#past Woven Lave

[barpurplewrites]

Last Goodbye

@a-monthly-rumbelling For some of the images on the mood board.

WARNINGS - Character death. Cancer. Mourning. Angst.

-x-x-x-

Belle’s traveled to America to find Weaver and carry out Lacey’s last wishes.

-x-x-x-

Finding Detective Weaver hadn’t been easy. Belle had been hampered by the fact he didn’t appear to have a first name, and everyone in the Hyperion Heights police department looked at her as if they’d seen a ghost. She’d expected that reaction, of course, she was used to it, she was Lacey’s twin after all. Finally, she’d managed to track down Weaver’s old partner, Rogers. He’d been skittish about speaking to her, but at least he hadn’t done the usual and blurt out something like ‘Damn you’re the spitting image of Lacey’, that was never going to get easier to hear.

Rogers listened to what she had to say and shrugged; “The thing about Weaver is he values his privacy.”

Belle swallowed her sigh; “Lacey told me as much, which is why she asked me to go to him, rather than send a lawyer.”

Rogers cocked his head at her and frowned; “Why didn’t you talk to him at the funeral?”

“Weaver was at Lacey’s funeral?”

She listened in shock as he explained how Weaver had taken compassionate level and flew to Australia as soon as he’d gotten word of Lacey’s passing. He’d been right there in the chapel, and never introduced himself, or spoken a word to her. Thinking back Belle had a dim recollection of a man in a dark denim standing at the back of the chapel.

“He came back a few days after the funeral, that’s when we found out he’d quit, cleaned out his desk and left.”

Belle took a shaky breath and tried to keep her tone level; “Since Weaver didn’t take a moment to offer his condolences I’ve had to fly half-way around the damn world to carry out my sister’s last wishes, so how about you make this hell of a trip a tiny bit easier for me and give me his goddamn address?”

Rogers handed over a folded piece of paper; “Weaver was a tough one, but he fell apart when Lacey left.”

“Yeah, I know the feeling. She left me twice.”

-o0o-

It was a four-hour drive from Hyperion Heights to the little coastal town Weaver had relocated to. Belle didn’t take in any of the scenery, she just kept her eyes on the road. When there was a break in the music, she could hear the gentle slosh of the bottle in the back seat. She ignored it, wouldn’t, couldn’t let herself think about what, who was sitting in a box next to that bottle.

-o0o-

Rogers had called ahead to warn him, so he’d spent most of the last few hours keeping watch on the road from his porch. Weaver watched the little rental car pull up to his house. He braced himself, but the shock of seeing someone who looked so like Lacey get out still knock the breath from his lungs. As she got closer, he could see the differences, subtle things in the way she carried herself, little gestures that Lacey would never have made.

He stood up as she reached the steps of his porch; “Miss French.”

“Mr Weaver.”

During the long tense moment that followed Weaver learned the Belle did share some traits with Lacey. He recognized that look of burning anger simmering in her eyes. From Lacey that had meant a yelling match followed by hot, angry make-up sex. From Belle he suspected that the yelling match would be followed by him getting slapped in the face.

“Would you like to come inside?”

“I suppose that would be best.”

Oh yeah, he’d be lucky if a slap was all he got. As soon as she was clear of the door Belle spun on her heel and glared at him.

“You could have saved me a long trip, had you bothered to introduce yourself at the funeral.”

He softly closed the door and moved away from it.

“I was planning to, but after I heard your eulogy I couldn’t.”

“Why the hell not?”

Weaver glanced at her, but quickly looked away; “You want a drink?”

He heard rustling as she reached into the large bag over her shoulder; “Lacey thought you might need a few. She sent you this.”

Belle was holding out a bottle of Johnnie Walker Blue. Weaver took it from her with a frown; “This makes no sense. This is my favourite tipple, but why would she send you here with this when she never told me she was sick?”

“Oh, for fucks sake!”

Weaver jerked, for a second there it was as if Lacey was in the room. As it turned out she was in a way. Belle lifted an urn from her bag and set it on his coffee table, then she sat down on his couch.

“I’ll take that drink, please.”

He bounced the bottle of Johnnie Walker in his hand and picked up two glasses from the shelf. His hands went through the familiar motions of cracking the seal and unscrewing the lid, but his eyes never left the urn, even as he poured two very large measures into the waiting glasses. He handed Belle a glass and was about to take a sip from his own when he paused and reached for a third glass. He filled it and place in in front of the urn.

Belle and he raised their glasses in a silent toast to the dead. The silence lingered for long minutes afterwards until Belle spoke.

“She just arrived, no phone call, just walked into my library with a grin on her face and said ‘wotcher sis’, like it had only been a week since we’d seen each other not three years.

When she told me why she had come home, that she was dying of the same cancer that had taken our mom, to be honest I felt like throttling her. It’s so hard watching a some one you love wither away, and she’d come home so I’d have to watch her fade.”

Belle snorted and took a sip of her drink; “I actually asked her why she hadn’t stayed in America with all of her precious friends.”

“What did she say?”

“That she didn’t know how to get through death with her friends, but she did with me.”

He didn’t know what to say. Lacey had sought the comfort of family in her final days, he could understand that, but by doing so she had placed an impossible burden on her sister. He took a swing of whiskey and sighed; “I wish she’d told me.”

“Would you have stayed with her to the end?”

“Yes.”

Belle reached over for the bottle and topped up their glasses. Weaver was surprised at how much she had drunk, he’d not noticed her keeping pace with him.

“I thought you were just another of her fuck buddies at first.”

He huffed; “Yeah we started that way, but then we were something more. At least I thought we were.”

The bitter sting that Lacey hadn’t told him of her cancer had changed into a dull ache beneath his ribs, a constant companion to the hole in his heart.

“Watching mom die killed our father, did you know that?”

He shook his head. Lacey hadn’t talked much about her parents.

“Yeah. Destroyed him, the man he was died the day of her funeral, the bitter empty man he became walked around for another six years before his heart gave out.”

The whiskey caught the fading light as he rolled the glass between his hands as he considered her words. He had been a jaded and bitter bastard before Lacey had crash-landed in his life. Had she cared enough about him to not want him to watch her die?

“She could have given me the choice.”

He felt Belle shrug; “We lived through what happened to dad after he made the choice to stay. I can understand why she wouldn’t want to risk that happening again.”

He was about to say that not knowing she was ill had pretty well fucked him up anyway, except it hadn’t, not it that way. He was grieving, but he wasn’t self-destructive, he’d quit his job partly because he was tired of it, but mostly because he knew it would be far too easy for him to take his grief out on the scumbags of Hyperion Heights. He couldn’t help but smile at the urn, he could almost see Lacey raising an eyebrow at him and pointing out her way was the right way.

For the first time since they had started talking, he turned his gaze from the urn and onto Belle. The fire had drained from her eyes, replaced with sadness and something else he couldn’t quite place. Whatever it was it set his copper instincts tingling; “Why did she want you to bring her to me?”

“She wants us to scatter her ashes together, into the sea at sunset she said.”

They both looked out of the window, the sun was getting low. Weaver reached for the bottle of whisky and Belle for the urn, as one they rose. He led her through the house to the back door and the little path that wound its way to the shore. It was strange, Belle fell into step with him as easily as Lacey had, but it so different.

They stopped on the edge of the waves. The setting sun had painted the sky in shades of magenta and orange.

“Lacey had a lipstick that colour in her goth phase. The purple not the orange.”

Weaver nodded; “She did her nails in something close to the orange once.”

Belle’s hands were trembling as she offered the urn to Weaver. He tucked the whiskey bottle under his arm and steadied the urn with one hand as he unscrewed the lid with the other. She looked up at him, a question in her eyes. He knew she wanted to know if he wanted to say something.

“Love you Lacey. Safe travels sweetheart.”

It wasn’t much, he’d never been a poet, but it felt right. Together the tipped the urn. The wind caught the ashes and scattered them over receding sea. Belle held the urn loosely by her side as Weaver unscrewed the whiskey bottle and poured a large shot into the water. He offered the bottle to Belle, who took a swig and handed it back to him. As Weaver took a drink Belle shivered.

“She went out on her own terms at the end, but she was very sick. I had to help her.”

Weaver wrapped his arm around her shoulder. He knew now why Lacey had wanted them to do this together. From what he’d seen at the funeral Belle didn’t have many people to help her through this. He’d cut himself off from everyone who might have helped him. Lacey had brought them together so they could support each other.

They’d have to talk at some point, but for now they stood together as the tide ebbed and the colours of the sunset faded from the sky.

[jordanstrophe]

Be a Good Guest, part 8

CW: Whump, failed escape attempt (again...) kidnapping, electrocution, choking *inhales* intimate, possessive, creepy, protective, parental whumper, slapping, blindfold, restraining, shackles mentioned, manhandling, angst, so much angst with a seasoning of despair. No happy ending for this chapter at least :c

Masterlist

Walter was happy today, dancing and humming as he moved about the house with the radio playing a cheerful song. Gabriel didn’t even have the chain shackled to his leg today, he did still have the tracker in his neck of course, but if he pretended that it wasn't there, it almost felt like a normal ordinary morning.

“Good morning, little one!” He smiled. “Gmorning..” Gabriel gorged. He stood with his arms crossed while swaying on his feet, his eyes half open. He was hardly sleeping, the bed still felt foreign to him as he would just stare blankly at the ceiling. 

He was homesick. As lonely as his crammed apartment was back at home, he would rather be lonely, then here. He felt two arms slither around his waist from behind as he gasped with chills running up his spine. 

“Please don’t touch me!” He barked, jumping from his grasp and pinning himself against the wall.

“It was just a hug” He giggled, extending his arms out. Gabriel shook his head no as he refused to budge from his corner. Walter sighed as his arms fell crossed. “Are you still scared of me?” He asked.

He didn’t respond, his eyes just darted around the room to everywhere but his burning gaze. “Come now, Gabriel, It’s been a week. I’m doing everything I can to keep you happy, can’t you give it a little effort?” He asked, his voice growing impatient. “I just...I don’t want to stay here, please...” He begged. 

Walter’s face fell with sheer disappointment. He sighed as he slumped onto the piano bench, tapping his nail against the wood as an invitation for him to sit. Gabriel silently shook his head no once more, cringing and squeezing his eyes shut when he heard him abruptly stand up. He knew he was testing the waters a bit, but maybe he could pity himself out of this. He wouldn’t hurt him for something this mild, right?

*Slap*

His cheek burned as his whole body hit the fridge door. His lip that had just healed from the car crash splitting once again as blood smeared across the fridge. Gabriel took a shuttered breath as his hand gripped the door handle with his other hand on his red cheek. 

“Wh-what is wrong with you!?” Gabriel shrieked. “Are you crazy!?”

He regretted his words instantly as a hand wrapped around his throat, pinning him against the fridge as he fell silent. Walter rested his other arm over his head against the fridge as if he wasn’t already presenting enough dominance. He wasn’t squeezing his throat very tight at least, it was just enough to scare the daylight from him.

“I’m getting real tired of your constant disrespect, young man. You live under my roof, the least you can do is show an ounce of thankfulness for everything I do for you.” He hissed in his ear. Gabriel whined against his hand around his neck as he pressed his back against the fridge. The hand retracted as Walter’s fingers moved to wrap around his chin, tilting his head up until their eyes met.

“Tell me you’ll behave.” He raised an eyebrow.

“I-I’ll behave...” He whispered.

“Little louder.”

Gabriel’s eyes darted down, he was just doing this to be purely dominant now.

“Gabriel if you disobey me one more time I’m taking you to the basement.”

“I’ll behave!” He yelped.

“Good boy.” He smiled, his hand moving from his chin to lovingly caress his face as he slightly flinched. “Go sit down now, breakfast is almost done!” He smiled.

It was disgusting how he could change his mood in a flash. Gabriel’s legs felt numb as he struggled to walk to the table, slinking on the seat. He kept his wide eyes forward, too scared to move or even breathe too hard in fear of attracting anymore unwanted attention.

There was a clattering sound with a splash of water as Walter dropped a full cup of hot tea. “Drat!” He yelled, hissing and cursing under his breath as steam fumed off his soaking clothes. He grabbed his boiling wet robe and tossed it over the chair to get it off, before marching off to his room for a change of clothes. 

Gabriel sat wide eyes staring at the robe pocket opened just enough he could see the cluster of keys poking out.

Gabriel didn’t even think twice about the consequences as he reached into the pocket, grabbed the keys and bolted. They were much heavier than he expected, with about two dozen medieval looking keys hooked on a loop. His hands trembled as he fumbled with it, trying each one in the keyhole to the main door. The window, unfortunately, was out of the question, Walter made sure of that with metal bars after his pitiful first escape attempt.

He could hear Walter in the other room opening and slamming drawers, there wasn’t much time left. He was about halfway through and none of them had worked yet- 

*click*

One had finally fit as he bolted out the door. He still had a tracker in his neck, but all he had to do was outrun him, right? He felt his pulse beat through his body, his head pounding as he sprinted up the hill. He had been here before, but this time he was free of the chain dragging him down, the thing that screwed him over the first time. Finally, he made it to the road. He stood there, looking left, then right.

No cars… No one ever came here. He ran down the road, there wasn’t a soul in sight. He slowed to a stop as his lungs started burning, his hands on his knees as he gasped for air. He stopped when he thought he heard something… Chattering? Laughing? No, that was too good to be true. He took a deep breath and held it, trying to listen as he straightened up, spinning around trying to figure out where it could have come from. 

There it was again, a laugh. It was coming from the other side of the road near a trail. There must have been hikers! He bolted in the direction, following the cheery voices of what sounded like a small group of people having a laugh. He could see movement through the branches as his chest leapt with relief…

Finally, finally! He made it! There were people right there, just a few yards away!  “Heey!” He hollered, staggering through the woods. “PLEASE HELP ME!” He cried. He did it… He had made it out. 

His cries for help were interrupted by his own screams as a shock spiked through his body. What felt like thousands of needles stabbed through his neck forced him to plummet to the ground. After a couple of seconds, it stopped as he found himself lying in the dirt on his back, his hand held to his neck as he heaved for air. He scampered to his feet, before he could take a step, the full weight of someone tackled him from behind, pinning him to the ground on his chest with a hand tightly woven around his lips. 

His screams and crying were muffled as he fought back, digging his knees into the dirt trying to push the man off, who kept his arms and head pinned to the ground. He could hear the voices commenting the strange noise they heard in the woods, but brushing it off as some animal romping around. 

“But it sounded like a voice.”

“It’s just your imagination, or just another hiker, who cares?”

Tears swelled in his eyes as he was forced to watch the group walk by. He stayed pinned to the ground for several more minutes until they were long gone, the forest grew silent with their passing. The weight pressing against his back quickly became agonizing as his distressed noises were muffled. 

His hand retreated as he instantly shouted for help, electricity pulsed through his body again. His back arched off the ground in the man’s arms as he was held. “Gabriel, stop this right this instant!” Walter hissing in his ear after lifting off the trigger.

Gabriel went slack in his arms, his body still quivering. Walter got off him as he continued to lie still in the ground between his feet obediently. 

“Get up.” He ordered.

Gabriel blinked his eyes open, his tears mixing with the dirt on his face as he looked up with a pitiful expression. Walter only stared him down as he finally sighed in submission, slowly crawling to his feet. 

“Walk. Let's go.” He ordered. “You’re going to behave, and walk all the way home. Do you understand?” He growled. Gabriel flinched into a nod as he wobbled on his feet. Walter pointed to the direction of the cabin as Gabriel held his arms tightly to his chest as he shakily cowered past him. 

He was forced to walk in front, as Walter loomed behind him making sure he stayed in check. He lost his footing at one point and fell to the ground, only to be roughly grabbed and ripped to his feet. 

The cheerful music was still playing when he was shoved into the cabin. His hair was roughly grabbed as Walter dragged him along, ripping the basement door open. 

“W-wait..” He rasped. 

He was ignored as he was thrown onto an old wooden chair. Cuffs and shackles already built into it clamped over his wrists, ankles and neck tightly. He could still hear the happy music playing on upstairs.

“Wait! P-please!” Gabriel begged, tears dripping down his face as a blindfold was secured over his eyes. “Please don’t! You don’t have to do this!” He sobbed. He felt a hand rest in his hair, gently petting him. 

“Yes I do, little dove. Because you made me. This is for your own good.” He planted a kiss in his hair. “Since you want to be cut loose like a wild animal so badly, you can stay here, where it’s safe until you learn what’s good for you. That I’m good for you.” 

Gabriel heard his footsteps stomping up the stairs as the basement door slammed, muffling the joyful music playing like some sick fever dream.

“PLEASE! Don’t leave me here, I’m begging you!” He sobbed, his voice cracking. 

His cries were ignored as the house fell silent. He only saw darkness, as all he could do was listen to his panicked breath.

@alien-octopus @yesthisiswhump  @lave-whump @whumpasaurus101 @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @hamiltonwhumpdump @just-another-whumper @castielamigos-whump-side-blog @approach-me-and-ill-cry   @whump-it @kixngiggles @as-a-matter-of-whump

ʕっ• ᴥ • ʔっ  Thank you for reading! (and I’m sorry)

[chrysalispen]

Prompt #9 - Lush (NSFW)

AO3 Link HERE i knew the crystal catte was going to invade at some point and here we are i guess. NSFW below the cut. 

====

She had always smelled of lavender. A rare variety that only grew in the desert.

It was the one memory of her G'raha Tia had carried with him, always. The scent of that sachet had lingered in his memories long after the years had passed and she and the others had left him behind, when he had awakened to a crumbling and ruined future.

The scent was an elusive one but still came to him, now and again, when he thought of her. As though he had only to close his eyes, and find her lingering once again near her bedroll at the lake's edge, gazing up at the stars and clad in only her loose and translucent shift, carefully combing out her hair under the night sky. Another sight that he could behold now only in his mind's eye.

It was deep in his memories, nestled among the old rose-toned oneiric impressions of night and nostalgia, that she would visit his bed-- as she had tonight.

He knew it was a dream, of course. She had ever strayed just beyond his reach in his waking hours, like the sun that held the world at arm's length with its rising. But in his dreams he could worship her as fervently as he wished, could make of the slopes and gentle curves of her body a pilgrimage and himself her fervent celebrant.

His lips marked a trail that began at the slope of her hairline; he fancied that she quivered when they trailed, with careful and feather-light deliberation, along the rim of her third eye. The small and delicate jewel captured the moon's watery illumination, shimmering like some fantastically rare and precious pearl.

A murmur of his name, soft upon her lips, dulcet syllables captured by the fervent attentions of his own, before he continued on his path. Faint sighs and the languorous slide of dewy limbs against throat and torso and waist were his constant companions, her fingers loosing the elaborate arrangement of his robes to strip him bare before tangling in the damp auburn strands of his sidelocks and teasing, gently, at his ears.

He groaned but made no attempt to keep her from her ministrations, his tail curling upright, every ilm of its fur prickling with his hyperawareness.

The scent that wafted into his nostrils was sweet and spicy: lavender and chamomile, woven into the strands of sunlight that spilled past slim shoulders and onto the bed, honeyed scents offset by the light tang of the sweat upon her skin. He touched her with reverent care, teasing the peaks of her breasts until they were taut enough to blossom within the heat of his mouth. Trailing his lips along each small freckle and pale scar that graced her ribcage and the mild slope of her stomach. Dipping the tip of his tongue with a delicate touch into her navel until he heard her laugh, shaking and breathless, and soft and deceptively strong hands moved to push him away. Not to be deterred, his lips dragged along the curve of her hip.

Her legs parted where the warmth of his palms placed themselves upon the smooth expanse of her thighs, as if to impart a secret. He felt the anticipatory shudder that wracked her slender frame, and within the layers of salt and sweetness was another scent he knew well.

"Raha-"

His name was a rasped whisper, caught upon the edge of a silent plea.

"Please," he heard himself whisper.

An entreaty, he thought. A prayer. He saw the slow and solemn bob of her chin.

He leaned into her warmth, cradled in the tangle of her legs, braced by the impossible softness that slid over his shoulders like the kiss of fine velvet, and pressed his lips to hers: full and lush and inviting.

Her blunted nails scraped along his scalp and tangled in his hair and that soft and high-pitched keen she made when his tongue slid between them to taste her-- that was the sound he craved, one she had never made for him in the waking world and which he treasured all the more for its transience, sheltered within the liminal space of his dreams.

He wrested that sound from her again and again: reveled in it as he lavished his longing upon her, laved his tongue in broad strokes that flickered gently against the small hood at her apex with each pass. Tracing small and teasing circles, before returning to her entrance to lap at that soft and warm and plentiful well. His name was a broken whisper upon the air as he received his communion, palms stroking careful lines from hip to knee. He felt his own need gnawing at him like a hunger, heat and tension he ignored, fearing that to pay obeisance to it now would be to lose this one paltry connection.

He could feel beneath his hands her oncoming climax: tiny spasms like ripples cast from the skip of a stone across still waters, and he knew what was next: the exultant cry that tore through the stillness of the nightscape shortly before the dream began to dissipate, threads tangled in grasping fingers that would dissolve entirely upon his waking-

-and wake he did, into the vast and hollow darkness of the Tower aslumber: limbs tangled in the damp sheets of his own small bed, still unbearably stiff, his spend soaking into his smalls and and his arms empty.

It wasn't enough. It would never be enough.

He was like unto a man dying of thirst in the midst of water, chasing a mirage.

The Exarch lay awake, staring sightlessly up into the faceted ceiling, and waited for his heartbeat to resume its normal pace. Inhaling the spicy sweetness of a flower that had gone extinct a century before he had awakened.

Nero tol Scaeva was right, he thought. I am immune neither to time nor regret.

[lesbianmonsterlover]

NSFW Forest Goddess x Female Reader

Beware giving flower crowns to strange animals, and make sure you know the meaning of the flowers you’re giving so freely. 

The forest has always been kind to you.  Ever since you were a child, the forest behind your grandmother’s house had been full of light and laughter.  While many children from your village were told to stay away, that thought reinforced by their encounters with skunks and bees and spiders once they’d crossed the threshold into its copses.  You, however, always seemed to be welcomed with open arms.  

It began when you were little, weaving flower crowns from the wildflowers at the edge of your grandmother’s property.  Everything got one; the fallen log you were sitting on had a pretty purple wild lavender crown haphazardly draped over the broken protrusion of a branch, the pile of large boulders had a few though you felt bad you couldn’t make one large enough for it all at once, the dense tangle of brambles alongside you had one carefully woven through its thorns, and while you weren’t sure what was going to get the crown you were working on now in a riot of colors you were still having fun crafting the lush head wear.  You’re momentarily distracted by a pale white deer, with the most piercing red eyes.  It looks at you warily, but you give it a gap-toothed smile and glance between it and the flowers with hope.  You greet the deer, chattering at it aimlessly as children are wont to do, your brief discussions of your family interspersed with exclamations like “you’re so pretty!” and “I really hope you stay until I finish my crown, I want you to have it!”  The doe’s eyes soften, you were taking care not to pick more flowers than you needed for each crown, looking through the blooms in the field until you found just the right one.  You were clumsy, and the crown wasn’t perfectly stitched together, but you finally close it into a circlet.  You smile and hold it out towards the deer.  “I’d like to put this on you, but I don’t want to scare you...I wish you could understand me.”  You grumble, looking down at the crown with a pout.  The cold nose of the deer pokes you in the side, making you giggle, and she seems to sniff at you, snuffling up the side of your body and into your hair.  She leaves a wet lick on your cheek and you laugh, a bright happy peal, before placing the crown on the deer’s head.  It stays for a while, lying next to you while you lay back in the grass watching clouds and butterflies.

You hadn’t seen the deer since then, although when you returned from that little outing your grandmother just smiled knowingly and told you to be careful of who you gave tokens like that to.  She left you the cottage on the outskirts of the small village in her will, and while your parents were sad to lose you they understood your need to be there.  It had always been where you were happiest, your grandmother knew that and your parents know that.  It had only been a few weeks since your grandmother passed, but it still took several days to get the house back to a liveable condition.  The feather mattress was a luxury you were going to take advantage of, and you went to sleep those first nights exhausted and proud.  

The third week in your new home the gifts started appearing.  At first you thought it was the crows you’d been feeding, bringing you little shinies and presents.  They were brilliant birds, and they’d taken to protecting your newly planted garden from the worst of the insects that would bother it, while leaving the healthy ones be.  A perfectly smooth shiny stone from the creek, a collection of pretty feathers of all colors and sizes, little flowers, but when the first flower crown appeared you knew that this couldn’t have been the work of the crows.  You blushed, wondering who would be leaving you such a trinket considering you just moved here.  Men had never interested you, you had always been much more drawn to the soft and varied forms of women.  You were hopeful that the flower crown meant the bearer of these gifts was a woman, with lithe hands to weave together them stems so tightly.  You got to work on an answering gift of your own, daffodils, daisies, and gardenias woven together into a crown of their own.  A thank you on your end, but when you learn their meanings you may have wished you’d known the language of flowers beforehand.

That evening you leave the crown outside on the first flat paving stone where the offerings were laid for you.  You’re a little giddy as you do your mending by the firelight, wondering who your admirer might be, what would she look like?  You’re so distracted you manage to stitch the dress you were mending to the slip you were lounging in.  Despite the excitement the luxury of your bed helps you into sleep fairly quickly, and you wake at first light excited.

You’re too nervous to get to the backyard, foregoing getting dressed completely for simply washing your face and putting on a soft robe that swishes around your calves.  Unthinkingly you grab the flower crown that had been left for you the day before, trailing your fingers over the soft petals before placing it on your head, your sleep mussed hair tangling with the flowers in a natural way.  The first step onto the cold paving stone makes you shiver, nipples pebbling and arms wrapping around your middle.  

You stop, slightly startled as you see what looks to be the spitting image of the pale white doe you met all those years ago as a child.  Your flower crown from yesterday is resting on its slender head, carefully placed between its ears.  You break out in a small smile, perhaps a little disappointed that your admirer hadn’t shown themselves, but you couldn’t say you were too upset to see the beautiful doe again, with her intense red eyes.  She seems to prance a little when you step out the door, graceful steps making light clicks along the paving stones.  “Hello there, I think we’ve met before.”  

The doe’s eyes seem to light up, although you’re sure you must be imagining things.  You giggle when the lithe animal presses its cold nose against your stomach, snuffling up the center of your chest and over your neck, giving your cheek and affectionate lick before nuzzling you with the butt of her jaw.  Your hands come up instinctively to pet along the neck and shoulders of the tall, slender animal.  “I don’t suppose you know who’s been leaving me such lovely gifts.”  The doe finishes nuzzling your face before prancing back again, staring at you with a slightly cocked head.  You’re sure you must be dreaming as the snow white doe melts into a tall willowy woman, easily nine feet tall, nude with small pert breasts capped with pale pink nipples.  Her hair is as white as her pelt and hangs pin straight down to her ribs.  The intense red stare captivates you, those eyes have never been those of prey, no, she was very much a predator, but the gaze was full of warmth and even mirth.  

The splash of color that was your flower crown remains on her head, looking like a circlet of jewels as the sun glints off of the morning dew.  It’s at that point you register that at her hips the gentle flare turns into a strong but slender pair of deer’s legs, the same white as her pelt perched on dainty black hooves.  She tilts her head at you quizzically, movements so fluid as to be almost unnatural, and her pale pink lips quirk into a soft smile, softening her cool appearance.  You gape at her, holding your robe tightly closed and feeling suddenly completely inadequate in the face of this probably-quite-literal goddess.  Her smile widens and you suddenly notice a mouthful of razor sharp teeth glinting, although instead of scaring you it simply intrigues you.  If this beautiful being wanted you dead or gone you would have been by now, but she’s standing in front of you smiling at you with the affection of a long-lost lover.  

“My love, I have waited for this day for many long centuries of my life.”  She steps closer to you, a pale hand cupping your jaw and tipping your face up towards her, the kiss she gives you is tender and longing, those slender long fingers gripping you firmly and slanting her mouth against yours as you melt into the kiss.  Your hands feel the smooth curve of her waist and the flare of her ribcage, pressing your body against hers.  

You’re distracted enough by her kiss to miss the fingers of her free hand deftly undoing the belt at your waist, and in fact you don’t notice until the robe drops off of your shoulders to pool at your elbows, leaving your breasts exposed to the cool morning air, nipples pebbling in chill.  Her looks is dark and hungry as she takes in the contrast of her impossibly pallid skin against your own tone, her long fingers brushing the robe off your arms leaving you in nothing but the flower crown this wonderful creature wove for you.  

“My love, my life, I promise so long as you are mine that I am yours, so long as I draw breath so may you, so we will never be parted by the ravages of time.”  You’re at a loss for words as this goddess promises herself to you, asking for nothing but your heart and soul in return.  You’re thankful she doesn’t expect you to respond past tilting your head up, pleading for a kiss.  When you mumble ‘I love you’ against her lips as she kisses you her hands and lips become more eager.  Those thin fingers caress your breasts, teasing your nipples and tugging, making you whine against her mouth.  Those soft tender lips and sharp teeth move down your jaw and neck, and she gives a pleased hum when you bare your throat up at her willingly.  

You’re expecting the bite to hurt, but as is later explained to you your willingness to bond your life with hers allowed it to be painless, the magic of the forest that flowed through her wanted her mate to be comfortable.  You feel electric as something pours into you through the bite, withering with pleasure in her arms as she begins to lave over it with her tongue.  Caging your face between her hands she kisses you again, you can taste the coppery tang of your blood on her lips and tongue but it isn’t unpleasant.  Your hands brush up over her ribcage and cup her small breasts, her softness just filling your palms and pushing her nipples into their center as you touch her.  She hums against your lips, lithe fingers tangling into your hair tightly as you kiss and caress each other.  

You don’t quite remember how you got here, laid out reverently on a bed of wildflowers while this goddess worshipped you with her lips and tongue.  You failed to notice her walking you forward into your field as you were too engrossed in kissing her to notice.  Your fingers grip at fertile soil as your goddess closes her lips around one tender nipple.  The suction starts lightly, her tongue just teasing across the tip as the sharp points of her teeth press teasingly into the flesh surrounding it.  Her cool fingers skate down your stomach, dipping teasingly into your belly button before continuing down into the thatch of hair on your mound.  She squeezes the plush flesh she finds there, making you moan and arch your hips.  Two of her slender fingers press between your labia and you feel her grin around your nipple when she discovers how wet you are before she quickly switches to begin sucking on the neglected bud of your other nipple.  Her fingers tease up to your clit, tapping gently on the button until you whimper at which point she places one finger on either side, tugging upwards to pull back your clitoral hood and expose your raw nerve to her touch.  

Pulling back from your breasts entirely she grins down at you, her red eyes almost black with lust, before she leans down at an almost agonizingly slow place to press her tongue fully against your exposed clit.  You scream in pleasure, your hands pulling out of the grass and blindly grabbing at your goddess’ head.  She almost purrs against you when your fingers brush over the points of her ears, making you return to them to stroke and caress them while you moan your pleasured encouragements at her.  She redoubles her efforts, and you almost feel like you’re falling when she presses two of those impossibly long fingers into your channel and crooks them upwards just so to press at the spongy flesh just behind your pubic bone.  

You hold your breath, tensing on a knife edge, and one more growl from her as she devours you whole makes you come apart, squeezing around her fingers as a flow of arousal leaks into her palm.  She cleans you gently with her tongue while you try to catch your breath, legs weak and numb.  You giggle when she begins kissing and licking up your stomach and across your breasts before leaning down to kiss you on the lips, letting you taste your own essence on her lips as she plunders your mouth with her tongue.  

Pulling back and rearing up to her full height she straddles your chest, thighs parted around either side of your head.  “Our bond is almost complete my love, and I need you.”  You can see that is the truth, the lips of her sex are puffy and glistening with need, covered in a downy white hair that matches the rest of her.  You lean up to meet her as she lowers down onto your waiting mouth, your hands reaching up to caress and grip at her thighs and hips, the soft hair of her hide and the powerful but slender muscles of her deer legs feel like heaven under your hands.  You nuzzle your cheek into the down of her inner thigh as you place hot open-mouthed kisses along her slit.  You nudge up with your nose, sighing happily as her labia part for you and your tongue slides a broad swipe from her weeping hole up to her clit.

Your goddess tastes like fresh nectar and sunshine, lightly sweet and floral and heady, you know you’ll need this taste as long as you live.  Like a starving woman you start in, pressing your tongue up into her as your nose gently pushes and stimulates her clit.  She sighs prettily, her long fingers tangling in your hair again as she rides your face.  “Oh my love, my life, my everything.”  She praises you endlessly, your warm lips and tongue, the beauty of your sparkling eyes staring up at her from between pale furred thighs, how long she’s waited for you.  Using one hand you press your fingers up into her when you remove your tongue, and you feel her thighs begin to tremble around your face.  Your lips find her clit, gently kissing and suckling on it as she begins to make beautiful, gutteral noises you’d never have imagined could come from such a goddess.  Your efforts double, lips and tongue teasing and caressing over her clit while you thrust and scissor your fingers until she tenses like a bowstring and releases all over your face with a loud cry.  

You’re panting beneath her, covered in her fluids and fully claimed, when she smiles down at you serenely.  She carries you to a small stream you used to play in as a child and you help wash each other while she tells you how she chose you.  “I remember when we met, I had come to see if you were going to be as much trouble as the other children from your territory.  Hurting my animals and plants with no cause, leaving behind their debris to choke out my children.  But you, my little lilac, were making flower crowns for my things, and took care when you wanted to give one to me.  You respected me, and my forest, and I’ve watched over you since whenever you were within my lands.  I have been waiting for you to come back to me, my lilac, and I am so happy you accepted my proposal…”  she trails off, touching the flower crowns somehow still inexplicably on each of your heads.  “So long as we have each other these will never die, although they will wither and bloom anew with each season they will endure as our love.”  And so they did.

[neokollection]

Manipulative ㅡ Jaehyun (M)

‘Can I request dry humping with Jaehyun pls? Like really smutty and dirty talk etc.’ srry not dirty talk + ‘Fluff’

Word Count: 1.7K

A/N: I’m not even that into dry-humping, but for some reason, this ask- And imagining it with Jae made me into it. I think I’m in a Jae phase. oop didn’t proofread either

“You’re lovey today,” you murmured, raking your hands through Jaehyun’s soft hair before tugging at the darkening roots to ply his plump cheek from your own.

“I always am,” he teased, shifting his weight from leaning upon your shoulder to draping his torso over you, his hands melding with the armrest and sofa cushions on either side of you, “The question is, why aren’t you being lovey?”

“I’m busy,” you whined, angling your phone from him.

“Doing what?” he prodded, nuzzling his cheek against your shoulder to catch a glimpse of what you were hiding.

With a seamless motion, you turned off your phone screen as Jaehyun reached for it. A playful grin toyed at his petal-pink lips, his soft dimples introducing themselves once more.

“So, that’s how it is?”

Your hand met his cheek as you attempted to push him away. He shook off your hand fervently, nuzzling into the crook of your neck as he dove forward, dropping your phone on the plush cushions as his hands grappled onto your thighs sloppily, tugging you from your previous position to lay upon the cushions below him. Your shorts hiked up your thighs, your soft cotton t-shirt drug to bunch around your waist.  He straddled you unceremoniously, drawing back, the harmony of each of your giggles filling the room.

“Stop!”

You writhed beneath him, tossing your hands to his broad chest, fisting his navy t-shirt. His disheveled bangs hung low, his soft cheeks begging to be held and pinched.

“You,” he began, “...are going to unlock this-”

He wore a huge grin and although you knew your demise would come swiftly, you couldn’t help but giggle along. Fumbling, he found your phone tucked beneath the cushions, his weight settling onto your hips. Your hands balled into fists as he activated the screen, smiling as he was faced with one of his recent selfies.

“You’re heavy,” you wheezed, bucking your hips upward against his own in an attempt to alleviate the pressure.

His brows jumped at the suddenness, his wide eyes meeting your own before seating his weigh deeper.

“Naughty girl,” he shot, activating your phone screen once more before snagging one of your balled fists.

He laughed maniacally as he attempted to extend your thumb to unlock your phone- His strength beat your own however and you screeched as he brought your thumb bad to your phone, unlocking it.

“Jae! No! Stop!” you pleaded, knowing you’d be teased endlessly when his gaze landed upon the fan fiction you’d been reading previously.

He’d caught you once before reading about him and teased you relentlessly, reading the corny dialogue aloud and shaming you for wasting your time.

“Again?” he questioned, his smile just as wide as ever.

“I started it before you came over!”

He guffawed at your excuse.

“It’s really good! You’re a secret agent in it-” you offered.

He made a hum of appreciation, his eyes locked on the screen a few moments longer before tossing your phone over his shoulder onto the cushions.

“Be careful,” you muttered, squirming beneath his weight.

He shifted his weight from atop your hips to your thighs, tugging one of your legs out from beneath him to crook around his hip. He dove down to your collar, saline lips peppering kisses along the soft skin as you turned your face from him in an attempt to shield your lips, leaving your neck exposed. His crotch ground against your own, his knees digging into the polyester sofa cushions. His hands held your shoulders as his lips migrated from the curvature of your collarbone to the taut flesh of your neck, begging to be abused. Sucking upon the skin tenderly, he groaned in appreciation as your hips squirmed against his own. You cocked your head to the side, your shoulders shrugging suddenly.

“It tickles-”

Jaehyun drew back momentarily before colliding his lips with your skin once more, this time sucking harshly, his teeth digging into your tender flesh.

“Don’t leave marks,” you whined.

“Why?”

He shifted his weight to his forearms on either side of you, releasing your shoulders and allowing you to comfortably bring your hands to his face. Cupping his cheeks, you halted him as he leant down to meet your lips, his sparkling gaze like embers crackling in a dark abyss. The tip of his nose brushed your own affectionately, causing you to want to giggle and turn away to hide, yet you had to keep your composure- He wouldn’t allow you to hide your blushing face anyway, likely to pin your hands above your head.

“They’re hard to hide,” you admitted.

Your answer was a weak excuse- You didn’t mind when he’d leave marks and bruises in his wake; you just liked playing hard-to-get and defiant. He took your reply as a grain of salt due to the sly way you grinned. Your noses brushed together gently thrice more before he stole a sudden kiss.

Reds, pinks, and purples blossomed upon your skin, your once blank canvas of a neck and collar dotted with splotches as an artist did his work, or vandalism you could say- You’d managed to get your other leg from beneath him, draping them both around his lithe waist to keep him close. Your fingers woven in his tresses hugged and tugged him to and fro. You couldn’t contain the mewls and pants as his hot tongue and plush lips laved at your skin. Your eyes were screwed shut as you tried to keep quiet, not wanting to fuel his ego, yet pulling him impossibly closer. You drew his swollen lips from your jaw, coaxing them to meld with your searing lips. Cheekily, your lips pulled into a tight grin, attempting to withhold the chuckle that bubbled in your chest. He drew back, his expression mirroring your own.

“I love you~”

“I love you too-”

“I love you more!”

You let out a squeal as he dove to the other side of your neck, leaving love bites in his wake.

“Stop!” you whined, his lips having already pestered your skin for long enough.

“It’s my hobby,” he crooned playfully.

He relented, resting his cheek against the fabric at the valley of your breasts. Your back arched as his hands dug beneath your waist in an attempt to embrace you. For the past ten minutes, his blood rushed to his soft cock, stiffening it. The tent in his sweatpants pressed snugly between your thighs. Your legs dropped from embracing his waist to limply buffering his hips. Gently, his hips ground against your own, nuzzling his cheek. With a sigh, his name fell from your lips.

“Not now,” you muttered, it was only mid-afternoon.

“I need you,” he pouted.

You were too beat to go through the motions of foreplay and a rough round with your needy man; knowing his stamina- possibly another.

“How’s this?” he questioned, continuing his motions, “Just this-”

You gave a hum, knowing he wouldn’t relent. His back arching and relaxing as he humped gently before stilling and grinding roughly. Soft grunts and appreciative moans left him as he clung to you.

“You’ll make a mess,” you whispered.

“I can change,” he muttered, not caring if he sullied himself.

Huffs and hums became music to your ears as your back arched, the sensation of his stiff tent grinding into your sensitive clit.

With sudden vigor Jaehyun slumped, his weight dispersing onto your frame. Followed by a jerked groan, he quieted, his loud breaths filling the room accompanied by your own.

“It’s sticky,” he muttered with a pout.

Patting his cheek gently, you admonished him to keep his eyes open- to stay awake and take care of the spilt mess in his pants. 

“I love you,” he repeated.

“You are trouble,” you complained.

“How?”

“You seem so sweet and innocent, but you’re a horny mess-”

He chuckled, drawing back to meet your gaze-

“This better not be as bad as I think it is when I walk into that bathroom and see my reflection,” you threatened, pointing to your neck.

He hummed in thought.

“Well, stay here then-”

He didn’t even attempt to block your escape, sitting up on the couch and raking a hand through his disheveled hair. A theatrical ‘O my God!’ left you as you disappeared into the bathroom. Quick paddings of steps made their way toward you.

“You are so rude!” you shot, “How am I supposed to cover this up?!”

Knowing your come after him, he heaved you by your waist, quickly dropping you out the doorway and slamming the door, careful to lock it.

“Hey!” you chided, slapping a hand on the door.

“I’m cleaning up,” he complained, as if he wasn’t aware of your complaints.

His sweatpants fell to the floor, the sticky white cum coating his length as well as the inside of his pants. He stripped himself of his shirt before turning on the shower. Hesitantly, he touched his sullied length, a small grin gracing his features as he awed at how this sticky mess was all due to you.

Jaehyun called your name as he felt his member stiffen once more, growing with desire.

“Do you uh- Want to do it for real?”

Scoffing in disbelief, you slapped the door once again.

“What?”

He opened the door slightly and you were able to see his naked form, his pectorals flexing slightly as he covered himself. His gaze flitted from yours to where his hand covered before meeting your gaze once again.

“No,” you huffed, “You’re on probation.”

“What? Why?” he drawled.

He already knew, you didn’t need to explain.

“Come on-” he tried, “You liked it~”

“Well, yeah- I’m weak for my manipulative boyfriend.”

“I’m not manipulative...”

“Yes, you are! Stop acting innocent- That stupid smile and dumb dimples!” you argued pointedly, “You sweet talk to get whatever you want-”

You weren’t mad; his techniques were rather impressive and you did admit you didn’t mind being wrapped around his finger, it was just as beneficial for you as him... most of the time.

He chuckled again before closing the door, accepting defeat and impatient to take care of himself in the shower.

“Let’s snuggle after-”

[hayaisreal]

sakura “sasha” vasilisa akiyama

iii

February 23rd, 2015.

1:34 AM PST.

They kiss and it’s electric, Harry gasping against her mouth. Sasha’s own lips, spit-slicked and bitten raw, split open in response, her taste on the tip of his tongue. It’s desperate and frantic, his body slamming hers into the door behind them, dark-stained wood rattling in its frame. His hands explore everything he can reach feverishly, tugging on the fabric littering her skin, seemingly far too much of it, suffocating them both. A seam rips with his uncoordinated movements, the tear of it echoing through the guest house presently sheltering them; the thin lace of her bra is torn open at the cup, and Harry swallows, feeling the point of her nipple pebbling against the pads of his fingertips when he rushes forward to touch her, pinching it with two fingers. She moans and the noise is like music to his ears. “I’m sorry,” he apologizes for the ruined garment, breath heavy, even though he really isn’t apologetic in the slightest, wedging his thick, muscular thigh between her two lithe ones. She rocks down against him, and though the thick denim he wears separates him from her directly, the thought that she’s rubbing herself on him still makes his trousers grow impossibly tighter.

Harry hadn’t anticipated snogging Sasha when Liam and Lily offered the two of them his guest house, but he can’t say he’s complaining.

“Please,” Sasha whines, voice barely audible between pants. He isn’t sure what she’s pleading for exactly, but he’s resigned to give her whatever it is she wants. Her hips pick up, thrusting, angling down against his thigh, and Harry’s tongue matches her speed with exploratory finesse. She’s dripping, already a wet spot formed in the lace panel of her knickers, and it’s seeped through the fabric and onto his jeans. The filthy sight makes him groan, though if anything, the noise resembles more of a growl than anything else. Harry’s dizzy, dizzy on the Krug champagne that had bubbled down his throat earlier, dizzy on the scent lingering in the strands of Sasha’s hair, dizzy on the way her mouth tastes. It’s all too much, a type of sensory overload he doesn’t wish to stop, and he feels her delicate hand reach between them, palming the hard bulge rutting into her stomach.

“Harry, y’feel so big,” she murmurs, tone alight with wonder as another whimpery moan slips out, high-pitched and louder than they probably should be, especially when Liam and Lily’s bedroom window opens directly into the courtyard in front of their private sleeping quarters. But that’s always been a turn on for Harry, doing what he isn’t supposed to, girls being louder than they probably should. Though it’s usually some fame-hungry groupie instead of another musician, his now technical employee. “Can’t believe you’re my boss now,” she adds, almost as if reading his mind. Her own fingers, shaking, timid, work on the buttons trailing down his tattooed chest. Once the fabric parts from his skin, her palms replace it, skirting against his abs. “Bet Jeff didn’t quite have this in mind when he drew up that contract for me, did he?” The contract she had signed more than willingly, Harry recalls, though he ignores the thought of Jeff, especially when it threatens the stiffy he sports.

“Mmm-mm,” Harry shakes his head, breathing deeply against where her collarbone dips and meets her throat, the gust of air it creates leaving goosebumps in its wake. He rips her bra the rest of the way off, torn from her frame, thrown casually over his shoulder, discarded, unnecessary. Like the rest of what she wore. He’s obsessed with her chest, mouth dipping lower, inching against the swell of her breast, tongue laving around the peak of it. Sasha grips the curls at the nape of his neck, drawing him closer. “Dirty little thing you are, hm?” He inquires, glancing up to meet her stare in the darkness, the two of them bathed only in the fleeting moonlight filtering in through billowing curtains. “Naughty enough to get off on the thought of your new boss chewing on those pretty little tits, yeah?” His words make her moan and the sound is all the encouragement he needs.

-

Six hours earlier.

There’s something about Malibu that has always captivated Harry, even if Liam’s towering estate is technically nearing the Pacific Palisades instead. It’s the view that enthralls him most, a haphazard, careless sea he watches from a wrap around balcony, waves sometimes calm, sometimes not, crashing repeatedly against sand. Something about the repetition of the ocean’s cycle comforts him, the predictability of it, he’s sure. When everything in his life proves to be muddled by his destructive moodiness and the chaos that lies beyond his control, the ocean is a constant. So maybe he should be inside, socializing with Liam’s guests and entertaining, like he’d always been good at, but instead he downs the rest of his Krug and remains by himself.

He hears a door slide open behind him, though he doesn’t turn to see who it could be. He’s greeted by the sound of high-heels click-clacking against the pavement beneath the soles of his own Gucci loafers instead. “I invited her, y’know,” Lily moves into place besides him, leaning against the railing, sipping from her own pristinely waxed wine glass filled with Malbec. “Asked Jeff for her number. Figured she makes you happy… a lot happier than those other girls do.” Lily may have been quiet, but she was always observant, a watchful eye following Harry whenever Liam brought her in tow. And maybe, just maybe, she was better at reading his emotions than he was at hiding them. He doesn’t speak nor argue against her point, simply bathes in the timbre of her words and the silence that follows. She invited her, Sasha. He knew without even having to hear her name. His heart rate picks up, racing. “I don’t mean to pry or anything, but I’m sure the whole situation is intimidating. Her… that… guy…” Harry’s thankful Lily doesn’t utter his name. “But you’re a good person, Harry. Despite how hard you try to change that, you are. And I think you don’t let yourself be happy. But you should.”

Lily finishes her wine, as if the act itself is all the punctuation she needs, before turning and retracing the path she had woven only minutes before, leaving Harry to ponder her assertion.

-

He needs to fuck her. Immediately. Yeah, he liked taking things slow with girls that mattered like she did, especially when he hadn’t felt so wrapped up in another person in so long, maybe ever, but he didn’t have the patience for it, not when she was that willing and ready and his dick was as hard as it was. With her back still pushed up against the wood of the door and her legs splayed open for him to fit between, he works on unfastening the loops of her leather belt, yanking her patterned skirt down to her knees, past her ankles, her barely-there panties following suit. Her lips suck on his jaw when he turns to his own trousers, the sensation nearly derailing his current train of thought. It takes him longer to undress himself, tangled in his own jeans when they slip down his thighs, though he leaves his pants on, the front of them sticky with his own arousal. “How bad d’you want it, little one?” He taunts, rutting his hardness against her where the two fit together, the friction nearly too much and not enough all at once. “Gonna need to use y’words.”

Sasha gulps, nails digging into his taut shoulders, pinpricks of pain nearly as enthralling as the pleasure rocketing red hot through his stomach as she grinds against him. “Please.” Mewling, Saya lifts one leg to wrap entirely around his waist, positioning her center perfectly over his, like two pieces of the same puzzle locked securely together. She’s still wearing her shoes, platformed sandals that grant her a few extra inches and allow her mouth to reach his perfectly when her neck is slanted upwards, lips pouting for more. “I’ll be your good girl, make you feel so so good, Har. Wanna ride you and suck you and make you cum. Please, let me be your good girl.” She’s almost as skilled with her words as he is, like it’s a personal competition between the two of them, who can rile the other up more, and he swears, he’s met his match in her.

“Wanna be my good girl?” He asks, not expecting an answer.

Swallowing around nothing, she nods. “Please, daddy.”

He had never gotten off to the name before, but for some reason, coming from Sasha, he had never wanted to hear anything else. It makes him moan, a filthy, booming noise that vibrates through his ribcage against her own, shaking Harry to his very core. He relents then, unable to resist her begging, especially when she begs like that, and tugs his underwear off as quickly as he can muster, erection springing free from its confines.

“S’really big,” Saya speaks in marvel, irises wide and clouded with lust when she touches him, bare, for the first time. She grips him and moves up and down in slow, calculated strokes, spreading his pre-cum. “And pretty too. Cock’s aren’t supposed to be pretty, but yours is.” It’s like she knows exactly how to get under his skin, feeding his ego and forcing his eyes to roll back into his head.

“Up,” he orders, tapping against her hip.

“You sure you can hold me?” She blinks at him in question. He nearly laughs. Of course he can. But he doesn’t say that, only nods. Sasha follows his instruction, lifting her other leg until Harry’s fully supporting her weight in his hold with ease, arms wrapped around her lower back. She isn’t much, tiny and thin and lighter than some of the weights he can deadlift at the gym, and he feels his bareness slide between her wet, slippery folds, the sensation nearly too much.

“Y’ready fo’ me, pet, hm?” He pauses, sentence slurring with the thickness of his accent, transformed into something far more Northern in his desire. He tucks a loose, dip-dyed curl behind her ear, finger smoothly running against her curved, pierced cartilage. It’s a simple, modest embrace, one he doesn’t think too much of, but it shows his forethought, his concern. Harry wants to make sure she wants this as much as he does.

Though Sasha doesn’t answer him, instead reaches between them again and slips his hard cock inside of her, bare, without any hesitation. Harry nearly sputters, choking against her. He’d never had sex without a condom before, not when sex usually meant something a lot less significant and instead proved to be the greatest risk of all. He couldn’t be bare, not when he could barely even trust that his partners would keep his sexual tastes and impulses to themselves without signing an NDA beforehand, a precaution he hated but took every time. Every time except this one. Almost sensing his worry, she placates him simply, hushed. “Got an IUD. Can’t get pregnant.” The last word broken in two as Harry pulls all the way out before rushing balls deep again, hips snapping quickly, passionately into hers, filling her entirely. His minders had told him never to trust a girl with her own birth control, but like she trusted his opinion on Jeff, he trusts her. “Fuck. You’re the biggest I’ve ever had.” Another stroke to his ego that forces him to thrust in her quicker and harder, offering her entrance all he has, a physical manifestation of all his pent up yearning.

He’d wanted her so badly. And now he had her.

-

Two and a half hours earlier.

He sees her after she disappears for a while, an endless stream of legs prancing through Liam’s sitting room in her impossibly short mini skirt, and maybe Harry was getting considerably more pissed as the night wore on, but she kept glancing at him with that gleam in her expression, like a shared secret just between them, and he could hardly take her teasing any longer. He didn’t care if Drake was her boyfriend, or just some rich jerk she fucked. Harry would make her forget all about the wanker.

He grabs Sasha by the waist as she floats by, pulling her down into his lap with a shrill squeak of undoubtable cuteness, the hem of her skirt riding up the backs of her thighs. She laughs, hitting his shoulder with an open palm though settling into his hold quite effortlessly, neither moving to free herself from his grip nor shifting out of his lap. Rather, she nestles back against his chest. Her cheeks were hot and twinged pink and he’d noticed she’d been the one splitting those indulgent bottles of Malbec with Lily, and, much like him, had to be sporting a pretty solid buzz. Her giggles never cease as she shakes her head.

“You’re a real tease, y’know that?” She admonishes him, and he can’t help but to chuckle.

“I’d say you’re the proper tease, love. Do you have any idea how incredibly ravishing you look in that little outfit?” His thoughts worm their way from the deepest, darkest corner of his brain to spew out of his mouth now, of all times, but surprisingly, the girl in his lap, whom he’d only known for a few days, at best, was hardly perturbed any. Instead, her flushed cheeks darken further as she avoids meeting his eye contact. Harry had always been a big fan of eye contact. Saya could barely bring herself to look at him.

She clears her throat, voice dropping lower, for only Harry to discern. “Don’t start something you can’t finish, Harry.” It’s a warning and Harry’s undoing all at once.

Laughing at his own joke before he even says it, he presses his face closer, releasing the words into her hair. “Promise, love, I definitely’ll be able to finish.”

-

He knows he isn’t going to last much longer, or at least, not as long as he’d like to, not when she clenches impossibly down onto his length, and the thought of cumming too soon nearly kills him. Harry doesn’t relent his movements though, instead holding onto Sasha tighter as he fucks her against the guest house’s front door, one hand gripping the cheek of her ass and the other slowly wrapping punishingly around her neck. He isn’t sure why he does it, fingers pressing into her jugular, tight enough to force the air out of her, just the way she had begged him too. He had never done it before, never gotten off to the idea of choking someone like he was now, but the sight of Sasha, breathless, urgent, calling him ‘Daddy,’ rushes him faster and faster over the deep end. She begins to cum first, catching him off guard, her body twitching beyond her control with the force of her orgasm ripping through her nerve endings from head to toe. Harry releases her neck, instead tracing figure eights against her sensitive clit. “Feel good, yeah? Your little cunt’s gonna cum for me, baby? Gonna soak m’cock and make me all filthy?” He hums.

She’s panting, wheezing as he works her through her pleasure before she speaks again, egging him on. “Yes, daddy. Want you to cum too. Wanna feel it in me. Please.”

And Harry, ever the gentleman, could hardly say no to that, not when she asks so nicely. He mashes their lips together, a sorry excuse for a kiss but one that suffices the need for one in the heat of the movement. “Love a little girl with manners,” he growls against her lips before releasing inside of her, a thick stream of cum that makes her feel impossibly full, all of him, like he was breeding her. He knows she can’t get pregnant, but even just the idea of it makes his dick twitch from its place within her.

They’re silent for a spell, Harry still supporting her weight propped against the door before she speaks, fingers carding through his hair. “Don’t think I ever came so hard before.”

He laughs. “Me neither.” Moving, he slips from inside of her and watches as his release drips down her thighs. The sight nearly gets him hard again.

“You’re amazing,” he mutters, offering her a concise peck. “And I think you’ve got me pussy-whipped.”

She grins back up at him. “As it should be.”