#I wonder how many times I have smiled when I wanted to sink my teeth into a forearm

[chocolilies]

( ୨ৎ. husband!nanami kento x wife!reader. . .ᐟ

◟ꪆ୧ nsfw (afab!reader, fingering, teaching a lesson through sex, ditzy reader) - also on ao3!

nanami kento, who wears his wedding ring everywhere.

he never takes it off, he doesn't dare to. why would he? 

it symbolises the promise you two made to each other, the love you have and continue to share— of course he wants to show it off to the whole world.

you’ll never find him without it, golden band always snug around his ring finger when he showers, when he cooks, when he cleans, when he works...

which is why he's so disappointed to find yours teetering on the edge of the bathroom sink.

steam sticks to the mirror, blurrily framing the disappointment on his face as he picks up your ring, turning his head to look at you, watching you ransack your shared wardrobe for clothes to wear tonight.

"darling, are you forgetting something?"

he watches you snap your head around, drops of water still dripping from your recently showered body, mouth forming an 'o' out of shock as you realise what he's holding.

"oh!" you rush towards him, outstretching your left hand once you reach him so he can slip the ring back onto where it belongs, smiling bashfully up at him. "sorry, it must've slipped my mind."

you don't miss the frown that deepens on kento’s face at your careless gesture, placing your hands on his cheeks and pulling him down for a sweet kiss, your way of apologising for the mistake. "don't be upset, ken. it won't happen again."

oh but it does, and even though kento knows deep down that these are simple mistakes, he can't stop the pit that forms in his stomach whenever he finds your ring abandoned at your work desk, or the kitchen counter, or even slipped forgetfully into your bag.

he tries his best not to let it irk him, instead resorting to reminding you each time he finds your ring somewhere other than on your finger, making sure to slip it back where it's meant to be with as much love and care as the day you first exchanged rings and vows.

his resolve crumbles the moment gojo opens up his stupid mouth.

“woah, trouble in paradise?”

kento’s shoulders stiffen at the light-hearted way your coworker comments on your lack of ring, standing at your doorway holding lunch for the both of you as he watches you laugh it off with a wave of your ring-less hand, explaining your forgetfulness and immediately starting to look for the tiny trinket.

“darling,” kento speaks slowly from the other side of the room, announcing his arrival at the same time he flashes you with the item you were looking for. 

you don't seem to notice his clenched teeth and narrowed gaze as you happily walk over to him, allowing him to slip your ring back on before placing a kiss to his cheek in thanks, the maximum amount of affection you dare to show in your workplace. 

it hadn't dawned on him until then that he wasn't the only one that would notice your missing ring, wondering nervously as he finished up that day’s work just how many of your friends had noticed, whether the girls you normally went out and drank with assumed that he was a terrible husband, that there was indeed some trouble in paradise, that you were stuck in a loveless marriage instead of the obvious: that you were just forgetful.

he tries not to show his upset later that night when he finally arrives home, but as the dutiful and perfect wife you are, you notice immediately. you ask him what's wrong, offer to cook him his favourite dish, hold him in bed like you usually do whenever he feels down, tell him you’re there for whatever he might need and want…

“but… what I need… is to remind you how important this is to me,”

you watch as he catches your left hand in his, bringing it up to his face and pressing a chaste kiss to the warm metal, amber eyes staring deep into yours during his action. 

you smile, moving said hand to cup the side of his face, running your thumb over his sharp cheekbones. “I know how important it is, ken…”

despite your sweet coo and love-filled gaze, kento knows, deep down, that you need a reminder. 

“of course you do, angel,” he sighs, leaning closer into your space as his eyes trace your unforgettable features, drinking in your lovestruck expression. “but I feel that lately, it’s been slipping your mind. don’t you think that, as your husband, it’s my duty to make sure you never forget?”

your husband's ring feels cold against your flushed skin, a sharp contrast to the warmth his fingers are radiating as they slip through your sopping folds, collecting your dripping essence like a prize as his chapped lips press sloppy kisses all over your neck.

you can't stop the noises that leave you at the teasing, fleeting touches, eyelids drooping closed in pleasure as his other hand plays around with your chest, nimble fingers grabbing and tugging at your nipples in tandem with his other hand’s movements, sending rushes of overstimulating pleasure throughout your tired body. 

you're unaware of how many times he’s made you cum so far, the towel he’d oh so graciously placed beneath you thoroughly soaked thanks to his continuing ministrations, yet all you can focus on is the strange but welcome feeling of his ring pressing against your most intimate parts, bumping against your clit with every movement from his nimble hand and sending jolts of pleasure through your spent self, though you assume that this was your husband’s desired effect all along. 

“you’re doing so, so good, angel,” his voice rasped against your ear, harmonising with the squishing sounds your poor cunt was making, every touch to your clit making your body lurch and quiver, the feeling overwhelming. “c’mon, one more, alright? or have you already learned your lesson?”

lesson? you think as you feel his ring finger slip into you along with his middle and index, cunt loose enough to accommodate all three and hopefully his cock after this “lesson”. 

“w- won't take it off again, ken, pr-promise,” you gasp out, arching your back against his chest and pressing your rump against his very hard erection, which he'd been neglecting in order to get you to this point. 

you feel his fingers curl, hitting your g-spot perfectly like they had times before, but he didn't relent like you'd expected him to. 

“k-ken?”

“that's not all.” 

you whine out in confusion, hips moving along with his fingers despite the need to give your body a break, chasing the high that your mind oh so wanted but body couldn't exactly reach. 

“b-but-”

“it's not just about wearing the ring, darling,” kento started to explain, showing off his amazing dexterity by continuing to play with your tits with one hand while still fingering your pussy with his left, pressing a sweet kiss against your tear stained cheek. “no, if it was about that, this would've been over way more quickly.” 

you can feel a different sort of pressure start to build up in the lower parts of your tummy as he paused, legs shaking from the disturbance and in warning of what was to come if kento keeps doing his thing, though by the looks of it, he was nowhere close to stopping. 

he stays silent, allowing you to realise that he was really waiting for you to answer, as if you were both immersed in a casual conversation and he hadn't just melted your brain with just his fingers, and you force yourself to speak despite the mind numbing pleasure. 

“wh- oh god! what's it a-about, ken…?” you mewl, hips raising each time he pumps his fingers inside, almost like you were trying to ride him since his cock was still tucked away inside his slacks, his palm rutting deliciously against your clit with every movement. 

you hear him stifle a groan as your hips start to move, torturing himself as well as you by not bothering to help himself, too focused on your pleasure to act on his own, pressing his lips to the spot under your ear in an attempt to muffle the whimpers that were threatening to escape him. 

“k-ken?” you half-questione, half-moan, letting your head fall back onto his shoulder and focusing your blurry gaze on your husband's flushed face, drinking in the gorgeous expression he was sporting. 

“darling,” he lets out breathlessly, brown eyes darting down to meet your own, hands still not relenting in their attack despite his pause in speech, trying to compose himself before speaking once more. “it's- fuck, I… I want you to remember why you wear it, honey. who put it on your finger, who you belong to...”

he shudderd as one of your moans rings out throughout the dark room, not helping him in the slightest as he tries his best to fight against the urge to flip you over and fuck you like the both of you deserved. 

“who I belong to,” the strokes of his fingers grow deeper and more attentive, attacking your g-spot relentlessly as you writhe in his arms, his loving yet possessive words sending tremors throughout your body. 

“oh, kento…”

he exhales shakily at the moan of his name, letting his head fall forwards to rest on your shoulder in an attempt to ground himself, sinking his teeth into your shoulder with a shudder. 

“you're not going to- fuck, let this go, a-are you?” you manage to whisper out cheekily, hips and body still moving subconsciously on his fingers. 

“not a chance, my love,” 

kento moves slightly, adjusting your body so you're pressed even more impossibly closer to him, ass still perched against his hardened cock, member twitching and spitting out pre against his dampening slacks with each movement from your almost drunk body, high of pleasure and doing whatever it can to reach that high kento had seemed to have promised before. 

“I'll make sure you never want to take this off again—” he starts, and you gasp out in horror as his fingers slide out of you, lifting his soaked hand up to your chest, giving you a few seconds to panic before quickly replacing it with his other hand, nipples softening at the sudden lack of stimulation. 

to accentuate his point, his left hand, the one where he proudly displays his ring, the one that's covered in your juices and almost pruny due to the amount of time spent playing with your wetness, finds your own, carefully intertwining your fingers together and showing off both of your rings. 

“—not because you're afraid of forgetting, no…” 

you shudder as his other hand resumes the work his other had been doing, immediately feeling that intense need of release come back, biting your lip to muffle your sounds in order to listen to your husband better, not wanting to interrupt him, especially when he was like this— disheveled, flushed, with tiny whines escaping his chapped lips with every press of your ass against his crotch. 

“but, because every time you look at it—”

you can feel it building up, your release at the tip of your fingers, but not exactly like all the other times before, so you know what's coming. 

it's not the first time kento's gotten you to this point. he's exceptionally proud of it, obviously. no one before him had ever gotten you to squirt before, and evidenced by the rings that were currently getting dirty in your juices, no one but him ever would. 

his fingers quicken their pace inside you, attacking your g-spot with force before suddenly moving up to give your clit the same treatment, pinching and rubbing the tiny bundle of nerves in an expert manner, knowing exactly what to do to get you to that oh so delicious release. 

you raise your hips in preparation for it, pressure building up in your most intimate parts as you moan and cry out your husband's name, his mind crumbling with every sound you make, trying to stay on track. 

his mouth opens in awe as you grab onto his hand tighter, vision going white as you finally reach your climax, voice getting caught in his throat at the beautiful sigh of you coming undone on his fingers, love-filled eyes drinking in every single inch of your trembling bare body, release-soaked fingers still rubbing at your cunt rapidly.

he chuckles as you try to move away from his touch once it becomes too much, apologising silently for the overstimulation with a kiss to your sweaty temple, before finally finishing his speech. 

“—you’ll think of this.”

[anghimalaaynasapuso]

DISCORD BOYFRIEND KÖNIG

sfw + nsfw. this is just an amalgamation of all my ideas

könig has never been one for putting his face on social media. even before the scars that pull at the skin of his cheek, reshaping his expression in ways he’s never fully grown used to, the idea of being seen, really seen, has never sat right with him. there’s a certain comfort in anonymity, in keeping the world at arm’s length. easier that way. safer.

that unease, paired with what some might consider his more nerdy interests, means he gravitates toward spaces like discord rather than the highly curated feeds of instagram or facebook. there, he doesn’t have to worry about photos or videos— just a username, and a presence in text.

his handle is simple: king 👑. a nod to the name he’s carried for so long, stripped of rank, stripped of weight.

even in the server where he’s most active, he keeps things vague, blending into discussions about games, military history, or whatever niche interest has caught his attention that week.

every now and then, he’ll let something slip— a mention of deployment, an offhand comment, disappearing for months at a time, only to return with a sudden burst of activity. some put the pieces together. most don’t. and könig prefers it that way. it’s easier to let them think he’s just another guy with spotty internet.

your first interaction is rather simple in retrospect.

he’s back after weeks of recon, shaking off the mission like dirt from his boots, easing into the familiarity of a gaming server he’s called home for years.

it’s not a small server, so new people come and go. he does his usual routine— an automated, slightly impersonal welcome but what he doesn’t expect is the sheer enthusiasm in return.

“hi!!!!”

he stares at the message for a second, counting the exclamation marks. three. four. five? a small smile tugs at his lips before he even realizes it.

it doesn’t take long before you’re at his metaphorical side, sending a friend request before the conversation even shifts from your college courses.

the older members tease him. something about his last deployment scrambling his head enough to take a newbie under his wing. he lets them talk. he doesn’t mind.

soon enough, you’re in his private messages, dramatically lamenting your latest loss in a game he’s only vaguely familiar with. könig listens— well, reads— as you rant, words spilling out at a rapid-fire pace, interspersed with keyboard smashing and increasingly incoherent frustration.

he’s not much for new releases, preferring to sink his teeth into a single game for months on end, grinding away until mastery is muscle memory. still-

one evening, without preamble, he sends you a link. his profile. in your game.

the response is immediate. ‘king!!! 🥺’ you type, followed by an onslaught of keyboard mashing that takes up half his screen.

he exhales a short laugh, shaking his head. he wonders if you know how easy it is to make him grin like an idiot.

the calls are… an unexpected development.

könig doesn’t make a habit to join server calls. ever. it’s not even about anxiety, not really, just preference. too many voices, too much noise. he never expected to be comfortable enough with anyone to want to be in a call, let alone initiate one.

but when you start gaming together, it becomes a necessity. typing mid-match isn’t exactly efficient, and you’re the first to point that out.

“okay, listen, king, i am not about to lose another ranked match just because you take five years to type ‘behind you.’” he huffs, amused, but relents.

soon enough, calls become second nature— no longer tied to gaming, no longer requiring an excuse. you always ask first, polite thing that you are, and könig always agrees. sometimes it’s an unspoken invitation, a simple “call?” sent in the quiet hours of the night. sometimes he beats you to it, pressing the button before he can think too hard about it.

one time, it’s you who calls. he answers on the first ring.

“are you- wait.” you pause, listening. there’s a distinct, rhythmic thud-thud-thud in the background. not footsteps, but something heavier, more controlled. “are you on a treadmill?”

“mm.” his voice is steady, unaffected. a quiet confirmation.

you gasp, and he can practically hear the amusement brewing in your tone. “oh my god! you actually work out? i thought you were lying.”

he snorts, breath hitching slightly as he adjusts his pace. “why would i lie about that?”

“i don’t know! you just- i mean, you sit at your desk all day, playing the same game for hours, and you’re always online at weird times-”

“you are describing yourself,” he points out.

“shut up.”

there’s a pause, and then, with the kind of mischief that only comes from knowing exactly how to push his buttons, you add, “prove it.”

he slows to a walk, swiping open his phone. a moment later, you receive a picture. him, flexing. the lighting is dim, but you can still make out the cut of his forearm, the solid shape of his bicep. just to humor you, he throws up a peace sign.

“not stolen from pinterest.”

you burst into laughter so sudden and bright that he finds himself smiling before he can stop it.

you learn what it means to miss könig pretty early on.

it happens suddenly. one day, he’s there, active as usual, sending the occasional meme, idling in voice chat even if he’s not talking. the next? radio silence. not even a ‘typing…’ indicator.

at first, you don’t think much of it. maybe he’s sleeping in. maybe he’s busy. time zones are weird. it’s fine.

but then a whole day passes. then another. you check his status— nothing. not offline, not do not disturb, just… gone.

curiosity turns into concern, and before you can think better of it, you ask in the server.

“hey, anyone heard from king?”

the response is casual. unbothered. “oh, dude’s probably deployed again.”

you blink. reread the message. “deployed?”

“yeah, king’s military.”

there’s no warning for the way that statement knocks the air from your lungs.

military? as in, real-life combat? as in, war zones and danger and actual life-or-death situations?

you stare at the screen, fingers hovering over the keyboard, unsure what to even say to that.

he doesn’t resurface for weeks.

you don’t realize how much you’ve come to rely on his presence until it’s gone. his absence is loud in the quiet moments of your day, in the spaces where a message from him would normally be.

you check the server out of habit, catching yourself before you can search his username. it’s stupid, you think. you barely know him. he’s just some guy from a discord server.

but the worry lingers.

and then, one day, just like that— he’s back.

his return is as unceremonious as his disappearance.

no dramatic entrance, no fanfare. just a simple “hello.”

you see it the moment he sends it. your stomach flips.

before you can stop yourself, you send a private message. “you’re alive.”

a moment passes. then— “yes.”

you frown. “you were gone for weeks.”

“i know.”

frustration bubbles up. “you could’ve said something.”

“i couldn’t.”

you hesitate, fingers tightening around your phone. you don’t know what you were expecting. an explanation? reassurance? but it’s clear you’re not getting one.

but then, a follow-up message. one that feels heavier, more careful. “i’m sorry.”

and just like that, the irritation dissolves.

it’s strange, the way things slip back into place after that.

he doesn’t talk about it, and you don’t ask. but something shifts. after that deployment, könig starts telling you when he’ll be gone. nothing in detail, really. just a simple, “i’ll be away for a bit.”

(it means everything.)

slowly, you get used to it. the rhythm of his presence and absence, the way your conversations pick up right where they left off, as if no time has passed at all.

it goes on for months. this… thing between the two of you. könig doesn’t hesitate to call it friendship, though he knows, knows, it’s something else entirely.

something with edges softer than companionship, something that lingers in the pauses between conversation, in the way you had whispered his real name under your breath when he revealed it to you.

he doesn’t rush to name it. doesn’t push. he lets it simmer until it feels inevitable.

in the end, it’s you who breaks first. technically. not that he’s keeping score. not that he would ever rub it in your face, especially when he was a mere day away from asking the very same thing.

it starts with a message. no preamble, no buildup. just a simple: hey, what are we?

könig sees it and reacts before thinking. presses the call button so fast his thumb practically smashes the screen. it rings once, twice—

“you didn’t even ask.” your voice comes through, half exasperated, half amused.

“didn’t want to give you time to unsend.” his own voice is steady, but his heart is anything but.

you huff. “bold assumption.”

“not really.”

a pause. he hears you shift, fabric rustling, the sound of you settling in. something warm and slow uncoils in his chest at the familiarity of it.

“so,” you start, hesitant. “what’s your answer?”

könig exhales, tipping his head back against his pillow. “do you want the truth?”

“obviously.”

he hums, considering. in reality, he’s known the truth for a while now. probably before you even realized it yourself.

“i like you,” he says, simple, sure. then, because he knows you, because he knows your deflections, your habit of teasing when you get nervous, he adds, “and i’m very aware you like me back.”

you sputter. “that’s a bold assumption-”

“not really,” he repeats, smug this time.

you groan, but you’re laughing, and it sends something bright flickering through him.

könig doesn’t ask for nudes. not once. he flirts, he teases, but never pushes. he knows your boundaries, respects them, never even hints at wanting more. if anything, he’s careful. too careful, sometimes. like he’s afraid of crossing a line you haven’t even drawn.

so when you finally send something, it’s your choice.

the first picture is tame. barely anything. it's a shot of your thighs, soft and warm in the low light of your room. nothing scandalous. nothing too revealing. but the second you hit send, your stomach twists with nerves.

könig sees it immediately. you watch the typing bubble appear, disappear, then appear again. and then— “fuck.”

you grin. “good?”

“you have no idea.”

it only escalates from there.

könig never requests more. but when you send it, when you want to send it, his reaction is worth it. he worships you through the screen, tells you how beautiful you are, how much he wishes he could touch you.

“pretty,” he texts once, attached to a voice message.

you press play. his breath is ragged, like he’s just run a mile. “pretty thing,” he repeats, voice tinged with something almost reverent. “you’re going to ruin me, love.”

the first time he sends you something, it takes him forever to work up to it.

you don’t ask for it. wouldn’t dream of pushing him into something he’s not comfortable with. könig isn’t shy, necessarily, but he’s private. you know that by now.

so when, out of nowhere, a picture pops up on your screen, your brain short-circuits.

it’s cropped carefully, but there’s no mistaking what you’re looking at— bare skin, broad shoulders, his stomach flexed just slightly.

“you like?” he texts after a minute.

you swallow hard. “yes.”

“good.” and then— “more?”

you bite your lip. “please.”

könig gets bolder after that.

he sends more. never too much, always teasing, always just enough to leave you wanting. sometimes it’s his hands, sometimes it’s his abs, the sharp cut of his hip bones, the waistband of his sweatpants hanging just low enough to make your mouth water.

one night, he sends a voice message instead. you press play.

at first, all you hear is his breathing. then, slowly, softly— your name, whispered through a noise that makes heat bloom low in your stomach.

“wish you were here,” he murmurs. “wish you could see what you do to me.”

the actual nudes don’t take long. not ar all. you’re both desperate. buzzing. könig’s the one who caves first.

it starts with your text. 10 p.m., the hour where inhibitions slip through grasping fingers like sand.

“wanna see your cock so bad, könig…” you murmur to your propped phone, cheek pressed to your pillow, another one stuffed against your chest like it might replace the hollow ache between your ribs. a distraction. a poor substitute.

on the other side of the screen, he exhales, dragging a hand down his face. fingers tensing, then flexing, like he needs something to hold onto. “love-” your whine cuts through before he can even think. instinctive. needy. his stomach clenches. “okay, okay. as long as you're sure.”

his heart pounds as he opens his photos. he doesn’t exactly collect dick pics, but there are a few kept locked away, private albums, a passcode he suddenly fumbles to enter.

three minutes. that’s how long it takes to choose the best one. the right angle. the right lighting. enough to make your breath hitch when you see it.

he hits send before he can overthink it, then leans back, phone balanced on his thigh, bottom lip caught between his teeth.

your phone buzzes. the photo pops up. you blink, breath hitching sharp in your throat.

“oh my god.” the words spill out of you before you can even think to stop them. “könig…” you stare at the screen, gaze locked on the thick, heavy length of him. the way it curves slightly, resting against his thigh like it’s weighed down by its own sheer mass. your breath stutters.

“you're so fucking big.” it barely registers that you've said it aloud.

“yeah? you like it?

“like it?” you shoot back. “i want it inside me.”

his breath leaves him in one harsh exhale. he shifts, hips rolling involuntarily like he can feel your words on his skin.

“can i see you too?” he sounds so polite. and then, as if that wasn’t enough to twist the knife deeper— “please?”

your stomach flips. you bite your lip, already reaching for your phone camera, the need to show him everything burning through you like wildfire.

your breath comes shallow as you slip your hand lower, phone steady in the other. the need is a pulse under your skin, throbbing, insistent. you pull the covers back just enough, the cool air prickling against the heat between your thighs.

the camera catches everything. your slightly parted thighs, your swollen clit, the wetness gushing out of your hole. it feels like baring a secret you’ve never told anyone. you hesitate for half a second, heart racing, then hit send.

the second the message disappears from your screen, it hits you— you just sent that to him.

on his end, könig freezes. the photo loads slow, torturous, and when it finally pops up, he feels his whole body tense, blood rushing south so fast it’s dizzying. “f-fuck, i need to be inside of you-”

sex with könig, if you can even call it that, at first, sneaks up on you. you never thought you’d be the kind of person who got into this. sending texts that made your face burn, leaving voice messages you could barely listen back to without cringing. but with him, it’s different. easier. less embarrassing because it’s him.

still, going from nudes to actual phone sex takes some time.

“gonna sleep,” könig texts you once, attached to a blurry photo of his bed.

“alone?” you send back, teasing.

the typing bubble appears. then disappears. then— “obviously.”

you grin at your phone, satisfied. but then— “but i could use some company.”

you stare at the message longer than you’d like to admit.

didn't tell him that you had woken up panting, arousal between your thighs, könig’s name on your lips too many times. didn't tell him that you had pressed your hand against your clit during your calls, to the sound of his voice, to his laugh, to the quiet, wrecked groans he sometimes lets out when he stretches after a workout.

in the past, you hadn't told him how many times you’d dreamt of him because you thought you'd scare him off, kept your mouth shut about the images that haunted you at night, of his hands pinning you down, his mouth at your throat.

but you wanted to.

and tonight, you would.

the conversation turns slow. lazy. heavy with something unspoken.

“you sound tired,” könig murmurs, voice warm. he’s always like this late at night. soft, unhurried, like he’s sinking into the sound of you.

you swallow hard. your skin feels too hot, too tight. “i’m not.”

a pause. then, lower— “what is it, love?”

you hesitate, pressing your lips together. it’s too much. too embarrassing. but he knows something is different.

“talk to me. tell me what you’re thinking.”

you let out a shaky breath. “i had a dream about you.”

the silence stretches.

you can hear him inhale. you bite your lip. force yourself to continue. “i think about you. when i-” you stop. you can’t say it. can’t admit it.

könig exhales through his nose, like he’s trying to steady himself. “when you what?”

your stomach is a knot of nerves. but you want this. want him. so you take a breath, close your eyes. “when i touch myself.”

his breath stutters.

“fuck.” the word is almost a groan. your pulse hammers, blood rushing through your ear as heat pools in your stomach.

“könig,” you whisper.

he exhales, whispers his next words like a beg, “say it again.”

you swallow. “i touch myself to you.”

“i do too.”

your stomach flips. “what?”

“i-” he cuts himself off with a quiet curse, like he's frustrated with himself for hesitating. “i touch myself to you too.”

your breath catches. heat blooms in your chest, spreading down your spine. “könig-”

“all the time.” his voice is lower now, raw, like he's aching with it. “when i can't sleep. when you're on call with me, laughing, teasing me. when i wake up hard in the middle of the night and can’t stop thinking about stuffing you full.”

your body is burning again, despite the aftershocks still rolling through you. you're about to choke out a reply when you hear it— the rustle of fabric, the faint creak of bedsprings, the wet slide of skin on skin.

“are you-”

a sharp inhale. “yes.”

“let me hear you,” you whisper, thinking about his pretty, pretty cock. uncut, soft skin stretched over the flushed head, the way it would slide back when he’s fully hard, revealing the deep pink of his leaking tip. the veins that wind down the length, standing out against the pale skin

there's a pause, a hitch in his breath. then, slowly— “okay.”

there's a small rustle, könig adjusting himself on the bed. the faint sound of him pumping lotion on his hand. a quiet sigh. and then, a low grunt as the warmth of his palm wraps around his cock.

könig looks down at his hand, eyes half-lidded, hips bucking up in small thrusts. he imagines your pussy instead of his fist, hot and tight and so fucking warm, fluttering around his length as he pushes in, spearing you open with a cock too big for your little cunny.

he knows you’d cry for him, little gasps and hiccupped moans, squirming beneath him as he bullies his cock deeper, past that tight ring of muscle into the slick, warm clutch of your cunt.

“a-ah- fuck, ah-”

your breath stutters at the sounds, hips grinding against your palm. “wish i could see you.”

“on cam?”

you groan, squeezing your thighs around the pillow in-between your legs, grinding your clit against the material softly. “yes, please..”

fuck, you're so polite.

[julymusings]

PORTRAIT

jason hates taking photos. it's a shame you find him so beautiful.

Jason Todd isn’t one to take pictures. Standing there with a fake smile, posing for a deceptively happy vignette of an unhappy reality feels awkward. He never knows what to do with his hands. He doesn’t like the way his face translates through the lens; the green of his eyes glows just this side of too spectral, his broad, stocky frame towers over that of his siblings, and the scars on his face bring memories of a darker time, an intentional carelessness for his life he used to carry. He leans away when others huddle together to smile. Pretends to notice something behind him when caught in the background of the lens.

Enter you. Only capable of looking at him with hearts in your eyes. Serving on a silver platter what he used to starve and scavenge for in dimly lit bars on the lips of women who only saw him as something to sink their teeth into and then spit out, never sticking around for longer than one night. Jason feasted at first, he’ll admit, stuffing himself to sickness on your unconditional adoration until it was almost too much to bear.

You take pictures of him and gush over them, telling him how pretty he is. How he belongs in a museum. He never believed you, never bothering to actually look at the pictures you take. But pretty soon he’s everywhere; you set him as your lock screen and screensaver, and print photos to frame on your bedside table. When your storage is maxed out, you steal Jason’s phone to flood his camera roll, and he finds that he keeps going back to stare at the photos you take. Selfies where you kiss his cheek and his mouth curves upward just enough to transform him from brooding to disarming; portraits where he looks, not at the camera, but just beyond and his eyes crinkle, the tips of his sharp canines peeking out over his bottom lip. He looks…different. Better. He starts to believe the things you tell him; his beauty is ancient. Michelangelo himself carved the contours of his body. The Trojans and the Greeks fought for a decade over him.

But what is it about this camera, he wonders, that makes his appearance digestible? Is it the way you frame him front and center, the backlighting sun rays extending in all directions behind him, encircling him with a holiness he doesn’t deserve? The scenery against which you capture him, busy nighttime streets under city lights, just dark enough to smooth out his rough edges? 

Or maybe it’s just you. Seeing himself from your point of view. Seeing himself as yours. His hooked nose, crooked from being broken one too many times, belongs to you for the early mornings when you trace down the bridge, around his lips, and up his jaw, drawing a portrait with your fingertips. His unruly hair, with streaks of white that make him stick out like a sore thumb, exists only for you to run your fingers through when he lays his head in your lap. His scars are for you to kiss on those difficult days until he can bear to look in the mirror again. He wants nothing more than to be a museum of all things you.

Jason Todd isn’t one to take pictures. But when you ask so nicely, showering him with compliments and promises of thank-you-kisses later on, how can he say no?

why are we as a society still striving for more definition and higher quality photos for anything other than, like, x-ray imaging and space exploration. I don't want 8k ultra-max hd in my phone that highlights every hair and pore and eye bag i want grainy and dark and fuzzy because it makes me look hotter and that's a fact. rant over

anyway he's so pretty i wanna take candids of him and kiss his face and squeeze his huge ti-*GUNSHOTS*

this is gonna be my last post for the next few weeks because i have finals. see you on the other side🫡 (born to be a farmer on a remote island, forced to study STEM) i'll be on requests as soon as i'm back trust

[covenofagatha]

Learning to focus (part 2)

Finally having an incentive to focus, you turn your project in two days early

Word count: 4.3k

Warnings: GP Agatha, blowjobs, oral sex, sex, daddy kink, spanking

Taglist: @lostbutlovely33 @diorrxckstar @whoreforolderfictionalwomen  @katekathry @onemansdreamisanothermansdeath @tayasmellsapples @natashashill @mybraininblood @mysticalmoonlight7  @cactuslover2600 @loveem0mo @readysteddiero-nance @lonelyhalfwitch @lesbiantortilla @crescendoofstars @sol-in-wonderland @ahsfan05 @gbab09 @sasheemo @agathaharness @live-laugh-love-lupone @chiar4anna @fuckedupforkhahn @lowlyjelly

You finish your entire project by Tuesday. 

The ten page paper had almost been the death of you, but every time your head dropped onto the table and you wanted to throw your laptop down the stairs, you just remembered how Agatha’s cock felt inside you and the heat in her voice when she promised you a reward. 

And you had spent every night since your library encounter on Saturday with your hand between your legs imagining what those rewards would be. You didn’t even know you could cum as many times as you did, but each time an orgasm rolled over your body, you thought of her pounding into you against the table and you needed more. 

You’d think you’d have worn yourself out by now. But as you walk across campus to get to Agatha’s classroom early, you can feel the heat already building up in your stomach, just at the promise of seeing her. You had picked out the short skirt you had worn on the first day of class – the same one Agatha had said she knew she had to have when she saw you wearing it. You can’t wait to see her reaction when she sees what’s underneath. 

The memory, and the promise of even more, flushes through you and settles right in your pussy, and you sink your teeth into your lip so you don’t gasp at how it feels.  

Someone on the sidewalk gives you a weird look and you ignore it. They’d be having the same reaction if their hot professor was about to fuck them again. 

As you get closer to the building, your clit is practically throbbing. You’re almost embarrassed, but fuck, Agatha has put you under some sort of spell. She doesn’t even need to be close to you to take over your body and control you. 

Just the thought of her is enough. 

When you get to the classroom, you look through the glass slot in the door and a thrill runs through you when you see Agatha alone at the desk in the front of the room. 

You don’t even bother knocking. 

She looks up when you enter, an eyebrow raising as a knowing smile slides across her face. Fuck. Images of last Saturday rush through you, leaving a burning fire in their wake. 

“I finished my project,” you rasp, suddenly unsure if you’re even walking correctly. Her stare is scrutinizing, raking over your body like she’s tracing every outline, and she smirks when she recognizes your skirt. 

 “Oh, did you?” She asks and pushes herself out of her chair. She’s wearing a white undershirt with a low cut and a striped blue suit. Her dark hair tumbles loosely over her shoulders and your mouth runs dry. “Finally learned how to focus, baby girl?”

You stumble and hit your leg on a desk. “Shit,” you groan and Agatha chuckles. She moves around to the other side of her desk and perches on the edge while you safely make it the rest of the way to her. You reach into your tote bag and take out the printed paper and the hand-drawn timeline about the Salem Witch Trials, all neatly stapled together, and hand it to her. 

She winks and you shift from leg to leg while Agatha flips through your paper. She’s chewing on her bottom lip and you can’t help but wonder what it would feel like to have her mouth on yours, to suck on her tongue and have your moans swallowed by her. 

Agatha gets to the third page and frowns, the lines on her forehead creasing. She turns around and grabs a red pen and scribbles something in the margins of your paper. 

Well, okay then. You didn’t realize she was going to grade it right in front of you. 

She keeps writing on the next pages, even more now, and your spirits fall deeper and deeper with each stroke of the pen. Did you really do that bad? You feel like you’re a decent writer, even if the subject is boring, and you had really tried on this. 

Even if Agatha gives you a reward for turning it in early, you don’t even think you deserve it now. Or maybe she’s reading it and thinking that you’re just a dumb college kid and that fucking you was a mistake. 

The door opens behind you and a handful of other students start trickling in for the class that’s about to start in a few minutes. You would’ve shown up earlier, maybe get a head-start on that reward, but you had a different class in the period before. 

But now it would’ve just been awkward, so you’re a little thankful.

Agatha gets to the last page and writes something quickly before handing it back to you. You’re almost too ashamed to look at her but when your eyes apologetically flick up to hers, you see a glint in them. 

“Nice work,” she says formally in case any of the other students are listening and you force a smile before rushing to your usual chair in the front row. 

Agatha claps her hands for everyone to settle down and starts to give a reminder about the project that is due on Thursday while you begin flipping through your paper to see her feedback. 

Your stomach is twisting, the feeling of possibly letting her down and getting a bad grade lingering over you, and you read her first note. 

Your mouth drops open and you quickly shut it before anyone notices. 

I can’t stop thinking about your pussy wrapped around my cock. 

Fuck. Fuck. She didn’t – how are you supposed to sit here when it feels like your body is on fire and you’ve forgotten how to breathe? You look to the center of the classroom where Agatha is already watching you. 

She gives a slight nod, imperceptible to anyone else, and your breath shudders before turning to the next page. 

I wonder how your hot mouth would feel on me. 

You have to squeeze your eyes shut from the visceral feeling that floods through you. Your body thrums with excitement, your heart pounding – can she hear it? She must be able to see the helpless state this has sent you into. 

If you were wet before, that is nothing compared to the mess between your legs now. 

Almost afraid to, you keep going. 

Daddy needs to taste you, baby girl. 

You clamp your legs shut and bite down on a finger before you make a pornographic noise. Would anyone really notice if you just slid your hand under your skirt? Maybe you could go to the bathroom – it would take less than two minutes at this point. A single touch to your clit could send you flying over the edge. 

And then Agatha says your name and you physically jump in your seat. There’s a few kids snickering behind you and you look at Agatha with wide eyes, a foggy heat overwhelming your brain. She’s standing by the board, marker in hand, and a timeline is drawn. 

“I asked if you would give us some information about the Salem Witch Trials,” she says and you blush at the implication that you were too zoned and entirely missed her question the first time.

You shake your head to try and get your thoughts collected, mind scrambling for any detail at all that you remember from your paper. “Um, well they started in 1692,” you start but she raises a hand to cut you off. 

“Will you come up here and write it down? I’m making a comprehensive timeline of all the events you’re doing your projects on, and since you already finished, I thought you could lead us off.” Her voice is sugary sweet but you know exactly what she’s doing. And you know very well that other people have finished their projects early too. 

But you can’t exactly say no, so you get out of your chair, wincing at the stickiness between your legs, and slowly walk to the front of the room. You tremble when she meets your eyes, only about a foot away, and the air is thick between you. 

Agatha holds out the dry erase marker and you reach for it, but then you glance down at her lips just as her tongue darts out to lick at them, and you end up knocking the marker out of her hand. 

“Oh, sorry,” you say and drop to your knees without thinking, grabbing the marker. You’re about to stand back up when you notice her.  

Specifically, the hardness in her pants. 

It steals all the breath from your lungs and you freeze, head tilting slightly to look up at her through your eyelashes. You can see her holding your stare, teeth gritted and her hand twitches like she wants to grab your hair. 

Thankfully, you’re hidden behind her desk.

You look back at her cock and swear you see it pulse. You swallow hard, your clit throbbing in response, and force yourself to get off the ground and Agatha sharply inhales and steps back. 

It gives you a newfound confidence, that even though you’re a soaking puddle for her, she is also affected quite a bit. Maybe just as much as you. 

Your hand shakes a little as you write out the only three things you can remember from your ten page paper — that’s now sitting with some of the filthiest things written on it, courtesy of the professor barely a foot from you. 

And one of the things is: the trials were deadly to the women accused of witchcraft by a group of young girls. A true testament to how little you’re able to form coherent thoughts right now. 

Agatha starkly coughs and with a shock, you see that you wrote daddy instead of deadly. You swipe your hand across it to erase and fix it before any of your classmates see. 

“Perfect, thank you,” Agatha says, the slight tremor in her voice and the bulge in her pants the only cracks in her composure. 

Meanwhile, your legs are one naughty thought away from buckling under you and you think it might be obvious to everyone. 

You hand the marker back to her and quickly go back to your chair, determined to get your mind under control. 

She has someone else come up to the board and write about their topic while you watch and distractedly chew on your pen. Should you be taking notes? You look around and with a sigh of relief, you see no one else is either. 

And when you turn back to the front, you accidentally catch Agatha’s eyes and holy fuck. 

She has to know how obvious she’s being. 

Her head is slightly tilted down but her stare is locked on you, pupils blown up and burning. She’s barely even breathing. You pause, pen between your teeth. 

It’s like she wants to devour you. It’s like she’s imagining it. She’s supposed to be teaching, supposed to be the one who doesn’t lose control and takes what she wants smoothly, and yet she is openly fucking you with her eyes like that, for anyone to see. 

You can’t hold the soft gasp that slips out of your mouth and without even noticing, your legs widen. 

But Agatha notices — she tracks the movement with her hungry gaze and you see her lips part. You swallow hard, feeling suddenly bold, and you spread them just an inch more. When she looks back up at your face, your tongue darts out and licks up the pen cap. 

It’s like all the air gets sucked out of the room, like there’s no one else in the room besides the two of you, even though the class is full. 

Agatha raises an eyebrow, daring you to go on. 

There’s no one sitting next to you, one person behind you, but they definitely won’t be paying attention when your right hand slips under your desk and rests on your upper thigh. You push the pen a little further into your mouth. 

The student at the board finishes writing and hands Agatha back the marker and she barely looks at him before barking out another name to come up and fill their part in. 

Your fingers inch up, dragging the hem of your already-short skirt up too, as you slouch further into your chair. It’s a dangerous game you’re playing, one you’re definitely not going to win, but fuck if it isn’t exhilarating to watch her struggling to remain professional. You hollow out your cheeks and suck on the pen and Agatha looks like she’s about to whimper. 

And if that wasn’t enough, you open your legs just another inch and when her eyes flick down and she grabs onto her chair so tightly her knuckles look like they’re about to burst through her skin, you know she’s seen. 

You’re not wearing underwear. 

And while you’re sure you’ve completely soaked the bottom of your skirt, maybe the chair beneath you, and walking back to your dorm will be incredibly embarrassing, that moment made it completely worth it. 

Agatha’s jaw is clenched so hard and the now-prominent vein in her forehead throbs. Her face twitches and she relaxes with a deep breath, her tongue sliding over her teeth under her top lip, and turns back to the board to comment on the student’s writing, suddenly very collected. 

A shiver runs through you at the change – she’s going to make you pay for that. And it only turns you on more. 

She doesn’t look at you the rest of class, leaving you to squirm in a wet prison of your own making, and when Agatha finally dismisses everyone, you don’t move. 

The room is quickly empty other than you and her and she only turns her attention to you once everyone else is gone. She stalks toward you, akin to how a predator hunts its prey, and you breathe shallowly as she flips up your desk and slots it in next to the chair. 

And then she takes your hand and holds it against her cock through her pants. Her rock-hard cock that is radiating enough heat you can feel it through your clothes. 

You gasp. 

“That’s right, baby girl,” she coos. “That’s what your little stunt did to me. And I think it’s only fair that you come back to Daddy’s office right now and help me with it.” 

There aren’t even words to describe how desperate you’ve become; you furiously shake your head and she growls before yanking you up and out the door of the classroom. 

She speeds through the halls and you have to practically run to keep up with her and you think – no, you know that she wants this just as much as you do. 

And then she slams open the door and shoves you inside, whirling around and pressing you against it. Her mouth is on yours before you can even think of something to say, her lips moving roughly against yours, teeth clashing, tongues sliding against each other. 

Agatha pants into your open mouth and you moan and she sucks on your tongue before biting on your bottom lip. Her hand buries itself in your hair and she pulls, the sting making you whimper. 

She travels down your chin and then to your neck, nipping at your skin and leaving marks. A flash of heat hits you hard when you think about showing them off in her class on Thursday. A path of goosebumps follows when she licks up the expanse of your neck with her hot tongue and you writhe under her. 

And then she steps back and you gasp, immediately missing her body against yours. 

“Get on your knees,” she orders roughly and you don’t even hesitate. You assume the same position you were in earlier, only this time, you’re allowed to put your hands on her thighs and drag your cheek against the bulge in her pants, feeling it twitch against you. She swears above you and you smirk. 

You pepper kisses along her cock through the fabric and she only lets you for a minute before she scrambles to undo her belt and unzip her pants. She moves to reach into them but you stop her with your hands, dipping into her underwear yourself and pulling out her cock. 

It stands straight, bobbing slightly, and the vein is so prominent along the length. The tip of her is red and throbbing, droplets of liquid gathered at the top. Fuck. 

As if in a trance, you lean forward and lick your tongue against the tip experimentally and Agatha moans gutteraly, fingers tangling into your hair. She says something that sounds a lot like please and you oblige, opening your mouth and sucking lightly on the tip. Her hips jerk and she makes another sound and you groan around her. 

You take your time exploring, dragging your flattened tongue and lathering her cock up with your saliva all while it pulses every now and then and Agatha ruts her hips like she’s holding back. 

“Baby girl, please,” Agatha begs, a thrill running through you, “Daddy needs you. Daddy needs your mouth.” 

You’d never even imagine saying no. You open your mouth and relax your throat before slowly taking her heavy cock, bobbing your head back and forth and moving down a little further each time. Agatha babbles incoherently about how good you’re making her feel and it spurs you on despite gagging around her. 

“Fuck, baby girl, let me use you,” she pleads and you look up at her from your knees and nod. Her head falls back with a groan at your obedience and she starts fucking your mouth with a leisurely pace. 

You watch her through hooded eyes, watch her slump forward and put a hand on the wall over you when she starts to move faster, watch her teeth dig into her bottom lip, watch the way she keeps her eyes on yours, grunts sporadically falling from her mouth as she uses you. 

With every snap of her hips, her cock is driven down your throat and you can feel it getting hotter and swelling and so is the heat inside you – it roars under your skin, you can feel your wetness dripping down your inner thighs and if you weren’t holding onto Agatha’s thighs for leverage, you would sneak a hand down and give your clit the two circles it would need. 

Her thrusts become short and shallow and drool is pouring down your chin, eyes watering, and you know she’s close. 

And then she stops and pulls out of your mouth, leaving you gasping for breath. 

“What?” You ask hoarsely, swiping your chin to clean it off. 

She pats under your chin and motions for you to stand up. “I want to cum inside you again.” And fuck, you think you might be able to cum just from her saying things like that. 

Agatha tells you to go to her desk and locks the door before following you, a slight thrill running through you at the realization that anyone could’ve walked in and found you sucking your professor’s cock. 

“Now,” she tuts when she stands in front of you, “you turned in your project two days early. So that’s two rewards.” 

You gasp and she spins you around and bends you over her desk. She flips your skirt up over your bare ass and strokes the skin. 

“Such a naughty slut. I was going to eat you out and then fuck you for being such a good girl,” she says wistfully. 

Your head twists back to look at her. “But now?” 

Her hand comes down swiftly on your ass and you jump. “Now, I’m going to spank you ten times and you’re going to say ‘Thank you, Daddy’ after each one. If you can do that, I’ll give you your rewards. Got it?” 

Agatha barely gives you any time to agree before she spanks you the first time. “Thank you, Daddy,” you breathe. 

She spanks the other cheek. You gasp out a “Thank you, Daddy.” It keeps going until your head is spinning with pleasure and you feel yourself practically gushing. 

After the tenth one, she gives you no time at all to recover and bends down, licks through your folds, and sucks on your clit. 

Your body instantly spasms and you cum just from the little stimulation of her mouth on your soaking wet pussy. Your walls convulse around nothing and you let out a loud moan, finally getting the relief you’ve been aching for. 

And yet, just like every other time you’ve fucked yourself the past few nights, you need more. There’s a hunger, a deep ache inside of you and you cry out when she rubs the tip of her still hard cock against your clit. 

You’re so wet there’s no friction, just her skin sliding on yours, and you grind your hips back to try and get more satisfaction. 

But Agatha just glides her cock through your swollen, sopping folds, only ever dipping into your entrance, and you try to push yourself onto her but she tsks. 

“Patience, baby girl,” she purrs, but you can hear the need leaking from her voice too. She’s torturing both of you at this point. 

Her tip pops into you and you gasp. “Daddy, please,” you whine, your head falling forward onto your outstretched hands, hoping for a similar reaction to the title as last time. 

And you get it. 

Agatha slowly but surely pushes all the way into you, a strangled cry leaving your mouth at the welcome stretch. You’re so wet and ready that she’s met with almost no resistance at all, just like last time, but now you can make all the sounds you couldn’t in the library. 

“Fuck,” Agatha curses under her breath when she bottoms out, feeling your walls adjust around her. She stays still while you clench with a moan and you feel her throb inside you. “You almost broke Daddy today in class, you know that?” 

She sharply snaps her hips and you keen. 

“Showing me you weren’t wearing underwear –” another thrust, “pretending to suck on that pen –” she yanks your head back by your hair and your mouth drops open but no sound comes out, “getting on your knees in front of me like that, god, baby girl —“ she pulls all the way out of you and quickly drives back in, “you were just begging for Daddy to come fuck you in front of everyone, weren’t you? Probably would’ve taken it like a good slut, too.” 

You sob when she sets a bruising pace, hitting that spot inside you each time, deliciously filling the ache inside you. “I’m sorry, Daddy,” you gasp. “Not my fault, you wrote that stuff on my paper.” As if that’s any excuse.

Agatha chuckles darkly and slaps your ass, making you clench around her again. Her rhythm falters for a moment and then resumes. “Oh baby girl, you were begging for me the moment you stepped into my classroom.” 

It’s unclear if she means now or the first time you ever did, but she wouldn’t be wrong in either case. 

“Yes,” you rasp. “I need you, Daddy.” And she somehow starts fucking you even harder now, a smack reverberating everytime her hips hit your ass. 

“I know, baby,” she says, reaching around your body to press against your clit. You jolt, a spark of intense pleasure running through you. “Daddy will give you what you need. You did so good for me, turning in that project early. I knew all we had to do was figure out how to get that pretty little head of yours to focus.” 

You nod in agreement. The pleasure is getting to your head, completely overwhelming any and all thoughts, and you just make a little sound. 

Agatha huffs out a laugh but her thrusts are getting sloppy and she’s breathing faster. You can feel her cock pulsing, her nails dig into your ass, and she swipes her thumb against your clit, and even though it slips off each time with your wetness, the muted pleasure still sends tingles up your spine. The tension in your lower stomach is building and you know it’s about to snap.

“Daddy,” you gasp. “I’m going to cum.” 

She doesn’t change a thing, just keeps fucking you like only she can, hard and fast and short, and she says, “Cum for Daddy.” 

You fall apart on her cock. Your walls squeeze around her, making it hard for her to move and she just ruts in you until she lets out a low groan and you feel a throb and then a warmth spreads through you. 

Agatha keeps shallowly stroking inside, both of you twitching, until she softens and slips out. A mix of your cum and hers oozes out of your pussy and down your legs and you can’t help but moan at the feeling. 

You then realize that because you decided to tease her, you’re going to be walking back to your dorm with her cum still leaking out of you. There’s a hot pang in your stomach. 

“Was that a good reward?” She teases and you turn around to face her. Agatha’s softly cleaning her cock with her hand before she tucks herself back into her pants. 

Your cheeks flush. “Very good,” you say. “Guess that’s what happens when I focus, right?” 

Her smile is teasing and you know she’s going to use that against you going forward. You don’t mind at all. “Whatever it takes, baby girl.” 

[darkbluekies]

King Edmund, Jerry & Hedwig drabbles: darling feeling insecure in appearance

Yandere!king x fem reader, yandere!mafia x reader, yandere!richgirl x reader

Warnings: mentions of not liking how one looks, Edmund not saying nice things about other women

Silas & Dr Kry version

King Edmund:

You're the queen. You should be flawless, shouldn't you? Everyone wants Edmund, everyone wants to be in your position. Everyone's judging you, thinking that you're not worthy. The court gossip is always about you. Always your looks, your behaviour, your outfits. At some point, it's unavoidable.

You don't let anyone come into the bed chamber. You've barricated the door with an armchair, curled up in a corner to cry. Your dresses are ripped, your jewlery scattered all over the floor.

"This fucki—there we go", Edmund pants as he finally manages to force the door open. "What is going on in here? What have you done?"

The second he locates you and sees the tears on your cheeks, his face resets. Edmunnd runs over to your corner and sinks down in front of you. He takes your face in his hands.

"What's wrong?" he asks worriedly. "My jewel, what happened? Why are your dresses everywhere? And the diamonds?"

"I hate them", you sob through gritted teeth.

"The clothes? We can get new ones. Do you want new jewlery too?"

"Not those."

"Then what?"

"They ... they tell me I'm ugly."

His eyes narrow. "Who?"

"The ladies in court ..."

"Surely you don't listen to those hags?"

You break out into new sobs. Edmund stares at you, eyes full of fear. Fuck, you do. Not you. Not his darling. He holds your head in his hands, forcing you to look at him.

"I am King Edmund, right?" he asks. "Do you think I'd marry just anyone? Those bitches are idiots if they think I'd ever chose them. You, my beautiful girl, are all mine."

He holds you close to him, letting you cry.

"No one can even come close to you", he whispers. "i don't want you listening in on gossip, that's not what my girl does, right? My girl is perfect and doesn't listen to insecure bitches. Fuck, I love you so much, people like that rile me up."

He looks around at the room, at the ripped clothes.

"I will buy you a whole new wardrobe and new jewlery", he reassures you. "All the latest fashion from Paris. And you will show those sluts that you are the most beautiful girl in the entire world. They can shove their last year's fashion down their throats."

Jerry:

If you ever show any type of dislike towards your appearance, Jerry will be the first one to let you know that you're wrong.

"Listen to me", she says and sits you down on the bed. "If I hear you say that you're ugy one more time — and I mean just one more time — I will lose it. Do you know many times I look at your photos on my phone when I'm not home and wonder how in fuck's whole world I managed to get you?"

You shake your head. Jerry wipes your tears and hugs you tightly.

"There's nothing in this world that I like", she says. "Everyone I ever loved is gone. You are all I have left and do you know how happy I am that it is you that i have left? There are billions of people in this world, and yet it is you. I couldn't have asked for anyone else. You literally turn me on more than you can imagine. I am so fucking attracted to you I am embarrassed, it's pathetic. I have to force myself to keep my hands off of you, otherwise you'd never leave this bed."

You sob out a chuckle and she smiles sadly. Your sobs make her heart ache. She doesn't have the words to formulate just how badly she loves you, how perfects she finds you. Jerry grabs your jaw in her hand.

"Get those thoughts out of your head now, okay?" she says, caressing your cheeks and kissing you. "I don't want to hear you say that about yourself. That makes me sad."

"I'm sorry, Jerry."

She lays down in bed and pulls you to her, letting you rest on her chest. Her acrylic nails scratch at your scalp.

"Do you want to know a secret?" she whispers in your ear.

"What?" you whisper back.

"You should hear how much I talk about you during my job. My boss is sick of hearing about you all the time ... and so are all the others. But they don't dare say anything to me, do you know why?"

"Why?"

"Because they see how happy you make me. They would protect you with their lives if they had to, just because of how important you are to me."

She wishes that you could see her the way she sees you, that way you would never doubt.

Hedwig:

Hedwig have invited her childhood friends over, all from wealthy families, for dinner. Most of them are aspiring models, just like her. You felt misplaced. They're beautiful. Hedwig should be with one of them, not with you.

She notices that you're no longer downstairs and goes looking for you, eventually finding you in her bedroom.

"Why are you crying?" she asks quickly, closing the door behind her before running over to you. "What happened, sweetheart?"

You don't answer at first, feeling ashamed. Was it jealousy? Insecurity?

"Please talk to me", she begs softly, putting her hands in your lap.

"Your friends ..."

"Did they say something mean to you?"

"No, they're nice, it's just ..."

Her voice is as soft as could be. "What?"

"They're very pretty."

"So are you."

You shake your head and look down. "Not like them."

Hedwig's shoulders fall. She takes your hands and leans in towards your ear.

"I think you're prettier than them", she whispers and pulls back to meet your eyes. "You are everything I dreamt of. When I was a child and played with my barbies, I dreamt of having a relationship like Barbie and Ken, and do you know what? I got something much better. I could never have imagined, not in my wildest dreams."

"You're so pretty, I'm scared someone would take you ..."

"Trust me, no one can take me from you. They'll have to kill me to get me to leave you, and then I'll come back as a ghost to still be with you. I will never, ever have anyone else. You are everything I could ever want. You are so unbelievably pretty, I have to pinch myself sometime to remind myself that this is real."

She kisses your lips and rests your head on her shoulder.

"How about we don't go downstairs anymore tonight?" she asks. "Let's call it a night and just stay here?"

"But your guests-"

"They know where the kitchen is and they can entertain themselves. You are more important to me."

[gloxk]

Think she grippin’ on my dick but that’s my gun baby~

(Eren Y.)

A/n: Lil sum sum— srry fa neglecting yall. My schedule is so fuckkkkkeedd. But, I got sum more ‘plug’ eren comin up for my luvz. Anyway I hope yall enjoy this my luvz🫶🏽!

Synopsis: First link w Eren Yeager after not seeing him in a long time. ♥︎

Warning (s): Gun kink , dirty talk, Eren talking you through it, Mentions of drugs, riding an inanimate object, f/m, Uhm like reader calls him sir? Pet names, Needy s*x, Smut, ovi. girl yk the deal 17+ around here!

━━━━━━━♥︎━━━━━━━

You kicked your feet while biting your bottom lip, “Yeah, I know you miss me, baby.” You cheesed at his comments. Eren knew exactly what to say, his words were so sweet and slick. “Of course I miss you ren. When you gon come see me?” You heard his music blaring through his speakers. This boy really had you thinking about him every second of the day and night. “Whatchu mean? I’m outside right now ma.” You nearly took flight running down to the front door. It felt like time was nothing more than a mere interference with your speed. You swung your door open , your smile instantly dropped looking at your empty driveway “Fucking asshole, you lied.” He cackled as if you said something funny. “Nah I’m here.” He flicked his head lights grabbing your attention, you forgot his car was completely black. You didn’t understand why he would make his Hellcat so dark. Didn’t he want people to see it?

You smiled seeing him get out of his car, he looked so fucking fine in his Nike tech. To say you were nervous was an understatement, you were terrified. Knees nearly buckled as Eren approached the door. You gulped back your salvia, it felt like swallowing a golf ball. “Heyyy baby.” His lips met your cheek, it’s been so long since you saw Eren. His voice held a sweet tang and a long draw to it. His fragrance was a mix of Dior Sauvage and Backwoods. His eyes spoke for themselves; red and low. “Eren—are you high?” you pulled his face closer to yours. Examining his eyes—yeah, he was fucking hammered. “When am I not?” He flashed his pearly whites, you always wonder how he got his teeth so nice and white. If perfection was a human it had to be him, there was no visible flaw within that man. “You gonna smoke your brain away if you keep it up.” You closed the door and walked with him up to your bedroom. Eren looked at you with a soft expression, his eyes locked on to yours. “Aww, you care about me, baby? Fine, I guess I have no choice but to do as you wish.”He jokingly replied. Eren didn’t have many people who cared for him, so it was nice to know you were one of the very few.

Eren found himself in your bed once again, he nuzzled into your neck while a basic Netflix movie played. He wasn’t particularly interested in the movie, and you were aware of this. But he acted like he was excited to watch it. Your hands ran over his thigh grazing over his dick. Fingertips wrapping around it. “Damn Ren, you must be very happy to see me huh?” you giggle sinking into your bed lining. Eren's dark jade eyes met yours, the lower part of his face was covered by his hand. Unbeknownst to you, he had a new hand tattoo; a skeleton face—damn he looked fine. “That ain’t my dick, that’s my gun baby.” He laid on his back, his shirt slightly lifting revealing the weapon. You couldn’t resist wrapping your fingers around the handle of his gun; it was calling your name. You held it in your hand admiring the weapon, it alone held the power to remove a soul from this world.

“You like it?” he took the gun away from your grasp. He parted your thighs placing the cold metal against your cunt. “Yes sir.” You bit your lip at the sheer cold touching you. The hairs on your neck stood up, it was so dangerous, it turned you on. He slid your panties over letting the blistering cold metal meet your pussy. The gun started at a gentle pace, moving slowly against your clit. Erens lips occupied your neck; kissing and sucking it. His tongue lightly brushed over your collarbone, you felt his tongue piercing glide against your skin. You rutted hard against his gun trying to relieve the built-up pressure in your abdomen. You didn’t want his gun, you wanted him. You wanted him to fuck you silly until you could no longer comprehend your surroundings. “Fuucck, I need more ren, I need you.” The gun hastily left your thighs. “I need you too ma.” His mouth met his glock licking your slick off of it. Eren's lips pressed firmly together creating a ‘mmm’ sound. He got on top of you pressing his chest against yours. You felt his bulge through his sweatpants, his dick was begging to be left free. He pulled his sweat pants down, just below his crotch panel. Your fingertips slipped under his elastic waistband; tugging his boxers downwards. His dick pounced out, an angry red color washed over his tip. “Fuck, it’s been too long.” He stroked his dick letting the bead of pre cum coat his tip. Eren slid inside inch by inch, he grunted feeling your heat. “Damn baby, I ain’t fuck you good in a minute huh? You miss this dick?” You nodded quickly, yes—you missed everything about him. His hand wrapped around your mouth looking at his tattoo covering your face. It turned him on seeing it on you— whether his hand was around your throat, mouth, or ass. It always looked so perfect on you.

Eren tugged your shirt up watching your tits bounce as he pounded into you. You tried to push him away from overstimulating your cunt “Nah, This what you wanted right? Take this dick.” He grabbed your legs and threw them over his shoulder, he fucked you faster making you scream out. You could have sworn you put holes in the sheets because you were gripping them so tightly. You threw your head back clenching around Erens cock. Your body jolted at your release, finally letting go of that pressure you once had. “Ahh- fuck-“ you moaned while subtly grinding against his abdomen. His pace faltered, but not ending, Eren didn’t stop fucking you until he came all over your stomach. By then you were already on your third orgasm. He positioned himself beside you kissing your neck while tracing circles on your arm. “I know you love that shit.” He sighed, he was a fool for you as you were for him. He loved looking at your fucked out expression knowing he was the reason you looked like that.

“Mhm, I do, I really fucking do.” He grabbed his gun again setting it down on your chest, “That’s my favorite gun now, ima get your name carved in it.” That gun will forever be by his side from now on.

━━━━━━━♥︎━━━━━━━

4 my whores.

[farity]

Always

"Not like this!"

You listened to your husband and his mother, frustration growing inside you as Alicent stalled and hesitated when faced with attacking Rhaenyra.

From your perch across the room, you could see the moment Aemond understood, the moment it sank in that his own mother would not act against her friend. Against the woman who had never answered for her transgressions. The woman who did as she pleased. The woman who wanted him "sharply questioned" as a child as he sat, bleeding after losing an eye.

Aemond stormed off, and you discreetly blended back into the shadows and took a different route to where you thought you would find him.

Your slippers made no sound as you went around the side of the keep, heading to the fields that led to where Vhagar rested.

"Your Highness."

You turned back to see Ser Criston Cole. You knew how loyal he was to Alicent and considering the rumor that he and Rhaenyra had once been close meant that you regarded him with some wariness.

"Ser Criston, I am in a hurry-"

"I know," he said, and leaned in closer. "I am at Prince Aemond's bidding." He looked troubled and almost apologetic as he continued. "I cannot support this waiting, this delay of action." He bowed to you and went back to the armory, and left you wondering if the tides were turning.

You ran the rest of the way, seeing your husband walking along, head down. He heard you approaching and turned. "This is not a good time, wife."

"I swore to be by your side in both triumph and turmoil, Aemond. 'Until the end of my days', remember?"

He whirled around, silver hair shimmering in the afternoon light. "I will not tolerate any more betrayal. Many have sworn their fealty," he spat out, and grabbed your arm, "and many have broken that trust."

You stared levelly at him. "Yet others may be breaking their oaths to come to your side. And I," you grabbed the front of his jacket, pulling him to you, "will not be doubted in my loyalty and devotion to you."

His blue eye bore into yours, and you did the only thing that came to mind - you rose on your tip toes and kissed him. He was still for a moment, and then you caught his lower lip between your teeth, squeezing gently before letting go.

"You do not want me right now, wife."

You smiled softly. Did he know? Did he realize that just the sound of his voice or the scent of his skin was enough to undo you? "I always want you, Aemond."

When he didn't move, you slowly began to sink to your knees before him, looking up to gauge his reaction. There was something else in his gaze now, not just the anger and resentment that had been there before, and you knew you'd chosen right. You reached up to run your hand down the front of his breeches and he quickly caught your wrist. "Be careful, little wife. I am not in the gentlest of moods."

In response, you ripped off the laces on your bodice, letting the top of your gown fall loosely around your bare shoulders. You raised an eyebrow at him, daring him to walk away.

When he lunged at you, you gasped, finding yourself on your back a moment later, his hands busily pulling the fabric until your breasts were bared and then his mouth was on one rosy peak and you moaned, arching into him, feeling the desperation in his hands, in the way he was kneeing your legs apart.

You whimpered when you felt him reach between your thighs, finding you already soaked for him. "All this for me?"

"You. Only you." You let his tongue invade your mouth, his need to taste and touch one you were more than ready to satisfy. Reaching down, you began to undo the lacing at his breeches, wanting more and more now that you were both so frenzied. His fingers continued to reach deep inside you, and you could feel the simmering heat of an orgasm not too far away. "Please, Aemond," you begged. "Please."

He pulled out his fingers, sucking on them while he reached down with his other hand and stroked himself once, twice, and then began to push inside you.

He snapped his hips, filling you to the hilt, and you gasped, breathing to let your body adjust. "I told you," he murmured, "I am not in the gentlest of moods."

In response, you wrapped your legs around him, reached up to pull him down to you. "I don't want gentle," you whispered against his mouth.

He began fucking you, and you knew it would be quick, brutal. There was no room for gentleness, not in the way his mouth clamped down on your jaw, not in the way your nails sank into his ass.

The swirling heat inside you flared into an almost painful orgasm that had you screaming while Aemond grabbed fistfuls of your hair, desperate to keep you in place as he continued pounding into you.

You were still contracting around him when you felt him harden even more inside you and then he buried his face in your hair, groaning as he came, his breathing loud in your ear as he reached his own release.

Neither of you moved for a long time, other than you stroking his hair while he nuzzled your cheek. Eventually, he rose on his elbow, placing a gentle kiss on your lips. "Did I hurt you?"

You smiled against his mouth. "Never."

He pressed his forehead against yours. "You are the greatest treasure in my life."

You reached up to caress his scarred cheek. "I think that honor belongs to Vhagar. I would not wish to incur her wrath."

"Vhagar is the biggest treasure in my life," Aemond replied, smirking, "you are the greatest."

You would tell him about what Ser Criston had said, later, but for now, you were happy to simply hold him in your arms, a rare moment of peace amidst the happenings in the realm.

[nyoomfruits]

osctober day twenty seven

prompt: teeth pairing: lando/oscar word count: 665 a/n: set in the single dad!lando/engineer!oscar universe. you can find more of this universe here and here

“Alright, kiddo, time to brush your teeth.” Oscar’s voice filters through the open door of the bathroom as Lando makes his way into their hotel room. He was running late, and he’s glad Oscar had the time to get Evelyn to the hotel room and to bed as quickly as possible. They try to maintain some kind of semblance of normalcy and structure in Evelyn’s day to day life, but it’s hard, sometimes.

“Dad says that if I brush my teeth every day that they will turn pearly white and the sun will reflect off of them,” Evelyn says, voice turning up in excitement in the end, and Lando grins as he drops his bag on the couch in the middle of the hotel room, pictures her facial expression, eyes no doubt big in wonder.

“Well, I’m not sure that’s possible,” Oscar says. “But we can try?”

“Trying is important,” Evelyn says sagely. “Oscar, can I ask a question?”

“Sure, Eve, always,” Oscar replies. Lando’s on the brink of making his presence known, moving towards the bathroom, but something withholds him. Curiosity, about what Evelyn will ask. About how Oscar will answer.

 “Who are you?”

“Ah,” Oscar says. “Well, I’m many things. Happy, for starters.” Lando’s heart does a little jump.

“No,” Evelyn says. “That’s not what I mean. I mean like. You are with dad, right? And you take care of me too, so. Are you also dad?”

“Oh,” Oscar says. “That’s a good question.”

They haven’t talked about this, not really. Sure, they talked about what it would mean, to be together, to raise Evelyn together, what their future would look like. But not this. Not if Evelyn should call Oscar dad, or papa, or whatever else. Lando bites his lip, goes to intervene, when Oscar speaks up again.

“Do you want me to be dad?” He asks.

“I don’t know,” Evelyn says, clearly deep in thought. “Can I try it?”

“Of course, bug,” Oscar says.

“Dad, can you please help me brush my teeth?” There’s a pause, and then. “No, no, no, that felt really weird.”

“Well, you don’t have to. You can call me whatever you want,” Oscar says.

Evelyn seems to think about this. “Can I just call you Oscar? But you are still my dad. But your dad name is just Oscar.”

“I think I can work with that, yeah,” Oscar says. “If that’s what you want.”

“That’s what I want,” Evelyn says decidedly. “Oscar, can you help me brush my teeth?”

“Always, kiddo,” Oscar says.

Deciding the moment must be over, Lando finally makes his presence known, steps into the bathroom, where Evelyn is trying to squeeze toothpaste onto the sparkly Disney princess toothbrush Oscar is holding out for her. “Hey,” he says.

“Dad!” Evelyn says, dropping the toothpaste in her haste to go hug Lando, letting it clatter down into the sink. Oscar picks it up with an amused look on his face as Lando pulls Evelyn into a hug, picking her up off the floor and giving her a little spin.

“Hey, love. Have you been good?”

“The bestest,” Evelyn says, as Lando carries her back over to the sink, leans over to press a soft kiss to Oscar’s lips. “Oscar and I have decided that you are dad and he is Oscar.”

Oscar meets his eyes over Evelyn’s head, a silent question presence in them. “That’s awesome,” Lando says, to Evelyn as much as to Oscar. “Alright, go let your Oscar help you with brushing your teeth. I’ll go read you a story later.”

“Yay,” Evelyn says, and then takes the toothbrush from Oscar’s hand. “I love you,” she says.

“Love you too,” Lando and Oscar say, at the exact same time. Their eyes meet again, over Evelyn’s head, and Lando smiles at Oscar, soft and fond, and hopes that it conveys everything he’s feeling about his little family right now. By the way Oscar smiles back, equally soft and fond, he thinks it does.

[allfearstofallto]

Okie so we've had childe meeting scara's wife, but what about scara meeting childe's wife for the first time? If not can we hear more about the first one?

- 🍓

You are so right strawberry!! My dumbass really forgot that I could write the scenario going the other way!!

Scaramouche Meeting Childe's Wife

Yandere Childe! x reader x Yandere(?) Scaramouche

After almost a year of Childe fawning over you, the look of disinterest his coworker gave you was rather refreshing. The man, only a head shorter than Childe and obviously much more frail looking, had a scowl that could kill. You wondered how long it took to get a look that aggressive, but somehow still elegant on his delicate features.

“And this is my lovely wife!” Childe said rather excitedly and the man merely rolled his eyes.

“It's very nice to meet you,” you muttered softly, he didn't have much in the way to say back. Despite the cold of Snezhnaya he was wearing a shirt that barely went down to his elbows, shorts, and sandals. The cold of Snezhnaya wasn't normal, it felt like the air was biting you. You couldn't even leave the house without a few good layers, yet here he was walking through it with ease, “You're not dressed well for the weather.”

Another glare was shot your way, his eyes colder than the snow, “Skip the pleasantries. I'm here because I have to be. Don't pretend you want to speak with me.”

You didn't even dare look at Childe after the man spoke. He was always so quick to anger, especially when it came to you. Childe had very few loyalties in his life, one of them being the Tsaritsa, the other being you. He often told you how easily he could and would turn on anyone else if needed be, and it seemed this coworker was going to be no different.

“Number six,” you could hear that he was forcing the words through gritted teeth, “Perhaps I wasn't clear when I told you that I love my wife more than anything in this world.”

“You were clear. But perhaps I didn't care,” the man was bold, you'd give him that. And despite how rude he was being he still walked further into the home, taking off the large ornate hat he was wearing and letting you finally see how beautiful his silky, indigo hair was.

Childe followed soon after and the two of them went to talk. You could already tell that he wasn't completely friendly with this coworker, out of the many you'd met. You knew more harbingers than the average person did in a lifetime, more than you wanted to as well, but this one was the first one you'd seen be blatantly disrespectful.

But as they sat and chatted amongst themselves about missions and quite honestly, things you didn't understand, your mind still thought about how underdressed the man was. There was no way Childe would let him stay overnight, not with the way he was acting and Snezhnaya only got colder when the sun was down. You didn't want to just send him out into the elements.

“Could you bring me a spare jacket, and maybe some snow pants and boots,” you asked a maid and she was quick to drop what she was doing to scurry off and find things for you. In less than thirty minutes, everything was handed to you, neatly folded.

The meeting only lasted two hours and both Childe and his co-worker were leaving the office. You wondered if he ever got sick of scowling so much. Or if he ever even showed interest in anything at all.

Childe was walking faster than usual, probably trying to quickly get the man out of the house, but you stopped him, holding up the clothes that you'd acquired. The way both men looked at you made your heart sink to your ass, your orange haired husband had so much fury in his eyes from your kindness to the other, but didn't stop you.

“It's…it’s just cold out there,” you muttered, hoping that Childe would understand your explanation. He allowed the other man to take the clothes, a gentle smirk on his face.

Throughout the whole day, you'd never seen him with anything but his usual frown, you weren't even aware that he could smile, “Such thoughtfulness. I see why number eleven is interested in you,”

The door to the home was opened and the man ushered out. He was still holding the items you'd given him, not wearing them, but you didn't want to tell him to stop. Not while Ajax was looking at you so angrily. You didn't want to cause even more misunderstandings.

“Scaramouche,” he said while still walking out the door. You must've made a noise of confusion because he elaborated, “I'm called Scaramouche. And I'll see you soon.”

[milliesfishes]

Hello! Can I please request something with Billy: him and reader hu one night and that’s a really big deal to her because of her past and he knows this, and then the next day she sees him in town on what she thinks is a date or something with another girly but it’s actually just a big misunderstanding and he feels horrible. Angst and fluff my beloved.

This is super specific so no worries if not :)

꣑ৎ౨ৎyou hook up with billy and then see him with another woman꣑ৎ౨ৎ fem reader x billy the kid

Stepping out of the general store, you stretched and adjusted the bag on your shoulder. It had been a good day- peaches had been shipped in just the day prior, and you had been able to snag a bushel. Now you looked forward to sinking your teeth into a fresh one, the juice dribbling down your chin.

The day was bright and beckoning, not a single cloud in the sky. It was the kind of day that reached its hands out to you and whispered sweet promises into your ear, filled your heart with beautiful what-ifs. Days like these were cherished in your heart, and you wondered if this sunny outlook had anything to do with last night.

You practically swayed on your feet remembering it. The dim light of the bar...a shot or two of whiskey in your system. A plethora of feelings you'd suppressed for months. And the man they were directed toward.

It was the first time you'd seen him in over a year. In the candlelight and with the brim of his hat shading his eyes, at first you weren't sure if it was really him. But then he'd split into that familiar grin, and you'd caught a glimpse of his eyes, the ones like blue pools that you always got lost in. When Billy said your name, you really knew it was him, which made stepping into his open arms that much more wonderful.

He smelled the same. Maybe his voice had a little more gravel to it. His body had definitely changed, muscles filling out what had previously been air under your arms. And suddenly you'd realized the feelings you thought had been squashed under the boot of time had never died.

It was so natural how you fell back in with each other. As though no time had passed and you'd done this every day since he'd left. Words melted into each other. Passion became your friend. And you found yourself kissing him in the alleyway outside the bar, back on the cool brick of the building.

Standing here, remembering it all now, you shook your head, realizing folks passing by must have thought you had sunstroke. Stepping away from the shade, you wandered back in the direction of your horse, unable to quell the smile that hadn't quite left since you'd awoken this morning in his arms.

He'd been so gentle last night, big hands caressing your body as though you were made of glass. The way he touched you was warm and gentle and smooth, your body responding eagerly. Little remembrances came back with each step you took. Kisses at the column of your throat, his fingers at your inner thighs, one of your legs hooked over his shoulder.

The way he'd removed your dress was like he was parting a curtain to some sacred secret. And his body pinned yours to the mattress like a flower between the pages of a book. Never before had you been touched like this, even looked at in that way. Upon opening your eyes, splayed out in his sheets, he'd treated you like an angel waking in a bed of flowers.

You weren't one to fall into a man's bed for a night. Many had tried, most had failed. And yet for Billy it hadn't taken more than an evening remembering for you to melt in his hands and give yourself to him completely. The way you'd wanted to ever since he was Billy Antrim but hadn't been able to until he had a reward under his wanted poster.

But he was still the same Billy, no matter what trailed that name. He was the one who made your heart flutter, the one who'd protected you all through your shared childhood. You unloaded your purchases into your saddlebags, dreamily imagining what it'd be like when you saw him again. This morning, you'd parted with a kiss after waking up tangled together. He hadn't let you leave until he dipped his head between your thighs one more time either. For all the times you'd imagined intimacy it had never been like this.

Lifting your eyes, you lightened when you spotted him exiting a building, looking as handsome and rugged as ever. A bubble expanded hopefully in your chest and a hand automatically flew to your hair, smoothing it before he could see you. Maybe you'd run over and-

Another woman joined him, sliding her hand into the crook of his elbow and walking with him to a horse He was smiling at her. She patted his shoulder as she mounted, and he watched her all the while.

You froze, heart sinking as you surveyed the scene. Another woman. On his arm.

Devastation rained on you as if there were a cloud above your head. You brought a hand to your mouth and turned away, hiding behind your horse, who snuffled understandingly. Another...he wouldn't. He couldn't. That wasn't your Billy.

And yet your thoughts were telling you that you didn't know what had happened while he was out beyond the town limits. What kind of man he'd become. Maybe he couldn't help it now. You knew what time away in the world could do to a man, how it could gather their bones in darkness. He'd returned with whispers behind him, sordid tales dogging his footsteps.

Sniffling to yourself, you hurriedly clasped your saddlebags shut and blinked rapidly so the pathetic tears that had formed in your eyes wouldn't fall. All the while you chastised yourself. How could you have trusted him?

Your poor heart knew the answer. Because it was Billy and you loved him and you wanted him to love you too. Because you'd shared things beyond sex that would bind two people together for life. Now it wasn't just last night's memories that were flashing through your head. The past was prodding at the shell you'd hidden yourself in, bearing up the broken pieces like a weak shield.

"You okay?"

Whipping around, you were so startled that one tear escaped, trickling down your cheek. Billy's smile dropped, and you bowed your head, staring at the dirt. His hand found your shoulder and you bit the side of your cheek. "Hey...what's wrong?"

"Nothing," you said quickly, brushing it away and turning back to your saddlebags, fiddling with the snap though it was already closed.

His frown was practically audible, and the fetter of your feelings lifted your chin and turned your head to see it. Billy searched your eyes, his brow knit as if he didn't know what he'd just done. "You can tell me sweetheart."

"No thank you," you whispered, reaching for the reins, which knocked his hand off your shoulder. "Maybe you should go see about her." Nodding in the direction of the other woman, you poised yourself to mount your horse, but he braced an arm around your waist, stopping you.

He looked confused, and you pushed away a twinge of guilt. "Baby you thought...no, no no..." Billy breathed out, running a hand over his face. "No, I ain't doin' anythin' with her." He opened his eyes and gave you a look. "We did somethin'. You 'n me."

"And that something happens to mean a lot to me," you whispered, trying to keep a fresh wave of tears out of your voice. "I don't do things like that, Billy."

"I know it, honey," he soothed, hand coming to cup your cheek. "Believe me, I know." You lifted your eyes to him, saw how earnest he was. It brought back the hope that had burned out just a few minutes ago, but you didn't trust it one bit.

His eyes must have been hallowed halls of memory because now as you looked into them you were remembering. So many years of him doing things that contradicted what you had just seen. Of him guarding you from the touch of men twice your age. Him comforting you when you came to him crying on the one night he wasn't there. Him paling when you told him it was his own stepfather who'd touched you and whispered something that had made you want to peel off your own skin and fling your brain so it shattered against the wall.

You hadn't once entertained the thought of other men since that night. Since you'd been made to feel like an object that existed for one purpose. Except for Billy

He was your only exception. And now you felt as though you'd been betrayed.

All this washed over you in a wave of hurt that could have knocked you off your feet, and you bit the inside of your mouth, rapid blinking unable to stop the tears from falling down your cheeks. Billy inhaled once, and before you knew it you were being pulled into his chest, face pressed to his shoulder.

To your credit you tried to pull away, but he shook his head, gently pushing your head against him. The gesture drew a little sob from your lips as your body involuntarily let down its guard. You couldn't help it- Billy had always been your rock, your harbor. Even when he was away he was a fond memory that kept you warm at night, the tale of his care for you holding you as tightly as he would have.

Now your tears were rivers on your cheeks, and you sniffled, a little noise muffled against him. Billy kept his hand at your crown, and you felt his other hand on your waist, rubbing your back carefully. "Shh, it's okay. I've gotcha sweetheart. 'm so sorry."

You finally lifted your hand to his chest, clinging to his shirt and letting him hold you close. It was like a shelter, an oasis in a desert dried out and boundless. Billy's arms were always the place you would run when things got tough. And you found that they were always open to you.

He held you until you lifted your head, suddenly conscious of the area you were in. But you found that there were very few people surrounding, simply going about their business as if you weren't crying on the shoulder of an infamous outlaw.

Billy settled his hand on your cheek again, searching your eyes. "'s it okay if I explain myself? I know that can't've looked good, darlin'." Once you slowly nodded, he continued, not once lifting his gaze from your eyes. "There was a man in there. Sayin' bad things to her. Her husband's out workin' so I stepped in to walk 'er out." He smoothed a strand of hair behind your ear, thumb rubbing your cheek. "No funny business, I swear. You're my girl."

His girl. You swallowed the burst of light in your chest and whispered, "And last night...?"

The corners of his lips turned up. "Not nothin', sweetheart. Not nothin' at all." His other hand rose to your uncovered cheek. "Seein' you in the bar last night...wasn't sure if I was dreamin' or not." Billy leaned in and touched his lips to your nose, making you smile through leftover tears. "I wouldn't do this if I didn't want it to be more."

You released a breath you didn't know you were holding. "You do?"

Billy rubbed his thumbs up and down your cheekbones, his smile widening a bit. "Yeah. I do." He nudged a kiss to your forehead and you closed your eyes. "I...I've spent a year missin' you, baby. 'n last night...I wouldn't dream of givin' you anything less than what you deserve."

You slid your arms around his waist, resting your cheek on his chest. "What's that?"

He adjusted, leaning his cheek against your head and making you smile. "What you really deserve's everything good in the whole world, and I can try 'n get there baby. Kisses-" his lips found your hair. "'n some good lovin'. You deserve that."

Nuzzling your cheek against his chest, playing with the back of his shirt. "Your love is more than enough."

"Hardly." Billy smoothed his hand over your hair, nose smushing to your forehead. "I'm a lucky, lucky man."

You lifted your head, tilting it back to look at him. His eyes were warm, fondly surveying you as if he were committing every part of you to memory. "Does that mean you're gonna stick around, Mr. Bonney?"

Billy grinned, and in a swift move that surprised you, he lifted you off your feet so your face was level with his. With his arms crisscrossed over your back, he leaned in and pressed his mouth to yours before you could ask what he was doing. His kiss chinked away any doubts that had formed like walls around your heart. They crumbled into dust, letting his essence charge forward and wrap itself around you. When he pulled back he let the tip of his nose poke yours, growing your smile.

"So long as a certain pretty girl's 'round these parts, I'm stayin."

[spaghettificationandpretzels]

Let There Be Hotel Complaints

Based on a post request by @rayslittlekitten I really hope you like it, I have no idea if it fits but I tried hard.

Title based on: Hozier - Dinner & Diatribes

Contains: Fluff, Ray being Gomez Addams, mentions of periods/period symptoms, smut (fingering, oral sex M and F receiving, P in V, breeding kink, possessive Ray, scents and smells, aftercare) Not beta read.

3.5K words.

Ray's feelings for you are as wide as the ocean, and his love is second only to his desire.

The hand that wrapped around your body felt like hot coals on your already heated skin, and you fought the urge to shrink away from Ray. "Raymond, I've been put in the garden working, can you let me shower before you hug me?" His arms only tightened around as you felt his chest expand against your back as he pressed his nose into your sweat-damped neck. "Ray! I'm covered in sweat."

He checked, and the sound reverberated through your body like the first rumbles of a thunderstorm. "I don't mind, Dear, you smell wonderful." His face moved to the top of your head as he took another breath, admiring how your conditioner mixed with a hard day's work. It drifted into his mind like the reaching of a siren song, slowly bleeding away his other thoughts.

His lips found your neck, and he smirked against your skin as your head tilted to make room for him. A quick glance at the clock let him know you'd have enough time to enjoy each other before the fancy business dinner tonight, and he found himself slowly unlacing from the hug as he brought one hand to your breast.

He gained more access to your skin, and you rested your head back onto his shoulder and pushed yourself into his touch, but he was pulling his hand away a second later when he felt you stiffen as he tightened his grip around your soft flesh. "Sorry, Love."

"It's ok, I'm just a little sore." There was no explanation needed as to why, you knew he knew why, he always seemed to know.

His hand moved lower, rubbing the skin of your ribcage in long, soothing strokes as his lips moved from the dome of your shoulder up your neck. "Allow me to make it up to you?"

The offer was the definition of temptation, but there were things to be done and places to be. "Tonight, if all goes well at the dinner. I have to finish with the garden and then get ready for tonight."

The teeth against your skin were not in retaliation for your conditional refusal but a promise of things to come. "Then let me help you?"

"Of course." Your reason was wholly selfish, motivated by rolled up sleeves and rippling muscles at his instance of lifting heavy bags of soil. You finished your glass of water and went back outside, not missing how Ray's eyes followed your arms as you placed your sun hat back on your head. He smiled at you, it was earnest and filled with warmth. "What do you need me to do, Gorgeous?"

You couldn't help yourself, there was something in his desire to aid you in every need that sparked something in you. "Many things, My Darling, but right now, I need help with the tea roses."

He smiled and took two steps to close the distance between you before brushing his lips on your ear. "Your wish is my command."

****

The rest of the afternoon swam by in a haze for Ray. It was the kind of torture that the training he had received many lifetimes ago could not prepare him for, and with each passing moment, his thoughts grew more debauched until he was waxing poetic in his head like a madman.

As you finished your makeup, he could not get the image of you licking the strawberry juice from your lunchtime dessert off your lips out of his head. Breathing through his nose had become an affliction; top notes of your shower gel and the underneath of you were one thing, but there was the faintest hint of him there that made him want to sink his teeth in your bare skin so many times that the hotel's tofts would look away in shame the moment they saw you.

By the time you slid into the car, pressing your legs to his as Bunny drove you to the hotel, he was afire with need. He laced his hand with yours as the vehicle travelled down from the lush countryside to the bright lights of the city and leaned in close, his nose brushing your temple as he told you more about the guests at the party you were heading to.

There were already people milling around when you arrived, handing their bags off to the Bellhops so they could enjoy their complementary night in luxury. Ray was less willing to relinquish the bags and simply blinked as the hotelier became insistent. Nevertheless, the man still walked to your room on the sixth floor, smiling saccharinely as he told you to enjoy the complimentary champagne before the party started.

The opulence of the room and the expensive champagne sat ignored by you and Ray as he steeled himself for a night of making nice and glad-handing when he would rather be doing something far more enjoyable. He took your hands and drew you to the middle of the room, wrapping his arms around you as his nose returned to your hair for the millionth time that day. "You look beautiful as always."

You smiled and placed your hands on his chest. "And you keep sniffing me like some weirdo."

He took it in stride, chuckling softly as he yanked you to his chest. "I can't help it, you smell exquisite, it's driving me insane."

You sighed, enjoying the warmth of his arms around you. "I know what you're thinking, but we promised Mickey."

He mirrored your sigh as he broke the embrace and extended his hand. "I know. We should head down there now, the sooner we go down and mingle, the sooner we can leave."

His hand found your lower back as you took the lift to the grand hall and stayed there as you met up with Mickey and Rosalind and made introductions with the upper class lucky enough to receive invites. Of course, the reason for your invitations was the massive underground white widow super cheese farm under the hotel's private golf course.

It was painfully dull, standing around making small talk about the weather and wallpaper while eating tiny pies that only served to make you more hungry. Ray stayed stuck to your side, practically dragging you around with him while he did business for his boss.

"Your wife looks lovely tonight." Ray's arm tightened around you as you spun towards the voice.

"She looks lovely every night, Dave." If Dave had plans to say more, they were defeated by Ray's harsh glare as he pulled you away.

He moved to a quiet corner of the room and placed your hand on his ample bicep. "What's gotten into Ray? You've just about ripped the heads off anyone who's talked to me tonight. I get Dave, but the Simon's are nice."

He moved into your space, pressing you against the window as he took your chin between his thumb and forefinger while he leaned in close enough that your noses were brushing. To outsiders, it would have looked like a private moment between lovers, but Ray's eyes were fixed on with a look so lustful it would have made the whore of Babylon blush. "What's gotten into me? I have spent the last two hours watching these pigs look you up and down while acting like I don't want to rip their arms off for even daring to speak to you."

You blinked, he was in a mood tonight. "Well, Dear. How about you stick it out for another hour so we can eat dinner from this stupid menu then, I'm all yours for the night?"

He swallowed and exhaled before pressing a quick kiss to your lips. "Of course Darling." His tone had shifted; it had taken on that gravelly tilt that created a flutter of excitement in your chest, and you eagerly headed back into the fray as Ray finally composed himself.

You pressed a kiss to his cheek as he leaned into your touch. "Thank you, Dear."

****

The dinner was the typical mess of rich people's food that had too many flavours and not enough on the plate, but Ray gave you all his cheese twirls and made sure to pick you the biggest slice of chocolate cake off the platter when dessert came around. All was going well until the tables were cast aside again for the wine course, and you were split from him as one of the tofts Mickey looked after pulled him away to talk about security.

His eye kept drifting over to you, and he grew ever more aggravated as he watched the sommelier try and fail to flirt with you. He dismissed the man he was talking to with the promise to call later, that he was tired and wanted to enjoy his hotel room and all but stormed over to you. "Are you enjoying the wine, Dear?"

You shook your head. "I've told the sommelier that I'm not interested in that variety, but he's being very insistent."

The man smiled and turned to Ray. "We have some of the best wine in the country here, your girlfriend…"

If looks could kill, Ray would have ended the man there and then. "My wife isn't interested, and I don't appreciate your tone or your attitude. I will be speaking to your employer in the morning to deal with this in full."

His hand was back on your lower back as he marched towards the lift, and between his puffed chest and his expression, no one dared to join you as the doors opened. The second the doors closed, he was on you, pressing you against the wall as his lips found yours. The grip he had on you was almost painful, his fingers digging firm into your skin as he held you in place for a searing kiss that stole the air from your lungs.

He finally allowed you to breathe when the doors opened on your floor, and he all but dragged you to your room as he shut the door and pressed up against it. His lips were on yours again, and his hands slid around your body until his fingers were curling around the fabric of your evening dress and ripping it open with the pop pop of fancy buttons.

He shoved the dress down, breaking from your lips for a moment to take in the lingerie you were wearing. "Fucking hell y/n." That went next, and his lips didn't give you the chance to admonish him about what he had paid for the now ruined fabric lying at your feet.

He once again broke from you and knelt on the floor, removing your shoes one by one before kissing his way up your legs, swapping legs with each kiss, getting closer and closer to your centre with each one until he slowed at the crease of the thigh. He was once again inhaling like he was suffocating, and you wove your hands into his hair as your frustration grew. "Can you do something instead of sniffing me?"

His teeth sunk into your skin in retaliation, and he was standing up to his full height with eyes full of threat. "Don't rush me." His hand cupped you, his fingers running your rapidly gathering wetness as he all but growled at you. "This cunt is mine, I get to take all the time I want, understand?"

You almost wanted to act out to see what it would make him do, but the poor man already looked pained enough. "Anything you want."

He locked you in another kiss, his teeth smarting at your lip as he made his wants known with a gentle pressure on your shoulders. "Get on your knees."

He kicked your ruined dress under you to soften the ground as you sunk down, and you pulled at his belt to free him. He helped you, shoving his trousers and boxers down in one go just far enough so his cock could spring out and you could grab his perfect ass unencumbered by fabric.

He looked down at you as you kitten licked around the head and felt another rush of this heated primal positiveness that he had been feeling the whole night. A hand found the back of your head as you took him into your mouth, and his free hand shot out to rest on a side table to steady himself as pleasure filled his senses.

He stopped himself from bucking his hips in order to focus on the vision of you sucking him like a lollipop. It was outright pornographic, and all he could think about was that you were all his and his alone. "Fucken 'ell, Love." You moaned around him, and he used every ounce of self-control to pull you off of him and to your feet. "Get on the bed."

His hands were all over you as you made your way to the bed, and he ran his hands up and down your sides while you spun around to face him so you could lay on your back on the plush mattress. You settled on the pillows as his lips met yours, and he finally began to remove his clothes.

Bare skin hit bare skin as his lips started a journey down your body until he was lifting your legs over his strong shoulders and onto his solid back. He kissed the bend of your knee, his lips soft as his beard brushed your skin. He locked eyes with you and smiled softly as he continued his journey upwards, finally arriving with barely there kisses that had you pushing your hips towards him. "Tell me you're mine."

"I'm yours." A hot, wet heat enveloped you as he licked you from the entrance to clit in one firm, wide lick before sealing his lips around your clit. Ray had always been a man who prided himself on his attention to detail, and your bedroom was no different; it was like he had committed precisely what you needed to memory so well that he didn't even need to try, and tonight was no different.

He seemed more desperate tonight; accuracy swapped for the burning desire to consume your whole, and it didn't help that he was moaning against your flesh like he could somehow feel what he was doing to you in his own body. The chorus of his name from your mouth only served to spur him on, and a forearm pressed your hips down so you couldn't move away from him as he used his free hand to slide two fingers inside you.

With his rough fingertips bullying your G-spot, you didn't stand a chance, and he was far too strong for you to twitch away for a reprieve as the waves of an earth-shattering orgasm took you like the undertow of a raging river. Your chest heaved as he pulled away, and he wiped his mouth on the back of his hand before bringing his soaked fingers to your lips. You licked him clean only to have him kiss away the taste like you had slighted him by taking him up on his offer, and then he was slotting himself between your spread wide legs and grinding his cock against your sensitive skin. "Tell me me you're mine."

"I'm yours." You marvelled at his self-control, his face buried in your neck as he continued teasing you. "I'm yours, please Ray."

He took his cock in hand and notched it at your entrance. "Who do you belong to?"

"You." Your reply was desperate, your hands on his heated chest with fingers curled in a threat should he persist in his game, but he didn't, and seemly satisfied with your declaration, he slid inside you with one confident push. The fullness of it stole the air from your lungs, and you lifted your hips up to take him in faster as he bottomed out.

His hand found your hip, and his fingers dug in with force as he began to move, taking a steady pace that had the head of his cock brushing your G-spot with each pass. One of your hands wove into his hair while the other clutched at his back, and he pressed his lips to yours in a scalding kiss as he picked up speed. Mercifully, before he suffocated in the air stealing a kiss, his lips moved to your neck, and then his teeth were out, marking your skin like he was trying to prove a point about his ownership over you.

He pulled away for a moment and took in your blissed out face, faltering as the vision brought him teetering to the edge of oblivion far sooner than his ego would allow, so in a mix of the desire to uphold his pride and the need for more skin to mar he pulled out of your for a fleeting moment only to flip you over then slam back home as his teeth found more skin. He was overwhelming at this angle, and your fingers curled around the pillow as he slid a hand between you to rub your clit.

Ray would often tell you that you were good for his ego, that he could walk into a room where all the men would turn their heads to look, and he could smile knowing you were his alone. But this was something different, you writhing under him, stuck between frantic begging and breathless need made him feel like a God with you as his ever willing offering.

He captured you in another kiss as the edge neared, and you shuddered as, with one more precise circle to your clit, you fell over it. His hips didn't slow, and he growled into your mouth like a hungry animal as he chased his own high. "You're mine, I own you, understand?" All you could do was nod as your vision began to grey at the edges, but he must have accepted your answer because he all but roared as he came inside you.

His strength failed as it hit him full force, and the possessive beast inside him was finally satiated, knowing he had marked inside and out. He was mindful not to crush you, but he couldn't find it in himself to move away just yet, he couldn't let his hard work slip from you just yet. His lips were once again gentle as they kissed the marks his teeth had made, and you sighed as he brushed the stray hairs from your face.

His nose found its family home on the back of your neck, and his chest expanded against your back as he inhaled. "You must be intent on trying to kill me, My Dear."

You didn't have a clue what he was talking about, and rather than ask, you kissed him in hopes he would tell you anyway, but he didn't, and the weariness in your bones forced you to speak. "What do you mean?"

He finally rolled off you, and you laid on your sides facing each other as his hand ran up and down your side. "I can't understand how someone can smell so intoxicating, it truly is torture."

You reached up to lay a hand on his cheek, and he tilted his head to press his lips to your palm. "You get like this every month, I thought you'd be used to it by now."

He shook his head, sleepy. "Never, how can someone get used to being on fire."

"I suppose that's fair." There was more you wanted to say, but it was getting hard to keep your eyes open, and he could tell. Despite his own feelings, he was getting up to clean himself up before returning with his arms loaded. He brought you a glass of water and used one of your damp face cloths to cleanse away your makeup before using another damp cloth to remove the mess from between your legs, although he did pause to watch the evidence of your shared sin drip from your body and onto the expensive sheets as another wave of possessive filled him.

With his duty done, he disposed of the unclean fabric in a pile and climbed into bed next to you, wrapping you in his arms as he pulled you to his chest. "I love you y/n."

You relaxed into his arms and dropped a kiss on his chest where his heart lay. "I love you too, Ray."

In the morning, he would awaken you with ginger tea, a heating pad, and ibuprofen before climbing back into bed with you and soothing away your aches and pains until check out finally came. Room service would find no evidence of the mess Ray had left in the aftermath of your coupling, just a pile of towels already in the dirt laundry bin when they collected the cart at the start of their shift. He did, however, get a dirty look and a snide comment from the hotelier about what kind of establishment he was running. As you checked out, Ray took it in stride.

Fin

[bloodyrib]

Valentine's Day may be 27 days away, but that doesn't mean you can't celebrate right now! This fic is about your relationship with a certain clown named Art and a romantic getaway. But remember, with him you get roughness and softness, the best of both worlds. This is my first long fic and it's very kinky but I hope you all enjoy! (NSFW 18+, TW for cutting)

Word count: ~6200

It was the Friday before the weekend you had been waiting for. It had been a bit of a struggle to get your boss to accept your time off request, but after some convincing, they finally acquiesced. One weekend off won’t hurt, you thought to yourself, especially after all the hard work you had put in during the holidays. It was the middle of January now, and there weren’t that many customers coming into the department store anyways. 

You were in the breakroom standing by the sink and sipping a cup of coffee when one of your coworkers came in and started chatting with you. You both talked about how nice it was to finally be able to relax a little after the rush of the holiday shopping season. The conversation then shifted to what you were planning to do during your time off. “I’m not entirely sure, I’ll have to see. Do you have any ideas?” you asked, stirring the coffee stirrer in a counterclockwise direction. A grin appeared on your coworker’s face and she responded, “Why don’t you go to The Pines? It’s this hotel up north with great views and the reviews about it were good! My husband and I were doing some searching online for where to go during summer vacation, as we always plan way in advance, and we’re set now! You should definitely go this weekend! A-a-a-nd you can go with your mystery man who you still haven’t told us about and have a nice enjoyable time!” She winked and playfully elbowed you in the arm. You let out a soft chuckle. This mystery man you who had been dating for a few weeks now would remain a mystery to your coworkers for the foreseeable future. You were a private person and didn’t want your nosy coworkers, especially this one, to know who you were dating. Though eventually, they did end up finding out. This time, however, you were with someone that no amount of explaining would make sense to them as to why you were with him. This someone was a clown.

You remember the first time you met Art. It was a cold late December evening and you were washing dishes. You stared out the window and watched the cars pass by on the street. A blanket of snow covered the neighborhood, and everything glowed softly under the warm orange streetlights. You had the same routine everyday: eat dinner at 6 pm, watch whatever was on the television for a few hours, and then go to sleep at 8 pm. Your routine was like a grandmother’s, but you liked it, especially since most of your life you felt like you had lacked one. Life was more in order now. You turned off the faucet and wringed out the sponge when you heard some noise coming from the back of the house. It sounded like someone was going through your trash. You felt a bit uneasy but wiped your hands on your jeans and started walking towards the sliding glass door that faced the backyard. You pushed the curtains back, turned on the outdoor light, and opened the door. What you saw surprised you. 

It was a man dressed in a black and white clown costume covered head to toe in blood sifting through the large recycling bin propped against the side of the house. You noticed a large black garbage bag on the ground next to his enormous clown shoes and wondered if that was your trash bag. When the light came on, he stopped and turned his head to look at you. You saw he had a little black hat on the left side of his head. He also had a little black dot on the tip of his nose. His mouth and eyes, covered in black paint, widened and he looked more shocked and surprised than you. His mouth then turned into a smile, his teeth horribly rotten and yellowed. He took one hand out of the recycling bin and waved to you. The fingerless gloves were stained with a deep red color and his fingers, also stained with the same color, curled up and down repeatedly. 

You didn’t know what to make of this. Halloween had been over for a while now yet here was a person who clearly hadn’t gotten the message and thought it was funny to act in this unsettling manner. You were about to ask him what he was doing and if he needed help when he suddenly stumbled back a bit. He caught himself by grabbing onto the bin with one hand. The clown put his right hand to his head and looked like he was about to faint. You figured he must have been in some sort of bad accident with all of that blood on him, but he seemed overall fine except for some dizziness. As concerned and scared as you were, your heart was telling you to bring him inside and tend to him. Something about him was enticing. For reasons unknown to you, he reminded you of the animals you had taken care of throughout your childhood: the newborn kitten found abandoned in your grandfather’s rose bushes, the baby pigeon with a broken wing underneath your best friend’s treehouse, and the dog found with a sprained ankle in your middle school’s parking lot. You had nursed them all back to health and were considered a healer by your friends and family. Here was someone that needed help, and it felt wrong to leave him outside or spend extra time waiting for the ambulance which could cause his condition to get even worse, as emergency services in your area took a while to arrive anyways. Though there was a lot of blood, his costume seemed intact and his skin had no visible open wounds. None that you could see at least from where you were standing. The clown frowned and lowered his chin, looking at you with pleading puppy eyes, and then wrapped his arms around himself. He started shivering and then pointed past where you were standing, as if asking you to bring him inside. You saw the bloody footsteps leading from the corner of the house up to him, his shoes having left deep imprints in the snow. You gave in and opened the door wider, moving to the side. The clown’s frown turned into a smile and he gently bent down to pick up the garbage bag. He swung it onto his shoulder, wincing a little. When he reached the entrance, he tipped his tiny hat at you, which made you let out a small laugh. He entered inside and you closed the sliding door behind you. 

Art healed surprisingly fast. You thought feeding him your mother’s chicken noodle soup contributed to that, as it had personally healed you from many illnesses and heartaches you had dealt with throughout your life. You figured out slowly he was like a stray cat, completely avoiding water at first, keeping somewhat of a distance from you, bearing his teeth when he was upset, and giving you the occasional bap with his paw, or hand, when you did something he didn’t like. He also came and went as he pleased, sometimes being there on the couch when you came home from work, and other times having disappeared from the house entirely when you woke up. It was irritating at first that he never spoke. It felt like playing a game every time trying to figure out exactly what he wanted, but over time you understood his facial expressions and hand gestures better. You did like how quiet the house remained even with two people in it now. Not even in your wildest dreams did you think that a 6 foot something clown would show up one day in your backyard and then start living with you, but it ended up happening that way. 

Art brought a new routine to your life, one that became centered around catering to his each and every need. You and Art started getting closer over time. He would leave less often and started being more affectionate, curling up next to you while you watched a movie and wrapping his arms around you. You didn’t know his name but called him Clowny or Mr. Clown. You eventually learned that his name was Art when after you and him were done being intimate, he took a scalpel from his trash bag and cut a slit into your forearm, shoved his finger into it, and wrote out each letter onto your naked stomach. This wasn’t the first time he had used his tools on you, as you learned that nothing made him hornier than the sight of your blood. Your body was one thing, its curves and softness enticing to Art in every way, but to see it bleeding from cuts and scratches that he had caused that he would either lick up using his tongue or have you lick up from his fingers was another. You enjoyed how much pleasure you got from pain, with Art acting like a teacher guiding your mind, body, and soul to new levels of arousal and satisfaction. Your brain raced every time he gave you that look, his eyes becoming halfway closed and his mouth turning into a devilish grin, wondering what he had in store for you. You both complemented each other. Like yin and yang. Like the black and white of his costume.

You were finally off from work and in bed in your fluffy grey pajamas. The website for The Pines hotel was open on your laptop. Art was next to you, cutting into a doll he had gotten from somewhere, probably stolen from a neighbor’s kid or toy store, with a pair of scissors. He had a hacksaw and hammer on the blanket between the both of you. He enjoyed playing with and using his tools in made-up scenarios before he fell asleep. Last night, he took a potato from the fridge, drew a smiley face on it with a black marker, and glued pieces of your hair onto it that he had cut off while you were asleep. He kept injecting it with a large syringe, the liquid eventually leaking out and onto the bed, and then stabbed it multiple times with a rusty knife. After he was happy with the potato's makeover, he threw everything into his garbage bag he kept by the bed and passed right out. Like you, he had a nighttime routine, but unlike you, he was a heavy sleeper. Not even a hurricane could wake him up. 

“Why don’t we stay here over the weekend, Art?” you inquired, pointing at the screen and looking over at his direction. He stopped cutting and examined the screen. You explained to him what they offered and went to the section describing the rooms. You scrolled until something caught your eye: the Honeymoon Suite. The room looked beautiful, with pinks and reds all throughout, and there was even a heart-shaped jacuzzi. Your heart fluttered imagining yourself there with Art. The two of you, embracing each other in a bath of bubbles without a care in the world. He sensed your excitement and clapped his hands together, extending his finger and touching the screen while nodding. Your weekend was set. It was time to pack and head to The Pines tomorrow.

You stepped out of the car with your suitcase in hand and looked ahead at the hotel. It was the late afternoon and the sun had already set. The cold air seeped into your jacket and made you shiver. Art was getting his bag from the trunk. He didn’t pack any extra clothes and was in the same costume that he wore when you first saw him, except now it had been washed. You had offered to go to the store and buy him some new clothes, but he declined, shaking his head and folding his arms across his chest. He didn’t even let you wash his costume again. He was strange, you thought to yourself, but he was yours and you were his. After Art slung the bag over his shoulder, you both headed to the entrance. The hotel was large and reminded you of a ski lodge. Its exterior was eggshell white with pecan brown lines outlining the windows and walls, and the roof was also painted the same brown color. The awning had a sign on the front with the words “The Pines” written in thick black lettering. Two pine trees adorned each side of the sign. As you both walked to the glass lobby door, Art quickly ran forward and opened it for you. He was always chivalrous, something you appreciated and hadn’t seen in any of your exes. You thanked him and entered the lobby, a gust of warm air hitting your face and warming you up immediately. 

You walked to the front desk while Art took a seat at a blue lounge chair, placing his bag in the other chair next to him. Art picked up the orange throw pillow that was on the chair and placed it onto his lap, rubbing his gloved hand up and down on the shiny fabric. The man at the front desk was an older gentleman. His gray hair matched his gray mustache, along with his gray blazer and gray sweater. A gray man indeed. His behavior, however, was anything but dull. He clapped his hands together and exclaimed, “Welcome to The Pines, your very own personal paradise! How can I help you today?” He grinned widely and stared at you, waiting for a response. His name tag read “Mr. Lockwood.” You let out a soft chuckle and responded, “I’m Y/N and I made a reservation yesterday.” Mr. Lockwood clapped his hand together again before searching up your name on the computer. “Ah, I see you’ve booked the Honeymoon Suite! How exciting, a great option indeed! Is your partner here?” You turned around and pointed to Art. Mr. Lockwood looked over at Art and kept his smile. Art looked over at him and waved enthusiastically. Mr. Lockwood let out an uncomfortable chuckle. You quickly said, “We just came back from a…clown convention, yeah! We both had the same outfit on but I got tired of having it on so I changed. Busy day!” You grinned, hoping he would give you the room key already so you could get out of there. Mr. Lockwood glanced again at Art and then looked down at his desk, retrieving the room key. His smile was a bit dimmer than before. He handed it to you saying “Third floor. Once you step off the elevator, walk all the way down. It’s the room at the end of the hall. You two enjoy your stay, and welcome again to The Pines!” 

The Honeymoon Suite looked even better in person. The bed area had pink neon lights built into the white ceiling, making the ceiling and fuchsia-colored walls glow. Thick ruby red curtains adorned the wall behind the bed and the wall-length window past the bed. The floor was covered in soft dark red carpeting, reminding you of velvet. The big circular-shaped bed, underneath a large crystal chandelier, was covered in white cotton sheets adorned with rose petals. Two champagne glasses and a bottle of champagne in a steel bucket sat on a small glass cylindrical bedside table. A pink throne armchair with gold trim was near the table. A flat-screen television was on the wall opposite the bed. You looked to your right and saw that the carpeting ended and a floor of white marble started. The heart-shaped jacuzzi was not far from the bed. It was the same deep red as the curtains and encased in white marble with steps leading to the top. Rose petals were strewn everywhere. A box of chocolates, a bouquet of roses in a clear glass vase, and a bottle of bubble bath sat on an ivory-colored cabinet near the jacuzzi. 

You felt your face get hot, thinking about all the fun you and Art would have here. Before you could look at Art to see his reaction, he pushed you to the side and ran to the bed, dropping his bag on the floor and jumping onto the bed on his back, spreading out his arms as he did. You never did get over how tall he was. Even with such a large bed, his feet touched the ground. You laughed as Art picked up the petals from the bed and threw them in the air above him, each one delicately landing on his face and body. He picked up and threw the petals again, overjoyed with how they danced in the air like tiny fairies before landing back down. 

You gazed at him longingly, tilting your head to the side and examining him as if he was an alluring sculpture at a museum. You hadn’t been with him for that long but he had made your life so much better with his mannerisms and love. Even when he had gotten on your nerves, your frustration melted away when he gave you a light kiss on the cheek or placed his strong hands around your waist as you laid on your back and pulled you closer to him, your legs wrapping tightly around his slender frame as he fucked you with so much passion you saw twinkling lights on the ceiling, same as the chandelier lights in this suite. You loved how focused he was, his rich green eyes transfixed on you and making you feel like you were the only person in the entire universe that existed to him. His fingertips gliding gently over your nipples and legs felt like you were being touched by rose petals, smooth and silky against your skin. He reminded you, however, that roses also have thorns. When you were on all fours with your backside pressed against him, he grabbed a fistful of your hair and pulled you up, turning your head around and made you watch him carve his name into your lower back, adding a heart around the letters. You felt the blood trickle down until it reached his cock, still throbbing in your ass. He pulled it out and reinserted, using the blood as lube, and went faster and faster until you both came at the same time, the cum and blood mix spilling out from you and onto the floor. You were Art’s property, and he marked and used you as he pleased. You were also his serenity, a calming force in his life that had been up to this point chaotic. When he was feeling particularly upset one day, you offered him a gift that you had received from a friend: a cream-colored stuffed bear with a black bow around its neck. His eyes lit up and he took the bear and snuggled his head on it. Art also enjoyed snuggling his head on your chest and listening to the blood pumping in your heart, the rhythmic beats soothing to him and eventually lulling him into sleep. Remembering these moments almost brought tears into your eyes. No one had ever made you feel the way Art did. His complexity attracted you. You trusted him and offered yourself to him fully and completely, a bond that felt stronger than the strongest glue in the world. You came back to your senses when Art turned the television on and started browsing through the channels, one leg crossed over the other and a hand underneath his chin as he watched each show carefully. You brought your suitcase in and closed the door behind you. 

You and Art had just finished watching a cooking competition. Art himself was very competitive, always running ahead of you to get to bed first or frantically shoving your clothes from the dryer into a basket. While watching the show, he would frown when a judge liked the food of a contestant Art didn’t like and silently laughed when another contestant made a mistake. He would get especially excited seeing the knives and even got up from the bed and reached into his bag, pulling out one and pretending to chop vegetables at first, and then walking over to the television and pretending to stab a contestant on the screen. You smiled at him and he smiled back at you, placing the knife back into the bag and climbing back in bed. In the end, the contestant that Art liked won, and Art clapped gleefully and bounced up and down. “Aww, look who won! Isn’t that great?” you asked, giving him a hug and placing your head on his shoulder. He placed his head on yours and hugged you back. You turned the television off and got out of bed, placing your feet into the peach-colored hotel slippers on the floor. 

You wanted to finally relax in the jacuzzi. It had been a long drive and your car seats were uncomfortable. Art fiddled with the radio station for the first half of the ride, switching back and forth between channels and settling on one for a little bit before changing it again. You told him to stop and he glared at you and turned to look out the window, clearly upset. You instantly felt bad but remembered you had brought an assortment of coloring books and crayons with you, ones that you had bought from a bookstore after you had caught him coloring the upstairs bathroom mirror with your expensive lipsticks and bottles of foundation. You told Art that you had a surprise for him and pointed to the glove compartment. He raised his eyebrows and opened it, finding the books and crayons and kicking his feet excitedly as he pulled them out. As you drove, he had his right leg on the ground and the left one propped up on the seat, using his knee as a table to color. He placed the coloring books close to his face, doodling intently as if he was a scientist working on a formula. Art enjoyed art, and it made you happy that he was content with simple things like this. He remained occupied the rest of the way. 

Art remained in bed and watched you walk past the jacuzzi and to the bathroom. You opened the door and saw that the bathroom was pearly white, shining in the mirror lights. You changed out of your clothes and put on the robe that hung from a hook on the wall, the silky lavender-colored fabric gliding over your bare arms, legs, and breasts. You looked in the mirror and adjusted your hair before heading out. You were expecting the jacuzzi to have already been full of water and bubbles upon arrival, but understood that everyone had their preferences. It was up to you to set up everything based on what you and Art liked. 

You found the control panel on the right side and pressed the “on” button. The jets started with a loud whooshing sound. Art got startled. “It’s okay! it’s just the jets,” you said reassuringly. You put your hand in the water to check the temperature. You enjoyed scalding hot baths and showers but for the very few times that Art let you wash him, he preferred lukewarm water. You adjusted the temperature setting on the panel. After the water was the right temperature, you poured half of the bottle of bubble bath into the water. A rough estimate on how much to pour would be fine, and there was nothing wrong with having too many bubbles. You checked on Art to see what he was up to. He was fixated again on his tools, admiring a dirty box cutter covered in dried blood. After a while, the tub was full and the bubbles were fluffy and white like clouds. You couldn’t wait to get in. But first, you had to convince Art to get in with you. You had tried to make him take a bath or shower with you many times but the one time that he did, he stood in the far corner of the shower, away from the spray of water from the shower head, and watched you wash yourself before leaving after a few minutes. You were hoping to have more action with him this time around. “Art, come over here baby,” you said in a seductive voice, hoping he would turn his focus away from the box cutter and onto you. He turned to look at you, his facial expression slack. You ran your hands through your hair and over your chest flirtatiously, using a bent finger to beckon him forward. He continued watching you with the same expression when he shifted his gaze to the jacuzzi and saw the bubbles. His eyes grew large and his mouth turned into an O-shape. You noticed and exclaimed, “Yes look, it's bubbles! Come here!” Art dropped the box cutter, which landed on the carpet with a thud, and quickly ran over. 

His eyes glimmered as he watched the bubbles sparkle under the overhead light and bob up and down on the water’s surface like boats. He started popping some of the bubbles and then scooped up a handful, cupping them with both hands before blowing them back into the water. He took more and then turned and blew them towards you, beaming afterwards. You laughed and playfully splashed some water at him. Art put his hands up to block the water but some got onto his costume. His smile faded away and he stared at you, folding his arms across his chest and looking to the side with an upset expression on his face. You sighed and said, “Oh c’mon! No need to pout!” Art didn’t budge. You started to get a little frustrated, but you had to think of a way to get him to be happy again. You glanced over at the jacuzzi and started to untie your robe. It dropped to the ground lightly, and Art gave you a side-eye before facing you. His arms remained folded as he looked you up and down, an ever so slight smile beginning to appear on his face. You climbed into the tub using the stairs and settled into the middle, resting your back along the jutting curve of the heart. The bubbles almost reached to your chin and you used your hands to spread them around. You bit your lip and kept eye contact with him. Art dropped his hands and his eyes became halfway closed, his mouth turning into a devilish grin. You blushed as he started undressing himself.

Art kept his fingerless gloves on. He was fine with getting them wet with all different kinds of liquids and substances. He probably even preferred them to be like that. He bent down to take his shoes off. He rarely took his shoes off and even used to sleep in bed with you with his shoes on, but after he kicked you by accident one night resulting in you landing on your face onto the hardwood floor, you now required him to take them off before going to sleep. He pulled each sock off and flinched a little as he placed his feet on the cold marble floor. Then, Art reached to his back to unzip his costume. You added a string to the zipper after watching him struggle to unzip it before. 

The costume landed on the ground lightly like your robe, and you looked at him up and down like he had done to you. His skin was so pale it was almost glowing and his arms rested at his sides, thin like his legs. His cock was lengthy and thick. You guessed it was somewhere around 9 inches. Your mouth started watering like it did every time you saw it. He tasted like salty cotton candy and metal, and you badly wanted to experience that taste again. Art always kept his hat on however, and hated anyone touching it. One time when he was giving you head, you accidentally pushed the hat off and he immediately stopped, scowling at you and smacking your hand away before readjusting it. He resumed pleasuring you but became even more aggressive, as if it was punishment for messing up the arrangement of his hat. You very much liked it when he got mad and took his frustrations out on you. 

Art now climbed up the marble steps, almost having to tiptoe as they were tiny for his feet. He cast a huge shadow over you before settling into the water on your right side, a bit further than you had expected. Art poked some bubbles with his fingers and used his hands to move the water around. “You like bubbles, don’t you Art? I’ll buy some for you when we get home,” you said, scooting over to him. You extended your arm and set your hand slowly on his shoulder. He nodded his head. Suddenly, he grabbed your hand and pulled you to him swiftly, adjusting you so you sat in his lap with your back against him. 

Art grabbed your breasts from behind and squeezed them while licking your neck, his tongue gliding over your skin like butter and the saliva dripping down onto your collarbone. You let out a soft moan and placed your hands over his, caressing his knuckles as he caressed your nipples. He was getting hard under you, and you shifted your weight and reached down. You started stroking him, his cock veiny and pulsating in your palm. Art took one hand off your breast and grabbed your throat, pulled your head back, and kissed you while shoving his tongue into your mouth. A rush of sweet acidity flooded in and sent a wave of energy through your body. It was like you just had a shot of a powerful energy drink. The tiredness drained from you and you instantly woke up. 

He took his tongue out from your mouth and lifted you by the waist, moving you to the side. He readjusted you to face him and pushed you onto his cock, a crazed look in his eyes. You let out a loud gasp as he thrusted into you. The water started sloshing quickly as you bounced up and down on him, the bubbles moving in a frenzy to different parts of the jacuzzi. Art’s mouth hung open and his eyes were fluttering. The way that he kept pushing deeper and deeper into you, you thought he would go past your stomach and eventually reach your heart. He never ceased to amaze you with his length. You could barely talk, the only thing escaping from your lips were sounds of pleasure. After some time, you glanced past Art and looked at the closed bathroom door. Your eyes were getting blurry and your face was boiling, a sign that you were about to climax. You started bouncing on Art’s cock faster. The water and bubbles were spilling out of the jacuzzi now, landing loudly onto the floor. You had to remember to be careful when stepping out of the tub and to not slip and fall. He had shifted his hands from your throat to your ass and then to your waist, squeezing you harder and harder. His grip on you had become painful, but the smirk that was plastered on his face made you even more wet. Your eyes locked onto Art’s eyes. They shone like emeralds in a sea of milk. You felt yourself getting lost in them, a world that he only gave you access to. A world where it was only you and him. Your breathing became more rapid until finally you orgasmed, letting out a cry while holding onto Art's shoulders. Panting, you wiped the sweat from your forehead. 

Art pulled his cock out of you and got up. He stood over you like a giant, holding his dripping member in his hand and pointing to it, meaning he wanted you to suck it. You moved closer to him and got on your knees, pressing your lips to his swollen head and parting them open. He silently gasped. The taste of soap, cum, and some of your juices mingled in your mouth as you started to roll your tongue over his head and along his shaft. Thick saliva dripped down your chin and hands as you took more of him inside your mouth. 

You then used your right hand to bring his balls closer to you, playing with each one with your tongue and fingers, while your left hand jacked him off. Art’s eyes were now at the back of his head and he almost stumbled backwards but stabilized himself. You inserted his cock back to your open lips and just as you were about to continue sucking him, he shoved it to the back of your throat roughly and you gagged, tears forming in your eyes. Art pulled it out and gave a menacing look, then silently laughed and pointed mockingly at you. He grabbed the top of your hair and rammed his cock again into your mouth, but this time even farther until you felt that the tip had reached your esophagus. He pulled it out once more and you fell back a little into the water. You almost threw up but realized you were aroused again, the throbbing sensation between your legs having reignited like a wildfire. Art took great pride in pushing you to your limits and beyond. He knew you could take it and more like the good plaything that you were. 

You started to reach down between your legs with one hand when Art grabbed you by the arm and dragged you back up to him. He pried your mouth open with his hands and stuck his cock into your mouth once more, going back and forth rapidly as if your face was a fleshlight. You tried to pull back to get air but he pinched your nostrils shut with one hand and grabbed the back of your head tightly with the other. Art bared his teeth like a rabid animal, his eyes dancing wildly with madness. His prey drive was heightened, and he made sure he ravaged you like the ferocious predator he was. The room started becoming darker as the lack of oxygen was starting to affect you. Art then let go of your nose and pulled his cock out abruptly, causing you to fall back fully into the water. The soapy water rushed into your nose and you immediately got up, coughing and sputtering. As you were trying to collect yourself, Art moved towards the cabinet, tossing the roses from the vase and onto the floor before smashing it on the cabinet top. You screamed, “Art what are you doing?!” He grabbed a shard of broken glass and came towards you. Before you could react, he bent down and slashed your left cheek with the glass, causing you to wince and put your hand to your face. It hurt like hell. 

You saw him standing there grinning, his chest moving up and down rapidly, while holding a bloody piece of glass. His cock was twitching and his eyes had a tint of red to them. You felt blood gushing from the wound and tried your best to stop the bleeding. Art started stroking his cock and came on your cheek, the cum seeping into the cut. You let out a yelp as it stung. He continued to cum and spread it around, decorating your face until it looked like a frosted cake. Art looked extremely happy. He used his thumb to wipe the blood and cum from your cut, inserting it into your mouth after. You held onto his hand while licking it clean, the intoxicating flavors dancing on your tastebuds. You both kept eye contact with each other. When he felt you had cleaned it thoroughly, Art removed his thumb from your lips, a line of spit trailing, and booped the tip of your nose with his index finger. He used the same hand to pat your head, something he always did after he was satisfied with your performance. You watched him slowly turn, walk out of the tub, and grab a towel to dry himself off. After putting on his costume, socks, and shoes, he sauntered over to the bed, sat criss-crossed, and turned the television on. It was another cooking competition and you saw Art clap his hands in excitement. 

You decided to stay in the jacuzzi a bit longer, laying back and gazing up at the ceiling, a small sigh escaping your lips. You were beyond exhausted but felt more alive than ever, a wave of contentment washing over you. You put a finger to the cut on your face. It had stopped bleeding and the pain had subsided. You weren’t sure how you would explain to your coworkers and boss on Monday where you got that cut from. You could come up with an excuse about how your sister’s tabby cat scratched your face, or you could say you were trying to get a knife unstuck from tape on a package and you accidentally sliced your cheek. Either way, you didn’t have to worry about that now. You and Art still had another day at The Pines. You started thinking about what Art would do to you tomorrow, and you felt blood rush to your face. Mr. Lockwood was right. Here, it really was your very own personal paradise. ♡

[qin-qin16]

Wonder what it would feel like to have a soul bond with Ut sans someday, like- the fact that he trust someone enough to actually considering doing that is so wholesome.

Kinda wanna see how would he act when he realized he want to make a soul bond with reader, would he doubt himself? Would he just act on it? Would he just reassuring himself that maybe now is not the perfect time yet? There's just so many questions about how would he act on the situation makes me almost questioning myself lol.

I swear I love him so bad I wanna give him a smooch until can't think of the surrounding fiwhdlaizi2dnsoxgwxjayx

cw.: Sans x Reader, gn!reader, thoughts about soul bond, he is just a bit shy and anxious, fluff…

note: I didn't know if you just wanted my opinion or a oneshot, so I decided to write a little scene about it, hope you like it :D and I just realized that I never write for him before! Poor UT Sans.

He was always lazy — at work, with his puns, and even in his relationship with you -, but you didn’t seem to mind it. It had a certain domestic charm in a way.

However, he was being a little selfish in wanting a part of yourself just for him — a bit of your soul to bond with his forever. Yet, how could he express this to you? Do you even understand how precious and intimate this is?

Sans didn’t remember seeing anything like that in human culture; the closest comparison was marriage, but even that didn’t quite match the depth of soul bonding - and was unnecessarily expensive too. 

He tilts his head down, weary from thinking so hard about this. His weight seems to sink into the old couch, still tense with all the little engines working in his mind. You love him, right? So why the hesitation? Why is he so worried about your reaction? Is he afraid you might reject him?

No, you would never reject it — at least, not in the harsh way he imagined. You were kind and considerate, not someone who would cruelly laugh at his words.

“See? I told you I could match your lazy style!” He lifts his skull to you, seeing your figure appear in the doorway of your shared room — wearing one of his old blue coats and a black-stained shirt underneath.

Your proud smile in such a silly conquest made his own widen, finding your effort to amuse him funny.

“Well, I guess I’m not the only lazy bones around now.” He couldn’t resist the chuckle that escaped through his teeth when you snickered.

I can think about that later, Sans thinks as you come closer, your lips now pressed together but still showing traces of the wide smile from before.

However, he knows he can’t be lazy about this — especially when his own soul cries out whenever you're far away. I can think about that later, he repeats in his mind as he wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you close to him again.

For now, he is content with the domestic life you share, mostly because he can almost feel your soul’s joyful rhythm against his chest whenever you’re in his arms.

[art-missy]

Today was finally your day off and you had a long but funny schedule. You wanted to visit a museum, do some shopping and any other fun things that would come to your mind later.

Humming, you were checking your bag for the umpteenth time, and then your wallet when you let out a long and annoyed groan. You immediately exited your dorm room to got to that of a certain sentinel.

"Vincent, you get your golden ass here and take back your fucking black card !" you yelled while drumming at his door.

The door slid open, revealing Chamber dressed of a bathing robe and a very tired look. His eyes squinted to look at you better because his glasses wasn't on. You immediately threw the card at his face with an irritated huff.

"It is way too early to be awake, chaton," he yawned, rubbing his forehead where the card hit him.

"How many times do I have to tell you to not take me for a money-sucker leech ? I don't need your pocket money !"

He sighed then took the card off the floor.

"And how many times do I have to tell you that my partner deserves the best from me ?" he said in a 'duh' tone but you were already walking away.

You thought you could finally have a peaceful day without worrying about anything and just relax but no. You forgot that your partner was a very stubborn man. Your entry for the museum was already paid when you arrived, same for the aquarium and the movie theater. When you arrived at your favorite store to buy new clothes, the manager told you that everything was put on the bill of 'Dear mister Fabron' and you couldn't stop your eyes from rolling at their dreamy tone. When you arrived at your favorite bookstore which also was a café, a private room was booked for you with a painfully exquisite drink waiting for you.

Irritated, you massaged your temples to ease your nerves when a camera at the corner of the street caught your eye. You leaned on the window to notice that the lense was turned in your direction.

How much did he pay Cypher ? you wondered.

When you came to the headquarters, you immediately rushed to Chamber's room and to your surprise, the door opened right before your fist could hit it.

"Oh chaton !" he smiled brightly. "How was your day ?"

His smiled widened when you grabbed him by the collar and pushed harshly against a wall. He very clearly enjoyed that.

"I said I didn't want your money," you said behind gritted teeth.

"Not even from me ?" he faked a pout. "Am I not the love of your life ?"

You took a step back and glared at him.

"I wanted to spend my money !"

"My money is your money," he retorted, his expression now serious.

You wondered if he couldn't understand what you meant or if he did not want to.

"Your money isn't my reward for my hardwork ! I didn't earned it. Today I wanted to recompense myself with my own reward."

He stayed quiet for a moment but by the way he was looking at you, your words were slowly sinking in. Then, a mirthless laugh escaped his lips as he sat down on his bed.

"I ruined your day, didn't I ?"

You sat beside him with a little sigh.

"Talk to me next time you want to do something that concerns me, got it ?" you gently nudged his shoulder. "Your intentions for today were cute though, so thank you."

"Of course, mon chaton," he took your hand and gently brought your knuckles to his lips. "However, I still think you deserve to be spoiled rotten."

You sighed, too tired to debate with his obstinate affection.

Chaton = kitten

Mon chaton = my kitten

[kat-thepoet]

Veins of Violet

Logan Howlett x Fem!reader

Part 4: Under the surface

A/N: Hello guys! I hope you guys are enjoying these chapters! Don't forget to like and follow for more. Okay Byeee 🩵

Previous Chapters ☞ HERE ☜

4.5k words

As I looked at Adam, I quickly passed by him, not wanting to deal with him. He followed me outside, where Logan and Wade were standing. He held onto one of my shoulders to turn me around, and I punched him in the nose. " How many times do I have to tell you to leave me alone?!" I yelled at him, feeling fury in my fists. "Please Violet! You never let me explain what truly happened." he yelled, trying to get me to listen. Wade and Logan came to my defense. 

"Didn't I tell you to stay away from her?" Logan said it with a serious tone. 

"Look at who we have here." Said Wade as he uncrossed his hands. 

"If it isn't the dumb fuck who cheated on my best friend," said Wade, grabbing one of his guns and pointing it at his head.

" I don't want any trouble," said Adam, trying to control his breathing. 

"leave now. I never want to see you again." I said, trying not to cry.

"But Vi-" 

"Go!" I yelled, tears brewing in my eyes. 

He walked away, going back to the strip club.

I covered my face with my hands as I silently sobbed. Wade held me in his arms as I cried.

At that moment, Violet couldn't see Logan's face. But it was filled with rage and anger as he wondered to himself why someone would cheat on a nice girl. 

A few moments passed, and I was crying until we heard a car honk. We all looked up to see what that noise was, and it was Dopinder in his taxi, smiling and waving at us. I wiped my eyes as Wade let me go. 

"Are you ok now, Violet?" Wade asks as we walk to the taxi. 

"Yes, I'm ok now. Thanks Wade." I lied as I gave him a tired smile. 

We got in the taxi and drove home. As I looked at the stars, all I could see was Adams face. The crying made me tired, which made me sleep the entire way home. 

I woke up on my bed. My body feeling relaxed from the needed nap. Wait, how did I even get in bed? As I collected my thoughts, I just remembered sleeping in the taxi, and that's about it. As I looked up at the ceiling, memories started flowing in again—all of Adam. Why, of all places, did I see him there? Why is he still in my life after what he did to me? What did he mean by I never let him explain what truly happened? And why, after all this time, do I still love him? These thoughts in my head made my heartache unbearable. I started to cry, trying to muffle my mouth with my upper sleeve, attempting not to make any noise. After a few minutes of crying, I checked my phone, and I had a message from Vanessa. 

Vanessa: Hey, babe. Wade told me what happened. Want to talk about it? 

I looked at the time, and it was 8 p.m. I didn't feel like going out, so I decided tomorrow would be better. 

Violet: Want to grab coffee tmr at our spot in the morning? 

As I waited for her response, I walked to the bathroom to wash my face. I turned on the light and closed the door. I looked at myself in the mirror, and my eyes were puffy from crying. I giggled at myself for how silly I looked. I turned on the faucet to get cold water and washed my face, trying not to get the water all over the sink. After, I quickly washed my teeth because I had a weird taste in my mouth. I then combed my hair and decided to take a shower, so I walked out to get some of my clothes. As I walked to my room, I accidentally bumped into Logan. 

"Sorry, Logan, I didn't see you there." I said, in my post nap voice. 

"No worries." he said as he walked to the kitchen. 

I quickly headed into my room, grabbed my clothes, and headed to the bathroom. 

I took a long shower, trying to collect my thoughts. About Adam, about Logan, about everything. As the water hit my head, I couldn't help but feel my heart flutter at the thought that Adam was still wanting me after all this time. But at the same time, something was growing inside of me when I thought of Logan. When he was so protective of me, even though he didn't think I noticed, I couldn't wonder if he cared for me. Adam, on the other hand, we have history. I fell in love with him the first day I worked at the flower shop. He was getting flowers for his mother's grave, and I accompanied him after my shift was over. It was random, but it was lovely. My family's gravestones are across the country, so it was nice going to see one, even though she wasn't anything to me. After that day, he started coming every day to see me. It made me question if he had a job because of how much free time he had. He assured me that I was worth his lunch break. I felt loved and apprenticed. He eventually asked me out, and I said yes. Then he proposed, and I said yes. Until one day, I walked into my apartment after a long day of work. I caught him laying on my couch, and my whore of a roommate was on top of him naked. They didn't know I had walked in, so I closed the door, walked to Vanessa's apartment, and slept there for a week. After I stopped crying, I went to my apartment, burned all her things, and changed the locks. I never saw her again, but I think she got the message. Adam came by the next day and acted like nothing happened. I acted like everything was okay for the sake of our relationship, but I couldn't hold it in. I screamed and yelled at him about how he betrayed me and hurt me. And I kicked him out. Until a few days ago, when I saw him, and now today.

After I did my shower routine, I dried myself with my blue towel, and I put on my small shorts and tank top like I always do. I did my night routine early, and I walked out of the steaming bathroom. Logan was in the living room, his eyes directly on the TV, watching a black-and-white film as he had a beer in his hand. As I put my clothes in my laundry basket, I got a text from Vanessa, which read:

Vanessa: Of course, I'll see you then. Love you 🩷 

I liked her message and headed to the kitchen to make myself something to eat. 

I decided to eat some cereal because I didn't feel like cooking on the stove. I decided to eat in my room, and as I ate, I watched my favorite show, Pretty Little Liars.

I woke up at 3 a.m. to Logan's screams again. This was the second time this week. I decided to check on him, but this time cautiously. I got a glass of water from the kitchen and tiptoed to his room. The door was closed this time, so I opened it carefully, trying to make as little noise as possible. I could see him squirm in his sleep. beams of sweat collecting on his forehead and the sheets scattered on the floor. I carefully walked up to him and took out the glass of water on his nightstand. I could hear his voice tremble. I listened closer to what he was saying. 

"Violet....Vi please," is all I could manage to hear. Why was he saying my name? I thought to myself as I listened closer. "Please," he said, growling. I decided to try something. During my time with Strucker, I had intense training using my powers. I had training about everything—fighting, how to use a gun and knives, and of course, how to manipulate my powers. I got the chance to unlock new abilities such as telekinesis and emotion manipulation. I can float, but I can’t fly; I haven’t practiced that since I escaped Strucker. I can read thoughts, but not that well. It takes me a lot to practice, and lastly, I can heal myself and others. I decided to try something on Logan that I haven't tried on anyone yet. I got close to him and put my hand above his head. I closed my eyes and tried to calm his mind from what was tormenting him. I tried not to see in his mind because that's his business. but all I could manage to see was me on top of him. I removed my hand quickly and wondered to myself what the hell I was doing on top of him. I shook my thoughts and returned my hand to the top of his head again, and I continued to clear his mind. Purple magic glowed from my hand as my eyes started glowing too. I stood there for about a minute until he was in a deep slumber. I covered him in his sheets, and I quickly walked back to my room.

I got up from my bed feeling well-rested after a long, peaceful sleep. A rare sense of calm settled over me as I stretched, savoring the comfort of the morning. Glancing at my phone, I saw that it was already 8:30 a.m. Shit, I thought, suddenly remembering the plans I had with Nessa. I quickly checked the weather app, hoping for good news, and was relieved to see that it was going to be a sunny day. Perfect. I decided on a pink crop top paired with low-rise jeans that hugged my figure in all the right places. The outfit made me feel confident, accentuating my curves while still being casual and comfortable. Feeling inspired, I straightened my hair until it fell sleek and smooth around my shoulders, then applied some makeup. I wanted to look pretty today, and why not? Pretty day, pretty thoughts. I smiled at my reflection, feeling good about how the day was starting.

Grabbing my purse, I headed out of my bedroom, ready to start the day. Just as I was about to leave, Logan stepped out of the bathroom, fresh from his shower. His damp hair clung to his forehead, and steam still curled around his skin, which glistened in the morning light. He had a towel wrapped around his waist, just like yesterday, his muscular chest and arms on full display. I paused for a moment, caught off guard by his presence, but quickly composed myself. 

"Morning," I said with a casual smile, trying not to let my eyes linger on his toned physique.

Logan nodded in response, his gaze meeting mine briefly before he looked away, running a hand through his wet hair. "Morning," he replied, his voice still a bit rough from sleep.

I could feel a slight flutter in my chest, but I pushed it aside, reminding myself that today was about spending time with Nessa, not getting lost in whatever complicated feelings Logan stirred in me. With a final glance, I turned and headed for the door, determined to focus on the day ahead. 

I walked out the door and headed to Vanessa's apartment, which was just across from Al's. Before I could knock, I heard Logan's voice booming behind me.

"Vi, I mean, Violet."

I turned around to see him striding closer, still in nothing but that towel. My eyes couldn't help but linger on the way the fabric clung to his hips, the muscles in his chest and arms still glistening slightly from the shower. Does this man ever bring clothes with him when he takes a shower? I thought, trying to keep my expression neutral.

"Yes, Logan, what is it?" I asked, trying to compose myself and not let my thoughts wander too far.

He paused, as if choosing his words carefully. "How are you feeling? You know, you seemed pretty hurt last night." His voice was softer now, the concern in his tone almost surprising as he looked at me with those intense eyes, waiting for my response.

I managed a small smile, appreciating the unexpected gesture. "I'm better. Thanks for asking," I replied, my voice steady.

He held my gaze for a moment longer, then gave a slight nod. "Good," he said, his voice low and gruff, the usual edge returning to it. Then, without another word, he turned around and headed back toward our apartment. 

As he walked, my eyes were immediately drawn to his bare back, where the powerful muscles were fully exposed, flexing with each step. The defined ridges of his shoulder blades moved fluidly under his skin, a testament to years of battle and survival. His broad, muscular back tapered down to a narrow waist, where a towel hung low on his hips, barely clinging to the chiseled lines of his body. The sight of him, all raw strength and rugged masculinity, made my breath catch. His skin was tanned and slightly damp, catching the light in a way that highlighted every contour, every hard edge of muscle.

Logan moved with a kind of animal grace, his every step radiating confidence and command. The towel wrapped around his waist did little to hide the curve of his powerful lower back and the muscles that stretched down to his legs. His broad shoulders and thick, muscular arms swung slightly as he walked, each movement accentuating the strength in his body. As he reached the door, I could see the taut lines of his side, the way his abs flexed and tightened, leading down to the sharp V of his hips. There was something primal about the way he carried himself, an aura of untamed power that was both intimidating and undeniably attractive. My eyes lingered on him longer than I intended, tracing the defined muscles that seemed to ripple with every breath he took. His back, broad and strong, was a landscape of hardened muscle and sinew, each ridge and valley a testament to the life he’d lived. The towel, hanging dangerously low, only added to the magnetic pull he seemed to have on me.

As he finally stepped into the apartment, the door closing behind him, I was left standing there, my heart racing and my body humming with a mix of emotions I couldn’t quite name. Was it desire? Lust? Something deeper? I wasn’t sure, but the sight of Logan like this had ignited something in me, something I wasn’t ready to confront but couldn’t easily ignore either.

I cleared my throat and knocked on Nessa's door, trying to shake off the lingering thoughts of Logan. The door swung open, and to my surprise, there stood Wade, clad in nothing but a towel wrapped around his waist.

Does no one wear any clothes around here? I thought to myself, trying not to roll my eyes.

Wade grinned at me, clearly enjoying my reaction. "Well, well, if it isn't my favorite person. Come to join the towel club, Vi? We're offering exclusive memberships today."

I shook my head, a smirk playing on my lips despite myself. "Does everyone around here have something against clothing, or is this just your way of welcoming guests?"

Wade laughed, leaning casually against the doorframe. "What can I say? It's a lifestyle choice. Less laundry, more freedom. You should try it sometime."

I chuckled, shaking my head. "I'll pass, thanks. Is Vanessa here, or are you the only one gracing us with your... wardrobe choices today?"

"She's in the shower," Wade replied with a wink. "But you're welcome to come in and wait. I'll even put some pants on if you're lucky."

I sighed, stepping inside despite the absurdity of the situation. "Pants would be great, Wade. Thanks."

I sat on his couch, politely declining his offer for something to drink. Wade, now thankfully dressed in a pair of sweatpants, flopped down beside me with his usual playful grin.

“So, Vi,” Wade began, leaning back with his arms stretched across the back of the couch, “how’s it been living with our favorite grumpy Canadian? I mean, Logan’s not exactly the chatty roommate type, right? Any claws-out moments recently?”

I chuckled, shaking my head. “No claws-out moments, thankfully. It’s been… interesting. He’s quiet, keeps to himself mostly. But he’s not as bad as you’d think. We’ve had a few conversations that weren’t half-bad. He’s actually kind of considerate, in his own gruff way.”

Wade raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. “Considerate, huh? That’s a new one. I mean, I knew he had a heart under all that muscle and brooding, but still… surprising.”

I shrugged, smiling slightly. “Yeah, he’s got his moments. It’s not all grunts and growls.”

Wade smirked, leaning in closer. “So, any... other moments I should know about? You know, late-night, steamy encounters? Maybe you’re rubbing off on him in ways I haven’t considered?”

I rolled my eyes, giving him a light shove. “Wade, seriously? No, nothing like that. We’re just roommates. Besides, I’m not sure Logan’s the type to ‘rub off’ on anyone.”

Wade laughed, clearly amused by his own teasing. “Fair enough, fair enough. But if anything does happen, you know who to call. I’ll be your number one cheerleader.”

I shook my head, laughing along with him. “Thanks, Wade. I’ll keep that in mind.” 

Vanessa walked out of the bathroom, fully dressed and looking refreshed. She smiled at me and asked, “Ready to go?”

“Yep,” I replied, standing up and grabbing my purse. We waved a quick goodbye to Wade, who was already engrossed in whatever ridiculousness he was up to on his phone, and headed out the door.

As we walked to the coffee shop, Vanessa and I made small talk, catching up on the little things—work, what we’d been up to, and the usual gossip about people we both knew. It was nice, the kind of easy conversation that felt natural and comforting.

The morning air was cool, with just a hint of warmth from the sun beginning to break through the clouds. The streets were busy but not overwhelming, and there was something about the simplicity of the day that made me feel at ease.

When we arrived at the coffee shop, we slipped into our usual routine. We ordered our drinks—Vanessa’s usual latte and my iced coffee—and found our way to our usual spot by the window. It was a cozy corner where we could watch the world go by while we talked.

As we sat in our usual spot at the coffee shop, Vanessa’s eyes softened with concern. She took a slow sip of her latte before leaning in closer. “Vi, I know it’s not easy to talk about, but Wade told me what happened last night… with Adam. Are you okay?”

I took a deep breath, feeling a lump form in my throat as I recalled the encounter. “It was… intense,” I admitted, setting my iced coffee down. “I tried to just walk past him, you know? Like, I didn’t want to deal with any of it. But he followed me outside, and… God, I just lost it. I punched him, Nessa. I was so angry.”

Vanessa nodded, her expression understanding. “He deserved it after everything he put you through. What did he even want?”

I sighed, rubbing my temples as I tried to keep the emotions at bay. “He wanted to explain, to tell me his side of the story. Like it would make any difference now. He begged me to listen, but I couldn’t. I didn’t want to hear any of it. I told him to leave, and when he wouldn’t… Logan and Wade stepped in.”

Vanessa reached across the table, taking my hand in hers. “I’m glad they were there for you. It sounds like it was really overwhelming.”

“It was,” I admitted, my voice trembling slightly. “Wade even pulled out his gun, ready to… I don’t know what he was going to do, but Adam got the message. He left, but not before trying one last time to talk to me. I just… I couldn’t handle it. I told him to go, and when he finally did, I broke down. Wade held me while I cried.”

Vanessa’s eyes filled with sympathy as she squeezed my hand. “Vi, you’ve been through so much with him. It’s no wonder you reacted the way you did. But I’m proud of you for standing your ground, for not letting him manipulate you.”

I nodded, tears welling up as I tried to blink them away. “It was just so hard, Nessa. Seeing him again, hearing him try to justify what he did… it brought back all those feelings I thought I’d buried. But you’re right—I didn’t let him manipulate me. I stood up for myself.”

“And that’s huge,” Vanessa said, her voice full of support. “You’ve come a long way, Vi. Don’t forget that. And you’re not alone in this. You have Wade, me.....and Logan. We’ve got your back.”

I smiled through the tears, feeling a wave of gratitude. “Thanks, Nessa. It helps to know I’m not alone.”

“You never are,” she assured me, giving my hand one last squeeze before letting go. “And remember, you don’t owe Adam anything. Not an explanation, not forgiveness. Nothing.”

I nodded, feeling a bit more at peace. “You’re right. I just need to focus on moving forward.”

“That’s exactly it,” Vanessa said, her smile warm and reassuring. “And if you ever need to talk, or just get your mind off things, I’m here.”

I returned her smile, feeling a weight lift from my shoulders. “Thanks, Nessa. I really appreciate that.”

With that, we shifted the conversation to lighter topics, letting the warmth of our friendship push away the lingering shadows of the past.

As we walked back to our building, Vanessa linked her arm through mine, her expression thoughtful. “You know,” she began, a hint of excitement in her voice, “I was thinking… maybe we could have a game night tonight. Just the four of us—Wade, Logan, you, and me. It could be a good distraction, something fun to take your mind off things.”

I glanced at her, surprised but warmed by the suggestion. “A game night?”

“Yeah,” she nodded enthusiastically. “We’ll order some food, maybe get a few drinks, and just relax. No drama, no stress. Just good company and a few laughs.”

I smiled, the idea of a low-key evening with friends sounding exactly like what I needed. “That actually sounds really nice, Nessa. I could use a night like that.”

“Great!” Vanessa beamed, squeezing my arm. “I'll knock on your door around 7 once everything is set up. I’m sure Wade will be up for it, and I can convince Logan to join in too.”

I chuckled, imagining Logan’s gruff reaction to being roped into a game night. “Yeah, good luck with that. I don't think he seems like the game night type. But honestly, it sounds like fun.”

“Perfect,” Vanessa said, clearly pleased. “This is going to be just what we need. A night to unwind and just enjoy ourselves.”

As we reached the building, I felt a sense of anticipation mixed with relief. After the emotional rollercoaster of the past 24 hours, the thought of spending an evening with people who cared about me, and Logan, just having fun, was exactly what I needed.

“Thanks for suggesting this, Nessa,” I said as we entered the building. “I really appreciate it.”

“Anything for you,” she replied with a smile. “Now let’s go get ready. Tonight’s going to be a blast.”

A little while later, I was in the bathroom, putting the finishing touches on my makeup and hair, when I heard a knock at the door. My heart skipped a beat as I realized it must be Vanessa. I yelled a Logan to open the door. I quickly quieted my movements, curious to hear how Logan would handle her invitation.

The door creaked open, and I heard Logan’s deep voice greeting Vanessa. “Hey.”

“Hey, Logan,” Vanessa’s voice was bright and friendly as always. “Is Vi around?”

“She’s in the bathroom,” Logan replied, his tone neutral. “You need something?”

“Well, actually, I wanted to talk to you,” Vanessa said, a hint of playfulness in her voice. “I’m planning a little game night tonight—just the four of us, you, me, Wade, and Vi. We could all use a break, and I think it’d be fun.”

There was a brief pause, and I could almost picture Logan standing there, arms crossed, considering the proposal. I held my breath, waiting for his response.

“I’m not really the game night type,” Logan finally said, his tone gruff but not entirely dismissive.

“Oh, come on,” Vanessa coaxed, clearly not willing to take no for an answer. “It’s not about the games, really. It’s just about hanging out, having some fun, maybe a few drinks. I promise, nothing too crazy.”

Another pause, and then I heard Logan sigh, almost as if he knew he was going to give in. 

“Alright. But only because I’m guessing Violet wants this.”

Vanessa laughed softly. “She does. And so do I. So, you’ll join us?”

“Yeah, I’ll join,” Logan replied, a reluctant but resigned tone in his voice. “What time?”

“In like an hour,” Vanessa said, sounding pleased. "See you then?”

“See you then,” Logan confirmed, and I could hear the door closing as Vanessa left.

I smiled to myself in the mirror, feeling a sense of warmth spread through me. Logan agreeing to join us, even if reluctantly, meant more to me than I cared to admit. It was a small gesture, but it showed that he was willing to be a part of something, to be there for me—and that was enough.

As Vanessa left the apartment, a thought crossed her mind—Could Logan be into Violet? She couldn’t shake the feeling that there was more to his reluctance than just being anti-social. Determined to find proof, she decided tonight’s game night would be the perfect opportunity to observe. If there’s something there. She thought with a sly smile. I’ll figure it out.

I stepped out of the bathroom, smoothing down my outfit, and noticed Logan standing by the door, his usual stoic expression in place.

“What did Vanessa want?” I asked, curious.

Logan glanced at me, his gaze lingering for a moment before he answered. “She’s planning a game night tonight. Asked if I’d join.”

I raised an eyebrow, surprised. “And… what did you say?”

He shrugged slightly, his tone casual. “I said I’d be there.”

"Ok cool" I said, trying not to smile.

An hour passed and I waited for Logan to get ready, and when he emerged from his room, I had to do a double take. He was wearing blue jeans that fit him perfectly, paired with black boots and a red flannel shirt that hugged his broad shoulders and muscular chest. He looked like a hot lumberjack straight out of a fantasy—rugged, strong, and effortlessly handsome.

I couldn’t help but feel a flutter of appreciation, but I quickly pushed it aside as we headed out the door. Together, we made our way to Vanessa's apartment, where the night was sure to get interesting.

Part 5: Living in the moment

[sleepymccoy]

Two thirds of a whole

“Your report indicated that you spent some time with the other Spock.”

“He was a strange man to meet,” McCoy muttered, sinking into a chair hesitantly.

“Tell me about him,” Spock invited, filling their glasses.

McCoy leant on the table and raised a hand. “Now, I don't want to sound egotistical, but the only change I know of was my not being on the Enterprise.”

“It is not egotistical to report your observations.”

McCoy smiled. “You might be wanting to take that back shortly, we'll see if I let you.”

Spock's gaze flashed to him. A strange expression passed his face, softer than most Spock let through when he was in control of himself, then he seemed to make a decision and looked at McCoy squarely. “Tell me,” he repeated.

“Well, he was lonely,” McCoy said simply. “He and their Jim weren't friendly. You- they weren't arguing or any sort, just not friendly. Jim was thinner too, more professional and detached. Broke my heart a bit. He did too.”

“He being the other Spock,” Spock clarified.

“Yeah.” McCoy pulled the water glass over and pressed it against his bourbon glass, feeling the grating tension of glass on glass in his fingers. “Didn't get along a lick with anyone on board. Didn't offer comments or defend his opinions beyond the bare minimum. He just worked, then went to his room and stayed there.”

“He sounds like a better Vulcan than I.”

McCoy glared at Spock. “You're the better man,” he shot back. Then, before Spock could disagree on principle, he continued. “He was sad, Spock, miserable and lonely! The way he latched onto me at the end there, you…” he sighed. “Ah, I dunno.”

Spock's eyebrow raise was enough of a response to keep McCoy talking.

“I don't know,” McCoy said carefully, “what he was getting out of me that no one else gives. I'd like to understand.”

“You are asking what benefit I find in knowing you?”

McCoy grit his teeth. “I suppose.” He drank. “You’re allowed to kick me out.”

Spock crossed his legs and leaned back in his chair. “It is a simple enough answer,” he said. “You are the antithesis of Vulcan logic. You exemplify the most challenging type of human interaction I could have - that is, one whose argument is based in emotion and unmoving. But you explain yourself well, and have improved my comprehension of the convoluted decision making processes humans take.”

“Huh,” McCoy said. He drank.

“Additionally- ”

“There's more?”

Spock ignored him. “- you take time to point out when I am culturally insensitive. Many simply take offense, but you communicate it. Often, you communicate it excessively. Perhaps this other Spock lacked your early tutelage and suffered for it. Although, I must add, Vulcan intimacy is far more impersonal than human and perhaps he is pleased with his relationships on board. Knowing no other.”

“He kissed me like he was dying.”

Spock's hand lurched, knocking against his water glass. It didn't tip over, they had broad bases in case of turbulance, but it shook from the impact.

McCoy went quiet and drank his bourbon.

“Where did he kiss you?” Spock asked at a whisper.

McCoy looked at the table top. Real wood, Spock was more of a sensualist than he admitted. “On the mouth, Spock, how dirty d'you think I am?”

“I mean- so, he kissed you in the human way?”

Spock's hands were balled into tight fists. His eyes were wide, his cheeks green. He was quite still.

“Yeah, I hadn't considered that,” McCoy said, trying with all his might to sound unaffected and like they were discussing lab results. He remembered the feeling of Spock’s fingers in his mouth. “He was good at it too, wonder where he learnt it.”

Spock waved his hand absently. Those fingers… “Before I met you,” he muttered. “Wait. You allowed it to continue long enough to tell? Were you willing?”

“I was surprised at first, but, Spock, there’s something about you- ”

Spock stood, his chair scraping back loudly.

“God, don't hit me,” McCoy muttered, “you're really strong.”

---

This fic is complete now! If you enjoyed the snippet you'll enjoy the rest of the shenanigans they get up to <3