#+ they made us do one just using straight lines by using a playing card as a ruler lol?

[lucky-draws]

26.9.23

[ceilidho]

hound dog

prompt: You pick up Ghost from a bar for a one night stand. Too bad Ghost isn't interested in a casual hook up. (nsfw, 6.7k) [based on this old post] [on ao3 here]

-

Rare is the day when a stupid girl doesn’t do stupid things.

This is just one of many such occurrences. Stepping into the dimly lit dive bar—the one miles from your place, reeking of tobacco and leather and motor oil, the noxious perfume of week old sweat and weed stinking up the joint, pardon the pun—with too much eyeliner and mascara on, and a skirt too short for you—and would you just stop fiddling with it? But you can’t because that would mean admitting that it barely fits over your ass, that putting on a skirt so short was a choice, an invite, a teasing little taunt to the men in the bar saying, what are you waiting for? I’m asking for it, aren’t I—

What’s that saying again?

Ah, yes. Choices made in anger cannot be undone.

It’s why you’re planted at the bat some six weeks after being dumped, two weeks after being ghosted for the third time in a row, a smile on your face despite your crumbling self-esteem. Pride hanging in tatters. Grimacing when you find the bartop sticky with congealed liquor, the residue sticking to your skin when you quickly lift your elbows off. But there’s a time for self-pity and a time for getting it the fuck togther. This just happens to be one of the latter times.

“What’m I gettin’ you?” the bartender in front of you asks, barely impressed with your get-up. Not even attempting to conceal his distaste when he eyes you up and down, lingering on the way your tits are practically spilling out of your top. 

“Do you have any cocktails?” you ask. Wrong question. The eye roll isn’t even suppressed for your benefit when he makes it clear to you, in no uncertain terms, that it’s whatever he can pour straight from a bottle or the fancy bar for cityfolk down the road. He says it like that, the word practically sneered out. Cityfolk. 

Nerves shaken, you sip at your red wine after he leaves you to your own devices, your glass poured straight from the box. It could function passably as lighter fluid if the circumstances called for it. Still, you swallow it with a positive attitude, emboldened by the knowledge that you’re here for one thing and one thing only:

to get fucked within an inch of your life by one of the greasy-haired, cut-wearing, cigarette-smoking men lining the bar. 

Even the thought sends a thrill down your spine. 

It’s an age old question, isn’t it? What’s a girl to do (when her love life’s falling apart / when her credit score just bottomed out because her ex-boyfriend ran up her credit cards behind her back / when her job’s steadily becoming unbearable but quitting would mean scrambling to find a job that’ll pay anywhere near to what this one’s paying her) to get a drink around here? 

Evidently, the answer isn’t to use a dating app; you can say that confidently after waiting around in fancier bars than this for several no-show dates. 

You’re feeling appropriately over the whole thing. Ready to call it quits. Uninstall all of the apps on your phone and hire a matchmaker or ask a friend to set you up with a coworker of theirs. But that’ll be later, down the line when you aren’t dealing with the issue at hand.

The issue being that—

you’re really fucking horny. 

Embarrassingly so. Enough that you were willing to travel miles away from home to avoid accidentally hooking up with anyone you might run into later on while out getting groceries or on a morning run. 

It’s just better to play things close to your chest. Keep your romantic life and your sexual exploits far apart (not that you’d know much about keeping things separate; you’ve never had much of a sex life to keep hidden) lest you get mired in a stickier situation than you’re comfortable being in. 

Despite the rough start, the bar you chose seems promising. There’s a man at the other side of the bar that keeps drawing your eye. It’s the hulking size of him at first, then the grime clinging to the folds of his skin, worn in from years of hard labor. He looks like a man fresh off a fourteen-hour shift or a fortnight spent on an oil rig in the middle of the Baltic sea, freshly washed ashore, kelp and barnacles still fused to his skin, not yet pried off. 

Rough is the only word you’d use to describe him. A face covered in nicks and old scars, his upper lip slightly puckered and scarred from cleft lip surgery. When he turns his head to say something to the bartender, you catch a glimpse of a cauliflower ear, the cartilage of his tragus and antihelix swollen and deformed. 

He’s exactly what you’ve been looking for. If you’d given it more thought, you think you could’ve conjured up an image of the man across the bar all by yourself. It’s like someone plucked him straight out of your head. Big and brawny, broad shoulders that you can imagine dangling your ankles off, and well-muscled arms that you can imagine digging your nails into. It would take both of your hands and extra to wrap around his bicep. The thought makes you shiver.

You try to catch his attention subtly. Looking over at him from under your lashes, quick, smoldering glances meant to draw his attention to you, so that he approaches you first. You keep waiting for the moment when he’ll notice your stare and hold your gaze, a question being asked and answered between your eyes before reeling him in with a coy little smile. 

But when a half hour goes by without a single glance your way, your hope begins to wane. 

He doesn’t look up no matter how many times you glance over at him. It’s frustrating; you know he feels the weight of your stare. His disregard is purposeful, deliberate; like he knows your attention is fixed on him but he can’t be bothered to so much as return your stare. You wonder if that means he’s got a lady at home, a little bird cooped up in his house that he’s more eager to get back to after he’s had a drink to take off the edge than flirt with some trussed up floozy at the bar.

That makes you squirm, self-consciousness rearing its ugly head again. Maybe you made a mistake coming here. 

It’s not as though you’re being completely ignored, it’s just that the caliber of men that have approached you so far haven’t really inspired much, carnally speaking. You’ve sent the few braver ones away, a half-hearted thanks but no thanks when they offer to buy you a drink. Most leave without a word, though a few mutter obscenities under their breath before shoving their hands in their pockets and stalking away. Bitch. Dumb cunt. 

Calling it a night feels like a natural next step. With the attitude you keep getting from the bartender and the way the only man you’re remotely attracted to refuses to so much as glance your way, it doesn’t feel right to stay out any longer. Embarrassment heats you like a low grade fever, warm in your belly. Wine sloshes around in your stomach when you slip off the stool, hunger now another pressing concern. 

You’ll ask him on your way back from the bathroom. If he turns you down after that, you’ll slink off into the night with your tail tucked between your legs. There’ll always be next weekend to try again. You promise yourself that because the alternative is acknowledging how defeated this entire experience has left you, no less disappointing than going on the same boring first date with a guy from Tinder. 

In the bathroom, you dab your face with water and stare at your reflection in the dirty mirror. It looks like it hasn’t been cleaned in years; finger smudges and white strains streaked across the glass. You wonder how many strangers have fucked in this bathroom over the years. The thought makes you grimace even more when you notice that the floor is slightly sticky, the ground sounding tacky beneath your shoes. 

When you come out, the man from across the bar is waiting by the door, so close that you flinch, eyes widening. The narrow hallway means that he’s barely three feet from you when you stand in the doorframe. 

“We leavin’ or what?” he growls, voice as deep as you thought it might be, gruff and husky. 

He’s just as imposing in front of you as he was from across the bar. Maybe more so. You’re forced to crane your neck to look up at him this close, lips parting on an inaudible exhale. There’s something about a brutish man that’s always taken your breath away; everything from the blunt chin to the pronounced brow. His face is flecked with pale, keloidal skin; rubbery nodules from old injuries. 

Dumbstruck, you can only nod, following behind him when he turns away from you, headed towards the parking lot out back where his truck is parked. 

You’re really doing this. You’re really doing this. That’s the only thought in your head when he unlocks his truck and pops the door open for you, waiting until you’re buckled in before slamming the door shut. 

He’s quiet on the car ride back to his place, unconcerned with getting to know you or defusing the tension in the truck. You can’t say you blame him. There’s a reason you chose a bar so far from home as a hunting ground. If you wanted to get to know someone, you would’ve met someone at a coffee shop. 

When you ask his name, he grunts it out like it’s an inconvenience. Simon. He doesn’t give you more than that, even when you awkwardly ask him what he does for work. Blatantly ignores your questions. The rebuff smarts for some reason, makes you frown and duck your chin to your chest, shoulders hunched.

His demeanor is so off-putting that halfway through the drive, you wonder if you misunderstood him somehow, if he means to drive you home instead of taking you back to his place (but that can’t be right, otherwise wouldn’t he have asked for your address?). It’s just hard to reconcile his churlish attitude towards you with his ostensible invitation to fuck. 

Maybe he doesn’t intend to fuck you at all. Maybe you managed to pick up the one serial killer in a twenty mile radius and stupidly followed him back to his truck without telling anyone who you planned to go home with. Your blood curdles at the thought, hackles raised when you imagine him sizing you up from across the bar, all prettied up and doe-eyed, easy prey. 

Your breathing picks up. “I, um…actually, c-could you…could you just drop me off at my place?”

Simon rolls his eyes so hard that it’s almost audible. “Not gonna kill ya, bird.” 

That doesn’t go a long way towards reassuring you, but you don’t dig your heels in and demand he take you home either. 

“Do you live nearby?” you ask, suddenly chatty. Why, oh why.

Simon looks over at you, one hand on the wheel and the other on the gear shift. He drives a manual, you notice. A few too many seconds go by in silence. You wish somebody would just staple your mouth shut already. 

“Yeah,” he says finally, turning back to watch the road, taking a left turn up ahead without using his signal. So it’s that kind of drive.

You keep your mouth shut for the rest of it lest he decide you’re too much of a hassle and turn back. You’re poised right on the edge of something new and exciting, and the thought of that slipping through your fingers makes you feel a bit crazy. So many men before have shown you that same snap dislike. Like you’re tolerable over text or as a dimensionless photo, but not as a flesh and blood person, the real mechanics of you all wrong. It’s an intolerable thought—that people can only like you when you smile and keep your mouth shut.

Still, you’ll do it now, for a price. 

Part of you expects him to pull you into his lap when he pulls into his driveway and puts the truck in park. It’s what you’ve seen in movies. The rest of the night plays out in your head in piecemeal flashes; ravenous passion, hands tearing clothes off each other’s bodies, a shoe left on the porch in your hurry to get inside. Hungry, devouring; slick mouths parting for barely long enough to breathe.

Then Simon cuts the engine and gets out of the truck without so much as a glance your way, like you aren’t even there.

He still comes around to open the door for you. You frown at him through the window, affronted. Baffled at his continued nonchalance. Like even keeping your mouth shut isn’t enough to keep a man’s interest. Where you expected passion and fervor, you’re met with cool indifference. 

Simon pops the door open. “Get out.”

The house itself is nothing special. A two-story cookie-cutter house built in the seventies; weathered, beige-coloured vinyl siding and a neatly trimmed lawn, with a few patches of overgrown grass and weeds. There’s a trailer parked in front of the closed garage, a few planks of wood strapped down in the bed. When you follow him up the walkway, you notice how quiet the neighborhood is, and for some reason that makes you even more jittery. 

You stop in the doorway, frustration breaking your timidity like snapping an ampoule. “Do you even want to—” fuck me, goes unsaid. Too humiliating to even ask. But you ask anyway, the question itself implicit even in so few words. 

Dark eyes stare down at you, impenetrable. You’re struck by the sense of something primordial slithering under his skin. His expression is hard, his face carved from granite; when his expression shifts, it’s like watching tectonic plates create mountains, plates pushed upward by mantle plumes.

He fits a big paw under your chin, fingers pressing into the fat of your cheeks hard enough to make your lips purse. Your heart skips a beat when he angles your head from side to side, looking you over like a pet he’s considering bringing home. You almost go cross-eyed when he bends down, his forehead nearly brushing yours, so close that you can smell the scent of cigarettes clinging to his clothes, see the grease smudged on his face and the folds around his eyes. 

A grin flickers across his lips, gone as it came. “Yeah. I do.”

And doesn’t that tie your stomach in a knot? Your nerves in a pretty bow? 

Inside, his house is just as unremarkable. You’d know in a single glance that a single man lived here; a functional, no-frills living space. Nothing more than a worn couch, a TV, and a few pieces of obvious hand-me-down furniture. It’s hard to glean anything from the minimal decoration around his place, but he doesn’t give you much of a chance to look around. That’s not the point of why you’re in his house. 

“Eat anything yet, bird?” Simon asks from the kitchen, opening the fridge without purpose. It looks like more of a reflex than anything, the first thing he does the second he gets home for the night and the last thing he does before going to bed. From the size of him, it makes sense; his body is muscle on muscle, covered by a healthy layer of fat, just a surface layer over the bulk beneath. 

You shake your head. “No.”

“Have a bite, then.”

“I’m not, uh, hungry though,” you deflect rather than saying the obvious, which is, I came to your house to have sex, not make sandwiches at the kitchen counter together. 

He shuts the fridge door, pinning you with his stare. “Your call. Could’ve used the energy though.”

You swallow. 

The first thing you do after he herds you into the bedroom is try to pull him into a kiss, cupping his cheeks and standing up on your tiptoes. Before your eyelids flutter shut, you catch a glimpse of a cocked brow. Then you press your lips to a slack mouth that doesn’t move no matter how much passion you infuse in your kiss and feel embarrassment flare up in your guts. 

Bastard. You should’ve expected that he wouldn’t kiss you back. 

“Sorry,” you mutter, breaking the facsimile of a kiss and dropping back down onto your heels. 

You flinch when he grabs you by the back of the neck and reels you back in, forcing you back onto your tiptoes, “Don’t be,” grunted against your mouth before fusing your lips together. A pathetic keen climbs up your throat, eyelids slipping shut. 

His greed leaks from him like tar, his kiss so messy and violent that you’re almost too jarred to do anything apart from hang on. Teeth clack against yours, a horrid sensation, the lust in your belly abating long enough for the real world to slink back in and you get flashes of it: hands winding around a thick neck, a scratchy cheek against your lip when he twists his head to angle your noses better, a tongue shoving into your mouth unceremoniously, no finesse at all. Straight to the main point. 

A shudder wracks you from head to toe when you try to break the kiss only to find the hand on your neck firm, holding you in place. The subtle reminder that he can do whatever he wants with you, that you willingly went home with a man big and strong enough to pin you down and fuck you however rough he wants. 

“Simon,” you whine, squirming against him, gasping a breath and his name again when he wrestles you back into the kiss. “No—Simon—”

“Stay fuckin’ still,” he snarls against your lips, and you freeze, knees going weak when his fingers dig into your jaw to hold you in place.

The endorphin rush nearly makes your vision white out. A sudden winter storm, the blood rushing to your cheeks and the tip of your nose, your breath coming out quick and choppy. Lungs barely filling up with each inhale. 

“Get this off,” Simon growls, tugging on your skirt when you don’t move fast enough. He doesn’t wait for you to catch up, content to wrench your skirt off himself instead, your panties along with it. 

It takes your breath away, how fast you go from clothed to partially nude. Trying to match his fervor is a losing game, so you just try to keep up. Your hands tug at his belt, desperately trying to undo it, and he chuckles when he notices; big hands paw at your ass while you shakily pop the buckle out of the first loop. 

He takes over after that, popping the button on his jeans one-handed. 

“Wanna handle the rest?” he prompts, an eyebrow jutting up, expectant. Lazy with his arrogance; oozing rugged masculinity. It’d infuriate you if it didn’t get you so hot. 

Your fingers are numb by the time you pull his jeans down, kneeling at his feet and gazing up at him with wide eyed devotion as he kicks off his boots and shakes the pants off his legs, nothing under his jeans. His pale white thighs are dusted in fine blond hairs, mottled with burns and scars and old, faded cigarette marks, like someone used his legs as an ashtray. The thought makes your throat close up.  

He shucks off his shirt while you stare at the shaft heavy with blood hanging between his legs, drooping with its own weight. Flushed red at the head and streaked with dark veins, leaking a steady drip of precum. The hair at the base of his dick is of a darker shade, gold like straw. 

Your stomach swoops at the sight, dropping to the pits of you. You swallow. Maybe you’ve bit off a little more than you can chew. A lot more.

As if sensing your unease, a wide hand is suddenly firm on the back of your head, urging you closer. “Gonna give it a kiss?”

It’s not a question. You know that and you know that you’re way out of your league; that if you panic now you’ll flounder. So instead of fighting it, you lean forward and press a shy kiss to the weeping head of his dick. 

You lick your lips instinctively when you draw back, lapping up the precum smeared across them. The taste makes you wrinkle your nose. It’s salty; bitter. Not altogether pleasant. 

Simon wraps a hand around his dick and holds it to your lips. “Open your mouth, bird. Get me nice ‘n wet.”

A shudder rolls through you, but there’s little else you can do except part your lips and squeeze your eyes shut. It’s a struggle to fit more than just the head in your mouth, his dick too wide to take more than that. Your eyes water at the stretch, the musky taste of his cum overwhelming. 

Any experience you’ve had before this pales in comparison. It’s like the first time all over again. His cock is heavy on your tongue, instantly making your eyes water. The grip he still has on the base of his cock tells you that he doesn’t expect you to swallow the whole length (an impossible task; you go cold with dread at even the thought), but Simon doesn’t hesitate to grip your head firmer when he feels you falter, forcing you to take as much as you can.

When you gag, he shushes you. “Keep at it—you’re fine.”

You wonder if he thinks by saying it, it makes it true. You’re very much not fine, struggling to breathe through your nose and suck him off without scraping his cock with your teeth.

Your exhale when he pulls you off his cock by your hair is full of both relief and trepidation. Your lips feel swollen and tender when you touch them with your fingers. 

“Can we please have sex now?” you ask, dazed enough to be bold. 

Simon cracks a smile at that, endeared somehow. “Gotta get up for that, bird.”

You have to brace your hands against his chest when you get to your feet, the blood that rushes to your head making you wobbly. Even on your feet, he’s so much taller than you, a behemoth. Men like him have always been your type, but Simon is really in a league of his own. 

Glancing up at him from under your lashes, you bite your lip. You’ve seen that in movies before, starlettes bringing men to their knees with just a look. Coquette; demure. It’s harder to replicate than you thought, but you’ve never rehearsed this before. This is a one-time, live performance. The culmination of everything you’ve ever read or watched or studied. 

You keep up the ruse of being sexy by crawling onto his bed on your hands and knees, dropping down onto your elbows once situated in the middle of the mattress. The debauchery of wiggling your ass back at the man who took you home from the bar would overwhelm you if you weren’t playing a part right now. Role playing. This isn’t who you usually are, but if it’s only for one night, you can force out the self-scrutiny and timidity. 

Silence hangs in the air like a bubble, waiting to be burst. You fight the urge to look over your shoulder at him. 

Then Simon exhales, breaking the silence. Goosebumps ripple down your arms. 

The mattress dips under his weight when he settles behind you, hands immediately sinking into the flesh of your ass and pulling your cheeks apart. No preamble. You open your mouth to say something, but thick, coarse fingers are already dipping between your thighs and playing with your hole, sinking a finger in up to the first knuckle. 

You breathe out shakily, shoulders tensing. The sheets reek of him, musky and ripe; you concentrate on that instead of the fingers penetrating you, getting you ready for his dick. Your walls squeeze tight around his fingers when he forces another one in. 

When he finally feeds his cock into you, the stretch is nearly unbearable. The sharp stab of pain that accompanies it almost makes you flinch away, but Simon drags you back by your hips.

“You’re not going anywhere, bird,” he rumbles. “Relax. It’s going in.”

What can you say to something like that? 

His whole frame presses you into the mattress, the breath forced from your lungs. Bigger now that he’s got you on your belly. Suddenly making two hundred pounds seem less abstract, more real. He bullies as much of his cock into you as he can, paying no mind to the way you squeal and kick your legs. 

“Real tight cunt,” Simon grunts, humming with his pleasure when his hips punch forward and your pussy squelches around his length. So lewd.

His knees on either side of you keep you trapped in place, nowhere to go. Nowhere to run. All you can do is lie under him and let him rut between your thighs, gasping for breath with every thrust. The sweat is slick down your back, half yours and half his. 

“Ya let other men fuck this cunt, bird?” he asks. It sounds hypothetical, like it’s said half to rile himself up, and though it prickles at your nerves, you don’t complain too much because he fucks you rougher after the words slip out of his mouth. 

When you don’t answer him though, concentrating more on filling your lungs and not biting your tongue off, he grabs your face and twists your head until you’re looking over your shoulder at him, neck aching with the strain. 

“Answer me,” he demands, sounding almost pissed off. 

“N-no—”

“Good,” he grunts. Satisfied.

His words should piss you off. How dare he ask you about fucking other men as if he were your husband or boyfriend. You have half a mind to cuss him out, but then he pumps his hips forward and your face goes numb from pleasure. Electric impulses zip up and down your skin, sizzling your nerves. 

Besides, maybe it’s hot that he’s acting like you belong to him. Like you’re his; his girl that he picked up from the bar after a long shift, eager to go home and lay her out on the bed so he could fuck his pretty girl into a tongue-tied stupor. It certainly does it for you, a thin filigree of pleasure winding its way down your spine. 

It’s an intoxicating fantasy—being wanted by a man in a real, visceral way. It’s one you’ve never gotten close to before, never even grazed with the tips of your fingers, no matter how far you stretched out your arms. You don’t know what men see when they look at you, but it can’t be anything worth keeping. 

He fucks you like he wants to pry you open and leave a piece of him inside. A big hand fits around your neck and tightens; a collar, a manacle. 

Hard to feel anything but grateful though. It’s everything you wanted but never thought you’d get out of this experience. You expected to feel like a body on a butcher’s block, hacked limb from limb. Marble ribbing on the inside. Brought to a high only to be left out in the cold after. 

You never expected apotheosis. You never expected the filth murmured into your ear, the lurid, coarse diatribe in surround sound, all perfect fuckin’ pussy, can’t wait to shove my tongue inside, gonna make you suck my cock while I eat that perfect cunt out—

All—

Perfect fuckin’ girl; you don’t give this to anyone else, do ya? Knew you were gaggin’ for it back in the bar, but wanted to wait ‘n see; turned the rest of ‘em down, didn’t ya? Not a fuckin’ slut. Jus’ for me—only hungry for my cock—

It’s too rough, too much. Overpowering. Musk and body heat and raw strength, his forearms planted on the mattress on either side of your head. The scent of him suffocating, smothering. Heady. In your pores, on the back of your tongue, in your belly. He’s everywhere.

If only you could put it into words. The fire in your belly growing so wild, so out of control, that it threatens to incinerate you. Thinking dangerous thoughts—that you could be his, that he wants you so bad he can’t stand the idea of anyone having you before him, that he’ll kill anyone that touched you before, rip them apart with his bare hands, cut out their hearts and slice it ‘em up real thin so he could feed you the strips with his hands—

“Fuck—” Simon pants in your ear, pulling his cock out of your cunt. You whine, clenching down on nothing, suddenly empty, until he turns you roughly over onto your back and grabs one of your flailing ankles, hooking it over a burly shoulder. “Cunt this good oughta be locked down. Should just chain your leg to the bed so I can wake up to this pussy every day. Would’ya like that, bird?”

Like it? You think wildly—

Keep me, keep me, keep me, pleasepleaseplease.

The leg not hooked over Simon’s shoulder gets pulled around his hip, spreading your legs wider to accommodate the width of him between them. The scour of his voice threatens to erode you, smash you to pieces. There won’t be anything left after he’s done with you. 

He’s just so big. Built like an ox, broad and solid. When he braces his forearms on either side of you, his biceps bulge, skin pulling taut over the muscle. The dark hair of his pits is stark against pale flesh. 

Blood roars in your ears and over you, he moves like a wave, filling you up again and again. You’re swimming in uncharted waters now; gazing out into an unfamiliar and dangerous sea. A swell this big might take you right under. 

Too bad for you, the hazy adumbration of danger in his words is pitted against the maw in your soul, the deep, cavernous hole that yawns wider with each passing year. 

For years now, you’ve had the same dream: overlooking a sea of evergreen peaks illuminated by a silky moonlight hue, winding a long, narrow road darkened on both sides by tightly clustered trees, your arms wrapped around your chest. Cold layered like a skin, sinking deep into your bones, cold wet like a damp hate; trees clustered around your wandering soul, spurned into wandering like a little undead ghost with teeth clattering in Morse code, saying: so many wrongs done, it is almost incomprehensible.

Is it too much to ask to be wanted? 

You need it like air. 

The issue is that—

more than horny, you’re really, really fucking lonely. 

For years now, you’ve had the same dream: a dream of being a lighthouse keeper, skin saltwater slick, seafoam on the backs of your knuckles, slathering over frozen fingers clutching at the gallery railing. Beckoning something to you.

What it is, you do not know.

“Look at tha’,” Simon says wonderingly, grabbing your face and yanking it towards him, forcing you to meet his eyes again. “Just needed to get turned out on a fat cock, didn’t ya?”

“Yeah,” you gasp. “So good, Simon, ohmygod—”

“Only this needy for me, right?” The glint in his eye is terrifying.

“Only you, only you—”

“That’s right,” he growls, bearing all of his weight down on you, forehead to forehead. His sweat-slick chest slides against yours, cock buried so deep that you can taste him at the back of your throat. Dark eyes stare down at you with an intensity that steals the breath from you, glossy like he’s rapidly losing the ability to be consciously present, but ever attentive to the pleasure rippling across your face. 

When his cock grinds into the soft plug of your womb, his eyes narrow when yours bulge, and he batters that spot until you seize up and spasm around him. His buzz cut gives you nothing to hold onto, so you dig your nails into the bulky planes of his back instead. 

“Fuck—hold on, Christ, fuck; here it comes,” he spits, the veins in his neck protruding when he grits his teeth. 

Your blood goes red hot when he rams deep into you, each thrust deliberate. Hips losing their rhythm. You don’t notice the first spurt of cum, too preoccupied with the smell and weight of him blanketing you, infiltrating every crevice of your body, but the second is hot. Scorching. You ignore the screaming alarm at the back of your head, barely coherent enough to parse out its meaning. All you can focus on is the warmth spreading inside you and your own walls pulsing around his cock, milking his release out of him. 

Time blurs. You lose some of it. 

You don’t come back until Simon rolls over onto his back, taking you with him. His cock is still buried inside of you, his cum running out in rivulets, pooling at the base of his dick lodged at your entrance. You’re going to be messy when he finally pulls out. 

Despite the ache already setting in, you feel reborn. Renewed. The old, dead skin flayed off. You can’t imagine how you’ll feel when you’ve got your energy back, when even tracing your eyes across the other side of his room doesn’t take tremendous effort. The traces of him littered around the room make you curious. A half empty glass. Steel-toed boots sticking out of a half-opened closet. A damp towel crumpled into a ball on the floor. 

You squeeze your eyes shut. There’s no use trying to fill the gaps in. Whoever Simon is won’t matter in the light of day. You repeat this to yourself until it sticks. 

When you try to get up, planting both hands on his chest, he pulls you back down, forcing your head onto the pillow of his chest. “Simon, the sheets are wet—”

“I’ll deal with it later,” Simon says, eyes already shut, on the verge of falling asleep. “Now shut up. You’re ruining the fucking afterglow.” 

You wake up the next morning covered in bruises and bite marks and dried cum between your thighs and on your belly, so sore that even twitching your finger hurts.

It takes awhile for everything to come back to you. When it finally does, consciousness snaps back into you, discomfort giving way to quiet self-satisfaction. You managed to do it. Your first one-night stand. A real milestone. The tacky sheets beneath you are proof enough of your accomplishment. 

The sadness slithers in when you realize that it’s over. One and done. In a half hour or so, the man plastered against your back and breathing heavily on the crown of your head will wake up, groggy and bleary eyed, and side-eye you until you put back on your clothes from the night before and slink out, tail tucked between your legs. A few hours delayed from when you were planning to throw in the towel at the bar, but still. In the end, it always comes around. 

A gruff voice at your side tells you to quiet, bird—s'too early for your bitchin’ before manhandling you onto your stomach and shoving his raw cock into your cunt and it’s only now that it dawns on you that you were too horny last night to remember to ask him to use protection. 

The thought is wiped from your head when he bucks his hips forward, impaling you on his swollen length. You lose track of time after that. 

Breakfast is an informal affair. Cereal from a box and a bit too much milk, and a cup of instant coffee. You wince when you sit down across from Simon at the kitchen table, your inner thighs still tender and pussy sore from the battering it just took. If it strokes his ego to see how gingerly you sit down, he doesn’t show it. 

It’s weird sitting across the table from him after last night. Hard to just leave it unaddressed, the truth simmering in the air. The red marks across his back make you wince, cheeks heating. Thin crescent marks and scored nails. It’s hard to reconcile yourself with the girl from last night. 

He eats in silence for the most part though, ravenous after the night before. Doesn’t comment on the state of his shoulders or the way you shift on your chair. Not even bothering to make eye contact with you. Your appetite takes a bit of a hit watching him shovel food into his mouth, hardly even pausing long enough to breathe, but you’ve seen plenty of hungry men eat before. 

Still though, silence has always had a way of getting under your skin. You’re not comfortable around it, prone to chattering. So you can’t help the way your mouth opens and the words come out involuntarily. 

“Do you do this a lot?”

“I don’t shit where I eat,” Simon grunts dismissively.

The expression makes you grimace. “So do you usually pick up girls elsewhere or—”

The look he gives you could melt the flesh off your bones. You realize your misstep, interrogating the man you just fucked about his other hookups. Best not to ask questions. It’s not like you’ll see him again after this. 

These last few moments are bittersweet. There won’t be many opportunities like this in the future, mainly because you don’t think you’re cut out for one-night stands. Last night proved that. As good as it was—and for as many times as you came, another time in the wee hours of the morning when Simon rolled over on top of you and shoved your legs apart to eat you out (a midnight snack)—in the light of day, you feel world weary. Like something monumental happened and passed you by. 

You almost want to thank him for making it special, but the anxiety around finally pissing him off is more than you can bear. You want to leave on a good note. It’s better this way. You’ll never have confirmation about whether he’d eventually grow tired of you like everyone else. Never know if he’d one day manage to lose interest in the real you, not the made up sex kitten from the bar. 

It’s better this way.

You tell yourself that when you push your chair out and stand up, hands fisting in the oversized shirt Simon made you wear before leaving the bedroom. “I should get going.”

He stops eating, staring up at you. His eyes are inscrutable, and the longer he stares, the less you understand his look. 

You shift from foot to foot. “Thanks for… I had a good time.”

Simon doesn’t say anything, but when he drops his spoon into the bowl, the metal clang makes you flinch. 

His silence leaves you off balance, like you’ve overstepped somehow. All motion stills under his scrutiny. 

“Got somewhere ya need to be?” he asks, a vague, almost menacing undercurrent in his voice. It’s said like a warning. There shouldn’t be anywhere else you need to be. 

“I…—don’t you want me to leave?”

He looks distinctly unimpressed. “You gonna walk home like that?” His words make you tug at his shirt, pulling it down to cover your thighs.

Your whole life has been made up of misunderstandings. Missed opportunities. Men who you thought loved you vanishing into thin air. You’re a poem often lost in translation. A long game of hide and seek; people run towards you then feign right, leaving you in the dust. 

Whatever this is, you don’t recognize it. 

You swallow on a dry throat. “…No?”

Simon searches your expression for something before he nods, satisfied. “Then sit the fuck back down. Finish your damn breakfast.”

You sit back down (wincing when you do) because the alternative is admitting that you don’t know what’s next. That you’re out of step again, but this time without that sinking feeling in your belly. A wild fluttering instead. That thought again that maybe you’ve bit off more than you can chew. 

What’s that saying again?

Ah, yes. Choices made in anger cannot be undone.

[morganas-pendragons]

sweet and soft | elrond peredhel

okay LISTEN

I read this prompt about the elves ears DAYS ago and it has not left me alone. it being their most sensitive part of their body along with touching their ears meaning you want courtship.... and I then had a dream about this with Elrond

not a drop of angst in here, I want to kiss him so bad

enjoy!

***

Sunlight cradles the two of you from where you sit among the gardens in Lindon. It is a rare day where the High King has given Elrond reprieve from his duties as Herald, and you both took the opportunity to spend the time together in the gardens where you’d met.

Elrond only had one condition: You had to play for him. As your skill with a violin was renowned, you’d earned your place as High King Gil-Galad’s violinist who was often called upon for important events. It was what had initially drawn Elrond to you, seeing you playing at Gil-Galad's feast.

That was almost six months ago. Now you find yourself enraptured by the Half-Elven man with his head in your lap, your fingers idly carding through unruly curls as you recite lines of poetry from the book he’d brought to read.

Your first mistake in being so engrossed in your poetry is that you miss Elrond’s breathing hitch when your fingers ghost the tips of his ears. He is aware, as are you, what the implications are behind touching the ears of another elf. Elrond has never made the depth of his feelings for you known.

He is cognizant of one detail, at minimum. Elrond wants to court you.

He is also aware that his cheeks are burning as he turns to press his head into your thigh.

Your fingers curl just beneath the neckline of his shirt before dancing upward once again and repeating the same motion. Out of the corner of his eye, Elrond catches the faint smile upturning your lips as you peer down to meet his gaze. His eyes are astonishing already, but washed in the glow of the morning sun, he almost seems as if he is sent straight from the Valar themselves.

“Is something wrong, Elrond?” You ask innocently. He reaches up to snap the poetry book shut, allowing him the opportunity to sit up and face you. “I thought you were enjoying the poetry. This is our weekly routine, after all.”

He takes those next few beats of silence to allow his eyes to sweep across your face. Elrond has known you to be somewhat of a mischievous person, feigning innocence and naivety in situations where repercussions are demanded if fault is admitted.

“I was simply admiring the person who chooses to spend their waking hours with me instead of making practical use of their time,” Elrond remarks, voice stuttering as you curled your fingers into the lengthening curls at his temples to tug him close to you. “And how devious you are.”

You grin widely at him. Elrond is the only person you have ever allowed yourself to be genuine with. Being in Gil-Galad’s favor means that you so often have to wear a practiced facade of grace and poise. There is no room for child like behaviors.

Being with Elrond allows you to truly, truly embrace the very being of who you are. That is one of the many characteristics you have come to love about him.

“Me? Devious? Surely you are joking." You tease. "All I did was-“

He catches your hand before you can do it again. The two of you sit there in silence for a brief moment as you stare at your hand caught in his own. It’s the first time he’s really taken it. Sure, the two of you have walked with one another in these gardens plenty of times, but only as friends.

You have wanted Elrond for what feels like lifetimes. For the sake of yourself and for him as parts of Gil-Galad’s court, you chose to love him from afar. You didn’t want to impose upon Elrond. He already carried enough.

However, given the way he’s looking at you, part of you quietly wonders if he feels the same way and chose not to speak it for fear of your rejection.

Elrond takes each one of your fingers and spreads them apart, laying a kiss on each fingertip before enclosing your hand with his own. Your breath stuttered in your chest as he leaned impossibly closer.

“You know what it means to touch the ears of another elf,” Elrond said lowly. It almost sounds like barely concealed restraint. “Do not tread upon a path you do not wish to walk down.”

You hum softly and grab his chin with your fingers so he will look at you. Trepidation lingers in the depths of the gray irises that stare back into yours. “And if it is a path I wish to tread upon?” You whisper. “Let it be my choice.”

Elrond shudders as your fingers trail upward to tangle in his hair again, and he finds himself unable to breathe as you slowly shift your positions so you can settle yourself into his lap. It's a bold move considering you have done little else outside of resting your head on his shoulder and holding his arm as you venture Lindon's gardens. You're quietly praying that you have not overstepped a boundary.

Elrond doesn’t push you away. He welcomes it. He welcomes you.

He tries to focus on the sights around him to avoid the fear of disappointing you lingering in the back of his mind. You are a sight to behold among Lindon’s gardens. Despite the wonders of the sights around him, none of the flora and fauna that have grown here over the centuries are comparable to you.

“Hey,” You call softly. “Where did you go, nin mel?”

Elrond is not usually one to fumble over his words, but they roll off his tongue before he can stop his rambling, “I do not want to bring any disappointment if I am not what you wish me to be.”

You’d be lying if you said the statement didn’t make you melt. He was so earnest and sweet when it came to ensuring he lived up to what other people wanted but so often gave himself such little credit. “Elrond,” You began, taking his hands into your own to press them against your waist. “I have wanted you for so long. You could never disappoint me, meleth nin.”

You bend your head to the juncture where his jaw meets his neck and place a kiss thereupon. As you anticipate, Elrond groans low in his throat and grasps you more tightly. “Please,” He breathes, breath hot against your ear as you drum your fingers against his neck. “Please touch me.”

It was the closest to a declaration you were going to get at that moment. He wants you to be near to him, to touch him, to be witness to the rawest and most vulnerable parts that he so often hid from everyone else. He had to hide. Who would want to see the human side of the Half-Elven Herald of the King?

You tilt your head and gently graze your fingertips over his ears as he bends his own head to meet your mouth halfway. It's cataclysmic. You've been dreaming about this moment since the first time he asked you to play for him at the very end of one of Gil-Galad's feasts with the other elves who dwelt in Lindon.

Elrond shudders as you come together and lifts a hand to touch your jaw just beneath your own ear.

The action alone causes you to gasp just enough for him to take the opportunity to kiss you more deeply, licking into your mouth with a low groan as you wind your fingers through his hair.

"Elrond," You breathe. The two of you pull away just enough to feel the warm breath of the other on your skin, your fingers twirling circles against his temples as he worked at undoing the braids that hung over your shoulders. You want more of him. You want to bury yourself in his heart and never let anyone hurt him again. "That was-"

"I would very much like to do it again. And again, and again, until you are rendered breathless," Elrond whispers, reaching to the side to pluck a lily from the flower bed before tucking it behind your ear. There is hope lingering on the edge of his tone as he looks at you. A hidden promise for something that you both can chase, not a futile dream he has to chase alone. "But only after I hear you play."

You stand to your feet and motion for the violin case beside him. "One on condition," You reply as you tuck your chin into the base of the instrument and poise your bow against its strings. "There must be more kisses at the end of this song."

You swallow the knot in your throat as the melody begins to echo in the gardens, allowing Elrond the opportunity to lean back on his elbows and peer up at you from his spot on the blanket. "I believe that can be arranged. Is there anything else?" He asks innocently. You raise a brow and pause as his shirt shifts to reveal the skin beneath. Warm, tanned skin that you wanted to... "You're staring. You're going to mess up your song."

"You are distracting me." You retort. "I do have one more condition."

There are several beats of silence between you two as Elrond goes quietly, enraptured by the melody that seems to encompass your entire being as if it comes from the very heart of you. You are the very essence of what makes music beautiful.

When your final note decrescendos into the serenity of the garden's life around you is when you open your eyes to look at Elrond once again.

"What's that final condition?" Elrond asks.

"A date, Elrond Peredhel." You muse, leaning down to return your violin to its case before swooping in to press a kiss to reddened cheeks. "Anywhere and any time. I will leave the rest up to you."

He does not dare move as he watches you walk back towards your rooms. You truly are a marvel, a sight to behold. You are the brightest light that has entered his life since he lost Elros. He would not dare to dim that light.

"Anytime and anywhere," He whispers to himself as he traces his fingers over his cheek. "For all my life-time."

[cindol]

BILLS BILLS BILLS !💸

tw— reader a pretty princess, reader is 26 and ino is 22, ino is rich somehow just by being nanami’s assistant don’t ask me!!,

synopsis— ino is the perfect boy for a girl like y/n.

congrats on 600 naj! @honeybleed . 90’s collab event

y/n’s worst trait was how forgiving she could be, even to the most heinous acts to her, her boyfriend now ex boyfriend took great advantage of that. It was sweet at first, him taking her to restaurants no matter how cheap they were but then it turned bitter sweet. Turning from him asking her for extra cash and even getting the audacity to even steal her credit card and use her car on his own whim. Once the breakup soon happened she had to ask the question, ‘where are all good men?’ This question even was on her mind as she was at the newest popular club with her girls.

When ranting to shoko and utahime on the Group FaceTime they took her to the new Blue Eagel club saying how there was a lot of eye candy at this joint. Y/n sipped the glass of pink Whitney she had as shoko and utahime had their usual Hennessy. Shoko smiled seeing the corners of y/n’s lips turned off.”whole lotta’ eye candy right? Get you outta that bummed out mood?” Y/n couldn’t help but make a chuckle come out her throat.”Mm… whole lot of male eye candy..”looking around the club she could see some now. a small group of tall of six men, there was about one that stuck out to her. She could’ve sworn she could see him staring at her from her small table. She was broken out her stare from how shoko and utahime made tipsy ‘ooo’ sound effects.

She rolled her eyes smiling at the two.”looks like our babe found her some skinny eye candy?” Utahime teased and it made y/n even scoff with a chuckle hidden in.”oh please.. I just got out a sticky ass breakup, what would I look like lusting over another scrawny man?” Shoko and utahime just raised their eyebrows up and down with a cat like smile.”ain’t that your type?” Shoko said in a teasing tone making y/n have a barely visible blush on her cheek.”Oh hush.. go on somewhere if y’all are just gonna tease me.” That was the invite for the two tipsy girls to make their way off to the dance floor.

Just as they left the man came closer to her table and she got a good look of him. He wasn’t very dolled up like the guys he came with. He was sporting just a normal black dress shirt, some grey slacks but had some generic lazy brown hair. He now stood right in front of her with a cheeky smile.”hey, don’t know how my buddies even do this kinda thing but.. saw ya staring at me across the room.” As soon as he said those words he wanted to cringe and turn pink when you rolled your eyes smiling.”room? We’re in a club. Don’t you mean across the dance floor?”

He played it off chuckling and scratching the back of his head.”I’m bad at catch lines what can I say? Can’t knock down a guy for trying.” Y/n liked his wit, she could tell he was obviously just a nervous boy but still very smooth with his comebacks. She took a sip of her pink Whitney.”mhm.. take a seat yes?” He listened to her taking a seat from across her at the small round table. Now that he was taking a close at her she was a gorgeous girl, with a beautiful dark straight haired brunette lace sat on her head perfectly when he looked at her face she had some light makeup on but her lips popped out with them lined and glossed up and even her outfit was pretty, with her wearing a light pink halter top and a pink mini skirt and chunky light pink chunky platform heels that matched her brown skin perfect. Everything about this girl was pretty to him

She noticed how he was zoning out just staring at her and snapped her fingers.”aye, eyes up here sir!” That made him blink and chuckle.”sorry bout that, can’t help but stare at a beautiful girl y’know?” That made her a bit bashful as she smiled at his cheesy lines. He could tell he was winning her over slowly.”instead of this awkward tension let me know something about the girl who was staring me down just from the dance floor.” She made a light chuckle tapping her fingers on the tables surface.”well, I just got out of weird breakup last night and now I’m here. That’s a small fact.” Ino could control the small damn he let out at that.”Ah shit, sorry that’s just a big bombshell.” She giggled at his reaction.”No no, my ex boyfriend was a bit of dick anyways.. He was always borrowing my car, money and nearly maxing my card out.”

That made ino’s brows raise.”what a way to treat a girl you love huh?” She hummed in response.”what can ya do though? Not much good boys in this town really..” Ino made a huff sound at that, the next thing he said he couldn’t even control out his mouth.”I would never do that to you.” It made y/n giggle to have a boy she barely even knew say this just 9 minutes into the conversation.”you barely know me boy, and yet you think you know what’s best for me hm?” She jokes a little which takes ino aback, everything she said made him fluster and think about the stupid words he said. He attempted to play off his words, still showing his boyish charm and overall confidence despite his blushing.”well I don’t know you well enough since I just met you well about some minutes ago but with how you stared at me across that floor and your body language maybe we can figure something out y’know?”

Before she could make another witty comment he continued.”You may look like you have more experience and a more rich taste but trust me, I could be that man for you. I could do the bill paying, the nice spa treatment and resorts. Just give me one chance.” That made y/n’s legs clench a bit, she still had some excuse up her sleeve.”you don’t even know my name.”

“Takuma ino, what’s yours?” He said it so quickly like he wasn’t taking no for a answer or any excuse. Y/n gave in seeing how determined this boy was.”l/n y/n.”

🎀 ᘏᘏ 🎀

In the 6 months y/n had gotten to know ino he kept his promise and word about treating her right. He definitely paid her bills and treated her to the best restaurants and clubs. It amazed her how he could just have this much money from being a assistant apparently. Throughout these months she started to date ino he showed a lot of chivalry for his age, there were some instances where his romance showed out.

He was very serious about paying her bills and expenses like she thought. Truthfully she thought it would just be some fun little three months she would be dating him till she was 4 months in and saw the effect. Even knowing how financially stable ino was she still hesitated asking him to pay for things, it was just her mentality when growing up poor. Ino had this mentality himself when he was younger, that’s how he picked her up on her habbit of always turning lights off and yelling at him across the room to make sure to turn the bathroom light off once he’s done in her bathroom, she even did this in his house without noticing.

When she was scolding him once again about turning the shower water and lights off more often he just hushed her with a finger on her lips.”babe babe, I can take care of all that dumb bill shit.” It stunned her a bit how he hushed her and he chuckled noticing.”I’m your rich new boyfriend did you forget?”

Another instance was him amazing her when taking her to a fresh new restaurant. It was foreign to her a little, as she looked at the fancy menu and the other customers around she felt a bit out of place even in the mini pink dress she had on. Ino could feel how uncomfortable she was, he had gone through the same feelings she did. Across the small table he put his hand on hers rubbing the back of her hand.”hey, enjoy yourself y’know? You deserve the best treatment. Can’t let ya leave out before you try the oxtails this place has.”

Ino was definitely trying to get her comfortable in his lifestyle and it was working slowly. Y/n didn’t even notice how she was wearing more tennis girl wear and going to a country club with him to meet some of his colleagues and friends.

He was showing he could be the boy to pay her bills and everything and more, before she even knew it.

[daechwitatamic]

Of Ruin: Chapter 13 | KTH

(banner by @itaeewon)

Of Ruin (Masterpost)

Rating: NSFW - minors dni Genre: vampire!au magic!au royalty!au, s2l, slow burn, eventual smut, angst and fluff

Summary: Taehyung of House Rune, Prince of Infracticus has been cursed. You’re the human world’s leading curse-breaker. It should be simple. But unraveling the curse becomes the least of your problems in the face of a world on the brink of civil war… and the love you start to feel for the prince.

A/N: Thank you endlessly to @sailoryooons for betaing!!! 💕

//

Section Warnings: language, kissing, we are jumping straight into smut lol, nip stim, clit stim, dry humping, fingering, oral (f. receiving), uhhhh fang play? lolol pls do not perceive me, penetrative sex, love confessions during sex oops lol, biting/feeding during sex but its consensual on all parts, kind of sort of subspacey at the end with help from vampire venom, taehyung pov for a minute, drinking and drunkenness, hurt feelings wc: 6k

“You must have been terrified.”

“No. Not once I knew it was you.”

To emphasize this, you loop one arm around the back of his neck, drawing him closer, kissing him harder. Everything you’ve been holding back seems to burst from you - his faith in you, your trust in him, the love you’ve been tucking away, all of it. You kiss him feverishly, trying to translate every bit of it into the way you press against him, open for him.

He licks into your mouth and you groan quietly, wanting more, more of him, more of his mouth, more of his hands, just more. He responds to your sound with a pleased grunt of his own, and he slides one large hand around your waist, pressing against your lower back, pressing your hips harder against his own.

You slide your tongue against his and he brings his hand up your back and wrap his hand firmly around the back of your neck to keep you close. You let out a tiny whine, letting your hands wander up his chest over the thin cloth of the shirt he wears. You pass your hands over his shoulders, down his back, holding tight as your head spins - from the kiss, or from the events (and blood loss) of last night, you aren’t sure.

You murmur his name when the kiss breaks, and he responds by capturing your lips again, sweetly, then pulling back to look down at you.

“What is it?” he murmurs, voice as deep as the ocean.

You strain upwards, trying to find his mouth again, your right hand gathering the material of his shirt’s hem and bunching it in your fist. You slide your other hand into the gap you’ve made, practically gasping with delight as your palm slides along his cool, bare skin for the first time. He shivers beneath your touch, then reaches between his shoulder blades to grab the neck of his shirt. You let go of the hem, allowing him to tug it off and over his head before he bends to kiss you more.

Pleased, you press your mouth to his gladly, letting your hands explore up and down his ribs, over his pecs, down his stomach, around to his back, feeling him move and respond beneath each touch. You can feel him beneath you, responding to each kiss and every caress, and you tighten the grip of your thighs on either side of his own, as if holding on tighter can urge him even closer.

“So warm,” he murmurs against your mouth, letting out a quick sigh as one of your hands works to memorize the slope of his jaw.

You still want more. You use both hands and card your fingers through his hair, curling them to hold his roots, and pull lightly. He moans into your open mouth, the sound so pretty it makes your toes curl. You do it again, pressing your hips against his as you do, trying to egg him on.

He’s behaving too much, keeping his hands on your waist, your hair, not daring to toe the line even as you leap over it. You don’t want him to behave.

“I want to feel you,” you breathe, pressing your forehead to his as you both take a second to catch your breath. “Please.”

He doesn’t need to be told twice; he finds the hem of your shirt and pulls. You lift your arms so he can slide it over your head. His eyes follow the path of newly bared skin - up over your stomach, your chest, your face, up to your arms.

You reach back to unclasp your bra, tossing it away, but Taehyung isn’t watching. His eyes have instead caught on the scabby marks on your upper arm, and then on the inside of each wrist. He reaches for your right arm, pulls it closer, examining the place where his very first bite had pierced you.

“Did it hurt?” he asks sorrowfully, brushing a thumb lightly over the reddened skin around the bite.

“No,” you say, but it isn’t quite true, so you try again. “I mean, yes, but after a few seconds it was…”

“What?” he whispers, even as he pulls your wrist towards his mouth, brushes the healing bite with his lips. Your breath stills in your throat, but he only kisses the spot, waiting for your answer.

“Once the venom hit,” you admit, a little embarrassed, “it felt… kind of good, actually. Like being a little drunk.”

He lets out a breath that’s almost a laugh. “That’s how it feels when we drink,” he tells you. “The want, the thirst, it’s lessened… but it also gives a sort of high. It’s addicting - you’re addicting.”

He punctuates this thought by pressing an open-mouthed kiss to the fang-marks on your wrist, as you think that he must be mistaken - between the two of you, it’s him that’s addicting: powerful and beautiful, thrilling and dangerous.

He moves to kiss you again, licking against your lips until you open for him again, hands skimming along your now-bare sides, thumbs coming dangerously close to your chest before sliding back down. You shiver, grinding down into him, making an encouraging sound low in your throat.

He finally slides a hand where you want it, caressing and gently kneading your breast, letting his thumb circle the sensitive nipple before flicking over the top of it as it hardens beneath his touch. You keen, the sensations tingling and magical, pressing harder into his touch.

He abandons your chest and slides his hand down your arm, still kissing you languidly, deeply. His fingers rest against your wrist, and the wound starts to tingle. You recognize the sensation and realize he’s healing you as he kisses you, fixing each broken spot he finds, undoing the damage he’d wreaked on your body the night before.

He does the same to the wounds on your upper arm and the opposite wrist, then goes back to exploring what sounds he can pull from you as he lowers his mouth to your breast. He hums happily as he kisses, licks, and nips his way around the full bottom of one before making his way back up to your nipple, taking it between his lips and flicking his tongue against it repeatedly. You feel your eyes roll back, your core clenching in response to the feeling of him.

“God, Taehyung, please,” you beg. You don’t even know what you’re begging for - more, just more.

At your plea, he pulls himself back up and kisses you so hard that your head spins. He slides a hand, behaving no more, down your stomach and around your waist, gripping you tightly as he pulls you tight against his trapped cock, which is solid beneath you, begging for attention. You gasp, hips jerking with the sudden friction, breaking the kiss.

He releases your waist and his hands travel around to grab full handfuls of your ass, fingers tightening there as his lips work their way down your jaw and towards your throat. You groan in pleasure and excitement, feeling yourself getting wetter at an alarming rate.

“Smell fucking amazing,” he murmurs, lips against your throat, and you feel your whole body heat at the words. He holds you, mouth pressed to the flushed skin of your throat, pressing closed-mouth kisses to it as his fingers slip beneath your waistband, sliding down the bare skin of your ass and seeking the heat and wetness between your legs.

He toys with you, teasing your hole from behind, sliding easily through the slickness waiting for him. He doesn’t enter you, as you’re still pressed too tightly against him, rocking against his clothed length. Even still, you whine at the sensation of his fingers exploring what parts of you they can.

He growls, and you shiver. He lifts you in one easy motion, pulling his hand from inside your leggings to settle you down onto your back. He presses his long body alongside yours and slips his hand beneath your waistband - properly, from the front this time. He runs his fingers through the arousal he finds only once before plunging two fingers into you just as his mouth finds the tender place his fangs had pierced into your neck the night before. You moan so loudly it echoes through the room, the sound long and tortured as your body adjusts to the stretch of his digits and as the tender wound on your neck tingles at the pressure of his lips and tongue as he kisses and licks over the healing punctures.

“God,” you breathe, rocking against his fingers, trying to work them deeper. You can hear them squelching, and that should be embarrassing, but you can’t care. Not when he’s pulling his sticky fingers out of your leggings and rolling back over top of you, pressing his still-clothed length against your mound, his mouth firmly attached to the marks on your neck, tongue caressing the spots as if he could convince just a bit more blood out of them.

He ruts against you mindlessly, like he doesn’t even know he’s doing it, seeming to be fully focused on your neck, like he’s forgotten about relieving his aching cock when faced with the promise of your fresh blood. His hands are splayed and pressing into the mattress on either side of you, holding himself up just above you.

He slides his mouth from the wound to the unblemished skin just slightly to the left, sucking deeply, no doubt pulling more blood to gather below the surface of your skin. A growl reverberates through him, but you feel no fear; he’s not the beast now, he’s yours - yours. You know he won’t hurt you.

He brings up a hand to caress your jaw. “Tell me what you want,” he murmurs, barely removing his lips from your neck enough to enunciate.

You close your eyes, sighing, letting every sensation wash over you. I want to be yours, you think, just the same as you are mine.

“You,” you say, only part of the truth.

His mouth finds yours again, his taste slightly coppery, and then he’s pulling at your waistband. You hurry to assist, lifting your hips up and using both hands to push the material over your ass and down your legs, kicking both leggings and underwear to the side as quickly as you can.

“You, too,” you say petulantly, and he smiles against your lips.

He lifts up to untie his own trousers. When he’s free of them, you expect him to settle himself back as he was, but he surprises you by scooting down the bed and gripping your thighs firmly, pressing them apart, opening you reverently. You shiver as the room’s cool air, and his hungry gaze, find your exposed core.

“Taehyung,” you keen, not sure if you’re urging him on or questioning him away.

He tears his eyes away from your glistening pussy, gaze rising to find yours, hungry. His pupils are so blown out that for a second you jolt with alarm, thinking you’re seeing the black Infracti eyes of the beast.

“Can I?” he asks, and you’re reminded of last night, the way he asked before each bite, the way that despite instinct and thirst driving him to bring his mouth to each spot, he still waited for permission.

“Yes,” you breathe, head falling back against the mattress, as if you’re physically incapable of watching as he grips your thighs again and pulls himself closer, burying his face in your heat and licking his first stripe from bottom to top.

You let your breath out between gritted teeth as he does this again and again, tongue dipping in, stretching your entrance for only a second before sliding up to pass firmly over your clit before retracting altogether. It’s a slow, dizzying torture, and you find yourself shaking slightly each time he repeats the series of motions.

Eyes screwed shut, fingers digging into the blankets beneath you, you suck in a breath and try to relax, try to open your legs wider for him, even as the tremors roll through your lower body gently, building up to something fiery and explosive.

He stops his repetitive torture, flattening his tongue and rubbing firmly over and around your clit, the onslaught so intense that your hips jerk and twitch away until he reaches up and holds them still with firm fingertips. You whine and moan as he works you, powerless to shift away from the onslaught of his tongue and lips. He groans when you do, his dulcet voice weaving with your own wordless pleas, his hips undulating slowly against the bed beneath him as he feasts.

You breathe his name, needing reprieve, needing more, needing to unclench and inhale, the sound morphing into a low moan. He seems to hear your unarticulated request, pulling off and moving to press kisses to the insides of your thighs, the juncture, your spasming entrance as you gasp for breath.

Then, his mouth moves, tongue slipping along your outer lips. The sensation changes, alarm bells sounding in your head several beats before your buzzy brain can process why. It’s sharp, and your breath rattles to a stop, muscles tensing in anticipation, as Taehyung slides the tip of his left fang up one side of you, pressing it just hard enough against you that you can feel the sting even when he’s moved on to a higher place.

“T-Tae,” you gulp, pulse thudding even harder than it was before, desperately aware of how close he is to biting you. He growls again, then licks over where his fang had trailed, soothing, before moving to the other side. Gently, slowly, he lets the tip of his sharp tooth press against you, and weaves a line from bottom to top with it. Your breaths come shallow - you’re afraid to move, lest you accidentally pierce yourself on him.

“You’re so, so good,” he groans, and you don’t know if he means for staying still, for letting him play, or if he’s talking about your taste, not your behavior. You whimper, still nervous - but the fear is exciting. He centers his mouth and places a chaste kiss over your clit, causing you to jerk under his hands again.

“Taehyung,” you whine, a plea and a complaint all at once. “Please.”

He heeds your tone, releasing you after one more kiss to the spot he’d been torturing. “Please what?” he asks, teasing, starting to climb back up your body, mouth working its way up the plane of your stomach, past your ribs, over your breasts, up your throat, and then kissing you again, heady and impassioned.

You’re shaky from the adrenaline released by his toying with you; you pull him close, his chest flush against yours, trying to find comfort in his solidness, hands clinging to his biceps as they flex above you. You can feel his cock, hard and heavy, brushing your inner thigh, and you shift, trying to get it closer to where you want it.

He growls when he feels himself slide easily up your slit, grinding frantically against you until he’s slicked up, too, then letting his head snag on your entrance.

His eyes find yours, asking the question that he doesn’t vocalize.

You answer wordlessly, too, lifting up to take the first inch of him, letting out a strangled sound as he follows your lead and pushes through your heat until his hips are flush with yours again.

You stay locked like this for just a moment, and you look up at him with adoration as your body adjusts, stretching to accommodate him.

“God,” he breathes above you, starting to move minutely, just barely shifting. “You’re so -.”

He doesn’t finish the thought, dipping his head down to kiss you again. He shelters you between his arms, his black hair swinging above you, casting his face in shadow, and he begins fucking into you in earnest.

You move with him, hands roaming his arms and back, hooking one leg around the backs of his thighs to draw him even closer. He feels amazing dragging away from your walls and slamming back in, feels amazing kissing you so deeply you could drown in it, feels amazing stroking your face with gentle hands that promise to honor you.

As you move together, each delicious slide causing your core to tighten and grip at him, it builds - fuller and more powerful until it’s crashing over you: the need to tell him.

“I love you,” you breathe. “I should have said it before.”

He rolls you easily in response to this, one arm tight around your back as he maneuvers you so you sit astride him, his cock managing to sink even deeper into you from this angle. You moan, eyes slipping closed, missing it as he reaches for your upper body, trying to pull you down into some semblance of an embrace, even as he fucks you steadily, not faltering for a second.

He kisses you sloppily, arms locking you against his chest, cock sliding in and out of you at a steady pace. One of his hands slides up your back and rests across your throat; you shiver at the contact, and then you feel the familiar tingling. He’s healing your neck, where he drank from you last night.

When he releases you, hands settling on your hips and helping to lift you up and pull you down, you sit back up, looking down at him. He looks so good spread out beneath you that it makes your core clench, which makes his hands on your hips tighten and a low grumble reverberate from his chest.

He squirms and sits upright, capturing your mouth in another searing kiss as soon as he’s close enough, huffing against your mouth happily when he gets what he wants. He tugs you down on his cock and you keen, whining deep in your throat as his tip kisses your cervix until he lets up.

“Fuck,” you manage, gasping for a new breath as the pain-pleasure ebbs. You’re close, you realize, as he kisses his way down the column of your throat, teeth grazing in places and then tongue soothing the scrapes. You rock against him, your hard nipples brushing his chest, your hands finding his hair again, and you know exactly what you want to push you over the edge.

“Taehyung,” you say, lips so close to his ear that you can see him shudder from the tickle, “I want…”

He spears you particularly hard, grunting, and you lose the thought for a second, letting your forehead drop to his shoulder.

“Want what?” he asks, breathless, fingers splayed over your waist. He watches the place where your bodies meet, distracted by the sight of his cock emerging from within you, shiny and sticky.

“Drink from me,” you beg, not lifting your head, not wanting to see his reaction.

“No,” he says, not looking up, not stopping his fluid strokes into your tight heat. “It’s too dangerous, especially like this - I might not be able to stop.”

“If you can control yourself through the curse, you can control yourself now,” you argue, swiveling against him a little, relishing the feel of how deeply he’s touching you. “Please. It wasn’t you last night - I want it to be you.”

It’s not quite the whole of what you mean; if you weren’t split open by his cock right now maybe you could explain better than it felt like you’d been intimate with him without his presence, that you wanted a chance to share that intimacy with him, now, now that you’d told him how you feel about him.

But he seems to understand. His strokes slow but don’t stop as he tips your head up with the knuckle of his pointer finger, looking deep into your eyes as if looking for the right answer within them.

“Please,” you say, and you watch him break.

He pushes himself deep within you, then presses his face to the side of your neck he hadn’t touched yet. You rock against him, feeling his hard length push against each sensitive spot, colors exploding behind your eyelids as you move.

“Please,” you whimper again, because the anticipation is worse than the pain will be, and you want him.

He can’t resist, not with you begging, and he presses his fangs to your sweaty skin, then pierces you swiftly. The pain overtakes you, worse than you remember from the night before. You cry out loudly, eyes squeezing shut, fingernails raking down his shoulder blades, your whole body squirming and fighting instinctually to get away. He holds you tightly, and all your squirming does is push him deeper inside you, all those spots lighting up behind your eyelids again, causing your cry of pain to trail into a loud moan.

The venom hits you as Taehyung starts pounding into you faster than he has this whole time, his arms tight around your back, fangs still lodged in your throat, a growl ripping through him as your blood hits his tongue and your body tightens and twitches around his length.

The floating high hits you as your body reacts to his new, breakneck pace and you let out a mindless wail as you pulse and squeeze around him in rhythmic waves. It lasts and lasts, and you think you might trip straight into a second orgasm as he holds you even tighter, removes his mouth from your neck long enough to gasp your name as he pumps his release deep inside you.

After, he holds you still, hands petting your hair, smoothing down your back, until your heartbeat calms under his hands. Then, he lowers you to lay down side by side.

You float, aware of only snippets of sensation - the pulsing between your legs taking ages to settle, aftershocks causing the muscles in your legs to tense and release. Your heartbeat slows. The well of blood to the wound in your neck, Taehyung’s gentle tongue still pressed to the spot, taking what your body willingly gives but not pulling from it.

Slowly, you come back to yourself.

“How do you feel?” he asks, perhaps a bit apprehensively.

“I need to eat, shower, and sleep, in that order,” you murmur, eyelids heavy. “But otherwise… I can’t complain.”

In the end, his guards keep the corridors clear as he carries you back to his rooms. It’s a bit embarrassing, you think, but you’re way too weak to walk there, so there’s no arguing the point. He orders a full breakfast spread from the kitchens, sends Satuel to your rooms to get you something comfortable to wear, and runs a hot bath in a tub so deep you’d honestly call it a small swimming pool.

When your stomach is full and your body clean, you burrow under the blankets in his ridiculously opulent bed, body thrumming with happiness and oxytocin and all those other happy chemicals that come after good sex and good food.

“I suppose I should thank you,” Taehyung murmurs as his fingers trace patterns over your shoulder. He lays beside you, on top of the blankets, waiting for you to be claimed by sleep. “I got a whole night of sleep last night. My first in months.”

You hum, stretching, halfway to sleep already. “I think you have other things to thank me for,” you tease, the words falling heavily from your lips as you’re pulled under.

You feel his hand, gentle on your throat, drawing near the bite mark he’d made this morning, the one he’d made as himself, at your request.

“No,” you say strongly, suddenly awake. “Don’t heal that one.”

He balks. “People will know.”

“Good,” you say firmly. “Let them know I’m yours.”

Let them know you’re mine, you think, and then you only know sleep.

—

Taehyung watches you sleep for longer than he’d admit to anyone. He watches your face, calm and smooth in sleep. He thinks of how he has to bite back smiles when you get fired up about something, your eyes narrowing and mouth tightening.

He thinks of the look of quiet determination you get when you’re casting, when you’re working with the magic that naturally lives within you.

For all of history, Infracti and venefici have lived together, helped each other. Long ago, the heir to Infracticus’s throne would be purposely matched with the venefici’s strongest magician - the Highest. Venefici would leave their homes, live and practice with the other magic-wielders, train and compete to be the best, to be given the honored title. It’s been hundreds of thousands of years since the days of those arranged unions, but Taehyung’s had that custom in his head for weeks now.

It makes him feel fated, like you were brought to him on purpose, his natural other half. The Highest to his hunter. The Priestess to his Blood-letter. His venefici, his witch, his bringer of humanity, his to protect.

Like in another lifetime, it would have always been you and him. 

Loathe as he is to admit his father could be right about anything… he was right about you. You’re powerful, beautiful. You’re brave, surprisingly funny. Taehyung sees a lot of himself in you - in your bravado, in the way your words don’t always seem to match what you want to say, in the way you only find peace when you’re faced with the sea.

He loves you. He loves you, and he thinks you could be amazing here - thinks you’d be an amazing queen, thinks you could be happy in his palace by the ocean’s side.

But you had a whole life before, that you’d left on hold to come here and fix him. If he loves you, he thinks, then the right thing to do is to let you go back to that life. It isn’t right to keep you here, away from your family, away from your studies and your job, just because he wants you to. It isn’t fair to ask you to give up what you worked so hard for.

It is with these thoughts in mind that he presses a feather light kiss to your unfurrowed brow and makes his way out of his bedchamber into his main rooms, closing the door quietly behind him to let you sleep.

—

When you wake, you’re alone. You worry for a split second, then you hear his voice floating from further in his wing, and you relax.

You rouse yourself slowly, savoring the chance to take your time, to be alone with your thoughts in the comfiest bed you’ve ever experienced. A quick look around the room alights your attention on a bundle at the end of the bed; someone left clothes for you.

You do your best to make yourself presentable, and then follow the sound of voices and laughter into Taehyung’s main rooms.

You’re greeted with a sight you’ve never seen before: the group of young Infracti men seem to be having fun, just hanging out. Taehyung is lounging on one of the couches, ankles crossed and arms folded behind his head. Jimin is perched on the arm of the couch, currently doubled over in laughter so strong that he wheezes and clutches at Taehyung’s shin desperately. You also recognize the round-eyed Infracti who had attended the strategy meeting in the pub not that long ago - Jungkook. The other two you’ve never seen before, but they appraise you with interest as you step into the room.

Taehyung lights up like a Christmas tree when he spots you, sitting up so abruptly that he almost knocks Jimin from the couch.

He crows your name, and then calls to you, “Come! Make merry with me!”

You step forward with trepidation, looking around at the others for an explanation.

“His Majesty has been imbibing,” Jimin explains, straightening himself up. “But, yes, you should join us. Your time here has been very serious, and we’re determined to have a pleasant night now that the business is handled.”

“Business?” you echo, still making your way into the room by degrees. It does not escape you that if these Infracti are drunk, it may put you in a bit more danger than normal.

“You just missed Seokjin,” Taehyung explains, the words a bit loose. He waves a hand towards the door as if to indicate which way Seokjin left. “We were discussing matters of state.”

“While drunk?” you can’t help but ask.

Taehyung lets out one cold laugh, and then holds up an arm, making a space for your body to fill. As you make your way over, he muses, “Yes, it makes it less painful to stare the cold, hard future in the face that way.”

“That’s a bit grim,” Jimin remarks from behind you as you settle next to Taehyung’s torso, seated on the edge of the couch’s cushion.

“Justice is grim,” Taehyung declares dramatically, and you press your lips together, trying not to giggle. Then, he adds, “Especially when it’s coming for your own family. Or yourself.”

He flops back against the arm of the couch, reaches around you for his goblet. You can smell the wine as it passes by you.

“Do you want some?” Jimin has the presence of mind to ask, but you shake your head.

“Better not,” you say. “Is it even safe for me to be here right now, while he’s…?”

Taehyung sputters loudly in indignation. “What,” he demands, “you think I can control myself while I’m cursed but not when I’m inebra - ineba - ineeny - drunk?”

Your eyes widen in mirth, and you hiss at Jimin, “What did you do to him?”

Jimin laughs, shaking his head. “His Majesty did this to himself, I’m afraid. I think he’s been stressed.”

“Come on, little witch,” Jungkook says, playfully taunting, black eyes glinting. “Are you afraid? I thought you put people through walls.”

You eye him flatly. “I don’t want to mess up Maiesti’s pretty face,” you deadpan.

This gets a smile out of the others in the room. Beside you, Taehyung pats at his face thoughtfully but says nothing.

“You should all go,” he finally says, the words slow and lazy, head lolling back on the arm of the couch. “Come, now, begone.” He literally waves a hand at them as if they’re nothing but gnats.

“He’s brattier when you’re around,” Jimin tells you petulantly, as he rises. You start to follow, but Taehyung’s inhuman grip finds your wrist and tugs you back.

“Not you,” he murmurs, and there’s a hint of growl to it. A shudder rolls through you.

The others make their way past you, saying their goodbyes, and Taehyung tugs you by the wrist so that you fall over top of him, chest to chest. You think he’s going to pick up where you’d left off this morning, but instead he wraps his arms around your back and buries his face somewhere near your clavicle, eyes closed.

“You’re warm,” he murmurs.

You smile, feeling a rush of affection. “You’re cute,” you counter.

You feel his lips pout against your skin. “I’m not cute. ’M scary.”

“Sometimes you’re scary,” you agree lightly. “But not right now.”

He lets out an unhappy hum. “You’re scary sometimes,” he muses. He unburies himself, lets his head flop back to the arm of the couch. His eyes are still closed. “You’d be the best queen because everyone would be scared shitless of you.”

He’s let slip similar thoughts before, but never in a setting where you could sit with the words, consider the weight of them.

“I can’t tell if you mean that,” you admit, “or if you’re just…” Getting ahead of yourself, you finish the thought silently.

“Why wouldn’t I mean it?” he argues. He lets his arm drop over his face, his eyes hiding in the crook of his elbow. “I agreed when my father told me to court you, didn’t I? Wouldn’t have done that if I didn’t think…”

He mumbles the rest of this sentence into his arm, and you don’t try to catch it. You’re stunned, knocked breathless.

“Wait,” you say, the word dropping from you like a stone. “What?”

“Mm,” he says, like this is an answer, nodding his head minutely. “My parents were intrigued by your magical quotient. I, on the other hand, was intrigued by your-”

You’re barely hearing him. “Wait,” you interrupt, the word the only one you can grasp. “You… they asked you to court me because of my magic? And you… you… agreed?”

“Well, yes,” Taehyung huffs, frustrated. “I had to, or he wouldn’t have -”

“So,” you interrupt again, head spinning, “how much of it was… for his sake?”

Taehyung removes his arm from his face and looks at you in confusion, brows furrowing, lips pouting.

“Were you faking it?” you demand, feeling yourself spiraling but unable to stop it. “Was I just… a means to an end? An asset for the bloodline?”

He winces, which is enough of an answer for you. You push away from him, and he’s too slow in his drunken state to catch you in time. You stand, backing away.

“I have to go,” you say hollowly, already looking at the door.

“No,” he says, desperately, sitting up and reaching a hand towards you. Your heart breaks another degree; part of you wants to go back to his embrace and tell him never mind, you aren’t fighting, everything is okay. You force yourself to back away, making your way around the couch.

He watches you go, mouth turned down and a hand following your path. “My love,” he breathes, “please don’t.”

“No,” you say, shaking your head, half to yourself, half to remind yourself not to give in. “No, I need to. I need to think. You should… drink some water and get some sleep… or whatever it is your people do to avoid a hangover.”

You open the door and slip through, but you’re weak. You’re weak, and you look back over your shoulder, and so as the door closes you get one last view of Prince Taehyung, watching you go, his eyes now a deep, fathomless black.

—

You move in a daze. Namjoon is closed in his own room when you reach your rooms, so there’s no one to stop you as you toss a few essentials into a small bag, no one to witness it when you tell Satuel that if she doesn’t take you to the Ostium then you’ll walk there yourself.

“His Majesty will be very displeased,” she points out as you walk.

“His Majesty has a long, long life ahead of him during which he can get over it,” you bite back.

The Infracti working the Ostiums - both the one in Infracticus and the one above, in your city - nod politely at you as you pass through, checking your identification, but don’t say much.

In fact, no one speaks to you again until after you’ve climbed a familiar, worn set of stairs, pushed open a squeaky office door.

Dr. Kim stares at you like you’re a ghost, an apparition drifting up through his carpeting.

“You,” he says, eyes wide with disbelief, “are not supposed to be here.”

<- Prev | Next ->

LA LA LA BYEEEE!!!!!!!!!

[sugawhaaa]

Xdinary heroes drabble 💭

Their favorite positions ⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩 .𖥔˚

Warnings::SMUT

Genre::multiple position description (Obviously) nipple play (Gunil, Jungsu, Junhan, Jooyeon) hair pulling (O.de, Gaon) biting (Jungsu) collar/chain (o.de, Gaon) buttplug (O.de) cuffs (Jungsu kinda??? Gaon)

A/N:: I wouldn't say this was rushed but I definitely didn't put all my effort into this bc...I'm feeding yall enough alright ;-; I'm wrapping up two more Junhan fanfics (reqs) so I'm thinking about opening up my xh requests again bc...I'm whipped for xh 👉👈

GUNIL

I feel like he's a very traditional man when it comes to sex. He likes missionary because he can see your face very clearly, every single expression you make. He loves the feeling of being over top of you and looking down at the fucked up mess he's made of you. Gunil will also most definitely grab your tits and/or watch them bounce as he pounds into you.

He'd also like to do the leg-over-shoulder position. Something about your body being more exposed to him makes him feel more in power. He would hold your thighs harshly as he thrusts into you, watching how your tits bounce as he does so. Your mouth hung wide open, moans pouring out from your lips.

JUNGSU

He LOVES the cowgirl position. I mean LOVESSSS it. He loves watching you just use him like a dildo and it drives him wild. Similar to Gunil he would be constantly playing with or watching your breasts as you bounce on him. He would suck your nipples as you grind against him, soft moans of pleasure coming from his throat. Jungsu would also bite your neck, chest, and shoulders as you ride him.

Another fave of Jungsus would be missionary but specifically while holding your hands above your head. Something about your wrists being locked between his fingers turns him on so much. He's a bit rough but Aftercare is always so gentle with him. He'd look at your wrists and see the marks from his grasp, the bite marks scattered around your body. A sense of pride and guilt in his work.

GAON

Gaon is a bit of a wild card. He doesn't care what position he's in as long as his cock is buried inside you he's happy, but of course, he still has his favorites. He loves to bend you over counters, tables, desks, etc. Something about seeing your body pressed against the hard surface makes him feel overpowered. He wouldn't usually pull your hair unless you ask him (same with a chain/collar) but he will put his hand on your back to hold you steady.

And of course, we have another missionary lover but for similar reasons as Jungsu and Gunil combined. Jiseok loves to cuff up your hands to the headboard and watch your body bounce with each of his thrusts. Listening to the sound of the bed creak and the cuffs jingle. Your tits swayed in a way that hypnotized him.

O.DE

You better strap in for this one because Seungmin is relentless. His favorite position has to be doggystyle. Really any position he can fuck you from behind will do though. Sometimes he'll be more chill and just straight up fuck you from behind but other times oh boy you won't be walking straight for days. He'd put a silver buttplug in with a little rhinestone gem at the bottom of it, put a collar and chain on you so he can pull your head up to hear your moans, hair pulling, putting a hand over your mouth to stuffing his fingers in your mouth. He just wants to watch buckle and break beneath him.

However somedays like anyone, he gets tired. It doesn't happen often but sometimes when he gets back from a tour, or a long day of work he just wants to lay back and watch his girl ride him. He would still keep the collar on you though. He wouldn't pull it or anything but he just wants to feel the ownership of you. Someone's Seungmin will just bury his face in your chest. Let you smother him with your tits because he's just so tired.

JUNHAN

Junhan usually doesn't like sex to be too wild (very different from the rest of the Maknae line) he likes watching you ride him a lot though. His hands all over you, feeling your body close and around him. He loves to grope you while you ride him too, smiling up at you as the pleasure courses through his body.

But sometimes he likes to be a little more rough, and playful. He'd like missionary but he'd push your legs up a lot to get that perfect angle. Sometimes he'd just toss one of your legs over his shoulder but other times he's pushing your legs so far up that your ankles reach your ears.

JOOYEON

Similar to Gaon, Jooyeon is a wild card. He doesn't really care what position you are in, as long as he can hear your sweet moans. His preference would still be doggy style or missionary. Despite doggy style usually being used for more rough sex due to being able to pull hair and wrists Jooyeon uses doggystyle a more chill style. He'd grab your hips and slowly guide you up and down his cock, his lip tucked between his teeth tightly.

Missionary on the other hand is rough as hell. He'd lean down to suck your tits as he thrusts into you strongly, the bed moving with each thrust. Your head thrown back as he licks up your neck. A lot of the time he'd pull out just as he's cumming, spraying his cum all over your stomach and chest. His fingers would trail it around your skin as he looks down at you, letting you catch your breath before round two.

[maxsimagination]

𝗶'𝗺 𝗯𝗲𝘁𝘁𝗲𝗿 𝘁𝗵𝗮𝗻 𝗵𝗶𝗺 - 𝗰.𝗳𝗼𝗼𝗿𝗱

summary: drunk guys can’t seem to take a hint when girls brush them off.

-> bit spicy near the end

𖦹 masterlist

𝗜𝗧 𝗪𝗔𝗦 𝗔 𝗙𝗥𝗜𝗗𝗔𝗬 𝗡𝗜𝗚𝗛𝗧, and i was standing in caitlin's room getting ready. we were going out for drinks with some of the other arsenal girls; leah, alessia, katie, steph, lia and lotte. they had won the game they just played the day before so i thought that warranted a night out for drinks.

plus i hadn't been out with caitlin in a while. we were always balancing her career and training with mine, especially since she was a footballer and i was a physio.

i had just finished the light makeup that i could be bothered to put on and pulled two dresses out of the closet. i held them both up to my body trying to decide which one; there was a pale green, almost teal, dress with glitter that shone in the light and small silver chains as the straps, or a light blue slip dress that could be tightened at the back.

cait came out of the bathroom then, dressed in her black pants and white dress shirt, the sleeves rolled up to her elbows and the first two buttons left undone. she circled her arms around my waist from behind me, head leaning on the crook of my neck.

"i think the green one." i paused and held the two pieces to my body once more before hanging the blue one on back up and throwing the green one on the bed. "the green dress it is."

i turned around in her arms and she settled into my embrace. i pried myself away from cait's hold and starting slipping on the chosen garment. i pulled the straps up and cait was already moving my hair out of the way to zip the back up.

"thank you, caity." she pressed a kiss to my lips in response and i let out a light giggle and picked up the heels i'd chosen. i might regret it at the end of the night but for now it was worth the pain to look good. i grabbed my bag and sling it over my body, putting my phone, wallet keys and chapstick in there before i was ready.

"okay let's go."

we went out to the car, cait jumping in the drivers' seat. she had volunteered to stay sober so i could have a couple of drinks if i wanted to. it was a short drive to the bar we were meeting at and the other girls were already waiting out the front for us.

we both hopped out of the car and i gave each of them a hug. i hadn't seen leah or alessia since before the world cup when they were playing for england. the instant we entered the bar, there was people everywhere and music pumped through the building.

we grabbed a table in the corner and got settled. i volunteered to grab the first round and stood up to go to the bar when caitlin pulled my hand back and placed her card in my hand. "i can't use this cait, take it back."

i tried to give it back to her but she insisted.

"at least use it for the first round. i needa take care of my girl." i grinned down at her. "only the first round." she smiled and relented, sending me on my way. the bar was crowded but i found a seat and flagged down a bartender soon enough.

while i was waiting for the drinks, i was approached by a guy, he looked decent but i already knew how it was going to go. "hey, can i buy you a drink?" it started off okay, i politely declined. "no thankyou, i'm waiting on some already." he nodded and sat down on the stool next to me.

"what are you doing here?" he was blunt and straight to the point, i appreciated it and the lack of cringey pick up lines. "just on a night out with the girls." "could i get your number?" i knew it was coming and this was my favourite part of letting guys down. "no, i have a girlfriend."

a slight nod towards cait made him look over and he smiled back at me. "ah ok, apologies for overstepping." he collected his drink and gave a last smile before walking over to his group of friends. it was guys like him that i appreciated when i told them i was taken.

the bartender got all the drinks to me on a tray and i walked them back over to my table. cait had a hand on my thigh the second i was in the seat. "what did he want?" she spoke into my ear. "he asked for my number, but i told him i had a girlfriend. he was chill about it though." she nodded and rubbed her hand a little higher up my leg, slightly under the hem of my dress.

——

it had been about an hour and i was only on my second drink. alcohol had never been my thing and it didn't help that i was usually blackout after 7, minimum. the group decided it was my turn again so i stood up and this time cait came with me. we placed the order, me and cait both getting plain sprite.

we were waiting patiently when one of the previous guys' friends approached the bar next to us. he was clearly running on more alcohol than i was and i tried my best to ignore him. "can i get you a drink, pretty lady?"

i internally groaned, i didn't want to do this again. "no i'm good." my polite responses had left my body after the first guy, there was only so much i could take. "how about your number then?" he persisted and i tried to ignore him again.

"hey, i'm talkin' t'you. can i have your number?" "no." it was blunt, but this guy wouldn't leave it alone. thank goodness i had cait with me this time. she hadn't said anything but was watching if anything happened.

"why not?" there was a slur in the guys' words as he tried again. "because i have a girlfriend." he wasn't surprised at all when i said that, i figured his friend had already told him. cait bought our conjoined hands on top of the bar surface so the guy could clearly see. "it's fine, she can come too." he was slowly inching closer to me and i was getting uncomfortable.

"we aren't going with you. please leave us alone." it seemed that it was then that he got bold.

he placed his hand on my thigh and i jolted away from it. "don't touch me." cait was immediately on her feet and standing in front of me. "you need to leave us alone. now." her voice was stone cold and she was glaring at him, hard. if looks could kill, that guy would be dead.

apparently that wasn't enough for him to stop his advances, however and he tried one last time to ask me or us for our numbers. i had enough and stepped forward. "you just won't stop, will you? here's something you won't forget."

with that, i pulled my leg up and kneed him hard in the groin. he buckled onto the seat and let out a pained groan. i couldn't care less and grabbed cait's hand, grabbed the drinks that had probably been sitting there for a bit and stalked back to the table. the girls had been watching from their spot and they were grinning at me when i made it back.

"that was amazing, yn." i thanked them and we all sat back down but i wasn't happy anymore. i just wanted to go home.

cait could tell, "you wanna get out of here?" "please." so we stood up, and told the others that we were gonna head back. "just not feeling it anymore, sorry. you can have free range of the two sprites though." they were all happy then and started squabbling over who got the free drinks. me and cait went out to the car and drove home.

she had one hand on my knee and the other on the wheel, and slowly she slid it further up my leg. i was impatient and she was making me feel things so i grabbed her hand and placed it further towards my crotch and crossed my legs.

her hand was essentially stuck there. she wasn't complaining and had a smug look on her face. we finally got home and i couldn't open the door quick enough. once we were inside, cait kicked it closed and locked the door. she had me pressed up against the wall, hands above our heads.

"jump."

her voice had gone low and boy, was it hot. i followed and jumped up to wrap my legs around her waist. she pulled me back in for a kiss and somehow walked me to our bedroom.

"that guy couldn't do this, could he?"

i think it's safe to say that the guy definitely couldn't do what cait spent the rest of the night showing me.

[luveline]

eddie and roan | you realise how happy you are, which leads to some late night tears. eddie comforts you, and roan wants a hug too ♥︎ dad!eddie munson x fem!reader

The filter on the fish tank makes a droning but quiet sound. You wonder how Lucky the fish is faring with his Christmas themed decorations, and struggle to think back on the day and remember if he's been fed his allotted pinch of fish flakes. 

You can't move to check. 

Sorry, Lucky, you think, looking down at your small family with a big smile. Eddie's wiped, sleeping deeply enough that his lips have parted, and you can feel the heat of every breath he exhales against your neck. His hair tickles you with each rise and fall of his shoulders. 

Rammed to your ribcage lies his daughter Roan. She's slipping further and further into your lap, tiny hand pressed to your tummy, heat lining every contiguity between you. Like Eddie, she runs hot. With their warmth on each side and the air conditioning up high, you're definitely sweating. Your stomach gurgles passionately, dinner a forgotten ideal, and you've needed to use the bathroom for the last twenty minutes. You're hungry, the fish is hungry, but you refuse to disturb them. 

Roan looks like she's made of silk when she sleeps. Eyes closed sweetly, lashes skimming the skin under her eyes, there isn't a wrinkle to be found on her smaller face, no stress, no lines. She has a freckle under her lips, like Eddie has a freckle under his eye, a dark beauty mark that you touch very gently. She smiles in her sleep.

This is everything you've ever wanted. Everything you thought you might never have. 

Eddie had fallen asleep trying to soothe you, your arm pulled loosely to his chest, his callused fingertip stroking long, feather light lines down the length of your arm over and over as you'd watched TV. A Charlie Brown Christmas is long over. You've muted the sound altogether, advertisements flashing up one after another. 

Eddie's hand twitches around your wrist, pulling you closer, and in tandem, Roan's hand rubs over your midriff like she's looking for you. They push in closer. 

You think of all the times you've worried about being alone. How often have you cried over that? Terrified you'll never find someone. A very private, and yet very widespread fear. That you'll be alone forever, and that it will hurt the whole time. 

You'd just — you'd seen him and Roan in the grocery store for the tenth time, in his overalls with his hair a little bit limp from a full day, and Roan had been younger but not any less lovely, and it had been terrible timing, really, but you couldn't not speak to him. 

The way he'd spoken to her had clued you in to his heart. You know now that he's a dick, a sweetheart but a fucking dick, who's sarcastic and picky and play fights at the first sign of mutiny. He does ridiculous stuff in bed that should kill the mood and never does, he makes you feel loved everywhere you go. And loving him is just as fun as being loved by him; kissing him all softly to get your way and to watch his lovesick defeat; brushing his hair straight out of the shower while the water drips on your shirt so you can curl each piece one at a time around the handle; crawling up the length of the bed and into his lap to watch him try to hide his blush. You'd do a lot of bad things for him if it meant he'd be happy and safe.  

You'd do even worse to protect Roan. 

This is it, right? You and Eddie are getting married. Roan loves you as a daughter loves their mom. It's two days until Christmas, you're first together in the home you've made, and they're both sleeping soundly. 

You don't really realise you're crying. You're so happy, and your eyes start to sting, hand carding through Roan's unbound hair in a fruitless attempt at self-soothing. 

You tremble with tears. They aren't dramatic, there's no sobbing, just cheesy happy tears with a great big smile the whole time. Still, your sniffling wakes one of your babies, the bigger mess of curls scratching over your collar. 

"Hey," Eddie mumbles, "was I sleeping, lovebug?" He crosses his hand over your chest. It lands unapologetically in the curve of your neck.

"Lovebug?" you ask, tears abating quick, replaced by a cheerful and startled laughter. 

"Is it too late to try new ones?" He sits up, hand to your jaw, your face, then dropped as he leans away. His back clicks three different times. "Sorry if I was heavy."

"Eddie, you're not heavy" you say quietly. In what world have you ever cared? He can climb all over you any hour of the day for the rest of time if he likes. 

"Ro slept too?" He scrubs his eyes, pulls all the hair out of his face, and catches you red handed, wiping tears off of your tacky cheeks. 

"It's not-" 

"What's wrong?" 

"-what it looks like," you finish. 

"No, seriously, what's wrong?" His tone leaves no room for argument. 

"I was thinking about you. About us. I'm really happy, you know?" Tears rise up again. "I'm so happy. So, so happy, Eddie." 

There aren't any other words to describe how you're feeling. This is pure, constant happiness. Sure, you and Eddie argue sometimes, Roan can be hard to handle, work sucks and everything is too expensive, but you're happy. Life is what you want.

"My love," Eddie says grandly, a hint of genuineness softening his otherwise theatric delivery, "don't cry, I'm begging you. Not over that." 

He moves in without hesitation for a hug. "Are you real?" he asks, lips pressed to your cheek, arms an irreplaceable security needle behind your back. "Come on. Love you so much, you know that? And I'm- so happy you're happy. M'happy too. Gonna make us this happy forever." 

"I'm so lucky," you add, and that's it, you're dissolving into tears underneath him. He tsks, doubling down his comforting efforts. 

"Are you okay?" he asks. 

"I'm fine." 

"Are you sure? Is there something that's making you think about all of this?" 

"Only good things. I promise." 

"Okay." He rubs your back, kissing the side of your head. "God, you freaked me out. Not that you can't tell me everything, 'cause you can, but I really wasn't expecting it. Like, shock horror." 

You laugh, giddy, his touch and his voice both working to relax you. "Chill, lovebug." 

He snorts, digs his nose into your neck like a shithead.

You feel smaller arms come to life, a warm body trying desperately to worm its way between you and Eddie. 

"Let me in," Roan complains sleepily. "I want a hug too." 

You're reluctant to let Eddie go, even though it's Roan, because it might've just been the best hug you've ever had. You and Eddie part on the left to let her in, and you kiss her cheeks in sync without meaning two. She smells amazing, baby shampoo and Johnson's almond and honey soap. 

"Is it Christmas yet?" Roan asks. 

Tired and yet her priorities stay the same. 

"Not yet, babe." Eddie pats her back, placating. "Can you hear that? That sound, like thunder?" 

"Yeah?" 

"That's Y/N's stomach. Come help dad make dinner?" 

Roan kisses you and sighs as Eddie picks her up like she weighs nothing. She holds out her hands to you, bleary eyes widening in surprise. 

"Save me," she pleads, a soft mirror of her dad's drama. 

"Don't save her, she's fine." 

You stand up, stretch, and watch them both disappear around the corner of the hallway toward the kitchen. "I'm gonna save her," you call. Your voice drops to a murmur. "After I feed poor Lucky." 

[imraespace]

STREAMERS! ★ ˎˊ˗

..CHAPTER 5 || CHAPTER 6! || CHAPTER 7..

note: i wrote this when the second chapter for the jealously book came out so ignore the "new chapter" part.

(i like card captor sakura guys.)

────────────────────────────

"Zenitsu they are calling you a cheese head." You giggled at the tweet on your phone.

He mumbled something to himself then let out a soft sigh.

You five was already in the game, mostly interacting with the chat, mostly Muichiro fighting with that one fan. Seems like everyone was ready.

"Is everyone ready?" You asked as you created the lobby. In reply, you got a yes from everyone.

Their usernames appeared in the lobby as your cursor hover above the start game button.

You clicked it and the game began.

"Y/N.."

"Hm?" You replied.

Zenitsu had called out to you.

"Why did you chose Nightmare mode?"

.

.

.

"I did?"

.

.

"Oh well!"

The game had already started, no take backsies.

You five had watched the intro played, you running up to the person and then bam! You're in game.

"I want to quit already.." Zenitsu again, complained.

"Shut up and play the game." Muichiro told the boy as he began to walk.

We all followed behind him and then stopped when we noticed a light was passing by.

Well the "We" is Mui, Shinobu, Zenitsu and you, where is giyuu?

"Where is Giyuu.." You asked out loud.

"I don't know how to move my camera so I didn't move as yet." He said.

"Oh my god just move your mouse.." Shinobu mumbled, he did as she said and met up with us.

"Thank you." He told her. She simply mumbled a small 'Your welcome'.

Zenitsu already found out where the light was coming from!

"WHAT IS THAT?.." He screamed rather loudly in the mic.

"I NEED MY EARS.." You, too, screamed back.

I looked up to see a rather large thing. With glowing eyes looking back and forth.

"According to my gaming knowledge and skills, I guess we gotta move without getting in its sight!" You said and began to make your way behind some rocks and bushes.

Zenitsu though? He wasn't having the whole sneaking strategy. He ran with full force in a straight line, screaming as he took damage and surprisingly made it to the end, with a pinch of life left.

"Or you could just do that." You mumbled as the others followed what you did.

──────────────

You guys did it yippee!!

Another cutscene happened which was very much amazing and then.. a hand grabbed you and boom, new area!

You all just ran without any care in the world, tree branches from every direction was blocking the way as you ran but still, made it to the stairs and up into the building like structure.

"Maybe this isn't so bad.." Zenitsu said.

He finally calm down and was enjoying the game and you were proud of him!

"What's that noise?" Muichiro asked.

"It sounds like uh moist..?" Shinobu replied.

"No. It's something eating." Giyuu corrected her.

He was up by a window. You came up behind him and saw that there was some creature thing, eating another thing. Too much things is happening..

"Uhm what is that.." You asked.

"What is what." Zenitsu said. But found out as he made his way towards the window.

"Oh."

Muichiro sighed, you all was standing here for way too long and he got bored and decided to walk.

Oh how wrong he was!

"Where are you going Muichiro.. ITS MOVING TOWARDS YOU MUI!" Your words was too late, he stepped into the room and with speed it ran towards him and munch him up!

Everyone was silent until Shinobu spoke up.

"I guess we sneak around." She said as she crouched and began to make her way into the room.

Giyuu followed behind but stepped on some glass, causing the both of them to get eaten.

"Giyuu.. Please, go on your own time." She said as she went on and accidentally stepped on said glass.

"I hate this game." Was her last words.

Bur they forgot who they are playing with.. The best streamer of them all (you) got passed the first room, and the other and the other until the end.

And then you waited, with a proud smile on your face.

"Beat that losers."

"No."

"Don't care."

"Okay."

"Shut up."

They were obviously jealous as you can totally see.

──────────────

Skipping alot that happened because it wasn't important, you all are now behind the door of something, someone? It was amazing anyways!

Zenitsu opened the door to see something that looked like a sack of flesh. It looked like humpty dumpty in your eyes!

"Uh what the fuck is that." Muichiro thought out loud.

"No swearing boy." You told him.

Zenitsu, being the sensible one, walked back out the room, you all did. Leaving Giyuu in it though! Shinobu closed the door.

"Where did you all go?"

"We're right here what do you mean?" She answered back, clearly trying to hide her giggles.

"No I'm not dumb."

"Are you sure?"

"..."

You burst right back into the room and went up to talk to "Nuppeppo" because they were taking too long. and bad talking your new best friend(Nuppeppo).

But no! Nuppeppo had an attitude.

"I know for a FACT that this sack is not calling me an ugly creature."

"But you are."

"Muichiro shut up."

um im not writing an hour long of gameplay haha!

.

.

.

You all was playing for 2 hours straight so far, alot of screaming, crying, arguing, and cooking?

The cooking wasn't Muichiro's favorite part.

"Why the HELL does this ugly ass demon want ME to cook for HIM.. and in the end ISN'T SATISFIED?" Clearly Muichiro had the most fun out of the rest.

Oh not to mention when you all played hide and seek with the demon child!

Definitely Zenitsu's favorite part.

Zenitsu was quite happy when he found her the first time. and then..

"IT WASN'T HER? SHE SCREAMED IN MY FACE I WANT TO LEAVE THIS GAME."

Sadly he mostly found her, and her mother mostly found him.

And lastly..

"Is this slenderman? Why are we finding pages.." You complained.

The long, tall, slender, disgusting creature(the mother) appeared infront of you scaring the life out of you.

"I WANNA END THIS GAME."

"No we're almost finished."

Muichiro's wise words kept you going! What a nice friend.

But in the end you all did it! Never touching roblox for the rest of the day.

Yippee!

STREAMERS!

EXTRA:

TAGLIST: @deezy12299 @s0uldarling @cherryblossomly @boogiemansbitch @delusional-mushroom @ashlovelys (OPEN)

[joesanrio]

Such a Loser | R.R

Summary: After the MITB match, Joe’s entire demeanor seemed off which wasn’t expected after the weeks worth of planning and working for the match itself.

Pairings: Joe Anoa’i {Roman Reigns} x Nova (OC) || established relationship

Warnings: Stubbornness, Pet names, Random attitude, One-sided arguements, Strong language, kissing, fingering, slapping, grabbing face, praise and degrading, p in v, cockwarming, Cuddling, Love bombs

Rating: 18+

A/N: I was panicking the whole time watching it, bcs I was rooting for the Usos but I felt like they might trick me and have Solo and Roman win anyway…

———————————————————

The car ride silent as Joe sits beside me dozing off, not surprising since today was probably the longest and most anticipated day of his life. His performance was amazing especially the aftermath of the match, even leaving me wondering what’s going to happen next. There was something wrong though, after the match his entire demeanor just shifted into this dull and forceful manner.

“I’m so proud.” I whisper as I play with his wedding band before looking out the window myself, “I’m glad.” He mumbles back with a small smile. The driver enters the hotel parking lot causing me to grab my purse and get ready to exit, with the driver finally parking the car we get out and I help with one of Joe’s bag. “Don’t do that, I got it.” He shakes his head before taking the bag away and throwing it over his shoulder.

Entering the hotel, we head straight towards the elevator as the silence overtakes our surroundings due to it being late at night. “What’s wrong?” I question after his exaggerated sigh, causing him to roll his eyes. “Nothing.” He snaps randomly, at least before he was nicer, my lips form a line as I nod slowly while looking away.

The elevator after taking it’s sweet time, arrives on our floor allowing me to leave that awkward silence. Grabbing the key from my purse as we head down the never-ending hallway, I look back to see Joe clearly struggling with his suitcase wheels. “I’ll help.” I hold back a laugh at his irritated expression, grabbing the suitcase it immediately rolls with ease and so does his eyes. “You know I got you baby.” I try to joke, though at this moment I’m the only one who finds it even a bit funny.

Making it to the room, I scan the card as it lets us in to our suite. Joe immediately heads to the bedroom, “Baby…” I call after him as I enter the room myself and seeing his drained expression. “Not now.” He grunts while tossing his bag into the corner, going silent soon after as I don’t know how to respond. I decide that maybe running us a shower could help, so I go to the bathroom.

“Really Novs? What did you do today that made you so utterly exhausted and sweaty that you need to shower?” He spoke abruptly, I look at the door which he’s standing at shirtless. “It was for both of us, I thought I would be nice.” I smile ignoring his rudeness while turning towards him completely, his face immediately lightening from the distasteful look he was giving. He leaves without saying anything else, I’m assuming to get ready for the shower.

———

After the shower, I finally got Joe to open up to me about what was bothering him. What I wasn’t expecting was the fact that he was going to rant for 2 hours straight about it.

“I understand.” I say tiredly as Joe is on his rant about his lost at MITB, as amazing as the guys performed he was more bothered about the crowd. “Baby you’ve seen and heard worse things.” I sigh as he throws himself back down onto the couch, “Don’t break this couch.” I warn as he sat up properly and fixed the pillow on the other side of him.

“Imagine just trying to give the best performance of your life to people who can’t even focus on it because they’re too busy yelling ‘Fuck you’!” Joe stresses as he clenches his teeth together, I go to hug him but he moves away. “Well what would you like me to do?” I force a smile even though I’m sick of his attitude, “Nothing! I just need you to listen.” He exclaims. That sends me in a frenzy because that’s all I’ve been doing for 2 hours!

I roll my eyes at him before leaving the living room, and heading to the bedroom to get away from his shenanigans. “Baby Really? I ask one thing and you walk off.” He says loud enough for me to hear in the room, “I’m sorry.” I shrug knowing he can’t see me. Sliding off my slides, I get into the comfy sheets hoping he’ll get the gist. I can hear his heavy foot steps coming towards the door, “Come lay down, you’re getting red.” I open my arms for him to join me.

Hearing his deep sigh and his movement towards the bed, I smile in a small victory. I watch him as he fixes his shorts, remembering there’s nothing underneath I got a plan. “They probably did it because you’re so hot when you’re angry.” I smile seductively as I roll over onto my stomach while he gets into the bed. “Oh really?” He mumbles before looking at me, I hum as I cuddle up into him with my leg tossed over his hips.

His hands quickly grab onto my waist and ass, rubbing so gently across my skin. “I think you did phenomenal. You looked so tough, sexy, and serious.” I bite my lip unintentionally thinking back at the visuals he was giving during the match. I push myself onto his hips with my hands resting along his bare chest, “But you lost…” I tease as I roll along his slowly hardening cock.

He grunts as his hands reach up to my hips, I smirk at his reaction. “Are you actually mad at the crowd or are you just being a sore loser?” He glares up at me after my comment while his hands grip my hips roughly, a small whimper coming from my throat at the action. I tilt forward as our faces become close and I can feel his harsh breaths, I smile before squishing his cheeks with my hand and placing a kiss onto his pink lips.

Immediately he kissed back only with more passion, I let go of his face as his tongue entered the kiss. “So sweet.” He smiles against my lips, I giggle remembering the vanilla and coconut chapstick I put on. Pulling away from the kiss, I admire his face seeing the small scratch by his chin. “They got you pretty good.” I say pointing to the minuscule mark, he rolls his eyes playfully before pulling me back down onto his lips.

His hands finding their way onto my ass while my hips continues grinding against his, feeling him fully hard underneath me. “Fuck.” He grunts against my lips nicely before throwing his head back, I sit up and remove my top. I moan quietly as one of his hands leave my ass to squeeze my boob, “So pretty.” He smirks at my reaction.

Joe flipping us over to my dismay, sitting back on his heels as he pulls my bottoms off with a surprise of nothing under. “You were planning this huh?” He teases as he throws my bottoms somewhere in the room, I look away from his intense stare as he waits for an answer. “Answer me.” He grabs my face to make eye contact again, I nod but it doesn’t please him. “Words, come on you know better.” His words immediately creating arousal to drip from my entrance. “Yeah, more of hoping.” I wink as he smiles.

His long fingers make their way to my pussy as they slide between my slit, rubbing around my clit and back down to the entrance. “You’re soaked… you got a thing for losers?” He tilts his head teasingly, I nod eagerly as his other hand comes back to my boobs and plays delicately with the nipples. The once silent room was now noisy with the sounds of my moans, and his soft grunts.

His fingers entering my entrance smoothly and filling me up, “Oh my… god!” I squeal as he starts a ruthless pace. He smirks as the wet sounds from my pussy fills the room, going to grab his wrist, his other hand interferes. “What’s wrong? You were hoping for this.” His deep voice enters my ears as he bends down to kiss my neck, though nothing but moans can come from me in response.

“Wait- I’m going to cum.” I gasp as the feeling builds up in my stomach, his fingers going even faster though I didn’t think it was possible. “It’s too much!” My eyes squeeze shut as I cum onto his fingers, “Look at me.” He demands as he removes his fingers gently. Opening my eyes, the sight of him sucking the cum off his fingers made me immediately want to cover my face in embarrassment.

“You think you can cum again?” He questions knowing the answer to that, he pulls out his hard cock causing it to slap against his pelvis. The tip was dripping precum as it was swollen and red, he leans down before rubbing against my drenched lips. “Damn baby.” He groans as his hips falter at the feeling, I hum as I pull him into a quick kiss.

Already breathless, he positions himself at my entrance before entering slowly due to his large size. He throws his head back making his neck come to full display, sitting up a bit I suck a small hickey on the side of his adams apple. “Your pussy is so good.” He chuckles as he starts a slow place, enjoying the feeling of me stretching around his cock. Joe pushes one of my legs up from underneath the knee allowing him to a different angle.

Moans just flowing from my mouth uncontrollably, “I literally love you so much. So so much!” My head falling back onto the pillow as I can no longer take looking at where him and I are connected, he lets out a breathy chuckle as he begins pounding into me. Slapping noises being heard throughout the room as well as the sound of the headboard hitting the wall. “I love you.” He says happily, his other hand holding onto my hip.

“Look at your tits just bouncing, I’m fucking you so good huh?” He smirks while slapping my bouncing boobs creating a shock to flow through my body. “You’re amazing! It’s so good.” I whine out as he lets go of my thigh and brings my hand to hold it instead. Doing the same for my other thigh, he’s practically pounding me into the mattress considering every time he comes down my body jolts from impact. “You just love losers, look at you creaming all over one.” He grabs my face roughly to look at him.

Hair falling over his face, forehead glistening with sweat. “So pathetic, don’t you think?” He degrades me and I love it, a small pout forms on my lips causing him to come down a kiss them. Moaning against his lips, his hand lets go of my face and goes down to my clit to rub fast circles. Unintentionally clenching on his pounding cock, I can feel him twitch inside of me.

“Mm’gonna cum?” I tease after he pulls away from my lips hesitantly, he nods shameless as his hands fall right beside my head to hold himself up. Biceps on full display as I’m caged in by his body, “Cum in me. Please cum.” I beg as his eyes start fluttering closed and mouth falling open. “Shit… oh I’m gonna cum.” He moans while his head drops, I can feel the warm ropes of his cum coat my walls as he breathes hard above me. “Oh yes.” I moan as I cum at the overstimulating feeling of his orgasm.

He drops his body gently onto mine as he stays inside, “You’re going to be pregnant after this.” He mumbles. My hands leave my thighs as they hold him close to me, resting on his back and tracing little shapes. “That’s totally fine.” I smile as I kiss his shoulder happily.

[twst-hottest-takes]

Would you mind sharing your thoughts on what you think/hope Jack's dream will be for book 7? I've tried thinking about it, but I kind of feel like bro is already living his best life.

The only thing I can really think of is if everyone in the world followed his morals and values, since he really doesn't have any character struggle.

I can throw some thoughts around.

We'll start with laying down his character struggles.

They tend to stem from what you said, Anon. Mostly that he has a moral value set that makes him stand out against the others. He's at odds with most of the trouble-making students because he's a hard worker and very straight-laced. It would almost make more sense if he had light magic tbh, but I don't think the creators thought as far forward.

What does this mean for his dream sequence?

Most likely, I would guess that his dream is going to be him in a slightly better position than he is now. He'll be Savanaclaw's housewarden. He'll be some sort of world-renowned athlete. He'll be acknowledged and respected for his hustle. Maybe something as simple as him not being made fun of for all the work he puts into his physique.

Just like how Epel was essentially living the same life but with a minor alteration to fit a part of an ambition we already knew he had, I think Jack won't get anything especially fun.

Making it even more simplistic, we go a step further with what Anon said and everything is the same, EXCEPT LEONA. I can easily imagine that Jack would dream about living a life almost exactly the same except Leona isn't lazy. He's more motivated, and generally isn't acting like a jerk. Heck, Jack probably still dreams of playing first string spelldrive with him or Leona treating him with more respect. It could be as simple as that. One of the reasons I think Jack should have had this special dream card because he has A LOT more motivation to dream up a version of his housewarden that is radically different from reality, much like in the other dreams that get featured cards. But I digress. It's too late for that now.

This is what I am willing to bet they'll do after they wake Ruggie up. Nothing fancy.

Now what do I *WISH* they would do with him? That's another topic entirely.

Honestly, I don't know what I would want when it comes to Jack. I want to have his Wolf form as a playable card for sure. They already have a rigged model of it and I figured after the mer-tweels there was a slim chance of it, but I don't know what kind of dream that would make for. Maybe something insightfully cliche involving him wanting to be a solo act (lone wolf), the wild intensity of what it feels like as an animal, or a desire for a more basic/simple life. Now only the first one falls in line with what we already know about Jack or at least the version of himself that he tries (and kind of fails) to project.

What I think is the ideal "dream scenario" for Jack would be something that actually adds to his character. To see some part of him we rarely or have not ever really seen before. And to that end, I will say something uncharacteristic of myself;

Go ahead and embarrass Jack to do it.

Make his half-hearted tsundere schtick completely shatter. Show us him actively palling around with the others like he wants to be a closer part of their friend group. Show him doing something cutesy that we never would have guessed he'd do in a million years like cross-stitching. Have him actively talk about how much he cares about everyone. Put him in a situation where he can't keep unconvincingly lying about how he feels anymore. Make there be an active change to how he'll behave later. DO SOMETHING WITH HIS CHARACTER!

That's what I think would be ideal, and that's what I would want the most out of Jack's dream.

(AND THAT'S WHY IT'S NEVER GOING TO HAPPEN!)

There you go, there are some thoughts for you, I hope it'a the sort of thing you were looking for.

Thank you for the ask!

The game developers don't care for Jack, so I'll keep dreaming myself.

[nalooksthrough]

Pe-Az Canon Analysis

I think before I start making headcanons about the Pe-Az. I should do an analysis on what the show has already told and/or shown us. I'm writing it out because writing helps me form more structured thoughts.

Be warned this is a rather long post.

General

Going to start off with their ship. It's in the shape of a pod because 'peas in a pod' and all that, very goofy. It also glows a bright green leaving behind a small green trail when they travel. Speaking of travel, they don't move in a straight line, they pilot in a zig zag pattern.

They also fly their ship backwards which is a weird choice but okay you do you.

They refer to themselves as an intergalactic peace negotiating team called the Pe-Az. So yeah, Pe-Az isn't the name of their race, it's their team name. Their team consists of a Statistical Leader (top), an Optimism Captain (middle) and a member simply known as The Closer (bottom). Who remains mute until they exhausted all other options. Basically he's their trump card. They are also call each other brother so that's sweet. Siblings working in a intergalactic peace team together.

They say that they have been setting human disputes for centuries (with pictures to prove it) and they personally have helped with 293 negotiations before the events of "Peace of Pizza". And yet somehow out of 293 disrupts they never once came across a person whose lactose intolerant or has an allergy to dairy. In fact they don't even seem to know that it's a thing.

Now I'm not sure if they mean they as in the team or they as in they themselves have been helping settle human disputes over the centuries. The three of them could possibly be centuries old.

Also want to point out that fairies are only present in the 1950 burger fry treaty which makes me think that they have only just recently started to work with them.

They also seem to be overly confident in their belief that pizza is like the key to all negotiations, that it's the universal incentive and that everyone loves Pizza. Which okay sure, good luck trying that with the Yugopotamians.

They are so confident in this fact that they even made an on/off switch for it. Their technology must to insane if they create a device to turn the concept of pizza off (and remove Italy from existence) like that's scary man.

Also they just carry around different types of pizza with them in briefcases, which might just be disguised pizza boxes. Even for non-existing pizzas like ice-cream pizza. Wonder how many other types of pizza they have hidden away?

And I guess if they are being this non descript and vague about what a pizza is than it very well could be the universal incentive.

Their written language has a lot of arrows, lines and dots. Also that's a lot of repeating characters for such a short text. They must not have a big alphabet.

They have rules when it comes to their negotiations! The only one we know of so far is that if someone manages to out negotiate them, they have to go on their side. Even is they don't want to and it ends with the removal of all pizza in the world. They have no choice.

This isn't totally related to my analysis but think it's sweet that even though they are clearly uncomfortable. They were still willing to play video games with Dev or maybe it was just out fear. Dev was the first person to ever out negotiate them. The lactose intolerant child scares them.

Apparently they are monsters and eat their pizza crust first.

They also not only managed to sneak into the Galax institute completely undetected but also none of these parasciencist are even questioning their green colouring at all? What are they even doing there anyway? Are they trying to keep tabs on what the humans know about alien life?

Abilities

Going to start with the one they use the most. Their ability to Assimilate. They can seemly sprout humanoid forms from their sphere bodies and are relatively good at mimicking the human form with only minimal hiccups. And given they are intergalactic peace keepers this most likely extends to other non-human forms as well.

But they can't seem to change their colouration which you think would be a problem but no. No one seems to question them about it, no one even seems to even question where they came from or how they got here. Which makes me think they also have a way to mentally assimilate, not just physically.

I like how even in these forms, they will naturally assume their normal stack positions. They even do it in their proper order (Stat top, Opt middle, Close bottom). They can't help it!

The next ability I'm gonna talk about is their screen projection. Which they can not only use to display written text but also screenshots of what may be their memories but I'm not sure.

At first I thought it was just Opt who could do this. But Stat also does it, so it must be something they can all do.

Another ability which might not even be an ability is their ability to teleport objects. This might just be done with tech since they don't really do this often. But it also has a similar effect to when they display another ability that I will soon mention so I can't fully rule it out.

They can also seemly float/float objects but they can seemly only do this when they are in their true form. Their assimilated forms must take energy for them to keep up or something.

And finally their weirdest and most disturbing ability. The ability to turn living beings into pizza. Which brings to mind the horrifying question of "is this where they get all their pizza from?"

This also shows that while they promote peace, they are willing to use more forceful methods if pushed. So they're not fully pacifistic.

Hello? Sir? What are going to do with that pizza slice? 😥

[charlesleeclerc]

back to you // mason mount

paring: mason mount x fem!reader

summary: in which after 5 months of mason leaving chelsea with no notice to her, they meet again in a chelsea vs man united

includes: angst, and just mason being a prick

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

''we give everything today out on the field, and take every opportunity we have to transform the match quickly'' said pochettino while clapping, trying to encourage the players and the team.

''ben, you sure you are okay?'' she asked quietly to the left back who had suffered a muscle pull the training before the match

''yes yes, don't worry, if anything happens you'll notice'' he said while giving her a quick hug and heading to lineup in the tunnel

she started walking to her place on the bench next to the manager and prepared her kit for if she had to enter the pitch for any little problem. both teams headed out of the tunnel and lined up next to each other as the premier league anthem played on the bridge. the referee blew his whistle and the match started with nico passing the ball to enzo. minutes went by and possession was distributed between both teams.

ben was near the goal when mason slid down and made him fall fouling him. shouts erupted all over the stadium and all players went straight to defend their teammates. while this was happening, ben was on the floor grabbing his quad from the back, looking like he was in pain, whilst the referee was giving mason a yellow card.

when everyone started walking away, she could see ben was still on the floor and the referee was signaling for the physios to enter the pitch. she got up, grabbed her things, and entered the pitch.

''is it the muscle again?'' she asked ben while the other physio started stretching his leg

''it wouldn't be if that dickhead didn't cut me out'' he spat out while looking bitterly at mason who was standing next to us

''you know it was not my intention'' he declared while his eyes went back and forth looking at them

''but you know that he had this problem twice and still did it'' she told him while helping ben get up who clearly couldn't continue playing the match

ben got out of the pitch while being clapped by the fans, it wasn't an injury that would take him out for a lot, no more than 2 matches, but still, he was an essential player for the team. thankfully there was not so much time for half time whistle to rumble throughout the stadium.

she entered the dressing room and saw that everyone was shouting one name ''mount''

''if mount hadn't taken ben out''

''if mount wasn't trying to take us out at every single pass we do''

''if mount wasn't such a bitter baby''

''take him out'' the words blurted out of her mouth and everyone turned their heads to see her ''sorry'' she said while trying to walk away

''honestly we should'' said enzo with a chuckle

half time passed quite quickly, with the manager giving orders to the players and the physios checking that everyone was okay.

''we give everything again, and even though you're mad at him, don't take mount out, we don't want to play with 10'' said pochettino while looking at her and laughing. everyone laughed including her, and started gathering their things to play the last 45 minutes.

after a couple of minutes, reece was the one who made the 2nd goal and the cheers erupted as the players went after him running to celebrate. she was glad that after some time, there was an actual chance to win against united.

when a counterattack started with connor recovering the ball from a corner, the united players after seeing that there were not many things that could be done by their defense, their last resort was one that came running meters behind connor. mason he slid and tackled connor to the gound, for which awarded him a second yellow card and as a consequence a red card. everyone was shouting, the manager, physios, coaches, and assistans were complaining to the 4th referee. players were pushing each other on the pitch, while mason was entering the tunnel to go to the locker room after getting sent out.

''thank you for taking both of your friends out'' she said while passing next to him to enter the pitch again

he didn't do much, just looked at her and continued his path onto the locker room.

connor had to leave the pitch, and after the last 10 minutes, the match finnally ended with chelsea taking the 3 points.

the chelsea players stayed on the pitch thanking the fans while the united players went back to their locker room. she grabbed her things, and started heading back to the locker room to organize the things for when the players get back. after 5 minutes, all the players came back and hugged each other after a well deserved win. after more than 1 hour, she had changed herself and most of the players had already left the bridge, with only reece, ben and thiago still being there.

''have you talked with him, i mean after everything?'' reece asked while putting away his things

''no, not yet and i don't think im planning to'' she answered him, a bitter tone on her voice thinking about even talking to him

''im with her, he left and didn't told her anything'' shouted thiago from the bathrooms

''okay boys, it's not time to talk about my life and what happened, it's time to head out because it's getting late'' she said with a quiet chuckle and grabbing her things to leave

she said her goodbyes and left the locker room, and kissed goodbye every staff person that was there.

''sorry'' a voice she could recognize everywhere made her freeze

''for what? taking 2 of our players out, or leaving without saying anything?''

''both''

''what is done it's done mason''

''im truly sorry, i didn't want to leave like that''

''but you did it, you didn't say anything and i was the last one to find out

''just let me give you my side of it, please'' he said

''maybe one day mason, but not today'' she gave him one last look and started walking away

she wanted to hear from him, more than 4 months since he had left and last talked. well, he sent her messages, but she didn't answered them.

''I'm sorry, i truly am''

''i know you are mason, but still i cannot bring myself to talk to you''

[moreminidragons]

Watermelon Crawl - Simon "Ghost" Riley

Cowboy!Simon "Ghost" Riley x GN!Reader,

Warnings: Smut, penetration, not proofed, reader's genitalia is neutral, reader is a bottom, this is my first work so any criticism is greatly appreciated.

2,514 words.

It was hot, warmer than what Simon was used to. He had just moved down to the American South and was driving down to the farm he was a cattle hand for. His truck AC had broken so he rolled down his windows. Cigarette hung in between his fingers, hand tapping on the side of his beat up old Ford. His skull bandana pulled over his nose and lips, loose enough he could still smoke and drink under it. It was the first thing he was given when he landed in the Country. 

The radio was turned up loud, playing some station he didn’t care to change, this being the only station that didn’t cut out every five miles. A bright sign caught his attention, it was shaped like a watermelon and read: ‘2:00pm-TIL COME ON AND CRAWL WITH US’ Underneath this it said something about the County’s Watermelon Festival. He saw more signs leading up to the turn. Simon gave in, shooting Soap a text about being late for whatever the guy’s had planned tonight. 

Simon parked in the gravel patch, grabbing his black cattleman hat off the dash. He walked up to the stand at the front of the festival, surprised it was free to get in and getting a free drink ticket. He continued walking farther into the celebration, getting a few looks from people. His black western style was always a bit questionable to many, considering how hot it gets. 

He walked over to the first drink stand he could see, using his free drink ticket to get a cup of the watermelon wine that seemed incredibly popular. He took a sip from his straw, almost spitting it out at how sweet it was. He sighed and kept drinking it, the syrupy drink coating his throat. Soap had texted him back, letting him know that it was fine and how the guys had started cards without him anyway, meaning that they wouldn't miss him. This made his life easier and meant that maybe he wouldn’t be questioned as much. 

He heard an announcement being made near the center of the festival. There was a portable dance floor spread out on the dirt ground, light poles in buckets of concrete surrounding it, giving it more light as the sun started setting. The Mayor of this county was giving a speech about the dangers of drinking and driving and boasting about the pure amount of the syrupy wine they had stored away. This apparently was meant to lead into a song with a line dance. 

People filed onto the dance floor, keeping in relatively straight lines as they did. Simon sat to the side of the floor, watching as the electric guitar started picking up in the background. The drums and bass made his heart feel like it was thumping to the beat of the song. The lyrics were almost exactly what happened to him, giving him deja vu of his day. 

The line dance began with the lyrics, people tapping their toes in a pattern on the plywood beneath them. It was mesmerizing to watch. The people he saw changed slightly as everyone slid into a new spot. He thought he recognized one of the faces, a familiar hat topping it. All of the hands at the farm had a band they wore around the crown of their hats, marking them. This stood out to him immediately, his eyes widened, hand squeezing the disposable cup he held. 

Since he had met you he thought you were amazing. You knew how to do everything you needed to. You always made lunch for all the farm hands, feeding them dinner if they needed it too. Your hat was similar to his, mostly black but yours had fine red and white detailing all over it, patterns that always stood out to him. You were kind and actually paid attention to what he said, he was quiet until he was with you, always having something to chatter about. 

That damned hat stood out in the crowd, he had found you among the hundred people on the dance floor. You had taken it off, leaving it tied onto you by the rope around your neck, the felt of the hat pressed against your back. You were looking to get lucky tonight apparently, hoping that someone would place their hat onto your head and claim you for the night. You glided around the dance floor, steel tipped boots clicking loudly to the beat. You looked like a dream, the sun had set, like fire on the horizon. The string lights that hung around the floor making you glow, a halo of light surrounding you as your hips swung around on the beat. Sweat forming on your hairline, making you shimmer. A large smile graced your face as you laughed at the people around you, drunk and dancing. 

Fuck it

He decided he was going to do it, he was going for it. Simon downed the rest of his wine, the sweetness and the slight buzz gave him just enough edge to shoot his shot. The song’s last note was held as people cheered, the dancers and onlookers alike clapping and wooing loudly. 

He walked up behind you as you laughed and clapped along, placing his black cowboy hat onto your head, the brim covered your eyes slightly as you adjusted it. You looked around for a moment, searching to find him, the man who claimed you for the night. “Ghost.” You breathed out, lips parted and eyes wide in astonishment. Simon adjusted his hat on your head, straightening it out. “Simon. Tonight you call me Simon.” He said to you, hoping and praying that you accept his offer. 

“Simon it is then.” You said, biting your wine stained lips and looking up at him. You grabbed one of his belt loops and pulled him off the dance floor, dragging him close to you. “I came here with friends, did you?” You asked him, head tilting to the side as you spoke. “No, but I’m leaving with you.” Simon stated, grabbing your hips and holding you close to him, your belt buckles clinked together. He looked down at your buckle, smiling below his mask slightly at the silver skeleton hand holding a gun on yours. He was wearing the one you got him for his birthday last year, you ran your thumb over the engraving on it. 

“Well I’ll be damned Simon, let’s go then.” You said, grabbing his hand and pulling him to the exit eagerly, one hand holding his hat on your head. You looked back at him grinning widely, eyes squinting closed slightly in joy. His eyes softened staring into yours, as you left the festival. He pulled you to him, grabbing your waist hand resting on your hip as he walked you to his truck. 

He clicked the button on his keys, unlocking the doors to his truck. He opened the door for you, and you slid into the passenger seat of his two door cab. He got into the driver's seat, starting the truck. The radio was on low, playing some upbeat country station. As he peeled out of the bumpy gravel you texted your ride you were leaving with someone else. Simon’s hand found your thigh, he gently placed it just above your knee trying to be respectful. You placed your hand over his, guiding it further up your thigh, encouraging him. 

Luckily the ride was short. He pulled up onto the path that led to the farm you both work on, driving farther until he reached one of the cabins, multiple people stayed in each. There were other cars parked outside of it, Simon groaned at this, not wanting to kick out everyone. He looked over to you, his eyebrows raising in question, asking what you wanted to do. You leaned over and switched off the truck’s headlights, hand pressing high onto his thigh as you did. 

You slid into the middle seat of the cab, Simon thanking every god he could think of for the old hand me down truck he was given. He put the truck in park, leaving the engine running. You turned the radio up a bit louder and leaned over to his side, grasping the lever of the steering column. The steering wheel slides back quickly, giving you space to straddle him. His hands found purchase on your hips, while yours ran up and down his chest and shoulders. “How do you wanna take this Simon?” You asked, nose nuzzling into the side of his neck. Simon groaned out at your movement, moving one of his hands up to your hair. “I’ll take it however you give it to me.” He said, obviously growing more impatient. 

This was all you needed to hear, desperately grasping at his worn pearl snap shirt. You knew the rule of the mask, not daring to go near it. As you ripped the snaps of his shirt apart, he worked on your belt. You pushed back his shirt, peeling it off of his muscular body. He quickly undid his own belt, pushing his pants down just enough for his bulge to press against you. Simon quickly worked your shirt, taking it off of you with purpose. You had managed to wiggle out of your pants and underwear, now straddling him bare. The size of his bulge made you breathe in sharply, having never taken something so large. 

“Open.” Simon ordered, voice gruff and strained from lust. Your body responded quickly, mouth falling open, tongue out. He chuckled at this while he pressed two fingers into your mouth, using your saliva to lube them up. As he worked his fingers in your mouth you grinded down on the tent in his boxers, rolling your body against it hotly. Simon snaked his hand around your body, pressing the fingers you sucked on against your entrance. You groaned out at the intrusion, hips automatically trying to press back on them, searching for more pressure. 

As Simon slowly worked you open with his thick fingers, he opened the glove box, blindly searching for a condom. “Eyes open.” He commanded. You did as requested, breath hot and heavy from his fingers stretching you. Simon holds the condom out to you, eyebrows questioning you in a silent request. You nodded quickly, taking the condom from him. You look into his eyes while you ride his fingers, putting the condom in your lips and ripping it open. His eyes are lidded with lust at the action, groaning as you pull down his boxers. His cock springs out at attention, causing you to moan out at the sight. You take the condom in your hand, gently sliding it down the hot length. Simon’s fingers curl as you reach the bottom of his shaft, causing you to throw your head back and squeeze the base of his cock slightly in turn making him groan louder. 

“You think you’re ready, pretty thing?” Simon tilts his head slightly in question. You nod again desperately. “Use your words or nothin’s gonna happen.” He growls out. “Please Simon, I need you to take me — need your cock inside of me — please.” You begged out, pleading with him to keep going. You can see the smile on his covered face as you say this, the glint in his eyes as bright as the stars outside. 

Simon rests his hard length against your hole gently, slowly pressing in the tip of it. Your breathing increases exponentially, chest heaving at the slight burn of his size. He keeps pressing, once the head of his cock is all the way in you moan out loudly, encouraging him to keep going. Your bodies are both covered in a sheen of sweat, sticking together. As he bottoms out you both breathe out a moan. Your lips find purchase on his shoulder, kissing and sucking on the exposed skin while you grind down. His hands find your hips, coaxing you to start bouncing slightly. The movement hits you both hard, moans being drowned out by the radio. As you get bolder while riding him, he moves his hands, dragging them up and down your exposed body. Brushing against your nipples and pinching them slightly, making you bite your lip from the pleasure. 

You threw your head back as Simon’s cock hit deep inside of you, brushing against your sweet spot. He took advantage of this, moving his face to the side of your neck. Simon made use of the looseness of his mask, draping it over your neck so he could kiss at your soft skin. You grasp at the hair on the nape of his neck, tugging lightly causing him to moan against your skin. His thrusts were growing sporadic and you knew that both of you were balancing on the edge. A gruff breath hit your abused neck, “Shit — I’m close.” Simon moaned out. “Cum, Simon, please—” You replied breathlessly. You clenched around him, his cock hitting the soft spot inside of you. “Fuck!” He cried out as he came, biting down on your shoulder. You moaned out loudly at this, quickly coming immediately after him.  

For a few seconds you both sat there, fully blissed out. Simon released your neck from his bite and nuzzled his clothed nose into your neck, his face pressed into you. Your arms wrapped around his shoulders, holding the large man close. Simon once again blindly reaches into the already open glove box, finding some napkins he had saved. He uses his other hand to slightly tap your thigh, gently requesting you to dismount him. You slide into the middle seat next you him, your thighs touching. He offers you the napkins to clean up while he rolls off the condom, tying it and wrapping it in another napkin.

You settle for a moment before you both start dressing. It’s a bit difficult with the small space but you manage to look almost presentable. You turn to Simon, fixing his hair as he fastens his belt. He looks up at you with soft eyes, you can tell he's smiling at you. The music from the radio is still loud and his hat is still placed firmly on your head. You both look at the radio then back at each other breaking out into a fit of laughter as “Save a Horse (Ride a Cowboy)” starts playing, the irony not lost on either of you. 

Simon’s hand rests gently on your thigh as he sighs, preparing to enter the cabin he shares with his friends. Simon looks over at your smile, he quirks his eyebrow in silent question, asking if you are ready to face them. You sigh, nodding in response, ready to face the potential questioning. Simon twists the key, turning off the truck as he opens the door and climbs out of the truck cab. He holds out his hand to you, as you slide out of the driver's side too. You clutch his hand as you two walk up to the door. Before going in you turn to him, kissing him through the mask lightly. You pull back, smiling at each other before walking into the house. 

[fulcrumstoried]

Ex Diris and the Card Spread

Just read the Ex Diris lore entry exotic grande launcher from the season pass and haven't seen anyone try to do a breakdown of the cards and how they align with cartomancy yet, cause I am gnawing at this.

So, the Deck of Whispers is an oracle deck (think tarot, but the cards and meanings are different).

One of the ways that people engage with cartomancy is by developing spreads, aka the order you draw the cards, and the places that you put them, add to the meaning of the cards.

Eg, a three card spread of past, present, future. The first card you draw represents the past, the second is the present, the third is the future.

I don't believe Eris' spread has an exact match (please let me know if it does), but it is very very close to the Celtic Cross Spread, particularly the expanded version.

I'll break down the spread, the meanings, and the cards below. There's very little theory crafting, but a lot more meaning finding, so I hope you enjoy!

The Labyrinthos link above is a very good full breakdown, but tl;dr, each card in this Celtic Cross Spread has a different meaning, which I'll get into (at a basic level), and it looks something like this:

Card 1 - Your current situation [Blades]

Eris interpretes this to mean Sword Logic. Yes, but I think it's also about the First Knife, and the Final Shape, aka this whole fight / saga is centered around whether or not the Witness is right.

Card 2 - The Challenge / Obstacle [Adherent]

Eris clearly sees this as Xivu Arath. I agree, an Adherent could also be known as a Disciple. The meaning also supports it: she's the threat of the season, the thing we have to overcome first.

Card 3 - Foundation / Cause of the situation [Sisters]

Eris clearly sees this as the Hive God's first selves. I agree, as the meaning supports this: who the Hive Gods once were is the foundation of who they have become.

Whilst this feels like a limited meaning (there are more causes than just them), I think it's a deliberate choice to set up the next card:

Card 4 - The / Your Past [The Harbinger]

Eris can only see this as herself. The spread meaning becomes tenuous here, perhaps because she is the Oracle and from the past she foretells the future? Perhaps it is her card because it is her past that is in play? Or perhaps it's because the writers wanted to have that very interesting line

Perhaps now she counted among those sisters. Savathûn, Xivu Arath, and Eris Morn. A game between siblings. A love that sharpens.

I've got a bit of a crack theory developing about this (particularly with what implies about her role as a Navigator), but that's for later.

---

This is also when the normal spread and Eris' differ. Traditionally, you then place Card 5, which represents the present. Eris skips this (perhaps because she doesn't need to know what's happening now), and goes straight to

Card 6 - Near Future [The Lie]

Eris wonders if this is the Guardians, or maybe the lie of the Deep. From a simple standpoint, perhaps it could just mean that the future is a lie, or that to know the Future is to know a lie? Or, following the way each card is an entity, perhaps this is the Witness? After all, they're going to be in our near future.

---

This is when the normal and Eris' spreads diverge again. Sometimes, at the end of a reading, people add three or four more cards across the bottom, which shows the more subtle influences around the person doing the reading. Eris does this halway through, creating:

Because she does it halfway through, I think Cards 6, 7, and 8 are clarifiers of the three columns beneath them, rather than the reading as a whole. (I'm also toying with the idea that they could also represent the Surface, the Sky, and the Deep, but eh)

(Lmao I've just realised that because I made the second graphic, now the numbers don't align, and I'm going to repeat Card 6 and now use the numbers from Eris' spread, sorry!)

Card 6 - aligned with Harbinger/Eris [Liminal]

Imo these match, Eris is currently occupying the liminal space between Hive and not-Hive, Light and Dark.

Card 7 - aligned with Sisters [Ascension]

Again, a match, their rise from being sisters to godhood.

Card 8 - aligned with The Lie [Lacuna]

Now, a lacuna is a gap, particularly where there should be, or once was, something. Eris saw it as part of a Guardian's Light, but I think it's specifically her Light - and the fact that she no longer has it.

She had not held it for centuries. The Hive sisters below beckoned more loudly than the Light did.

Aligned with The Lie, either she is tempted to fill it with the Lie (aka the Darkness), or the fact that she doesn't have it is the Lie (?).

---

Then we get to the final four cards, also known as the Staff.

Card 9 - Current approach / Your influence [The Witch]

Eris is torn between Savathun and herself, and I think that's reflected in what the meaning of the card could be. I'm leaning towards Savathun, because it's highly unusual to have two cards representing one person in a spread, and because she is, you know, the Witch Queen.

Also, that which is influencing us and dictating our approach right now is Savathun. So if we continue with our current approach, we will continue up the staff/column of cards to:

Card 10 - What you need to know / External influence [The Truth]

This is a fun card because it states The Truth, then Eris goes and says

There were too many truths for any one to triumph.

This is a very interesting line to me, and immediately brought to mind the final Veil Log, the Von Neumann-Wigner hypothesis mentioned, and this breakdown from Reddit. Tl;dr the Light is about creating possibilities, and the Darkness is about collapsing all possible states into one reality.

I also find Eris' use of the word triumph interesting - what will the final truth (final shape) of the universe be?

Card 11 - Hope / Fear [Lament]

Eris sees this as Oryx's death. I immediately thought of The Lament sword from Beyond Light. The sword was a gift from Clovis Bray to Banshee, due to his regret at not caring about the living whilst he was alive. In it, he states

Stay alive. For legacy.

However, when we activate the Clovis Bray AI, he threatens to kill Banshee. His initial lament is forgotten. Similarly, Savathun and Xivu Arath both once died, and Oryx brought them back.

So, these combine in two interesting ways; that of fear of total loss then rejection upon regaining it, and perhaps a fear/hope of sword logic being true.

Card 12 - Outcome [The Wish]

The particle The Wish feels important, and my immediate reaction was The Last Wish or Eris' Wish? Now Eris' was in the past, and I think both the meaning (Outcome) and Eris' interpretation suggest that this is something that will occur.

Eris had wished before. It had led her here. Would she be asked to wish again? What else would her desire wrought?

This post breaks down those lines really well. Or perhaps it is about the Last Wish, fulfilling it, that of the fireteam wishing to keep the Dreaming City / Awoken/Humanity safe?

A wish is desire, the greatest power in this universe.

Which is pretty much a direct quote from the Last Wish cinematic. This also reminds me of the reddit post, as being able to choose your reality feels like a pretty darn great power.

---

Eris' interpretations of these cards are built on each other, like a tower working up. A Witch, from whom Truth flows, which causes Lament, to the final outcome of The Wish.

This could be the story of Eris, actually. She asked for the way out of the tunnels under the moon (knowledge, and truth), losing and gaining something in the process, to obtain the wish of being free.

But also, according to Labyrinthos, with the staff (this column of four cards),

We learn how the context of this situation can affect the reader's life outside the situation, and also - how to change it, if desired.

I think these cards are not just for Eris, but for the story/season - the wider picture, and also how it may change later.

---

I also think that these cards do a really good job of bringing together a lot of different areas of Destiny story together - from Forsaken and the Last Wish, to Lament and Beyond Light, with the Hive and Witch Queen.

This was an absolute blast to try and read into, so hope you all enjoyed my red string nonsense!

[johnwickb1tsch]

you're the worst thing (i'm addicted to) Part 4

a john wick x Helen'sSister!Reader fic You are Helen's baby sister. When you meet John Wick at Helen's graveside, he invites you to dinner to celebrate her birthday. Set a few years after the first movie, 2-4 never happened. Use of y/n. Warnings: canon typical violence. Future reference to threat of noncon, (not John! because he's our assassin sweetiepie). Mourning. Smut. Grey areas. Questionable decisions. Sweetheart!John, BAMF!John Depressed!John - If you can handle the movie you should be fine here... PART 1 PART 2 PART 3

PART 4.

When the night of your art show comes, you do not expect to see John Wick in the crowd. You had not heard from him since that night when he gave you the orgasm of your life, then disappeared from your apartment like he’d only ever been a dark dream.

Though your panties had disappeared too, and you strongly suspect he’d taken them with him.

The gallery is packed this night. It’s a group show, and you’re hardly the main act, but it’s a huge stepping stone for you as an artist. Gallery X is nothing to turn one’s nose up at, and you dare to hope that maybe, just maybe, things might get going from here. The art world is just as much politics as it is producing work, and you were never good at that part of it all.

Helen was, bless. She presented strong work, but she also knew how to read a room, and whose hand to shake, and how to tell someone to go to Hell with a polite smile. You know that her final gift to you was the cachet of her name in a collaboration, and maybe, just maybe, if you play your cards just fucking right, this could be your break.

You recognize the faces of people with big names in the art world here tonight. Critics, museum curators, journalists, and collectors. They’ve all come out to play, and your heart has not slowed its frantic pace in your chest for the past hour since opening.

You snag a glass of champagne from a passing tray, even though you hate the stuff, and that is when you see him through the crowd. He’s across the room, tall and forbidding in a dark suit, his long hair framing his angular face. You can practically feel the weight of his gaze upon you, through the crush of all these people. For a moment, time stands still, as your eyes meet his.

You have thought of him a thousand times since the night he left you sated yet ravenous in your bed. A hot flush blooms across your skin, a spear of desire shooting straight to your loins as you remember what he did to you with that perfect mouth, and those big hands, and those soulful eyes. God, but you would have given him anything, after one look from those yearning dark eyes.

He is dressed well, but he doesn’t exactly look well. There is an edge to his stare; an intensity.

A hunger.

An agonizing thrill runs down your spine; for a moment you have to look away. It’s just too much.

By the time you turn back, he is gone.

You continue to mingle, chatting with your friends and acquaintances, sipping some of the bubbly to try to calm your nerves. It doesn’t work; you feel as though you have a live wire under your skin, a thousand volts of raw emotion running rampant through your veins.

It would have been easier, had it only been lust, or even just pity. But there was something more to it, something substantial and heady and warm, and that made it a much harder beast to slay.

You slowly make your way around to look at the other pieces. It’s the polite thing to do, and interesting too. The theme of the show is Loss. Perfectly broad, and the subjects of the works vary wildly.

In front of a massive encaustic abstract a low voice in your ear stops you in your tracks. “I feel like I owe you an apology.”

You turn your head slightly to find John standing ever so near, so close you can feel the warmth of the solid line of his body behind you. The room is packed and it’s almost necessary to stand this close just to be heard, but still, you get a dark thrill out of it.

“Oh?”

“I feel like I took advantage of you, last we met. I am sorry.”

You turn to face him, standing close enough to kiss. Thanks to the heels you’re wearing, you don’t have to crane your neck too far to look him in the eye.

“Actually, I was kind of thinking I took advantage of you.”

This clearly surprises him, his eyebrows rising. Ah, this dear, sweet, man. You didn’t take him for being naïve, but he is a little older, and the claws of traditional gender roles cling hard and deep.  

“Helen wanted me to look after you, and I—”

“Gave me the most incredible pleasure of my life? Yeah, it was pretty terrible. You’re a selfish beast.”

He blinks at you, clearly stunned. Then his eyes narrow, the hunger from before sharpening to a cutting edge, and a scintillating thrill runs down your spine. You cannot shake the feeling that you’ve just pulled the tail of a tiger; a predator both magnificent and deadly. Mostly it’s excitement; but just the slightest hint might be fear. There is something brimming below the surface of this man that you know you don’t entirely understand. You aren’t sure yet if it is passion, or violence—or maybe a combination of the two. You wonder if Helen ever got to see behind the mask.

Somehow, you are certain she did, and she had not run from him. Perhaps that is what makes you brave tonight.

“You don’t mince words, do you?”

“Helen was the tactful one.” 

“I actually found her refreshingly direct.” 

“But I'm just abrasive. I've been told, believe me. It's because I don't apologize before I tell men what I really think.”

“I don't want your apologies.”

“Either way... I'm a big girl, John. You don't have to be the responsible adult between us.”

The corner of his mouth ticks at that. 

“I feel like I should at least try.”

You shrug, unable to stop yourself from fingering his tie, fighting the urge to wrap your fist in it and pull him to you again. You’ve missed him, and standing this close, what you really want to do is climb him like a tree, and the crowd be damned. “Suit yourself.” You force yourself to stop touching him, although he didn’t seem to mind, or intend to stop you. You sigh deeply, warring with yourself as ever.

This is all so very fucked.

Maybe the truth is the best way to go.

“I like you, John. Maybe I’m just lying to myself, thinking Helen wouldn’t be pissed, but…maybe she’d be happy we’ve found each other.”

You dare to look him in the eyes, and once again, he looks as though he is drowning.

Fuck. You have to go.

You force yourself to step away from him, because your skin feels like its on fire. “We’re all going to Bar Rosé later to celebrate. You’re welcome to come, if you want.”

You retreat to greet a friend who’d come all the way to Manhattan from upstate to support you, and you can feel John’s eyes boring into you as you walk away.

For the rest of the opening you follow him out the corner of your eye. As though he's a magnet, you simply cannot help it. You are achingly aware of his presence, even if it's from across the room. 

He pauses before your piece of Helen for a very long time, letting the crowd mill around him like a rock in a stream. It’s heartbreaking, really, the way he stands there before her, transfixed. A part of you wants to go take his hand, support him in what you know is yet another painful moment for him. But in the end, you decide to let him process it alone. A little later, you notice him talking to the gallery owner. Chummily, almost like they know each other. Of course, Carol Banning had known Helen, so perhaps you shouldn’t be so surprised. 

When the evening is winding down John Wick is nowhere to be found. You're a little disappointed, and a little bit relieved. You're not sure what you think you're playing at, but deep down, you know it's so fucking twisted. 

You meet with your comrades from the show, some artists you knew before, and some new acquaintances too. You hail a van cab to go a few blocks to Rosé. Tonight was a success. Someone bought your painting for a massive amount of money. More than you’d ever dreamed you could charge for a piece of your soul put down on canvas with paint. Carol had assured you it was appropriate, and you guessed she knew her clientele. A part of you was distressed to part with the piece you’d created with blood and tears and Helen’s art, and a part of you was relieved to let it go. You completed the cycle. You were sending Helen out into the world, where she would be remembered, and celebrated, for the remarkable woman she was.

It should have felt like victory, but in truth it was bittersweet.

You are 98 percent sure you don't let it show. Your friends are giddy with the success of the exhibition, and the last thing you want is to bring them down. You are too, truth be told. You were interviewed by not one, but two journalists this evening. One who even worked for the Times. Maybe it’s just curiosity about Helen Morgan-Wick’s baby sister, but…Helen would have told you to stop overthinking and enjoy it.

So perhaps, you will.

True to its name, the neon lights that accent the room at Rosé are pink. The glassware is too. You’re sure it’s a play on seeing the world through rose tinted glasses…but the drinks are strong, and the ambiance is fun. After a round your friends want to dance. You agree, and the four of you have a great time until you pick up a bogey. A man keeps trying to dance up on you, not getting the hint when you sidle away, not engaging with him whatsoever. Finally, you get tired of dodging him, and decide to get another drink. He follows you, leaning on the bar while you wait for the bartender’s attention. “I'm Sasha,” he says in thickly accented English, looking you up and down. He’s not bad looking at all, but there is something in the way he looks at you that makes you uneasy.

“Hi,” you answer, not keen to give him your name.

“You come here often?”

“Not really.”

“What are you celebrating tonight?”

“Who said we're celebrating?”

Had this pushy creep overheard you? Had he followed you from the gallery?

Another voice cuts in from behind you, a string of Russian that almost sounds like a command.

Your unwelcome suitor frowns, answering in the same language. 

You turn your head to find John standing close behind you. You hadn’t noticed him come in; it’s as though he materialized from the shadows. When he puts a hand on your waist you do not flinch, hoping the other guy will get the picture. He frowns, looking between you. He says something quick over your head, and the only word you catch is blyad.

 You’re pretty sure it means fuck.

There is a heavy moment rife with tension between the two men with you stuck in the middle, before the Russian makes a hissing sound between his teeth and goes. He doesn’t just go to the other side of the bar, however. He leaves the premises, slinking out the door, and you turn to look at your savior.

“Wow. What did you say to him?”

He shrugs. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Did you know him?”

“Hmm. Sort of. From work.”

You tilt your head, staring up at him. He hasn’t removed his large hand from your hip, and even though its possessive and maybe it should bother you, you revel in his touch. You’re not usually one to get off on men fighting over you, but it’s hard not to feel a little glow of primal satisfaction at the exchange. It makes you feel bold, and maybe you run your mouth a little. “Yeah? So did Helen know?”

“Know what?”

“That you’re an ex mafioso?”

You’re 99 percent sure you’re making a joke, but from the sharp way he looks at you, a trill of warning rolls down your spine. He leans down to speak in your ear, “You have quite the imagination, young lady.”

That warmth in your chest descends to pool between your thighs.

The bartender saves you from digging this hole even deeper.

“What can I get you, Mr. Wick?”

“Blanton’s on the rocks,” John answers, then looks to you.

“Vodka martini, please,” you answer.

“We have Smirnoff, Absolut, Grey Goose, Stoli…”

Before you can answer that Smirnoff is fine John answers, “Stoli.”

You raise an eyebrow at him as the bartender goes to pour your drinks. “Thanks.”

“Life is too short to drink bad vodka.”

You huff a laugh at that. “So, do you know every bartender in New York, or…”

“Probably just in Manhattan,” he jokes with a ghost of a smile.

You turn so that you are facing him completely. You have to stand close to hear each other, you reason. It has nothing to do with the fact that this man draws you like you are an asteroid caught in his gravity. If you collide…you have no doubt you’ll burn to pieces.

“Congratulations, on tonight,” he says, and you believe he means it. “Helen would be proud.”

“Thanks. Feels surreal, to be honest.”

“That’s fair.”

You find yourself looking at his tie again, fighting the urge to use it to tug him closer. My, but you are becoming a needy creature in this man’s presence. You have to remind yourself that you do not, in fact, know him that well. Even if it feels like…he could have always been yours. “It’s nice to see you again,” you dare venture, looking up from beneath your lashes.

“Likewise.” He touches you lightly, just below your chin. Your eyes meet, and you feel pinned by those dark orbs, somehow certain he can see right through you,

“Don’t take this the wrong way, but…are you okay?” Like on Helen’s birthday, you imagine tonight must have dredged up plenty of emotions that just maybe this poor man would like to bury once and for all.

“I guess I deserve that, after how I behaved.” He is, undoubtedly, referring to the way he fled your apartment a month ago.

“I’m not mad, I just…genuinely want to know.”

He bites his lip as he’s thinking, and its all you can do just to watch him, wishing it was you with his lip between your teeth instead. Finally he answers, “I am as okay as it is possible for me to be.”

It is the most non-answer you’ve ever heard.

Sensing your dissatisfaction with this pointed evasion, he digs a little deeper, leaning in so that his words are only for you. “I didn’t exactly lead a happy life, before Helen. After she passed…I was certain I would never want anyone ever again. You kind of threw a wrench into that.”

“Sorry.”

He gives a little huff of self-deprecating laughter. “Don’t be. I…I like you, y/n. Please, forgive me, for…everything.”

You don’t believe he’s telling you all this to win sympathy, or using it as a line, like so many men would. It’s just facts, and you are moved to the bottom of your soul. Somehow you know that this is not something this man would casually admit to just anyone. “John…” With your heart in your throat you find yourself reaching for him, touching his fingertips with yours on the bar. “It’s ok. You don’t owe me an apology. You don’t owe me anything.”

He tilts his head to look at you, his dark hair swinging into his face. You feel bold enough to reach out, brushing it behind his ear. His eyes close at your touch for the barest moment. It’s so easy to forget that you are in a crowded public venue, with him near. “I owe you my gratitude, at the very least.”

You shake your head, prepared to deny it, but then your drinks arrive, and the moment is somewhat shattered. “Want to sit with us?” you ask, indicating your merry band of artist misfits with your chin. He nods, following you, though his hand has found that place at the small of your back again that warms your blood to an agonizingly slow simmer. Carol has joined you, and you wonder if John will feel awkward, fraternizing here in unspecific but obviously friendly capacity with his sister in law.

Yikes. You do not like it, when you think of it that way.

However, Carol Banning is a veteran of the New York art scene, and she has seen much worse scandals than this. She doesn’t even bat an eyelash, greeting him warmly from behind her large black-rimmed glasses. They chat more about the show, and the state of the art world. Carol mourns that no photographers currently working quite have an eye like Helen did. Then she points a crimson painted claw your way, surprising you. “But this young lady. She’s going to do some interesting things, I have a feeling.”

John salutes you with his dwindling glass of amber liquid, a smirk on his lips you don’t entirely know how to read. “I have no doubts.”

After you finish your drink you find you are ready to go. It’s been a long day, and a big night. Tonight, you fulfilled Helen’s dying wish for you, and somehow you feel simultaneously accomplished and sore to the bone.

“Can I drive you home?” asks John quietly in your ear. It sends a bolt of heat straight to your center, warmth pooling in your loins as you remember what happened last time he made such an offer. You look at him, wondering if he wants an encore, or if he just wants to see you home safe. His face in that moment is so handsome it hurts, but utterly unreadable to you.

“Sure,” you answer, sensing that somehow you’ve just signed your fate over to him with your name on the dotted line.

You hit the street, the cool night air a relief after the close press of the bar. John offers you his left arm, and you take it gladly, leaning on his shoulder a little more than you really need to. Part of it is that last martini with what had been truly excellent vodka—and part of it was just a need to be close to him. A part of you thought you’d never see him again. The fact that he is here, solid in the flesh and you can touch him, kind of blows your mind.

“I’m not parked far,” he assures you, and you nod with a sleepy smile. At the end of the block you see his car parked on the street. It’s a little menacing, you think to yourself, looking at the dark paintjob and the sleek lines. Definitely a car designed to be a predator of the road; something that will run you down and eat you, no matter how fast you try to run.

As you near the vehicle three shadows separate themselves from an alley. John freezes in his tracks, pushing you behind him. You recognize the guy from earlier, Sasha, who is flanked by two intimidating henchmen. He speaks to John again in Russian, and John replies in kind. It pisses you off that you don’t know what’s being said.

“Speak English,” you demand, half-stepping out from behind John.

A low chuckle runs through the men before you that makes your blood run cold. “I said,” enunciates Sasha slowly, “That if he hands you over now I’ll let you both live. He’ll just have to watch as I fuck you like the whore you are.”

“Nice. Very original, fuck head.”

His self-satisfaction morphs to anger. You are scared, but you’re not showing it like you should, and it’s ruining his fun. You use John’s body to shield the fact that you are dipping into your purse for your pepper spray. Why the fuck can’t you ever find anything in your purse when you need it?

What comes next happens so fast you almost can’t register it. One of the toughs made the first move forward, but John is like a hurricane upon them, deflecting strikes and breaking arms, punching one guy in the throat and kicking another in the gut. He throws one with some kind of complicated grapple and flip ninja shit before hitting the other again in the knees. In the blink of an eye two of them are down on the ground, leaving John to take on Sasha, who has drawn a knife. You see that one of the grounded henchmen is fishing behind his back for something. Without thinking you surge forward, knowing it’s a matter of life and death. As his hand raises with the gun you goalie-kick it from his hand, dousing his face with mace.

“Motherfucker!”

The gun goes off before it skitters across the street and under a parked car. He howls with agony, clutching his face, trying to wipe the concentrated capsaicin out of his eyes. In the next moment there is an arm around your waist, pulling you towards the parked cars. You are so caught up in the adrenaline rush that you react without looking, but John catches your hand with the mace, keeping it pointed away from the both of you. “It’s me,” he says, taking the tube and slipping it into his pocket like he doesn’t trust you not to let loose again. “You did good, honey. Come on.”

As he is bundling you into the passenger seat of his car you look back to see Sasha is writhing on the sidewalk with his knife in his leg, shouting what undoubtedly are expletives in Russian. You vaguely wonder if he might bleed to death as the Mustang rumbles to life and you roar away.

“Holy shit!” you exclaim, trembling with adrenaline and you guess, a bit of shock. “What the fuck just happened?”

“Are you hurt?” he asks, deeming it the more pertinent question.

“No. I’m…fine,” you say, looking down at yourself. “Jesus, are you hurt?” You look over at him to see that he is bleeding from a cut on his brow. “Oh my god, let me see.” You reach for him but he holds up a hand. “I’m fine, believe me.”

You catch one more glimpse of the wreckage behind you as he makes a right turn, downshifting. The car surges forward, pressing you back into the seat.

“You totally laid those guys out!”

“Yeah.” You study him from the passenger’s seat, his hard expression highlighted by the passing headlights. His jaw is clenched so tight you think he might crack his teeth. “I'm sorry you had to see that.”

You think about the three guys he leveled out like a human tornado.

“You've got some moves, Mr. Wick.”

He just sighs, sounding so very tired.

“Yeah.”

“Should we…call the cops?”

He looks over at you like you should know the answer to that question, but shit, this is the most violence you’ve seen up close in your entire life. Finally, he just shakes his head, seeming a decade older in that moment. “It wouldn’t do any good,” he assures you.

Except, maybe get him arrested, you reason. Because even though it had been self-defense…the carnage he’d left behind was unreal.  

“Helen said you used to work in security?”

“Yeah.”

“Jesus Christ.”

He huffs a laugh at that. “Hardly.”

“I still don’t fucking get it.”

“Get what?”

“Why…this even happened? Men don’t exactly brawl on the street over me.” For Helen? Maybe, more likely, but not you, the boho weirdo who is lucky enough to kind of resemble your model-beautiful older sister, but will never be half as lovely or charming. You suspect there is some other reason this went sideways, that has more to do with John’s professional life before he retired from security.

That job description is holding less and less water the more you think on it. Helen was always super cagey in talking about what John Wick did for a living. You’re starting to get a better idea as to why that might have been.  

John surprises you when he holds out his hand to you across the center console. “I would fight an army for you,” he tells you softly, and goddamn if you don’t believe him. You take his hand, comforted by the strength in the long fingers wrapped around yours. You only let go in between him shifting gears, and you don’t really say anything else until you pull up in front of your building.

“Come on,” you say, swinging open the heavy door of the sportscar. “I’ll take care of you.” The look he pays you is somehow both raw and predatory. A thrill of anticipation runs down your spine, because at this point you’ve lost your mind, and you don’t have the sense to be afraid.

<<PART 3 PART 5>>