#thoughts of a traitor; musing

[orbitaldeathwoomy]

[Ruby leads Cerrin back to the front door. After a few seconds of silence, she looks over to him.]

"You ready?"

"As I'll ever be..."

[She sighs, before opening the door and gesturing for Tsukuyo and Susano to enter.]

「Please, come in.」

[The two soldiers do so, their gazes focused on Cerrin as they turn to him.]

「You've grown, Cyren.」

「Yeah. No thanks to you.」

[Susano glares at Cerrin, anger beginning to burn in his deep blue eyes.]

「I see living on the surface has taught you nothing but disrespect.」

[Cerrin falls silent. This only pisses his father off further, but before he can lash out Tsukuyo puts her arm in front of him to stop him. She then closes the space between her and Cerrin a bit and moves to touch him, but he immediately takes a step back.]

「Keep your hands off of me.」

[Tsukuyo slaps Cerrin hard across the face.]

「Hey, there's no need for—」

「You've forgotten when to hold your tongue, Cyren.」

[Cerrin glares at her, but remains silent.]

「Now, to the matter at hand... Why did you never return? We thought you were dead.」

「Don't act like you care.」

「You disgrace our family, disgrace the army, then have the nerve to speak to us like that? Your treachery knows no bounds.」

[Cerrin sighs softly.]

「Just tell me why you came here, or leave.」

「Then I'll make this simple, for your sake – Leave this frivolous life and come back underground, or face the consequences of your actions.」

「Like I'd ever let that happen.」

[Tsukuyo and Susano shift their gazes to Ruby.]

「What makes you think you have any say in this, Inktoling?」

[Ruby folds her arms.]

「Oh, I don't know. Maybe it's the fact that you tried to kill him when he decided to get away from your abuse, assumed he was dead when he never came back, and didn't bother to confirm that "death" until now?」

「Cyren is our son. You have no right to dictate—」

「And you have no right to make him leave! He may have been a kid when he came to the surface, but now he's over eighteen and you have no legal control over him anymore! I won't let you take him away!」

[A cruel smile then covers Tsukuyo's face as she moves aside, just enough for Susano to lunge toward Ruby.]

「Know your place, insolent half-breed!」

[Ruby flinches, bracing herself for the inevitable pain of the blue-ringed Octoling's assault... But it never comes. When she opens her eyes, she sees Cerrin standing between them, his father's claws deep in his left shoulder.]

"CERRIN—!"

[Susano rips his fingers out of Cerrin, causing him to stumble back. He's already bleeding badly, blue venom oozing out of his wounds.]

「We look forward to bringing you home, Cyren... So don't die, alright?」

[The two soldiers take their leave, satisfied with the conversation and the damage they'd done. Ruby immediately begins to panic, standing next to him and letting him use her as a crutch.]

"Oh cod, Cerrin, your shoulder...!"

[Cerrin's breathing is labored, his vision blurred slightly as he looks to her.]

"Ruby, you..." [Cue a strained breath.] 「...Are you okay...?」

"Why are you worried about me?? I’m—Oh, never mind, we have to get you to a hospital!"

[She quickly leads him outside to her car, being careful as she helps him into the front passenger seat before hurriedly taking the driver's seat. After a few panicked turns of the key in the ignition the car starts, and she doesn't even acknowledge his parents walking up the street as she speeds past them.]

[aparticularbandit]

SORRY FOR MONACA TOWA FIC SPAM I JUST SUDDENLY ALL THE THOUGHTS.

Because that one's more fully formed, that may be the next long project post-TTLD.

Which means I have time to figure out who dies, when, and why.

The mechanics of this Killing Game are. the thing, really. Because I don't think it's like in DR1 or DR2; I don't think it's kill someone and get away with murder and then you're free, I don't think there are Class Trials here. Those are unique to Junko's game, and this isn't Junko's game. She's involved, but someone else set it up. The Game should reflect the person running it.

So how would they run the game? And what is their end goal? What do they hope to have happen? (And if Junko is involved, how much is she going to give them shit for how they're running their game?)

[lesenbyan]

man it's completely different bc Fordola did absolutely did War Crimes against other Ala Mhigans but maybe I (and Eve) relate to her so much bc, again, she's hated by her own people for trying to fit in with the empire when she was raised and taught that was the only way to survive and like. Yeah.

[furby-organist]

> He is developing Bad Ideas. Hee hoo.

[tonycries]

FIVE! - C.K.

Synopsis. Five hours - it’s all it takes for Choso’s baby fever to take over. After all, you’d look so pretty with his kid - five of them, in fact.

Pairing. Choso Kamo x Reader 

Content. MDNI, fem! reader, established relationship, unprotected, bréeding, Choso with rings + a tongue piercing, creampíe, mentioned kids, cúmplay, he goes feraI, oraI (fem receiving), Itadori family shenanigans (mild spoilers for unc-kuna), overstím, fíngering, pet names, swearing.

Word count. 5.9k

A/N. Will I ever write a Choso fic without the Itadori family? No absolutely not.

4:37PM.

“Ooo, Cho can we check that place out?”

And, listen, just because Choso would give you the moon right along with his heart doesn’t exactly mean he’s jumping with joy when he follows your gaze to that gaudy little shop tucked away in a corner of the mall. Flashing a loud, glittering sign reading, “FORTUNES: FIND YOUR FUTURE!”

Traitorous memories flash through his mind with each step you drag him closer. Of all those fortune shops he’d frequented years ago, trying to figure out whether you’d say yes to a date - before even thinking of actually asking you. 

He won’t ask anything, Choso reassures, stepping through the heady, curtained doorway. Probably not anything, he’s musing, pulling out his wallet to pay for your session. Well, maybe some things, he concludes, eyeing the sprightly old woman that takes a seat opposite you two, peering down at her dramatically large glass ball on the table. 

But that doesn’t mean he’ll-

“Babies.”

“Huh?”

“Yes.” the woman gives a solemn nod. “Five of them.”

Both of you let out a squawk of surprise, much to the amusement of the fortune teller. And Choso can feel his palms getting sweaty against your own as he manages to croak out a low, disbelieving, “Five?”

All but toppling out of his seat in suspense as she takes a moment to scrutinize her orb once more. And, surely glass balls can glitch, right? Mix up fortunes or something? Because while he knows you’ll be by his side in this life and every other one after - kids were a whole other responsibility that neither of you had talked about, yet.

At least, that’s what Choso was trying to convince himself right before the woman lets out a thoughtful hum, “Well, you-” pointing a wisened, accusing finger right in his flushed face. “-want more - about eight - but, of course, your future wife says no.” Gesturing to your giggling figure, “Honestly, young man, learn to keep it in your pants, the poor dear!”

Shit, he was going to run away, do something to end up on the national news - and judging by the way you squeeze his hand, you could tell, too. 

Subconsciously, Choso’s eyes scan the wall for any hidden cameras, wondering what type of strange prank this was. It had happened once four years ago - and just-so-happened to be what made him give up and finally ask you out - but, hey, it made for a pretty great first date story, right?

Finding none, he sighs, barely opening his mouth to ask before she plows on, “And of course there’s only so many your uncle can piggyback at once, right? No matter how much that grump says he doesn’t like it.”

Right.

Of course.

Oh god, he thinks he could faint. 

Choso doesn’t dare say anything for the rest of the session, nor does he look directly in your eyes. Save for that one time to admire your delighted laugh when the fortune teller prattles on about how your kids will “fight his needy self for your attention.”

Not until the two of you are stepping back out into the too-bright mall, your fingers intertwined with his, voice sweet in his ear as you continue with your forgotten mission to find the good brownie mix for the family dinner tonight. 

“Eyes like yours and hair like mine.” You sigh, repeating what you’d heard mere minutes ago. Hooking a finger subtly into his belt loop, smirking, “Sooo, five, huh? You’re this worked up over that?”

“N-no.” Choso replies hastily, but the heavy gulp he takes is a dead giveaway he can’t stop thinking about tiny combinations of the two of you running around. Face too-hot, hands jittery, brows furrowed as he decides for the second time in his life that, yeah he’s never stepping foot inside a fortune shop again. 

You notice - of course, you do. 

Especially when he pulls you into the nearest changing stall, knuckle-deep inside your drenched panties, rings cool against your cunt, lips kissing at your throat. Ignoring your teasing complaints about “getting late”, despite how you’re letting him have his way. 

He feels the vibration of your voice under his hot tongue, laughing - even when he gives your pretty clit a little pinch. “Five.”

And through it all, he can’t help but think - hypothetically, of course, that he hopes they all have your laugh.

---

7:16PM.

Honestly, the one thing that made the Itadori residence more of a home to Choso was having you there. Even when you’re standing with him outside the front door, letting out a sigh as you glare at your sad excuse for brownies.

“Ugh, Cho, we totally burnt them.” you grumble up at your boyfriend. “Your dad is gonna hate it and Sukuna’s gonna make fun of me and-”

“Sukuna can try.” Choso hits the doorbell once more, sure that the ruckus inside was too loud to even think over. “And he probably will.” Before turning back to your adorable pout, and ah he can’t stop himself from cupping your face, smoothing over that furrow in your brow. He leans in to give your lips a chaste peck, “But, he’s still gonna steal some. N’ dad’ll love it, and you already know gramps is gonna sneak in some even though his doctor told him not to.” He’s getting out through kisses, pulling your giggling face closer to his. “And we’ll be lucky to get any before Itadori inhales them.”

He ends his little speech with a slow, lingering kiss. Sliding his soft lips across your now much happier ones. Dancing a hand down to pull your hips closer, murmuring throatily, “N’ most of all, I’m gonna love ‘em, baby.”

You gasp at the feeling of his long fingers pressing just at the hem of your panties through your dress, “You’re- you’re too much.” You hiss, but it comes out more breathless than you intended. “But, the brownies really are-”

Slam!

“Yeah yeah, Jin, the brats are finally here, jus’ fucking on the porch!” 

If there’s anything Choso’s learned from all the times you’ve had dinner with his family, it’s that 1. Yes, the brownies - as burnt and questionable as they were - will always turn out to be a hit in the Itadori household. 2. You were really, really too perfect for your own good, even amidst the chaos. 

“Oh no, let me.” you flash Jin a beaming smile, taking over the well cleared-out plates to the kitchen. Only to be followed by an enthusiastic Yuji almost tripping over his own feet to help you out. 

“You got a good one there.” Choso snaps out of his soft stare to whirl around at where his grandpa was seated next to him. He tips his head over to where you were chattering animatedly with the younger boy taking your load of dishes. “Real lovely. Though, the desert I’m assuming you helped out with.”

Jin pipes up, “Bah! I thought that liquorice was great.”

“They were…brownies.” Face burning, he stammers, knowing full well that you were the one that forgot them in the oven. “And uh y-yeah, you got me…”

And, of course, because it’s a family dinner, Sukuna has to lean over to rile him up. Interjecting teasingly, “Then you best wife that cute lil’ thing up before those baking skills of yours make ‘em run off n’ find someone that can bake.” He smirks devilishly, eyes flitting to the view of the kitchen, “And…”

“And?”

“-is fuckin’ great with kids, too.”

Several things happen at once - the words are barely out of Sukuna’s mouth before he’s being swatted over the head. Hard. After all, being the nicer of the two doesn’t make Jin Itadori forget his roots as the older brother.

And Choso’s jaw is dropping into a soft oh! Not at the unusual display of strength, no, instead it was at the heavenly scene before him.

He swears, the lights grow just a bit brighter and the world becomes a little rosier at the sight of you teaching an eager Yuji the correct way to scrub strainers. Gently guiding the boy until that confused furrow between his brow disappears. “Yeah, just a bit more on the side and you’re done!”

He gives you a very soapy high-five, “You’re literally a lifesaver, Kugisaki was just making fun of me for this the other day.” Moving onto the rest of the workload, “‘Can’t do shit’ gonna show her, seriously. Thank you mom- uh-”

Yuji freezes. You freeze. And it seems that everyone in the world might’ve frozen, except for Sukuna who was still rubbing that bump on his head. 

And you, of course, promptly cutting off the flurry of apologies that looked like they were about to burst from Itadori’s lips. Smiling at the flustered boy softly, “Well…good job, Yuji.” you bump his hip. “And now onto the blender.”

“AW, MAN.”

Suddenly, everything was normal again. Except for Choso - definitely not Choso. 

Mom? 

So utterly, completely not Choso when everyone’s still talking downstairs, and he’s not. Making some cheap excuse about a ‘bathroom break’, which really didn’t explain why he covertly drags you behind him by the hand. All but shoving you into his childhood bedroom, shutting the door as quietly as he could without alerting anyone of your tryst. 

“Ch-Cho-” you squeal when he pushes you against the wall, dropping down to his knees with a fervor that makes you wince. But if it hurt, then Choso doesn’t show it - doesn’t show anything but pure need when he bunches your dress up at your waist. Soft tongue darting out to glide along your drenched slit, “What’s gotten- hngh- into you?”

The only response you get is a murmured growl of something you can’t bother deciphering. And he doesn’t give you any other, either - sluggishly nudging away your panties to admire your glistening cunt. 

So close. Just hovering over your puffy folds, smiling at the way they only get wetter at his hot breath, “Five.”

Too close. Glossy pink lips falling slack to wrap around your clit and-

KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCK!

Though, it was more of a bang. And an even louder voice from outside, “OI, you brats better be decent, gramps found some dusty old albums n’ wants you two down.”

---

9:02PM.

“Awww, this is from his first fight with Yuji- yes, Choso so what if I took a picture?” Jin excitedly points to a photo on the page, “Yuji was the one with a bruise, but Choso was the one bawling.”

You titter at the glossy picture, a confused-looking Yuji as a toddler, being smothered by his older brother in a hug - big, fat tears running down his pouty cheeks. Adorable. And somehow that encounter with the fortune teller today rings in your mind - wonder if your kids would have those same eyes?

“As cute as ever, huh?” your gaze dances across all the gems of childhood on the page. 

“Disagreed.” Sukuna leans over, no matter how much he’d like to pretend he wasn’t interested in these albums. “Look how attached the lil’ anklebiter used to be.” A painted nail pokes at one of Choso on his uncle’s shoulders, tiny fists happily gripping onto pink hair - much to his disgruntlement. “And then I look over at him now and-” He glances over at the man in question, very much unamused. “Well. That’s disappointing.”

Choso rolls his eyes, “What’s disappointing is how you’re this old but still can’t find a-” 

“Ooo look this is from when he’d run away during bath time!”

That album is snatched so fast out of Jin’s hands that you wonder whether it might just be your imagination. But you look over at a red-faced Choso, seeing him hold it way above your heads. Muttering out a hasty, “I think that’s enough photo time.”

Amidst the collective groans of disappointment - even Sukuna lets out a low huff, you hadn’t gotten to those ugly matching Halloween costume pictures yet - only Yuji speaks up, “Do you think I’d be like that, too?”

Sukuna scoffs, “What? An emo bastard? Might just work out for ya, kid, the dumbass look isn’t doing you any favors.”

Yuji juts his chin in indignance, “No- we already have Fushiguro for that.” Tilting his head over to the album still tight in Choso’s clutches. “Do you think your kids would like me? Would I be that cool favorite family member?”

“No way, brat. It’ll be me.”

Choso’s grandpa also chimes in as well, “Huh? No, I’d be the favorite.”

“Gramps-”

“Says who?”

“DISRESPECT TO YOUR ELDERS!”

“Hey!” Everything turns to Choso, startled at his sudden outburst. Tension crackling as he pokes a thumb at his chest, “I’d be their favorite. For all five of them.”

And you knew a fist or two to be thrown, hell, you half-expected the album to be used as some type of weapon. Because before you knew it, Sukuna was on Yuji, and both Yuji and Choso were on Sukuna. Falling to the floor in a tangled pile while his grandpa sat on the sidelines, chanting an elated, “Fight! Fight! Fight!”

Ah, it’s times like this that you wonder how Jin Itadori really had the patience. Because with all the grace that was lacking in the current scuffle on the living room floor, he claps his hands loudly. “Alright. Perhaps Choso’s right, that’s enough photo time for tonight.” He plucks the album out of a dazed Choso still gripping onto it, before moving to walk out. “And for the record-” Flashing you all a devious smile which suddenly had you remember that shit, him and Sukuna were twins, after all. “-I’d be the favorite.”

The arguments that followed were ones you had to record on your phone to giggle at later. And, yet, through it all, the only thing you could truly focus on were Choso’s words - all five of them.

Fuck. You were truly, irrevocably so fucked, and one sideglance at the pretty pink blush burning at the tips of Choso’s ears told you he wasn’t faring any better. 

You jolt when his hand wraps around your waist - nothing out of the ordinary - but what was was the way he strayed past their usual perch at your hip, trailing slightly above to just caress your stomach. Something so electric in those eyes when they catch yours briefly. 

All five of them, huh?

---

9:37PM. 

SLAM!

“Cho, why’d you-”

“Shut up.”

You don’t know what’s hitting you first - his lips crashing against yours, or the realization that this was Choso. Dark eyes half-lidded, skin burning, breaths heaving with the fervor he was drinking you in with. 

“What-” you yelp when he pulls away lazily to suck on your lower lip. “What got-” Only to come clashing back down again, drawing out all the air in your lungs as he blindly shoves the two of you against the nearest wall. “What got into you this- mmpf-” And again it’s like Choso didn’t want you to talk - could bare another word in your sweet voice for fear of poking some deep, visceral part of himself awake. 

This time, not even daring to break the kiss, he pants into your open mouth, “Shut up.” So bruisingly sloppy, “Please.”

And oh he was so very determined to have it that way, because all you can do is let out breathless gasps when his hands dance down your body. Handling you so rough with the way he snaps the neckline of your cute lil’ dress, kneading your breasts, your hips. Everywhere and anywhere he could reach until he makes his way down to cup your already-damp cunt through your panties. “-because tonight m’gonna have her talking.”

Choso pushes his hips against yours with a strained grunt. Lips curling into a sinful leer when all you can do is gasp at the outline of his thick erection through his pants. Grinding down onto his palm subconsciously, dragging your sloppy pussy. 

“Shit.” Choso immediately brings his hand up to admire - now all glistening with a sheen of your syrupy slick. Looking you right in your glassy eyes as he pops a wet finger into his mouth. His own rolling to the back of his head, “Oh shit.”

Oh, he was going to enjoy this. So very, very much.

“Turns out…” he trails off, cutting himself off by dropping to his knees. Hard. Large hands groping your ass closer to his greedy mouth, “-she says we got some unfinished business.”

You whine when Choso hooks an index underneath the mound of your drenched panties sliding it along your puffy folds. All the way up until he was nudging at your pretty clit, then down, down, down until you were just coating his fingers. 

“Ngh- Cho-” your knees weaken, when his hot breath hits your pussy. And he notices - of course he does. Circling his muscled arms around your legs to hold you up, “Oh my god s’too much.”

Too much? He’s barely even getting started. And he tells you that - slurs it between his sharp canines biting down on the thin fabric of your panties. He tugs with his teeth, “M’gonna- fuck you smell so heavenly- m’gonna ruin you.” 

You whimper in disbelief. Knowing he was too entranced with your cunt to tease you again, you mewl, “Wh-what’s got you this- fuck- worked up, Cho?”

The only response you get is a throaty growl - like the mere idea of the answer to that has Choso losing his sanity. 

And, honestly he feels like he’s lost it already. Instead, taking his time to watch the way your slick beads through the see-through fabric with each passing second. Breaths coming out in little puffs as he pulls your panties back every-so-slightly and-

“Fuck!”

And then he’s pulling - ripping your poor panties to shreds. Cock twitching wildly at the strings of slick connecting your pussy to the fabric. Mouthwatering. 

Your panties lay in tatters on the floor. The cold air hitting you right along with his steady stream of saliva. Once. Twice. Smearing it across your folds with his thumbs as Choso repeats a single, jagged whisper, “Five.”

But you barely even have the time to register his response before he’s diving nose-deep into your dripping cunt. You don’t even know if he took the time to breathe - hell, he was kissing your puffy folds like he didn’t need to breathe. 

“Shouldn’t have taken me to ngh- that fortune shop.” his lips mesh sloppily with yours. “Shouldn’t have gone to dinner, too.” Licking down your folds, the cold metal of his piercing making your head spin. “Fuckkk we shouldn’t have. Ohhh we shouldn’t have- ”

He can’t help but let out a guttural, fucked-out little grunt at the sight. Looking right up into your glassy eyes as the tip of his nose bumps against your throbbing clit. On purpose. 

You buck your hips deeper into his pretty face, mewling. “O-oh. Fuck- fuck fuck fuck-” Letting him lick so filthily all over your clit - your folds - just barely dipping into your hole like he couldn’t decide. And it finally sets in that just maybe you weren’t getting off easy this time. “Five?”

And fuck you can feel the way Choso grins against your pussy, wrapping his now-glossy lips around your clit to suck so harshly.

“Mhmmm.” he moans, cheeks hollowing as he tugs on your poor, ravaged clit. Rolling his tongue - the ball of his piercing - right across the sensitive bud in just the way he knew you liked. “Shouldn’t have put those thoughts in my head, baby.”

Oh.

Oh, shit. Five. 

You definitely weren’t making it out alive today.

The same sentiment seems to ring in Choso’s pussydrunk head as he pulls away with a lewd squelch to grin up at you. So fucking pretty with his eyes miles away, hair messily framing his smudged eyeliner. Lips all puffy and glistening, your slick covering the lower half of his face, his chin - some even on his jaw like Choso was trying to get messy on purpose. “Ya finally got it, baby? I could feel her gettin’ wetter.”

You did. How could you not?

You jump when Choso reattaches his lips, this time bullying his tongue past your folds, into that first, feeble ring of resistance. Stretching out your sopping entrance on his tongue in persistent, rough pushes. “Seems she hngh- really likes the idea, hm? Of me breeding this lil’ cunt?” he moans, muffled with the way he was thrusting his tongue deeper and deeper with each second. Roaming for those cute sensitive spots he knew so well, “N’ who am I to say no to the fuck- mother of my kids?”

“There! Oh my god there-” you cry when his piercing just hits at your g-spot. “I-I thought you ngh- didn’t want kids, Cho–”

As if to prove you wrong, Choso’s only curling his tongue deeper into your walls. Squeezing past your walls to fuck you exactly the way he wanted to with his aching cock right now. Hitting that magic spot again and again and-

“Oh yeah? Seems-” Like he was fucking addicted, Choso surges forward again. And again. And again and again so deep that you could feel the curve of his chin, each and every movement of his jaw. “Seems the last five hours were a bit- eye-opening. Fuck- you’re squeezin’ me s’fucking- mmf- tight”

And it was true - your walls were milking Choso’s tongue so hard you half-lucidly wondered whether it didn’t hurt. Whether his tongue wasn’t cramping up at this point, lips aching. 

But if they did, then Choso acted the exact opposite. Nails leaving neat little patterns on the plush of your hips as he makes you ride his face harder. 

“Cho!” you buck your hips wildly when that wasn’t enough for your needy boyfriend either. Big, fat tears of overstimulation rising up to your eyes when he swipes his thumb across your pulsing clit. Rings cold against your cunt when he starts to draw urgent, messy little circles in time with his tongue.“Oh fuck-” 

“Five.” he’s spitting into your cunt when your thighs start trembling beside his head. Jaw sagging open so lewdly as he gets faster - sloppier. Fuck any rhythm or reason. “Five.” he moans, sounding as strained as you felt - as taut as a tightrope right now with each drag of your sloppy cunt over Choso’s ravenous mouth. Greedier - letting your slick run all the way down his wrist now with how messy he was getting. “Five.” he whispers, when you finally cum. 

And shit, you’re such a vision when you do. Tears springing to your eyes, fingers tightening on Choso’s hair. Letting out such cute sobs of his name, hips moving out of control all over his mouth while he still pulls and pushes his tongue into your gummy walls. Fucking you so obscenely through your high. 

“Yeah? You all done with the first one, baby?” he rasps, giving your sensitive cunt one, last peck at your delirious nod - and another extra, just to watch you squirm. “Then-” Choso does the same up your body, pressing his lips to your stomach, “-you can-” the valley of your breasts. “-take responsibility.”

That’s all it takes for Choso to easily throw you onto his sculpted shoulders like some ragdoll. Taking long, urgent steps towards the nearest flat surface - that just so happened to be your couch. 

“Cho- slow-” you squeal when he throws you onto the cushions. “-down.”

And he does anything but. Barely paying attention to your zipper when he pulls off whatever’s left of your dress, throwing it god-knows-where behind him. “I’ll buy you a new one when we go pregnancy shopping.”

Choso lets out a long, strained groan when he unbuckles your bra. “Gonna be so pretty as a mama.” Large, soft hands coming to knead and guide your pretty nipples into his mouth, “Gonna be- fuck- so pretty with these all full.” 

And you can only watch, jaw-dropped, as Choso sucks on your tits. Eyes rolling to the back of his head with how harsh he was - as if he was trying to get out milk. Needing to feel it - to taste it on his tongue. 

“And this- oh this-” A hand sneaks its way down to splay out over your stomach. Pressing down, hard. “So round and full with my kid.” He manages to grit out over the metal clinking of his belt, “They’ll look at you and all they’ll see is me.” He pauses, feeling something crinkle in his pocket - a shiny condom. One that Choso chucks along with your dress, “Fuck, they’ll see me. Know how I ruined you. Me me me me-”

Fuck- 

You’re so caught up in Choso’s sinful little mutters that you barely even noticed he’d pull down his pants - just enough for his rock-hard erection to spring free. And he looked so painfully hard, such an angry red at his weeping tip, leaking all the way down, down, down those prominent veins. 

Twitching upwards at the mere sound of your voice, “Why don’t you p-prove it then, Cho?”

You broke him. You were sure you broke him. 

The words have barely left your lips before Choso’s fist is squeezing at the drenched base of his cock. Angry. Desperate. 

All but cumming on the spot when he glides his fat head along your slit - letting your cunt drool all over him before-

“F-fuck-”

“Shhh baby, I know I know.” his mouth crashes against yours in a messy, open-mouthed kiss. Sucking on your tongue while he bullies his massive cock into your snug cunt. Inch by fucking inch. And whatever’s remaining of Choso’s sanity knows he should slow down, let you breathe, maybe stretch you out more - but how could he when he physically can’t. “Fuck- too- too good. God, I have t-to do this more often.”

Your raw cunt too heavenly that he genuinely can’t stop his hips from splitting you apart deeper, from spreading your thrashing legs so far apart it burned.

From feeling the way you’re torn between taking more and flattening your feet to push away- Letting out a strangled groan, “No no no no no- don’t you take this pussy away. How else will I breed her?” He runs his delirious mouth, strong arms just dragging you across the couch back onto his mean cock. “Need this- need this so bad. Fuck-” Choso throws his head back as your cunt sucks up his leaky tip. “-oh god think m’gonna die if I don’t get to breed this pretty pussy. To give her my kid.”

Pushing in small, sharp jabs to bully himself inside, having your puffy folds bulge so obscenely around his cock. Quivering and struggling to take him all. Not even a quarter of the way in yet he was pushing in and out in and out in and-

“Oh- please-” you claw down his toned back, his waist, onto the biceps that were pushing your knees up for easier access, all the way until they were at your tits. Folding you into a tight mating press, “Cho–”

Ah, that little nickname always did things to him. And Choso nuzzles the crook of your neck gently - the exact opposite of his hips, leaving faint, dark streaks of eyeliner on your skin. “What is it? What do you hngh- want, baby? I’ll give ya anything.”

And maybe you were a mastermind. Maybe you were an idiot. Because you hum into his ear, sending goosebumps rising down your boyfriend’s spine, “Wan’ five of them.”

If you thought you broke him before then you fucking ruined him now.

Because in one, harsh thrust he’s bottoming out - feeling like he was pushing all the way into your lungs, your hazy brain. And the stretch - fuck. You could feel each and every dip and curve of Choso’s girth, thrumming against your plushy walls. Still pushing inside you despite bottoming out, stretching you out like such a slut. 

It was all Choso could do to echo, over and over like some type of mantra. “Finally- Five, huh? Five- Fuck!” Leaving little bruises on your thighs from spreading them apart so hard. “Gonna give you five- fuck- five.”

Each word was punctuated by a long, mean thrust, not daring to reel back until Choso could feel his fat head kiss your poor cervix, and his heavy balls smack against your ass. 

It was starting to take a toll on your ability to speak in coherent sentences - as expected, of course. 

“Oh- ngh- Cho, s’too deep. Too- ah-” you blubber tearily, heels digging into his shoulders. And he only fucks you harder into the couch. Bouncing you so rough on his swollen cock. 

“Too deep?” Choso mutters, sounding genuinely surprised. As if to confirm for himself, he trails up a hand to feel for where he knew he was leaving loving little marks on your cervix. Pressing down. “How are ya- hah- how are ya gonna let me breed this cute cunt if even this is too deep, huh?”

You don’t have the ability to answer even if you wanted to - because Choso starts to toy with your still-sensitive clit. Sending flashes of white-hot pleasure with each roll of his ringed thumb over it. Tiny, incessant circles.

He coos over your lewd ah! ah! ah! “Awww. My baby can’t s-speak anymore?”. The curve of his dick fucking you so dumb, massaging your tight walls, hitting sweet spots you didn’t even know you had. “S’alright, jus’ let me hah- take care of it, okay? Jus’ let me paint this oh- heavenly pussy white.” Choso’s knees dig into the cushion as he angles his hips ever-so-slightly to hit that one-

“Fuck! Oh fuck- Cho–”

Found it.

“C’mon, baby.” Choso moans into the valley of your breasts, hips out of control now. Free hand coming up to squish your cheeks together, forcing you to peer into his dark gaze. “L-look at me. Fuck- look at the future father to your kids.”

All while his thick tip hit your g-spot over and over and- 

And oh how he loved how fucked-out you looked already. Capable of only giving him bleary, cockdrunk heart-eyes as he milks himself on your sloppy cunt. He couldn’t think straight - doesn’t think he’s been able to since five hours ago. 

Since he’s been wrecked with thoughts of how he’d do their hair and you’d pick them up from school. And how Yuji would be the best uncle and- Fuck, how he wanted those five kids with you - maybe even more- 

“More?” you gasp. And Choso lets out a guttural groan when you clench so sinfully around him in surprise. Fucking you so filthy, “M-more kids?”

Choso only drawls out a low, “Mhmmmm.” Pinching your clit faster between two fingers to shut up those cute whines because shit- he could cum from just how tight you were squeezing him. But refuses to before the mother of his kids. “Ya don’ ngh- wan’ me to? Don’ want me to fuck a baby into you?” 

You’re crying out harder when he speeds up. Rocking your sloppy cunt so harshly, making sure your poor pussy will remember him for a long, long time. Just trying - needing - to make himself cum. To fill you up with his seed till you can’t take it anymore. “I- ngh- do!”

And it takes everything in Choso to pull away from your ravaged tits, connecting his sweaty forehead with yours. Whispering, “How many?”

“As- fuck-”

“Mhm?”

“As many as you want- hngh-”

That’s all it takes for Choso’s body to bow, teeth digging in right above that rapid pulse on your neck so hard you wondered whether it drew blood. Hips stuttering, giving your sensitive spot one last, harsh kiss.

This time, when you cum you see white flashes behind your eyes - or maybe that was just Choso. Because the sight of you falling apart on his dick was all it takes for him to as well. Hard. Almost painfully so. 

Eyeliner running down his cheeks now with each thick, hot rope of seed he was filling your snug cunt up with. Those cushions below the two of you the last thing on his mind right now as he holds your trembling hips still, fucking his cum deeper and deeper.

The hand on your stomach pushes down, watching awe-struck at how your bloated cunt just coats him in cum. Dribbling down the side of your puffy folds, forming a creamy ring at his base.

“Oh!“ your jaw falls slack at how animalistic it felt. At how slutty your overfilled pussy felt, drooling all down your legs - and his. Onto Choso’s painfully squeezing balls as he fucks you like an animal. Again. And again and-

Again. He was speeding his hips up again. 

Then it’s like something snaps - Choso’s restraint, your sanity, and the couch. Fuck, his hips were so harsh that the couch was sagging entirely too much on your end.

This time, wrangling your legs around Choso’s waist, lifting your limp body up into Choso’s arms before you can react - squirming at the way he still doesn’t bother to pull out. Letting your cum gush all the way down his still-hard dick. 

Hands spreading your puffy folds apart, making such a mess of cum down below as he drags himself across your walls. Like he was marking you from the inside out - and he was.

“Didn’t think we were ngh- done, did you?” Choso’s lips graze your swollen ones. “After all, I did promise five.” Softly pooling a stray tear onto his tongue, piercing burning into your heated skin. “N’ we gotta practice for that, too, right?”

---

“The photo albums, really? Honestly, dad, you might as well have just gone and just outright told them.”

The older man only waves a hand dismissively, turning back to his favorite late-night show, “I’m not getting any younger here. N’ I’d like to see some grandkids before I see the pearly gates.”

Jin only sighs, but doesn’t disagree - after all, he couldn’t deny his father what he himself has been dreaming about ever since Choso finally plucked up the courage to actually ask you out. Yet he persists, “But honestly, Sukuna - you were teasing him a bit too much.”

Sukuna grunts, “Teasing? What teasing?” Crossing two big arms across his chest, “From the way they ran outta here, I suspect he should be thanking me.”

“Well, the true MVP - as the kids say - is this one-” Grandpa Itadori points at a rather oblivious Yuji. ‘Real nice improv to the plan, kid.“

Who only shakes his head before looking around the room for any answers, “Huh, wait. What plan? Did I miss some plan?”

“Ahem- no. Nothing.” Jin coughs, swiftly moving along the conversation above Yuji’s confused protests about what secret plan there was and why. “But, really, it should be that fortune teller you hired, Sukuna. Bit over-the-top honestly, but Choso was telling me all about her and you must’ve gotten a real convincing actress.”

Rolling his eyes, “Huh, I didn’t hire her, I thought that was the ol’ man’s work?”

“Now why would I go looking for actresses, my wife would just haunt me from the grave.”

The silence that follows is a heavy one as it slowly dawns upon everyone in the room - except for a still-floundering Yuji - that this was in no way a creative improvisation to the aforementioned plan. Not at all, really.

Oh. 

Wow. Five…really?!

“GUYS WHAT WAS THE PLAN?”

A/N. This got wayyyyyy longer than I expected lmao.

Plagiarism not authorized.

[charliemwrites]

Part 4 of Mafia!Price

No Content Warnings

There are many things to appreciate about your boss, but one of them is his respect for routine. You’ve gotten him on a schedule and now he seems happily beholden to it; appreciates your promptness with tea and pastries and morning “briefings” each day.

He’ll happily sit back in his big leather chair and listen to you chatter out his itinerary for the day. Meetings, reports, phone calls. Trips to the dock, now, bless him.

You try not to stare between glances at your tablet. For a rich bastard, he is unfairly handsome. Good taste in just about everything, classy and luxurious without being ostentatious. Old money vibes, for sure, though you know better than to do more than idly wonder. Helps that he’s also remarkably gentlemanly with you. You’re not one to buy into old stereotypes or gender roles, even the ones that benefit you — but you’ll take a chivalrous boss over your old one any day.

Besides, it’s not like he’s spouting off about what women should and shouldn’t be doing. Or trying to use you as an example of an “acceptable” working woman. So, yeah, you’ll indulge in the door-holding and offered arms.

“Alright, best for last — your reservation for Muse is tomorrow. The restaurant is twenty minutes from your penthouse, so Simon will be downstairs by 7:30.”

You check that off your to-do list as you continue speaking.

“Do you have a suit picked out yet, or should I order something? Green is in season and it would go nicely with your eyes.”

He hums; you glance up. Leaning back, one arm lax on the arm of his chair, black watch gleaming. The other is propped to press his index finger against his lips. Like he’s telling you to keep a secret. The corners of his mouth are tilted up.

Your tablet dings and thankfully distracts you from staring.

Oh, for the love of— the only person more inconsiderate than Philip Graves is his damn assistant.

“Is that the color you’re wearing, then?”

Will need to call later today — as if!

“Hm?” You ask, not having caught it.

He arches his eyebrows; ah, you must have been making a face again.

“Are you wearing green tomorrow?�� He repeats.

You blink. Are you what?

“Tomorrow, sir?”

He nods, once. “To Muse, luv.”

When you continue to stare with pleasant obliviousness, his eyebrows furrow a bit.

“You do know one of those seats is for you, yeah?”

You press your lips together for a moment. Well… shit. You take it back. You take it all back. John Price is a terrible, horrible, awful man who is so rude.

“I do now.”

Across the office, you make wide eye contact with Gaz. He grimaces in sympathy and ducks his head, though it’s clearly just to hide his traitorous laughter.

“Of course you’re coming along.”

“Sir,” you say, pleasant and sweet, “remember when I first started here? And I told you that I’m not a mind reader?”

“Of course,” he answers. “You threatened to spit in my tea in the same breath.”

“Only if you told me to fetch it for you,” you correct, before continuing, “I feel you may need a reminder: I cannot read your mind. How was I supposed to know you wanted me to go with you?”

“‘S your job, isnit?” He replies. You give him a dark look; he puts his hands up with a chuckle. “My apologies love, I thought you’d be in my pocket next to my handkerchief. Like always.”

You set your hand on your hip, proper cross now.

“It’s outside usual working hours, sir. How could I have possible expected to be invited to your fancy man party?”

“‘Fancy man party’?”

“Well, there’s nothing for it, I’ll have to leave early tomorrow.”

You’re already tapping madly at your tablet, looking up a salon willing to do your hair and makeup. God knows what kind of meltdown you’ll have if you can’t get your eyeliner symmetrical.

“Do whatever you need to do, luv,” Price soothes, standing. “I really am sorry for the short notice.”

You wave him off, then pat his arm as he gently guides you towards the door. Absently, you comply, more focused on getting appointments set and rearranging your own schedule for tomorrow.

“I’ll make it work,” you promise, “I always do.”

You let him bring you all the way to your desk, lower yourself into your ergonomic rolling chair.

“I’ll let you know what color I’m wearing by… one o’clock. Yes?”

“Sounds great, luv.”

You glance at the clock. “Also you have a call with the KorTac Group in ten.”

He chuckles and taps your chin. “Cheers, luv.”

—

Simon is the one to pick you up Friday evening. You both pause in the lobby of your apartment complex, staring.

“You look lovely,” he says at the same time you ask, aghast, “what happened to your face?”

He’s got a dark bruises discoloring the skin around one eye. Clearly some ice has already been applied because the swelling is down, but it must be fresh because he didn’t have it yesterday.

He snorts. “My job happened.”

You tut. “I’ve got something for that but we need to get moving. Mr. Price said he needs some help with his suit.”

You grab his arm without hesitation, habit from any of your escorts or drivers always offering it to you. Usually you accept out of politeness, but tonight you could use the extra stability in your heels. Simon doesn’t seem to mind even though this is the first time you’ve done this.

He walks you to the car, holds the door for you. Sleek and spotless, a black Jaguar — your choice for the evening. You hum in delight at the warm interior as Simon slides into the front seat.

“Oh, thank you for the compliment, by the way,” you add as he pulls into traffic. “You look quite smart as well.”

He grunts, but you notice a bit of color to his ears in the passing streetlights. You smile to yourself and busy yourself with your tablet. Double checking the reservation confirmation, answering messages from Farah and Gaz, updating Price on your ETA.

The car stops at a luxury high rise just at 7. You hop out before Simon can get the door and receive a sharp look. He holds up a reprimanding finger; blink in surprise at the sternness of it.

“You pull that shite again and I’ll handcuff you to the door handle, miss.” He warns. “Making me look bad.”

You huff, amused, and take his arm again. “Don’t threaten me, Mr. Riley, I’m meaner.”

But you squeeze his thick bicep good-naturedly as he leads you into Price’s building. Your boss lives in the penthouse at the very top; Simon has to swipe a card for access. He’s also got a key to let you both in the door, holds it so you can enter first.

It’s all sleek and modern; not at all what you would expect of your boss’s more classical style. His office has a sort of 20s Hollywood vibe (gangster, you teased once) but clearly some interior designer was paid far too much for something out of a drab minimalist catalogue.

You don’t linger long, heels clicking on the polished floors.

“Sir?” you call.

“In here, luv.”

You grimace at the flight of stairs between you and the loft, but force yourself up them. The whole floor is the mater bedroom and it’s the size of your entire apartment. Walk-in closet, sectioned off lounge with a desk. His bathroom door is open, mirror fogged. It smells like soap.

“Bedroom to your right,” he calls.

You tip-tap in and your mouth instantly dries. Price is standing in the middle of the room, half dressed. Nothing unprofessional, no. He’s wearing slacks, a belt. But he’s also in socks, a white undershirt. No watch or rings or anything yet.

It feels oddly more intimate than it should. Your face warms despite yourself.

“E-evening, sir.”

He turns and you’re utterly unprepared for just how handsome he really is. Freshly groomed, hair trimmed and gelled, eyes bright.

“Well, aren’t you just a dream,” he rasps. “You’re stunning.”

You clear your throat, know that all the makeup in the world can’t hide how brightly you’re flushing. It’s pure politeness, he’s not looking at you with anything more than friendly appreciation. Mind out of the gutter, now.

“All the flattery in the world won’t save you if we’re late,” you manage, shaking yourself back into work mode. “So let’s see what we’ve got.”

You pick his shirt, a pocket hanky, his shoes. Tell him to get into those while calling Simon up the stairs. He’s there so fast you blink in surprise, then gesture him over. Sit him on an ottoman and extract the little bottle of makeup you’ve started keeping on hand for situations like this.

“Bullshite you had that in your purse,” he scoffs.

“You remember two weeks ago, when Soap came in with that bruise on his jaw?”

They told you it was a “disagreement” at the docks. You didn’t ask further, figuring it was some sort of bar brawl in that part of town. Rowdy boys.

“Ever since, I keep a couple minis on hand for you all.”

They’re so small that you just keep them in a pocket of your purse with the rest of your makeup and the tampons. Good for emergencies like this.

“You sure you’re not a mind reader?” Simon grumbles as you gently dab it over his face.

“How would being a mind reader even help in this situation,” you scoff, patting at it with your middle finger.

Price steps out of the closet with arms out. He’s picked a waistcoat as well that you hum in approval at.

“Which cufflinks are you wearing?” you ask, turning back to Simon. He’s sitting remarkably still and stoic — reminds you of a big dog trying to maintain some dignity while getting fawned over.

“The silver and diamond.”

You make a noise of disagreement. “The gold and onyx would go better.”

A pause. You sneak a glance and are relieved to see him smirking. “I’ll wear those then. Any opinion on a watch?”

You hum again, carding through your mental catalogue. “Oh! The Bulova you wore during that meeting with Kate Laswell. You remember?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

He disappears into his closet again while you lightly blend in the last touches of Simon’s coverup.

“There we are, good as new!” You declare. “Oh, and here.”

You set a couple of ibuprofen in his palm as he stands. “For the inflammation. Take with water.”

“Yes, mum,” he mumbles.

You wince. “Sorry! I’m being overbearing, aren’t I?”

He blinks, then puts a hand up. “No, no. That wasnt — I didn’t mean it in a bad way.”

You don’t entirely believe him. Know that you can be a bit much when you’re on a time crunch. Especially for something like this — an important business meeting over fancy dinner. You feel like everyone’s appearance is riding on you; this is your job after all. One thing out of place and everything will fall apart and it’ll be your fault.

“Simon, go take those,” Price orders from behind.

You turn as he approaches, a similar apology all set on your tongue. Instead, he gives you a sheepish smile and offers the cufflinks.

“Bloody useless with these,” he explains. “So unless you want to spend fifteen minutes losing respect for me…”

You laugh, amused by the idea of your hyper-capable boss struggling with a bit of jewelry that cost as much as a week of work. You step in close to thread them through his sleeves, fingers nimble and sure.

“You’re not wearing cologne?” You ask, surprised.

Don’t even realize how that might sound until he arches an eyebrow at you.

“Thought you might have an opinion on that too,” he replies. “And you haven’t steered me wrong, yet.”

He shows you his modest, but impressive collection of colognes. You pluck up one, sniff, and make a face, eyes watering a bit. It’s mostly full; clearly one he doesn’t wear often and you’re grateful for it.

“That bad, eh?”

“Sir, why?” You lament, putting it back.

“Gift from an ex,” he explains.

You store that tidbit of information away for further examination. The idea of your boss in a romance. Right now you’ve got a task to focus on.

“Did they hate you that entire time?” You wonder.

He snorts. “Maybe.”

You shake your head and pick a different one. Blink in surprise and sniff again. Feel your stomach flip.

“That one?” He asks when he notices you hesitate.

“No,” you say a little too quickly, setting it down. This is a business meeting, you can’t afford to be distracted by how he’ll smell with that on his skin.

You settle on one that doesn’t make your head dizzy and your panties shamefully damp. Still feel a bit like you’re shooting yourself in the foot, though. He’s going to smell sinfully good regardless.

You leave Price to his finishing touches and have Simon help you down the stairs. Check through the notes you hurriedly collected when you realized you’d be attending this dinner.

Price comes down too soon for your poor, stupid heart. Looks like something out of a magazine or a novel or a movie or… just too good to be real, really.

“Pass inspection?” He asks.

“Barely,” you tease.

His eyes do that thing where they smile more than his mouth; how you know it’s genuine. You try not to fluster, zero in on his tie, a little crooked and loose.

“Goodness, sir,” you murmur, stepping in close. Yeah, you were right. That cologne is going to be a personal challenge all night. “How did you get along before me?”

“With bad cologne and shitty ties, apparently,” he chuckles.

You grin despite yourself, getting it secure and centered, before smoothing his vest over it. Give him a once over. Feel your stomach flip again.

“If I may say, sir, you look handsome,” you offer quietly.

“Should hope so,” he replies, voice dipping in a way that’s detrimental to the state of your panties. “You dressed me.”

You hum, reach for your usual dry, sharp humor. “I have great taste.”

Instead of scoffing, he hums in agreement. Something flickers through his eyes that you don’t dare allow yourself to daydream on.

Simon, bless him, clears his throat and draws your attention. You check the clock above the stove.

“Ah, we need to get going. I can’t walk fast in these heels.”

You slip your arm automatically into Price’s and try not to obsess over how well you two fit together.

First | Previous | Next

Masterlist

[ventismacchiato]

O8 stuck with you — im on top (of you) !

scaramouche x gender neutral reader

The day you had been dreading was finally upon you.

“Stop looking so sad,” Yoimiya sighs as she looks over to where you were slumped on the floor of the recording studio you guys were in.

“My beautiful voice…mixed in with his,” you shuddered at the mere thought of his vocals sullying the album.

“Quit being so dramatic,” Lumine chastised, reaching over to get you off the floor. 

You look over to where Scara was similarly slumped on the floor, staring into the wall as his group members conversed around him. Looks like he wasn’t too into the idea of recording with you either.

“You guys ready?” Albedo asks, walking in carrying a stack of papers as he walks past you guys to the soundbooth. The young blonde had been one of the company’s producers since you’d debuted. He reminded you a mix between Kazuha and Xiao, quiet but managed to get his artistic vision across.

“You two,” Albedo gestures to you and Scara, “I was instructed to get you both done quickly before working on the group song.”

“Jean really slotted all this time and took into consideration how much Scaramouche and Yn bicker,” Fischl muses.

“What are we singing?” Scaramouche asks, flipping through the page of lyrics Albedo handed you both.

“A love song,” Albedo answers, hooking a pair of headphones onto his head, “Let’s just try it out and see what needs to be added, go on then.”

He gently pushes you into the recording booth as you both tug on your own pair of headphones.

You eye the lyrics as you tug the microphone closer to you, wincing at the implications behind the words.

The first few attempts were disastrous to say the least. Scaramouche kept criticizing your timing and you kept pointing out how he was overpowering the track. Albedo’s patience, which was unbelievably high if he worked with the likes of you, was wearing thin as you both argued over every line.

After a take that finally sounded decent Albedo gestures for you two to come out of the booth.

“Are we finally done?” Scara asks.

“That sounded pretty good to me,” Childe pipes up.

“If you guys had collaborated earlier we would be drowning in so much money right now,” Venti sighs dejectedly. 

“Almost,” Albedo answers, fingers flying over his keyboard, "I just need you both to moan,” Albedo deadpanned.

“What?” Scara slowly says, like he’s on the verge of strangling Albedo by the neck.

“Before you say anything just listen to this clip.”

You couldn’t even process anything before Albedo was hitting play and your gentle voice mixed with Scara’s came out of the speakers, followed by some harmonies by Aether and then Xiao that he’d added in later. It all sounded good as they all harmonized together, but even you could feel that something was missing.

“So, you need us to do what ?”

“Moan, so I can use it as backup vocals,” Albedo hummed, twirling a pen with his fingers, seeming nonchalant about what he was asking of them.

“Fuck no,” Scara says, jutting a finger at you, “Why do I have to moan on the same song as them.”

“I don’t want to either,” you huff as your members erupt into a fit of laughter behind you. The traitors.

“It’s just my suggestion,” Albedo says, putting his hands up, “Just try it out.”

“I don’t get paid enough for this, how am I supposed to moan with Yn next to me?”

“I get dried up just looking at you.”

“The world gets dry from looking at you.”  

“You should have no trouble faking a moan, since it’s probably what everyone you’ve ever slept with has done.”

Albedo snaps his fingers in front of you both.

“I don’t care how you do it, just harmonize a moan or two for me,” Albedo says, pushing you both back into the booth, “I would like to go home early for once.”

“We won’t be able to see you,” Albedo adds, “So feel free to do whatever helps you get out the best moans.”

“Gross,” Scara called out as Albedo shut the door behind him.

“I’m going to kill myself,” you mumble as you tug the microphone towards you once again.

Scara glares at you as you both stand in the booth, the microphone between you two a symbol of your forced cooperation. You can feel the tension radiating off him, and it's not helping your own nerves. You take a deep breath, trying to steady yourself.

"Let's just get this over with," you mutter, avoiding Scara's eyes.

"Fine," he snaps, crossing his arms. "But don't think for a second that I'm happy about this."

You roll your eyes. "Yeah, well, neither am I."

There's a long, uncomfortable silence as you both stare at the microphone. Outside the booth, Albedo is watching, his expression expectant. You glance at Scara, trying to gauge his mood. He's scowling, but there's a flicker of something else in his eyes—something like hesitation.

"Look," you say, trying to sound reasonable in an attempt to get this over with. "Let's just do one take and see how it goes. If it sounds terrible, we can convince Albedo to scrap the idea."

Scara raises an eyebrow, but after a moment, he nods. "Fine. One take."

You both lean towards the microphone, your faces inches apart. You can feel Scara's breath on your skin, and it sends a shiver down your spine. You close your eyes, trying to block out the awkwardness, and focus on the task at hand.

Taking a deep breath, you let out a soft, hesitant moan. It feels strange and embarrassing, but you push through, hoping it will be over soon. Beside you, Scara does the same, his moan blending with yours. 

Scaramouche’s moans would usually sound like a sexually-transmitted disease: gross and something that you’d never touch with a fifteen-foot pole, but for a moment, it created an unexpected harmony.

Albedo's voice crackles through the intercom. "That was... actually not bad. Let's try it one more time, but with a bit more feeling. Scara, go a bit lower.”

You both go through the motions again, and you try to ignore how Scara’s moans sound so resonant through your headphones and the heat on your cheeks from making such an intimate sound beside him. 

Albedo’s voice comes through the intercom again. “Perfect. That’s exactly what we needed.”

You sigh with relief, tugging off the headphones as fast as you could and slipping out the booth.

As you and Scara step out of the booth, you're immediately met with the smirking faces of the other members. They're lounging on the studio couch, looking far too amused for your liking.

Childe is the first to speak, a stupid grin plastered across his face. "Well, well, look at you two. Didn't know you two were that freaky."

Lumine snickers, giving you both a mock round of applause. "That was hot. It felt like I was interrupting.”

“I hope you all die,” Scara says from beside you before turning to Albedo, “And you’re a freak for suggesting that.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Albedo hums, already tuning them out as he has his headphones back on.

"Alright, alright," you say, trying to change the subject. "Can we please focus on something else now?"

Venti stands up, stretching. "Fine, fine. But you know we’re never going to let you live this down, right?"

“I’m personally going to buy several copies of this album,” Yoimiya giggles.

“I hope Albedo makes you guys do something embarrassing,” you huff.

"No wonder you're still a virgin if you sound like that when moaning,” Scaramouche says, smirking as he slips past you to sit on the couch. 

“Shut up,” you grumble.

“Can’t even defend yourself,” Scara taunts.

“Lot of talk for someone who also hasn’t gotten laid in a while,” Aether whistles.

“Whose side are you on, Aether?!”

//

Later that day

“Let’s just get this over with,” you sigh as you follow your members towards the studio.

“I’m excited,” Venti hums, skipping ahead of you.

“I’m surprised at how quickly they pulled this together,” Xiao comments, opening the door for you, “It’s like they’ve been waiting for you two to fuck up.”

“Which you have, several times,” Lumine unhelpfully pipes up from behind you.

“I’m so sick of you guys,” you grumble, accepting your fate.

As you walked into the studio, you could only stare in disbelief at the high ceiling, the windows that took the length of the walls letting in the evening light, poppy color mottled across the sky as the sun quietly set behind you. Wealth practically drips from the room as you look around. You never even used this space for your album photoshoots, since you guys never needed such a big space for just you six.

In one of the corners you spotted a large camera standing tall in front of a white backdrop, the ground adorned with roses and petals. The white-pink petals fluttered in the wind as the fans in the corner caused them to float throughout the studio. The reds and pinks jump out against the white. It was sickeningly romantic. You wanted to throw up at the implication.

You spotted Jean talking to Scaramouche, who looked like she was giving the other a pep talk before she spotted you and waved you over.

“Yn! We were just discussing the photoshoot, Lisa will instruct you two after she’s done talking to the crew. I need to go chat with them, you two stay here and get ready,” Jean rushed out, calling over some stylists to fix you guys up, already out of breath as she dashed over to Lisa. 

“You’re late,” Scara says as his greeting as a group of women start fussing over your guys’ hair and outfits.

“You’re early, tryhard.”

“Not your best comeback,” Yoimiya whistles from a few feet away.

“Alright you guys,” Lisa calls out, walking over to where your groups were gathered getting touched up, “We’re going to get the group shots over with, then some solo ones, and we’ll separate to do some pairing shots.”

//

They all stood together awkwardly as they waited for the staff to finish setting up the cameras, once they finally did they led the group and positioned them. For group pictures they had all the girls stand to one side and the guys on the other, so you guys were in a crescent moon shape. Right after you all separate, the girls in another set and the males in a different one. 

The cameraman moved and adjusted everyone for what felt like a hundred dozen times before he finally clapped and positioned you guys to take the picture. He had you hold a pose where you were sitting on a bench and leaning on your side for what felt like forever, you would surely gain some sort of back pain from this. 

The most awkward part was the solo photoshoots. Even after becoming an idol you still felt awfully awkward when doing them, but when it was just your members you could manage. But being in front of Scara made you feel extra self conscious. 

People like Aether and Childe had a blast, and all the girls seemed to be enjoying it. But you felt quite embarrassed as you were told to pose seductively and show more skin. You weren't alone in this predicament, since Xiao and Kazuha seemed to be having a tough time as well when they were forced to manspread on some seats. Scaramouche became complacent and let the cameraman adjust him accordingly, he even went along with the whorish poses Lisa was having too much fun making them all do.

“Doesn’t Scara look good manspreading half naked like that?” Venti whispers in your ear.

You jump, startled as you stare back at him in disdain.

“No,” you scoff, “Stop ogling him.”

You’re still still stuck on the fact that Scaramouche is shirtless and actually has a decent build. Yes, it's objectively hot—something that you’d admit under the pain of getting an arm hacked off—but it's also quite insane.

With the group photoshoot finished, they all bid farewell as they separated off into their own corners to do their paired shots. 

“Alright, Scara and Yn you guys are going to be in Set B,” Jean stated, gently pushing the two of them in that direction. You look and spot the dreaded set where it looked like cupid himself threw up.

You both trailed behind the cameramen over to it, trying your best to not step and wilt any of the flowers artistically placed on the ground. 

“Okay, I’m in charge of you guys!” Lisa grinned as you guys approached her, “I’m going to have so much fun with you two.”

“Not too much fun,” Scaramouche grumbles as you both go to stand before the camera.

“Scara, don’t be a prude and unbutton your shirt. Yn, I need you to lay down,” Lisa instructs, walking over and pushing you down until you’re laying down on the petals. You were still reluctant at the fact you would have to do a paired photoshoot with Scara, so your reaction time was still quite slow. Lisa eventually just adjusted your body as needed and bent down next to you, spreading out your hair and laid some petals on it, standing up to admire her work. 

“Scaramouche, you’re gonna hover over them and hold that position for a while, and when I say next you lean in as if you’re going to kiss them. Is that alright?” Lisa asked, already heading back to the camera and having the cameramen adjust it lower to capture them in the frame. 

“If I say no, does that do anything?” Scara asks.

“No! Now get to it!”

Scara mutters a curse under his breath as he begins to unbutton his button up. You catch a glimpse of his bare skin before he’s kneeling down to knees and crawling over you, placing both palms on either side of your head and leaning forward. Since he couldn’t just hold a plank over you forever, Scara placed one knee in between your legs and another one beside your left leg for stability. 

Your breath was hitched in your throat at the proximity, you could see every detail of Scara’s stupid face and makeup from underneath him. You couldn’t help but let your mind wander to how intimate you both were being right now, you’d never been underneath someone like this before. Unless you were being pinned down by Lumine during a fistfight of some sort when you accidentally ate her food. 

“Yn! Put your arms around his neck!”

You flinched at Lisa’s yell but did as you were told and wrapped your arms around Scara’s neck, bringing him closer as you did so. There wasn't anywhere to look but at Scara’s eyes, which felt awkward and weird in itself, so you opted for your eyes to wander. But they landed on his lips instead, which wasn’t any better.

Scara’s dark eyes bore into yours, his gaze not wavering as you looked everywhere but at him. That was before you realized this was a literal photoshoot and adjusted your eyes back to him. 

“Both of you, stop glaring!”

Scaramouche sighed above you, before forcing himself to soften his gaze towards you. It felt odd to be looked at like an equal by him.

You study Scaramouche closely, now that you’re forced to. He has these lips that are plush pink and they meet just barely like the slightest touch would coax them open. His eyelashes are long and there’s a beauty mark just shy of his eye coated over with concealer. His ears are small and there’s an assortment of earrings hanging off of them, ones he never wears during practice. He’s stupidly pretty. It makes you want to punch him.

“Alright, hold for ten then move to the next position.” 

Ten seconds? That felt like hours due to the way Scara was looking down at you, a fabricated gentle gaze in his eyes as he eyed you up and down. 

“Next!” 

“The faster we comply the faster I can get out of this stupid position with you,” Scara huffs, his voice barely above a whisper before he leans forwards and hovers his lips right above your jaw. Your body instinctively moves its hands to run through his hair, as if you both were actually going to kiss. God forbid.

“Cut!” 

The lights dimmed and Scara immediately pushed himself off of you. You slowly sat up, dizzy from the stress of being that close to someone you disliked.

“I’m the one who had to hover over you and you’re tired? Pathetic,” Scara huffs, reaching down to roughly tug your arm so you’re standing and almost immediately letting go of you after.

“Don’t you think this is a little too much?” Scara asks, walking ahead of you towards where Lisa was looking through the photos

“We made everyone do paired shoots, see!” Lisa says, turning the screen to show you. 

You and Scara scroll through to see all your members in pairs like you both, but none of them are quite like yours. 

“So Venti and Aether got to pose in a car and we had to fake a kiss?” Scara scoffs, “Where’s the delete button–?"

Lisa yanks the camera from him before he has the chance and shoos them off.

“I’ve got enough from you guys, go get your makeup undone.”

“This is so dumb,” you grumble as you follow behind Scara. All of this work because you both couldn’t keep your mouth shut during an awards show and now you had to fake being in love with the idiot.

You pray to Buddha, God, and whatever other deity out there that was most certainly laughing at you, that you can manage to get along with Scaramouche before anyone does notice it’s all fake.

stuck with you!

masterlist — prev | next

when i say moans i mean like the song Mmmh by KAI like do u see the vision

also the album cover can be you or one of the other members depending on what ur comf with 😇

pls ignore how is it fake is listed twice 😔 also the lyrics are from taylor i can see you

yk the drill comment on the masterlist if i can use ur user and make u a fan

synopsis — after the disaster that was the live award show, where you and scaramouche got into an argument on stage after both of your groups got a tie for top artists, your guys' PR teams have been in shambles trying to scrape up your mess. that's when the idea to send you both off with some other idols to a remote location for a survival dating show to mend your public image comes up. before you know it your bags are packed and you’re on a plane to a remote island. the only obligation is you need to end up with scaramouche at the end of the show, whether you end up liking him or not doesn’t matter to your managers as long as the show’s ratings stay high. whatever you do in between to get there is up to you!

notes sorry guys for the long wait i was lowk goin thru it but im back 🗣️

taglist closed — @na1lea @cindywasneverhere @lunavixia @aestherin @mlaakai @camvrin @retiredmommylover @iheartpieck @jangyung @cartierfiles @loveariel @silly-ez @mochipls @pomeiu @chuuismylife @flowerypesky @creammpuff @justanothertiredreader @boxdisappeared @kissmiere @kissingkzuha @webbywill @kazusboyfriend @s3xpistolss @pjsucks @bunns-wonderland @lordbugs @localgirlywithnolife @kosumos @danfelions @featuredtofu @pinxeajin @herebyaccident0 @haeunoo @scaradooche @pglt19 @chemiru @childesbabygirl @simonisferal @shutingstar @vxcmx @domimiki @ttalgi @esuz @tokkishouse @kitsuvil @scarasmood @ihearttori @nomurahayami @starringyau @androxphobic @kazuhasbabe

[pin-k-ink]

shadows // hoshina soshiro

tw ⇢ possessive!hoshina, strong sexual tension, semi public fingering, nipple play, biting, hair pulling, slight asphyxiation, dirty talking, making out

wc ⇢ 7.8k

a/n: this is for the lovely anon who loved my ruination fic <3

The acrid scent of smoke and kaiju blood hung thick in the air like a suffocating miasma. Hoshina's nostrils flared as he drew in a deep breath, the familiar tang of ozone and charred flesh doing little to dull the thrill still thrumming through his veins. His body felt electrified, every nerve ending still fizzling in the aftermath of battle's adrenaline spike.

Lazily, almost meditatively, Hoshina's gaze traced the ravaged landscape - rubble and viscera as far as the eye could see. A hard-won victory once again, but one that came at a cost chalked up in the newly formed craters pockmarking the streets. His lips quirked faintly at the sight. Just another day's work.

Amidst the wreckage, a familiar figure stood out in sharp relief, their combat suit leaving little to Hoshina’s imagination. He knew the toned curves and compact power coiled beneath that sleek, form-fitting material all too well after countless sparring sessions. A slight hitch stalled his next inhalation as Hoshina’s mind forcibly recalled exactly how it felt to have that whipcord strength undulating against him, slick skin gliding along his, breath intermingling in harsh exhalations of exertion.

Shaking off the inappropriate reverie with a mental scoff, Hoshina returned his attention to studying you dispassionately. At least, that was the intent before his gaze snagged on the subtle sheen of perspiration beading along the elegant column of your throat, tracing a tantalizing path towards the shadowed hollows left temptingly exposed by your suit. He found himself unconsciously licking his dry lips as he drank in the tiny details - the way your chest rose and fell with each controlled inhalation, the part of your lips as you tersely relayed information, the furrow of intense concentration etched between your brows.

Completely and utterly focused on the task at hand, oblivious to your audience...or the heated direction his thoughts had abruptly detoured down. Again.

Shaking his head sharply, Hoshina wrenched his traitorous mind away from that particular path before it could wander any further. What was wrong with him today? This was his trusted squad mate - his friend, more like an annoying kid sister most days than anything else, if he was being honest. Continuing to blatantly ogle you like a piece of meat left a sour taste in his mouth, an unfamiliar itch of discomfort prickling at the back of his neck.

And yet, even as Hoshina pushed those inappropriate thoughts away, he found his feet carrying him inexorably nearer with that same lazy, rolling gait. Something underlying those reckless musings had taken hold, an ember burning with increasing intensity the closer he drew to your presence. By the time he sidled up beside you, an easy smirk was already curving his lips as he drank in the way your shoulders stiffened almost imperceptibly before your spine straightened with rigid formality.

"Oi, [Y/N]-chan," Hoshina couldn't resist drawing out the affectionate lilt, purposefully exaggerating the syllables just to nettle you further. "Ya plannin' on documentatin' every grain o' rubble all night? Might wanna breathe between those reports."

True to form, you bristled at the half-mocking jab, eyes sparking in that fiery way Hoshina secretly reveled in provoking. Another tiny thrill licked down his spine at the brief lapse in your consummate professionalism as you sputtered with ill-concealed affront. The faint bloom of pink dusting your cheeks was an added dollop of sweet cream atop the taunting sundae.

A part of him knew he shouldn't bask in unravelling those tightly wound threads of control so gleefully. Not when years of tempering that internal furnace into an asset on the battlefield had clearly become an uphill struggle of late. Yet Hoshina found he couldn't quite muster any scrap of remorse for his relentless needling. Not when it provided such enticing glimpses beneath the rigidly professional veneer...

He felt his grin stretch wider, all cocksure bravado, entirely unprepared for the sudden flare of want—no, possession —that pulsed through his veins like a thermobaric detonation when your eyes finally lifted to meet his squarely.

You turned to him, eyebrows raised in surprise as if you'd forgotten he was there. "Vice Captain," you acknowledged with a quick nod. "I'm just ensuring all the details are properly documented. It's crucial for future—"

"Future missions, data analysis, blah blah blah," Hoshina interrupted with a dismissive wave of his hand.

The unconscious gesture drew his gaze downwards, pupils dilating fractionally as they traced the elegant lines of your neck, the hollow between your collarbones where a bead of perspiration had collected. He could practically envision the path it would take down your cleavage, trickling tantalizingly along the sensitive dip before disappearing beneath the sleek material hugging your chest. Hoshina swallowed hard, abruptly hyper-focused on the subtle rise and fall of your breasts, the nearly imperceptible sheen of exertion still lingering on your flushed skin.

"Ya sound like a broken record, ya know that?" he managed to force out, gaze skating back up to your face as he ruthlessly clamped down on the sinful direction his thoughts had begun meandering. Except his eyes instantly fell back to your lips, that full pout left slightly parted as you drew breath to reply.

Hoshina’s mind unhelpfully supplied a vivid recollection of those very lips a hairsbreadth from his own after one particularly intense spar session. He'd had you pinned beneath him, chests heaving with the lingering thunders of exertion as your eyes met and held in the electric aftershocks of battle's intoxicating thrill. Your lips slightly parted as you gulped down air, face flushed, pupils blown wide and dark as a solar eclipse. All it would have taken was the slightest tilt of his head and...

The memory scattered like optics glare dispersing as you huffed out an exasperated breath. Hoshina physically wrenched his gaze upwards, anger and frustration warring with the steadily smoldering embers of pure, undiluted want rapidly reducing his higher functioning to tattered ruins.

Just what in the ever-loving fuck was happening here? This was you - solid, stalwart, ever-reliable and determined [L/N]. The rock steady foundation his division depended upon, certainly, but hardly someone who made a habit of hijacking his libido so thoroughly. At least, not until recently.

When had that shifted, exactly? When had the sight of you begun igniting this strange, magnetic pull low in his abdomen rather than mild exasperation? Or was this driving lust something new, catalyzed by the smoke and viscera of combat and simply fixating on the nearest convenient target as an outlet?

Whatever the reason, Hoshina recognized that this unexpected thread of complication between himself and his most trusted subordinate could easily unravel into a tangled disaster if left to unspool unchecked. Especially with you still obliviously lecturing about protocols and debriefing procedures as if the very air didn't hum and sing with unreleased sexual tension.

"-thorough documentation is essential for—"

"For keepin' ya from actually livin' a little, seems like," he cut across your next torrent of words, fighting to reassert his usual laidback aloofness even as his pulse thundered like rolling artillery bombardments. Unconsciously, Hoshina invaded your personal space, not consciously trying to crowd as much as resorting to tactics long engrained. Pressing an advantage, denying the enemy ground...

Except there was no enemy here besides the jarring, elemental drive that had inexplicably roused itself within the eye of the storm that was your undivided attention. Hoshina felt his nostrils flare as your familiar, intoxicating scent enveloped him in palpable, tactile waves. Earthy and green, tinged with a faint smokiness and the slightest undercurrent of something floral that he'd never managed to put a name to.

"When's the last time ya actually relaxed, [Y/N]-chan?" The endearment rolled off his tongue without thought, honeyed and thick like a physical caress ghosting across your sharpened senses.

You blinked, clearly caught off guard by his probing question. "I... I relax," you defended weakly.

Even to Hoshina’s ears, the words rang hollow - a reflexive denial undermined by the taut lines of your shoulders, the minute twitches of muscle betraying your body's ingrained conditioning. He found his lips quirking upwards in a slow smirk, dark appreciation uncurling deep in his core at your admittedly pathetic attempt to deceive. As if either of you could be so easily misled after decades of coded language and subtle tells ingrained into your very bones.

"Oh yeah?" he purred, purposefully pitching his tone low to shave away any lingering aloofness. Letting you hear the silky undercurrent of challenge thrumming through each syllable as plainly as a physical strike. "Prove it. Come have a drink with me."

The flare of your eyes, dark pewter sparking to life behind those ridiculously long lashes, told Hoshina all he needed to know. He didn't bother suppressing his growing smirk, secure in the knowledge that he'd already landed a critical blow without raising so much as a fist. Your surprise was quickly subsumed by the familiar furrow of consternation overtaking your brow, mouth opening and closing like a landed fish as your mind instinctively scrambled for protocol, for procedure, for anything to deflect the utterly disarming idea he'd presented.

"Now?" You sputtered at last, sounding almost painfully young despite the steel undertones bred from years of combat conditioning. "But sir, the clean-up crew—"

"Can handle things without ya breathin' down their necks," Hoshina easily overrode your feeble attempt to reassert control over the situation.

Shooting you a pointed look from beneath lowered lashes, he reached out with studied nonchalance and plucked the commlink from your fingers. You flinched minutely at the contact, whether from surprise or simple tactile overwhelm he couldn't tell. But it was enough to make something predatory lurk at the edges of his smirk as he brushed aside your instinctive move to protest.

Rotating the slim device between his fingers, Hoshiro made a show of reestablishing the open channel with base, keeping his deep timbre a study in pure insouciance. "Okonogi, change of plans. [Y/N] and I won't be needin' that transport. We're makin' our own way back."

It was only after ending the transmission, effectively severing your official tether to duty and responsibility, that Hoshina allowed the molten heat banked in his depths to bleed overtly into his stare. His gaze raked over you slowly, deliberately, as if peeling away every layer of propriety with surgical precision until only the panting core remained exposed and quivering in the open air between your parallel stances.

"Now then, [Y/N]-chan," he murmured, dipping his voice into a low, gravelled octave carefully cultivated to shave away the last vestiges of resistance. Of self-control. Hoshina didn't miss the minute bob of your throat as you swallowed shakily, nor the way your widened eyes became transfixed by the sweep of his tongue wetting his lower lip.

Yes...that's it, doll. Let go.

The endearment hung unspoken yet palpably present as he took a calculated step closer, near enough to feel the erratic puffing of your breaths ghosting across his jawline. Close enough to drown himself in the delicious, rapidly building torrent of heat and want and sheer undisguised awareness he could sense thrumming through you in increasingly apparent waves.

Close enough for Hoshina to see the wild thundering of your pulse in the hollows of your neck, the dilated slivers of your pupils rapidly devouring irises that had long since been swallowed into the deepest onyx in thrall to his physicality alone.

He could end this now, finally. Could close that last infinitesimal distance separating your parted lips and swallow your shocked exhale with his own. Finally slake this brutal, wild thirst he could no longer deny or contain with anything less than total possession.

Instead, Hoshina forced his features to smooth into an expression of wry geniality, a faint mockery of good humor crinkling the corners of his eyes as his hand lifted to brush away some errant speck of debris from your shoulder. The innocent gestured belied by the deliberate, searing trail his fingers trailed in their wake, lingering with irrefutable intent along the line of your clavicle before dropping away completely.

"What do ya say we go find out if ya even remember how to have fun?" Each word was carefully measured, deceptively light yet daring you to discern the subtleties of challenge, of promise , that danced like shimmering heat waves through every syllable.

At your side, Hoshina’s hands had fallen slack, utterly unthreatening and open in contrast to the rigid control with which he kept the rest of his body angled minimally away from yours. An intentionally decentralized posture, leaving you an option to disengage without any hint of menace or physical coercion.

Just words. Simple, innocent words to confuse the raging bonfire of pure, undiluted want scorching through his veins with every shuddering inhale of your scent, your aura, your presence.

The ball, as they said, was in your court now. All Hoshina could do was hold that burning intensity burning in the depths of his gaze and wait for your inevitable deflection...

Or surrender.

The walk to the nearby bar passed in a heated silence, the air thickening with every measured stride. Though Hoshina strode slightly ahead, his legs setting an unhurried pace, he couldn't quite shake the blazing awareness of your presence trailing just behind.

It prickled along the back of his neck in a shivering tingle of hyper-sensitivity, the fine hairs dusting his nape seeming to rise in anticipatory alertness with each scuff of your boots against the pavement in his wake. Shallow inhalations parted his lips infinitesimally, persistent wisps of your subtle floral essence intermingling with the metallic tang of combat's aftershock already coating his senses.

The juxtaposition was jarring - the visceral reminder of hard-won victory at odds with the gradually encroaching softness teasing the edge of Hoshina’s consciousness. Without even realizing it, his body had already recalibrated to a new, heightened state of somatic priming. One that shifted his senses onto an entirely different theatre of operations altogether.

One distinctly centered around you.

But he mustn't get ahead of himself, not yet. Not when there were still miles left to trek in this strange new territory you'd found yourselves navigating. So instead, Hoshina reined in those scorching impulses with a reflexive inhale, focusing on meticulously maintaining his usual front of casual aloofness as you stepped up beside him.

"Figured you could use a break from keeping those grunts in line all the time," he tossed out, not glancing over as you fell into step just off his shoulder. "Maybe even cut loose a little for once. You know, as a reward for not getting any of them killed back there."

It was a poor attempt at deflection through needling, Hoshina knew. But he couldn't seem to resist sliding a sidelong look at you through the shellac of his lashes, gauging your reaction to the barbed remark. Not that he had any delusions of you rising to the bait, of course. If anything, he fully anticipated you straightening your shoulders in silent rebuke before mechanically rebutting with some impeccably by-the-book rundown of proper conduct and procedures.

Which made the tiny smirk that began tugging at the corner of your lips all the more disarming.

"That all depends on how you define 'cut loose,' Vice Captain," you murmured without even sparing him a glance, tone laced with an edge of playfulness Hoshina couldn't recall ever hearing from you before. "For all you know, I could be an utter wildcard behind closed doors."

The words hung in the air, dangled like ripe fruit begging to be plucked from the vine even as your strides carried you onward in sync. Hoshina felt his brows hiking upwards despite himself, the vivid flare of surprise and interest alike crackling to life in his veins. Since when did you engage in this sort of shameless baiting? More importantly, since when had you mastered that particularly lethal combination of coy indifference and blatant suggestion?

He was gaping, he realized abruptly - standing slackjawed in the middle of the street like a minnow gulping at air while you continued on unhurriedly. As if you were utterly unaware of the punishing right hook you'd just landed squarely on his sense of propriety, not to mention his composure.

Snapping his mouth closed with an audible click of teeth, Hoshina hurried a few steps to realign himself by your side, shooting you a sidelong look rife with newfound curiosity. Up close, the slight curve to your lips was even more inscrutable, your expression carefully neutral save for the glint of challenge flickering in your lowered lashes.

Well, two could play at that game. Hoshina refused to let you rattle him that easily, refused to betray any outward sign of the conflagration you'd abruptly stoked somewhere south of his ribs. Instead, he pressed forwards in a silence that stretched just shy of uncomfortable, trusting his body to communicate all the unspoken implications and undercurrents his words could never fully articulate.

At least, not without shattering the gossamer threads of tension enveloping you both in that shivery, electrically-charged stasis entirely.

The bar he led you to was a familiar haunt, if not necessarily one you'd expect. From the outside, it looked like any other nondescript watering hole - a hole-in-the-wall tucked away on a side street just far enough from the main drags to avoid an excess of foot traffic. Shadows, the place was called. Though whether as a nod to the infernian faction or merely the dim, cozy ambiance, not even Hoshina could recall.

As you stepped over the worn threshold, however, a far different atmosphere seemed to permeate the very air surrounding you in a tactile weight of obscurity. Of anonymity.

The lighting inside Shadows was kept deliberately dim and muted, all flickering candle arcana and soft ambers that sculpted the contours of every surface into hazy, indistinct planes. Every solid edge blurred subtly into peripheral smears of suggestion rather than sharply delineated shapes, even the small crowd of patrons scattered throughout appearing more like roiling plumes of vapor saturating the air.

Perfect for shedding the concerns of the outside world in exchange for an altogether different existence - one fueled solely by pursuit of the senses and catered pleasures of the flesh in all their myriad forms. Hoshina had indulged in his fair share during the infrequent stretches of downtime his duties afforded, though tonight marked the first time bringing a...guest, so to speak.

He shot you a sidelong look as your steps slowed infinitesimally, no doubt drinking in the smoky, incense-tinged atmosphere for the first time. An alluring flush clung to the high arches of your cheekbones already, whether from the abrupt shift in ambiance or something more inscrutable. The tiny darts of pink flame dancing across your skin mesmerized Hoshina, widening his pupils further with each passing second.

Catching himself, he cleared his throat softly, careful not to shatter the sanctity of hush draped over the room. "Suppose it goes without saying, we aren't exactly in polite company here at Shadows."

His murmur pitched low, thrumming against the shell of your ear like a heated caress. Close enough to make you shiver minutely in response as he trailed a hand along the small of your back, guiding your steps through the swirling currents of muted sound and motion.

Hoshina placed a hand on the small of your back, guiding you towards a secluded booth in the corner. The simple touch seemed to burn straight through the thin material of your suit, raising goosebumps across your skin. You found yourself hyper-aware of the heat radiating from his palm, the slight calloused rasp catching on the fabric in a way that made your pulse kick up instinctively.

As you slid into the shadowed nook, the cushioned bench dipped beneath your weight, cradling you in a nest of dimly-lit intimacy. The flickering candles adorning the table seemed to cast Hoshina’s features into sharp reliefs and soft curves in turn, the constant shifting dance of light and shadow mesmerizing. One moment his jaw would be etched into harsh angles, only for the next breath to soften everything into a melted, honeyed mask of smoldering suggestion.

You swallowed hard, mouth abruptly dry as Hoshina settled himself across from you, movements radiating an unhurried sort of grace usually reserved for stalking predators. His gaze openly roamed across your form, hooded and lingering in a way that made you want to squirm under the weight of such unabashed appraisal.

"So, [Y/N]-chan," he rumbled after a protracted moment, the rough timbre bleeding straight through your sternum to resonate in hollow, thrumming echoes against your ribs. Hoshina cocked his head slightly, the simple motion shifting the play of shadows to cast his eyes into flickering hollows of smoky invitation. "What's your poison? And don't you dare say water or I might have to report you for insubordination."

The low purr of his voice curled through the air like a physical caress, silken promise roughened into wicked taunt by the rasp of his native Kansai burr. You couldn't quite stifle the shiver that traced down your spine in its wake, nor the way your lashes fluttered under the onslaught of such unabashed temptation cloaked by irreverent humor.

"I wouldn't dream of it, sir," you managed to murmur by sheer force of will, proud of yourself for keeping your tone level despite the sudden reemergence of that damnable flush heating your cheeks. "Surprise me."

It was a risky move to issue such an open-ended challenge, one your tactical mind instantly began dissecting and mapping out potential vulnerabilities. But the way Hoshina’s full lips curved higher at the corners in a quicksilver flicker of unholy delight instantly made the risk feel more than worth any imagined cost.

He leaned back against the low bench, forearms bracketing his sides as he stretched those long limbs out in an exaggerated picture of casual ease. The subtle shift in position drew your gaze helplessly to his broad shoulders and chest straining against the thin fabric, every metabolic shift of his body suddenly thrown into stark, intimate relief.

When Hoshina spoke next, his voice seemed to radiate directly from the iron-hewn column of his throat, scraping like rumbling granite scored across granite. "Now where would be the fun in that, hmm?"

The simple question hung in the smoky air between you both, lingering like an opiate fog made solid and potent. Hoshina held your widening stare easily, a tiny spark of challenge flickering to life in the lavender depths as his tongue stole out to wet his lower lip in a move of unconscious, blatant provocation.

You couldn't look away, utterly transfixed and helplessly pinned by the heavy-lidded heat singeing through his stare. Brief flashes of half-formed fantasies sparked in the hazy recesses of your mind - images of straining, bare flesh and ragged gasps intermingled with the roaring of your pulse thundering in your inner ear.

Then, as quickly as it seized you, the moment passed with the appearance of your drink gliding across the table's battered surface. Blinking rapidly, you broke free of the thick, headily-charged tension with a sharp inhale, refocusing your gaze to the bartender's retreating form while sternly marshaling your composure.

"Let's see if we can't loosen you up a little, [Y/N]-chan," came the low rumble from across the table, his husky timbre dripping with layers of unspoken implications and promises.

Shooting Hoshina a sidelong look through your lashes, you lifted the glass and took your first sip...

You savored the smoky burn of the liquor as it trickled down your throat, letting the pleasant warmth bloom outwards from your core. Across the table, Hoshina’s eyes seemed to smolder even brighter as he watched you with undisguised appreciation, his own glass forgotten for the moment.

"Not bad, right?" he murmured after you'd drained the last swallow. With a subtle gesture, fresh drinks appeared as if by magic, the dim lighting casting flickering amber highlights across the broad plane of his chest.

You tried not to let your gaze linger, though the way Hoshina lazily stretched and resettled himself made it extremely difficult. There was an edge of blatant satisfaction in his expression, a silent challenge sparking in the glint of his eyes that made you wonder just how premeditated this little foray truly was.

Lifting the fresh glass, you took another slow sip to buy yourself a moment's reprieve from those piercing violet eyes. The taste was richer this time, more complex notes of oak and spice unraveling across your tongue. You couldn't resist darting out to capture an errant droplet that clung to your lower lip, despite the way Hoshina’s gaze seemed to blaze even hotter at the unconscious gesture.

"Now," he drawled after a beat of heated silence, "how about we just...talk?"

You blinked at the unexpectedly casual suggestion, straightening a bit in your seat. "Alright. What would you like to talk about, Vi—" You caught yourself before letting the formal title slip, mouth snapping shut as a flush crept up your neck. "...Soshiro."

His name on your lips without any honorifics felt startlingly intimate, sending a shiver skittering across your skin. The way his eyes hooded at the sound didn't help matters, that perpetual half-lidded bedroom stare dragging you down into unknown depths thick with tension and secrets.

"First off," Hoshina rumbled, deep voice rolling over you in a velvet caress. "How about something simple?" One broad shoulder rose and fell in a languid shrug that made your mouth abruptly dry. "What d'ya like to do for fun, [Y/N]-chan?"

The innocent question caught you completely off guard, both from its disarming simplicity and suggestive undercurrent as he held your gaze steadily. Your first instinct was to rattle off details about your usual training regimens or combat preparatory routines. But something in the heated air surrounding you both made you reconsider revealing the full extent of your dedication to the Defense Force, at least for the moment.

So instead, you opened your mouth to offer some benign response about reading or meditating...only for the words to die unspoken as Hoshina’s tongue stole out to wet his lips again, slow and deliberate. Your attention zeroed in helplessly on the tiny gesture, watching the way his mouth glistened in the dim candlelight.

"Well?" His voice dragged your eyes back up with a start, the lids now heavy and hooded in a way that liquefied your thoughts. "I'm waiting for you to tell me exactly what gets ya excited, [Y/N]-chan."

You sucked in a sharp breath at the blatant innuendo laced through his words, the husky purr curling deliciously low in your belly. Hoshina cocked one eyebrow in a wordless challenge, his lips curved in the faintest of smirks as he leisurely swirled the contents of his glass.

The thickening silence stretched as you struggled to formulate a response through the heated fog rapidly clouding your mind. Just what exactly was his game here? And more importantly - did you even want to indulge this escalating provocation, consequences be damned?

One look into those blazing indigo depths, now glittering with naked hunger and keen intelligence, told you the answer even before your mind could catch up.

Your tongue stole out to moisten your dry lips, watching in satisfaction as Hoshina’s jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. "You know," you began carefully, each word seeming to wrap around the both of you like layers of finest silk. "For all your talk earlier about loosening up...I'm not convinced you truly grasp what that means for me, Soshiro."

His name emerged rich and savored, a purring taunt of challenge issued beneath lowered lashes. You allowed the implication to hang heavily between you for a stretched breath before continuing in a lower, throatier tone, "—Unless, of course, you'd like me to show you?"

The muscles in Hoshina’s throat bobbed convulsively as he swallowed, hard. His free hand drifted up to rub along the stubbled line of his jaw, eyes burning straight through you with smoldering intensity. For a suspended heartbeat, he made no further movement, no affirmation of your thinly veiled offer save to simply drink in the sight of you with undiluted focus.

Then the hand dropped away, and Hoshina was leaning forward with leonine grace, braced on both forearms as he closed the distance between your bodies.

"By all means," he growled, lips curling in a slash of wicked invitation. "Enlighten me, [Y/N]-chan."

The challenge hung searing between you in the smoky dimness. You could practically taste the heated tension sparking in the scant space separating your bodies, a heady blend of whiskey and simmering desire. Hoshina’s eyes bored into yours with an intensity that stoked molten tendrils of want coiling low in your core.

"Well?" His graveled rumble sliced through the silence like a whipcrack, sending a shiver cascading down your spine. "I'm waiting for this supposed enlightenment, [Y/N]-chan."

You fought back a reflexive smirk at the undercurrent of impatience bleeding into Hoshina’s tone. So the great Vice Captain wasn't as unflappable as he pretended to be. Good...that just made this little game all the more intriguing to play.

Keeping your expression carefully neutral, you drew the moment out with a slow blink and even slower inhalation. You caught the way Hoshina’s nostrils flared infinitesimally as your subtle movements, dragging in the thickening clouds of arousal and sin swirling around your hushed alcove.

"Patience was never your forte, was it?" you murmured at last, letting your lips curve in the faintest of smiles.

You didn't miss the way Hoshina’s jaw tightened fractionally, another hairline fracture splintering across that impeccable veneer of nonchalance. Holding his heated stare, you brought your glass up in an affected sip, letting the smoky liquid trickle decadently over your tongue before swallowing with delicate care.

When you finally spoke again, your voice had dropped into a lower, throatier register thrumming with unspoken promises. "If you want me to...enlighten you, Soshiro, you're going to have to earn it."

His sharp inhalation was quiet yet clearly audible in the smothering intimacy of your nook. You watched in satisfaction as Hoshiro's pupils blew wide at your blatant provocation, feeling a lick of triumph at finally rattling him. Shifting slightly, you allowed one knee to brush against his beneath the table in a featherlight caress calculated for maximum impact.

Sure enough, Hoshina’s body reacted in a reflexive tightening, every tendon and sinewy muscle coiled like tripwires under his tawny skin. His eyes, however, remained locked on yours in a heated battle of wills, the irises now eclipsed into blazing amethyst embers ringed by inky black.

"Is that so?" he rumbled after a strained moment, the words seeming to shave against his clenched jaw. The hand braced on the table flexed minutely, fingers splaying in the barest aborted twitch before curling into a tight fist. "And just what did you have in mind, [Y/N]-chan? Some kind of...test?"

He somehow managed to imbue the final word with equal parts challenge and smug certainty of victory. As if you were nothing more than another combat scenario mapped out in his mind, every potential obstacle and pivot point already neatly dissected. As if there was no chance of you emerging the victor through sheer tenacity and underestimated resolve alone.

You arched a single brow at Hoshina’s boldness, feeling a frisson of mingled indignation and undeniable arousal sizzle through your veins. Always so confident, so unflappable in the face of adversity...until you thoroughly demolished those smug assumptions time and again.

Well, if the great Vice Captain felt so assured of besting you at your own game, you'd simply have to dial up the intensity. Push past the flirtatious banter and thinly veiled wordplay to a threshold Hoshina had yet to truly encounter.

"A test of sorts, I suppose," you acceded, letting your shoulders roll in an exaggerated shrug of nonchalance. "Though I'd ask that you refrain from treating this as just another playacted scenario, Soshiro. After all..."

Here you leaned forward until your lips were a hairsbreadth from his, near enough to feel the erratic gusts of his quickening breaths across your mouth. When you spoke again, your words emerged in a throaty purr that vibrated straight down to his very core.

"...I don't plan on playing by any rulebook's constraints tonight."

With that, you abruptly sat back, leaving Hoshina frozen and body taut as a live wire in the wake of your retreat. A muscle ticked in his clenched jaw, the only visible sign of how deeply those last words had scored. You didn't try to suppress your triumphant smirk this time as you reached for your glass once more, allowing a flash of devilish delight to dance across your features.

"So?" you prodded after a beat, thoroughly reveling in having the upper hand for once. At least for the moment. "Are you willing to put that ego on the line, Vice Captain? Or will you forfeit before we even begin?"

The molten challenge sparked and smoldered in the heavy air between you, undulating in tempo with the flickering candlelight. For one suspended heartbeat, everything hung in tantalizing suspension as the gauntlet was thrown down with audacious finality.

Then Hoshina blinked, tension shattering like glass scored straight through his formidable self-composure. His lips peeled back in a ferocious slash of a grin, eyes burning like banked amethyst fire.

"I'm going to make you beg before this night is over, [Y/N]-chan," he promised in a low, sandpaper growl. "And not for mercy."

A tremor of undisguised anticipation rippled through you at Hoshina’s low, graveled promise. You felt heat bloom across your skin, a delicious frisson of combined exhilaration and challenge sparking bright in your veins.

This was quickly evolving past the bounds of casual banter and suggestive badinage. No, you could both sense the unmistakable undercurrent of tension ratcheting up another notch entirely - a wildly spiraling game of provocations and reactions with no clear path or endgame in sight.

Just pure, unadulterated want slowly stripping away all remaining propriety and inhibition until only the raw, primal need remained.

You held Hoshina’s burning stare for a protracted moment, letting the heat shimmer and intensify between your locked gazes. Then, purposefully, you dropped your eyes in a slow perusal down the powerful column of his throat. Over the broad, heaving expanse of his chest just barely concealed by thin fabric. All the way to the junctures of his hips barely visible above the table's edge.

It was your turn to lick your lips, letting your tongue sweep out slow and deliberate while holding Hoshina’s focused attention. You felt a lick of satisfaction at his sharp inhalation, the subtle tightening along his jaw as his eyes followed the path of your mouth with undisguised hunger.

Yes, let him stew in the rapidly simmering heat for a while longer. Let him chase that high of anticipation, of wanting something badly enough to burn from the inside out. He'd had the upper hand for far too long with his usual nonchalant arrogance and deflective taunts.

Now, it was your turn to dangle the prize of satisfaction just out of reach, keeping Hoshina teetering on that razor-edge of control through every torturous moment.

Sliding one hand across the sticky surface of the table towards you, you tilted your chin down as if suddenly shy beneath the weight of that smoldering violet stare. You waited a beat, letting the heavy atmosphere condense further before darting your tongue out again to wet your lower lip.

Then, with exaggerated nonchalance, you started toying with the zipper pull at the hollow of your throat, giving the smallest of tugs.

The effect was instantaneous. Hoshina sucked in a sharp breath, the tendons in his throat jumping convulsively as the hand splayed on the table clenched into a tight fist once more. You caught the abortive shift of his hips beneath the concealing tabletop, the instinctive forward lean that his torso quickly aborted back to a slouch of feigned ease.

Still, you didn't lift your eyes to his, keeping your focus solely on your hand as you toyed with the zipper's metal tab. One infinitesimal tug at a time, incrementally revealing the barest tantalizing strip of flushed skin glistening with perspiration. You let out a tiny, breathy sigh of fake overstimulation, merely to ratchet the torment.

That seemed to be the final straw for Hoshina’s rapidly faltering restraint. With a low, visceral growl that sent skittering tremors racing across your hyper-aware nerves, he was abruptly kicking the table aside with enough force to rattle the flickering candles. In the next blink, Hoshina had maneuvered himself from across the table to directly at your side, one iron-banded arm snaking around your hips to haul you bodily against him.

You didn't even have a chance to so much as squeak in surprise before Hoshina’s free hand was clamped around your wrist, stilling the tortuous descent of the zipper with ease. He leaned in so close, surrounding and enveloping you with the scorching heat of his body and heady, earthy scent of combat sweat and man. When he spoke, his lips grazed the feverish hollow of your pulse in a blatant possession.

"I wasn't aware we'd reached that stage of the evening already, [Y/N]-chan," Hoshina growled, low and dark and dripping with unholy promises. His next words seemed to shred directly against your convulsing throat. "Unless you're simply making this too easy..."

With a twist of his wrist, Hoshina applied the barest amount of pressure on the trapped zipper pull. Just enough to ease it down another tantalizing fraction, revealing another sliver of feverish skin and the hint of lace lying just beneath. His touch was featherlight, yet it scorched a blazing path from your wrist straight down to your rapidly contracting core all the same.

A soft whine slipped free before you could stop it, a plea and demand all twisted into one soundless vibration. Hoshina’s only response was a low, rumbling chuckle vibrating against your cheek as he nuzzled closer still, thoroughly invading every single one of your precious personal spaces.

"Easy there," he rasped against the swell of your jaw, tongue lashing out to taste your thundering pulse in a blatant spark of possession. "Can't go havin' your pretty suit disintegratin' before the real fun's even started, now can we?"

Hoshina’s broad frame curved around you possessively as his fingers toyed with the zipper tab at your throat. You held your breath, trembling finely, as he deliberately inched it downwards with agonizing slowness.

"Look at you," he rumbled in a low rasp against the heated skin of your neck. "Already coming undone just from this..."

You let out a shuddering exhale as another tantalizing inch of feverish skin was gradually bared to Hoshina’s smoldering gaze. The metal teeth parted with a rasping whisper, allowing the barest glimpse of the lace-edged swell of your breasts peeking into view.

Hoshina growled something wordless and approving against your thundering pulse. You could feel the vibrations skittering across your hypersensitized nerves like tiny sparks, stoking the banked coals of arousal glowing brighter with each passing moment.

"Do you have any idea," he murmured darkly, "how long I've wanted to unwrap you just...like...this?"

Punctuating each word with another fractional descent of the zipper's path, Hoshina nuzzled his stubbled jaw over the exposed juncture of your neck and shoulder. His tongue swept out in a scorching, openmouthed caress that had your fingers spasming against his immovable frame.

"Soshiro..." His name emerged as a breathy whimper despite your efforts at control. You felt more than heard the low, thrumming chuckle vibrating against your stripped skin in response.

"That's it, [Y/N]-chan," he growled, the roughened timbre seeming to shave against your senses with delicious friction. "Let me hear how much you need this..."

Another scant inch of zipper parted with a whisper, baring the tops of your breasts in their lavender-scented swell. Your head lolled back against the solid support of Hoshina’s shoulder, eyes squeezing shut in a haze of white-hot sensation as his lips traced searing paths across your collarbones.

Desperate, needy keens were tumbling from your lips in a constant stream now as Hoshina’s wicked mouth blazed lower inch...by...scorching...inch. Soon you were trembling like a livewire amid the cradle of his corded arms, entire world contracting to each indolent sweep of his tongue and graze of blunted teeth.

Coherent thought was rapidly becoming nothing but ash and ember swirling in the bonfire engulfing your senses from within. You burned, burned with a wildfire of molten need unslaked no matter how Hoshina stoked the flames ever higher with each agonizingly slow pass of his hands, his mouth—

Just when you thought you would surely disintegrate into cinders, Hoshina wrenched his mouth away with a low growl that seemed to vibrate straight through to your core. You cried out at the loss, eyes flying open in a desperate, panting daze, only to be pinned by the endless depths of hunger blazing in his onyx-drowned gaze.

"Easy there, [Y/N]-chan," he rumbled after a steadying breath, the words seeming to drip like molten sin against your sweat-dampened skin. One hand came up to cup your jaw, thumb tracing your swollen, parted lips in a claiming caress you could feel throughout your entire body.

"We've got all night to relearn what makes you come undone..." Hoshina’s grin slashed across his features, dark and full of wicked promise. "...and beg for more."

You could only keen helplessly as Hoshina pressed his thumb past your slackened lips, sinking deep in a blatant parody of the things you both craved. The rough pad grazed the softness of your inner cheek, pressing down against your fluttering tongue in a silent command.

His eyes were utterly blown now, twin pools of midnight edged by the faintest ring of burning indigo. Your lips closed around the intruding digit, sucking and swirling with a moan of undisguised eagerness. Hoshina growled, low and primal, as his hand flexed in the cradle of your jaw.

"Gods, I'm gonna wreck you for any other man," he snarled against your fevered skin. You shuddered in a ripple of goosebumps at the dark promise, the sheer force of desire radiating from his every pore.

Then his thumb slipped free with a lewd, wet pop, only to be replaced a split second later by the scorching press of his mouth. You whined into the searing kiss, opening to the insistent sweep of his tongue. Your own curled around the hot muscle, suckling and twining in a filthy dance of lust and greed.

Hoshina swallowed your gasps, devouring them along with every ounce of resistance left in your trembling body. His hand shifted from cradling your jaw, sliding down to wrap around the column of your throat instead. He squeezed gently, applying just the slightest bit of pressure that made your head swim with renewed want.

When you finally managed to drag yourself up for air, you were trembling from head to toe, the zipper of your suit now pulled completely free of its metal tracks. The top half of your suit was gaping open, baring your breasts and torso in their entirety.

Your eyes slowly fluttered open to find Hoshina already watching you, his chest heaving visibly with exertion. His pupils were blown wide, a mere ring of smoldering amethyst eclipsed around bottomless black. The hand cupping your jaw slid lower, curling around the exposed curve of one breast.

He gave a gentle squeeze, drawing a keening whine from your throat as his thumb traced over your peaked nipple. His gaze never wavered from yours as his head dipped lower, until the rasp of his stubble scraped against your sensitive skin in an open-mouthed, possessive claim.

You moaned, loud and shameless, as Hoshina's teeth latched onto your nipple, tugging lightly as his tongue laved over the hardened peak. Your entire body trembled with the force of your arousal, the raw need throbbing low in your belly.

Hoshina growled against your breast, the sound reverberating straight through your sternum, as his free hand slipped down the gaping vee of the uniform. It danced over your stomach, leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake. Then lower still, teasing over the top band of your panties.

You arched into his touch, desperately seeking more. But Hoshina refused to be rushed, his lips and tongue continuing their assault on your other nipple. When his fingertips brushed ever-so-lightly against the aching bud of your clit, you cried out, only to be immediately silenced by the bruising crush of his mouth on yours.

His tongue invaded with a savage growl, the fingers teasing at your folds increasing their pressure until you were writhing uncontrollably against his grip. Then, without warning, Hoshina's mouth ripped away from yours, the hand tangled in your hair yanking back sharply to expose the vulnerable curve of your throat.

"Be fuckin' quiet," he hissed in your ear, the words barely more than a ragged whisper. "Unless ya want to have an audience..."

Your breath hitched, a jolt of pure heat searing through your core at the suggestion. Hoshina growled again, the sound reverberating straight down your spine as his fingers finally sank home. You bit down on your lip to stifle a whimper, eyes squeezing shut as his thick digits stretched you mercilessly.

"Fuck, you tightened right up at the idea," he murmured, low and filthy. "What, you want the rest of the bar to watch while I fuck ya into oblivion, hmm? Wanna show them just how good I make ya feel?"

A fresh surge of liquid heat spilled over his fingers, prompting another low chuckle. "Oh, I see..." Hoshina leaned in close, his stubbled jaw rasping against the flushed curve of your cheek. "So, if I told ya to get on yer knees and suck my cock, right here, you'd do it, wouldn't you? You'd let everyone watch ya take me down that pretty little throat."

His words sent a wave of molten want spiraling through your veins, the mental image of being used, claimed, in front of an audience setting every nerve ablaze. Your inner walls fluttered around his thick digits, hips grinding against his palm as the coil of pressure building within tightened another notch.

"Maybe next time, then," Hoshina promised, low and husky. "For now, I want ya nice and quiet while I ruin this pretty little cunt."

His lips crashed into yours, swallowing your cry as he curled his fingers and sent you careening straight into white-hot oblivion. You trembled, writhing, as your release ripped through you, every single neuron set alight with the force of it.

Hoshina growled his approval into your mouth, working you through the shattering climax with unhurried strokes and nipping kisses. As the aftershocks subsided, he gently eased his fingers free with a lewd, wet squelch. He broke the kiss then, holding you steady against the broad wall of his chest as you sucked in greedy gulps of air.

You barely had a chance to catch your breath before Hoshina was hauling you back against his body, fingers tangling in your hair to pull your head back into a straining curve.

"I'm not done with ya yet," he growled against the curve of your exposed throat, stubble rasping deliciously against the oversensitized skin. You felt his cock twitch, heavy and thick, as it pressed against the cleft of your ass. "Not even fuckin' close."

[woso-dreamzzz]

Cookies III

Laura Coombs x Reader

Summary: Laura comes home to something she doesn't like

Meeting you had been the greatest accident of Laura's life.

Something that she mused about all the time when she drove home from practice.

It had been snowing earlier in the day, the whole city covered in a soft, white fleece of snow that had Laura's toes freezing in her football boots all practice.

That snow had turned to hail on the one day of the year that Laura had to walk home from training because her car was getting serviced. Originally, she thought that it was snowing and she'd always enjoyed snow even if it made her toes so cold that it was like they were about to freeze off.

Then the hail hit and she was left without an umbrella and freezing cold toes. The hail got harder and harder and Laura was forced to take refuge in whatever the first shop she came across was to wait it out.

You called it a coincidence. She called it fate.

She'd stumbled into the bakery you owned and fell in love on the spot. You were behind the counter, boxing up the pastries that hadn't sold that day when she came sliding in.

You'd welcomed her in, guided her to the back and turned on the oven for her to prop her cold toes in front of to warm up.

You'd baked her a cake at that moment, a big one that tied her over until the hail was done and she could make it home for dinner.

Although she never exactly made it home for dinner. She took you to a restaurant instead, somewhere halfway between cosy and fancy where you spoke about everything that came to mind and earned her your number in return.

She returned to the bakery almost every day to help you lock up and walk home.

Now, you had nearly four years of marriage under your belt and a dog going through the teenage years.

"Hey, Butterscotch," Laura greeted the dog as she stepped through the door.

She hung up her coat and slipped off her shoes, freezing suddenly when she noticed the amount of shoes lined up next to yours. She wildly looked up at the coat rack where coats she recognised hung up over your own.

The voices coming from the kitchen were also recognisable and she stormed into the room.

Her teammates were scattered around.

Lauren and Esme were both sitting at the table while Sandy and Jill were actually sitting on the table, each of them munching on warm cookies with half-melted chocolate chips inside.

Leila and Laia were stroking Butterscotch (the traitor), who had happily trotted straight up to them and flopped onto her back for belly scratches.

Kerstin, Bunny and Jess were sitting up on the counters while Alex and Kelly were both standing by the mixing bowls, listening closely to your instructions.

"How," Laura said through gritted teeth," Did you all get here before me?!"

"Must've taken a detour," Alex said dismissively," Why, Coombsy, unhappy to see us?"

"I see you all for hours at training," Laura replied, arms crossed over her chest," I don't need to see you at my house. What are you doing here?!"

"Baking," Chloe said," What does it look like?"

Laura grumbled something unintelligible under her breath before swiping a hand over her face. "Obviously. But why? None of you are bakers."

"Chloe had an idea," Kerstin admitted, swiping a finger through the batter and sucking it off with a pop," About selling cookies and cakes and stuff at the games to raise money for charity."

"It's not really special if they're store bought," Chloe carried on," So Alex called the best baker we know and here we are."

"Don't worry, baby," You told your wife, pealing away from supervising the mixing to pull her into a hug," They're all going to be put to work eventually. Maybe you can make some of them help you clear out the backyard shed while everything bakes."

Most of the team go wide eyed.

You'd be complaining about the messy shed for nearly two years now and Laura kept putting off sorting it out until she had help and, with her whole team here, it look like she had all the help she needed.

"Excellent," She said, eyes alight with the idea of getting revenge for the invasion of her house. "Esme, Lauren, there's boxes in the garage. Kerstin, Leila-"

"You can't take Leila," You cut in," I've got her down for making my filling. And you can't have Laia either because she's meant to be making my cupcake frosting."

Laura nodded. "Okay, Jess, then. You guys can get the shovels out. Move it girls. Let's go!"

Alexa and Chloe snickered and Laura whirled on them.

"Don't start laughing now," She said," Because I'm coming back for you two as soon as you're done."

[shalomniscient]

CAT & MOUSE || jane doe x reader [NSFT][MDNI]

“I didn’t think you could be this good, little mouse,” you remark, lounging back in the plush of your leather office chair, swirling your glass of tequila in one hand. One of your legs is crossed over the other, the polished sheen of your shoe gleaming in the low light, almost reflecting the serene smile of the woman before you. Her long, wiry tail flicks idly on the ground, deceptively casual, as if she isn’t holding you at corporate gunpoint. The ice in your glass clinks as it shifts, melting and dissolving into the depths of your drink. “At the sex, or the espionage?” she asks, and you indulge in a thin smile of your own at her confidence. “Both,” you answer, and it’s the only honest thing either of you will tell each other tonight. Or, your secretary turns out to not just be a regular secretary. Which is bad, because she’s seen both the corporate skeletons in your closet and the delicate sheets of your bed, and that’s far too much of your figurative and literal furniture for anyone not on your payroll to know. Though at the very least, you plan on making what should be your last night as CEO an enjoyable one—which interestingly enough, is a sentiment your traitorous little secretary seems to share.

cw. [NSFT][MDNI] strap-ons, hair pulling, tail pulling (?), degradation, biting, rough sex

notes. this one’s for u @nbdaddykink 🫡🫡🫡 bon appetitty 👀👀👀 also reader has some cat thiren (?) characteristics because themes, and also a bit of a corporate scumbag. also written before character release !!! if this becomes ooc post-release please do not kill me tq

“Your name isn’t even Natasha, is it?” you ask idly, despite already knowing the answer. You rest one arm on the armrest of your chair, leaning your head against your knuckles as you drink in the sight of her. The shadows cut her into a new light, an odd little contradiction you’ve come to realise that she quite adores. To be seen more clearly in the dark, and to catch cats in mousetraps—you can’t help the grudging smile on your face as you muse to yourself. What an odd little creature she is.

“No,” she replies eventually, that picture perfect smile never once leaving her expression. After a beat, she tilts her head, tail swishing behind her. “But you can call me Jane.”

You hum. “Is that your real name, then?”

“What is real and what isn’t only comes down to a matter of perception.”

You almost laugh at the non-answer, sheer excellence in corporate deflection. “It’s really a shame, little mouse. You were the best secretary I ever had.”

“Don’t worry,” she returns, a smirk tugging on her painted lips, “you’ll have no need for secretaries where you’re going.”

You do laugh at that, just a little. A jail cell? What a cute pipe dream. You’d get a home arrest at worst—though you can indulge in the idealism of it for a little. You take a sip of your drink, keeping your eyes trained on her as the liquid burns like fire down your throat. Your ears twitch, and you can hear her heartbeat; calm and steady. You like it more when it’s racing.

You set down your glass with an exaggerated sigh. “And here I thought we had something good going, Jane. I even packed a little surprise for you tonight.”

Her pulse jumps, and you have to bite back the victorious upward quirk of your lip. For all she seemed to be a consummate professional at whatever her real job is, you’ve found that Jane has a remarkable weakness—or fondness—for debauchery. Not that you’re complaining, of course; not when Jane looks like that. You make a show of uncrossing your legs, clearly displaying the outline of your strap under your slacks. Those sharp eyes immediately fly down to your crotch, and this time there’s no holding back your smug grin.

“Is this a bribe?” she manages after a beat, her voice light and airy despite her words. “That’s a felony too, you know.”

“I’d never do such a thing,” you say dryly. “Consider it an offer from a… friend. For old times’ sake, hm?”

Something glints in Jane’s eyes, and for all she can set up her little mousetraps, so can you. You were not born without these teeth and claws for no reason, after all. Hunting is in your DNA, and there’s a dull ache in your canines as you wait for her answer. She gives it to you by striding forward to shamelessly sit herself in your lap.

“I suppose I can indulge you in a little bit of fun,” she breathes, leaning in close enough for her breath to tickle the tufted fur of your ears. “You’re a damn good fuck, anyways.”

You manage a low hiss before crashing your lips against hers. Her tongue pushes its way into your mouth, and you abandon your glass in favor of gripping her waist in your hands—small enough that your thumbs nearly meet over her belly. You barely manage to suppress the full- body shudder that threatens to consume you at the thought of stuffing her full of your cock soon, and watching the ridge in her cute tummy appear and disappear as you fuck into her.

Jane’s kisses have always been greedy, needy things that leave your lips kiss-swollen after. Her teeth nip on your lower lip and you growl, before rising to your feet. Jane makes a small, surprised noise before wrapping her legs around you, her tail looping deliberately lower to squeeze your ass. You swallow her little giggle with another hungry kiss as you walk over to your desk, before unceremoniously dumping her onto the hardwood and hiking her skirt up.

Her scent fills your lungs as one of your hands leaves her waist to trail a finger up her clothed, dripping cunt. You give an experimental roll of your hips, the tip of your faux cock pressing against her through the layers of fabric, and she exhales a pleased sigh like music to your ears. “Did you like that, little mouse?” you hum, your other hand squeezing her thigh and pushing it up until her ankle rests on your shoulder, spreading her nice and open for you. “Always so needy.”

Jane only looks at you with eyes half-lidded, a lazy smirk on her face, though the pure desire in her eyes is unmistakable. “Says the one who offered.”

Touché, you think, not that you’d ever admit that to her. Instead you settle for tugging her ruined underwear to the side, retracting your claws and pushing two fingers knuckle deep into her wet cunt. Jane arches her back at the sudden intrusion, squeezing tight around your fingers, any more of her smartness dying in her throat. You don’t give her a moment of reprieve, fucking your fingers into her with such force and speed that the wet sounds of you working her dripping cunt echo throughout your office. Your other hand presses down on her stomach, keeping her in place as she rockets and writhes to orgasm beneath you. Her legs wrap tighter around you, her tail snaking down to constrict around one of your legs.

“Gonna cum, little mouse?” you ask, voice low. Your thumb presses against her clit, and Jane’s body jerks, a pitchy squeak leaving her lips. She’s definitely close. You work your entire hand harder against her, inside her, your two fingers ruthlessly rubbing against the patch of nerves in her cunt as your thumb draws figure-eights on her stiff clit.

Jane's eyes meet yours through her long lashes, and you can tell she's close. There's a dusting of red on her plush, round cheeks, and you have to resist the urge to lean down and nip at them. Her little ears twitch, pressed flat to her skull from how you play her body like a damn instrument. The look in her eyes is hungry, almost as if she wants to devour you, instead. It stokes a bigger fire in you than anything you've ever experienced. With one more practiced curl of your fingers, you draw Jane over the edge, and she cums with a high-pitched whine, blunt nails digging into the finely pressed suit on your back. Her cunt bears down like a vise on your fingers, squeezing so tightly as if she's trying to cut off your circulation. Her tail lashes back and forth like a whip, the sharp end scoring lines into the wooden paneling of your office floor.

You don't give her any sort of reprieve, though. After all, she still betrayed you—you have some steam to work off. So you withdraw your fingers with a slick squelching noise and flip her onto her front, one hand pressing her into the desk by the small of her back, just above where her tail begins, while the other hurriedly undoes the zipper of your slacks. She pants as she throws a look at you over her shoulder, eyes blown wide, only to roll back into her skull when you shove all eight inches into her sopping cunt with one smooth thrust.

"That's it," you croon, "such a good whore, aren't you?" Jane's fingers claw into your desk as she scrabbles for purchase, for some sort of grounding as you rearrange her guts. Her tail twitches each time you bottom out in her, and you take the opportunity to wrap the thin length of it around your hand before using it to pull her back onto your cock with each thrust you make forward. Jane shrieks beneath you, and some lingering primal instinct in your brain snarls in victory at the sound.

You lean down, hips battering against her perfect, round ass that bounces with each drive of your dick. You nip at her little mousey ear, delighting in the squeaky noise that leaves her lips at the feel of your fangs. "Maybe you should have invested in a collar instead of a mousetrap," you sneer, moving lower to sink your teeth into her shoulder. Your breath cascades over her skin and you feel her shiver beneath you.

A shame that your cock is only plastic. You would’ve loved to know how her cunt feels, clenching down on her. But this is fine too, as you watch the reverb of her plush ass every time your hips collide with it. Your free hand can’t help but be drawn towards it, squeezing one cheek until red lines appear on her creamy skin. Everything about her is so… bitable. All you want to do is sink your teeth into her and never let go. You double your efforts, and you’re rewarded by another whiny moan from the woman beneath you. Her legs kick out, or at least attempt to, as the pleasure mounts and mounts low in her belly.

“F-fuck,” she gasps, panting in between her lewd cries, “fuck, I’m going to—“

Your hand travels from her ass, under her body and back to her clit, and Jane groans. Her fingers find the edge of your desk and she grips it until her knuckles go white with force. You flick at her clit before rubbing it between the pads of your fingers, your other hand tugging back on her tail again. You trade your speed for depth, ensuring the tip of your cock kisses as close as possible to her cervix.

“Go on,” you command, “cum on my cock, like I know you want to.”

It’s perhaps the last order you’ll ever give her, and Jane obeys gorgeously. A scream rips from her lips, her entire body jerking with the force of her orgasm. You pin her to the desk with your hands and your hips as she thrashes, utterly lost in the throes of pleasure, your cock seated as deeply as it can go inside her tight pussy. You can’t help but lean down and sink your teeth into the nape of her neck at the sight, some intrinsic instinct to mate taking over you.

It takes some time before Jane returns to her senses, and uncoils her tail from your hand. You move to withdraw, but the prehensile appendage loops around your waist, all while she still rests against your desk.

“Oh?” you hum, as the tip of her tail travels up your body, the sharp ends prodding at your jugular. Jane pushes herself up from your desk, the image of debauchery, with her makeup smudged but still holding that insatiable hunger in her eyes. She glances out of the large office window at the glittering city below, the lights shining more like starlight than anything that could be seen from above. When she turns to you, her expression is an invitation.

“There’s still some time left,” she says after a beat. “Maybe we can make the most of it.”

She doesn’t need to tell you twice.

[jadeylovesmarvelxo]

Back to You 💌

You and Eddie used to be friends, the best of friends since meeting during childhood. Now your friendship is in tatters and Eddie hates you? Right?

Enemies to lovers fic, childhood friends, idiots in love, protective Eddie, minors shoo.

Eddie Munson x Reader

Brief Billy Hargrove x Reader

If you have any requests send me an ask 💌 make sure to read my request rules on my pinned post 💞 💌

🎀

You remembered the day you and Eddie stopped speaking like it was yesterday.

Exactly a year ago you auditioned for the cheerleading squad and made the team, you were so excited and rushed to tell Eddie.

He was actually supportive of you joining the squad but the thing he didn't like was your new friends. They thought Eddie was a freak and Eddie hated the lot of them with a passion.

No matter how you tried to make it work the distance grew between you both and culminated in a final argument that the two of you never recovered from.

It was now your senior year and the bond between you and Eddie was still shattered, he became more ensconced in his group of friends and in Hellfire Club and you settled nicely with your friends.

Animosity hung between you both and more often than not it led to the two of you bickering. It was like the two of you were never friends at all.

The thought makes your stomach clench and your throat tighten. For as much as you pretended to despise Eddie, it couldn't hide the fact that you missed him, the little ache never really went away.

Though you had no doubt that Eddie didn't care one about you anymore and that sends a wave of hurt through you. There was only so much that icy glares and mean barbs could hide.

Speak of the devil. Eddie stops talking to the rest of Hellfire and glares at you, there's a stubborn frown on his face that turns into a smirk.

"Staring at me again sweetheart? Anyone would think you were into me" he looks so smug and you clench your fists, remind yourself to count to three before you engage in his shit.

"As if Munson, Your voice carries across the cafeteria. Not everyone wants to hear your delusional rants you know" Eddie's eyes narrow and he folds his arms across his chest, his gaze pins you to the spot.

The rest of Hellfire looks back and forth between the two of you. You and Eddie both argued so much you were sure it must be entertainment for his friends.

Gareth and Jeff used to be your friends too a tiny traitor voice whispers to you and you swallow down the fact that you miss them too.

"Why don't you go back to your table and continue being a bitchy, vapid princess yeah?" God you hated him, you really did.

You give him one final dirty look and don't give him the satisfaction of seeing the words have upset you. It's not like he would care if they did.

He stopped caring about you a long time ago.

...

Parties really weren't your thing at all but this was the third one that Jason invited you to in two months so you figured you better show your face for a little bit.

As soon as you enter the party you wish you could turn around and go back home. The only saving grace is Chrissy who tucks you by her side and takes away some of the anxiety you're feeling.

Eddie is here because of course he is. No doubt he's selling weed, you'd give him shit for it but you know that he does it to help his uncle with money. How could you give him shit for that?

You're pulled out of your musings by a gentle tug on your hair and you turn to find Eddie behind you with a shit eating grin on his face.

"Did you just pull my hair, what are we five again Edward?" His eyes light up and he smiles at you, all dimples and mischievous.

"I love when you're angry princess. It's kinda hot" you still and his words disarm you for a minute. Only a minute.

"Hot? As if you would sully your precious reputation by dating one of them and I quote "Buttheads from the dark side" he was just doing this to rile you up and it was working.

He doesn't answer and you realise your heart is racing waiting for him to say something. A tiny bit of disappointment fills you but you choose to ignore it and storm past him.

Maybe you would be able to enjoy the party if you could just avoid Eddie but then you see one person who you work hard to never see at all costs. Someone worse than running into Eddie.

Billy Hargrove, surrounded by people as he chugged from a keg of beer.

Ugh. Seeing Billy was enough to annoy you at the best of times but this? Drunk Billy was a whole level of irritating. The two of you briefly dated last year and it was nice at first, until he cheated on you with some girl from another school outside of Hawkins and you found them at the cinema making out with not a care in the world.

What the hell did he want? "Hey babe, fancy seeing you here?" he smirks and walks over to you, swiftly blocking your way out. Fuck.

"Hargrove. Move your ass from my sight will you?" you snap, you're already verging on getting a headache, talking to him will just make it worse.

"Such harsh words honey. I mean last year you were all over me and now this?" You wince as you remember being really into Billy, god you were an idiot.

"Temporary insanity" you snap and he grins and leans close to you.

"Oh honey, it's your fault if you think you meant anything to me in the first place" fury curdles in your stomach. Asshole.

"Is there a problem here?" you freeze and let out a groan. Oh great. Just who you need to appear, Eddie.

His eyes are narrowed as he looks at Billy who smirks and moves past Eddie. "Nah Munson, just catching up with an old friend" he winks at you and you turn away still fuming and your eyes wet. Ah fuck.

"Dickhead, Eddie mutters and his glare turns to you but softens just slightly at your tears, "What the fuck did you see in him princess?" He demands and you shrug.

"No idea. He is a dick" it startles you that both you and Eddie are in agreement. You wipe your eyes and Eddie's fist clenches.

"You shouldn't cry over him princess" he tells you and his voice is still gentle. You peer up at him and feel that pull towards him, the pull that never really went away.

"Like you can talk Munson" Eddie's eyes widen and he stiffens when you say this and his gaze turns agonized.

"I never want to make you cry sweetheart" he swallows hard and still looks bereft. You can't stand seeing that look on his face.

"It only happened once" you shrug it off but it still doesn't clear that look from Eddie's face. He follows you as you need outside, trying to think of something to say to him.

Then the heavens open and rain begins to beat down on you both.

"Uh shit. Do you want me to take you home or something?" You shake your head at Eddie's suggestion, it's sweet but your parents aren't home tonight, you were meant to be staying with one of the girls.

"They aren't home. I'm supposed to be staying with one of the girls but I just want to get away from this shit for a night" Eddie nods and opens his van door for you.

"Then milady. To my castle I shall take you" you hadn't been back to Eddie's in such a long time but right now it was all you wanted and you gesture at him to lead the way.

Billy's words still echo in your mind as eddie drives. You thought you meant something to Billy last year but your hopes were quickly dashed. Your hopes of maybe finding someone who could love you for you were smashed to pieces.

If you were being honest with yourself the one person who you thought you would end up with was Eddie, when you were friends the thought would sometimes enter your mind. A far off future after high school where you and Eddie were happy and in love.

Obviously that went to shit too. You weren't Eddie's type. You had seen the girls he hooked up with occasionally and they were nothing like you, now it didn't matter because he hated you.

This makes your mood worse, just a bit. Then again if he hated you why was he being so kind to you right now?

You ask him as he leads you into the trailer, the question won't leave your mind and you need to ask.

"Eddie why are you doing this? You hate me don't you?" his eyes widen when you ask this and you flash back to the first time you met Eddie when you were four and he ran off some jerk who tried to steal your sweets in school. He was protective of you, even then.

"Okay uh let's get one thing straight, you can annoy the hell out of me but I could never ever hate you princess" this warms your heart just a little bit.

"Well ditto"

You kiss Eddie's cheek, his heated gaze meets yours and you're so tempted to kiss him. It's an impulsive thought but it's not really all that surprising.

"You want to kiss me" he gently teases and you swat his arm playfully. He really could read you like a book, even now.

"Please, as if. I know I'm not your type anyway. I've seen the girls you've hooked up with" Eddie is quiet for a second and that startles you, he's never quiet. He's always on the go and running his mouth about something or other, usually Jason.

"They didn't mean anything. They weren't you" he says the last part so softly that you have to move closer to hear it but you do. Like magnets the two of you move closer and closer...

Then Eddie's lips meet yours and it's... It's everything. It's perfect. Wayne also picks the perfect time to walk in and you and Eddie break apart.

Wayne smiles when he sees you, "Well hi there honey, haven't seen you around in a long time" it has been a while and you feel an ache deep in your bones. You've missed being here, it's one of the places that feels like home to you.

"I've missed it, being here" you admit to him and Wayne smirks a little bit.

"Mmm, someone else has missed you around here too" he nods to Eddie who glares at him.

"Yeah thanks for that old man" Wayne shrugs looking like he's trying really hard not to laugh and invites you to stay for a little while longer.

When he's busy with setting up some dinner Eddie leans into you and whispers in your ear.

"I do miss you" his voice shakes a tiny bit and his big brown eyes are full of tenderness. It's taken a lot for him to admit it and you take your hand in his.

"Ditto"

💌🎀💓

[lokisgoodgirl]

A Long Way Down: The Lakes [Loki x Reader]

The Lakes Masterlist / Regular Masterlist Summary: (3) Following Loki's indecent proposal, you get yourself into a treacherous situation. Or maybe two. Warnings: Minors DNI. Smut references. Ex-Loki. Mild peril. Mild angst. Pining. Oh god, the pining. (w/c 4.6k) Recommended Folklore Track: This Is Me Trying

At around five AM, you had accepted that two hours was the maximum amount of sleep that fate had intended for you that night.

The sight of Loki draped across your doorway greeted you every time you closed your eyes.

The moon-slicked skin which begged to be grasped so tightly it bruised, if only for a short time. Those sharp angles in his jawline which fitted so perfectly between your legs. No.

Slipping out of bed, you manoeuvred on your clothes. Natasha would be proud, you thought, grabbing your gloves. Sufficiently bundled, you began the descent down the murky darkness. Of ten stairs, miraculously only four creaked. You paused after every one, listening for a stir from one of the bedrooms. But none came. Since you had slammed the door on Loki, your mind had been a beehive. You had lain there, trying not to move, trying to sleep, trying to think about anything but him. But his velvet voiced temptations and audacity wound around your thoughts like the cottage’s ivy. Wilting like a woman ravaged by thirst with a river rushing on the other side of that traitorous wall.

You hastily scribbled a note in the kitchen, grabbed the spare key and a small rucksack from the hallway hooks. Crisp cold hit like a slap as you opened the door and slipped through. The latch clicked closed.

It sounded like freedom.

A wide circle from the flashlight led your way, noting familiar moss-covered fenceposts and scattered stone path. You took a right at the boundary, seeing the milky promise of a red sunrise ghosting over the mountain. It would be a three hour round-trip to the top of Blencathra, you reckoned. Back in time for breakfast. As you walked, weak sunlight began to crawl the hedgerows. Frosted orange leaves underfoot became wetter. Like cornflakes, you mused, left too long in milk.

You’d had the same observation last autumn when Loki had walked beside you through Central Park, his gloved hand in yours. He’d interrupted with a familiar elaborate description of the palatial breakfasts he’d been served on Asgard. One you’d heard a hundred times before. ‘Every day, mountains of succulent fruit from the god-tree; warm date loaves and bread so glossy it reflected the very sun-” ‘-with the almond glaze.’ you’d muttered knowingly, the implication clear. His grin had widened obliviously.

‘With the almond glaze. Much superior to the cereals so favoured in this realm. I don’t know why humanity puts up with such trash, no wonder you’re all so...someone should do something.’

Loki was a lot of things. He was wild, and powerful; passionate and imposing. He was fiercely loving with kindness that ran as a hot spring runs beneath unforgiving glaciers. When he wanted it to.

His adoration was intoxicating, addicting in a way you had never experienced. When he saw you, he saw only you. Like no other creature existed. The haze had filled you like opium, drunk to all the condescending commentary that chipped at the exterior until it cracked.

And when it cracked, it shattered.

Memories of his dark curls sprawled across your pillow haunted you, the feel of silken strands cutting into your fingertip as you twirled it. He had never been good at keeping to his side of the bed. The words that he whispered when the world wasn’t watching, meant only for you. It seemed like a dream now. And maybe it was.

Perhaps it always had been.

The warmth in his eyes as his thumb caressed your jawline still smouldered as hopeful embers in the depths of your heart. They longed for him, biding their time like jackals in shadows to drag you back to his arms.

And wanting him, that hadn’t left. You doubted it ever would. Loving Loki was a high. And it was a long way down.

If only he could just act like a normal human being, you thought as you drew the wind-breaker further up your throat. And there, you laughed bitterly to yourself in the eerie quiet, is the problem.

It wasn’t his fault, not really. Or was it? You could never tell. And that doubt ate away at you like mice at the skirting boards.

The cold distance between you had been necessary. Self-preservation. And besides occasionally missing the mischief you created together, you doubted he thought of you much at all. The world was full of fawning mortals, after all. He never tired of pointing that out. You certainly doubted he lacked for company.

The thought made you feel queasy. ‘Love’, he’d once mused, ‘is different for a god. We don’t love as you humans do.’

He had paused, snapping his book closed as you lay in his lap before planting a placatory kiss on your nose.

‘You wouldn’t understand’, he’d murmured. And despite your coaxing, that had been the end of it.

It was for the best. That’s what you told yourself when that twisting heartache reared in the dead of night.

But still, you wished you’d had one last kiss, even if you’d known that’s what it was. You looked up at the moon, peeling from the sky and disappearing beneath early-morning mist as you walked briskly towards the mountain’s craggy steep. One last kiss before the lights went out.

As soon as the regrettable words had left Loki’s lips, he knew he’d fucked up. The door-slam was loud. Very loud. And he couldn’t go back to his room, not in his condition. Especially under the circumstances. In the darkness he had picked his way downstairs, cat-like, and had an angry wank in the bathroom. It was perfunctory and mostly silent. And Loki cursed his blasted impatience with every rough tug of his hand. Feeling raw, but more clear-headed, he sat in the living room a while. Moonlight threw a milky hue against the furniture. The carpet almost looked clean under its forgiving sheen. It may have been mice, but he was sure that he could hear the hushed, girlish chatter of his brother and Rogers upstairs, their theories abounding. With growing horror, Loki realised that his brother had been right about not one, but two things that night.

First, that the demise of you and he’s relationship was indeed his doing. The look in your eyes as he presented himself like a charmless commoner had made that abundantly clear. And secondly, the repugnant reclining chair on which he sat was indeed, very comfortable. Thankful at least for the latter, Loki fished down the side for a blanket he’d seen earlier. He sniffed it suspiciously, before throwing it to drape down over his feet. Something about the ragged, scratchy edging made him feel closer to you. Penitent, almost.

Shall I wear sackcloth and ashes, would that suffice?

The thought came intrusively, but behind his subconscious theatrics, there was a morsel of truth. There was something about this place. And there was something about you in it. Perhaps there was something about him too. Something new being birthed, clawing for freedom against scar tissue of old wounds. His brother’s voice played in his mind. ‘Well that could mean all manner of things, brother.’ he’d said. ‘You are insufferable.’ The god closed his eyes, breathing deeply. Perhaps, he thought, I should be thankful for that too. It meant he may be able to fix it. Loki slept soundly in the ugly chair. So soundly, that he didn’t hear the creak of footsteps that came before the first shards of daybreak, nor the soft close of a drawer, nor the click of the latch as you slipped outside into the dark morning alone.

You felt upwards, pads of your fingertips scratching against rough, uneven stone. Searching. The ridge was steeper than you’d anticipated. And you’d been so distracted by winning the imaginary shouting-match going on in your brain, that you had made the most basic error a climber could make. And the most serious.

Your fingers grasped around a jut of rock, feet slipping. Pressing your back against the opposite rockface, you glanced upwards to a large overhang on the ridge that somehow you hadn’t spotted. A chill sliced through your belly as you realised there was no way up. And there was no way down. Your boot slipped against the ledge, making you brace. Fuck fuck fuck. Even Steve wouldn’t make that drop without a couple of broken legs. Or worse. You were stuck. No, not stuck. Fucking crag-fast.

Tears welled in your eyes, a giggle of panicked disbelief threatening low in your middle as you tilted your chin to the sky. The ridge was cut into the mountain, and beyond the overhang, heavy dark clouds were gathering at alarming speed. No one knew you were here. You were fucked.

Closing your eyes, you focused on steadying your heart-rate. ‘Breathe, love’ Loki used to whisper as he stroked your hair. The beat of your heart slowed to a faint thump. The distress widget. Your eyes flew open. Steve had insisted that everyone have an alarm built into their belt, to be worn at all times. It didn’t seem so silly now.

Tentatively, you removed one hand from the rough ridge-face, the crumbling stones beneath your feet making it fly back immediately. You could feel the alarm at the base of your spine, no bigger than a jeans button. If you could just...press it.

Slowly, you began to wiggle your hips back and forth; trying to catch it on something. It caught, a low beep making your heart soar. “ACTIVATE,” you yelled. More stone pellets fell like dried rice. You could only pray Steve had the receiver nearby.

Time passed as a crawl. The sun had risen but somehow, it was still dark. Everything ached. Had it be three minutes or three hours? You were sure the pain in your limbs would be the same either way. How could I be so fucking stupid, you raged silently. At some point, you’d begun to cry.

Had you actually pressed the distress button? Fear fluttered in your stomach. Despite the chill and growing winds, you could feel a uncomfortable damp gathering beneath your clothes. Steve was going to be so pissed when he turned up. If he turned up. More crumbles of rock scattered around your forehead from above. It was followed by a low chuckle. “I can think of easier ways to get me alone, Agent.” Your neck snapped up, not believing your eyes.

Loki sat casually on his haunches atop the overhang, wrists falling between his knees. His thighs were spread, emerald leather looking viscerally luscious against the darkening sky. Dark hair whipped around his brow, his eyes flashing downward as a smile twisted one side of his mouth. “I’m stuck,” you whimpered.

Loki’s smile grew. He tutted. “Not just stuck, Agent. Crag-fast, I believe is the term.” You released an exasperated sigh. “Does it matter?” “Well it was right in Rogers briefing pamphlet. In the hazards section, nestled between blue-green algae and wayward tourists.”

You stared at him, thinking violent thoughts.

“Are you wearing your armour?” you spat. “Your not supposed to be...Loki, just-” Your feet slipped again.

“-for your rescue Madam? Only full regalia will do.” The dazzling smile which accompanied his words made you want to punch him in the face.

“Just fucking get me out of here!”

Loki’s face changed, the mirth in his eyes melting to something akin to concern. “Alright, alright…I am simply attempting to lighten the mood-” he muttered, reaching down. His arm glinted gold, its normal brilliance dulled by the shrouded sun. With all the strength you had, you reached up. You could feel your feet give out below you just as Loki’s hand wrapped around your bicep. With one fell swoop he heaved you upwards, suspended in the air before you fell upon him.

Loki rolled back, gathering you close to his chest. His palm cupped the back of your skull, the other hand safely pressed to the base of your back. You were vaguely aware of the scrape of his boots against the rock as he drew up his legs, the perfect cage of your protection.

“You’re safe now,” he breathed quietly to the sky. His heart was thundering, thuds pulsing through his breastplate. You nodded, silent sobs thrumming your body just as the first drops of rain began to fall.

Thirty minutes later, you and Loki had finally descended the ridge. He had managed to source an easier path with only the most necessary of communication. It had been slow, an ever-present pang in your ankle making you wince when the god’s back was turned. Confident that all your concentration was no longer needed, you decided to ask the question. “Why did you come?” As soon as the words left your mouth, you grimaced. How could you think about them for so long, yet still find the wrong ones? Loki glanced over his shoulder, eyes narrowed. “I didn’t mean it like that, I’m grateful you did-” you grovelled. “I mean, Steve made such a big deal about the whole belt button thing I just wondered why he sent you? Didn’t think he’d miss the chance to give me a lecture the whole way home.” You stared at the back of Loki’s head, swallowing. Rain was falling harder now, rustling patter crinkling against your jacket. “Rogers didn’t send me,” the god said coldly, still walking forwards. “I suspect he’s still tucked up under those abysmally threaded bedsheets.”

You hobbled faster, catching up to him. “What do you mean?” “I was downstairs. The receiver was in the kitchen.” You let your eyes wander over the sprawling landscape. Thirlmere lake lay flat in the distance, a grey mirror to the sky. “Why was it in the kitchen?” you mused absent-mindedly. “Well I don’t know, Agent” Loki spat. “Perhaps Rogers wasn’t anticipating a member of our party sneaking out before dawn on a misguided attempt at independence.” “And what’s that supposed to mean?” you snapped, stare burning into Loki’s profile as he pinched the bridge of his nose with a sigh. “Nothing. It means nothing.” he muttered. His eyes scanned the horizon. It was a long way down. “Don’t be like that-” “Like what, Agent?” Loki fumed, spinning with a flourish which made the cut of his leathers swirl around his ankles.

The clouds crushing the sky were matched only by the ones gathering in his eyes, both menacingly beautiful in the rawness of their power.

“Rush to your side at the break of day, in an unknown land to a hastily deduced location only to be met with suspicion and incredulity that I would ever think to aid your distress unless under duress? Am I truly so irredeemable?” You felt the hair on your arms stand up, hackles raised. “Well I wouldn’t have needed to get away for a while if you hadn’t been such a presumptive arsehole last night,” “Oh – I see,” Loki said, nodding sarcastically as his hands flew up. “Of course. My fault, as usual.”

He spun away, walking ahead. “Keep up” he bristled loudly. You muttered curses under your breath. The pain was getting worse. Looking up, you were met with Loki’s icy glare over his shoulder. “What is it?” he snapped, trying to remain indifferent. But his eyebrows always gave him away. “I twisted my ankle or something on the ridge,” you sighed.

Loki rolled his eyes. “See – there!” you whined, gesturing. “Right there. Why do you need to roll your eyes at that?”

He stiffened, hands moving to his hips. “Will you allow me to carry you?” he drawled, evading the question. “No I can make it, it’s not that far” you lied. Loki nodded, circling back towards you. “At least take my arm,” he sniffed, offering it forth. And with a reluctant sigh, you took it.

“You need to change your clothes, Loki.” You looked up, meeting the indignant glare you knew would be waiting. “You said it yourself. Hazards: wayward tourists. When Steve finds out about me, he’ll be pissed. If he finds out about you rumbling us, he’ll be catatonic.” Loki released a ragged exhale. “Fine,” he griped. In a blinding flash, luxe emerald battle leathers transformed to the thoroughly beige ensemble from yesterday. “Better?” he smarmed, the sarcasm palpable. “Meh,” you replied. A knowing smirk was exchanged. It warmed the air between you.

“So listen,” you said tentatively, hobbling at his side. “Earlier, you said something about being irredeemable-” “-yes,” Loki cut. You felt his shoulders roll, his demeanour hardening again. “I’m trying to be...trying to, adapt myself. It’s a work in progress. So far it is proving...arduous. Last night was evidence of that.” “Oh. Well...I just meant that you're not irredeemable. We weren’t right together, I know that. You can’t help being a god and a prince and all the eh...attributes, that come from that, and it was wrong of me to...expect you to change? I don’t know.” The two of you picked your way over the uneven track in silence, heart sinking into your stomach before Loki cleared his throat.

“As I understand it, the habits of a lifetime are hard to break even for mortals,” he said, swirling his wrist with a flourish. “Imagine then, what it is like for me.” You threw him an incredulous stare. He frowned. “I understand that my explanation lends weight to your inaugural grievance but you cannot deny the logic” he muttered bitterly.

You licked your bottom lip, heart thumping as you eased the can of worms open. “So what you’re saying is that you agree with...the things I said you were?”

Your heart ached at the memory of the indifference in his eyes as you left him that day. ‘Haughty. Condescending. Unwaveringly arrogant.’

You had been so angry. So angry at his unwillingness to change. To be open to the possibility of change, after everything you had been through together. All the love, so-called, that you had shared. It wasn’t enough – how could you have thought it would be? And he had just sat, crossed-legged on the sofa as you bubbled over the brim. ‘Are we done here?’ he’d said coldly, like concluding a business transaction. In the end, you’d conceded, that the person you were most enraged at was yourself. Loki frowned deeper, staring ahead. You wondered if he was revisiting the same memory. Like loitering at the crevice of a haunted cellar, peering in. His fingers wrapped around yours, still gripping his forearm.

“Well, yes” he replied cautiously. “But I was never expected to be anything else. There was no need – I thought it was just...me. That it was inevitable. It’s all I’ve known.” You opened your mouth and closed it again. “Consider the leaves,” Loki said with a wave of his hand to the multi-coloured foliage littering the skyline. “Those over there...retain their summer green.” He pointed further down the ridge.

“And those, have turned to that rusted maroon you like so much.” He looked to you, features softening. “Does the green leaf know that it is to turn? To change and ebb? Does it have expectation of rebirth?” “It is pretty humble for you to compare yourself to a leaf, I’ll give you that” you mumbled, limping over a pile of scattered cow shit. Loki stopped abruptly, sliding his arm from yours and cupping your shoulders in his hands. His eyes were wide, running over your face as his brows slanted. “Darling, please let me carry you” he whispered earnestly. “Let me help you.” You considered telling him to fuck off, but one brief glance at the endless uneven path stretching down to the forest made you pause. “Fine,” you sighed. “But don’t call me darling. We don’t do that anymore.” A small smile pressed against Loki’s cheeks, making his dimples flash. Immediately he crouched, extending his arms with palms facing up. You shuffled between them, adopting the position.

The beige fleece Loki was wearing did nothing to stop the warmth of his hard chest seeping through your clothes, a thick waft of his natural musk filling your nostrils. With one hand looped behind his neck, clasping the other, you tried to imagine a world where this sweetness wasn’t everything you desperately wanted.

“See?” he postured absent-mindedly as he picked his way down the path with ease. “I can be charming.” Glad of the change of topic, you kept your tone to one of mild interest. “Who says you aren’t charming?” “My brother,” he growled quietly. A snort of unexpected laughter erupted from your throat. You looked to him, faces inches apart. The crawl of Loki’s bemused gaze from your lips to your eyes made your heart skip.

“It’s just…” you started guiltily, searching the depths of his brilliantly blue irises. Even in the gathering gloom of the storm, they sparked. “I-” “I understand,” he said abruptly, looking forward again. His lips formed a hard line, the blade of his cheekbone deepening as his face set. Whatever Loki thought you had meant to say, it was not the truth. But somehow, the truth was harder to muster now than the fiction where you couldn’t stand him. You felt him readjust his grip on your waist, fingers sinking into the soft fleece beneath your rainjacket.

“You are charming,” you whispered against the wind. It was supposed to sound comforting. Platonic. But a part of you hoped that it wouldn’t. Against your better judgement, you curled the hair on his furthest shoulder behind his ear before knitting your fingers again. “Thor isn’t one to talk, anyway.” “Rogers confirmed it,” Loki rebutted harshly, the words catching in his throat. He was very pointedly not looking at you, you noticed. “Steve isn’t one to talk either,” you chuckled, before sighing. Rain fell heavier now, thick droplets landing on your forehead and following the tracks of forgotten tears.

You watched it fall against Loki’s brow, a silken sheen of moisture coating the milk-wild perfection you’d kissed every inch of in your time together. A lone droplet rolled down his temple, following the gutter of his cheekbone before dripping languidly down his chin. It lingered on his jawline, taking the long way down before falling. “Are you alright, Agent?” Loki murmured.

He’d been watching.

Thunder rolled overhead as you nodded slowly, rain clinging to your lashes. Hair was plastered to his cheeks now, inky tendrils winding across alabaster skin like oil on snow. His grip around your body tightened, looking upwards. “Hold on tight,” he growled.

You barely had time to process his words before a torrent unleashed overhead, battering against the ground as Loki began a run down the hill. “M-magic t-to dry-?” you gasped as every stride of his strong legs knocked the breath from your lungs.

“It is fruitless against the English onslaught,” Loki yelled over the storm’s sudden din. “Believe me.” You buried your face in his neck, the heat of your breath against his wet skin conjuring images of lazy mornings spent fucking in his shower. How steam filled the room like Vatican smoke, heralding the joyus arrival of your climax over and over.

Loki would hold you safe against the wall, his large palms cupping your ass and guiding you towards pleasure you had never experienced before. And never would again. The sweet pants of praise he released wetly against your skin, the splatter from his sodden hair as he snapped his neck back in ecstasy. The squeak of his enormous hand running down the glass shield as he came undone inside you. It would haunt your mind forever. The ghost in the cellar.

And now, just like then, there was nothing to do but hold on. Your grip tightened around his neck, the flat of his thigh hitting your ass every so often when, presumably, he cleared a tree trunk.

Every nerve beneath your skin was on fire, each movement jolting life into feelings you had tried to smother. You were acutely aware of your lips parting against the curve of his neck, delicate skin hovering above his own.

Taunting yourself, you brushed against him; sucking your own breath back from the rebound. The fine hairs on his skin tingled your lips, sending twisting aches of desire between your thighs. Loki veered to the left, thrusting your face against his neck. Involuntarily the grip around him tightened, clasping his skin to your lips in a desperate, if accidental, embrace.

And suddenly, it was gone. Loki had lowered you to the ground, standing back abruptly. He stood triangular, legs apart like a soldier.

The fabric of his clothes was dark, saturated with water and clinging to his lithe body like a second skin. It hung against the marbled muscle, tracking every deep line carved into his thighs and plastering the bulge of his crotch in a way that could only be described as obscene.

The stare he held was formidable, two distantly smouldering eyes set with purpose which observed from beneath heavily knitted brows. Hands clasped ceremonially behind his back, he lowered his chin and nodded to the side. With disappointment, you realised you were back at the cottage. Loki had stopped in a small clearing, and the dismal looking residence couldn’t be more than fifty meters away. “I thought you could go ahead” he said, raking his fingers through sodden hair. It slathered back from his face, the sharp lines glinting. “That way, Rogers will never need to know there was an...incident. I will follow after an appropriate interval with an appropriate excuse.”

“Come with me,” you said incredulously, wiping a swathe of water from your cheek. As Loki shook his head, you found you couldn’t stop yourself. “I want them to know you helped, it was my fault I was stupid, I got myself fucking crag-fast like an idiot...and hurt and you-” “No.” was Loki’s staunch response.

The lonely sound of rain on the tree canopy rustled.

Brow furrowing, you stepped closer and brushed down his arm, drawing one hand out from behind his back. It sat limply in yours. “Come with me,” you pleaded.

Loki frowned, staring at your hand holding his own. As if it was not his own. And with aching clarity, you realised this was him trying. “I fear, under the circumstances, I would not be able to contain myself from being…” he swallowed thickly, cricking his neck to the side before continuing, “-myself.” You stared at him, and he at you.

There was a flutter of wet leaves beneath his feet as he shuffled. “Really, you should go you’ll catch your dea-” And just like that, without thinking, you had crossed the space between you.

Like an out of body experience, hands slid over his sodden shoulders, pulling his parted lips to yours mid-words. Warmth flooded your body as his frozen arms slowly made a cage around your waist, sliding down your back like you would shatter beneath his touch.

His tongue slipped cautiously between your lips. It grew with each passing second to a raging hunger in every all-consuming jut muscle against your own. It felt like home. Your fingers tangled in clumped strands of hair against his scalp, teeth clashing while fears were forgotten. If only for now. For now, you wanted to love him. “Loki,” you moaned into his mouth.

His name held weight when you said it like that.

His hands searched your body, never settling in one place, grasping at the jacket which crackled and slid beneath his fingers. Loki panted, cupping your chin before delving deeper.

Every unspoken word, every abandoned touch, each lingering glance that ate away at you in the dead of night flooding from your body to his in that kiss.

“Darling,” he breathed as he held you still. His wet forehead pressed against yours. Your eyes were still closed, waiting for his return. Nerves fluttered in your chest, your stomach; happiness that you daren’t have hoped for sloshing at the edges of your sanity. You couldn’t think.

“Darling,” he repeated stiffly, a gentle shake of his grip urging your eyes open. “I can’t-” he said solemnly, as you opened your eyes. You felt words forming – ‘Don’t call me darling’ - or maybe it was a scream. But a single finger to your lips silenced it, whatever it would have been. “Go.” he said. And he meant it. And as you felt the scream rise again in your throat, you did.

Loki’s watch followed you all the way to the door as he lingered on the edge of the forest. You could feel his gaze as keenly as though it were his hands. How you wished that memory was as hard to conjure as it had been before daybreak. Through the window, you could see Thor buttering crumpets.

One last kiss, you thought; hoping the rain would mask your tears from the others inside.

One last kiss before the lights went out.

>>>> Chapter Four: Home Truths Tags

@lokischambermaid @meowmeow-motherfucker @gigglingtiggerv2 @imalovernotahater @avengersalways @littledark11 @lokikissesmyforehead @simplyholl @fictive-sl0th @thedistractedagglomeration @loopsisloops @glitchquake @holdmytesseract @jaidenhawke @silverfire475 @fandxmslxt69 @morriggannlostinfandoms @marygoddessofmischief @sebstanwhore @xorpsbane @peacefulpianist @yelkmelk @wheredafandomat @mistress-ofmagic @acidcasualties @ozymdias @your-taste-on-my-lips @lokidokieokie @kikster606 @peachyjinx @tbhiddlestan83 @trickster-maiden @skymoonandstardust @justjoanne242 @thenotoriouserg @ladyofthestayingpower @wolfmoonmusic @brittbax @smolvenger @liminalpebble @joyful-enchantress @kaleenjackson @fictional-hooman @kellatron55 @mrs-illyrian-baby @icytrickster17 @multifandom-worlds @buttercupcookies-blog @literatureatthebowofnails

[bucca2]

okay not to wax poetic about a minor side character in Skyrim that annoys the fuck out of most people, but it really does sadden me that most people are like “he’s annoying, kill him!” and then do no self reflection on the fact that they only killed him because of a petty personal gripe and because they were sent to do so by a power tripping traitor who LATER ALSO TRIES TO KILL THE LISTENER THEMSELVES.

For a long time I’ve had Thoughts™ on the phenomenon of Gamers (derogatory) who treat any NPC who is even slightly an inconvenience with disproportionate and often violent vitriol, but this post is already getting long. General musings on the tragedy of Cicero’s character and how it’s objectively the wrong choice to kill him below.

Thanks to my partner @wrenanigans I’ve had reason to re-examine Cicero’s character, and his past just makes me so deeply sad. Of course, his journals only cover DB-related events, so maybe he had a personal life he just didn’t write about, but it kind of struck both of us that he feels the loss of his fellow DB members so keenly and yet never really mentions any personal relationships outside of obligation to his fellow assassins. (i.e no family or lovers pre-insanity when he was a normal, extremely capable man) Like of course he went insane. The organization that was his entire life’s purpose not only promoted him to a position where he could no longer do what he joined them to do, but then he watched the organization dissolve around him and all his friends be slaughtered.

Then he was alone with the Night Mother waiting for her to talk to someone and give him direction for eight fucking years!!! Of course he went completely off the deep end! If I was isolated, paranoid (but is it paranoia if they’re actually out to get you?) and constantly on survival mode for that long, I’d be relieved if being a little quirky and doing little dances was the extent of my deviant behavior! (The murder comes with being in the Dark Brotherhood, so I don’t wanna hear any whining about him being stabby. Murder isn’t OK if the Dragonborn does it, but suddenly immoral if people you don’t like do it. In video games.)

I think for most people who don’t put much thought into Cicero and his actions, they just vaguely think “oh, Cicero betrayed the family and tried to kill Astrid, so killing him is justified irrespective of her later betraying us”, which is simply not true. There’s a very interesting post I saw floating around lately about how you can’t treat religion in fantasy worlds like TES the same way you would with religious groups IRL, because in TES there is tangible proof that gods exist, and they can and will fuck with the mortal world for their own whims. The point of the DB quest line is that the Tenets matter, and straying from them and the Night Mother almost snuffed the DB out for good. The narrative of the game explicitly justifies Cicero’s actions and QUITE LITERALLY tells you that killing Cicero is not the right call.

TES has a lot of creative interactivity with picking your own outcomes and going with your own solutions, but quests don’t usually end with “go kill this guy. but you can also spare him… ;)” They usually don’t give you an old wise dude whose spirit you can summon who tells you not to kill that clown. And then if you spare Cicero, he comes back and is a potential companion. Like…I don’t know how much more obvious it can get that you’re not supposed to kill Cicero. I get for most people it’s not that deep, but this is TES. We talk about lore here.

[queuestarter]

concede

(finnick odair x reader)

cw: none

link to the request → finnick sharing the plans of the rebellion with reader

open to requests !!

“Baby, I have something to tell you.”

You lift your head off of Finnick’s chest, blinking sleepily at him. It’s early still and you didn’t even realize he was awake.

“What?” 

Finnick gently moves you off of his chest and repositions himself so that the two of you are facing each other. He searches your eyes before speaking again. “I’ve been keeping a secret from you.”

You raise your eyebrows. You’re not too worried about whatever secret he could be keeping. You trust Finnick with everything you have and know he wouldn’t keep anything bad from you.

You don’t say anything, letting him confess on his own terms. 

“After the Quarter Quell was announced and I was still in the Capitol, I met with the new Gamemaker, Pluratch Heavensbee.” He pauses for a minute, gauging your reaction. You just nod to let him know he can keep speaking.

He bites his lip. “You know about all the revolts in Four. They’re happening in almost every other district, too. Heavensbee told me. And he’s part of the rebellion.”

“What?” You’re confused. This is not where you thought this conversation was going.

“I know it sounds crazy, but it’s true. He told me all sorts of things, mainly that he wants us to volunteer for the Quell to protect last year’s victors from 12. Katniss is apparently the key to the whole thing.”

“Hold on. You sound crazy right now, Finn. Start from the beginning and explain everything in depth.” You listen carefully as Finnick starts from the beginning- listing everything in order from when he first met Plutarch to how rescuing Katniss is going to ensure you all a place in the supposedly still functioning District 13.

“I know this is a lot but if we do this, we can have a better life. A life away from the Capitol, without all of the people stealing our lives away from us. We can be free,” Finnick preaches, desperately searching your eyes.

You look back at him, unsure. “Finn, I don’t know if I can go back into the games.”

He holds you closer to him. “I’ll protect you. Even if this plan doesn’t turn out the way he promised me it would, I would never let you get hurt.”

“I know that, but what if he’s lying? What if Snow sent him your way to see if you’re a traitor?” You confess your fears, wanting them to be quenched.

“No,” Finnick shakes his head slightly. “He told me too much. He said that there are at least ten other victors already in on the plan. We have a real shot at this, my love. Let’s take it.”

You’re unsure but Finnick’s optimism is making you excited. Of course you want a chance at a real future with him, one where you aren’t scared for each of your well beings every single day.

“Fuck it, I’m in. Let’s do it. Let’s end the Capitol.”

Finnick cheers quietly, kissing you square on the mouth. “Just imagine our life together after all of this. Our own house, babies, all of it.”

“Some peace and quiet,” you muse. “No more Caesar Flickerman interviews every month.”

“That’s what I’m talking about,” Finnick laughs. “No more stupid outfits or listening to those ridiculous accents. Just me and you.”

“Me and you,” you whisper back.

You still feel scared of the unknown, but you know it’ll be fine with Finnick by your side.

-

[callsign-rogueone]

alone with you - l.m.

Liam Mairi x reader part two of Liam and Spark's story. words: 3.0k 🏷: Fourth Wing spoilers (spark knows things that Violet doesn't lmao), sparring and a tiny bit of blood, reader gets injured but not to worry, someone takes care of you. no pronouns used for reader but Liam does call you a girl. Tuile being a bitch (wbk) and perhaps some answers about what happened in spark's first year at basgiath... I'm still not good at writing fight scenes, sorry lol

Another year, another round of challenges. Another opportunity to show the entire quadrant that you’re not here to fuck around, nor to make friends.

You loosen your muscles as Emeterrio discusses the rules of engagement, cracking your neck and stretching out your arms, taking mental inventory of all the weapons on your body -- even though it’s frowned upon to use them in these fights, you keep the array of knives at the ready.

“I see the general’s girl has survived the week,” Tuile muses. “I’m almost impressed.”

You cast a glance across the room, seeing her standing next to the cadet who was in front of her in line for Parapet, the one she’d traded boots with.

“It’s only a matter of time,” you mutter back. 

Even though Xaden had convinced the two dozen of you to leave her alone, it’s likely that somebody else is going to see how fragile she is and walk right up and snap her in two, to thin the herd -- not that she has a real chance of making it to threshing anyway, not without some divine intervention.

But she’s a perfect little Navarrian citizen, so she must pray to their gods every night before bed. Maybe they’ll help her, because you sure as hell won’t; you have a reputation to maintain, and there’s no rational explanation you could give her for why you would want to help her at all, not without jeopardizing the entire revolution -- she might not take after her traitorous older brother, who as far as she and everyone else in this death trap of a college is aware, is dead.

She seems to notice you watching her, locking eyes with you for a split second and quickly averting her gaze. She’s afraid of you and all of your friends, unaware that your respect for Brennan is what’s keeping her alive right now.

Fear is a requirement for survival here. Maybe she’ll make it longer than you’d thought.

It’s not a surprise to you at all that your name is called first, nor that you’re matched with the largest cadet in the class. It became clear to you last year that the professors aren’t making these assignments randomly. It couldn’t be a coincidence that they keep pairing you with the best fighters -- but never with another marked one, even though you’re all at the top of the class.

No, they’re probably entertained by all of this, betting on you like racehorses or wild dogs, placing wagers on who would come out on top. If anyone’s putting money on you, you’ve made them a killing -- you’re undefeated. 

But that would require someone else to bet against you, and while you may not respect all of the professors and leadership, or any of them, really, you don’t think they’re dumb enough to throw their money away like that.

“We meet again,” he says with a sick grin that makes the scar below his eye stretch and contort.

You don’t respond, taking one last survey of the seven blades on your body, but you’re not dumb enough to touch them, lest he see where they are and try to take them himself, like he did earlier this year.

He’d wrapped his fingers around the wooden hilt of the blade that Liam had given you before you left for Basgiath, intent on putting it through your heart, and you’d seen red.

“You should have taken his eye out.”

“I gave him that scar as a warning,” you reply evenly. “It’s up to him if he’s going to heed it or not.”

You’re at it as soon as Emeterrio says go, taking turns lunging at each other and blocking attacks.

You’re evenly matched, despite the size he has on you. He may be stronger, more intimidating, but you’re faster, and you know what you’re doing. You know where to hit and when, your strikes much more precise than his.

Still, Liam’s heart races.

It was one thing watching you mess around with Bodhi in the courtyard, but it’s another thing entirely seeing you fight as if your life depends on it -- and it does. There’s a very real possibility that one of you is going to be spending the evening in the infirmary, or the morgue, after this ends. 

You fight like Xaden, like himself and Bodhi and Imogen and everyone else his brother had a hand in training, but with an edge he’s never seen from you before.

He hesitates to put a name to it, but there’s something in your eyes akin to a wild animal’s as the pair of you stalk circles around each other, planning your next attack.

“It’s not polite to play with your food,” Tuile chides.

Fine. You’ll finish this, if only so she’ll shut up and leave you alone.

The other cadet has the same idea. 

You charge at the same time as he hurls a dagger in your direction, and you hit the ground at the last second to avoid being skewered. You start to press up to your feet, but he stomps a boot into your back, pain ripping down your spine. You swallow a scream, digging your nails into the sticky foam beneath you.

The mental wall separating you from Tuile crumbles, that familiar white-hot anger flowing through you. “Do something.”

You unsheath a dagger, reaching up and swiping it across his calf, and he hisses in pain, releasing you and taking a stumbling step back.

It’s easy enough for you to knock him off balance, landing three consecutive blows to his ribs and a swift kick to his stomach that sends him to the floor.

You’re tired of this already. It’s lost its novelty, and you really need to sit down -- there’s black spots clouding your vision, and the pain in your back has gotten impossibly worse.

“Do I have to kill you in front of the kids, or do you yield?” 

“I yield,” he rasps, still clutching his leg.

You lean down, wiping each side of the blade on his shirt before you sheath it.

“Sloppy, but satisfactory,” Tuile comments — that’s high praise from her. Maybe she’ll give you the evening off from her snide remarks.

You slot yourself between Liam and Bodhi, leaning against the wall as casually as you can; every movement has pain spreading across your lower back and shooting down your spine. 

You try to focus on rebuilding the wall she’d knocked down, brick by brick, taking deep breaths and forcing the anger out of your body.

Liam reaches for you, looking worried.

You speak under your breath, not moving your lips. “Not here. Not in front of everyone.” 

He pulls back without protest, understanding why you don’t want him helping you where the rest of the quadrant can see you, don’t want them to see the look of concern on his face and his hand on your arm and identify him as your weakness.

You may very well be the most hated person in the quadrant, being marked, bonded to one of Navarre’s nastiest dragons, and unafraid to draw blood in challenges. There are several cadets in this room who wouldn’t hesitate to go after Liam if they thought it would hurt you -- and it would. 

You don’t care what they do to you, what pain they inflict or what scars they leave on your body, but if anyone so much as touches Liam, they’ll lose the use of their hands. 

You breathe through the pain and keep your eyes on the fights unfolding in front of you; making note of who favors what side of their body, who gets sloppy after more than a minute, who yields because they don’t have the stomach to take things further.

Most of the cadets think this is the one class you don’t have to study for, but they’d be wrong -- there’s a reason you always come out on top, and this is it.

The class ends without Liam’s name being called, which is a relief, even though you don’t doubt his skill on the mat — it’s off the mat that you’re worried about. 

Almost everyone heads straight to dinner, but Liam hangs back, getting your attention with a barely-there touch to your elbow. You look over at him, and he nods in the other direction, toward the dorms. 

Of course he’s going to insist on checking your injuries himself, as he always did in the years you trained with him and Xaden. He doesn’t seem to think anything has changed between you in the year you’ve been away.

Sooner or later, he’ll realize he’s wrong.

You wait for nearly everyone to be out of the gym before you leave, leading him up to the second floor in silence and unlocking your door with a wave of your hand, gesturing him inside -- thankfully there’s nobody in the hallway to see you.

You haven’t been alone with him in a full year. A year and two weeks, if you want to be precise. The day you’d said goodbye, and nothing else.

You busy yourself with digging through your desk drawer to find the nearly-empty tin of healing balm, handing it to him before you turn away, gritting your teeth as you pull the shirt up over your head. 

If you weren’t pouring every ounce of energy you have left into keeping yourself upright, you might have it in you to be embarrassed about the amount of skin you’re exposing to him, the history of your first year at Basgiath on full display. But it’s Liam. Liam isn’t going to judge you, isn’t going to pry; he’ll just keep giving you that soft, concerned look -- which is somehow almost worse.

There’s a moment of quiet as he takes it in; the dark blue, nearly-black silhouette of Tuile that spans your shoulder blades and continues down your back, disappearing into the layers of thick linen wrapped over your chest, the full extent of your rebellion relic, winding down your arm to your wrist… 

Then he sees it, the nasty bruise starting to form on your back, below the hem of your bindings. The other cadet had hit you square in the spine, a blow that could very well have been paralyzing had it been delivered at a slightly different angle with slightly more force. That’s probably what he’d intended.

Liam isn’t particularly religious -- none of you are, which was a major reason why your parents had wanted to secede from Navarre -- but he still sends up a silent thank you to the powers that be that you’re okay, standing in front of him mostly unharmed.

You grit your teeth, keeping your eyes shut and gripping the shirt tightly as Liam’s hand rubs over your back, working in the healing balm. 

There’s something about the feeling of his skin on yours that is more uncomfortable than the aching bruise or any of the other injuries you’d sustained in that fight. 

You can handle the brush of your hands, a touch through layers of clothing and armor, eye contact and whispered words and smiles — all things that are acceptable behavior between friends — but the tenderness of this whole thing is overwhelming; being alone with Liam in your room, his bookbag on the floor, standing behind you rubbing a hand over your back, the other on your waist to hold you steady because you’re fucking trembling.

Maybe you are a little embarrassed after all.

The skin feels warm and tingly, a sign that whatever healing herbs within the sticky paste are working, soothing the aching muscle. Your entire body feels warm. It’s unbearably hot in this room, but Liam doesn’t seem to mind, still dressed in his flight jacket and full uniform. 

He moves his attention from your back to your side, murmuring a soft apology when you startle at the feeling of his hand smoothing over your ribs.

You take a breath, letting him work more of the balm into the spot where the other cadet’s fist had landed.

He finally pulls back, letting his hand linger on your waist until he’s convinced you won’t fall over. “Anything else hurting?” he asks gently.

“My head,” you admit to the wall. “But that never goes away.”

You pull the shirt back on as quickly as you can, done feeling exposed, and fight to maintain an unaffected expression as you turn back to face him.

He looks at you for a few seconds before it dawns on him -- the persistent headache, the flatness of your skin and your constantly racing heart, the way you’re bracing yourself with a hand on the desk, how tired you look and feel… “Spark, when was the last time you had water? Or anything to drink at all?”

Liam has always been too observant for his own good. 

You take a moment to think about it, another definite indicator that something is wrong. “Yesterday,” you answer quietly. “At dinner.” 

His eyes widen almost imperceptibly. It’s been a full twenty-four hours -- you’re supposed to be at dinner right now. It’s a miracle that you hadn’t passed out on the mat this afternoon.

He doesn’t scold you, doesn’t tell you how bad that is; he just squeezes your hand gently, taking the water bottle out of his bag and uncapping it. He can see you hesitating, knows something is wrong --  it takes a lot to rattle you, but you’re looking at the thing like it’s going to bite you.

“Three sips?” he asks softly.

That seems doable.

You take the bottle from him, holding it for a moment, feeling the weight of the metal and the energy flowing through the water inside it. It’s clean, calm, not murky and angry like the river water that Carr had made you practice with last year, but that doesn’t matter; in your hands, it’s the most dangerous substance on the planet.

And as fate would have it, it’s necessary for your survival.

You’re just grateful Tuile is off doing gods-know-what and not making her usual smug commentary -- she’d left after you’d won that challenge match, but she’ll be back soon enough. 

You raise it to your lips and drink, wanting to get it over with. The water is cool and crisp, breathing life back into your mouth and soothing your throat as you swallow, your body singing in relief as you give it what it’s been deprived of for months now. 

You take a moment to breathe, comforted by the air that continues to flow into your lungs and back out. Liam is standing in front of you. You’re okay. Two more. You can do this.

You bring it back up for another sip. You hadn’t realized how much you needed this, how much better it would make you feel. You take the next one in quick succession — that’s three. You’re done. 

You hate to admit it, but you feel better already.

Liam is still watching you with that soft, worried expression, though it’s less severe now than it had been earlier. You can see the gears turning, knowing he’s wondering why this was such a big deal for you; but there’s no judgment there, just genuine concern for your well-being.

You decide to tell him the truth, or part of it.

“I almost drowned when I channeled for the first time,” you say quietly, gazing back down at the half-empty bottle. “It was fucking terrifying. I couldn’t shower alone for a week. I needed one of the girls to come into the bathroom with me and face the wall, just talking to me the whole time. Then we realized Bo can counter signets. He’s been helping me control it, but…”

So that’s what Xaden had meant when he said that Bodhi was helping you deal with things. He wonders if there’s anything else his brother hadn’t told him, anything you aren’t telling him, but he won’t demand an answer from you -- he knows how difficult it must have been for you to tell him what you did, and he won’t push you further.

He takes the bottle back and caps it, gathering you into his arms silently, the way he’d wanted to back in the gym. He’s careful not to put any pressure on the injury, keeping his hands well above the bruise -- one between your shoulder blades and one on your ribs, on the side that you hadn’t been hit.

You rest your head on his shoulder, speaking in a whisper. “Thank you, Li.”

His lips brush over your hairline, where the ache is the worst. “Of course, sweet girl.”

You don’t want to let go of him yet, but you’ve already been holding each other longer than is appropriate for friends -- and that’s all you are, for the time being. 

He finally pulls away, and you could nearly cry at the loss of contact. 

“I need a minute,” you manage. “You should head down.”

You’re reminded again of why you love him so much as he nods in understanding, shouldering his bag and giving you a soft smile before he heads out your door.

All good things must come to an end. 

“Sweet? He must not know you at all.” 

“He knows me better than you ever will,” you snap back. 

At least she waited for him to leave, for you to be done with the water, or you would have some serious explaining to do.

You build up the wall again before she replies, and though it isn’t strong enough to block her out completely, she doesn’t push against it or knock it down -- she must not feel like getting into a pissing match with you right now. 

Good. You don’t either.

You notice he left the bottle on your desk. You manage another three sips before you finally head down to dinner, where you slide into the open seat beside Liam, silently pushing the empty bottle toward him. 

“I’m proud of you,” he whispers, not wanting to draw any attention from the group around you, who are all immersed in hearty conversation.

You haven’t heard those words from anyone in a long time. They mean more to you than he could ever imagine.

[secret-smut-sideblog]

House of the Rising Sun

Halsin x Tav (named)

18+ love triangle dynamics, light drug use (weed), talks of death, grief release, hurt/comfort, rebound sex, dirty talk, power play, size kink, roughness, fingering (f!), breast worship (m!), p-in-v, unprotected sex

After Gale received the Annuls of Karsus, and the subsequent break of Aurum's heart, she cannot shake the lingering betrayal. Driving her to the strong shoulder and warm arms of another...

Masterlist

-

Aurum stood on the edge of camp, staring into the dark. Pain of many forms sitting in her chest.

She had survived the heat death, just barely, but the source of its catalyst still ate a hole in her.

Her and Gale had made up, in that vague way that sudden emergency forces, but her trust in him had eroded. Still in aching disbelief at his choice, circling the back of her thoughts when she found herself alone. Those moments were far in between, as he had remained her shadow since Isobel forced her to reveal her incoming demise, but still.

She had left him that night, and they had not rekindled since, but there was still hurt and love in terrible equal in her heart.

She grimaced at the shrouded forest, standing at the crest of its teeth. Maw open and tempting. The urge to run never left her, not when she was a child, and not now.

"Go." She whispered to herself. "Just go."

But her body stood still, waiting in command of her will not her words. Stubborn to her reason.

Tears spiked the corners of her eyes.

"Vaendaan-naes." She hissed to herself, a bite of cold jest in her throat.

"Ah, 'born of life's bright struggles'... if that doesn't describe you..."

Halsin's warm voice came up behind her, responding in kind in their tongue. Elvish a lyric rumble in his throat.

She turned, wiping her eyes with quick angry fingers. Trying to sniffle away her shame. His hand came up to gently pause her effort, fingers enveloping the back of her wrist.

She continued in Elvish, reassured in the veil of their language to speak more freely.

"I know, I shouldn't be wandering at night." She fought the pull to fall into that instinctual mask of grace. Voice still sliding to serene.

"You're allowed to wander as freely as you desire." His voice was easy in its reassuring. Hand that had soothed her shameful fingers now pointing to the pipe in her palm.

"I was actually searching for that." A warm chuckle in his voice.

"Sorry." She sighed, the sweet smoke curling inside the bowl. "I shouldn't ha-"

"What is mine is yours. Though, that smells like more than just pipeweed..."

"I shouldn't be imbibing this soon." She pressed a palm to the ache throbbing in her chest.

"If it helps the pain, I encourage it." He eyed her with a knowing gaze. "Pain of the flesh and perhaps pain of the spirit..."

And, just like that, those agitated tears were back.

Aurum pulled her lower lip into her teeth to keep it from trembling. Desperate to not break in front of him. In front of anyone.

"I just can't believe..." She started, her arm looped around her waist digging fingers into her hip. "After everything I've told him..."

Halsin's hand settled on her back, rubbing warm into her spine.

She bowed into his touch, her body always so traitorously hungry for affection. A deep breath releasing slow.

"Betrayal stings deep in the soul." He agreed, pulling closer as her body turned into his touch. "A barb hard removed once it's entered."

"Gods, he hurt me. I never thought... and maybe that's just it. I didn't think. Foolish of me, to think that he would consider what divinty means for me, that he was listening."

Her sadness pushed into bitter, exhausted anger.

"I am so tired of powerful men. Whether a muse or a weapon, I'm just a tool to them. And why wouldn't I be? I was designed for it."

She tried to pause her revealing tirade, but the tide rose high into a curl. Poised to crash into the stones.

"How much more do I even have? Maybe a year? Less? I have to finish what we started, but I'm quick burning, and he's kindling the flame. And I'm still... still piling my trust at his feet, trying to halt his stride."

"What am I even doing? I can't change his nature. He will do what he pleases, even if it kills me. My death will be a small burden to a god, anyway."

"Aurum... I'm so sorry. I didn't know..."

She let out a grief edged laugh.

"Yeah, I know, I've been keeping secrets from you all. I want to say I'm sorry for it, but I'm not."

Her eyes rose in sharp jest.

"The irony. I doomed myself again for him that day, and now he's going to live forever. This is all my fault in the end. I am a forest fire, and he will only be risen by my heat beneath his wings. He will ascend phoenix from my ashes."

Halsin went still next to her, and she could feel him putting context together.

"Aurum... no... in the Shadowlands...?"

She nodded, tears flowing free now.

"The shard was dormant... the tadpole, it snuffed it somehow..."

She shuddered, the weight of what she lost twisting her stomach.

"When I woke on that beach, I was free. It was dark. It was still."

Turning to him with desperate grief in her eyes.

"Gods, it was still!"

She let out a wail that had been held in her lungs for months.

Halsin rushed forward, smothering her cry into his wide chest. Leaning down into the crown of her head.

"I had a second chance!" She cried, ragged in her grief. Burying into him, his warmth engulfing her.

She cried into his chest, sobs hitching raw in her throat. The weight breaking over her in waves, allowing her precious gulps of air before ripping her under again. Halsin's strong body a rock that she clung to.

As she slowed, his own tears dampened her hair. Murmuring out in a pained voice.

"Does Gale know...?"

She pulled back, panic shaking her voice.

"No. And he can't. He can never know what I gave up that day."

"Aurum... he must-"

"No." Her voice firm under the shake of tears. "Swear to me. That you won't tell him."

Halsin paused, then cupped her cheek. Staring down at her.

"I swear."

She let out a shaky breath.

"Thank you. I... I don't even know where he and I stand. I left him that night and now... all he looks at me with is guilt. I want time away from him. I want to breathe and feel and forget that I'm dying. If just for a moment."

Halsin tilted his head down to her, pressing his forehead to hers. Hearing precisely what she wasn't saying.

"You were right. I do want you." She urged in a desperate whisper. Balling his shirt in her fist. "Please, Halsin."

He scooped under her thighs and, in one motion, laid her in the grass under him. Breathing hard through nose, kiss searing into her mouth.

She whimpered, eyes wet and fire burning in her belly. Tangling her hands in his long hair. His soft growls sending jolts through her.

He was ravenous and so was she, both driven to animal hunger in lust. Rough pulls of pleading mouths, wrath slicked. Fire licked fingers ripping at clothes, garments scattering in their wake.

His mouth descended to her neck, biting with shockingly sharp teeth. Fingers hooking into the sides of her underclothes to yank them down to be banished at her ankle. Moaning in strangled desire into her throat, his teeth drawing blood. Lapping it up with huffing breath, hand rising to brace next to her head as the taste hit him.

His fingers plunged into her and he shuddered above her. Pumping quick thrusts.

"By Silvanus, you're so tight." He groaned. "I don't know if you can take me, golden lily."

"I can." She gasped out, just his two fingers filling deep. "I promise I can."

He hooked up into her navel, and she trembled. Body writhing in heat, his long fingers reaching far back into her. Reaching that pleasure that was too deep for her to find alone.

He braced down on his forearm above her head, leaning down on his shoulder to catch her throat again. Sucking at the pool of blood caught in her clavicle.

"Of course you taste like that." He groaned, body tightening with restraint. Fingers rocking into her in increasingly powerful drives. Her eyes rolling delirious in sockets.

His voice dropping into a growl again.

"I may not be able to stop myself. I want... I need to devour you."

She pulled his hips hard into her, his cock pressing down into her mound with a sharp wince of his breath.

"Eat me. Break me. Bruise me. Be as rough as you can." She urged. Digging her nails into his hips in crescent bites.

His eyes lit gold, shuddering against a force deep inside him, hands arching in curls next to her head. Beginning to draw back from her.

She locked her legs behind his hips, angling her pelvis up and pulling. Seating the head of his cock into her cunt.

He drove forward beyond his control, smothering a cry in his throat. Eyes stuttering in light.

Her back curled up, gasping out. He was stretching her to her limit, her body twisting to escape on instinct. But she was stronger than her body. And she wanted more.

"Come on." She urged in a deep whisper. "Come on, make it hurt."

He fell on his forearm again, hips pulling back and thrusting forward in a lunge. Tremoring with constrained effort.

Her breath kicked from her lungs. His cock striking spear through her, cunt clenching in vicious demand.

He buckled at her clenching, eyes fluttering in lids. If he was so large for her, she could only imagine how tight she was for him.

Getting that mean glint in her eyes, she pulled back and thrust up into him. Seating herself to his belly.

He huffed out a curse, body curling.

"Mercy." He gasped. "Have mercy on me."

"Oh, am I too tight?" She clenched her cunt again, forcing another huff of breath from him. "Too small and wet around your massive cock?"

She drove her hips back and forward again, bottoming him out by force. A delicious whimper leaving his throat.

"That's a shame." She clicked her tongue in mock disappointment. "Considering..."

She flipped him onto his back with a powerful wrench of her thighs.

"I'm going to fuck you into the earth. Whether you're ready or not."

His gold eyes went wide, his cock throbbing hard inside her.

She planted a hand on his lower belly and rose onto knees, driving down into him in rolling strokes. His size forcing her to a slow start, shuddering in pleasure around him.

He gripped lifeline on her hips, face crumbling. The tight pull of her cunt lifting his hips with each rise of her ride. Gasping shallow huffs, pleading out for mercy again as she picked up speed.

This was her absolute favorite way, smiling down at him, fucking hard and mean.

Ignoring his cries, she slammed herself into him unbridled, chasing her pleasure. Using his body as a seat to fuck. Taking all of her anger and hunger and driving it down into him.

"I know you can take it." She laughed, dragging her nails hard down his chest. "I know you're as ravenous as I am."

He grimaced into a snarl, sharp teeth gritting.

"That's right, bare your teeth." She urged, rolling both of his nipples in her fingers. Leaning down to suck one into her mouth. Her hips naturally rising up his length.

He moaned, cupping her head, then huffed out a "No!" At the loss of her sheathing him. Driving his hips up in a jolt.

She smiled into his chest, holding her hips still for him to use. Fucking into her with the same inconsiderate abandon that she held him down with. Sucking and lapping his hard peak, his moans hitching back into growls.

He snapped when she nibbled down, back arching then twisting. Rising shadow behind her and holding her by hair onto her hands, slamming into her. The force nearly knocked her off her knees.

"Yes, yes!" She cried, his cock so deep in her it struck pain up her back. The pain dancing with a dangerously high pleasure. Her vision going wavy.

He snapped his hand down on her ass, striking the ample flesh hard. Pulling a whimper from her, chest collapsing down into the dirt. Going limp, her cunt free use for his wrath.

He growled, winding his hand into her long hair. Pulling her body back up.

"Where do you think you're going?"

He pulled her up to his chest, spitting down her front and gathering it against her nipple and her clit. Rocking hard into her, fingers rubbing and pinching into the sensitive bundles.

She shuddered and cried out, orgasm nearly at her throat. Gripping onto his thigh behind her.

"Thats right, cum on my cock, little light. I need to feel it." He bit into the side of her neck, sending her over.

"Fuck!" She cried out. Orgasm ripping up her pelvis in blinding pulses. Body giving out against his, strong arms holding her in place as he kept playing her body. Pulling her pleasure higher and higher by force.

He pushed her onto belly again, taking her hips into hands. Driving into her merciless. Knuckles white.

"Please cum, Halsin." She begged, body so deliciously bruised and battered. But about to give out regardless. "Fill me."

He braced on her lower back and drove two more strikes before buckling into her. Gasping and pleading choked moans. Flooding her cunt to its brim and then beyond. Pushing down her thighs in rivers. His thrusts forcing the spill.

He finally stilled, falling back into an open kneel. Gasping with a thrown head into the night sky.

She fell back into him, head hanging in the curve of his shoulder. Her breath equally lost. Mind empty, body broken.

"Perfect." She sighed. Closing her eyes, blissful.

"Perfect." He echoed. Hands smoothing tender over her small body. "That... might have been one of the best."

"Top three?" She teased.

"Easily." He laughed. Gently pulling her hair to a more tame lay against her hips. "Ugh, I love long hair."

"Same." She smiled, reaching up to play with the ends near his clavicle.

He went quiet in thought.

"You must return to your lover." He sighed after a moment of internal battle. "I want you, but he needs you."

She bit her lip. Knowing he was right.

"I will keep this between us, if you desire. But mend with him. He sees every star in your eyes. He names them after you every night. A love that great should not be discarded."

"He can't accept that I'm dying." She hushed. "I will break him."

"And he will be more fulfilled breaking with you once than breaking twice alone."

"Go to him. I will heal you tonight." He nuzzled into her shoulder. "And, when you are gone, treasure what you have given me for an eternity."

She swiped fast forming tears, shuddering out a breath.

"Thank you."

~