#intentionally leaving out the line before that said they knew each other better than lovers because I know some people can't behave

[sukirichi]

black magic [02]

request. arranged marriage + enemies to lovers (sukuna is a simp and lowkey a housewife) + sukuna’s first time with his wife

cw. slight angst, insecurities, lots of making out, virginity loss, fingering, oral (f receiving), multiple orgasm, sukuna worships reader, spitting, cum eating, teasing! sukuna, face-off kamasutra position, soft dom! sukuna, unedited fic, pwp

song inspo. leave the door open (bruno mars)

note. i want a husband sukuna 

part one | part two

Sukuna gently takes your palm into his, soft and warm lips meeting your bruised knuckles that have seen years of hard work in exorcising curses like him. Uncanny that he showed so much affection to his enemy by nature, treating you with such care and tenderness that shouldn’t have been so possible for an evil creature like him. You’re supposed to love it, be grateful for it, yet his sweet gestures only irritate you, even more so when he retires to bed just like that without even so much sparing a glance your way.

You’ve been married for a year now that you’ve had enough of his confusing gestures towards you. One moment, he was showering you with love, regarding you like you were the light of his life before he’s walking away the next moment and pretending you don’t exist.

He was so infuriating. He would kiss you and hold you, but never touch you or be in the same room with you any longer than an hour. Even in bed, he’s always making sure his back is turned to you, peeling your arms off of him each time you attempt to cuddle him on times it got too cold. It hurts and dwells dangerously at the back of your mind – it would’ve been better if he got angry at you and announced he despised you, but he never did – that his hot and cold nature bothered you more than anything else.

You’ve eventually had enough that you just stopped caring. Barging in during his bath time, your nostrils flare upon seeing your husband so relaxed in the tub. Even after a year of marriage, he’s so unaffected and unaware by your need for him.

He really doesn’t care.

“Little one,” Sukuna blinks as he sits up from the tub, strong arms hanging off the edges of the bed. You admit; he really was beautiful and a desirable man that you couldn’t help it, couldn’t help but crave the one thing you knew you weren’t supposed to have. “What’s wrong?”

“Do you not want me?” you suddenly demand, tears already streaming down your face faster than you would like. Hell, you never wanted to cry in the first place. “Am I not desirable enough for you?”

Sukuna chuckles nervously.

Oh, great, now he’s nervous around you?

“What are you going on about?”

“Don’t act like I don’t know what you’re doing,” you snap, “Every time we go to bed, you always put some distance between us and keep to your side of the bed. You push me away when I try to reach for you and you never touch me or kiss me on the lips. I-I understand this marriage was against your will, but I’m still your wife and I need you, okay?” chest tightening uncomfortably, you place a hand over your poor, aching heart that is further crippled when Sukuna’s face falls. “I just feel like...you’re sickened by me, like you cannot stand to be with me in the same room as me. It makes me feel like...it would’ve been better if I wasn’t here.”

You don’t know what kind of response you’re expecting from him after your outburst, but definitely not him standing up to loom over you. You respectfully avert your eyes from the sinful image of water dripping down his defined body, but it’s too late and he’s too close already that you won’t be surprised if he can hear your heartbeat pumping frantically.

He was large and imposing, truly a terrifying sight right before you especially with his tattoos that trail and wrap all around his muscular thighs, yet you’re not nervous because he could hurt you.

Rather, you’re agitated because he’s so close, so within reach that if you step a little closer, you could easily find the warmth you’ve been dreaming of for so long.

You’re frustrated because you want him though you shouldn’t.

Just then, Sukuna caresses your cheek and pulls the both of you back in the tub with you above him, and him lazily grinning above you. You gasp, abashed, that your clothes were soaked to the brim and it stuck close to your damp skin until it took the shape of your silhouette. Sukuna, on the other hand, is completely unbothered as he eyes your pebbled nipples poking through the thin material of your nightgown and simply drags you forward on his thighs.

“S-Sukuna—”

“You really have no idea, do you?” he whispers lowly, his long claws carefully tracing down the sides of your jaw. “My innocent, little lamb...the reason I distance myself from you is because every waking day that you are right beside me, my self-restraint thins, and I’m not sure I can hold back a little longer from you taming me,” Sukuna’s dark eyes brims with something unreadable as he holds your gaze. The look he wears is beyond intense that he takes your breath away, literally, and you’re left gaping at him silently. “I push you away because I want you more than anything else, but I respect you and I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You-you want me?”

“Clearly, little one, you’re inherently unaware of how captivating you are,” Sukuna says as if if it’s the most obvious thing in the world, and you shiver at his words – or from the cold water, you don’t really know. “Stop looking at me like you want me to kiss you. I may not stop once I get a taste of you. Like I said before – I won’t touch you unless you asked.”

You do remember him saying that from your first time together, but your head goes blank, and no words leave your lips even as you mouth nonsense.

Sukuna taps your lips. “Speak, little one. You need to use your big girl words.”

“Kiss me,” you vociferated in one breath, desperately clutching on your thighs. “Please.”

For a moment, you think he’s going to push you away as his eyes narrow into suspicion, but soon he’s tugging at your collar to bring you down for a heated kiss. Sukuna is tugging your robes down until your collarbones are exposed, his tongue and lips leaving yours to leave marks and love bites all over the patch of skin instead. You tug at his hair as you crane your neck to the side, succumbing to the undeniable pleasure his warmth and greediness consumes you with.

Grinding down on his groin, you notice he’s already hard. Hard for you, and this realization makes you kiss him back hungrily as you whimper above him.

Sukuna is feverishly sucking on your tongue and pawing at your breasts the next instant before the spell is immediately broken just as it happened. For before you could reciprocate the same amount of eagerness he kissed you with, Sukuna is already sliding you off of him until you’re on the other side of the tub, left staring at him wordlessly with his lips red and swollen.

“Not today, little one. I think that’s enough.”

You hear your heart shatter into pieces. Pride; it was about the only thing you had, but it seemed even that had been taken away from you.

“You really don’t want me.”

Your voice cracked as your eyes began to tear up.

“No, love, that’s not what I meant,” he groans into his hands, “Believe me, I’d spent enough nights sweaty and frustrated knowing I can’t ravish you and have those lush thighs around me already,” waiting for him to continue, Sukuna sighs and holds you closer, though he could only caress your knee right now that you’re wary of getting hurt again. “This is your first time, okay? I want to make it special for you – you’re not experiencing bliss with me if it happens impulsively with you barging in my bath.”

Something like hope lights up inside you.

“Y-you’ll really do that for me?”

“Tch, brat, don’t go all soft on me now. I wouldn’t suggest testing my patience even further,” he playfully flicks your forehead when you tried to kiss him again, but Sukuna is already tilting his cheek to other side before you could. You would’ve been heartbroken again that he’s refused you, but his words held more than reassurance – and so did his uncomfortably hard cock – that all previous insecurities vanished into thin air.

Sukuna grabs you by the waist to plant your feet on the ground outside the tub, carrying you as if you were nothing more than a ragdoll to him. “Now go and get changed. I’ll fuck you another time.”

“Don’t say it like that!”

“My deepest apologies, little one,” he commented sarcastically with a roll of his eyes, though his smile turned genuinely warm the last minute. “I’ll make love to you when you’re ready.”

He must’ve lied.

You’re annoyed because Sukuna is intentionally avoiding you and acting like you don’t exist. Pissed off, you go into a curse exorcising spree to get the King of Curses out of your mind, reminding yourself that he was vile like them and he didn’t deserve even a second of your time.

Although no matter how hard you tried, your mind still kept racing back to him even as you come back home, bloody and tired when you realize the temple is eerily quiet. Not a living soul could be found around, no servant fretted at your arrival and your husband most definitely did not lurk in the shadows like he usually did. The only sign the temple hadn’t been abandoned yet were the lines of candles trailing down the hall to your shared room with him, and you gasp as you see the petals decorating the bed and rose-scented candles lit everywhere.

Sukuna was nowhere to be seen.

But he was felt as he kisses your neck, his hands untying the knots of your yukata. You stiffen in reflex before relaxing as soon you recognize his scent. Behind you, Sukuna pauses, his lips still in the column of your neck.

“You’re upset.” He wasn’t asking; rather observing.

“Not anymore,” you mumble in response, although you weren’t entirely convinced even as you come closer to the bed, your husband trailing behind with his pinky looped to yours. “Did you do all this for me?”

“Yes. Do you like it?”

“I love it, thank you,” you hide your smile for him, not wanting him to see that it’s so easy to alleviate your anger to him. He has to earn your approval again, so you turn to him with a forced scowl and arms crossed against your chest. “But why were you ignoring me for days?”

You intended to look intimidating, but the King of Curses only laughed.

“You look cute when you’re mad. Plus, it made you want me more than you already do, didn’t it?” he chastised, the implications of his words making you pout in humiliation. Sukuna is quick to step closer to you, cupping your cheeks into his hand, and you hated how easily you leaned into his touch. Nevertheless, you turned away from him, using all your energy to muster your most serious ‘I’m not bothered’ face.

“Aw, don’t be shy, it’s written all over your face, little one,” he breathes on the shell of your ear, hands trailing down to lightly drape your clothes below your shoulders. Unable to hold it back, you end up shivering at his featherlike touches.

“It’s okay. I loved hearing your soft whimpers every time you touched yourself in the bath, thinking that I’m probably not around to hear, hm? You forget I sense everything,” his laugh is mocking yet laced with lust, “From the frantic singing of your heart, the way you tense up a little when I’m around, or the way those beautiful legs of yours clench together each time my robe is a little loosened,” Sukuna dips his nose right under your jaw where his tongue darts out to lick a flat stripe down your neck, and just like that, you’re breathlessly clutching on his white robes that are already unfastened. Damned tease.

“Even the smell of your arousal is enticing me to enrapture you right now, little one. I can practically hear the silent begging in that pretty little head of yours.”

You forgot how to breathe.

“B-but I’m dirty, I just finished exorcising curses.”

“Would it be comedic if I said I am aroused at the thought my wife could easily end me right here and now?” shaking your head at him, Sukuna smiles mysteriously. “But you won’t, would you? You need me too much for that,” he leans closer than he already was before, his lips just a breath away from yours. “Tell me, do you want me?”

“Yes,” you whispered breathily, “Please, Sukuna, touch me.”

“It’s my love to you.”

“Not Your Majesty?”

“Hmm, that is delightful to hear as well,” he says, “But let’s our drop our titles. For now, whatever happens between us is intimately between man and wife. Now go clean up, little one. I’ll be waiting for you once you’re ready.”

You waste no time into darting to the bath, scrubbing the blood and dirt on each nook and crevice of your body until you’re squeaky clean. You’re about to head back to bed when you quickly practice puckering your lips to make yourself look desirable, muttering hopefully flirty lines that would make your husband want you more before calling it quits from the embarrassment you caused upon yourself.

By the time you’ve completely dried and moisturized yourself to absolute perfection that you’re confident of yourself, you find Sukuna emptily staring into the ceilings. “Done already? Someone’s eager.”

You roll your eyes at him. Why did you like him again?

“Shut up and kiss me.”

“Gladly, little one,” he confides, patting his thighs to encourage you to climb onto him. Now that things were actually getting real and your endless dreams would soon become reality, your palms grow sweaty as you settle yourself onto his lap. “You tell me right away if I’m hurting you, you understand? One word and I’ll stop; though I doubt you’ll be in your right mind to want to stop once I’ve had my way with you.”

You don’t really understand much of what he’s saying anymore.

He’s kissing you so slowly, so passionately and you’re both undressing each other that nothing but desire and lust clouds your thoughts in that moment. You’re drunk on the sweet taste of him, his natural musky scent beyond intoxicating for your mortal self to handle. Too lost in the bliss of finally being intimate with him, you don’t realize Sukuna has already pushed your towel down until it pools at your waists. His sharp intake of breath is the only thing that pulls you back to reality as he greedily takes in each beautiful curve and dip of your body.

His stare is so fervid that you grow shy and cover yourself, where Sukuna quickly grips your wrist as a warning. “No. You do not hide yourself from me.”

“Then stop staring too much.”

“Is it a sin to appreciate divine beauty?” he tilts his head to the side and blinks at you innocently. “You are ethereal, my wife.”

Before you could be too flustered to respond, Sukuna fortunately saves you from the embarrassment by kissing you again, though it doesn’t last long before his mouth is trailing from your collarbone and down to your breasts. You mewl as Sukuna eagerly sucks on one breast, the other showered with attention from his rough, calloused palms. Meanwhile, you push his clothes away to expose his strong shoulders which you use as leverage because his ministrations make you feel like you’re losing control over your own body.

Rolling your hips on his erect cock, Sukuna groans through your skin, squeezing your breast hard enough that you can’t take it anymore right after he tweaks your nipple. “Love, please, I need you right now.”

“Patience, little one,” he reminds, “I need to prepare you well.”

“I’ve been waiting for months, Sukuna, I’m sure I’m more than ready.”

“Emotionally, sure, but physically?” he chuckles darkly, “Little one, do you not understand your nimble fingers cannot compare to my cock? I might hurt you if you’re not stretched out enough.”

“Then stop kissing me and start—” you’re cut off with a gasp, your nails sinking down harder into his skin the moment his fingers began to rub at your pussy. “Y-your claws—”

“I kept them for years, but I had to cut them just for you, little one. What do you have to say about that?”

“Thank you,” you offer with a breathy moan, head falling into his shoulder from the overwhelming yet welcomed intrusion. “Oh, Sukuna, it’s too good, I can’t.”

“Yes, you can,” he bites the shell of your ear and tugs at the lobe, basically biting it between his teeth to distract you from another long and thick digit pushing past your walls. “One more?”

“O-oh!” his thumb has now joined the party by rubbing soothing circles on your clit, effortlessly pulling your lips aside with the rest of his digits to expose your sensitive bundles of nerves for him. Sukuna keeps his eyes on yours the whole time, watching and drinking in the face you make – pleasure written all over your features from the swollen lips, pupils blown wide, and desire pooling in swirls of curiosity and eagerness. It’s a face he never wants to forget; a face he wants to see more of that Sukuna eventually lays you down against the pillows, admiring how unreal you looked in that moment.

Hair splayed all over the pillow, legs spread wide open with his hands caressing your core, and a strong arm gripping his with small gasps accompanied by desperate calls for his name to do more, please you more – your words instantly translate into commands.

“You are so beautiful,” Sukuna praises rather angrily, “Never forget that. Each inch of you, fuck, you are the most dangerous mortal, you know that?”

You don’t have time to react before he’s going down on you and spreads your legs apart, keeping them pinned down to the bed. The stretch hurts but he easily soothes your pain by massaging your inner thighs, crawling down to kiss your ankles, then licking all the way up to your knee where he stops for a second, only to happily be on your sopping cunt the next moment. He’s peppering barely there kisses to your inner thighs just on your outer lips, his breath warm and teasing on your heat.

It feels like he intends to ruin you tonight.

“Sukuna, stop teasing!”

“What do you want me to do, little one?” he grins from between your legs, the vibrations of his chuckles resonating deep within your cunt that sporadically clenches right in front of his face that’s shamelessly imprinting your scent deep into his memory. “How can I make you feel good?”

“You know how!”

“You need to tell me so I know. I can’t read your mind.”

“Your mouth...”

Sukuna’s smile grows wider the longer you struggle to find your words, but exactly how in the world could you say such vulgar things out loud? He is far more patient tonight than any other day, however, that Sukuna props himself to his elbows to peer up at you innocently. “Where do you want my mouth and what should I do with it?”

Swallowing the rest of your pride, you finally utter: “T-taste me...down there.”

“Here?” he prods your clit, pulling a high-pitched gasp from you. Your husband’s smirk is nothing short of condescending just before he finally kisses your clit, sucking the bud into his mouth until you writhe before him. It takes minimal effort for someone of his strength to hold your legs in place, his grip just tight enough to be commanding. The thought of being completely in his mercy made your head spin in circles, your chest heaving up and down from the pleasure he was blessing yet torturing you with. “You’re so responsive, little one. I’m honoured I’m the one who gets to make you feel like this.”

“M-more, please, I need more.”

You expect him to tease you further, but your husband must’ve noticed that you’re too edged and decided to have pity on you. He doesn’t waste another second before he’s wrapping his lips around your pussy, treating it as if it were your own lips that always tasted like honey.

Sukuna is completely immersed in the act of pleasuring you with his tongue only, so much so that he’s silent aside from the little hums he lets out while you moan for him.

Unable to care about being too loud anymore (not that you needed to since Sukuna had made everyone go back home to give you both privacy) you find yourself throwing your head back, legs falling open wider to grant him deeper access to your most sensitive parts. Sukuna continues to massage your inner thighs and even drags the back of your knee to rest on his muscular back littered with battle scars and tattoos, the dark markings on his skin flexing with each movement. His eyes are closed and his nose is grazing against your swollen clit that had reddened already, your pussy lips opening up like a new world he had to explore, and explore he would.

Your hands find solace in his hair the shade of gentle sunsets that were often shared in lazy kisses and subtle touches, nails dragging across his scalp just enough to make your husband hiss right between your legs. Something begins to tighten in your belly as you grind your clit onto his face, too absorbed in the mind-numbing sensation of his tongue now poking against your entrance and the past barrier slowly blooming open to welcome him.

With shaking legs and a chest drenched in sweat, pebbled nipples further stimulated by the cold breeze drifting in from the windows, your eyes snap open as that rope snapped deep within your belly.

Your gaze shoots down below you to watch your husband ardently lapping your juices like a man starved. Now this wasn’t new to you – you’ve heard enough about the King of Curses and his bloodlust. Whispers of his thirst and desire to slay entire towns and even feast on mortals’ souls was enough to keep you at bay when you were still a young sorcerer, for it was already a blatant warning that Sukuna would feed on anything and anyone, that his hunger was quite something that couldn’t be satiated.

But seeing him unhinged and a slave to pleasing you has never felt more erotic that you ride out your orgasm, toes curling and legs trembling every now and then from the aftershocks of your high.

Slowly, Sukuna darts out his tongue one last time just to leave a teasing touch to your clit before he’s crawling right above you again. The ceiling is obscured by his large frame hovering over you, arms trapped between your head and his gallant member poking just between your thighs. You end up shivering under him as your husband regards you – with affection, pride, curiosity – gentle in comparison to his true nature in caressing your cheek, both of you unbothered by the slick that meets your skin.

“Are you okay?” he breathes out, watching your fucked out smile bloom into a felicitous grin.

“Perfect,” you mumble, although rather shyly. You’d seen him naked before, but never hard, and never with the intention that soon you’d truly be connected – in heart, in body, in mind, and in soul. The thought makes your heart skip a beat, your eyelids growing hooded as Sukuna absentmindedly traces patterns on the curve of your hip. “Sukuna...you’re perfect.”

Your husband laughs, the sound of his glee contagious that you’re chuckling with him as well. “Have you seen yourself, little one? I think I fall for you harder each day.”

His sudden confession brings about a silence in the room, but it wasn’t comfortable, and neither was it tense. If anything, it destroys any traces of previous hesitation and pent up anger that’s only been formed in the first place due to the fact he was Curse and you a sorcerer.

The nature of your relationship had been paradoxical to begin with, perhaps even beastly, but nothing was beastly about it now as you wrap an arm around his neck to bring him closer to you. And Sukuna was just that – the man, the Curse, the feared King whose simple mention of his name made mere mortals tremble – the same person that somehow understands your silence better than anyone. No words were needed when he could read your mind and knew his way around your heart a little too much, not once leaving his lips on yours as he sits on the edge of the bed and pulls you before him. Both of your skins are hot and flushed, yet you’re greedily touching and pulling at one another, his large palms clawing at your ass to pry your pussy lips open while you drag your nails down his chest.

He grunts into your mouth; the sound deep and masculine that it vibrates all the way down to your core. You gasp into his mouth – your breath immediately swallowed by his tongue that dances with yours – once you feel him slip inside.

The stretch is unlike anything you’ve felt before.

You’ve fought and exorcised countless of curses that pain was no stranger to you at this point, but never had you felt so...alien to a sensation both tragic and addicting. Pulling away to breathe air back into your lungs, your forehead knocks with Sukuna until your noses are brushing against the others, mouth hanging open as your walls struggle to accommodate him.

“Oh, oh god,” you mewl above him, eyes wide open as you witness each inch of his cock disappearing from the motion of you swallowing his length whole. He was big; terrifyingly so, and you shake with fear that you wouldn’t be able to take him or that he might rip you apart. “Su-Sukuna—”

“You’re fine,” he reassures by pulling your cheeks back to him, your delicate face trapped between his rough hands. Although his eyes are dark with lust, there’s a tenderness behind them that placates you. “You can tell me to stop if it hurts. Do you want me to stop?”

“No.”

There’s no lie or hesitation behind your voice. Sukuna watches your face carefully to detect any sign of discomfort, but you want this, want him, and the pleasure combined with the tolerable sting only makes you desire him even more. The mere fact that there had to be pain and sacrifice, that you had to place your whole trust in him before you could truly succumb to the pleasure and love that created light and hope in this world was enough for you to want to keep going.

“I’m okay,” you tell him, and Sukuna wipes away the frown on your face with the pads of his fingers.

He allows you to go at your own pace until you’re completely seated on his cock, the heated member throbbing so hard inside you that you think he’s poking and prodding right deep into a place where you could hold him close the most.

It’s too much and too good that for once, you let your walls crash down as you bury yourself in his shoulder. Sukuna holds you closer by pulling you right into his chest, large arms wrapped around your frame while your breasts tease the rugged and taut muscles of his body. Even the slightest movement of you adjusting yourself on his lap makes his cock graze against your bumpy walls that you’re both moaning left and right. As you struggle to make sense of the sensations bursting within you, Sukuna’s self restraint hangs dangerously by a piece of thread. You can tell by how he’s cupping your ass and lifting your body up effortlessly before he slides you back down on his thick pole, that single, simple gesture repeated over and over again along with him bringing his hips back up to meet your warmth sending a scorching heat all over your body.

“Love, that’s, fuck,” you curse incoherently, and upon hearing a profanity leave your otherwise innocent lips makes something snap inside your husband.

Sukuna is gripping onto your hips for dear life as he bounces you up and down on his cock, tilting his head back just to scrutinize your connected bodies. A thick ring of white cream surrounds the base of his cock until it slides down on his veiny cock, sounds of skin slapping against skin and the loud squelching of your pussy even more beautiful than the screams mortals have moments right before their death in his hands. But Sukuna be damned – you felt too good that this might as well have been his death.

“You feel so fucking good,” he praises through gritted teeth, easily manhandling you and throwing you back on the bed where he’s on you in a second. “Look at you, little one, taking my huge cock so well. It’s like you’re made just for me – you want to be with me, don’t you? I would please you, fuck you good every day, yes, fuck!”

Sukuna ended up hitting a spot that equated to uncharted territory, causing you to tighten around him with a sharp cry. “Oh, right there, right there!” you rub your clit for further stimulation, moaning louder when he hoists both your legs on his chest.

He presses your legs and hugs his around his arms, flipping it to the side until your feet are right beside his ears. Sukuna has gone completely feral – his pace and drive animalistic, growling like a predator consuming his prey before he softens, kissing your ankles just as he grips your legs to make them squish together. The sudden lack of space makes your pussy tighter and more sensitive for him that you’re fisting the sheets right beside you, too fucked out to even form a coherent sentence. You’re babbling mindlessly on how good he’s making you feel, completely limp and motionless under him from how deep he’s hitting.

“Please, please, please—” you cry out, reaching out just seconds away from your orgasm with the need to touch him. Sukuna gives in and lets go of your legs until they fall at your side, stretching you out further from when he leans forward to capture your lips in a kiss.

He’s caressing your cheeks and swipes a thumb over your tears, quite nearly folding your half. His balls are slapping against your ass the harder he thrusts inside you, but his hips are stuttering and he’s panting right beside your ear that you can tell he’s close. It prompts you to wiggle under him to wrap your legs around his waist, bringing him closer and clutching his scalp just to have him impossibly close, because even thinking about letting him go sounds too painful, especially now that he’s claimed you as his just as you’ve marked him yours.

“I worship you,” he blurts out with a few final thrusts that has you crumbling under him in a silent scream, your focus completely on his dark, passionate eyes as you came. Sukuna then laces his fingers through yours while he pumps himself inside you, your walls milking him of everything he’s got. “You are divine, my wife, you have bewitched me for eternity.”

“Sukuna,” you call out weakly, and he’s quick to litter kisses all over your face from your whimpers. “Sukuna-I-I—”

“Shh, I know, I know,” Sukuna places a finger on your lips, letting you calm down from that earth shattering orgasm he just gave you. He pulls his spent dick out a minute later and scoops up your cum that’s spilling out from your pussy lips, his gaze never leaving yours the whole while he sucks his fingers inside his mouth. He’s so dirty and erotic that you’re clenching around nothing once more, but he shakes his head with a low chuckle as if he can sense you want more. Sukuna kisses you just to transfer the cum mixed with spit right onto your tongue, gripping your jaw when your eyes widen at him. “Swallow it, little one. That’s just a taste of what I could give to you.”

You don’t know what pulled you to actually swallow it – it tastes bitter and even a little salty, though it had a bittersweet tinge of scent to it that you don’t mind, especially not when Sukuna just stares at you like you’re most his prized possession.

Sukuna is right by your side the next moment. He’s tamed the next moment, pure comfort and bliss from the way he’s tenderly running his fingers up and down the sides of your body like he’s memorizing the feel of you around him. You both don’t say anything as you place your cheek right above his chest, arms locked on his chest in a desperate cling, but neither does he want you to let go. Sukuna threads his fingers on your hair before you feel his lips caress the crown of your head, mumbling sweet nothings right as you’re welcoming sleep.

Until he taps your breast.

“Little one?”

“Yes?”

“We never had our honeymoon, do we?” he queries, and you twist your head to face him as your brows draw together in thought.

“No, I don’t think we did. I pushed you away from me on our first night together, remember?”

Sukuna’s eyes shone with mischief. “How could I forget? You tried to kill me right after our wedding,” both of you share a laugh at the memory, though there were no more harsh feelings or contempt shared, only love, and love only. Sukuna softens under your gaze as your chuckles tinker down to a giggle, your finger teasingly drawing circles on his chest as you bite your lip. And like always, Sukuna knows you just a little too well. “I know that look. What is it that you want, little one?”

“You.”

“Me?” he repeats with a dark chuckle that sends heat right down to your womanhood. “You already have me, little one, your wish has been granted a long time ago.”

Your face burns. “I mean, I want you. Again. One more.”

“One more?”

“Or maybe a lot more,” you pipe up, but Sukuna’s smirk is growing more and more devious that your former tenacity soon dwindles down into meekness. “O-only if you want to. You must be tired.”

“Little one, I’m the King of Curses, did you really think I would be tired from fucking my sweet little wife?” At his words, Sukuna tilts your chin until you’re left with no choice but to be held captive under his lust. He leans down to teasingly bite your bottom lip, and you’re already breathing hard as you feel his hands begin to trail down to your core that’s more than eager to take him all over again. “Like I said, I worship you, and I’m nothing but a bewitched man who would gladly fuck his wife as long as she asks.”

Safe to say, you couldn’t exorcise curses for quite some time.

[deepseavibez]

Drowning Too Deep_3 || KNJ || JHS

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-> Picture Source - Pinterest

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Drowning Too Deep [Namjoon x Hoseok x Reader]

Part 1 || Part 2 || 2.1 || 2.2 || Part 3

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Genre - Explicit Smut; established!Boyfriend(s) au; Poly oneshot; Punishment;

Summary - Alone at home, nothing but thoughts, pent up emotions, roaming fingers and a wild imagination... that is... until your boyfriends catch you in the act.

Warning - 21+!Only; Poly; Aftercare; Angst(Some);

Word Count - 4.2k

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🎶- Never Not - Lauv

Right. That was all it was. It felt right. Slowly, you registered the voice - two voices, words of good, have you, with you.

A hand cradled your head, a secure hold.. The musk of Namjoon engulfed your senses, his chin resting at the top of your head, his arm reaching around you, closing you in with the body at your back. Flexing your hand you found your fingers inter linked with slender ones, rings laced in between - Hobi held strong.

You blinked slowly out of your haze and found yourself face to face with the smooth expanse of Namjoon’s chest, your nose in line with his sternum, on instinct you placed your cheek further against it, burrowing yourself against him.

An earthy giggle came from above you, the elation in his voice evident as he took in your actions.

Smiling against him you felt the ghosting of lips against your neck. Squeezing lightly at the fingers between yours you acknowledged your boyfriends, their comfort, their love, their presence.

You could stay here forever.

You felt fingers threading through your hair, careful fingers, a contrast to the demand they had mere minutes ago. Eyes fluttering shut you basked in the aftermath of your lovemaking. If you could bury yourself in their skin, you would. The need to be as close as possible visceral and insistent.

They usually did this, let you be as clingy as possible after sex. There was something about the moment, the afterglow, the headiness, being that close, feeling that loved -- it was incomparable.

‘You okay?’ Namjoon’s question felt far away, but you nodded in response. You felt like you were in a cocoon of warmth. Shifting your legs, you winced visibly at the tenderness in your body and couldn’t help the groan of discomfort that left you. Deciding it wasn’t worth it to move, you slackened further into their hold.

After a minute of stillness, shuffling at your back had you stirring again. Blinking away the bliss of the moment, you felt your hair being ruffled lightly, the hand leaving your head. You heard Hobi say something about running the bath as you opened your eyes again and made to sit up.

Craning your head toward his retreating figure, you swallowed the whine that threatened to leave your chest, his distance already having you feel cold and bereft.

It was illogical, he was just a few feet away, but you needed him next to you, here, touching and holding you, near you.

Namjoon clearing his throat caused your train of thought to come to a screeching halt. You turned to face him and found him sitting up, trying to hold your hand, which you now realized was fisted in the blanket under you. He smirked as you loosened the scrunched material from your hand and placed your palm on his waiting one. Bringing it up to his mouth, he placed a kiss on the inside of your wrist, eyes never leaving yours. Unable to help yourself, emotions threatening to take you under, you flung yourself into his open arms and buried your head against his neck.

'Hey, we're here, we're both here, we promise. We promised to always catch you. You’ll feel better after a hot bath.’ His voice was soft and reassuring, body warmth overwhelming, both exactly what you needed, arms strongly anchored against you, holding you as tightly as you held him. To feel so much, to be okay with being pushed, to trust blindly as you did, it was impossible to recover from it.

'I don't think I can live without both of you.' The confession came from deep within you.

His chest rumbled as he hummed against you, the sound coursing through your body. 'It's a good thing you won't have to.'

Words between you and Joon were never minced, which was something you would be grateful for. The letters forming the words that took up the space between your lips were never easy going conversation, but it consisted of truth and fact and every bit the promises you would both die to uphold.

The option to use a safe word during your lovemaking was a mere formality, you had no need to use it, despite their effort to openly communicate and make sure you knew you could.

Because the ties were never that tight. They were easily maneuverable. In the moment it would feel like exactly what you needed, control being taken away from you. But in a serious setting, if logic prevailed, you were the one with the most right, the most power to stop, the most control. But it was leverage you had no need to use.

The control they had of your body, and your heart and their access to it in their keeping, the addiction you had to keeping them happy was too good of a high, and the after was always worth it; if you loosened your ties, if you took that away from them it would upset the exchange of power.

And they never let you down, not once.

'I'm okay, I'll be okay.' You said more to yourself than to him, as your grip loosened.

He didn’t budge. 'I know. I need to feel you close to me too.'

Footsteps broke you out of your bubble as you listened to Hoseok get closer. 'Water.' Only after he said it did you realize how dry your throat was, you were parched.

Pulling away you held out your hand for the bottle. The water livened your senses up a bit, like fresh air, you could think a bit clearly, and it gave you a second to assess Hobi, you noticed him closely from the top of the bottle. His jaw was set, deep in thought, he was lost to the world for the moment.

Handing the bottle to Joon when you were done, you grabbed a hold of your other boyfriend and pulled him down beside you.

Moving to the edge of the bed, not without difficulty, you threw your legs over as your hand found his hair. He wouldn't meet your eye, so you pushed in your own way. Turning toward him, you curled your other arm around his front, it took a moment, but his arm wrapped around your waist, unconsciously bringing you closer.

He would adapt around you, he would always adapt around you.

The skin contact calming, you nosed at his shoulder. 'Hobi.' His name, a question, a pretty word, a cadence,as you implored your lover to open up. He was your Hobi, you needed to know what was bothering him, even if you couldn't fix it, no one in this relationship had to handle things alone

'Were we too rough?' You paused your petting at his serious tone.

Cocking your head to the side you took a deep breath before replying. 'Do you trust me?'

You would have expected a protest at the question, but he didn't, he knew better, he simply nodded in answer.

'And did I, at any time, use it?' You didn’t wait for him to answer. 'No, I didn't, and even if I had, it would have been something to talk about. We would have gotten through it.'

Looking over at Joon, you motioned for him to step in.

Almost immediately, he moved to close in on Hobi's other side, contributing to the third degree. 'So, why are you self-deprecating?'

Hobi turned to you before answering. 'You've never been… so far gone… after.'

You couldn’t deny that. It took a minute, it was different, but there weren’t any manuals for this type of thing. ‘But I'm okay now, see, maybe a bit clingy, or alot, but besides being absolutely weird at walking tomorrow, I love making love with you both,’ You didn’t want to say it, not when you were all so vulnerable, but his thoughts needed to be shut down. ‘Don't turn it into something we have to second guess.'

'Your demons have a place here Hobi, just not when they try to get between any of us.' You smiled over Hobi’s shoulder gratefully. Joon always had the right words.

'I just don't think I could forgive myself for hurting either of you intentionally.' He looked at our bare feet, unable to meet our eyes.

'It's a lot of responsibility to be the one with the reins in the relationship, but y/n and I trust you. I mean, if we hurt you, at any time, would you want us eating up inside because of it.'

‘Would you not let yourselves get eaten alive inside because of it.’ He glanced between us, but the question was rhetorical, we all knew the answer.

‘I think the point is,’ you intervened, ‘that we'd forgive each other, eventually, there's a lot of understanding here, of course we may love each other more than we should, but we give it our all.'

Placing his chin on Hobi, Namjoon rubbed his boyfriend's back and followed your lead, in reinforcement. ‘And during sex, we have safe words for a reason, outside the bedroom we have the word no, and we have trust enough to voice ourselves in any situation.’

‘My sweet, endearing man,’ you ran your fingers through his hair and hugged yourself to him. ‘This isn't your burden to share alone, we’re all in this relationship.’

‘We're fluent in Hoseok, especially when your brain is forming words you refuse to speak aloud.’ Joon’s palm gripped Hobi’s thigh, squeezing it lightly in reassurance. 'Respect our trust in you, and remember that you trust us to speak, even if it's for you.’

He didn’t answer, just resigned for the moment as he turned over to you and kissed your shoulder, eyes far away in contemplation. It was okay, he needed time. Things like this would take more time, more communication.

‘I think it might be time for that bath now,’ Joon whispered.

-----

🎶- Paris In The Rain - Lauv

Standing on the balcony rail, you stared out at the city below you. It was your favourite spot about this apartment, the bright lights, the noise, it made you feel alive, like you were a part of something bigger

‘What's down there?’

‘Everything.’

You looked up at Hobi as leaned on the rails next to you. He was shirtless, in plain black shorts, a coffee cup in hand. Questions like these weren’t his type, but he surprised you still.

As for the coffee, it was one of the first habits they had all synced up, coffee could wake all of you up, or help put you to sleep now.

‘It's distracting sometimes, all the noise. Wouldn't it be nice to get a change of scenery, peaceful, like a quaint cottage or a mountain range and hills, lush greenery.’

You made a face at Joon’s observation as you took the cup he offered to you. After sex coffee was always a good idea. Extra sugar, extra cream, something of a cherry on the top type of thing. It's good for vacation, but not for life.

‘The plus side is that our careers are here, our livelihoods, you guys know how to navigate yourselves through this city. And I've been having fun trying.’

‘Do you think you'd ever regret moving here? You were pretty scared, at first.’ Joon pulled you against him as he voiced the question, one arm around you, he pulled the shirt further down across you, his shirt as it flailed a bit in the breeze. You rolled your eyes internally, smiling into your mug, but the small action warmed you.

‘I was scared.’ You answered after taking a sip. ‘I still have some trouble. But, I just have to remember you two, remember that I will be coming home to my favorite people, I can't turn away from either of you, not after seeing inside your lives and your hearts, and how much I want to be a part of it.’

In fact, you remember the day you chose to be a part of it.

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🎶 - Blinded - Emmit Fenn

‘I'm gonna miss this view.’ Leaning against the window of the boys bedroom in the dorm, you looked out, over at the buildings, the birds, the lives taking place miles around.

‘What do you mean?’ You turned toward the sound of Hoseok’s voice. He was in his and Joon’s shared walk-in closet, putting away his clothes from the day before.

You limited your emotions behind your answer. The fears and anxiety of what was inevitable plaguing you since things had come so far. ‘I have closing contract negotiations next week - my time in Seoul ends in December. They have a flight booked for me the day before Christmas.’

‘Wait, you're leaving.’ Joon stood, from where he sat at the edge of the bed.

‘Don't look at me like that Joonie, we knew about this.’ He was the more logical of the two, if he didn’t see reason, this would be harder, for both of them. ‘I have family in America, friends, a different life.’ You tried your best to be reasonable, remaining calm and comforting. Some things in life were unavoidable. You decided you would be strong here, be rational, there was plenty of time to break down, to fall apart when you got...home.

Shaking your head away from your thoughts, you positioned a fake smile, ready to drive through this conversation, as fast as possible.

‘Can you really walk away y/n.’ You looked up at Hobi as he stepped into view. You expected this, the tight voice, the stoney face, Hobi was driven by emotion, he would take longer to adjust.

You turned away from them, you never could lie well, especially not to them, these men that held your heart. ‘It’s not complicated, Hobi. You both asked to see where it goes, and, well I have to go home.’ You tried not putting much weight behind the ‘have to’ but you would be lying if you hadn’t already searched for a reason to pull time, to extend things, to stay.

‘Move in with us.’

You whirled and stared at them incredulously. Joon for the statement, Hobi for not even remotely looking to amend it.

‘What, Joon, I don't live in Seoul, I-,’

Hobi crept toward you. His features stood out, jaw clenching as he grit out, ‘Tell me you don’t love me.’

He tugged your hand as soon as he was close enough and pulled you forcefully into him. You didn't answer him or look at him, you couldn't, the little resolve you had...no. You knew you had to leave. This wasn't your world. This wasn't your life. They didn't belong to you. You squeezed your eyes to trample down the surge of pain at your latter thought

‘Y/n.’ He caught your chin and made you meet his eyes. ‘Tell me. Tell me you don't love me.’

You felt hands at your waist, ‘Tell us, and we'll walk away from this conversation, right now.’

Trapped, you were trapped. These two beautiful males, they didn’t understand. You bit the inside of your cheek, you didn't have the luxury of crying, you didn't have the right to accept this. This was your life for crying out loud.

‘I-,’

‘And don't lie.’

Your fingers dug into Hobis' bicep at his tone.

‘I don't belong here.’

‘That's not what we asked you to say,’ Joon’s voice was shaky, his usually rich baritone, clouded with an unnameable emotion.

It didn’t need a name, for a long time now, you made it okay to not have a name.

‘Well where would this go, if I stay? What are you going to do? Announce to the world you have a girlfriend that you both share.’ Your voice rose with each word, your argument gaining momentum.

‘How do we do this? How do we go about life?’ You struggled in their hold, needing distance to do this, their hands on you vice-like, unshakeable at your outburst.

‘I can have sex, and I can love and I can let go, but if I stay, I want the whole damn deal. Can you give me that? Can you introduce me to your parents? Can you tell the boys? Can you explain it to your management? Can you give me kids? Can you tell the world about us?’ Your voice broke, ‘’Because I deserve to be number one in someone's life. And to be shown off and, and I can compromise so much, the distance and the tours and the time I have to spend missing you, but I cannot be just by the way. No one should be put through that. No one should be asked that, unless you want to throw money at them and call it a night.’

‘Y/n!’ You flinched visibly at the reprimand, not sure who it came from, as the blood rushed in your ears.

You swallowed harshly and used the little bit of anger you had left, if they could hate you, it would be easier for them. 'What?! It hurts! Of course it hurts. Yes, for fucks sake, I am in love with both of you. I want the long haul. I want forever. But I cannot ask that of you. I can’t ask for you both to only be mine.’

‘Why ask when you will be given freely. When have Hobi and I ever made you believe that you weren’t entitled to any of that.’

‘Stop it! You don't know what you're saying. This isn’t just a phase, this is going to bed and waking up together. This is arguing and making decisions together. This is respecting each other's financial and career choices. This is every day, every moment, it's everything.’

‘Y/n. Hobi is my life partner. He is my soul-mate. I have loved him and I can survive because I know I'll always have him. But I can't live without you. I can't breathe unless I know I have access to you.’

‘We.’ Hobi amended.

‘We can't live without you.’ You could feel Joon’s soft smile at your back, alleviating the tense atmosphere slightly, as he followed his boyfriend’s unspoken order.

‘Baby, look at me, talk to us. Come on, make this work, make us work - we can.’ Hobi’s hands around you were demanding, as he coaxed, holding onto you tightly, as if you might disappear at any moment.

‘I can't. I, if I look at you, I can't be strong, I can't hold off, I won't be able to look away.’

‘Because you know we care. Because you know we want to be yours. Everything else is everything else.’

‘Joon, you’re making this hard.’

‘No, y/n, you are.’

‘You will remember me, that I was here, that we made the best memories,’

‘We can make more.’

‘Hobi, please be reasonable.’

‘’We know it’s a lot, but this, this isn't just for now, this is, for however long you will have us, this is for as long as you love us and we love you, fingers crossed it’s for a really really long time.’ Hobi’s lips found your forehead, as if he couldn’t help himself.

‘Do you think you will regret it someday.’ Even your whisper was forlorn.

‘You?’ He huffed, the sudden movement jerking all of you against each other momentarily. ‘I can't think straight when you're not near me, it's even worse when you're in the same room.’

‘I think a part of me woke up when I met you, and then wanted to stay awake when I realized I didn't want you to leave, that was months ago.’ Joon could make anything sound poetic, you thought.

‘A violent part of me wanted to lock you in a tower and keep you there, for us, all to ourselves. 'There was absolution in Hobi’s voice. 'You're a bit insane, in a good way, and courageous and you see the world differently and you watch spongebob of all things,’

‘Not to mention you drink coffee at night,’ Joon chimed in, ‘We want it all.’

‘I won’t stop. Work. Travels. Experiences. I have wants, needs, a lot to learn and do and I have some of the worst days’

‘All of it, we want all of it.’ Joon hugged your back as his chest rumbled against you at his declaration.

You were a goner, all because you didn't have to be on guard with them. There was always some sort of control involved in existing. From emotions to urges and choices. Sexuality even.

But here they were, asking you to be yourself, pummelling those walls down with sheer will and determination, demanding you be as y/n as possible, even if it made life a little more difficult.

‘Me?’ You looked up at Hobi, willingly meeting his eyes, letting him see how deeply embedded they were within you, searching for hesitation, for any sort of reluctance. ‘Me.’ You repeated to them both, a statement, a chance to back out, before anything else was said.

‘You.’ Joon replied with confidence.

‘You.’ Hobi said, solidifying it.

‘Us?’ You assessed the word as it fell from your lips, a stick against a stone, a spark being allowed to ignite.

‘Us.’ Firm fingers at your waist, as the whisper of a sound came a hairsbreadth from your ear.

You closed your eyes, sending a prayer to the sky, that this was a good choice, that what you wanted couldn't be so bad, that you wouldn’t wake up one day to two males that realized they were too good for you, because they were, you knew that.

You wrapped your hands around Hobi’s back, bringing Joon with you at your back.

You felt the tension ease out of both men, letting out breaths they didn't know they held.

‘Here.’ Hobi’s voice was authoritative, unrelenting.

‘Here.’

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🎶 - Paris In The Rain - Lauv

A kiss at your neck broke you out of the memory, the soft spot, known and well used by the man you currently rested against. ‘Where did you go?’

Leaning into his hold, you looked out toward the city, ‘Here. Us.’ You reached out and pulled Hobi into you and Joon, a soft smile gracing your face as you answered. ‘Forever.’

‘I guess, it just makes sense, something about it, just is, I just, love who I am here.’ You meant it. You felt a puzzle piece slot into place when you let yourself be talked into a life with them.

‘We get it. Anywhere with you just feels right.’ Hobi pecked your cheek and ran his fingers through yours.

‘Hobi can be under any moon, any set of stars, anywhere, as long as it's with y/n and Joon.’

You smiled at the third person statement. You considered before asking your next question, holding tighter to Namjoon’s arms around you. ‘Do you think, you’ll ever stop loving me.’

Hobi dropped his head in a giggle, very used to this question.

‘Maybe when the lights go out in the city.’ Joon's sincere answer was so like him; he was always patient. ‘When the music stops playing from the numerous ads across the buildings-.’

‘And when hell freezes over.’ Hobi added as he smiled at you.

His contagious smile formed a mirror on your face. Right then you remembered you would never get tired of moments like these, post sex or no sex, you would never get enough of them. You had yet to regret leaving your old life for a new one. You hadn't stopped falling in love with them daily.

Stars above you, the black night sky engulfing your forms like a blanket, it was a pause to the endless possibilities surrounding your lives together. You weren't sure if it would always be like this, but right now, Namjoon’s heartbeat at your back, Hoseok next to you, nothing else in the world mattered.

‘I am going to have a serious issue with you touching yourself when we aren’t here though.’ A nip at your ear reaffirmed the statement. You just took another sip of your coffee.

‘Y/n.’ Hobi chastised. Oh no, you were about to be double-teamed.

You kept the mug at your lips, making your eyes wide over the mug. You pointed to it, busy drinking coffee, not talking about this.

‘Y/n.’ They exclaimed consecutively, pulling out of Joon’s hold and you rushed into the lounge, but not before one of them grabbed a hold of your shirt. You squealed in surprise.

Thinking fast, placing the mug on the nearest surface, you pulled the shirt over your head and ran, buck naked away from them.

‘You are so done when we get a hold of you!’ Joon shouted.

‘You’ll have to get a hold of me first.’

Laughter could be heard from your apartment, laughter and squeals of a girl that laid it all on the line, for a new life, for two smart, talented men that she had found halfway across the world; laughter that carried out the balcony to the city below, laughter of a relationship finding its way in Seoul.

Part 1 || Part 2 || 2.1 || 2.2 || Part 3

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[sningo-prompts]

Poor Ingo especially when in all likelyhood Emmet wasn’t even referring to Ingo when he said that, not intentionally at least. Yes he’s got his brother back but it’s not enough to just have him back! There has to be more, Emmet has to do more! If not for his sake then Ingo’s, because Ingo is a sneasel and Sneasels lover considerably shorter lives than humans, most importantly, Ingo doesn’t deserve to suffer any more than he’s already had! Emmet wasn’t saying Ingo wasn’t enough, he was saying he wasn’t doing enough, wasn’t working hard enough, it just came out in the worst way possible!

Its been a minute but i think i was having Emmet frustraded with Ingo not being enough because Ingo will never be enough and Emmet hadnt realised his expectations had been too high. Its been years between the brothers seeing one another. Emmet is putting Ingo up against his memory, which isnt fair. Emmet just wants his brother back and for things to go to how they had been but thats never going to happen. Not just because Ingo has change, which is the reason he got so upset, but because Emmet himself has changed. He just hadnt realised it because he hasnt really taken a look at himself. Ingo probably didnt notice Emmets different at first either, being he couldnt full remember everything right out the gate. I like to think Ingo realises Emmet change and feels sad that Emmet had to go through that but never blaming himself. After all its nothing he wanted or asked for to happen.

Also theres a lot between them now that there hadnt been before. The main one being communication. They cant hold a real meaningful conversation. Emmet missed talking to his brother. Listening to his brother and now even though Ingo is back he still misses him. Its very frustrating feelings. “Ingo is right there hes back but why do i still feel so sad?” Or something along those lines. In a sense hes has lost the brother who left those years ago and he isnt ever going to get him back. But hes not the same Emmet from then either now is he? Its that thought that helps snap him back. Its like the realisation that they both have changed so much helps him cope. Hes not alone. Ingo is having the same problem after all. The Emmet he knew and loved wasnt there to great him. Instead of pushing him away or trying live in the past, Ingo accept him changes and all. Man Emmet feels bad about his outburst. But Ingo is a great brother and so is Emmet. They are there for each other. Even if they have bad days. Which that one was rather bad. It adds doubt to Ingos mind of if he is helping his brother by staying but he will never leave. He knows Emmet wants him around and he knows Emmet is happier with him there. Its just somedays he might need to be reminded now. And the same goes for Emmet. He thinks for a moment maybe Ingo would be better off without a brother like him but he doesnt get far on that line of thought. Ingo could have left. He could leave at anypoint. But he didnt. He stayed and thats enough for Emmet.

I actually had a 3rd part planned for how this fight made them closer. I mean once they get their worries out in the open the can be cleared up. It helps strengthen their bond. Human or sneasel. They are family. And they really do love each other.

~ I have been trying to respond to this almost since i got it but other stuff kept me from it so im sorry its a bit late. Sadly i only had like 30 minute to bop this out. Also i hate how i wrapped it up. How lame xD but i lost im train of thought so rip. Again sorry this was so late and i dont think i even stayed on topic. But eh im running out of time xD (i had to stop because i used up my time and have to get ready for rhe day.)

[writers-hes]

Fucking Harry | Summer Feeling Challenge

Hi, guys! How are you? I’m finally back with an all new fic called ‘Fucking Harry’. This is an entry to @helladirections​ ‘s Summer Feeling Challenge. I hope you enjoy!

word count: 2884  masterlist + if you love me come clean masterlist  be a part of my taglist!  SUMMER FEELING MASTERLIST (over 40+ fics about summer. angst, fluff, and smut!!!) SUMMARY: You were back in the same place where you last fell in love, alone again. You prayed to God that he was here. Chanting his name multiple times under your breath until he appears right beside you—but you knew that no magic in the universe will do that for you. You were born unlucky, after all.  Story Theme: Theme Parks unedited

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It’s that time of the year again. You knew, because suddenly, the upcoming summer started to be gloomy. You hated summer more than you hated anything. Everybody was off to go to their country clubs, get summer jobs, go on trips with friends, fall in love…ick. Summer love? That doesn’t last anyway. Once summer is over, the person you fell in love with leaves you alone and gives you nothing else. Even if they were your friend at first. You agreed that you’ll be friends first and then lovers. Who could blame you two anyway? You were both lonely that summer. All your friends were away while you were stuck in Italy.

Fucking Italy.

You both agreed that there was something about Italy. It’s romantic. He kissed you just like how the sun kissed your skin. He made love to you in the private confines of his home there…and in the beach, in the yacht, well, he basically made love to you everywhere. You hung onto him like a necklace. Love marks littered his body and he showed it off to everyone—wearing polos with the buttons intentionally stopping right under his swallows or not wearing anything at all. You believed his words like a gospel and everything he said seemed like a prayer. That was him for you and perhaps all of the boys and the girls adoring him in everything that he did.

Now, you were back in the same place where you last fell in love, alone again. You prayed to God that he was here. Chanting his name multiple times under your breath until he appears right beside you—but you knew that no magic in the universe will do that for you. You were born unlucky, after all.

“Harry, Harry, Harry…fucking Harry,” you groaned, annoyed. Italy is just associated with Harry and it was fucking annoying. Why did you come to Italy in the first place? It’s unlike you to go back to a place associated with bad memories—the reason why you never went back to your hometown. But then again, you saw that there was a seat sale on some airline and that your boss told you to go take a break because you’ve been working non-stop since that wretched summer happened. You shook your head, an attempt to get rid of the guy inside your mind. So you walk, head on, in the streets of Florence where you fantasised the tow of you roaming around Cinque Terre, a city that overlooked the ocean. You remembered that Cinque Terre was a sight in itself. The city was adorned with hues of blue, yellow, red, and pink buildings. It had five towns and it was secluded from other cities. It was a nice life where you can buy pastries and greet the baker. Everybody knew everyone and Harry Styles was very well-known.

To be completely honest, you didn’t know how Harry Styles managed to stay in your mind for two years. You can still remember the rasps and the moans when you had sex—an ear-worm that haunted you to this very day. Still, you couldn’t help but smile when you took a trip to the theme park. A place where you and him considered solacing. It was loud in there, the mechanics of the rides replaying inside your head, little Italian children and international tourists asking their mothers to get them a toy.

Perhaps you could visit the theme park alone this time. You knew that it was open at this season. Everyone’s there and it’s summer. You stopped a small bakery to get some bread for lunch. You and Harry went to this place, around noon, to get a croissant sandwich that Harry raved about. You also remembered how much he liked their focaccia flowers. You entered, the smell of coffee and freshly baked bread enveloping your senses. You were giddy—they served the best bread in the world. You walked to the counter, smiling at the same baker that greeted you two years ago.

“Ciao, bella!” the man greeted.

“Hi. May I get a ham and cheese croissant sandwich and Caffe Latte?” you asked him, remembering your order from the last time you went here.

“Cosa certa,” he said, listing your orders on a notepad. “For who?”

“Y/N,” you replied, opening your wallet to retrieve your card. The barista nodded as you paid for the food.

“Grazie,” he said. “My boy will call your name and you can get your food,”

“Grazie,” you replied, walking away from the man and his cheeriness. You sat down on a chair where you can view the busy streets outside. You sighed sadly. The last time, you were the couple sitting a couple of tables from you—enveloped in each other’s hands, unaware of the prying eyes.

———

“Ah, fuck!” you exclaimed once you were inside your hotel room, exhausted from the wishful thinking and the walking. You walked towards the balcony and sighed, opting to open a bottle of wine from the mini bar. Getting wine drunk in Florence, Italy doesn’t seem like a bad idea.

Or maybe it was because the next day, you opened your emails. Hungover, you looked to see that you had an e-ticket to the theme park. Then, you remembered that in a courageous rush, you bought one in hopes of seeing the man with green eyes again. So in a haste, you were up and dressed, a plastic cup of coffee in your hands, in a cab to the amusement park. You watched the panoramic view outside your video and you wondered how a love like yours and Harry’s ended like it did. It was sad, really. He just left and in harsher terms, he ghosted you once you landed back in America. Fucking Harry.

You sighed, for the nth time—ready to just combust and call Harry. But you can’t, so you just chanted his name again, until it was time for you to enter the gates of the theme park. You looked at it, it was all the same. All the fucking same and you were reliving everything alone. You walked around the theme park and it was gigantic. There were trees that shaded the walkways and families taking photos of their children. You smiled at the sight, love and joy radiating the place but for some reason, you can’t be bothered. You were alone in a sea of people bonding and it just sucked. You sat inside one of the cafes in the theme park and got yourself his favourite Americano. What else is there anyway? He made you a godforsaken mess—an idiotic fool. You were busy looking through your phone, chanting his name under your breath when a pair of black Old Skool Vans appeared on your line of sight. You looked up and there he was, looking at you, his mouth agape. He seemed to be alone too and you were there too, speechless how he found his way to you. Perhaps all your chanting was true and the universe wanted you to meet again.

“Y/N?” he breathed, pulling the chair in front of you, a Caffe Latte in his hand. “How have you been? What brings you to Italy? Why are you here?”

“Hold on,” you replied, still in shock at the wonder in front of you. Harry was here. He was here and he was real because the way that he was looking at you right now was the same way he looked at you before. “Harry…how are you here?”

“I asked first,” he said, seeing the Americano in your hand and how you were still in sync with him because he got you your favourite.

“I took a break from work and saw that there was a seat sale going here so I decided to stay here. Yeah,” you nodded, awkward.

“I drove here from London. I stopped by France and I decided to go to Italy too,” he replied, clearing his throat. “How have you been?”

“Been better,” you admitted. “I mean, it’s Italy,”

“Yeah, I feel the same,” he replied. “Y/N, love. We’re here in Italy, in an amusement park. Do you want to try out some rides and just forget for a little while?”

“What do we do?” you asked.

“Just…relive Italy together even just for this day,” he said. “I do need a hand to hold onto in the roller coaster,” he said, extending his hand. It was true. He was a little bit of a scaredy cat in some rides and you were the hand that he held onto when he needed reassurance that everything will be okay. You thought about it. It would be nice to spend Italy with someone.

“Alright but we're not talking about what happened last time, okay?,” you nodded and he beamed.

“Alright,”

———

“Are you sure you want to ride the roller coaster?” you asked him. You were in a queue and were close to the entry gates. Harry was shaking like a flower.

“Relive it, right?” he said, forcing a smile. “I want to, Y/N,” I want to hold your hand again, he thought. There was absolutely no way for him to ride on this goddamn roller coaster but  you liked how free it made you feel. The ups, and downs, and the spikes made you feel liberated. It made you feel something and you liked how your hair flew everywhere. He didn’t want to ride the death trap but if it meant seeing you smile genuinely and holding your hand when he’s scared, then he wouldn’t mind a little sacrifice. You smiled at him, excited.

“I promise, after we finish the ride, you can lean on me if your legs wobble,” you teased and Harry laughed. He might take you up on that offer.

“You’re so mean to me,” he pouted but smiling anyway as he saw you chuckle. “Will you treat me to a nice scoop of gelato after? I was thinking...pistachio or cherry,”

“Alright,” you said, nodding. The queue to the rollercoaster became shorter and shorter and you were bouncing on your feet in anticipation while Harry bounced for the opposite reason. Soon, you were inside the little carts, waiting for the operator to finish setting up everybody.

“You want me to hold your hand, Harry?” you asked, opening your palm for him to squeeze.

“Yes, please,” he nodded, gulping thickly. “You know how queasy I get sometimes,” he chuckled nervously, wiping his sweaty hand on his blue denim before encasing your hand with his. “I’m sorry if my hands get sweaty,”

“It’s alright. Thank you for coming with me to ride it anyway,” feeling nauseous at the familiarity of the scene unfolding before you. Harry’s leg bouncing, his hand and yours, the sweat on your forehead from the heat, and the love that you felt for him. You wanted to scream at him, push him, and ask him what the fuck happened between the two of you. The way that he’s looking at you right now, through the facade of his anxiety, was love and you knew that.

“May we please remind you to keep your seatbelts on, be seated, and most of all, enjoy the ride,” a woman spoke, triggering the machine to pull back slightly and slowly riding up the small bump, before speeding down to the ground.

Harry was hysterical beside you, screaming while closing his eyes in fear. His grip on your palm became tighter and you smiled, screaming at the top of your lungs. The frustration, anger, sadness, and hurt all coming out and nobody cared. This was freedom. You screamed some more until your lungs gave out.

“Fuck!” you heard the man beside you. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck,”

“It’s okay, Harry!” you screamed in return. “We’re about to land,” you added, seeing that you were about to enter the station again. The coaster slowed down, stopping at its designated spot. You looked at Harry, who was red. You were pretty sure that there were tear stains on his cheeks but you ignored them.

“Thank you for riding our famous roller coaster. We hope to see you again,”

“Hope my ass. You will never see me set foot on this shit again,” Harry muttered under his breath, making you laugh. The safety locks on your chairs are lifted and you lead him to the exit. He was heaving, and had wobbly legs.

“You okay?” you asked. “I’m sorry if I had to make you go through that. We can try on other rides if you want to,” you offered.

“No, no more rides, please. Just wanna sit and play carnival games later. With the big toys, you know?” Harry said, rushing on the first bench that he sees. It actually takes a while before Harry calms down again. He laid on the bench for what seemed like an hour, bottles of water on his stomach that it makes you wonder if it was alright to just tell him to go home and leave things at that. You were about to speak when Harry interrupted you.

“Y/N,” he called. “Do you...maybe want to leave this place and have dinner with me?”

“Harry...I don’t think that’s a good idea,” you replied. “Only here, remember? After this, I have to go back to my hotel and you back to where you’re from,”

“Please, Y/N...I have so many things to tell you,” he said, sitting up so you could sit beside him. You didn’t, opting to stay on the bench beside where he was. The distance was frustrating Harry but he respected your boundaries. “Well, I’ll say it here then,”

You nodded, uneasy. Harry sounded serious and solemn in what’s supposed to be a happy place.

“I’m sorry I left,” he started, making you gasp at his bluntness. “I really am. Look, the last time I went here was with you and it was the best trip that I have ever had. I knew that it was something that I would cherish for the rest of my life but--”

“Why did you leave me?” you asked, facing him. “Do you know how I felt when you left? When we landed back, you changed.  You just left and I couldn’t call or text you. I received text messages from you thrice a month and that was you being generous,” you told him, newfound courage surging through your bloodstream.

“I was scared,” he admitted, making you chuckle pathetically.

“What about me? Wasn’t I scared too? It’s been two years. You can’t just decide to pop in anytime you want and leave when it’s convenient. Did you even mean it when you said that you loved me?” you asked, defeated. People started to notice the fight that broke out with you two and they started to recognise who Harry was. You noticed too so you stood up. Harry trailed behind you until you stopped at a more private part of the park.

“You know I love you, petal,” he replied, shoving his hands in his pockets. “I told you to never doubt that, right? I love you still, Y/N and I’m sorry,”

“Harry--why are you here? Why did you insist on reliving what we had two years ago?” you asked, desperately trying. He was hiding and you were sure of it but he didn’t budge, shrugging.

“I’m sorry. I don’t--don’t know why I did what I did and then doing what I’m doing now. You know I’m not a man of regrets but I’ve been feeling so alone and lonely and I miss you.I love you I really do but that night, when we landed...I realised how Italy can only happen in Italy.There’s so many people prying on my business and I don’t know how they’ll react,”

“You’re ashamed of me,” you concluded, nodding at his confession. Harry was rendered speechless. It wasn’t as if he was ashamed. He was scared of how the public will react when you’re revealed to the world. “You’re fucking ashamed of me because I’m not like you?” you ask him, and Harry could feel the venom dripping from your words. “I--I can’t do this,” you exclaimed, tears on your cheeks. You laughed pathetically at yourself, straightening your back and walking. Harry was Harry so he grabbed you by the arm, ready to apologise and admit his mistake but you snatched your arm away from his grasp.

“Don’t,” you seethed. “Don’t fucking touch me. Don’t talk to me, don’t think of me. Leave me the fuck alone, Harry. I swear to God,” you warned, walking away from the boy who broke your heart for the second time. Harry was slumped over, his figure becoming smaller and smaller in the Italian sunset and you sobbed, leaving your heart with the man who took it.

You were hoping for a change but now, you were back in the same place where you last fell in love, alone again. You prayed to God that he was following you. Calling out your name multiple times above the crowd that was starting to appear until he appears right beside you—but you knew that no magic in the universe will do that for you. You were born unlucky, after all.

“Harry, Harry....fucking Harry,”

-- sorry if you thought it was smut... :) 

TAGLIST: taglist:@lizzyclifford13-blog @tpwkwrites @floral-suits -suits @bree082 @dezzym17 @bouncebackbyers @lolapuffs @belleamore @demolition-lovers-blog @gorgeouslygrace @styledharry @nervousshoeghostmoney @drowninherperfume @spideys-wife @for-harryseyesonly @littlewolfieposts @fangirl-moment-x x @ughhhitsfan @perfectlywrong @gucciboots @harrys-stan @nibabyy​ @alanasthoughts​ @thatcielitochickk @kacey-yyyyy​ @goldensweetcreatureh @devilinbetweensheets @sumo-john @theshortmuffin07 @harrymfingstyless​ @shawnlietome @youremycompass1318 @mylifeofbeatrizromera​

[jonathanrook]

legally i have to give you intern 2

em you have awoken an ungodly beast inside me so i need to warn everyone that this post is. incomprehensible. but so is mymusic so i guess we're all used to it.

How I feel about this character:

i watched mymusic as it was airing/running/coming out specifically bc i'm a jack stannie, and as a kid melvin was my second favorite character (w scene being in first, obvs) for mostly that reason. he basically hovered around this ranking until my most recent rewatch in the summer of 2020, which was actually spurred by some events in my personal life that vaguely reminded me of scene's season two arc w jeff, and i thought it'd been a funny/nostalgic way to get my mind off things.

(i want to side note here that -- i know you didn't ask, but -- i love jeff. i have since i was a kid. like, obviously not as a person but i think he's honestly the best written character in the series, w indie close in second. idk what it says about the f*nes that their most interesting and well rounded characters are the villains, but i digress. to this day i'm salty that jeff never got added to the theme song and wasn't really included in promotional merch.)

however, in said rewatch, certain things about how he was written started to really get under my skin, and certain moments in particular have really stuck out to me in a negative way. like, for the entirety of season one and a good chunk of season two he's one person, and then he leaves mymusic and we have an entirely different person, but not in a nuanced character building sort of way.

i've said a few of these points before but i'll repeat them here regardless. at the risk of sounding like i've put on a tin-foil hat, it's my sneaking suspicion that scindie was supposed to be endgame, but since fan reception to it was pretty neutral, and scenechart stans were, at the very least, more vocal, changes were made to the intended finale, which is why in the last scene he's basically just. indie. like, if everything about the show was exactly the same but indie was the one who had ended up w scene in the end that would have made so much more sense since a) scene had a crush on indie that he/everyone knew about and b) indie was kind of a dick despite the half-assed attempts at redemption, so both combined make it slightly less weird/out-of-nowhere that he kisses her w/o her consent (since, even though like. implied consent is not real at worst and a fuzzy subject at best but you could argue that scene would want indie to kiss her); and this isn't even taking into consideration that c) melvin is heavily queer-coded in both seasons, with his friendship with nerdcore being, dare i say, homoerotic at times, and his arc about leaving the company and changing his name mirroring nerdcore's almost perfectly (with nerdcore being a character who b*nny [at least] has all but confirmed is actually gay).

i've also been on the fence about melvin's behavior in that final scene making more sense for indie's character being an intentional decision as a way of shoe-horning in a theme about the lasting effects of abuse/cycles of abuse/the corruption of power but i also don't think the f*nes are smart enough for that. however, for the sake of defending my straw theory, i also point to the scene where indie comes to visit the acid factory after melvin told him to shut up, and we see melvin use reggie as a foot-stool, going as far as to say that it feels good to do so (which, in all honesty, i think is a bit that was entirely improvised, since the f*nes were "notorious for never saying cut" [paraphrased from a bts video], but work w me here). he's also given a seltzer mug that perfectly resembles indie's kombucha mug. in these moment melvin is directly emulating the behavior of his previous abuser, purposefully or not, literal moments after being promoted to an equal position of authority, which was totally just included as a joke, but could also be argued is meant to show that he's becoming indie; or, if we acknowledge that the f*nes have no fucking clue what they're doing and were just directing like chickens with their heads cut off, it at least shows that melvin's new position of power is leading him to understand where indie was coming from, which is supported by their conversation in the finale.

the following contains a couple brief mentions of irl sexual assault so if that's something you'd like to avoid skip to the next section!

HOWEVER, that alone isn't what i have a problem with, since i think melvin is completely justified in being a dick to indie (and also reggie enthusiastically consents to being used as an ottoman so good for him i guess). the issue comes completely in how he treats scene in the scenes where the f*nes clearly thought what they were writing was super romantic. like, the fact that the only thing he's got hung on his cubicle wall is a single picture of scene taken from the fucking opening credits (like. how hard would it have been to have. literally any other photo[s] esp since there's an abundance of cute bts pics of the cast in costume that could have been put there) and him scrolling through her twitter at work really creep me out (and at the risk of oversharing the weird, like, social media stalking angle really fucks w me bc that may or may not have been the exact fucking thing i was trying to escape in rewatching mymusic in the first place). also, having him sexually assault scene as a means of comforting her after she had just been sexually assaulted in the same way by someone else was... a choice (which is also, uh, personally familiar).

again, i recognize that demonizing melvin wasn't what the f*nes were trying to do here, and i perhaps seem hypocritical for opening liking jeff, but what makes jeff work is he's intentionally "the bad guy." having melvin do the same things as indie and jeff uncritically only proves further that the f*nes can't write for shit, and ruins his character which had, up until he quit mymusic, been unironically good. like, it's obviously not beneficial that the exact asshole things he does are personally triggering, but the character would still be a mess and i would still dislike him regardless.

i want to say though that jack delivers a surprisingly great performance despite how shoddily his character is constructed and how little experience he has as an actor. like, it's clear he was having a lot of fun on set and i would love to see him in something, like, good; i think he could pull off even like, guest television roles, which is a lot more than can be said for other youtubers.

-----

All the people I ship romantically with this character:

nerdchart should have been canon i'm sorry. i know that close, nonromantic male friendships are valuable, esp between queer men, but also gd wouldn't it have been baller to have a canon interracial mlm ship. like. c'mon. and they could have been such a good friends to lovers story! we already got to see how melvin was the only person nerdcore could really be himself around so it would have been so cool if melvin's self-advocacy arc/flowchart arc had revolved more around nerdcore with a little role-reversal! and then they kiss! like god intended!

also i ship him and indie bc i'm a grubby little gremlin man ohoho. enemies w weird sexual tension? sign me up. not even enemies to lovers i'm not saying this one should have been canon i just love the vibes. do you think melvin and indie ever explored each other's bod-- *gunshot*

-----

My non-romantic OTP for this character:

i wish him and scene had just been bros. god remember in season one when they were just bros that was the life.

alternatively, i wish we'd seen more bonding w him and metal, as a means of reconciling that. uh. moment from season one. along similar lines i would have loved to see him get closer w rayna in a similar way to how she bonded w nerdcore in season two. i think that could have also worked to show how she'd grown between the two seasons.

-----

My unpopular opinion about this character:

HIM. AND. SCENE. SHOULD. HAVE. JUST. BEEN. BROS. (though i think my general dislike of him is pretty unpopular, lmao).

when the show was coming out i don't think it's unfair to say that scenechart/scenetern 2 was the most popular ship (aside from potentially techstep whatever) but luckily we're all gay and have better taste now. unfortunately i totally fell into this camp and scenechart was even my otp for years (until it was arguably more unfortunately usurped by reddie in 2019) and i didn't even realise that it's a hot mess until, again, the summer of 2020.

when actually watching the show the choices the f*nes made in regards to how the ship actually became canon are so odd and out of place, too? okay, so, on one hand everyone just shipped scenechart bc it was the whitest hettiest ship in the show (esp in season two when idol left) aside from scindie (and we already discussed what's wrong w that). but, on the other hand, lainey and jack clearly also just got along? and i suspect that lainey probably also admired jack's work and was happy to be working with him bc we have so many shots throughout even the first season when the ship wasn't the intended endgame of lainey scene looking really fondly at jack melvin at times when it doesn't make much sense at all, esp since she's smitten w indie? this trend continues into the second season which arguably works but it still seems really out of place for him to be the one to ultimately make the first move on her since it's clear she was the one crushing this whole time and also he's gay! this bitch is gay what the fuck!!

-----

One thing I wish had happened with this character in canon:

at this point i'm struggling to think of anything i haven't covered yet. oops.

i've talked at length before about how he should have been a woman/lesbian, but the tl;dr is that it would have solved a lot of the queer-coding "problems" that just didn't get resolved in the show. if he'd been a lesbian then not only would the friendship w nerdcore still made sense, but scenechart would have as well (not even mentioning that both of scene's other relationships w men make a lot of sense as comphet anyway).

[one-boring-person]

Hi! I had an idea for a David (lost boys)/reader fic if you're interested! Basically David finds his soulmate or mate, whatever you call it and he's doing everything in his power to get her to turn. Like she already knows what he and the guys are and they both are crazy about each other, but she's stuck on the idea of having to kill in order to survive. And David is doing everything from his usual mysterious behavior to down right pleading her to turn so they can be together forever? Thank you!

Thank you for requesting something! I hope this is satisfactory😁😅(I'm sorry if it's a bit cringy)

**

Please?

David (The Lost Boys) x reader

Warnings: mentions of blood and violence, mentions of death

Masterlist

He'd found me six months ago, a lone figure on the Boardwalk with a nervous disposition, jumping and tensing whenever someone nearby suddenly yells or shouts over the cheery music playing in the background, eyes wide at the variety of characters lining the bright streets. I hadn't initially felt the connection between us, but he tells me he'd been drawn to me instantly, somehow feeling the urge to search the crowd until he eventually found me, though he hung back, unwilling to give me any further shock, what with his rather intimidating appearance. It took him a month to finally introduce himself, and even then I'd been a little wary of his confident approach, but I'd soon gotten to know him well enough for him to reveal his secret to me, and to explain to me what the mate bond between us is. As soon as he did this, however, he started asking me the one thing I'd always have to refuse him - if I'd turn for him.

The idea didn't sit well with me, it never had and undoubtedly never will, the thought of having to intentionally kill people in order to survive, not to mention drinking their blood, making me feel sick to the stomach. It has nothing to do with him, or the others, of course; in fact, I've had the best time of my life with them, slowly gaining more confidence as time goes on, falling harder and harder for the platinum blonde mullet wearing vampire, so much so that I would stay with him for an eternity, if it didn't mean slaughtering hundreds of innocent people. I've told him this thousands of times, every time he's tried to get me to turn, but my reasons always fall on deaf ears, the vampire being stubborn and unyielding to the point where he started utilising his incredibly cunning mind to try and convince me. He's tried everything, bribing me with dates and gifts, threatening (unsuccessfully) to leave me and even getting the other boys to talk to me. At some point, he even asked Max for help, but apparently the head vampire could only laugh at David's predicament.

And even after all his failed tricks, he still hasn't given up, which explains why we're currently sat, a metre or so apart, on the beach, my mind having instinctually told me to put space between us when he first brought it up again, a grim expression on my face.

"What's not to like, (Y/n)? Immortality, enhanced senses, flying..." He encourages, giving me the same speech as always, just worded slightly differently.

"Killing people..." I mumble irritably, carrying on the same tone, as if reading out a list, crossing my arms across my chest.

He chuckles, the sound reverberating around my skull as it always does, a smile tempting my lips as I hear it, having always loved the sound of his laugh, even before we officially got together.

"Yes, but I've told you before: you don't think about it once you've done it, and the thrill-"

"Overshadows the guilt, I know. You've told me about a thousand times." I finish for him, knowing he's smirking at my words, though I refuse to give him the satisfaction of looking in his direction, aware of the fact that he's most likely staring at me and able to see me in the dark, what with his vampire vision and all.

"So I don't see why you can't just accept what I'm offering you." He pushes, the vampire taking a drag from the cigarette in his hand, blowing the smoke out a few seconds later with an audible sigh.

Rolling my eyes, I clench my jaw before replying, annoyed that I have to go over it all again.

"Because, unlike you four, I'm not used to drinking blood every night, and I'm most definitely not used to killing people to get it, and the whole idea of doing either one of those things is not one I even want to think about! We've been through this countless times, and every time you just ignore me. Maybe it's time you actually listened, for a change." I snap at him, shocked at my own tone, though it is understandable after all the pestering he's put me through in the last five months.

For once, David is silent, somehow unable to come back with a witty comment or remark, a first for the cocky vampire.

"Maybe that's because I don't want to hear another rejection. I'm just as tired of this as you are, (Y/n)." He finally admits, voice uncharacteristically quiet.

"Then why do you keep doing it?!" I exclaim,  looking over at him to find that he has his head bowed, though I can tell from his posture that he is uncomfortable.

"Because I want to spend eternity with you! It's got nothing to do with the bond or whatever, I genuinely love you!" David retorts, voice laced with raw emotion, a sigh escaping his lips as he tries to calm himself, "At this point, I've run out of ideas so I've got nothing better to try than this."

Confused, I go to speak, only to be cut off when I feel his leather clad finger against my lips, telling me to keep quiet, his hands moving to hold onto mine as he goes to kneel in front of me, taking a deep breath.

"Look, I don't do this often, and it will very likely never happen again, so know that I am being as sincere as I can be. I want you to turn because I can't face an eternity without you. I've felt alone for the longest time, even with the boys hanging around it's nothing compared to how I feel when I'm with you. You make me feel as if I still belong in the world, and that I'm not some abomination that was created to spite the traditional idea of living then dying. I know the idea of killing people isn't a pleasant one, but I swear to you that it gets easier, and controlling yourself can also help with this. You don't necessarily have to kill anyone, and drinking blood doesn't sound as bad when you're like me; it's just like drinking normally, but much more satisfying trust me." He stops for a moment, looking down briefly as I try to come to terms with this new approach, barely recognising the needy vampire before me, "Please, (Y/n), I need you to stay with me. I need someone to ground me as much as you do. I, well, I don't tho k I'll be able to face the rest of my life without you. Please turn, (Y/n), please. For my sake?"

For a couple of minutes, I remain silent, my eyes wide at David's heartfelt words; I knew he loved me, but I never realised just how strongly he does, the ulterior meaning behind the words making me feel much happier about the relationship. I soon find my voice, my mind spinning from the different outlook on what he's been trying to get me to do, my response a little shaky.

"Are you begging me, David?" Is all I can manage, my head still trying to wrap itself around the idea. David doesn't beg, not for anything.

He seems to stumble over what to say, until it clicks that that is, in fact, what he is doing.

"It's the only way I can think of that will convince you, (Y/n), so yes, I am begging you to turn and stay with me until the end of our days. Please, (Y/n). I'm begging you."

Again, I take some time to myself, rubbing my thumbs over his gloved hands to reassure him a little, a low ache starting in my head as I think it through properly. I'd never considered that he had become dependant on my attention, but it makes sense: he's spent so long living as the leader of a group of unruly boys that he's most likely missed out on the affection and care that comes with having a lover, so much so that it's made him needy enough to beg for me to join them properly. We'd be able to spend endless days together, enjoying the perks of being immortal vampires through the decades, and God knows I crave doing that, spending time with the vampire I've come to love with all I have to give. But, as always, one thing keeps me from agreeing on the spot.

My thoughts stray to the imaginary images my mind conjured up, recalling the visions of terrified people being torn into by a ravenous, vampiric version of me, dying at my hands simply because I need to feed. But what he'd said earlier strikes a chord within me, reminding me that I don't have to kill, if I learn how to control myself before I become addicted to the thrill.

"(Y/n)?" His concerned voice breaks through the trance-like state I've put myself in, shaking me from my thoughts. I look him in what I think to be the eye, relaxing myself a little before speaking.

"David, I honestly want to spend eternity with you, I really do, but I have to consider the whole killing thing again. You say I can learn to control myself, but none of you guys can, not even Dwayne, who is one of the most controlled people I know. It terrifies me, honestly, having the choice to kill someone or let them live, depending on how hungry I am, and then almost always choosing to kill them anyway, because the bloodlust is just too strong. You have no idea how much that scares me." I confess to him, looking down at my lap in the dark, hoping he won't see the embarrassed flush rising to my cheeks. Quietly, he shuffles around until he's sat beside me again, wrapping his arm around my body and pulling me into his chest as he always does, letting me muzzle into him for comfort, breathing in the familiar scents that always accompany him.

"We can all help you, (Y/n), and you know that I will never give up on you, no matter how stubborn you get. I want, no, need to spend the rest of my life with you, and I'm willing to do whatever it takes to make sure that happens." He says to me, voice low and comforting as he buries his face into my hair, holding me tighter against him.

"I believe you, David. I just need time to think." I reply, moving my head so that I can look up at him, knowing his icy blue eyes will be focused on me.

"I'll give you time, (Y/n), but you know how impatient I get."

I giggle quietly, reaching up to brush a strand of platinum blonde hair back into its correct place.

"I promise you, David, I will make a decision soon, but if I do turn, you have to swear to me you will help me try not to kill people. Please?" I assure him, watching him for a reaction, though it is nearly impossible in the black night.

"Of course, I'll do anything for you." David hums in agreement, leaning down to capture my lips in a gentle kiss, lifting a hand to cup my face, pulling me closer as I gladly reciprocate.

Pulling away, he rests his chin on top of my head as I return my face to his chest, intent on staying there until he has to move, knowing he is only too happy to oblige.

"I love you, David." I whisper to him carefully, resting a hand on his chest.

"I love you, too." He replies, his voice low as he murmurs this into my hairline, pressing a quick kiss there as his hands continue to caress my sides and back, lulling me into a sense of safety and comfort.

[cir]

Fall: September.

Peter lifts his head but doesn't bother even trying a smile. "Hey."

"Hey?" Junmyeon doesn't offer a smile either, and it's one of the traits Peter has admired about him, even if they've really only met in person a few times that he could count on one hand.

"Am I allowed to come in?"

"..."

"..."

"Do I have a choice to send you away?"

"Not really."

They both give a half snort before Junmyeon cracks the door open fully and Peter makes his way in. Even if he doesn't see it, he knows Junmyeon's watching him more carefully than he shows, simply at the request of Brian.

Peter would have his eyes all around Junmyeon's house, curious about his interior choices and furnishings -- but he just doesn't have it in him, and definitely not the leisure. He has a hundred thoughts in his head but at the same time, none that he can fully articulate, not even to himself, let alone another person.

"Sorry for barging in." He heads straight to the first chair he sees, placing his luggage by the side before leaning his body's weight against the chair. "I'll leave tomorrow night. I had the choice to just buy a ticket straight back to Paris at the airport when I landed, but they said the first ticket out wasn't direct and I really didn't want to get on a plane with two connecting stops and..."

Peter looks up at this moment, because it's not like of him to be running his mouth so much and he's expected the other to stop his rambling at some point. Instead, Junmyeon's eyes are trained on him, just letting him finish. He wonders why he's given so much patience, when they barely much know each other. It's strange, but he sees the same warmth in Junmyeon that is in Brian, and it's both welcoming and disheartening at once.

"I just need a place to sleep a couple of hours... and the hotels around here are extremely over priced. And... I don't really know the area anyway. I... I don't know. I'm not sure." He feels much unlike himself, making so many excuses.

The raw truth is that he doesn't want to be alone, at least not tonight.

Junmyeon doesn't respond right away. It makes Peter nervous for some odd reason, until Junmyeon comes over to him and makes a motion with his fingers.

"Give me your jacket and go take a shower."

Fall: October.

"May not be my place to ask this, since I know you're not much of a talker... but." He crosses his arms and tilts his head. There's pity spread all across his face, and Peter feels even worse because of it. "You doing alright? Like I said, I don't mean to intrude, but you've been making a lot of small mistakes that's very unlike you, the most detail oriented person I know at this company."

"And beyond your work... you just haven't seemed the same."

Peter grips the laptop at his side a little tighter. He doesn't know why he should have to feel this defensive about his state of being. Right now, in this moment, all he wants to do is exist, and even that seems overbearing and difficult. He felt better compared to a month ago, or at least —

He was mistaking feeling less for feeling better.

"I'm doing okay." He manages to say, adjusting his glasses. "It's just the busy season, I think." There's a bit of silence before Peter realizes he's supposed to say more. "Oh, and I got a cat. Maybe it's the cat." Peter murmurs, his voice starting to crawl into a hole of it's own. He's starting to mumble, and he's hiding his fingers behind his back, fumbling with them. Brian would've told him he was doing the thing, and even now he's still lingering in his thoughts.

"It is the cat. Definitely the cat. I didn't know cats were so much work."

"A cat." His boss says.

"A cat." Peter repeats.

His boss doesn't look convinced at all, but to Peter's thankfulness, he drops the topic of conversation. "Alright, well. Just shave every once in a while, at least when you come into the office. And some sleep. Even HR is getting worried if we're abusing you from your dark circles."

"Thanks for the warning."

"Not a warning, just a suggestion." The other hands over a folder to Peter, before adding, "...as a friend."

Normal him would've said something a bit impulsive and possibly offensive, but he's got no energy for it. Instead, he gives another thanks with a nod of his head.

Winter: February.

He paints his nails, black.

It's something he had always thought about doing, but never did because of a fear of being seen a certain way. As unprofessional. Weird. Hipster. Strange. Goth.

Gay.

Maybe he wasn't as comfortable with himself as he had thought to be. And yet, he had given Brian so much fire for being too careful about their relationship around outside peers, his fans, and his parents.

"You know I'm gay, right?" Peter asks, or more so states. He's playing around with his fingers while sitting besides Dowoon at the restaurant table.

It brings up a blink from Dowoon, who swallows something down his throat. Even if Dowoon's slightly out of his line of sight, the redness of his ears is enough for Peter to know — and it's not from the alcohol in front of them.

"Uh, yeah, I know. I.. I know."

"Okay."

A wave of silence passes, and he hears Dowoon swallowing a few more times. He laughs, and Dowoon gives him a strange look at him.

"Why are you laughing?" Dowoon asks, genuinely curious.

"Because of you." Peter answers. "And I think I'm tipsy."

"That's nice. I mean. Not being drunk, but... I mean..." Peter notes the way his ears grow even redder, and begin to wonder what's more red between him and the wine in his glass. "I like it when you laugh."

Another bit of quietness rests between them, before Dowoon looks like he wants to say something. Instead, he leans near, close enough for it to be questionable. He doesn't move any closer, and instead lets Peter decide for himself. Peter closes the remaining distance between them, pressing their lips together.

Up till now, he had thought it better that Brian remained an absence so that they remained a question. And yet, in this very moment, it no longer felt like a question, and more than an answer — and the wrong one.

Spring: April.

"Maybe the universe is telling you to move on."

"I think you're telling me to move on." Peter replies, giving his best friend a look.

"So I'm your universe now? Predictable. I always knew you were in love with me. I get it. You're into the best friends to lovers trope. Maybe we can make it happen."

"Uh huh." Peter runs the tip of his thumbs around the rim of his cup, staring at the coffee in it. It's long lost it's warmth, distasteful and lukewarm. He feels quite like it, just as in between even with two entire seasons past. "I'm taking time off. I asked for brunch because I was wondering if that... photographing across Europe trip together was still on the table."

"You mean the trip we planned together in middle school?" Youngjin raises a brow, with a playful grin.

"Merde. We planned that in middle school?"

"You were way more full of dreams when you were younger. Remember, you wanted to get married to an electric violinist and be in a traveling band with them with two kids exactly two years apart. Also with six cats or one hamster. And also wanted to become the first Spanish-Asian president of Spain or something."

"Right."

"Working in a cubicle definitely changed you. But..." Youngjin nudges at Peter's side, meeting his eyes. "...the adventurer Pillie still in there somewhere."

"Sure."

"I know because I saw bits of it again when you were dating him."

Summer: May.

“You’re leaving for work tomorrow morning?”

"Yeah, I... wasn’t really thinking when I got on the plane and accidentally used up all my vacation days.” A genuine laugh leaves Peter, as he scratches the back of his neck.

“I thought you always had like three or four weeks saved by this time of the year?” Brian is more observant of him now, if he could be any more so than before.

"Well I did..." Peter’s hand remains at his neck, now itching at the other side. Even if Peter doesn’t remember so, Brian knows him too well. It’s a habit of his when he gets embarrassed, especially when accompanied by his eyes falling downward to the ground, as they go. “A month ago.”

Brian processes what Peter’s said only afterwards, and it leaves him thinking for a while. It’s strange to imagine Peter of all people not thinking; especially with something as time and energy consuming as flying overseas. Brian tries to imagine it but for some reason can’t— yet when he gets another look at him, he knows it’s the truth. It’s in his disheveled gaze, to his messy hair, unshaven face, and wrongly buttoned shirt.

Nothing about him seems like Peter, yet his smile is the same.

“So you can’t...” stay, he wants to say, but decides on another word. He’s only just come back so it seems too selfish of him to ask of something as heavy. “...come grab breakfast with me tomorrow.” Brian wonders if his smile is enough to assume, or if that’s dangerous.

Peter looks up at him, and his eyes are doing much more of the talking than his words are. It’s the regret lining them; the rue overcasting them. “Mm, no.”

“Okay.” Brian replies.

The street lamp above them flickers a few times, and Peter’s lashes do the same as he blinks quite intentionally once, then twice. His eyes peek over to Brian another time, before letting out a subtle sigh. 

“Can I... try something?”

“...depends on what it is.” Brian replies, and surprises Peter with the response. The Brian he knew wouldn't hesitate to take him up, allow for him to knock at his door and open it without thought. Peter's not used to this Brian, and he seems foreign. Not familiar.

Even Brian seems a bit unsure of his reply, lips still parted open as if he wants to correct himself — but also knowing better than to allow Peter in any deeper. It makes Peter smile again, because it’s respectable, and so different than the man he knows. But instead of letting him give another answer, Peter brings him in for an embrace, throwing his arms around his neck. He buries his head in the crook of him, closing his eyes.

The first thing Peter notices is his change in scent. It’s again, not familiar, but at the base of it still yells Brian. It’s comforting in that way, although new and exciting all at the same time. It’s only when he feels Brian’s hands settling warmly on his back that he lets himself stay there even a bit longer, as if having gotten the permission to do so.

Even in the short moment, Peter tries his best to stretch out time. Not because he wants to linger in it more, but because it seems like he’s been waiting for this bit for the past year.

"If not breakfast... can I take you out to eat a late dinner?"

"Yes." Peter answers, with such certainty and without missing a beat that it surprises Brian. "Please." Peter adds, staying in his arms for a beat too long, with the answer he's gotten over the seasons.

@kingsten

[wakaoujisenhime]

Read your Kirishima post ‘I promise’ loved it! 🥰 So if you are up to it I got a NSFW request! For Tetsutetsu and Kirishima who share a fem s/o. So poly if that’s ok. In the midst of getting it on, they arouse and tease her relentlessly while holding her down until she is desperately begging for release. They love seeing how lovely she looks flushed and desperate, and she loves how arousing it is, and so they finally give it to her and do it lol. The wait making release all the more satisfying!

A/N: My first NSFW request and I have to say that I’m quite nervous, but I still hope you’ll like it! Actually, after I read your request I immediately thought of a scenario I could use and I have to say that I’m quite satisfied with it and I hope that you will be as well! (⁄ ⁄>⁄ ▽ ⁄

Tags: Kirishima x reader ✅  Tetsutetsu x reader ✅  smut (18+) ✅  poly ✅  threesome ✅  orgasm denial ✅  teasing ✅  punishment ✅  slight bondage ✅

image/art source: Pinterest (if you know the original artist, please let me know!)

━━━━☆ ━━━━☆ ━━━━☆

How dare you? - Kirishima x reader x Tetsutetsu  

You were bored and frustrated, sitting in front of your TV with a fluffy blanket wrapped around your body, waiting for your two boyfriends to come home.

The lovers you were so desperately waiting for were none other than Kirishima and Tetsutetsu the most popular pro hero duo as of right now.

While you were watching your favorite movie for the hundredth time, they were all suited up and had gone to a party during which they celebrated their last mission’s success. You sadly couldn’t send them off personally and that’s what frustrated you the most!

The two of them had bought new suits especially for this occasion and all you wished for was to see them all dressed up, but as lucky as you were you had to do paperwork and by the time you had finished, they were gone.  

You sighed and proceeded to turn your TV off and that’s when you heard the front door opening.

“(Y/N)! We’re back.”

“And we even sneaked out some snacks for you!”

They were finally back!

Before you could even get up from the couch, Kirishima threw himself next to you wrapping his arms around your covered body, as he began to softly rub his cheeks against yours. It was quite a pleasant feeling that instantly caused you to melt on the spot, the earlier frustration slowly leaving your body.

Sadly the feeling didn’t last for long, because Tetsutetsu pulled the redhead away from you.

“Don’t mind him (Y/N), he’s slightly drunk. I’m going to go and sober him up a little.”

After that short statement, he came up to you and quickly kissed your lips proceeding to literally drag Kirishima away from you, bringing him to the kitchen counter and finally giving him a big glass of water.

That was the first time you actually appreciated having a combined living room and kitchen because you had just noticed that they were still in their suits. The way the fabric hugged their muscles and toned bodies made you swallow hard. You felt your face growing hotter and watching them fool around in that attire only fueled your lust for the two men and that lust was about to become your downfall.

You slowly moved your hand down to your leggings and pulled them alongside your wet panties down a bit, freeing your wet and throbbing core from its confines. While you slowly began to circle your fingers around your clit, you began fantasizing what it would be like for the two heroes to pin you down to the couch, use their ties to stop you from using your arms or even blindfold you, having Kirishima whisper sweet and encouraging lines close to your ear while Tetsutetsu teases you and all of that while they still had their new suits on.

“(Y/N), what are you doing?”

Tetsutetsu’s low and raspy whisper startled you so much, that you almost came right then and there. 

“N-Nothing...why are you asking?”

If you thought that your trembling voice, red cheeks, and labored breathing helped to back your obvious lie up, then you were terribly mistaken.

“Oh really?”

The amusement in his voice was indicating that he didn’t believe any word you’ve just said. Suddenly the blanket was pulled away from your body, revealing how you were pleasuring yourself underneath it. 

Your silver-haired boyfriend clicked his tongue.

“I fucking knew it.“

Before you could even react Kirishima took your hand and pulled it away from your wetness which resulted in you moaning at the sudden loss of contact.

“K-Kiri, what was that for..?“

As soon as you two locked eyes with each other, you knew that you won’t get out of this without proper punishment. His eyes - or better said his whole gaze was filled with immense lust and him licking his lips just fueled your imagination further.

“How dare you pleasure yourself even though we are right next to you? Are we leaving you unsatisfied?“

If alcohol was responsible for that attitude change in Kirishima, you found yourself thinking that his drunk version might be something you’d like to see more often.

Meanwhile, Tetsutetsu kissed your neck and began undressing your lower body, leaving you with just your favorite shirt. The redhead followed the other boy’s lead and bend down to your thighs showering them with light kisses. You gasped as Kirishima directed his kisses to your wet core, intentionally kissing around it, grinning at your desperate attempt by moving your hips to get him to kiss your clit. 

“Eijiro...p-please”

He looked up at your flushed face and seeing you like that alongside your needy way of calling out his name he just couldn’t keep his teasing up any longer so he didn’t waste any more time and began lapping his tongue against your already sensitive bud. You had no idea just how much the boys got turned on by the way you arched your back and gasped, but you noticed that something was poking your sides. As you turned to the man behind you it was obvious what he wanted, so without saying anything you just began unfastening his pants’ buttons not even bothering in pulling them or his underwear down. His cock sprang free, softly slapping against your cheek and staining it slightly with his precum. You began licking up and down his shaft while messaging his tip with your finger, earning a low moan from him as he placed his big hand on your head. After a short while, the boys began heating things up.

Kirishima spread your lips apart, sliding two fingers inside of your wet hole while Tetsutetsu began rocking his hips back and forth, keeping up a quick and relentless pace. 

The silver-haired boy felt you gag as his tip touched the very back of your throat and that only fired him up, even more, going even quicker than before. Kirishima, on the other hand, had begun to bend his fingers upward, constantly touching and teasing your g-spot while his tongue worked wonders on your clit as well as on your folds, your trembling legs signalized him that you were very close to reaching your orgasm so he slowed his tongue and fingers down until he stopped completely. The cock that was seated-deep down your throat was also pulled out of your mouth and all you could do was whine silently while your hands tried to pull either of them back to yourself.

“Don’t stop, p-please“

Your plea apparently fell onto deaf ears, since both of them just looked at each other and stood up from the couch. The first thing that came to your mind was that they were going to leave you behind just like that as punishment, but you were glad to see that all they did was switch their places. Now Tetsutetsu was the one spreading your legs apart as he licked his lips while Kirishima began unbuttoning his pants and immediately let his hard cock plop down onto your face. You immediately opened up your mouth as wide as you could and spread your legs apart, showing both of them that you were ready to take them on.

“You’ve become quite greedy, you know that?”, said the red-haired boy who was softly moving his precum covered tip along your lips, covering them with his juices. Before you could begin pleasuring him, you felt your hips being lifted upwards. You glanced down to a grinning Tetsutetsu who was holding onto your thighs while your ass was resting on his chest as his fingers were gently running along your already wet folds. His sharp teeth began nibbling on your already sensitive clit causing you to wrap your arms around Kirishima’s hips. Before you could even moan, Kirishima’s throbbing cock slowly entered your mouth, muffling any sound coming from you. He began a slow and gentle pace which was quite the contrast from Tetsu’s treatment some minutes ago, but you loved it that way. Kirishima rocked his hips back and forth, stopping a few times as his tip had reached the very back of your throat. Meanwhile, you were once again close to reaching your breaking point, but you wanted to keep yourself as calm as possible in order to cum without them stopping you from your release, but sadly they knew your body better than you thought they did. 

As soon as you were preparing yourself to finally release the knot that was forming inside of you since long ago, Tetsu just gave your twitching pussy a soft slap and stopped preventing you from reaching your orgasm once again. 

“N-No! Wait please don’t stop...!”

Full of frustration that you were stopped even though you were so close, you attempted to touch yourself and finally cum, but Kirishima was quicker. 

He grabbed your hands and pushed them down above your head, while your other boyfriend took his tie and tied them up, preventing any further attempt to pleasure yourself. You began moving your hips against Tetsu’s knee desperate for some friction, but he noticed that and immediately moved it, now pinning your lower body down as well, further restricting your movements.

Your lust was slowly becoming unbearable and the fact that your boyfriends were punishing you by not allowing you to cum was getting to you, small tears forming at the corner of your eyes.

“Eijiro...Tetsu, please let me cum! I can’t bear this anymore, please! I’m sorry if I’ve upset you with my attempt to pleasure myself, but you guys were looking so sexy in these new suits that I just couldn’t help myself! Please forgive me...”

You were on the verge of crying at this point, but luckily your message got through them. 

Kirishima softly kissed your small tears away while gently massaging your breasts and whispering silent apologies and promises on making you feel good while Tetsu kissed your hands, licking and gently biting your fingers while slowly removing his tie that bound them together. 

The silver-haired boy sat back and pulled you on top of his lap, kissing your face while his hands spread your asscheeks apart. Kirishima leaned onto you from behind and slowly shoved his shaft inside of your back. A relieved sigh escaped your mouth resulting in a soft chuckle from both of them.

“Sorry sweetie, but you are always so cute when we tease you so we couldn’t help ourselves.”

While the redhead behind you whispered next to your ear, licked and nibbled it the man in front of you used the moment and entered you from the front savoring the tight and wet feeling around his throbbing shaft. They intended on waiting for you to give them a heads up, but they weren’t expecting you to start moving on your own.

“Fuck...you two stop with the teasing and make a mess out of me already!”

“You don’t have to ask me twice, love.”

After his statement, Tetsutetsu began thrusting himself up and down and it didn’t take Kirishima too long to join in. 

Having both of them thrust relentlessly inside of your tight holes was making you see stars, especially after being denied from your orgasm twice today. Needless to say, it didn’t take you too long to approach another release, causing both of them to grunt, feeling your insides tightening around their hard cocks.

“You gonna cum, love?”

Not managing to form any coherent sentence anymore you just continue moaning and nod multiple times. 

“Then don’t hold back and cum all over us. You deserve it.”

Your lovers began thrusting even faster trying to finally give you your much longed-for release and it didn’t take them remotely as long as they thought it would to give it to you.

Finally being able to cum after such a long time you felt like you had reached heaven. Your back arched towards Tetsu who eagerly began biting and licking your nipples and Kirishima held your hips down with one hand while the other held onto one of your trembling legs.

It took you some time to come down from your high, but that didn’t stop them from chasing their own release which had you screaming and clawing at their hands, begging them to let you go. Of course, they didn’t listen and just continued thrusting into you and marking you as their own until they finally released their warm cum deep inside of you.

The boys slowed down their thrusts and finally stopped, wrapping their arms around you and kissing you all over.

“How was that?”

You scoffed at Tetsu’s question and gently bit the tip of his nose while Kirishima chuckled behind you, enjoying the scene play out in front of him.

“I loved it. I wouldn’t mind doing it all again.“

The boys who were literally sandwiching you, looked at each other with wide eyes, realizing what you meant with your wish to repeat everything and finally answered in unison.

“We dare you to.“

[wordsinthenight]

The Seventh Bride - Chapter 9

Summary: Reylo.  Through a strange twist of fate, Rey suddenly finds herself married to the Marquess of the Reach, a mysterious man who she has never seen and whose name she has never learned. All she knows is this: the Marquess has been married six times before, and each time, the dragon Kylo Ren has devoured his wife within a year of their marriage.

Medieval AU based off of “Psyche and Eros” and “East of the Sun and West of the Moon” with a healthy dose of “Beauty and the Beast” thrown in for good measure.

First Chapter Previous Chapter AO3

Scraaaaaaaaaaaaaape.

Rey opened her eyes blearily, the canopy above her slowly coming into focus.

Scraaaaaaaaaaaaaape.

Her husband was already gone for the day.  Rey sat up in bed, noting that the door on her side was already open.

Scraaaaaaaaaaaaaape.

There was a strange noise coming from outside of her room, and with it came the slightest shaking of the floor.  The sound made Rey’s skin prickle, and she had to resist the urge to scratch her arms.

Scraaaaaaaaaaaaaape.

Once she had dressed for the day, Rey left her room and went in search of the sound.  There was only one creature on the island big enough to shake the castle like that.

Ever since his wing had healed, Rey woke up about once a week to find that Kylo Ren had flown out across the lake.  Sometimes, he aided the Marquess in his business, though Rey wasn’t quite sure what that business was.  Sometimes, he went hunting - but when he did, he always returned to the island with whatever beast he had caught and shared a piece of his catch with Rey.

Even when he didn’t leave the island, he always sought Rey out at some point during the day.  Occasionally, it was to taunt her like he used to, though there was an air of affection to his teasing now, and the expectation that she would mock him back. Other times, he would only ask her questions - about her life before coming to the island, about how she was enjoying the island, if she was finding things to occupy her time.

It sounded strange, but her relationship with Kylo had become downright amiable, and Rey looked forward to their daily interactions.

Kylo Ren hadn’t left the island that morning.  Instead, Rey found him on one of the lower terraces, near the base of the castle.  Scratch marks covered one of the cobblestone walls, and the ground was scuffed.  The dragon hadn’t noticed her, and as Rey watched, he rammed his head against the wall before turning to scrape his cheek, then his side, along the wall.

Scraaaaaaaaaaaaaape.

“What are you doing?” Rey asked as she descended the steps toward him.

Kylo jumped when he heard her voice, despite the fact that she hadn’t been particularly quiet in her approach, and turned towards her briefly before turning away.  He hunched down, and Rey had to suppress a chuckle when he ducked his head to hide it under his paws.

He mumbled something, his words a low rumble in her ears, and Rey cocked her head.  “I’m sorry, I didn’t hear you.”

“I’m molting,” he said louder, sounding somewhere between furious and mortified.  Without turning to look at her, he picked himself up again to smash his head against the wall once more.  “It itches.”  This time, when he rubbed his body against the wall, Rey could see a couple of scales pull loose from his hide and clatter to the ground below.  There were several dozen laying in the crease where the wall met the cobblestones.  “I hate it.”

“That bad, huh?” Rey asked, reaching out to rest a hand on his side.  As she ran her fingers along his hide, one of his scales moved strangely, and with a gentle tug, it came loose.

Rey glanced between Kylo and the inky dark scale in her hand.  The dragon had now turned his head to observe her.  “Does it hurt?”

“No.  I can feel it, but it’s not painful,” he told her.  “It’s...kind of like losing a loose tooth when it comes free, in that I can feel it tugging but it doesn’t hurt, and kind of like regrowing hair, because the new scales growing in itch.”

Sure enough, when Rey stuck her fingers into the space where the scale had been, she could feel the thin edge of a new scale poking out of the softer flesh underneath.  When her fingers touched his skin, a shiver ran down Kylo’s hide, his scales clicking together quietly.  “Tickles,” he mumbled by way of explanation.  “Sorry.”

Rey’s mouth quirked upwards as she set both hands to his scales this time to hunt out loose ones.  She tugged a loose one gently, but it stayed put, so she left it along for another day.  “So,” she said playfully, trying to hold back the laughter.  “Are we going to have a naked dragon on our hands sometime in the next few weeks?”

Kylo groaned at her comment.  “It’s like shedding, not like humans losing hair as they age.  Other animals lose their thick coats after winter - dragons regrow their scales to replace the old, damaged ones once a year.”

Rey smiled as she moved closer to his head, continuing her work as she went.  Scale after scale dropped at her feet as she moved along his body.  “You’re just grouchy because you’re going bald.”

“Shut up,” he grumbled, but lay his head down on the ground so she could reach the scales on his forehead as she reached his head.

Like the places around his joints, the scales on Kylo’s head where smaller, but more numerous, which slowed Rey’s work considerably.  One of the silver scales around his eyes came loose, and Rey turned it in her fingertips to get a closer look at it.  It didn’t look like a precious metal - more like a mirror, actually.  Rey could see her image reflected back at her in miniature in the scale.

“Pretty,” she murmured to herself as she turned the scale this way and that.  Kylo shifted slightly next to her, listening in on her talking to herself.  Rey wondered if shed dragon scales could be used to make armor - they were remarkably hard, and she imagined they might be heat-resistant, too.  Maybe she’d have to borrow a few to see if anything could be done with them in the forge.

For now, she tossed it to the side like the rest, and returned her hands to Kylo’s brow.  The silver scales lining his eyes reminded her of something - they almost looked like the little gray hairs some of the older residents of Jakku had sprouted as they had aged.

“How old are you?” Rey blurted out, suddenly feeling embarrassed.  It was one thing to tease someone young that they were getting old, but to comment on the age of someone who was already elderly felt remarkably rude - 

“Thirty,” Kylo replied, without a hint of hesitation.

Oh, thank goodness.  For a moment, Rey had been worried she had offended an old man.  Then, the strangeness of the statement struck her.  “Wait, you’re only thirty?  Don’t dragons live for millenia?  When do they reach maturity?”

“Well, for most dragons - ”

That was when she knew that she had him.  “Oh, gods, you’re a baby dragon, aren’t you?” she gasped dramatically.  “I can’t believe Maz has let me swear in front of and boss around a literal child - ”

“Rey, I am an adult by both dragon and human standards, and I have been for quite some - ”

“Please tell me the Marquess reads you to sleep at night; no kid should have to go to bed without a good bedtime story.”

Finally, Kylo caught on to the laughter in her voice.  “I dislike you very much,” he said, but there was a rumble in his chest that told Rey that he was chuckling as well.

Rey’s fingers were running across his snout when he spoke again.  “I might like it, though,” he said quietly.  “If you read to me from time to time - while it’s still bright out, so you don’t strain your eyes.”

“I’m not very good at it,” Rey admitted.  “We had people who came by to teach the apprentices to read when we were children, but I didn’t get much of a chance to practice.  My master thought there were better ways to spend our time than sitting around with our noses in books.”

“This is a good chance to practice,” he replied.  “I’ll help you.  I may not look it, but I am a great lover of books.  They just don’t make enough in sizes appropriate for dragons.  And...I like the sound of your voice.  It’s a good storyteller’s voice.”

“You have to say that if you want me to keep helping you,” Rey said as she plucked another scale and tossed it over her shoulder.

“I mean it.”  Kylo turned his head to look at her.

“Thanks,” she said at the same time as she plucked a particularly stubborn scale from just above his eye.

They settled into a companionable silence after that, interrupted only by the sound of scales clattering on stone as Rey pulled the loose ones from Kylo’s hide and threw them onto the ground.  Only once did Rey have to ask him to move, and he settled on his opposite side and stretched out his head so she could reach the scales on his chin and neck.

This hadn’t been the experience Rey had been expected when she had left Jakku.  Then again, she hadn’t known what she had expected when she had agreed to become the Marquess’ wife - maybe an angry husband who threw her around every time he flew into a rage, or one who would imprison her in a birthing room, expecting child after child until she gave him a son.  Or, worse - that she would spend her days cowering in the Marquess’ castle, hiding from a dragon on the hunt for his next meal.

This was the furthest thing from what she had expected.  Rey had been married for nearly half a year now, and she was all but ignored by her husband beyond him climbing into bed next to her at night.  Her days were peaceful, and she had found things to occupy her time with, though sometimes she still longed for the days of sprinting across the desert of Falcon’s back.  Strangest of all, she had managed to befriend the dragon under her husband’s command.

She didn’t know how it had happened, but it was true - she counted Kylo among one of her closest friends.  She shared secrets with him - not intentionally, but occasionally, tidbits of her old life or her dreams about her parents would slip out, and he would always react with kindness or wit or sympathy, but never pity.  Sometimes, he would let things slip, too - things about his mother, or tidbits of knowledge that a dragon would have no right to know - like that he enjoyed reading.

It was strange to say, but Rey trusted him, even against her instincts.

Even though she knew the fate of the six girls that had come before her - and what would likely be her eventual fate.

“I’m going to be really sad if you eventually have to eat me,” she mumbled to herself as she stroked her fingers down his chest.

Kylo’s ears were always sharper than she thought they were.  She felt his chest expand and deflate as he heaved a sigh and turned towards her.  A paw wrapped around her back to draw her closer to him and force her to look at him.  Despite the sharp claws hanging over her shoulder, Rey wasn’t afraid.

“Little Marquesa,” Kylo stressed, “I’m not going to eat you.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” Rey waved him off.  “You don’t want to kill me, I don’t really want to be killed, by you or otherwise.”

“Then why do you keep bringing it up?  I don’t understand why you’re so worried about this.”

“Because it’s not either of our choice,” she snipped at him.  “Both you and Maz have told me multiple times - the Marquess will decide whether I live or die.”

“The Marquess,” Kylo ground out, “isn’t going to order me to kill you.”

“But you don’t know that,” she pressed back.

At this distance, Rey could hear Kylo grinding his teeth.  “No,” he finally admitted, “I don’t.  But I do know that he doesn’t want you dead.”

Rey sighed deeply.  “I know you think that,” she chided, “but you don’t know what it’s like between us.”

“Is he unkind to you?” Kylo pressed.  “He doesn’t hurt you or say unkind things to you?”

“Never,” Rey replied.  “He’s very...well-mannered, I suppose, but he doesn’t care about me, not as a real person.  We don’t speak, and I never see him.  I’m just the girl he happens to sleep next to at night.  It doesn’t matter if it’s me or someone else - I’m just another in a long line.”

“You’re not,” he snapped.  “You could never be replaced.”

Rey’s stance softened a little at his words, and she reached out to rest a hand on his cheek.  “I’m glad you think so,” she said quietly, “but in this case, it doesn’t matter what you think.”

Kylo jerked away from her touch, fuming.  Rey could see the hurt in his eyes, but couldn’t understand what she had done to put it there.

“I’ll make you understand,” Kylo snarled as he stood to put distance between the two of them.  “I’ll make you see that you have nothing to fear here.”

Rey didn’t see him again for the rest of the day.

She didn’t bring up their argument again when they saw each other the next day, and neither did he.

Deep down, he knows I’m right, Rey thought to herself one morning as she sat in front of the mirror and brushed out her hair.  He might not like to think about it, but it’s true.  The Marquess could order him to kill me at any point, and neither of us could do anything about it.  Maybe Kylo could refuse to do it - or could he?  Rey had no idea whether it was friendship or magic or something that bound the Marquess and Kylo together, but there was every possibility that Kylo had no choice but to follow her husband’s wishes.

It didn’t matter either way.  If the Marquess wanted her dead, Rey had to doubt that he could find a way to do it, with or without his dragon’s help.

It was best not to think about it, though.  Pondering the inevitability of her own death was useless, and even if its shadow constantly hung over her, Rey didn’t want to go spiraling into turmoil and despair again, not when she was just becoming comfortable.

No, better not to think about it at all.

Rey was so preoccupied with her own thoughts, she didn’t even hear anyone enter the room.  She jumped when Maz placed the wrapped package on the table in front of her.

“From his Lordship,” Maz said.

Rey’s eyes darted from the package in front of her to Maz, who stared expectantly at her.  “From the Marquess?”

“Yes.”

“My husband, the Marquess?”

“I don’t believe there’s any other Marquess living on this island.”

Rey’s eyes finally focused on Maz.  “...Thank you?” she eked out.

“My Lady,” Maz said with a respectful tilt of her head downwards, then left her alone in the room.

Rey stared down at the parcel in front of her with no small amount of trepidation.  What in the world could her husband have gotten her?

With great caution, Rey pulled on the string that held the parcel closed and revealed what was within.

It was...not as terrifying as she had feared, but far more confusing.  Rey held each of the two items in her hands and stared down at them.  In her right hand was a hairbrush, in her left a mirror.  Both were made of what looked to be ivory, with patterns of gold adorning the back of both.  A single one was probably more expensive than everything she had owned in Jakku put together.

Why would he give me these?

Did he...not like her hair?  Rey frowned at the thought.  Was something about it unsatisfactory to him?

Slowly, Rey’s confusion turned to frustration.  What did he care what her hair looked like?  He wasn’t even around during the day to see it, and she certainly wasn’t going to style it for bedtime.  It was a waste of time and a waste of resources for something that she was just going to sleep in, especially if it was for the benefit of a husband who didn’t care for her existence in the slightest.

Rey had all day to stew on his mysterious gift, and by the time she had climbed into bed and the door had been sealed behind her, she was fuming.  When her husband entered the room, she didn’t say anything to him, nor he to her.

As he settled into bed next to her, he didn’t turn onto his side to face the wall.  Instead, he turned to face her.  Rey could feel his eyes boring into her back as he stared at her.  She could almost feel his expectancy in the air, like he expected her to thank him for his generous gift.

Rey pulled the covers further up her body and curled further into the bed, purposefully ignoring him.  If he didn’t like the way her hair looked, he could tell her himself, instead of sending her a passive-aggressive gift.  After a few minutes, Rey heard him sigh softly, and the burning in the center of her back disappeared as he closed his eyes.

That wasn’t the end of it, though.  Three days later, Maz stopped by with another gift, this time in a bag made of lavender velvet.  “From His Lordship,” she said simply as she dropped the bag in her lap and left once more.

This time, his gift was comprised of a number of small bottles of fancy bath oils and perfumes.  One of the glass bottles shattered in her right hand when she clenched it too hard.  Now her husband didn’t like the way she smelled?

It was like that from then on.  Every few days, Maz would appear with some new parcel or package.  “From His Lordship,” she would say, and Rey would do her best to thank her.  First came the pair of silk gloves, then brooch with the fire-red ruby.  Then came the diamond choker necklace and the fur wrap and the yards and yards of lace fabric.

Not all of them were criticisms of her appearance, which confused Rey the most.  Once, she received a box of truffles, with each chocolate painstakingly wrapped in edible gold leaf.  Another time, it was a bottle of wine, which Maz was told her was made from a plant that only bloomed once every hundred years.  Rey was ashamed to admit that she indulged in a small glass before shelving it on principle, like she had with his other gifts.

Then, every night, the Marquess would come to her, staring at her back as they lay together in bed.  Rey didn’t know what to say - too angry or confused or frightened to even speak.  Eventually, though, he would close his eyes, and Rey could finally fall into a fitful slumber.

The next day, the cycle would begin anew, and Rey dreaded it every day.  

This was something new from everything she had experienced on this island so far.  If things were the same, if they fell into a pattern, Rey knew that she was safe.  But the moment things changed, Rey’s fate was in limbo once more.

And that was the crux of it, wasn’t it?  Rey had no idea what the Marquess expected to gain from giving her these lavish gifts.  Clearly, he wanted something, but Rey had no idea what.  It wasn’t that she thought he was a bad person - her husband had shown her kindness in the past, and she didn’t believe he wanted to hurt her intentionally.

Then again, hadn’t he done just that to all of his other wives?

Rey didn’t know what to do.  She wondered if the other girls that had come before her had gone through this, as well.  Worst of all - the gifts were usually both expensive and useless.  What was she to do with a golden comb to hold up her hair?  As she looked at it, she couldn’t help but think of how many portions the silly thing could have bought her when she lived in Jakku.

Finally, Rey broke down one morning when she walked out of her room to find Maz standing in front of a dress form.  Hanging from it was the most beautiful, most frivolous thing she had ever seen.  “From His Lordship,” Maz said, once again.

The ball gown was made of cloth-of-silver, though when Rey picked up the hem, the fabric was as soft as silk.  The sleeves swept off the shoulders of the form and connected to a sweetheart neckline.  The waist of the dress was studded with sapphires that trailed down the skirt, with the jewels thinning out the further they went towards her feet.

Rey let the fabric slip from her fingers, smooth as water.  “Maz,” she said softly, “what does he want from me?”

“What do you mean by that?”

“He’s giving me all these things.  I didn’t ask for them.  I don’t want them.”

“You mean - you don’t know?”

Rey shook her head, still staring at the beautiful, awful dress in front of her.

All of a sudden, Maz began to chuckle.  Then, she began to laugh, her voice quickly turning into a full-throated guffaw that echoed around the castle.  Rey turned to look at her, feeling more than a little insulted that Maz found her confusion so humorous.

“I apologize,” Maz said once she had regained herself, though she was still chortling between phrases.  “I just...it seemed so obvious to me.  I’m surprised you don’t know.”

Rey flushed, but it didn’t stop her from stomping her foot like a child.  “Well, clearly, I don’t know,” she said churlishly.

“No, no, I don’t suppose you would,” Maz said, patting her on the back as high as her short stature would allow.  “Some people are more oblivious than others.  You two are well-matched.”

Rey shot her a strange look.  “What do you mean by that?”

“My Lady,” Maz said with a twinkle in her eye, “I believe he’s trying to court you.”

Next Chapter

[infinitum-imaginaerum]

S.17 for Mingyu thanks :)

Mingyu | S.17 “Oh, my god. Do that again.” 

Words | 7,100

Warnings | Dom!Mingyu, Daddy!Mingyu, slight choking, over-stimulation, slight rough play, idk what else to tag this I went hard okay. 

Notes | Probably one of the kinkier things I’ve written to date??? He jumped out at me I don’t know okay??? I really don’t. It’s 5:26 am and I’m queueing this. Just… I surprised myself. Please check the status of the game in the description of my blog!

Send a bias, a section, and a number and I’ll write you a thing!

Typically, a girls-night-out was a good time when you hit up the bar you and your friends normally went to. The bartenders and most of the wait-staff knew all of you by name since back in the day you made it a weekly thing—a pact amongst the four of you that you would take a break from your busy lives to go out every Friday night. It had been a while since your group last went out, but most of you had gotten new jobs and new boyfriends and new responsibilities that needed more attention than getting buzzed and partying.

It was pretty common around this place for girls to be dancing on girls, and a lot of guys kind of liked that, especially once they knew that all of you were mostly straight. It never stopped any one of you from protecting a sister in trouble by pretending to be her lesbian lover in order to try and get guys to leave you alone—it worked for the most part. But that didn’t stop the four of you from gathering your drinks and heading to the dance floor, squished tightly together as you all danced to the beat.

You were one of the two in the middle of your four-person grind-line, laughing and hollering, overall just having a good time while you sipped your drinks, splitting up before long to continue in your own personal bubble before one of your friends had mentioned a pair of eyes on you that had been peeping you the whole night.

Discreetly, you followed the end of her pinky finger, pointed off her glass as she took a sip, targeting a tall, broad man who was, perhaps, rather familiar to you.

“I think that’s Mingyu? From high school? Damn, he’s filled out nicely,” she commented. There was a rumor going around back then that the two of you were sleeping together, but in all honesty, you barely even talked to him back then. Sure, you were acquaintances, but you definitely weren’t sleeping with him.

He sat at the bar by himself, in a particularly revealing medium gray suit sipping an old fashioned. The friend who had pointed you out caught you from staring too long, eyes captivated particularly around his exposed clavicle, a sterling silver choker around his neck. His eyes were definitely on you as you gave him a pretty quick once over, turning around with the coaxing, “You’re staring.”

One of your other friends had joined you, barely looking over your shoulder to look at him inconspicuously.

“Didn’t you guys used to sleep together?”

Your eyes almost rolled out of your head, shifting your weight from both legs to your right, swinging your hips.

“How many times do I have to say that was just—”

“Shut! Up!” the friend who asked you interrupted; the shut up sarcastic and not directed at you, but it definitely got you to shut up. “Sorry, not you. He’s definitely checking you out.”

“I’ve been telling her that all night, but it seems like you’ve got some confirmation?” your other friend asked. She nodded in response, slowly.“Shift to your other leg,” she said.

“What?”

“Shift. To. Your. Other. Leg,” she demanded, raising her eyebrows with every word. “Sassily, like you just did rolling your eyes at me? Hello?” she explained, but not very well—either way, it got the point across and you shifted your weight from your right leg to your left.

“Oh, girl! He’s liking the look of that ass in that dress!” the first friend squealed, having noticed the way Mingyu’s teeth abused his full bottom lip when you shifted from one leg to the other. Though the distance was far, he had a straight shot to you and your group.

“You may have not slept with him back then, but he’s wishing you had!”

“Oh, look at that, your drink is gone” the second friend commented, taking your quarter full gin and tonic from your hand to smoothly dance away with it. Your mouth fell open, agape at her totally ludicrous actions—intentionally stealing your drink with the sole intent of making you walk up to the bar to order another right in front of Mingyu.

With a hard swallow, you tugged at the high hem of your spaghetti strap silver cocktail dress. You were definitely dressed to be looked at, strappy silver heels to match your glittering sequin dress, a low neckline which clasped as a loop in the front at you’re the hollow of your neck, a dangling chain trailing down with the intention of drawing eyes to your cleavage and suddenly you were feeling very self-conscious. Despite that, you weren’t about to stand out there without a drink and let them continue to tease you, so you gathered your confidence and began your route to the bar.

“Ooh, get him, girl!” one of your friends encouraged to herself, but the others were supportive as they sunk into the crowd to watch you.You stepped right in front of him, your heels almost silently clicking against the hardwood floor, pretending as if you didn’t recognize him from the get-go.

“Excuse me,” you asked politely, squeezing between Mingyu and the man in the stool next to him as you leaned to the bar to order another drink. The bartender, a close friend of yours and your friends, looked at you skeptically. “She stole it, so I have to get another,” you laughed comfortably as she began pouring your drink.

Mingyu’s eyes were drinking you in, the curves of your body he could see as you stretched a bit to lean to the bar. The curve of your back was almost in his lap, your right leg grazing his knee as he hadn’t turned far enough to give you enough room. You could feel his eyes burning your skin anywhere he looked, so you turned your head just a bit to check his face until he was looking at your face again, and immediately your gaze shot away.

“Her drink is on me,” he offered, alerting the bartender.

“You don’t have to do that,” you replied, turning to face him.

“I don’t have to, but if it will keep you around for a little bit, I don’t mind,” he purred. You were impressed, your entire outfit was geared to have eyes running all over your body, but his gaze was fixed on your face.

“The same Mingyu I always knew you were,” you laughed, turning back to the bar to take your drink.

“Ahh, I knew I recognized you from somewhere,” he replied, adding your name on the end which had you nodding. “You certainly have come into your own since high school.”

“I could say the same about you,” you replied, teasingly reaching forward to softly touch against his left thigh with your right hand, your eyes grazing back down his face and to the openness of his suit jacket which dipped low on his torso, the tanned sliver of skin teasing you relentlessly before turning your gaze back to him, giving him a sultry look.

He drew the corner of his lip between his teeth, abusing it a little more as he let his eyes wander down your slender throat to the necklace that took his eyes down, but he made sure to not stare too long as he pinpointed the spot on your hip his fingers hesitated to touch. His legs spread a little wider in your direction, a typical move to try and bring you in.

“I’m not going to lie, I was definitely copping a peek, before I knew who you were,” he admitted. At least he was the honest type. But you had the intention—since you were already here—of teasing him even further.

“What? Now that you know who I am, I’m not good enough for you?” you asked, stepping into his spread legs to put you right where he wanted you. A grin tugged at his lips.

“I didn’t say that. I just know your friends sent you over here because they caught me red-handed,” he replied, a little huskily, his previously tentative left hand gaining enough courage to take your right hip, which you pushed into. Because you had pushed your hip forward into his grip, the outside of your leg grazed the inside of his; he was shifting in his seat.

“How can you not stare at someone you previously slept with, right?” you asked, taking a sip of your drink. Your index finger traced the line of his chest down the cut of his jacket.

He laughed nervously, letting you flood his mind with the memory of the torture that came with that rumor. It wasn’t that either of you were undeserving of each other back then, but it was back then, and the two of you hardly knew each other. How the rumor came up, neither of you really knew, but neither of you ever lived it down.

“I’d give you a much better time now than I would have back then,” he replied, having shaken the nervousness to regain some confidence as his hand slipped around to your back, tugging you further between his legs by the small of it.

“Got a little experience under your belt, now?” you teased.

“Ha, ha, that’s so funny,” he mocked, rolling his eyes, his right hand leaving his drink to trace your necklace, taking the solitary chain to run it between his fingers, sliding the back of his fingers down the cut of your dress, drawing goosebumps out onto your skin.

“Maybe I just have a good idea what makes you tick.”

You granted him a gentle sigh, his words honestly getting to you just a little bit. You couldn’t blame the booze-goggles on making you think Mingyu was attractive, because hot damn, he was. You were hardly inebriated, one and three quarter drinks in over three hours.

“You must think I’m really easy,” you fired back, turning your tactic to play hard to get, even while teasing him with your gentle touches. Maybe you just wanted him begging for you to take him home. Maybe you just wanted to have a little fun, but maybe you really did want him to put his body on yours and see how weak he could make you.

“Not at all. The way I see this going, if it goes, is I’m going to say or do something that gets you asking me to come dance with you. That’s when I’ll find out what really drives you crazy. You’re much more of a puzzle, I don’t doubt it will take a bit of experimenting,” he told you, sliding that left hand down over the curve of your rear to pull you in even further. His hot breath was on your collar, your hand flat against that teasing sliver of tanned skin.

“I think you’re a sucker for guys in dress pants, first of all,” he uttered, his lips almost against your neck and your head was slightly lulling for him. “That, or you’re trying to judge how big I am.”

You could feel the blush tinge your cheeks. He’d caught you periodically looking down at his crotch when you thought you were being sneaky. He reeled back from your neck to look at you, his hand back up to the small of your back.

“Then, I hope you’re a grower, because even though the entire point of dress pants is to make you look flat, I haven’t seen anything impressive, yet.”

“I would agree with you, if your hands and eyes weren’t begging to get this jacket off me,” he teased further, his right hand having slithered back to his drink to take a swig.

“I don’t know how it’s even fair when you don’t even wear a shirt underneath, and wear a shimmering silver chain around your neck, you’re begging for eyes to be all over your chest.”

“The choker gets you hot, doesn’t it?” he growled. “I’d love for those pretty little lips to be all over my neck.”

You hated the way he was getting to you. This was supposed to be about you being in control, about you pulling him around, about you deciding where this was going to go, not him. But his words, his directness was making you so hot between the legs. If you were any less in your right mind, the two of you were sitting perfectly for you to slip right over his thigh.

The hazy look in his eyes when he looked at you after teasing your lips had a growl bubbling in your throat. His head lulled back, revealing all of that slender neck to you. Your jaw clenched, pheromones swirling around you, your right hand gripping the top of his left thigh as you tried to restrain sinking your teeth into his gorgeous skin and the veins and tendons that lined it.

“Ooh, you’re getting desperate,” he whispered to you, lifting his head back upright to catch your eyes.

“You want to play, Kim Mingyu?” you asked.

“More than anything, darling,” he teasingly begged you, brow drawing together as if you were denying him basic human needs.

“Then let’s play,” you dared, stepping out from between his legs to take yourself and your drink back into the crowd, turning to slither between people, pleading him to chase after you.

Mingyu chuckled, finishing the rest of his drink and the cherry garnish before he left the bar, his tall frame on your path. The thrill of this game was pumping adrenaline through him, the chase was on. It was even more exhilarating that you could be literally anywhere. It couldn’t have been too hard to find you since you were wearing a beacon of a dress, silver sequins reflecting every light imaginable.

It was proving to be more difficult than he thought, but it was easy for you as you kept eyes on his back, following a few feet behind him. He would never find you if you were behind him at all times. The broadness of his shoulders in his suit jacket looked absolutely delightful, the fit of his dress pants teasingly sinful as they fit tight over his strong thighs. His head of light brown hair called for your hands as you stared at the back of it. You were so distracted by him that you didn’t have enough time to hide by the time he turned around, trapping you in his sights like a deer in headlights.

The whimper that fell from your mouth the way he looked at you was almost embarrassing. His eyes weren’t lust-filled, but like he had just spotted the target of his hunt. You stood there, unable to move until he was basically in front of you, and only then did you turn to try and dash away—a bit too late.

You sighed when his large hands took your hips to pull you back into him and your right arm rose to take the back of his neck as he leaned over your shoulder. Instead of saying what you thought he was going to say, about catching you, he didn’t say anything. He just let his warm breath beat against your neck as he moved the two of you to the rhythm, your drink circling in your left hand. His hips were pushed tightly into yours, hands sliding down the front of your thighs to the hem of your dress, fingertips teasing the soft skin beyond its boundary.

“Mingyu,” you sighed.

“Calling my name, already?” he uttered back, teasing your neck with his soft, warm lips as he spoke. “I would have thought that I would have to get you home for that reward.”

It was torture enough that you couldn’t see him, but you were well aware of his presence, his entire front pressed against your back, hands all over your hips and legs—anything he could touch, he did. A soft sigh fell from his lips when your fingers furled in his hair, tugging it gently when he was getting you too good. You were dying to turn around, to have your hands all over him, to feel the slip of his thigh between your legs. Even further, you were getting to the point where you wanted to be hotly lip-locked with him, to be headed home with him, to be pushing his jacket onto your bedroom floor.

“Do you want me to turn you around?” he rasped into your ear, as if he was able to read your mind.

“Please,” you begged.

For a fraction of a second, his hands left your hips to spin you around to face him, and just like you anticipated, he slipped his warm, muscular thigh between your legs, coaxing your drink from your hand while his other hand entertaining your hip, thumb tracing your hipbone to drive you wild. Your right hand rested on his shoulder, the other against his hot chest even as you leaned away from each other.

Now that you were able to look into his eyes, you didn’t want to look anywhere else. They were hazy, dark brown, and half-lidded, looking at you almost as if you were torturing him. You were sure that your eyes were much the same, barely able to feel his hot breath against your face while you looked at him almost desperately. His hand slipped away from your hip and around to your back, tracing his finger up your spine from tailbone to shoulders to bring your body into his. He’d found one of your ticks, the area from tailbone to the small of your back. At least now, you were about on the same playing field. You were getting to him; you only knew because you could feel him pressing into your abdomen.

Hot, it was so hot. You could hardly breathe, your skin breaking with a slight sheen of sweat as you danced with Mingyu. His lips looked so soft, so supple, and you could imagine how glorious they felt on your skin, the fantasy getting to you as your head lulled back.

You half expected him to ask, but Mingyu struck you as the type to just take what he wanted—his lips were soft on your neck peppering it with hot, open-mouthed kisses, coaxing your hand from his shoulder to the back of his neck. The scent of your perfume filled his airways, driving him even wilder than he already was. His right hand almost dropped your drink, his left reeling you in tightly, the grinding becoming a little sloppy, but you couldn’t have worried too much about that anymore.

“This tiny dress would look so nice on your bedroom floor,” he growled to you, kissing down your neck, over your collar and lower to follow the cut of the neckline. You were a panting mess for him already, hand carding through his hair.

“Right there next to your jacket and your pants,” you sighed back to him, eliciting a hungry hum into your skin.

He pulled away for a moment. You wanted to protest, but his gentle fingers on your chin shut you up just a moment before his lips were on yours. He groaned into your mouth, as if he had been waiting for this for such a long time, his body melting into yours. You were jelly in his hands, his warm tongue velvet against yours. He kissed you hard, cupping your jaw to direct the kiss to his advantage, only to kiss you again and again before you were protesting with a hand against his searing chest.

“Take me home before we don’t make it,” you breathed, your eyes on his mouth until his lips met yours again, an eager swipe of his tongue against yours before he grabbed your hand to take you to the bar to pay the bills before he whisked you out into the parking lot and into the passengers’ seat of his car. When he plopped into the driver’s side, he took your lips again. Your right hand was in his hair, the other tugging at his jacket while his pulled at your hips and legs.

“Focus, baby boy,” you breathed, but didn’t want him to stop as his lips trailed back down your neck, over all of the exposed skin he could reach, his panting breaths against your body as he groaned, trying to pull away despite how much he didn’t want to. But he situated himself in his seat and threw his seat belt on, starting the car. The engine roared to life as he punched in your address.

It was a ways away, and Mingyu was getting impatient. His touch against your thigh was getting rougher and higher.

“Damn, I want you so bad,” he laughed, fingers teasing the inside of your thigh as he looked over to you for a moment, watching you drag his hand up your leg, pushing your dress up with it. He hissed, turning his attention back to the road before taking your hand to rub it over the straining in his pants. His mouth fell open, a strangled moan falling from it, your ministrations on its own as you rubbed over him, watching the painfully pleasured look on his face until you thought it was getting unsafe—impressed with yourself that you could even judge that. You tugged his hand back over to your legs, teasing his hand closer and closer to your heat while your head pressed back into the headrest of his car.

“Oh, fuck, baby,” he cursed, fingers teasing your underwear, the heat radiating through the thin and narrow satin. You pushed one of your shoes off to bring your leg up onto the seat, turning yourself enough to get his whole palm to cover your center. You gave him a quiet moan, eliciting one from him as he throbbed in his pants. So close, you were so close to your house and he almost couldn’t take it anymore. He pulled into a parking spot for your apartment building sloppily, but he didn’t care. He tugged you out of the car, praising that your apartment was on the ground floor as your shoes dangled in your hand. He was the one who fumbled through your purse for your keys, a little too hot for his own good, as he unlocked the door to your place and took your lips as he guided you inside.

The door slammed with your back up against it, your hips hiked up onto his waist as he assaulted your lips. The suctioning sound of your aggressive kisses filled the room, occasionally drowned out by the pleasured noise you gave him when he rolled his hips into yours, pressing his thick manhood right between your legs.

“Bedroom,” you begged nearly incoherently. “Through the frame to the right,” you directed, letting him turn you around as he carried you to your bedroom, shutting the door behind the two of you even though you lived alone. He placed your feet on the floor in the middle of the room, pushing at the straps of your dress, his lips hardly able to part from yours for a moment long enough to even breathe, but when they did, he could hardly catch it. Your dress fell around your ankles, dawned in a matching set of black lingerie.

His eyes worshipped your body, looking it over, hands touching here and there as he caught his breath. He shook his head, blinking hard, “You’re fucking gorgeous,” he told you. You all but ignored him, flicking the buttons on his jacket open to push it to the floor, next to your dress just like you said, before you pushed him back to the bed, his rear hitting the mattress.

“Go,” you demanded with the flick of your head, directing him to the middle of the bed.

“Yes, ma’am,” he replied, pushing onto his hands to maneuver himself to the middle of the bed. You crawled over him, catching your lips on his erection for a second before you kissed below his navel. His eyes were rolling back, your hot kisses up his body and over the expanse of his torso. You straddled him when you got high enough, many spots on his chest on the verge of hickeys, a light purple or dark pink up to his neck until you sat up, sitting softly on his manhood and he moaned, loudly, into the space of your room.

“Do you like being choked, Mingyu?” you asked him, fiddling with the choker around his neck. His mouth fell open, feeling even dirtier under you than he already did as you sat atop him, half naked, your hot womanhood over his needing erection.

“Only if it’s by you,” he replied, feeling your gentle fingers wrap around as much of his neck as you could.

“You’re a naughty boy, aren’t you?” you asked him, squeezing around his neck softly at first as you rolled your hips, grinding over his manhood.

“Yes, baby, I’m a naughty boy for you,” he replied, the pressure on his neck distorting his voice, you ground over him with another sweet stroke.

“Oh, my god. Do that again,” he begged, his right hand coming up to cup over your wrist of the hand around his neck, the other finding the hipbone of your right hip to rub it, to try and soften you to take control. He was going to let you have your way for now, but it wouldn’t last long. He was aching to be over you, to be holding you down, to be between your legs.

Patiently, he waited while your hand left his neck, letting him breath properly again as you trailed kisses over his neck. His hand threaded through your hair—you weren’t dominant enough that all of the rules were your way, but you did take pleasure in having a man underneath you. Your lips were all over his neck, just the way he spoke of earlier, and he made sure you knew he loved it, sighing and moaning into your ear. You shimmied down his body, trailing kisses back over his hot torso until you came to his pants, roughly tugging them off.

“Easy, darling,” he pleaded, taking your chin to make you look at him. “You might break me,” he laughed gently, helping you tug his pants off a moment after that. He tugged the band of his underwear, adjusting himself to let his erection lay against his abdomen, but you were adamant about taking those off, too. He wasn’t having any of it, though. He sat up, taking your lips in a searing kiss as his skilled fingers undid the clasps on the back of your strapless, letting it fall into his hands so he could discard it to the side.

You broke the kiss, allowing him to follow your necklace down between the valley of your breasts. He took your waist, holding you still to pepper that new skin with kisses. “So gorgeous,” he reminded you, kissing through that valley and softly against the inside of each of them before kissing your sternum. You were still straddling his lap, and only then was he frustrated that both of your underwear was still on.

“I could sit you down on me right now,” he growled, looking between the two of you at that godforsaken fabric. “But first,” he started, taking your hips to turn you over and put you into the mattress. He kissed all over your body, some sweet and short, some long and passionate, some rough and full of teeth and tongue all the way down to your underwear. Before you even knew it, he tugged them off, down to your knees and your calves, letting you kick them off the rest of the way. “I want these legs around my neck,” he uttered to you, shifting your legs over his shoulders.

Your mouth was watering as you looked down at him, feeling yourself tighten around nothing while one of your fists furled in the comforter of your bed in anticipation. He peered up at you, kissing the inside of your thighs and around your heat, never once breaking gaze with you. Both of his hands held your hips down tight, and you were about to say his name—

“Fuck, Mingyu!” you called, throwing your head back into the pillows when his mouth covered your center. His tongue was skilled, sinking between your wet folds to give you firm, generous licks from bottom to top. His hum had your hips wiggling, convulsing already against the bed every time that sinful tongue teased your sensitive button. Your free hand weaved through his hair, not that he had any intention of giving up so soon.

He suctioned that sensitive button between his lips to suck softly, listening to your cries for him, the sear on his scalp from you pulling his hair. His tongue and lips were gone in an instant, kissing at the inside of your thighs again. You were panting hard, chest heaving for air as you calmed down a little, but he wasn’t going to let you go that far. His tongue was at your entrance, burying his nose against your crux, as he tasted just inside your walls.

A shaky moan fell from your abused lips, kiss swollen by Mingyu as his tongue traveled back up to circle your nub, and you cried when he pushed a finger through your folds and into your entrance. The tightening in your stomach came a lot sooner than you thought, a lot sooner than you were ready, especially when he curved that finger up to rub against the top inside wall while his lips continued to assault that tingling nub, pushing another finger in.

Before you knew it, you were coming undone, a moaning mess for him as you tugged his hair, stroking through it. Never had you met a man who could make you come that quickly and so simply. He let you grind on his fingers as you rode your first high, shuttering against the bed as he kissed your legs, leaving a hickey on the inside of your right leg, sucking the skin as the capillaries broke to leave a dark love-bite.

“Yeah, baby? You feel good?” he asked you.

“Oh, my god, Mingyu,” you called back to him, panting into the stale air of your room wafting with sex as you looked at the ceiling. His lips were on your jaw, gently kissing you through the aftermath of your ride. His kisses were gentle and soft, nothing like they were before. His left hand was on your side, rubbing you down as you felt the bed quake. You looked down; the sinful fight of Mingyu’s fist around his throbbing arousal sparked the fire in you again.

He kissed your lips, another gentle kiss that lingered for a moment before he was sliding off the bed, ruffling through his pants for a foil packet. He ripped it open, discarding the packaging onto the desk as he rolled the rubber down his erection. He climbed back on the bed and ripped a squeak out of you when he took your legs, flipping you onto your side to pin a leg underneath him, straddling it as he poised at your entrance.

“If you need me to stop, tell me you can’t take it anymore,” he told you, reaching down to caress your jaw, waiting for your compliant nod. He poised at your entrance, wasting no time in giving you all of him. You were sufficiently prepped, so it wasn’t as bad as you thought it was going to be, but you’d be lying if it didn’t sting. He was thick and big, definitely a grower, deep between your legs as he let your other leg coil around his waist.

He leaned over, planting both of his hands into the mattress, the burn of your stretching leg adding to the snapping thrusts of his hips, though the pace was slow at first. His lip was between his teeth, eyes locked onto yours as he had his way with you. His hips snapped against yours, the lewd sound of his flesh on yours rivaled both of your noises. Mingyu was a lot more vocal than you initially took him for, moaning hard any time you involuntarily clenched around him.

“Mm, you feel so good, baby,” he praised you, his pace picking up a little more, crushing into your hips at a speed you could hardly keep up with. You tried to reply, but by this point, after your first high, your brain was mushy, words were hard, your eyes could hardly stay open as you reached out to put a hand against his chest, the other over your face and tugging your hair back.

Mingyu clutched your hand to his chest, lungs heaving for air as he laid you into your bed. His broad shoulders looked so sexy hunched over, his body rocking with his thrusts. The second he felt you clenching around him, the second your moans started getting ragged again, ready to chase your second high, he tugged out of you.

“Mingyu!” you screamed but he leaned over to roughly take your jaw in the cup of his hand, squeezing it tightly.

“You’re mine,” he growled, “and I’ll do with you what I please, understood?” he asked you.

“Yes,” you squeaked back.

“Yes, what? What does a baby girl call her man?”

“Yes, daddy,” you corrected and his grip softened on your jaw, leaning over to kiss your lips tenderly once, twice, thrice and kissed your cheek and forehead before he turned you over, facedown into the bed and pulled your hips up to meet his. Your hands braced against the bed as he entered you from the back, your legs pinned between his knees to keep you tight. Mingyu took your left arm, pulling it behind your back to pin it there.

You were soaking wet with the denial of your orgasm and he slipped effortlessly in and out of you. His hips crushed into your rear, his free hand holding your hips as steady as he could, listening to you moan for him until he snapped into you, halting there to wiggle his hips.

“Oh, my god, fuck!” you cried, free hand tearing at the comforter underneath you. You cursed quietly, panting when he stopped. His hand rubbed over your rear, totally adoring the way he looked hilt-deep inside you. You could feel his hot pants against your back until his head lulled back, starting a pace agonizingly slow, but damn it felt so good.

Hypersensitive to ever crease on him, every protruding vein, every ridge that had you unraveling, your center pulsed around him, ready for the second high. His pace picked up a little bit, his hand slack around your wrist, the other smoothing over your back.

“Come on, baby girl,” he pleaded, ready to take you over. His thrusts were coming in hot now, slamming your headboard against the wall of your bedroom. You were mewling for him, your hands wanting to be on any part of him.

“Daddy, please; please take me over,” you begged, face rubbing against your comforter as he relentlessly took you.

He almost felt sorry for you when he felt you so, so, so close to the end, pulling out just before you were finished. Mingyu choked your protest, wrapped a hand around your neck to pull you back against him, pinning his erection between the two of you.

“You’ve been such a good girl,” he praised you, kissing your cheek as his hand released your neck, “taking everything I have for you, huh princess?”

“Mingyu,” you whined, the tears pricking your eyes, your abused core aching for a release. It was no wonder he got you off once so early.

“I promise, baby, this time I’ll take you to paradise. You’ve been so good for me,” he continued, kissing your cheek and your lips with the turn of your head. “Do you want anything from me, baby?” he asked you, ready to lay you down any way you wanted.

“I want to look into your eyes, I want to kiss you, I want to touch you, I want you to be sweet with me,” you begged; the roughness was enough, you just wanted to some sensuality, some intimacy. He nodded, kissing your cheek and down your neck, turning you around to gently lay you under him. He kissed over your body, touching anything he didn’t kiss with soft palms sliding across sweaty skin. He kissed up your neck, cupping the back of it when his lips finally met yours. His kiss was soft, so intimate, caressing your lips with his velvet tongue before it was allowed to see yours. His free hand softly parted your legs, sneaking between them to wrap them around his waist as he slowly pushed in again.Your brow drew together with the burn, your core beyond abused as your hands clawed at his back. His pace was tender, a forgiving rocking of his body into yours as he kissed at your lips before pulling away, looking deep into your eyes as he pushed your hair away from your face until he nuzzled his face back into your neck. Your quiet moans and soft sighs instead of the loud and ragged ones had his heart ablaze. He dug his arms underneath your shoulders, cradling your body against his even as you raked at his back and through his hair.

His lips were on your skin, kissing it all away, praising you for taking him the way he was until he reared back, planting his hands on both sides of you again, and ready to reach his own high after the abuse himself. You reached up to cup his cheek, requesting a chaste kiss before your hand slid down his chest, feeling his rapid heartbeat against his ribcage. You watched his neck as he swallowed hard, his eyes on your incessantly as he could feel the bubbling within himself.

Slowly, he rocked, the hand not cupping yours over his chest found your sensitive nub, now sensitive beyond belief. When your legs slid off his hips, they were quivering, tightening around him from time to time. Your cries were getting more adamant, your breath hitching—this is what he loved to see, you coming so far unraveled there was no doubt you wouldn’t be able to stand until morning.

“Come on, baby; you’re right there,” he pleaded—he was right there, too.His head hung forward, his light brown hair barely long enough to shield his closed eyes, panting against your torso, his pace a little faster in long, rough strokes, thumb relentless on you. You called for him, multiple times, the bubbling in your abdomen finally able to spill over. You would have screamed his name if he didn’t lean over to swallow it right off your lips, a muffled moan against his mouth that he returned, pulsing as he emptied into the condom, your walls tightly around him, clenching to milk him dry.

Mingyu’s eyes were closed tightly; yours as well as you rode it out together, slow, short thrusts until he was done. He did his best to wait for you to release him, but apologized when you cried out quietly, pulling out much too prematurely. Delicately, he settled onto you, laying his head against your chest where your hands came up to cradle him. You could feel him heave for air, your own lungs rising and falling with his head. Your legs were around his middle, fully settled between them still as the sheen of sweat started to turn sticky.

After a few moments, and after your breathing had calmed a bit, he removed himself from you, peeling off the condom to trash it and cleaned himself up a bit before he cleaned you. He rubbed your thighs down, pushing blood back into them with no expectation of you walking, as they were still quivering with every movement, weak and unable to lift on their own.

“Come here,” he uttered, pulling the backs of your knees until your legs were around his waist again. He leaned over, prompting for your arms to wrap around his neck for just a moment while he lifted you long enough to tug the covers out from underneath you to delicately place you in them. He kissed your lips, your cheeks, your forehead, your jaw, your neck and your lips again before he rummaged through your drawers for a fresh pair of underwear, which he helped on you. When he put his own back on, he began gathering his clothes and there was a pit in you that you didn’t like.

“Mingyu?” you asked.

“Hmm?” he hummed in response.

“Are you leaving?”

He looked down at his clothes, gathered in his hands before looking at you.

“It doesn’t feel right, does it?” he asked, shaking his head with his brow drawn. You shook your head—at least he was feeling the same way. “It probably wouldn’t even feel right to leave in the morning, at least not without showering you and cooking you breakfast,” he added.

“Such a gentleman,” you commented as he dropped his clothes, crawling into bed with you to pull you into his body, resting your head against his sweaty chest. It didn’t matter, his fingers through your hair was soothing enough to have you forgetting about it.

“I just… I don’t think my life will ever feel right without you again. Maybe we should have slept together in high school.”

“What are you saying?” you asked, laughing at what you thought was a joke.

“I mean; maybe this is the start of new beginnings,” he said, looking down at you, waiting for you to look up at him. “Maybe you were meant to be mine all along,” he added, leaning in to kiss your lips. “Maybe my heart feels funny when you kiss me, but not the one-night-stand kind of funny. Like the I want your kisses daily kind of funny. Like the I want to meet you for breakfast and have movie marathons and cook you dinner kind of funny.”

“Mingyu?” you asked.

“Maybe I want to try to be serious with you.”

“Maybe that makes me tick,” you replied.

“Like, in what way?”

“Like, the I want your kisses daily, too, way.”

[anna-morgan1901]

1. Breaking the kiss to say something, staying so close you're murmuring into each other's mouths ................................................ "Mrs. Callahan." That was the name she used when the proper-seeming fellow at the front desk cocked an eyebrow at the purchase of a single co-ed room between her and Arthur Morgan. The very idea of such impropriety between two shady-looking characters sent one bushy, dark brow sharply up, nearly hitting the ceiling with thinly-veiled judgement as he drew conclusions quicker than a gunslinger draws his six-shooter. Colette herself had no qualms with being mistaken for a working girl-reveled in it even-though Arthur, bless him, was a bit more bashful than that. Cole couldn't fault such a blunt conclusion, though, dressed as she was. She'll swear she dressed properly as to not draw attention, but her short, thick body didn't allow sharing clothes with the other girls at camp and nothing she owned of a feminine persuasion covered her chest to the neck or the tattoo of a pistol on her collarbone. It wasn't for lack of trying, though. Her blouse lost those buttons at the top long ago, the lacy collar standing around her neck, plummeting into a deep V and playing a lascivious game of peek-a-boo with her cleavage and tattoo. The skirt was a bit better, though the heavy material only further accentuated the stark difference between the width of her waist and of her hips. Her homestead heels added an inch of height to her short body, putting her at the ideal height to snake her arm around Arthur's, drop her head against a strong shoulder like a girl in love. And Cole would do anything for Arthur, including spare him the embarrassment of confrontation that she so adored. That included less hesitation than clothing worn on her part when she extended a heavy, corded arm and wiggled her fingers in a coquettish introduction, "Mrs. Cassandra Clay Callahan, how evah do you do?" in an accent decidedly more Northern than her Lemoyne cadence (not that this Strawberry bumpkin could tell otherwise as he took her hand, eyeballing the large, stolen ring on her finger but thinking it better to say nothing.) "My husband is heah on some impohtant business-" goodness she's having fun laying it on thick, in sounding like her mother-"heah in West Elizabeth and it won't do to have his little wife stayin' anywheah but the best. Isn't that right, my Arthur?" Arthuh. Cole bites back a giggle as she throws her gunmetal-grey glance up at him, eager to see him biting back laughter just the same. He wasn't. As it turns out, her little aside wasn't any easier on the poor outlaw, Cole realized a second too late, than being mistaken for a whoremonger. The top of her "husband's" ears grew red, jaw squaring and she nearly feared she upset him. Had that uppity whore Mary Linton written him again, making him sensitive to the topic? They had been engaged, hadn't they? It's a joke anyways, Arthur, Cole doesn't want to marry, you know that, don't be mad. But instead of reprimand he collects himself, gives her this: A "That's right, darlin'," in a tight tone that would sound normal to anybody but Cole. An arm tightened around hers just so-something she wouldn't mind in any other situation. A stiff nod as he takes their key. As they head up the stairs, the homey scent of lumber and acrid cigarette smoke fills her senses. Really, she wonders as her short legs struggle to keep up behind him on the stairs, is having a whore wife so bad? Least I wouldn't up and leave you. It's an odd thought, especially for somebody as noncomittal as her. She'll swear she doesn't love him like that up, down, left and right, just as she'll swear she doesn't love like that at all. It just doesn't come natural to her. Cole adores Arthur, would do anything for him, lives for fucking him and fucking lives for him but it isn't love, it's not, it isn't- He gets her in their room and in one damnably elegant motion has her swept up close, the door at her back and locked tight, and his mouth on hers. Cole is only surprised for a moment before she assumes her role, settling into intimacy like a perfectly broken-in saddle. She gets a hand on the back of Arthur's head, fingering gently the close-shaved fade at the nape of his neck as her other hand slides across his leather vest, down his side, and pulls with all her might to get him closer. He's got one big hand on the small of her back, mouth working against hers almost desperately, moaning lowly when she knots her fingers in his hair and tugs Arthur off enough to breathe for a moment, get enough room between them to shove him back towards the bed. He stumbles back, breathless and glassy-eyed as her thick, pale fingers work her blouse open with no effort at all, rutched navy-blue and lace falling away as a bird shot out of the sky. Arthur has to wonder if her riling him up was on purpose when he sees that her chemise is part of a matched set, skirt pooling around heeled boots and stepped out of with elegance to spare. Her magnolia thighs, thick and strong and tipped with pink lines near her hips, are free of any adornment, the midday sun catching like the surface of a placid lake. His eyes follow her legs from her broad calves to those tempting things to something that makes his breath catch in his throat. The accompaniment to that well-fitted chemise, a pale blue set of directoires, fit like a glove. Intentionally small and tight against her ample hips, taken in to follow the tops of her thighs and sewn with lace, taut on her soft stomach and cupping exactly what he wants his mouth on- "Arthur!" Cole said sharply, snapping him out of his stare. He had the decency to look embarrassed for the briefest moment before she pointed at her bust, "They're up here, stupid." He ducked his head, chuckling a bit as she sauntered over, pushing him to sit on the chest at the foot of the bed, taking his hat and putting it on over her crown of dark hair. She planted a heeled boot beside his thigh on the chest, hands on her hips, smirking down at him as he placed a kiss on the inside of her soft thigh. Cole sighed in delight as his hands ran along her bare skin, lips pressing closer and closer to her core as if asking permission. Denied, she thought smugly as she pushed him away with a hand to his forehead, settling instead into his lap. Arthur looked almost wounded, soft blue eyes wanting, drawing an affectionate, sympathetic smile from his lover. "Poor baby. I'm so mean to you, ain't I?" Cole sang sweetly, hips rocking gently like a sailboat. "Mean as a polecat," he muttered against her neck, biting just above the pistol on her chest. "Some wife." Cole started a bit, the admission igniting a whole new fire inside of her. The words pooled low and heavy in her stomach, a soft groan escaping through pale pink lips as she settled against his lap, grinding down and kissing him hard. One large hand grabbed her ample ass, fingers brushing along the silk and delighting in that it didn't cover her rear entirely. He canted up against her hips just to hear the way she moaned against his mouth, feel her body shudder and thighs clamp down around his to get more friction against her core. Arthur knew Cole well enough to know she was aching now, that sitting in his lap drove her crazy in the most banal of situations, much less when she was nearly naked in his arms, very aware of his cock-heavy, hard and leaking-in his pants. A hand knotted in her thick, dark hair kept her from pulling back, kept that whine of protestation against his mouth as he kissed her, got a hand between her legs, his vest being pressed back off his shoulders and his shirt being worked open and her hands on his chest melt his thoughts into an incoherent, reverent narrative as she kissed him and-oh how he loved kissing her, how she was always so ready to kiss him, so unconcerned with propriety and convention and decency and marriage, so unlike Mary and god she wasn't her, wasn't polite, wasn't restrained, she was a whole other beast, she was the untamed West, a man of a woman, ready to go off like a gun and ready to ride or die- "Take it off, Arthur," Cole finally broke the kiss, moaning into his mouth as his fingers worked against her soaked pussy. He ignored her, made her wait, enjoyed the way she played with her pierced nipples and canted against his callused hand and begged him again, whining into his mouth, the command sinking into his brain: "Arthur, fuck me!" Arthur worked a finger inside of her, kissing her before she could shout out in delight, murmuring against her kiss-bruised lips, "Yes ma'am, Mrs. Callahan."

[abeautifulblog]

Oh Mary, my Mary

Since this meta is even more incendiary than usual, I'm prefacing it with the acknowledgment that it's a lot of extrapolation with little in the way of direct canon support. That said, if you accept that (A) Joseph is psychologically abusive (which, at this point, if anyone wants to argue, the burden of proof is on them) and that (B) their marriage followed the typical pattern for abusive relationships, then it's really, really not much of a leap.

[Discussion of various sorts of abuse and dubious-A-F consent behind the cut—because what do you think has been going on in that house?]

So I've theorized before that Mary had a fundie upbringing, the kind where she was raised to be a super-traditional housewife—one who'd be obedient and submissive, who would always put her own needs subordinate to those of her husband, who would never presume to dictate her husband's behavior. It would have seemed like exactly what Joseph wanted in a wife, someone who gave him that veneer of respectability but wasn't going to interfere while he did his thing. (Even though Mary turned out to be made of steel, and he's okay with that these days.)

They get married in their mid-twenties—I imagine there was a lengthy honeymoon period after the wedding, during which Joseph was the absolute model husband: generous, attentive, lavishly affectionate. He hasn't started to stray yet, because he's still enjoying the novelty of having an adoring bride catering to his every whim. He's taking the time to build up her love and trust for him—a surplus that'll last him a good long while even after he starts chipping away at it. And he's establishing a baseline—happy golden days that she'll look back on later, like, remember when everything was perfect, don't you miss those times? Don't you want things to go back to that? If you would just make an effort...

(If you'd like to learn more about the dynamics of abusive relationships, check out Lundy Bancroft's phenomenally good Why Does He DO That? It often starts with the abuser building up a perfect relationship, being a perfect partner, so that when that starts to change, it's easier to convince the woman that she's the reason things are going to shit, not him.)

But eventually Joseph does get bored, of course, and starts to entertain himself with affairs behind her back. I expect the first handful of times he stepped out, he hid it from her, sort of, though he probably didn't try very hard—after all, she was supposed to be the sheltered idiot who wouldn't notice. (And especially not if it was with other men.)

She starts to suspect; he laughs it off, how ridiculous for her to even imagine such a thing. Her suspicions intensify; he is hurt by her lack of trust, it's so hurtful that she's accusing him of this. He gets caught; okay I confess, it's true, but this was the first time it happened, and I'm so remorseful now (although I wouldn't have been pushed to it if you hadn't been so ___ lately), I've learned my lesson, I'll never do it again, I'm committed to being a better husband to you from now on. Cue another round of attentive-perfect-husband behavior, a second honeymoon period, and Mary making a conscious effort to “improve” her behavior, so he won't feel compelled to look elsewhere for companionship.

And then it happens again. And again. And again.

And every time, Joseph keeps moving the goalposts about what she's doing wrong, how she's failing, why she's making him unhappy and driving him to step out. Every time, he gets angrier and more defensive that she's getting upset with him about this, since it's her fault he's cheating, after all, if she would just be a better wife then everything could go back to the way it used to be.

All the while, he's lying to her like a motherfucking rug.*

(* “lied” in the Joseph sense, that is, intentionally misleading her but usually in ways that didn't involve saying anything outright falsifiable. I'm going to shorthand that as lying though, because that's what it fucking is.)

It takes years before Mary can finally recognize and accept the truth: that he was not acting in good faith, and never would be. It was never going to matter what she did or didn't do, it wasn't going to change his behavior. That he lied to her as a matter of course. These weren't misunderstandings or differences in perspective—he straight-up lied to her, all the time, he knew he was lying, with the full intent to deceive and manipulate her, and that didn't bother him.

She was slowly coming to understand that this was the person he truly was, even though it was brain-breaking trying to reconcile him now with the kind and loving man that he used to be, that she'd still catch glimpses of sometimes. They were like two different people altogether, and what happened to the man she'd been in love with?

(This was also the inspiration for the line in Mary's chapter: Sometimes it would be easier if she could think of her life as a horror film—that she lost her lover to the waves and when he came back, he came back wrong. That something malevolent and alien had taken up residence under his skin, not that he'd been a monster all along.)

But now, roughly three years in, she's finally starting to accept that there is no fixing this, no going back to the way things used to be, and she's mustering up the courage to leave him. Keep in mind, she has no means of supporting herself, since all she's ever been groomed for is being someone's wife, and she's not getting any emotional or material support from her (largely religious) social network. The response she's getting from every angle is that she made a commitment, and she should be trying harder to “make it work”—

Nevertheless, she's still found the strength to go, No, I could leave, I should leave, I can do it, I can survive on my o—

And that's when he saw to it that she got knocked up the first time.

Her half-formed escape plans go out the window, now that she suddenly has a baby to account for. It delayed her, let him recoup, gave him the chance to get her back on the hook for a while. The baby's going to change things, honey. We're a family now. I messed up before, but I'm committed to being a husband and a father, this is what I want. Things are going to be better now.

And because that was what she desperately wants to believe, seeing as she had no idea how to support herself and a baby both, she lets herself be convinced to give it another try.

But it doesn't last, of course, because it never does with him. This is when she starts to push back and her rebellion becomes more visible—the drinking, the bar-hopping, the public attitude shift. When she stops trying to keep up appearances of their perfect marriage and starts to flaunt her disrespect, is rude and uncooperative with him, even in public, because she doesn't care anymore if people know that there's something fucky in Christendom.

And eventually she starts to think seriously about leaving again. There are resources, right? There are places that will help women with children escape abusive relationships, right? Places that will help her find her feet, give her something to fall back on while she learns to support herself, it wouldn't be impossible for her raise a child on her own, she could—

And then she gets knocked up with the twins.

(I've said before that I don't think Joseph has ever physically forced himself on anyone, not when he's got better tools than force at his disposal. The caveat, that I usually keep to myself, is:

But if he did, you know it was Mary.)

By the time the twins are born, Joseph has finished cementing public opinion around them—that Mary's the volatile and aggressive one, abusive to him in public, a married woman out drinking and flirting in bars until all hours of the night, and Joseph is a long-suffering saint for honoring his commitment and staying with her anyway.

Now Mary's faced not only with the staggering prospect of having no money and no marketable skills and three babies to take care of on her own, but Joseph can also point out, If you try to leave, they'll take the kids from you and give them to me. Nobody trusts you to take care of them.

I think the twins were the point of no return for Mary, when she finally accepted that there was no running away from this, and turned her energy to survival instead. Crish was just one more nail in the coffin, and not even a necessary one.

*

By the time we meet them in the game, they've reached an equilibrium. “The Zara Shirt” aside, there's little in the way of open hostilities anymore—there's sniping, passive-aggression, and the occasional contest of wills, but mostly they just live and work around each other, go through the mechanics of cohabitation and don't interact more than they have to, certainly not on any meaningful level. Mary's not in love with him (hasn't been for a very, very long time) and doesn't give a fuck what he thinks of her, so he's not really capable of hurting her emotionally anymore. She knows which battles to cede, and how to get what she wants through other means when Joseph's being an obstacle. And she's not afraid of him, not on a day-to-day basis. (Her moment of knee-jerk fear at the end of the Zara shirt chapter is her being instinctively, viscerally afraid of what he is, not afraid of what he'll do.) She knows his M.O. inside and out, knows where she stands with him, knows what he'll do and what he won't.

Which is to say, there are a number of reasons why I don't think Joseph is physically violent. (Joseph-fans, you're welcome.)

For one, violence is unsophisticated and Joseph likes to think of himself as a smooth operator, not a brute. It would be a defeat, really; like admitting he'd been outmaneuvered intellectually, that he had to resort to that.

It's also prone to leaving evidence that could come back to bite him in the ass—not even Joseph's reputation could protect him if Mary had a black eye every other week, and you know that if she could get hard evidence of his abuse, something that would hold up in court, she goddamned would.

But even if it was a form of violence didn't leave marks (“Hair-pulling,” said my BFF, a prosecuting attorney who deals with a lot of domestic violence cases. “Unless a chunk gets pulled out, there's nothing but her word that it happened”), it would still be an inconvenient truth that would be utterly indefensible if it ever got out, and it is demonstrably not Joseph's M.O. to do things he can't spin in his favor. He's not a man who relies on his misdeeds staying secret forever—like the Robert affair, which he fesses up to when pressed—he just makes sure that he can downplay them, shift or share the blame, put them in a context that shows him in a more forgiving light. There is no way to spin “grabbed his wife by the hair and dragged her across the living room” that makes Joseph sound like the good guy.

That said, I think he does occasionally make use of both force (leveraging his superior strength to move her/block her) and the threat of violence. That necklace, the one you find on the floor in Joseph's living room—

I find it very telling that the dadsona knows that's a red flag. The necklace could have been dropped there by accident, after all, the kids could have been playing with it, there could be a perfectly innocent explanation—but that is immediately, instinctively not where his brain goes. (And then he consciously declines to think about it any harder, because of where that train of thought might take him--which pretty much sums up the Joseph romance.)

And it never gets explained, but considering how overtly the devs bring our attention to it—and that even a dadsona-who-wants-to-fuck-Joseph is uneasy about it—I think we can conclude that they were absolutely implying some bad shit.

(My headcanon is that they were arguing, Joseph came forward, looming over her as an intimidation tactic, and when Mary still didn't back down, he grabbed the necklace and tore it off her and threw it aside. (And then she proceeded to leave it pointedly untouched for the next two weeks.) It's not “violence,” after all. He never hurt her, after all. Because he wants to be able to say, with some version of complete honesty, that he doesn't abuse her. But the threat of it was absolutely present, and he knew full well what he was doing with that maneuver.

As one of my beta readers remarked: “My dad only hit me once—because once was all it took.” The efficacy of the threat can render actual violence unnecessary.)

(Alternately, Joseph could have been trying to buy off her anger with an expensive gift and she went “fuck this and fuck you” and threw it at the wall. Though at this point in their marriage, they both know that any apology is pure performance art, and I doubt he bothers unless there's an audience.)

But that's a background threat that only rarely comes to the foreground. On the whole, I think Joseph is careful to keep the status quo on this side of tolerable for Mary, because he doesn't want to force her hand, doesn't want to push her so hard that she snaps and brings hell down on him. Their life together is something she can live with. She's not happy, but it's remarkable how people learn to endure things (even normalize things) that no one should have to deal with, to the point where we stop noticing how horrendously unfair it is. She's used to this shit. Her life is unpleasant, but not unbearable.

I think I conveyed that pretty well in her Zara shirt chapter—that she's not walking around feeling sad and sorry for herself every day, she's getting on with business. That Mary's life isn't miserable so much as fucking exhausting.

*

I did decide, ultimately, that there was no way my fic could spend 100k words guiding Robert to his happy ending and just leave Mary to hang. It's my story, goddamn it, she'll get a happily-ever-after if I say she does.

The tidiest way for her to get a happy ending would obviously be if Joseph fell off the side of his yacht one evening, but that felt a bit too... wish-fulfillment-y? A bit too much like author-ex-machina? I wanted to keep it within the same feel as the game, and murdering people to get what you want is a bit extreme.

But Joseph's content with things the way they are now, and if Mary thought she could leave him (without throwing the kids under the bus), she would have done it already.

So what would effect a change in the status quo?

Well, if Robert blew things open, for one. Mary's certainly considered that possibility: It's not going to last forever. She's absolutely certain that one of these days it's all going to come crashing down and people will learn exactly what Joseph's been doing, exactly what her place in all of this is. One of these days, Robert's finally going to snap, or Joseph's going to miscalculate and fuck with someone who sees no reason to keep his secrets afterward.

If the full scope of Joseph's affairs became public (and it'd have to be a lot of them—if it were just one, he could remorsefully blame it on a moment of weakness/loneliness and get himself exonerated, like he does with the Robert affair), it would change the playing field immeasurably. Mary would suddenly be in a much stronger position, re: custody, and I suppose that's what she's waiting for at this point—for Joseph to get discredited so she's got a better chance of being able to fight him and win.

(On the other hand, if he manages to keep rolling nat-20s on his affairs and that never happens, well. I think the day Crish leaves for college is the day she serves him papers.) (Or maybe not; maybe by that point she'd feel like it's too late to start over, which would be its own tragedy.)

That said, she could also decide to just go for it. I think Mary (and Robert) are in a stronger bargaining position with Joseph than they realize, because his entire charade depends not just on people not-knowing, but not suspecting either. Even if people aren't inclined to believe R&M right off the bat, the idea will have been planted. If people start paying closer attention to Joseph's activities, if they start digging, talking to each other and comparing notes, the truth will out itself and Joseph might as well pick up stakes and move to a new city, because he'll be a ruined man in Maple Bay.

If Mary presented the divorce to Joseph as fait accompli—this is what's going to happen, these are my terms, here's what you get out of it, and you will go along with this or so-help-me-god I will destroy us both—there's a good chance that Joseph would run the numbers and decide that it was in his best interests to cooperate. (That is, if he believed they'd actually do it—he knows that Robert doesn't want to go public about that affair either, and might call that bluff.) (Spoiler, Robert's not bluffing.)

There would still be some small skirmishes, for form's sake and because his pride wouldn't let Mary win on everything, but she could probably (mostly) extricate herself from Joseph. (Though not entirely—because letting him keep face means she's got no grounds to argue that she should be allowed to cut him from the kids' lives entirely, and I expect he'd insist on custody weekends, etc, to keep up his image and to rub it in that he can.) Still though, that's a damn sight better than having to live under the same roof as a sociopath for the rest of your life.

*

Beautiful Day doesn't wrap up Mary's story completely; it's just too complicated to do it justice in a Robert-centric fic. The last chapter introduces change and shows things finally start to move that direction for her, but it's more an upward-looking ending than a tidy happily-ever-after.

(Though I like to think that after the divorce, when Mary's had to cede her social position at the church, she winds up finding real friendship with Joan and her circle of lesbians. Maybe have a lesbian fling. Start getting paid for her work at the pet shelter, go to school to become a vet tech. Let the kids dye their hair blue.

It's a brave new world out there, and Mary deserves to finally get the chance to live in it.)

[pierregasly]

hiii, if you're still doing the dialogue prompts can I ask for sewis + 13? if that's not something you feel like writing then maybe 4? thank you :)

#4: “I should have told you a long time ago.”

(you’ll understand this better if you’ve read my other Sewis fics)

          “I love you.”

         And the words feel so foreign to you. So foreign it catches you in your tracks. There is a hand clutching at your wrist, tugging you backwards. You hear his heavy breathing, you sense his desperation as it buries itself into his words. But you don’t turn around. Not even as he begins to plead with every fiber of himself.

         “Sebastian… please.”

         You shut your eyes. A brief moment of clarity in the sweaty heat in the parking lot. Perhaps it’s how you know his eyes are starting to well, as you understand his voice is cracking under the weight of his own sorrow, even as… you feel just how badly he needs you.

         “Please…”

         You keep your eyes shut. The air around you is so still you can sense the evening air gently brushing your hair. All you do is remember.

         It is Baku, 2017. Ever since the night on the balcony, his attention follows you everywhere. In each interview when your back is turned or when you intentionally do not look to him. You’re trying so hard to suppress whatever softness for him may be tempted to boil to the surface. Whenever you turn your back, you recall his expression a few meters away. Australia. You looked to him and he smiled–and by god if you felt something there. When you returned to your hotel room that night you collapsed in a fear, an utter and inexplicable terror of what you’d felt flutter back to you. You recalled the sentences, phrases from the worst of your fights, from all your darker moments.

         “I think you should leave.”

         How he pushed you away and now more than anything he’s forcing you close.

         “You won’t tell anyone about this.”

         How he denied his affection, dismissed you and now every chance he presses himself to you.

         “You’re different.”

         How he told you this when he begged for you.

         How he said you made him want things he can never have.

         How he says you had changed–that you had altered what made him in the most beautiful ways.

         But never once did he admit he loves you.

         Not one damn time.

         Perhaps the tensions seeped over in that race. Both of you banging and charging each other into the corner. Your penalty. The anger. The darkness of his eyes subtly mocking you without verses. A large piece of you wanting to punch him. But you noticed it for a brief moment: the sadness. It lay hidden like a faltering flame deep within himself and you wished more than anything to cradle it, to hold that flicker in your beaten and calloused hands. To shelter him, to hold him–to have him. But even as you search, as you pry every dusty crevice of your aged mind: you do not discover gold. The cruel words; the deep ridges of bruising his nails left in the flesh of your back; the mean spirited dismissal of his affection; the hurt he caused you. But you still find yourself coming back to his smile, the rich hue of his skin beneath the sun, the charcoal bite of his eyes every time they peered towards you.

         Lewis caught up to you after the race. You were preparing to leave but he placed a hand on your shoulder to stop you. You knew without turning around who it was because you’d felt it so many times–dreamed of it. Eyes meet and the sun casts its fallen shadows over the city streets. He says your name, “Sebastian”, And you realize you missed how you sounded on his tongue.

         Immediately, your anger peaks. “What do you want?”, you bark, somehow calm but firm.

         Your tone takes him off guard and Lewis slides his hand off of your shoulder slowly and reluctantly. His expression transforms instantly at your snap, his brows narrowing and his eyes regaining their steely composure. “You haven’t apologized yet,” he utters coldly.

         The anger tempts inside you, pricking at your veins as it rises hotly into your cheeks. You attempt to contain it and if it were anyone else you would’ve apologized hours ago, left without another word. So you dismiss your emotions. You toss away your pain to the wind for just a moment and you treat him just as any other man.

         “Well,” you nod curtly, “I am very sorry for how I acted.”

         Lewis is taken back. He expected you to snap, to push him away, to swear or maybe to punch him in the jaw. The depression drips itself back into his vision and he appears even more lost than he every looked before. Even on the balcony, under the moonlight and his yearning for you itching at his trigger fingers. The silence pools heavy between you two. As past lovers. As racers. As rivals. As only… men. Alone. And alone without meaning.

         “Goodnight, Lewis.”

         He doesn’t force you back. But oh how you wanted him to.

         You turn away from him again as you have done so many times.

         He speaks something to you across the distance before you can leave him. He draws you back as he always managed. He says what you’ve always wanted him to say. What you’ve craved. The words blossom a flower, a field you’ve passed through only in the paradise of a dream.

         “I love you.”

         You freeze. Even as he approaches you from behind and his lips caress the shell of your ear. His hand slips forward, cradling your wrist but not to hold you there, not for force–only because he wants just one piece of you in his desiring hands. You’re back where you were before.

         “Sebastian… please.”

         Before you shut your eyes.

         “Please…”

         You keep your eyes shut.

         The first time he made love to you and the bitterness of his touch had blurred the line between every kiss… every embrace…

         The first time you slept together with your fingers twisting in the charms of his hair…

         And with those: the first time he asked you to leave.

         “I beg you.”

         In one swift action you twist yourself around. Your eyes meet and he appears startled by your reaction. “No,” you growl, “You don’t understand, and you never fucking will.” Your fists quiver, tremor by your sides with a furious fervency that you never knew hid in your bones. “You will never, ever fucking know how many hours I’ve spent hurt for last ten years.” Tears brim the lines of your eyes and you swear to god saw him biting back a sob. “You’ll know how many hours I spent wanting you, thinking you were mine only for you to throw me out–a kid, just a kid,” you put your head down. How many nights you spent tracing the muscle on his back, how long you spent memorizing every blemish on his skin. “I changed because of you. You changed me in the worst ways, Lewis.” You sense his collapse at the sound of his name and a silence that begged to be anything but permeated.

         Lewis tightens his grip around you, his chest centimeters away from your back. You can almost remember exactly how his heartbeat felt between your caressing fingertips. He tries to tell you: My mouth, my eyes, my hands are mine. But me? I’m yours. “I love you. I always have. And I should’ve told you a long time ago.” He lets go of your wrist then and you suddenly feel cold. “I have championships. I have gold. I have everything I ever wanted but you. Because you? Sebastian… I need you.” And all you ever wanted was to be loved. “If you don’t listen to a word I say, I understand. I only want you to know I’m sorry.” For hurting you again and again. Is that why he pulled his hands away from you? He was afraid of hurting you once again? “I am yours. Eternally.” As the stars belong in the sky as the waves in the ocean… as your heart in your chest. You hear him leaving, stepping away slowly. The whisper of I’m sorry filling the messy, broken void.

         The sun catches on your eyelashes and you open your eyes. Everything is still and there is not a voice or body around. In the distance, the city settles into an evening slumber mixed with color, light and love. You think how you both are melted and molded: one. That you yearn to mix your honeyed sunshine with the moonlight that drifted over his skin on the balcony. Him leaving provided you with most beautiful lie you could’ve ever hoped for. You hate, more than anything, how much you still love him with the dust of who you are, the skin you’ve always worn–body and soul. But even more? You hate that he keeps trying to have you after all these years. 

         What makes you chase him was one simple remembrance. The first moment in his life that Lewis smiled at you first. How you finally forget that you were never meant to be together at all. That there was no accident to your meeting. A blind spark drives you forward, a flame of hope–and it welded you together. When you finally catch up to him, Lewis widened his eyes in surprise. But before he can speak a word, you kiss him–long and dark as though making up for wasted moments. After a second of shock, he melts into your arms, his hands rising to hold your face. He traces his fingertips over your cheekbones, his breaths murmured with promises that he’ll never push you away again if you swear to never leave.

         “Your suffering is mine,” you both say as you kiss the words off quivering lips. He only holds you in his arms in the sunset on the city streets. The pillars of glass and concrete swallowed away by your love. It’s true: I can be anywhere as long as I have you.

         “Sebastian…”, Lewis says your name another time.

         “How do I know this isn’t a dream?”, you whisper.

         He smiles. “We share the same sky.”

         The sun dips one final time for the night as you prepare to dress yourself in the glow of his moonlight; and you know now, more than anything, how he cannot survive without your sunshine.

[hearts-hunger]

Right in the Middle

Summary: Ben comes down with a head cold and worries he might be more trouble than he’s worth. Even though it’s four in the morning, Gwil and Joe are more than happy to prove their boyfriend wrong. Hurt/comfort, a tiny bit of angst, and lots of fluff!

Pairings: Ben Hardy x Joe Mazzello x Gwilym Lee, poly!borhap boys

Word Count: 5k

Warnings: None!

A/N: Alright y’all, this here is the most gratuitously fluffy thing I have ever written to date. It’s so sweet it’ll send you into a diabetic coma. It’s mostly me just uwuing onto a word document and hoping it turned into a story somewhere along the line. I really enjoyed writing it (shoutout to fics that remind you of how fun writing is!) and I hope you enjoy reading it! ♡

Usually Ben loved to sleep in the middle. What could be better than being sandwiched between his two favorite people, the two people he loved most in the world? He hadn’t thought too deeply about sleeping arrangements when they’d started their relationship, the practical and domestic aspects of it put on the backburner as he had the most mind-blowing sex of his life. Of course, there had never been a sense that their relationship would be purely physical; they were too close, loved each other too much, to consider anything other than building a committed, exclusive relationship once they’d crossed the line from friends to lovers. But the furthest thing from Ben’s mind in the early days had been what life would be like if they moved in together. He’d been too consumed with the raging desire that seemed never to die down and only increased when he was with them to think about the little things, like who would make coffee in the mornings (Gwilym, committing their cream and sugar preferences to memory almost immediately) and who would most often forget to turn off the oven (Joe, a talented but nonetheless scatterbrained cook).

Sleeping arrangements had been one of those little things that Ben hadn’t thought about until they actually slept together, intentionally going to bed as a threesome instead of just crashing after sex. Not that they didn’t still crash after sex - living together made it ten times easier to give into every little flame of desire, and they kept busy. But until now, Ben had always slept on his own. His only bedmates had been dates, not partners. He didn’t know what it was like to just sleep next to someone for the sake of sleeping next to them, especially not more than one person at a time.

Determining where they each wanted to sleep on the king-sized bed had been easy enough, though. Joe admitted to being slightly claustrophobic and Gwil was resolute in his desire to be on the right side of the bed, and Ben happily put himself in the middle between them. The first night in their apartment had been some of the best sleep of his life, tucked between Joe and Gwil, Joe’s legs tangled with his and Gwil’s arm over his waist. Gwil and Joe had woken him up with kisses, telling him how cute it was that he was so cuddly. He’d blushed and buried his face against Gwil’s chest to hide it, beaming under their attention and praise, loving the feel of his boyfriends on either side of him and content to be the one in the middle for the rest of his days.

Tonight, though, for the first time ever, he was wishing he wasn’t the one in the middle.

He muffled a few rough coughs in his sleeve, wincing at the scratchiness in his throat. He held his breath and waited to see whether he’d woken either Joe or Gwil; he relaxed when neither stirred, their breathing still deep and even. Still, he was bound to wake them up if this kept up much longer, and that was the last thing he wanted.

He didn’t know why he was so paranoid about it. They’d seen him sick plenty of times, including that less-than-sexy bout with the flu in the first few months of filming that had kept him from work for a good week. But that had been before they were dating; the most they’d had to do in response was send a “hope you feel better soon, mate!” text and check up on him every once in a while if the thought occurred to them. This was the first time any of them had gotten sick while they were actually together, much less living together. Ben sighed. Of course it had to be him.

They’d given him no reason to think they’d be frustrated or annoyed with him if he was sick, but he didn’t want to be the one to ruin this perfect romantic comedy they’d been living since they moved into the apartment less than two weeks ago. Everything was perfect - they never argued, they had amazing sex all the time, they woke up to each other sleepy and soft in the morning sunshine that streamed through the balcony windows and caught in Joe’s tousled ginger hair and brought out a shade close to violet in Gwilym’s eyes. Ben didn’t want to be the one to bring them crashing down to reality and risk how picture perfect their life was together.

His eyes widened at that thought, gripped by a sudden panic. He hadn’t thought his imagination was willing to go to gloom and doom that quickly, but now that he’d had the thought he couldn’t shake it. They’d have to deal with him being sick - utterly inconvenient and the exact opposite of sexy - and they’d realize that they’d just wanted sex all along. It really wasn’t worth it for the realities of domestic life. He wasn’t worth it.

God, Ben, dramatic much? he thought, chiding himself. Gwilym and Joe had given him no reason to think that. They’d shown him nothing but love from the very beginning.

But then again… that little voice said in the back of his mind, the voice that had made its appearance when he’d first felt the pressures of objectification on the set of Eastenders and had never truly gone away. They’ve never had to deal with you when you’re ill.

He tried to ignore that voice but found it difficult to keep his mind from following that train of thought. Since they’d started dating, Gwil and Joe had only really seen the side of Ben that was easy to love and therefore easy to share - his body, his cocky bravado, his sexiness. He knew those were the reasons people liked him, and he knew they were definitely high on the list of why Gwil and Joe liked him too. Gwil and Joe often told him they loved him, but would they still mean it when Ben couldn’t live up to that version of himself?

As if on cue, he had to scramble to pull the collar of his shirt up over his nose to catch two sneezes that tumbled out one after another, trying to keep as quiet as he could. He caught his breath in a soft gasp as he laid back on the pillow, looking up at the ceiling but not really seeing anything, slightly dazed and aware of the beginnings of a headache.

He felt his pulse jump as Joe rolled over to face him, his hand going to Ben’s torso.

Joe nuzzled against Ben’s shoulder, not really having woken. Though Ben normally would have relaxed into Joe’s closeness, at the moment he felt that it only made his dilemma worse. What he really needed to do was get out of bed so he could go sleep on the couch and keep from waking them, but trying to disentangle himself from his boyfriends would defeat the purpose.

He couldn’t stay in bed, though. He decided to try and get up as carefully as he could; he gently moved Joe’s hand and took his time easing off the bed. Gwil’s hand went to Ben’s empty spot, seeking his warmth, a soft noise of surprise escaping him as he realized Ben wasn’t there.

“Benny?” he murmured, his voice heavy with sleep. Only Joe and Gwil were allowed to call him that, and even then it didn’t happen often unless they were tired or drunk or feeling very affectionate. It wasn’t like calling Joe “Joey”, which he adored and answered to faster than any other nickname.

“Shh,” Ben soothed. “Go back to sleep.”

Joe stirred too and Ben grimaced.

“What’s going on?” Joe mumbled.

“Nothing,” Ben said quickly, keeping his voice low. “Just going to the bathroom. Go back to sleep.”

Though that was a lie, it was a reasonable answer, and Gwilym and Joe were content to settle down and fall back asleep. Ben gave a sigh of relief; they wouldn’t know until morning that he hadn’t come back, and maybe by then he’d be feeling better, or at least able to look and sound better than he felt.

Ben padded out to the living room, rubbing a hand over his chest in an attempt to soothe the tightness that had taken up residence there, along with a wet crackling sound every time he breathed. God, he was freezing - without Gwil and Joe to keep him warm, he’d actually started shivering. A sweater of Gwil’s was draped over the back of couch, but he didn’t put it on for fear of stretching it out. Though Ben knew his muscles drove Gwil wild, he wasn’t sure Gwil would appreciate how they stretched a sweater fitted to his lean frame.

He laid down on the couch, curling in on himself, wishing more than anything that he could get back in bed with his boyfriends. With the next volley of coughs that racked him, though, he knew it had been the right choice to leave their bed. Gwil and Joe needed their sleep, and Ben had had plenty of practice being on his own when all he really wanted was to be held. He crossed his arms over his chest to try and warm up as he drifted in and out of a restless sleep.

Gwilym didn’t know what had woken him. He vaguely remembered Ben getting up from bed; he reached for the blonde to see if he was back and was met with empty space between him and Joe. He frowned, glancing over to the bathroom; the door was open and the lights were off.

He ran a hand over his face as he got out of bed, seeing 3:28 am glowing in red digits from the alarm clock on the bedside table. Joe and Ben both had told him it was a good idea to keep the alarm clock on his side, since he was the only one out of them who could be counted on to not consistently snooze the alarm. Gwilym usually woke earlier than either of his boyfriends, which was fine by him, and he was happy to take the responsibility of setting an alarm more suited to when they wanted to get up after he rose to begin his day.

Pausing to make sure Joe was sufficiently covered - the boy got so cold at night it was almost comical, eliciting protests when his cold hands met his warm boyfriends - Gwil left their bedroom and headed out to the living room, his brain still sluggish from sleep but working to determine why on earth Ben wasn’t in bed. Maybe he hadn’t been able to sleep and had come out to watch tv; whatever it was, Gwil wanted to try and do what he could to help and convince Ben to come back to bed.

The sight that met him in the living room nearly broke Gwilym’s heart. On the couch, Ben was curled in on himself as tightly as he could manage, his cheeks bright pink despite the way he shivered. He was asleep but Gwilym guessed only barely so, each breath heavy and rattling in his chest.

Gwil went over to the couch and knelt by Ben, stroking a hand over his blonde curls. He was burning up, the poor thing. Ben stirred at Gwil’s touch, his pretty green eyes fluttering open and taking a moment to focus. In that moment of waking Gwil saw a vulnerability in Ben that the younger man couldn’t help, revealing a softness and relief mixed with a kind of fear that Gwil didn’t understand but immediately wanted to soothe. He pushed aside the worry that shocked through him, studying Ben’s face and trying to think of how best to help him.

“Ben, sweetheart,” he said softly. “What’s wrong?”

The relief that Gwil had seen on Ben’s face when he first woke was quickly replaced by panic. Ben rushed to sit up, swaying slightly as he instinctively pressed a hand to his temple. Gwil reached out a hand to steady him, taking his arm in a gentle grip.

“Slow down, love,” he chided. “Easy.”

“‘M fine,” Ben said in a painfully hoarse voice.

“You’re not fine,” Gwil said as Ben shrugged his hand away, wishing he knew why Ben was being so flighty. “You’re out on the couch at four in the morning. What’s wrong?”

Ben’s broad shoulders shook with muffled coughs; Gwil winced at the sound, knowing it couldn’t feel good.

“Nothing’s wrong.”

“You don’t have to put up a strong front for me, Ben, you know that,” Gwil said. “I can tell you’re not feeling well, but I would have thought you’d be more comfortable in bed. Why’d you come out here?”

Ben’s cheeks flushed with more than fever. “Didn’t want to wake you,” he mumbled.

Gwil gave him a sympathetic smile. “You’re sweet, angel, but I’m afraid it didn’t really work. Joe’s going to be coming out soon enough to see what’s taken us from bed.”

Ben looked down at his hands. “Sorry,” he said softly. Gwil was surprised to see Ben’s eyes pool with tears.

“Ben, sweetheart,” he said worriedly, taking Ben’s hand in his own. “You don’t have to apologize. You’ve got nothing to be sorry for. Please don’t cry.”

Ben ran the heel of his palm over his cheek, unable to stop a few tears falling. “I didn’t mean to wake you,” he said. “I tried to keep quiet but - ” He cut himself off with a series of painful coughs, burying his face against the crook of his arm; Gwil moved to sit next to him, rubbing his back in an effort to soothe him.

“Obviously I can’t,” Ben said when he was able to draw a full breath. The embarrassment in his voice made Gwil want to cry. “So I came out here.”

“Oh, sweetheart,” Gwil said gently. “That’s ok. You didn’t have to come out here. We wouldn’t have minded being woken.”

“Yeah, but you don’t want to deal with me like this,” Ben said, the frustration in his voice directed at himself. He didn’t say it as an accusation but as more of a fact, and it broke Gwilym’s heart to know that Ben thought that. “I’m not… I can’t be what you want me to be. Of course it’s me, of course I’m the one who messes everything up ‘cause I can’t handle a bloody head cold without making a fuss.”

He grew more and more agitated as he spoke, his embarrassment and frustration only aggravated by how miserable he felt. Gwilym found himself at a bit of a loss for how to comfort his boyfriend, never having imagined that this was how he felt and feeling guilt shred through him that he hadn’t noticed before now. Had it really taken a high fever and desperate tears for Gwil to notice something he should have been attuned to and fixed way before now?

He put a hand to Ben’s warm and tear-streaked face, turning his head to make the blonde look at him. Ben’s eyes met his, seeking desperately for assurance even as he thought the very worst of himself.

“Listen to me,” Gwil said gently, desperate for Ben to know how much he meant what he said. “You haven’t messed anything up, Ben. You could never mess this up, no matter what you did. Joe and I love you more than anything in the world, and a head cold isn’t going to make us stop loving you. Nothing in the world could do that, do you hear me?”

Ben just nodded, his tears hot against Gwil’s hand. Gwil leaned close to kiss the tears from his boyfriend’s face, wanting him to know how deeply he was loved.

“It’s ok to be sick, sweetheart,” he said softly. “You’re only human. You’re exactly what Joe and I want you to be, which is just you, fever and all. I love you, and Joe loves you, more than anything. Of course we want to take care of you. In sickness and in health, hm?”

Ben managed a watery smile, leaning into Gwil’s touch. “We’re not married.”

“Not yet,” Gwil said, kissing Ben’s cheek. “But it’s still true. You don’t have to hide anything from us, sweetheart. Not ever. Let us take care of you, because we want to, I promise.”

Ben sniffled. “Not very sexy though, is it?”

Gwil gave a soft laugh, drawing Ben close and letting the younger man lean his head on Gwil’s shoulder.

“It doesn’t have to be,” Gwil said, running his hand up and down Ben’s arm. “That’d be like living in a movie. Real life is messy and broken and sometimes not all that sexy, and it’s ok. I want real life with you and Joe, in all its mess and all its beauty.”

Ben took Gwil’s hand in his own. “I want real life with you, too.”

Gwil kissed Ben’s forehead. “Glad to hear it, love. You need to be taken care of, and you don’t know how happy it makes me to be one of the ones to do it.”

Ben laughed, the sound devolving into a cough. “You’re joking.”

Gwil chuckled. “I’m not, I promise. This is exactly what I’ve always wanted. It’s better than what I’ve wanted. Being able to love you and Joe like this… it’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me. You two are the best thing that’s ever happened to me, and I would gladly spend my days taking care of you if you needed me to.”

Ben looked up and met Gwilym’s eyes. “I love you.”

Gwil smiled. “I love you too. Let’s get you feeling better, hm? How does some tea sound?”

“Lovely,” Ben admitted. “Thanks.”

Gwil rose from the couch and hesitated before heading to the kitchen, seeing the way Ben crossed his arms over his chest to compensate for losing Gwil’s warmth. Noticing one of his sweaters on the back of the couch, he took and and handed it to Ben, wondering why he hadn’t put it on earlier.

“Here, put this on before you freeze to death,” he said.

Ben took the sweater, looking up at him with a bit of confusion. “Are you sure? I don’t want to stretch it out.”

Gwil softened. “I don’t mind, love. You look better in it anyway. Or you will, once you get it on and warm up a bit.”

A gentle smile crossed Ben’s face as he pulled Gwil’s sweater on, breathing in his boyfriend’s scent.

“See?” Gwil said. The sleeves were a bit long on Ben, covering his hands. “Told you, it looks much cuter on you. I’ll go get you a blanket as soon as I’ve got the kettle on.”

“Somebody called for a blanket?”

Both Gwil and Ben looked towards the hallway at the sleepy voice, smiling as they saw Joe coming in with the comforter wrapped around his shoulders like a cape. He looked still half-asleep, but he gave each of his boyfriends a drowsy smile.

“Four a.m. seems like a weird time to be hanging out in the living room, gentlemen,” he teased. “Especially since I wasn’t invited.”

“Didn’t want to wake you,” Ben said.

“I was freezing,” Joe said. “You try going from two boyfriends in bed to no boyfriends in bed and see how long you last.”

Gwil chuckled and gave Joe a kiss on his way to the kitchen. “Sorry, love. Seems like you’ve got the solution, though, taking the whole bed with you.”

“Yeah, well, if you two won’t come to bed, I’m bringing the bed to you.”

Slipping the blanket from his shoulders, Joe came over to the couch and sat leaning against the arm, stretching out his feet towards Ben.

“Come here, Bear,” Joe said, calling him by the nickname he’d given him one night when they’d virtually the whole time just cuddling. Ben went happily into Joe’s arms, lying between his legs and resting his head on Joe’s chest. Joe covered both of them with the blanket, tucking it securely around Ben.

“Sorry you don’t feel good, baby,” Joe said, running his fingers through Ben’s hair.

“How’d you know?” Ben asked, his voice muffled against Joe’s chest.

“Besides the fact that you’re, like, a million degrees right now?” Joe said. “I’m attuned to these kinds of things. Plus, you only sneeze in doubles when you’re sick.”

Ben propped himself up on his forearms, frowning as he looked up at Joe. “What?”

Joe cracked a smile. “What do you mean, what? It’s true. When you’re sick, you always sneeze twice in a row.”

Ben considered that. “I mean… I guess? I’ve never really thought about it.”

“Trust me on this one,” Joe said, amused. “Anyway, I’m right, aren’t I? Why didn’t you say you were feeling bad?”

Ben laid his head back on Joe’s chest. “I dunno. Didn’t want to cause trouble.”

“Well, Gwil and I love trouble,” Joe said, scratching Ben’s back like he knew he liked. “Don’t we, Gwil?”

“Adore it, in fact,” Gwil agreed. “Joey, do you want some tea?”

“Of course he does,” Ben answered for him.

“Lots of sugar,” Joe added.

“I’ll give you one spoonful,” Gwil said. “You’ll thank me when you’re trying to get back to sleep.”

Ben could feel Joe’s laugh, the sound warm and comforting.

“Whatever you say, mom,” Joe said. Though they were the same age, Gwil was objectively the more mature one. Gwil smiled and shook his head in affectionate exasperation, bringing two mugs over to them and setting them on the coffee table.

“Earl grey for Joe and lemon ginger for you,” he told Ben. “It’ll help your cough.”

“Aren’t you coming to sit with us?” Ben asked.

“In a moment, my love,” Gwil assured him. “Let me get you some medicine.”

Gwil went back to their bedroom to retrieve some medicine from the bathroom cabinet and Joe shifted on the couch.

“Here, baby,” he said. “Sit up so you can have your tea.”

Ben moved so Joe could sit up against the arm of the couch, leaning his back against Joe’s chest when they were settled. Joe handed Ben his tea before grabbing his own.

“I love you, Benny,” Joe said softly. Ben shivered as Joe pressed a tea-warmed kiss to his shoulder.

Joe gave a soft laugh. “Still cold?”

“No,” Ben said truthfully. He snuggled closer to his ginger boyfriend. “I’m perfect.”

“You will be once you’ve got some medicine into you,” Gwil said, coming back in with two pills in hand. “I reckon your fever’s high enough that you should take both.”

Ben did as Gwil said, taking the pills with a sip of his tea. “Thanks.”

“No problem, love,” Gwil said. He sat against the opposite arm of the couch, his long legs finding someplace among Ben’s and Joe’s underneath the blanket, his own cup of tea in hand.

“I guess we should tell Rami not to expect us for lunch tomorrow,” Gwil said, absently running his fingers over Joe’s calf.

“Oh, I completely forgot about that,” Ben said, feeling guilt flare again. Rami was coming into London for a few weeks to stay with Lucy, but he’d wanted to see them as much as he could and they felt the same. They were supposed to all go out for lunch together tomorrow while Lucy went for a cover shoot.

“You don’t have to cancel on account of me,” Ben said. “You two should still go.”

“No way,” Joe said. “Who’s going to make sure you’re alive if we’re gone?”

“We’re not leaving you when you’re ill, sweetheart,” Gwil said. “What kind of boyfriends would we be then?”

Ben smiled. “You’re wonderful boyfriends,” he said. “The only boyfriends I want, anyway.”

“Oh, glad to hear it,” Joe teased.

Ben’s laugh quickly dissolved into a coughing fit; he leaned forward, trying to ease the ache in his chest that accompanied every inhale. Gwil took Ben’s tea from him before he spilled it, Joe rubbing Ben’s back as both grimaced at the painful sound of Ben’s coughs and wishing there was more they could do.

“Deep breath, baby,” Joe soothed when Ben had recovered. “It’s ok. Take a deep breath.”

“Sorry,” Ben croaked.

“Nothing to be sorry for, sweetheart,” Gwil reminded him. “D’you want your tea back?”

Ben made to take it but hesitated with his hand outstretched, a glazed look crossing his face. Gwil patiently held onto the mug, not surprised when Ben ducked his head and caught two sneezes in the crook of his arm.

“Bless,” Gwil said.

Ben gave a slight groan at the pounding headache at his temples. “Thanks.” He took his tea back from Gwil, the hot lemon and ginger brew soothing the scratchiness in his throat.

“Told you you always sneeze twice in a row when you’re sick,” Joe said smartly.

Ben gave a weak laugh. “I think a simple ‘bless you’ would have sufficed.”

Joe chuckled and wrapped his arm around Ben’s waist, drawing the blonde to lean back against him again. “Bless you.”

Ben set his tea of the coffee table and followed Joe’s lead, his head resting right at Joe’s collarbone. He turned his head and bumped the bridge of his nose against Joe’s jawline, breathing in his scent; he could feel Joe’s heartbeat against his back, strong and steady.

Gwil ran his hand over Ben’s thigh, his touch intended to soothe rather than stimulate. He smiled to himself as he saw Ben visibly relax, leaning into Joe; he noticed Ben was wearing a pair of his wool socks as he rested his foot against Gwil’s thigh. Ben would be sound asleep in a minute, the medicine and his boyfriends’ warmth having the desired effect. His soft lips parted slightly as his eyes closed, a rosy pink over his nose and cheeks, his breaths congested but steady.

Joe met Gwil’s eyes and gave him a tired smile that Gwil couldn’t help but return. It wasn’t how they’d thought their night would go, but tangled up on the couch with their boyfriend between them, they wouldn’t have changed a thing.

“I love you, you know,” Gwil said softly. He knew the next few days would have their attention turned towards Ben, which he didn’t mind in the least, but he wanted to make sure Joe didn’t feel pushed by the wayside.

Joe smiled. “I know,” he said gently. “I love you too. And it’s ok. We’ll figure it out, right?”

Gwil felt a weight off his shoulders knowing Joe understood what he meant, knowing he understood the uncertainty that cropped up in a relationship like this. They each knew that balancing two people in a relationship was hard enough, but three? There were sure to be plenty of difficulties, plenty of moments of confusion and hurt and misunderstanding as they tried to work out how to be together and love each other well.

But then again, there were sure to be plenty of times like this, and Gwil couldn’t think of anyone else he’d rather figure this out with than Joe and Ben. The loves of his life, his best friends in the entire world.

“What’s say we take our boy to bed?” Gwil said.

“Good deal,” Joe agreed. He let Gwil wake Ben gently, running his hand up and down his arm.

“Was’ going on?” Ben mumbled.

“Time for bed, love,” Gwil said tenderly. “Come on.”

Ben nodded. “You’re coming too?”

“Right behind you, sweetheart,” Gwil assured him. “Go on and lay down.”

Ben reluctantly left his spot against Joe and headed towards the bedroom, rubbing his face with his too-long sleeves. Gwil smiled as he saw the way Joe looked at Ben, the affection in his expression matched by how Gwil felt about both of them.

“God, he’s cute in your sweater,” Joe said.

“Cuter than me?” Gwil teased.

Joe gave a soft laugh. “That’s not fair and you know it.”

Gwil kissed Joe’s cheek. “I know, and I’m horrible for it. But he is cuter than me in it, so I don’t mind if you say so.”

Joe turned his head towards Gwil and kissed him, drawing a contented sigh from Gwil.

“Ready for bed, love?” Gwil asked.

He could feel Joe’s smile. “I love it when you call me that. It’s very British of you.”

“You mean you don’t like it when I call you darlin’?” he joked in an exaggerated Southern accent.

Joe laughed. “Alright, cowboy, yeehaw to you too. Lucky for you, I like good old southern boys.”

“Too bad you’re dating two Brits,” Gwil teased.

“Mmh,” Joe agreed with a grin. “A shame, really.”

They kissed again, feeling a flicker of passion despite how tired they both were, and perhaps would have followed up on it had it not been for Ben’s feeble call of “Gwil? Joey?” that immediately had them heading to the bedroom to be with their poor sick boyfriend.

“Right here, baby,” Joe said, laying on Ben’s left side.

“Sorry we took so long,” Gwil added, taking the other spot opposite Joe, tucking Ben securely between them. “Everything ok?”

“Perfect,” Ben said, his voice hoarse. “Don’t be sorry, though, I’m just sad I missed the makeout session.”

Gwil and Joe laughed.

“Makeout session, huh?” Joe teased, brushing his knuckles over Ben’s flushed cheek. “You always let your imagination run that wild?”

“Only when I’m with you,” Ben said with a yawn, tucking against Gwil, happy to be the little spoon. “I expect to live vicariously through you two while I’m sick, you know. Hot makeout sessions and everything.”

Gwil chuckled and kissed Ben’s cheek. “Whatever you want, love. But for right now, why don’t we all try and get some rest, hm?”

“And when you’re better, we’ll kiss you senseless,” Joe promised.

Though he would gladly have stayed up and listened to his boyfriends’ bantering all night long, Ben felt the effects of the medicine take hold again as he lay safely between the two people he loved most. He felt Gwil’s arm go over his waist and Joe taking his hand and holding it close to his chest, their breathing evening out as they fell asleep. The last thought Ben had as he drifted off to sleep was that he was back where he belonged, right in the middle, and that he was silly to have ever thought he should have left.

[mysticsparklewings]

I will be with You

When you go, just know that I will remember you If living was the hardest part, we'll then one day be together And in the end we'll fall apart, just as the leaves change in color And then I will be with you, I will be there one last time now --My Chemical Romance, "It's Not a Fashion Statement, it's a Deathwish" ____ It's rare that I'm this proud of an artwork I've created. ^_^ Usually, there's some glaring issue or just an assortment of small things I'd still change if I had the patience and/or artistic ability to do it. Or even just some things that I feel like could've been done better, even if I know it did the best I could. This time? No. Not right now, shortly after it's been completed, anyway. I'm sure years down the line from now I'll look back and feel at least slightly different. But as it stands now, while I'm sure it has its faults, I am truly happy and truly proud of what I've created here and whatever faults are there aren't bothering me at all. So what then is this, exactly? This my dear Sparklers is a visual love letter to the band I discovered just a little too late but was still there for me when no one else was all the same. Earlier this month, I uploaded a different piece of art to celebrate the announcement of My Chemical Romance's Return, but even when I uploaded that one I was already thinking of doing another one, this time something that was more obviously fan art. But not just fan art as I've done for them in the past (Exhibit A, Exhibit B, and Exhibit C), but something extra-special and fun. I really did go into creating this wanting it to be as I described it above; a visual love letter to this band that I love so much and could not be happier that they're back. As such, I've squeezed in as many references as I could: 1. The female figure is molded after Helena from the album Three Cheers for Sweet Revenge 2. The male/skeleton figure is supposed to be Pepe (that's what Google said his name was, anyway), the icon and seemingly marching band conductor from The Black Parade album 3. On Pepe's hat, I replaced the usual symbol with the Candle symbol that's been featured in the band's Return artwork 4. They fade into leaves based on the line from It's Not a Fashion Statement, It's a Deathwish (a song from Three Cheers) that I quoted at the top of the description 5. behind them is Party Poison's mask, as featured in the Danger Days music videos 6. on the mask, I replaced one of the black triangle shapes with the hanging man silhouette from I Brought You My Bullets, You Brought Me Your Love 7. The rest of the background is inspired by the covers for the Conventional Weapons releases (which in my mind I count as essentially an unofficial fifth album) (Debatable) 8. Their touching hands could be an indirect reference to the line "And as we're touching hands, and as we're falling down" from Demolition Lovers, a song from Bullets. That's at least one reference each (Three Cheers technically got two) for each of the main releases, plus one directly related to this new era we don't know much about yet. It's not an exhaustive "spot the reference" game, but I'm glad I was able to incorporate as many as I did. Now that I've explained them, maybe I can talk about my process without having to stop to re-explain each reference as they come up.   After some brainstorming, I got this image in my head of Helena and Pepe in this pose (inspired at least partially by this pre-existing fanart I've seen many times before) , which to me is a "renaissance dancing" pose but I'm sure there's some other better way to describe it I haven't thought of. I tried for a very long time to find a reference image of this exact pose to help me get the proportions and general anatomy right within my own stylization, but for the life of me, I couldn't find anything close enough to suit me and I really didn't want to have to settle for something else. As such, I'm sure the proportions and anatomy are off, but even so, I think I did pretty good considering. The main issues I ran into during sketching were mainly balancing the energy between the two characters--which I do think I managed in the end--Helena's skirt, as she's supposed to be holding onto it with that hand you can't see, and Pepe's torso. Originally, I was planning on doing this piece traditionally, but once the sketch was finished it almost immediately clicked into place that I'd be better served to do it digitally, considering what I wanted to do with the mask in the background already, as well as the leaf-fade. (The Conventional Weapons reference hadn't been planned yet, and it was technically only made possible later on by this piece being digital.) Luckily, doing things digitally meant that Pepe's torso was fixed pretty easily. It was too thin in the sketch, but all I had to do was select the right lines and move them out a bit in Photoshop. He's still a bit thin and not super buff, but personally I'm letting that go because...I mean, he's at least part if not all skeleton. If anyone's going to be too thin, wouldn't it make sense that it's him? Helena's skirt I did end up happy within the sketch but...we'll come back to the skirt in a moment. Pepe's...face? looked a bit odd in the sketch, but other than that, once I was happy with that foundation, I scanned it in and got to work on digitizing everything. I went over my lines for Helena and Pepe the way I normally would for something like this if a little intentionally messy instead of trying to get them super clean--as I thought that might be appropriate here--and then I paused with them to work on the mask behind them. The mask admittedly came out very poorly in the sketch, just because I bothered to look up no references for it whatsoever once I decided I was going to make this digital and I knew I could just draw half of it and flip it over. And I'm glad I didn't start trying to follow my sketch lines for it at all because looking up actual references showed me that would've been way off. While I had my reference up, I ended up going in and basically full-coloring and detailing the mask right then. That's the beauty of digital work; a lot of steps can be done basically out of order from how you'd have to do them traditionally and it doesn't matter because you can just move layers around and adjust effects later. I went with this pseudo-soft shading based on the colors and shadows I was seeing in my references, even though I wasn't sure yet exactly how I was going to shade Helena and Pepe. I figured that even if I used a different method for them that I could either go back and adjust the mask as necessary or that it wouldn't matter since the mask was part of the background anyway. Once that was done, I went back to ponder my two figures and the leaf effect that I wanted to do with them. And again, I went a little out of order here, as I ended up filling in the silhouette of Helena and Pepe with a blanket layer of gray so I could see how them blocking the mask was going to look (and I figured based on past experiences I might need the blanket layer in white later). From there, I went into working on the fading-to-leaves effect. My logic was that I'd need mostly the silhouettes of the leaves and then I'd get what I wanted after playing with layer effects or something. This assumption ended up being correct, but we're not there yet. As I worked, I kept looking at my "finished" messy lines. Something just didn't feel right. Honestly, I couldn't tell you where the idea to do this lineless look came from, but it got in my head as I was working and I kept looking at the lines I had and not being happy to just color those in as I normally would, shade it, and call it a day. I tried. I tried really hard to ignore the urge to at least try it and carry on as I was. I'd already come this far, and I'd be done so much faster if I stuck to the plan...But!! Clearly I lost that argument with myself. You know what though? I'm glad I did! I don't think I've ever done lineless art like this before, not counting my watercolor work where that's just part of the process to me. But digital? Certainly not. Human figures? Also no. I've come close in the sense that I've shaded my art before, turned off the line layers before, and thought, "oh hey that almost works without the lines because of the shading,"  but not much farther than that. Naturally, I wasn't even sure how or where to begin, so I went with what came naturally to me. I started by just filling in the lines as I normally would have, and then I went back layer by layer and went back and forth between having the line layer (with the opacity brought down somewhat already so I could sort of see what I was doing) on and off to try and balance the shapes between what they looked like with and without the lines. It's weird because if you ever try this, it's a little like having to figure out a bunch of individual silhouettes that make one whole one, except you need them to be a little more defined if you want them to make visual sense. That step and the next one, the shading, are tied in my mind for which one took me the longest. For the shading, I really just went in blind, using hard-edge cell shading, though originally I planning to come back with some soft shading in certain areas later. The soft shading ended up not happening partly because I liked it much better than I thought I would without it, and I thought the hard-edge shading made the figures pop a little more compared to the background. The thing about this was the same issue I run into with my lines nowadays; to get smooth shapes I spend a while going back and forth between putting color down and erasing it, and sometimes undoing and redoing the same line a dozen times to get it right in one stroke. But that's really my own fault for being stubborn and trying to work solely within Photoshop and not use other programs, as I know good and well I'd have less of that issue if I'd hop into Paint Tool Sai and use the linework layers in there. What can I say? I live up to my Capricorn sign by being as stubborn as a goat. Anyway. The biggest challenge to figure out the shading for was Helena's skirt. I think I would've still had issues with that though even if I colored and shaded my normal way, with the lines and everything. It's just the position it's in that complicates things. I actually did a good amount of shading in reverse here, where I'd make the base layer the shadow color and then the layer on top would be the regular color, as in some cases it just seemed easier to do that than the other way around. The part of Helena's dress around the top, for example. Or Pepe's pants (what little you can see of them). Additionally, I ended up leaving the feather attached to Pepe's hat alone and not really smoothing it out, as I thought the roughness and inconsistencies worked really well to make it seem more feathery. With enough patience and persistence and much back and forth among the various layers, I made it through all of that. I was a little concerned at first about some of my color choices and if the shading was too harsh in some places or not, but I mellowed out as I worked and ended up not making make adjustments after the fact. For instance, originally I thought I'd go back and make Pepe's...skin? closer to a true white and this fleshy off-white color was more of a placeholder, but the longer I worked with it, the more I didn't want to change it. It actually makes sense, given that his hands are normal (as they are presented in official artwork and other fan art not made by me) and that bones usually are naturally more of an off-white color. And I also think it just looks really good next to Helena's pale skin. The hands were a special challenge in regards to both shading and coloring, as hands like to be the more complicated part of a drawing more often than not, but even that I managed to get through with a lot more ease than I would've bet on. The other thing about that is that I was surprised once I got through the steps at how much better Pepe's face looked in comparison to the rest of the drawing. As I mentioned before, it looked odd in the sketch. But one I had most of the colors for him and Helena filled in digitally, the contrast or something just made it look infinitely better. (Combined with a hefty dose of earlier back-and-forth making adjustments to his jawbone area.) Originally, I thought I might use the same cell shading for Helena's eyeshadow. However, while I was still thinking of adding some selective soft shading, I added it using one of the brushes I'd used on the mask earlier. It looked so good to me that even after I tried added the soft shading with it like I planned and decided I didn't want/need it anywhere else, I kept it. And for the record, Helena's hair is kind of the wrong texture (it's officially more straight than this) and she's missing this little netted veil thing she's supposed to have, but I had a very specific vision in mind, so those were the two creative liberties I took with her design. I say it's fair game since I took a liberty with Pepe's hat to get the Return reference in. And besides, those two details being off doesn't make her totally unrecognizable if you know who Helena is in the first place. Once they were done, I spent longer than I bothered to document playing with the leaf layer I'd made earlier to try and figure out how to get the effect I wanted. Sparing you the boring details of my trial error, as I'm sure this description will be long enough without them, I eventually determined the best thing to do was to have one layer of the leaves on top set as an "overlay" layer, and another behind/beneath Helena and Pepe. Then I went back and extended my color and shading layers to extend down over the leaves, and I arranged and clipped the layers accordingly. Technically, the overlay layer wasn't necessary, but it added a little extra dimension that I really liked. By that point, it was my second day of working digitally and getting late, but I had to do one more thing before I could go to bed with my mind at ease that night. With Helena and Pepe done, I turned the mask back on (I'd turned it off so I could focus on them without it distracting me or otherwise getting in the way) and I felt like they weren't standing out enough against it. The bright yellow color was competing too much for my eyes' attention. So, after trying the "stroke" blending option in white and that looking God-awful, I added a new layer between them and the mask and manually gave them a white outline. It wasn't a perfect solution, and I knew that even then, but it was enough that I could sleep soundly knowing how far I'd gotten with the artwork. The next day I had to take a break from working on this to bust out a painting for the challenge I decided to take on this month, but I went back to this as soon as I could after that was taken care of. When I came back to it, I acknowledged that I technically could've left it as it was and call it finished. But I still didn't like how obnoxious the mask seemed for a background piece and it felt...I don't know. Almost hollow, in a way. It was a cool graphic, sure, but I wanting something more than that. Again, I'll spare you most of the nitty-gritty details. But long story short, I played around with layer effects and filters for a while until I had blurred the mask out just enough that it wasn't so obnoxious but also so looking at it directly didn't make me nauseous, and the edges were softened so it felt more like a true background piece and not just an accessory that had been plastered carelessly back there. It was only after I started saving off versions with different backgrounds--one with no background, one with white, one with black--that I realized I was missing a golden (semi pun intended) opportunity to incorporate a Conventional Weapons reference/allusion. Which was exciting because I'd previously been disappointed that I couldn't think of a good way to do that. I went back and forth on layer styles and adding texture with brushes and things for a while on that too, but you can see what I ultimately settled on. It's not a 1:1 to the CW covers, but I'm really pleased with it anyway. I did end up adding a bit more to the white outline in a few places and adding a drop shadow to Helena and Pepe so they'd pop a bit more (it almost makes them look like paper cutouts to me!), but really the only other thing I had to do after that was add my watermark. It took roughly 3 days of work from start to finish, but I was honestly surprised by how fairly smooth the process went. Especially considering the new things I'd tried along the way. I can only assume it's because of just how much my heart was really into making this piece. As I said before, I am truly proud of how this piece turned out. I love it. I love it, and I love the band that inspired its creation. Even the title says a lot here, I think. I picked this line that's repeated at the end of It's Not a Fashion Statement, It's a Deathwish, as it was a leading inspiration with the leaves and everything, and after looking at the lyrics I realized how fitting that line is for this. I discovered My Chemical Romance two years too late, two years after they broke up in 2013, but I've stuck by them ever since, and I will continue to do so, with whatever the unwritten future holds. They've changed, as anyone would over the course of six years, but they came back anyway. Even if it's just for a few shows and they're gone again. Or if it's going to be so much more than that. They. Came. Back. And that's not an easy thing to do a lot of the time. And so, I show my solidarity. I will be with you, MCR, no matter what comes next. You were there for me, and now it's my turn to be there for you, even if it as just another fan among the crowd. And that's really all I have to say on the matter. ____ Artwork © me, MysticSparkleWings ____ Where to find me & my artwork: My Website | Commission Info + Prices | Ko-Fi | dA Print Shop | RedBubble |   Twitter | Tumblr | Instagram

[serbrienneoftarth]

GoT 8x4 Jaime/Brienne Thoughts

Please have my still incredibly disjointed order incomplete ramblings post 8x4. My apologies for how I’m not even bothering to edit this, I’m sick of looking at it now lmao.

I am of course missing so many things, there is so much to cover and I’ll never manage to get it all in one go. I’m only going to cover Brienne and Jaime related things here, but I’m glad to chat about the rest of it outside of this post.

There are things I did not necessarily enjoy within the episode. I would have written it quite differently, but as a whole, I’m not as mad at it as I know much of the fandom is.

What I am irritated with is mostly due to the way things were written and presented rather than the actual series of events.

This is honestly part of the scenario that I have always said would be my want for a canon ending. While I would love a happily ever after, I have never thought that I was going to get it in any way. Realistically the narrative supporting anything of the sort isn’t going to happen. If they offer it, I’m gonna take it happily lol. But let’s be real, one of the two of them is likely to die by the end. They have always been heading in the direction to be together. But I have long since assumed that it would also be ill-fated.

My want for an end to their story has always been something along the lines of Jaime and Brienne briefly realising they wanted one another and being together for whatever amount of time during the war. I have always expected that Jaime would then go back to Cersei, not necessarily to either be with her or to murder her perhaps to try to convince her to give up or to aid in her removal from the throne. And then he’d possibly die with her, though not necessarily intentionally. Brienne would mourn him heavily, but she would understand that he couldn’t have stayed no matter what she said. And in mourning him she would come to find that she was carrying his child. She would lose Jaime, but she would have a physical reminder that he loved her once too. Brienne would then have the heir she hadn’t ever married for. The child would perhaps be legitimized a Tarth, though she would never deny who was her child’s father. And if she had Tarth to go back to she might, and if not she would spend the rest of her days at Winterfell.

I know. I’m used to that being an unpopular want for a ship.

*cracks knuckles* Let’s get into the events of the episode.

I’m incredibly pleased that Jaime and Brienne became canon in a sexual sense. I wouldn’t have written it the way it happened. But I have some thoughts on it as it is. The problem with television is that often times everything is cheapened for a laugh. And the way they presented it as Jaime stumbling in drunk does that. Though Brienne is far soberer than I think people assumed. And while some of the chemistry is missing between the actors in the scene, the fact that Brienne is confused and a little scared makes that a little easier to take. She is very bold in her actions in the scene, undressing Jaime and herself with really no hesitation. They’ve seen each other unclothed before, take care of each other, in the past and recently, that isn’t where hesitation would be anyway. She trusts his sincerity but is unsure of his intentions because for her it’s all very new. Until he lifts onto his toes to kiss her (which was also played for the laughs *sigh*), it wasn’t quite yet real.

Asleep in her bed, Brienne is quite content, and Jaime then looks restless. I’d expect him to be. Not necessarily because he regrets it. (Please note for all I know he is and canonically Brienne is terrible in bed lmao.) This is the first time that he’s been with a woman other than Cersei. For 40 years he has loved the same woman and never strayed. His relationship status is a recent change even if it’s been a long time coming. And Jaime still thinks that Cersei is pregnant with his child. (Is she? Who knows at this point. I’ve stopped guessing.) Perhaps it’s long enough later that he’s fully sober, woke up for a glass of water, and has a headache and feels guilty for how he initiated the whole thing. But regardless, I’d expect him to have a lot on his mind.

At this point, I’d almost skip commentary on Tyrion and Jaime’s conversation, but really Tyrion? A couple of days earlier he was respectful and then this episode he’s back to his drunken little beast persona. What’s she like down there Jaime? What sort of answer is he even looking for here? (Jaime: Like Highgarden. Tyrion: Super gay? Full of thorned bushes? Jaime: No, now that I’ve plundered it I’m back off to see Cersei.)

So here is where I complain about the shit was this show portrays the passage of time, it’s all over the place. But I’m going to say at this point now Brienne and Jaime have been lovers for weeks, a month, maybe more. At least by the time he leaves.

On Jaime leaving…

I fully expect to find out something has happened off camera, more than just Jaime finding out what he did from the raven that Sansa received. But until we know, it doesn’t yet apply.

Cersei has done something to anger Daenerys more than she had been, Jaime knows that Tyrion will not be able to temper his dragon queen and that Cersei’s life is likely now forfeit pregnant or not. And how can Jaime allow that to happen without doing something? Even if he doesn’t love her the same way now, even if he left, Cersei is still a woman he has loved his whole life and she is carrying his baby. He still loves her in some ways and nobody should expect him to be able to just turn that off with a switch.

And beyond that, he knows what she is capable of. I’m not going to call her mad, because I think she is smart and strategic and that people let their dislike of her colour their views of her as a whole. But she has limited things left to lose, and if she has to, she is capable of great destruction. And Jaime has always made himself invested in the city, he ruined his reputation for it.

We don’t know what didn’t get shown between Jaime and Brienne. But I don’t think he has ever told her about the baby. I don’t think Brienne would have even tried to stop him if he had. She tells him that he cannot save her and that he’s better than Cersei. But canonically she doesn't know Cersei or her life and what drives her to her decisions. And I personally would say Brienne would understand parts of her if she did. And anyway, I think that if she knew why Jaime needed to leave, beyond him pushing her away with ugly words, she might have said give me a half an hour, we’ll both go. It’s not that he’s leaving at all, but she knows that he’s throwing away his life to go. Brienne knows that if he leaves he’s going to die. But he doesn’t tell her anything and instead he pushes her away and breaks her heart and leaves alone.

Fuck, I half want Brienne to just tear out of Winterfell after Jaime and be like no, you're going back and that's fine, but you aren't going alone. I’d do it.

He was an idiot. But Brienne will always love Jaime even if he goes back to Cersei, if he dies or doesn't. And she will NEVER hold love against him. You don't get rid of love for anyone so easily. Neither one of them.

Jaime Lannister and his lack of honest communication jfc.

Maybe he did the best thing he thought he could for her, which was to make her hate him a little bit. Or maybe he just hates himself a little for it. For all he cannot be yet, if ever. He is still tied to Cersei and her fate, he’s not free yet.

I'd have preferred if he had said I love you in a clear conversation on screen, but I think he still doesn't trust that it can last either. That he can have happiness. Jaime was awake and watching her. Not with what I think are regrets for loving her, but just a lot of things he hasn't said. And things he has to do still. He's not free yet at all. He’s with her, but his head and his sense of duty are still somewhere else too. He had a taste of a normal life with Brienne, loving someone openly. Because I have no doubt that he loves Brienne and loves her still. But it couldn't last for him at that moment. So much remains unfinished. And now it might always be.