#K. his lips curl up by default which is so so so so cute!! i love it

[doyoukki]

doyoung is such a visual and it breaks my heart that he thinks otherwise

[prurientpuddlejumper]

A New Arrangement [Part 9/9][NSFW]

K!nktober 2020 Kink Bingo!: Cockwarming

<- Part 8 | Bonus Chapter ->

Summary: Post-coital cuddling with Frederick Chilton

For @thatesqcrush​’s kink bingo!

1,448 words

He collapsed on top of you, rolling you onto your back without removing the sweet, filling pressure of his still-hard erection from your warmth. He nuzzled his face against yours with blatant neediness until you kissed him, then he sighed happily, and let his whole body go limp on top of you.

“That was so good,” you said, out of breath, chaffed, mussed, and glowing with euphoria.

He let out a muffled hum of agreement into the mattress, which you more felt vibrating than heard.

Minutes passed in peaceful, comfortable silence. You half dozed with exhaustion, softly caressing the solid, reassuring body weighing down on you, sweat slowly saturating through his once-pristine dress shirt. His cock felt so nice, still nestled inside you as it gradually softened. You stroked his sweaty back, unsure if he had fallen asleep.

“Mmm. Doctor Chilton, this is nice,” you murmured dreamily.

“I believe, at this juncture, it would be appropriate to call me Frederick.”

The familiarity made your heart skip unexpectedly. “Frederick,” you said, trying it out. It tasted good rolling over your tongue, so you said it again. “Frederick. I like that. It’s a good name.”

He lifted his head to watch your perfect lips forming the shape of his name. “It is Germanic in origin...” he said, then paused, thinking better of it before launching into a boring onomastics lesson you surely had no interest in hearing. Why could he not think of anything more… romantic?

“It’s cute. It sounds regal… but also very cuddly,” you warmly opined. “Like a lord or a duke, or a teddy bear. Sir Teddy Bear. Frederick.”

He had nothing to say to that (although the temptation to describe the name’s royal history grew stronger), so he buried his face further into your neck.

An analog clock ticked atop a dresser. Frederick breathed in and out. Otherwise, his bedroom was soundproof enough that you were immersed in silence. You enjoyed the closeness of his body. You wished you had more bare skin to touch, but were content to settle for his neck and his head for now. And because you were completely naked, every caress of his fingers was skin on skin.

He enjoyed your naked body, not just because it aroused him sexually. He felt at ease. It seemed a fair trade off for the parts of him you had gotten to see—parts he was firmly dedicated to hiding until they could be corrected.

A thread of fear pulled at his chest, tugging insistently through the sleepy contentedness he was drowsing in until he could no longer ignore it. He lifted his head from your shoulder and craned it one way and then the other. He stretched as far he could reach without pulling out of you.

“Are you looking for something?”

The corners of his eyes tightened. A cheek flinched. “The mask fell somewhere, and I want it back,” he said calmly, but with an undercurrent of rising urgency.

He had spent the last several months hiding his face, and one satisfying fuck wasn’t enough to make him ready to be exposed for so long. It was impressive he’d lasted as long as he had without it, but an invisible time limit was fast approaching. You understood, any sympathized. You would miss him, though.

“I’ll help look. Can I kiss you one more time without it?”

“Hurry up,” he said, anxious to retreat into the familiar safety of being covered.

You turned your head and pressed your lips tenderly against his cheek, so soft and yielding, so without judgment toward the patchwork of grafts and scars he had been living in shame of, that he turned his head to kiss you on the mouth. For the frozen fraction of a second that he made contact, a bolt of terror that he was mistaken in putting faith in your reassurances and that you did not actually want him to kiss you and would pull away in disgust paralyzed him. With a low moan, your lips parted over his teeth, tongue sliding over the edges, licking and teasing until he melted and kissed you back.

He released a long, shuddering breath. “You do that so well.”

“Well, you feel so good,” you smiled.

There was no way to find the mask with his softened cock falling out of you, so you lay together until his impatience to be covered outweighed the soothing comfort of his cock still buried warm and safe inside you.

He crawled to the edge of the bed, and you sat up and checked the other side.

The mask had not fallen far. It lay face-down on the plush carpet under the bed, narrowly missing a landing on the bright hardwood that would have chipped or shattered it. Frederick snatched it, and sighed with relief as he slipped it back over his face. Shelter. He was… embarrassed to still need it, after everything, but he was not comfortable with you looking at him. He felt too exposed. Too vulnerable.

He rolled onto his back, spreading his limbs out across the bed.

“That… was quite good. Thank you,” he said awkwardly, as if you’d cooked dinner. It made you laugh softly, and shake your head.

“Thank you. For letting me share that with you.”

The mask was back on securely, so you couldn’t tell if he was blushing, or smiling. But you had a feeling he might have been.

***

You were finishing up the last two buttons of your blouse when Frederick returned from the bathroom in clean pants and a fresh shirt to replace the sweaty one, restored to the default appearance with which he always answered the door. You had half expected him to be wearing a Hugh Hefner robe or at least something more relaxed following his conquest, but no. This was a man who would wear formal attire in his own bedroom until you left. Possibly even when he was alone. At least he’d lost the tie.

“Must you leave?” he said.

“I’m sorry,” you said, gathering up your things, “I have three more appointments today and I’m running late.”

“Other appointments. I see,” he grumbled peevishly, chin in the air.

“Don’t be jealous, Frederick,” you grinned. “I don’t fuck any of my other clients.”

“You did not used to,” he corrected, shoulders circling, “but perhaps I have given you ideas. If I was able to seduce you…”

You crossed the room to him and tapped a finger on his chest, brows lowered. “You are a special case. You’re… intriguing...” As you let your pointer finger drift down the center of his chest you noticed he left the top buttons undone. You hungrily stared at the warm, exposed flesh. Snapping your eyes back up to his, you teased, “At the very least, I am more than satisfied for the rest of the day. I’m going to be sore tomorrow.”

He gave a proud hum, vibrating the air behind the mask, and wrapped a possessive arm around your lower back. “Can we make another appointment for next week? Officially, I would put you on retainer as a financial consultant assisting me on an ongoing basis...”

Oh, right. You had almost forgotten about the silly paying-for-your-services thing.

“Just ask me on a date, dummy. I’ll say yes,” is what you should have said. But feelings were messy, and he was still so fragile. A relationship bound together by the chaotic whims of emotion probably terrified him, or else he would have just asked you out. Money was safer. Money let him be in control. 

Besides, there was nothing wrong with making some extra cash, was there? He had plenty of it. 

“I’ll mark it in my calendar,” you said, and kissed his cold porcelain lips, your fingers curling around the warm base of his neck. You had a rich, eccentric, hermit sugar daddy now, and you had to admit, that was exciting. 

There was no way being paid for sex could ever come back to bite you in the ass.

With an exhausted groan of effort, he grabbed the cane beside his bed and walked you to the door. On your way out to the car, he pulled open one of the dark curtains to watch you go (you were surprised he didn’t hiss at the sunlight and crumble into a heap of dust). He was eerie, a pale porcelain ghost floating in the window. Anyone else might have worried they were in the opening act of a slasher film, but a warm tingling flooded your chest—a contented drunkenness so strong you had to breathe in purposefully to recenter yourself before you waved to him and drove away.

[honestsycrets]

No Thieves Welcome IX: Sleepover!

Author’s Notes | written for @grungyblonde

❛ pairing | hvitserk/reader

❛ word count | 3330

❛ genre | angst, smut 

❛ summary | to margrethe’s misfortune, ubbe lies like shit.

❛ warnings | angst, smut, manipulation, dark!hvitserk, cursing, pissed!hvitserk, make ups 

Why was it that you attempted to break up with him?

He considers what if could have been-- of what it was. It could have been any number of things really. Magnus was at his short list of possibilities. But… what if it was something else? Not enough spoiling, he thinks. Women liked those things. Shit, he did too. Or maybe it was the fact that he didn’t do shit on that stupid ass research paper or in physics? Damn, it could have been that too.

“Hvitserk, you aren’t eating.” Ubbe knocks him in the ribs with his elbow over his spring rolls with peanut sauce, jam packed with his favourite bean sprouts and lettuce. His green eyes shift dully over to the food sitting before him, reaching for a his frozen passion fruit boba. They came to eat after Hvitserk got his first tattoo, long black streaks on one of his forearm… and, a little piercing for you to enjoy later.

“Yeah, sorry.” He murmurs. “(Y/N) tried to break up with me. Shit, she only wants to be friends.”

Then-- he notices the change in his older brother. The one where his eyes fall distantly and he lacks the words to explain what exactly is on his mind. He knows Ubbe better than that though. He’s a terrible fucking liar when it’s to his very own brothers.

“What is it? You’ve been like this for days, Ubbe.” He says, sitting dead pan. Short of putting the roll into his mouth, he tells his brother exactly what is on his mind. Ubbe’s toned chest rises and falls, his pressed white button up tight on his chest.

“She didn’t tell you.” He states, bringing his arms to fold one over another.

“Didn’t tell me what?” Hvitserk hisses. That Magnus was why you were breaking up with him? Man, that would have been a long ass time coming. As long as there wasn’t another man in the picture, shit. Everyone knew that Hvitserk Ragnarsson had made claim to you. But… if he had to fight someone, he god damn well would have. You were his and he would do anything to solidify that.

“Margrethe shoved her down some stairs.”

What. His face reflects the shock. No, not shock. He knew that Margrethe was jealous. Insanely jealous with a lascivious tongue that had been running at school claiming that you had an STD. He rebuked that one back-- if anyone had an STD, it was probably his insane little fuck buddy Margrethe. Hvitserk bends his head down, running his fingers through his long, honey coloured hair.

“Why the fuck didn’t you tell me? Why did you fucking know before I did!?” He lashes out, shoving his fist onto the table. Ubbe holds up his hands in defense, staring just as heatedly to his little brother.

“Calm down.” He says. “I only knew because I was on my way to her house when it happened.”

His hand squeezes and releases, eyes darting around the untouched dishes on top of the table. The people dining around stare upon Hvitserk, waiting for him to snap his shit like he wanted to. He easily could have but not today. Not today. His thumb sweeps the stubble above his thin upper lip.

“Where is Margrethe?” His voice shakes.

He knew better than that. She’d hurt you if given the chance.

“Margrethe!”

He’s banging down her door. Fist, thumping the wood. Margrethe’s normally kept up nails are torn bits of acrylic, shuddering as her lover threatens to crack open the door at any moment. They should have been at school. Margrethe had been skipping since Aethelwulf came to see her. She could go to jail! Or prison! She was too cute for prison.

“Margrethe!”

How had someone not called the police on Hvitserk outside of her door?

She hesitates in answering but… the last thing she needed was the police here again. As she opens the heavy foor, her eyes are downcast. This is the last thing she wants to do after all. In front of the door, Hvitserk has a calm appearance. He walks in on light feet despite his heavy boots.

“Hey, Margrethe.” He smooths his large hand over her cheek as she looks at him with meek, almost gentle eyes. There’s a storm behind them. It’s quickly evident when she lurches toward him, the fist behind her hand with a long but sharp bread knife that she’s probably spent far too long sharpening. Hvitserk snatches her wrist, twisting it about her back and shoves her into the dividing wall between the entryway and the bedroom. Then kicking the door shut, he wrangles it from her grip. The blood courses down his forearm.

“Shit.” He proceeds to pat her down, lifting her modest cream slip up to feel within her thin panties. When he’s satisfied that there’s nothing else, he kicks off of the wall.

“What was that?” He leans in, combing a piece of mismanaged hair behind the round shell of her ear. “Did you think I was going to hurt you, hm?’

“You were beating the door.” She squeaks. “And you could have done it, you could have! Who knows what you would have done for that whore! She came here wearing your stupid hoodie!”

Shhh, shhh, shhh. Hvitserk brings his finger to her lip. He spreads his legs where he stands and urges her to keep silent. It was just like Margrethe anymore to spout off. The more he moved toward other the women-- the more this would happen. Hvitserk flicks his head in the direction of the mismatched kitchen. There he would chuck the knife into the drawer, complete with child locks.

“Did you go off your lithium? Or wellbutrin?” Hvitserk asks at long last, snapping them shut.

“You know I don’t like them.” She admits to her lack of use of the drug. Not… entirely surprising, Hvitserk thinks. He had little doubt that Ubbe was pulling away from Margrethe in the last few weeks. Hvitserk walks over to the cabinet where the medicines were, finding that the medicine was still… there, definitely unused. He pops one open, taking a dosage of each and slamming them down on the short breakfast bar. Then going into the fridge, he pulls free a bottle of water and places that too before her.

“You know she’s my number one fuck. She’s gonna be my fucking girl whether you like it or not.” Hvitserk pushes the cabinet shut, shoving his hands into his pockets this time. A sneer rises on Margrethe’s face the second the words leave his lips. It’s almost as if she’s going to snap off again, or perhaps sob, he’s not sure which.

“It’s not fair.” She begins, but Hvitserk holds his hand up to cut her off. There’s something that he has to tell her and he can’t put it off anymore. His eyes fall to the clicking fake silver plated clock behind her.

“I don’t want to sleep with you anymore.” Hvitserk returns his hands down, folding his hand into a ball. “I like you so maybe I’ve been putting off telling you for your health but enough is enough. Don’t think I didn’t find out you pushed her down the stairs.”

Before she can even recover from that, he pushes himself from where he was to walk around her. His hand curls through her long, blonde hair, pushing her hair onto one of her delicate shoulders.

“I won’t let you get in the way.” He bends down to whisper into her ear. “So don’t make it an issue, Margrethe, hm? You’re too pretty to end up like Magnus.”

She could never be okay with being replaced. As she turns in her chair to plead with him, calling you this that and the other thing-- he only smiles in feigned weakness for her. Let the crazy woman rant out her frustrations. To no avail she pleads with him to see her side of things. When that doesn’t work, she defaults to the one thing that she knows he usually couldn’t say no too.

“One last time?”

She knows it's really over when he purses his lips together.

A hot shower soothes the aches from your tumble down the steps. The warm steam soothes your bones, but the cool little shower tabs that Asta gave you warmed over your skin with hints of jasmine and ylang ylang.

“Man, I always knew that Margrethe was bat shit crazy, but I never knew how fuckin’ bat shit she was!” Asta exclaims as you step out of the shower in nothing more but a fluffy towel. You had bruises in places where there shouldn’t have been bruises.

“I knew she loved him... But to push me down the stairs?” You pout, coming to your cabinet where all your K-Beauty items were. After double cleansing your face, you took a small puff full of your favourite toner to clean your face.

Asta sits on your toilet like a pretzel, leaning back and forth with that dumbfounded, curious look on her face. She leans forward, inching and inching until she’s nearly falling off.

“So what did Hvitty say?” She asks.

Nothing because you hadn’t told him. If you were going to be friends with him, you didn’t need him flying off the handle and asking you what happened, how it happened, where it happened and all that. You can live without that blowout.

“You think I told him?” You laugh off the thought. If Hvitserk knew-- and that was a big if, you didn’t know how he would react. Shit, maybe he would pick her over you. It seemed like more than you personally wanted to deal with.

“You should tell him.” Asta folds her arms. “I mean, call me stupid, but he loves you.”

You glance over to her, tossing the bit of cotton away and reaching into your drawer to pull out a pearl face mask. With one awkward exchange of looks, the both of you laugh.

“You’re stupid.”

Your phone gives off a jaunty ring similar to that of a doorbell trilling. You grasp your phone from the grey pebble countertop, pulling up the stupid little doorbell app that your mother insisted on installing outside the door.

“Speak of the devil…” You murmur, flashing your phone at Asta. She squeaks adorably, hopping up and squeeing right next to you. He looks… different. His hoodie is off, over his firm arms. In place of that, he has a slim black button up. It looks strange on a man wearing a bun. You rush over to the rectangular window, overseeing the entrance to the house on the second floor.

“He’s here!” Asta laughs.

It would interrupt your night at home-- a sleepover with Asta in place of your family being home. Your father was a man often busy with work as he always was growing up. Your mother? Well, she just happened to be working night shifts on a cycle every six months.

“Go, go, go to the spare! Give me that.” You sweep the phone from her fingertips. She laughs, sneaking down the hall while you answer the video call.

I’m on my way! You say.

Hvitserk jumps cutely, swaying to stare at the modest black camera attached to the wall.

“What the fuck is this?” He grins cheekily, moving in to the camera so that you can outline the green of his eye. The way down the stairs is long and tiresome. You almost forget several steps on your way down, snapping this lock and that until the door pops open.

“A camera, dummy.” You pull the door open-- and to your surprise, Hvitserk drops that wholesome smile. His eye runs over the hem of your not so modest towel against your upper thighs. Whatever information he registered shoots right back to his dick, because he hardens up from the semi-hard state your voice put him into to hard in a matter of seconds.

“Yeah… you’re uh… towel?” He flicks his fingers down, reasoning with himself to calm the hell down.

“I like to shower before bed, Hvitserk.”

Not helping. Hvitserk clears his throat, suddenly finding these dark blue jeans really tight from the way his hand drops down around his dick. He leans forward, finding no one behind you. No signs of life either.

“Your people ain’t here?” He asks. In response you step aside, allowing for Hvitserk to step forward into the house. You pull the door shut with a pop of the lock, sneaking onto your tippy toes to kiss him smoothly on the lips.

“Nope!” You chirp the golden words. Or at least half golden.

“You mean I got all dressed up for nothing?” Hvitserk unbuttons the first few buttons on his chest, revealing smooth skin marked by a few honey curls. “Bullshit that is.”

“Always a silver lining though.” Then he shrugs his shoulders, turning back to you. There is one hand that is clasped upon the knot holding your fluffy towel up. You almost release the towel-- if not for knowing that Asta was in the spare, you probably would have. The longer this relationship went on, the more you knew there were certain things he expected of you. Putting out was one of them.

“What did you come here for?” You ask, ambling back toward the staircase. Hvitserk follows after like a hungry dog, fixated upon your trembling fingers. With a lurch and a miss from Hvitserk, you sneak up the stairs.

“Didn’t come ‘ere to get pussy if that’s what you’re thinkin’.” He breaches the top of the staircase. “Bet you were hopin’ for it though. Answerin’ the got damn door in a fuckin’ towel.”

“I saw you coming.” You flick your phone, glinting against the lights that Asta left on. He narrows his eyes at you-- the last warning before he bursts into a run after you while simultaneously cursing his tight ass pants. The giggles combined with Hvitserk’s ragged pants filter in between the crack of Asta’s door.

Hvitserk catches you in the run, grabbing your neck and shoving you up against your bedroom door. A bruising grip to your neck keeps your head tight against the door while Hvitserk rips away the fluffy towel away from your body. Hvitserk’s hand comes down upon your ass with a harsh pop, slapping your skin hot and red.

“Ow! Hvitserk!”

He was rough but not usually this rough! Hvitserk shifts you to face him, his annoying pants loosened and cast off. You feel him before you actually even see the tip of his dick pushing into your moist walls. It’s your shared favourite feeling-- the way that he breaches you and the way that you take him in. For stability’s sake, your hands come to his shoulders even as his prop you up.

It’s strangely different this time.

Almost like a bump-- heavy in your cunt. You look down at Hvitserk as he moves, questioning if balls deep was really the right time to ask him if his dick had something wrong with it. Not bad wrong! You certainly felt a flutter of pleasure when he pushed forward and raked back but--

“It’s a piercing.” He slurs out. Oh. That explains it. “Squeeze me and see how it feels.”

Despite your raised eyebrows-- you do. Too much at first, because he buckles. He shakes his head adorably. Wait, why was it adorable?

“Fuck not that tight. Smooth it out.” He commands. So you do… and before long, he’s the one moaning. Smooth thrusts within your sweet pussy time with your clenching-- and before long, Hvitserk is the one filling the house with his grunts.

Shit, the house. Asta was in the house! It was only down the hall!

Taking it upon yourself, you lean forward to catch his lips. He’s momentarily stunted by the initiation of a wet kiss but just as quickly kisses you back. His breath hitches, puffing against your lips with every squishy sweep of his hips losing control. The first kiss in a while-- and he hates himself for his tummy fluttering. That was the start of the end. In a quick spiral, he hilts and lets his seed spill just where it shouldn’t have: inside of you. This was getting to be a bad, bad habit.

And shit, he was in deep.

“Mother fucker…” He curses under his breath, giving a few shallow thrusts until it was all to nothing. As he sets you back down, it crosses his mind of what a got damn mess he made of your freshly bathed body. The sleepiness hits him right away, loosening the collar of his button up even more.

“You might as well take it off.” You note.

“Whatever you want, princess.”

Off it goes over the floor and like a stupid ass, Hvitserk leans down to his jacket while you move to your bed. Asta would be fine, right? She had the television, her tablet and free wifi. Dinner had been made and usually you would just gossip. So… of course you could skip a girls night with her this one time.

“Why did you come here, anyway?” You ask, slipping beneath the fluffy covers and probably spilling his seed over the sheets. Spunk is supposed to stick so what the hell ever! It would be fine. Hvitserk crinkles a cherry red wrapper, dropping it into the trash and pushing the cherry red treat into his mouth.

Did he always have sweets before bed? He slips beneath the sheets, moving his arm underneath your neck to support you. Friends, you told him you would just be friends. Only be friends!

“Because you were hidin’ shit from me.” Hvitserk turns you in to look at him. It occurs to you that you still have bruising from your fall over your body. In shock of this random fuck… you hadn’t thought about the blotches that mar your skin like the palette of a blueberry high artist. Probably shouldn’t have acted stupid, but you did.

“What was I hiding?” You ask.

Hvitserk makes it his goal to pull your leg over his, snuggling obnoxiously close. What was probably too close before friends but ha, you had his creamy nut between your legs so that was SO far gone already.

“Margrethe.” All he needs for an answer is in that statement alone, but he expands on his statement. “You’re supposed to tell me if shit is up, (Y/N). Pushing you down a flight of fucking stairs? What did you think I wouldn’t take care of you?”

That was a little self explanatory in the fact that you had gotten flung down the stairs.

“You fuck her. You beat Magnus.”

Yeaaaah, but that was Magnus. He’d never do that to you. Men were one thing… women were another. Well, at least good girls. Margrethe had never been a good girl. This sounded like a sack of shit even to him.

“Look I used to fuck her. But I don’t now, honest.” He clicks his lollipop against his pearly teeth, stained with the artificial colouring. “You’re my girl, not her. She’s Ubbe’s girl or-- whatever.”

Probably not anymore but shit, the point remained. He can only hope that you believe him… despite his failings, that he wouldn’t just fuck one pussy and then another. Or at least not when it was you! He knows his reputation proceeds him.

“We’ve been over this Hvit. I’m not--”

“Yeah, yeah, not my girl. Whatever.” He cuts you off, pulling you in. Your hand rests against the smooth, sweaty curls of his chest. “But I want ya to be.”

What were you supposed to say to that?

No, no would have been a good start. Instead, you flutter those stupid eyelashes at him and snuggle in against him, enjoying a rare and intimate moment of peace. Despite your phone vibrating somewhere on the ground.

How could you be so stupid?

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