#don’t worry… I won’t have you lashed to a cross like the rest of these 👄🫦🫦🫦degenerates

[averagepsychouser]

Someone should euthanize Vulpes Inculta

[rentsturner]

Bruised Knuckles - A.T

Warnings; reader has punched a wall, mentions/descriptions of injury, mentions of (non-specified) scars, content that some people may find as very similar to self-harm, reader is paranoid and insecure. If any of this triggers you pls don’t continue to read. a/n: I originally wrote this about a different person but I've rewritten it for Al for a bit of comfort after a rough few days. If you don't like it, don't read it. Thanks @martinipoliz for being my hype man

It’s a cold day in London, the skies grey and cloudy over the city.It’s been a long day without Alex. He’s been out since the early morning at the recording studio, the boys being in the middle of recording their next album, leaving you to spend the day alone in your tiny apartment. As much as you don’t want to admit it, the isolation has gotten to you - you slipped, more than once. Yeah, you regret it, but also there’s that nagging need for more at the back of your mind. You try to push it out, to forget about it, but the cold in the air doesn’t help to ease the ache in your knuckles. 

The door to the apartment shuts with a click and a jangle of keys, footsteps heading towards the door, the click of Alex’s boots rhythmic on the hardwood floor. He’s back. A wave of relief floods you, before you remember and your chest clenches in panic.

‘Alright, love?’ Alex flops onto the bed with a lazy grin, stretching his arms up over his head. 

‘Yeah, fine, you?’ Keep it simple. You busy yourself with a stack of books by the bed, straightening the pile of your shared novels so it’s not about to topple over. Keep the hand busy.

‘Yeah, alright. I missed you. Took us so long to record one of the new songs, Cookie kept messing up the solo so we all just ended up leaving it for the day.’

You nodded along and let him recount the rest of the story. You’re admiring the way his dark lashes flutter against his pale skin and how his arms flex as his hands come to rest behind his head, when you realise that Alex has stopped talking. And you’ve stopped moving.

‘Your knuckle…” his eyes dart down to the hand you’ve been trying to hide ever since he walked through the door. Busted.

‘Oh.’ You move to get up, anything to get his eyes away from your swollen knuckles, red lines criss-crossing over the flowering purple bruises where your hand collided with a solid brick wall. Multiple times. The open cuts are still weeping, even though it had happened hours ago.

‘It’s nothing, just tripped on the stairs. Don’t worry about it.’ You offer a small smile, but it doesn’t fool Alex.

‘No.’ He moves as you do, standing in front of the bedroom door to block your escape. His arms are crossed over his chest, stance serious, but the worry in his brown eyes betrays him. ‘Love. Let me see it.’

He holds out his hand, pale fingers reaching out to you, calloused fingertips brushing against your wrist gently. He knows how to help. The hand reaching, an offer of support, reassurance, love, all those things that you crave but can never admit. Emotions aren’t your forté - never have been.But Alex knows that. There’s no secrets between you. You almost laugh out loud at the thought. No secrets, but you won’t even show him your hand.

Alex would do anything for you, you know that - he tells you all the time. Days spent in bed chatting shit to each other.

‘I’d write a whole album just for you, y’know?’

‘Would you now, Al? I think I’d prefer a book of poetry.’

‘Well I’d write that as well. In a heartbeat.’

Bright eyes, wide smile. Your Alex. He’s joking, of course, but his tone is so serious, his answer without a second of hesitation. Your heart skips a beat.

So now, you give him your hand (and your heart).

He takes it tentatively, one warm hand underneath, the other poking at your raw knuckles gently. When one of his prods reaches a tender spot, you wince and he moves his finger away, meeting your gaze in apology. 

‘You punch something?’ His brow creases, a hand running instinctively over his unruly locks, before scratching at the back of his neck. He’s been growing his hair out recently, letting the brown strands begin to curl around his ears, not using as much gel in it as he used to. He looks gorgeous. Then again, he could shave his head and you’d still think he was the best looking man on earth.

The sting in your hand brings you back to the present. 

‘No.’ You look away from Alex’s gaze, knowing that in doing so you’ll give yourself away, but not having the energy or willpower to stop yourself. Much like the ‘incident’ earlier in the day.

‘I’m going to take that as a yes.’ Alex huffs, not in anger, but in frustration - frustration that he wasn’t there to help, to calm you down. ‘Let me clean it up, give me a sec.’

His hand rubs at his eyes, scrunched shut for a moment. There’s dark bags marring his pale skin there - he’s tired too, the long days at the studio beginning to get to him. He goes to move to the bathroom, but you grab his arm with your good hand, gripping it as tight as you can. Don’t leave.

‘No, Al, it’s alright, I’ll sort it.’

But he shakes his head. He doesn’t look happy. Not that you’d expect him to, but…he’s getting frustrated with you, you can tell.

‘You can’t clean yourself up with one hand. Just wait here, alright?’

The inkling is worming its way in now, from your subconscious to your conscious, until it's at the forefront of your mind. He’s angry, he’s disgusted, he’s going to leave. He’s not going to the bathroom, he’s going to the front door so he can get out of here. You’re sure of it. He’ll call Matt or Miles and tell them how crazy you are, how he can’t deal with it any longer.

‘I’m sorry.’ The whisper escapes you and you have to bite the inside of your cheek so no tears will spill. The words are almost silent, your hand dropping Alex’s in defeat.

But Alex turns his head at your weak apology, stopping in his tracks.

‘What? Why -‘

With a jolt, he notices the way you’ve changed - unable to look at him, arms beginning to wrap around yourself, one fist clenched. He knows what’s happening.

‘No, no, love, I’m not angry.’

He’s back at your side in a heartbeat, bringing his hand up to your chest, thumb carefully wiping away the rogue tear that’s tracking a salty path over your cheekbone.

‘I love you. I just want the best for you, alright? I don’t like seeing you hurt, just like I’d fucking hope you wouldn’t like seeing me hurt.’

His face breaks into a sad smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes, and you realise he’s right - of course he is. You don’t want to see him hurt, but that’s what you’re doing. He’s hurting just from seeing your hand, it’s obvious from the crease in his brow, the usual bright glint of his eyes dulled and flat. Alex has got too much to deal with already, you’re just one extra problem to add to the mix. You don’t want to be his problem. 

And suddenly it’s all coming up to the surface, ready to combust, explode, these emotions that you never really have a grip on. You bottle them up and push them down, so far down that the only way they can escape is through a rush of anger, jagged and uncontrollable. 

But instead of that, you bury your face into Al’s neck and let it out as slowly as you can.

‘I’m sorry, I was angry, I just wanted to feel something. Some pain. I don’t want to make you feel like this. I’m sorry.’

You’re clutching onto the fabric of his dress shirt like your life depends on it, trying to push the thought of how expensive it probably is to the back of your mind. You can’t possibly let go of him - he's the only one you have left.

Alex is steady, your rock in a storm of emotions. He listens, stroking your hair, long fingers threading through the strands to knead at your scalp, knowing it tends to calm you down.

‘You’re alright, I promise. I promise you, love. I know you get angry. I know you. And I know what it’s like to want to feel something, trust me, I’m far from innocent myself, you know I've had some bad times. We can get through it together, or we can be a mess together. I don’t care, as long as we’re together, honest. I’m not going anywhere.’

And the sincerity in his eyes, those familiar bright brown doe eyes, it convinces you. He means it.

You stay like this for a few minutes, your good hand clinging onto Alex’s shirt sleeve, the other grasped tightly (but not too tightly) in Alex’s grip. His right arm is around your waist, pulling you closer, as if in doing so he can pour all of his reassurance, all of his love, directly to your heart. He knows it’s not possible. But he tries anyway. Because he’ll do anything for you. Your Alex.

He helps you clean your hand later, shushing you everytime you wince (though that isn’t often). His hands are steady and confident as he dabs at the cuts with alcohol, wrapping the gauze over your knuckles and securing it with some tape, humming to himself as he works, the steady tune in time with his deft movement. You wonder if it's one of the songs from the new album - some of them he will share with you, some of them he prefers to keep as a surprise for the release. He doesn’t look up until the job is done - and a good job it is too. Alex kisses the bandages gently when he’s done - a silent ‘I love you. I care for you and I love you.’ 

And you smile, a smile that fills your whole body with warmth, a smile that drowns out the demons, if only for a little while. Because how can you not, when you have Alex. He tries his best and so do you - neither of you can ask anymore. You’ll be a mess together. 

‘Let’s order takeaway and watch Blade Runner, eh?’

Or you’ll get through this together.

[agirlnamedelia]

Late night Explosions

genre: angst to fluff

The fight had been inevitable, given Bakugou’s fiery temper and your own stubbornness. It wasn’t the first time you’d butted heads, but this one felt different—deeper, somehow. You had been arguing over something trivial at first, something about his intense training schedule and how it left little time for the two of you. But like a spark in a dry forest, it quickly escalated into a full-blown argument.

“You’re always pushing yourself too hard, Katsuki!” you had yelled, frustration bubbling over. “I get that you want to be the best, but you’re not a machine! You need to rest, to take a break once in a while.”

Bakugou had glared at you, his eyes narrowed and his fists clenched. “I don’t need you telling me what to do, Y/n. I know my limits. I don’t need a damn babysitter.”

“I’m not trying to babysit you!” you shot back, your voice rising in pitch. “I’m worried about you! You’re so focused on being the best that you’re burning yourself out, and it’s affecting us. We hardly spend any time together anymore!”

He scoffed, his expression hardening. “Oh, so this is about you now, huh? You think I’m neglecting you or some shit? I’ve got a lot on my plate, Y/n. I can’t drop everything just because you’re feeling lonely.”

His words stung, cutting deeper than you cared to admit. “It’s not about me being lonely, Katsuki. It’s about you pushing everyone away, including me. You can’t do this alone, no matter how strong you are. You’re going to drive yourself into the ground if you keep this up.”

Bakugou’s eyes flashed with anger, his voice low and dangerous. “I don’t need anyone’s help. I’ve got this under control. If you can’t handle that, maybe you’re the one who’s not strong enough.”

The argument had ended abruptly after that, with you storming out of the room, your heart heavy with hurt and frustration.

Now, as the night wore on, Bakugou found himself pacing the length of the living room, his mind racing with thoughts of what he had said to you. He hated the way the fight had gone, hated the way he had lashed out at you. He knew he had crossed a line, but admitting that out loud was something he struggled with.

When he finally saw you, curled up on the sofa with your arms wrapped tightly around yourself, his heart clenched. You looked so small, so vulnerable, and the sight made his chest tighten with guilt.

“Y/n…” His voice was quieter than usual as he approached, his footsteps heavy against the floor. He stood beside the sofa, looking down at you with an unreadable expression. “Hey… wake up.”

You stirred, blinking groggily as you registered his voice. “Katsuki…?”

“Yeah, it’s me,” he replied, his tone softer than you were used to. “We need to talk.”

You sat up slowly, still feeling the lingering sting of his words from earlier. “What is there to talk about? You made it pretty clear how you feel.”

Bakugou frowned, his gaze dropping to the floor. “I didn’t mean what I said earlier. I was pissed off and I… I said some things I shouldn’t have.”

You looked at him, searching his face for sincerity. “So what? You think saying sorry is going to fix everything?”

He winced slightly, knowing that his usual bluntness wouldn’t help here. “No, I don’t think it’s going to fix everything. But I do think we need to talk about this. I don’t like leaving shit unresolved.”

You sighed, leaning back against the sofa. “Fine. Talk.”

Bakugou hesitated, struggling to find the right words. Apologizing wasn’t something he was used to, and it felt foreign on his tongue. But he cared about you more than his pride, and that was what pushed him to speak.

“Look, I know I’ve been pushing myself hard. But it’s not because I don’t care about you,” he began, his voice firm but tinged with a rare vulnerability. “It’s because I want to be strong enough to protect you, to protect everyone. I’m scared that if I don’t give it my all, something bad’s gonna happen, and I won’t be able to stop it.”

You softened slightly at his words, hearing the honesty in his voice. “Katsuki… you’re already strong. You don’t have to prove that to anyone, least of all to me. I know how amazing you are. I just want you to take care of yourself too.”

Bakugou’s jaw tightened, and he nodded. “I get that. I do. But it’s hard for me to slow down, you know? I’ve been fighting to be the best for so long, it’s like I don’t know how to stop.”

You reached out, gently taking his hand in yours. “You don’t have to stop, Katsuki. But you don’t have to do it alone either. I’m here for you, but you need to let me in. You don’t have to carry all of this on your shoulders.”

His grip on your hand tightened slightly, as if grounding himself in your touch. “I’m not used to relying on anyone, Y/n. But… I don’t want to push you away either. I know I’ve been a shitty boyfriend lately, and I’m sorry for that.”

You gave him a small, reassuring smile. “You’re not a shitty boyfriend, Katsuki. You’re just… you. Stubborn, fierce, and always ready for a fight. But you’re also caring, even if you don’t show it in the usual ways. I just need you to let me in a little more, okay?”

Bakugou nodded, a rare softness in his eyes as he looked at you. “I’ll try, Y/n. I don’t want to lose you.”

“You won’t,” you replied, squeezing his hand gently. “We’ll figure this out together. Just promise me you’ll try to take it easy once in a while?”

He smirked, his usual confidence returning. “No promises. But I’ll try.”

You rolled your eyes but smiled back, feeling the tension between you both ease. “That’s all I ask.”

Bakugou leaned down, pressing a firm, lingering kiss to your forehead. “Get some rest, dumbass. We’ll talk more in the morning.”

You chuckled softly, feeling the warmth of his kiss. “Yeah, okay. Goodnight, Katsuki.”

He gave you one last, lingering look before turning to leave the room. But as he reached the doorway, he paused, glancing back at you with a determined expression.

“And Y/n… thanks for sticking with me. I don’t say it enough, but… I’m glad you’re here.”

Your heart swelled at his words, and you smiled warmly at him. “I’m glad too, Katsuki. Now go get some sleep. We’ve got this.”

-`♡´- Tip Jar || Youtube ||  M.List -`♡´-

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

The Happy Couple 5

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

I wasn’t going to do it. I wasn’t! But here we are. I make no promise and am just following a whim.

Summary: Your father makes a deal to marry you to his top capo. (mob au)

Warnings: dark elements such a mob business and intimidation, spanking, threats. More to be added as they become relevant. You know what I write typically so you know what to expect.

Thank you all for the encouragement and I hope you enjoy.❤️

You keep your legs tight together as Bucky steers, his hand resting suggestively over the gearshift, Just a few more inches…

You try not to think of it as you lean on the door and watch the streetlights pass overhead, gleaming in the blur of your overindulgence. You’re content even if a bit off-kilter. His presence is undeniable and you can’t forget it.

You flinch despite your best efforts to maintain an air of apathy as his fingertips brush along your thigh. You peek over as his eyes focus on the road and he tugs at the short hem of your dress. You cross one leg over the other and turn your attention out the window once more.

“You got your dessert,” he tickles your thigh as shifts in his seat, “when do I get mine?”

“Please,” you sniff, “I already told you, you can put a ring on it first.”

“You doubt me?”

“Mmm, I don’t think that much about you. I have a life–”

He scoffs and stretches his hand over the top of your leg and squeezes, “oh, I know, sweetheart, you are a very important person. The first daughter. I know exactly what you got going on.”

You don’t swat him away, don’t bother trying to dislodge his hand as it crawls up and your skin. You cross your arm, grasping your clutch as you try to keep your cool. It’s what he wants, for you to crack. You won’t.

If your father’s going to treat you like another one of his business deals, you’re not going to make it easy. For anyone. Including yourself.

“Ah, almost home,” he slows and flips on his blinker, idling as he waits to turn up the long drive, “you gonna invite me in for a night cap?”

You sit forward as he turns and you see a dark vehicle along the edge of the pavement. Another a few feet ahead, headlights off. The next has its lights on and you see a man tuck something beneath a jacket. You crane around as the hairs stand up on your neck.

Bucky squeezes your leg, “whatsa matter, doll? Don’t you worry about them.”

“I don’t…” you have a bad feeling. These aren’t your daddy’s men. Not the usual one. Lonny and Carlisle. “What–”

“Just calm down and sit back,” he says, “you’re gonna hurt yourself.”

“No, what’s going on?” You put your clutch on the seat and unbuckle your belt, squinting into the dark as he approaches the open gates. The curved drive is littered with cars, the front doors of the house ajar, and fingers roving around as if on watch, “stop the car.”

“Sweetheart, settle down. You’re safe. I told ‘em hands off. They won’t touch you–”

“Bucky,” you pull on the handle but the door is locked, “what– what did you do?”

“I’m gonna need you to calm down before we get into that.”

“No, let me out and stop–” You lurch forward as he hits the break and you throw your arm out to keep from slamming into the dash, “daddy–”

“I’m right here, baby.”

You hiss and shake your head. You grab your clutch and twist open the clasp. You fish out your phone and scroll until you find your father’s number. You hit call and wait for the dial as Bucky sighs and taps his fingers on the wheel.

“Sweetheart, come on, you’re not stupid. It’s the nature of the business–”

“No, no,” you hang up as the voicemail begins to roll and try again, “no, you wouldn’t–” you put the phone to your ear, “you’re his best man. His capo– No, this isn’t funny. You’re fucking with me, I know it–”

You snarl as the automated voice begins again and you hit the screen against your palm. He reaches over and wraps his fingers around the cell and makes you lower it. You flutter your lashes as he clings to the phone.

“Look at me, sweetheart,” he grits.

“No!”

“Look,” he demands crisply, “I promise you, you will not be touched. Not by anyone but me. Don’t you go being stupid.”

“Ugh, you’re disgusting. My daddy’s not going to let you get away with this–"

“He can’t stop me now, doll."

“Pfft, he’s got men. Lots of men. Lots more than you. You think you’ve won–”

“You think I’ve lost?” He chortles and rips your phone out of your hand, flinging it behind his seat, “what are you so upset about, anyway? He sold you. Like a cheap suit. And that wife of his, you fucking hated her. I did you a favour.”

“What did you do?” You accuse him venomously. “What happened to my father?”

His throat tightens and his nostrils flare. His eyes bore into you, “I’m sure you don’t want every bloody detail so I’ll spare you that.”

“No,” you croak and hit his arm, “no!” You shout in disbelief, “he’s not! He’s not dead! You’re lying!”

“Hey!” He grabs your arm and catches the other as you swing at him. He holds your wrists as he snarls through clenched teeth, “you stop that. Right now. You’re a grown woman and you won’t throw a tantrum like a child. Not if you’re gonna be my wife.”

“Your– You–” You sputter, “you’re crazy if you think I would–”

“No, you’re crazy if you think you have a choice.”

You blink, a cloud of tears behind your eyes. You wiggle your nose and sniff to keep them from swelling over. You raise your chin insolently and twist your arms. You pull away from him and he lets you go so you hit the door with your back.

“Don’t touch me. Ever again.”

“Sweetheart–”

“Kill me too. I don’t care.”

“If I wanted that, we wouldn’t be talking right now."

“You’re a murderer.”

“And so was he. Don’t act like all this isn’t built on blood money,” he looks through the windshield then back to you, “like that Gucci is hard-earned.”

“Fuck you!”

“Now, doll, I’ve been trying to get to that, haven’t I?”

“You’re disgusting–”

“And you’re a spoiled little princess,” he spits back, “now, if you wanna keep your crown, you be good, and I promise you, I’ll keep you comfortable.”

You curl your lip and turn your face away from him, hiding in the shadows as your lip quivers. He knows as well as you, there is no choice. It’s not an offer, it’s a threat.

[crabcantwrite]

Jealousy, jealousy

Words: 875

Fandom: MarioLore

Ships: Bowser/reader

Warnings: Jealousy, fighting, possessiveness, injury, arguing, male reader

You were talking to one of the visiting nobles when Bowser walked up behind you, wrapping his arms around you from behind. He glared at the noble you were talking to.

“Bowser!” You exclaimed, “Hey, babe.”

Bowser grunted and leaned his heavy head on your shoulder, pressing his cheek against yours. His eyes flashed angrily at the noble. You chuckled and looked back at the noble. “This is my boyfriend, Bowser.”

“Your boyfriend?!” The noble repeated. “That brute?"

He looked Bowser up and down. Bowser growled, his grip on you tightening. You patted Bowser’s hand in an attempt to keep him calm. “Don’t call him that.”

Bowser clenched his teeth, rolling his eyes. He sighed. “Fuck off”

“Bowser!” You scolded, shooting the noble an apologetic look. Your boyfriend huffed and leaned away from you, crossing his arms. You turned back to the noble “I’m sorry about him.”

“I’m sure you won’t be with him for long." The noble scoffed.

Bowser narrowed his eyes, growling low in his throat. “Watch it..”

“You could do so much better than that brute." The noble sneered, winking at you, “Nobody wants to date a monster like him.”

Bowser grabbed you, sneering back at the man. He wrapped his arms around your torso, pulling you against him. You squeaked “Bowser!!”

“Shut up” Bowser growled at the man. His grip on you tightened as he stepped forward towards the noble. You tugged on his arm in a fruitless attempt to stop him.

“You have no idea how much pain you’d be in if my boyfriend wasn’t here...” His voice was dangerously low. “Do you understand me?”

The noble rolled his eyes and looked down at you. “How can you stand him? You’d be much better off with me, sweetheart.”

Before you could respond, Bowser had punched the noble. There was the horrible sound of bones breaking as you flinched away from the sight. Bowser snarled at the noble, who was clutching his now-broken nose.

“Get away from him." Bowser growled, glaring at the noble, “You disgust me.”

The noble glared at Bowser. “I could say the same for you.."

“What did you just say?” You hissed, “Don’t talk about my boyfriend like that!”

The noble rolled his eyes again. “It’s only a matter of time before he takes his anger out on you."

Bowser grabbed you, wrapping his arm around your waist, and pulled you away from the noble. He dragged you out of the ballroom and into the large garden.

“Bowser!” You exclaimed, squirming in his grip, “What the hell!?”

He led you to a gazebo in the middle of the garden. Bowser set you down on the path, releasing his grip. He sat down on the edge of the fountain, resting his head in his hands.

You watched him, worrying your bottom lip. It wasn’t uncommon for him to lash out like this, but you never knew what to do afterwards.

“Bowser…” You said softly, standing in front of him, “Are you alright?”

Bowser let out an irritated growl, glancing over at you before staring back at the ground.

“You want to tell me what happened in there..?” You sighed

Bowser snorted and rolled his eyes, turning away from you and crossing his arms. You frowned, sitting down beside him. He looked back at you, glaring. You put your hand on his shoulder, ignoring his glare. Bowser turned around and pulled you into his arms, pressing you against him.

He pressed his face into your hair, taking slow, deliberate breaths. “He was an asshole.”

You nodded and wrapped your arms around him. “Yeah, I know.”

“I don’t want him anywhere near you." Bowser muttered, kissing your forehead. “He tried to take you from me.”

You smiled, nuzzling into him. “It's okay, babe.”

Bowser pulled away from you and frowned. He took both of your hands in his, squeezing them gently. “Promise me that no matter what happens, you will always stay with me.”

"Promise.” You squeezed his hands back. “Try not to punch anyone else.”

Bowser gave you a half-hearted laugh. “No promises; I don’t appreciate someone trying to take what’s mine.”

You snorted and rolled your eyes. “Why do I love you?”

He grinned and pulled you into a kiss. “I love you too, sweetheart.”

He wrapped his jacket around you, peppering your face with kisses. “Promise me you don’t like him.”

“I promise,” you giggled, blushing. Bowser picked you up, still covering your face with kisses. “Mine, all mine.”

You squeaked and wrapped your arms around his neck. “Bowser! Put me down!”

“Nope” He grinned at you and started to carry you back into the castle. “I’m keeping you all to myself.”

You laughed and squirmed in his grasp, to no avail. He carried you up to his room and tossed you onto the bed. You let out a small shriek “Bowser! You bastard!”

Bowser laughed and shut the door before joining you on the bed. He wrapped you in his arms and pulled you under the covers with him. He nuzzled his face into the crook of your neck, his stubble scratching your skin.

“You’re lucky I love you.” You laughed, hugging him back.

Bowser pulled away to give you a soft look. “I really am.”

[clangenrising]

Month 10 - Leafbare

It was early in the morning when they scented the rogues. 

Ever since Nightfrost’s death, Goldenstar and Orangestar had agreed that having a patrol on the border at all times was more dangerous than it was worth and patrols had been limited to daylight hours. For the most part, it hadn’t seemed to make much of a difference. The city cats still tended to avoid patrols and no more of them had been caught crossing the border. Of course, that just meant that no one had seen them. The rogues had started marking the border themselves and every day they tried to push the boundary inch by inch. But still, no one had seen them and no more fights had been had. 

So Ospreymask was almost excited when the dawn patrol spotted a group of them loitering just past the border markers. Pantherhaze shuffled beside her making worried noises. Darkmoon, the EarthClan deputy, and his apprentice Boldpaw were with them and Ospreymask looked to him for orders. 

“Should we go run them off?” she asked. 

“Could we?” asked Boldpaw, “There seem to be quite a few of them.” He wasn’t wrong. From where they stood, Ospreymask made out about seven cats lounging in the snow or sitting up to look in their direction. 

“Maybe we could talk them into leaving,” Pantherhaze suggested. 

“Seems worth a try,” grunted Darkmoon. “These kittypets are all talk from what I’ve heard.” 

“I don’t know about that,” Pantherhaze mumbled, tail twitching. Ospreymask thought back to Yarrowshade’s bruised ribs and bloody shoulder or Aldertail’s story about her dead siblings. She had to agree, the city cats seemed to be able to back up their talk, but she said nothing. She wanted to see them for herself instead of turning tail now. 

Lucky for her, Darkmoon started towards the group of cats with his tail raised. As they drew nearer, the city cats lowered their voices and one of them whispered in the ears of a big grey tabby with a blue collar. 

“That’s Razor,” Pantherhaze whispered to her. 

“Really?” she asked, her interest piqued. “Exciting.” 

“Exciting?” he glanced at her sidelong with a nervous lift to his brows. She almost laughed. A giddy ball of energy had started to build in her belly in anticipation. She always got that way before a fight, all bouncy and coiled like she was full of squirrels waiting to be released. She hoped that there wouldn’t be a fight but she couldn’t stop her adrenaline from soaring. 

“Ah, hello there!” bellowed Razor cheerfully. “Why don’t you join us? We were just enjoying a bit of a meal.” He gestured to a pair of birds that had been partially eaten, even pushing one towards them. A gaggle of cats sat around him, sunning themselves or sharing tongues. Most of them wore kittypet collars of different colors and materials, some with bells, some with dangling charms, some with studs, some reflective even. Ospreymask was enthralled by the variety and beauty of the accessories. Only two of the cats weren’t wearing some sort of collar, and they both had notched ears. Sitting close to each other, slightly apart from the rest of the group, they watched quietly and Ospreymask shot them a smile. They didn’t return it.

Darkmoon laid a paw over the bird and pulled it closer, saying, “You’re on Clan territory. I thought you were aware that you weren’t welcome here.” 

“That’s no way to start a conversation,” Razor huffed, tilting his head. “Sit! Eat! It’s on me.” 

“No, this prey is stolen,” Darkmoon said, tail lashing. “And you’re on our territory.” 

“So you said,” Razor sighed. He shifted his weight to sit more upright and leveled his gaze at the deputy. “Look, I wanted to be friends, but it seems you wild cats are too stubborn to understand the concept so I’ll cut straight to business. I know you’re hiding Scrap somewhere and I need her back. I won’t leave until she’s returned to me.” 

Ospreymask scoffed before she could stop herself. “You make it sound like you own her.” 

Razor smiled at her. “No, no, it’s nothing like that,” he chuckled, “it’s more like… father and daughter. It’s my job as the Speaker, it’s my job to make sure each of the cats in the city are looked out for and Scrap is not well. Surely you’ve noticed the way she tears her own flesh, haven’t you?” 

“Last time we talked, you didn’t even know what she looked like,” Pantherhaze scowled. 

“There are a lot of cats in the city,” Razor shrugged. “I’ve done my due diligence since then. The point is that Scrap needs help that only I can give her and it would be in everyone’s best interest if you would bring her here as soon as possible. Then I can get her the help she needs and I can leave you all in peace.” 

Ospreymask frowned. He was charming enough but she knew better. She’d talked to Aldertail and seen just how scared she was of him. Whatever peace he offered, she was certain Aldertail wouldn’t be getting any of it.

“I’ll consider it,” Darkmoon said, causing Ospreymask to jolt in surprise. 

“Good,” Razor said. “We’ll be here when you have your answer.” He settled back down, spreading out over the grass like he owned the place. Darkmoon nodded and turned to leave, Boldpaw slinking behind him. Ospreymask shared a stunned glance with Pantherhaze. She looked around the group of cats and realized they were all watching her. The attention made her pelt crawl and she took a self conscious step backwards before she moved to follow Darkmoon. Pantherhaze hurried to keep up with her. Over her shoulder, she heard one of the kittypets mutter to the others and they all laughed. She couldn’t decide if she wanted to know what he had said or not.

She bounded to close the distance with Darkmoon. The squirrels in her gut had turned into a stormcloud rumbling uneasily. “What was that about?” she asked, glaring at him. 

“What do you mean? I told him we’d think over his offer, it’s not like I surrendered the territory to him.” 

“You didn’t even try and get him to cross over the border,” she persisted. “If he’d been infringing on EarthClan territory, I bet you would have had a bit more to say to him.” 

“Oh, Ospreymask, let’s not make it into a fight,” Pantherhaze fretted but she dismissed him with a flick of her tail. 

“What would you have me do?” Darkmoon said, “We were severely outnumbered and we had nothing to bargain with. I did what I had to to get us safely out of that situation.” Ospreymask could see his point but it still felt like he was trying to ignore the point she was making. 

“I’m just saying, you could have given him a little more pushback,” she grumbled.

“You should probably go tell Goldenstar about them being there,” Boldpaw spoke up. “That feels important for her to know.” 

“Yeah,” Ospreymask relented with a frown. 

“StarClan light your path,” Pantherhaze said as they branched off to return to camp. The wording stuck with Ospreymask. She wished StarClan would light their path! They needed an omen or a prophecy or something to help them get through this. 

Razor’s little band there had just about as many cats as RisingClan had able bodied warriors and she knew for a fact there were more in the city. How many were there in total? How well trained were they? Even though it had been a whole year, the Clans still hadn’t fully recovered from the Red Gut. Maybe they would have been able to easily handle this before the plague but now… she worried about what would happen if they didn’t find some way to out-think or out-maneuver Razor.

UPDATES: - Rather than fight with a group of rogues, a patrol leaves them to muddy the border.

[whatsthethinking]

Alignment: part four

Lo'ak x Fem!Reader (Platonic)

➴ Summary: Eywa finally hears Lo’ak’s pleas for her to bring his brother back but instead of a brother, Lo’ak receives howling winds with lashing rain and a warrior… who eats people?

➴ Warning:  brief mention of character description  e.g. height, age and features but it doesn’t impact the story, I will be bringing up height again I think but it’s not an important plot point

➴ Word count: 5.7k

➴ Note: Hiii, sorry this has taken so long to come out. I had been writing and rewriting this for I don’t know how long alongside work, moving house and being ill. Sorry for the wait. I’m not too sure if I even like this but this is the longest I’ve written so far.

This is how I imagine Ao’nung to look >>> I love it

I mentioned in the previous part that Lo’ak commented that y/n is taller up close. I imagine Lo’ak being about 8’2 and y/n being 8’5 (I made heights for everyone, minus the adults).

I got a message about how I personally imagine y/n, I didn’t start writing this with a final look for her in mind, so I created a pinterest to get ideas >>> if you wanna take a look

Feel free to comment or message me if you have any suggestions.

[three] [five]

Eight days. It has been eight days since y/n landed on Awa’atlu. Eight days with no updates from her father. She had been watching the skies for anything but just like the rest of Awa’atlu, the sky was calm. But to y/n it was unsettling.

She was becoming restless with the routine she had slipped into. Wake up, eat breakfast with Lo’ak, worry about her people, avoid Ronal and mend the breastplate. The latter seems to be the hardest because the Metkayina doesn’t have access to the same materials as those on the island. In all honesty, y/n did not need a saddle to return to her home, it was mainly for comfort. But when she thought of leaving, the burn in her chest told her to stay.

She had been thinking nonstop about what could’ve happened or what could be happening. Had her father found the two avatars and dealt with them? Had there been more casualties? If something extreme had happened, surely someone would fly out to find her? It wouldn’t be hard to track her down, considering Rìkxi had taken it upon himself to claim a corner of the island as his own. 

“Let’s do something today,” y/n suggested as Lo’ak walked into her marui with a bowl of fruit in his arms.

Lo’ak paused, sitting down, crossing his legs and putting the bowl next to him.

“Are you asking me on a date?” He smirked

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“Ridiculous? Am I not your type?”

“I hate to say it, but you’re not. You’re a bit too young and you’re not tall enough.”

“My poor heart,” Lo’ak said dramatically, placing a hand on his chest. “I thought we had something special.”

Y/n rolled her eyes at his antics while she sat down opposite him, taking a large melon out of the basket and began cutting it into chunks.

“What should we do?” he chuckled, his hand waving over the basket before picking up a Yovo.

“What do you usually do?” Y/n questioned.

“Hmm well, I was thinking about going for a swim. You can come with. Do you know how?”

“I swim,” y/n replied.

“But are you any good?”

“I won’t drown.”

“Good enough for me,” Lo’ak took a bite of the Yovo fruit and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Well, I’m sure Kiri will swim with us. I can see if Ao’nung and Rotxo would be interested. Tsireya, maybe not, she has plans with some of her… Friends.”

“Friends?” Y/n picked up on how Lo’ak said the word with such disdain. “You don’t like these friends?”

“For the most part, they’re okay but there is one. His name’s K’aung, and he fishes with Ao’nung sometimes. He’s the worst. He used to bully Kiri a lot and now he follows Tsireya around, you’d think she has a second shadow. And I’m sure he watches my every move.”

“Maybe he’s in love with you? You and Tsireya aren’t together, he may think he has a chance.”

Lo’ak’s face screwed up in absolute disgust at the idea.

“How could you say something so disgusting? He makes me feel ill.”

Just as Lo’ak planned during breakfast, the pair went swimming with Kiri, Ao’nung and Rotxo at midday. Kiri informed the group that Tuk wouldn't be joining them. They ran into Tsireya on their way to the ilu but as predicted, she was standing with other Metkayina teens, one boy staring Lo’ak down, y/n doing the same to him.

The ride away from the village went somewhat well. Ao’nung had been taking subtle jabs at y/n which did not go unnoticed by the girl, which led to her riding with him instead of Lo’ak which was the original plan.

“Y/n. Do you know how to swim?”

“I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t.”

That seemed to be enough for Ao’nung because, in a split second, he spun around and pushed y/n off of his ilu with a smug smile on his face, which didn’t last long as y/n hand grabbed his bicep, dragging him down with her.

As the two resurfaced, y/n hit Ao’nung’s forehead muttering ‘skxawng’ under her breath before swimming to the closest rock formation with Lo’ak, Kiri and Rotxo following close behind her. Ao’nung rolled his eyes before joining the others. The group settled on the rock in a circle, y/n sat between Rotxo and Lo’ak, opposite Ao’nung.

“So, y/n, tell us about yourself. You have four fingers like these two.” Rotxo motioned to the Sully siblings, “Are your parents or were your parents, sky people too?”

“Sky people? No, a lot of my people have four fingers.”

“How?” Kiri questioned, eyes full of wonder.

“I’m not sure. My grandmother told me that this trait started to appear when she was a child, some think it was before that.” Y/n looked down at her hands and shrugged, “some think it is a punishment from Eywa, while some think it's a gift.”

“What do you think?” Lo’ak questioned, his voice sounding tense

“I haven't really thought about it, my uncle and younger brother are the same so it’s what I am used to.”

“Do you know why?” Ao’nung questioned, seemingly interested in the topic.

“Apparently, Sky people came to our shores in need of help. The old Olo'eyktans allowed them to stay on the smaller islands, in agreement that they wouldn’t interfere with the clans and in return, they were given food supplies and different resources to survive. But then, they started sneaking onto the large islands and into villages, stealing from us. When they were given a warning, they went against it and started using violence. It led to great battles, many islands were scorched, and the Olo'eyktans vowed there would be no survivors. But, there were sky people who didn’t participate in the battles. They lived amongst my people, helping build huts and weapons until they died. Their bodies burned and their ashes were buried beneath the spirit tree. A generation later, children were being born with four fingers and four toes.”

The group around y/n sat in silence taking in what they had heard. Out of all of them, Kiri seemed to be the most invested in the story. The idea of sky people existing on Pandora before her parents was fascinating.

“And… And do you believe that?” Kiri questioned in disbelief and amazement. 

“I’m sure there's some truth to it,” y/n started looking at the group around her, shrugging. “You never know.”

There was a moment of silence before Ao’nung cleared his throat, his eyes shifting between y/n and Lo’ak.

“You two seem close, even though you’ve only known each other for what? A week? You eat together every morning, Lo’ak comes back with nothing but good things to say. Are you two,” he waved his hands between the two in front of him “a couple?” His tone was accusatory.

“It’s not hard to make friends, you know. You should try it.” Lo’ak shot back rolling his eyes, “and y/n isn’t my type. A bit too tall and a bit old for me.”

Y/n nudged Lo’ak slightly, smiling at the memory of the conversation they had that morning.

“How old are you?” Rotxo questioned innocently.

“Eighteen.”

“Perfect for you, Ao’nung.”

“Shut it.” Ao’nung snapped back, a grimace on his face.

“You don’t have a chance bro,” Lo’ak added

“I said, shut up.”

Kiri rolled her eyes at the boys’ antics while offering y/n a smile which was returned.

The group finally settled down on the rocks, some lying down enjoying the peaceful atmosphere, until Lo’ak scrambled to his feet, hitting Kiri in the process.

“Hey! Watch it!” She screamed, swatting a hand at him but Lo’ak took no notice of it as he walked to the edge of the rock before diving over the edge. Y/n sat up as soon as the boy disappeared from her sight. No one seemed to be concerned. She walked to the edge of the rocks and looking down, she saw Lo’ak frantically moving his hands while perched on the edge of a tulkun fin. A tulkun, the only tulkun, she was familiar with. 

Payakan. 

Payakan’s large eye looked away from Lo’ak and up at y/n, making a sound that sounded similar to a greeting. 

“You know each other?”

“Kind of. Payakan spent a lot of time on our shores but then he just left. Nice to see he’s being taken care of over here.”

Y/n eased herself into the water, swimming over to the tulkun and pulled herself up to sit next to Lo’ak.

“The last time I heard anything about him, my brother was telling me that sky people were hunting him.”

At this omission, Payakan dropped his fin slightly, causing y/n and Lo’ak to be dunked into the water briefly.

“Sorry! Sorry!” Y/n coughed, “but that’s what I heard.”

Payakan made a clicking noise and looked away.

“You know about that?” Lo’ak questioned raising an eyebrow.

“Of course, a watcher from my village relaid the information and my brother told me.”

“A watcher? What do they do?”

“Watch? It’s in the name. They survey the skies, above the clouds and report back what they see.”

“What more did they say? What more do you know?”

Y/n paused to think, what more did she know? Her mind darted back to her dream behind the waterfall. It had been a recurring dream, but the ending was still the same.

“Nothing really. A huge fire. Some things washed up on our shores.”

“Right.” Lo’ak nodded. He didn’t look like he was convinced by y/n’s answer but accepted it anyway. He then turned back to Payakan, moving his hands before pointing at y/n.

“What are you saying?”

“Asking if he saw you did anything embarrassing as a child that I could use against you sometime.”

“Oh stop it.” Y/n laughed, putting her hand on the back of Lo’ak’s head, the action making the younger boy freeze at the familiar gesture

“Can I ask you something?” He questioned suddenly, his eyes almost pleading. The older girl nodded, giving him her full attention. This is something he had been curious about, he had heard the other villagers talk about it, trying to come up with their own conclusions. “What made you come here? I know there was a storm and everything but was coming here planned?”

“No,” the older girl responded without any hesitation, “I can’t say being a guest on these islands was a part of my plan.”

“So, why did you leave your people?”

“My father ordered it. I wasn't going to say no, it is my duty I guess.”

“Your father is Olo’eyktan? My dad was… Once. He gave that up to move here. Sometimes I wish he didn’t. I wish we didn’t leave the forest.” Lo’ak’s ears drooped at the thought of his home, his grandmother, his friends… Spider. Payakan made a noise that caused Lo’ak to perk up slightly, “but of course, coming here has been great. I just miss home.”

“You know you can always go back,” y/n started, “you don’t have to be here for the rest of your life.”

Lo’ak paused at her words, he had thought this too. He could not see himself staying in the village forever, he is a forest Na’vi after all, but he had begun to build a life here, the whole family has. He couldn’t leave. His family was here, his whole family. Sully’s stick together and no one can be left behind.

“Wait, we’re off topic. Why did your father order you to leave your people?”

“I was sent to look for someone. Well, two someone’s actually. They had been under close watch for two years, my father instructed that no one was to interact with them, without his permission and with good reason. Before I came, they managed to escape, people were hurt. From what I gathered from my dad. They’re dangerous. They do not have good intentions. So they’re to be found and brought back and then maybe they can be dealt with like how my father intended without the input of others trying to ‘keep the peace’.”

No, it can’t be. Lo’ak face filled with panic and his breath hitched.

“Do you… Do you know their names?” he questioned, hands curling into fists in his lap

Miles Quaritch. Lyle Wainfleet.

“I can’t say I remember.” She lied looking past Lo’ak, hoping he did not detect any hesitation, “Payakan, my old friend. If it’s not too much to ask, will you be able to pass a message on to my brother that I’m okay?” She asked with a smile, Lo’ak’s eyes on her.

“Your brother?”

“He has a specific spot, his thinking rock, Payakan knows it. He’ll pass on the message to my parents.”

The tulkun made a noise of agreement, before slowly lowering his fin, easing the Na’vi into the water before bidding the two goodbyes and swimming off.

“Why did he listen to you? He’s my spirit brother.”

“I’ve known him longer.”

Lo’ak rolled his eyes and splashed water in the older girl's direction.

Tuk skipped through the forest ahead of her parents, her fingers brushing against loose vines hanging beside her. Today, she was going to tend to the ikran while Lo’ak and Kiri were away. This is something she enjoyed, the forest here wasn’t the same, it wasn’t as dense or filled with the same creatures but it was pretty, it reminded her of home. 

Tuk’s skip turned into a jog as the greenery became more sparse and more light flooded in. 

“Tuk. Slow down please.” Her mother called 

“Yes, mum!” She replied, with no change in pace.

As she broke through the remaining trees, a grin appeared on her face at the familiar sight of her family’s ikran. The biggest reason why she enjoyed looking after them was that she wasn’t sure if she would ever be able to have one of her own, so looking after them was the closest she could get.

Hearing her parents appear behind her, she started to move forward, greeting all the ikran individually as she made a beeline to the back of the nesting area the ikran’s made for themselves, looking for the ikran without a rider. Getting closer, she noticed the nest was empty.

Tuk spun around, looking at all the ikran, thinking she overlooked her favourite. But she could never. So she counted again and again.

One. Two. Three. Four… Where’s five?

In a panic, she ran forward, running into her father who was tending to Bob.

“He’s gone!” She shrieked, grabbing her father’s hand, “Seze’s gone!”

Jake looked down at his youngest daughter in confusion, gone? What does she mean by ‘gone’? The ikran hasn’t ‘gone’ anywhere in two years without a lot of bribing. Jake looked past all the ikran to see that Seze was in fact ‘gone’. The urgency in Tuk’s voice caught Neytiri’s attention. She passed her mate and daughter to go to Seze's nest, bending down and placing her hand on it. Maybe there will be some heat that’ll indicate how long he had been gone. With some relief, there was. It was still quite warm which told her they had just missed the creature’s take-off.

Just as she stood up, ready to join her family and calm her daughter, a rumble resonated through the air. It was a similar sound the whole village had heard over a week ago, Tuk was the first to run towards the sound, shaking out of fathers grasp. Without hesitation, he chased after her. Neytiri looked over the other ikran one last time before following.

Making it to the beach, the family was met with a sight they could never imagine. Seze, Neteyam’s lonely ikran, named after Neytiri’s companion who she lost in the war with the sky people, face to face with Rìkxi. Barely any space between them. The latter watched the ikran with fury in its eyes. Seze did not look nervous in the slightest, seeming to be standing his ground against the beast that was more than double his size and much, much stronger than him.

Rìkxi made a sound that sounded like he was taking a massive inhale of breath, his head lifting slightly. His mouth began to open, a rumble omitting from his chest.

“Enough!” A strong, unwavering voice echoed through the gathering crowd

In a flash, the Ash Na’vi their son had become fast friends with, stood between the two creatures confidently, holding her hand up to Rìkxi’s face. Rìkxi gave what seemed to be a final look at the ikran before obeying his rider’s silent command.

Y/n stood between her faithful companion and the unknown ikran, hands raised to show that there was no threat. The last thing she wanted was for Rìkxi to eat the poor creature. Rìkxi looked at the scene in front of him before lowering his head and shuffling back slightly. The ikran behind her nudged its head forward, knocking y/n’s back. The girl turned around to face the ikran, looking curiously as it nudged her again.

Not sure what to do, she looked off to the side where Lo’ak and Kiri had joined the group but kept a distance due to Rìkxi’s presence. Seeing that she wasn’t going to get any assistance, she tried shooing the creature away calmly but it didn’t budge. She looked at Rìkxi over her shoulder and jerked her head slightly up, telling him to return to his part of the island. With a huff, the large beast flapped his wings once, shooting off into the air, unsettling all the sand around them causing those closest to cover their eyes while y/n knew that this action was deliberate.

As Rìkxi left, an older Omatikaya man came forward, his hand holding a smaller child on his left and a woman on his right. Lo’ak and Kiri catching up behind them. The woman touched the ikran’s head, pulling its attention away from y/n, which the girl was very grateful for because was starting to feel uneasy.

The woman stroked the creature's face, before shooing it away. It made a small sound before taking off into the air. Neytiri turned, looking the girl up and down, her yellow eyes studying the girl before her for any signs of danger that could injure her family in any way. Lo’ak stood next to y/n, a smile on his face trying to ease any tension that he sensed.

“Y/n, this is my mother Neytiri and my father Jake Sully. Mum, Dad, this is my new best friend y/n.”

“Nice to meet you, y/n. Lo’ak speaks very highly of you.” Neytiri greeted the girl after a moment's pause.

Lo’ak face seemed to flush a deep blue as his father nodded, also greeting the girl.

“Yes, it’s nice to meet the girl that has been keeping my son out of trouble.” Jake joked, raising an eyebrow at his son, asking him a silent question. Lo’ak’s head shook frantically from side to side. 

Y/n ignored the silent exchange and greeted both parents. Tuk looked up at the girl curiously before introducing herself.

“Hello! I’m Tuk! Your hair is really pretty.”

“It is lovely to meet you Tuk and yours is too!” Y/n smiled motioning to the white beads at the end of the young girl’s shoulder-length hair.

Looking over the youngest Sully’s head, y/n spotted Ronal in the distance. The Tsahik had spotted her and was making her way over, like a predator stalking her prey. Y/n flicked her wrist, her fingers brushing Lo’ak’s arm, the boy looked at her in confusion before following her line of sight.

“I should go and check on Rìkxi, make sure he hasn’t threatened anyone else.” She joked, itching to break away from the family as Ronal got closer.

“Right, yes. We don’t want that.” Lo’ak added stiffly. 

The girl rolled her eyes, bidding farewell to the family as she walked off hastily towards where Rìkxi should’ve hopefully settled. Just as she disappeared from everyone’s sight, Ronal joined the family, a hand on her hip.

“She’s fast.” The Tsahik commented, “Lo’ak, I will be eating breakfast with her tomorrow morning.”

Before Lo’ak could think of a reply, she walked off to join her mate, Tsireya and their youngest daughter.

The Sully’s made their way back to the marui in mostly silence. 

Jake and Neytiri walked in silence and they thought about what they had just witnessed. An ikran greeting another Na’vi it was not familiar with, willingly and refusing to leave?

The sight of the Ash Na’vi girl had taken Neytiri by surprise, there was an air of familiarity about her. Maybe it was the way that she walked, the way she spoke? She wasn’t sure, she couldn’t place it but whatever it was caused her heart to burn with longing. The girl reminded her of someone that was lost.

Jake had seen it almost immediately. Lo’ak had formed a close connection with the older girl, even if he hadn’t noticed it himself, Lo’ak looks up to her. Trusted her. There had been something missing in Lo’ak for a long time and y/n had come along and given him what he needed. Guidance, a support system. Seeing his son in this light had taken a weight off of his shoulders but then that brought on a new thought. Y/n wasn't going to stay here forever and what would that mean for Lo’ak?

Lo’ak head rushed with multiple thoughts at once, y/n’s brief explanation while with Payakan, although he knew that she was withholding some truth from him, he couldn’t find it within himself to feel suspicious of her. And also Neteyam’s ikran. Seze had kept to himself for two years, clearly mourning the loss of his rider but today showed something different. Was this linked to what Neteyam’s spirit meant? 

Kiri on the other hand was silent because she was trying to figure this out, she felt as though Eywa was whispering in her ear. She has a feeling that y/n will be important to the family, it can’t just be a coincidence that y/n appeared on Awa’atlu just days after Lo’ak’s experience at the Spirit Tree and them suddenly becoming the best of friends, the pair also sharing similar physical attributes. Four fingers, four toes and although it is not as noticeable, Kiri could see the faint hairs on the older girl's brow bone. It seemed that y/n had stepped in to be an older sister to Lo’ak, taking him under her wing. 

Tuk was the only member of the Sully family who was actively talking, some of the members chiming in every once in a while to let her know she was listening. She could sense that everyone was deep in thought but she was just glad that Seze was safe and that she met Lo’ak new friend. 

Overall, the whole family had taken notice of Lo’ak’s attitude change. In the week of knowing y/n, parts of his carefree personality had begun to shine through again and it was refreshing to see.

Kiri stopped in her tracks, clearing her throat to get her family’s attention.

"I just remembered I have to do something, I'll be back soon." 

Before anyone could respond, Kiri turned and started to walk in the direction they just came from, as soon as she got to the beach, her walk turned into a jog and that jog into a run.

On her walk over to Rìkxi, y/n was deep in thought. Jake Sully. The man Quaritch had asked … demanded … her father to help him capture so that he could “answer for his crimes.” y/n felt so stupid, why didn’t she put it together sooner “he is hiding amongst the reef people''. Lo'ak had mentioned briefly that his dad was from the stars. Maybe she did know that Jake Sully was here but was choosing to ignore it since she hadn't seen the man in person until today. Out of sight, out of mind maybe?

Suddenly, a shooting pain hit y/n in her chest which caused her to stagger back, almost losing her balance. She quickly composed herself, trying to ignore it so that she could continue her journey but with every step, it became harder to ignore.

Y/n quickened her pace, hoping to reach her destination soon but that plan was thrown to the back of her mind as she stopped abruptly, now feeling lightheaded. She squeezed her eyes closed tightly, clutching her chest while taking a deep breath. Opening her eyes slightly, she could see a few stray villagers staring at her as they passed, keeping a distance but she didn’t expect anyone to help. 

The pain was getting more intense, her vision blurring and the sound of her heart pulsating in her ears. She tried walking again but she could tell that she was staggering off to the side. Taking another deep breath, took a deep breath and clenched her jaw and began walking again. After a few more steps, her knees buckled, bringing her down into a squat, her chin tucked to her chest as tears began welling in her eyes. The burning was now unbearable. She felt like she was choking, drowning almost. She was struggling to breathe, it was like her lungs weren’t working. Every breath she tried to take was painful. 

She wheezed, rocking forward, her knees hitting the warm sand, the hand not holding her chest reaching out so she didn't faceplant. It was too much. She couldn’t even think. Y/n eyes screwed shut again, her mouth opening to scream for help but no sound other than a whimper came out. Her fingers and toes started to feel cold.

The villagers around her decided to take full notice of the scene before them, but they hesitated with the idea of helping the foreign girl. At the same moment, Kiri came speeding into view. Her eyes widened at the sight of her new friend on the floor and worried villagers gathering, not sure how to react.

“Y/n!” Kiri dashed forward, skidding to a stop next to her friend, “What’s wrong?! What happened?!”

Y/n tried to reply to Kirk’s frantic questions but all she could do was shake her head, she couldn’t bring herself to speak. She could barely hear the girl beside her.Her head was pounding. She was seeing flashes of the ocean being lit up by the bioluminescent plants, beside her, an Omatikaya Na'vi breaking the surface of the water with a grin on his face. Lo'ak? No, not Lo'ak. What the hell is happening?

Kiri looked around at the spectators, feeling annoyed that not one of them stepped forward to help her friend. Giving them the fiercest glare she could muster, Kiri tried getting down to y/n’s height, and lowering herself so that she could see her face. Kiri took note of the hand painfully gripping her chest. Had she been in pain all day and no one noticed?

“Clear the way!” Ronal’s voice boomed as she and Tonowari marched toward the small group.

Kiri scrambled out of the way as Ronal dropped down beside her, pulling y/n’s hand away from her chest.

“Get her up, I will treat her.”

Tonowari nodded at his mate, scooping y/n into his arms, the girl in question trying to resist but ultimately giving up once pain shot from her chest down to her feet. Kiri followed trying to speak to the now quiet girl. Tonowari apologised with almost every step he took and Ronal ahead, trying to conclude how she was going to ease this pain. Y/n head slightly rolled to the side as she looked out to the ocean, Kiri noticing her eyes focusing in the direction of the Cove of the Ancestors. 

As the sun was beginning to set, an avatar hopped across the beanstalk, hoping to make it to the other side without falling to his death. The sights of Pandora were absolutely breathtaking, he was used to seeing them but now, in his new body, everything seemed more amazing. The sights, the sounds, the smells. All the spectacular.

“Kid, you need to come back, you’ll miss dinner.” The earpiece crackled

The avatar rolled his eyes, looking around him, placing his finger on the microphone around his throat.

“Yes Dad, on my way.” He replied in a mocking tone, “I’ll be like 10 minutes, tops.”

“You better, or I’ll have to send someone out for you. Again.”

The avatar continued on his jog before he started to scale the many intertwined vines. This would be so much easier with an ikran, he thought but it was still early days. Reaching the top, he leaped across more branches before running through the camp, doing his best to weave between the different humans and Na’vi moving around.

“Seriously again? Watch it!”

“Sorry, Vic!” He called back, almost running into someone else.

The avatar swung the door open to the laboratory and ducked his head to get through the door, and skidded to a stop.

“Right on time.” Norm stated, looking up from his desk at the young avatar, “Go unlink, I’ll plate you some food.”

The boy walked into an empty room and lay down on a large cot. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Norm’s avatar ‘asleep’, hooked up to a machine to keep it hydrated and nourished. The boy shuffled his body, getting comfortable and closing his eyes.

The lid of the link unit opened slowly, the young boy sat up and swung his legs over the edge, stretching his arms.

“Victoria said you ran into her… Again. It’s starting to seem like it’s on purpose.” An older man spoke, eyes not looking away from the screen in front of him.

“It’s not, I swear. I’m having trouble stopping and she always seemed to be there.”

“You need to be more careful Spider. I know you're learning but you need to be mindful about those around you.”

“I know Max, I know. I’ll do better next time, I promise.” Spider replied somewhat sincerely. He was trying to be careful but he also did run into Victoria on purpose.

Max nodded looking back at the screen to check if there were any outliers on Spider’s readings. Seeing that everything was normal enough, he ushered the boy off of the link bed and into the communal eating area where a few of the humans were sitting around talking. The boy spotted Norm at the far end, speaking to another scientist.

Sitting down next to him, he began to eat silently, running through the forest all day has built a big appetite that he still wasn’t used to.

“So, how was it today?” Norm questioned as the other scientist left the table.

“Amazing!” Spider swallowed quickly, turning to face the older man, “I managed to run without smashing my face into the floor.”

“Good. That’s good. You’re getting better. But it’s still early days, don’t push yourself.” 

“I know, I know. I’m being as careful as possible.”

“So, when are you gonna tell Kiri and Lo’ak about your avatar?”

“I don’t know, I haven’t found the right time.”

“You spoke with Kiri yesterday, right? Why didn’t you tell her then?” Norm questioned, raising the fork to his mouth.

“It didn’t feel right,” Spider shrugged, “she was talking about a new friend Lo’ak had made, I didn’t want to interrupt.”

“Lo’ak made a friend? Good for him, he had been quite down when I last spoke to Jake.” Max added as he sat down in front of Norm, “Jake had been really worried for him, breaking up with Tsireya hit him hard.”

Spider’s head dropped, he didn’t know that Lo’ak wasn’t dating the Metkayina girl anymore. If he was being honest, he didn’t have any idea about how Lo’ak had been doing for about eight months now. The pair hadn’t spoken to one another and Kiri didn’t purposely bring him up in conversation. It made Spider feel guilty, he could tell there was a strain on their relationship but he was too afraid to face it, he was too guilty. Even speaking to Kiri hurt him, he couldn’t even bring himself to speak to Jake, for fear that he would spill his guts out to the man and the consequences.

It was killing him. He wouldn’t dare tell Norm or Max, they would tell the Sully’s in an instant and he is sure that Neytiri would have his head. Not that Spider could blame her. He wasn’t thinking about the consequences at the time but as the days passed on the island, the guilt was eating him alive and the fear was keeping him silent.

“What do you think, Spider?” Norm questioned, nudging the boy out of his thoughts.

“What?”

“I said, we should try and arrange for you to visit Awa’atlu. You haven’t seen them in person in ages and it’ll be better this time because you have an avatar.” Max explained, a gentle smile resting on his lips, “and honestly, I could use the quiet.” He joked

Spider forced out a chuckle, shovelling a forkful of food into his mouth, running through all the possible outcomes that could happen, being face-to-face with the family he betrayed.

As the sun set and eclipse made itself known, a small group of Txampaysye swam passed through the Cove of the Ancestors and along the base of The Spirit Tree. One broke away from its group and glided off to the left, joining a shimming group of Atokirina’ that was floating peacefully above a glowing mass amongst the swaying plants on the seafloor. 

Slowly, the plants separated, allowing the Txampaysye to lower itself down, resting itself across the widest part of the unknown figure. A moment later, air bubbles began to float upwards. The Atokirina’ floated down and landed on a small part of the figure, and as soon as it did that, the unknown shape flinched before curling into a ball. Slowly, the plants on the seafloor made their way back to each other, hiding the mass from any creature that may swim passed.

Txampaysye - gill mantle, serves as a biological diving suit, feeding oxygen to a bonded Na'vi through their kuru connection/tsaheylu.

Atokirina' - woodsprite, a seed of the Tree of Souls that lives on Pandora (I imagine the Spirit Tree has its own version).

Taglist: @eywas-heir @cvsmic-love @thehoneymushroomhealer @myvath @afro-hispwriter @jjkclub @babyymeme @lovedbychoi @bananafruityawne @dakotali @cleverzonkwombatsludge @jakesully-sbabygirl @audigay @peachycrime @crazy4books1 @zaddyneteyamlovergirl @the-lonely-raven @inluvwithneteyam @aihimitsu @im-in-a-pansexual-panik @queenmizuki

[alexanderlightweight]

I posted this to ao3 for someone i know who doesn't have a tumblr, but I'll share it on here as well.

this is a follow up and expansion into Magnus/Alec's battlelust date in portugal when the rifts open

-

Magnus stops his art to admire his canvas, enjoying the tilted face and closed eyes, the long lashes trustingly resting on high cheekbones that Magnus is brushing over.

“I adore you,” Magnus can’t help but whisper and his breathe fans over the glitter he hasn’t yet set, spreading magic across Alexander’s face.

“I love you too,” Alexander murmurs back. “But if you keep doing this, I’m going to ruin your hard work by kissing you.”

“I wouldn’t mind.” Magnus freely admits, perfectly fine with the passion he has for his boy, “I can start over.”

Alexander peeks his long, gloriously thick lashes open and squints suspiciously at him.

“Babe, you’ve restarted three times. I thought we were going to that flower festival somewhere?”

“You and your flowers,” Magnus teases lightly. However, he’s pleased more than actually upset, delighted at how much Alexander has opened up with and for him, how the keeps trusting pieces of himself with Magnus and then entrusting even more.

“Yes, my flowers.” Alexander says smugly and wrinkles his nose, like a bunny. “Now hurry up, I’d like to have time to watch you pick your clothes.”

It’s a charming habit that Alexander enjoys watching Magnus find them both the perfect outfit.

Magnus finishes his artwork, the petals carefully drawn out and set with shimmering lines of magic that won’t be smeared or lose their sheen.

“Now, then—” Magnus announces and uses magic to throw open their closet doors. He’s about to start when a fire message comes his way, he reads it and his smirk grows. “Change of plans, lovely! A dozen rifts have open in the south of Portugal, coordinates to come. Shall we take a detour, go to the festival tomorrow instead?”

Alexander grins, a matching expression of gleeful delight. “Sounds nice.”

“Oh—” Magnus can’t help how his expression falls, “I’ll have to do something about this.” He murmurs and reaches out, magic sparking on his fingers and Alexander captures them, kissing the magic away.

“Don’t you dare, Magnus.” Alexander says, voice low and eyes amorous, “this is a date, not a mission. Are you trying to take my flower crown away, babe? I thought you liked them on me.”

“Never,” Magnus says in delight as he magicks a small cluster of flowers over from the vanity and he snaps them both into their battle-gear. “I have a matching boutonniere, my dear.” And once it’s tucked into the pocket of his vest, he cups his boy’s face. “I was merely worried about the shine of the glitter affecting your vision.”

Instead of melting at the concern, his darling boy huffs in disbelief and his face twists into a scowling pout.

“I’ve killed demons half blinded by ichor before, Magnus.” Alexander grumbles as he summons his weapons and makes sure his boots are tight enough.

They are.

“Honestly, Magnus. Glitter is annoying and can be uncomfortable sometimes but it doesn’t literally sear you raw and take out your sight. Your priorities, babe. Sometimes they make no sense.”

Magnus stares in utter shock as he gets the last of his own outfit ready. “Alexander, did you really just try that with me? Do you not remember your own priorities? Or that time you tackled a demon off that resort balcony — while naked? On the fifth floor might I add!”

“It was trying to steal our breakfast Magnus and there were strawberries with the waffles. What was I supposed to do, let it win?”

Magnus stares at this ridiculous, hopeless man who he has so ardently dedicated himself too and been met with devoted to in turn.

“Oh, lovely how do I ever try to resist you.” Magnus says and he crosses over and pulls his boy into a passionate, hungry kiss.

“I didn’t know you tried.” Alexander murmurs, voice low and hoarse and his lips chasing Magnus’ own.  They kiss, unhindered or distracted for a few minutes before Magnus pulls himself away with a slick pop and forces himself to make a portal. 

“Your battleground awaits, my love.” Magnus says holding out his hand for Alexander to take before he steps through the portal and he exits first, using his magic to keep the portal open as he helps Alexander out, a warrior descending from his chariot.

His love is magnificent, a circlet of plum blossoms crowns his brow and the outline of a peony in full bloom across his face, the lines a soft peach that shimmer in the dying sun.

Alexander looks like a god of war, come to scatter petals for the dead and destroy whoever dared stand before him.

Magnus personally chose his clothes, a leather jacket woven with abyssal silk and studded with demon pearls, every single one imbued with a different array of protection or spell of endurance, each the red of Magnus’ battle-magic.

The only adamas Alexander has ever allowed on his battle-gear after he met Magnus, is the steel tipped toes of his boots and the tiny spikes of adamas on his soles.

Magnus wears dragonscale shoes in return, just in case they want to dance after a battle and Alexander steps on his toes, again.

A graceful warrior his shadowhunter may be, but a graceful man in the face of Magnus’ delight he is not.

Magnus’ own outfit is as dark as Alexander’s but threaded with spidersilk harvested by moonmoth fairies. They spin the webs on willow branches in the light of the moon until they shine with the same glow. It also is the same glow as Alexander’s blessed weapons and witchlight. Magnus wears a circlet of magical platinum, pure grade and harvested in the mines of the Spiral Labyrinth.

Perhaps it’s not quite as charming as his Alexander’s own crown, but the magic stored in it is what helps Magnus tames Edom’s magic and harvest what his flames devour to renew himself.

Together, they step onto the ravaged earth and look across. There are shadowhunters and warlocks working together across the plain and Magnus casually disintegrates a demon that scuttles too close.

“Oh dear,” he murmurs, and he surveys it with a friend. “I’m sorry darling, I fear I expected a bit more. Is this too boring? We can still make the festival.”

“But Magnus.” Alexander is looking at him with feral delight, his eyes huge and wondrously amorous, “it’s been so long since we’ve danced.”

Then Alexander is ducking under the sweeping but lumbering tail of a demon, gloved hand touching down, his bare fingers brushing the earth as he lashes out with his foot.

The demon explodes in a burst of ash and ichor as the spikes on Alexander’s boots and the force of his kick crush it’s orbital bones into its brain.

“You are a delight.” Magnus admits and he sends a spear of magic through a demon thinking it might sneak behind. “Well, then, a waltz to begin?” And Magnus ducks under Alexander’s arm as his love draws his bow, notching an arrow and plucking a demon from the sky.

“If we get closer to the rifts, we might get around to a tango.” Alexander, his charming boy chuckles, dark and hoarse and alite with the thrill of a brutal, deadly dance.

—

Alec lets himself settle into the rhythm and delight of a good battle with Magnus at his back.

There’s a simple joy in it, in the harmony of their backs pressed together, of knowing when to duck and trust or when to take the lead and protect. There’s an indescribably beauty and Alec knows the luxury he’s been gifted.

A king’s ransom that other shadowhunters would kill to experience.

Magnus changed, after Edom and Alec is certain that now, that in the entire world there is no one more powerful than Magnus.

Alec is still stunned by it, in awe of it and flustered by it.

Magnus is still Magnus, despite all his power and glory and Alec adores him all the more for it.

Like how he spends his time painting flowers in a prism of magic across Alec’s face or grows entire trees just to gather blossoms for Alec’s crowns.

Each time Magnus wreaths him in magic and flowers, Alec feels his heartbeat thud as if he’s meeting Magnus again for the first time.

It’s with a smile that he shoves his fist through a demon’s maw and rips out its jaw, hissing at the sting of ichor.

No sooner has he felt the sting than it’s soothed, the flower petals on his brow glowing softly as they imbue him with healing and Alec can’t help the small, tiny smile that it brings him.

“You can’t smile like that,” Magnus bemoans and Alec knows he’s just teasing so he smiles a little broader, hopelessly charmed by Magnus’ teasing. “Alexander, my heart. How can you tease me so in the middle of such a dance.”

“How can I not smile when I look at you?” Alec asks, “when I think of how much you love me. How amazing your magic is and how I’m covered in it. What am I supposed to do, Magnus? Pretend I’m not awed every day at how much you love and want me?”

Magnus makes a mournful sound and then his magic explodes, bursting out of him in a shockwave that disintegrates every demonic being within three-hundred yards and sends two dozen shaowhunters flat on their asses.

Magnus grabs him and dips him, kissing Alec with a fervor that ignites Alec’s battlefever and his lust. He chases the kiss, but Magnus pushes him back with a smug, laughing smirk.

“Oh, the things I’m going to do to you when we’re done.” Magnus promises and Alec lets a laugh of delight and draws another arrow, waiting for the demons to recover and ignoring the ache of his hard cock against the seam of his pants.

“I can’t wait.” He promises because it’s true.

—

“Commander!” Alec hears and he mutters a scathing remark that has Magnus tittering and blasting a demon with a bit too much force as he tries to stifle it.

“What?” He asks as he avoids ducking and instead stabs the approaching demon. Ichor splatters across his face and Alec can’t help it. “Fucking demons better not stain my goddamn flower crown.”

He turns to see a shocked, frightened, and clearly worn hunter.

“Commander, are you reinforcements, what should be done? I’m not sure what formation to send them out in.”

He’s asked Alec rolls his eyes because he’s honestly disappointed.

“You’re a ranked shadowhunters, you know what to do or you wouldn’t be here. Focus on your own people and let us be. I’m on a date, not here to save you.”

Alec leaves the gawping hunter to return to Magnus’ side, irritated about the absence even though it lasted mere moments.

In a battle, mere moments can decide victory. It’s with an extra vicious kick that Alec accidentally knocks the demon’s head clear off, the toes of his boot severing the spinal attachment and sending it bouncing across the field. It rolls for a moment before it explodes, as if the body had only just realized it was dead.

They fight until they’re bored, dusk turning into twilight and Alec is ravenous for a different kind of battle, a different kind of fight where he has no intention of winning and every intention of absolutely enjoying his loss.

[blackbirdswhispers]

I don’t know how to make this aesthetic like so many others do but have an Astarion blurb fic from the part of my mind that runs wild at night.

Uhh gender neutral Tav, Astarion POV but in 2nd person? some minor spoilers for Act 3, absolutely no editing, one shot, prose filled indulgence, mostly SFW, fluff. I don’t really write fics so hopefully someone out there will enjoy this. If I did any editing it would probably be less ooc but it’s almost 3 so, gnight.

~~~

The night is quiet. The others have long since settled into their various forms of rest. They all rest more or less easier now than they did at the beginning of this journey.

Maybe it’s because they’re not afraid of the things that creep through the night anymore, now that you’ve all made it back to the city. Which is insane, the city is much much worse when it comes to things that creep through the night.

Being in an inn won’t change that. You know better.

Maybe that’s why you aren’t so quiet when you come to take your little blood tithe from Tav. Maybe you’re just testing to see if they’re going to be…safe.

Even that thought sends a shock of lightning anxiety through you. They have to be safe. Now more than ever, you need them. They who have remained on your side, somehow, through everything.

Tav, the one who offers you soft kisses any time so much as a wrinkle creases your brow. The one you actually want to oblige when they do. The one who asks nothing else of you but what you must all do to avoid becoming even more horrific.

You’re nearly staggering into their room, half panicked in the short walk down the hall you’ve taken to see them.

They’re staring at you as if you’ve sprouted a second head, propped up on one elbow and seemingly ready to launch into whatever chaos was charging into their room.

“Astarion…?”

They don’t look any more comfortable as you shut the door behind you. You sigh, frantically trying to think of some way to play off this, this clingy feeling.

The city has shaken you in a way you’d hoped it wouldn’t. But there are so many memories, so many thoughts you’d rather avoid.

When you look back at Tav, they have a guarded look about them. Before you can open your mouth to try and explain anything, they speak again.

“Come to satisfy that depraved carnal lust?” they ask.

The cycle of emotions that hits you like a lash rips any words you were about to speak away from you. You’re so startled you don’t remember to keep your expression controlled. Is that…what they want? But they said…

A deep sigh of relief comes from them.

“Gods, I thought you were Orin for a moment. You’ve never been so clumsy but for that first night,” they say, their usual warm tone returning. They move to sit cross legged on their bed and pat the spot next to them.

“Sorry to worry you, my dear. But I doubt Orin would know what we get up to at night, so it seemed the best way to know you were really you.”

You close your gaping mouth and tilt your head, raising a brow in thought. Maybe they were more aware of the dangers of the city than you’d thought.

“I- well it did make me remember how thick you had me laying it on in the beginning,” you quip, just about managing to keep the tremble out of your voice.

Haltingly you move to sit next to them, perching on the edge of the bed rather than sitting further toward the center. It’s like a paralysis overtakes you. Consumed by the simultaneous desire to wrap yourself around them, while also feeling like your skin might burst if you’re touched.

They sit patiently, waiting for you. When you glance at them out of the corner of your eye you can see they’re facing their own inner turmoil. They’ve never had much of a liar’s face, not when it comes to their emotions. Not like you.

“Don’t feel guilty,” you say. A touch sharply, probably. “I’m glad you even thought to check it was me, honestly.” You drift your hand over to theirs, giving a little squeeze. “This place just, has me on edge.”

They return the gesture, their thumb softly rubbing a circle where it rests against your finger.

“I’m here, you’re here,” they reply.

You’re staring at your hand on theirs. At their supporting you even while you cover their hand to reassure them. There are so many things left unspoken between you. So much unfinished unpleasantness to handle before you can really say anything.

“Can I kiss you?” they ask, a bit hesitant.

You’re still staring at your entwined hands, not really thinking about it.

“Of course,” you reply, not at all connected to what you’re agreeing to.

But as you turn to let them kiss you, they bring your hand to their lips instead. They reverently kiss the bend in each of your fingers, feather light as if they handled spun sugar. Their eyes are all but closed as their lips slowly travel over your fingers.

A form of worship you’ve never experienced in all the years you played the rake.

As they complete their quiet prayer over your hand, you brush your fingers across their cheek. Their eyes still closed, they gently kiss your palm and lean into the touch. A shiver goes through them as you run your thumb over their lips.

They’re so beautiful. And when they open their eyes again, you see only that pure adoration they so often behold you with. There’s no question or expectation lurking behind that gaze.

A smile has curled into your lips, but it twists on one side into a smirk.

“Darling, would you mind terribly if I stayed for a cuddle tonight?” you ask.

They smile, turning into your hand once more to kiss your palm.

“You are always welcome to come and go as you please, dear one.” Their smile goes a bit sheepish. “But I will admit there is rarely a morning that isn’t just a little brighter when yours is the first face I see.”

You scoff dramatically. “Well, am I not just an absolute ray of sunshine?”

They roll their eyes, but still give in to your levity. “Yes, yes, now let’s go to bed.”

They move closer toward the wall, leaving the open side of the bed for you. You’ve noticed they try never to get you pinned between them and something else. So conscious of what might affect you.

And to that same note, they’ve left their neck exposed, gently stretched bare skin in the low light. When you’re finally able to look at them they’re smirking at you, clearly having watched you process their actions.

“Try not to get my blood on the sheets, this place was kind of expensive.”

You laugh, curling up next to them on the admittedly comfortable bed.

“Of course, my love,” you say softly into their neck, just before your fangs sink into their skin.

[averagepsychouser]

I cannot take this anymore listening to Vulpes Inculta for accurate writing is actually sucking my soul out I can’t handle this man this is torture in the worst way possible

[epitomereally]

smut saturday?

VUK (@vukovich) ty for the tag. I certainly don’t (yet) have 10 smut scenes to post, so going to post one from my upcoming WIP and one from my published fic. I’ve learned that I love to start a story with slightly-antagonistic, extremely-unsure sex, probably from my formative years reading enemies-to-lovers H/D in the early 2000s. If that’s your vibe, enjoy :)

Eta: forgot to tag! Lots of people on my dash have already gone but would love to see @tenthousandyearsx because “trouble with your tie, potter?” is amazing and would love to see what else you choose and anyone else who’s seeing this & hasn’t written one yet

This is from my upcoming WIP & essentially follows another wip snip I've posted. Completely unedited, aka peep where I use [] to write notes to myself when I can't come up with the right word while drafting.

They landed in Harry’s bedroom. Harry was suddenly, fervently glad he’d been changing his sheets like a madman because, otherwise, his room was musty, untidy, strewn with socks and pants and his other sets of Auror robes. Malfoy’s disdain was apparent while looking about and Harry was reminded of all the reasons why this was a terrible, horrible idea.

    Malfoy plucked a pair of Harry’s socks off the bed and placed them on the desk chair in the corner. He said, “Eurgh, don’t you have a house elf, Potter? Why does this place look like such a dump?”

    Harry crossed his arms over his chest. It was his dump and so what if he didn’t like to clean up? He’d had a lifetime of that by age ten and threw himself into messiness with reckless abandon at Hogwarts—messiness was freedom. He protested, “Kreacher is getting old! And I don’t like him sorting through my dirty pants! He takes care of the rest of the house, as best he can.”

    Malfoy turned to him. With barely-disguised interest, he asked, “Where exactly are we, Potter? I thought I remembered an elf named Kreacher—“

    Harry cut him off, defiant. “I won’t have you selling me out to the papers, Malfoy. If we’re to do this, you’re not to tell anyone about it.”

    “Oh, I see.” Malfoy’s eyes glittered dangerously. “The great Harry Potter doesn’t want anyone knowing about his dirty, little secret.” He had advanced on Harry and emphasized each word with a jab to the chest. “He won’t even tell the people that he shags where he lives. What’s next, Potter, memory charms?”

    That honestly didn’t sound such a bad idea at the moment. This was obviously such a colossal mistake that Harry had half a mind to Obliviate himself. But, he reasoned, if he did, then he wouldn’t remember to never ever act on the fact that he thought Draco Malfoy was fit. “Fine, then! If you’re just going to be a wanker about me, where I live, how I live, then it’s best we don’t do this at all.”

    Malfoy continued on as if Harry hadn’t even said anything at all. “Well, don’t you worry about me spilling the magic beans, Potter. Don’t be ridiculous. You may be the hero of the Wizarding World, but I’m not exactly eager to advertise this either.” Malfoy’s face twisted into a bitter sneer. “Besides, who do you even think I would tell?”

    “Okay, okay. Just—“ Harry paused, wondered how revealing this was. “Just don’t call me that.”

    “What? Hero of the Wizarding World?” Malfoy scoffed. “You always were-“ [disgustingly modest? But would Malfoy think this yet? Maybe he figures it out later and just lashes out here]

    With a flourish, Malfoy started to untie his cloak. He slid it from his shoulders, folded it nicely, and set it on Harry’s desk. He then sat on the bed to unlace his dragonhide boots.

    “Er—“ Harry began. All thought left him when Malfoy began unbuttoning his shirt, starting with the cuffs and then showing a dangerous sliver of his collarbone. Harry’s mouth was suddenly very dry. He forced out, “Er, I guess I’m not sure we should do this, anymore? Maybe it was a bad idea?”

    Malfoy cast a glance at him again, continuing to unbutton his shirt, which was now open to his ribcage. “Of course it’s a bad idea, Potter, but we’re young and you’re fine-looking, I suppose. You’re looking for someone to experiment with who won’t sell you out to the press, which I won’t, and, even if I did, who would believe me, Draco Malfoy, Death Eater, telling anyone that we shagged? And I’m just looking to get off and don’t particularly care with who, even if it is someone whom I’ve hated for forever.”

    Harry’s breath had officially left his body. Malfoy’s shirt was now completely open, baring his chest and stomach. Harry reached down to adjust his cock, which was straining against his fly, and Malfoy tracked the movement with his eyes.

    Malfoy abruptly stood up, apparently having taken Harry’s obvious desire as agreement. He unbuckled his belt and threw it on the floor. He slowly unzipped his fly and shimmied his skinny trousers down his legs. Then Malfoy was just stood there, in his black pants, long legs, swelling cock, broad shoulders, all that skin on display, looking uncertain for the first time. Harry blurted out, “You’re so fit.”

    Malfoy barked out a laugh, seeming surprised and pleased. He palmed his cock and said, “Now you, Potter,” softer than Harry thought possible from him.

    Harry realized he had just been standing there like a wally, while Malfoy stripped. He hurried to take off his clothes. He hastily toed off his ratty trainers and his socks, only one of which had a hole in the toe, he was pleased to note. He shucked his trousers, which were starting to become quite uncomfortable anyways. When he went to remove his tee, he got it stuck in his armpits and then his glasses came clattering to the floor when he removed it. He bent down to pick them up and shoved them back on his face.

    Malfoy looked temporarily taken aback. He asked, “You’re going to keep your glasses on, then?”

    Harry cleared his throat. He said, gruffly, “I want to see you,” and grinned when red spread across Malfoy’s chest, up his neck, onto his face.

    Malfoy sat on Harry’s bed and leaned back, resting on his palms. He let his legs sprawl in front of him, off the bed, and Harry could see the soft swell of his balls in his pants, the dusty fuzz on the insides of his thighs. Harry realized Malfoy was letting him look and his mouth flooded with saliva. Malfoy asked, quietly, as if afraid to break the spell, “Have you ever bottomed before, Potter?”

    “Er,“ Harry said, “no?” He knew the mechanics of it, of course; after Christmas, Charlie had sent him some quite instructive magazines, that Harry had wanked to at least once or twice. Harry had even tried to poke around back there with a finger once or twice, but it had just been uncomfortable and not very enjoyable.

    Malfoy snorted and reached down, put his hand down his pants and stroked himself. Harry’s eyes followed the movement, the long pulls up and down, and his mind filled with static. He truly didn’t think he had ever been more turned on in his life.

    Malfoy said, lazily, continuing to stroke himself, “Well, I suppose since I’ve done it before, I’ll do you the favor this time, but next time, you’ll have to hand your arse up to me.”

This is from my fic A Case of You, and is quite close to the beginning. Harry and Draco are both in the Auror training program, partnered together. Harry is obviously interested in Draco, but is also keeping secrets.

Draco pulled off of Potter’s cock and hovered above his body, now completely unsure how to proceed. Potter still had an arm thrown over his eyes; he was breathing hard, with a flush extended down his chest. He whispered, “Fuck,” once more and pulled his head up to look down at Draco. “Draco, that was—fuck. Are you … are you going to fuck me now?”

Draco barked out a laugh of disbelief; he smiled up at Potter, just a bit. “Fuck you? Potter, you just came.”

An obstinate look came over Potter’s face. “You said you were going to use me, so fucking use me.”

 Was that not good for Potter? It seemed like it was good for Potter. It was certainly good for Draco; he was viciously hard, a literal, aching need in his groin. Humiliation flooded through Draco’s body, but then Potter was reaching down to him, grabbing, clasping hands trying to pull Draco up.

“You really want me to use you, Potter?” Draco snarled. He pushed those hands down, clambered up Potter’s body, and straddled his shoulders. “Open your mouth.”

And Potter just fucking did, what the fuck?

Draco channeled all the wants of his fifteen-year-old sexual awakening and guided his cock into Potter’s open mouth. Potter’s lips were so red, bitten; his mouth was so wet and hot; his tongue sliding on the underside of Draco’s cock. Draco was already so turned on and now this—literally something he wanked to in the Slytherin dorms, angry and so horny. He imagined himself holding Potter down, fucking his face, Potter moaning around his cock. Now it was happening and it seemed like Potter loved it, groaning and writhing and eyes fluttering closed.

“Look at me,” Draco commanded, pumping in and out. Potter’s eyes snapped open and focused on Draco’s. Potter’s eyes were so green without his glasses, looking through Draco like he could see his want, his anger, his shame that he had been carrying around with him for years. Draco thrust helplessly, desperately into Potter’s mouth and Potter just took it. It certainly wasn’t the most technically-skilled blowjob Draco had ever received—Potter’s teeth were coming too close and Draco was bumping up against his soft palate, but Potter was seeing him, fuck. Draco carded his fingers through Potter’s hair, which was much softer than it looked, too soft, and tugged. Potter hummed in appreciation and brought his hands up to Draco’s hips, urging him on. Draco realized belatedly that maybe Potter liked this, liked Draco being rough with him. Maybe Potter actually wanted to be used. He wanted Draco to pour out all of his anger at his position, his frustration at never been good enough, his urgent want for Potter.

So Draco did.

Too quickly, Draco’s cock started tingling, the ache in his groin returned with a vengeance, and Draco could feel a rushing throughout his body. And fuck it, if Potter wanted to be used—

“Potter, I’m going to—can I come? On your face?”

Potter moaned and squeezed Draco’s arsecheck, which Draco could only take as assent. Draco breathed in harshly through his nose, as a jolt of arousal shot through him. Fuck, if Draco wasn’t living out every pubescent fantasy he’d ever had—though, in his fantasy, he hadn’t asked Potter if he could. Potter hollowed out his cheeks, running his tongue over the underside of Draco’s cock. Draco could feel his orgasm rushing and he pulled his cock out of Potter’s mouth. Then he was fucking coming, coming on Potter’s face, his open mouth, his tongue. Potter had even kept his eyes open, the hopeless fool, but Draco knew he would probably never forget Potter’s green eyes looking up at him in this moment.

“Fuck,” he whispered. Potter grinned up at him, brilliantly. Draco took in shuddering breaths and ran a thumb through his come on the corner of Potter’s mouth, smearing it.

“How was it?” Potter rasped out. Potter’s voice was gone from Draco’s cock—if that wasn’t the hottest thing Draco had ever heard, he would sell his soul.

“Potter, you have a lovely career in sucking cock ahead of you, if you want it,” Draco smirked down at him.

[imoutofsoupyo]

“Don’t worry I won’t have you lashed to a cross like the rest of these degenerates”

[koolkat9]

One Step at a Time

Rating: M

Pairing: GerEng

Word Count: 1021

Read on AO3

Author’s Note: References to alcoholism, drug use, and implied self-harm. Proceed with caution. 

Matthew had been the one to call.

“I-I can’t keep doing this Ludwig. He won’t listen to me. To any of us. I…I don’t know what else to do. But it wasn’t that long ago he helped you out of your own dark pit. Maybe that will make a difference, I don’t know…He should be at his flat in London. I-I know it’s probably asking a lot but…I don’t know what else to do.”

He owed Arthur one. So as soon as he got the call, Ludwig was booking a plane ticket to London.

It was all a blur. Right from when he headed out the front door until he arrived in front of Arthur’s door. It was then that he realized he should have brought something. Something from Arthur’s favourite bakery or something for lunch since it was well into the afternoon, and knowing Arthur, he probably forgot to eat. Perhaps he could take him out for lunch. Given Matthew’s call, it seemed the Brit could use the distraction.

He knocked on the door. No answer. He knocked again. Something crashed behind the door, but Arthur never came. Ludwig remembered where Arthur kept a spare key. He had used it a few times when taking a drunk Arthur home.

As he entered, Arthur came rushing out of the hallway, dressed in a wrinkled cardigan, hair wilder than usual, a wide-eyed look on his face. “Ludwig,” he breathed.

“I…I was just…Um…Matthew called and well…”

Arthur groaned, running a hand through his hair and down his face. “Of course…God, why can’t that boy worry about himself for once…”

“What’s that on your arm?”

Arthur’s hand immediately dropped from his cheek. He tugged down the sleeve of his cardigan. “Nothing. I had a cooking accident.”

Ludwig’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t lie to me, Arthur."

“It will heal by tomorrow.”

“Arthur.”

“What does it matter? We heal in days. We can’t die. It’s practically just like alcohol and drugs to us.”

“And you say like those things aren’t harmful.”

Arthur crossed his arms with a huff. “You love alcohol as much as me. If not more.”

“That’s not the point! You got to pace yourself with alcohol. And drugs…Arthur, you know how I feel about that. They may not kill us…permanently…but…who knows what you’re doing to your body.”

“It doesn’t matter. None of it does. We live until our nations dissolve. Even then some, considering your brother. I just…I’m tired Ludwig. And for a moment I…”

Ludwig took a breath. He couldn’t get angry, or lash out, or push Arthur further into a corner. He knew exactly where his mind was. His own mind had been there no more than a decade ago. Even now, it wandered now and then to that dark place. Where voices whispered in gentle lullabies of death.

“I know…You know I know,” Ludwig said softly. He carefully approached Arthur, guiding him into his arms."This was a sudden trip, so…would it be alright if I stayed with you for the duration?”

Arthur rubbed at his shoulders. Ludwig could see the tremors in his hand. “It would ease your mind, wouldn’t it?”

“You know that answer. You sure did love showing up unannounced back then.”

Arthur rested his head on Ludwig’s shoulder. “I can’t have you wasting a fortune on a hotel. So I guess it can’t be helped.”

Ludwig smiled slightly, pulling Arthur even closer. “I was thinking of ordering some lunch. Even if you just get a little food in you…”

“Fine.”

— — —

It turned out to be a good day. That was saying without any idea how Arthur’s morning went, but their afternoon together was peaceful. They ordered takeout and held a movie marathon. After dinner, Ludwig had even convinced Arthur to go out for a short stroll. But laying in the guest room, anxiety gnawed at Ludwig’s stomach.

What kind of thoughts ran through Arthur’s head when all was quiet except for your own mind that coursed through your body like a bass? Would he go deeper, open the old wounds from that morning or perhaps create new ones?

He wanted to trust Arthur. But one good day didn’t mean Arthur had everything under control now.

Ludwig found Arthur curled up on the living room couch, staring at the black screen of the TV.

“I didn’t wake you, did I?” Arthur asked, a slight rasp in his voice.

“No…Couldn’t sleep.”

“You’re worried about me…”

“A little, but…”

“I get it," Arthur admitted, "I spent many a nights back then wide awake wondering if you were okay. If you were safe. If I should have stayed longer.”

Something tingled in Ludwig's stomach. He knew Arthur had cared so deeply back then, but to hear him admit that made Ludwig happy but also strangely somber.

“Can we sleep together?”

“Sure,” came Arthur’s immediate reply, “O-Only because it will let you rest easy.”

Ludwig flushed slightly, heart thrumming. No. This wasn’t about him. And it was not like they hadn’t fallen asleep together once or twice when the nights got too long.

But this was the first time one of them had asked aloud.

Arthur rose from the couch and took Ludwig’s hand. He guided him to his bed, pulling him down with him.

“Forgive me for the slight mess…I…” Arthur trailed off, looking around at the strung-about papers and dirty clothes.

“If you want, I can help you clean up a bit in the morning .”

“We’ll see what tomorrow brings. But…thank you. For everything.”

Ludwig’s heart stopped when Arthur cuddled against him. The Brit’s head was resting where Ludwig’s shoulder attached to the collarbone, hand on Ludwig’s chest.

“I hope you don’t mind…” Arthur whispered, “I-I find I sleep better when I’m holding onto something.”

“N-Not at all. It’s…nice…actually…”

Arthur nuzzled his nose into him. Ludwig rubbed his hand up and down Arthur’s back, feeling Arthur go limp against him. When he heard a soft snore, Ludwig let out a sigh of relief. They’d be okay. One step at a time.

[wickdcreatures]

          This has all the tells of a dream — the soft, movie quality light, the surreal landscape beyond his windshield. He must have fallen asleep in the driver's seat — he has parked somewhere pretty overlooking the sparse woods after a particularly draining shift, and his guess is he fell asleep shortly after. That’s all that would make sense. 

He’s startled back to his senses as his glove box closes, his brother sitting in the passenger seat. Moppy brown hair, bigger brown eyes, wearing one of his oversized hoodies to stay warm in the crisp Utah air. He had grabbed one of the toys Salem keeps as offerings out of the depths of the glovebox, registration papers and napkins pinched in the closure mechanism. 

          “ You like that one, bud? ”     Salem smiles, one hand reaching over to correct the paper situation, the other on the steering wheel to keep him from toppling over onto his brother,     “ One of these days I’m gonna take you to the thrift store here in town — they have a bunch of super cool toys, actually. Lots of things we used to see on the TV. ”

Derrick only nods, moving the squeaking plastic arms on the toy pirate. He seems sullen — sad. Salem chews on the inside of his lip, his lashes fluttering for a moment before his eyes once again rest on the trees. 

          “ It’s really different here, I know. Maybe someday we will be able to move back to California, but right now — right now we gotta stay away... Our Aunts and our Uncles are being really mean right now, they don't want us to be happy — well — I mean ... you already know that, but, ”     the spot Salem worries with his teeth begins to bleed, but he doesn’t even notice,     “ You like your new friend, right? Our friend, Birdy? She’s really nice, right? ”

          “ Yeah, she is. ”     That voice. That’s not Derrick’s voice.

Salem’s head swivels fast. His eyes are wide, his heart hammers in his chest. The boy that sits in Derrick’s place is smaller, more slender — a red head in a striped shirt. A smattering of freckles. Salem doesn’t understand but something about him feels… familiar. 

          “ I like you, too. You’re nice. None of the others have given me toys before. They are usually too scared. ”     His voice is distant, as if spoken through a door. 

Salem swallows hard, settling himself down more comfortably in his seat as he looks over the boy more. Hazel eyes. Bandaged knees. A play handhook still gripped in one of his hands. 

          “ You mean, at the pizzeria? ”     Salem’s voice says, but his lips don’t move. Or do they? He isn’t sure. 

          “ The others are afraid. They don’t trust you yet. Jeremy’ll ‘prolly never trust you. Don’t take it personally. ”     the joints of the doll squeak like the hinges on a door, or the knee joints on an animatronic. It’s a Foxy toy,     “ I won’t hurt you. I promise. I won’t hurt you or… Birdy. That’s not her name, you know. ”

          “ I know. ”

          “ Will you keep bringing me toys? ”     The boy looks up. There is something wrong with his eyes. They are clouded, unfocused. Salem’s stomach lurches — the car smells like rot. 

          “ If that’s what you want, absolutely. ”

The windows of the car fog with the heat of their breath, but it’s so very cold. Salem tries to pull his jacket closer around him but he can’t move. Something is locking him in place. 

          “ I won’t hurt you but I won’t be able to help you. ”

Salem looks from side to side, his eyes the only thing he can move. It’s so cold all of a sudden, but his hands sweat. His chest feels tight. He looks into the rearview mirror to catch a glimpse of himself as the boy reaches over, putting a hand on his thigh. A mechanical hand that’s lost all of its red felt but the pieces that still stick in the socket joints. Salem’s eyes peek out from the mouth of a Foxy mask, one with steel bars and cables that criss-cross this way and that around his head. He opens his mouth to scream.

Crack crack crack 

Salem lurches forward gripping the steering wheel. Crack crack crack goes the knuckles of whoever found him on the window beside him. He looks over, panicked, heart racing. It’s Jailbird, her brow knit together, peering down at him. 

The pirate toy sits on the passenger seat.

[drxwsyni]

show me heaven, take me to hell︱okkotsu yuuta x f!reader

“Going so long ensuring that you wanted him and nobody else ended up having adverse effects, all this time spent putting you first had turned him selfish, and he didn’t quite care anymore. He needs you—all of you, anything less for any longer and he might just go mad.” a/n: this is my part for @seita’s corrupt-a-virgin collab! i was really excited to write a fic with this prompt, and this collab was super fun so pls go check out the other writers involved!!! words: 3.7k warnings: ALL CHARACTERS AGED UP 18+, noncon, somnophilia, virginity loss, rough-ish sex, oral (f. receiving), fingering, choking for a quick moment, creampie, a little praise, heavy stalking & obsessive behaviour, gen. yandere themes

Yuuta liked to think he had control over his emotions—but peering down at you, he knew that was far from the truth. How those emotions manifested was what he could control, because if it weren’t for the steely expression cemented into his face, he’d be sure you’d know of all the debased things running rampant throughout his mind.

And yet, he doesn’t fear the falter in his masquerade right now.

You’re fast asleep, none the wiser to the looming figure of your boyfriend, locked onto the way your chest slowly rises and falls in a rhythmic manner. How his eyes nearly gloss over as they travel down the curves of your body, half exposed as you’ve only pulled the sheets up to settle around your waist.

Yuuta reminds himself to breathe, exhaling a little too shakily, wondering to himself how he’s made it this far. He was a damn good actor, and he knows that fact currently stood as the only thing that’s gotten him to where he is today.

If he thinks back, it’s hard to even find one moment out of all the time he’s spent with you in which he’d shown you his genuine self. Hell, the very first time you spoke to him wasn’t even honest. He remembers asking you your name after introducing himself, lying through his teeth because he already knew what your name was. Yuuta knew what rank you were (well below his), your cursed technique (too weak to really protect yourself), how long you’d been working alongside Gojo (two weeks―starting the day after Yuuta had gone overseas). But he still asked, enamoured with the way you bashfully looked down at your feet when he praised you for being able to put up with the white haired sorcerer so far.

Another lie―how he claimed he’d love to team up with you and show you around, when it was just to keep you as far from any real danger as possible.

But you didn’t know that, going along with each and every falsehood that left his mouth. Lie after lie, he’d draw on the knowledge of you he’d spent months gathering, gradually molding his character into whichever form earned those soft little gifts of affection. Becoming the person you wanted, the person you needed, slowly until you recognized him as someone special. Yuuta did everything right—only to be completely overwhelmed now that he had you alone.

Because of course suppressing himself wouldn’t work out in the long run. Burying the desire that felt goddamn near insatiable, ignoring the feeling of it festering, growing into something ugly and uncontrollable—the kind of thing he saw in others, and exactly what he was trying to protect you from. But Yuuta wouldn’t let himself believe that what you really needed protecting from was him, even though standing over you now, proof of that reality was finally beginning to surface.

Just for a second, maybe not even that, it crossed his mind—just a taste couldn’t hurt, right?

The bound passion he could never let see the light of day unraveled in the dead of night. You were just so tempting, blissfully unaware of the danger towering over you, a vulnerability that tore away at the seams of his self control.

Yuuta felt the first thread snap, a barely there fracture to spur his irreversible descent into self-destruction.

Moving without really even thinking of any future consequences, long fingers that were calloused from battle and endless training reached to where the sheets atop you rested. White, silken and gleaming under the moonlight, he carefully, calculatedly pulled them down your body. Letting it pool at the foot of the bed, he slowly appraised your sleeping form.

An almost inaudible curse left him, whispered under his breath—he didn’t even notice the way your sleeping shorts were discarded onto the floor before peeling back the sheets, but he couldn’t miss it now. Maybe...you wanted him to find you like this?

No...he knew you weren’t that daring. The two of you might be dating, but all those past insistences of not wanting to move too fast, dancing around intimacy like it was the bane of all evil alone told him that this naivety was genuine.

There was that, and the fact that you were staying in his guest bedroom. Too shy to sleep in the same bed, how cute. He was all too understanding just a few hours ago, leaving you for the night and planning on retiring to his room. Only he was drawn right back to where you lay, realizing it was yet another subconscious lie to tell you he was fine with taking things slow, giving you your space.

He wasn’t even supposed to be in this room—there was absolutely no way you planned on Yuuta finding you like this.

A voice in the back of his head warns him, tugging at his subconscious to leave you be. Yuuta ignores it for the first time, crossing a new boundary, knowing that it won’t be the last.

You’re sprawled on your back with the hem of your oversized shirt riding up just a little.

A little too much, he thinks, eyes travelling lower and lower until they land on the lace trim of your panties. Thin, adorned with a small bow at the top. His fingers itch, wanting to feel the fabric for himself, likely soft in comparison to his rough hands.

Yuuta props one knee up onto the bed, the mattress sinking slightly with his weight. With one more glance, just to make completely sure you’re still fast asleep, he allows his fingers to trace up the inside of your leg. Gliding along your calf, then meeting the soft plush of your thigh. Your muscles don’t even twitch, unmoving as his hand gradually creeps higher, higher, higher.

All he needs is to be closer, something to tide him over until you’re willing to let him in. He wants to know just what it feels like to have you under him, little weaknesses you hold that nobody else knows of.

Just a taste, he reminds himself.

Yuuta peers down at you, relieved and on edge at the same time when the tips of his fingers brush against the cotton fabric of your panties. Ever so lightly, his ring finger dips lower, gently pressing against your clothed slit.

The heat between your thighs makes him shiver, warmth pulling him in impossibly closer. Your legs are spread just enough for Yuuta’s hand to fit perfectly in between them, almost invitingly so. He feels like all of his nerves are standing on end, vibrating as just the simplest touch has such a large effect on him.

It’s a familiar feeling, despite always looking at ease, he frequently had to mask these turbulent emotions inside him so that he didn’t scare you away, just as so many others did. This new sensation, not having to worry about constant control, it was unimaginably refreshing. He didn’t want it to end.

You don’t seem to be stirred in the slightest, which is good, because he’s not quite satisfied. The both of you did have a tiring day to be fair—now making you a heavy sleeper. Yuuta deems it a saving grace, curiosity unquelled in wanting to know how far he could push his luck.

That same singular finger travels along the dainty fabric, gently dragging up your folds until stopping at your clit. Experimentally pressing into it, Yuuta spots the way your brows just barely draw together for a moment. The sound of your breathing meets his ears, turned airy as your lips part when he begins rubbing back and forth, a light friction that makes your sensitive, untouched body react unconsciously as you continue to sleep.

Yuuta thinks for a second of how you touch yourself when you’re alone—if you do as he is now, teasing your clit, making you squirm at the light stimulation. You’re not waking up, but your body is still reactive even in this state. With how your panties hug the curves of your body, how he presses them into your heat, it’s not hard to see the small patch of your arousal already leaking through.

It’s cute, you’re so much more honest when you’re asleep.

An idea strikes him, coming more as an intrusive thought than anything helpful, but it’s dangerously enticing nonetheless—if he could make you cum without waking you up. Earn a glimpse of what he hoped you’d let him see eventually.

You look like you want it, chest rising and falling a little heavier, and when he pointedly nudges your clit with the smallest increase in force, your breath hitches.

It would be cruel to leave you like this—Yuuta isn’t a cruel man.

He’s doing this for you now, not himself. It’s repeated in his head, words reassuring as he slinks onto the bed. His grip is delicate, pushing your thighs apart a tad bit more, just enough to make room to lower himself between them.

Eye level with your heat, the scent of your arousal washes over him. He can’t help but place a few ghosted kisses on your inner thighs, a quick nip at the supple skin that leads to a trail of the same before his lips hover over the seat of your panties.

Through long lashes, he focuses on your face, almost shuddering with you as his tongue comes into contact with the patch of wetness, dampness growing as he licks a slow strip up over the cloth. Yuuta repeats the action—once, twice, three times, then loses count. His movements are slow, soft and steady, taking what he can get but soon becoming frustrated with the barrier in his way.

The hands placed on your thighs twitch, and it only seems logical that if he wants to finish what he started, he needs to make things a little easier for himself. An unnatural strength imbued with cursed energy flows through his palms. He’s eager, doing it without thinking, not realizing the force he puts behind his actions until the seams of your panties tear with almost no resistance.

Yuuta’s eyes widen slightly, because his plan was to merely push the fabric aside. But that problem can wait, especially when he can’t.

The offending fabric is casted aside, and Yuuta knows he wants to take his time. Testing the waters, his thumbs come up to spread apart your soaked folds, taking in the way your hole clenches around nothing as he gently blows cold air against it.

He’s not shocked to find your muscles twitching so easily now, reacting to every little thing he does. Not shocked, but it does make him greedy. It makes him want to abandon caution entirely. Taking his time turns out to be a lot easier said than done—when his tongue places a few kitten licks onto your clit, the near sinful whimper that escapes you has his lips latching on and sucking instead.

You’re always so quick to flee from him, Yuuta can barely get a lasting kiss in before you push him away. To hear that leave your mouth, intentional or not, it’s dangerous. He’s starved for intimacy, starting to lose sight on why he’s worked so hard to become close with you, drowning in the thoughts of why he instead wants to rip that safety he provides from you entirely just to see the things you keep hidden from him and everyone else.

There’s his own personal heat building, hips grinding into the mattress now and then to relieve the ache you don’t even know you’re causing in him so quickly. It doesn’t do much, if anything it only makes his resolve weaken, low groans making their way up his throat and sending soft vibrations onto your sensitive nub.

His tongue darts back out, flattening as your hips buck against his face, trying to gain more friction.

And all it tells him is that you want this—just as much as he does. You’ve never told him, but you don’t need to. Your body speaks for itself.

The wet muscle pushes past your entrance, Yuuta’s nose bumping your clit every time his head jerks when his tongue curls against your walls. From how your body tenses, the feeling unmistakable under his large hands, he can tell you’re getting close.

All the breathy sighs and whines leaving you, the overwhelming taste of you on his tongue and in his mouth, it clouds his judgment more and more as each second passes.

Yuuta forgets about the hard work he’s put in to keep you safe, to make sure you ended up choosing him over everyone else. You’re intoxicating, and he can’t get enough. There’s no such thing as just a taste, not when he’s stopped trying to hold back and instead starts trying to devour you.

You deserve more, he thinks, coating his ring finger with your slick, teasingly swirling it around your entrance before letting it sink into your heated pussy. It reaches far deeper than his tongue, and with a few thrusts, curling his finger inside you, Yuuta finds what he’s searching for as you tense hard around the slender digit. His mouth returns to your clit, sucking and flicking it with the tip of his tongue.

Yet no matter what he does, it’s still not enough. He wants to watch you finally fall apart, wants you to stop pushing him away.

And he realizes, it’s not a want, but a need. One that can’t be satisfied as easily as he thought when he first removed the sheets from your unsuspecting body. Going so long ensuring that you wanted him and nobody else ended up having adverse effects, all this time spent putting you first had turned him selfish, and he didn’t quite care anymore.

He needs you—all of you, anything less for any longer and he might just go mad.

Yuuta can’t think straight to save his life, he’s hooked on the way your body shakes beneath him, adding another finger pumping in and out of you, groaning against your clit as he desperately ruts against the bed.

You’re responding so well, it only confuses him more as to why you haven’t let him take care of you sooner, as clearly you needed him like this. He can practically hear his name fall from your lips, airy and begging him for more.

His eyes are screwed shut, and yours are open.

“Ahh—Yuuta...wh—ngh”

Those calloused fingers know just how to make you shake in pleasure, not relenting as you suddenly cum around them. He feels your swollen clit throb, over and over against his tongue.

When you start to convulse, near pained whimpers leaving you, he finally stops.

He’s frozen for a moment, your full awareness dawning on him.

A sheen of sweat clings to you, chest heaving, heartbeat going a mile a minute and hammering against your ribcage. You were falling back down from the high that made you see stars, the closer to reality you got, the more you understood what had happened.

The fear would hit you first, and it’d be fast—you’d scream, fight, try to leave him.

Yuuta knew this, he knew you, and so he moved faster.

Before you could make another sound, panic rising in your throat, a firm hand clamps over your mouth.

And god, you look fucking terrified. Both hands flying up to push him away, nails biting into his wrist while tears begin to well in your eyes. Irises swirling with fear, confusion, betrayal.

It should make him feel guilty, it does—but it’s not enough to stop him from wanting to make it worse.

His palm stays cemented over your mouth, muffling your cries. “Shhh, it’s okay, it’s okay.”

It’s not, all your squirming does is grind against his aching cock. And he’s so far gone that he might as well go further—he doesn’t even try to stop you. The hand over your mouth pins you down well enough, your body so much weaker compared to his.

“M’sorry, just—fuck…”

You’re not calming down, struggling harder with each second that goes by while Yuuta fights to hold you still.

“It’s alright, baby, you’re okay.” With everything running through his mind, the only thing consistent and true is that he has to be inside you. 

His free hand grips the waistband of his sweats and boxers, hastily pulling them both down at the same time. He hisses when the cold air of the room meets his cock, slapping against his abdomen. He’s already in between your legs, and you’re still trying to get away, hips lifting off the sheets as your legs helplessly kick. Your movements are uncalculated, frantic—it’s an accident when his cock brushes against your heat.

You squeal at the contact, but there’s nothing you can do to stop him from rutting against you, length sliding between your folds and coating him in your slick. A slight shudder runs through you as the tip of his cock catches on your puffy clit, repeatedly nudging it with each thrust.

It’s not enough. Not before, not now, he can’t seem to satisfy whatever want inside him has broken loose, and you’re forced to deal with it all because he couldn’t keep himself in check.

“Just relax, okay? Gonna make you feel good...promise you—”

Yuuta practically chokes on his words, lining himself up with your entrance, unable to stop his hips from pushing himself inside you all in one go. Blood rushing behind his ears drowns out the sound of your whimpers, lost in the way you keep sucking him back in when he goes to pull out. So goddamn tight—Yuuta’s glad he’s made sure he was the first to get to you, despite the circumstances.

He’s a mess, you’re a mess, it’s sloppy and it’s perfect, because the quick back and forth of his hips goes so deep that he’s grinding against your clit with each thrust. Your whines are in tandem with his movements, pain mixing with the building warmth spreading throughout you.

The body draped over yours is so much larger, broad shoulders blocking out the moonlight as Yuuta keeps himself propped up above you with a hand beside your head. The one over your mouth disappears, lightly wrapping around your throat for better purchase instead.

It’s too easy to lose himself now, letting his guard down—and you jump at the chance.

There’s a shove to his chest, and then he’s being kicked down the bed. The door is on the adjacent side of the room and so to make quick time you scramble across the bed sheets. Of course, a hand too cold clamps around your ankle, and it feels like he’s about to crush the bone beneath when Yuuta drags you back.

All your pleas go ignored, and he’s suffocating as your body is pinned against the bed by his own.

A lanky yet toned arm snakes around your waist, lifting your hips to meet his. “Just a bit—” there’s a pause, groaning as he drives his cock right back into your pussy, “—bit longer…”

Yuuta hasn’t completely forgotten why he decided to take things this far, his free hand reaching down to toy with your clit. With the new angle, his cockhead hits that soft, spongy patch that has your walls fluttering around his length.

Your fighting spirit diminishes more and more, not much strength to begin with in how you were woken up, only worsened by the way the coil in your stomach keeps tightening. When you go to shove the arm wrapped around your body, it’s not genuine, not completely at least. You’re overwhelmed just as much as him, and letting it happen doesn’t seem all that bad.

Slick is dripping down your thighs, the sounds of skin slapping against skin echoing throughout the room alongside his grunts and your airy moans.

There’s a shake in your body, legs unable to keep themselves up as your voice breaks through the noise. “Yuuta...p-please…”

It doesn’t matter what it is you’re begging for exactly, but he tries to console you anyways. “I’m right here, baby. Just let go for me…”

The pads of his fingers press harder circles around your clit as the cant of his hips picks up.

You’re reaching your end, unmistakable in the way you tighten around his length, your muscles contracting and releasing. Yuuta is right behind you, thrusts growing erratic, barely pulling halfway out before sinking in again.

“Ah—that’s it, cum for me, good girl—”

There’s a moment where you go quiet, body locking up and mouth opening into a silent scream. It’s enough to have Yuuta’s body reacting much the same, a harsh ‘fuck’ leaving his lips before painting your walls white. There’s no thought to pull out, just that he wants to relax with you in his arms.

You’re trembling, aftershocks washing over you in waves, especially when he slowly drags his cock out and past your g-spot before leaving you empty.

Yuuta finally releases you from his hold, watching as you slump pitifully into the mattress. There’s a trail of his cum leaking down your slit, a little pool of it forming on the sheets. You look absolutely ruined, face turned and smushed against the bed—he can see the tears heavily wetting your cheeks, mouth agape as your chest heaves.

And he just...stares. Somewhat out of breath himself, hunched over, unmoving otherwise while realization crashes down on him.

You’d never forgive him, you’ll leave the second you get the chance. What Yuuta’s done to you is irreversible.

...As far as you know.

It’s always been like this, he thinks. Yuuta keeps you endlessly in the dark, meticulous pre-planning to make sure you’re protected always. And so he steps away, tucks himself back into his boxers, pulling up his sweats and grabs his phone. It looks like you’ve pretty much fallen asleep, which makes his job easier.

Plan A through Z, Yuuta has something to fall back on no matter what.

The screen illuminates his face, fingers swiping until Inumaki’s contact shines back at him. The cursed speech user owes him a favour, and there’s no time more perfect in Yuuta’s mind than now to cash it in.

A deep sigh from him sounds throughout the room—you won’t remember this happened, none of it. Yuuta will clean you up before Inumaki arrives, use reverse cursed technique to handle any wounds you may have, and then he’ll have his friend make you forget anything past going to bed.

While he still wants to keep you safe, keep you pure—it’s no longer for the same reasons. 

Darkened eyes land on your weakened form, and Yuuta knows this won’t be enough for him. You’ll push him away, he’ll get impatient...the rest is predictable, to say the least.

His message sends, phone turning black. 

Somehow, he’ll need to find a way to earn more favours.

[hongism]

05 - j.wooyoung + lingerie (18+)

» j.wooyoung x gn!reader » 18+ dni if minor, nsfw/pwp » language, feminization, lap dancing, strip tease, bratty wooyoung, manual stimulation, grinding, cum eating, dirty talk, finger sucking » wc 3.3k » link to masterlist

you’ve almost come to the conclusion that tonight was a complete and utter waste of time when your eyes pause in their subtle search across the room. it’s fast, and you almost miss him because of how quickly you’re surveying the club, but you have to backtrack at the sight of the pink head of hair. it’s not too out of the ordinary — not for a club like this one at least, and frankly, the face connected to the stark hair entrances you more than the hair does. the friend at your side seems to notice where your gaze keeps lingering, elbow careening into your ribs seconds later.

“like what you see over there?” she giggles, most likely amused by how you jolt and startle with the contact.

“he’s pretty,” you mutter back as you strain your neck a little to catch sight of the rest of him. he’s not up on a stage with the other dancers, not wrapped around a pole or anything like that, so you can’t get a full and clear view of what he’s wearing.

“he doesn’t perform with the others, i hear. solo performer, and only does private shows.”

sure, there’s a stack of money set aside for this particular reason, but that doesn’t mean you’re going to cave and spend it all on this one man.

you aren’t.

it’s not going to stop you from getting up and going over there to get a better look at him.

“i’ll be back,” you mutter, picking up your wallet and drink with the same hand. you’re hoping it won’t look obvious to your friend, but the laugh that follows your movements is telling enough.

“have fun!”

you step through the crowd of couches that are mostly full of older men and women, apologizing each time you cross in front of them and accidentally block their view of the dancers. your target hasn’t moved, still lingering near the bar with a drink set in front of him as he also indulges in the sight of the dancers on stage. you’re almost fooled into believing that he’s simply a client here and not actually a worker, but there’s a certain sway to his hips and head against the music thumping through the club that says otherwise. he moves his body too well even with subtle and small movements. elbows propped up on the bar counter behind him, a lollipop dangling from his fingertips and periodically going up to catch on his tongue, and that pretty pink hair bouncing with each movement he makes. you’re enticed in an instant.

the obscenity of his outfit doesn’t help one bit either. and perhaps obscenity is a bit too strong a word to describe it, but your brain goes to static and white noise the more you see of him, and it’s easy to see why that is. a sheer lavender crop top that does nothing to hide the lace bralette underneath, along with a pretty plaid skirt that tapers his waist almost too well, belts and buckles hanging from both sides and jingling when he sways his hips in time with the music. the further down your eyes go, the more overwhelmed you get because he’s got fishnets (of course) that lead to chunky black combat boots. he looks simultaneously quite out of place here while also seeming like there’s no other logical place for him to be. your steps towards him falter a little; it’s no wonder that he doesn’t have anyone at his side right now. he’d outshine them without even trying, and the air around him feels a bit untouchable as well like he’s too good for anyone’s presence except his own and the bartender behind him. the thought to turn around and return to your friend like a dog with its tail between its legs crosses your mind. that’s all it does though because as you shift to act on that thought, sharp eyes snap over to meet yours across the bar counter.

opposite ends of the spectrum, separated by at least ten barstools if not more, plenty of other people in front of him to look at, yet the dancer cranes his head in your direction and makes eye contact. 

your tongue darts out to wet your lower lip, an act more out of nerves than meant to be seductive in the slightest. 

there’s no direct invitation to go further towards him. really all he does is incline his head slightly, and you take it as a cue to step around the barstools and walk over to where he’s tapping his chunky boot against the floor.

“hi.”

you startle upon hearing his clear tone, although you aren’t wholly sure why that’s the case. 

“hello,” you greet in return. you keep your glass caught firmly between your fingers as you sit in the barstool beside him. he looks even prettier in this light — with blinking up at him from where you sit and the neon lights cascading over his face and hair. there’s a stunning beauty mark under his eye, and another on his lower lip under the sheen of pink lip gloss. something sparkles under his eyes and in the inner corners, what you can only assume to be eyeshadow and glitter. 

“i caught your eye, huh?”

there’s a twinge of embarrassment that shoots through your body, and you duck your chin to your chest, clearing your throat as quietly as you can like it’ll dispel the nerves accompanied by the feeling. 

“cute,” the man continues. his sweet tone is almost like honey, or some syrup that tastes like it could be too much after a certain point. “wanna buy my time then?”

the offer comes so quickly that you’re a bit shocked. all these people in the club and yet not one has approached him? or accepted his offer? it seems far too unbelievable.

“you’re not gonna ask me anything first? my name, my age, anything like that?”

he laughs for the first time tonight, and you think you’ll grow to love that sound by the end of it. the lollipop pushes back between his lips only for him to make a show of how he swirls his tongue around the ball of candy. when he pulls it back out, it springs free with a lewd pop in its wake.

“you’re the first one tonight who’s stopped me to ask that. most just jump straight to it. i’m wooyoung. and you?”

“y/n.”

“hmm, it’ll sound prettier coming from my lips later.”

your brain buffers and hits a wall. you lose whatever thought was lingering in your mind, and wooyoung has the audacity to flash a grin and send a wink your way.

“you’re in luck tonight, y/n. i only start taking clients at ten o’clock, and it’s two minutes past ten right now.” a strobe of neon red flashes over his face, illuminating his eyes in a way that makes your heart jump in your chest. “assuming you want me, that is,” he adds through a stretched grin, and you wouldn’t dream of denying him the pleasure of hearing your affirmation.

“yes, i’d like that quite a bit.”

wooyoung leads you off to the side of the club, where the hallway of private rooms begins, and he wastes no time in bringing you into the nearest unlocked one. you’ve got your wallet still clasped between nervous hands, but your drink was long forgotten on the bar counter you found wooyoung at. it’s fairly standard for this type of room, nothing to gawk at or make note of aside from the metal pole that stretches up to the ceiling. you’re certain your attention will be firmly planted on wooyoung throughout the entirety of your stay here, so you aren’t worried much about making yourself at home.

the dancer seems keen on the same as well, or at least he’s excited to get started. knowing how much money you’ve got in your wallet, you can’t blame him for the excitement. he turns to face you after shutting and locking the door, skirt billowing around his thighs a little. you think you see a flash of lace underneath, tucked under the fishnets, but that could very well be merely a wistful thought and nothing else. 

“lay down,” he demands, motioning to the short round table right in front of the couches.

“um…” you blink from the white surface to wooyoung’s serious expression. 

“what? never had a lap dance before?” he quirks a brow and flashes another dastardly grin, and you hate the way your stomach flips over at the sight of it.

“not one where i’ve had to lay down, no.” 

wooyoung huffs out a laugh and pops his lollipop back into his mouth. he steps around your awkward, still form to put one of his feet up on the pristine white surface. the boot releases a hollow noise when it hits the table.

“oh, you’ll love it, i promise. now come on, on your back, legs relaxed. i’ll make it worth your while. and your money too, we hope.” 

wooyoung’s little tilt to his chin and the soft bats of his lashes are what convince you to do as told. you slip your shoes off next to the couch and tuck your wallet away in one of them lest wooyoung has the bright idea to make off with all your belongings. then you scramble over the slick surface to lay flat atop it, eyeing wooyoung as he hums and steps up fully on the table over you. his feet straddle your body, right in the gap between your hands and hips, and he pushes that stupid lollipop back between his lips.

“here are my rules, y/n. no touching, no kissing on the lips, no marking, and no demands. you’re here for a show, so i’ll give you one. and maybe i’ll use you to get off a little too? what do you say?”

you suck your lower lip between your teeth, contemplating his words and rolling them over in your mind a bit.

“and if i say no?”

“then i’ll give you a simple lap dance, and that’ll be that. and don’t worry. if i cum… i’ll clean up after myself. you don’t have to do any work really, if you don’t want to.”

“if i don’t want to?” you echo your question.

“how do you feel about sucking my fingers?”

your dumb and stuttered blinking are answer enough for him, and wooyoung leans over to the couch, balancing on one foot as he stretches to reach for something on the cushions. the position give you a far too direct view straight up his skirt. you get confirmation that you did indeed spot lace — a matching set with his pink bralette it seems on top of that.

the music that begins to thump through the speaks is foreign to you, not a song you’ve ever heard before, but the beat is sultry enough for you to understand why wooyoung would play this.

and truly, when he starts to move above you, you fully understand the appeal of this angle. getting to watch the way his skirt sways and teases what’s underneath as his cropped top flutters with his winding movements — it’s a heady feeling being under him and seeing this unfold over you.

wooyoung does his job, and he does it well in only a few swaying moves that promise more to come. if you had to make a comparison, you’d say it’s like watching art in motion, an exhibit where the artist shows you each stroke and twist of his brush. that’s wooyoung now, with the showcase of how he stretches his arms to the ceiling and brings them down the front of his body. the dim lighting in the room does nothing to make the mood less than what it is — pure seduction at its finest, and wooyoung is quickly bringing you down that pit of lust with him. you only know that’s where he’s headed as well because of how his skirt begins to tent a little as time goes on, evidence to how turned on he is by merely dancing to the music. he hasn’t gotten down far enough to even have physical contact with you, but with the way he’s moving now, you aren’t sure he’ll even get that far either.

he does go lower as the song shifts, beat still unfamiliar against your ears, but you’re barely hearing the music beyond how the bass thumps through your veins. as his knees settle on either side of you, close to your waist now and closing in just enough to squeeze you with a hair of pressure, his hands move up under the fabric of his top. they press higher and higher, catching on the hem and tugging as he reaches his neck. your eyes burn like you haven’t blinked in ages, and to be frank, you most likely haven’t because the grip wooyoung has on your focus currently occupies every fiber of your being.

wooyoung works the shirt off, tossing the sheer material over to the side. the look of his tanned skin with blush pink lace overtop clinging to him like a vice under the low lights: it’s sin in its purest form. and that sin only amplifies as he draws his hands down to the waistband of his skirt. he teases and pulls at the material, still lost somewhere between his mind and the music. one of his hands works back up his chest and throat, and when he reaches his mouth, he pulls the lollipop stick out to reveal a now empty stick that is also promptly tossed in the same direction his shirt went. 

“aren’t i pretty, y/n?” he asks all of a sudden. he’s not looking at you, not with the way his eyelids are barely shut, but it captures all your attention nonetheless. “pretty and feminine, hm? some people think i don’t dance as well as the girls out on the stages. but i’m just as pretty as them, aren’t i?”

“more,” you exhale without thinking.

“more,” he echoes back to you with an airy giggle to accompany it. his hands go to the side of his skirt, grabbing onto something on the left, and two seconds later he’s pulling away the entire strip of fabric in one swift movement. you inhale so sharply it stings your nostrils and aches in your chest, and wooyoung takes that as the opportune moment to roll his hips down against your abdomen. it’s not meant for your please, not in the slightest, but you still feel the coil of arousal in your gut snap and pull at itself as he repeats the motion and rubs his barely concealed erection against your stomach. “i’m always prettier than them, y/n.”

wooyoung’s eyes snap open at last, and he drops his skirt to the side before sitting up on his knees over you. the position is nothing if not lewd with how close to your face he is like this. you don’t have much time to think about it because he’s tugging the band of his fishnets down as well, shoes still caught on his feet so there’s no way they’ll go all the way off, but that doesn’t seem to be his intention anyway.

no, wooyoung just tugs them low enough to go under his knees, then he’s back to sitting on his heels and splaying his thighs to the side. the whole thing is a show: each piece of clothing, each drag of his hands, and every word from his lips. 

it continues with him pressing his hand against your chin, then teasing your lower lip with his middle and pointer fingers.

“you know… people always call me a brat. a bratty little bitch, to be specific. they aren’t wrong, of course. but they mean it as an insult whereas i take it as a compliment.” you suck wooyoung’s fingers between your lips and let him explore your mouth with the pads of them. he makes a show of stretching the insides of your cheeks, stabbing against them and watching your skin bulge under the pressure, then he’s pinching your tongue and scraping his nails over the top of it. it tickles in a pleasurable way, the kind that makes your stomach knot up and tense with lust. “i think i’m prettiest when i cum though. and that’s not something i let a lot of people see. they always get handsy even after i tell them not to. think that because i’m all subby and docile, they can break my rules.”

you watch in something of a daze as wooyoung reaches his other hand down to the lace lingerie clinging to his cock. he grips hard enough for you to see the harsh outline of his member, strained and stretching the fabric like it’s about to break. his slow rolls and sways of his hips continue even as he fucks into the palm of his own hand. you don’t think you could move or touch him even if you wanted to right now. each limb feels like it weighs ten tons.

“call me pretty again, y/n. a pretty little brat, yeah?” 

you can’t very well do that with his hand halfway down your throat like it is now, but it doesn’t stop you from trying. all that comes out are muffled moans caught on wooyoung’s fingers. he laughs, throwing his head back as the sound permeates the air, and you were right. you love the sound even more now when he’s a bit breathless and hoarse from arousal, hips canting against your abdomen still as he pushes himself closer to the edge.

“gonna cum, y/n, and make a pretty mess of myself. pay good attention to me please. i want you to see every second of it.” his eyes blaze with unbridled desire as he rubs over his panties a few more times. teeth sink into his lower lip, his nose scrunches up, eyes fighting to stay open and stay on yours without blinking. then he hits his high. it’s beautiful the way he falls apart over you, how his hips stutter and give a few jerky thrusts until his whole body goes still on top of yours. you think you have to agree with him too; this is the prettiest he’s looked all night in your eyes. 

it lasts either ten seconds or ten minutes — you have no concept of time right now, too enamored with the man above you and every movement he makes.

when he does come down, there are stars in his eyes and a sheen on his brow that trickles down the side of his face to his chin. he pulls his hand out of your mouth, but you can’t even bring yourself to close it as you watch him tuck the same hand into his underwear and scoop the stain of translucent white cum out. 

“taste for me?”

you manage a shaky nod, letting wooyoung return his hand to your lips, and when he cups your mouth gently, you poke your tongue out to lap the cum off his palm. 

“hm, now wasn’t that good? better than promised, in fact?”

“y-yeah,” you exhale, finally finding your voice after god knows how long of shocked and aroused silence. wooyoung grins. he leans over you, all but bare chest pressing to your clothed one, and you can feel the heat radiating off his skin with ease. his face hovers over yours. you can see his eyes clearer than ever.

“how about we go again then?”