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sapphire-writes · 1 year

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Our Last Summer (modern!HOTD)

part 8 of 10 || series masterlist || previous part || next part

pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Reader

summary: The Kingsroad Country Club hosts its annual gala and auction. An unwelcome guest causes trouble for you and the gang.

word count: 6.2k

rating: Mature/Explicit/18+

warnings below the cut!

warnings: language, fighting, and mentions of violence, slight exhibitionism, oral (male-receiving, ball play), reader domming a lil bit, dirty talk, praise, cum eating, kissing

note: went a lil crazy with this one pls forgive my feral nature

dividers by the lovely @firefly-graphics

as always, comments, reblogs & likes are appreciated but not expected ❤️

“Torture,” Helaena says, her lips in a deep pout, “This is actual torture.”

You glance over at her as you all exit the car that dropped you off at the Kingsroad Country Club. It had just been you, Aegon, Aemond, and Helaena; Alicent had been driven separately several hours earlier to help prepare.

Helaena smoothes the silver blue dress, looking rather uncomfortable yet stunning. You can’t imagine any of the Targaryens looking bad ever; they’re all blessed with angelic good looks. But Helaena is clearly out of her element in the silk dress and heels. You’d helped her with her makeup, though it was hard to get her to sit still.

You’d gotten ready with Helaena, as Baela was summoned to Dragonstone earlier in the day. The whole family was arriving together, to make an entrance.

Aegon and Aemond are dressed similarly in suits and ties; the boys truly had it easiest. Though Aemond wore a black tie whereas Aegon wore a deep green one.

You smooth your own dress, feeling a little self-conscious around the Targaryens. You’d chosen a silky black dress when you’d gone shopping a few weeks ago; it hugs every curve, falling to the middle of your thighs. You’d paired it with some hoops and a layered necklace (borrowed from Helaena).

“You look incredible, Hel,” you assured her, and she rolled her eyes.

“I mean, I know,” she tells you, “I’m a hot person. You too! Very sexy chic,” she teases, grabbing your hand and twirling you.

Aemond smirks, watching the display. Your cheeks warm as you focus on not tripping in your heels. Helaena stops spinning you, pulling your back against her front.

“Careful, Aemond,” she teases, “I just might steal your girl.”

“Alright, enough,” Aemond says, reaching forward and taking your hand, pulling you from Helaena’s embrace.

She laughs as Aemond pulls you close before closing the car door. Aegon has propped himself against the hood of the car, attempting to light a cigarette. Helaena moves past him, smacking him on the back of the head. The cigarette falls to the ground and Aegon groans.

“Bitch,” he mutters.

“Watch it,” Helaena warns, heading up the steps, “Let’s go find Mom.”

Aegon trails behind her, flicking his lighter shut and shoving it into his pocket.

Aemond’s fingers are still intertwined with yours as he moves to follow his siblings; you can feel the coolness of the rings that adorn his slender fingers. He stops just at the front of the car, leaning against it until he’s face to face with you. He holds your hand the whole time, pulling you forward gently.

“Shouldn’t we head in?” you ask, now standing between his legs. He drags your hand up, letting it go when it rests on his shoulder.

“In a minute,” he murmurs, bringing his hands to your waist, “First I want to tell you how beautiful you look.”

Your face warms and you blink rapidly, eyes downcast. For someone you originally thought was just a fuckboy, Aemond Targaryen was turning out to be quite the romantic. He somehow knew all the things to say that would send your heart fluttering in your chest, and turn your legs to jelly.

Aemond watches your reaction, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he smiles. You wet your lips, looking up at him.

“Tell me then,” you tease, and he gently tugs you forward capturing your lips in a kiss.

It’s slow and passionate; heat curls in your belly along with a desperate ache between your legs. It trickles through your veins, flooding your entire body with euphoria. You’ve never felt this feeling before; this almost painful need for another person. Aemond deepens the kiss, letting his tongue slip into your waiting mouth. He tastes of spearmint, and something spicy; the rum Aegon had insisted you all try before heading over.

Aemond pulls away, the slight smile still on his face as he rubs circles on your hips with his thumbs.

“You look beautiful,” he tells you, so close you can feel his lips moving with the words he speaks.

You smile at his words, tilting your head to bump the tip of your nose against his. Aemond releases a breath as you do so, cupping your cheek with one large hand and pressing a softer kiss to your lips.

“Let’s go,” he tells you, and you head inside.

The Kingsroad Country Club is nothing short of extravagant when you make your way into the main ballroom. You’d deposited your coat in a room down the hall for safekeeping. Your eyes are wide as saucers as you take in the gorgeous arrangement of colorful flowers throughout the room, and cream-colored silk streamers that hang from the ceiling.

Ice sculptures of various mythical creatures are scattered throughout the room, several of them dragons you can’t help but notice. Everyone is dressed to the nines; you’ve never been to such a fancy event. You spot Sara, clad in a deep purple dress and she waves at you, nudging Cregan who stands beside her. He gives you a friendly wave as well.

Floris is here; you spot her helping explain something to an older woman. She smiles at you brightly and mouths talk later, before returning to her task. Your chest warms as you scout the crowd for Baela and Rhaena. You know they’d arrived before you as you received a frantic text from Baela as you were getting ready. Help me, followed by a skull emoji.

“I’ll get you a drink,” Aemond murmurs, leaning down to speak in your ear. You nod, continuing to look for the twins, and he walks over to the bar.

Helaena’s silver head comes into view; she’s standing next to Alicent who is speaking rapidly. Helaena’s expression is pained and she tugs her shoulder away from her mother’s reaching hand. The dynamics of this family are throwing you through loops.

You hear a familiar voice call your name, and turn to see Will Tyrell accompanied by someone you don’t recognize. You give him a friendly smile as he approaches. Will had been more than understanding when you’d reached out to him earlier in the week; you’d told him while you had a lovely time, you thought it would be best to remain friends.

Will, being the total sweetheart he is, agreed without hesitation. He makes his way over to you, wearing a white button-down shirt with an open dark navy jacket with matching slacks. His brown curls are slicked back against his skull. His friend is dressed similarly; clad in a deep maroon jacket and slacks.

His features are sharp, almost fox-like. You notice he has rather large ears, hidden behind strawberry-blonde curls and a dusting of freckles across the bridge of his nose.

“Good to see you,” you tell Will, pulling him into a friendly hug. You glance awkwardly at his friend, waiting to be introduced when Aegon joins you.

“Hughie!” Aegon says, pulling in the stranger with his hand and clasping him on the shoulder, “Been a while man.”

“Yeah, good to see you,” he answers with a grin, “Been in Highgarden for most of the summer.”

His eyes drift over to you, “Hugh Florent.”

He holds his hand out which you shake, and smiles politely. Hugh’s eyebrow raises as you tell him your name, gaze flickering to Will who is lost in conversation with Aegon. Something about sharks from what you can hear.

“You’ve been hanging with Will this summer, yeah?” Hugh asks, lips curving into a slight smirk.

“We’ve been out a couple of times, yeah,” you tell him, as Aemond returns to your side. You feel him slide an arm around your waist, gently tugging you closer to his warm body.

Hugh’s eyes flicker between you both as Aemond hands you a glass of champagne. You thank him, taking a small sip; the bubbles leave a tingling sensation on your tongue.

“Aemond,” Hugh says with a grin, “You’ve decided to make an appearance.”

“My mother organized the gala and auction,” Aemond answers, his voice rather cold, “Important to support her.”

“Are you bidding on anything?” Hugh asks, placing his hands in his pockets.

“If something catches my eye,” Aemond answers, shrugging his shoulders slightly.

Hugh’s eyes slide over to you once more.

“Seems like something already did,” Hugh comments, as Will hands him a beer, “Thanks, man.”

You feel Aemond’s arm tighten around you, and he gives Hugh a tight smile, eye narrowing slightly. You glance up at him, feeling the tension rolling off his lean, muscular form. Aemond tilts down to your height, his lips beside your ear.

“Have you seen Baela yet?” he asks softly, and you shake your head, “I saw her while I was getting your drink; I’ll take you to her.”

And with that, Aemond leads you away from Hugh, giving him a polite nod as you exit. Aemond keeps his arm around you as you move through the crowd and onto the large patio where some guests have begun mingling.

“Who is he?” you ask, keeping your voice low.

“One of Aegon’s fraternity brothers,” Aemond answers, jaw clenched, “Best to stay away from him.”

You couldn’t agree more. The uneasy feeling in your stomach from the interaction with Hugh doesn’t last long, as you spot Baela and Rhaena, along with Daemon and Rhaenyra. Luke is seated next to his mother fiddling with his tie. Rhaenyra scolds him before running her hand over the back of his head.

Baela tilts her wine glass upwards, finishing the dregs before abandoning the glass on the table. Her eyes widen as she sees you and she uses the moment to pull away from her father and stepmother. Daemon makes a face but you watch Rhaenyra slide her hand into his, shaking her head gently.

Baela’s arms sling around your shoulders pulling you into a tight hug. She smells like the perfume you got her for her last birthday; light and floral.

“Holy shit you smoke show!” she comments, admiring your look, “Damn Aemond, you’re a lucky guy.”

“Insanely,” Aemond agrees.

“You look stunning Baela, holy fuck,” you tell her. Baela is a goddess in her aquamarine-colored dress that clings to every curve.

Some of her curls are pulled back from her face by silver pins adorned with seahorses with pale blue gemstones for eyes. The rest of her curls hang freely down her back. Glitter shimmers on her chest and arms, matching the highlighter atop her cheekbones. Baela looks the part of a sea enchantress, ready to drag those who cross her to a watery grave.

Rhaena’s dress is similar, though a shade of pale pink. She waves at you, but stays close to her father’s side, standing between him and Rhaenyra. Her locs hang freely and you can see gemstones sparkling around her eyes.

Baela preens at your praise, giving you a little twirl.

“I mean, it was nothing really,” she says, “Thank god you’re here though, it’s been so boring.”

“How’s your dad?” you ask.

“Fine, I guess,” she says with a sigh, “He got what he wanted. The happy little family all together.” She crosses her arms in front of her.

“No Jace?”

“He said he didn’t think he’d be back in time,” she reminds you, “Regatta is still 2 weeks away, he’ll be back for Luke.”

“That’s good,” you tell her. Luke looks lost without his brother. Smaller.

Baela sighs, looking back at her family. Rhaena jerks her chin, motioning for Baela to rejoin.

“Gods,” Baela grumbles, “Probably another picture. I had to take one with Rhaenyra earlier.”

“Sorry,” you tell her, wincing.

“It’s whatever at this point,” Baela says, rolling her eyes, “Catch you in a bit? The fireworks are supposed to be really cool this year.”

You nod, giving her hand a squeeze.

“You got this,” you tell her and she smiles, her eyes sad.

“Thank you,” she says, turning to Aemond, “Take care of my girl.”

“Will do,” Aemond promises.

Baela turns back suddenly.

“Shoot, will you do me a favor?” she asks, and you quickly nod, “Grab my phone? It's in the coat room. It’s my black one with the seahorse buttons.”

“Of course,” you tell her as Rhaena calls her name, “Go, go I’ll grab it and be right back.”

Baela thanks you again, heading back over to Rhaena and the others. You glance up at Aemond, handing him your glass.

“I’ll be right back,” you tell him.

“Want me to come with you?” he asks.

“It’s alright, I’ll only be a moment,” you assure him, “Besides, maybe check on Hel? She looks like she’s in pain.”

Aemond chuckles slightly but agrees as you head out of the ballroom and down the hall. The music dies as you make your way further to the uninhabited side of the country club, pushing open the glass doors that lead to the smaller room where all the coats have been kept.

There are other things present as well, some auction items to be revealed later in the night. You make your way to the women’s coats, fingering through them for Baela’s. It’s easy to spot with the buttons and you grab her phone, sliding it between your breasts. You remove your phone, as that’s where you’d been stashing it, and check your notifications.

“Hiding from someone?” a voice calls and you turn around, startled.

Your phone drops from your hand, landing on the ground with a loud thump. Hugh Florent winces apologetically, leaning forward to grab it. He holds it out to you.

“Thanks,” you tell him, taking your phone with a tight smile.

“No problem,” he says, moving deeper into the room before throwing himself down onto a nearby chaise lounge, “I always try to escape these things too, they’re terribly boring.”

He pulls out a cigarette from his suit pocket, placing it between his lips before lighting it. The sweet smell of smoke fills the air, making your nose wrinkle.

“You’re not hiding from Will, I hope?” he asks, before exhaling a cloud of smoke.

“I’m not hiding from anyone,” you tell him, “I don’t think you’re allowed to smoke in here.”

A smile forms on his face around the cigarette that dangles from his lips.

“Our little secret then,” he says, causing the hair on your arms to stand on edge, “Want one?”

“No,” you tell him, “I should be getting back.”

“Stay a minute,” he insists.

“I really-”

“Stay,” he says, his tone more commanding this time, “Keep me company. Don’t be rude.”

Your face warms, the hair on the back of your neck stands up, and a lump begins to form in your throat. You hate feeling like this. Like you want to tell him to go fuck himself and leave the room. But your feet are glued to the floor and you stand, frozen in place.

Hugh smiles at his victory and your obvious discomfort. You just need a minute, then you’ll go. C’mon, leave the room. Aemond is waiting.

“You getting on with Will then?” he asks, and your stomach lurches.

“We’ve gone out,” you tell him.

“But you’re with Targaryen now?” Hugh clarifies and you nod.

If it's one thing men respect, it's another man having some sort of claim to you. The thought sours your stomach and causes tears to prickle in the back of your eyes. Your heart is beating against your ribs like a rabbit’s foot.

You don’t suppose men ever feel this way. Like prey.

“Well, if one-eye gets boring,” he drones, and you flinch at the cruel nickname, “You’re welcome to my bed anytime.”

Your lips curl in disgust.

“Excuse me?”

“I’m just down the way a bit,” he says with a shrug, “Since you’re keen to give it up for King’s Landing residents.”

Your jaw drops at his insult, and suddenly adrenaline floods through you, your feet unstuck. The fear that was trickling through your veins moments ago is replaced with white-hot anger.

“Go fuck yourself,” you tell him, through gritted teeth.

Hugh leaps from the chaise as you go to leave, reaching out and grabbing your forearm, holding you in place.

“Just teasing, that’s all,” he insists, tightening his grip as you attempt to pull away.

“Get off me!” you yell, turning and slapping Hugh across the face.

“Hey!” a deep voice echoes through the room and the pressure disappears from your forearm. A few tears slip past your lower lids as you meet the eyes of Cregan Stark.

He walks forward into the room, his eyes locked on Hugh, who has backed up several paces.

“Everything's al-”

“Shut the fuck up man,” Cregan snaps at him, before turning to face you.

You release a shaky breath, wiping your hands over your cheeks, drying the tears that escaped.

“Are you alright?” Cregan asks, ducking to meet your height. He places one hand on your shoulder, his thumb rubbing circles on your flesh.

You nod, struggling to find the words to thank him.

“Yeah….I’m okay…just a little shaken up,” you tell him, trying to keep your voice steady. Hugh straightens up, dusting his dress pants and running a hand over his gelled hair.

“Let’s get you back to the party,” Cregan says softly, using his body to shield you from Hugh’s view.

You let Cregan lead you toward the door, stopping briefly to whisper, “Please don’t say anything; I don’t want to make this a thing.”

Cregan’s expression is pained but he gives you a curt nod as the door opens.

“You guys find any coolers in here?” Aegon asks, trying to squeeze by, “Waiters aren’t filling me up fast enough and the bar cut me off-”

Aegon’s sentence dies as he looks at you, his eyebrows concaving together in confusion. You watch as the gears whirl in his head as his eyes flicker between you and Hugh; your tear-stained cheeks, his tense posture, Cregan’s protective stance.

“Aegon don’t-”

Cregan’s words fall on deaf ears as Aegon pushes by you both and slams his hands into Hugh Florent’s chest.

“AEGON!” you call.

“The fuck you think you’re doing, huh?” Aegon growls, grabbing Hugh by his shirt, “That’s my brother’s girl you’re messing with.”

“Relax bro,” Hugh says, that sly smirk still plastered on his face, “We were just talking, she didn’t have to get all upset-”

“I’m sure Aemond will love to hear that,” Aegon says roughly, “Go be a sleazeball somewhere else- not at my family’s fucking club.” Aegon releases him with a shove, straightening up and looking at you.

“You alright?” he asks, and you nod, lips parted in shock. You’d hardly expected Aegon of all people to come to your defense.

He moves forward ushering you and Cregan back down the hallways towards the main ballroom.

“Let’s not mention this to Aemond right now,” Aegon says, on the opposite side of you, “I don’t think that-”

A whistle comes from behind you, as you’re heading out of the ballroom and onto the lit porch where most of the patrons have retired to watch the fireworks. You catch Aemond’s eye from across the sea of people, watching the corner of his mouth twitch into his familiar smirk. Your heart leaps into your throat, eyes wide. Aemond reads your upset expression instantly and begins moving forward toward you.

You turn as Hugh enters, his tongue held between his teeth. It seems he’s not eager to end this.

“You’re one to fucking talk, Egg,” Hugh says through a laugh.

“Hugh, I swear to-”

“I didn’t know she was spoken for,” Hugh continues, “Must be a real ego boost for your bro, to be hitting Tyrell’s sloppy seconds.”

Aegon surges forward, but Cregan blocks him with his chest. You raise your eyebrows, cheeks hot with humiliation. Will has overheard and makes his way over to you as well.

“Is this guy for real?” you ask, not believing what you’re hearing, “Aegon just leave it!”

Aegon gives an exasperated chuckle, holding both hands out in front of him. Will frowns, shaking his head at his friend. Several guests have started to watch the scene unfold.

“Not cool dude,” he says, eyebrows furrowed.

“Just standing up for you, bro,” Hugh insists.

“Well don’t,” Will says, before turning and giving you an apologetic look.

Aemond is weaving his way closer, still moving through the crowd as Aegon insists to Cregan he’s fine. Cregan reluctantly steps in front of you and Aegon, pushing open the glass doors leading outside. He holds them open for you both, standing on the deck letting in the warm night air and music that plays from the live band.

You think you’re in the clear as Aemond squeezes by Cregan into the room. His hands find yours and you press yourself closer to him. He releases one of your hands to cup your cheek, violet eye flickering over your face taking in every inch. He holds your cheek carefully, as though you may shatter in his palm.

“What happened?” he murmurs, gaze moving to rest on Hugh. You cover his hand with your own.

“Nothing, I’m fine,” you assure him, feeling your anxiety calm in his presence.

“If she’s not putting out, maybe Helaena is,” Hugh calls to Aegon, “She’s been looking pretty hot lately-”

Everything happens very fast after that. Will tells Hugh off, pushing his shoulder lightly as Aegon lurches forward once more. This time, he’s quicker than Cregan and he sends Hugh Florent tumbling to the ground.

“Asshole!” you yell at Hugh, just as Aegon collides with him, “Oh shit, shit shit!”

“Aegon!” Aemond calls, pulling his brother from Hugh.

“Keep my family’s name out of your fucking mouth!” Aegon snarls as Aemond drags him backward through the door and onto the outdoor space.

The scuffle has been noticed at this point, with several people leaning over one another to see what all the ruckus is. Hugh laughs from behind you, wiping some blood that trickles from the corner of his mouth.

“Still fiery as ever, Egg,” Hugh teases, eyes alight with mischief, “Wondered where that went.”

It’s Aemond who turns to him now, his gaze cold as ice. He doesn’t say anything, just stares him down until Hugh swallows, and breaks away from his gaze. Hugh coughs, before heading back inside, finally retreating.

“I’m good, I’m good!” Aegon says to Cregan who is still attempting to corral him.

Helaena pushes through the crowd, a concerned expression on her face.

“What the fuck happened?” Helaena asks, but Aegon shakes his head.

“He’s a prick, he deserved to be called out that’s all.”

“Now? You think now was the best time to do that?” Helaena growls, raising a brow.

Aegon clicks his tongue, sharply inhaling through his nose. He could tell her what Hugh said, but he stays quiet instead.

“Great,” Hel says, exasperated, “Mom is going to skin us alive.”

She’s probably right. If you’ve learned anything about Alicent Hightower-Tarageyn, it’s that events like these are important to her. Image is everything. Aegon shrugs, but you can tell the thought of his mother being angry with him makes him anxious; his hands have begun to tremble.

“Mr. Targaryen,” a security guard says approaching, “My apologies sir but we’ve received several complaints and are going to have to escort you from the party-”

“What?” you ask incredulously, “He didn’t do anything.”

“Ma’am-”

“He was helping me, you can’t kick him out,” you tell them, “If anything Hugh should leave!”

“It’s all good, no no, I’ll go,” Aegon assures them, reaching into the ice bucket on top of the outdoor bar and grabbing a bottle of champagne, “Party’s getting lame anyway.”

He begins walking down the steps and onto the grass that extends off into the golf courses in the distance.

“Hel? You got a j with you? Wanna blow this place?” he calls, looking back with a lopsided grin.

Helaena smiles at her brother, rolling her eyes.

“Night’s going to hell anyway,” she says with a sigh, “Fuck it I guess.”

She hurries after Aegon, down the steps.

“C’mon Aem! Live a little!” Aegon calls, walking backward toward the golf course.

Aemond glances at you and you slip your hand into his, tugging him forward.

“Let’s go,” you tell him, grinning.

You turn suddenly, spotting Baela with Rhaena. Daemon stands behind her, observing the scene along with Rhaenyra who sits beside him. His hand rests on her shoulder as she strokes her protruding pregnant belly.

“Bae!” you call, motioning to her.

Her eyes are sad and she wets her lips looking back at her father.

“C’mon Baela!” Aegon calls, echoed by Helaena.

You can see Daemon’s brows knit together, see him mouthing to Baela trying to get her to stay. But Baela rushes forward with a smile on her face, holding her skirts as she runs down the steps and across the field. You hold your arms open as she barrels into you, embracing you in a spinning hug as you continue further away from the party.

“Jackpot!” Aegon says, finding a row of golf carts. He jumps in the driver's seat and Helaena sits beside him. Aegon reaches back to pat the backseat, “My lady,” he says motioning for Baela to sit.

She does with a laugh, just as Rhaena tumbles down the hill, with Sara in tow; their fingers laced together.

They grab the next one just as Aegon revs the engine, taking off down the green hills. You can hear Helaena cheering as you watch them bob and weave through the grassy hills. Rhaena and Sara take off moments later.

You and Aemond start the next one, driving it slower than the rest at a more leisurely pace. You lean your head back, looking up at the stairs, and letting the warm summer night air pass over you.

You can hear the laughter of your friends growing louder as the sounds of the gala begin to die in the distance.

You trail behind them for a while, before taking a detour down a more secluded part of the golf course. Aemond throws the golf cart in park, looking over at you. You reach in between your boobs, pulling out Baela’s phone and placing it on the dashboard with your own on top of it.

“What happened?” Aemond asks, his fingers stroking your arm.

“Nothing important,” you assure him, “Just Hugh being a douchebag. Aegon really helped me out, I’ll have to thank him.”

Aemond hums to acknowledge your comment.

“Aegon’s nothing if not loyal,” Aemond agrees, “Like a golden retriever.”

You snort at the comparison.

“It was really nice,” you tell him, “How do you get asked to leave your own club?”

“Our family is just one of many donors,” Aemond tells you, “It’s not like we truly own the place.”

You nod, turning in the seat to face him.

“Where have they gone?” you ask, listening closely for the sound of your friends.

They must have gone pretty far ahead, all you can hear is the crickets chirping and the gentle sounds of waves crashing against the rocks in the distance.

“Don’t know,” Aemond comments, “Here, let's sit here,” He motions to the rather spacious backward-facing rear seats, “Bet we can see the bay.”

You exit, sitting down on the rear seats. Sure enough, you can just make out Blackwater Bay in the distance. You lean into Aemond as he sits beside you.

You reach forward, placing your hand on his upper thigh beginning to stroke smooth circles. You mean it innocently enough to begin with; just wanting to be touching him in some capacity. But his breathing turns shallow, and you can soon feel his cock hardening, straining through his slacks.

You move your hand over his bulge, squeezing gently, before letting your hands fiddle with the zipper. Aemond remains very still beside you.

“Can I?” you ask, heart, pounding with anticipation as you glance up at him.

“Fuck, of course, you can,” he tells you as you continue to palm his bulge, “Anything you want.”

You ease the zipper down and dip your hands in to remove his half-hard cock from his slacks; running your hand up and down at a leisurely pace. Aemond hisses as you squeeze him; you can feel him pulsating in your palm. It sends warmth pooling in between your thighs and you wet your lips in anticipation.

“What do you want me to do?” you ask, innocently tilting your head to the side.

“Don’t tease me,” he says through gritted teeth.

You slide off the seat, positioning yourself in the space between his legs. He widens his stance, letting his knees fall open. Kneeling in front of him you give his cock a tug.

“I don’t really think you’re not in a position to make demands,” you tease, ignoring his command.

Aemond releases a throaty moan as you lean forward, wrapping your lips around the swollen head. You hum in appreciation, looking up at him through your lashes as you suckle at the tip.

“Fuck,” he whispers, as you widen your mouth letting your tongue taste the underside of his shaft, paying special attention to the vein that travels up his length.

You drag your tongue up slowly, removing your lips and letting your tongue slide over his slit gathering the precum that leaks from it.

You swallow what your tongue collected, pumping him a few more times with just your hand. He’s so big. The perfect girth where your fingers struggle to touch each other when your hand is wrapped around him.

Long, hard, and heavy; always demandingly pressed against you, eager to be buried inside you in whichever way you preferred. Such a pretty cock Aemond has it drives you fucking insane. You haven’t had the time yet to appreciate it the way you’d like to. But now is your opportunity.

“You’re so pretty,” you comment, eyes wide as you watch your hand engulf him.

Aemond lets out a breathy laugh.

“Stop it,” he begs, his voice breaking into a slight whine; it makes you smile.

You lean forward, engulfing him fully in your mouth- at least as much as you can before you’re forced to pump the rest with your hand. Aemond’s hand flies to the back of your head keeping your mouth securely on him. You begin to move, dragging your mouth up and down along his length, and swirling your tongue around him.

You hum at the feeling of his hand tightening on the back of your head as you continue.

“Gods,” he groans, “So fucking perfect.”

Your lips tug upwards in what you can manage of a smile with his cock stuffed to the hilt down your throat. You gag slightly as he rocks his hips, pressing further down your throat. Aemond’s head tilts back, his chest rising and falling with his uneven, shaky breath.

You hollow your cheeks creating more suction as you try to take him deeper in your throat. Your heart is pounding and you try to even your breathing through your nose as you focus on not gagging on his thick length.

“Fucking hell,” he whines, “Oh gods--- fuck that mouth.” His hips lurch forward and you moan around him, drool dribbling out the corner of your mouth and onto your chin.

Aemond’s hand grips the back of your head, holding on for dear life as your hand joins your mouth in its efforts. Lewd, wet noises fill the summer air and you pull off him with a gasp.

“Seven hells,” he whimpers, as you lean forward, mouthing at his balls.

You eagerly press your tongue against them, rolling them against your mouth as you continue to jerk him off with your hand. Aemond’s a mess, head falling back, eye squeezing shut in pleasure. You suckle at the soft skin between his balls, alternating your attention between the pair of them.

“You like that baby?” you murmur, kissing up his shaft, “Like when I play with your balls?”

“Fuck yes,” he whimpers, “Oh fuck, feels so good-” his sentence ends in a desperate whimper as you take him fully in your mouth once more.

You bring your hand to cup his balls, gently massaging them as you suck him off. You love the feeling of having Aemond at your mercy; pride sears through your veins like fire at the messy state of him. The hand that isn’t on your head clutches the back of the seat, digging into the soft tan leather.

You release him with a pop, tapping the head of his cock on your outstretched tongue. Aemond watches you, eye wide, as you kiss the swollen head of his cock, before smiling up at him.

“Are you gonna cum?” you ask, as innocently as you can, eyes wide, “Want you to cum in my mouth.”

“Holy fucking--,” Aemond whines, as you suckle at the tip before dragging your lips down the side of his shaft, “Fuck yes, yes I’m gonna cum-” You lick a path up his shaft, engulfing him in your mouth once more.

You know he’s close, you can feel him pulsating in your mouth, but you want to drag this out as long as you can. You know from experience that Aemond isn’t usually the submissive type, and having him like this is a real treat.

“Fuck, gods you’re such a good girl,” Aemond praises as you move your head faster, “Shit..I fucking love this…like you so much..” Your cheeks warm at his praise, and pleasant butterflies flutter in your belly.

You release him one final time, pumping him with your hand. You’re a drooling mess, hand and face covered in saliva as you grin up at him.

“Let me taste your cum,” you tell him, “Please, give it to me, I want it so bad.”

“Fucking, yeah fuck I’ll give it to you,” Aemond whines, “So good, so fucking good, oh fuuuck.” His words die with a whimper as his dick twitches in your mouth and his warm, salty release hits the back of your throat.

You moan, taking it all, making sure to keep some in your mouth as you pull off of him. Aemond’s hand finds your chin, angling it upwards.

“Show me,” he asks, and you present your tongue to him before swallowing, “Such a fucking good girl.”

He drags you upwards onto his lap, kissing you harshly tasting his release on your tongue. He moans into your mouth and you wrap your arms around his neck.

“My good girl,” he murmurs between kisses, “Gods you’re perfect. My girl is so perfect.”

You’re preening at his praise, moaning happily against him as he continues to kiss you, moving to press his lips against your neck.

His fingers move beneath your dress, just as the sound of tires can be heard in the distance, along with yelling. Aemond growls, biting down against your shoulder causing you to cry out at the mixture of pleasure and pain. You lift your hips as Aemond moves his semi-hard cock back into his pants, zipping them.

“This isn’t finished,” he promises, cupping his hand around the back of your neck and kissing you once more, “Don’t think I’m letting you get away with that.”

Anticipation tingles down your spine and you giggle against his mouth.

“What’re you going to do?”

“Oh just you fucking wait,” he murmurs, hands grabbing the meat of your ass. You can feel his smile against your mouth as he kisses you.

“Yo! Lovebirds! Yoo-hoo!” Aegon calls, bringing the golf cart to a screeching stop beside you.

Helaena lurches forward as it stops, giggling maniacally. You can smell the weed from here, and laugh, pulling yourself from Aemond’s lap.

Aegon dramatically frowns, leaning against the steering wheel, as Sara and Rhaena pull up beside them. His eyes narrow.

“Are we interrupting something?” Aegon asks, tapping his finger against his chin.

“No,” you answer.

“Yes,” Aemond says, not missing a beat.

You slap him playfully on the chest.

“Too bad, we missed you losers,” Helaena sneers, but she gives you a happy smile.

“Dude, look at the moon!” Rhaena says, stepping out of the cart and laying on the grass. Sara joins her, laying beside her.

Baela gets out as well, and soon you’re all lying down facing the clear night sky. Sara points out different constellations, which Aegon struggles to identify until Sara is practically holding his hand, pointing to each star.

Suddenly some sprinklers begin to go off in the distance and Baela chuckles, mentioning you’ll have to leave soon to avoid getting soaked. Aemond’s arm is draped underneath your head, and you curl into him, listening to the sound of his heart beating.

“Come back to mine?” Aemond asks, his voice a low murmur.

You hum, nuzzling against him.

“What about no sleepovers?” you tease and he pulls you closer.

“The rules are null and void,” he says firmly, pressing his lips against your forehead. Warmth floods through you and your chest swells with emotion.

As you listen to the sound of crickets echoing around you a sharp pain pierces your chest. The month of August has always felt melancholic to you.

A month of endings.

The music of the sprinklers and the crickets suddenly changes into the sound of summer coming to an inevitable end.

Of you and Aemond coming to an end.

You pull him closer, throwing your leg over his and tucking your head deeper into the crook of his neck. Breathing in his cologne, relishing the feeling of the kiss he places on the top of your head.

You don’t want to think about that now. August is here, but it’s not over yet.

This moment here in this field, wrapped up in his arms, is endless.

note: thank you so much for reading!! we've got 2 parts left besties!!

OLS Taglist 1: @talesofoldandnew, @aemondslefteyeball, @urmomsgirlfriend1, @castellomargot, @high-on-darren-criss, @diosademuerte, @padfooteyes, @tempo-rary-fix, @amirawritespoorly, @chainsawsangel, @toodlesxcuddles, @tssf-imagines, @malfoytargaryen, @nina2697, @glame, @joliettes, @yentroucnagol

@grungegrrrl, @melsunshine, @helaenaluvr

bold means tumblr would not let me tag!

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omg-im-such-a-masochist · 19 days

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All Night

Summary: This man has been on my mind like nobody’s business and I need to do something about it

Pairing: Swerve Strickland x F!Reader

Warnings: +18, smut, masturbation (female receiving), dom x sub dynamics, edging, adult language.

Tags: @theworldofotps , @writtingrose , @daddyhausen , @melissahausen , @unoficialy-married-to-ace-austin , @sophiewolfheart-blog , @sultryfandoms , @new-zealand-chic , @crowleysqueenofhell , @thealliasylum , @legit9thlunaticwarrior , @mjfass , @josiewrites , @seeingstarks , @irish-newzealand-idian-dutch , @whenimakeitshine1234 , @moxkindagirl , @sunshinevirus , @im-just-a-mississippi-girl , @ripleyswhore

A/N: Thank you @theworldofotps for helping me choose the prompts 💕

-> Prompts are in red. And their credit goes to @delusionisaplace

“Are you ready?” He asked, eyes roaming her figure from behind, admiring how the pale blue silk dress laid on her body.

“Almost. Can you help me?” The small sapphire blue flower pendant dangled from the delicate chain draped around her forefinger.

“Of course, Sunshine” Swerve smirked, placing himself behind her. His long fingers covered her hand, softly pulling the necklace away from her grip. He unclasped the gold locket, placing it around her neck and softly securing it at her nape.

Her scent attracted him like a moth to the flame, his soft lips pressed against the side of her neck, above the pulse point. Swerve’s full lips parted as his tongue darted out to leave a wet trail on her skin.

“If you start this we’re going to get late” She sighed deeply, leaning back to rest her head on his shoulder.

She felt the pressure against her skin, along with the warmness of his breath as he spoke with a smirk “I’m not starting anything, I’m just making sure you’re fully ready”

“Oh, I am getting very ready” She teases, half jokingly.

Placing her hand on the back of his head, her fingers toyed with his mint-scented dreads, playing with the soft tips of his hair.

“I’ll fact-check that in a moment, you can be sure of that” Swerve teases back, sucking harder on her neck until her soft moans make him pull back to admire the glistening skin.

“There you go” He gave one last final lick on her pulse point “So everyone knows you're mine”.

“Baby, why did you have to do that right now?” She whined, failing to hide her desire behind the complaint.

“Because I felt like it” Swerve’s left hand pulled up her silk dress and balled up a bunch of fabric at her hips. His free hand sank into her baby blue lace panties, his warm palm covered her mound, long middle and ring finger circling her wet entrance.

“And because you belong to me, heart and soul” His fingers entered her pussy, filling her up in the most delicious way, causing her to moan louder.

“You’re mine, Sunny, aren’t you? So I can claim you whenever I want, no?”

“Yes, Sir”.

“It sounds selfish, but I can't help but want you all to myself. Even right now” His eyes met hers on the mirror reflection “The only thing I can think of is tossing you onto that bed and doing the most nasty things to you”. Swerve’s fingers turned up their pace, relentlessly thrusting in and out of her.

“Baby, please…Fuck” She grunted when his palm pressed down on her clit. “Oh shit, do that. Please, do all of that”

“Oh, I will” He chuckled against her ear, “But not right now”.

Swerve suddenly stepped back, making her instantly miss his fingers and body. The sarcastic grin plastered on his lips only served to make her even more frustrated.

“I hate when you do that! Can’t you show me some mercy before we go?” Her hands caressed his suit-covered chest “You’ve been teasing me all day, I’m not sure if I can take it”

“Of course you can take it, Sunshine” Swerve teased, his devious grin only grew as he placed her hand on top of his clothed erection and earned a small whimper from her lips.

“If you want this cock inside you, you will take everything I’ll put you through. You’ll receive every teasing and every time I edge you on that wedding tonight you’ll put a pretty smile on that face and a soft ‘Thank you, Sir’ will come out from those soft lips, do you understand me?”

“Yes, Sir”

“That’s my good girl, Sunny” Swerve placed a soft kiss on her lips “Are you ready to go now?”

She only nodded in return, making him chuckle “Good, let’s go”.

Swerve stopped by your bedroom door and turned to her with a sinister smile “Lady’s first”.

Her brows frowned in concern as her gaze stopped at his smile, it was her silent warning, Swerve was up to something and she was almost certain it would be something that she would despise.

As she passed by him to reach the stairs, the soft buzzing sound coming from between her thighs paired with her shaky moan made her realize that this was about to be a long, long night for her.

#swerve strickland x reader #swerve strickland imagine #swerve strickland fanfiction #swerve strickland #aew x reader #aew imagine #aew fanfiction #masochist writes

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a-court-of-fics-and-errors · 4 months

Text

Keep Moving Forwards, Part 18

Azriel x Reader Fic

Summary: After finally deciding to leave your abusive and manipulative mate for good, you find unexpected companionship with Azriel, the Shadowsinger of the Night Court. As you navigate the aftermath of your traumatic relationship, you struggle to understand where the mating bond went wrong and contemplate your path forward, vowing never to return to the past.

Find other parts here: Master List

To follow this fic, follow tag "Keep Moving Forwards Fic" or comment to be tagged in future parts.

Content Warning: This story contains depictions of extreme emotional manipulation and abuse, detailed descriptions of direct physical abuse, and scenes of men hunting women with implied sexual assault. Please read at your own risk.

Word Count: 5.5K

Author's Note: This is a multi-part series. Unlike my previous works, this fanfiction delves deeper than just fluff, exploring complex emotional landscapes. As I navigate this new writing journey, I kindly ask for gentle feedback. The topics addressed are profoundly impactful, touching many lives with diverse experiences. Please be gentle with yourselves and others. Healing is a journey, and everyone processes it differently. Be kind to yourself. Take what resonates, and leave what doesn’t.

Please continue reading, being aware of the above content warnings, ensuring you are in a healthy headspace. Give yourself time to process and be gentle with yourself.

While you told Kai you would be going back to the inn, you didn’t feel fully comfortable entering a room where his father might still be awake, unsure how to navigate the awkward silence. Instead of heading straight back, you let yourself meander through the streets, the cold nipping at your nose, turning it a bright red as you sniffled lightly. You smiled politely at the well-dressed females wandering alongside you, their coats lined with furs and shoes polished for winter. Your own attire was more than a little worn, with a practical jacket far from fashionable but essential for survival.

As you made your way down the paths, past the baker’s square and through the arts district, where peddlers sold art worth more than everything you owned, you observed the chic, modern clothing hanging low on mannequins in fashion halls, with females of all ages drooling over the craftwork. Gradually, you found yourself wandering closer to the outskirts of the city, where things began to look familiar. The music of the city faded into the background, and wreaths became less grand, more hastily strung together with bits of wire but festive nonetheless. The streets were more iced over, clearly not as well-maintained as the inner parts of the city. Snow, scraped to the side, was dirtied and blackened from the roadway, piled high and unmelted by the afternoon sun. Your boots slapped into the slush, kicking up bits of snow onto your pants as you huddled closer into yourself. Clotheslines strung above cut through the fae light, casting long shadows.

You knew this place—the faded green awnings, now with more holes, but recognizable nonetheless. The wrought iron stairs with handrails frozen over, icicles trickling down from them, were just as familiar. You squinted down the alley where the faelight shone in small patches. Somehow, this felt much more recognizable than the squares and inner city where you and Kai had strolled. It perturbed you how little you remembered of those places, yet here, memories flooded back.

You remembered chasing bouncing balls down the street gutters as other fae yelled at you to get out of the road, the rabble of children laughing without care. You recalled sitting on the stoop of the now-closed and boarded-up café with your mother, sharing a sandwich. In your memories, this place always seemed brighter, more lively. Now, a gloom settled over the visions. Your mother, still slightly blurred, appeared skinnier, her wrists and ankles bony. The roadways, which you imagined as clean cobblestone, were now filled with more debris and waste. The rose-colored glasses of your childhood were giving way as you made the long trek down the last alley.

Windows were gated over, with faded lights scraping their way through the grime. From a few streets over, you heard a man and a woman laughing—a maniacal, crazed sound. You turned at what sounded like footsteps behind you but realized it was only snow falling from the patchwork metal roof above. Every hair on your body stood on end as the light seemed to be sucked from every shadow. The sound of your boots on the ground was the only noise besides the dripping water and the subtle murmurs of those inside their homes.

As you reached the end of the alley, the faded green door, now more brown than green, came into view, illuminated by the small flickering fae light above it. The knocker, which you remembered so vividly, now tarnished more than you recalled, stood before you. Letting out a slow breath, you watched it curl into the shadows. The knocker, a fae female with nothing more than a piece of cloth draped around her body, her curves accentuated as she smiled slyly, held the knocker below. As a child, you thought she was beautiful, often standing in the doorway just looking at her, the knocker slowly swinging in the breeze. Now, her face was more tarnished, the wood below splintered and peeling. You read the sign to the right of the door: “Titania’s Temptations & Pleasure House.”

Your heart stopped. You remembered Titania, a boisterous older woman who often took you and the other children living in the apartment on evening walks, offering candies and sweets as some of the children cried for their mothers. Titania, who your mother always referred to as Madame. Titania, who had been there for your first steps when your mother was working. Titania, who had tried to keep you and your mother from leaving, begging her to stay. It couldn’t be the same.

But it was. Your breath caught as you tried to parse through the memories. So much of your time in Velaris was spent with your mother—days and days of memories that now seemed untrustworthy. You looked back down the street, recalling how children ran about playing while their mothers and a few odd fae males sat on stoops. You always thought they enjoyed watching the children play, cheering you on in games. Now, you more clearly recalled their gaunt faces, purpled under their eyes from lack of sleep. Many were thin, wearing not much more than their undergarments as they lounged in the sun. Occasionally, a fae would come down the street, and all the children would run up, begging for sweets or coins to spend in markets, surprising the fae with their requests. Titania would holler from the upstairs windows to stop pestering them. Then, with eyes cast down, the fae would knock on Titania’s door, be let in, and leave a short while later with a rosy glint on their cheeks.

You continued to recall memories. During the day, the children weren’t allowed inside the house, and at night, you all slept in quarters with your mothers, or those who could be there. The pieces slowly came together. Your mother was never around at night, only during the day, except on odd days when she had work. When you finally asked her, she told you she washed laundry. And you, being only a child, with memories laced with lies, believed her.

Your eyes filled with hot tears as you stood on the doorstep, a sob choking through your body as you tried to shake the awful feeling rising inside. Your mother worked in a pleasure house. You were raised in a pleasure house. All your memories circled around this place where your mother sold her body.

You shook your head, sniffling as you stared at the door knocker, now more hideous than melancholic. Why had you done this? Why did you come back here?

Turning, you descended the steps, slipping on the ice and falling hard on your tailbone, causing a sharp hiss to escape your lips as you sat, tears flowing down your face.

You sat in the dirty snow, a few echoing sobs escaping your lips. The faint tolling of a bell sounded in the distance, eleven gongs before it subsided. Moments later, the door of the pleasure house creaked open, and out descended various fae, both male and female, none of them looking at each other as they pulled their clothing tighter around their bodies. They walked past you without a glance as you wiped the tears from your eyes.

A familiar voice behind you made you turn. Standing in the doorway was a gaunt, bony fae woman with pale, almost yellowed skin. Her hair was an unnatural, bright red, and she lounged leisurely in the doorway, wearing nothing more than a bright red silk nightgown that barely skirted past her hips. Her nails, matching the vivid red of her hair, tapped idly against the doorframe as she spoke to a male fae whose face was obscured by the collar of his jacket.

“This ain’t no charity,” she hissed. “You don’t pay, you don’t play.”

The male fae whispered back, covering his mouth, “I can get you the payment by next week.”

The woman traced a long line up the center of the male's chest with her elongated, cat-like nail. “Now you listen to me. In my eyes, you’ve already stolen from me and one of my ladies. I expect not only repayment but double. If you run off, I’ll have no problem sending someone to find you in whatever hole you’ve crawled into.” She flicked his nose with the tip of her finger. “Understand me, my love?”

The fae male nodded and walked down the steps.

“Oy, you,” the gravelly-voiced woman called out to you. You turned to her. “This ain’t public property. Get your dirty ass off my stoop.”

You quickly stood, wiping the tears from your eyes and the grime from your rear as you took a few steps forward.

You heard the door creak slightly as the woman went to close it. Without thinking, you rushed up the stairs, shoving your arm between the door and its frame. “Wait!” you called out.

The woman whipped her head around toward you as she shut the door. “Are you stupid?” she hissed. “Get the fuck out of here.” She grabbed your hand, her bony fingers pressing into your own as she pushed your arm out.

“Wait, please!” you pleaded as the door slammed in your face. You pounded one fist on it. You heard the multiple locks clicking into place as you cried out, “I’m here about Sile!”

The locks paused on the other side of the door. Then they unlocked, and the door opened slightly, held by a chain. The woman with the red hair peered out at you. “What about her?”

Panting slightly, your breath visible in the light of the hall behind the woman, you said, “I’m her daughter.”

The woman surveyed your face and then, seemingly in recognition, gasped slightly. “Y/N,” she said more than asked.

“Yes.”

The woman shut the door, unchained it, and opened it fully, peering over your shoulder slightly before beckoning you inside. “Come in, come on, you’ll be letting the draft in.” You stepped past her and, as though you had just come in from playing, wiped your feet on the mat underneath you.

“I should’ve known it was you, with that mess of hair!” the woman said as she took you in. She gripped you by your shoulders, holding you at arm's length as she surveyed you. “You look just like your mother.” She ran her hands down the length of your arms before throwing you a smile. Although her face seemed aged with time, her eyes still held a lightness that you remembered from so many years ago.

You smiled back at her. “It’s good to see you, Titania.”

Titania pulled you close and wrapped her arms around you. Awkwardly, you wrapped your own around her small, bony frame. “You too, my love,” she said, pressing a red-lipsticked kiss onto your cheek, which you knew would leave a stain. “Where’ve you been?” she asked, turning you to take your coat off your back before hanging it on the hall rack. “Come on, let’s get us some tea.” She gestured down the hallway, and you followed her, taking in the sights and sounds of your childhood.

The carpet on the floor, once a place where you lay staring at the wallpapered ceiling with its patterns of overlapping branches, now showed stains on its red cloth, and the ceiling’s paint was peeling. The walls were lined with photos of the women who worked in the house. Some you recognized, while others were unfamiliar. You looked for a photo of your mother but couldn’t find her face among the many.

You followed Titania into the small kitchen, which had not much more than an old woodstove with a few dirty pots and pans on its top, and a sink with a dripping faucet. The familiar cadence of the dripping water brought back memories of playing with dolls under the table your mother had made for you from sticks and weeds. Titania beckoned you to sit at the kitchen table, which you did, the chairs now fitting your body instead of forcing you to climb up them as you did years ago.

Titania filled the kettle as the faucet rattled water out of its spout, then placed it on the stove before coming to sit across from you at the table. Her brown eyes scanned over your face. “I never would have thought I’d see you again,” she said.

You smiled lightly. “I thought the same.”

“Why are you here?” she asked, reaching her hand out to take the one you had placed leisurely on the table.

“I’m here for the festival.”

Titania leaned back in her chair, casually tossing one skinny leg over the other. Her red nightgown barely concealed anything as she propped her elbow over the back of the chair, perching her face on her spiked nails. “Oh, so we’re just in town to visit?”

“I’m here with a friend,” you responded.

“I always wondered what happened to you,” Titania said distantly, looking intently at you.

“It’s been a few years.”

“I’d wager more than a century,” she shot back.

You nodded as the kettle started to whistle. Titania jumped up to pull the pot off, then took out two teacups, both chipped in various places, and placed them on the table, pouring the steaming liquid into each. “So,” she started as she placed the kettle down and resettled into the chair, “fill me in.”

You picked up the cup, feeling the heat push through the thin porcelain, and traced your finger around the lip. “What do you want to know?”

Titania scoffed. “Well, my love, you’re the one who’s been gone. I ain’t seen you since you came to my knee.”

“I’ve been in the mountains.”

“I could’ve figured as much,” Titania responded. “And you’ve just now decided to come pay your old lady a visit?”

“I didn’t know how to get back,” you replied, pulling the cup to your lips and taking a sip. The heat singed your flesh, and you pulled it away quickly.

Titania chuckled. “You ain’t got enough sense to ask for directions?”

“Mama told me we couldn’t come back.”

Titania rolled her eyes. “Your mother was a fool.”

You looked at her, scanning her face, which held a displeased look. “What happened?” you asked.

“With what?”

“Mama, me?”

Titania leaned forward, her gown falling open to reveal her incredibly pronounced collarbones. “What do you know?”

You shook your head lightly. “Only that she packed us up and moved us out. She told me we couldn’t come back.”

Titania nodded. “And your mother, where’s she now?”

You looked around the room. “I was hoping here.”

Titania tilted her head slightly. “You thought she was here?”

“She told me she was going back to the city. A long time ago. And then she never came back.”

Her face fell. “Oh, my love, I’m sorry. If she came back, she didn’t come here.”

You nodded, not surprised. It would have been too easy to find her here, if she was anywhere. “The last I saw of my mother was when she was leaving with me that morning.”

You let your hands cup around the warmth of the tea, looking down into the swirling browns as you asked, “Why did she leave?”

Titania shrugged, leaning back. “I don’t know. I tried to stop her, but she insisted on leaving.” She tsked, “You were so sad, cried like you’d wake the whole city when she pulled you down those steps.”

You furrowed your brow. “I don’t remember that.”

Titania nodded. “Oh for sure, you were sobbing, throwing a fit, begging for her not to take you from Gramma Nia.” Titania picked at her nails.

You shook your head. “I remember leaving and feeling excited.” Was your memory wrong?

“I can’t tell you what happened once you were down the street. But when I last saw you, those tears were as big as dewdrops.”

“And she didn’t say anything about why she had to leave?”

Titania sniffed lightly, pulling her teacup to her lips and leaving a red stain on the edge as she cleared her throat. “Your mother was a very paranoid female, always looking over her shoulder and jumping at shadows. As long as I knew her. She just kept saying it wasn’t safe to stay here.” You just peered into the cup in your hands. “You used to love it here.” Titania smiled lightly. “You’d run around the halls, singing those little songs you’d make up. I can’t tell you how many times I had to tell you to get out of the street because you were getting into other people’s garbage. You were always my little adventurer.”

You smiled. “I remember that yellow ball we had that we used to lose in the sewer gutter.”

Titania guffawed. “Oh yeah, and you’d send one of the little boys down the grate to get it back. They’d be smelling like shit for days after, but they couldn’t say no to you, or you’d wallop them.” You laughed lightly with her. “You loved that little ball, told me it was the best birthday gift you’d ever gotten.” Titania sniffled through a laugh. “Do you remember that little girl, Wren?” You shook your head no. “She was pretty little when you were around, but she would follow you around like a little puppy. You used to get so annoyed at her touching your toys you’d come running into the sitting room screaming bloody murder, ‘Gamma Nia, Wren touched my stuff!’ and then I’d go out and find little Wren with her hand in her mouth just smiling.”

You smiled. “I think I remember her now. She had that little rag doll she carried everywhere.”

Titania nodded. “That’s right! She was a sweet kid, always wanted to be just like you. You were her hero.”

The room felt warmer with the shared memories, the nostalgic laughter easing some of the tension.

You looked puzzled, “What-what do you mean?”

Titania looked up to you through her turned down eyes, “I just-those memories, those were things we did together.”

“You were always playing some game. And you’d rightly piss off the other children by changing the rules or bossing them around, even some of the older ones.” Titania ran her thumb over the stain on her cup. “I always told Sile that you were gonna grow up and run this place someday.” She laughed a bit louder. “I remember you used to play High Lady. You’d put on one of your mother’s entertaining gowns and shoes, and you’d go clomping down the hall ordering everyone to move out of your way.” Her laughter grew. “And then you made me take you down to our bakery so you could show off to Henri.”

You looked up at her. “Our bakery?”

Titania’s eyes shone with light. “Yeah, the little bakery on the corner. I’d take you every morning for a cuppa and a scone.”

You swallowed. You had always remembered your mother taking you.

“And Henri just loved you. He’d always tell you that you were the finest lady in all of Velaris, and you’d twirl for him in those heels.” Titania seemed lost in the memory.

“It sounds like we had a lot of fun.” You tried to smile at her.

Titania’s lips curled slightly at the corners, the smear of her lipstick much more defined. “I tried to keep you busy. Especially since you had no manners in knocking before barging through doors. Can’t tell you how furious I used to get when you’d interrupt a client and lady.”

You chuckled lightly, trying to pull any of those memories from your mind. “I wish I could remember that.”

“What do you remember?” Titania asked, leaning onto the table slightly.

You thought through the memories. “I remember walking along the river with Mama. I remember playing in the squares, and I remember the trips she would take me on into the mountains.” You laughed lightly. “I remember that when the summer storms would roll through, I would hide under the bed. And if it was night, I’d wake up and cuddle into Mama.” You looked up at Titania, whose face had hardened slightly, her brow furrowed. “What?”

Titania shook her head out of whatever trance she seemed to be in, relaxing her face. “Oh, no, nothing.” Then she smiled.

You looked at her intently. “What are you thinking about?”

Titania threw her hands up. “What are you talking about? Nothing. I was thinking about the memories.”

“Yeah,” you started, gesturing to her, “but you made a face.”

Titania made a tight-lipped smile and looked down at her cup. “Sometimes, the memories aren’t always as sweet as we think.”

You shook your head lightly. “No, no, Mama and I did those things together.”

Titania licked her lips lightly, smearing the lipstick more. “No, my love. We did those things, except the trips to the woods.”

You shook your head more. “That can’t be right.”

Titania sighed, leaning forward once more and grasping your hands in hers. “My love,” she started, “your mother was a very troubled woman.” Your face fell, brows furrowing as you listened. “And she—she would fall into these spells, where she would just sort of lie around all day. I tried to get her up, get her back to work, but she just wouldn’t. So I’d send her out.” You shook your head lightly. “If she couldn’t work, she couldn’t stay; that was the rule. So I’d tell her to go out, get herself back up, and then come back when she was ready.”

You looked down at the table. “I remember her being around.” You looked up at Titania. “I remember her being around a lot.”

Titania threw you a small, sympathetic smile. “Whenever she was around, and she was,” she paused, “when she was on the right track, she would spend all the time with you she could, but she—she had problems.”

You felt a slight rising anger. “What kind of problems? She was sad? I mean, look where she was!”

Titania’s face hardened. “Watch your tone, my love.”

“No,” you cried out, “no, you would throw her out when she wasn’t ‘performing’ to your standards!”

“I would not!” Titania shot back, her fist pounding into the table, making the cups rattle. “Your mother was troubled.”

“You keep saying that, but you're not explaining what that means. What do you mean, troubled?” You glared at her.

Titania shook her head, looking down at the table. “Your mother—she,” Titania seemed to be searching for the words, “your mother relied on certain substances to feel normal. To be able to get out of bed.”

You looked at her, puzzled. “What do you mean, substances?”

Titania sighed. “Your mother, before I found her, was making some very dangerous choices, and she’d gotten in with a rather rough group of people. She was pretty reliant on Luster.”

“Luster?” You asked.

“You haven’t heard of it?”

You shook your head.

“You must have been really deep in the mountains.” Titania chuckled. “Luster is a euphoric. Fae that use it breathe it in as a shining powder to feel like they have some sort of spark in them. It’s cheap to buy and a lot of times is laced with other drugs to make it more potent. I’ve heard them say that they feel like there’s fire in their veins and that the world suddenly seems more colorful.”

“And it’s bad to use it?”

“Fae that use it, like your mother, and a lot of the fae that work in this area, for a long time, seem to not be able to be without it for long. If they go without it, they can go through Lusterburn, and they just sort of seem to be sleeping when they’re awake, or they become enraged, everyone seems to have a different response.”

“And you would throw my mother out for using it?”

Titania’s eyes hardened. “I’d make her leave when she used it around you.”

You leaned in. “Why would you do that?” Your brows furrow in confusion and anger.

Titania’s lips tightened slightly. “I don’t want to talk about this.” She leaned back.

Your face hardened as you commanded, “Tell me.”

Titania ran her tongue over her teeth as she gazed at you. Her leg bounced nervously under the table, and her heel clicked against the floor. “I don’t want to ruin the memories you have.”

“Apparently they’re all wrong anyway.” You responded quickly.

Titania sighed, her eyes softening. “Your mother was an addict, Y/N. She did things she wasn’t proud of, but she loved you. I didn’t want you to see her like that. I didn’t want you to see her when she was down, she’d just ignore you, or scream at you, and you’d cry for hours and she just- she wouldn’t care. That’s why I made her leave when she was using. I couldn’t bear to listen to you seem to lose all hope.”

You swallowed hard, processing the revelation. “So, all those times she left...”

“She was trying to get clean,” Titania finished for you. “She wanted to be the mother you deserved.”

Tears welled up in your eyes as you realized the weight of your mother’s struggles. Titania reached out and took your hand, squeezing it gently. “She loved you more than anything, Y/N. Remember that.”

You shook your head, distraught, trying to sift through the memories that you had held so dear, that had kept you going on the darkest days. “She left me,” you whispered softly, to no one in particular. As the words left your lips, they cemented the uncertainty of years gone by, and you considered whether it would have been better to continue living in ignorance.

Titania squeezed your hand again, her eyes turning down to the table. “I’m sorry I don’t know more about what happened to her.”

Without looking at her, you just replied, in a soft whisper, “I don’t know if I want to know anymore.”

The fae across from you took a deep inhale and exhale, as though she had let something go finally, after holding it in for years and years. “She tried to do right by you, Y/N. You have to know she wanted better for you, and whenever she would go on these benders—when she would come down, she would just sob and beg you to forgive her. She really did try.”

“I wasn’t enough.”

“You were more than enough.”

You looked up through your lashes, now heavy with tears, as Titania looked down at you, her mouth fluctuating in discomfort as she tried to find words to make this better. “I wasn’t enough to make her stop. She didn’t choose me.”

“My love, we don’t know why she left you.”

You shook your head. “She didn’t come back either. Even when we were in the village, she would disappear for days, telling me she was going hunting, or to visit someone, or to go gather supplies.” You paused, “And yet, when she never came back with anything, I didn’t question her.”

Titania brushed her nail down your hand. “I know, my love.”

You looked up at her. “Why didn’t she leave me with you?”

Titania took her turn looking down, her heel still clipping on the floor. “Your mother didn’t want you to end up as a pleasure lady.”

You scoffed, “What? She didn’t want me to carry on the family business?”

Titania’s face shifted to one of slight anger. “She didn’t want you to make her mistakes.”

“But we had a good life here,” you cried, tears hitting the table in soft thuds.

“You survived,” Titania responded quickly. “I tried to keep you safe, to feed you, to educate you, but you were sick constantly. You had these fevers that would spike often, and the healers didn’t think it right to use their time and resources on you. But every night when you would lie there,” Titania stopped as if she could see you before her as a child, “you would shake with the chills, and your face would be red, and you wouldn’t speak, just smile at me. Smile like nothing was wrong. And you would ask for her, your mother. You wanted her with you to make you feel better.” Titania choked back a sob. “And when I would try to find her, between clients, to bring her to you, she would just tell me to do my best with you and that she would see you in the morning.”

You wondered if being so sick, combined with your youth, was why your memories seemed so cloudy.

Your lips quivered under the weight of the words that hung in the air like daggers. “Why didn’t you take me anywhere?”

“I tried. I tried to get your mother into a sanctuary, in the library, under the House of Wind,” she paused again, “but the females there didn’t want to take in anyone who might bring in Luster and tempt the others who hadn’t been using it. And I tried to get you to go, but you just wouldn’t. You wanted to stay with us.” She looked up at you. “I’m so sorry, my love.”

You let a sob leave your throat as it burned through you. Your head swam with confusion at everything you felt your life was and had become. You couldn’t seem to stop trying to find her, your mother, her face long since forgotten in your mind, replaced by shadows and blurs which you now thought looked more like Titania than her.

Titania looked at you, her eyes full of sorrow, the red of her lips merely more than a pink now. “She would be proud of you.”

You shook your head. “She would despise me.”

“Look at where you are. Look at who you have become.” Titania urged, her hand lifting yours off the table.

“I have become homeless. I’m mated to a male who hurt me and did things to me I can’t even force myself to think about. I ran from everything and everyone. I have nothing. I am nothing. I’m no better than her.” You shook your head.

“You are not your mother,” Titania whispered as your tears clouded over your sight.

“I don’t even know who that is.” Another sob escaped you, raw and guttural. “I’m so tired, Titania.” Your body convulsed with the force of your emotions, wracking out through coughs and sobs. “I’m so tired of running and hiding. I’m tired of being hurt and never fully healing. I just—” A fresh wave of grief surged, making you gag on the bile rising in your throat. “I’m tired of pretending like the world is anything but lies and pain.”

Titania’s voice was a fragile whisper, filled with sorrow and helplessness. “I know, my love.” Your face grew hotter and wetter, tears and snot mingling as your shoulders heaved with choppy, pain-stricken sobs. She watched you fall apart, unable to stop your anguish. “You are lost,” she finally said as your sobs turned silent, “You are lost, but you are not forgotten. And you may not know the way back, but you can’t stop trying to find it.”

“I’m so tired.” You lifted your gaze, meeting Titania’s tear-filled eyes, the kohl that lined them streaking in black drifts down her cheeks. “I’m so tired of searching for anything.”

Titania’s smile was small but filled with a fierce, enduring love. “You’re not alone, my love. Not anymore.” She squeezed your hand. “And while I won’t let you call this your home, I will always be a home for you.”

Your lip continued to quiver as you looked at her, this woman who you had forgotten but who had never stopped thinking about you. She sat across from you, so full of hope for your future, despite her own life being bleak. Her love and faith in you were palpable, a lifeline you hadn’t realized you needed.

You smiled lightly, a simple gesture that seemed to mean the world. Titania rose from her chair, dropping to her knees before you, wrapping her arms around your neck and back. She held you tight, and in that moment, you felt the promise of home. The sweet scent of peppermint, a fragment of a lost memory, washed over you. You thought of her, of Titania.

As you wrapped your arms around each other, Titania’s bony frame seemed fragile, almost breakable at your touch. “I’m not angry with what you do,” you whispered. Titania pulled back, looking at you with tear-filled eyes. “You take care of people. You offer them a home and hope.” Her lips began to quiver. “I don’t care what you or anyone else does for money. I care about what you do and have done for others, and I can’t thank you enough for what you did for me.”

Titania let another tear roll down her cheek, her gaze locked with yours. “I could have done so much more for you, my love,” she said, her voice breaking. She turned away, but you pulled her back.

“You did what you could.”

The two of you sat there for a few moments, looking into each other’s eyes, sharing a connection forged in survival. You were two survivors of a life neither of you had asked for, yet you had saved each other, drifting apart only to be brought back together by fate. In this moment, in this kitchen, you were alive and filled with hope, held together by memories that refused to fade.

To my readers, I promise this is still an Azriel fanfiction, the boy will be back. @thatacotargirl @mcuamerica @lilah-asteria @florabelll @fightmedraco @marvelbros-oneshots @mariahoedt @quinzzelx @romantasyreader28 @minnieoo @mysteriouslydeafeningwerewolf @annabethgranger123 @krowiathemythologynerd @scatteredstardustt @romantacyreader28 @caroline-books @slytherintaco @sevikas-whore @sidthedollface2 @405rry @sleepylunarwolf @acourtofbatboydreams @quiettuba @julesofvolterra @skylarkalchemist @darling006 @rhysandorian

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gimmethatagustd · 6 months

Text

venor (12) | kth + jjk

The barista at the university’s café keeps telling Jungkook not to come back, but Jungkook is too busy daydreaming about kissing the beauty marks on his face to be paying attention to his warnings.

○ Pairing: Tiger!Taehyung x Bunny!Jungkook

○ Rating: Explicit/18+

○ Genre: Hybrids, predator/prey, college au, strangers to lovers, slow burn, fluff, light angst, eventual smut

○ Word Count: 7,862

○ Warnings: Time for y'all to judge me for my smut writing, loss of virginity, blow job, what the gworlies call self-lubrication aka slick, Taehyung's got a big dick (in every universe imo), size difference, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, anal fingering, unprotected anal sex, alcohol, scenting, marking, self-esteem issues, jealousy, pet names

○ Notes: This is cliche and cute and smutty (don't @ me, I warned you in advance) and 2 days late 😌

○ Post Date: April 2, 2024

○ Masterlist | AO3 Cross-Post

○ What was Jai listening to? The series playlist

Series Masterlist

“Considering everything you’ve put me through, I feel like I shouldn’t have to be here right now.”

The glare that Yoongi gives Jungkook is scary enough to rival the biggest, meanest predator hybrid on campus. It has been three weeks since Yoongi suffered through Jungkook and Taehyung’s little not PG date night, and he still won’t let it go, despite Jungkook’s numerous apologies — both verbal and in the form of sweets— which Jungkook surely thought Yoongi would accept by now. At this point, Jungkook doesn’t know if he should still be embarrassed by the fact that his roommate heard him loudly orgasm or if he should be annoyed that Yoongi won’t stop talking about it.

“Oh, come on, hyung! This is fun!”

“Is it?” Yoongi scowls.

Hooking his arm around Yoongi’s, Jungkook practically drags him through the front doors of the university’s basketball arena. The building is massive and packed with fans hurrying through the ticket lines to get to their seats as the announcer’s deep voice booms over the speakers. The announcement lets everyone know that the game is about to start. For as many months as Jungkook has been getting to know Taehyung, it’s surprising that this is his first time watching Taehyung play.

“Jungkook-ah! Yoongi oppa!”

Suyun waves her arms from where she stands in the lobby, past the ticket lines. She’s so small that Jungkook nearly loses her in the crowd once he and Yoongi have finally made it through the line, their printed tickets clutched between their fists. Luckily, her ears make it easy to relocate her.

“Yay, I’m so excited!” Suyun throws herself into Jungkook and Yoongi to squeeze them together in a hug her scrawny arms can barely maintain. “Let’s hurry up! They’re already playing.”

The sea of college students and locals eager to watch a Saturday evening basketball game against the university’s biggest rival pushes the three friends in waves down the arena’s wide hallways. It’s hard for Jungkook to keep up with where he’s going, easily getting confused by each rounded corner they turn and how everyone looks the same in their white and blue clothing to match the university’s colors. Occasionally, splotches of red and black are in the mix, but the rival’s fans are sparse. Even Jungkook knew how to dress the part, wearing a pair of powder blue overalls with one strap undone and hanging forward to expose more of the white sweater underneath and his all-white Converse. The 90s chic look might make him sweat down to his balls, but he looks cute, and that’s what matters.

“Is our basketball team really that big of a deal?” Yoongi asks, unable to hide the genuine curiosity that seeps through his words.

“How have you gone to school here for four years without knowing, oppa?”

Suyun clicks her tongue against the roof of her mouth with a shake of her head as she guides Jungkook and Yoongi down the crowded halls until they reach a large, open doorway. At least Jungkook isn’t the only one new to this.

Thousands of fans are packed in the seats consisting of three separate levels circling the basketball court in the middle of the room. When Jungkook tilts his head back, he thinks he can see people nearly in the building’s rafters. It’s all very overwhelming, but there’s a sense of comradery that makes his body tingle. It’s cool to be part of something bigger than himself! And it especially feels cool knowing that all these people are here to see his Taehyung play.

“Jackson got us really good seats,” Suyun explains as she continues leading them through the crowd, though it’s not as busy down here on the ground level. “They aren’t courtside, but they might as well be.”

Their seats are only a few rows from the court, meaning Jungkook has a clear view of the basketball players huddled around men in suits, who he assumes are the coaching staff. From the huddle, Jungkook spots Jackson’s bushy orange tail and the silvery glint of Hoseok’s scales in the arena’s fluorescent lighting. As he takes his seat in between Suyun and Yoongi, Jungkook searches for the mop of coppery curls he loves so much.

Taehyung spots him first. Having been blocked by another player, Taehyung steps to the side just far enough to see around the huddled group and straight into Jungkook’s wide eyes.

Hey bun, Taehyung mouths to Jungkook with a waggle of his eyebrows.

Waving shyly, Jungkook tries to shoo Taehyung away so he’ll pay attention to whatever his coach is saying. Of course, Taehyung doesn’t listen. Instead, he elbows one of the players standing next to him. Jungkook watches with hot cheeks as Taehyung leans in to say something to the other player before turning to point at Jungkook.

Stop it, Jungkook mouths back, waving Taehyung off again.

The buzzer sounds, notifying the teams that the game is resuming. Taehyung blows a kiss at Jungkook before spinning around to get into place on the court.

“What position is Taehyung?” Yoongi asks over the roar of the crowd as the game advances.

“Point guard,” comes a response from Jungkook’s right. He and Yoongi turn to see a face that has become more familiar over the past few weeks.

“Hi, Jimin hyung,” Jungkook has to project his voice to greet the calico cat hybrid when the crowd boos after the rival team makes a basket.

“Jungkook-ah, Yoongi hyung.”

Jimin nods curtly before slinking into his seat beside Suyun, who immediately scratches behind one of his splotchy, multicolored ears. He sticks his arm down the row of seats to offer a large bag of popcorn, which Yoongi declines, but Jungkook takes a handful of the buttery goodness.

Like most domestic cats, it takes Jimin a while to become comfortable with strangers, so he has only recently started hanging out with Jungkook whenever Taehyung and Hoseok invite them to their apartment. Yoongi’s presence seems to help Jimin feel at ease, perhaps because of their shared prey hybrid species. It’s cute how aloof they are; Jungkook doesn’t know why he finds them so endearing, especially Jimin, who always seems to look simultaneously bored and conniving.

“What does a point guard do?” Jungkook asks between chewing his popcorn. He directs his question to Suyun, though Jimin may also know the answer. Yoongi is just as hopeless as Jungkook.

“Honestly, I don’t really understand all the rules…” Suyun admits sheepishly. “I think it’s Taehyung’s job to help set up the other players so they have the best opportunities to score. He’s always shouting things and telling everyone where to go when he passes the ball and stuff.”

Pride swells in Jungkook’s chest when he sits back to watch the game, knowing that his Taehyung plays an important role. Of course, all the players do, but not all the players are Taehyung, and Taehyung is the one who matters most. Obviously.

“It fits Taehyung. He’s so bossy,” Jimin rolls his eyes and tosses a handful of popcorn into his mouth.

“Is he?” Jungkook has never felt like Taehyung is bossy, but the annoyed look on Jimin’s face tells another story.

“So bossy. But all predators are, aren’t they?”

Yoongi snorts a resounding, “Yeah, they are,” while Suyun insists, “They’re not all like that.”

“Jackson doesn’t count,” Jimin licks his buttery lips, “He’s so whipped for you.”

“And Taehyung is whipped for Jungkookie,” Suyun giggles at Jungkook’s pink face.

“Let’s just watch the game…” Jungkook angrily scrunches his nose and glares at his friends until there’s more shouting from the crowd, and he quickly turns back to the court to see what he’s missed.

For the rest of the game, Jungkook won’t take his eyes off Taehyung, who spends it sprinting up and down the court, only taking a few breaks. He looks good in their university’s blue basketball uniform. The sleeveless jersey shows off the definition of his arms, especially when he raises them and bends them at the elbow to prepare to shoot or rushes down the court while dribbling the basketball. There’s too much distance between them to tell, but Jungkook is sure all the movement has made Taehyung’s veins raise slightly in his forearms — an occurrence capable of causing Jungkook ultimate psychological damage if he witnesses it up close. It’s good that Jackson got them seats that aren’t too close.

There aren’t many timeouts, but Taehyung takes advantage of the few scattered throughout the game to wink at Jungkook and blow him kisses. It makes Jungkook feel warm and fuzzy inside, something unordinary and special, like Taehyung is some kind of celebrity and Jungkook is the fan he’s fallen in love with. Unfortunately, his little dreamworld is rudely interrupted by obnoxious squealing.

“Did Kim Taehyung just blow a kiss at you?”

“I don’t know!”

“Oh my god, he totally did!”

Jungkook turns around to look at the group of girls sitting in the row behind him. Interestingly, the group is a mix of predator and prey hybrids, which Jungkook would usually find cute, but the current circumstances sour that realization. There’s no way these girls can possibly think that his Taehyung would be showering them with affection, girls he doesn’t even personally know! It takes everything in Jungkook’s power to slowly turn back around and stamp down the ugly feeling of jealousy that eats away at him like acid in his gut. He felt this once before, when Taehyung spoke with his friend in the library, and he hates it just as much now as he had then.

“You good, kid?” Yoongi asks with a flick of his tail against Jungkook’s arm to get his attention.

“Mhm…”

Jungkook’s response isn’t convincing, but the game is nearly over, and Yoongi can’t interrogate him in the middle of a basketball arena, so Yoongi lets the conversation go. The girls’ comments are harmless, but that doesn’t mean they aren’t important. To Jungkook, they’re a reminder of the one thing he desperately craves from Taehyung and still doesn’t know how to ask for: commitment.

Their university wins because of an iconic three-point basket made by Hoseok right before time runs out. The entire arena erupts in screaming and chants of his name—including Yoongi, whom Jungkook has never seen so animated. It’s cute, and it makes Jungkook wonder why Yoongi agreed to attend the basketball game with him.

It takes a while after the game ends for the players to return from the locker rooms. Jungkook, Suyun, Yoongi, and Jimin stand around the side of the basketball court, finishing up the last of Jimin’s popcorn and passing around an extra-large soda Suyun convinced Yoongi to pay for during the game’s halftime. It isn’t a sufficient dinner considering the group plans to go out drinking after this, but part of Jungkook was hoping that the guys on the team would be too tired to go out. Although Jungkook has yet to experience the city’s nightlife, he thinks he’d rather get cozy in bed with Taehyung and spend the rest of the night with each other. It’s Suyun and Jackson’s fault that everyone has jumped onto the idea of clubbing; it’s always their fault if the plans include drinking. Little, quiet Suyun! Jungkook never knew he was missing out on this side of her personality until he started hanging out with predator hybrids.

The first player to return is the one Jungkook has ignored all night. Byungchul has made himself scarce ever since the altercation at Jackson’s house. Although Jungkook is no longer angry or afraid, he’s still uncomfortable, and that’s enough to not want to be near Byungchul if he doesn’t have to be. So, when he realizes that Byungchul is heading straight for him, Jungkook finds it difficult to look him in the eyes.

“Hi,” Byungchul greets the floor once he approaches Jungkook, also avoiding eye contact.

Trying not to sound mean or defensive, Jungkook is quiet and slow when he responds, “Hello…”

Byungchul’s gray wolf tail hangs so low that it drags on the floor and his ears are flat to his head and only visible because the gray fur stands out against his black hair. His hair and fur are wet from showering in the locker room, and he’s wearing a university-branded tracksuit and a backpack thrown over one shoulder. Despite being much bigger than Jungkook, he looks small.

“I just wanted to say that I’m sorry I was such an asshole to you and your friends. And, well, my friends, too,” Byungchul takes a deep breath and finally meets Jungkook’s gaze. His expression is softer than Jungkook has ever seen; the typically harsh, almost hateful look melted away into something less severe and almost… sad.

“No one put me up to this or anything,” Byungchul continues, “I was being a dick, and it fucked with the team’s dynamic, and, I don’t know, I realized it was all stupid. I know Suyun and Jimin are cool. And you must be cool if hyung likes you so much.”

Byungchul pauses for a moment to give Yoongi a strange look, with his eyebrows furrowed and his head slightly tilted to one side.

“I have no idea who you are, but, uh, I’m sure you’re cool, too.”

With a snort and a roll of his eyes, Yoongi mutters, “Cooler than any of you will ever be,” before walking off to throw away the empty soda cup.

“Anyway, yeah, that’s… that’s all I wanted to say.”

“Thank you for apologizing,” Jungkook says with heated cheeks because his senses alert him to the presence of Taehyung returning from the locker room with Hoseok and Jackson.

Byungchul must also grow shy from the sudden audience because he doesn’t say anything else. With a slight bow of his head, he bids everyone a silent goodbye and jogs over to a few other players hanging out by the exit, waiting for him. It’s odd to see Byungchul so quiet and not the boisterous, aggressive bully he wanted to make himself seem like. Despite understanding that Byungchul behaved from a place of insecurity, Jungkook is still confused by him. Jungkook can’t imagine ever wanting to make himself out to be a bad guy.

“Everyone alright?” Hoseok asks as he approaches the quiet group of prey hybrids.

Almost immediately, Jimin breaks away from the other prey to latch himself to Hoseok’s side, giving Taehyung a pinch on his arm on his way over.

“Jimin-ah!” Taehyung swats at the calico with a hiss, and Jungkook can’t help but giggle when Jimin hisses right back. Cats. How has Jungkook managed to surround himself with them?

“Byungchul apologized to Jungkook,” Suyun explains as she beckons for Yoongi to hurry up before the group leaves.

“Shocking, really,” Jimin says with a smirk, “Considering how big predators’ egos are, I can’t imagine how difficult it must be to find the capacity for empathy.”

Rather than be offended, Hoseok snickers. His laughter is a strange mix of hisses and giggles, making Jimin’s smirk morph into something a little closer to a genuine smile.

Jungkook isn’t the best at reading people’s scents to determine their moods, but he has lived with Yoongi long enough to tell when he’s getting worked up for whatever reason. The sour spike in Yoongi’s citrus scent doesn’t match the blush that paints his cheeks when Jimin begins openly scenting Hoseok by nuzzling his neck.

“Ugh, enough of Byungchul, I’m so tired of talking about all that bullshit,” Jackson groans. “Who needs a ride to my place? I can fit four other people.”

They’re all grown adults in college, but it takes counting on their fingers to figure out who goes in which car. Taehyung doesn’t bother worrying about it; he’s got his eyes on Jungkook while everyone else plans their next moves for the night. Jungkook tries not to stare at him, and he’s even proud of himself for not latching onto him — mainly because Jungkook promised Yoongi that he wouldn’t leave him alone with all the couples doing coupley things like a seventh wheel.

“Taehyung,” Hoseok pushes him on the shoulder for not paying attention. “Is it cool if you and Jungkook drive together?”

Taehyung’s grin is boxy and boyish when he replies, “I mean, I guess.”

Jungkook and Taehyung walk back to Taehyung’s dorm while their friends clamber into Jackson’s car. Whereas Jackson already showered in the arena’s locker room, Hoseok is too disgusted by the idea of showering where “who knows how many other athletes have showered,” and Taehyung is too married to his skincare regime to shower anywhere other than in his own bathroom. They split up, allowing Hoseok to get ready for the night at Jackson’s house and Taehyung the ease of not needing to share the bathroom in their apartment.

Jungkook is just happy to go wherever Taehyung goes.

“Did you have fun?” Taehyung asks with his lips pressed against the soft fur of Jungkook’s bunny ear. It tickles, and Jungkook tries to escape, but Taehyung’s arm is draped over his shoulders to pull him back in.

“Mhm, I had no idea what was going on, though,” Jungkook admits, laughing lightly when he remembers Suyun and Jimin trying to explain the rules, only for Yoongi to look them up online and find that they were wrong.

“I should have prepped you beforehand.”

Jungkook shrugs.

“We should play together instead. I think I could beat you.”

Taehyung steps away from Jungkook to open the front door of the residence hall. He gives Jungkook a shocked look, eyebrows raised, and one corner of his mouth tweaked into a half-smirk.

“Oh, really? You think you could?”

Jungkook pushes past Taehyung and leads them to the stairwell, skipping the elevator like always.

“I probably work out more than you,” Jungkook purposely gives Taehyung a long, hard look that drags from his feet to the fuzzy, striped ears on his head. “I’m strong and definitely more agile than you are.”

It’s all fun and games, just silly shit-talking until Taehyung gets that wild look in his eyes. Jungkook spins on his heel and launches himself up the stairs, taking them two at a time, knowing Taehyung is right behind him. He has the advantage of being lighter on his feet and not having been playing sports for nearly two hours straight, so he manages to scramble up the stairs without getting snatched until they’re outside Taehyung’s apartment door.

“Did you forget I’m a cute little bunny?” Jungkook teases through his heavy breathing, which matches Taehyung’s panting. “Hopping up the stairs is easy. I’ve got a good bounce to me.”

Pressed with his back against the door, Jungkook looks up into Taehyung’s eyes with his chin raised and a smug look on his face that quickly falters when Taehyung says,

“You bouncing sounds fun.”

“Ah, open the door, Tae!” Jungkook shoves Taehyung in the chest, forcing him to give Jungkook space to move away from the door. “You’re gross.”

Chuckling, Taehyung does as he’s told.

“I’m going to shower now, but I’ll be quick,” Taehyung murmurs with a kiss on Jungkook’s forehead, his short exhale ruffling Jungkook’s bangs.

Jungkook smiles in response as Taehyung disappears through the bathroom door. Once the door clicks shut, he turns around and retreats into Taehyung’s bedroom. He likes the feel of Taehyung’s bedroom the most out of all the rooms in the apartment. The green walls and plants and earth-toned furniture are comforting. There must be some psychology about why natural hues induce relaxation in hybrids; Jungkook is sure it’s part of their biology. Or perhaps he feels relaxed as he flops onto his stomach on the bed because the comforter smells like Taehyung, and he can already sense how their scents dance around each other, mixing to create the aroma of peaceful spring rain. Perhaps Jungkook’s sense of comfort is a little bit of both, a combination of nature and nurture.

Catching himself metaphorically drooling over Taehyung yet again, Jungkook gives himself permission to keep gushing over the boy in his head. When Jungkook started getting to know Taehyung, he was a starry-eyed, silly bunny determined to crack the mysterious tiger’s hard exterior. Now, he sees Taehyung for what he really is: a quiet, somewhat reserved boy who feels deeply and has a heart of gold.

As for Jungkook, he doesn’t think he’s very different from the bunny he was when he first transferred all those months ago. His identity hasn’t changed much, but how he thinks about himself has. He’s still starry-eyed and silly, but he’s confident in his desire to be a kind and accepting person, and he no longer worries about being considered naive.

Jungkook props himself up on Taehyung’s pillow as he sprawls out on the bed, phone in hand, to scroll through his phone for music to play on Taehyung’s speaker while he waits for Taehyung to finish showering. Most of his recent music has been random lofi playlists Taehyung showed him, perfect for relaxing or studying. Those don’t seem particularly fitting to prepare to go clubbing, so Jungkook searches for a playlist with a decent mix of mainstream hip-hop and pop songs to bop his head along to while he aimlessly scrolls through social media.

It’s still early, and Jungkook is sure that the rest of their friends will take a while to get ready, even with Jackson’s house having multiple bathrooms. Luckily, Suyun and Yoongi were already prepared to go out after the game; it’s the basketball players and Jimin who should be concerned about taking too long.

Jungkook can’t help but giggle when he thinks about his friends, particularly his poor Yoongi hyung, squished between Hoseok and Jimin in the backseat of Jackson’s car. He looked terrified — with his orange tail clutched in one hand to prevent anyone from accidentally sitting on it and his ears flattened against his hair — as if he didn’t love having two pretty boys trying to talk to him all night.

With the right amount of alcohol, Yoongi will loosen up enough to enjoy himself despite going out not being high on his list of favorite things to do. It might not even be high on Jungkook’s list of favorite things to do, but considering he hasn’t ever gone clubbing before, he’s not sure. All he knows is that Taehyung is responsible for ensuring he doesn’t get messy, as Suyun said.

Not long after Jungkook texts Yoongi and Suyun to confirm which nightclub Jackson wants everyone to meet up at, he hears the bathroom door open. Taehyung is always light on his feet, hardly making a sound as he walks down the hallway. Sneaky, a quality not uncommon for a predator hybrid.

Pushing himself up, Jungkook settles for sitting in the middle of Taehyung’s bed and turns toward the door when Taehyung crosses the threshold.

“Jackson said we should go to…”

Jungkook trails off, the name of the nightclub escaping out of his brain through his ears like all his common sense and body’s ability to remember how to breathe. Frozen in place, the only things that move on Jungkook are his throat when he swallows, despite how dry his mouth has gotten, and his eyes that follow Taehyung to his closet.

Seeing Taehyung shirtless isn’t shocking; they’ve slept in the same bed a few times, and Taehyung usually sleeps shirtless. Seeing Taehyung wearing only a fluffy white towel that sits low on his hips, with a few stray beads of water trickling down his chest and his copper hair slicked back away from his face… seeing that is more than Jungkook’s little soul can bear.

When Jungkook doesn’t speak, Taehyung turns around to look at him, his forehead wrinkled with worry lines.

“Bun? Go where?”

Heat climbs up Jungkook’s neck like scorching pinpricks in his skin when he realizes he has forgotten what he was supposed to say. It takes everything in his power to stare into Taehyung’s eyes instead of at the swell of his pecs and how his arms flex as he sorts through the clothes hanging in his closet.

“Um,” Jungkook quickly looks down at his phone, using clumsy fingers to open Suyun and Yoongi’s text messages. If he doesn’t chill out, he’s going to lose to his naturally horny bunny instincts, and he cannot do that right now. “Singularity. That’s the, uh…”

“Club?” Taehyung offers, one corner of his mouth twitching like he wants to smile or laugh but is holding it in.

“Yes.”

“Do you know what time?”

Jungkook keeps his head down, using his ears and bangs to hide from Taehyung as he sorts through his text messages with trembling thumbs. He needs to calm down before he embarrasses himself.

“Suyun said thirty minutes, but Yoongi hyung said an hour,” Jungkook responds after deep breaths. “I’d trust hyung more, honestly.”

The slide of Taehyung’s fingers in Jungkook’s hair makes him look up from his phone. He tilts his head back far enough that he can look directly into Taehyung’s eyes — and not at his crotch, which is much closer to Jungkook’s face now that Taehyung stands at the edge of the bed.

“That’s enough time,” Taehyung reassures as he massages the base of Jungkook’s ears. The gentle caresses make Jungkook’s eyes flutter.

“Enough time for what?” Jungkook asks and leans into Taehyung’s touch.

Using his grip on Jungkook’s hair, Taehyung guides Jungkook closer until he’s kneeling on the bed in front of Taehyung, making it easier for Taehyung to whisper his response against Jungkook’s lips,

“For me to help you find new pants.”

Huffing, Jungkook tries to voice a complaint, embarrassed that it seems Taehyung will never let this terrible joke die, but Taehyung slots their lips together faster than Jungkook can keep up.

Taehyung isn’t slow this time, and although he keeps his promise of being gentle, there’s more force in how he handles Jungkook as if he’s no longer concerned about scaring him. He digs his fingers into Jungkook’s silky black hair and tugs on the strands, not harshly, but enough to force Jungkook to tilt his head to the side so Taehyung can deepen the kiss. It’s wet and hot, Taehyung shoving his tongue in Jungkook’s mouth, curling his tongue around Jungkook’s like he curls his arm around his waist to pull him closer.

“I can smell it on you,” Taehyung murmurs when he moves to nuzzle Jungkook’s throat, dragging his nose and pink lips along his soft skin.

“W-What?”

“How turned on you are. Don’t need you to get wet to know.”

Taehyung bites Jungkook’s neck just above the scent gland where a mating bite is meant to go. Jungkook’s neck has been littered with deep red, almost purple, bruises ever since that night Taehyung lost control of himself. Jungkook thinks it’s another way for Taehyung to claim him, like mating bites that disappear rather than stay forever. Yoongi’s warning about mating echoes in Jungkook’s mind when Taehyung bites him again with enough pressure to leave an intent in his skin but not enough for it to hurt.

It feels good. Jungkook whimpers as he hesitantly grabs the back of Taehyung’s head to keep him against his neck when he tries to pull away.

“Shit,” Taehyung groans, and goosebumps spring up along Jungkook’s skin when he scrapes his teeth against his throat, “You like that? Like it when I leave marks on you?”

Jungkook nods with his eyes fluttering closed, just a small hum in response.

“Want me to bite you?” Taehyung’s warm, hypnotizing voice draws Jungkook in. It’s low and soothing, with a tantalizing edge that makes a shudder run through Jungkook’s body.

“Please,” Jungkook whispers as Taehyung trails kisses along his jaw.

“Want me to mate you, bun? Make you mine?”

Tugging Taehyung’s hair, Jungkook pulls him backward until they both fall onto the bed with Jungkook on his back and Taehyung hovering over him.

“Yes, Tae,” Jungkook begs, hardly knowing what he’s saying but can’t stop himself, as though Taehyung has genuinely hypnotized him. His voice is frantic, breathy, and pathetic like he needs it.

“Mmm, you know I can’t,” Taehyung smiles against the apple of Jungkook’s cheek, opening his mouth slightly to press his blunt front teeth there, too. “You naughty bunny. Don’t even know what you’re asking me.”

Taehyung muffles Jungkook’s whine with his mouth, sucking his tongue with a slight bob to his head as he reaches with one hand in between their bodies to unclasp the other strap of Jungkook’s overalls. Pulling the flap down, he slips his hand beneath Jungkook’s sweater to run his fingers along his warm skin.

“Why are your clothes so complicated?” Taehyung leans back to kneel between Jungkook’s legs, which are bent at the knees and spread open to accommodate him.

“It’s a cute outfit,” Jungkook pouts, making Taehyung’s huffy expression blossom into a boyish grin.

“You do look really cute. I couldn’t stop looking at you.”

“I noticed.”

Taehyung’s slow curl of his fingers around the waist of Jungkook’s overalls is a silent request. Jungkook’s raise of his hips is the silent granting of permission.

“Almost fucked up that free throw because I could hear you cheering for me.”

Too distracted by what Taehyung is doing, Jungkook can’t bring himself to protest Taehyung’s accusations. How dare Taehyung blame him when all he was trying to do was give Taehyung encouragement! The complaint is lost, gently brushed to the side by Taehyung’s gentle caresses as he helps Jungkook take off the rest of his clothes, leaving a pile of white and powder blue amongst the swath of browns and greens that is his bedroom.

“You’re cute, but you’re also beautiful,” Taehyung’s tone is soft, as are his touches as he runs his hands up and down Jungkook’s bare torso.

It’s the first time Jungkook has been fully naked in front of Taehyung, in front of anyone. He thought he would be more nervous, that he would be petrified by insecurities. Instead, he feels heat spreading through his body, little fires burning in his chest and the inside of his thighs, like electrical sparks setting off flames in his veins. The longer Taehyung stares at his body, exploring it with light fingertips that flick his brown, perky nipples and skate across his hip bones, the hotter the fires burn.

Jungkook knows he’s attractive; people have always praised him for being pretty. But Jungkook doesn’t want to be pretty or cute; he wants to be hot, like the heat Taehyung’s gaze stirs inside him.

Leaning forward, Taehyung sucks one of Jungkook’s nipples into his mouth, swirling his tongue around it to hear the weak whimper that the action elicits from Jungkook.

“Ahh, Tae,” Jungkook curves his spine to press his chest against Taehyung’s mouth and digs his fingers in his damp hair when Taehyung lets go of one nipple to drag his lips across his sternum, sucking and licking the other once he reaches it.

“Hoseok hyung isn’t home,” Taehyung murmurs against Jungkook’s chest as he tosses his towel onto the floor.

Initially, the comment doesn’t sink in for Jungkook. He’s caught up in the wet kisses Taehyung plants down his stomach and the wave of slick-inducing pleasure that overtakes him when Taehyung takes his cock in his mouth. It takes barely any time for Taehyung to suck Jungkook until he’s fully hard, and it isn’t until he’s guiding Jungkook to turn around on his hands and knees when it finally hits him.

No one else is home.

The moan Taehyung coaxes out of Jungkook when he presses two fingers into his hole is uninhibited because there’s no one to offend by how loud he is. His moans come out stunted and quick with every thrust of Taehyung’s fingers. Eventually, they stretch out and shift into a higher pitch once Taehyung finds his prostate and focuses on pressing that spot every time he fucks into him with his fingers.

“You’re so wet, I don’t even think you need any prep,” Taehyung groans as he inserts a third finger.

Jungkook lowers onto his forearms to press his forehead against the mattress, unable to keep himself up when his arms shake so severely. He does his best to rock with Taehyung’s movements but is too embarrassed by how uncoordinated he is compared to Taehyung.

“It feels good,” Jungkook sighs when Taehyung pulls his fingers out.

“Yeah?”

Nodding, Jungkook twists around to meet Taehyung’s dark gaze. He’s got that look again, ardent and wild, with dilated pupils and his scent so strong that Jungkook can imagine the two of them getting lost in a thunderstorm of Taehyung’s making. It stirs that primal urge to run, to get away from the predator that drapes his body over Jungkook’s, pressing him into the mattress on his stomach so he can grind his cock in between his cheeks with practiced precision.

“What do you want, bun?” Taehyung’s breath comes out in hot puffs against Jungkook’s neck.

What does Jungkook want?

He digs his fingers into the bed sheets and turns his head to the side so Taehyung can kiss him. Each smooth, slow roll of Taehyung’s hips against his ass gently pushes him up the bed. It feels so good, even though the nerves about what they’re doing are finally starting to kick in. He can hardly breathe when Taehyung nips at his neck where his scent gland is.

What does Jungkook want?

“I want you.”

Taehyung’s hips still. He nuzzles his face further into Jungkook’s neck and leaves kisses there, each one planted on top of the sore hickeys he’d bitten and sucked onto Jungkook’s skin. There are so many reminders of the commitment they could have, but neither will offer out loud.

“Want me to fuck you, Jungkook?” His name sounds rough, coming from Taehyung, like a growl pulled from deep inside his chest.

“Please.”

Pressing his forehead to Jungkook’s shoulder, Taehyung whispers a quiet “Fuck,” before sitting back on his knees.

“I want you to ride me.”

It’s a command, even though it’s spoken softly. Jungkook could say no if he wanted to; he knows Taehyung would respect him. But he also feels like his instincts tell him that he must obey this predator who looms over him with a hungry glint in his eyes.

“I won’t be good,” Jungkook mutters as Taehyung trades places with him. He’s gorgeous, laid out on the bed, honey gold skin against white sheets, and his hair dry enough to start getting fluffy and poofy atop his head. Jungkook may be gorgeous, too, but he’s inadequate in other ways.

“What do you mean?” Taehyung leans slightly to reach for Jungkook, guiding him to straddle his hips like before.

“I don’t know what I’m doing, and you’ve…”

“I’ve what?”

Biting his lip, Jungkook looks off into the room, his eyes landing on his reflection in the darkened window. Seeing a distorted image of himself on top of Taehyung makes him even more nervous.

“You’ve had sex with other people before,” Jungkook says quietly.

“Bun,” Taehyung squeezes Jungkook’s tiny waist and glides his palms upward until they rest on his chest. “This is about me and you, that’s it. The other people are in the past for a reason. And I’d never judge you. You’re so perfect, Jungkook. You do it for me just by being you. I don’t care about you being ‘good’ or ‘bad’ or whatever. You’re you, and that’s enough, alright?”

Jungkook rests his hands on Taehyung’s and keeps them cradled to his chest when he nods in understanding. Maybe he’s naive, but he believes Taehyung, even though his insecurities tell him not to.

“I want you to ride me so you can determine our pace, okay?” Taehyung explains, and Jungkook nods again. “You can control how much you take, so you’re more comfortable. If I’m on top, I might hurt you.”

A bit of primal fear returns, spiking through Jungkook’s fiery veins with a shot of ice. Although they joke around about their differences, the reality is that Taehyung is bigger and stronger than Jungkook. He genuinely could hurt him, especially with this being Jungkook’s first time.

Choosing to trust him, Jungkook lets go of Taehyung’s hands so he can rest them on Jungkook’s waist. It feels nice having Taehyung’s hands there, like a comforting pressure to remind Jungkook that he has someone to support him through this.

“Okay,” Jungkook confirms breathily, with a sigh. “Okay. I’m ready.”

He wants to be sexy, but he doesn’t know if he can be when he’s trembling with nerves along with excitement. Taehyung genuinely doesn’t seem to mind. He rubs Jungkook’s sides, lightly dragging his nails across his ribs and occasionally brushing over his nipples while Jungkook works up the courage to do this.

“Do you want me to help? I can sit up and—”

“No!” Jungkook blushes from his sudden outburst, but Taehyung just grins.

“Alright, alright,” Taehyung says, lying back and crossing his arms behind his head. “I’ll be over here minding my own business.”

Something about the nonchalant pose makes Jungkook’s stomach flip, and not just because it makes Taehyung’s biceps bulge. Forcing himself out of that mindset, Jungkook presses his palm against Taehyung’s chest to steady himself as he leans forward, lifting onto his knees.

“Yeah, that’s it,” Taehyung murmurs as Jungkook reaches behind himself to gently grab Taehyung’s cock. He keeps his promise by staying still and letting Jungkook guide his cock, slippery with Jungkook’s slick, to his hole.

Jungkook is so wet that he takes Taehyung’s cock much easier than he expected, even with how thick it is. Still, it’s a lot, especially for a prey hybrid’s first time, and Jungkook’s body trembles as he sinks further down, taking it slow like Taehyung told him to.

“Tae,” Jungkook whimpers once Taehyung is fully inside him.

“Fuck, look at you.” Taehyung runs his palms up Jungkook’s thighs until he reaches his waist, giving him a light squeeze. “How do you feel, bun?”

“You’re big,” Jungkook’s voice trembles as severely as his body.

“Mmm,” Taehyung smirks, wild eyes sparkling despite their darkness. “That’s what I like to hear.”

Playfully hitting Taehyung’s firm chest with his fist, Jungkook scolds him for his vulgar comment during such a serious moment.

“Oh my god, Tae, shut up.”

Dropping the cocky attitude, Taehyung’s features soften despite maintaining the wild look, still stroking Jungkook’s instinct to run. Taehyung lightly squeezes Jungkook’s hips, pulling him forward just enough to understand the silent cue to start moving if he feels comfortable.

So Jungkook does, at first leaning forward with his hands holding Taehyung’s pecs as he tries rolling his hips. The angle lets him adjust to Taehyung’s size better, slowly easing away the stretch and light discomfort he’d felt earlier until he’s whimpering and calling Taehyung’s name in a rushed chant.

“Lean back a little,” Taehyung instructs as he bends his knees slightly so Jungkook has something to hold onto. “It’ll feel better if my little bunny bounces.”

The bad thing about being on top is that Jungkook can’t hide from Taehyung’s teasing. All he can do is blush until his face is on fire, and then do exactly as Taehyung says, lifting and easing down until he is bouncing on Taehyung’s cock.

“Oh my god, oh god,” Jungkook nearly wails when Taehyung grabs his hands and intertwines their fingers.

“Yeah, fuck yourself on my cock, baby,” Taehyung groans, “You look so pretty, fuck.” He squeezes Jungkook’s hands so tightly that it hurts, but Jungkook doesn’t care because Taehyung didn’t call him bun; he called him baby.

“Again, Tae,” Jungkook gasps, letting his head lull to the side as he moves. “Call me that again.”

Taehyung lets go of Jungkook’s hand and reaches up to wrap his hand around his throat, using his grip to force Jungkook to look at him.

“Hmm? What? Call you baby?”

With a quiet whine, Jungkook nods his head. He doesn’t think he’ll survive the swell of affection he feels inside his chest when Taehyung grins with so much boyish charm and repeats himself,

“Baby, you’re my baby, Jungkook-ah. Didn’t you know?”

“Harder,” Jungkook whispers in response, too overwhelmed to articulate himself in any other way.

That one word is all Taehyung needs, though. His hands find Jungkook’s waist as he plants his feet and thrusts upward, pulling Jungkook down on his cock to meet each thrust. It’s a miracle they found time to be alone, with Jungkook a crying, babbling, moaning mess on top of Taehyung, completely resigned to being a pillow princess who can do nothing but hold on as Taehyung fucks into him. It’s hard and fast, so desperate that Taehyung was otherwise good at hiding. His fingers dig into Jungkook’s hips hard enough to leave bruises that will match the ones scattered across his neck and collarbones, but Jungkook doesn’t care. He likes it.

“Feel good, baby?”

Jungkook nods quickly, not bothering to speak through his sounds of pleasure. He leans forward slightly to slide his hands through Taehyung’s hair and rubs his fuzzy tiger ears once his fingertips brush against them. The deep purr he gets in response makes him touch Taehyung more.

“Gonna cum with me, baby? Can you do that for me?”

He nods again as Taehyung grabs Jungkook’s cock and starts jerking him off at the same pace he fucks him. The buildup of pleasure has Jungkook wound so tightly that it only takes a few pumps before he cums with a loud sob.

“Fuck,” Taehyung hisses, continuing to jerk Jungkook off even when he starts to cry. He doesn’t stop until Jungkook cums for a second time, with Taehyung as he finally finds his release.

Jungkook can feel the moment Taehyung relaxes, when his hungry fervor slowly seeps away and exhaustion takes over. He feels it in himself, too, his arms and legs losing strength until Jungkook thinks he’s just a blob slumped onto Taehyung’s heaving chest.

“I didn’t pass out while conscious,” Jungkook whispers and Taehyung weakly laughs.

“Does that mean I didn’t perform well?”

Taehyung is cheeky and fishing for compliments that Jungkook will gladly give him.

“It was really nice, Tae,” Jungkook speaks against Taehyung’s neck, where he nuzzles his face to scent him despite them being covered in each other’s scents from sex. “I’m happy it was with you.”

There’s so much more Jungkook wants to say, but he can’t. Not now, when it could ruin the moment. Not now, when they must slowly pry themselves from each other and take another shower because Jungkook’s slick and cum are all over them. Later. Jungkook will tell Taehyung later, tell him everything he’s afraid to say as they cram into the shower together and take turns washing each other’s hair.

He promises himself that he’ll tell Taehyung later.

Clubbing isn’t as terrible as Jungkook feared it would be. It’s pretty fun, though he wonders if he’s having a good time because he’s under the spell of a particular tiger hybrid with a dazzling smile and warm eyes that crinkle every time they happen to fall on Jungkook’s from across the room. Jungkook is also drunk, so that could also impact the level of enthusiasm he has when Suyun drags him out onto the dancefloor.

“You look unusually happy,” she shouts over the loud music with a hoarse voice.

“I’m always happy!” Jungkook gives Suyun a deep pout.

“Well, yeah, but like, more than usual!”

Jungkook doesn’t know if there’s such a thing as a post-sex afterglow, but he really hopes that Suyun doesn’t make any connections to what transpired before he and Taehyung arrived at the nightclub. He wonders if Taehyung has already told his friends or if they can tell.

Biting his lip, Jungkook looks away from Suyun’s swaying dance moves and finds Taehyung leaning against the bar with Jackson and the pretty panther predator Jungkook remembers from the library, Ten.

“Oh, I know what it is,” Suyun giggles and gulps half her drink. Jungkook has the same kind, though he doesn’t remember what it is; aside from that, it’s more vodka than anything else.

“What? No, you don’t!” Jungkook shoves Suyun, and she shoves him back until they’re both play-fighting while the other clubbers try to grind on each other. “Stop it!”

“You’re in looooove, Jungkook-ah! You’re all glowy in the face because you’re in love!”

“Shut up!”

“What, are you afraid he’ll hear me?” Suyun’s eyes are large and glazed over when she turns around to look for Taehyung. “Maybe I should tell him for you. TAEHYUNG! JUNGKOOK WANTS YOU TO KNOW THAT—”

Jungkook grabs Suyun’s arm and yanks her hard enough that she stumbles into him, causing the two of them to nearly trip. Some kind stranger struggles to straighten them up, but the damage is done. When Jungkook looks again, Taehyung and Ten are already walking over.

“Suyun, please,” Jungkook pleads with his big, round, starry eyes that typically get him what he wants.

Before he can get Suyun to promise not to completely ruin his life, Taehyung and Ten approach them.

“What’s up, bun?”

Taehyung reaches for Jungkook’s hand and intertwines their fingers. Despite it being an innocent gesture, arousal spikes through his stomach. Just over an hour ago, Taehyung had intertwined their fingers in an entirely different context.

Jungkook feels Taehyung’s tail curl around his calf and playfully tug him, and he’s reminded that Taehyung said Jungkook didn’t need to slick for him to smell his arousal. That knowledge makes him nervous like he’s going to be found out for being a horny freak. Taehyung’s smile is soft and innocent when he looks up, so maybe Jungkook is in the clear.

“Suyun is just being silly,” Jungkook explains, shooting Suyun a look.

Suyun shrugs, “I’m drunk.”

Taehyung snorts and gestures with a nod toward the bar.

“Jackson is over there. You should have him get you some water.”

Suyun skips away with an annoyed sigh, leaving Jungkook with Taehyung. and Ten, who gives Jungkook an odd look.

“I don’t think Taehyung properly introduced us,” Ten says with a pretty smile that makes Jungkook nervous. Jungkook doesn’t particularly want to be properly introduced to him.

“Ah, shit, sorry, I’m bad at introductions,” Taehyung apologizes with a laugh that eases Jungkook’s nerves. “Ten, this is my boyfriend, Jungkook.”

Boyfriend.

“It’s nice to meet you, Jungkook,” Ten says sweetly, though it seems obvious to Jungkook that the airiness to his voice is forced. “No wonder Taehyung hasn’t been around much lately. I hope you’re keeping him out of trouble.”

Jungkook twists to look up at Taehyung’s sparkling eyes and can’t stop himself from wiggling further into his side. Taehyung loops his arm around Jungkook’s waist and nuzzles his cheek against his soft bunny ears, and Jungkook feels like he might die from how quickly his heart is beating.

“He’s getting me into trouble, actually,” Jungkook admits sheepishly, and Ten throws his head back in laughter.

“That doesn’t surprise me at all.”

Unbothered by the allegations against him, Taehyung breathes Jungkook in and purrs, soft and low, and Jungkook feels all his nerves disappear.

Series Masterlist

Disclaimer: All my writing is fictional and for entertainment purposes only. None of these characters are meant to actually represent the real people mentioned in the stories.

All rights reserved © @gimmethatagustd - Do not copy, repost, modify, or translate any of my writing. Do not use my writing for any AI purposes whatsoever. Do not use my fics for anything aside from reading and commenting on them. My fics will only be posted on this Tumblr and on AO3 (gimmethatagustd & daddytaehyungie).

#bts fanfic #bts smut #bts fluff #venor #jai writes #gimmethatagustd #taekook fanfic

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temptress-writes · 2 years

Text

🪩 Disco Snow

A/N: soft, groovy seventies Harry.

C.W: DRUG USE. Just my usual nasty shit. Rough, spanking, choking, drug use, spit kink.

Word Count—6.8k

Enjoy x

* * *

Miami 1977.

Chemicals.

Blow.

Tangy, burning, and exciting.

They infiltrate your mind as you bend over the marble countertop in your kitchen.

You slowly come to a stand, wiping your left nostril. You feel your nose tingle and seep into a numbness you know will soon mirror in your throat.

Amber gently bumps your hip, taking the rolled-up bill from your fingers and smoothing out the line of powder laid out for her. She snorts it with a sigh of relief, straightening and flicking a smile your way.

"Feels groovy, huh?"

You roll your head back with a grin, feeling the buzz in your veins already. "So good."

"Let's go, disco chic!"

Miami. A bustling city with a nightlife that thrills you. A deep contrast to the person you are during more acceptable hours.

For tonight, you switched out your sleepwear for your favourite orange bell-sleeved mini dress. Your feet are settled into your white knee-high platform boots.

Amber's done your makeup in hues of emerald green, and orange lipstick to match your attire. She fiddles with the hem of her blue mini dress as you hail a cab to the curb and set on your way to the club.

The Hall of Mirrors.

A club infamous for its disco music, great alcohol, and acceptance for anyone. It's where you frequently go to have a good night, much like most in the city. It's where anyone of any sex could go and rely on the building to hold their secrets. Withhold judgment.

The Hall of Mirrors is no stranger to your secrets. To your nights of sneaking down dark hallways and slipping to your knees for a man, or into a supply closet to taste a woman on your mouth. Tripped out on pills or lines of snow.

The music calls to you before you even go in. The bouncer knows you well, allowing you entry without so much as a second glance. The club is packed, which isn't unusual. The collection of disco balls hang from the ceiling, the strobe lights reflecting tiny fragments of light from them. They bounce across every inch of skin, every section of the walls. The pattern heightens your sense of lucidity, red, pink, and purple semi-circular wallpaper that you know will begin to distort as the night progresses.

And as if you need a reminder of how much you're dying for a drink, you taste the stark sugar slipping down your throat. With a grimace at the strong taste of it, you pull Amber to the bar.

Cameron, one of the bartenders, waves at you, mouthing your usual? You nod, pleased when she places two gin and tonics on the bar top in front of you and Amber.

It's all feels like a blur. It always does during the buildup. The drive to the club, the quenching of thirst with gin. The night doesn't truly start until you're on the dance floor.

"Bottoms up, chic!" Amber yells over the bass of the music.

You cheer your glasses together and down the contents. The ice clinks against your teeth, but your gums are so numb you barely feel it.

"Let's show these bitches who own the dance floor!"

The two of you squish and squeeze past dancers to get to the middle, soon finding a rhythm along to The Hustle. Unashamed, you yell out the words, swaying and throwing your best moves her way.

You can feel the effects start to energise your body. The way it seems to make you feel unstoppable, sexy, otherworldly.

You wrap your arms around Amber's neck, letting her turn in your hold and rub against you. In any other setting, this would harbour attention from others that one could only deem as judgmental. But not here. Not in the Hall of Mirrors. Here you are free and open.

It's a sensation of effortlessness. You feel limitless. One with the music, one with every soul in the building. After a parade of songs, you and Amber pull away from the dance floor and slip into the bathroom, refreshing the buzzing high in your veins before heading back out.

And then you see him. It's an eerie sort of feeling. It's a dance floor, it doesn't necessarily have the best lighting and there are so many people. But it's almost as if you're meant to see him. A flash of light illuminates his existence momentarily before the strobe fades away and appears elsewhere.

What you notice first are curls. Dripping waves parted in the middle of his head that spiral along his forehead, sticking to the skin with perspiration. A jeweled hand comes up to brush them away from his vision before he erupts in a dimpled smile at his friend. Even from here, you can make out the shape of his bunny teeth.

And then he spins in a circle and throws some finger guns. From there, your exploration veers south. A low-cut black tank top, exposing two swallows fluttering their wings against his chest, a cross pendant nestled safely between them.

His broad shoulders sport more ink and your eyes dart across every bare inch of skin and you spot a smattering of tattoos along his arms.

As if to contrast his more intimidating attire, from the hips down is bubblegum pink. Flared pants that hug his hips and accentuate the length of his legs. He lifts his leg, the bell-bottoms sharing a glimpse of his footwear. Patent black leather books with an impressive heel. Already so tall and towering, you admire how he's wearing them as a fashion statement and nothing more.

He holds his friend's hands, arching them high in the air before swirling his hips and yelling along to the song. His friend, lanky and shaggy-haired, pulls away and gives his best shot at the robot.

Amber clicks her fingers in front of you. "You good?"

You blink, steering your vision away from him and back to her. "Yeah, buzzing now!"

And you dance like no one is watching. You try to drive your attention away from the man who clearly hasn't seen you.

Sweaty. Hot. Snow.

Your body feels like a live wire, the music thrumming in your veins.

Your feet are throbbing but you don't care. Your vision floats back to the man and a sense of delight washes over you at the sight of him. He's closer to you now, bumping his hips to the song. Your brows raise when he grinds his bum up against a man's crotch.

Amber doesn't question when you inch towards him. It's subtle, and you keep dancing and swaying and singing.

You look up at him again and every cell in your body freezes. He's looking at you. And there's this moment when your eyes lock that the music fades. Like a bubble encases you and almost mutes it. It's very brief but still so staggering.

Suddenly, you're all bubblegum and curls.

His lips curl up into a devastatingly beautiful smile at you. He's still dancing, you're still dancing. But you're smiling at each other and suddenly bubblegum flares and chocolate curls are moving towards you. He slips past people and your dancing doesn't slow as he approaches.

Amber, so out of it and not picking up on the interaction, leeches to a man next to her and swirls her hips against him.

Up close, the man is even more stunning. Your eye line is at his chest and you spy a light dusting of hair and a film of sweat.

He grins down at you and your cheeks blush bubblegum.

"Who can do the best sprinkler?" He asks you, having to yell over the music. His accent is deep and wispy. Of course, the man with one of the most daring outfits in the joint would be British.

"Oh, it's definitely me." You offer with a sultry smile.

"Confident..." He nods, resting his hands on his hips. "I like that."

"What, you think you can out-dance me?"

He throws you a playful glare, waiting for the chorus of the song to drop before throwing his arm around in a sprinkler movement. His other hand around his head while the sprinkler, jeweled fingers, splay towards you.

And you can't help but giggle, hiding it behind your hand but the glint in your eyes is far too telling. His expression of pure joy dropping into one of unamused horror.

"Let's see it then, foxy."

You laugh, shaking your limbs out and showing off your best sprinkler move. He sticks his fingers in his mouth and whistles loudly. You wrinkle your nose and shrug your shoulders up at the piercing sound.

"We have a winner!" He shouts, hands waving through the air and alarming a few people around you. You lightly shove at his chest, your cheeks hurting from laughing so much. "Does the sprinkler queen have a name? The people need to know."

You feel very shy, suddenly. As if the influence of the power has been overshadowed by him. You give him your name, not missing the way his lips curl around the letters as he recites it to you.

"'M Harry."

Harry. Smooth. Bubblegum.

"It's nice to meet you."

His fingers come up to toy with the flared sleeve of your dress. "Love the threads."

You gesture to his pink pants. "Yours, too."

He clicks his tongue, grabs your hand, and spins you in a circle. "You flatter me. Let's throw some shapes, foxy lady!"

You grab his hands, encouraging him to shimmy with you. He's a great dancer. Tall and unashamed, moving his body without thought and doing the most ridiculous dance moves. You feel so hot and you're not sure if it's because of him, the dance floor, or the snow you snorted before.

Harry spins on his heels, forming peace signs with his fingers and waving them in front of his eyes. You mirror him with a grin and he admires the way the disco ball reflects off your face and ignites your beauty. He feels like he's been kicked in the chest. What started as a chill night out and a boogie became so much more once he saw you.

Your orange dress, tangerine and inviting. Your green eyeshadow, an exotic lagoon he's lost in.

He brings you closer, pressing you flush against his body and moving his hips with yours. His hands squeeze at your hips and if this were any other man, you'd be slapping his touch away.

But Harry is soft and colourful. Endlessly endearing. You can tell he's confident and sure of himself and that's probably the sexiest thing about him. Aside from his bare chest and tattoos. And his hair. And his smile.

"You skiing the snow tonight, little fox?"

You nod, your head feeling like a bobblehead on your neck. Your spine is tingling and the way he's looking at you is making every limb feel like jelly.

He grips the side of your neck, holding you close and resting his forehead on yours. It happens so quickly but he's so confident and you're so comfortable so you don't mind.

"Keep a lookout, yeah?"

You give him another nod. You're always so sure of yourself and now this one particular stranger is leaving you speechless. But what else can you say?

He slips his fingers into his tight tanktop to produce a small clear bag from the confines. He wiggles his brows at you and looks around you briefly before opening it up.

It's unlikely anyone would be sober enough to cause a problem with it. But he's more avoiding drawing attention to it because people will flock to him for a hit.

He thumbs the bag open, his eyes lifting to meet yours before he throws you a wink. Lifting the pendant sat between his defined pecs, he gathers a small mound of snow on the longest bar of the cross.

"Ladies first."

The chain being around his neck means he can only bring it so far to you. You lean forward, pressed right up against him, and nudge your face up so you can snort the prepared powder.

You sigh through a smile as it seeps into your bloodstream. It refreshes your high. Your energy unmatched as you start to dance to the music again. But this time it's right up against him, his core tucked up against you. Bubblegum and snow.

His hand reaches out to wipe a bit of excess power decorating the edge of your nose with a soft giggle. He gathers his own smidgen of power and snorts it before putting the bag away.

And then you're dancing. Your ass works in sweet little circles against his crotch and you rest your head back on his chest, looking up at him to let him know. Let him know that you feel him against you, growing for you.

Hard bubblegum.

Melting snow.

He twirls you, bringing his hands onto your shoulders and using his feet to find a beat with the music. More Than a Woman starts playing and you both let out excited yells. He pulls you into him again. He can't help but spin you so your ass is against him. He wraps his arms around you, your hands tangling with his where they meet at your chest.

When you start grinding back on him, his hands melt down to your hips to roll them back. Gooey bubblegum.

You watch him, his hair parted in the middle with curls falling down his forehead. He smiles down at you, a slow, lip curling, dimple encased smile. It's earth-shatteringly beautiful and when he licks his lips, you feel it resonate directly between your thighs.

His hand comes up, running up your sternum and to your throat. He can feel your heart beating under the skin, fluttering just as severely as his is. His fingers grip your chin and he leans down. His nose brushes yours and your ass presses deliciously firm against his crotch and then you really feel him.

Your eyes flicker from his, down the strong line of his nose and to his lips. Bubblegum pink, plump, and inviting.

He lets out a soft moan and then he's kissing you. It's soft at first as if gauging your reaction. Maybe he's seeing how you like it. If you want it rushed. If you want it slow and patient and controlled.

Your hand wraps around his neck to hold him there and you open your mouth to flick your tongue against his lower lip. His comes out to meet yours and he tastes phenomenal. Like vodka and cranberry juice and lust.

Harry turns you in his hold and grips your ass in two strong hands. He hauls you upwards until your center is against his. He's hard and even through his pants, you can feel the impressive size of him.

The chorus seems to mirror the newly found excitement in two souls. Climaxing and exciting. You're dancing as if it's your love language. Melting into one person and obsessed with how his body feels against yours.

You can't help but kiss him again, obsessed with the way his lips cradle your bottom one. The way he nibbles on it a little bit. The way he moans against you and screws his hips up to you.

Your eyes open to meet his and over his shoulder, you can see Amber giving you an enthusiastic thumbs up.

His finger comes up to brush your lower lip before he kisses you again with a needy hum. You're not even thinking when you grab his hand and pull him towards the bathroom. You only register his warmth and his arousal and how you want to be closer to it.

He can sense your urgency, and you're both high as shit, two pairs of boots clicking against the floor. You're giggling messes of arousal as you lure him towards the bathrooms and try to find an empty one. There's a powder room, which seems all too fitting. It's deep mint green, luxurious for such a small space. The walls are orange swirls that wave in your vision.

You drag him in and close the door, automatically flipping the lock but he raises a brow when you unlock it again. His curls are askew, your orange lipstick in smudges on and around his mouth.

"Risky move, little fox."

"Shut up."

You're kissing him again. You press him up against the sink, his dick hard against you. He moans as you suck on his tongue and pull him as close as you can get him. His arms wrap around you, his hands fisting the material of your dress at the small of your back. It lifts, scrunching up and exposing your ass.

He grips the bare skin on his hands, rolling your center up against his. His fingers dip between your cheeks, slipping forward until he's brushing your clothed cunt with his fingertips.

You release a soft whimper and roll your warmth along his touch. You're already so wet, you can tell. And so can he.

But before he can explore any further, you're dropping to your knees. Harry swears under his breath as you palm him through his bubblegum pants, so hard and ready for you. You stare up at him, his pupils dilated from the snow and from you.

You pop the single button and pull the zipper down, suddenly not feeling very patient. Your attempt to inch them down so you can play with him further is stunted.

"These are so tight."

He offers a sweet little laugh into the air, pulling his pants down for you, his rings clinking as he does so.

When you finally set your eyes on him, it's then that you feel intimidated for the first time. He's not wearing underwear and for some reason, that alone is already so fucking hot. He's huge. In every aspect. In width, in length. The tip of him is the same colour of his lips, a rosy hue deepening the more turned on he's getting.

You slide forward, wrapping your hand around him. He's silky, smooth, and hot in your palm. You drag your fist up, a drop of pre-come pearling at the tip. You flick your tongue out against it, tasting the saltiness on your taste buds.

Harry groans at the sight of you on your knees for him. He bends down, cupping your chin and angling you up so he can kiss you. He tastes himself on your tongue and he spreads his hand along your cheek, rubbing it with his thumb.

"Keep going."

His expression is one of lustful encouragement as he straightens and you envelop the head in your mouth with a suck. You use your hand to work the skin, spreading the wetness from your mouth down his shaft.

You take him deeper, allowing yourself to become fully immersed in pleasing him. His hand tangles in your hair, guiding your mouth up and down his shaft.

He moans, deep and dirty and you feel it between your legs. He emits a soft sigh as you take him fully, your nose pressed against his abdomen. You can feel the hair there tickle your skin and you retract and start bobbing against him.

The bass of the music conceals the questionable sounds you're making and Harry's hand tightens in your hair as you work him. He rolls his head back on his neck, feeling the tingling in his spine sharpen and bridge out to every limb, every nerve.

Your mouth is searing hot and wet around him, your tongue caressing the underside of his dick. You struggle around the fullness of him but the way he's looking at you spurs you on. He feels amazing, the way he guides you, pushes you further but never past your unspoken boundaries.

You hold him in the back of your throat and the sound he gives you is almost a growl. It's low, derived from his chest and so fucking desperate. Using his hold on your hair, he pulls you back. You've made a mess of him and yourself. Orange lipstick smudges and your spit.

"Come here, little fox."

You stand, stumbling a little in your heels but he spins you and sits you on the countertop. Your dress slips high up your thighs and he squeezes at them. His touch slides higher and he hisses as he meets the lace of your panties.

Your hand comes down to meet his, encouraging it higher. Closer to where you need him. Harry kisses you, one hand on the side of your neck, the other up your dress.

And suddenly, it's like neither of you can wait anymore. You pull him towards you as he slips your panties down your legs, hanging from one ankle. His kisses move from your lips, a messy trail down your chin, your neck, the swell of your breasts.

Then he's kneeling in front of you, his gaze on yours before it slowly slips between your legs. You're saturated for him and his staring is so fucking intimate. He can't wait to taste you, to feel you.

His hand raises, his thumb brushing your clit. Your thighs tense as he rubs slow circles like he's winding you up. His thumb ventures south and parts your folds, collecting your wetness there and dragging it back up to your clit.

You let out a soft whimper as his pressure deepens. The added moisture from your arousal feeling somehow sweeter in addition to how he's touching you.

"Pretty thing." He coos, looking back up at you.

He withdraws his thumb and sucks it into his mouth with a hum. Without breaking eye contact, he lowers his head and flicks his tongue ever so gently against your sensitive clit.

You sway your hips up at the slight bit of attention, already desperate for more. He licks up your slit, fully tasting you and closing on your clit in a kiss. You gasp and take a fistful of his hair as he works your cunt with his mouth.

He moves lower, tonguing your entrance and slipping it inside of you while his nose buries itself against your clit.

He shakes his head from side to side, fully absorbed in you. He eats you out so intensely. An enthusiasm you've ever felt from another partner. You look down and his eyes are closed, fully enjoying his head between your legs where he's tasting you.

You pull his hair harder and he moans, the vibrations from it sent throughout your lower half.

Harry raises a finger to his mouth, sucking it past his lips to get it nice and wet. And then he slides it inside of you, flicking it up in a hook to press against your g-spot. Your spine straightens at the sensation, and he slips another finger alongside it. You whine out his name as he pulls the tips of his fingers along your sweet spot, pulsing them and building you up to your release.

He moves his whole arm with blinding speed, the pleasure increasing rapidly. No one has ever made you feel this way, a bliss so deep. He knows exactly what he's doing and he knows how insanely good he's got you.

He looks up at you and gives you the cockiest smirk before sucking on your clit. His teeth nibble on it gently before he traps it between them and flicks his tongue along it. You throw your head back, collapsing against the mirror.

Harry pulls you up, spinning you so you're bent over the counter with your ass perked back. He eats you this way, spreading you open to him and pressing his mouth tight against you. His nose is buried inside you, his tongue against your clit again and he slaps your ass. It's a mild slap but you moan nonetheless.

"Again." You gasp out, so close to coming and addicted to him.

"You're a dirty little fox, aren't you?" He spanks you again. Harder.

You turn and look at him. "Is that all you got?"

He breaths out a laugh and buries his face against your cunt once more, spanking the opposite cheek, hard. And then your lower thigh, right below your ass. The sting is softened by how beautiful his mouth is against you. He finds your clit again to drill his tongue on it.

"I'm close," You reach back, taking a fistful of curls and hold him there.

"That's it," He coos against you. "Come all over my face."

Your orgasm is an eruption of euphoria. Searing hot pink that melts into bubblegum pop. You cry out his name, your entire body going lax against the counter as you fucking shake.

His mouth never lets up, letting you ride through the pleasure of your orgasm. His mouth is slow to leave you as you come down, his lips kissing the skin of your ass.

You're not expecting it when his hands leave your ass all too quickly. You watch him in the mirror as he retrieves his little bag.

"Stay still." He orders. He taps powder onto your ass, right over a handprint he's left. He ensures the line is relatively straight with his finger, one that he soon after gives you to suck the powder off. And he snorts the line he's prepared, licking the residue off your ass with a devilish smile.

And, for good measure, he slaps you again.

You bite your lip to stifle a giggle, reaching back and wrapping your hand around his dick. You work his shaft and he staggers in a couple of steps closer. The tip of him nudges your ass, his pre-come kissing your skin and leaving it wet.

He moans, moving to grip your hips and fully standing behind you. His cock brushes between your legs and you whimper at the anticipation of feeling him even more.

"You want me to fuck you, sweet fox?"

"Yes,"

"Where are your manners?" He's teasing you now. You both know there's no way he's not fucking you.

He's just making you simmer in the heat he's stirred up.

"Please fuck me, Harry."

He loves how your name sounds leaving your mouth. Orange painted lips caressing each letter, sweet and fiery at once.

"There's a good girl."

You feel his tip slide between your folds, he dips his knees to adjust his angle. One hand around his shaft to guide it, the other on your hip with a grip that almost too tight. He takes a step forward, glides his hips forward. And it's pure ecstasy.

The way he stretches you is heavenly. It's a low, humming burn almost. A buzzing delight of feeling so full. He's so big and thick, tucked right up against your g-spot. It feels so fucking good and he hasn't even moved yet.

You release a hefty gasp as he moans out your name at the feel of you.

His other hand wraps itself in your hair to keep you looking at him in the mirror and then he's fucking you. His thrusts are delicious. He's fluid, like rolling waves to shatter a galaxy inside of you.

Your eyes meet his in the mirror and he gives you a slow smile before slapping the skin of your ass again. Before you can even cry out at the stinging sensation, he's fucking you so hard you have to bring a hand up to the mirror to balance yourself.

He settles behind you, his lips at your ear. Two sets of breath fog the glass of the mirror.

"That's it, watch me while I destroy this pussy."

The Hall of Mirrors. A second home to you, reflective and encasing. Now you're watching this man fucking destroy you in the bathroom mirror. Your pupils are dilated, much like his are. Black holes, targeting each other and threatening to consume each other.

He wraps his hand around your throat and screws his dick deep, massaging your g-spot so perfectly. You're sure that without the stability of the counter holding you up, you'd be a quivering pile of bones on the floor.

"Fuck, and you thought my pants were tight?" He smirks at you in the mirror.

You release a breathless laugh that's swept away when he starts pounding into you. He grunts with every thrust, taking you so hard you can barely breathe. His skin slaps against yours and he squeezes his hand around your throat to hold you still.

The snow is heightening every sense you have. Your ass is stinging more than normal, your arousal higher than normal. But you know that has more to do with him than narcotics. And when his other hand reaches around to rub your clit, you feel that so strongly that you cry out his name and fucking writhe underneath him.

"Take it, little fox. Take it like the good fucking girl you are."

He moves his hips more sharply, hitting that sweet spot inside of you. He pushes one of your legs up onto the counter and he's so much deeper that way. That in combination with the way he's playing your clit is driving you mental. You're so close and he can feel it, feel your walls tremble and tighten around him.

You're gasping out his name, helpless to how relentlessly he's fucking you. He growls as you clench around his dick, his hand on your throat slipping up so he can put two of his fingers in your mouth. You suck on them gratefully, using your teeth to show him how good he's fucking you.

You're so fucking close but he does the unthinkable... he pulls away. Completely. Leaving you empty and teetering on the edge, yanking you back abruptly.

He doesn't give you a second to question him before he's spinning you around and sitting you up on the counter. He steps forward and you scoot towards him, wrapping your legs around his waist.

Your hand takes his shaft once more, pulling the skin in a firm first. He moans and lulls his forehead against yours.

"I was so close." You pout hotly against his lips.

"I'll get you there again," He hums, grabbing the base of his dick and running the tip of it between your saturated folds. "Is this what you want?"

"Please," You lean forward and kiss him. His length nudges your entrance but he makes no move to do anything further. "Give me your cock."

"That's what I want to hear."

He smiles, wrapping his hand around your throat again and sliding inside of you with one smooth movement of his hips. Your mouth drops open at the fullness of him. He's so much deeper this way, and so much more intimate with the way he's staring at you.

"Fuck me, Harry. Hard."

He releases another moan, this one more of a growl, and starts fucking you again. Using his hold around your throat and another hand on your hip. He leans you back a little so he can fully enjoy the display of your body and watch where he's fucking you.

He brings your head forward by your throat, your mouth opening at the force and he takes the chance to spit in your mouth.

"Get your clit for me while I fuck this pretty little cunt."

You whimper, sticking your fingertips into your mouth to get them wet with your spit as well as his. And with a shaking hand, reach down with and rub your clit. You feel the bursts of your orgasm brewing, your walls quivering around him.

It's building quickly and you kiss him again, feeling them tingle in your toes with every brush of his tongue. The door behind him starts to open, a drunk man slurring his words behind it. Harry slams it shut while your hand flies from your clit.

"Ocupado!" Harry yells out, his hips faltering momentarily as he locks the door.

Your cheeks heat at the prospect of someone walking in and seeing you this way. A little in embarrassment, a little in excitement.

Harry senses that you're thrown off and fucks your harder, his fingers finding your clit. "Don't worry about him, sweet little fox. You're so close, let's get you there. I can fucking feel it."

You cry out as he destroys you from the inside out, working you into a pleasured frenzy. His hand pulls the top of your dress down over your tits and they spill out. He squeezes them, pulling at your nipples and biting them.

"Harry, oh my god-"

"That's it, come for me." He growls. "Put me away wet."

Your orgasm rolls through you intensely, staggering. Your hands claw at Harry's shoulders as you shake uncontrollably. His dick is unrelenting inside of you, his fingertips not letting up in the delicious patterns against your clit.

"Fucking shit." He marvels over how you feel, how tight and amazing you feel. He's so fucking turned on by you and his hips keep screwing against you.

You wrap your arms around him, burying your face into his neck and biting the skin there. He smells amazing. Like he's been dancing in a pool of vanilla and lavender all night. As you come down from your climax, you retract and watch where he's fucking you.

"Dreamy little cunt," He babbles, so out of it. "get so wet and tight when you come, don't you?"

"Only for you." You coo, kissing him again. He's already far better than any sexual partner you've ever had. Your walls are still trembling around him and every single tremor sends him closer to his end.

"I'm gonna come so hard- shit, you feel so good."

"I want you to come, Harry."

"Yeah?"

"Yes, I want you to feel as good as I do."

He smiles at you, dimples galore, his cheeks as pink as his pants. And then he pins you to the counter by your throat, spreading you back until you're pressed against the mirror. He starts fucking you harder, messier as his cock throbs inside of you.

"Stunning little fox, so fucking perfect. Dancing in this tiny little dress," His hands grip at your breasts some more.

"Harry-"

"Grinding your ass against me, getting me hard for you. Dirty girl, fuck. You own me."

He's working himself up now, his hand tightening around your throat and forcing you to keep looking at him. He's spouting out filthy words into the air between you, unashamed and doing so much for you. You can't help but reach down and play your clit again.

He gives you a laugh, one almost of disbelief. "You like when I talk to you, hm?"

"So much."

"You gonna let me fuck you again, sweet little thing?"

"You can fuck me whenever you want." Because you both know this is the beginning of something new and exciting.

That sets him off. His orgasm blooms and spreads. Pops like a bubble of gum. He pulls out, working his hand on his shaft so fast it's a blur. You move your hand and watch him in awe. He comes directly on your pussy, mouthing dirty words and breathless moans. His other hand gripping your thigh so hard you know it will bruise.

He watches where he's painted you, his come dripping on your lower abdomen, along your clit and your folds. He's a mess, breathing heavily and working the rest of his high from his length.

Thoughtless, he crouches and licks his orgasm from your skin. You moan as he kisses you there, licking every ounce of his come in his mouth. His tongue teases your clit and your thighs jump at the sensitivity.

He stands, cloudy and slow. And he grips your chin harshly, forcing you to open your mouth. As soon as you do, he's spitting heavily into it.

"Don't swallow."

As you fully taste his come on your tongue, he's kissing you. You moan, tasting his orgasm with yours, his tongue with yours. It's so dirty and unhinged but you can't help but feel fucking feral for him over it.

"Good girl." He praises as he pulls away.

He rights his attire, his movements lagged. Like the only thing he can fathom is you and everything else is a chore.

You stare at him, your panties hanging from one ankle, your pussy glistening and spent from him. Bubblegum obsessed. Chocolate curls addicted.

"Gorgeous little fox. Should we ditch this joint and head back to mine?"

You sit up and throw your arms around his neck and kiss him. "Yes, please."

"I want to enjoy you properly." He sighs against your mouth. "Get you out of this dress. Spread you along my sheets, watch your tits bounce while you ride me."

You breathe out a soft whimper at the idea of continuing this for the rest of the night. "I love the sound of that."

He kisses you, deep and wet. "Make you come until I'm dripping in you."

His length, returned to the confines of his pants once more, twitches against your thigh.

"We need to actually leave this room for that to happen." You muse.

He lets out a loud cackle, cupping the back of your neck to draw you towards him. He helps you fix your dress, your panties stripping from your foot and you raise a brow as he tucks them into the back pocket of his pants.

"Didn't know you'd have much room for anything else in those."

"That cheeky mouth is why you're not getting your panties back."

After another round of kisses, the two of you emerge from the room. And while you're both giddy with excitement from what has happened and what else the night holds, no one else in the club bats an eye. Your underwear feels heavy and scandalous in his pocket as he guides you through the crowded dance floor, both of your hands wrapped around one of his.

Thanks to his already tall frame, and heels, he locates his friend quickly. Who is chatting to Amber. You raise a brow at her with a cheeky smile at the sight of them dancing together.

Harry's friend holds his hand out to you, "Mitch!"

You shake his hand and introduce yourself, projecting your voice over the music. You turn to Amber. "We're going to head off, are you okay here?"

She nods frantically. "Honey, I'm so okay!"

Mitch and Harry exchange smirks and hug goodbye.

"Peace, love, and granola, Mitch!"

The air of Miami cools your skin as you step out onto the curb. Harry lags behind, admiring the curve of you and the skin the low hem of your dress offers. He grabs your hand and spins you in a little circle before giving an ear-piercing whistle to hail a cab.

He's all over you in the back of the car. His lips going from yours down your neck, the swell of your breasts. The hem of your dress hitched up, your legs slung over his lap as he fucking devours you. Savours you. Ravishes you.

His apartment, much like his attire is bold, bright, and brave. Warm oranges and reds. Like a sunset on fire, or the heated and sizzling arousal between you. It cozy and art deco and very much Harry. He offers you a half-assed tour of his home but he's undressing you with his eyes. The silhouette of your dress begging for him to see just how much better you are underneath the material.

And once you reach his bedroom, the large, circular bed is all you can focus on. Mint green bedding. The room itself is impressive, the wall behind the bed sporting what looks like a melted sunset. Orange, pink yellow all mended together to offer an accent. Harry peels off your boots and the yellow shaggy rug is soft against your toes.

He puts a record on to spin, Just One Look playing softly in the air.

Suddenly, you're on your back on the bed. Harry hovers over you, his hand cupping your cheek as if he really can't believe you're real.

Is he tripping on a tab of acid or are you really in front of him? Unbelievably lucid and dreamy. Causing fireworks and sunsets in his tummy.

Your eyeshadow matches his bedsheets, he realizes. Little fox, you're meant to be.

His sheets are crisp and smell of him. The tones of his sheets are similar to the mint green of the powder room as if a continuation of what started in there. Dirty, open, and vulnerable.

Like the disco balls in the Hall of Mirrors, fragments of two glass souls mended together in beautiful unity. Dazzling, luminous. Capturing every fraction of light to reflect it in hues every spectrum can admire.

#harry styles filth #harry styles #harry styles fanfiction #70s #wattpad #harry styles one shot #harry styles smut #hslot #smut

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mountedeverest · 6 months

Text

Maybe you do know me

Fandom: 911 on ABC Pairing: Evan "Buck" Buckley/Tommy Kinard Rating: T (very mild smut, some words) Words: 2.8k

Snippet: I’m pathetic… Buck took off his jacket and sat on his bed, exhaling a huff in desperation. He took his head in his hands, wondering how he did it so effortlessly before. Was it really that different, now that it was a man? Should it be? It certainly felt different, but different how? Going back to that night, that moment in his kitchen, Buck tried putting words to the memory. He remembered how Tommy’s eyes burned on him just moments before they kissed, how Tommy’s fingers seared him under his chin, how firm Tommy’s arm felt under the palm of his hand. He also remembered how pliant he had felt after Tommy had kissed him, how gooey it turned his insides, how out of it it made him. Fingers slowly drifted to his lips as Buck remembered the moment that turned his life completely upside down and sat him on his ass hard. He had a word for it now, that feeling: desired. He wanted to feel like that again.

Notes: This is kind of a spec fic for *SPOILERS* Buck and Tommy's date next episode (7x05). I have been unable to function since yesterday and just HAD to get this out of my system! I do intend to continue this fic and bring the rating from T, to M, to eventually, E.

Fic under the cut

—

Buck was a bouncing ball of energy, buzzing as if he’d only just been struck by lightning. He didn’t know what to do with his hands, except run them through his hair, and then curse himself for messing it up. He was excited, nervous, a little terrified. And he was having an outfit crisis.

At first, he’d gone casual chic, fancy but not too fancy, first date and all. Then he’d seen the absurdity of his choice and shifted to a classic henley, leather jacket, cool guy stuff. He felt off somehow, like he was putting on a costume, still vying for attention. He felt like he was dressing up as Eddie.

I’m pathetic… Buck took off his jacket and sat on his bed, exhaling a huff in desperation. He took his head in his hands, wondering how he did it so effortlessly before. Was it really that different, now that it was a man? Should it be?

It certainly felt different, but different how? Going back to that night, that moment in his kitchen, Buck tried putting words to the memory. He remembered how Tommy’s eyes burned on him just moments before they kissed, how Tommy’s fingers seared him under his chin, how firm Tommy’s arm felt under the palm of his hand. He also remembered how pliant he had felt after Tommy had kissed him, how gooey it turned his insides, how out of it it made him.

Fingers slowly drifted to his lips as Buck remembered the moment that turned his life completely upside down and sat him on his ass hard. He had a word for it now, that feeling: desired.

He wanted to feel like that again.

All of a sudden, he knew what he was wearing. His fashion renaissance in the past years had him turning to clothes he wouldn’t have worn at twenty, but now made him feel tender and virile at the same time, comfortable and sexy. It wasn’t much, it certainly wasn’t obscene, but the blue open collared shirt, the slightly high-waisted pants, it accentuated his everything.

The blue of his shirt brought out his eyes, his butt looked great and his waist seemed itty bitty as his shoulders looked broad and huge in the tight fitting shirt.

“Damn…” Buck looked in the mirror, hair fluffed and a blush high on his cheeks. “I’d fuck me.”

As if on cue, he heard a knock at the door. Can’t turn back now, Buck told himself, and strode down the stairs from his bedroom to his door, a little kick in his step.

Buck knew he wasn’t prepared, but he was particularly not prepared to see Tommy on the other side of his door looking like that.

“Hey.” The tone was like gravel and honey, low and sweet and syrupy. Tommy was leaning slightly, a soft smile tugging the side of his mouth. His eyelids were heavy and he smelled good.

Buck auto-combusted right there, his face a fully caramelized beet red now for sure. If a simple chaste kiss had been the catalyst for many inappropriate semis over the past few days (once, when a helicopter flew over his head at the end of a call), this vision of Tommy now – after everything had been put into a new light – was melting him down.

“H-hi, uhh, come inside? You look, I-I mean you look–” Buck’s face spoke for him, all nervous stammering and pointed looks to where Tommy’s shirt was unbuttoned slightly.

“You’re not so bad yourself, Evan.” Tommy answered with a grin, striding into the loft like this wasn’t the most charged moment of his life. Tommy was so cool and collected it was driving Buck crazy.

Bashful, Buck let out a small laugh. “Thanks, picked it out myself too.” Buck didn’t know if this was working or if he was actually being terribly awkward. Tommy’s eyes, however, hadn’t looked anywhere but at Buck since he’d stepped into the loft, and they seemed awfully appreciative of the sight before them.

“Let me just- uh, grab a coat, a-and then we can go?” Buck asked.

“Take your time.” Tommy answered back. His face was soft and fond. “We got all night.”

—

The date went as well as you’d expect for a newly minted bisexual man in his early thirties. Which is to say that Tommy was very patient and also, wow Buck was nervous. Reassurance was not in short supply from Tommy though, who – Buck guessed – must have gone through something similar at some point in his life.

He was starting to calm down and get down with the playfulness of it all when his house of cards fell all around him, blown down by one Eddie Diaz. The odds.

He hadn’t told Eddie yet, the last they’d seen each other was on the court. They had talked, of course. They’re best friends, they made up and talked about everything and nothing. But not about that, not yet.

What followed was the most excruciatingly awkward 10-minute not-double-date with him and Tommy, and Eddie and Marisol, and a big, giant elephant in the room in between all of them. Eddie was insisting on splitting a table with them, How often does that happen?!, but Tommy, the savior that he was, got them out of it.

“As much as we’d love to, we just grabbed the check here and are officially moving on to our next event. But it’s great to see you, man!” Tommy said effortlessly, like Buck wasn’t just stewing in embarrassment on his chair.

“Yeah, i-it’s great to see you, Eds. Hope your ankle’s feeling better!” Buck said in what he hoped was a convincing manner.

“Oh I see what this is.” Eddie said suddenly.

Buck’s stomach dropped. He wanted to tell Eddie, but not like this.

“Tommy, you’re about to sweep the entire 118 off their feet! You sure it’s not just a thinly veiled attempt to come back?” Eddie laughed and Buck deflated instantly.

Oh thank god. Thank god Eddie was so hetero and so stupidly unaware.

“Haha, you got me! Nah, just hanging out. Turns out Evan and I also have plenty in common. Which, seeing how you two are best friends, makes a hell lot of sense.”

“Ach, alas, you’ll probably end up liking him more than me, he’s a much better cook.” Eddie said in mock dejection. “As long as Muay Thai Monday stays up, I’m good.”

“Dunno, we might have a new challenger here, after I train him that is.”

Eddie let out a full bellied laugh. Buck hadn’t seen him this carefree before. Maybe this whole thing between the three of them could be alright.

“Careful, Buck, he’s a lefty.” Eddie said, joyful and oblivious. “Alright, you guys enjoy your night. See you soon!”

—

“Sooo, is there actually a next event, or did you make that up to save me?” Buck asked and Tommy laughed, softly. They walked to Tommy’s truck side by side, bumping shoulders on the way.

“Do you want there to be a next event?” Tommy asked, a tone of suggestiveness in his voice.

“I-I wouldn’t mind.”

“Good. Because I had a little something planned.”

“Oh yeah?” Buck tried not to sound too giddy, the fire in his cheeks calmed somewhat by the cool night air.

“Yeah. Nothing big but,” Tommy smiles. “Mars and Saturn are supposed to be really visible in the sky tonight, I thought we could go up to the Griffith observatory, maybe catch a glimpse in the telescope before they close, and then open a nice claret and stargaze in the grass?”

Buck’s breath gets punched out of him. The attention, the stargazing, it feels all very romantic. He was being wooed, and he was enjoying it.

“That sounds… perfect.”

—

They were laying on their elbows side by side on a blanket and pillows on the sandy grass in one of the more secluded areas of Griffith park. It was harder to access, closer to the cliffs. Tommy called it his secret spot; he’d joked that he’d found it during a call. Next to them, travel mugs half filled with wine abandoned for the moment.

“This is amazing. I hadn’t realized how long it had been since I last saw stars.” Buck said.

“Yeah, LA isn’t great for that. Now, the best place to stargaze is Joshua Tree. Set up a tent in the desert, spend the night under the milky way. It’s incredible.” Tommy hit his last word looking at Buck lazily. Feeling his gaze, Buck turned as well. However awkward Buck might have felt at the start of this whole thing, whatever was going on now was much different. It felt electric. “I can take you sometime.”

“I’d love to be taken.” Buck said, a dazed smile tugging at his mouth. Tommy caught the innuendo before Buck could and smirked, just as Buck realized what he’d just said. Thankful the dark night hid his flush once again, Buck cleared his throat awkwardly.

“Anyway, d-did you plan this knowing I’m a huge astronomy nerd? Did Eddie tell you?” Buck said, trying to distract himself from the sound of his own heartbeat in his ears.

“Mostly, I was looking for an excuse to be alone with you.” Tommy said, low. “If you want that.”

“I do.” Buck said softly, entranced. A beat passed as Buck suddenly realized he should probably attempt to manage expectations. Apart from one-off, meaningless kisses here and there in his 1.0 days, he’s never been intimate with a man. Being kissed by Tommy also made him realize how new he was at this. The last time he was new at intimacy was at fourteen, he never thought he would be there again. “I-I’m not–”

“You’re not what?”

“Experienced.” Buck winced. “Not like that, anyway.”

“It’s okay, Evan. I’m not rushing you. I’m happy going at your pace.” Tommy smiled, eyes hooded.

Buck felt like goo.

“Thing is–” Buck didn’t know if it was the wine, or something else, but a sudden surge of courage overcame him. “I haven’t been able to think about anything else since you kissed me.” Buck held Tommy’s gaze like it was a challenge. He let his eyes fall from Tommy’s eyes to his lips, before licking his own absentmindedly. “And I very much would like to do that again.”

A hand gently grabbed the side of Buck’s face, lips pressed into his own, softly, but with force Buck wasn’t used to. This time, Tommy didn’t waste a second on pleasantries, slipping Buck tongue immediately. It was slow, smooth, fluid. Somewhere in the back of his throat, Buck let escape a delicate moan he wasn’t even aware was there. Tommy responded in kind, slipping his hand in Buck’s hair and tugging slightly.

Buck felt swept away by the kiss, and whatever it was that Tommy was giving him at the moment, he wanted more. The time for experience over eagerness would come, but for now, Buck was at least good at that.

Buck’s hand found purchase on Tommy’s ribs, gripping his shirt. He swiped his own tongue over Tommy’s bottom lip before biting, gently, and turning Tommy back on his elbows. Understanding the invitation, Tommy sat up, and pulled Buck over his lap, his hand leaving Buck’s hair to guide his thigh instead.

Buck had big strong thighs. He had big strong everything, in fact. He wasn’t small in any sense of the term. But here, straddling Tommy, he felt tiny. In the best way.

They were the same height, yes, but Tommy was a bit bigger. He had bigger hands for one, which Buck could feel running up the side of his thighs to his back, sneaking under his shirt. They were warm.

Buck was used to his own hands feeling big on everything, everyone. But not on Tommy. Feeling Tommy’s pecs through his shirt, gripping the back of his head as Tommy bit and sucked into his neck, it was intoxicating.

Tommy was also big somewhere else. Through layers of denim and cotton, Buck felt the unmistakable pressure of a bulge, nestled just under his own. Now in that department, Buck could still win. But if his estimation was correct, as a man who’d never felt any other bulge but his own, that was weapons-grade cock.

The realization made him dizzy with want, but this was going a little fast. He’d only just found out he was into men days ago. He needed to process some things. Either Tommy was a mind reader or really in tune with Buck’s feelings because he slowed down, his kisses becoming less hungry and his touches less searching.

“I should take you home... Before, we commit a felony in Griffith park.” Tommy said, laughing, nose bumping with Buck’s as they kissed gently.

“Pretty sure it’s just a misdemeanor.” Buck chuckled. “I don’t think I’ve ever been this horny in my life.” Buck paused. “But I don’t want to burn any steps.”

“Wise.” Tommy answered back, slightly out of breath.

Neither made a move to detangle themselves at first, until a gust of wind threatened to knock their forgotten wine mugs over.

Quick panic was superimposed with unabashed laughter as they packed, attacked on all sides by the unpredictable winds of southern California. When they got back to the truck, all smiles and giggling, Tommy shot a fond look at Buck, and then kissed him gently.

“What was that for?” Buck asked when Tommy pulled back.

“You should look at yourself right now.” Tommy turned Buck slowly so he could catch his reflection in the truck’s window. He looked debauched.

Buck’s lips were plumper than usual, his neck was raw and red where Tommy’s beard burned him. His shirt was very rumpled and his hair, his hair. Moreover, Buck had this look on his face. It wasn’t naughty, or purposefully misbehaved, but it was pliant, showed his hunger right there on the surface, his absence of shame.

When he caught sight of Tommy behind him in the window, he didn’t look much better. Tommy had a darker look in his eyes, and one of careful restraint, as he squared his hands on Buck’s hips. The slight shift forward made Buck brace himself against the truck with one arm. Silently, he held Tommy’s gaze through the reflection in the glass as the older man placed a tender kiss just behind his ear.

“You’ve probably found it’s very hard to resist you.” Tommy said, low, as he licked the same spot he’d just kissed seconds ago. Buck slipped a hand in Tommy’s hair and, at the same time, used his leverage on the truck’s door to grind his ass backwards into Tommy.

“Hard indeed.” Buck joked.

As if he was stuck in molasses, Tommy untangled himself from Buck with some difficulty.

“Alright let’s get you home. Because I will commit a misdemeanor if we do this much longer.”

—

“I’m walking you to your building’s door and that’s it, because if you invite me up, I will come.” Tommy said in mock-warning as they walked up to the front stairs of Buck’s building.

“I kinda want you to come.” Buck said with a waggle of his eyebrows, suggestiveness all but veiled.

“Look at you cracking jokes. Now, remember what you said about burning steps.”

Buck looked down, bashful. “Yeah, nothing a cold shower can’t fix.”

Tommy smiled wide. “I had a great time tonight.”

“Yeah, m-me too.”

“Is monday too soon for you?”

Buck was taken aback for a second. He hadn’t made it as far as second date in his mind. “Isn’t it your–”

“Muay Thai Monday, yeah, but Eddie’s not ready to fight. Besides, I did say I’d teach you.”

Buck grinned a toothy grin. “Yeah, t-that would be great.”

“Alright, here– just texted you my address. Bring light clothes, it’s gonna get hot. 6PM okay?”

Buck nodded dumbly, his mind still stuck on it’s gonna get hot. As the look registered on Tommy’s face, he made a summary check to see if they had any witnesses before slipping Buck a filthy kiss against the building’s glass door.

Tommy leaned their foreheads together, pulling away after what felt entirely too short of a time in Buck’s opinion. They slowly moved apart, collecting their breaths.

“Oh and,” Tommy said, biting his lip and smiling. “I’m taking a hot shower tonight.”

Buck seized up with ferocious want with what felt like the hundredth time today.

Tommy, proud of himself, started heading towards his truck, giving Buck one last leering look up and down the six-foot three-inches of him.

“Good night, Evan. See you Monday!”

TBC

Tags: @tizniz

LMK if you wanted to be added/removed. Feedback welcome! Cheers ~*

#911 abc #911 spoilers #911 fanfic #evan buckley #tommy kinard #buck x tommy #my works

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brf-rumortrackinganon · 1 month

Text

Also I totally forgot about this until I saw something on FB but…

Ryan and Blake had a plantation wedding in South Carolina way back in 2012 when it was cool and chic to do that. The old slave cabins were even part of some of their photos. 🤦‍♀️

And remember when Blake tried to launch her own form of Goop? I think she called it Preserve, something uppity like that. Anyway, the lifestyle brand had a newsletter that she called…wait for it: Allure of the Antebellum, in which she essentially romanticized female slave owners. Here’s a good recap from Vox:

🤦‍♀️ 🤦‍♀️

So people immediately started calling Blake out for her casual racism and she shut down Preserve not much longer after citing lack of interest (because her products were ridiculously overpriced…sound familiar?) but an ad analysis brand found that Blake lost her audience because she was so tone-deaf in that newsletter. (And also just last year, in 2023, Blake made comments loaning about how “hurtful press coverage” made her shut down her company. Jeez, it’s like looking in a crystal ball.)

Anyway, she and Ryan were able to sweep this under the rug for a lil bit. Till Ryan made his own tone-deaf comments about Black Panther, something to the effect of “congrats on being the first blockbuster with a Black superhero” and got slammed for it on Twitter with a bunch of people calling him out for having had a plantation wedding.

So then fast forward 2 years. It’s the summer of George Floyd protests and privilege (or the lack thereof) is being reckoned with. In May 2020, they make a $20,000 donation to the NAACP Legal Defense Fund, along with a statement saying "We're ashamed that in the past we've allowed ourselves to be uninformed about how deeply rooted systemic racism is.”

But they get dragged for filth about having a plantation wedding and finally, three months later in August, Ryan issued a formal apology saying:“It’s something we’ll always be deeply and unreservedly sorry for. It’s impossible to reconcile. What we saw at the time was a wedding venue on Pinterest. What we saw after was a place built upon devastating tragedy.” He then went on to say they got married again at home some years later because “shame works in weird ways.” 🤦‍♀️🤦‍♀️🤦‍♀️

I don’t know. Here’s a thought. Maybe if you’re planning a wedding whose photos you’re going to sell to magazines later, maaaaaybe you should’ve done a tour of the place you found on Pinterest to see the warts they don’t talk about on social media before committing. Just a bit of advice for next time, Ryan.

So yeah. This has been, I’m sure, a great few days for Ryan and Blake, with all this dirt coming up.

All because Blake decided to make her movie’s promo tour Barbie 2.0. You know, I saw a thing on social media this afternoon that she and her squad were telling people to have a girl’s night out to see the movie and dress up in florals and bring flowers to share like they’re Taylor Swift friendship bracelets. 🤦‍♀️ 🤦‍♀️🤦‍♀️🤦‍♀️

And this is on top of Colleen Hoover deciding to make a coloring book companion for her novel. A coloring book, y’all. Thankfully she listened to the backlash and canceled it.

Also, putting a tag on these posts now so if anyone is uninterested, you can block and mute it.

#Ryan-Blake

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possibilistfanfiction · 2 years

Note

avatrice + kiss on the back of the hand?

[ava + some friends, more outside pov (in the future!) for @unicyclehippo]

despite the fact that physical therapy is boring, and not at all your favorite activity, you like your therapist, brian, and at least you’ve gotten to consistently schedule it early enough in the morning you don’t miss your bridge group. and you’ve been compliant — mostly; you did spend more time on your feet last week than you were supposed to, but your grandson was visiting and you would never let him leave without having his favorite brisket and matzoh ball soup — and have done the exercises brian gives you to do at home every day.

the physical therapy gym is mostly boring, more — and you hate to say it — old people, like you, recovering from total knee or total hip replacements, and a few young athletes. your son, ezra, drops you off and picks you up twice a week; sometimes his husband, marcus, fills in and he always takes you to get donuts afterward, your little secret. today you sit at the table you always start at, your walker steady and almost unnecessary at this point, and a young woman, exhausted-looking and the kind of pretty that could easily belong in a party when you were young, sitting in a sleek wheelchair by the table, smiles gently across you. you’re early by a few minutes — ezra is wonderful, but he’s a bit wound up all the time — so you smile back. ‘i’m ruth,’ you say.

‘hi.’ the young woman seems happy to talk, cheerful. ‘i’m ava.’

‘very exciting beginning to your morning, it seems like.’

she groans. ‘ugh, tell me about it. my partner barely woke up in time to drive me here.’

you laugh. ‘not a morning person?’

ava rolls her eyes. ‘no, not at all. i love mornings though, even if they’re at physical therapy.’

‘it’s not so bad,’ you tell her. ‘have you done it before?’

‘not really.’ she shrugs. ‘i have some chronic spine stuff from a car accident when i was younger, and my doctors have tried… a lot, so we’re hoping this helps everything.’

‘i hope it’ll help.’ you gesture to your walker. ‘total hip replacement. from being old.’

ava’s smile is bright. ‘kinda cool, to get old, though, huh? and to have as cool of clothes as you do? i can only hope the same for myself, one day.’

it’s sweet, and sincere, and aching under the surface. ‘it is wonderful, to get to grow old. and —‘ you wink — ‘to get to be better dressed than everyone around you.’

‘hell yeah.’ she looks at her own hoodie and joggers. ‘i usually am better dressed than this, or, at least, more fun; i just had surgery last week.’

‘well, when you’re feeling better, i’m sure i’ll be very impressed.’

‘i don’t know about that.’ ava blushes a little, and you’re delighted. ‘i think my partner is probably the better dressed of the two of us; she’s very chic. but i’m fun!’

‘fun is the most important part. especially when you’re an old lady.’

she laughs and then brian walks up, says hi to you, and you wave. ‘good luck, ava. i’ll talk to you soon.’

‘for sure,’ she tells you enthusiastically.

you’re waiting on a bench in front of the physical therapy gym in the warm sunshine — not too hot, not too cold, perfect — when ava walks toward you, slowly and with a cane, but walking.

‘is this seat taken?’

‘for a pretty girl like you? absolutely not.’

she laughs, bright and warm. ‘ruth, you flirt.’

‘i’m old.’ she sits gingerly and it makes you hurt for her, just a little — not that she needs any mobility aids, but because it’s clear she’s in pain. ‘i get to flirt whenever i want.’

‘oh, is that how it works?’

‘absolutely,’ you tell her sagely.

‘well, other than me, of course, let me know if there are any crushes i should know about? i love drama, and my life is, both tragically and fortunately, drama free right now.’

‘well, sean in my bridge group, and david from shul. oh, and lee from my favorite cafe i go to for lunch.’

‘hmm, pros and cons? or are we playing the field?’

you laugh, and you tell her about sean’s clever hands, the beautiful way david reads scripture, how lee always offers you half his reuben. ava listens attentively, like she really cares, and, after she asks a thoughtful series of questions about how to play bridge — my girlfriend would probably demolish at this game, honestly — you understand that she really does care; she really does want to know you. so you ask her questions too; her partner’s name is beatrice, and she is, according to ava, beautiful and kind and exacting; ava grew up mostly in spain and is a bartender, which she loves, and they live in a house on the beach because beatrice, apparently, works in consulting all over europe, and also enjoys teaching aikido. ‘she has four black belts,’ ava says, and fans herself. it makes you laugh, and when marcus drives up in his practical, nice bmw hybrid, you pat her hand.

‘see you tuesday, ruth.’

‘enjoy your weekend, ava.’

ava’s walking better on tuesday, and she sits next to you without asking this time, after you’re both finished. she fishes around in her crossbody bag and then holds out her hand, some candy with wrappers in mandarin on her palm. ‘they’re plum candies. they’re beatrice’s favorites, so i thought i was being sweet, but, i kinda went overboard and ordered, like, enough for a small army.’

you laugh but take one — you would never turn down an offered sweet; something of a communion — and open it while ava does the same. it’s wonderful: flavorful and sweet and a little sour, and you tell ava that.

‘ugh, i know,’ she says. ‘i don’t think bea had had them for a really long time; she cried the other day.’ ava smiles, like she’s trying not to laugh. ‘it was very sweet. a little dramatic, but i get it. i kind of go crazy for panellets.’

‘well, i’m making babka tomorrow, how about i bring you both some thursday?’

‘ruth, that’s too much.’

‘i love to share food,’ you say. ‘really, it’s part of the job description of a bubbe. they only let you in if you share your babka.’

ava rolls her eyes but then she nods. ‘i would really love that.’

ezra drives up, and you stand — easily, now, without pain and much stiffness — and wave.

your babka turns out as good as it always does — the best at shul, despite the fact that yael claims hers is better — and you place a few carefully in a tupperware to bring to ava, who seems a little wilted when she sits next to you. she waves you off when you look concerned.

’no big deal,’ she says. ‘just didn’t sleep too well last night. but! now i’m going to eat the world’s best babka and nap after bea drops me off. do you think i could convince her to nap with me?’

‘depends on why you didn’t sleep well last night.’

it takes ava a minute but then she laughs, brightening immediately. ‘ruth!’

‘you’re young, you should be having fun.’

‘oh, we have fun.’ ava grins. ‘don’t worry.’

‘well, speaking of fun,’ you say, ‘a few of my friends and i go to this water aerobics class at the country club together, every wednesday. i’m sorry if i was eavesdropping, but i heard kayvon tell you that some water therapy might be helpful? it’s really quite fun.’

‘that sounds awesome, honestly. i just got cleared to drive myself next week, so i would love that!’

you don’t bother to mention that everyone in the class is over seventy, mostly because you don’t really care, but, also, ava doesn’t seem to care, at all, that you’re at least fifty years older than her: you’re friends, and she’s kind, and bright.

once again, marcus is there to pick her up before her ride, but you give her your number — and you add her on facebook, because that’s easier for you sometimes — before you leave. you send her the details later that day, and she responds with a few emojis you don’t understand, but that your grandson laughs at when you show him. good enough.

‘i didn’t know, really, what to wear to water aerobics,’ ava says, happily sitting on the edge of the pool with you. she has on a simple red one-piece, her hair tied up in a bun, although short pieces escape. the back dips low and you see multiple scars, some faded and one new, and painful looking; ava’s light often makes you forget why you first met.

‘this is great,’ you tell her. you gesture to your brightly colored, polka dotted tankini. ‘you can spice it up however much you want. just wait until you meet angela.’

as if on cue, angela, tall and Black and striking, walks in, with her perpetually perfect close cropped hair, in a pair of heels and draped in an elegant silk coverup over a royal blue bikini. ‘whoa,’ ava says, and it’s so earnest it makes you laugh.

‘listen,’ ava says, ‘i’m bi, queer, and, yeah, i have a partner who is so so so beautiful, like, god, this morning she came home from surfing and used our outdoor shower — thank god for her trust fund, am i right? — but… ruth, i have eyes.’ she looks over to you. ‘you have eyes too, right? like, no offense to sean and david and lee, but… angela is stunning, okay?’

‘she is,’ you grant her, mostly because you’re amused. angela walks over and smiles, gracious and perfect, and you gesture to ava, who gulps. ‘angela, ava. ava, angela.’

‘hello, ava,’ angela says. ‘ruth says that she’s quite fond of you from physical therapy.’

‘yeah,’ ava says, a little stunned. ‘that’s — that’s really kind, ruth.’

‘we don’t invite just anyone to water aerobics. it’s an exclusive club.’

‘other than courtney,’ angela grumbles.

’well, true,’ you admit. ‘but she’s not part of lunch. ava, next week, you should come join us.’

‘i would love that,’ she says. ‘beatrice will too, i’ll make sure of it.’

you laugh, and angela waves to rosa and farha when she sees them. class goes great; ava seems, when you look over at her a few times, to enjoy it a lot. even though you hadn’t really worried that ava would feel out of place, any nagging feelings are assuaged when she gets out of the pool and wraps a towel around her shoulders, carefully moves on the wet floor with a cane.

‘i told bea i’d be home soon,’ she says, ‘and she gets kinda nervous when i’m late. but! i’ll see you at therapy tomorrow, and i’ll definitely plan on lunch next week.’ she hesitates for a moment and then gives you a hug, which fills you with a very particular kind of warmth. ‘thank you, for inviting me.’

‘of course, ava. see you tomorrow.’

you see ava at therapy and you think, for the most part, she’s improving: you haven’t seen her wheelchair in months, and she still uses her cane, but you think it’s mostly because it feels safer, especially if she’s sore. you start going once a week but it doesn’t really matter, because she comes to water aerobics in increasingly fun swimsuits, including a purple stripped bikini that makes even angela whistle. ‘oh, to be young again,’ she had said, and ava had blushed.

‘so, how did you meet beatrice?’ margot asks, back from her annual trip to florida.

ava puts down her fork and smiles, so soft. ‘work, in spain. a job i didn’t even want, even. but, even from when we first met, she’s always just been so kind. we spent a sabbatical together, one summer, and that’s when i really fell in love with her.’

‘love at first sight, then?’ angela grins.

‘maybe not quite,’ ava says, then laughs. ‘i was… difficult, back then. obviously, i’m a total angel now.’

you roll your eyes and farha says, ‘oh, sure.’

‘we’ve been through a lot,’ ava says, softer and very sincere. ‘she’s — she’s the best person i know.’

‘well we need to meet her,’ you decide, even though you’ve been meaning to ask them both to shabbat soon anyway. ‘bring her to lunch friday?’

‘if that’s okay with everyone? i guarantee she has exceedingly good manners, much much better than mine.’

‘low bar,’ rosa says.

‘ha ha, very funny.’ ava tries her best not to smile but then does anyway, brighter than the noon sun overhead outside.

you’re just sitting down at the table, one extra seat this week, when ava perks up and then stands, steady and even, and you see who you know, from pictures ava has shown you, is beatrice, smiling a little nervously. ‘hi, baby,’ ava says, and beatrice takes ava’s hand and gently places a kiss to her knuckles, like a genuine knight.

‘absurd,’ angela whispers from next to you, and you try not to laugh loud enough for them to hear you, because they’re young but they’re not that young: they have a home together, and you know, from the few things ava has mentioned privately, usually on days that are too, too bright, things have been hard, and they’ve had to spend time apart in the past, and ava is thankful.

‘hello, everyone,’ beatrice says, her accent and posture extremely formal, in contrast to her casual but still, somehow, smart black hoodie and white sweatshorts and birkenstocks. her hair is in a messy bun, a few strands escaping that ava happily pushes behind her ears, and a big tattoo sitting above her left knee; she’s muscular and strong, but there are freckles spread across her cheeks and, when ava smiles at her, she softens, entirely. they are young, and, even though ava has shown you pictures, you’re still struck, in the moment, by how much they fit.

there’s a chorus of hi, beatrice and it’s so good to meet you and ava talks about you all the time, but beatrice takes it all in stride, a happy little smile on her face. you understand, quickly, that they fit, the same way you and aaron had, so long ago: ava is loud and overwhelmingly bright, enthusiastic and generous with all of her affection, and beatrice is quietly funny, whip smart, and thoughtfully attentive to ava. she turns and listens, fully, to whoever is talking, and knows about rosa’s birding, and the shrine farha talks about in lahore, and the new podcast angela is listening to. she’s impressive, as a person, and ava seems distinctly aware of it, basking, a little, in being chosen by someone so special.

‘sorry i’m underdressed,’ beatrice says after you order. ‘i was surfing this morning, and then had to jump on a work call, and i didn’t want to be late.’

‘everything okay?’ ava checks.

‘yes,’ beatrice says, soothes a hand along ava’s thigh and then squeezes her knee. ‘nothing of concern.’

ava squints. ’were you just asleep? you wouldn’t lie to me, right?’

beatrice pauses. ‘i was — well, catching up on some sleep, when camila called.’

ava barks a laugh. ‘bea is the sleepiest person i know.’

‘sleep is one of the great pleasures of life,’ angela says, regal and finite in her statement, ‘among other things in bed.’

beatrice grins while ava blushes. ‘now i know why you like coming to these classes and lunches so much,’ beatrice says, shooting angela a wink. ‘you do have a type.’

‘ah, and what a type it is,’ ava says, sighing for effect, seemingly recovered from her momentary emabrassment.

at the end of lunch, you do invite them to shabbat, and beatrice asks your favorite kind of kosher wine.

‘okay, you are all sworn to secrecy,’ ava says, leaning forward at the table. it’s not particularly quiet, because farha’s hearing aides can only do so much, and rosa flat out refuses to wear any, but there’s no on important around you anyway.

‘wonderful,’ angela says.

‘i love a secret,’ you agree.

‘well.’ ava lets out a big breath. ‘beatrice and i are going to switzerland, next week, to the alps, where we spent our first summer together, and i —‘ she shakes her head — ‘this feels so crazy, but i’m going to propose.’

it sends the whole table into a flurry of excitement, asking about ava’s plan — a hike, the one they would go on every tuesday together, slowly and for fun — and the ring ava had picked out — beautiful, and elegant, and perfect, you think — and, ‘do you think she’ll say yes?’

ava gulps. ‘i know she wants to spend her life with me.’ she sounds sure, and calm, despite her fingers nervously fidgeting with her napkin. ‘she was… very religious, for a long time, so, like, she’s always been really accepting of other same sex marriages, but i think it’s taken her a minute to get her to feel ready for, like, our own very queer marriage. sacrament, and all that, i guess.’ she shakes her head. ‘but anyway, yes! i think she’s ready. i think she really wants to get married.’

her smile is gentle, serene, and you had watched beatrice — in neat linen, her hair long and swept over her shoulder, fight her way through eating multiple bites of gefilte fish last friday, even though it was clear she hated it, and say prayers in hebrew, quietly. ava had been in her chair; you hadn’t asked, and neither had anyone from shul or your family, but beatrice had made sure that she had everything she needed, unobtrusive and practiced. ava had been, unexpectedly, the life of the party, charming everyone with her laugh and her silly puns and a very spirited debate with your granddaughter about women’s soccer. they’re a pair, you understood, very clearly: at the end of the night, ava had encouraged beatrice, gently, to take extra kugel along with the challah and chicken you’d already put in tupperware for them; beatrice had gotten their sweaters from the closet and handed ava’s to hers with a kiss to her forehead, tender and private, a moment that had belonged just to them.

‘we’ll all be eagerly awaiting the engagement photographs,’ angela says with sure gravitas.

‘post them on facebook,’ you tell her, and ava laughs, but she promises, later, when you give her a hug, that she will.

‘thank you, for inviting us,’ you tell ava, a bit in awe, if you’re being honest, of their house. she bounces around happily, and angela just looks at you with a raised brow for a moment. there are bright red and gold decorations everywhere, and beatrice walks over with a neat bun and beautiful jacket, embroidered so elegantly even angela seems a little in love with it.

’happy new year,’ she says, and you both give her a hug as you return the sentiment, then shows you to their kitchen, with a spread of chinese food that smell so, so good, and then gestures out to the open-air doors and patio that overlooks the ocean. ‘help yourselves to whatever you want. ruth, there are plenty of dishes that i made sure meet all kosher standards; they should be labeled. and there’s plenty of seating, and come find me if you need anything.’ she pauses. ‘or ava, but she gets a little… activated when we have a lot of people over.’

‘so, did we know how rich they were?’ angela says, loading her plate with everything she can after beatrice walks away to greet more guests.

‘not this rich.’

you both wait a beat and then laugh, and you find seats by the railing; your hip doesn’t hurt at all anymore. ava finds you both eventually and steals an egg roll from your plate with a laugh. ‘i’ll get you another one,’ she promises. ‘and, i just wanted to say, thanks for being my friends. i know it’s silly, but the water aerobics have really helped me feel better — and much less bored — when my mobility has been limited. and i love hearing about your lives, and sharing mine. i just —’ she scrubs her hand along the back of her neck, her hair neatly trimmed to her chin, fluttering in the breeze. ‘i went a long time without great role models.’

it’s so sincere and so touching. angela sniffles and you fish a hanky from your purse and hand it to her; she dabs her eyes.

‘don’t call us old,’ she says, voice breaking, and ava laughs.

‘i could’ve called you my adoptive grandmothers, so count your blessings.’

you roll your eyes when she takes a big, smiling bite of her (your) egg roll. ‘you are a blessing,’ you tell her.

ava swallows her bite and then leans to hug you, tight and sincere. ‘thank you,’ she whispers.

‘happy new year, ava.’

‘yeah,’ she says, a little teary but with a huge smile. ‘happy new year.’

#we have been talking abt ava & her bubbe for... Months !! lol #finally got to it #ava & the gals #ft sleepy bea #wn #warrior nun fic #avatrice #avatrice fic #prompts #also happy lunar new year!!!! this is the new year they're attending fyi if that isn't clear lol #also yes ava's type rly is like exacting smartly dressed women who are in fact taller than her

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