muffling himself with whatever he can. Usually a few clear ones slip through.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character):

Cries if you edge him. He gets pathetic.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes):

YALL ALREADY KNOW!! DORITO BACK!!! HUGE CHEEKS!!! He’s downright tasty i’m sorry y’all. I’d pray over him and spread him out like he’s christmas dinner.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?):

HE’S HORNY! He just can’t deal with it a lot of the time, which often makes him even more pent up. Lord have mercy on his partner’s body.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards):

Depends if he has time or not. If not, he’ll keep on pushing on. On the rare occasion where he’s free of responsibilities, he’s snoring like drake within 20 minutes or less <33

hope you guys enjoyed!! inbox is always open, requests always wanted :)))

[alwaysshallow]

single mom x price; PART 3

where john, for the first time, enters your house. and, pushes the boundaries.

AO3 VERSION

part 1 || part 2

It’s impossible to avoid him.

Not like you try to do it, not after the amazing fiasco with your car, not after having to face him about parking somewhere different. It would be not only stupid, but also weird considering that he seems like a… really good man. You don’t have anything against him.

On the road, you decide that since you’re a big girl, you shouldn’t be that opposed to the idea of meeting from time to time with him. It’s just a neighbor-neighbor relationship, nothing more, nothing less. Not like you automatically offer yourself to him by just being nice. 

And, friendship with him can be beneficial, as he’s known as a local handyman. 

Like he’d actually read your thoughts, he’s right there when you come back from your son’s school. This time, not half-naked—you think about it with a weird dose of disappointment, like you’d prefer him more without clothes—but in sweatpants and a matching hoodie, coffee in hand. Two, to be more precise, fairly cute with heart imprints on them.

“Coffee for the trouble,” he says, handing you a warm cup. Smile on his lips, the brightest it can be, so you don’t even think before taking a sip. “I hope I’m not a complete jackass in your eyes?”

You laugh, shaking your head. “Jackass?”

He shrugs, a small smile on his lips. Almost shy; you don’t know him, so you assume he is somehow. What you do not know; he’s more like a dog that pretends to be shy after he did something bad. Making you draw attention towards him.  “Acted like that, maybe.”

The sincere concern in his voice is cute. “No, it’s… you had no idea after all, right? You didn’t know it was my car that you’re blocking, could be anyone’s.” 

He just hums at that, acknowledging your response. You stay with him outside for a few more minutes, then leave with a vague explanation of what you need to do inside. And, you promise to see him tomorrow, if you’re lucky.

A mistake. It just encourages him more and more.

He starts bringing you coffee after this morning. Makes a ritual out of it, bringing you always the same coffee that made the best impression on you with the taste and freshness. He asks, too—if you need something different, if you need something a bit more fancy. Brags about his coffee machine and finally making the use of it, if you want.

You don’t see how his eyes glimmer when you say, “the simplest is the best”.

Price’s a good company. Cracking jokes, chatting, telling you just a little about himself, making you more curious with every meeting. 

Always so close to you. You think you know every little wrinkle by now, how his eyes crinkle in the corners when he laughs, when he smiles. Small mannerisms that make you soften, wonder what a guy like him was doing in the military.

Naive thought. Everyone has a mask.

The two of you always drink coffee outside. He’s respectful enough to not enter your house or ask about it, probably thinking that he’s gonna pry. You’re always somewhere around the mailbox, your car or you invite him on a bench near your house, closer every day to the inside. 

He’s always outside, but seems like he wants to go inside. You catch his glances over your shoulder as he towers over you, leaning over your fence or when he looks back at the house. Longing stare, like he wants something from here, a part of your life that he could have, a part of the life that he might understand better when he’s gonna enter the house. But, he doesn’t ask.

Yet. You feel like he’s gonna do it in the near future, as he gets tired of just being in front of your house where nothing happens for outsiders.

You learn over days that he’s there and he’s not going anywhere. When you are back from your son’s school, he’s already there. Saying something about mowing your lawn and as you actually need it, you bite back the “I can handle that alone” argument. Maybe he’s just nice. Maybe it’s a chance for once to not do everything yourself, at least you think. 

He’s like a scent that sticks to you and no matter how you want to wash it off, to smell different, to smell like you again, you simply can’t. He makes everyone know that he’s around you and no one else is allowed to be whatsoever. Marks the territory: a dog that finally had his bone and doesn’t want to give it away, even if no one seems like they want to snatch it. 

People aren’t blind; they see how he lingers, a stain of coffee on your perfectly white tablecloth. Something that you can take care of, but it will be there, if you have a mug a bit cracked. If it will be coming back, just like he does. You don’t see anything wrong with that. Neither does he; you’re a couple of friends—

He has no desire to stay away these days. Denise from the store asks you about that; softly, afraid to scare you, like you are some kind of untamed animal or someone like that. Fragile.

She brings it up over a dinner invitation, asking if she has to bring one more plate than usual; it’s innocent question and you don’t catch the double meaning in her words when you say, “Only me and my boy.”

She nods. A few seconds of silence pass between you two and you know for a fact there’s something in this silence. Something that you don’t quite enjoy because it’s gonna hit your personal life, so carefully hidden beneath all of the layers. “No John?” she peeks at you.

You stop in your tracks to look at her. Confused what your neighbor has to do with a friend's dinner that he didn’t belong to earlier on. Maybe you missed a chapter? He doesn’t even talk with Denise. “Why John would…”

“...you are spending a lot of time together. Figured it’s only right to ask, y’know. But no worries!” She says it, almost in a hurry, like you would scold her for even thinking about it. Before you have a chance to ask further, she says goodbye and you’re left with your own thoughts. 

Is it that visible to the others? Are you gonna be invited to the things together now, like you’re some kind of pack? Do you act like there’s something more to it? Maybe it is, maybe you just don’t see it yet. Maybe you don’t want to see it because you’re scared of what you’re gonna see.

A mess that he comes with. A mess that he wants to hide too. He can’t let himself scare you, not yet—

Who actually knows. You don’t even know it.

Your kid also likes Price. Seeing him before school, after school when he’s outside. Eager to go and talk to him, but limiting himself to only wave towards him, at which John gives him the biggest smile ever and waves too. Small talk there and there, little steps towards inevitable—an ask from your kid if he’s ever gonna come and play with him.

He says one day something about other boys and them getting to play with their dads, so he could play as well with Price, your friend. You pretend that it doesn’t hurt you deep, so you just smile awkwardly, saying something about asking John about it someday. Sooner than later because you just can’t erase the sound of your son, sounding disappointed when he said what he said.

The routine continues and extends to some point. Price tiptoes around you, slowly breaking the barriers you set for yourself. Helps you plant flowers “because it’s only right”, takes care of your garden with you when it gets too tiring or when your son yells for you and John says that, “you can’t let the little one down, can you?”. Reminds you of a garden competition that you forgot about, when you ask why he is still here.

He’s around a lot more, but still outside. 

A small significance about this detail doesn’t occur to you yet.

The perfect picture has to crack at some point; and unfortunately it does in the worst time that it could—on a completely random day. The moment you start your car to pick up your son from his school, the car makes weird noises. Nothing ignites the way it should, no matter how many times you turn your key, no matter if you even try to push harder. You even look up a random youtube video tutorial, but it doesn’t make a difference. It won’t start anyway.

And, just like that, you attract the audience—John Price himself—who shouts something to you. You try to ignore him, as you don’t have time for him right now, but he’s persistent, watching you as you hit the gas pedal; and it’s completely useless considering your car doesn't even start.

“Tryin’ to hit me with the car this time?” he taunts, giving you that perfect smile he always has when he tries to make you smile too. This time it doesn’t work, maybe makes you even more miserable in the whole situation. 

You manage to give him a weak smile though. Forced one, while you try to get your car to start, even more encouraged right now to get it started; you don’t want help, you don’t want him to notice how much you struggle right now. And it would happen again, like he’s a magnet for bad things happening to you, so he could swoop in and play the hero.

Which, of course, sounds absurd.

Much to your dismay, he opens the door quickly, a considerate smile on his lips. “C’mon, sweetheart. What’s happening there?”

“My car isn’t starting. As you see,” you add, a little bit aggressive; maybe too aggressive, as you see how his eyebrows furrow. You can’t do anything about your tone, even if you somehow want to, as you feel too helpless and pent up. Like you’re losing control. “Listen, John. I swear to God, I don’t have time—”

“No need for attitude, love.”

The sudden comment makes you gulp. Maybe you might have added too much attitude, maybe reacted too aggressive and he’s way too sweet to deserve it, but it’s not the worst thing to worry about right this second. "I— God, I’m sorry, but my kid ends the class in ten minutes, I just can’t—" you sigh, massaging your temples. It’s like nothing you’re going to say will be right and not considered straight up rude.

He takes a second before answering. "We'll take care of everything," he tells you. That word—we—makes you giddy. The way he says it, so firmly, not leaving even a pole of a discussion for you. “Gonna drive you here, then look at your car.”

You bite your lip, conflicted. “You probably have better things to do. I can just borrow your car, it’s only a ten minute drive.”

“You thought I’d let you drive like this? Nervous? ‘m not the man.”

The sentence itself makes you embarrassed. Weird, bad on the stomach that you actually thought like this. “I’m not—”

“—Get in the car.”

You don’t even try to argue anymore, so you just nod. Without any further question, you follow him to his pick up truck, sitting on the passenger's seat, while your knight in the shiny armor picks the country song to play along the way. 

You don’t miss how happy your kid looks when you pick him up with John. It’s not a very different reaction from the times you pick him up alone, but right now? Right now you see the sparkle in his eyes. The actual excitement, how he’s not usually tired as he is, telling you what he learned today with a half-lidded eyes, when you automatically feel bad for engaging in a discussion with him. No.

He’s practically getting out of his seat to be closer to Price, you have to remind him that he needs to be still so he’s gonna be safe. He tells him all about his school, what teachers teach him, what his favorite activity is, getting even more excited when John acknowledges what he said. Your son is practically in heaven when he asks him questions, he answers them all with a big smile on his lips, showing his front teeth. He’s not used to a man figure being around, not used to someone else than you, his grandma or your best friend.

John stops for ice cream, first in the season. You’re opposed to that idea, trying to explain to him that’s probably way too cold for that, but all it takes is his one hand on your cheek. Big, covering practically the half of your face, like he’s telling you, without opening his mouth, that he knows what he’s doing. He asks, his voice low, if you can make an exception for him. Because it’s the first time you’re here with him and your boy. Because he wants to make him feel special. Weirdly overwhelmed, but also feather-like, you agree. 

You never let your kid eat ice cream before it gets warmer. 

He doesn’t let you pay; he’s faster with his credit card, flashing you a smile, when you squirm about being so kind to you two. Price waves his hand at that, like the idea of being too kind isn’t an option.

You decide to eat outside, near the fountain in the park; better than doing it in the car, more bonding as Price said. Your son continues the blabber about his school with John, who gets quiet after the little man tells him that he told his friends about him, how he built a treehouse just for him the other day. Like it wasn’t enough, he mentions them being jealous of a “such a cool dad”. You know that the word is accidental, innocent as the kid doesn’t really have a dad, a father figure like John and when he’s here, it seems… inevitable to call him like that. 

You’re a bit afraid that the information might overwhelm him, even if you personally don’t see it as a deep comment, especially from the child. John is funny, likes to spend his time around you two, but it might feel like a commitment or some sort.

But then you notice a weird look in his eyes. Primal, beaming with pride, almost like it’s the moment that he can officially claim him as his. It’s ridiculous to be proud of something like that, so you take that thought away, listening to John say something about “making another treehouse together” and spending time with his friends, taking them to ice cream, if he would want to.

Almost like a son with his father, really. It’s maybe ridiculous, but…

But. But. But. 

Sometimes you think that they are similar. It’s not about the looks—maybe a bit, considering that your son has just as blue eyes as Price, and a smile that could steal a million stars—but about mannerisms. Without even thinking, he picks up certain behavior, a hand on a hip when he’s not really pleased with something or scratching his jaw and slightly tapping his chin if he’s thinking. 

Simple, didn’t catch your eye at first, but it hit you when you have a certain comparison.

John is back the same day. Standing right in front of you at your porch with his famous toolbox that you have seen around many times; before you even get to ask him why is he here, he explains, “can’t leave you like this. Would be wrong,” and you automatically feel your knees weaken. 

Seems like you can’t get rid of him this easily right now.

First steps into your house are slow. You don’t really pay attention to this, but John takes a good look around, observing like a hawk what you have. The pictures of you and your son are practically everywhere, there’s a little mess in the living room, showing that you indeed have a kid—he notes everything in his mind. 

And he notes how much of attention to detail you have, yet, still hasn't said anything about him being so curious. 

Like an omen, the cupboard you repaired a while ago, falls down to the floor. Thank God there was nothing inside.

“Seems like it will need my hand too,” he says, looking at you. There’s concern in his eyes, but also a weird gleam, like the prospect of spending more time here is actually exciting for him. “Gonna be here for a while, eh? Coulda told me sooner, love, ‘bout this shit.”

“Yeah. It… needs to be fixed, but I thought I’d… take care of it,” you murmur, bashful. The feeling that you know a little too well around John Price; that monstrous man who probably would’ve killed you barehanded. At the same time, he’s the nicest man. Seems like the nicest man at least; that’s what your local research told you. Behind it all, he is…perfect.

Maybe that’s why you don’t want to believe that he wants to be around you without any hidden meanings behind it.

He stops in your garage. “S’not trouble at all, sweetheart.” He leans down a little, his eyes locked on yours. You don’t even notice how his hand is dangerously close to your face, fingers playing with a loose strand from your bun, made a little hastily before he even came here. “Let me do everything. Take care of you. And you do your thing, I’ll be here.”

You frown. Maybe it’s not the worst idea to leave him be, but for some reason, it doesn’t feel right—leaving him in your garage. “You’re completely sure you don’t need help? I mean, I can take care of—”

“—I’ve got you, mama. Do your thing,” he whispers out. Sweet and affectionate. Giving you the sense of comfort, reassurance that he’s perfectly capable of whatever he’s gonna do with your car right now. “You wanted to make something for a little man, then do it.”

“Okay,” you say, your tone low too. His smile reaches his eyes now, as he kisses your temple, then, like it’s nothing, moves under the machine. You look at him dumbstruck, like someone hit you a moment before with a baseball bat. 

Normally, you’d say something about it. How inappropriate it is, how you’re not even close, not to mention that you’re not his to be treated like that, but it’s John that you think about. A man that’s kind enough to repair your car, so you just back out to your house, throat tight, fingers clutching at the end of your hoodie. 

Even if it seems inappropriate, you can’t say that it’s not nice—because it is. The thought of someone taking care of you, giving it all in bigger and smaller gestures. Making everything seem so easy with him, easier than doing it alone.

And you’re used to doing things alone, so maybe that’s why it’s kind of hard to get used to his presence.

Thoughts flow by, when you make chocolate muffins. Your kid’s favorite—and what you learn after, John’s favorite too. He eats them as eagerly as your six year old, who is dirty with chocolate all over his face. You make a mental note to make them less moist later, so you’re not gonna be occupied with cleaning in the future.

Price licks the surfeit of chocolate off his fingers when he’s done. Slowly, taking his time to do it right. You think you might go insane when he holds your gaze the entire process, the corner of his lips twitching. Something in your head tells you that he gets off on it, to the thought of how shy you are if it’s coming down to him, to his actions, but you try to not to think about it. Desperately.

Significant word, try.

For a few minutes, there’s nothing—or, too much, as there’s multiple John Price’s on the internet. Narrowing your searches, you add simple “military” to it, hoping for a miracle, something that will tell you anything about him. No matter if it’s gonna be bad or good, but the ache in your heart tells you that you’d want it to be good.

It feels like a crime, when you sit to your laptop right after your kid is asleep. Curiosity kills the cat, but you forget about this when you type in “John Price” in your browser, a glass of wine on your coffee table, next to the lamp that your grandma gave you. She would encourage your behavior, you can’t help but think.

Something in you whispers that it’s a right idea, he’s not telling enough about himself to let you be around him so much. Not to let him act like you’re so close that neighbors already are talking about being a “thing”. Besides, it’s not only you here. Your kid likes him too, a tad too much for your liking to ignore the case and not check basic info.

There is some information about him, but they’re mostly… a state of fact. Articles about successful missions, hostages alive. A bunch of articles praising him by the mayor of the town that the whole action happened at, interviews how he brings good everywhere he is. Multiple operations, even more praises for whatever he’s doing. Golden boy, made to shine.

Aside from the military, man doesn’t exist. No relatives, no social media that could tell you a scrap of his personality. If he likes cats or dogs better, if he’s divorced, if he has a family that he abandoned, or maybe close friends that he lost along the way. Walking mystery he is, or maybe a perfection. He can be everything he wants to be, and you won’t tell the difference between his past and the person he is now. You have no reference point.

Incredulous, you fidget with the hem of your t-shirt, thinking. No one is perfect, everyone has their demons, small or big, but everyone has them, the past that they’d like to forget in order to live without heaviness in their hearts. You have things you’d like to forget, a thing that haunts you every time you think about it; one of them is your son’s biological father, but you decide not to think about it further. There’s better things to think of that son of a bitch.

He saw things, you don’t need to be an alpha and omega to know that. Bad things; things that you probably won’t ever see, if you’re lucky, but this shit sits in his head, of course. Only him and God knows how many people he lost, how many he buried along the way, how many he killed. 

It makes the difference who he was before.

You can’t have someone that you don’t know very well around the kid, you repeat to yourself, as you close the laptop. You can’t have someone who could be a potential danger. You want peace and quiet in your own home, men already disappointed you enough, including the biological father of your kid, you don’t need to have another one on your list.

Yet, you want him around somehow. He keeps the bad things away, he makes things better, he takes the worries away, just like he did with the car.

You just need to… find more information on John Price. Take some distance, maybe, and think about all of it twice.

[welcometowhore-rrorville]

𝒯𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝒩𝒾𝑔𝒽𝓉 𝐸𝓃𝒹𝓈

Featuring: Michael Myers

Word Count: 3k 

Warnings: nsfw, mdni, unprotected sex (don’t do it, kids), basically just 3k of smut, probably ooc but y’all didn’t come here for accuracy, no verbal consent but y/n is into it, size difference, rip that pussy, rough sex, biting, fingering, blood mention, little to no prep, yeah just general nastiness :), proofread and edited but also probably some mistakes bc i am human

-

By the time you got home it was nearly two in the morning. Despite your insistence that you were fine, you wound up in the hospital, treated for your minor cuts and bruises. The entire time you were there the man that had interrupted you made conversation. From what he told you, the man you’d come into contact with that night was nothing short of evil, and he’d never seen anybody come that close to him without dying in the process. You also found out he was once his psychiatrist, which you thought was laughable. He sure did a bang-up job didn’t he? Regardless, Dr. Loomis was nice enough, despite his ominous warnings. 

You weren’t quite sure what to do with his information in the first place—you were certainly glad to still be on this plane of existence, but why were you the exception? What part of you intrigued him, and what would happen if you were to meet again? 

You let out a sigh, finally collapsing onto your bed after a long shower. Your skin was still moist, and you shivered in the open air. You couldn’t find the energy to do anything but lay there, still wrapped in your towel as you dampened the sheets. You thought about falling asleep just like that, but irrational fears of something crawling where it didn’t belong stopped you. You let out a huff. 

You lived alone despite your age, and found it quite nice most of the time. Tonight, though? You weren’t sure. It would be nice to talk to someone. 

You turned on your side, hands tucked against your face as you stared out the window. You could see the darkened front yard, street lights buzzing with soft light. 

Despite all that had happened, you couldn’t sleep. Your eyes refused to close, and you weren’t sure how long you laid there before finally sitting up, towel slipping off of you as you stared at your closet. You should get dressed, you told yourself, instead of sitting naked as you let your thoughts wander. 

Finally making a decision, you slipped off your bed and out of your towel, padding to your closet. You opened it, eyes scanning in the darkened room to find something to put on. You reached forward to grab a shirt off its hanger, hand resting against the fabric. 

The hairs on the back of your neck suddenly stood up. You felt exposed, and slowly turned around to find out what had spooked you.

You shouldn’t have been surprised at who you saw standing outside your window. You opened your mouth but nothing came out. You shut it again, grabbing the shirt and sliding it on, the bagginess barely covering your bare thighs.

You stared into the black voids of the masked man’s face. Michael’s face. He had returned. You didn’t bother to think about how he’d found your house. It was inevitable. 

Your heart rate accelerated with each step you took, cautiously approaching the shape at the window. With a shaking hand, you reached out, fingers gripping the window’s edge. Giving it a tug, you pulled it up just enough to feel the cool air wisp against your thighs. A flimsy screen flexed inwards with the wind. You stepped back again, taking a seat on the side of your bed. 

“Here to finish me off?” you questioned, arms crossing in front of your chest. “Couldn’t even give me a night’s rest, huh?”

He didn’t reply. You huffed.

“Your doctor told me about you, Michael,” you continued, elbows moving to rest on your knees as you leaned forward. Your fingers rested against your chin. “He says you’re evil. That you can’t be saved.” You scoffed. “Sounds like a pretty shitty doctor to me.” 

You shook your head. “You were how old when he started taking care of you? Seems like he just dropped the ball. But still. I guess you did try to kill me. So I can’t exactly argue with him.”

You weren’t sure why you felt so compelled to chat with the man lurking outside, but you supposed anything was better than being alone. Well, maybe anything. You still didn’t know where he fell on that scale. You might die tonight. Again. 

You let out a yawn despite your rapid pulse and the adrenaline flowing through your veins. Your body was tired of fighting or flighting. It was time to sleep. You closed your eyes, neck stretching towards the ceiling. A satisfying crack along with your muscles relaxing let you know you’d stretched enough, and you returned to stare out the window. He was gone.

You blinked. That wasn’t good.

You stood up, slamming the window shut once more before turning on your heels. Did you lock the door? The gentle creaking of hinges let you know your answer. Two heavy footsteps sounded at the entryway. 

You clicked your tongue, eyes scanning your room for a hiding spot before you nestled inside your closet, closing the sliding doors in front of you as you slid down. 

Was this a shitty hiding spot? Yes. But god-damn-it you were tired. You really didn’t want to deal with this shit again.

You held your breath, hands clasped over your mouth as you listened. Every creek of the floor let you know he was closing in. You had nowhere to go. Nothing to defend yourself. Hell, you didn’t even have any pants on. You were literally caught with your pants down and there wasn’t a damn thing you could do about it. 

You supposed it’s what you deserved for your earlier actions—getting frisky with a killer wasn’t exactly a smart decision. Still, you couldn’t help but let out a silent laugh. This was all ridiculous. Some Halloween this turned out to be.

You hushed your thoughts when the door to your room opened, and from your position on the floor you watched as a shadow cast itself across the floor. The large and imposing figure stepped inside. You held your knees against your chest, praying he wasn’t sane enough to check the only hiding spot in the room. You heard the metallic tap of a blade against the closet doors. Oh, lovely. He still had enough of a mind to check the closet. 

You knew if you sat here you were dead. Your hands fumbled in the darkness for something to grasp onto but all you felt were clothes. What a surprise. 

Still, you prepared yourself, getting on your knees and waiting to launch yourself forwards. With each passing second your pulse quickened. You knew he knew you were in here. Why wasn’t he opening the door?

You bit your lip. Was he waiting for you to come to him? To open the door only to be met with a knife to the chest? You were lost. Should you. . . ?

Your fingers brushed against the wood, finding the small slit between the two doors. You inched forwards out of the corner, eye peering out. You didn’t see him. 

You pulled backwards, tilting your head in confusion. This was a trap. You knew it was. So why were you so tempted to push the doors open?

Despite your brain screaming at you to stop, your fingers slipped outside, and you yanked the closet open, shooting up and out to press yourself against the nearest wall. 

Your eyes hurriedly scanned the room. Your door was wide open, but there was nobody there. Were you just going crazy? Seeing things? Where in the hell did he go?

Your shoulders relaxed and you rested a hand against your forehead. You could have sworn he was here somewhere. It didn’t make sense.

Irritated, you walked over to your wide open door, grabbing the handle before slamming it closed. That’s when you saw him, body formerly hidden behind your door now fully upright and ready to strike.

You couldn’t even scream, backing up until the back of your knees hit the foot of your bed. You stared in shock, hands balling up the fabric of your shirt. 

“At least I’m not crazy,” you whimpered, back arching in a futile attempt to get further away as he slowly lumbered towards you. Each step sent a shiver down your spine. You couldn’t tear your eyes away. You were stuck like a rabbit in a snare. A feeling of deja vu washed over you. Would you be so lucky a second time?

You spotted the large kitchen knife clutched in his hand, the other hanging loosely at his side. Probably not. 

You held your breath, chest ceasing its frantic movements. 

You watched, speechless, as he rose the knife higher and higher, catching the light outside and glinting menacingly. You forced your eyes to stay open, teeth biting your lip so hard you tasted blood. 

The knife came down swiftly, impaling itself onto your bed frame. You stared, looking at the blade lodged in the wooden surface.

You turned your attention back to Michael, who was now hovering so close that you could feel your breath fanning off of his mask. You collapsed onto your bed as a large hand pushed against your sternum, forcing you against your sheets. 

If he wasn’t going to kill you. . . what was going to happen tonight? Your bare thighs smushed against each other as your hands gripped the edge of your bed. Was he trying to finish what he started in the kitchen. . . ?

His hands gripped both of your thighs, leaving you to let out a gasp as he shoved them uncomfortably far apart. There were no clothes to hide under this time. 

He stared, head tilted down as his fingers dug into your soft flesh. Your cheeks burned with embarrassment. What was he doing? And why? You tried in vain to ease your thighs closer together, but he didn’t budge. 

“Have. . .” you whispered cautiously, “Have you done this before?” 

The more you thought about it, the more you realized he’d probably never seen this part of somebody so intimately before. He’d been in a mental hospital for all of his adult life. And you were fairly certain they didn’t give out porn-o mags to the criminally insane. 

There was something hilarious about this situation. He broke into your house, had you in his grasp, and was now. . . stumped? He seemed perfectly capable earlier, but you supposed it was different now that you were fully on display and there were certain to be no interruptions. 

He didn’t respond to your question—obviously—but he did tilt his head ever-so-slightly. If you could see his eyes, you imagined they’d be narrowed in concentration.

You moved to speak again, but any words were knocked from your throat as you were pulled harshly against his torso, one hand gripped tightly on your hip underneath your thin shirt as the other snaked up your thigh. A switch had been flipped, it seemed, and with no hesitation his large index finger thrust inside of you. 

You let out a gasp of surprise, cunt clenching around the intrusion. You didn’t have time to think before his digit pulled out and plunged back in, and you squirmed in an attempt to ease the sting. It’s not like you hadn’t done this before, but normally you get a little warning before being finger-fucked. 

His grip on your hip forced you still, and you froze, feeling his nails press threateningly against your flesh. He had no patience for you, it seemed. Every push and pull was exploratory, feeling the sponginess of your walls twitching with every movement. It was not unlike the violent pulsing of an open wound, but this was more. . . sensual. That same blood-lust that consumed him built, but this time with a different intent. He wanted to feel more. See more. Witness what you looked like squirming underneath his grip. Not pleading to stop, pleading for mercy, but pleading for more. He wanted you in a way so foreign to him and yet so achingly familiar. 

Your fists gripped the sheets, gasping and breathless as he fit another finger inside of you. They split apart, scissoring you open. You bit back a moan before it was forced out when a thumb brushed against your clit.

Your back arched, trying to meet his hand uselessly. The hand underneath your shirt moved from your hip to press firmly against your stomach. He pinned you against your bed hard enough to knock the breath out of you. This was not your experience to control. 

His fingers continued, forcing themselves as deep as they could go, twisting to feel everything. Every pulsing surface that writhed around him spurred him to go faster. 

You were a mess, your pussy throbbing as it took in his fingers over and over. You could only watch as they appeared and disappeared, each time thrusting deep enough to have you clenching around him. 

The sounds of your slick walls echoed in the dark room, making you close your eyes in embarrassment. They didn’t stay that way for long, however, flying open when his hands left your body, instead fixated on pulling down the zipper on his jumpsuit. 

You took the moment of freedom to scurry backwards until you rested on the bed fully. Your legs ached from being pressed against the side of the mattress, thighs already marked with the indents of large hands overtaking your skin. 

Each breath you took was shallow, and you fought to catch your breath. Before you knew it, though, he gripped your ankles, yanking you back until you hung halfway off the bed. You stared at him, mask still on but jumpsuit now halfway off, the dirty shirt underneath doing little to hide the solid rise and fall of his broad chest. You wondered if he’d ever take his mask off. It was ironic—refusing to show his face even during a time like this.

He was still so calm, even as his fingers raked against your leg to find a grip on the meat of your thighs. His other hand slipped past the waist-line of his boxers, and even through the dark cloth you could tell you were in for it. You may have done this before, but—a sudden vision of splitting in half filled your head. If you thought his fingers had you writhing—you watched with bated breath as he grabbed his dick, hand wrapped around the base firmly. You didn’t have time to process just how something that big would fit inside of you before he had already rested himself against your entrance. Suddenly, getting fucked by a murderer didn’t seem like such a good idea. 

“Michael,” you whimpered, “please be—” you cut yourself off with a scream, cunt stretched and stinging as he thrust inside of you. His hand on your thigh pulled you flush against him, leaving no room to arch away from the intrusion nestled all the way inside of you. Tears filled your eyes. Your hands reached to pry away the hand on your thigh keeping him shoved inside of you, but you were met with his now-free hand gripping both of your wrists, pinning them above your head effortlessly. 

“It—it doesn’t fit,” you whined, every breath stinging as you tried desperately to relax yourself around him. 

At your words he tilted his head, looking from your stuffed cunt to your teary face as if to refute your point. It fit just right. There was no space left, and your tightness surrounding him only encouraged him to begin to move. Your body relaxed when his cock receded, but it was short lived. As soon as you felt only the tip nestled inside of you, his entire dick was back, slamming into you so hard your thighs jiggled with the impact.

You let out a cry which morphed into a moan when he once again pulled out only to shove himself into your aching cunt. 

The stretch burned, but that pain quickly became your dopamine. Your walls were wet, providing easy lubricant for the massive dick with now thrust in and out hurriedly. He was rhythmic yet unpredictable, never hitting the exact same spot twice. You couldn’t wrap your mind around the speed he was keeping up, hands now limp in his grasp as you pressed the side of your face into your blankets. You did nothing, all your effort concentrated in not letting out another sound slip from your mouth. You didn’t know how to feel. This was wrong—stretched over a killer’s cock as you tried desperately not to moan his name. The name of the man who tried to stab you, choke you, snuff you out mere hours ago. 

You didn’t care. It didn’t matter, you told yourself. It wasn’t like you were dating the guy, just getting your brains fucked out of you. Did that make it better? No, probably not.

Still, there was no denying your ever-approaching release, and with energy you didn’t know you still had you weakly bucked your hips forward, only to have them thrust back as he drilled himself into you once again. He was too caught up in his own moment. He stared at your face from behind the mask, taking in every detail of your exhausted expression. You fought to keep your eyes open, mouth permanently open as breathless moans escaped you. You did this to him. Had him confused. You were the one to blame for the feeling in his chest and the hardness splitting you open. It was your actions that night. You puzzled him. Intrigued him. Had him picturing vulgar situations he hadn’t thought about since puberty. He’d never needed something like this before. Why now? Why you? Why did you do this to him?

It didn’t matter.

Once this was over he’d move on, kill you and get on with his life. This meant nothing. Was nothing. Just something he needed to get over with before slaughtering another victim.

A new feeling pulled him from his thoughts. He felt a pressure, like a heart about to burst open, and with every shove of his dick inside of your slick walls it increased. He chased the pressure. He pressed harder, deeper into you, hand on your thigh gripping so tight he saw blood begin to trickle from beneath his fingernails.

You winced at the pain, but it was so distant, so muted compared to the undulating pleasure stirring inside of you. Your entire lower half was almost numb, body trying desperately to soothe the piercing pain of his dick splintering you. It worked for the most part, but now you wanted more. Needed more. It suddenly wasn’t enough.

You let out a whine. “More,” you mewled, eyes clenched shut as you chased that familiar feeling.

The hand on your thigh vanished, only to reappear, gripping your ass and forcing your body to match his excruciating pace. You knew he was close, pace ramping up even more, becoming more random, needy, like he was trying anything in a desperate attempt to relieve himself. 

You managed to slip out of the grip holding your wrists, leaning upwards to wrap your hands around his neck. The position was different, allowing him to hit a different part of you—the spot you needed. Your head rested against his shoulder, letting out a whimper that turned into a moan as you finally hit your high, teeth biting harshly into the fabric of his shirt to muffle yourself. 

Your walls clenched harshly, clamping down around his dick, triggering his own release. You could feel every spasm as he came inside of you, mixing with your own cum to seep out of your filled cunt. Even after your orgasm washed over you, his continued, leaving you to gasp in over-stimulation. By the time he finally finished, a small puddle of cum had collected on the blankets. You could only stare, still pressed against him, as he pulled out, only to collect the spilled juices with his fingers, pressing them inside of you. You bit back a whine, watching as your cunt leaked with the white substance. You suddenly felt disgusting—every part of you was unclean. You supposed getting fucked by a murderer will do that to you.

Your eyes suddenly shot open, and you pulled swiftly away from him, crawling backwards until your head hit your headboard. What now? You served your purpose. Was he going to. . .

You watched as he tucked himself back into his underwear before re-zipping his jumpsuit. You noted the red splotch on the shoulder of his t-shirt. Where you bit him. You stifled a laugh. At least you left your mark. 

He turned his head to stare at the knife still embedded in your bed frame, ripping it back into his grasp with one fluid motion. You prepared yourself to run despite your exhaustion.

He stared at you, knife hanging at his side. He tilted his head, as if debating something, before finally turning on his heels and walking slowly out of your bedroom.

You could only watch as he walked down the hallway and out of sight. You heard the closing of a door.

He let you live. Again.

You let out a sigh, head limp against your headboard. You couldn’t bring yourself to move. “This is my life now, huh?” you muttered, looking down at the bruises and red stains on your thighs. “I guess that’s one way to spend Halloween.” 

[batwritings]

Kinktober Day 14 - Masturbation

The big Austrian man!! :D König is one of my favorite operators in CoD and I can never decide which I like more: "fanon" König or actual, cold-blooded killer König. Enjoy!~

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

“Are you sure this is alright schatz?” You could tell König was on high alert from the moment you brought him into your flat. It was rare that he got a moment’s respite in the field, and shore leave was even more rare since joining up with KorTac. In front of others, you were nothing more than his subordinate. But here? Was a different story.

You couldn’t help but smile sadly at your lover. You could see him trying so so hard to let his guard down and actually relax with you in your home, a place only you know. “Of course it is love,” you tell him softly. “I actually had an idea, if that’s okay by you?”

König tilts his head, beautiful blue eyes looking to you with such trust and adoration. It made your heart swell with the amount of trust this absolute behemoth of a man was placing in you. On the battle field, you knew he as your colonel had your back. But in down time, without that mask of authority? He was a lost puppy, following whoever he trusted most. And that person was you.

You led him to your bed, suddenly very thankful for your choice of a king sized mattress. Before settling across from him, you slowly began to strip. You watched the Austrian man for any signs that he would be uncomfortable. Granted, this wouldn’t be the first time he’d seen you naked, and gods willing, it wouldn’t be the last.

Sapphire eyes widened and you could see the edges of his balaklava soften with a pink hue. You sat beside him them, skin rubbing against the fabric of his cargo pants. Derobing from military attire was always a bit difficult for him, and this instance was no exception. 

“W-was are you doing?” König asks you softly, unsure of where to settle his eyes. You watched them flicker around in a panic; your sex, your eyes, your body, back to your eyes again. It was a little cute if you were entirely honest.

“Have you not heard of getting off to unwind?” You ask, a slightly teasing tone to your voice. You give a sly smirk as on hand lays across your sex. You sigh softly as you start to slowly pleasure yourself, head lolling to the side to rest on his shoulder. “Join me love.”

You can see the wheels turning in your colonel’s mind. It wasn’t for lack of trust, be he had trouble telling sometimes if you were serious or not. Massive hands come to undo his zipper at a snail’s pace. 

König pulls his member out, and you smile knowingly at him when you see it half hard. You knew the effects your body had on him, and this time was no exception. Hell the only time you’d really seen his face was during a body worship session.

Memories of heated kisses across  your skin play in your head, thus creating more arousal. You sigh again, this time more of a moan as you hide your face against your Austrian lover’s shoulder. You can hear the telltale noises of him starting to stroke his member in time with your own movements.

“Schiße,” König groans, more to himself than you. “I love seeing you like this maus. So open for me, so trusting.” You whimper softly, eyes screwing shut as a new kind of pleasure blossoms from your sex. “So vulnerable.”

The words are right against your ear, hot and sultry. You can tell he’s removed his mask a bit, and that’s exasperated by the feel of a hot tongue against your neck. “Mmh!” You whine, your pace picking up. 

Your skin felt aflame, burning with arousal. You hear König match your movements, loving the way you melt beneath him. For all that innocence and, quite frankly, babygirl energy, you knew who held dominance in the bedroom. 

“Getting close liebe?” The man purrs in your ear. He wasn’t wrong, you absolutely were. Your pace was losing it’s rhythm and becoming more erratic. Despite all his teasing, you could hear the sound of his own strokes picking up in pace. A low growl against your skin has you teetering on the edge.

“Fall apart for me liebling.”

And that was all it took for you to crumble, legs squeezing together as your peak makes a mess across your fingers. The pressure of you against him and sight of your arousal has König huffing little moans of his own. You feel his hand dip down across your oversensitive sex, swiping a bit of your mess onto his digits to lick off.

Another feral growl-like moan, and he too is coming undone. You watch those lovely baby blues roll back into his head a bit as he comes, back arched ever so slightly off the mound of pillows at the head of your bed. You praise him quietly, kissing along his shoulder where you could reach as he comes down from his orgasm, chest heaving.

You offer him a satisfied smile when he finally opens his eyes again. “See, told you that’d help you relax,” you tell him, feeling rather triumphant. The Austrian smirks, and before you know it, you’re on your back, caged in by his arms.

“I can think a few other ways to relax, you know.”

[uplatterme]

With Each Other II

cw: sub!dottore, reader has a cock, prime!dottore, younger!dottore/former akademiya!dottore, crying, overstimulation, degradation, praise, a three-way with two dottores involved, use of the term ‘master’, markings, masochistic prime!dottore, innocent younger!dottore

summary: younger!dottore worries of what’ll await him when his creator arrives after the previous events. on the other hand, older!dottore worries his place might be taken away.

a/n: please work *cries*

PART I

The younger Dottore sat on his couch, wondering if everything that had happened was something that his mind had somehow made up. 

These past few hours were unbelievable.

He thought he was going to get killed for fuck’s sake, and then he didn’t. Instead, you made his heart race so much that he was scared that his body wouldn’t be able to handle it. He sneaked glances as you went away to get some water and there it was again, that damn feeling in his chest.

He should have denied you harder when you first entered his place. If he did, then he wouldn’t have been shivering, terrified of what his creator would do. Of course, he’d never say that out loud.

“Hey.” You suddenly said, face only a few centimeters away from him.

He jumped, not realizing that you were there. You laughed at his reaction, handing him a glass of water. 

“You look good.” You complimented him, sitting down next to the clone.

“What?”

“Your hair, I mean. It looks good being this messy.”

Dottore dropped the glass on the floor, freaking out as it hit his foot. He really wished he had worn his mask today. He felt so vulnerable in front of you, and he couldn’t decide whether he liked it or not, which was why he was so worried. 

“Ha–I don’t care what you think!” He said proudly, despite his face being full of expression that's for sure not hatred.

“Cute. Is that a defense mechanism of yours?” You questioned.

“S-Shut up!” He screamed, wanting to run away. However, as soon as he stepped to turn away, his foot slipped from the splashed water that he dropped earlier.

He lost his balance, ready to hit his head on the floor, when you swooped in and caught him in the nick of time. Dottore was stunned seeing your face above of him, silent as it reminded him of when you two had sex earlier. He whined softly and instead of expressing his gratitude, he started flailing his arms around, hitting you.

“You act so aggressively when you were just sobbing a few hours ago. Calm down, sweetheart.” You advised, not really mad at the whole thing and knowing that he was probably only confused.

“Mind telling me what’s happening here?” A voice that didn’t belong to the two of you asked. 

The arrival of your Dottore brought two very different actions. While your heart was soft from finally being able to see him after weeks of waiting, the one who was in your arms slightly trembled from fear.

‘I’ll handle it.’ You mouthed at him, reassuring the younger one that everything would be fine.

Somehow, he put his trust in you, staying silent as you placed him on the couch from still being unable to move that smoothly.

“Darling, how was your mission?” You grinned at him, amused at his current state. He obviously hurried here, with the way he was sweating and quietly panting.

“The others will take care of it.” He said.

“Oh? But I thought you didn’t like it when people do things without your permission.” You teased the Doctor whose eyes were filled with desperation.

He clicked his tongue, seeing his clone behind you. He was naked and full of bruises, your marks that should have been on his skin directly instead.

“Your job was to keep an eye on Sumeru.” The older stated sternly, a voice that would terrify most.

You sighed, knowing this would get much worse if you didn’t step in. 

“Stop it, you’re scaring the poor thing.” You told him.

The one behind you smirked,  to which the Dottore in front of you didn’t appreciate. “You fucker!”

You turn your back, confused about why he would suddenly snap. However, his expression quickly changed from an arrogant one to a pitiful look before you could even face him. 

“Play nice, Dottore. Look at him, he’s even trembling because of you.” You said, patting his head which made him softly smile.

The older one wanted to rip the head off that clone. He should be the one receiving headpats, not him!

You faced forward again, not aware of how the clone was flipping off the other. Dottore clenched his fists. He could get rid of him so easily but since you were in his way, he wasn’t able to shut up the clone behind you even if he wanted to so badly.

The younger smiled, knowing he could use this to his advantage if he played his part perfectly. 

Your Dottore would never let that happen.

“I’m sorry, it’s just that I missed you...” He muttered softly, faking a tear as he said that. The younger one gaped, knowing his tactics.

“I missed you too. Come here.” You said, letting Dottore embrace you and bury his head onto your chest.

He belonged to you first, that clone would never be able to replace him even if he bled for it. 

“I liked your surprise. It’s fascinating that you were able to figure that out.” 

“Ah, I knew you would. That’s why I did it.” You smiled, taking his hand and kissing it.

“There were a lot of variables. Tell me, does it also happen vice-versa?” You asked the Doctor, pulling him to sit in the space next to you.

“No, what I feel wouldn’t affect the others. That’s why if I get rid of them, they’d only know it when it’s already happening.” He explained further.

“Interesting,” You said, bringing your focus to the younger Dottore. “You must be special then.” 

Dottore gripped your wrist, not liking how you were paying attention to his clone when you’d only met just this day. Special? Don’t make him laugh, he was a fuck up. A clone that had somehow malfunctioned despite his precise crafting.

He swallowed, seeing you push his mistake on his back, kissing his lips while he whined from your touch. He could do so much better than him.

Dottore called out your name. You wouldn’t abandon him like that, right? You wouldn’t abandon him just because you’ve found a younger and new prey.

Dottore started taking off his clothes, showing bruises that you’ve made that were mirrored from the younger Dottore’s skin.

“I’m yours too.” He said, placing your hand on his chest.

“Of course, darling. I’d never forget that.” You reassured the doctor whose heart melted with your words.

Right, there was no need for him to worry. You were different, you truly, were one special human.

You intertwined your fingers together, kissing his mouth and remarking the hickeys on his skin. Dottore’s back arched, your fingers slipping down his pants as you shaped his cock. Your warm touch was exactly what he needed from cumming untouched alone

“Hnn—ah!” The younger Dottore from behind you moaned, feeling what you were doing even if you weren’t exactly touching him.

“I-I don’t—” The sensation he felt was strange, it was stronger than the previous instances where he suddenly felt an immense pleasure out of nowhere.

“Hm, could you wait for a while, sweetheart?” You asked.

Despite only ever meeting his creator once in a while, the segment already noticed the difference in your treatment. Your actions were rougher, not at all gentle like the way you treated him earlier.

His ears twitched each time you called him ‘sweetheart’. Why was he given that title when his creator was given ‘darling’?

The younger reluctantly nodded at your question. 

“Good. Then, until I say so, don’t touch yourself.” You ordered.

Dottore mewled as you stroked him dry, your nails teasing the sides of his cock. “(N-Name).”

He shivered, cock instinctively twitching from your touch. 

“W-Want you in me. Please mess me up.” He begged, he was getting tired from all of the teasing without having it lead anywhere.

And while the two of you were having your moment, the other remained trembling as he quietly wept, the pleasure making him dumb with cum already leaking out of his tip. His cock was aching for any action but he ignored it, wanting to follow your wishes despite him already feeling as if he was going to cum already.

“Really? You want my cock inside you that bad?”

“M-Mhm! P-Please, I can’t anymore. I’ve been waiting ever since I got here.” He whimpered, basically ignoring the presence of the other Dottore in the room.

“Ah, let’s see you do it yourself then.” You stated.

“What?” He said, confused.

“Penetrate yourself with my cock, darling. Do I need to spell it out for you?”

He sat up, positioning himself to be on top of you. He sneaked a grin at his segment, bragging about he was the one getting all of your attention and not him. And if it weren’t for the fact that the other’s mind was so hazy right now, he would have probably sent one in return as well.

He took your cock in his hand, placing it on his entrance. He could feel himself slowly stretch out to take you in. Dottore flinched, already close to cumming from just insertion. You weren’t even halfway in yet but it was already too much for him.

He shivered, hovering on top of you. His walls were clenching tight with each breath of his. If he wanted you to be fully inside of him, he would need to do a little bit of pushing. 

“I’ll help you out.” You offered, grabbing Dottore by his waist before slamming him down, forcing him to take you whole unprepared.

He yelped, accidentally squirting all over your clothes from the action.

Behind you, Dottore had to bite down on his own hand from the pleasure. He’d already cum once, his lower half being a whole mess with his seed being everywhere.

“Come on, you were begging to have me and yet you’re only staying still. Do you need a little motivation?”

You hummed, thinking of something that would make him feel truly encouraged. 

“I see, how about this? If you don’t start bouncing up and down, I’ll have him replace you right now.”

Dottore shifted his position, getting comfortable before proceeding to follow your orders. 

“Good, but don’t look at me.” You said, turning his head to the trembling Dottore on your side.

“Look at how fucking filthy you are.”

Your nails scratched Dottore’s thighs, the pain coursing through his veins. The marks later on reappeared on the younger Dottore’s skin.

He couldn’t count how many times he’d cum already.

“You’re mine, you’re mine. Only mine.” Dottore chanted as he plunged your cock in and out repeatedly, quivering with each thrust.

He buried his face in your chest, the repeated hitting of his own prostate getting unbearable, panting before squeaking out. “Hmpf!—Master…”

“Go ahead, darling.”

Dottore yelled out your name as he came. Fuck, today’s becoming one of his favorite days that he’d spent with you. 

“Get off, Dottore. It’s his turn now.” You stated, bringing an angered expression to rise out of him.

“You don’t need him, (Name). He’s a mistake.” He argued, not wanting to share your attention with anyone else.

“I do appreciate you sharing your thoughts, but frankly I don’t think that’s for you to decide.” You refuted at the jealous Dottore who couldn’t believe that you would even spare a glance at somebody else other than him.

“I’ve taken a liking to this one, you see.”

“I can satisfy you in any way you want. Someone like him would never be able to handle the things that we do.” He answered.

You sighed. 

“Are you going against me?”

A wave of silence filled the room. Dottore never liked arguing with you, you also never did for the most part. But his possessive behavior was getting a bit much.

“We’ve discussed the boundaries of our relationship, haven’t we? What? Don’t tell me you’re actually in love with me.”

…

No fucking way.

Dottore buried his face in his hands, an action that reminded you of the younger segment. 

“(Name). When’s it going to be my turn? I want you too.” Dottore said, tired of being ignored and left to his own devices.

He was on his knees, looking up at you while shaking from cumming non-stop. 

“Darling, we’ll talk about this later.”

You ran your fingers through his hair, sending a shiver down his spine. The older grunted, still embarrassed at the unplanned confession. He didn’t think this would be going that way, if he knew, then he would’ve prepared something better.

“Sweetheart. Thank you for being patient, is there anything you want to do?”

“T-Then, can I do the same thing he did earlier?”

“Of course.”

You glanced at Dottore who seemed to be thinking about what he had just done. 

“Dottore. Teach him, why don’t you? I promise to give you an answer if you do.”

“You won’t leave me?” He asked.

“Never.”

[ultraintrovertedgryffindor]

No thoughts just Rainsmut from ghost

Don't know if this was a request or just a lovely thought but yes, the answer is yes. Wooo, had dust off the cobwebs in my brain for this one *cracks knuckles* This is fem!Reader too, hope that's okay

Warnings: SMUT (MINORS DNI), Rain is a shy boi turned soft dom boi, oral (f and m!receiving), biting, scratching, marking, blood, fluffy aftercare (more for Rain honestly even though he was the dom lmao he needs reassurance)

2.2K Words🤙🏻

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You never expected to find love in your life, not to any human, especially not to a demon. But becoming a Sister of Sin took you on a path that still manages to shock you, including how you felt towards a specific water Ghoul. 

Everyone told you that having a Ghoul as a partner could have its…difficulties. 

In the past, relationships between a Ghoul and a human would not last long, and the end usually was not pretty. You heard stories of blood, violence, and death. Some Ghouls had the tendency of getting territorial of their mates, often picking fights with other Ghouls if they even had a suspicion that one of them was interested. In rare instances, some Ghouls would even kill their mates, though not on purpose. So you would’ve had every right to be more than a little hesitant in being with a Ghoul. 

But you knew Rain wasn’t like that.

Typically, the water types were less aggressive and more reserved than the others, often keeping to themselves, staying out of trouble, and never really picking fights unless they felt threatened. But they were still demons, they still had an aura of danger surrounding them,  they could still annihilate a human if they ever felt like it. But Rain never gave you that vibe that he was even capable of such acts. He made you feel safe, comfortable. He was protective, but not in an overbearing type of way. If you were around any other Ghouls, he’d always be by your side watching over you. He was sweet, and you couldn’t see a world where he’d ever hurt you on purpose.

The two of you had been together for a few months now, but you still did nothing more than kiss. It was frustrating, and it had to have been difficult for Rain too. For some people, that contact is a need and a lack of that made you more irritable. You knew how skittish Rain could be, and you absolutely did not want to pressure him into doing anything he wasn’t ready for. But you were so desperate for his touch and you didn’t know how long you’d be able to last.

You wanted to be with Rain intimately, but you just didn’t know how to bring it up without spooking him off. You were aching and needed him now, but him being off in a touring band caused some unwanted distance between the two of you, so you were just going to have to handle it yourself like you always had to.

You exhaled a shaky breath as you removed your habit, laying on your bed with your legs slightly spread. You imagined Rain looking down on you, eyes dark and narrow behind his stage mask, a bulge prominently poking through his tight black jeans. You imagined his soft voice telling you what to do, forcing you to obey his every command. You slowly trailed your fingers down your body, running along your lace lingerie, tentatively journeying down until your fingers felt the heat that was radiating from your already sopping wet cunt, begging to be touched. 

You were a second away from reaching your aching nub until the door to your bedroom opened suddenly, a grinning Rain entering the door frame. But he quickly froze as he realized what was happening, his grin falling off his face and his eyes widening in shock as your half naked form. “Oh, fuck-! Uh, I’m sorry!” He covered his eyes and quickly closed your door, leaving you flushed and disheveled.

You put on a robe and walked out, finding Rain with his head in his hands in your living room. “Rain?” You called out softly, taking cautious steps towards him.

“I am so sorry, babe. We, the band, we got a few days off and I wanted to surprise you but…oh god.” Rain’s ears were flattened back, his tail actually tucked between his legs, coiling around his leg tightly. He sighed. “I didn’t mean to…walk in on you like that, I promise.”

You gently took a seat next to him, reaching up to lightly rub his back. “Hey, it’s okay. I mean, you did really surprise me.” You joked, smiling when he managed a nervous chuckle, his body untensing a little. “Coulda joined me, you know?” You said, in a split second decision, wondering if testing the waters was a good idea in the moment. You felt him tense up again beneath your hand, almost regretting your words until you noticed a slight bulge in his pants, not unlike the one you saw in your fantasy. “I mean, don’t you want to, with me?” You asked, feeling a little insecure.

Rain furrowed his brows and sat up more straight, taking a hold of your hand. “Of course I do, it’s just…you’re human. You can…break.” You don’t know why his choice of words made you clench, a sharp pang of desire shooting straight through your core. “I don’t wanna hurt you. Dewdrop almost killed his mate during…you know. I don’t want that to happen to you. I couldn’t live with myself.”

“You’re not Dewdrop, Rain. You’re not like that.”

“He wasn’t like that either until it happened.” He frowned.

You could’ve whined. You were so needy. You understood his apprehension. It made you nervous too, but you loved your demon and you wanted him badly. “I want you, Rain. You want me too, I know you do. But…I understand if you can’t. But there is nothing you could do to me that would make me love you any less. You could never hurt me.”

Rain inhaled sharply, his hands tightening into fists as he smelled your arousal. It could’ve driven him mad. He saw how your thighs pressed together, how your teeth nawed away at the dead skin of your lips, how anxious your expression was. You looked to be in pain, and that pained him. “If we do this…you have to promise me, if I get too rough or do anything that you don’t like, you stop me. Whatever you have to do.” He spoke seriously, his pupils dilated until you could barely see his iris’.

“Yes, Rain. Just please, touch me.” You begged, opening one of his fists and bringing the palm to cup your sex, gasping as the much needed contact. You heard him audibly inhale, a soft purr rumbling in his chest. “Feel how much I want you? Feel how wet you make me?” You whispered.

Rain growled as he surged forward, capturing your lips in a heated kiss, teeth grazing against each other’s and pushing your tongues to meet. You moaned in his mouth as he started playing with your clit through your underwear, the fabric practically ruined with how soaked it was. “I didn’t realize how good you smell like this, baby.” Rain purred, trying his best to maintain his composure while he pushed the robe off your shoulders. “Bedroom. Now.” He ordered, leading you to the bed hastily.

You sat on the bed with a glazed over look in your eyes, your ears perked up at the sound of Rain’s belt buckle coming unlatched, the leather sliding and making a slapping sound as he removed it and tossed it to the floor. You could feel your mouth watering as he started to unbutton his pants. “You look so gorgeous like that, sweetheart. You wanna suck my cock, hm? Your mouth is already halfway open.” You could only nod as you finally started to see the side of Rain that you’ve been dreaming of. 

Rain beckoned you to sit on the edge of the bed, removing the rest of his clothes and taking his hard cock out of the confines of his pants and watching your expression as you finally saw all of him. “Is this what you were thinking about before I came home?” He asked darkly, gently caressing the back of your head. “You touch yourself to thoughts of me?” You nodded weakly, your mouth filling with saliva as your lips finally came into contact with the head of his cock.

Rain groaned loudly as you took him in your mouth, slowly bobbing your head and moaning at the taste. “Oh, sweet Lucifer…” He cursed, reaching down to unclasp your bra and to lift your chin, biting his lip at the sight. Tears in your admiring eyes, drool running down your chin and onto your tits, all for him. The view could’ve made him come right then and there. But he wanted you to feel good too.

You gasped as he tore you away from his dick, having you stand up as he sank to his knees, his own expression needy and glazed over as he ran his claws up your thighs, forcing goosebumps to form along the path. You quickly stepped out of your underwear as he pulled them down, him grabbing the back of one of your thighs to bring your leg to rest on his shoulder. Rain licked his lips as he finally saw the full glory that was your pussy, your arousal coating it and your inner thighs. He had never seen such a pretty sight. 

You let out a cry as Rain dove in, lapping up all your wetness and going to work right away. His long tongue poked and prodded at your tight entrance, undulating against your folds in such a way that you almost saw stars. “So sweet.” He growled, moving to focus on your clit, using his forked tip to rub on either side of the little nub. You tried not to scream, your legs threatening to give out just from the pure pleasure Rain was giving you. It was hard to focus on anything other than how his tongue was making you feel. But then it all came to a stop unfortunately, a loud whine escaping you as Rain rose to his feet with a shiny nose and chin. “I could do that all day.” He chuckled, but instead of doing just that, he pushed you gently to lay on the bed with your legs spread.

“Please, Rain…” You begged, arching your back so your chest could touch his, reaching out to hold onto his shoulders. “I need you.” And without warning, Rain entered you, almost immediately filling you to the brim, the head of his cock grazing your sweet spot already. “Fuck!” You moaned, wrapping your legs around his torso as he started to thrust into you.

“You feel so good.” Rain panted, a thin sheen of sweat already building on his forehead. “Fuck, you feel so good.” He whimpered, the sound driving you wild.

Rain buried his head into the crook of your neck, holding onto your shoulders with a vice grip. You felt multiple sharp stings as his claws extended, digging into the soft flesh, but Rain didn’t seem to notice, too lost in the feeling of you. It surprised you to find that you enjoyed it, the pain only amplifying the pleasure you already felt. The pain brought you closer to the peak you so desperately wanted to reach, you didn’t even notice you were clawing him right back. 

“Fuck, Rain, I’m so close!” You cried, attempting to meet his thrusts from underneath him, but Rain suddenly had a vice grip on your hips, pushing them down and pistoning into you even harder. “Oh, god-!” You threw your head back, unable to do anything but just take it, the pleasure rendering you useless.

The final straw was the new pleasurable pain you felt in the hollow of your neck, sharp fangs breaking your skin and sinking in, marking you in a way that just felt so right. It hit you like a train, knocking the breath out of your lungs, and then you let out a loud strained moan as you came around his cock. “Yes, yes, yes.” Rain whispered as his thrusts became sloppy, licking up your neck and stilling, his cum spilling inside of you as he whimpered.

You whined as Rain pulled out of you, flopping down beside you in exhaustion, a blissed out expression on his face. But his face quickly furrowed in concern, finally taking notice of the droplets of blood that slowly leaked out of your claw and bite marks. “Oh fuck, baby, I hurt you. Shit, I know this would happen. I never should have-”

“Rain, Rain!” You quickly interrupted before he had a full blown panic attack. “You didn’t hurt me, my love.”

“You’re bleeding.”

“I…I liked it.” You felt your face heat up at the admission. “It felt really good.” You chuckled giddily, and Rain relaxed a little but you could still see him beating himself up about it mentally. “That was the best orgasm I’ve ever had.” His eyes lit up at that, allowing himself to smile proudly at himself.

“Really?” He asked timidly, causing you to nod with a tired grin.

“You made me feel amazing. Only you, Rain. I knew I could trust you. If I didn’t like something, I would’ve told you. I promised, remember?”

Rain pulled you into his chest, wrapping his arms around your shoulders and holding you close. “Thank you.” He whispered sleepily, happy purrs rumbling in his chest, making it very difficult to stay awake.

You gave Rain a soft kiss on his chin as he fell asleep, his comfortable hold on you and purrs lulling you to sleep right after him.

~~~~~~~~~~

rain is baby

[aldbooks]

Gwynriel Day 12 - NSFW

A Court of Shadows - bonus chapter

I had proposed the idea at some point in the story of a bonus chapter featuring fire play which I decided to save for Gwynriel weeks. This particular chapter can be read without any major spoilers of the story.

Read on AO3

2863 words

Tugging on the knot to ensure it was secure, Gwyn’s fingers slid up, caressing the inside of Azriel’s wrist, watching his fingers curl and stretch toward her touch. She carefully wiggled two fingers under the thick, silk ribbon to check he had enough room. “Feel good?” she asked.

He hummed his agreement, his head hanging over the back of the chair as he watched her work. Standing, she allowed him a quick kiss. “Words, Shadowsinger,” she scolded, using the same reprimand he used when he was in control. He smirked.

“Yes, dove. You’re getting good at that.” His tone was a mix of pride and wariness. 

Gwyn chuckled lightly. “I learned from the best.” Another quick kiss and then she stepped back, studying her handiwork, walking around him in a slow circle. She’d selected a chair with a low back that allowed his wings to hang freely and comfortably. His hands were bound together at the wrist and secured to either of the back chair legs, limiting his movement, just as his ankles were securely bound to the front legs. And he was beautifully, gloriously naked.

“Secure enough?” she asked. She watched, biting her lips as his muscles flexed, testing her knots. 

After a moment, he looked up at her with a crooked smile. “I could get out of them if I wanted, but they’ll work for our purposes.”

“Good,” she grinned. “Do you like the new ribbon?”

“Yes… I see it wasn’t the only thing you bought today.” His eyes slid over her body as she stood before him, his heated gaze bringing a slight flush to her skin. 

Smirking, Gwyn turned, giving him a view of her backside as she strode for the bag of ‘supplies’ she’d picked up in Velaris that morning when she’d gone shopping with the girls before she and Az had shut themselves away in their seaside cottage for the next week. Her friends had given her many raised eyebrows and knowing smirks with every purchase but mercifully refrained from any lewd comments. 

She was very much looking forward to the next few days.

Az sucked in a breath, growling slightly as she bent over to rummage through one of the bags and she hid a smirk as he got an eyeful of the lingerie she’d purchased in the same cobalt blue of his siphons that had been specially designed for ‘easy access’. Rising back to standing, she showed him the items she’d selected. A bottle of scented oil and a black silk blindfold. 

He raised a brow as she stopped directly in front of him, close enough to touch- if he had the use of his hands. “Are you sure you want to do this?” she asked him for about the fifth time that evening. She could feel his nerves through the bond, could feel the way he trembled slightly as he breathed in slow and deep and nodded. 

“Yes. I don’t want to be scared of your fire, Gwyn. I know you won’t hurt me- I trust you.”

Her heart squeezed at the open, vulnerable expression in his eyes. He’d come a long way since he’d begun therapy and she knew that, while it was still difficult to be so honest and open about his fears and insecurities, he was trying. And that’s all she’d ever asked of him. Laying a hand on his cheek, she bent down and kissed him thoroughly. He sighed contentedly when she pulled back.

“Safe words?”

Smiling, he nuzzled his nose against hers. “Mercy to pause. Red to stop.”

She gave him one more quick peck before pulling away entirely. “Good.” Holding up the hand with the blindfold, she let it unfurl. “Ready?”

“Yes.”

With that word, her entire demeanor changed. Her body took on a looser, seductive quality as she leaned her weight into one hip, exaggerating her curves as her face became a mask of command. Azriel’s eyes darkened with vicious delight. 

“From now on,” she said, pitching her voice slightly lower into the smoky timbre he liked. “You will address me as My Lady. Understood?”

“Yes, my lady.” His lips curled upward just the slightest bit as she nodded and sat the bottle between his spread thighs on the seat before moving around behind him once more. Slipping the blindfold over his closed eyes, Azriel obligingly tilted his head forward so she could tie the ribbon behind his head. It had been designed to fit snugly over the contours of his eyes and nose to completely block out light without putting extra pressure. He hummed appreciatively as she adjusted it into place and he moved his head around experimentally to test it out. 

“You like?”

“I do. I might have to get a few more of these,” he said thoughtfully. Gwyn shook her head. Always the Spymaster. 

“Good, now, sit still.” Azriel obediently stilled. Lifting a hand, one of his shadows brought the bottle of oil to her and smiled at it, smoothing a finger over it as it wrapped itself around her. “Thank you darling,” she cooed. Pouring some oil into her palm, she handed it back to the shadow. “Hold on to that for me, would you?”

It twirled- a movement she’d learned was the shadows version of nodding, and hovered to the side, ready to hand the bottle back to her when she was ready. Azriel muttered over his shoulder, “traitors.” and his shadows vibrated as though laughing. 

Gwyn couldn’t help her grin.

“Relax,” she purred, spreading the oil between her hands and pushing her power into her palms to warm it up. She’d developed an immunity to heat and fire once her powers had manifested- she’d also lost her tendency to burn in the sun, much to her amusement- a fact she’d taken full advantage of during the summer, laying out on the beach behind their cottage until her skin had darkened to a warm golden hue. Azriel had nearly pouted when her freckles had begun to blend into her darker skintone and demanded she stop getting so much sun.

Because of this loss of sensitivity, she again held out a hand, allowing one of his shadows to dart forward and test the temperature. Once it twirled away in approval, she reached forward and- without warning- smoothed her hands along the arch of either wing. Azriel immediately jerked, his head dropping back in a growl. He cursed under his breath but said nothing else so she kept going, reaching as far as she could until her chest was pressed up against his back as she stretched her arms to either side. 

With his head resting on her shoulder, she nipped her teeth along the lobe of his ear as her hands worked in long, slow strokes until she felt his tense muscles slowly relax under her touch. Occasionally she pushed more pulses of heat through her palm, feeling him momentarily tense then relax as she worked her way over the stiff spines of his wings and the sensitive membrane until she felt the oil dissipate. Holding out her hands, the shadow holding the bottle of oil helpfully poured more into her palm. 

Azriel began to grow restless at the loss of her touch and she kept him distracted with kisses along his neck and jaw as she warmed up the oil in her hands. His breathing was slightly ragged but steady belying the throbbing erection she could see as she peered over his shoulder and down his chest. She had already planned out exactly how this night would go in her head and it would be a good long while before his poor cock would receive any attention. 

Tonight would be a true test of his patience… and she was only just getting started. 

Bringing her hands to his shoulders, she began working the hot oil into the muscles of his back and neck, occasionally teasing his wings and nipping at him with her lips and teeth. Slowly, methodically, she worked her way around his body massaging hot oil into his arms, chest, abs, thighs, all the way down to his bound ankles. By the time she was done, Az was a panting, writhing thing, pulling at his restraints. 

“Gwyn-” he whined, yelping when she pinched the inside of his thigh. “Fuck- sorry. My Lady… fucking please stop teasing and touch me.”

“I am touching you,” she cooed, running her hands back up his thighs, skimming dangerously close to his hips which bucked towards her. His groan caught in his throat, sounding more like a whimper.

“Please.”

Gwyn hummed softly, working her hands in soft strokes moving closer and closer to his cock. “You beg so pretty for me. Do it again.”

“Please- my lady.”

Smirking, Gwyn framed his cock between her hands, smoothing them up over his hips and stomach so her thumbs brushed either side of him. “Oh- fuck.” Leaning forward, she followed the touch with her lips, running them featherlight over his length until he made that same whimpering noise. Pressing a kiss to the tip, she pulled away from him entirely, drawing a growl from him.

She swallowed a chuckle as she stood and leaned forward, threading her fingers into his hair to tilt his head back. “I’m not done playing with you yet,” she said against his lips.

A needy  groan worked its way up his throat as she kissed him, pulling the blindfold off and letting it fall to the ground. “That was just the warm up, love. We haven’t even used my actual fire yet,” she flashed him a grin, holding her hand up so he could see the flames dancing over her finger tips.

He did whimper then, his gaze glued to the fire. “Check in,” she whispered. “Are you ok to keep going?”

She watched him lick his lips, swallowing nervously. His eyes never left her hand even as the flame flickered out. “What’s next?” he breathed.

In answer, she turned back to her bag and withdrew her last purchase, holding it up for him to see. A skin safe wax candle that melted at low temperatures. Perfect for the sort of game they were about to play. She watched his eyes narrow as he worked out her plan. He shifted in his seat but didn’t protest. “Want to keep going?” she asked once more.

Slowly, he nodded. “Yes.”

Smiling softly, she leaned in for another kiss. “Try to relax.” He huffed a sound of disbelief.

Holding the candle in front of her, she held one hand under it, her fire sparking to life once more. She’d bought this one specifically for several reasons, but mostly because the glass was clear, allowing them both to watch the wax melt, and because the wax changed color from white to red as it melted.

She could see Azriel’s chest moving in controlled breaths as he prepared himself and prayed this was not a massive mistake. She had figured it would be easier to ease him in using conduits that could hold the warmth of her flame without actually bringing the flame to his skin until he was more comfortable with it. Still, she knew the sting of the wax, even at a low melting point would be a shock. 

Once the entire contents of the glass had turned red, she pulled her fire back in and carefully raised the jar so it hovered a few feet over his chest. “Ready?” she asked. Together, they both took a deep breath as she tipped her wrist, watching the wax pour from the spout and drizzle across the center of his chest. Azriel hissed and tensed as the wax rolled a single line down the center of his torso, slowing to a stop just above his navel. 

“Okay?” she asked. The skin around where the wax had first landed was slightly reddened, but his shadows did not seem alarmed so she could only assume he was not truly burned. 

Swallowing hard, Azriel nodded and she decided to let the lack of verbal response go as she tipped her wrist once more, this time moving her arm in an arc as the wax drew a red line from his right shoulder to left pec. Moving her arm slowly, she painted a zigzagging line across his upper body, watching the wax roll across the ridges of his abdomen, stopping short of his hips. The first line she’d drawn was gradually fading to white as it cooled but the rest almost looked like blood as it dripped over his skin. The picture was as arousing as it was alarming.

She checked on Azriel again and when he nodded once more that he was alright, she continued painting the rest of his body with careful lines of red across his thighs, chest and shoulders, moving around him to draw thin lines over his wings. When she was about halfway through the contents of the jar, he was covered in dripping lines of red and white, his chest heaving and skin red and covered in a sheen of sweat.

Standing back to admire her work, she tilted her head to the side and drizzled another line over his chest, making sure to catch his nipples. Azriel groaned and jerked in his restraints. “Fuck- Gods, Gw- My lady… please.”

Reaching out, she stroked a warm hand over his cheek and rather than flinching away from it, he leaned into the touch which she could only count as a win. “How are you doing, love?”

“Good” he said through clenched teeth. “But I’m dying. I need you to touch my cock. Please.”

She chuckled. “Aw, is your cock feeling neglected?” she asked with a pout. “I can fix that-” she held the candle over his hips, grinning when he immediately bucked and growled. 

“Fuck- no.”

Laughing she kissed him. “Don’t worry, love. I’m not that cruel. You’re the sadist, not me.” He growled against her mouth, his shadows suddenly swarming around her, stroking her exposed skin in cool touches that made her shiver.

Tugging sharply at his hair, she hissed at them. “It’s not your turn yet.” They quickly backed off but she didn’t miss the fact that the candle was no longer in her hand. Cheeky bastards. Stroking her now free hand over his jaw, she felt a groan rumble through him at the heat before she pulled away. 

“Don’t worry, we’re done with the candle and the oil for now. The only hot thing touching you from here on will be my mouth.” He moaned in relief as her kisses trailed down his neck. Reaching down, she slipped her nail under the edge of the puddle of cooled wax around one nipple and peeled it off, earning another groan as she repeated the process on the other side. 

Leaning back to look down at him she mused, “We should probably clean you up first.”

This earned her a warning growl- amusing since she was the one in charge. Though they both knew that the minute she was done playing with him and it was his turn- he’d make her pay for every minute of teasing she’d just put him through. Winking, she snapped her fingers, the wax disappearing from his skin, leaving behind faint red marks in the places more recently touched by the wax that hadn’t yet faded. 

“What a pretty picture you make.”

“Gwyn- My lady” he corrected when she tugged on his hair. “Please.”

“Beg again, love. You know how I like it.”

“Please,” he snarled.

“Such attitude,” she teased, lowering to her knees between his thighs. “You’re lucky I’m feeling generous.” Before he could growl at her again, she had his cock between her lips, sucking him into her mouth with no preamble. 

“Fuck,” he shouted as he bucked into her mouth. There was no hiding her arousal now and she let him scent it as she glanced up at him beneath her lashes. She could feel he was close but, after that initial suck, made herself take her time licking and kissing and teasing him until his words were an intelligible jumble of threats and pleading.

Her hands had been massaging and stroking his thighs and stomach as she worked and she felt his whole body tense as she scraped her nails over his hips just before his climax hit and he spilled himself into her mouth. She continued to lick and kiss him as he came down, cooing quiet praises. 

“You did so good for me, love. So brave. My beautiful Shadowsinger.”

The low rumble that came from his chest was the only warning she got before he snapped his bonds, wings stretching wide as his arms swung around the back of the chair, snatching her up off the floor. She squeaked as he hauled her into his lap, burying his hands in her hair and kissing her hard while his shadows worked to release his ankles.

His body tense, curling into a crouch as he tucked her against his chest. His eyes gleamed wickedly in the darkened shadow of his wings as he grinned. “My turn.”

And her vision became a world of shadows as she laughed.

[hamsterclaw]

Vows (Part 1)

aka 10 ways to win your husband's heart: an arranged marriage AU

You're five years into your arranged marriage with Min Yoongi, and he's never once retaliated for anything you've done to him. One day you realise you've lost your appetite for provoking him, and you set about trying to win his heart instead.

Pairing: Yoongi x F! reader

Rating: 18+

Genre: Arranged marriage, e2l, smut, angst

Word count: 12k

Warnings: Sex, swearing

Ah shit.

You lift the arm curled around your waist off you and commando roll out of the luxurious california king you’ve woken up in.

The beautiful man you woke up with shifts and his face presses into the pillow. 

You tear your admiring eyes away from him guiltily and grab his shirt from the floor, slipping it on, buttoning quickly.

You’re tiptoeing to the door when a grumpy deep voice makes you freeze.

‘That’s my favourite shirt,’ your husband says.

You reach for your patience and don’t find it. 

Min Yoongi has exhausted all your reserves of goodwill towards him.

‘I was trying to be considerate and not wake you up,’ you say through gritted teeth.

He snorts. 

Your blood pressure spikes.

You unbutton the shirt and seriously consider throwing it at his beautiful head.

You’re so annoyed it takes you longer than it should to register the way his gaze is roaming your naked body.

‘Min Yoongi,’ you say, injecting as much ice into your tone as you can, ‘you know we can only tolerate each other when we’re drunk.’

‘My morning wood’s not picky,’ he drawls, like it’s a compliment.

You roll your eyes. You know Yoongi’s always been attracted to you physically.

It’s your personality he can’t stand.

‘I’m sore,’ you tell him briskly, putting your dress back on. 

You’re not lying. You think Yoongi sometimes takes his anger with you out on your cunt.

You love it, really, but he’s got a generous dick and impressive stamina and you really are sore.

Yoongi, unusually, looks concerned. ‘Was it too much?’

You ignore the flutter in your chest as he picks your panties off the floor and passes them to you, smoothing a soothing hand over your lower back.

You step away from his touch as though his hand is burning. 

His sigh of irritation gives you life.

‘You’re deeply annoying,’ he tells you.

You smile, brilliantly, at him.

‘Oh Yoongi, are you this sweet to all the women you sleep with?’

‘Are you this annoying to all the men you fuck?’ he snaps.

Your smile falters for a second before you pull your mask firmly back in place.

You turn away from him and leave his bedroom without a goodbye.

***

Yoongi stares at the mark on his neck, just above the collar of his shirt, and thinks of you as he gets dressed for work.

Of course you’d had to mark him, even after he’d warned you not to. 

Sometimes you’re so fucking exasperating he can’t stand you.

Now he has to meet his entire board, including his father and grandfather, looking like a horny teenager.

He has a flashback to your beautiful thighs wrapped around his hips, ankles crossed behind him, as you begged him not to stop.

Yoongi tries to shut that image out of his head before the erection he’s had all morning returns, but the image is burned into his retinas.

Shit, it’s in living technicolour with fucking surround sound. 

Yoongi finishes getting dressed and stops by the kitchen for a coffee.

Mrs Gye, his housekeeper, smiles politely at him as she hands him his flask.

Yoongi thanks her, and is about to leave when he remembers.

‘Can you make some herbal tea for Mrs Min, please? She’s not feeling too well this morning.’

Mrs Gye nods, ‘of course, Mr Min.’

‘Don’t tell her I asked you to do it, just say you made some,’ Yoongi instructs. 

Mrs Gye looks like she’s about to protest, but Yoongi’s already out the door into his waiting car.

***

You sigh with pleasure as you sip your herbal tea on your way into work. 

Mrs Gye, your housekeeper, is truly a treasure.

She’d assured you that Yoongi hadn’t noticed anything different about his morning flask of coffee.

Yoongi’s a man of habit, so much so that he’s predictable in every way. 

One of the cleaners had dropped his favourite flask and cracked it yesterday. 

She’d been apologetic, but you’d been worried.

You know he’s got a big meeting with the board of his company today and you’d been determined not to let anything detract from his focus.

You’d driven to three places after work before you’d been able to find a replacement. You’d bought five, just to futureproof against any other flask mishaps.

Of course, all that driving around had made you late for dinner and Yoongi had been sure you’d been late on purpose.

You can’t blame him, it’s the sort of stunt you’d have pulled five years ago when you first got married.

You’ve changed but you’re pretty sure Yoongi sees you as still the same spoiled, immature heiress he’d been forced to marry, as the oldest son and heir to his family’s vast business empire.

Anyway, Yoongi’d been seething throughout dinner. 

He’d spanked you until your ass was red raw.

You’d begged for more.

You stifle the delicious shiver that runs through you at the memory.

Your mood drops as you remember him accusing you of fucking other men.

Sure, you’d accused him of the same, but you’ve always been faithful to him.

You just don’t know if he’s been as faithful to you.

You’d heard the rumours about him and his breathtakingly beautiful and terrifyingly talented media director.

Park Gyuri was a model and actress before she went to grad school and earned an MBA. She waltzed into Yoongi’s family company, and she’s been doing a bang up job of everything since then.

She’s also the woman Yoongi was dating before he was forced to marry you.

You stopped seeking out the rumours because it became upsetting.

In your heart of hearts, you don’t think Yoongi’s any more in love with you than he was when you got married.

In truth, you wouldn’t blame him.

You’d spent years being the exact cold hearted bitch he’d eventually accused you of being.

You’re surprised it took him that long to finally snap.

***

Yoongi smiles at Gyuri as she walks into his office.

She’s beautifully put together as always, and she’s wearing green silk today, a shade that complements her colouring well.

‘Free for dinner tonight?’ she asks.

‘What’s the occasion?’ Yoongi asks. 

‘Nothing, I just want to have dinner with my friend,’ Gyuri says, smiling affectionately at him.

There’s a pause before ‘friend’, so brief Yoongi knows anyone else probably wouldn’t have noticed it, but he did.

Yoongi would be lying if he said he’d never considered what his life would be like now if he hadn’t married you. 

He’d probably be less annoyed on a day to day basis.

He’d probably still be a member of the country club you’d got him kicked out of.

He might be married to Gyuri instead.

He’s about to say yes when your face floats into his head. The look in your eyes when he’d accused you of being annoying, which is definitely true, and of fucking other men, which he doesn’t think is true. 

Yoongi says, politely, ‘Rain check? I’d like to have dinner at home today.’ 

He’s been thinking about how you said you were sore, and he wants to check on you.

You’ll probably ignore him like you always do but he wants to see you’re all right for himself.

Also, he’s aware there’s an underlying frisson between him and Gyuri, and he doesn’t want to explore that just yet.

For once, Yoongi doesn’t linger in his office after everyone leaves. He picks up his bag and calls for his car and heads home.

When he reaches home, he walks into the kitchen. Mrs Gye is at the sink whilst something’s simmering on the stovetop. She startles when he sees him.

‘Ah, Mr Min, you’re back early.’

Yoongi murmurs something about working at home and hands her his flask. Then he stops, looking at another identical four flasks sitting to dry on the draining board by the sink.

Mrs Gye sees his line of vision.

‘Mrs Min bought them yesterday.’

Yoongi’s first thought is that you’re plotting something devious.

‘Where is Mrs Min?’ he asks.

‘She went up to her room.’

Yoongi doesn’t often go to your rooms, in fact he doesn’t think he’s visited you there this year at all.

He knocks on the door and there’s a muffled response.

‘I’m in bed, is it important, Mrs Gye?’

Yoongi says, ‘it’s me.’

He senses rather than hears your response. In moments you’re opening the door, pulling a robe tight around your waist.

Your hair is messy, your face devoid of makeup.

You look up at him self consciously. 

Yoongi puts a hand on your arm. ‘Are you ok?’ 

You frown at him. ‘You didn’t kill me with your dick. I’m on my period.’

Yoongi bites back the laugh that threatens to erupt.

You ask, ‘would you like to come in?’

Yoongi follows you through your bedroom to your living area. 

You pour both of you water and sit in your favourite chair, legs curling underneath you.

‘How are you doing, Yoongi?’ you ask, yawning.

‘Do you want to sleep with me?’ Yoongi asks, suddenly.

You choke on your water. 

Yoongi waits until you’ve recovered enough to speak.

‘Right now? Jesus Yoongi I said I was on my period.’

Yoongi looks unperturbed. ‘I didn’t mean fuck, although if you’re down, I am. I meant sleep with me. Do you want to sleep in the same room?’

You stare at him.

‘Are we in danger?’

Yoongi stares at you.‘What? No, don’t be ridiculous.’

‘You can tell me, Yoongi, my family have security contacts everywhere.’

Yoongi massages his forehead. ‘No. Forget it. Just forget it.’

You get up hurriedly as he looks like he’s about to ditch you. ‘Yoongi!’

He stops. 

‘You want to spend more time together?’ You ask, doubtful as to what he really meant.

‘We’re married,’ Yoongi points out, patient. ‘We’ll probably have kids eventually. Shouldn’t we try to get to know each other?’

You have a flashback, vivid, of Yoongi calling you a spoiled, stuck up bitch.

‘Yes. Let’s sleep together.’

Yoongi looks at you for a moment. 

He holds out his hand. 

With a sense of trepidation, you take it.

***

‘It’s weird not to be fucking,’ you say to Yoongi, pulling the covers up to your neck, looking around his room curiously. 

‘It’s also 9pm. Why are you already in bed?’

You hop out and trip over a pair of Yoongi’s slippers, sprawling on the floor.

Yoongi looks at you, shirt half unbuttoned.

‘I’m tired,’ you say, crawling back into bed.

You pull the covers over your head.

A moment later you feel him sitting on the bed.

He pats over where your head is.

‘Come have dinner with me.’

‘Is that an euphemism for a blow job?’ you ask from under the covers.

You sit up suddenly and realise Yoongi’s sitting on the bed in his briefs.

You can feel heat rush to your face. 

It’s not like you haven’t seen your husband naked before, hell, it’s not even been 24 hours since you last fucked.

But this is different.

This is intimacy when you’re more comfortable with fucking.

Yoongi’s watching the way your eyes rove over his thighs.

‘See something you like?’ he asks, coolly.

You scoff. ‘Of course I like the way you look, Min Yoongi.’

You get up. ‘Let’s eat.’

****

Yoongi eyes you over the soup you’re stirring.

‘Why did you buy so many flasks?’ he asks.

Your eyes snap to his. ‘How do you know that?’

‘I saw them.’

You shrug. ‘You like them. I want you to have replacements if one breaks.’

‘That’s thoughtful.’

‘Just being a dutiful wife,’ you chirrup cheerfully.

Yoongi stares at you like you’ve grown another head. ‘You are definitely not that.’

You nod in agreement. ‘You’re right.’

‘Are you feeling ok? You’ve barely touched your soup and you already tried to get into bed.’

‘I’m on my period,’ you tell him, again. You get up. ‘I’m going to go get some of my things and bring them to your room.’

‘It’s our room,’ Yoongi corrects, gently.

‘Our room,’ you repeat. 

By the time you’ve finished gathering your things, Yoongi’s just got to his door.

‘After you,’ he says, strangely formal.

You shoot him a look and head to his huge dressing room.

‘You can use that side,’ he says, pointing.

The entire wall he’s pointing at is made up of bare clothes rails at varying heights. 

You pull open a drawer, intending to deposit your toiletries and underwear in it, and stop when you see the packages inside it.

‘What’s this?’ you ask.

Yoongi walks over from his side of the dressing room.

Together you look at the boxes from a well-known underwear brand. It’s the same brand you tend to wear.

You look up at Yoongi, and to your surprise, the tips of his ears are red.

Your impatient, unsentimental husband actually looks… embarrassed.

You wait him out.

Finally, he mutters, ‘sometimes if I see something I like, I buy it for you.’

You can’t believe your ears. 

‘Did you buy this for — someone else?’ you ask quietly.

Another thought occurs to you. 

‘Did you buy this for yourself?’ you ask. 

Yoongi groans, irritably. 

‘I bought all this shit for you. My wife.’

He opens the top box and rifles through what looks like a beautiful red silk and lace teddy. You glimpse the tags. It’s your size.

‘I got this after that night when you wore that red dress to meet the Hans because you look fucking breathtaking in red.’

‘How do you know my size?’ you ask weakly, stalling to give your brain time to catch up.

‘Your size is the only fucking thing I do know about you,’ Yoongi says, still irritable. ‘How many times have I taken your lingerie off?’

You stare each other into an uneasy stalemate.

‘You really didn’t buy this for anyone else?’ you ask.

‘Believe me or don’t believe me,’ Yoongi says, at the end of his tether. 

He stalks out of his dressing room, and you blink blindly at the stack of boxes in the drawer.

By the time you re-enter Yoongi’s bedroom, the lights are off and he’s a lump under the covers.

You climb in the other side and after a moment, scoot over to be closer to him.

He’s got his back to you, rigid, cold.

You put your hand on his shoulder to warn him, then kiss the back of his neck.

‘Thank you,’ you tell him.

You’re half- asleep by the time he turns onto his back. His hand brushes yours under the covers, not holding it but touching you.

‘You’re welcome,’ he says. 

You curl your pinky finger around his, like a promise, and go to sleep.

***

When you wake up the next morning, Yoongi’s already gone.

His side of the bed is rumpled, and when you run your hand over the sheet it’s cold.

You need to think. 

Even better, you need a third party to do your thinking for you.

You send your best friend Nara a text, then notice the time.

Shit. You need to get to work.

You hop out of bed, trip over Yoongi’s slippers again and scurry to your own room to get dressed.

Your morning is pretty dull, a bunch of meetings with clients, a team brief before your new product launch tonight.

Nara meets you for lunch. 

Kim Nara has been your closest friend since junior tennis club. She has an impressively strong backhand, a competitive streak a mile wide and is the most loyal person you’ve ever met.

She pours you some wine from the bottle she started whilst waiting for you, then sits back in her seat.

‘What was so urgent you had to meet today?’ she asks.

Her eyes narrow. ‘Did Min Yoongi knock you up?’

‘What? No. I’m on my period right now,’ you protest. 

You take a gulp of wine to fortify yourself.

‘But it does involve him.’

Nara takes a matching big sip. ‘Hit me.’

‘I think I should try to get him to forgive me.’

‘For what?’ Nara asks. There’s a mischievous light in her eyes now.

‘For buying Kim Seokjin instead of him at that bullshit charity auction? For sending that chain email to all his employees with his STI testing results? For getting him blacklisted from every golf course in the country?’

You cringe.

You’d been young when you married Yoongi, spoiled and impulsive and naive and terribly, terribly selfish.

Nara sucks in a breath to power what you know is going to be a litany of crimes. You’d write it all down if it wouldn’t kill you to read what an asshole you were to him.

You have no idea why he hasn’t divorced you.

You guess this is why he tries to break you every time you have sex.

Nara’s talking about the time you ran off to Switzerland for three months, but you tune her out.

You need to make all this up to Yoongi, a man who buys you gifts even when you’re barely talking, and who wants to be closer to you despite everything you’ve done to him.

You figure ten is a nice round number.

You’re going to do it. 

You’re going to find the ten worst things you’ve done to Min Yoongi and make up for every single one of them.

***

‘I’m sorry, Mrs Min, Mr Kim says he can’t see you until his bodyguard gets here.’

You gape at the expressionless secretary who’s been dispatched to give you the news. He nods apologetically, then withdraws.

The nerve of Kim Seokjin.

Kim Seokjin is Yoongi’s best friend, and instrumental in your plan to make things right with Yoongi.

It looks like he’s going to make you work for it every step of the way. You’ve been waiting outside his office for ten minutes already, and there’s no end in sight.

The first attack you’d launched on Min Yoongi after you got married was at a charity fundraiser where there had been, to your devious delight, an auction.

Not just any auction. Seokjin and Yoongi had been part of it, and you’d very intentionally bid on Seokjin despite wearing the Min heirloom pendant around your neck.

You’d bid a ridiculous amount and won him, a record that was shattered not long after by the ‘purchase’ of a man with a rakish glint in his eye, Jungkook, you think his name was.

Even worse, you’d paid a horny elderly society lady, Mrs Kang, known for her constant innuendoes and wandering hands, to purchase your then new husband.

He’s never told you what happened on their date. 

On your date with Seokjin you’d dressed so provocatively you were a quick move away from being arrested for public indecency.

To his credit, you hadn’t once caught Seokjin’s eyes wandering below your neck.

He’d spent the whole date scolding you on Yoongi’s behalf.

You’ve had other shenanigans with Seokjin, but the auction is the most scandalous one by far. You’re not surprised he doesn’t want to see you.

You glance at your watch and realise you’ve been waiting for over twenty minutes.

You get up to leave and you hear your name called in a deep voice that’s definitely not Seokjin’s.

It’s a man, around six feet tall, who looks the size of a refrigerator. He looks like he could break you in half and not break a sweat.

You’re escorted into Seokjin’s office.

‘Y/N,’ Seokjin says, formally, from behind his desk. ‘Have a seat.’

You aren’t sure if Seokjin realises that you practically grew up in boardrooms much more intimidating than this. 

You sit behind his desk obediently.

‘I wanted to talk to you about Yoongi,’ you say, rushed, because you don’t know how much time you have.

Seokjin looks at you evenly. ‘I have no interest in discussing my best friend with you.’

‘We don’t have to discuss him. I just want to make up for all of the things I’ve done to him over the years.’

Seokjin raises an eyebrow. You’ve always found him intimidating, if you’re honest. 

‘Anyway, can you convince him to put himself up for auction at the Rose Ball next month?’

‘Why?’ Seokjin snaps. ‘So you can humiliate him again?’

Your hackles rise at his tone, but you remind yourself of your end goal. You’re not sure you can make Yoongi cuddly but you think you might be able to make him like you.

‘I won’t humiliate him,’ you say, humbly.

Seokjin glares at you. ‘I need more assurance than your word, funnily enough.’

You like how loyal Seokjin is to Yoongi, but he’s sure being an ass right now.

‘I’ll pay you.’

Seokjin frowns. ‘Do I look like I need the money?’

‘I’ll cook dinner for Yoongi and you,’ you offer.

He snorts. 

‘Can you even cook?’

‘Jesus what do you want Seokjin?’

You stand, and immediately his bodyguard takes a protective step forward.

You throw your hands up in exasperation.

‘Yoongi really wants to go to watch the Portland Trail Blazers when they’re in town next month. It’s right before the Rose Ball. Take him and I’ll get him to auction himself off at the Rose Ball.’

You put out a hand, forgetting about the bodyguard for a moment.

You pull it back quickly when he steps in front of Seokjin. 

‘Deal,’ you call happily over the bodyguard’s shoulder.

‘Wait.’

Seokjin steps out from behind the human wall and holds out his hand.

You shake it. 

‘Don’t fuck me or Yoongi over,’ Seokjin warns.

‘I won’t,’ you promise.

***

Yoongi’s already home when you get back after work. 

He’s dressed in basketball shorts, a sweatband around his forehead.

‘You look hot,’ you say, absently, as you search through your drawer in his dressing room for a loose tee.

‘Here,’ Yoongi says. He tosses you a plain tee, one of his own. 

You put it to your face and inhale. 

‘It’s fresh,’ Yoongi says, dryly.

‘It smells like you,’ you say. ‘I like it.’

You step out of your work clothes and pull it over your head. 

‘I’m going to bed.’

You pause before you leave the dressing room. ‘Hey, Yoongi. I got tickets to the Portland trail blazers game next month. Wanna go together?’

Yoongi gapes at you. 

‘You didn’t seriously just ask me out to a basketball game with my favourite team whilst wearing my t-shirt and nothing else.’

You hadn’t been thinking about anything naughty but you snap to attention at his words.

‘Are you still on your period?’ Yoongi asks.

He’s already rounding the central island in the middle of his dressing room, where he keeps his watches and jewellery.

He’s heading straight for you.

You squeak and retreat to the bed.

He’s a second behind you, landing right on you before you can even yank up the covers.

‘Let’s make out,’ he says, voice husky.

‘Yeah,’ you agree.

His lips are almost on yours when you stop him.

‘Do you still want to make out even if we don’t—‘ you trail off, and Yoongi looks at you oddly.

‘Fuck?’ he supplies, helpfully.

You nod.

‘Are you serious? What do you think I am? Some sort of brute?’

‘We usually just skip to the fucking,’ you point out.

Yoongi stares at you for so long you think he’s had a stroke.

Then he leans over and kisses your forehead. 

Your eyes closed automatically when his lips touched you, so it takes you a moment to realise he’s pulling away. 

‘I’ll see you at dinner,’ he says. 

He’s out the door before you get a chance to say goodbye.

***

You’re trying to pick something to wear to the game with Yoongi. You’re not really a fan of basketball, not like he is. Your only knowledge of basketball consists of what you’ve gleaned from pictures of celebrities courtside and what you’ve seen in movies.

Once you’re dressed, you run downstairs to where Yoongi’s waiting. 

‘They’re not courtside,’ you say, apologetic, as Yoongi drives.

‘You’ve said that a few times,’ Yoongi says mildly, signalling to turn.

‘I just don’t want you to be disappointed,’ you say.

‘I won’t be,’ Yoongi says. 

‘I don’t know anything about basketball,’ you tell him. 

Yoongi looks at you with such disappointment it feels like you need to seek his forgiveness for yet another thing.

‘I’m calling the best divorce lawyer in town right after this,’ Yoongi says. ‘But first, let’s watch the game.’

‘What? You’re divorcing me over a —- sport?’

‘Not helping the cause,’ Yoongi retorts.

You want to pout but you’re pretty sure he’ll just get annoyed with you. 

Yoongi drives into a multi-storey car park and backs into a space so sexily you get a little wet just watching him. 

He even does that thing where he rests his arm against your seat, as though it’s a habit he can’t break even though his car has a rear camera.

You want to hold hands with him as you walk to the arena, but you rarely ever touch when you’re not fucking. 

Yoongi says, without looking at you, ‘what is it now?’

‘This is kind of like a date,’ you observe.

Yoongi sighs. 

He’s never really indulged your fondness for romantic gestures, you guess he’s always seen them as childish. 

‘It’s a date,’ he confirms. He leads you to your seats as though he knows the arena well. 

You look around curiously. The seats aren’t courtside, but you’re only a couple of rows back, and the view seems fine to you.

‘Is this ok?’ you ask.

‘They’re perfect seats. Stop asking me or I’ll kiss you and ruin your lip gloss.’

‘This is kiss proof, actually,’ you say, seriously. 

Yoongi turns fully to look at you. ‘Is that an invitation for me to test it out?’

‘Let’s just see how the date goes,’ you say, leaning back in your seat.

You can feel his eyes on you. He scoffs, but he doesn’t sound annoyed. 

The game is an exciting one, but you spend it mainly watching Yoongi. He’s pretty even-tempered most of the time, but watching basketball really seems to get his blood going.

He cheers so loudly and enthusiastically you’re almost deafened. Once the game gets going he barely even seems to notice you.

You’re glad he’s enjoying himself. 

At half time, you get him to take a selfie with you to send to Seokjin as proof. 

You’ve just sent it when he leans over and kisses you on the cheek, quickly.

You turn to him, but he’s already turned away.

You think about the feel of his lips on your cheek for the rest of the game, and somehow the second half flies by.

Yoongi’s so hyped by the time the game ends that you keep smiling at how endearing he is. 

‘I feel like you need to talk about this to someone who knows about basketball,’ you remark as you walk back to your car.

He grins at you. ‘I might stop by Seokjin’s place.’

‘Ah sure,’ you say, a little crestfallen that he doesn’t want to go home with you.

You fiddle with your phone, realising you don’t even know where Seokjin lives. ‘Is home on your way?’

‘I’ll drop you off,’ he says. 

You’re quiet on the drive home. Yoongi pulls into your driveway and shuts the engine off. 

‘Hey,’ he says.

You turn to him. 

‘Thanks for getting us tickets. And thanks for coming with me.’

You smile. ‘It was Seokjin’s idea,’ you demur. ‘See you later, Yoongi.’

You get out of the car and are walking to the front entrance of your home when you hear the car door close behind you.

There’s footsteps, and by the time you turn, Yoongi’s standing in front of you, barely two feet away.

‘Hey,’ he says again. ‘Can I get a kiss goodnight?’

You reach into your brain for a snappy remark but come up with nothing.

All you can do is look up at him as he leans over you and kisses you. His tongue flicks at the seam of your lips, once, and then he’s pulling away.

He smooths your hair back from your face, tucking it behind your ear.

The action makes your heart flutter helplessly in your chest. He rarely ever touches you like this. 

Yoongi rubs his thumb over your bottom lip, gently.

‘I’ll see you later. I’ll try not to wake you up when I get in.’

He waits, engine idling, until you’re safely indoors before he drives off.

***

You’re nervous. It’s the night of the Rose Ball, and the charity auction where you’re going to orchestrate the first stage of making up with Yoongi.

You’ve picked a red dress because of what he said about you looking pretty in red.

Yoongi knocks on your bedroom door, because you’d wanted to get ready alone.

You open the door and take in the vision of your husband in a white dinner jacket, hair pushed back from his forehead and styled beautifully.

There are silver earrings glinting in his ears, and his hair is currently silver to match. 

‘You look very handsome,’ you tell him, honest.

He holds out his arm. ‘I think you’re wearing red on purpose to fuck with me, aren’t you? Quick, say something annoying so the universe can tilt back to its normal axis.’

Gamely, you pout at him and whine, ‘why didn’t you get me any new jewellery to wear, Yoongi?’

‘I’ve got some pearls I can put around your neck,’ Yoongi suggests. 

‘I’d rather you put them down my throat,’ you say, suggestively.

‘There’s my spoiled little horny heiress,’ Yoongi says, approvingly.

You roll your eyes. ‘I’m not spoiled.’ 

‘Try saying that in a less whiny tone,’ Yoongi tells you unsympathetically.

‘I’m not whiny.’

‘I hope you saved up some money to buy Kim Seokjin again tonight,’ Yoongi says.

You frown.

‘I’m gonna buy you, not Seokjin.’

He snorts. ‘I hope you’re not expecting me to buy you.’

You pause. This is an angle you hadn’t even considered. 

Yoongi raises an eyebrow, but says nothing.

At the ball, you read through the list of names up for auction. To your annoyance, Seokjin, Yoongi and you are all one after another, clustered together.

You think it’s an attempt to capitalise on the scandal of the previous time Seokjin and Yoongi were up for auction.

You’re nervous all throughout dinner, and by the time the auction starts you’re vibrating with nerves.

Seokjin stands when his name is announced, nodding at the emcee. Across the table from you, you can feel Yoongi’s eyes burning into your head. 

The bidding starts at a cool 5 million won, and rapidly escalates.

Seokjin, devastatingly handsome in a beautiful tux that emphasizes the broadness of his chest and shoulders, doesn’t even have the decency to pretend to be surprised.

You look at Yoongi and keep your hands perfectly still in your lap.

‘50 million won, do I hear 55?’ 

It’s a relief when the bidding closes at 75 million won. You don’t even see who the highest bidder is, concentrating on your husband sitting across from you.

When Yoongi’s name is announced, he stands and nods. 

You think to yourself again how beautiful your husband looks.

You keep up with the bids easily. To your annoyance, the bidding is fast and furious, and it’s only moments before you’re holding at 90 million won.

‘Do I hear 95?’ 

‘100 million won.’

You turn, aghast, and look into the diabolical and devious eyes of Kim Seokjin. 

Why the hell is Kim Seokjin driving up the bidding war on your husband?

Yoongi just looks amused when you stare at him, accusing.

‘110 million,’ you snap.

You try to stare the evil bastard down between bids.

By the time you get to 150 million won, you’re glaring daggers at Seokjin and Yoongi.

‘Sold to Mrs Min.’ 

There’s barely time to breathe a sigh of relief before you realise Yoongi and Seokjin are now patting each other on the back. 

To your chagrin, they leave the room as your name is announced.

As the bids escalate on you, you pull your phone out and send Yoongi a rapid fire text.

Y/N: Buy me or I won’t fuck you tonight.

Yoongi, the bastard, makes you wait on read.

You’re dialling his number when you realise two things. 

One, that the bidding’s somehow reached a hundred million won.

And two, that the main bidder is a very beautiful man whom you’ve never met.

‘Going once….’

You squirm in your seat as Yoongi and Seokjin walk back into the room.

If there’s any urgency in Yoongi at all that his wife is about to be sold to a random stranger, his face doesn’t show it.

You suppose this is exactly how he felt when you let Mrs Kang buy him.

‘Going twice to Mr Park Jimin.’

Yoongi lifts a brow, and his eyes snap to the beautiful man. 

He nods to the auctioneer, and bidding resumes.

Park Jimin seems pretty determined, but he’s no match for your husband.

Yoongi buys you for a shade under two hundred million won.

***

You’re trying to unfasten your necklace whilst Yoongi gets changed after the ball.

‘Two hundred million won,’ you say, teasingly. ‘Guess I’ll need to put out.’

Yoongi grunts, and a moment later he says, ‘lift your hair.’

You pull your hair away from the back of your neck and he unfastens your necklace for you. 

‘You don’t need to do anything you don’t want to,’ he says. 

Later, in bed, you’re lying awake next to Yoongi, thinking about the night.

‘Yoongi,’ you whisper.

He sounds like he’s stifling a groan. ‘What?’

‘Thanks for buying me.’

It’s so dark you can’t see any of his features.

Eventually, he says, ‘there was never a possibility that I wouldn’t.’

‘What?’ you ask, surprised. ‘Say that again.’

‘Good night, Y/N.’

***

You think that one of the things that irritated Yoongi the most about you when you first got married was your total lack of interest in getting to know his friends.

And so part two of making up with Yoongi involves Kim Namjoon.

He’s an interesting man, from what you know of him.

Like Yoongi and Seokjin, he comes from a privileged background. Unlike Yoongi and Seokjin, though, he’s not in the family business. He runs an art gallery in the city with his partner, Nayeon.

You’re apprehensive about approaching Namjoon at the gallery but you can’t think of any other way to meet him.

Seokjin’s less icy to you since you took Yoongi to watch basketball and since the successful completion of step 1, but there’s no way he’d voluntarily help you. 

You push open the glass door and decide to just walk around.

Unlike Seokjin, Namjoon doesn’t make you wait. 

You’re barely in the cool comfort of the gallery before he’s standing next to you. 

‘To what do I owe this pleasure?’ he asks, politely.

You search his expression for hints of sarcasm, but he seems perfectly sincere.

To be fair, you’ve never tried to provoke him like you did Seokjin.

You decide to be as direct as he is.

‘I was hoping to invite you and Nayeon for dinner at ours,’ you say.

He doesn’t answer straight away.

‘I haven’t really tried to get to know Yoongi’s friends, since we’ve been married,’ you say, pointing out the obvious. ‘I’m trying to remedy that.’

Namjoon gives you a long look. 

You wonder what Yoongi’s been saying about you to his friends.

Judging by how wary all his friends are around you, you don’t think he’s been singing your praises.

You’re just about to speak again, when Namjoon says, ‘Yoongi often comes to ours on a Sunday night for dinner. I’m sure Nayeon would be really pleased if you could make it with him this Sunday.’

You smile, grateful. ‘I’d love that.’

Namjoon gives you another long look, then a dimple flashes in his cheek.

It transforms his face, which up until now had been rather stern and intimidating.

‘I’ll see you Sunday.’

***

Yoongi’s watching you polish off the last of the bread at dinner, bemused.

You figure now’s as good a time as any to tell him about how you’ve invited yourself to dinner on Sunday.

He takes it in his stride.

‘I’ll try not to embarrass you,’ you say, jokingly.

‘Like when you sent my sexual health test results to my entire company?’ asks Yoongi.

You look down at your plate. 

Shit, another thing you need to atone for. 

‘Sorry about that,’ you tell him, contrite.

‘It’s fine,’ Yoongi says, rolling his eyes. ‘I became a meme for a few months, I can cope with that.’

You put your hand on his arm. ‘I really am sorry. Want a blow job?’

Yoongi rolls his eyes again. ‘Are we so emotionally stunted we can only communicate through sex?’

His tone is cutting. 

You’ve been so soft for him lately that there’s a pang of hurt in your chest.

‘You’re a lot more tolerable when you’re fucking me,’ you say, coldly.

‘Likewise, princess,’ Yoongi snaps.

You get up from the table and go to watch TV alone in your rooms.

By the time you go in to Yoongi’s bedroom, it’s dark.

You slide in next to him and turn away, back facing him.

You hear a sigh, then his hand pats the sheets, looking for yours. 

You tuck your hands between your legs.

Yoongi’s hand travels down your arm, seeking your hand.

His thumb brushes over your clit, and you let out a surprised ‘oh’.

Yoongi shifts over, spooning you, chest pressing against your back.

‘Can I touch you, princess?’ he asks, voice low. ‘I’ve been thinking about how you pouted at dinner and I’m so fucking hard.’

‘I don’t want to cum for you,’ you tell him, petulant.

Yoongi nibbles at your neck, sharp teeth sending shocks of pain and pleasure through you.

‘I’ll make you cum anyway, princess. Get you grinding against my hand and crying my name. You always sound so pretty for me.’

‘Yoongi,’ you murmur, but your legs are already spreading to make room for him.

‘That’s my girl,’ he says, fingers slipping through your slick heat like he hadn’t expected anything less. ‘Let me fuck the spoilt brat out of you until only my baby’s left, hmm?’

Yoongi talks dirty to you until you’re creaming around his fingers, then his cock.

***

Yoongi looks up from his phone and gives you a quelling look.

‘Stop fidgeting.’

You hug the bottle of wine you’re bringing to Nayeon and Namjoon’s place to your chest.

‘Who else is going to be there?’ you ask.

‘Usually it’s Seokjin and me. Sometimes Gyuri comes.’

You think about that and wish, childishly, that you’d chosen a nicer outfit.

You realise Yoongi’s watching your face.

‘I appreciate you wanting to meet my friends,’ he says, carefully. 

‘Oh it’s about time I made an effort, don’t you think?’

Yoongi gives you a long look and rings the doorbell.

You’re greeted by a relaxed-looking Nayeon.

You don’t know her well, but she’s always struck you as nice. You feel an odd pang as you see the affectionate way Yoongi greets her.

Here’s a whole other aspect of his life you’ve never been involved in.

You volunteer to help Namjoon cook the rice. To your bemusement, he’s frighteningly accident-prone.

Within five minutes, you’ve saved him from putting his hand on a hot pan twice. You shudder when you see him pick up a knife to chop vegetables.

Nayeon nudges you. ‘Don’t worry. He’s not too bad. Someone always keeps an eye on him.’

‘Like a toddler,’ you mutter, then you remember where you are.

Nayeon just laughs. ‘I think of it as he’s still getting used to his size.’

You laugh. ‘Let’s hope he doesn’t get any bigger then.’

You look up as Seokjin enters the kitchen with Yoongi.

Your eyes meet Seokjin’s. He nods coolly at you.

You smile back.

To your surprise, Yoongi claps a hand on Seokjin’s back. 

‘Yah, Jin, greet my wife properly.’

Seokjin pulls Nayeon into a hug, then stops just in front of you. 

You put out a hand for him to shake, and instead, he pulls you into a hug too. 

You look up at him, a little wary.

‘Don’t you need your bodyguard?’ you ask, unable to resist.

Seokjin narrows his eyes at you. ‘I’m watching you, brat,’ he replies, so softly only you can hear.

‘And Yoongi’s watching you,’ you return, snarky.

Seokjin’s eyes darken. ‘Clearly Yoongi’s too soft on you, given your attitude.’

‘Break it up,’ Yoongi’s voice says from behind Seokjin.

You slide around Seokjin and stand next to Yoongi. When Yoongi turns to talk to Nayeon, you flip Seokjin the bird.

He glares daggers at you but has to quickly rearrange his expression when Yoongi and Nayeon ask him a question.

You’re so busy fielding all the interactions that it’s a relief to sit down to dinner.

Ah shit. 

There are prawns in the broth, the one thing in the world you’re allergic to.

It’s your own fault. Early on in your marriage, for reasons known only to you, you’d decided to let Yoongi think you were a snob about seafood rather than just telling him you were allergic. Cue a very uncomfortable dinner when you’d refused to eat anything one of his chef friends had cooked.

Seokjin, next to you, looks at your untouched bowl pointedly. ‘Don’t you like it?’ he asks, voice so velvety it’s not immediately obvious he’s jeering at you. 

You grit your teeth and pray the epi-pen in your bag is in date. 

It’ll probably be fine, unless you have a whole prawn….

As if on cue, Yoongi hands you a prawn he’s just peeled.

You’d always thought Yoongi would be the death of you, but you’d thought the mechanism would be from hate fucking you into oblivion, or irritating you into apoplexy.

Not a fucking prawn that he’s peeled for you because he’s decided to be a solicitous husband for once in his life.

You can feel a few eyes on you.

‘Oh that looks delicious,’ you chirrup brightly. You accept the prawn, swallow it quickly, wait a beat, then excuse yourself.

You grab your bag on the way to the bathroom, fumbling for your epi-pen. 

You jab it into your thigh just as the familiar tingling starts in your throat.

The door opens, and you’re faced with Yoongi, staring at you. 

‘What the hell are you doing?’ he hisses. 

He grabs the epi-pen you’ve just dropped on the floor. 

‘Are you shooting up in my friends’ house?’ he snaps.

You shake your head, voice raspy. 

‘I’m allergic to prawns.’

Yoongi stares at you like he can’t quite believe his ears. 

‘What?’

You want to repeat yourself but your voice is getting hoarser. 

Yoongi seems to click into action then. ‘Fuck. Do you need the hospital?’

You nod. 

Moving faster than you’ve ever seen him, Yoongi grabs your arm and hustles you out of the bathroom.

He scolds you all the way to the hospital.

‘You’re an idiot, you know that? Why would you eat something you know you’re this allergic to?’

Two blocks away. 

‘Why couldn’t you just tell me? Of all the stupid stunts you’ve pulled—‘

At the entrance of the emergency room.

‘If you die from this I’m going to follow you into the afterlife and kill you again.’

You’d snap back if he didn’t sound more worried than angry.

Yoongi sits beside your bed, filling in a form on a tablet with your details. You can see him typing in your name. 

You grab his arm. ‘Not my name,’ you rasp.

Yoongi frowns at you. You fumble in your bag and pass him your driver’s license.

He looks at it for a long moment. 

‘You changed your name? You said —-‘

He cuts himself off with visible effort. You can see a vein throbbing in his forehead.

He fills in the rest of the form, swearing softly under his breath. 

You close your eyes and lose yourself to nightmares about prawns.

When you wake up, Yoongi’s sitting by your bed.

You say his name.

He runs a hand over his face. ‘How are you feeling, princess?’

‘I’m fine. Can we go home?’

‘They want to keep you in a little longer.’

You sigh. 

‘Why didn’t you tell me you were allergic to prawns?’ Yoongi asks.

He sighs. ‘That time, with Mingyu, when he made us all that food. I thought you were being such a bitch.’

‘I am a bitch,’ you say. ‘I hated you back then. I hated our marriage and I hated that it felt like I didn’t have any choice in anything.’

‘And so you decide to die because I fucking peeled you a prawn?’

‘Why did you do that? You always say if you can’t peel a prawn you don’t deserve to eat it.’

‘Jesus fucking christ. I just wanted to.’

‘What a time to choose to be the doting husband,’ you say, regretfully.

Yoongi snorts with laughter. ‘Are you allergic to anything else I need to know about?’

‘Assholes,’ you mutter. ‘That’s why Seokjin and I don’t get along.’

Yoongi laughs again. ‘You’re such a rude brat. He won’t stop calling me. He wants to apologise for putting pressure on you to have the broth.’

‘Nayeon and Namjoon want to know if you’re ok, too.’

‘Tell them I’m fine.’ 

‘Here,’ Yoongi says. ‘I’ll add you to the group chat and you can tell them yourself.’

You send off a few texts and put your phone down.

‘I need to call my lawyer,’ Yoongi says, running a hand through his hair.

‘You’re divorcing me over a prawn allergy?’

‘No,’ says Yoongi, patient. ‘Now that I know your real name, I need to get it changed in my will and also on all the properties I’ve invested in for you.’

‘Ooh, I’m in your will?’ you ask, intrigued. ‘What do I get?’

‘None of your business,’ Yoongi says.

You wave a hand threateningly. ‘I could kill you right now and find out.’

Yoongi fends you off easily. ‘You should be resting.’

‘We could be arguing about this at home,’ you point out.

By the time you’re discharged from the hospital, it’s the early hours of the morning.

When you get home, you’re greeted by Mrs Gye. 

‘I took care of it,’ she tells Yoongi.

Yoongi nods and thanks her.

‘Took care of what?’

‘Mr Min rang earlier and told us to get rid of all the prawns in the kitchen and pantry,’ Mrs Gye says. She’s apologetic. ‘We didn’t know you were allergic, Mrs Min.’

You glance at Yoongi, who’s slipping off his shoes. 

‘You didn’t have to —‘

He cuts you off. ‘It’s a risk I’d prefer not to take again.’

He starts up the stairs, heading for his bedroom. ‘I’m going to try and get some sleep.’

You hurry after him, because he’s not waiting for you. 

***

You’re coming out of your meeting with the manager of the third country club you got Yoongi blacklisted from when you spot a familiar face.

A familiar, beautiful but unwanted face.

‘Seokjin,’ you say, nodding politely.

He leans down, and automatically you present your cheek to him for a kiss.

‘How are you doing?’ he asks, courteously.

You narrow your eyes at him suspiciously. ‘I’m fine. And yourself?’

To your astonishment, he actually seems to be a little shamefaced as he says, ‘I’m sorry I urged you to have the broth at Namjoon and Nayeon’s the other day.’

‘It’s fine, you couldn’t have known,’ you say, neutrally.

‘What are you doing here?’

It’s your turn to look repentant. 

‘I got Yoongi blacklisted from all the country clubs. I’m getting him re-invited to all of them.’

Seokjin’s gaze is penetrating. 

‘You seem like you’re really trying to make amends,’ he observes.

‘Yeah well, I was, like you keep pointing out to me, a brat.’

He’s been walking with you to the lobby. 

‘Can I offer you a lift anywhere?’ he asks. 

‘Ah, I’ll just wait for a cab.’

He raises an eyebrow. ‘Doesn’t Yoongi have a driver?’ 

‘He does. I don’t.’ 

Seokjin nods to the car waiting for him. ‘Do you have other country clubs to go to?’

‘I have four left,’ you say. 

Seokjin looks at you in firm way he does. ‘Come on. I’ll take you.’

You climb into the back seat with Seokjin. 

‘You’re not taking me somewhere to murder me and dispose of my body, are you?’ you ask, only half-joking.

Seokjin settles back in his seat and loosens his tie. 

‘I’ve got the afternoon off, and I’d prefer not to commit murder during it,’ he says, not reassuringly. 

With Seokjin by your side, the next meeting is almost enjoyable. You even get offered champagne, which you gulp down.

Seokjin looks at you, amused. ‘Stressful day for you?’ 

‘You make me nervous,’ you admit. 

‘I just don’t want Yoongi to be hurt anymore.’

You digest the idea that Yoongi wasn’t just inconvenienced and embarrassed, but actually hurt by your actions of the last few years.

That would imply he cared.

You’re staring out the window, thinking, when Seokjin says. ‘Of course, he didn’t want to marry you either, at the beginning.’

You chew on your lip. 

‘But he was willing to make his best effort to be a good husband to you. He’s decent like that.’

You turn your head so Seokjin can’t see your face.

He’s not wrong. Yoongi’s never once retaliated for anything you’ve done to him. 

Instead he’d grown progressively more cold and impatient and distant.

The wave of guilt surprises you with its depth.

‘I’ll make it up to him,’ you say, quietly. 

Seokjin puts his hand on your arm so you’ll look at him.

‘He has a real soft spot for you,’ he tells you. ‘God knows why, I would have punished you long ago.’

You flick your eyes up at him. ‘Luckily I married a more forgiving man than you,’ you say, summoning your haughtiest tone.

Seokjin just laughs. ‘We both want the best for him,’ he says. ‘Maybe you’re not such a cold hearted bitch after all.’

‘Don’t get ahead of yourself. We aren’t friends,’ you sneer, out of habit.

Seokjin turns away and laughs quietly to himself.

At your next meeting, Seokjin gets whiskey served to you. 

You’re a total lightweight, and with your empty stomach, you know you’re heading to a danger zone.

But damn, it’s also intoxicating having polished, suave Seokjin by your side at these meetings with older men. 

It’s after your final meeting, three drinks later, that Seokjin says, ‘dinner?’

You hold on to his arm to steady yourself. 

‘Maybe we can have dinner at mine,’ you suggest. 

‘Great idea,’ Seokjin beams. ‘I love Mrs Gye’s cooking.’

You never actually make it inside the house. 

Yoongi finds you and Seokjin sprawled on the front steps, arguing about which country club offered the best membership package.

You slap a brochure onto the steps between you. 

‘This was clearly the best deal,’ you announce. You squint but it doesn’t make the words any clearer. 

Seokjin sweeps the brochure away dramatically. 

‘Wasn’t.’

‘Wassss.’

Yoongi says, dryly, ‘why do people who can’t handle their alcohol go drinking?’

Both you and Seokjin glare at each other, then at him.

Yoongi sighs. ‘I can’t carry both of you at once.’

‘Take the asshole first,’ you snap.

Seokjin leans towards you menacingly. ‘What did you call me?’

Yoongi hurriedly lifts you up under the arms, and you curl into his chest. 

‘Take me to bed, Yoongi,’ you say, looking up at him. 

‘You’re heavier than you look,’ Yoongi grunts.

‘It’s my brain,’ you say, trying be helpful. 

Seokjin snorts rudely behind you.

Yoongi says, voice low, rumbling in his chest, ‘ignore him.’

You press a kiss to Yoongi’s chest. ‘Sorry I’m so heavy.’

He smiles at you with that looks like affection. 

‘It’s fine. I’ll just drop you if it’s too much for me.’

Yoongi helps you into bed and unzips your dress. 

‘Can you do the rest so I can get Seokjin?’ he asks.

You nod, convincingly. You’re still trying to tug your arm out of the sleeve when you give up and pass out.

Yoongi helps Seokjin into your bed and returns to his room to find you sprawled exactly where he left you, half undressed.

He slips your dress off you. You crack an eye open.

‘Yoongi,’ you say, whiny.

Yoongi replies, ‘yes?’

‘I just want you to like me,’ you say. For a moment you look completely lucid, and sad.

His heart gives a dangerous jolt then, like somehow, you’ve worked your way into it. Like a household pest.

Yoongi can’t bear the thought of exterminating you.

‘Stop being so annoying then,’ Yoongi says, trying to be stern but it comes out weak. He’s not even convincing himself at this point.

You put your hand over your heart. ‘I’ll try my best,’ you promise.

***

At breakfast, Yoongi frowns at his phone. 

‘Why am I getting invited to become a member of every country club in the vicinity?’

Seokjin, dressed in Yoongi’s clothes, mumbles something unintelligible into his cereal.

You look up from your pancakes and through your sunglasses at your husband.

‘I got you blacklisted from every single country club in the area when we first got married, so I spent yesterday getting you reinvited.’

You point your fork at Seokjin and say, grudgingly, ‘Seokjin helped.’

Seokjin sips his juice. 

‘Why did we drink so much?’ he asks.

‘You’re the one that kept asking for drinks,’ you point out.

Yoongi holds up a hand between you to break you up.

‘Why?’ he asks.

‘I’m making up for being awful to you,’ you tell him.

Yoongi frowns. ‘Is that why you’ve been so erratic lately?’

You’re offended. ‘I’m not erratic.’

‘Taking me to that basketball game? Buying me at the auction? Dinner at Namjoon and Nayeon’s?’ Yoongi asks.

‘Riding you in the shower yesterday,’ you add.

Seokjin covers his ears.

‘I’m being nice,’ you say.

Yoongi says, ‘I appreciate your efforts, but you don’t have to make anything up to me.’

‘She does,’ Seokjin interjects.

You toss a pancake at him. 

Yoongi rolls his eyes.

‘We’ll talk later,’ he says to you.

‘I don’t know why he’s still here,’ you say to Yoongi, like Seokjin’s not in the room.

Yoongi pushes your coffee towards you. ‘Drink. Finish your breakfast. Seokjin and I have a meeting to get to. Let’s talk later.’

‘I have a surprise for you tonight,’ you say, remembering.

Yoongi leans down to kiss your cheek.

‘I don’t like surprises.’

‘You’ll like this one,’ you promise. 

***

You once sent a troupe of strippers to put on a show at an important business meeting Yoongi had organised with a notoriously conservative client.

The deal had fallen through despite months of preparation and expense.

It was then that Yoongi had finally snapped and called you a cold hearted bitch for the first time.

You’d thought long and hard about how to make this up to him, and you don’t know enough about his company to source an equivalent deal.

You’re hoping dancing for him in the red teddy he got you will help.

You’re not a bad dancer, and you’ve been taking lessons for weeks, enough that you’re pretty confident you can pull it off.

You’ve hired a room in an underground sex club, hoping the gritty feel will add to the thrill of it.

Yoongi raises his eyebrows when you lead him through the private entrance off the street, down a flight of stairs, to a darkened corridor.

You lift the keycard out of your thigh-high stockings and unlock the door. 

You’d shared a bottle of wine at dinner, and you’re feeling good.

There’s a chair in the middle of the room, like you’d specified. The lights are off apart from a blue glow. It’s dark enough to lend a sense of intimacy, but light enough that you can see Yoongi’s gorgeous face clearly.

God, your husband looks beautiful tonight, all in black, his lips stained from the wine.

He leans back on the chair, legs spread, watching you.

The one thing you’ve always liked about Yoongi that he knows when to keep his mouth shut.

His lips part as you turn in front of him and unzip your dress. It puddles on the floor in a shimmering heap.

You hit play on the music and start dancing.

Yoongi’s gaze focuses intensely on you as you dance for him. You put your legs on his thighs, pushing them apart to make space for yourself as you shimmy between them.

Your ass brushes his crotch, deliberately, lingering longer and longer with each pass until you’re grinding against him.

Yoongi, like a seasoned strip club connoisseur, keeps his hands to himself, braced on his thighs.

You turn so you’re facing him, leaning forward to encourage him to look down the top of your silky teddy. Your nipples are stiff, pushing against the silk, and you put two fingers in his mouth.

He needs no prompting, sucking on your fingers, tongue delving between them suggestively.

You put a hand on his shoulder and run your wet fingers over your nipples. 

Yoongi grunts, eyes fixed on your tits.

You slide your hand down between your legs and lean over him to whisper in his ear.

‘I’m imagining your fingers here, Yoongi,’ you purr, gratified by how you can see his skin prickling with goosebumps.

Yoongi licks his lips. His voice, when it comes out, is so deep you’re wet just listening to him.

‘You know you really fuck me off sometimes,’ he says. 

For the first time since you started dancing for him, you falter.

You look at him uncertainly. 

His hand comes out, landing on your silk-covered hip, long fingers splaying over your ass.

‘I think it’s your face,’ he muses, almost like he’s talking to himself. ‘Your face is so fucking bratty I want to shove my dick in your mouth just to shut you up.’

He pulls you down so you’re sitting in his lap, straddling him. 

He cups your jaw, pulling your face closer to his. His thumb traces over your bottom lip, teasing at the seam of your lips until your lips part enough for him to slip his thumb in.

Automatically, you suck. 

‘There,’ Yoongi says. ‘You always look so pretty with me in your mouth.’

You can’t help yourself. You whimper around his thumb.

‘I like this even more though,’ he says. 

Eyes on you, he moves his hand down your hip, cupping you between your legs, parted on his lap.

Like this, you’re spread out on top of him.

Yoongi hisses as he feels how slick you are. He teases at your clit, one finger slipping into you.

You say his name. God, he feels good.

He curls his finger, and you whimper again.

‘Your little pussy knows it belongs to me,’ he says, almost conversational, as he strokes your clit.

He presses an open-mouthed kiss to your breast as he fingers you, tongue laving the red silk.

You slip a strap down your shoulder so your breast is exposed, nipple taut for him.

‘Do it properly, Yoongi,’ you whine.

Yoongi laughs darkly. ‘Where’s your manners, baby?’

Your mouth snaps closed, lips thinning into a straight line. Your eyes flash at him.

Yoongi’s looking at you. 

‘There you are,’ he says, but oddly, there’s affection in his voice. 

He tilts his head to slant his mouth over yours in a slow kiss at the same time his fingers start scissoring inside you.

He smells so good. He pulls away and leans his forehead against yours. 

‘I kiss you all the time, brat, how could you say we skip straight to the fucking?’

You’re hazy with pleasure, his fingers haven’t stopped moving inside you, and he always seems to go unerringly to the spot that makes you cry out his name and beg for more.

You’re begging now. 

‘Yoongi,’ you moan. 

‘Who fucks you like this, brat?’ he hisses.

‘You,’ you answer, ‘please, Yoongi.’

‘That’s right,’ he says. ‘That’s fucking right.’

You’re grinding against his hand now, each movement making you flutter around his fingers. You’re so close you can taste it, chasing your high.

Yoongi pulls his fingers out, and you cry out. 

‘Yoongi!’

‘Cum on my cock, let me feel you.’

You fumble with the zipper on his pants, and he hisses as you draw him out. 

He grabs your hips and sinks you down onto his cock.

Fuck, he’s so thick and hot you could cum even if he stayed perfectly still.

Yoongi shudders. ‘Fuck. Fuck. Feel me, baby? You get me so hard for you it hurts.’

Your eyes are squeezed shut, concentrating on the feel of him.

‘So fucking tight for me, shit.’

You’re already starting to tighten around his cock when he slaps your thigh. ‘Go on, this is what you wanted isn’t it? Fucking take it, baby.’

His voice is low, slurred, pupils blown all the way.

He’s rude as fuck, and you’re about to cum your brains out thinking about it.

Only Min Yoongi could do this to you.

He knows it. His breathing is ragged, but he somehow has the presence of mind to say, ‘fuck. Does my baby want tenderness too?’

His lips press against yours, he slides his tongue into your mouth, and he cradles the back of your head, fingers tangling in your hair.

‘Fucking cum for me,’ he murmurs. 

You slam your hips against his again, and finally, finally, you cum.

You curl into his chest, and he’s there, mouth on your hair. 

‘You did so well,’ he tells you. ‘Waving that ass in the air for me, shit. Wearing this. You’re gonna need to do this again.’

‘I want to be good for you,’ you say.

Yoongi tilts your face so you’ll look at him.

‘Why? I’m a cold bastard most of the time.’

‘You have a nice cock,’ you offer.

Yoongi laughs. ‘You can have my cock anytime. It’s all yours.’

‘Oh are we exclusive now?’ you tease.

‘I’m wearing your ring around my finger,’ Yoongi reminds you, showing you his hand. 

You tilt your head, pretending to think about it.

‘I’ll get you another ring to put around your cock.’

Yoongi grins and slaps your ass, gently. ‘Come on, get dressed. I want to get into bed with you. It’s my favourite part of the day.’

You want to ask if he really means that, but he’s already opening the door. 

***

Yoongi looks pretty sexy when he’s concentrating, you decide. 

You’ve graduated from sleeping together to also spending time together in his study sometimes in the evenings.

You’re trying to concentrate on reading a brief your social media manager prepared for you, but really your husband who isn’t doing anything other than frowning at his work, is distracting you.

Yoongi glances at you. ‘Need help with anything?’

You hum. 

He walks around his desk to stand next to you. 

‘What are you working on?’

You show him your brief. ‘Just prepping for a meeting tomorrow.’

Yoongi looks like he’s concentrating again, reading over your shoulder.

‘I’ve got it, Yoongi,’ you tell him.

He glances at you. 

‘I didn’t say you didn’t.’

You try to ignore the flare of irritation as Yoongi walks back to his desk.

You know Yoongi has a sharp intellect and great business instincts. He’s earned every bit of his impressive reputation.

You’d be a fool to turn down his help.

Maybe you are a fool. But you don’t want him to see you as the impulsive devil-may-care hellion he married. You want to show him that you, too, have earned your right for respect in your role.

You chew on that for a bit, and finally, sighing, give up and go to bed.

You guess it’s going to take a bit longer to change Yoongi’s perception of you.

***

You got up to a lot of shenanigans on your honeymoon with Yoongi. 

You were drunk for a lot of it, so you don’t remember much, but the bits you do remember are all bad.

You’d started drinking on the plane and spent the first night throwing up in the hotel bathroom.

And the second. Possibly the third.

You’d straight up disappeared after breakfast one day and had spent a day wandering the city on your own.

You’d also refused to sleep with him, claiming you were being treated for gonorrhoea. You’d accused him of giving it to you, which was how you’d ended up getting your hands on his test results to send to his company.

At least this is an easy thing to make up to Yoongi.

You couldn’t possibly make it a worse experience.

You’ve organised a weekend away with him, in a rustic little cabin by the lakes.

It works on many levels. The cabin’s a fair drive away, which means you get to watch your husband drive sexily. You think Yoongi likes nature, and you envisage doing a bit of paddling, maybe some fishing. 

Also, the isolation of the cabin means you won’t get any noise complaints, important because you intend on fucking Yoongi constantly this weekend.

You’re still congratulating yourself on your genius when Yoongi wakes up the morning you’re due to leave.

You’ve been awake for hours.

The smile you turn on him is so bright he grimaces.

Ah. You keep forgetting he’s not a morning person. Also you have no idea what time he got in last night.

You scurry out of bed to grab him a coffee and promptly trip over his slippers.

Yoongi swears behind you. ‘Why do you keep falling over my slippers? They’re in the same place every time.’

‘Maybe you shouldn’t leave them there,’ you retort, hurt. 

Then you remember you’re on your best behaviour. 

You bite your tongue and go to grab him a coffee. 

When you get back, he’s on his back, staring at the ceiling. 

‘Got you coffee,’ you say, holding out his mug.

He accepts with a gravelly ‘thanks.’

You’re brushing your teeth when he says, ‘there’s been a supply problem with the new line we’re launching. I may need to spend time this weekend on the phone.’ 

‘That’s fine,’ you say, brightly. You’re determined not to let anything mar your new honeymoon weekend.

Yoongi says, gently, ‘is there any way we could reschedule?’

You stare at him. ‘Do you not want to go?’ 

The words are out before you get a chance to think them over. You could kick yourself at the neediness in your tone.

Yoongi says, ‘of course I want to go, I just don’t want you to be disappointed.’

You’re starting to wonder if he’s trying to tell you he doesn’t want to go. 

‘I won’t be disappointed,’ you say, watching his face carefully.

Yoongi smiles at you. ‘Then let’s set off after breakfast.’

Yoongi’s quiet as he’s driving, and you notice how tired he looks. You’re just about to suggest he pulls over to let you drive when he says, ‘something on my face?’

‘You look tired,’ you say. 

‘I am tired,’ he tells you. He smiles at you, faintly. ‘This upcoming collaboration with Novatech will be the biggest, most high-stakes project I’ve started since I took over from my father. I can’t afford for it to fail.’

‘Why would it fail?’ you ask.

‘There are a lot of moving parts,’ Yoongi says, vaguely.

‘I’m sure it’ll be a roaring success,’ you say, faith firmly in your capable, successful husband.

Yoongi says, ‘just don’t try to sabotage me.’

You say, earnestly, ‘those days are behind me.’

‘It’s a shame,’ Yoongi says, ‘I’m going to miss spanking you for misbehaving.’

That reminds you. 

‘You can spank me anytime,’ you tell Yoongi. ‘Also, check out these new panties I bought.’

Yoongi glances at you and nearly swerves off the road.

‘Are you wearing crotchless panties?’ he asks, and he looks intrigued and flustered all at once.

‘It’s called an ouvert,’ you explain. ‘That’s French for open.’

Yoongi mutters something to himself you don’t quite catch.

‘What did you say?’ you ask, sweet as pie.

‘I said, your fucking pussy is going to kill me,’ Yoongi says. 

He gives you a half smile, lazy, devastating. 

‘I can’t think of a better way to go.’

***

Yoongi’s phone rings the moment you step into the cabin.

You wonder if you should have plumped for somewhere more rustic with no cell reception.

You unpack half-heartedly, watching from the window as he paces around outside the cabin.

He rubs a hand over his forehead, looking more stressed and tired than you’ve ever seen him.

Maybe he’s been stressed like this before but you haven’t been paying attention.

You come out to bring him a glass of water.

He smiles at you, still on his phone.  

You flash him your ass and glance back to see if he’s watching. 

He isn’t.

When Yoongi’s done on the phone you grab him. 

‘Want to go for a walk? I’ll protect you from the wolves.’

‘I am the wolf,’ Yoongi says, but it’s half hearted.

‘Hey, why don’t you take a break. I’ll rub your back.’

Yoongi perks up at your suggestion, and it’s the most animated you’ve seen him all day.

You get him to lay on the bed just in his briefs.

You wonder if you’ll ever get used to how beautiful his body is.

You put your hands on his shoulders and knead, and his deep groan makes you feel good in so many ways.

You can feel Yoongi’s muscles relax as you massage over his shoulders and down his back. When you get to his legs he twitches a little like he’s falling asleep.

By the time you get to his feet he’s dead asleep.

You cover him with a blanket and a kiss and head out for a walk.

When you get back he’s still asleep, so you make a space for yourself next to him and join him.

You’re awakened by Yoongi’s hand on your shoulder. 

‘Hey, I made dinner for us.’

You blink, disoriented. ‘What time is it?’

‘It’s late. Come on. We’ll sleep better when we’re full.’

Yoongi’s made ram-don. You sigh happily as you sit down in front of the steaming bowl. Instead of sitting across from you, Yoongi slides in next to you.

His thigh nudges yours. He puts his free hand on your thigh. 

You look at him curiously.

Yoongi says, ‘eat.’

The noodles are delicious, but you find you’re enjoying Yoongi’s hand on your thigh just as much. 

You put your hand on his, and smile at him as he knits your fingers together. 

It’s sweet, and silly, and something you wouldn’t expect from your normally brisk, impatient husband.

Yoongi watches you finish your noodles, enjoying the warmth of your thigh and hand. He shifts a little, because he’s quite sure he shouldn’t have a raging hard-on from doing something as innocent as holding your hand.

You’re smiling at him so happily. If Yoongi’d known that holding your hand would be enough to make you smile like that he’d have tried to hold hands with you this whole time.

You’re finished with your late dinner. Yoongi stops you when you get up to start clearing up.

‘Let me do it. Why don’t we watch a movie? You set it up and I’ll clear up here.’

By the time Yoongi finishes clearing up, you’re ensconced on the couch, so covered in blankets he can barely see you. The lights are low, the TV on playing some movie Yoongi knows he’s not going to get into. 

He’d rather watch you.

He slides in next to you and holds out his arm.

You look at him like you’ve never been invited to snuggle before.

To be fair, Yoongi doesn’t think you’ve ever done this together.

He lowers his arm like he’s changed his mind, and you’re next to him so quickly he has to bite back a smile.

You rest your head in the curve between his neck and shoulder, cheek on his chest.

Your hand flutters over his torso, finally landing on his stomach. You turn in, nose against his chest, breathing him in.

It’s adorable. You’re adorable.

Yoongi wants to fight dragons for you. 

He leans down and sniffs your hair as quietly as he can. 

Your breathing is easy, slow, and Yoongi realises you’ve fallen asleep when you go boneless in his arms. 

He wonders if you know how much he’s prepared to do for you if you ever asked.

Part 2

©hamsterclaw 2022

[meenawrites]

Humanized Spider Thoughts

So... this makes me even more sad that his canon storyline but here I am thinking about it. 

What if the Recoms / the RDA had made attempts to "humanize" Spider? How would that go? How would he react? How far would they go? How would the family react?

SO I'm going to try to keep this somewhat close to how Quarritch does respect Spider to a certain degree in canon but like his human memories and frankly RDA's orders make him think this is the best course of action. 

So yeah, recoms hold Spider down as he attempts to bite and snarls and eventually begs them not to cut his hair. They don't really listen obviously, chopping off his locs in one go. They force wash his hair and his body clean of blue paint and scrub so hard that even the usual residue from the plant substance that stains his skin (think henna) goes away. Spider's left with kind of a mismatched chop of baby curls atop of his head and without his stripes, he feels more naked than he does in just his loincloth. They force him into human clothes (tank and cargo pants). The only win he gets in that situation is that he continues to kick off the boots they give him and they give up trying on that front. 

Quarritch had a bit of a war in himself as he watched this process. Like from the person he remembers himself to be from the human memories, he should be all for this, but there's something in him that hates watching Spider scream and struggle so hard against the recoms and scientists that eventually he has to be sedated just for them to be able to finish his hair in peace. There's something horrifying in seeing the emptiness in his eyes as Spider sees his own reflection for the first time, when he moves to touch his hair but his hand hovers just above the cut ends, freezing there and something in his expression just breaks. (Miles is behind the one way mirror during this point so Spider isn't masking as much as he would if he knew he were there). 

It's that pull of regret in Quarritch's gut that makes him save the few beads from the locs they'd cut off of Spider's head and secretly snag what he didn't know was Spider's small songcord he'd made himself and keep them on his person. He thinks about throwing them away multiple times but he never does. 

Spider can't touch his hair during those few months, flinches whenever someone else accidentally brushes against his head (with him being so much smaller than the Na'vi it happens a lot). He can't bear to look at himself in any reflective surface because it makes him queasy. He hates the human clothes that make him feel more "other" and "outsider" than he already does, but every time he escaped in those early days to paint stripes on himself, the recoms would clean him again and shove him a shirt, and eventually Spider gave up, thinking it was better to just stay like that than to keep getting manhandled every time he tries to cover himself. 

He's glad Quarritch lets him stay barefoot. He thinks it would have killed something more of him to be unable to feel the forest soil at his feet, the tickle of moss between his toes, the familiar grooves of tree bark as he jumped through the branches. It was his one constant reminder of Eywa's presence in everything, his sole salvation.

He becomes very quiet, way quieter than he's ever been in his life. The only times he perks up a bit is when Quarritch asks him to teach them about the Na'vi and a little of his old zest for life comes back when he's allowed to speak Na'vi and relive his days of tracking game in the forest. 

Still, he tends to zone out a lot and violently flinch back to himself before getting a haunted look as he looked down at himself. Quarritch hears him cry at night when he thinks no one is listening, quiet, muffled sobs where he goes to touch his hair and his hands twitch away violently. Then go to hug himself only to have to same reaction and dig his hands into the dirt instead. It makes him feel so unpleasant watching it. 

The experience of being forcefully stripped of his Na'vi - ness combined with the mental probing of his mind he was subjected to make Spider retreat into himself if only to protect his own mental state. Him zoning out it really him immersing himself in any pleasant memory he has in the forest, of Kiri painting stripes on him, Neteyam ruffling his hair, flying on an ikran with Lo'ak. He wraps his mind in the memory of lying on the forest floor at Kiri's side, breathing in the smell of the forest, letting it fill him up from the inside and pretending that he could feel Eywa cradling him, a Sky person, in its embrace, that he'd somehow tricked the Great Mother into treating him like a Na'vi and accepting him. 

It gets worse when they get to the ship though. All his feet feel are cold human metal  and he hates it. He can't smell anything but human sweat and protein bars and fuel when he's in the ship and it makes him physically sick. He's kind of just a walking shell at this point and what breaks him further is when they question the Ta'unui clan, when he's made to interpret for them, when Eywa's people see him and his humanized appearance for the first time and it makes him want to crawl inside himself and die. Then he has to watch them shoot an ilu, burn down villages, hunt a tulkun (one of the most beautiful creatures he's ever seen) while he's THERE and he LOOKS LIKE THEM. 

He starts existing in a haze that his memories can barely protect him from anymore, sleeping whenever he can just to escape the feeling of existing like this. To say it scares Quarritch is an understatement. He's terrified to his very core when he compares the fierce fighter he met that fateful day in the forest and the ghost of a boy in front of him. So much so that before they try to draw out Jake Sully with the Tulkun hunt near the villages, Quarritch comes and gives him the beads and songcord he salvaged at the beginning of his captivity. 

It takes a second for Spider to even realize what they are as he tries to crawl out of the numb state of mind he's drowned himself in. It's only when Quarritch leaves them next to him and exits the room that he recognizes them, parts of the person who was taken away from, forcibly changed. He recognizes the bead that Kiri had made for him, the one Neteyam had swiped for him from Jake's faulty attempts, and his sad excuse of a songcord. He's scared to touch them at first, as if they'll dissapear if he reaches for them, but he aches for it, and he holds them to his chest for hours. He keeps them on his person at all times. He can't actually put them on anything because of how short his hair is and the fact that he's terrified someone will take them away from him if they see them, so he stuffs them in a pocket of his cargo pants and can constantly be seen patting that pocket to make sure they're still there. 

He's only roused to action again when he sees Lo'ak and friends held captive on the boat and it's like a cold bucket of water has been thrown in his face. It's spurring him, yanking him out of his own mind long enough to try and get to him. 

But it takes Lo'ak a second to even recognize him, and in the brief moment they have together, his eyes widen and his voice kind of breaks as he sees what they've done to Spider, what he's become, and he can barely say "what did they do to you?" before they're pulled away from each other. 

His best friend barely even recognized him, had been unable to, and that breaks Spider further when he didn't even think that was possible. It convinces Lo'ak even more though that they have to go back for him. 

Spider still manages to crash the ship though, he's holding onto that rush of adrenaline he'd felt upon spotting Lo'ak as tightly as possible before it fades away and he retreats back into his mind. Lo'ak and Neteyam come back for him, and Neteyam cannot believe what he's seeing. He's seized by a furious, raging anger the likes he's never felt before  when he finally gets a chance to look at Spider, to see the circles under his eyes and how he has thinned, to see his shorn curls and the clothes and the glassy look in his eyes. But he doesn't have time to do anything or say anything, he just has to get Spider out. He just has enough time pull him into a fierce hug that has Spider choking up before he's ushering them off of the boat. 

And NETEYAM LIVES IN THIS AU BECAUSE I SAID SO, I CAN'T HANDLE SPIDER'S HUMANIZATION AND NETEYAM DYING OKAY IT'S ONE OR THE OTHER

So Neteyam just shot in like the shoulder or something or frankly maybe Spider sees it and jumps in front of him and he gets shot in the arm, nothing fatal or life-threatening. I'm going with the Neteyam is shot one for the rest of this. 

They do leave him behind though to go back for Kiri and Tuk. Jake barely has time to kind of register just what fate he left Spider to when he sees him but he has to shove that down immediately because he has to go save his girls. Spider is honestly barely holding on mentally at this point. So many of the people he loved had seen him in this state, looking so human, in a state he hated himself in, and now Kiri of all people was about to. But he has to go save her and Tuk, there's no choice in the matter. 

Kiri cries doubly hard when she sees him because not only does she understand how deeply what they've done has affected him but like her mom has a dagger to Spider's throat, about to kill the one person she feels most at home with, the boy she loves. 

Gonna skip over the next part cause this is getting too long but Spider still saves Quarritch if only for the care he showed him and giving him back his beads. He still leaves him but now he doesn't know what to do. He's kind of lost who he is and he doesn't know if he can or should go back to the Sully family. He keeps swimming in their direction because he can't really stay in the middle of the fucking ocean while he decides. Unbeknownst to him though, as the Sully family gathers back together and takes in the fact that they're all alive, it's Neteyam who's like where the fuck is Spider? He hasn't been able to stop thinking about what he saw because damn it, he had already felt so guilty about his parents' choice to just leave the boy behind and hadn't stopped thinking about, but seeing what they'd done to him had ignited that ten-fold and he'd be damned if they lost him again. 

Kiri snaps to attention then because she knows too and her and Lo'ak dive back into the ocean at their parents' protests to find Spider. 

It's Kiri who comes upon him first. He's been treading water some ways away from where they were struggling to decide what to do and wanting nothing more but to STOP THINKING. He wants to duck underwater when she sees him but he's just so goddamn tired and she's swimming towards him with such purpose that he just lets her grab him and lets himself pass the fuck out. 

Part 2 coming immediately after because this is getting too long

[hungharrington]

i would uh.. like to put my own little menace!steve in bed thoughts out here.. they will make ZERO sense and will be all jumbly n gross but it’s like midnight n i have to be up at 6am so BE KIND <3

as someone who is 100% very shy/extra nervous at first, no noise, trying to mask facial expressions and hide parts of my body. this type of reader especially?? oh ho ho

menace!steve doubles as sorta loving!perv!steve. he can and will fantasise abt cumming on ur tummy and move his way up the best he can - still cumming - until he shoots some onto ur boobs as well. on his come down, all out of breath and smiling with his eyes closed, he can’t wait to open em and see ur blushy, shocked little face, and ropes across ur chest, across ur tummy, maybe he even dribbled some across ur pussy cus he didn’t time it right and shot a bit early (no complaints)

menace!steve who is all slow thrusting with his entire body, borderline begging u to take the big shirt off, he wants to see you all bare so bad.. he’s naked and skin on skin would feel so much better for u baby! steve who, when little noises do embarrassingly slip out, he lights up, copies em; he’ll nudge ur nose with his as ur eyes try and screw shut from embarrassment, his own eyebrows knit up in mocking and his pout mirroring the one he saw, all oh did that feel good sweetheart? oh, it felt so good right there, huh? look at me, look at me.. look at me, or im gonna make u cum.. right now.. so close to me, make u cum with my face so close to urs huh? with his hand trailing down towards ur clit threateningly (because the only thing more embarrassing than making noises like what u just made, would be cumming so quick and hard and probably very noticeably lmaoo)

menace!steve who notices that u like him beefy and hairy. imagine him laying in bed while ur getting ready, and he’s shirtless???? with the covers bunched over his hips, n he just busts out some little quip about how he’s been dreaming about u cumming on his chest so bad. wants to make u ride it, but he doesn’t think he’d be able to have ur pussy that close to his mouth without tugging u up onto his tongue. ur stood there with ur hair tie half done, frozen, bc he looks so nonchalant saying that with his huge biceps crossed over his chest.

menace Steve who wants to simultaneously cum inside u, suck it out, sloppily spit it down ur tits and into ur mouth and makeout, JUST AS MUCH as he’d want to cum inside and then not move. breeding kink menace Steve’s brain goes wee-woo-wee-woo empty when he sees u eyeing his cock when it leaks pre-cum. the man just cannot have his dick in ur mouth, he’s so serious he wants to make every drop count, but he also makes u want it so bad that whenever he gets the vibe that u just need it/need him, u come back into whatever room ur in to see him stripping. he’s so fucking coy abt it too, just shrugs and waves his hands for a second like duhh?? get with the program..

LMAOOO out of left field, but menace!steve who maybe does smthn mundane, like ur pipe breaks (i am NOT a plumber I don’t know what im talking abt), but while he’s down there, laid with his head in the cabinet tinkering around, he tries to role play a ‘oh no my pipes burst and oh? hunky plumber man came to fix it!’ porno scenario. but he doesn’t tell u. just works himself up and lets himself get so noticeably hard that ur like.. are u alright stevie?? n he just has to tell u to pls for the love of god ride him like he’s just some maintenance guy n ur just a hot babe who needs some good dick. take it from him - he’ll keep working (n if it’s a reader who like previously mentioned, isn’t at that point yet.. yea icl I’d do it. don’t judge me but if he’s all sighing and giving up like honey PLEASE take my dick out.. yeah 🫶)

menace!stevie who at every inconvenience, when his little princess is huffing and puffing abt something, rolls his eyes, tugs her under him like god okay babe, i hear you, u need eating out okayy i get it, need to let me kiss u down there for a bit as if he wasn’t the only one out of the two of u thinking that, but boy menace!steve?? can make an excuse out of ANYTHING. oh they gave u crinkle cut fries instead of french? his eyebrows raise as he sighs all dramatic, fully prepared to try n finger u in the diner booth. the dress ur trying on in the changing room doesn’t fit like u wish it would? he’s clicking his tongue, caressing ur hair back just to bend u over infront of the mirror, raring to go and dry hump. the reason??? he’s is. a menace. and kinda bitchy. but it fits.

(also, when ur making out and straddling him, he’d definitely break away, massive grin, just to tease u abt how he can feel that, yknow?? FEEL WHAT??? yknow.. ur heartbeat, baby? the grin is still there, head tilted down to look at u through his lashes. manhandles ur hips harder into his lap and u finally get what he means)

I WAS ALREADY SAVIN UR OTHER ASK TO COME BACK TO BUT HOLY FUCK I CANT ADD ANYTHING TO TOP ANY OF THIS

i’m also a no noise & quiet, ‘can i keep my shirt’ on babe and this felt like a direct ATTACK. steve trying to make his plumber porn fantasy to come true is peak steve 😭 and i would fucking indeed. get his dick out and ride it while he fixed my pipes :)

[deputyrook]

La petite mort- Gortash/Durge- 18+

This is the re-upload of a little fic that I wrote a few months ago! If you read it back then, I have made some changes and rewrites, particularly to the ending. Enjoy! 🖤

Words: 1952 || Female Durge x Gortash || A03 Link

Warnings: Murderfucking. Explicit sex. Explicit murder. Voyeurism, exhibitionism. Is it necrophilia if someone dies during sex? Dead dove, etc.

--

The damned woman never answers her sending stone. 

Stalking toward her office in hurried annoyance, Gortash curses under his breath. Why did he even get her the stone if she was never going to keep it near her? His new business partner, Kira, has a lovely penchant of being able to solve all of his problems with her blade- once he’s able to find her, that is.

He just hopes she hasn’t slithered away back to her Temple. Despite their partnership, he still hadn’t been granted access to it, and those damned cultists of hers could never convey the message right. If she’s gone underground, it could be days of ritual slaughter before she emerges again.

As he approaches her office door, a noise from within makes him pause. He thinks he’s misheard, until the sound repeats- a broken moan, and an airy laugh that follows. He knows that laugh. He’s heard it a hundred times, right before the blood begins to run. Well, he’s found her.

The annoyance he’d had with her evaporates, replaced by a fervent curiosity and a jolt of lust that makes him feel lightheaded. The Black Hand preserve him, but the sudden image of her naked and writhing is impossible to keep from flashing through his mind. What does she look like now, in the throes of her pleasure? Perhaps more importantly, who is her lover? Is it someone he knows? The thought unsettles him more than he'd care to admit.

He has to know. Perfecting his mask of indifference, Gortash turns the knob and opens the door. It isn't locked, and he strides into the room without knocking.

Kira is obviously dangerous, but not so bloodthirsty that she would kill him just for walking in on her. At least, he hopes she isn’t.

It takes a moment for him to register what he sees as he enters. In the small sitting area of the office, spread out over her loveseat, Kira lounges with her legs spread. She is completely nude, the deep red of her skin exposed entirely, a slick wetness between her legs that he can see coating her inner thighs. Gortash only hesitates briefly before he continues into the room, eyes trained on her body, taking in the details and committing them to memory for later. He already knows that it’s an image he’s going to want to revisit many times over.

One of her legs dangles over the edge of the loveseat, while the other extends straight out across the cushions. Similarly, one of her arms is thrown back behind her, over the armrest, while the other reaches out to grip the hair of the man who’s kneeling between her legs. Though Gortash can’t see the space where her legs meet- and he does, almost desperately, want to see- he can see her breasts, full and soft, her nipples stiffened to points.

Gortash doesn’t recognize the man- a drow, young looking, whose attention (and mouth) are on Kira. The drow instinctively tries to turn to look at him as he enters the room, but Kira’s fingers, twisted in his hair, keep his head locked in place between her thighs. Her half-lidded eyes meet his, and Gortash is relieved to see her grin.

“Now, now. Don’t stop on my account,” Gortash says with a wave of his hand, slowly walking across the office with his eyes trained on the pair. Kira huffs, indignant, as if to say, “I wasn’t going to.”

She keeps her eyes trained on him as she brings her free hand to her chest and pinches her nipple between her fingers, grinding her hips up against the mouth of the drow. The motion makes Gortash nearly trip over his own feet. He can feel his neck flushing.

“Don’t you know how to knock?” She asks, her voice throatier and breathier than normal. He’s trying to remain unaffected, but Gortash can feel mouth go dry. How gorgeous that voice would sound, screaming his name. Kira doesn't exactly appear unaffected either, a raw neediness in her voice that she can't quite conceal.

“Would you have stopped if I knocked?” He fires back, eyebrow raised. The smirk she gives him says no, she wouldn’t have. 

She doesn’t answer him however, instead addressing the drow. “I didn’t tell you to stop. I’m- it won’t take much more for me, so he can wait here until we’re finished. Now, up.” She taps the drow on the shoulder, and the drow pulls back and stands over her, hand at his belt. He tries to sneak a look at Gortash, and in response, Kira twists the hair in her grip and yanks. The drow lets out a pained cry, wincing.

“No, here,” She murmurs, “Look at me, don’t look at him.” The drow nods at her, keeping his gaze on her face, and unbuckles his pants. Her voice is soft, the way it is at her most dangerous. If the young man has any reservations about Gortash being present, it hasn’t tempered his eagerness to be inside of her. His hands fumble, unable to free his cock from his pants fast enough.

“If you answered your stone, you could have just told me you’d be done soon, you know. I wouldn’t bother you if it wasn’t an emergency.” Gortash hums thoughtfully, “But I understand. You do enjoy showing off.” He can’t help himself from commenting, from keeping her attention on him as the drow lines himself up at her entrance. He’s made his way over to her desk and poured himself a glass of wine from the bottle there, but has kept his eyes on her all the while.

He prefers to think of his attention as passively intrigued, rather than lecherous, but the latter is probably closer to the truth.

“You think everything is an emergency, Enver,” she sighs, with a roll of her eyes. They both pause as the drow pushes inside of her easily, groaning loudly in a broken voice and bracing himself against the loveseat. He cages her in, leaning entirely over her smaller frame and panting as he begins to move, slowly and clumsily rutting into her.

Kira moans softly, her eyes closing in pleasure as she uses her fingers to press against her clit. When she opens them, she makes direct eye contact with Gortash.

Another shiver of arousal runs across him, and his grip tightens on his glass of wine. He takes a sip, watching, trying to appear nonplussed and failing. He’s half-hard, and getting harder with every second that passes. God, but he's liable to snap the stem of this glass in half if he grips it any tighter.

“Faster,” Kira says, and the drow, forehead already speckled with sweat, complies. His technique could use improvement, Gortash thinks, I wouldn’t do it like that. She wouldn't look so bored with me, I would have her writhing. But Kira smiles, and that’s when Gortash catches it in her eyes-

The urge. At least, that’s what she’s called it before. That delicious little urge that darkened her pupils, made her do those terrible, violent deeds, that pushed her toward her gory little delights. A gift from father.

The drow moans again, and closes his eyes, hips stuttering. It happens so fast, Gortash is sure that the drow doesn’t even realize it’s happening at all.

With a swipe of a dagger that seems to have appeared in her hand from thin air, Kira slices the drow's throat, spilling out blood all over her. She’s hit by a cascade of it, splattering across her face and drenching her naked body as it spills out across her.

Kira laughs, a high-pitched peel of giggles, and shoves the dying drow off of the loveseat. She flips him easily onto the floor, settling on top of him with the practiced ease of someone who has done this before. The drow clutches at his neck, eyes wide, gasping and gurgling. Gortash can hear the blood in his throat and lungs as the drow attempts to cry out without success.

Kira moans, settling down against the drow as he claws at his neck. A hand reaches up to her arm limply, and she swats it away, riding him as the life drains from his body. Gortash no longer has even a sliver of her attention- she is completely lost in the bliss of it, whimpering and grinding down on him, fucking him ruthlessly as he dies.

She groans, cupping her breasts, and throws her head back as she comes with a cry of pure ecstasy. Riding out the vestiges of her orgasm, Kira grinds down against the drow. He’s no longer moving as the blood pools out across the floor. Eventually, she stops, her hands resting on the corpse's chest as she breathes hard.

Gortash is equal parts apprehensive and aroused by her. To watch her, so drenched in her own indulgent, debauched pleasure, sends another shiver of gratification through him. It feels perverse, voyeuristic of him to have seen this. It feels intimate.

He feels a strange swell of pride that he's managed to establish this alliance with her. She is the woman who will be his partner in ascension. She is a savage and wild thing, lethal and sharp, a true equal, who allowed him to attend and observe this lascivious show.

The promise of their shared future thrills him.

“My, but you are depraved, aren’t you?” Gortash remarks, low and quiet when he finds his voice. She looks up at him in surprise, as though she’d forgotten he was there. Her expression is still alight with joy, an excitement he’s seen only in the aftermath of her kills.

Bane help him, but it’s almost cute.

“Ah- ha. Ha. Gods,” She pants, and runs a bloodied hand through her hair as she gets up off of the drow. Naked, drenched in blood and dishevelled, she is a beautiful horror, the picture of perfection and violence.

Gortash watches her swallow, watches the darkness recede from her eyes. The smile she shoots him is a little guilty, as she pulls a robe from a wardrobe and slips it over her naked, bloodied body. After tying it in place, she walks toward him and pours herself her own glass of wine.

“Well, we all worship in different ways, don’t we?” She replies, taking a sip. Gortash must look skeptical, because she laughs, breaking the tension. “Don’t be jealous. Unless you want a turn?”

“Please,” Gortash scoffs, “This is a new coat, I don’t want to get blood on it.” After a moment, he scoffs again, and repeats grumpily, "Jealous."

Kira laughs again. He taps the rim of his glass against hers in a toast, and drains it of its wine. He can feel her, watching the bob of his throat as he drinks it down. Considering.

It occurs to him then that allowing him into the room- or possibly, the setup of the entire sexual encounter- had been a test to see how he would react. To push his boundaries, and see if he would run in fear from her, to test how much he would allow and to gauge how he would respond.

Instead, he catches her eye and grins at her. Very shrewd.

"But Kira, in the office?" Gortash leans in close to speak in her ear, "It will take weeks to get the blood out of the floorboards, you know. Next time, we can at least set a blanket down first, to make the cleanup easier." He pulls back, to watch how she reacts to his response.

By the fire burning in her gaze, and the approving, nearly grateful smile, he thinks he has passed her test.

[ghoulsstolemyheart]

Fade Into You

hurt/comfort, comfort sex, blowjobs, anal fingering, anal sex, body dysmorphia (kind of), Dewdrop hates himself

4.3k words

“You’re so beautiful,” Aether said breathlessly as he reached down to palm at Dew again.

“Even now?” Dew’s eyes were unsure, desperate. He suddenly remembered that he was naked and, despite how dark the room was, he felt like he was under a spotlight. The only thing that kept him from running off was the soft, fluttery feeling he got when Aether smiled at him.

“Especially now.”

———

Dewdrop makes a mistake during a ritual and, on top of everything else weighing on his mind, it’s just a little too much for him to handle and he turns to Aether for comfort.

Sometimes Dewdrop needed to be soft. For all his harshness and aggressive attitude, he was still an incredibly troubled ghoul who needed comfort. Ever since he had been forced to change his element, there had been a certain sadness that followed him. A yearning for something that he could never have again, something he could never be again. The others noticed. They watched him collapse in on himself as he lost the exuberance they had known him for and become a quiet, solitary ghoul who was reluctant to let anyone in. Well, almost everyone.

He braced himself against the sink in the ghouls’ shared dressing room and stared his reflection down in the mirror. His warm blond hair was sweaty and hung loosely from the ponytail he’d thrown it in after locking himself in the bathroom to change. The thought of the others seeing him right now was just too much, too exposed. He’d forgotten his hoodie on the bus and had nothing to hide his charcoal arms from prying eyes. The water flowed much hotter than Dew would have been able to handle before his transformation and he soaked a wad of paper towels in it before scrubbing the grease paint from around his eyes and mouth. He let the water scorch his fingers as he rinsed his hands, the pleasantness of the burning still strange as he tried to get used to his new heat tolerance.

There was a lot about him that had changed when the clergy made him swap his elements and it all left Dew feeling like there’s something missing. His fins were gone and his gills sealed up leaving jagged scars all across his body like deep claw marks. His hands and feet were blackened. When he was transforming it felt like he was burning on a pyre and all the screaming had torn his vocal chords to shreds. It took a long time for him to be able to look in the mirror without sobbing and even longer to let anyone else see him. It was like he’d been torn apart and rebuilt, atom by atom, cell by cell, but somewhere along the line something went wrong. The kind of wrong that no one else notices except you.

All of this culminated in a deeply troubled ghoul who spent half of his time floating around the abbey as if he were in a trance. When he goes on stage, however, he’s more confident than he’s ever been. The lights hit him, his guitar rings out over the screaming crowd, and no one has to see his face hidden behind his mask. He can throw shit at Aether and pretend to choke Rain and not think about the pitying way they looked at him when he tried to walk the day he finally woke up after the ritual or how Copia told him to rest his voice when he let out a croaky noise in place of his words. 

But the rush of a ritual only lasts so long.

His solo was coming up, he was going over the chords in his head, preparing to have his turn in the spotlight, but he was so caught up in his thoughts that he missed his cue. Frantic, Dew started playing and hoped that people didn’t notice the panic in his eyes or the way his legs started to shake underneath him. The crowd cheered but he could barely hear them over the terror in his mind—

A knock at the door brought him crashing back to the present, making his head whip around and panic rise in his chest. He still wasn’t ready to face the others yet.

“Dew, can I come in?” Aether’s soft voice asked from the other side.

He shut off the water and dried his hands, switching off the light before flicking the lock on the door and turning away so he wouldn’t have to see anyone else. Aether slipped inside quietly, locking the door again behind him, and gently took Dewdrop by the shoulders to turn him around. Dew shot forwards to wrap his arms around his torso and bury his face in Aether’s chest, the fabric of his shirt so nice and soft against his cheek.

“Everything alright?” Aether’s voice was muffled by Dew’s hair as he pressed his lips to the top of his head.

“Don’t want them to see me,” he murmured.

“Okay, we can stay in here for a while.”

Dew melted into Aether’s arms with a sigh. Aether never made him feel like he had to do things he wasn’t ready for. He didn’t tell him he was blowing things out of proportion like he so often told himself. Instead, he did things like this, waiting with Dewdrop until he was ready to face whatever had been overwhelming him. 

“Is there anything I can do to help?”

He shook his head. Quintessence couldn’t distract people from the charred black that stained his arms, nor could it make Dew forget about what he was convinced was a career ending mistake.

They stayed there in the bathroom until Sunshine’s voice beckoned from the other side, telling them they were due to leave in thirty minutes. Aether watched as Dew tensed up, his hands immediately going to his arms as if he was trying to hide them.

“Where’s your clothes, firefly? I can help you change,” Aether offered, his voice soft and calming as always.

“I left them in the bus.”

Dewdrop swallowed nervously, his eyes wide in the dark bathroom as he gazed off into nothingness.

“That’s okay, I can go get them for you, how’s that sound?”

He nodded and Aether pressed a kiss to his forehead.

“I’ll be real quick, just wait here.”

Aether slipped out of the bathroom the same way he came in, quietly and calmly, opening the door enough that he could get out but not so much that the rest of the ghouls could see Dewdrop who quickly locked the door behind him again. He waited in the dark, the muffled conversations and laughter of the other ghouls still gnawing on him and making him more anxious. But Aether didn’t take long, always true to his word. Dew let him inside again, taking the clothes from him as Aether pressed a quick kiss to his forehead before turning his back and facing the door, giving him some privacy.

Dewdrop quickly shed his uniform, pulling on his jeans and a t-shirt Aether had snagged for him from the merch booth one night, covering up the charcoal fade on his arms with a hoodie he stole from Omega back in the day. It still smelled like him, barely.

“Will you come through and sit with us, or would you rather stay here? I don’t mind,” Aether asked when he felt Dewdrop’s hand slip into his.

“I’ll come through,” he said quietly, closing his eyes as Aether pressed another soft kiss to his forehead.

He didn’t want to. He wanted to leave the tour entirely. To go back to the abbey and crawl into his bed where he didn’t have to worry about whether or not he was going to be kicked out of the Ghost Project. But he knew that staying in the bathroom until it was time to leave would just kick his paranoia into overdrive.

Aether unlocked the door and led him through to the dressing room, settling down into the couch with Dew at his side. He stayed silent while the rest of the ghouls talked and laughed, watching them with tired eyes as he curled up against Aether. They were in various states of undress, uniforms thrown on hangers and deposited on the rail in favour of t-shirts and jeans and sweatpants. Swiss whistled as Rain pulled his shirt over his head revealing lithe muscles and the little dorsal fin that ran the length of his spine, disappearing below the waistband of his pants. He used to whistle at Dew like that. Used to run his finger down the length of his fin and make him shudder. Now he’s latched onto the pretty, new water ghoul and, while he and Dew were never especially close even after Swiss joined the band, Dew can’t help the jealousy that rises in him when he sees Swiss do the same with Rain. Aether pressed another kiss to Dew’s head and tightened the arm that was around his shoulders. He knew how Dewdrop felt about his appearance these days.

“How long till we leave?” Dew asked quietly.

“Only fifteen minutes, then we’re heading to the hotel,” Aether whispered back.

“Share a room with me?”

Aether didn’t need to answer, they had agreed long ago that the two of them would always share a hotel room on tours. He leaned down to nuzzle into the side of Dew’s face, kissing him again softly on the cheek this time.

Dewdrop didn’t let go of Aether once on the journey to the hotel, their fingers intertwined the whole way from the dressing room to the hotel lobby. He locked the door of their hotel room and flicked the lights off, pulling Aether over to the bed and under the covers where he clung to him again. They lay there in silence for a while, Aether’s hand stroking gently up and down his back. He didn’t dare say anything in case he set Dew off, but after a while he felt tears soak into his shirt and Dewdrop trembling in his arms. He couldn’t take the silence much longer.

“Dew, what’s wrong?” He asked quietly, sitting up so he could see him.

Dewdrop sniffed and wiped an eye with the heel of his hand.

“I fucked up! I was late on my fucking solo and now Copia probably thinks I can’t handle lead guitar anymore.”

“I promise you, if Copia really thought that he’d have stormed into the dressing room and told you so. So you missed your solo by a couple seconds, at least you still played it.” Aether spoke softly, his hand coming up to twirl a lock of Dew’s hair in an attempt to comfort him.

“What if I do it again? What if tomorrow night I fuck up so bad I get kicked out then and there?”

“Dewdrop,” Aether reached down to take Dew by the jaw, “you’re a good guitarist. They wouldn’t have picked you if they didn’t think you could handle it.”

“But what if they were wrong?” Dew’s voice was so small and quiet now, so unsure of himself that he was almost unable to speak.

Aether used his grip on Dew’s jaw to maneuver him onto his back, straddling his hips. 

“Do I need to say it again? Dewdrop, you are good at what you do. You’re fucking great at it! You played so hard the other week you bled and then kept going , that’s dedication that proves you’re more than worthy to be in the Ghost Project.”

New tears began to spill down Dew’s cheeks and he pushed himself up on one elbow, his other hand grabbing the back of Aether’s neck and pulling him into a deep kiss.

“Thank you. Thank you,” he mumbled against Aether’s lips over and over again between kisses, his voice shaky and desperate as he pulled him down on top of him. Aether responded with soft moans and hands that grabbed and pulled, his touch turning Dew’s words to little whines as he felt his way under his t-shirt and up his chest.

“Are you sure you want this right now?” Aether asked and Dewdrop nodded enthusiastically, wiping the tears from his eyes and mumbling a soft “please”.

With that, Aether began to undress. He pulled his shirt up over his head and threw it to the side, giving Dew a full view of the thick, dark patch of hair that ran from his chest down the centre of his torso and below the waistband of his sweatpants. He rolled his hips down against Dew and smiled as the ghoul below him let out another whine. Aether had to climb off of him to kick off his sweats, giving Dewdrop the chance to finally remove the jeans he had still been wearing when he crawled into the bed. He threw his hoodie and shirt to join the rest of their clothes and quickly pulled the duvet over himself, arms tucked underneath as he sat with his knees drawn up to his chest. Aether had to get used to that after his transformation, the way Dew had to hide his body from himself when they slept together. He knew why he did it, the sight of his charred limbs and the scars where his fins had once been was too much for him most of the time, but sometimes Aether wanted to be selfish. Sometimes he wanted to pull the covers away and spend the whole night just looking at Dewdrop’s body. Admiring the soft gradient from jet black to the warm-toned gray on his limbs. Fingers tracing across the scars as if they were maps to distant lands. But he wouldn’t do that. Not until Dew was ready to be seen like that again. 

Aether slipped under the covers with him, lips finding his throat effortlessly as he rolled one of Dew’s nipples between his fingers. Dew practically mewled for him, breathless whines and his little stilted moans drawing Aether back up to kiss and bite at his lips. Now that he was distracted, he reached out of the covers to tangle a hand in Aether’s hair. He could feel his cock getting harder as Aether’s teeth nipped at his bottom lip and he couldn’t help but buck up into him.

“You want me to touch you? Show you how good you’ve been?” Aether’s voice rumbled deep in his chest as he spoke.

“Yes. Yes please.”

Aether’s hand was already on its way down from Dewdrop’s chest to palm at his hardening cock, pressing against him firmly.

“I’ve got a better idea,” he said with a smirk. Aether moved backwards, letting himself disappear beneath the covers as he kissed his way down Dew’s body. 

He stopped just above the base of his cock, taking his time to stroke him some more before placing wet, open mouthed kisses along the side of his shaft. All the while, Aether could hear the desperate moans of his little fire ghoul. It was too dark for him to see anything, but judging by the muffled quality of his partner’s sounds he guessed that Dew had clapped a hand over his mouth. With his mouth still on him, Aether reached up and pulled the hand away so he could hear him properly. Dewdrop gasped when he finally took him into his mouth, tongue flat against the underside of his head, and let out a shaky moan as he hollowed his cheeks. 

Dew squirmed under his touch, his hands reaching down to tangle in Aether’s hair and push him a little further down his length, arching his back to get even closer to him. It was moments like this, as Aether lavished him with attention, that Dew could finally let himself forget how much he hated being seen. Their eyes closed, both so focused on each other’s pleasure, neither of them could see the parts of him that brought him so much shame. He tightened his grip on Aether’s hair and thrust himself deep into his throat, pressing his face against the neatly trimmed hair around his cock and making Aether gag for a second. Dew held him there and rocked his hips against Aether’s mouth before pulling him all the way off. He didn’t want to cum yet.

“C’mere,” he breathed as he pulled Aether up to eye level again and into a heated, possessive kiss. Aether cradled his face as they moved together, all lips and tongues and gentle thrusting against each other as they settled into a familiar rhythm that brought him so much joy. If there was one thing he was thankful for when it came to the Ghost Project and the church, it was that they had brought them together. He loved Dew, something he thought that he wasn’t capable of as a demon. He loved him in all his forms, all his moods no matter how extreme. He loved the noises he made when they were together like this. Aether knew Dewdrop hated talking about his feelings, but he didn’t need to talk for Aether to know that he loved him too. Not when he clung to him so desperately, like he wanted to crawl into his skin, and kissed him as passionately as he did in that moment. He felt his nails dig into his back as Dewdrop clawed at him and Aether groaned into his mouth, grinding down against him even harder and making Dew pull back and whine. 

“You’re so beautiful,” Aether said breathlessly as he reached down to palm at Dew again.

“Even now?” Dew’s eyes were unsure, desperate. He suddenly remembered that he was naked and, despite how dark the room was, he felt like he was under a spotlight. The only thing that kept him from running off was the soft, fluttery feeling he got when Aether smiled at him.

“ Especially now.” Aether dipped his head back down to kiss Dew’s neck while his hand moved further down, the tip of his finger circling Dew’s entrance and making him whine in anticipation. He let out a moan of his own against Dew’s skin as he felt his lover return the favour, stroking his cock with skilled fingers that teased him with devastating precision. They’d been together long enough now that even in his most strung out moments, Dew could touch him exactly the way he needed. Aether thrust into his hand slowly, continuing to tease him as he gently pressed his finger into him and pulled back out to circle him again. 

“Aether please,” Dewdrop whined, his back arching again and pressing his leaking cock into Aethers hip.

He smiled against Dew’s skin, giving him a playful nip with his teeth before finally pushing his finger into him properly. Dew bucked his hips again, a loud, needy moan tearing from his throat and making Aether press deeper. He moved slowly, working Dew into a whining mess as he eventually added another finger and began to get more enthusiastic. His cock throbbed under Dew’s touch, already so worked up and desperate for release after a little teasing.

“I ne- I need you, Aeth.” Dewdrop was struggling to hold back now. His free hand grabbed at Aether, his fingers digging in hard enough to leave bruises.

Aether withdrew his fingers and reached down to slip his hands under Dew’s thighs so he could lift them, hooking his legs over his shoulders as he positioned himself at Dew’s entrance. They both moaned when he slowly pushed into him, bathing in each other’s pleasure. Aether’s hands gripped Dew’s thighs as he thrust into him, building up to that same rhythm they had earlier.

“You feel so fucking good,” Dew whined. Aether smiled and dipped his head to place a tentative kiss to Dew’s leg as he kept it propped against his shoulder, pressing another kiss to the soft skin there when he didn’t squirm or pull away. Instead he watched Aether, eyes wide and glassy, pupils blown in the darkness almost blotting out the soft orange-yellow glow of his irises. He reached down to stroke himself, lewd, slick noises mixing with their moans and sighs of pleasure. For the first time in a long while, Dewdrop wanted to be seen. He threw his other hand back over his head to grip the headboard, the angle of his arm giving Aether a good view of the long scar that ran the length of where one of his fins had once been.

Aether picked up the pace, furrowing his brow as he felt his orgasm begin to build in the pit of his stomach. Dew was clenching around him, his back arching again as he desperately bucked into his fist. His eyes were screwed shut and his mouth was hanging open, allowing every little whine and moan and gasp escape his lips as he neared his release. Even in the darkness of their hotel room, Aether could see the flush of Dew’s cheeks that crept down his neck.

“You close? You gonna cum for me, huh?” Aether grunted, his own orgasm growing closer with each roll of his hips.

Dew gave a whine followed by a breathy “uh-huh” as his grip on the headboard tightened. Aether pulled away his hand before beginning to fuck him even harder, the last thing he wanted was to jam Dew’s fingers between the wall and the headboard. He pinned his hand against the pillow above his head, his thumb stroking across the charcoal skin of his wrist.

A loud, shaking moan tore from Dewdrop’s throat as he came, followed shortly after by Aether who let out a low groan. He continued to slowly roll his hips against Dew as they rode out their respective highs before finally pulling out. Dew looked so beautiful beneath him, eyes shut as he took slow, deep breaths. He couldn’t help himself as he gently put Dew’s leg back down on the bed and instead lifted his hand away from his cock to suck Dew’s fingers clean. Dew opened his eyes at the new sensation, blushing even harder as Aether made eye contact with him while he ran his tongue across Dew’s hand. It was like he was making a show of it, soft moans escaping him as he tasted his partner. Once he finished with his hand Aether leaned down to lick across Dew’s stomach, drawing more sounds from him as he tangled his hand in Aether’s hair.

Finally finished, Aether moved to lie beside Dewdrop, wrapping an arm around his middle and pulling him close. They didn’t talk for a while after that, didn’t need to talk. The way they held each other, Aether’s fingers stroking gently up and down Dew’s spine while his little fire ghoul curled against him, his face tucked into the crook of his neck, it was more than enough. Dew let his hand rest against Aether’s chest, exposed rather than hidden away beneath the sheets. He didn’t pull away when Aether reached up to take his hand, lifting it to his lips and pressing a gentle kiss to his knuckles before holding it in front of his face as he peered through the darkness. His thumb stroked across Dew’s knuckles as he looked at the deep black skin, sharply contrasted by the off white of his claw-like nails.

Dew pulled his hand away, but instead of hiding he leaned over Aether’s body and switched on the dim lamp on the bedside table, returning to where he had been lying and tentatively reaching his hand out to him again. Aether gave a soft smile and took Dew’s hand to press another kiss to his knuckles. He ran his fingers across his skin, admiring the soft fade from jet black to warm grey as his gaze ran further up his arm. He could see the veins disappearing under his skin as the colouration grew darker towards his wrists, hiding the little freckles that would sometimes appear before he changed too. The pale scars that Aether barely ever saw seemed to have a pearlescent shimmer to them. Running up the outside of his forearm and lining the inner sides of his fingers where the delicate webbing had once been like shocks of lightning in a midnight storm. Aether felt tears prick his eyes as he trailed kisses over the long scar on his arm as if they could take it all away, overwhelmed with anger that they had forced Dewdrop to go through with his transformation.

“It’s weird,” Dew murmured, drawing Aether’s attention back to his face bathed in the dim light of the bedside lamp. “Sometimes I wake up and think they’re still there.”

He looked at his hand, splaying his fingers out so he could see the scars between them.

“It’s like I can feel them.”

Aether reached up with one hand and cupped Dew’s face, his thumb gently stroking over his cheekbone. 

“I meant it earlier… when I said you’re beautiful,” he says softly. “I think you’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. Nothing can take that away from you, Dewdrop.”

Dewdrop felt his lip quiver a little and bit the inside of his mouth in an attempt to stop it before pushing forward to catch Aether in a deep, loving kiss.

“I love you,” he murmured against his lips, his voice breaking a little as he forced down the tears.

He’d said it before, always during the night while they were lying together as they were in that moment, but never had Aether heard so much emotion in Dew’s voice. Usually it was quick, mumbled while Dew was already half asleep and not so concerned about upholding the reputation he’d built. Aether’s heart ached for him. He wanted to record that one I love you and listen to it on repeat for the rest of his life. But for now he would settle for just hearing it the once, the affection in Dewdrop’s voice enough to keep him going for a long, long time.

“I love you too,” Aether whispered back, pressing a few more kisses to his lips before pulling away to turn off the lamp.

Once they were in darkness again, he wrapped Dewdrop in his arms and buried his face in his hair, breathing in that cinnamon-campfire scent that he carried around with him. Dew melted in that moment, Aether’s arms keeping him safe from all of his fears and insecurities and letting him relax as he let it all go. He nuzzled into Aether’s chest, a soft purring sound emanating from him which made Aether smile. 

“I’ll always love you. No matter what,” Aether whispered, pressing a kiss to the top of his head as he continued to hold him close to his heart, right where he belonged.