#I’m FERAL FOR A SHARP HIPBONE

[whump-queen]

oh look it’s sad anime boy hours again

WIP of my oc Seven

More art

[decayandfanfics]

Okay here I am, worrying t.umblr gonna slap me with the shut up stick EHEHEHE

It’s the way I’m thinking of Shigaraki to be such an aggressive lover at first, just pistoning to his nut without thinking too much into it but eventually coming into this “sex is so much more fun when she’s twitching and begging for more”

So he teases more, spends more time fulfilling his lovers needs and his eyes going wider whenever he discovers something they like and I melt over it.

Shigaraki is definitely the type of man that eats pussy for his pleasure, okay, will definitely yank you up by the hips and delve deeper even after you’ve already climaxed. His calloused thumb wrapping around to swipe over their clit 😩 unhand me sir but also keep going

Oh Vi, allow me to romantizise your thirst. I think he would be an agressive lover at all times actually. Like... We all know he can control himself when he wants to, but love (and hormones) are the kind of stuff that can get people completely derange and Tomura being himself would certainly go unhinged on desire. (And i say love because i headcanon him as demi...for some reason) Don't get me wrong, he would be sweet on other spheres of his love, Tenko was a toughtful child and Tomura is a toughtful boss, but he would be certainly agressive in bed. Even after coming to the realization that sex is better when both parts are equally thrilled, he would still want to mark you all over the place, sinking teeth, painting periwinkles across your chest and neck because he wants to eat you. (I just have a fixation with his mouth in general, he either smiles like a child or goes full feral predator LET ME BE) Also, he's a big fan of fucking everywhere just because he likes the adrenaline of it. He would yank you, pulll your hair and go feral on you. Sharp hipbones leaving some bruises between your legs as he smiles like a maniac, while spiting the most filthy words his head can think of because he can.

And yes, he eats pussy for sport because it gives him power over his s/o and he lives for every second of it.

Power.

Isn't that what's all about, after all?

[typinggently]

3) an expensive drink, a ruined dress, grafitty for feral bruce and sunshine clark? :)

Sure thing! :D the pure joy I felt at having an excuse to look through fashion shows for some Feral Bruce Fashion inspiration….

~🦇~

It’s one of those places you’d only find in Gotham, Clark supposes. Art nouveau mansion, delicate arches and playful marble swirls, run down and covered in graffiti and now rediscovered by the avant-garde. Resurrected decay, spoiled decadence.

The dress code on his invitation said “formal black” and the sea of tuxedos and gowns is a harsh contrast to the shattered windows, the bare floors. Cigarettes with Chanel-red kisses litter the floor, now and then he steps into puddles of sticky champagne.

Bruce suspects the Miss Quinn in the crowd. He’s wearing a Dress.

-

Clark isn’t listening to what the woman wrapped in gleaming black fur is telling him, but that’s fine. He’s technically not supposed to be here anyways. The Planet doesn’t run an article on this event and the invitation was sent from Wayne enterprises, with an additional note in silvery pencil. Wear the tailored one. An afterthought: please.

In his ear, half a room away, Bruce leans towards the art dealer he’s talking to faux-whisper to him. “You don’t think I can get them to drop some raspberries into my next flute? My doctor says I should add fruit to my diet.”

Clark excuses himself from the Lady in furs and turns towards the bar. He walks slowly, reporter’s gaze sharp on the people he passes, until – “Oh, excusez-moi, Sunshine.” The scent of champagne sharp in his nose, cool liquid seeping through his shirt. Bruce drops the empty flute, it shatters next to Clark’s shoe. “Shit, I am sorry. Here, let me – “ Warm hands on his chest. Clark looks down. Bruce is wearing a black dress, deep boat neckline, shimmering black silk. Long sleeves and a slit on the side that goes up to his hipbone. Pinstripe trousers.

“It’s fine, no need to –“ He catches one of Bruce’s hands, the silk warm against his palm. Squeezes gently, once, to hear that little hitch in his breath. “Please. No need to worry.”

“Well, my hands are sticky.” Billionaire voice, playful-spoiled child, jovial pouting. “Allez, allez, to the restroom.”

And here they are. Some rundown hallway, not yet rediscovered and smelling of the wood hammered over the busted windows. Broken glass under their shoes and graffiti covering the peeling wallpaper. Bruce leans in as he speaks and the lush-gleaming silk of his dress spills from his shoulders to his chest. From this angle, the faintest hint of a bruise is visible in the shadows of his neckline, a pink-purple reminder of a kiss by his nipple. Memories of a hand in his hair, Bruce’s waist bruising under his grip.

Clark nods. Shakes his head. “I’m sorry, what did you say?”

When he looks up, Bruce catches his eye and he pauses. The light falling through the gaps between the wooden planks sharpens his cheekbones, makes his eyes shine. There’s a brief pause, his pulse loud in Clark’s ear. “I think we can spare fifteen minutes.”

With a sigh of relief, Clark leans in, reaches out, warm silk under his palms, Bruce’s pulse against his lips, a hand in his hair. Bruce sighs, his head falling back against graffiti-coloured walls.

-

“Darn, Bruce, I’m really sorry,” Clark says with real regret in his voice, thumb brushing the broken zipper, the hint of warm skin underneath. His own hand tan against the dip of Bruce’s spine. “I didn’t mean to.”

“I’ll fix it later. Hold it in place.”

Clark does as directed and Bruce does something that unpins the sash around his waist. Clark thought it was sewed into the dress, but now Bruce winds it around his waist and over the zipper, hiding the flash of bare skin before he pins it in place again. He turns his head, catching Clark’s eye. The flush is still pink and sweet on his cheeks, sweat and Clark’s kisses gleaming on his neck, his chest. “Ready to go?”

Clark runs both hands over his hair, smoothing down unruly curls. “Yeah.” He smiles, dimple-bright.

Bruce nods, eyes flicking down for barely a second. A flash of teeth as he bites his lips, then he turns. “Great. Allez, allez.”

Clark huffs a laugh and follows.

~🦇~

Ahhhh this was so much fun!! Thank you so much for the prompt! And in case you were wondering, Bruce was wearing Andreas Kronthaler for Vivienne Westwood, Aurumn 2015 ready to wear -

[the-darklings]

Hi, lovely! For the march prompt, “the noises you make are incredible” V to Santi~?

⤫ prompt: “The noises you make are incredible.”

⤫ pairing: santino d’antonio + v (coa)

⤫ word count: 1.2k+ 🤡✌🏻

⤫ warnings: no ties were hurt in the production of this piece & also spicy obv.

In hand sight, he had this coming.

After the state he left you in this morning, it’s no wonder you are eager for revenge. And, perhaps, he enjoys your form of revenge a bit too much to mind it.

The passion between you is a near-feral, living thing.

It coils his limbs, dries his throat, and fills his veins with a liquid flame that never dies out.

You make him insatiable. Awfully, irritatingly insatiable.  

He often wishes he met you sooner because truthfully despite the great many he has taken to his bed, they all pale in comparison to you.

Satisfaction from those times seems like a hazy, distant memory compared to the tidal wave that is you.

None have ever been able to turn him into—

A sharp, delightful nip against his pulse and he jerks, the silky material of his almost 2k tie tightening around his wrists.

“So impatient, darling,” you purr against the curve of his neck and he can hear your smile. Can visualise the curve of your mouth even if he can’t see it. “And you say that I’m impatient. Tsk, tsk.”

The weight of you on top of him is nothing new to him. He enjoys you riding as much as he loves wrapping around you till you’re at his mercy. Every inch of you ready for tasting and exploring.

The only issue is that you are not, in fact, riding him and the uncomfortable strain between his legs is becoming unbearable.

He should have known you will exact your revenge.

Neither of you is shy about your passion. Sometimes it’s animalistic as simply seeing each other after a trip or a meeting and pouncing. He rarely manages to get his three-piece off before he buries himself inside you, getting drunk on the appreciative, soft moans that always slip past your lips. The welcoming, familiar heat of you and the alluring scent of your warm skin are all seared inside his mind.

You have christened every room inside your home and it’s still not enough.

Other times—far more often—your passion manifests as near sleepless nights tangled inside your shared bed. Slow—torturously slowly—drawn out orgasms that would leave you both shuddering and grinning.

Your lips trail down his neck, snapping him out of his thoughts and Santino tenses. A scrap of teeth, a drag of your wet tongue, and he controls his breaths, his jaw set.

“Playing at being hard to please?” you wonder idly, and he feels your lips on his skin as you smile once more. His fraying self-control crumbles when he feels you grind your body deliberately against him. Raw, blinding need scorches through him like a lightning bolt, and he’s so fucking hard he snaps on the tie again. He needs you and your mouth and body and maybe just you. “Ah, ah, darling. Be good for me. Don’t glare, Santi,” you add when you lift your head to look at him.

You’re a vision.

Sensuous and wicked and stunning.

He wants to touch and kiss every inch of you.

Then fuck you. Not necessarily in that order.

The depth of his own desire strangles him, and he savours the loving kiss you lean down and press to his mouth.

It’s slow and gentle and passionate.

His lips part, your tongue slipping inside his mouth, and you cup his cheeks, holding him close.

This, he cherishes the most though he would likely never admit it. That despite the desire, it’s the way you kiss him and hold him and fall into his arms laughing after you manage to untangle from each other that gets him so fucking high.

One of your hands slips into his hair, tugging firmly, and he groans. But your grip only tightens as you pull yourself closer, your breaths mingling as you lose yourself inside the passionate kiss.

Your fingertips trail down his naked chest. A featherlight scratch of nails joining a second later.

Every nerve in his body focuses on the touch, the sensation, his muscles going taut in response.

His stomach, his pelvic, hipbones.

A slow circle around his left hipbone—

He feels himself twitch in response, jerking his lower body in a silent demand.

You pull back with a low, sultry laugh and he groans again, glaring.

“The noises you make are incredible, Santi,” you whisper and press a kiss against his jaw, the corner of his mouth, and he tilts his head to ensnare your mouth again. You indulge him this time, and another noise bubbles at the back of his throat at the way you capture his lower lip between your teeth, tugging playfully once before letting go.

You consider him for several moments, trailing your thumb over the tingling flesh of his lower lip. A shiver crawls down his spine at the look on your face. The hand still in his hair lowers, your pinky rubbing absently behind his ear while you play with his loose curls.

“You’re so gorgeous. My Santi. My—”

God, he’s so fucking hard he’s pulsing— “Let me loose.”

He practically spits the words out but you only hum, leaning down to nuzzle against his neck. An adoring, gentle motion, and it only makes him want you more.

“No.”

“Amore,” he snarls, his voice strained. “When I get loose—”

“Tell me,” you breathe against his ear, and that breathless, hot murmur is one known to him intimately. “Tell me what you will do to me.”

This is the voice you use when you are needy and desperate for more pleasure, more him. When your expression softens, and you gaze at him from beneath your lashes with adoration that might equal his own.

“I will fuck you, bella,” he tells you bluntly as you stare at each other and he watches how your pulse flutters against your neck. How your breasts heave as you work to steady your breathing. “There will be no lovemaking tonight.”

You lean over him, your fingers slipping in his hair again, and your nose brushes against his. Your pupils are blown wide open though he doubts his own are much better.

“Tell me more.”

You arch into him and he works his jaw, his low voice filling the air between you.

“Hard and fast, amore,” he vows lowly and delights how your eyes flutter shut at that. He has taken you like that plenty of times, so he knows you can visualise it. Taste the memory of the mind-numbing pleasure it brought. He can certainly still hear the litany, a holy hymn, you have turned his name into on those occasions. “Your legs around me, your heels digging into my back as you hold on. Hmm. My fingers in your hair, my teeth against your neck, amore mio.”

You lean into him, your nails scratching against his scalp and he smothers another sigh, even more turned on by the gentle slackening of your expression as you listen to his seductive promises. “Your pulse-pounding from pleasure. My fingertips imprinted onto your hips. Oh, bella, I will fuck you till you’re making those wonderful, needy sounds for me. Just how we both like it, hm?”

Your eyes flutter open and your trail your fingers up his arms, reaching for his wrists. “Promises, promises,” you murmur with a curl of your lips, your heated stare flickering over his own features. “Let’s see if you’re any good at keeping them, Santi.”

The tie barely loosens before he rips his hands free and throws you to the side, switching your positions.

“Oh, I intend to, amore.”

[starkeristheendgame]

Hii I'm the anon that was looking for fics where Peter gets overwhelmed by his senses during sex, I would absolutely LOVE for you to write something if you want to!!

Oof, this gave me feels! I’m so honoured that you’d like me to write something! I hope I did this justice and I hope that I fulfilled your Starker needs! This is pretty vague in terms of age and canon as I didn’t know your preferences ❤️

TW: BDSM Dynamics | Emotional over-load | Sensory over-load | Ambiguous ages | Daddy kink

Peter had always been sensitive. At least in terms of physically. He had a thick metaphorical skin; giving as good as Flash or any other bully could give. But he’d always preferred the softer fabrics, the dimmer lights, that one spot on his bed where it was ‘sinkier’ than the rest.

Sounds always seemed louder, scents were always stronger, and the outside world was a plethora of experiences that Peter learned to grow accustomed to. It was annoying at times; painful at others, but generally something that became his normal.

So, naturally, when he was old enough to develop coping mechanisms and to understand his senses, he got bitten by a genetically modified, radioactive spider and his senses took a jump from a rough 7 to a hearty eleven.

Noises went from irritating but tolerable to deafening. Scents overwhelmed him and choked his throat and god. Lights. He could see every fucking headlight in New York. Tony Stark could laugh all he wanted at the $10 tinted goggled Peter had velcroed onto his suit, but for Peter they were the $800 Gucci shades that hid Tony’s hangover.

Being touched; though. Peter wouldn’t have expected that to be affected by the bite, but he both yearned for it and shied away. Aunt May’s acrylic nails catching on his arm was like a pin being dragged. Tony’s broad palm on his back sent rocket-speed signals to his dick.

Peter could cloak himself in all the gold-titanium alloy and $615,000 lenses he wanted. There was no escaping that particular problem. Not when 12 hour stints in the workshop ended with takeout on the couch, not when being driven home by Happy became being driven home by Tony. Not when the odd shoulder-check or pat on the back became lingering strokes, squeezes, Tony’s body against his as they grinned down at their latest project like proud parents.

The first time Tony kissed him, Peter actually came in his pants like a thirteen year old just hitting puberty. Gasped and mewled into Tony’s mouth, whole body locking up and mind going entirely blank but for TonyTonyTony in a sharp, white flash. Tony had caught him as he fell, startled and amused both, a witty quip on the tip of his tongue.

It had been shortly after that in which peter had been forced to admit he only jerked off once a month on average, because it was so incredibly intense that it usually took him out for a good hour or two afterwards. And that was to say nothing of the dildo under his bed.

And Tony…Tony had crowded him up against the wall, still supporting his weight, eyes dark and lips turned up into a lethal smirk. Fuck, kid. That’s so hot. Look at you, still shaking like a newborn colt. So intense, baby. Bet I could make you cry just from my mouth.

Peter’s (pleasure) pain was Tony’s favourite game. Laying on their stomachs on the fur rug, Tony’s arms wrapped around his hips and holding him down, listening to Peter’s screams get higher in pitch as dark pink stubble burn spread over his ass and thighs. Crowding him against a wall, squeezing firm between his legs, timing the space between Peter’s surprised yelp and his body dropping as he came.

Peter had blacked out the first time Tony fingered him, two thick, long digits spreading him open, rubbing relentlessly against that little pit of pleasure until he’d arched off the bed, eyes rolling, gasping even as he flopped limp into Tony’s arms. He’d woken up to Tony cooing at him, body wiped clean and tucked under the sheets in his arms.

Sex stopped there. And fingering was infrequent, at best. Though Tony’s favourite way to torture him; the older man took pity on how thoroughly it wiped him out and left it for ‘special occasions’ like Peter winning first place at the Regional Science Expo. Eating out, handjobs, blowjobs, grinding and a variety of other play was still fair game, however.

And as much as Peter dreaded finding out just how fucked over (heh) he’d be when he got fucked…He wanted.

Wrapping his fingers around Tony’s thick, long cock he wanted it buried up to his teeth. Suckling around it and listening to Tony’s moans, he wanted to feel it dragging along his insides. Grinding against it, feelings its weight on his hip, he wanted to ride it until they were both shaking.

So like any good strategist, he came up with a plan. Operation Fucked By Tony came into play the night that Stark Industries celebrated its 18th consecutive year of Business of The Year, Engineering Business of The Year and several other titles that rolled across a massive hologram screen in slow succession.

The moment they were alone in the penthouse, the party having moved to a local bar, Peter shoved Tony up against the elevator door with a soft whine and a slow grin. “Mmph, look at you. My big boss Daddy. Dominating the world” he hummed proudly, fingers already dipping to the button on Tony’s Tom Ford, hips rolling slowly forwards to ride the soft curve of Tony’s cock, which twitched against his hip in interest as the billionaire reached down, grasping his hips with an easy, confident smile.

“Only thing I wanna dominate is you, baby. You looked so good tonight, your little Industries badge and your suit” Tony purred back at him, fingers digging against his hipbones the way he knew would make Peter’s eyelashes flutter, pulling him closer until they were rocking together lazily, encouraging their partner into full hardness.

Peter pushed to his tip-toes, wasted no time in distracting Tony with his tongue. The older man gave a pleased sound against his mouth as Peter licked into him, teeth catching on his lower lip, the corners of his mouth already stinging with stubble marks. “Want you” Peter breathed against Tony’s teeth as the older man bared them on a pleasured snarl, hitching Peter higher up his body.

“Mm’kay, sweetheart. Anything for you. What do you want, hm? Want me to blow you, baby? Let you fuck my throat? Or do you want me to fuck you with my tongue, baby? See how quick I can make you cry?” Tony breathed against his ear, nuzzled into the soft curve of his jaw as he reached down, dragging his nails over Peter’s clothed thighs in a way that made the boy shudder and whine, fingers digging into Tony’s side as he fought the sparks of pleasure that threatened to short his senses completely.

“No. Want you. Wanna feel you; properly. Want you stuffed up inside me, filling me up. Want you to breed me with your cum and-” that was as far as Peter got, words cutting off with a sharp whelp as Tony practically threw him upwards into his arms, pushing at Peter’s legs to get them wrapped low on his hips as he squeezed him, sinking his teeth into the junction of Peter’s neck with an almost feral growl.

“Sweetheart” the older man rasped, clearly struggling to contain himself. Tony breathed out shakily over the indent of his teeth, soothing it apologetically with his tongue. “You can’t - Baby. You know it’ll be too much. And for once; that isn’t even my ego talking” Tony hushed, though it didn’t stop him from weighing Peter hips down, riding the plump curve of his ass with a quaking groan.

“Daddy” Peter whined petulantly, scrabbling at Tony’s shoulders, peppering desperate kisses along his jaw, grinding in a sloppy rhythm as little fireworks went off inside his brain. “Want it. Waited too long. You looked so fucking good out there. My Daddy; ruling the world” Peter panted, dragging one hand down between their stomachs, wiggling it between their hips until he could grope the thick bulge beneath him, relishing in the way Tony’s hips stuttered against his hand, eyes dark as coal when Tony tipped his head to look up at him.

Tony took several moments pause to decide, clearly battling between his concerns and the way Peter curled his fingers around his cock, stroking in bare fractions, teasing little rubs that had Tony pushing carefully away from the wall and towards the bedroom.

They undressed in a startling contrast to how they had begun; slow and lazy. Tony kissed and licked every inch of skin he revealed; swatting at Peter’s hands whenever the impatient boy tried to speed him up, or whenever the little sucks were sharpened with a gentle nip of his teeth. By the time Peter was naked he was squirming and flushed, hard as rock and already on the verge of cumming.

“I might not make it if you don’t fuck me within the next ten minutes” Peter panted, fingers curling hard in the silk sheets. Tony chuckled above him, braced on his palms as he looked down at Peter with a lustful gaze. Peter was around to prompt him again when Tony ducked down, kissing him so deeply that it stole his breath and left his lips wet when they parted.

“Sweetheart, if you make it at all, I’m gonna be proudly surprised” Tony huffed back at him, fond and teasing even as he leaned over Peter’s body and made for the healthy stash of lube that took up the middle drawer. Peter tried not to anticipate it, but it was hard (pun intended) not to as he spread his legs, felt Tony’s hands sliding slowly up his thighs, sticky fingers kept away from his skin.

He was trembling by the time Tony ran a fingertip lightly over his hole, sucking in a sharp breath, stomach muscles contracting. Tony cooed at him soothingly as he shifted, begun to push his finger inside on a slow, steady motion. Peter threw his head back, lips parting soundlessly even though it was nothing more than an index finger.

Tony crawled up his body, still knuckle-deep and kissed at his collarbones gently, trying to distract him as he pumped his finger, a bare fraction at first, but speeding up when it became clear Peter wasn’t gonna pass our or blow his load. The boy forced himself to breathe evenly, petting intently at Tony’s hair as he tried to keep his focus. It was nice; the steady drag, the slight resistance of his own velvet heat.

The gentle pressure of a second had him hitching his body up the bedding, held in place only by Tony sinking his teeth gently into his collarbone with a soft hum. His body held firm, and then gave all at once, swallowing Tony’s second finger greedily, sucking it into the tighthotwet softness of his body. Peter’s whine was smothered by Tony’s mouth as the older man kissed him, free hand petting at his hip. “Daddy’s got you, sweetheart. I’ve got you”.

Tony scissored him open slowly, careful and educated curls and spreads of his fingers that had Peter’s hips hitching up, rutting against Tony’s flank and chewing on his tongue in desperation. He felt like a live-wire, strung out and ready to explode. He could hear in ultra-definition the sharp little pants Tony breathed, the stutter of his heart, the thrum of electricity all around them, like a living being.

His senses were hitting that just-before-white-noise level, but he ignored it in favour of crying out as a third finger spread him wide, more than he’d ever taken. For a moment there’s nothing but white noise and the way he felt obscenely spread wide, gaping. And then there was Tony and his low voice and the slight ache of his ass being stuffed full and stretched open.

“Oh, baby” Tony rasped, and fuck. They’d barely done anything but Tony sounded fucked out already, free hand moving from his hips to cradle his head like he was fragile glass, pausing his movements until Peter’s heart no longer threatened to tear his ribcage apart. The encompassing blanket of soundtouchheatskinstretchscentlights became something a little easier to differentiate, Tony’s body an anchor he scrabbled at breathlessly, before he nodded.

“I’m good. Please. Wanna -” He cut off on a stressed out hiccup, nails dragging down Tony’s spine in a way that made the older man arch and hiss, eyes going molten as he carefully eased his fingers out of Peter’s writhing body, reaching for the lube again. “Please, Daddy. Need you. Daddy, please” Peter whined, fighting off the way his nose begun to sting with the scents, the headache that begun dull and heavy at the sounds and the intense physical sensations.

“Okay, sweetheart. Okay. Breathe for me, darling, okay? Breathe for Daddy. Iiiiiin, and oouuuut. Good. So perfect, sweetheart”. Tony coached him as he lubed up his cock, voice hitching and lashes dipping as he curled his fist around himself, stroking in slow but firm jerks. He was painfully hard and Peter felt guilty for needing so much time to prepare.

They didn’t need a condom. Tony and Peter had been exclusive for almost a year now, and Tony had been clean the day they’d first made it a ‘thing’. The bite also meant that Peter couldn’t carry diseases of most types, including sexual. He’d been tested; just the make sure, but it had come up as a neat blank for everything.

Tony positioned himself carefully between Peter’s thighs, doing nothing for the longest time but hovering over him and kissing him slowly, sweetly. It helped to somewhat dull the building avalanche of sensations, allowed Peter to focus solely on the scrape of Tony’s stubble, the wet taste of his mouth, the space between them filled with rapidly cooling air.

He’d almost, almost forgotten where they were until Tony shifted, sunk down into the space between their bodies, until his hips forced Peter’s thighs apart and the blunt, thick head of his cock just lay at Peter’s slick, red hole. Peter gave a whole-body jolt at that, teeth sinking into Tony’s lip none too gently, fingers squeezing around Tony’s biceps with only enough conscious thought not to break them.

Tony paused, but Peter shook his head, then nodded, unsure of what signal would engage keep going and not stop. Thankfully Tony seemed to get it, a sightless presence behind Peter’s tightly shut eyes as he begun to nudge forwards, seemingly millimetre by millimetre.

After what seemed like an age, he could feel when his body couldn’t bend any further, and begun to spread. Opening in an agonisingly slow movement around Tony’s thick cock, opening and aching and thick pressure that had him half-screaming, muffling his mewls into Tony’s shoulder as he gripped at him, knees digging into Tony’s ribs where his legs had wrapped around him of their own accord.

It clearly pained Tony, the boy aware enough to notice his wince, but Peter couldn’t find the brain capacity to loosen his hold, couldn’t do or think anything beyond openstretchingachingwantinghurtingtoomuchnotenoughtony.

“Peter” Tony gasped, breath forced from his lungs as he buried himself inside the boy with a jolt, eyes lanced with pain as Peter clung to him, eyes rolling and entire body curved and tense, arching up against Tony and trembling violently with the force of it. Distantly, Peter was aware Tony had spoken. But he couldn’t focus on anything except the crippling array of noises around him, the scent of the washing powder mixed with the chemicals in the lube and the tint of Tony’s sweat. The burning hotness that pulsed through his body, the rattle of his own breath in his lungs.

White. Dark.

Hot. Too hot. Too numb to be hot.

Gaping open. Split in half. Impaled.

The vague awareness of sound. Desperate sound. Wet sound.

Blank.

The first thing that came back to him was the rasped sound of his inhale, the drag of air over his tongue and between his teeth. Shuddered and greedy, because the next awareness was how tight and sore his chest felt, like he’d been holding his breath. Everything ached and hurt like it did after a battle, but there was also something floating in that murky darkness, something familiar and comforting.

Piece by piece, things came back. Intense but not as crippling as before. The salt of tears. The tackiness of drying water on his skin. Skin on skin. The softness of the sheets, unmarred by their activities. The low, thrumming background noise became a voice, low and rumbled in his ear, senseless words that soothed him nonetheless.

It felt like surfacing from being buried alive. Crawling up that last foot of mountain. Breathing after drowning. He lay there for a while, nothing but a breathing body in a state of semi-consciousness, before the first word fought through the haze of his mind, followed by each one after like a progression of soldiers.

“Peter, sweetheart. You did so well. I’m so sorry, can you breathe in again for me? That’s it, darling. So good. My precious baby. Daddy’s here for you. Not letting you go. In and out, baby. You’re so good, darling. And again. That’s it, Peter”.

Tony.

Opening his eyes hurt, left him squinty and shrinking away from the dim room, but it lent him a sense of orientation. He was on the bed, under a thin silk sheet, and curled against Tony’s body, cradled carefully like a doll. Tony was still talking, and when Peter found the brain function to tilt his head, Tony was gazing at him intensely, caught between concern and love.

“Hey, darling. Welcome back. You kinda did a little power down, but that’s okay. You did so well, so good for your first time” Tony greeted him softly, passing a cold cloth over his brow.

A power down?

He pieced it together, from the fragments his muddled brain could shove forwards. He remembered the building crescendo, the blinding force of TonyTonyTony and then…Nothing. The power down. He’d blacked out.

“You were shaking and crying, darling. Kept shouting my name and moving like a cat that didn’t wanna be held. You said it was too bright and too loud. I tried to pull out without hurting you, sweetheart, but I still put some cream on you, just in case” Tony soothed, petting at his hair, brushing it from his eyes.

Peter couldn’t even feel embarrassed, too tangled up and exhausted to do anything but let his head fall back to Tony’s shoulder, eyes falling shut on a heaved, jagged breath.

“That’s okay, darling. If you want to nap, you take a nap. I’ll be right here, sweetheart. Not gonna go anywhere. Take a deep breath, baby. That’s it. So good for me, Peter. Such a good boy for Daddy. Get some rest now. I won’t leave you” Tony continued, petting at him in feather-light touches, his own chest rising and falling against Peter in a series of slow, even movements. Exaggerated until Peter’s body fell into rank.

He would be embarrassed later, when he woke up from a six hour ‘nap’ to Tony still curled around him, glasses on and nose-deep in a Stark Industries document. But Tony would hear none of it, pulling his hands from his face and peppering him with a litany of soft, sweet kisses, cuddling him close and refusing to relent until Peter was breathless and giggling, still raw and sensitive but calm, contained.

Two months and a lot of practice and training later, Peter would lay under Tony on his birthday, eyes rolling and Tony’s name a broken prayer on his tongue, hips jolting as he came between their stomachs with the force of an avalanche, conscious and aware throughout it all, jerking with every white-hot spark of pleasure, every low, guttural moan in his ear.

It was worth every incident thereafter of Tony boasting about ‘dick so good it knocks them out’.

[hollyhomburg]

How would Viking packtan reader react to receiving oral for the first time? It’s gotta be Tae right? I imagine he gets a little overexcited and just goes feral eating her out cause she’s never really felt anything like it before and the NOISES she’d make 🥴 the way she would tug on his hair when she gets oversensitive but he’s in his own little world happily going at it

oh wow~ i have no idea where exactly by the compound this would happen- actually wait- it’s probably their rooms during the middle of the day when they’res no one there and Tae and her have hooked up before, only a few times, maybe Tae was the first person she banged out of everyone in Packtan, but anyway, today is maybe the first day that the reader- dosent feel like being in charge, and she’s not exactly uncomfortable letting tae take the reins but it is super super new when he gets her all laid out on their bed above her, 

his hands needy and hungry on her calves, looking at where she lies already debauched, lips spit slicked and bitten by his mouth, already looking delectable. “can I? take care of you today? is that okay?” he asks, and you’re so hazy, so honestly comfortable, you don’t feel threatened, this isn’t anything driven by lust or new hunger it’s just- the beta makes you feel so safe, “what are you doing tae?” you ask, propping yourself up on your elbows, uncertainty in your face as you take in how he’s hitching your bare legs over his shoulders. bare besides your blouse,  “just relax okay,” you sit back down,

 the first lick of taes tongue makes you gerk, and tae’s trying not to grin, “and here i thought you just smelled sweet baby,” it’s safe to say he goes to fucking town, messy and sloppy, totally hazy and loving how vocal you are, every tiny jerk, every hitching breath, you cum quickly, and tae is so into it that he dosent even realize, making little tears beed in your eyes as he keeps going, his hands soft and caressing on your stomach and your hips. 

he gives you a little pause sometimes, leaving little hickeys on your thighs and hipbones, especially the little pouchy tummy you’ve started to get, now that you’re being fed regularly. God, Tae knows he’s leaving bruises when he grips your growing curves hard but he can’t stop. this is the first time he’s ever felt as possessive as an alpha, it flaring when you start to shake- because he’s done that- he’s the one to make you look so wrecked, hands clenching and unclenching rapidly in the furs like you don’t know what to do with your hands

 he could keep going- do this all night, make you squirt slick like the male omegas do- he knows it’s harder to get the same kind of reaction from a female omega but he knows you’re close judging by the way your legs are shaking. but before he can, both namjoon and yoongi enter the rooms.

 though this thing might be new with all of you, namjoon has seen you naked before, even if it’s new to have you pleasured in front of him- it’s not exactly strange as far as interpack dynamics, especially since they’d started courting you formally. they don’t do much more than greet you and start to divest themselves of their outerwear.

but it does spark a deep flush in your cheeks, prompting you to cover your face with a pillow, especially when Tae dosent even pause in his licking if anything shoving your leg up a little more, a little wider, so they can see your pinkness, see your entrance wet and gushing under their heavy stares, 

“wow you certainly seem like you’ve had a good afternoon” yoongi teases, and maybe it would have ended at that had tae not quite literally turned around and growled in the other betas direction, for a beta to growl, show aggression at all let alone to another beta is fucking unheard of~ tae goes to turn back to eating you out like you’re his last meal, “you don’t growl at me puppy” before yoongi is yanking him away by his hair, and at the sharp pain, tae’s haze starts to clear, the warmth coming back to his feral expression, his words slurred, drunk on your sweet slick, “sorry hyung just-” 

tae tries to jerk back to you but yoongi has a grip on tae, “no puppy- give her a break” and through the clarity of another beta tae can see how bright pink your clit is, how trembly you are too oversensitive- realizing that you probably wouldn’t be able to take much more before it started to be not so pleasant. “oh baby- I’m sorry” your voice is strained and softer than he’s ever heard it, “it’s okay just- god I’m not going to be able to walk,” you let him see your face, tugging away the pillow to smooth down the edge of your blouse that barely covers you. you look absolutely wrecked. 

Yoongi tugs Tae up, switching positions to tug you close, you try to close your legs but give a little groan at how sensitive you are. and yoongi is gentle, just shushing you spreading your legs around his hips so that it dosent rest uncomfortably. your breathing is gentle, slow, so relaxed but occasionally you sniffle, another aftershock striking through you and making you twitch. holding yoongi needily, 

Tae moves to cuddle you too, but yoongi shoves his shoulder with a foot, “you need to go clean yourself up,” and it’s true, tae’s own pants are a little messy (dont come for me alright im just so weak for the idea of tae cumming in his pants after eating people out- so into making other people cum that all he needs is just to kinda grind against the bed to make himself cum). 

and though tae goes to the washroom, namjoon kinda hovers, eventually asking tae shyly, his eyes heavy on the slick still on taes chin asking for a taste. he’s always wondered what you taste like and namjoon is the only one who still hasn’t had the pleasure of being with you physically. and needless to say namjoon gets a little drunk on the taste licking into taes mouth sloppily, pinning tae up against the wall to keep him there.

 culminating in the pack alpha also cleaning up Tae’s mess, and god, he knows from the second he tastes you on Tae’s tongue that the first time he has you- really has you- knots you and pumps you full of his cum, he’s going to mark you as his own because there is no way his alpha will ever let you walk away without a mark. 

is this soft? is this filthy? what genre is this even? 

[there-must-be-a-lock]

Marked (Part 22)

Dean x Reader

Word Count: ~3880

Warnings: This is like 95% fluffy sweet domestic smut. No actual bangin’ happens, just dry-humping and thigh-riding and a bit of a facial aaaaaand... yeah. It’s smutty. 

A/N: Two more chapters and then an epilogue, and this is kinda sorta done, I guess? Holy shit. 

Catch up HERE. 

Dean was lying face-down, using me as a pillow while I scratched and rubbed the base of his skull; all the little pressure points, the places that made him melt, were the same as I remembered. He groaned into the softness of my stomach when he heard the knock. 

Sam rapped on the door again.  

Dean grabbed his pajama pants as he rolled out of bed. He hopped into them and opened the door just enough to stick his head out.

“Jody called, she said there’s - wait. Wait a second. Did you - is she…”

Dean was running a hand through his already disastrous hair, shrugging. I giggled.

“I can handle this one on my own,” Sam said. I could hear the grin in his voice.

I watched Dean start to shake his head, reluctant, but Sam cut him off before he could protest.

“I’ll just…go. Right now.”

Dean mumbled something gruff that I couldn’t quite make out. He closed the door and turned back to me, a smile tugging at his lips.

I made grabby hands in his direction, and he tumbled back into bed, pouncing on me. He kissed me like he’d been gone for years, instead of seconds.

———

Dean kept running his hands over me, wide-eyed, stroking my skin like he’d never seen it before.

This couldn’t possibly be the same Dean I’d first met, with his careful teasing touch and feral sharp-edged smiles. That Dean had played my body like an instrument, precise and skilled, pulling out the melody with focused intent. Then he had softened, let me in, his fingers shaping harmonies for the sheer joy of it, dancing expertly over familiar scales just to enjoy the music.

This, though… this was like he’d never touched me before. He was caressing me like he was stunned by each note, pressing his fingers over the dips and ridges of my ribs like they were frets, astounded as every new tone vibrated out and filled the air. He touched me until my nerve endings were singing for him, my entire body resonating, striking chords that rang out and filled the air.

Speech would be pointless. It would only interfere with the music.

My stomach rumbled. I laughed. 

Dean was tracing swirls around the knobbly bones of my knee, resting his head on my thigh, and he raised an eyebrow at me. We both grinned. He shrugged and started to drag himself up my body, pausing to lick my collarbone.

He sighed as he flopped down next to me, yawning, but when he raised his arms over his head to stretch he made a face and quickly lowered them again.

I wrinkled my nose and rolled my eyes at him before digging around and retrieving his flannel from the foot of the bed. I wrapped it around me. Dean pulled on his worn pajama pants again, tying the drawstring so they draped low on his hips. We held hands as we walked down the hallway to the bathroom, bumping into each other, giggly and dazed.

Dean turned on one of the big old showerheads along the tiled wall. He tested it, waiting until the water started to steam, and then stepped in, groaning happily when the spray hit his face. I hung back for a moment and enjoyed the view while he lathered up. Then he shot me a hazy, heavy-lidded grin through the growing cloud of steam, and my fingers itched to touch.

The water was blistering-hot, just the way I liked it; Dean used to complain, when we showered together, but he had remembered. I stood still for a moment, letting the heat stream down my skin and soak into my muscles.

I tilted my head back obediently when he stepped behind me and let him wash my hair. He was always so gentle, massaging my scalp with tiny circling movements as he rubbed in the shampoo, running his fingers carefully through the tangles, protecting my eyes from suds with one hand while he smoothed my hair back with another and let the water wash it all away.

When he was done I just sagged back against him. He wrapped his arms around me, hugging me from behind, and I put my hands over his, lacing our fingers together as he held me. We were quiet. 

I closed my eyes and let my head fall back on his shoulder, tilting my face up to the scalding water. I felt like I could melt, for a moment; all my hard edges and prickly defenses had dissolved, leaving nothing but the syrupy-sweet goo inside, and in a moment I’d slide from Dean’s embrace and spiral down the drain, swirling away into nothingness.

I turned in his arms, running my hands up his biceps and then his neck, tracing the angle of his jaw with my thumbs. He was flushed pink in the heat. Water was streaming down his face, beading on his nose and dripping off his parted lips, making his long eyelashes look spiky and dark. He smiled at me lazily. The sight of him made my head spin, still.

I kissed him, slow and sweet. His mouth was slippery, lips sliding against mine, and I licked water from the curve of his smile like I was taking little sips of him. He sighed, a quiet happy contented sound under the rushing of the shower. I felt like I was completely enveloped in him, the water making it harder to feel where he ended and I began; his body was pressed to mine, his palms rubbing circles over my back, the two of us floating in our own bubble of foggy steam and heat, and for all I cared the rest of the world had ceased to exist. It was Dean, and me, and the slick wet pressure of his mouth, and I wanted to kiss him long enough to make up for all the time I’d spent not kissing him.

I’m not sure how long we stood there under the running water. Dean’s stomach growled this time, loud and insistent, interrupting my trance, and he laughed sheepishly against my lips.

He turned off the water. I shivered a little as the air hit my skin, and he darted over to grab a big, worn-soft towel from a hook on the wall. He draped it around his shoulders and then enveloped me in it as well, holding me close again as he rubbed my back and my arms with the thin cotton. I rested against his chest, letting him take care of me as I went completely boneless. I hadn’t realized how hungry I was. Between that and the lightheadedness from heat, my knees were starting to go wobbly.

Dean scrubbed the towel over my hair. I made a soft noise into the damp curve of his neck and licked a bead of water from the hollow of his throat.

He wrapped me up in the towel before going to grab our discarded clothes, and I smiled as I watched him hop clumsily back into his pajama pants, looking just as dizzy and uncoordinated and kiss-dazed as I felt.

I let the towel fall. Dean looked me up and down, eyes smoldering, and I blushed as I slipped back into his flannel. When he turned away to head for the bathroom door, I watched muscles shift and ripple under the bare damp skin of his back, and I wondered (not for the first time) how it was even possible to be this attracted to someone. I wanted nothing more than to tackle him down onto the tile and fuck until all that skin was criss-crossed with red reminders of where my fingernails had been.

God, I loved him.

I caught up, and when I slid my arm around his waist he grinned sideways at me and reached down to give my ass a squeeze. The ache in my chest subsided to something manageable again.

Dean gathered ingredients for pancakes. I collected a bowl and spoons and cups, he scooped and poured, I stirred. We didn’t need to say a word.

The way he kept touching me spoke loud enough: his hand on the small of my back as he moved behind me, his hip and shoulder bumping against mine as we worked together, his fingers rubbing the tense knot at the base of my neck as I started ladling batter onto the pan. He moved away long enough to start a fresh pot of coffee while I cooked, but then he was back, drinking left-handed so that he could wrap an arm around me. I snaked my arm around his waist and rested my head on his shoulder, nuzzling bare skin, alternating between flipping pancakes and taking slow sips of coffee with my free hand.

When we sat down to eat, scooting our chairs closer together at the corner of the table, Dean nudged his foot against my ankle under the table, like he wanted to check that I was still close enough to touch. He smiled sideways at me and shoveled the first bite into his mouth, eating with his usual indecent enthusiasm. I rolled my eyes at the pornographic sound that came out of his mouth, but then I rubbed my toes against his ankle, smiling down at my plate. My chest felt too full again.

We took our time eating. I made him stop, at one point, so that I could suck a drop of maple syrup from his lower lip.

I rinsed the dishes. He put the flour and eggs away, then wiped down the counter. I wrung out the sponge and went over to where he was rubbing at a stubborn spot of syrup, leaning over to try to scrub it away.

Dean put his rag down and plastered himself against my back, taking the sponge from my hand and tossing it into the sink before I could finish, but I didn’t protest. He wrapped his arms around my waist and squeezed gently, bear-hugging me, sidling closer and crowding me until my hipbones were pressed into the edge of the counter.

He brushed my damp hair out of the way and bent to kiss my neck. I dropped my head forward, let my eyes close, and tried to memorize the moment: his lips on my skin, his hands on my waist, the slow satisfied way he was breathing, the smooth surface of the counter under my palms and the warmth where Dean was pressed against my back.

With my eyes closed I didn’t realize that he was toying with one of the buttons until I felt cool air hitting my belly. Then he was tucking his fingers inside the shirt, sliding one hand under the fabric and reaching up to cup the curve of my breast. He skimmed the rough calloused pad of his thumb down over my nipple, then back up, the blunt edge of his fingernail dragging slightly against sensitive skin. He kept doing it, back and forth, such a small slow movement it could’ve almost been accidental, still kissing the side of my neck, lips brushing a sweet lazy trail from my shoulder to my ear and back again. I sighed happily and shifted my weight, relaxing back against him.

The hum under my skin started low, barely noticeable. The first blush of heat crept into the base of my stomach. His thumb stroked, hypnotic, back and forth, and his mouth explored delicate skin, and I savored the moment for what it was, not even thinking about what came next.

Then the tip of his tongue traced the shell of my ear, tickling. Just as I giggled and tried to flinch away, he rolled my nipple gently between his thumb and his index finger, pinching just hard enough to make me gasp and shiver. I arched into the touch, turning my head so that I could rub my cheek against his, catlike, basking in the pleasure of it.

I could feel him getting hard through the thin fabric of his pajama pants. I rocked back on my heels, rubbing my ass against the stiff line of his cock, anticipating just as much as I was teasing him. His breathing had gone harsh against my ear. He was still circling his thumb over my nipple, grazing taut pebbled skin, but it was in a distracted, careless way, now.

I reached back, slipping my hand between us so that I could cup the length of him, pressing the heel of my hand to the base of his dick as I rubbed his balls. His hips stuttered forward and he groaned low in his chest.

He was moving, abruptly, trying to pull his hand out of my shirt and spin me around without actually putting any distance between our bodies, and it took us a second to untangle ourselves where we were pretzeled together. I giggled, but as soon as we were face to face he was kissing me, stealing the breath from my lungs. My head was spinning. I could feel him smiling between eager kisses, all teeth and tongue and hunger as he bent me backward with the force of it.

Dean shoved one of his knees between mine, my feet skidding on the cool kitchen floor as I spread them wider and tried to keep my balance. He slid his hands down to my ass, squeezing, hitching me forward, and the dull friction of his thigh between my legs made me hiss when he rocked his hips.

His hands were roaming my body, fisting a handful of my shirt and then tangling in my hair to tug my head back, hard enough to sting and draw a needy little moan from my throat. He was rutting against me, his cock rock-hard where it was digging into my hip. I met every thrust, grinding into him, and I felt like a fucking teenager again, clumsy and graceless, fumbling through without any sort of finesse, just letting myself do whatever felt good… and fuck, it felt good.

It wasn’t the way he was touching me, not exactly. It wasn’t about rhythm or the precise mechanics of how our bodies fit together. It was just the fact that it was Dean. It felt messy and chaotic and fucking perfect, because it was Dean, and I wanted every part of me against every part of him, wanted to grab and shove and make a home for myself under his skin, wanted to touch and never stop touching.

The thought flitted through the back of my head without permission: I could spend the rest of my life touching him.

Dean was tugging up the hem of the flannel I was still wearing, getting rough hands on my skin again, gripping my waist hard enough to bruise as his body surged against mine. I was practically crushed between him and the counter; I didn’t fucking care. I dragged my fingernails down his back and he moaned against my lips. He dropped his forehead to my shoulder and fumbled with one of my buttons, making a rough impatient noise.

He nipped at my pulse point carelessly and yanked at the fabric hard enough to send at least one button skittering across the floor. I laughed, breathless. He ran his hands up my chest, palming at my breasts, calluses scraping over the sensitive peaks of my nipples, and my laugh broke into a ragged sigh. I arched up, luxuriating in the feel of my bare skin against his. He was panting into the crook of my neck, rocking forward and working his hips in figure-eights, and I could feel the desperation in the tense lines of his muscles, the way his movements had gone choppy and urgent.

I pulled at the waistband of his pajama pants, trying to get my hands on him, but he wouldn’t pause long enough for me to get a grasp on the drawstring until I shoved him, flipping us so that his back was against the counter, and fell to my knees. It felt like a century before I could get the stupid knot untied.

When I swirled my tongue over the flushed-hot head of his cock, I could taste salty pre-come, sharp over the freshly-showered clean of his skin. I let my mouth stretch around him and slid down as far as I could. My swollen lip stung, and my knees ached where they made contact with the cold cement floor, and the pain was grounding, almost, keeping me anchored as I lost myself in the feel-taste-smell of him.

Dean was shaking under my hands, cock thick and hot on my tongue, fingers tangling in my hair. I pulled back far enough to take a deep breath and then swallowed him down again, inch by inch, until he bumped the back of my throat and I couldn’t take any more. I choked but didn’t stop; I fought down my gag reflex and sucked him harder, humming around him, and he let out a strangled cry, his hips bucking forward.

I just wanted to feel him fall apart. He was close. I could feel it in the way his fingers tightened in my hair, pulling sharply, every time he twitched forward. I laved my tongue against the base of his dick and raked my nails gently over his hipbones, down his thighs, and he gasped, shuddering, rocking deeper into my throat. He was trying to stutter out a warning, his voice hoarse and unsteady.

I curled my hand around his cock and stroked, firm and slick, where my mouth couldn’t reach. I looked up at him through my lashes. His jaw was slack and his pupils were blown and he was making an anguished, barely-human noise, and all it took was one last suck, hollowing my cheeks around him, before I felt the gut-punch jolt of his orgasm through his body.

The first pulse flooded my mouth, intense and bitter. I pulled off, letting the rest hit my lips and my cheek and my chin as I swallowed. I stroked him through it, flicking my tongue over the tip to catch the last drops, until he was over-sensitized and shaking, flinching away.

Dean practically melted, knees buckling. He slid down with his back against the cabinets until he was kneeling, face to face with me, and his chest heaved as he took a few deep breaths. I smiled at him, licking his taste off my swollen lips. His stare was dark and wild, eyelashes fluttering as he watched my mouth. He swiped his thumb over my cheek and held it to my lips. I sucked it clean, holding eye contact, and Dean growled low in his throat.

He grabbed me without warning, tugging me toward him. I scrambled forward without any more prompting than that. He was sitting back on his heels, so I straddled one of his thighs, pressing my chest to his as he kissed me.

Fucking hell. I’d almost forgotten how wet I was. The press of his leg against my cunt was more than enough to remind me.

I settled myself closer and wriggled shamelessly. Dean shifted to accommodate me, the muscles of his thigh flexing, and I whined, twisting, grinding down. My clit ached at the blunt pressure.

Dean grabbed my ass, helping me move, and I rolled my hips. I looked down, watching our bodies move together. There was a fucking wet spot on his thigh, slick and glistening where I was spread open and dragging my pussy against him. It made the slide sweet and easy when I rocked down, over and over, feeling my pulse between my legs as the friction sent ripples of sizzling heat through me. My vision crackled and sparked at the edges.

Dean ducked his head, biting sharply at the sensitive spot under my ear. I writhed against him, groaning, losing my coordination and rhythm as my clit throbbed and my empty cunt clenched around nothing. I made a needy, embarrassing noise, head rolling back, clutching at his shoulders for balance as my muscles went shaky and useless. He reached between us, sliding two thick fingers into me and letting me screw my hips down, working them in deeper, until he could curl his fingertips into my g-spot.

His hand was trapped against his leg as I fucked myself on his fingers. The angle must’ve been awful on his wrist, but he didn’t let up, just pressed the heel of his hand into my clit. I saw stars.

Electricity went skip-hop-jittering up my spine. All I could do was squeeze around him, dripping-wet and desperate, my body moving on pure instinct, and then a wave of heat drew me tight like a bowstring, making my back arch and my vision dissolve in a sparkling haze as I came around Dean’s fingers, shouting and shuddering and clinging to him.

He kissed my temple, my cheek, my jaw, letting me slump uselessly against him as I caught my breath. I whimpered when he pulled his fingers away. Then I realized he was licking them clean. I sat up, light-headed, blinking stupidly, and watched the pink shine of his tongue where it was swirling over his knuckles. He grinned at me when he was done, sharp and sparkling, a perfect heart-stopping counterpoint to the soft, raw, tender gleam in his eyes.

My knees twinged, reminding me that I’d been kneeling on a fucking concrete floor, and I slid clumsily from Dean’s lap, collapsing next to him in an awkward tangle of limbs. He hauled me back up, suddenly scooping me into his arms and standing up like my weight was nothing.

He almost tripped; his pajama pants were still hooked around his ankles. I squeaked, alarmed, but he just chuckled, kicking them away, and started to carry me down the hallway, back to his room.

I curled into his chest, feeling his laugh reverberate through his ribcage, listening to the perfect steady rhythm of his heartbeat.

——-

He was kissing the thin skin of my wrist, working his way up my arm, when the shrill tone of his cellphone broke the spell. He slapped at it blindly until the ringing stopped. There was a ding, a voicemail alert, and he picked it up reluctantly.

The color drained from his face slowly as he listened. Cold fear slithered up my spine.

He set the phone down and got up jerkily, without a word. I watched him get dressed, my nerves jangling like a cacophony of alarm bells, my lungs constricting and making speech impossible.

It wasn’t until he had pulled on his boots and turned to go, still silent and holding himself rigid, that I could manage to speak.

“Dean?”

He grimaced and paused with his hand on the doorknob.

“Sam’s hurt,” he said.

He looked me in the eye for the first time since the phone call. He opened his mouth, closed it again silently, and shrugged.

“Be safe,” I whispered. My voice came out shredded and small.

Pain flickered over his features. His lips pressed into a thin grim line and he nodded tersely.

The door snapped shut behind him, deafening. I was left alone in the cold, echoing silence of the bunker.

.

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Next part is HERE!

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[hopelessromanticspoonie]

Last Call

Characters: Loki x Reader

Chapter: 2 of 2 (Click here for Chapter 1)

Rating: Explicit

Summary: All you wanted was a drink after a long day at work, but a pushy jerk and the God of Mischief have other ideas.

Warnings: Language and all of the smut. There is only smut ahead.

A/N: You asked for it, so here it is! A continuation of Chapter 1, so the implied smut isn’t so implied anymore. I’m tagging those that specifically asked for this. If you wish to be removed, please let me know and I won’t hesitate to do so. 

Special shoutout to @yespolkadotkitty for betaing this for me!

Taglist: @just-the-hiddles @yespolkadotkitty @brucestephenbucky @rjohnson1280

It would be much easier to open the damn door to your apartment if Loki wasn’t skimming his hands down your hips and breathing hot puffs of air against the back of your neck.

You finally manage to get the key into the lock and wrench open the door, stumbling inside. Loki closes the door with a finality that sobers you up a bit despite the alcohol and lust buzzing through your system. The only light in the room comes from the crack beneath the door and the streetlight filtering in through your thin curtains. It’s just enough to see his tall, lean figure stalking towards you, eyes glinting with dangerous heat and jaw jutted forward.

He backs you up against the wall by the front door, boxing you in with his forearms on either side of your head and his rigid body pressing along the length of yours. Your breath stutters in your throat at his closeness, the feeling of his arousal accentuated by his hips rolling against you in a steady, smooth motion, and the heady scent of alcohol, spice, and leather filling your flared nostrils.

“I want you, kitten,” his deeply accented voice, graveled and dark, caresses your skin as he stoops his head low enough to draw his lips against the column of your throat in a hot, open-mouthed kiss. “Are you certain that you want this?”

As if you could think with him enveloping your body so thoroughly with his. Your hands spread out across his chest and his muscles ripple in response. Warmth floods your body when a low moan sounds from his throat as your nails drag lightly against the thin fabric teasingly. The arousal coiling in your belly makes your decision for you, and you nod your head shakily in the darkness.

“Use your words,” he commands lowly, pulling his head back from your throat to rest his forehead against yours, staring into your eyes.

You dart your tongue out to wet your lips - all the moisture was sucked from your body to pool between your legs - and manage to focus long enough to reply with a throaty, “Fuck me.”

Your words draw a growl, an actual rumbling growl, from him and he slides his hands down your sides to caress the arch of your backside before hooking beneath your thighs. There is no warning before he lifts his hands and wraps your legs around his waist. You hook your ankles over the small of his back and wrap your arms around his neck to hold yourself to him as he presses you into the wall with his erection settling perfectly between your thighs.

He claims your mouth with his roughly, dragging his tongue along your lower lip just as he ruts his hips between yours forcefully. You gasp at the shock of pleasure that tears through you and he takes advantage by slipping his tongue into your mouth. It is hot and wet and hard and it leaves your head spinning.

Your heart is racing as you drag your hands down the collar of his jacket to try to push it off of his shoulders, but he can’t let go of you to do as you wish. You break the heated kiss with a snarl and tilt your head back against the wall to pin him down with your dazed stare. “Bedroom. That way. Now.”

He follows directions well, adjusting you so that his hands curl beneath your bottom and hold your hips together as he carries you effortlessly toward the open door you had directed him to. Your arms tighten behind his neck and you suck on the edge of his jaw - he could cut glass with it for how sharp it is - languidly along the way.

A laugh tumbles from your lips as he drops you unceremoniously on your unmade bed. You scramble over to the bedside table to flick on the warm lamp. You want to watch this glorious man utterly ruin you, and the lighting provided from behind your curtains isn’t enough to do him justice.

Especially as he locks eyes with you after you settle into the middle of the bed, propped up on your elbows. His emerald eyes practically burn and his lips pull back into a wolfish smile as he peels his leather jacket off and drops it to the floor at his feet. Your breathing quickens when he catches the hem of his shirt and pulls it up and over his head, revealing a pale torso sculpted of lean muscle just begging to be traced with your fingertips and tongue.

When his hands find the leather belt around his middle, you quickly rise to your knees and go to the edge of the bed, kneeling before him and knocking his hands out of the way. “Let me,” you whisper, smiling seductively up to him.

His eyes widen at your boldness and he settles his hands on your shoulders, giving you permission to carry on. You lean forward to trace your lips over the dip of muscles that points down to where your hands are working his belt from his slacks. The leather falls to join his clothing on the floor and you glance up to wink at him before charting the length of him through the taut fabric with your open mouth, breathing hotly on his hard twitching erection.

Your name flies from his lips like a curse and his hands tangle into your hair, tugging on it and sending goosebumps over your body. You take pity on his rolling hips and unzip his slacks to tug them and his underwear down in one go. He kicks them and his boots off in one go, clearly eager to waste as little time as possible so that you can resume your exploration of his body.

But just because he is urgent and wanting doesn’t mean that you are obligated to rush. The way his head tilts back and his mouth opens with a rumbled moan makes you feel powerful, seductive and desired as you hold the weight of him in your hands. You chase the feeling by stroking him gently, rubbing your thumb over the head of his erection to spread the wetness he creates to ease your movements.

His hands tug your head toward him, and at the last second, you tilt your head to nip his hipbone. His breath falters above you and you smile wickedly in response.

“Problem?” you ask with false innocence, batting your eyelashes up at him as you sit back on your heels, never stopping your even, maddening strokes over his impressively large cock.

He moves suddenly, bending down to hook his hands beneath your arms to toss you onto your back. Your body is almost crushed beneath his before he nudges his knees in between yours and he supports his weight on his hands on either side of your shoulders. His smile is almost feral as he shifts so that one hand can rest on your heaving stomach. “You are far too overdressed for what I have planned for you.”

From the lust shining in his eyes, to his voice like liquid honey, to his hand as it slips beneath your shirt to splay across your abdomen, you are a mess of sizzling nerves and liquid need. A whimper sounds into the room when his deft fingers slide the cup of your bra down enough so that he can tweak your already pebbled nipple in between them, pulling on them hard enough to toe that delicious line between pleasure and pain.

You are impatient with need and driven by desire. You arch your back off of the bed to rip your shirt off and he uses the moment when your hands are in the air to unclasp your bra and lift it up your arms. He sits back so that both of his hands are free to wrap your bra around your wrists. Your heart hammers in your chest as your hands are restrained, and your wide eyes seek his.

A reassuring smile, only faintly tainted with hunger, settles onto his thin lips. “If you pull your wrists apart you will be able to get loose. I will not do anything you do not wish, I promise you,” he soothed, somehow able to be both endearingly reassuring and devilishly teasing.

Still, you tug experimentally at the makeshift bonds and find that he is correct. Your hands come loose. But now you are curious as to what he had intended for you, so you cross your wrists back over themselves and clutch the bra tightly. A boldness overtakes you when his cock twitches from your false submission to him, and it makes it that much harder to take a deep breath.

His hair falls to tease your feverish flesh as he descends to capture your nipple in between his soft lips. You arch your back into him, desperate for any touch that could ease the coiling need in your lower belly, and he chuckles against you in response. His voice is husky skin in your ears, barely audible over the blood roaring in them.

“Please,” you beg, rolling your hips and arching your back.

He answers your plea with a nip of his teeth on the underside of your breast. “Patience is a virtue, kitten. If you do not like it, I will stop.”

Your hands yearn to hook over his shoulders and pull him to you, but the possibility of further temptation is too much for you to give in. You throw your head back against the bed with an exasperated sigh.

He unbuttons your jeans and works them down your legs, stopping momentarily to pull off your boots and toss them to the floor loudly. You have the offhand thought that the neighbors won’t like that, but all concerns are washed from your mind when his hot mouth closes over your panties just over your heated slit.

“Fuck!” you shout, eyes rolling back in your head and body bowing off of the bed at the unexpected sensation. Your knees curl inwards toward him and he holds them open with caressing hands that travel up your thighs to massage the tender skin where hip meets leg. You manage to lift your head enough to watch as he hooks his fingers underneath the hem of your panties, drawing them off of you, setting your skin alight with his nails just barely scratching at your flesh.

He looks at you like a starving man does an oasis as he lowers himself down onto his stomach on the bed between your legs. The overwhelming desire shining in his eyes doesn’t allow you to feel any shame, spread wantonly on the bed before him, bound and waiting to be used for his pleasure. He drinks in the sight of you, open and waiting, ready to take him into you.

You’re just about to give in to your own needs, beg him to touch you, when he slips his arms beneath your thighs and spreads his hands out over your navel to pin you to the bed. His hot breath blows across your glistening sex as he praises you. “So wet already. How good you are for me.’

And how good you are to-

All thought is ripped from you as he drags the flat of his tongue along your dripping folds. A mewl tears unbidden from your throat. You clench your eyes against the pleasure coiling inside of your abdomen and try to rock your hips up into him, but his hands stop you from getting what you seek. His lips suction over your sensitive bundle of nerves and his tongue teases at it quickly, sending you over the edge of your pleasure and into the throes of an orgasm that takes you by surprise.

Your muscles twitch with the aftershocks, and he guides you back to reality with tender kisses laved upon your inner thigh. Abandoning all rules, you untangle your hands from your bra to slide them into his hair, scratching his scalp appreciatively.

Your contented hum turns into a surprised squeak when he abruptly slides two fingers inside of you, and your still-clenching muscles clamp down onto the intruding digits tightly. His hand shifts over your pelvis so that his thumb can thrum your over-sensitive clit, making you squirm to try to escape the overwhelming pleasure.

“Too soon, too soon. I’m so sensitive, I’m going to cum again,” you protest weakly even as your back arches up off of the bed.

“Give into it. Don’t you dare fight your pleasure. Take it from me.” He demands it with a voice rough with desire, breathy and deadly in its sensuality.

His long, thin fingers curl inside of you, finding that delicious spot hidden within that easily brings about your second orgasm. You’re vaguely aware of your cries echoing around the room and your entire body tensing up around him. You clench your eyes so tightly together that you see stars.

You’re only pleasure. White and hot and all-consuming and too much and not enough. Never enough.

Panting, you slowly relax and melt into the bedding beneath you, skin glistening with sweat and lips swollen from his bruising kiss. Your heavy-lidded eyes flutter open as the bed shifts beneath you, and your belly tightens at the sight of Loki kneeling between your legs, rolling on a condom over his impressive girth. He’s beautiful, pale skin warmed by the glow of the lamp, lean muscles flexed, long raven hair brushing his shoulders and emerald eyes glittering behind sooty lashes as they blaze a path across your skin. You have never seen a man so breathtaking.

He stretches the length of his body over yours, allowing just enough of his weight to sink you into the mattress while his cock rubs tantalizingly over your folds with each measured roll of his hips. The kiss he lays on you is thorough, punctuated by his arms working behind your back so his hands can hook around your shoulders.

No words are exchanged, he simply raises a dark brow at you in one final question, and you answer by thrusting your hips upwards into him, positioning him at your entrance. His forehead falls to rest against the hollow of your neck as he buries himself in one smooth motion inside of you.

He’s big. Much bigger than you had realized, and your breath comes out in stuttered gasps as you stretch around him. Your hands grasp at his back for purchase against the almost uncomfortable tightness, and when you are finally used to him, you skate your hands down his backside to cup his pert backside. You roll him into you, and he follows your lead by beginning to slowly rock within you.

As your moans increase, so does the speed and force of his thrusts. His answering groans rumble from his chest and out against your shoulder, where he is alternating between biting the delicate skin there and laving the reddened skin with his tongue.

“Loki,” you whine, dragging your nails up his backside to scramble for purchase in the long flexing muscles of his back.

“Say my name.” He pushes himself up on his hands, and the new angle makes the very tip of him drag across your inner spot, sending waves of white-hot pleasure flowing through your limbs, clouding your mind and dropping your jaw.

“Loki!” You hook your feet around his calves and use the leverage to meet his hips with yours. The sound of your flesh meeting echoes around the room, a hedonistic soundtrack to your carnal passions.

“That’s it,” he grinds out through clenched teeth, his forehead creasing as he resists his oncoming orgasm. “Once more, kitten. Come around my cock.”

Your inner walls flutter around him with the beginnings of your climax, and you force your eyes open to lock onto his. “Loki!”

Your name is both a curse and a prayer on his lips as his hips slam against yours once, twice, three times. The force of it triggers your final orgasm, and you can only hold onto him as you shudder in his arms. He lowers you both to the bed once his stuttering thrusts have ceased, rolling onto his back with you draped across his chest, sated and spent.

“How is your cheek now?” he asks quietly, stroking your sweaty hair from off your back and settling his large hand on the dip of your spine.

You smile dreamily into his chest and softly trace meaningless shapes over his racing heartbeat with your fingertips. You had forgotten all about your pretense for coming to your apartment in the first place, and now, resting against his chest, it barely smarts in the wake of your contented stupor. “Never better.”

[1-800-seo]

— 1-800-SEO'𝗌 ᪥ '𝖲𝗈𝗅𝗈 𝖲𝗍𝖺𝗀𝖾' — \ 1 | 2 /

— 𝗉𝖺𝗂𝗋𝗂𝗇𝗀: 𝗃𝗎𝗇𝗀𝗄𝗈𝗈𝗄 𝗑 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋

— 𝗀𝖾𝗇𝗋𝖾: 𝖿𝗅𝗎𝖿𝖿 𝗍𝗈𝗐𝗇, 𝗀𝗋𝗎𝗇𝗀𝖾!𝖺𝗎, 𝗌𝗈𝗅𝗈 𝖼𝖺𝗋𝖾𝖾𝗋!𝖺𝗎, 90'𝗌,

— 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝖽𝗌: 2569

— 𝗌𝗎𝗆𝗆𝖺𝗋𝗒: 𝖨𝗍'𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝖾 90'𝗌 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖩𝗎𝗇𝗀𝗄𝗈𝗈𝗄 𝗂𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗁𝗈𝗍𝗍𝖾𝗌𝗍 𝗋𝗂𝗌𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗀𝗋𝗎𝗇𝗀𝖾 𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗋 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗁𝖺𝗏𝖾 𝗍𝗂𝖼𝗄𝖾𝗍𝗌 𝗍𝗈 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗇𝖾𝗐 𝗌𝗁𝗈𝗐

Your fingers stick together as you apply some facial glitter to your cheek bones. “Yo, I think this face glitter is off, y’know” you say to your best friend Taehyung who is on the other side of the room, staring into the mirror, attempting to smoke out his eyeliner.

“Didn’t you get it off Kami? It was probably bought like a decade ago, and it’s only just resurfaced from her neon coloured makeup collection. ‘83 through ‘87 were wild, can’t believe people used to wear all that colourful crap.” He said, trying his best not to smudge his handy work, his face showing amusement.

“Ok, mister punk rocker, don’t go all cynical on me. You forget that I still have your baby pics with you and all your neon sportswear on, thinking you look so fly. Oh, and and don’t let me forget about your bright pink sweatbands! They were abominable.” You break out into laughter remembering all of his cute little baby jump suits. He looked like he was going skiing because they were all so padded.

“Oh eat my shorts, you know I’m a changed man now, grunge has taken ahold and I am never going back to” he dramatically shivers “bright colours. Never again.” He feigns a retch and turns back to the mirror to adjust his hair.

You were both in your bedroom, getting ready for hopefully the best concert of your life. You were going to see one of the best vocalists of the generation, in your opinion. Jeon Jungkook, also known as Jeon JK, is a tall, dark haired, leather clad, heartthrob that had weaselled his way into your heart, and pretty much held it tight. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t want to do him. Amongst having a rocking bod, he also is an amazing song writer, total cutie/dork, and most likely a general nice dude with a good personality. What wasn’t their to like?

So this is how you found yourself, and your best friend Taehyung, in your most grungy outfits you could make under a budget and about to go to a hopefully life changing concert.

Tae turned around from the mirror, “Tada! Do I look okay?” His eyes were gently smudged with not over the top eyeliner and his hair was slightly tousled. It had begun to grow over his eyes so he kept on sweeping the dark locks behind his ears. It matched well with his slightly too large black overalls and light grey tshirt. Over the tshirt he wore a checkered short sleeve shirt with black thick piping on the edge, a detail he’d added himself. All in all he looked like a grunge dream, he’d totally mastered the look.

Unlike your self ripped denim, stolen-from-Tae pearl jam shirt, and leather jacket, you didn’t really look very appealing in your own head but you figured it that was the best you could do so you’d just have to rock it.

“You look ravishing, my dude. King Kurt would say you look bangin’ and that’s honestly all you ever need in life, right?” You laugh at your own joke but it’s less awkward because Tae joins in too.

“Thank you! Right, come on Joan Jett 2.0 shall we hit the road? We don’t want to miss the opening act, do we?” He pulled on his doc martens and soon you were off.

☆:.｡.🥀.｡.:☆

As soon as you saw his face you had to pinch yourself. He looked so good it had to be surreal, it had to be a dream. His boyish long curly hair fell into his dark eyes, his cuffed baggy T-shirt, his ripped jeans, the sweat dripping down his neck, he was a heavenly vision. He looked like some type of Greek god among mortals. His smooth voice crooning out rich and melodiously. It was dulcet and velvety, yet full and powerful too. This man was, quite simply, enchanting.

You break out of the spell this magical pied piper put you under and lock eyes with Taehyung. He’s singing along to the words, eyes wide and full of awe. He’s putting his height to his advantage, he can see much better than you. “Oh so kind Tae Tae?” You shout over the guitars and drums blasting ahead of you. “Yeah?” “Can I please sit on your shoulders?” You say as cutely as possible whilst shouting over a live band. “I don’t know, we might block others view though.” He says eyes still locked on the brown haired boy ahead.

“Never mind them, I can’t see, I’m short!” You put your hand to your forehead and pull it upwards to make the point. “Fine...but you owe me big time.” He says rolling his eyes but a smile on his lips.

He pulls you up just as Jungkook throws his head back to the beat of the song. Damn, that was hot. A wave of heat flows up your body and you feel your blood run straight to your cheeks.

Thank goodness you got on Tae’s shoulders; you can see so much easier now, you can see well over everyone else, the slight swaying of Taehyung balancing himself is a small price to pay for getting to see the one and only specimen ahead.

Suddenly the song shifts, the guitars and drums crescendo and JK’s voice goes from velvety smooth, to something alike ice. Laced with something that can only grab your attention, sharp yet still smooth at the same time. The music was unfamiliar, the drummer begun a solo and JK swayed his hips. Then the drummer stopped and the guitarist started the opening chords to their latest single... so that’s why the sudden shift, it’s a mashup.

“That’s so cool!” You shout to Tae and then scream to show your approval.

Swiftly, the crowd surges forward and because of this so does Taehyung. You try your best to hold on to his shoulders, you’re approaching the barrier, much closer than earlier. All of a sudden Tae jerks forward, having reached the barrier and no more room to go, his body lurches and along with him, you. You tumble over the railings, legs hitting the metal as you go head first.

Head aching with pain and dust on your hands, you look up. You find yourself in the “no man’s land”, the small space between the barriers and fans, and the stage and the artist. You hold your head as you cautiously stand up and a familiar face turns in surprise. He spots you and perfectly ends his note as he powerfully walks over. Luckily it’s the instrumental outro so it doesn’t seem to alert anyone things are wrong; he crouches down to you, the stage separates you both but he makes the gap smaller.

“You ok, doll? That looked like quite a tumble you had there.” He soothed as he gently placed his hand over yours, resting it on where you bumped yourself. He stroked your cheek softly, consoling you. “I’m ok, I think, just a little dizzy.” Shooting pains were stinging your temple but like hell were you gonna show your true pain. “Let me help you.” He takes your hand in his and plants a gentle kiss on your forehead. “All better?” He asked.

“I think so. Although my elbows kinda hurt from the impact.” Your brain registers you’re actually holding hands with THE Jeon Jungkook and you feel your heart just about burst from your chest.

“I’m a tad concerned you may have a concussion darling, so I’ll take you back stage in a hot minute and I’ll get you some help. Just hold on here for me.” His dark eyes had a gentle expression, something new than what he usually has on stage. They sometimes look almost feral; like he’s going to jump someone’s bones. Not that you mind, however this was new and made your heart beat just the same, especially because you were the one who made him look so soft and fond.

The tall fellow rose and strode over to the centre stage. He languidly grasped the mic stand and began to sway to the rhythm. The guitars and drums began to fade out and the middle of the stage slowly started descending until his tousled hair was out of sight. You now realised this was the beginning of a ‘halftime’ break.

Soon enough Jungkook came running round the side of the stage and he bent down to where you were sat.

“Right, let’s get you sorted doll.” He grabbed both hands in his and gently and hesitantly helped you stand up. Once you were stood he put his arm around your waist and wrapped yours around his.

No way were you so close to your giant crush, never mind in an intimate embrace. Your brain struggled to process the whole thing and tried it’s best to act normal. Your brain was short circuiting and your heart pounding away; if you don’t die of a concussion, you’ll certainly die of a heart attack.

He quickly and fluidly moved you to the back stage area, escaping the roar and hungry eyes of the fans.

Once you were sat down on a plastic chair and he left to alert the medical staff, you began to shiver. Mainly out of nervousness and excitedness but quite possibly because you miss the warmth of his arm around you too. However as soon as he was gone he returned and had his arm tucked neatly around you again.

Why was he being so touchy? Was this just fan-service? Or maybe he is just like this when he is worried? Either way, it doesn’t stop the chill his warm touch sends up your side as his fingers brush against your hipbone.

All this time waiting for medical staff gives you a great opportunity to admire him. His visuals were so much more than stunning, they were quite simply unfathomable at times. A bead of sweat dripped down his temple and your mind can’t help but spin. His plain black T-shirt sticks to his stomach and you can see the faint outline of muscle. You look down to the hand around your waist. It’s broad and sinewy, a large vein running down the centre. His touch is gentle and caring, something you never expected from a stranger, never mind someone as famous as him.

You want to stay in this sticky plastic chair forever. “How are you feeling?” He asks, breaking you from your wild thoughts. “Not too bad, thank you for helping me, you really didn’t need to do this.” You reply, cheeks turning rose red.

“No, really, don’t worry about it. It’s the least I can do, you take your time to come here and support me, and for me to not help you up? That would hurt me inside. I’m glad you’re feeling a bit better though, that was a nasty tumble you took there doll, I hope your boyfriend is ok too?” He stiffens beside you, it’s as if as soon as he says it he realises what he said. “Oh no no, Tae’s not my boyfriend.” You run your hands across your thighs, a nervous reaction.

“Oh thank goodness, I only just realised how it could’ve looked, and I know I’d be ragin’ if some meathead like me touched my girl.” His body relaxes, and his hand grazes your hipbone for the second time. It feels like internal static electricity at his sudden touch, you hold in from jumping at it. “Do you have a girl?” You query, thoughts tripping over themselves to catch up. His ‘thank goodness’ reaction was certainly unexpected.

Was he relieved because he didn’t want you to look like you were cheating? Or because he could freely make advances without another guy in the picture? Or both? Either way your mind raced trying to keep up with everything, forehead still stinging in the background.

Eventually the medical staff turn up and sort you out, check you over to see if you have any insurance claimable injuries and bid your adieu with two tiny butterfly stitches over a cut you never knew you had.

JK walks you back to the stage floor, pulling you by the hand. He stops right before the last set of doors. “I’m sorry this happened, I’ll try and get health and safety sorted, but I’m not sorry we met, I’d love to say sorry to you in anyway possible though, so would I be able to get your number? I’d love to spend a good time with you, darling, some time when you aren’t in physical pain.” He jokingly adds in. The hazed over eyes that were once under the bright lights are now clear and genuine. You don’t even know how to feel anymore, everything is so much for you. You’d be stupid not to give your biggest most unlikely-to-reciprocate-crush your number, however it takes a moment to even register what to do. After what feels like forever, your body finally registers and you tell him your digits, as well as your email because your overwhelmed brain spills everything out by accident.

“Thank you for not reacting like a crazy screaming fan, this has been the best interaction I’ve ever had because you’ve treated me like a normal human.” He stammered. You look up to meet his eyes, they look intrigued, like he’s working out a puzzle. You’ve never seen him like this. Not performing. You guess you’ve never really contemplated how he is when he’s not performing, because you’ve never truly seen it. “I think I didn’t react like that because my head is about to explode at the moment, however you are still human, so we all deserve to be treated like humans.” You declare. You don’t know how you speak so frankly, it’s a miracle you haven’t passed out. “Very wise words.” He nods in approval,

“I’m sorry but I’m going to have to leave now doll, but it was lovely meeting you and I hope you enjoy the rest of the show!” He kisses your cheek like a date leaving for the night and jogs off down the maze-like alleys of the under-stage area.

What just happened? You stand in the hall in shock. Did Jeon JK actually just hold your hand, kiss your cheek, put his arm around your waist, AND take care of you? This was all too much. You decided to ponder it all later before you had an aneurysm and enjoy what was left of the night.

You walk through the doors and find your best friend in the sea of people. He wears a worried look and is right by the railing where you fell. “What the hell just happened? Are you okay?!” He barked. His hair was pushed back like he’d been running his hand through it, a nervous habit you knew he had.

You reach up your arms to him like a toddler and he pulls you up and over the barricade as easy as if you weighed nothing. He sets you down and looks at you, worried.

“As much as I want to tell you now I think my brain might explode so as curious as you are I’m going to tell you this all at home. However I assure you, I am fine.” You giggle at how absurd this all is, pulling Tae into a hug. It stabilises you and helps you know that you are real and you’re ok. This isn’t a dream and no matter how bad your head is banging it’ll all be clear soon.

The rest of the night passes by in a hazy euphoric blur.

[franklyshipping]

Never Underestimate Them ~ A Markiplier and Jacksepticeye Ego Fanfic

THIS IS A SNAZZY AWESOME PROMPT FROM A SNAZZY AWESOME ANON! Just fyi this does reference violence, but mostly at the beginning sooooOOOO LEEET'S GET TO IT!

TAGGING: @anti-switch-glitch and @yandere-ipli-ler

There was always a fire of some kind blazing in Yandere's eyes, except today you could see real fire reflected inside them as Yan tended to the hearth. It was one of Yandere's favourite things to do, coaxing the sparks, tending to the coals, feeling the heat build. Yandere didn't see it as a chore, they just loved it. They were humming to themselves as they set the poker down, watching the flames dance as the crackle filled the room, making the atmosphere simply sublime.

'Ohhhh what a day!'

Yandere pursed their lips, but smiled when they turned to see Anti flopping down on the couch behind them, cleaning one of his knives which had a rather suspicious amount of crimson on the blade. Yandere raised an amused eyebrow.

'Someone's been causing trouble I see.'

Anti grinned toothily, giggling a little before donning an innocent expression as he replied.

'They started it! They accused me of cheating at the card table and got their undies in a bunch!'

'Uh huh....'

Yan mused, folding their arms as they purred.

'DID you cheat?'

That made Anti purse his lips and glance at Yan for a moment, before averting his gaze and mumbling like a kid who was fibbing about starting a fight in the playground.

'.....maybe.'

'Anti!'

'Whaaat?! They were scum anyway, they deserved to be taught a lesson!'

Yandere huffed, standing up and un-creasing their red tartan skirt before putting their hands on their hips in an attempt to be reprimanding.

'You better not have gone all the way, you KNOW how fussy Dark gets if he has to clean up after you!'

Anti gasped, as if offended, and looked up at Yan with his mouth wide open.

'Do I look like an amateur to you? And since when do you have the right to lecture me on this, you've barely even flicked someone aggressively in the last month!'

Anti sneered, not maliciously though, because honestly whenever Yandere or Anti did something remotely kind, each of them would tease the other about them going soft, every single time. At his words, Yandere narrowed their eyes and bent at the hips a tad so that they were leaning over him.

'I am inches away from a hot poker, don't tempt me to break my clean streak!'

Anti faked a fearful shiver, before smirking.

'Oh! You have terrified me into submission!'

Yandere growled at Anti's sneering sarcasm and was grateful for the ping of their timer going off in the kitchen to let them know their red velvet cupcakes were ready; on the downside though....the kitchen and living area was open plan, so they couldn't escape Anti's taunting even as they removed their baked goods.

'I'm serious! If I had boots on I'd SO be quaking in them!'

Yandere pursed their lips, purposefully ignoring the glitch and focusing on getting their cupcakes onto wire racks so they could cool down. Anti was leaning backwards over the couch, giggling as he continued.

'Wow, not even a comeback? I knew you were going soft, but aren't you even gonna defend your honour?'

Yandere rolled their eyes, huffing out a laugh as they took off their oven gloves and set their gaze on Anti as they sneered.

'Why should I, I mean, it's not as if your opinion even means anything.'

Anti's eyes widened as he developed a grin, now THAT was more like it! He vaulted over the back of the couch, sauntering over to the kitchen side of the room until only the kitchen counter pod separated him and Yandere from one another. Anti set his knife down before leaning against the counter, smirking at the prospect of more banter.

'That may be true...but you still can't deny facts. Look at you, baking cupcakes on a weekend because you have nothing else to do! I remember when you itch for a fix of....well....ruthlessness.'

Yandere raised an eyebrow, starting to pace around the counter, their crimson nails dragging across the granite as they purred.

'You can be ruthless without causing pain....if you can't see that then I truly pity your tiny, unimaginative brain....'

Anti straightened up, narrowing his eyes at the insult whilst also starting to feel curious. He knew he'd most likely regret it, but he so badly wanted to know what Yandere was alluding to with their cryptic words. Yandere was waiting for him to reply with a sly smile in place....dammit, he had to know.

'....alright, I'll bite. How can you be ruthless without pain?'

Yandere nibbled their bottom lip, feeling a rush of adrenaline surge through them as they finally reached Anti. Their eyes met as Yandere purred.

'Oh I'm so glad that you asked....please....'

Anti's breath hitched nervously when Yandere suddenly gripped his bicep.

'....allow me to show you what I mean.'

Anti tried to hide how nervous he was, but with Yan's tight grip on his arm and the sneering smile growing on their face....now he was starting to regret suggesting that Yandere had gone soft. That regret set in more promptly however when Yan suddenly, and with alarming strength, hauled the man over the back of the couch and forced him down onto it on his front. Anti spluttered and grunted as his face was buried in a cushion, but by the time he tilted his head to free his face, Yan had planted themselves on the small of his back....securely.

'If your plan is to smother me then that's not really imaginati-woah c-careful where y-you putting your hands!'

Anti started off relatively smooth and snide....until he felt Yandere's hands slide to his sides; they didn't do anything, they merely rested there, but Yandere smirked....since for some reason, Anti had grown rather tense at their action.

'Ihi'm not doing anything sweetie, what's wrong?'

Anti pursed his lips, growling lowly at their badly faked tone of innocence as he twitched. Yes, Yandere's hands may not have been moving or doing anything but they were still there, touching him, touching his nerves in a manner that made his whole system tense up in defensive anticipation. It's not that Anti was sensitive or anything....he just got defensive easily....that was all!

'W-Well y-you're invading my personal s-space!'

Anti exclaimed indignantly as he struggled, but with his arms pinned beneath him and Yandere sat on him, it was useless. Yandere smirked at his stammered speech, knowing damn well how they were affecting him with their ''casual'' touch. They hummed, absently and slowly rubbing Anti's sides as they replied.

'Oh I'm EVER so sorry....but you see, I've gotten rather comfortable, you don't mind too much do you?'

Anti gritted his teeth, smiling into the couch cushion under his head as he grunted and let out a little hiss through his teeth; plus, he now started talking very quickly for some reason.

'I-It's fine okay whatever, you wanna be comfy th-thehen f-fine, s-so are you g-gohonna explain y-your ruthlessness w-wihithout pain thing o-or what?'

Anti was hoping that Yandere was simply being briefly annoying to get him of his high horse before they explained themselves....but Anti didn't fathom that Yandere's teasing touches were about to develop into so much more. Yandere grinned a feral grin as they leant down to whisper in Anti's ear.

'Oho you silly, silly boy....I am showing you.'

Anti's eyes widened. Before he could try and glitch away whilst he still had the energy and focus to do so, Yandere's sharp nails were skittering fast at his sides; Anti's cackling soon followed.

'WOHOHOAH HEYHEYHEY DOHON'T YOHOU DAHARE!'

Yandere snickered, their crimson eyes gleaming as they skittered, scratched and purred.

'With all the things I've done, do you really think a giggly warning from you is going to do anything?'

Yandere focused their scratching in the dips of Anti's sides, which made Anti cackle harder as he squeezed his eyes shut. He was head-butting the couch cushion and arching his back, just trying to struggle and do anything to distract himself from how much it tickled him.

'THIHIHIHIS IHIHIS DUHUHUHUMB!!'

Anti cried, filled with embarrassment at his ticklishness of all things being exploited. At his cry, Yandere raised an amused eyebrow.

'Is it? It seems rather effective to me, you already seem like less of an arrogant ass.'

Yandere giggled with a hint of arrogance of their own, which made Anti growl through his mirth....but he couldn't even BEGIN to look angry because of how much he was smiling.

'YOHOHOU'RE AHA BIHITCH!!'

Yandere smirked, since frankly they took that as a compliment. Their scratches at Anti's sides were so fast now that their fingers were practically a blur as they sneered through their reply.

'Takes one to know one, glitch bitch.'

Now, Anti was shrieking. Not just from the insane speed of Yandere's tickling, but also from hearing Yandere use that awful, embarrassing nickname against him! His cheeks were hot, his form was writhing, and his face was screwed up with desperation.

'NAHAHAHA YAHAHAHAHAN!!'

Yandere giggled, and let their fingers slip away from their targets for the moment; Yandere didn't want to bring Anti to the end of his tether quite yet, they did have a point to prove after all.

'Doing alright down there?'

Anti groaned amidst his panting, Yandere's query allowing his embarrassment to still rage as he replied.

'Nohohoho....'

Even as he giggled residually, Anti had his head bowed, and soon enough he'd developed quite the flustered frown. Well, Yandere was absolutely NOT going to have that!

'Awww what's with that frown? You looked so happy just a second ago!'

Yandere cooed, which spurred Anti to growl and tilt his head so he could fix them with a glare....which only served to tell Yan that Anti was well recovered from that first bout of tickles. Yandere slipped their fingers down to where Anti's jeans had slipped by just a few millimetres, which had allowed his pale hipbones to become exposed; Yandere decided that tracing them would be a good thing to do.

'Is that your angry puppy impression? Daaaawww shall we turn that wittle frown upside dooown?'

Yandere was eager to coax out Anti's mirth once more, but it seemed that the glitch had decided to be a little more defiant. After an initial snort, he'd bitten his bottom lip and started forcing his impending giggles away, only releasing the bare minimum. After being called a damn puppy AND being cooed at, he wasn't going let Yan get what they wanted so easily!

'N-N-Noho....'

Yandere nibbled their own bottom lip with giddy glee, oh how they loved breaking people! In the nicest possible way of course. They softly drew circles against his hipbones with the very tips of their nails, adoring watching Anti tremble with ticklishness.

'I bet this tickles you so bad.....it might not feel as bad if you just let yourself laaaugh....'

They cooed, keeping up the gentle, teasing treatment as Anti frantically shook his head. He could feel the titters building inside him, begging to be released, but he couldn't let himself succumb!

'I-Iwon'tIwon'tIwohon't! Y-Youcan'tmakeme!'

Yandere laughed at that. A full on joyous, mirthful laugh they made them throw their head back....whilst Anti tried to hide his face more because hearing Yandere laugh at him like that was more flustering than he ever could have fathomed. Then their reply came into play, and Anti REALLY knew the feeling of utter flusteredness.

'Mahake you? I don't need to make you! I know if I just keep this up, this softness, you'll break down aaall by yourself.....pretty ruthless, don't you think?'

Anti squirmed as his fists, trapped under his own body, clenched with his embarrassed frustration. Every scrape, every trace of Yandere's nails just chipped away at him a little more....he knew Yandere was right. It was getting to him more and more as second after agonising second passed by; Anti even started to whimper.

'Sh-shutupshutup!'

Yandere smirked.

'I'd like to see you make me.'

Anti whined through gritted teeth, because he knew damn well he barely had enough energy to even struggle properly now. Anti had had a shred of hope inside him, hope that Yandere would get bored of the gentleness....but the tracing just didn't stop; thus, Anti broke.

'Gahahad d-dahahamit stahahappit plehease stahahappit!'

Anti's giggles were frantic and high pitched as a smile spread across his face, which made Yandere snicker with satisfaction.

'But I'm barely doing anything! Surely a ruthless man like yourself can handle some simple tracing?' 

'Ihihihi cahan't ohohokahay Ihihi cahahan't!'

....yep, you heard right, Anti DID just admit that. He was a little shocked himself, frankly he was mortified at his own confession, but with the gentle torture draining him he didn't have the capacity to even take it back. Yandere had a shred of mercy once more, allowing Anti gasp and try to regain some sense of thought, whilst of course being very genuinely sympathetic.

'You poor, poor boy....if you couldn't handle that, then I imagine this will REALLY break you.'

.....look I said shred of mercy okay! Plus, it had only been gentle tickling, so Anti had some semblance of good lung capacity and such-like....until Yandere scratched the backs of his thighs with reckless abandon that is. 

'NAHAHAHA STAHAHAHA AHAHAHAHA!!!'

Anti was a shrieking, babbling mess. His usual crow's nest of hair looked like a seriously strewn mop-head whilst his blush crept all the way down to his neck, his wild, scratching laughter streaming from him as Yandere's lips parted in gleeful shock. They weren't even scratching that hard, AND Anti was wearing his skinny jeans, so it wasn't like he was completely unprotected.

'Wohow, since when were you this ticklish? Have you been holding out on me?'

Yandere gasped dramatically, but Anti could only wail and wail with his wide eyes and wide mouth....he answered in his head though. He answered yes in his mind because, aside from right now, he'd always worked to try and maintain some form of dignity, to hide to certain tickle spots and to always be ready for an attack. Now though, he had no semblance of control, and was just hysterical, his body twitching and glitching as his nervous system became overrun by the sensations. To be frank, he couldn't handle it.

'PLEHEHEHEHEEEEASE!!!'

Yandere twisted their lips a tad....ohhh there was nothing the wanted more than to carry on and see how deep and intense Anti's ticklishness really meant....well, except, there was ONE thing they wanted more. Their friend's comfort. Yandere decided that in depth exploration would most likely be better at another time when Anti's energy was full. So after beg after beg after beg, Yandere lifted their fingers up and away from the backs of Anti's thighs; now it was definitely time for MORE than a shred of mercy.

'Alright, alright I'm done! I assume you now see that I was right about my point on ruthlessness?'

Anti just nodded. Nodded and let out incoherent whines as his body slumped as his teary eyes blinked and twitched, it was almost as if the treatment he'd received was rather ruthless. He didn't even move when Yandere got off of him because of how exhausted he was, and there he lay, for probably a good twenty minutes until he heard the shuffling noise that signified Yan coming back over to him. What spurred Anti to push himself into a sitting position however, was not Yandere per say, but actually what Yandere was carrying. Namely a platter of fully frosted cupcakes. Yandere giggled fondly when Anti snatched two and wolfed them down, smiling bashfully; after a few moments, he mumbled.

'I guess....non-painful stuff c-can be uh....canberuthless....'

Anti pursed his lips as he hurried through his last few words, he couldn't believe he'd been fricking bested! Meanwhile, Yandere gigged and plopped down on the couch, leaning into their friend who spend the next half an hour alternating between brushing crumbs off himself and brushing away the after tingles from the most amazingly ruthless torture that he'd ever had the good fortune of experiencing.

HOPE YOU GUYS LIKED THIS FIC LEMME KNOW IF YA DID WOOOOO LUV YOUS XX

[chrysalispen]

Prompt #23 - Parched [NSFW]

Nero tol Scaeva/Warrior of Light. Only the last bit of it is actually explicit, but uh. Yeah. XD Check under the cut if you want to read.

==

"What I want to know," he said, peering at the label on the bottle, "is how you managed to get your hands on a 1532 Léa Monde Valens. Could set yourself up as a wine... seller... and retire from adventuring."

"Vintner. They're called vintners, not wine sellers."

He made a careless motion with one hand. "Same shit, different pile."

Aurelia swatted at him and missed. 

"You're drunk."

"As a lord," he agreed, without any rancor. "Which is to say, only somewhat."

"So... do we have any left?"

"Fortunately for you, my sweet." He paused, lifted the bottle, and perched it atop his ribcage. "See? Not a drop wasted."

"What- there's naught left, you silly bastard. Look, it's empty."

"Is it?" He blinked somewhat owlishly at her, then tilted his head forward just enough to squint at the bottle. "Oh. So it is."

“We should probably quit while we're ahead anyroad, before we're actually drunk," she said, but let out the most regretful sigh he thought he'd ever heard from her. 

At least in the last five minutes. 

Nero propped his weight up on one elbow, braced his fist against his temple, and grinned down at her. "That's alright," he said. "I may have another gift for you."

"What's that?"

"Can't say yet."

"Mm, a secret." Aurelia stretched her arms over her head and pointed her feet to tiptoes with a soft yawn. "I have one of those myself."

"And what might that be?"

"I might tell you if the price is right."

"You're charging me for information? That's your first mistake." He leaned forward and planted a kiss on the tip of her nose; the scent of wine hung on his breath, though not overpoweringly so. "While you could probably sell the remains of that bottle for as much as your house cost, I'm afraid that's all the payment I have on me at the minute."

She tugged him towards her by the collar and leaned in until his ear was a hairsbreadth from her lips, and whispered: 

"I've got plenty more where that came from. Half dozen bottles down in my cellar."

He laughed, the sound soft and deep and sweetly vague, and proceeded to body-check her. She returned his gesture with enough force that she lost her balance. Since she was still clutching a handful of his collar - and Nero had hardly been expecting a sudden lapful of Warrior of Light - she pulled him along with her, both cackling all the while. 

The pair hit the grass beneath them with a graceless thump that surprised them enough to cut the laughter into abrupt silence, turned their heads at the same moment to stare at each other, then began to snicker again.

Aurelia rolled onto her back to stare up at the night sky, her bare toes curled in the cool, dew-kissed grass. 

Mayhap it was just the wine, but she was feeling especially light and happy tonight. Most of her past namedays had passed with little comment or fanfare, especially after her father's death, and there hadn't been much cause for celebration in the years since the Calamity. This was the first time since she was a child that she'd genuinely enjoyed herself.

She hadn't actually expected Nero to agree to split a bottle of wine and watch fireworks with her rather than spend another late night sifting through his notes on Omega. He had shown up on her doorstep with flowers and a little nameday cake that she was very surprised to discover he'd made himself. Which was terribly sweet of him really, given she hadn't made any plans other than "watch fireworks and maybe get a little drunk on supposedly rare Dalmascan wine."

He rolled over and braced his elbow in the grass alongside her ribcage, peering down at her. "Something on your mind?"

"Oh- I was just thinking how much I've enjoyed myself. I know that as nameday celebrations go this isn't terribly interesting, but thank you for playing along."

His mouth slanted across hers in a kiss that was much more slow and lingering, and much less playful than the one before it. What surprised her was the way his brow came to rest against hers, third eye pressing against hers and his chin tilted to the side a hairsbreadth, just enough to rest his lips against the corner of her mouth so he could kiss her there too.

"...What was that for?"

"Nameday kisses," Nero said, as if it were obvious. "You get thirty total, one for each year. That's three down, twenty-seven to go."

"I thought it was spankings you were supposed to get on your nameday," she said. She didn't recognize her rather blatant innuendo until it had already left her mouth and his brows had lifted so high they practically took flight, and heat bloomed across her cheeks. "...I mean. Ah."

"That can be arranged," he drawled. "Perhaps after we’ve cracked another bottle. I currently find myself feeling a bit parched."

"All that wine and you’re still not done?"

She sucked in a sharp breath at the scrape of his teeth along the column of her neck, the damp downwards trail of wet kisses he left on his way to her collarbone, then across that expanse to place a kiss on each of her shoulders. Just as suddenly he moved to sit up, all the close warmth of him gone, and Aurelia let out a small and disappointed whine. Her skin felt as though he'd set it afire, warm and prickling gooseflesh, and her nipples had pebbled beneath the soft cotton of her dress.

"That's seventeen and eighteen," he said.

She startled at the roughened warmth of his open palm on her knee. The smile Nero currently wore was that lopsided, mischievous grin that he always gave Cid when he was about to prove himself Hydaelyn’s most insufferable git, but his eyes had taken on an intense and hungry shine, and something inside her clenched at the sight of it.

She'd been expecting him to do something, just from that smouldering stare. But the pressure of his lips and the light scrape of his stubble along the sensitive flesh of her inner thigh was still enough of a shock that she let out a tiny yelp, squirming in place where he'd all but pinned her to the ground.

"Nineteen."

"Scaeva, for the Twelve's sake-"

"Hush. I'm thinking," he said, almost absently, and kissed her again in the same spot. He'd braced himself between her legs with one rough cheek pressed against her thigh, blunt fingernails scraping very gently along her outer flanks from her knees to her hips. "Twenty."

About what, exactly, she wanted to ask, but she kept getting caught on the slow tingling sensation of those nails dragging across her skin. Her heart sounded thunderous in her ears, and all the dizzy humor of the evening had been set aside for the nonce. 

Those deft hands paused on her hips, long fingers sliding beneath the sides of her smallclothes -- not to inflame but to explore. Mostly. The slow and maddening stroke of his thumbs tracing the ridges of her hip bones made her painfully aware of his relative proximity to other things.

His eyes met hers.

"May I?" he asked, the question almost absurdly polite given their current positions.

Aurelia swallowed, the sound seeming to drown out even her heartbeat, and nodded.

She heard the rustle, felt the slight friction of them as he slid the fabric with an obvious and deliberate slowness down her legs, and continued on his path. This time the kisses moved slowly upwards, with him murmuring his current count between each one until he had her anticipation nearly at fever pitch-

-and then it never happened. Instead she felt his mouth on her hipbone, the sweetly pleasant sting of a little nip.

"Thirty," Nero announced. 

It was the most absurdly cheerful tone she'd heard from him since he'd got one over on Cid, joining the Ironworks.

Aurelia scowled at him with all the ferocity she could muster. He was wearing the same stupid, insolent shite-eating grin now as he nuzzled her lower belly with his cheek, just above her mons.

"You godsdamned tease," she accused him, annoyed at how breathless and vulnerable she sounded in that moment, "you did not just-"

As it happened, Nero had simply been waiting for her to get good and annoyed - and distracted - before he made his move, right in the middle of her tirade. 

She felt the soft heat of his breath almost in the same instance as she felt the slick, hot, and shockingly intimate slide she wanted right where she needed it, and the sound she made was like nothing she'd ever heard come out of herself before.

Her back snapped into an arch, fingers knotted deeply in a handful of thick blond hair, hips twitching against him with each of the slow and even strokes that laid her open. She was so desperate to ground herself that she did pull his hair, once, and the reward she earned for it was a soft and very satisfied rumble right up against her core.

"Fuck," was all she was able to manage, in a hoarse and shaking voice, and that made him redouble his efforts until all she could do was writhe on the grass. Never mind the Ascians or the Empire; she was going to die right in the middle of the Shroud, murdered by Nero Scaeva and his godsdamned mouth.

It was not terribly long before Aurelia felt the telltale pressure and a blossoming heat, knew she was close, and then he took her clit into his mouth, suckling once, twice, and it was her undoing. 

She let out a trembling cry, every muscle taut and trembling, fingers digging furrows into the grass as she rode out her climax. 

There was a soft, pleased sigh between her legs as he lapped carefully at her through the series of small shocks that followed, releasing her only when she whined from incipient overstimulation. 

Once she'd managed to catch her breath, moving sluggishly on limbs that felt through the afterglow as though they weighed about ten tonzes apiece, she pushed herself up on trembling arms into a half-sitting position to glare down at a man who looked utterly satisfied with himself.

And utterly unrepentant.

"What?" Nero was all wide-eyed innocence, except for his smile, which had turned positively feral. "You can't forget the one to grow on."

"You scoundrel. You absolute gremlin." She was laughing weakly. She couldn't help it. Gods, he really was the worst man she'd ever met. "Have you had your fill, Master Scaeva, or are you still parched?"

"Not sure,” he said. “I think that question might warrant a bit of investigation.”

Yes, she decided as she dragged him towards her for a kiss, this was definitely the best nameday she'd had in years.

[whatshappeningcowboy]

hey murder me. "foreheads pressed into each others, sharing breath, until they dive back in for more because they thought they were done but they so were not" prompt

I love how your prompts always start with ‘murder me’ ‘destroy me’ or some variation thereof. I hope this smashes cuteness over your head killing you instantly (I’m kidding obviously but I hope it’s good and you like it!!)

Six days - six and a half, if you counted the evening he’d left, which of course MacCready did.

Word had come back over the radio from Preston that Chiv had made it safely down to The Castle around dawn on the second day. He’d cleared the Mirelurks outta the waterlogged road up to University Point with no problems, helped haul all the junk they needed over there to get set up; it had, at one point, been a pretty damn big and successful settlement, with houses and trading posts still surviving from before the Institute had taken it, and it’d been a point of interest for Preston and Ronnie Shaw for some time. Now, with the Institute smouldering to ash deep belowground, they’d finally been able to kick into gear and draft together a team of settlers willing to help build it back up to its former glory again. Chiv, of course, had jumped at the chance to help out, spoiling for somethin’ useful to do (and, no doubt, hoping he could win over the new traders with a few charming lopsided grins and well-placed compliments, secure himself some good deals in the future). And on the evening of the third day, Preston had radioed through again to say all had gone beautifully, University Point was officially the newest Minutemen settlement, and Chiv would be heading back up under cover of night.

So that was all fine.

Except that’d been three days ago - three and a half days, even - and it did not take that long to make it from The Castle back up to Red Rocket. Not even if you were Chiv, distracted by every goddamn box left by the roadside, peering in every window in case there was somethin’ interesting inside.

Even he should be able to get back quicker than that.

MacCready was trying not to worry. Really, he was; this had happened before, and Chiv always turned up just fine a day or so behind schedule, held up by Super Mutants blockading the usual roads, or getting dragged into some other job at a settlement he’d dropped in on. He’d kept himself busy teaching the Sanctuary settlers to shoot, hanging out with the dogs, finally fixing up the dent in the stock of his hunting rifle he’d been meaning to take a look at for a couple weeks. But there was only so much busywork a guy could do before the worry started gnawing in around the edges. And MacCready, who’d lost enough damn people in his life already thank you very much, was quicker than most to reach that point.

He sighed, shifted, wriggled uncomfortably in his chair, leg bouncing incessantly as he counted out the remaining boxes of .50cals for what felt like the hundredth time. If the sun rose tomorrow and Chiv wasn’t home, that’d be seven days on the dot...a whole week just for what shoulda been one simple trip to the docks and back. This wasn’t right, this wasn’t right...what if he was out there alone, injured and unable to move, supplies dwindling, bleeding out, strength failing...what if he was trapped, held captive by Raiders, cornered by Ferals? Chiv was Chiv, he was tough and brave and strong, but he was still only human. Things could go wrong. He couldn’t be lucky all the time, no-one could, and…

MacCready pushed back from the table with a shove and a growl, scattering bullets across the floor as he grabbed his rifle, jacket already half-on. Screw this. He wasn’t sitting around waiting any longer, he’d done enough of that in the time they’d been together, enough of feeling helpless whilst Chiv got dragged through a hail of gunfire in the name of heroics. This time, he was gonna -

‘Whoa, hey, hotshot. Where’re you off to in such a hurry?’

MacCready reeled back, knocked off-balance as the garage door he’d been wrenching open to storm through was slid back from the other side and he collided with something warm and solid. A hand grabbed his upper arm to steady him, another planting hard on the wall, a heady laugh ringing out as they stumbled together back into the hallway.

‘Jeez, careful, I nearly -’

‘Chiv…!’

MacCready was on him even before they’d righted themselves completely, staggering them both back against the doorframe with a thud and a hiss as he grabbed Chiv’s face in both hands and kissed him hard, a whine building in the back of his throat. Chiv’s hands slid to his waist immediately, pulled him close, brow furrowing as he tilted his head to return the kiss eagerly, teeth clashing and hands gripping and breath held until their lungs burned. 

Chiv’s laugh fanned hot across his panting mouth as they drew back, surprised but giddily happy against his lips as Chiv nudged his forehead against his, dark gaze meeting his own. His face was drawn, tired, the bags under his eyes darker than usual; there was a spreading bruise across his cheekbone, vicious purples and reds marring his skin, and a stained bandage tied haphazardly around his neck. 

But he was grinning, and breathing, and alive, and home.

‘Are you…?’

MacCready cut him off, shoving him back against the wall again as he pressed in for more, deeper this time, the edge of desperation gone but replaced with a more urgent need; the drive for reassurance, expression, everything they couldn’t quite put into words. It’d always been like this, between them; things expressed better like this, hard and sharp-edged as Chiv’s teeth found his lower lip and tugged, soft and too-sweet as their tongues met. When they finally drew back, MacCready could feel Chiv’s hands trembling as they found his hipbones and held him close.

‘Missed you too,’ Chiv whispered, and despite himself MacCready felt a laugh bubble up from his chest. ‘’M sorry, RJ. I missed you, too.’

[brickerbeetle]

1500 word soumako werewolf drabble for the hell of it :> 

There are certain downsides to having a werewolf for a boyfriend, particularly a werewolf that can change form at will.

The fur, for example. It gets fucking everywhere. In Sousuke’s closet, on the furniture, in the food. Everywhere. To add insult to injury, Makoto’s fur is also white. Wearing dark shirts is now out of the question, unless Sousuke wants to look like he just tangoed with a yeti.

Another issue is Makoto’s tendency to use his wolf form as an excuse. Sousuke has to make sure to catch him when he’s in his human form if he needs anything, otherwise Makoto will just give him a look with his big green wolf eyes that says, ‘sorry, don’t have opposable thumbs at the moment. Try again later.’ This sort of encounter happens a lot when it’s time to do laundry. Makoto swears it’s a coincidence every time. At least he has the decency to look guilty whenever Sousuke calls his bullshit. 

There’s also the whole full moon thing, which is not as light of a problem. Reminiscent of all the stories Sousuke heard about werewolves before meeting Makoto, it’s the one night of the month that Makoto has no choice but to stay in his wolf form. 

He’s dangerous those nights. Any recollection of Sousuke disappears for the next twelve or so hours, and Sousuke has no choice but to keep him in a metal kennel on their apartment building’s roof, (courtesy of their open-minded landlord,). Makoto also insists that he put a muzzle on him so he won’t howl and draw attention from the streets below. The whole process is grueling. Painful for Makoto, and hardly fun for Sousuke.

Makoto is always sore and sleepy the morning after. He never complains, but Sousuke knows it hurts him. It’s not as if he can be blamed; being locked in a kennel while trapped in the form of a feral wolf isn’t exactly comfortable. Every month he trudges back down to their apartment with a new series of self-inflicted scratches and bite-marks.

It’s painful to see, but matches the rest of him. Makoto’s body is riddled with scars from full moons he endured when he was younger. The fresh  marks pale in comparison to some of the other marks he wears.

“I couldn’t tell you where they come from, even if I wanted to,” Makoto says, as Sousuke runs the pad of his finger up one of the longer scars. It runs diagonally across his pectoral, a clean cut that’s faded pink with time. “I never remember what happens during a full moon.”

“It doesn’t bother you, not knowing?” Sousuke asks. He props himself up on one arm to meet his gaze.

“Not really. I don’t like thinking about it.”

“You could’ve fought a bear. You could’ve killed an entire family of bears, and you wouldn’t even know. How fucked up is that?”

“About as fucked up as the rest of it,” Makoto gives a tired smile. “I have my suspicions about some of my scars. Where they came from, and all.”

“Which ones?”

He shifts onto his side and points to a series of parallel cuts along his ribcage. “Something scratched me here. A house cat or a racoon, I think. Some small animal that I probably ended up eating afterwards.”

Sousuke grins and touches them lightly. “Scary.”

“Can’t tell if you’re being sarcastic, so I’m choosing to ignore that. I’m thinking this one,” - he rubs along a scar on his hipbone next - “was the work of some sort of sharp edge. Like a metal pipe, or a wood shard. Something I could’ve run into and scraped myself up on.” He lifts his arm to show off his bicep. A web of disturbed tissue covers a portion of it. “I got burned here.”

“You’re clumsy as a wolf,” Sousuke decides.

“Hey, now. I was young.”

“And uncoordinated.”

Makoto wrinkles his nose with an exaggerated frown. “Give little Makoto a break. He was scared and not used to running around on all fours.”

“Alright, alright.” Sousuke lets his hand fall. It absently trails over Makoto’s shoulder and up to his jaw. He touches his thumb to Makoto’s upper lip, where a tiny scar sits beside his cupid’s bow. “This one’s my favorite.”

Makoto’s pout fades. He smiles against his finger. “Yeah?”

“It was the first thing I noticed about you.”

“Aw. I probably got it from doing something stupid, though. Like trying to eat a metal can. Or a porcupine.”

Sousuke grins. “When I first saw it, I thought maybe it was an old piercing gone wrong. Made me think you were more than what you seem at first glance. Which is true, but I hardly expected ‘more’ to mean ‘werewolf who turns into a dumbass once every month.’”

“Mm.” Makoto opens his mouth to bite Sousuke’s finger lightly. His teeth gleam in the orange light of their bedroom lamp. Right now his unnaturally sharp canines are the only indication that he’s anything but human. They’re not as sharp as Rin’s, not so exaggerated that they draw a lot of attention from anyone not looking, but sharp enough that they could probably draw blood if Makoto’s careless. Makoto’s never careless. 

Sousuke tugs his thumb out of the grip of his teeth and lets it settle on his chin. He rubs the light stubble there absently. “What was the first thing you noticed about me?”

“Your arms,” Makoto says. “‘Nice arms,’ I thought.”

“Ha. Quite the silvertongue, aren’t you.”

He hums in agreement. “And your skin.”

“What about it?”

“It’s so flawless compared to mine. Not a mark in sight. You’re like a baby.”

Sousuke narrows his eyes defiantly. “I am nothing but a man.”

“Baby man.”

“No.”

Laughing softly, Makoto scoots closer, wriggling further down the mattress so his face is flush with Sousuke’s throat. His arm drapes over Sousuke’s waist under the sheets. “Did you see the forecast? The  temperature should be going up a lot this week.”

“Shit,” Sousuke grumbles. Higher temperatures mean spring. Spring means more people spending time outside. More people outside means Makoto needs to be careful when hunting birds and rabbits for Sousuke and Haruka to cook.

One of the perks of having a werewolf boyfriend is never needing to pay for your own quality meat, as long as you’re willing to do all the defeathering and skinning yourself. But it becomes extra tricky when the weather eases and the chance of Makoto being spotted goes way up.

“I’ll be more careful,” Makoto says.

“No,” Sousuke says. “You should stop hunting altogether. We’ll just switch back to chicken and beef.”

“Your parents are coming over next weekend,” Makoto protests. “Didn’t you want to make rabbit stew?”

“It’s fine. We shouldn’t risk someone seeing you and reporting a wolf infestation, like last year.”

“I’ll be careful,” Makoto repeats himself with determination.

Sousuke pulls away enough for their gazes could meet. “Makoto, please no. You could get shot.”

“I won’t. I’m fast.”

“You said that last year, too.”

“I was barely nicked, Sousuke.” Makoto meets his gaze, unfazed and smiling softly. He is not at all concerned, and that has Sousuke concerned. “Don’t worry so much, okay? I can handle myself.”

“Rabbit stew isn’t worth your life,” Sousuke insists.

“The forecast might be wrong,” Makoto barters. “You’ve been wanting to cook this for your parents for a month now, Sousuke. I’ll be alright. A blip in temperature isn’t going to change that much.”

“I don’t like it.”

“I know. I swear I’ll be fast.”

Sousuke frowns. “Even if I ask you not to, you’ll hunt anyway.”

“That’s not true,” Makoto says, but his voice is small. At Sousuke’s expression he cracks a weak smile. “I just think you worry too much, and I want to give you what you want.”

“What I want is for you to be safe.”

“I will be. One rabbit is hardly a difficult catch. I’ll have it by tomorrow.”

They hold each other’s gaze as Sousuke considers it. He gives a relenting sigh and rests his chin back on Makoto’s head. “Fine. But I don’t like it.”

“You don’t like most things,” Makoto says, pleased. He untangles himself from Sousuke’s grip and rolling over to his bedside table. The covers shift as he props himself up and reaches for his phone, presumably to set an alarm. “I’ll even leave early tomorrow morning, if it helps.”

“Only tomorrow,” Sousuke says. “If you don’t catch anything then, we should just call it. Missing out on the stew won’t kill anyone.”

“Deal.” Makoto puts his phone back on the table and settles in on his back. He tilts his chin up to meet Sousuke when he bends to kiss him. “Thanks for worrying about me. You’re sweet.”

“I sort of like having you around, believe it or not,” Sousuke grumbles. “Even if you do get fur everywhere.”

Makoto winces apologetically. “I’ll do a deep cleaning before your parents come.”

“Damn right you will.”

[supernaturally-writing]

Witches, Man.

A/N: So, ever since Regarding Dean, I have officially been run over by the Ship Train! I’ve lowkey shipped Rowena and Dean, and I’ve wanted to write something for them, but I simply had no motivation, ideas, or time. Soooo, I opened my blog to ideas for smut, and Dean x Rowena popped up! So, of course, I knew the universe had to be telling me something, so here it is! Requested by @apritelleorai, who shares my mindset with this ship! 

Word Count: 1985

Warnings: SMUT. It’s all smut, almost no plot. Like, at all. Rough smut, irritated Dean. 

Summary: A rowdy coven of witches brings together two polar opposites as Rowena and Dean steak out to bring them down. A formal party sets the scene for potions, spells, and fogged bathroom mirrors. Who knows what happened to the pair in that bar-- and who knows if they’ll regret the consequences, or if they’ll find a new, unmistakable chemistry. 

(I’m shit at summaries.) 

Masterlist 

It was no secret that I’ve never particularly liked Rowena. It’s no secret that the feeling was mutual, either. But damn, could that woman clean up well.

Those were the thoughts that ran through Dean’s head, lightning quick flashes of barely coherent thought, as Rowena stepped out of her temporary room in the Bunker. They’d grouped together for a hunt, using Rowena’s knowledge of the witch community to infiltrate a local hub of covens. It had taken several weeks to work their way into the trust of the community, at least enough to be invited to a Saturday night party in one of their underground (literally and metaphorically) bars. Sam hadn’t been too happy with the arrangement, though the older Winchester hadn’t seen much of him as of late. He’d been in and out, popping in every few days as he drove around on some much needed solo missions. The space had alleviated some of the tension between the brothers, but it had also left Dean alone with Rowena. Unsupervised. While Rowena strutted her stuff about the Bunker, as if the whole ordeal were nothing at all, and they weren’t trying to take out an entire coven of witches.

It was Saturday night, the night of their big infiltration, and the occasion called for formal attire. Initially, Dean had scowled in the mirror, pulling at the collar of his red button-up. The tie made the outfit pop; black silk with undertones of navy blue that shimmered and shifted between the colors in the light. Now, though, as he stood with his hands in the pockets of his slacks, he hated the situation even more. After all. . . It had brought him to this.

Rowena emerged from her room looking like a goddess incarnate. Womanly curves hugged by off-white silk, one shoulder bare while the other arm was hidden away under a thin sleeve that stretched all the way to her wrist. Dean’s eye caught on the low neckline; the fabrics pushed up and exaggerated the line of a woman’s cleavage. And oh, did it work. Still, he didn’t allow his gaze to linger too long; when he met Rowena’s eyes, she was smirking, red-swathed lips pulled into a devilish smile.

“Like what’cha see, Winchester?”

“Shut up,” he snapped, and turned on his heel to walk down the hall towards the garage. Still, despite his attitude, he had to reach down and adjust himself, ensuring that his hard-on wouldn’t be tenting his slacks the whole night.

The two sat in the Impala, watching the entrance to the location they’d been given via text the hour before. Rowena fixed her makeup in a compact while Dean ignored her; she wiped at her waterline, ensuring her eyeliner was perfect. She hadn’t put on any shadow today, and the simple swipe of kohl had made her look. . . Younger. Impossibly more attractive. It really wasn’t fair.

Dean twiddled his thumbs as he gripped the steering wheel, listening to the pitter-patter of the rain on the roof as he tried to ignore the heat of the woman beside him. She sighed softly, delicious lips parting to elicit an equally as delicious sound, and Dean ground his teeth. His head was in the gutter, and it would probably get them killed, or worse.

“Ready, Winchester?” Rowena asked, ire lacing her tone as she turned to watch him. Dean could feel her stare, as if it were a hot iron, burning through his core, pulling the truth out of him.

God, did he hate that woman. But man, given the chance. . . He wouldn’t say no to seeing what that impudent mouth could do.

“As ready as I’ll ever be,” he finally muttered, climbing out of the Impala. He remembered with a jolt that they were posing as a couple, the most cliche excuse ever, and sulked his way around to the passenger side of the car. Opening the door and holding out an umbrella for a woman had never been so difficult.

Getting inside was easy. They had the text, the clothes, the happy-couple-facade. Acting had always been second nature to him, just under hunting, and Rowena proved to be just as skilled at lying and smiling. The difficult part was working their way through the crowd and trying to stay as far off radar as possible. Still, to blend in, Dean slipped his arm around Rowena’s lower back, his hand resting on her hip; he growled when she giggled, her thin hand patting his clenched fingers. He was probably hurting her, with how hard he was gripping her hip. He decided he didn’t care.

They’d just made their way to the bar when a woman in a silver cocktail dress sidled up beside them. She leaned against the bar on Rowena’s side, a flirtatious smirk curling at her lips. Glitter sparkled every time she blinked; Dean found himself immediately drawn to her. He scolded himself, his consciousness reeling, when he finally realized he was relaxing, leaning in, pressing Rowena closer to the woman as he leaned forward.

Who knew what kind of spells and potions these people had mixed up. With that thought, he set down the whiskey he’d ordered, his tongue going dry.

The two witches conversed easily, talking some nonsense about business Dean had no place being in. So, to detach himself, he excused himself to the restroom.

Luckily for him, no one else was in the bathroom, and he was free to lean against the bank of sinks and rub his face. Being away from the crowd, away from the stench of cologne and perfumes and whatever witch bullshit they had out there, allowed him to breathe properly. He pulled in deep lungfuls of clean air, exhaling long and slow.

He flicked on the cool water, letting it run for three heartbeats, before he dipped his cupped hands under the flow and pressed his face into his palms. The cool felt sharp against his skin; his cock jumped in his trousers, still as hard as it had been when they’d left the Bunker. At this point, it was really beginning to ache; he winced when he adjusted himself again.

He mentally steeled himself to return to the crowd of witches.

He shut off the water and wiped his face before trudging back for the door-- only, he didn’t make it to the threshold before the door was swinging open, admitting a flushed Rowena. She pressed the door closed behind her, the lock audibly clicking home. Dean went rigid, hand drifting for the holster under his arm.

“Always so serious,” Rowena purred, pushing off of the door. She sashayed towards him, even as Dean retreated, her gaze raking up and down his form. The heat of her eyes, the weight of her stare as she finally met his own gaze, made Dean’s blood rush-- and it definitely didn’t help the situation downstairs. “Relax, Winchester. I’m not gonna hurt ‘ya. In fact. . . I wanna do the exact opposite.” The redhead allowed a small giggle, her smile only growing when Dean’s back hit the opposite wall.

Warning bells peeled through his brain. This wasn’t Rowena. Sure, it was her body, her accent, her insolent smile-- but it wasn’t her. Something was off. She was too. . . Flirty.

He’d just opened his mouth to tell her to shove off, that he’d shoot her with no regret whatsoever and leave her to rot in this bathroom, when her scent hit him. She smelled like roses and sugar and sex incarnate. The smells clashed, mingled, washed over him and muddled his senses, until she was all he could think about.

A memory pricked at his brain, a sentence or instinct or something, but Dean couldn’t place it. All that mattered was Rowena, in front of him, hands drifting all over her own body. Her fingers pressed and squeezed at one breast, the other hand drifting to her bare shoulder. She hooked her digits in the material of her dress and pulled it down in one leisurely tug. Dean’s eyes followed the slide of silk all the way down to her ankles, before his gaze tracked back up her body. She’d gone commando, and now she was as naked as the day she was born.

Dean didn’t know when he’d started shedding clothes. He registered shrugging off his suit coat, flinging it on the counter as a cushion before he stepped forward and swept Rowena off her feet, placing her bare ass on the material. She kicked off her heels and he unbuttoned his trousers, shimmying them down his hips until they were pooled at his ankles.

Rowena reached out and pushed Dean back before he would pin her and fuck her, her hands encircling his cock and giving one exploratory pump. Her fingers tightened, loosened, pulled and pushed, and Dean threw his head back, eyes fluttering closed as heat flared through his veins, centering in his abdomen.

He batted her hands away with a growl before he could cum.

“I’ll never last long enough to fuck you if you keep doin’ that, Princess,” he gasped, replacing her hand with his to squeeze the base of his cock.

“Queen. If you’re goin’ to give me nicknames, might as well be accurate about it,” Rowena snipped in response. She gave him a haughty smirk as he growled, low and feral, irritation sparking behind his sternum. He snapped his hands out, fingers digging into hipbones, and pulled the witch forward, until her legs were draped around his waist and his head was pressed to her entrance.

She was absolutely dripping.

“Fuck-- I really hate you sometimes, y’know that?” Still, Dean pushed into her, pulling her down onto his hips as he pistoned upwards in one sharp thrust. She gasped and clawed as his arms, now bare, his shirt and tie discarded some time ago. Her muscles fluttered around him, clenching and relaxing as she adjusted to his size, and he tipped his head forward to rest his forehead on her shoulder.

“The feelin’s mutual, love,” she finally drawled, rolling her hips. She’d relaxed enough around him for him to retract his hips and pump forward again. The sounds between them were outrageously pornographic; it only turned the pair on even more.

Dean set a brutal pace, plunging forward hard and fast, pressing against the resistance of her cervix with every thrust. There was no kissing, though Rowena bit all along Dean’s shoulder, and the Winchester left several dark hickies on Rowena’s. Before Dean could cum, he pulled out, much to Rowena’s displeasure, and pulled her off the counter. He bent her over the sink, so she was facing the mirror, and plunged into her depths again.

They watched each other as they took turns fucking; Dean thrusting quick and deep, Rowena rolling her hips long and shallow. By the time Dean finally pressed home with a grunt and a string of curses, twitching as deep within her as his hips could press, Rowena had came twice, shouting her ecstasy for all to hear, should anyone have been listening.

They cleaned up shakily, and in thick silence, Rowena wiping up the mess between her legs while Dean cleaned the slick from his member, which was still half hard and quickly twitching back to life. The stamina puzzled him; he didn’t feel winded, or tired, like he normally did. He felt like he was seventeen again, ready for another round. Nevertheless, he stuffed himself back into his trousers, adjusting himself so he wouldn’t be so obvious. When he turned around again, fully clothed and mostly intact, Rowena was standing by the door, looking very much like she hadn’t just been bent over the counter and fucked until she screamed.

Some small part of Dean hated her all the more for looking just as delectable as she had ten minutes beforehand.  

Dean plastered on a smile nevertheless, and followed Rowena back into the fray.

@waywardsons-imagines

@teamfreewillimagines

@imaginemethisplease

@imagineallthewinchester

@imagineteamfreewill

@imagines-in-plaid

@obsessedwith-dean-castiel-sam

@deanwinchestersmut

[captain-erwinmerica]

Masquerade 5 - As Cities Burn

Chapters 1-4 can be found here, or on Ao3 here

This chapter is for @kantonliu, who has been doing some amazing fanart for Masquerade and I literally can't thank them enough. Find it here and here on their tumblr account.

I’m not gonna lie, writing tension can get draining af, so take this filler chapter that gave me a nice break from angst haha. 

The door clicked shut behind Yuuri as he pushed Victor into the room, sealing in their secrets, locking in all the tension that was currently setting Yuuri’s blood on fire all over again.

Victor played along with a feral curl of his lip as Yuuri pushed him again, back onto the double bed in the centre of the room, plain cotton duvet with only a pillow for each person, simple, if not for the most complicated person on the planet currently scooting backwards to settle himself against the headboard.

Still fully suited in all his glory, the pressed line of his dress pants running along the top of his muscled thighs as he spread them in open invitation, tie impeccable with buttons still done up too far, as if to mock Yuuri by hiding the true prize underneath.

Even behind closed doors; Victor sometimes still liked to pretend, liked to play this game where he was the unshakeable Victor Nikiforov who still had every ounce of control at his fingertips, and so he beckoned Yuuri with nothing but hooded eyes and a self assured smirk that dared Yuuri to do his worst.

There was no way in seven hells that Yuuri could turn down an offer like this, because as intimidating and imposing as Victor was right now, even though it looked like he could order someone’s heart to stop beating without a second thought, like he could make you want to kneel and kiss his feet; Yuuri knew it for the game that it was, because Victor sighed Yuuri’s name then as his need to continue where they left off won over.

And so it was Yuuri crawling onto the bed after him, over him, knees planted either side of Victor’s hips, hands atop the edge of the headboard so he could loom over Victor’s face for a closer look at all that was his.

He wouldn’t ever get over it, the line of his jaw or the curve of his lip, the flawless colour of his skin or his thick silver eyelashes that only served to draw you in the depths of his person. The lone freckle he had on his left cheekbone, the striations of blue in his irises that never seemed to be the same the next time he looked at them.

“Sometimes, I don’t even think you’re a real person.” Yuuri commented dryly as anticipation lodged in his throat, because everytime the realisation never failed to stun him that someone could actually exist who Yuuri felt this strongly for. It was terrifying.

“You can’t kiss what isn’t real, Yuuri.” Victor prompted then with an amused huff, and then the feather light touch of his fingers found the nape of Yuuri’s neck to urge him close, to bring their lips together in whispers of kisses until it was clear that Yuuri wasn’t going to stop.

Victor’s hand fell away to his side then as Yuuri kissed him deeper, open mouthed and chaste and not quite deep enough for Victor’s liking, it was fun to make Victor clench at the sheets in frustration, fun to have Victor growl as Yuuri pulled away and trailed nips of teeth and kisses down his jaw instead.

Yuuri pulled at the knot of Victor’s tie as he went to work on the heated skin of Victor’s pulse, tugging at the silk until it came loose enough to let him undo the top button, and the next button after that, and every other button until he got to waistband of Victor’s dress pants.

That’s when Yuuri couldn’t fight the urge to have another look, couldn’t help sitting back on his knees to see Victor’s ravenous gaze staring back at him with impatience and the mask of Victor Nikiforov back with not a hint of anything else underneath; demanding Yuuri to keep going.

And Yuuri would never fail to want either, to burn from the inside out because Victor’s suit jacket was pushed open just enough to reveal the unmistakable butt end of his weapons in their holsters, still fully loaded and so thrillingly dangerous, then there was his crisp white dress shirt underneath; parted enough to reveal the muscled dip in Victor’s chest, the ripple of his abs as he breathed his lust heavy breaths, a path of perfect skin that in this moment, was made to be worshipped.

Yuuri did just that, let himself be drawn back down by the sight of Victor’ bare skin that was there for the tasting.

“I think I like this method of you making it up to me.” Victor hummed then as his head fell back against the headboard, as he closed his eyes and relished the feel of Yuuri’s lips lighting fire down his skin.

And Victor groaned, a deep rumble in his chest as he caught on to where this was going, the tented fabric of his pants enough to communicate his own want.

Yuuri couldn’t say who would like it more, the novelty of being able to be spontaneous wouldn’t ever wear off, the notion of just being able to fool around because all they had now was time, time to drive each other to the brink of a different kind of insanity.

The metallic clink of Victor’s belt buckle seemed obscene in the silence, filthy in what it stood for, agonising as it pooled the tension low in Yuuri’s gut. Victor offered his hips to the ceiling without resistance so Yuuri could pull them down enough to make his heart lose its mind, to reveal the sharp corners of his hips and the muscled V that led down to his briefs, to fully uncover the scar Yuuri had sliced into his skin years ago.

Yuuri always started there, the top of the silvery knit of healed skin, sucking and nibbling his way down as Victor’s fingers curled tighter in the covers, and it was funny how someone so seemingly unbreakable, someone so strong and so collected could crumble in an instant when Yuuri got to the panel of soft flesh below his hipbone. That was always the part that Yuuri liked most, because Victor’s hands found his head then as he gasped, fingers wound their way into his hair, unrelenting in their grip because Victor was never shameless in saying what he wanted, in expressing how good he felt, and it was Yuuri’s pleasure to make Victor want it more than his brain knew how to cope with.

So Yuuri gave his body more slow attention, laves of his tongue that dipped under the elastic band of his briefs as the grip in his hair slowly pulled tighter, as Victor rolled his hips up, opened his legs further and shuddered when Yuuri put him partially out of his misery to mouth at the fabric restraining Victor’s dick.

He wound Victor up more, as much as he could, he wrecked his breathing, pinned his hips down to make Victor growl once again with frustration and pleasure all at the same time. Yuuri sucked and nipped, running his teeth up the damp material in a mocking rehearsal of what Victor really wanted.

He could feel Victor’s eyes watching his every move now, attentive and rapt on the vision of Yuuri’s pink lips working over the black fabric of his underwear, the contrast of colour no doubt making everything that much easier to see.

And it seemed Victor couldn’t take much teasing today, because the threaded fingers in his hair pulled Yuuri just far enough up for eye contact, for Yuuri to see Victor with his pupils blown, the rapid rise and fall of his chest, and that feral smirk back again because he knew Yuuri was going to give him what he wanted.

“You’re horrible, Yuuri, to make me wait like this.” Victor teased, heated and antagonistic as he brought his other hand up to run his thumb along the line of Yuuri’s bottom lip, tugging on it as he spoke.

“Good things come to those who wait, Victor.” Yuuri teased back, sucking at Victor’s thumb for good measure, spiking the fire in Victor’s eyes because it wasn’t his thumb that Victor wanted Yuuri’s mouth on at all.

Despite the madness in his eyes, Victor still managed to reply with the sincere and heartbreaking voice of the truth, the whisper traveled down Yuuri’s skin; “Don’t you think I’ve waited long enough to have you, Yuuri?”

Victor’s palm radiated warmth as Yuuri gave in then and leant into the touch, as he kissed Victor’s hand and let himself be swept away all over again. “Yeah,” Yuuri agreed, “I think you have.”

And it was insane, how Victor could make Yuuri want to give him everything with just a word like that, how he could make Yuuri want to spoil him rotten with attention and pleasure and everything that Victor craved. This is why Victor was most dangerous like this.

Yuuri didn’t need the hand in his hair to guide him back down, but it did, it pulled his hair tighter in anticipation as Yuuri pulled Victor’s briefs down at last, as he took Victor’s throbbing dick in his hand and positioned it in front of his lips.

Victor was watching still, brows pinched with restraint as Yuuri thumbed the smooth skin on the underside of his length, pulsing as blood pumped through to make him harder still.

“Don’t hold back.” Victor quoted Yuuri’s own words back to him, made them a challenge and an order all at once, an invitation for Yuuri to do his worst, because that’s the way Victor liked it.

Yuuri didn’t waste anymore time then, no more teasing kisses and licks, he took Victor completely by surprise as Yuuri wet his lips one last time and then promptly took Victor into his mouth with a slow drag of his lips sealed tight around his girth.

“Fuck.” was all Victor managed then, his grip now painfully tight in Yuuri’s hair as he threw his head back and exhaled an explosive breath.

“More, take it all in.” Victor urged, and it really was as Yuuri said; Victor wasn’t ashamed to tell Yuuri exactly what he wanted.

He wasn’t afraid to moan aloud without a care about his volume as Yuuri took him all the way to the back of his throat, he wasn’t embarrassed to bite at his own lip and use both of his hands to cup the back of Yuuri’s head, to rock his hips up and slowly fuck Yuuri’s face in slow, drawn out thrusts.

Victor’s fingers scratched at his scalp as he let out a huff of pleasure, as he bared his neck to the ceiling and let his jaw hang slack with silent words that weren’t in English anymore.

And Yuuri liked that reaction a lot, he liked the way it twisted the heat in his gut and pooled the tension in his groin, he liked that he was the only person that Victor would give his control to like this.

So Yuuri swallowed him back deep in his throat, massaged Victor’s length all the way up as he laved at the base with his tongue, pulled at the smooth skin with his lips, he did it over and over again as Victor moved his hips, as Victor’s body coiled taut with need, as Victor’s stinging grip drew tears from the corners of Yuuri’s eyes.

“Yesss, like that.” Victor hissed when Yuuri changed rhythm, as he sped up and let Victor pull his hips back before rocking them up to bury himself deep into the heat of Yuuri’s mouth, and Yuuri knew there was no control left with Victor now, because the steady pace increased, as frantic and needy as the stuttered breaths Victor was taking.

“Ungh, Yuuri.” Victor whispered one last time, and Yuuri didn’t need a warning, because he knew the moments right before Victor came more than Victor did himself.

All of Victor’s muscled tensed at once as his lower back arched against Yuuri’s face, fingers lost their strength as he pulled at Yuuri’s hair desperately to grind deep in Yuuri’s throat, his breath froze heavy in his throat, and it was all the instant before Victor came with release of all that tension, as his breath raced from his lungs with a rumble of pleasure, as his hips lost rhythm and trembled in the weakness of Victor’s high.

And before Yuuri could finish swallowing it down; Victor was already in full control of his senses as he tugged Yuuri back up, as he settled Yuuri on his lap, sideways against his chest so he could suck at Yuuri’s neck with fervour, so he could feel the rolling motion of Yuuri’s throat as Yuuri swallowed the last of his release, and that only made Victor more fervent in the attention he gave Yuuri’s skin, because it made Victor crazy with satisfaction that Yuuri took every single part of him.

“You know, I hate that you’re so good at that.” Victor mumbled against his skin after a time, after his breathing evened out and his pulse had slowed, as he cupped Yuuri’s dick over the fabric of his pants and rubbed with his palm only a mocking amount of friction.

“Why?” Yuuri could only question with half of his attention, but Victor stopped then instead, his hand firm around the shape of Yuuri’s own desperate need, his mouth threateningly hot as he blew puffs of air on Yuuri’s skin to raise the hairs on his neck.

“You were that good when we first met, and it makes me boil with jealousy, Yuuri, because you must of learnt with someone else.” Victor confessed with a quiet mutter, dark and greedy and dead serious, once again not afraid to say exactly what he was feeling. “I even killed one of my men when I got back once because I was in such a temper.”

And Yuuri could only laugh and take Victor’s hand at that, thread their fingers together and kiss him as he faced Victor’s obsession head on with his own. “You’re insufferable.” Yuuri teased.

It’s not like he could ever reveal exactly where Yuuri had picked up on all these things, the moment Minako found out Yuuri was %100 gay when he was 16 years old was the moment Yuuri’s life became hell. She used to ramble on in the middle of sparring sessions about the perfect way to seduce a man, the best way to con him into giving up everything he owned, or about the best sexual position to be in so you could slit someones throat before they knew what hit them, all the way down to the right way to literally blow someones mind like Yuuri had just done. It was pretty damn hard not to take it all in when Minako used to drill him with questions out of the blue in the middle of fight training, because if he got the answer wrong he’d have to endure that particular lesson all over again. Like Yuuri said, hell.

No fucking way could Victor ever find that out.

“It’s lucky you think I’m hot then.” Victor chuckled as he ran his nose up behind Yuuri’s ear with a tickle of breath.

Once again, Yuuri couldn’t help himself, because Victor was too easy, too addictive and too adorable when he took the bait.

“When did I ever say that?” Yuuri cocked a brow as he questioned, laughing the instant Victor gasped and then followed it with his ridiculous heart shaped mouth and watery blue eyes as he whined.

“Yuuuri!” and even as he said it was laughing too, rolling them both over on the bed to pin Yuuri down by the hands with his hands, by the hips with his hips, half hard against Yuuri again already.

When Yuuri said Victor was insufferable it was meant in the best possible way, because now he was looming over Yuuri, eyes alive with a childish expression, and then there was the rest of him, his jacket and shirt hanging wide open to reveal the full expanse of his body, the thick muscles of his chest, the flex of his abs as Victor braced his core to hold himself up, there was so much strength inside this one person, and it drove Yuuri crazy in turn.

“You’re right.' Yuuri eventually said, not afraid to admit this one thing, “I do think you’re pretty hot.”

Victor’s expression turned into one of triumph in the blink of an eye, self confident and playfully arrogant as he spoke. “I know.”

It was Victor’s turn to kiss him this time, to take control and kiss him until Yuuri could no longer forget his own aching need.

“Now that you’ve paid your dues, let me take care of you, Yuuri.”

It was late morning, after Victor well and truly took care of Yuuri, after a few hours sleep that Yuuri walked back down the hallway in Victor’s shirt instead of his own bloodstained one, and even though it was too big, the scent of Victor on his skin fit just right.

He’d left Victor to sleep, to lay in and catch up on rest because for the last week he’d been the last to shut his eyes and the first to wake, and that was even though Yuuri slept minimal hours himself. He would never forget the image of walking in on Victor in the lounge after Yuuri woke to find the bed empty, standing at the window that looked over the ocean with a searching gaze that was trying to see everything at once, his blue eyes vivid against the dim light of dusk, it would haunt him, because Yuuri hated seeing Victor alone.

The kitchen was empty when he found it, the polished wooden floors cold underfoot as he padded across to explore the cupboards for a glass so he could get a drink and try forge another plan to make it to Phichit in one piece.

The window over the spotless stainless steel bench looked out over the expanse of concrete that Yuuri crossed earlier to get to the house, and from here he got to take in more of the property as he filled a glass from the tap at the sink.

The garage where they’d left the car was nestled next to another double doored garage, Yuuri could see through the open doors from here, and inside there wasn’t more equipment for Otabek’s trade like he thought there might be, but rows of motorbikes that were all polished until Yuuri could see their chrome accents shining even from this distance.

That would explain where Yurio got the motorbike from to get to their house in the hills.

There were stacks of spare tyres and pieces of machinery even Yuuri couldn’t name, all well kept and rust free should they be needed for Otabek’s next job, Yuuri guessed. He was halfway through refilling his glass again, looking into the overcast sky into a future that Yuuri couldn’t even begin to predict anymore when the sound of another pair of footsteps entered the kitchen behind him.

Yuuri turned on instinct, put his back to the window because it felt so fundamentally wrong to leave it exposed to anyone, and Otabek just continued into the room, nonchalant as he went to the same cupboard to get himself a coffee cup before setting the jug to boil.

“Coffee?” Otabek asked like this could have been their usual morning routine, like outside this fenced property the Russian Mafia wasn’t turning St Petersburg on its head to find them.

“Thanks.” Yuuri appreciated Otabek’s sense of calm, found himself comforted in the fact that Victor trusted this person.

Time stretched out as the sound of the jug boiling filled the gap, the bubble of water, the hiss of steam as the button flicked back when the water reached temperature, it was easy to be in the same room with Otabek and feel at ease, Yuuri noted.

“This morning was the second time.” Otabek spoke randomly as he moved about the kitchen with the clink of spoons on ceramic as he made coffee for two.

“Sorry?” unable to follow the meaning, Yuuri looked to Otabek then, who’d stopped what was doing and was looking at Yuuri eye to eye with no intent or judgement.

“This morning was the second time I’ve been scared of someone.” came the blunt admission, Otabek’s expression was impassive, but Yuuri knew at that moment there weren’t any lies hiding anywhere underneath his skin.

“That’s not something I hear very often.” Yuuri brushed it off as a cup of black coffee was handed to him.

“Pfft, from the way Yura was going on about you a few hours ago I wouldn’t believe it.” Otabek gave him a sideways glance as he leant against the countertop.

“Appearances can be deceiving.” was all Yuuri said as he took to looking out the window again, and nothing he’d ever said in his life had been more true than that.

“Words to live by.” came the quiet agreement, and Yuuri didn’t know why after knowing this person for not even the space of a day that he found that he liked him, maybe because Otabek seemed open enough, maybe he had nothing to hide. He didn’t ask questions, didn’t try to pick you apart on first sight, and that wasn’t something you encountered very often in his walk of life

“You’re sure you want to involve yourself in this?” Yuuri asked when his cup was half empty, because he wouldn’t tolerate someone joining them with half assed intentions.

Otabek smirked then, it was small and sly, and there was no way Yuuri could have misunderstood it. “I was already involved. I met with Yakov and Georgi during the week, they gave me a big sum and contracted me to find you… but they never explicitly stated that I had to tell them when I did.” and he let himself have a quiet chuckle as he sipped at his coffee.

All Yuuri could do was stare back at Otabek, rightfully stunned at the sheer guts it took to deceive such a powerful organisation.

“Shit was going to hit the fan either way, if I could have given Vitya enough time to slip away then that would have been better, but it was too late.” Otabek shrugged as he continued, seemingly comfortable with telling Yuuri this information, “Yura wouldn’t let up, I made him promise not to do anything drastic, but it looks like you won’t have any trouble with him now.”

“Why?” was all Yuuri could ask, and Otabek knew exactly what he meant, because you didn’t just help someone and not expect to get anything out of it.

That was when Otabek turned to face him, his intelligent eyes only now just trying to decipher Yuuri for the first time, to gauge Yuuri’s potential reaction to his next words.

“Victor needs something better to live for, deserves it, which is why I was surprised when I heard it was someone from the Katsuki family, given your history and all. I can tell there’s more to it between you than that, but that’s none of my business.”

Once again Otabek was just stating facts, it wasn’t accusatory or searching, there was no hidden barbs in the statement, and in this Yuuri appreciated it more than Otabek would ever know. “Plus something tells me you two are worth following.” Otabek added as he stepped forward and offered his hand.

Yuuri shook it, felt the calloused skin and his firm grip, the confidence in Otabek’s person, he would be tough to come toe to toe with if it came to it, but there was no one Yuuri wouldn’t fight now in order to give Victor as much as he’d given Yuuri, as much as he’d given up for Yuuri.

“Otabek Altin.” he finally said as a proper introduction.

“Katsuki Yuuri.” Yuuri said in turn, and it’d been a long time since he’d given anyone his name with the full intention of revealing who he was.

The hand in his turned stiff in Yuuri’s grasp, Otabek’s arm rigid in alarm as his eyes widened with comprehension.

“As in Katsuki by blood?” Otabek questioned, unable to hide his surprise and curiosity, an expression Otabek probably didn’t make often.

“Messed up right?”

“Well shit, even I have to admit that now, this is more complicated than I thought.” with a shake of his head, Otabek cleared away his disbelief as he laughed at himself. “I was right to be scared then.”

“Only if you go back on your word…” Yuuri drawled low then, feeling his blood simmer at the mere thought of someone betraying not his trust, but Victor’s.

“I won’t.” was all Otabek could say as he saw some of the ugly truths slip from beneath Yuuri’s facade, it was one thing to know how far Yuuri would go, but it was another thing entirely to see it.

And Yuuri always did like the reaction he got, too.

Yuuri managed to rehash the plan with Otabek while Victor slept, Otebek could smuggle them to Chelyabinsk and get them on a private plane that would take most of their belongings without questions. Once they set foot in Thailand they’d be on their own until they met up with Phichit.

Otabek would stay behind to tie up some loose ends, try and point the Russians in the wrong direction to give them time, to hold off one enemy long enough so that they could deal with the other, because one of the worst things that could happen would be getting stuck in between the two families at the same time.

That was a situation in and of itself that Yuuri didn’t even want to think about, and it was down right stupid for him to say, but maybe if he didn’t think about it, didn’t plan for it, then it wouldn’t ever happen. Because things would happen that Yuuri would otherwise spend the rest of his life trying to prevent.

It didn’t take long at all to solidify a plan of action, Otabek was agreeable to all that Yuuri said, accepting the role of Yuuri’s leadership without complaint. He agreed Thailand would be a place most wouldn’t think to start looking, and given Phichit’s profession, if they were with him they’d most likely know before anyone got close enough to be a threat.

Phichit wasn’t someone who got his hands dirty, more like he was an aid to helping others dirty their own. He was an extremely resourceful information broker, if there was information you wanted to confirm, photos you needed for blackmail or evidence; fabricated or real, then Phichit was the person to go to. If you needed a rumour put out or a rumour confirmed, no one was better than Phichit at playing whispers on the wind.

Phichit would be full of information that Yuuri needed right now, and the sooner they reached him the better.

He first met the cheerful Thai at University in Tokyo, where Minako had moved with him during his studies so he could better his English, so he could learn business and economics and all the skills needed that would make him qualified enough to run legitimate businesses to cover the lies underneath. It was the fundamental principal of organised crime in Japan after all, his family had multiple assets that were only camouflage, tools to help smuggle and aid in tax fraud, Yuuri had to learn it all, though he could never understand why.

It was his first year that Phichit became one of the only people that Yuuri would call friend, one day during a boring lecture on business law; Phichit had taken the always empty seat beside him with an innocent smile and introduced himself, he hadn’t cared about the rumours surrounding Yuuri’s random attendance to classes, and they’d been friends through thick and thin, through lies and then truths ever since.

If there was anyone that genuinely wanted to see Yuuri happy, to help him no questions asked; it was Phichit.

In the end it was decided that they would make a move tonight, they’d rearrange baggage and gather their strength until nightfall came, have a few more moments of respite and quiet until everything was thrown into action once more.

With that settled, coffee and porridge cooked by Otabek in his stomach, Yuuri finally gave in to the urge to go and watch Victor sleep, to listen to the rhythm of his breath and watch the flutter under his eyelids, to let the image calm the new forming tension in the back of his mind.

Before he could even make it out of the kitchen though, a foot halfway though the doorway brought him face to face with Yuri Plisetsky who stopped dead in his tracks.

Yurio opened his mouth to make some snide remark, and he closed it again when no words came, he made to poke Yuri in the chest with his finger until he thought better of it after all, until in the end he exploded as all his questions culminated into one single line.

“Oi. Are you a fucking ninja or something huh?” he didn’t shout or snarl, his voice was full of tamed snark as much as it was real curiosity, like he loathed to even be asking the question.

Behind him through the doorway, Otabek barked a laugh at the kitchen table, loud and booming in his amusement because hearing a question like that after learning the truth was cause enough for it.

Even Yuuri couldn’t help but laugh under his breath as Yuri looked up and him, serious with his question still.

“You’ll never know.” Yuuri winked with a smirk.

He left Yurio standing bug eyed and indignant in the hall with Otebek snickering still in the kitchen, lost for words as Yuuri went back to the bedroom to see Victor.

The sleeping beauty was curled on his side when he found him, hair feathered across the pillow, the sheets tucked under his arm to reveal the top half of his bare chest with his skin flawless agains the white of the sheets.

Yuuri almost laughed, because how could someone who looked so peaceful and content in sleep like that be so contradictory when they were awake, Yuuri knew there was a storm inside Victor as much as he tried to not let it show, and there was so much about him that Yuuri still needed to learn.

For now he would settle with this as he sat on Victor’s side of the bed to keep watch, because even being in the same room with Victor was worth more than Yuuri could name.

It hadn’t even been a minute before Victor’s hand shot out with a speed that said he was well and truly awake, before he grabbed Yuuri by his shirt and pulled him down with a glomp against the mattress.

“You left me.” Victor mumbled as he nestled into Yuuri’s neck, wrapped his arm around Yuuri’s midriff and settled himself in with a sigh.

“Victor Nikiforov, the clingiest boyfriend in existence.” Yuuri stated aloud, even as Yuuri said it he couldn’t help but squeeze Victor back.

“Mmm, I like the sound of that.” the answer was all breath against Yuuri’s neck.

“Why?” and Yuuri realised he’d taken the bait after it was too late.

“Because it was about time you said I’m your boyfriend.” Victor said, and Yuuri could feel Victor’s lips curve against Yuuri’s skin as he smiled, as he chuckled at his own joke about a game they’d been playing for the last five years that Victor had just finally won.

“You really are insufferable.”

Against the odds; their second attempt to make it to Bangkok went off without complication just as Otabek said it would.

A day and half’s ride with the four of them in Otabek’s four wheel drive forced everyone to talk to each other, for Yuri to give in to his curiosity and ask Yuuri question after question about his footwork and where he learnt to move.

He didn’t say another word about his relationship with Victor, didn’t say that what they were doing was stupid or fucked like he said it was before, and it made for much more bearable company even if Yuri was still prickly at the best of times.

Victor and Otabek took turns driving until they got to Chelyabinsk where there was a plane waiting at a private airfield like promised, the pilot didn’t say a word, he knew who he was carrying, and he knew what would happen if he even so much as thought about breathing a word to someone about it.

Threatening someone was always the best way to ensure silence, short of killing them of course.

So now it was nearly three days later with the three of them driving through the busy streets of Bangkok in an Audi that Victor had paid for in cash, because he had indeed neglected to tell Yuuri one major thing. He hadn’t told Yuuri that he’d liquidated all his assets the same very day that they’d run off together, sold all his stocks and transferred everything to offshore accounts that could finally be accessed now they were outside of Russia.

“I didn’t want to factor it in to our plans until we could actually use it, and then I just forgot.” Victor had offered with a cheeky poke of his tongue to Yuuri’s exasperation.

Yuuri wondered how many other stops Victor had up his sleeve, how much more actions he’d taken to ensure this ended the right way, he only knew to trust Victor to bring it up when the time called for it.

They eventually found the last address Phichit had given Yuuri, a high rise apartment that looked over the river that flowed through the bustling city, it was next to others of its kind that put the street they parked on in permanent shadow.

With Yurio keeping an eye on the car; the concierge didn’t question Victor or Yuuri as the crossed the marble floor of the foyer with loud clacks of their dress shoes, suited up all over again, ready for anything to come.

Phichit’s floor was the third one from the top, and as the ridiculous elevator music that seemed horrible no matter what country you were in played, Victor eyeballed him from across the small space with mirrored walls and soft carpeted floors.

There was that heat and possession in his eyes, the affection and down right devotion, like just looking at Yuuri was enough to give him all the strength he needed, and as the elevator announced their arrival on the floor with a ting, Victor pulled him in for a quick peck on the lips, a kiss like only real couples had time for.

Satisfied, Victor hummed his tune next to Yuuri the whole way to Phichit’s door, hummed it even as Yuuri sounded the buzzer and they stood in wait, he hummed even as the door swung open to reveal the face of Yuuri’s friend who only looked surprised to see them for the barest of seconds.

In a loose cotton shirt and jeans, Phichit’s face transformed into a glowing smile as he recovered from seeing them both standing in his door way.

“Yuuri! I was hoping you’d come.” and Phichit paid no heed to the fact that Victor Nikiforov was standing there next to him, he didn’t question whether they were really together or if they were serious about this.

He just pulled Yuuri into a brief hug before stepping back, that usual smile no where to be seen on his face.

Phichit was smart enough to put the pieces together to know what the worst case scenario would be, he was close enough with Yuuri to understand that it would be news he didn’t want to hear, and his sorry expression said it all.

Yuuri felt his stomach drop, felt the involuntary thump of his heart as he thought of all the things that could go wrong going wrong all at once, he felt Victor’s hand take his as they stood there in the hall of Phichit’s luxury apartment building.

“What is it?” Yuuri questioned even though an answer was the last thing he wanted.

“Come in first.” Phichit offered a sympathetic smile as he beckoned them in.

“I have news, and you’re not gonna like it.”