#It started as a quick couple hundred word thing and grew

[milkycarnations]

I've been bored and can only write for shit when I want to impress someone. Since y'all are putting out good shit all the time, I think y'all deserve to read good shit while you're busy working on your book. This is your fault for making me realize I have a knife thing via Helen. Enjoy my monarchs: @itsabee @13tinysocks

Here's a link if you want to read on Ao3, otherwise it's under the cut!

Brian x afab!Reader | Whet Your Appetite | 5k words

one-shot masterlist | mdni | cw: consensual as always, knife and bloodplay, gunplay but only briefly mentioned, exhibitionism but just a threat, cunnilingus, fear play, missionary, creampie, begging, vaginal fingering, vaginal sex, sexual tension

   Thursday nights forced you into a nasty habit. 

       Perhaps “nasty” was a bit too strong; too harsh. Thursday nights grew into something shameful. Embarrassing. Your spontaneous behavior evolved into a habit you kept to yourself - because if anyone found out you’d simply die. Brian cooked on Thursdays for as long as you can remember, but everything started roughly two weeks ago. Two whole weeks of being far too horny for your own good. 

       That night, you sat across from Brian and watched him intently. From your seat at the kitchen bar, you eyed him as he wielded the knife. That was what killed you. It was a simple chef’s knife with a lengthy steel blade, perfect for sharp, quick slices. Over the couple of weeks that you watched him, it became clear that Brian was skilled. You watched as he diced an onion into perfectly uniform cubes. Now, after washing his hands, he was busy peeling carrots before cutting them into coins. 

       At first, you were only impressed at how fast he moved, slicing each coin precisely without hurting himself. That interest swelled until you became fixated. 

       Shifting your weight on the barstool, you leaned forward as you watched him prep. 

       Why did it feel so wrong to find it attractive - Brian cutting fucking produce? It made no sense in your mind, leaving you heavily embarrassed at how much it turned you on. He cooked again that Saturday. Again, on Monday. You had never given it much attention before, but now every time he pulled out the green plastic cutting board and the knife you were there looking on from the sidelines. Brian certainly noticed the change, but you were sure he had no clue as to why. It wasn’t like you could explain it to him. There was no way you could tell him the way he chopped up that red cabbage last night was sexy. Regardless, he accepted your company and sometimes chose to chat with you while he cooked. 

       After a while of trying to cope and pretending you didn’t like it, you came to a conclusion. It was all in his arms and the way his hand gripped the handle of the knife. It made his forearms flex and his biceps bulge out under his shirt. Once that first week ended, you only got worse. You were down bad and it was horrible. 

       That second Thursday, the four of you got lucky and ended up with some extra cash to spare. These days, it wasn’t often that you found someone with six hundred dollars cash in their wallet. You treated yourselves and Brian wanted quality beef cuts for dinner. He chose a stir-fry. Tim requested cold beers.        

       There, you sat pathetically as Brian cubed the raw meat, a light layer of blood speckling his hands and the knife and pooling onto the cutting board. It was fair to say you had become desensitized over the years - you had both killed people, oftentimes together. However, it had not clicked into your head until now that you enjoyed watching Brian cut into things. The blood was a bonus. You had realized that you’d never witnessed Brian do such a thing before. To be fair, wasn’t his style. Blades were more of a Toby thing. 

       That revelation made you even more confused because it forced you to come to terms with your attraction to Brian. You didn’t feel this way watching Toby do the same. You tested it and nothing came up. 

       On a mission with Toby two days later, you kept your eyes on him like a hawk. Enamored with the scene, he sliced and hacked away at the flesh with those hatchets. Skin and muscle split. Blood spilled and coated everything in vibrant, slippery red. There was nothing. Sure, you were full of adrenaline and the adrenaline always left you a bit tingly for hours after, but you decided that it did not relate to Toby. Sure enough, when Brian cooked that Saturday night - a quick meal hours after - it happened all over again. You could only feel so intensely needy with Brian in front of you and a knife in his hand. 

       From there on, you were obsessed. You ate dinner, scooping the pasta with freshly minced garlic into your mouth, and only thought of him. You took your second shower of the day that night and in the steam-filled bathroom, only thought of him. You lay in your bed, tucked under the covers, and only thought of him as you slipped your hand into your shorts. Holding back from moaning his name, you fingered yourself desperately with a heavy ache in your stomach. 

       It was your most shameful orgasm yet, cumming to a man who was sleeping in the next room over who had no clue about your weird attraction to him. Strangely enough, the whole situation was the first thing in years that made you feel depraved, and you had done some sick shit. You slept well through the night but woke the next morning with an obvious wet spot in your shorts. This time, you couldn’t fall asleep to ignore your racing thoughts. 

       As if a conversation with him weren’t awkward enough, now that you’d masturbated to the thought of him, you could barely stand to look him in the eyes. It was impossible to hide how strange you’d been acting and everyone was catching onto you. Toby gave you way too much space, practically avoiding you at all costs. He recognized how you were avoiding Brian and assumed you needed a break from everything going on in the house, including himself. Tim got way too close, assuming you needed help. Though he never asked outwardly if you were depressed, it became obvious when you found a plate of fruit cut carefully into stars and your favorite snack. Tim looked out for you more than before. 

       Brian knew that the attention was fixed only on himself, even though the others hadn’t noticed. However, he hadn’t quite pinned why. All he gathered was that it was between you and him. That led to today. 

       Exactly two weeks and three days after it all started. You had done the same thing nearly every night in a row, each time growing needier and downright lustful. In the morning, you showered in an attempt to wash off the thoughts from the previous night, which did nothing to help. The afternoon was quaint: nobody had plans, which made for a relaxing Sunday evening. You were lying in your room, the door cracked open, daydreaming about nothing in particular and enjoying the rare silence. 

       A knock rapped on your door. 

       “Come in!” you called as you sat up on the mattress. 

       Brian pushed the door in and shut it closed behind him. You hadn’t expected to see him, instead anticipating Tim to come in with a tray of snacks again. It didn’t take long for you to grow nervous. Brian walked up to the bed, his socked feet pattering softly against the hardwood floors. He paused right in front of the bed. 

       “Can I sit?” he asked, his hands hidden in the pockets of his sweatpants. 

       “Sure,” you managed to choke the words out and shifted to hang your legs off the side of the bed. Brian sat down beside you. 

       “Did I do something to upset you?” 

       Brian’s words hurt. It was obvious that he’d assume he did something wrong - you were avoiding him like the plague. Though, it was far from the truth and it wasn’t fair for him to believe it. Still, you couldn’t get yourself to tell him everything. 

       “No. You’re okay,” you spoke. 

       Brian shuffled for a moment beside you, “Then what’d I do? Tim said you’re acting fine around him and Toby hasn’t brought anything up. So I know it’s just me,” 

       You sighed. Was there a point in bringing up silly little lies to save your ass? You valued your relationship with Brian far too much to hurt his feelings over a crush, but you felt like a schoolgirl admitting it. Brian sat in silence with you the entire time, waiting patiently for you to respond. He was never a nervous person at all, but you could see him grow almost desperate as you thought of what to say. The right words never found you, so you spoke with little filter. Brian sat up a little bit straighter as you started. 

       “I think I’m attracted to you, Brian.” 

       The words fell foreign off your tongue. Brian didn’t respond. He hardly moved, but you gathered the courage to look him in the eyes. A wide smile spread across his face. Your face flushed with heat until your cheeks turned blistering hot. Brian either didn’t notice or refused to comment on it. 

       “You think?” he asked. 

       The tension broke once he talked. You breathed out a chuckle and let the anxiety shed away. 

       “Yes, I think,”

       No hesitation. 

       “Do you want me to help you find out?” 

       You wanted to scream. You wanted to squirm in your seat and kick your feet in the air, but you tried to play it off. Though you were mentally losing it, you simply smiled and looked away. 

       “I think I would like that,” you admitted. 

       Brian’s hand came out to touch you lightly on the knee, pulling your attention back to him. You looked his way to catch the hungry gaze in his eyes. Heart thumping in your chest, you glanced down at the way his hand flexed around you. It brought you back to the kitchen with that dumb knife in his hand. Between your legs, you grew more excited and could tell you were becoming wet. It made you ache - he hadn’t even touched you there yet and you wanted him. 

       “Is that why you’ve been watching me cook all of a sudden?” Brian smirked and gently squeezed. 

       It wasn’t why, but he didn’t need to know that. 

       “Sure,” you muttered, trying to subtly rub your legs together. 

       “That’s cute. I felt like you were a bit too interested. But I thought, hey, maybe you were bored.” 

       “You’re a good cook,” you complimented him back, trying to ignore what he said. You were too interested in what he did, but he didn’t have to know why. 

       “I’m curious, then. When did it happen?” he asked you, smirking. 

       You tried not to panic. You didn’t want him to find out the real reason why, maybe sometime in the future, but not now. 

       “I don’t know exactly when,” you lied. It was odd lying to Brian. He was an excellent liar and that set you on edge. It was obvious you weren’t telling the truth and it was evident he caught you in the way his eyebrows lifted as he smiled. 

       “You’re not so sure of yourself, you know.” 

       Quieting, you paused next to him as his hand trailed slightly higher. It made your stomach tighten. 

       “I wanna know what you were thinking when you were looking at me like that. Be honest.” 

       Brian’s words poured like honey. When you managed to meet his eyes, they stared deep into yours. He was an intimidating, coercive man and it was strange being on the other side of it. You froze in his touch, but he waited for you to speak. Outside the room, the sound of Tim starting dinner could be heard: pots and pans were moved and water was running in the sink. 

       “I was impressed,” you admitted. Brian pried further. 

       “Impressed with what? ‘Cuz it wasn’t the food. I saw you at the dinner table with your head in the clouds. Should’ve known something was up. What were you thinking about?” he repeated. 

       The pressure he pushed onto you was intense. You could only imagine what it was like to be on Brian’s bad side - a victim being threatened by him. 

       “I was thinking about the knife,” you finally came clean. This piqued Brian’s interest and his stare grew into something different. His hand now rested on your upper thigh and his body moved to face towards you. 

       “Keep going. Help me find out what this knife has to do with me.” 

       “I liked the way you held it.” 

       Brian chuckled at your response. Though he had caught on, he played along and continued to pry. It was clear he wanted you to say it out loud. 

       “What’s so special about me holding a knife?” 

       You were sure it was the thing with his arms and hands; the way he looked so powerful with it, but that was hard to explain without monologuing the past 2 weeks. You thought carefully about what to say and how to make sense to him. 

       “I guess the way you did it was just attractive to me,” 

       Brian took a big breath in. He had a way about him that was good at appearing disinterested, but the way he gripped onto your thigh was a major tell. He was into this as much as you were. He wanted it as much as you did. You thought about how much frustration you could’ve saved yourself from if you were ballsy enough to tell him earlier. 

       “You’re very special, you know that?” Brian’s face seemed to fluster pink down his neck. 

       Embarrassed with how he spoke to you, you shouted out, “What’s that supposed to mean?” 

       “It means, you’re into dangerous men. Especially dangerous men holding weapons, and you didn’t even notice. How long have you gone along feeling this way? If I knew you’d be ogling at me, I’d have teased you a bit more on our last mission.” 

       “Only recently,” you told him, “But the guns they don’t really do it for me.” 

       Brian looked down at you. It made you wish he were easier to read. 

       “How interesting. Perhaps it’s cause you want something a little more hands-on. Everyone knows that guns are cheating. Too impersonal, huh?” you silently nodded along, “But I like that. The fear of a gun doesn’t do it for you, you need the threat of a knife. Delicate when you want, but just as deadly when you let it touch the right places.” 

       Something thumped in your ears, the sound of your heartbeat, and the blood rushing to your head. You could feel your slick pooling in your panties and your legs slightly parted. Sweat dripped down your back, making you shiver harder as his hand traveled to your hip. 

       “But it’s my turn to be honest. I want to fuck you. So tell me, you okay getting a bit more personal?” 

       “Yes, please. Keep going,” you were shaking and your words came out as whispers. 

       Outside of the room, you heard Toby join the chatter and turn on the television. Though you thought Brian would shove you over and take you right there, he remained beside you and reached into the pocket of his jeans. As he pulled out his hand, you noticed the small pocket knife. He held it out in front of you and pressed a small button. The knife folded open with a click. It wasn’t anything fancy and it was a far cry from the eight-inch chef’s knife in the kitchen. It was black (including the two-inch blade) and it was clean - but it wasn’t like you could die of tetanus regardless. 

       “And do you mind if I use this?” Brian whispered to you, now closer than before. His breath was hot and it only made you more antsy underneath him. You had no idea he kept the knife on him, but it made sense. It looked more for utility than stabbing anyway.

       You shook your head. 

       “Tell me,” Brian urged you. 

       “No, I don’t mind,” 

       As Brian pulled the knife closer for you to look at it, you realized you’d never felt so dizzy beside him before. You were now throbbing as you waited, desperate enough to skip foreplay entirely. 

       “You like it?” he asked. 

       “It looks sharp,” it was true. The pocket knife had a more serrated edge than the chef’s knife, which came to a whetted edge across the entirety of the blade. The tiny black knife looked like it could saw into things. 

       Brian nodded in agreement, “You wanna see how sharp it is?” he said, running his thumb perpendicular across the blade. It made a chime as the metal ran across his thumbpad. 

       “Okay,” your face burned. 

       “Lay down,” he ordered you. You turned and swung your legs back onto the mattress and laid back to rest your head against the pillow. Stiff, you lay there with your legs pushed together and your hands resting on your stomach. Brian crawled over to you, the bed squeaking slightly under his weight. Breathing heavily, he sat above your legs and straddled you. At that moment, you felt like prey beneath him, but you knew he wouldn’t do anything you didn’t ask for. 

       A finger hooked your belt loop. 

       “You like this pair?” he asked you. 

       Confused, you looked down. Your shorts? They were stolen, but they were nice and fit you perfectly. 

       “They’re my favorite,” 

       With the knife still in his right hand, he unbuttoned your shorts and tugged them down. You helped him pull them past your ass and kick them out from your legs. Truthfully, you were still sheepish about being in your underwear in front of him. His fingers traced up your leg and danced along the waistband of your panties. 

       “What about this one?” he questioned. 

       “They’re old-” before you could finish your sentence, Brian eased the knife between your right thigh and the fabric of the panties. He swiftly pulled up and sliced the fabric. Tugging down the ripped cloth, he did the same to the other side, this time sliding in the knife from the top of the garment and slicing laterally just above your hip bone. He pulled the shreds of fabric off of you and tossed the destroyed pair onto the floor. 

       Closing your legs, you squirmed underneath him. The knife was held in his hands in a white-knuckled grip and it made the veins in his forearm pop. Your gaze drifted to the very obvious bulge in his pants. 

       “You like a little more than just me holding a knife, don’t you?” 

       As he asked, he fiddled with the hem of your shirt. Could you deny it? Both of you knew you had some kind of complex. 

       “I think so,” you answered. 

       Brian lifted your shirt to run the blade of the knife across your stomach. With a knife, Brian was capable of many things. 

       “You like the fear, too. You must, ‘cuz me and you both know how easy it’d be for me to gut you right now. I could get excited and slip. Then it’d all be over until you wake up again a few hours later.” 

       Moaning out, you felt yourself drip beneath him. That, you didn’t quite ping about yourself. Of course, you’d imagined Brian hurting other people with the knife, but never yourself. You were putting every ounce of trust you had into him. It strangely felt liberating, knowing you could tell him to stop or tell him to go further and he’d do it all for you. 

       “Don’t you agree?” he called out your name. Maybe he was onto something. 

       “Does it make you feel that way, too? Scared that you might lose control? Does it make you burn inside?” you turned the question back onto him and watched as he genuinely thought about it for a few moments. 

       “I’m a sadist. The thought of hurting you only makes me excited, but the thought of breaking your trust is something different. I’ll go as far as you want, but that means you have to say something if it’s too much.” 

       It could not get more perfect than that. You smiled as Brian pulled your shirt off, tossing it to the floor, and unclasped your bra before slipping it off. Instantly, your nipples hardened after being exposed to the cold bedroom. You felt vulnerable under Brian, still in his jeans and tee shirt. He continued to trace the blade across your chest with care, the chilly flat of the metal gliding over your nipples. Huffing out you clenched your hands into the bedspread. 

       “What about blood? Everyone in this damn house had a blood kink, but how do you feel about your own. Want me to see it?” 

       Trembling under his words, you nodded again before remembering to answer him properly. 

       “I like that. You can cut me a little.” 

       Brian smiled at this, but simply kept tracing the blade gently. He did so for what felt like many minutes before he shifted the pressure to the tip of the blade. It dug into your skin, but simply poked at you, not drawing any blood. You whined at the sensation as he moved the blade to your stomach, right beneath your breasts. Suddenly, you gasped as he sliced the blade in a small cut. It was swift and he was done before you noticed it had happened. The two of you watched as the blood trickled out. It was light, close to a scratch. You knew he was going easy on you, in case you changed your mind. 

       A heavy sigh rang out from above you. He enjoyed watching you like this, his cock pressing hard against your leg through his jeans. You doubted it was comfortable. This time, he grunted as he cut your flesh again. 

       “Why don’t you take your pants off?” you asked him. 

       “I want to fuck you but I don’t want to do it yet. The foreplay just started. Isn’t this what you’ve been waiting for?” he explained himself. 

       “Yes it is, but we can do it again - and I’m already wet enough I just need you now. Please.” 

       Your pleading came out meek and pathetic. You were sure you looked pitiful, but Brian seemed more pleased by your begging than he was before you’d started. 

       “Don’t worry your head over it. I’ll help you manage… but maybe if you beg a bit more I’ll change my mind.” his voice came soft and sweet but his words were far from it. Left hand pulling down, he reached to play with your clit. Moaning out again, you sounded like a wounded animal as he cut you while he rubbed, this time harder than the last. The slice left a stream of blood that trailed across your waist and met the bedspread. 

       “This help?” the circular motions of his thumb on your clit were skilled as if you’d taught him exactly how to do it. As perfect as it was, you wanted so much more. “Does it hurt?” he asked when you didn’t respond. 

       “It’s good,” you mumbled. It was hard to focus on anything but his thumb as he moved from circles to upward stroked, but the knife forced you back each time. His thumb stroked up, and your body bucked, shaking as you waited for him to do it again. Up again, and this time a small nick to the side of your left breast. The whine you let out was strangled and he stopped, leaning in close to you. 

       “You want everyone to hear you? ‘Cuz if so, I’ll open the door and invite them in. If not, you should be a bit quieter.” 

     When you whimpered this time, you pressed your lips tight together. You weren’t sure if Brian was serious about it - could that be his dark secret? Instead of playing into it, you shook it off. You’d bug him about it later. Right now, you were too focused on the way he kept snapping his thumb up and the way the knife returned - this time to your thigh. Shifting his weight, Brian moved down your body, his face close to your pussy. He was staring at it intently as he trailed the knife across your thigh and moved it inward. 

       Breath hitching, you tried not to twitch under his grasp. Yes, toying with the knife along your chest was dangerous, but there were femoral arteries in your thigh and not as much protection. Arteries spray - you’d make a mess on the bed and Tim would certainly get involved when he would inevitably find out you needed stitches from being alone with Brian. That would open a completely new doorway. It forced you back to what Brian said. You didn’t want anyone to know yet, so you sat still as he held the knife tight against your skin. 

       Instead of snapping up, this time Brian snapped his thumb down, trailing it across your entrance. 

       “You didn’t lie about being wet. You’re everywhere.”

       Holding the knife against your left leg, he played with the slick between his fingers before leaning in, propping your other leg up with his free hand. Teasingly, he took an experimental lick and laughed as your body tensed, but no noise came out. 

       “Just because we have to be quiet doesn’t mean you have to hide from me,” he said before sucking at your clit. 

       “I know,” you breathed out, “but I’m scared I’ll fucking lose it.” 

       Humming against you, he started to eat you out. You were near tears. It was hard not to cry out for him like a slut at this point, so you slapped your arm around your face and muffled your sounds. Brian knew just as well as you, so you also struggled not to shake too hard as he held the knife against your inner thigh. How could he know what you were thinking? How did he know that spot was what you worried about? 

       He sucked and lapped passionately like a dog, the sounds filling the room. He started moaning into you, each time louder than the last. You panicked. Though you were trying so hard, he was the one who was going to get you caught and he was doing it on purpose. As he moaned again, you pushed your entire body further into the bed and shot your other hand out to shove his face into your cunt. With the sounds he was making, it would be obvious that you were fucking, but he was fucking with you, so he moaned louder.

       The vibrations from his mouth made you cry out, the noise muffled by the crook of your arm. Hard, you gripped Brian’s hair and pulled on it. This time, he groaned out, but it felt less purposeful and more accidental. Once more, you tried not to buck your hips into him. 

       “Okay, really. Stop teasing.” you begged him, but he made no effort to move, “Please, I need you inside me I can’t take it anymore!” 

       Once the harsh whispers fell off your lips, Brian dropped your right leg onto the mattress and you let go of his hair. At first, you were confused that he still hadn’t pulled away, until he pushed two fingers into you at once. Arching your head back, you gasped. You could easily take one, but both were enough to stretch you a little bit. This far in, you were so wet and needy he could slip in without fingering you. Still, he began to work his fingers in and out. 

       “That’s not what I mean and you know it. Dammit!” 

       A tongue flicked across your clit. 

       “Just making sure you’re ready…” 

       “Fuck!” you choked out as the pressure built. The pace was quick and steady; you knew it wouldn’t take long. You were panting now and you took both hands to grab his face. Looking him in the eyes you begged again. 

       “Please, I want you to fuck me! I don’t want to beg for it anymore, I want your cock inside of me.” 

       Each word came out between gasps. Your entire body felt like a spring coil ready to burst back into place. Brian pulled his fingers out of you and tore the knife away, tossing it beside you. His shirt came off first, followed by his pants - which he barely managed to pull off. Once his boxers were out of the way, his cock sprung up. In the light of the bedroom, you could see the gleam of precum leaking from his tip. Grabbing onto your hips, he yanked you towards him. Without being asked, you bent your knees and held your legs in the air. 

       Pushing his body in between your thighs, he picked up the knife beside you and flashed it, placing it against your neck just as fast. He didn’t give you time to think about it before he pushed his dick into you. Leaning your head back, you whined; it was much better than two fingers. He set a harsh pace, fucking deep into you as he held the blade to your neck. His other hand grabbed your shoulder and pushed you into the mattress. 

       You were dizzy all over again. Fear. Your cunt clenched around him and he groaned, hardly able to keep his eyes open, but boy he loved the sight of you. 

       “Fuck!” you cried as your orgasm crashed around you. Though you felt it building, the release was sudden. With no warning, your pussy fluttered around him uncontrollably. 

       “Oh shit,” he breathed out panicked, and tossed the knife off the bed, away from your neck. It clattered on the ground and slid across the floor, hitting your desk chair with a ping . Gripping onto you tighter, he set a ruthless pace as he rode out his orgasm, pumping his cum into you. 

       With the two of you spent Brian collapsed onto you like a human-weighted blanket. Sighing, you closed your eyes. There was no way they hadn’t heard you, but for now, you would ignore it. Brian hadn’t caught his breath, but he was cocky, “So, did you figure it out?” 

       Smiling, you laughed, “Yeah and we’re gonna do that again.” 

       Arms wrapped around you and you sunk further. 

       “I still think you look hot with a knife in your hands.” 

       “I’m glad. Next time, you can help me figure something else out, huh?”

[redrose10]

Chapter 3 is here! Next chapter in a few days!

Yoongi X Female Reader. CEO/Arranged Marriage AU

Summary: You were selected to marry the wayward CEO/Billionaire/Heir, Min Yoongi. You went into it with an open mind and heart determined to try and make it work. Yoongi on the other hand had no intention of ever letting you in let alone allowing himself to fall in love with you. Slowly you start to associate the smell of cinnamon and vanilla with the feelings of hurt and sorrow.

Word Count: 3,609

Warnings: (May get updated as chapters progress): Arranged marriage, cheating/infidelity, hints of smut (Probably won’t get very explicit but we’ll see how it goes), Sexual Assault, Brief mentions of death, Reader grew up an orphan, General Angst, Swearing

In no way were you going to to cry in front of a couple hundred strangers. You decided to focus in on a bouquet of flowers that were just behind Yoongi’s head to try and distract yourself. A beautiful set of blue hydrangeas. You chose to ignore the words that were being spoken by the minister standing between the two of you. Instead your thoughts were brought back to being seven years old and laying in your Aunts back yard on her swing while she read the newspaper. The hydrangea bush next to you was in full bloom providing an intoxicating scent and a beautiful hue of purples and blues. Your aunt gently stroked your hair while she told you about some recipe that was listed in the paper, asking you if you thought she should try it for dinner one day. It was one of the last times you remember feeling genuinely happy and at peace and loved.

You’re brought out of your trance after you hear the officiant whisper your name. Yoongi is looking at you with one eyebrow raised. The officiant speaks again, “Y/N, do you take Yoongi as your husband now and forever?” Unable to speak you nod your head and the ring is placed on your finger. A few more words were spoken and then you were welcomed to share your first kiss as husband and wife.

You’d be lying if you said you’d never thought about what it would be like to kiss Yoongi. You wondered how this would go. Should you take his hand? Will he caress your face? Does he even want to kiss you? Moments later he leaned in. The scent of cinnamon and vanilla stronger than ever. Briefly he looked into your eyes and you saw something different. Not the usual disgust or indifference. His eyes showed that he was nervous. Maybe even scared. Before you could think there was a quick touch of your lips and then he backed away leaving you wanting more. He grabbed your hand dragging you down the aisle behind him while the crowd cheered and congratulated you both. Maybe you were seeing things but you swear you saw the tiniest bit of pink brush across his cheeks.

Afterwards the guests were ushered into the reception area to enjoy cocktails and appetizers while Yoongi and yourself were whisked away to take photos. The sweet photographer tried her hardest to make it seem like there was a lot of love and admiration between the two of you. However no matter how hard she tried the atmosphere was anything but that. Thankfully the photo session was over quickly and it was time to begin the reception. Dinner was served and then after a couple of speeches guests were encouraged to hit the dance floor to celebrate. Mr. And Mrs. Min paraded you around introducing you to a bunch of people whom you assumed were very important to their empire based on how they talked you up. After what felt like an eternity they excused themselves and you were left alone for the first time since the morning. That’s when you realized that you hadn’t seen Yoongi in quite a while. Scanning the room you couldn’t catch any sight of him. Curious as to what he was up to you started wondering the halls which may have been your biggest mistake of the evening.

Making your way down a dimly lit hall, the carpeting muffling the sound of your heels, you were startled when a door a few feet in front of you swung open and a disheveled looking Yoongi came stumbling out. His hair was a mess and you watched as he finished zipping up his black dress pants and then adjusted his belt to the correct position. He was closely followed by the same blond from the earlier ceremony stumbling as she finished pulling up the top of her barely there dress.

You felt a burning sensation in your throat and tears forming in your eyes. It was suddenly hard to breathe as if you were being smothered. You knew he wasn’t going to be the picture perfect husband but you didn’t think he would cheat on you and at your wedding reception of all places.

Quickly you turned and made your way back to the party area not noticing the way Yoongi looked after you.

Realizing that you needed some air you found the nearest exit door and stepped out onto the terrace. The cool air feeling good on your flushed skin and in your lungs. You felt like the last little bit of hope you had at a happy marriage was just crushed. Trying to take a few deep breaths to calm yourself you were interrupted when you heard the latch of the door click open.

“Y/N”

Turning around you faced Yoongi standing by the door. Hands in his pockets. Unreadable expression on his face. It looked like he had fixed his hair since it was no longer sticking up all over the place and was back to laying down styled like nothing had ever happened. Without saying a word you turned back around to stare out at the city below you. A strong breeze blew through the air putting you into a deep shiver. Seconds later you were wrapped in warmth. You were hit with a familiar smell. Cinnamon and vanilla. Noticing the black fabric draped around your shoulders you realized that Yoongi had placed his suit coat around you to try and bring you some warmth and protection from the chill in the air. Twenty minutes ago the gesture would’ve caused your heart to explode. But thinking back to Yoongi walking out of the room with that woman making it clear as to what they had done, probably while he was wearing this same suit jacket, you felt dirty having it touching you.

“Y/N, I know this isn’t ideal. That this isn’t how we had imagined our lives going so I don’t mind if you want to see other people behind closed doors. We just have to put on an act for the public but when no one’s watching you’re free to do whatever you want.”

You replayed his words in your head. Was he trying to clear his conscience because he knows he got caught? Maybe feels a little guilty and will feel less guilty if he knows you’re also out cheating on him? Does he think that he’s being kind towards you by doing this? You couldn’t stop the laugh that left your mouth. Shaking off his jacket and letting it land on the ground, not caring how expensive it was, you looked up at him and held up your left hand to show the wedding ring that hasn’t even been on your finger for a full eight hours yet.

“I can’t. I’m married and I’m not a disgusting, low down, uncaring, selfish, ignorant, cheating, loser, asshole like you Min Yoongi. You better not get caught either. It’s in your end of the contract.”

With that you turned and walked into the reception area taking a seat at the wedding table and downing your glass of champagne and also Yoongi’s that was sitting next to it. You have no idea where all that came from but it felt good. You snuck a peak out of the tall glass window to see Yoongi still standing there, hands in his pockets, mouthing something to himself before turning back to look out at the city below.

You groaned when your alarm went off the next morning. Why did you agree to a 6am flight again? Slowly you rolled yourself out of bed trying not to wake the loudly snoring figure next to you. You forgot just how cute Jimin looked while he was sleeping. All curled up in a ball with a deep pout on his lips.

Of course you didn’t spend your wedding night with your new husband. Especially not after the events at the reception. You and Yoongi were supposed to share a night in the biggest hotel suite in Seoul but you knew there was no way you could face him. After your little outburst on the terrace the rest of the reception was even more awkward especially having to share your first dance with him. You spent most of the dance staring down at the ground blaming it on having two left feet and not wanting to step on Yoongi’s expensive dress shoes but you and him both knew why you couldn’t look him in the eyes. The night ended with you spotting Yoongi standing in the corner talking to one of his business partners when your favorite blond woman walked over handing him a piece of paper with what was surely her phone number on it before giving him a kiss on the cheek and walking off. There was no way you were going to be stuck in a room with him after all of that.

Thankfully Jimin had planned ahead booking himself a room at the same hotel figuring he’d be too drunk to get himself home at the end of the night. You jumped in the shower letting the hot water soothe your sore muscles. Once you were thoroughly cleaned you put on some light makeup and a comfy outfit. Today you and Yoongi were heading off to your honeymoon. A week spent on a tropical island. You didn’t mind the ocean but you really hated the hot humid weather. The sand that got everywhere. The guaranteed sunburn no matter how careful you were. Yoongi had asked where you wanted to honeymoon. You’d always wanted to stay in a cabin in the Swiss Alps during the winter. Something was always so comforting about the snow. The cold feeling invigorating and refreshing. You imagined sipping a mug of hot chocolate by the fire place while wrapped in a blanket. Maybe going for a walk and taking in the beautiful scenery. With Christmas just around the corner there’d probably be lots of decorations. Yoongi had nodded at your request like he was accepting of it so you were shocked when he told you that your honeymoon would be taking place in Fiji, somewhere that is the complete opposite of what you had asked for. But at this point what could you really expect from him.

All of your bags were packed before the wedding so you just threw in some last minute essentials before zipping up the last one. You didn’t have to take much. Just a duffel bag and a carry on for your makeup and important items. Growing up without having much you learned that you didn’t need much to be happy. Walking over to the bed you quickly realized that trying to wake Jimin up from his hangover induced coma was going to be useless so you placed a kiss to his forehead and grabbed your bags heading out the door.

You were startled when you opened the door finding Yoongi with his hand raised as he was just about to knock.

“Oh sorry. I didn’t expect to see you there.”, you said hand clutching at your chest.

He hands you over a warm to go cup. “I texted Jimin to ask him what your usual coffee order is but he never responded so I got you a vanilla latte. It seemed like a safe choice for you.”

You gave him a tight lip smile and took the cup from him. Truthfully you weren’t much of a coffee drinker but the fact that he actually put effort into something made your heart twist a little and some caffeine in your system wouldn’t hurt right now either. Gently you shut the door behind you and began to walk down the hall when you heard someone mumbling your name by the elevators. When you turned you were greeted by a young man. The poor thing looked like he was being crushed by the weight of all the luggage he was carrying as he desperately tried to keep everything together. Once you looked into his eyes you immediately recognized him as one of Yoongi’s interns, Jungkook. You’d met him a couple times and he was always very sweet and polite.

“Mrs. Min, let me take your bags for you.”, he said reaching out for the duffle bag in your hand.

You chuckled, “Oh no it’s okay. It looks like you’ve got your hands full already. Plus I’m definitely capable of carrying a couple bags down to the car.” Taking another sip of your coffee you waited for the elevator to arrive. Once the familiar ding of the bell sounded the doors opened and you stepped onto the platform making room for Yoongi and Jungkook. You couldn’t help but notice that Jungkook seemed a little less frazzled and Yoongi was carrying one of his own bags now. A small smile crept onto your face at the thought that maybe your words struck a nerve with him.

The car ride to the airport was mostly silent until Yoongi cleared his throat, “I waited for you to come to the room last night. I wanted to talk about things.” You continued to look out the window as the you passed by the buildings before responding, “I figured you’d be busy and didn’t want to be in the way of anything.”

Before Yoongi could speak the driver announced your arrival at the airport. You’d never been on a private plane before. The only plane you’d ever even been on was the one you took to South Korea and that definitely wasn’t private so it was nice. The plane ride and the following drive to the resort remained pretty much silent minus the occasional question or statement.

The suite at the resort was of course luxurious. You stepped out onto the balcony and were immediately hit with a wave of the heat and humidity that you hated so much. But you did have to admit that the view was stunning. Crystal clear water. White sand. Palm trees and tropical flowers wherever you looked.

Walking back into the cool air conditioning you took a look around the room and felt a sudden rise in your body temperature. The cause of this-The one king bed staring back at you. Normally a couple on their honeymoon wouldn’t think twice about sharing a bed but you and Yoongi had an odd situation. He must’ve noticed your new concern because you heard him chuckle from the other side of the room.

“We’re adults Y/N and we’re married. We can share a bed for a week.”

All you could muster was a nod and a tight lipped smile. Part of you wondered if this meant he’d keep his hands off of other women on this trip. Or maybe the two of you would finally-

“I’m heading out Y/N. Don’t wait up.”, he said and you looked over watching him grab his room key and head out the door not even looking back. Of course, you sighed.

Not wanting to leave the room you ordered yourself some room service and called it an early night. When you woke up the following morning you felt more refreshed than you had in a long time. It was definitely the comfiest hotel bed you’d ever slept in. You began to feel slight movement next to you and that’s when you remembered that you were on a honeymoon with your husband.

The movements stopped so you thought it was safe to take a peak. Yoongi had stayed as far on his side as he could. Looking over you once again admired how handsome he truly was. If you didn’t know what kind of person he was you’d definitely have a huge crush on him. Maybe you did anyways. He was still in his clothes from earlier. He smelled like a brewery with a hint of that familiar cinnamon and vanilla scent.

He must’ve gone out drinking all night and came back at some point while you were asleep. You weren’t sure if you were relieved he came back at all or upset that he spent the first night of your honeymoon downing whiskey at some bar. The forever comforting person in you didn’t want him to catch a cold from the air conditioning that you had set on full blast so you tried your best to shimmy the blanket up to his shoulders to cover him and that’s when you noticed it. Right on his neck just below his ear. A kiss of red lipstick stared back at you like a forbidden tattoo. Curiosity getting the best of you and knowing that he was still too out of it to notice you gently tugged down the collar of his tshirt revealing what you had feared. Several more kisses of the same color lipstick painted his chest along with a couple love bites. Feeling like you were going to be sick you quickly ran to the bathroom shutting the door behind you.

After a long hot shower and taking your time getting ready you finally felt like you could face the world. Yoongi was sitting on the edge of the bed his head in hands clearly feeling the effects of the night before. He heard the jingle of your purse and looked over noticing you standing there in your pink sundress with the sunglasses to match. He thought it was cute how you always tried to accessorize your outfit with something matching in color.

Your original plan was to ask him to come have breakfast with you and then see if he wanted to go to the beach. Even if you hated it you were still going to try and make the most of this trip. But after this morning you don’t want to be in the same room with him. Silently you walked out the door letting it shut behind you and made your way down to the resort cafe.

The next few days were spent the same. You and Yoongi spent most of the day doing your own thing until he’d stumble into bed at some point during the night. You didn’t even bother looking for any signs of what he did out there. At this point you didn’t want to know.

On the last night you decided to treat yourself to a nice dinner out. Yoongi had been gone all day and you knew he wasn’t going to spend the evening with you anyways. The food was incredibly delicious and you had a really nice time with the waiter, Hoseok. He was like a big ray of sunshine and for that one dinner you were able to forget everything that had been happening. The two of you exchanged numbers so you could get together for lunch next time he visited his parents in Korea. As you were walking back to your room you came across two people all over each other in the hallway. The man’s hands were slowly going farther up the shirt of the brunette he was with. Soft moans could be heard between the two of them. Normally you’d be pretty off put that two people would be so open in public but you were happy that someone was getting intimacy. You were craving any sort of touch and these two just made you want it more.

That was until the woman accidentally dropped her purse and bent down to retrieve it revealing the man that she was with. Yoongi looked at you with his classic unreadable expression. The woman standing back up realized you were now present. She was understandably confused as to why you were waiting right there.

“Oh I’m sorry. Is this your room?”, she asked looking back at Yoongi for an explanation.

Deep down you had thought he’d tell the truth. Let her know that you were his wife and he was caught. That she needed to leave. That this was your honeymoon. That he wouldn’t bring another women into your hotel room while you were there with them. Instead he just sighed,

“Yeah this is my sister Y/N. She’s sharing a room with me unfortunately.”

You felt your heart crack. The woman looked a little shocked pulling away, “Oh I’m so sorry. Maybe we should continue this elsewhere.”

You watched the smirk spread across Yoongi’s face, “Nah she won’t mind. Right Y/N?” In your head you screamed, “Yeah of course I mind. You’re my husband and you expect me to just sit there while you fuck some other woman.” But instead you gently shook your head and watched as Yoongi pulled the woman back into the room with him kissing her as he went.

You stood there and watched the door slam shut. The faint scent of cinnamon and vanilla the only thing remaining in the hall with you. You couldn’t do it. You couldn’t sit in that room with them. So instead you made your way down to the lobby. At this time of night all the restaurants were closing up and you weren’t much for the bar scene so you grabbed a water bottle from a vending machine and walked out to the beach to wait it out. Once you felt you had a safe spot chosen you took a seat down in the sand. As you stared up at the sky you felt the exhaustion taking over your body. Slowly you laid back allowing the warm sand and the sound of the ocean waves to lull you off to sleep. The smell of the salty air a welcoming change to the cinnamon and vanilla that was slowly driving you crazy.

[astr0disiac]

𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐊𝐓𝐎𝐁𝐄𝐑 𝐃𝐀𝐘 𝟑: 𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐎𝐔𝐆𝐇 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐂𝐇𝐈𝐋𝐋

𝐌𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐡 𝐘𝐮𝐣𝐢𝐧 𝐱 𝐅𝐄𝐌!𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

WARNING(S): (Slight-ish?) Dub-con, mention of pornography, mention of NSFW audios, masturbation, adult toys, multiple orgasms, fluff, cyber-stalking, cam-girl, pillow humping, praise/degradation

SUMMARY: Micah breaks his promise on not doing background checks on you anymore and finds some interesting things.

WORD COUNT: 2.7k

SONG: Come Through and Chill - Miguel

--

You had given Micah Yujin one simple rule to follow when you were away and unreachable. After the first time he did a background check on you, you simply asked him to respect your privacy and not do it again. You weren’t standoffish about it, you simply told him that you would reveal parts of yourself to him as your relationship grew, and there were some things you either wanted to keep to yourself or never want him to see.

And of course, Micah crossed-his-heart-and-hoped-to-die, will stick-a-needle-in-his-eye if he ever went back on that promise he gave to you.

Except out of frame, and behind his back, his fingers were fucking crossed.

Hell, he even crossed his toes for good measure.

He kind of felt bad. The two of you were getting along well, maybe a bit too well to simply be e-friends. Flat screens and a couple hundred miles were the one thing separating you two, but when you would disappear for days on end to live your actual life instead of entertaining your cyber one, he felt like you were worlds apart. He started to get lonely, missing your sarcasm and quick wits, and he used that as an excuse to do what he was about to do.

He told himself that it was simply because he missed you, and just wanted to get closer to you. Maybe say the right things in conversation by default, so that you would be impressed and maybe fall for him a bit more. Everyday that he spent time with you he found himself being more and more infatuated with your being. He didn’t want his feelings to be one sided.

He wanted to make sure that behind the screen that you were real, just like how his feelings were.

So, after hacking into your computer in the dead of the night, he came across some interesting things in your PC’s history that sidetracked him for good.

He was able to narrow down your favorite type of porn by your searches, and he couldn’t help but chuckle as he clicked through the categories and genres. A deep fuchsia blush appeared on his bronze skin as he looked at the not-so-tame list.

“What a degenerate.” He slyly said. He couldn’t help but think about how you two had some kinks in common. You came off as vanilla, which he wouldn’t mind working with when the time came. But the idea that some of the most outlandish kinks got you off in your spare time caused his cock to twitch.

After that, he stumbled upon more media that made his skin burn to the touch; the racy fics you read, multiple adult purchases, and the audios you listened too. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat, imagining the faces you would make, and if you were making them right now since you weren’t online. He swore under his breath, clicking another tab.

And what do you know, he stumbled across your OnlyFans.

The thumbnail of the first video was of you laying on your back, your fingers deep into your creaming cunt.

His hands flew to exit the window with a swift click.

His heart pounded rapidly in his chest, threatening to burst out. He covered his mouth with the back of his hand, hiding his blush as if he were caught in the act. His mind raced with a million thoughts at once, leading to nowhere. He tried to think with his brain.

The wrong one, at that.

His cock swelled immensely as he opened it again, and began scrolling through your profile, the thumbnails doing more harm than good on his psyche. You looked edible in each and every one, and he found his mouth watering at how plush your body looked. He knew if you saw him right now, you would probably be livid and never speak with him again. You’d probably insult him, but he would eat it up. He loved when you degraded him for his behavior, or praised him for his attentiveness to you.

All in all, his curiosity and need to see you had overpowered him. Now he wanted to hear you, feel you, even pleasure you if you’d let him, because he was now about to take the liberty of pleasuring himself.

His mouse ghosted over a video before he clicked it, your voice coming through his speakers at full volume.

“-Came in today, so I can’t wait to use it.” Your sickeningly sweet voice felt like Micah was basking in sunlight. He smiles, remembering seeing this specific toy in one of your recent purchases. There you were, on your soft bed as if waiting on his command. Your breast seemed plump, nipples hard to the touch as you passed the toy between your soft hands.

You looked at what he presumed to be the camera, but to Micah, you were looking directly at him as your lips encased the dildo, kissing the tip slightly. Micah shuddered, his hands immediately going to grab himself from his sweats. His tip was angry, the slit leaking a bit of pre-cum as he ran his thumb across it. He watched as your naked body switched positions, moving to all fours as you stuck your as in the air, back arched as you continued to suck the tip of the toy.

Micah sighed, his chair creaking as he leaned back a bit further, his hand moving up and down his swollen length. He hissed, closing his eyes as he listened to the sound of your mouth salivating around a toy, visualizing that you were around him instead.

“Oh, fuck.” His hips immediately jerked off the chair, the image of putting his cock deep down your tight throat causing his stomach to clench immediately. He looks back at the video, watching your head bob back and forth as you speed up. His hand matches unconsciously, withheld moans and whimpers escaping his mouth as his head lolls back.

“God, Angel...just like that- ugh!” He pants as he watches you hollow your cheeks, going all the way to the base of the toy. It disappears slowly, and you hold yourself there before gagging and resuming your previous speed. Micah’s chest rises in short bursts, his bottom lip between his sharp teeth as he jerks off relentlessly, the liquid leaking around his cock acting as a sticky lubricant. Even with as vocal as he was in his spare time, the sounds Micah made surprised him, the adrenaline rush edging him.

“Again, Angel.” He whimpered, pumping vigorously as his cock twitched his hand. “Do it for me, please.”

As if directly listening to his order, you slowly downed the entire toy, the sound of you gagging like music to Micah’s ears. He stifled a groan, before exhaling deeply and shooting a thick pool of cum into his hand. He sat hunched over, panting, watching the liquid leak through his fingers and onto the floor.

“We haven’t even got to the good part yet.” He grumbles at how fast he orgasmed, taking a few tissues from his desk and cleaning his hand off. As he cleaned, he couldn't help but think what a waste it was. He would have made you swallow.

He looked at the video and saw that you had sat up completely on your bed, playing with your own essence that leaked from your cunt. It awed Micah that something as simple as a blowjob turned you on so much, and he felt his cock stiffen again, aching against his lower abdomen.

You lay against the wall behind you, propping yourself up slightly as you drag the toy across your glistening cunt, whimpering slightly at the action. You toyed with your entrance, pushing the tip of the dildo slightly inside of your pussy, releasing a heavy sigh. Micah grunts, his hand flying to his throbbing length, itching to relieve himself once more.

You slowly pushed the toy in, your face screwing shut and your pedicured toes curling slightly as the pleasure blinded you. You bottomed yourself out, holding the toy there as you forced your legs to open more, giving Micah a full view. His eyes almost popped out of his skull, watching your cunt flutter around the thick piece of plastic. He watches you start to pump the toy in and out of yourself, and he begins to match your speed, his hands gripping himself in pleasure.

Soft moans escape your swollen lips, and Micah can’t help but imagine those moans being for his ears only. Groans resonated in his chest as he kept pumping, but his hand wasn’t enough. Even as he lifted his hips off the chair to thrust up into his own hand, he struggled to picture it right. Your body had to be softer than his calloused hand, he just knew it. Softer than any blanket, yet firm like the pillow he slept on at night.

A pillow, huh?

He looked over to his bed, seeing the plush pillows and stuffed animals that adorned it. Despite his kinks, he didn’t own any toys, so he would just have to make due.

He quickly stood up, almost tripping over his bottoms that were leveled at his knees, and quickly discards them. He moves his chair out the way so that he can still get a good view of you on his oversized monitor. He grabs his large pillow, throws it down, and then straddles it. His face teemed with embarrassment, his skin flushing at his actions. This was beyond absurd, but he needed more, so this will have to be enough until he can get his hands on you.

He watches as one of your hands moves to play with your nipples, massaging them as you continue to grind into the toy. Taking a hard swallow, he begins matching the movements of your hand, moaning in pure ecstasy as the softness of the pillow hugs and encases the bottom of his shaft.

His mind thinks back to your porn searches, how some of the more tame ones were pillow humping. He pants, blush dusting his features once more.

“You made me do this, Angel.” He whimpered. He wondered if you would enjoy seeing him like this, riding his pillow at the thought of you. The feeling of shame turned him on even more as he rolled his hips, imaging the dips in the pillow were actually you.

“Oh, fuck-” you moaned out, increasing the speed at which you fucked yourself. Your eyes rolled back as lewd sounds escaped your throat, as your cunt began to cream around the toy. “Fuck me, ple-ase…M-mph!”

Micah rocked harder into his pillow, allowing his voice to sound out. The sweater he kept on hung lazily around his shirt, as he fisted the ends of his sleeves.

“Angel, I could be so much better than that toy…unless you’d want me to be…” Micah jerks into his pillow, his cock twitching as he thinks of you listening to him. “I’d love you so hard, Angel. Mmph-!” He bites down so hard on his lip that he tastes a tinge of metal, the cut of his canines causing his lip to swell. His hips rolled, stuttering every now and then as he attempted to hinder his rushing orgasm.

“I-I’m gonna-!” Your voice continued to invade his mind, Micah no longer focused on looking at you but the sounds of your pleasure; his headboard knocking into the wall with solid thuds as he rutts into his pillow. He couldn’t help but envision the sounds of his skin against yours, pushing you deep into his satin sheets. Your moans muffled as he pushes your head down, taking you from behind. He swears he can feel you clench around his cock instead of the constant rubbing of fabric.

“Cum with me Angel…fuck me-”

Micah’s hips still as he shoots ropes of hot semen onto his pillow, letting out a throaty moan each time he spurts. He convulses, his hips staggering as he pumps himself a few more times to chase his high. Whimpering pathetically as his mind clears, he turns to look at you, giggling and smirking at the camera. You looked so gorgeous, body glistening as you pulled the toy out of you, your pussy contracting around nothing.

“Did you enjoy the show, Micah?”

Micah practically fell off his bed, his heart dropping to the pit of his stomach as he blinked at you.

“Are you talking to moi?” He points to himself, tilting his head to the side, playing stupid. But you couldn’t help but think he looked stupidly cute.

“Of course I’m talking to you, ya’ fucking dweeb!” You yell, doubling over in laughter as he blushes profusely. Quicker than humanly possible, he jumps off his bed, discarding his stained pillow on the floor. He then begins tripping over his sweats, trying to pull them back on, but to no avail since he was panicking so much.

“Oh nah, it’s too late now.” You laughed with tears in your eyes, crossing your legs. “I’ve already seen it all.”

“How the fuck did you do that!?” Micah hissed, rolling his chair back to his desk. Embarrassed wasn’t even the proper word to describe how he felt. But he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t slightly turned on. You were watching him as you got off, and you seemed to enjoy it.

“I saw you hacking into my stuff like the little shit that you are, and changed the link to a face call you fucking degenerate.” You said, walking out of frame. You switch the camera to the one at your main PC, and put on an oversized sweater as you sit in your chair. “We’re both hackers, ya’ dumb fuck, what makes you think your little search would go unnoticed? Not to mention if you look at the dates, these are from over a year ago before I closed my account and locked all my content. I found it weird that some of the views were going up by one.” You chuckled, relishing in this moment. Micah was the one to always rile you up and say things that got under your skin. It was nice for the roles to be reversed for once.

“So what, you just gave me a free show.” Micah shrugs as he tries to play it off, but his heart is doing triplets.

“Only for the price of a recording of ‘Micah riding his pillow like a slut’.” You leer, and Micah pauses.

“You. Didn’t.” He whispers, and you nod your head in response.

“Oh, I definitely did. Hacked into your cameras and got myself a free home movie, starring Micah Yujin in Ultra HD.”

Micah smirks, a bit terrified, impressed, but mainly turned on. “Damn, caught me in 4k.” He leans back into his chair in utter defeat.

“Well I almost got caught, myself.” You admit. “It was so hard not saying your name during all that, I almost gave myself away.”

Micah smirks, leaning into the camera. You swear you can feel the warmth of his breath on your face as he enlarges on your monitor.

“Were you thinking of me, Angel?” He smirks knowingly. You chuckle, your hand hovering over the exit button.

“Goodnight, Micah.” You say, your skin steaming. You still can’t believe you’ve actively done that. You try to withhold your panic until you are by yourself.

“W-wait, wait!” Micah panics, grabbing your attention once more.

“Yeah, Mike?”

“I meant what I said.” He says softly. “About loving you.”

“Do you mean actually loving me, or fuc-”

“No.” He interrupts you abruptly, and it takes you by surprise. “I’d take such good care of you, Angel. I’d love you to the ends of the Earth if you allow me to.” He hums in admiration. “The sex would just be a plus.”

You giggle a bit. Micah was such a smooth talker, but a smooth talker who you couldn’t help falling in love with. Even if your relationship didn’t seem the most convenient.

“Words told behind a screen mean nothing to me.” You say softly, mouse hovering the “x” button one final time. Micah’s face falls slightly. “But!” You interrupt his miniature pity party, his face regaining hope again. “You have my address.”

“Come show me that you mean it, ‘kay?”

[reigningqueenofwords]

Sold

Word count: 937

Read on AO3

Part 2 of Lightening and Arrows

Clint smiled at you as the pair of you danced. “Are you glad you agreed to be my date?” He asked. 

You pretended to think. “I am.” You chuckled. “Thank you.” You smiled. “For helping me out of my head. I’ve really enjoyed myself tonight.” 

“Anytime.” He grinned. “I am always up to show a pretty lady a good time.” He playfully flirted. 

“I’ll keep that in mind.” You teased. 

The two of you danced for a couple more minutes before he led you off the dancefloor, his arm around your waist. Feeling eyes on him, he looked around and spotted an annoyed looking Thor. He couldn’t help but smirk at the God. Sending him a wink, he turned back to you. “Would you like a drink?” He asked. 

You smiled. “Sure.” You agreed, letting him lead you to the bar. “Can I get a martini please?” You asked the bartender, while Clint then ordered a beer. 

Thor watched you and Clint flirt at the bar and shook his head. Briana swallowed awkwardly. “Can we dance?” She asked Thor, hopeful. After all, she was his date. He had been the one to ask her to go with him. He had seemed so excited until he saw you with Clint. 

He took a moment, then turned to her. “Of course.” He agreed, offering his hand to her. He gave her a soft smile as she took his hand. 

“Alright, now the part of the night we’ve all been looking for!” Tony got on stage, getting everyone’s attention. “The Avenger’s Auction! Can I get my teammates up here, please?” He grinned as he saw them all making their way towards the stage. “The first date that’s being auctioned off is…Captain America! Come here, Rogers.” He motioned for Steve to come stand with him. “You know the drill, ladies and gentleman. Bidding starts at five grand for a date with this handsome guy.” 

Steve looked at Tony and sighed. He reminded himself this was for charity. He smiled out at the crowd, knowing that this auction always got charity an insane amount of money. A hand lifted, the first bid put in. He wondered how high things would go. The year before someone bid fifty thousand for a date with him. 

You watched as bidding went quick for Steve. When bidding ended, you were glad you weren’t sipping a drink. The winning bid was a hundred grand that year. “Wow.” You breathed. 

“Oh, over double last year’s winning bid!” Tony laughed. “Nice. Don’t worry, you’ll get your money’s worth.” He smirked, making Steve lightly slap his arm. “If you’d just like to make your way over to Happy there. He’ll get your information.” He told the winner. “Rogers, back to the others.” He was loving this. “Who should we ‘sell’ next…?” He asked, laughing even harder as people actually called out names. “Oh, lively bunch this year.” 

Finally, he called up Bruce. He shyly went up, giving the crowd a small wave. He was so sweet, and you hoped he felt the same love that Steve did. The bidding didn’t go as fast, but people seemed to want him, too. You giggled as you could see him look a bit surprised, and a bit bashful, as the bidding grew. Finally, the winning bid was seventy-five thousand. 

One by one, the Avengers were auctioned off. Nat went for twice what Steve did, surprising no one. Tony outbid everyone for Pepper, amusing you. Clint got just about what Bruce got, and when he slipped back in line, he teased you. “You didn’t bid for my hand?” He whispered, making you giggle. 

“I didn’t realize I had to pay for it.” You nudged him. 

He pretended to think about it while Tony rambled on. “I guess you can get it for free.” The two of you snorted at how that sounded. 

“Since she’s been miss giggly with Legolas over there…Y/N, come on up!” Tony smirked at you as you blushed. “Don’t be shy, you can go back to flirting with the elf after.” 

You made your way to stand next to him, not seeing the look Thor had as Tony opened up the bidding. He was clearly not a fan of auctioning you off. You chewed on your lip, confused as to why bidding was going like it was. It was making you a bit self conscious, if you were being honest. 

Tony was confused, too. He felt you would have gotten nearly as much as Nat! “Fine, since you clearly lack taste, I’ll bid!” He announced, hoping that would egg the others on. “I bid a hundred thousand!” He grinned, looking around the room. “Going once….going twice…sold. To me.” He kissed your cheek to try to relax you. He’d likely gift that ‘date’ to Clint or Thor. He hadn’t decided who yet. “Back to line, Y/N/N.” He told you, and you hurriedly went back to standing with Clint. Your cheeks were red, but mostly out of embarrassment. Your friend had to place the winning bid. No one else was really bidding. It had only been thirty thousand before that. “Alright, Thor! Get on up here.” He motioned to the God. 

Clint gave you a small smile after he nudged you to look at him. “Night’s almost over.” He reminded you. 

“Thankfully.” You sighed, wanting to get home, and into a hot shower. You weren’t even paying attention to the auction anymore. Thankfully Thor was the last one up. After that was finished, things would start winding down. You would slip out, getting an Uber back to the tower.

[ninjadeathblade]

On Melancholy Hill (A Hat In Time fanfic)

Summary: Life throws curveballs. None hits harder than that of losing a loved one.

Beginning | Previous | Next

Word count: 3,044

Warnings: Death, mention of injury, loss, grief, implied depression, overworking, sleep deprivation, swearing

Author's notes: This was almost fully written anyway, hence why it's out so quick. Anyway, haha, angst. So much angst. I'm sorry (not really but a little maybe). The title is based on the song "On Melancholy Hill" by Gorrilaz. Anyway, there's something that could be viewed as good in this. Enjoy!

Emily's shoulder ached.

She didn't really understand why she was forced to attend the gala.

Majesty would occasionally glide past with someone on his arm and whisper something to her.

Mostly threats of what would happen if she left before he allowed her to.

She wanted nothing more than to curl up at home with Badge.

But Badge wasn't even home, away on whatever trip they'd organised.

Her suit was made of some fancy-looking but uncomfortable fabric, the shades of purple scratching over her skin.

So she sighed, and smiled, and waved, and coped.

Their house grew busier.

Scarlett made another friend at school, a penguin by the name of Trisha who visited only a little less frequently than Conductor.

Claw spent most afternoons lounging around the house with Emily.

Scarlett, Claw and Trisha had formed a band, Emily managing them. The four would split the money they earned between them after each concert.

Badge-

Badge had returned from their trip… different.

Their limbs would spasm through the air sometimes, other parts of their body twisting at inhuman angles before returning to their original position.

Matilda was sick.

They all could tell it was the same as her usual coughs.

But she just seemed to get worse.

Badge juddered beside her, their paws glitching through the book they were holding.

It dropped out of their grip and through their legs, landing on the mattress underneath where they were sat.

Badge straightened and walked out the room with a mumble. “Be back…”

Emily watched them with narrowed eyes.

Badge returned a few minutes later, looking shaky as they picked their book back up.

Emily tentatively stretched their tail out to rest over his back.

Badge glitched again, letting out a sob as their book dropped back onto the mattress.

“Where did you even go?” Emily quietly asked.

Badge looked over at her, not quite believing the question. “Huh?”

She repeated herself.

Badge fiddled with the badges on their hoodie, the one item that seemingly didn't go away when they glitched. “Um, well, I went to the Subcon.”

“You didn't,” Emily whispered, hoping they were joking.

Badge nodded. “It's okay though, I got this cool badge. But I can't use it, I don't have the right thing for it to work properly. But I can probably make a good couple hundred Pons if I find someone to sell it to.”

They both kept eye-contact for a beat before Badge broke it.

“I can't believe you sometimes,” Emily murmured.

“I can't believe me sometimes either.”

Emily reached over and gently patted Matilda on the back as the owl broke out in a fit of coughs, sliding her a glass of water.

“Thank you Emily,” she croaked. “What would I do without you?”

Emily ran around frantically.

The concert was due to start any moment and she couldn't find Scarlett's microphone.

Claw grabbed ahold of her sleeve as she rushed past.

Emily let out a pained hiss as her arm was wrenched painfully.

“Sorry,” Claw said. “Found the microphone.”

Emily's eyes glittered and she pressed a quick kiss to his cheek. “Yes! Thank you!”

Claw's fur bushed up. “Um, it's nothing, really.”

Oblivious to Claw's reaction she raced off to find her younger sister.

The concert had gone off without many hitches.

Scarlett was staying around Trisha's for the night.

And all Emily had to do was quickly swing by the Metro before heading home.

Something felt different as she arrived.

It didn't click until she walked by it.

The open space was no longer as dark as it had been; a few neon signs and light up advertisements were on the walls surrounding it.

Both Angels and Demons stood around, staring at the flickering displays in wonderment.

No one trying to kill anyone.

She supposed that spending so much time on the surface made her ignorant of how much of a miracle this sort of thing was to the cats who spent their lives down here.

Majesty flashed a knife-toothed grin when she got to his office.

“Emily. Just the girl I was looking for,” he purred. “You have my money, right?”

Emily nodded, reluctantly handing over the money she'd earned from the concert.

It was better than robbing places like the leader thought she did.

“And that's why you're my favourite,” Majesty said as he counted it up. “You can go. Just remember I've got another gala in a few weeks.”

“Thank you.”

The house was eerily quiet as she entered.

The lights in the art room were on.

Emily opened the door slowly before gasping and racing to Matilda's side.

The owl was unconscious beside her usual work, slumped onto the floor.

“Shit!” Emily swore, trying to turn her over with one arm while desperately tapping onto her phone.

It didn't ring for long before someone picked up.

“Emergency services, how can we help?”

“I need an ambulance. Fast.”

Emily sat in the waiting room, staring at the perfect white tiled floor.

Nothing out of place, everything as it should be.

The cold metal of her seat grounded her, kept her close to reality.

Despite it being early summer it seemed freezing cold.

Her head snapped up to look at the door as it opened.

A nurse smiled and waved her over. “She said she'd like to speak to you.”

Emily slowly crossed the room to stand beside Matilda's medical bed. “Hello ma'am.”

Matilda's gaze was unfocused but she smiled. “Hi Emily. Can you do me a favour?”

“Of course.”

Emily blinked away tears that forced themselves into her eyes while Matilda reached out with a shaky wing.

The cat moved her paw to hold it.

When had the woman she looked up to so much become so frail?

“On the table in my room there are letters for the three of you. I'm leaving my money to the three of you. I'm not going to be around anymore but I'd appreciate if you could look after the others for me.”

The tears were streaming now, running rivers down her cheeks.

“Why?” Emily's voice cracked around the word.

Matilda's smile dropped and so did her wing, seeming fatigued. “You're a good girl, Emily. You don't always like to show it but you do care for those two. And we both knew this day would come eventually.”

Emily shook her head, clinging to fraying strands of hope. “But- I can't. Y-you’re Scarlett's mum, she needs you.”

“She's got a great older sister, she'll be fine,” Matilda responded.

Emily's heart felt like it was fractured glass, impossible to piece back together.

The heart monitor beside them became less regular before stopping.

Emily dropped down onto the floor, grief crumpling her muscles into useless crumbs.

She vaguely registered being taken away by the nurse and the conversation that followed about organising a funeral.

It didn't matter.

Nothing mattered.

Matilda was gone.

The house was silent when Emily closed the door after arriving home.

Her voice clogged with emotion as she called out. “Badge? Scarlett?”

Silence.

Memories slowly drifted back to her.

Badge was away on another trip.

Scarlett was spending the evening with Trisha, due back later in the night.

Emily trudged to the kitchen, downing a glass of water before promptly throwing up.

Nausea seemed to be a side effect of loss.

The cat crawled back to the living room, curling up and crying on the sofa.

Matilda was gone.

The door closed loudly.

“I'm home!”

Emily straightened, stomach twisting into knots at the realisation she'd have to break the news.

Scarlett stuck her head into the living room, eyes brimming with concern as she spotted Emily. “You look like shit, what happened?”

Emily cracked, breaking into another bout of sobs.

Scarlett quickly crossed the room, enveloping her in a hug.

Quieter, she asked again. “What happened?”

Emily wasn't sure how long it took to compose herself before she could whisper an answer.

“She's gone.”

Scarlett broke that time, crumpling like paper.

Emily gently cradled the owl as both of them cried, mourning their loss.

Scarlett eventually formed a sentence. “What are we going to do?”

Emily tightened her grip around her surrogate younger sibling.

“We're going to survive.”

Matilda was gone.

Her room was quiet without Badge.

The house seemed even quieter without Matilda.

Emily's bunk creaked as she dropped down it, curling into a ball as her head hit her pillow.

Her chest felt hollow, her eyes heavy.

But she couldn't fall asleep.

She was plagued by Matilda's instructions to look after Scarlett and Badge.

“She's got a great older sister, she'll be fine.”

Emily flinched as if struck as the words sprung into her mind.

She slowly uncurled as Scarlett opened the door to her room.

The owl hesitantly spoke. “Can I sleep in here tonight?”

Emily nodded, moving over on her bunk to make room as Scarlett burrowed into the blankets next to her.

“I can't sleep,” the owl admitted with a forced laugh.

Emily picked up the TV remote on the floor next to the bed. “D'you want to watch something?”

Scarlett nodded.

Matilda was gone.

But at least they had each other still.

Badge returned home a few weeks later.

“I'm back!” They yelled into the house.

It was too quiet for their liking.

“Em? Scarlett? Matilda?”

“Scarlett is at school,” Emily called from what sounded like the kitchen.

Badge dropped their bag by the door, walking through to where his older sister was.

Emily sat at the kitchen table, one paw raking through her hair as her other rapidly wrote something onto a sheet of lined paper.

“Em?”

The older cat glanced up, eyes narrowing briefly at them before lowering to her paperwork. “Your voice.”

The black cat cringed, trying to keep their limbs still as their body began glitching again. “Is it that noticeable?”

Emily nodded before letting out a muttered string of curses. “Can you find my laptop please? It should be in the front room.”

Badge walked through the house, stopping dead as they got into the room.

The picture of Matilda and a very young Scarlett that sat on the mantelpiece had flowers in a vase beside it.

They quickly picked up Emily's laptop, taking it to her before asking.

“Where's Matilda?”

Emily froze, ears flattening back against her head. “Gone.”

“She wouldn't up and leave though-”

“She's dead, Badge,” Emily hissed before clearly regretting her aggressive tone. She repeated the words, quieter. “She's dead.”

Badge felt tears well in their eyes but they couldn't cry.

A sob tried to claw out their throat but all that came from their vocals was a screech of static that shattered the glass of water on the table.

Emily didn't seem to notice.

Or if she did, she chose to ignore it.

Instead the older cat merely sighed and moved to get the dustpan and brush.

When Badge's static-filled wail continued she eventually walked over and pulled them into a rough hug.

Her claws skimmed up and down their spine as they limpeted to her.

It only took a couple moments for her to try and pull away.

“Badge, I need to finish this work.”

Badge burrowed their face into her collarbone.”

“Badge.”

They squeezed their eyes shut.

“Badge!” Emily snarled.

They finally pulled away and looked up at her.

Emily looked down at them, something akin to sorrow in her eyes before her expression hardened.

She spun around, picking up the papers and laptop.

She began to head out the room before pausing in the doorway.

“Don't come bother me, I need to finish this up.”

Matilda was gone.

She wanted nothing more than to hold Badge as they wept.

Try and keep some semblance of a happy family.

But she needed to finish working out all these details.

Now she was in charge of the house and there was so much to do.

She'd taken Matilda for granted.

She wasn't going to do that anymore, not now she understood how much work it took to keep them all living.

Matilda was gone.

And now there was a role to fill.

A role she would never be properly equipped for.

She called in sick for the day of the gala.

“Sick? Sick?! You whiny bitch, I don't care if you're spewing everywhere, you shouldn't flake because you're a little under the weather!”

Emily hung up.

She knew it would cause problems in the future.

That was for later though.

Claw showed up.

Emily's attention snapped briefly to him before back to paperwork as he entered the living room.

“Hey Em. Scarlett said you weren't doing so good,” he tentatively said.

“What d'you mean? I'm fine Claw, go back to the Metro or whatever, I don't know where you live,” Emily murmured.

Claw slowly pried the papers from her grip, setting them down on the floor as he crouched in front of her.

“Em. Look at me. Em.”

She slowly raised her gaze to him, weeks worth of tiredness catching up to her.

Claw scooped her up as her eyes sagged.

“Come on idiot. You need to get some rest. You can't just run on coffee and grief. Trust me, it's not a good idea.”

Emily vaguely registered him carrying her upstairs to her room.

“I told her not to overdo it,” Badge whispered from the side of the room.

“She'll be fine, she just needs a proper night's rest,” Claw responded as he rested her on her bed.

Emily buried her face in her pillow and curled up as a blanket was placed over her.

The light switch sounded as the lights flicked off.

“Sweet dreams Em.”

Months passed.

The funeral rolled around.

Scarlett courteously greeted the guests that had been invited from her mother's side of the family.

Virtually everyone shot Badge, Claw, Conductor and Emily wary looks.

Conductor hung around the bar since he'd recently turned old enough to drink.

Badge and Claw chatted off to one side.

Emily wandered.

She got drinks at the bar.

She listened to Scarlett's family make snide comments about herself and her friends when they thought no one was listening.

She locked herself in the bathroom as she cried.

She came back out and kept Scarlett company.

She waved everyone off.

She drove all of the home.

She sat back down to go over more paperwork and instructions on how to keep the house properly clean.

She ignored Scarlett and Badge's insistence to rest.

She kept herself busy.

Because if she didn't, she'd have to focus on how she felt.

And that scared her.

Radiance was not the person she expected to show up at the house.

“Hey kid. Let's have a little chat.”

Emily let the opposing gang leader into her house, a little terrified as to what was going on.

The grey cat tutted as she looked around the house. “I am going to owe Splendour a huge favour for doing this.”

“What?” Emily asked, feeling groggy after another night of little sleep.

Radiance shot her a smile. “My twin, Splendour. She stands in for me when I'm away for long periods of time. No one notices a thing.”

Emily stared up at her. “Away for…?”

Radiance sighed and gave Emily a quick side hug. “I'm here to help you get back on your feet. Claw's been worried sick about you for months so I'm here to help you fix this place up.”

“Who is it?” Badge shouted from the upstairs hallway.

“Er-”

The younger cat thundered down the stairs before freezing.

Their hackles raised and their body distorted with crackling static noises. “I don't know who you are but you aren't wanted here. I suggest you leave before I do something I regret.”

Radiance let out a bark of laughter. “I'm assuming that's Badge. Isn't there an owl too? Crimson or Rouge or something?”

“Scarlett,” Emily corrected. “She's out with her boyfriend.”

“Em, who the fuck is this?!”

“Radiance. Don't worry, I'm not like Majesty. I'm just here to help Emily get back on her feet.”

Badge glowered but their body's glitching slowed until it stopped. “If you do anything suspicious, I will kill you.”

“I don't doubt it.”

Slowly, she was coaxed back into living her life.

Eating what she wanted to eat, not whatever was cheapest.

Taking care of her fur, which had long since matted while she grieved.

Going back to the theatre club.

Having days out.

Her shoulder properly scarred over.

Radiance felt comfortable enough to leave the house again and return to the Metro.

And of course, the one thing that her friends disapproved of.

But she'd spent long enough away from Majesty.

And longer and her friends might be hurt.

It was an ordinary day.

Or at least it felt ordinary.

The six of them - Emily, Claw, Badge, Scarlett, Trisha and Conductor - were out at the cinema.

Some trashy movie to do with murder mystery.

Claw leaned over and rested his head against her shoulder as they watched.

“Em.”

“Yeah?”

“I like you.”

Emily's ear twitched with annoyance. She wasn't enjoying the film but that didn't mean she felt like chatting through it.

“I like you too.”

It quietened and she refocused on the movie.

But Claw’s whisper interrupted her thoughts. “Would you go out with me?”

The grey and white cat whipped her head around to look at him.

“What?”

“Shuddup!” Someone behind them yelled.

Emily grabbed Claw's wrist, dragging him out of the cinema and to the quiet evening streets outside.

She looked down into his eyes, repeating her earlier reaction. “What?”

“I like you. I know you probably don't feel the same but I thought you should know,” Claw explained.

Emily's mind flitted through memories.

She had always enjoyed her time with Claw. He'd been supportive after Matilda died. Hell, he'd even gotten his boss - leader of the Chosen Demons - to help her.

Countless movie nights spent with each other, trying out food at restaurants together, laughing at the others' antics.

It showed he cared.

Maybe she did love him.

“You think we should date?”

Claw nodded shyly.

“I like you a lot as well. Let's give it a go.”

[josiebelladonna]

i found a vast array of new artists this year, many of whom have become my new favorites, and a couple of whom i would just rather not even see again.

first is madie_arts. nevermind the fact the name madie (and a certain *grits teeth* variant of it) has been made radioactive to me, but… i don’t know, i have a love-hate relationship with this woman. that’s not to say she’s not a good artist—she is—but her attitude gets on the nerves. it’s very “hi, boys and girls!” and she’s one of those people who has to constantly remind us that she’s married, too. i can separate art from the artist and her art is quite nice but i can only take her in small doses.

adam_is_arting. i cannot stand this guy, and what’s worse is i feel alone in my dislike of him, too. i liked him at first: it was a cool story when you think about it. this nobody artist from grant’s pass toiling away in obscurity participated in mermay this year and everyone went completely ape shit over him, and within like… days, he was shaking hands. it’s every artist’s dream. but, thing is, it went to his head just as quick, too, and he got obnoxious really fast. moreover, i started looking at his art—like really looking at it—it’s not nearly as good as the mermay people want you to think. sure, technique is technique and a lot goes into it to where it looks competent, but the style got tiresome very quickly and it grew stale after a while. something about his art just irritates me, too: i think it’s the way he draws faces and overexaggerates the emotions to where you ironically don’t feel anything other maybe, “wow, that’s really well done.” the word i’m trying to think of is “melodramatic”. it’s like disney art but kicked up several hundred notches. very melodramatic work that… when you think about it, it’s a bad sign. if the art world is praising stuff that is painfully on the nose and dismissing subtlety, combined with the continued rise of ai and the overemphasis on reels rather than straight pictures, yeah, we’re in trouble. i really, really don’t know if i should wish him well because i see no reason to. i hate his art and i find him annoying.

then there’s the other side of my creative endeavors: writing. here it is, kinktober, and i’ve pulled the plug on mine, and i don’t know if i can continue writing and posting these one shots.

other kink writers are getting 1000 reads here coming up to halfway: i’m lucky to break 250, and yeah, reads shouldn’t matter, but it really has me thinking, too. when you see other people doing the same thing you’re into, it should inspire you, and it should give you pride in your own kink. I’m not seeing that. what i am seeing is a bunch of people speaking in a language that is so common that i can not for the life of me see the “kink” to it, and they also seem scared to actually commit to the sexiness? i figured that this is why i never really like erotic one shots that are only like a few hundred words and i feel shortchanged in that instance—there’s a way to do it, and even i struggle with that, so don’t think i’m bashing anyone for that. but if you’re going to write something sexy, please actually try to be sexy with it. use description. engage the senses. i don’t get off on “you must have fallen asleep touching yourself” alone, i need some mystery some guidance some passion some feelings. but no, that’s not good enough. what i do is not good enough. everyone would rather be mollycoddled and treated like fucking idiots rather than challenged and have their minds truly stimulated.

i was thinking about this earlier: kinktober 2023 broke me. it was the thing that made me realize just how invisible i am to people, and no one cares about my own predilections, and it really makes me wonder if it’s even worth continuing to write. just as mermay this year made me realize that all that matters is technique to where it looks ai-generated and phony as hell, kinktober made me realize all that matters is the sex no matter how mindless and genuinely unerotic (and insincere) it is.

so, if anyone in 2024 who complains about art looking exactly the same or writing sucking so hard that it feels like the person wrote it in about five minutes, this is why. don’t just blame the machines: the people using them are very much responsible, too. demand more from your art. demand more from your fan works.

god. 2024. it feels weird just writing that. i honestly have no hope for 2024. after the ass-kicking i took this year, i’m so cynical about it that i don’t even know where to begin. vote for joe biden, support your jewish black and muslim friends, stay away from ai and nfts, and drink water, that’s all i have to say for 2024.

[portaltothevoid]

For Whom the Bell Tolls - Chapter Two - Voodoo Dolly

Pairing: Eddie Munson x OFC (Kat Ramsay), sequel to Foolin’

Summary: Kat, still reeling from her nightmare, runs into Chrissy on her way to Corroded Coffin’s band practice where she takes them completely by surprise.

Warnings: established relationship, allusion to eating disorders, unhealthy coping mechanisms, mention of pot use, smoking, half of a drug deal

Word count: 2.5k

Chapter song: Voodoo Dolly by Siouxsie and the Banshees

Tag list: @munchabunch @madaboutmunson @michele131 @riffcrusader @prettyboyeddiemunson @idiot-parade

Her new mantra was ‘It was just a dream, a nightmare. It wasn’t real.’ She repeated that to herself over and over again, in the hopes that she could trick herself into believing it. But she knew. She knew the threat was looming and very, very real.

Kat was constantly on edge. For the most part she was able to hide it. Her demeanor appeared calm and collected like usual, but her mind never stopped racing. The fact that it had only been a few days since her nightmare and she was already on her second pack of cigarettes was the telltale sign she truly wasn’t doing well. Not that she allowed room for anyone to pick up on that. She knew Eddie didn’t and couldn’t understand the severity of the situation. She barely knew the severity of it all. All she had was a feeling that clung to her like lichen on an old tree, growing and always present.

Corroded Coffin finally had time to sit with Master of Puppets and now that they all had the studio version of the album, and not just a demo of the title track, Eddie made it his own personal mission for the band to perfect a cover of his and Kat’s new favorite song. The Thursday after it was released, there was a mandatory band practice. Kat, of course, wasn't about to miss it, being the virtuoso that she was. Music still muted the omnipresent feeling of her nightmare’s monster for the time being, so she jumped at any opportunity she could for a distraction from her spiraling mind.

On her way to Gareth’s, she made a quick stop at the general store in town to pick up another pack of cigarettes and grab a snack or two. Lost in her own world, she rounded the aisle and collided with someone exiting. Upon impact, a few Twinkies and Star Crunches fell to the ground, falling from the grasp of the petite frame in front of Kat.

“Oh my god! I am so sorry. I was just in my own world over here,” Kat gushed as she bent down to pick up the snacks that had fallen from the girl’s arms.

“Oh, no! It’s okay! I was in a hurry and… Kat! Hey!” Chrissy said, taking the snacks back from her.

“Chrissy! Hi!” She eyed her arm full of snacks that covered all bases from sweet to savory. “Stocking up?” Kat chuckled. Chrissy’s face reddened slightly.

“Sort of,” she laughed nervously. “Comfort food before I have to deal with my mother. ‘Did you get enough practice in? We need to take your measurements. If I have to take out one more uniform!’” she imitated her mother in a high-pitched mocking voice before rolling her eyes. “You know how moms can be.”

Kat started putting two and two together. Her mother was a model. She grew up in Hollywood. Probably not many people could read between the lines here, but she definitely could. Her brow furrowed in concern. “I mean I have a few minutes before I gotta go to band practice, you wanna talk about anything?” she offered.

“I…you know what? Sure. It’d be nice to catch up with you,” she flashed a genuine smile.

“Cool! I’m just gonna grab a couple things, I’ll be right behind you at the check out.” Chrissy nodded as she headed over to pay for all her things.

Kat grabbed her own box of Star Crunch and a tube of Pringles, after she grabbed a bottle of Mountain Dew, and a king sized Reese’s at the register. 

“Anything else today?” the cashier asked. Chrissy was waiting off to the side for Kat.

“A pack of Marlboro Hundreds, please,” she said as she placed a twenty on the counter. 

“Alright, here you go. Have a nice night, girls.”

“Thanks, you too.” When they exited the store, Kat started walking towards her car. “Did you walk here?” 

“Yeah, gets my mom off my back if I exercise extra after cheer.”

Kat nodded as she took her last cigarette out of the pack in her back pocket. “Do you mind if I have one? I can wait if you do.”

“No, no. Go ahead!”

Kat nodded and she lit it. After she exhaled smoke the opposite direction of Chrissy, she asked, “So what was so bad about today?” She wanted to believe the increasingly dreadful pang in her stomach came from too big of a drag from her cigarette, but she knew the feeling was coming back full force for whatever reason right now.

“Ugh, it’s just everything! My parents are stressing me out. Cheer is exhausting me. And all Jason wants to talk about is stupid basketball.”

“Do you even like Jason?” Kat wondered leaning back against her car. Chrissy furrowed her brow and fidgeted with the corner of her letterman jacket.

“I mean, yeah, he’s a good person once he lets you get to know him.”

Kat just scoffed. “What do you like about him?”

“Well…” she paused, trying to think of reasons, “He’s got nice eyes? He’s cute, um… He cares about me.”

“I have nice eyes, Chrissy,” Kat sighed. “Wanna know what I think?” she proposed as she took another drag of her cig. She was encouraged with a nod. “You don’t like him. You’re with him, because it’s expected and convenient.”

Her face dropped at that observation. She knew Kat was right. “It’s just easier to play the part…” she practically whispered as she started chewing on the inside of her cheek.

“Is it really though? You aren’t happy. I’ve noticed for a while. Since… since that time I ran into after school back around… Halloween I think? You can’t keep living your life for everyone else around you,” Kat advised, her voice coated in sincerity. 

“It’s a little late for that now… I mean maybe in college, when I can get away from all the… the… pressure. I just wish I could shut my mind off for a bit, you know?”

Kat let out a very short, punctuated laugh, “You have no idea. Hey, you ever think about trying weed? It could help. And, I mean, you definitely have the snacks of a stoner,” she lightly teased with a smile, which Chrissy couldn’t help but return.

“I’ve debated it,” she shrugged. “But I’ve never been able to ask anyone for it, or even about it. It’s hard when you’re the golden angel of Hawkins…”

“Listen, if things get bad enough, and you just need a break, you can come to me. Leave a note in my locker or something. Eddie will hook you up, no judgement, no questions. Hell, we’ll even do it with you!”

“I’ll… I’ll think about it. Um, I should probably get going though…”

“Yeah, same. The guys are probably wondering where I am.”

“Alright well, I’ll see you at school tomorrow,” she said, giving Kat a half smile.

“Of course,” Kat nodded as she put out the remains of her cigarette with her shoe.

Chrissy started to turn away, but abruptly turned back and suddenly enveloped Kat in a hug, “Thanks for listening and caring. You’re one of the only ones that seems to notice…”

She gave Chrissy a comforting squeeze, trying to ignore the fact the hairs on the back of her neck were rising. The accompanied feeling of turmoil made her heart sink. “Always,” she said, gently pulling back to show her the truthfulness in her eyes. “I’m always here for you Chrissy. I… I understand what you’re going through. I’ll help you in any way I can, okay?” She smiled up at Kat, giving her another quick hug before she parted from her. “Think about what I said, alright?”

Backing away, Chrissy nodded enthusiastically. “I will. Definitely,” she said with a little wave before she turned to head back home.

Kat started her car and immediately turned up the volume on her stereo. “Fight It Back” by Accept drowned out the creeping, crawling feeling she had all over that was reminiscent of what she felt in her nightmare. She shook her head as if to shake it out of her system. Focusing on the deafeningly loud music, she could feel it receding. She couldn’t get to Gareth’s fast enough.

— — —

“About damn time!” Gareth shouted when he saw Kat walking up his driveway. 

“Where’d you go? What took so long?” Eddie asked as she wrapped him in a one armed hug and gave him a quick peck. 

“Stopped to get snacks,” she revealed, holding up her bag of goodies, “and ran into Chrissy. She had a bad day, so we talked for a bit.” Kat took a drag of her cigarette that she lit on the way in. 

“Chrissy? Like Chrissy Cunningham?” Jeff asked incredulously. 

“Yeah? Why? She’s, like, a total sweetheart. She’s always been nice to me since the first day.”

“Just weird…She only ever sticks to her kind.” 

“I don’t know. Don’t you guys have a song to learn or something?” Kat asked, changing the subject. 

“Ah, I thought so, but Gareth apparently forgot how to play drums!!” Eddie spoke with his frustrated, high-pitched voice while he glared at him. Kat just rolled her eyes at him. 

“I’m sorry not all of us were taught by the actual members themselves!” Gareth challenged in retort. 

“Cut the shit, Gareth. Show me what part is giving you trouble,” she demanded, walking over to stand behind him. 

“It’s this part of the bridge,” he began as he demonstrated his difficulty. 

Kat nodded, “Okay, you’re rushing it and trying to add extra beats. That’s what's messing you up. Eddie’s probably getting too excited and playing faster than he should, throwing you off.”

“Hey!” interrupted Eddie, slightly offended. 

“Get up, I’ll show you,” Kat continued. 

“What?” He looked at her like she just asked him to run over his drum set and set it on fire. “You only play guitar.”

Kat rolled her eyes. “No. I don’t. Now will you move before I make you move?” 

The look on her face and her stance caused Gareth to almost trip over himself. Kat picked up the drum sticks and sat down. “Now, watch me and count,” she instructed, counting off the beat. 

Flawlessly, starting from the start of the lyrical bridge, she played it perfectly. Everyone stared, jaws on the floor. Kat never mentioned she played the drums. It was simply because it had never come up and she didn’t want to brag. She even demonstrated for Gareth what he was doing and then the correct way to do it. “Try it out,” she encouraged. 

“No. Kat, you stay. We’re playing it from the top,” commanded Eddie. His tone was sharp enough that no one protested. 

Kat shrugged, “Okay, giving you guys a four count.” 

Jumping right into the song, she played it front to back as if she’d been playing it all her life. Everyone was shocked, including Kat. It’d been quite some time since she played drums, not that anyone could tell. 

“Where in the hell did you learn that?” Eddie questioned. 

“Oh, uh, well, I started out on drums. Piano too. Mostly drums though when I was super little. It’s the one thing I can play by ear with one listen. Guitar takes me a couple tries… It just never came up before now? Guitars are easier to cart cross country, so I just… stuck with that…” she trailed off as the stares from everyone was making her nervous. 

Eddie just shook his head. “You never cease to amaze me, ya know that? Gareth, you’re fired.”

“What!?”

“No, no, he’s not,” Kat reassured, getting up and shoving Gareth’s drum sticks back at him. “I require too much attention to simply be the drummer,” she spoke with a fake-presumptuous tone as she gave her hair a flip as she headed over to take a seat to watch the rest of their practice. 

“Okay, well, you need to get your own drum set asap,” Eddie mused to Kat during a break which allowed for them to talk amongst themselves. 

“And where am I gonna store it? Aunt Linda and her stupid neighbors would have a fit not even I’d wanna deal with.”

“Just store it at my place,” he offered. 

“Yeah, okay. Because there’s definitely room in your shoebox,” Kat said sarcastically. 

“We— we could store it in my closet… there’s enough room for the bags in there,” he spoke slowly, trying to disguise the sting he felt from her comment. 

Even as enthralled as he was with her drumming, it wasn’t enough to block out how lippy she was today. He knew the dream had bothered her, but clearly he underestimated the longevity of it. While he wanted to let her come to him if she wanted to talk about it, he knew this was the sort of thing he’d have to coax out of her. Sure she was often sarcastic, but never to the point of rudeness. 

Eddie saw his chance after everyone had packed up their gear and he went to say goodbye to her at her car. “Hey is, uh… Is that dream still bothering you? Did anything else happen today?” 

“I mean, yeah. Of course it’s still bothering me. Part of me wonders if it was even a dream. That’s how real it felt. It was like my mind traveled somewhere… else…” Kat shook her head and briefly buried her head in her hands. Eddie reached out and rubbed her shoulders. “I sound so fucking crazy. And— and then that feeling came back when I was talking to Chrissy. It was like— like someone was watching me— watching us…” Fear was slipping through Kat’s voice. She reached in her back pocket for her cigarettes. 

Eddie furrowed his brow. “You’re smoking a lot more too,” he noted. Great. So he did notice, of course he would. 

“It’s fine. I’ll be fine,” she said completely unconvincingly. “I gotta head home, but, uh… Oh!” she said before she reached into her car to grab her wallet out of her bag. “I need more weed.”

“Okay… how much?” 

“This much,” she said, slapping a hundred dollar bill into his hand. His eyes widened. 

“Kat, already?”

“It helps me sleep. Eddie, please,” she whispered defeatedly.

“Yeah. Okay. Tomorrow. I’ll have it for you tomorrow.” 

She gave him a short kiss, “Thank you. I’ll see you tomorrow,” she said as she got in her car. 

Eddie was taken aback by her tonight. He shoved the money into his pocket as he walked over to his van. A sinking feeling of his own started to settle into the pit of his stomach. Granted he didn’t know in depth details of her past life in California, but he knew a spiral when he saw one. No matter what it took, he vowed to protect Kat in any and every way that he could. 

previous chapter | next chapter

[meenahray]

Pre-stream anxiety - Tyler X Artsy-Reader fluff

This is a nice fluff story I made. Specifically platonic stuff because I wanted more of that in my life. (I’m a lonely human being who doesn’t get much of if any platonic physical contact with anyone). I cover some feelings of anxiety, from my own experiences.

Word count - 1450 of them

Tags - Artsy, form appreciation, fluff, platonic, friends, ink, physical interaction without any lewdness, comfort, anxiety, mention of Chica and Ethan, Mark being dramatic, what are tags, reader is gender nuetral so have fun!

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

It was one of those days again. You had this build up of frustrated energy in your chest and you can’t seem to get it out, which makes you super unproductive because it's turning every emotion up to the max and makes you want to cry at everything. It was the day before one of Mark’s charity live streams and you didn’t need this. You nearly cried at Chica this morning already because of how much you adore the pupper. Which would seem normal but you also nearly cried because there was no milk for cereal and you had to have toast instead.

You find yourself really spaced and find it difficult to even try and talk to people, you had dissasociated. So Tyler, being the calm collected motherfricker that he is, just suggests that he sit with you while you make some vent art for a bit. And by sit with,  I mean where you both sit together in the same comfy spot (wherever that may be), you’re sat with your sketchbook and ink and he’s sat behind you with his legs either side of you just watching you make some messy art. He paps or rubs your back while you vent, and after about half an hour or so you’re already feeling much better.

But because you’re a cheeky shit you hatch a little plan. Tyler foolishly rested his hand on his leg beside, which you grabbed and brought up in front of you so he couldn’t see. He was confused but let you as he felt you make small round motions on the back of his hand, like drawing tiny circles. It was soothing to him too. Then he felt you make other swirly shapes, over his knuckles and eventually near his wrist, which he thought was cute and endearing till he noticed the slightly sticky sensation that he’d failed to notice before, and you giggling to yourself. That’s when Tyler took a look at what you were doing and realised, you weren’t just drawing shapes on his hand, but you were using ink to make those drawings.

‘Um… why?’ He said in a curious tone.

‘Because I got bored with the paper and felt like making myself giggle.’ You smiled back with the best innocent smile you could muster.

‘Well, at least you weren’t drawing dicks. I got worried you were doing that from your giggling.’

‘Pssh, I’m not THAT immature.’ Tyler gave you a look with a raised brow.

‘OK, maybe I am. But I wouldn’t ruin a perfectly good canvas with dick drawings.’ You realised after those words left your mouth that that probably sounded cheesier than you thought it would.

‘Huh.’ Tyler nodded and took in this, odd, form of appreciation. That’s when you turned to the side, just enough so that your arms reached both the ink pot and the rest of Tyler’s arm.

‘I wanna paint the rest of your arm.’ You said before quickly proceeding to take the swirly shapes further than his wrist. You had both hands on his wrist so while he was distracted by talking you had re-dipped your fingers in with one hand and held Tyler with the other to make sure he didn’t escape, which he promptly tried to do.

‘H-hey! No more ink-‘ Too late, Tyler’s action of trying to pull his arm away made you instinctively hold on, causing a large black handprint. It was a strong grip and Tyler was surprised since he’d seen you be a clumsy shit and always dropping something.

‘You’re surprisingly strong.’

‘Thank you. When it comes to craft, my handiwork is excellent. Now don’t move so quickly, I don’t think Mark would be happy with ink spatter up his walls.’ You said quite matter-of-factly, but you meant it in a calm way and now you worry it may not have come across as that. But Tyler seemed to understand.

‘Ok, I’ll let you ink the rest of my arm. At least let me take my shirt off first so no ink gets on that.’ You nodded and released his hand, the ink already there had dried already so there was no worry of transfer. You watched him pull his Legend of Zelda t-shirt over his head by grabbing the collar, a way of taking a shirt off that you liked to use. It was somehow more fun than pulling it up from the bottom.

Tyler balled up his shirt and tossed it at a nearby chair.

‘I feel like I’m being observed when you look at me like that.’ He commented, looking directly into your eyes. Eyes which, if they weren’t so distracted by the male body structure might have been flustered.

‘Well, I AM observing you in a way. But not in the pervy way in the ‘Holy crap look at this male body structure it’s so good haaaa’ kind of way.’

‘I like the “way” you think.’ Tyler chuckled at his stupid pun, so did you.

‘Gog damn it Tyler… but you know, by taking your shirt off you are giving me more canvas.’ You looked at the expanse of his chest and his other arm. Soooo much that could be painted on.

‘You said arm so no more than my arm.’ Tyler said in a friendly firm manner, putting his finger up for the number one.

‘All of you.’

‘No.’

‘Arm and chest.’

‘No!’

‘Both arms, no the chest.’

‘Fine.’ Tyler sighed but smiled, he figured he’d lose this artist negotiation. Just like Ethan had when he and you both started drawing on each other's arms for the lols but it turned into actual drawing (Although Ethan is almost as much of an enabler as you are). You smiled and giggled excitedly, got the ink pot (which was really just a small bowl with a small amount of ink in it, that stuff goes for days) and proceeded to continue the swirly designs up the rest of Tyler’s arm. Sometime’s paying attention to the muscle definition and following it and other times not.

You felt that, when you moved to his other arm, the art was better. Like the first arm had been a warm up page. You made the triforce on the top of his right hand, as well and attempting a Majora’s mask on the same shoulder, like the dork that you are. After a rough total of twenty minutes, you were-

‘Done.’ You sat back on your feet and smiled at your work. Tyler looked at the ink on his arms, turning them to try and see everything, his smile growing wider which in turn made you happier and feel bubbly.

‘This is actually really cool. How’s the anxiety energy ball?’

'Completely gone! Thank you, Tyler.’ You felt your body fill with positive energy again. You don’t know how Tyler managed to do it but you were thankful he could.

Before he could reply you heard Mark call from another room.

‘Tyler? Where are you, I need your urgent assistance with this task!’ You laughed.

‘As dramatic as ever. Welp, that’s me gone for the next three hours. His computer could have exploded again.’ He stood up and paped your head. You liked it when Tyler gave you head paps. He put his shirt back on and waved as he left the room, you smiled and got about to gathering up your supplies.

—

 --- In the other room where Mark is being a drama boy as his computer flips him off ---

‘Oh, there you are.’ Mark heard Tyler come into the room, tried to stand too quickly and bonked his head on the desk.

‘Crap!’ Mark stood rubbing his head, thanking to god that it wasn’t the corner. He turned to Tyler and was about to explain his woes when he saw the ink swirls and patterns all over his arms. Mark pointed with a question mark look on his face.

‘Oh, I was helping Y/N with a frustration ball. They needed to vent some art.’

‘Oh is it the anxiety ball thing again? I remember them explaining that it happens sometimes.’ Mark took a glance at his screen, the blue screen of death not looking back at him, thank fuck.

‘Yeah. But they’re feeling much better now. You like my ink?’ Tyler flexed and made a silly pose which made Mark sigh and smile then shake his head.

‘Yes, very badass and manly. Now help me figure out which wire or wires are being a bitch to me.’

And then they both spent far too long trying to figure out which was the bitch wire when it turned out to be just a dodgy HDMI cable.

The End~

[basement-writings]

~ Debt repaid in full ~

Yan!Childe x Weapon!Y/n 

Note: I’m trying to explore my SoulEaterXGenshin AU with this headcanon/fic. Sorry that it got kinda sloppy at the end!! I’ll probably publish my overview of the au sometime but I keep on adding to it with many big-brain ideas. I’ll be opening requests for the au or just suggestions or questions about it! The next character I’ll be exploring will be Zhongli because I’ve been basing all my Archon headcanons with him, so it’ll be the easiest to write for! Also, I wrote this with Y/N being a chain spear weapon but it’s only brought up once, so g/n weapon? 

Word Count: 1k

Warnings: semi-detailed gore (mostly just blood), nonmajor character death, unhealthy dynamic, and relationship, Mentions of heavy violence, Childe just being a menace <;/3

-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

The tales from the few delusion weapons that have worked with Childe tell of the many bloodbaths they’ve witnessed. Stories ranging from how he laughed as an enemy begged for mercy before reveling in the final blow to the wet sounds of the blood splashing underneath his shoes following where ever he went. But you could never guess that the man who killed hundreds of Meisters and weapons with only his vision and delusion was the same with the ever-so-charming laugh and showed the utmost kindness to his family. The complete 180 in personality from a cold-blooded murderer to a charming young man could give anyone whiplash. Childe has never sought to make a contract with a weapon himself, only ever using his vision, which changed upon meeting you. 

He first took an interest in you when he was stationed in Lyiue, helping to collect debtors who had been causing issues for the Fatui. This client has been failing to repay the loan they took from the Northland Bank for a few months, so it was up to him to step in where his lackeys failed. But what he didn’t expect was for you to step between him and your friend. You’ve known of Fatui’s methods of collecting a debt; many people ‘suddenly go missing’ after getting behind on their payments. So when you saw your meister being cornered by one of them, you couldn’t just stand aside. Pleading, begging almost, that you would get the money to repay them, you just needed more time. 

He admired your will to be able to stand up to a harbinger. The wildfire that lit up your eyes caused his pulse to skip a beat, like the adrenaline rush from battle. That was the day your ‘love’ story began. 

His interest in you only grew the longer he watched you. How do you take up various jobs around Liuye to help your friend with their due debts? He was thrilled beyond belief when he watched you help clear out some hillcurlers bothering an elderly couple on the outskirts of town. The question of if he would ever make a contract with a weapon came back to him as he saw your arm shift into a chain spear. You moved akin to a dance, moving your body to the rhythm of your attacks, doing quick work of the hillcurlers. He was so fixated on you that he didn’t even notice how he had started to shake in anticipation and a growing beaming smile that uncannily stretched his face. 

After his little watching session, he researched everything about you that he could find, memorizing the tiniest details from your favorite flower to your preferred sleeping position. He even went as far as to show up unexpectedly by you, revealing how your body went stiff. He’d try his charms on you, mixing flirtatious remarks with the ever-so-present time limit until the debt was due. He was quickly becoming somewhat of an acquaintance, much to your disappointment. But what he didn’t think of (or want) was finding out that the friend he initially came to get debt from was your meister. He’d show at night when your returning from a job, taking advantage of your worn-out self to try and plant seeds of doubt in your mind about how you are so much better than your current meister. It didn’t matter whatever relationship you had with this person; the only thing that mattered was that they were in his way of making you his.

The cool night air served as a sort of tranquility that you could lose yourself in any day. That is if there wasn’t a menace walking beside you, serving as a walking reminder of the approaching due date for the mora. You had lost interest in whatever he was talking about, being too exhausted from clearing out monsters for the past few hours to care. You didn’t need to be nagged and taunted by some harbinger who took it upon himself to annoy you daily. 

Your autopilot walking was interrupted when the ginger abruptly stepped in front of you, leaning down to be at eye level with you. “I don’t get it, really,” he began, staring at you as if he could look into your soul for an answer, “ Why do you even stay with that meister? You’re practically being held back by them. You need someone more...experienced than them!” He chuckled, seeing you glare at him, trying to sidestep around him, but he got in front of you again. Being so close to his face, you could see his eyes' hollowness that you didn’t notice before. “Someone like me.” With how quickly he changed, he returned to the annoying carefree Childe you were used to—laughing at how you looked like you saw a ghost. 

The rest of the walk had a heavy air as his words echoed in your head.

When the extended time limit came, you and your meister brought the exact amount to the Northland bank where childe was uncharacteristically quiet when the sack of mora was laid out in front of him. You can feel as if time had stopped when Childe presents that while you had gotten the payment for the loan, it had increased in the extended time he gave you. But he is not anything but generous and offers a compromise, saying he’ll erase all of your meisters debt if you agree to unify your contract with them and, in return, make one with him♡.

You’re both stunned and bewildered by his proposal. However, from how a sly smile creeps up on his face, you know he means every word. The audacity of the man in front of you. He so casually dehumanized you into a simple object that could be traded in a contract. Thankfully you and your meister both rejected his proposal, asking if there was anything else. 

He pretended to ponder the idea before stating that there was a way to settle this fairly, practically eating up your full undivided attention on him. He would challenge your meister to a duel, hardly hiding the fact that this was his plan. The vision at his hip pulsing to life as your meister begrudgingly accepted. You could only watch as the gruesome match began. You wanted to look away so many times as the screams of your now late meister rang through the air.

You didn’t even notice the tears streaming down your face as Childe walked to you, his prize. Staring down at you with those soulless eyes looked down at your crouched figure. He took off his bloodied glove and brushed your tears off as he cradled your cheek. Tilting your face upwards to meet his gaze, “I look forward to our newly formed contract (first)!” beaming a smile that didn’t match his void-like eyes. 

Childe would make you his right hand in the Fatui, taking you away from Lyiue to his home in Snezhnaya. He doesn’t need to chain you down when your contract does it for him, detailing your obedience to stay by his side. He takes pride in wielding your weapon form, proving that he is better than your old partner. That you should be thankful, he decided to help bring out your true potential, only under him, of course. You’ve taken to just trying to block out all the cries and screams of the people victim to the harbinger, though you haven’t been able to wash the iron smell from you for months now. 

New rumors of the infamous 11th Harbinger started circling through the low-ranking members and weapons in the Fatui. Tales of how where ever he fought, there would only be him and his weapon standing victor in the end. Dancing in a blood-filled ballroom, the red floor reflecting the sinful dance like a mirror—capturing how his hands tighten around your hand and waist, pulling you along to his rhythm—a mere victim to the beat of his war drum.

[jungwonenthusiast]

hii can i request bestfriends heeseung and y/n who have never done anything together but one night while having a sleepover things just go in that direction 👀👀👀 (using prompts 8 & 12 please🥺)

A/N: this is such a cute concept i love it (u didn’t specify who says what so i chose lol i hope thats okay, I also made hee a soft dom)

Warnings: oral (f receiving), fingering (f receiving), unprotected sex, cock warming

Word count: 3k

You tap lotion onto your face as Heeseung pulls his sheet mask off. He pats the remaining product into his skin.

“You don’t even need that,” you roll your eyes. “Your skin is already perfect.”

“Jealous?” he teases.

“Yes, I one hundred percent am.” you admit and he chuckles.

You finish up in the bathroom and then plop onto your bed. Heeseung leans over you and grabs the remote on your nightstand. He clicks to Bojack Horseman as always then lays down next to you, scrolling through his phone.

You kick him in the shin. “Gimme some space.”

He frowns and sprawls himself on top of you. “What, you don’t wanna love on me?”

You laugh and try to push him off. “I feel violated.”

He rolls away, chuckling.

You’re scrolling through tiktok together when a video of someone joking about porn comes up. You cackle and Heeseung looks at you.

“How do you know about that?” he asks, wide eyed.

“What do you mean?” you ask awkwardly.

“Do you watch porn?” he asks and you turn away from him, giggling.

“That’s a very private question.” you say, covering your face with your hands.

“So you do!” he exclaims and he’s blushing too.

You guys talked about sex occassionaly, only when you were sharing stories about hook ups though.

“What kind do you watch?” he says, only half joking and you punch him in the shoulder.

“That’s an extremely private question.” you say.

“I thought we were for lifers.” he replies and you laugh.

If he were a female friend you wouldn’t hesitate to tell her all of this, but for some reason he made you shy. You still remember when you became aware that he was a guy. It was the summer before tenth grade when he grew three inches, his voice dropped, and his shoulders began to broaden. It was the summer you became more aware of his masculinity and ever since then, things kind of changed. Not for the worse, things are just different now. 

You continue to scroll when another scandalous tiktok comes up. It said something about wanting to be dominated and taken control of.

You groan. “Why do I keep getting these things?”

“The for you page gives you things that it knows you’d like.” he remarks and you scrunch your nose at him. “What? I think it was pretty hot.”

You choke. “You’re a bottom?”

“No!” he guffaws. “I meant to be the giver in that situation.”

“Ohhh,” you say, trying not to get too embarrassed. The thought of him doing that to someone drove you a little insane.

“Are you?” he asks and you shove him.

“You weirdo.” you accuse and he holds his hands up.

“I just think best friends should know these things about each other.”

You shrug him off and turn your phone off. “I don’t trust my phone anymore, let’s watch yours.”

You scoot over to him and rest your head on his shoulder.

He scoffs. “I thought you wanted space?”

“Are you complaining?” you tease.

“Of course not.” He fake yawns to get his arm around you and you cackle.

He taps a gentle beat onto your shoulder while scrolling through instagram. You can’t help but tense up in his embrace. He had been a bit more touchy than usual lately; random hugs, playing with your fingers, adjusting your clothes, and tying up your shoelaces whenever he could.

“Wow I do not like this.” he says at someone’s prom outfit.

“Me neither,” you frown. “It’s kind of outdated.”

“When’s our prom?” he asks.

“I think in a month.”

“We’re going together right?” he asks and your heart skips a beat. You figured that you’d go together but him asking you made you anxious.

“Yeah,” you try to sound confident.

“Are we gonna coordinate our outfits?” he lightly squeezes your side and you squeal.

“But we’re not going as a couple.” you say and he rolls his eyes.

“So? It’d be weird to show up together with mismatched outfits.” he says and you nod in agreement. “Do you have an idea of what you wanna wear?” he asks.

“I think I wanna go more simple and do black.” you say and he groans.

“You always wear black dresses.”

“And? I look hot in them.” you defend.

“You’re right you’re right.” he accepts defeat and you giggle.

As the night goes on you slowly slump further into Heeseung’s side. At one point his arm goes numb so you scooch in front of him and rest your back against his chest. You’ve gotten used to being so close to him, and at this point you just wanted more.

His arms are wrapped loosely around you as you watch Coraline on the tv. He reaches up to run his hand through his hair but instead punches you decently hard in the boob. You yelp and hold your chest.

“Ahh! Sorry sorry!” he holds your shoulders. “I’m sorry.”

You can’t help but laugh through your pain. “Trying to make me lose a boob or something?”

“Noo, no I’m sorry, forgive me.” he asks, sounding genuinely worried.

Sure you were exaggerating your reaction, but what’s wrong with having a little fun with him.

You elbow him in the side and he cries out.

“Revenge.” you say with a smug smile.

He waits a moment before grabbing your waist and flipping you onto your back. He’s always stronger than you would’ve guessed. You yell as he climbs on top of you and begins to tickle your sides.

You kick around and try to push him off but he won’t budge.

“Get off, I’m dying!” you cackle from his relentless tickling.

“You asked for it.” he says.

“I thought we promised no tickle fights?” you grab a pillow to protect yourself but he’s quick to chuck it away.

“I had my fingers crossed.” he jokes.

You muster all of your strength and hook your leg around him to get him onto his back, a trick Jungwon taught you.

Without thought, you climb on top of him and pin his hands down. It take you a moment to realize what position you’re in. You both freeze for a second before bursting out laughing.

You fall onto your back, holding your chest.

“What the hell was that?” he asks, laughing. “Some fifty shades of gray type of shit.”

You kick him in the shoulder. “I’m sorry!” you say through a fit of giggles. You try to push yourself up but your legs are bent in a way that makes it a little tough. Heeseung assists you and pulls you up into a sitting position by your waist.

You’re still giggling a bit when you feel his nose brush against yours.

“Hi.” you whisper and he waits a moment before gently pushing his lips against yours. Your heart leaps into your throat but you try to stay calm as possible.

He pulls away (to your disappointment) and looks at you with wide eyes.

“Fuck, I’m sorry-” he says and before he can finish your hold his face and kiss him back. His arms snake around your waist and he pulls you flush against him.

You can’t believe that this is happening. You wonder if all the things you’ve fantasized about would happen tonight. Of course not, you’re crazy, you think. But you could already imagine with hands adventuring your body, touching you just how you like it.

Your fingers dip into the back of his shirt collar. You’re barely touching his skin, but it still feels so special.

His lips move to your cheek, then your jaw, then your neck. Your breath becomes increasingly ragged as his kisses become more open mouthed and messy.

He looks up at you. “Is this okay? Like do you want this?”

You nod eagerly and he smiles. “Cute.” he says to himself.

He gently rests you onto your back and traces your waist before pushing your top up. He peppers kisses all over your stomach and ribs before getting to the band of your bralette.

You blush. “I would’ve worn something nicer if I knew this was gonna happen.”

He shakes his head. “I like it, it’s pretty.”

You tug your shirt over your head along with your bra. He lets out a small gasp and you rush to cover yourself.

“Wait, no no.” he pulls your hands away.

“You’re making me shy.” you turn your head away and he chuckles.

“So perfect.” he says before softly kissing your chest.

You let out a small moan while running your fingers through his hair.

He slowly runs his tongue over your nipples while rubbing your sides. You can feel wetness starting to pool in your underwear.

You instinctively swivel your hips, looking for some kind of stimulation and he smiles.

“Do you need something?” he asks teasingly and you feel your cheeks heat up.

“Yeah,” you answer.

“What is it?”

You shake your head out of embarrassment.

“Well you’re gonna have to tell me or I’m just gonna leave you like this.” he says nonchalantly and you sigh.

You swallow your pride. “Touch me, please?”

“Attagirl.” he says and tugs your shorts off. “Show me how you like it.”

Your eyes widen. “Huh?”

“You heard me,” he says. “Show me first.”

You breathe in nervously before sliding your hand into your underwear. You circle your clit once and do your best to hold in a moan. He pulls your underwear to the side to watch you.

“Do you think about me when you touch yourself?” he asks. “When you’re home alone and it’s late at night?”

You nod sheepishly and he smiles. “What do you imagine?”

“I’m not telling you,” you blush. “It’s embarrassing.”

“Don’t be embarrassed. If you tell me, I'll tell you what I think about too.” he suggests and you accept the deal.

“I-I imagine my fingers being yours,” you swallow thickly.

“Mhm,” he encourages you while gingerly kissing your thighs.

“And,” you hesitate for a moment. “I imagine your tongue on me, and you filling me up. What about you?”

He smiles. “I imagine touching you like this,” he rubs his hands down your thighs and reaches up to pinch your nipples. “I imagine kissing you here,” he kisses your inner thigh, “and here,” he kisses you so close to where you need him the most and you quiver. He grabs your hand and pushes your fingers into his mouth. Your eyes widen and he smirks. “You taste good.”

You nearly cum just from seeing and hearing that.

“I imagine doing this.” He lowers his head and licks a gentle stripe up your pussy. Your thighs snap around his head and he pushes them back open.

“Relax sweetheart, let me make you feel good.” he says before delving into you. Your back arches off the bed right away and your fingers find his hair. Goddamn he’s good.

He circles his tongue on your clit, hungrily but still gently.

“Fuck,” you exhale and he smiles.

He pushes a finger into you with ease and soon adds another. You roll your hips against his tongue as his fingers pump in and out of you. You whimper as the overwhelming pleasure runs through your body.

“Oh my god,” you squeak as your legs begin to shake. Already? You think.

His fingers stay at a steady pace as he messily sucks on your clit. You tug at his hair and he moans into you.

“Please don’t stop.” you beg and he obeys.

Your hips begin to lift off the mattress and he pins you down, keeping you in place. Your orgasm pours through you like sweet syrup, leaving you trembling under him.

He comes up to kiss you, letting you taste yourself. You wipe your juices off his chin with your thumb then lick it off.

He watches you in awe. “God you’re hot.”

You pull his hoodie over his head and push him onto his back. Your fingers trace his shoulders, then his waist, and every muscle on his torso. You kiss him down to the band of his sweats before pulling them down along with his Calvins.

His cock springs up and hits his lower stomach. You slowly kiss up his shaft then waste no time getting him in your mouth. He hisses and caresses your hair.

He hits the back of your throat every time you bob your head but you don’t care. His head drops back with a tempting moan.

“Fuck you’re good.” he says with a small smile.

You stroke the inches you can’t reach with your hand.

You wish you could imprint this image of him in your mind: his head lulling back, his adam's apple bobbing every time he swallows, his brows furrowing, his mouth parting open. You’re almost tempted to take a photo.

You take him all the way into your throat and swallow around him. The moan he lets out sounds better than a song.

You look up at him and watch him rake his hand through his hair. His abs contract every time you come down on him.

“Just like that,” he purrs, sending heat straight to your core.

You feel so dirty with your spit dripping down your chin but at the same time, it feels so good.

“Such a good girl,” he coos. “Sucking this cock so well.”

You nod at him and he smiles.

“Come here,” he pulls you into a position where he can reach you better and squeezes your ass. He tenderly traces his fingers down your spine before slowly pushing two fingers into you. You whine on his cock and he smirks.

“Still so wet.” he says while slightly curling his fingers, you jolt and he chuckles. “Feels good huh?”

You nod and he pets your hair. “Keep going, that’s it.”

His fingers pick up the pace as your sucking and licking becomes more sloppy.

His moans become more desperate and when he expects you to pull off you keep your head down, taking his cum down your throat.

“Did you just swallow?” he asks you, still breathing heavy.

You nod with a smile and he pulls you into a passionate kiss.

He flips you onto your back, eagerly kissing down your body before lining himself up with your entrance.

“Fuck me please,” you exhale and he smiles.

“Of course,” he pushes into you and you whine from the feeling. He stretches you out just right. “God you have good pussy.” he moans and you giggle.

He leans down to kiss you and you whimper into his mouth.

“Don’t stop,” you plead and he kisses your neck, sucking and nibbling to leave a hickey. “People are gonna see.” you say and he smiles.

“That’s the point.” he says. "Don’t you want people to know how good you are for me?”

You blush and nod.

“Give me one too sweetheart.” he says softly while leaning over you.

You rub up and down his sides while gently biting and licking at his neck, leaving a pretty red blush on his neck.

His fingers trail down to circle your clit while grinding his hips into yours. Your eyes roll back as he does so and he smiles. He can’t stop thinking about how captivating you are. He can’t take his eyes off you. Which gives him an idea.

He grabs your jaw and turns it to the mirror next to your bed. “Look at yourself.” he says.

Your heartbeat quickens, not used to seeing yourself in this state.

“Look how good you take it.” he says and you can’t deny it, you look hot as fuck.

He looks at you watching his cock disappear in and out of your cunt. You drag your hands over your waist and go to roll your nipples between your fingers.

His fingers are so slick on your clit from your juices and everything feels so good that you can’t really believe it.

He grabs onto the headboard for leverage and he looks so fucking good like this. Ever since he turned your head to the mirror, you can’t look away. You only turn to face him when your legs begin to shake and the fire in your stomach starts to dance.

“Please don’t stop,” you say with sparkling eyes. “I’m close.”

“Cum for me sweetheart,” he says right by your ear. “Be good.”

That alone sends you over the edge.

You’re back arches and your eyes roll back as your orgasm surges through you. He moans into your neck as he releases into you. You’re still pulsing around him when he finishes.

He kisses your cheeks as you come down for your high. “You did so well princess.”

You can’t help but cling to him and he chuckles. “I have to pull out of you eventually.”

“I like the way you feel.” you whine and he smiles.

You opt to cock warm him. He lays on his back and pulls you on top to straddle him. He gently pushes into you as you lay on his chest and enjoy the feeling.

He strokes your back and kisses your shoulder for a bit before he starts to subdtley thrust up into you.

You give him a look and he smiles at you sheepishly. “Wanna go again?”

[noteguk]

bro bad influence! jk and reader are 100% the type of couple to argue mid-sex i love this culture

They are!!!!

Taglist: @ft-multi @cryinginmypromdress @kooafraid @kissestothesky @dianaaviny @ggukkieland

[ ! ] this drabble is for “bad influence” — it can, however, be read as a standalone. 

— words; 1.8k

— contents and warnings; hmmm smut, semi-public sex, oral (m rec and mention of f rec), unprotected sex, dirty talk, mention of cum play, playfully “arguing” mid-sex, the endless adventures of bad boy!jk x good girl! reader

~

“I can’t believe you, Jungkook,” your voice came out as an irritated murmur against the warm skin of his neck, barely interrupted by a soft whimper. “We’re gonna be late for class.”

His hand grew tighter around your thigh, pushing your leg higher up. Jungkook was buried deep between your folds, filling you up in every way that you loved, and yet you were a bit too paranoid to fully dive into those sensations. “Hmmm don’t care,” he groaned, the slaps of his skin against yours filling that small cabinet in a rhythmic symphony. Twice already, a broom had fallen on top of you, knocking you right on the forehead, and so you refused to let it go. That entire scene was ridiculous. “Fuck, you’re so tight,” he moaned. 

You rolled your eyes, amazed at how he managed to ignore everything else but the feeling of your walls clenching around him. The fact that you two were having a quickie in the janitor’s closet, exactly fifteen minutes before your most important class, was bad enough as it was. Your escapade was far from heavenly, with the stiff air impregnated by the nauseating aroma of a hundred different chemical products, the annoyingly flickering lightbulb over you, and, as stated, the paraphernalia that was knocked over every time Jungkook’s thrusts got a little too rough. 

“God, why are you like this?” you complained. 

He hummed, his fingers digging into your flesh. You could tell that Jungkook was starting to lose himself in you, for the roll of his hips started to get slower, less coordinated, as they always did when he was trying to prolong his pleasure. “Like what?” He breathed out.

You leaned your head back against the wall, looking at those devilish eyes of his. Jungkook’s hair was a mess, exploding around his head like a failed scientific experiment, and you knew that one look was all it took to know that it was sex hair. “Why do you always have to pick the worst time to do this stuff?” you clarified. 

He scoffed. “Excuse me, princess, I think it was you who locked us in here,” he said. He wasn’t wrong, but, to be fair, you weren’t expecting that your make-out session would escalate to that. Then again, you were often naive when it came to his antics. “Now stay quiet or people are going to hear you.”

“Fuck off,” you whispered — whispered, because he was right. You had been controlling your moans and whimpers fairly well, but your normal speaking voice wasn’t a good idea either. There was no way to lock the room from the inside, and anyone could open that door at any given second. 

Jungkook smirked like he knew what you were thinking about — that fucked-out, greek god smirk that had your knees weak for a second. His face was bathed by the golden light from the bulb, dripping in shadows and lustful gazes. “Wrong answer,” he teased. “You were supposed to say ‘Oh, Jungkook, I can’t keep quiet when you’re fucking me so well’.”

As if to prove his claim, Jungkook placed his face on the crook of your neck and pressed himself even deeper inside you. The feeling of his cock stretching you open was intoxicating, and the timid moan you let out was enough to make him throb inside you, gasping against the sweet scent of your hair. 

Still, you wouldn’t bulge. “Gooood, shut up, please,” you whined, interlacing your fingers in his hair. There was a thin layer of sweat on his nape, the expected result from fucking in a hot, closed-off enviroment. “Are you close?”

“Yeah, almost there,” he moaned, picking his pace back up. You had to bite your lip to suppress a particularly loud moan after one of his hands slithered up your abdomen and grabbed your clothed breast, playing with it as he continued to seek his own high. His other hand still had its iron grip on your thigh, keeping your leg up as he continued to pound himself in and out of your wet heat. “Fuck, I love these skirts you wear. Easy access.” 

“You’re such a caveman,” you said. Jungkook was breathing heavy against your ear, fighting for air as he mumbled sweet nothings just for you. You were almost overtaken by him — the pounding of his cock inside your pussy, his delicious moans and curses, the praises that he threw your way for being so good for him. Almost. “Don’t cum inside.”

Jungkook visibly tensed up at your request. You could tell that some part of his primitive brain was thinking of repeating one of his past endeavours — one that he came inside you, and made you walk around campus with his cum in you for the rest of the day. It was really hard to keep an upper hand when Jungkook was always knowingly smirking at you from across the room, loving the way that only the two of you knew of that little nasty secret. 

(Miraculously, it was one of the few times that he didn’t feel slightly jealous when he saw you talking to other guys, but you didn’t have to know that). 

Still, you weren't wearing pants that day, so the whole ordeal wouldn’t be so easy to hide. 

A small whimper left his throat as he leaned forward, placing a wet kiss against your lips. You were looking at him with those big, doll-like eyes of yours, and he couldn’t refuse your request even if he wanted to fill you up so bad. “Awn, you’re so mean,” he whined, forehead touching yours. Every shove of his cock inside you had you bouncing up and down against the wall, that stupid broom threatening to tilt once again. “Can I cum in your mouth, baby?”

You hummed, trying to torture him with a fake thinking session. “Don’t know…” You hesitated. Jungkook cursed against your shoulder, his cock throbbing inside you once again. “Do you have gum?”

“Jesus, woman,” he complained, almost choking on his own pleasure. “Yeah, I have gum. Can I do it?”

You smiled. “Suit yourself.” You had to use all the force inside you to place your hands on his shoulders and push him away. Jungkook almost sobbed when he pulled himself out of your heat, his cock glistening with your wetness, swollen and reddened. “And cum quickly or I’ll kill you.” 

You got to your knees before Jungkook had the chance to respond, your hand wrapping around his base and pumping him tentatively. He bucked his hips towards you, hissing at the sensitivity. “Listen, I’m really fucking close,” he told you, “and I don’t think you’d fancy a facial right now, so stop with that teasing.” 

You chuckled at his comment, fumbling closer to him. “You know me too well.” 

With that, you wrapped your lips around his tip, sinking his member inside your mouth until it almost reached your throat. Jungkook cried out in delight, louder than he had the entire time, and you were sure any passing strangers had heard him. 

Yet your paranoia was forgotten when he started talking. 

“Fuck, that’s it,” he moaned, placing his hand on the back of your head and tugging at your hair. Jungkook guided your movements with little force, watching as you had your fun around his cock — sucking and slurping him like it was the best thing in the world, the tears that accumulated at the corners of your eyes looking like a divine gift to him. “God, I love when you suck my cock, fuck—“ 

You moaned around him, the vibrations feeling like heaven to the boy. With a few more pumps of your mouth around him, Jungkook was coming undone with a loud hiss and a desperate buckle of his hips, calling out your name as he released his cum inside you. “Swallow everything,” his voice was hoarse as he told you that, meeting your watery eyes as you fought to drink every drop of his cum that you could. Jungkook smirked at your efforts, fingers caressing your scalp as you finished cleaning him up. “Good girl.” 

You sighed happily at his praise, taking his hand as he helped you back on your feet. You could only hope that your knees wouldn’t be red by the time that you arrived at your classroom.

“Love watching you with my cock in your mouth, baby.” Jungkook leaned closer to you, wrapping his arms on your lower back. He gifted you with a quick peck on the lips, still breathing hard against your mouth. “I hate that you don’t let me snap a picture.” 

You laughed at that, running one hand through his messy hair in an attempt to save it a bit. In the end, you decided it would be better if he just pushed it back. “I’m not an idiot, believe it or not.” You smiled. “Gum?”

Jungkook nodded and reached for his jacket’s pocket. “Here you go.” He handed you the small colorful wrapping. You promptly threw a piece in your mouth, humming at the sweet taste. He pouted. “You’re going to class like this? You didn’t cum, baby.” 

“I’m aware,” you told him, fixing your panties and skirt. Jungkook didn’t seem to worry about the state of his pants, though, because he didn’t follow your movements. “But I’m not gonna be late to this class, today’s topic is half of what’s gonna be on the test. Pick me up after the lesson and maybe you can deal with my delayed orgasm situation. If I’m feeling nice.” 

Jungkook smirked, pulling your body closer to his. “Hmmm, love when you boss me around.”

He kissed you again and, when the kiss started to get a bit too long for your liking, you pushed him away. “Jungkook, listen, I have two fucking minutes—“ 

“Okay, okay, go.” He rolled his eyes, noticing that his attempts at prolonging your little escapade wouldn’t be fruitful. Jungkook stepped back so he could tug himself back inside his underwear, and you turned around to open the door. As your fingers were curling around the handle, he made sure to add, “Don’t exhaust your wrist with all those notes, princess, you’re gonna need it later.” 

And of course he smacked your ass when you walked out. 

~

Thirty minutes after your class was over, Jungkook was happy to have his face buried between your thighs, eating you out on the backseat of his car. Suddenly, it seemed as if you weren’t so worried about being caught, because he never heard you moan so loud. 

He made a mental note to do that more often.

~

BAD INFLUENCE COLLECTION

[blzzrdstryr]

Alone together

Yandere!Dainsleif x gn!reader

Wordcount: 2011

CW: Yandere themes, stalking, possessive behavior, PTSD

Khaenri’ah burns. Skies turn red, as tall pillars of smoke arise in the place of ruined towers. People cry and beg and scream.

“Ah, [First] , you came to help” Lisa greets you, waking up from her half-slumbering state: “Welcome, welcome. I already made some tea for you, just let me”. The librarian stretches and yawns akin to a cat, after she stands up from the counter, flashing you one of her charming smiles afterwards: “Go and fetch it. We will work after the tea”.

Something in her voice leaves no room for argument, so you sit at the offered table, eyes immediately shifting to the nearby window, mostly out of habit. Skies are blue and clear, buildings are whole and steady, people are laughing and cheering outside. It’s a sight that brings you heartache and comfort at the same time - no one should be subjected to what you had to live through, whether they worship the seven or not.

“And here it is”, the witch says, holding a tray with a steaming teapot, cups and a plate of cupcakes resting on top of it. The next fifteen minutes are spent drinking and carelessly chatting about everything and nothing in particular: Lisa is an excellent company, adept at maintaining the conversation interesting and atmosphere comfortable, her wide array of knowledge and keen intellect keeping you on your toes throughout the exchange despite the advantage of experience you happen to possess.

The brief tea party is then followed by the shared work of deciphering ancient documents, the librarian sometimes turns to you asking for the meaning of one word or another - most of the texts are written in Khaenri’ahn or archaic forms of the modern languages.

She doesn’t pry why you happen to possess such intrinsic knowledge on the long dead language, nor does she ask anything about your star-shaped pupils - she must have seen the descendants of your compatriots, then. You know there live at least two - one with tan skin and a warm smile that never reaches his cold eyes and a blonde youth with the powers of khemia rolling under his palms. There’s no courage to approach them.

You in turn share Khaenri’ah’s greatest legacy - knowledge and science that helped your nation to outpace the deities and turn them against you. It’s a nice feeling - making sure that the thing your people cherished the most will not be forgotten, even if it’s given to archon worshippers. Five centuries ago the thought of educating Teyvatians would be laughable to you - there’s no use in it, they will continue to believe in their gods - you would dismiss it, but now nationless you have no choice but to do it - it’s the only way to keep the products of your people alive. To keep the memory of your people alive.

Khaenri’ah burns. You run across the collapsing city, eyes growing wider as you see people slowly morphing into something. It’s bestial and feral, primitive. Your breath hitches, you want to scream.

“[First]?”, it’s Lisa again, she lightly taps your shoulder, a hint of concern creeps into her voice

“Ah? Everything is fine, I just zoned off” you reply, too quickly and too strained to be believable. Who could have known that even after five hundred years the flashbacks of what happened on that day will still haunt you? They trail your thoughts like determined hounds, sneaking up on you in the most inopportune times. One moment you are talking to someone, the second you relive the fall of Khaenri’ah. The memory feels too real to be a fantasy, leaving your thoughts messy, anxious and disordered, as you shake and try to calm yourself.

“Are you sure?”, she stands up from her seat and makes a couple of quick steps to you, taking a good look at your face: you must look horrible, you think, those episodes always leave you panting and on the verge of panic.

“Maybe we should continue tomorrow, there’s no use in haste, it’s not like our documents will run away”, Lisa continues, massaging circles into your shoulder - her hand is warm and comforting, grounding. You want to thank her for this - the understanding tone and the way she caresses you right now, helping you to keep the link with reality, but the words get stuck in your throat - it’s too much and too scary, to admit what just has happened not only to her, but to yourself too.

“Yes”, you finally force out of yourself, nodding along the way: “it would be for the better”. Your voice is still too tense and strained, filled with the grief for the people and places long past, but Lisa, to your relief, doesn’t point out any of it. You quickly gather your belongings and leave the library, almost forgetting to bid a farewell to the witch as you exit.

The sun begins to set as you make your way to the rented house, it’s small and nondescript, a complete opposite of the one you had in Liyue. You used to work as a scholar in the harbor before He found you again - you fled your spacious and cozy apartments in less than a day, leaving almost all of your possessions behind.

The thoughts of what had happened still buzz in your mind - you want to scream and cry, you want to vent to someone, but the words you will utter will be in pure khaenri’ahn they won’t understand you.

You think of finally approaching that star-eyed cavalry captain, Kaeya, maybe he saw what you witnessed too. You think of Albedo, who carries the same energy all khaenri’ahn constructs do. You want to ask him about his creator, you want to talk with him about Khemia. You think of Barbatos who wears the form of the cheerful bard, you want to accuse and scream and hit him.

You do nothing as the power leaves your body the same second - it’s scary, so scary to verbalize that, to talk and share and relive, and approaching any of those three means doing exactly so.

You stay inside instead, calming your beating heart and kicking out intrusive thoughts, and only when your pulse returns to the norm you allow yourself to finally stand up. The world is shaky and unreliable, but some things stay the same. Your room for example - you have a habit of leaving things in specific places, as a way to keep you grounded. There’s a comfort in familiarity - the one you desperately need.

Your eyes shift from one object to the other, until they stumble across something that sends your heart racing again. The cup you use is shifted by a couple of inches, facing you by the opposite side, there’s a flower and a note lying beside it. The words are in khaenri’ahn, the handwriting is familiar too.

Khaenri’ah burns. Your lungs do too from the sheer overexertion and fatigue, but you keep pushing further and further - you can’t give up yet, not when He needs you. A name forms on your lips.

Thousand of thoughts form in your mind, they’re panicked, fast and disjointed - flee again, cut and dye your hair, change the name too - you can start over in Inazuma again, it’s a closed country, so if you will manage to get in, it will be harder for him to track you again.

Who are you kidding?

Unlike you, he has a core of steel, an unwavering determination to settle things his way or die trying - be it opposing Celestia or gaining you. It was always like that, with the Twilight sword being stubborn to a fault - he never budged or surrendered, not when Khaenri’ah was still proudly standing, and not now, when there’s nothing but the charred remains of your homeland.

You met him when you got accepted into the Royal order, where a Konungr paired you with Him. The twilight sword was unrelenting in his pursuits even then, a trait that you both admired and feared in equal volume. The collapse of your nation only worsened this quality - if back then he was striving to supervise and oversee everything, then the tragedy exacerbated his controlling tendencies even further.

You were travelling together for the first fifty years after the fall, both affected by the same curse, as he started getting possessive. It began in innocuous things: asking where you were, what you were doing, you didn’t pay much attention back then, celestial wrath still fresh in your memory - he was just cautious you told yourself, it’s a safety measure.

But then these safety measures grew from simply inquiring about your day to accompanying you almost everywhere, and then it all culminated in Him locking you up, to keep you away from leaving.

You escaped then, and avoided him ever since, departing your residence the second you caught the wind of his possible proximity. Years turned into decades that later morphed into centuries, and you began to grow lax - he was getting closer and closer to you with each turn. The first time you had a suspicion of him being near you packed your things the same second and spent countless days traversing the land by hidden passageways, careful not to leave any traces, and now, now you still sit in your house, despite having evidence of him knowing where you are.

Maybe you grew tired of the cat and mouse game, maybe you just accepted that your recapture is inevitable and all your little escapes do nothing, but set it off for a couple of months, or maybe you’re just that lonely. It doesn’t matter, really, as you make no attempt to do anything - it’s useless, he already knows your location.

Khaenri’ah burns. You cry and you hate yourself - for weakness, for helplessness, for still being alive and sane. He stays near you as a silent shadow, his blue eyes shifting from your crying face to the wreckage of the city. There are no words shared between you that day - you’re crushed and empty, yet bare and aching at the same time.

“Dainsleif”, you greet him, once you hear the squeak of the opening door. He doesn’t look that different from five hundred years ago, but now his eyes are both more tired and alive with fervent light.

“[First]”, he simply replies, your name rolling off his tongue like a prayer - there’s adoration and worship in his tone. He almost falls to his knees, as he takes your hands in his, capturing them in a steel trap.

“[First], I finally have you, [first]”, he murmurs, bringing your palm to his face. You don’t resist him, knowing it’s futile. His skin feels just like all those years ago - rough and dry, weathered down by the demanding lifestyle he leads. He gives a shy peck to your inner wrist, blue eyes intently watching you as he does so.

“Long time no see, Dain”, you start, trying to diffuse the tension in the air, as he grabs you by the chin and forces you into a kiss. He kisses with the desperation of a dying person, one of his hands firmly holding your head, the other starts to explore your body. It feels obscene. You are lightheaded, when he finally parts and hugs you again, still chanting “[First]” over and over again.

You allow him this liberty too, feeling a prick of pity in your heart. You know what it is - to be the sole survivor, too see your own people crumble and fall and transform. You know that he returns to that place again and again, reliving the same moment against his will. You know that he gasps and shivers when the memories get too real and overwhelming.

You both are children of the fallen nation, and there's no person in the world who could understand you better than he does. Maybe, you shouldn't have run, you think, listening to Dainsleif speak in Khaenri’ahn. There's a chain of connection between you two, it's unbreakable, forged in shared losses, tears and pain.

Khaenri’ah burns. It burns in both of you.

[ellsbclls]

White Winged Dove

warnings ➛ COUNTRY!TOM!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! MY BELOVED!!!!!!!! smut, baby! (PLEASE do not interact if you are a minor), hurt/comfort, minor angst, happy ending: guaranteed!, a handful of swear words, and y/n has no choice but to have a country accent, i don’t make the rules here. extended warnings will be under the cut!

word count ➛ 9.5K

authors note ➛ i saw that gifset of tom taking a shower in cherry and my brain short circuited, so here! have a cupcake!

synopsis ➛ Tom feels like his world is falling apart, so he turns to you, the only person that reminds him of home.

extended warnings ➛ nsfw, fingering (f receiving), dirty talk, praise kink, multiple orgasms, unprotected f/m intercourse (please practice safe sex, kiddos! wrap it before you whack it!), a tiny tiny tiny sliver of blood!play if you squint with one eye closed.

You remember the night in waves, docile, fleeting waves that tease the rim of your consciousness before reeling back. Golden whiskey licks at the seam of your lips with each pass of the bottle, and the pond is glittering beneath the blinking trails of all the lightning bugs — tens of hundreds of fireflies, dancing in the night’s misty skyglow, rivaling the pale moonlight.

You remember the night in waves, but he is a mighty current.

You can’t scrub the memory of him from your mind, that bleak, hopeless expression that hollowed out his features. You remember how your heart split into a million little shards the second it appeared, and just when you thought there was nothing left to break, his fragile voice pleaded for you to take him somewhere, anywhere, as long as it was far.

By the time the sun spilled past your window pane, you were nothing but a drowsy amalgamation of lithe limbs, coated in morning glow as it spilled through the glass.

But behind your eyelids lives an imprint of the night before — a shimmering reflection of the night sky, and the moments that unraveled beneath its sweeping gaze.

9:17PM — You’re belting into your hairbrush, not a care in the world, and pouring your heart and soul out to a crowd of none. Somewhere between all of your clumsy twirls and impromptu choreography, you stumble over the shoebox that was poking out from under your bed, and a flurry of damp tresses and musical giggles fan across your comforter.

The walls in your house have always been notoriously thin, but what could you possibly expect from the weathered planks of wood paneling that lined your bedroom? You could hear your father’s creaky footsteps whenever he ransacked the fridge for leftovers in the dead of night, and the heavy thump of laundry that your mother would throw down to the basement, but once your radio crackles to life, and Stevie’s enchanting croon permeates the air, all those subtle nuances fades to a dull, lifeless roar.

With each passing note, the white winged dove becomes you, and you soar above endless miles of  Mississippi wood. There’s not a soul that can drag you back to the outskirts of town, force you to confront what may become of you when you land, there’s no room for trepidation where you go. There, in your own little corner of the woods, it’s just you, Stevie Nicks, and the moon.

And, technically, Thomas.

Minutes have gone by, you still can’t find the strength, nor the energy, to lift yourself up, and as your downy blankets hug your tired frame, you remain blissfully ignorant of your peeping tom.

Thomas, affectionately penned Tommy, has been your best friend, your confidante, since the very first day of kindergarten. You had pulled a pack of scented markers from your tiny, pink barbie backpack during free time, and he had pulled out the empty seat beside you, plucking, sniffing, and ultimately discarding each and every pen until the box was empty. When you asked him which one was his favorite, he asked you the very same in response, just so you’d “coincidentally” have a shared affinity for coconuts. He was oddly endearing, which is a trait that’s always stuck with him. So, even at a young age, you never wondered if he was just using you for your nice possessions, or trying to take advantage of your courtesy — he always offered himself to you at face value, and you never stopped taking as much of him as you could get.

Had you been aware that your childhood friend was waiting expectantly at your window, you may have handled your alone time with a tad more discretion — but you weren’t, and each act of your private concert forces him into an even harder position. To what extent does he let you embarrass yourself before he makes his presence known, and for how long will you bury your head in the sand before the embarrassment mulls over? He sees your stage dive as a golden opportunity, and seizes it before you begin to stir.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Three short, mild raps, uttered in quick succession, jostle you from your lavish daydreams like a bucket of ice water, and you have to squint just to make out his fair features amidst all the darkness shrouding them.

“Tommy?” A flash of his soft, earthy hues tame the wild drum of your heart, confirming your suspicions, and you fight the urge to chuckle when he innocently waves at you.

“Well don’t get all shy on me now. Come in.” You open the window just enough for him to slip through its frame, allowing your eyes to graze the sculpted plains of his back, and admire, albeit shamelessly, how his muscles ripple beneath his fitted t-shirt.

Yet, there’s something about him being in your room, towering over fixtures that once towered over him, that makes you feel uneasy. A part of you adores the way he instantly makes himself at home, but the remainder is doused in fear, fretting over his wandering hands and what they may discover, surveying little trinkets and souvenirs that decorate your desk.

“Hasn’t changed much since the last time I was in here, has it?” He notes, absentmindedly shaking the contents of a snowglobe your grandma brought you from New York, a miniature skyline of Manhattan continuously buried in a flurry of snow. Most of your playdates took place in his house, so as your friendship flourished past elementary school, and the time that spanned between your meetings grew shorter and shorter, you’d found yourselves frequenting his home for all of your endeavors. It was just easier that way.

That’s the sole reason you rarely visited your room. It surely wasn’t the suffocating atmosphere that plagued your home, or your hormonal, angst ridden brain convincing you that you’d scare him to the high heavens if he caught a glimpse of your relationship with your family — how dismal it is. How you build entire worlds, cycle through dozens of bountiful lives, in the luxury of your mind in hopes of retreating.

You’d be lying if you said the poster of Zac Efron, now lurking precariously behind his shoulder, wasn’t a glaring reason as well.

“Yeah, couple things here and there, but it’s pretty much the same.” You try to be discreet as you wander around your own room, Destination: Tiger Beat. Once you reach it, you rise up on your tiptoes to cover as much of the poster as humanly possible, but scramble for an excuse once you notice him turning. “You actually left something the last time you were here. It’s on the top shelf.”

RIP! The poster is crumpled in your grasp no sooner than his back turns to you. You’d have to give a formal apology to your wildcat once you were left to your own devices, but until then, he was banished to the most unsuspecting corner of your room.

“Jesus Christ Y/N,” His thumb fondly strokes a small, yellowed testament to your friendship, a weathered page of loose leaf etched in awry plumes of ink that perfectly encapsulate his very essence — egregiously passionate, regardless of the outcome. He had written it when he was about seven, intending to give it to the “girl of his dreams” once he met her. You can still hear his sweet, little voice echo between your ears, endearingly mistaking his r’s for w’s. “You kept this?”

“Of course I did.“ Candor coats your tongue before you catch yourself, the tail end of your answer turning to dust as soon as it hits the air. You can’t bring yourself to admit just how many restless nights you’ve allowed yourself to clamber up that oak dresser, just to read that letter over, and over, and over again, praying that if you had stared at it for long enough, his messy scrawl would transform into the words you yearned for most — that it was meant for you, that he’s loved you from the very start. “Wasn’t sure if you were planning to repurpose it for some other lucky gal.”

You lock eyes with him for the first time since he appeared at your window, and stowed beneath his reservation are faint embers of warmth, kindling behind ebony curtains as you indulge in the hearth of his gaze. Lifetimes seemingly pass before his eyes are flickering back down to his hands, and it prompts you to offer him the note. “You can have it back.”

“No, you keep it.” Your brows pinch together, and a thousand questions collect on the tip of your tongue. You wonder if he recalls the same memory you do, if he remembers the significance buried in that little scrap of paper, but ultimately choose not to dwell on it. He knows just how much you love to collect memorabilia — keep cherished memories stowed away for safekeeping — he’s just being thoughtful. “Consider it undeniable proof that I know how to read and write.”

“Ain’t nothin’ in here about knowing how to read.” You tease, catching your tongue between your canines as a smirk conquers your lips.

“Ya got me,” He chuckles, smile reaching for, but never quite meeting, his faraway stare. You are so accustomed to his teasing quips, his usual flair for the dramatics, that this half-hearted attempt at replicating it fills you with discomfort. He tries to punctuate his words by tossing his arms to the sky, but they don’t reach high enough to convince you that he’s okay. Something is plaguing him, and you won’t settle for anything less than the truth.

“Tommy,” His name is sweet on your tongue, all honeyed vowels and soft, descant consonants that command his attention. “What’s wrong?”

“No, nothin’, I just-“ he’s avoiding your eyes, which is a clever strategy on his part. If eyes are the windows to the soul, then his are a stained glass mosaic, a vibrant display of all his emotions, and you — you are but an avid observer.

“Hey, look at me,” Two slender digits underline the curve of his jaw, and with a firm grasp of his chin, leave him no choice but to meet your gaze, tender and resolute all the same. “ You don’t have to tell me anything if you’re not ready, but I can tell when someone’s been rode hard and put away wet.”

“I just, I need to get out of here, and I thought I’d ask my favorite distraction to accompany me.” He stumbles over his words, faltering over his messy façade, but you’d rather this over nothing at all.

“And where might we be goin’?” You query. You can tell that this is going to be a long night, but luckily for him, you don’t have any plans that can’t be rescheduled. Your adoring fans will just have to wait another night.

“Somewhere… Anywhere,” He murmurs hopefully, and your heart nearly sinks to the floor. You’ve never seen such a chasm of joy, not in those bright, amber orbs you study so adamantly. You’d almost deem it pain, whatever’s tugging at the frame of his optics, whatever’s depriving them of that usual, warm glow. “as long as it’s far from here.”

9:39PM — “Watch your step.”

“Can you help me?” You whine — one hand reaching out for his assistance, the other firmly clasped around a bottle of Jack Daniels. There is an awkward incline just below you, only a few inches off the ground, but tall enough to make you stumble, and he could already see you bumping your knees on the way down, so he offers his elbow as a point of leverage.

“Atta girl, you’ve got it.” He coos, reluctantly abandoning your grip once you’re safely on the ground.

Mystical, and buzzing with life, you introduce him to the farthest corner of the woodlands. Whenever the walls of your room become suffocating, your legs always give out right about here. 

Your secret hideaway. 

Where you let your most worrisome thoughts roam free, and when those thoughts seemingly wander into nothingness, you chalk it up to wishful thinking, and fail to realize that they haven’t disappeared, they just don’t belong to you anymore. They belong to the babbling brook, constantly replenishing itself and its inhabitants with fresh, spring water, belong to the frogs and crickets as they fill the night with their moonlit ballad, they belong to the night, and it’s reflection, as it wades across the face of the creek; dotted with lightning bugs or the cosmos themself, you weren’t sure. All you know is that you always returned, as if a piece of you was tethered to the very spot.

“Where are we?” He wonders aloud, raking his fingers through his downy, chestnut locks as he explores his surroundings.

“I don’t exactly know.” You confess, making yourself comfortable on the ground. Most nights, you slip off your shoes and sink your feet into the brook, but you know Tom like the back of your hand, know what kind of ideas might venture through that rascally mind of his when he spots you near the water. So, you play it safe, pulling your knees up to your chest as you peer up at him from a safe distance. “It’s nice, though. Quiet. Good place to let your thoughts wander.”

“You ever take a dip in here?” Predictable. You stifle the urge to laugh at his query, sinking ivory veneers into your pillowy bottom lip, and shake your head in response.  “Hell, if I were you, with my own nature-made swimmin’ pool, I’d bring all the boys around.”

“You know I don’t waste my time with no silly boys.” You sigh, sending him a wistful glare. 

“You sure about that?” He counters, mimicking your perked brow with eerie precision.

“Oh, I’m sure.” You huff. God doesn’t build boys the same way he built him, he took his time crafting that statuesque frame, implemented hawk-eyed precision for each and every beguiling detail you’ve come to adore. He is a man, tried and true, from his sharp, angular structure to the neverending bounds of his heart, but rather than inflate his ego moreso, you let him assume the worst. “You can take a dip if you want, though. I wouldn’t mind.”

You wonder if he can tell just how little you’d mind as a mischievous glint highlights his amber hues, but before he can even open his mouth, you’ve already pinpointed the source of his glower, already voicing your adamant refusal. “No, absolutely not. Not a chance, Tommy.”

“But why not?” He whines, bellowing over your feeble chant, conjuring the most convincing set of pleading eyes he can muster. “It’s dark, it’s humid, and ain’t no one around to tell us not to.”

“Sounds like all the more reason to not do that.” You scoff, scooting further away from him and the strength of his hopeful gaze.

“I hate to pull out the big guns, but... what if I told you that it’d make me feel so much better if you accompanied me?” You’re left to wonder what the big guns are supposed to be, if they aren’t the way he is encroaching on your personal space, crawling up the length of your legs until there is only a sliver of space between you. 

“I’d remind you that there are much drier ways to make you feel better.” You could feel your warm breath fanning across his lips, distracting you with the scent of minty toothpaste and your vanilla chapstick, ultimately failing to notice his hands, and how they’re positioned just below your waist.

It would only take one swift move to reach the small of your back, two to scoop you up in his arms, and about six more to drag you into the pond — kicking and screaming, but successfully so.

And he doesn’t chance it.

SPLASH! You’re no sooner submerged in the brooks’ murky depths, reaching out for lily pads and cattails that fail to provide you leverage, and your screams bubble into thick, smothered embers of a once irate flame. He better pray you never emerge from usunder, because he’s merely a howl away from being swept up in the tide — the tide being your arms as they force him to the bottom of the crick.

“Y/N,” your name scrambles between the slosh of the water and the pounding in your ears, but you manage to break the surface and blink spare drops of water from your eyes.

“I was drowning!’ You gasp, struggling to keep your head above water as you kick, and splash, and writhe around in the stygian abyss.

“In two feet of water? I beg to differ.” You can barely make out his comeback over his fit of giggles, but a part of you would rather this bright, teasing version of himself that what you’ve been dreading beforehand. Taking his outstretched hand, you stumble to your feet and, much to your dismay, find yourself standing in about two feet of water (which, in your defense, is a far more daunting threat to someone your size as opposed to his). You cool his inflating ego with a cold splash of water, dispersing tiny droplets from your fingers as they wave in front of his face.

You splash around in the water for what feels like forever, transforming stray lily pads into makeshift hats, dressing to the nines in the latest collection of aquatic couture, and as the moon casts a pale spotlight on the babbling brook, you occupy it’s centre, huddled in one another’s embrace, swaying back and forth amidst the shallow pools.

10:02 — You're still wet.

Drenched, really.

You’ve resorted to wringing out your hair with your bare hands, twisting the dampened locks between your fists until water pours from the follicles. You’d never once pondered the benefits of freshwater landings, but you were about to find out. A glare threatened to slice through the air, but immediately wavered at the sight of him — desolate, void, so lost in his thoughts that you’d wondered if he were even there.

God, you’re worried sick. You’ve dealt with bouts of sadness, sprinkles of melancholy, but this was downright depressing. You wouldn’t even know what to do if you tried, and that’s what worried you the most.

Thomas, your best friend, your crush, your light — the best parts of you all wrapped up in a clumsy little package while the best parts of him threaten to snatch up your heart, as if it wasn’t already his.

“Tommy?” You break him out of his reverie, but press on, scooching closer to his form, dangerously standoffish, like an uncaged animal winding up to attack, until you cross the threshold into his personal space. With a sturdy hold on his bicep, he melts into the palm of your hand, practically leaning all of his weight into you, stealing a reprieve you didn’t know he needed. “You can talk to me, y’know. It’s just us.”

“She left, Y/N.” The evening air seems still, in perfect tandem with your breath as you fear what might come out once you finally exhale. You know he’d shove all of his feelings down if he caught you shedding a single tear, and this isn’t about you, it never has been. So you hold your breath, latching onto the heavy silence that follows his confession, and pray that your chest is strong enough to smother the sob bubbling beneath its surface.

Fortunately, he takes your silence as a cue to continue. “The closet was empty, and all her cookbooks were gone. I looked downstairs and there was nothin’ there.” You don’t know if he’s finished, watching as he toys with a loose string on his jeans, but he breaks his own silence with a newfound waver in his voice.  “I had a feelin’ she was ‘bout to leave, but I didn’t think it’d be so soon. I thought I had a lil’ bit more time to say goodbye.”

Edie was a good mother, the best of mothers, and never had she drawn a line when it came to who she nurtured. When you were little kids, you’d race each other to his house once the school bell rang, tiny little bodies weaving through the stalks of corn that prefaced the farm. She would follow the shuffling crops with a heavy eye, leading you to the porch with her raspy, whimsical chime, and crouch down to envelop the both of you in a tight hug when you emerged. She was the best of mothers.

But she wasn’t the best of wives. You were both far too young to notice the signs — the nights where you found her sound asleep on the sofa by her own volition, the packed suitcase that hid underneath the stairwell to the basement, the hesitance that laced her tone when she said I love you to his father — and something tells you she wanted to keep it that way. 

Her son didn’t need to worry about his parents, and how fast they were falling out of love, and whether they really loved each other in the first place. Her son just needed to be a kid, and that is a belief she devoted the best years of her life to.

But he isn’t a kid anymore.

That’s why she fled in the middle of night, leaving nothing but a ruby encrusted ring on his dresser — her class ring. The same one he’d snatch from her jewelry box whenever she wasn’t looking. The same one he used to propose to you at the wee age of four, promising you as much of the world as a toddler could imagine.

Tears prick at the corner of your eyes as he recounts every detail, and every fiber of your being yearns to just schoop him up in your arms, hold all his broken pieces together with the strongest embrace you can muster. He doesn’t deserve that type of pain, shouldn’t have to relive it, and yet he takes it upon himself to tell you everything, to relive it for your own selfish gain.

You grow envious of the way the moon trails kisses down the slope of his nose, across the high rise of his cheeks, and over the swell of his bottom lip. There were times where you’d find traces of his mother in Tom’s features, lining the curve of his warm smile or, when the sun hit them just right, speckling his earthy hues with tiny rods of gold. Tonight, he is shrouded in a celestial spotlight, mesmerized by its waning body, and if you squint just enough, you’ll find her longing stare hidden beneath his own.

“And the worst part is that I ain’t even mad at her. Not even a lil’ bit.” He concludes, talking more to the sky than to you. “Not even at all.” When his gaze falls back to you, you can only try to cover up the betrayal, wipe the back of your arm across your tear-stained cheeks before he notices they’re even misty.

You inevitably fail, expelling a wistful sigh as he pulls you into his side, comfortingly running his hand over your bicep as he murmurs sweet nothings into the night.

“I’m so sorry. I-I didn’t want you to find out like this,” You furrow your brows, and wonder just how he would want to break the news to you. Would he let you find out for yourself, or would he bring you out to the plantation, and let you sink into the soil until the news began to blossom in the fields? Would they be cornstalks? And would they reach for the sky just like her?  “I didn’t wanna make you cry, but... I didn’t know where else to go.”

“It’s okay.” Your voice is a wash of dulcet tones, fingers soothingly raking through his damp tendrils in a silent bid to comfort him. “It’s okay, I’m a big girl. I can take it.” You’re quick to clamber to your knees, wrapping him up in an airtight embrace, keeping him from wallowing into a puddle of tears. “I’m right here, Tommy.”

“I know,” he sputters, with an edge of sorrow to his tone.

“I’m right here, I’m not goin’ anywhere.” You promise.

“Don’t say that” He whispers, and shatters any trace of consolation looming over the encounter. Your brow furrows, your heart pounds against your chest, and for a fleeting second, you feel like you're caught in a lie. What if he knows? What if he can tell just how much you’d surrender to be with him? What if he doesn’t want it?  

“Why not?” You’re near hysterics, praying that the intensity in your eyes makes up for the tremor in your voice. “Why not? I didn’t say anything I didn’t mean.” 

“I just don’t want you to make a promise you can’t keep, Y/N.” That sullen gaze resurfaces, chills the air with it’s haunting presence — that hollow stare which fosters the remnants of a bright, contagious joy, and carves a pit, just as empty, in the well of your stomach, one that aches to be satiated. He tucks a stray piece of hair behind your ear, but his palm lingers against your cheek, trying to smooth out the heavy creases in your expression with the gentle stroke of his thumb.  “Hell, I don’t want you to promise that in the first place. You deserve more than all this, you deserve the best this life has to offer you, and I’m not gonna keep you from all o’ that.”

You’ve lost track of your heart long ago, it’s dizzying tempo rivaling a hummingbird, nearly undetectable as it flitted uncontrollably, knocking against your ribs until its ultimate descent to the pit of your stomach. 

You pray that he can one day see everything that you see in him, that loving himself is as easy for him as it is for you; you hope that there is a life where he never has to feel as small, or inconvenient, as he confessed, and you wish that this would eventually be that life.

You decide that it’s time to put an end to wishful thinking. 

“Let me make something clear to you, Thomas.” You cup his jaw, firmly, and utter each word without a trace of uncertainty. “I’m not sure exactly what I want from life yet. I don’t know if I wanna spend the rest of it in this little ol’ town, or just pack my things and go as far as the wind will take me. I couldn’t tell you if I tried, but… that’s okay.” Slowly but surely, your lips give way to a sheepish grin, feeling lighter, freer, the further into your declaration. “It’s okay, because there’s one thing that’s for certain, and it’s that I’m all yours. It don’t matter how far I go, I’m always gonna come home to you.”

The silence is deafening. 

All your emotions hang in the air, crippling your air supply with insurmountable regret. But his gaze is what terrifies you the most; just as suffocating, but in a way that sweeps the air from your lungs. You knew that there would always come a time where all the unrequited feelings you’ve harbored would finally boil to the surface, fueled by the hope that maybe, just maybe, it wasn’t as one sided as you thought; but under the void of his empty gaze, you wonder if you’d made a huge mistake. 

Or maybe there really is nothing — nothing to reciprocate, nothing to subdue you, nothing to salvage what little remained of your friendship after such a loaded confession — and so you scramble to assemble an apology convincing enough to overshadow your lapse in judgement.

But he doesn’t even spare you the chance, swallowing your half-hearted excuses with the firm press of his lips, pouring a lifetime of ardent desire, of longing, into the hollow of your mouth. It’s crystal clear that you’re his, the realization comes borderline cathartic. There has never been a day where your heart has not beat for him, and only him, forever threatening to spring from your chest and return to its rightful owner. The days, the months, the years of back and forth felt like a cruel jest from the fates, but now you were here, bundled in the warmth of his strong embrace, tongues curling against one another in an endless battle for dominance, and you would endure it all over again if this was where it lead

He searches for some sign of absolution, paws up and down your back in hopes of grounding himself, and you reverently provide, mustering what little strength you have left to crawl into his lap, brushing against the growing bulge in his jeans without a trace of subtlety, offering him the most sacred parts of you in hopes of bringing him home.

“Y/N,” he sighs raggedly, a half hearted attempt to gain your attention, one that proves unsuccessful as his pleas whittle into a frail, insipid shadow of what they could be. You’re too busy acquainting yourself with the plains of his body, embedding a trail of deep red marks into the column of his neck as your hands slip beneath the hem of his t-shirt. He’s built like a greek statue, you don’t even need to discard his shirt to indulge in the taut muscles tensing beneath your fingertips. “Y/N, darlin’, wait.” He interrupts your greedy ministrations by fastening his digits around your wrists. This is the point of no return, you can feel the fragile divide between friends and lovers, splintering beneath the weight of your heart, and yet you fail to concern yourself.

His digits are free to roam the high plains of your cheeks, pioneering the flushed expanse with beacons of soft, arching butterfly kisses until there’s no skin to cover, ultimately pressing his forehead against yours. ”You don’t- I don’t want you to do anything you don’t wanna do.” Seems almost redundant, you muse, to wonder if you want him when you’ve made it abundantly clear that you’d follow him to the ends of the earth. You are a pillar of salt, and as he showers you in a knee buckling torrent of kisses, you melt into the palm of his hands. If the way you’re draped against his form isn’t evidence enough, then the wetness pooling between your thighs most certainly will be, he’ll come across that confirmation once he tends to the spot you need him most.

You trace the cleft of his chin in delicate pursuit, whining as he tears his lips from their languid path, and peer through your inky lashes to meet his gaze once more. “I want this, Tom. I want you.”

“You have me. I’m all yours.” He echoes your words back to you, reverently, delivering a sacred vow from the hearth of your soul, ove you have, and will continue to, dedicate your humble living to, and you seal that promise with a bruising kiss. 

The weight of his palm melts into the small of your back, pulling your chest flush against his own as it sweeps up your spine, and you moan against his lips when your nipples press up against his sturdy chest, aching to be freed as they strain against their gossamer confines. 

You’ve only had the pleasure of making out with Tom for less than five minutes, but you can already tell that it ranks high on your list of favorite pastimes. Soft, pink petals brush against your own like they’re a flourishing canvas, and he’s trying to even out the brushstrokes, but all he leaves is a scorching flush in his wake, and your clothing, despite being bathed in pond water, do little to ease the blistering heat. It’s suffocating you, and you begrudgingly tear yourself away so that you can rid yourself of the article.

Besides, the less fabric separating you from his anchoring, toned embrace, the better.

“I’m all dirty,” Your meek voice collapses into a fit of giggles, and your feeble attempt to wring out your clothes is thwarted by his hands, venturing up, up, up, and under the hem of your skirt at a teasing pace, savoring the feeling of your warm, silky skin beneath his fingertips. You can tell he’s as desperate as you are, confronted with acres of new terrain to explore, and only so little of his patience to spare.

“I know, I’m sorry angel.” His voice is soft, and soothing, and riddled with mischief. Even if there is even an ounce of truth in his apology, you can still make out the devilish grin that toys at the corner of his mouth. “May I, m’lady?” He croons teasingly, flashing those whiskey glazed hues in a way that you could never refuse. 

“Proceed, good sir.” You counter in the most refined timbre you can dictate, a low chuckle escaping his lips as he bunches the hem of your dress in his palms, hoisting it over your head to expose the breathtaking contours and curves of your body. You can’t remember what compelled you to forego your bra, but the thought is soon pushed to the corner of your mind, making room for the warm, fuzzy feeling that conquers your insides when Tom lays his eyes on you, bared to him and only him. His gaze alone makes you feel like you are a spectacle to behold, the most enchanting vision to ever cross his line of sight. If there was even a speck of insecurity buried deep in the back of your mind, the sight of Tom’s eyes, blown wide with adoration as they worship every sinful inch of your skin, instantly quells those fears. 

He struggles to find his words, to occupy this infinite silence with anything, everything, as his calloused palms caress the sides of your waist, but all he can manage is a husky growl. One that prefaces the reappearance of his tongue, and its feverish descent from the column of your neck to the tops of your breasts, bathing your skin with gluttonous, broad strokes, and coaxing pretty, little whines from the back of your throat.

There is something so unhinged in his actions, so carnal, it summons another wave of arousal to pool against your soiled panties, knowing you have such a strong clutch on his resolve. Though, another branch of your mind races at a mile a minute, consumed by the endless possibilities that come equipped with Tom’s skill. 

You try not to dwell on the little flings that came before you, especially now, in the afterglow of your confession. The taunting, pitious gazes you shared with his hookups in the hallowed halls of your alma mater, toting a reminder that they could indulge in everything you yearned for, scorched you more than the thought of the act itself — but the rumors were just plain inescapable. If even a fraction of them hold a candle to the truth, then you are in for one hell of a night.

“You’re just as sweet as I imagined, angel.” Angel. The nickname sends sparks flying in the well of your stomach. “Can’t wait to taste that perfect little pussy. Just know it’s gonna be even sweeter when you cum all over my fingers.”

You whine softly at his words, but clench hard around nothing, aching to be filled by those unbearably long, slender digits. Nothing could have prepared you for the scene unraveling below you — his lips latched around the stiff peak of your nipple, a husky groan reverberating around the pebbled surface, and head slightly moving against the palm of your hand as your fingers tug at his chestnut locks. The long, covetous laps of his tongue mingling with the vibrations of his contented little hums make you desperate for more, arching, writhing, trembling against him in hopes of finding a semblance of relief for the ache between your thighs.

“Tommy, please.” You plead in the most convincing, fucked out tone you can muster, but he doesn’t budge, showering your other bud with a flurry of quick, relentless kitten licks. Even mother nature joins in his relentless teasing, making you squirm as the gentle breeze blows cool, summer air against the glistening bud.

This is torture, a blissful, euphoric form of torture that, despite your irritability, you would surrender to time and time again. But you fail to notice just how hard your canines puncture the swell of your bottom lip, too immersed in the stroke of his tongue, in the ghost of pleasure that stirs in the pit of your stomach each time you rut against his clothed cock. A sharp, metallic tang seeps into your mouth, hitting the tip of your tongue and forcing a trembling whimper to the front of your mouth.

The pitiful sound piques Tom’s interest, and before you can wipe the blood from your lip, your face is already cradled between his palms. “Fuck, Y/N, look at you,” His eye were wide with concern, and your heart sputters over the blistering scorch of need his compassion arises in you. “C’mere.” Dropping his forehead against your own, his tongue tentatively brushes the curve of your lips, lapping up every last drop of blood that is smeared against it. He applies pressure to the wound, cauterizes it with a searing dance of bloodstained brims, as his one hand weaves into your damp locks. You barely know how to respond, but your body compensates with an untapped sense of hunger, scraping your teeth against his lower lip as you desperately claw at the toned valley of his back.

“Please, Tommy, please. I’m dripping.” You mewl, teetering over the perilous edge of delusion, foraging between your stomachs in search of his free hand. Yet another wave of arousal pools between your thighs at the sight of him, with his puffy, saliva stained lips slightly parted, and his eyes blown wide with the insatiable need to indulge himself, to spoil you. Once your fingers circle around his wrist, you guide his hand to the apex of your thighs and urge him to feel for himself, applying the lightest of pressure against his fingers, urging him to caress your tender lips through the sodden barrier of your panties. To feel what he’s done to you. “You feel that? It’s all for you.”

“All for me,” he echoes back, mesmerized, cognac hues fading into obsidian orbs as he rubs deliberately teasing circles over your covered clit. “And you ask oh so pretty. Let me take care of you, my pretty girl.” Before you even get the chance to reply, he’s pushing your panties to the side, dipping the pad of his middle finger between your silky folds — feeling, exploring, acquainting himself with the tight ring of muscle that he plans on stretching open. 

His hesitation is nothing more than a plight at this point, you are more than willing to take anything he has to offer, and he can gather that much from the wild gleam in your eyes, so he slowly works one finger into your snug, velvety walls and curses under his breath at how heavenly you feel. You’re unlike anything he’s had before, far exceeding the lengths of his imagination as you softly clench around his digit, and it only takes a few seconds to adjust to the lithe intrusion, your walls already twitching against his shallow, testing thrusts, before he adds another.

“So fuckin’ perfect, darlin’. Love the way your pretty little cunt takes me.” A thin sheen of sweat coats your forehead as he rocks his digits at a leisurely pace. Tom is obsessed with the tiny frown forming between your brows, almost like you’re confused by the amount of pleasure building between your legs, struggling to keep your eyes open, your juices spilling past your opening to trickle down the palm of his hand. To say your experience is limited is a bit of an understatement — the whopping two men you’ve slept with prior were merely amateurs in comparison to your lover. Even if there was enough air in your lungs to articulate it, you don’t have the heart to tell him that you’ve never been fingerfucked. Period. The embarrassment almost swallows you whole.

But even without anything to compare it to, you’re convinced that you’re receiving the upper echelon of experiences.

As his pace quickens, prodding against your pulsing walls with an onslaught of keen, ravaging thrusts, you’re too busy gasping for air to notice how he’s switched his angle. Now the heel of his hand is rubbing against your bundle of nerves with each stroke, applying just enough pressure to light a spark without ever setting you off, and as the pads of his fingers pound against your sweet spot, you are reduced to a limbless puddle in his hands, doused in an ethereal glow that only he could surface. “God, Y/N, you look like an angel. My pretty little angel— ‘bout to cum all over my fingers.” he panted, voice biting the air with a wolfish gleam, canines peaking past his thin lips.

“Tommy, I’m so close.” You aren’t sure if you can hold on for much longer, dangling on the coattails of insurmountable bliss, finding a new reason to fall apart with each lewd kiss or sharp thrust. Your orgasm is already creeping up, threatening to crash over you each time he plunges into your slick heat, but you know that you want to feel him — all of him — stretching you to unimaginable lengths as he sinks into your tight little hole for the first time. “I wanna feel you. I wanna- I need to cum on your cock.”

Tom’s brows meet in the middle, and you wonder if you’ve strewn too far, surrendered the remainder of your common sense to lust and her shameless palms. “Such a filthy little mouth for such a good girl.” He whispers, wondering aloud, his free hand abandoning the nape of your neck to cup your jaw as his thumb sweeps over your bottom lip, applying just enough pressure to drag it down before letting it spring back to its pouty default. “You will, angel, you will, but I gotta get you ready first.” He reassures you, and you remember just how prominent his length is, straining against the denim cage of his jeans, and attribute his wavering tone to the sheer restraint he’s been exhibiting. But you have to admit — if his fingers are only a fraction of his length, then you are not sure just how much of him you’ll be able to handle. The thought sends you barrelling toward your climax, but not without the help of his thumb, pressing up to rub fervent, clumsy circles against your clit, his husky tenor cooing sweet words of encouragement into the space just below your ear. “I can feel you, angel, let go for me. I’ve got you.”

With one final thrust, he buries his fingers to the hilt, caressing your g-spot with a tentative come hither motion, until you are ridden with overwhelming waves of pleasure. All you can feel are your tender walls tightening around his fingers, and your thighs starting to tremble under the weight of your high. But he is spellbound, mesmerized by the swirling vision of you at your most content, eyelids hanging low over your blown out hues, your hips absentmindedly grinding against his hand, meeting his timid rhythm as he tries to work you through your aftershocks.

Emptiness soon replaces the stretch of his fingers once he slips them out, but a twitch of excitement follows the path of his slick hand, and you can’t stop from outright moaning at his shameless display.

“Just what I thought,” he murmurs. You are too captivated by the sight of his lips — pink, and kiss-weathered, and frankly obscene —  opening wide to welcome his slick fingers, gracing his taste buds with your juices, and humming around them as they coat his tongue in an intoxicating elixir . “Open up, pretty girl,” You‘re torn from your trance by the pressure of his digits, knocking against your bottom lip, begging for entry. “Come taste how sweet you are.”

Hollowing your cheeks, you graciously welcome his fingers, putting on a show as you swirl your tongue between the two digits, moaning softly as the bittersweet taste that hits your tastebuds. You aren’t prepared for the shallow, tentative thrust of his digits, or how he starts up a slow, steady rhythm against the back of your tongue — but god do you welcome it, softly gagging with each steady downstroke, spit already dribbling down your chin as you try to keep up with his quickening pace.

“Atta girl, that’s it.” He offers you a ginger smile, one that makes the tears pooling in your eyes worth gagging for. “Good girl. Good, good girl. I wish you could see how pretty you look.”

You try to reply over his digits, but your words are muffled and faint as they thud against the wall of your lips. Luckily, he’s coherent enough to notice that you’d like to speak — and who is he to stifle that sweet little voice of yours? “Thank you,” you pant, fluttering your tear-stained lashes up at him as you clamber to fill your lungs, disputing your feverish pleas as you wriggle away from the outline of his cock. The sensation of his waterlogged jeans rubbing against your sensitive bundle of nerves has you keening over him, pushing you further from his crotch, and closer to his embrace, back arched with a near-feline agility.

“Can I?” you ask, kneading your palms over his thighs, feigning innocence as you inch closer and closer to his zipper with each upstroke, and he nods, granting you permission to free him from his denim confines. In one fluid motion, your one hand unzips his fly as the other helps him kick off the remainder of his offending items, and you have to resist the urge to drool at the sight of his cock springing from his boxers, let alone his sinfully perfect, exposed form.

He’s a little bit larger than you expected — what he lacks in length, he makes up in girth, but there isn’t much to make up for in the first place. His shaft is decorated with pretty, ivory veins, ones that would no doubt twitch beneath the hot, heavy weight of your tongue, and the crown of his cock is flushed, glistening with a thin sheen of precum that makes your mouth feel conveniently dry. Your walls twitch at the disheartening reminder of your emptiness, but all out spasm as his fingers eclipse the circumference of his cock, using your juices to leisurely pump himself.

“You’re so pretty.” You sigh, a flurry of giggles floating beneath your words as you reach out to touch him, hovering just above the tip in order to send him a cautionary glance — one he hurriedly accepts, nodding his head fervently as he stutters into his grasp. A rosy hue blooms across the valley of your cheekbones as you encircle him, covering whatever he can’t as he all but bucks into your palm. His heart strains against his chest upon the realization that his hand easily dwarfs your own, watches your smaller fingers barely curl around his engorged shaft and fights the urge to cum right then and there.

No, he needs to feel you.

“Are you sure?” He asks once more, granting you a final chance to salvage what little scraps remain of your childhood friendship, but you are already committed, determined to devour every last, glorious piece of him, to prove that he is the rightful owner of you, all of you, every shimmering shade of you.The sentiment would be almost derisive if not so loving, so noble, and yet you dismiss it with three, chaste kisses upon the outline of his profile — against his forehead, the notch on the bridge of his nose, and finally his lips, warm and inviting.

“I’m certain.” You promise, merely a breaths width away from his lips.

You have never been more certain of a decision in your life, desperate to feel him nestled deep inside you, to blur the line where he begins and you end. Your fingers curl around the base of his cock, their pressure neither here nor there as they coax a hiss out of him, and you line him up with your entrance, tossing your head back as you waste no time breaching your needy hole with the bulbous head of his cock.

It’s blindingly clear that you have been given the reins, what with Tom’s finger’s seeking refuge in the soil beneath him, a low groan rumbling beneath his chest, his eyes rapt with an unspoken urgency as they survey the spot where you connect, and you relish in your paramount. Your knees dig deeper into the ground as you lower yourself onto him, and with little resistance, your walls steadily welcome inch after inch with a searing embrace, etching every delicious ridge and vein of his length to memory until he bottoms out, and you’re left with an overwhelming sense of fullness. There is a dull pain laced in the stretch of your opening, intermingling with the remnants of your last orgasm, and as you twitch and pulse around his girth, he appears like an dream before you, sifting through a thick haze of desire, wispy curls clinging to the thin sheen of sweat coating his forehead, and eyes blown wide with ripples of pleasure, of lust, that long to be indulged.

Once you’ve adjusted to him, you test a few shallow, tentative rolls of your hips, lifting yourself off the tiniest bit before filling yourself up again. He just feels so perfect, like god spent a little extra time molding him just for you, rubbing against parts of you that have never known such ecstasy until now, and you struggle to find a rhythm amidst all these new, dizzying sensations. “Poor little thing, you’re so worked up, you barely know how to take my cock.” It’s funny, how he can make such degrading words sound so sympathetic, and regardless, your body responds long before your brain can register, wildly spasming around his cock. It doesn’t take long for his fingers to return, digging into the curve of your hips to assist you, working you over his length in long, plundering strokes that steal the air from your lungs. “That feel better, angel?”

“Mhmm,” you shakily nod your head, fingers finding purchase in the broad expanse of his shoulders as you dig your nails into the freckled expanse, flooding his senses with the weak little uh, uh, uh’s tumbling from your lips each time you’re impaled on his cock. If he could lap up every hitch of your breath, every wayward sigh, he’d be drunk off the height of your unbridled joy. Hell, he can barely sustain himself as is, ravenously lapping up the beads of sweat clinging to your temple, swirling his tongue around your earlobe in its descent. Yes, yes, he’s swept up in sultry waves of you, and as your pelvis kisses his, as the air is filled with the sounds of your hips snapping against his own, he’s less and less concerned about emerging from your enchanting depths. “You got another one for me, angel? I can feel you squeezing my cock, baby, I know you got another one.” He’s delirious, clawing at the altar of your hips, and nowhere near as close to finishing as you are, but god is he eager to tear another orgasm out of you.

You, on the other hand, are a furnace, taunting flames of embarrassment licking up your insides, pooling in the small of your back, racing up your cheeks, at such arduous lengths as to mix with the coil of pleasure tightening in your core. Tom seizes the opportunity to find some leverage, pulling his knees up to rest on either side of you, planting his feet on the ground so that he can thrust up into your sopping cunt at a punishing pace, and you both can already feel the tell-tale signs of your building pleasure. “It’s okay, Y/N, you can let go.” Nothing more than a faint whisper, you indulge in the way his cock massages your inner walls, how your name sounds so filthy, yet beguiling, as it slips from his slightly ajar lips, how it blends so well with the weak little moans of his own name rolling off your tongue. “Let go for me. I wanna feel that perfect little pussy cum all over me.” His hand dips between your sweat slick forms, firmly swiping his fingers over your hypersensitive bundle of nerves, turning circles into your favorite shape, and his change in position makes the crown of his cock curve into your g-spot each time he pounds into you — so your helpless to the crescendo of pleasure that washes over you. 

A broken, startled shriek tears through your lungs, and you topple over his thighs, digging crescent shaped indents into his knees as you surrender to your climax, walls fluttering and contracting over his length as he works you over the edge.

“Oh, what a good girl.” He coos encouragingly, reaching his hand out to cup the weight of your breast, swiping his thumb over your peaked bud as his pace eases up, and it isn’t until now that you realize he’s leaning back, holding himself up by his forearms while he drinks in your pleasure-ridden form. “My sweet, sweet girl.” You can tell he’s holding back by the way his hips still stutter up into your overstimulated heat, how his cheeks, his forehead, all of his features are set with a heavy flush, how you aren’t filled to the brim with his cum — and you simply won’t allow that. 

“It’s okay, Tommy.” You whisper, carefully lowering yourself until your chest is aligned with his own, sharply exhaling as you feel him push up against your tender core. Your eyes are soft, and dazed, and oh so pretty, glittering beneath a thin layer of unshed tears, but this is about him, it’s always been about him, and as his cock twitches amidst your spasming walls, you firmly believe that you can handle another orgasm if he can coax it from you.  “Keep goin’, it’s okay. I want you to fill me up. I wanna feel all of you.”

“Y/N—” His voice is stern, but your lips are fierce, stealing whatever argument may have been building in the cavern of his mouth as you weakly tilt your hips downward, offering yourself to him once more. When he muscles up enough strength to tear himself away, he only finds a bounty of understanding, of devotion, of love, teeming at the brim of your eyes, and he needs no words to indulge himself, to yield to a mesmerising whirlpool of you, you, shimmering you.

Tom wraps one arm around your back, holding you close to his chest while you scatter soft, lingering kisses to his shoulder, smoothing his palm over your damp tresses as he hoists one leg over his hip, prying your legs even further apart so he can fuck up into you — impossibly tighter, and tormentingly more responsive as he slams into your overstimulated cunt. You can feel every square inch of him now, every long sweeping vein, the tiny sliver of skin hidden beneath his tip, it’s all crystal clear as he plunges into your weepy core, and you’re so cockdrunk, so fucked out of your mind, that you don’t even notice your hips slanting down to meet his thrusts. You’re just that greedy for another orgasm, hellbent on tumbling over yet again as he fills you to the brim.

It doesn’t take long for him to work himself to that precipice once again, the coil in his stomach pulled taut with your whimpered chant of his name, with each strong pulse of your cunt tightening over him. He buries himself to the hilt one last time, stuttering into your hips with a loud, frenzied groan, and finally teeters off the edge, dragging you down with him as you sink your teeth into his shoulder blade, pumping his hot seed into you, coating your walls with hot spurts of cum as you milk him for every last drop, the crude sound of your arousal mixing with his own making you shudder.

You both lay there for a second, safe in each other’s warm embrace, basking in the aftermath of your fortuned affair, and you cowered beneath the sky and it’s constellation clad ceiling, feeling infinitesimal, but oh so contented, beneath its glorious gaze. There, wrapped up in one another, two splintered halves mending, healing, into the whole they were destined to become — the sky was but a star in comparison to your light, your bright, everlasting light.

How did we get here? You wonder. How, oh, how is he finally mine?

You follow the steady rise and fall of his chest, the way the moon lounges across his curly lashes in a silver chaise — you survey him at his most vulnerable — and determine that you have more than enough time to find the answer. As long as he’s here, by your side, you don’t plan to wander too far.

THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR READING! PLEASE LIKE, OR LEAVE A COMMENT, IF YOU ENJOYED!

TAGLIST: @devotion @reawritesthings​

[midgardianweasley]

The Wedding Series

It took me a while, but, i’ve finallyyy got part 2 of the series up<33 

Ring her up

Natasha Romanoff x fem!reader

Summary: with an ever growing feeling of love for her girlfriend, Y/N wants to take the next step, but, like every plan, she needs to carry out step number one.

Word Count: 2k

Message/ask if you want to join the taglist! 

Part one | Part two 

It had been four years since the day you and Natasha had started dating, four wonderful years. The team hadn’t let either of you forget about the night you both got together, how they all saw it coming and how they couldn’t believe you both hadn’t seen it sooner. Looking back, you weren’t so sure yourself, but you liked the story of how you became girlfriends, even if it was something straight out of a rom-com.

Over the course of four years, it only made you more and more certain that she was the one you wanted to spend the rest of your life with. Unlike the story that brought you both together, this wasn’t a big moment of realisation. It was in the little things. It was in the way she protected and cared for you. In the way she had always been the one to wipe your tears and in the way she’d laugh with you in the rain when you were happy.

The two of you had discussed many things over the years, now having moved out into your own apartment together, you were beginning to take big steps in your relationship so some conversations had arisen in the process. Marriage being one of them.

__________________________

You were both sitting in your living room, snuggled up together on the sofa, a blanket draped over the two of you as you watched ‘Friends’, though you weren’t really watching it.

“Take a picture, it lasts longer.” She whispered, not looking at you but with a knowing smirk on her face.

“Why would I when I have the real thing right in front of me?”

“Touché”

You briefly returned your attention back to the screen in front of you, watching a scene unfold where the main characters are running in and out of a wedding chapel in Vegas. Seeing them had sparked a thought in your head as you looked up adoringly at your girlfriend, never breaking your eyes away, even when she grabbed the remote and paused your programme to give you her full attention.

“Okay, what’s up?”

“Who says something has to be up? Maybe I just want to appreciate how pretty you are.” You gave her puppy eyes, but she knew better than to fall for that.

“I can practically feel the cogs turning in that head of yours. C’mon, you can tell me Detka.”

You quickly glanced between the television screen and her eyes, taking note of the curiosity lingering in her eyes, alongside some concern which made you admit defeat.

“I was just thinking, y’know, about us.”

“Right, is something wrong?” She took your hands in hers, the pad of her thumb gently stroking the back of them, silently encouraging you to continue.

“No! No, not at all. It was just watching this, it got me thinking, what are your thoughts on getting married?” She opened her mouth to speak, but you quickly cut her off before she could get a word out. “I don’t necessarily mean to me! Just generally! Well, it would be nice if it was me, but I don’t want to put any-”

“Babe, slow down, breathe.” She chuckled while you caught your breath, only continuing once you’d calmed yourself down from your ramble.

“First of all, I like the thought of getting married, I could see myself doing it. But, in terms of who I would marry, it would be you.”

“Really? You’re serious?”

“I’m serious. You’re it for me. There isn’t anyone else.”

You didn’t know why tears appeared in your eyes, it was a perfect answer, an answer most people dreamed of getting. Nonetheless, they built up, completely blurring your vision, even as they fell. Natasha was quick to wipe them away as they did, and despite you not being able to see much, it was near impossible to miss the love she held in her eyes as she looked at you.

“I love you.” You mumbled, placing your hand over the one that she held on your cheek.

“I love you more.” She placed her forehead against yours, eyes closed as she enjoyed the intimacy, you doing so too.

“Never.”

“Always.” She whispered before meeting your lips with a gentle, loving kiss.

That conversation was your most recent, it will have been months ago now. As time went on, the feeling inside of you only grew, and you became more certain with every moment shared between you both, that you want to marry this woman. You want to marry Natasha Romanoff.

_______________________

You didn’t know where to begin, so you did what first came to mind.

You called your best friend. Thankfully, Nat was currently out with Steve, picking up after him again. Though you’d usually be moody at the fact that she had to leave, this time you couldn’t help but try to encourage her to go, spiking her curiosity at your actions, but still leaving nonetheless, giving you the perfect opportunity to call and ask for help.

“Wanda, Wanda, help.” You immediately rambled as soon as she picked up the phone.

“Y/N? Everything okay?”

“Yes. Well, kinda, no, yes?”

“Right, thank you for clearing that up.” She let out a hearty laugh over the phone

“I want to propose.”

“To Natasha?”

“Who else?”

“I just wanted to clarify!” She exclaimed, a hint of defense in her tone.

Silence fell upon the phone call,

“Oh my- You want to marry Natasha.”

“Isn’t that what I just said?”

“We need to start making plans! What dress would you like? Ooh where should the venue be? I heard-”

“Wan’, is that not a bit too soon? I don’t even have an idea for a proposal or a ring or anything.”

One sound. One sound was all it took for you to know that you had no idea what you had just gotten yourself into as Wanda gasped, quickly hanging up before you could even ask what was wrong.

Taking a look at your phone, you saw an unread text from Wanda, sent only seconds ago.

Wan<3   ‘Get your shoes on, I’ll be over in 10. We’re going out.’                                               Delivered.

At least now you know where to start.

Okay, you’re still not sure, but at least someone does. ______________________________

It wasn’t long before Wanda had arrived at your house, dragged you outside and was now pulling you along beside her as she ran around like a hyper Golden Retriever, leading you in and out of different shops, all of which had one thing in common. They sold engagement rings.

You could’ve facepalmed the minute you realised the pattern, how did an engagement ring not occur to you in the first place? You decided not to dwell on it, you’d just kick yourself later on when you’re alone to save any embarrassment.

You hadn’t realised you’d zoned out until you felt a tug on your wrist, looking up to see the culprit, a huge grin on her face as she pointed to the shop in front of the two of you. It was so..shiny. There were silver necklaces, rings, bracelets, and watches. They all looked so pretty, how were you going to decide?

“Come on! We need to go in and have a look! I have a good feeling about this one!” She squealed, even though you could’ve sworn she said that the last two times. Either way, you flashed her a quick smile, nodding and walking in. If you had to search all day for the perfect ring, so be it. It’s what Natasha deserves.

There were rows upon rows of different rings, there must’ve been hundreds, if not thousands in the brightly lit room, allowing each and every one to have a sparkle. You smiled gently at each one, imagining how they would look on your girlfriend’s hand. How it would feel for her title to go from ‘girlfriend’ to ‘Fiancé’, relying on the hope that she says yes.

A couple of minutes went by before something caught your attention. Turning your head to the left, you see one particular ring standing out to you like a beautiful, shiny sore thumb. Walking closer to inspect it, you manage to take in some more of its finer details.

It was a simple silver band, just like the majority of the others, however, while they had simple diamonds, this one had a ruby instead, the red complementing the silver perfectly. One look at it, and you were strong in your opinion that Natasha would love it.

You soon felt a presence behind you, recognising it immediately as the one who had brought you out here in the first place.

“Are you looking at the red one?” You whipped your head round.

“How did you know?”

“Because you look like you’ve decided to fall in love with that ring instead.” She raised her eyebrows, taking great enjoyment in watching you look around and get excited with almost every ring you see as you think about how it would feel if Natasha was to say ‘yes’. In all honesty, a part of you was a little scared, nervous. Marriage is a big step, and while she had said she would want to, you don’t want to get the timing wrong. You want it all to be perfect, and you would do your damn best to make it so. She was your forever, and you refused to let that slip through your fingers.

Before you could even blink, Wanda had asked the saleswoman if they could have it brought out of it’s viewing unit so that you could take a closer look, which she responded with a kind smile before unlocking the case and holding the ring out to you, exposing all of it’s edges and how it glistens differently in every light, a faint red glow appearing every so often.

This was the one.

“Could I buy this one, please?” You asked the lady who appeared to be nothing but friendly.

“Of course, let me just ring that up for you and I'll get it boxed up.” You had to hold back a small giggle at her choice of words. Immature, you know, but you didn’t overly care, feeling too over the moon at taking the first step towards marriage with the love of your life.

Wanda gave you a pearly white smile, clapping her hands in joy at how the trip has turned out, watching you now hold the small box in your hand. You didn’t blame her, this has been a success. You can’t wait.

___________________________

“Babe! I’m home!” You called, shutting the front door behind you and kicking your shoes off, the ring safely held in its box, which was settled in your back pocket.

“Hi love” Natasha walked over, placing a sweet kiss on your lips before pulling away and brushing some loose strands of hair behind your ear, a gesture you had always adored. “How was your day? I heard you went out with Wanda?”

Of course she did! Luckily, she’s not the only spy around who could think quick on her feet.

“Yeah, we went for some lunch and just had a girls day. I think she needed to get out of the compound for a bit, too much ‘boy’ energy.” You shrugged, a smile playing on your lips as you watched hers curl upwards in agreement.

“I don’t blame her, poor girl. We’ve totally abandoned her with the males.”

“Would you like to go back and stay there?”

“Absolutely not, I’m quite happy where I am, thank you.” She raised her eyebrows in a playful manner before gesturing to the TV. “Do you wanna watch some ‘Friends’?”

“Yes! I’ll just change into some comfier clothes, jeans are not the one today.” You happily agreed, quickly giving her a peck on the cheek before scurrying off to the bedroom, hoping she didn’t notice the odd shape of your pocket.

You made it into the bedroom, getting some pj’s out of your wardrobe and looking for a place to hide the ring. You were going to just put it into your bedside table, but you knew Natasha often snuck in there to steal some of your favourite moisturiser. Not as subtle as she thinks.

You settled on hiding it on the top shelf of your wardrobe, behind some storage boxes and rucksacks neither of you used, hoping it would be well hidden there.

Now all you had to do now, was wait.

Taglist: @natashas-favourite-knives @wandaromanova​ @wvnda-maximoff​

[giorno-plays-piano]

Vicious

Part IX

Pairing: Steve x reader, Bucky x reader, Thor x reader, Loki x reader, Peter x reader

Warnings: yandere, obsession, stalking, possessiveness, theft, all characters are adults.

Words: 1574.

Summary: Transferring to Stark Academy that has only allowed to take in female students last semester, you realize you are just one of three young women among hundreds of students. Your things are constantly being stolen, and soon you begin fearing for your safety.

Part I | Part II | Part III | Part IV | Part V |  Part VI | Part VII | Part VIII

________

You didn't know what else to say, feeling ashamed. Who cared about your family circumstances? Definitely not Steve Rogers, a man you met just a couple of weeks ago and who knew nothing about you. Why did you say something like that in the first place?

You didn't wanna look at his face and see him feeling guilty because he didn't know how to comfort you. You didn't need to be comforted. You didn't need anything at all. It was just a simple cold, right?

Despite that, you suddenly started talking from beneath your blankets, "I have a younger brother. When he was born, we found out he was having severe asthma. His childhood was terrible, he had constantly been sick, I remember him being in and out the hospital all the time. Of course, because of his condition, my parents spent most of the time with him. He was just a little sick kid."

You hated yourself for talking, for showing something to Steve he shouldn't have known because he wasn't your friend, but you couldn't force yourself to stop.

"On the other hand, I am lucky to have good health. I didn't really got very sick, so, well, I didn't need help like my brother. So, I'm used to taking of myself. I'm a big girl, I don't need my mom to dance around me just because I have a cold."

Of course, you didn’t. You were perfectly capable of taking care of yourself, and even of Steve didn't show up, you'd be alright by yourself. You'd just take your acetaminophen, and then everything would be ok.

You kept silent, staring at the inside of the blanket and wishing Steve would just disappear, leaving you to your misery. You didn’t see his face, and you were glad you didn't. What he must think about you? That you were craving for his attention like a spoiled kid? Shit, it was so embarrassing. You were an adult, for goodness sake!

"I don't know about you, but when I had a flu sachet, it would make me fall asleep really quick. And when I was feeling sleepy, I would start thinking about the things I loved most because I hoped I would see them in a dream." Instead of feeling ever more ashamed, you listened to Steve's soft voice and thought you were lucky it was him being here with you now. "It actually worked, and I have been having my best dreams when I was asleep, sick. What are the things you love most?"

Surprised, you looked up at him and saw the most gentle expression on a face of a guy you had ever met. Why did he look at you like that? Why was there no pity on his face? Why was it making you cry like you were a ten year old kid? Before he could see anything, you hid beneath the blanket again and kept silent for a couple of moments to calm down.

"I love lemon pies my grandma used to make me, and her garden. She had tomatoes and cabbage and strawberries that smelled like summer. I loved watering them nearly every day because I thought I was a little forest witch who lived in her pretty cottage in the woods."

You didn't know why you were telling him this, but Steve has a strange effect on you. Or was it cold? You had no idea, but it didn’t really matter. All you were thinking about was the way fresh tomatoes smell when you'd leaned down to water them, and the sound of bees flying above strawberry's flowers. Your grandma was taking care of her cabbage - a very capricious guest in her garden - and you could hear her working, cursing grandpa for making the patches too wide in that funny voice of hers. Then she'd stood up, wiped the sweat with the back of her hand, and called you to come back to the cottage because if was time for dinner. You'd run to wash your hands in a barrel of water near the big apple tree when grandma didn't see, and soon you were sitting with her, eating her famous cabbage soup and then having a piece of a lemon pie because you worked so well today.

You could almost feel the taste on the tip of your tongue.

By the time you woke up, Steve was long gone: it was the middle of the night, and instead of him you saw a thermos with a still warm chicken soup on a chair, waiting for you. He sent you a message that you could call him at any time of the day - or night - and that he wanted you to have a bit more sleep to get better. After you had a few more sips of his soup, you fell asleep again, feeling warm and fuzzy.

_______

The weekend went fast. It was the first time in several years you spent so much time in bed. Steve kept appearing at your door from time to time with a new bags of food despite you telling him you had your own, but he always insisted you should it something fresh and warm. Surprisingly, he wasn't the only one at your door: Thor suddenly showed up with his whole team, bringing you notes for the upcoming exams they collected altogether, apparently. Loki sent you a message if you needed anything, and Peter left contacted you on Instagram, leaving you links to games you could play so you wouldn't feel bored. Even Bucky gave you a call, asking if he could come and give you a few packs of Neo Citran for your cold, but you kindly refused: Steve literally brought you a yearly supply of this.

It was strange. Of course, when you were in high school, your friends grew worried about you when you had been sick, but there was nothing else to it. Wasn't it always like this? Nobody came to see you. Nobody brought you soup or gave you meds or anything. Despite feeling embarrassed, you realized you actually liked it when somebody was close to you like that. It was comforting seeing Steve popping up and not having to worry about how pretty you looked: he laughed when he saw you getting all shy because you were in your pyjamas. He said he definitely didn't expect you laying on your bed in an evening gown.

Before you realized it, you were already getting better. It was just a cold, really. Soon your throat was no longer sore, and while you were still sneezing, your temperature dropped down to normal, so on Monday you were ready to come back to school as planned. Funny enough, you no longer cared if you passed your exams, having 100%. You didn’t talk about it with Steve, but Peter was laughing like crazy about that when you told him.

Funny. They no longer looked so scary to you. They were just a couple of boys, weren't they? Regardless all those scary rumors and stuff, they were just guys. Maybe they were weird and stupid and a little bit scary because you didn't know them, they were still alright. Thor said it to you, didn't he?

Monday was Bucky's day, so, once you were done dressing, he nocked at your door: you were feeling a bit shy, watching him in that leather jacket and torn jeans he kept wearing the whole year around, apparently. Barnes looked like a teenage girl's dream. He smelled like cigarettes - although he said he was trying to quit - and pinewood. Just like Thor, he liked to skip classes he didn't enjoy much, but he was smart enough to pass the exams. Funny enough, he had a motorcycle.

Again, you wondered how come girls weren't coming from a city on a bus just to go see him.

"Are you sure you’re feeling better?" He asked you softly. "You can stay home today."

"No, no, I'm perfectly alright, thank you! How are you?" Smiling, you closed the door and hid the key in your bag.

"I'm good, thank you."

He didn't speak much, but as you walked in silence, you thought it was comforting - not talking at all and feeling good about it. While Bucky looked like a scary biker, in fact, his calm and friendly demeanor only helped you relax around him. Besides, it was funny how students seemed to give him way whenever they saw him, and you thought if Steve was the King, then Bucky was the Knight.

Before you went into the your classroom, he suddenly stopped you, "Listen, I wanted to say I have your stuff."

You blinked, "What stuff?"

You didn't give him any of your stuff. Actually, after Steve gathered you all in the student council room, you only met Bucky this morning for the first time.

"The stuff those freaks took. Your... your clothes, I mean." He muttered under his breath, and you gaped at him.

Your underwear. He found your bra and panties those guys took from your room.

"Wait... how?" Staring at Bucky who, apparently, was feeling a bit embarrassed talking about it, you thought how on Earth he got those things.

There was only one way he could, right?

"Bucky, was it you who beat those guys?"

It took him a couple of seconds to turn his face to you and then sigh, "Yes, it was me."

_________

Tags: @finleyjayne @alexakeyloveloki  @helenaeisenhower @villanellevi @hurricanerin @inlovewiththefictionalcharacters @chris-evans-indian-fanfic @navegandoaciegas @rosalynshields @brattycherub @sllooney @angrythingstarlight @lookiamtrying @buckysbunny @stargazingfangirl18 @dillybuggg @literate-lamb @cosicas-cuquis @sarge-barnes-sir @buckybarnesplumwhore @jaysayey @megzdoodle @gotnofucks @lux-ravenwolf @ximebebx @jeremyrennerfanxxxx123 @sourpatchspinster @biiskuitx @stupendouslovegardener @iheartsebandchris @lovelydarkdaydream @soleil-dor @illyrianprincess @vampirestrawberries @goodgodimaweirdperson @frontmanash @freya-heya @yandematic @mariatietacapitu @d3monslust @maybesandohnos @ibeatuptwinks @mangobangi @nectav @whatever-happened-to-the-ducks @teabutnerdy ​ @srrymydood @crazylittlereader2474

[watevermelon]

✧ Soulmate!Sakusa x Reader; You are Karasuno’s manager and, unfortunately for the both of you, very popular among those in your year.

➳  A/N: This is so fluffy and nothing like how I usually write, but it was fun!! Thanks for the ask!! (: <3

✧  Masterlist

----xXxXxXxXxXx-----

There was a strange pull to volleyball that you could not fully explain, just that you were always associated somehow with the sport. In middle school, you were the manager of Kitagawa Daiichi and tended to hang around the loud duo of Oikawa and Iwaizumi. And eventually, when you chose going to Karasuno, it was no surprise that Kiyoki had roped you into becoming a manager again.

You were the last of your year to meet your soulmate - many of your friends having met their’s already. 

Kageyama did not recount it often, but Hinata made up for it on a near daily basis. The short player described the event vividly, remembering how the setter’s intimidating face was almost enough for Hinata not to realize that suddenly his world was much more colorful.

Yamaguchi described his encounter like a breath of fresh air, a sudden rush of adrenaline that came with each and every color of the world. The sky was blue, the grass was green, and the seeing members of the team often joked that Hinata looked like a bright orange fruit.

You didn’t even know what orange looked like.

Soulmates were an interesting concept in that some people may live their whole lives never meeting them, wallowing in the black-and-white hues that they were born with. Some give up, disheartened over trying for so long to no avail. Your teammates were especially lucky to have met their soulmates, even more so to have met them at a young age.

Many of the members of the student body either didn’t care for this soulmate business or cared too much about it. Some were hunting almost constantly for any sign, while some expected the fact that they were going to have to travel far eventually when they were adults.

You tried not to think about it at all.

It was cute, hearing the stories of reunions and having someone who nearly completed you. But it was hard to imagine someone who was meant to be with you.

As much as you hated to admit it, you were quite popular among many in underclassmen. You were one of the infamous Oikawa Toru’s close friends and had the looks to rival his own. Many people had complimented the two of you in the past, asking if you were soulmates and saying that you would make a good couple based on looks alone.

It annoyed you how much fair skin and flowing locks were enough to blind people to who you really were. Your friendliness often got misconstrued for something else, many of these dumb boys digging for more than just the amicable smiles you were giving.

Tsukishima said the simplest solution was to shave your head, to which you almost killed him. And Yamaguchi said it was only natural since you were very pretty. Tanaka joked that the power of two beautiful managers would win them nationals alone.

And so, almost on a daily basis, you were rejecting boys' confession left and right. From the notes hidden in your locker, to the ones passed to you during class, to those who were brave enough to wait for you outside of the gymnasium - you rejected them all with careful smiles.

But that small amount that you gave, they reached for it hard.

Give an inch and they’ll take a mile.

Many hadn’t been deterred in the least, eager to try to make you fall in love with them despite having said you were not interested. It annoyed you to no end, being surrounded by flowery language and people who wanted to get close to you, but not for who you actually were. It was all looks and appearances, nothing more.

And you hated it.

There were times that you wondered if you should just take the lid off. 

Why stay cool and composed over people who hardly cared about how you felt?

Didn’t you just want to go batshit crazy one day?

Thankfully, your volleyball boys were also a big help in warding away others. Tanaka and Nishinoya were quite the pair in keeping people away from you during practice games, even when it wasn’t necessary.

((You remembered they first time seeing Akaashi’s cute face and begging to whatever volleyball god’s were out there that he was your soulmate. It was only a little disappointing to hear that he already had one. But seeing how cute the setter and Bokuto were, you figured they truly were meant to be.))

Tsukishima was a silent help, even if he did not admit it. His quick wit and salty words were more than enough to keep others at bay when he was around. Hinata, bless the poor boy, was much denser than you and often didn’t realize flirting until Kageyama had his tongue down his throat.

Karasuno was progressing all the way to Spring Nationals and you could not have been more proud of your boys. The team was built like pillars on-top of pillars, teamwork and hardened skill having sharpened all of them over the past year.

The first day of nationals, the team was mingling in the lobby among all the others that had progressed this far. It was almost intimidating, being surrounded by some of the strongest volleyball players your age in the entire country.

And, unfortunately, you weren’t free from leering eyes then.

Kageyama branched from the group to greet some of the friends he made during the training camp and Tanaka was off having a spiritual moment. You were scanning the room until suddenly you were just standing there alone.

It was the perfect opportunity to pounce and there was someone within your immediate personal space already asking for your name. You smiled at the sudden attention of one, two more people, attempting to back away before the group got any larger. Excusing yourself from them, you headed toward the wall to try to distance yourself and get your bearings.

Someone was already there, huddled in on himself in the corner and basically telling everyone to stay away. He had a mask covering most of his face and his hands were tucked in his zipped jacket, basically staying away from touching a single thing around him.

The moment you made eye-contact, it was almost like a flash of light.

You were looking at a bright mix of yellow and green, contrasted by his pale skin and pitch-black hair. It seemed he was just as surprised, bright eyes widened comically as he stared back at you.

It was more than just the school uniform - there was color everywhere.

From the tan of the walls to the gray tiles on the ground, you scanned the room and saw the different assortment of schools like you had never seen before. Bouncing around was a tuft of orange, Hinata eager to talk to members of other schools as he bounded around the room.

Orange.

You turned back to the reclusive young man and you realized the startling new fact.

Sakusa Kiyoomi was your soulmate.

One of the best spikers in the entire country and resident in Tokyo, hours from where you grew up, was your soulmate.

You knew all about him from the volleyball spreads to the front covers. Among the hundreds of other kids here, he was one of the top picks to watch in the entire nationals. Itachiyama was even one of the top seeds to win it all. It was crazy to think that he, this already highly decorated teen, was your destined other half.

If not for volleyball, would you have ever met?

“What’s your name?” His voice was barely above the crowd and you took a step closer to hear him proper.

You introduced yourself and thought about offering a hand for him to shake, just to realize that the germaphobe would probably never take it. And so, without a word, you rubbed a bit from your hand-sanitizer and then offered the appendage to him.

There was a hint of smirk behind the mask before he took it, muttering your name low on his lips.

He reached into one of his pockets and took out his phone, wordlessly waving it in the air for you to exchange chat ID’s. You recited the numbers back to him, adding each other to keep in contact. And while you both surely had questions, there were only a few minutes until the starting ceremonies.

“Karasuno?” He recounted, “Kageyama Tobio goes to your school.”

You wanted to groan, unsure what the setter’s reputation was like on the high-school level. You would defend your blueberry friend against his king of the court days, but with your soulmate, was that weird?

“Yes, we’re in the same year.”

“Ah.” Sakusa replied simply, his eyes still wordlessly on you.

Was he expecting a response?

“Your eyes are blue.” He commented bluntly, “They look different, nice.”

“Thanks?” You chuckled and responded lamely, “I don’t even know what blue means.”

You saw a small smile form beneath the mask, a crinkle in the corner of his eye. “I’ll show you, one day.”

“I look forward to it.”

There was something about his voice, low and throaty that had you desperately wanting to hear more for it. And while you enjoyed your little moment, there were a few alarms and shouts from the administration, it was time to line-up soon. You bowed curtly in thanks and turned to leave, waving at him as you left.

It was sort of… not what you had imagined?

Not that you were truly expecting anything. You were both still teens and at a competition, it was not like you were hoping to jump into your soulmate’s arms and get married into the sunset right away. But Sakusa was so curt, so blunt. So different from what you were used to.

It was refreshing.

Kiyoko took up the task of fetching Hinata’s shoes and, for once, you were the manager sitting alongside the coach courtside. You felt the reassurance and support from Karasuno’s cheering section, many familiar faces from your Shiratorizawa match. But, along with it, you felt the strange outpoor of pressure at having eyes on you.

More than once you were scanning the crowds to see people avert their eyes, caught in the act. How did the volleyball players deal with this? Each movement they had - receives, spikes, serves - it was heavily scrutinized by every person in the audience. Even more so on this level of competition, with commentators for live TV observing each match.

You saw some of your competition floating around, many sporting pensive looks and even notebooks as they observed Karasuno. Slapping your cheeks lightly, you steadied yourself to focus as you took your own notes on the team. Every successful jump server from Asahi, every spike from the other team’s ace, you had it all down.

And you were on the court, near jumping for joy with the rest, when Karasuno locked itself in as victorious in the first round.

Sakusa approached you after you were all done packing up, most of your team surprised at seeing the strong ace approach you so casually. Kageyama was the only one that was even his acquaintance, but he waved off an informal greeting as well.

You could tell immediately that he was not comfortable, tending to stick to himself normally. And yet here Sakusa was, approaching you when it was not expected of him at all.

“Congrats to your team.” He stated in a low voice.

“Thanks.” You said with a smile, watching as his eyes dropped to your shoulders then back up to your face. “Something wrong?”

He pursued his lips silently before moving to take off his outer jacket, “Here. Wear this during tomorrow’s game.”

Tomorrow's game with Inarizaki? You mentally wondered.

You didn’t question it, taking the jacket with a small grin and folding it in your hands. You still had your Karasuno jacket on and didn’t want to fumble around while the gorgeous ace was watching.

Of course, your team hadn’t caught on either.

“OH?!” Tanaka was immediately on the offensive, “And what claim do you have here city boy?”

You raised your palms to calm him down, an enraged Nishinoya not far behind him. Suga sighed in the corner, moving to grab them by the backs of their collars before they tried to throw hands with a nationally ranked spiker.

Before you could say anything, Sakusa explained with a flat face. “She’s my soulmate. Is it wrong for me to try to get closer to her?”

The reaction was immediate. You heard the, waaah!, from where Hinata was standing the sudden, excited gasp from Yamaguchi.

“Wow! Lucky you, (L/N)-chan.” Suga stated, a smile on his face as he regarded the both of you.

“When did this happen?” Daichi inquired after offering you both smiles.

“Before, when I got lost during the opening ceremony.”

“And you didn’t say anything!” Hinata exclaimed more than questioned.

“I didn’t want to distract you from the game.” You stated back, shrugging lightly.

Sakusa cleared his throat and you turned back to him, “I have to meet back with my team.”

“Okay, safe travels.” You said, earning a nod as he left.

“Wow, he’s so… different from you!” Hinata observed, trying not to be rude.

“He’s… nice to you.” Kagayama commented also, his head tilted and his eyebrows furrowed as if he was trying to find a better word to describe it. 

“That seemed pretty normal though?” Yamaguchi asked.

Kageyama immediately countered, “No, his normal is not like that.”

“He’s cute.” You responded lamely, thinking about his dark hair and matching eyes. 

He was quiet, but not to the point where you felt like he was purposefully closing you off. It was more like, if he had nothing to say, then he would not find the need to ramble on. Blunt with a purpose - which you honestly liked.

Meanwhile, Sakusa was hoping you took his words to heart and wore the jacket the entire next day. He had thought about his soulmate once or twice before, but never really dwelled on it since he had more important things to worry about. A soulmate was something he could not physically complete on his own, and while he hated leaving the issue half-assed, it is what it is.

But now that he knew who you were? 

Sakusa wanted to know you whole.

There was no denying it right at the onset - you were beautiful. If there were any other words - immaculate? Stunning? Absolutely show-stopping?

He had no expectations and yet here you were blowing them all out of the park, your beautiful looks only enhanced by how observant and friendly you had been at the onset.

It annoyed him that he was not the only one to have noticed this, many leering eyes following you as you went. Even more so when you were on the bench in the main stadium, many people in the stands around him remarked that Karasuno’s manager was insanely attractive.

No matter, you were his soulmate.

It only get worse when the rice-field asshole showed his face, Atsumu greeting Sakusa with the usual, Omi-Omi.

It seemed they were both interested in watching Kageyama play with his team. He was good during the training camp, but another thing entirely with the small spiker that completely their freak-duo.

But of fucking course Atsumu had to make a comment about you.

“And suddenly I’m lookin’ forward to playin’ them tomorrow.” The setter stated, eyes shooting to where you were sitting.

Sakusa had half the mind to put him in his place, but it would do no good. After all, the setter was an idiot, but actually liked to get on his nerves sometimes.

And so wearing his jacket should be more than enough to stake his claim.

Sakusa had a game the next day, but the bright hues of his yellow-green school colors were easy to pick out in the crowd. You were wearing it just like he asked, the jacket looking much too big on you.

But it was the smile on your face as you cheered on your team that made him want to smile back, even though he knew for a fact that you were not looking.

Baby steps, you would get there soon enough.