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tetsuwhore · 4 years ago

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𝐛𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐫𝐮𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐚𝐧 | 𝐤𝐮𝐫𝐨𝐨 𝐭𝐞𝐭𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐨𝐮

Night Club AU! Series: Vol i.

‘It wasn’t a normal occurrence for him to lose his composure, the collectedness that he worked so hard to maintain. And yet, here you are, shattering it like it was the easiest thing in the world to do.’

Description: having had enough of you teasing him in front of your friends, Kuroo decides to remind you of your place.

Warning: explicit smut - hard dom!Kuroo, daddy kink, degradation/dirty talk, lil bit of brat taming, overstimulation, semi-public sex, accidental exhibitionism, unprotected sex, alcohol consumption

Word Count: 4.3k

Song Rec: What I Want by She Wants Revenge

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─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

He was thinking.

He sees you at the bar, casually leaning against the table. You’ve got an elbow on the bar top, lithe fingers twirling around a loose lock of hair as you lightly sway your head along to the beat of the music. It’s some kind of electropop, but he’s not really paying attention.

He was always thinking.

Suddenly, you still. Turning your head around, body still facing away from him, your eyes lock on his. Your gaze is intent, as if you were trying to tell him that you knew he was watching you. His eyes trail down your face, captivated by the sight of your thumb nail slightly slipping between your lips. Then, the moment passes, and you turn back away from him.

Kuroo’s mind was constantly working, like cogs in a well-oiled machine. His thoughts always moved steadily; never rushed. He took in what he could sense around him, chewing it carefully, meticulously picking at the little details before deciding how to act. It wasn’t a normal occurrence for him to lose his composure, the collectedness that he worked so hard to maintain.

And yet, here you are, shattering it like it was the easiest thing in the world to do.

You’re walking towards him now, taking slow steps as you playfully sway your hips along to the tune. He finds himself fixated on your face again. His eyes can’t tear away from your pretty, pretty lips, lightly pulled into a mischievous smile as you advance closer to his form.

“Here you go, babe. Black Russian.”

Accepting the glass from you, he shifts on the leather sofa, giving you space to resume your previous position, nestled into his side. Sipping the drink, he allows the bittersweet taste to dance around his tongue as he vaguely makes out the conversation happening before him. You have an arm loosely looped around his shoulders as you lean into his chest, laughing at something Bokuto is saying.

(He’s been too preoccupied to focus on the topic of conversation. He hopes Akaashi doesn’t notice.)

“Kuroo-san, are you alright? You’ve been rather quiet.”

(For fucks sake, with how obvious he was being, of course Akaashi would notice.)

“Yeah, baby, you feeling okay?”

Your voice is so deceptively saccharine when you look at him, lashes fluttering innocently as you join Akaashi in voicing your concern. They have no way of knowing that your hand, currently perched on his shoulder, is lightly pulling at the small hairs on the back of his neck. It’s right where he’s sensitive, and just the way he likes it.

(And you know this. He knows you know, and he knows you’re getting such a kick out of leaving him so agitated.)

Lightly nodding, he brushes it off, saying he was just a little worn out from all the dancing. Shrugging in acceptance, Akaashi and Bokuto continue their conversation.

And you continue what you’ve been doing all night.

Your lips are so pretty, but so, so dangerous. Especially when they’re right up against his ear, whispering all kinds of filth. They’re in your native tongue, and he can’t understand them - not explicitly at least.

He doesn’t need to. Not when you’re practically purring them into his ear, words slipping off your tongue in a silky, sultry tone that sends a flaring heat crawling up all the way from deep inside him, to the back of his neck.

He grips your other hand, stopping it from moving any higher up his thigh, squeezing it in warning. Hearing you huff and pull away, he almost breathes a sigh of relief. Almost, because you immediately follow up with another sentence.

One that makes him tense up, as he catches the very last word.

“...daddy.”

Kuroo was always thinking. He could be bold in his actions, yes, but it was after careful mental consideration of the risks. The things he said or the way he behaved - they were always done consciously, deliberately, strategically.

Kuroo was not an impulsive person.

And yet, he finds himself turning to Akaashi and Bokuto, stumbling over some half-assed excuse about how he needed to find a bathroom because he ‘wasn’t feeling very well’.

He ignores their bewildered expressions as he grabs your hand, pulling you up with him. He ignores the knowing look Akaashi sends Bokuto as he drags you behind him, maneuvering past the sea of dancing bodies, scouring the area for an isolated corner away from the flashing lights and prying eyes.

You groan as he slams you against the wall, melding his lips against yours in a bruising kiss. Before you can get too lost in his hold, you push him away. Curious, you ask, “Why didn’t you just make up some excuse so we could leave altogether? I mean, Akaashi already-”

“You think,” his voice is gruff as he snarls, “that I can wait long enough for us to get home?” His eyes - dark and stoney as they lock on yours in a scorching gaze - make you shudder. He’s breathing heavily, jaw clenched tight, and a visible vein on his forehead, as he glares down at you.

He looks like a wild animal gone feral. And right now, you’re his prey.

Glancing warily at the group of people walking just down the empty hallway that he’s pulled you into, you attempt to protest, “Wait, Tetsu, we can’t just- not here-”

“Don’t even try to tell me that the little stunt you’ve been pulling all night wasn’t you begging to get fucked right here. You knew exactly what you were doing.”

And then he’s on you again, hot mouth pressed hard against yours. The bruising hold he has on your hips makes you moan - from pain, or from arousal, you don’t know. You don’t have time to care either, not when he’s deepening the kiss, making it grow hungrier, more animalistic. The grip you have on his shirt tightens as his tongue darts between your lips, licking against the back of your teeth before melding with yours.

It’s him who pulls away this time, ignoring your whine at the loss of contact.

“What, you thought you could just rile me up in front of our friends and I’d let you get away with it?” Clicking his tongue, he continues, “Since you seem to enjoy behaving like a slut, you’re going to get treated like one. On your knees.”

Glancing down at the floor, you grimace at the thought of your naked skin touching the muck and grime collected at the surface. Looking back up at him, you protest, “But, Tetsu, it’s filthy.”

“Dunno why the fuck you care about that. After all, you seemed sure okay with spewing absolute filth in my ear only minutes ago, huh, sweetheart?”

Seeing you attempting to complain again, he sneers, “Would you prefer if I fucked my fist instead? And left you with nothing?”

Chuckling sardonically at the sight of you frantically shaking your head, he orders, tone firm and commanding, “Yeah, didn’t think so. Then don’t be a brat. On your knees.”

You obey him this time, sinking down to your knees so you’re face to face with his clothed crotch. He watches you intently, remaining silent - you know what you have to do without needing further instruction. Making haste, you unzip his pants, moving his boxers down so you can grab a hold of his cock.

Smearing the moisture pooling at the tip with your thumb, you place wet kisses along its length, lubricating it enough for your hand to begin slowly pumping it at the base. Casting your eyes up at him, you wrap your lips around the tip, mentally patting yourself on the back when you hear him hiss at the sensation.

He watches as you begin moving your head up and down his length, your hand pumping the rest from his base. “C’mon, sweetheart, you can do better than that,” he grunts, saying nothing more. He doesn’t have to - you already know what he means. You take your hands off his cock and place them both on the outside of his thighs to steady yourself.

Taking a deep breath, you slowly inch yourself forward, taking in as much as you can. You feel tears prick the corners of your eyes as you keep going, willing yourself not to gag when you feel him reach closer to the back of your throat. Opening your eyes, you almost choke in surprise when you realize that he’s barely halfway in.

He bites his lip as he looks down at you, struggling, but nonetheless forcing yourself to work his entire length into your mouth. You’re so, so pretty, knelt down, with your lips wrapped tight around his dick, stray tears streaming down your face. He can’t help the prick of pride as he watches you work yourself ragged, pushing and fighting to stuff more of his cock into your warm mouth.

All for his pleasure.

Taking pity on you, he gently taps your cheek, speaking breathily, “Alright, tha-that’s enough.” You pull away, lips leaving behind a string of saliva still connected to the head of his cock. Wiping your mouth with the back of your hand, you hold on to his forearms and pull yourself back up.

“Since you were so obedient, I think you deserve a little reward, hmm?” he coos, smirking as he drinks in your current flustered state. It’s such a stark contrast to the seductive temptress from earlier, and he has to hold back an amused laugh.

You’re breathing unevenly, face flushed pink and swollen lips slightly open as you release shallow exhales. Hearing his question, you nod hesitantly.

“Nuh uh, use your words, baby. What do you want me to do?”

“I- I want you to fuck me, Tetsu.”

Shaking his head, he tuts, moving his face to your ear before whispering, “Nope, not ‘Tetsu’. I want you to say it exactly like earlier.”

Understanding flickering in your eyes, you sink into his embrace, murmuring, “I want you to fuck me… daddy.”

His reaction is immediate. Pulling you back into his chest, he jerks your chin up to engage you in a needy kiss. Meanwhile, his hands frantically reach under the hem of your skirt, fingers looping into the band of your panties before yanking them down your thighs. Helping him, you rustle around, kicking it down to allow him to pick it and push it into his pocket.

With his lips still pressed hard against yours, Kuroo nudges your legs apart, giving him space to place his free hand between them. He groans as his fingers lightly trace your slit, feeling the slickness dripping down from your heat. “Fuck,” he grunts against your lips, “you this worked up just from choking on my dick?”

Licking your lips, you glance up at him, murmuring breathily, “Been worked up for a lot longer than that, daddy.” God, that fucking word again. He doesn’t know what it is, but hearing it from your lips has him tensing up, releasing what almost sounds like a growl.

Moving his fingers upwards, he begins rubbing tight circles on your clit, ignoring the sting as you sink your nails into his forearm in an attempt to remain steady. Your form is hunched over slightly - without his arm supporting you, you likely would’ve fallen over, legs too weak to hold you up.

A shiny sheen of sweat covers your skin as you close your eyes, bottom lip pulled in between your teeth in a pathetic attempt to hide your moans - it’s useless, with how he’s increasing the pace of his fingers against you. You can’t hold back your needy whines as he works faster, amping up the pressure to the point where you can almost feel the knot in your stomach come undone.

“Tet- daddy,” you quickly correct yourself, “W-What if someone hears?”

“Let ‘em. Then they’ll get to hear all the pretty sounds my girl makes,” he grins wickedly before adding, “But, if it bothers you so much, maybe I should gag you with your panties?” Screwing your eyes shut at the humiliating thought, you shake your head quickly, prompting another chuckle from him.

Right when you think he can’t do any more, Kuroo slips a finger in, nudging it around until he finds the sweet spot inside that has you crying out aloud. And then, just as you’re tethering on the edge of falling apart completely, you suddenly hear an unfamiliar laugh. Your eyes shoot open as the horror quickly sinks in.

There is a man standing at the end of the hallway.

There is a man watching as your unsuspecting boyfriend, still knuckle deep in your hot cunt, keeps going, completely oblivious to the unwelcome eyes ogling you.

And before you can speak up, warn Kuroo of what is happening, you feel your orgasm convulse through you.

It’s so, so humiliating, feeling your body shudder involuntary as you come to terms with the fact that this stranger had just seen you at your most vulnerable. The smug smirk on his face only makes matters worse as you feel the back of your neck grow scorching hot with embarrassment. Weakly calling out to Kuroo, you nudge his chin to the side with your head, alerting him.

All it takes is a single sharp glare from Kuroo to send the man running.

You breathe out a sigh of relief, allowing yourself to relax a bit. That is, until you feel your boyfriend resume the ministrations of his fingers against your sensitive core. Gasping in disbelief, you attempt to push his hand away, a complaint on the tip of your lips as you look up at your grinning boyfriend in shock.

“B-But he just- he just saw us! What if someone else-”

“Aw, don’t give me that bullshit, angel,” he interrupts, tone mocking, “If it bothered you so much, then why can I feel you getting wetter, hmm?” He smirks as he keeps pumping his finger into your soaking cunt for emphasis, snickering at your embarrassed whine upon hearing the loud squelching sounds of his motions.

“Mhm, look at how tight your pretty little cunt is, all clenched up around my finger,” he continues, feline eyes fixated on where his digits continue moving between your thighs, “You’re practically swallowing me up. You like the idea of some creep watching as I make you cum?”

Hearing you whine in response, he laughs, “Oh, baby, you’re just so easy to rile up.”

He’s spewing the filthiest sentences, humiliating you to no end, all while still donning that shit-eating grin. And yet, you know he’s right - you hate how right he is. You hate how easy it is for him to get you so painfully needy and soaked with just his fingers alone. You hate how he could flip all the teasing on to you, using his domineering tone to turn you into a pliant mess.

And you especially hate how quickly you find yourself giving up control and allowing him to do exactly as he pleases.

You gasp out in surprise when you feel him pull away and flip you around, positioning you so your back is pressed up against his chest. His fingers move back to you, abandoning the lazy pace from earlier and instead, opting for a quickened tempo that has you crying out in ecstasy.

The movements of his fingers are brutal, rubbing hard against your clit, circling over it again, and again, and again. You’re trying to speak up, tell him that it was too much, that your clit was already too sensitive from your previous orgasm from only minutes ago. But the words remain choked up in your throat, your lips too busy releasing the most whiny noises.

Noticing your garbled speech, Kuroo moves his face so he’s at your ear, voice laced with mock concern, “Sorry, sweetheart, trying to tell me something?” Hearing you whimper as you try to muster up a response, he lets out a dark laugh, voice taunting as he speaks.

“You were all talk when we were with Akaashi and Bokuto. What’s wrong now, kitten? Cat got your tongue? Or maybe you just needed daddy to put you in your place, hmm?”

“D-Daddy, it’s too- too much... please...”

Realizing that your weak whisper wouldn’t do anything to stop him, you make the pathetic attempt to close your legs, trapping his hand between them and slowing (but not quite stopping) his movements.

(God, you should’ve known better.)

“Oh, you really shouldn’t have done that, baby…”

As you feel his free hand move under your thigh, prying it away from the other and lifting it up until it’s pulled taut against your abdomen, you quickly realize what a big mistake you’ve made.

Not only were you now forced to balance all your weight on a single (very shaky) leg, your core was now fully exposed for his fingers to explore. And explore he does, pushing a second finger inside you while grinding his palm against your clit. Your predicament was only made worse as he pulled your thigh tighter against your chest, opening you up further to his touch.

“Daddy! D-Daddy, please... let my leg down, p-please!”

Humming in amusement, he asks, “Hmm, I don’t know. Do you promise to keep ‘em open for me?”

“Yes! I-I won’t stop you… I p-promise…”

You gain some semblance of stability now that you’re back on your feet and have his arm wrapped around your midriff again. Just in time too - you feel yourself reaching close to your second orgasm, body squirming and writhing involuntarily in his hold.

The way his fingers are curling and uncurling inside you is so, so delicious, and you can practically taste the sweetness of your impending climax. The sensation of his hot mouth, licking and biting as it trails along your neck, isn’t helping either. All previous thoughts about oversensitivity abandon your mind as you find yourself growing dizzier with every passing second, desperate for that high.

And he gives it to you. No. He does more than just give you your orgasm.

Allowing you to dig your nails deep into his forearm, he ruts his palm faster and harder against your clit, giving you more, and more, and more, until he’s practically wrenching your orgasm out of you. It’s much stronger than the previous - more explosive - and you find yourself screaming for him when you finally, finally cum.

Kuroo tightens the grip of his arm when he feels your knees buckle, chuckling as he watches you loll your head back against his chest, your eyes lidded in a heavy daze. But then, as his eyes trail down and catch a glimpse of your lips - swollen and red from how much you had been biting them - he’s reminded of how painfully hard he is, cock throbbing from having been neglected for so long.

“C’mon, baby, up against the wall so daddy can fuck you.”

You’re so fucked out, you let him maneuver your body as he likes, allowing him to press your pliant form against the wall. Pulling the fabric of your skirt over your ass, he inches forward, grinding his length along your soaked core in an effort to lubricate himself. Kuroo lets out a sharp hiss at the contact, allowing himself to get lost in the sensation - so much so, that he doesn’t catch you weakly calling out his name.

“T-Tetsu, wait!” you try again.

This time, he hears. Alarmed by your distressed tone, he makes quick work of turning you back around to face him. Cupping your cheek, he presses, “Hey, talk to me, sweetheart. Is it too much? You wanna stop?” His tone is laced with concern as he worries that he has perhaps pushed you too much.

Shaking your head lightly, you respond, “No, I don’t want to stop.” Kuroo waits patiently, allowing you to speak at your own pace. “Just, uh… Can we do it,” gesturing down to the front of your body, “like this? Please, I- I need to touch you.”

“Of course we can, sweetheart,” he chuckles, moving your arms to loop them around his neck. Bending slightly, he grips the back of your thighs, lifting you up and shifting so you can comfortably wrap your legs around his waist.

Kuroo is quick to sense when you’ve burnt out, sharply reading your body language and changing his approach accordingly. So when you’re looking up at him like you are now - eyes practically pleading for him to go softer - how can he deny you?

“Mhm, you’ve been such a good girl for me. Now, how about I take care of you, hmm?” Kuroo murmurs quietly, the gentleness of his voice a stark contrast from the raspiness of earlier. Softly pressing his lips against yours, he lines himself up with your core, swallowing your gasps as he inches forward.

“Tetsu, you’re so b-big...” you whimper, eyes screwed shut. “I know, baby, but look at how well you’re taking me,” he breathes against your lips, “T-Taking, all of my cock like, uh- like a good girl.” Nodding vigorously, you whine, “Gonna take all of it. Wan- wanna be your good girl.”

“That’s right, my good girl,” rolling his hips into yours, he grunts, “Mine. All mine.”

Freeing one of his hands to caress your cheek, Kuroo whispers, “Hold on tight, yeah baby?” You only have time to increase your grip on his shoulders before you feel him move. Digging his fingers into the plush of your thighs, he pulls his hips back.

And then, in one powerful thrust, he’s completely inside your heat.

Your eyes widen, mouth falling open in a silent scream as your body reels from the force of his hips colliding into yours. Then, he does it again, And again. And, again. You’re conscious of the ache in your thighs from gripping his hips so tight, but you choose to ignore it, instead reveling in the euphoric sensation of his cock hitting the little spot inside you.

He’s grimacing at every thrust, groaning, “Fuck, how are you s-still, uh, still so fucking tight?” Your walls cling tightly to his length, making it a struggle to even pull out. Driving himself into you with merciless abandon, he focuses on your sweet moans, incentive enough to push himself to give you more.

Your breath is hot against his skin, and you’ve reverted back to your foreign tongue as you sob into his ear what he assumes are sweet nothings. Kuroo makes a conscious effort to jut his pelvic bone upwards, grinding it against your clit with every thrust. All his energy is now solely focused on pushing you over the edge one final time.

And it’s all completely worth it when you do. He bites his lip as he watches the spectacle before him - you’re crying out, head thrown back, eyes tightly shut as you allow the waves of euphoria to course through your veins. You’ve clamped up completely, making him grit his teeth as he fights to reach his own release.

You’re barely coherent, babbling with your face buried in the crook of his neck. “Tetsu, please, I can’t hold on for much longer,” you beg, tears freely streaming down your eyes in response to the overstimulation, “I need you to cum for me. Oh, god, please, daddy, please... Cum for me and fill me up!”

It’s exactly what he needs. With a rumbling growl, he bites on to your shoulder as he releases into you. His cock continues inching in and out of your slopping cunt, painting your walls white with his cum.

When he finally feels the shocks of pleasure subside, he allows his forehead to rest against your own, feline eyes looking straight into yours.

Your features break out into a soft smile as you tenderly cup his cheeks, tilting your head up to plant a soft kiss on his nose before trailing your lips down to place them on his.

Pulling away, you chuckle, “God, I can’t believe we just did that. Who knew your nerdy ass was capable of fucking my brains out at some seedy nightclub, huh.”

Rolling his eyes jokingly, he slowly plants you back down on your feet, sniggering at your whimper when he pulls out of your sensitive core, leaving behind a trail of his milky emission. Adopting a more serious tone, Kuroo asks, “It wasn’t too much though, right? I didn’t go too far with the dirty talk?”

Shaking your head, you reassure, “It was good. A little overwhelming towards the end, but no, I liked it.” A mischievous grin crawls on to your face as you look up at him, tone teasing.

“So… daddy, huh?”

Groaning, he quips back, “Hey, are we not going to talk about how you practically came all over my dick every time I called you a good girl?”

Looking up at him, you grip on to his shirt, murmuring, “I mean... I like being your good girl.”

Biting his lip at your alluring tone, his voice is quiet as he whispers, “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you giggle back.

Chuckling lightly, he presses a soft kiss against your forehead. “Let’s go find the bathrooms so we can get you cleaned up, hmm?” he murmurs absent-mindedly as he turns his head, peering into the hallway in search of a bathroom.

In retrospect, he should’ve known.

He really should’ve realized that you wouldn’t simply let this moment pass without seizing the opportunity to fluster him again, now that he was back to his easy-going self. And so, he feels more than a little foolish when he chokes on air upon hearing your next words.

“Forget the bathrooms. Like you said, you need to teach me my place, right? So what better way to do that than to have me spend the rest of the night walking around with your cum dripping down my thighs?”

#kuroo x reader #kuroo smut #kuroo tetsurou x reader #haikyuu smut #haikyuu x reader #pick your poison series #alcohol tw

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alolowrites · 4 years ago

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Midnight Fantasies

Summary: Shinsou reminds you why you’ll always love him.

Song Inspiration: “Repeat After Me” by The Weeknd

Author Note: *gasp* Did I actually post a new story and it’s NSFW?!? Crazy, I know. I’m honestly surprised it’s not Bakugou doing the honors LMAO. It’s my first attempt writing a NSFW fic, so I am nErVoUs ahsdksjd. I really like how it turned out; y’all can thank The Weeknd for this.

MINORS PLEASE DO NOT INTERACT. PLS.

Warnings: Aged-Up Characters; Fem!Reader; Oral Sex (Female receiving); some basic, vanilla, sex tbh (baby steps y’all). Unprotected sex (whoops); Slight angst?? I’m sorry, I had to. Not sure if im missing something else....

Word Count: 1.6K+

3:16am

A tiny flame burns quietly on your bedside table, casting a glow on your whimpering face. You sink further into the silky pillows and close your eyes—his sinful touches are heavenly. They are the cure to the madness that was eating you alive the last few nights. But tonight, oh, tonight is different as strong hands roam along your body, treasuring each curve like a precious gift sent from above.

You let out a shaky breath, your fingers curling on the soft covers that probably won’t survive once the morning sun rises. But you don’t care as you feel his lips explore every inch of your bare shoulder. He moves toward your lovely neck and nips it softly, making you whine. A deep chuckle tickles by your ear as he hovers over you.

His left knee wedges in between your legs and grazes the dangerously wet panties. You moan, your hand clinging on his sculpted back muscles like a koala. He then grinds himself down on you, and your fingers dig into his thick skin. Oh, how he enjoys riling you up like this. You roll your hips to satisfy the pleasure burning inside your core.

“Fuck, Hitoshi…”

“That’s it,” he murmurs, his hot breath blowing against your heated skin. Shinsou gives you a chaste kiss, whispering, “Just relax. Let me take care of you tonight.”

A shudder runs down your spine—you yearned for this.

Shinsou listens to your body very carefully. He lets all the desperate squirms, the excited jolts, the heavy pants guide him on this long, sensual journey. You arch your back as Shinsou moves down, his lips leaving behind a blazing trail of kisses.

Breathy moans fill the room as the hemline of your satin nightdress rises up, exposing your ass. One of Shinsou’s palms greedily gropes it, amazed at how soft and delectable it feels. You pant harder as the hand travels south, the pace so agonizingly slow that your body is on fire. He stops and grips the thin fabric of your panties. You gaze at him, heart pounding when lustful eyes stare back at you.

They are like dark storm clouds ready to ravage the world—or in this case, you. A devious smile graces his lips as the panties slide off your legs and are tossed away, never to be seen again. You yelp when he pulls you closer to him, his face disappearing in between your legs. The anticipation grows as you feel him leave ghostly kisses along your inner thighs, waiting for those deadly lips to—

“S-shit,” you cry quietly, eyes shutting for a moment.

Shinsou’s tongue gives a teasing flick on your clit. He grins and licks around the swollen area, peppering it with kisses as well. You squirm on the bed and release another shaky breath. Shinsou wastes no time sucking your wet cunt, his mouth savoring the sweet taste dripping out your quivering hole.

A broken gasp rips through the air when his thumb circles on your clit. It moves at a steady rhythm, and you ride along with it, panting heavily the quicker he goes. You don’t want it to stop—not when the pleasure is so damn addicting, making your toes curl. Shinsou then sucks on the sweet spot, hard, and you moan louder.

“Oh, god, yes,” you chant like a broken record. One hand grips his messy hair, and you shiver when he grunts. Your hand has a mind of its own, pushing his face deeper to keep that friction going. “Fuck, more.”

And Shinsou obliges, devouring your throbbing pussy like a starved man. You simply buck your hips against his mouth and dig your fingers on his scalp until it bleeds. Shinsou holds you in place, the filthy sounds of his tongue pushing you over the edge. You keep hanging until it’s all too much and cry out in pure ecstasy, the waves rippling down your body.

Shinsou finally comes up for air, his chin dripping with that sweet cum of yours. He wastes no precious time capturing your lips that are dying for his attention. You fully surrender to him without hesitation, letting the man’s tongue dance inside your mouth. The blended taste of your honeyed cum and his saliva—an intense, rich flavor of ripe raspberries—overwhelms all of your senses.

You pull back when Shinsou grinds himself against you once more. That’s when you feel his large cock bulging through his boxers, teasing you to no end. He shifts a little, and the bed groans. Through half-lidded eyes, you whimper at the sight of Shinsou pumping his hard rock shaft, a bit of pre-cum dripping from the head. It playfully brushes your wet folds, but you can’t wait any longer.

You just can’t.

“Please, Hitoshi,” you beg, not bothering to hide the desperation cracking in your voice. “Please, I—hngh.”

Shinsou squeezes your hips, almost encouraging you to say it. “Tell me.”

“I-I need you,” you quiver. “P-Please, I—”

Your mouth parts with a silent cry when Shinsou sinks his cock. He hisses a bit, feeling the spongy warm walls stretch around him. You mewl as he fills you up, slowly and with great care. The sensation is new yet oddly familiar and satisfies that intense hunger you had the past few nights. You shut your eyes and bite your lip—Shinsou feels amazing, the thick girth of his twitching inside your pussy.

Shinsou’s thumb caresses across your cheek, and you look at him. With a slight nod, Shinsou begins rocking you, the bed creaking with each move. His hips roll like the gentle ocean waves under a clear night sky. There’s no rush, no hurry; Shinsou wants to cherish every single second inside you, and he relishes your lovely moans filling the air.

You wrap one leg around his waist, and he holds onto it with a vice grip. Shinsou soon crashes his entire weight on you as his forearm rests near your face. He groans when your pussy clenches tightly on him.

“That’s right,” Shinsou grunts near your ear, giving you a firm thrust for good measure. “You don’t love him. Not when you’re thinking of me, kitten. Not when I’m fucking you.”

“M’fuck, Toshi!” You cling to him as Shinsou continues to rock you deeper and deeper, his pace pounding you into oblivion. “Oh god, yes…yes…”

He’s hitting you just right, over and over again, with no sign of stopping. You drown yourself in the sea of immense desire. Suddenly you’re captivated with everything Shinsou does to you. It’s his ragged breaths that scorch your skin like a raging wildfire. It’s his massive muscles that mercilessly crushes you into the mattress, trapping you there with no hope of escape. It’s his fingers—rough and enormous—that selfishly claim your skin, reminding you that you belong to him.

At least for tonight.

You gaze into his eyes, raging with lust.

“Repeat after me,” Shinsou rasps in between each breath. “You don’t love him.”

“I...I don’t love him.”

“You love me.”

You nod, mouth trembling. “I love you, Hitoshi.”

Shinsou lets out a feral growl at your final words—words of affirmation that you both know to be true. They make him go wild, each of his thrusts more maddening than the last. You cry harder and dig into his tensed shoulders as Shinsou ravages you like no tomorrow. Yet, he holds onto his promise, and that is satisfying you tonight.

The pleasure builds rapidly throughout your body. You can feel it bubbling inside you, thrashing like waves during a stormy sea. Your eyes roll back, and your mouth opens wide, singing incoherent praises to Shinsou as he rides you through your orgasm. He holds you with all his strength when his own fervid release hits you seconds later.

Shinsou heaves loudly above you, sweat beads rolling down his forehead. His eyes never waver away from yours, admiring your flushed face. It’s beautiful, perfect even. You forgot how much Shinsou looks at you with such devotion that you break down crying.

“Hey,” he says, whispering your name. His thumb wipes a few tears from your cheek, and you flutter your gaze at him again. “It’s okay. You don’t have to cry.”

“I miss you, Hitoshi,” you croak, the tears raining down your face. “Fuck, I miss you so much.”

A faint smile barely reaches his eyes.

“I miss you, too,” he confesses, and you hear the regret flowing through his voice. Still, Shinsou fights through and swears: “But, I promise you will always be mine, okay? You’re mine, and I’m yours.”

“Okay,” you sniffle and gaze into his eyes.

You believe him with all your heart.

Shinsou reaches down and captures your lips once last time. The kiss holds a wistful longing for the old days of your enthralling relationship—the ups and downs, the highs and lows, the absolute blessings and worst mistakes imaginable, it all meshed perfectly together to create this messy mosaic called love. And Shinsou burns this into the depths of your soul where you feel it.

You absolutely feel it.

Shinsou buries his head into the crook of your neck, and you hold him, afraid to let him go. You wish to remain like this forever, sleeping peacefully in each other's arms. So you close your eyes and pray he won’t disappear.

But nothing stays forever. Shinsou’s familiar warmth and crushing weight slip through your grasp, becoming more like faded memories that float inside your head. You open your eyes and release a deep sigh—you’re alone again. All tired, sweaty, and wet, especially as you remove your fingers from your soaked pussy.

No other man could satisfy you; Shinsou made sure of that. He reminds you every single night, haunting your fantasies whether you’re getting off on your own or fucking with the new guy who wormed his way into your life. And you, as always, scream for Shinsou—discreetly or without shame.

Because you’ll always think of him. You’ll always fuck him. And you’ll always love him, repeating those words with your last dying breath.

Love is complicated, y’all. And yes, I couldn’t resist doing a little ~twist~ for the ending HA!

Thanks for reading!!

#shinsou x reader #shinsou hitoshi #shinsou smut #bnha smut #mha smut #bnha x reader #bnha imagines #alolo sins

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florencwrites · 4 years ago

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ever since phoenix 〚dreamwastaken〛

in which clay has earned himself the name dreamboat, short; dream. a mcyt spin on macgyver where reader deals with remnants of trauma.

(!) blood, mentions of emotional trauma, kidnapping (!)

"Soooo," Jack trailed cautiously. He was not a man of deliberation per se, however, he knew when a certain level of carefulness was needed. This was one of those times. "How are you and the missus?"

"Fine." Brief and effective. That's Clay for you. "Now is not exactly the time for relationship advice, Jack."

"So you agree, you need relationship advice." He scanned the room again, gun tight in his grip; leading his gaze. "Boxed yourself there, pal."

"Let's talk about this after I've disarmed this, alright?" A huff of annoyance from the crouching blonde, his face a mere few inches from the ticking device. A device that normally would've taken him barely a minute to take apart, but with his good friend hanging from his lips; it took a little longer than expected.

Jack, in response, cleared his throat loudly, raising his eyebrows in mock warning. "I'm just saying, something's not right and maybe genius over here needs some help." He rolled out the tension in his shoulders, his gun still pointed at the entrance. He shot his eyes back to his friends after his lack of reply, only to see him dropping the now useless device. "I don't need your help, we're doing fine."

Clay rose to his feet, dusting off his pants before pushing past Jack to head for the reinforced door. Of course, being the armed one of the two, Jack pushed himself back in front of him, clearing the hallways before continuing their journey through the complex. Their backs pressed against the rough concrete, bullet holes still decorating them almost entirely. Reaching a junction, Jack lowered himself slightly before peeking his head around the corner. "Clear."

The pair moved onto the next hallway, Clay mirroring his companion's steps almost entirely. "Come on, Dreamboat, just admit there's some things that little brain of yours just can't wrap itself around."

"There are many things my brain can't comprehend, love isn't one of them." He rolled his eyes, knowing fully well that Jack had his back turned to him anyways. "It's just chemistry, simple."

"You're wrong, I'm telling you." A sing-songy tone to his words, Jack taunted the blonde some more. "Chemistry's just the first step, my friend. After that, it's all up to you."

"We've got company."

"Fine, do your thing. We're talking about this later." A promise, one made while firing several rounds of bullets into enemy lines.

"You might be the dumbest genius I've ever met." Sheer annoyance laced the older man's tone, immediately tracing his words with a swirling sip of lukewarm beer. The other side of the dialogue, too, showed serious signs of irritation. A drawn-out groan while throwing his head back, Clay replied, "Fine, I'll bite. Why?"

"Well, where's the lady of the house?" He threw out the bait. However, Jack had neither been a man of patience, so as Clay opened his mouth to answer his rhetorical question, Jack already intercepted him, "Bet she's real tired, huh?"

"Yeah, how'd you- Nevermind." He glanced over the look on his friend's face, soon realizing he bit right into his hook.

A sigh, a genuine one. Reaching forward to lean his elbows onto his knees, staring into the flames of the firepit they had grown so used to. "So, what does she sleep in?"

"Dude! Gross, I'm not answering that."

"Bet it's that beige shirt of yours, right? The one with the big red letters." He never once averted his gaze to meet Clay's, keeping them entirely trained on the fire. Clay furrowed his eyebrows, his emerald eyes slowly making their way to the bottom left corner of his vision, a tell he often showed when deliberating his next move. He then, too, leaned forward to rest on his knees. Once again, mirroring Jack's motions. "It- it is."

"Please just tell me what's going on, Jack." And at last, his normally monotone features showed a glint of desperation.

"It's the last shirt you wore." Another swig of beer landed itself in his mouth, quickly swallowing before continuing, "You wanna know why she's always so tired when you see her?"

"I'll give you a hint, it's not Lyme's." Finally, a light chuckle from his side, followed by a faint hum in affirmation. "She doesn't sleep when you're gone, dude."

Finally, the pair met eyes. A saddened shimmer in both their glances, Jack continued, "All the signs are there."

A nearly audible click in the genius blonde's head. "She's been having nightmares."

"She's been having nightmares." Jack affirmed for him once again, "Trust me, I know what they look like."

They shared a pause of breath, allowing themselves to take a deep breath simultaneously. How could he have been so stupid, of course, she was having nightmares. All the things she went through back in April, all those questions he was forced to leave unanswered. The exhaustion radiating from her pale skin, for weeks now. Jack was right, she had been sleeping in his shirts constantly, sometimes even once he was sure he had put in the laundry basket just hours before. "God, I should have known."

"There's nothing you could've done, Dream." Another sweet reassurance, one that didn't mean a whole lot to him right now.

"I could've known- I should've known." He abruptly pushed himself from his seat, leaving his emptied bottle by the pit. "She doesn't feel safe here."

"I don't think that's it, mate, I think she just feels unsafe anywhere." He followed his friend's face to where it was now stood next to him on the patio, peering up to try and meet his eyes. "Anywhere that's not with you, probably."

"She doesn't deserve any of this." Pacing slowly between the pit and the wall a few feet from him, the man was wrecking himself with guilt, already. Quickly, Jack intervened, noticing his friend's 'spiraling look' from miles away. "Hey! Hey, hey. No one deserves this alright?"

"She should've never been there.." Running a hair through his locks, Clay sat back down by the fire. His head now covered by his hands, leaning forward to hide his features entirely in guilt and perhaps shame, too.

"That," A gentle pat landed itself on his back by Jack as he used his other hand to finish off his beer. "That, I agree with you, pal."

Sheer terror painted her face that day, bound and gagged in some concrete box. In the movies, they always say how it was 'cold and eerie', and however ghostly the situation might have been, there was no cold in this room. Not a single cooling breeze, just pure and unfiltered heat. The concrete was entirely warmed up, too, the only thing that refreshed her even in the slightest was the chilling nature of her shackles, the ones that restrained her to the sticky leather chair she was stuck in.

She assumed it was leather, she had no real way of knowing. Her vision had been blocked by some kind of rag, a different texture to the one that was balled up in her mouth. The duct tape used to secure it in place was pulling at her skin, uncomfortably so.

So, with her hands bound, vision blocked and mouth gagged, there were but two senses left to her. Three, if you include the dooming shadow of possible death that loomed in her head. She'd do anything to just hear his voice right now, he'd know what to do.

Instead of his voice, there was a soft ticking in the room. More specifically, on her abdomen. A scorching hot box was tightened to her abdomen, burning the feeling of its ticking into her mind. She was sure there'd been no way this thing was actually that hot, but the idea of it being stuck to her, it killing her, was enough to leave scars on her stomach.

The other sense that was left unaltered, was her nose. Her sense of smell. Iron, mold, sweat. The last two were logical. She'd been locked in there for hours, in the absolute heat of southern America, there was no way she wasn't sweating up a storm. Mold, she was probably in a basement somewhere, her feet had given away the concrete flooring. But iron, iron wasn't something you usually smelt. Rust, maybe. But this was metallic, and it wasn't from her shackles. If it were, she'd have smelt it was before now.

The screeching of a metal pipe on the concrete walls shook her, the gag keeping her from letting out a loud squeal. Someone was in here with her, for the first time in hours, someone was in here with her. A few faint tuts, heavy footsteps carrying themselves around her perimeter.

A sharp blade running itself along her cheek, barely not breaking skin. "Tik, tok, tik, tok, tik tok."

She scrunched her eyes even tighter as a hand dropped onto her head. The single thing that brought her comfort right now was the fact that there was no way this lunatic would detonate the bomb on her abdomen while in the room with her. "Wonder what's taking him so long, aren't you?"

He stopped talking, his steps carrying him back to wherever he came from. However, his taunting continued in her head for the coming hours she was left to fend for her own. Tik, tok, tik, tok, tik tok.

What's taking him so long?

She struggled immensely against her restraints, abruptly having been awoken by cold hands on her sides. The man's hands hadn't ever been this cold before, they were horribly sweaty and warm, almost to a sticky extent. "Shhhh."

Familiarity washed over her body, her muscles almost instantly untightening at the sound of him. "You have to stay still for me, okay? I have to get this thing off you first."

"Dream, unblind the poor girl first, will ya?" Jack's mellow voice called out from a few feet beside her. The rag was gently pulled from eyes. His assuring tone filled her ears, his comforting face inches from hers. God, she'd never been this happy to see Jack. "There she is."

She tried desperately to get some words out, however, her mouth was still filled with cloth, and while hesitant, she knew there was probably a good reason they hadn't taken it off yet. "Water! Water, get her some water, she's gonna need it." Jack was quick to order one of the agents to get her something to drink, knowing the feeling very well, having been kidnapped a dozen times back in his day.

"It's connected to another device," Clay exclaimed from before her, his hands very carefully working around the wires connecting her to this bomb. For some reason, it had been scarier in her mind, when she hadn't been able to see it. Now, seeing it rest on her stomach didn't scare her nearly as much as the menacing ticking that had haunted her for so long. "Riley, do we know who's behind this?"

A faint hum from the wire in his ear, she couldn't decipher it. Meanwhile, Jack was rattling her shackles, trying to at least free her hands. However, according to her boyfriend, not a very good idea, "Don't!"

"What? You scared she'll strangle you?" A mocking choice of words from her dear friend, almost allowing her to chuckle. The drought in her throat, however, still wouldn't allow her to make a single peep. "No, Jack, taking off the chains would detonate this entire thing, like the gag."

Jack formed an 'o' with his mouth, shooting his eyes around the room in slight embarrassment, "Where's that water the lady ordered?"

For some reason, the minutes after they had found her felt impossibly longer than the hours she had spent alone. Nevertheless, after 24 minutes exactly, there was a breakthrough. His voice soft, gentle, Clay carefully removed his fingers from the device while simultaneously asking for Jack to put his back on."Okay, try again."

A loud snap and several clangs later, her hands were freed, eyes crunched in expectancy of death, it didn't seem to come. Hastily, she clawed at her mouth, only now realizing the rag had been encased in metal bars and colored wires. Dream carefully lifted the contraption from her face, immediately letting her fall into his arms sobbing.

And so, he let her cry. Bawl her eyes out, drown out the sheer terror she must've felt during these hours he had lost her. He ran his arms around her back, pulling her impossibly tight into his own torso. "You're okay, you're okay."

"I've got you, I've always got you."

The night following his conversation with Jack was the first night Clay had seen her cry since that day.

She sobbed into his arms as he assured her that she would always be safe, no matter where he was or what happened between them. He would always keep her safe.

The nightmares disappeared when she was with him because there had never been a doubt in her mind that she was safe when she was with him. She slept incomparably well the first days after every mission, because even if he wasn't in the bed next to her; she knew he was there. She slept well, because the smell of his shirt encased her every sense, rendering it impossible for her to not feel safe, with his cologne evident lingering through her sheets.

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ubemango · 5 years ago

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miss Ella, what’s the oral receiving scene like for pups!joon ? 🥺🥺 will we get see that in future pups drabbles? I love this series so much 🥺 I didn’t know I could actually adore a series ljke this DDJDJDJ

Omg love u :3 You know how Namjoon kind of just wants to D*e whenever oc does something cute ;_; or something that he just finds Attractive of her ;_; You combine these two reactions and BOOM he’s like on the verge of actual Death jhfbsjfhbdhfbg You know what? Lemme demonstrate the Very First Time! Rated M for oral and Namjoon’s internal thought process just being AAAHHHH and oc being Cute As Always!!!!

Introducing you to the privacy of his room was a mistake. You’re a reserved person, everyone knows this, but something about being within the confines of his space made you so… eager. And Namjoon doesn’t think his heart can take it anymore.

Just an hour ago he’d watched you interact with his roommate. Hoseok’s been a long-time friend, and it made him happy knowing you guys got along well: just a simple how-are-you conversation that only lasted three seconds because Namjoon had herded you through his door way too fast for you to keep up good dialogue. Trust him to cut short any affair that got in the way of getting you in his bedroom, but Hoseok understands the gesture because he shouts out a see you later! once Namjoon had locked his door.

The front door shut, and it was just you and him.

You didn’t take any initiative at first. And if Namjoon was being truthful, he’d be ready to admit that he really wasn’t trying to instigate. He liked his room. He liked you. He liked you in his room and he really–truthfully–wasn’t trying to instigate anything, and then you were lying on his bed without your jeans on (you didn’t like sitting on beds with your outside clothes on) and something inside him collapsed.

“Your bed smells good,” you said.

“You smell good,” Namjoon shot back, and you laughed. You looked like magic.

The lead-up was not eventful. It’s never eventful. He just loved lying down with you, and today had been particularly gruelling on your numbing brain, this close to some important deadline you had for an essay about time and the essence of life. Big-brained, convoluted things.

“I’m kinda horny,” you said simply.

Now, this. The present, where you ask to learn about sucking him off and he says yes, please yes and you’re kneeling between Namjoon’s legs now, and his pants and boxers off and is my dick nice? He doesn’t think it’s a bad dick.

“Big,” is all you have to say.

“You’re just being nice.”

“What if I choke? I’m gonna look ugly.”

“That’s–you’re not ugly, oh my god.” He laughs at your blush. “It’s okay, just. Go slow. Or whatever.”

“Well what do you like?” You whisper, grabbing his dick with that tentative grip, palm too warm. He’s scorching.

“You can–put your mouth on it.” It’s your eyes that get him first. Shining with glitter, the hope that you’re doing it right. Namjoon wants to cry, feeling your tongue lick at the slit. “Y-Yeah…”

And like the menace you are, you suck him in as deep as you can, grabbing at the meat of his thighs as Namjoon yelps.

“Ah–!”

You pull up, take a deep breath. “Good?”

“Yes. Please, again,” he says.

He doesn’t fit all the way but he still feels it tenfold. The lap of your tongue, the enthusiastic suction, your legs shifting behind you so you can bob your head better.

He has nothing to say for guidance. His throat is caught with his grunting, sighing pleasure because you’re just naturally good at doing this, making him feel good. All his sweetest parts burning with your wet love.

Suddenly he feels both your hands twisting at his cock. “Oh my god.” He’s vibrating, for fuck’s sake. He wants to laugh, thinking about how you’ve got him wrapped around your finger. You’re a different kind of evil. “W-Where’d you learn this?”

You look up at him, shy. As if you weren’t jerking at his leaking cock standing right under your nose. “Don’t worry ‘bout it.”

He won’t question it. He’s preoccupied with the heat of your tongue anyway, smoothing along the length like you’ve got a melting popsicle. You suckle on him again, the satisfaction of a good treat. Namjoon can’t help the hand he grips the back of your neck with.

“Is this okay?” He asks. He’s out of breath. You nod, knowing you did that to him.

“Mhm.”

“I might come soon.”

“Mhm,” you whine louder, and Namjoon feels his blood rushing even further down.

He closes his eyes to your novice rhythm. The softened hold you’ve got on the base of his dick that eases your motions. Your other hand curls around his thigh once more, squeezing whenever you try to slurp lower. He knows you like to challenge yourself, knows your drive to do things right. And if doing something right meant the potential of literally choking on dick then Namjoon won’t stop you. He hisses. “Holy fuck.”

Of course he’s close. Of course you make those tiny squeaks whenever his hand presses on your nape just a little harder. He almost bursts when you soften over the tip–the little smack–to lick at your lips. You’re looking at him with unhidden pride.

“I like doing this to you.”

“You’re going to kill me,” he says with certainty.

You nod. “G-Good,” you laugh a little, catching him with an upstroke. Your mouth meets your fist in the middle, the slow jerk to your suckling.

Namjoon tries to relax. Breathing hard, letting you take him where you want. Your timid strokes picking up speed, spit lathered, your suction slippery. He feels like he’s drowning. Like he can’t keep up anymore, submitting to your waves, your motions, the cry of his bedframe shifting under you both.

“I’m coming,” he warns.

You lap him up like you didn’t hear. But you know what you’re doing, licking at the length. You know that tightening your mouth makes him shiver. You tongue what’s wet into slobber, a squelch that shouldn’t sound so good but it does.

It’s when you look up that he absolutely loses it.

He unravels quick, groaning through an orgasm you draw out so sweetly. Watching you watching him, eyes wet with your effort, the shine of your tears. And he doesn’t mean to buck up when he does–he’s so gone he doesn’t even hear you sputtering but he feels it, your throat convulsing, the little peep of surprise. Namjoon’s eyes go wide.

“You’re so pretty, pups.”

It’s the truth. The image of you, used, satisfied. Your hair is mussed from where he was gripping. He wipes the cum off the corner of your little smile, grabs a tissue from his bedside for you to spit into. Maybe he’ll ask if you’d be down to swallow, next time.

(He hopes to God there’s a next time.)

You wad the used tissue up into a ball, making a face. “Really salty,” you comment.

Namjoon reddens. “Yeah it’s pretty… gross. But… how was–that?”

“Fun.” You wobble up to your knees, using his shoulders for balance. Your smile is sincere. “It’s… you’re really hot, you know that?”

The bed dips when you straddle him. “Says you.”

“I’m telling the truth!”

He kisses you. Stained with his taste, and he can’t be bothered to care. “Thank you,” he whispers, “for taking care of me.”

“What a good boy,” you coo. “Now help me off this bed, I literally cannot get the feeling back in my legs and I’ve got your cum drying in my hand right now.”

#u know what I'm gonna tag this nicely #bts smut #namjoon smut #bts scenarios #namjoon scenarios #bts #namjoon #ubemango fic #f: pups series #d: pups series #drabble

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thoughtfullyyoungduck · 5 years ago

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secret son part 3

A/N: please let me know what you think! If anyone has any requests please send them to me!

Summary: Matt is performing for his schools talent show, which Myra will also be present for.

It’s excruciatingly hot in the car, sweat dripping down Richie’s face making his body feel clam and gross, while he’s almost panting like a dog. It’s not summer yet, but it’s June and that means that it is summer in Richie’s mind, but even he hadn’t been able to predict this type of weather.

The sun is shining scorching hot, burning almost anything she touches, not a giving way to even a slight breeze, and it fucking shows. Normally, the trip from their house to Matt’s school is only a half-hour, but today, it seems all the odds are stacked against them.

Everyone collective decided to go on a trip this weekend apparently, causing a blockage of cars as far as Richie can see it, and they were late to begin with. Eddie’s gripping the steering wheel between his fingers like a vice, vibrating and his face a dark shade of bloody red, but that might not have anything to do with the heat. For a moment, his mouth turns into a sneer again, opening his mouth to yell at the drives before them, but then he shakes his head and takes a few deep breathes.

Richie contemplates calling Myra again, to let her know that they’ll be late so she can let Matt know, but that will most likely send her into another tirade, and that is the last thing they need right now. As they stop for the third time in 3 meters, Richie vows to buy Matthew a phone, whether it be against Eddie’s wishes or not.

The twenty-first annual middle school talent show is hosting its show tonight, and Matt had asked Richie and Eddie to show up. They said yes, of course, both of them more than excited to see their son perform on stage, even if the show itself will just be a bunch of middle-schoolers, dancing and parading.

Their son, a voice repeats in his head. Not deter by the atmosphere hanging around him and his boyfriend, Richie’s heartstrings pull together, making Richie feel breathless for a second. Cause that’s what Matt is to him now, his son. Maybe not biologically, but in every way that it counts.

Matt called his pops a few times as a joke whenever Richie would mirror Eddie’s ministration, like warning him to be careful in the park, or not to go with strangers, a testimony to how many times he had overheard Eddie say it, and a habit developed from there.

Sure, Matt still calls him; ‘Richie’ sometimes, mostly when Myra is around, or when they’re taking playful jabs at each other, but all in all, Richie has become pops. The name suits him, Eddie told him, but it still seems a little unreal to Richie, that he trashmouth Tozier, is a dad to a wonderful kid. Said kid also wants to spend as much time with him as possible, spending every week and weekend with them, expect a weekend every two weeks with his mother.

That’s a fair deal in Richie’s books, considering that it was Matt who wanted the arrangement to be like that, but Myra had to audacity of claiming that Richie poisoned his mind against her, and that he was the one manipulating Matt to make these claims. He hadn’t expected her to forfeit like that straight away, but he also hadn’t expected her to do everything she could to make Matt have to go to her. She fought Eddie for full custody, ignoring all of her sons own pleas to her.

She lost, but the whole thing resulted in Eddie being more aggravated to her, for trying to take away his son, whereas before, he was content to leave her be as long as she didn’t interfere in his life.

‘Motherfucker’, Eddie mumbles under his breath angrily, a grunt-like sound originating from him as he watches the car in front of them skid to a halt again, his face turning more sour by the minute.

Experience has taught Richie that he best lets Eddie rage inside his mind for a little way, at least until he has inwardly yelled at everyone and everything in his mind, before attempting to talk him down.

They’ve both gotten much better at that, both Eddie and Richie. Richie so he can stop his motormouth running a mile a minute, spouting out whatever comes to mind to stop the situation from exacerbating, usually leading to the situating exacerbating, and Eddie has accumulated hos behavior, not lashing out at people who don’t deserve it.

‘Hey fucker,’ Eddie seethes when they reach a crossroad, a car coming in from the left and cutting them off, even though that won’t make him get to his destination any faster, the flow of traffic still blocked like Eddies mom’s underwear.

‘Was that so worth it asshole? What you gonna do now? Speed away?’

Richie places his hand on Eddie’s arm that’s still wrapped around the gear stick that’s off no use, rubbing what he hopes are comforting circles on his upper arm.

Eddie’s eyes turn to his, a sigh escaping him as he takes his hand of he wheel, one of them interlocking with Richie’s hand.

‘You’re right, you’re right Rich. But I don’t wanna be late to my sons performance. You know how Myra is going to have him agitated, and I wish we could be there to calm him down.’

Richie does know, which is why it sucked balls that Matt was going over to her house this weekend of all times. Compromising had been no use, Myra kept insisting that it was her time and they weren’t going to take that away from here, even when Eddie promised her that Matt could go the weekend after.

A call from Matt’s teacher had informed them that Matt was in fact not present during rehearsals on Friday after school, and that told Richie and Eddie all they needed to know.

Contacting Matt was off no use, since he had no phone and Myra refused to let them interact with one another. Again, Richie made a mental note to gift Matt an iPhone or something alike, and no one was stopping him.

‘I know Eds, but that guy is not responsible for that. Stop reacting to other people in daily life like you do during our sexy times.’

The punch to his arm is hard, but he sniggers regardless.

Taking another peek out the window told Richie they were getting nowhere, so he exhaled harshly, preparing himself for the worst.

‘Okay, do your best Eds, give it to the speeding brake like I gave it to your mom every night.’

Richie expects a retort back, an angry fuck you maybe, or a middle finger, but instead he is gifted the sight of speechless Eddie, his mouth open in shock.

‘You’re serious?’ He asks, even though Eddie has already made up his mind, and is fastly shifting into speed gremlin mode.

With his head thrown back, Richie releases a loud groan, rumbling from all the way in his chest. ‘Yes, now hurry up before I regret it, lay it all on me Jesus.’

A menacing smirk that threatens to overtake every other feature in Eddie’s face, Eddie presses a short kiss to his mouth, pulling back before Richie even has a chance to reciprocate, and speeds off to the emergency lane on their right side.

Eddie is a monster while driving, which is why it’s Richie that drives most of the time, but desperate times call for desperate measures.

The clocks ticks on unforgivably, striking three pm exact when Richie looks at it, and let that be the exact time when the show is supposed to start.

They’re too late to wish Matt good luck, but at the very least he’ll see both of them in the audience in their designated seats, right next to Myra. If he doesn’t, Richie fears that he might panic.

Driving on the emergency line is highly illegal, but Eddie brushes that aside as he propels his way to the parking lot.

It takes the barely five minutes after that. They got honked at countless of times, but they made it on time, so Richie counts it as a win anyway. Jumping out of the car before it has even come to a complete stop is dangerous, but discarded on the side when they rush inside the school.

The show has started, but Matt was not the first one on, thankfully, so all they’ve missed is the speech that the principal always gives at the beginning of these kind of events, and a kid who thinks she can play the flute, but really all she’s doing in blowing air into the instrument.

Richie claps animatedly anyway, her moment over when they get in, since he knows what it feels like to be laughed at for something you like the do, and she’s also a kid, so she deserves a pass.

Eddie claps too, snorting when he sees the absolute ridiculous movements his boyfriend is making.

‘What the hell are you doing Rich?’

‘I’m just granting this little girl what you and the rest of the losers deprived me off. Validation for my talents.’ Eddie whips around lightning fast, his laugh loud and uninhabited while he raises his middle finger to Richie.

‘Do those talents include humor?’ While they’re talking, both of them carefully tiptoe around other parents and grand-parents, trying to find a way to get to their seats. He nearly steps on someone toes, offering them a short apology and hopes they except it, but he is too busy avoiding every one else to see if they’re angry or not.

‘Well yes of course Edward. You as young lad should have seen the absolute hidden potential that was harvesting in me.’

Eddie laughs so loud that his knees nearly buckle, several people shushing him even though there’s no one left on stage, and they’re waiting for the next person to make an appearance.

‘Oh please, you’re still not funny now what makes you think you were then?’

In their haste, the knowledge that they would have to spend the entire late afternoon with Eddie ex-wife had disappeared off into the background, but then Richie makes eye contact with her, and it back with much vigor.

Richie wants to slouch, dread already pulling him down towards the ground, but he refuses to let Myra drag him down, and he has Eddie with him anyway, so it’s not that bad.

As soon as their eyes meet, Myra, like a cliche, turns her nose up and looks away, acting as if she is the one that is ashamed of them. There are two empty seats next to her, who will be occupied in a second by them, but Richie still searches for another vacant spot, without luck.

It’s ridiculous anyway, since the seat were granted two weeks before today. It’s a mystery to Richie who organized the seating arrangements, but man did they fuck up bad.

Eddie, who is walking in front of him, reaches out to grab Richie’s hand, squeezing two times for strength and asking Richie for protection, despite him not needing any. His not fearful of his former wife, but she gets under his skin, and not in the good way that Richie can, make him struggle to remain his composer.

Remorsefully, Richie says goodbye to his sanity, a polite and cheerful face covering him like a mask, even when all he really wants to do is yell in her face.

He stills Eddie by placing two of his large hands against his arms, effectively stopping him from walking any further, and moves to stand closest to her.

Someone else has made his way on stage, this time the kid is dancing, and his music is loud enough that Richie can speak in a normal voice, which still means he has to keep it down.

He ploughs down in the middle seat, right in between Myra and where Eddie will be in a second, like a wall between the two of them. Eddie shoots him a grateful smile, sitting down in his chair much more gracefully than Richie, with his hands in his lap.

‘Hello Myra,’ Richie greets her, to establish to her that they were not planning on being rude to her. If anyone was going to start a ruckus, it would be her.

‘Richard’, she greets, followed by ‘Edward.’

Hearing his full name sound absolutely ridiculous to Richie, but he ignores to avoid creating an argument, god knows Myra only needed one slam word and she would blow off.

‘Myra’, Eddie too nods at Myra, Richie bites his lips to stop himself from making a fool of the situation, but by the knowing look in Eddie’s eyes, he knows that Eddie knows what he wanted to say.

After the boy, there are two more children, then a group, and then a little girl comes up. Boredom is starting to take it’s toll on Richie, who can’t sit still if it could help save his life, so his knew has been insistently bouncing since the dancing act.

Eddie helps somewhat by hooking his leg under Richie’s, their ankles linked while his hand plays with the bracelet on Eddie’s wrist, made by Matt when he was being babysit by Ben and Bev.

The girl is shaking all the way through her body, the microphone she’s holding swaying dangerously. Her face is ashen white, and she looks about two seconds away from vomiting, which Richie can relate too. Being on stage is scary, especially when you’re that young, a pang of sympathy for the girl embracing him in it’s warm hold.

The song she has chosen to sing was let it go from frozen, but she only made it past 1/4 of the song, when she forgets her lines and makes up her own lyrics.

The lyrics do not make any sense, she’s mostly naming things she can see, ranging from things like curtains, to teachers, the mortification on her face revealing how embarrassed she is.

It’s that that makes Richie stand up resolutely when the final note dies out, leaping to his feet to applaud her as much and as loud as he can.

‘This is I folks, the best act of the night. Nothing can top this. The way that she improvised is a talent that is rarely seen in anyone ever before.’ Richie whoops, preening when other parents join in on the applause, and the little girls face lits up like a Christmas tree.

He’s only half kidding. He’s going to find Matt the best no matter what, call it a part of fatherhood, but the girl was really inventive, and she did not give up. Besides, seeing the tears in her eyes blinked away is enough to make Richie smile in delight.

When everything dies down and he retrieves his seat again, a woman taps him on the shoulder. She’s holding a camera in her hands that she puts away and grins.

‘Thank you. That was my daughter, I can’t tell you how happy this will have made her.’

Richie is touched, but he also can’t take credit for something he has nothing to do with.

‘It was all your daughter ma’am, she’s a natural.’ Eddie presses a kiss to his cheek, conveying what he’s not saying out loud; ‘I’m proud of you.’

‘Are you always like this?’ Myra inquirers curt, her face stuck in a permanent sneer. Eddie tenses beside him, but he won’t allow her to ruin the afternoon before they have even seen the person they came for.

‘What do you mean Sonia?’

‘My name is Myra.’

‘Same difference. Am I always this awesome and funny and caring towards others?’ He’s not being serious, but to Myra that doesn’t matter. She opens her mouth to say something else, but Richie has already turned his back sideways to here, his entire being focused on Eddie when the latter taps on his arm.

Eddie is staring at the stage however, and when Richie follows his gaze, he sees why. It’s now Matt’s turn, the boy scorching over every head in room, until he finally spots Eddie, Richie and Myra and grins from ear to ear.

He never told Eddie nor Richie what his act would be about, saying that it was supposed to be a surprise, so Richie has no idea what to expect.

His clothes, a yellow t-shirt with a cat on it, and blue jeans that look a bit to dirty to be knew does not seem like something Myra would have let him wear. If anything, Richie was expecting to see him in something not unlike a suit.

His suspicion is conformed when he hears Myra complain next to him. ‘That’s not what I dressed him in.’

‘Hi, my name is Matt, and today I’m going to be telling you a bunch of jokes my pops taught me.’

Even though Richie will adamantly deny it, and Eddie will confirm it to anyone who asks, Richie starts crying.

He hasn’t even heard any of the jokes, but he already loves them and he loves him.

‘Jean goes on a walk with grandma in the park’, Matt begins his story, ‘and on the way back from the park, he sees a banana peel. When he goes to pick it up, his grandma tells him that he can’t do that, because everything that’s on the ground is dirty and he shouldn’t touch it. Two days later, Jean and his grandma go back to the park, and his grandma trips over the banana peel. When jean’s grandma asks him to help her up, Jean says that he can’t do that, because everything that’s on the ground is dirty, and he can’t touch it.

It’s not even that funny, but Richie loses his shit regardless. The laughter pours out of him relentlessly, making him shake from trying to hold it in.

When Matt thanks the audience for listening, indicating that his act has come to an end, Richie still can’t stop cackling. Eddie is in the same state as him, holding his stomach like it’s hurting and actual tears stream down his cheeks. They’re a stark contrast to Myra, who’s sour look has only worsened, and is just clapping politely like the rest of the parents.

Matt has never been prouder of himself, bowing once and then waving while he gets of the stage, just like Richie does.

When he gets himself under control, a few children later, Myra is has yet to stop her dead glare which is pointed his way.

‘Pops? He calls you that? You are not his father, you’re nothing but filth that has corrupted my Eddie bear and my son. A boy should spend more time with his mother, not with a confused father he thinks his’, she chokes over the words. ‘gay.’

Richie is stricken, hurt despite him knowing that that is just the person Myra is. A hurt emotion that he tries to keep under wraps at all times peaks it’s head up from the darkest part of his soul, but before it has any chance to come up and out, his head is turned, and Eddie connects their lips.

It’s a bit messy, Eddie having knocked his lips on the first area he could find, causing the kiss to be a little off balance, while he brushes at the nap of Richie’s neck. Richie replies by setting his arm on top of Eddie thigh, not high, just above the knee.

They’re in the same position as they were in when they shared their first kiss, and it makes Richie a little dizzy with love and devotion.

Eddie pulls back first, chuckling when he sees the hazy look Richie’s eyes have, and then steels his expression to address Myra.

‘I’m not confused. I’m gay, and yes Matt calls Richie pops, because he wants too, not because we asked him too. Why don’t you wake up Myra? Neither Richie not I are trying to replace you. You’re his mom, no one can do that, but if you continue to be disregard him, he might not be as friendly in the future.’

Then, Eddie stands, pulling Richie up with him, who still dreamily is unaware off what’s happening, his brain not being up to speed yet.

‘Come on Dickwad, pull you head out of your ass, we’ll wait outside until Matt comes.’

He shifts his gaze to Myra; ‘I’ll see you in two weeks.’

Outside, Richie laughs breathlessly. ‘I can’t believe you just did that in front of all these people.’

It’s still insanely warm, but it gets ever warmer when Eddie leans up, and presses his forehead to Richie’s.

Suddenly, Richie is transported back to many summers ago, when Eddie and him were still kids and they had yet to confess their feeling for one another. They shared a moment like that one too, where it was so hot yet they still huddled together.

Richie had thought then that that would be the peak of his life, smelling the scent of warm water and grass, and Eddie colon that stuck to every piece of clothes item he was wearing.

He was wrong, adding Matt to the equation, made it only better.

They must have been there for a long time, but Richie was unaware of that, until he heard Matt call out to them.

‘Dad, Pops, I missed you.’

He leaps into Eddie’s awaiting arms, just small enough for Eddie be able pick him up, while Richie envelops both of them in his arms.

‘We missed you too bud.’ We’ve missed you our entire lives.

#reddie #reddie fluff #reddie imagine #eddie kaspbrak imagine #richie tozier imagine #eddie as a parent #reddie as parents #richie as a dad #My writing #eddie x son

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lord-explosion-baku · 6 years ago

Text

Fucking Aizawa

Alpha!Aizawa x Omega!reader

Warnings: swearing, AOB dynamics, kinda dub conny but not really???, they fuc

A/N: I always get so nervous writing omegaverse idk why. It’s always so,,, explicit hahahahaha. Uhhhhhh SO!! Here!! 💃

As an omega, going out at night might not have been the safest for you when you were feeling some type of way but the cool night air always eased your aching nerves. It was your equivalent to taking a cold shower though not as scathing and honestly, standing on top of your apartment building always seemed to help clear your mind.

You haven’t entered your frenzied heat, not yet, but you know it’s coming. Soon you’ll be stuck inside your apartment with the doors locked to the nines, left alone with various toys in a too hot and stuffy room. You had friends you could call to ease the pain for you and though that may be better than suffering on your own, you were always left feeling lethargic and guilty. You haven’t yet bonded with anybody, a decision you’ve made on your own accords but that didn’t mean you never felt… lonely.

You sigh and rest your head on the cool roof door, trying to clear your mind before your big day. Meditation sometimes helped your cycle go by more smoothly, but not every time. It doesn’t hurt to try though. You hum to yourself as you rub your sides that have been cramping for hours.

A loud thump! catches your attention. “Is that who I think it is?”

Oh you’ve got to be kidding me. Of all people to bother you on your much needed meditation night. You don’t even have to turn your head to know that Eraserhead had done his job landing on top of your building on his nightly patrol.

The both of you patrolled during the nights, but you of course had to take the week off because of your heat so he had more ground to cover than usual. You pray that he doesn’t know why you have to take these long period breaks but it’s not hard to figure it out seeing that you’re an out and employed omega.

“Mhm, I’m just enjoying the night air…”

“It’s pretty late.”

“Yeah, no shit.” You already feel yourself growing irritated. You weren’t positive why you didn’t favor Shouta Aizawa. You knew him in high school and though he was buddies with one of your personal friends, you always wanted to avoid his gaze. You were like that with a lot of alphas though. You just thought he had a superiority complex or something.

He steps out in front of you and eyes you sitting on the floor as if you’re some kind of criminal he’s about to interrogate. His lips stay in a flat line while he works a brow at you and you let your eyes wander down his muscular form that’s evident even while he sports his loose fitting hero suit. You can’t help but wonder what it would be like to have him take you, to satiate your building need. Fucking Aizawa.

“Are you feeling alright? It’s cold out and you’re wearing…” he gestures at you and instantly you cover your breasts. Sitting in your pajama shorts, you’ve never been more uncomfortable with alpha’s state. Okay, that wasn’t true but Aizawa just made you mad and it didn’t help that alphas thought they had to throw their authority all over the damn place.

“I’m perfectly comfortable,” you shoot at him. You’re far too hot to play the pleasant conversation game.

“Hmm.” He crosses his arms. Can’t he see that you want to be left alone?!

A breeze picks up a drifts the side of the building. The chill feels good against your scorching skin and you hold your arms closer to your body as your nipples pucker. The wind blows harder and you pick up a deliciously… strong… scent. You feel yourself pooling in your pajama shorts. Fucking Aizawa.

Primal intent overwhelms you and it takes almost everything for you not to immediately call out a scandalous request. Instead, you hop up and fumble with the building keys, muttering a “goodnight Eraserhead,” but before you can even get the key through its hole, you feel a shift in temperature behind you.

“Wait,” his whispered command stops you dead in your tracks. You clutch your stomach. Being around an alpha with such a powerful scent can be absolutely unbearable and you can feel the intensity of your heat starting to hit you.

Your legs start to shake as you turn yourself back towards him. Instinctively, you bite your lip and look to the ground; a humble omega. Not good. You’re suffering through your most natural urges and for Aizawa. You hate him!!

“Oh…” he sticks his nose up and you watch as his eyes dilate, no doubt his blood pressure elevating and his natural dominating instincts coming over. “Oh fuck. That’s you?”

You gulp in response, too afraid to answer. Body pulsating, your body responding to the scent of the alpha in front of you. Fucking hell, why did it have to be him?

There’s a tense moment where Aizawa places a hand against the wall and stares ahead of him. He chuckles to himself and his eyes slide over you while in takes a long inhale. Finally he says, “it’s easy to forget that you’re an omega with that mouth of yours but damn it if you don’t smell… fucking delectable.”

He moves his hand down to grab your the side of your head, he tugs you to the side and presses his nose against your neck. The force of his pulling feels good, almost natural, for you and you hate that you like it.

“God,” he hisses and before you know it, his tongue runs across your neck, under your scent glands. His scruff tickles and you feel his need like it’s your own. Aroused and sensitive, you squirm underneath the towering alpha, ruing the sensation of warm slick building up between your thighs.

“It’s pretty careless of you to be out alone while you’re… like this. You’re lucky it was me who landed on your rooftop and not anyone more dangerous.”

You scoff at that. Now, you know that Aizawa has a good morale and despite you absolutely detesting him, he’s not a bad guy. It’s only natural for him to sound like a complete douchebag when he has to smell you in such a state and it’s only natural that you find it completely riveting.

“Is something funny, sweet little… helpless omega?” His teeth rake across your skin and your arousal flares up!

“S-stop!” You try to push him off but the unattached alpha stood still, lips turning up into a smirk that boiled your blood and shit even barely touching him was too much for you to handle. You don’t want him to stop though. It was instinctual for you to want him. It was the most natural feeling in the world.

He levels his head with you, his hot breath brushing across your skin. Everything about him pulls you to him. Drunk on your hormones, you grip his shirt and push your pelvis against his undeniable erection, shamefully rubbing yourself on him, trying to alleviate some of the aching in your loins. He pushes his knees in between your legs and you begin grinding on his thigh and close your eyes and he chuckles.

“You don’t really want me to stop, do you? I can smell you, kitten. You’re slick with need and just waiting to be filled up with my alpha seed. You want me, don’t you little omega?”

Aizawa growls when you grab onto his thighs, nails digging into the thick fabric of his pants. His eyes are dark watch you move and to even think of you trying to keep up this pathetic facade was too damn cute. If his hardened cock wasn’t aching to push into you, aching to claim the poor omega, aching to saturate your needs, he’d enjoy teasing you for the rest of the night. He’d always had similar desires in high school but for whatever reason, you never gave him the light of day. He intended to take full advantage of this situation, though, he’d do it consensually of course but at this point it didn’t seem like either of you had a real choice.

“I… can take care of this myself…” You’re barely able to utter. His intoxicating scent seems to build a wall between your brain and your body though because soon your arms run along his muscular frame, desperate to feel more of the strong alpha before you.

“Ohh, sweetheart. Do you really enjoy torturing yourself? If you like pain so much I’d offer to take you somewhere I’d be able to tend to your every whim but,” his breath hitches and a lowly growl escapes the back of his throat, sending you into a bit of a frenzy. No, no, you don’t enjoy torturing yourself, you’d rather have the alpha bend you over and dominate you right then and there but you could never admit that to him.

“Eraser,” you mewl and at this point, you’re sure that your slick coats his thigh as you ride him. His eyes hungrily rove over your body, breath growing heavy as his large hands wrap around your waist and push up and under your tank top. His fingers sends spasms throughout your body

“You’re making quite the mess, aren’t you, kitten?Why are you denying yourself, hm? You think you can satisfy your urges by rubbing your need off on me? Come on, angel, I could smell you from blocks away. You can’t resist me nor I, you. Just admit that you need something from me and I will take care of everything.”

“Go fuck yourself” Of course, he’d smell you before coming on top of your roof of all places. You want to hit him but instead your hands shoot to your shorts and you squeeze your eyes shot as your fingers fumble past your elastic waistband.

“Now that’s out of the question when I have a wanton little omega practically writhing underneath me.”

You gasp when his capture weapon wraps around your wrist and pulls your hands away from your throbbing sex that gave an involuntary squeeze. You shoot Aizawa a death glare which he returns with pushing his mouth up to your ear and even with his rough, gritty voice, you can almost hear him purr when he says, “submit to me, omega. Tell me you want this hard alpha cock and I will give it to you. I’ll give you everything. Come on, Y/N, I know you need to be fucked. You can’t deny nature.”

“Fuck,” you try rolling your hips to the best of ability, trying to ease the source of your aching with the friction of Aizawa’s thighs but it’s not enough and you’re in pain. “Please touch me Aizawa. I can’t stand this.”

His hot hand travel up your stomach and stop at your swollen, tender breasts, kneading into them while pinching your nipples between his fingers. His other hand travels south, stopping at your pubic bone, he messages you through your shorts which are, at this point, more like a second skin, soaked and dirtied with your essence. “Tell me you want it, omega. You want me to rut you, to fill you up, and claim you. I wanna hear those words fall from your pretty lips.”

Of course, an alpha can’t properly knot an omega without explicit consent. It burns you to do so but the excruciating desire you felt clamping down on your burned even worse. “Alpha,” you moan, dogging your nails into the palm on your hands. “Please give me your knot.

He growls at you, twisting your body around. He pushes himself flush against your back and you can feel his cock throbbing on your ass. He tugs your hair up and plants a kiss on the back of your neck. “Was that so hard for you, kitten?”

Swiftly he peels your shorts off your body and you grow all the more excited feeling the cool hair on glistening cunt. His scarf pulls your hands to the roof’s door and you arch your back and shudder with anticipation when you hear him undo his belt.

He lines himself against your swollen sex, the head of his cock dripping with precum. Aizawa rubs his length along your slit, coating himself in your need and feels a pang when you once again call him alpha.

“Look how wet you are for your new alpha. God, you know it’s taken everything for me not to tear you to shreds in the past.”

You can hardly understand what that means, all you know is that you can’t stand not having him inside you another second. “Shouta, pleeaase.”

A switch flips inside his head. He’s held back his restraint for long enough. He brushed his cheek along you shoulder blade and sharply thrusts into you.

He’s huge, enormous, and it feels good to have something push against your pained walls. Slowly he drags himself out and forcefully shoved back into you, stretching you out. A relieved moan escapes your mouth. “Ohhh fuck me, alpha. God, th-thank you, ohh…”

Aizawa snickers, grabbing your waist to pull you deeper on to his drenched shaft. “I haven’t even done anything yet and you’re thanking me? What a submissive little omega.” He bites down on your shoulder, breaking the skin and you yelp out and clench around his girth in response.

“Fucking hell, kitten,” he chokes, “such tight little pussy..”

He fucks you relentlessly, growling and grabbing, taking his nails across your skin, marking you as his; his omega. You’re so hot for him and Aizawa thanks his lucky stars it was you that drew him to this rooftop; he’s wanted this, to have you bent over him, calling for him, for over a decade.

He grows smug when he watches your hands slide down the door, trying to get the most out of your experience. He wants to see your face, high with euphoria and lucky for the both of you, the base of his cock only just started to swell. Aggressively, he pulls out and spin you around. You cry out, destitute and needy for him to film you back up. Aizawa slams you back against the door and plants and hungrily claims your lips. You wrap your legs around him and slide onto him with ease, gasp into the kiss when he plows you deeper than before.

“You’re such a pretty little omega, aren’t you? So compliant when you know you need to be. I’m gonna fill you up to the brim, you know that?”

“Yes alpha. Mmmph, please do. I want you to deep inside me, I ~ahh~,” you cling on to his back, “I wanna have your pups!”

Aizawa’s eyes widen. He wasn’t expecting you to say that and even if it was just a spur of the moment thing, a carnal instinct, it sends him over the edge. The thought of you swollen with his child is far too delicious of a thought to let go of. He bites down hard in your scent glands and you shriek in pure ecstasy.

“If someone else so much as looks at you, I’ll tear them limb from limb! Do I make myself clear?”

That’s the alpha in him speaking and if you’d heard it any other time, you’d roll your eyes so hard they’d fall out of your head but in that moment you need his possessiveness like the ocean’s tides need the moon.

“Yes, my alpha,” you say through your panting. You feel yourself pool at your own compliance and Aizawa hisses in response.

“Fuck, that’s a good girl. Shit, kitten.”

His knot reaches its peak and he thrusts hard into your gushing cunt, pushing in to his hilt. He feels your pleasure in sheer electrifying waves as he follows your climax by shooting his seed deep inside of you. The both of you shake together, stuck and wrapped around each other’s bliss. You stay like that for fifteen long sensual minutes pulsating within one another.

He nuzzles against the soft sensitivity of your neck, preening and kissing you, whispering to you about how good you were, how proud he is and you’re too lost in your shattered mindset to understand what’s really happened until his swelling goes down and you’re able to slide off of him.

Aizawa wipes your sweaty forehead on the back of his sleeve and regards you knitted eyebrows with a similar expression. “Are you okay, kitten? I wasn’t too rough with you?”

You shudder when another cold front blows across the rooftop and Aizawa is quick to strip himself of his shirt and offer it to you.

“I’m… good. Really good,” you say, pulling your head through his shirt. As protective as alphas could be, nobody’s ever really actually asked if you were okay after a rut. You sigh. “Thank you… I should be okay for a couple hours now.” You avoid his gaze. “I think I should go shower.”

Aizawa presses his mouth into a fine line. Maybe you don’t understand what really just happened. You bonded with him. You’re his. “I’ll order some take out for you then. Or maybe…” he placed his hands under your chin, your eyes shine up at him. You’re still in heat and you’ve sent him into a rut. If you really didn’t understand that you belonged to each other, you could end up inviting someone else over when your heat flares up again! He couldn’t just leave you, even if you asked him to. “I can take better care of you at my place. Run you a warm bath or… whatever you need. You just tell me what it is and I’ll get it for you.”

“Aizawa-,” you begin.

“Omega,” he says, placing a stern hand on your shoulder. “I’m taking care of you and that’s final. Do you understand?”

You part your lips, not completely surprised by his dominate nature after everything that’s happened. Aizawa might’ve not been the most agreeable person in the world but… he was now your person… and you weren’t actually torn up that he wasn’t going to leave your side.

You nod.

Tags for EVERYTHING (closed): @yandere-inamorata @miitaart @dessiedawnwritesfanfiction @wickedlewicked @nevermorelanore @kpanime @ayeputita a @captain-sin-allmight-queen @diisasterbii @iceformer @meganofmars @colagirl5 @colorbookshd @grimmjadeskye @sm0kingcrack @sarcastictextstuck @zellllyyyy @psionicsnow @andie-in-tumblland @iamthe-leaf @midnightfeline666 @bungou-stray-dogs-indulgences @rubyred-imagines imagines @kattariapenn @heypartypeps @quirktaker @thecryingsombra @smbody-stole-mycar-radio @ghost-of-todoroki @geektastic84 @davalia @glixeo @rubycubix @mekakushi-dan-01-kido

#bnha omegaverse #omegaverse #bnha x reader #bnha #bnha imagine #bnha reader insert #reader insert #aizawa x reader #aizawa shouta x reader #shouta aizawa x reader #alpha!aizawa #alpha!aizawa x reader #aob

4K notes · View notes

romansleftshoulderpad · 5 years ago

Text

Hellfire, Dark Fire

Words: 1,658

Ships: Dukeceit, implied LAMP

Warnings: Sympathetic Deceit, Sympathetic Remus, PG13, implied nsfw, thanks to the lyrics I accidentally implied that LAMP fucks like rabbits but it be like that sometimes, food mention, death mention, poison mention

Also HUGE shoutout to @virge-of-a-breakdown for helping me out with this

Tags: @fandermom @patchworkofstars @poisonedapples @hogwarts-my-love @opaque-puppet @omni-hamiltrash @darling-elm @jynxlovesluck @localtransgrape @because-were-fam-ily

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Beata Maria, You know I am a righteous man Of my virtue, I am justly proud.

Deceit and Remus had come to an agreement at some point after Virgil left. They worked alone, but they were not uncivil. They ate meals together, often socialized and conspired together, but they each had their own separate spaces. It was simple and organized.

So why did things have to change?

Deceit knew who he was. He knew how others saw him. He’s a liar, deception incarnate, a snake, a fiend, the list goes on and on. But Deceit also knew that he was honest where it mattered most, he was honest with himself. Logan, Roman, and Patton can lie to themselves day in and day out but he knows it will never get them anywhere. Virgil can lie to himself about how he’s free from his past, but those lies are more of a ball and chain than his past will ever be.

Beata Maria, You know I’m so much purer than the common, vulgar, weak, licentious crowd

But Deceit was starting to regret that promise to himself. Ever since Remus had come out of the dark, he had been stronger and more powerful. It was almost intoxicating to watch him work.

Then tell me, Maria, Why I see him dancing there? Why his smoldering eyes still scorch my soul?

“Oh, it was fantastic!” Remus had yelled, his legs swung over the top of the couch as he hung from it upside down. “There was a song and- Oh! You should have seen the way Patton squirmed! It was delightful!”

“And our dear, old friend?”

“Oh, the itsy bitsy spider?” Remus laughed. “As Emo as ever.”

Deceit rolled his eyes, obviously not satisfied with the answer at hand. “Happy to hear that. All seems to be going according to plan, then?”

“You bet your bottom dollar, boss,” Remus teased. “And you can bet your bottom too.” He laughed as he wiggled his eyebrows but Deceit only rolled his eyes.

“You’re disgusting.”

“Only in the bedroom!”

Deceit picked up Remus’s feet and gently tossed him onto the ground. The Duke, however, only laughed as he folded his arms over Deceit’s lap and propped his chin into his hands. “I knew you’d have me on my knees on of these days,” he said with a wink.

Deceit flipped off Remus as he felt the human side of his face turn beet red. “I absolutely despise you.”

Remus laughed and stuck out his tongue as he scrunched his face in a weirdly adorable way. “Sure you do,” he chuckled. This did not help Deceit’s blush.

As time went on, things only changed more and more. He found himself fixated on Remus. On how Remus’s hair looked shiny and smooth in the light. He was fixated on Remus’s eyeshadow and how it brought out the way his hazel eyes twinkled anytime he had an idea. He was fixated on how Remus’s collarbones stuck out from his shirt. He was fixated on everything beneath Remus’s clothes.

It only got worse in winter. While Florida never got very cold in the winters, temperatures were always amplified in the mindscape; ergo, Deceit was freezing.

But Remus was there. Remus was there to supply him with blankets and hot chocolate. Damn him, Deceit thought as Remus leaned in close, carefully wrapping another blanket around Deceit’s shoulders. Deceit could feel the heat of his breath against his face which didn’t smell like something vile for once. “Did you steal my hot chocolate?” Deceit asked.

“Had to make sure the taste of poison was properly concealed,” he teased.

“If you wanted to kill me, it’d be much easier to just let me freeze.”

“Perhaps,” Remus said, pulling Deceit’s chin down and slowly pouring hot chocolate into his mouth. “As entertaining as it would be to watch you die, I’d be horribly lonely then. So, really, I have no choice but to take care of you.”

Deceit smiled, pushing the cup away from his face. “I hate you, too.”

I feel him, I see him The sun caught in his raven hair is blazing in me out of all control.

The worst of it all though was when Remus would hold Deceit in his arms and they’d sit by the fire together. Due to the close proximity to heat, Deceit could get by with just his old grey sweater and scarf, but Remus insisted that he needed the extra body heat. His touches felt hotter than fire.

Like fire Hellfire

He found himself half-asleep, rag-dolling in Remus’s lap as his eyes stayed fixated on fire but the rest of his body was fixated on the way Remus’s mustache brushed against his cheek or how his breath hit his neck. Remus pulled him closer ever so slightly and neatly pressed a kiss to his cheek. Deceit let out a contented sigh and let his eyes slip shut, focusing on nothing other than how he felt in Remus’s arms.

He didn’t want to love Remus. He was too tired to care.

This fire in my skin.

Was there any point in lying to himself? Could Deceit spare a moment of honesty to allow himself to revel in this moment? As Remus’s mouth moved down to his neck, kissing his skin ever so gently, ever so slowly, every part of him was screaming, “hell yes!”

This burning desire

He turned towards Remus, both of them stuck in time from the moment they locked eyes. After an infinity of waiting, Deceit moved in closer and their lips met with a passion that burned brighter than the crackling fire next to them.

Is turning me to sin.

Months of unspoken feelings easily rolled off the tongue of a wordless conversation. Hands explored bodies, fingers tangled through hair, each of them new territory for the other to explore. It was invigorating and enlightening. It was alive!

Deceit had forgotten all about winter. All that mattered was Remus. Remus’s hair. Remus’s skin. Remus.

It was a night of pure ecstasy.

But a morning as if nothing had happened. Remus was back to being his usual, annoying self. He made sure that Deceit was warm, but made no mention of the kiss...es.

Somehow the anger of being ignored just made Deceit want him even more. And the punishment for lying to oneself truly begins.

“Is anything the matter my serpentine fiend?” Remus asked, gently sliding a mug of hot cocoa in front of Deceit.

Deceit silently pushed the mug away. “I’m sick of chocolate.”

“I used a special ingredient,” Remus hummed as he pushed the mug back towards Deceit. “Oh don’t give me that sour face!”

“This is poisoned, isn’t it?”

Remus feigned a gasp. “I am shocked! I am offended that you would suggest that I would harm a dear friend!”

Deceit picked up the mug and dumped its contents onto the floor. “Someone’s going to have to clean that up.”

“Wow! I didn’t know it was possible for you to be more of an asshole!”

Deceit dropped the mug and apathetically watched it shatter into pieces. “Whoopsies.”

“I have a feeling you’re mad at me.”

Deceit gasped. “Whatever gave you such an idea?!”

“Do you want me to suck your dick?”

“Perhaps then you’d have some good ideas.”

“Okay, now you’re just being mean.” Remus sat down next to Deceit at the table and grabbed his ice-cold hand. “C’mon, Double D, just tell me what’s wrong.”

“You are!” he yelled. “I- I am... I... don’t know.”

“That’s honest,” Remus said. “You’re at least trying.

Deceit looked up at him and had a rush of déja vu. How easy it would be to kiss Remus once more and feel that same flood of electricity and emotion. “Everything is so... complicated, lately.”

“How so?”

Deceit said nothing but buried his face behind his scarf. He felt Remus’s hand brush against his scales. Remus was fire. He was uncontrollable and destructive but also warm. So, so warm and beautiful, in his own strange way.

It’s not my fault, I’m not to blame.

“Do you wanna kiss again?” Remus teased, but his words held an ounce of sincerity under the surface. “I really like kissing you, Snake Face.”

Remus stood and Deceit followed as if it were second nature. He was completely entranced by whatever spell Remus had him under. They both moved back slowly until Deceit was pressed against the wall with one hand on his chest and the other on his face.

It’s not my fault If in God’s plan

Remus moved in closer, his bangs falling against Deceit’s nose. “Is this what you want?” he asked, his voice rich and deep. Deceit thought he might go weak in the knees.

He made the devil so much stronger than a man.

Deceit nodded and felt as if he might melt when their lips connected. Kissing Remus was its own high. It was all Deceit wanted to do for the rest of his life.

Protect me, Maria Don’t let this siren cast his spell.

Remus moved in closer and electricity ran through their connected bodies as they both moved in closer and closer, destroying every infinitesimal space until it almost felt like they were one. Yet they weren’t one. They were thankful to be two separate bodies since such a separation allowed them to be like this.

Don’t let his fire sear my flesh and bones.

“I love you,” Deceit panted.

Hellfire. Dark fire.

Remus picked up Deceit’s legs in a quick motion and held him against the wall. “Love can wait,” he said, pressing one more heated kiss to Deceit’s lips. “I have other plans for today.”

Deceit gasped but his shock quickly melted into a mischievous smirk. “I haven’t the slightest idea what you mean. Perhaps you’ll just have to demonstrate.”

God have mercy on him.

They sunk out of the kitchen.

God have mercy on me.

#dukeceit #demus #trash noodle #sympathetic deceit #sympathetic remus #ts deceit #ts remus #the dark sides

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flutteringphalanges · 5 years ago

Photo

Summary: “Am I in Hell?” Agatha’s voice was hoarse, a hint of fear in her tone. “That depends on your definition,” Dracula answered. “Perhaps.” His fingers felt cool against her burning skin, the fever raging through her body. “If you’re going to kill me, then do it,” she mumbled. The count chuckled, gazing into her eyes. “On the contrary,” he smirked. “I’m going to save you.”

((In which Dracula cares for a gravely ill Agatha))

Characters: Agatha Van Helsing/Dracula

Rating: T

Read on FFN and AO3

A/N: Thank you all again for your wonderful feedback! Comments/Kudos/Reviews are greatly appreciated! I'd love to hear your thoughts and if there was a certain part you liked! Until next time! Stay safe and healthy! -Jen

Chapter Three

Suffocation. Oxygen clawing at her swollen throat, trying to push past damaged glands. Lungs working over time, forcing air that rattled out into coughing fits. Agatha heaved, torn from her sleep as her aching chest burned, fire from the built up acid and phlegm. She couldn't breathe. Couldn't focus. Something left a bitter taste in her mouth and she prayed not think of what it could be.

"Deep breaths."

His voice cut through her wheezing serrated knife. Just his presence alone made Agatha's skin crawl. When she felt his hand on her shoulder, the nun desired nothing more than to slap it away. But her body, like it had been, betrayed her. Hacking turned into gagging and Agatha felt her stomach begin to churn. The moment she felt the cool touch of a metal basin against her chin, she vomited what little she had in her stomach. Sour. It coated the inside of her mouth.

"Drink."

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the glass Dracula held out towards her.

"No," she panted, shooting him a glare. "Go away and leave me be."

"While I applaud your undying detest towards me, your stubborn attitude can be rather agitating," Dracula sighed, rolling his eyes. "Have some water, Agatha, before you cause further harm to your trachea."

She stared at the glass cautiously before reaching out and taking it. The water was clear, not a suspicious speck out of place. She swallowed, still hesitant of the vampire's true intent. Inhaling, she pressed the rim to her lips and took a small sip. It burned like Hell going down, throat painfully raw, but the cold numbness that followed afterwards was welcoming. She sighed, slowly gulping down the liquid.

"Your fever still hasn't let up," the vampire commented, taking the glass back. "I've been monitoring you."

"How thoughtful," Agatha scoffed hoarsely. "It's reassuring to know that you are present in my bed chambers when I'm least aware of it."

"You are proving to be quite the least thankful guest," Dracula replied, smirking slightly. "Even Johnny provided better companionship than you-and he too was day," he paused. "Well, I had a hand in that, I should say."

"You're a cruel, sadistic brute," the nun coughed, her head beginning to spin. "You should have killed me in Budapest when you had the chance."

"Again," he sighed. "Where would the fun be in that?"

The nun shook her head, realizing her mistake when the room began to spin. Once more, she found her stomach beginning to churn. Leaning back against her pillow, she stared up at the ceiling. Stone. Cobwebs. Flies. Those damn bugs. Her skin began to prickle as if being singed by invisible flames. Despite being awake for only minutes, her energy had already depleted. She was weak. Vulnerable. And she hated it. Not to mention the headache. God was it getting worse. The throbbing. Focus. Focus.

"Agatha."

The pain was intensifying. Like a herd of horses repeatedly kicking her skull. Her vision was beginning to blur. This was new. At least something to this extreme. Dracula was looming over her and though, in any other case, she'd try to look elsewhere, she forced her eyes to stay locked on him. Stay awake. Stay awake.

"Agatha?"

Even if she wanted to reply, she couldn't. Her muscles had given way, nerves having a mind of their own. It felt as if a weight had been pressed onto her chest. It was hot. Scorching. The fever flaring up again without any sort of mercy. This was it. She was going to die. Her deathbed in the home of her enemy. How climatic. As she began to fade into the darkness, she nearly swore there was a glint of concern in the count's eyes.

XXX

Ice. Freezing. Her body jolted to consciousness by the unexpected drop in temperature. Agatha yelped in surprise, startled and confused by her new surroundings. A shock that turned into absolute rage. Mortification. She, Sister Agatha Van Helsing, was naked. Bare, no clothing to call her own, in a bathtub of ice water. And if that wasn't enough to rattle the ill nun, Count Dracula watched on from a nearby wall with a carefree expression.

"What…" she hissed through chattering teeth. "You've...you've…"

"Saved you from dangerously overheating?" The vampire finished, an eyebrow raised. "A thank you will suffice."

"How dare you," she snapped, hugging herself tightly. "What on Earth possessed you into thinking that it would be remotely okay to unclothe me?!"

"Trust me, Agatha, I have seen many a man and woman naked," he smirked. "You're nothing special. Though," he paused, playfully allowing his eyes to scan her. "For a nun, your physique is surprisingly appealing to the eye."

"Get out," she growled, pulling her knees up to her chest. "Now!"

"As you wish," he bowed, his lips curving into a smile. "Oh, I took the liberty of replacing your clothes. They were quite dirty after all. Unfortunately, I must admit I do not own any outfits that would be to your fitting so one of my shirts should suffice."

To her horror, Agatha finally noticed a neatly folded, white top. Long sleeved, buttons, and a distinct collar, nothing compared to her nun habit. He had planned this. All of this. And by God, however it was possible, her anger grew. Seeming to notice her dismay, Dracula watched in amusement.

"Do you seriously think that I will-" she began.

"You could always prance around naked," he suggested with a shrug. "But catching a cold on top of your already ailing state I doubt any doctor would advise."

"You conniving leech," she snarled, feeling more exposed by the second. "Why...why do you even have a tub anyways?"

"Everyone needs to have decent hygiene," Dracula replied. "Despite your impression of me, I do hold standards of cleanliness. Now, get dressed, I don't think it best you be out of bed for this long. I'll be right outside the door if you need me."

"I won't," she grumbled.

"All the same," he answered. "I am really attempting at being a good host."

Once he had slipped out of the room, the nun took a deep, rattling breath. How she envied those nuns who lost their lives in the massacre, as horrible as that sounded. Still rather unstable, her legs wobbling, she hobbled over to the stool and picked up the shirt. Surprisingly, for someone who only consumed blood, there wasn't a single stain to be seen.

Putting one arm though each sleeve, she began the tedious task of buttoning it up. Thankfully, due to his height, the shirt appeared more like a chemise than anything else. Short, falling just above her knees, but held a little bit of reserve. A hint.

"Everything alright in there," the vampire knocked. "Do you require any assistance?"

"The only assistance I desire is for you to disappear from the vicinity," Agatha grumbled, reaching for the door handle. "Now turn around, I don't want you looking." Not that it mattered, he'd already seen her nude.

Dracula stood off to the side of the room, his back turned when Agatha reentered the bedroom. She leaned against the wall, already beginning to feel dizzy from the movement alone. When her knees began to waver, the vampire was immediately by her side, grasping her firm, yet gently by the arm. She would've pulled away if she could, but the risk of falling was a much less desirable outcome.

"The shirt suits you," he said, helping her to the mattress. "Much better than that drab, old outfit of yours. Then again, anything in the realm of religion isn't a favorite of mine."

"So I've observed," the nun muttered, crawling back under the sheets. At least she didn't feel as hot as before. "It isn't just the cross then? Do you find fear in theology in general? Why is that?"

"So many questions, Agatha," Dracula exhaled. "Your hunger for education amuses me. Ah, on that subject of appetite, from my observations, humans can't primarily survive on a liquid diet of water. I've made you something."

Now filled with curiosity, Agatha watched as the count left the room. He was only gone for a few moments before returning with a bowl. She eyed it suspiciously as he held it out to her. Then, with great hesitation, she took it. Soup. At least, it appeared that way. A warm, red substance filled with what appeared to be chopped vegetables. Carrots. Onions. Peas.

"What did you do to it?" She inquired, frowning as he handed her a spoon.

Dracula let out a dramatic sigh. "Must you assume everything I do has an ulterior motive behind it?"

"Yes."

"Well, I suppose that's not entirely false, but I assure you, this soup was made with genuine intentions," he smiled. "Go on, have a taste. I promise I didn't poison it."

Still watching him, Agatha dipped her spoon in and brought the liquid to her lips. Warm. Rich. For someone who didn't eat, the nun wouldn't have guessed based on the quality of her meal. She hadn't realized how truly hungry she was until her utensil clattered against the bottom of the bowl.

"Delectable, right?"

"Tolerable," she mumbled, handing the empty dish back. "Sub par at most."

"I'll take that as a compliment," the vampire smiled. "Hopefully that will hold you off for now. I have a prior engagement tonight so I won't be home unfortunately," there was a glint of malintent in his eye. "I know you'll dreadfully miss me."

"Where are you going?" Agatha asked, ignoring his last statement. "Not that I'm too curious."

"Like you, I need to eat," he replied. The nun's skin began to crawl. "But don't worry, I won't be gone for too long. I'll have long returned by the time you wake up." His eyes flickered over to the sliver of a window, the heavy curtains drawn. "I've had a particular craving for epidemiology lately, and I believe I found the perfect candidate in a nearby town."

Agatha's jaw dropped. "You're considering slaughtering an innocent doctor?!"

"Science has ways of taking its toll on things," Dracula replied, heading towards the door. "But what it takes, it gives back. Try to think of it in a more positive light, Agatha. A life lost is a life saved-that being you, of course. Be thankful, that's the least you can give him."

"No one deserves to die," she frowned, trying to rise from her bed. "Except you."

"I'm already dead, Agatha," he smirked. "Your words mean nothing."

He adjusted his cloak, taking his attention momentarily away from the nun. The woman exhaled, leaning back against her pillows. Helpless. Guilty. Tonight a man would die because a monster had a twisted interest in her survival. She could do nothing. She felt hot again, only this time she knew it wasn't from her fever.

"I hope you get caught in the sun!" It sounded so childish, a pitiful insult. "I won't let you get away with this."

"And yet," Dracula smiled. "You already have."

Before Agatha could reply, the vampire had already disappeared. Dammit. Damn this disease. Damn Dracula. And damn herself. All of this was making her head pound and she was nowhere near closer to learning about the vampire. She needed to gain control. Force her body into submission.

As she stared at the bedroom door, the entrance slightly ajar, a thought came into her mind. Exploration. Maybe, just maybe if she could muster the strength, she could have a look about. A quick peek before the Lord of Darkness himself returned. Desperate times called for desperate measures, and even though she felt horrible, maybe some motivation would push her forward.

After all, how dangerous could the outcome be?

#Dracula #Dracula 2020 #Dracula on Netflix #Agatha Van Helsing #Dragatha #Dracula x Agatha #Bad Moon Rising

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jeonsduck · 5 years ago

Text

dracarys

Park Seonghwa is turning out to be the worst roommate you’ve ever had. His little bouts of anger have left scorch marks all over your apartment, and you’re at your wit's end. Too bad you can’t move out until the lease is up.

Genre: fantasy

Warnings: none.

“Seonghwa! You set the fire alarm off again!” You yelled.

Your apartment sprinklers stay spraying in the next second and you sigh. That’s the fourth time this month. Investing in waterproof binders for your papers was turning out to be a good idea.

“Sorry, Y/N!” Seonghwa called back.

You climbed out of your bed and started on your way downstairs to tell management to cancel the fire truck and turn off the sprinklers.

When you’d first moved into this apartment, you thought living with another fire elementalist would be easy. Other magic users tended to look down on you for being hot headed, quick to anger and violent, so living with another fire bender should have been great. You couldn’t have been more wrong.

Seonghwa seemed to have no control over his powers at all. Maybe it had something to do with him being born under a sign of fire. Either way, his powers seemed impossible comfort him to handle. Every other week there was a new scorch mark on the wall of his room. Even so little as a bowl of spicy ramyun had him burping little fireballs for the rest of the day. And God forbid someone actually make him angry. Seonghwa had the shortest fuse on earth and anything from touching his bag to walking into his room uninvited could set him off. One time you’d brought a date home without telling him first and long story short you were never getting the security deposit back for this place. And honestly you were getting fed up.

“Seonghwa, come here! We need to talk.” you seethed when you got back to the apartment.

Seonghwa came out of his room, which you were forbidden to enter, steaming. Literally, his body temperature was so high that the water from the sprinklers was evaporating off of him. His skin was probably hot enough to burn up his clothes, which explained why he was only wearing a pair of (probably flame retardant) pajama pants. However, you were determined not to be distracted by the planes of his chest and how low slung the pants were.

“Look, Y/N, I’m sorry-“ he starts but you cut him off.

“Sorry isn’t gonna cut it anymore Seonghwa! This has gone on long enough. I can’t leave until the lease is up, so you need to learn some control.” you say, prodding Seonghwa in the chest.

If you weren’t a fire elementalist yourself, the touch probably would have burned you. Seonghwa stumbled back a step, not used to you being so angry. Honestly, you thought you might lose your cool too.

“Don’t talk to me about control.” Seonghwa growled, pushing you back a step, out of his personal space.

His eyes flashed orange, a signal that he was about to really lose it.

“I’m going out, don’t wait up for me.” he growled and brushed past you.

“Hey, Park Seonghwa, don’t you walk away from-“ you started cut off by the door slamming.

“Me.” You finished lamely, and went back to your room to start drying out your things with hot air.

The whole time you worked you grumbled about Seonghwa and his little tirades. He got back around midnight, and you heard the door open and lock. You had decided to ignore Seonghwa until morning, but you guessed two minutes after midnight technically counted as morning. Seonghwa knocked on your door gently.

“Y/N, we need to talk...” he says.

You sigh and tell him to come on in. He’s put a shirt back on now and looks calmer. At least he’s not actively steaming anymore. His eyes have cooled down from a bright fiery orange to a more subdued amber color.

“Seonghwa, I can’t keep having my room flooded every other week because you lost your temper.” You explain.

Seonghwa nodded solemnly, placing the pillow back on your bed.

“I know. You have an early class tomorrow . Go sleep in my room tonight, I’ll finish drying your things.” he offers.

You raise an eyebrow at him. He must feel really bad if he’s offering his bed to you. Seonghwa is usually horribly protective of his space and belongings. But he does love to clean, so you accept his offer. You’re tired anyway, so you pay Seonghwa on the shoulder in thanks and then head across the apartment to his room.

Seonghwa’s room smells like smoke in best way possible. You fall into his bed, exhaustion catching up with you, and you fall asleep easily.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You go three weeks without another incident, which means it’s high time for Seonghwa to blow his top.

“You brought someone over without asking me again?!”

He’s agitated again, walking around and checking everything is still in its place. You have no idea how Seonghwa knows this. Does he have an intruder spell cast on the apartment?

“You weren’t home! And I live here too, am I not allowed to have people in my own apartment?” you shoot back.

Seonghwa’s eyes fire up, tilting into the danger zone again.

“It’s not that, I just want to know if someone’s been over.” He counters, “I don’t bring people over without asking you!”

“You don’t even bring people over!”

Seonghwa breathes heavily through his nose.

“You can’t just get mad at me for living in my own apartment and blow something up every five minutes! You act like a child throwing a tantrum.” You continue, properly angry this time.

“I’m sick and tired of you-“ Seonghwa cuts you off, grabbing you by the wrist and tugging you out of the apartment.

“Hey, let me go!” you struggle to free yourself, but Seonghwa is stronger, easily dragging you to the stairs.

“What are you-“ you start but Seonghwa cuts you off.

“Shut up, Y/N.” He bites out, shoving you upstairs.

His voice sounds weird and growly, so you seal your mouth. You may be flame retardant, but even fire elementalists could be burned. And while you were pretty powerful yourself, you knew Seonghwa’s flames could burn ten times hotter than yours. Not to mention if he blew up in the stairwell it would cause serious consequences to the other residents. So you tripped after him silently, feeling heat roll off of him in waves. He led you all the way up to the roof, pulling you out. For a moment you just stand there in the wind staring at Seonghwa.

“I don’t like letting people I don’t know into the house. It’s not that I don’t trust your ability to gauge someone’s character. I just prefer to know.” Seonghwa sighs, some of the fight leaking out of him.

“Well, next time I’ll send you a text. But is it really that big of a deal? You’re such a hot head.” You huff.

“I am not!” It was like in a second Seonghwa was all fired up again.

“Yes you are! You’re so sensitive and particular about the apartment that I can’t stand it!”

“Maybe I wouldn’t be so ‘annoying’ if you just respected my boundaries!”

“Maybe if we talked about it instead of you blowing up in my face over every little thing!”

You were all up in Seonghwa’s space again, prodding him in the chest repeatedly. He was progressively getting more riled up, stepping back from you slowly.

“Get out of my face!”

“Or what? You gonna set my bed on fire or something?”

“Back up while I’m still being nice.”

“You call this nice? You’re an absolute nightmare-“

“I said back off.” Seonghwa’s voice came out deep and growly.

Inhuman almost. You stumbled back a step, surprised.

“What the fuck? Are you threatening me?”

“I’m warning you.”

Ok what the fuck was up with his voice? He twitched suddenly, violently. You became concerned when he doubled over.

“Hwa? Are you okay?”

“Y/N, back up.” he half growled as his face contorted in pain. He rolled his neck and shoulders looking like he was straining. What the fuck was going on?!

Black spots started appearing on Seonghwa’s skin and you were getting seriously worried. Was he burning up from the inside or something?

Seonghwa fell to his knees and you rushed forward to help, but he stopped you in your tracks, speaking in the deep growling voice again.

“Stay over there.”

Then he started to change. And grow. You heard the sickening crunch of his bones changing, watched with horrified eyes as Seonghwa shifted in front of you. Was he a werewolf? Though rare, they weren’t unheard of, though you’d never met one before. But Seonghwa kept growing, far past the size of a normal werewolf. And there was no fur sprouting from his body, but the black dots were spreading and expanding quickly. The whole transformation was over in thirty seconds and suddenly Seonghwa’s behavior made a lot more sense. He wasn’t a fire elementalist at all.

Roughly the size of a Leer jet and black as night, Seonghwa’s dragon form was quite frankly terrifying. His head was the size of a large SUV and you stumbled back a few steps when he lowered down to catch your eyes. His eye (you could only see one) was like a burning ember, staring you down. He spread his wings, his wingspan easily surpassing the size of the roof.

“Are you scared now?” he rumbled and you nodded frantically.

He snorted, nearly toppling you over with the force of his breath.

“Holy shit...” you whispered, staring up at your roommate.

He smiled, or at least you hoped it was a smile, showing off his sharp teeth.

“Can I... touch you?” you asked, timidly.

Seonghwa sat down, laying his gigantic head on the roof.

“Sure, knock yourself out, kid.” He rumbled.

You approached slowly and laid your hand against his snout. He breathed out, the hot air ruffling your hair. His scales felt like smooth glass. You slowly traced around his whole form, careful of the spikes on his tail. When you made it back up to his head he cracked an eye open at you.

“So this is where you run off to when you get all mad? You go all dragon mode on the roof?” you ask.

Seonghwa is not amused, snapping his teeth at you. You yelp and fall back on your butt, causing Seonghwa to laugh again.

“I’m going for a quick flight. You go back downstairs, we’ll talk later.” he says, stretching his wings.

“Can I ride you?” you ask without thinking.

Seonghwa glares at you and beats his wings twice, soaring up and away from the roof.

“Don’t push your luck.” He says before flying away.

You stay up on the roof for a while wondering how long he’ll be gone for. After thirty minutes you head back downstairs to wait.

As you looked around the apartment you began to realize why Seonghwa was so agitated about certain things. He probably saw the apartment as a sort of lair, and his belongings as his hoard. Having dragon ancestry would definitely make him more sensitive about things like people coming over or eating his cereal. (You had apologized and bought him two more boxes, but he still didn’t speak to you for a week.) It also explained how often his powers bubbled out of control, because they weren’t powers at all. And his tendency to not leave the apartment unless he absolutely had to. But one thing that you couldn’t quite understand, was his tolerance of sharing his apartment with you. Regardless of whether you crossed boundaries or not, dragons were notoriously solitary creatures. So why was he living with you in the first place?

#seonghwa #park seonghwa #ateez seonghwa #seonghwa x reader #seonghwa fanfic #ateez fanfic #kpop fanfic #ateez x reader #seonghwa x you

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whitewallwhispers · 5 years ago

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Little Lies

Narcos - Javier Peña - Series

Part One - Part Two - Part Three - Part Four - Part Five - Part Six - Part Seven - Part Eight - Part Nine

A young writer moves to Colombia to perform research on the drug war for her latest novel. She’s willing to do anything for information, which leads her down a rabbit hole that begins to blur the line between pretending to be someone and becoming something she might not be ready for.

Her latest target is a D.E.A. Agent named Javier Peña. Now they’re both being pulled into something neither of them were expecting.

Warnings: Smut - unsatisfied partner, cum play, daddy kink. Extreme violence. Very explicit. (Guns, gunshot wounds, blood, brain matter, knives, stabbing, more blood. Very graphic.) Strong language (pretty much every expletive under the sun.) Nothing you haven’t seen in the show, but a lot for a fanfic.

My hope is that you can imagine this character as any race with any style of hair (as someone with short hair I get annoyed when every fic mentions long locks and ponytails). Also (super minor detail) as right or left handed.

Author’s Note: This starts out very lighthearted, I hope it can make you laugh. But then it gets very dark. If you feel like you can’t stomach that part, don’t worry. I’ll have a non-explicit summary in Part Eight to get you up to speed without the gory details.

Tag List (Open! Chat or Reply): @fanfiction-trashpile | @sophster1881 | @theringostarfanclub | @thinemineours

“Cum on my tits,” she mewled, arching her back with faked pleasure and need.

Don’t you dare cum inside me, you bastard. There was only one person allowed to do that.

The paunchy old man began to grunt like some sort of farm animal, his hands hooked under her knees and holding them apart unceremoniously. Uselessly.

She wasn’t even remotely aroused - it was a miracle she wasn’t as dry as a desert, but thankfully at least her body knew how to cover the basics. She’d spent the past five minutes moaning half-heartedly while thinking about what she wanted for breakfast tomorrow.

It seemed to be working for him, though. His pace was already stuttering, his breathing ragged, sweat pouring down his forehead and chest like a pair of greasy waterfalls.

Okay, ew.

She needed to stop looking at him. So she closed her eyes and thought of England.

“Please, daddy, cum all over my tits,” she panted, clawing at the sheets beneath her as if she was unable to contain herself.

Finally, the fucker obliged, groaning like he was about to die. Painfully so. Unfortunately his aim was terrible and a stream landed square across her face.

Oh, God. She braced herself, blocking off her throat so as to minimize how much she’d taste. She wiped his sticky semen up with her thumb and stuck it in her mouth, sucking it clean while moaning as if it was as good as sex itself.

She hadn’t done enough. It tasted as rank as she’d expected and it was all she could do not to gag.

“That’s a good girl,” the man panted. “Lick up daddy’s cum, all of it, and daddy will treat you extra good.”

Fucking everloving fuckity fuck fuck.

She was too desperate for cash not to oblige. But not until she got paid.

“Put it on the table, daddy.”

He rolled off of her with yet another animalistic grunt and went for his wallet, pulling out an unexpectedly hefty stack of bills and putting it on her nightstand. He turned to face her, looking down at her with hungry, piggy eyes as he stroked his cock.

“Lick it up, princess.”

She deserved an Oscar, an Emmy, and a Tony Award for the show she put on cleaning her chest of his spew and swallowing it like it was five-star caviar. By the time she was finished he was half hard again, but she wasn’t about to let things develop into round two - she wasn’t that desperate.

“I have another client due in five minutes,” she lied, laying out on her side and grinning at him with eyes as wide and lustful as if he were a Greek god. “I always lose track of time when I’m with you.”

“I’ll be back tomorrow, then, princess,” he answered with a wink. “Same time?”

Oh, goody.

“Of course, daddy.”

He couldn’t have gotten dressed any slower if he’d tried, his eyes raking over her body the entire time, his sweat immediately pooling and sticking to his shirt as soon as he had it on. Her room would smell like his body odor for the rest of the night - if she was unlucky, until tomorrow morning.

It felt like a miracle when she finally got him out the door, but not before he gave her one last kiss, shoving his slimy tongue in her mouth and making it explore her like a drunken slug. She slid the locks into place and slumped against the door, feeling like she’d just rolled around in a gutter.

The shower was so hot she thought she might give herself a first degree burn, but it felt too good to turn the temperature down. She scrubbed herself three times over before stepping out and drying her body, too tired to do the same with her hair. She slipped into her pajamas and pulled her soiled topsheet from her bed, tossing it in the corner to be washed later. Grabbing a blanket from the couch, she wrapped herself up as she counted her cash.

He’d paid her time and a half, all for that stupid last-minute show. At least he made it worthwhile. She reluctantly got back on her feet to make her way back to the bathroom to roll up her wad of bills and stuff it into the tampon box in the cabinet under her sink.

When her head hit her pillows, she fell right asleep.

The sound of screeching tires jolted her awake.

Immediately, an innate and instinctual fear rippled through her, sending the hair on her arms and the back of her neck standing up straight. Car doors slammed - three of them. Feet shuffled loudly up to the doorway beneath her window, fervent murmurs dampened by the glass.

She was out of bed in a flash, ripping open her sock drawer, hands blindly feeling around in the dark until her fingers found the cold metal of her gun. She pulled it out and cocked it, keeping the safety on. For now.

Bang.

A gunshot. Something shattering. Then the repeated thump, thump, slam of what she could only guess was someone busting open the front door of her apartment building.

Her blood became frigid but her skin felt like it was on fire.

Fuck.

Whoever it was, whatever was happening, it wasn’t good. She raced across her apartment to hide herself around the corner of her bathroom, closing her eyes and trying to steady her breathing. For a while, there was only deafening silence.

And then came the clamor of footsteps thundering up the staircase, the slam of fists on doors, voices shouting “Open up!”

Some hopelessly optimistic part of her hoped that it was the police coming to arrest someone. Someone who couldn’t possibly be her.

“Where is she? Where does she live? The foreign bitch. Which apartment is hers?” The voice was familiar and she nearly vomited on the spot.

Manuel.

He’d found her, and if he’d seen her walking around with her gun it hadn’t phased him.

She was about to make a break for it to get to her phone when there came a violent crash at her door.

“I know you’re in there, you filthy fucking cunt!” Manuel roared. “Police whore!”

The weak wood creaked loudly and she could hear the hinges rattle loosely in their sockets.

Gunshots.

Three, then four, then five.

Wood splintered and metal clanged, followed by fierce, repeated kicks.

All at once, there was a great eruption of tearing and shattering. The lights flicked on.

“Come out, you stupid bitch.”

Several sets of footsteps entered her apartment, and she knew this was it.

Life or death.

She grit her teeth so hard she half expected her jaw to snap. She swallowed, her breathing so rapid it scared her and her heart pounding harder than it ever had before. Adrenaline was coursing through her like high voltage electricity, making her entire body feel like it was being pulled taut, held together by strings and wires stretched to their absolute limit.

One set of footsteps began to grow closer, and she could make out the sounds of her bed and couch being scraped across the floor.

She switched off the safety.

Something came over her.

Live or die.

Kill or be killed.

All of a sudden it was like she was standing outside of herself, watching the scene unfold. Everything slowed down, as if she were moving underwater.

Her hand went out around the corner first, already firing, before she pivoted the rest of her body around.

She’d gotten lucky - she’d shot the approaching man right in the stomach.

As he fell to his knees he fired a shot at her, then another bullet came from across the room.

She crouched and shot the man in front of her again. He was close enough that she got him right in the head, and before his body fell to the ground she launched herself across the floor so that he landed against her.

Three bullets sunk into his back, making the most sickening thuds, spraying blood everywhere. She was vaguely aware that blood and something else was dripping onto her from the gaping wound in his head, but couldn’t afford to care. She gripped his shirt and rammed her shoulder into his chest to keep him upright, the dead weight of his corpse threatening to knock her over.

She reached her hand out around him and began to shoot wildly in the general direction of where she thought the bullets might have been coming from. When another man cried out in agony, she knew she’d at least been somewhat successful.

More bullets flew past her, a few sinking into the back of her human shield again.

Then there were footsteps racing towards her.

“You fucking bitch!” Manuel screamed, firing shot after shot as he ran towards her.

She tried to shoot at him as he came down on her, but he knocked her gun out of her hand and it went skidding across the floor.

He pointed his barrel directly at her head, the scorching metal burning her forehead as he thrust the tip of it into her skin.

That was it.

She’d failed.

But at least she’d tried.

He pulled the trigger.

Click.

Either he was out of bullets or his gun had jammed, but it didn’t matter.

She stood and grabbed the barrel, pointing it up, trying to wrench it out of his grip, but she didn’t have the strength.

He fired a shot into the ceiling.

Fuck. So it wasn’t empty.

With her other hand she punched him as hard as she could in the balls.

He doubled over, collapsing over the corpse of the other cartel member and tumbling to the floor. She sprinted towards the kitchen, turning the corner just as another round was fired at her from across the room.

Whoever she’d shot, she hadn’t killed them.

She could try to run, but she’d never make it. Manuel had already gotten up and was firing at her again. She barely ducked in time, bullets shattering the tile backsplash above her stove. She ripped open the nearest drawer while staying as low as she could. Her hands fumbled for a moment before she found what she was looking for - thank God she barely had anything in there.

Two of those few things were a pair of large blades - one a cleaver, the other a sharp chef’s knife. Staying low she scooted to the far end of the counter. Waiting.

Manuel’s footsteps grew closer and his bullets more accurate, sending shards of the counter raining down on her. He probably could’ve killed her from there, but that wasn’t his style. He’d want to get her point blank in the head, looking her in the eyes as he ripped the life from her.

When he rounded the corner, his gun once again pointed right at her, she threw herself at his legs with all her might, one hand sinking the chef’s knife into his thigh and the other pulling at the back of his knee, trying to knock him over.

He fired another shot into the ceiling as he lost his balance, but by the time he hit the ground she was already swinging the cleaver at his inner thigh, biting through his jeans into the flesh as she yanked it outwards, hoping to lengthen the cut and maybe catch an artery. With her other hand she began stabbing at his stomach, her own turning each time her knife sunk into him with thick, wet sounds.

Manuel screamed, lifting his hand to fire at her again. He got one bullet out before she turned the cleaver in her grip and sliced out at his wrist, slamming the blade through his skin and tendons so hard the handle flew out of her grasp as he yanked his arm away.

He dropped the gun, but his other hand was reaching for her wrist that still stabbed at his stomach wildly. Manuel was able to wrench her hand back, and she thought he might be able to grab the knife from her, but then he coughed.

A cascade of blood flew from his mouth and he began to choke.

His hand slipped from her wrist as he tried to sit up, weakly reaching for the cleaver, but before he could get to it, his entire body went limp. He convulsed for a few moments, a horrible gurgling sound bubbling from his mouth as it overflowed with blood.

And then he was still.

But she didn’t have time to process it.

A bullet whizzed by only inches from her face and she launched herself backwards behind the safety of the counter. She scooted back so she could lie on her stomach and slid herself as far out as she dared to grab Manuel’s gun and yank it towards her. A bullet flew by her arm and sank into what remained of the door.

She had no idea where the last man was. Carefully, she sat up and rested her head against the corner of the counter, turning just enough that she could see a sliver of the room beyond.

He was propped up behind her bed, chest and arms laying across it, bleeding profusely from his right pectoral as he shakily pointed his gun in her direction. He must’ve sensed she was peeking out at him, because he fired right at her again.

Thankfully his aim was worsening, because it sank into the wall instead of her head.

She shuffled back again, trying to think of a plan.

He couldn’t see her when she was low.

There was no way for him to know where she was behind the counter.

So she slid about two thirds of the way across it, by the edge of the sink, and collected herself, dropping her knife and gripping the gun in both hands.

She might only get one chance.

If she fucked this up, she might die.

After what seemed like an eternity, she finally launched herself up, firing as soon as the gun cleared the counter, desperately hoping that she’d get close. He fired back, but only for a moment. As she caught him in the arm he dropped his gun and flopped backwards onto the floor.

But was he dead?

No.

She could hear his ragged breathing, and after a moment he began to shout.

“Fucking police whore,” he bellowed. “You’ll fucking die. We’ll fucking kill you. Where this came from? There will be more. They’ll fucking get you. You’re dead. You’re already dead.”

Slowly, she knelt down to pick up the knife again, holding her gun in one hand and it in the other.

With measured steps she made her way from behind the counter across the room to the end of her bed.

She could see him, then, laying on the ground, bleeding.

Wounded.

Not enough to die.

Upon seeing her, he launched himself up again, making for his gun.

She raised hers and shot at him.

Click.

Now it was out of bullets.

He was desperately trying to reach his firearm.

Maybe he couldn’t have grabbed it.

Maybe she was already in the clear.

But she was still outside of herself, watching her body go through motions of violence and chaos.

So she dropped her gun and closed the distance between them, standing behind him and gripping his hair in a fist. She yanked his head back.

He looked at her.

His eyes were a soft, light brown. He had thick black brows and full lips and a bit of stubble on his chin.

He was a human being.

He was probably younger than she was.

He was afraid.

But she was outside of herself. Her mind registered these things, but her body did not.

So she ran her knife along his throat all the same, slicing it deep and even.

Blood began to gush from the wound so fiercely it scared her and she released him as if he were on fire.

He flopped forward, crashing onto her bed, his hands clawing desperately at his neck as blood poured between his fingers. His body slid to the ground and he looked up at her with his beautiful eyes until they clouded over with the unflinching stillness of death.

Only then did her mind and body became one again.

The first thing she did was throw up.

Right onto his torso.

Out of all the emotions she could be experiencing in that moment, the only thing she felt was guilt. Guilt for defiling his body like that. For some reason it didn’t matter that he’d been trying to kill her. Somehow the crime of puking on his corpse felt like the worse of the two. The concept of death was still sacred to her, and she had just defilied someone in what should be their final state of dignity.

Once her vomit faded to bile, then dry heaves, she was able to straighten herself up. She dropped the knife and ran a shaking hand through her hair. The clatter of the metal hitting the floor was deafening. She winced. There was an unbearable weight on her, something coating much of her body and pushing her down. Mostly her arms, her face.

She looked at her hands.

They were completely crimson, soaked and dripping in a thick coat of blood.

She gagged again, but nothing came up.

Desperate not to look at herself, she surveyed the room.

They’d broken through her door through the hinges, shooting them off and forcing their way in, kicking in much of the half-rotted wood on that side.

All of her locks remained intact.

Something flew out of her then, something that may have been a laugh but was accompanied by a flood of tears. By sound, it continued to be a laugh. A roaring giggle that made her shoulders shake and stomach hurt. But she was crying - hard. Harder than she ever had before.

Then, she was on autopilot. Still laughing and sobbing over the state of her door, the state of her apartment, the state of herself, she somehow made her way to her phone.

She’d memorized Javier’s numbers in case she ever felt unsafe.

Even though her attackers were dead, she’d never felt more unsafe in her life.

Never had a ring sounded so long, so loud, so grating and awful.

One, two, three, four. Again and again.

Then nothing.

His cell phone was a bust.

So she tried his office.

One, two.

“Peña.” He sounded tired. Annoyed.

“Javi.” Her voice was so strange, so strained, so weak and foggy. “It’s me. Something happened. I - I don’t know what to do.”

“Something happened? What happened?” His voice was laced with concern and impatience.

“They came, and then I -”

And then I what?

Murdered three people? Shot and stabbed three men to death?

Covered my apartment in blood and bullets and brain matter?

“Holy fuck, Javi, I think I -”

“Who came?”

“Manuel. The friend who beat me. And other cartel members.”

“Are they still there?”

“…yes.”

In the technical sense, sure. But did a corpse count as the self?

“I’ll round up a team. I’m on my way.”

“No!” she yelled. “No, don’t, don’t bring anyone, you can’t. Just you. Just you, please, Javi, please don’t bring anyone else. They can’t see, no one can see, I can’t…Javi, I can’t. No one can see, no one can -”

“What happened?” Now he sounded concerned. Maybe even scared.

“Javi, please. Just you. Just come. I don’t know, I - I don’t know.”

She hung up then, unable to stand any more questions.

Suddenly exhausted, she leaned up against the wall and sunk down to the floor, latching her hands onto the hair on the sides of her head and curling herself up as small as she possibly could.

#narcos #narcos fanfiction #narcos fanfic #Javier Peña #Javier Peña fanfiction #Javier Peña fanfic #Javier Peña fic #fanfiction #fanfic #pedro pascal #feel less weird again #little lies

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touchmycoat · 5 years ago

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kinktober: day 21

day 21: washing

y’all know lucky’s cinderella AU, so thank you @midnightluck for letting me play in your sandbox; anon who requested cinderella!AU I don’t know if this is what you wanted at all but uh, have some uniform/class/service kink

“This is,” Ace hissed, “the royal bath.”

Even though Sabo had been conscientious enough to leave his boots at the entrance, there was still a trail of dirty footprints following him from the door. He bared his teeth at the creamy marble underneath.

“Yeah, Ace, I've noticed.”

“What are we even meant to do in here?” Ace was externalizing all the unease and distrust Sabo was choosing to keep under wraps, glancing agitatedly about and pacing around. But not pacing too far—he stuck within the perimeter of two square flagstones lining the floor, and Sabo watched as the soot gradually darkened in the shape of a rectangle. “Can we—Fuck it, let's just steal some water and get out.”

“You don't have to steal anything yoi, just bathe here,” came a familiar voice from the side door, its amusement echoing through the bath chamber. Marco came into view, dressed already for his birthday ceremony. As crown prince, there were all sorts of appearances he was expected to make on this big day, and apparently it began with this: a stiff purple coat with double-breasted gold buttons, a black leather belt cinching the waistline, a thinner one running across the torso, military stars and the family crest pinned to the chest, shimmering braided chords draped over a tricep. Trousers pressed with neat sharp lines, unflinching leather boots.

At Sabo and Ace's wide-eyed staring, he immediately held up his palms in apologetic recognition.

“It's a lot, I know.”

“Yeah,” Sabo heard himself say, “we were definitely just about to complain about how you look.”

“Cheers,” Marco acknowledged with a snort. He was quick to unravel the belts and shed the coat (Sabo may or may not have heard a soft sound of protest from Ace), then sat down on a dry bench to shed his boots. Most of his glitz laid aside though, Marco still looked every bit of the regal prince, tie done up and the collar of his shirt in perfect geometry. His bare feet stepped familiarly onto the flagstones that marked the beginning of the bathing space. “Well, in an effort to make sure nobody complains about how any of us look tonight yoi, let's get you both cleaned up. Unless...?

“No, no we'll still be going,” Ace piped up, quick to assuage Marco's concerns. He glanced down though, picking self-consciously at his servant's tunic, one that he definitely nicked from Sabo. Neither owners had ever been too precious with it (which was absolutely the point, Sabo thought, why have a shirt you couldn't even work in), and it showed. “We want to support you, y'know? But we just, I guess we're kind of...”

“Misled?” Sabo filled in with a scowl. “Why did Thatch tell us to get in the royal baths?”

“Well, it was closer I guess,” Marco blinked. “And you two are technically royalty and all—”

“Yeah,” Ace said, “but we don't really know how to—”

“—bathe?”

“Bathe here,” Sabo snapped. “Jerk.”

Along with the steam from the ever-warm bathing pool, something rigid and uncomfortable suffused the air. Marco slowly, fully took in the distraught expressions on Ace and Sabo's faces, and his smile cleared into something a little more serious.

“Ah, I see.” A self-effacing little quirk of the head and Marco was making his way to the hot water. The casual way he strolled through the palatial space (like he owned it—because he did) and rolled up his crisp shirt sleeves that somebody else ironed and starched for him only served to piss Sabo off even more. Made Sabo feel that much more insecure. “My apologies, I should've been more considerate yoi. There is a sort of specific way to do things in here.”

“Is it called getting servants to do it for you?”

“Sabo...” Ace sounded reluctantly chiding—keyword, reluctantly. He knew exactly what was going through Sabo's mind and getting Sabo's hackles up. Marco though, didn't really react, just crouched down and pulled two little wooden stools out from under the lip of the bath. He slid them nearer to Sabo and Ace, then pulled out a relatively big basin as well, with a little ladle tumbling about inside. In calm, certain motions, Marco filled the basin with water from the bath and poured in some fragrant soapy solution, giving it a quick swirl with his free hand.

Then he turned on his heel, looked right at Ace, then Sabo.

“I could call in some servants for you,” Marco said, crossing the flagstones. As he passed the stools, he set the basin down in between them. “But I get the feeling neither of you really want that.”

“Look,” Sabo sighed in exasperation, “we can just go back to the servants baths and do this, okay? Like we've always done—”

“Sure you can yoi. Or—” Pausing squarely in front of Sabo, Marco, with a meaningful look, lifted his hands to the top button of Sabo's shirt. “Allow me. My prince.”

Sabo bit down hard on the inside of his cheek. There were so many things he could say, some angry, some scoffing, all of them rejections. He drew blood instead and swallowed it with saliva. Looked instead to Ace for guidance.

Ace's expression was... strange. On one hand there was the daring, beautiful rejection of protocol he's always worn so well, sitting right underneath the day's dirt and soot. There was the matching tension in his knuckles, the anger to demolish the extravagance and lavishness that surrounded them that Sabo found so resonant.

But at the same time there was the helpless softness in his eyes for Marco, the bone-deep certainty that whatever unpleasantness scorched at their nerves, Marco wasn't the enemy here. Furthermore, there was the speculative angle in the tilt of his chin, an allured curiosity for what Marco was offering here.

Drinking all that in, Sabo made his decision. He lifted his chin, and let the curl of his lips go haughty.

“Go on then,” he said, throat bared so vulnerably to Marco. Marco the Crown Prince, the legendary top warrior of his father's kingdom, whom Sabo has seen fight in Impel Down and knew lived up to the legend. Marco, who's left all the medals and epaulettes hanging by the side door and offered to serve. “Attend us.”

A smile bloomed on Marco's face, so gracious and genuine that Sabo had to look away, heart pounding condemningly loud. Even as children, it was this precise smile that changed Sabo's life. Even after crawling through rosebush thorns, pinpricks scoring through his expensive shirt and across his skin, Marco's only ever had that smile for him.

He said you were pretty.

Sabo gritted his teeth when his side with all the scars became exposed to the swirling bathhouse steam. Marco's hands didn't linger on them though—didn't linger anywhere. He drew off Sabo's shirt with professional ease then started unbuttoning Sabo's pants. He didn't let the trousers fall, instead guided them down like they weren't frayed and stained with age and grime. His own trousers—the expensive ones, thick and pressed—kneeled right onto the damp floor tiles.

“You—” But Sabo shut himself up, because why would he protest? They were just pants for crying out loud, and it's not like Marco harvested and weaved and sewed them himself. And it was just water; a bit of sun will get the dark stains now around the knees right out. There really was no need to protest.

Marco smiled at him again like he was kind, gathering Sabo's shirt, trousers, and undergarments over the crook of one arm (those dirty clothes smearing immediately across the neat white fold of his shirt cuff). Standing up with nary a blink at the state of his own pants (nor at what removing Sabo's pants had revealed, which Sabo was absolutely not disappointed by), Marco now turned to Ace, who had waited patiently for his turn with the pink-cheeked, almost-smile of someone who's figured out his role in the script.

“You'll wash us both by yourself?” Ace asked, with only a hint of tentativeness, as Marco undid his buttons. “That's not enough hands to go around, is it? I'll go cold from the waiting.”

“I'll do my best yoi,” Marco replied. Now that Sabo was watching from relative distance, he could see how thoroughly Marco was actually enjoying this; it was visible not only in his face, but also in every gliding gesture, every curved posture. It was like Marco luxuriated in his servitude. He went to his knees again, and Ace was fully and gloriously nude. “Please, sit down.”

Eyes fixed on each other in both solidarity and hazy arousal, Sabo and Ace drifted forward to the stools Marco had pulled out earlier, and sat. The lines of demarcation in the bathhouse, Sabo could see now, were subtle; the flagstones marked out the space where the actual washing could be done, and the thin grooves carved across the flooring drained the water out to a corner. Things brought out to the flagstones were meant to get wet, carved out of heavy dark woods, and fine with a bit of dirt (unlike say, the polished cream marble that lined the entrance).

Shelves of powders, soaps, and bottles lined one side of the room, and that was where Marco went to fetch an array of items. He also grabbed a long flat legged plank that seemed the perfect height for sitting on, before piling on it thick fluffy towels of several different sizes and coming back over.

“Who's first?” he asked.

“Sabo,” Ace said, at the same time Sabo demanded, “Ace.”

“Sabo goes first,” Ace insisted, cupping some water and absently splashing it onto his own legs. “You'll never guess it but his hair's actually blond underneath all that soot.”

“Yeah, but your face is actually—”

“Sounds good to me yoi,” Marco interrupted cheerily, setting everything in his arms down on the floor. Sabo quickly scrambled, turning so that he faced Ace and pulling Ace's whole stool closer.

“Fine then, I'll get Ace while you're at it,” he insisted, desperate for something to do with his hands so he wasn't just stuck like a useless doll while Marco rinsed him off. This was stupid, but it'd be fine. They'll get the dirt off, none of it will get on things it wasn't meant to get on, and they'll be done in minutes. Just like normal. “C'mon then, gimme a sponge and your back.”

“Ah,” Marco made an apologetic sound, suddenly in Sabo's ear, “I'm afraid that's not how things are done here.” His torso against Sabo's back was a different kind of heat than the impersonal steam of the bathwater. A hand smoothed up the front of his neck and bared his throat. “Here yoi. Close your eyes.”

Obedience came easier than Sabo would've liked, but what else was he supposed to do, with Marco's face right over his? He heard a soft clunk, a glug of water—then he felt the water, a guided stream being poured over his hair. The overflow stopped just short of his forehead and trickled down the backs of his ears. Marco's arm touched gently against the scar on Sabo's face as he began carding his fingers through Sabo's tresses, getting them thoroughly soaked. The rushing splashes filled Sabo's ears, and his lips fell helplessly parted, drinking in the steam.

Marco refilled the water scoop. Repeated.

An echoed, low murmuring vibrated in the air, against Sabo's skin, but he didn't even bother to parse the words, so utterly enraptured by this sensation. He liked the soft brush of Marco's clothes on his back. He liked the soothing drag of water, and Marco's nails softly scratching across his scalp. He liked the new fragrance that's just appeared, wafting to his nose.

“Keep your eyes closed yoi,” Marco rumbled, all sonorous tenor and an echoic chest, and it still took Sabo a few moments to understand there was meaning in the phonemes. It's not like he was planning on opening his eyes anyways. “I'm putting in the shampoo.”

“What's that scent?” Ace asked, knee knocking comfortingly into Sabo's.

“Night jasmine. Seemed fitting.” Marco's fingers methodically kneaded a gelatinous paste through Sabo's hair, until suds coated every strand. There was a pattern to his motions, and Sabo's eyes fluttered open when Marco's thumb started rubbing soothing circles across his hairline. The disobeisance was out of trepidation; Marco would reach his scar this rate.

And reach it he did, swiping excesses of water and soap off the uneven skin without a single stutter in his motions. Sabo didn't want to meet Marco's eyes, but couldn't allow his own eyes to close either, not when he felt so fucking vulnerable—he stared up at the ceiling instead, that smooth dome of stone slabs, and worked on not letting those threatening tears condense on his eyelashes.

(He failed, when Marco finished washing clean the back of his ears and leaned forward, brushing just the gentlest kiss over the point on Sabo's forehead where the scar tissue began. Twin tears fell from the corners of Sabo's eyes and all three of them pretended it was just bathwater.)

“May I wash your face?” Marco asked quietly, and he looked prepared for Sabo to say no. So Sabo said no. Sabo wasn't quite ready to be completely cracked open yet. “Let me get your back then, yoi.”

There were still scars there, but at least Sabo wouldn't be in danger of seeing Marco's face (and whatever enticingly reverent expression Marco'd wear) every time he opened his eyes. He would see Ace instead, but Ace was—Ace was safe. Ace had seen Sabo's jagged edges and then chipped himself apart to match. For Ace, Sabo could fall to any pieces that he needed.

He scrubbed at his own face with the flat pads of his fingers, eager to sud up, rub the grime off into balls of dead flesh, splash the whole mess away. Except Ace was playing into a role as well, moving Sabo's hands away to wash at Sabo's cheeks in much gentler little circles. When Sabo glared, he just grinned and used a soapy hand to swipe Sabo's eyelids down.

“You put all that powder on my face, I wash all the dirt off yours. Seems fair,” Ace laughed, scrubbing up to the temples.

Marco started on Sabo's back at the same time. First came the blanket of water to wet everything down. Then there was a soft but textured flannel drawing determined swipes over the planes of Sabo's muscles, leaving soapy streaks in their wake. Another scoop of water. Soapy hands this time, the controlled drag of thumbs over the backs of Sabo's shoulders, finding spongey muscle with corded, tense tendons underneath, aligning the lengths and the pressures and pushing—

“—ah—!”

At the same moment of the instinctive flinch forward, Sabo also jerked his entire torso back, desperate for more of that amazing pressure. If his eyes had been open, Sabo was sure they would've rolled back in his head. Marco's grip, having slipped from the initial jerk, doubled back down, twin bars of beautiful force getting stronger and stronger and stronger until Sabo truly felt squeezed dry—

—and then abruptly released. Breath tumbled out of Sabo in a long unsteady stream, and his spine curled forward like a rubber band released. A whine escaped his throat.

“Good, yoi?”

“I'm pretty sure he'd say yes if he could,” Ace replied with both amusement and awe. “I'm gonna rinse your face now Sabo.”

He accepted the wash of water down his face without any squirming. Ace patted a dry towel encouragingly over his face. It all felt so dangerously indulgent.

“Your back is still quite tense,” Marco commented, thumbs tracing down the twin strips of muscle lining Sabo's spine. “A soak will do you good, yoi.”

And perhaps it was all the tension released from that one good prolonged squeeze, perhaps Sabo just felt like it was high time he got some control back in the situation, but the words left his mouth before he could think too much of them:

“Is that anyway to speak to your prince?”

Marco's beat of pause felt, against all odds, delighted.

“My apologies for overstepping,” another hesitation, like he was testing some waters he couldn't wait to leap headfirst into, “your highness.”

And—what the hell was Sabo actually playing at? Wasn't he the first and most enthusiastic shirker of crowns and titles? The moniker that tasted so genuinely bad in his parent's joke of a court—why did it seem so tempting here? Like a thick-petaled flower set on a dinner plate, meant for décor but inviting teeth. Like the soap that smelled so sweet but should sting his tongue so bitterly. And yet—

“Turn around Sabo,” Ace said, voice so hot with intention. “Let Marco wash your feet.”

#kinktober 2019 #marcoacesabo #writing this my class resentment made me feel incredibly violent lmfao #all of me wants to turn this into a punishment scene for marco #but alas i've already decided it's gonna be gentle #also kinktober is just me exposing my wants and needs #i need to go get a goddamn massage #i just wanted Marco in an expensive suit on his knees getting heedlessly wet as he washed ace and marco #that's my version of kinkerella

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alleiradayne · 6 years ago

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Comfortably Numb

Summary: Patience has regular visions of her hunting family, much to their benefit. But it backfires when she sees Alex and herself in a compromising situation. Square Filled: Alex/Patience Warnings/Tags: Fluff, oral, vaginal fingering Characters/Pairings: Alex Jones/Patience Turner Word Count: 1609 A/N: For @spnkinkbingo, this fills the square Alex/Patience. And Carnival is a real restaurant in Sioux Falls, SD. I’ve been there a few times, it’s great. And here’s the last planned Femslash I have for Femslash February @gwen-cousland. I might sneak one more in, if I have time. Song: Comfortably Numb by Pink Floyd

Ten

Patience lay in her bed, wide awake and staring at the ceiling, unseeing.

Nine

Brass rained to the floor in a hail of gunfire as Alex and Claire ran through the warehouse, hot on the heels of a black dog.

Eight

Jody’s machete arched through the air as she sliced off the head of a vampire with Alex on her six putting two in the chest of another.

Seven

Alex and Patience sat together at dinner in their favorite restaurant in Sioux Falls, Carnival, mountains of meat on their plates.

Six

Alex smiled at her across the kitchen table, their books spread from one end to the next as they studied together.

Five

Donna shouted for her, and when Patience rounded the corner with her shotgun shouldered, she pulled the trigger, killing the rawhead that towered over Alex.

Four

Alex sat beside her on the sofa as they watched The Christmas Cottage with Jody.

Three

Snow angels floated side by side as Alex drew their names in the drift.

Two

Fingers entwined, Patience squeezed her hand, and Alex flashed her a reassuring smile before crossing the threshold of the warehouse door.

One

Lifeless pale blue eyes stared up at her as Patience cradled Alex’s body in her arms.

Zero

Reality slammed into Patience with a sledge hammer’s force, and she gasped for air. After a moment to catch her breath, she leaped from her bed and rushed from her room faster than the wind. She had to know, to see for herself. When she burst through the door at the end of the hallway, Alex shrieked, her shrill cry cut off as she clamped a hand over her mouth. She stood in the middle of her room, bag in hand and a rifle slung over her shoulder. “Patience!” she hissed, “what are you doing?! It’s two in the morning.”

“Alex, listen to me,” Patience whispered as she rushed across her room. “You can’t go on this hunt tonight.”

Alex shifted her rifle strap and jostled her bag as she averted her eyes. “I won’t be alone, I’m meeting Claire and Kaia. Come with us.”

“No, you don’t understand,” Patience insisted as she grasped Alex by the shoulders. “Look at me, Alex. Call them. Tell them to come home, now.”

“Why?” Alex asked, her glare narrow and weighing. “How did you know I was leaving?”

Son of a bitch, why did it have to be so hard? After five years living together, five years of gift embraced, Patience thought explaining a vision of the future might get easier. But it never had. In fact, the closer she grew to her new family—most of all, Alex—the harder it had become. “I saw us.”

Alex set her bag on the floor at her feet. “Us?” she asked. “What do you mean?”

“I saw you,” Patience clarified, “heading into a warehouse. And then I…” God, how was she supposed to say it? “Then I was holding you. In my arms.”

The thrum of her heart echoed like a beaten drum between her ears as Patience watched Alex, watched as understanding took root. “Was I…” she asked, but the thought died in her throat as she swallowed thickly.

“I… I don't know. Maybe. But we shouldn't take that chance,” Patience said as she stepped closer.

“I'll call Claire and Kaia. They’re waiting for me at the diner,” she said as she withdrew her phone from her pocket and set her rifle beside her bag, propped up against her desk.

While Alex made the call, Patience slumped onto the bed only to leap from it when she remembered she was in Alex’s room. She twisted her fingers as she listened to the phone call until she heard Alex end it. “They’re on their way back, never left the diner. Thanks, Patience. Did you see anything else? Anything that might help us against these dickheads next time?”

Every vision she’d had that night returned in a rush of memories, so real it felt as though they had actually happened. Several silent seconds ticked by as Patience gaped like a fish, words in short supply. A rush of ivory soap filled her nose and snapped her back to reality where she found Alex standing mere inches in front of her.

“Patience? You okay? Looks like you saw a gho—”

Before the thought had even occurred to her, Patience leaned in, grasped Alex by the shoulders, and planted a kiss on her lips so deep, she could taste Alex’s breath mint. A second of hesitation held Alex still before the tension eased from her shoulders and she melted into her arms. Her unsteady touch found Patience’s hip, a tentative exploration that she affirmed with her own hand.

But then Alex reared back with a gasp and wide eyes. “You saw… us?! Was… what were we doing?”

“A lot of really cute dates,” Patience said as she bit her lip. “A hunt or two. And then um…”

Alex shook her head as her fingers squeezed her hips. “Don’t—you don’t have to say it.”

The worried knot of Alex’s brow urged Patience to explain further. “I’ve… it’s not the first time I’ve seen us. I just thought it was because we live together. But…”

“It’s different,” Alex finished for her. “I know.”

Patience nodded as relief washed over her. “So… now what?”

Alex looked past her shoulder as she grinned. “Get on my bed.”

Patience scoffed through her nose. “You sure get straight to the point,” she said as she backed up to the bed and sat upon it.

“Lay down,” Alex ordered.

“Are you going to—”

“I said lay down.”

Oh. So that’s how Alex wanted it to be. Patience could play at the submissive bottom. “Here?”

Alex knelt on the bed between her legs. “Right there,” she said. “And don’t move unless I say so.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Patience said with a wink as Alex unfastened her jeans.

“Good,” Alex said, her devious grin spread wide on her lips as she hooked her fingers into the waist of Patience’s jeans and slipped them over her hips. She lifted her knees to help, and Alex pried her boots from her feet and tossed them to the floor. With her pants at her ankles, she kicked free of the fabric, but pinned her knees together.

“Spread those legs for me, sweetheart,” Alex said with a sigh. “I want to taste you.”

Delicate fingertips slipped between her knees and along her thighs as Patience parted at Alex’s touch. A soft sigh escaped her lips as she writhed beneath her touch, unable to remain still. When her fingers reached her center, Patience shivered with a shock of arousal coursing through her entire body.

“Damn,” Alex breathed, “you really wanted this.”

Patience whimpered as she squirmed. She opened her mouth to respond, to tell Alex exactly how she felt, but the sudden full sensation of her fingers spreading her cunt seized her breath in her chest. Alex wasted no time ramping up, stroking her sex fast and hard. Patience grasped the sheets of the bed as her hips thrust in time with Alex’s hand, breathless sighs and deep moans filling the room. The warmth of her arousal spread to her fingers and toes in waves, relentless undulations that rolled in time with her hips and Alex’s fingers. Closer, she neared her release as nonsense fell from her lips, Alex’s fingers working her flesh with practiced expertise.

And then the warmth of Alex’s lips sealed around her clit. Patience sang to the heavens her pleasure with a long, keening sigh. The firm flat of Alex’s tongue drew perfect circles around that sensitive bundle of flesh, drawing out every moan, every blaspheme, ever praise Patience could imagine. Whether seconds or minutes passed, she couldn’t be sure, and in truth, she did not care. Her climax screamed to a fever pitch, coiled so tight between her thighs she ached for release. She needed it now, needed to feel that exquisite euphoria so badly, she begged for it with every breath, with a helpless please, Alex, yes, suck on it, fuck, yes, I’m gonna come, more, yes!

Every muscle in her body tensed as her orgasm burst apart at the seams and scorched fire through her veins. She shuddered with each spasm, each flex of her core as her orgasm surged through her. Her long moan filled the room, mingled with Alex’s hum of approval against her flesh as she sucked her clean. When the rush subsided, she settled back on the bed, her arched back relaxed and toes uncurled.

“That… wasn’t what I planned on when I came in here,” she sighed.

Alex laughed around her fingers as she sucked them clean. “I don’t think I’d have ever made the move if you hadn’t. But I’m glad you did.”

Patience sat up and tore her shirt off over her head. “Me, too,” she said as she grasped Alex by the shirt and pulled her into another hard kiss. The sharp taste of her arousal lingered on her lips, and when Alex moaned into her, the need to hear more of her pleasure reignited her arousal.

Parted, Alex licked her lips. “You seem to have more in mind,” she quipped.

Patience grinned as she looked Alex in the eye. “You want to know what I’m thinking about?”

Alex lay beside her, head propped up in her hand. “Absolutely.”

With a coy smirk Patience leaned over Alex’s ear and whispered.

“Strip and I’ll show you.”

Tags: @atc74 @hannahindie @bevans87 @meganwinchester1999 @plaided-ani-on-hiatus @oneshoeshort @jonogueira@andkatiethings@elfinmox@wonderfulworldofwinchester@princessofthefandomrealm @just-another-busyfangirl @jmekitchens@81mysteriouslyme @dolphincliffs @seenashwrite

Reblogs and feedback are awesome. If you want in on the tags, send me an ask or a DM!

ALLEIRADAYNE’S SPN KINK BINGO MASTER LIST

ALLEIRADAYNE’S SPN MASTER LIST

#spnkinkbingo #alex/patience #patience/alex #femslash february #femslash #f/f #AlleiraDayne writes

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taylenth · 6 years ago

Text

Call for Vengeance

Selythia took a deep breath before dropping from the tree, landing with a quiet thud on the soft earth, creeping along the outer walls of the Everblood estate. She remained close to the shadows until she was at the rear wall, where a faint X carved into the stone marked the entrance she’d used so many times before to scout the place before moving to Stormwind. With little to no effort, she scaled the rough stone and peeked over the edge to ensure nothing had changed… It was safe. She climbed over without second thought, disappearing into the shadows of the shrubbery her mother had absolutely insisted on having in their gardens.

Truthfully, she’d spent the entire trip to Eversong Woods wondering if this had been a good idea. A two day trip, only made so long because she’d needed to stock on supplies in Tirisfal, and with every hour, doubt crept further into her mind. She had left her old armor, clad in nothing but a loose cloth tunic and pants to match, and her only weapons being her prized daggers and the smaller one in her boot. She wasn’t prepared for this in the slightest… But she’d contained the rage long enough, and now was the best opportunity she’d had in years, and she’d take it.

Thankfully, most of the servants had already scurried to their beds for the night, tucked away in the eastern quarters where they wouldn’t interfere with her work. With fewer eyes to worry about catching sight of her, it was easy to cross the gardens until she found herself within a few feet of the pale walls. The second floor window… That was her best bet. She pulled herself onto the lip of a lower window and cursed under her breath. The designs etched into the walls made good enough grips to climb to the next window, and she did just that. Hoisting herself up onto the lip, she glanced at the window. As always, it’d been left unlocked, likely unused since she had last made a ‘visit.’ Pressing her fingers to the glass, she slid it open, cringing as it squealed against its tracks. Her heart stopped for a moment and she paused. No one came to look.. Or, so she’d thought.

“Lady Everblood?” Selythia froze in her tracks. She was shrouded by her cloak, perhaps he’d thought she was her mother? “Yes, yes. Carry on.” Her voice rang out confident and clear. Gods, please let him just continue on…. “Is everything okay, my lady?” She’d have made even the foulest of sailors blush, had they heard the words running through her mind. She could hear his footsteps, coming around to question her.. Only to gasp and slap a hand over his mouth as he caught sight of her lavender skin. Her head tilted with a quiet sigh, pity on her face as she peered up at him… He was young, though not quite a child. Fear had his eyes wide and lower lip trembling.

She was merciful. Swift and smooth, her blade was drawn and pointed at his neck. The poor boy shook his head, silent pleads in his eyes, and she’d almost thought better of it.. But she couldn’t leave evidence. The light faded from his eyes quickly as he collapsed forward, barely giving the assassin time to catch his limp body and lower him to the ground, blood from his throat soaking into her cloak and tunic. She mumbled a few words for the fallen boy before moving along. In that moment, she was devoid of emotion or remorse.. She would mourn an innocent life later.

A time later, she found herself in their bedroom.. Her mother was sound asleep, her father’s side of the bed left empty. This would be easy… The Ren’dorei kept it as simple as possible, reaching for a pillow to muffle the woman’s guttural screams as the sharpened dagger ran across her throat. Despite her attempts to struggle and push against Selythia’s arm, it was a clean cut, from which copious amounts of red liquid began to pour. The silken blue sheets around her mother turned to purple as she fell limp against the bed, her eyes, too, fading into darkness. She released the pillow and sighed, peeling the covers back long enough to snatch the golden ring from her finger. The assassin left the body without a second thought, venturing towards her father’s study.

The man sat in perfect lighting, capturing his handsome features quite well. Long, scorching red locks were tied into a neat ponytail, wisps of hair framing his sun kissed face. Fierce green eyes were trained on the book in his lap as he reclined in the red high-backed chair before the fire. He’d aged well, and it wasn’t hard to tell where she’d gotten her own good looks from. It was almost disgusting how similar they had looked before her corruption.

Selythia glided across the room, not really caring that the roaring fire in front of him made her easy to see. She wanted to confront him. She stood just to the right of his chair, in plain view, and clasped her hands behind her back. Her words were sickly sweet with the perfect undertone of venom, the ethereal voice being enough to send chills down his spine. “Hello, daddy dearest.”

Kal’tiel’s eyes snapped up in an instant, wide and panicked. Within an instant, a flame burst to life in the palm of his hand and he tried to desperately scramble from his seat. Selythia held up her hands, smiling softly. “Oh, come now..That is no way to say hello to your only daughter.” Her head tilted to the side as she replaced them behind her back. She didn’t make a move towards him as he held the magic steady, green gaze locked on the daggers at her hips.

“What do you want, Selythia?” Kal’tiel spat. He was glancing towards the door, searching for some way around her, a way to escape the trouble that was certainly going to ensue. She wouldn’t answer him. Rather, she turned her gaze to the flickering flames ahead of her as she hummed softly. Again, he asked the same question. She would continue to remain silent until she found that magical flame flying in her direction. She tried to dodge., lunging to the side as it burned through her sleeve and cloak, just barely scraping past her skin and causing her to yelp.

It was game on from there. She sprinted behind his chair, narrowly missing another fireball as it flew past her, then disappeared altogether. Her shadow suddenly stretched across the floor, coming from...behind him. He spun and reached out to grab her forearm, his hand already blazing hot. She could feel her skin start to burn and she swiftly had a dagger pulled from her hip. She used the pommel to strike at his face, first. Her father, however, was determined to keep hold of her, and only tightened his grip on her arm, the pain increasing significantly. She made for another punch, but he’d anticipated that. His free hand darted up to grab her wrist, igniting with the same burning flame that the other one had. She cried out in pain, whimpering horribly as she made a desperate attempt to yank herself away.

It was no use. She pulled and pulled, struggling hard to escape him, yet he wouldn’t budge. Her ribs and abdomen were already in pain from previous encounters, and were now only worse. She hurt...Bad. The best she could do in that moment was bring her knee up between his legs, aimed straight at his groin. Now that made him release her. He let out a string of curses and backed away, nearly collapsing to the ground.... What a cheap shot. It worked, though, and that was what mattered. She was on him in seconds, shoving him to the stone floor and pointing her dagger directly at his throat. He was pinned.

“Selythia, I-” Kal’tiel fell short as the tip of the blade pressed into his soft flesh. “Save it, old man… You had nearly a century to make up for your shortcomings. You are as heartless as you are pathetic.” He tried to open his mouth again, but that blade just pressed harder. “It took decades for me to stop blaming myself...Decades before I could believe I was worth a damn! All because of you.” The assassin growled, eyes burning with unkempt rage. She wasn’t done yet. She kneeled to the ground, one knee on his chest and hovering over him as her weapon remained steady.

“You are the reason I became this way… You and that wretch of a mother. Gods, I wish you’d died that night. Kaesh should’ve never fallen!” She cringed at her brother’s name, his face in the moment of his death flashing through her mind. Blood trickled underneath her dagger. “You’d have been better off dead years ago…” He looked up at her with pleading eyes, silently begging her as tears began slipping down his face. He looked helpless and paltry as he shook his head, willing himself to melt into the floor where she could not get to him. “Your time is up. You had your chance, father.”

His death would have been swift, just like the others. Even in her anger she would not have made him suffer. It was not how she operated. He fought her, of course, trying to make a grab at her hand, but she’d blocked it with her left arm. A single slash across his neck severed his arteries and veins, blood spilling as it coursed through his body. She watched as he died, her body rigid as she kneeled there. Her eyes were cold as she beat down the rising emotions, simply taking in the fact that she’d finally done it.

He’d long since stopped bleeding by the time she forced herself to stand. It didn’t feel as she’d expected it to. In fact, it felt… Better. She felt as if she were able to breathe, as if she were finally free. Selythia burst into laughter, a gleeful sound that was far too happy for the little elf’s comfort. She twirled around the study as she hummed cheerful tunes to no one but herself. They were gone… A dream come true. She didn’t know how long she stayed like that, dancing and humming along to the imaginary song in her head.

Finally she snagged her dagger from the ground beside her father’s corpse and settled into his beloved chair, facing the fire with a dangerous gleam in her eye. Her legs crossed in front of her as she rested an elbow on the arm of the chair, cheek resting in her hand. Her blade dangled lazily from the other hand, swinging as she moved her hand in a steady rhythm. That trademark smirk never left her lips.

...She had won.

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ubemango · 5 years ago

Text

this tiny space (m)

note: There’s 9 days till Christmas but Fuck it!!!!!! It’s come early because I said so 😎 Welcome back tts universe, and welcome to ubemango teehee 💖💖💖💖

PAIRING. yoongi/reader GENRE. romance, parents!au RATED. M WORD COUNT. 3.2k WARNINGS. toys, shower sex, creampie, oral (f receiving) EXCERPT. Yoongi was always attractive—your sexy piece of ass, as you like to remind him often—and seeing the tight skin of his back when he undresses further makes the insides of your stomach churn in want: the kind that made you want to fall to your knees, grovel. You love having a kid, but it’s been too long.

The duckies are your daughter’s favourite toys to play with, right after Bboong the whale and the lonesome poop squeaky toy drifting aimlessly near the edge of the tub.

“Soonbok, what did I tell you about splashing?”

She slumps into herself, calming the wriggling of her arms. Her little bread rolls softening into the big-girl-arms you don’t want her to grow into just yet. “It makes mommy wet and it’s not niiiiice.”

“That’s right, baby.”

She distracts herself with the bubbles when Yoongi’s voice floats in from your bedroom. “Babe?”

“Mm?”

“Mom’s asking what time we’re dropping by.”

“Uh—” you wash Soonbok’s hair diligently as she hums a song to herself— “like an hour, I guess?”

“Okay—”

“MOMMY!” Eyes as wide as the moon, Soonbok screams in a sudden act of proclamation, tiny arms stretched above her head. She looks absolutely distraught. “Santa! Cookies? Cookies! We—We didn’t make cookies! Mommy mommy—”

“I know, Soonbok, you’re baking them with grandma tonight. Remember? Daddy reminded you today.”

“Cookies, mommy. We didn’t make the cookies!”

You reach for the basket sitting next to the tub, smiling silently at her worry. Yoongi likes to deny any accusation of her inheriting his dramatic nature but you know she didn’t get it from you. “You’re making them later, baby. Now, put your toys in here so we can clean up, okay?”

She does so without a word, grabbing the floating toys and placing them inside the plastic container. Thanking her softly, you give her a final rinse before draining the tub and toweling her off. She hates this part the most—it gets too cold too fast, and she’d gained the habit of running off naked into Yoongi’s arms when she was 2-years-old, prompting an especially exhausting goose chase around the room to get her into her clothes—so you dry her off as fast as you can, Soonbok’s tiny body shivering already, chanting: “Go, go, go!”

It’s not long before she’s in her pyjamas and bounding off to her daddy as you dry off the floor. It’s not nearly as wet as you’d anticipated, pride blooming in your chest as you think wistfully about how much older your daughter is getting: she didn’t even need to “clean up, clean up” the puddles on the tiles.

“Yoongi, can you help her pack?”

With that you hear a grunt and two heavy feet planting themselves onto the carpet. “Come, Soonbok, time to pack so you can visit Mama!”

A series of whooping and squealing follows the two down the hall. Soon enough Soonbok is packed and ready to go, her winter boots squelching on the thin layer of snow as she runs, her Pororo backpack bouncing along with her. Yoongi locks the door behind you, and stops you before you can head to the driveway.

“I have a surprise later.”

Your eyebrows shoot up. “I’m scared.”

“Have faith, little one.” He smiles wide, clapping you on the back, the beep of the car following. “I promise it’s good.”

Yoongi’s mom’s house is decked out in glowing Christmas lights; metres of every colour imaginable strung all over the window sills, garage door, and even the 13 foot pine tree sitting out front. Soonbok had always admired the effort her grandparents put into decorating, and questioned constantly if you would do the same for your house. You’ve forgone any sort of warehouse shopping for lights because Yoongi is cautious about the electricity bill, however, and Soonbok had claimed offense right away. She spit in your face the next second: “That’s shitty.”

(Yoongi broke his back laughing, and you had to claim the bad cop title that night when you scolded her. She’s a lot nicer now.)

Mama opens the door just as Yoongi places Soonbok down after lifting her up to press the doorbell. “My pretty granddaughter! You’re here!” She bends down and places a million and one kisses on your baby’s face while she squirms helplessly.

“Merry Christmas Mama!” Soonbok literally screams after breaking free from the barrage of obligatory Mama Kisses.

“Merry Christmas to you too, our pretty Soonbok.” She holds her hand, bringing her inside with a quick tut of stomp your boots so the floor isn’t icky. Soonbok happily makes garbled noises—she does this when she does something intensely—as she focuses all her strength into the soles of her feet as she removes the snow from her boots on the doormat.

“Oof! Oof! Gone! Gone! Gone!”

Yoongi looks at you with a disturbed face. “She’s so violent,” he whispers.

“It’s cute!”

“She’s like a mini bulldozer.”

“Yoongi.”

He pinches your wrist, then brings your hand to his mouth, kissing it.

“We’ll be back in two days, ‘kay baby?” You lean down once she’s finished stomping, pressing a kiss to Soonbok’s sweaty hair, pushing it away from her eyes. “You be good for Mama.”

“M’kay,” Soonbok says. “Will I—Will I miss you?”

You can feel Yoongi shake in laughter. “I don’t know, baby. But daddy and mommy will miss you so much.”

Yoongi is next. He steps forward, bending his knees slightly, putting his hand up in invitation. Soonbok doesn’t hesitate to highfive him. “You love daddy?”

“Yeah.”

“You gonna miss daddy?”

“Yeah!”

“You gonna kiss daddy bye bye?”

Soonbok leans into the cheek Yoongi presents to her. Places the tiniest peck with as much pout as she can muster. Mama gives you both a hug and a kiss, and ends pleasantries with quick motions of her hands to shoo you two away.

“Have fun! We won’t call you for help,” she says as she sees Yoongi about to interject. “Go. We love you.”

“Thank you Mama,” you say, and off you and your husband go, waving at your daughter who can barely reach her head over the window frame to see you leave as you settle in the car. You’re on the road with the radio low when Yoongi speaks.

“What time is the party?”

You check the clock on the radio: 7:02 PM. “Two hours, ish. Why?”

He hums. “Just wondering.”

Coming home with no screaming three-year-old is off-putting, to say the least. The lights turn on to a dull hum, fills the empty space as you remove your coat. Yoongi tosses his keys somewhere behind you, and promptly sidles up to your back. He leads with a kiss on the back of your neck.

“Feels weird,” you say.

“Hm?”

“Without her here.”

Yoongi squeezes you with his closed embrace. “I miss her already.”

You turn around and kiss him like no one’s watching; a reality just out of reach on any other day but very, very tangible now as you feel Yoongi press his lips insistently on yours. Hot intimacy long overdue and shortly lived when you breathe, “It’s—I’m just—like—waiting for her to pull on my pants or something.” You know it’s the most unsexy thing to say, but Yoongi’s tongue prods into your mouth anyway.

“Stop—talking about our daughter.”

“Sorry.”

He shrugs, then takes your hand. “Wanna shower?”

“Please.”

The mirror is already beginning to fog up when you come in with towels, placing them on the sink as you admire your very much shirtless husband. Yoongi was always attractive—your sexy piece of ass, as you like to remind him often—and seeing the tight skin of his back when he undresses further makes the insides of your stomach churn in want: the kind that made you want to fall to your knees, grovel. You love having a kid, but it’s been too long. (Soonbok had been battling a nasty flu over the past two weeks, allowing you and Yoongi virtually no time together.)

“You’re so hot,” you say.

Yoongi snorts. “Get naked.”

You do, quickly. The battering of the water soaks just right along your skin, Yoongi’s warmth following. Being in this tiny space with him fills you with a stupid amount of giddiness. Meeting under what feels like secret circumstances, a tryst you’re not supposed to indulge. He mouths a sigh along your shoulders. “Missed you like hell.”

“I know, baby. Pass the soap?” It’s the apricot wash he hands you. “Tired?”

“Nah.”

You scrub; Yoongi massages the suds in his hair. Stealing kisses to your neck when you don’t expect it. The water is scalding, but his touch scorches you. “Oh—what was surprise you were talking about earlier?”

“Mm. Finish up and I’ll tell you.”

It’s like fuel, his promise. He laughs at your rush to rinse off, bottles nearly bowled off in your haste. You know he won’t blame you for being too eager, though. The liberation that comes with being a parent with no immediate responsibilities makes you feel unbelievably sexy.

You spin to meet your front to his; chests hot, noses bumping. Arms melting into the soft of his shoulders when you reach around him. “Tell me!”

He molds his mouth onto yours in answer, hands searching for your ass before squeezing. “I miss you.”

“I miss you too, fathead.”

“Sit down here and let me service you, wife.” An easy command you raise your eyebrows to. The shower bench is distractingly cool against your ass. Yoong’s immediate drop to his knees brings your attention back. He lets you slide till you’re comfortable, grabbing the slick of your calf to rest beside his ear. “So I have, what—a little less than an hour and a half to make you cum?”

“Yessir.”

His fingers are pruned cold when they spread your pussy. “You’re delectable, I hope you know.”

There’s a tease of his nail on your clit, then the hard suck that follows. You shiver right into his touch. “Hhhh—God.”

The water from the showerhead rains steady on his back. A lustful dimension of steam and fogged-up glass. His tongue slides a dangerous path along your slit, taking the buck of your hips with the same enthusiasm.

His strokes batter your clit straight on, all his frustrations from not getting to pay attention to you the way he wants all honed in on the slick of his saliva. Claiming all your heat with his mouth, an intensity you try not to shy away from so you close your eyes instead.

“Yoongi—oh—!” He’s suckling like he’s starved. A nice reminder that your pussy is still his preferred meals for breakfast, lunch and dinner. Your thigh twitches with every pulse of his puckered lips, tips of your fingers sliding helplessly along the shower tile, no traction for your desperation.

“Oh,” you whine. Blearily seeing Yoongi with his own eyes shut tight, mouth sealed on your sopping sex, your nipples taut. His hair sticks to his forehead. “Shit—”

He groans into you. Switching gears and pressing his head deeper in between your thighs if only to assure that he gets every single drop of desire you have to offer. His head bobs with every sharp indulgence, tongue twisting fast into the wetness you offer, noises from your throat spilling faster than you can keep them down.

“I’m—close...”

He’s got either thigh on his shoulder in an instant. The unholy mixture of your arousal and his spit slides right down your ass, filth of it all squeezing your thighs to his ears. “Oh my god.“ The squelch is lewd, a sound only half registering through the buzz in your ears from how loud you’re getting. “Fuck, Yoongi, I’m—!”

It’s the last barrier holding the dam together bursting. Your orgasm rips right through you, the speed so alarming it’s all you can do not to buck his head off completely. The tightness at your cunt unfurling right into Yoongi’s waiting mouth, your hips grinding into his heat. Your eyes roll back with the collapse of your mind into ecstasy.

He doesn’t stop. Not until you’re panting through pleas, thighs trembling into a close. He fends it off with insistent hands.

“Yoongi, oh my God—please—no more—!”

The pop is loud when he loosens his suckling. “All I’d do, you know. This cunt?” He taps your pelvis affectionately, watching your come-down with a hunger he doesn’t try to hide. “The best.”

“Mhm,” you pant. “I’ll—I’ll let her know you think so kindly of her.”

“I’ll send a gift basket too. Cranberries, pineapples?”

Your legs are dead weights when you drop them down. “That’s good—I’m sure she’d like that.”

“Good.” He accepts the kiss you give him. Slow in your exchange, sticky with the taste of your tang.

The glide of his fingers along your chest is tentative. He’s careful with the squeeze of your tit, but you press forward with silent encouragement. It’d taken a while for you to warm up to Yoongi touching you like this, with the confidence to accept his attention. The part of motherhood that mangled all the youthful parts away from you consumed most of your sex life after having Soonbok, sucked especially out of what was once your pert chest, the smooth skin of your stomach. Yoongi was patient, though. You didn’t fuck with the lights on for a solid two months, and that was only until your daughter had learned to sleep through the night. “I still haven’t—I still have something for you, baby.”

You lick into his mouth. “I have the feeling we won’t be on time for the party.”

“Seokjin will understand the needs of a man who was desperate to ravish his wife after a two week dry spell—“

“Relax, wise guy,” you retort. “Show me what you have. I missed you too.”

Yoongi opens the door, reaching over to rummage for something in one of the baskets on the floor. He presents to you a—

“Vibrator? Yoongi that’s gonna get wet—“

It’s an annoyed look he sends you. “Made sure to get a waterproof vibe, genius. Now get up against the wall, my knees hurt and I’m—so fucking hard.”

“Should I face you?”

He shakes his head. “I—Will you let me fuck you here?” You realize belatedly that the water is, in fact, still running.

“I don’t think I’ll cum though.”

Tutting, Yoongi waves the vibe around. “I’ll make you feel good. Now spare some ass, please. Lube?”

“No, it’s—it’s fine.” The tile is a comforting cool on your forehead, stifling that warmth when the head of his dick presses against your core. Yoongi rubbing along your slick, closing your eyes at the near-foreign feeling of hitting it from the back because that’s just too loud in the cloak of a late night. He bottoms out with an ease that makes your fists curl tight.

“Oh—shit.”

“Feel good?”

“Yeah—oh. Please.”

Suddenly all you know is the pounding of the shower water, the pounding in all the right places. It’s dizzying, trapped in the fever of his drive. He buries his head in your neck, your name strangled in his throat. Then he puts the vibe against your clit.

The sensation is new, a shaking of your nerves that has you reeling. “Oh fuck.”

Yoongi rams his hips with vigour unmatched, breath stunted. “Shit you feel so—fuck how close—can you cum?”

“N-No,” you say. Or: whimper, because regardless, you feel light. The quiver of the wet silicone slips in his hold, too busy keeping the pace you’re both losing yourselves to.

He shuts the vibe. “Hold this, please.”

The faucets squeak shut. Yoongi slips out, a slow preamble to his haste when he nearly tears off the shower curtains, reaching for the towels you’d laid out. Drying you off isn’t as graceful as you’d like but neither of you are pressed for a complete towel-off at this point—he completely ignores your hair to dry off with the other just as quick.

It’s almost funny, him dragging you by the wrist from the warmth and straight into the cold air that hits too fast, but not as fast as Yoongi finding the mattress and pushing you down face first. He slaps your ass for good measure. “Sorry, I—holy fuck. Please let me make you cum.”

“In. In in in—”

He’s quick to fill you up. Yoongi pistons his dick like he’s never known a slower alternative. Testing your ability to keep up but your hips are locked with his grip.

Something’s missing. And you feel it—limp in your hand, the vibe shut off. It’s on with a shaky press of your thumb. You’re quick to introduce the revving where you pulse. You know Yoongi feels it when he swears. Landing a quick slap to your ass in retaliation but you love when he makes you take it. ”Shit, keep going.”

The skin on your ass stings. Moans in tandem with each smack of his palm. The toy digs deep in your clit, breath hitching because you feel it. You’re drowning in it. “Oh god Yoongi—just like that—”

You hear him talk but it sounds like cymbals clashing, nothing coherent registering in your head. Just noise in the roughness of your love, the roar in your ears overwhelming any sense of using your tongue to speak so you mewl instead.

His hips are damp against your ass. The sound is nasty in all the right ways. It’s got your gut twisted in the absolute need to just—you just—

“Yoongi I’m—”

Both hands hold your hips up higher. You cum like this, crying into the sheets, suns and stars rearranging in the dark of your closed eyes when you succumb to the explosive relief. Dropping the vibe onto the sheets because you’ve lost all sense of a good grip, clutching the bed like it’s your lifeline. You bury Yoongi’s name in the sheets.

“I’m cumming—I’m cumming-—” he declares. He stutters in rhythm, pumping cum deep where you drip. Groaning low, fingers tight on your skin. “Oh my god.”

You reach down with shaky hands, shutting the toy off. “I’m dead. I can’t—feel my legs.”

Yoongi makes a choked noise. “You know when you cum I see the seventh heaven?”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“What’s it like?”

He pulls out, lets you collapse onto your back. “What, feeling you cum? It’s—euphoric.”

“Ooh, big words.”

“Only the best for—” he taps your pelvis once more— “the best pussy.”

“Come here, stupid.” Yoongi crawls over you, uncaring of the mess left all over your cunt. “Kiss me.”

He does. It’s languid, sweaty—the softness that comes post-intense sex. You feel a surge of adoration run through you when your legs tangle. “I love you,” you say.

He sinks his lips into yours again. “Same to you, momma. Now go pee, I’ll change the sheets.”

You feel a tug on your chest. “So sexy.”

“And I’ll dry your hair.” You feign a shudder. Yoongi smacks your ass in faux-haste. “Go. We’re late as it is.”

“That is not my fault!”

He tuts. “Go and pee so we can call Soonbok before she sleeps.”

By the time you’re prim enough to go on video chat, Soonbok has just brushed her teeth. “Hi baby. Are you ready to sleep?”

Soonbok is very focused on her dolls. “Yeah, mommy. I’m tired.” She says this like an overworked maid. A thirty-year-old tinge of exhaustion probably from changing and feeding her dollies, and you stifle a laugh. “Mama, I’m sleepy.”

“Sleep well, Soonbok,” Yoongi pipes up from behind you, just about to put on his jacket. “Be a good girl, okay?”

“M’kay daddy. You be good too, ‘kay?”

“Will do, baby.”

You say bye after Soonbok hands the phone back to Mama, exchanging good nights as Yoongi helps you slip your coat on. Seokjin won’t be too mad at your tardiness, you hope. Seeing the tired smile of your baby is all worth it. And Yoongi smiles, knowing you.

“I miss her,” he says. Pushing down the instinctual need to check the baby monitor, you press forward out the door.

“Me too.”

#bts smut #yoongi smut #bts scenarios #yoongi scenarios #ubemango fic #f: this tiny space

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