#was nodding along fervently and then that last line took me out at the knees so i need to uh. lie down.

[sluttywonwoo]

desperate || c.sc x reader

Summary: the first time seungcheol fucks you raw (sponsored by irresponsible decisions)

Warnings: swearing, smut (18+) additional warnings under the cut

Word Count: 2.6k

A/N: originally posted on my tom holland fic account ( @wazzupmrstark )

Masterlist

additional warnings: oral (m receiving), choking, unprotected sex, semi-public sex (bathroom), creampies

“Baby,” Seungcheol groaned against your neck in an attempt to get your attention, but if you’d heard him you were choosing to ignore him as you continued to grind down onto his lap with your head buried in his shoulder. “Baby,” he tried again, “I don’t have a condom.”

He was still desperately rifling through his wallet with one hand and digging through the pockets in his jeans with the other in the hollow hope that maybe he’d find one.

He always carried condoms with him, he had since before you had started dating. How the hell was he missing one now- then it dawned on him. Last month, at that bar back in London when you had been wearing nothing under your tight black skirt and he just had to have you… god damn it, Cheol, he thought to himself. He had used the last one then, when he fucked you in the bathroom that night. But now you were the needy one and he couldn’t even take the edge off for you.

Despite the circumstances at hand, Seungcheol’s body was reacting accordingly to your actions. His cock was straining against his jeans and he was almost positive you could feel his erection against your thigh. And if your moans were any indication, he was right.

He sighed into your shoulder, and used his hands to still your hips. Your bottom lip jutted out in a pout momentarily before you began pressing languid kisses to his neck, sucking hickeys right underneath his jaw.

“Y/n, I-I don’t have a condom,” Seungcheol stuttered out again and pushed on your shoulders to make sure you heard him this time.

“I don’t care,” you whined, slumping forward onto your boyfriend in defeat. “I want you so bad.”

“I know, darling,” he said in a hushed whisper, trying to ignore the way your hips were still rocking instinctively on top of his.

If you were at home it wouldn’t be such a big deal. Seungcheol could just pop out to the shops and be back within the hour with enough condoms to go as many rounds as you wanted. But you were all the way in Monaco at the F1 Grand Prix- it wasn’t like you could just come and go as you pleased, once your ticket was scanned at the beginning of the day you were stuck there because the no re-entry policy was strictly enforced at all exits. You’d learned that the hard way on the first day.

When asked later, your friends would claim not to know where you and Seungcheol had run off to. But everyone knew. You were a bit infamous for bathroom quickies, hence that night at the bar last month, and you had been before Cheol was in the picture. Bars, restaurants, movie theaters, clubs, and department stores were all fair game to you. Today was no different. Seungcheol was sitting on the counter with his back pressed against the mirror in one of the racetrack’s tiny, one-person facilities and you were straddling his lap.

Everything had been going routinely when Seungcheol broke the news and you felt your heart (or rather, your pussy) shatter into a million pieces. He just looked so goddamn good in that pink shirt with his hair slicked back like that… fuck. And the way he’d been acting this weekend, so casually confident with his friends and the racers, it brought out something primal in you.

“You want my fingers?” Seungcheol offered, holding up the middle and ring fingers on his left hand.

You shook your head. “Just want you.”

He chuckled lightly and brushed your hair out of your eyes. You knew you were being a brat, but you were too desperate to care.

“I know, but I already told you-”

“I don’t care that you don’t have a condom,” you sighed. “Just go without.”

Seungcheol blinked at you in surprise. “Wha- are you sure?”

In all the time that you had been dating, you and Seungcheol had never had sex without protection. It wasn’t that you were opposed to the idea, you were on the pill, but you had always been overly cautious and you and Seungcheol had never really… talked about it before.

“Y/n?” You had fallen silent.

“Hm?”

“Are you sure you want to do this?”

You could only nod at first before you could verbalize.

“I need to hear you say it,” he murmured, voice an octave lower than it had been a second ago.

“I’m sure,” you managed, “please, Cheol.”

He smirked, biting his lip. “Of course, baby.”

You pushed yourself off of him and watched as he unfastened his belt. Your mouth watered as he pulled at the button and zipper on his jeans and you thought for a brief moment about how pathetic you were.

But as soon as Seuncheol had freed himself from his pants you found yourself not caring anymore. The humiliation burning in your cheeks melted back into want and you felt the temperature in your whole body rise a degree or two.

Seungcheol pushed his jeans down to where they sat bunched around his thighs and looked at you expectantly.

“Ready, angel?” he asked, dark eyes giving you a onceover.

It wasn’t often that you were the one fully clothed and Seungcheol was the one exposed to you, but on the rare occasion it did happen you liked to take advantage of it.

“Wait, can I?” Your gaze fell to his lap and he cursed.

“Always.”

You smiled and licked your lips as you bent over to take him into your mouth. Seungcheol wasn’t the biggest you’d ever had, but his cock was still able to hit the back of your throat, which you loved. You suppressed your gag reflex as best you could while you sucked him off, feeling the arousal simmering in your stomach multiply tenfold just because of how full your mouth was. He brought a fist to his lips and bit down on his hand to stifle his moans, tangling his other hand in your hair.

He twirled your hair around his fingers into a makeshift ponytail and tugged gently. You moaned around his cock and took him even deeper so that the tip of your nose was pressed against his pelvis.

“God, y/n,” Seungcheol groaned, bucking his hips upwards into your mouth. “Sorry,” he grunted.

“S’okay,” you said with a smile, still somehow managing to keep your pace.

“So desperate for my cock, you’d take it any way you can get it, huh?”

You whined in response and nodded your head. You heard him laugh, then choke when you pulled off of him. He scowled at you as you licked a stripe from the base of his cock, along the vein, to the head, before taking him fully in your mouth again, making him throw his head back in pleasure.

“Stop, stop, I’m close,” he warned and pulled you off his cock by your hair.

If you weren’t so intent on having him inside you you would’ve finished him off there. He looked so hot like that- jaw clenched with restraint, stomach taught and firm, even under his shirt. And the way he looked down at you while you sucked his dick, fuck.

You wiped your mouth with the back of your hand and leaned in to kiss your boyfriend on the lips. He met you halfway and pressed his lips to yours, smiling into the kiss. The taste of champagne lingered on his lips.

“C’mon, baby,” Seungcheol grunted and motioned for you to climb on top of him.

You did just that and hiked your skirt higher up on your thighs, pushing your panties to the side so that he could have easy access to you.

You reached for him and used your knees to brace yourself on the counter before he held out a hand to stop you.

“Wait,” he said breathlessly, “let me taste you first.”

You watched as reached a hand under your skirt and used two of his fingers to collect your arousal before bringing them to his lips and sucking it off. When he was satisfied with his work he offered the same two fingers to you.

“Open,” he instructed.

You sucked his fingers into your mouth as he’d asked and moaned around them, which might have been a little over the top, but you couldn’t find it in you to care. Seungcheol retracted his fingers after a couple seconds and kissed you again, cupping your face with both of his hands. He slipped his tongue into your mouth, groaning when you whimpered. You could taste yourselves on each other’s lips, but as you continued to make out they became indiscernible, a mix of both of you. All you knew was that you couldn’t get enough.

Seungcheol struggled to pop the first few buttons on your shirt, but eventually got the hang of it, and unbuttoned the rest with ease, exposing your chest to the cold air.

“Fuck, I’ll never get tired of your tits,” he whispered, mostly to himself.

You rolled your eyes and pushed his shoulder lightly. “Cheol, stop teasing me,” you begged.

Your entire body ached. You were clenching around nothing at this point and it was torture. You needed something inside of you right that minute and if Seungcheol wouldn’t give it to you your own fingers would have to suffice.

“I’m not teasing you,” he insisted earnestly.

“Then fuck me already!”

He smirked for what felt like the millionth time and raised an eyebrow.

“You’re going to have to keep your voice down if you don’t want us to get caught, darling. Do you think you can do that?”

You nodded fervently, knowing it was a boldfaced lie. Seungcheol knew it too- you had literally just been yelling at him to fuck you seconds earlier, but you were already this far and he’d made you wait so long already.

“C’mere,” he said lowly and put a hand on the small of your back to pull you closer. “Spit,” he commanded and held out his hand for you. You spat into his palm and watched as he used his hand to pump his cock a couple of times, ensuring that it was lubricated enough for you to take comfortably.

He then lined himself up with you and held back a groan as you sank down onto his cock. You sighed in relief at the feeling and wrapped your arms around his neck to steady yourself. You stayed there like that for a minute or so, not moving, just enjoying how full you felt.

Seungchel always felt good inside of you, but like this… without discomfort of the condom, without the resistance of the rubber or the texture of the latex, without anything in between you… it was indescribable. You could feel every vein, every curve of Cheol’s cock. You could feel his pulse in your pussy and the sensation was enough to make you forget how to speak.

“G-god,” you gasped.

“You’re so fucking tight,” Seungcheol muttered through clenched teeth.

“Feels so good,” you mumbled.

Seungcheol managed a smile and brushed your hair out of your face. His smile faltered when you began to ride him without warning and he choked out your name along with a string of profanities.

You rocked your hips forward to meet Cheol’s over and over again, moaning quietly every time the head of his cock brushed your g-spot. It wasn’t long before Seungcheol was doing most of the work, slamming into you like his life depended on it. It was actually impressive, how hard he was fucking you in the position he was in. He was sitting upright with all of your weight on top of him and was still railing you like it was nothing.

“Is this what you wanted?” Seungcheol asked, voice low and gravelly. “For me to fuck you like a slut?” You could only nod. “Answer me,” he demanded. “Are you such a desperate fucking cockslut that you couldn’t wait a few more hours like a good girl?”

“Yes!” you cried.

Seungcheol brought a hand to your throat and wrapped his fingers around it, rubbing his thumb along your pulsepoint. He squeezed lightly, smiling darkly when your eyes rolled back in pleasure.

“Do you think you deserve to cum?” he asked, knowing you were close.

“Yes,” you whimpered.

“Do you think you can be quiet?”

“Yes. Please, Cheol-”

“Please what?”

“Please can I cum? I-I need to cum, fuck!”

You fell over the edge before your boyfriend could respond, not even allowing him the chance to get a word in before your entire body was overcome by waves of pleasure. Your vision went white as you rode out your orgasm and Seungcheol held onto you tightly the whole time, whispering praises in your ear as you came down even though you knew you were in for it later.

Your thighs were still trembling when the aftershocks had finally subsided and you gave Seungcheol a sheepish smile.

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay, baby,” he assured you. “I made you wait long enough.”

“You were teasing me! I knew it!”

He kissed you chastely on the lips and winked. “Couldn’t resist. You’re so fucking hot when you’re desperate.”

“Fuck you.”

“You already did.”

“And if I remember correctly, you haven’t come yet. I could always leave you hanging-”

“No! No, I’m sorry,” he apologized hastily.

You laughed and pushed his curls out of his face as you began to ride him again, ignoring your own arousal still burning in your stomach. Seungcheol cursed, letting you know that he was right there on the edge.

“Where do you want me to cum? Your mouth? Your chest?” You didn’t answer and leaned down to kiss his neck instead. “Baby, I can’t,” he rasped, “I’m gonna cum if you keep doing that.”

“I want you to,” you whispered.

“What?”

“I want you to cum inside me, Cheol. Want you to fill me up-” your pleas were cut off with a moan as Seungcheol came and you felt him tense underneath you as spurt after spurt of cum filled your cunt. If you thought you had felt full before-

You threw your head back at the feeling and helped your boyfriend ride out his high. It wasn’t enough to make you cum a second time, but the way his cock throbbed inside of you, the way he clenched his jaw and bit his lip as he came… it certainly… sparked something within you.

Seungcheol was out of breath by the time he could open his eyes again and when he did he smiled at you from underneath messy hair and hooded eyelids, completely blissed out. He pulled out of you slowly, watching his cum drip out of you and onto the counter.

He turned around and snatched a few paper towels from the dispenser on the opposite wall and handed half the stack to you while he used the other half to wipe down the counter.

“What a gentleman,” you said sarcastically as you used the towels to clean yourself off. You knew when you stood up there would likely be more dripping down your legs, and that was if you could stand, but you would have to cross that bridge when you got to it.

“And they say romance is dead,” he quipped back cheekily, holding his hand out for your half of the used paper towels.

“Can’t imagine why.”

You watched from the counter as he threw them away and washed his hands. He pulled a couple more paper towels from the dispenser and wet them in the sink before making his way back over to you and just tossing them between your open legs.

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[hornime]

film studies (for your viewing pleasure part two) | suna rintarou x gn!reader

he flipped the camera, pointing the back lens at the lewd picture of your lips stretched around the girth of his cock, looking greedily at the sight through the screen.

warnings: 18+, college au, camboy!suna, oral sex (m!receiving), consensual filming, very brief mention of dacryphilia

w/c: 1.2k

a/n: always on my knees for a mr. suna rintarou.

for your viewing pleasure: part one | part two ↓

after the party, suna had decided that he’d make the first move. he politely emailed your shared professor about the upcoming project, specifically about making you two partners under the guise of wanting to get to know you. 

after partnerships had been announced, you were pleasantly surprised to learn that you’d be working with, arguably, the hottest guy in your class: suna rintarou. as the lecture ended, he came up to you, arms crossed and leaning on the wall next to where you were sitting.

“hey,” he said nonchalantly.

“hey,” you parroted. “looks like we’re partners.”

he nodded curtly, checking the time on his phone. “do you have time to start brainstorming right now? my next class is in a couple hours, so we can go to my dorm.”

“sounds good,” you responded, a smile on your face. “i have the rest of the afternoon free anyway.”

you trailed next to him as he walked towards his building, making small talk all the way. he mentioned how he heard you talking at the party you attended last night, and you chuckled hesitantly, admitting that you didn’t remember much of what you said. other than the whole spiel about porn, you though, but hopefully he wasn’t there for that.

he unlocked a door labeled with the number ten and held it open, prompting you to walk through.

you were met with an oddly familiar set-up: a beige wall, white bedsheets, and a tell-tale electrical outlet half-hidden behind a pillow. you racked your brain for a reason behind your déjà vu, when the realization suddenly struck you: the twitter porn. wait a minute, you thought. there’s no way that he’s... shit. he definitely heard me talking last night. there’s no way he didn’t—

“i was thinking that we could make a video.” his voice shook you out of your trance, and he approached you, closing the door behind him.

“a... a video? are—are you sure about that?” you gulped, heat rushing to your cheeks. is he saying what i think he’s saying? or—

“yeah, a video. for the project?” he smirked, mere inches from you now. “or did you have another sort of video in mind?”

you blinked in shock, hands fidgeting nervously at the close proximity. “uh—”

within an instant, his lips were pressed onto yours, and you easily succumbed to the kiss, intoxicating as it was. your hands groped at the front of his shirt as his explored your sides, guiding your bodies until he was sitting on the edge of the bed with you standing between his outstretched knees.

he pulled away briefly, cheeks flushed and pupils blown out with bliss. “you wanna do this, right? ‘m not pressuring you or anything? i know this was really sudden so—”

you cut him off by sucking on his bottom lip. “yeah,” you breathed into his parted mouth. “i wanna do this. a lot.”

he groaned at your words, eagerly ripping off his shirt and jeans and pulling his phone out of a pocket before propping it up against something behind you. he clicked the record button before focusing his attention back to you.

“heard you at the party,” he gasped as you licked above his collarbone and left open-mouthed kisses around his neck. “heard you say you wanted to s—suck my pretty cock. can i still take you up on that offer?”

you grinned seductively as you sank to your knees, gently running your fingertips along the inside of his sculpted thighs. “yeah, you can,” you whispered. “i meant every word i said. your cock is fucking beautiful. can’t wait to put it in my mouth.” almost as if to prove your statement, you palmed him mildly over his boxers, relishing in the slight moan that escaped the man above you.

he threaded his hand in your hair, gently pushing your head closer to his hardening cock. his gaze was heavy with lust as you yanked his underwear down his legs, before flicking his eyes up towards the phone camera. the screen showed the entirety of his body aside from his face, and your figure, crouched over his crotch. he shuddered at the erotic sight.

“pay attention to me,” you mumbled, licking a stripe up his shaft, swirling your tongue around the drooling slit and tasting the saltiness of his pre-cum. his muscles contracted harshly in response to the raw contact.

“fuck,” he muttered. “that feels s’good.” his grip on your hair tightened as you gradually began taking the length of his cock down your throat. “f—fuck. holy fuck, you’re ah!—amazing at this. shit.”

the quiet sounds of your gagging filled the air as you bobbed your head up and down. you could feel yourself becoming more and more aroused as his moans grew in volume, sending shivers down your spine. your movements became more fervent, your nose brushing against his pelvic bone, and suna practically whimpered at the change in pace. 

“shit, wait. i’ll c—cum if you keep doing that. fu—“ he grabbed the back of your neck, stopping your actions entirely, causing you to whine. he smiled sheepishly down at you. “sorry. didn’t wanna cum too early. not before i get a good shot of you sucking me off.”

he slightly raised his body to grab his phone from where he’d stood it up, the change in position making his abs, damp with sweat, clench tantalizingly in your face. he flipped the camera, pointing the back lens at the lewd picture of your lips stretched around the girth of his cock, looking greedily at the sight through the screen. you resumed your maneuvering, hands clasping at suna’s thighs for balance.

as he took in the decadent scene through his camera, your watery irises peering up at him through lashes clumped together with tears and lines of drool tracking down your chin, he thought that you’ve never looked hotter. the combined effect of his intense attraction to you and the overwhelming sensations of the jerks of your head forced his hand to release your nape as he scrambled for purchase, clutching helplessly at the bedsheets below him. as he neared his release, his camerawork was undoubtedly becoming increasingly shaky, but he couldn’t bring himself to care as his eyes rolled back at just how fucking stimulating everything felt.

“oh m’god, oh fuck,” he sobbed, dropping the phone on the bed beside him to free up his hand, which quickly grasped the edge of the bed. “m’cumming, m’cumming!”

he released his cum into your awaiting mouth with a heavy groan, the white liquid emerging from his slick slit in erratic spurts. as you began cleaning up the mess he made of his balls and thighs with your tongue, his cock throbbed and he hissed at the overstimulation.

you picked yourself up from your knees, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand, before plopping yourself down next to suna, who had fallen back onto the sheets and was panting heavily.

“we can’t... use this video,” he heaved. “your face is ‘n it. i can’t post it.”

“that’s all right,” you smiled devilishly, throwing a leg over his exhausted body to straddle him. “we can always film a second take.”

“not right now, though. we gotta start this project.” he shifted to sit up, but you pinned him down, hand pressing teasingly on his neck.

“the project can wait,” you waved his phone in front of his face. “but your followers can’t. especially not me, your number one fan. so let’s get to it, and put on a show.”

© property of hornime 2021. do not plagiarize any of my writing and do not repost/copy my writing onto any other sites.

[salazarslytherin]

under the waxing moon (r.l x y/n)

requested: yes!! [could you do a young remus lupin smut perhaps? if not than cedric!! one with a marking kink, maybe!! and (fem) reader has love bites all over her and remus has scratches on his back from her yk.... and maybe the marauders notice or something cheeky like that at the end! thank u my love!!] send in your own request here!

🃛 masterlist!

cw/tw: smut, marking!kink, hickeys, oral sex (both male and female receiving), fingering, idk just sex man, basically porn without plot

word count: 2.9k

a/n: i hope you guys like it! i wasn't sure whether there were any cw/tw other than the ones listed? if you guys notice any please leave a comment or dm or smth to let me know! thanks :) ALSO i realise i use the word 'boy' a lot jic that makes people uncomfortable all the characters in my fics are of age, i just don't feel comfortable calling them men :/ anw, if you like it please leave a comment, like or reblog to help boost xx

☯︎ tag list

The door slammed shut behind you two as Remus kicked backward, not that either of you would have stopped what you were doing should the door have stayed open.

His hands were currently in one of his favourite spots – nestled under your thighs while your legs were curled around his waist, hands clinging to his neck like you were afraid he'd dissipate into thin air if you were to let go for a second.

Your two mouths moved furiously against each other, his tongue furiously dominating yours as he brought you two towards his bed, bringing you along with him like you weighed nothing.

"Fuck, I can't wait any longer."

Remus tossed you onto the bed, his tall stature casting a long shadow above you as the late morning light shone through the Gryffindor tower windows, the young werewolf's smirk glowing beautifully in the bright light.

"Then hurry up and have me."

The words seemed to do the trick, breaking the trance Remus was in– scanning your body almost in a predatory fashion. It was hot. The prefect almost growled at the sound of your words, diving back down to press his lips to yours, hands by your head, impassioned by the waxing moon.

As the full moon drew closer, you found that Remus' libido would be heightened. He often drew you into empty classrooms, broom closets, once even getting you off in the Three Broomsticks during a Hogsmeade trip. But you weren't complaining. You got your boyfriend's mind off the full moon, and an – actually, several, intense orgasms? It was a dream come true.

As you were lost in your thoughts about the last full moon, Remus had found his way away from your lips, trailing soft kisses down your jaw to the sensitive spot behind your ear, sucking roughly to draw a moan out of you, and effectively, you out of your thoughts.

"Mm, you like that? Like it when I mark you? When the whole school knows who you belong to?"

Nodding, the words vibrated against your skin as Remus traveled down your neck, never hesitating to bite and suck on every last bit of naked skin he could find. Your hands had moved from behind his neck down to his button-up, detaching each one in a frenzy to see him, to feel him.

His hands did very much the same, moving down your own school shirt to unveil your bra, showing more skin as his lips ventured lower down your body towards your collarbone– his favourite place to leave a mark. Nibbling on your left collar, Remus balanced himself on his elbows, moving to grind his hard-on on your clothed crotch.

"Fuck yes, Re I need you. Please."

Your hands had landed themselves on his pants, unbuckling his belt and pants with shaking hands as the two of you moaned together. He detached himself from you for a second, both of you undressing entirely in record time before latching back on immediately, your lips melding together before the two of you had even hit the bed.

Remus' knee found itself between your legs, nudging them apart as his hands sought residence roaming your body, leaving light trails that caused shivers throughout.

One hand eventually landed on your breasts, alternating between massaging and squeezing them as you elicited moans with each movement. The other made its way down to your thighs, gripping onto them hard, sure to leave fingerprints for the next two weeks, purple reminders of this night.

Whining against his lips, you took matters into your own hands, grabbing onto his hard-on and squeezing lightly around the base, making Remus growl in return.

You began moving your hand slowly up and down Remus' shaft, your thumb spreading the small droplets of precum that had gathered, picking up the pace as the werewolf let out breathy moans, moving away from your lips to bite onto your neck.

Continuing to jerk Remus off, your other hand reached down to tug at his balls. When you felt him start to twitch in your grasp you let go, making the boy gasp as he abandoned the section of your neck he was currently sucking a hickey onto, in shock at the fact that you had pushed him so close to the edge and not let him cum.

Smiling innocently at your boyfriend, you rolled him over– an action he definitely hadn't expected and kissed him on the lips, before making your way down his body.

"Couldn't let you cum like that. I want to taste you."

⚔︎

You gave a little kitten lick to the werewolf's leaking slit, making him moan as he propped himself up onto his elbows, watching you go down on him, fascinated.

You swallowed the tip, swirling your tongue around the head and grazing your teeth softly against the shaft. Remus' hands flew to your hair, tightening his grip as you hollowed your cheeks on his member.

You answered by sinking your nails into his thighs, scratching down slightly as he impatiently push you down further, moaning out as he felt his tip touch the back of your throat, making you gag slightly.

You looked up at the boy through your eyelashes, lost in euphoria as he looked back down at you through hooded eyes, one hand leaving your hair for a brief second to caress your cheek, before flying back to pull your hair as you pulled off of him to swirl your tongue around his head.

Having already been pushed so close to the edge, it didn't take long for Remus to start twitching in your mouth again, the only indication of him reaching his orgasm aside from the sudden pull on your scalp.

The boy threw his head back, letting out a loud moan that you were sure would be heard down in the common room, before gripping onto your hair tightly and thrusting up into your mouth.

Ropes of white hit your throat, letting go of Remus' cock with a pop, before swallowing his seed, looking down at the boy panting beneath you.

"I fucking love you."

He pulled you down onto him, wrapping his hands around you to meld your lips against his, the two of you gripping each others' hips as Remus rolled you to the bottom again.

"Now I'm going to pound you into the fucking bed baby."

⚔︎

Remus' fingers slid inside of you without a hassle, you were so wet it was as if your body was welcoming him. He prepped you at a pace that was so quick you didn't dare to think how intense he'd be later.

Remus wasn't one to break a promise.

Your nails drew thick lines down Remus' back as he added a second finger, scissoring the two inside of you, hitting your g-spot which made you let out a small shout in response, gripping onto his shoulders with your nails.

"Re, oh God."

Your back arched off the mattress, eyes falling shut as you threw your head back, moaning louder and louder as Remus drew fervent circles on your clit.

Remus watched you from above, smirking as he moved down to suck on your tit, leaving a hickey above your nipple.

A third finger slid into your hole, your walls slowly fluttering around Remus' fingers as you felt a heat begin bubbling in your stomach, your toes curling as your orgasm quickly approached.

"Re, fuck, please, Re!"

You scratched onto Remus' back, gripping tightly onto his shoulders as you drew closer, until your high was denied, the nails that were gripping onto his shoulders relaxing in shock.

"What the fuck!"

The boy shot you a smirk as he looked down upon you, leaning in to nibble on your earlobe, whispering in your ear.

"You only get to cum with me inside of you."

⚔︎

Remus brushed the head of his cock up and down your folds, collecting your essence before pushing in, the both of you moaning at the feeling.

He pushed in further, bottoming out as you gripped onto his back, drawing thick red lines down it. Your tits pushed up against his scarred chest as he fucked into you slowly, sucking a hickey into your jaw.

Remus moved out of you so that only his tip remained, right before slamming back into you, making you moan out at the movement, his hands moving to land a firm slap on your thigh, his pace increasing every time he landed another slap. The small bits of pain mixed with pleasure, Remus' hollow slaps aiming only to arouse you rather cause any pain.

As he moved in and out of you, his hands gripped onto your thighs rather than continuing to deliver hits. He held onto them firmly enough to leave a bruise while maneuvering them so that your knees pressed against your own torso, hitting you with a new angle that caused him to brush against your g-spot with every movement, his crotch rubbing against your clit with every thrust.

Your lips found their way to Remus' shoulder, biting hard onto the skin to suck a hickey into it, biting down particularly hard as Remus' thrusts grew stronger, causing the boy to let out a guttural moan.

"D'you like this baby? Marking me up, showing everyone who I get to fuck every night?"

You nodded into Remus' neck, his own lips kissing your neck as his tongue darted out to trace the red marks he'd left behind, sure to turn a dark purple for everyone to see later tonight.

His hips moved at a vicious speed, the sound of skin on skin being the only sounds to echo around the room aside from the raspy sounds that would emerge from both of your throats, the two of you too immersed in the pleasure to make any proper sounds.

"Re. I, close."

Your walls began pulsing around Remus, incoherent moans leaving your mouth as your orgasm began to build for the second time that day, one hand moving away from your thigh to massage your bundle of nerves, his lips moving back on top of yours.

"Cum for me baby, I want to see you scream my name."

Despite his own orgasm building, Remus never faltered in his movements, his hips snapping to hit just the right spot to bring you closer and closer to the edge, his chest pushing down your knees as his hand moved to hold your neck, admiring the way your eyes rolled back in pleasure as the two of you build towards your climaxes.

"Such a pretty girl baby, all marked up and fucked out. You ready to cum yet?"

Nodding despite the hand wrapped around your neck, you threw your head back, your hands never ceasing in their movements to draw lines on Remus' back.

"I–fuck, yes, Remus!"

White clouded your vision as your orgasm hit you– a tidal wave followed by ripples that came in the form of Remus' slowing, yet still strong, thrusts into you, his head brushing against your g-spot with each movement which made you whine with each moment, your juices leaking out from around him, making you impossibly more wet than before, sinful sounds echoing from around the room.

"Cum for me Remus, I want to feel you fill me up."

Your hands reached out for the boy above you, pulling him down so that both your heads nestled in each other's necks. Tired from your orgasm, you were still eliciting noises as the boy moved in and out of you, him moaning as he felt your walls tighten around him with every other movement.

"Yes baby, I'm going to cum, fuck."

The werewolf moaned, muffling it by biting into your red neck, leaving yet another mark to remind you of this day. You felt hot spurts of Remus' cum hit you, moaning as a new warmth filled your hole.

The boy fell on top of you completely, his knees giving out under the ecstasy he experienced.

⚔︎

You whined slightly as Remus pulled out of you, suddenly feeling empty when he left you.

Your combined juices flowed out of you in that moment, but the sadness you felt was suddenly replaced with a shot of pleasure, the werewolf leaning down to place a soft kiss on your lower lips.

"Such a good girl, letting me cum inside her twice."

The kiss turned into a tongue, teasing at your sensitive entrance as Remus licked at the juices flowing out of you, drawing moans from your mouth that you didn't know you still had the energy for.

"It'd only be fair if my baby got to cum twice too, wouldn't it?"

Your eyes fell close again, nodding as your hands searched for Remus' body below you, trying to find something to grab, something to grip onto.

"I need to hear you darling, otherwise I don't know what you want me to do."

A smirk fell on the boy's lips, making you want to cry out in frustration as he moved away from your cunt, instead peppering kisses and sucking on the soft skin of your inner thighs, intent on marking you there.

"Fuck, Remus make me cum again."

The boy hummed against your thigh, moving away to admire a small hickey he'd left behind.

"Not good enough baby. I need to know how much you want it, I'm not here to be told what to do."

Tears welled in your eyes as you grew more and more frustrated, tired from the first round already you propped yourself up on your elbows, watching Remus much like how he watched you when you sucked him off.

"Please Remus, I need you to make me cum again. Please?"

Your bottom lip stuck out, making the boy chuckle. Another stupidly handsome smirk grew onto the boy's lips, leaning down to dart his tongue out onto your slit, flicking over your nub for a brief second.

"Of course Y/N, anything for you."

You fell back on the mattress as Remus dove back in, his hands gripping your thighs to push them apart, fingers digging in yet again to leave as many marks on you as possible.

He sucked on your abused clit, tongue darting back and forth at the same rhythm as his hands, massaging your thighs with his fingers. His mouth moved lower, drawing figures on your lips as his tongue danced around, occasionally dipping into your hole, fucking you with the appendage.

"Oh Re, faster."

The boy below obliged with a moan that sent ripples up your spine, fucking his tongue in and out of you at a speed reminiscent of the way he pounded into you mere minutes ago, two fingers moving to rub rapid circles onto your clit.

Moans grew into pants as you felt him speed up, your toes curling as your hands gripped onto his hair, pulling Remus' mouth further onto your pussy.

Your thighs trembled as your orgasm built, pushing you over the edge as your walls clenched around Remus' tongue, the boy muttering a 'cum for me' onto your lips.

You released with a shout, legs shaking as you pulled Remus' hair tightly, your back arching off the mattress as you rode out your high, Remus continuing to eat you out until you were reduced to a twitching mess.

"Feeling good?"

⚔︎

An hour after your activities, Remus walked the two of you into the Great Hall, both of you famished and ready to stuff yourselves with lunch.

You tried not to limp as you walked, and then had to brace yourself as you sat down on the wooden bench, Remus kissing you softly on the cheek as he joined you, greeting James and Sirius with a smile.

"Hey Y/N!"

Your housemates called out to you, prompting you to wave at them in return, before moving to serve yourself some food.

"Merlin, Y/N did you get mauled?!"

Peter came towards the table, dropping himself in the seat across from you.

"I–, what?"

The boy gestured towards your neck, making the other two marauders crane to see what Peter was talking about.

"Fuck, Y/N, what the hell happened?"

Remus looked down at your neck, then turned red as he realised what the boys were talking about. In the past hour or so, your hickeys had darkened immensely, covering every part of you, from behind your ears down to your collarbones– which could be seen from the undone top buttons of your blouse.

"Uh, I uh."

You had also caught on to what the boys meant, biting your lip as you looked down at your food.

Remus suddenly felt very warm, his skin heating up, rolling up his sleeves and tugging at his collar to let some cool air touch his skin.

"Oh, Moony! You really didn't have to mark her up that much you know. I think the point's been made. The whole world already knows she's yours."

Sirius chuckled and elbowed James, pointing down at Remus' arms.

"Look, I'm thinking Moony's not the only possessive one here at the table y'know."

The thick lines you'd drawn up and down the werewolf's arms still remained, and the few hickeys you'd left on his neck were small, but still noticeable.

Your cheeks heated, shifting your hair as best you could to cover up your neck. Remus let down his sleeves, shifting his collar and let out a cough.

"Moony just gets antsy 'round the full moon, y'know?"

[professorrw]

Disobeying the Captian

Pairing: female reader x Steve Rogers

Requested: Yes

Warnings: smut, 18+, spanking, unprotected sex, Captain kink

A/N: Requests are open for one-shots, headcanons, imagines, and drabbles for My Hero Academia, Harry Potter, and Marvel! My taglist is open so if you’d like to be on that just tell me! Please like, comment, and reblog!

Your heart is pounding out of your chest. Your footsteps are thundering on the metal tops of shipping containers. 

“Y/L/N get out of there! Retreat! That’s an order!” Steve yells. 

You ignore him and keep running, sights set on your fallen comrade. In just a moment the bomb will go off. But you can’t leave a man behind. You won’t. You jump down to the concrete ground and drop to the man’s level. “Can you walk?”

“I can try,” he pants out. His whole body was shaking and his leg was limp. You loop and arm under him and hoist him up. You start running back with the man limping along with you. Once you come into view of Steve he runs to meet you and as you pass the man along there’s an explosion. Heat gushes behind you and your head rings.

“Get in the chopper Y/N I got him!” You start running and risk a glance back at the chaos. The shipyard is in flames and your team is right at the edge of it. You jump into the back of the helicopter and help Steve fasten your teammate into a seat. You were clutching your burning chest. The intense running was killing your lungs.

You and Steve were the last to get in but as soon as you do the chopper takes off. You put on the aviation headset and let your head rest against the wall behind you. You can feel Steve’s glare even with your eyes closed. It was safe to say he was mad.

As soon as you land and your injured teammate is taken to get help Steve rounds on you. “Y/L/N you had no right to disregard orders.” He’s fuming and his eyes are narrowed at you.

“Steve, you know I couldn’t leave him behind. You wouldn’t leave him behind would you?” You cross your arms and stare right back at the taller man.

“This isn’t about what I would do, this is about you. You almost got yourself killed acting reckless.” At the last sentence his eyes momentarily soften but then he resumes his furious stance. If you weren’t blinded by anger you could have caught it.

“I won’t leave a man behind and that’s that Captain.” You weren’t going to let Steve make you feel guilty for your actions.

“What if you didn’t make it? What if you both died huh? Then we would have lost two people.” He raises his eyebrows, thinking he’s got the better of you. His hands are on his hips and his face is a foot from yours. His blue eyes are intense and burning.

“But I made it. I got to him in time and we made it back. No lives were lost.”

Steve swallows thickly, “You’ll come to my office later to discuss your punishment. Until then you’re dismissed.”

“My punishment?” you ask in disbelief. “What are you going to do, spank me? I saved him for Christ's sake!” Your arms are wide open and your eyebrows are raised.

“We’ll discuss this later Y/L/N,” he says through gritted teeth before turning from you. You scowl at his back and he disappears around a corner. For a minute you stand there, still in shock that he would punish you for that. You huff and finally turn around, making your way outside to the parking lot. 

You turn on your car and switch on the air conditioning. You were still sweaty from the mission and the thing you needed right now was some cool air. You pop open the center console and pull out your phone. You immediately dial Sam to rant about Steve’s behavior.

“Y’ello?”

“Sam, you will not believe this. We just got back from a mission right? And one of my comrades fell, we took him to the med area and he’s getting treated, he should be okay, but I went back to save him because the bomb was about to explode and I couldn’t just leave him there. We get back and Steve blows up on me! He says, and I quote, ‘You had no right to disobey orders.’ Can you believe him?” Everything gushes out at once in one long and quick breath of air.

Sam starts cracking up on the other side of the line, “Oh Y/N. Don’t tell me you’ve lost your little crush over this? He cares about you obviously! Let me guess… he also said you could have died?”

Your mouth hangs open. “I- I do not have a crush on him. And …yeah.”

“You can’t lie to me! You were ecstatic when you heard you were being transferred to work with him. And it’s nothing to be upset over, he’s just in his feelings. He was probably scared.”

“He said he was going to punish me.”

“Oh- tell me how that goes,” he laughs again. “If that’s all I’ll be hanging up now. Ciao Y/N.”

“Sam-” there’s a beep and you pull your phone away from your face. He really hung up. Such an ass you think to yourself. You let a little breath escape your nose in a short laugh sort of way. Of course your best friend would say that. Of course Sam would say that. And why did he have to mention your crush on Steve? It was a girlish fantasy that would never be fulfilled.

You return inside and go to your room, mulling over Steve and Sam’s words. What kind of punishment would you get? Suspension? Cleaning the toilets? And also did Steve care about you? He’s never blown up on anyone else like that. Maybe he just doesn’t like you. Maybe he finds you aggravating. 

You head to dinner with another one of your teammates from the mission earlier that day and eat with them. Right at the tail end Stacey, another one of your teammates, taps you on the shoulder. “Cap wants to see you in his office when you're finished.”

“Thanks, Stace,” you say to him. You finish up your dinner slightly dreading what’s to come. The walk to Steve’s office has your stomach rolling and you think you might just throw up.

You step up to his door labeled “Captain Rogers” and knock. 

“Come in Y/N.” You step through the door and into his office. He’s sitting behind his desk lounging in his leather rolling chair. 

“Captain,” you say flatly. You stand in front of the now shut door and cross your arms.

“Y/L/N look. I apologize for yelling at you. I shouldn’t have. I should really be thanking you. Drake is alright and it’s all because of you. He fractured his kneecap and he’s undergoing surgery but they think he’ll be okay.”

“Good. I’m glad.” You let your front drop a bit now that Steve’s calmed down.

“But I still think you deserve a punishment.” You hear the change in his voice, the way it lowered when he said that and it sent shivers down your spine.

“What do you have in mind?” you croaked out. 

He chuckles and rises from his seat. He walks to the front of his desk and leans against it. He crosses his muscular arms over his just as muscular chest. He crosses his ankles and cocks his head to the side slightly. “What do you think I should do? I actually quite like the idea of spanking you. Do you think that’s a fair punishment?”

When he said that your entire body heat rose about forty degrees. Your cheeks were burning and your stomach was doing flips. It was like you were in a wet dream or something. You couldn’t deny that your Captain was turning you on. He always had. You had eyes after all. Everything about him was just… hot. His beard, his hair, his arms, his ass, the list went on.

You were incapable of responding and Steve found it amusing how flustered he made you. “How about it doll?”

“Yeah- Yeah that seems fair,” you manage to get out. Your voice was failing you and you sounded just as bewildered as you were.

Steve quit leaning on his desk and stood at full height beside it. “Bend over.” He motioned to the spot he had just left. You swallowed and walked over there in a daze. You did as you were commanded and bent over.

Steve’s hand rubbed on your butt before leaving it and coming back down with a loud smack. The motion pushed your whole body forward and your ass was already burning. Tears threatened the corners of your eyes. This was the first time in your whole life you had been spanked in such a manner. 

Once again he rubbed your plump butt before delivering another blow to it. Your knees felt weak and you thought they were going to give out on you.

“Three more doll,” Steve’s sultry voice said from beside you. You prepared for impact as his hand came down again, and again, and again. Your butt was numb and tears stained your face.

“That wasn’t so bad was it? Are you going to disobey me again?” His hand was rubbing circles on your throbbing ass cheeks.

You fervently shook your head. You were fully embarrassed from the experience.

“You’re such a good girl… I wish you would listen to me more often. If you were gone, who would I masturbate to? Who would I spank? Would you like it if I spanked other girls?” he asked in a soft voice.

You shook your head again and dared to turn around. Your knees were shaking and you were having trouble standing but you willed through it.

Steve cupped your cheek and rubbed his thumb across your lips. “ You’re such a good girl. Do you want your Captain to take care of you? Do you want your Captain to make you feel good?”

You nodded this time but he ‘tsked.’ “Use your words.”

“Yes.”

“Yes what?”

“Yes Captain,” you answered.

“That’s what I like to hear.” He smiled at you and moved his hands to your waist. He grinded his crotch against you lightly as he pressed his lips against yours. You reciprocated the kiss and found purchase in his hair.

“Turn around for your Captain okay? Bend over again. Don’t worry, I won’t spank you.”

You did as he said and bent over the desk again. Steve got behind you this time and ran his hand along your spine before it went to your ass. He pulled your pants and underwear down and stopped to stare for a second.

He chuckled, “You’re already wet for me doll.” You couldn’t see what was going on but you could hear his belt buckle clink and then a zipper. You felt the tip of his cock brush against your slick folds. He moved it up and down your entrance, taunting it. He stopped at your cunt and pushed the tip in.

You gripped the edge of the desk and put your cheek against its cool surface. He waited for a second before he started to push more in. Your walls stretched to accommodate his thick member. It was without a doubt the biggest you ever had inside you.

You were moaning without a filter as he began to thrust into you. His balls were slapping against you repeatedly. He knew what he was doing, hitting your g-spot and sending tingles throughout you.

“You’re doing so good. You’re such a good girl.”

You moaned his name and then moaned “Captain” and that made him feral. He rutted into you without pause. He fucked you with superhuman strength. When your orgasm came he was still pounding into you trying to reach his own. You were worn out and your pussy was throbbing but he wasn’t going to stop until he came on you.

He body was rocking back and forth on the desk and the desk was scraping against the floor as it inched farther and farther back. Steve’s huge hands were pulling you to meet his thrusts. He pulled out of you and the next thing you knew warm liquid was spurting onto your bare ass cheeks. He stood there for a minute, admiring the art before him.

You pulled your underwear and pants back up and turned around, but still leaned against the desk. Steve smiled at you then held onto your waist to kiss you once more.

“If you disobey me again then I’ll punish you but if you act like a good girl I’ll make you feel good, how does that sound?”

“Good,” you whispered.

“Good…”

“Good Captain.”

“That’s what I like to hear.” He gave you one more kiss and let you get in order before you left his office.

Taglist: @bellamy1998​

[lady-o-ren]

The Dig 

Part Two (Because I was bullied into this . . .)

//Which can be read (HERE) for easier reading// And Part One (HERE)

In a little rented room above auld Geordie’s pub, Claire Beauchamp stood in nothing but her silk undergarments as she flipped open her weathered suitcase (once belonging to her dear uncle Lamb) she had heaved atop her bed. She rummaged through the contents, blowing at her curls clouding around her face, before pulling out a single dress of pale blue.

It wasn't something she usually packed whenever she went off on a dig but the dress had caught her eye in a department store window in London just before coming to Suffolk. She reasoned one never knew when the occasion might call for her to dress in something other than dirt stained trousers.

And never had she been more relieved by an impulse buy.

Or thankful for a rainy day that halted her excavation.

It was a chance to be with the Scot who thought her more precious than the iron rivets they discovered a few days ago, proof that the burial site they were knee deep in was a ship to honor a fallen king. She would've kissed him on the spot if it weren't for Foster and Pound.

The kiss however did come later.

After her and the lads celebrated with too many pints, she and Fraser went back to Sutton Hoo, slightly swaying with every step beneath the twilight, until their arms found their way around one another. Soon they were laying side by side in the grass and dirt, the air cool on their whiskey flushed cheeks, and she wrapped in his coat. Big and warm and enveloping like himself.

"We may very well be unearthing a legend here ," said Beauchamp, leaning back on her elbows, eyes closed facing the moon.

Fraser grinned.

" Beowulf ?"

She laughed and turned her gaze to him. "Arthur, King of the Britons !"

He laughed along with her, a deep and hearty sound, then joking all aside said  -

"Anglo Saxon, ye think?"

She nodded and rolled to her side, nearly pressing herself against Fraser's chest, heaving from a sharp intake of breath.

"I told you before that something grand and marvelous was buried here . . ."

"Ye did."

Then shyly Fraser said -

"Bha mi a ’bruadar mun bhròn mhòr. . . Remember that bit from my notebook?"

Her eyes softened and her features took on a pretty shade of pink remembering a great deal more of what that book contained.

How each page held a piece of his heart.

And laid a hand over his chest, against that fervent beat.

"Of course I do," she answered back, but frowned a little when Fraser bashfully kept his gaze to the small gap between them where a dandelion bloomed.

"Weel, I wrote it that night after we first met, from a dream I had. Sounds a great deal better in the gaelic though. . ."

Beauchamp raised her hand to cup his cheek, thumbing the fine cut bones beneath his skin, before pressing her soft warm mouth against his lips.

"Tell me," she insisted, when they managed to part and nudged her nose against his.

And so he did, voice low and more than a little breathless.

I dreamt about the mourning.

The deaths of great men. Terrible men. Old and young. Of Kings lost in battle buried beneath us.

They cried out to me and the Earth came to life and twisted her roots around me, dragging me inside her womb. Dark and cold, breathless like a cave.

But I wasn't frightened. I saw lights rushing around me, bright as the twilight sky. The souls that lie ahead. Surrounding us.

They brought me to you.

He shrugged sheepishly then.

Just before she kissed him again. Knowing she'd never want anyone more than she did right then and there amongst the swaying trees and spirits of auld.

This man whose soul spoke to her own.

Too bad a crack of lightning had to ruin the night.

But at least the rain blessed them with a day to themselves in apology.

Taking one last glance in the vanity mirror (that was about as big as her compact) and another quick check that her nails were clean of dirt, Beauchamp left her room and walked down the hallway to Fraser's, knocking softly against his door. When no one answered she pressed her ear curiously to the door hearing voices and knocked again, just a bit more louder, tapping the toe of her slingback  heels against the beaten wooden floor. With still no response (and patience never being a virtue she ever possessed) she flat out turned the knob finding it unlocked.

She poked her head in and found a room even smaller than her own and the source of the voices coming from a small red radio playing an adaption of a film from the windowsill.

- I might have known you were here. I had a feeling just as I hit the floor.

- That was your hat.

- Oh, Susan! Just look at it! Look!

Fraser himself was fast asleep and spread out atop the bed sheets dressed for a date to the cinema with his long arms crossed above his head and his big feet dangling off the edge of his too small bed.

Beauchamp stood watching him for a moment, filled with a sudden tenderness at his sleeping innocence . . . and a bone deep wickedness that gave her an idea. She closed the door quietly behind herself and flipped the lock, grinning as she did so. She then slipped out of her slingback heels and crossed the room in two short strides (the floorboards creaking with the pitch of a mouse beneath her), to carefully lay down beside him.

Fraser turned to her in sleep, a throaty murmur on his lips, and laid a heavy arm around her slim waist, gathering her heart to heart. She sighed happily and reached to caress a curl hanging low at his brow, admiring the color that reminded her of the scorching sunsets in Giza she basked in with her uncle so many years ago. Her fingers then threaded through his thick mane down to where they began to curl at his neck and was rewarded with an unexpected smile. Pure and sweet.

"You're too perfect for words, lad," she whispered against his wide mouth, but before she could seal their lips together his long blonde lashes fluttered open.

Fraser gazed at her sleepily, his smile only growing wider as the word Sorcha was adoringly breathed against her cheeks.

She wanted to ask him what that one meant. It might be her favorite bit of gaelic so far.

But then . . .

"Claire!" Fraser exclaimed, and nearly toppled them both out of the bed if not for Beauchamp clinging to his shoulders, steadying him above her.

"How di' ye - Why are ye -"

Beauchamp giggled loudly at his befuddled face and at his hair sticking up in all directions like a sunflower crown. She coasted her hands up the wide breadth of his shoulders to cup both his scarlet cheeks.

"You're door was unlocked, and you know how cold I easily get . . ." she playfully pouted, and tugged his face closer, enjoying how his skin felt like a glowing hot coal between her hands.

But Fraser pulled away.

"Claire. . ."

She sighed yet kept her amused grin.

"You're not a lad of sixteen, you know. You can have a girl in your room."

"I ken that," he answered back, with a defensive spike in his voice.

Beauchamp ignored his tone letting her hands wander to his chest, the muscles taut beneath his crisp white shirt straining to contain his racing heartbeat.

"We even spent a night under the stars together."

"That was altogether different."

Her eyes flashed with mischief as she toyed with the buttons of his shirt. "How so?"

"For one," Fraser breathed hoarsely, placing a hand over hers lest she get too carried away. "It wasn't all night, the thunder made sure of that, and we mostly were talking anyway."

"Mostly?"

"And two," he said firmly, ears pink. "There wasn't a bed either of us could fall out of."

"No, there wasn't," she agreed, deciding he'd had enough of her teasing (and only because she had never taken anyone seriously enough to go slow). "But you can still keep me warm, Fraser. Virtue intact. I promise."

He arched a ruddy brow, doubtful of the lass with cheeky hands and a red cheshire grin that could lure a man to break every sin. Yet he eased himself beside her anyway and in the only way that worked.

With their legs twined together, nearly flushed against one another.

And his big hand braced along her back, the fabric soft against his callused palm as he smoothed it up and down, feeling the gentle rise of her ribs as she breathed in absolute contentment.

“Better than sitting in the cinema don't you think?” said Beauchamp, as she nuzzled her face to the crook of his neck, warmed by his skin that smelled freshly clean. Yet she found herself missing the scent of a hard day's labor on him.

“Aye, much - wait!” Fraser shifted to his elbow. “We missed the film didn't we?"

Beauchamp, a little annoyed at being jostled, shook her head and tugged at his collar to settle her lad back down.

"No, there's still some time left. Cary Grant just lost his intercostal clavicle bone to a dog named George. . . Or was it a leopard named Baby?"

Fraser stared at her like she'd gone completely daft until he noticed the radio playing in the background and heard the inimitable voices of Grant alongside Katherine Hepburn.

- Now it isn't that I don't like you, Susan, because, after all, in moments of quiet, I'm strangely drawn toward you, but - well, there haven't been any quiet moments.

"Oh,” he chuckled lightly, dropping his head to the side. “I must've fallen asleep listening to Lux Theatre . What I meant was the actual cinema though.”

“I think Judy Garland is merrily singing down that yellow brick road as we speak. But don't be sorry," she said, with a kiss to the hard line of his jaw, before the words could fall from his mouth. "It would've been far too crowded anyway."

“But you got yourself all dressed up," he protested, as his eyes traveled down to where her dress had been rucked up tight over her breasts and waist (and where his hand involuntarily flexed over the winged flare of her hip) before hastily clearing his throat.

"Ye look lovely by the way, mo chridhe. More than lovely actually. . ."

That shy and tender smile of his was her undoing and made her feel light-headed and reckless.

"Either that clever mouth of yours keeps on with the compliments, Fraser, or . . ."

Her voice carried off as her knee glided up between his thighs and her arms clasped around his shoulders so that any thoughts Fraser had of being a gentleman were forgotten in a wanton blaze of heat.

Some time later, with Fraser's cheek pillowed against her breasts, breath hot and seeping through the thin blue fabric thoroughly wrinkled now, he groaned.

"I wish we weren't in a room above a pub that reeks of cigarettes and wee."

She hummed softly, her fingertips stroking the back of his head, twirling around his curls. Admiring their beauty.

"Where should we be then?"

Fraser lifted his gaze to hers, blue eyes glimmering with that undeniable emotion that should've scared her yet it only made her want to claim him forever.

"A woman like you. . ." He smiled. " In a tent somewhere outside the ruins of a temple or in a cave in the Himalayas."

Her chest bounced with sparkling laughter.

"How about when this is all over and our names are the talk of the town, you take me anywhere you please. Preferably with a bed we can both fit in."

It was a tantalizing thought yet Fraser couldn't help but think of Scotland. Of his home Lallybroch. With her hand in his passing through the centuries old stone archway as his lady of Broch Turach.

Someday, maybe. God willing.

"I can think of a place," he murmured, and tightened his hold around her lush frame and pressed a daring kiss of hope above her heart. Felt her shiver beneath his mouth.

- I've just discovered that was the best day I've ever had in my whole life!

- But I was there!

- That's what made it so good!

And together they drifted off listening to the rain and the silly, sappy music.

I can't give you anything but love, baby.

That's the only thing I've plenty of, baby.

Dream awhile, scheme awhile

We're sure to find happiness . . .

//

A/N: There’s a lot of notes so I’ll keep them to ao3. And there’s probably mistakes galore but I needed to post this before cringe settled in and I deleted it, Thank you for reading!

[spencersawkward]

I love your ff first of all, I'm obsessed and second of all I would ask you a suggestion, idk if maybe is that too much and you're totally free to not do that but you ever thought to do something in the line of the knive kink? I think it will be awesome

i'm so sorry this took so long! big thanks to my guardian angel @voidsfilm for giving me inspiration bc i literally struggled with this one more than i should have. never written a knife kink but i’m glad i tried lol.

summary: reader finds an antique knife that Matthew's kept in a drawer.

content warnings: unprotected penetrative sex, fingering, oral (male receiving), knife play (no blood drawn), Soft!Dom MGG, degradation and praise.

word count: 3.6k

masterlist

if there is one thing I absolutely despise, it's working out. getting sweaty, running until my legs hurt and my lungs are burning for air... not really my thing.

but when Matthew brought up the idea a couple months into our relationship, I couldn't say no to him: he had a goofy smile on his face and the kind of look in his eyes that made me relent and ask what kind of stuff he wanted to do.

I think that I've found the one thing that Matthew can't make fun.

"I'm gonna pass out." I bend over and set my hands on my knees, trying to catch my breath. Matthew slows to a stop a few feet ahead, turning around and making a strained expression.

"oh, come on." but his voice is pretty breathless, too. he gently guides me off the path so that we don't get in the way of the other people out enjoying the day. a couple walks by us with their dog, strolling calmly, and I feel a rush of envy. if our workout routine had consisted of a few pleasant ambles around the city, I would have been totally willing.

"Matthew, I wanna go home." I whine impatiently. the only nice thing about this is that he's got one of those stupid sweatbands on his head to keep his hair out of his face, and it makes him look like a 1980's housewife.

"we can go home in fifteen minutes." he smiles, puts his hands on his hips, stretching in an exaggerated way.

"do you promise?" I brush a piece of hair out of my face.

"promise," he's lucky he looks so cute in his workout outfit. "we can even get one of those fancy juices for you on the way back."

"seriously?" I light up. this might actually be worth it; they have this amazing mango and lime combination that I can't ever manage to recreate with our own blender.

"if you beat me to the rock, then sure." he references the enormous boulder in Central Park that we both gawked at on our first date-- ever since then, it's been the end point for our runs. my lips curl into a grin.

"you're on." I take off, making sure to push him out of the way in order to gain a head start. he lets out something of a protestation but is quick to follow. I can feel his feet pounding behind me, trying to catch up.

I may not be good at running long distances, but I'm sure as hell faster than he is.

...

it's quiet when I step out of the bedroom, drying my hair with the towel and wandering into the living room. Matthew is sitting at the table with his sketchbook, drawing god knows what while he waits for me to finish up.

"what are you up to?" I ask softly as I plop down across from him. my head is slightly tilted while the towel rubs my scalp.

"I'm not really sure." he shrugs, frowning and holding up the notebook from a distance as if that'll help him figure out what to do.

"can I see when you're done?"

"of course," he sets it on the table again, then runs a fingertip across his chin. "actually, can you do me a favor?"

"sure."

"I have a set of colored pencils in the desk over there," he points to an old piece of furniture under the window. "would you mind getting them for me?"

"yep," I reply, getting up and leaving the towel on the table. "least I can do after kicking your ass."

on the walk past him, Matthew grabs my waist and pulls me into him, attacks me with tickles. I squeal and hit his shoulder.

"stop!" I laugh.

"you barely beat me!" he gives a dazzling smile and finally lets me go. I lightly smack him upside the head and head over to the desk, rifling through the drawers for the colored pencils he wanted.

as I push around various art supplies, glue sticks and random paintbrushes that look to be on the brink of falling apart, my fingers pass something cool and metallic. I grab the thing and pull it out.

it's a knife; like, a fancy one with an intricately decorated handle and what seems to be a pretty dulled edge. before he can notice what I've found, I start to move the thing between my hands curiously. there's a nice weight to it, but it's definitely old.

"hey, Matthew?" I ask warily.

"yeah?" so unassuming and sweet.

"why do you have a knife?"

there's a scratching as he gets up from the table to walk over to me. I lean against the desk. Matthew doesn't seem too bothered by what I'm saying at all, only gently taking the weapon out of my hands and examining it himself.

"oh, yeah!" he lets out something like a laugh. I raise an eyebrow and wait for him to continue. "do you remember when we went antiquing in Cape Cod, like, a month ago?"

"yeah." I nod at the memory. he'd been lucky enough to get some vacation days and we'd spent them sitting by the water with glasses of wine and nothing but time to talk. it really was a great trip, now that I think about it.

"I found it there." he still hasn't looked up and I realize that there's something he's not telling me. I don't know what I'm missing, but I start to get nervous.

"...why?"

"I was gonna ask then, but I guess I just forgot." his tongue darts out across his bottom lip as he lifts his face to meet my gaze. my heart thuds when he opens his mouth again. "I kinda wanted to try something."

"like?"

"I've been thinking about maybe using knives... in a sexual way."

"what?" I frown, confused by his wording. Matthew seems to realize that he's phrased it awkwardly and shifts his stance. he keeps glancing between the object and my face like he's worried about scaring me away.

"I don't mean I'm gonna stab you or anything," he laughs. "I just mean I think it sounds fun."

my hand finds his, brushing my palm over the steel to touch it myself again. there's a curiosity that burns through me now, something I'm a little unsure about but not enough so to deny the possibility of trying it.

"what do you wanna do with it?" I peek up at him. he bites his lip. we're speaking in gentle tones and I notice that our bodies have gotten closer within the last few moments. a warmth, a tension.

"like, pressing the blade flat against your skin while I fuck you." he takes the thing and demonstrates. the cool silver rests on my neck, too dull to really threaten a serious cut if he were to move too quickly. a shiver runs down my spine at the sensation of the metal.

I gulp, feel the curve of my throat push against it when I swallow. it's nice.

"oh." is all I say. Matthew is watching me intently, but he doesn't make any motion away from it. like he's entranced by the sight of me with a knife to my throat.

"are you interested?" he asks.

I mull it over. on the one hand, weapon play is something I've never considered in my sex life before. Matthew and I aren't vanilla, but this hasn't crossed my mind. that said, now that I can really feel it, there is a desire forming in my stomach. it would be a strange, new sensation.

"yes." the confirmation makes him smile a little. he lowers the thing and instead wraps me in his arms, kisses me passionately until our tongues are dancing over each other. I love how he holds me, our torsos against each other while my body leans slightly back to accept the weight of his touch.

he goes to my head like alcohol. and it's even more surreal when I feel the blade move under the hem of my shirt to rest against my back. I smile into his mouth. he doesn't do anything with it, just leaves it to remind me.

he starts to rut his hips against my lower stomach, getting aroused at the proximity of our bodies and the heated nature of our kiss. there's an urgency to all of it, like he's holding back. I don't want him to hold back; I want him to give me everything he has, everything beneath the surface.

my fingers twine in his hair and tug on the ends, causing him to groan into our embrace. there's no way we're going to make it all the way to the bedroom with the way he's grabbing at my body, so I stumble backwards towards the couch until the backs of my thighs hit the arm of it.

"you're horny." I giggle slightly when he pushes the hem of my shirt up my body, his nails dragging over my ribcage and trailing the object along with it. I feel the excitement growing.

"I'm just glad you're willing to try this." he murmurs the words, holds our foreheads together before his lips eagerly seek mine out, again. somehow, even with a weapon leveled against me, I can sense the love in every single action. I wouldn't have said yes if I didn't trust him to treat me with the utmost care.

I work at the buttons of his shirt, pushing it over his lovely shoulders and arms as he unclasps my bra. we're fervent, greedy in our movements, trying to kiss despite the attention needed to remove our clothes. mostly we just tangle up in each other until there's nothing left but my shorts for him to shove down my legs. he keeps his pants on.

"c'mon, beautiful." he mutters, pushing my legs open so that I'm sitting on the arm of the couch. he tilts my head and leans closer to suck on my bottom lip, and then starts to massage my tits. I can feel the handle of the weapon against my nipple.

when he reaches to slide his finger between my folds, I hiss out a breath at the cold sensation of his skin.

"is this because of me or the knife, baby?" he asks, corners of his mouth twitching up while I moan into his mouth. he starts to rub my clit with the collected wetness, teasing me too much. I want to fall back, but I can't. I won't let myself.

"both." I find myself turned on by the way the blade sits against my ribs again. the edge is just sharp enough to elicit a reaction from my body.

"feel that?" he angles the thing the slightest bit. I exhale and nod.

that isn't the response he's looking for, however, because he moves it so that it's under my chin. goosebumps on my skin while I pant uselessly against the weapon. I can feel it press harder with every breath out of my lungs, and I love it. I love the risk it brings out of me.

while Matthew dips his index inside my pussy, I writhe against it and tilt my head even more so he has better access.

"look at you," he lets out a dark chuckle, thrusts into me to the last digit. "you want more of this, don't you?"

"yes, sir." I breathe. my neck is actively moving against the metal. I glance down at his body and see his erection straining against his pants, craving release but finding none as he plunges his fingers in and out of me. I can hardly breathe from sheer focus on the sensations he's giving me right now.

"what are you looking at, sweetheart?" he quickens the pace of his movements and uses the object to make me focus on his face.

"you're hard." the words nearly die on my lips. he stares darkly at me, lifting his brows just enough to make me question whether I should have spoken at all. I bite my lip in anticipation.

"and what are you gonna do about it?" his voice is raspy as he stands back, removes his fingers from my pussy, and lets me drop to my knees. I'm weak both from the stimulation and from the loss of it, but I make quick work of undoing his belt, pulling the pants down his legs until I'm face-to-face with his cock. it sits against his stomach, throbbing impatiently while he watches. he uses the metallic point under my jaw to angle my face up to his.

"are you gonna suck me off, baby?" he smirks. I nod rigorously with wide eyes and an open mouth, dragging my tongue along the underside. Matthew's nose scrunches up for a moment at the shock of contact when I tease the head. all his concentration is on watching me wrap my hand around the shaft and pumping him gently. "spit on it."

I obey and spit right onto the tip before rubbing my thumb over the top to gather the precum. as I start to swirl my tongue and move my lips onto him, he throws his head back, lets out a wanton noise. it urges me on. I take every moment with a deliberate attention to the veins and sensitive spot he has.

"that's it, that's it." he rasps while knotting his hand in my hair. the other keeps the knife pressed to my throat. he lets me move on my own for a bit, gauging my desires from the way my eyes attempt to memorize the sight of his face above me, that jaw dropped in licentious craving. I can tell that he wants to fuck my face, but I go slow just to draw it out a little. it makes the soreness of my jaw worth it when he gets all impatient and flustered.

I hollow my cheeks and bob on his dick, bat my lashes, pull myself off him for a second just to kiss the tip.

"can I use your mouth?" he asks through a restrained groan. I open it and nod, sighing at the feeling of his fingers twining through my hair again before he pushes back into the opening. now that he's got full control, he starts to develop his own movements, sometimes meeting his thrusts by pressing my face against him.

he gets deep in it, never losing his grip on the knife, until my nose is pressed to his stomach. my throat closes instinctively around him even more tightly, and he lets out a guttural moan.

"such a cute mouth when I'm using it." he thrusts until I gag and then he's smiling. "get up."

he removes himself so fast, my eyes water at the sudden lack of blockage in my throat. I gulp air while he hooks his hands under my arms and hoists me up. I'm about to turn around so I can lift my leg and give him better access, but he sits me on the arm of the couch and parts my thighs.

"I wanna see your pretty face." he leans down and pecks my cheek. I smile at the surprising tenderness-- although it doesn't last long. steel sits against the space between my neck and collarbone. it's only a moment before he positions himself between my legs and slides his cock into me.

my back arches and I look him in the eyes, gasping.

"fuck, baby." he drags out the first word as he inches inside. I mewl helplessly at the way he stretches me out, my pussy clenching every few seconds. he keeps one hand on my lower back to support me and bring me closer to his pelvis, and then we're staring into each other's eyes as he finally settles in it.

his hips start to thrust into me, hopeful for any kind of contact while I accustom myself to the shape of him. it happens every time, despite the amount of times we've done this. and I'm bad at patience, but he's worse. his body stutters against mine.

"is it good enough, sir?" I ask quietly. he tightens his grip on my back and on the blade, the edge threatening my skin the perfect amount. I suck in a breath at the way it stings a little.

"you're doing perfectly." he recognizes what I want to hear as he finds my sweet spot and begins to hit it repeatedly, smoothly works my body. I swear there are planets in my eyes when I stare at the expressions on his face, both of us so wrapped up in each other that every other thought becomes obsolete.

he moves the knife to under my chin to rest on my throat.

"feel that?"

I nod so the edge bites more. he smirks.

"just to show you who you belong to."

my hips push up to meet his thrusts, needing more stimulation, more friction. what I want is for him to be relentless, to slam into my body with the kind of hunger I know he has. there are sounds, movements, that he's made before that make me want him to use them. but he's withholding, probably hesitant about the dangerous object on my pulse point.

"I belong to you, sir." I egg him on. he likes the sound of that, grunting and starting to pound into me.

"yeah? you're my dirty little whore." he speaks through gritted teeth. I shiver.

"mhmm."

"I use you how I want, when I want." his fingertips dig into my skin and he yanks me closer so that he can hit a new angle. I let out a surprised noise when he brushes my g-spot. it's otherworldly and I expose more of my neck to him.

"my little slut likes pain, huh?" he nudges the weapon harder into my skin. it doesn't draw blood, but I can sense the mark it'll leave. I love it.

"yes, sir." we're both getting needy, but we can't hold each other the way that we want to in our given positions. my palms are occupied on the arm of the couch to hold myself up and one of his hands is too busy holding the object for us to fuck as deeply as we need.

"are you gonna take it like a good girl when I cum in it?" he mutters. he runs his tongue over my jawline and the weapon nicks my skin. I moan at the mingling of sensations that's building all across my body.

"yes, sir." I plead. it's nearly unbearable, how much I want him. we're chasing our orgasms and I know what will finish me off. he knows, too.

Matthew drops the knife. it clatters to the ground, but there's no time for me to register it with the way he grabs my hips and lifts me into the air, my legs wrapping around his waist while he keeps fucking into me. he maneuvers us with shocking ease, laying me on the couch and positioning himself at the right moment so that I can drag my nails over his back and keep my thighs locked around him.

"mmm... baby, I'm gonna cum." he drives into me recklessly, both of us finally able to cling to each other. the angle is just enough to stimulate my clit and I nod, using the leverage of my legs to pull myself to him and roll my hips for friction.

Matthew slams my body into the couch, grunting in my ear as he finds his climax inside me. it's so deep, I have to work to keep the yell inside, but he's not done. he rides it out and plows into me while I reach the edge.

"tell me how it feels." he orders in my ear. I sigh.

"so-- so good, sir." my voice is thin. "I'm close."

"show me." he leaves bruises on my hips with his hands. I feel the knot finally snap, every muscle in my stomach spasming chaotically. I finish with a loud moan, begging him to drag it out further. my vision nearly goes black at the tide that threatens to overtake my body.

"Matthew--" I gasp. he moans quietly at the way I say his name, still rocking his body into mine while I come down from the shocks of orgasm. it's nearly overwhelming, the pleasure running through my body.

slowly, we come to a stillness and he drops his head into my shoulder, panting. he doesn't let go at first, but then he withdraws from my pussy and lets me take a rest. I lay there on the couch while he kneels between my legs, pressing gentle kisses to my neck.

"I love you." he repeats it over and over.

"I love you, too," I hope he can feel the meaning, despite the sheer exhaustion in my tone. he runs his fingertips across the red marks where the thing went a little too deeply, but I'm not worried about it. "we should try that again, sometime."

"you liked it?" he smiles brightly. I love the lines by his eyes.

"definitely."

he lets out a cheerful noise and buries his face back into my throat because he knows how much it tickles. I screech and giggle, my legs kicking wildly around me. more contented than ever before.

[nanaminokanojo]

Play the Game | Nanami Kento X You | Part 3/8

CHARACTERS: Nanami Kento X You (fem!reader | PLEASE READ THE NOTES BELOW*) | Gojo Satoru | Geto Suguru | Shoko Ieiri | Utahime Iori | other JJK Characters CHAPTER COUNT: 3/8 WORD COUNT: 4,000+ GENRE: romance | fluff | slight angst | eventual smut | ooc depictions | female reader with described appearance* | modern au | rich people au | aged up characters CHAPTER TRIGGER WARNING: profanity | age gap | strong/mature/suggestive language | mentions of murder/crime/dying | mentions and use of drugs SPOILERS: n/a

collection masterlist

one - two - three - four - five - six - seven - eight

"Play the Game" Masterlist

"Do you remember the last time I was in your car?"

The hitch immediately started with that one question. It seemed innocent enough with the way you said it in nonchalance while you let your eyes roam the ivory interior of the Lexus. The two of you were only halfway out of the highway when you asked out of the blue, ultimately pissing Nanami off.

At the reminder, his knuckles immediately turned bone white on the steering wheel, his expressions turning dark as he glanced at you, mouth set in a thin line.

He couldn't remember a darker time in his life than watching you almost die from the rear view mirror of his car as you lay shivering on the backseat, unresponsive even if he struggled to both drive, not to crash and keep you conscious. The glassy look about your blue eyes and the way your pupils had blown up to more than twice their size making him shiver. It was safe to say it scarred him for life.

It was a day like any other. He had just gotten off work after a long day at the court, a mix of sadness and elation coursing through him after winning the case for a teenage girl who was brutally murdered. He finally put the man responsible for it in jail for good. It felt good to see the relief on the faces of the grieving parents; to finally put an end to the daily misery they have to go through, having to be reminded of what has become of their daughter.

But as he was resting in his study, a damp towel draped over his tired eyes and throbbing head, his phone suddenly rang. It wasn't yet 10 o'clock in the evening so he opted to answer it, surprised when he saw your name on the screen. You never really called, and the last time you did, it didn't bode well.

"Hello?"

"Suguru..." came your hoarse voice from the other end of the line, your shallow breaths and wheezes evident in each syllable followed by the sound of faintly splashing water.

"You've reached the wrong person, sweetheart," he muttered, reminding him just how Geto was your favorite among Gojo's friends. He did not resent that, but to say he wasn't the tiniest bit jealous was a lie.

Nanami called your name several times but there was no response, just loud rustling and what seemed to be the device falling on the floor with an echo.

"I fucked up big time," you managed to choke out when you spoke again, your tone slurred, and you seemed to be having a difficult time speaking.

"Where are you?"

"I n-need you... p-please..."

"What's going on?" Nanami was already on his feet, dashing out of the study and picking up his keys, still coaxing you to respond when he heard a ding on his phone. You managed to send your location but you weren't speaking anymore.

He was not religious, probably did not believe in a higher being, but as he drove towards your location, thankfully only half a mile away to the suburbs, he found himself fervently praying for your safety.

When he finally got to the address, he found a modernistic structure, a house, and there seemed to be a party going on. He saw some familiar faces, the gallery manager from the previous exhibit of your recent collection and some art connoisseurs he recognized from the same event.

He barged into the house, being handed a champagne flute the moment he entered, everyone welcoming him but he didn't see your face among the people. He refused, asking instead where you were, sprinting up the stairs in large strides when he was told you went upstairs with some people.

Nanami pretty much kicked every door open until he finally found you in one of the upstairs bathroom. He thought his knees would give out as his heart literally stopped at the sight before him.

There, on the half-filled bathtub was you, soaked to your chest. Your white hair was matted over your forehead while the tips floated on the water. You turned your head when you heard him enter, revealing bloodshot eyes, your lips blue and you looked like you didn't have any blood left with your almost greyish pallor.

Hurriedly, he took you out of the tub, carrying you downstairs much to the curiosity of the guests. "You will be okay. Stay with me," he kept telling you.

Despite your state, you managed to smile, tears springing from your eyes. "Nanamin..." you said weakly, making his heart swell that you were at least happy to see him.

He seriously thought you were going to die, but apparently, you did not necessarily overdose on the cocaine you had taken in as he would later find out from the doctors themselves. You had a bad trip and had to be weaned off the substance for the next twenty four hours.

"Are you drug dependent?" he asked when he picked you up from the hospital, opting not to tell Gojo about the matter until he got his answers.

"You won't tell Satoru, will you?" you asked.

"That depends on your answer and whether you're telling the truth," he told you gruffly, fighting hard not to be angry seeing as how fragile you looked. He hadn't slept and he felt as if his nerves were frayed.

You shook your head. "That's the first time. I promise you it won't happen again. I know it's stupid, but I was just curious."

"Your devil-may-care attitude will kill you."

"I know."

He didn't say anything more no matter how much he wanted to scold you and beat some sense into you. He never brought it up and neither did you. That was an unspoken agreement between the two of you. It was your secret which he will carry to his grave and for the last three years since then, nothing like it happened again. You voluntarily cut your ties with the people who were in that party and since then, you had been well.

"Don't remind me," he snapped at you, keeping his eyes on the road.

You’ve reached the shop that Utahime had instructed you to go to for your fitting, but before he could kill the engine, you spoke again.

"Come to think of it, I've never properly apologized for it, and I haven't said thank you enough for saving me that day."

Nanami shot you a sharp look. "I don't want to talk about it."

You sighed and held his hand as he was taking off his seatbelt. "I don't mean to make you angry, but I am sincerely apologizing for it. I am sorry because I put you through that."

Nanami held you by the wrist instead, meeting your gaze with a cold stare. "If you are, then I hope you also realized what a selfish person you are. You're right. You put me through hell. What could I have said to your brother if you died on me that night?"

You didn't say anything, appearing contrite for the first time.

"Gojo would have lost you. Your friends would have lost you." He sighed heavily, holding your hand properly, his expressions softening at how tiny yours looked in his. "I would have lost you."

At his last statement, you nodded and chuckled quietly. "I wouldn't refute that if it saves me. Still, I wanted you to know that it was a big deal for me." You smiled at him. "But that's not all. I could have lost you, but you're still here. So, thanks." And in a surprising turn of events which left him dumbstruck, you lifted both your hands and brushed your lips on his knuckles before disembarking from the car and skipping to the couturier's shop.

His mind wandered throughout the time he was being assisted into the suit that the bride- and groom-to-be had chosen for him to wear on their wedding. He had to give Gojo props for choosing well and suiting the ensemble’s piece to his preference. But he couldn’t quite concentrate on the task at hand when the scene in the car kept playing in his mind. The back of his hand still tingled where you kissed it.

All he wanted to do was see you, but you were a room away, also being pricked and pinned. He wanted nothing but for the fitting to be over so he can be with you again, regardless if it was just for the short drive going back to Gojo manor. Your course of action and words fueled something in him he thought never existed, and he wanted nothing more than to be able to see you, hear you, smell you, touch you. He wanted you, wanted to have you for himself come Gojo or high water. He already knew that, but he never felt as strongly as he did for you than at present because he also knew, that for the first time, you were being yourself and not playing games with him.

Nanami vaguely heard the tailor say something to him, but he didn’t quite catch it, but his image on the mirror suddenly became clearer as he was interrupted from his daydream. His brows furrowed together as he assessed what the man said, but before it could drag on for too long, his cluelessness, he said, “I’m sorry, you were saying?”

“Is the fit just right, Mr. Nanami?” the man asked again, expert eyes scanning over his figure.

“It’s perfect. Thank you,” Nanami stated hurriedly. He couldn’t care less about the suit, but it was already great. He didn’t see any reason to prolong the appointment. “Can I get changed now?”

“Certainly, sir,” the tailor said. “I will leave you to get dressed.”

He just nodded and carefully shed the suit off before changing back into his clothes, meticulously folding the sleeves of his shirt before he set out in search of you. He knocked on the door he was directed to, hearing music playing on the other side of the door along with some voices, one of which was yours.

The door opened and his eyes immediately met those cool blue ones through the mirror. You had your arms spread out to the sides as three women worked around you. “Done already?”

Nanami felt heat creeping up his neck as he averted his gaze. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know you were far from finished.”

“Oh, shush. I need your opinion.”

He snorted. “Yeah. Like I know anything about this.” At odds to his words, he sat down.

“Your boyfriend is handsome,” the couturier commented with a flirtatious giggle as he sized Nanami up.

“I –”

He was about to protest when you cut him short and said, “Isn’t he?”

“That coming from the person who said she didn’t feel like drawing my face,” he said, feigning annoyance.

“Oh, baby. I can’t draw your face if its saves me.” You flashed him a seductive smile. “You’re too perfect.” You winked at him through the mirror while he just sat down and shook his head in amusement, picking up a magazine but not really reading through it. He just watched as you were directed like a doll to pose whichever way the stylist wanted and he could have sworn he has seen nothing more beautiful.

“Just another pin right here,” the couturier said flamboyantly, fastening this and that around your sides, “…and we’re done!” He clapped his hands, standing back as he admired his handiwork. “What do you think?”

“I think it’s fine,” you said, tilting your head to the side.

“Hmm,” Nanami butted in, closing the distance between him and you. He came closer behind you, silently ordering everyone else out of the room with a succinct jerk of his head before he stood there, eyes on your bare back. He placed both hands on either of your shoulders, towering over you.

You quietly observed what he was doing from the mirror, your expressions unchanging even when he traced your spine with his finger. His lips curled at the corners ever so slightly when you slightly jerked forward when he reached the small of your back, relishing the smoothness of your skin against his calloused digit. He lingered there, drawing circles as he met your gaze on your reflection.

“Isn’t this too low?” he asked, his breath hitting the shell of your right ear. “You’re attending a wedding anyway.”

“Oh?” You twirled around so that your back was to the mirror, while you looked over your shoulder to check what he was saying. The plunging style of the dusty rose gown dipped all the way to your waist. “You think so?” You looked up at him, noticing how his face was just inches away from you. “I think it’s okay.”

“Okay for everyone to see?”

At that, you smiled smugly at him. “And you don’t like that, do you, Nanamin?” you asked sultrily.

“I am your boyfriend after all,” he teased. “While I’d like to brag about you, it wouldn’t sit right with me to know everyone’s seeing what’s supposedly only for my eyes, now would it?”

“I never took you for the jealous – whoa!”

Without preamble, he wrapped a strong arm around you, pulling you close so that you were flush against his chest, a devious smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. He wasn’t even concealing his enjoyment anymore. He liked having you close like that, your intoxicating scent dominating his senses.

“Why did you say that to the stylist?” he asked, leaning closer and reveling at the fact that you were caught off guard, eyes wide in surprise.

“It’s easier to just say so than explain, isn’t it?” You leveled your bearing with his. “You didn’t do anything to disagree either.”

“First, you kiss me in front of your brother, flirt with me like it’s normal and say things like that. What are you playing at?”

“Is this one of your games?” you asked, returning his question to you the previous day. You reached up and cupped the side of his face, eyes lingering on his mouth. “Cause I’ll play, Kento.”

He has never quite thought of his name before, whether he liked it or not. It was given to him and he couldn't imagine being called anything else. But he has never liked the sound of it as much as he did when it was rolling out of your tongue. It brought out a strange feeling, spurring him on to give in to his desires instead of holding them back like he usually does with you.

It was all the encouragement he needed. Fuck everything, he thought, dipping his head lower to close the distance between the two of you until he was touching your lips. A quiet gasp left your mouth when he pressed his lips onto yours in an experimental touch, gentle as a zephyr. Your ocean eyes stared at him, taken aback when he pulled away but the dazed look you had was the same one that drew him back to you, landing pecks several times, each one lingering longer than the last.

"Are you teasing me, Nanamin?" you breathed out softly, the laughter in your voice dying out when he captured your lips, this time shutting you up for a good while, coaxing you to respond to his ministrations. He knew he won over you when he felt your fingers grabbing fistfuls of his shirt, pulling him closer, your chest rising and falling against his in shallow breaths, making his heart thrum wildly.

His senses were already heightened whenever you were in the same breathing space as he was, but it was always a different story when you were touching him. Hyper aware. There wasn't a better word that would describe how he felt at that moment. He seemed to see everything he wouldn't usually notice; hear his heart thrumming over every other thought in his brain; almost touch the tension in the air and feel that intense heat blooming from his chest outwards.

But at the same time, nothing mattered but the person in front of him, kissing him and making him feel all sorts of ways. He was a gonner and he knew it but he didn't want to fight it either.

You moaned into the kiss when he gently darted his tongue into your mouth, seducing yours in a fiery dance that united your breaths. His hands made their way up your shoulders, the feel of your soft skin awakening carnal thoughts, making him think of nothing but ways to own you, mark you until he was satisfied. He cupped your face in his large hands, holding you in place, unable to get enough of your taste and the sensations you gave him. They made him crave like a man starved and deprived and he wants to take, take, take.

By the time he pulled away, he was a panting mess, eyes closed as he leaned his forehead against yours, willing himself to calm down. He couldn't help the smile that graced his lips the moment he opened his eyes to find you flushed, lips swollen from his kisses. But that was short-lived when he heard a clinking sound on the side of his head and a wicked grin stretched over your mouth. When he followed the sound, he saw the keys to his car dangling on your fingers.

"What –"

You took a step back when he tried to reach for it, effectively holding it away from him. "Prestidigitation," you declared, sounding victorious. "I'm driving. No arguments."

Nanami sighed, his senses still fuzzy from your kiss and the sight of you whirling around in chiffon and taffeta. He just gave in to his affections for you in hopes of coming out the victor, but you still played him in his own game. "Fine. You win."

You stood on your toes and pecked him on the cheek, stepping off to the side to ring the bell for the shop staff. "I promise not to crash your car."

**

Nanami sat on the passenger side of the car, glancing at the fair-haired villain who stole his car keys, currently driving him to some surprise place of your choosing. He had protested when he noticed how you were going to the opposite way from the manor, taking the highway that led well away from the town. Thrice, he told you to turn back and for every reason he cited, you had a counterattack, not necessarily valid but enough grounds for you to get your way.

"I need to read through the case file and take down notes to make up for the time I'm missing at the firm," came his first excuse but you effectively shot that down by pointing at his briefcase neatly tucked at the backseat.

"Yeah, cause as anal as you are about your job, you don't keep spare copies in your car in cases of emergency."

He jerked on his seat at your comment. "Hey, I'm not anal about my job! I'm just being prudent."

You laughed at the way his voice was raised than usual. "No need to get defensive. Besides, Your initial hearing isn't going to be in two months and by the looks of it, you have everything almost done."

"How did you –"

"I saw them the first day you arrived." Shrugging, it was your turn to shoot him with an annoyed gaze. "You keep forgetting that I have photographic memory. I'm cursed to remember everything."

Truth was, he seemed to be forgetting whose sister you were, letting his guard down and kissing you the way he did. He knew he could have done more if he completely let go of his reins. You were just too tempting, too beautiful and brimming life and infinite galaxies in your eyes which devoured him and made him lose of all sense of time, space and just sense in general.

"Satoru will be looking for you," Nanami attempted for the second time which only earned him an imperious look from you. You said everything in that single action: one, that you didn't care and two, that he was behaving ludicrously.

For the final time, he tried to appeal with something which you would actually give a damn about. "Don't you want to spend time with your friends?"

"Seriously, Nanamin, they're the least of your problems. We're going camping tonight. Besides, they know –" You deliberately stopped talking, your ears turning red, evidently flustered.

"They know what?" he prompted, leaning forward to have a better look at your face to assess your mood.

But then you said, "You're distracting me."

"And you're being evasive."

"If you don't want to spend time with me, just say so." In an abrupt swerve which made his life flash before his eyes, you pulled over to the side of the road, letting go of the steering wheel after you killed the engine. "Drive us home then."

You motioned to remove your seat belt, but Nanami stopped you, shaking his head. Why anything never went right when he was dealing with you was beyond him. "That's not it at all."

"Then what?" you snapped.

Damn, he thought. If the two of you were already fighting the way you are at present, he couldn't imagine how things would be once you were in an actual relationship. Then again, maybe it was the confusion as to what was happening that was causing the unwarranted tension between you two.

He sighed. "You're just too erratic. I can't keep up."

"And you're too fucking vanilla!" you growled.

Nanami was appalled that you would say that same comment in such a way. Leveling his ire with yours, he spat, "That's rich coming from you. Didn't you date that Kamo kid?"

You were stunned at his citation of your former relationship, even more so at his childish attempt at spiting you. It was so atypical of him. "You..." You jabbed a finger at him, about to spit fire when you realized that he cared enough to notice. Your brows knit together. "How did you know about that?"

"You think I wouldn't notice that he's been following you around like a lovestruck puppy during last year's autumn festival?" Nanami scoffed, sneering. "A person like you with someone more boring than the vanilla you claim that I am?"

He was being petty, he knew it, too. The look on your face as you just ogled him in stunned silence says it all. It was as if you never expected him to ever retort the way he did. It was really unusual if he would say so himself since he never really indulged you enough to actually argue with you the way the two of you were doing at the moment.

Out of the blue, you burst out in a fit of giggles, the corners of your eyes watering. "Come to think of it, he acts more like an old man than you do..."

"You dare call me an old man?" He knew your argument was over, but he couldn't help but say it. There was an out of place sense of satisfaction that engaging you in a word joust gave him no matter how unintelligent and shallow it was about.

When you finally calmed down, you said, "I want you to have fun and have a sense of adventure for once. I swear I won't throw your dead body to the ocean."

His left eye twitched at your sentiment. "Well, if you put it that way..."

"Just say yes to me for once."

"I always say yes to you if you haven't noticed by now."

You snickered, starting the engine. "I want you to say yes to me now."

Nanami felt something tug at his chest. "Yes."

"Good." You leaned over and poked him on the cheek.

Nanami sat there, rolling down the window as you drove, letting lose and enjoying the scenery the car passed by on the way to the sea. For the first time in a long time, his face ached from smiling too much, unable to help it.

He knew it and he didn't care if he was doomed. He was in love with you, always have been and always will.

-end of part 3-

*I used “you” here, but since my character is Gojo’s little sister who is established to be his female clone for reasons essential to the plot, she possesses the same blue eyes and white hair. I did not exactly want to create an OC (although technically, I did by describing Y/N), but I opted for the best of both worlds in this fic, leaning more towards the literary aspect of it as opposed to it just being reader/you-oriented. I hope this isn’t iffy to anyone, and yeah, i’m not being exclusive or whatever.

Thank you so much for reading. Likes, comments and reblogs are deeply appreciated! Hope you enjoyed it.

© ORIGINAL WORK BY nanaminokanojo. CHARACTERS ARE INSPIRED BY GEGE AKUTAMI'S “JUJUTSU KAISEN.” [20210716]

PHOTO/IMAGE/GIF/FANART CREDITS TO THE RESPECTIVE OWNERS.

[megsironthrone]

Meg's Game of Tales: Tale 1

*familiar characters are, of course, not mine! And the original fairytale is the work of the Brothers Grimm!*

Warnings: Slightly dark, especially toward the end. Some steam?? Angst. Probably an overuse of variants of the word "wolf", and Oberyn is a warning all his own.

Pairings: Oberyn x fem!reader

As you walked through the village, you could almost drown in the fear and anxiousness. That meant only one thing. The wolf had come out again and the people were scared. But not you. You'd never been afraid of the wolf not even when you had grown up to the age of the girls that disappeared. The bodies of the wolf's victims were always found. Except for the young women, usually between 17 and 25. Their bodies were never found.

"Come along. We need to get to your grandmother's," your mother said, pulling your arm gently. You followed after her and used your free hand to wrap your red cloak tighter around you. Winter was coming as was evident by the light coating of snow on the ground and trees.

"Coming, Mother." Your mother smiled at you before you heard a call of her name. You realized that another villager needed your mother's help. You weren't surprised. She was a midwife. She was needed all the time. "Go on. I can get this basket to Grandmother's. I'm not a child any longer and I know the way." Your mother bit her lip, thinking if it was a good idea. When her name was called again, she sighed.

"Very well. Go as quickly as you can, stay on the path, and whatever you do, never-"

"Take off the hood," you finished at the same time. You heard the speech every single full moon. The cloak had been a hand-stitched gift from your grandmother. According to legend, wearing a red clock could keep the wolf at bay and you would be safe. You weren't sure you believed that, but you humored your grandmother by wearing it every time you went out and especially during the full moon.

Leaving your mother with a kiss, you headed out of the village and into the dank, dark woods. To many, the woods seemed haunted. A place no one should ever dare to enter. However, your grandmother lived just on the other side of the wood and you knew your path. You'd been walking it at least once a week for your entire life. The woods held no fear for you. At least, usually.

You took your first step into the trees just as the sun beginning to set. If you hurried, you could be at your grandmother's house just after dark. The basket you carried with your grandmother's food for the week was clutched firmly in your hand as you walked deeper into the woods. A little hum of a song escaped your throat while you walked. For some reason, you felt at home here and it made your steps lighter. You almost felt like skipping until you heard a noise, causing you to freeze on the spot.

"Hello?" you called but received no reply. After a moment of silence you shrugged your shoulders and kept walked. This time, however, you felt like you were being watched. If you hadn't known better, you'd swear you heard a growl. You were so focused on the strange sounds that you never heard him coming.

A scream tore from you when you felt two arms around your middle. You nearly began crying until you heard a familiar voice in your ear. "It is not safe for you to be outside, Flower." You relaxed instantly, spinning in the arms of your lover. "You scared me," you admitted. That earned a cheeky grin. "It's not funny, Oberyn!" He laughed out loud that time before capturing your lips in a searing kiss.

"However shall I make it up to you, my flower?" You rolled your eyes and bit your lip. "Meet me tonight? You know I'll have to stay at Granny's tonight. I could use the company." Oberyn gave you that dazzling smile you loved. "Only if I can sneak in your window. The cold doesn't agree with me, as you know." You giggled. Of course you knew. If you were being honest, it was the cold of the last winter that ended up being the reason you found your way into Oberyn's bed.

"I have to go. I'll see you tonight?" He nodded and kissed you again before leaving you for the time being. With your rendezvous with Oberyn planned, you turned back toward your grandmother's house with newfound energy and determination.

Your grandmother greeted you with a hug and a smile before letting you in. You went to remove your cloak, but a sharp noise from her stopped you. "Y/N, we've told you never take off the hood. Not even inside. Not when the wolf is about." You bit back a sigh. You couldn't understand why she and your mother were like this. It was just a cloak. Surely they didn't really believe it had some kind of magical power attached to it to keep the wolf at bay. Nevertheless, you kept it on until you could retire to the room your grandmother kept for you.

After a sweet, "goodnight, Granny," you closed and bolted the door behind you. As soon as you were safely tucked away, you removed the heavy cloak. "Finally," you breathed out. You began bouncing in anticipation of Oberyn coming to see you. And it didn't take him long. "Little Red, let me in or I'll huff and puff and-" you threw open the window and shushed him. "Granny will hear you. Get in here."

Oberyn hopped in the window, gracefully landing on your bed. You let out a soft giggle. "You are ridiculous." He shrugged before pulling you down with him. He laced his fingers with yours and you hummed in content. You glanced at your joined hands. "You have such big hands." He chuckled while using his free hand to grip your waist. "All the better to hold you with." You rolled your eyes. "My what a wicked tongue you have." Oberyn shifted so your back was on the bed and he hovered over you. "All the better to taste you with," he whispered as his lips pressed against yours fervently.

*time skip*

You awoke the next morning to a pounding at your door. You bolted upright and glanced around in confusion. Oberyn was gone and you were alone once more. "Y/N! Open the door!" you heard your mother call out. You shot out of bed and unbolted the door. "Oh thank the g- Why didn't you answer? And where is your cloak?!" your mother cried, wrapping you in a hug.

"I was asleep, Mother. What is going on?" Your mother exchanged a glance with your grandmother. "The wolf was here. Took out a few of Granny's chickens and sheep. We found tracks outside your window. Both human and wolf." You instantly froze. Had the wolf gotten to Oberyn when he left you? You ran to the window and glanced down. Sure enough there were human and wolf tracks. You grabbed your cloak, pushed passed your family, and went outside to investigate.

Upon closer inspection, you realized that the footprints were both coming and going from your window. But worse than that, they seemed to disappear when the wolf tracks started. Your eyes widened. You'd read stories of wolves that could be human all the time except at the full moon. Then they turned into ruthless monsters. Wolves. Werewolves.

The next thought that came to you nearly had you sinking to your knees. The only person that had been near your window the night before was Oberyn. Was he the wolf? Could the man you loved be the wolf that terrorized the village? You didn't want to believe it. It was almost better to believe that the wolf had carted him off. But you knew that wasn't true when you saw his form rushing toward you.

"Are you alright?!" he demanded, "I heard the wolf had been here. Y/N? Flower, are you alright?" You nodded, not really seeing him but the monster you thought he might be. "I need to talk to you. Alone," you whispered, "Meet me in an hour at our spot." Oberyn's brow furrowed in confusion, but he agreed and left after pressing a kiss to your forehead.

You had to dodge a hundred questions about where you were going when you headed off to meet Oberyn a little while later. You didn't need your family worrying any more than they already were. So when their backs were turned, you snuck out. As you passed by your window, you did you best to ignore the footprints that were slowly being covered in new fallen snow. If you looked, you'd lose your courage.

Oberyn was already waiting for you when you arrived at your spot. He moved to hug you, but you stepped back. The look of hurt that crossed his face almost had you backing down. It was so out of place. "Flower?"

"Are you the wolf?!" you blurted out, unable to stop yourself. Your eyes met Oberyn's and he laughed. "Don't be ridiculous, Y/N." He grinned at you, but this time, there was something different there. Something sinister. He took a step toward you and you backed away. He put his hands on his hips, shaking his head and chuckling under his breath.

"You truly don't know, do you? Very well. I suppose there's no sense in lying to you anymore. But I am not the only one. There's more than one wolf. There always has been. The problem is, once these girls reached the age of 17 and their wolves started fighting to get out, they had no control. I had to do something. So they had to disappear. Believe me, it hurt me just as much. Losing potential pack members is never easy on me."

"You killed them. You really are the wolf. I was hoping…" you trailed off. Your head was spinning. You really had hoped you were wrong. But there was no denying it now; Oberyn was the wolf. Oberyn shrugged a bit. "I couldn’t have a pack of unruly wolves and I didn't have time to train them all to control it. So yes, I hunted them down and carted them off. I was protecting the villages, as I have always done."

"Protecting them?! You've slaughtered dozens of women!" Oberyn shook his head with a sigh. "Slaughtered is a rather harsh term, Flower. As I said, they would have harmed those that aren't wolves deep down. As the Alpha wolf, it my job to keep them in line." You licked your lips. "And what about me? Where do I fit in all of this? The cloak doesn't really protect me from wolves like you, does it?"

Oberyn blinked in surprise for a moment before throwing back his head in laughter. You crossed your arms over your chest and waited for his fit to be done. You didn't appreciate being laughed at at a time like this. "Oh my dear Flower. The cloak was never meant to protect you from me. Once you came of age, it was meant to protect everyone…from you." It was your turn to laugh.

"Right. So you're saying that I'm-" Oberyn's lips were still turned up in a sly grin as your brain struggled to make the connection. It wasn't possible. Absolutely impossible. Oberyn continued on, his fingers playing the edge of your cloak. "Your grandmother was smart, I'll give her that. But she read the wrong information. The red cloak doesn't protect against the wolf's attack. It prevents the wolf from changing at all. Except you, my naughty Little Red, never seem to remember your grandmother's most important rule. Never," he began, taking a step closer to you, "Take. Off. The. Hood."

Your back was pressed up against a tree now. Your heart raced a mile a minute as did your brain. One look in Oberyn's eyes told you that he was absolutely telling you the truth. You were a wolf too. And it made sense. The insistence of your grandmother to where the cloak. The fact that you weren't afraid of the wolf. The fact that your grandmother always lost a few sheep whenever you stayed overnight with her.

But that meant you were still in danger from him. For the first time, you were actually afraid of what would happen next. "W-What are you going to do?" you asked. Your voice was barely above a whisper. Oberyn chuckled darkly, his mouth hovering just by your ear as one hand supported him against the tree and the other moved your throat. "Oh, Flower, haven't you guessed? I'm going to make you mine. Forever."

The End??

(a/n: I hope you enjoyed our first tale! Come back next week for tale #2! Tag lists for Meg's Game of Tales are open and separate from my normal taglists!)

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

When the Weight Comes Down - 8 - End

Warnings: non-consent sex (series); intercourse, oral

This is dark! (biker) Steve and explicit. 18+ only.

Series Synopsis: Your father’s a drunk, your mother a recluse, and you’re just another small town girl in Birch.

Sister series to Smalltown Bringdown

Note: It was fun sharing this series with you guys. As for the next week, I don’t have anything done, just a bunch of bits and pieces I need to put together for other series and possible one shots. So, I’ll take Monday off at least and figure out what the hell I’m doing. 

Thanks to everyone for their patience and feedback. :)

I really hope you enjoy. 💋

<3 Let me know what you think with a like or reblog or reply or an ask! Love ya!

Chapter Eight: It’s a Good Life If You Don’t Weaken

And find somewhere to go Go somewhere we're needed Find somewhere to grow Grow somewhere we're needed

💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀

The main floor had a large kitchen and a dining room and a second room on the other side of the entryway. The entire place seemed untouched and barely lived in. Curious. And it was much nicer than your parents’ house, but most were. 

Upstairs there were several more rooms along with a couple bathrooms and closets. You could guess that it was a recently renovated farmhouse, the skeleton built for a large family who had once worked the land. It seemed much too big for just Steve. And you.

That thought was still sinking in. You didn’t believe Steve. Truly didn’t. This was all just a ploy that you weren’t in on. It felt like everything he’d done was just another trick but you couldn’t guess how. You couldn’t complain either. He was generous despite his brusque demeanour and you hadn’t exactly suffered from his kindness.

He lingered behind you as you walked down the long hallway. You glanced at the framed pictures of trees and seascapes. Steve’s footsteps trailed you and he came up beside you to look at a painting of a barren winter forest.

“We can change the pictures, the curtains, the carpet…” He said. “I never did much. I just needed a place to sleep.”

“I’m not stupid,” You said suddenly, surprising even yourself. “I know what you want.”

“Well, doll, I haven’t exactly been subtle.” He scoffed. “So… tell me what I want?”

You hesitated. There was no way to say it without sounding silly.

“S-sex,” You forced out. 

He smirked and reached to run his thumb down the frame of the picture. He slowly turned to you as he planted his hand on the wall. He loomed over you.

“Sex,” He repeated with a chuckle. “And what is it exactly I want from you? What we did last night? Or maybe I want to just bend you over…” He was amused at how you squirmed. “Or maybe I want it all.”

“And you would hurt me if I didn’t?” You asked.

“If? There is no if, doll,” He purred as he tickled your neck. “We know that you’re going to go in there…” He nodded to the door just feet away, “And and what you’re going to do. What we’re going to do.”

You stared at him and took a breath. You shivered and shook your head.

“You go in that room,” He lowered his voice as he played with the strap of your dress, “And wait for me.”

“Wait?” You shook your head.

“I’ll be a few minutes.” He squeezed your shoulder. “More than enough time for you to get ready for me.”

He kissed your forehead and his hand fell from your shoulder. He tilted his head as he watched you. Numbly, you turned and looked at the pale walls as you measured your steps to the door. You turned back as you grasped the knob and Steve stood as he had. He urged you on with a nod and you opened the door.

You stepped inside and shut the door with a click. You looked around the bedroom, the melding hues of the afternoon and evening streamed in between the dark curtains. The large bed stood between a set of weathered nightstands and looked cozy despite its dark blankets.

There were traces of Steve all around, unlike the rest of the house. A tee shirt hung over the lip of the hamper and a towel draped from the back of the armchair. You’d never really thought of how or where Steve lived. In your head, he existed in perpetual foreboding; floated in a nether until he could appear to rein over you.

You walked around the room and peeked out the window. It was at least twice the size of your bedroom and the scent of vinegar and bleach didn’t seep in under the door. You spun back and faced the room. You thought of those dumb harlequin novellas you’d read as a curious teen, the flowery language, and cheesy notions of romance. This wasn’t that.

You went to the bed and sat on the end. You watched the door. An impatience that you scorned. You should be dreading him not expecting him. You clasped your hands together and trembled. You were more nervous than you’d ever been.

The door opened and you looked up. Steve entered and let the door hang open carelessly. He held your eye as he neared and brought his hands up on either side of your face.

“Good girl,” He praised.

You shifted, uncomfortable, and his hands fell. They trailed down your arms and crawled over your waist. He lowered himself to his knees before you as his hands rested on your thighs. He peered up at you, his blue eyes darkened and dilated.

He pulled on your knees and you fought for a moment before he wrenched them apart. He quickly drew himself between your legs and his fingers danced along your skirt. He lifted it slowly and hummed at your nakedness.

“You listened,” He said. “Good girl.”

You looked away, ashamed. He rubbed your thighs and slipped his hands up to your hips as your dress bunched up.

“Relax,” He coaxed. “Lay back, doll.”

“What are you--” Your legs squeezed him as you tried to close them.

“Shh,” He gripped your hips. “Just… listen.”

You took a deep breath and shakily leaned back on your elbows. You fell back completely as one of his hands slid further up your stomach. His fingers stretched along your stomach as his other hand crept along your pelvis.

He shifted between your legs and you were stunned by the warm of his breath along your thigh. He kissed the tender flesh and you flinched. He grabbed your leg and kept you from trying to draw them together. Another kiss and you gasped. You lifted yourself up on his elbows and he pulled back.

“Down,” He commanded.

Your lips parted but your voice was gone. You fell flat and he continued on, his beard tickled the inside of your thighs. He gave a nip and you cried out. He did it again, harder, and you clawed the duvet beneath you. He left a trail of kisses and bites until his warmth reached your pelvis.

His nose tickled along your vee and you gasped. He kept one hand on your thigh as his cool tongue flicked over your folds. You tensed and he squeezed your leg. He delved deeper and your hand flew down without thinking. He slapped your hand away and kept on. The sensation he sent through you was both frightening and intoxicating.

His tongue explored you carefully but grew more fervent. He lapped at you hungrily and swirled around your clit. Your back arched and you grasped at the blankets. Your legs bent against the end of the bed as he grabbed your skirt and balled the fabric in his fist.

Your heart beat furiously as your breath hitched. You writhed against him and closed your eyes as you lost yourself in the rapture. Everything around you faded away; the distant farmhouse, the club, Birch… It was all gone. It was nothing. There was only that feeling.

You whined and slapped the mattress as your core bloomed. The sudden wave of pleasure that washed over you was suffocating. As you moaned, your voice didn’t sound like your own. Your body felt disjointed; like you were watching yourself squirm and squeal in delight.

Steve urged you on with his mouth as he didn’t let up. You came again. You were dizzy and breathless as he forced you over the line over and over. You were weak and sensitive when he finally slowed and sat back on his heels. Your grip slackened on the blankets and you reached down to push your skirt over your exposed pelvis.

“Ah,” He grabbed your wrists as he stood. “We’re not even close to done.”

He pulled you up so that you were sitting on the end of the bed. He let you go and stepped back. His gaze didn’t waver as he pulled his tee shirt over his head. You glanced down at your red dress, the skirt gathered at your waist.

“Keep that on,” He growled. “And look at me.”

Your eyes flitted up and he undid his jeans. Your cheeks burned. You recalled the sight of him the night before. You’d never seen a man entirely naked and here he was undressing before you. So brazen and bold that he seemed to splendour in it. You couldn’t look away, but you weren’t sure it had anything to do with his order.

When he was completely bare before you, your lips formed an o. His muscles were firm along his stomach, arms, and thighs. His flesh was carved with strength. His shoulders were broad and he seemed even bigger as he stood before you in his purest form.

He stepped towards the bed and it felt like you were slapped out of your trance. You kicked your legs back and he lunged forward. You crawled backwards on your hands and feet awkwardly as you tried to evade him. He caught your ankles and dragged you back to him as he lifted his knees up onto the bed.

“Let’s not do that,” He warned as he parted your legs and moved between them.

You blinked as his cock bobbed at the edge of your vision. You tried to focus on his chest, on the sheer power corded along his shoulders. He grabbed your wrists and pinned them to the mattress as he bent over you. You could feel every ounce of strength in his grip.

He kissed you. He was desperate; impatient. He dragged his lips from your and brushed down your cheek. He nuzzled your neck and nibbled the delicate skin. He closed his lips around his teeth and sucked. You cried out at the intricate pressure. You struggled, or tried to. He parted with a ‘pop’.

“What--”

“Gotta make sure they know you’re mine,” He purred as his nose tickled your throat.

He released your wrists as he dropped down onto an elbow and his other hand crept between your bodies. He pushed the straps of your dress down your shoulders until your arms were trapped in it. He cupped your tit and then the other. He moved back to take a nipple in his mouth. He toyed with your roughly and you whimpered at the pluck it sent through your core.

His fingers dug into your hip as he squeezed tighter. You could tell he was holding back, just barely. You were thankful yet terrified. His restraint could not last.

“Touch me,” He whispered against you as he moved over you.

His lips crashed into yours and you murmured into his mouth. You felt around blindly and he grabbed your hand with his. He devoured you as he guided your hand around his cock. You didn’t need any encouragement as you feared what would happen if you tried to retreat now. He shuddered as your hand slid up and down his length. 

His hand flew up and grasped your head as he kissed you deeper. He moaned and parted for just a moment before he kissed you again. As you stroked him, he shifted so that his tip rubbed against your sensitive clit. You twitched and he pushed down so that every glide of your hand had him sending ripples through your core.

He eased himself down until he slid along your folds. He prodded at your cunt and ripped your hand from between you. He pulled his lips from yours and held himself up on his elbow as he felt between your legs. His eyes bore into yours as a wrinkle marred his forehead.

“You ready, doll?” He asked as he pressed himself against your entrance.

You gasped. You were terrified. He pushed in just a little and you whined. “N-no!”

He ignored you and pushed further in. You could feel yourself stretching around him. You felt an unnatural fullness as he inched deeper and deeper. You gritted your teeth. The pressure was peculiar but not painful. Your breaths came sharply and you clawed at his sides helplessly.

He pulled back just a little and you let out a sigh. 

“Steve,” You pleaded. 

He pushed back in and your voice fizzled. This time he sank to his limit. His body kept yours in place and he kissed your cheek as he began to thrust slowly. He smelled like leather and sweat. You could taste tears though you hadn’t felt them fall.

“Doll,” He hummed and inhaled the scent of your hair. “Oh, fuck, so good.”

“P-please,” You stuttered.

“Doesn’t that feel good?” He kept his motion steady; even but teasing.

“I don’t… know,” You bent your legs so that he was cradled between them. You felt an intense tickle and moaned.

“That’s it, just do what you feel,” He cooed.

His pelvis rubbed against your clit. You felt the same tension winding within you. The fabric of your dress scratched between your bodies. 

Steve pushed himself up. He impaled you as he sat back and gripped your hips. You grabbed onto his wrists as he sped up. You cried out as he slammed into you. Hard. He jolted your entire body and the bed shook beneath you. The clap of your flesh bounced around the room as you squeezed his wrists in a silent plea.

“Hurts,” You gulped out. “Slow… slow.”

His hand came down on your chest and he stretched his fingers across you. He had you pinned as he leaned his weight into you. He didn’t seem to hear you, or perhaps he chose not to, and his groans added to the lurid cacophony. His thrusts grew sharper and more deliberate. 

And you felt the tension break suddenly. You slapped his arm as you came again and your hands grasped his thick thighs as you tried to hold him to you. He bent over you and snaked his arm beneath you. He lifted you in a single motion and bounced you against him.

“Again,” He urged. “Again.”

You rocked against him as the thrill began to wane but quickly rose again as the friction mounted between you. You untangled your arms from the straps and slung them over his shoulders. He grasped the dress and twisted until it was tight around you. He used it to guide you as your body acted in a lusted haze.

When you came again, your voice crackled and you threw your head back. Steve held you up and kept your body moving against him, one hand knotted in your dress and the other on your ass.

“Oh, oh,” He rasped. “Doll, I’m almost there.”

“Wha--” You struggled to understand anything as your mind was little more than stars. “What…” Your heart dropped but the buzz still radiated through you. “N-n-no.” 

He grunted and fell onto you. He crushed you against the mattress as his thrusts turned spasmodic. He groaned and you felt the heat seep into you as you wriggled beneath him. He held himself deep within you and slumped heavily over your body. His breath was trapped along the crook of your neck as he stilled.

You were silent as you stared at the ceiling. As you felt his weight over you. His body was a prison. Reality trickled along your spine as your sweat cooled and you lightly tapped his arm.

“Doll?” He breathed and nuzzled your cheek.

“Steve…” You quavered. “Steve… I’m not on… I’m not on anything.”

He lifted his head and looked down at you. He rocked his hips and you quivered.

“That’s alright, doll,” He purred. “I’ll take care of you.”

💀

[candy-and-writing]

Show me Some Moves

Pairing: Chris Evans x Reader

Warnings: smut, oral (female receiving), unprotected sex (wrap it up, kids), there's no plot it's just porn, fingering

Summary: so it was three am and I had the thought "oh yeah? Is Gemini Flanagan gonna show me some moves?" and now we're here

I am NOT responsible for your media content consumption. This work is not intended for those under the age of 18 due to explicit sexual content and/or dark themes. By reading this work you agree that you are at least 18 years of age. I do not consent to have my work posted on any third party app or website; if you are seeing this work anywhere other than tumblr and archiveofourown, it has been reposted without my permission.

It started out innocently enough—you and Chris were on the couch in his Boston bachelor pad, Dodger laying across your lap as you watched a movie. It was, after all, movie night, and it was Chris's turn to pick the movie. So you pulled out that bottle of wine you've been saving and he grabbed a beer as he played the live-action Lion King.

It was easy to forget how much you enjoyed the original, as you sipped your Cabernet and recited the quotes in your head, smiling slightly every time you got it word for word. You gushed at the lion cubs, exclaiming how utterly adorable they were. You didn't notice Chris's gaze on you until about halfway into the movie, when you happened to glance his way, about to ask if he needed another beer.

His eyes were dark, pupils blown wide and you had a hard time swallowing because you knew. Lord, help you, you knew what that look meant. Your heartbeat sped as he paused the film, giving you that smirk and you knew you were done for.

"Why don't you go get Dodge a bone?" he asked, his voice wispy and low. You nodded, nerves buzzing with excitement as you stood, speeding to the kitchen. If Dodger didn't have something to distract him, he'd come barging in on you two, and you couldn't have that.

You came back into the living room and Dodger's ears perked up at the sight of the two-foot-long chew bone you held in your hand. He jumped off the couch, sitting in front of you as he panted, almost as excited as you were. You gave him the bone and he raced to his bed, pawing and chewing at the large treat.

Chris stood, stepping up to you until your noses touched, hands resting on your hips. He ran his fingers against your cheek, through your hair, and you sighed, leaning into the touch.

"I missed you," he muttered. He had been away filming his newest series about half an hour away from Boston, but you hadn't been able to see him that often, if at all. If he wasn't able to make it home that night or had an early morning shooting, which was often, he'd stay up in Needham. Skype was one thing, but this—this was different. You missed his being, his presence.

You simply nodded, eyelids fluttering closed as his lips brushed against yours. Your knees shook from anticipation, your head spinning as he pulled away, his dark eyelashes hooding his eyes.

"Let me show you how much I missed you."

You nodded, voice lost in your throat, and that was all it took. You made quick eye contact before you jumped up, wrapping your legs around his waist.

He kissed you again, more fervently than the last. His lips were smooth against yours, molding together almost perfectly. One hand rested against your back while his other was fisted into your hair and he started walking. He shoved the bedroom door closed with his foot before he dropped you down on the bed, pulling his sweater over his head and following suite.

You took a moment to admire him, like you always did, but you couldn't help it. He was corded in thick muscle. His biceps bulged as he flexed, realizing you were ogling him. As he crawled over to you, you reached out to touch the quoted ink along his collar bone. As he hovered over you, your fingertips ghosted over Bardsley's tattoo, and his facade faltered. It was the most sensitive and often the most ticklish, you liked to run your fingers over it, especially when they were cold.

His hands roamed up your stomach, under your shirt, and you shuddered as Chris moved to kiss your neck.

"I want this off," he mumbled against your skin, pulling at your top. You huffed out a laugh.

"So take it off," you replied. Chris smiled against your neck, huffing at your snarky remark.

He started to unbutton your top, kissing up along your neck, sucking on that sweet spot behind your ear. He pushed your shirt off your shoulders, leaving you in your little lacy bralette. It was Chris's favorite, and you knew it. He kissed your collar bone, going further down, mouthing along the edge of your bra. You reached behind you, undoing the clasp and letting your bra fall forward. Chris pulled it off your shoulders, throwing it on the floor to be left for in the morning.

Chris mouthed at your nipple, kissing and sucking while his hand fondled your other breast. You sighed, eyes fluttering shut as your head fell back into the pillows. His tongue flicked along your hardened bud, rolling your other nipple between his thumb and forefinger.

"Chris," you moaned. "C'mon."

Chris smiled, hands skimming down your stomach to unbuckle your pants. He kissed down the valley of your breasts, down your naval, making you giggle as he licked at your belly button. Smirking at you, he tugged your jeans down your legs, kissing your thigh. You smiled as the jeans were pulled off your feet, Chris's lips pecking at your ankle. He slowly made his way back up your leg, kissing your body slowly and softly until he reached your knee, then your upper thigh. You squirmed in his grasp, almost moaning when his lips met your apex.

"Chris," you panted, "baby, please."

"Well," Chris smirked. "Since you asked so nicely."

He bent and nuzzled your cunt through your underwear. His fingers hooked the hem of your panties, pulling them down slowly, taunting you. A string of your juices connected to the fabric as he pulled it past your thighs and down your legs. Chris paused, taking a moment to admire your clean-shaven pussy. He leaned down to capture your lips with his, moaning into your mouth.

"God, baby, you're so beautiful," Chris whispered against your lips, looking at you with hearts in his eyes. His fingers pushed past your lips, circling your clit lightly. "I'm gonna take such good care of you."

You hummed, head falling back as you gasped. Chris was good with his fingers, being able to play the piano gave him that luxury—playing your body like you were an instrument. It was intoxicating.

He was intoxicating.

He used the pads of his middle and forefingers to rub your clit in small, fast circles, slowing down at random intervals. You mewled as he sped up suddenly, hands clutching at the sheets below you.

When his hands left you suddenly, you whined, writhing underneath him in a desperate attempt to get him to touch you again. He chuckled, the noise resonating deep in his chest. He was quick to discard his jeans, leaving him in his boxers, the bulge in his underwear enough to make your mouth water.

"You okay?" Chris asked. You almost scoffed.

"I'm fine, Chris, keep going."

And just like that, he dove down, his lips attaching to your clit and sucking in a way that had your thighs tensing. You gasped, a strangled moan getting caught in your throat and your fingers clawed into his hair. Chris moaned, the vibrations reverberating through your clit and up your stomach. Your head flew back, hitting the pillow beneath you as you squeezed your eyes shut, lungs tight.

His tongue flicked your bundle of nerves before lapping at it with the flat of his tongue. Your channel clenched as your hips jerked into his face, whining until you felt him smiling against you.

With his free hand, Chris pulled back the hood of your clit, the tip of his tongue tapping at the base of your little bundle of nerves. You jerked, almost kicking him as you moaned. Your hand clenched around the bedsheets as your other pulled on his hair and he grunted. He repeated the ministration, eliciting the same reaction from you.

When he entered his first finger into you, you cried out. He suckled at your clit, teeth just barely grazing the skin and you jolted, the girth of his finger pumping in and out of you steadily. He pushed up against your walls, just barely missing the spot you needed him to hit the most. Chris was careful as he pushed a second finger into you, pumping at an agonizingly slow pace, playing around that spot inside that could shatter you. That coil inside you was tight, and getting tighter, threatening to explode and send you over the edge. You began to babble, endless, senseless pleas of 'don't stop,' and 'Chris, please.'

"Ya taste so good, baby," Chris moaned, his accent audible, lapping up your juices as they leaked out past his hand. You whined in response, barely hearing what he said as the pleasure sparked up your core and he quickly inserted a third finger. Your legs tightened around his head, his beard scratching at the inside of your thighs.

His fingers sped up in pace and your hips jerked wildly. Your gut tightened and you cried out, the coil inside you snapping like a taught rubber band. You came with a shout, Chris knuckles deep in your cunt while his tongue was wrapped around your clit. He helped you ride out your orgasm as he worked his fingers in and out of you slowly, kissing your thigh.

"That was beautiful, baby," Chris praised. You wanted to make a sly, breathless comment saying, 'you're beautiful,' because, in all honesty, he was. With his hair tousled from your fingers, the way he grinned at you between your legs with your juices on his beard, it made you weak on the spot.

He was quick to shuffle off his boxers, leaving him bare. His cock sprung free, bobbing up against his stomach. He ran his hand up along himself a few times, relieving a bit of pressure. He kneeled over you, lining his length up with your hole.

"Ya ready, baby?" You nodded. "Good, 'cuz we have all night, and I don't plan on stopping any time soon."

You stifled a giggle, knowing after two rounds both of you were going to be done.

"Oh, yeah? Is Gemini Flanagan gonna show me some moves?"

He blanched, his jaw falling open. You laughed, so much so you curled in on yourself. Your ribs ached as tears swelled in your eyes, Chris's exasperated laugh barely reaching your ears.

"I didn't know you watched that interview."

"Babe." You wiped a few tears from your eyes. "I watch all your interviews."

He bent down and kissed you, softly and passionately.

"Gemini Flanagan isn't gonna do shit," Chris murmured against your lips. "I, on the other hand, am gonna fuck you so hard the bed breaks."

You swallowed, inhaling sharply as he lined himself up with your entrance. He pushed in slowly, inch by inch until he had reached his limit. You gasped, throwing your head back against the pillows, fists clenched in the sheets. He stilled for a moment, letting you adjust. He kissed along your shoulder, up your neck, trying to distract you from the small burn you felt, letting you relax.

He hitched your legs up to his thick thighs, coercing you to wrap your ankles around his hips. The new angle brought new sensations, sent both of you into a flurry.

"Fuck, you're tight," Chris gasped. "Always so tight."

He gave you a minute to adjust to his length, his thumb coming up to rub gentle circles around your clit. You mewled, bucking your hips. Chris's breath hitched and he pulled out an inch, pushing back in with ardor and you arched your back.

You watched the controlled movements of his muscles, how they contorted and relaxed, using restraint as he moved into you. He continued his steady pace, slowly speeding up until he was pounding into you, his skin slapping against yours. Your moans resonated throughout the room. You clung to the headboard like it was the only thing keeping you adrift, afraid you would float away in the bliss. Chris growled, hands entwined in yours as he held them on either side of your head. He bucked into you, the head of his cock hitting that perfect spot inside you that had you gasping. You cried out, knuckles turning white in Chris's grip.

"Fuck, baby," Chris groaned, pistoning his hips against you in a way that had your back arching. Your walls tightened against him, clutching him like a vice.

He released your grip, his hand slithering down to where your bodies were connected. He rubbed small, fast circles along your clit, your body jolting in pleasure. He had your ass off the mattress, shifting so he towered over you. You were at your limit. The coil in your stomach pulling tighter and tighter and finally it snapped. You squealed as you came, overstimulated when Chris kept his fast pace, not giving you time to come down.

You couldn't form words as your next orgasm approached, whether it was a run on of the previous one or a completely new one, you weren't sure. You didn't care. All you cared about was Chris, the way he felt pounding into you.

"Gimme one more, baby," he coaxed, teasing your clit with his fingers. "C'mon, I know you can do it."

"Chris," you whined, writhering under his touch.

When you came, you saw stars. Your vision turned blurry and your back arched painfully, toes curled. Your mouth was open, but you couldn't be sure if you were screaming. Chris continued his pace until he came, spurting white hot cum into your channel. You shuddered as he pulled out, overfilled and overstimulated.

"You okay, baby?"

You nodded, closing your eyes and relishing in the bliss.

"Good," he kissed your cheek, "because the night's still young, I don't plan on stopping any time soon."

[deadlynightshade-and-hyacinth]

I’m Gonna Crawl

Chapter 11  

I awoke to a quiet knock at the entry. I pulled the blanket from my face and peered at the ajar door. Robert peeked his head in, a comforting smile on his pink lips.  

“May I come in?” He asked quietly, cautious.  

“I guess.” I whispered.  

He slowly emerged, turned on the light judiciously and perched on the edge of the bed, a bag of ice chips in his hands. “I come bearing gifts.” He tried to lighten the mood with a warm smile. “Sit up, love.”  

I sat up and held the blankets to my chest. He gave me a melancholy smile and held the ice up to my cheek. I winced at the coldness to the still stinging wound.  

Bonzo peered into the room with a glass of water in one hand and something wrapped in the other. “Sorry to bother, I brought you something for the pain.” Someone must have filled him in on the events of the morning when he awoke from his drunken stupor.  

Robert removed the ice from my face and Bonzo put two pills in my hand. I popped them into my mouth without hesitation or curiosity as to what exactly he was giving me before Bonzo fed me a sip of water.  

“How are you feeling?” Bonzo sat beside Robert.  

I took a deep breath. “Moronic.” I gave a small fading smile.  

“You’re not moronic, love. That ugly cunt is the stupid one.” Bonzo assured. “If I had been there, I tell yah, he wouldn’t be breathing, the lousy bastard.” I could tell he meant this. He seemed aggravated at the thought of what had happened. His fists were balled up, his knuckles white, eyes narrowed and jaw locked. I was touched, to say the least.  

“That’s not why I feel stupid.” I admitted. “I mean… it was stupid of me to even show up. I should have just told Peter to have everyone ignore him and leave.”  

“Then why do you feel daft?” Robert wondered.  

My heart thudded uncomfortably. “I said some awful things to Jimmy. He was trying to be nice and I took my anger out on him.” I buried my face in my hands. “I feel like a complete ass.”  

Robert put his hand on my shoulder. “Love, Jimmy is the definition of an ass. Look it up in the dictionary. I bet my life that his picture is in there.” He gave a quick chuckle before turning serious again. “Don’t beat yourself up, he likely had it coming, what with all the pestering he’s been doing.”  

“So that’s why the bastard’s been sulking in the other room.” Bonzo mentally put the pieces together, I could see the wheels turning behind his pale green eyes, a light bulb illuminating the yellow hues in them as he solved the puzzle. “Definition of an ass is right! I was gonna pass back out in that room!”  

Robert shook his head, laughing quietly at Bonzo.  

“He didn’t deserve it.” I stared at the wall across the room from me. “It was completely uncalled for.”  

Robert gave me a kind smile. “You are truly one of a kind. Whatever you said, I’m sure he’ll forgive you.” He leaned in and kissed my forehead. “Come Bonzo, let’s find you a cure for that hangover.” He wrapped his arm around Bonzo’s shoulder and pulled him out of the room.  

“Robert, John!” I called out to them. They peeked their heads back in like meerkats. “I’m very sorry about today.”  

“Nothing to be sorry for, darling.” Robert assured, Bonzo nodding along with Robert. They left the room, closing the door behind them.  

I sat there taking in deep breaths, trying desperately to rid myself of the dark void I was feeling deep in the pit of my stomach.

When I heard music starting to play in the lounge and the voices of everyone on the plane getting louder, I plucked myself from the bed and found my way to the other bedroom. The door was closed so I knocked but there was no answer. I knocked again.  

“Go…. the fuck…. away!” Jimmy muttered sharply from behind the door.  

I took a deep breath and turned the door knob. I slowly entered and closed the door behind me. Jimmy was sitting on the floor, his knees against his chest, staring at the empty fireplace.  

“I said go the fuck away.” He mumbled into his jeans, his eyes never leaving the unburned logs.

“I came to apologize.”  

He quickly turned his head to look at me, his eyes dark, then turned his gaze back to the non-existent fire.  

I padded across the floor and sat down in front of him. He closed his eyes and rested his forehead on his knees.  

“I’m sorry I spoke to you that way. I took my anger out on you when I shouldn’t have.” I bit down on my lower lip, looking for the words to express my regret. I looked at his hands clutching his legs and placed mine on top of his. He looked up at me, a pained look in his eyes. He pulled his hand away. I looked down, hurt with rejection hanging heavy on me until his hand cupped my bruised cheek delicately. I looked back up at him, he was looking at the wound.  

“It looks worse.” His voice was coarse. “I should find you something for the pain.”  

“Bonzo and Robert brought me something. I’m okay.” I assured  

He nodded his head, his lips somehow frowning more. “I just wanted to help.”  

“I know.” I winced again as he rubbed his thumb gently across my cheek. “I’m sorry I wouldn’t let you.”  

He shrugged nonchalantly.  

I could feel the situation was irreconcilable which pained me but I understood. I backed away from his hand, the welt burning where his fingers once were, and stood up. “I just wanted you to know that I was out of line and I’ll be more professional from now on.” I gave a halfhearted smile and held out my hand for him to shake.  

He looked up at me from the floor, his eyes deep and eager. “Will you get Richard to bring me my bottle when you leave?” He turned his gaze back to the fireplace.  

My heart sank deep into my stomach and left a hollow ache where it lay. “Yes.” I sighed, putting my hand back by my side. I looked down at him sadly, longing for him to come back. For once, I actually missed the arrogant side of him, it was easier to swallow then this pained version I had created with my own ignorance and insidious behavior. I bent down to his level, placed a hand on the side of his face, and pressed my lips to his forehead. I could feel his breath hitch on my neck. When I pulled away, he grabbed the back of my head and pulled me into him. His lips stayed still for what seemed like a lifetime then slowly parted against mine, his hot breath stoning me. He kissed me long and slow, his lips tenderly melting into mine. When he stopped, he placed his forehead against mine, eyes closed, hand still holding me against him.  

When he opened his eyes, he let out a heavy sigh. “Stay with me.” His voice was quiet.  

“I-” I started.  

“Please.” He breathed, his voice but a whisper. “I’ll try not to attempt to sleep with you.” He pleaded, pulling out all the stops to get me to stay.  

I chuckled and shook my head. “Try?”  

The corner of his mouth lifted up into a small crooked smile. “Well I certainly can’t promise you I won’t, that would be a lie.” He admitted. “But I can try.”  

“I’ll go get your whiskey.” I placed a hand on his chest to push myself up. I could feel his bones through his skin as though he had nothing to him. “And food.”  

Still with his grasp on my hair he held me where I was and placed his lips back on mine, kissing me as fervently as he had before. As his lips parted slowly, he slipped his tongue into my mouth skillfully. When he pulled away - too soon - he looked into my eyes. “Last time, I promise.”  

I gave a faux smile. It was the most perfect kiss I had ever experienced; I surely didn’t want it to be the last. This time when I tried to get up, he let me. “I’ll be back.”  

“No.” He stood up. “I’ll go, you sit. Rest.” He gave a concerned look.  

I laughed absurdly to which he gave a confused look. “I’ll go. I don’t need all of them thinking you’re getting lucky with me and I know you’ll only encourage their delusions. I’ll be back.”  

“I wouldn’t dare encourage them.” He offered; his smile sinful.  

“You’re far from a good liar, Mr. Page.”  

“Fine.” He sighed and waved me off with a wink.  

@sweet-lady-jane​ @tangerine-page​ @within60s​ @jimjcm​ @rocknrollsoul76​ @zeptrashahoy​ @taurusgrl444​ @melancholi-e​ @floatinginthedunes​ Sorry Chapter 10 was so short. This chapter is also on the shorter side so I figured I would post it now for you all! Enjoy xoxo

[daydreamed-snippets]

Lost Penal Colony Records

Warning: Mature themes. Not graphic, so I’m not categorizing it as NSFW, but does have mature situations. 

On the Account of Prisoner 36842

“Alright! Line up! Let’s go!”

The voice barked out the orders throughout the barracks, jolting the protagonist out of a weary and restless sleep. A single lantern hanging from the ceiling blinked on, roused like the prisoners, illuminating rows and rows of cots.

This structure housed fifty souls, and there were twelve in this particular part of the compound, and the protagonist could hear each of them—feel each of them moaning, cursing, begrudging life, desperately clutching onto memories of once pleasant dreams, wondering when this nightmare was going to end. The protagonist wondered too.

“Come on, strip! Take off your blues, take off your underwear! Everything off for the inspection!” the voice cracked again.

Obediently the protagonist rose, joining the others who wordlessly unzipped their jumpsuit before shimmying it out of it, shedding their only protection from the cold and prying eyes, letting it pool around their ankles. In almost one accord, the group gathered their clothing, folded them, and placed them on their respective cots before queuing up.

The protagonist followed, knowing the routine, having it inscribed into them from day one—a bleary eleven years ago. The humiliation didn’t get any better eleven years later. Neither did the beatings. The previous night was particularly painful, and the protagonist was mindful of the discolored bruises that were scattered around their body, doing their best not to aggravate them further while undressing. It didn’t stop the rush of their heart, the rise of their blood pressure as if something was creeping up on them and they were frozen with fear to the spot. Dread had its deft claws wrapped around their heart, squeezing it with every life-sustaining beat. They willed themselves to take a deep breath, to allow their mind to recall a memory that made them happy, that granted them that tiny escape.

“Proceed outside, single file! If you’re caught dawdling the punishment will be severe.”

Everyone moved, lurching forward, the protagonist bringing up the rear, the last to exit the barracks. They did it on purpose, ushering those who were fresh off the transport and who had spent their first nights there to comply. Grabbing an arm or elbow, they would gently yet firmly drag them to the queue usually receiving looks of terror or hatred for their actions. The new ones always wanted to question them, wanted to talk, find out what was happening, but the protagonist would shake their head, urging them to refrain from speaking. A smooth, quiet process ensured fewer beatings, for the individual, and the group roped in for an example to be made. 

Never give the administration any excuse, was the saying amongst the prisoners, they were more than capable of finding one themselves.

Outside the sun dawned over Relictus City, light permeating around the skyscrapers built upon the sister mountains, lighting the city up like some inane beacon of hope and salvation. A reminder that they were all so close and yet so far away. That the penal colony was somehow would always lay in the city’s shadow. A sign that they were all but forgotten.

Breath frosting in the morning air, the group came to a stop out in the open yard. It was desperately cold. The wind’s icy fingers pricked at the protagonist's skin, giving relief to the swelling, and yet in turn cutting their body to the bone. Others wrapped skinny arms around themselves in a vain attempt to stay warm or cover their exposed parts, or both. Their teeth chattered as they waited. They would always wait during an inspection

The antagonist made a display of exiting the makeshift tent, flanked by a dozen guards with electric truncheon strapped to their waist, all too ready to use them to quell violent criminals. The protagonist’s breathing quickened, teeth-rattling when they saw them. Their heart raced trying to catch up with their thoughts. Thoughts on what could happen next. Will this be business as usual or painful humiliation?

Coming down the line, the antagonist considered each inmate’s naked form as they went, showing some appreciation for what they saw before stopping directly in front of the protagonist with a cruel smile.

“It always sets me in a good mood when I can view my handiwork in broad daylight,” their words were honeyed, and the protagonist could feel their gaze roam over them from the top of their head to the tips of their toes. Eyes hungry, fervent for the smallest sign of shame, or of fear, or defiance they could beat out of them. It was too bad. The protagonist’s cheeks were already flushed from the cold.

The antagonist always did spend the longest time inspecting them, especially after a night of “rehabilitation”, as they called it, in the antagonist’s quarters. The sessions always left the protagonist broken, voice horse and knees buckling when they were dragged back to their cot.

“The incandescent lighting just isn’t the same,” they continued, petting the fresh vertical lines they’d made with the electric truncheon. Their touch was delicate, reverent, and desperately warm. The protagonist couldn’t help but relish the contact. “It just doesn’t do it justice, don’t you agree, hero?”

They remained silent and docile, training their gaze to a spot on the antagonist’s lapel, glaring at it wishing it would burst into flame and burn the son of a bitch before them.

Hero.

They hadn’t been called that in a long time. At least not by anyone that mattered. The antagonist was the only one who made sure to remind them of it every time they came for a prisoner inspection which has been once a month for the past three years.

“I don’t get a rise out of you anymore,” the antagonist pouted. The expression looked grotesque, out of place on their face. It quickly melted into a sneer, as they addressed the rest of the criminals. “Do you hear that?” The antagonist turned away from them, leering at the rest of the line. “I'm not pleased, and the hero seems unconcerned by your present condition.” They tsked, and whistled short and shrilly to the guards. Three stepped out of their positions at parade rest and latched onto three people, grabbing at hair, arms, dragging bodies. Battering them so they would shriek and cry in pain.

Closing their eyes briefly, the protagonist let the screams wash over them, taking in a shaky breath. They opened their eyes to find the antagonist looking at them, not a breath away.

“You know what I want,” they said quietly, for only the protagonist to hear. “Why must this be so difficult?”

The protagonist kept their voice even and monotone, even while adrenaline made their limbs heavy, repeating the lines they gave last night as they lay slumped over the antagonist's divan. Words that they recited to themselves every night. The oath they took a little over eleven years ago when they stood next to the Golden Hero and the Gods’ Hero in the Hero's Covenant’s induction ceremony.

“I vow to be one who lives correctly, following the ideals of honor, courage, and justice. I am to be one of action rather than theory; of order rather than chaos. Enduring in this world until—”  

Backhanded across the face, the protagonist fell to the ground, blood spewing out of their mouth over the granular pavement.  

“No, hero,” the antagonist chided, licking their lips. “Let’s try again.” Another whistle, four more guards fell out of line and dragged four inmates with them. The protagonist's eyes unwillingly followed a girl with messy burgundy hair, heterochromia eyes: one hazel one blue, and a ready smile that they showed only to them. They were one of the few people in there that could still smile.

The antagonist crouched down, boots kicking up pebbles and dirt, as the protagonist attempted to rise.  A hand interlaced in their hair shoved them back down, scraping their cheek.

Not her, the protagonist thought. If the gods are listening, not her!

“I hear that mind of yours working,” the antagonist said, giving a nod towards the guard holding her by the arm. Complying they dragged her forward, ignoring her sharp breath. Insensed by her refusal to cry. The guard presented the girl before the antagonist.

With a savage tug on their hair, the antagonist forced them to look up, to stare into the girl’s fearful eyes. To try and convey reassurance when they were at everyone’s mercy. The guards forced her to kneel before them. “Was this the one that caught your eye?” he asked, running a hand along her thigh, the guard holding her still as she bucked, cheeks ablaze. The hand wandered, near her hips, across her stomach, and—  

“No, stop it!” the protagonist screamed, voice burning from the cold. “That’s enough! Just—don’t…”

The antagonist rammed their face back into the pavement. “Then say it! It’s just four little words.”

The protagonist let out a breath, coughing as the bitter air filled their lungs. The truth was ever since they’d been convicted of aiding and abetting a known criminal, and sentenced here they never truly thought of themselves as a hero. It was all just an act really. A grounding philosophy to hold on to while they wasted away here in hell. Looking out for other inmates wasn’t that heroic. Making sure everyone got fed and had a chance at the showers after a long day in the refinery wasn’t that heroic. Taking on more responsibility when another prisoner couldn’t fulfill the quota in the mines wasn’t heroic. No, that was damn idiotic. 

They were no hero. It was just a nice mantra to hear. They liked to pretend that it meant something. 

The morning was still again. Everyone was quiet, ears straining in anticipation. “I am no hero,” the protagonist said, faintly, letting the wind carry their words away.

“I'm sorry I didn't catch that.”

“I am nothing!” They yelled, eyes burning now, gritting their teeth. “I am no hero!” 

“That’s right,” the antagonist murmured, raucous laughter erupting in the background. They combed their hand through the protagonist’s hair, a deranged reward. The warmth of their hand left the protagonist, but they didn’t dare move yet. They watched the boots move over to the girl, and saw her hiss as they tipped her head up.

“Maybe we should have company during our next session, hmm?” the antagonist said, turning her head this way and that. “You seem to respond positively with this one around.” They chuckled, putting her on the cheek condescendingly before the guard whisked her away, pressing her back in line. The protagonist rose as well, cringing in pain, but diligently falling back in position.

“I like her too,” the antagonist called out, finishing their inspection and pulling their thick coat collar further around their neck. “I guess great minds think alike.”

They left with the understood promise of tonight's session lingering in the morning air.

[dear-mrs-otome]

Quand on Parle du Loup - Ikevamp (Jean, AU)

Fandom: Ikemen Vampire Pairing: Jean x female MC Warnings: ANGST. Blood, slight gore, horror, character death Summary: When a small village in 18th century France is stalked by a beast, at what price is peace bought? (~4k words, angst, historical/horror AU) Author’s Note: Hey everyone, this was my piece for the @ikevampzine​ - the theme of the zine was ‘mythology’ and so I opted to play around with the idea of the historical folklore surrounding the story of the Beast of Gévaudan. (If you have never heard of it, go google it! It’s a fascinating little interlude in history!) I was nervous because angst isn’t my usual playground but I had a lot of fun with this. I was also blessed enough to collaborate with @beni-draw-ikemen-please​ for some amazing art to go alongside it as well, and I thank her for being such a fantastic inspiration! Please see her full piece in all its glory at the end of this story!!

It slunk between the tables and conversations, stalked on silent paws the wisps of woodsmoke that curled from the blackened fireplace, and growled in the echo of every unsettled laugh that bounced back from the oaken rafters overhead.

Not here, not in the sense that mattered, but omnipresent. On everyone’s lips and hearts and minds.

La Bête

The Beast.

“I heard it took another shepherd last week, ‘round La Besseyre-Saint-Mary,” a snaggle-toothed man said quietly to his benchmate as she walked past, laden down by a heavy tray of food and drink. “Saints preserve us.” He crossed himself, and then spat on the tacky floor as if for good measure. 

“Saints indeed. The Lord knows we need all the help we can get,” his companion agreed with a rueful twist of his lips. “I thought it was gone for sure, after the marquis’ men caught that big ‘un and showed it off. It went quiet for awhile…but the past couple of months haven’t been so quiet, have they? They must have had the wrong wolf.”

“Did you ever notice though…” The first man broke off, casting his eye about suspiciously, before leaning towards his companion conspiratorially, his voice dropping low enough that she struggled to listen in. “Things really only seem bad around the full moon? Unnatural, I tell you. They say it’s just a wolf, but I’m not so sure.”

Shaking her head at their superstition, she breezed past, angling for the darkness of a corner sequestered far from the light and liveliness of the fireplace. The table she finally stopped at was occupied by only one man - unusual at this busy hour, but no matter how many times she’d seen him come in he always sat alone. Perhaps it was the heavy air he gave off, the way his thoughts seemed walled away behind the tooled leather of an eyepatch. Or perhaps it was the gleaming sword strapped to his hip, and the fine cut of clothing above it. Far finer than any rough homespun worn around these parts.

Everyone else had given him a wide berth since he’d rolled into town some six months back in the employ of the Marquis d’Apcher - as some sort of sellsword, they all had assumed. That hadn’t stopped him from coming to the tavern regularly though, despite their disdain, a pattern that screamed of perpetual bachelorhood.

“Monsieur Jean.” She set his usual beer and bowl of stew down in front of him, along with her usual smile.

He offered her his usual reserved reply. “Please. Just Jean is fine.”

“Very well…’Just Jean’.” It was a ridiculous joke, the same exchange they had nearly every evening, and yet she continued to toss it at him because it never failed to bring a spark of something to his dark eyes. Like summer lightning folded deep within bruised thunderheads. A secret swift flash that brought her inordinate pride.

At a nearby table, voices raised again, cursing the evil that stalked their town, and she caught a wince tightening the lines of Jean’s mouth.

“They’re talking about it again. I mean, what else do they ever talk about?” She shifted her weight and leaned a hip against the scarred tabletop so that she could bend enough to keep their conversation close. “Said someone disappeared the next village over. But you’ll find it,” she told him. She was certain that hunting the beast that terrorized their land was the only thing that would bring a man like him to a sleepy village like this - and was certain he was as frustrated as the rest of them with the lack of progress.

“Perhaps.” His soft murmur of agreement barely carried over the din, and she wondered if she had only imagined the thread of melancholy stitched within it.

Unthinking, she laid her hand over his to squeeze it reassuringly, and then froze when she realized what she had done. Waiting for him to pull his own back and brick himself once more behind the bulwark of silence he always sheltered behind. There was a faint flex, the dance of tension in his fingers…but to her utter surprise he didn’t move. He didn’t turn his hand over to receive her gesture - but he didn’t reject it either. 

She looked up from their layered fingers to find his gaze, for once, fixed squarely on hers, and it was dizzying to be the unwavering subject of that midnight intensity.

“Tomorrow is the Sabbath,” he began, almost hesitantly. “After church, are you free?” There was an awkward beat where she wondered what his intentions were exactly in asking, before he seemed to sense her confusion and hastened to fill the loaded silence, slipping his hand from beneath hers to wrap them both around his mug. “I noticed you often walk alone. It’s not safe, least of all now. I thought...perhaps…I could show you a few ways to keep yourself safer.”

“You’d be willing to do that?” She blinked, taken aback by his unexpected offer. 

His gaze shifted back to the ale between his hands, the barest ripple of a shrug moving across his frame. “It was just a thought. You are free to refuse.”

“I’m not saying no,” she hurried to answer. “That’d be very kind of you. To be honest, it is terrifying. But I also wish there was something I could do too, if I came across the beast. I know it’s ridiculous to think that one tavern wench could-”

“I’ve seen stranger things.” His interjection cut her self-depreciation off, and when she searched his face there was no mockery there. Only an earnest, fervent sort of frankness that humbled her. “It takes only a single grain of sand to tip a scale. One soldier to win a war.”

She had to duck her head then, to keep him from seeing the pleased smile that plucked at her lips. “All right, then I accept. Thank you.”

------

The sun had climbed high by the time church let out, pressing down on her shoulders like the weight of a hot heavy hand. Against the golden backdrop of an autumn field, Jean stood dark like a drop of ink, as cool and composed as ever where he leaned against the low stone wall.

“You came again.”

She had to wonder at the way he sounded almost surprised. This was the third week they had met like this now, after his first offer nearly a month ago.  “Of course I came. There’s too much going on for me to just...not.” 

He made a small noncommittal sound and then crossed towards her, his long legs eating up the distance. “Do you remember where we left off last time?” he asked, immediately all business. In his hand was the spear that had rested beside him and he offered it to her, haft first, the keen edge of its spade-tipped head winking coolly in the hot sun. 

She nodded and took it hesitantly, adjusting her grip on the grain of the handle until it felt comfortable in her hand. “I think so.” The spear is the weapon of the humble, he had told her on that first day. It is the great equalizer.

There was a stack of hay nearby and she turned to it, setting her jaw as she ran over their past lessons in her mind, Jean’s calm voice echoing in her recollections.

Set your feet.

Keep your weight toward your toes.

Bend your knees, hands shoulder-width apart. 

She drew a breath that carried the sweet smell of drying grass with it and lashed out with the tip, slicing a few of the nearest blades neatly off.  

“Your balance is good. You’ve been practicing. But -” He stepped behind her, arms braced alongside hers for support, hands resting atop her own until they were cradling the spear in their shared grip. “Always keep your lead arm steady.”

He guided her again into a careful stroke to illustrate, and she was reminded that this was a man who had made a life of war. In the muted strength of his grip, in the tensile musculature of the frame that bracketed her own, was the testament to a body flayed by battle into something pure of purpose. 

Beneath their combined hands, the fluid arc of her swing trimmed another few inches from the hay bales effortlessly.

His tiny grunt of exertion brushed over the sweat-clung curls at the nape of her neck, warm and cool at the same time, and she was abruptly aware of how close they were. The slightest turn of her head brought his face into view, scarcely more than a murmur away from her own, and she froze.

His skin was flawless, almost porcelain in its perfection save for whatever flaw lay behind that eyepatch. His features classic and refined. When she had first seen Jean, in the low light of the tavern, she had mistaken him for a woman - a mistake only corrected when she had heard his mild baritone. 

Yet even under the unflinching midday sun, he was still something undefinable. Beauty freed from the restriction of labels. As transcendent and timeless as the faces of the angels she saw in church every Sunday, carved of marble and of stained glass, perched on windows and above the pews watching over the parishioners. Divine and touched by God.

Her heart forgot how to keep its own time as the dark lashes on his good eye swept up, and the night sky of his gaze warmed ever so slightly as it met hers, like the slow break of dawn.

They both stalled, and the hand curled above the flare of her hip suddenly seemed to burn her through so many layers of cloth as the thought occurred to her that all she had to do was lean and she would finally know what those elegant lips felt like against her own.

“Why are you doing this?” she asked to distract herself from the temptation, her half breathless words giving voice to the question that had plagued her the past few weeks. “Why teach me all this?”

He dropped her hand and took a swift, safe step back, raking unsteady fingers through his long hair. For long moments she thought he wouldn’t answer at all, before he finally spoke. “Have you heard of the loup-garou?”

“A man, that becomes a wolf.” It would have been impossible not to, given the wild stories that passed through the lips of drunken men. “Surely you’re not saying...” She began on a laugh, but it withered away to nothing when his face remained impassive.

“The loup-garou is a scourge. A wolf but not, a man but not. Smarter, stronger, faster than any beast framed by the hand of God. It is the devil’s work.” Jean practically spat the words as he prowled a deliberate step forward, and she had to fight the urge to take an answering one back. His eye fixed on hers, hard and dark and cutting as a flake of obsidian. “A wretched cursed thing, damned to crave flesh. They say -” He broke off, almost as if wrestling with something, before finishing his thought. “They say it kills those it loves first.”

She licked dry lips, and tried to find her voice. “How do you stop it?”

He gestured toward the weapon in her hands with a rueful lilt to his words. “A sharp blade, and a lot of luck.”

“I don’t believe in monsters.” She shook her head vehemently, as if she could wish the idea away if she only denied it hard enough. Wish away all those dark grumblings that swirled around the tavern each night. “A wolf is a wolf is a wolf. God would not be so cruel as to damn a soul like that.”

A smile crossed his face then, quick and fleeting and full of something so akin to despair that it seemed more a grimace to her. “Humor me then, mademoiselle. Believe it or don’t, as you see fit.” He pressed the spear into her lax hands, until she was forced to grip it tighter. Cold and ominous, like a length of ice in her curled fingers. “But let us both agree that God helps those who help themselves.” 

------

The moon hung high when she left the tavern late the following night. Round and pendulous, it stared at her from between the trees as she waved a goodbye to the tavernkeep and tugged on the leather gloves she’d had tucked in a pocket. 

Shadows crawled across the dirt track that led toward her house on the fringe of the small village, in time with the swaying of the trees overhead, and the breeze they danced on waltzed with the ends of her hair as well, loosened by the evening’s toils. As she turned to pick up the stave leaning beside the back door, a far-off owl let out a melancholy trill.

It was all very tranquil, and she felt more than a bit foolish as she walked, armed to the teeth with weapons she scarcely knew how to use and jumping at every sound. 

Then, in the distance - a sound that raked cold claws down her spine.

The cresting ululation of a wolf’s howl.

Even without Jean’s fanciful tales, the sound sank a quarrel of panic into the base part of her brain, the one still firmly rooted in a time where mankind was decidedly prey and not predator. She tightened her grip on the haft she held so that she wouldn’t notice her own trembling fingers, and pressed on.

Then it came again, from the next rise nearer. Echoing down the gully and wood, as if funneled straight to her. 

As if whatever dreadful throat had borne that sound were coming straight toward her.

Her footfalls turned over faster, racing the occasional scudding cloud overhead as fear prodded her on, her heart squeezing out beat after frenzied beat from within the confines of her throat. The leather of her gloves grew slick inside with sweat from her palm, and she switched her grip on the spear to her other hand, flexing away the clammy dampness as best she could. 

Almost home, almost home...she clung to the little litany, as the howling drew closer and underbrush crackled off in the distance.

She saw the eyes first.

Flickering between the bushes like flames, the faint dry-bone rasp of dead brush accompanying it as it paced her effortlessly. A time or two it disappeared and she was left running alone, her heart pounding so hard it scarcely felt as if it had unclenched enough to take another beat - only for those ghastly twin fires to reignite, moments later, on the other side. Back and forth, back and forth, until a sudden realization had the prickles of a cold sweat break out on her back.

Mother of God...it was toying with her. As if it were some great cat rather than a wolf, amusing itself with her attempts to escape. Feeding off her fear as if it were an amuse bouche. The delectable prequel to a feast.

This, more than anything, convinced her that Jean had been right. This…this beast...was no creature of God. 

This was something born of hell. Nature marred by the devil’s own fingerprints.

Maybe that was the realization that finally turned her spine to steel. Jean had been right about the wolf - and that meant perhaps he had been right about her. He knew she could handle herself.

A single grain of sand.

Her feet scuffed lightly on the dirt of the path as she skidded to an abrupt halt, the sound of her own ragged breath the only thing filling her ears. Whatever the creature was, wherever the creature was, it seemed to be content to simply watch. And wait.

"Show yourself." She hated the tiny tremor that wove itself into her voice. Hated more the ridiculous inexplicable feeling that the creature might somehow understand her. 

It came, after a breath held so long her lungs began to ache. Parting the underbrush like a leviathan breaching the sea, black as sin with brimstone eyes. A mouthful of bristling fangs and a growl that scraped painfully deep on the ears, like the slow crumble of a mountain. It paced forward until the watery light shone on it fully, and she couldn’t have stifled the gasp that left her if she tried at the sheer size of it.

Against the inside of her ribs, her heart bruised itself painfully, and the fingers that clutched at her stave gripped it ever tighter, fighting against the terror that numbed them. The first few syllables of a Hail Mary tumbled from her lips, unbidden, to spill between them.

The beast paced the liminal wash of moonlight restlessly, dappled by shadow. A step toward her and then a turn back, pausing on occasion to sway its great shaggy head. The faintest of whines escaped the cage of its teeth, its ears pinned back flat to its skull as it met her eyes and stood, nearly motionless, fine tremors quaking its back as if shaking away the irritation of invisible flies.

She held that monstrous gaze, and it felt like walking into an open flame. Scorching and breathless as if the gates of hell swept themselves open to usher her in.

“What do you want?” she asked. It remained motionless, and the repetition tore itself from her throat, her voice breaking lest her nerve did. “What do you want?!” 

It didn’t answer, of course. The only thing her voice did was to snap whatever indecisive spell it had seemed to linger under. 

In a blink, the wolf leapt, and time seemed to perch on a glassine pedestal. So many things whirling at once until the moment shattered into countless shards, past and present and future all splintered and shuffled, like a broken mirror at her feet. Offering tiny refractions without answers.

The dark shape of the beast, blotting out the moon.

A howl, mournful and defiant, raking ragged claws across her concentration to shred it.

A slavering maw gaping open like the summation of all her misdeeds, snarling and ready to swallow her whole.

Then. 

A hand over her own, firm and steadying.

The sweet hot waft of hay in the sun, and a voice like clover honey in her ear, saying -

Set your feet. Set your feet.

Set your feet.

She did, and the rest of the motion flowed unquestioningly, earned over so many late-summer afternoons. The hard wood biting into her ribcage, nearly knocking the wind out of her as she took the brunt of the beast’s pounce squarely on the point. A strange sort of resistance that shivered up the shaft she held, until it punched through on a sucking, wet-clay sound, grating nauseatingly against bone as it went. Crimson bloomed and ran down the wood onto her arms, dripping from the beast and her own elbow, red-black as the secret heart of an unfurling rose. Splashing and scattering about like crushed petals to pit the dusty ground beneath her feet.

Teeth snapped shut inches from her face, pink and frothed with blood. And above it all, the tip of the spear gleaming proud and defiant, coated in gore and fur where it sprouted from the back of the beast.

With her hands slick, she couldn’t keep her grip against the weight of the wolf, and she and the spear crashed to the ground. She rolled over onto her knees in a rush and found the wolf lying nearby, panting as it strained and thrashed, great claws gouging furrows in the dirt as it fought - for freedom from the weapon that pierced it, perhaps. For purchase, as it still strained towards her. For life, as it railed against the slow dim of that feral light in its eyes.

She watched, transfixed, as its great bulk seemed to fold in on itself. Fangs blunting, claws shrinking, limbs stretching and fur receding until in the road, gasping against a spreading backdrop of scarlet, lay the truth she knew she’d been running from this whole time.

“Thank God. Oh...thank God.” The words left Jean on a broken sigh, soft as the brush of an angel’s pinfeathers.

She crawled to his side, heedless of the pebble strewn dirt that bit savagely into her palms and knees. “Jean, I -”

She what? There were a hundred ways to end that sentence and not a single one managed to rise out of the maelstrom of emotions that gripped her, twisting hot and tight in her chest, surging to beat at the back of her eyes. Her hands fluttered insecurely above him, unsure of where to land or what to do, before she lifted his head onto her lap and brushed sweat-matted strands from his face. 

There were stars in his eyes, she saw, as his gaze struggled to find hers. Not just a reflection of those wheeling overhead, but tiny flecks of pallor in the twilight of them that she had never noticed before - constellations trapped within his unfocused stare. 

“Forgive me.” His voice was the barest tattered thread of sound, and even that small effort set him coughing, blood bubbling around the shaft still impaled in his chest like the ghastliest of blooms. “Forgive me for saying this but...I am so glad it was you. I knew it would be.”

His hand shook and tried to reach for her, falling weakly back against his stomach until she snatched it up and clenched it tight within her grasp. Heedless of the heartsblood that coated it like a glove, far warmer than the chilled flesh beneath.  “How did you know that?”

A full smile graced his lips, the first she had ever seen, achingly beautiful despite the agonized clench of his teeth. “I knew exactly who his prey would be.”

The slick fingers tangled between her own tightened, squeezing meaningfully, though the gasp that tore through him belied how much even that small motion cost - and the pain that lanced her heart at the implication of his words made it feel almost as if it were she that had been run through. 

He shivered, though the night wasn’t cold, and the pulse at his wrist fluttered faster against her fingertips. Erratic, like the shake of a fledgling's wings before flight. “If God is merciful..” His clear eyes slowly clouded. “M-may He grant we meet again.”

Before she could answer, he sighed one more breath - and then stilled.

“No. No, no, no…” But there was no denying the truth, no matter how bitterly it sat on her tongue. Mixing harsh with the salt of the tears that ran down her cheeks. She held a dead man, in wretched mimicry of a lover’s embrace, and wept a pieta over the clay that had bound him to this nightmare - the unblinking moon above the only other witness to just what price his freedom.

[a-lil-perspective]

Handle With Care

A/N: Okay I know y’all are probably sick of the repetitive Crosshair X Reader works lately. But I promise it will all make sense soon. First and foremost, I’m working to dig deep in establishing some key points while the narratives move forward. Aiming for the full effect here. (Also, keep in mind that I’m reviving ‘Verd’ika’). The fic takes place sometime after ‘Reticle’, for reference. Sick Crosshair. Soft Crosshair. (I know, basically all of my works are that way) I will defend that moody sniper because in actuality, he is a very soft boi who not-so-secretly just wants to be loved and coddled, and that is the hill I’m dying on. As always, feedback is greatly appreciated. [Warnings: None] @shadow-hyder @starflyer-104 @thegoodbatch @obiorbenkenobi @kriffingunlucky @karpasia @halzore @everyonehasanindividuality (Tag List is open:))

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Have you ever sneezed while your face is sealed airtight inside a bucket of plastoid?

News flash: It’s nearly as annoying as having a Yalbec male try to eat you alive—well, mate with you. Same difference, the sniper of Clone Force 99 will eventually come to find out.

The sneezing makes the air stagnant and it’s obnoxious, yet Crosshair is uncontrollably going on his fourteenth one in the short span of five minutes.

That’s completely normal.

The forebode of a creeping illness intensifies as the day progresses, and Crosshair finds himself growing more perturbed, fluctuating between hot and cold like an oscillating pendulum, and ticking like a time bomb waiting to go off, because of it. Tech’s face, scrunched with concern after having come at Crosshair with a thermal scanner, informs the sniper of a budding fever. But he’s not sick. Not at all.

He’s not sick, until your irresistible amiability convinces him that it’s okay to be, and that promptly earns him a spot snuggled in your lap, his stiff neck resting atop your thighs with only a slight begrudge to follow. His breaths are somewhat labored at the tightness seizing his chest. There’s a sharp pain running behind his eyes, and the feeling of suffocation is palpable—there’s so much pressure along his facial structure, his sinuses are burning. Yet he still manages to enjoy the way you’re running your fingers through the short fibers of his hair, nails scratching lightly along his temples and eliciting a stuffy hum of contentment from the miserable sniper.

Despite his unfortunate state, you’re having a rather lovely time. There’s no denying; you experience the swell of your already nurturing heart and an exhilarating thrill at the prospect of taking care of others—of Crosshair, specifically; ever the complex individual. You’ve long since established your solicit of such assistance, to which Crosshair slowly found himself relenting to the idea of as time paved the way. But the actual application of moments were rare.

It made the sniper slightly uncomfortable; the way his initial sneeze earlier that day had you immediately zeroing in on him with an intensity he believed only his sniper eyes were capable of. “I’m onto you”, your archly tone had soon informed, while a smile displaying nothing but affection immediately followed. Your height of perception rivaled his own, and extensive time spent with you reminded Crosshair that it was foolhardy to even attempt a facade, at this point. All it took was a beckoning of your index finger for the sniper to succumb to your care.

It’s every Clone’s most inward desire, really: to want, to crave the extended offer of a wholesome company that’s found beyond fellow Clone brethren. It’s but a dream. To take a beautiful soul by the hand and lead them past the doors of mass duplication—and in turn be lead—before traveling a ways until they each ascend the staircase of individuality; a spiraled one, snaking around itself yet still managing to differentiate. A Clone wants to usher you onto the same ship as them, wishes you to travel along the exact journey they’re on. It’s a never ending one, until it’s a short lived one. It surpasses beyond the surface level, transcending the artifacts of scars littering the planes of their battle-worn skin. It grants you a passage through the ancient cave of their emotions, where each broken piece you find along the way presents another opportunity for restitution, however minuscule. To say it’s a journey is only half of the intel.

Only half, but it’s progress for the sniper Crosshair. The thought worms it’s way past his sickly haze and warms him more than the herbal tea you steeped and promptly ordered him to indulge. He can’t exactly pay the same type of homage to the taste however, as he finds himself reflexively wrinkling his nose in disgust with each sip. The muted liquid didn’t taste near as good as one of his oldest companions that is Corellian Whiskey, in which he’s certain one long swig of will immediately restore his health to optimum performance.

“I’m afraid it doesn’t work that way,” you let him down with pragmatism and a chuckle. “You need something that’s going to help you get better, not get you tipsy.”

You ignore his rising justifications, taking the empty mug that he downed through a swirl of complaints and placing it on the small stand beside the cot before opening the drawer to sift through the contents in search of the standby supply of anti-inflammatories. A sound of disappointment elicits as you turn up empty, and you gingerly begin to shift Crosshair off your lap in order to exit the room in continuing the search.

“I’ll be right back,” you promise gently, however, his fervent resistance halts any further movement.

“So this is it... you’re just gonna leave me here, sick and dying?”

The sight of Crosshair’s perceived indignation is beyond amusing to you. His voice is faint and the words are drawn out in attempt at gaining sympathy over your apparent ‘inhumane’ treatment to the frail sniper. You’re in the middle of convincing him of his long life ahead and encouraging him to drop the theatrics when goggled eyes peer in from the doorway.

“Need anything in here?” Tech’s oh-so-helpful self inquires. You note that there’s a thinly veiled mischievous ring to his question. Realizing there’s no negotiating with the over-exaggerating sniper, you’re thankful for Tech’s intercession, unbeknownst to him.

“Yes, actually; anti-inflammatories and some antihistamines, if you’ve got them? I’ve got a clingy, feverish assassin in my lap who I’m trying to convince isn’t dying from a cold.”

“I’m not clingy!” The sniper’s hoarse whine permeated, eliciting a snort from you that failed to overpower another round of his sneezing fit.

Tech’s eyes sparkled with mirth in mirroring yours, and he beamed knowingly. Words seemed to play at the tip of his tongue but he appeared to think better of it, instead responding with a succinct nod of his head before promptly making a retrieval.

It took seventeen seconds and approximately ten sneezes before Tech returned to the scene of Crosshair’s frustrated state now manifested as various obscenities. The engineer handed you the bottles of medication, and the whimsical glint returned once again. He backed out of the room slowly and with deliberation while keeping his eyes trained on the sniper, before addressing his older brother.

“Oh, by the way Crosshair: I’ve recorded the sound of your rather undignified whining; prepare for blackmail—” the pillow suddenly and aggressively sailing over your head towards the fleeing engineer had you ducking and trying not to develop your own state of wheezing from the laughter that ensued.

“TECH! I’m gonna kick your ass!” The raspy threat fell on deaf ears, for the cheeky youngest brother was long gone. Crosshair was left in the company of both your quietude and incessant coughing once again.

“If you don’t cough up a lung, first,” you address him in concern.

Crosshair’s eyes met the frown tugging your features. The cool pads of your fingers absently traced the line-work of reticle surrounding his right eye. The gesture bestowed a sense of comfort, and Crosshair allowed his contentment to echo in the space between. He reached up to capture your fingers in his own. The radiating heat from his increasingly flushed face was a stark contrast against your mild body temperature.

“...I feel terrible,” he allows himself the admission. It’s a work in progress: Crosshair’s understanding that he can truly be authentically honest in such company—a good kind of honest. Vulnerable, even. More communicative. You’re constantly testing his mettle and his ability to emote, and you manage to bring the sniper to his knees each time; though not out of defeat, not at all. You stroke his hair and that smile, it burns right through him. In all honesty, Crosshair would find a way to malinger nearly every day if it meant getting to be taken care of like... this. He confesses that it’s... different. It’s... nice—very nice. A rarity, but one Crosshair found himself to be enjoying a little bit more with each budding opportunity.

“I know,” you soothe. “Rest, ner cyare ram’ser.”

His fond expression at your doting soon donns a coat of revelation; an afterthought. “Actually, I think just a good smooch will do the trick for me, Doctor—best medicine there is,” he convinces, however weakly.

You snort incredulously. “You’d know this from experience? And for the last time, I’m no Doctor—you go around saying that and I’ll have some of the best Clone medics in the GAR greeting me with trivia, or something.” You briefly acknowledge the way Crosshair has conferred upon you the title of ‘Doctor’ ever since you patched up a nasty gash of his some time ago, and you find sudden hilarity in the picturesque scenario of having Clone Trooper Kix, profound medic of the 501st whom you’ve met a handful of times, suddenly taking a predilection to you because he thinks you’re some prestigious civvie medic capable of wrangling in even the Bad Batch.

Oh how that couldn’t be farther from the truth—the quartet of super soldiers hardly adhere to your advice or sound reason on a good day. You’ll be the first to admit: you have no control over those rowdy men.

The sniper shrugs, rolling his shoulders before tentatively returning to the comfort of your lap and sprawling out. He inhales deeply, and smoothly continues. “In theory, it’s the best medicine there is. So maybe we should, you know, test that out—”

Crosshair melted against the spontaneous velvet of hungry lips. In that moment, neither of you actually paid any mind to his sniffles or the adenoidal lilt of his voice that was now resonating. He tastes exactly as you remember; you’ve had a few previous engagements. Though few and far between, they leave you certainly not forgetful, and Crosshair is a man to relish in the sight of you imprinting your affection on him. The flight to blissful paradise is over before you know it as you retract and consider it a victory over the way Crosshair nearly whines at your absence.

“That’s all you get, ram’ser—just a taste for now to get you to shut your yap and rest.”

Crosshair regards you with as much indignation as he can muster. “You’re a cruel woman.”

You deflect with a smirk and assertion. “Yet here you are, coming back for more.”

“Because I can never get enough,” he defends.

“But you feel somewhat better at least, don’t you? Best medicine there is,” you smugly remind the ill sniper.

Crosshair’s eyelids grew heavy laden as he focused on the hot smolder benevolently spreading through his veins like a blessing; an antidote that is your delicious affection and strong medication. It’s beyond welcoming, and Crosshair can’t decipher whether the rising heat was from the fever, or your intoxicating taste, or both. While the sniper wasn’t absolute, he came to the fierce deduction that it definitely had something to do with you, and suddenly his head was spinning.

“Yeah... Verd... you taste way better than the Whiskey,” Crosshair slurred with realization while in his delirious state, barely above a murmur as he nestled his head further into your lap and Maker, drowsiness was forcefully threatening to claim him already and the medications had barely begun to take effect. Your serene embrace deserved utmost commending for rivaling Wrecker’s, who’s only other arms Crosshair ever felt secure within—prior to you.

Your brows arch as a playful smile materializes. “Verd?” You questioningly test the syllable on your tongue.

Crosshair manages a conspiratorial smirk through his thickening fog of exhaustion. “Yeah... ‘Verd’. You know... Verd’ika? It’s a... new nickname for you—the shortened version,” he struggles to explain—well, ramble is more like it—he’s uncharacteristically rambling at this point, and you absently wonder if Tech and his impish tendencies are just around the corner still recording the latest developments for future leverage.

“You’re adorable when you’re like this,” you endearingly point out. Slightly goading though, you realize, as Crosshair’s head abruptly twists to better regard you with nothing short of perceived offense. His pride appears to have momentarily overpowered his cold in favor of salvaging his dignity.

“I’m a sniper,” he fiercely explains. “I’m not adorable.”

“No, of course not,” you smoothly placate after smothering a laugh. His newfound nickname for you once again surfaces from your sea of thoughts. You pursue your lips in contemplation. “Verd... I like it.”

Crosshair smirks approvingly. “Can’t wait to hear all the nicknames you have for me, Darlin.”

Of course he would say that. Crosshair’s not dying from a cold, but he is dying to hear the mellifluous vocalization of all the different names you’ve stored up for him while finally in the midst of love making.

Good thing patience is his strong suit.

A textured palm lovingly rests against the expanse of his forehead while his fatigued fingers card through your hair before coming to a standstill. In the production of quietude, sniffles, and unspoken devotion, your eyes flutter shut as you lean down to gently bond your forehead with his own as his exhaustion finally establishes itself in the form of light snoring.

“Another time,” you hum assuredly.

[the-last-cuddlebender]

How about, Aang and Katara have a meeting in the same place and Aang trips because he kept staring at Katara. (I will totally understand in ya ignore this😂😂)

I would never! I love the idea this prompt gave me, and I appreciate the ask!! I didn’t get to finish it last night, and it went a lot longer than I expected😅 But I hope ya like it!

Words: 997

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“What’s taking you so long, Aang-y?!”

Aang bit the tip of one of his mitts and tugged it off. His fingers were threatened with frostbite within seconds. The pins and needles of numbness didn’t exactly help him line the last of his class’ skis onto the rack.

“Just...Just a second, Coco!” Aang’s sweat was freezing but wouldn’t stop coming even as he bent over for breath.

He might have just hit his twenties, but he felt way too old for this.

“Need some help?”

Aang shook his head, made something resembling a sentence, and waved off his co-instructor’s help.

Suki rolled her eyes with enough sass for Aang to feel the gesture even though he couldn’t see it. She patted his back to kick-start his lungs and dust off the snow that was now his third skin. He had to bodily stop Coco from jetting face-fist into a tree not even a few minutes ago. He was a human rolling-cage for longer than he cared for, and his body was letting him know just how much it ‘appreciated’ his sacrifice.

“Are you sure you’re alright?”

“Oh, yeah. Oh, yeah, I’m...I’m great. Don’t worry.” Aang smiled and stretched his back like a cat, but he ended up cringing and curling over like an old man. “You just...You just take the kids in for break, m‘kay? I’ll be right behind you.”

Suki’s scowl was ready to protest, but she let him have a moment alone to bandage his pride. She rounded up the knee-high bundles of endless energy and marched their class in.

“Ughhh…”

Aang slumped against the ski-rack with his arms over gaps in the bars. His boots slid a bit, dragging him down, before they found enough traction to stop. He was a puppet with cut strings, and his head rolled back just as loosely. He mumbled to nothing and no one, but the wind stirred as if nodding and telling him to go on.

Aang closed his eyes. He was happy to still have them since his class seemed eager to blind him. His goggles were cracked from a treebranch trying its hardest to gouge him when he saved Coco from an untimely end. The orange lenses, gifted to him from his mentor, hung around his neck like a medal of honor.

He took a deep breath that did nothing to clear his head. His hand was freezing, now, but he was too tired to put his mitt back on.

And it was only mid-morning.

He groaned again but with more feeling.

“Ughhhhhhhhhhhh…”

Powder flew in a hissing wave, and Aang sensed, like a dog sensing a tsunami, the herd of even more knee-high bundles of endless energy coming down the slope.

Aang’s next groan was internal and teetered dangerously on a scream.

“But I gotta pee!”

“No potty breaks! We’re—Ow! What was that for? What—Katara! Get back here! We’re not stopping yet!”

The voice that responded was knee-level and gentle, and Aang’s head nearly came clean off his shoulders as he spun to look at the goddess disguised as a snowboard instructor.

“Who wants a nice warm cup of hot cocoa?”

Endless energy bounced and fervently nodded their heads; Aang would have done the same if his exhaustion didn’t have him slumped like a treelimb bowing under a mountain of snow. The high-altitude air became so much harder to breathe, and his insides were a sauna that turned his cheeks crimson and practically steamed his sweat from his jacket.

He swallowed, but his throat forgot how to work.

He could never figure out how she always did that to him.

The snowboard instructor who gave Aang’s world new meaning took her time as she fixed her hair, ignored her brother’s pouts about sticking to schedule, and crouched to her class’ eye-level. How she could unstrap from her snowboard just like that when Aang could barely clip out of his skis on the second try was beyond him.

Then Katara smiled, and Aang’s heart skipped in a way that should probably warrant medical attention.

Aang struggled so hard to keep from becoming a puddle that he almost didn’t notice the door creaking open behind him.

“Aang? I got the cocoa, and the kids are all set up for break. You okay?”

At the sound of Aang’s name, Katara paused and looked up. She searched around, and Aang melted like frost under midday sun when her eyes found his.

His every muscle tensed. She had caught him staring.

Now she...she was waving at him.

And then Katara smiled.

At him.

Aang was one step away from dying as the happiest man alive, and he barely dodged Katara’s next attempt to give him a heart attack when she said his name.

“Hey, Aang! It’s good to see you! Would it be okay if our classes break together?”

Aang didn’t know what language left him when he finally got his slack jaw to work, but it reminded him of Tarzan teaching Jane to speak gorilla.

Katara smiled, took his gorilla as a yes, and laughed a sound that turned Aang’s insides into slush. He would never understand how she did that to him.

Aang scrambled to remember the ‘hello’ he had rehearsed with his reflection.

Even the kids struggling out of their gear laughed this time.

Suki whispered loud enough for the whole mountain to hear. “You're doing great, Aang! Remember to breathe!”

Sokka gasped. “Suki!”

The snowboard instructor with a moon on his board sprinted past Aang so fast that the suction of his wake left the tattooed human puddle fumbling to remember how to balance in his ski boots.

But remembering was impossible while he was caught in Katara’s attention. He could never understand how she always did that to him.

The snow that greeted his wind-milling arms was packed and hard from a hundred feet treading it.

The hand that helped him up was soft and welcoming like it had practiced the best way to hold his.

Aang was on his feet in the next second, but the warmth of Katara’s smile nearly sent him back to the ground.

Survival convinced his lungs to work again, but his throat was clogged with his heart trying to escape. He tried to imagine she was his reflection waiting for him to fumble through another rehearsal.

Aang’s shoulders rose to his ears to hide him in his turtleneck. His smile was weak and lopsided like his lips couldn’t remember how to work. “...Ugh...U-Um...H...Hey...” He waved even though she was right in front of him and still—still—holding his hand. “...Hey, Katara.”

Katara laughed again, and Aang was suddenly on top of a mountain and filled with enough strength to move one.

Then she said something that gave him more feeling than meaning.

She paused. She blushed.

...And then she kissed him on his cheek.

Aang’s next breath refused to leave his lungs like holding it might somehow hold that moment forever.

“What...What was that for? I-I mean...” Aang’s sauna-insides became a bonfire, and he was Tarzan teaching Jane to speak gorilla again.

Suki cheered behind him, and the bundles of endless energy all cooed.

Katara smiled, kissed his other cheek, and...oh gosh she was blushing harder.

Honestly, the things she did to his heart should be considered attempted murder.

“You mean you don’t remember?”

No. Of course he didn’t. He would never figure out how she always did that to him.

“I never got to thank you for last night. Dinner was amazing.”

Now Aang was the gorilla talking. “Wha—You—” He tightened his slippery grip on his agency. “T-That wasn’t a dream?!”

Their audience laughed, but Aang couldn’t hear them. They were the dull background of the miracle Katara’s joy spun into melody. Her laugh was sunshine melting his edges until he was a slippery orb of clear ice in her hands.

Katara’s smile broke the Geneva Convention, and her fading giggles were each a war crime. Aang’s heart spilled over like rain finally finding the courage to fall.

Katara was still holding his hand, and Aang, what was left of him, let himself be tugged along like it was a leash. He almost couldn’t remember how to walk when she looked back at him to make sure he was still breathing.

He never wanted to know how she always did that to him. She was his favorite mystery.

Aang’s ski-boots were loud on the rest-stop’s wooden floor, but the hearth dimly burning couldn’t hold a candle to the feeling of her hand in his.

“Ah, there you are.”

Roku, surrounded by bundles of endless energy sitting on each armrest, looked up from his book and tipped his head to look at them—Aang and the daydream disguised as his girlfriend.

“What took you so long?”

[sushiandstarlight]

“Wrapping”: NaNoWriMo 30 Days of Prompts

Prompt One / Prompt Two / Prompt Three / Prompt Four

Today’s Prompt (I did not realize I had two that were essentially the same thing... oops.  I will try to get to “Ribbons” later today!)

Read this story on AO3

Lemon warning

TW for improper binding, fat shaming

Personal note: I began binding because I wanted a flatter chest, but eventually it became about hiding the other parts of my body I did not like. Namely, my weight. Binding made my self-image worse. If it helps you, that's great! But, please keep a check on your own mental health AND bind safely. Take care of your body and your mind, they're the only ones you're going to get. Be safe, lovelies, the world needs all of us.

-

Crowley came back from the very purposeful shopping trip to find Aziraphale pacing manically in their kitchen. He was so focused on his mutterings, his hand wringing, and staring at the floor that he didn't even hear Crowley enter the house. Crowley slid the bags of food onto the counter and approached the angel slowly, but still managed to startle him.

“Crowley!” Aziraphale was backed up to the countertop by the sink, hand over his chest.

“I take it he did stop by then,” Crowley did his best to appear as non-threatening as possible. He slid his glasses down his nose and then set them on the kitchen table, “you really could've come shopping with me and said a silent 'screw you' to Gabriel.”

“He would only have found me later- or, or both of us- at some unexpected time. Better that I be expecting him, I think...” He was still fidgeting with his fingers, looking down at them morosely.

“What did he have to say, then?” Crowley continued his approach, but stopped short when Aziraphale matched his movements, subtly backing away. Crowley wasn't even sure the angel knew he was doing it. Still, a revoke in consent was a revoke in consent even if it was subconscious.

“He wondered why I wasn't responding to his memos. Told me to get back in line, do my job,�� Aziraphale's hands waved as he explained, “I did what you told me to do.”

“Good.”

“I stayed neutral. I didn't agree to anything. I didn't argue with anything.”

“That's the only way to be, really.”

“And he left, thinking he had put me in my place.”

“Did he? Put you in your place?”

Aziraphale hesitated only a moment before, “No.”

Crowley felt some of the tension in his shoulders relax. If Aziraphale agreed to do something, then he would to it. He was an angel of his word. Crowley had coached him for days leading up to this meeting on how to appease without agreeing, but he had been a bit afraid that all that coaching might fall to the way side when faced with his old supervisor.

“I wish I could have been here for you.”

“No you don't.”

“Sure, I do. I don't want anything to do with Gabriel, of course, but I would do anything for you. You know that, right?”

“Yes,” Aziraphale nodded, meeting his eyes for the first time, “I know. That's exactly why I told you to be gone while he was here.”

“Yeah, yeah... probably for the best. S'been quiet, would be nice to keep it that way.”

Aziraphale hummed in agreement.

The thing was, though... Crowley was watching his still-shallow breathing. Aziraphale didn't seem to be relaxing or calming down. He should be calming down now, Gabriel was gone. Hopefully for a good, long while.

“Would you like a hug?” Crowley opened his arms, but made no move towards him.

“Er, I think I'll go and change first.”

Crowley narrowed his eyes, sweeping them over the angel's body and really taking it in for the first time since he came home. He loved the angel's body, but he had been more worried about his anxious state. He wasn't surprised to find him covered up more than usual. Since they moved out here by themselves, Aziraphale had taken to wearing flowy-er, sheerer fabrics. Things that breathed and shifted when he moved. Silky things, soft things. Things that, on occasion, left very little to Crowley's imagination. But, here he was in his layers again, buttons done up to his chin, bowtie tight and waistcoat covering him like armor.

Only... he wasn't shaped quite the same and the clothing hung differently.

“Did you... have you changed your corporation?”

“No.”

Crowley eyed him in silence. Aziraphale made to leave and Crowley reached out, just two fingers in the crease of his elbow. Not enough to stop him if he really wanted to leave. The angel froze.

“Something's different about you.”

“Crowley, leave it, please.”

“Do you really want me to? If you really want me to, I will. I just... worry about you. You're... my world, y'know? I want you to be okay.”

Aziraphale sighed softly and turned back to him, then unceremoniously started unbuttoning and unfastening his various layers. His eyes were focused on his task, fingers moving in well- practiced movements. He shed the layers as he came to them, dropping them to the floor. Only when he got to his last button up shirt did he hesitate.

Crowley could see that something was definitely different. It was subtle, but unmistakable: his husband was not nearly as... soft- looking as he had been that morning. Crowley had left him early, still asleep in their bed. He had delicately run his fingers along the rises and dips of his belly. A quiet promise that he'd be back in a few hours, though whether that promise was for him or for Aziraphale, he couldn't have said.

Aziraphale pulled his shirttails from his trousers and slowly unbuttoned this last shirt, looking anywhere but Crowley's eyes as it fell open.

Ace bandages, several of them by the looks of it. They wrapped him tightly from armpits to waist. All his supple curves. All the soft, warm flesh that Crowley loved to nuzzle and kiss and rest his head on... It was all tucked tightly away behind the wraps.

Crowley reached out to touch, but pulled his hand back.

“But why?”

“I... just didn't want to hear it.”

“Gab...riel?” Crowley dragged his eyes back up to Aziraphale's face, determined to stop looking for his husband's hidden figure.

“He... he always comments, Crowley. That I've let myself go. That I need to, er, 'lose the gut.'”

“But, it's none of his business!” Crowley was trying, really he was, to hold on to his temper. But, it was flaring hot and painful just beneath his lungs.

“It's not. I know it's not. And, I also know I shouldn't care what he thinks. I am the way I am because this is how I am most comfortable... But... I didn't want the comments.”

“Can we...” Crowley felt his voice crack and he winced, starting over, “ can we take them off now?”

“Yes, I am rather uncomfortable, to be honest.”

“Do you want to go do it yourself or do you want my help?”

“I want your help, dearest,” and with that said, Aziraphale seemed to deflate in front of him. He gestured to Crowley to come closer and only then did Crowley place his hands on his husbands sides, stroking upward, at the same time trying to find familiar territory and also the fasteners for the bandages.

“First one's on the left side. No, my left, sorry.”

“Don't be sorry, Angel, not right now.” Crowley's words were quiet, but firm. He found the first fastener and undid it, pulling the wrapping around and around Aziraphale's chest until it dropped away. He found the next fastener and did the same. And the next. All the while watching as Aziraphale relaxed in stages before finally being able to take a deep, lung-filling breath. They didn't need to breath to live, thankfully, but both of them had become rather accustomed to the practice. Crowley spent a few seconds watching his chest and belly move with each easy breath, trying not to wince at the already-fading marks the wrappings had left behind.

He guided the angel backwards until his back met the counter then lifted him up on to it. Lifting his hands he cradled his face like it was made of the most sensitive porcelain and then he kissed him deeply, pouring into the touches all his rage transformed into protectiveness transformed into an all encompassing love.

Aziraphale kissed him back, fervently, grasping his hands and moving them downwards until they sat on his chest. There he left them, his own going to Crowley's face, his neck, anywhere to pull him closer and keep him there.

Thus invited to touch, Crowley's hands took to stroking and squeezing all the soft skin he found. He moaned and broke the kiss, trailing his nose over the apple of the angel's cheek, along the lines and folds of his neck. He kissed his way down the center of his chest and nuzzled his way under the line of flesh just below it, placing a sucking kiss there.

“Beautiful, all of you is beautiful.”

“Yes,” Aziraphale's hands were buried in his hair, neither pushing or pulling, just grounding him and inviting him to be as close as he wanted to be. There was no such thing as too close. If it were possible to crawl inside this flesh somehow and live together, Crowley would. He would, happily.

One of Crowley's hands had managed to move from the soft expanses of alabaster flesh, downwards, to something noticeably less soft, pressing needfully against the front of Aziraphale's trousers.

“No wrappings here, hmm?” He watched as the words found their way into Aziraphale's mind. Delighted in the blush that settled over his cheeks and the tips of his ears and, with his eyes, followed that same color as it spread down his chest, stopping just above his belly button. He dropped to his knees in front of the angel, going from 'let's take this upstairs where I can slowly take you apart' to 'scrap that, I'll have you right on this countertop- right in this kitchen where that monster had the gall to come in here and make you uncomfortable.' He would wipe out the memory with the pleasure he took in his husband's body.

He made quick work of freeing him from his trousers and pants, only enough to get to his prize which he swallowed down without preamble. His right hand wrapped around the angels left calf, gripping, while his left sprawled over the soft expanse of his right thigh, stroking and squeezing. He sucked him hard, leaving no room that this would be quick and only about the angel's pleasure. Distantly he heard the smack of the angel's head as he threw it back and hit the cabinetry- the dishes rattling inside- but the angel's grip on his hair didn't slack.

Little, half-aborted thrusts upward had Crowley dizzy with his own arousal, knowing that it meant his husband was close. He yanked the calf in his right hand, pulling him right to the edge of the counter and throwing him off balance, now completely at Crowley's mercy. And then he doubled down, moving his mouth quickly and with singular purpose.

Aziraphale's breaths came quicker and sharper and then cut off with a sharp whimper and, “fuck, Crowley!” His legs shook under Crowley's hands as he spilled into his mouth.

Crowley sat back on his haunches and peered up at the angel, beyond happy with what he saw: the man was sprawled backwards over their coffee maker, head resting on the cupboard behind him (which was dented in a bit- nothing a little demonic miracle couldn't fix). He was the very vision of pleasure spent. Crowley stroked both of his calves, smiling up at him as he came back from his pleasure and looked down at him.

And then Aziraphale started to giggle. A small thing that grew and grew until it was a belly laugh. Crowley cocked his head and kept smiling up at him. He didn't know what had tickled the angel, but he was happy to see him happy.

“Just,” Aziraphale wheezed, “can you imagine... If I had ignored him and he arrived... for that?”

“Hmm,” Crowley pondered the idea, rising on his hips again to bury his face in his husband's belly, “I wouldn't mind giving him a bit of a show.”

“He's not much for doing things the human way.”

“Bet he'd still be jealous about what this body can do,” Crowley's hands were wandering again, this time to the bit of space between Aziraphale's back side and his thighs.

“I think it's time, I show you what this body can do, darling.”

“s'that a promise?” Crowley stood and crowded in close so he could feel the effect this all had on him, “Tell me that's a promise.”

“Oh, yes. A promise, indeed.”