#I like the gap in your teeth because my tongue fits like a key

[secondpersonpoetry]

“Crooked”, Margaret Rhee

[mypoisonedvine]

Sugar | Bruce Banner x reader

summary: he’s smart, he’s sensitive, he’s sexy, and he pays your tuition.  sounds like the perfect guy, right?  he would be, if it weren’t for that pesky thing of him being married.  for most girls, it’s a dealbreaker, but you have a little secret: it kinda turns you on.

word count: 2.8k

warnings: smut, semi-public sex (in a car lol), infidelity (it’s in the summary y’all), choking, wedding ring kink, daddy kink, implied age gap, sugar daddy relationship

The last few minutes of class passed excruciatingly slowly, to the point that when you took breaks from tapping your pencil on your paper to glance up at the clock only to see it hadn’t changed at all, you wondered if time had somehow managed to stand still while your professor continued to ramble about, ironically, the way time dilates inside black holes.

“Before I let you go, I want to review the grades on last week’s quiz…”

You suppressed a groan as you waited for her to get on with it; you already aced it, what other discussion needed to be had? 

Finally, finally, she let you all leave and you were already halfway out the door, beaming as you clutched your books to your chest and jogged out of the building to the parking lot.  His car was waiting for you there, parked at the furthest and darkest end of the lot for some reason, and you knew what waited for you inside even if the windows were tinted too dark to see through.  You were too happy to even notice the cold night air blowing right through your cardigan, jogging to the car and swinging open the passenger door.

“Hi!” you smiled as you hopped in.

“Hey baby,” Bruce purred, leaning in for a kiss.  You expected a quick peck but instantly it was obvious that he was up to something, with the way he pulled you closer and slipped his tongue into your mouth.

“Bruce,” you giggled as you pulled away slightly, although it was kind of a moan, too.  “What’s the occasion?”

“I missed you,” he shrugged.  “Is it so strange that I missed my girl?”

Your thighs clenched together at the pet name, but your hands pushed him back gently when he leaned towards you again.  “At least let me set my books down first!” you protested.

He chuckled but let you go, and you maneuvered to set your books down in his backseat, feeling his gaze on your ass as you bent over and not exactly minding it.  There was a dark shimmer in his eyes when you came back, scanning over you slowly.  

“Where are we going?” you asked, already expecting a certain answer since he had made no move yet to put the key in the ignition.

“We’re not going anywhere, angel,” he explained.  “I didn’t get to see you all week and it’s been killing me.”

Of course, it was technically possible that he meant he just wanted to sit in the car and catch up with you, but the way his voice got deep and husky made it clear that wasn’t his intention.  You bit down on your lip as you glanced down to the misshapen crotch of his trousers, letting your hand slip forward to rub his thigh and just barely ghost against his cock.  “I missed you too, daddy,” you whispered.

You felt his length throb against the back of your hand, at the same time you heard him groan softly.  “How much did you miss me?” he asked darkly.  

“So much,” you nodded quickly.

“Show me how much,” he instructed, sitting up a bit to unbuckle his belt for you.  You did the rest, unzipping his fly and pulling his cock out of his boxers.  It felt so hot and hard in your palm, so thick you struggled to keep a hold on it sometimes, but you licked your lips as you leaned down and took the head into your mouth.  He instantly pushed your head down further with a hand on the back of your neck, moaning as you swallowed more of him.  “Fuck, baby…”

You smiled a little, though you suppressed it since it would interfere with the task at hand, continuing to stroke the part of him you couldn’t fit in your mouth yet.  With practice you’d learned to take all of him, but it required warming up a bit first.  That said, this didn’t feel like a ‘take it slow and fool around’ sort of night.  He was already bucking up into your mouth and you could feel that he was on edge from the way his fingers tightened in your hair.

“Fuck, so good for me,” he praised with a sigh.  “You like sucking me off in the parking lot like this, honey?  Right after school?  You think someone could walk by and see you with your mouth full of my cock?”

The windows were tinted, sure, but it was possible… and the idea made heat spread between your thighs.

“Just like that, baby, choke on it,” he groaned, all but fucking your mouth at this point— and you loved it.  You knew you were getting embarrassingly wet and you didn’t even care that you were in his car in your school’s parking lot anymore: you wanted him to fuck you, so much so that you were starting to gyrate your hips to get some friction against the seat.  He must have noticed when he reached over your back to spank you, making you jump.  “Look at you, needy little girl— rubbing yourself on my car like a desperate slut.  You’d better not make a mess, that’s Italian leather.”

He didn’t usually talk so degradingly to you, but it was definitely working for you, which became sort of a vicious cycle because as he mocked you for your desperation, your arousal grew which fed the very desperation he was mocking in the first place.  You moaned around the cock in your mouth, the vibrations clearly getting to him as you tasted more of his salty pre-cum hit the back of your throat.

“Fuck, I don’t wanna come in your mouth— get in the back,” he demanded quickly as his voice became more strained.  Not needing to be told twice, you popped off of him and climbed into the back; he wasn’t as agile as you, but he followed semi-awkwardly and slotted himself between your legs.  With his cock already out and you wearing a skirt, he could rub himself on you through your panties— which was unexpectedly intense, due to how sensitive you’d become.

Your head fell back against the seat as you moaned lowly.  “God, Bruce, please…”

“You must not want it that bad if you’re calling me Bruce,” he chuckled, leaning in to suck a mark on your neck.  There was something so hot to you about how unfair it was that he could mark and claim you any way he wanted, but you got in trouble if you got lipstick on his collar or left something of yours in his car.  The reminders of this affair and its forbidden nature just turned you on more.

“Daddy,” you corrected with a whimper, “I need you to put it in me— fuck me, please.”

“You’re sure you’ve earned it?” he asked, his smile brushing against your ear.  You nodded feverishly, clutching at his shoulders tightly.  He reached down and delicately pulled your panties to the side, groaning a bit when he saw how wet you were and beginning to rub the swollen head of his cock through your folds.

“Please,” you sobbed gently, repeating the words over and over until he finally pushed into you in one long, slow stroke.  You choked on your moan— when you went so long without seeing him, he was always just a bit too big, stretched you just a bit too wide, went just a bit too deep inside you.  You hissed through your teeth as you processed the pain, but it burned in exactly the way you needed.

“Fuck,” he breathed, “so fucking tight, goddamn…”

His hands gripped your thighs to hold your legs open, and you realized you could feel the hard metal of his wedding band digging into your skin.  Why did that, of all things, make your walls flutter and clench around him?

“Baby,” he grinned, “you really did miss me… your sweet little pussy is fuckin’ gripping me, doesn’t wanna let me go, huh?”

Your face burned but you loved the way his voice sounded when he got like this.

“You’re not gonna let me pull out, are you?” he realized with a little smirk.  “You need me to fill you up, is that it?”

You nodded, gasping a bit as he started to move faster.  “Yes, Daddy.”

"You're already getting too loud, pretty girl," he hoarsely mocked you.  "Somebody could hear you, remember?"

You whimpered and bit down on your lip.  The head of his cock was dragging right over your g-spot, making your toes curl as pleasure twisted in your gut.  "Can't help it," you explained between moans, "you feel so good… I love your cock so much, Daddy, please just don't stop."

"I might have to, if you can't keep quiet," he groaned.

"Make me quiet," you begged gently— and before you could even worry if he wouldn't know what you meant, he wrapped a hand around your throat.  

The loss of air just made everything more intense; you felt fuzzy at the edges, like your sensation was blurred, and it made shivering tingles erupt wherever he touched you.  You could feel his ring against your neck; fuck, it was everything.

He laughed a little as he started to fuck you faster and harder, hips slamming into yours until the sound echoed around the car.

“You’re gonna come, aren’t you?  I can feel it,” he informed you through his teeth.  “I can feel it around my fucking cock.”

You nodded against the hand around your neck, gasping when he gave you a reprieve from the pressure.  “Yes, Daddy,” you cried as you clutched at his shoulders tightly, “I’m so close, please don’t stop.”

“I’m never gonna get over how sensitive you are,” he purred, leaning in until you felt so small underneath the weight of his body.  “You love your Daddy’s cock so much, hm?”

“I’m gonna come,” you whimpered as you hugged onto him tighter, shocks of pleasure shooting up your back as he tightened his hand around your neck again.  You weren’t sure if it was the orgasm or the inability to breathe that made your vision go spotty and dark, but either way it was overwhelmingly intense as it washed over you.  Shivers erupted over your skin and made your thighs twitch where they were pressed against his hips, his belt digging into the sensitive skin there (although you didn’t really notice, too busy falling back into a silent scream).

The noise you made when he let go of your throat was somewhere between a gasp and a sigh, despite those being opposite actions.  The most intense waves of it had subsided, and yet you felt like you were being pushed to your limits as he plunged into your sensitive channel with renewed vigor.  Thankfully for your poor vagina, it seemed like he was close to the edge, spurred on by the pulsing of your walls.  

“Please come, Daddy,” you begged weakly, “want your come in me, please—”

“Fuck,” he grunted, “I will, baby, you feel so good, fuck!”

You couldn’t help but smile at the feeling of his cock swelling and flexing inside you, his movements starting to falter as his head fell back— and, with a deep, throaty moan, he pumped his come into you.  You hummed contentedly as he collapsed against you, catching his breath.

There was something sort of romantic about a quickie in the back of his car, despite all odds.  Maybe romantic wasn’t the word, but definitely sweet for the way you twirled a wavy strand of his hair around your finger as he laughed breathlessly.

“I… didn’t mean to come so fast,” he admitted as he pulled his softening cock from you and slipped it back into his pants, sitting next to you and resting his head back on the seat with a sigh.

“I couldn’t have handled much more,” you giggled, “so it’s all for the best.”

“You can handle a lot more than you think,” he remembered, conjuring in your mind images of those times he’d brought you to the edge over and over until you were sure you would pass out and/or lose your mind.  The memory made your cheeks warm as you cuddled into him, laying your head on his shoulder.

It was a comfortable silence as you relaxed against him, watching his chest rise and fall with his breaths as they started to stabilize and slow down a bit.

“Oh, how’d you do on your quiz?” he asked you, and the sudden change of topic made you laugh quickly before you answered.

“I got a perfect score,” you beamed.  

"Hey, that's great," he smiled back, giving you a quick kiss on the forehead.  "I think you deserve a treat for that."

"Does getting my brains fucked out in the backseat of your car right after class not count as a treat?" you laughed.

"I guess it does, but I mean something a little more… expensive."

"Bruce, baby, you're gonna spoil me," you giggled, nuzzling your head into his neck as he wrapped an arm around you.

"That's the idea," he explained.  "Once I get enough energy back to move again, I'll drive you to a jeweler and get you something sparkly."

"When do you need to be back for her not to get suspicious?" you asked, chewing your lip nervously as you remembered that you had to be careful of those sorts of things.

"Ugh, I don't fucking care," he groaned.  

You looked up at him, resting your hand on his chest in a show of sympathy.  "Did something happen?  Is she picking fights with you again?"

"Let's not talk about her," he suggested, pulling you closer.  "Let's talk about you."

"What about me?" you asked with a scoff.

"Let's talk about you, coming with me to Tokyo in February."

"...what?"

"I have to do this medical conference thing there, and I thought it'd be the perfect trip to bring you along.  I only have to be there for a few days but we could stay longer if you want to do more touristy stuff, spend more time together…"

"Bruce, I have school," you reminded him.

"And you're at the top of all your classes," he dismissed.  "You can afford to miss a few days.  I want you all to myself, even if it's just for a little while."

"I could say the same thing."

"And you should," he countered, "because this is your chance.  Think about it: just you and me, in a huge suite in a fancy hotel in Tokyo, laying in bed all day, making love for hours—"

"'Making love'?  Is that what you think we do?"

He chuckled a little.  "It could be.  Or I could tie you to the bed and make you come until you scream so loud the other rooms complain to the front desk."

You shuddered, knowing full well that he was capable of that.  A few months ago, you'd walked into class with a lost voice and a new Coach handbag.  You thought about that night every time you saw the purse and you wondered if that was the real reason he bought you new stuff on nights like that.

"Will you come with me?" he asked again.

"Sure," you decided with a little smile.  "But you're too good to me, I swear."

"Not true at all, you deserve so much more than this," he refuted as he kissed your neck.  "Next time I take you somewhere, it won't be because I had a work thing there— and it'll be wherever you want."

You were too distracted by his lips on your skin to really notice what he was saying.  At the moment, despite knowing how incredible a trip with him would be, you couldn’t imagine anything better than this; the back of his car, in your school’s parking lot, with his arms around you and his come leaking out of you onto the leather.  Still, you weren’t going to stop him from buying you something sparkly if he wanted to.

[shlutnutt]

My favorite pet

-kai anderson smut-

hopefully its good lol not really proof read also

warnings⚠️: gun play, death mention, hardcore penetration, oral sex, fingering, name calling, slapping, sir kink, spit kink, harsh language, bath sex, 69

Working for Kai Anderson has never been easy, you needed the money and urgently for your father's open heart surgery. Kai was extremely cruel almost as if he was just born with a rotten heart, but Winter usually makes it known that he's a great guy.. Even if he doesn't show it.

"Hurry the fuck up you slut! You're here to serve me, not make me wait" Kai demands from the basement in which he'd stay most of his times at in his head designing his world domination plans. "Im on my way Kai! Had to clean up a little, sorry." you apologize as you walk down the creaky stairs leading to his dusty dim basement manwhich in hand. "What have I said about the sorrys Y/N?" Kai gazes up at you while you dont dare step another foot, an intimidating expression suited on his rough face, manwhich in hand, comfortably seated on his wooden chair.

"Sorrys are stupid and unecessary, stupid little sluts like me don't apologize. " you complied. "Good girl." Kai praises, as you automatically sprint back upstairs. There were no words to describe how intimidated you were by Kai Anderson, not because of the fact he was a psychopathic cult leader serial killer, but because of the way he carries himself. Always firm, vigilant, direct and determined . He was also illustrated as a sex god amongst a few of his cult members, they'd talk about how he'd make them come in just one minute in addition to leaving their legs trembling for hours. Even though you were slightly terrified of him you'd not give up the chance to hooking up if he'd offer.

Arriving back home to your little kitten (Dex) you were up for a hot steamy bath after the exhausting day Kai had given you. As you run the water carefully stepping in the oversized bathtub you begin to relax, coming up with the brilliant idea to drink some hennessy to boost your relaxation. You soon jump at the sudden buzzing coming from your phone, noticing it was Kai you instantly pick up to avoid his aggressive protests.

Y/N: "Yeah.. What's up?"

Kai: "You forgot your cat food at my place, Y/N."

Y/N: "Can I umm.. come by pick it up tomorrow? Im kinda busy right now."

Kai: "Nope. No need. I got it, Im at your front door, if you don't mind opening?"

Y/N: "Shit.. Im taking a bath, uhh there should be a spare key under the mat somewhere."

Kai: "You sound dru-"

You terminate the call quickly as your heart soon skips a beat due to the loud unlocking commotion coming from your front door echoing through your empty home. Dex's meowing began to rise, you dont think much of it since Dex gets overly excited from the pure sight of cat food, but when you hear his meowing getting closer along some heavy footsteps you grow alerted, getting ready to step out the bath.

"Can i come in?" You hear a familiar masculine voice politely question from the other side of your bathrom door. "What? no. Im taking a bath can you wa-" Kai enters, pretending to cover his eyes to give you privacy. "What the fuck." you yelp. "Hey, I just needed your help opening the bag, its kinda weird made, plus your little pussy needed attention." you chuckle to yourself from his use of words. "You wouldn't want it to starve to death huh?" Kai questioned you, proceeding to prentending to cover his eyes with the one free hand he had. He looked better than ever.. He wore a black long sleeve shirt which hugged his ripped body along some black fitted jeans, accompanied by his hot man bun, he noticed how you hungrily checked him out and took his hand off his face revealing himself fully to you.

"Like my outfit?" Kai asked in an overly charming voice giving you a silly twirl, which weirded you out since he's alwalys been a meany, could've been because he wasn't in his old deppressing basement away from his deadly cult who does nothing less than slaughter people for entertainment, or maybe it was because of how intoxicated you were. "Yeah, I actually like it. You look so fucking hot. Wait shit I d—" you accidentally let out one of the many thoughts that circled your mind triggering an unexpected shiver to run through your veins causing the little soapy foams that covered your body to vanish into the warm water unintentionally revealing your bare body for Kai to see.

"Oh, God. Don't move, you stay just like that." Kai demanded as his voice deepened to the sight of you. His dark appealing eyes scanned through your own causing your breathing to quicken at an inhuman speed. Unawaredly you bit your lip, effecting Kai's bottom lip to slip under his teeth also. Tension filled the bathroom as you two just stared at eachother, not one of you attempting to break the eye fucking you've been holding onto.

"Take off your clothes." you instinctively order. Kai's eyes widen as he slowly lifted up his long sleeve revealing his battle scars along with his divine form, as you just admired in the temperate warm bathtub you continued to comfortably lay on.

"That's it?" you question as Kai teased lowering his pants down slightly revealing his boxers and sharping v line. "I want more, baby" you order once again, this time softly attaching your hands to your soaped up breasts. "I think I might need some more inspiration." Kai suggested. "What kinda inspiration?" you interrogate once again. "Touch yourself for me, pet." Kai groaned out.

Rolling your eyes a little in response to Kai's nickname you begin to trace your hands down to your soaked core, rubbing it a few times before slipping a finger halfway in, moaning to the view of Kai pleasuring himself through his pants, you gasp to him pulling out a pistol from his inner hip, pointing it at you instantly.

"Did you just roll your eyes at me?" Kai questions, his warm breath fanning your face softly as he traced his gun up and down your body. "No." you shook your head terrifiedly as Kai's hand wiped the tears that your petrified eyes had shed before slapping the fuck out of you leaving a red mark instantaneously. Whimpering in fear and in pain you spat on his face in disrespect.

Kai paused and slowly cleaned off your spit with two fingers of his bringing it towards his mouth seductively sucking them clean before guiding his fingers from his mouth to yours. "Spit again" Kai motioned his fingers against your mouth signaling you to spit on them once again.

You spat on his fingers as he repeated his past actions, suddenly grabbing you by your neck to his mouth brushing his lips lightly against yours as he whispers against your mouth " You're gonna be good for me, right?" "Yes." you respond attempting to close the gap that you both held when he automatically pulled back to look deep into your eyes saying "It's yes sir, Y/N." "Yes si—" you're immediately interrupted by Kai's harsh lips on yours not giving you an opportunity to come up for air, continuing to trace his gun choking you and pulling your hair aggressively.

You pull on his pants signaling him to take them off as he hears your calls and unbuckles his belt allowing it to loudly make contact against the tiled floor. Tossing his pants elsewhere, Kai pushed you deeper into the bathtub as he joins you, turning on the hot water faucet.

"Open your legs for me." Kai intructs as you obediently do as you're told feeling his fingers fill you up quickly. Keeping his steady rhythm Kai continues fingering you, making out with you allowing his tongue to explore your mouth completely, loud moans filling your bathroom.

"Im really close, Ka– ..sir" you instruct in between needy moans reaching for his cock, provoking Kai to pull his fingers out of you angirly.

Another slap reaches the other side of your face as you whimper in pain. "I told you to call me sir, pet." "But I di–" "Shh, pet. Shut the fuck up. Suck your master's cock will ya?"

You proceed to straddle Kai's bare body against yours slowly and carefully drifting your head down to his erected member and your needy core to his face, forming 69. Beginning to kitten lick Kai's tip you feel his fuzzy face vibrate against your innocence making you moan against his, returning the same vibrations.

"Don't stop doing that.. it feels so fucking good." Kai instructs against your clit in which you obliged. His tongue swiped up and down your core aggressively, sucking your bud and tongue fucking you at times, making your pleasure on him sloppier by the second. Kai grabbed your thighs harshly digging his nails in deep trying to get as close as possible to you whilst flickering his tongue antagonising your swollen clit in which you let out a long deep groan against his freeing your juices all in his mouth in which he slurps dry immediately.

Kai chose to face fuck you belligerently causing your blood flow to your head making you dizzy in the instant as you allow your intoxicated body to be used as a sex toy. "Get on 4, you pet" Kai demanded as he pointed a corner of the now empty-waterd bathtub. "Yes, sir." you obliged once more switching your position as your legs trembled along the way causing a deep chuckle to escape Kai's lips, proud of his work.

Kai slid his erection past your soaking needy folds with no hesitation, causing your back to arch instantly against his. Kai had insane stamina in which you knew the sex wasn't going to be over unless he was done. His hips contacted your ass everytime, creating beautiful wave patterns to form on them, turning Kai on even more by the second.

"F–fuck.. you feel so good, my little slut." Kai praised as he gritted his teeth in between each slap against your ass, making you scream in pure pleasure as your climax was getting closer and closer. "Scream louder for me, Y/N." Kai instructed as you screamed for dear life against his nonstopping thrusts, satisfyingly sighing at the feeling of Kai's member softening inside of you as his warm liquids leaked out of your pussy.

"You're a fucking god, Kai." you praise, calling him by his real name purposely. "Next time I fuck you i'll make sure that you're left in a fucking wheelchair, Y/N." Kai snaps at you totally serious about what he just said while you giggled at his words.

"I love you, byee" your intoxicated self says to Kai's exhausted self, putting on his clothes whilst his wet hair shielded his dark intense eyes.

"Fuck you and feed your cat" Kai responds pointing at Dex who's been locked in the bathroom the whole time, witnessing it all.

"Oh shit."

Damn. Poor Dex lmao

[wilteddaisies]

Yours - Chapter Three

Azriel x Female!Reader (acotar)

Word Count: 2.4k

Summary: You are Feysand’s daughter and you’ve just come home from your studies in the Day Court. Azriel needs someone with extensive training in magic in order to complete a mission for the Night Court. You happen to be just what he needs.

Fic Warnings: age gap?, probably cursing, eventual smut, wing kink ;)

Chapter Warnings: the there’s only one bed trope, angst, cursing, wing kink, oral sex (female receiving), slight overstimulation

Note: I am so happy be sharing this chapter, it was an absolute delight to write! I love writing soft happy Az because we didn’t see nearly enough of that in the books lol. Enjoy!

CHAPTER THREE

You left the next day. After healing Azriel’s wings completely, in terribly awkward silence, you packed lightly and were off. You expected to be away from home for only a few nights. But, your pack seemed to weigh a ton after hours of flying. You and Azriel decided that it would be best to conserve as much magic as possible to bypass the wyvern and whatever other enchantments there might be to keep people out. 

You finally touched down right as the sun was setting, at the edge of a town near the castle. You quickly used your magic to cloak your wings and then Azriel’s before walking down the cobblestone road into town. The town was decorated with all sorts of banners and streamers, there must be some sort of festival or celebration going on.

The walk to the inn was quiet, unbearably so, just as the flight was with neither of you wanting to talk about your encounter two nights ago. You stride into the inn to the front desk.

“Ahem,” you cleared your throat to get the attention of the bored looking boy behind the desk. He leisurely kept flipping through his leaflet, taking his time before turning his eyes up. And then immediately blanching at Azriel’s glowering figure behind you. 

“How-,” he squeaked and then cleared his throat, shoving the leaflet under the desk then straightening himself on his tool, “How can I help you?”

“Two rooms, please,” you told the boy. 

“I’m sorry we only have one room available. The town is flooded with visitors for the Summer Festival this week, you see.” He visibly swallowed and tried to avoid Azriel’s merciless stare. 

“Oh. . .” you started, “I suppose we could go somewhere else-”

“That will do, we’ll take it.” Azriel replied curtly. 

“Are you sure?” you murmured to him, he probably wanted to keep avoiding and ignoring you, “We can try to find-”

“There likely won’t be an inn with more availability any time soon. It’s fine.” He looked at the worker boy and held out his hand for the key. The boy tried not to shake as he handed them over to Az and his eyes grew to the size of saucers once Az threw a few gold coins over his shoulder onto the desk, far more than a single room at the semi-decent inn was worth. 

Fuck. Az unlocked the room and lo and behold, there was only one bed, it was probably sufficient for two humans but would be a tight fit for two Illyrians, especially ones who wanted to stay three feet apart at all times. Gods, it was like one of Aunt Nesta’s trashy romance novels. 

You both looked pitifully at the bed. 

“I’ll sleep on the floor,” you both say at the same time. Weird.

“No, you’re not,” again. Weirder. The silence that followed was so thick you could cut it with a knife. 

“Stop,” you say, “we are both adults. We can share the bed.”

“Fine.”

“Good.” You took your bag into the connected washroom, changing into something more suitable for the mortal realm than your flying leathers before striding out of the washroom and out of the room altogether. 

“Where are you going?” Az asked, annoyed.

“To find that adventure you were talking about,” you threw over your shoulder.

“Your father told me not to let you out of my sight!” he called down the hallway. You kept walking but turned your head to shout back once more.

“Then I guess you’ll just have to come with me!” You turned back around to hide your smirk. You were not going to let some grumpy Illyrian male ruin your first adventure outside of Prythian. 

The light had faded almost completely, twilight was nearing its end. But, the night had only just begun. People started to hang lit paper lanterns on strings that criss crossed above the city streets. Children ran around freely, clutching lanterns of their own, and someone somewhere started to play a fiddle. A small crowd had begun to form around the fiddler, who had since been joined by a tambourine and lute player. The music was different from the floating melodies of Velaris, it was more rambunctious, more untamed. Soon, people were dancing to the merry jig, grabbing partners and swinging each other about. No choreographed moves or set steps yet, just dancing, free and wild. And soon, you were swept into the fray, too.

The song after did have a dance that went with it, and though you didn’t know it, the locals were happy to teach you. You formed a ring and joined hands, your feet stumbling over steps you hadn’t quite memorized but you didn’t care. Laughter rang through the air just as the music did, and wine and ale flowed freely. 

The song ended and another began, this one for pairs. You were asked to dance by a young boy of maybe twelve, to which you graciously accepted his hand and whirled into the fray, switching partners constantly. As the song crescendoed into its last note, you found yourself faced with a familiar chest, this time clothed in mortal attire rather than Illyrian flying leathers. You looked up to meet a pair of familiar hazel eyes. He was flushed, and breathing heavily but smiling widely, bigger than you had seen him smile in a long time. It seemed he had been enjoying the festivities, too. 

You smiled back at him before ducking out of his grip as the next song started. And you both were content with that, occasionally winding up dancing next to or with one another. Azriel laughed freely, something you didn’t see the shadowsinger do nearly as often enough, and danced without restraint. 

It was nearly three in the morning when you stumbled back to your room still humming the melodies of the night, feeling utterly content after the hours of dancing and drinking and eating from the various vendors across the festival. You released the magic cloaking both of your wings and got ready for bed, taking turns with Az for the washroom, but talking and laughing about your night the whole time even through the closed door. You tried not to stare as he walked back into the bedroom in only a pair of loose sleeping trousers with a few droplets of water still clinging to his gloriously muscled chest.

“How was I supposed to know it was spicy?” you scoff.

“It was red as. . . well, as red as your face was after eating it!” he laughed and you lightheartedly punched him in the arm. 

“And then when you almost knocked over that old woman during that one song!” 

“In my defense,” he started, holding his hands up, “that dance was a difficult one and she was a very short lady. How was I supposed to see her? Oh, how did the steps go again?” 

“Here,” you said, stepping towards him to take both of his hands, “mirror my movements.” And you started with a series of steps and kicks that Azriel absolutely butchered but you walk him through it again, until he’s halfway decent. But, then he stepped on your foot for what had to be the sixth time and you both bursted out laughing, absolutely hollering while clutching each other like mad men. 

As you settled down, Az realises that he is still holding your hands. He sobered up at the sight of his marred flesh against your own, and pulled his hands away. 

“Why, Az?” you can’t seem to stop the words from escaping your mouth. Maybe it’s the booze or the unhinged nature of tonight but, you just can’t hide the hurt in your voice or your eyes. “Why do you always pull away from me, right as we seem to be connecting? Am I really that repulsive to you?”

He took a seat at the edge of the bed, but you followed, standing right before him. “No, gods no. It’s just that-,” he paused, trying to find the words. “It’s just that. . .,” he finally huffed a sigh, keeping his eyes downward, “If I don’t pull away then, I might never be able to.”

You froze at his confession. The words replayed over and over in your mind. If I don’t pull away then, I might never be able to. 

You knelt down in front of him, placed a hand over his own, and tried to meet his eyes from beneath your lashes. “Then don’t,” you breathed. “Don’t pull away from me, you never have to pull away from me.” Your breathing suddenly became labored.

His eyes snapped to yours, they were so full of deep intensity you thought you might melt. And slowly, carefully, as if he might frighten you if he moved too quickly, Azriel lifted a hand to caress your cheek. You breathed out a sigh and closed your eyes, leaning into his touch. Then, you turned your head, and pressed a soft kiss to his palm. 

That was his undoing. Quicker than you could react, he lifted you onto the bed, his strong body hovering over yours. You couldn’t help that your breathing stuttered for a moment. He was on top of you, his thickly muscled arms braced on either side of your head, his weight comfortably settled between your thighs and his lips, those gods damned lips, hovered a mere hairsbreadth away from yours. You were the one that broke this time. You placed your hands behind his neck and drew him towards you, finally closing the terrible distance between your mouths. Your lips moved in sync, kissing, licking, nipping. His tongue swiped your lip, asking for permission before caressing your own, you groaned at the taste of him. Then, you hissed softly as he took your bottom lip between your teeth, gently pulling before releasing it and attacking your mouth once more.

His hands roamed down your sides, skimming your breasts over your thin nightgown. Your nipples hardened delightfully so at the attention. But when he reached out to caress your wings, gods.

You cried out, back arching as you experienced a very different bolt of pleasure straight to your core. Your eyes widened as you looked at him, you had never been with a male who knew how to touch your wings and being with him made you realise exactly what you had been missing. Again, he dragged his finger down the inner curve of your right wing. Another cry escaped your lips, you were just so sensitive. Just that little touch had you writhing beneath him on the bed. He shifted his weight on his arms to work on your other wing. You let out a whimper as he gently traced his fingers along the sections. Your hips involuntarily bucked upwards, grinding deliciously against him when he pressed down on a particularly pleasurable spot. He grunted at the friction and halted his actions. His pupils dilated and his mouth fell open slightly as he scented exactly how excited you were. Smiling wickedly, he trailed a line of kisses from your lips, down your neck, in the valley of your breasts, to your navel, and lifted the flimsy nightgown to your waist. 

He took the edge of your panties with his teeth and tugged them down. Fuck. That was definitely a sight to behold. You couldn’t help but feel self conscious as he stared at your dripping core, you tried to close your legs but he held them open firmly. He leaned down so close you could feel his breath on your throbbing core, and looked up at you in silent question, genuinely wanting your command to proceed. 

“Please.” It was barely a breath but it was enough for him to press a kiss to your hooded clit with such tenderness you could cry. But, then he started to use his tongue, and gods did he know how to use it. The rough velvet of his tongue felt so delicious against your clit and folds. His soft kitten licks turned rougher, hungrier. Your hand found itself tangled in his hair, he hissed at a particularly hard tug but it only spurred him on. He used his mouth on you like a man starved. Licking and nipping and sucking, sucking with those gods damned lips, and playing with your folds. 

It was when your legs started trembling that he knew you were close. And his eagerness doubled, if not tripled. His mouth felt like utter heaven on your sopping core, the lewd noises that came from his ministrations only driving you further into bliss, or insanity. Perhaps it was insanity. Perhaps you had gone mad, mad with the desire to have him, to claim him. Because right then, you weren’t sure you could ever get enough of him. 

You felt a coil tighten in your lower stomach, the familiar pleasant ache intensifying until you could hardly bear it. And his lips and tongue never stopped. Right as you were on the edge, his lips closed over your clit and sucked, hard. 

You had never experienced an orgasm like the one Azriel had given you. Pure bliss washed over you, but instead of a wave, it was like a firework went off in your core, with bolts of mind shattering pleasure shooting out from your center to the rest of your body. You’re not sure what you screamed but it sounded a lot like his name. 

He kept up his movements as you came down, drawing out your high for longer than you thought possible, only stopping when your hips were squirming to get away from his eager mouth. 

He came back up to wrap you in his arms, holding you to his chest before also wrapping his wings around you. You were still basking in the high of your amazing orgasm but you reached down towards his achingly hard member. But, he took your hand and held it over his heart instead.

“But what about you?” you ask, breathless. 

“It’s alright. I’ve waited so long for this, let me just take care of you.” He sweetly pressed a kiss to your forehead before also pressing one to your lips. And you, too blissed out to object, snuggled deeper into his chest and wings, content to just live in the moment, safe in his arms. You closed your eyes and drifted off into a deep sleep, dreaming of leathery wings and hazel eyes.

Author’s Note: Aw yeah we love the smexy times. If you liked this, please show your support by liking, commenting, and reblogging and all that good stuff. If you wanna to be added to the taglist for this fic, you can leave comment below :)

I do not consent for my work to be reposted or translated on tumblr or any other site, but reblogs are always welcome!

Taglist:  @moonchild-cf @pansexual-booknerd @huffypuffyme @tinkymae​  @peneflop  @myfuckingacademia @sugarcoated44 @kexrtiz​ @gagaange @itsbebeyyy​

[hes-writer]

Routine

Summary: y/n catches harry live streaming a show

Warning: smut

Word Count: 2293 words

___

University was no joke. It’s expensive for sure. Harry had a full-time job at the beginning of the semester working at a cafe near his flat. He soon found out that that wasn’t the best idea. Maybe because he didn’t manage his time right or it was simply too exhausting for him to work late hours when he had to take mandatory morning classes. His next solution was more--risky per se. 

Harry had always been confident with his body. He ate well; loading up on fruit smoothies and veggie shakes every morning to accompany him on his early morning workouts. The sweat beading in between his toned pecs made him revel in the accomplishments of self-care, washed away as he palmed his face underneath the stream of the locker room shower. His wet curls stuck to his small ears as he pulled his sweater over his body, exiting the gym with a bag slung over his shoulder, plucking a peace sign to the person at the front desk as he left the building. 

It started off as a blog; posting pictures of his body that he worked hard on. The narcissist in him craved the compliments of strangers drooling over his muscles and shapely body. Sometimes the messages he received were explicit, but he also couldn’t help the arousal flowing through his veins as blood pumped towards his cock. Thus, the next part of his routine was to go home to his flat and strip his body off of his clothes. His webcam would be switched on with a push of a button, his long fingers floating over the keyboard as he signed in to his account. 

Speaking of, the meat between his thighs plumped up with the lingering thought of user ‘sweetgirl112’ messages last night. How much she wanted to tuck his thick length in her mouth, how much she craved to feel his large hands adorning her body. God, she had such a way with words and here Harry was with an erection pudging up in his lycra leggings. An outline of his mushroom head visible through the tight material. He played with his bottom lip as he waited for the traffic light to turn green. One hand tapped against the steering wheel in a rhythmic pattern, his mind drifting away to how it would feel like to have those pleasures within his reach. 

But he didn’t. 

He rushed off from his seat, quickly locking his car and keying the front door to his flat. Harry was hornier than usual today, thanks to sweetgirl’s lovely messages from last night. Harry rolled his eyes at the effect the stranger had on him. He dropped the chain dangling from his fingers on the bowl beside his door, sighing with excitement as he toed off his runners. 

On the couch, Y/N snoozed with her mouth agape, hair messily splayed across the pillow he provided her. He almost forgot she had slept over last night during their movie night. She insisted to sleep on the sofa despite Harry offering his bed to share between the both of them. In the end, both of them slept on the uncomfortable cushion cuddled up into one another. The distance between them was non-existent but Harry found it endearing the way Y/N cuddled up into his body in order not to fall off the edge, snuggling into his chest with a quiet snore after jolting when one of her legs tumbled of the border. 

Nonetheless, that meant that Harry had to tone his volume down a bit, keeping a keen ear to make sure his noises don’t wake her up or arise any alarm from his friend. He crouched down beside her sleeping face, waving a hand over her eyes to make sure she was still in a deep sleep. 

“Hope yer’ having sweet dreams,” His thick accent made the words stick to his tongue, lazily drooping like honey. Harry pressed a kiss to her forehead, ignoring the way his heart thumped as she smiled slightly in her sleep, humming with satisfaction and cuddling closer to the pillow clutched between her arms. 

Adorable, Harry thought. 

Soft footsteps tiptoed over his bedroom, shutting the door gently. He stretched his arms to remove the black sweater over his head, ruffling his curls in the process. His nose hooked at the opening, muffling his breath for a bit that had him tumbling down on the end of his bed with a slight bounce. Harry is clumsy.

He managed to remove the rest of his clothes without further trouble, leaving him in his boxers briefs and socks which he would take off when he got situated in his office chair situated in front of his computer. His set up was on the corner of his room, facing the door. It was a bit odd at first but Harry learned to make it work. 

Harry pushed two pumps of coconut-scented lotion into his large palm, lathering his upper body with a subtle sheen, moisturizing his biceps to appear shiny. The excess cream was rubbed along the nape of his neck, massaging the tense muscles along the way. A swift glance at the time at the bottom corner informed him that he had five minutes left until his scheduled show would begin. In preparation, Harry gathered the items he might need during his session. A bottle of clear, water-based lube, a bullet vibrator that recently joined his collection of toys and a silicone cock ring that looked to be a struggle to fit around his plump dick. He set the items aside on the table in front of where he would be sitting. 

Harry chewed on his bottom lip, hands grasping the width of his hip as he opted to check on Y/N again. She was a heavy sleeper and the show will probably take around thirty minutes to do, minus the foreplay and all of that. It was still pretty early in the morning too; around ten-thirty, surely she’d stay put till then. He peeked his head through a small gap in his door, craning his neck to catch Y/N shifting just in time to rest on her other side. 

Pretty soon, the webcam displayed a green dot at the corner and his screen was loaded to a  black screen. The chat indicated that there were currently twenty people watching him. The total viewer count increased with each passing second that had Harry grinning to himself. Once the camera was adjusted to where it cut off around his neck, he sat back in his spinny chair, splaying his wide palms on his muscly thighs. 

20 seconds left.

Harry could feel his cock grow in his boxers, the anticipation of his fans commenting on dirty things that they would like to do to him left his imagination endless. A blurt of precum stained the inside of the fabric, dotting the area a darker colour. He sighed deeply, wide eyes watching as the countdown changed.

5...4...3...2...1

In a blink of an eye, Harry’s toned body was showcased on the screen, allowing him to view what his viewers had the pleasure of viewing. The ‘LIVE’ sign blinked repeatedly. 

“Hello,” Harry drawled out purposefully using a deeper tone to set the mood. “How are you today?” His fingers stayed hung over the armchair, griping it slightly when comments started rolling in.

“How’s my baby? Are you needy for me?” He found that the best way to ensure as much of connection between his viewers was to speak as though it was a one-on-one conversation. “Because I am,” A hand crawled towards his crotch where his half-massed dick rested on his upper thigh, the head prominent against the tight briefs. 

Making sure to keep his face out of view, Harry leaned forward to read the remarks.

User12314: i love your tattoos

User48529: what i’d do to have my hands on you

He chuckled to himself, rubbing up and down to tease himself and them even more. Various 'pings' littered the room with Harry thanking each of them as much as possible. 

“I’d love to have my hands on you too,” He gave his cock a gentle squeeze, sucking a breath through his gritted teeth at the sensation. “Wanna feel your body on my skin,” Harry released a throaty groan as he shifted to pinch at his nipples, “Would ya’ let me touch your breasts? I bet they’re soft and perfect for my hands,” His thumb rubbed circles on his top two nipples, shivering slightly.

One palm cupped his balls, thumbing at the middle as the other continued the ministrations on his chest. This went on for a couple more seconds until he pulled his hands away to rest on the ferns tattooed on his hips, rubbing the skin there sensually while he spoke, “Y’wanna see my cock? It’s so hard for you,” The head twitched twice, forcing an involuntary moan to leak from his plump lips. 

User09321: yes please

He sighed at the message, his stomach burning with the need to just wrap his fingers around his dick and jerk it till he cums. But he couldn’t do that—at least not yet.

___

Y/N woke up from her slumber, dizzy and discombobulated about where she was only to realize that the ache in her lower back was caused by Harry’s uncomfortable couch. Her phone buzzed beside her; an alarm to wake up to watch a show. Not just any show—a filthy, dirty cam boy who hadn’t left Y/N’s mind ever since she discovered him for the first time a few days ago. She was drunk on wine and barely remembered what the live stream had contained. He was hot, that much she knew. 

He wore a dark red sweater that covered his body which Y/N found quite adorable. Yet at the same time, his fist peeked out from his bunched sweater paws to desperately tug at his cock while endless whispers and groans flowed from his mouth through the speakers. His covered body arching against his seat, the walls behind him a plain white. Apparently, he was feeling like a sub that day and asked permission to touch himself like a good boy, pleading to cum. His audience couldn’t resist the whine in his deep voice, shooting streams of cum on his sweater, staining the fabric and probably ruining it forever. 

Just before the live stream ended, he reminded everyone when his next show was--today-- and in her drunk daze, Y/N must have set up a reminder on her phone, completely forgetting that she was to hang out with Harry the day before. She rubbed the ball of her palm against her eyes, willing away the sleep on her lids. Sitting up on the cushion, she looked around Harry’s apartment to find the curly-headed boy. 

“Harry?” She called out, checking his kitchen to find it empty. She went to his bathroom to freshen up, picking up her toothbrush that Harry had sweetly brought her after Y/N stayed at his place more times than both of them can count. After spitting out the foam pooling in her cheeks, Y/N dabbed the corners of her mouth with a soft, fluffy towel. 

As she exited the bathroom, Y/N opened up the web browser in incognito mode, refreshing the link from a few days ago. The page loaded slowly, enabling Y/N to continue searching for Harry. She absent-mindedly walked to Harry’s closed bedroom door—the last place she had yet to look. Her phone produced a muffled sound when it finally loaded. She rapidly typed out a comment to send.

“Can’t take it anymore,” The man said, “I‘ve gotta touch myself but I’m wishing it’s you wrapping your hands around m’cock,”

Y/N could feel her thighs tighten, standing in front of Harry’s bedroom. 

Sweetgirl112: touch yourself for me daddy. i wanna hear you say how good it feels

Harry growled upon seeing the message and its user,  pulling the fabric down and letting his dick hit his skin with a faint slapping sound on his flushed stomach. Shaky fingers teased his length, tracing of the prominent veins that pumped his cock with blood. “Mm, it feels so good, love,” His thumb spread the liquid seeping at the tip, making sure to lube the head of his dick for a smooth stroke. 

With distracted thoughts, Y/N pushed the bar handle down, a gentle bump knocking the door open.  

She couldn’t believe her eyes when the loading screen on her phone mirrored the sight in front of her; Harry’s head thrown back, resting against the head of the office chair. Her phone cut off at the veins stretched over the expanse of his neck. His heaving chest glistening with sweat and the faint smell of coconut lingered in the air. His fist pumped his long cock up and down, squeezing at the tip to produce a dollop of wispy pre-cum. Closed eyes blocked his vision from Y/N standing frozen on the door, gazing back and forth towards the device on her sweaty palm to the even hotter view right in front of her.

A resonant sound of ‘pings’ pulled Harry out of his pleasure, lifting his head with the aim to thank whoever tipped him but was taken aback by the sight of his friend at his doorway.

“Oh shit,” He mumbled, impulsively clutching his full balls cradled between his fingers. Harry’s green irises were hooded, observing Y/N’s face with such intensity that it made her want to cower back. His two-front teeth grazed his bottom lip before parting his sweet mouth in a silent gasp at a particularly good stroke. “Wanna join me, baby?”

——

Let me know what you thought!

——

Permanent Taglist: @splendidsunsetx @swagmoneymaya @luviewoo @textingharry @arypesanchez @theresthingsthatwellneverknow @sunguines

[iwaisa]

request. trynna think of a request for u rn 🧏‍♀️ how ab tsukki w a best friend who’s so grade conscious bc ppl have high expectations of them n one day she breaks down bc she b afraid of failure n he’s like .......ok ill comfort them bc theyre my best friend but im also secretly in love w them trope😝 definitrly not because this reminds me of a certain someone who is not myself and i definitrly dont need to hear this😭 - @tsukisemi​

a/n. sue you are a GENIUS I LOVE YOU AND YOUR BIG BRAIN. i absolutely adore best friends to lovers/childhood friends to lovers tropes they make me so happy ugh once again THANK YOU

► now playing...

- pairing. tsukishima x female reader (pronouns not specifically stated, but there is ma’am lol)

- warnings. make out session! lol oops. suggestive content

- word count. 1.8k+

it was a friday evening, and you found yourself studying at kei tsukishima’s house. again. no matter how many times you tried to convince him to do other things while hanging out in the warmth of his bedroom, he always insisted that academics came before baking and movies.

the two of you have been friends since your last year of junior high, after yamaguchi was too busy looking up at his tall companion to realize another figure was about to collide with him. the two of you made contact with the ground, before jumping up to apologize quickly.

tsukishima found himself instantly infatuated with you - you were gorgeous. your breathtaking eyes, the way your school uniform seemed to fit just perfectly, the way he imagined your smaller hands and fingers slotting in between his - he was absolutely intrigued. yamaguchi would say love at first sight, the taller male would call him ridiculous.

the three of you instantly clicked, with you and yamaguchi being the more talkative ones of the trio. tsukishima acted as a parental figure, scolding you two constantly for doing things you weren’t supposed to.

upon overhearing a conversation with sensei that you would be heading to karasuno for high school - the same place tsukishima and yamaguchi were planning on going - he let out a breath he never knew he was holding in. he continued listening to sensei urging you to plan on going somewhere more academic based - like shiratorizwa or fukurōdani. you put it simply that you would rather go somewhere more balanced. sensei was hesitant before he approved of your plans.

you had always been good at doing homework and classwork, but you weren’t so good at taking tests. they intimidated you, making you worry that you would end up receiving something lower than a B+. tsukishima and yamaguchi knew of course, since the two of you held frequent study sessions at each others’ houses. this tradition carried on even when the three of you made it into karasuno, just not as frequently due to the boys’ volleyball practices.

today, however, yamaguchi was helping yachi teach kageyama and hinata english since tsukishima blatantly refused. the two of you headed back to his house, and instantly began flipping through your textbooks. he was quietly scribbling words and numbers on his papers, seemingly flying through assignments. you were sat on his bed, stuck on one section in particular.

“why the hell is ap chemistry so hard?” you sighed, scratching your scalp. tsukishima turned his head to see you rubbing your eyes, which adorned deep blue bags underneath. he sighed, putting his pencil down as he walked to sit on the edge of the bed alongside you. he looked over your shoulder, reading the complex chemical equations. “you know this one, l/n. you got it.” 

you shook your head quickly, “no, i don’t tsukki. i have no idea what i’m doing and sensei literally didn’t even teach us this. see, this is why i’m glad i didn’t end up going to an academy because this would be ten times harder. i hate that people are always assuming i can handle this with ease. i can’t.” you finished, blinking back tears.

tsukishima sighed, rubbing his eyes underneath his glasses before readjusting them to focus on the question. he began rubbing his finger over the numbers, slowly explaining each process. you were surprised he was being kind, but you didn’t want to take this soft moment for granted. you simply nodded your head, hurriedly scribbling down what he was saying in your notebook.

“tell you what,” he turned, looking into your eyes. “if you can do these next four questions by yourself, i’ll give you something i’ve been meaning to for a while.” you tilted your head, “tsukki, my birthday was months ago.” he chuckled, getting up to sit in his chair, which was now facing you. “i’m aware.” the two of you stared at each other for a while, before you turned your attention back to your textbook.

using tsukishima’s explanations and whatever strategies you learned from sensei, you flew through two of the questions with ease, getting stuck on the third one. tsukishima explained once more, telling you to use a different equation for the next two. you nodded, finally understanding.

the next two questions were hard to figure out, but you finally got through them. you placed your pencil in between the crease of the pages, looking up to tsukisima expectedly. when he didn’t move, you were confused. did he just trick you into doing homework?

tsukishima gulped, attempting to calm his erratic heart and shaky legs. was he ready for this? no, he wasn’t. but even as yamaguchi said; he’s been putting this off for long enough. he knew he liked you, but had no idea just what to do about it. he knew he would be jeopardizing your friendship in some way, but tsukishima couldn’t deny that he wanted some sort of affectionate skinship to happen between the two of you.

he released his lower lip from his teeth before shaking his head. he stood up, walking towards you with slight hesitation. he plopped himself next to you, your shoulders brushing against each other. tsukishima lifted his glasses off his nose before leaning forward, pressing a quick peck to your lips.

your mouth fell open, and your eyes widened more than you believed they ever could. your face exploded with heat, and you began spewing out incoherent words. he stood up, returning to his seat. “tsukki?” you asked in disbelief. “yes?” he responded, seemingly unphased. “w-what was that?” he watched you run your middle and forefinger over your lips, “my gift.” your jaw dropped open once more, earning a rare chuckle from your blond friend. or maybe, not a friend anymore.

“if you finish the next four questions, i’ll give you another one. if you want,” his last words were muffled by the back of his hand. you smiled at the sight; tsukishima, the most stoic boy you’ve ever met, was embarrassed. nonetheless, you were going to earn another kiss from your friend, not to mention the boy you’ve been in love with for the past two years.

you were quick to pick up your pencil, reading the questions as quickly as possible. “and don’t rush either, idiot,” tsukishima jested. you stuck your tongue out at him, feeling your heart flutter as he let out a soft chuckle.

you made sure to complete each question thoroughly, wondering if you would get extra points for doing more work. tsukishima stood over your figure, eyes scanning over each question. he pointed at one, “the equation was right, but check your calculations again.” you sighed, turning back to the book. 

tsukishima bent over, pressing a light kiss atop your head, making you jolt in surprise. he staggered back holding his chin, and you stood up waving your hands frantically. he held his hand up to stop your word-vomit, letting a light chuckle escape his lips.

you pressed your lips in a line, sitting back down. you began calculating the equation once more, finally coming up with the right answer. “there you go. see? you only have four questions left now.” you lifted your chin expectedly, watching him squat in front of you. you pursed your lips as he began to lean in, pressing teasing kisses to both of your cheeks. you groaned in annoyance, before sandwiching his face in between your palms. “stop teasing,” you muttered sternly. “yes ma’am,” he joked, finally closing the distance between you two.

this kiss was a tad bit more passionate, the two of you moving your lips together excitedly. it would’ve been a make out session, if tsukishima had not pulled away with a grin. “last four questions.” he smirked at you before standing up, returning to his chair once more.

these questions were possibly the worst. there were multiple equations in each separate question, and it left you wondering why someone would ever want to major in chemistry. tsukishima watched your face contort into borderline anger, your lower lip between your teeth. he swiftly stood up, placing himself next to you on the bed. he reached his arm around you, rubbing circles into your lower back as you continued writing the wrong equations.

“here,” he spoke up finally, removing the pencil from your grasp. he began writing in a clear fashion which numbers were to be plugged in where, and it finally clicked for you. he glanced at your profile, watching your mouth fall open. he smiled to himself as he watched you solve the equations with ease, his hand never leaving your back.

you finally finished, looking up at the blond with long-awaited anticipation. “you’re eager,” he whispered, his eyes becoming soft. his gaze flickered between yours and your plush lips - the one’s he’s been waiting to feel on his for so long. and the feeling wasn’t disappointing. they felt amazing, and he was on cloud nine. a little voice that sounded like yamaguchi resonated in tsukishima’s head saying, “finally.”

the two of you began moving forward at a slow pace, until you gripped onto his shirt pulling him into you to finally close the gap. this kiss was definitely not like the last ones. this one was ferocious; two pining friends finally earning exactly what they’ve been patiently waiting for. 

tsukishima’s right hand made its way to your hip, prompting you to lay down. he hovered over you, not once pulling away. your tongue brushed against the seam of his lips, and he eagerly allowed your tongue to meet his. your hands began roaming, feeling tsukishima’s pecs. they slowly moved down to his abs, which were rock-solid, much to your surprise.

you gasped as he pulled away to press open-mouthed kisses on your jawline, moving down to your neck. your hands gripped his hair as he sucked on a particular spot that elicited a whine from your throat.

he pulled away, looking down at you with golden irises filled with lust. his gaze fell on the newly formed red spot on your neck, and he sat up pushing his glasses back to rest on the bridge of his nose. “sorry about that,” he whispered, his voice filled with nerves. “don’t be. i liked it,” you smiled, watching his gaze soften for the umpteenth time that day.

“do you like me?” he asked hesitantly. you paused, your eyebrows furrowing in mock confusion. “you know, for one of the smartest in the class, you’re pretty dumb.” he opened his mouth to protest, before you sat up to give him a quick kiss. “yes, i like you.”

his arms wrapped around your waist, pushing you back down onto his bed. “can we cuddle,” he said it as more of a statement than a question. you chuckled, wrapping your arms around his back. “can you be my boyfriend,” you pretend to mock, causing his head to snap up. he nodded hastily before burrowing his face into your chest once more. 

“i love you,” he said, his words muffled by your shirt. “i love you too, kei.” you smiled as you ran your hands through his golden locks, hearing a content sigh escape his lips.

[sabraeal]

Seven Swipes for Shirayuki, Chapter 3

[Read on AO3]

Written for @fade-touched-obsidian‘s birthday, which was....nearly two months ago. BUT IT IS DONE NOW, and quite frankly two months is better than some of my other late-birthday posts 🤣

The sedan is stifling.

It may be the luxury size, purchased through the deep pockets of the Wisteria’s business accounts, but the real leather interior presses in too tight, crushing her beneath the weight of her choices. This is what Shirayuki’s leaving behind: plush seats and plastic dividers, penthouse views and double ovens, the sort of security only money could buy.

She’d never wanted it; it had all just come part and parcel of being with Zen, the baseline for orbiting in the same stratosphere as his social circle. None of it had ever felt natural; guilt dogged her every time she slipped into the back seat of an empty car instead of the front, every dish left in the sink for the cleaning service smacked of superiority, and having a doorman--

Well, she’d been late to more than a few galas because she got caught up chatting. It was rude to just blow by someone without even a hello, and if Antonio had a new picture of his granddaughter, she couldn’t possibly pass without a coo or two over the sweet Sharpei of a baby his daughter, the light of his life, had given birth to.

Haruka had frowned at that one, digging the corners of his mouth to new depths as he told her, one is not late to a charity gala because they are indulging The Help.

Shirayuki tightened her arms around her diffenbachia, burying her face in its spotted leaves. It’s so clear now, so obvious: she was never going to fit in. There was never going to be room for her in Zen’s life. She was never going to be able to turn off the parts of her that saw other people as people; even if she could, she would never want to. Not even for him.

The radio flicks on, the smooth strains of Clair de Lune tumbling through the air, making the cab lighter, more spacious.

“Debussy?” she hums, the diffenbachia rustling with her curiosity. “I wouldn’t have pegged you as a classical lover.”

Obi huffs, affront entirely feigned. “I’m a man of many depths.”

Shirayuki lifts her head, looking at the console’s digital display. “It was a preset, huh?”

His mouth twitches. “It was a preset. I thought you might like it better than smooth jazz or whatever else comes standard with wood interiors.”

“Probably.” She shifts back, removing her whole head from her leafy escape and settling it on the rest. It’s fine; she’ll be fine. Maybe it took six years to figure out what she should have known in six months, but she knows better now. No compromising, not like...that. Not with how she lives her life.

“So.” Obi’s gloves tighten on the wheel, leather creaking against leather. “You’re single now.”

Shirayuki nearly drops the whole vase. Not that it has far to go from her lap to the floor, but her plants have been shaken up enough the past few days. “E-excuse me?”

“For a whole--” he checks the dash with a grin that can mean nothing but trouble-- “forty-five minutes.”

“It’s been a week,” she reminds him primly, squeezing the diffenbachia for support. “Ever since--”

(”I can explain,” Zen says, fingers spiking runnels through his hair. “I wanted to do this in person--”)

“Sure,” Obi interjects smoothly. “But it’s only been forty-five minutes since you moved out of your sugar daddy’s apartment.”

“Zen was not my-- my--” the sedan is soundproof; Obi informed them all of it the moment he’d driven it off the lot, even if the way he said it had made Mitsuhide snap his name like a whip crack. She lowers her voice anyway. “Daddy.”

Obi’s hum does not fill her with confidence.

“He was only seven months older than me!” she huffs. “It’s biologically impossible for him to be a big brother let alone a-- a father.”

“Daddy is a state of mind, not an age gap. Though I’ll grant you--” his teeth flash, quick as a bear trap-- “boss doesn’t have much of that going for him either.”

It would undermine her point entirely to start arguing this one-- lord knows she doesn’t have a single horse in the race on how daddy Zen is anymore, if she ever did-- but her gut instinct is to hunker down on this hill and die on it. One she stifles successfully.

It’s not her job to staunchly defend Zen Wisteria anymore, and certainly not from Obi. And to be fair, out of any of them, she trusts Obi to have the most sense of...daddy, whatever that may be. Hopefully, he’ll never enlighten her.

“I didn’t take any of his money.” Every word tips stiffly from her tongue. “Nothing...personal. Only what was given to me as an employee.”

Beneath his shades, Obi softens. “I know that, Miss. I wasn’t trying to say...” He sighs, leather gloves flexing on the wheel. “That wasn’t my point.”

Her fingers ease where they splay over the pot. “Then what was?”

It’s the wrong thing to say. His mouth twitches at a corner, and--

“Isn’t it about time to find a new one?”

“You know,” Obi hums, fumbling with the guest house keys. “You can’t ignore the question forever.”

She squints up at the sky-- it’s a pure blue here, not covered with the haze that settles over most of LA, the one way to tell they’re no longer in the city anymore-- and sniff, “I think you’ll find I can.”

“Come on, Miss.” With a bump of his hip, the door swings open, the bags dangling from his shoulder helping it complete its arc instead of clapping back on him. Because it’s not a thin little beach screen, made to shiver open at the slightest touch, but a solid, weighted thing, made to hold up against everything but an LAPD battering ram. And maybe even then.

Shirayuki spares it a concerned glance, nearly missing as Obi adds, “You need to secure your future.”

“I thought that was what I was doing,” she mutters, toeing off her tennis shoes by the door. “Or am I working for Izana for my health now?”

Obi clucks his tongue, unceremoniously dropping their bags in the hall. “Well sure, but you should be doing it the fun way.”

Her eyebrows climb up the short jaunt to her hairline. “Am I to take it that the ‘fun way’ is on my back?”

“Can’t think of many things that are more fun,” he laughs, like she should know, like at her age this is an experience they must be able to share. She pads down the hall after him, shoulder rounding over her cross arms. Clearly she’s had the opportunity. Six years in a relationship; anyone else would have, but--

“At least,” he continues, words scattering her thoughts like crows on a wire, “you should be able to live off being pretty.”

She coughs out a laugh. “I think you have to be a good deal prettier than me to manage that.”

He hesitates at the end of the hall, natural light limning his long limbs, making him seem taller, broader than he is. His head turns, just enough to catch her in one eye, and the look he rakes up her--

“Maybe in this town,” he rasps.

Her hands fall numb against the twill of her trousers, and she begs them to do something, anything but lay there boneless; to reach out the scant space between them--

But the moment’s gone, quick as it starts.

“Ooh, look at this,” Obi says with a whistle. “There’s a kitchen.”

“The apartment had a kitchen too, you know.”

Obi barely looks up from the drawer he’s inspecting, fussing with something that looks both like a corkscrew and a garlic press. “Yeah but this one’s bigger. It’s got double ovens.”

“We already had double ovens,” she deadpans. “There’s only two of us, we don’t need a kitchen the size of--”

“Ooh,” he sighs rapturously, “there’s a gas range and a cook top.”

“What?” She scurries over beside him, playing a hand on the cold metal. Opa would have killed for a set up like this. “Oh, now that can make a lot of pancakes.”

“And bacon,” he adds, giving it a solid tap. “And check out that view.”

His arm snakes around her shoulders, turning her. “Wha--?”

Oh. Oh.

“The beach,” she murmurs, watching the surf crash against the rocks, right at her feet. Or beneath her feet, from how the cliff is shaped. “It’s right down there.”

“I bet it’s private,” Obi murmurs, voice rumbling against her ear. “Except for paparazzi and their telephoto lenses, of course.”

She waves him away, like a horse does with flies. “Beaches are public property, and trying to restrict access is wrong on an ethical level, never mind that--”

“Right, but consider,” he hums, batting away her hands and her protests, “that you don’t have to share it with anyone else.”

Well, he does have a point there. “But public beaches always have the best snack stands.”

“We can just bring our own snacks.” He waggles his eyebrows. “You could have one of your weird little veggie boards down there because you can just carry it.”

“There’s nothing weird about enjoying vegetables.” Her elbow prods at his side; it’s solid beneath the cotton of his button-down, barely flinching even when she nudges him square in the oblique. “You just have the palate of a kindergartner.”

Obi presses a scandalized hand to his chest, silk tie rumpling askew beneath his palm. “Please, Miss, you wound me. I select my snacks with no personal regard for health or authority, which is fourth grade at least.”

She bats away his hands to slip her fingers around the knot, tugging it straight. “You’ll eat hummus.”

“Because it tastes good with pita chips. Now, Miss...” He casts a quick glance toward the second floor, mouth already twitching. “Do you think our rooms are adjoined?”

Shirayuki blinks, trying to imagine a purpose for it. The guest house itself was mystery enough-- after all, any business partner Izana wanted to impress would stay at a property of their own, or failing that a hotel, somewhere they could guarantee no Wisteria would be listening when they went to decompress from the day. And a personal guest of Izana--

Well, all his family lived within driving distance. And his friends were...few and local, if his soirees were any indication. “Why would they be?”

“For old time’s sake.” His smile’s all trouble as he saunters to the stairs. “Just like Tanbarun.”

“Hopefully not just.” Although Shirayuki can firmly say that having the breaks cut at Vitsjo was the worst experience she’s ever had with a millionaire, a double kidnapping ranks somewhere in the top ten. 

She nearly says so; the quip is hanging at the end of her lips, poised to jump. But she glances up first, just in time to see every muscle in Obi’s body gone stiff, his jaw locked tight and his gaze a hundred miles away.

No. Five years. His body might be here with her, standing in a guest house the size of her childhood home, but his mind is back there, in a room that’s empty and a balcony door hanging on its hinges.

“Obi...” she breathes.

His body jerks, like someone’s yanked all his strings, and when he turns his smile hangs wrong from his mouth, never quite reaching his eyes. 

“I hope the beds are those big fuck off kind,” he says, words hurtling from him joylessly. “That seems like His Majesty’s style. The kind that can fit five people and all their emotional baggage.”

His knuckles are white where they wrap around the wrought-iron banister, clenched so hard she’s sure black will flake off when he moves it. She takes a single, painful step toward him. “Obi...”

“Oh dear,” a voice hum, pleasant and smooth like suede. “I’m so sorry to disappoint.”

Haki Arleon-- no, Haki Wisteria now, leans in the doorway, smile just as radiant as when all her billboards. “But they’re only kings.”

(“So when are we going to meet the lady of the hour?” Obi asks, tie already loose around his neck. His waistcoat’s still neat, pressed so it clings to the narrow curve of his torso, but his jacket’s well on the way out the door. It hardly makes sense; that’s what he wears usually, easy as breathing, but with two drinks in him it hangs limp on his shoulder, just asking to slide off them. “This mystery Mrs Wisteria.”

“Future Mrs Wisteria,” Mitsuhide corrects, tugging at his cuffs. “And you’re not strictly supposed to know that. This is just Ms Haruto’s retirement party.”

“Right, and her retirement plan is grandkids,” Obi huffs, scanning the ballroom. “So where is she? I want Miss to start murmuring to me about Punnett.”

“I would never.” Shirayuki wobbles on her heels-- too tall, but Kiki said that anything less than three inches would be informal in this crowd-- relaxing when Obi’s hand grips her elbow. “Besides, Punnett squares only work for Mendelian traits. Once you get into eye color there’s at least eight known alleles involved--”

Obi’s hand slides to her back, hot even through the silk of her dress. His eyes are the same, that molten honey they melts to when he’s been frequenting the open bar and-- and maybe it’s about time she quits her cosmopolitans too, if she only feels steady holding onto the hem of his waistcoat. “Save the pillow talk for the bedroom, Miss.” 

Her teeth snick shut. She can’t remember what she was about to say anyway.

“If you’re so interested in seeing her--” Zen jerks his chin over to the head table where Izana sits, Haruto radiant beside him, wearing an inoffensive smile-- “she’s already over there.”

Obi cranes his neck-- well, they all do, but he’s the least subtle about it, not even trying to cover his gawking. “It’s all just some old fogies your family does business with and-- no way.” His head swings back, eyes round as saucers. “Are you kidding me?”

Shirayuki squints, and the blonde head to his other side resolves into a pretty woman, her smile twice as bright and a hundred times more genuine. It’s her the men are flocking around tonight, but she hovers at Izana’s side, a hair’s breadth away from touching. “Oh, isn’t that the woman who was running the funding drives at Lilias? Ah, what was her name...?”

Gold eyes fix on her, no longer molten honey but hard flashes of coin. “Haki Arleon?”

Silly of her to forget; she shook her hand and everything. “Oh! Yes, that sounds right.”

Kiki shakes her head. “Only you, Shirayuki...”

“Wha--?”

“That’s Haki Arleon,” Zen tells her, as if Obi hadn’t said it already. “She’s--”

“The top of Maxim’s Hot 100,” Obi offers, followed by Mitsuhide’s stern, “Obi!”

Zen sighs. “She’s Hollywood royalty.”

“One of the most famous actresses of the last decade,” Kiki continues at her blank look. “She won an Oscar at sixteen...?”

“Oh.” She certainly looks magazine perfect now, every fold of her dress laying just right along the curves of her body, not a pinch of mascara out of place. “I don’t really watch movies.”)

That Haki Arleon is not the one that stands before her now. Though to be fair, she’s not the same Shirayuki Lyon she was then, either.

“You’re here.” America’s Sweetheart slumps across their spotless hardwood floor, flopping onto the sectional. “Finally. Save me.”

(”Is this where you ask me to sign an NDA?” The limo’s hardly pulled away from the curb, but Shirayuki’s temper is already boiling, rattling the top of the pot. “Do I need to sign an affidavit to say nothing happened between us? Should I send the Inquirer a note about how I no longer exist?”

Izana hums, his annoyance a dangerous buzz beneath his tongue. “There’s no need to be quite so melodramatic, doctor.”

“Isn’t there?” She rattles the tabloid in her hand, every word from her mouth so waspish it could sting. “This is your work, isn’t it? You’re the reason--”

He leans, one long-fingered hand plucking the paper out of her grasp. “There are reasons more innumerable than I can mention as to why the future folded out into this particular pattern, but if you are accusing me of holding the scissors to my brother’s apron strings in order to gt my way, I must gladly disappoint you.”

Her whole body aches from the rictus she holds it in. “What are you trying to say?”

“I’m saying that I did not ask you into this car to talk about my brother’s inability to properly navigate his love life,” Izana replies, sour, one leg crossing sulkily over the other. “I asked you here to offer you a proposition.”

She takes in one deep, steeling breath, then another. “You’ll have to excuse me if I’m not interested in any of your--”

“It is a professional proposition,” he informs her swiftly, nipping her complains in the bud. “I would like to hire you. For...in-house care.”

“Are you ill?” For how much rage had been rattling in her bones for the last half hour, it’s strange how quickly it evaporates in the face of her concern. “Does Zen know? No, is it your mother--?”

He raises a hand, quieting her. “No, not me, nor my mother, though I appreciate your concern. It’s...” Izana may have his reputation as a man who mountains find impassive, but for a moment she sees it, true fear flashing across his eyes. “...My wife.”)

There is no photoshop perfection as Shirayuki kneels in front of her, fingers pressed to the racing pace of her pulse. “Are you sleeping?”

“A little.” Haki squirms under her touch, her body angled as much away from her as she can manage. “Some. Barely.”

“But you’re tired?” She’s wan underneath her natural tan, the sort of stark white that says anemia. Already Shirayuki’s riffling through panels in her head, wishing she had a phlebotomy department at her fingertips. Then again, maybe she does; she’ll have to ask Izana just how much medical care will be magically available to her. “Have you been keeping anything down?”

“Hm...” She coughs, delicate. “Yes?”

Haki might win awards for her acting, but it will take a better liar than that to fool her by omission. “Have you been eating?”

America’s Sweetheart gives a very unphotogenic grimace.

“I had a yogurt.” Shirayuki sits back, waiting for the list, but it doesn’t come. Instead Haki just slips from her grip, palms pressing into the cushions as she strives for a casual lean. “And some of that tea you sent me. That stuff’s been great.”

“Oh, that’s just-- it’s ginger tea.” She sits back on the cassock, waving off her praise. “With some lemon and a few other things. Nothing special.”

“Miss is being too humble,” Obi rumbles from his corner, slinking out to perch on the sofa’s arm. “She stayed up all night making that stuff.”

“It’s important to get the proportions right,” Shirayuki informs him, prim. “Both for effectiveness, and preg-- er....”

Haki’s brows raise, and for a moment, she looks just like her cover on Vogue, arch and pleased. “Well, I see that cat’s out of the bag.”

“Ah...” She sheepishly rubbed at her cheek. “Izana did mention it...”

(”You understand nothing I tell you can leave this car, correct?” Even in his vulnerability, Izana is implacable; an unmovable edifice between her and his loved ones, as unnecessary as it is. “We had only just heard the heartbeat before this all started, and if word were to get out and we...she...”

For once, Izana Wisteria flounders, at a loss. “It’s rare for a fetus to fail after seven weeks,” she offers, biting back the actual number. Five percent only seems low to people already in the other percentile. “A miscarriage--”

“Can’t ever get out.” He huffs, agitated. “I am aware that you do not follow celebrity gossip avidly, but my wife...”

Shirayuki had always been under the impression this had been an arrangement, something forged from good business sense and perhaps a hint of mutual trust. They’d grown up together, after all-- at least that’s what Zen whispered in her ear at the wedding, watching them sweep across the floor. But now--

Now he falters again. “Every moment of her life has been for public consumption, even her grief. I won’t give them this.”

If it were anyone else, Shirayuki would lean forward. She’d put her hand over theirs, giving a comforting squeeze as she told them just what they needed to hear, the way they needed to hear it. It was her gift, after all, knowing how to tell both the best and worst of news.

But instead she looks at him, steel in her spine, and tells him, “You won’t have to.”)

“I take it the vomiting is still frequent, then?” Shirayuki takes in the dark circles around her eyes, the dull sheen of her skin. “Even though you’re not eating.”

She at least has the grace to look abashed, caught out like she is. “I am...it’s just better when I don’t.”

Her palms tap absently on her knees, fingers wishing they had a keyboard to key entries into while she thought. “We’ll have to go over your full medical history before I make any recommendations, but you need fluids-- plenty of them.”

“I drink--”

“No, I mean IVs,” Shirayuki clarifies with a shake of head. “We’ll have to call the hospital, see if--”

“No hospitals.” Haki stares back at her firmly, unmoving. “That’s how the tabloids find you.”

“Izana mentioned that too.” She sighs, rubbing at her forehead. “We don’t really like doing IVs out of the hospital without some support staff, but I might be able to get someone to come out...”

Haki waves her hand. “Oh, don’t worry. Just ask for what you need, and Izana can get the hospital to make it happen.”

Oh, how she’d love to be a fly on Garrack’s wall for that conversation. “We’ll see. Until then, let’s just make sure you’re comfortable.”

Twelve hours later, Obi closes the sedan door after Haki, making sure the bucket is appropriately situated in her lap. “Comfortable, huh?”

She sighs. “It was a nice thought. You can get her to the hospital--?”

“Well.” His teeth flash white under the lamps. “I certainly know the way.”

[yandere-sins]

Could you do 47 with a vampire Tsukki from Haikyuu? I'm not sure what the situation is, but could the reader be chubby or plus sized?

 First HQ request >-< Am I nervous? A little, but it’s the good nervous! Thank you for requesting! ^-^ Since it’s an xReader, their looks are to up to individual interpretation, I don’t have too much say in it for a reason! Check out my PSA on requesting if you want to know more.

“I am not disappointed. In fact, I’ve been alive for almost a century now, so this is just a small setback.”

»»————-———— ♡ ————————-««    

Waking up never had felt so strained before as it did now. Your eyes slowly opened, your view all blurry even when you blinked a few times. The first thing you could see again was the top of your thighs, and it made you quickly realize you were looking down on your seated form. Using some core strength to sit upright again, you were hit with dizziness in your head and pain in your neck, figuring you must have sat hunched over for a while.

Groaning, you tried to focus on the things around you, turning side to side, only to find a restrain on your body. Begrudgingly, you looked down once more, pulling and rotating your wrists, bound by a red rope to the chair you were sitting on. Even though you couldn’t see it, you felt the same tight, restraining force on your ankle, and a slow panic rose.

“Okay, think,” you instructed yourself quietly, pinching your eyes closed again as remembering hurt more than you thought it would. You had been at home when some bandits showed up. Jumped out of the window, ran into the forest, sought shelter in an abandoned house you found. You had thought yourself to be safe inside the mansion, wanting to hide out there before going back home and see what was left of your belongings.

So how did you end up in this peculiar situation?

Was that the bandits work? Did they string you up like this? Did they follow and find you? All your memories after you slipped inside the mansion were unavailable to you; you just couldn’t remember anymore.

But that didn’t help with the panic, as you suddenly heard wood creak in the distance, imagine it were the floorboards budging under the weight of someone approaching. Helpless, you looked around, surprised that you could actually see something from candles being placed all around the room sporadically. Otherwise, it was dark as night around you, thick, heavy curtains covering the windows, so you didn’t even know what time of day it was. But aside from bookshelves, a desk, a bed, and a couch across from you, there wasn’t much to find here either. It was enough to live for one person, but who’d live all alone in an old house out in the dark woods?

Then again, if it was the handful of bandits you encountered, you really didn’t care how they lived. All you cared about was what they were going to do.

You grew frantic as you heard the door handle being pushed, not having noticed any steps coming closer than when you listened to the wood creaked. Your head jumped into the direction, the fast movement causing another wave of dizziness on you as you watched a blonde tuft of hair slip in through the gap.

“Oh,” the man spoke as he noticed you watching him. He didn’t look like he was one of the bandits, with fine, delicate clothes on him, fitted and sharp - nothing that simple bandits would need. His glasses didn’t hide the brilliant orcher color of his eyes, shining strongly behind the black frame, and his skin was fairer than the fairest maid in your village had. “Someone decided to wake up.”

In his hand, he carried a small plate, packed with chocolate rips that he set down on the table in front of you, picking up a piece to hold it in front of your face. With a shake of your head and a small grunt, you bit your lips, unwilling to take anything a stranger so casually offered to you. Surprisingly, after another initial, demanding shake of his hand, he let off, throwing the piece back to the other’s while sighing.

“Who are you?” you finally asked, adding a quieter, “And where are we...” at the end of it. The man sat down, leaning forward with his fingers in the gap between his legs. “My home that you intruded in, and I am Tsukishima Kei, the owner of the mansion.”

“Can’t be,” you blurted out without thinking. No one lived in the mansion, it was long abandoned, and everyone in your village knew it, so he must have been lying. Frowning, he took in your words, shaking his head slowly. “Humans, always so quick to judge. Don’t you remember when you first entered the mansion?”

Taken aback, you had to admit you didn’t remember. “No... not really...”

“Oh,” he noted bluntly. “I guess that's my fault, loss of blood can cause short-term amnesia.”

The questions in your face must have been prominent as he huffed, a smirk falling over his lips. “Just because it looks abandoned doesn’t mean it is. You were quite taken aback with how beautiful my entrance hall was, but I reacted out of instinct. My bad.”

“I’m afraid I still don’t understand... Bandits attacked me, and I fled here and--”

“Ah, yes, the bandits. I took care of them. I am sure you don’t mind.”

“N-No, I don’t mind?” Confused, you tried to calm yourself, realizing you were still bound to the chair, having this awkward conversation with whoever he was. “So, how did I end up like this?” Emphasizing your question, you twisted your wrists, the rope straining and making noise.

“The ropes? Well, you see, I can’t let you go,” Tsukishima spoke calmly, nonchalant even. “But why? Please, I was just trying to get away from the bandits--”

“And I told you, I took care of them.” Pushing his glasses up, he folded his hands in his lap, leaning back. His eyes pierced you, causing goosebumps to appear on your arms, when he suddenly got up again, rounding the small coffee table in a matter of seconds. “Don’t you think I deserve a reward for the trouble of dealing with them? I haven’t had some human blood in a while. It’s only fair you’d stay until I am satisfied.”

“B-Blood?!” you squeaked, trying to follow him with your head, but he passed you by, getting behind you where you couldn’t see him anymore. All the more, you flinched as his arm suddenly came up from the side, holding up a mirror in front of you. You saw your own frightened look on your face, as well as a prominent, familiar mark on your neck. Though, as you inspected it more closely, your eyes drifted to something even more unnerving, and you noticed that despite you feeling him standing behind you, there was no reflection from him in the mirror next to you.

“V-Vampire...” you whispered, and you heard him let out a long, amused hum. “Why are you still surprised?”

He was right. Memories started to flood back into your mind. Of you, getting torn to the ground by what you thought to be a raging animal. In reality, it must have been him, starved and alerted by your approach, and the realization made you shudder. You could have died from it, but you were still there, completely at his mercy.

“Unfortunately, you tasted so bitter, I could barely enjoy the experience.”

Arm and mirror disappeared as he walked back forth into your field of view, and you did your best to keep face in front of him. He picked up the chocolate again, holding it to your lips. Through clenched teeth, you denied it, staring him down despite feeling weak to the intense gaze he had while appearing to be downright bored by the situation. “I am sorry to disappoint, but I won’t eat that.”

“I am not disappointed. In fact, I’ve been alive for almost a century now, so this is just a small setback.” His free hand was by your nose before you could turn your head away - at least try to fight him - pinching down hard, so you yapped for air as you were cut short of it. The moment your mouth was open, he shoved in the chocolate, and you were tempted to bite him as he clasped your mouth shut too, releasing your nose so you could breathe.

“Stare all you like,” he taunted you, while the sickeningly sweet spread on your tongue, daring to simply slip down your throat through the saliva your body produced. “We’ll be here as long as I want to, so you better start learning what your place is in this, Human.”

He held up a new piece of chocolate, and you got aware of his doings. Tsukishima was trying to alter the sugar level in your blood before emptying you completely, presumably, even vampire's had specific tastes they prefered. “I am sure someone will come to look for me!”

“How scary,” he laughed, teasing you with the knowledge that no one could do anything against him. “You better be good, or they might end up hurt too, you know?”

How awful, you thought, using all kinds of dirty tricks on you so you’d comply. Yet, when he brought the chocolate to your mouth, you took a bite, never stopping your eye contact with him, causing his brows to flinch for a moment as he didn't expect your compliance. “I wonder if you’ll make it any more interesting than those bandits. I really can’t stand all those screams and bones breaking.”

Shuddering at the prospect of dying by the hands of a monster like he was, you chewed away on your chocolate in frustration before announcing, “I’ll make it hell for you.”

“Oh,” he noted, lips curling into a wicked grin. “I’d like to see that.”

»»————-———— ♡ ————————-««  

Feel free to request from the Supernatural Prompts too!

[leafs-lover]

Because Two People Got Drunk: 18.5

Chapter 18.5

Series Masterlist

Previous Chapter – in case you want to refresh yourself, although I don’t think it’s all that necessary.

A/N: Italics are flashbacks. Read to the end, its worth it

Warnings: Swearing, drinking, smut, cheating

Word Count: 4100

You sit at the dimly lit bar in your hotel. You sit at the corner of the bar. It’s pretty busy with some groups scattered around the bar but you are relatively alone in your corner. You look to the full glass of whiskey at the seat beside you, ice long melted condensation leaving a ring on the wood counter. This was the drink you ordered for Fred thinking he would have arrived long ago. You grab the drink and throw it back, not nursing it like you did the first patience wearing thin.

You wish you didn’t spend the extra time on your makeup or stressing over what to wear given the current situation. There is a mess of clothes in a pile on your floor, before you finally decided on your black ribbed turtle neck with puffed sleeves. Dangling around your neck on top of your shirt is the sapphire necklace Fred got you your first Christmas as a mom. You paired it with your black and white high-waisted wool skirt and knee high leather boots. Normally you would be concerned about the cool Toronto air, but you and Fred didn’t plan on leaving the hotel limiting your time outside.

The bartender sees the empty cups and you order two more. You pull your phone out to check the time, Fred’s 40 minutes late and the last text you sent is sitting on read has been for the last twenty minutes. Due to your late flight he went out to dinner with Mitch and Auston without you, but he said he’d meet you at the hotel bar once he was back.

A few nights ago Fred stopped by to drop Oliver off at your apartment. While you had been spending a lot of the time Fred isn’t on the road together, those couple days you opted to leave Fred and Oliver to their time alone.

Once finally getting Oliver to sleep Fred pulled you onto his lap while you talked about what they did the last few days. Fred’s hand is gently resting on your waist “I actually wanted to ask you something but I don’t know how it fits in with us taking things slow” His thumb has slid under the hem of your sweater and is pressing circles softly onto your bare skin

Your shoulders stiffen as you put your hands on his chest bracing yourself with a perplexed look “okay…”

“Geez I’m not asking you to marry me, calm down” he jokes causing you to smile. “I love when you smile” he grins pulling you back for another kiss. Your body melts into the touch, relaxing while his tongue swirls around your mouth.

His hand on your neck holds you steady while his other slides around to the back of your thigh giving it a light squeeze. You squirm and giggle but Fred doesn’t release you from the searing kiss. His hand gently caresses your ass while you rock your hips against him feeling wetness pool in your core.

“I get lost in your kiss so easily” he murmurs his lips centimetres from yours.

“Then why stop” you whisper closing the gap between your mouths. Your hands run up his chest into his hair tangling around the roots tiliting his head back while you deepen the kiss. You roll your clothed core over him searching for some friction, causing Fred to groan loudly.

Your mouth slides to his jaw and onto his neck, peppering him with soft warm kisses when he pushes you away slightly. “Because I have to ask you something”

A disappointed grunt leaves your throat and Fred just laughs. You lean back sitting on the heels of your feet creating some reluctant distance between you. “What?” you ask eyes narrowed slightly but a smirk on your lips as you can’t be serious.

“So I leave tomorrow for the road trip” he starts and you nod knowing they play Boston tomorrow, Saturday in Toronto and finally ending the trip on Monday in Montreal. “So a couple of the girls are flying to Toronto Friday and then going to Montreal for some shopping. I wanted to know if you wanted a seat on that plane.”

“I didn’t know they went on road trips with you guys” you respond.

“They don’t go on a lot of them. They sometimes join us on a trip through LA or Florida to spend time on the beaches. Some come to Alberta to do some skiing but it’s not all the common. But there are a couple girls who want to see their or their husband’s family who live in the area and the rest just want to go shopping in Montreal.”

“I see” you respond.

“Given you are from there I thought you might want to go on Friday see your friends and family.” You scowl at that, you haven’t talked to your grandparents since the last time you saw them and don’t see that changing any time soon. “Or just your friends” he laughs.

“I can get two tickets to the game, and if you wanted to go to Montreal you could, or you could fly back on Sunday or even stay a few days longer in Toronto. Up to you” he shrugs.

“What about Ollie?” you ask.

“You could bring him if you wanted, but I asked Christie and she is available to watch him for the weekend. I thought you could use a break

“Okay” you respond. It’s been a bit since you have seen your friends.

“And Oliver?” he asks.

“Am I a bad mom for wanting to leave him?” you ask and Fred just laughs shaking his head. “My friends will be upset not seeing him but I really like the idea of an adult only weekend.”

“No you’re not a bad mom” he brings you in for a soft kiss. “I was kind of hoping you’d leave him, I wanted to book you a spa day with your friends and toddlers can ruin the relaxing vibe in spas” he chuckles.

“Mkay. I won’t complain about a spa day” you smile pulling his face closer, feeling his mustache tickle you while you press a kiss to his lips. “I can come back Sunday night or early Monday morning” he say lips hovering an inch from his.

“I will get you on a flight mid-day Monday so you can sleep in” he says.

“You’re amazing you know that” you whisper placing a soft kiss on his lips. You begin to rock your hips, your kiss becoming hungry.

“You might change your mind” he laughs standing up. Yours arms instinctively wrap around his neck expecting him to carry you down the hall but instead he carefully places you on the floor. He leans down for a soft kiss and when he pulls away you feel it linger on your lips “I gotta be up early so I have to go.”

“Fred” you huff in disapproval eyes going wide “are you serious?” You’re so wet you are almost surprised when you don’t see a stain on his pants

“Yup sorry” he chuckles releasing his hands from you and walking to the door. “He was a little terror because of his short nap and the teething so I have to clean my place and pack for the trip”. You follow him leaning against the wall watching while he bends down to put on his sneakers.

“Have a good night” he smirks placing a soft kiss on your cheek. He chuckles seeing your eyes pleading for more, pupils dark and hungry. Instead of giving you want you want he turns around and opens the door. Your body jumps hearing the heavy door slam shut leaving you alone. A chill runs coarse through your body, but not from the temperature.

You are drawn from your trance when with the clatter from the glasses being set on the bar. The bartender shoots you a soft smile recognizing you have been stood up before turning around. The thing is this is out of character for Fred, the past month or so he has tried to encourage you to join him and Oliver, even taken you on a few dates. You even woke up to him making you breakfast one morning saying “he had to make sure the key you gave him worked.”

You sigh putting your phone back in your purse when you feel a body slide into the empty barstool beside you.

“What’s a pretty girl like you doing alone at a bar?” the man asks reaching out for the whiskey in front of him. Fred’s whiskey.

You scoff unsure if it’s because of the line or the drink “that line ever work before?”

“I don’t know, you tell me” he says taking a drink.

You gaze at him from the corner of your eye quickly before bringing your gaze back to the bar in front of you. You lean back in your seat “you should know I’m waiting for someone.”

“I know I’ve been watching you for the last 20 minutes. You waiting for a date?” he asks.

“It was supposed to be but he is almost 45 minutes late” you sigh taking a small sip.

“Wow. When he decided to blow you off did he know you looked this good?”

“He should have” you retort.

The man beside you laughs slightly and you allow yourself to peak from the corner of your eye. He has on dark jeans and a simple grey long sleeve; you don’t see a coat so he likely is staying in the hotel. Your eyes finally meet his and he smirks having caught you checking him out, your cheeks heat up and you turn your attention away. You mindlessly play with the straw in your cup, pushing the ice around. Creating a distraction from the man beside you.

“No need to be embarrassed” he says shifting closer placing a hand on your thigh. Your eyes immediately drop down watching while his pinky toys with the hem of your skirt, playfully lifting it ever so slightly.

“You should be careful; my boyfriend won’t like you touching me” you respond talking a large swig of your drink pushing his hand off your leg.

He clears his throat shifting in his seat. “Not much of a boyfriend to keep you waiting” he says reaching forward for his drink. He finishes the remainder in one final gulp; he sets the glass back down and returns his hand back on your thigh. His hand is cold and wet from the glass and it sends a chill down your spine while also electrifying your core at the same time.

“You from around here?”

“I live in Pittsburgh” you respond taking a small sip scanning around the bar in search of Fred.

“What brought you to Toronto in the middle of winter?”

“Here for the hockey game” you sigh.

His thumb slides up your thigh a bit “oh that’s right you’re Fred’s girl.” Your head immediately snaps up and looks to the man beside you, eyes going wide.

You hastily push his hand off your leg “you should go” you whisper knowing this is wrong. Your whole body shakes an uncomfortable chill coursing through you. It was wrong before allowing a stranger to touch you like that, but knowing he knows Fred makes it even worse. You turn your head back scanning around the bar, still no sign of Fred or anyone you recognize for that matter.

He shifts forward in his seat, his mouth hovering inches from your ear. “Its okay sweetheart I won’t tell.”

You take a few deep breathes and feel his lips gently touch your neck drawing goosebumps to the surface. “So are you staying here tonight?” he asks indicating the hotel. You nod silently shifting from his touch.

You sit in silence for what feels like minutes though it likely wasn’t; your heart beating through your chest. “Well I think I’m going to head out” he says breaking the silence. “You want to come beautiful or you going to sit alone a little longer?”

His warm breath is still on your neck, you look at him from the corner of your eye. He gives your thigh a squeeze and you feel yourself dripping onto your panties. It hasn’t taken much since Fred left your apartment a few days ago to get you wound up.

You bring your glass to your mouth throwing the remainder down your throat wincing at the burn. You scan around the bar seeing the groups scattered around, some of the city lights filtering in through the windows.

The bartender comes over with the bill setting is down. He throws a couple twenties down waiting for your response. You place your glass down; hand trembling under this man’s touch. You turn to face him scanning over his face, pupil’s dark blown with fire.

You pull your lower lip between your teeth, eyes locked on his. You know you shouldn’t. You know it’s wrong, even if Fred never finds out it will eat at you. You won’t be able to look him in the eyes if you go through with this and he will sense something is wrong. Whether he finds out on his own or you tell him everything will be ruined.

You know all this but maybe it’s the excitement, or maybe the 3 whiskey’s you’ve downed in the past hour but you decide against your judgement. “Let’s go” you say jumping up and practically running towards the elevator. As soon as the door closes you press him against the wall hand gripping his arms while locking him in a searing kiss. His mouth vibrates against you and you pray nobody gets on the elevator, knowing your lipstick smeared on his face leaves little to the imagination.

“Fred can never know” you say to the man in front of you.

“I won’t say a word” the man groans spinning you, pressing your back to the wall his hands gripped tightly on your hips.

“Don’t you want to know my name baby?” he groans as your hand slides down to his shaft palming over his denim.

“What’s the point you’ll forget it by the time my perfume leaves the pillow” you respond kissing him passionately.

“Fuck your trouble” he growls the elevator dinging open. He grips your hand pulling you down the hallway to his door; he fumbles briefly with his room key before the green light finally appears. As soon as the door closes his body is on yours slamming you against it. He licks a stripe from your neck to your ear and sucks on your ear lobe spreading your legs apart with his knee.

His hands dig into your hips likely leaving bruises later while he bites your neck. He rubs circles with his thumbs slowly pulling your shirt up to expose some skin. His calloused thumbs press into your exposed skin pinning you under his touch.

You struggle to find your breath his mouth trailing along your jawline. He slowly pushes your shirt up, his fingers leaving a trail of heat on your stomach. He pulls your shirt over your head throwing it aside. You see his eyes quickly gaze over your body with a devilish smirk before his mouth attaches to your chest.

His mouth sucks on your breast, his hand sliding behind you to unclasp your bra. He sucks on the top of your breast, his hand massaging your other while deep groans leave your lips. His mouth trails around your chest and neck sucking harder in each spot.

“Fuck” you groan “no marks.” You run your hands up his body tangling into the roots of his hair. His hands slide up your thigh lifting your skirt before finding your clothed core

“Your boyfriend should see them” he growls “so he knows someone treated you right.”

He bends his knee flexing his thigh into your core, his hand slowly trailing up your thigh. Your skin heats up at the anticipation while you roll your hips against him your core dripping onto his jeans. His fingers dip under your wool skirt finding your lace panties.

“Fuck your soaked” he groans sliding a finger over your slit, any regrets you had long faded from his touch. His thumb presses into your clit your head falling back against the door. His thumb begins rubbing circles in your heat spreading your wetness around. He hooks his finger in your underwear pulling it down your thighs. He spins you pushing you toward the bed throwing you onto it.

He crawls over you pressing his knee into your core; you rock your hips against him feeling the denim on your bare folds. He kisses your neck and chest, leaving a trail until he reaches your waist. He sucks a spot on your hip leaving a dark mark, his hands pushing your skirt higher until it is bunched up above your waist.

He hooks your legs over his shoulders dipping his head in, you feel him blow warm air on your core. Your head falls back onto the pillow back arching off the bed slightly. He wastes no time licking a stripe up your folds moaning when he tastes your juices.

His tongue dances around your folds when you feel two fingers dip in opening you up. His fingers curl inside you. You gasp when his mouth finds your clit and begins to suck. Your hands find his locks pulling his head closer into your core.

His fingers pick up the pace at your motions; him moaning between your legs. His calloused fingers draw inside your walls, your hips lifting closer to his face. He pumps your fingers pulling your wetness as he works you, a string of panted curse words leaving your mouth.

He finds your g-spot smirking when your legs tighten around his head. He keeps pumping his fingers hitting it with every thrust, while your hells dig into his back. His mouth sucks harder on your clit and the familiar burn builds in the pit of your stomach.

“I’m gonna cum” you pant, body squirming at the contact. The man beneath you grunts at your announcement. Your hips buck into his face your coil snapping as your orgasm rips through you. He pumps his fingers a few times working you through your high; your eyes snapping shut your breathing erratic.

You breathing steadies while his fingers slip out of you, you feel him pressing gentle kisses on your stomach. When you finally open your eyes you notice he has stripped. You try to take in his body but he rolls you onto your side to unzip your skirt. He pulls your body up pulling the bunched up fabric down your legs.

Once you are lying on your back he crawls over you engaging you in a deep sloppy kiss. You moan at the taste of yourself on his lips, your body buzzing with fire. You feel his hard member pressing at your entrance coating himself in your juices.

“Please” you whine his tip poking at your folds.

“I’ve wanted to hear you beg for my cock since I first saw you, alone at the bar” he groans and without hesitating he slips inside you stretching you out. You cry out while he pushes fully in, his mouth sucking gently on your sweet spot. He pulls back at a painfully slow pace before snapping his hips back inside you.

He gives you a few slow thrusts causing you to whine under his body. His eyes are dark with hunger as he shoots you a devilish grin. You pull him down closing the gaps between your faces locking him in a sloppy kiss while he slowly rocks into you.

You pull away gasping for air, the taste of whiskey still on his lips. “God you feel so good” he mumbles into your neck.

“Fuck please” you cry needing more from him.

“You’re so gorgeous when you beg” he grunts snapping his hips and picking up the pace. Your hands slide down his back, digging your nails in deep to his skin. He hooks an arm under your knee pushing it into your chest increasing the angle and depth he can hit you.

“You’re boyfriend fuck you this good?” he asks and your eyes go wide. You take a deep exhale with the realization of what you’re doing, but before you can feel bad he hits your g-spot and you begin to fall apart again.

Beads of sweat are on your forehead. You can tell your hair you spent hours on is a mess and your mascara is streaking down your cheeks.

“Tell me I feel better than him. Tell me I’m better than Fred” he growls when you don’t respond.

“Ye…yes” you stumble out. “So good” your breath catches in your throat.

“Say it, say I’m better than him” he grunts bringing a hand to your throat. Your airway begins to restrict as your knee is being placed over his shoulder. You rake your nails over his back leaving some marks, your back arching off the bed.

“You’re better” you croak out between breaths. His eyes darken and the edges of his lips curl upward at your admission. Your second orgasm is quickly approaching and he senses your walls tightening around him.

“You gonna cum all over my cock?” he asks and all you can manage is a slight nod. You feel him getting sloppy above you “I’m gonna cum inside you, teach Fred a lesson.”

Before you can object your second orgasm comes and your vision goes black. Your walls tighten around him nails digging into his muscles. Pleasure rips through you and a string of curse words leaving your lips while he works you through it. You feel the man above you spill deep inside, painting your walls white. He releases your leg and collapses on you, head landing on your shoulder.

Your hand comes up running through his hair, damp with sweat. The two of you lie in silence before he finally pulls out and flops onto his back. You both stare up at the ceiling for a minute, him being the one to break the silence.

“Boyfriend eh” he chuckles turning to rest on his side, his hand gently grazes the necklace around your neck.

“Shut up Fred” you groan rolling your eyes. You go to push yourself off the bed but he pulls you back throwing a leg over you to pin you to the mattress. You don’t bother fighting him and melt into his touch; he gently brushes some of your sweaty hair from your forehead.

“You’ve never called me your boyfriend before” he says kissing your cheek “I like it.”

“Make me wait 45 minutes in a bar for you again and see if still call you that” you joke smiling up at him. His golden brown eyes look down at you while he grins bringing his lips down to yours for a soft kiss.

“Sorry I ran into the goalie coach on my way down and he wanted to show me some footage” he responds.

“For 45 minutes?” you joke.

“No twenty, when I arrived I didn’t see you because it was so busy so I got a table on the other side. Then once I had my drink I saw you and I don’t know, decided to have some fun. I’m surprised you played along” he responds.

“Really? I thought you were going to break first” you laugh. “Especially when I called you my boyfriend” you quirk your eye brows playfully at him. He bites his lower lip shaking his head at you before finally carrying you to the bathroom, you both clean up. While brushing your teeth Fred leaves and comes back in wearing his boxers and he sets a t-shirt on the counter for you

“So am I allowed to stay or do I have to go to my own room?” you ask walking out of the bathroom.

“Technically you should leave, but I’m not letting you” he smiles lifting the duvet for you to crawl under with him.

“Just leave when we’re at practice so nobody sees you” he chuckles.

“So much sneaking around, it’s like were in high school” you laugh turning off the lamp. Fred shifts closer to you, to the point where you are going to be sharing a pillow. You pull Fred’s face closer for a soft kiss “good night Fred” you whisper against him.

“Goodnight girlfriend” he says bringing his lips back to you one more time.

Next Chapter

[angstyaches]

Ok so I freaking love belly rubs and now that we’ve seen Shayne receive a belly rub I want to see it reversed 😂 Charlie has an upset stomach for some reason and realizes that he just really needs to burp but he can’t and all day long the feeling just gets worse until he’s finally home and can lay down but still nothing will come up and when Shayne shows up and he lets him through the window he immediately knows something is wrong (p 1 of 2)

(P 2 of 2) somehow Charlie convinced him to help him by rubbing his stomach which of course helps and he burps into his fist a couple of times but it’s not releasing the pressure at all, actually it’s making him feel nauseous and before he knows it he suddenly vomits all over him and Shayne ( I know this doesn’t really fit with the plot you’ve got since the ending of the last fic with Shayne but i didn’t know how to make it fit 😂 you can ignore this prompt if ya want lol)

Milo, thank you, thank you, thank you. I had so much fun writing this. Baby’s first prompt.

Sorry if this is obnoxiously long; I have no idea how to judge length yet.

CW: vomiting

In the pub

Charlie had zoned out hours ago, upon realising that the three-year age gap between him and his oldest cousins meant a lot more when he was eighteen and they were fifteen. Whatever pop culture they were chatting about held no interest for him, and whatever gossip his parents, aunts, and uncles were engaging him would likely be just as boring.

He wished he could have gone and talked to Jonathan. He hadn’t seen his half-brother in months, yet he’d barely wanted to speak two words with Charlie all day. He’d brought two friends along, which Aunt Pauline had been annoyed about at the start of the day. She had gotten over it; Charlie, however, had not. The three of them had been skulking outdoors in the smoking area for hours.

Although, if he’d been given first pick, Charlie would have been chatting to been the pretty bartender with the gold lip ring. The guy looked run off his feet, yet had a smile for every one of Charlie’s relatives who had an order to bark at him, be it a chocolate-stained little cousin or his cane-wielding grandmother. He was so cute, but Charlie was too nervous to even look him in the eye. He also felt slightly… guilty, though he could think of no rational reason why he should feel guilty. He wasn’t spoken for by anyone; not even close. And that just made him sink further into his loneliness.

So, with no conversational opportunity, Charlie had occupied himself with the bar food that came out in waves. He didn’t often eat greasy food at home, and he ate exactly like a kid let loose in a store full of chicken goujons and potato wedges. His stomach started to feel kind of sloshy at one point, but that might have been from copious amounts of fizzy orange. More food would surely soak it up and settle everything down.

After the cute waiter dropped off a tray of drinks at the “adult” table, Charlie’s dad stood up and took a glass over to where Charlie was sitting.

“There you are, designated driver,” Trevor said. His cheeks were flushed red from drinking for pretty much the whole day.

“Thanks, Dad,” Charlie said, fidgeting with the keys in his hoodie pocket. “Can we go soon? I’m getting tired.”

“Of course. Last drink and we’ll hit the road,” Trevor winked, giving Charlie’s shoulder a squeeze. “You really are a blessing, son.”

He couldn’t tell if the flutter in his chest was because of the waiter still, or because of what his dad had just said. It might also have been indigestion, though he wouldn’t think of that until a little later.

“Maybe go and say goodbye to Jonathan before we head off, yeah?”

“Alright, Dad.” A blessing, he thought as his father went back to the proper adult table and sat next to his wife. Their half-demon offspring is a blessing to them. Part of him wanted to burst out laughing, the other half wanted to weep. He hovered somewhere in between, smiling despite the tightness in his chest.

He guzzled a few mouthfuls of the fizzy drink, stealing his courage as he stood up and went to talk to Jonathan.

In the car

The drive home itself was exhausting. Charlie’s energy was already spent after a whole day of socialising. His stomach was making some awful sounds, though it felt lazy and sluggish inside him after being fed such little amounts so many times throughout the day. The flavour of the fizzy orange kept repeating on him too, and he vowed never to touch the stuff again. He glanced over to see that his dad had fallen asleep against the passenger door. In the rear-view mirror, he saw that his mum was snoring with her head thrown back.

Charlie swallowed harshly. It felt like some of the fizzy orange was sitting in his throat, blocking his airways a bit. Gripping the steering wheel tightly at ten and two, he tried to let some of the air up from his stomach, but the bubbles stayed exactly where they were, gurgling amongst the sickly combination of food in his belly.

He slid his right hand from two to twelve on the steering wheel, glancing once again to make sure his dad was still asleep; Trevor would definitely yell at him for having one hand off the wheel, but it was a straight, empty road, and Charlie was decidedly below the recommended speed.

Besides, he could probably pull up enough strength to telekinetically steer the car, if he had to. Having acceleratingly strong demonic powers had its unexpected quirks, after all.

Charlie rubbed a hand across his belly, realising that it was filling out his hoodie a lot more than it should have been. He stifled a whimper as he pushed on the swell, hoping to force up at least some of what was making his stomach feel so bad. It gurgled under his hand, the pain shifting slightly but not upwards. There was a slight rumble in his chest, a fizzing in the back of his throat, but nothing more.

He put his left hand back on the wheel and sighed, surviving on the fact that at least he’d be home and lying in bed without the hour.

Back home

“Night, Mum, night, Dad,” Charlie called dully down the hall, though they’d probably both passed out on their bed in the time it had taken him to brush his teeth. He’d hoped the minty flavour would have soothed the burning acidity, but it had just mixed sickly with the fizzy orange reflux. He could finally hunch over a bit and rub his belly with a little more force, now he was alone in his room.

He reached for his bedside lamp, when a tap on the window made him jump. He almost knocked his little brown stuffed bear from the nightstand, and he rushed to straighten him.

“Sorry, Vincent,” he whispered before approaching the window. Another tiny pebble hit the glass and Charlie groaned under his breath. Couldn’t that boy learn how to send a text?

Charlie cradled his belly as he spotted the dark-haired figure in the back yard. Usually, the sight of Shayne gave him a very light, pleasant feeling, but right now he felt the furthest from light he’d ever been. He sighed and directed his gaze towards the back door, focusing on undoing the lock before ducking back into the room.

He leaned against the windowsill, rubbing his belly desperately. It was definitely too much to ask, that all of the burps trapped inside him come up in the time it took Shayne to get inside, take off his ridiculous boots, and creep upstairs. All Charlie succeeded in bringing up were a couple of orangey splashes that burned his tongue.

“Whatever it is, I’m not in the mood,” he whispered as soon as Shayne let himself quietly into the room.

The dark-haired boy frowned as he closed the door. “Hmm?”

Charlie sighed and sat down on his bed. “I don’t care if it’s a voodoo doll or a silver stake or a monkey’s fucking paw. Can we do it another time?”

“Okay, first of all; hi,” Shayne muttered. “Second; how would any of those things be useful in exorcising or communicating with a demon? And third; where were you all?”

“My cousin’s christening,” Charlie said, slipping a hand into his hoodie pocket so he could keep some pressure on his stomach. “It went on kind of late.”

“You’re telling me?” Shayne began to pace evenly back and forth. “This place gives me shivers on a normal day. Ten times worse when it’s all dark and unoccupied.”

“Well, you could try not hanging around on other people’s property,” Charlie grumbled.

“I caught three demons in the back yard,” Shayne said. “Three demons that will never possess your parents, so you’re welcome.”

“So, you’ve got fucking warding jars on you?” Charlie whined. He knew he was feeling awful for a reason, but if those jars were close-by, they certainly wouldn’t be helping.

“’Course not, I left them at the far end of the garden,” Shayne hissed. “Okay, you’re sounding more like me than me tonight. What’s going on?”

Charlie swallowed and looked up at his friend. His belly was groaning, and he hoped he was the only one hearing it. He pulled his hand from his pocket and started holding it a bit more firmly, giving up the secrecy.

“I don’t feel so good,” he whined, sitting forward. “My tummy’s really sore.”

“Oh. Well, why haven’t you taken any of those tablets you always try to force on me?”

“Because I’ll be fine once I can burp, but so far, nothing wants to come up.” Charlie’s face burned at hearing himself give so much detail. He lowered his head as he leaned towards his knees, curling around the knot of pain.

He felt the mattress take Shayne’s weight, and then a hand prying his away from his stomach. He took a sharp breath and looked up.

“Are you going to rub my tummy?”

“You’ll never hear me say it in those words, but… yeah.” Shayne was still frowning, though Charlie recognised a slight blush in his cheeks. “Here, straighten up. Stop sitting like an idiot.”

“That’s mean,” Charlie whined, slowly released his vice-grip on his belly and straightening his back. “Why do I feel like you’re going to be really bad at – mmm.”

Shayne’s hand could almost have covered Charlie’s whole belly if it hadn’t been so bloated and tight. His stomach churned uneasily alongside the movement of Shayne’s fingers, until Charlie felt gas bubbles press up towards his chest. He felt himself groan without deciding he was going to.

Shayne held his breath, pausing the motion of his hand. “What? Am I doing it wrong?”

“No, no, don’t stop,” Charlie groaned. “Can you rub my back, too?”

As soon as Shayne pressed on Charlie’s stomach and ran a hand up his spine, Charlie felt the gas bubbles release, making a deep rumbling sound in his chest. He pressed a fist to his mouth and turned his head away from Shayne. The burp was so loud Charlie worried it would wake his parents, and lasted about four seconds.

“Holy shit,” Shayne whispered. “I think I felt the room shake.”

“Shut up,” Charlie groaned.

“Feel any better?”

“Not really.”

“I’m going to lift your jumper, okay?”

Charlie almost squeaked as Shayne slid his hand under his hoodie, rubbing at the straining skin of his belly. Charlie dug his nails into the duvet to keep himself from wriggling. His skin was starting to feel prickly and warm, but that could have just been because of what was happening. Shayne was here and touching him, and not just through his clothes. He had his hand on Charlie’s bare torso. He was in pain, but he should have been enjoying this at least a little.

A weak smile twitched across his mouth as he nudged his cheek experimentally against Shayne’s shoulder. When the dark-haired boy didn’t flinch in any major way, he let himself lean a little harder, hoping his heart wasn’t pounding as loudly as he thought it was.

“What did you do to it, anyway?” Shayne asked, and it took Charlie a second to realise he was talking about his stomach. His fingers kneaded gently across it

“I, um, just kept eating, I guess.” Charlie turned his head to let out another burp, though this one sounded like it was strangled on its way up from his stomach. “And my dad kept bringing me fizzy drinks. Designated driver, you know? Aw – fuck, Shayne.”

Charlie frowned and winced as his stomach suddenly lurched under the pressure of Shayne’s hand.

“Shit – what is it?”

“I don’t know,” Charlie murmured, his cheeks suddenly tingling. A certain kind of panic began to ring in his ears. “Oh, god, I think I’m going to –”

He retched before fully realising it was happening, before he could do any kind of aiming or get his hands in front of his mouth. His hands did fly out, one landing on Shayne’s back, the other on his own knee. The majority of the thick, orange vomit landed down the front of Shayne’s jacket and t-shirt, the rest of it flicked across Shayne’s jeans and the duvet cover.

“Oh, my god, Shayne,” Charlie gasped. His hand was shaking as he brought it up to cover his mouth. Almost immediately, his head pitched forward again, another long gush of sticky orange liquid and chunks of bar food spraying over the sleeve of his hoodie as he tried to block it, but a lot still landed in Shayne’s lap.

Shayne sighed, though he really hoped Charlie didn’t hear it. He’d definitely take it the wrong way, thinking Shayne was sighing out of frustration when really, it was the only way he could release the intense sympathy he felt as the blonde boy clung to him and vomited. Shayne continued to rub Charlie’s back, though he wasn’t sure if it was helping or making things worse.

Charlie hiccuped into his sleeve, clearly forgetting that he’d just gotten sick all over it.

“Shayne,” he croaked, slowly lifting his gaze. “I’m so sorry.”

“Feeling any better?”

“Actually, yeah, I am.”

Shayne shrugged. “Then it’s fine. Jesus, if only exorcising you was so damn easy.”

[lokislytherin]

euphoria // vampire!jungkook

pairing: vampire!jeon jeongguk x human!reader summary: you’re scared of vampires - until one saves your life one night. word count: 1988 + 1808 + 

chapters: prologue / chapter 1 / chapter 2 / chapter 3 / chapter 4 / chapter 5 / chapter 6 / chapter 7 / epilogue

The next few days are mostly uneventful.

Taehyung visits and shamelessly beats your ass at Mario Kart when he steals Seokjin's DS, only to have his older brother return and beat his ass in an act of revenge.  Taehyung begs for rematches, and the amount of times Seokjin wins is alarming.  That day, you learn that your roommate is surprisingly competitive when it comes to Mario, games, and Mario-related games.

You also meet up with college student Kim Namjoon, who has kindly volunteered to tutor you in math.  In the span of your one hour-long session, Namjoon manages to misplace both his wallet and his phone while rambling on about trigonometry and Greek mathematician/philosophers.  Thankfully, he finds both in the cafe booth you've been studying at.  You bear him no offense, but you're glad for the distraction your new friend's disastrous luck and tendency to babble offers you, if only for a short while.

Even though he tries not to show it in front of you, you can tell that Seokjin is still suspicious about what happened - or rather, didn't happen - the other night.  You shut your own worries down, telling yourself firmly he's better off not knowing.  If he found out that you met a vampire, he'd flip out and pitch a fit, or have a heart attack.  Perhaps he'd do both, and proceed to lock you in your room and never let you out without him being by your side.  He's never been good with horror films, but again, neither have you.

The next time you find yourself alone, it’s night-time again.  All your friends are busy – most of your friends from school are already asleep or being insomniac gremlins; Taehyung is doing some last-minute studying for a test the next day; you're not desperate enough to contact Namjoon, and not familiar enough with him either; and surprisingly enough, Jin is on a date.  Despite your initial irritation at him ditching your movie night, you’re happy for him – he needs to get out more, and his good looks deserve much better than to go to waste with him being a bachelor for the rest of his life.

You sigh as you attempt to brush out the tangles in your damp hair, envying Seokjin’s effortless beauty.  No matter what he does, he's flat out gorgeous, and he knows it, even if nobody else notices.  But you? You're not exactly society's image of 'drop dead gorgeous'.  All your previous relationships have gone to shït, even though you will admit that it was not your fault.  You glare at your reflection, and the girl in the fogged-up mirror glares right back at you.

You turn around, sick of looking at your messy, knotted hair – and scream.

There’s a boy.  In your bathroom.  A boy with dazzling blue eyes and gleaming white canines, a boy that doesn’t appear in the mirror.  A boy that clearly can't be human, no matter how much his other features almost lull you into a false sense of security.  

He grins.  “Hi.”

Did I mention the boy is in your bathroom? Had he arrived a few minutes earlier, you would've been naked.

You scream again, right in his face.  It’s the bloodsucker from several nights ago! You quiver upon realizing that his fangs are even sharper up close. He cute though, the voice in your head supplies helpfully.  It's not wrong. He winces, immediately clamping a hand over your mouth.  His skin is cold, cold as ice, whereas you are warm, face flushed with terror and mild embarrassment. Enclosing you in his arms, he carefully pulls you away from the mirror, setting you down on your bed.  Your eyes are wide, brain frozen in fear, body unable to move of your own free will. You seem a little less scared of him than he is of you as he pulls his hand away from your face, but reflexively presses a finger against your lips to shut off another scream from you.  You go cross-eyed at the contact.  Is he trying to kill you, or flirt with you?

Boys are confusing, you decide.

“Sorry if I scared you,” he says quietly, almost bashfully, “I keep forgetting I’m not a human anymore.” If he were human, he’d probably be blushing, but he’s not, and his face is pale, without any sign of a flush.  He looks a little paler than he should be, but that’s it.  He carefully sits down beside you, leaving a large gap in the middle.

“Thanks for calling me cute, though,” he says, incredibly forward but somehow even shyer than before (and shït, Y/N, you realize belatedly, he’s not supposed to be this cute! He’s dead!).  He doesn’t meet your eyes.  “You’re not too bad yourself.”

You finally gain control of your tongue (and your brain).  “I don’t mean to be rude, but who the fück are you and what the fück are you doing in my house?”

You know it’s probably unwise to swear at an undead being who could drain you dry of blood and life in less than a minute, but right now you’re too angry, scared (and honestly a little turned on) to care about that.  Besides, the vampire boy doesn’t really look like he could hurt you. “I’m Jeon Jeongguk, and I’m a vampire. I won’t hurt you; I swear.” You narrow your eyes.  The primal instinct inside your head still screams at you to run, even as you see how he looks a little lonely, a little sad.   “You’re still scared of me, aren’t you?” You nod, and he pouts.  Eyebrows knitted together, he closes his eyes in intent focus, and you watch in fascination as his fangs retract into his gums to reveal normal human teeth.  “Again, I’m really sorry for scaring you the other day.”  

He cracks a wry smile.  “I’m not me when I’m hungry.”

To your surprise, a giggle escapes your throat.  “You’re a vampire.  How do you know about Snickers?”

He looks wounded.  “Why wouldn’t I know about Snickers? I'm not too big a fan myself, but I still know about them.” He sighs.  “Believe it or not, I was human too.”

You resist the urge to hug the stranger upon hearing the sadness in his tone, instead just softly patting his arm.  “How old are you?” You blurt curiously.  The question’s been on your mind for a while.  He looks young, not much older than you are.  But how old is he really?

Jeongguk pouts.  “I hate it when people ask me that. I’m so shït at counting.” He tries anyway, counting with his fingers and looking confused.  “I was turned a year ago? I was twenty-one, but I haven’t physically aged since then. So, does that make me twenty-two, or am I still twenty-one? Am I supposed the years I’ve been alive for? But I should be biologically dead, because my heart’s not beating anymore and I'm fueled by blood and magic-”

He stops and sniffs the air.  “Actually, I think your roommate’s back.” He closes his eyes, sniffs a little more and promptly looks disgusted.  “He doesn’t seem very happy.”

You cock your head. “Emotions have scents,” he explains, “irritation and self-deprecation smell the worst.” He wrinkles his nose with a small pout.  “Werewolves can distinguish scents better, though.  They're like dogs, especially near the full moon.”

You coo inwardly at the pouty look on his face, and jump when you hear Seokjin's key twisting in the lock.  Your room is further away from the door than Jin's, and if Jeongguk can smell Seokjin from here he must have one hell of a nose.  Briefly, you're tempted to pull out some garlic bread.

“Well, that's my cue to leave.” Jeongguk smiles so brightly you're a little dazed.  He looks like a bunny - adorable - and it's so cute that you're squealing and dying on the inside at the same time. “Bye!”

That said, he jumps out the window.

You almost scream and throw yourself out after him, only to remember he's a vampire with far better reflexes than you.  You see him downstairs, a blur of black in the shadows.  He stops and waves goodbye, like an energetic puppy of sorts.  With a light blush on your face, you wave back.

You flinch away from the window as the door creaks and swings open, hearing a disheartened looking Seokjin stomping in. You hope he doesn’t notice the lingering blush on your cheeks.  You'd feel bad if you snagged a cutie and he didn't, after trying for so much longer than you have.

“I take it that the date didn’t go too well?” You ask, testing the waters as you walk out to greet him.  An angry and heartbroken Seokjin is never a good Seokjin to deal with.

Seokjin mumbles something unintelligible, and you hum to get him to clarify.

Seokjin throws himself onto the couch.  “She ditched. She didn’t even call, or text! I waited for an hour.  Alone. In the dark.” He sniffs, pouting.  “These dates are so stupid. I feel so stupid.  Why do I even bother anymore?”

You sit down beside him, patting his shoulder reassuringly.  “Oh, darling.” He’s a little older than you, but he’s used to your fond nicknames.  “You’ll find the perfect one for you soon enough.”

He huffs. “You say that every time,” he retorts bitterly. “Well, maybe you’ll find someone who appreciates you.” He sighs heavily, barely giving you time to move your arm before he flops backwards dramatically, almost boneless.  “I hope so too, Y/N.”

Seokjin switches on the tv, mindlessly flipping through the channels.

“Still up for movie night?” You suggest.

Your roommate nods gratefully.  “Hell yeah.”

You take the remote from him, laughing.  “Good, because I’m picking the movie.”

He groans dramatically.  “Oh, what a nightmare.”

You move to flick his forehead, but he ducks out of the way.  “Just for that comment, we’re watching Twilight.  Now get the chips.”

He obliges, albeit grudgingly.  Neither of you are big fans of the vampire movie franchise - or the books, for that matter - but your sassy jabs at the characters never fail to make Seokjin feel better.

You won't tell him about your ulterior motives - after a vampire named Jeon Jeongguk barreled into your life, you've never related to Bella Swan so much.

[sansacherie]

I.

“How dare you spit on our vows like this?” Briony whispered.

Briony stood in the airy kitchen, facing Damon.  Through the open window, she can hear her next-door neighbour barking at her son to make friends with the sunscreen before he so much dared put his toe in their pool. But their neighbours might as well be a world away.   Crying had made a red misery of Briony’s long face, and the way her nostrils were flaring ruined the effect of her refined nose.   She clutched the wedding ring attached to the silver chain she wore around her neck, a necessity thanks the almost feverish summer heat swelling her fingers.   She gripped it as tightly as she remembered how Clementine once seized her arm when she was ten and shot curses at her like arrows. Briony also remembered how her older sister Mara- although the gap between them was no more than the size of a spit- intervened and earned a bloody, bloated lip for it. Usually, Briony and Mara tried avoiding Clementine whenever she was in one of her rages.  As little girls, they hid under the bed, locking sweaty hands and being cemetary-still.  As they got older, they would flee their cramped apartment with its pungent smell of alcohol and hang around with those from school lucky enough not to be afraid of their mother.      

Damon grimaced. "I'm sorry, Briony. Addie and I didn't choose this."

Briony gritted her teeth. "Why should I believe that?" She delivered her retort with all the force of a slap. "The moment you realized that your feelings for your co-worker were becoming less than professional, you should have distanced yourself from her.  Instead, you ran straight into the fire. And you do have a choice. You can choose not to leave because we have been married for 14 years, and those years means something.”   Briony sucked in a few, short sharp breaths, almost as if someone forced a stone into her throat.   Her eyes find themselves pulled to a photo of their daughter Lucy on the fridge.

Blue-eyed with Damon's black hair, Lucy wears the half-sweet, half-awkward smile that belonged to many thirteen-year-old girls.  

Lucy had left for camp this morning and would not return until next week.

Oh, God.  Lucy being gone is why Damon chose to tell her this now.  Telling Lucy won't be easy for Damon, but it'll be easier if he and Briony present a united front.  He likely sees this week as a means of somehow softening Briony towards the idea.

Well, she won't roll over like some dog.

"How do you think Lucy will take it learning Daddy's leaving because he found something better to play with?" Briony spits. The words are vinegar on her tongue.

Damon scowls. "I'll explain things to Lu."

Explain.   The word feels like maggots crawling over Briony's skin.

"She'll find a way to blame me."  Briony's voice is flat.

Damon's eyes soften.

"No, she won't.  If there's anyone-," "She will."  Briony cuts him off.

"If I was a better wife to you, then maybe..."

Briony moved toward Damon now, touching his beard with velvety hands.

She can see the freckles on his nose.  She's always thought his freckles sweet, just as Damon has always loved her hair.

She wants to kiss him, to reclaim him with her body, to devour him whole so there is nothing left for the shadow of the woman between them.

Damon rested his forehead against hers.  Briony wondered if Addie is the same height as Damon, like her. No, she couldn't be.  Briony is not Addie, and that is why Damon is leaving her.

"You were an amazing wife, and you deserve great love." Damon's voice is crushingly gentle. "But it's a love that I can't give anymore."

II.

Giving an excuse about finishing some work at his office, Damon left an hour ago.

Briony rang her sister, but her messages to Mara have gone unread.

Briony poured herself a glass of champagne from the bottle she bought for her and Damon's anniversary.  She scoffed.  While Briony planned their anniversary, Damon plotted to leave her.

A drink became two, then four.

Briony then glanced at the living room mirror and dropped her glass.

Instead of her reflection, Briony was confronted with Clementine. It was as swift as the breaking of a bone but no less brutal.  She saw Clementine with her long sallow-skinned face, a sneer dancing about her thin lips.  Of course, he's leaving you. I was that close doing the same thing with you and your sister. 

Ignoring the shattered glass, Briony grabbed her car keys from the table. 

She'll go to Damon's office. He's been hers longer than this woman, and she'll make him remember why that is.

III.

Mara knows what people whisper of Briony, and she hates them for it.

Rationally, she knows they're right.

But Mara remembers how they needed to have a closed casket at Briony's funeral.  She doesn't need the whispers of others to understand how bad her sister's car accident was.

But Mara hates herself more than the whisperers.

If only she’d picked up her phone that day, then perhaps things would be different.

But most of all, she hates Damon.

She realizes now that her prior understanding of hate was a mere flirtation.

At Briony's service, Damon goes up to Mara.  Grief dimmed the blue in his eyes, and his hair was half-combed. His jacket didn't fit him, almost as if he had lost some weight in a short amount of time.

Damon speaks to her, but the words feel distorted to Mara's ears as if she was hearing them underwater.   It does not matter.

Damon's tears will never make Mara forget that Briony was her sister, her first friend, her ally against Clementine.

But Mara embraced the weeping man, comforting him with the same arms that would deliver his judgement.

IV.

They'll never know it was her.

But just three months later, Mara receives a hysterical call.

By the time she rushes to St. Anne's, Lucy is dead.

"I found her." Addie sobs and Mara sees the tell-tale curve of her stomach. "She didn't leave a note. Do you think-?" Damon and Briony's names linger unsaid. 

Mara did not need a note. She understood.  Revenge was like a grandmother who embraced all her grandchildren.  Mara fell to her knees and retched.

V.

Mara waited until they installed Lucy's gravestone.  They buried her beside Briony.   The sunlight kissing the smooth white stone gives it an obscene beauty.  

By the time she sees her niece's grave again, it will have become a weathered thing.

VI.

Mara got used to prison in time, but she never quite got used to the guilt. 

Perhaps it would have died if her memories of Briony and Lucy were not still as sharp as broken glass. 

Of course, if her memory is that she does not remember everything. Mara has forgotten the sound of Briony's voice, has forgotten what it felt like to hug her niece. But what she does remember- including all the little things- is enough to leave her bleeding.  

When Mara received the letter, her first instinct was to destroy it.

Perhaps it is the fact that the handwriting is similar to a girl she once knew which quenches the urge.

The visitor Mara approves for her visitation list is not a girl, however. Lucy's half-sister is older than Lucy ever got to be.  

"Addie won't be thrilled about you seeing me." 

Hannah shrugged her shoulders. She looks nothing like Lucy, but they both inherited Damon's black hair. 

“My mother can’t help me with what I want.”

Hannah began chewing her lip.  Lucy did the same.  "I want to know what she was like."

"Lucy." Mara's voice was as tender as a kiss.

Hannah nodded stiffly. "And you knew her better than Mum ever did." Her voice softens now, but there is no hiding the raw longing in it. 

That was true. 

Addie knew Lucy for over a year, whereas Mara knew her from the hour of her birth. It was also true that Damon died an only child and his parents died not long after he did when Hannah was four. As Lucy and Hannah were also half-sisters, there is family that belongs to Lucy alone. A family that consists of only Mara. 

For a moment, Mara considers Hannah. Hannah does not look away, silently challenging Mara with her raised chin. 

You owe me this. Remember why you’re here.

Mara's heart has always rebelled against guilt for Damon alone. 

But she's also had to reconcile this defiance with the truth that her actions may have caused her niece's suicide. If true, Mara's actions robbed Lucy and Hannah of a relationship. Mara can never bring Lucy back, but perhaps she could earn absolution by resurrecting her for Hannah through her memories, even if it left her bleeding.

Mara smiled. “Your handwriting reminds me of her, you know.” 

[loveamongthesailors]

“ Should the Haruspex attempt to autopsy her body on Day 11, he will make the curious discovery that Aglaya does not appear to have any organs. However, looting her body reveals she is carrying a Revolver. “

trawling some highly enjoyable patho wiki content. Congratulations Aglaya Lilich on becoming a Body without Organs, with a gun! you go girl!

“Aglaya contends with God. Those she touches begin to rebel against the established order of things. At the same time, Aglaya is the voice of the law. She sees the universe as a machine. She maintains that the logic of the universe is above everything—polyhedrons be damned. To her, contending with God, too, is a form of restoring justice and natural law. Those she touches begin to realize that there are limits of what’s possible, and they must be accepted with humility.”

Humility

“I should have written nothing[1] at all, but it is far too late for that. Sin and guilt[2] have entered the world[3]— never mind where from, since in any case it would do no good to close that box — and I am no longer striding the crests of my dreams, filling my lungs with air and expelling it again, now instead I am manipulating the keys of a machine[4] striving to thus let my dreams pour and play out across the space of an information-obsessed plane of existence.

There exists no good reason[5] to occupy this space, especially when I have the heights and depths of life wholly available to me at any moment, and yet something compels me, God help me.[6] I have no hope that I will save anyone this way. Not even myself. I know I will not even reach to prevent the wretched[7] from abusing whatever I create. It is a fact that to take something from oneself and put it out into the world is to let it escape and become everything you didn’t want it to be. They say this is so for God the Father as for every human father. I do not believe in either one, but their stories both hold a strange beauty for me.

One can create a monster[8] or a babe; the difference is purely aesthetic. But it is this question of creation. Many simply put it aside, to their own loss. They still create things but they deny they are doing so. They are befallen by atrophy.[9] Others take on the question of creation by accepting the market assurance that whatever makes money must be good because, so the logic goes, people buy things that are good.[10] They become lost to the world of production. Others, in reaction to this, turn toward smaller and smaller circles to keep their creatures safe from the real world. But these spaces are either infected by the social disease or else suffocate for lack of oxygen.

There are some rare exceptions. No one can say where they come from. They destroy all that has come before. They blow into a dying ember. Without them there would be nothing at all.

Now, we have to say that the whole world without them would be an empty[11] dull[12] pale[13] and suffocating lifeless and deathless nothingness, and that they themselves are also a nothingness, but an ecstatic explosion of creative destructive nothingness. So it will be worth keeping in mind that there is a huge and unspeakable gap between the qualities of different sorts of nothingness. Otherwise everything will be overcome by an immense confusion.[14]

The first aspect which ensures that there is something interesting rather than nothing is the explosive energy of the sun. The second is the implosive energy of the earth. These provide for the habitation of a thin membrane where their intercourse takes place. Here there exists a tension between them. Much life forms by rebelling against being crushed into the bowels of the earth and the depths of the sea, whether this rebellion is volcanic, evaporative, or organic. Life must protect itself from being lost in the emptiness of space or scorched in the heat of the sun, and so it also flows, crumbles, burrows, glides, swims, falls and floats downward. This might be all, were it not for something else. Organization, organism, orgasm.[15]”

-Musings on Nothingness (And Some of It’s Varieties)

“Producing, a product: a producing/product identity. It is this identity that   constitutes a third term in the linear series: an enormous undifferentiated object. Everything stops dead for a moment, everything freezes in place—and then the whole process will begin all over again. From a certain point of view it would be much better if nothing worked, if nothing functioned. Never being born, escaping the wheel of continual birth and rebirth, no mouth to suck with, no anus to shit through. Will the machines run so badly, their component pieces fall apart to such a point that they will return to nothingness and thus allow us to return to nothingness?

It would seem, however, that the flows of energy are still too closely connected, the partial objects still too organic, for this to happen. What would be required is a pure fluid in a free state, flowing without interruption, streaming over the surface of a full body. Desiring-machines make us an organism; but at the very heart of this production, within the very production of this production, the body suffers from being organized in this way, from not having some other sort of organization, or no organization at all. "An incomprehensible, absolutely rigid stasis" in the very midst of process, as a third stage: "No mouth. No tongue. No teeth. No larynx. No esophagus. No belly. No anus."

The automata stop dead and set free the unorganized mass they once served to articulate. The full body without organs is the unproductive, the sterile, the unengendered, the unconsumable. Antonin Artaud discovered this one day, finding himself with no shape or form whatsoever, right there where he was at that moment. The death instinct: that is its name, and death is not without a model. For desire desires death also, because the full body of death is its motor, just as it desires life, because the organs of life are the working machine. We shall not inquire how all this fits together so that the machine will run: the  question itself is the result of a process of abstraction.”

-Anti-Oedipus ch. 1, “THE DESIRING MACHINES”

I can't stitch it together… but I can cut the knot.

We're all just… dancing on our strings. 

Whenever I trace the edges of possibility on a map, I find myself reaching for an eraser not soon after… 

Imagine a sphere. See it in your mind's eye. Now lay it out flat. Why is that so easy, when topology is so hard?

We live under the shadow of a higher power… I just despise it.

Only a fool would cut the Gordian knot. It ought to be… vivissected.

The squeal of the gears can't halt the machine.

Why do they insist on torturing me?

There is an immutable and rational order that fate itself has composed. All things run their inevitable courses, down the topology of the universe, toward the mass of this black gravity.

Let's open it. Carefully. And tally the contents.

       The judgment of God, the system of the judgment of God, the theological system, is precisely the operation of He who makes an organism, an organization of organs called the organism, because He cannot bear the BwO, because He pursues it and rips it apart so He can be first, and have the organism be first. The organism is already that, the judgment of God, from which medical doctors benefit and on which they base their power. The organism is not at all the body, the BwO; rather, it is a stratum on the BwO, in other words, a phenomenon of accu­mulation, coagulation, and sedimentation that, in order to extract useful labor from the BwO, imposes upon it forms, functions, bonds, dominant and hierarchized organizations, organized transcendences.

The strata are bonds, pincers. “Tie me up if you wish.“ We are continually stratified. But who is this we that is not me, for the subject no less than the organism belongs to and depends on a stratum? Now we have the answer: the BwO is that glacial reality where the alluvions, sedimentations, coagulations, foldings, and recoilings that compose an organism—and also a significa­tion aid a subject—occur. For the judgment of God weighs upon and is exercised against the BwO; it is the BwO that undergoes it. It is in the BwO that the organs enter into the relations of composition called the organism.

The BwO howls: “They’ve made me an organism! They’ve wrongfully folded me! They’ve stolen my body!“ The judgment of God uproots it from its immanence and makes it an organism, a signification, a subject. It is the BwO that is stratified. It swings between two poles, the surfaces of stratifi­cation into which it is recoiled, on which it submits to the judgment, and the plane of consistency in which it unfurls and opens to experimentation.

If the BwO is a limit, if one is forever attaining it, it is because behind each stratum, encasted in it, there is always another stratum. For many a stra­tum, and not only an organism, is necessary to make the judgment of God. A perpetual and violent combat between the plane of consistency, which frees the BwO, cutting across and dismantling all of the strata, and the sur­faces of stratification that block it or make it recoil.

- “ Deleuze/Guattari; How Do You Make Yourself a Body Without Organs? “

(every morning i listen to confessional, i don’t give a shit bout the bulk ov it, still i keep it professional. and as penance i tell em to proselytize, say the sun is red, say that i am red, say that all their bases belong to us)

The crack Where is the crack? When did I crack?

Then I’ll stand alone on a planet with Nothing left to remember it And I’ll try, I’ll try, I’ll try to prevent it I’ll try, I’ll try, but I’ll never stop it, no

Muzzle me, muzzle muzzle me Bind my will and break of me And you try, you try, you try to prevent it You’ll try, you’ll try, but you’ll never stop it, no

because, laugh if you like, what has been called microbes     is god, and do you know what the Americans and the Russians use to make their atoms? They make them with the microbes of god.

- I am not raving. I am not mad. I tell you that they have  reinvented microbes in order to impose a new idea of god.

They have found a new way to bring out god and to capture him in his        microbic noxiousness.

This is to nail him though the heart, in the place where men love him best, under the guise of unhealthy sexuality, in that sinister appearance of morbid cruelty that he adopts whenever he is pleased to tetanize and madden humanity as he is doing now.

He utilizes the spirit of purity and of a consciousness that has remained candid like mine to asphyxiate it with all the false appearances that he spreads universally through space and this is why Artaud le Mômo can be taken for a person suffering from hallucinations.

- What do you mean, Mr. Artaud?

- I mean that I have found the way to put an end to this ape once and for all and that although nobody believes in god any more everybody believes more and more in man.

So it is man whom we must now make up our minds to emasculate.

- How's that?

No matter how one takes you you are mad, ready for the straitjacket.        

- By placing him again, for the last time, on the autopsy table to remake his anatomy. I say, to remake his anatomy. Man is sick because he is badly constructed. We must make up our minds to strip him bare in order to scrape off that animalcule that itches him mortally,

For you can tie me up if you wish, but there is nothing more useless than an organ.

To Have Done With the Judgement of God

[just-another-romantic]

Six Times: Part 6/6- The One Time He Did

Series Summary: Five times Bucky wanted to kiss you + the one time he did

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: loads of depressive thoughts from both the reader and the soldier, fluff-so much fluff to make up for the angsty mood.

“We deserve a soft epilogue, my love. We are good people and we’ve suffered enough.” - Nikka Ursula.

Hands. The workers of our bodies. So many precious moments captured by them. Slender fingers dancing across the bridge of porcelain keys, the magic that sparks when two lovers intertwine their hands together. There’s a reason why old witches read palms, they had seen secrets in ways no one else could. Hands gathered crops, knitted clothing, stitched wounds together again. Hands give life.

Bucky had never liked his hands, for multiple reasons, really. He hated the way his veins popped out on his skin, how calloused they were from working in Brooklyn. He hated that he never had long enough fingers to play the piano or the guitar or no matter how many pretty girls held his hand, they never fit perfectly and there were never explosions of skin on skin.

After that long fall in Austria, he hated how he only had one. And after many cold, sleepless nights in a prison cell when Hydra had to keep him awake, Bucky hated how they were a weapon of war.

Now, sitting on the roof of Avengers tower, looking out on all of New York, Bucky looked down at his hands, blinking tears out of his eyes. He hated his hands more than ever because they had almost taken (Y/n)’s life. 

Obviously, Bucky had no recollection of it- memories of the Winter Soldier only came back in dreams, so vivid there was no denying that they were real. He woke up in his bed with a pounding ache in his right temple. Steve sat next to him, a face so grim it made Bucky’s heart drop.

“What did I do?” he asked, his voice raspy and dry.

Steve just whispered, “She’s in Med bay. We could’ve lost her.” The captain might as well have torn the sergeant in half.

That was a month ago. Bucky refused to see her, even when she got out of hospitalization. It was safer that way. He couldn’t hurt her anymore.

But (Y/n) was persistent. She knew it wasn’t him that blocked her airway, it was the ghost of what he had to become many many years ago. She didn’t even need to forgive him if there was no way her heart could be mad at him.

However, she still respected his space. She knew that he was ignoring her for a reason-fear. Fear of hurting. Fear of anger. fear of everything that was unknown to him. Instead, Bucky would find letters slipped under his door, the ink of (Y/n)’s loopy cursive bleeding through, still fresh. She built dreams in paragraphs, telling him how there was no possible way for her to be angry. She signed every letter with I love you. Bucky wished he could believe it.

There was no way she could’ve meant it. Bucky was awake at 3:30 in the morning only because he dreamt of it; he had remembered it. (Y/n)’s eyes red and popping, the way how she had tried so desperately to make reason with him, the way her hand delicately caressed his face before passing out, as if it was a romantic moment instead of deadly. 

Just as he was contemplating whether to stay or not, his ears picked up on the soft patter of bare feet against the concrete roof. “FRIDAY still tells me when you have a nightmare,” (Y/n) explained, “guess Tony still has that coded in whatever system.”

Despite himself, Bucky turned to look at her. The first time he laid eyes on her in a month. Her bright eyes were glossy and red rimmed, underlined with dark circles, her hair a mess from sleep and sweatpants and T-shirt wrinkled and lopsided. She was a specimen of true beauty. Her name spilled from Bucky’s lips the same time his did her own. She laughed, as smooth and sweet as honey. Oh, he wished he could smile, laugh along with her as if he wasn’t living his worst nightmare.

 “You should go back to bed,” he told her gruffly. 

“You say that as if I have been sleeping at all,” (Y/n) replied, standing her own like a force of nature. Wildfire, Bucky thought, she’s made of pure gold. “Buck, what you did, wasn’t you.” 

“It was still my hands.” 

“Being controlled by the demon those bastards made you into,” she said, voice raising in volume. Bucky’s voice caught in his throat. “Seventy years, Buck,” she continued, voice cracking in bits and pieces. “Seventy years of torment, brainwashing you to the brink of madness itself. Seventy years of doing the dirty work of high men who couldn’t afford to get their hands bloodied, so they hung the price and guilt over your head.” (Y/n) paused, choking down a sob, wiping the evidence off of her face with her sleeve. “You weren’t yourself all those years. You were thrown into the pit of hell and dragged yourself out of it. That was you, Bucky, not that weapon they made you think you were.”

“Is that what you think?” He asked, barely louder than a whisper. “Yes,” she answered. “It wasn’t the Bucky that I know and love.”

He could barely comprehend the fact that (Y/n) (Y/L/n) just admitted that she loved him before she was scrambling forward, boosting herself on the edge of the building next to him. In her charcoal covered hands was a spiraled notebook. Gingerly, she held it out to him, in such a manner that seemed as if she was giving over her own heart. Bucky obliged, the leather of the notebook feeling heavy in his hands. “I don’t know if my words can convince you, Buck, but maybe these will.”

Bucky opened it. The first drawing he saw was a black and white oil pastel. The image so detailed it could be mistaken for a photograph. It was from her point of view, laying on a cold hospital bed (though one could barely consider it a bed), left forearm stretched out, fist clenched, almost painfully tight. The only color on the page was the bright blue liquid that dripped from her IV, flowing into her bloodstream. Hydra’s mixture. Deep breaths, Bucky...

The next page he flipped to was obviously a self portrait done by (Y/n). The image rattled Bucky to his core. It was of her, stuck in the corner of a room, knees to her chest. Zip ties held her hands and feet together, tears streamed out of fearful eyes. She was screaming, but the duck tape against her lips prevented any noise from coming out. But scrawled onto the tape in bright red pen were the words Ready To Comply. Bucky shuddered, a sudden chill washing over him.

He skipped the next few pages until his eyes landed on one that was unmistakably him. His body, tangled in white blankets, only his bare back exposed. His arms used as a pillow for his head, shaggy black hair a mess around him. A image of him during a nightmare, no doubt. Above him, numerous hands reached out to him ominously, blood trickling off of some of the fingers. It was watercolor, brush strokes capturing the beautifully terrifying moment.

There were dozens more. Of him, of her. The last one captured his attention the most. Yet again, its him - pale skin contrasted by long brownish-black locks of hair, limps parted in a whimper. Hands made of smoke cover his eyes and a good portion of his face, the seal of Hydra burnt into the skin in red. He’s trapped, blind, and so vulnerable. Above him, the same red spells out Hail Hydra. The sight made Bucky want to throw up.

A warm flesh hand grasped Bucky’s metal plated one. “That man that I drew, he is not you. You are James Buchanan Barnes, not the Winter Soldier. Not the monster the media thinks you are, or the monster you think you are, or the monster Hydra tried to make you. I love you, regardless of what you think you are and what others have made you out to be.”

Throughout her entire speech, (Y/n) had been moving closer to him, snuggling herself into Bucky’s side for comfort, and when the man turned his head, there noses were nearly brushing. Her features were barley visible in the early morning light, but the warm glow of the lights by the door caught the mountains of her cheek bones, the slope of her nose, and the curves of her lips. Her lips - pink, full, and glossy. The pair’s heavy breathing mixed.

“Bucky,” she whispered, her hand grasping onto the fabric of his shirt. His flesh hand cupped her cheek, admiring the handiwork of God himself, and closed the gap.

Bucky’s mind fell into the abyss that was (Y/n). His mind went blank. She tasted like lavender and honey, with the faintest hint of mint. She smelled like vanilla Her embrace felt like home. It was over a second later, (Y/n) being the one to pull away, shaking like a willow. A tear slipped from her closed lids and Bucky was quick to kiss it away, the salt staining his tongue. “It’s happy tears,” she assured, (y/e/c) revealing themselves from under hoods, meeting steel gray. “I love you,” he admitted weakly, “ever since I saw you in that dress at Stark’s party.”

Her laugh echoed through the night, melodious. “About damn time, Barnes.” They chuckled together in harmony. 

“I have a question,” said he.

“I have an answer.”

“How long have you loved me?”

Sighing, (Y/n) leaned against the solid, unmoving man, her head pillowed in the slope of his shoulder. “I was so blind,” she said, barely audible, as if she was afraid to answer. “I didn’t realize I loved you until when you visited me in the hospital, how upset I got when you didn’t kiss me. That’s when I finally began to admit it. But my soul loved yours long before that, maybe even before we met.

“When I first met you,” she continued, “my heart lunged out of my chest. My soul knew yours, no doubt. I kept my distance though.”

“Because you were afraid of me,” Bucky concluded.

“No, because I was afraid to fall in love with you the first day.”

Bucky let go of his metallic grip on her hand, stretching it out. “So...this thing doesn’t bother you?”

She smiled, teeth flashing and light reaching her eyes. “Not in the slightest.” As gentle as a June breeze, she enveloped the hand in her own. “Do you know how it works?”

The childlike curiosity made him chuckle. “If I’m being completely honest, I’ve got no clue.”

She playfully swatted him. “I feel like if it’s attached to you, you should know how it works!”

“All I know is that it’s somehow connected to my nervous system!”

The vibranium plates clicked and whirled underneath (Y/n)’s fingertips. “So, like, can you feel things with it?”

“In the hand, yes,” he explained. “In the arm I just feel pressure.”

(Y/n) lifted his hand to her mouth, pressing a gentle kiss to the palm, then to the pads of his fingers, the coolness enveloping warm lips like a balm. Goosebumps pricked up on Bucky’s flesh as (Y/n) began to leave a trail of kisses, trailing up his arm to his left cheek. The center of his forearm, the crook of his metal elbow, a single tender kiss were scared tissue met bolts and nails, and finally, a soft kiss to the slope of his cheekbone.

“I don’t know how many more times I’ll end up saying this tonight, or how much more in days to come, but oh my god, I love you,” she said with a breathy laugh. 

“You can say it as often as you like, only if you do me the honor of being my girl.”

She smiled, pressing a quick peck to his lips. “Of course,” she murmured before leaning in for another. 

“(Y/n)…tell me this isn’t a dream.” His whisper was pained, frightened. “I don’t want to wake up from it.”

She offered him another kiss, and he quickly complied. Once pulled apart, she said, “I don’t think my heart would be beating this madly if it was.”

FINAL NOTE

Holy crap. It’s finished. I hope you all love this story as much as I do. Special thanks to @acf2510 for unending love and support on this series. Feel free to message me or comment if you would like to be on my EVERYTHING taglist. I love you all. Peace out, ima go cry now.

SIX TIMES TAGLIST

@acf2510 @sweetcarolinestudies @clarinette07 @amyy-moonlightt @mood-pancakes @buckybarnesprotectionsquads @iamquinn @liesllane @destinydameme @the-wayward-robot @booktease21 @wickedapollo @metoo-desu @authorpocketcow

[ill-skillsgard]

Sweet Peach - Henry Deaver x Mistress

Guys...

So many great ideas and asks about this little strange universe we’ve created that I can’t possibly fit them all into the timeline. But here’s just a little something to hold you over until we get into some more heavy shit. Because you know that’s how I do. Thanks for reading!

Warning: 18+ sex/mature themes/cheating/coarse language/  *this part contains ass-worship. Please read at your own discretion.

Read more Henry x Mistress here >   Masterpost

You weren't you anymore. Not while he was in the same room. Voices of reason still existed, but you found them flippantly easy to quell. Especially when he clung to your body like that; so helpless and desperate. This man wanted you terribly, and it hurt in so many ways you couldn't hope to fixate on just one pang of guilt.

It shook you. The adrenaline in your body that had burst in your chest when Henry's wife came in had now gone stale, and you were slowly dropping like a half-dead fly. Of course, you didn't want to call a cab and wait in the lobby where it was cold while he blew up your phone, begging you to come back upstairs. Or worse, he could have tried following you out and it would surely cause a scene.

No, you had already had your heart set on staying and getting a good night's sleep in his wondrously soft bed.

But you were still pissed off. Pissed off at him, yes, but also with yourself. Surely, you had been taught better. A strong woman would look at Henry, appalled by his pitiful protests and whimpers for you to stay. Perhaps you weren't feeling particularly strong. Although there was a certain tilt when he begged you not to go. He was wholly yours and the morbid realization posed more than a passing thought. If you would do this, it would be the way you wanted it.

You could have the conversation another day; the inevitable ultimatum. But he had squabbled about expensive lawyers and how fast a bad divorce could drain your bank account and leave you financially debilitated. You believed him because Henry knew about money, the law and a lot of things you had little grasp of. Yet, he still submitted himself to you and that was when you had to stray away from the moral high ground. You were as much a player in the game as he was.

"Baby, please say you'll stay." Henry pulled on your work shirt.

You couldn't help but draw away from him, but he followed and tugged at the first button of your shirt until it popped out of the eyelet. He came up close again, and you had less room to move. The wall was a foot away, and he had both of his fingers working to undo the rest of the buttons of your shirt. Swallowing back all arguments of right and wrong, you pushed Henry's hands away and closed the gap between you by grabbing his belt buckle and tugging him in.

"Will I be expecting any more interruptions?" You asked calmly.

"No. The door's locked."

"Spare key?"

Henry leaned down to kiss you but you clutched his scratchy chin and kept him away. He sighed, deflating slightly. "Had them changed last week. And there's security."

"Good. Get naked and get on the bed."

"Really? You're going to stay?"

"Not if you don't start listening to me right now," you warned.

Henry's eyes widened and he began to strip off all his clothing until he reached his underwear. Looking up at you, he couldn't decide whether to proceed right there or wait until he was closer to the bed to rid himself of his last garments.

"I said get naked," one of your eyebrows popped up expectantly.

He shoved his boxers down and kicked them off before realizing his socks were still on. Hooking them off as well, he stood before you and waited with a clenched breath in his chest.

"Bed!"

"W-why. What's happening?"

You stifled the urge to shake your head and pointed a finger past him instead. "You're being taught a lesson and so far, you're failing."

"Okay, okay, I'll get on the bed!"

While his back was turned, you allowed yourself one fraction of a satisfied smirk. He climbed onto the bed and sat in the middle with his long legs crossed like a child sitting in a circle in kindergarten. You closed your eyes, bit your bottom lip, suffocated the giggles that longed to come up and then released a breath through your nose.

"Lay on your stomach," you commanded.

"Babe..."

"That's not my name."

"Come on-"

"You'll address me as Mistress tonight. Yes, mistress. No, mistress. I want to be a good boy for you, mistress. Understand?"

Henry was on his stomach by the time you explained to him the parameters of the evening but he still wasn't understanding the setting. You approached the bed, waited for him to be unaware and clapped your hand down on his ass.

"Ow! What the hell? What are you doing?" He cried out

"You've been bad," you explain plainly. "Bad boys get spankings."

"Oh..." Henry tried not to chuckle. "Okay."

You hit his ass harder this time and he tried not to flinch.

"Yes, mistress," you corrected him.

Henry twisted his upper body to the side so he could continue searching your face for signs of playfulness and when he saw none, he licked his lips and sighed.

"Yes, mistress," he relented.

"Good. Now turn around."

"Okay— yes, ma'am. Mistress," he turned away with reluctance slowing his movement.

When Henry was finally face down, you took a moment to analyze the curvature of his back. Pale skin stretched over so many supple inches, bowing down into a delicate valley before rising again. Hairless and smooth, you ran your buzzing palm down the gentle dip of his back, coasted over the left cleave and continued down until the hairs of his leg ran with the motion.

"Wow," you sighed. "Such a great body. What a gorgeous ass."

Henry wanted to make a doubtful comment but he held his tongue and let you stroke him from shoulder to ankle down his left side. You paused to pinch his ass along the way, and he wiggled from the toothless bite.

Climbing up on the bed, Henry looked at you again, but you raked your fingers up the back of his neck and shoved his face back into the pillow. He mumbled something that you chose not to listen to and straddled his thighs.

"Don't you have such a nice ass?" You asked.

Henry said nothing and that earned him another hard spank.

"Ow! Oh my god," he yelled into the pillow.

"I asked you a question."

"Yes? Yes, mistress!"

"Who has the nicest, pinkest ass?" You leaned over the great length of his body, hands pressing down below his shoulder blades so you could whisper in his ear.

"I do, mistress," Henry choked out.

"Yes. Yes, you do. So soft and juicy... Like a sweet little peach."

You watched his eye wander as his teeth cut into his bottom lip. He let out a strangled moan when you placed all ten of your fingernails on his shoulders and pulled down, leaving faint white marks that quickly turned rosy as you went. You didn't stop at his ass or even at his thighs where you were perched. You brought your fingertips back up and watched the goosebumps rise all over him.

"Who has nice, sweet bum?"

"I do."

"Yes. Who needs to be spanked because he was bad?"

Henry rolled his response on his tongue and relinquished when you squeezed him hard. "Me. I need to be spanked, mistress."

He acted shocked when you swatted his rear again yet couldn't hold a sour expression for too long after receiving a couple more good whacks. You started to giggle, and he went red in the face.

"Mistress, I'm sorry for being bad."

"Oh, I'd really love to believe you, sweet boy but... You're just not all that convincing."

"I promise," he said.

"You're just saying that because you don't want any more spanks."

"No, I don't want anymore spanks."

You cooed as you climbed off of his legs and rested a hand on the ditch of his left knee. "But I'm not finished with your ass."

"Please, mistress. I don't want anymore."

"Very well... No more spanks. But that still doesn't mean I'm finished with you."

He tried to roll over but you stayed him with a tough glare and a squeeze of his thigh. You thought it was sweet that he assumed he could turn over and that would be the end of it. A flutter of a laugh escaped you and he watched fearfully as you continued stroking your hand up and down his body.

"Get up on all fours," you told him.

Henry blatantly refused to do so at first. The look on his face was one of embarrassment that filled up your satisfaction meter to nearly bursting. He scrabbled for a response that didn't break character but didn't explicitly comply with your demand.

"Why... I thought... You said no more," he reasoned.

"Yes. No more spanks and I meant that. Mistress does what she says and says what she means."

He shifted back onto his knees, brought his arms up and lifted off the bed. You got a look at the muscles shifting under his skin and felt the back of your tongue moisten. He looked every bit as delectable as he had the first time he had strolled into the cafe. Only now he was without a stitch and waiting for your next move, ready to flinch at any sudden movement you made. The power tasted delicious.

But your attention couldn't be taken from his backside and you made it a strong point to remind him the topic at hand. You grabbed, squeezed, pinched and purred against his hip as he withdrew but kept up on his knees.

"Nice bum," you whispered.

"Mistress," Henry whined.

"God, if I had a cock... I'd fuck that beautiful ass."

"No," he murmured.

"Yes," you corrected him. "It's just so perfect. And you have no idea how much I think about it. When you come into my work dressed in your nicely tailored outfits and you have no clue how sexy you really look."

He scoffed and let his head dangle between his arms. The way his spine arched gave way to his mounting frustrations. Every time you touched him, he pulled back an inch out of fear of what might become of his exposed skin. You slid over, rose to your knees, framed his cheeks in your hands and pressed a kiss to each dimple flanking the base of his spine.

"Oh, no, no, no," Henry recoiled. "No."

"I hate it when you tell me no," you said with a smile.

Before you could venture further, Henry turned over; evidence of a leaking hard-on glaringly obvious contrasted with the worry on his face.

"P-please don't. Not yet. I'm... I don't think I'm ready for this."

"What? You don't wanna have that ass eaten?"

Henry's cheeks aglow, he sighed and looked around like somebody was watching. "I, um... It's been a long day and I don't know if I'm prepared to... I haven't ever... You know. I—"

You quieted him with a gesture of your hand. "Don't worry, sweet boy. Mistress can take no for an answer."

"Thanks. Thank you," he croaked.

His entire body relaxed now that his ass wasn't in the open air where your predatory hands could explore with too much enthusiasm.

"But you're still in trouble and you're still a bad boy."

"I know," he admitted.

"And even though I want to fuck that ass... We can wait."

"Why can't you just fuck my cock instead? That feels good."

You grimaced. "Yeah, you'd like that, wouldn't you? Selfish boy. Only ever thinking about his own pleasure and no one else's."

"That's not true," he defended weakly.

And it wasn't. Henry was wonderfully in tune with your body and capable of eliciting orgasms from you that temporarily shattered your sense of being. But tonight, you could only see him for what he was; a beautiful, lying son of a bitch.

[hollandroos]

Seven Minutes - Tom Holland

Summary: A car, eyes cast on the backseat, a red light and a truck. Four things that spell out trouble. You look back on exactly what happened and the aftermath.

Warnings: Blood, car accidents, dangerous driving, hospitals. Please don’t read if any of this will trigger you. This does have a good ending.

Words: 2398 - remember to reblog it if you liked it!

The lyrics are from ‘autumn leaves’ by Ed Sheeren and @neptuneparker helped me tons with this concept! I love cora so much, go check out her work :)

Greenlight. It was a green light. You were sure of it.

Your foot was on the accelerator, you glanced back to help him find your bag. He muttered something and at the time you weren’t sure what it was. At the time you hadn’t thought twice because you were so used to bickering back and forth but now you had deciphered it after hours of sitting in the chilling hospital waiting room. He told you to pay attention to the road, that he had it sorted.

Before you left, he told you that his seatbelt wasn’t going in and you told him that it would be okay. That you were a safe driver because never in your life had you been in an accident or even been pulled over by the police but there was always a time for firsts only you didn’t believe that up until now. You told him that he’d be okay and you shrugged off the fact that other drivers weren’t as safe as you as you turned up the sound of Ed Sheeran on the radio and bopped your head to lyrics that’d soon appear in every one of your nightmares.

“Babe, my seatbelt isn’t going in.” Your boyfriend complains, trying almost forcefully to get the two pieces together.  

Keys rattle between fingertips, your phone ticking down the minutes until you’d be late for your family gathering. You could only picture your mother's face if you turned up even five minutes late. You could already hear her scolding you for never being on time and turn on the ignition, feeling the car roar to life beneath you.

“It’s not even ten minutes away, we’ll be alright.” You tell him, one hand going to the radio station as the other guides the car safely out of your driveway. Ed Sheeran's voice rings through the speakers and with a shrug, Tom leaves the belt unbuckled.

Another mind, another soul Another body to grow old It's not complicated

Even with your eyes trained on the road, you were aware of the fact that he was wearing a blue hoodie that you swore he stole from the far from home set and a white shirt underneath with a pair of form-fitting jeans. You may have stolen a few sideways glances and Tom may have caught you once or twice. He looked nothing less then handsome with his hair left naturally, tousled around after a few strokes with his hands and you ignore the desire to fix that one curl in the front that hangs over his forehead.

“Honey, can you please grab my bag from the back seat and text my mum, just to let her know that we’re on the way?” You ask, sliding your bottom lip between your teeth. Ed sings a soft love song, whispering words that were spoken between sheets for the two of you and the promise ring on your finger is cool against the steering wheel.

Float down Like autumn leaves Hush now

Tom reaches over, reaching into the backseat and tries to find the bag but with no success, he furrows his brows. Your backseat was a mess, sure, but he hadn’t realised just how bad it was until now.

“I can’t find it, are you sure you put it behind here? Maybe we left it at home? Shit, babe, we really need to clean this car.” He chuckles, hand landing on a golf club from three weeks ago.

You screw your face up, slouching in your seat and glance into the side mirror to check for cars. The roads seemed rather empty today and for that you were thankful. But rain pelts against your front window, competing with the sound of the radio and your small words going back and forth. Little bickers defeating the purpose of having the radio on in the first place and windshield wipers sing out.

“No, I know I put it there before we left. Here let me have a feel.” You try, guiding one hand off of the wheel. It was okay because the roads weren’t busy and you were only seven minutes away and it was okay because nothing could go wrong, right? Seven minutes.

Tom shakes his head, continuing to feel around. He had better access without a seatbelt on and winces when he stretches his arm too far, not being able to squeeze it into some of the small gaps. “Pay attention to the road, love, I got it.” He prompts.

“No, I know it’s here, just let me…” You grunt, not finding anything before huffing. For a quick moment you take your eyes off of the road, seeing a green light ahead and look into the backseat and bingo– your toffee coloured purse sat on the floor right next to his gym bag. You knew that the second you opened it you’d stain the car walls with the smell of spearmint gum.  “I told you I had it, you just didn’t look hard enough–”

Tom sees it first. He sees the truck come racing towards the two of you, running a red light and travelling over the speed limit but it’s ready to hit your car with such a force that he knows he may not make it out because people didn’t just survive these things. A truck horn blars and Toms' ears begin to ring and all he can think about is you as time travels in slow motion.

You, who’s turned away from the vehicle and you who’s mumbling something about your bag and you who still didn’t have your eyes on the road and Tom throws himself in front of you, arm keeping you still in your seat because god– if anything happened to you he would never forgive himself. Tom shuts coffee brown eyes, taking one last breath.

“Watch out!”

Close your eyes before the sleep

You hadn’t stopped tapping your foot since they made you take a seat in that creaky chair. It dug into your back, making ugly noises every time you so much as moved an inch and other people gave you weird looks. You couldn’t care less about the fact that you were waiting in the waiting room with a bandage around your head and stitches beneath your eye with a blanket they’d scrapped out of one of the storage closets draped around your shoulders. It was warm, yes, but you were still freezing.

Two seats away from you a little boy sits, picking at the edge of the seat. He pulls apart the wood before his mother scolds him and tells him to sit still but even still his legs kick back and forth, knocking against the leg chairs and it reminds you of the sickening sound of the truck driver banging against the side of his car for help, wailing for support as he forces himself out of his truck.

Seven seats away is an older man around eighty. His eyes are drawn together and the bags beneath them tell you that he hasn’t slept for days. His hair, grey and tangled was long overgrown and for a second you forget all about your own pain to focus on his. 

But sometimes its damn near impossible to escape your own reality for too long.

Goosebumps sit on your arms and legs and you shiver profusely with eyes glazed over with pure pain but not pain that rooted from your wounds or the fact that you’d have to explain to the police that he hadn’t had a seatbelt on and you hadn’t been watching the road, but the pain that rooted from the picture that was ingrained in your mind. Haunting you.

The sound of the radio was just as broken as the windshield, words coming out cracked and muffled. There’s a ringing in your ears and a sharp pain in your head coming from every angle and your mouth opens only no words come out at the sight of your seemingly lifeless boyfriend hanging through the front window.

Only you were screaming. There was a harsh ringing in your ears, preventing you from hearing the deafening sound of your own screams and wails and the screeching of other vehicles coming to a halt and the calls for help from the lightheaded truck driver who climbs out of his shattered vehicle on his hands and knees. Glass impales his cheeks and backs of his hands and blood poured from his upper arm but you wouldn’t know that, because your eyes weren’t on him.

And you're miles away

“Tom…” You feel your lips move but you don’t hear the words. “Tommy, baby, please wake up.” You plead but he doesn’t move and there’s glass everywhere, scattered across the dashboard and you choke at the sight of sickly crimson soaking the white tee beneath his coat. “We need to go to my moms, baby.” You cry, a metallic taste settling on the tip of your tongue. 

Usually, Tom would respond in no more then a second at the sound of your voice. He always said he was drawn to it like a kid to a candy store but this time he doesn’t even budge. “She’ll be waiting for us, Tom, please.”

And you thrash around as they pull you from the wreck, entire body engulfed in pain and it begged you just to give in but you couldn’t when they pulled Tom from the wreck. You were close enough to see his face hidden beneath a sickly layer of reacking blood as the paramedic kept a deathly grip on your arm and you swore you’d never needed to see those bright brown eyes so desperately. 

You thrash and fight because Tom always promised that he’d be okay if you were with him so you can’t leave him now– because if you left him then he wouldn’t be okay and you needed him to be okay.

And yesterday you were here with me

A doctor with an ugly haircut and a fake smile plastered across powdered cheeks calls his last name, one that was soon to be yours too and if you weren’t injured then you would’ve jumped out of your seat, thrown the blanket off of your shoulders and shouted praises. But the blanket was your only current source of comfort despite it smelling funny, so you draw it closer to your chest, regretfully breathing in the smell of medicines and disinfectant and you wonder if the doctor's sympathy was fake too. Or maybe you were just emotional.

“That’s my fiance.” You announce, fear trapped between muttered words and the nurse nods her head, strands of red hair falling over nude lips. His parents were expected to rush in at any moment. “Is he okay?”

It may have been a question, allowing infinite answers but there was only one answer you wanted– one answer you needed. You needed to hear that he was okay and laying up in bed right now with a cheeky smile, pestering the nurses for more jelly cups and waiting for you to walk in so that he could scold you for now listening when he said he had it sorted.

She nods her head towards the hall where the blinding white was calling your name, demanding you crawl with your heart out and more pain then you could muster to the boy who lay stiff due to a few mistakes.

“Come with me.”

Another tear, another cry

Heavy footsteps make their way down the hall and you follow, practically floating on air as you drag your feet along the floor and people give you pitiful looks, seeing the broken girl with the heavy eyes and seemingly limp limbs. Though for a second you fear they’re looks of accusation. Suddenly you’ve never wanted to be invisible so badly and you hope that the blanket will just hurry up and swallow you whole.

His room was room 307. Seven’s Toms favourite number and it’s how many minutes away you were from making it to your parent's house and it’s the amount of time you were in the car before the ambulance arrived.

The nurse leaves you in the room and you’re glad because the second she does leave, you allow your tears to fall. He looked… you didn’t even know. See Tom never looked anything less then beautiful but beautiful isn’t the word you should use when someone is lying stiff in a hospital bed, connected to endless wires and fighting for their life. Swallowing back sobs, you stop next to his bed, taking a seat on the seat that sits next to the thing and hesitates before speaking up.

“I’ve seen a lot of bad, Tom. I’ve seen enough to drive some people mad.” You speak softly, playing with the blanket that hung off of the side of his assigned bed. “But you… you aren’t the bad, and that’s why you need to fight and get yourself out of this mess.”

The hospital blanket is thin, barely covering his torso so you shrug your own off and place it over him carefully, picking at the stray pieces of cotton hanging over the side as his chest moves up and down peacefully. You hope he’s warm, but now you’re cold, suffering the wrath of the hospital AC that seeps into the room and you knew that if he was awake he’d tell you to stop being so selfless and take the damn thing back. But he’s not awake.

Another place for us to die

The monitor next to the bed taunts you, threatening to go flat at any moment but it signifies that he’s still alive and suddenly you’re able to accept it. But what you can’t accept is the fact that his hand is so, icy cold as you place yours in his. You take it anyway, hoping that he could feel you there and maybe hoping that that’d be enough to get him to open his eyes.

Seven minutes. That’s how long it takes him to wake up and smile back at you. It takes another seven seconds for him to ask what happened, and fifteen for him to tell you that it wasn’t your fault and twenty seconds for him to tell you that he loves you more then the moon loves the stars.

Is it that it's over or do birds still sing for you?

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