#that was way longer than i intended it to be when i decided to type it up.

[regret-breathing]

last night i had a dream that my ex girlfriend was getting married to Armie Hammer. I was invited to the wedding, and invited to be her maid of honor, because we were secretly sleeping together and she needed moral support from her lover while she got married to her awful fiance. Also because like, even if we hadnt been sleeping together I imagine she wouldve brought me along because in the dream she had like. Just gotten back from the ISS (or dream equivalent, she was an astronaut in the dream, she isnt an astronaut in real life), and was not really prepared to be in a huge public event after being in space for a considerable amount of time. you know how it is when you come back from being in space after a considerable amount of time.

this is loooong so. yeah. the rest is under the cut.

anyway so I’m at this wedding, helping my secret lover get ready and helping keep The Fucking Hammers (who were giving extreme Bluths from arrested development energy) at bay as much as possible. wedding’s being held on this GOOORGEOUS little secluded island off the coast that they own (ew), we’re enjoying the sea air, we’re eating bonkers delicious food that probably cost enough to feed me for a year, when she fills me in about The Book.

Apparently in my dream world the Hammers have this whole ritualistic practice centered around The Family Book, a massive ancient tome supposedly containing the signatures of every Hammer dating back centuries, as they sign some sort of oath or contract when they come of age. Think like. what if the eagens from severance had the same unsettling religiosity but it was more antisemitic blood rituals trope and less corporate strategy. there were holidays about this book there were seasonal traditions about this book they were on some wild shit with this book. according to dream-ex “all old families like them have something like that”. i dunno man this book feels a lil fucked up, and again a little too close to some antisemitic tropes idk why my heavily jewish brain did this to me.

Anyway so she tells me all this because apparently it’s Hammer tradition that as a part of weddings, they have a private ceremony before the legal one where they properly induct those their children choose to marry into the Family, and so have them Sign The Family Book. i’ll be expected to go and serve as Witness, because i’m the maid of honor. she says it like it like it’s some great and incredible honor, to see the book signing ceremony as an outsider (and of course be sworn to secrecy as long as i shall live).

I’m like o.o maybe tell ppl that before they accept being your maid of honor, but fuck it! in the dream i love this girl so i’m like, in for a penny in for a pound i’ll go to your scary blood contract party to help you stay calm during it. so after everyone getting ready, she’s in her beautiful wedding dress I’m inexplicably wearing the himemiya anthy red wedding dress from utena (but without the crown or gloves) and i gotta say this is the first truly unbelievable thing in this dream so far. i wouldve worn a suit it wouldve been great and i got some audacity but i knooow i wouldnt roll up to my secret lover’s wedding in an anime wedding dress thats just gauche. and reeeeally obvious. im a bit buffooonish at times but im slicker than that.

So we’re all prepped and pretty and it’s wedding time, dream-ex is understandably anxious, i’m understandably anxious, and someone waylays us in the halls of the (seriously goooorgeous) venue to let us know it’s time for the Book Signing. we follow them to the chamber, and it is Weird in there. Basically, picture a very large cavernous room, totally dark in there, no windows, inky almost cave-like blackness. at the center theres like a corporate looking metal-and-glass conference table with super tall backed matching chairs, illuminated only by these blinding spotlights that blare down at each seat at the table, a double wide one encapsulating the two seats at the head of the table for the couple getting married. i like just woke up im glad i still remember this because it was an insane visual.

the whole collected living Hammer family is gathered around the table, all looking solemn and almost grim, they turn to us and beckon us warmly to join them at the table, she is seated to the left of her fiance at the head of the table, and i am next to her across the corner because i guess thats where the witness goes. Armie Hammer (first time i see him in the dream) is wearing basically the same fit he wore in Sorry To Bother You, except with the biggest Sonic blue high tops you ever seen. vividly remember these shoes. it’s kinda swaggy. He is also clutching the largest clearly hand bound leather tome i ever seen in real life, with slighly mismatched pages, dark almost black leather, with notably a large brownish stain on the spine where supposedly Grampappy Hammer fatally struck a rival with it and they’ve respectfully never cleaned the stain to remember.. something. i think there was a reason. this was an anecdote people were telling the whole fucking time. heard it like 4 times over the course of the wedding. miserable vibe. So he’s clutching this book tight, barely acknowledging his fiancé (dick move but i guess he was swept up in the ceremony), only occasionally mumbling to his best man, his brother (i have no idea if armie hammer has a brother but my dream said he did so im going with it).

i dont remember how or why but i guess dream-ex made an excuse to leave for a second?? or maybe im misremembering and i got there first and she was late?? or something?? but i pretty clearly remember getting there together so maybe she made an excuse to go to the bathroom or something i dunno. either way she steps out for a moment and im like. pretty heavily spooked by being alone with The Collected Hammers And Their Fucked Up Book in this Creepy Weird Ritual Chamber. the vibes are Off. theres sort of awkward chatter and I try to participate but Armie Hammer gives me a Look when i try so i shit tf up. Eventually dream-ex comes back, and she’s visibly more anxious than before. I try to discretely check in on her and she brushes me off, but sort of slowly takes my hand which is a little weird because we’d agreed not to do pda around the Hammers.

Then. Fucking. Okay. If you’re ever in this situation for whatever reason. DO NOT. DO THIS. TO ANYONE YOU LOVE. But yeah so she’s taken my hand, takes a pause while the Hammers look confused at her, and before the booksigning can begin she says she has something to say, and fucking TELLS THEM ALL THAT WE HAVE BEEN HAVING AN AFFAIR. I am flabbergasted right, we’d agreed that she was gonna go through with the wedding and i was cool about it because i woudlnt want to fuck over the Hammers they scare me. but yeah so she totally blindsides me with this, and i get it right i woudlnt want to sign their fucking book either, she probably made the right call, but cmonnnnn at least let your secret lover know BEFORE you tell the richest people ever that youve been screwing behind their backs WHILE THEYRE CARRYING THE MURDER BLOOD BOOK. So the Collected Hammers are shocked right, i’m surprised but kinda impressed by her absolute audacity, she’s doing a great job of appearing calm even though by the grip she has on my hand she’s freaking out, and Armie Hammer is just utterly confused by this turn of events. And she takes it one step FURTHER. she tells them that she fully intends to marry ME that day instead of Armie Hammer, when we’re on their private wedding island, with a wedding ceremony they paid for, surrounded by 100% of living Hammers and VERY few other guests, and I WAS NOT AWARE SHE WAS PLANNING THIS. and at this point, yknow what, i gotta give it up to dream-ex. brass fucking balls. looking Known Cannibal Armie Hammer in the face and telling him shes been fucking around on him, that hes not getting married today, and that some fucking dyke is gonna steal his girl right in front of him, all while he’s holding The Family Book no less. He’s gone from shocked staring at her, to death glaring at me, and im pretty sure hes gonna murder me with the book, or maybe his family will kill me with their hands because theyre looking Agitated, but he sort of sighs and just tells us to get out. And we do! we leave the spooky vaguely antisemitic corporate ritual chamber and get the fuuuuuck out of there.

admittedly not very far it’s not like we leave the island or anything, all the boats are Hammer boats. we go back to her dressing room and i’m like forreal we’re getting married today?? she seems relieved not to be marrying into the Hammers and doesnt seem like she thinks we’re about to die so i decide not to be unhappy with being blindsided like that. shes like yeah and im sort of giddy, theres some smooching, etc etc etc.

So we go to the much more normal wedding ceremony, which I’m expecting to be empty because like 80% of the guests were Hammers or Hammer adjacent, but it’s a full fucking house, and it is some WEIRD energy in there. We get married by the priest (who I’m pretty sure looking back is the priest from the season 4 finale of Peep Show), irl i wouldve been pretty salty about having a christian wedding but i guess when youre stealing someone else’s wedding and are pretty sure theyre gonna kill you because Armie Hammer is still holding The Book, you try not to be a stickler about it not being a rabbi. So we get married to utter silence from the host of Hammers and a modest amount of dream-ex’s family, it’s awkward, theres a smooch, yaaay woo should be the end of the dream right? right?

wrong!! because my brain hates me and wants to put me through MORE torture, for some reason instead of just getting on a boat to the mainland and finding somewhere Not Full Of Hammers to celebrate, we fucking go to the reception! for some reason!! and inexplicably, so does the entire Hammer family. It’s a nice party, the vibes are BAD but the food remains excellent the drinks are frighteningly expensive and the decor is tasteful if a little bleak, we’re sitting very awkwardly at the Big Table completely surrounded by Hammers and Armie is still holding the fucking Book for some reason, I’m trying not to look too frightened so i can make sure dream-ex is okay, i give us plenty of excuses to leave but dream-ex steps on every one of them, insisting on staying in the Hammer Zone. We do try to stay around her small number of guests though, spending time with her parents, answering lots of bewildered questions about how the fuck this happened, generally avoiding the Hammers as much as possible who for some reason DO NOT LEAVE. I dunno i guess it’s their island so whatever but if i were Armie Hammer and my fiancee ran out on me and then stole my wedding and claimed squatters rights to stay there I think I’d just go home???? maybe that’s just me but I’d definitely bounce if I were the Collected Hammers.

Oh right another awkward wrinkle— dream-ex is an astronaut in this dream right, so she’s been back from the ISS for a while now, and part of why she was getting married at all is because either the following day or two days later or something she was either going back up to the ISS for another shift up there or maybe to the moon??? i remember people mentioning the moon, but i dunno because like, they dont stay on the moon forever, doesnt seem like astronauts stay on the moon for even a full day, so it’s not like a Getting Shipped Out To War thing where you get married before you go because you might not come back and if you do youll be gone a while thing, right?? it’s a moon visit not a moon stay, right??? i think???? but from my memory people kept bringing up the damn moon so i gotta assume it was a moon trip even if that doesnt make a lot of sense to me. I dunno near the end of the dream is where i forget a lot of it. but yeah so she’s getting asked questions about the moon, I’m getting death glares from the family and sniffing my food for poison, we both look fantastic, she’s kind of getting tired of me hovering around making sure she’s alright which isnt a great sign for the marriage but yknow what it’s been a long day no reason to read too far into it.

Eventually, I take a little smoke break because she seems like shes getting overwhelmed by me being there, and I call a different ex of mine (one who i actually talk to in real life as opposed to dream-wife-ex who i havent spoken to irl in like four years minimum) to complain about the Hammers because hahahaaaa they never got to do the ceremonyyyy so i wasnt sworn to secrecy about their boooooook naa naa na boo boo.

And that’s the whole saga. i don’t remember what happened after that but i think i woke up pretty soon after. weird fucking dream.

but yeah if any fancy dream interpreters wanna tell me what the fuck any of THAT means do let me know.

[ro-is-struggling]

Earn It || Spencer Reid x Reader

Summary: While Spencer was away on a case, you had no better idea than to send him spicy pictures of yourself as a way to encourage him to work harder to get home fast. You ignored his warnings and orders to stop and now that he was back home it was time to face the consequences of acting like a spoiled brat. 

Warnings: SMUT MINORS DNI, porn without plot, established relationship, dom!spencer, sexting, masturbation, bondage, dirty talk, cum eating, deprivation of touch used as punishment (if that makes sense? idk it's just porn)

English is not my first language

Word count: 3300

Notes: idk what this is, I have had this idea in my mind for a while now and I only wrote it because someone left me a nice message praising my spencer smut, so enjoy, I guess

You were buzzing with anticipation, counting down the minutes until Spencer got home. You knew you'd be in trouble —it was clear from the short messages he'd sent you—, but that was part of the fun. You had crossed the line this time. The messages you had sent him while he was stuck at work could only be described as torture. But you couldn't be held accountable for your actions, at least not completely. You missed him-his touch, his lips on yours, the sound of his voice calling your name-and you wanted to make sure he knew it. 

Spencer had been away from home for too long, working a few states over to catch a killer who targeted young, blonde women. It was apparently a tough case so for the last few weeks you had to settle for talking to him on the phone late at night. Hearing his voice before bedtime was nice, comforting, but over time it stopped being enough. You missed having him by your side at night, feeling his warmth and the touch of his fingers on your skin. You missed his kisses, his soft lips caressing your body while you whispered his name into the darkness of the night....

It was clear that phone calls were no longer enough to satiate your need for him, so in a moment of impulsive arousal you decided to give him a little incentive to work harder to come home to you. You were simply showing him what he was missing.

The first picture you sent him was simple and tasteful, a conscious choice intended to lure him into your trap. It only showed the lower half of your face, your lips drawn into a sad pout. It also showed part of your chest which was covered by one of Spencer's shirts. It had the first few buttons undone, showing your collarbone and the mound of your breasts, but nothing more. You sent it with a simple 'I miss you', hoping he had his phone nearby to see it.

His reply came not long after, and you almost felt bad for what you were about to do when you read his innocent and oblivious 'I miss you too :(‘. You replied with another photo, this time much more revealing. The shirt was unbuttoned now, revealing the cute red lace bra that hugged your breasts. It was Spencer's favorite and you knew it was going to have the desired effect on him. 'I wish you were here...' you wrote before you sent it. And without waiting for a reply you sent him another picture, this time showing the full lingerie being, posing in a provocative way. Without hesitation you wrote 'to rip it off my body' and pressed send. 

You knew your little plan had worked because Spencer didn't answer for quite a while. He had seen the messages, but he was probably too stunned and busy to reply to you. When he finally did, it was a warning. 'Behave.' was all he wrote back, but you ignored it. In the next picture you sent him you had removed your bra, your hard nipples framed perfectly in the picture. Two of your fingers were lost between your lips, the red lipstick slightly smudged at the corners. 'I wish they were your fingers' you typed and Spencer's reply was another warning. 'But I guess mine will have to do for now' you ignored him once again, sending him a video of you burying those same fingers inside you as you moaned his name. 

Your provocative messages didn't stop until you came, but even though you knew Spencer had seen them, he didn't reply. Nor did he call you that night like he had been doing every day. He was silent for two whole days. Two long days in which you kept wondering if maybe you had taken things too far. It was torture waiting for some kind of sign from him that would bring you some relief, but when you read the message he sent you knew that had been his intention all along.

'I'm on my way home. I want you in bed wearing the red set by the time I get there.' was all he wrote and you knew he was angry. Spencer was going to make you pay for behaving so badly and you couldn't help but wonder what method he would use to teach you a lesson. Punishments were always creative with him. Spencer wasn't very keen on violence during intimacy, it reminded him too much of his job, you supposed. He was rough in bed when he was in the mood for it and never objected to giving you a spanking or two when you deserved it, but he didn't enjoy making you cry in pain or leaving severe marks on your skin. 

Spencer was more of a soft, pleasure dom, which meant that most of the time he was more intense than aggressive. He loved the irony of using pleasure to create pain, often overstimulating you to the point that your body would scream for him to stop. His domination over you was more subtle, more psychological, so his punishments always had a hint of irony in them. The worst one —and at the same time, the best one– had been once you had come without his permission. His way of teaching you a lesson that time was forcing you to cum over and over again, attacking your abused pussy with his fingers, his tongue and a vibrator without giving you hardly any time to recover between orgasms.

You wondered if Spencer had something similar in mind, the very idea frightening and exciting you at the same time. Your clit throbbed between your legs, your panties ruined with your arousal before Spencer even got to lay a finger on you. That was the effect he had on you. All he had to do was send you a stupid message and your whole body would begin to tingle with anticipation, waiting for his command.

When you heard the sound of the apartment door opening you almost jumped out of bed with joy. There was nothing you wanted more than to run into your boyfriend's arms and shower him with kisses as you told him how much you had missed him. But you knew you couldn't —or, rather, shouldn't— do that. Spencer wanted you in bed, wearing his favorite lingerie, and that's exactly what you did. Even though it was a little late to play nice now, you didn't want to give him any more reason to prolong your punishment —whatever it was. So you settled on the bed, putting yourself in a suggestive pose and waited patiently for Spencer to enter the room.

He took his time and you knew he was doing it on purpose. Your punishment had begun the moment you decided to ignore his warnings and now you had no choice but to accept it. Listening to his footsteps walking around the apartment, knowing that he was only a couple of feet away without being able to do anything about it was a real torture, but you deserved it.

"I'm disappointed in you," was the first thing Spencer said when he finally entered the room. He had that hard look in his eyes that he always gave you when you disobeyed him - the one that told you it was in your best interests to listen to him. His pupils were widened, the beautiful hazel color almost completely taken over by the darkness of desire in his eyes. You shifted nervously on the bed, suddenly feeling small under his intense gaze. Spencer walked toward you and you felt like an animal trapped by the predator that wanted to eat it. There was nowhere to run.

"You've been a very bad girl," he clicked his tongue in disapproval, bringing his hands to his neck to loosen the knot of his tie. "Teasing me with those pictures while I was at work, ignoring my warnings, cuming without my permission." Spencer shook his head and you sunk your teeth into your lower lip. The tone in his voice —too calm for someone in his position— almost made you regret your little stunt. Almost. "If you want to act like a spoiled brat, I'll treat you like one."

Spencer ordered you to sit on the bed with your back against the headboard. You obeyed without question, knowing that this was not the best time to complain. You watched him remove his tie in one tug, twisting the soft fabric in his hands before approaching you. He was careful in tying your wrists to the headboard, his fingers barely grazing your skin as he made sure to limit your movements, leaving you completely at his mercy. It was torture to feel him so close and not be able to touch him. Not to mention how incredibly frustrating it was that his hands barely rested on you when it was strictly necessary, as if your skin was burning him. You hated it, but when you let out a whine of protest, Spencer gave you a look that let you know it was best to keep your mouth shut. 

"You're going to stay there and keep your eyes on me at all times." He stated with a calmness in his voice that should have alarmed you. But instead of wondering what he was up to —and what that calm meant to you— your mind was distracted by the slow movement of his hands as he unbuttoned his shirt, revealing himself to you. " Now you'll know how I felt when I saw your pictures and those videos of you pleasuring yourself while I was stuck at work, unable to do anything about it."

Spencer moved closer to you, leaning down to be at eye level with you. The air caught in your throat as you stared at him, fearing that your mere breath might somehow cause him to pull away from you again. His gaze was firm, intimidating, but hidden among all the desire and lust you could still make out a glimmer of the characteristic softness in his eyes. It was an interesting contrast, captivating. It reminded you that no matter how rough he might be at the moment, the sweet, loving, everyday Spencer was just a word away.

You could hardly believe he was touching you when he took your face in one of his hands. His warm, slender fingers pressed over your cheeks, forcing your lips into a pout. He used his grip to tilt your head up to make sure your eyes never left his at any time. He had you trapped between his hand and his eyes, frozen still as you anxiously awaited his next words.

"Now you'll be the helpless one. You'll be the one that has to sit back and watch as I pleasure myself, tied to the bed, unable to do anything to relieve the pressure between your legs."

After removing the last of his clothes, Spencer settled himself on the opposite side of the bed. He made sure you had the best view of him and his hard cock before he began to pleasure himself. Your eyes followed the movement of his hand as if you were being hypnotized. Up and down, up and down, his hand moved along his shaft while his mouth let out the sweetest moans you had ever heard. Every little gasp he let out went straight to your center, that throbbed desperate for attention. Spencer sounded desperate and you wondered if he hadn't relieved himself since you had sent him those pictures.

You fought your bonds without even realizing it, your body responding in its own accords to Spencer's stimulation. He didn't scold you for it, on the contrary he seemed to enjoy it. He increased the pace of his hand slightly, his eyes never leaving your figure. The way they roamed over your body —slowly moving down from your face to your neck, stopping at the curve of your breasts before trailing their way down your abdomen and to your legs— almost felt like his caresses. If you concentrated hard enough you could feel the ghost of his fingers following the path of his eyes. But it wasn't enough, not when you were trapped listening to Spencer's moans, watching his hand move up and down his cock as his tip leaked precum. Your mouth watered at the sight, yearning to feel the weight of his cock against your tongue. You could almost taste the salty treat on your tongue, your brain recreating it as best it could. It was criminal that he wouldn't let you touch him when he was so close to you. 

"Like what you see?" Spencer mocked you as a pathetic whimper managed to escape your lips. "It's such a shame you were so bad 'cause right now you could be the one touching me... And I could be pleasuring you."

"Yes, please! I'm sorry, I won't do it again. Just please, I need it." you begged, momentarily excited by the mention of him pleasuring you. You were willing to do anything to end this torture. 

But Spencer wouldn't budge. "Oh, I know you do, baby. I can see the wet spot in your panties from here. But I can't give it to you. Only good, obedient girls get what they want and you have been very, very bad."

He enjoyed every second of your torture, delighting in the whimpers you let out and the way you struggled against your bonds. Your body squirmed deliciously on the bed, protesting against the lack of attention. Spencer responded to your whimpers with moans, being more vocal than usual to prolong your torture. Every sound he let out increased the fire in your stomach along with your frustration. Your pussy tightened around nothing, desperate for attention. The pressure in your tummy was too much, almost unbearable. You needed relief, whatever would help you take the edge off. 

You didn't even realize you were squeezing your legs together until it was too late. You were desperate and while the little friction your thighs provided as you squirmed was not enough, it was better than nothing. Your clit pulsed with every little movement, your juices trickling down your legs and making your job easier. You closed your eyes for a moment, trying to concentrate on the subtle tingling between your legs to see if you could increase the pleasure that way somehow. The moan that fell from your lips was pathetic, a mixture of pleasure and frustration that alerted Spencer to your little trick just as you were getting somewhere.

You snapped your eyes open as you felt the impact of his hand against your calf. Spencer gave you a stern look, his expression blank as he forced your legs apart again. "You do that again and I won't let you cum tonight, am I clear?"

"Yes, sir!" you whimpered, feeling your hope renewing at the promise of a future orgasm. "I'm sorry! I'll be good, I promise."

It was real torture to have Spencer so close, naked and stroking his cock inches away without being able to touch it. His moans were getting louder and louder, his words dirtier and more condescending —praising your expression of desperation and mocking the way you twisted against your bonds. Your desperation increased along with the speed of his hands, which worked increasingly faster to bring him to the edge of pleasure. He was close, you could feel it, and as pathetic as it sounded, so were you. Your underwear was ruined, soaked with the juices of your arousal. Spencer hadn't touched you, but you were sure that a simple brush against your clit was all you needed to reach your climax.

"Was it worth it, baby?" He managed to say between gasps. "Was it worth it to disobey me? Sending all those pictures just to end up like this, tied to the bed, forced to watch me pleasure myself while you get nothing." 

Oh Spencer was enjoying torturing you way too much. He wanted to break you, push you to your very limit and hear you beg for his forgiveness. He wanted you to earn your relief just as you had earned your punishment and he wasn't going to stop until you begged for mercy. In another circumstance you might have put up more of a fight, after all, it was always fun to riled him up. But you were far too desperate to feel his touch to play hard to get. You needed him, you'd been apart too long and you couldn't stand the distance a second longer. 

"No, it wasn't! I'm sorry, I shouldn't have done it. I should have listened to you. I won't do it again, I promise! I'll behave! Just, please... please." There was no way to hide the pathetic tone in your voice. You were so frustrated, so needy for attention, that you could almost feel the tears burning in your eyes. You were willing to cry if that's what it took to earn Spencer's forgiveness. You would do anything to feel his hands on you.

"Oh yeah? You'll behave?" He spoke as if he didn't believe you, a wicked smile playing on his lips as he increased the pace of his hand. "Will you stop acting like a spoiled brat and be my good, obedient little girl?"

"Yes! I'll be your good girl, I promise! I'll be so good for you, sir! Please."

Suddenly, Spencer stood up from his place on the bed, approaching you in a couple of steps. "Open up then." He commanded bringing the head of his dripping, reddened cock close to your lips. You didn't need him to tell you twice, tilting your face up as you opened your mouth and stuck your tongue out, eagerly waiting to taste him.

"That's it, that's a good girl... swallow it, swallow all of me... good girl." Spencer moaned as he came in your mouth, his hand stroking himself until he shot the very last drop of cum on your tongue. The squeal of bliss you let out at the taste of his salty flavor was pathetic, but you were too far gone to care. You eagerly swallowed everything he gave you, devouring it as if it were the sweetest candy. 

Spencer mumbled sweet praises as he came down from his high, caressing your head with his usual softness. It was a small action, but you missed his touch so much that it was enough to fill you with joy. You thought you were finally in the clear, that you had received your punishment so well that Spencer would show you mercy and finally let you touch him. But when he sat down across from you again and looked into your eyes, you noticed that the intimidating darkness was still present in them. You struggled against your bonds once more to see if he would take pity on you and untie you. But he answered you with a click of his tongue that stopped you immediately.

"You did such a good job for me, baby."  Spencer's voice was barely a husky whisper. He brought one of his fingers up to your cheek, collecting the drops of his cum that hadn't made it into your mouth. You tried to lean into his touch, but he removed his hand quickly, bringing his finger to your lips. He didn't have to tell you what to do, you automatically opened your mouth and wrapped your tongue around his finger, tasting his relief. 

"But your punishment isn't over yet. You earned your relief, but haven't earned my forgiveness yet. You still don't get to touch me. Now open those pretty legs for me. I'll give you what you want and we'll see how much you can take."

[lilmashae]

*ੈ♡‧₊˚paper thin (walls) — s.jy

cw: oral (f), unprotected sex, roommate!jake, pet-names, some plot sprinkled here and there, NOT PROOFREAD, smut (so 18+)

a/n: hi! if you're coming back to this post // revisiting and wondering, "is something different?" it is! i've decided that for longer fics (such as this one) i'll be using a larger font to contribute to the readers experience reading. thank you for the feedback everyone!

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"fuck, fuck, fuck! ah — r-right there,"

"yeah?"

"c'mon, c'mon... oh, fuck!"

you'd lost count — how long has it been? too long. how many girls have come in (and out) of his room in the last week? too many — jake must be insatiable, the 'hook-ups' must be never ending. never ending as in the loud "noise" would never end, and you'd never get any proper sleep.

"look who's finally awake!"

"go fuck yourself."

" 'ouch! that's no way to greet your favorite roommate."

"you're my only roommate, asshole."

"i know." jake hummed contently with a shit-eating grin plastered across his face, and you scoffed, " 'you like hoeing around? don't you have any hobbies?"

" 'love it," he paused, "nope. 'don't think so."

nope? no? damn right, the way those girls scream and cry out, it's a sport — a work out, a job, even. several girls would come in and out of your shared apartment, each of them having a different reaction to your presence. jake's type seemed to vary, bimbos and uptight, good girls, drunken sorority bitches to gothic, edgy ones. you began to wonder if he'd just do anything to get his dick wet. "right, well, i have a date tonight."

"so?" resting his head in his hand, jake batted his eyelashes.

"so, 'place's mine." if you were paying him any attention, you would have noticed the pout spread on his lips. "but, y/nnie— " the nickname makes you sick, you roll your eyes. "no buts! tonight y/nnie's 'gonna get laid." mockingly, you reply in a condescending tone, "booping" his nose before waltzing back into your room.

it's not that you and jake didn't get along—you two wouldn't have moved in together if that was the case. but even in highschool, before you two began living together he always had a habit of picking up strangers. "you're too nice, jake." you told him one time while walking home and he shrugged. " 'you think so?" he watched you nod as the two of you strode alongside one another. "yeah." blatantly, you mumbled under your breath. you'd always remembered that evening—insignificant as it may be. and it may have been because later that night you swore you saw jake sneak out with some girl, a big smile on his face as he waved up to you from your window. all you could do was roll your eyes, but as you walked away from the window-seal and into your bed, you somewhat wished he'd call you to go out instead.

"jake..." you walked out of your room, searching around for the tall australian. "jake," you walked up to his door, knocking once. no answer. twice, still, no answer. a third time—the last time before barging into his room. "ja—are you serious?" you deadpan. "where are your clothes, don't you have somewhere to be?"

"you're so mean, y/n. it feels like you always want me gone." he sighs, one hand (holding a towel) tangled in his hair still drying it as he sits down. "no... but, as of now, yes... i have a date." your voice sounded a bit more whiny than you had intended. "a date, or a hook-up?" jake laughed, looking up at you from his seat. "oh please, you have girls over all the time. i think it's fine for me to get laid for once."

"so you want me to leave... so you can fuck some guy?" he pauses. "for once?"

"i don't know, jake. yeah, maybe." you cross your arms and pinch the bridge of your nose. "why'd i have to leave? you're always here when i—"

"that's not the point, that's different and you know it."

"how, 'you shy or something?" it's not that, of course you're not "shy". but you'd feel guilty getting off with jake in the other room—and, sure, you've done it before; you've listened to him fuck at least a hundred girls, wishing it was you. you've also listened to him whine and stroke his dick painfully slow, debating whether or not you should barge in and drop to your knees. "no, jake. i'm not shy." you pick a shirt up off of his floor throwing it at him, as it covers his head and he laughs. "i think you are." jake gets up, walking towards you with a smirk on his face.

"am not."

"are... too." he's closer.

"no, i'm not."

"no?"

"no."

"prove it." your breath hitches in your throat—your faces are inches apart, you can feel his breath on your lips. swallowing thickly, you pout. "how..?" it's more of a whisper, and you find yourself leaning allowing him to lean into your lips. "jake," one of your hands rest on his chest as he has you caged between his arms. "my date..." "cancel it, yeah?" he whispers against your lips, crashing into them. they're pillowy and soft—his lips are just how you imagined, plush and full. "mhm," a muffled moan escaped your mouth as you feel jake's hands travel down your body, one hand cupping your cheek and the other pawing at your side. when he finally pulls away the only thing connecting the two of you is a string of saliva. "you're a pretty good kisser." he huffs, chuckling and you nod. "yeah, you're not bad." you mutter and he pulls you back in, this time his tongue swipes over your bottom lip before entering your mouth.

the hand that was once gently cupping your cheek moved to roughly unbutton your pants as he picked you up. "ah!" a small yelp left through your lips as he lifted you up, feeling his bulge through the wet spot in your underwear only made you squirm and whine into the kiss. "s'sensitive, hm, baby?" "shut up..." he sits you down on his bed, kisses still trailing down your body: from your mouth, cheek, and your neck—wet, sticky trails of spit coated your collarbones and stomach by the time he reached your core. "jake, c'mon, please." you whimpered watching as he continued to tease you, playing with the waist of the thin fabric.

finally, the path of kisses lead to your hip and then right-over your clit (which made you shiver). " 'smell so good, y/n." his nose prods at your clit as he loops his fingers under the material to play with your arousal. " 'been waiting so long to taste..." and those are his final words before diving into your cunt—moaning into your heat as his tongue laps over your folds. "f-fuck! y-you've been, ah! 'been waiting, jakey?" and he hums, sending waves of pleasure throughout your abdomen—a sigh of relief when his lips latch onto you, sucking and drooling. but right when you feel the knot in your stomach about to snap—"shit," you hiss. "n-no, jake, please." he pulls away. "s'okay sweetheart, 'want you to cum 'round my cock, princess, 'kay?" nodding feverishly, you sat up straight puling your shirt over your head and pulling jake into you by his sweatpants. "someone's eager." he smiled against your lips and you nipped at his bottom lip, bruising the soft pink skin. "well i was planning to get laid," you pause, "for once." now you've done it—you've got him riled up, and the same for him.

he knew you could hear him every-night, fucking girl after girl, after all, your apartments walls are paper thin. jake just wondered how long it'd take, or if he'd have to lure you into his bed another way. any how, it was worth it, you were worth the effort—being able to claim your sweet cunt as his own, that was worth it.

"fuck, you're so tight... 'relax f'me, cutie." jake groaned in your ear aligning himself with your sopping hole before pushing in. "you're so perfect, fucking pretty..." he kissed away the tears streaming down your eyes. the way he jerked himself before dipping his tip into your slick drove you feral (and so did the sight of his pink leaking tip)—the stretch provided alone was enough to make you want to cum on his cock, but the way he praised you made you want to hold out. with each thrust jake hit deeper and deeper, causing you to moan wildly, "fuck, m-more, more, more!" and, "please... i can take it,"'s echoing off of his bedroom walls. you feel just as good as he imagined, all those nights he'd spend jerking off couldn't compare to this one bit. "fuck, i'm 'gonna cum if you squeeze me like that, y/n."

"do it! please, cum inside..." and that only pushes him to give you more. " 'such a good girl, y/n... fuck! 'made for my cock, 'want me to cum, make you my girl, for real?"

"yes, yes, please, your girl, jake!" the aching feeling in your lower-body is satisfied as copious spurts of white coat your insides. "s'warm..." you huff out and jake giggles. "i'm a pretty good fuck, right? 'fucked you dumb?" your arms wrap around him and you plant a chaste kiss on his lips. "shut up, don't ruin the moment."

: : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : ꔫ : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : :

guidelines and disclaimers! this took me like 4 days... so too fucking long 😭 anyways she's cute i like her !! i'm sorry if it's a lil lengthy ml

[ellemj]

Time & Temptation - Roommates w/ Benefits Pt. 1

Bucky Barnes x Avenger!Reader

Summary: While the compound is undergoing a security system update, the team is moved into an apartment complex. You were initially set to room with Wanda, but Bucky makes you an offer that you don't even consider refusing.

Warnings: profanity, wet dream with unprotected sex and teasing, alcohol consumption, use of y/n, MINORS DNI, 18+!!!

Feel free to comment and let me know if this requires any other warnings.

Word Count: 3.8k

A/N: Okay, I'm super nervous about throwing something out here after Needs & Wants BUT we're doing this. It was now or never lmao. Don't forget, if you want to be notified when new parts are posted, you can add yourself to the tag list using this Google doc. It's a bit easier to add yourself vs. commenting to be tagged, because I don't always see comments before posting other parts. As usual, I have to give extra thanks to @littlemiss-yeehaw for being such an encouraging friend and for continually saving my ass by telling me what warnings my fics need.

You had been drinking. That’s the excuse you’re going with. You’d both been drinking. But is that really a valid excuse when one of you is a super soldier who’s completely unaffected by alcohol? You decide to blame Bucky Barnes. He should’ve been thinking straight. If he had been, you wouldn’t have ended up as roommates.

         As you rub the sleep from your eyes, you fight to quiet the thoughts rushing through your mind at warp-speed. You didn’t drink enough to be hungover but you’re definitely feeling the effects from the number of beers you had just a few hours ago. Your overthinking only intensifies the headache that’s currently pounding behind your eyes. Ibuprofen. You need ibuprofen. You can see that the sun hasn't come up yet, which means it’s still either very late or very early in the morning, so you try to be as quiet as possible. You don’t want to wake your new roommate. Of course, you wouldn’t have known since you've barely ever interacted with the man, but he doesn’t sleep much. When you stumble out into the hall, wearing nothing but an oversized t-shirt and a pair of black panties, you fail to notice the way Bucky’s door hangs ajar, signifying he's not in bed. You run your hand along the wall of the hallway, feeling your way to the kitchen so you won’t have to make your headache any worse by turning on a light.

         “Jesus, Bucky. What are you doing up?” You ask in a whisper, after being startled by the figure of the six-foot super soldier lurking in the kitchen. He’s shirtless, wearing only a pair of gray sweats and his dog tags, as he leans back against the edge of the countertop in near-darkness. As your eyes adjust, you let them linger over his defined chest and abs a little longer than you should have, and he notices your momentary ogling.

         “Why are you whispering?” He questions, stealing a look of his own. And why the fuck are you walking around without any pants on? His eyes trail down your body, taking in the vintage t-shirt that barely skims the tops of your thighs and your toned legs that are on full display. You’re rubbing your temples with the pads of the middle finger and thumb of your right hand, so you don’t notice his gaze. Fuck. If you’re going to share an apartment, he may have to set a ground rule about pants. Though, he didn’t initially take you for the type to prance around half-dressed, otherwise he might’ve proposed the rule before you ever went to bed.

         “What kind of beer did you give me last night?” The question rolls off of your tongue a little more accusatory than you intended as you take a few steps further into the kitchen and wave Bucky away from his place in front of the sink. He moves around the island and takes a seat on one of the barstools there, watching as you rise up on your tippy toes to pull open the medicine cabinet that sits high over the sink. Your t-shirt pulls up with the movement of your outstretched arm, dangerously close to revealing your ass to him. He clenches his jaw and looks down at the mug that’s gripped tightly between his two hands. He's dangerously close to breaking it into a hundred tiny pieces. Jesus. He’s definitely going to make wearing pants a ground rule, but he’ll wait until you’ve fully awoken to bring that up.

         “It was just beer.” He mutters, taking a sip of his hot tea. He’s not usually one to drink tea, but he’s had a particularly sleepless night and sometimes it helps. It might’ve helped, if you hadn’t waltzed in here half-dressed and woken up his entire lower half.

         “Beer from hell.” You grumble, retrieving the bottle of ibuprofen from the cabinet and shaking two of the little pills out into the palm of your hand. You put the bottle back in its place before fixing yourself a glass of water and downing the medicine. Bucky’s eyes follow your every move, but you aren't paying attention to him. “Did I really move in here?” You have to ask. You know it’s true, you know that you and Vision switched rooms last night. But still, you need to hear it from someone else.

         “Yeah.” Bucky answers dryly. You don’t remember him being so short with you when he proposed the idea a few hours ago. You let out a deep sigh before taking another sip of water.

         “There’s probably no chance Vision will switch back with me, is there?” You also know the answer to that one, but still, you ask.

         “Throwing in the towel already?” Bucky taunts, raising an eyebrow at you. Is he really challenging you over this? He was the one that suggested you and Vision switch rooms, you merely agreed to it because there was no way you could survive practically being a part of a throuple in yours and Wanda’s apartment for the next three months.

         “No, I’m just wondering if this was a good idea.” You retort, narrowing your eyes at him. Why the fuck isn’t he wearing a shirt? If you had known that he walks around like that, you definitely wouldn’t have moved in. He’s always been frustratingly attractive, even with his signature frown and reclusive nature. You really weren’t thinking straight when you rolled your suitcase in here, set your duffel bag and moving boxes down in the second bedroom, and decided to call this your new home.

         “It was either this or you were going to have to knock on your door and ask Wanda and Vision to wrap it up so you could get some sleep. The choice was yours.”

         “I was…influenced.” You claim, setting your glass on the countertop and crossing your arms over your chest. Your t-shirt once again rides up a bit and this time you catch Bucky’s eyes flitting down to your thighs. It’s fleeting, but you notice it. You know you weren’t really influenced. Bucky’s right. He simply offered a solution to your problem, and you took him up on it.

------------------ 7 Hours Earlier -------------------

         It took Bucky less than ten minutes to unpack. He really only needs his clothes, a few weapons, and a decent book when he moves from one place to another. Vision, however, didn’t unpack a single thing. He quickly settled his suitcase and boxes into his bedroom before hurrying back out to the parking garage to help Wanda with her things. Bucky imagines he probably would’ve fared well with the ladies in the 40s, though the synthetic body and infinity stone might’ve scared a few off.

         Once Bucky’s alone in the new apartment, he takes his time walking around and checking it out. It’s more spacious than he expected. When Tony said he was moving everyone into an apartment complex for at least the next three months while the tower undergoes a hefty security system update, Bucky definitely didn’t picture being moved into a luxury complex. The floor-to-ceiling windows on one side of the living room offer a stunning view of the city a couple of miles to the south, and the open floorplan makes the space seem that much bigger. Though, the kitchen being so open to the living room makes it so that the only privacy Bucky will ever have here will be behind his bedroom door. Not that he plans to hang out outside of his room very much. He didn’t do that very often back in the compound either.

         Bucky’s gaze is broken away from the view when he hears the elevator ding in the hallway, followed by Wanda and Vision whispering back and forth.

         “She’ll probably be out for at least an hour since she’s meeting Fury, but we might have even longer than that.” Wanda’s hushed tone is one that Bucky has heard plenty of times before. He’s heard it most often when it's late at night, and she and Vision are sneaking around together. They always think they’re being so stealthy, but honestly, the rest of the team has heard them getting it on on more than a handful of occasions. Tony should have just let them share a place, but Bucky understands why he didn’t. You would’ve been stuck with one of the guys. Tony thought he was doing you a favor by sticking you with Wanda, especially since the two of you are such good friends, but he failed to realize just how attached Wanda and Vision are lately. Bucky feels for you in this moment, he truly does. Though he’s never really been on your end of something like this, he was in Vision’s shoes often back in his early army days. He always had a pretty girl on his arm and he knows he made his fair share of people uncomfortable with his public displays of affection. He can’t imagine how much a roommate would’ve hated him if he’d had one back then.

         He listens as Wanda and Vision pass by his apartment and continue on down the hall. The apartment immediately next to his is going to be empty for at least a few days, since it belongs to Clint and Sam, and neither of them were in town today to be able to move in. Yours and Wanda’s apartment is the next one over. However, even all of that space between your apartment and his is no match for Bucky’s heightened sense of hearing. It’s always been more of a curse than a blessing to him, and that proves true again now, as his ears are assaulted by the sound of Vision and Wanda tearing each other’s clothes off.

---

         Your meeting with Fury was a lot shorter than usual, but he did send you back to your new apartment with an abundance of Chinese food from the hole-in-the-wall place that he chose to meet at. As you make the trek from the parking garage to the building, carrying an over-filled plastic baggy of food, you wonder if Wanda’s already started unpacking her things. Maybe she’s been working on setting up the apartment since you left and she’ll be ready for a food break. You glance down at your phone and see that it’s nearing 8 pm. You’re envisioning an evening of good food and friendly company in your new apartment, but of course, that’s not what you’ll find once you make your way upstairs.

         As soon as the elevator lets you out onto your floor, you feel like you’re in college again, making your way down the hall of a dorm building. You probably shouldn’t have gotten your hopes up about the nice little roommate dinner. You’re not even three feet away from the door when you hear the distinctive sound of a headboard slapping against the wall and it freezes you in your tracks. Shit, you can’t even go into your own apartment. You stand there like a deer in headlights for about five seconds, horrified by what you’re listening in on, before you start backtracking to the elevator. You can enjoy the food from the comfort of your own car, even if it’s fucking freezing outside. As you start walking back down the hall, you catch yourself stopping outside of Bucky’s door. Surely, he’s home. You don’t know him as well as you know the rest of the team, but you do know that he spent a lot of time in his suite back in the compound. It’s unlikely that he’s out tonight. For a brief moment, you imagine yourself knocking on his door while he sits inside and completely ignores you. Is he the type to do that? To pretend he isn’t home? Hell, forget it. You’ll just go with your original plan of eating in the car.

         Bucky heard the elevator ding when you arrived a couple of minutes ago. He probably should’ve stuck his head out into the hall and warned you, or even reached out to Sam and asked for your number so he could’ve texted you some kind of warning. He had every opportunity to spare you, but instead he sat in his apartment with some random documentary playing on the TV and a cold beer in his hand. He expected you to leave as quickly as you’d arrived, so he was surprised when he heard your footsteps stop short outside his door. If you’d had a sense of hearing anything like his, you would’ve heard him rise from the couch and make his way over to look at you through the peephole in the door. He stares at you now, seeing your nose and cheeks flushed pink from the cold weather, a bag of what looks to be takeout clutched in your left hand while your phone and keys are in your right, and an imperceptible expression written across your features. Why does he feel the sudden urge to invite you in?

         Bucky doesn’t give the situation a second thought. His hand is tugging the door open before he even realizes what he’s doing.

         “I…” You’re about to explain what you’re doing standing outside of Bucky’s door, but you don’t really feel like saying your roommate is fucking my roommate and I have nowhere else to go, so you simply hold the bag of takeout up and offer him a weak smile. “I’ll share.” You feel exposed as his eyes narrow and travel down your frame. He’s analyzing you, or maybe he’s judging you, you really can’t tell. Normally you’re someone who stands tall and holds their own, but in front of this man, you always seem to feel small. You’re about to cut your losses and ditch when Bucky pulls the door open a little more and tilts his head, inviting you in. No fucking way.

         That’s how you ended up a few beers deep on his couch, feeling more comfortable around him than you’ve ever felt in your 6 months of living across the hall from each other. In fact, you felt so comfortable, that you were actively giving him shit about not finding a way to warn you about what you nearly walked in on in your apartment earlier.

         “You knew they were going at it and you were just going to let me walk in there.” You accuse him, clutching your third beer bottle to your chest as you feign a look of offense. Bucky sits on the opposite end of the couch, his gaze feeling heavy on your face. He has this way of looking at people like he can see straight through them, and if you were a little less buzzed, you’d probably feel naked under his stare.

         “How was I supposed to warn you? Leave a sign out in the hall?” He asks, taking a long sip of his sixth beer of the night. He’s far ahead of you, yet still, you’re the only one that’s feeling any effects from the alcohol. You wonder why he even drinks if it has no effect on him. Maybe he just likes the taste.

         “You could’ve texted me, called me, sent a damn carrier pigeon, I don’t know.” As soon as the words leave your mouth, you realize that he most likely doesn’t even have your number. Not once has he ever had a reason to call or text you before, so why would he have your contact? “Give me your phone.” You say suddenly, sitting up straighter and setting your near-empty bottle on the coffee table. You hold out your hand and wait patiently as he eyes you closely. He contemplates brushing you off, but he’s finding this new side of you surprisingly amusing, so he decides to let the moment continue. He grabs his phone off of the arm of the couch and unlocks it before placing it in your open palm. You quickly create a contact for yourself, putting in only your first name and phone number. “Text me next time and tell me to stay out longer.”

         “They were going at it for nearly three hours, where would you have hid out?” Bucky wants to know. With the compound off limits, he can’t imagine anywhere else you’d go to waste that much time. Though, he doesn’t know you very well. Maybe you have friends in the city, or hell, even a boyfriend you could crash with.

         “The parking garage, Sam’s house, anywhere but here.” It seems like it’s safe to assume there’s no boyfriend if one of your first choices was Sam’s house, which is forty-five minutes away. Not that he cares. “I guess I should work on finding a good hideout for next time.” You click Bucky’s phone off and lean over the center cushion of the couch, gently setting it on his leg. Once you lean back to your side of the couch, tucking your legs in beside you and grasping your beer in your hand again, you notice Bucky staring. The look on his face is indecipherable, but you can tell that he’s deep in thought. You stare right back at him, tracing the rim of your bottle with your fingertip as you wait for him to say something. What he decides to say though, catches you completely off guard.

         “Maybe you and Vision should switch rooms.”        

-------------------Present------------------------

That’s how you ended up here. Standing in your now shared kitchen while a very shirtless Bucky Barnes continues to wonder why the hell you’re not wearing any pants. You watch him carefully as his sips something from a white mug. It looks so tiny in his hands, so fragile. You’re amazed that he can handle such a delicate item without shattering it. Your eyes begin tracing the veins that decorate the back of his flesh hand, traveling up his forearm until you reach his bicep. God, he really never misses a workout, does he? Wait, why the hell are you looking? You shake your head to clear your mind of whatever thoughts were about to enter and then grab your glass of water from the counter again.

“Goodnight, roommate.” You say somewhat sarcastically, passing behind Bucky on your way back to your room. He catches a whiff of your scent as you pass him. It’s something sweet, maybe vanilla? Whatever it is, he likes it. He rarely ever stood close enough to you before to find out that you smell so damn good. Where is his mind tonight? He’s starting to wonder if something really was off with those beers that you both had earlier.

---

         “Bucky…” His name leaves your lips as a needy moan while you arch your back and focus on his touch. His hands are alternately cold and hot, each sliding up along the outer sides of your thighs at a tantalizingly slow pace. You want to lean back against him, you want to reach between the two of you and line his cock up with your entrance yourself, you want to beg him to fuck you already. “Please.”

         “Shh, be patient, Y/n.” He coos, pressing his lips to your left shoulder. You feel his hard length slip between your legs and brush against your wet folds, teasing you relentlessly. You can’t help the way your hips grind into him, your cunt searching for friction wherever you can find it. He’s quick to grip your waist and still you, ghosting his lips up the side of your neck before they graze over the shell of your ear. “Try that again and you get nothing.” He warns. You’re trembling and he’s barely even done anything to you yet, while you stand right there on display for him, nearly bent over the kitchen sink. You let out a shaky exhale as his right hand leaves your waist. He wraps that hand around his cock and guides the head to glide back and forth along your pussy.

         “Oh, god, please, Bucky.” You’ve been reduced to a quivering, begging mess before him.

         “Tell me what you need.” He demands, continuing his teasing actions between your legs. You let out a whimper as you grip the edge of the kitchen counter.

         “You, I need you.” You say breathlessly, hoping it’s what he wants to hear.

         “You can be more specific than that, Y/n.”

         “I need you to fuck me.” That’s what he needed to hear. He begins slotting his dick into your entrance. You feel the tip just barely stretching—

         You wake up suddenly in a cold sweat, your t-shirt sticking to your heaving chest and your thighs clenched tightly together under the covers. Holy fuck. That’s new. It takes you about a minute to recover and calm your mind enough to fully realize what you just dreamt about…having sex with Bucky Barnes. The man you barely know, who you now share an apartment with. The man who is currently right across the hall from you, probably still shirtless, and in his own bed, and fuck.

         While you were working on coming down from your wet dream, Bucky was lying wide awake in his bed. It was only an hour and a half ago that the two of you exchanged a few words in the kitchen. You scurried off to your room and fell asleep pretty quickly after taking your ibuprofen, but Bucky laid awake, as he usually does. He was actually just starting to drift off to sleep when he heard something coming from behind your door. Great, you talk in your sleep. Or at least that’s what he was assuming, until he strained his ears a little harder and realized he couldn’t make out any fully formed words, only sounds. And the sounds you were making…fuck. They sent all of the blood in his body rushing straight to his dick. You were moaning. You were fucking whimpering. He wanted to write it off as nothing. Hell, maybe you were having a nightmare and those are the sounds you make when you’re scared. But who was he kidding? You were obviously having a sex dream, and his fucking insomnia was keeping him awake to hear it all. Every filthy sound that slipped past your lips was like torture. Bucky found himself squeezing his eyes shut and gripping his quilt in both hands, trying to use all of his willpower to redirect bloodflow away from his lower half. It was wrong to be so turned on by this, by his roommate being unconsciously aroused. When you suddenly went silent, he knew you’d woken up. He thanked every entity he could think of for that.

         He seriously fucked up when he invited you to move in. Little does he know, he will soon be paying for his lapse in judgement, even more than he is right now.

Next Part

TAG LIST (if there is a line through your user, Tumblr would not let me tag you):

@gyokujyn @noonespecial90 @spngingerbread21 @sadeyes61 @edelweissbarnes @mayamacall @pigeonmama @imemeriebarnes @ladyvenera @buckbuckybuckaroo @torntaltos @urlocalpillowprincess @sagebarness @mrbobinskyfromcoraline @mrs-marc-spector @srlover40 @valhalla-kristin @lightsonnoonehome @sgtjamesbsdoll @charlottestarkey @phoenixstark1708 @samfreakingwinchester @claireelizabeth85 @mcumaniac @ordelixx @hellfirebabe @toasted-bones @dashis-post @literaryavenger @ahlookatallthelonelypeople @fandomsfeminismandme @buckysbaby-doll

[miyamoratsumuu]

i absolutely love your haikyuu hcs with mood boards and i wanna request tsukishima kei for the third part (I LOVE HIM SO MUCHBIEUUERHIBHS)

♡ 𝐝𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐢𝐤𝐲𝐮𝐮 𝐛𝐨𝐲𝐬, 𝐰/ 𝐦𝐨𝐨𝐝𝐛𝐨𝐚𝐫𝐝𝐬 𝐩𝐭. 𝟑!! ♡

pt. 1 - pt. 2

characters: k. bokuto, h. iwaizumi, k. tsukishima

note: I am so so sorry for the wait, but here it is!! I hope you like it<3 implied fem partner for all of them, lowercase intended. pictures used are not mine, all of them are found on pinterest!!:)

navigation . . .

haikyuu masterlist

BOKUTO KOTARO "I love you for who you are, sweetheart. always and forever. that's a promise."

this man is literally the living definition of a golden retriever boyfriend. he'll do anything, and I mean anything just to see your pretty smile. your feet start to hurt while walking? blink and you're already being carried off your feet. you stare at something at a store way longer than you do at everything else? you can bet he's ready to buy it for you asap. even when you quietly mumble something about being thirsty or hungry, he's already dragging you to the nearest place where you both could get something to eat or drink.

he's def an acts of service and words of affirmation type of person. he's consistent with it too, it's what he does best with the people he loves, ofc. every single day, he makes sure to remind you and show you how much he cares for you through his words and actions. every morning, you'd wake up to a good morning text from your fav owl boy accompanied with the most exaggerated compliments (if you could even call some of them that) he could think of. some of his best ones are "good morning to the best, kindest, smartest, most gorgeous girl I've ever met! have an amaaazzziiingggg day!!!" and "you never asked me, but did you know that I WOULD still date you even if you were a worm? heck even if you were a grasshopper, I'd still love you. I hope u have a great day!!!! good morning btw:DD".

kotaro loves to show off to everyone how he's yours and you're his. when you're out, it's often that he'll be carrying your bag or anything you're carrying for you. his hands are ready to be of help to you anytime anywhere, really. there was one time when the two of you were at a cinema waiting for the movie to start. you were wearing a claw clip to keep your hair up, and we all know how uncomfortable it could be to lean against a headrest while wearing one of those. you took it off and asked kotaro to hold it for you. what you didn't notice was that he didn't give it back to you. that was until the 2 hour movie finished and you noticed the claw clip clipped onto the front of his shirt. when you asked for it back though, he didn't want to give it back to you because "it's to let everyone know that I'm just for you babe!"

this man is also the type that loves having matching stuff with you. it could range from matching shirts, keychains, caps, to phone cases and social media account bios. as long as you consent to it, of course. he (and all the other haikyuu boys) would never ever want to force you into doing something you don't want to. one of your matching stuff are lego figures that have shirts saying "I <3 my bf" and "I <3 my gf". kotaro thought they were cute, given that the lego set they came in was a blast to build too. the two of you having an at home date to build it was a bonus.

another time that the two of you were absolutely adorable was when you stopped by a convenience store on the way back from a hang out some friends. both of you were craving a sweet candy but didn't want to be holding a pack of it in your hands while you walked, so you decided to buy a ring pop. one for yourself, and one for kotaro. outside the convenience store as he was removing the plastic wrap of yours for you, kotaro mumbled something he didn't think you would hear but you absolutely did. "this could be practice rings for when we get our actual wedding bands in the future". you were speechless as he successfully took the wrapper off, and slid the ring onto your finger while he had one of the biggest grin on his face.

intimate moments aren't always consisted of sexual acts or so. you've proven that with your intimate tomes with kotaro that included you styling his hair during the times it was down, with you sat on the bed or a couch while his head is laid in your lap. or the times the two of you were so bored that you managed to find old coloring books somewhere in your house and colored them while you laid on the floor flat on your stomach. or of course the times the two of you pretended that your plushies were your "children" and took care of them as though they were real living things. it's never a dull time with kotaro. for he'd do anything to keep being the reason you smile because you're always the reason for his.

IWAIZUMI HAJIME "I took on the job of protecting you and your heart when I decided to be yours, darling. and I never plan on resigning. "

hajime was a mess when he first started to like you. at first he wasn't even sure about what he was feeling, leaving him confused. he didn't want to talk to toru about it, because he thought it would only show how lost he is and he didn't really need his best friend to rub it in his face. he loves him, but he decided he'd try figuring this out on his own for now. of course the thought of him liking you came to mind. how could he not? you're kind, understanding, you both get along splendidly, and you've been there for him since the beginning of your highschool years. he denied it at first, thinking that he was just in his feels because of the thought of you guys nearing the end of your third year, and eventually having to split up soon. but hajime wasn't an idiot. after a few more days of thinking about it, he knew what his feelings meant and he knew he had to accept it.

and the rest was history. honestly, you two should thank toru, mattsun, and makki for being the reasons the two of you got together. the both of you were somewhat cowards to confess your feelings to one another but both of you were so painfully obvious that the three of your closest friends had to take matters into their own hands. (yes, they used the cliche 7 minutes in heaven tactic)

when the two of you start dating though, all shyness leaves hajime. he still wasn't big on pda, but he still made sure to let the people around you know that you were together. especially if other guys try to push their luck too much. during the times the two of you are out in public, it's often that hajime would place an arm around your waist or shoulder, or a hand on the small of your back. his touches are subtle, but he does it with the upmost care.

dates with hajime are usually indoor ones at either one of your homes. mostly, the two of you spend time with one another wrapped in each other's embrace, watching a movie or catching up on the tv show you both promised you would always watch together. and other times, you would switch things up and try out new activities together. some of the activities that the two of you had already done was doing art projects together like painting, building lego sets together, and making late night snacks.

on the few times that you had dates that involved leaving the house, it would often be at the mall or some kind of park. after the mall dates the two of you have, it can't be helped if you bring home a shopping bag or two. if you do, hajime insists on carrying them for you. he would carry the bags on one hand while he holds yours with the other. though during the times both of his hands were occupied, he would let you grab the back of his shirt just so you wouldn't get lost in the crowd of people. during your amusement park or public park dates, there are times that something catches your eye. the moment that hajime notices you looking at it longer than you would, he immediately insists on buying it for you. it doesn't matter if it's something you don't need, as long as you're happy, he is too.

hajime is also the type of lover that always has you in mind too. on times that he's out in public by himself running errands or so, at the times he would see something that ever so slightly reminds him of you, he would buy it immediately, or if he isn't able to at the moment, he would take a picture of it and either send it to you or keep it to himself for later.

he isn't the best at expressing himself through words, not even close. but all it takes for you to know how much he really cared for you is to see just how he looks at you like you're the only thing that matters in the world. it doesn't matter what you're doing at all. when his gentle gaze meets yours with a soft smile on his lips, it was more than enough to express what he really feels about you.

TSUKISHIMA KEI "stop denying it, doll. we both know you love me. I love you too, if that's what you keep worrying about."

kei never really seemed like the type to be so whipped for someone. so imagine the shock when his closest friends catch him buying a bouquet from time to time on his way home. they often thought that he was buying them for himself as a decoration change back at home, you know? little did they know that he never headed straight home during those days. he would stop by your house and hand the bouquets to you. (with a scoff and a roll of his eyes, of course) the two of you attend different schools and your houses have quite a distance from each other, so you could say that these visits of his is his way of making up for lost time.

like hajime, kei isn't used to expressing his feelings through words. he rarely does it. instead, he shows it in the little things he does for you. one time after a formal event that the two of you attended, his home was close to the venue so the two of you decided to just walk back. what you didn't realize when you made this decision was that your feet were already starting to hurt from the heels you were wearing. kei noticed your steps getting slower so he stopped walking beside you. you noticed, and stopped as well. with a sigh, kei got down on one knee and began to take off the straps on your heels. it only took a tap on your foot and a sarcastic look from him to convince you to take your shoes off. once they were off, he held both shoes on one hand and turned to you. "here" he takes his shoes off. he hands them to you "wear these until we get home. the socks I'm wearing don't get dirty easily anyway" he turned his head away from you as he stretched his arm out for you to rake the shoes. you stare at him, never expecting him to do something like this. "are you gonna take them or not?" with a chuckle, you accept the shoes and put them on. you hold onto kei's hand as the both of you continue on your way home, with kei carrying your god-forsaken heels.

one weekend morning after a night of continuous rain, you texted kei inviting him to go biking with you around town. minutes later, he's knocking at your front door, his bike leaning on the wall to the side. once the teo of you were on the streets, you quickly noticed how slippery the roads were. not wanting to get into any accidents, kei reached his hand towards you, gesturing for you to hold onto his hand. the whole time you two were riding your bikes, your fingers were intertwined with each other's.

on the very few times shoyo, tobio, and tadashi convinced kei to play video games with them, you often sit in with kei in his room while he plays. either you're sitting on a chair beside him, or you're directly sitting on his lap. you usually stay quiet to not disturb kei's chat with the guys, but he rarely uses his mic anyway, so usually it's the two of you talking while he plays instead of him talking to his three friends in the call.

while the two of you were still "just friends", you already knew that kei had a habit of listening to music a lot. when you did start dating, you made it a point to send kei a song that reminds you of him every three days or so. the first few weeks, he was confused, not seeing the point of you doing it, bt after a while, he got used to it. after two months of you sending him songs, he compiled all of them into one playlist, adding more to it every time you send him a new one.

you didn't know about this, of course. until one day, you were on your bed waiting for kei to come back from the kitchen. you were on his phone (with his permission, of course) opening every app you were curious about, you eventually found yourself opening his music app. you were expecting to only see a playlist of songs from his favorite artists, or a playlist of the songs he listens to almost every day. but the playlist that caught your attention first was neither of those you had in mind. it was only named "." but the playlist photo was a mirror picture of the two of you. you opened it, curious to see what songs it contained. you scrolled through the songs, with some familiarity about them. it was on the tip of your tongue, you just couldn't remember what was so familiar about them to you. that was until you scrolled down to see the latest song added to the playlist. it was the most recent "this reminds me of you" song you sent kei just yesterday. then it dawned on you. 'these are the songs I've been sending him for the past few months! and he has all of them in a playlist!' you smile giddily to yourself at how sweet you thought this all was. by the perfect timing, kei walks through the door, to find you squealing in your bed about how much he loves you. he does though, a lot.

[riaki]

thrifted romance | megumi fushiguro x reader

synopsis: you’ve never really spoken with megumi before, so when your friends leave the two of you behind on a snowy night, you take the opportunity to get to know him.

wc: 6.2k... SO SORRY I GOT CARRIED AWAY cw: swearing, college au, noncurse au, i don’t thjnk there’s anything else ??

this got way longer than i intended it to be and i rushed to grind it out so it may not be coherent.. if so i apologize :’3 and this one’s late but i hope the content makes up for it ! enjoy meemow barely proofread!

it's a late winter evening when you meet up with megumi and your friends on the side of the street— cozied up in puffy layers and a long blazer stained with coffee splashes and a few hot chocolate smudges here and there.

fall had melted away with the slow gradient of leaves from the trees, sinking into fluffy piles on the sidewalk that soon became coated and replaced with light snowfall; the first of many problematic inches. midterms were just around the corner, and with it meant late hours spent pulling all-nighters that left you exhausted, eyes dark around the edges with a lack of sleep; breaths of minty hot chocolate and coffee from the amalgamation you'd concocted to at least pretend to get into the holiday spirit.

(a fruitless effort, though— if not for your failure that warned you to stay out of mixology, but the way your roommate's cat had knocked over your mug and ruined the flashcards you'd been wrestling with and looked completely smug with itself.)

really, though, there was absolutely nothing jolly about school, or exams. so when your favorite inefficient, sidetracking study buddy had offered to spend the weekend out, who were you to say no? nobara had offered to go find a club, but it was far too cold out to frolic around in skimpy clothing and your expensive winter coats were much too valuable to risk being stolen in the haze of drunken students and sweaty bodies. so, you'd decided to go shopping, because what else is there to do with her? besides the usual karaoke session with the upperclassmen she seems to like so much, of course.

turns out, it'd had been a group endeavor. or, more accurately— a group of four, unlike the duo you had previously thought you'd be going out in. yuji and megumi were there too— friends from separate majors; you'd heard that yuji was involved in the uprising surge of software engineers and computer science majors clambering for a shot in the world of big AI tech companies, even though he supposedly was about as computer-smart as your teetering old grandma ripe with age, permanently stuck in her rocking chair crocheting the days away.

megumi, on the other hand, was a mystery. you'd shared a few classes together; his chipped dark nails that shone the same blue as his esoteric eyes beneath the warmth of the glowing sun, and his inky black hair that spilled over the collars of his simple gray sweatshirts like effortlessly graceful calligraphy on paper had captured your attention as smooth and seamless as the daylight turned to darkness, days cut short by the onslaught of cold. even so, you'd never brought yourself to interact much— he seemed like he'd prefer to keep to himself, if the way he'd disdainfully scoot away from anyone who tried to approach him and turn up the volume of his headphones indicated anything. you had laughed to your friend and called it introversion to its finest, only to promptly shut up when his unmoving gaze landed on you, leaving you feeling like a clown on the stage, rimmed by rich dark red curtains and a wooden floorboard as the beaming spotlight shines upon you imaginary button nose, hot and glaring under his gaze. 

even though you'd approved of his music taste once you snagged a few notes by the ear, you'd really thought his taste in fashion was too bland to be the type of person to shop with nobara— her meticulous style and image were much brighter and more flamboyant than megumi's jaded attempts at a splash of color through the occasional blue argyle or layered turtleneck. still, those were better than yuji's paltry attempts at fashion; at least the myriads of color on nobara's figure were coordinated. the pink-haired boy with funny scars on his face would probably have been better off learning graphic design or art, with the disasters of clashing colors on his person.

and he'd gotten the opportunity to demonstrate his questionable tastes on the chilly evening, when black ice had begun to form on the roads and the soft light of boutiques with slow jazz flowing from the speakers filled your frost-bitten red ears as you walked up to the shade of a nearby lamppost. once you'd all met up, nobara had hooked an arm around your elbow and dragged you off, leaving the boys to follow along like it was walking dogs.

honestly, you wouldn't be surprised if you were— at least, with yuji. he carried nobara's bags like she was the next princess in line, without complaint and with the little fearful quivers that dogs get in their legs whenever their owners scold them for barking or misbehaving, much like how nobara would yell at yuji if he dropped a single cream linen sweater or ruffled pink cami.

megumi, on the other hand, was far too lethargic and quiet to be considered any kind of canine. although the weaved bracelet on his left wrist with a cute little puppy charm you caught sight of when he'd rolled his sleeve up implied otherwise. the only reason he'd even had to do that was to rub the sickeningly sweet orange blossom hand sanitizer nobara had spritzed on each of your palms after you took turns petting a stray cat, one that seemed to take a great liking to you and megumi in particular.

the night seemed to drag on forever; pale yellow lights and holiday decorations blurred into swathes and bubbles of color in your vision as the hours passed and the caffeine from the cute little coffeeshop you'd stopped at earlier began to wear off.

but there had just been something magical about that evening; spending time with friends (albeit, more like acquaintances) had granted you a much-needed break from cramming your mind with an overflow of information that was sure to spill out the moment you answered the last exam question. so, when it was almost midnight and it was time to retire to your bed, you'd insisted on staying out for just a little longer while nobara and the rest returned to their dorms to catch some sleep. yuji had complained something about his legs cramping, but you were feeling giddy, and the stars were twinkling just as bright as the light in nobara's eyes were when you told her you had to soak in the fresh air for as long as you could before being locked in to study again as she laughed and headed home with her pink dog-boy escort in tow.

megumi had mumbled something about staying with you since it was late and he wanted to make sure you were safe. you didn't think too much about it, because if you did, you were sure you'd end up with a faced even more flushed than it was frostbitten from the cold.

so, here you were, strolling down the quieter side of town, a brooding boy with inky dark hair and hands pale with blue veins shoved into the pockets of his jacket trailing behind you. he had one airpod tucked into his pierced ear; you assumed he hadn't brought his headphones because yuji would be there to prattle and babble. even so, you were content not to say anything, so there was plenty of opportunity for him to wear both. but he wasn't. you decided not to linger on it.

you'd just finished writing a silly little note out of the crisp snow gathered on the windshield of some stranger's car; the flakes were cold and biting on your skin, leaving it feeling numb with little droplets of icy water when you pulled away to admire your handiwork.

"actually, maybe i shouldn't be doing that." you decided after a moment, mumbling under your breath. it was just a little message with a whiskered smiley face, but the headlights on the car and the bumper seemed to form a frown at you when you stepped back, shaking its motorized head at your vandalism.

"you think?"

megumi's voice sounded from behind you, a little weighed down by the cold with a wisp of warmth leaving his lips like a powdery exhale, curling into the prickly night air. he was standing on the sidewalk, observing you all prickly-like as if you were some flagrant toddler he was babysitting. you still had to get used to the way his voice sounded after rarely hearing it; the few crumbs you got when your professors forced obligatory presentations onto struggling students had sent this warm, fuzzy feeling collecting in your stomach at the rich tone of velvet it held. not rough or overly deep, but smooth and reassuring. the kind you could fall asleep to; like there was a lullaby just waiting to be poured from his tongue with little scratches in the indent of his tone.

of course, you hadn't heard enough of it to make such an assumption, so when you heard the little quip framed with irritation at the edges, it wasn't all sugary sweetness like you imagined.

"yeah, well, sorry i like to live a little," you huffed, rubbing your hands together in an attempt to resuscitate some warmth back into them with a small little sigh.

"you call that living?" he scoffs a little, cocking an eyebrow at the vandalized toyota behind you. now, it just looked a little sad; imaginary eyebrows over the red lights droopy in disappointment. you followed his gaze, before looking back at him and making a sour face as you stepped onto the sidewalk.

"maybe we just have different tastes, y'know? doesn't mean we don't have to get along like this," you mumbled, shaking your hands out a little to get the remaining snow droplets off before stuffing them back in your blazer pockets. "just like itadori and nobara. one has terrible taste in fashion and the other doesn't, but they both like their bright colors." you feel satisfied with yourself for that one, but clearly, megumi doesn't feel the same. but the corner of his pink lips seem to quirk up just a tiny bit, and you feel pride blooming in your chest.

there's just something about the way it looks— an almost implausible smile coaxed onto his lips by something particularly amusing, reaching his dull blue eyes in a way that made their usual tedious apathy morph into something like fondness, or appreciation. adding a shine to his navy irises the lamp light overhead could only hope to mimic. then again, you didn't let your mind linger on it for too long like usual— so instead you chalked it up to the one other thing that had caught your eye besides the sharpness of his jaw and the handsome slimness of his face: his jacket.

you take back what you said about his style and its blandness before— it would be unfair to what he was wearing right now. just a simple black turtleneck (one that you were sure he'd worn to the early morning wednesday lecture you had a few days ago, when the sun was still bright enough to catch on the condensation of the cup of lemonade your white-haired, oddly sweet-toothed professor had), and black jeans, but the vintage racing windbreaker hanging from his shoulders brought it together in a way that was unfairly seamless; all dark blues and stripes of checker; a neutral grayblue that reminded you of the sky on rainy afternoons, trudging about the shopping districts in tokyo. there were a few brand patches here and there, some red bubble lettering of names you didn't recognize in patches of color that brought out the shade of his eyes. maybe the labels of those energy drink brands you often caught him running on when the shadows beneath his long dark lashes seemed heavier than usual.

all that to say he looked good. like, seriously good. you didn't know how you hadn't noticed all night— but now that you had, it was hard to keep your eyes from his slim and tall silhouette (not that he minded). the jacket really complimented it.

"that's a neat jacket. where'd you get it?" you asked after a moment of chilling silence; he'd probably noticed you looking, and you prayed he didn't think you were checking him out. although, if that meant getting your hands on one of those windbreakers, you wouldn't really mind. he glanced up at you, tearing his attention from the sad snowy toyota camry that seemed worn past its years at the newfound attention on megumi's racing jacket. he blinked a little, and you didn't miss the little flake of frost on his eyelash; probably caught from brushing past a windowsill earlier. by now, most shops were closed; even so, the street still felt warm and safe. well, maybe it was to be credited to a person rather than the concrete— but like you had been all night, you ignored it.

"oh, this?" as if he was wearing more than one jacket (it was cute), "i thrifted it." and for some reason, you didn't expect to be surprised, but you were. him? thrifting? the few western-fashion tailored thrift stores you'd been to with nobara had been lacking— not like you'd been able to stay in them long; the artificial ginger had this... beef with reused clothes. she liked her clothes clean and fresh from the press, even if you reminded her they could just be fresh from someone else's press. megumi must be familiar with the antiquated racks of varied worn graphic tees and frayed pants if he could fish something that classy from a thrift store.

then again, it's not like you had any experience to go off of at all.

"really? y'know, i've always wanted to go thrifting," you sighed, stretching your arms out, watching the fabric of your blazer wrinkle and curve to follow the movement of your muscles. a light dusting of snow coated the surface, like powdered sugar on tiramisu. that makes the coffee stains fitting. "but i feel like i'm bad at it." you said, stepping over a crack in the sidewalk, the rubber bottom of your sneakers brushing against a little clump of pine green weeds.

"bad at it?" megumi echoes, following you with a faint ruffle of smooth fabric, like the sound of a zipper sliding down. before, the world had been a cool shade of gray, like smoke rising from a cigarette or the blurry blue of the sky from the window of a speeding bullet train. but now, you let yourself soak in the sound of his voice, like grinded coffee beans and a smooth, soothing honey medicine for your throat on a sick day when you get to cozy up in your bunk bed and watch the clouds drift by.

it's nice.

"yeah. like, i wouldn't know where to go, or what to find, or what to look for..." you trailed off, rubbing your cold fingers together again as your breaths leave in little exhales of coagulating mist in the cold night air. now that it was late, it the temperature would only continue to drop.

you walked in silence for a little longer, listening to the scuffles of shoes against concrete, glassy with ice that had begun to creep up on the roads like a steady stream of seafoam from the tides.

"why don't we go thrifting now, then?" he asks out of the snowy blue.

you paused, and you almost smacked straight into a pole. "now?" you spluttered, turning around to face him. the look on his face was unreadable; a mix between exasperation, amusement, an attempt at stoicism, and something like affection in the corner of his lips as they curved upward. it was like a CPR compression; the smile that sent fuzzy electricity through your veins and reinvigorated your heart.

"yes, now." he said it like you were stupid, which you might just be, the way you stared dumbly at his face. "the place i got this jacket from is just over there," he said, jutting a ring-adorned thumb behind him. you had to lean up and peek around his shoulder to see it; you wouldn't've noticed if he didn't point it out. it was tucked between two buildings, a stairway downward into the store. the only thing indicating its status as a retail and thrifting store was the broken neon sign and painted red arrow that gestured towards the staircase.

"looks really shady. and it's late." you grumbled after you got over yourself, and he shot you an irritated look. that was all he really seemed to be doing tonight; that downward knit of his dark eyebrows and the slight pout weighing his lips down. not very suave, you think.

he swallows hard, and you aimlessly watch the bob of his adam's apple. "well?" he prompts, a hard edge to his voice despite the situation. you stand there for a little while, marinating in the growing cold until you cant feel the tips of your fingers.

"fine."

one accidental slip on the crosswalk and a few minutes later, you're stepping down the last wooden stair of the thrift store and into the building's basement; it's much bigger than you would've thought, with an expanse of layered clothing racks that obscure your vision, the corners of the walls clogged with cobwebs and years of dust build up. there's a faint lingering scent of cigarette smoke and cologne; something vanilla that you've caught clinging to megumi's wrists and neck on the rare occasion you brush past him. faint jazz spills from the speakers, something in a swing rhythm with the signature lilt of saxophone that makes you think you should be out enjoying a romantic fancy dinner instead of being cooped up between old wrinkly moth-bitten clothes. but you're here with megumi, so you convince yourself you don't mind either way.

"you sure this is the right place?" you asked, trying (and failing) to keep the obvious distain from your voice as you kick a folded 'floor-is-wet' sign from your path and step into the store. you can't even see the cash register from where you're standing.

"yes, i'm sure. can you stop complaining?" you can practically hear the eyeroll in his voice, and you're sure you could see it too if you just turned around. "trust me. it's not all shit." his voice softens, and you freeze up a little as he brushes past you; the corridors and margins are tight, so he has to turn sideways to fit. even so, a tag on your coat manages to snag on his jacket, and you hasten to unhook it before he can notice. he almost disappears into the racks, and you have to follow him, pushing your way through thick coats and worn graphic tees that have cracked logos and balls of lints clinging to them.

you're no thrifting expert, but you're pretty sure the store's supposed to be in better condition than this.

"hey." megumi's voice soon snaps you back into reality, and you look up from the mustard yellow top you were eyeing warily to meet his sedate gaze. "the good stuff's in the back. c'mon." he doesn't give you much room to argue even though it sounds like you're here to do drugs rather than find clothing, and before you can react he's reached forward to grab your wrist and tug you along. a yelp of protest almost spills from your lips, but you bite your tongue and let him drag you along, trying to extinguish the hue of cherry you know is making a home on the tips of your ears.

you brush past patchwork coats and a few leather belts that've tangled with the lace from the silk shirts next to them, but nothing really catches your eye, until you realize that he's let go of you only because of the lack of warmth around your skin and you focus yourself on the current again. you glance up at him, but he already has his back turned to you, sifting through a rack of black shirts that all look the exact same. maybe you have an untrained eye, though.

still, you can't help it when your gaze lingers over the back of his neck; one strand of dark hair has caught itself beneath the collar of his turtleneck, and it irks you. and you decide to do something about it because you'll know it'll bother you if you don't.

time seems to move in a liquid slow; things are blurring and there's no mothballs or ugly recycled coats to get in your way as you reach over and swipe your hand across his neck, hooking a finger beneath the strand and pulling it out of his collar. it takes you a moment to realize what you just did, and when you do, it's like there's a permanent mark seared into your index finger just from the touch of his skin against your own. you think he might have whiplash because he turns his head around so fast to catch your gaze before you can slink away, eyes wide and eyebrows knit, and you notice his bottom lip is snagged between his teeth.

he raises an eyebrow, but before he can utter a shaming word that'll only make you feel more embarrassed you shake your head vigorously, apologetically.

"sorry— it was bothering me. i hope you don't mind." you managed to say, the words spilling out in a rush before you turned away and slipped past him, disappearing into an aisle of dresses. you can feel his gaze burning cold holes into your back as you distract yourself.

you don't let yourself linger on what you just did— you seem to be doing a lot of that, lately, especially with him as you go through a few batches of clothing. by now, it's far past midnight, and you're feeling much more sluggish than you'd like to admit. you haven't seen megumi in a good twenty minutes save for the few times you picked up a few shirts and a cute diner jacket you thought would look good on him. he just thanked you bluntly, taking the bundle of clothing from your arms before walking away to the fitting rooms. you wished he'd stay to let you see the jacket.

you'd tried on a few things, discarding your blazer in favor of a cute knitted cardigan you grabbed, but nothing seemed to stick the way you'd like them to. it would be a great help if you had nobara to assist, but you were sure she was snoring away at home right now, and at the thought of your warm, inviting bed, your knees wobbled a little and you balanced yourself on the wall.

"hey— oh, you alright?" it's an unfamiliar voice; you lift your head up, looking for the source. it's a young boy— he looks to be about your age, maybe a little younger. there's a blue lanyard around his neck, and he's got a spattering of freckles on his hands, which are curled around the collar of a white linen shirt. he must be the one who's tending to the store.

"yeah, i'm okay. sorry," you said hastily, pushing away and rubbing the back of your neck. how embarrassing— he didn't seem to mind, though. he just smiled, big and bright and toothy. cute. reminded you of how toddlers would grin up at parents with those huge red lollipops in hand.

"no worries. i just thought i'd let you know that we're closing soon, since it's almost 2am." he said, shifting his weight on his sneakers. you nodded, about to give a hum of confirmation before another voice cuts through the slow jazz filling the stifling air above, all familiar in its smoothness.

before you could respond, though— "[name]?" megumi's voice rang out in the quaint little store, calling for you, and so you give the employee an apologetic nod before you turn and start toward the noise. you pass a mirror with a coat draped over the top, peeking your head around a tall rack of long skirts to catch sight of the raven head, in all of his glory. you notice that he's taken off his windbreaker.

"what’s up? we have to go soon," you reminded him, yawning a little and rubbing your eyes as you straightened up and stepped over to his side. there was another mirror in front of him, you noticed, with fading stickers pale in the dim yellow light stuck to the wooden rim. even so, with the smudges and the bare sheen of the silver, he looked good. that black turtleneck really suits him.

"i know. i just wanted to ask for your opinion." he said, glancing at you from the corner of his eye. you tilted your head curiously, and he held up a deep mauve sweatshirt, with some varsity logo branded on the fabric. it had a nice touch to it; a warm color that reminded you of red wine and slow evenings. you were sure it had been one of the pieces you'd picked out for him, but you were too sleepy to recall. "you should try it on. i think it'd look good," you said, gesturing toward the mirror.

you think you must've said something wrong, because he looks at you for a moment too long before he seems to catch himself staring and he nods, a choked little sound leaving his throat which he hides by ducking his head down and covering his face with his long bangs. you think you're hallucinating the pink on his cheeks.

after a moment, he glances at you. "hold this," he shoves his jacket towards you, and you have no choice but to take it. doesn't seem like he's used to taking no for an answer, but you're certainly not the one complaining when he tugs the sweater over his head, ruffling his soft black hair as he steps a little closer to you, observing himself in the mirror while straightening out the folds and fixing his turtleneck. you were right— it does look good on him. almost unfairly so— you don't know how he manages to rock granny clothes so well, like he was born a retirement home's runway model.

unlike him, you're not a reticent shut in— and although you'd like to say you have no problem telling him how good he looks, it's still a little difficult when the words feel like they're lodged in your throat in order to prevent you from making a fool of yourself again. but you ignore it and push on.

"you look great. i think it really suits you," you breathed, shaking your head as your hands tighten around his jacket in your arms. he blinks, adjusting the collar before glancing down at you. you take a moment to really appreciate the sight— him, bathed in the soft yellow glow of the chipped lights overhead. despite the dilapidated store and the antiquated, worn clothing surrounding him, he still manages to look like some ethereal angel boy you'd stumble upon in a bookstore on a dreary winter's afternoon and never be able to get out of your mind again.

ink black eyelashes flutter when he blinks, framing his eyes like the bangs falling over his face when he turns around again to observe himself in the mirror once more before he takes the sweatshirt off. it catches on his turtleneck, which rides up when he slips the mauve sweater over his head, tussling his hair and exposing the dip of his pale hips, all muscle and flesh and bone, and you pray he chalks up the red on your face to the cold. the end of his belt dangles from the buckle as you hand his jacket back to him, fingers almost brushing— just barely out of reach.

a meager conversation flows between the two of you; you follow him through the endless maze of used clothing until you somehow stumble upon the cash register and he buys his sweater; the only thing he manages to buy after all this time spent milling about in a dusty, dinky little retail store. the boy from earlier helps check him out, and the icy glare he receives from megumi when he glances at you seems to fly straight past your head as you pick at your cuticles. the tips of your fingers are still red from messing with the frosty snow earlier. you wonder when the car owner will find your message.

it's almost freezing when you get out of the dusty shop, emerging from the smoke-stained alleyway stairs and into the cold night air. your breaths almost seem to form a precipitate, and the thought reminds you of the chemistry conversions waiting for you on your desk beneath the lamp, and you cringe internally. staying out for a few hours longer seems way better than succumbing to the never ending stream of worksheets and documents calling your name. you wonder if your charismatic professor will let you get away with a few assignments if you call in sick. are papercuts excuse enough?

the click of a lock behind you signifies the store's closing— the employee left through a back exit, it seems. and you realize too late that you left your blazer in the dressing room when you turn around and a sigh falls from your lips. megumi, paper bag in hand, glances over at you.

"you okay?"

you almost forgot he was there, in his brooding vintage racing jacket glory. you shake your head, before sighing forlornly again. he notices this, making a little face; his lips press together and his pretty eyes narrow. he thinks you sigh far too much. you'd look prettier if you smiled some more. he likes it when you do.

"i left my blazer in there, but he just closed it and it's so fucking cold out," you whined, bringing your hands to your face and rubbing your eyes tiredly. you're cold and your fingers are going numb again, and there's light snowfall. so much for not losing your coat at a club. you can't tell which one's worse. "sorry to complain so much, but do you mind if we—"

you're promptly cut off; the words on your tongue left unsaid, burning with the taste of bitter black coffee. your gaze trails from megumi's hand, the clink of his silver ring against the zipper rail of his jacket as his fingers curl around the fabric, up his arm to the sleeves of his dark turtleneck, rounding the curve of his shoulders and up his neck to his face. he's not looking at you.

the words that leave his wet lips are so small and hurried that you think you're hallucinating them; when you inevitably looked back at this moment later, you'd realize that he was being shy. he mumbles something under his sweet breath, and you ask him to speak up.

"i said, you can use mine." he repeats, louder than necessary as he finally brings himself to look down at you from under his lashes, biting the inside of his cheek. his voice is a little strained, and a soft breeze carrying the smell of cinnamon and fresh ice rustles his hair. you blinked, feeling like a deer caught in headlights over a layer of thin ice, ready to shatter at a moment's notice.

"oh— okay. um, do you have anywhere else you need to go..?" you said tentatively, reaching forward to take his jacket again. it was exactly like how you'd done back in the thrift store, but the vague sense of deja vu you get is accompanied by an endless fluttering of warmth in your stomach that melts away the winters and tiring exams, and the night seems to become a soft warm orange, as if someone's drained the cool hues from the landscape.

megumi just shook his head, reaching into his bag and taking out the sweater he'd bought earlier. he slips it on again, adjusting it over his shoulders and refusing to meet your eyes as he crumples the paper bag in his hands. you notice they're slightly trembling as he does it, fingers digging into the material with much more force than is really needed. his hair follows each movement of his head; the strain of the muscles in his neck when he swallows again and gestures for you to follow him back down the empty street, past cars coated in melting snow and jaunty yellow lights twinkling over the awnings of closed store windows, shut down for the night. the sweater suits him really well, you think; not too loose, but tight enough in the right places to send your heart racing a mile a minute.

you pull his jacket over your arms, tucking your sleeves in and zipping it up. it's big on you— that's no surprise, and you can almost taste the vanilla on your tongue, his cologne lingering on every fold of the insulated fabric. it's warm, and it feels like being enveloped in a tight hug. in megumi's head, he hopes— prays its him you think of if you ever feel that way again.

you walk in a stiff silence; both of you want to say something, but you're dancing around it, letting your words linger unsaid until the other breaks the ice first. it's only ever cracked once you reach the dorms, where you part ways. there's light snowfall, and a thin layer of white has coated his hair when you turn to face him. you reach forward, learning onto the tips of your toes to brush off the ice. his hair feels unimaginably soft beneath your fingers, slightly damp from the snow. but he's the furthest from cold when you pull away; his face is burning up.

by now, you can't bring yourself to mind.

"thank you," you said softly, sighing contentedly. you move to take his jacket off your shoulders and return it, but he stops you, holding a hand up. the expression on his face is unreadable, but his lips are pursed together in a way that makes you think he's pouting.

"don't worry—" a pause. " you can, uh. keep it. i know you wanted one. just... give it back when you want, yeah?" he says, curt. almost prude, if it weren't for the way he was avoiding your gaze out of embarrassment. it was like trying to play the world's most difficult game of whack-a'mole, attempting to catch his eyes and see the iceberg that's melted into pools of warm glittering affection in his blue irises. at the thought, you wonder if he likes arcades, and you make a mental note to suggest an activity to nobara the next time she has the urge for an escapade.

you don't bother asking him whether he's sure, because you don't want him to take his words back. so you linger there in a moment of silence, letting it hang over your heads like a warm throw blanket, cozied in front of a fireplace with a mug of hot chocolate in your hands. maybe a coffee mix like you'd attempted before.

angel boy clears his throat first to speak, all honey that links the syllables together like christmas ribbon; rich like orange flavored dark chocolate. "i'll see you later, then." it's short and sweet, but your heart is already flying so high on euphoria you can barely bring yourself to care, or suppress the giddy grin that's spreading across your lips.

yeah, you're tired. yeah, you're still a little cold and you think you need to thaw at your desk for a week until exams, but at least you've got his jacket to accompany you when your study buddy passes out first and you're alone on all nighters. frankly, you can't bring yourself to care— your head is spinning with the events of the chilly night, from crude messages in the snow to thrift store mothballs and lanyards, to one checkered racing jacket. but you don’t think it’s so bad when it threatens to stick to your memory, like chewed up gum under your professor’s desk. whether it’s from the students or the professor, that’s a mystery you’ll never solve.

"yeah. see you around, fushiguro." you can’t say the same about the mystery that megumi is, though. in fact, you think you’re already one step closer when you turn around and part ways, catching sight of him in the reflection of a frosted window. he’s slipping both of his airpods back into his ears, crimson at the tips.

the sound of your shoes against the rug stairway fills your ears as you clamber back up to your dorm, eyelids heavy with drowsiness and face flushed a pleasant warmth. even when you finally get to bed, you can't stop your eyes from drifting over to the bundle of lapis blue fabric sitting on your desk, and your mind from the soft spoken boy with eyes like the night sky and inky hair like calligraphy.

you decide you don't think his style is too bad, after all. and when you tell him that the next morning when he's still sleepy and his lashes fall slow when he blinks the weariness from his eyes, you get to enjoy the steady flush that stains his cheeks and prompts a hoarse cough from his throat when he ducks his head away and grumbles something under his breath, probably about being offended you even thought he was boring in the first place.

and if you ever ask, the only reason he lent you his windbreaker that night was to replace the scent of mothballs and dust with your sweet-smelling perfume.

so, as it turns out, you're able to get your hands on one of those pretty vintage racing jackets— except, it wasn't a new one; it was his. nobara hasn't stopped pestering you with questions since you showed up to class the next day; the only thing you hear for the next week is how much she regrets leaving early.

apparently, it's all yuji's fault.

my (riaki) stuff. don’t repost and/or plagiarize !

[blogwithlani]

Hi can I request a Neteyam imagine where his female mate has been very busy hunting and training and hasn’t had much time to see him for a few weeks so he sneakily makes a hole in her marui to try to get her to sleep in his one as he knows that she gets cold easily and it works as one night she wakes up freezing and sneaks into his family’s marui moving his blanket so she can be under it cuddling in his arms which wakes him and he puts his face into her neck and wraps his arms around her tightly not wanting to let go as he misses her giving her soft kisses on her neck making her laugh quietly as to not wake up the rest of his family? Thanks 😊

Miss you

🫧 neteyam x reader

☁️ warning: nothing just fluff

🧷 — a/n: thank you for sending this req in the idea is so cute!! i love it <3

You didn’t realise you were neglecting him. You had been so occupied with your duties that you barely spared it a second thought. Yes, you knew you had been hunting and training a lot more than you had promised you would— but Neteyam would understand. He has the same duties, the same pressure— even more so than you, but the only thing you couldn’t see was the amount of effort he was still putting in.

“Baby, just a few more minutes” He pleads, hand grasping onto yours as he gives you a look. He was desperate, this was the first time he’d seen you the whole day and you had spent only mere minutes with him.

“You know I can’t. Nete, I’m training with Ronal. You know how strict she can be” You reason, already pulling away from him until he finally lets go of your hand. You quickly peck him on the cheek, giving him a brief goodbye before you made your way to the marui pods.

Neteyam huffs in defeat as he watches you walk away from him, already missing the way you feel. He didn’t think he was the clingy type until recently when he realised how distant you had been. You didn’t have time to swim with him, braid his hair or even sleep in the same marui pod as him. You used to take random walks and hide out somewhere so the two of you could just spend time alone.

Over the past few weeks, Neteyam has made numerous attempts to try and get you to spend time with him longer— but as usual, training and hunting has been your main priority. It didn’t matter what he attempted, you were too stubborn. He’s finally had enough of it, he decides as he stands and makes his way to the pods.

“What’re you doing?” Lo’ak questions his older brother as he passes him, stopping briefly to question his brother who looks as if he’s on a mission. Which he was— it was just one that sounded stupid and desperate, he wanted to spare himself from being teased by his brother.

“Nothing important. Mind your business” Neteyam plays it off, ignoring the way his brother calls after him as he walks past him and makes a beeline to your marui pod.

He knew you were busy in your lessons with Ronal, so that would buy him a few hours. He wasn’t sure what drove him to this point, usually he would process such things rationally but he didn’t care at this point. This was childish and borderline psychotic, but he had run out of options. If you weren’t going to willingly stay with him, then he was going to force you to come to him. With that thought in his head, Neteyam got to work.

You returned to your home that night absolutely worn out from a day full of work. You had spent more hours than you intended with Ronal and you couldn’t wait to just lay in bed and sleep. You felt guilty for barely seeing Neteyam today but you would make it up to him tomorrow. Although you had finally pulled your blanket over you and your head had hit your pillow long ago— you couldn’t sleep.

Goosebumps were evident on your skin, your teeth chattering slightly as you tossed and turned— attempting to warm yourself up whilst tucking yourself further into the blanket. Despite your attempts, you were still shivering and freezing to death. The cold breeze from the ocean had no effect on you until now and you didn’t know what to do. You huff before standing, tightening the cloth around you before you quietly tiptoe out of your marui.

His was full of his sleeping family, you feel guilty for intruding them especially in the dead of night but you had no other solutions. You could’ve layered on a thousand blankets to warm you if you could, but you knew only Neteyam could help you. You quietly step into their marui, careful not to step on any of their tails and you make your way to Neteyam’s side.

He had been secretly waiting for your arrival, Neteyam figured his plan would succeed so he had spent majority of his night tossing and turning while waiting for you. He had started to lose hope— deciding that maybe you had managed to fall asleep anyway. Unfortunately, he couldn’t help himself and sleep got to the better of him.

“Nete” You whisper carefully, placing a hand on his shoulder as you gently shake him. When he doesn’t budge, you do it again— this time saying his full name. Yet again, nothing. So instead you take it upon yourself to step over him and pull his blanket back. You slip into the space beside him, sighing in relief when you throw the covers back over the two of you.

The warmth of his body felt so good radiating against yours, you couldn’t resist fully cuddling into him— your arms wrapping around his torso and your face pressing into his chest that rose gently as he breathed. You could finally rest, your eyelids feeling heavy as you eventually lull yourself to sleep.

Neteyam wakes barely an hour after you had crept into their marui and seeked refuge in his bed. He smiles to himself when he realises you’re pressed up against him, your face tucked into his shoulder and arms still wrapped around him as you slept. He craved this for so long and now he finally has it.

He presses soft kisses against your neck, sighing in relief at the feeling he loves most. He tries to be careful not to wake you as you shift slightly from the feeling of his lips on your skin, but he can’t stop himself. Which results in you eventually opening your eyes.

“You’re relentless” You laugh quietly as you pull back from him. He shushes you, glancing at his sleeping family right beside you before he presses his lips against yours. You feel him smile into the kiss-- causing you to do the same.

--

a/n: I hope I wrote what you wanted accurately <3

[kykyonthemoon]

Blue Ribbon

Distracted from his work by you, he decided to use your special blue ribbon for another purpose.

ಇ. Zayne x Female Reader/MC

ಇ. Tags: fluff, established relationship, MC being a baby, tied hands, soft bite

ಇ. Word count: ~1k4

ಇ. Requested by Ann.

ಇ. Masterlist

It initially started out as a date between you and Zayne.

You had planned ahead of time, opted for a light spring outfit, and wore a long blue ribbon in your hair with two tiny snowflake-shaped charms at both ends. You decided on it because it reminded you of Zayne.

You arrived at the hospital fifteen minutes before the scheduled date. Zayne was yet to leave his office. Yvonne informed you about an important meeting that Dr. Zayne needed to attend. You sat and waited outside his office for a while. Then, as if he knew you had arrived, he opened the door and welcomed you inside.

"Would that bother your work?" You inquired, and Zayne shook his head.

"Not a problem. The meeting has ended. There are only a few more things I need to take care of. Is it alright if you wait a little longer?"

You nodded. The office door closed behind him. For nearly the next hour, you obediently waited in the room. Feeling bored, you took out your phone to play with, wandered about the room, or sipped some tea. Zayne was still working intently on the computer as if you were not present. Sometimes, you could not help but feel a little sorry for yourself.

He failed to even glance at you, let alone praise you on how gentle your makeup was that day. Despite the fact that you were fully aware of Zayne's work ethic and the significance of his work, that afternoon was intended to be for you rather than the computer. The main reason you disagreed with it was that he lately had to work hard for several days in a row. You made him commit to spend time with you that afternoon. However, something unexpected occurred, causing his shift to be prolonged.

You felt both saddened and disappointed. You would sometimes approach him and poke him, as if to remind him that you still existed and that he needed to interact with you, even if only for a few minutes. His eyes remained fixed on the screen, his hands raced on the keyboard, and he spoke:

“Don't mess around. I'm almost done.”

Hearing that, you sighed again. When he stated he was almost done, it meant that his session lasted for nearly another hour. It was no longer dusk. You lamented your plan to go for an afternoon walk around Linkon City. But seeing him as a workaholic upset you so much. Finally, you decided that you would carry out your "scheme".

You got between him and the monitor. At first, you just stood there obstructing his view. Zayne gently drew you out of there  when you took the opportunity to take his hand and sat on his lap. Zayne seemed astonished, but his intense concentration prevented him from saying anything further to you. He let you sit on his lap, arms wrapped around you, and resumed typing.

Anger swelled in your heart. Even though you had no idea how urgent his business was, you did not appreciate being left out on your own date. He made a promise to spend the afternoon with you, and if there was an emergency, he would certainly let you know and reschedule the date rather than keep you waiting like this. Apparently, he just loved to work overtime.

In Zayne's lap, your body started to move. You deliberately turned around to wrap both arms around Zayne's neck. Your whisper found its way to his ear:

“Doctor Zayne, you promised to spend the afternoon with me. But you don't pay attention to me even just for a minute."

"Be still." Zayne's voice remained courteous and full of patience. "I still have another urgent meeting—"

"No!" You interrupted him. “Your shift ended a few hours ago.”

You felt Zayne's breath on your forehead as he replied: "Good girl. Please wait a bit longer."

But you chose not to be good. You gave him a pout before pressing your body close to his chest. You seized him firmly and kept urging:

“Take a break! Take a break! Doctor Zayne!”

Zayne was literally an iceberg. He was unmoved by your whining. You grew so helpless that you nibbled hard on his ear.

“Hmmph!”

Perhaps that was Zayne's limit. His expression stiffened. He grabbed your wrist and pulled you off his lap. His other hand swiftly removed the blue ribbon from your head, forcing your already tidy hair to fall down.

You blinked with astonishment. You could only stand there and watch Zayne knot both of your hands with that ribbon. The knot was so tight that your wrists could not move at all. Zayne rose up, brought you down in his chair, and frowned.

"Stay there. I'm heading to the meeting hall and will be back later."

After finishing his speech, he picked up a file on the table and quickly walked out. After the door was closed, you sat still in disbelief of what had just transpired. It appeared like he had bound your hands using a surgeon's knot, which is widely used in surgery. This sort of knot required a lot of work to remove. You moved your hands around, just to make those minimal snowflake charms swing as if they were mocking you that Zayne had actually used his Evol to keep you in place.

You were speechless that Zayne would do that only to stop you from disturbing him. You were alone in his office, stunned and bitter. Perhaps you went too far when you bit him. You should have been more reasonable and waited for him to finish his work. You had waited for him longer than this before. Had you upset him? You were torn between sulking at him and apologizing first.

Zayne returned about a half hour later to undo the knot for you. He took you out to supper and then returned to your apartment. Throughout the ride, you spoke nothing to Zayne but a few quick responses as necessary. You still were not sure how to adequately express how you felt for him. What if he got mad and was ready to tie you up again?

But you were not expecting Zayne to grasp your hands as soon as you arrived home. He took a close look and massaged your wrists.

“Does it hurt a lot?”

He asked. You withdrew your hands again and turned away.

"No."

He could tell you were sulking by the tone of your speech. He pulled you back and embraced you from behind. It was his turn to explain:

"I'm really sorry. Today's work was so urgent that I could not postpone it until tomorrow. On another note, you may do whatever you want when it's just the two of us; but at work, it's not a smart idea. Since, if you continue to be naughty like that, I would…”

“What would you do, Doctor Zayne?” You were curious, and got the urge to tease him even more.

“I would be too distracted.”

"Alright. I'm sorry, too..." You smiled and spoke sweetly, yet there was a hint of huff in your voice. "But you didn't need to tie me up like that."

You struggled like a worm in his embrace. Zayne easily held you tightly with just one arm, the other hand stroked your hair.

"Alright. It is my fault. I should not have tied you up and left you at the office. I will compensate for you, okay?"

You remained silent while waiting for him to offer a good proposal.

"My entire day off tomorrow is dedicated to you."

"Hmm." You seemed less than satisfied. You turned around and gazed into Zayne's eyes. "I still want one more thing."

Zayne grinned, "Sure."

"You don't know what I'm going to ask for, and you've already agreed? Once you've said it, you can't take it back!"

He patted your head and reaffirmed: "I won't take it back."

You smiled as if you were plotting something, then pulled out your blue ribbon and lifted it in front of Zayne. It was time for him to feel the thrill of being tied with his own surgeon's knot. You requested:

"Show me how to tie that knot!" 

[eldritch-nightmare]

Hi hi !! 🎀 anon here! May I get some HCs of Laughing Jack, Tim Wright/Masky and Jeff the Killer with an affectionate clingy s/o please and thank you! 🥹👉👈

(An unrelated note regarding last time: My job and boss is actually super cool and they said I can dye my hair!! I’m so stoked eek! <3 magenta highlights, once again, after so many years, here I come! They have been missed…)

a/n: omg yay!! happy you get to dye your hair!! <3

with an affectionate and clingy gn!s/o.

includes: laughing jack, jeff the killer, and tim wright.

warnings: uh... none... i don't think.

LAUGHING JACK.

Out of all three, Laughing Jack is definitely the most stoked about having an affectionate and clingy significant other.

My guy has terrible abandonment issues, and he can be a bit clingy himself if the mood calls for it, so to have someone who doesn't want to leave his side? Might as well return him to heaven or something, because nothing will ever get better than that.

He is equally as affectionate if we're being honest.

Yeah, he's a big scary evil clown and all that terrorizes children but he knows how to be nice to the people he likes.

Knowing that you cling to him the way you do, it helps reassure him that you don't intend on leaving anytime soon. I mean, if you wanted to leave him, then you wouldn't be clinging to him like you always seem to do, right?

And so long as you keep clinging to him like you do, then his abandonment issues will rarely ever show up and everything will be all good and a-okay.

JEFF THE KILLER.

Hm... he can't decide if he likes you being clingy or if it annoys him. He won't lie, he loves the attention and it feeds his ego whenever you praise him or call him beautiful. You being affectionate is something he knows he likes. But he's not sure if he's fond of the clingy part or not.

When he first met Nina, she was pretty damn clingy as well, and that made him grow to hate her. To be fair, he didn't harbor any feelings for her. He does harbor feelings for you, however, and it feels different when you cling to him.

There are days when he can't stand you clinging to him, and he'll make it known in a rather rude way, to be honest. But there are also days when he wants you to cling to him because sometimes, your clinging to him feels a lot more genuine than your affectionate words.

He's very 50/50 on it, and it can change by the hour, to be honest. But he's fine with it more often than he's not. Only because he likes you.

But will he ever actually tell you that he likes it? Probably not.

It'll be fairly obvious though. Jeff may be rude, but he's not exactly the best at hiding his emotions around people he feel comfortable with.

TIM WRIGHT.

Please give him time to adjust because holy shit there's no way he'll be immediately comfortable with you clinging to him. He can barely take a compliment without feeling uncomfortable, so there's no way he'll be fine with physical affection right off the bat.

He'll tense up whenever you throw your arms around him, and it'll be very awkward because he's not entirely sure what he's supposed to do. Does he hug you back or does he just stand there? He's never been super close to people like this before, so it's all still very new to him.

If he becomes too uncomfortable, he'll let you know and will definitely put some distance between the two of you until he no longer feels that way.

He doesn't feel suffocated by your affection and clingy behavior, it's just something he's struggling to get used to because, I mean, Tim does have the mindset of 'I don't deserve this type of love' so it's very hard for him to accept it.

He'll definitely distance himself from you entirely during the events of Marble Hornets because there's no way he wants you getting involved, and he already blames himself for everything that's happening. He doesn't want anything to happen to you.

And if you're still around after the events of Marble Hornets, then honestly he would need your clinginess to ground him.

[iateyourfav]

Faster (Reprise)

Watching Tech win that race made you feel some type of way, so you show him your appreciation.

Inspired by this post by @bsxcrxts

Based on Season 2 Ep 4!

! 18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT !

Tech x Reader

Tags: nsfw, afab reader, no pronouns/gender neutral reader, aftercare

CW: face fucking, rough blowjobs, afab masturbation, handjobs (both receiving), hair pulling, slight praise kink, dom/sub dynamics, switching, orgasm control, shameless smut, bickering, Tech is LOUD

Words: 3.659

I was literally on aphrodisiacs while I wrote most of this I'm sorry

Masterlist

Read on ao3

You were quiet on the flight back to Ord Mantell. While Wrecker and Omega were sleeping in the back of the ship, tired from everything that happened on Safa Toma, you were sitting in the co-pilot seat next to Tech. You were deep in thought, trying to figure out why exactly you were feeling the way you did right now.

Something about watching Tech win that race made you feel giddy inside. It wasn’t just the concept of him winning the race itself. Everything flowed together so perfectly. The way he casually multi-tasked to study the schematics of that tunnel while engaging in a sport he literally learned about hours ago. The way he tricked those other two racers into crashing into each other. The way that it was clear that losing this race was not even an option he considered. That was probably the most attractive thing about the whole thing. The confidence in his own piloting skills.

You looked over at Tech, who was currently getting the ship ready to land. You were so deeply engaged in your own thoughts you didn’t even hear him when he announced you were almost at your destination. You felt the aftereffects of your revision of the previous events as well. Your face and ears were all hot and even goosebumps were making themselves apparent on your arms and legs. You couldn’t just move on from what you had witnessed on Safa Toma, you wanted to revel in the memory just a little bit longer. You wanted to show Tech just how much you enjoyed watching him race. 

You stayed in your seat when Omega and Wrecker left the ship, basically sprinting on their way to get some Mantell Mix. This presented you with the opportunity to stay on the ship with Tech, alone. So when you noticed him get up, intending to leave the ship as well and go after his siblings, you stopped him in his tracks by calling out his name. 

“What is it?” he asked, though you noticed most of this attention was focused on the datapad he was holding in his hands.

“Could you maybe explain to me how exactly you won that race one more time? In detail?" this caught his full intention “Why do you require an explanation? You were there to see it.” He sat back down, indicating that he was expecting this conversation to last longer. Your mind was racing, trying to decide if you wanted to be straightforward about how horny seeing him casually win that race made you or if you wanted to play innocent. You decided on the latter, for now. “I just think it would be beneficial to understand your thought process behind the whole thing.” You shrugged, trying to appear as casual as possible. He raised an eyebrow, though he didn’t question you any further.

“At first I stayed further back, seeing as I was rather unfamiliar with the route..” You leaned forward in your chair, eyes sparkling while a smile crept up on your face. You liked when he explained things to you. You could listen to him for hours, trying not to miss a single detail. So, as if the chair moved on its own, you inched closer to Tech. He noticed, though he didn’t acknowledge your action with more than a quick look at your chair as it moved closer to him. Initially, you didn’t think much about his reaction. But when you moved closer again, wanting to make sure you couldn’t possibly miss a word he was saying, he looked over again, but this time he stuttered as well, barely noticeable, but with the amount of attention you paid to him right now, you couldn’t miss it.

You managed to distract him, even unintentionally.

This revelation changed your approach to this situation. You were eager to keep listening to him explain his strategy, but at the same time you wanted to find out just how much you could distract him from his task at hand. So you moved even closer. This time his gaze lingered on the foot of the co-pilot seat for a bit before traveling up your legs, then quickly looking the other way. All while still explaining, of course.

You decided to throw caution into the wind and just keep diving head first into the situation presented before yourself, shoving thoughts of possible embarrassment, if this situation were to go wrong, to the side. You extended your right leg, slowly shuffling it towards his left. When the toes of your shoes touched, he paused his rambling about how he studied the schematics of that restricted tunnel mid-race. “What are you doing?” 

You tried to keep calm, trying to appear confident in your actions instead of as nervous as you actually felt. You could not think of a single excuse for trying to get this close to him. It seemed you had no other choice than to confess. “I just… Something about the way you won that race was captivating to me. I wanted you to explain how you went about doing that because it made me feel.. giddy inside.” The apparent blush on your face and you obviously staring at the floor to avoid eye contact destroyed any type of confidence or seduction you were trying to display. You swallowed hard before stating the next sentence. “I actually wanted to show you how much I enjoyed watching you during that race.” You dared a look at his face. Tech's eyes were locked on yours as soon as you looked back up at him, his mouth slightly agape. This was very clearly not what he expected you to say. There was an uncomfortable silence as he was thinking of a response. You don’t think you ever witnessed him having to think about something for so long. Then he put his data pad to the side, giving you his full attention.

“Do as you wish.” This was not an answer you were expecting. Your expression matched the one he had on his face earlier, eyes focused on his and lips slightly apart, dumbfounded. Tech, on the other hand, was now back to explaining those tunnel schematics as if nothing at all had happened. You took his statement as an invite to continue your advances. Though you required further communication to be able to proceed with your actions. So, not wanting to interrupt him, you raised your hand as if you were a student having questions about the ongoing lecture. He noticed this. “Yes?” he asked, eyebrows raised, not only interested in how you decided to get his attention, but also what it was you had to say. You asked your question while sinking onto your knees in front of his chair “Tell me to stop as soon as you want me to.” You looked up at him with a serious look on your face, wanting to make sure this was communicated as well as possible. The last thing you wanted was to make him uncomfortable. 

Tech replied instantaneously. “Thank you for your concern, though I do not intend to stop you from anything you may have planned.” A shiver ran down your spine. He was eager for this as well. If it was not clear from this statement, it was from the way his legs shifted apart slightly, making room for you. And then he just kept on rambling, which you were glad to listen to.

Your right hand started at his calf, traveling up to his knee while your left hand landed just above his other knee simultaneously. You could feel him tense up. You were still listening to everything he said while your hands slowly made their way up his thighs. Your gaze was studying him from the top down. You broke eye contact to look at him top to bottom. Your eyes first found leverage on his chest, stomach, then his crotch. You could swear you heard a particularly loud gulp when your gaze landed where it did last. Your hands made their way towards his toolbelt, having to loosen it, at least the main buckle, to reach where you wanted to end up. You unbuckled the belt quickly before removing his codpiece. He did not once stop laying out his strategy to you, though his voice sounded coarser now.

You shuffled further between Tech's legs, your elbows resting on his knees as you undid his trousers. Then you paused. He had stopped his speech as soon as your hand reached his zipper. You looked up at him, eyes huge due to the low angle at which you were positioned. You wouldn't have noticed how much your actions were affecting him from just his voice, as it was barely disturbed before you tried to get into his pants, though a single look in his face revealed how hard he was blushing at your actions. You gave him a small smile before stating: “Keep talking.” It seemed you had now regained the upper hand in this situation. You enjoyed seeing how he reacted to you, the effect you had on him, especially considering how much it usually takes to distract him from his ramblings. 

He picked his sentence back up where he paused it earlier. „I decided weapons were slowing me down too much, so I left them behind.“ You could tell he tried to talk as casually as possible, but with the way he gripped at his chair and his eyes intensely focused on your hands, it was easy to tell just how eager he was. Not to mention how noticeably hard he was by now. Your hand brushed over his crotch, making him shiver, before reaching into his pants to pull his dick out.

He groaned at this action. He was louder than you expected, and you hadn‘t even properly started yet. Even though this sound he emitted sent a shock straight to your core, you didn‘t like how it disturbed his rambling.

“I didn‘t say you could stop explaining.“ Another groan. You knew how much he enjoyed babbling about whatever was on his mind, so it shouldn‘t have surprised you that it turned him on when someone actually wanted to hear what he had to say. 

When he started talking again you began ghosting your hand over his now fully hard cock. He shivered once more but he just kept on rambling. When you looked up at him again you noticed his eyes were now shut, most likely to help him concentrate on laying out his strategy further. A small smile formed on your face, pleased with the power you had over him right now. You started pumping him, almost as a reward, because he did so good relaying the race to you.

A whimper escaped his throat. You noticed his voice had become breathier and quieter. His eyes were still closed and his head pressed against the headrest of the pilot‘s chair, trying his hardest to keep his composure - and failing miserably. Some encouragement might help, you thought. You paused the up and down motion of your hand on his dick to speak.

“Look at me.“ His glassy eyes met yours. Your hand twisted slightly, earning you another whimper from Tech. „ You‘re doing so well explaining, and as soon as you‘re finished telling me all about that race, I‘ll reward you properly.“ He bucked his hips into your hand, accompanied by a low moan. He swallowed hard before snapping back at you. „I do not require your praise. I am fully in control of myself.“ You snorted, disregarding his statement.  „With the way your body is reacting to me, I beg to differ.“ 

This time, instead of talking back to you, he continued his explanation. You noticed he was talking notably faster now, but you let him get away with it and started pumping and twisting your hand again. 

„I-I took the l-left t-tunnel, seeing as I w-was now a-able to go f-fast enough to be a-able to make it a-across the m-missing part of the t-track.“ It took everything in Tech to form a coherent sentence in this state. „Keep going.“ you spurred him on further, studying the way his face contorted in pleasure and concentration.

You shuffled closer, leaning towards his cock. Wanting to challenge his focus even more, you puckered your lips, blowing some air on the tip. A shiver ran down his entire body and his breathing hitched. Again, he paused his debriefing. „I thought you would only intend to let me into your mouth after I finish the revision of the race.“ He was next to breathless. „Don’t be so hasty. This is only a preview to keep you motivated.“ You licked a small circle around the head of his dick to emphasize your statement. A deep, uncensored, guttural moan left his mouth. „Don‘t cum too soon, or I‘ll leave you here with nothing.“, you whispered up at him. „We will see about that.“, he responded, more bratty than did him good right now. You retracted your head, sitting straight on your heels now again, and squeezed him a little; a kind of warning to keep him in line.

You could not deny that his small attempt at gaining back dominance heated up your entire body. So, while Tech tried his hardest to finish the last portion of his explanation, you shifted your hips to rub your thighs together, hoping your attempt at trying to get some friction would go unnoticed. Your hands were still busy, with your right back to pumping him with increasing speed and your left digging into his still clothed thigh.

“…I-I fell back, l-letting the r-racers that b-boxed me in c-crash into e-eachother, allowing m-me to a-accelerate p-past them and w-win the race.“ You could feel his muscles relax after finishing his last sentence.  He opened his eyes to look down at you again. He looked desperate, almost teary-eyed. 

„You explained so well, and now I wanna reward you for it.“, you purred up at him. You lifted your hips, resting your weight on your knees. Your arms found their way to the back of your head to gather your hair so it wouldn‘t get in your way. You would have to hold it back with one hand, seeing as you were not in possession of a hair tie at the moment.

You were about to lean forward to take him into your mouth when something stopped you. Tech's much bigger hand landed on top of yours at the back of your head where you held your ponytail in place. You glanced up at him, slightly dumbfounded. „Let go. I will hold it back for you.“, he elaborated. Your attempt at nodding as a way to show acknowledgement of what he said resulted in him pulling at your hair on accident. You twitched. Tech's eyes widened, displaying concern. „I apologize. It will not happen again.“ You kind of enjoyed the sensation, though. „No. Keep doing that. Feels good.“ You removed your hand that was still in your hair from underneath his. 

Both of your elbows found leverage on his thighs once again. Your right hand gripped the base of his cock while your lips lowered onto him to kiss his tip. This triggered another whimper on his part. You felt his grip on your hair become tighter. Your eyes locked with his. He was searching for affirmation in your gaze. You smiled up at him, biting your lip as a nonverbal sign of your enjoyment. You lowered your mouth back onto him, now taking him until he hit the back of your throat. He gave you a long, deep moan this time. He pushed you down even further onto him, making you gag. Tech moaned again, seemingly enjoying the sight and feeling of you almost choking on him. He bucked his hips into your mouth once before asking: „May I take the lead now?“ You nodded as eagerly as possible with a dick this deep down your throat, giving up the last bit of control you had over him.

His grip on your hair tightened the slightest bit more before he took full control, shoving your head up and down on his dick, his hips bucking up every time his tip met the back of your throat. You gripped his upper thighs, holding on for dear life. Your core ached at the way he used you to his advantage, while he kept on groaning and moaning with every movement, you looked up at him. While all you saw on his face was passion and pleasure, he looked down at you, tears streaming down your face as a response to how he used your mouth like this was the only thing it was intended for.

You stuck your tongue out, which reached his balls every time he pushed your face towards his pelvis. His head fell back, overwhelmed with pleasure. You could barely handle the sight of him.

Your arousal had built up steadily since this whole situation started, and now you had reached the point where you couldn‘t go untouched any longer. Not wanting to interrupt Techs enjoyment with your own greedy need for bodily pleasure you slowly removed one of your hands from Techs thigh. It slowly traveled down your body until you reached your cloth-covered clit. You tried rubbing yourself through the fabric of your underwear. Thankfully, you chose to wear a skirt that day, so you at least had only one barrier between your fingers and your swollen clit tormenting you. 

You groaned in a mix of pleasure and frustration, sending vibrations down the dick still steadily ramming down your throat. This sent Tech over the edge. He gripped your hair tighter, holding your head in place as he came down your throat. You helped him through his orgasm by bobbing your head up and down ever so slightly. He pulled you off him by your hair. He looked out of breath, and when you stuck out your tongue at him, showing him you swallowed everything he had given to you, he groaned one last time before leaning down and kissing your forehead, hands still tangled in your hair.

That‘s when he saw where your second hand had gone. You had completely forgotten about your own pleasure when Tech came, the hand pressed to your core just a remnant of what you had attempted without him noticing. Now he saw exactly what you needed, though.

“I would gladly provide assistance, if you let me.“ except for heavy breathing on his side, there was no indication this man had just fucked your throat until both of you were seeing stars. You looked up at him, lips agape. You didn‘t even attempt to talk, already aware your throat was sufficiently sore at the moment, so you just eagerly nodded your head. 

He offered you a hand, as if he hadn‘t just used your throat as a sex toy, and pulled you up into his lap, your back facing his chest. His hands gripped your ankles and pulled them in towards your ass and spread your thighs by parting your knees. Your hands gripped onto his forearms for balance and security. He put his chin on your shoulder, your temple touching his goggles. He wanted to see exactly what he was working with. 

He brushed his hand over the wet spot on your underwear, exactly as you did with him earlier. He didn‘t even bother to take them off, just pushing them to the side, leaving your core flush, swollen and exposed. You shivered at the cold air of the ship hitting you at your most sensitive area. He brushed his hand over your now naked folds. „I did not expect that using you in the way I did would make you this wet.“

You moaned at his words, feeling slightly embarrassed at his wording.

Tech's fingers found your clit and began slowly tracing circles around it. This time you bucked your hips, needing more. „Don‘t be so hasty.“, he mocked your statement from earlier. His teasing didn‘t last long though, as he soon added a second finger to enhance the feeling. It didn‘t take long for you to feel your orgasm build up. You turned your face towards him, your nose pressing against his cheek as his head was still resting on your shoulder. Your lips parted slightly, whispering small, breathy moans directly into his ear. You could hear him swear before he quickened his movements, pressing down harder. Your moans increased in frequency and volume with every circle he traced until you reached your high. Back arching, thighs trembling, groaning, ignoring the ache in your throat. Your head fell back onto his shoulder. He pressed his palm flat against your clit, his hand quivering slightly, providing gentle stimulation while he helped you ride out your orgasm as his head turned to yours kissing your cheek.

You stayed like this for several minutes before you caught your breath again. He moved your underwear back into place. When he could tell you recovered from your orgasm enough to not pass out and fall over as soon as he let you go, Tech lifted you off his lap, setting you back onto the floor. You looked up at him, cheeks still stained with tears, still breathing heavily.

„You did well, and it is obvious you enjoyed this as much as I did, but I can tell your throat is sore, which needs to be taken care off quickly before it gets any worse. I will make you some tea.“ He tucked himself back into his pants and fastened his toolbelt again before getting up, walking towards a storage cabinet to get some teabags. You looked after him, still sitting on the floor next to the codpiece he had left behind, wondering how this was the same man who used your mouth as a fleshlight moments ago.

[pennyserenade]

the devil hath power

part three: the victor

pairing: coriolanus snow x f!reader, coriolanus snow x you, coriolanus snow x nameless reader (no use of y/n) rating: e (explicit, 18+) tags/warnings: power imbalance, sex work/prostitution, degradation, smut, explicit sex, a little bit of violence, roughness, blood tw, hate sex, protected sex, handjobs, oral (female receiving), fingering, a general evilness for coriolanus snow is NOT a good guy. i hate to tag this as Dark Coriolanus because i think that's just who he is, but i will do so for the sake of this. word count: 7.9k+ summary: Coriolanus Snow is always the victor in his games. Or is he? a/n: this series was lots of fun to write and i can only hope that you all enjoyed reading this half as much as i enjoyed making it. i'll kiss you on the nose if you decide to leave a nice comment and/or reblog this, but if you only like it that's okay, too; i'll think of you fondly for having followed me on this journey regardless. no beta because life is hard but i did my best here.

part one | part two

The party did not conclude as much as it transferred to another location.

Tigris and her friends had begun to talk of a new nightclub some time after the conversation in the living room, and the idea whisked them away in their states of bubbly inebriation. They had kindly invited her along, with Tigris in particular trying to make a strong case, but she’d declined, citing early morning obligations. On the way out, Tigris had whispered to her that Coriolanus was too important for fun–but asked if she wouldn't try and help him have it anyway, being his old friend? She had promised she would and Tigris had kissed her cheek with warm affection before leaving. Not for the first time that night she could hardly believe that Coriolanus was related to the woman.

It was just as well for Coriolanus that they all left sooner than expected. He held the door open as they scattered out, delivering his charming goodbyes, but after they all had gone his amicable smile faded significantly and his shoulders slumped from the relief. 

“Don’t you like them?” she asked, observing from the corner. 

He wetted his lips, turning his head towards her. “Do you?”

“I’d say so, yes.”

“Of course you do. They’re fools.” 

She wasn’t surprised by his turn of attitude. In fact, she felt more at ease when he was like this: transparently mean. It felt less frightening to know what she was up against. 

“Even Tigris?” she inquired. 

“Of course not Tigris,” he answered irritably. He pushed his frame off the wall and straightened himself out. “She’s just vulnerable to those types of people. It’s not her fault.”

“Those types of people?” As far as she could tell, they’d all been fairly well-rounded individuals. Their only fault had been curiosity, maybe overfamiliarity, but she considered that much better than what he gave off: Pomposity, contempt, a coldness when he did not think to mask it. Coriolanus could be charming–she observed this multiple times throughout the night, as he had conducted side conversations and finished off stories–but he never seemed to strike anyone as sincere. She could sense that, could feel it in the way they talked to him, not like an old friend, but like a teacher. He wasn’t like Tigris. She was lovely. 

Coriolanus did not entertain the conversation any longer, though. He instead took the needle off the record that had been playing softly in the background for some time, stopping the music in the middle of a song. It was then that her thoughts spun back to her music box—how abruptly, almost violently, he had shut it when they were inside her room–and her stomach began to churn. It wasn’t nerves; it was far more complex than that. His eyes seemed to beckon her closer, to draw her in. 

Despite what she had said, she had hoped maybe all Coriolanus had intended to do was flaunt her around the party, to show her the life she could have if she worked hard enough for it. That had been foolish; she was experienced enough to know with men like him it never stopped anywhere innocuous as that. He looked up at her like he expected a performance. 

“Finally down to two,” she said, sitting her near-empty wine glass on one of his ornate bookshelves. “Anything else you’d like to do while I’m still on the clock?” 

He laughed mirthlessly, working the knot in his tie. “Is that all you think about?” 

She watched him as he had her that first night: intent, serious, a spectator to a life she could not quite imagine, nor one she exactly envied. “I don’t know—is there something else I should be thinking about?” 

He eyed her as she moved closer, almost as if he intended for her to pounce. His grin was derisive. “I don’t know–don’t you have your own thoughts?” he answered brusquely. 

“I do, but I don’t think you’d like them very much, Mr. Snow,” she retorted. She could sense that he was not entirely in a good mood now–could see it in the tense way he held his frame, see it in the hardness of his azure eyes–but she wasn’t sure he ever was. At least not in her company.

 “I can leave as soon as you give me my money,” she added. 

“Thought you said you weren’t an escort,” he sneered. She watched as his fingers undid his cufflinks. They fell with a clatter on the table before him, disregarded with an unfettered ease. She knew they probably cost more than most people could ever hope to make in a lifetime in the Districts. If she stole them, would he notice?

“I’m not, but you’ve made it abundantly clear that you’re well above paying for sex.” 

“What? The game get too trying for you?” Coriolanus clicked his tongue. Though his words took on a more playful tone, his voice did not. “You almost had me convinced last week that you were a worthy playmate. So stubborn, so adamant. I thought to myself for a moment that I was lucky you were only a whore and not something as substantial as my classmate.”  

Her eyes grew hard, despite herself. “So why are you trying to make me into something you so wholly believe I’m not?” she asked. “I don’t appreciate being left in the dark, Mr. Snow. In my line of business, it is best when all the cards are left on the table. When they are not I have the habit of leaving.”

He seemed to consider this as he opened the three buttons on his dress shirt. Already he had slung his suit jacket over the chair. “I’m not entirely fond of deception, either,” he said finally.

“I didn’t say anything about deception.”

“But I did. And you—“ he pointed a finger in her direction, “—know what you do is a bunch of thinly-veiled deception. I’ll tell you this: I think you could be an asset to me. You proved it tonight more than ever, with that charming little story about your Peacekeeper husband. You’re as quick on your feet as I’m sure you are on your back.” He quirked a mean grin. “But I’ll also say this: I also don’t like being left in the dark. If we are to work together the way I hope we will, I want to know your every thought as soon as you think it. I don’t care how banal.”

More than Coriolanus Snow liked conducting games, it seemed he liked winning them with an unfair advantage. Her lips twitched, daring to press into a grin. He didn’t find this amusing. 

“You think I’m joking,” he gruffed. 

“Quite the contrary.” She laughed, but it was more exasperated than mocking. “I think you’re serious. It’s just that you’re so goddamn predictable. You try to act above those men who come to me but you want what many of them do: power and control.”

The table that separated them lifted ever so slightly as he leaned his frame nearly all the way across it. “Of course I do,” his voice was rough. He was a frightening man when he wanted to be. She stumbled back. Anyone would’ve. “You do too. Don’t think I don’t notice just as much as you do.”

To make up for her temporary faltering and to show she was not intimated - though in truth she did wonder if maybe she ought to be - she leaned forward too, so close their noses nearly brushed. He smiled a wicked little grin that sent shivers down her spine. “You make me as sick as I make you. How's that for a thought?” she said. 

No venom, no bitterness, just a fact. Her pulse quickened. For a flash, she considered the fact that he could very well kill her. That no one might know it. Was he capable of that?

She felt his breath fan across her cheek, warm, scented like roses. “I like you better like this. None of that doe-eyed, temptress act. Your fluttering eyelashes got you through the door, but only because I wanted to know more about what’s up here.” 

She glowered. “You act high and mighty, Coriolanus, but I saw the tent in your pants last week. I know you liked it.” 

Her mouth ghosted over his own, teasing, but he didn’t move; he smirked, brushing his nose against her cheek, daring her. Challenging her. A far cry from the Coriolanus of weeks past. His past words echoed in her mind, the gravity of them weighing on her for the first time: The game will be different next time.

She could not lose. 

“You’re a petulant child, so afraid of what you don’t understand, contrary to what you say,” she whispered coldly, “And you want to fuck me so badly it terrifies you and you’re ashamed of yourself.” 

He connected their lips; it was chaste, brief before he drew back. It surprised her, and she had to work hard to pretend it hadn’t. “You think that if I do, it’ll ruin me.” Another chaste kiss. “Maybe it might, but what of you? What if you like it? Could you live with yourself?” 

Her eyes pressed close. The smell of roses was pungent but there was a heady scent mixed in with it; the sour-sweet smell of a clean sweat, of worry, of a long, long day. There too was alcohol. She had watched him consume a glass or two. She was sure she could take him on if need be. Certain that she had the willpower, the strength, to outdo him once more. “I’ve done far worse things and lived with it,” she whispered. 

Snow’s fingertips grazed against her jawline. His eyes bore into hers when she opened them for him. “I believe that.” 

Maybe it was meant to come across as condemnatory but it landed in a cushioned awe, wrapped in the quiet reverence belonging to a man who badly wants something he shouldn’t have. And he took it, his long fingers wrapping around the tantalizing column of her neck, pressing gently, an act of possession as his lips enveloped her own. There was no hesitation, no strain; he opened his mouth and she allowed his tongue to separate her lips. He tasted of roses, of wine, earthy and decadent, his lips plush and smooth as they moved hungrily against her own. 

She was the one who pulled back first, searching for air, allowing his nose to bump against the tip of hers as he lurched forward for more. His eyes were closed but he still possessed enough of himself to laugh humorlessly at the impossibility of what was happening. It did feel like victory, albeit a small one. She kissed him again, hoping he felt the drip of regret straight down to the swell of his groin. Hoped he’d feel it for decades, that he’d remember this as vividly as she would: his thighs pressed into the wooden table, his fingers in her hair, on her jaw, on her neck, his want, thick and palpable - embarrassing - as he leaned closer for more, more, more. 

He tugged her closer by the lapels of her jacket. There was no protest, not even the muffled sound of self-satisfaction as she crawled her way to him across the table. He held it down with his weight and watched expectantly as she came to sit before him. It was better this way, she told herself, so close. His pupils were blown wide, his lips red and bruised, whatever lipstick she might’ve still been wearing smudged against his. Even his carefully styled hair had begun to unravel. She could feel the full heat of his desire as her legs bracketed his waist. 

“When I first began asking about you—“ Coriolanus’ fingers fiddled with the buttons on her blazer. She let him, leaning back on her arms, a present to be unwrapped. “—there was this man. Let’s call him Vitus.” The first button popped open, and he moved diligently to the next one. “I go to university with Vitus. He’s a wealthy young man, and arrogant, so it’s no surprise he’s on your list. Vitus spoke highly of you, but not kindly.” The other button broke open, revealing the bit of flesh before her breasts. He could see a peak of black, of sheer lace, and she watched as he reevaluated his expectations. 

“Vitus,” she reminded softly. He shifted his eyes up. They were dark and unreadable. “Vitus—” he echoed, nodding. The third button slipped free. “—said you were a whore who got down on your knees for him. You sucked his cock so well that he shook. Said that was the best head he ever got, that you swallowed it down your pretty throat and left lipstick marks on his cock.” 

Coriolanus’ lips twitched, as though this fact pained him. She furrowed her eyebrows, surprised by the way the words seemed to disturb him—as if he was angry that she had been with other men. He pushed her blazer open and draped it over her shoulders. His head drooped down and he took one of her nipples, which was clothed behind the sheer cup of her bra, and scraped it between his teeth. 

She shuddered, one hand coming to his hair. Before it could, he pressed it back down onto the table forcefully. Her body got progressively more rigid beneath his. 

“Another man said your cunt was tight.” He stared up at her with unfeeling eyes. “Tight. He said that word exactly. He was so vapid. He said you liked him. That you came on his cock not once but twice, and that you rode him until your knees gave out. And do you want to know what I asked them to get those responses?” Coriolanus pressed his lips gently on the place before her bra began. He began kissing downwards, right over the fabric. By her belly-button, he said, “If they knew who you were. Nothing else.”

He pressed warm, open-mouthed kisses at the waist of her pants. She pushed back the fawn of hair that fell over his eyes and he let her. Looking down at him, feeling the ghost of his lips, the presence of his breath against her skin, she realized he intended for her to comment. 

“That doesn’t embarrass me,” she answered mildly. “I can’t stop what people choose to say about me.” 

Coriolanus rolled his eyes. “I didn’t think it would. That wasn’t the point.” He began to undo the button on her pants now, too. “The point is that I wanted you to know—“ The button came loose and he carefully undid her zipper, falling to his knees before her. It was more reverent of a move that she would have figured he’d make. He nudged her exposed skin with the cold tip of his nose, letting his tongue trace lightly at the beginning of her transparent underwear. “—however well you did it for them, I want it twenty times better. This will be your best performance yet.” 

His fingers gripped the underside of her thighs and he tugged her forward so abruptly, it caught her off guard. Her head rattled against the wood of the table. “Fuck!” she hissed through her teeth, her foot pushing outward to fling him back in retaliation. It worked; he jolted, his body falling flat onto the floor. 

Her breath quickened, her body adjusting to the adrenaline now coursing through it. As rose on her elbow to inspect the damage, she frowned. Coriolanus sat before her, running his thumb against the bottom of his lip. When he inspected his fingers, he was overcome with quiet astonishment. They both were. There was a red droplet smeared on his finger, the blood fresh. The sight of it thrilled her. It did. She was not sorry to admit that. She only worried how he would take it, how he would respond. If he called someone, anyone important, she could be in trouble. What she did was not exactly legal. 

“Coriolanus—“ she began apologetically. He rose a hand to shut her up. It was like blood on snow, the cream white of his hand smeared with the dark red of his blood. How ironic. 

He rose to his feet, laughing coldly as he tongued the spot on his lip. It wasn’t terrible, but it’d be an injury he couldn’t hide. People would ask about it. She began to cower, drawing her knees up the closer he came to her. 

“There’s no reason to be scared,” he assured, though the frenzied look in his eyes didn’t put her much at ease. His bloodied finger wrapped around one of her ankles. It melted in the fabric, but would no doubt stain later when it faded to rusty brown. This suit would be ruined. She tried her best to remain calm. She had survived worse. She was always surviving.  

“What’s a little blood in a good game between friends?” he spoke levelly. The blood dribbled slowly down his chin and he let it. 

She swallowed hard. “I didn’t mean to—not like that. I just meant to—“ she sputtered. “I’m sorry.”

He shook his head. “No you’re not. What did I say about us not deceiving each other?” 

His voice was low, angry, his eyes piercing. She carefully watched his fingers on her ankle, anticipating his next move. They remained still, loose. “Maybe I deserved it,” he went on, laughingly. “What’s the saying—an eye for an eye? Maybe that just makes us even.” 

Before the blood trickled down to his white shirt, she moved forward to stop it, as if this would absolve what she’d done—helping him. It was just a dribble, barely anything at all. He flinched, though, when she lurched forth to wipe it. He pinched her wrist between his fingers. 

Coriolanus inspected the spot on her finger like he had his own, his lips attempting to twitch into something resembling a smile. It was unsettling, and she was happy when she pulled back and he let her. “I’m not going to hurt you,” he told her softly again. He let go of her ankle. 

She stared into his eyes until they finally became penetrable again. After she nodded in quiet acquiescence, Coriolanus took her hand back. He  looked her in the eyes, wrapped his warm mouth around her two blood-stained fingers and moaned. It was so lewd, so unlike anything she could’ve imagined him doing, and she couldn’t help but show her shock; she yelped as his tongue grazed between her fingers. 

Her slack jawed reaction offered him the reprieve he needed to get them back on track; his lips slid off her fingers and he pulled her closer, guiding her into another kiss. She could taste cooper on his tongue more than she could his roses now. This was against her rules, anything with blood, but it felt hard earned, like a reward on her part more than his. 

Coriolanus took advantage of the fact that her slacks were unbuttoned and slid his hand down between their bodies. He spread his fingers through the patch of hair she had teased him with on that ill fated night, when he had come so close to giving in to her, reveling in the fact that he had her now. And it did feel like exactly that: like he had her, like a bird in a cage. He had her beneath his touch, he had her wearing the clothes he’d picked out, in the house of his own making, wearing the very blood she’d drawn from his lip. Even the slight pulsating feeling that resided there still only added fuel to the fire that she’d awoken in him. 

She was a terrible thing, and he saw it in her eyes when she’d kicked him back—that frightening jolt of excitement that came from the illicit. The fact that she hated him, that he could see it in her eyes as clearly as he had been able to derive anything else from her, did not bother him. It comforted him. She was no Lucy Gray. Not even throwing poor Lucy Gray in an arena to fight to the death could make her half as jaded as the woman beneath his touch. She had done worse and lived through it. Yes, he believed her. 

The simple truth of it was that if she wasn’t a whore and destitute, he’d marry her in a heartbeat. While Livia Cardew was a wonderful choice, and one he was close to sealing the deal on, Livia wasn’t like this woman. He knew that there would never be a danger of loving either of them, that his heart could never open the way it had for Lucy Gray for anyone so cold and cynical. But he knew, unlike with Livia, he could delight in life with this one—that she could make him better, not for all her surrender, but the process of wearing her down to it. He pictured it: the Presidential Palace of his dreams, expansive and grand, and her lying in a four-poster bed waiting for him after a long day in red silk sheets, wearing nothing but this black transparent set. When he entered her it would not be a chore, or something given, but a game hard won—and he knew she’d like it too, that the defeat would fill her with comfort because she knew the depths of true exhaustion and it wouldn’t be like that. He’d seen the hollowed home of hers, knew she lived through the Dark Days just as well as the rest of them and recovered about as well as his family had. To lose his game would be nothing; he’d cloth her and feed her and fuck her full of heirs no matter what.  

He wouldn’t want Livia to do this. She wouldn’t do it half as well. There was a vulnerability to this woman that Livia Cardew didn’t possess, a vulnerability she tried hard to forge into strength and almost succeeded at. It was thrilling to watch, to see her hold her head up so assuredly beneath his hard gazes, to watch the devastating power she possessed when she needed something badly enough. He hated her but she no longer disgusted him; she thrilled him. He’d be happy to play this game every day for the rest of his life—would be pleased to shed blood for something as giving as this pursuit. He’d done more for less. 

Her cunt was hot and wet, and rubbing a single finger through it relieved him more than he would readily communicate. But he didn’t have to; he slumped into her, gave way. She gripped at his arms, let him swallow her breathy little moans into his mouth as he teased over her core with his fingertip. He knew that when he entered her, it would change something—ruin him, maybe, the way she’d forecasted—and he didn’t yet want to do it. A part of him would lose and would remain lost forever, and he wasn’t ready to contend with that truth yet. 

He gathered her slick on his fingers and began to grind down on her clit. Slowly at first, letting her adjust to the feeling, then quickly, delighting wholly in the way she couldn’t help but tighten her grip on his arms. 

Coriolanus was not a man who liked self-imposed ignorance. After returning from District 12, he’d begun to undertake his study in sexuality, with nearly as much ardor as he had his education. He and Lucy Gray never had done anything beyond kissing and heavy petting. It wasn’t that he hadn’t wanted to—he’d wanted to wait until she seemed eager, ready, when they could be alone, away from the Covey, from Sejanus—but it never worked out. He understood it to be for the best. If they had he’d probably be tethered to the foolish notion that sex had to mean something. When he got back, Coriolanus took to the female attention that had been directed towards him for much longer than he had wished it to be. It had started with Clemensia, for he had known he could trust her for her frankness and he found her to be the prettiest. 

He knew what he was doing now—had undertaken many hours in the laboratory of women’s intricate, often complex forms. Sometimes men, too, he wasn’t ashamed to admit. There was nothing he did not want to know—especially about himself. Lucy Gray had taken him by surprise because he’d made the mistake of being unknowing, of not having a strong sense of his character and a fluid purpose. He worked through that, saw himself out to the other side: he knew what he liked, who he liked, when he liked it. 

Well, mostly. She surprised him, but that was perfectly fine because he was solving this too, wasn’t he?

Her nails dug crescent shaped indentations into the pale of his skin, nearly cutting enough to draw blood again, but not quite. He nuzzled against her throat with his nose, taking to the sting of it. He went faster on her clit, harder. “You can never just play nice, can you?” he husked. He nipped alongside the edge of her jaw, ignoring the ache in his lip. “You’re so fucking wet. You like this. Like my blood on your tongue and my hands down the front of your pants. Makes you feel powerful doesn’t it?” 

She covered his mouth with one of her hands, her face contorting into a fine pleasure-pain expression that sent jolts right down to his cock. He could tell she was close, that she was going to come any second based on the way she was drawing her legs together—or at least trying to. Her grip was fierce on his arm and she was uncaring of the wound she had given him, pressing her palm to it. If she drew fresh blood, he wouldn’t be surprised. Wouldn’t mind. He’d lick it from her palm, too. 

He finally relented when he felt she was getting too close, and he sunk a single finger into her, keeping his thumb pressed steadily onto her clit as he did. She moaned, loud and audacious, her entire body arching up into him. With his free hand, he gripped her chin hard and, shaking off her hand from his face, pushed his lips into hers. She came, her fingers tugging on his hair, her nails clawing at his arm, her tongue touching his, exploring, tasting, lingering. 

And then she slumped against him, sated and out of breath. He smirked, though she could not see it. This was his victory, and a sweet victory it was. Here she was: docile, collasped in his arms, pleased because he had made her so.  

When he felt she had had enough time to recuperate, he took his finger from the welcomed heat of her cunt and placed it on her tongue. It did not shock her the way he thought it might’ve—the way he would’ve liked. She wrapped her lips around it without a second thought, drawing it in deeper, her eyes latching seductively onto his. His cock twitched at the sight and at the feel of it, knowing that she was tasting of herself and without a hint of shame or remorse coloring her. Good Capital girls weren’t ever so bold. It took awhile to get them to do things like this, or to even admit that they might like the idea of it. 

And she knew he liked it—that what had been plebeian before now seemed desirable as he explored and touched and undid. The state she found herself in was not an unprecedented outcome as much as it was a detour. She would still end up where she had intended to be in the beginning. Coriolanus was better than she would’ve thought he could’ve been, sure, but it did not detract from the fact that at his core he was fundamentally the same as the rest of them. That in his eyes, which burned wildly of passion, and his mind, which no doubt thought single-mindedly of success, was like that of a million others before him. Unexceptional in his perceived exceptionalism. 

She took her mouth off of him, sucking her cheeks so hollowly around his finger that she made a sweet popping sound. Coriolanus was like a spectator. That’s the best way she could perceive him: as an audience, taken completely with her and her unpredictability, hanging onto the edge of his seat, wondering what on earth she would do next. His eyes followed her movements closely. She thought of his Games—the one with the tributes that could be bet on, and watched constantly—and she wondered how much different this was to that for him. How sick of a man was he? Where was the line, as he asked her? Did he know it?

She guided his hand down to her chest. This he seemed to understand, taking the lead, catching her pebbled nippled against his palm as he massaged one of her breasts. She shrugged off the blazer—which had scarcely been hanging on for a while now—and tugged down her bra impatiently, exposing more of herself to him. He took the opportunity to lean his head down again. Coriolanus ran the flat of his tongue against one of her nipples, while squeezing the other between his fingers. The nature of it bordered on painful but he never committed to it, edging her up to the slight sting of too much pressure and then coaxing her out of it, sucking, rubbing lightly. 

His lips were glossy when he perched up to kiss her. She smiled. “You’re awful agreeable when your cock is hard—though I guess I knew it would be. I think that’s why you hate whores like me: we excite you to the state of pliability.” 

He took her bottom lip between his teeth and tugged at the flesh. “You’d like to think that,” He kissed over the spot, tending it with an affection that didn’t belong to him. It felt borrowed, stolen, an amusing role he was trying to fill out as not to startle her with the true depth of his cruelty. “I hate what you do but I understand it, don’t you see? I told you as much before. You whores — as you so crassly put it — are like a small stain on a good piece of fabric: some you can hide better than others.” 

She yanked roughly at his hair, drawing a hiss from his lips. But his grin did not fade. “What does that make you, then?” she retorted, “With your cock hard for me? Paying to finger me?” 

She palmed him through his slacks and Coriolanus let out a shuddery breath, shocked by the sudden relief of it. His next response was amused, his voice lighter. “But you’re not like other whores are you? There’s a hierarchy and you’re at the top of yours. The finest quality. If there’s ever a cunt to sink into, it’s yours—“ His eyes rolled back as she unzipped his slacks and slid her hand beneath the waistband of his boxers. Her fingers gripped tightly around his base and his nose brushed against hers as he leaned into her touch, his palms flattening on the table. “—fuck.” 

With her free hand she propped him up, laughing against his shoulder. “Oh, Coriolanus,” she purred against the shell of his ear. His shaft was leaking pre-cum and she rubbed some of it down his cock, taking note of his response to her grip; the way the muscles in his neck fluctuated, how his hips bounced back and forth, how his breathing labored. Her teeth tugged on his earlobe. “You ought to get a condom, before you make a mess of yourself in your slacks. I can tell you want it so bad, Coryo.”

His hand gripped her throat. “Don’t call me that,” he said, his voice low—ringing serious, desperate. She didn’t listen. 

“Coryo, please,” she begged. His cock twitched in her hand and his hand tightened on her throat, threatening. It was a warning. She wanted to ruin him—wanted him to think about her forever, wanted to hate her as badly as she felt she hated him—but she couldn’t let him finish like this. She needed him inside of her, the truest defeat.

“I’ll show you how good I can be,” she coaxed, her tugs on his cock becoming more lingering. From the tip to the base, slow and teasing. He was decently sized. more girth than he was length. She was happy he knew what foreplay was. “I’ll show you how good we can be, and that’s what you really want, isn’t it? To know that I can submit to you as you’ve to me? And I can, Coryo.” 

His eyes pressed closed. She kissed the side of his mouth. “You don’t want what those men want, do you? Not even in a better form. You want more from me. Something I’ve never given them. Isn’t that right?” She kissed him fully on the lips now and he let her—even opened his mouth to accept her tongue against his. A man heavily seduced. “I bet you’d like to fuck me with nothing on, wouldn’t you?” 

She knew what he wanted. She needed him to say it to. To admit it for the both of them. His eyes looked so light, almost crystal, when he opened them again. He swallowed hard. “You’re such a cunt.”

“You’re not paying me to lie to you. You’re paying for my every thought, isn’t that right?” She gripped his cock tighter in her hand and he sucked in a breath through his gritted teeth. “I think you want to tell me what you’re thinking so badly it’s killing you. You shouldn’t be afraid of it, not anymore. We’ve already come so far. A little farther won’t kill you.”

“Such a dirty wh—“

“You told me, you said however banal the thought—“

“I know what you’re doing.”

“I’m not doing anything. You’re just afraid of it—the depth of your want.” 

“Fuck,” he said under his breath. He rutted into her hand, the warmth of it beyond relieving after so much of nothing. She let him. As his hips pushed into her, into the table, she watched how the desperation took hold of him. Coriolanus' breathing became labored. She wondered how long it had been—if he denied himself this pleasure. He gripped tightly onto the edge of the table, drawing closer and closer, his thrusts becoming more erratic. 

With an almost sickening amount of satisfaction, she let go of his cock. Coriolanus rutted into nothing with a harsh grunt, his head bouncing into her shoulders as he realized what she’d done and began to sag from the betrayal. 

He gripped her face between his hands. “You think you’re so very clever—and you are—but you won’t win this. Not against me.” He squished up her cheeks, drew her closer to his face. His patience had thinned. “I’m not like those bastards you fool around with. Everyone knows you don’t fuck whores without a condom—even the most cunning ones. Don’t play the cards you don’t have because it’s beneath you,” he growled out before letting her go. 

She watched with mild curiosity as he stalked away from her. It was an act she found equal parts amusing and hypocritical. He reminded her of a wounded animal, snapping at whatever it perceives to be a threat in blind rage. 

“You like the game, don’t you, Coriolanus?” she asked him lightly. 

He peered at her over his shoulder. “I have always liked the making of it more than I liked the playing of it.”

He had retreated back to his clinical tone; measured, calculated, clipped. She gathered her composure and slid off the table. He tensed beneath her when she wrapped herself around his torso, and his hands gripped onto her own. But he did not push her away. He was warm, still flushed from his desire, and she knew he did not have it in him to deny her. His cock was hard, leaking, and he allowed himself the room to want this. To imagine it. They were too far into this now. 

She laid her head against his back and toyed with the buttons on his shirt. She slid her hand beneath the cool fabric. Her fingers explored the hardened expanse of his chest, dipped down to his abs teasingly. His heart hammered away in his chest—perhaps the most honest thing about him. His body began to ease, unintentionally, back into her own, and she undid the few remaining buttons on his dress shirt. He let it fly open. 

Coriolanus turned around. He kissed her suddenly, and it wasn’t like before—not rough, but almost tender, all consuming. “I think we should go to my bedroom in case Tigris comes back. Sometimes she does that,” he whispered against her lips. 

“Lead the way,” she responded. And he did. 

Coriolanus’ room was luxurious, but sensible; it was obvious from the design it was a space meant to be slept in rather than inhabited: the four poster bed, the orange hued lamps, the heavy drawn curtains. Everything was the best quality, but it was plain, almost antiquated. Like hers, if she could have his money. 

He didn't put much stock in how she felt about the room, though. When the door shut, they resumed their working relationship. He eased her out of the slacks and she relieved him of his shirt; he unlatched her diaphanous bra, and she tugged on his pants; he shimmed the underwear off her hips and he stepped out of his for her without protest, without thought. They were naked in seconds and seemed to understand each other better for it. She laid down on his bed and he stood at the foot of it. 

His cock, which had begun to soften, sprung back to life now without aid. He touched his cock in lazy strokes, noncommittal but desperate. He did have a good looking cock, velvet soft and veiny. A terrible thing for a man so evil, so repressed, to be gifted with something like that.  “No more tricks,” he demanded. 

She opened her legs, the air of the room cool against her wet core. “No more tricks,” she echoed. Coriolanus devoured her before he touched her. 

He moved methodically to the desk in the corner of his room. The condoms were stored in the second drawer, wrapped in gold. Before she could offer to help him put one on, he was already undoing the wrapper and lining himself up to the latex. She watched curiously as he did it. He was stately about it, not coltish or inelegant. In this way, he was unmatched. Men usually bowed to their desires but it seemed he led a disciplined existence. He was too important for fun. 

Her stomach began to flutter with the anticipation of it. It was a betrayal, but not one she couldn’t contend with. Not one that she hadn’t before, in fact. This was how the body worked. This was work. This meant nothing. 

“Are you wet enough?” he asked. 

“I’d say so. I must say, you surprised me.” After a pause, she added, “You surprise me. Present tense.”

His smirk was unmistakable and predicted. “Isn’t it nice, not fucking men like Vitus? Don’t you see what a life you could have if you work for me?”

“Yes,” she cooed. Pliant, sated, prepared beautifully on his satin sheets. A dream he had long awaited and one he wanted so badly it would terrify him if he didn’t understand it throughly. 

Coriolanus crawled between her thighs. He kissed her again, hard, urgent, and she responded in kind, sucking at the end of his tongue, tugging on his now unruly hair. His cock rested on the curve of her stomach, present, aching, seemingly growing harder by the minute. He worked hard not to rub against her. He refused to hump against her like some goddamn puppy who knew no better. 

“Now,” she whispered. He nodded in assent. It was all done by his permission, by his standards. Her hand wrapped around his cock and she guided him to her core, but it was he who pushed in. He who teased the tip, he who slid so slowly that both of their bodies drew in a rigid sigh, he who bottomed out and he who drew up one of her legs to go a little deeper still. 

He needed her and there was a certain release to being able to admit that. It was encouraging. It made him throb inside of her. They looked at one another, breathed in the scent of their sex, and it began. Coriolanus drew back his hips, then pressed forward. His movements were harsh but steady. He delighted in the way she looked up at him like that: like he was fucking her and she felt it, really felt it. And fuck, she was wet, so wet that he could hear it. His cock was a welcome entity inside of her; she clenched around him, seeming to urge him in, begging him to stay. 

An unspeakable thing grew inside of him. The thing she had been right about. The thing that terrified him. His head hung and he watched the way his cock glistened with her slick, how it entered and exited out of her. “You’re mine,” he growled. It came from within and sounded frail. And it was. It belonged to a version of him he did not like. A version of him he could seldom control. He did not do this much anymore and it was for good reason. He had learned what he had needed to. 

She gave a beautiful performance, though. Bleary-eyed with want, convincing as she raised her hips to meet him—like she might need this half as badly as he did. “Yes,” she answered. He hated her. 

You hate her. You hate her. He repeated it like a mantra, his hips snapping into hers based on the unvaried rhythm of it. And he did hate her. She was a whore and she was a good one. His arms bracketed her head and said it. “I hate you.” 

“Fuck,” was her response. Fuck. His cock pounded inside of her and she moaned. Her nails began to dig into his skin again. This he liked most of all. The nobility of having shed blood had grown on him since he had first killed a person. 

He brought up the other leg. She gasped. It could not be any easier to push inside of her than it was now. God she was wet. He began to grind inside of her. She drew blood on his back. The sting of it was a relief. Penance. Fuck. 

He didn’t bother with making her come. He thought about it but he felt she didn’t need to. Not again. He was paying her for this. He couldn’t, wouldn’t, not for someone like her. To come inside of her because of his own thoughts was one thing but to come because she did, because she was trembling with her own want and he liked it—

He came. His body went slack and it surprised them both. She wrapped her hands in his hair as he collapsed into her body, and he could feel the heavy thud of heart. Or maybe that was his. It was hard to tell where one began and one ended during these things. He hated that most of all. 

Coriolanus drew out of her as soon as he could. He was not embarrassed. He was startled, but not embarrassed. It felt cleansing. But then he did something unforgivable. He did not leave her with her legs parted, did not watch with scorn as she laid in the filth of her occupation. Did not hate her because of what she was but rewarded her for it. 

Her gasp was as genuine when his tongue parted her folds. He ate her out in earnest, his eyes watching the way his tongue made her react. When she played with her nipples, so unabashed about what she wanted, he put his mouth on her clit and sucked. He did want her to come. Because of him. For him. Her hips jerked and he followed along with the movements. 

She tasted vaguely of him, but acidic, tangy, dangerous, too. Her fingers raked through his hair, and he entered two fingers inside of her. Clemmie used to like this. Livia would, too. He was good at it. 

“Oh, Coriolanus,” she whined. He hummed against her and the vibration reached her core. She shook and tugged and pleaded, her hips doing their best to get away, but he wouldn’t let them. He felt her clinch around his fingers. “Coriolanus,” she gasped. She came once, twice. Three times would be too indulgent. This is where he drew the line. 

He fell to her side with a heaving chest. They were both too warm, spent, surprised by the extent of what they had done to speak about it. In his mind he was building her a cage, and she was already searching for the key next to him. 

After a while, he turned to her. She did not look at him but continued to stare blankly at the ceiling. “How much?” he asked her. It felt customary. 

She wanted to say: More than you can give. She wanted to say: Everything you’ve got. She wanted to say: I will tell you no secrets, I won’t help you, I hate you. But she didn’t. She thought of home, what remained of it, and she said: “More than the first time.”

She was nothing like him but one did not need to be Coriolanus Snow to understand this: money was king, and he who had the most was the winner. 

But she understood something far better than he did. She had taken something from him he hadn’t intended to give, and that was something money could not buy. His blood was beneath her fingernails. His cuff links were in the pocket of her blood stained suit. Tomorrow she would begin to make her house right again. Tomorrow she would tell him what she knew about the men she slept with—all of it. Turn them all against each other, hopefully, ruin the whole damn empire. Maybe she would steal something else, eat his food, fuck him again, see how far she could go before he noticed how much of his life she usurped. Would he begin to blur the line between performance and reality? She was sure he might. Already he had his hand on her wrist, tracing lightly against it.  

He was the winner but now she was out for more than just a single victory. This was war and she was choosing her battles wisely. 

Looking in his direction, she turned her lips up almost imperceptibly into a grin. Her eyes were soft, still teary from the sex. He seemed…at ease. Sated. 

“Thank you,” she whispered. 

 “For what?” His eyebrows furrowed.

“This opportunity,” she said warmly. “I know it’s going to change things for me. I can see that.” 

In his eyes it appeared: the propensity for being needed. He smiled, too. “It will,” he told her.  

Yes, she was the victor and the crown had yet to feel heavy. 

[bomber-grl]

Leo Valdez x Child of Hypnos ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁

Pairing(s): Leo Valdez x Gn!Reader

First of all, I’m surprised your paths even crossed 😭

I mean you’re quite literally the opposite of each other but I mean “opposites attract”

You two most likely met when annabeth would go to your cabin to get something from your sibling the head counselor

The two of you started getting to know each other mainly because of how, again, Leo’s type is someone out of his league

Ngl he didn’t really think of you much but in the rare occasion you’d be at the bonfire he tries to get close and even forces someone like annabeth or Percy to introduce him to you

One notable thing about you to him was the fact you were more awake than your siblings

You’d be found wondering around camp, the few times he saw you walking was when you got a snack then fell asleep on a bench

Most people just passed you like it was no big deal but he decided to get a water bottle and sit next to you

He heard you mumbling a bit about something and then he heard his name

He heard his name!!!

Well you began stirring under his gaze and got up while rubbing your eye

You didn’t even take note of him and layed back down on his lap

…. Aaaand that’s how it stayed for a few hours, he was even teased by passerby’s

We all know damn well it was the stoll siblings

Anyway eventually it got late so he carried you back to your cabin and left

Once he got back into his bed he couldn’t sleep whatsoever, still thinking of why you said his name

He sorta forgot about the whole ordeal until you came to his cabin and was made aware by his sibling

He went to the door and there you were… with baked good…?

You were barely conscious but admitted to having baked them with the help of Will (who gladly agreed)

You gave them to him for getting you back to your cabin safely and told him you’d be up for hanging out, but not too often, and preferably not during the day

Then you skidaddled

He kept thinking of it and he was so touched that he didn’t let anyone eat any of the goods😭

Anyway, your siblings were all out of camp one time (what a coincidence) so you decided to invite him over

The two of you ended up really talking while on your bed and you ended up telling him about you

He was surprised by your hobbies, art, reading and not so surprised by the fact you were introverted

He eventually asked how u were more coherent than any of your other siblings

-and you answered honestly

You really didn’t know, but even if you were seen as sleepy still, you really weren’t as much at least

It was just that you were really imaginative and would daydream more often than not

He was honestly surprised to actually have a real convo with you but he eventually began talking about himself too

The two of you spoke for a much longer time than originally intended and that turned into a sleepover

He really didn’t wanna end your convo but it was hard to deny the fact his lids were getting heavy

You reassured him to just sleep and eventually the two of you did just that

And what really surprised him? Was seeing you in his dreams

He was so shocked it was honestly funny 💀😭

He was weirded out too but he decided to go along with it

Honestly was kinda cool since you were able to talk while sleeping and still be well rested so

A win is a win

It was honestly surprising he didn’t immediately fall asleep when he entered your cabin but yknow

The two of you are closer than you could ever imagine, even if your most intimate (not in a 18+ way) was while the two of you were laying in bed

A lot of people were weirded out, especially since you were seen more around camp during the daytime and at bonfires due to Leo

But it was a good change

In times of when people are fighting or whatnot whether it’s in battle or capture the flag he love being on your side

Especially since you can literally make anyone instantly fall asleep without putting in the effort

Honestly really cool especially since he won’t have to retort to violence

Either way he really loves you especially when he’s not able to fall asleep, he can just fall asleep in your arms and go to sleep

[humanitys-strongest-bamf]

HEAR ME OUT— levi finally confessing his feelings for Y/N on new years

OMGGGGGGG THIS IS SO CUTE (this also ended up longer than i intended because i decided to add dialogue LMAO sorry)

i can imagine him doing it as a new year's resolution type of deal

like you'll be walking along the docks, with fireworks planned to go off across the bay. as you're watching the fireworks, he's intently watching you, his lips slightly parting as he appreciated the wonder in your eyes from watching the pretty colors, which were getting reflected off your face, painting your eyes with colors that made them seem to pop out even more to him than they already did

it's levi, so of course he'd be struggling even then over whether he should confess or not. i can see him maybe admitting it to himself a few weeks ago, but being unsure of when or how to tell you, or if he even should tell you. will it ruin your friendship? what if you didn't feel the same? what if he wasn't good enough for you?

but seeing you in those colorful lights, with nothing but innocent curiosity and awe in your eyes, gave him the resolve and desire to finally confess.

he'd be lost in you, and wouldn't even notice when you start trying to chat with him again after the fireworks show had ended and the new year had officially begun.

"what's your new years resolution?" you asked. "i'd probably say mine is trying to be cleaner at home, but i already know that's not gonna happen. you're probably going to have to come over to keep my shit together."

"you'd still be a shitshow even if you suddenly become a master at cleaning," he mentioned with a scoff.

"well?" you pressed with a head tilt, still prompting him to answer your question about his new year's resolution.

it took him a moment to respond.

"...probably be better at voicing how i feel without ignoring it."

"well, you never were good at words, were you?" you smirked as you casually teased him. "you just end up scowling at everyone, so people just think you're feeling grouchy all the time."

"and what about you?" he asked with a raised eyebrow.

"what?"

"do you also think i'm nothing but grouchy?"

"hmm," you mumbled, thinking about what to say. "maybe 80% of the time. the other 20% seems to involve you being worried about something, usually if something wasn't clean enough or if you were going to run out of tea."

he snorted at your comment. you couldn't read the expression on his face, but it did seem like he was deep in thought, as if he was trying to formulate something to say. as you said, he was never good with words.

"well, let's start simple. what are you feeling right now?"

"...a little annoyed at how loud those damn fireworks were. a bit disappointed in how many drinks four-eyes had."

"well hange had been working their butt off trying to get their lab together after the holidays. they deserve to let a load off, even if that is being 5 shots in and playing dumb party games."

he averted his gaze as he tried to formulate his next words.

"...and probably confused," he whispered quietly.

"about?"

"there's this brat that's been pissing me off," he eventually said. "has been for a few years actually. and it pisses me off even more that part of me looks forward to it."

you raised an eyebrow at him. "you look forward to being pissed off?"

you saw him begin to shuffle around awkwardly.

"...only when it comes to them, i guess," he mumbled, still looking down towards the ground. "...kinda realized that i've grown quite fond of them, in a way as more than just friends, but that i've been too caught up in my head to really acknowledge it."

now you were the one frowning.

"levi ackerman actually having feelings for someone?"

there was a hint of astonishment and animosity in your voice as you turned to better face him, holding your hand against your waist in an almost accusatory fashion.

"who the hell is this mysterious person and why haven't i heard of them?"

he remained quiet for a moment before finally looking up, his intense, grey eyes looking directly into yours.

"you."

[xcherryerim]

A kiss On the Lips

Derek x chubby gn!reader | wc: 3.1k

“And if it feels right, promise I don’t mind. And if it feels right, promise I’ll stay here all night” — Let Me Love You by Ariana Grande

SMUT ONE SHOT | MDNI | +18 ONLY

Warning: Sexual tension | oral sex (to reader) | unprotected sex | penetration | light spanking | a bit of aftercare. | porn with plot

If you wanna go directly to the smut look for the “…”

As you continued to prepare drinks for the eager patrons, your hands grew weary, but there was no time for rest. This was no ordinary night; Derek Danforth, the wealthy and notorious playboy had decided to splurge on a round of drinks for the entire club. Glancing at the impeccably dressed man with blonde highlights, his fishnet shirt adorned with sparkling diamonds, and a black coat was surrounded by an entourage of stunning models. You couldn't help but let out a wry chuckle. Just another night at the club, you thought to yourself.

When you tried to get back to your work, your gaze quickly met his hazel eyes. Derek flashed you a dazzling smile, and in the blink of an eye, he appeared right in front of you, leaning casually against the counter. 

Derek scanned the menu above you with a confident air before turning to face you once more, his smile unchanged. "Let me get a 'Kiss On The Lips,' please."

The unexpected request caught you off guard, but you tried to hide your surprise. With a deep breath, you regained your composure and replied, the corner of your lips raising lightly. 

"That's going to cost ya."

Raising an eyebrow, Derek slid onto a nearby stool, his gaze locked on yours as he queried, "How much?"

You leaned against the counter and without missing a beat you responded. "Fifty bucks." 

His eyes widened slightly, seemingly surprised by your bold response. "For a drink?"

Surprised by his reaction, you couldn't resist the urge to chuckle at his expense. "Oh, it's a drink?! I must admit, I've never heard of that one before." The corner of your mouth curved into a playful grin as you watched him burst into laughter, the sound echoing throughout the bustling club.

Recovering from his fit of giggles, Derek shook his head, still chuckling softly. "You thought I meant..." he trailed off, his eyes twinkling with amusement.

With a wink, you retorted, "Yeah, sorry. I should've known better, seeing as how you have a certain... type." Your attention shifted towards the VIP section where the models were dancing and sipping their drinks, unable to hide your amusement at the sight.

Derek raised an eyebrow, his expression turned more serious despite the lingering twinkle in his eyes. "What are you implying?"

You got closer, your eyes scanning the new sight of him. "I mean, I'm not a model." You shrugged, chuckling as your clothes clung tight to your curvy body from the hot atmosphere of the bar, a sight that wouldn’t go unnoticed by Derek. 

He bit his rosy lips and stared at your form longer than intended. "Are you kidding? You're way past attractive," 

"Hey, wow, I never said I wasn't," you returned, flashing a proud grin in return. "But you prefer models."

Derek's hazel eyes flickered over you, appraisingly, before he responded, "There are models your size. And bigger." A faint smile played on his lips as he subtly traced his fingers along the contours of your hand, his touch both teasing and intimate.

"You'd make a good one, actually...and your hands are quite beautiful too," With a sense of reverence, he delicately traced the lines of your fingers, drawing out each touch as if savoring every moment.

 "You'd make a great hand model as well..." His voice trailed off, lost in thoughts of your nimble fingers exploring his body, teasing and pleasuring him in ways that left him wanting.

You rolled your eyes at his flattery, trying to keep things professional. "All that charm won't get you a free drink." You attempted to maintain a stern facade, but the heat in your cheeks gave away your true feelings.

Derek's eyes twinkled with mischief as he proposed, his voice velvety smooth, "How about this? If you give me a 'kiss on the lips' after I finish my drink, you'll reward me with another kiss for being such a 'good boy.' And then..." His fingertips trailed along your knuckles, making your knees weak. "I take you to the dance floor and then, we finish the day off with you taking me home?"

You stood there, processing his words, uncertainty clouding your thoughts. Was he truly serious about this proposition? But the way his eyes lingered on you, tracing your form, and the subtle hint of pink in his cheeks left no doubt. Derek was dead serious.

You nodded in agreement, focusing on preparing the drink while avoiding eye contact. Your hands trembled slightly, a mix of nervousness and excitement causing your pulse to race. Derek's proposition was bold, and you found yourself torn between curiosity and caution.

He snickered, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "Why so shy now? I don't bite." He smiled innocently, but the promise in his voice was anything but innocent. "Unless you want me to."

He winked a sly challenge hanging in the air as he patiently waited for his drink. You couldn't help but feel drawn to him, the allure of danger and passion swirling around him like a magnetic force.

As soon as you finished mixing the concoction, Derek took a sip, his full lips moving sensuously around the rim of the glass. You found yourself mesmerized by the sight, eager for the promise of his next kiss.

When Derek finally set the empty glass aside, you leaned in close, your heart pounding in your chest as the electricity between you reached a fever pitch. His lips were warm and inviting, urging you to lose yourself in the moment. The kiss deepened,  sparks flying as tongues intertwined.

Breathless and panting from the intensity, you reluctantly pulled away, gazes locked on each other, admiring their mutual disheveled image. Derek's eyes danced with lust as he whispered hoarsely, "Now, can I take you to dance?"

You hesitated for a moment, the thrill of the unknown coursing through your veins. Nodding, you allowed yourself to be swept away by the music, joining Derek on the dance floor. The pulsing beats fueled your passion, and you found yourself lost in the sensuality of the moment.

His strong arms wrapped around you, pressing your body tightly against his. The heat of his touch sent waves of desire through you, and you couldn't help but notice the evidence of his desire pressed against your rear.

You teased him gently, your voice dripping with flirtation. "Having fun?"

Derek's response was a low murmur, filled with unbridled hunger that made your heart race. "Oh, you have no idea," he whispered, his left hand resting possessively on your hip while his right hand gripped your ass cheek, drawing you even closer.

As the night wore on and the club began to wind down, Derek's eyes darkened with desire as he looked at you, the longing in his gaze unmistakable. He ran his hand through his hair, a nervous gesture that belied his usual confidence.

"Let's go to your place," he suggested, hastily shrugging on his black coat. You raised an eyebrow, aware of the stark contrast between your humble apartment and his lavish estate. 

"Why not yours?" you asked curiously, wondering why he chose your home over his.

Derek's expression softened, a hint of sadness flickering in his eyes before disappearing as quickly as it came. "It'll be nice to be somewhere else that isn't home..." he murmured, his voice tinged with melancholy that piqued your interest.

Before you could probe further, he gently lifted your chin, his fingers firm yet tender. "Let's go," he whispered, his breath warm against your skin. There was a sense of urgency in his voice, a need that spoke volumes about his desire for you. "I can't wait much longer."

… 

"Mmh... oh, fuck!" Derek exclaimed, his voice barely above a whisper as he ravaged your lips in a desperate kiss. As soon as you opened the door to your apartment, he wasted no time unbuttoning your uniform, his hands trembling with anticipation. The intensity of his kiss left you breathless, struggling to catch your breath.

"Where?" he asked between frantic kisses, his eyes searching for guidance in the dimly lit room.

You managed to point towards the bedroom, your voice barely audible above the sound of his lips crashing on yours. Satisfied with your answer, Derek continued to kiss you with reckless abandon, guiding your body toward the room with a sense of urgency that bordered on desperation.

Finally, he threw you gently onto the bed, landing on top of you with a primal need that left you gasping for air. The weight of his body pressed against yours, and you could feel the evidence of his desire through his pants.

His trembling lips trailed down to your neck, nuzzling the sensitive skin as he discarded the long-sleeved shirt you wore. His hands roamed over your body, and you felt a surge of excitement and anticipation that left you breathless. Through his groans and the hickeys he left behind, you could just make out the words, "You smell so good."

As you ran your fingers through his curls, you watched Derek's reaction, his body melting under your touch. It wasn't until you tightened your grip slightly that he reacted, releasing a guttural moan that shook his entire frame. Surprise and confusion crossed his features, his dilated pupils fixated on your face.

Without warning, Derek's skilled fingers worked their way across your zipper, swiftly undoing it. Gasps escaped your lips as he did the same with his clothing, revealing his arousal beneath.

"Can you face fuck me?" he demanded abruptly, his eyes locking onto yours. The change in his tone was unmistakable; this wasn't a request for permission but a claim of what he desired.

Surprised by the sudden shift, you stammered, "What?" before realizing the implications of his words. Before you could protest further, he peeled away the rest of your clothing, revealing your naked form beneath.

"You're lucky," he whispered hoarsely, his voice tinged with a husky timbre. "I'm usually the one doing the face fucking, not the other way around... but,”

He parted your legs, his eyes gleaming with forbidden hunger. His eyes locked with yours, filled with raw desire and a promise of pleasure yet to come. 

“I want to be choked between your thighs as I taste you."

His eyes locked with yours, and you felt a wave of desire wash over you, catching your breath in your throat. There was a mix of shock and excitement at his request, but the allure of his suggestion was impossible to deny. Nodding in agreement, you encouraged him to proceed, curiosity getting the best of you.

Derek's eyes darkened, and you felt a deep sense of intimacy as his gaze never left yours while he positioned himself between your legs. His lips gently grazed your skin, sending shivers down your spine. As his talented tongue began to explore, each delicate flick and swipe, created a sensation that was unlike anything you'd ever experienced.

The tips of his fingers lightly brushed against the throbbing between your legs, eliciting gasps from you. His rhythm was steady, yet passionate, his tongue delving deeper, coaxing you higher and higher with each pass. Your breath became uneven, mingling with the sounds of his eager exploration.

As the intensity built within you, so did the connection between you two. You could feel Derek's focus solely on pleasing you, the lovemaking becoming a dance of sorts, a beautiful exchange of pleasure and desire. Each lick, suckle, and nibble drove you wilder, your body arching in response.

you reached out and ran your fingers through his hair, holding him in place with a firm grip. Your moans grew louder and more intense, and your thighs instinctively wrapped around him, pulling his head closer, and urging him to delve deeper into the forbidden territory. Your fingers dug into his curls, silently begging him to continue as the pleasure built within you.

Derek moaned loudly, his arousal growing with every sound you made. Wrapping his arms around your thighs, he pulled you closer, positioning himself perfectly between your legs. His tongue darted and swirled, sending waves of pleasure coursing through your body like wildfire.

Derek tapped your thighs, signaling the need for air. Reluctantly, you released him, your eyes drawn to the mixture of fluids and saliva coating his mouth and chin. There was something undeniably erotic about the sight, its raw nature turning you on even more.

He panted heavily as he commanded, "Get on fours." Without protest, you complied, laying your stomach flat on the bed while your legs dangling off the side. The vulnerability you felt only added to the excitement building within you.

Derek admired the view from behind, his eyes tracing the curves of your body. "So big..." he murmured, biting his lip in anticipation. His large hands smacked your ass, the stinging sensation leaving a clear mark on your skin. Each strike was deliberate, designed to heighten your arousal even further.

He admired the sight of his length disappearing between your rounded behind, and you could tell he was struggling to maintain control. A low, pained whimper escaped him, the sound raw and genuine. It seemed as though he'd been yearning for this moment since the very first time he'd laid eyes on you at the bar.

With renewed vigor, Derek began thrusting, his movements fierce and unrestrained. "God," he breathed out the words, the phrase echoing in your ears. "I can't get enough of you," he said, his nails digging into your love handles as a testament to his desire and the intensity of the moment.

The room was now filled with the sounds of skin slapping against each other, a symphony of uncontrolled whimpers, and your hungry moans. 

"Don't hold back, let me hear you, baby," Derek panted, his voice barely above a whisper. His words were a command, an invitation to let loose and give yourself to the pleasure completely. As he sank even deeper inside you, your body convulsed, the intensity growing with each thrust.

You countered his statement with a smirk, "You can do better than that," your words laced with challenge, goading him further into the realm of pleasure.

Chuckling, Derek responded, "Is that so?" His smirk only grew wider. "Fine. Hands behind your back." He quickly seized your wrists, guiding them into place and holding them firmly. With each thrust, he increased the force, his body moving in a cadence that pushed you to the brink of madness.

"Louder," he commanded, his voice taking on a different tone when he whispered your name, tinged with a hint of neediness. The demand was evident in the tone of his voice, and you knew that obeying would only fuel the fire raging between you both.

"Let me hear you," he insisted, his authority unmistakable. Your body trembled, anticipation building with each word and thrust.

You cried out in pure pleasure, your voice echoing through the room as Derek's thrusts became more forceful. His command had pushed you beyond any limits you thought existed, driving you to new heights of ecstasy. Your body writhed beneath him, your moans filling the space as he continued to dominate you in every sense of the word.

The tension built, each second drawing you closer to your climax. With each thrust, your ecstasy grew, coupled with the knowledge that Derek's release was near. He leaned forward, pressing his lips to your ear, the heat of his breath mingling with yours.

His voice was a rough, desperate growl as he declared, "I bet all our neighbors can hear you, I bet they all know what a dirty little slut you are." The words were tinged with pride and possession, his grip tightening on your wrists as if to emphasize his claim.

You giggled despite yourself, the playfulness in your voice belied the intensity of the situation. "I bet they can hear you too."

"How can't they?" Derek retorted, his eyes gleaming with devilish delight. With a resounding slap, he struck your ass, the sting only adding to the pleasure. "If I'm fucking this sweet thing of yours."

He paused, admiring the sight before him. Tracing his hand along your ass, he marveled at the hickeys on your neck and the marks covering your body. "You're already hot, but you look even hotter with my marks all over you." The admission was equal parts tender and possessive, a testament to his need for dominance and control.

You began to sway your hips in tandem with his thrusts, your movements teasing his length with every motion. Derek groaned loudly, his body tense with anticipation. His eyes remained glued to the sight unfolding before him.

"Oh, yeah," he muttered, his eyes glued to the sight. "Thrust against my cock." His voice was a plea, a silent command that you couldn't ignore. With a wicked smile, you obliged, matching his movements with your own. Each thrust sent waves of pleasure coursing through both of you, the rhythm intensifying as you fed off each other's energy.

Derek bit his lip, his eyes gleaming with lust as he watched the spectacle unfold. The room was alive with the sounds of your bodies connecting, the evidence of your passion on full display for anyone with the courage to peek inside. 

Time seemed to slow down, each moment stretching into eternity as you lost yourself in the dance of flesh and desire. The world outside faded away, leaving only the two of you to revel in your primal connection. As you moved together, Derek's hands traced the marks he'd left on your body, a visual testament to the night you shared.

After several minutes of intense passion, Derek found his release, burying himself deep within you as warmth flooded your core. His body shook, his breaths becoming ragged as he sought to regain control. He continued to thrust, prolonging the sensation until you too reached your peak. Together, you rode the waves of pleasure, surrendering to the power of your connection.

Once spent, you both collapsed on the bed, your bodies sticky and slick with sweat and passion. Derek's head fell onto your thighs, the same limbs that had choked him moments earlier. His breaths were shallow, his heartbeat slowing down to a normal rhythm. He pressed a gentle kiss to your skin, the gesture charged with meaning and gratitude.

Contentment washed over both of you as you lay there, catching your breath. His lips curved into a satisfied smile, his eyes filled with affection. He offered a soft yet meaningful remark, "This feels nice."

With a smile, you continued to caress his hair, enjoying the quiet moment of intimacy that followed the frenzy of desire. Your fingers ran through his locks, a soothing gesture that spoke volumes about the connection you shared.

Thank you for reading!

If you only want to see my smut work, consider following @xxxcherryerim where I reblog my work!

btw sorry if this was lowkey bad but i been feeling shitty the whole week idk why.

taglist: @freak-accident419 @joshhutchersonsgf @valreanakuroo @jhutch-bf @cassiecasluciluce @jhutchismyl0verb0y (if you want to be added let me know!)

[bird-inacage]

Love in the Air: Give & Take VS Give & Receive

You best believe I wrote a meta around Sky/Prapai’s Episode 12 uncut NC scene. That’s the reality we’re operating in folks. So saddle up. Episode 8′s initial collision between Sky and Prapai is the epitome of Give and Take.

Prapai proposes that Sky ‘give’ him something in return for helping him. Sky very pointedly responds with, “just take what you want”, which carries an implied ‘(I dare you)’ in that rebuttal. It’s the resigned surrender of someone accustomed to others doing just that, with little concern over his wellbeing. There’s an air of ‘Fine, ruin me for all I care. If that’s how you want to play, then do your worst.’

Episode 8′s love scene revolved around Sky trying to pleasure Prapai, because that was the condition he was trying to meet. When you give and give till you’re running on empty, you can almost convince yourself you don’t care anymore. You flirt with self-destructive behaviour because you think you’re numb. Sky does this with evident reluctancy because he hates how much he does care.

Once Prapai falls in love with Sky, he no longer wishes to see Sky fall prey to this type of mentality. Sky telling him ‘he gives in’ is not the reaction Prapai necessarily wants. Because doing so would only make him feel like he’s taking advantage. What Prapai seeks is a mutual, reciprocal relationship with Sky. An equal relationship. He reiterates this by saying ‘just because I do x, y and z, doesn’t mean I expect sex in return’. Prapai is not okay with receiving if it means Sky always has to give. Sky’s tendency for self-sacrifice doesn’t sit well with him.

Fast forward to Episode 12, Sky declares “I’m yours. All yours.” and its embroiled in devotion and rapture. Instead of being resigned to his fate, he’s actively choosing his surrender to Prapai. Rarely do we see Sky make such an open admission such as this. Rather than ‘I’m giving myself to you because I see no other option’, this is ‘I’m giving myself to you because it’s my chosen option’. The implication is anything you take from me is warranted. I’m giving you the go ahead to do so.

Even in Episode 11′s love scene, Sky uses the words “please shut up and take me”. He’s still trying to downplay the gravity of what it means when someone does this. ‘Just take me already, stop being so considerate and sentimental. It’s no big deal’. Sky still believes he has to be willing for his partner to take in order to secure their affection, and be seemingly nonchalant about it. It’s all he knows.

How Prapai chooses to respond to Sky in Episode 12′s uncut scene is what makes it so important. Instead of just ‘taking him’ up on his offer, Prapai decides to give back in a different way. To reply to Sky’s admission with: ‘if you’re putting yourself fully in my hands, then I will take care of you. I’ll do more than just take care of you, I’ll cherish and worship you.’ It’s no longer about one taking and another giving. Prapai grants Sky full permission to receive. If you give, I give. If I receive, so do you.

Oral is an act of service. You’re prioritising someone else’s pleasure before your own. When Sky realises this is what Prapai intends to do, he reacts with complete giddiness, sweetly stunned by this gesture. The notion that someone would put him first is clearly unfamiliar and unexpected. We can safely assume that all Gun ever did was take what he wanted, how he wanted.

For Sky, it was never about him, even during the highest act of intimacy. So for Prapai to make a point of doing so, to put Sky’s pleasure first and providing clear indication that ‘It’s okay, I want to do this for you’ is a huge act of love where Sky is concerned.

What’s even better when compared to Episode 8 is that Prapai gazes up at Sky lovingly before he goes in. When Sky did it, it felt very detached, he was performing based on what he thought Prapai probably wanted or expected of him during their one night stand. This is a silent declaration from Prapai of ‘this is how I want to treat you, this is what you deserve, I’m prioritising you’.

The difference between taking and receiving is assertion. Taking implies acting on what you want, upon your own desire. Whereas receiving is allowing someone to offer it to you. It signifies patience. Selflessness. It allows for generosity. It says I’ll be grateful for whatever you offer me, but I’m not demanding it. I’m letting you decide how, what and when.

It matters immensely to Sky to feel in control; to feel he has agency and choice. That’s the ultimate act of giving, is allowing the receiver to decide if they want to return the gesture without expecting them to do so. It’ll mean even more if they do.

[wheneclipsefalls]

heyy , could you maybe write a Loak x male reader Drabble or sth where he acts like very dominant and bratty but his alpha knows what an submissive omega he truly his and puts him in his place ?

Masterlist I AO3

Pairing: aged up Omega Lo'ak x Alpha male oc

Synopsis: Lo'ak may have been born an omega but that doesn't mean he wants to act like one.

Warnings: omegaverse, explicit (MINORS DO NOT INTERACT), anal, power imbalance. alpha/omega dynamics, punishment, dom/sub undertones, bondage, public sexual acts, swearing, etc.

A/N: Anon, sorry I didn't make it male reader simply because I am not very good at writing that perspective but feel free to insert yourself as the male oc. I hope you enjoy! Thanks for being patient <3

Taking the back route towards the village is longer, almost half a mile out of his way. For Lo’ak, however, his priorities today lie in not being seen. With today’s fiasco and now the awaiting wrath of his father, Lo’ak decides it is well worth the extra steps. He knows he was meant to join the other omegas for the special retreat, but there were better things that Lo’ak had found to occupy his time with than getting brainwashed into submission. 

He could imagine it now, all the eager and young omega gathering in a circle to fill the air with gossip and bashful talk of their alphas or potential mates. They most likely swooned and sighed while discussing the joys of being an omega. Surely passing around family recipes for healing ointments and weaving tricks followed. The thought alone makes Lo’ak’s stomach flip in adamant disgust.

It’s not that he finds anything wrong with being omega. That is, for others. Omega nature plays an important role in their clan and families, balancing out beta and alpha qualities until there is a harmonious blend of strengths and weaknesses, just as Eywa had intended. 

And that is great…for others. 

Lo’ak is not meant to be the submissive type. He has a wild streak and rebellious nature that has kept his parents and older brother running after him since the day he learned to walk. 

So that is how he knows that joining the omega retreat today would not only have been a waste of time but furthermore humiliated him as his incompatible personality would clash with that of docile omegas. 

That being said, he knows how important his participation in this retreat is to his father. Jake had pulled some special strings to get the event to occur months earlier than planned, a joint effort that his mate was sure to be in on. And it’s the thought of Ezar’s knowledge of his disobedience that has Lo’ak’s stomach twisting into knots. His patient, but strict, alpha who has put up with more mischievous antics and woos from an omega than perhaps every other alpha combined. There’s no telling what sort of lecture and punishment awaits him at home, so Lo’ak takes the most reasonable course of action. 

He hides. 

Although, he doesn’t prefer to call it hiding. It’s simply…spending some quality alone time. 

However, now it has been over five hours since he has eaten anything but wild berries, a problem that wouldn’t exist had he attended the retreat and partaken in the great feast there, so Lo’ak is driven back to the village by the sizzling scent of roasting meat. He’s strategic with his path, knowing better than to nonchalantly trot back for dinner and assume that his absence has not been reported. From this trail he is hoping to reach the outskirts of the communal fire, hidden by the growing shadows of eclipse and therefore able to snatch a piece of meat before cowering to safety once more. 

When he reaches the outskirts of the gathering, a cocky smile spreads across his face in triumph. His family can be seen on the other side of the fire, messing with Tuk’s tangled braids as she whines incessantly. There isn’t enough attention left for him, a fact that used to make Lo’ak angry but now has come to show endless benefits. 

It's when he braces himself forward to sneakily drag a piece of meat on a leaf plate back that Lo’ak feels the warmth of a hand gripped around the back of his neck. His airway isn’t cut off in the slightest but it’s firm just enough to set his omega instincts alight. A thumb swiping over his bonding bite gives the stranger away immediately. He is brought back to his feet slowly until he can feel the solid toned chest pressed against his upper back. 

“There you are.” Lo’ak tries to hold back the thrilled shiver that rackets through his body, the luring deep voice rattling his bones. A cloud of heated breath tickles at his prickled skin. “I just had a very interesting chat with your brother.” 

Neteyam.

Lo’ak has to admit that his older brother’s efficiency in tattling on him mere hours after his disappearance is impressive. A greater diligence than he would’ve expected, even from the golden boy himself. He glares an imaginary hole into the back of Neteyam’s head where his brother sits obliviously across the fire, rebraiding Tuk’s hair. 

“Well I know how much you two enjoy your Lo’ak gossip sessions.” He grits out between clenched teeth even though Ezar’s darkening makes his knee threaten to buckle. 

“Lo’ak.” His name is spoken as a hissed reprimand, enough to momentarily have Lo’ak biting his tongue regretfully. 

“You didn’t even bother to show up.” Ezar’s sigh sends goosebumps racing across his skin. Irritably Lo’ak swings the grip off his neck and turns to stomp away from the communal fire. He’s not surprised to hear thudding footsteps practically nipping at his heels. Ezar’s own shadow stretches over Lo’ak’s along the forest floor, spreading a wave of anxiety as his headstrong will and submissive nature clash. 

“If you didn’t want to go, then you should’ve talked to me.” Ezar snatches his arm, forcing the boy to spin on his heel. 

It’s true. Lo’ak mentally scolds himself for not reaching out to his alpha earlier about the issue, but somehow that realization only spurs on his rebellious spark to burn brighter. He has no desire to admit his own wrongdoings, stubborn pride prompting him to glare up at the alpha. There is a spark of challenge alight in his eyes as he feigns a nonchalant confidence and squares his shoulders assertively. It takes every fiber of his being to not heed the small voice in the back of his head urging him to shrink beneath that alpha’s intense glare. 

“I don’t have to report every detail of my life to you. I can go and do as I please.” Lo’ak’s chin tilts up in counterfeit confidence, ignoring the way Ezar’s head tilts jarringly slow.

“Is that so?” Ezar’s voice is as level and smooth as fine silk, a natural aura of ease radiating off of him tangibly. Lo’ak is surprised to see how quickly such a simple question sends warning bells ringing through his head. His throat physically strains in an effort to not visibly gulp as the older male prowls forward with fluid steps. 

They’ve played this game before. Somehow it always ends with Lo’ak backed up against a tree, trapped by his mate’s impressive physique till atoning words flow from Lo’ak’s lips. His heels twitch slightly with the natural instinct to step back with every progression of Ezar’s path. This time, however, he stops himself. He plants them forcibly in the muddy soil and imagines that they are held by the same concrete seen at Hell’s Gate. 

I am unmovable, Lo’ak mentally chants. 

“I don’t need an alpha babysitting me.” The omega is proud of how stern and steady his voice comes out despite his nerves twisting together into a tight ball. For a moment he lets himself imagine what an alpha would do, what his father does, what Ezar does, and he uses this knowledge to his advantage. His chest puffs out and hands naturally settle themselves along the dips of his hips, stance wide and rigid. 

Ezar laughs. 

That asshole laughs.

Not the usual carefree laughter that shakes the male’s chest after one of Lo’ak’s well played jokes. This sound comes out with an arrogant timber and amused smile that makes Lo’ak’s nails dig into his palm. He is caught between apprehension and anger as he stands there and purses his lips into an unintended pout. 

“Is that what I do, yawne? Babysit you?” Ezar drawls, trapping Lo’ak’s chin between pinched fingers. The alpha’s head tilts to the side and Lo’ak’s spots the glimmer of sharp incisors poking between the male’s tempting lips. It feels like a trap, one that the alpha is just waiting for Lo’ak to stumble into. Still, it’s too late to back down now. 

So Lo’ak does what he does best.

He digs in his heels. 

“Second only to your favorite pastime of bossing me around.” 

Lo’ak can practically feel the alpha’s hairless brow raise as they are nose to nose. Warm saliva pools along his tongue, sharp teeth aching to bite his bottom lip. Ezar’s even fall and rise of his chest presses the defined muscles against the omega’s own chest. Lo’ak prays to Eywa that Ezar is too distracted to notice the essence of his arousal whisper in the air. 

“And what alternative do you propose, omega?” Their lips brush together with every word coming from Ezar’s mouth. “You feel it better if I let you be in charge?” 

The alpha’s head shakes to give a fleeting eskimo kiss before dipping down to trace the curve of Lo’ak’s neck. The Sully boy struggles to lift his eyelids as a long kiss is placed directly over his mating mark. Ezar knows how sensitive the area is, how directly linked the physical depiction of their connection is to Lo’ak’s submission. Still, the omega bites his tongue and forces himself to look over his head, straight at the nearest tree. 

It becomes increasingly more difficult to decipher Ezar’s mood in these situations, something that alpha has used to his advantage. Lo’ak is under no illusion that he will wiggle out of retribution after the stunt he pulled today, but he craves to keep this charade going longer. He needs to see how far he can assert his own dominance. He is convinced that it is an effort made to prove something to himself, but deep down he knows it’s to challenge his alpha.

To see the real evidence that this man is worthy of his submission and trust. That no matter how hard Lo’ak fights and bites and drives the male to the edge, he will always put in the effort necessary to bring him into that tranquil state of abiding his natural instincts. To demonstrate that he will never be abandoned or forgotten. 

So with that in mind, Lo’ak clears his throat and manages to clearly say, “As I said, I don’t need someone else telling me what to do.” 

“Oh I see.” Lo’ak can feel the pull of a vicious smile etched along his alpha’s face as it trails upwards till they are cheek to cheek. Calloused fingers dance with a feather-like fragility over the omega’s hips and sides. “You poor thing,” comes the husky whisper against his right ear. 

“Being looked after,” The seductive touches drip lower. “Taken care of,” Lo’ak barely holds in a gasp as curved knuckles slowly trace the bulge in his loincloth. Heat like molten gold settles in his belly, fire steaming to reaching anywhere from his toes to fingertips. “All that coddling must be so infuriating for someone as independent as you, hm?”

Lo’ak’s posture falls to shambles with that large hand slipping past the waistband to wrap around his base. His hips buck involuntarily into Ezar’s grip. 

“Someone who would rather take care of things themselves.” The smooth glide of Ezar’s grip accompanies the words. The pad of his thumb drags over the head and Lo’ak finally gives into the urge to bite his bottom lip harshly. The omega’s cock is easily nestled in Ezar’s hand, being a considerable number of inches shorter than the alpha’s own. “No need to have some alpha take care of this pretty little cock, no?” 

Lo’ak panics slightly when he feels the male’s hand retreat, only to then be confused by his wrist being grabbed and pushed down the front of his own loincloth. 

“So then take care of it.” Ezar encourages. Forcefully wrapping Lo’ak’s hand around his small shaft before recoiling entirely.

As Lo’ak silently sputters, frozen in place, he mourns the loss of his mate’s heat and touch, who  now stands several feet away with his hands on his hips. Upon recovery, he gathers every tendril of fervent anger together to glower up at his lover. 

“Go on.” Ezar simply states with a wave of his hand. 

Lo’ak can feel the fever of his blushing cheeks spreading over to the tint the very tips of his ears, but he tenaciously keeps his brows furrowed and tempestuous filled eyes pinpointed on the smirking male. He is caught between getting himself off desperately and storming away to pout. His decision hinges on which one will express his indignation to his mate in the most profound fashion. Completely mortified, he finds his cock twitching in his palm, apparently unruffled by the predicament. 

Swirling between the two options, it seems that there is no legitimate strategy to getting what he wants while also maintaining his pride. 

So he lets the volcano of emotion erupt.

“Fuck you!” He spits, yanking his hand out and rushing past the looming alpha. 

A sharp shriek departs his lips as the root of his kuru is trapped and tugged harshly. He stumbles to find footing, only to fall back against his mate’s warm chest. Strained by the hold on his kuru and arm caging his waist, Lo’ak finally feels the reality of this trap lock into place. 

“How many?” 

Lo’ak’s ears immediately droop, unhappy to know exactly what the alpha is asking. 

“Five, sir.” He grumbles between barely parted lips. Hoping to work on Lo’ak’s overuse of foul language, Ezar had been rewarding every dirty word with five spanks. Some days it’s left Lo’ak with a red ass perceivable to the common eye, hiking up his attitude and embarrassment to new heights. 

“Good boy.” It’s the first sample of praise to leave Ezar’s lips that day and Lo’ak tries not to acknowledge the radiating relief he feels blooming in his chest. His jaw locks together and he refuses to show any hint of enjoyment at being praised, like some perfect little obedient omega. 

He’s toppled over one of Ezar’s propped knee in a flash before a quick succession of five hard spanks are laid down on his vulnerable behind. It’s impossible to keep his shrill cry in. Ezar’s upper body strength is greater than many Na’vi that Lo’ak knows. The alpha’s muscular biceps has Lo’ak drooling one day and begging for mercy the next. He wonders if he had been better at keeping a poker face during the first spanking he had ever received, if the alpha would still use it as the go to effective retribution. 

Swiftly Lo’ak is pulled back to standing in the alpha’s arm, face hiding against his chest as the omega tries to recover his composure. Ezar gently pats his head and Lo’ak frowns at how incredible the nonchalant touch feels. 

“Now, let’s go yawne.” 

“Home’s the other way.” Lo’ak protests as Ezar starts guiding them back the direction they came. Large hands squeezing his plush hips to steer him properly, the omega’s cheeks clench to keep the dribble of slick from coating his inner thighs. 

“I know. We aren’t going home.” 

Lo’ak’s feets slide against the slippery mud when he realizes they are returning back to the dining area. He’s sure at this point that there is at least a faint blush left upon his bare cheeks and even if  it is not so, he has lost all appetite. Or rather, all desire to be around others, especially his father who is yet to chew him out for disappearing. 

“I’m not hungry.” He twists to turn the other way but all that accomplishes him is being picked up with one arm around his waist and carried further towards their destination. 

“Funny, I don’t remember asking.” Ezar adjusts the omega in his arms till Lo’ak’s feet are kicking in the air. “Besides, it’s where you were headed in the first place. And since you’re in charge now, it seems only fair to return you to where you were found.” 

Lo’ak knows the fight is over. Every scrap of energy he had left to bait his mate has melted into a puddle of scorching desire spreading into every crevice of his body. 

Being forced to sit on his alpha’s lap was surprising, usually Lo’ak was at least afforded the choice of where he wanted to sit. Still, it was nothing he couldn’t handle. Or at least that is what he thought until he was shifted to have his ass lined up perfectly over Ezar’s growing bulge. The friction was almost non-existent but that didn’t seem to matter when it came to his omega hindbrain, especially after going all day without his mate’s presence or affection. 

It seemed all of this played perfectly into Ezar’s hand as his touch began to gently travel further and further up Lo’ak’s inner thighs. His own cock strained against the restrictive fabric of his loincloth, all too aware of the pleasure that was almost his minutes earlier. Ezar's affectionate touching was occasionally ramped higher with random kisses left on Lo’ak’s cheek, neck, mating mark, and shoulders. He didn’t plow ahead with brutal force to mold the omega back into a docile headspace, the alpha was too patient for that. He knew Lo’ak too well. 

So once ten minutes had passed with these torturous comforting and seductive touches mixed together, Lo’ak couldn’t handle the constant clenching of his hole and hunger for real intimacy therefore leading him to quietly beg for what his hindbrain had been purring for since Ezar first grabbed his neck. 

Naturally, Ezar complied…that is, technically. 

Lo’ak shifted once more, trying to angle his mate's massive length against his prostate but failing miserably. The rough texture of his mate’s hands smoothed over his plush thighs leisurely before pushing the omega’s hips back into place. Lo’ak recognizes the coppery taste of blood leaking from his inner lip, clamping down in effort to keep in his wanton moans. Time has warped into a frenzy of confusion, his thoughts only focused on the wicked desires thrumming through him. 

Sitting on the very outskirts of the gathering, the orange glow from the fire barely has a hold on the pair and it’s this thought that give Lo’ak solace. He’s tiptoeing the edge of humiliation, surrounded by his family and friends while Ezar is balls deep inside of him, casually lifting pieces of food to the boy’s lips. If only they knew the state he is held in, the true obedience that lies beneath his facade of teeth and obstinance. 

His nerves and arousal, however, weave together sinfully till the omega is confused about whether or not he would enjoy such a truth being revealed. It’s wrong and it’s risky, yet somehow it fuels the flames of his desire and therefore the ache of this torture as he is forced to stay in place. 

This is not what he envisioned upon begging for his mate’s cock sweetly. 

“Open.'' Another scrap of meat is held up to Lo’ak’s lips but he simply groans and throws his head back against Ezar’s shoulder instead. “Come on, you’re being so good for me. Why stop now? Don’t you want to make me happy?” Ezar coos against Lo’ak’s lolled head. 

Lo’ak’s not sure why that works, and he has no interest in investigating it further, but it does. His lips part slowly and he soaks in the whispered praise as he chews the meat with weakened stamina.The pattern continues with every bite reluctantly being pushed past his ips until his alpha has decided it’s been a sufficient meal. 

Still, he makes no motion to move. 

“Look at you,” The alpha’s voice resounds deeply into a purr. “Warming my cock like a good boy. I knew you had it in you, baby.” His toes curl into the dry dirt and he looks around to make sure no eavesdropping ear has caught the whispered praise. However, his diligence in masking their crude acts is quickly slipping, being replaced by the inherit need to be properly fucked by his alpha. 

Despite the throbbing of Ezar’s cock inside the warm channel of his hole, the alpha appears to be in no rush. He pacifies every hushed whimper with fond pets and kisses, enticing the omega’s body to completely fall back against him. After being repositioned for the fifth time, Lo’ak feels as if he is about to cry on the spot. Drafting pheromones betray his temperament, but instead of giving the boy what he really wants, Ezar softly guides Lo’ak’s face to nuzzle against his neck.

He can still hold on to the last bit of resolve it takes to not let physical tears fall from his golden orbs, but it’s shakable and wavering. Pressed against the part where his alph’s scent is the strongest, Lo’ak becomes intoxicated with the sensation. His body finally goes limp, apart from the occasional shuffling, and he allows himself to melt against his alpha. It’s been a long day and now the only thing that he is convinced will make him feel better is being filled with his alpha’s seed. 

It’s something Lo’ak would never dream of admitting out loud. On most days it takes considerable encouragement and patience on Ezar’s behalf to pry those words from Lo’ak’s lips in private. Sitting here, however, split open and on the brink of ecstasy after a long day, he’s having a hard time holding himself back from begging in front of everybody. 

“Such a pretty boy.” Ezar murmurs against Lo’ak’s temple, the omega’s signature front beaded braids rolling between them. The flat of his hand travels across Lo’ak’s chest, rolling over the boy’s nipples, bringing forth another muted whine and wiggling of hips. 

“Not fair.” Lo’ak gripes against his pulse. The painstakingly slow petting along his chest feels as if it is lighting his skin on fire, effectively causing a burning to ignite from the inside out. It’s the drag of Ezar’s hips moving for the first time that has the omega clamping down on the soft flesh above his mate’s collarbone. 

“What’s not fair, baby?” The silky braids twist around Ezar’s fingers as he lazily plays with them. “You said you should be in charge and I’m letting you. We ate dinner like you wanted.” Another kiss to his forehead, the skin warm against Ezar’s lips. “You wanted my cock and I gave you that.” The tone drops to a lower octave but Lo’ak no longer cares enough to check the safety of their private conversation. 

“That’s not what I meant.” He whines and turns further into the alpha but that only causes a new angle to be hit and another wave of pleasure to shake through him.

“Then tell me exactly what you want.” Ezar’s pelvis rolls forward, and like a hunter knows every inch of their weapon, his alpha knows exactly how to find his little bundle of nerves perfectly. Lo’ak’s mouth pries open in a silent scream, mind going blank for a prolonged moment. It’s only Ezar’s hand coming up to gently close his jaw that keep him from looking like a fucked out omega and ultimately blowing their cover. 

He shakes his head stubbornly, eyes clenched shut as he tries to regain some sort of mental clarity. There is no way he will be begging for his alpha publicly twice in one night. Knowing the explicit detail his mate will require, Lo’ak is hell bent to suffer in silence rather than risk humiliating himself. 

Or at least that is what he thinks, but as the pressure on his bundle of nerves increases and his alpha waits stubbornly for a response, he starts to wonder how much more of this torture he can endure. Were it any other night he would have already been fucked to half an inch of his life and snuggling close to his mate in their hut while sharing stories from their day. Some nights Ezar is kind enough to rub away the tension that gets lodged in his shoulders, a massage that to his credit is never put as a bargaining chip for anything in return. All of that sounds like a dream now. A dream he is desperately starting to consider sacrificing everything for.

Everything to finally feel him move. 

To finally be taken and broken down to his natural state, mask torn away and bare before his lover with nothing but the truth. To give in to his second gender and allow himself the luxury of being coddled and loved and sometimes being railed till he can’t walk. 

It’s difficult to remember why that was such a bad thing to want in the first place. 

“Come on, love. How am I supposed to let you lead if you won’t give instructions?”

A pained laugh leaves his lips without warning as small tears gather at the corners of his eyes. Ezar quickly shushes the boy and smooths his braids away from his glimmering face. Luckily the sounds are swallowed by boisterous laughter and chatter rippling across the clearing. 

“D-don’t-” He sucks in a sharp breath as the mushroom tips readjust against that special spot inside of him. “D-don’t want to say.” 

Ezar softly coos away the stream of whimpers that build within Lo’ak’s chest. The soothing caress of his mate and slight rocking motion he provides is enough to have the omega finally closing his eyes and letting the tears fall fully. 

“I know you don’t want to, baby.” The heavily accented drawl sings like a lullaby in the night, coaxing Lo’ak closer to the headspace that leaves him floaty and pliant. “Do you know how I know?” 

Shaking his head seems like an exhausting effort, but he manages. 

“Because I know you, Lo’ak.” Ezar circles his palm around the front of the omega’s neck, reveling in the spike of arousal that follows instantly. “I know what lies beneath that stubborn tough act of yours.” The alpha grins when he senses the familiar feeling of a slim tail curling itself around his calf. 

“Deep down you know what’s there too.” He shuffles his hips once more, acting as if it’s to reposition the omega’s weight on his lap. “You know that only I can touch you in the way you crave. That only your alpha can satisfy that yearning in the back of your head.” 

His thumb runs over the apparent mating mark and the loss of tension in Lo’ak’s body is tangible, almost visible in the dim light of eclipse. 

“There’s my sweet omega.” 

Lo’ak’s hips begin to rut back against the thick cock inside of him, brain too fuzzy to worry about the consequences both social and those from disobeying his mate. Luckily, Ezar takes that as their cue to leave. With careful planning he is able to subtly slip himself out of the boy when it appears that all other heads are turned. It takes a hand over his mouth to keep Lo’ak quiet enough, another arm to manhandle him as the omega tries to rut back against him as if he could somehow capture his length again.  

The crowd continues on in friendly conversation without a hitch. While carefully lifting the boy over his shoulder it appears that the rest of the Sully family has finally caught sight of them. Jake Sully gives him a respectful nod, and Ezar is quick to return it, their way of confirming that Lo’ak is in good hands. 

If there is one thing he has learned from his time being mated to Ezar it’s that the sight of durable leather cords means he isn’t going to get what he wants. 

Far past caring about the humiliation, Lo’ak tries to form an adorable pout and pretty words of apology as the alpha ties his wrists to the intruding tree branch in the hut, but the only answer he receives is a little coo and pat to the cheek. Now, laying here naked with his arms over his head dramatically and small cock twitching on display, he tries using the last bit of mental lucidity to find a way to flip the situation to his favor. 

His thought process however seems to be tangling into an inconceivable web as the alpha runs his tongue along his lower abs and hips. Each swipe ends with another sweet kiss placed slowly. In random patterns, these kisses are intercepted with a sudden pain that then blooms into a bite mark or purple hickey. Ezar has always been very intentional and particular about his placement of marks along his body. While some alphas have a hay day, driven by heated lust to cover their mate’s body till there is no doubt in anyone’s mind who they belong to, Ezar prefers a more tactical approach.

From the moment they mated, he has diligently scouted and mapped out every inch of the boy’s beautiful slim body. He takes note of the shifts in body language and noises at each point he has reached with teeth, tongue or hands. It’s in those special spots, the areas where Lo’ak’s eyes blow out and whimpers becomes a hushed whine, that the alpha choses to leave his mark. The benefits that profess from that decision always makes it pay off. During those random encounters in the days to follow with him brushing past those small marks, innocent to the common Na’vi eyes, but Lo’ak knows what it means. Another silent reminder of the alpha’s hold on his pleasure, and promises of more to come. 

Lo’ak doubts he will ever admit how many times he has had to find a secluded place to get off after these small interactions. 

Currently the victim of his mate’s aggressive teeth and tongue is the spot right above his upper thigh, mere inches away from his straining cock. It’s enough to have him bucking and kicking his feet and since the alpha does not appreciate efforts of throwing him off from his carefully chosen spot, the behavior is quickly nipped into a bud. Strong hands harshly pushing hips down and he repositions himself to capturing the boy’s legs with his flexed thighs on either side. 

Although the leather is soft, Lo’ak can already feel the imprints along his wrist from tugging relentlessly against the bonds. His skin is an inferno, heated to the touch. This condition is one that Lo’ak has only ever seen in himself during harsh heats and that revelation makes him realize what pathetic of a state his mate has truly put him in. 

Matters only worsen, when Ezar scales down his body and finally rises back to stand on his feet. Within a few fluid swipes of his hands, the male flicks his loincloth to the side, revealing himself fully to Lo’ak’s ogling gaze. 

“Just for a minute!” Lo’ak pleads, hands yanking at the bonds in hysterical fashion. 

“No, Lo’ak. You’ve lost the privilege to touch tonight.” 

And just like that Lo’ak is condemned to watch his naked mate with a God-like body loom over him seductively without the slightest ability to enjoy the toned muscles he is so fond of. 

Lo’ak knows he has been careless in laying his cards out on the table. From the moment they started courtship and then mating, he has underestimated Ezar’s knack for observation. It didn’t take the alpha long to realize how much Lo’ak enjoys gliding his hands over the smooth lines of his abdomen, even leaving his own hickies in trails adjacent to the toned muscle of his thighs. It’s one of the first things that the omega springs for when they are alone, and therefore the first privilege he loses after misbehavior. 

As much as Ezar yearns to see and feel his little mate worship his body, he is resigned to teach the omega a lesson. Besides, he finds that the stream of whimpers and glazed over glimmer in his poor boy’s eyes is almost as enjoyable as feeling his small fangs against his stomach. 

With his alpha prowling over him completely bare and taking his sweet time teasing his inner thighs once more, Lo’ak throws caution to the wind and yanks on his binds with all of his strength, sore wrists be damned. He needs to feel the smooth toned skin. He needs to sink his teeth into something. Or at least have his mate sink into him. Either would be accepted at this point. However, there is another danger to being tied up, and that is the twisted pleasure and hazy mindset that inevitably follows. 

Perhaps this makes him a masochist, but the tight capture and smooth leather against his wrists has always brought a rush. However, more than that it has provided an escape from his own mind. Submitting willingly is difficult for Lo’ak, his intrusive thoughts constantly second guessing whether or not it is pathetic of him to yield to an alpha so easily. The binds, however, eliminate this fear and self loathing. After all, he can’t hate himself for a situation that is not entirely his fault. He sinks into that feeling freely. Level by level he’s falling down into that swirling abyss where thoughts are muddled and worries drift away with the wind. 

Ezar grins like a Cheshire cat upon detecting the shift in demeanor, his sweet omega finally letting himself enjoy the pleasure of submission. The boy’s hands fall limp against the soft leather, and those beautiful golden eyes peek up at him through slitted lids. 

“That’s it, pretty boy.” Ezar is quick to reward the behavior with tender kisses peppered along his neck and cheeks till finally reaching his lips. Lo’ak’s mouth is warm and wet as his lips move lazily against the alpha’s own. The omega’s tongue sluggishly yields to whatever direction his own manipulates it into and when his teeth sink into the boy’s plump bottom lip, a wanton moan slips free. 

So delicate and soft beneath his touch, Ezar savors the feel of his mate preening close and shifting in whatever way he pleases. He’s putty beneath his hands, glassy eyes musing up at him with the smallest smile. Reaching down between his thighs, a rumbled growl vibrates his chest upon finding the area already dripping with slick. He rolls the sticky substance between his fingers and without bending down to put them close, he is able to fully breathe in the mouth watering scent of undisturbed desire. 

It’s moments like these that Ezar has to reel himself in, take a second to clear his thoughts and keep that primal beast inside of him at bay. In some ways it is easier to do so when Lo’ak isn’t fighting his every other word. Open rebellion has a tendency to stir his instincts into proving his claim once more, even if it is to his own omega. There are times for that, however, times where the alpha is smart enough to recognize that Lo’ak himself is the one to instigate it. 

For now, however, he is focused on slipping his pretty omega deep into subspace for as long as possible, showing him the true ecstasy that comes from being obedient for him. He prays to Eywa that tonight will be enough to keep the boy in line for at least a few days. If not, Lo’ak is sure to just egg him on for another rough railing that leaves them both satisfied and delirious. 

His eyes never leave his mate’s face as he situates the boy’s legs around his waist and trails a finger along his puckered hole. With the little strength left, Lo’ak’s legs cinch around him and try to bully his ass against Ezar’s heavy hanging cock. The alpha rolls his eyes fondly. Leave it to his little spitfire to find subtle ways to try topping from the bottom. 

Still wanting to draw this out to make a point, he uses one hand to skate his mushroom tips back and forth his mate’s plump cheeks and clenching hole. Their aroused scents are already coalescing in the air to create a beautiful essence of complimenting passions. The cold air chills the inside of his nose upon flaring his nostrils to greedily inhale more of that delicious aroma. It’s a perfume that the alpha has quickly become addicted to, possessive and delighting in the fact that he will be the only one to ever enjoy it in its full bloom. 

“Please! Pleasepleasepleaseplease!” Lo’ak sobs. It is then that he notices the tears sparkling along the omega’s dark skin, running fast enough to reach his collarbone. 

Ezar almost hates himself for acknowledging it, but his cock always strains and twitches at the beautiful sight of those tears. The way they flush against his reddened cheeks and create a dazzling glow over dazed eyes. His pretty little mate sobbing and on the brink of breaking, but only broken for him. Only him. This masterpiece to behold belongs to him alone. 

Lo’ak’s face is captured together in a firm grip, plush cheeks squishing beneath his fingertips, before he is being pulled slowly into a deep kiss. And then finally, finally, he feels the thick mushroom tip prod at his entrance, starting the path inside his gummy walls. 

It’s fascinating to Ezar how after so many times being filled and stretched, those slick walls still clamp around him like a vice, tight enough to require real force to get anywhere past the tip.  A pained groan is released into his mate’s mouth and his tail coils and flickers rapidly. Lo’ak’s random babbling and sobbing only serve as sensuous music to his euphoric pleasure. 

“God!” Lo’ak shrieks when he manages to make it an inch past the tip. The word still sounds foreign to the alpha, but he has picked up enough of the Sky Demon lingo to understand the heated emotion behind. 

“Had you sitting on my cock less than twenty minutes ago and your little hole has still managed to tighten up.” He breathes heavily into the omega’s neck. Lo’ak’s elbow almost hits his head while resuming his efforts to yank on the bonds. He contemplates scolding the boy for creating more unnecessary injury to his wrists but then the omega is clamping around him and Ezar has to use all of his control to not tip over the edge right then and there. 

Breath stuttering in his lungs, Ezar cools his zeal and slowly continues to glide forwards. Lo’ak on the other hand is fed up and tired of waiting. 

“Want it all! Please alpha please! Faster!” He cries uncontrollably and the alpha decides that his patience has run out too.

“Bossy little thing you are.” Snapping hips bring the tip racking against that sweet spot without stop or gentile. He wishes he had a camera to capture the absolute mess of sensations that flashes across Lo’ak’s face, almost as if he is buffering for a moment in time. Swollen parted lips, pink cheeks, blown out pupils, and those persistent two braids that Ezar is so fond of splayed across his sweaty forehead. 

He keeps his grip on his mate’s cheeks, forcing him to remain facing the alpha for his own viewing pleasure. 

Ezar pulls out to the very tip before slamming back inside and if that concoction of whimpers and dizzied expression that comes from his mate is not the most beautiful display to witness, he doesn’t know what is. He creates a sprinting pace, maliciously hitting that sweet spot over and over until Lo’ak is screeching with every assault. It takes considerable effort to keep himself from following his mate in getting lost through the haze of pleasure and lust. He allows himself the luxury of pounding away without a stop in zeal but only with a careful eye on Lo’ak’s reaction to every movement. 

This is meant to drive a point home, make Lo’ak realize what he is getting himself into with this disobedient behavior, but even Ezar knows that deep down this is what the boy wants. What they both want. 

So with that in mind, Ezar drives all of his energy into massaging that bundle of nerves with every thrust and pull possible. Lo’ak shakes and cries out in a ramble of incoherent nonsense. When the omega’s back arches upwards from the woven floor, those perky little nipples catch Ezar’s eye. Still relishing in the sensation of smooth velvety walls squeezing him for dear life, the alpha begins to lick a path upward from Lo’ak’s squirming pelvis. 

Their eyes connect for a moment, or at least the thin sliver of Lo’ak’s golden eyes that peek from weighted eyelids catch his own darkened stare. Lo’ak’s scent seems to grip him as hard as his rosebud clamps around his cock when he flicks his textured tongue out at the first nipple. The string of saliva shines on the boy’s skin from the swirling of his tongue around that already hardened point but it is only when he hears the sweet words “please alpha” fall from those plush lips that Ezar cinches his own around Lo’ak’s nipple. 

The thrust and pull of hips begin an electrifying rhythm with the suckling. Pull out, suck, slam back in, finish with a brief nip to the swollen area. It stirs Lo’ak’s hazy mind into a whirlpool of oversensitivity. He no longer recognizes what is his voice filling the air versus his alpha’s. Each ripple of pleasure along his nerves pulls him deeper and deeper into this mindless state while simultaneously bring him closer to completion. 

Grinning against the left nipple now, Ezar is pleased to note his omega’s pretty little cock poking at his stomach. He nestled the mushroom tip of length to press instantly at that special spot inside, resting there heavily without reprieve before languidly stroking the soft tanhi freckled length of Lo’ak’s member.

The boy comes undone with a cry that is sure to be heard back at the communal fire. He shakes and whimpers continuously as euphoria overtakes him and the sticky white fluid is painted between them. It takes the alpha’s pelvis pressing against the omega’s own to keep him in place during the orgasm and another hand at his wrists to prevent inflicting more red outlines. 

He tsks lowly, hand coming up to show the mess his little mate has made all over him. A hint of clarity finally ripples across Lo’ak’s face as he realizes his own mistakes. 

“C-can I cum, alpha?” 

Ezar laughs fondly, sharp teeth nipping at the boy once more to see him squirm. For a moment Lo’ak thinks he is off the hook, his mate having found humor in the slip up, but then he feels the length stretching him full begin to slide out at a sinfully slow pace. Their eyes connect once more and the Sully boy tries to give a wary little smile, he likes to think of himself as charming enough in the most difficult of conundrums. 

“A little late for that, don’t you think, little one?” 

And then they are starting again, the alpha railing him with uncontrolled ferver. Lo’ak is mortified to find his own cock already springing to life. Every tickle of his nerves feels like a zap of electricity in his overstimulated state. He goes to plea and beg, for mercy or more he is not sure, but soon his mouth is occupied with his mate’s long sticky covered digits. He suckles and groans around the fingers obediently. 

“Don’t worry, baby. We just won’t count that one.” 

Lo’ak’s heart rams against his rib cage at the thought of reaching an orgasm again so quickly. His muscles and energy are completely spent, having been bound up for hours and releasing all in one moment. He’s not sure if there is enough left in him to go again. That doesn’t seem to matter however. If there is one thing Ezar is, it’s relentless. It takes this level of determination to chase after his little omega day in and day out. A heavy hand to bring him back into line while also reassuring him that there is always comfort to be found in his arms. 

Struggling only causes him to gag and slobber over the digits while furthermore draining his energy, so Lo’ak finally gives in to the onslaught of sensations. Whispered words of approval along his ear cover him like a warm blanket, tucking his own reservations away easily. 

Ezar beams with pride down at his little mate. So docile and soft beneath him. Taking everything that is given to him with only muffled whimpers and hooded eyes. The sight alone has his balls tightening in anticipation. He’s held off for so long, longer than he would’ve imagined but this time he is determined to tip Lo’ak over the edge again first. Wouldn’t want the boy to get away with too much, Eywa knows he already gets too many mischievous ideas of getting away unscathed daily. 

“Still want to be in charge, baby?”

It’s a rhetorical question but Lo’ak gurgles around his fingers in efforts to respond. Chaste kisses are peppered over the omega’s face to shush him, two digits pressing down firmly on his tongue now. 

In the dim light of their candlelight hut, their shadows dance and stretch across the floor as the sound of primal grunts and slapping skin fills the air. Lo’ak can barely tell up from down let alone keep track of the time that passes, completely enraptured by his dominant mate pulling him closer to the point of ecstasy once more. 

That coils in his lower abdomen tightens at an alarming pace. His legs kick out and muffled words in search of permission slip past his filled mouth. Luckily Ezar requires no further clarification. He can feel the omega cinching around him, another key sign he has learned means the boy is almost past the point of no return. 

“It’s ok baby. Be a good boy and cum for me.” 

As expected that is all it takes to get him spasming beneath him in a wave of pleasure. In the midst of it Lo’ak feels a bloom of warmth erupt in his core. The familiar sensation of being filled to the brim spurs on his orgasm to prolong and erupt in an unfathomable amount of pleasure. Ezar groans out spewed words of praise and sensuous promises into the crook of his neck as he tries to keep his full body weight off of the boy. 

Fingers slip from his mouth slowly, tethered by a string of saliva, and Lo’ak gasps for air. The world blurs around him, making it feel close to an out of body experience as he floats in the post orgasmic haze. He barely registers the bonds being cut and drags of a wet cloth clean him up before his body is tucked against the alpha. The warmth of his skin is luring and his hindbrain is quickly obeyed upon releasing its desire to nuzzle close, to get drunk off of the heavy essence securing him safely in place. 

Ezar knows better than to try and speak sense into the omega at this point. Instead, he lets times pass leisurely as he admires his little mate close to passed out on top of him. 

Unfortunately, it doesn’t take long for Lo’ak’s brain to come back online and with that comes the omega’s worries. Unsurprisingly, the first concern pressing at the forefront of his mind is his father’s reaction to the events of the day. Ezar, however, sternly quiets those concerns with promises of talking to Jake Sully in the morning. 

“Sleep now, my omega.” 

And Ezar is ecstatic to find him obeying immediately. 

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