#I am going to bite my own arm off at this rate I physically am not stable enough to be angry

[officiallyossy-haywooddent]

IGNORE THIS - MUN RANT

I am genuinely very angry about this and will therefore be going to sleep at a reasonable time.

‘Cause not only did my essay get deleted, Jess accidentally deleted the fucking article me and Ollie were writing for Gotham Reports. And we don’t have another fucking copy of it.

Today has been a day of bad decisions and literary tragedies and I need to bite something because ‘healthy coping mechanisms’.

Maybe I’m just sleep deprived, who knows. I sure as fuck don’t! Maybe it’s smoke inhalation or period rage or something or maybe it’s because the condo board is filled with colour blind idiots who want to paint the building bright fucking red and white like an ugly ass Christmas cookie.

Fairwell, folks. If I wake up and it’s still deleted I am going to cry. Also please ignore all of this I am off my meds, exhausted, and cramping.

OOC.

Ya’ll I’m actually gonna kms I just deleted like my entire admission essay. I can’t get it back. I’m such a dumbass why tf did I do that. It needed to hand it in in less than an hour. I’m actually gonna die what the fuck.

[gravehags]

pray it all away (but it continues to grow)

Pairing: Dewdrop x f!Reader (Ghoul Bicycle Reader)

Rating: EXPLICIT, MDNI

Words: 3,689

Tags: hurt/comfort that turns into nasty filth, showering, biting, blood drinking, dick riding, cum eating, descriptions of violence and cannibalism (i mean...is it considered cannibalism if the ghouls aren't human tho)

Summary: You knew something was up with Dew, and you intend to take care of him in the best way you know how.

a/n: i just think dew should get some tender loving care. and then get ridden so hard his cock snaps off. yknow?

~~~

“Where’s Dew?”

The pack files into the den one by one, giving each other nervous looks.

“He’s uh…still in the practice room,” Rain says softly, putting his hand on your shoulder. You frown.

“At this hour? You guys were already there way later than usual, he shouldn’t…is he okay?”

Sunshine comes over and gives you a firm side hug.

“He’s going through a rough patch lately,” she murmurs, “Mental block, bad mood…you might have noticed the past few days.”

Ah. So that’s why Dewdrop had been sullen and quiet, slinking off to his room rather than gathering with the pack. You know better than most about rough patches and immediately your heart goes out to him.

“Should I go get him?”

“No,” Rain says quickly, “he needs some time to hash things out. He won’t be long and then you can abduct him for whatever plan you have to help, okay?”

“Am I that obvious?” you say with a soft smile. Sunshine nudges you with a smile of her own.

“To us? Of course. And don’t let him push you away when he does return - you know how he is.”

Moody little bastard, you think fondly.

–

It’s almost an hour later when you hear the door to the den open and slam and you come out of your room and down the hall. You pass the empty living room and stand with your hands behind your back. Dew rounds the corner after a few seconds, brow furrowed and hair in a messy bun at the nape of his neck. He doesn’t appear to see you as he shuffles your direction and jumps when he bumps into you.

“Hey, hon,” you say quietly, wrapping your hands around his forearms and lifting them to sit around your waist. He holds on half-heartedly, eyes avoiding yours.

“You don’t have to tell me what’s going on if you don’t want to, but you are going to let me take care of you tonight, okay?”

He winces and one of his hands flies to the back of his neck.

“Not really in the mood, y’know?”

“Yeah. I know.” He finally looks into your eyes and the lines on his forehead soften as he beholds you.

“Please,” you murmur, reaching out to cup his cheek. He sighs and rests the weight of his head in your palm. “I know all too well how these things get when you bottle them up. It will make you sick and I can’t stand by and watch that. So please…come with me.”

He sighs heavily through his nose and his shoulders slump.

“Alright,” he says softly.

Taking his hand you guide him to the end of the hallway and into your room, shutting the door behind the two of you with a snap. When he rubs his arm anxiously you notice that his hand is shaking.

“What uh…what do you have in store for me?”

You smile.

“Gonna take a shower and wash your hair, first of all. The rest is a surprise but you won’t have to do a thing, my love. I’ve got you. C’mon, let’s get you out of those clothes.”

You strip alongside him and you know something really must be bothering him from the way he doesn’t react to your nudity like he normally would. Guiding him into the large bathroom you open the shower door and turn the water on. When you turn to look at Dew your heart breaks. He looks so…small. Which physically, of course, he is but something about his aura seems downtrodden. The military precision with which he normally comports himself is gone in favor of rounded shoulders and anxiously rubbing his palms, tail low and twitching. You gesture him over to you and as gently as possible, you undo his tangled bun and grab your brush. With great care you run the bristles through his long, blonde hair, gently easing the knots out with a practiced hand. You swear you hear a faint purring coming from him over the sound of the water and it makes your heart swell, just a little bit. Setting the brush down you reach in to check the temperature - scalding, as both you and Dew like it. You step in first, holding out your hand to him and drawing him into the steam. As soon as he submerges himself in the water he lets out a deep groan that you know comes from his soul. You let him stand there soaking it in for a moment, watching him roll his neck and reach up to rub at the base of his horns before grabbing the shampoo bottle and squeezing some out. He obligingly lets you pull him out of the stream and massage it into his scalp, eyes slipping closed as your fingers scratch gently at him.

“Feels good,” he says, so quietly you can barely hear him over the water.

You hum and place a kiss to his shoulder, nuzzling into the skin. You scrub at him for a good while but when you stop and push him back under the water, he lets out a needy whine.

“Don’t worry, cinder. I’m not done with you yet.”

You know he loves that nickname, kept private between the two of you in your most intimate moments. He tilts his head back as you rinse his hair, and not for the first time you’re struck by how beautiful the slight ghoul is. You eye the scars on his neck and the matching ones on his sides, remnants from his previous life as a water ghoul. The slope of his nose, the arch of his brows, the curve of his bone-colored horns. 

“You’re staring.”

For a brief moment and for the first time in a long time you feel a flicker of the old Dew come out. His eyes are cracked just barely - just enough to watch you ogle him with the corner of his mouth curled.

“Yeah, well,” you say, easing him back out of the water and squeezing the excess out of his hair, “you’re real pretty, you know? Anyone ever told you that?”

“Usually when they want something from me,” he says as you open the bottle of conditioner and squirt a healthy amount into your palm, “but when you say it I kinda believe it.”

Oh. Your heart aches at that.

Gently, you begin to ease the conditioner into the ends of his hair, combing diligently for a thorough coating.

“Don’t go back in yet,” you tell him, “Gonna wash your face and scrub you down.”

He flushes, even in the heat of the shower.

“You don’t have to do that–”

“But I want to,” you say simply, putting a dollop of face cleanser in your hands and rubbing them together, “now close your eyes for me.”

He does as he’s told and you massage it into his skin in small, circular motions, making sure everything is covered. When your thumbs rub at the base of his horns, he slides a hand around your waist and pulls you in closer.

“I like that,” he says.

“Mmm, I know you do,” you smile, scooping a handful of water and washing the cleanser off his face. The spade of his tail is drifting along the back of your calf as you grab the silicone scrubber and shower gel.

“Gotta let go of me if you want me to get the job done,” you tell him and he pouts but acquiesces. Tenderly, you run the bristles along the slender planes of his body, smiling when he lets you manhandle him into different positions. When your soapy hand drifts down to brush against his cock, he makes an intrigued sound.

“Later,” you promise with a grin, “if you’re still interested.”

“Sweetheart, I’m always interested.”

“Yeah, the Dew I saw walking into the den twenty minutes ago wouldn’t say that.”

He frowns as you rinse him off.

“Probably not. Ah fuck,” he raises a hand to rub at his eyes, “I’m sorry.”

“You have nothing to apologize for, love,” you tell him firmly as you guide him back under the water to rinse the conditioner off. “Now let’s get this out of your hair so we can go relax, okay?”

“Don’t you have to–”

“Nah. Showered earlier. Just wanted to be in a compact, steamy space with you.”

He snorts.

By the time you shut the water off and grab two of your fluffiest towels, Dew already looks worlds better from what he did earlier. He obligingly lets you put toner and moisturizer on his face, as well as brush out his damp hair. When you hand him a clean pair of pajama pants he cocks his head.

“Did you steal these from my room?”

“Yeah,” you smirk, pulling your nightgown over your head, “I wasn’t about to make you get in my bed nude. How scandalous would that be.”

“Real scandalous,” he says, with a sharp grin. He starts to make his way toward you when he stops and makes a pained sound, gripping his right hand.

“We’re going to address that next,” you say, grabbing a tube of your nicest hand cream off the bathroom counter, “Bed. Now.”

He knows better than to object as the two of you exit the bathroom and pad across the rug to climb into your large bed. When he settles his back against the propped up pillows he lets out a sigh.

“Fuck, I love your bed,” he says, smoothing a hand over the plush, soft duvet. He looks up at the canopy overhead and gets a thoughtful look on his face.

“We should put a mirror up there–”

You groan.

“Not you too…Cumulus already said that. My demon lovers are degenerate sex freaks.”

“That a new reality show like ‘My Strange Addiction’ or ‘Say Yes to the Dress’ or…”

You pause thoughtfully.

“You know actually, I would watch that. Okay stop changing the subject and give me your hand.”

With some hesitation he reaches out and lets you gently take it, squeezing hand cream onto the back.

“Like I said, you don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to,” you tell him, gently massaging the lotion in, “but what’s with the shaking, huh?”

He groans and squeezes his eyes shut, tilting his head back against the pillow.

“Been having…cramping a lot recently,” he says, “It’s not the first time but unholy fuck it sucks. I’m not playing as well as I should, I’m in pain, they’re unsteady…”

You turn his hand over so his palm is facing up, gently kneading into the meat of it. He lets out another groan - this time of pleasure.

“Your hands are my favorite thing about you,” you murmur, “Favorite physical thing, that is. Even before all of us got together I always admired them.”

“Really?” he says softly, tilting his head to look at you.

“Mmhmm. Strong, dextrous. Love the veins on the tops of them. Love the way they handle a guitar. Love the way they handle me even more. You remember our first time?”

“Heh. Sure do.”

“Thought about your fingers for weeks after that - the way they curled inside me hitting all the right spots? Tried to replicate it on lonely nights with my own fingers but they just didn’t cut it. Don’t tell anyone I said this but no one in the pack fingers like you. Not even Cirrus, and she’s good.”

He laughs, loud and sharp, and the sound makes you grin.

“You buttering me up for something?” he asks.

“Not even a little bit,” you tell him, turning his hand over once more to rub the top, “do you remember the first time we spoke?”

“Yeah,” he says, fondness clear in his voice, “you were helping clean up the practice room. Pretty little thing, hair like fire.”

“Told me you liked my rosary because the garnet beads looked like blood,” you chuckle. “Morbid ass weirdo.”

The sharp grin is back.

“As if you don’t fucking love it, sweetheart. You know I’d kill for you. Shit, I have killed for you.”

You gently lay down his hand and gesture for him to hand you the other one.

“No one’s ever told me the details but Cumulus did mention something about Sister Tamsin…”

“You wanna know?”

You pause midway through squeezing lotion into your hand.

“Is it fucked up that I kinda do?”

“Yeah,” he smirks, “you sick, twisted, beautiful thing. Well since no one else has had the balls to tell you, I will. Sister Marguerite came to Papa after whatever happened in the library that day and whew if you could have seen the look on his face. He suggested dismissal but Marguerite said to let us take care of it in our own way. Papa knows how important you are to us so…he did. Set her loose on the grounds and well…it was grisly. I made the killing blow but the ghoulettes really did a number on her too…we made sure none of her went to waste even if she was a waste in life.”

Your breath comes in short pants as you eye the points of Dew’s canines and the smile that plays on his lips.

“Oh,” you murmur, a sharp ache throbbing between your thighs. “Oh.”

He lowers his hand and you look down to see an all too familiar tent in your sheets. It should make you ill that your lovers murdered and devoured someone who was once cruel to you but all that settles in your stomach is heat and arousal.

“How do you want me?” you ask quietly, eyes flying back to his, “I-I need–”

“I know, baby,” he purrs, lotion-softened hand coming up to run along your jaw, “Horrific little thing, getting turned on by bloodshed in her name. I know exactly what you need.”

He lifts his hips up and slides the sleep pants down, pushing the covers with it to reveal his cock. There’s a fat bead of pre hanging onto his slit and he reaches down to scoop it up with his thumb. He doesn’t even have to say anything and your mouth opens obediently.

“Always knew you were fucked up,” he breathes as you suck diligently on his thumb, “it’s always the quiet ones, huh? My beautiful girl. Come here,” he says, crooking his finger and patting his lap. You don’t even hesitate as you pull your slip over your head and throw a leg over him, drawing your cunt to rest against the curve of his cock.

“Needed this for a while,” he murmurs as you rock your hips against him, “fuck, I missed this. Missed you.”

“Me too,” you whimper, “Dew touch me, please.”

He obliges, first slowly sliding his hands along the meat of your thighs, up and over your belly, to come rest on your breasts. He kneads the flesh, thumbs teasing your nipples in tight little circles. When he leans in to slip one in your mouth, you sigh and he runs his tongue along the bud. 

“Dew,” you sigh, “I–ah!”

You jolt forward as Dew sinks his teeth into the soft flesh of your breast. He begins lapping and sucking more hungrily and when he briefly pulls away, his smile is bloody. You’re speechless, cunt clenching around nothing as you watch his tongue slide over his teeth. Without a second thought you lunge forward, slamming your mouth into his and burying your fingers into his damp hair. The kiss is hungry and where you thought there would be disgust at the taste of your blood on his mouth there is only raw arousal. He’s laughing in between kisses, hand cupping the back of your skull as he sucks on your lower lip.

“Ravenous,” he pants, “fucking ravenous, huh? Tell me how much you want it, baby.”

You raise yourself onto your knees and grab his swollen cock, positioning it.

“Dewdrop I want to ride you so hard we both see stars and I want you to bite and lick and suck and fuck up into me. I want to keep tasting my blood on your lips. I want–”

“Do it,” he snarls, “come on. Take what you want from me.”

It’s all the permission you need and you slam down, taking him to the hilt. He lets out a howl as you viciously begin to take your pleasure.

“That’s it, sweetheart,” he pants, flexing his hips upward, “show me what a filthy little beast you are.”

You laugh and when you toss your hair to expose your neck, Dew’s eyes get wide.

“Come on, cinder,” you coo, “I know you want to.”

With a snarl he grabs you and licks a stripe up your throat. He gives no warning before biting down on the juncture of your neck and shoulder and fuck it hurts but you feel so delirious you barely register the pain for longer than a few seconds. The little whimpers he makes as he sucks at your wounds make your cunt clench around him.

“Fuck, baby,” you pant, your shower-damp breasts pressed against his narrow chest as you roughly bounce on his cock, “You’re–ah!--perfect.”

He groans and ruts up into you, claws biting at the skin of your waist. When your moaning gets louder, he unlatches his mouth from your shoulder and pulls back to look at you.

“Belial, look at you,” he growls, grinning blood at you, “Fuck, I love–oh fuck–love the little slut we’ve made you.” 

You moan in response and his hand flies to your hair, tugging sharply at the scalp to expose your throat to him once more. When his teeth graze your pulse, you gasp.

“Love–ah–love being your slut, Dew.”

“Yeah? Like being my little fuck toy? My stress relief?”

A laugh bubbles from your throat and you clench around him, hard. He lets out a moan that’s more of a prolonged whine, and tips his head back. 

“Just like that baby, just like that,” he hisses as you ride him, “Fuck, I know you’re close.”

He’s right - your movements have become sloppy and your moans higher in pitch as you chase your high. You reach down to pry one of his hands from your waist and, bringing it to your mouth, slip two fingers in.

“Oh fuck,” he groans, “You want me to fill you up? Go on, show me how you take these fingers you love so much.”

You trace every ridge and callus with the tip of your tongue as your mouth bobs on them, drinking in the way Dew stares at you with eyes like embers. 

“Good girl,” he grunts, hips jackhammering up into you. He may not be as big as some of the others but unholy fuck his stamina is unmatched and you can feel yourself starting to come undone, drooling around his fingers. Without warning, he pulls them out of your mouth and brings them to your swollen clit, rubbing furiously.

“Fuck, Dew! Ah!”

“Come on baby, scream for me like the first time. Want everyone–ah–in this fucking place to hear how good I’m fucking you.”

As your orgasm mounts, you struggle for breath - gasping and choking on your own moans. Dew drags his thumb along the wound on your neck and slides the digit along your bottom lip. The second your tongue darts out and tastes the metallic tang of your own blood, your back arches and a wail crawls out of your throat. The ghoul beneath you pants sharply and then with a long, desperate moan you feel him cum inside you with your name on his lips. Your thighs ache and you can feel the sweat on your scalp. So much for being freshly showered. You let your forehead fall forward and land on Dew’s as his fingers delicately brush the skin of your waist and hips. When he tilts his head forward for a sweet kiss, you smile against his lips.

“How’s your bad mood now, cinder?”

He grins.

“If I’d have known this was what was waiting for me, I wouldn’t have been so pissy today, that’s for sure.”

With a groan, you ease yourself out of his lap, exhaling hard when you feel his cum slip out of you. Dew sees it and his hand darts between your legs to scoop up what’s left on your thighs. You watch through a tired haze as he places his fingers on his tongue and gives you a slow wink.

“Nasty boy,” you murmur, collapsing against your pillow.

“We should uh, probably do something about those?”

Your brow furrows when he gestures to your breast and neck, having completely forgotten that he bit you not once, but twice tonight.

“Am I going to get rabies or something?” you ask sleepily, watching the slender ghoul slide out of bed.

“Dunno, maybe. I’ve never bit a human and kept them alive so…”

It’s horrible, and morbid, and you shouldn’t laugh. But here you are, giggling with your forearm thrown over your eyes.

“Interesting reaction to being told you might have rabies, sweetheart. Come on, up - need to clean the wounds.”

“Aurora bit and drank from me our first time together and I was fine.”

Dew’s eyes unfocus a little as a wicked grin spreads across his face.

“Baby, I’ll make you a deal. You get up and tell me all about your first time with Aurora and I’ll clean these wounds. Then, I’ll fuck you for the rest of the night until you beg me to stop. Sound good?”

You smile and sit up.

“I was supposed to be taking care of you tonight, Dew.”

“Trust me,” he says, reaching out a hand to pull you out of bed, “this is exactly what I need to make me feel better.”

“Want me to text Aurora? Might be better if we just reenacted it,” you say, sitting on the edge of the bed. You’re giving him your most wide-eyed, innocent smile and Dew’s heavy exhale comes out in a wheeze.

“Sweetheart, you are way, way too good to me.”

Your phone is already in your hand.

“You’re welcome, cinder.”

[ladamedusoif]

Long Distance - Marcus Pike x F!Reader

Pairing: Marcus Pike x F!Reader

Rating: Explicit; 18+ MDNI

Word count: ~2000 

Warnings: SMUT; Established relationship; Reader lives in Europe; No physical description of Reader; Older!Marcus; Marcus with a PhD; FaceTime sex; masturbation (F and M); oral sex (F receiving); unprotected but safe PiV sex; dirty talk; come (cum) play

Summary: Happily settled with you on the other side of the Atlantic and now working primarily in consultancy, Dr Marcus Pike sometimes finds himself travelling back to the US for work. But there’s always video calling, right?

A/N: I got...carried away. Ahem. I'm not really using taglists any more so follow my writing blog @ladameecrit and turn on notifications. Thank you @agentjackdaniels for previewing this smutty little story.

You never really sleep easy when he’s not here. Strange, after all those years on your own, comfortably splayed out across your large mattress. A year of sharing a bed with Marcus, though, and you feel unsettled without him.

The display on your sunrise alarm clock reads 1.30am when your phone lights up with a message.

You still awake? x

Your fingertips tap out a swift response.

Very much so. x

You settle yourself and your phone as the call comes through. A moment of connection, and there he is: Marcus. Your Marcus, looking so very distinguished with his wavy, silver-streaked hair, warm eyes, and mischievous, boyish smile. He breaks into a wide grin as you appear on the screen.

“There you are, baby.”

"Here I am, love. How are you doing?” You cast a glimpse over the schlubby old FBI t-shirt he sometimes wears lounging around the house. “Are you in bed already?”

Marcus groans and rolls his eyes. “Yup, pretty much. I’m so tired, the clients all want to start at the crack of dawn. Why are they all so obsessed with breakfast meetings here?”

You chuckle. “Sweet man, you’ve become Europeanised.”

"I mean, you do have the better coffee.” He props himself up, resting his chin on his hand. “I miss you so fucking much. It’s only been three days and I’m going crazy.”

"I miss you, too. But what is it - tonight, and then two more nights? And then you’re all mine again.”

Marcus’s chocolate-brown eyes soften as he smiles softly, taking you in. “God, I can’t wait. Fuck, you look so good. Is that the, uh… that nightdress?”

You preen a little for the camera, innocently moving your body ever so slightly. You’re confident that he’s now got an even clearer picture of your tits, nestled in the burgundy lace of your - and his - favourite strappy chemise. 

“This old thing?”

He shakes his head and bites his lower lip, grinning. “You are a tease. You know exactly what you’re doing.”

"And what am I doing, Dr Pike? Use all that agent training, tell me. Decipher me.”

He licks his lips. “You’re showing off your beautiful tits, knowing perfectly well I can’t stand not being able to touch them right now.”

You keep eye contact but trail a finger along the soft line of your cleavage, slipping it under the lace to flick gently over your nipple. All the way across the Atlantic, Marcus groans on his DC hotel room bed.

"Oh, I see. You liked that, hmmm?”

He nods. “You know I liked it, baby. Fuck, you are gorgeous, you know? Just…perfect.”

You notice his right arm moving a little, working at something off-screen. 

“Are you hard, darling? Are you touching your cock?”

"Mmmm. Yeah, just - just through my shorts.” His gaze flits from your tits to your eyes and back, his breath a little laboured. “You turn me on so much, feel like I’m going crazy.”

“Will you jerk off for me, Marcus? Let me see how hard I make you. Please.” With a flutter of your eyelids you slip down the spaghetti straps of your chemise to reveal your breasts, nipples hard and soft flesh spilling over the lace cups.

"Fuck. Oh, fuck. Yes. Hold on -“ He reaches for his phone and angles it just so, so you can see him tugging down the dark grey sweat shorts and his hard, thick cock springing free against his tummy. He wraps his right hand around it, gently pulling back the foreskin to reveal the head already weeping with pre-come. 

Now it’s your turn to whine as your pussy clenches around nothing, reacting to the sight of his cock ready and waiting and so far away. Marcus grins as he continues to stroke himself.

"Think you need to play with your pussy, too.”

You nod and slip a hand between your legs, gathering some of your growing wetness and displaying it to him on your fingers. “See how much I miss you, love?”

He speeds up a little, fucking into his fist and never taking his eyes off you. “Fuck, I wish my mouth was on that pretty little cunt of yours. Wish I was eating you out right now, baby.”

"And I wish I had your gorgeous, hard cock in my mouth, darling.” You start to rub harder, insistent circles over your swollen clit and moan as you listen to the sound of your boyfriend jerking off. 

He moans and closes his eyes. “Talk to me. Tell me, what would you do?” 

“I’d use my tongue - lick the shaft, first, the way you like it.” The sound of your wetness is lewd and arousing. “Then - oh, fuck - take you into my mouth, suck the head, stroke you with my hand…”

Marcus pauses to spit into his hand, a poor substitute for the lubrication offered by your slick. “Keep going. Keep fucking going, love.”

“Fuck, I wish I had that gorgeous cock inside me.” You slip a finger inside your pussy and whine at the sensation as you press on the sensitive spot he knows exactly how to work. “M’finger is nothing, need you.”

Marcus pants as he continues to stroke his cock, and pulls up his t-shirt to expose his belly. He’s getting close. “Wish I was fucking you, too. Feeling - oh, fuck - all of you on my cock, pulling out and…” He screws up his face and groans and your cunt aches for him. “Fuck, I want to come on your tits.”

Your free hand finds your breast as you continue to rut against your hand, fingers pinching the nipple and massaging the flesh. It’s your Marcus. He deserves a show, and you’re only too happy to deliver. He grunts and groans, never taking his eyes off you. 

“I’m really close, Marcus.” Your hips buck upward as you near your peak. “I’m gonna come for you - fuck, gonna -“

He strokes himself furiously, desperately, as he watches you reach orgasm - and talks you through it.

"Jesus, look at you. Coming on your own hand - oh, fuck - getting yourself off for me. Good girl. Good - fuck, gonna come - fucking good girl.”

He comes hard, angling his cock so that the white, viscous come hits his bare tummy. Your cunt still aches for him. 

“I wish I was there to clean you up, Marcus.”

He chuckles and lies back on the pillows, curls damp with sweat and a huge smile on his face. He grabs his phone so you can see him. “Right back at you. Bet you’re so wet now, huh?”

“Soaked.”

“Fuck. Hope you’re ready for when I come home, baby.”

In the early morning, your sleeping form rests peacefully in your large bed, an arm cuddling a pillow to your torso for comfort. When you’d set your alarm the night before, you reminded yourself that you just had two more nights before he was home again. 

Two more nights. Two more sleeps. And then: him. Him. Only him. 

A shifting weight on the mattress stirs you, still halfway between waking and slumber. In the hazy half-light, you turn your head and find a beautiful, familiar sight. 

“Hi, baby.”

“M-Marcus? What are you - did I get my dates wrong? I thought you were back tomorrow…”

“I was supposed to be,” he says softly, pressing a kiss to your shoulder. “and I took an earlier flight because I just missed you so much. Hey - is that my shirt?”

You nod, turning your body wholly towards him and nuzzling against him. “It is. Your Georgetown T-shirt, I just - it feels like you.” He pulls you close and kisses the top of your head. “Marcus - what about the work?”

He hums happily. “The clients were happy, and there isn’t much more to do that I can’t do from here.” 

He moves his lips to your neck, softly nipping and licking the delicate skin as his big hands work their way under the T-shirt and up to your breasts. 

“I have been thinking about this the whole way home.”

You giggle. “Oh really? And you were able to keep yourself under control?”

Marcus kisses you on the mouth as he nods, fingers kneading your tits. “My self-discipline was tested, I admit, but oh, fuck, baby…”

Your hands are on his crotch, feeling the growing hardness under the grey sweatpants he likes to wear on long-distance flights. You lean into his ear as you tug down the sweats and his boxers, taking his cock in your hand. 

“Why don’t you see if I’m still wet from the other night?”

With a groan, Marcus slips his hand between your legs and finds the wetness already pooling at your core. “Pretty fucking wet, baby.” He sucks his fingers clean of your slick before shucking off his sweatshirt and tee.

“Good.” You sit up and quickly straddle him, his thighs between yours as you peel off the old T-shirt so you’re completely bare for him. “I’m going to make you feel so good, darling man.”

You gather some of your own slick across your palm and fingers before taking his cock in your hand, stroking the velvet skin of the shaft and gently bringing your palm over the head in a fluid motion that you know drives him wild. Marcus watches your hands as you pleasure him, little animalistic noises issuing forth from his beautiful mouth as he grows ever harder under your practiced touch. 

“Do you want me?”

He nods furiously and you lift yourself up to shift forward, notching the head of his cock at your entrance. 

“Tell me, Marcus.”

"Need you so fucking bad, baby. Please.”

You take him inside you in one stroke, your wetness easing his thick cock into the tightness of your pussy. Marcus cries out as you begin to ride him, hands pressed into his broad chest. 

“Better than the phone sex, huh?”

“Oh, fuck yeah,” you hiss, hips rolling in a well-established rhythm as you fuck him. “Liked watching you jerk off to me, though.”

"Me too, baby.” Marcus grips your hips and grins as he admires you: your body, your curves, the way you’re letting yourself go as you ride his cock. You bite your lip and roll back your head, lost in the sensation of how your man stretches and fills you so perfectly.

When you slip a finger against your clit, he practically growls, meeting your rhythm as he starts to fuck up into you.

“‘M not gonna last, baby,” he pants, fingers pressing into the flesh of your hips and ass. 

“You want to come on my tits, like you said?”

His desperate nod is your cue to lift yourself off his cock, glistening with your slick and his pre-come, and shuffle down the bed a little. You press your breasts together as Marcus wraps his broad hand around his cock and pumps it quickly. 

“Fuck, your tits are pretty. So fucking soft and perfect and -“

He stutters and cries out as he comes, his release hitting your breasts and gathering on the hard peaks of your nipples. 

You gather some of it up on your finger and suck it clean. 

“Jesus, baby. That’s so fucking hot.” 

You release your finger with a pop. “Thank you, love. Can you get me a cloth?”

He wanders off and returns with a washcloth, gently cleaning your body and his cock before returning it to the bathroom. By the time he gets back, you’re tucked under the covers again. He grins as he joins you, pulling your naked body to his. 

“Missed you.” You wind an errant, silver-streaked curl around your finger. “It feels like there’s something missing when you’re not here.”

Marcus kisses your forehead and you nuzzle up against his chest. “Don’t I know it? I felt exactly the same in DC, wondering where you were. Missed going to sleep beside you, waking up with you.”

You chuckle against the warm, sweat-damp skin of his chest, pressing your lips to the freckles dusted across his golden body. “And fucking me.”

He laughs, and the sound makes your heart soar. “That, too. But trust me - I’ll make it up to you.”

"Oh you will, huh?”

His coffee-brown eyes are as sincere and honest as ever. “Always and forever. Even with jet lag.”

dividers by @cafekitsune

[olivia-anderson-fanfic]

Dancing 'til the Break of Dawn - Pt 18

<Pt17

(TWST Zombie apocalypse AU where Yuu beast tames just a little too close to the sun)

Yuu tipped his head back to rest against Deuce’s chest, solely for the sake of glaring at his friend as if he had wronged him. Because he had.

“Let me –,” his voice cut off with a hiss as a suture needle slipped beneath his skin again. “Go.”

Deuce, hesitantly, placed his head atop Yuu’s. “Not happening.”

Hm. This was not working.

He turned his glare onto Ace. Who looked even less repentant.

What the fuck.

“Maybe next time don’t rip your stitches open and we won’t have to do this again.”

Yuu’s mouth dropped open in offense.

And then snapped closed once again with an audible click when Ace added another stitch to his shoulder.

Yuu sulked as Ace tended to his wound. His arms and legs had been pinned by Deuce. The only weapon he had left was his mouth. He was sorely tempted to try and bite Deuce to make him let go. But he felt like playing with someone’s zombie-related trauma would probably not be a particularly nice thing to do.

So, he just had to grit his teeth and bear it.

“Your fault you’re our friend,” Ace said. “Deal with the consequences of making people care about your wellbeing.”

The second Yuu was let go, he punched Ace in the shoulder.

Considering he was suffering from blood loss (again, because his life was terrible), his punch didn’t do much damage, unfortunately.

Physically, at least. The emotional damage was immense, judging by the look on Ace’s face.

“The hell was that for?!”

“How ‘m I supposed to be mad at you when you’re being nice?!” Yuu said.

“Have you tried not being mad at people who are trying to help you?” suggested Deuce.

Yuu had not. But now that he had been forced to consider it, he would like to rate that option a 0/10.

Ace collapsed against Yuu’s chest, pressing him right back into Deuce. Deuce tried to hold the three of them up, since laying out flat on a floor probably wouldn’t be great for their bodies, but Ace seemed determined. So, reluctantly, Deuce slowly laid back, allowing the three of them to laze on the floor.

After the day they’d had, they deserved better than a quick nap in the relative safety of a random (thankfully long-empty) dumpster, but it was the apocalypse, so they made do.

Deuce still made sure to only rest his head on his arms, never letting his face actually come in contact with the grime, because they had some standards.

Yuu sighed as he settled back against Deuce, winding his good arm around Ace’s back, hugging him close.

“Think you’re bad luck, Yuu,” Ace said, his voice muffled in the fabric of Yuu’s shirt. “Your bad karma is infecting us or something. My life was actually reaching a kind of ‘normal’ until you showed up.”

“You were killin’ and eatin’ people.”

(He still was, technically, but Yuu wasn’t the type to ruin his own argument.)

“I said kind of,” Ace pointed out.

Yuu supposed that was true.

He sighed. “I think the bad luck is ‘cause the universe doesn’t like Deuce’s ugly green hair.”

Deuce spluttered. “Why am I catching strays?!”

“You’re right, we need to dye his hair blue,” Ace ignored him.

Deuce groaned. “Shouldn’t I dye it black again and then let it fade?”

Ace and Yuu were silent. They tried to imagine Deuce with black hair.

It felt wrong.

“No,” they said in unison.

~

Yuu was silent as they neared his old apartment building.

It was unrecognizable. Mostly because the place had been lit on fire, at some point, leaving it a mere ghost of what it had once been.

“... so, this is where you grew up?” Ace asked, more gentle than Yuu had ever heard him.

Yuu nodded, shortly, his lips pressing into a thin line.

“Do you want to see if anything’s… survived?”

He was never going back in there again.

Yuu’s lips twitched into a wry grin. “Nothing did.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yep,” Yuu said, shrugging. And then grimacing when the movement pulled at his new stitches. Maybe that was why he sounded a bit more bitter than he had intended when he said, “Where do you think the fire started?”

Ace and Deuce stopped cold.

Yuu was happy to slow as well. He looked up at his old apartment. Zombies were crowded at the window, pressed up against the glass. Even if, somehow, something had survived despite all of the cooking oil Yuu had used to ensure the place went up in flames, the zombies wouldn’t part with it.

After a moment, Deuce sighed. “There goes our only way of figuring out your last name…”

Yuu raised an eyebrow. “Does it really bother you that much?”

“Does it really surprise you we want to know about our friend?” Deuce countered.

Yuu’s eyes flicked away. To Grim, more on instinct than anything. Grim wasn’t looking back at him, though. The zombie had been somewhat quiet, ever since the day with the furries. Not that the cat was exactly talkative before, of course, Grim was a cat, but he felt more… distant.

Yuu tried not to be hurt by the fact that the zombie was, apparently, completely fine with using a zombie to talk with some random furry cultists but not him.

He swallowed thickly.

“Shimura,” he said – whispered, really.

“Huh?” said Ace.

“Yuu Shimura,” he said, hugging himself, awkwardly. “That’s my full name. Don’t – don’t call me that, though… I’m not really a Shimura, anymore. Hard to have a family name when they’re all gone, y’know?”

There was a beat of silence.

Ace and Deuce looked at each other, unsure.

“They’re still your family, even if they’re not here anymore,” Deuce said.

Yuu laughed. “I’d love to say that’s true, but I really don’t think that they’d agree, if they could hear you right now.”

He watched the two of them mull this over information. Wondered, absently, what conclusions they were going to come to.

“Did –?” Deuce started, his face screwing up in blatant discomfort. “Did they disown you? ‘Cause you’re – like –...?”

He, exaggeratedly, put one of his hands in front of himself, and then let his hand flop.

Let his wrist go limp…

(Grim looked confused.)

Yuu choked on nothing. “What?”

“‘Cause if they did, that’s really messed up of them,” Deuce continued, gaining steam. “And, frankly, they shouldn’t be disowning you, you should be disowning them for being fucking bigots!”

Yuu stared at him.

Slowly, he turned his head to look at Ace, instead, to confirm that he was actually hearing things correctly.

Was Deuce really implying that Yuu’s family would dislike him because he was gay?

Ace tripped over air, and hit the ground on his hands and knees.

This was what broke the two teens.

Ace and Yuu laughed at their well-intentioned friend.

(Yuu wasn’t sure whether Deuce had done it on purpose. Whether this was a genuine mistake or if he was just trying to lighten the mood. But, as he watched the teen’s expression soften briefly at the sight of his two friends laughing their asses off on the asphalt, before screwing up in false indignation… well, Yuu might not be a Shimura anymore, and he knew it was perhaps wrong of him to allow himself the thought…

But, perhaps, he had some people to call his after all.)

~

They all squinted at a tall, barbed-wire fence. No one remembered it being there before, and Yuu was a little worried that he must have gotten lost, but…

“Hey, Deuce?” Ace said, eyeing the wire. “Think your bat could use an upgrade?”

The answer was a resounding ‘Yes, but…’

You see, getting your hands on good gloves during the apocalypse isn’t particularly easy.

And barbed wire is sharp. Obviously. That was why they wanted it.

It made it hard to collect, though.

In the end, Yuu’s shirt was chosen as a sacrifice. Yuu, reluctantly, pulled it over his head, watching as Deuce wound the fabric around his hands a couple of times before pulling at the barbed wire.

This made sense. His shirt was still covered in blood from the time he’d popped his stitches. He needed a new one, anyway.

But it was cold out, okay? Autumn was upon them, and he liked not being a popsicle!

Yuu watched as his sweater was steadily torn to threads, sulking all the while. It would make his friend become a more fearsome foe, and it might be the difference between life and death.

However, if he froze before they ever came upon a murderer, then it wouldn’t do Yuu much good, now, would it?!

~

Yuu absently picked through the coats. He had already obtained a new sweater, but with Winter steadily approaching it was best to grab something heavier as well…

He picked up a trenchcoat. “Hey, Ace, this’ll be perfect for you.”

“What?! Come on, man, only creeps wear trenchcoats.”

“Exactly,” said Deuce, not looking up from where he was eyeing two different scarves, squinting into a cracked mirror as he hugged them both close, trying to figure out which one matched his outfit better.

Yuu snickered. “See? Deuce agrees. If we ever see some children, you can go up to them and be all: Hey, kids, do you want some knives?”

“You’re being stupid,” Ace said.

Yuu pouted.

“... like I’d ever give kids some of my knives…” Ace added, under his breath.

Unfortunately for him, Deuce and Yuu had heard, and couldn’t help but laugh at him.

(Not that they’d tried that hard to keep quiet, of course.)

Ace flushed red and grabbed the nearest purple object, chucking it at Yuu. “We’re done here! Let’s go!”

Yuu, still giggling a little, ran his fingers along the lining of the jacket and decided it was soft enough.

The faux fur hood was a little tasteless, though.

Yuu, quietly, took one of Ace’s knives to it as they walked, carefully carving up the jacket, until the fur lay in little tufts all over the roads, quick to be blown away by the wind. This was, probably, littering, but there were worse things in the street than tiny strips of plastic, and it wasn’t as if there were any cops around to arrest him for it, so he found he didn’t care.

And, besides, where else would he put the fur? A trash can? Where?

If someone had a problem with it, Yuu would sic Ace on them.

He lifted the jacket for a second, squinting at his handiwork.

The lines were jagged, and the jacket kind of looked ugly now, but at least his neck was no longer at risk of being itchy (the worst thing a neck could be… save for being severed from the rest of your body, Yuu supposed).

No, the only furry thing allowed to settle around the back of his neck was Grim.

~

It took a few weeks – and a lot more guesswork than Yuu would ever admit to his friends – but slowly the streets became more familiar.

The convenience store came into view.

Ace rushed up to the window, pressing a kiss to the glass.

And then he cringed. Because you really shouldn’t put your mouth on anything during the apocalypse.

Yuu grinned. “How does it feel, seeing your beloved again?”

Ace turned and nearly tackled Yuu, wrapping his arms around him tight enough to make breathing just a little more difficult than Yuu would usually prefer.

But he could bear it, for a while.

“Thanks,” mumbled Ace.

Yuu hummed a little in acknowledgment.

And then Ace seemed to realize that things were getting just a little too genuine, because he drew back quickly, plastering a wide grin on his face. “I could kiss you right now, y’know!”

(Grim’s eyes narrowed.)

“Wow! Don’t!” said Yuu, in the exact same too-cheery tone.

“Yeah, don’t,” Deuce said, miming a gag.

“Wowwwww, I can’t believe you’re homophobic, Deuce,” Yuu said, immediately turning on Deuce for no reason outside of thinking it was funny.

Deuce crossed his arms over his chest, entirely unamused. “I’m an ally, thank you very much.”

“... ally?” Ace said.

Deuce just nodded, clearly confused as to why Ace had caught on the word.

Ace and Yuu, however, exchanged wide-eyed looks.

Did he not know?

HOW?!

They weren’t qualified to deal with a sexuality crisis.

But whatever. It was the apocalypse. It wasn’t like Deuce was going to find someone he was into anytime soon.

… and, even if he did, Ace could just kill them. Problem solved.

~

“So, wait,” Ace said, slowly. Yuu, who had been about to fall asleep, regretfully opened his eyes. Which was useless, as it was completely dark in the store at this time of night. As always. Still, he looked down at the weight on his chest, since he was pretty sure that that was where Ace was.

And then he realized that Ace couldn’t see him, either, so he gave a small hum to say he was awake.

Deuce did, too, belatedly. The copycat.

“Shimura. Shi… mura…”

Ah, the other reason why Yuu was reluctant to reveal his last name.

"I don't hear a difference," Ace said, 'innocently', because he was a terrible human being. This is, probably, why most people don't make friends with cannibals.

“Don’t do this,” Yuu groaned. “You know it’s Shi as in 種, not as in 死.” “... your name is… death… community,” Deuce caught on. “Your name… is actually Yuu Zombie, holy shit –!”

~~~~~

Pt19>

[howtodrawyourdragon]

Forbidden Relations

Summary: Written for Kinktober 2023 Day 5. Set during RttE’s Gold Rush. Viggo has Hiccup pinned against the wall, but the situation isn’t as dire as it seems.

Warning: Sexual themes

Rating: Mature

Characters: Hiccup, Viggo

Pairing: Vigcup

Words: 1 078

Fandom: How to Train Your Dragon, Race To The Edge

Prompt: Against the wall

Author’s Notes: Thought this was the perfect prompt to apply to Vigcup. This one-shot still takes place quite early in their relationship.

Enjoy!

XOXOX

On a quest to get Berk’s gold back, Hiccup and some of the other Dragon Riders got captured by the Hunters, their leader falling directly into the hands of Viggo Grimborn himself. Ryker left them alone, completely handing the young man over to his younger brother, and that’s when a fight of sorts broke out between them.

Viggo doesn’t make it a habit to get physical, preferring to wage war with his mind, but he does get physical that day. He already got Hiccup’s pauldrons off and the seams on the left side of his chest piece are tearing.

And then Hiccup finds himself pinned against the wall, panting with his lips feeling as if they’re bruising.

“I told you,” he struggles for air. “Not now. Not here! What if Ryker comes back in?!”

“While Ryker is my brother, I am still his superior. When I tell him to mind his business, he will,” though Viggo reassures him, Hiccup doesn’t know how well that works. What if Ryker decides he’s done listening to him?

While he still worries, Viggo gets right back on track, diving down to kiss and suck on the side of Hiccup’s throat. He has to bite back a moan. Not just because of what’s being done to his throat.

Viggo is so forward, driven by the time pressure. While his mouth feasts on Hiccup’s throat, his hand holds a knife with which he tears at the seams of his chest armor. The quicker he can get his young adversary’s clothes off, the sooner they can get to it.

“Viggo, I still don’t-” Hiccup shuts up, his eyes growing wide. Viggo has lifted his left leg to wrap around his middle, forcing him to throw his arms around him to keep steady, and then settled between his leg. He can feel it pressing against him, just one layer keeping them apart.

This is his first taste of Viggo’s manhood, his very first. Hiccup wasn’t sure what to expect before this, but the shape he feels is long and thick and barely contained within his trousers.

Cheeks heating at the feeling, Hiccup gives a cautious glance downwards, but only finds the other’s long clothes bunching up. This cop of feel isn’t an accident.

Viggo pulls away just enough to cut through those final seams of Hiccup’s chest piece on his shoulder and it falls away, thrown to the floor.

“You know… I don’t- I don’t know if I can take that,” he moans. In response, Viggo grinds up on him. He can’t see the smugness on his partner’s features.

“Oh, please, no!” Hiccup protests as jolts of pleasure shoot up his core. It’s so big. Are penises supposed to be that big? He’s always been anxious about going all the way with his nemesis for a variety of reasons, but now he’s even less certain.

He doesn’t want to be caught by Ryker or any of his Dragon Riders. He’s not even sure about his own feelings while Viggo has already decided what he wanted from him long ago.

He can’t deny that all of this is making him hot between his legs. Being pinned to the wall, the red marks and blue bruises made on his skin, his clothes torn from his person, the wide girth teasing yet making promises to him at the same time. And then there is, of course, the rush in getting right to it.

A part of him wants Viggo, wants all of what he intends to do to him really badly, but the biggest part of him is afraid that he might not be ready yet. It’s a big step with a lot of consequences and the Dragon Riders are still at war with the Hunters.

As if able to sense his doubts, Viggo pulls away just enough to be able to look him in the eye, their faces barely an inch apart. His pupils are blown just as much as Hiccup’s are, their hearts racing.

“Don’t worry so much, my Dear. Everything will be alright,” he tells him in a buttery smooth voice and kisses him. Hiccup returns it, eyes closing and arms pulling Viggo closer with a hand on the back of his head. He fully gives himself to the kiss.

He moans into it, Viggo dares a grunt. He’s dismayed with the lack of time, he wants to have Hiccup all to himself for hours and hours. He would’ve prefered that. Instead of having him pinned against a wall, he would have him in his bed. Undressing him slowly, his lips tracing every inch of skin laid bare to him. Taking him as many times as he desired with Hiccup under him, unable to escape the pleasure he would hold him with. He would keep him from finishing, quite liking the idea of making him unravel before he would let him reach his climax.

But unfortunately, a quick taste would have to do. He hungers too much for him and can’t wait another day to have him.

His hands go a step further. While his body keeps Hiccup in place and their tongues keeps him distracted, one hand goes up his tunic, gliding over his taut abdomen. The other dives down his leather pants, finding something to squeeze.

“Wait-” Hiccup breaks the kiss.

A second later they’re both thrown by a blast to the ship. Viggo lands on his back with a grunt, Hiccup on top. The older man has his arms wrapped around the younger one. Their eyes meet and Hiccup realizes that he was keeping him safe.

“I… I have to go,” it’s all he can manage to say. His emotions are in conflict with one another, but he needs to return to his Dragon Riders. They have no idea what’s happening to their leader right now and he can imagine that their heads must be swimming with the most terrible of scenarios.

They have no idea about… this.

Viggo’s arms loosen around him quietly. His expression is unreadable, but maybe Hiccup can see a hint of disappointment there.

Another blast shakes the ship.

“I’ll- uh… I’ll be back, I guess,” he tells him. They’re still enemies, they’re still at war, they’ll see each other on the battlefield again.

And to not leave Viggo with nothing, he plants his lips on his in a tender goodbye kiss. And then he’s off, passing Ryker in the doorway as they each rush towards their respective families.

[fandomlovingfreak]

Welcome to Hawkins (3/?)

Eddie Munson x F!Reader

one two four

Rating: SFW (no lemon)

Includes: Friends to Lovers, Alternate Universe where Eddie & reader are around 24 (it’s still 1986 though) and Eddie isn’t from Hawkins, Fake/pretend relationship, begging to go along with a crazy plan, best friends, the proposal AU (loosely based!), meeting the parents.

Word Count: 1508

MasterList Link I AO3 Link I Wattpad Link

Summary: When you slip up and tell your mom you’d be bringing your “serious boyfriend” home for your week-long family reunion, who else would you turn to but your best friend, Eddie?

AU that’s loosely based on “the proposal”  (aka I rewatched and am obsessed w Eddie Munson rn) Eddie is NOT from Hawkins in this fic!

Disclaimer: I do not own Eddie Munson or the Stranger Things universe. This work has not been created for profit or financial compensation, and is a transformative fair use work in accordance with Section 107 of the United States Copyright Act.

Notes: You should know I am trapped in 2010 and like writing stories using y/n and other variations of y/n. It’s just so! It makes them easier to write for a wider range of people (I try to be inclusive as possible with physical feature descriptors being almost completely omitted from my fics! Always ALWAYS tell me if I slip up and I will fix it)

SO you need to know these little ‘codes’ for this fic: y/ln = your last name, y/mn = your mothers name, y/dm = your dad’s name

Enjoy

"What's my favorite color?" 

Eddie makes a face, "Why would anyone ask me what your favorite color is?"

"I don't know! But what if it came up and you didn't know?" 

Rolling his eyes, he switches lanes, speeding past a silver Honda. The middle-aged woman driving glares at us as we pass her.

"Fine, I dunno... green?"

"No! How don't you know my favorite color?" 

A small smile tugs on his lips, "I don't think you've ever told me your favorite color, (y/n)."

"I know yours!"

"Yeah, sure."

"Blue," I cross my arms over my chest. 

He's silent for a moment, "How could you possibly know that?"

"Because I pay attention, dummy."

He makes an exasperated sound, "Do you want to get lunch soon?"

"Sure. There's a diner about half a mile from here."

We drive in comfortable silence until Dawn's Diner's exit sign comes into view.

"This place?" Eddie glances over at me.

"Is there something wrong, Edward?"

The corner of his lips jumps, but he doesn't reply, signaling to turn off the highway.

As usual, Dawn's Diner isn't busy. The locals and a few stragglers off the highway sit in booths and at the counter, eating cheeseburgers and other greasy All-American meals.

"(y/n)!" the hostess, Marcy, yells from behind the counter.

"Hi!" I beam back at her. 

"I'll get your shake--" Marcy drifts off, her eyes focused behind me, "Is this guy bothering you?"

I frown, turning slightly. Eddie blinks back at me, "Oh, no. Marcy, this is my... boyfriend, Eddie." May as well treat this as a trial of sorts.

Marcy's expression instantly flips back to her sunny smile, "My apologies. Occasionally, we have characters come in here after girls. I'm Marcy," she steps forward, extending her hand towards Eddie.

"Uh-- Eddie," he replies with an uncomfortable smile.

Marcy leads us to my usual table, setting a menu down in front of Eddie.

"What, do you not eat or something?" Eddie teases when Marcy leaves after taking our drink order.

"She knows my order. I come here every time I drive home," I grin.

He holds the menu up in front of his face, muttering, "Of course you do."

Marcy comes back minutes later, taking Eddie's order. "Ray's already got yours started, sweetheart," she grins at me before heading back into the kitchen.

Ten minutes later, she comes out with our food. I hadn't realized how hungry I was till my favorite, a cheeseburger with extra pickles, was placed in front of me. The first bite, always the best bite, is perfect per usual. Ray was a flippin' god behind the grill.

"So, is there anything else I should know before we get to your parents?" Eddie asks after a moment spent inhaling our food. 

I contemplate the question before nodding, "My dad's a 'man's man'."

Eddie groans, "Of course he is."

"Yeah, so he might try to talk to you about last night's baseball game or something like that," I grin, "I'll try to explain that you're a wimp who doesn't know the difference between a home run and a touchdown, but I can't guarantee he won't try to get you involved in a conversation."

He plucks a fry from my plate, shoving it into his mouth before I can protest, "Your dad's going to hate me, isn't he?" He grins widely, chewing the fry with his mouth open.

"My mom's going to if you don't chew with your mouth shut."

"You're such a square."

"And you're supposed to be playing my perfect square boyfriend, so..."

Eddie rolls his eyes, "I'm a great actor."

I laugh behind my hand, "Oh, I'm aware."

***

"You weren't kidding," Eddie leans over the steering wheel as we wait at a red light, "This really is small-town America."

"Oh please," I roll my eyes, "You're from the Midwest. Let's not pretend you weren't expecting exactly this."

Eddie chuckles, "Fair. Do I turn here?"

I shake my head, "No, it's one street down from here, and then you take another right after."

I'm flooded with memories as I look outside my window. Nothing ever changes in Hawkins, which is comforting but a large reason I didn't move back to Hawkins after graduation like most of my classmates. I loved my family, but I couldn't imagine spending my entire life in this sleepy town.

"(y/n)," Eddie snaps his fingers in front of my face.

"Yeah?"

"Where'd you go? I was asking you which house it is."

Shuffling in my seat, I look around, "Two down on the left."

Eddie kills the engine, turning to look at me, "So..."

"Why am I so nervous?" A smile creeps up on my face, "It's not like we're actually dating... I shouldn't be nervous for you to meet them."

"Two months from now, we'll 'break up' and your family, feeling horrible because your oh-so-perfect boyfriend broke your heart, they'll feel so bad they won't bother you for a long time."

I snort, "That's not the story I'm telling, Eddie Munson."

A grin spreads across his face, "You're right. They wouldn't believe that."

Tap! Tap! Tap!

Turning, I see my mother waving from outside. Whatever she's saying is muffled by the glass between us, but I know it's along the lines of "you're here!"

Momentarily, I turn back towards Eddie, "Well... Here goes nothing."

The moment the door is open, Mom's got her arms around my neck, "I've been waiting all morning for you! You're an hour late!"

"Hi, Mom," I laugh, maneuvering us out so I can properly hug her, "We stopped for lunch, sorry. I thought about calling--"

"Never mind that," she still has her arms wrapped around me, "I'm just so happy you're here. Gam Gam's been talking about the party non-stop for weeks."

"(y/n)," my father walks down the stone pathway.

"Hi, Dad," I say from around mom.

Mom finally pulls away from my body, "Let me look at you. It's been--"

"Like four months. Nothing is new," I laugh.

"I wouldn't say nothing is new..." She's grinning, her eyes flitting to Eddie standing on the other side of the car.

"Oh--" I don't exactly know how I'm supposed to do this. Everything is starting to feel real, despite being so very fake.

Lucky for me, Eddie takes the initiative in the situation. Coming to stand at my side, he snakes his arm around my waist, pulling me slightly towards his side.

"Eddie Munson, ma'am."

I beam up at him before looking back at my parents. My mom's still got that wide grin on her face; My dad, on the other hand, doesn't look as enthused.

"I hope you don't mind, but I'm a hugger," Mom says, pulling Eddie into a warm hug, "I'm so pleased to meet you, Eddie."

Eddie's eyes widen; he's frozen in place for a moment before awkwardly hugging her back, "Oh, uh-- it's nice to meet you too, Mrs. (y/ln)."

Mom pulls away, smiling, "Call me (y/mn)."

Father, who has stood a few feet back during the introduction, steps forward, holding his hand out, "Mr. (y/ln) will do." 

This is the moment of truth, my father being a stickler for a good handshake. Crap, I hadn't even thought to warn Eddie about this. Steve was the last of my boyfriends to meet my parents, and I knew my father loved Steve. Probably still loved Steve. He always said Steve had a good handshake, a sign of a man. 

I found that to be a ridiculous way to measure masculinity, but if that's how he felt, that's how he felt.

"Yes, sir," Eddie shakes his hand. Father doesn't look displeased. A moment of respect flashes across his face before his expression turns neutral.

"Well, why don't we get inside? I know you ate lunch already, but we've stocked the fridge--" Mom prattles on as we follow my parents back up the stone pathway to the front door.

"That would be great, (y/mn)," Eddie looks around our foyer. The neat family photos stylistically placed on the walls catch his attention. He inspects one from my third birthday; my parents crouched next to me as I blew out the candles on a pink frosted cake.

"I see where (y/n) gets her looks from, (y/mn). I would've guessed this was (y/n) as an adult." He points to the picture.

Mom waves a hand in his direction, looking positively tickled by the comment, "You're too sweet."

"You're laying it on pretty thick," I whisper to him as we follow my parents into the living room.

He squeezes my hip, "I'm playing the part you wanted me to."

"What are you two whispering about?" Mom asks, turning to smile. Always acting the part of the perfect host.

"Oh-- Eddie just wanted to know where you bought the couch from, and I told him we're a Sears family."

My parents give each other a look but don't press.

"Good one, genius," Eddie whispers in my ear, his long hair tickling my cheek.

I shove my elbow into his ribs, grumbling, "Shut it, Munson."

[grogusmum]

At Sea

A Seven Tears One-Shot

SELKIE!EZRA X F!READER

RATED: EXPLICIT 18+

W/C 1200ish

WARNING: PiV sex in the ocean, rough sex, biting, feral Ezra, selkie Ezra, yes, he will always require his own warning. Set in Ireland, reader is undescribed physically.

As always see something say something. Message me in my DMs and I'll add it.

A/N: Set before Swept Away somewhere between part 2 and 4 no new revelations on the plot of the main story, so if smut is not your thing, you will not be missing anything. I'm still new to writing smut, not 100% sure how this came out. But I am yeeting it into the void and running!

(Happy birthday Adira! Have a smut💚)

4/8/23 did some editing, mostly some typos and grammar issues found.

A stóirín little treasure 

Is tú mo stóirín you are my little treasure

Grá Geal Mo Chroí shining or bright love of my heart

You have never made love in the ocean. The exhilaration, from both the water and the side of Ezra it seems to bring out of him, is unlike anythingyou have ever felt. 

The full moon rises, its glow sparkling over the waves. Ezra holds you right where he wants you, firmly in place against the ocean's pull. One arm around your waist, the other hand holding the back of your neck, as he presses his length into your core. Your eyes locked…

He had warned you, as you walked the stretch of shoreline together hand in hand that night, pebbles crunching underfoot. You told him your fantasy, but the Irish Sea, even in summer, is pretty chilly. Your two previous partners were not very keen. Ezra pulled you to him, settling into his favorite place, the juncture of your neck, his warm breath fanning over it-

"Mo stóirín (mu store -een),” he started, his voice low and rough, “I will happily make this fantasy real for you but I must warn you. Even out of my pelt, you and I in coital bliss at sea…"

Ezra pulled away to look at you. His chin up, hooded eyes downward, watching you closely. His hands ran up and down your sides under your sweater. 

"I dare say it will bring out a carnality in me that I am hesitant about putting on display."

"Do you worry you would hurt me?"

Ezra leveled his eyes with yours-

"I will never cause you harm, moonbeam"

"Then I think I can handle seeing a little of the seal, my love," you smirked.

The greedy desire that spread across Ezra's face might have alarmed someone who did not know him. But you did. You knew he would keep you safe and that he has been holding back. And you welcomed allowing him to let go.

You looked up and down the strand, Ezra was reminded of seeing you swim so long ago. Finding the it free of anyone you pulled off your sweater then your dress. Ezra pulled off his own sweater and undershirt, then while unbuckling his pants, you began to assist him.  You heard a hum like a growl as you free him of the last of his clothes. 

You gave a yelp as he hauled you into the surf. Once deep enough to swim, he circled you, making you feel not unlike prey, and you got the distinct feeling that he plays with his food.

Ezra keeps his eyes on yours, watching for apprehension or pain. 

"I always feel safe with you Ezra, I trust you…"  Ezra presses his forehead to yours, then you let out a moan as he begins to move, he blows air through his nose, bristling his mustache with an animalistic grunt as he sets a frenetic pace, pistoning his hips into your center. Giving the seal the lead.

Your legs wrap around his waist and you hold on to the back of his neck, as he devours you chest, shoulder and neck.

"Sometimes…your pull on me is so strong. You are as the tide. Sometimes. I think I'm drowning in you," you confess, each sentence punctuated with his thrusts and your gasps.

Ezra takes you to shallower waters, the surf is mid-tide and falling. The moon is doing her magic he thinks, there is some danger he must be mindful of. Be careful of the riptide. He must keep his precious pearl safe. 

He brings you to the shoreline where the waves crash, he blocks most of its force from you, wide and solid digging his feet in the peebles and sand for purchase. 

“Mo stóirín, you smell…” Ezras noses your neck, chest, and lower when the water rolls back revealing more of you. "Ripe."

Your hands go into his wet curls, as he rubs his nose and cheek up your torso and brings your hardened nipple into his warm mouth. The cold of the ocean and the heat of his mouth, the heat he is building at your core is overwhelming and almost disorienting. His tongue plays with the sensitive bud and he gives an experimental nip. Your eyes roll as your back arches, pressing your breasts into him. 

The pebbles rolled soft and round by the churn of the ocean shift under you.

“Is tú mo stóirín (Iss too mu stor-een), grá geal mo chroí (Graw gee-yal mu kree)," Ezra croons his poetry while he still has you tight in his arms as he ruts into you. His nips become bites, though he lavs over them with his tongue. When you whine at the feeling, he snarls possessively.

Suddenly he flips you with almost alarming strength and ease onto your stomach, bringing your hips up and with the crash of a wave he sheaths himself into you once more. The squeal of his name sends him into a frenzy.

 Ezra pulls you upright again, your back pressing against his broad chest. One arm tight across your chest, and the other between your legs. He slaps the bundle of nerves there and you gasp his name in surprised pleasure, as you tighten around him. He continues his assault with deft fingers pressing quick circles as he coos-

“You can do better than that, my pearl. Cry my name for the heavens to hear.”

The waves crash, his hands move to your hips with an arduous grip, and he brings them to him hard and fast. Slamming you into his pelvis. He spills into you with a near roar, and with it what feels like a spring, coiled tight in your belly finally releases and lights start to pop in front of your eyes.

You cry out his name, blissed out.

“That's it moonbeam, so good for me” he croons in your ear, forehead on your shoulder while grinding slow and deep-

"If I am the ocean, you are the moon. I am ensnared by you, your loveliness, the heart that lives on your sleeve, your love of the sea. You may think it is the other way around but it is I, that is helpless, irreparably caught in your pull, long before a single tear fell. ” 

He slowly pulls out and you whimper at the loss.

“Oh I am not done with you yet, my pearl,” with supreme gentleness he turns you to face him again, setting you on his lap, your thighs caging his hips and you slip together once more. It is slow and languid. The water seems to have calmed some too, playing at your waist, with slow draws, matching the energy of your coupling. He is softening within you, but neither of you wish to separate.

Ezra suckles at you neck and nips your chin, the man is back in full reign, with his insistent but gentle touch-

“Moonbean, how do you fair?”

“I am wonderful, Ezra, exhausted… and probably terribly sore. But wonderful.”

“My shining pearl. A stór. That, I have always known.”

THANK YOU FOR READING! 💚

You can find more of my writing here MASTERLIST and if you would care to be tagged for this or any of my writing fill out my taglist form

[carnal-lnstinct]

Keeping with the SS4 Vegeta fresh in my mind, I am going to make this one about SS4 because I did a SS4 Goku for you ♥

Pairing: Vegeta (SS4) x Female Chubby Reader ( Requested by @the-last-sayan ) Rating: Mature / 18+. Minors DNI Warning: ( explicit language, spanking mentioned )

He's not so different from his normal self, to be honest.

But physical affection is noticeably more present. Not just from his hands, but his tail too. He's a lot more giving with physical touch, but receiving PDA would still ruffle him depending on what it is. Just don't touch his tail in public but actually do it to see him fluster but actually don't if you need to be on your feet the next day

Like Goku, he's not a lecherous man but when those oozaru instincts are in full effect his words are crude and actions bolder than normal when aroused. A lot of manners and his own personal brand of courting you goes out the window, he speaks with curt growls like he's mad at you but he's just frustrated trying not to mount your delicate form at every turn.

He doesn't particularly care that you are chubby, but he is gonna criticize you if you're not eating the healthiest foods regularly.

9/10, unless it's something super sugary and sweet, he's eating everything with you anyways. The more he's come to learn about the nutritional value of earth food, the more he just wants the best for you.

If it's a hereditary thing, then again he's not bothered by your size. Saiyans come in all shapes and sizes, and their strength and/or power more often has nothing to do with their physical size. Just look at him compared to Nappa and Raditz. He's satisfied with your physique as long as you are satisfied with it. But will still get on your ass about eating cheap fast food and sugar. You're his queen for Zeno's sake, eat like one. Order a pizza.

Closeted cuddle bug, no one needs to know except you and he'll deny it to his last breath if you try to use it against him! If you love how warm he feels snuggled up to you, then he's over the moon by how warm you are. There's a big difference between years in a climate-controlled space pod and snuggled up cozy with someone who cares for his well-being. He's completely mellowed out, like an entirely different person. He is the little spoon for days, super saiyan 4 or not. Face buried in the crook of your neck and your chest, and his arm (and tail) wrapped around you.

But if he is in SS4, then his comfort comes with a pleasing vibration from his chest. 10/10 recommend being little spoon for SS4.

Your chest may be his safe space, but your ass and legs are his favorite part. He's always gonna stroke your lower back, ass, and the back of your thighs with his hand or tail.

God forbid you cuddle him when there's a full moon, you're not going to sleep. He's all fired up and ready to tease you. His energy is radiating off his body and purposefully affecting you, compelling you to give in to play with him. You could do anything but sleep with his ki in you.

He's not so much a biter, but a grappler. A spanker, even. Has to pin you down with his hands or whole body, has to squeeze the fullest parts of your flesh and smack your ass with his bare hands. He loves that his large hands can always be filled with you regardless of your position.

But don't worry, he'll still bite you. Tends to drool when he bites onto you. His fangs are sharp enough to break skin, but if he's influenced you with his ki you may barely feel pain, more likely you get a rush of adrenaline knowing he's punctured your skin.

Favorite Positions With You ft. his tail somewhere in the mix: missionary + variations, doggy + variations, leap frog, stand and carry position, cowgirl, spooning/spooning facing, 69

Overall, he's very rational as a Super Saiyan 4, but stroking the base of his tail is gonna take him 0-100. French kisses, too. Moan in his mouth to completely overkill him.

This one is probably weird, but I feel Vegeta's senses as a SS4 are a lot keener than Goku's, and can pinpoint changes in your mood and body maybe before even you know it. Changes in your body temperature, your heart rate. He can tell when you ovulate and it drives him crazy to breed you. If you're in his radius when it happens, consider your plans for the day full.

Also completely at your mercy if you let him fuck your tiddies or your mouth.

But if you really wanna reel him in then you're gonna have to learn where to squeeze his tail. It may be immune to simply being pulled, but it still has some sensitive sections on it. Again, the base of his tail is your best bet. If you squeeze it too hard though, he's gonna get mad.

Like Goku, he's going to encourage you to come multiple times and keep the pleasure flowing. Feeding you his ki so you can keep up with him and endure his rough handling helps keep you going, but it is exhausting. Fortunately, Vegeta is better at ki sharing, and won't give you more than you can handle if you tap out. At least, not up front. He'll do it in sessions to let you take a break after you burn out one dose and then pull you back in to continue.

[lacheri]

Okay so... you might not even take requests but I’ll give this a shot anyway bc I love everything you write. I fucked up at work big time today and I feel tremendously anxious and guilty. Which made me think... Levi scenario with gf reader messing up on the field? I know he’d prob be harsh af at first but maybe... some fluff in the end? ): only if you want ofc.

hi nonnie! sorry for taking a few days to write this! but I hope u like it <3 (sorry to hear about your bad day btw ):)

accidents and apologies

pairing: dom!Levi x sub!fem bodied reader

content: canonverse, impact play, mild choking, penetrative sex, unprotected sex/creampie, oral (f receiving), some humiliation/degrading, reader is clumsy and Levi is mean, minors DNI

wc: 3.2k

Fat tears sat in thick clusters on the brim of your lash line, a hiccupping sob racking your body. You were as good as dead, having possibly made the biggest fuck up of your military career thus far. Titans seemed like ants in comparison, the fly that buzzes by your ear that irritates you to no end. Levi’s odm gear sat in pieces on the floor, and somehow this loomed over you like the Colossal titan, maybe even larger.

The polish container sat forgotten on your captain’s desk, the wipe slipping from your trembling hands. Your bottom lip quivered, your lungs filling with air quickly as you slumped to the floor next to the shattered metal. Your off duty position of being Levi’s assistant was practically over, it had barely even begun. You had begged for this job for weeks now, only a few days into being his helping hand, you reflected on how poorly of a job you’d done.

It wasn’t enough you had gotten Levi’s tea wrong this morning, adding sugar to the steaming mug, thinking he’d like a change in taste. He didn’t, immediately spitting the liquid out, cursing you into guilt on the spot. To try to make it up to the ravenette, while he was on his lunch, you sat at his desk and began to organize his paperwork by date of importance. You felt pride as you finished with the three piles of stacks, putting fresh ink in his pot for his quill. However, Levi was horribly furious to see what your regret had manifested into. How were you supposed to know he liked his documents organized by date of assignment, not what was most important?

This was the cherry on top, Levi leaving for dinner, mentioning that his gear did need some polishing. Surely, you wouldn’t fuck this up, he thought as he closed the door to his office behind him. How wrong the man had been though. Within minutes, your fingers became slippery, losing your grip on the cold metal as watched in horror as it clattered to the floor, breaking on impact. It didn’t make much sense, how could it have broken? Wasn’t the gear meant to outlast a titan’s grip? Especially Levi’s trusty gear, you couldn’t fathom how his gear was now laying in pieces on the floor.

You sucked back your sob as you heard the creek of the door, your heart falling straight down to the pit of your stomach. Of course Levi would be back before you recite your apology a thousand times over in your head. You heard the thud of his boots hit the floor as he walked over, seemingly calm.

“Oi, what are you doing on the floor?” he barked out, you could feel his presence looming from behind you.

You turned your head up, his face blurry from the rush of tears in your eyes, “Sir, I am so sorry.”

His grey eyes flickered in front of you, finally taking notice of his broken gear. His lips twitched in a deep frown as he sucked in air through his nostrils harshly.

“Get up, cadet,” Levi spoked venomously, pinching the bridge of his nose with his fingers.

You hurried to your feet clumsily, trying your hardest to quell your cries from your throat. You faced him, head downturned, attempting to steady your racing heart rate and the tremors in your bones. Whatever control you thought you had slipped from your grasp the second your captain’s lips parted.

“Never in my life have I met someone as insolent as you,” the harshness of his words kept your eyes on his boots, fresh teardrops rolling down your cheeks. Levi was not going to speak to the crown of your head though, and his hand gripped your chin to force your eyes up, looking directly into his own. “You’re going to look at me while I talk to you, understood?”

You nodded, but this was not what Levi was searching for, “Your words, cadet.”

“Yes, sir,” it came out of your mouth as a squeak.

“You want to explain to me why my odm gear is broken?”

“It slipped,” you hiccupped, violently shaking under his fierce glare. “I couldn’t catch it in time. Captain, I’m so sorry.”

“You’re sorry?” he bemused darkly in disbelief. “This is the third time today you’ve fucked something up, and you’re just sorry?”

“I don’t know what else to say,” you were on the verge of hyperventilating as you stuttered your words out.

“Well, now you owe me new gear, and you’re going to personally pay for the expense,” Levi’s hand left your face as he backed away from you, sitting down at his desk.

You looked on in confusion, “Sir, I don’t have any money?”

“Then I guess you’re fired,” Levi tilted his head back as if bored now with the conversation. “You’re relieved of your military duties as well. We can’t afford to have someone as brainless as you in the Scouts.”

“Captain, please,” you raised your voice, arms wrapping around yourself to contain your shaking.

Levi’s eyes darkened, leaning forward to press his elbows on his desk as he leaned his head onto his intertwined fists, “Leave my office, now.”

This couldn’t be happening. You had no home to return to, having left it behind long before you joined the Training Corps. This was your life, your purpose, your friends were here. You finally felt like you had a place in the world here in the Scouts.

“I’ll do whatever I have to!” you begged, not moving a muscle. “Whatever I can do to stay!”

“Are you deaf or just an idiot?” Levi pushed onto his feet, striding over to stand right in your face as he spat. “Leave my fucking office, that’s an order!”

Your bottom lip trembled, and you felt so fucking pathetic but couldn’t stop yourself from one last attempt, “Please, sir. Don’t kick me out, please let me make it up somehow.”

Your brain took a moment to catch up with what had just happened as you were suddenly staring down at the wooden notches of Levi’s desk. He had grabbed your wrists in a fierce swiftness, pushing you face down, his hands now positioned against your spine to keep you in place. His right hand reached around to fumble with your belt, and your heart began to race for other reasons.

“Captain?” you stuttered, feeling him begin to pull off the belts stationed on your thighs.

“You think you can just beg me in that voice, looking like that, and expect me not to lose control?” his voice was thick with anger, but instead of fear, it tickled bouts of arousal in your lower stomach. “Answer me.”

“No?” it came out as a question, you pushed your thighs together as you felt a pulse run through your core as his fingers tickled the exposed skin of your lower stomach. “Sir, I’m confused, what’re doing?”

“Like you have no idea what you do to me,” Levi chuckled without humor. “You begged me to be my assistant even though you knew you weren’t going to be a good one. You think I wouldn’t notice, your little crush on me?”

It was true, so entirely true. Levi had been the object of your affection for such a long time now, taking every opportunity to get as close to the man as possible. If you were being honest with yourself, this fantasy of being bent over his desk was a constant distraction in your mind. He was right, you were shit at cleaning, you were probably the most clumsy person you knew, you really had no qualifications to be Levi’s aide, yet you still asked for the position.

“Then why’d you hire me, Captain?” the bratty words left your lips as it dawned on you, Levi had found you appealing regardless of your lack of qualities.

With a quick motion, your pants and panties were bunched around your knees, Levi’s palm meeting the now exposed skin of your cheek in a caress, “The same reason you’re fucking soaked right now, cadet.”

You stayed in position as Levi brought his other hand to your opposite ass cheek, fingers kneading the fat as he spread you open to his hungry view. He was right, you were dripping. His pointer finger ran down the seam of your ass, laying a soft touch to your hole, watching it flutter in excitement. He couldn’t hold back the smirk on his face, removing his touch entirely.

You whined, pushing your bottom closer to Levi’s hands, desperate for his touch. Your hips were slammed against the edge of his desk, his fingers digging firmly into the back of your thighs, pushing your legs back together. You felt a jarring sting on your backside, yelping in response as you could make out the distinct imprint of each of his fingers.

“You want to show me you’re really sorry?” Levi’s voice was low and raspy as he soothed his palm over the reddened mark he had made. “Tell me after every slap.”

You were able to brace yourself this time as you felt the strike of his hand once more on your opposite cheek, unable to contain your moans at the contact. You squirmed as you felt removal of Levi’s touch leave you, only to bite down on your tongue harshly as he swatted the back of your thighs much harder than he had on your ass.

“Don’t make me repeat myself,” he spoke ruthlessly as another slap hit your thighs.

“I’m sorry!” you cried, gasping for air from the impact.

“Again,” his hand smacked the fat of your ass again, his other hand smoothing over the harsh red blotches against your thighs in an attempt to soothe the pain.

“‘M sorry!” you were whining, knuckles white from gripping the opposite edge of the desk as you arched your ass up into his hold. Part of you was genuinely shocked over how much you were enjoying this, thoroughly aroused mentally and physically.

Levi couldn’t tear his eyes away from the sight in front him. The handprints scattered across your lower half had his cock springing to life, hard and painfully erect. His hands traveled down to your pussy lips, using his thumbs to spread you open. Your hole was drooling, Levi let out a deep groan at the sight. He couldn’t stop himself, he had to have a taste.

You let out a sputtered moan as you felt the tip of your captain’s tongue lick a stripe from your hole to your clit. You pushed your hips further into his touch, thankful he resisted in shoving you back into the edge of the desk this time. His fingers held you open and apart, his taste buds rolling circles into your clit before returning back to your flitting opening, shoving his tongue in your walls. You could feel it fold in half, almost in a cupping motion as he bobbed his head, lapping as much as he could.

“Oh my God,” you whined, thrusting a hand behind you to grasp at his hair. His palms circled to the fronts of your thighs, digging his fingers into the fat as he pulled you somehow closer as he buried his face further into your dripping heat.

You were seeing stars, in between the mix of the pain and pleasure, your brain was completely empty. Levi’s right hand left your left thigh for a moment, coming back with a softer slap, inching his fingers to your center. His pointer finger swirled your clit relentlessly, and your breathing hitched as you were brought to even higher heights than before. His thumb joined not long after, pinching and pulling at your bud as you yelped.

You could feel the beginnings of your impending orgasm as Levi twisted and lapped your walls. The burning churn in your lower stomach became almost unbearable as Levi’s fingers worked faster at your bundle of nerves, full of purpose and intentions. Levi could feel the sudden change, your pussy clenching tighter and tight around his wet muscle. Your arousal was thicker, almost muskier as he inhaled through his nose, and Levi could swear he could drink from your core as if you were the finest of wines.

At the first blinding rush of pleasure, your body preparing itself for the intense promise of release, the ravenette removed all touch. You were gasping for air, your entire body’s nerves tingling uncomfortably. You were aching, desperate for anything.

“Look at you,” the return of Levi’s palm slapping your ass was welcomed with a smile on your face, thankful for any form of touch. “Falling apart that easy?”

You mumbled out a 'sorry', remembering his earlier warning. Apparently this was the word Levi was searching for, spinning you around and attaching his grip to your hips, slamming your sore ass on his desk, shoving his paperwork to the floor. Your eyes widened dramatically, seeing Levi’s cock fully exposed out of the zipper of his trousers. He was thick, his tip red and angry as he moved his fist over his length, a quiet groan leaving his parted lips as he relieved some of his own pent up arousal.

“Open,” he demanded, removing his hand from his dick, extending his palm to your pouty lips. You complied, letting your mouth loll open as Levi’s fingers pressed against your tongue, rolling them around to coat his digits.

He pulled them out with a pop from your lips, returning his now dripping hand to his erection, covering the entire member in your saliva. He gripped the backs of your knees after he deemed himself properly lubed up, dragging you right to edge as he positioned himself.

His grey eyes flickered up, fiery and full of lust, his voice hoarse, “You ready?”

“Yes,” you mewled, your fingers wrapping around the edge of the wood to steady yourself.

Without a moment of hesitation, Levi held your legs up as he slid his fat tip along the slick of your folds. It was so wet, so sloppy, you couldn’t contain the whimper leaving your lips as he pressed into your sopping hole. You could’ve sworn you felt your soul attempt to leave your body as he slid in, resting his tip right against your sweet spot once he was fully sheathed, your eyes rolling back into your skull as the mind blowing pleasure. He hadn’t completed a full thrust before you were begging for more.

“Please, please, more,” you managed out in between gasps, Levi rolling his hips backwards.

“You want more?” he chided, ramming himself so hard, the two of you bounced from the impact. You nodded, unable to voice a single word, drool threatening to escape your lips. His fist left the comfort of your bent knees, coming up to squish your cheeks together, a dribble of spit glistening against your pout, “You’ll answer me when I ask you a question, brat.”

“Yes! More!” you strangled out, muffled from his grip on your face. He let go, placing a very soft pat to your cheekbone, almost as a reward.

“Atta’ girl,” Levi’s gaze turned dark as his eyes traveled from your eyes to the column of your neck. How pretty would you look with his fist wrapped around your throat?

The thought was threateningly persuasive as Levi found himself doing just that, squeezing the sides of your neck as he began to piston his cock between your folds. The sounds of slapping skin and your pussy squelching had you panting loudly, Levi’s fingers pressing harder into the sides of your throat. It felt so good, good wasn’t even the word to describe it. In fact, there weren’t any words in your brain at all, too consumed by the visuals of the ravenette plowing hard into you.

His hand left your throat upon seeing your eyes begin to flutter, his concern for your ability to breathe over taking his lust. Instead, he circled both his arms under your back, bringing you up into a folder position against his chest. He placed open mouth kisses along the curve of your shoulder, licking and sucking at any skin he could reach. Your ankles hooked around his waist, and you couldn’t hold yourself back from slipping a hand to your aching clit.

“Kiss me,” you pleaded into Levi’s neck as your middle finger rubbed hard at your clit, your thick slick coating the pad. You got curious, letting your hand trail further down, exploring the motion of his cock pummeling into you.

“Put your hands on my back, and maybe I will,” he growled out, displeased that he wasn’t the one bringing you total and complete pleasure.

You followed his orders with speed, his head navigated out of the crook of your neck, capturing your lips with a hasty passion. He tasted sweetly sour, the lingerings of your essence resting in the crevices of his lips, but still, you couldn’t get enough of his kiss. When his hand finally left the middle of your spine, and began to travel down to your center, you could feel the bubbles of climax igniting back in your stomach.

“Levi,” you moaned into his mouth as his fingers moved at lightning speed against your nerves, timed nearly perfectly with the pattern of his thunderous thrusts. The desk was squeaking loudly against the floor as he continued to pound into animalistically, moving it slightly with every move.

“Fuck, you’re so tight, gonna’ cum,” you swallowed his words as he somehow sped up his movements, driving you straight to your climax.

You couldn’t even warn him, you barely had time to realize you were cumming yourself. It almost hurt how tightly you had clenched his cock as the pleasure nearly blinded you, unable to hold back swears and moans. Levi kissed you harder, and upon feeling your contractions swallowing him whole, your plush walls pulling his tip right up against your cervix, his hips staggered and his knees buckled.

Levi’s brain went blank as his orgasm was ripped from him, “Fuck, fuck!”

Levi should’ve felt embarrassed at the noises that left his mouth, whimpers and soft moans exiting his throat as he came hard. It was almost too much, the feeling of your wet heat wrapping around his most intimate part, the closeness of your bodies, although still fairly clothed, had his heart hammering in his ears.

When you came down from your highs, all you could was stare at each other in astonishment, breathing heavily into each other’s mouths. He rested his sweaty forehead against yours, fluttering his eyelashes shut as he kissed you gently. You let out a sleepy giggle, your body entirely spent. His hand finally left the sensitive skin of your clit, wrapping your fingers around the back of your head as his kiss deepened.

When he finally slid his softened length out of the depths of your pussy, you were hissing at the fluttering of soreness intruding your pelvis. Levi shot you an apologetic look, kissing your forehead.

“Does this mean I can still be your assistant?” you mumbled, a small smile on your face as Levi reached down to pull his pants up.

His head tilted back as an uncharacteristic laugh bubbled out, flashing you a mischievous smile, “Get yourself cleaned up, and meet me back in my office. I still don’t believe you’re actually sorry.”

LACHERI © 2021: all writing content belongs to LACHERI. I do not allow reposts or translations. this is my only account.

[writinglizards]

Poison in my Veins

Summary: Geralt takes a mix of potions on a hunt and has an uncharacteristically bad reaction. Jaskier helps him deal.

Pairing: Geralt/Jaskier

Rating: Mature

Warnings: smut, dubious consent on the basis of sex pollen (but they’re both into it), minor levels of whump

Read on Ao3

Geralt hates potions. He always has, and he probably always will.

They're useful, sure, and he takes them because he needs the edge they provide when he's hunting, but the negatives far outweigh the positives, as far as he's concerned.

Depending on the concoction, they make him prone to headaches, sensitive to light, lightheaded, nauseous. And those are just the mild ones. That's not saying anything about the way they make him look, or how some of the more intense potions feel like they're burning him up, make him twitchy and hypersensitive.

He's mixed a vial of kiss and black blood for his hunt tonight and he knows he's going to need them, even if he hates it, even if he doesn't want to use them. Jaskier's in camp tonight and he doesn't...he doesn't want to have to hide in the trees until he looks normal and approachable again. It's the worst part, feeling strung out and needy and knowing he's got to wait another thirty plus minutes until his eyes change, until the black of his veins fade until he can return to camp.

He hates it.

-----

He knows as soon as he downs the potions in quick succession that something's wrong. He dispatches the garkain taking up residence in the nearby cave smoothly and without problem, but there's a burning under his skin that shouldn't be there, a tight, hot curling in his gut that makes him double over, makes him moan brokenly. It’s not the normal slightly queazy response he has to this mix of potions. It's not...it's not good, this feeling, but he gets the impression it could be, maybe. It feels like being so strung out, so needy that everything hurts, and tears spring to his eyes as he curls tighter into himself, knees hitting the cave floor and he moans again, an unpleasant, painful sound.

It's how Jaskier finds him, however long later.

"Geralt, what--" he stops in the mouth of the cave, and Geralt knows something's really wrong with him because he should have heard him coming, should have--

"Jask," he grinds out, and his voice is thin with pain, "Jask, please--" he doesn't know what he's asking him for, but Jaskier steps forward anyway, puts his hand carefully on Geralt's shoulder as he ducks to get a better look at his face. The touch is like a brand, even through the thick leather of his armor.

"Geralt? Are you okay?"

"Potions," he says, breathless with the tender brush of Jaskier's hand along his arm, the way he squeezes his bicep gently. Even with the barrier between bare skin, it's too much, "hurts."

"Is that--" he trails off, other hand coming up to cup his cheek, force him to look him in the eye. He can feel his face heat, knows that like this his blush will be black like ink instead of red. Jaskier breathes in sharply, thumb rubbing idly back and forth against his cheekbone.

"Yes."

"What can I do to help?" It's...a valid question. But there's not anything that can be done, and if Jaskier isn't going to run screaming, apparently--

"Help me back to camp? Please." It hurts to ask, but not as much as the knotting, painful feeling in his gut, not as much as Jaskier's fingertips on his bare skin. Jaskier nods, more to himself than anything, before working his way under Geralt’s arm and winding his own around Geralt’s waist. When he’s got a good grip on him he stands, dragging Geralt upright with him.

"Oh, fuck," Jaskier gasps when Geralt moans and his knees buckle, almost bringing both of them back to the ground, "work with me, Geralt, I'm trying here."

He focuses on keeping upright, one foot in front of the other as Jaskier leads him from the cave toward their camp. His gut burns unpleasantly and he wants to curl up again so badly. His skin prickles where Jaskier touches and he realizes, belatedly, that what he feels is arousal, so bright and hot it hurts. He wants to wrap his fist around his cock and strip himself until he physically can't take the touch anymore, wants Jaskier to hold him--

"Doing okay?" Jaskier asks when Geralt stumbles, but he keeps a firm grip around his waist, keeps him moving despite the way he drags them both down. Geralt knows he's hard and he knows Jaskier must know, but he hasn't drawn attention to it.

"No," he says honestly, "keep walking." He can see the way Jaskier presses his lips together firmly in response, but he doesn't stop, continues to help Geralt hobble closer to camp, slowly but surely.

By the time they make it back to the camp, Geralt's shaking so hard he can barely stay upright, and Jaskier's gone absolutely silent, breathing ragged as he labors under the majority of Geralt's weight.

He's expecting to be deposited unceremoniously on the ground, but Jaskier lowers him gently beside the fire. As soon as Geralt's knees hit the packed dirt, he's curling forward, moaning lowly.

"Okay, okay, just--" Jaskier's breathless from exertion, but he's still fussing over Geralt, hands working quickly at the clasps of his chest piece as he focuses on freeing him of the heavy leathers, "--give me a minute, Geralt, hold on--"

"Fuck," he mumbles, forcing himself still as Jaskier plucks at the buckles and ties, undoing them deftly. It makes his blood sing to feel Jaskier undressing him, even if he knows that's not how this is going to go.

"I need you to sit back for a minute, Geralt, can you do that?" he asks, palm searing against his back where it rests. He's sure Jaskier means it as a kind of reassurance but all it makes him feel is want.

He doesn't say anything, just forces himself more upright, even as it makes that curl of intense pain flare in his gut. He closes his eyes and forces himself to focus.

There's a high, whining noise in his ears that he realizes belatedly is him. Jaskier's speaking, soft soothing nonsense as he rushes to free the last few ties and pry him out of the armor, and as soon as the heavy weight of it is gone, he's shucking his shirt as well. He shifts to curl back over, but Jaskier doesn't move, a hand pressed gently to his chest. Unbidden, Geralt whines. Jaskier's expression flickers with something, there one minute and gone the next.

"Geralt, you've never...what's going on?"

"Potions," he repeats roughly. "Jask, please--" there's blatant need in his voice, and Jaskier jolts, eyes meeting Geralt's straight on and holding his gaze, which--

"What do you need, love?"

He can't ask that of him, even if he knows Jaskier would give it. This burning feeling will only intensify before it runs itself out. He can...he can wait it out. He's done similar before.

"Space," he says, not meaning it for a moment, but Jaskier nods, shifts back and away to let Geralt curl back around himself, folding his arms on the ground and press his forehead to them tightly. His gut cramps like there's a fist in there, squeezing tight, and he can't help the shocky little sound of pain that filters through his lips when he shifts, his dick catching against the rough fabric of his trousers.

"Geralt?"

"Hurts," he repeats, "sorry, I--" he cuts off when Jaskier presses in close again, not touching but close enough for the calming scent of lavender and pine to wash over him. It makes him ache sharply, makes his dick throb, even if he smells nothing but the sour note of concern under that, tinging with something like fear.

"How's it hurt, love?" he asks softly, and Geralt can feel Jaskier's desire to reach out like a physical thing. It's...worse, somehow, than he thought it would be. His touch burns, but--

"Bad potion mix, they must have been off and I fucked it up, I--" he has to snap his jaw shut or risk biting off his tongue as a wave of shivers hit him, so sharp they're almost, almost pleasant, if it weren't for the aching burn in his gut, "--ah--"

"Geralt?"

"Sorry, I--" he cuts off again, whining as he presses his forehead to his arms, hard. "--Melitele fucking help me."

Jaskier sits silently at his side even though he's practically vibrating with energy, and Geralt just...rides out the sharp swell of it for a few moments, waiting for the bright hot burning need to settle for the time he needs to speak.

"Always a little...ah...but this is, mm--" there's a sharp, needy quality to the noises he keeps making; he can hear them as if they come from another person, "intense." He's panting as if he's run straight from Vizima to Novigrad on foot.

"And there's nothing I can do to help?" he asks, "like a massage or--"

Geralt laughs. It's sharp and painful, more a bark of noise than true laughter. It shocks Jaskier silent.

"Jaskier, I am so hard I can't breathe, you touching me is the problem."

"O-oh," he stutters out, and Geralt wishes he could see his face, gauge his reaction. Is he disgusted? Amused? Merely indifferent? Geralt's already too far gone to read his tone. "Did you...nothing will help?"

"Jerking off might," he bites out, feeling the heat in his cheeks, "but I...it's never been this bad before, I can't fucking think--"

"Do you need help?" Jaskier asks, and the pulse of arousal is so strong it sends him spiraling in another wave of cramps. He cries out this time, trying to ride out the bright hot flare of pain as Jaskier makes his own soft, distressed noises above him.

"You can't help," he gets out eventually. It's supposed to be angry, but it just comes out breathy and weak.

"Okay so you don't--okay," Jaskier says, sounding more like he's talking to himself than Geralt before clearing his throat and sitting up a little straighter, "so you don't want me touching you. Why can't you get yourself off? That should help, yeah?"

"Hurts," he breathes, gut-clenching at the thought of Jaskier watching him. He's just getting that surge of white-hot arousal under control and now it threatens to overwhelm him again, "can't...can't lay flat long enough to--"

"Ah," Jaskier says, as if suddenly getting the picture, "it's...like a cramp? Like that time I had the food poisoning and--"

"Yes," Geralt cuts him off quickly. He doesn't want to think about Jaskier on his knees in any context, even if it involves lots of vomiting and tears.

"Mm, you know what helped with that," Jaskier says, tone conversational, "was when you held me, actually. Do you think that might work?"

Geralt whines again, muscles tensing as the curling heat in his stomach bursts to fresh life again. The thought of Jaskier touching him, holding him so tenderly, even if he's not--

"Please," his traitor of a mouth says before he can catch up to it, "please, it hurts so bad, Jask, I just want--" he cuts off on a sob when Jaskier's palms settle on his back, rubbing warm, soothing circles as he shuffles around him into what his hazy focus assumes must be a better position.

"Alright, Geralt, alright," he's soothing, voice low and warm. Distantly Geralt realizes the fear scent is gone as Jaskier tucks himself across Geralt's back, palms sliding to his hips as he curves over him. "I know it hurts, love, but we're gonna lay back, alright?"

"Can't," he gasps out, hands scrabbling for Jaskier's forearms, hold him closer, "Jaskier, I can't."

"Sure you can," Jaskier says softly, voice honey-sweet and warm, "I know you can, Geralt, you're so strong, love--"

He chokes on a soft sound at the praise, and Jaskier just hums. "I know, darling, you can do it, relax for me."

Slowly, bit by bit, Jaskier works his arms around Geralt's waist and eases him backward until he's sitting upright, knees shaky where they’re bent under him.

"Oh, good job, sweetheart," Jaskier breathes, and Geralt's gut clenches so tight it’s unpleasant, hips twitching, "you're so hard, darling, why don't you take care of that? I'm sure it will take the edge off a little."

He's whining, a thin, sustained noise as he fumbles at the button of his trousers, drawing himself out with shaky hands. He knows from experience that the pull of his own hand feels good, but all he can process is the searing pain, the way it knots his gut and makes him breathless.

"Hey, hey," Jaskier soothes in his ear, hands pressing hard to his stomach just above the jut of his cock, "take it slow, love. Enjoy it." He doesn't enjoy the rough drag of his own hand, but Jaskier's palms against his stomach, right above that licking heat is...

"Fuck," he sobs, hips snapping, but Jaskier just holds him calmly, fingers brushing slowly back and forth across his overheated skin.

"I know, Geralt. Easy, darling," he murmurs. He lets Geralt jerk himself for what feels like an awful stretch of time with no results.

"Isn't working," he rasps out, and he's not sure when he started crying, but there are tears on his cheeks and his throat is raw with them.

"Do you want help?" Jaskier asks, voice calm, and the thought of Jaskier's hands wrapped around his dick--

"Yes, please, oh fuck," he gasps, squirming. Jaskier doesn't even have his hands on him yet, but just the thought--

"Alright, darling, alright," he murmurs, fingers sliding from the flat stretch of his stomach lower to wrap around his cock, and Geralt jerks, coming in long, hot spurts that leave him sobbing, fingers digging into the flesh of Jaskier's thighs as he desperately grasps at something to ground him. "Oh, that's so good, Geralt, there you go, good boy."

"Jaskier," he gasps, not softening in the least as Jaskier continues to work him over, tugging him toward a second peak with skilled fingers and soft words.

"I know, sweetheart, does it still hurt?"

He can't speak, just nods roughly. He moves to press his forearm against his lower stomach and Jaskier lets him before resettling his palm over the top of his arm, a warm, reassuring weight as he continues to jerk him off, slow and smooth.

"That's alright, we'll get you everything you need, Geralt, don't worry, oh, look at you," he breathes when Geralt locks up, spilling a second time over Jaskier's fist and his own thighs, "aren't you a sight?"

"Jaskier, please--"

"You want me to stop?" he asks, touch gentling but not pulling away. He’s worked his trousers and smalls down to his calves at some point, and he kicks free of them, finally bare. Behind him, Jaskier is still clothed, and the contrast makes his skin prickle. All of him aches fiercely, but it's not so bad he feels like he'll die, like he needs to curl into a ball and rock back and forth, sobbing with it, not like earlier.

"No," he mumbles anyway, and Jaskier makes a sweet, approving sound before his lips press against Geralt's shoulder, softly.

"Thank you for letting me help, love," he says, lips brushing skin. He redoubles his efforts, bringing Geralt to an easy third peak, but he can still feel that awful itching burn under his skin that tells him they're not done, even though he's already tired.

"Jaskier--"

"Hm?" he asks. He's paused to play with the head, thumb pressing just a touch shy of too hard under it. It makes his hips twitch, makes him groan. He knows he needs to ask if he wants more than just this, but--

"Would you--" he wets his lips and inadvertently catches sight of his own dick in Jaskier's hand, the way he's swollen angry and nearly purple, the delicate curl of Jaskier's fingers around all that firm flesh, and he watches, raptured, as those fingers stroke to the base, dip to fondle his balls, reach back--

"Yes," he hisses, back arching, and Jaskier rubs a little more firmly against his hole, humming softly.

"You want me to get you off on my fingers? Jerking you off doesn't seem to be helping." It is, of course, but it's a slow depletion of the potions after effects. He knew, even as the burning, itching feeling had settled into his bones, that this was one of the bad ones, one that is easier fucked out of him than fucked through.

"Yes," he husks, "please," and then Jaskier is dragging his hand through the mess of Geralt’s come and pushing one slender digit in, slowly but surely. "Oh, fuck." The ache isn't gone, but it's immediately eased with that slight fullness.

"Breathe, Geralt," Jaskier reminds, and he sucks in a sobbing breath, head lolling on Jaskier's shoulder as he spreads his knees a little wider to give him better access, "there you go, love."

"Fuck me, please," he mumbles, and Jaskier does, moving that single digit in and out nice and easy. The slick of his come eases the way and his head spins as his gut clenches. He needs-- "more, please."

"Eager," Jaskier says, lips pressing to his shoulder again, but there's a second finger nudging against his rim before pressing in, slow and steady, and he chokes on his next breath, "but that's okay. Let me know if it's too much."

It isn't. He wants more, faster, harder, but he doesn't want Jaskier to think he's greedy. It's bad enough he's nearly out of his mind with need, bad enough Jaskier has to see him like this at all, but--

"You're thinking too hard," Jaskier says softly, and he crooks his fingers, brushing against that spot inside him that makes him shake, gasping, "I want you focused on this, Geralt, not whatever's up in that head of yours."

"What if I'm thinking about you?" he whines, prodding for a weakness, anything. Jaskier laughs softly.

"No need to think about me, love, I'm right here." He twists to press his lips to Geralt's cheek at the same time Geralt twists to look back at him and their lips brush, just barely. They both freeze.

"Fuck--" The moment doesn't last long. As Jaskier's fingers still, the heat flares up, sharp and overwhelming, and Geralt's head rolls against his shoulder again as he squirms, trying to encourage Jaskier to move.

"Sorry," he breathes, fingers resuming their easy movement. It quells some of the feeling, but he's still painfully hard, still needy and right on the edge, "sorry, Geralt, can I kiss you?"

"Please," he sobs, twisting his head, lips searching, and then Jaskier is there, lips sliding against his own. Geralt assumes Jaskier will kiss gently, will kiss as thoroughly as he's fucking his fingers into him, slow and controlled and overwhelming. What he gets instead is fierce heat, the slick slide of lips and the quick bite of teeth before the nip is soothed away with the cool lap of his tongue, leaving him gasping.

Jaskier crooks his fingers again as he licks into Geralt's mouth and Geralt comes with a muffled cry, hips twitching as Jaskier milks his prostate, cock spilling over his hip.

Jaskier works him through it, fingers tucked against that spot inside him until it hurts, until he's squirming again and whining, and only then does he back off, fingers easing away from his prostate to play with his rim instead.

"How are we feeling, Geralt?"

"Good," he whines, "Jask, I need--"

"More?" he asks, fingers teasing lightly along his rim until he's panting with it.

"Yes, please, gods fuck me, please--"

"Alright, darling, alright." He kisses him again, quick. "But you are alright though?"

"Yes, Jaskier, please--"

"Alright," he soothes, "touch yourself for me," he says, and then he's pulling away, fingers sliding free. There's an immediate flare in his gut, sharp and painful, but not as bad as it was. Almost...almost manageable. Especially as he wraps his own fist around his cock, movements quick and jerky. He doesn't say anything as Jaskier eases him down onto his back on the hard ground, situates himself between his thighs. He thinks...he thinks maybe he should, but--

"How's it feel?" Jaskier asks, curling his own hand around Geralt's where he's pumping himself roughly still. He jerks in response to the touch, needing Jaskier's more than his own.

"Good," he gasps, "so good, Jask, I--" he bites off the words, teeth sinking into his lower lip. There's...there's no need to tell Jaskier how bad he wants him, no need for Jaskier to know about how he feels. It would make it weird. He's just...he's just here to help.

"Good," Jaskier says, voice rough as he kisses him again, filthy and quick, "want you to feel good, Geralt."

His hand falls away as Jaskier shifts between his thighs and he situates himself around Jaskier's waist. He’s still fully dressed, chemise rucked up, trousers open and dick curving hard and hot from the open vee of his trousers. Compared to Jaskier, Geralt feels open and exposed but he burns with the need to feel Jaskier inside him.

"Don't tease," he says when Jaskier drags the slick head of himself over Geralt's entrance but doesn't push in, "please, Jask."

Jaskier hums and steadies himself wordlessly before pressing in, and the thick, burning pressure makes him shout as he arches into it, hips canting to get him deeper faster.

"Slow," Jaskier grunts, hands on his waist, and Geralt sobs, fingers scrabbling along his shoulders as he yanks him down over his chest, forces him closer.

"Please, need it now, fuck me, please," he gasps, thighs flexing, and Jaskier groans, a deep, primal sound that makes Geralt shiver. "Fuck me hard, Jask, come on--"

Jaskier growls and snaps his hips forward almost brutally as he sinks the rest of the way in and it's perfect, leaves Geralt breathless. There are tears trickling down his cheeks again but it's good, it's so good--

Jaskier doesn't move, wrapping his fist around Geralt's dick and jerking him off hard and fast until he's coming again, Jaskier buried inside him and grinding filthily against his ass but not really moving. Above him, Jaskier hisses, but otherwise doesn't respond, teeth grit in something like a grimace.

"Jask," he slurs out, feeling drunk on pleasure, and Jaskier grunts, leaning forward to kiss him when he tips his chin up needily, "want you to fuck me for real," he mumbles when they part, just enough to breathe, "please."

"'M gonna come if I do that," Jaskier says, words pressed into his lips as he kisses him again, over and over in brief, delightfully filthy little presses.

"'S okay," he says, and it's true; the burning, clenching feeling in his gut has mellowed. He feels...almost normal.

"Are you gonna be okay? I thought you needed to be full?" and the tender care in his voice, despite how rough and deep it is, despite the way his hips twitch restlessly against his ass, makes Geralt flush hot.

"I do," he says softly, "but I want your come in me more," and Jaskier makes a harsh, painful sound.

"You say the prettiest things, Geralt," he gasps, and then he's fitting his palms beneath Geralt's knees and pushing them back to his chest, holding him open. Geralt's own hands settle on his thighs to help as Jaskier pulls back partway before snapping forward again.

The first thrust is like heaven, sharp and pleasurable and almost overwhelming. Geralt makes a sharp, needy noise in response, and Jaskier bares his teeth, expression fierce as he pulls back to fuck into him again, just as hard. The singleminded focus in his eyes makes Geralt feel hot, makes his gut churn and his dick twitch and he can't help but think about how much he wishes this were different--

His thoughts are interrupted by a hand in his hair, yanking hard as Jaskier sinks in again, makes him cry out hoarsely.

"Where are you, Geralt?" Jaskier asks, and it's clear he doesn't mean physically.

"Here," he mumbles anyway, "with you."

"No," Jaskier grunts, hips snapping forward again, and Geralt whimpers, "don't lie to me, Geralt."

"I want you," he sobs out when Jaskier snaps back in again, and Jaskier makes a tsk-ing noise.

"You have me, Geralt, what are you really thinking about?" He tugs the strands in his fist a little harder, tips his head back a little farther as he snaps in again, and Geralt can't help but wail as his cock twitches. He's so close-- "tell me."

"Want you to want me," he gasps, even as he wishes he could strangle the words in his throat--the fierceness in Jaskier's eyes, the intense look there is flaying him open in a way he's never felt before. He couldn't stop them if he wanted to, "want you to want this, Jask, please--"

"You think I don't?" he pants out, still not losing his rhythm, "hm? You think I'd do this for anyone, Geralt?"

He doesn't have an adequate response for him. Of course he doesn't think Jaskier would do this for just anyone, but--

"You think I'm slutty enough to slide between just anyone's thighs, Geralt?" he asks, fingers cinching tighter in Geralt's hair, and he can't help but cry out, back arching.

"N-no, no, fuck, Jask, of course not, I--"

"Then why am I here, Geralt?" he growls out, punctuating the question with the thrust of his hips, and Geralt's thoughts scatter as he nails that place inside him again, leaves him gasping and whining. "Answer me, Geralt. Why am I here?"

He doesn't know what to say, doesn't know why Jaskier's here if not out of some twisted sense of loyalty. But he also knows if he says anything about loyalty right now, Jaskier's likely to snap and he's...he doesn't want that.

"I don't know," he gasps, fingers clawing uselessly across his shoulders, and Jaskier hisses at the bite of his nails, "'M sorry, I don't know."

"I want to," Jaskier growls out, forcing Geralt's eyes to meet his with the hand tangled in his hair, "you fucking idiot, I want to."

He doesn't know when Jaskier closes the space between them again to kiss him, but as soon as he does, Geralt can't breathe, needs Jaskier's mouth moving against his own more than he needs air. And still, Jaskier's relentless pace doesn't let up.

"'M gonna come," he gasps against Jaskier's lips, and Jaskier just hums softly in the back of his throat as his fingers rise to flick over his nipples teasingly, and that's it.

Geralt comes hard, shivers wracking his frame as Jaskier works him through it, thrusts angled deliberately to hit his prostate. Each brush feels like coming anew, makes him whine sharply into Jaskier's mouth despite the lack of come painting his stomach--he's come almost dry this time.

He's still whining and clenching around Jaskier's length, still oversensitive, when Jaskier shoves in deep and comes with a strangled noise, lips slipping messily against his own. The feeling of being filled is good, makes him feel loose and pliant, even as Jaskier collapses across his chest, sticky mess between them.

They lay together, silently panting, for a long, tired moment before Jaskier shifts to pull out and rolls off him. Geralt immediately misses the firm weight of him.

He waits for Jaskier to say something in the issuing silence, but he doesn't, just lays there quietly alongside him, only the harshness of his breathing, already easing, between them.

"I'm...sorry," he says awkwardly, tongue feeling thick and heavy in his mouth. He no longer feels like he might die, but he's still not quite right either, riding the aftershocks of pleasure that make him feel dumb and hazy.

"What for?" Jaskier asks, fingers rising to pluck at the ruined fabric of his chemise before squirming out of it with a sigh, tossing it somewhere to the side.

"For...forcing you into such a position," he says, and Jaskier sighs, an awful, put upon sound.

"You didn't force me into anything, Geralt," he says, "or were you not listening?" The reminder of Jaskier's very attentive lesson makes him flash hot. It's almost upsetting to be turned on again so soon. He doesn't think he could come again if he tried.

"I..."

"Do you need a reminder already?" he asks, voice like steel, and Geralt can't help the whimper that slips through his lips. "I told you I was here because I wanted to be. I do. Too much." Something in Geralt's chest lurches.

"I...not as much as I do," he mumbles, eyes averted. Jaskier is silent so long Geralt can't stand it--he looks back at him, just in time to catch the shock fading to something soft, something like longing.

"What do you mean, Geralt?"

Fuck. Jaskier's really going to make him say it. Again.

"I...told you," he says haltingly, and his cheeks are on fire, "I want you to want me."

"More than just when you're ten seconds from dying without an orgasm," Jaskier says, voice teasing, but there's sincerity behind it, and Geralt feels himself flush harder.

"Yeah."

"Good," Jaskier says simply, "because I do." It...takes Geralt a minute, for his world to readjust.

"You...do?"

"Mm," Jaskier hums, rolling closer and tucking his head under Geralt's chin pointedly. Belatedly, Geralt brings his arms up to wrap around his waist. Nothing about this could be considered comfortable--they're laying on the hard ground feet from Geralt's actual bedroll, Jaskier's still got his trousers on, Geralt can feel come dripping down his thighs and he's absolutely covered in his own spend, itchy where it's already begun to dry.

"Oh," he says softly, and Jaskier gives a snort of laughter, pressing a kiss to Geralt's collarbone.

"Thought you already knew, darling."

"I...did not," he says, and everything has a surreal, slightly fuzzy quality to it. It's...probably the after-affects of the potion, coupled with the haze of pleasure still running through him.

"Mm, well now you do," Jaskier says, "what are you gonna do about it?" It's teasing again, soft. Geralt sighs, a quiet, content gust of breath.

"'M gonna nap," he slurs out, dragging Jaskier closer to press a kiss to the corner of his mouth, "and then we'll see about repaying your...favor," he mumbles, and Jaskier laughs, bright and soft.

"I'll hold you to that."

[sweetminx]

Hi guys! It's me again. I know Ive been away for a long goddamn time. I'm sorry, I got really burnt out on my writing and painting and took a bunch of time away from social media to focus on myself and my relationship. But I've got Chapter 7 and 8 of GOH already released on my AO3 so you can go and read all my current chapters to date in order. But I might as well post them both here as well for those who dont have an AO3 account 😊

Thank you again for your continued love, patience and support and I hope you enjoy the chapter and all others to come! If you didn't catch it before, I painted a portrait of our lovely Michael without that pesky mask to hide his sweet face. Go check that out if you haven't already, it's the 📌 post near the top somewhere.

Taglist: @megafrost4 @dead-bxtch @sugarstarxoxo @ireallyhateithere2 @necas7325 @michaels-orange-mask @vapurrrrwave @myers-meadow @goosecadet @liv-victoriano @mz-bats @myersobsessed @chaotic-am @utena-akashiya @macabrecakes @eldaryan Ask to be added to the taglist 💜

Michael has left his marks and given you warnings and yet you still refuse to heed his wordless advice. Pick yourself up, understand the situation and follow the rules. It's that simple...Right?

Universe/Fandom: Halloween 1978 (Non-RZ)   Rating: Mature/Adult. Minors keep your distance. Chapters: 7/?                           Chapter Triggers/Warnings: Strong language, Strong depictions of violence/gore, angst, knifeplay, blood-play/consumption, masochism/sadism, marking, possessive behaviour. Overall themes: Tension, Drama, Slow burn, Abuse, Strong Language, Past trauma, Manipulation, Strong depictions of Violence/Gore, Phsycological/ Physical trauma, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Mental Illness, Murder, Romance, Angst, Loss, Death, Comfort, Mild humour, Romance, Friendship, Fluff, Smut, Stockholm Syndrome, mild Non-con themes, Knifeplay, Stalking, Marking, Obsessive/Posessive behaviour, Choking, Explicit Sexual content.    Reader details: Female, first-person perspective.   Characters: Female reader, Michael Myers (Non-RZ), Samuel Loomis, Laurie Strode, Jed Perkins  (Non-canon OC), Jamie Harris (Non-canon OC), Parker Reed (Non-canon OC), Josh Hewit (Non-canon OC), Erin White (Non-canon OC)

Ghost of Haddonfield: Chapter seven

Much of the afternoon and start to the evening had been spent tending to the fresh wound Michael had so graciously given you, though this was just the beginning and it absolutely would not be the last scar he incurred. Undoubtedly, it too would serve as yet another mark of his newly established control. When you'd asked life to offer you something different for a change, this is not what you meant. Now, you're just a captive of your own home.

He'd followed you into the bathroom and simply stood in the doorway, silently watching your shaken form fumble around clumsily in the medicine cabinet for a first aid kit, something you always kept handy for situations more or less like these. It made you uneasy how motionless he remained as he observed you tending to yourself, occasionally hissing a quiet string of curses when the searing bite of alcohol kissed every grotesque tooth incision and spilled little red rivers of crimson infused fluids down your trembling arm and into the sink to stain it in splotches of watery blood before being washed away. When you glance back up from tearing off a fresh strip of bandage, he's gone.

It'd become common practice tending to patients with injuries be it from harming themselves or even being attacked by another patient, though not once had you needed to treat yourself, especially for something as brutal and obscene as a human bite.

Once you finish treating your wound and packing away the mess of medical supplies scattered along the edge of the bathtub and in the sink, you leave the bathroom and slowly creep back to the kitchen but stiffen as your eyes meet Michael's broad back, stopping for a moment before continuing to wordlessly seat yourself at the round wooden dining table behind him and rest your hands within your lap. Standing at the kitchen counter, a scrunched up wad of blood-soaked paper towels lies in his hand whilst he stares out of the window into the darkening streets, watching as mid-evening begins to swallow up the warm colours of the day and replace everything in inky cold shadows illuminated by the friendly glow of carved pumpkins and street lamps.

You aren't certain whether he noticed you entering, seeing as though he didn't even so much as acknowledge your presence when you came in. Although, part of you doubts that he’s even paying attention to what's outside, moreso simply staring at his own faint reflection. Perhaps he knows that you're no longer likely to be a threat and unlikely to act out under his brooding sense of authority. In spite of Michael's total lack of words during the second confrontation, his actions from the very start were extremely intentional. He'd made it abundantly clear from the very first moment he found you at his mercy how the situation was going to be. As far as he was concerned, it was an easy concept-'Don't do anything against my wishes and you won't get hurt.'

Your tired eyes flick back and forth from your lap to the back of his head, unsure of what to say if anything. For someone who has so many questions and so much to say, you find yourself unable to come to terms with speaking. There's a sense of being trapped within one of your nightmares, but inside you know this is as real as it is obscure and yet you still fail to find one singular person to pin the blame on for this mess. Doctor Loomis offered you the job knowing full well that none of the nurses, yourself included, knew entirely who exactly it was they were caring for and what consequences it would reap, only that the pay was substantial. When you're buried six feet under the soil, money means nothing though. It's worthless if you're buried there because someone supposedly trustworthy knowingly misled you into thinking you were secure under the promise of safety and healthy pay just to meet staffing targets. Who becomes the real monster then? The doctors who swept their failings under the carpet to save face, the management who exploit their employees knowing any gullible person would jump at the opportunity of a big payday, or the patient who took advantage of obvious weaknesses for the chance of freedom?

Michael finally turns his head towards you, seemingly slipping out of his near trance-like state, unmoving and almost unbreathing. He expects you to be watching him with wide, apprehensive eyes when he faces you but only finds that your gaze is fixed to the table with an expression that balances on a bizarrely fine line between resentment and indifference, though he suspects that you're still fully aware of him watching you. From behind the mask that obscures any sign of his vaguely piqued interest, he silently observes you from the other side of the kitchen before approaching you at the table with slow footfalls, leaving the screwed up pile of towels on the counter.

You blink after a moment, gritting your teeth together as the words finally find you again after searching for what felt like forever. "I didn't fully understand at first,-I still don't, but...You're here because you think it's the last place the authorities would think to search. Well, you're wrong , you made one massive error," you pause and cast a glare in Michael's direction, noticing how his hands slowly curl into fists and each knuckle pales. If there's one thing he can't stand it's being told that he was wrong. "There are security cameras all throughout Smith's Grove. They would've caught everything. You're not safe and they'll put you away again ." The last few words roll off your tongue bitterly.

The tension suddenly snaps like a rubber band at its limit in Michael's head, grunting and then slamming an enraged first down against the table that shakes the entire unit with the force, finding your reaction vaguely comparable to the deafening shot of a gun directly beside your head. You flinch from the abrupt outburst only to offer him a spiteful scowl when shoving yourself to your feet fiercely and listening as the chair screeches out from beneath you and nearly topples backwards. Michael huffs deeply as his breathing becomes slightly strained; his way of showing his disapproval. It's short-lived, however, as he slowly paces around the edge of the table to stand in front of you and take your chin between his fingers, roughly lifting your head up to look at him. The light tilt of his head leaves you with the distinct impression that he's smirking even as you pierce through the mask's dark eyeholes.

Michael knows something that you don't, or at least haven't yet realised. He stares at you for a long moment simply eyeing you trying to burn holes through him with your searing glare, and then...It hits you, and when it does, it's not hard for him to pinpoint the exact moment. Something wicked within him stirs when watching that misplaced confidence gradually melt from your complexion, gripping your chin tighter as he hungers to watch that horrible, gut-punch realisation leak into and pool within your ever hopeless gaze, like striking the last match from the box only to have it swiftly extinguished by some unseen and foreboding entity knowing full well that it was your only way to see in the long, dark path ahead.

That camera footage would only have played up to a certain point, assuming it was saved and backed up on computers. Michael cut the power to the entire facility right before he'd found you-Undoubtedly a calculated decision. He knew exactly what he was doing. How long had he been planning this for?

You wrench your chin from his grip and utter the phrase 'bastard' under your breath still loud enough for Michael to hear, who subsequently lets out a low snort of twisted amusement. Swivelling on your heel you glare at him once more before going to storm out of the kitchen only for Michael to catch your wrist in his monstrous grasp again, something you've evidently grown tired of when whipping your head back around to glare at him. "Stop. Touching. Me," You snarl venomously, jerking your hand back in an attempt to free yourself from him, but the retaliation only fuels Michael to squeeze the frail joints tighter and tighter, lusting over the pained whimpers that tumble from your lips time and time again. He doesn't stop squeezing, however, not until he hears that one delicate, sweet phrase that fuels that ever sadistic streak. Michael leans forward, tilting his head just enough to let you know he was listening–waiting.

"F-fuck! Stop!" You cry out as the squeezing becomes overwhelming. No response. He isn't letting go. "Please!"

As quickly as his grasp on you had appeared, disappeared. Releasing you, he shoves you away and watches how you stumble back into the chair, almost on the verge of tears. Your fingers knead at the cruel ring of bruising that is already forming and for what feels like the hundredth time today, Michael swiftly reminded you that disrespect won’t be tolerated. Still rubbing at your tender wrist, you apprehensively turn to him again. "You know you can't keep me a prisoner in my own home. People will sense something is off, especially when the police are already beginning to question my involvement, no thanks to Jed."

Michael watches you as silent as ever, yet you know he's listening. He's not always a completely unreasonable man, no. He is completely capable of listening before making decisions, despite choosing not to be vocal about it. He peers down at the table momentarily as though considering your words before one hand disappears into a hip pocket and reemerges with a small silver key; the one to the door, dropping it onto the table with a light metallic clink before taking a couple of paces to the side to allow you passage to the front door. Your eyes flit to it and then back to him. For someone so silent, you were seeming to understand him frighteningly well now and it wouldn't benefit you to play games with him. Not with Michael. The wolf whom shrouds its twisted intentions behind a mask is offering the freedom the rabbit seeks, though that mask could never truly conceal the deceitful Cheshire grin lurking beneath it. You aren't shackled by your home, nor are you bound by those cold metal chains that chewed into your wrists just nights ago. You can walk out that door and go running and screaming to the police that this utter psychopath broke into your home, abused you, had his way with you. But you won't, you can't. Michael might have freed you from one nightmare, but in doing so he's pulled you straight into another, one he created, one he controls and one you’re bound to. Wherever you go, he’ll go, he will see, he will hear and he will always know.

"I understand...I think."

Michael remains motionless, simply staring at you with his hands hanging loosely by his sides before swiping his still-bleeding palm across the table and snatching up the key which leaves a dark streak of red across the light coloured wood and then moving over to the door where he promptly proceeds to unlock it then turns around and effortlessly tosses the key onto the kitchen counter. You’re free to go, but you’re not free . With one final lingering glance from him, he yanks the door open and leaves, allowing it to slam shut loudly.

Practically throwing yourself from the chair you catch yourself after stumbling shakily to the kitchen window to see just where he was headed, but Michael is already gone without a trace and you dare not follow him. A hushed ‘Where the hell?’ passes your lips as you tilt your head from side to side of the window. It’s as though as soon as he’d stepped out of the door he’d simply vanished into thin air. You slap both hands down onto the counter, frustrated and frankly terrified of what’s yet to come. This is all his fault, that god damned Doctor Samuel fucking Loomis, scumbag liar that he is. None of this would have happened if he’d have just been truthful from the beginning. Telling people that Michael was simply “Dangerous” and a “Madman” was an incredible understatement.

Stomping over to the phone, you rip it from its place on the wall and furiously dial the number for Smith’s Grove head management department, since he never usually answers his own phone. It rings for a moment before a soft female voice answers.

"Smith's Grove management PA speaking, how can I-"

"Get me Loomis, now," you snarl into the speaker, cutting her off.

"I'm sorry ma'am but Doctor Samuel Loomis isn't available at the moment. Could I ask who's calling?" She asks in her sweetest, most friendly voice, although it was clear your aggression had taken her by surprise somewhat.

"Where the hell is he?" You bite.

"I'm afraid he hasn't been in for quite some time as he's away on supposed business. He should be back within a couple of days I suspect. Can I perhaps take a message?"

You fall silent briefly whilst mulling over an appropriate response that might grab his attention and make it obvious exactly who you were talking about. "Tell him death has come back to this little town, and the blood being spilt now is just the beginning," you respond and abruptly hang up before the assistant gets the chance to even respond. Loomis had every opportunity to be upfront with you and yet, he still chose silence over honesty. But why? What reason could he have had to not only keep such a man alive but to willingly hide how dangerous he truly is? There's more to this, there must be. Whatever it is, you intend to find out.

Suddenly roused from your idle state by a sharp twinge of pain, a sharp hiss leaves your mouth, shoulder throbbing painfully in slow but steady waves. Grasping your shirt and pulling it down over the bandaged and treated wound, you grimace when your eyes catch sight of the bright red, swollen flesh. The only thing you can do is hope you've treated it in time to eliminate any chance of infection. Michael surely wouldn’t trust you enough without the risk of you opening your mouth to someone, and silencing you for good would be the only punishment suitable enough for breaking his so-called trust. A long sigh passes your lips as you tiredly rub at your eyes, still worn out from the trauma your body has dealt with over the past few days. Finally having time away from the asylum would've proven to be great if it weren't for the fact that a murderous psychopath was keeping a steady eye on your every movement.

Slinking back to the wooden chair, you idly flop into it and prop both elbows on the table, burying your face in your hands and squeezing your eyes shut tightly. If you were to open your eyes again, maybe you would find that this whole nightmare was exactly that. Just a nightmare. Yet when you open your eyes, you're still greeted with the same scene: an ever-darkening sky through the kitchen window, the blood streaked table, the wad of bloody towels. They've not moved an inch. In one fluid motion, your hand lands on the nearest item it can latch onto; that of a small square drink glass, before hurling it into the nearest wall with all your might and listening as it shatters. A scattering of small, clear shards sprays in every direction, some even remaining lodged into the walls, while the rest lay strewn across the floor.

They say once you have mastered being alone, you are ready for the company of others, that doesn't make it easy though. When everyone's life journey separated from your own, when the only heart beating in this house belonged to you, it wasn't something most could take. There are days when the brain becomes a cold fire, perhaps that's just what others call panic, but when you are alone, who are you going to call? Maybe in time, after many unpleasant days, you'll eventually learn to become okay. That somehow you'll find joy again, or maybe it'll find you. But that's just a dream though now isn't it? A very distant and ever-fading dream, slowly fizzling out with every passing day. Of course, you could tell yourself you're not truly on your own when there's always going to be a set of eyes on you, but there's no soul. There's thought, but no emotion, no reason.

You can talk to ghosts and they may very well make their precense known, but this one will never talk back.

[sillyrabbit81]

Hi dear

I'm a big fan of your writing, especially the way you write Sy. Love it. If you are still taking prompts, I have one.

How would Henry and his characters react to having an Erectile dysfunction?

I think that topic is not being discussed enough.

🖤🖤🖤

Thanks for the ask Anon. I was having trouble with this ask so I discussed it with @henryobsessed and we worked on it together. To be fair, she did most of it! If you haven’t read any of her work I suggest you visit her blog and take a look at her Masterlist . She is a great friend and has a wonderful perspective and a unique style. I love her!

@henryobsessed here I have to interject and have my say too, I loved this request, it was so much fun finding creative ways to discuss a delicate subject. And for the record I may have done more characters but @sillyrabbit81 wrote more words per character HAHAHA. You are a wonderful Friend and Cavill sister you inspire and push me to be myself and I cannot be more grateful. That being said have fun reading guys 😊

Summary: Situations in which Henry and his characters suffer erectile dysfunctions

Word Count: approx 3k

Warnings: smut, masturbation (m), oral sex (m and f receiving), anal play, p in v sex, bad medical advice, incorrect use of prescription medication, bodily fluids, period sex, drunk sex, Dom/sub relationship, descriptions of violence and death,

Masterlist

Erectile Dysfunction Headcanon

Henry Cavill

Henry had been filming for months and now he was headed home for a week’s break. You sat there waiting in the tinted people mover, as Henry was ushered to the car. Lights blinded you as the door opened, he climbed in, and smiling a weary grin, he pulled you into a big bear hug. He missed you so much.

That night, he fell into your arms in a passionate embrace. You had both craved each other, missing one another’s touch. As the night progressed, you noticed things were different. For the first forty minutes you were ecstatic, he had bought you to orgasm three times. Your body was super sensitive, but every time he seemed to be close himself, the phone would ring, indicating someone needed him. You had switched it off after an hour, having enough, and wanting his undivided attention.

Henry had managed to stay hard, but after an hour and a half, it was beginning to be painful for you, and he seemed no closer. Eventually, he flopped beside you, drained from the physical exertion.

“I don’t know what’s wrong. It’s like I’m right there, but I can’t let go.”

You brought him into your arms, and caressing his back said, “Don’t worry love. It will be ok. Just give yourself a day, and maybe we can shut your phone off. I think the stress it is causing you might be a big part of the problem.”

He huffed at the thought. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe.” He sighed and soon you heard soft snores spilling from his lips.

Walter Marshall

It had been a long day, scratch that a long month. Walter had been working day and night to catch a serial killer. That night as he came home, he couldn’t forget the latest victim. What they had found had turned his stomach. In all the years he had been on the force, nothing could have prepared him for what they found that night.

Arriving home he collapsed on the bed, he was so physically exhausted, and for once sleep immediately consumed him. He woke nearly twelve hours later to the smell of bacon, eggs, and coffee. He groaned; he had forgotten it was his two-year anniversary with you. Walking into the bathroom he washed his face, staring at the blood shot eyes reflected back at him.

“Come on man, get it together. You promised her,” Walter tried to fire himself up. It was no use, he was spent. Sighing, he walked into the kitchen wrapped his arms around you and breathed in the soft floral scent in your hair. For the first time in days, he felt a spark within himself, and although the horrific images still played on his mind, he felt a slight peace. He kissed your head, relieved, something could still reach him, something was still good. “Happy anniversary, love,” he growled.

After a wonderful breakfast, Walter sat on the couch with you and the two of you cuddled while watching a movie. His eyes kept sliding shut, his exhaustion made worse by his full belly. His fatigue became even more apparent when after reaching your hand beneath the blanket, you could not bring his flaccid muscle to attention.

Normally this situation would turn heated quickly, you had a way with your tongue that often had him begging for more. But Walter couldn’t get rid of the images in his mind, the battered and dismembered bodies, and the fact they were no closer to catching the killer weighed most heavily on his thoughts.

After half an hour of you trying to arouse him, Walter said in a resigned voice, “Sorry love, I don’t think I can.” With eyes that spoke of immense pain he looked at you and asked, “Could we please just cuddle? I think I need that more than anything right now.” In that moment he knew you were the one for him. He had expected huffing or crying because you thought you weren’t good enough or you asking him to please you. Instead, you had adjusted your position, so he was tucked into your body, holding him close while your hand stroked his curls.

A calm filled his soul as you whispered, “I am here for whatever you need my love. Rest now.”

Captain Syverson

You were just about to turn the light off and go to sleep when you heard the front door open with a crash and heard a rough curse. You grin, Sy was home and wasn’t sober. You knew what that meant, rough, wild, primal fucking. You quickly turn the light off and hide under the covers, well acquainted with the game, you knew how to play your part.

“Where are ya, woman?” Sy’s voice boomed at your bedroom door. “Don’t think you can hide from me. I’m hungry!”

You peek out from under the blanket, Sy had turned the light on again and was quickly undressing. You lick your lips, watching your big furry ox as he dropped his jeans, and his cock was revealed already on its way to being hard. Turning suddenly, he saw you, and you yelped covering your face again. “I see you woman, don’t play shy!” You giggle nervously, excited, your core already dampening with arousal.

Sy pulls the covers back and smirks as he sees you’re already naked waiting for him, “You’re a cheeky little thing ain’tcha?” You bite your lip, opening your legs slightly, inviting him in. Grabbing your ankles, he pulls you down the bed and gets on his knees. A low growl emanates from his throat before he dives between your legs feasting on you with an eagerness that brings you swiftly to your peak.

Licking at his lips and sucking on his glistening whiskers, he stands up pumping his cock getting it ready. Your brows pull together, puzzled, he’s always hard when he eats you out. You don’t have time to dwell on it because he’s soon ready. Sy flips you onto your knees before he enters and begins his assault on your core.

Something is wrong though, you can feel him falling out of you. Did he cum already? Sy mumbles curses, pulling out and you turn around and see him fisting himself again as he slips his fingers inside you. In a few moments he is hard again, removing his fingers and replacing it with his cock. You sigh, relieved, as he builds his rhythm, and you hear him start to groan. But soon, it happens again, and try as he might he just can’t stay hard.

“Fuck,” Sy growls. You turn around and see the look on his face, a mix of frustration and embarrassment that melts your heart. “I think I drank too much Sugar,” he says, running his hand over his short hair. “Fuck. This hasn’t happened… Fuck!”

“Hey!” you say sharply to get his attention.

“What?” Sy replies just as sharply, but he doesn’t look at you.

“It’s fine, Baby,” you assure him. You see him jut his jaw and you reach up and cup his cheeks, making him look at you. “It’s ok. You’re just a little too drunk,” you smile and give him a soft kiss. “It happens.”

“Not to me it don’t.”

“It’s not forever,” you say. “Come on, let’s go to sleep. I’m sure it’ll be back normal in the morning.” You kiss him again and pull his head down to whisper in his ear, “maybe you could wake me up like you did last week.” You pull back and smirk raising your eyebrows.

Sy grins, still a little sheepish, but there was a hint of mischief in his eyes again, “You’re a good thing, Sugar.” He kisses your forehead and says, “I love you.”

Geralt of Rivia

Geralt had never in his life had this happen before. The bar maid who had eagerly agreed to keep his bed warm on this cold winter’s night, gaped in confusion.

How could it be? She thought, All the myths about Witcher’s said they were virile and could last most of the night. She had been consumed with the thought ever since The White Wolf had arrived in the area and was quick to accept his offer to take her to his bed. She was bitterly disappointed and pouted at Geralt. Her sweet, plump lips alone should have been enough to make his cock stand, but tonight it lay unmoving, and useless.

That blasted sorcerer, it must have been him who had cast a curse on Geralt. It could be the only explanation for his inadequate showing. Looking at the poor wench beside him, Geralt pitied her. She had been most eager to satisfy his needs tonight, giving a valiant effort to arouse him. No matter, he had other ways to enjoy bringing her to the height of pleasure. Granted he didn’t normally concern himself with their needs as his own normally coincided with theirs. But tonight, his fingers, and tongue would be adequate until he broke the curse and returned to give her what she truly deserved.

Mike

The party had been epic, the drinks flowed, pot was smoked in abundance and Mike had managed to capture the attentions of a wonderful long legged blonde beauty. She helped him back to her apartment and his heart rate raised as she slowly stripped him, leaving him in all his naked glory. Laying on the bed he watched as she did a strip tease for him, her perky breasts bouncing as she jiggled her ample peach in his face.

But something was wrong, the situation was right, she was right but… he held his hand out to the two or was it three beauties before him. One took his hand as he guided her to sit in his lap. He caressed her as they kissed, his tongue violating her mouth with as much enthusiasm as his inebriated self could manage. Even with her grinding against him nothing happened.

“Shit” he swore.

The girl frowned and her lips seemed to move in twisted patterns which stilled again before she snickered. An evil cackle reverberated in her throat and her face twisted into that of a demented creature. “Can’t get it up, boy?” she taunted as she continued to laugh. She collected his clothes and managed to push him out of her bedroom and into the night. Standing in the cold with only his briefs covering his body, he stumbled as he began his walk of shame home.

August Walker

August Walker was hands down, far and away, the greatest lover you have ever had. He was the only man who had ever been able to keep up with you, your average session lasting for four hours. He was able to cum and get hard again faster than any guy you had ever been with too.

But being with August meant following The Rules. There were many Rules, rules which governed how you would dress when you saw him, how you were groomed, how you were to address him and when you could contact him. There were punishments too, but you had been a good girl, never broken any of his rules, so you never gave the punishments a thought.

One of the many Rules was absolutely no snooping. He said it was for your protection as much for his privacy. You didn’t know exactly how August made his money, but you assumed it had to be from some sort of illegal activity. So, you obeyed this rule as you did the others until one evening after a marathon session, you realised you got your period. You were shocked August hadn’t said anything, clearly he had continued to fuck you while you were bleeding. You started opening his bathroom cupboards searching for a tampon or pad or something, hoping you wouldn’t have to stuff your panties with toilet paper until you got home.

You opened the cupboard behind the mirror and were surprised to see a pill bottle with little blue tablets. You recognised them and after checking the label and confirming it you were speechless. August used Viagra? But, it didn’t seem possible that he would need it, his stamina was out of this world… unless…

“What do you think you are doing Petal?” August said from the doorway, a box of tampons and a towel was in his hands.

Quickly recovering your senses, you grabbed the box and towel out of his hands and kissed his cheek saying, “Looking for those. Thank you, August.”

Quicker than you thought possible you were bent over the counter, cheek pushed into the stone benchtop. “You found my pills,” August said coldly. Leaning his body over yours, his weight pushed down on you, holding you in place as he kicked your legs apart. You muffled a cry as you felt him hard again against your ass. “I don’t need them, for most women, Petal. But for particularly slutty, insatiable, cock hungry brats such as yourself, it’s a necessary assistance.”

“I didn’t mean to pry,” you murmured, hoping he would take pity on you. Tears welled in your eyes as his finger pressed against your ass, forcing your tight muscles apart and you cried as he entered you. “I’m sorry, August.”

“My dear sweet, Pet,” August grunted as he violated you with a second finger. “If you aren’t sorry now, you will be.”

Napoleon Solo

Napoleon had been watching the siren from a distance all night. Her lithe body commanded all around to her attention. After she finished singing her call to the night goddess, he made his move. Two drinks in hand he set his sights and went in for the kill.

The two danced, drank and now were in her apartment, laid out on her bed he was happily pleasing her, mouth buried between her delicious thighs. His tongue flicked expertly over her button bringing her to climax, exciting his body, he climbed forward and for the first time that night claimed her lips. They kissed passionately until something changed, his mind grew foggy, and his cock deflated.

“Aww, is the great Casanova having trouble?” she laughed her sweet siren song changing to a bitter retort. His confused eyes tried to fix on hers as she began to distort, her last words filling his gut with fear. “Don’t worry love. I’ll take good care of you Napoleon Solo.”

Clark Kent

Clark was in college and his new friend Tommy was egging him on to take Crystal out for a date. He couldn’t understand why the cheerleader wanted to take him out. He wasn’t anything special as far as she knew, but she had been flirting with him all week.

Dinner was nice and Clark was surprised when Crystal suggested they return to her share house for dessert. Nervous as he was around her, he was pleased when after ice cream he had allowed her to talk him into a make out session in her room. They had only been in the room a few moments when he had felt strange. They had been kissing, it was enjoyable, but his stomach had begun to feel off and he felt unusually tired and weak.

The more they kissed the more frustrated he was to realise he wasn’t getting a rise out of his little friend. He noticed a pendant hanging on the wall near her bed, the green stone glowed eerily at him giving him a bad vibe. After a few more moments he politely excused himself, saying he must have eaten something off. Clarke murmured apologies and gave promises that he would call her and he left. Strangely, by the time he left her house he felt better, as if he had never felt ill at all. He was only a little upset that he had ruined his chances with Crystal, something about that pendant made him hope he would never see it again.

Charles Brandon

Charles sat in the apothecary rooms, wondering what he had gotten himself in for. The King had recommended him when Charles confided in his friend of his problem.

“So young man, why are you here?” the old man asked, his face kind but stern.

“Well, I’ve been having trouble, when I pee it burns and well, I can get an erection, but it deflates quickly and sometimes I cannot get one at all. I’m also having abdominal pain.”

The old man chuckled. After examining the affected area, he turned to his wall of potions. Pulling together some salves, and powdered herbs he turned to address the Charles. “Here, rub this on the affected area twice a day, and drink this tea three times a day.” The apothecary paused and said with a grin, “And finally, give the ladies from court a rest for a bit, you will regain your vigour again.”

Shame and chagrin filled Charles as he pulled his coverings back over his privates. Taking the medicines, he snuck out of the room trusting that no one saw him, and hoping against all hope, that this would work.

Sherlock Holmes

Sherlock sits back in satisfaction, marvelling at his new invention. Based on some literature he read from the America’s he perfected the design and made it fit himself perfectly.

Having commissioned the glass tube and rubber attachments, the contraption worked by winding a small handle, creating the necessary suction to create a vacuum, pooling enough blood into his cock to make it erect. By placing a rubber ring at the base of his shaft, he found he was able to maintain an erection for approximately thirty minutes. He could even bring himself to orgasm by his own hand.

It really was a delightful invention. Now, he just had to find that little vixen of a maid and see if it worked with her too. Perhaps he should try and use her mouth first.

Tag List 1

@henryobsessed @omgkatinka @legendarywizarddetective @posiemax @nostalgicb-txh @moonlacebeam @anitababi @agniavateira @blakerogue @shadesofarrogance @mansaaay @stxlemate @wheretheriversrunintothesea @amberangel112 @madbaddic7ed @eldarwen333 @wolvesandhoundshowltogether @summersong69 @littlefreya @littlebirdofrivia @luclittlepond @myloveforhenrycavill @mary-ann84 @tellingyouastory @beck07990 @zealoushound @sofiebstar @sweetlybigdragonn @bloodyinspiredfuck @marantha @diegos-butt @greensleeves888 @endofalldays01 @justaboringadult @ysmmsy @offroadinjandals @littlewrenofrivia @pussyverson @foxyjwls007 @kebabgirl67

[ot7always]

In the Dead of Night

banner courtesy of the wonderfully talented @dee-ehn​ !

Word Count: 14.5k

Pairing: Vampire!Jin x Reader

Genre: Vampire!AU, friends to lovers, smut, fluff

Warnings: dom!Jin, sub!Reader, non-gory blood and knife injury (it’s there, but mostly humorous and/or with very little specific description), biting (like actual biting), vampire compulsion (nothing concerning consent-wise), marking, hair pulling, grinding, size kink, spanking (hand), fingering, praise, oral (f receiving), unprotected sex, creampie, aftercare

Rating: 18+

Summary: Courtesy of my roommate, who summarized my story much better than I ever could:

A/N: It’s finally here! I meant for this to be about half the length and be released more than a week or 2 ago, but as you very well know, things don’t exactly go as planned in 2020. Regardless, I enjoyed writing this fic a lot, so please let me know what you think!

--

Saturdays at 3 am were supposed to be peaceful.

Well – at your apartment, that is. You couldn’t account for whoever elected to roam the streets of downtown at night.

But what was definitely not supposed to be happening was being awoken from your deep slumber by furious pounding on your front door.

Oh, for fuck’s sake.

When you glanced groggily over at your alarm clock and saw the time, you could have screamed.

Just as you reached for your phone to call the cops on whatever psychopath was probably waking up your entire floor, your screen lit up with a text.

Suckjin [03:19]: plz open ur door

Oh, for fuck’s sake.

Sliding out of bed, you hissed as your bare feet hit the cold hardwood.

This had better be fucking worth it.

Plodding out of your bedroom on tiptoes to avoid as much contact with the floor as possible, you made your way to the front door without even bothering to throw on shorts under your oversized t-shirt.

Whatever. You were sure that brat has seen thighs before.

While the knocks had thankfully quieted for a moment, he started up again just as you reached the door.

Before he could even dare bang his fist against the wood again, you were turning the deadbolt and whipping the door open, readying your fiercest glare for the broad man standing before you.

Right as you opened your mouth to start cussing him out, he sprung towards you, hands pushing you further inside your apartment and shutting the door before you could even blink.

When he turned to face you again, hands on his stomach, you prepared for the verbal onslaught you were about to send his way.

“Just what in the absolute hell do you think you’re-”

When your eyes naturally followed the path of his arms down to his stomach, what you saw there shut you up immediately.

Wide-eyed, you took a step back, eyes never leaving the sight before you. He-

As your breath quickened, a (miraculously clean) hand shot out to cover your mouth gently, though you were sure he was ready to clamp down at a moment’s notice.

“Please don’t scream.”

When you were finally able to break your gaze from his abdomen and look at his face instead, pleading eyes locked with yours, his skin paler than usual.

As frightened as you were, you calmed some when you processed the fact that he seemed to be standing before you just fine, albeit the fact that his eyes appeared somewhat unfocused.

You nodded, reaching a shaky hand up to remove his from your face, shivering at how cold and clammy he felt.

When you could speak again, you spent a few moments collecting your thoughts before you opened your mouth again.

“You - you have a knife in you!” you hissed, stepping closer to move his jacket aside to get a better look.

It wasn’t that gruesome a sight, especially not when he was wearing a black t-shirt, but it was no less jarring to have your friend show up in the middle of the night after seemingly being stabbed.

“I know that!” he hissed back, slightly exasperated, muffling a groan when you tried to inch his shirt up to glance at the skin beneath.

“Why the hell do you have a knife in you?” you whispered furiously, pulling him by the arm to settle down onto your couch.

He plopped down with a sigh of relief, his head lolling back momentarily. You hoped he knew that he was paying your cleaning bills if he bled all over your loveseat.

“Now, now, didn’t anyone ever tell you not to remove the knife if you get stabbed?” he said with a pained chuckle, sucking in a breath at the movement it caused.

“Seokjin, now is not the time to joke around,” you said, panic rising in you because you had absolutely no clue what you were supposed to do with a vampire who had a knife embedded in him. “Why did you come here?”

“Well you were the only person I could think of who would answer their door at 3 am-”

“Seokjin!”

“Sorry, sorry.” You didn’t tend to call him that unless you were genuinely annoyed, and he seemed to drop the humorous demeanor immediately.

“Why didn’t you go to a hospital?”

“I can’t go to a hospital.”

“What?! Why not?”

“Okay, correction – I didn’t want to go to a hospital.”

You let out a groan of frustration, fingers rubbing circles into your temples. This man was going to be the death of you. You had no idea why vampires seemed to have such an aversion to hospitals, but you supposed you could never understand. Despite their existence being generally accepted in society so long as they didn’t leave trails of bodies in their wake, there must have been some other reason nobody had ever shared with you.

“Seokjin, I really don’t know what to do here,” you whispered, an ounce of desperation and unease making its way into your tone. His expression softened at the sound, reaching for your hand. As much as he might have been trying to comfort you, the feeling of his hand unusually icy against yours only scared you more.

“I...” he trailed off, trying to figure out a good way to phrase this before settling on being straightforward. “...need blood.”

“Huh?” You furrowed your brow. “You literally have blood at home.”

“No, I, uhh...” he paused. “I need fresh blood to heal something like this.”

You froze. He needed fresh blood? He showed up here because he wanted... your blood?

“Aren’t there places you can go for blood?” you asked, tensing up at the notion of being bitten. It wasn’t that you were so totally opposed – it was no secret that people said it felt good. But you had never been bitten before, and you didn’t know what to think about Seokjin showing up here for that reason.

“I came here because I trust you the most,” he said, squeezing your hand. “Please. I promise I would never do this unless I had to. But please – you can say no, but tell me right now, because this hurts so much.”

Seeing his pained expression and feeling the way his fingers gripped yours like a lifeline, there was absolutely no way you were letting him back outside to roam the streets. You had no idea how this really happened to him, but despite their general acceptance, vampire hunters still existed. Like hell you were going to let easy bait walk right into their hands.

Especially not Seokjin.

“I – okay, I just – I don’t know why I’m nervous.” Biting was a pretty private, intimate thing. Most vampires drank bagged blood, with live donors only in carefully-controlled emergency clinics or heavily guarded clubs.

There was, of course, the cases of vampire-human relationships or hookups, but most people didn’t tend to share the ultra-specific details of their sex life.

Not that you had never attempted research on your own, but anecdotes you found on the internet varied so wildly that you had to wonder whether they were even telling the truth.

“I promise I can control myself. I would never put you in danger.”

“No, I know, it’s not that,” you mumbled. “Just... will it hurt?”

“Oh. No, it shouldn’t.”

“It shouldn’t? I don’t know how reassuring that is,” you chuckled nervously. You weren’t about to back out now, but you had at least hoped that he would have a straight answer for you.

He took a shaky breath, and a pang of guilt went through you for asking so many questions.

“The more attracted a vampire and donor are to each other, emotionally and physically, the better it’ll feel for you.”

“And you?”

He smirked, and curse him for making it look good despite his unfortunate... situation. “Me? I’m a vampire, it always feels good.”

Right. You might have facepalmed at the stupid question that left your own lips, but his voice momentarily distracted you from doing so.

“Anyway, I know my face isn’t a problem, so unless you secretly hate me or something, you’ll be okay,” he grinned.

“I’m so glad you can joke around right now,” you snorted derisively. “If I secretly hated you, you wouldn’t be here, would you?”

“Fair.”

“Anyway, I’ll do it, just,” you winced. “Don’t call me a donor. It feels weird.”

“Deal,” he said quickly, pulling you closer to him. “Thank you for this. Really, I owe you.”

You sighed. “I can’t just let you bleed out somewhere in the world, can I?” You allowed him to pull you close enough that you were hovering over him with your legs touching his, and you stood awkwardly in silence. “Uhh, what should I do?”

He patted his lap in invitation and your face warmed at the notion, but you straddled his legs before your brain had time to dwell on it.

He raised a hand to nudge the collar of your shirt away from your neck, his icy fingers and the sensation of his nails on your skin sending a shiver down your spine. When his thumb rubbed gently against the warmth of your neck, you had to suppress a gasp at the surprisingly intimate touch.

When you focused your gaze on his face, his eyes were not fixed on your own, but rather on the movements of his own hand, his pupils obscenely dilated. You’d never seen him look so lustful, so hungry.

Heat undeniably flared in your core (much without your consent), and it was wishful thinking to hope that Seokjin didn’t pick up on your quickening breath or rapid heartbeat.

“I...” he whispered, trailing off before he’d even begun.

“Hm?” you answered, already feeling dazed before his fangs had even touched you.

“I need you to pull the knife out.”

Well, that certainly broke you free of your trance.

“What!? Me? You – I – me?” you stuttered in a very flattering display of eloquence.

“I’m... not sure I have the strength right now,” he admitted ruefully, and you could tell that if it were really up to him, he would be doing it himself.

Just what have you gotten yourself into?

“Fine,” you murmured, raising both hands to grip firmly at the handle of the blade. “Just – don’t bite me until I put this knife down, okay? We don’t need any more... accidents.”

He failed to hold back a laugh at that, and you managed to crack a grin in response. “Okay, okay.”

To think he had you so utterly flustered and at his whim only moments ago.

“On the count of three,” you breathed, bracing yourself for something you certainly never expected anyone to ask of you. “One... two... three.”

When you reached three, you flinched your eyes shut, pulling as hard as you could in one quick burst, desperate to have this all over before it started.

The sensation was something odd and unspeakable, and you turned to toss the knife on the table behind you before you could register the uncomfortable warmth on your hands.

But the exact moment the sound of metal clattering on glass reached your ears, your head was being wrenched back by large hands, plump lips and hot breath coming into contact with your neck before you realized he’d moved.

You could barely suck in a gasp before a hand moved to grip tightly at your waist, and fangs sunk into your skin.

White-hot pain lanced through your body like electricity, and for a moment you were thinking you were done for. Seokjin was wrong, maybe he lied, and you definitely lacked the strength to push off a dying vampire determined to drink.

But just as you opened your mouth, whether to scream or cry or whatever else, you were immediately silenced, a breathy groan soon pulled from your throat.

The sudden onslaught of pleasure flowing through your limbs had you weak, your body falling limp into sensation immediately.

Clearly prepared for this outcome, Seokjin only pulled you closer to him, the hand on your waist supporting your body, a hand fisted near your scalp keeping your head back. The casual display of strength pulled a whimper from you, your body feeling hot all over.

Your eyelids fluttered closed, and you had to wonder when you had opened them at all, because you couldn’t recall processing a single thing visually since his fangs touched you.

You thought that would be as good as it gets, but the pleasure only kept building and building. It rendered you almost completely immobile, your world reduced to Seokjin at your neck, the broad planes of his body below yours, and the myriad of bliss flooding your veins. Heat was throbbing in your cunt, your nipples hard and almost pained as they rubbed against the roughness of your t-shirt.

You raised your hands that were sitting idle at your sides to fist into Seokjin’s shirt, giving no thought to the fact that he was gravely injured in that spot only minutes ago, fingers feeling almost numb and not registering the wetness that was there either.

“Ah - Jin,” you cried loudly as the bliss only built, tossing your head back to bare more of your neck.

He growled ferally into your skin, the sound going straight to your core. He pulled you closer still, enough that your breasts pressed harshly into his chest, your hips slotted together.

Sighing happily at the pressure right where you needed it most, you ground desperately against whatever you could feel against you. When you felt the undeniable hardness of Seokjin’s cock against your cunt and its delicious friction against your soaked-through panties, you moaned obscenely.

You felt rather than heard his gasp in response, his grip around you tightening even further, enough that you felt out of breath.

You whimpered at the restriction, his strength keeping you from grinding against him no matter how hard you tried.

You cursed him internally, but there was no way you were going to formulate words at this point, your mind completely lost to euphoric delirium.

It felt as though you were floating, head thrown back as sparks flew up your spine relentlessly.

Despite the lack of proper friction against your cunt, you could feel pressure building in your abdomen. You were close, so close, so undeniably close-

Fangs retracted from your neck, and the sudden loss was like ice water being thrown over your head. You shivered.

The tight grip on you loosened, Seokjin leaning into the back of the couch and groaning.

When you opened your eyes you almost fell over at the way the world spun, dizziness and blurry vision almost distracting you from the orgasm that seemed only moments away.

Almost.

Blinking furiously until you managed to fix your gaze onto Seokjin’s face, you sucked in a harsh breath at the sight before you.

Irises swimming with crimson, pupils blown out, chest heaving, dark hair mussed, lips painted red, fangs still visible past his parted lips – he looked the very picture of sin.

Fuck.

Though if you had a mirror, you would see that you looked just as ruined – eyes wanton and desperate, teeth gnawing into your bottom lip, dark bruises colouring your neck. If temptation were a person, it would be you, sitting in Seokjin’s lap with your soaked panties still pressed against the bulge in his pants.

As you stared at each other, it was as though time froze. Neither of you moved an inch, seemingly content to remain in some kind of intense, sensual staredown for the rest of time.

But you’d never claimed to be a patient person, and when you finally felt confident that your body was yours again, you acted.

If he wanted to push you away, he could have. His reflexes always seemed to almost predict the future, and you were positive that if he didn’t want this, he would have stopped you. He was never one to avoid voicing his discontent, even if it was masked as a self-deprecating joke. Some part of you deep down expected him to end this before it had even begun.

He didn’t.

Your lips met his in a depraved frenzy, too far gone to make any attempt at starting slow. It was rough, and it was messy, and it was desperate, and you loved it. His fangs scraped at your bottom lip and you gasped, fisting your hands into his hair as your body remembered how it felt the last time those fangs breached your skin. But as you ground your clit into the sizeable bulge in his pants again, he froze.

Just as you were about to pull away to see what caught his attention, he pushed you away first, hands firmly on your shoulders.

“Wait, wait, wait,” he gasped, and it very much looked like it took all of his willpower to break away.

“What’s wrong?” you asked weakly, your head still spinning, body absolutely overcome by lust. In fact, he was looking a bit blurry again with how fast he moved you, and it took several moments of rapid blinking before you met his very concerned gaze. Nothing ever escaped him, and you were sure that your semi-weak state was very obvious to him right now.

Not that it affected how much you wanted his touch, his cock.

“You don’t know what you’re doing.”

Your brow furrowed. “I do know what I’m doing,” you said firmly – or at least, you tried, but it took far too much effort to wrap your tongue around the syllables, almost as if you were drunk.

“Y/N-”

“Why don’t you believe me?” you whined, this time sounding a bit more coherent. You tried to push toward him, but his hold was too strong. “You want it too, look at your face.”

He sighed, looking to the ceiling as though it held some answer on how to make this easier. “It’s not about whether I want it or not. You’re not thinking straight.”

“Jinnie,” you whimpered needily, reaching your hands toward the waistband of his pants. If he didn’t touch you soon, you swore that you would scream. “Please. I want it. I want you. I promise-”

He moved to snatch your hands before you could touch him, and your mouth clamped shut at the grip. His expression was almost pained for a moment before his eyes glazed over with a look that would have had you on your knees immediately.

His hand shot up to grip your chin firmly, ensuring that you couldn’t look away. Though, you didn’t think you could look away if you tried, drawn to the unspeakable darkness you found there, crimson still invading the rich brown.

“Why don’t you be a good girl and sleep for me?”

“Wh-what?” you choked out, but it was as though you’d lost control of your body, feeling as though you’d been awake for days without sleep. Your eyelids fluttered shut, but you forced them back open, groaning weakly when your vision fell upon Seokjin, his expression still dark and hungry.

You were about to open your mouth again, but something about his eyes was so captivating. Something about the red pulled you in, left you unable to think. Were his eyes always this beautiful? You wracked your brain, but came up blank. You wanted to open your mouth and ask him, but you couldn’t move a muscle. Even still, your face drew closer to his as though pulled in by a magnet.

His eyes roved over your face before meeting your gaze once more, and you missed the flash of sympathy that was present for only a moment. You were relieved when he looked at you again, fingers twitching with the urge to cup his face. You were content to look at him for the rest of time – if there was anything Seokjin had, it was time, right?

Attention focused on each other, he parted his lips, and you could have sworn your ears buzzed, desperate to hold on to every word.

“Sleep.”

Your vision went black.

--

You awoke to a hand scratching gently at your scalp, a great contrast to the relentless hammering of your head. You groaned, shoving your face further into your pillow, blocking out the light that was already worsening the ache of your skull, even with your eyes closed.

You were so comfy, so relaxed at the touch that you almost drifted right back to sleep.

Wait.

You lived alone.

Sitting up all in a rush, you gasped as the world spun. It only got worse when you forced your eyes open, a pained whine leaving your lips as even the limited light in the room only introduced more pain behind your eyes.

“Woah! It’s just me, it’s just me.” Seokjin’s voice came out in a rush, sturdy arms lowering you back to your pillow as he pulled the sheets up to shadow your face.

Right. Seokjin.

Your heartbeat calmed, recalling his arrival late last night. Though, what came next was all a blur you couldn’t bother trying to remember right now.

You heard him step away quickly, the sound of your curtains drawing completely closed having you let out a sigh of relief. His footsteps neared you again, his cool touch returning to stroke gently at your face, before moving to massage at the base of your skull.

His touch was so delicate it almost baffled you. You didn’t think he’d touch anyone like this, his displays of affection more inclined to loud compliments and playful roughhousing.

But you couldn’t deny that it felt incredible, your neck arching almost imperceptively as you leaned into his touch. The chill of his skin against yours sent a shiver through you, and you tried to ignore the fluttering in your chest.

“Are you cold?”

Blood rushed to your face at the observation, though you only gave a noncommittal noise in return. He didn’t need to know what was going on in your mind.

“My head hurts,” you mumbled quietly, a pout overtaking your lips. Seokjin had to force himself not to laugh at how cute you looked then.

“I know, I’m sorry,” he replied softly, lulling you back into a half-asleep state with the gentle motions of his hand on you.

You couldn’t tell how long it was before you opened your eyes again – it could have been 2 minutes or it could have been two hours. You couldn’t even tell whether you’d drifted off or not.

It was fortunately much darker than the first time you opened your eyes, much to the relief of your headache that had faded some, but was still thudding away.

What you didn’t expect, however, was to be greeted by the golden skin of Seokjin’s chest, the shadows of the room only making it look more unreal.

You blearily blinked several times before determining that yes, that was Seokjin half-naked and perched on a kitchen chair. You tried to get words out and failed, clearing your throat before trying again.

“Where are your clothes?”

He grinned. “A bit ruined, if you recall.”

Right.

At least his pants were still on. That was best for your sanity.

“Why does my head hurt so much?” you asked, luckily able to keep your eyes open now to look at him without the pain multiplying tenfold.

He winced, his chest aching at the pained expression on your face. “I’m sorry. That’s my fault.”

“What do you mean? Because you bit me?”

“No, not that.” He raised his free hand to scratch awkwardly at his ear.

“Huh? Why then?” All of this was so confusing. Maybe you should have done more research on vampires in your life, though you never expected to be in this sort of situation.

“I, uhh... compelled you.” He gnawed nervously at his lip, but rather than the lashing out he might have expected, you only looked at him in confusion.

“You what? Why?”

“What do you remember from last night?” he posed to you instead.

As much as you tried to recall, you couldn’t focus on anything with the state your head was in. You remembered him arriving at your house, a bit of stupid banter, getting on the couch, sitting in his lap. Then, he bit you.

Then what?

You honestly didn’t know, and you couldn’t help the fear that crept its way through you at that realization.

“You bit me...” you trailed off, looking away from his face and instead staring into the sheets near where your hands laid.

He hummed in affirmation, clearly urging you to continue.

“And then, I don’t really know,” you whispered, an edge of panic in your voice.

He sighed. “That’s what I thought. Don’t worry, it’ll come back.”

“Did something bad happen?” You tried to wrack your brain for possible scenarios where he would have had to compel you to do something, and you came up blank every time. What could you have done? Attacked him? Or did he go crazy at the taste of your blood and attack you? No, that didn’t make any sense – you were lying in bed feeling perfectly normal besides the headache.

What the hell happened?

“Nothing bad happened. I just... made you sleep before we did something stupid.”

It felt like the more he told you, the less you knew. Before you did something stupid? As in, did something stupid together?

There was something about the way he was choosing his words that led you to only one conclusion – in fact, he sounded an awful lot like Taehyung bemoaning his drunken hookups.

There was no way you almost fucked... right?

You’d have to know, right? There was no way you would have gone along with that... right?

It wasn’t as though you’d never had a spur of the moment one-night stand, but with Seokjin? There was absolutely no way you would’ve let that happen. A person had to protect their heart, after all.

“Stop overthinking right now, you’ll just make the pain worse.”

“I’m not,” you protested, though you didn’t know why you even tried lying. It was a bit hard to trick someone who was both a vampire and your friend.

“I can literally hear you freaking out. Please just try to rest, you’ll remember when the headache goes away.”

You sighed, trying to ease the tension in your body you didn’t even realize you had. “Are you sure?”

“Positive,” he said confidently, his hand trailing away to rub firm circles into your shoulder instead.

“Mm.” You might have said something, but proper words evaded you at his touch. You tried focusing on him rather than the thrum of your skull, and you had to force yourself to keep your eyes open.

The expression on Seokjin’s face was one you hadn’t seen before. His eyes looked into yours with a softness that felt unfamiliar, a soft smile overtaking his lips when he saw how exhausted you looked.

“Sleep if you’re tired, princess,” he murmured, pulling the sheets up higher to cover you more. “Do you want another blanket?”

You could feel your heart speed up in your chest at the pet name and his tenderness, and you cursed the fact that there was no way to hide anything from him. At least he was polite enough not to tease you like he did your other friends.

You were so momentarily flustered that you almost forgot to respond, only nodding in response as you curled further into yourself. If you were any braver, maybe you would have asked him to join you instead.

It was only moments before he was tossing the throw from your living room over you, and it almost startled you. Sometimes you forgot how eerily fast he could move, considering he usually slowed himself to your pace whenever you were together.

You let out a contented sigh as you snuggled into the additional warmth, already feeling only half-conscious. You had just enough energy to let out a mumbled ‘thanks’ before you were drifting off again.

--

When you awoke this time, it felt as though you were an entirely new person. For starters, your head felt blissfully quiet. You were sure you would have cried if you woke up to just as much pain. There was only so much you could take in one 24-hour period. Seokjin had really done a number on your weekend, hadn’t he?

Speaking of Seokjin, he was nowhere to be seen in your bedroom. Though you were sure he was still somewhere. It wasn’t quite his style to disappear without saying goodbye, and you were even more doubtful that he would just leave after biting you.

Biting you.

At the thought, images flooded your mind faster than you could process them.

His fangs at your neck.

The relentless pleasure that invaded every fibre of your being.

Your lips on his.

Your brazen grinding against him.

And, your refusal to stop despite his words.

Holy fuck.

Was it possible to go back to when you didn’t remember and you could ignorantly lay in bed with Seokjin stroking your head?

You sat up only to bury your head in your hands, letting out a loud, embarrassed, frustrated groan while you were at it. If Seokjin didn’t know you were awake before, he surely did now. But merciful as ever, he allowed you to wallow in your mortification alone.

Was there anything worse than trying to mindlessly and basically drunkenly make your way into your friend’s pants and get denied? Your friend who you maybe found a little bit (extremely) attractive in every way, shape, and form?

Well, of course there were worse things, but to you in this moment, it certainly felt like a new low.

It took you a moment to find your footing once you’d hopped out of bed, but luckily you felt good as new otherwise. If you stayed in here alone too much longer you would certainly lose the minimal nerve you had and never leave.

In your rush to make use of your bravery, you remembered at the last moment that you were still in just your panties and shirt with no bra.

When you made it to your dresser, you paused at your reflection.

It was almost... startling how normal you looked. Though, what should you have looked like?

Baring your neck and squinting at the image in front of you, you had to scratch at your neck yourself to verify whether you were imagining it.

Aside from bruises that already seemed to be fading, there were no marks on your neck. Did it really heal that fast?

Maybe you should have been a bit embarrassed that you were so clueless on the whole subject. But in your defense, information on the internet didn’t seem to be very reliable, and vampires, for some reason, seemed to love their air of mystery. Based on the few you knew well, you were pretty sure they got a fair amount of amusement out of the misconceptions flying around.

Finally fully dressed for the first time since Seokjin showed up unannounced, you flung your door open with all the confidence you could muster.

Which is to say, you cracked your door open just enough for you to stick your head out. Much to your dismay, your eyes met Seokjin’s on the couch almost immediately, your face ducked toward the floor as you slinked your way over to the living room.

You stopped on the opposite side of the table, the sight of the stained knife there definitely not helping in your hope to distract yourself from what a fool you’d made of yourself the night before.

Out of curiosity, your gaze shot up to examine his abdomen.

You didn’t know why the perfectly smooth and unblemished muscle you found there was of any surprise to you after the night you’ve had, but it was. There wasn’t a single trace of any injury or blood on him – in fact, he looked much cleaner than when he got here. Did he use your shower?

A throat clearing had your eyes instinctively locking with his, an amused smile playing over his features that shot embarrassment through your veins. Of course the one time your ogling was purely scientific, he had to catch you and make fun of you.

You couldn’t stop your sight from drifting back down, the concept of there being absolutely no trace of anything happening to him boggling your mind.

“You really...” you trailed off, eyes darting back and forth across his bare skin one last time just to be sure. “You really healed, just like that?”

He only nodded, tapping the unbroken skin for emphasis. “You can heal me, I can heal you. Convenient, isn’t it?”

You nodded back in response, silence taking over the room quickly. You didn’t know what you were supposed to do to fill it. You’ve never experienced an awkward silence with Seokjin before, his charming nature always keeping everyone around him comfortable. This sort of energy in the room with him... it was unsettling.

“Y/N,” Seokjin called out once the silence went on a moment too long for his liking. “Can you come sit with me?”

He scooted over to make plenty of room for you, but you felt almost frozen in place. Did he really want your company after you’d pretty much jumped him? Was he sitting you down so he could let you down easy, tell you that this has been real, but he refused to associate with someone with so little self-control?

You must have stood there staring for longer than you thought, because an unreadable expression crossed his face before he spoke up again.

“Are you scared of me?”

Huh?

“No!” you blurted out, your volume clearly surprising him. “Well, a little?”

“Oh.” If you weren’t paying such close attention to him, you would have missed the hurt that flashed in his eyes. But you didn’t.

“Wait, that’s not what I meant,” you said hurriedly. You wanted to smack yourself for being such a blatant mess. “I’m just... scared,” you finished weakly.

His gaze softened immediately, and he had to restrain himself from hopping over the table between you to pull you into his arms. You looked like you were trying to shrink into yourself, your shoulders pulled towards your chest, hands wringing nervously in front of you.

“Did you think I would be upset?” he asked softly. He leaned forward, earnest expression on his face.

That was an understatement. You could live with “drunkenly” coming onto someone, but you didn’t know what you would do if it ended up costing you your friendship. Maybe you were being overly dramatic, but you never claimed to be the most rational person.

You nodded slowly, your vision dropping to stare at the floor, hands wrapped around your middle, squeezing as you struggled to maintain composure. You didn’t know why your heart was beating a mile a minute, your palms uncomfortably sweaty. You usually didn’t feel this level of fear when confronting a mistake that, to a normal person, shouldn’t be such an obscenely big deal as you were making it. But Seokjin was certainly not a normal person to you, and any situation that lowered his opinion of you was one you would do anything to avoid.

“Hey.” The sudden gentle hand on your chin made you squeak, and you would have stumbled in your rush to step backward if not for the steadying hand on your shoulder.

You always seemed to forget that he could move so quickly and silently. Your heart might stop at this rate if he wasn’t careful.

His thumb stroked at your jaw as if he hadn’t just seen you nearly fall flat on your ass, softly tapping under your chin until you met his gaze.

“I promise I’m the furthest thing from mad right now. Nothing is even your fault, okay?”

“But-”

“No buts. Let’s talk, but I’m not upset. Okay?” he urged, eyes not leaving yours until you nodded. The smile he gave in return made you feel warm, the tenderness in his gaze doing things to your heart, the hint of a smile ghosting your lips.

The hand on your shoulder nudged you toward him, the other opening wide to welcome you into a hug.

You went easily, your arms wrapping around his bare waist as you tucked your face into his chest. The relief you felt at his reassurance was immense, and you melted into his touch. It was almost strange how well you fit together.

“Let’s sit,” he said, kind yet firm. He led you over to the couch, settling himself down into the spot where he seemed to have spent much of the past day in.

You didn’t know what possessed you to straddle his lap in the way you did last night. Maybe it was the way he looked at you warmly without judgment, or the way your body craved his nearness after getting a taste of his touch. But whatever it was, he didn’t push you away – rather, he reached for your hands, interlacing his fingers with your own.

This position wasn’t the most “innocent” to begin with, but with the memories of last night rushing through your head, of his teeth at your neck and the pleasure you felt, your breath sped up.

With the expression on Seokjin’s face, you were sure he must have been thinking the same thing, hungry eyes flickering from your lips back up to your waiting gaze. Unlike you, however, he didn’t seem at all embarrassed.

“Are you confused?” he asked suddenly.

Caught off guard by the sudden question, your brows furrowed. Though you didn’t know just exactly what he was referring to, what will all that happened, but your answer was still the same regardless.

You nodded hesitantly, but he didn’t speak, your puzzled expression telling him that you were still working things out in your head. The silence stretched on until you finally spoke up again.

“You didn’t tell me it would be like... that.” Euphoric. Dreamlike. Intense. No matter what word you used, it still didn’t feel enough to encompass what you experienced the night before. You’d never experienced white-hot physical and even emotional pleasure like that, not in all your years of life.

You dropped your gaze down to your joined hands, watching the way he fiddled with your fingers as he pondered his next words. It felt unusual to have a conversation with him in this way – you both tended to be people who said what they thought without thinking on it too much, with friends at least. But it was reassuring to see him so serious, to see that he really did care.

“I didn’t tell you because I didn’t think it was a possibility,” he finally said. He sounded confident in his words, but you found it odd that he was fidgeting so much. He hadn’t stopped moving his hands since taking hold of yours, and even his legs were starting to shift beneath yours. Why did he seem so nervous?

“What does that mean?”

“Is there anything you want to tell me?” he responded instead, leaving you staring at him, baffled.

“Huh?” you replied, immediately defensive.

You didn’t have the smallest idea of what that question meant, but he fixed his gaze on you inquisitively. Did he think you had some big secret or something? Sure, he didn’t know everything about your life, but there was nothing so exceptional about you that not mentioning it would be some sort of betrayal.

“Uhh, never mind.”

“What do you mean, never mind? You can’t just ask me something like then and then say that,” you huffed, lips forming a thin line.

“Sorry I just thought – do you remember what I told you when you asked if it would hurt?”

You swore he was going to give you whiplash with his questions, but at least this one was easy to answer.

“Sure, you said the closer two people are the better it feels. Something like that, right?”

“Right, so, uhh, it wouldn’t normally feel that intense, you know?”

The fact that he definitely seemed to know exactly what was going on and kept beating around the bush was more than a little bit frustrating. Considering he was normally as straightforward as a person could get, though, you opted to simple stare expectantly at him. But if he didn’t cut to the point in approximately 20 seconds, your annoyance would just about outweigh your concern.

“It shouldn’t feel that way unless you liked me back,” he finally said, all in one breath.

You could only blink blankly as you processed his words, but when it clicked, you went from mildly annoyed to incredibly flustered all in the same second.

“HUH?! Wait, back?” You could almost feel your headache coming back with how many directions this conversation has taken in less than 15 minutes. Your hands were starting to feel disgustingly clammy in his, but neither of you moved to separate them.

“I know this is so sudden, and I didn’t expect to be outed like this either and it doesn’t have to mean anything, like I know I like you a lot, like a lot a lot, but I don’t really know how much you feel about me or if it’s even that significant or just a passing attraction because either is possible and I’m really sorry if this made everything awkward-”

His ridiculously fast words were cut off by your newly-free hand clamping down over his mouth, plump lips tickling your skin as he stared at you, wide-eyed. You were sure if you tried this any other time he would (playfully) smack you, but he only stared.

“Really?” you whispered. To be completely honest, you never realistically considered a relationship, or even just a hook-up with Seokjin. You found him wholly and insanely attractive, but didn’t everyone? And it wasn’t that he was a vampire and you were a human – it was laughable to believe that you’d think that long-term anyway.

No, you just never saw him being that into you. He was almost ethereally beautiful, got along well with everyone, and had one of the most charming personalities you’d ever seen. His physique wasn’t even something that needed to be mentioned. With all that considered, all you ever cared to do was admire him from afar, content to have him as a close friend. It wasn’t as though he’d ever sent you hints that he wanted otherwise, either.

So to hear that your stupid little harmless crush could actually amount to anything?

You thought things couldn’t get any more unexpected.

When he nodded his confirmation, you couldn’t keep the grin from overtaking your face.

The giddiness clear on your face and the adorable sparkle in your eye sent unquantifiable relief through him, and the second you removed your hand, he opened his mouth to speak.

But somehow you were quicker than him, your lips meeting his before a single syllable could be uttered.

Unlike last night, you didn’t kiss him like you wanted to devour him, or like your body would light on fire if you couldn’t get as close as possible. This was calmer, slower, but it didn’t take long for that to change.

His fangs weren’t out this time, but that didn’t change the fact that you gasped as soon as his teeth dug into your bottom lip. Sparks shot up your spine at the sensation, your mind unable to stop thinking about what you felt the last time you were in this same position. How good it felt to be helpless to the pleasure battering down on you, held in place by strong hands and strong arms.

He’d probably ruined teeth for you for the rest of your life.

You let him do whatever he wanted, and he groaned into your mouth when you tangled your hands in his hair. Hands gripped your ass tightly and squeezed, pulling you in closer to him.

His hands didn’t even wander much further than that, but heat flared in your core regardless. When he raised his hips to brush the bulge in his pants against your aching centre, you could only moan and grind down onto him.

The pressure against your clit through the thin material of your shorts cut off every possible train of thought, and you were pretty sure that after all this, these panties would never recover.

You felt goosebumps raise on your flesh when a hand rose, nails scraping against your scalp. You arched your neck back ever-so-slightly, and Seokjin didn’t miss a beat in detaching from your lips to mouth at the skin above your collarbone instead.

He wasn’t gentle in the way he sucked bruises into your skin, a firm hand holding your head in place while the other held your thigh, his confined length rubbing languidly into your core. You whined and tightened your grip in his hair at the brush of teeth against skin, but much to your displeasure, he pulled away from you before clothes even started coming off.

“Wait.”

“Whyyyy?” you whined petulantly. Was he really going to do this to you again? You knew he was definitely in the right to stop things last night, but there was only so much you could take.

He bit back a smirk at your neediness, thumbing gently at your protruding bottom lip as he resisted the urge to tease you for your cuteness. This soft and pouty side of you was new to him, and he swore something fluttered in his chest.

“You should eat something, princess.”

“Huh?” you blinked, confused. You were about to protest when he spoke up again.

“When’s the last time you ate?”

“Uhh... dinner last night? Maybe 7? 8?”

He leaned in toward you, but rather than kiss you again, he reached for the table behind you. You craned your neck to see what he was doing, and frowned when he grabbed for his phone. Your bewilderment at what he was doing didn’t last long, however, his phone screen displaying the time for you in large, white font.

5:32 pm.

“Holy shit, I slept for that long?” You stared at him wide-eyed. No wonder he took a shower and everything. You were surprised he was sat there waiting for you for all those hours without complaint.

He looked a bit sheepish, tossing his phone to the side and leaning back into the couch, tugging you with him comfortably. At this point the fire you felt had been dimmed, but that didn’t mean you weren’t still a bit irritated at being denied twice in a row.

“Ah, that would be my fault... the compulsion really gave you hell,” he winced, stroking gently at your cheek with the back of his fingers.

“It’s fine, I feel okay. Wasn’t that my fault anyway?” Your face felt hot thinking back to your behaviour and the lack of restraint you showed, hand rubbing nervously at the back of your neck.

“Of course not,” he assured quickly. “It’s not exactly something easy to resist. But if you regret it, I’m really sor-”

“I don’t regret it!” you cut him off, immediately wanting to pinch yourself for being so loud. And hasty. And embarrassing. And horny. “I’m... I’m happy right now.” Your volume seemed to die as confidence left you, but Seokjin only beamed.

“I’m happy too,” he said simply, tone laced with sincerity. “But you need to eat, I can practically hear your intestines screaming from here.”

“What?!” Strange tension successfully killed, your hands covered your abdomen instinctively as though you could shield yourself from his vampire ears. “Can you actually?”

He let you stare at him in alarm for only a few seconds before he couldn’t hold his giggles back anymore.

“Not really, but you should have seen your face. Why are you so worried about it?”

You huffed, shoulders deflating at his teasing. “I don’t know! That has to be a breach of privacy or something. Who gave you the right to listen to my intestines?”

“I can already hear your heart just fine, would it really matter so much?”

The smile dropped from his lips within a second, and the sudden intensity in his gaze had you frozen. The energy in the room shifted in an instant, and you were at a complete loss for words.

You thought he was going in for a kiss when he leaned closer, but instead his nose went to nuzzle at your neck, trailing up into your hairline. The warm air he exhaled into your ear made you shiver, pressing yourself ever so closer to his bare chest. You didn’t know how he managed to work you up within seconds, but you felt so hot despite his cool touch, baring your neck for him.

“I can hear the way your heart speeds up when I get close...” he whispered, mouthing lazily at your soft skin before sucking harshly. Unsure of what to do with yourself, your nails dug into his biceps, breath unsteady.

“I can hear the way the blood rushes through your veins, the sweetest thing I’ve ever tasted.” A hand rose to palm at your breast, bare beneath the worn cotton of your shirt. You arched your back as he harshly rolled a hard nipple between his fingers.

“I can hear the way you lose your breath, your tiny little gasps...” You couldn’t hide the way you twitched when sharp fangs scraped against your skin, a whimper nearly making its way from your throat. “Just like that.”

“And just so you know...” His voice was like honey, warm and smooth and sweet, and you hung onto his every word. “I can hear the way your stomach is growling right now too.”

The noise you let out that moment was inhumane, somewhere between a squeak and a scream of disbelief.

He broke away from you with a blaring laugh, shoulders bouncing beneath your grip.

You moved to slap at his chest, but your hand was caught easily, and his laughter only continued. God, you were going to kill this man. Again.

Your face felt obscenely hot, and you could feel a pout overtaking your lips at the sight of him still giggling away in front of you.

“Jinnie,” you whined, choosing to display your discontent by breaking free of his grip and hopping up out of his lap.

Which was definitely not the correct choice, because you swore you could feel the rush of blood through your ears before a strong sense of vertigo washed over you, groan escaping your lips. You were sure you would have fallen face first into the floor if not for Seokjin’s steadying.

“Woah, do you feel okay? This is why I told you to eat,” he sighed, maneuvering you to lay down comfortably on the couch, sticking pillows under your head. “Just stay here and I’ll make food, okay?”

“No, wait, I can make it-”

As you attempted to push back up off the couch, he only gently pushed down with a quiet ‘tsk’ and shake of his head. As you opened your mouth to further protest, he leaned in close, the softness of his lips brushing against the shell of your ear.

“Be a good girl and let me take care of you, hm?”

Your breath hitched at his sudden words, only able to stare wide-eyed when he pulled away from you enough to take in your face. The look in his eyes could only be described as devious – amused yet hardened, and you didn’t know if you were imagining the crimson bleeding into the brown of his irises.

“There goes that heartbeat again,” he murmured as though sharing a secret, the tender motion of his hand on your cheek in stark contrast to the want etched into his expression. “You’re going to be so much fun to ruin.”

--

For someone who didn’t really need to eat food to survive (though you’d been told time and time again that eating was fun), Seokjin made one hell of a good cook. Granted, egg fried rice wasn’t the most difficult nor time-consuming dish to make, but that didn’t make it any less tasty. In fact, you were grateful for such a simple and light dish, because you learned quite quickly that after an entire day without food, rushing to eat only brought nausea and discomfort.

Leaning against the armrest of the couch, the inside of your bowl was all you could see with how close you were holding it to your face. In your defence, though, you were greatly disinterested in the possibility of needing to clean a stain from your cushions.

As you took your time eating, Seokjin opted to tidy up a bit, dishes clanging in the kitchen before you heard him rearranging his shoes at the front door.

Thankfully, his efforts included removing the knife from your table and putting it god-knows-where, but you were just glad it was out of your line of sight. Maybe he thought that it was better for your appetite to remove the thing you’d literally pulled out of him.

You tried not to let your mind linger on just how... strange that felt.

He somehow managed to clean up before you’d even finished eating, the couch dipping beside you as he settled into his spot. Vampire speed truly was startling.

If you didn’t have your entire field of vision blocked, you might have noticed Seokjin’s fond look as you ate your meal at what could only be described as a forced snail’s pace. He had to suppress a chuckle at how antsy you seemed to be, clearly wanting to just shovel food into your mouth, but knowing you would only suffer for it. How did one person manage to be so cute and yet so seductive?

When you were done, you set the bowl down on the table with a satisfied sigh, jumping in surprise when a glass of water was placed into your newly-emptied hands almost immediately.

“Thanks,” you smiled shyly, face feeling hot at his attentiveness. You didn’t know how to react at having a man like Kim Seokjin doting on you. It was almost – no, it was – unbelievable, and your poor heart didn’t know how to act. It was one thing to have him kiss you like he was going to devour you, and another to be this sweet and this caring and this soft.

Setting the empty glass next to your empty bowl, you leaned back, unsure of what to do with yourself now that you were entirely unoccupied. Seokjin’s presence beside you made you increasingly aware of the awkward shifting of your hands and your uneasy breathing. He wasn’t that close to you and yet you could smell him – you didn’t know how he managed to make your floral scented shampoo smell sexy.

“Why are you so nervous?” he said lowly, nudging you into his side and tossing an arm around your shoulders. It was a simple move, and yet all you could think was how big he was, how easily he completely enveloped you in his hold.

“I-I’m not nervous,” you stuttered, and you could feel the blood rush to your face. You wondered if he could hear that, too.

A hand lifted your face in his direction, and you were met with an expression that very clearly read ‘are you really going to try lying to a vampire?’

“I don’t know why I’m nervous,” you amended, biting into your lower lip. His gaze followed the motion, eyes clouding over.

“Can I kiss you?” he asked softly, his thumb raising to release your lip from your teeth, the movement intimate enough to set your stomach aflutter.

“Are we asking that now?” you responded smartly, grinning when Seokjin only huffed a laugh.

“Let me be clearer then,” he said lowly, the abrupt commanding tone having you sit up straighter. “Can I kiss you, strip you, take you to bed, taste that sweet pussy on my tongue, and then fuck you?”

Heat flared in you at the words, your fingernails scratching against his chest before remembering he wasn’t wearing a shirt for you to yank him closer. You settled for making a beeline for his mouth, but a quick movement to grip your hair at the scalp kept you from getting close enough.

“Ah, ah,” he tutted, holding you still as he nuzzled his nose against your neck, humming in content when he brushed right against the spot he bit you yesterday. “Tell me yes or no, princess.”

You nodded with what freedom you had left – not much, with how tight his hold on you was, tiny pricks of pain sending sparks up and down your spine. His other hand pulled you closer to him, your hips halfway straddling him as he mouthed at your neck, acting as though he hadn’t noticed your response. It was clear that he was waiting for you to say something.

“Yes,” you said quietly, nearly forgetting what the question was from the way he was sucking softly at your neck. At the scrape of fangs against your skin, you only pushed back against the hand in your hair, exposing more of your neck with a soft sigh.

“You can’t stop thinking about it, can you?” he taunted, pulling you fully on top of him, his hard cock right against your core, and you wished that clothing wasn’t separating you.

He pressed those fangs against the soft skin below your ear, hard enough that the pain had you wincing, but not enough to break skin.

He was teasing you, and you were putty in his hands.

“I can’t stop thinking about it either,” he breathed, tonguing lazily over the stinging marks he left behind. You could only whimper and squirm in his hold, hands tangling in his silken hair. You didn’t know whether you wanted to pull him away or push him closer.

“To have you moaning in rapture right in my lap, so desperate for my cock, the taste of you on my lips...” His voice was so low you could barely hear it, barely process it, but the absolutely lust in his voice only spurred new waves of arousal in you. “Hearing you beg like that, fuck-”

He cut himself off with a sinful moan as he shifted his hips to rub himself right against your cunt, and you shuddered in response.

“I don’t think I’ve ever wanted anyone so bad,” he sighed, breathing unsteady as he used his grip on you to rock you in time to his movements. “I’ve never had such a test of self-control. Maybe I should punish you.”

This voice was teasing, but your reaction was real, and there was no way to hide the way a moan escaped or the way your nails dug crescents into Seokjin’s smooth skin.

“Oh, you like that, do you?” he chuckled darkly as he leaned his head back into the couch, the grip in your hair tightening even more. A helpless whine left your lips, and you became uncomfortably aware of the way your panties were sticking to your folds.

“Tell me, do you think I should punish you?” he asked, his honeyed voice lulling you into a state you couldn’t even begin to explain with words.

You tried nodding again, hissing at the flash of pain when you tried move your head from his grip.

“Princess, haven’t you learned to use your words? I think I’ll bend you over my knee right here. What do you think about that?”

“Please,” you gasped without hesitation, freezing when you fluttered your eyelids open to meet his gaze.

If you weren’t sure whether his eyes were laced with red before, it was evident now. It only made him all the more enticing, and your vision fell down to his mouth instinctively when he ran his tongue over his teeth. A pang of heat went through you when his fangs bit into his lip, and before you were thinking about it, a hand rose to brush against his mouth.

Your thumb grazed a fang almost reverently, and Seokjin only watched on fondly at the wonderment on your face. You supposed it might have been strange to touch your friend’s – boyfriend’s? – teeth like this, but you had always been curious. Hell, you hadn’t even seen fangs in person before last night. As far as you knew, they only extended when feeding or when feeling strong emotions, and neither tended to be something you could casually see on the street.

You bit at your lip when sharpness pushed into the pad of your finger, but his next words broke you free of your reverie.

“Bend over then.”

He released you from his grip dizzyingly fast, leaning back to watch you.

You were surprised at yourself with how quickly you situated your ass over his lap, the self-consciousness you would’ve expected to be feeling wholly absent. Seokjin was just that captivating.

You wiggled your way into a comfortable position, sticking a cushion under your head. Now that your ass was sticking out right into his view, you felt more vulnerable than ever, knowing that his eyes and ears were trained on your every movement and reaction.

Hands pushed your long shirt up over your hips, fingers trailing lightly over the globes of your ass, separated only by the thin fabric of your shorts. But not for long.

Fingers reached under your waistband and tugged down before you could react, yanking your shorts and panties down in one go.

With air suddenly hitting your sodden pussy, you could feel heat rise to your face at how exposed you found yourself. But any thought of shifting and hiding was erased when you heard Seokjin’s loud groan.

“Shit, you’re soaked, smell so fucking good,” he hissed, fingers reaching to push messily through your folds.

You couldn’t see him putting his fingers in his mouth, but the depraved moan he let out afterward had you squirming in his lap.

After your shorts and panties were pushed onto the floor, a large hand ran tenderly over the skin of your ass, fingers digging in slightly.

“Is ten on each side too much for you?” he asked. There was no hint of teasing in his tone, his voice firm. He continued his soft stroking as he waiting for an answer.

“Uhh... I don’t really know?” you responded meekly. Sure, you had been spanked before, but it was never this... structured? To be honest, you didn’t really know what “a lot” would be in terms of numbers.

“It’s okay,” he soothed. “We’ll work our way up and see how it feels. Is that okay?”

You nodded at first, but quickly let out an ‘okay’ when you remembered how firm he was on a proper response.

“This means I’m trusting you to be honest and tell me to stop if it’s too much. I want you to feel good.”

“Okay.”

You released tension you didn’t realize you’d had at his reassurances, allowing your limbs to loosen as you adjusted to lay more comfortably. The sensation of his hands on you made you feel safe and secure, and you knew for a fact that for all his hard words and cold stares, he was still always searching for your approval.

You twitched in surprise as a few light swats came down on each cheek, almost as though he was testing the motion. But after being briefly taken off guard, you relaxed under his hands, body already warming up at each light blow. You barely felt anything aside from a faint sting, but you could already feel your cunt throbbing, anticipation having you dig your nails into the cushion beneath you.

But even despite his preparation, the first real blow had you gasping. Not because it was overly painful – in fact, those pinpricks of pain were laced with pleasure, radiating outward from where his palm had firmly struck you. No, it was more that with the control and precision he showed, another realization struck you at that moment.

He really knew what he was doing.

This wasn’t just a college boyfriend who wanted to experiment with things he saw in porn, or a random bar hookup who thought he was more than he was.

No, Seokjin was the epitome of calculated control, had you eating out of the palm of his hand with one simple word. One look and you were his.

And fuck, if that didn’t make you melt.

You sighed happily as a hit came down on your other asscheek, another wave of arousal soaking your cunt.

“Do you want it harder?” he asked, voice low. The tone felt almost like a personal attack, honeyed words piercing your eardrums.

“Okay,” you whispered.

“Yes or no. Don’t just agree to do things because I suggest it,” he scolded, punishing you with a swat to your upper thigh that stung sharper than his previous blows.

“Yes, I want it.”

“Hm,” he hummed, nails scratching over your skin, just barely missing the heat of your core. “I think I would be more convinced if you begged.”

As much as most of your embarrassment had already faded, what with being bent over Seokjin’s lap, it took so much more to put your desires verbally out into the world. But the throbbing in your cunt was fierce, and the warmth from his previous strikes was already fading. And you wanted more.

“Please,” you whined weakly before taking a deep breath to amp yourself up. “Please, Jinnie, I want it harder.”

You barely had time to process the tiny chuckle he let out before his palm came down on you again, the additional force behind it making you shiver despite the warmth that spread through you.

You didn’t know exactly how many more times his hand struck your ass, but your quiet moans were interrupted by his voice once again.

“Harder?”

As much as you felt good, it still wasn’t enough. The sting wasn’t enough, the heat wasn’t enough. You wanted more, needed more.

“Yes, please.”

“Mm, there you go. Maybe I should do this more often if you’re going to be such a good girl for me after.”

He punctuated his statement with a harsh blow to your ass, the strength of it forcing a moan from your lungs. A hand stroked tenderly over where it had struck, before doing the same to the other cheek. You whimpered as you felt another gush of wetness spill from your cunt, squirming as another strike rained down.

Yes, this is what you wanted.

The feeling was heady, your mouth open and allowing all the sounds to spill from your lips. Every cell in your body felt hot, from your fingertips down to your toes. You were certain you must have been making a mess of his lap with how wet you were.

You didn’t realize how heavily you were breathing until the smacks stopped, fingers gently kneading at the raw skin instead. Your skin felt almost burned, but more than anything, you needed those hands to slip between your legs. Now that there was nothing else to distract you, your neglected pussy was desperate for something, anything.

“How are you?” he asked several moments later.

His continued soothing touch dampened the fire of your skin before long, but that only furthered your arousal, shifting in his lap in search of some relief. You itched for some pressure on your clit, but it wasn’t possible in the position he had you in.

“Good,” you breathed, pressing back into his touch.

“Good.” He let his fingers creep ever-so-closer to where you needed him most, rubbing against where your wetness had spread, just beside your outer folds. “I think you deserve a reward. What do you think?”

“Please,” you whined immediately, but luckily, he didn’t seem interested in making you wait any longer. Maybe it was the fact that he had been waiting just as long, or that he was just tired of your constant fidgeting in his lap.

A finger slid in without resistant – unsurprisingly, what with the way you could feel the air hitting your slick skin. Your walls clamped down on the intrusion immediately, and another finger slid down to rub tiny circles onto your clit.

You whined in relief, but Seokjin unfortunately held you down to keep you from thrusting back onto his hand.

“So fucking wet,” he murmured, slipping another finger in when he felt how easily you took the first.

As much as one didn’t feel like enough, two of his fingers was so much bigger than your own. The stretch had you gasping, the friction against your walls and clit making you moan out.

As he scissored his fingers inside of you, the slight burn had you hissing, though the constant ministrations on your clit made sure the pain never became your focus.

“Mm, are you sure you can take my cock?” he mused, smirking at the way you were already whimpering, increasing the pace of his thrusts as your moans got more frequent.

“I can!” you blurted out, sounding almost offended. He had to stifle a laugh. You had always been fun to rile up, and sex was no exception.

“Hm, okay,” he hummed, amusement colouring his tone. You almost called him out on it before his fingers pulled out of you abruptly.

“Jin-”

Before you could question him, beg him to come back, hold him against you – three fingers started easing their way inside of you.

You tensed up almost immediately at the harsher burn at your entrance, the stiffness of your body not doing you much of a favour. He paused all movement at your struggle.

“Relax. I’ll take care of you, okay?”

His words had you feeling more at ease, a reminder that he was here, he wanted you to feel good, and he only kept on making that fact clear.

You made a noise of agreement, forcing your muscles to relax despite how much they wanted to clamp down. You wanted his cock, after all. You could take his fingers.

He took his time with you, slowly easing his fingers in and scissoring them apart, all the while his other hand resting beneath your abdomen, rubbing into your clit. You keened under his continuous murmured praise, moaning as he began to thrust his fingers.

“That’s it,” he whispered, his own breaths beginning to get heavy as he watched you twitch and whine at his hand.

Once the discomfort passed, your pleasure crested ridiculously fast with how long you’ve been waiting to be touched, filled. He stretched you open so wide, and you clenched around his digits at the thought of those fingers being his cock instead.

You were easily giving yourself away with how your walls were clamping down more and more, heavier gasps leaving you. The stroking at your clit wasn’t getting any slower, and soon enough you felt like you were going to snap.

“Gonna come all over my fingers, princess?” he asked roughly, his voice showing an uncharacteristic lack of control as he spread his fingers wide again.

“Please,” you said feebly, all other words having left your available vocabulary long ago. “Please.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll give it to you, baby.” The crook of his fingers took you by surprise, and with one, two, strokes against that spongy spot within you, you were gone.

Your orgasm stole the breath from your lungs, your legs going weak as waves of bliss hit you everywhere at once. His hands on you didn’t stop their motions, only sending new waves up your spine, shivers wracking your body as you grasped the closest object tightly – your nails digging into the cushion beneath you.

He only stopped when you started to squirm away as pain took over the pleasure, a whimper escaping as his fingers were removed.

If you thought you were getting a moment to breathe, you were wrong.

“Fuck, you’re going to be the death of me,” he growled.

Before you could blink, you were on your back, his lips attacking yours in a frenzy.

The grip he had on your thigh was sure to bruise, his still-clothed cock rocking into your sensitive pussy as he consumed your every thought, every desire.

You could taste yourself on his tongue, the realization only building the fire that had already been relit within you.

You allowed him to pull the shirt from your body, your skin left completely bare beneath his.

His gaze was somewhere between reverent and demonic, and he looked almost ready to pounce back on you before he paused.

“Bed?” His voice sounded strained, and you thought briefly back to what he said about how much self-control the past day has required from him. You glanced down at the bulge in his pants, and you had to keep yourself from grabbing at it, eager to give him his pleasure the same way he’d done for you.

“Okay.”

You didn’t think your lips formed the second syllable before you were being scooped up, your arms looping around his neck to steady yourself from the abrupt movement.

The walk to the bedroom was somewhat of a blur, your stomach lurching at the speed with which he moved. You’d known the man was quick, but experiencing it firsthand was partly unsettling, and partly... strangely sexy.

Your back hit the sheets with unexpected force, your body bouncing back up from the impact. You’d never considered strength to be such a significant turn-on, but combined with everything else about him, it seemed to make Seokjin the most dangerously attractive man you’ve ever encountered.

You thought you were about to get fucked into the mattress – the hunger in Seokjin’s stare only cementing the thought – but it seemed that he had other ideas.

“Jin-”

You were about to beg him to touch you, fuck you, do literally anything – when his hands wrapped around your ankles, spreading your legs apart enough that you could begin to feel the strain in your thighs.

The way he was gazing at your fully exposed core almost made you self-conscious before you took in the way his breathing was heavier than you’d ever seen it, the crimson completely having taken over the brown of his irises.

“I have – I have to taste you,” he groaned.

He sprung on you in an instant, plush lips wrapping around your clit and sucking before his tongue moved down to lap at your arousal.

While you were still a bit sensitive from your last orgasm, the discomfort was nothing in comparison to the bliss lighting up your nerves. You were a slave to pleasure under his tongue, hands holding you down as you attempted to buck up into him instinctively.

His tongue attacked you like a man starved, his unabashed moans into your heat leaving you gasping.

But as much as he was successfully making you lose your mind, you didn’t want to cum like this.

“Jin, fuck-” you whimpered, body aching to grind up into his face despite your next words.

He only hummed into your pussy at your noises, motions not pausing whatsoever.

“Fuck me, please,” you begged, a hand winding into his hair in an attempt to pull him off you.

You almost thought he was pretending not to hear you when he didn’t react straightaway, but not long after, he pulled off of you.

He didn’t even say a word in response, only shucking off his pants and boxers with a heaving chest.

You swore your pussy throbbed when you saw his cock, only moreso when he fisted it with a hiss, lips that were glistening with your arousal widening to reveal sharp white fangs.

“I have to be inside you right fucking now,��� he snarled, dragging your body down by the thighs to meet him where he knelt.

You felt almost feverish, your hands reaching to yank Seokjin by the shoulders, the need to be closer taking over your every thought.

He kissed you frantically as the head of his cock rubbed against your clit, your back arching up into him, his closeness still not close enough for you.

You were so close to pleading with him not to draw this out, but he settled himself against your entrance, his other arm supporting himself by your head. When he started to push in, you could only whimper.

You knew he was big when he grasped himself in his hand only moments before, but for all his preparation, it felt like you were being split open.

You clung onto his biceps as he rocked himself forward at a snail’s pace, nails digging into his skin as you clamped down on him reflexively. It burned, but you wanted it so bad. As much as the discomfort was intense, you could feel yourself getting wetter by the second, unable to stop panting into Seokjin’s mouth.

You whined as he nibbled at your bottom lip, one of his hands rubbing soothing circles into your thigh, the other in your hair. But when you felt fangs puncture your lip ever-so-slightly before he sucked it into his mouth, all breath was stolen from you.

It was only the smallest fraction of the pleasure you felt the night before, but that was enough to have your head thrown back, hips raising to meet Seokjin’s.

It almost seemed that he wasn’t expecting you to thrust upward onto him, a strangled groan leaving his throat as you shoved more of him inside you.

The stretch remained overwhelming, but the pain felt like a distant memory, new arousal making the glide smoother.

“Good?” he gasped against your collarbone, hot breaths hitting your skin as his hair brushed against your face. The arm holding him up was trembling at your side, the fingers on your thigh tightening their hold as if to physically hold himself together.

Part of you just wanted him to lose control.

“So good,” you moaned, shoving your hips up again, volume increasing exponentially when he allowed you to push him in to the hilt.

“Fuck,” he growled, arm moving to form a bruising grip on your other thigh, his chest moving away from yours. “Are you that desperate for it?”

The question was accompanied by a sharp snap of his hips that sent you reeling, too breathless for any sound to escape.

He spread your thighs apart even further, a hand beneath your left knee lifting your leg towards his chest.

The next quick thrust hit you even harder at that angle, a choked-out whine escaping you. Your fingers dug into the sheets as he ground himself into you, your pussy feeling split so overwhelmingly wide.

You were wound up so tight, you thought you were going to go crazy. It was impossible to think straight when he only did quick snaps of his hips at random intervals. You didn’t think you’d ever been hornier than this moment, and you swore you could feel the arousal leaking from your cunt.

You could see sparks of light behind your eyelids with how tightly you had them shut. You bit down hard on your bottom lip, the flesh still tender from Seokjin’s bite.

His thrusts became slow and deep, tiny gasps leaving your open mouth.

“Look at me,” he snarled suddenly, the sheer command in his voice sending shivers up your spine, gaze snapping onto him immediately. It took a moment for your vision to focus properly, still drowning in the sensation of his cock still moving within you.

If you thought he looked fierce, hungry, dangerous – you were his polar opposite.

To put it simply, you were a mess.

You were too lost in it all to notice the stutter in his hips when he locked eyes with you, but he almost stopped breathing entirely.

Your eyes were glazed over in pleasure, the tears just beginning to gather there only making their colour all the more enticing. Your expression was slack, and it looked like you couldn’t decide between clamping down on your bottom lip or leaving your mouth wide-open. You looked so vulnerable, so willing to put all of your trust in him to take care of you, make you feel good.

And fuck, if it wasn’t the most beautiful sight he’d ever seen.

His movements after that caught you off guard, his abrupt rough thrusting engulfing your body in flames of bliss, loud moan leaving you. As much as holding his gaze made everything feel so much more intense, you just couldn’t. Your head fell back onto the pillow, back arching as much as he would allow you to move in his tight hold.

“You feel so fucking good,” he groaned, his voice sounding almost helpless and he continued his movements, his arms the only thing keeping you from shifting up the mattress. As his gasps transitioned to groans and then loud moaning, you could feel yourself nearing your peak again.

He slowed his movements, the heavy panting reaching your eardrums and having you clench around him instinctively. The choked-out groan in response told you he was close, too.

“Jin,” you called out, the word so breathy that you almost didn’t recognize it despite it coming from your own lips.

You raised an arm to weakly grab at his body, hoping he got the message himself. You wanted him close, but highly doubted that you could manage to form the words right now.

Luckily, he seemed to know exactly what you wanted, dropping your leg and moving to hover over you, your breasts brushing his chest. He started thrusting slowly again, his head dropping to your collarbone as a hand wound into the hair at your scalp.

With him right on top of you, his pubic bone was brushing against your clit, the added stimulation having you whine loudly and dig your nails harshly into the skin of his back.

He didn’t seem to mind, a loud groan leaving him as he started mouthing at your neck, sucking bruises into the flesh.

But when you felt fangs briefly scrape over your skin, only one thought came to mind and refused to leave.

You wanted it, wanted his fangs to sink into you, wanted to feel that again. Now.

“Bite me,” you whimpered, pushing your head into the pillow and arching your back, eager to give him free reign as your orgasm inched closer and closer.

You expected him to protest, expected him to deny you, expected him to pull away.

But he did none of those things.

Instead, fangs sunk deeply into your neck with a feral growl, almost as soon as he heard the words leave your lips.

That same immense burst of pain rendered you motionless for a split second before that all-consuming euphoria descended on you.

You vaguely registered Seokjin moaning loudly above you as his hips stuttered, his lips locked on your neck. But you felt almost disconnected from the world, as though every nerve in your body was firing, your cunt pulsating around him as you reached the strongest high you’d ever felt.

It felt almost instinctual to grip at his back tightly, pulling him close, as if he’d ever want to leave. You didn’t even realize how loud you were being, your peak only going higher and higher, to the point of being overwhelming.

Tears streamed from where your eyes were clamped shut, moans turning into sobs as Seokjin ground against your overstimulated clit, your pussy clenched around him tightly.

You were so far gone you didn’t even notice the warmth spilling into you as he groaned loudly into your skin, his movements slowing before he pulled his mouth from you.

The crash was almost immediate, exhaustion and soreness taking over your limbs as you gasped for breath, the hands on Seokjin’s back falling limp. It felt like all the strength was sapped from your body, your consciousness half-absent.

You thought you heard Seokjin fussing over you, his hands wiping tears from your face, but to be honest, it was all a blur. He disconnected with you easily despite your mumbled protests, dropping a kiss on your forehead with a soft command not to move. You didn’t think you were capable of such a thing anyway.

You hardly registered his absence before he was back with a wet cloth. You didn’t know if that was because of his speed or because you were too tired to pay attention.

The next thing you knew, he had rolled you to lay on top of him, your face tucked into his neck as he stroked at your back. Normally, you might have complained about how much colder he was than you, but your skin was still so heated that the coolness was a relief.

You could tell that he was saying something quietly, unsure whether he was asking you something or not. His voice only brought you warm comfort, your arm moving to wrap around his waist.

You honestly weren’t too sure how long you laid there until your senses started coming back to you, but the hand on your back never stopped its soothing motions. The realization made you strangely embarrassed, wondering how long you’ve been out of it.

“Did I fall asleep?” you mumbled, nuzzling into the softness of Seokjin’s neck.

“Not really, it hasn’t been too long,” he responded, though the way he paused made it seem that he had more to say. It took a few moments before he got the words out. “Did I go too hard? Was it too much?”

Despite the low volume of his voice, he sounded almost frantic, and your brows furrowed. Why was he so worried?

“Of course not. I asked you for it, I knew exactly what I was getting into.”

He sighed heavily, his hands on you pausing. “I know, I just – I got worried when you were barely responding to me. I guess I was just afraid that you would be scared of me after.”

You felt a tinge of guilt at his concern, but logically it was nobody’s fault. As much as you wanted to take his face in your hands and tell him that you don’t regret anything and there wasn’t a world where you could ever be scared of him, you doubted your ability to do so right now. Instead, you hoped that simple reassurance could be enough.

“I loved it,” you said plainly, sleepiness clear in your voice. You were fighting past the fog in your brain to talk to him, wanting to make sure he knew where you stood.

“I loved it too,” he whispered before bringing up the blanket to cover both of you. “You sound tired. Why don’t we sleep?”

“Wait.”

“Hm?” he hummed in response, his confused expression hid from your view.

“Are you my boyfriend?” Your words sounded almost slurred with how close you were to unconsciousness, but his chest bouncing as he chuckled told you that he heard you just fine.

You were dangerously close to dreamland, but you caught his answer right before you fell asleep in his arms.

“Yeah, I’m your boyfriend.”

[loserchildhotpants]

Destiel prompt from Twitter; kissing each other to prove there’s nothing there, even though, it’s a lie, and the kiss proves it (from this prompt list)

“I’m just saying that I don’t think you’d get this defensive if there really wasn’t anything between you two -”

“There isn’t, and I’m not getting defensive!” Dean argues, decidedly defensively.

“Methinks the lady doth protest too much,” Sam offers with a shrug and a smirk.

Staring down into the open grave the boys are in, Castiel glances between the brothers and tilts his head, wondering if perhaps by a different angle, he may better understand what their expressions mean.

“We’re bonded or whatever - that’s it, man! There’s nothing else going on!”

“I’m not even saying there is anything ‘going on,’ I’m just saying there could be, and if that were something you wanted -”

“I’m not qu -”

“I know, I get it, I hear you, humor me for a second, okay? All I’m saying is just - if there were something between you two, and you wanted there to be something ‘going on,’ where there is currently nothing ‘going on,’ I just think you should, hypothetically go for something rather than settling for the nothing, because, personally, I think there is something there, and you could have a great thing going if that were what you wanted.”

“Even if - which I don’t - I’m not - listen, though, okay? I’m not, and I don’t want that - not that there’s anything wrong with it, or something, just - even if that were the case, Cas isn’t like that. He’s not a being that experiences shit like that -”

“I’m telling you you’re wrong, Dean! The way he stares at you -”

“He stares at everyone!”

“Do I?”

The Winchesters jump in unison, both with hands on their guns faster than should be possible. They both visibly relax again, though, when they realize it’s only Castiel interrupting.

“Oh, hey, Cas,” Dean greets, his voice markedly more gentle than it was with Sam only a moment before.

Castiel appreciates it.

“Hello, Dean.”

With a cheeky grin, Sam clears his throat, and says to Cas, “your timing couldn’t be better, actually, Cas - Dean and I have some questions -”

“No, no, we do not have questions,” Dean growls at Sam, eyes blazing dangerously.

“I am always available to you boys for whatever inquiries I can assist in. Is this pertaining to my staring? It’s academic in nature, I assure you - frankly, I am used to having a form that hosts many more eyes; being in this Earthly form can present obstacles, as my perceptions are more limited than I can remember them ever being. I promise I do not mean to insult anyone.”

“Oh, I don’t think anyone’s thinking of it as an insult,” Sam intones; Dean shoves his elbow into Sam’s kidney to shut him up.

“This is you being defensive, by the way,” Sam wheezes, doubled over, but still smirking at Dean, “What’s the big deal if there’s nothing going on?”

Flushed, Dean scowls at Sam, drops his shovel, and tells him, “I’m not being defensive! There’s nothing to be defensive about! And I’ll prove it!”

Clambering out of the grave, Dean brushes the soil from his hands onto his dirtier jeans, and stomps more than walks up to Castiel.

“You’ve a cut,” Cas murmurs worriedly, spotting a knick Dean got on his cheek earlier in the day.

“It’s nothing. Listen, Cas -”

Before Dean can get anymore out, Castiel reaches for his left-side cheek, cups that side of his face, and spreads a cooling sensation that knits the skin back together neatly and cleanly.

“Uh - thanks, Cas,” Dean mutters gruffly as Cas takes his hand back.

“My pleasure, Dean.”

Uncharacteristically nervous, Dean glances down at the ground, his hands shoved in his jean pockets, then his eyes skim the ground until they happen upon Sam’s again, and whatever silent exchange they have works Dean up again.

“Cas,” Dean begins, looking into his eyes with determination, “We’re friends, you ‘n me, right?”

“Yes, Dean. You are my most cherished friend,” Castiel answers.

That gives Dean a moment’s pause where he seems to be searching Castiel’s face for some sign of sarcasm or deceit; there is none to be detected, of course.

“I - thanks, man. Uhm. Now - this is gonna sound like a weird question, but bear with me, ‘cause I’m not about to assume consent or something.”

“Okay,” Castiel says in confusion, tilting his head again.

“I’m tryin’a prove a point here to Sam, and to get it across - just - would you be okay with me kissing you? Like, just this once - I promise I won’t make it weird or anything, but I gotta ask, you know? I know you’re not into physical stuff like -”

“You’d like my permission to kiss?” Castiel intercepts neutrally, “Like people do?”

Something about that is funny - or startling? - to both Sam and Dean, and Castiel can’t tell which or for what reasons.

“Yeah. Just this one time,” Dean repeats.

Though he takes a respectable count of four seconds to seem as though he needs to consider his options, Castiel nods, and replies, “of course, Dean. Of all the favors you’ve asked of me before, I assure this is certainly the most convenient and pleasant of them.”

Sam snorts a laugh, Dean tosses a glare at him, and then settles gentle, if a little nervous, eyes back on Castiel.

“Okay…”

Dean steps closer into Cas’ space, bringing them toe-to-toe and he finds himself staring down; he’d not realized Cas was shorter than him. It’s not by much, not really enough to be remarked upon, even, but it means that Cas winds up looking up at him from under the cover of long, dark lashes, and even in the dark of the night, his eyes shine like twinkling gems.

Swallowing with some difficulty, Dean holds loosely onto the lapels of Cas’ trench coat, and he means to go in chaste, he really does, it’s just that he’s actually struggling to breathe a little, so his lips are just barely parted, and Cas - as far as Dean can tell, Cas takes that as a cue.

Because Cas’ full lips press in, but so does his tongue; before Dean can even secure his footing, Cas makes his loose hold on the lapels go tight, licking up into Dean’s mouth without hesitation or mercy.

Praying his shocked gasp wasn’t audible to Sam, Dean just tries to hold on while Cas turns his head, bites Dean’s heavy bottom lip, and then pushes Dean’s mouth more open with his own, and then he drags his hot tongue against Dean’s, coming in broad, and soft.

Dean hears himself make some kind of noise - he can’t tell what it is, because there’s too much blood rushing in his skull - there’s stubble. Stubble. There is stubble in this equation other than his own, and that’s new, and terrifying, and should be wholly unwelcome, but every synapse in his brain dedicated to pleasure is telling him otherwise.

One wide hand insinuates itself under the hem of Dean’s weathered flannel, calloused fingers pressing into his left hip possessively while the other hand glides over his pec, and shoulder to the back of his neck, pinky finger teasing the sensitive skin just under the back of his cotton collar, and thumb brushing the fine hairs at the base of Dean’s skull.

Dean thinks he may be swaying - he’s dizzy.

Cas is dragging him closer, pressing their hips and abdomens together, and Dean’s hands have somehow found better purchase on the front of Cas’ button-down dress shirt than his lapels.

Dean thinks he hears one of the buttons pop off with the strain of his hold, but neither of them seem inclined to do anything about it, so he figures it doesn’t matter; he tries to establish himself as a bit more dominant, thrown off his usual groove by the absolutely sinful way Cas apparently kisses.

To Dean’s simultaneous horror and delight, Cas doesn’t relinquish any control; he won’t be moved, his hands get tighter and hotter where they touch Dean’s skin, he only presses them harder together, and he kisses Dean like he wants to eat him alive.

He kisses Dean like he wants to crawl inside him, like he’s hungry - starved - like kissing is an act of carnage just as much as an act of love, like those things aren’t mutually exclusive.

He’d rather die than admit it to anyone, but Dean’s knees get a little weak, and Cas basically holds up his entire weight by just the grip he’s got on Dean’s waist.

Before he knows it’s happened, Dean’s hard enough to carve stone, and Cas readjusts how they’re slotted against one another to better accommodate Dean’s failing balance, and Cas feels it - he must. Even if he doesn’t feel how hard Dean is against him right away, the guttural moan Dean will deny having made til his dying breath clues him in.

What sounds like hundreds of cherry bombs going off has them stumbling away from each other, and frantically looking about.

The streetlights have exploded. There’s glass everywhere, and based on the echoes of car alarms and distant voices, it’s becoming more and more possible that Cas destroyed the windows and lights of several cars and nearby homes.

Even he and Sam’s flashlights are busted.

In the blanket of darkness that’s settled over the graveyard, Dean can still see clearly, because Cas’ eyes are high beams cutting through the fog of the night.

They’re both panting, Dean’s pretty certain that a resting heart rate isn’t meant to feel like this, and Cas is looking positively feral.

“Jesus fuck!” Sam curses, his arms crossed over his head where he still plucks a shard of glass from his hair.

Reminded of Sam’s presence, Castiel’s head swivels to him, the glow of his eyes dims down, and then he looks back at Dean, visibly frightened.

Dean takes no pleasure in Cas ever being scared, so he reaches out, takes a step back into Cas’ space, but that spooks him more, and in less than a blink of an eye, he’s gone.

Not cool, Cas, Dean thinks loudly, hoping it counts as a prayer that Cas will hear.

Reaching into the front of his jeans, Dean uses the near blackness of the power outage to his advantage, and readjusts himself to the best of his abilities.

It really doesn’t do much.

“Well,” Sam starts pointedly.

Dean, weak at the knees, lips criminally swollen, face flushed, hair mussed and harder than he’s ever been in his life, turns slowly to scowl at Sam.

“That was not nothing.”

Dean doesn’t see a way of winning the argument, so he kicks dirt into Sam’s hair, and leaves him to finish burying.

[scuttle-buttle]

I’ve Been Thinking

WC: 768

Rated: M

Chapter Tags: domestic fluff, married life, discussions of gender roles/expectations, children, implied smut, breeding kink? Yeah Laszlo's got a breeding kink tell me something I don't me

🧠

When you get home from work your husband is in his study. The dim light from his desk lamp illuminates his face in soft golden tones, his brow is furrowed in thought as he peers through his round glasses at the book in front of him. You can’t help but lean on the doorframe to watch him.

“I know you’re there, Bärchen. Come in,” he commands playfully, looking up from under his lashes. You enter and perch on the side of his mahogany desk. “How was work?” He’s abandoned the text in favor of running his palm along your knee.

“It was good, long. You?”

“It was fine. I finished grading the term papers ahead of schedule. John even stopped by for a bit to show me a new video of Georgie; he’s learning to play the piano apparently.”

When John and his fiance Violet announced they were expecting you had been overjoyed. You knew he wanted a large family. Little Georgie, named for John’s late brother, was an absolute darling. His dark curls bobbed when he learned to walk and then run; of course with Laszlo as his godfather you knew he would be so smart. By the time he was 3 he was already able to read simple children's books.

But all in all, the older Georgie got the more you craved your own. You have been with Laszlo for a few years now. You were older. You had experienced the world a bit more, had the time to travel and settle into who you were meant to become. The thought of having a baby with him made your heart beat faster. You were ready.

“Laszlo, I-” “My dear-” you both start at the same time, cutting off with a smile.

Nerves bite at your tongue, so you offer “you first.”

Laszlo takes a deep breath as if to steel himself for whatever he wants to say. “My dear, I know it’s been some time since we last discussed it,” he pauses. “However, I have been thinking.”

“If you hadn’t I’d be worried,” you tease.

He rolls his eyes before growing serious once more. “I’m not getting any younger and… seeing John with his son has made me think that perhaps it’s time we talked again about children.” He taps at his beard before continuing. “I of course do not expect that you need to uphold some sort of antiquated wifely duty of producing a child, or to put your body through the physical and mental strain of pregnancy and childbirth. I would not ask you to sacrifice yourself for something that you have no interest in, should that be your stance. And of course there are always other options - surrogacy and adoption, amongst others...” He speaks rapidly, clinically. You think perhaps it's to quelch his anxieties about the topic.

“But?”

His fingers on your thigh tighten a fraction. “But, I find that despite my fears of myself and my abilities I- I want to be a father.”

His admission warms you. Even without him saying so you know he doesn’t expect anything of you. Hell, if you said you’d never wanted children he would accept it as law without question.

Sliding off his desk you push his chair back so that you can settle into his lap. His arm curls around your back. You pick up his weaker hand to hold in your own, fidgeting with his fingers. “You know, sometimes it worries me just how similar we are as people,” you start. Tilting to look at him you explain. “That’s actually what I wanted to talk to you about. I think…” you swallow as you meet his eyes, “I think I’m ready to have a baby.”

“Yes?” Laszlo’s face lights up.

You nod with a smile. “I feel like I’ve reached a place in my life where it just feels right; I’m ready.” Leaning in you press a tender kiss to his lips, your fingers scratching through the thick beard you love so much. “I want to have a baby with you, Laz, and you’re going to be the best father.”

“Ich liebe dich, meine schöne Frau. So sehr.” He abruptly stands, causing you to slide from his lap and nearly fall. His left arm catches you.

“Oh! - what are you doing?”

Laszlo backs you into the edge of the desk. Lips attacking the sensitive skin under your jaw he growls in response; “I’m going to put my baby in you.”

There's no doubt that your neighbors are kept up all night by the sound of your lovemaking as your husband does just that.

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[writefightandflightclub]

Right behind you:(Bodyguard!Santiago “Pope” Garcia x M!Celebrity!reader)

This is my offering for this week’s #writerwednesday from @autumnleaves1991-blog, which this week is joint with @flightlessangelwings’ Jey’s Pride celebration! 🥳

The verbal prompt was: glitter and/or “I’ll always be by your side.”

The visual prompt is the photo below.

This gave me the idea for a very quickly written one shot with bodyguard!Santi and male celebrity reader! I hope you like it!

Warnings: food mentions; mentions of panic attack / hyperventilating. Mentions of sensory overload. One mention of Santi “sucking off” reader. Language. TYPOS, undoubtedly.

Rating: mature for mentions of oral sex but no explicit / actual smut.

Gender stuff: he/him pronouns / masc! terms of endearment used for reader. Implied that reader is a penis owner - no other physical descriptions besides reader wearing a suit and some make-up.

Genre: angst then mainly fluff and happiness! Hurt / comfort, I guess.

ALSO: BONUS CAMEO FROM ANOTHER OSCAR CHARACTER. Did you spot him?

You perch on the couch in your suite, taking steadying breaths and trying desperately to ward off hyperventilation as your bodyguard grips your trembling hand firmly in his. The air is quaking in and out of your lungs and you can no longer help the tears which spike in your eyes and spill over on to your cheeks.

He gives your fingers a squeeze as he crouches before you, and you can’t help the surge of guilt that this is so far outside of his job description. He’s meant to protect you, not comfort you. His work centres on your physical well-being, but you can’t count the times he’s bolstered your emotional well-being too. Then again, this is the only time he’s done so quite as blatantly in front of the rest of your staff, perhaps.

“Oh no, don’t you dare cry, sweetie,” your make-up artist - who will not be getting rehired you decide suddenly- flaps around you, attempting to fuss over you with a tissue. Her panic about her work being ruined at the worst possible moment is plain as day, and it only makes your chest constrict further.

“This isn’t helping” is the only thought blaring loudly in your mind, but you cannot for the life of you push the words out right now. You shut your eyes in an attempt to block it all out. To subdue the sensory overload.

You are thankful that your bodyguard intuits that sentiment on your behalf when you can’t, and you hear his voice is coming from a different angle now, his head whipped sharply sideward and up towards the offending MUA.

“For real? Ffff....” you close your eyes and hear Santi bite down on a curse. You’d laugh if you weren’t so preoccupied, trying desperately to focus on his voice amidst the chaotic, intersecting hubbub of the room. “Ma’am, could you please back the shit up?” He bites. Apparently he can’t stifle the cursing entirely.

Your limp hand travels along with his as he waves his arm around emphatically. “In fact. Out. Everyone out. Now. Please.”

His request slices through the nervous air in the room, his words deep and commanding and delivered with an authority that you doubt anyone would dare question. This man must be obeyed, and in the back of your mind you congratulate yourself for your decision to take a chance on hiring this moody ex-soldier with creaky knees. When he needed to he could certainly clear a room. And on top of that, he offers you a whole lot more besides.

Indeed, here he is, going above and beyond, kneeling on said creaky knees for you. Protecting you, and comforting you too.

Your eyes are still closed as the room gradually quietens, until it is so still you could hear a pin drop. Until you can hear the steady rise and fall of Santi’s breath. Until you can hear the delicate wet noise of his lips parting so his tongue can skim his lips. You can hear him swallow.

As you hear the sound of the final remaining person shuffle out, and the door gently click closed behind them, you are finally able to peel open your eyes. You are able finally able to release your bottom lip from the grip of your teeth, an indent having formed where you have bitten down so hard you have threatened to draw blood.

Santi is as still as death as he waits, and as soon as he hears that final click, he is moving. Only then, does he allow his (thin) veneer of professionalism to collapse. He allows the flats of his palms to snake up your thighs, rubbing reassuring shapes into you, and you feel the familiar heat and press of of him through the luxe fabric of your suit trousers.

“Look at me, cariño,” he soothes, in a deep, fond tone, entirely different to those bitten off commands reserved for the rest of your entourage. “It’s just you and me now. Look at me, baby.”

You do. You look into his big brown eyes and you and he could be the only two people in the world, never mind the room. You sniff, and you fumble away a stray tear before settling your palms on top of his.

You slow your breathing and Santi flashes you a small, proud smile. “That’s it, honey. Nice and slow. Just like that.”

Then, he flinches, his head leaning to the side as though he could physically retreat from whatever angry voice is no doubt blaring into his ear. Then, he makes a point of taking the earpiece out altogether, letting it hang over the collar of his white shirt.

He tugs in a huge exhale too, letting go of the tension he held in his body through his concern for you, although his eyes slit flit around your face in residual concern.

“They’ll be mad you did that,” you warn, with a nod to his earpiece.

“Whatever. It’s not my job to get you to the red carpet on time. It’s my job to look after you.”

“Your job? Hmm? That all I am to you?”

He flashes you a lopsided smile as you tease him. “I’m a lucky man. My job happens to be a thing I love doing outside of work too.” You lift your palm to his face, the familiar texture of his stubble beneath your fingers. “Now, honey. No rush. But do you wanna tell me what’s going on?”

You look away from him then as you realise he won’t let you distract him enough to avoid the true issue at hand, but his hands are still languidly smoothing your thighs, and you know he won’t make you do anything you don’t want to before you’re ready. He might dole out some tough love, eventually, but not until he is sure that you can take it. He lets you fumble until you find the words. “It’s... even the thought of it, Santi. This is the biggest thing I’ve ever done. All those cameras. All those eyes on me, I...”

Santi shushes you, as he hears the resurgent panic creep into your voice, even as your fingertips idly trace over his handsome features, a self-soothing unconscious thing, as he continues to kneel before you.

But while you may be panicked, he’s smiling. Looking up at you earnestly. “You deserve all those eyes on you, hermoso.” You don’t mind at all that when his voice comes out now it’s both fond and a just a little dirty as his own, very attentive eyes sweep over you.

“I don’t know...” You nibble on your lip again.

“Baby. You deserve this night. You’ve worked so hard for this. You’re so talented. And holy shit. You look so fucking hot in this suit I can barely function.” You let out a small, tentative laugh, which Santi seems pleased by, his own eyes creasing at the corners in return. “Besides,” he continues, tone more earnest now, his thick brows raised as he hammers his point home. “I’ll be right there. Just a few steps behind you, okay, mi Principe?”

You take one more deep breath, expelling it slowly and steadily through the “o” of your mouth, and Santi can’t resist your pursed lips a moment longer. Yet, for all his comments about how hot you are, his kiss is not as devouring as you might expect. It is a soft, tender thing, barely skimming your lips, and yet even so it appears to inspire a reverent heat in him, his eyelashes fanned on his cheek as his eyes remain closed a moment longer. As he expels a gust of disbelieving air at how you make him feel from this alone.

“Or,” he proposes, his voice breathy. “We could sack this whole thing off? We could order chilli cheese fries to the room and I can suck you off until you can’t think straight?”

You kiss him again, this time giving him just a hint of tongue, even as you laugh musically into his open, increasingly eager mouth.

“Appealing as that sounds, my love, I probably shouldn’t miss this...” you nod your head towards the door “...lil thing.”

“Yeah. Probably.” Santi concedes with a fond, lopsided smile, his eyes flashing with adoration, until he reluctantly schools himself back to something resembling professionalism. He gives you a few moments to gather yourself, and for his... eagerness to subside, before asking “You ready?”.

You nod. “Ready as I’m gonna get.”

“There he is. That’s my man.” Santi gives your thighs one more squeeze before he stands, and you swear you hear his poor knees creak; and then, he is replacing his ear piece, his face becoming all business as he presses two fingers to his ear. “Kolpakov? We’re ready to move out. Everyone in position?”

He awaits the response before turning back to you, practically gasping as he sees you stood there in all your glory for the first time. His eyes sweep up and down the length of you. He shakes his head incredulously, switching his mic off for a moment more. “Fuck me. You look like a fucking dream.”

“Not so bad yourself,” you respond in a loving, flirtatious tone, dancing your fingertips across his chest as you sweep past him towards the doorway and he turns with you as if in your thrall.

As you prepare, taking another deep breath and gripping the handle, Santi reaches for your arm, delaying you for just another moment. “Santi,” you laugh. “We can do the chilli cheese fries later, I promise.”

But that’s not quite what he has in mind. He looks at you intensely, and he cups your face in his broad palm. “Don’t forget. You deserve those eyes on you. But if you get overwhelmed, know that my eyes are on you. Wherever you go, I’ll be right behind you.”

The sentiment and sincerity with which he says this makes your mouth fall open in shock. Makes your chest constrict with happiness rather than nerves - but you aren’t afforded the opportunity to respond. In the next moments, the door is flung open, and your entourage is flooding you, barking directions and whisking you down the staircase and out on to the red carpet.

You are pulled away from Santi, and you don’t get to be near him again, besides a quick, surreptitious whisper into the shell of your ear as he follows you out the door “we need to talk about your ass in these pants because holy shit” - but that is all you can steal.

True to his word though, wherever you go he is right behind you. He is there with a firm arm to form a protective wall should a photographer come too close, or a fan get too handsy over a barrier. He is standing, stern and formidable to your rear as you provide sound bites to the tv stations forming a line up to the venue (and, trying very hard not to ogle your ass in these pants, probably).

He’s right behind you, designed to fade into the background in every sense. For all his charisma, he’s good at it. Not drawing attention. Even his suit is designed to be non-descript.

But... that’s not where he should be, you realise.

And, when you are almost at the end of the carpet, you stop in your tracks. You hesitate, and you turn around, your gaze instantly finding him in the crowd. He looks concerned, alarmed, as though you may have gotten the jitters again and like you might be about to do a runner.

But that’s not it. That’s not it at all.

In fact, you are more calm and sure than you have been all evening, looking at his befuddled, deer in headlights expression as all the attention suddenly falls on him. He has some big talk and a tough exterior, but the centre of him is soft, and you love that about him.

And so, a cautious smile blooms on your face as you settle firmly on your plan of action, and you walk determinedly in the “wrong” direction, going against the stream of attendees and making a beeline for your love, as he, for once -your man of action- stands frozen in confusion.

Then, when you arrive at him you stop, placing both your hands flat on the lapels of his suit, smoothing them down.

“What are you-?” he begins to ask, but you cut him off.

“Santi, my love. This is ridiculous. I don’t want you behind me. I want you by my side. Where you should be. So, fuck it. Will you do me the honour of accompanying me to this premiere?”

He answers with a smile. With sparkling eyes. With his arms flung around your waist. With the press of his curved lips against yours, and a slip of his supple tongue. “Baby. I’ll always be by your side.” His hands slip a little lower. “Or - you know - sometimes right behind you.” He winks at you. God, you adore this idiot.

So, you wrap your arms around him, guffawing fondly into his neck before kissing him again, more deeply, not caring who’s watching. Your face splits with a beaming smile as you break from the embrace and link your arm into his, proceeding to walk up the carpet again: together this time.

“Fuck me though, honey,” Santi leans over to confide in you as he straightens up his tie, as if suddenly noticing the photographers for the first time now that they are noticing him. “You could have warned me you were going to french me on the red carpet, I would have put on a better suit.”

You laugh warmly as he continues to babble, and you reassure him that he looks perfect.

You know he’s doing his best to mask it, but he’s the nervous one now - you can tell. “Don’t worry, handsome,” you reassure. “Just you and me, remember?”

No-one else in the world.

“Jesus. How do you do this?” he asks, balking at all of the camera flashes going off in his face, his voice choked.

Luckily, Kolpakov - his second in command- figures out what’s happening and takes the cue to intervene, shifting the line back just a little to give the two of you some space. A good job too as you see beads of sweat forming on your love’s brow.

“How do I do this?” you ponder. “Well, I always have you to protect me, right?” You squeeze his arm tenderly. “And I’ll protect you now, my darling.”

This- having him by your side? You have no doubt that this feels right. It is where he has been all along, albeit only in the shadows. In private moments. But tonight, as he encouraged you into the spotlight, you realised how little you cared for hiding. You need him with you.

“Jesus,” Santi chuckles, looking around and trying to take everything in. “The boys are gonna have a fucking field day with this one. I didn’t even tell them we were dating.”

“What the hell, Garcia?!” you chide fondly, mouth open in a shocked “o”, before beginning to chatter and banter away with him as you easily fall into step together. Distracting him from his nerves like he always does for you.

With Santi by your side, you no longer care about all of the other eyes on you. All of the camera flashes. The crowds. Those watching at home.

You’re proud of your achievements. You’re proud of your relationship. And besides, the only eyes on you which you pay any heed to are his. Santiago’s gorgeous brown eyes, which, right now, shine with nothing but pride.

Yours shine right back.

You think he is the one who deserves all eyes on him, tonight.