#Raised wooden cat beds

[businesspilled]

i’m back in seattle oh my god thank god

[yueebby]

onsen incident  — gojo satoru

synopsis. gojo satoru gets everything he wants and right now he really wants to go to an onsen with you.

contents. fluff, lovesick!gojo, he's just a cute loser, highschool!gojo (first year), he needs to be locked up asap

notes. this is part ii to indulge me? and a piece in the series, but can be read alone.

you’re not sure how you ended up here. one moment you were exorcizing a grade one curse that rampaged a small town with gojo and now you find yourself back at the ryokan you had stayed at the prior night. except this time around you have an overly excited gojo, still at a high from the successful mission.

“suguru mentioned how nice the onsens here were,” he brings up innocently, his lips curving into a sly grin. you spare him a side glance. 

“we should be heading back to the airport to return to tokyo,” you asserted, eyes trained on the entrance of the onsen— a wooden paneled door leading to the private hot spring that came with the room you and gojo had unknowingly reserved. 

gojo stretched leisurely, his body arched like a cat as he yawns, “i don’t know about you but i’m beat! that curse wore out all my energy and a quick dip in an onsen is just what this body needs.” he opens one eye, gauging your reaction.

you don’t buy his act. “you exorcised the curse instantaneously, gojo.”

but gojo doesn’t back down easily, “yeah, well that took up a lot of cursed energy and now i’m drained,” he reasons. the white haired male solidifies his argument by collapsing on you just to show how fatigued he was. his dramatic show nearly sends you tumbling.

annoyance simmered in you, arms folding over your chest. the flight back to tokyo was in a couple of hours, and you had hoped to be able to go sightseeing. 

but gojo’s sky-blue eyes plead silently as they look up at you, unblinking. his pink lips start to quiver. it was hard to deny him when he was basically begging. as comical as his dramatics were, you could almost argue how hard it was to resist his unwavering gaze. plus, he was the one that completed the mission singlehandedly.  

“fine.” you yielded. “thirty minutes and then we leave.”

he perks up happily.

“great! let’s go!” without wasting a moment, he seizes your hand and practically skips to the entrance. 

you recoiled, nearly shrieking, “you pervert! i’m not going in there with you! i’m going to go sightseeing.” 

gojo looks at you like you’ve sprouted two heads.

“... then what’s the point of the onsen?” he looked at you incredulously. it deeply troubled you that someone so conniving could look so innocent.

your response is caught in your throat, leaving you flustered and unable to make eye contact. arms remained crossed, you mutter, “you’re insane if you think i’m stepping foot in an onsen with you.”

gojo’s tongue prodded at his cheek, lost in thought, “they do say you have to be insane to be a jujutsu sorcerer." he looks at you all enthused, "don’t be shy now, we’ve already slept together after all.” there’s a teasing lilt in his voice.

“we slept in the same bed– not together! don’t you go spreading that around now,” you jump to cup a hand over his mouth. you feel him grin underneath the palm of your hand.

“same thwing,” gojo’s voice is muffled, but he doesn’t bother taking your soft hand off his face. 

“it is not,” you furrow your eyebrows. 

“it can be.” he wiggles his eyebrows, a boyish smile growing.

you remove your hand from his face, “have you no shame?” 

“not a shred,” he declares cheerfully. “come on, we’re wasting precious time standing here. i can feel the steaming water calling our names.” 

“i’ve told you already, gojo. i’m not going to a hot spring naked with you.” 

he waves his hand dismissively, “you don’t have to be naked, it’s not unheard of for people to go in with a towel.”

you sigh exasperatedly at his stubborn disposition, “it would still be highly inappropriate.”

“as inappropriate as cuddling with your classmate while he’s naked and unconscious?” he raises an eyebrow suggestively. gojo was once again referring to the previous night’s moment of vulnerability.

you stiffen. 

“it was not like that and you know it. for all i know, you were the one cuddling me,” you retorted, crossing your arms with a huff.

 gojo raises his hands in defense, “how about we call it even and hop in the hot spring together as a compromise?”

“that doesn’t make any sense.”

“it makes perfect sense. just two classmates relieving the weight of the world off their shoulders.” 

you hate that he’s starting to convince you. 

the knowing smile creeping on gojo’s face signals that he’s sensed your weakening resolve. he decides to deal the finishing blow.

“this is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. with busy lives like ours, who knows the next time we will be able to visit one of the world’s best hot springs?” he gestures dramatically. reluctantly, you start to give into his words.

“fine. but if i see you indecent, i will kill you.” you point a finger threateningly at gojo. 

he simply chuckles, “kinky.”

operation satoru x [name]!!!!

gojosatowu attachment: 1 image

shoko.ieiri what the actual hell gojo.  i did not need to see a picture of you with nothing but a towel on. ts is disgusting.

getosugu where is [name]? i thought you guys were returning from your mission today.

gojosatowu heh the two of us are going to take a little dip in kyushu’s world famous onsens haha :3

shoko.ieiri WHAT

getosugu  you?? [name]?? onsen?? together?? gojo satoru explain hello?

shoko.ieiri where is [name] you dirty pervert  i swear i’ll murder you if you pull any dirty tricks answer now

gojosatowu gotta go! ive been dreaming of this day ><

shoko.ieiri  don’t you go ignoring us!!

you’re already settled in the hot spring by the time gojo arrives. with a snug towel secured tightly around your body, you are submerged underwater from the chest down. the steam curls lazily into the air, casting a dreamlike haze around you.

“for someone that was excited about the onsen, you came awfully late,” you quipped at the snow-haired boy. his signature glasses are absent, allowing you complete access to his azure eyes. on the other hand, gojo is granted the opportunity of seeing you in all of your natural beauty.

gojo enters the steaming water just a couple of feet away from you, “had to calm myself before seeing you.” he sighs contentedly when the water envelopes him. it was true. his nerves were a lot calmer when he was fighting the grade one curse than the short walk from the changing room to the hot spring.

you can't help but roll your eyes at his obvious flirtation attempt, but you decide to let it slide.

the conversation lapses into silence, an awkward veil settling between you. you were starting to regret ever entertaining gojo’s invitation to the onsen. to escape the discomfort, you divert your gaze to the steam rising from the water's surface and the surrounding rocks. the trees around you start to look interesting as you focus on not letting you eyes stray on gojo’s solid buil—

breaking the silence, gojo interjects, "did ya think i looked cool taking down that curse?"

your eyes shift from the rocks to gojo’s face, “it was quite impressive how you were able to crush the curse with your infinity.” you have heard of stories of gojo’s strength, but seeing it with your very own eyes was truly incredible.

he preens under your praise, a faint blush coloring his cheeks.

"perhaps i deserve a reward," he suggests, his voice taking on a playful tone.

you entertain the idea, your curiosity piqued. "i suppose you do."

a deeper flush tinges gojo's cheeks, and he averts his gaze. without warning, he points at his cheek, anticipating something. you tilt your head, puzzled by his unspoken request. he keeps pointing to his cheek, poking it multiple times.

“…”

“give me a kiss!”

the water ripples with how fast you lean back, “huh? no way.”

undeterred, gojo shakes his head. "fine then. i guess i'll have to kiss you.”

your eyes widen as he leans closer, and you instinctively scoot away, surprised by his boldness. "what? no!"

“eh?! why not? i went total snowagumon on that curse!”

“that’s your job gojo,” you respond matter-of-factly. you’re a bit taken aback by his digimon reference. how dorky.

gojo clicks his tongue, feigning indignation as he looks away. “hmph. can’t even get appreciation for keeping the world in balance.” 

you let out a resigned sigh, realizing he's being dramatic again. it almost feels like dealing with a child. but you suppose you’ll play right into his hands this time– and this time only. he has worked hard on this mission, taking on all the work while you watch idly from the sidelines.

hesitantly, you inch closer towards his frame. the distance closes as you lean towards his face. it was only a split second, but your lips placed a chaste kiss on his cheek. 

you watch what once was a pink blush blossomed into something deeper. gojo sits up a little straighter and you notice how the corner of his lips are slightly upward.

“gojo, are you oka–” 

“satoru. call me satoru,” he interjected, sounding breathless, his eyes locking on yours. 

you look at him, uncertain. “isn’t that a bit too informal? we’ve only known each other for a couple of months.”

“if it was up to me, we’d be married by now,” satoru closes his eyes nonchalantly, sinking deeply into the water until half of his face is under. he blows a series of bubbles. he really was a child.

your laughter rings out melodiously as you throw your head back, finding his remark utterly amusing.  “you’re actually ridiculous.” 

satoru watches you with a soft smile, his heart feeling lighter. it was criminal how cute you were. if this was his reward for exorcizing a measly grade one curse, he was willing to wipe out all special grades on the earth just to receive your praise again. maybe next time you'll even kiss him on the lips (he'll die a happy man if that happens).

"i am, aren't i?" he muses, basking in the joy of the moment.

extra notes. i lowk hate this but due to popular demand i had to write it. ps i dont even know anything abt digimon i js know gojo likes it gn (forgive me if my digimon reference was totally wrong)

[ilys00ga]

𝗲𝘁𝗲𝗿𝗻𝗮𝗹 𝘀𝘂𝗻𝘀𝗵𝗶𝗻𝗲.

➞ pair: yoongi x female reader.

➞ word count: 1k

➞ synopsis: "yoongi and reader making a meal together for yoongi's parents" with a little bit of a domestic twist.

➞ genre: established relationship, husband!yoongi, dad!yoongi, just fluffy fluff fluff, they cook together, dad!yoongi, nothing goes wrong, dad!yoongi, just pure happiness, they also call it tooth-rotting fluff lol, did I mention: DAD!YOONGI ???, they have a babygirl uwu <33

➞ A/N: first off, thank u anon for sending me this super cute prompt, I loved it and had sm fun writing it!! second, EID MUBARAK TO MY FELLOW MUSLIMS OUT THEREEE <3 this is my lil gift for yall on this eid. it wasn't supposed to be this long tbh, and I haven't written anything for over a month, so, sorry if this is kind of messy and all over the place??? im trying to get my sht together again. but I really liked the prompt and!!! had to write it!!!! kkk enjoy bbys <3

ps. any form of feedback is reallyyyy appreciated. I live for compliments :) !

★ MASTERLIST.

ᵎᵎ 𖦹彡⋆｡˚・ ─ ・ ⋯ ・ ─ ⊹ ♡₊˚๑

It was one warm spring morning.

Yoongi was back from a long series of concerts just a couple of days ago. Grateful to be finally home with the two people that mean the absolute world to him. Your cat was purring on his chest as the two of you laid on the bed, enjoying the quiet of Saturday that had just begun, when his mother called to announce that, later that evening, she and his father would be coming over.

One thing led to another, and there you stood with your husband in the kitchen. One was chopping ingredients up by the stove, the other handling a mixer. Your two years old baby girl, Nara, was sitting in her high chair somewhere away from the oven and any other harmful thing. What used to be your favorite playlists playing ever so softly in the background as you fixed yourselves your favorite meals, together, was replaced with the mindless blabbering of your sweet baby girl instead, playing with the wooden spoon you had given her to play with some minutes before.

“Is this good?” Yoongi dipped the tip of his finger into the mixture he’s been working on, and carefully brought it up to your lips. You hummed in satisfaction as soon as the flavors hit your taste buds, a little bit taken aback at how he nailed your mother’s secret recipe only in the first try, “Great. You’re getting so good at this, Yoonie. I think you should take over kitchen duties very soon.”

He snorted, “If that means I’ll never have to do the laundry ever again, then sure.”

Feigning annoyance, you hissed at him, “You’re so lazy.”

“No one likes doing laundry, honey. Not even you.”

"You're so annoying."

Your daily bickering banters were disturbed by the sound of his phone ringing from the other room. He left to take the call, leaving you with your noisy little baby. The chef hat she had on her head–Yoongi's idea, by the way, along with the tiny apron she wore as well–was almost too big on her. It made her look a thousand times more adorable that you immediately started grinning and cooing when she looked up at you.

"And what about you chef? Are you having fun?"

She balled her fists up and raised them in the air, wiggling in her seat to let you know that she wanted to be picked up. Being the ever so whipped mom that you were, you scooped her up in your arms right away, and peppered kisses all over her chubby face. Her giggles seeped through your skin and locked into your bones, aching with a sickeningly utmost adoration.

“Mom said they’re almost here.” Said Yoongi upon entering the kitchen, putting his phone atop the table and smiling as soon as his eyes fell on the two of you—his girls.

“Are you being a good chef assistant, baby?” He cooed, kissing her cheek, then leaning in to leave a peck on your lips.

“She’s been blabbering her life off the whole time you were gone." you hummed.

“Mom is going to have a good time conversing with her this evening.”

“We’re almost done cooking now.” You reminded him, “Honey, check on the oven please.”

“Right.”

A wave of heat hit his face as soon as he opened the oven, but he smiled once he checked on the muffins, “they are done.”

When he took the tray out and swiftly put it on the counter, Nara erupted in a fit of loud blabber, flailing the arm that clutched on the wooden spoon in the air and almost smacking your face in the process.

It had your husband giggling, of course. He couldn’t help but join in and engage with her blather, how could he not when he got such an adorable chatterbox for a child? “Huh, Nini? The muffins are done! Yeah!”

He took her into his arms, allowing you to go check on the stewpot that was still boiling on the stove, before bringing her to have a look at the tray of the mouth watering muffins, and cheered, “look!”

Your heart, yet again, swooned, almost oozing out of your ribs with how tight your chest grew to be at the sound of your baby’s joyful squeals. She was all excited as her daddy showed her around the process of cooking the dinner for her grandparents.

Nara was having the time of her life. For some reason, she's always loved being in the kitchen. Yoongi once made a comment about her becoming a successful chef, which then turned into a long, heartwarming talk about your daughter and her future. The gentle smile Yoongi had on his face throughout that was one to die for, especially when he sulked about not wanting your babygirl to grow up. His pout was so intense, you ended up engulfing him in a bone crushing hug for almost half an hour.

It was moments like this one that you wished were pictures so you could cut them up and hide them. Somewhere deep inside your heart. Forever. That's how you often found yourself observing and admiring every single interaction your husband made with your baby, and that’s how you ended up listening attentively as he continued to talk so passionately and earnestly with her, while simultaneously attempting to work with his free arm to the best of his abilities.

She, at one point, got so ecstatic that she accidentally thrusted her arm forward and hit him in the face with that spoon. But he only turned to look at you with an affectionate smile.

Struggling through a fit of giggles, you slipped the wooden object from her grasp and gave her a big kiss; making sure to squish her doughy cheeks—a trait that she definitely got from her father, “No more hitting mama and papa for you!”

The little girl’s squeaks only got louder as she reached out with her arms towards you, addressing you with more words of her very own and special language.

“Family hug?” you asked, glancing at a grinning Yoongi.

“Family hug!” He wrapped his free arm around you, bringing your body closer so that Nara could get a hold of you as well, then added, “but let’s make it a short one or else my parents are going to come to a burnt dinner.”

[holybibly]

Today's unholy hours, bunnies

"This is exactly what you wanted, doll. Isn't it? Just what you need. Am I right?" Yeosang whispered in your ear, his deep, husky voice sending a shiver down the length of your spine.

The sound of your soft, half-choked moaning rang out in the evening silence of the practically empty library. The corner behind the tall bookshelves provided enough privacy for the two of you at this late hour, hiding you from the staff and other students who might accidentally wander into the most remote section of the Ancient Korean Literature section.

Yeosang's sneering laugh is accompanied by a particularly hard thrust of his hips while his cold, hard hands press you more firmly against the wooden table.

"And what? I'm not going to get a single sarcastic comment from you to answer that, bunny? The cat's got your tongue."

Any attempt at a reply or contradiction is cut short by the powerful, deep thrusts of Yeosang's hips as he drives his thick, wiry cock deeper into your screaming, needy cunt. He was fucking you so hard and so fast that it practically knocked all the air out of your lungs.

You hated him. You hated him so fucking much, but the feeling was stronger than you. Yeosang was making you crazy, and trying to deny feeling attracted to him was just stupid.

You wanted to turn away from the wicked, sneering grin on the handsome blond sempai's face, but he wouldn't let you. Yoe kept your fierce, defiant gaze on his angelic face, digging his fingers into your soft cheek and covering your mouth with his palm, so that you could barely breathe, choking on your own moans as Yeosang continued to fuck you mercilessly.

"Such obedience; I like you much more like this, doll~"

Your hands clutched at his shirt, crumpling the once perfectly ironed fabric, your nails scratching across his collarbones and the bulging muscles of his chest, leaving bright red scratches on his skin, when you rolled your eyes at the feeling of the orgasm that was about to come. Fuck, it was too good to be true, and you knew full well that you'd be kicking yourself for it afterwards, but fuck, Yeosang was fucking divine.

Who would have thought that your angelic sempai, Kang Yeosang, could be a real freak in bed?

You couldn't even make a sound of protest—just a whimper as he slowed his movements, denying you pleasure for the third time today. Fucking bastard. Your eyebrows furrowed in annoyance as you squirmed in your seat, letting out a muffled, frustrated moan that was too loud, even though Yeosang was still covering your mouth with his hand. The sharp sensation of your orgasm slowly began to fade into a small, pulsating stream of pleasure.

You were so wet you were probably sitting in a puddle of your own slime, judging by the nasty squelching sound you heard when Yeosang's cock was halfway out of your cunt. The amusement that danced in his foxy hazel eyes was so obvious and only grew as you raised your tearful puppy eyes up to him, and your coarseness and defiance dissolved into a silent plea for him to finally let you cum.

"Oh, wilful little slut wants to cum? Not such a cheeky little thing anymore, Y/N, eh? I told you to be quiet, doll. If you want to finally come on my cock, be quiet; otherwise, I'll be the one who cum tonight." That's how deep and sultry his voice was; it was just illegal. How could you resist him?

You nod desperately at what he says, and Yeosang responds by smiling smugly. The sweet expression on his face hides his sinister intentions as he begins to move again, this time with an even harder and more brutal thrust. His taut balls slap against your pussy with each rhythmic movement, and you bite his hand, causing the handsome sempai to hiss slightly in pain.

"You little bitch..." Yeosang hissed, changing the angle of his movements so that the head of his thick cock was now hitting your sweet spot with every thrust, and this time he had no intention of stopping.

You tensed, feeling the almost painful throbbing of your approaching orgasm, your eyes rolling back as wave after wave of overwhelming pleasure washed over you, shaking you to the core. For all your hatred of Yeosang, it was worth it. His cock was made of fucking gold.

His moans were barely audible as you clenched around his cock, his warm, thick seed staining the walls of your womb, and your pussy seemed to pull him even deeper in and hold him there, clinging tightly to the velvety length of his cock. All your senses were overloaded with pleasure, and every heavy sigh and every growling wheeze that Yeosang emitted seemed to prolong your orgasm, driving you deeper and deeper into a state of euphoria until you felt no connection to your body and black dots began to dance before your eyes.

When you finally managed to regain consciousness, you were lying on his lap, and your clothes had been returned to the tidy state they had been in before. You looked lazily around, still feeling heavy and unable to move. You rolled your eyes in annoyance as your still slightly unfocused gaze fell on the book in his hand.

"Are you serious, Yeosang? Classical poetry? You've just fucked my brains out, and you're still behave yourself like a good boy? Of course, the exemplary sempai, Kang Yeosang."

"Ah, now that cheeky mouth of yours is back again. I guess you haven't learned your lesson, doll; you have to be quiet in the library."

[selfaware-bungou-stray-dogs]

So much planning

Self-Aware! BSD x SAGAU Imposter crossover

Self-Aware! Dazai Osamu x GN! Reader x Self-Aware! Fyodor Dostoevsky

Description: Dazai and Fyodor still don't get along. But they have few things in common. Both are genius. Both have twisted morals. And both will turn to dust anyone, who dared to hurt you.

Warning: OOC. Mewing Dazai. Fyodor sings lullaby to reader. Nightmares. Slight religious fanaticism. People threw rocks at Reader, Neuvillette do some damage on Reader. English is my second language.

"SINNER!"

A rock was thrown at you. You tried to dodge, but braces on your legs and rope around your neck, that was tied to a wooden post. The rock hit your shoulder. You can't even scream or beg. A metal construction in your mouth won't let you close your mouth, or make any sort of sound.

"MONSTER!"

Another rock was thrown at you. This one hit your chest.

You were cold. You were freezing. The rugs they forced you to wear couldn't stand against Shezhnaya's wind and snow.

"PAY WITH YOUR BLOOD!"

More and more rocks were thrown at your direction. And you can't do anything to stop them.

Yet, you knew, that they won't let you die now.

Not for the next week.

Each day, you will be transported to a different city. And, starting from dusk to dawn, you were chained in the main square. And people were taking their anger out on you.

You were in Snezhnaya today.

Six more cities left.

Six more days before your execution.

Your life will end before Creator's eyes.

________

You woke up, sobbing. You blinked your tears away and look around. You were home. In your room. Not in Teyvat.

You took a quick glance at the clock.

11:00 pm.

You went to bed 30 minutes ago.

You put your head back on the pillow, trying to fall asleep again. And then you heard it.

"Meow"

You sat up on your bed.

"Meow"

You looked down.

You saw Dazai.

He sat on the floor, before your bed. He put elbows on your bed, resting his chin on his hands.

Dazai looked... soft. He had a small smile on his face. His eyes sparkled.

And you saw, that he was worried.

Dazai meowed again.

"Meow."

You can't help, but smile. Back then, before you... were transported in... Teyvat, you jokingly called Dazai a cat. Because every time he had a smile or a grin on his face, he looked like he would start meowing.

Dazai remembered that.

That's why, after every time you had a nightmare about Teyvat, Dazai, among other things, would meow, to make you feel better.

Meanwhile, Dazai put his face closer to yours and rub his nose against yours.

"Mrrrrp."

You laughed quietly, raising your arm. You scratch Dazai behind the ear. He started purring.

"You knew, that you shouldn't do the cat act, right?" ask you. Dazai hummed.

"I want to do that. It makes you happy." Dazai pet you on a head. "Want some company?"

You shifted a little, making some space for Dazai. You were sleepy. You lay your head back on your pillow and close your eyes.

Through sleep, you felt, how someone lay down next to you. A familiar scent of almond, rum and cherry filled your nose. Dazai firmly pressed you against his chest. You felt safer. Safe enough, to try to go back to sleep again.

______

Dazai was listening to your breathing. You didn't have a new nightmare. For now. Dazai hopped, that it will stay this way. Still, he won't bet too much on it.

The door to your room was opened again. Dazai didn't turn his head. He knew who it was.

Without saying a word, Dazai pressed you harder against his chest and carefully moved, changing your position with his.

Now, his chest was touching your back. Now, there was an empty spot near you on your bed.

Fyodor carefully lay down next to you, running his fingers through your hair.

They didn't talk.

For now, they were making sure, that you are okay.

"General nightmare. Didn't remember someone in particular." Dazai squeezed your hand. Fyodor slowly played with your hair.

"Panic attack?"

Dazai shook his head.

"No. Just startled."

Fyodor nodded.

"Good. At least, it is something."

Fyodor and Dazai became quiet again.

Dazai broke silence again.

"Others?"

Fyodor hugged you, scooting closer to you.

"Want revenge."

Dazai looked at you with pity.

"Nikolai?" whispered Dazai, listening to you breathing.

Fyodor closed his eyes.

"Still blames himself."

Fyodor and Dazai became silent again.

Despite working together to get to the real world, they still weren't friends. They do play chess together, or have overcomplicated games in their own minds, but, they won't call each other friends.

But, there was one exception.

You.

For you, they were ready to go beyond any possible goals.

All you need to do is ask. And Fyodor and Dazai will make a plan.

But, even their combined intelligence weren't enough to find you, during the month you were missing.

And their emotions went awry, when they saw you on the barn's floor.

Beaten. Tortured. Bloody.

Dazai's eyes shrank, looking somewhere in the distance. The scenes, of what he will do with people, who dared to hurt you, flash before his eyes.

"So. What should we do next?"

Fyodor's gaze was heavy. Similar thought of future massacre flooded his thoughts.

"Let's discuss some ideas. There is so much planning to do."

_________

You can't breathe.

Your heart was beating heavily, your lungs were burning, your legs refused to move.

But you can't stop. You must run.

Or he will get you.

The storm was at its peak.

Rain water greedily licked your skin. Each drop felt like lava.

The river was close. Its waters looked like they were boiling. You jumped on the first wet stone. On the second. On the third.

And your leg slipped.

Immediately, hydro energy curled around your feet, dragging you underwater.

You managed to hold your breath right before waves closed above your head.

*****

It was a torture.

Hydro dragon was playing with you.

Letting you go, letting you breathe in some treasured air. Before dragging you back underwater.

You lost the number of times you almost drowned. You only tried to grab something, that let you stay above water.

Finally, Neuvillette got tired of this game. He dragged you on the riverbank. Right to his feet.

A pair of hands... No... Draconic hands grabbed your shoulders. Sharp claws sank into them, drawing blood. You screamed, when Neuvillette moved his arms to make you stand.

Your vision was blurry. Yet, you manage to make out a pair of draconic eyes and abnormally sharp teeth.

Neuvillette put his face closer to yours.

"Got you, dirty sinner."

Sharp teeth chomped on your left ear.

Your screams and draconic satisfied rumble mixed together.

You were in pain.

Neuvillette spit something on the ground.

You tried not to look at what remains of your ear.

Neuvillette put his face closer to your second ear.

You closed your eyes. You didn't want to look.

You didn't notice a familiar girl, who was running towards you two. She was accompanied by melusines.

Before Neuvillette can tear your second ear off, Furina plunge her sword in his side.

Draconic roar made you stumble back. Falling into the river.

The last thing you saw were Furina and melusines fighting with Neuvillette.

________

You were sobbing.

Your blood was boiling.

You wanted to scream. To run. To hide.

You tried to touch your shoulders and left ear, to call for Furina and melusines. To do anything.

The hand was placed on the top of your head.

And familiar voice start singing.

Fyodor was singing.

"Котя, котенька-коток,

Котя — серенький хвосток!

Приди, котик, ночевать...

И [Т/И] качать,"

You blinked your tears away. You felt, how Dazai embrace became tighter. He started running his fingers up and down your arm.

Fyodor rubbed your tears away.

"Уж я котеньке-коту,

За работу заплачу:

Дам кусочек пирога

И кувшинчик молока."

You didn't want to protest. You didn't care, that you are too old for lullabies. You wanted some comfort. Some stability. Feel safe.

Fyodor put his chin on the top of your head.

"Платок беленький свяжу

И на шейку повяжу;

Шубку новую куплю

И сапожки закажу.¹"

You hide your face in the crook of Fyodor's neck. Dazai's forehead pressed against the back of your neck. You were warm. You yawn.

When Fyodor finished with this lullaby, he started a new one. Then another. And another.

Until you fall asleep.

*****

You were sleeping soundly for two hours now. Fyodor and Dazai weren't sleeping. They choose to look over you tonight.

And, in the dark of the night, they were planning.

Planning a revenge on people of Teyvat.

And on someone, named Neuvillette, whose name you screamed in your last nightmare.

Dazai looked Fyodor in the eyes.

Brown eyes met purple eyes.

"Vampire outbreak."

"Economy crisis."

"Arahabaki and Demonic Beast Guivre"

"Cannibalism"

"Lovecraft"

"Spare someone?"

"Only if Iris Flower want it."

"No letting Myshonok near portal or Teyvat."

"Not even the smallest glances."

Word after word.

Slowly, the plan of Teyvat's destruction will be finished.

For now, they will simply exchange some ideas. And make sure, that you are safe.

______

1. Russian lullaby.

Kitty, kitty-cat,

Kitty - gray tail!

Come, cat, spend the night,

Rock [Y/N]

Kitty, kitty-cat,

I will pay for your work:

I'll give you a piece of the pie

And a jug of milk.

I will knit you white scarf

And I’ll tie it around your neck;

I'll buy you a new fur coat

And I'll order you boots."

******

Tag list: @withered-blossoms , @myluckymoon @cocodrilofeliz @c4xcocoa @vvyeislazzy @whisperingwinters

[flametrashiraarchive]

Solace

I finished my Reader x Rengoku fic! it’s also on Ao3, but here it is if you prefer to read it here!

(Rengoku x AFAB reader, canon divergent- Akaza doesn’t show up at the end of Mugen Train and Rengoku returns home to you. Mainly smut and fluff.)

Minors DNI

Kyojuro is never quiet when coming home from missions.

In combat, the man moves with stealth and graceful speed which could put even the sneakiest alley cat to shame. But returning in the dim light before dawn, excited and elated simply to be back with you, he bounds toward you with a broad, effusive grin.

“I’m back!” he declares, as though his footsteps didn’t just shake you from the bed.

But you can’t find it within yourself to be annoyed at him for waking you. Ever.

It doesn’t matter that it’s hours before you’re due to rise, or that he and his crow probably woke the whole village on their return. Before you know it, your smile is mirroring his, and you’re crushed to him, not knowing who closed the space between you first. You breathe in the scent of battle and dwindling smoke, and the familiar comforting warmth of him.

Your fingers press to his back, sliding up towards his shoulders, your heart squeezing with the relief that he’s home. He won the battle. He survived.

Strong, sturdy, and real beneath your hands. And yours, entirely.

You could cry; the lump in your throat dangerously close to choking you, but tears would only make him worry. So you press your face to his chest, letting him hold you, rocking you from side to side as he rests his cheek on the top of your head.

You breathe in his scent again and let out a sigh. "Do you want to go and tell Senjuro and your father you're back? Senjuro was so worried."

"In a little while," he says, tightening his hold on you. "My father usually wakes after sunrise."

You can't help but smile. He’s all yours, at least for a while.

“How was it?” you ask, muffled in his embrace.

“Hm?”

You pull your face away to let your voice carry to him fully. “How was the mission? The demon on the train?”

“Ah. Good.” He smiles, raising a battle-hardened hand to gently stroke your cheek. The intensity in his fiery gaze softens as he acclimates to the safety of your shared home. “We prevailed. But it took far too long.”

“Agreed. You were gone for more than two months.” You lean into his touch. And, knowing thanks to his hashira stamina, it’s likely untrue, you add, “You must be exhausted. We could go back to bed for a while?”

He chuckles softly, catching the meaning behind your seemingly innocent words. “I should clean up first. I’m sure I smell less than—”

His sentence dies against your lips as you pull him to you, unable to delay what you’ve been craving for months. And after a muffled chuckle of surprise, he reciprocates the kiss.

Kyojuro kisses like he fights; with every damn fiber of his being, burning you up as he drives you backward, pressing you to the wooden frame of the door and pinning you to it with his body. At once, you’re lost to the world, and all that matters is his lips, his fingers tangled in your hair, and his muscled thigh pressing between yours. Your body reacts to him so quickly you become lightheaded; heat pooling everywhere he touches.

Yours. He’s yours. And he’s home.

A sigh escapes you as he takes your hand in his, and pins your wrist to the door frame above your head.

You could list a thousand reasons you love this man, and one of them is the way he can snap in an instant from dazzling light and exuberant warmth, to an altogether more blistering, primal sort of flame. And you have always reveled in that blaze.

You slide down a couple of inches, pressing your core to the sturdy length of his thigh as you tug his lower lip between your teeth. A quiet groan escapes him, those gold and crimson eyes of his half-lidded as he drops his hand to the opening of your robe.

Kyojuro can– and has– spent all night undressing you and letting your excitement build before granting you release after release. And every time you’ve basked in that drawn out pleasure, trusting him entirely as you do, that the delay will be more than worth the reward. But not tonight. Not after two lonely months of nothing but your hands on your cunt, and gasping his name into the pillow.

“Kyojuro,” you whisper, parting the robe yourself until your breasts are exposed. “Please.”

“You’re so eager this morning,” he says, keeping his breath and voice so level you’d almost think your exposed skin wasn’t affecting him.

“I missed you.”

“I missed you too.” His lips part as he cups your breast, stroking a calloused thumb over your nipple. “If I’m honest, I spent a lot of time thinking about you. About this.”

Pride and pleasure blossom in your chest and snatch your breath, earning you a chuckle. He drops his hand lower, dipping it between the pillowy softness of your thighs.

Where it stays.

Firmly.

“Patience, Little Flame,” he tells you as he takes his thigh from between yours, leaving your pussy aching and wanting. “Let me clean up. I want to be the best I can be for you.”

God, this man. Even after being denied you by duty, he still relishes every second with you, drawing it out and savoring it. You may as well weigh less than a feather as he scoops you into his arms, putting his strength and training to use as he whisks you away to the wisteria-guarded private hot spring at the back of your house; another perk of living with a hashira.

He sets you on the wooden boards at the side of the steaming water, stepping away to leave nothing but the cool morning air to caress your burning skin.

“Let me bathe first,” he tells you, unfastening the cape from his shoulders and folding it carefully beside you.

You’re about to protest that he doesn’t have to; you’ll gladly take him smelling of smoke and spattered with demon blood, but Kyojuro is ever the gentleman. And besides, as his strong fingers begin to work open the buttons on his corps uniform, any protest you can conjure simply collides with your pounding heart and withdraws, defeated.

Because as beautiful as Kyojuro is in his uniform, covered entirely and bursting with pride, he’s somehow even more beautiful out of it. His body is sculpted by discipline, battle, and a love for food; strong, sturdy, soft and firm all at once. Every scar and bruise which marks his skin has no doubt served as a lesson; a reminder of how he could have reacted faster, fought better, improved somehow (and it’s Kyojuro, so of course, next time he will).

The sun breaks over the horizon, casting beams of golden light through the wisteria blossoms as he sets his uniform neatly on top of the cape beside you.

“Are you getting in?” he asks, stepping into the water until it reaches his hips. He turns to face you. “Or are you content with watching me?”

Your face prickles, surely as red as the tips of his hair as he grins and waits for your response. And thank God for the wisteria, hiding you from prying eyes as you sit, bare chested and flustered on the warm, smooth wood, fighting the urge to put your hand between your thighs and finish what you started against the door frame.

He seems to sense it too, his gaze dropping lower, to the epicenter of your aching desire. And for the first time since he got home, you notice his breath hitching in his throat as he wades toward you, placing his wet hands at either side of your knees and pushing them together, pressing a kiss to the seam of your thighs.

His eyelids close as he rests his forehead on your lap, his breath hot against your skin as your mouth becomes dry with anticipation and need. But he simply stays there, breathing you in, and, if he’s feeling at all the way you are right now, torturing you both.

Placing a hand on the back of his head you let it sink into soft golden hair and stroke down the back of his neck, enamored with the way he melts against you as you do.

“There were moments…” He’s quiet when he speaks, so quiet it worries you.

He turns his head to the side, eyes still closed as he rests his cheek against the pillow of your thighs, still holding them together.

“Moments?” you say, hoping to clarify. Your hand delves lower, into the firm valley between his shoulder blades. The corner of his mouth rises into a contented smile. You can spend every waking moment touching Kyojuro and he will never get tired of it. Fortunately, neither will you.

“Moments during the mission… when I was afraid I would not make it back to you this time.”

“Oh—” You snap your lips shut, pressing your unoccupied hand to them to ensure their silence. A weight in your chest presses against your ribs; the agonizing knowledge that this man you adore with every cell in your body feared for his life.

You can’t tell him that you imagine that very thing every time the kasugai crow summons him. Every time you awaken to find he didn’t return while you slept. Every time the sun rises and stains the morning sky red.

And no matter how blissful the time you spend together, no matter how bound to his soul you find yours, the fact will always remain that demon slayers rarely live long lives. To love a hashira, is to welcome death to loom above your happiness.

But you know Kyojuro well enough to know there’s nothing you can say to make him quit the corps. You'd have as much success telling him to walk away from you, or asking the moon to come down from the sky. Nothing can quell those twin flames burning in his heart; one for you, the other his duty to lend his strength to those who need it. Even in a world without demons, he would find some way to fight to protect the helpless.

“I believe in you,” you say, truthfully. Even if your heart torments you with thoughts that one day his crow will return without him, you have never doubted his strength or indomitable spirit. “No matter what happens, I want you to know that. You’re stronger than anyone I’ve ever known.”

"Thank you," he says, with heart-shattering sincerity.

In an instant his hands are on the boards beside your thighs, his arms taut and arrow-straight beneath him as he lifts himself partway out of the water until his lips are level with yours.

"I should be thanking you," you tease, hoping to lighten the mood and help him forget the fear. "You're putting on such a pretty show for me."

Loud laughter bursts from him, and God, it feels so good to see him happy and carefree. It warms your heart to know that you can give him that solace, this man who fights and faces death for people who don’t even know he exists.

“I need you,” he says with a smile, leaning into you and snatching your breath with a kiss before drawing back. “ Your belief, your strength, your warmth. I need you. In every way.”

You can't stand it anymore. Cupping his jaw in your palm you lean closer, bringing your lips tantalizingly close. "Hurry up and bathe, Kyojuro. I'll make certain those needs are met."

He laughs again, although this time quieter, holding your gaze as he lowers himself back into the water. “Beloved, when have I ever allowed you to meet my needs without ensuring yours are satisfied first?”

His touch sparks embers across your skin as his strong fingers skate between your thighs, finally allowing you to part them. You spread wide for him, letting him see you fully, knowing that you’re already wet, glistening with need.

“Mm,” he sighs hungrily, moistening his lips with the tip of his tongue.

He draws closer as you fight for breath, running your fingers through his fiery mane as you lean back and angle your hips toward him.

The wisteria blooms sway in the breeze as your skin pebbles.

Kyojuro begins as he always does, by kissing a path along your inner thighs, snatching the air from your lungs as your anticipation builds. He nuzzles the soft flesh of your pussy with the tip of his nose, and when his lips finally reach your core, he tastes you slowly, eyes closed and face perfectly serene. And he savors you.

He drags his tongue over your tingling flesh, tasting every bit of you and sighing softly as you gasp and buck your hips beneath him.

But soon, any semblance of hashira discipline crumbles as he grows drunk on you. His hands skate over your thighs, hooking behind your knees to lift your legs onto his broad shoulders. And you know you’re done for.

Kyojuro relishes you like you’re his last meal, his tongue voraciously lapping your clit until your fingers in his hair curl into fists.

Afterall, he never knows when he’ll be called away from you. So he makes it count.

It’s no secret the flame hashira loves to eat, and being his favorite meal is pleasure like you've never known. You gasp as he presses his tongue to your entrance, licking a stripe through your labia to your clit, before surrounding it with the wet heat of his eager mouth. His tongue flutters against you; insatiable, skilled, and hellbent on driving you to climax.

"Kyojuro!" You cry out as your trembling legs wrap around his back, holding him to you.

That earns you an appreciative groan before the wet sound of his mouth on you fills the air once more. Your back arches as he pushes a thick finger into you, stroking you inside as he continues to devour your cunt.

His gentle moans vibrate against your clit as he licks and licks, and he whispers a reverent, "Delicious."

His approval drives you wild, lifting your hips to grind your pussy against his face as shivers of pleasure roll through you, driving you closer and closer to the peak of ecstasy.

“M–more…” you whimper.

Far be it from him to deny you.

You gasp as he slides another finger into you, his other hand spreading your folds so he can lick you harder, deeper, while sucking your clit as though it sustains him.

You come undone with a cry, legs trembling against his back as your fists unfurl to press his face into your pussy. You know he adores this, when your control fully snaps and he knows he has done well, that eager mouth still working you. He groans as your pussy throbs and pulses against his tongue, squeezing his fingers as they continue to pump into you, emerging only so he can put them into his mouth and taste you again.

“Umai,” he whispers, smiling as you lay shattered and delirious with pleasure beside the hot spring.

You chuckle as you ride the ebbing waves of your orgasm, vaguely aware of the flame hashira climbing out of the water and wrapping you in his arms. Before you know it you're inside, lying on the bed.

"Are you ready, Little Flame, or do you need more time to recover?"

You shake your head, gazing at him as he positions himself between your thighs. His broad, muscled chest is flushed pink with a combination of warm water and arousal.

He'll wait as long as it takes if you need it, but there's no denying his excitement. He holds his cock firmly in his strong, scarred hand, gently sliding his thumb through beads of clear precum weeping from the slit. He shivers as he gazes down at your semi-naked body, teeth tugging his lower lip.

God, there's so much you want to do to this man, but if the world is kind, you'll have time for that later. Right now you need his cock inside you. You need simple intimacy, his body against yours.

"Now," you tell him. "I need you now."

You gasp as he slides his dick between your folds, coating it in your slick wetness before teasing your entrance with his tip. And when he enters you, there's no resistance; you're already so wet and ready for him. His back arches as you take him all, your bodies slotting together as though you were made with each other in mind.

For every hour Kyojuro has spent studying flame breathing, he's dedicated the same to studying you. He’s noted your reactions every time you’ve been together this way, memorizing exactly where to touch you, the speed you like best, the pressure, the intensity.  When Kyojuro fucks you, it's an art form, and he’ll spend all day dedicated to it if you let him.

That's when it becomes apparent that those muscles aren't just for show. The control he has over his body is almost supernatural, rolling his hips against you, making sure that with every stroke your pleasure builds so that all that's left for you to do is...

"Breathe," he tells you, as if he isn't the one driving the air from your lungs.

But you try, for him. You try your damned hardest, fingers pressed to his shoulders as you pull in a breath.

"That's it," he sighs against your ear. "Good. So good."

Your face grows hotter. "Is it good for... ohh God."

Kyojuro’s lips part around a silent gasp as he pushes deep into you and your body shivers beneath him. Sparks of pleasure shoot through your lower belly as he thrusts. Your grip on his shoulders slides to his broad chest and around his back, pulling him to you. He yields to you without resistance, closing the space between you until his body is flush with yours; hot and heavy, pressing you into the mattress as he kisses your throat.

"Is it good for you?" You continue, not because there’s any doubt, but because his praise and approval only adds to your pleasure.

He knows it too. "So good, Little Flame. You're taking me so well."

You could spend eternity with Kyojuro and never stop craving him.

Basking in the soft warmth of your cunt, his throat flexes as he parts his lips around a desperate whimper, his breath hot against your throat as he grinds his hips against yours. Tingling heat builds between your thighs as he pumps his cock into you, arching forward to suck your nipple between his lips, strumming it with his tongue.

And you know too well he’s holding back. Kyojuro won’t come like this; he’ll have you on top bouncing on his cock when he’s good and ready for that. No, this is for you, and it doesn’t matter how long it takes; the hashira’s stamina is apparently limitless. But his cool is most definitely crumbling. And when he gets excited he gets loud. Every thrust is punctuated by a desperate moan, the feral sound of it making your toes curl.

“So warm, and wet for me,” he practically growls into your ear as he grinds his hips against your clit. ”I was away for too long. I wanted you so badly. I couldn’t take care of you like I wanted to, but I’m making up for it now, aren’t I?”

You cry out in pleasure as his movements become deeper and more urgent, “Yes.”

“My Little Flame,” he whispers. “All mine.”

Your second orgasm spills through you like molten iron as you cling to him, riding the waves of your release.

“That’s it,” he whispers as you shiver beneath him. “Oh, god, that’s it, that’s it. That’s my girl.”

This man. This man and his damned mouth. You’re no sooner back on earth than you’re craving him again, pushing against the firm wall of his chest and angling your hips to roll onto him. He picks up on your cue immediately, pulling his cock out of you and flipping the pair of you over.

“Are you sure?” he asks, his breath coming in short, sharp pants just for a moment or two before he reins it back. “I can keep making you come until you’re fully satisfied.”

“I am satisfied. And I want you to come,” you tell him, lowering yourself onto his dick. Your head tilts back involuntarily as you take him once more.

As you start to ride him, his amber eyes are trained on you, awestruck as his hands grip your hips, not guiding your pace (he's completely at your mercy in that regard) but holding on to you as though he's afraid you'll somehow slip away from him.

You may not be able to fight away the demons which threaten to hurt him or the horrors those eyes have witnessed. You may not be able to expunge every worry and burden from his life like you want to. But you can give him this. You can give him solace in simple pleasure.

And, if you’re honest, there’s something about watching this man melt beneath you. There’s nothing like seeing your powerful, indomitable warrior reduced to a whimpering wreck as he loses himself in you. It’s a power which only serves to heighten your pleasure.

"I thought about this every night," you tell him. "About riding you like this and watching you come undone."

His throat flexes as he swallows, his gaze following the movement of your chest as you bounce on his cock. There's no doubt he's enjoying the view, but it's impossible to resist doubling over to kiss him, letting him moan against your lips as you slowly rock on top of him. Your heart squeezes with the knowledge that you’re making him feel good, that right now, he’s content and safe and gasping with pleasure because of you.

This is one of the few times Kyojuro is lost for words, but words are unnecessary. You know how good it feels from the pink tinge on his cheeks and blossoming over his chest, from the way he loses the battle to keep his eyes open, closing them and throwing his head back to moan as his fingers dig into your hips. You know he’s close from the way he arches his back, lifting his hips so he can thrust into you as his grip on control slips entirely.

You know all this because he is yours.

“I’m going to come–” he whimpers, his golden irises barely more than a sliver beneath his heavy eyelids. His breath blows hot and hard against your skin as his body undulates beneath you.

When he comes, it’s with a cry, thrusting up into you so hard it forces the air from your lungs, his grip on your hips so tight it will surely leave bruises. And you ride him throughout, driving him into over-stimulation as the sounds of his pleasure fill the room. All that power, all that strength and firm muscle quivers beneath you but you know him well enough to know not to stop.

You ride him as he bares his teeth. “Yes. That’s it. One more,” he whispers, taking your hands in his and pulling you down to his lips. “I know you have one more for me.”

He places his hand between you, sliding it down your body until his fingers brush your clit, sliding through the warm concoction of his spend and your wetness. He teases your swollen flesh, the blush on his cheeks growing darker still as you continue to grind against his overstimulated cock. Your legs burn, your pussy aches. But God, you need this, you need him. It doesn't matter that you’re spent and more than satisfied. You need more, more, more, the two of you trying desperately to claw all the pleasure you can from a world which demands so much sacrifice.

Your orgasm tears through you quickly, your exhausted body giving you just enough pleasure to earn rest for both of you.

He holds you. His lips are cool against your burning cheeks, showering you with gentle kisses as his hands stroke lazy paths along your back.

You lie atop him, ear pressed to his chest as his heart beats against you; steady, constant, and yours. There’s so much you need to tell him, and he already knows all of it. You love him, you missed him, you hope his kasugai crow never calls. You hope that one day you’ll see that golden hair of his turn silver and that his smile will never fade as he reminisces about the days gone by where he fought for humanity; days which will seem like an absurd dream.

But none of it needs to be said.

“You’re home,” you say instead, your voice so soft you doubt he heard it.

But he chuckles gently, coiling your hair around his fingers as he sighs contentedly. “I am.”

[avtrbee]

love game. ii

a/n: you guys were screaming about how angsty love game was so i grant you 1 (one) barely fluffy scene for 1 (one) moment only. gif is not mine :> also, from the love love game had received many of you had asked me to tag you and i have tried my best to tag everyone!! please message me/comment if i missed you. thank u and enjoyyyy 🫶🏽😋

“Oh what would I do to have Dream grovel in front of me?” called out a velvet voice lounging on your bed. “He won’t keep his promises,” it warns.

You stop at the sight of them before sighing in defeat.

“Couldn’t you at least knock?” You question. “Or, I don’t know, let me know before you stop by?”

“Mhm,” Desire replied, not bothering to answer your question. An Endless must ask another Endless permission to enter a their realm. You, however, were not an Endless. Desire has taken to your bed like it was a second home since they found the loophole, disregarding every protest. You warmed up to it eventually. It was nice to have someone to talk to sometimes.

Desire was laying on their stomach with their hands propped up to support their chin. They are wearing the cat outfit today- one of their favorites- with small cat black ears peaking through perfectly styled hair. There was a cunning smile plastered on their face and a tail that swirls around in circles and curves almost seductively. They were a perfect image of a cunning cheshire cat. 

“I meant what I said,” they murmur, golden eyes watching you as you plop to the space beside them. “I know my brother better than anyone. He is as cruel as he was before his capture, my Love.”

“He’s not cruel, just cold.” Your murmur in his defense, sinking into your bed. “He has never done anything bad, Dream is only…neglectful.”

The last word sparked your companions eye. Desire sinks in the bed with you and lays in their side. They reach an arm out to play with your hair lovingly. “And me? Have I ever been neglectful?”

You snort immediately and push their looming head away with a laugh. Many of your husband’s siblings and Dream himself raise an eyebrow to your strange…friendship. But the line between love and desire are thin and often crossed. “You’re fishing for compliments so badly today.” You accuse and Desire smiles. They do not deny it. 

There was a beat of silence before you spoke again. “I am not naïve,” you say slowly. “But he is finally being…” you rack your head for the right word. “…kind to me. I know it won’t last forever, but is it a sin to relish in it while it lasts?”

Sighing, Desire shifted to capture your palm. Soft kisses travel slowly over to the back of your hand until your temple, to where Desire kisses it last. “Is that what you desire? He does not deserve you.”

You heave a sigh before rolling off your bed. You do not deny Desire’s statement. I know, you want to say. But if you do then they will ask why are you giving their brother a chance and you cannot give any answer. You don’t know yourself either.

“I have to go,” you tell them, straightening yourself up. You feel a tingle inside your head and soon enough, your husband’s quiet voice slips into your thoughts telling you to come to him. “He’s calling for me.”

You were already slipped through the Dreaming, too late to seeDesire’s eye roll back in annoyance. 

-

“My lord, I-”

“Wife,” he greeted. “Love.” He amended quickly after. 

Morpheus gestures behind him and steps aside.  At his back stands a long wooden table fit to cater twelve people.There were all sorts of fruit, cheese, and varying plates from different cultures. From where you stand you could identify what you think may be a charcuterie board filled with cheese, toasted bread, olives and grapes. There was bowls of soup, the reddest apples you have ever seen in a bundle next to a basin of colorful berries. Candles that do not melt sprout tall from the food, while decorative flowers lay beside some dishes. The table ressembles a hungry man’s sweetest dreams.

The palace was in a much better shape than you saw it last. There weren’t any more fallen debris on the floor, no more weeds growing at its cracks. No dust hangs from any corner of the room and the floors were pristine like it was newly polished. It was almost shining.

“Dine with me.” Morpheus has seated at the head of the table, and you start to move opposite him to reach the other end- the farthest seat away from him. 

But before you can take a step Dream conjures a chair beside him from sand, on the right side of the table. You sense something strange about your husband…he seems stronger now. Not as weak as he was three days ago, nor was he as powerful as he was before he disappeared.

You could feel Morhpeus’s eyes stare at you as you move. You crane your face up to observe the room, a pathetic attempt to avoid meeting your husband’s sharp gaze as you walk to your seat.

The details in the room were intricate and clean, like how Dream created it to be. It was as if he was never missing for a century. But it was so quiet. Every step you take towards the table echoes across the room and every breath sounds as loud as thunder. The Dreaming was not meant to be so silent.

It does not help that you do not know how to talk to your husband, and neither does he know how to talk to his wife. It has been centuries since you last had a conversation with him that extends from commands or formalities. The clinks of your forks and knives were the only sounds emitting from the both of you as you ate in silence.

You have always prided yourself to be a good conversationalist having succeeded to have decent and polite conversations with your enemies when you need it, but this was something else. The silence makes you want to shrivel up into a ball and retreat back to your realm and cringe at this memory forever. How ironic is it that you get along better with the people who wouldn’t hesitate to kill you than your husband? You rack your brain for things to say, but your usual conversation starters have failed you. Have you ever been in love? Well, guess who I am! Yes, he has, Dream had lovers before you and you before him. Your husband is also well aware of who you are. At this point, you wouldn’t have minded melting into a puddle. 

As if reading your agony, it was Dream who spoke first. “I apologize if this feast overwhlems you. I did not know your favorite dishes.” He admits. 

“Yes, um,” You perk up immediately, eager to hold the conversation lest the silence takes over once again. “I…I like spicy dishes and…” you trail off your words as your eyes search the plates and bowls full of fruit. You reach towards a bowl to your right with a small smile on your face. “...and peaches. I love peaches.” 

From your preiphiral you see Morpheus’ forehead crinkle at the new information and in a second, the food on the table faded away to sand only to be recounjured as countless spicy dishes appeared and bowls and bowls of all kinds of peaches- yellow peaches, white peaches, and nectarines litter the table. Some were untouched and whole, while a small cup full of sliced peaches appeared on your plate. 

“And you?” You asked awkwardly, but not before raising a slice of peach in your mouth. You were touched, truly, but you can’t help to think that the table resembled a glitter-rabid kindergartener’s Valentines day card. Still, your heart flutters and skips a beat. The Dream Lord isn’t callous for no reason, he has priorities. It has just never been you which makes rare moments like these make you think that you could actually love him…until your anger comes back at the memory of neglect.

Morpheus looks at you then back to the table. “I have no preference.”

“You’ve gotten your pouch of sand back,” you realized, finally pinpointing what has changed. You recall how Morpheus conjured the chair you were sititng on with sand, how abundant the amount of food is and how easy he replaced them.

“I have,” Morpheus agrees. “It was with an occult detective who left it with her lover. I should have asked you to join me, you would have made it easer. I intend to travel to Hell next.”

“What business do you have with Lucifer Morningstar?” You ask slowly, frowning at the mention of Lucifer’s realm. Nobody has ever visited Hell unless they were desperate or insane, and an even lesser number has come out alive. You have had a few visits down to Lucifer’s realm but all visits were either summons from the fallen angel or as yourself serving as a representative of yourself, never of personal reasons. 

“One of the demons have my helm.”

“My lord,” you start, weighing your options. Does he intend you to accompany him? Is this his idea of being kind? You have not heard of any summons for Dream in Hell, so you suspect him to enter uninvited. Having you beside him on his way might give Lucifer an excuse to see your act as some form of war causing more chaos.  “Love is weak in Hell. I am willing to help, but I can only do so little to help you.”

“Fear not, Love,” he says, before helping himself to a peach slice. “I am not asking you to accompany me. This is something i must do alone.”

“Alone? You cannot survive Lucifer alone.”

“I must.”

“What- is this goodbye, then, Morpheus?” You gesture widely to the table and to its extravagant excess of spicy dishes and peaches. “Is this what this is?”

You glance at the table and push your plate away, finding yourself full and suddenly disgusted by the amount of food on the table. Deep inside you didn’t expect this supper to go anywhere, but a small part of you hoped. You would be lying if you said that the naive girl you have pushed away from your earlier years came back. 

Morpheus stays silent at your accusations you scoff. “What happened to your promises? I knew it was never going to last, but your promise had only lasted a mere week.”

“I intend to keep my promises, wife.” Morpheus reminds you gently, like he was talking to a cornered animal. “When I come back-“

“If you come back, my lord.” It isn’t lost to him how you drop back to your courtesies so easily, and how he reverts back to call you wife so quickly. “You and I know you will be walking into a trap.”

“I will come back.” Morpheus growls. Somehow you can always sense his annoyance from miles away. The slightest hint of it was always your cue to go, lest you infuriate him more. 

“Isn’t that what you told Lucienne before you disappeared for a century?” 

You somehow always make him angrier. You make him doubt himself, make him seem like he wasn’t worthy of you. Deep inside he knows its true- he had come back weaker than he was before and had treated you cruelly. You didn’t have to rub it in his face.

A fist bangs at the table making plates and you jump in surprise. “You forget yourself, wife.”

“I am used to it. You have always forgotten me.” You stand, pushing your chair back. You turn around to leave, no destination in mind, just eager to get away from the Dreaming, from Dream-

Morpheus stood unmoved, but his nose flared in anger. “Alright,” he relents, scarily calm. “Who would accompany me? You?”

You stop your tracks immediately. Your head twists slowly back to the table where your husband still sits. His gaze meets yours daringly. “Why do you talk to me like that? Like I am useless.”  You let out a small breath in wonder. Finally, it seems like the haze from your vision cleared, like you had just experienced epiphany. “I mean so little to you, don’t I? You see me as fragile, a weak-”

Morpheus runs a hand over his face exasperatedly. “No, no, that is not what I meant, wife-”

“What else could it mean?” Your voice was getting louder in every word, your voice bouncing off the pristine walls of the dining room. “You are Endless and I am just a goddess, but I am not weak! How dare you call me that.”

“I said no such thing.” Morpheus is shouting now, too. “If I take you to Hell with me and Lucifer bargains you for my helm, what then? I cannot lose you, Love.” He asks widely gesturing to you.

“Your concern over losing me is only a recent development.” You remind him, chest heaving from the deep breaths you take to calm yourself. You watch as Dream’s face softens only for a moment before hardening again. “But what of you?” You ask, forcing your voice to soften. “If you stay there, what then? What of the Dreaming? What of Corinthian who has wrecked further havoc in the waking world? Of loyal Lucienne?” Of me?

“You think I have not thought of that? I am not as wreckless as you think I am.”

“I just ask of you to be careful.” You finally plead, exhaustion finally taking a toll on your body. “I understand that what had happened to you is unfair, but every single choice you make impacts billions. I’ve already lost you once but you seem so eager to go so quickly.”

Morpheus face softens at your declaration. “I have no choice.” Blood boils in your veins. Your warnings go through his ear and comes out of the other so quickly. You feel a hand touch yours and your eyes snap to his to realize he is holding your hand to comfort you. “But I shall bring a someone with me,” he amends. “Matthew.”

As if on cue, his raven caws inside the room and looms up to the crystal chandeliers before landing gracefully on Morpheus’s shoulder. 

Your raven? You want to scream, I am right here! 

“Alright.” You reply instead. 

-

In every single place you would dare not to call anywhere home but your realm. It is here where you feel the most safest, able to let your guard down any time. There is no one more powerful than you here. There is only you and the endless sky stuck in an eternal sunset.

Today your bed is gone and is replaced by a huge mirror that you stand in front of. You have been staring at yourself for hours now wondering what had Morpheus seen in you that made him think of you as fragile. Then something shifts.

It was the feeling of lust that overwhelms you first, then you notice how thick the atmosphere has become making it a little hard to breathe. There is an empty hole in your chest that gape widely and you are flooded with the urge to fill it despite not knowing how.

A voice purrs behind you. “Hello, my love.”

You sigh and turn around to meet your old friend. Desire stands in all their glory in a pristine white suit and pants. 

“Desire, darling,” you greet tiredly, but ever so fondly. The memory of your fight with Morpheus brings a frown on your beautiful face. “Have you come to gloat?”

Desire gave an innocent shrug but their lips smugly curved. “Was I right?”

From the mirror you watch as Desire sashays to where you are, wrapping their arms around your shoulders. Their touch grounds you somehow and you find yourself squeezing your eyes shut for a moment then reaching up to hold their forearms. “Is it wrong to be worried?”

“You are truly astounding. My brother whispers a few good promises and he has you wrapped around his finger.” Desire plays with a stray strand of your hair, golden eyes looking at your locks then to your eyes through the mirror. 

“If it’s any consolation, you were right.” Desire drawls, looking at your eyes through your mirror. They turn their head until his lips are in front of your ears and whisper. “He might not come back.”

as always, if you like my work, please check out my masterlist! dont forget to tell me what you think, your comments make my day <33

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[dulcesiabits]

love me like a bruise.

summary: the only way to know what mhin tastes like is through leander.

notes: 1.5k words, author's notes, mildly suggestive content (mhin and reader implied to be sleeping together), jealousy, alcohol consumption (reader might be drunk and making very bad decisions), very complicated relationships (mhin and leander were once a thing, leander taunts you about mhin, mhin has emotional hangups etc)

“They’ve never even kissed you, have they?”

It’s a low, whispered comment from Leander, one you can barely hear over the sound of raucous laughter and jeering voices crowding the Wet Wick. But your hands tighten around your mug, and you hunch over your murky drink, your reflection peering back at you from the depths.

Leander, elbows pressed lightly on the wooden counter, dips his head in sympathy. “I’m right, aren’t I?”

“It’s none of your business,” you say thinly, but your denial is an answer of itself, and his smile– his damned slippery smile, as repugnant as a slimy fish pulled from the river– only grows.

“I didn’t even say their name,” he says mildly. 

“Shut up.”

Leander clicks his tongue, raising a hand to press on your shoulder. It’s a gentle, insistent pressure, but it roots you to your seat. “I’m just worried about you. I told you, right? That they’re not someone you can trust.”

“I don’t need you to warn me. I can take care of myself,” you say.

“I know, I know. I just want to look out after you.” 

“I don’t need your concern.”

Leander tilts his head, shadows falling across his face. “If you don’t want me to be concerned, then you shouldn’t come into my bar, looking miserable. Then I wouldn’t worry so much.”

In response, you jerk his hand off your shoulder. Leander lets it fall, watching as you pick up your drink and swallow, one long bitter gulp, before slamming it back down on the table. 

“It’s empty. Refill, please, bartender,” you say pointedly.

“As you wish,” he says, picking it up and disappearing down the corner.

You watch the crush of bodies around you, lovers intoxicated on Leander’s shitty drinks curled around each other like cats, friends throwing down cards and chips on damp tables, all cast in a dim green sheen from the hanging lights.

You’re the only one here alone. Maybe if Ais or Vere or even Kuras were around tonight, you wouldn’t need to drink to feel like you also had someone you belonged to.

There is one person that you particularly want to be by your side, who would chase away all your bitter feelings, but you don’t know if they feel the same. Because, gods, Leander is right. They’re the one person you really want to be by your side, and the one person farthest from reach.

Mhin. Your partner, in more ways than one. Your business partner, of course. The two of you get along particularly well in that regard, scouring the streets of Eridia for information. But it’s also easy to slip into their bed every night, to brush their silver hair across the pillow, to cup their reddening face. But they’re always gone in the morning. They would let you hold them, but never any further than that.

The first time you tried to kiss them, they cupped their hand around your mouth, eyes like flint. “Don’t.” And so you had to make do with biting their neck, teeth sinking sharper than a kiss, running a thumb over the marks which would fade in time. 

You never tried to kiss them again, even though their plump lips and the kissable mole next to the corner of their mouth was irresistible. 

It’s funny, in all honesty. How they spurned you from holding their hand on the streets, flinching away like an alley cat, but they never refused your touch at night. It was a line you weren’t allowed to cross, the message as clear as day: you could desire them, but you couldn’t love them.

And so you’re stuck, in a relationship of push and pull. How far are you allowed to go? What did it mean, to Mhin, for the two of you to be together?

As if summoned by your thoughts, someone slinks through the half open-door like a dream. It’s Mhin. They haven’t seen you yet, so you take a few moments to observe them, the way they dodge effortlessly between stumbling bodies, hood drawn tight over their face.

Cute. They’re cute, and you will never meet a person as beautiful as them again.

A drink clunks down in front of you, heavy with foam. Leander puts his hand on your shoulder, pulling you back to face him. He’s still smiling, but there’s an edge to it now. He leans closer, an intimate gesture.

“They’re cute, I know,” he whispers, his breath fogging your ear. “A good kisser, too. I didn’t expect it, the first time we were together.”

Before you know what you’re doing, your hands are grasping his lapels, and you’re yanking him closer to you. What sort of expression are you making? Your eyes are wavering, hazy, and your teeth are bared in a snarl. The alcohol is pounding through your head. “Shut up, Leander.”

You don’t care. You don’t care if Mhin has been with other people. So have you. It’s none of your business. That’s not what your relationship is. Mhin has drawn a firm line. You know where you stand in their life.

“Do you want to know?” Leander whispers. “What they taste like?” His eyes, dark and heavy, hover over your lips.

You kiss him. But it’s not a kiss, because you are all lips and teeth, and Leander is pliant underneath you as you rip his mouth apart, like a waiting prey animal. There’s the taste of cheap ale, and not much else as you devour him. You tug his lower lip between your teeth, biting hard enough to break skin. He gasps as you pull back, blood beading along his lip.

“Wow,” he says wonderingly, drawing one thumb to wipe along his lip, licking at his own blood. “You’re wilder than I expected.”

You’re panting as you wipe your hand across your mouth. Is this anything like what happened when Mhin and Leander kissed? Did they kiss him like this? Or did he kiss them? “Shut up. I’m never doing this again.”

Leander jerks a thumb behind you, and you whirl to see Mhin, with a hardened expression, watching the two of you. They meet your eyes, and duck their head, turning towards the exit. You stumble out of your seat.

“I’ll see you soon,” Leander calls after you, but you ignore him as you slam past complaining patrons and out the door, the cool night air whipping you in the face after the stale warmth of the Wet Wick.

Where is Mhin? What are they thinking? Did they see? How much did they see?

There’s a pale hand wrapping around your wrist, and the alcohol makes your steps clumsy and head fuzzy as someone drags you to a nearby alley, slamming you against the rough brick wall. Mhin. It’s Mhin, and their eyes are as sharp as a blade against your neck.

“What were you thinking?” they hiss.

“What?” you say.

“Kissing him! Kissing Leander!” they say again. They still have a hold on your wrist, and their grip is bruising.

“Why not?” you say. “What does it matter who I kiss? It’s not like we have that sort of relationship, right?”

They reel back as if you’ve slapped them, dropping your hand. You almost miss their touch. You wonder if it’ll leave a mark in the morning, just like a hickey. “Leander is… not someone you can trust,” they say.

“Funny. He said that about you, too. Mhin… why do you care so much?” Now you’re stepping towards them, and they move backwards slowly with each step you take, right until they’re the one backed against the wall. You lean in so close you can see the sweat beading along their cheek, the faint scent of iron and flesh. “Who were you jealous of?”

“What?”

“Who were you more jealous of?” you whisper into their ear, sensing how Mhin tenses beneath you, their heart racing like a trapped animal. “Me, or Leander? I mean, you won’t kiss me, but you’ll kiss him. How am I supposed to understand that?”

They shove you, hard, and you almost trip over your own feet before they grab you hastily, pulling you upright.

“You’re drunk,” they spit out. But there’s something raw in their eyes, fragile. “Go home. You don’t even know what you’re saying right now.”

They’re holding onto your elbow, gently guiding you back to the entrance of the Wet Wick. Why are they holding you like this? It’s so unfair. They should just leave you drunk in the alleyway, not take care of you like they worry over what happens to you. Neither of you speak, and they pull open the door for you.

“Leander will at least help you to your bed,” they mutter to themself, as if you aren’t right there. “So it should be fine as long as he can see you… And you’ll be around people…”

“Mhin,” you whisper, and they glance at you, and down at your lips as your mouth moves. “Will you kiss me?”

They close their eyes, lips pressed tight, as if they’re making a wish. You can’t read their expression anymore as they push you through the door. “Just go home.”

The door shuts behind you like a tomb, and you’re enveloped in the noisy, warm, damp atmosphere of the bar again. You press your thumb against your bottom lip, chasing the lingering taste of your drunken kiss. Maybe if you close your eyes, you can find Mhin’s taste there.

[tadpolesonalgae]

Play-mate[***]

Dark!Rhysand x reader

a/n: something so comforting about writing dark!character fics (is that worrying?)

Warnings: dark!Rhys, non-con, light choking, smut, fingering, degradation, brief impact ‘play’, overstimulation, squirting, nipple play, dumbification, breeding kink, this is a sequel to Desk Pet but can be read on its own

Word Count: 7, 245

-Desk Pet- -Two-Faced-

Perhaps the one pleasure you can still keep safe is those rare but precious nights he works late. The ones where you’re allowed to resign yourself to lethargy, fatigue soothing your muscles as you melt across the small pallet that lays beside his own, much larger bed. Relaxing into the soft sponginess of the plump bedding, silky smooth fur swelling around your body as the plushness dips, swallowed by the single thick blanket you’re allowed in the winters.

With the darkness covering the lands so swiftly, you often find yourself lighting a few candles, disliking the obtrusive glow of the fae lights, plucking a thick book from his shelves, and curling up to read upon your meagre but wonderful pallet. Something more likely to be offered to a pet than a fae, but somehow large enough to comfortably contain you.

In your world of passiveness, it’s the single joy you’re allowed—reading on a cold winter night, tucked up cozily with a book, left entirely to yourself. No rough palms bruising your jaw, no deft fingers pushing into the slippery wetness of your mouth, nor touches that hurt more than frostbite.

Hairs at the nape of your neck stand on end, raising across your bare body, still kept entirely naked for his ease, and you discard the book, noting the page number. The wet roughness of your tongue swipes across the soft pads of your fingers, suffocating the tiny flames swiftly, keeping your digits flush until the skin stings, careful to keep too much smoke from filtering to the air. You want him to think you’re asleep—he’s less likely to take interest if he knows you won’t be reluctant. Less likely.

Freshly oiled hinges swing open silently, but you know he’s entered the chambers and you remain mostly concealed beneath the thick blanket, the soft cotton brushing your shoulders, hiding the intimate skin of your breasts.

The night before he’d taken a particular liking to them, teething across the aching peaks, suckling them into his mouth one at a time, grinding for a seemingly endless period between your legs, only the cloth of his finely tailored trousers protecting you from him. He’d bitten, sucked, pinched and flicked at your breasts until he’d finally been satiated from whatever sexual interest had initially grasped him. Tongue soothing the raw peaks, swollen and freshly-licked from attention, gleaming in the low lights like candy.

Now they ache more intensely, small threads of soreness plucking through your chest, small throbs of pain soothed into your flesh like a balm being rubbed into skin until it’s absorbed by the surrounding tissue. Brought in and softened, slowly seeping across your breasts, nipples still aching most acutely.

You hear him now, walking on cat-soft feet across the wooden panelling, skin prickling with familiar awareness as his attention skates over you like how your eyes would have, at some moment deep in the past, scanned your own bedroom upon entering it. Counting your belongs, making sure nothing had been displaced or removed without your knowledge: potted plants still sitting pretty along the windowsill; candles still decorating the side table; clothes folded unobtrusively atop a chest of draws to be put away. And so as your eyes would have once mindlessly catalogued your belongings, now his brush over you, curled neatly to the side of his bed, waiting patiently for use.

The thought has a kind of disgust rising in your stomach, one you thought had long since been numbed. Becoming so warped and twisted it would never flare again. Yet here it is, sitting gelatinously at the back of your mouth, resting fully in your throat, as if waiting to be regurgitated—spat out and disposed of so it’s no longer a bother.

He pauses adjacent to your bed, and you wonder if he’s reassessing your positioning. If he should have instead set your pallet at the foot of his bed so he wouldn’t be tasked with travelling to the other side for access. Instead the sound of muffled fabric floats to your pointed ears, conditioned to recognise all of his noises: onyx black buttons being slotted through midnight blue holes; fabric whispering as it’s shucked off broad shoulders that can carry the width of your waist, having been unkindly tossed over it more than once; ties that rasp like rope, and he pulls them free, loosening the band of his trousers before leaving to prop himself upon the bed, likely removing the rest of the clothes before disappearing into another room.

Even in the moments of his absence, his sense clings to you, as if he’s somehow been granted ubiquitous sight, observing you while he should not be able to. His magic settles in the air, thick and dense, like the fog that pools in valleys, masking the dangerous potholes and rocks that manage to stumble themselves into one’s pathway, creating a lethal road to navigate.

Sheets rustle, and you realise he must have re-entered at some point, having gone undetected as your mind helplessly wandered, seeking escape from the dreadful pleasure he so regularly subjects you to, forcing you to take long, languid drives of his hips, hands pulling and tangling with your hair, intrusive power seeping into your mind, controlling you from the inside out.

It’s only once he’s seemingly settled that you allow yourself to consider a hell-free night. Liberated, if only temporarily, from his deep aches and contagious pain. How he enjoys putting his sickness into your body, releasing his cruelty upon your bones, like you’ve done something wrong enough to be deserving of his inflictions.

Sheets rustle again, and your heart stumbles despite even breaths, ones that are deep and regular, suggesting peaceful sleep in the hopes of remaining undetected by his attention.

“I know you’re awake,” he says lowly.

Your skin prickles tightly, littered with goosebumps as his words send small thorns pushing into your tender flesh. He shifts on the bed, and you can feel as his eyes settle, taking in your form and the things he’s free to do to it.

“You think pretending to sleep will save you from me?” He asks, mirth clear in his honeyed voice, softer than satin, softer even than a lover’s, like warm clouds and fresh feathers. “Do you have any preference for what happens tonight?” He asks idly, as if speculating upon an item from a menu, considering his options with careless interest. He will get a meal no matter what he decides on.

Roughened fingers grip your shoulder firmly, and you fight the jolt that urges to burst through, remaining tight but relaxed, melting into the softness of your floor bed, willing him away. Willing yourself to appear quiet and uninteresting. For a short moment it appears to work, his touch leaving your dirtied skin, pulling back into the great warmth his own bed, as if he’s a beast who’s curling his tail in preparation for sleep, coiled tight to whip out at a moment’s notice.

But then the sheets rustle again, and a firm heat snakes down, slinking down as his power pulls back the corner of your blanket, allowing the naked sturdiness of him to collect at your back. One arm slides beneath your rib cage, folding at the joint to wrap across your middle, his large palm gripping the curve of your waist, pulling you flush to his chest while his free hand trails between your breasts, fingers feathering up to your throat, wrapping around the comparatively small extension. A heightened pulse drums against his digits, bumping against his tight hold, alerting him to your own awareness. Lips stretch beside your ear, hot mouth grazing its shell as he strokes your hip like you’re a pet to be soothed.

“Nothing to say for yourself, or do you simply not care?” He asks mildly. The sinister question registers fully in your mind, already beginning to shut down in attempts to preserve what little pieces you have left that he hasn’t already touched. “You were so vocal for me last night. What happened?” He laughs softly, the arm beneath you shifting so his fingers can graze your ribs, stroking just below your breast, still aching from his rough attention. He squeezes your throat a little tighter, eyes prickling with the pressure, the burning in the bridge of your nose. You won’t ask him to stop—you’d only be wasting your breath.

The High Lord hums at your back as if he’s disappointed by your lack of a response, put off now you aren’t doing as he likes, a small reminder while he may have control of almost everything in your life, he cannot control your thoughts. Or rather, if he did, there would be nothing left of you to enjoy: if he continues to replace small pieces of yourself, is it still you he’s playing with?

He releases your throat in favour of dipping to your breasts, the arm beneath you skating over the softness of your stomach, brushing with a feather-light touch over your abdomen, feeling the slight flutter of tension beneath his fingertips. Rhysand brings his mouth lower, suctioning over a small spot below your jaw, trailing along the tendon keeping your head to your shoulders, following to your collar bone. “Should I give these some more attention?” He inquires, and you bite back a pained noise as he pinches your nipple, tugging lightly on the bruised peak.

His other hand drops lower, exploring the familiar area leading between your legs that you’ve preemptively tried to lock together. The digits pause, feeling your obstinance, your clear reluctance to let him touch you any further, and he hums approvingly, pleased with your resistance. “Better,” he murmurs onto your skin, even as his magic wraps tightly around your thigh and ankle, pulling you back to lean against his chest, guiding your leg over his hips. You squirm at the invasive press of him between your thighs, gently forced open as his mouth latches over the intimate skin of your throat, lapping up your flavour as if he isn’t in possession of such sheer power that he’s able to have you whenever he pleases—and fully takes advantage of it.

Lips part as he cups your heat, pressure building behind your eyes as his fingers splay across the intimate part, lazily taking his time, both going slow for his own enjoyment and for your torture, making sure it’s dragged out as long as possible. He doesn’t want this to be something you can switch off for a few minutes a day, he needs it to be hours long, twisting you until you fit the shape of him, so wary and worn from taking him you end up bending and slotting to hold his impression within your bones. His finger presses to your clit and he relishes in the flinch he feels within your stomach and thighs, desperately suppressed on your side in attempts to keep his hunger at bay, as if the possibility of remaining indifferent to him might stave off the ferocious starvation than comes alive in him every night without fail.

“One day, lovely lamb, you’re going to break,” he whispers against the shell of your ear, digits lazily circling as he plays with you mindlessly, so well familiarised with your body he no longer needs to pay attention to where he’s touching—it will always be the right spot. “You’re going to shatter for me, and fall apart at my feet. All soft and pliable. Begging for me to either give you the pleasure you’ve spent so long resisting and hating, or for me to give you your end right then and there.” His fingers slide lower, his touch dripping across your skin as he flicks across your nipple, drawing a pained inhale from your mouth, caught off guard.

“Would you like to know what happens after that point?” He asks mildly, as if he can’t feel the way you’re trembling in his arms from the effort of keeping yourself together when he can pull you apart with such ease. There’s always that edge of terror when you’re forced to lie with him, that he might one day tire of your resistance and pluck at your mind for good, banish your rationality and lock it up somewhere, or simply annihilate it completely. That one day, he might decide to go into your mind, and steal it from you entirely, take control of you and make you truly beg for him like he enjoys seeing, having you perform for him dumbly, crawling toward him across the floor, touching yourself upon his bed, pleasuring him of your own accord. The fear never leaves you, that he might one day decide to make use of his daemati powers, and leverage them against you.

His palm smacks across your cheek, digits digging into the soft muscle of your jaw as he grips you punishingly, drawing you away from the torment of your inner thoughts. “Are you sure you want to do this dance tonight?” He asks lowly, able to feel the tautness of your limbs, how you’re trying not to squirm or recoil, trying not to fight against him. “I’m in a rather pleasant mood for once. I would suggest you try to appeal to my better side,” he advises coldly, hot lips brushing bare skin. “Is that clear?”

“Go to hell,” you manage weakly, tremors making their way into your voice.

The High Lord’s lips stretch into something wicked and pleased, hand sliding down to your throat, tilting your head so you’re leaning to give him more access, his grip swallowing your back whole. A low sound of pleasure drags from his chest, hips rolling languidly into your hind, fingers slipping lower to bask in the stiffness of your body as he presses to your entrance, leg still hooked over his hip so you can’t prevent it. Disgust crawls across your body, having your skin tighten with awareness and attention, focusing on where his touch is branding you, burning in his handprints so they’ll never leave your soul.

“You don’t like it when I touch you?” He provokes, hungry for resistance. “From the amount of times you’ve come on my fingers alone, I would have thought you like the way I can make you crumble.” His digits circle your entrance, keeping you pulled flush against his chest, forced to lean your weight onto his shoulder as he pushes in, and you want to scream at the invasion. How many times has it been, and yet it never gets any better, skin constantly soaked in oil, doused from head to toe in it so thoroughly you wish for a match to end you. One spark, and you’d be gone, blessedly free of him. Perhaps at last released to a place away from his touch, a world where you’re clean and safe, and you’d never met him.

Or at least, he’d never have forced you to be his.

Maybe there could have been a happy ending.

“I hate you,” you manage to hiss out, trying to ignore the sensation of his fingers pumping slowly, curling against spots he has no right to know or touch with such familiarity, digits dragging in and out until slick has begun to coalesce to prevent pain. Again he hums, and it sounds encouraging, like he wants you to repeat it, like the words give life to him, allow him to continue to thrive and feed off you. “I hate you,” you say again, voice breaking from how many times you’ve said so, and yet it never encapsulates the depth of betrayal that squirms in your gut, the anger and frustration that once burned in your chest at the severe maltreatment. Things could have turned out differently, if only…

“I hate you so much, Rhys.”

Pressure spills over, quietly dripping down your cheeks, hot water splashing down into the pillows. You don’t want to cry in front of him, don’t want to allow him that emotional proximity. He’s taken so much from you, it’s unfair that he will ruin this, too. His fingers graze a spot deeper, and your breath catches, familiar heat beginning to take root in the pit of your belly, that disgusting, shameful arousal he puts into your body, something you shouldn’t feel, ever, for him.

“I’m glad to know you feel so strongly for me,” he replies lowly, nipping at the tip of your ear, reminding you of all the other unpleasant things he’s served to you, the ways he’s used those teeth upon your body to summon pain to your skin. You wish he wouldn’t. If just for one night he would soften his touch, lessen the brutality he likes to play your body with.

If you gave into him…would he be nicer? You don’t understand where the thought comes from, but your mind has taken a severe turn since he first put his hands on you, rarely anymore surprised by the things that come and go, drifting by like leaves on the wind. Instead you allow yourself to ponder it, plucking it from the mellow streams of thought, cupping it in your hands to examine a little longer. Would it be worth it? The degradation of following along with him to grant yourself some reprieve? If it’s the only way to maintain your sanity, to keep yourself intact, isn’t that all that matters?

You dare experiment, trying to soften the tension in your muscles, to force yourself to melt over him, to reduce the tautness that’s been tightly stitched into your seams, until you’d become rigid and stiff. He’s surprisingly comfy, body slotting against yours, fingers continuing to slide in and out, and you manage to lean into him, skin pressing to skin, bare and prickling with awareness. You could swear one of his exhales sounds eerily like a laugh, like he’s enjoying watching you attempt to save yourself, but it’s something different, something more sinister you have yet to guess at. That perhaps he’s got some larger plot, and you’re falling nicely into place, manoeuvred by an unseen force.

“Enjoying yourself, lamb?” He asks beside your ear, a shiver passing down your spine at the lover’s caress. Teeth bite together against the sickening pleasure he’s bringing out of you through pumps and curls of his fingers, the base of his palm rolling into your clit. A small sound jumps from your tongue, a wash of heat soothing the pressure across your abdomen. Words of agreement rise to your lips in answer to his question, but you swallow them down thickly, feeling the syllables lodge in your throat beneath his palm. “I hate you,” you repeat, the only things left you can use as a defence, but even those three words seem to be losing their bite as your head lolls against his shoulder.

“You hate me?” Rhys breathes as he drags his fingers out fully, wetness trailing up your abdomen as he raises his hand to your mouth, just another obscene act he likes to watch you perform. The fixation he has with your mouth has never previously taken your attention, seemingly appearing as a familiar gesture when having intimacies with another person, yet you dwell on it for a little longer than usual when he runs the slick pads of his fingers over your lips. The digits part, and you can make out silvery strings connecting them together, like the threads of a cobweb.

“Open,” he goads, and your mouth parts without having to be asked twice. The taste blooms across your tongue, stark arousal that sparks heat in your lower body as he presses his fingers down, causing you to choke, gagging lightly as your throat contracts. His hips roll into yours at the sound, and you’re reminded of what other horrors he has yet to inflict upon you tonight.

“Aren’t you being good,” he whispers beside your ear, soft as silk, warm as freshly baked bread. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you this docile. Feeling tired?” The remark should have been a warning to stay aware, you know firsthand that he’ll pounce at the first sign of lethargy. “Answer me,” he orders, but it’s with an ineffable lilt you’re unable to put your finger on. Like he’s finding something amusing, taking pleasure in being able to understand the bigger picture while you’re left to dumbly stumble to and fro, seeking the right path that he can see from high above and chooses to keep secret from you.

The words form in your mind, yes. I am tired. yet they come out softened and muffled, contorted as you babble them onto his long, elegant fingers that are lightly massaging your flavour into the hot, wet muscle. Fatigue weighs atop your lids, and you try again, I am tired, and I wish I could sleep myself away from you, but again, your words are scrambled, garbled into a slushy mess of syllables that feel like froth. Like trying to bite down on sea foam.

He laughs lowly, hips grinding into your backside, pulling his digits away, revealing the wetness that’s now soaking them, slathered in saliva, dripping with silvery weight and you watch distantly as they make the pathway back down your body, sliding effortlessly back into your heat. They push in softly, easing in their return, curling against spots that have you pulling against the urge to widen the stance of your legs.

The fight is often on both sides: why he’s so draining to be at the mercy of. On one hand there is your despair, the visceral hatred and frustration, the betrayal that could splinter your bones with its ferocity; on the other there is the overwhelming pleasure, coming with an intensity that regularly and repeatedly threatens to upend you entirely, to buck you off your wobbly standing and throw you to the floor with the sheer pleasure he knows how to deal you.

Shallow pants reach your ears, and you realise they are coming from your own mouth, pouring like a babbling stream as the unwilling sounds of pleasure crest on your tongue, skin heating as he presses tighter to your naked body, skin flush to skin, sharing heat in what should be an intimate display of affection, not such a gross abuse of power. Humiliation burns across your cheeks as you move your leg further over his hip, leaning more heavily into the supportive expanse of his chest, hands clutching the silky fur of your pallet.

His laugh whispers against your neck, breath fanning erotically across your throat and you shiver, inhaling softly as his long fingers continue to curl inside of you, beckoning you forward to the high he’s pulling up to blossom and bloom across your skin. “Does that feel good?” He asks softly, mischief prominent in his tone. “Knowing you’re going to be coming on my fingers? That I’m taking this from you, too?” A garbled sound floats from your mouth as the heel of his palm rolls across your clit, digits playing with you lazily, drawing pleasure up from the depths of your body as if his fingers possess the powers of dowsing rods, actively seeking out the spots that will swell with heat, flood your body with mind numbing goodness to have you melting into him.

The ridges of your nails scrape against the bedding, breaths stuttering out as he licks up your neck, gleaming white teeth grazing across the well-bitten skin, having been nipped at and had his mark stamped into you endlessly the night before. He hums absently, hand releasing your throat to drop lower, trailing between your breasts, and a drop of dread is dispersed across your conscious, like ink into water. “No…” you breathe weakly, heat building behind your eyes as he thumbs across your breast. “Rhys, please,” you mumble desperately, anxious to spare yourself from the sensitivity, the pain you’ll be exposed to should he choose to continue with his recent fixation on your breasts.

He groans at your back, palming at your chest, arousal concentrating in his veins as your body arches against him, bowing from his torso as pleasure and pain twine together. “Stop it,” you breathe, flinching as he pinches lightly at your nipple, rolling the abused peak between his fingers, tugging to call up more of your sweet pleas, the words that fuel his sadism, stoking the embers of his hunger, whetting his appetite for your reactions. “No? You don’t like this?” He croons beside your ear, talking down to you as if his words need to be dumbed down to be digestible. “Want me to touch you somewhere else?”

The High Lord grazes the ridge of his nail over the peak of your breast, and you gasp, body recoiling into his chest, scent wrapping more firmly around you, infiltrating your lungs, short circuiting your mind as your lids flutter. Your breaths shallow, mindlessly trying to seek out the source of your pain as pleasure pools between your legs, his fingers summoning heat. Weakly, your hand fumbles across the bedding, blindly searching for an end to the soreness. Nails scratch at his knuckles unintentionally, but his hips buck nonetheless, biting gently at your neck. Clumsily you grip at his wrist, muscles weak from his ministrations as you try to pull him away, breathing heavily as you paw at his hand, desperate to find reprieve. Fingers slide between his, curling over into the top of his palm, weakly trying to pry him from your breasts.

“Please…” you pant, hips rolling down onto his fingers, tingling pleasure becoming more and more difficult to ignore, grabbing for your attention as slick drips across your thighs, Rhys creating a sloppy mess with his hand, palm wet as the heel glides across your clit. “Rhys…” you pant, fingers trembling, unable to release him, hands entwined but at least you’re being spared from his pain-soaked touch.

He inhales softly, nosing at your throat, groaning as he feels you tighten once around his fingers, and he knows you’re close, that once again he’s going to pull yet another piece from you, like separating raw cotton, the pieces weakly grasping onto one another, as strong as water-soaked paper beneath his hold. “Ready?” He asks, and you gasp, trying to shake your head, nails digging into his skin as you press his hand to your sternum, as if in doing so you have some sort of control over what he does to you. “No,” you cry softly, “not again. Please, I can’t. Please no.”

A rough groan grazes your skin, and goosebumps rise in its wake. “You don’t want to come?” He murmurs, his breathing pattern shifting, hand pulling away from yours with despairing ease, sliding back up to your throat, hand gripping your jaw and the tingling pleasure begins its countdown, the slow ticking until you shatter, unable to do anything save for squeeze your eyes shut, hands scrambling to try and pull away from him, writhing weakly in his dominating hold. “Rhys…Rhys, please…no…!”

He roughly tips your jaw, flinching beneath his touch, gasping from shock before he puts his mouth over yours, tongue dipping in as he angles you correctly. A shocked whimper spills into his mouth that he drinks down hungrily, caught off guard as his body shifts, sliding slightly out from beneath you while his fingers continue working you. Fear pounds through your body, heightening the acuteness of pleasure and you writhe in his hold, struggling violently but somehow it only results in your legs spreading wider, hips bucking fervently onto his hand, grinding against his palm as you moan into his mouth, jaw opening wider as he takes you for his own.

The piercing edge of of terror sharpens your pleasure, and you cry out into his mouth, sounds the High Lord steals away, satiating himself as teeth nip at your lips, hand squeezing your throat, reminding you of his dominion over your body, his touch demanding utter submission as you flutter wildly around his fingers, hips stuttering against his palm. The pleasure explodes across your skin, body arcing off him, grinding against him in a way you know you’ll hate yourself for once the buzzing sensations subside.

He laughs lowly once your high fades, fingers pressing back in fully as he detaches himself from your mouth, partially atop your body as he gazes down at you intently, attention pinning you to the pallet as he curls his digits gently but firmly, taking in the rise and fall of your chest; the way your breath hitches; your brows curve, eyes gleaming with wetness he’s anxious to have spill over. “Such a whore,” he whispers onto your mouth, more tenderly than he’s ever spoken to you. His hand finally retracts, dragging up over your clit, puffy and sore from attention, and you feel yourself fracture a little more from the humiliation.

“You’re disgusting,” you breathe out, forcing venom into your tone, his hellish mouth parting into a feline curve. “You’re the one who just came on my fingers,” he says with silky smoothness, “should I remind you?” Before you can protest he’s rolled on top of you, keeping you pinned to the pallet as his fingers again slide between your lips. You struggle weakly, but he presses his hips against your own, keeping you incapacitated with frustrating ease, feeling the evidence of his own arousal poking obtrusively into your lower body.

“Can you taste that?” He laughs, watching as you struggle pointlessly, his hunger becoming harder and harder to resist, grinding against the alluring wetness of your heat. “Taste how much you liked it? See how wet you got?” He groans as he glides through the slick between your thighs, coating himself, bucking his hips as his fingers press down on your tongue. “Gods I’m going to fuck you so well,” he says lowly, mirth clear as he taunts you. “You’re practically dripping onto your bed, getting it all wet and dirty,” he muses breathlessly. “Such a whore.”

Your hands grip his wrist, both of them desperately trying to pull him out of your mouth, making his lips curve with amusement, enjoying your struggle. “Don’t be so ungrateful,” he drawls, pushing his fingers in further until you gag, throat constricting around his digits as tears gather at the edge of your lashes. He curses lowly, colour tinting his tan skin as saliva gleams on your lips, spilling over like how your cunt does when he stuffs you full, dripping down your thighs and creating a slippery mess. “So pretty,” he murmurs breathlessly, rubbing his fingers over your tongue, feeling it’s velvety heat. Your breath catches at the murmured praise, so rarely compensated for the harsh treatment he forces on you.

His own breathing patterns have turned irregular, arousal piercing his mind as his gaze remains locked with your own, and that starving hunger returns in full force, eyes rolling briefly as he settles on what he’s going to use you for tonight.

The High Lord pulls away from you, allowing you not even a second’s reprieve before his hands are pushing your legs apart, raising them up as he rolls his hips forward, gliding through your wetness. “So wet,” he groans, fingers biting into the soft flesh of your thighs, slick somehow having made its way even there, and he can’t bring himself to wait any longer.

You try to brace yourself for the intrusion, a mix of disgust and hatred building in your stomach with equal parts arousal, knowing from experience how sickeningly right it feels, how he fills you up so completely you’re rendered temporarily mute. “Don’t,” you beg, heart pounding as he lines himself up, tip pressing to the soft indentation between your legs. You close your eyes briefly, hands still weakly trying to push him off you despite his overwhelming strength. “You can’t do this,” you cry out, knowing how sensitive you are, how he’ll no doubt take full advantage of that and not in a pleasant way.

“Shut up,” he grits out, violet flicking sharply as it pierces into you. “Don’t you ever get tired of protesting so much? Whining and complaining at every moment no matter how well I treat you. Such a selfish brat.” He practically spits the words, and humiliation burns through your lower body, opening your mouth to spew back vitriol but he pushes in, hips flushing tight to your own, feeling the bump he’s put into your stomach. He groans lowly, panting as he grinds against your cunt, abdomen rubbing over your clit and your toes curl, back arching at the fullness, having his teeth flash in a vindictive grin.

“You fucking like this, don’t you?” He accuses, pushing your thighs wider, raising your hips, allowing him to settle deeper, feeling as he presses further, stealing the breath from your lungs. Lips part as you try to form words but you’re unable to do anything, grasping for thoughts but it’s as though he’s shoved everything out of you. “Such a liar,” he groans out, hands leaving your thighs to settle further up your body, caging you in as he draws his hips back. “Is the reluctance part of your act? Pretending to resist so you can feel how helpless you are? How easy it is to shove you down? Fuck I could take you whenever, wherever I liked.”

You tighten around him as he sinks back in, pressing flush to your heat, adding a roll to his hips so he rubs against those spots he’d abused with his fingers, having you gasp sharply, nipples peaking as your back arches. “You’re a monster,” you pant, unable to focus on his hazy figure as pleasure sizzles in the pit of your stomach. “You’re…you…I hate you.”

“Say that again,” he breathes, picking up the pace, hitting those overstimulated spots and your press your lips together, trying to keep your cries to yourself. “I fucking hate you,” you hiss out, feeling him twitch inside you, and you realise the protests are turning him on more. Disgust crawls across your skin, realising you’ve been complicit in his pleasure. But the words have already started, and you’re suddenly unable to control it as your thoughts begin spilling from your lips. “I hate you so fucking much,” you cry, “so fucking much. I hate you. I hate you so much. You’re a fucking psycho, sadistic bastard. I hope you fucking burn.”

His hips stutter, panting as he pulls away from your body, fingers biting into your hips as he begins slamming in, making you bump up the pallet as he fucks you into the bed. “Gods you’re so perfect,” he growls, brows furrowed; pupils fully dilated with hunger. “And you’re all mine. All mine, every hour of every day. Do you like that? I can do this whenever I want. Make you scream. Scream until your throat is raw and your legs are shaking.” His hips buck roughly and you bite back a cry at the sharp pleasure, the overwhelming fullness. “I’m going to fuck you so full,” he groans, and for some sick reason, arousal blossoms across your abdomen, a fresh wave of wetness slicking your thighs, squelching noises spilling from your cunt as he drives into you with a conviction that’s both terrifying and obsessive.

“Yes…!” The word is out before you can censor it, and he laughs darkly, pouncing on the lapse greedily. “I knew it,” he growls, “fucking liar. You like this. Can you feel that?” Before you can get a handle on your thoughts again, a moan flutters from your tongue, hands grappling wildly for purchase, seeking stability as his hips drive roughly into you, bucking with a fervour that has you arching from the bedding, scratching at his forearms. His hand splays across your abdomen and you cry out as he presses down, the orgasm building much faster, pleasure ringing in your ears as a heat like sunlight blossoms across your body.

“Rhys,” you moan, brows pulled tight and it’s as though that one cry urges him on, pounding harder, pace increasing as magic flares, the ghostly outline of wings emerging at his back. His hand grips your jaw, tilting your head so you’re forced to look at him as he pounds into you. “Gods you’re such a slut. You should see how you’re taking me, practically swallowing me whole, such a greedy cunt, isn’t that right?” He pulls back, landing a hard smack to your cheek before gripping your throat again, dragging you up from the pallet as your thighs are forced apart from how he’s pressing against you. “I’m going to fuck you so full you won’t be able to move without my cum spilling out. So full you won’t be able to think straight, that you’re going to be able to feel how much is inside you, tucked away where it belongs.”

Your mouth parts in a moan, hands being forced to lock over his shoulders to relieve the pressure on your spine. “Would you like that? Do you like that idea? Knowing you’ll have part of me so deep inside of you at all times? Gods you’re going to swell up from how full I’m going to fuck you.” His words splash across your skin and pleasure spills between your legs, heat coiling in on itself before breaking across your skin, fluttering around him.

Rhys watches as you come, body writhing as he keeps you trapped on your pallet, cock driving in repeatedly as the overwhelming pleasure has your eyes rolling back, muscles seizing, butterflies fluttering as you jerk from the force of the orgasm. “Please, Rhys stop! I— I can’t—” you gasp, body going taut from the sheer intensity. “What was that?” He pants, lips curving as he fucks you through it. “You want more? Want me to fuck you until you can’t think? What a good girl.”

In one movement he’s flipped you over, roughly handling your body so you’re forced onto your hands and knees, arms shaking, mouth parting to scream for him to stop but then he’s slamming in again, picking up the pace from before but now you’re so much more sensitive and tears spill down your cheeks, utterly undone. A soundless scream parts your lips, his hands putting bruises into your hips as he slams you back onto his cock, slick spilling down your thighs as overstimulation fries your brain.

“Fuck that’s it. Finally learning to take what I give you. You like that?” Your eyes blink wildly as the pleasure becomes too much, tears dripping down your cheeks. “Say it,” he snarls, “come on, admit how fucking high I can take you. How you love the way I fuck you.” You babble messily, words fluttering nonsensically, crying, screaming, panting as saliva spills from your open mouth, unable to shut it and your lungs can’t take the intensity. “I-I love it,” you cry, “please, R-Rhys…!”

His hips buck sharply against a spot, breath hitching from your obedience and it triggers something in you, pleasure unlatching as you gush around him. Rhys curses, low and viciously as you squirt, arms shaking as his magic presses up against your abdomen, the pressure making you dumb. “So fucking perfect,” he moans, “say it. Say you’re my perfect little toy, tell me how much you fucking love what I do to you.” His hand drops to your thigh and you scream when he cocks your leg, the angle turning you into a sloppy mess, arms giving out as your face buries into the bedding, back arching deliciously as you soak him.

Rhys snarls, power wrapping around your hips to keep slamming you back on him as his fist tangles in your hair, pulling you up. “Say it,” he snarls, “fucking say it.”

“I love it!” You scream, voice breaking as your thighs are spread wider, his hips bucking to target the spots and terror burns across your skin as overstimulation turns into fresh pleasure. “I’m— I’m your perfect…your perfect little toy!” You scream again, another orgasm bursting across your skin and your world is spotted through with white dots, body trembling as his hips smack against the backs of your thighs, feeling at last as he twitches once before releasing deep inside of you.

Even in your daze you can feel how it’s more than usual, much more. Feel how he fills you up, spilling out, stomach inflating with how much he’s pumping into you. He releases your hair, returning to grip your hips, pounding into your puffy, swollen cunt, allowing you to flop forward into the bedding, head down ass up as the shockwaves of his thrusts pass through you, dumb moans babbling softly from your mouth, muffled by the soft but damp fur of your bed.

His thrusts turn sloppy, hips grinding against you as his breathing stutters, cum spurting from his tip, continuing to fill you up over and over, panting heavily, sweat glistening on tan skin. “Fuck,” he pants breathlessly, “you still there?” He asks, pulling back a little.

A muffled whimper floats up to him, and he sighs contentedly, gaze dropping to the smooth curve of your spine. He gathers his energy, body curving over yours as he roughly pushes his hips back to your own, tight to flushed skin and you cry out weakly. His hand presses across your abdomen, the other curving round your throat, pulling you from the bedding. Tears have dampened your gleaming cheeks, lips swollen from having teeth pulled over them and he grinds against you to spark a reaction. You sob weakly, body trembling beneath his as the pleasure continues to overwhelm you.

Rhysand pulls back, broad palm splaying across the slope of your spine, keeping you pinned down as he rolls his hips firmly to yours, making sure his release is being kept nice and deep. “Want another one?” He asks lowly, and you shudder, sobbing softly with exhaustion, shaking your head numbly, tears long since dampened the fur beneath you. “No?” He smiles faintly, reaching between your legs, “can’t take it?”

He swipes across your clit, and you can’t even muster the energy to jolt away, forced to take the sharp beats of pleasure as he gently oscillates his finger. You babble mindlessly, and his lips curve, pleasure gleaming in his gaze. “I thought you liked it,” he taunts quietly, “thought you loved being a toy for my cock. Isn’t that what you told me?”

Shame crawls across your skin and you try to weakly squirm away, but it just has him touching more spots inside of you, a fresh wave of tears saturating the bedding. He laughs lowly, his arm banding beneath your front to pull you up against his chest. “Want me to stop?” He taunts softly, hot lips brushing the shell of your ear. “I won’t know if you don’t tell me.”

You scramble for words, struggling to function. “I don’t… Can’t,” you manage weakly, body trembling from pleasure.

He drops a kiss to your hair, and relief has your muscles utterly giving out, turning soft and pliable beneath his touch.

“Good girl,” he soothes, hips dragging back from your dripping cunt, pulling out until it’s just his tip inside.

“But when have I ever listened to you?” He muses, pushing you back into the pallet, muffling your cries.

Silencing your pleas.

Aftercare fic

general taglist: @myheartfollower @tcris2020 @mali22 @amygdtjhddzvb @sfhsgrad-blog @needylilgal022 @hannzoaks @hnyclover @skyesayshi @nyotamalfoy

rhys taglist: @azrielshadows1nger

[shadesslut]

So for the father's malice series, could you possibly make Ollie's first word to be "Dada"/"Daddy" (referring to Ethan) which is surprising since Ollie has barely been around him, and it basically warms both Y/N's and Ethan's heart <3 thank you

a father’s malice, pt. 3

(a/n: THIS WAS SUCH A CUTE IDEA THANK YOU)

Pairing: (Ex-Gf!Ethan Landry x Fem!Reader x Chad Meeks-Martin)

Content Includes: (Slight alcoholism?, self-hate, fluff, angst)

Summary: Ethan starts to turn to alcohol as a coping mechanism for his guilt and trauma with his father. Ethan also starts his job in a bookstore! :D

Masterlist

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His adrenaline was high, and his pupils were dilated. A part of him liked the chase, the thrill of playing cat and mouse made his hands shake in excitement. It was who he was chasing made his stomach turn. 

Y/N was close to the main room where the others were. Her cheeks were stained with old and new tears. 

Ethan chased her as he swerved around the beat-up furniture. She moved to the side, trying to cut him off, but she tripped. Her shoe got caught on a wooden panel on the floor, and she stumbled, letting Ethan catch up to her. His heart dropped as she tripped, not wanting to catch her. 

He tackled her to the floor, and she let out a sob. She didn’t want to go out this way; alone and cold. She wanted to be held by Ethan or Chad. Not pressed between the floor and her killer. 

Ethan raised the knife in the air, stilling his movements as he looked down at her. She cried, but didn’t fight back. 

“Come on, Y/N.” Ethan whispered under the mask. “Don’t give up.” 

But she did. She went limp under his hold, and Ethan knew what he had to do. He cried with her as he swung his hand down, sinking the knife into her chest. She coughed out blood, and her hands gripped around Ethan’s wrist. 

Ethan slid his knife out as he stood up shakily. He looked down at her, and a part of him wanted to take off his mask, to tell her it’s going to be okay. He didn’t do that though; he only sniffled and left her there. He heard Tara’s scream, his cue, and he glanced back at Y/N one last time. 

He whispered an “I love you,” to her as he left. He didn’t know she was pregnant then, but again, it probably wouldn’t have made a difference. 

—

The truth was, Ethan wasn’t doing well. Don’t get it wrong, Ethan was ecstatic to be spending time with Ollie and Y/N, but whenever he wasn’t bonding with Ollie, he was bonding with Chad’s stash of liquor. He had never been known to drink, and to be honest with himself, Ethan hated it. But it was the only way he felt good about himself. 

He hated himself. And everyday he thought of it. 

“Hey!”

Y/N’s voice snapped him out of his thoughts. He looked to her, apologizing under his breath. She looked concerned.

“I’m sorry, what did you say?” Ethan asked softly. He leaned further towards her on the couch. She had her laptop resting on her thighs. 

She sighed, smiling. “Are you nervous for your interview?” 

He had stayed with them for two weeks now. Chad had softened up on him a tad, but it seemed a lot to Ethan. Y/N did too, finally giving in to letting Ethan sleep in her bed. They never touched though, keeping to their sides. Only reaching out their hands towards each other. Ethan applied to hundreds of places. You know how it is, being famous for the only surviving Ghostface ever, no one really wanted him. He received a few calls, fortunately. 

“A little,” Ethan answered. Y/N placed her hand on his, her warmth causing him to smile. 

“You’ll be fine. I know that.” She comforted. “Do you wanna get lunch when Chad gets back?”

He shook his head as he stood up. He wiped his hands on his jeans and adjusted his shirt. “Nah, I gotta head out. Give Ollie a kiss for me.” Ethan smiled, before grabbing his wallet and walking out the door. His smile disappeared as he shut the door. 

–

Ethan sighed as he swung the door open. The bell rang and he cringed, not wanting to bring attention to him. A girl at the counter welcomed him in, and her face was covered by the stack of books in her hands. Ethan shifted awkwardly. 

“Uhm, I’m here for an interview.” He said, moving towards the desk she was behind. 

“Oh!” She exclaimed, before dropping the stack on the counter. She had frizzy blonde hair, was short, and had glasses that were way too big for her face. Her eyes widened at the sight of Ethan. Great. Ethan thought to himself, nervous that she recognized him. 

“You’re Ethan Kirsch,” She mumbled, pointing her finger at him. “I just saw you on the news,”

Ethan winced, and he rubbed the back of his neck. “Uh, yeah,” 

She didn’t respond. She only stared up at him, adjusting her glasses as she pushed them up. Ethan coughed. “I’m sorry, do you want me to-”

“Sorry! I-I’m just a fan of yours. I’m Mary.” 

“‘A fan’?”

She nodded, and she waved her hand, urging him to follow her. He looked around at the bookshelves as he walked behind her. He ducked his head under a short doorway, and she stopped abruptly, causing Ethan to run into her back. She turned around and smiled brightly up at him. He looked around. 

Ethan felt his chest tighten. The walls were covered with Ghostface and Stab merch, a robe was dressed on a mannequin that sat in the center of the room. Pictures of previous Ghostfaces hung on the wall, including him. She laughed nervously as she watched him take everything in. 

There was a section of the room specific to his family, specific to him. He had seen the fangirls that made threads online about him, just like his brother, but he never thought he’d meet one in person. 

“Yeah, I’ve made quite the collection. It took too long for merch of you and your family to be made, so I just made it myself.” She giggled. Ethan only looked at a picture of his father and sister in horror, mouth agape. “I’m sorry, but I just have to know, did you do it?” 

Ethan jerked his head towards her. 

“Do what?” 

“You know,” She wiggled her eyebrows. “Kill Anika and Paul.” 

Ethan clenched his fists. This is exactly what he wanted to escape from. He didn’t want to be constantly reminded of his sins. 

“Excuse me?”

“C’mon, everyone wants to know.”

He shook his head, and her shoulders slumped. She seemed extremely disappointed, like her favorite singer had turned out to be an awful person. It was the opposite in this case. “Oh,” 

He still, he only stared at her in shock, not knowing what to say or do. 

“People argue that you were the one who did the bodega kills, but I don’t know. I think that one was too vanilla for you. You like to be hands-on and kill with your blade, so there’s no way you’d chase Sam and Tara around with a gun.”

“Mary, please. Whatever you believe, I’m not gonna say anything. I’m trying to move on from who I used to be.” Ethan ignored her previous statement, pleading to her that she’d drop the subject. 

She adjusted her glasses. “Yeah but, you don’t have to do that here. I want you to be yourself.” 

Ethan sighed at her. She really wasn’t going to let his past go was she? 

“So, um, about that interview.” Ethan said. She nodded, and her hands played with the strings of her hoodie. 

“Don’t worry about it, you’re hired.” She smiled, walking out of the room. Ethan sighed, knowing she was gonna be awkward to work with. He put up books onto shelves, following the chart Mary had given him. Soft music filled his ears as he worked. 

He’d space out here and there. The lyrics of the song he listened to would be incoherent, the titles of the books he fixed blurred. He would hear their screams, Y/N and Chad’s. He could hear it faintly as he zoned out. 

He remembers it as if it were yesterday. The way their bodies twitched as he stabbed them. The way their blood stained his robe, and even his clothes underneath. 

He’d wanna hurt himself every time he thought about it. He would go to the bathroom to take a breather, and then he’d come back, starting all over. 

Every so often as he worked, he’d look over his shoulder to glance at Mary, who would look away once his eyes landed on her. Yeah, this was gonna be a problem. 

Ethan sat behind the desk, finished with his training as he began to clock out. He smiled brightly at his phone. A picture of Ollie glew on his screen, he wore a fluffy brown onesie, and Y/N’s smiling face was behind him as she held him up. He loved Ollie, deeply, and even though he thought he had changed, he would kill anyone for him. He loved Y/N too, sometimes he loved Chad. 

Y/N

Chad & I are almost there

6:00 pm

“Is that your kid?” Mary appeared over Ethan’s shoulder. 

“Jesus!” Ethan yelped, dropping his phone. 

Mary grabbed his phone, zooming in on the picture. She squinted her eyes, before Ethan yanked his phone out of her hands. “Yes, that’s Ollie.” Ethan answered. Mary nodded and stepped back. It had only been a few hours of Ethan knowing Mary, and already he was uncomfortable at her presence. It was obvious she was a fan of his, another die hard fanatic that fabricated theories. The door rang, and Ethan couldn’t move around Mary fast enough. “Hey!”

Y/N smiled, holding Ollie in a green baby wrap. Her hair was up in a bun, and Ollie still wore the onesie from the picture. Chad walked in as well after her, and all Ethan wanted to do was go home with them. 

“We’re closed,” Mary said in a monotone voice. She glared at Y/N, and specifically Chad. 

“It’s okay they’re picking me up,” Ethan said before Chad or Y/N could reply. Ethan hunched down slightly as he greeted Ollie, making a funny face, opening his mouth in a smile. Ollie giggled and swung his arms as he stimmed. “C’mere,” Ethan said in his baby voice, giving Ollie a fat and wet kiss on Ollie’s cheek. 

Y/N giggled as she watched the two, but Chad stared at Mary in dominance. She stared back. 

“So you have my number right?” Mary nodded in response. 

“I’ll send you your schedule.”

“Thanks,” Ethan trailed off, opening the door for Y/N. He didn’t tell them about Mary’s shrine, or her obsession with him. He couldn’t. He knew he’d feel guilty if he brought up the past, and he didn’t feel like talking about it anymore tonight. 

—

Ethan hid behind a curtain as he watched Quinn chase after the others. His mask was off, and his cheeks were stained with tears. He replayed his last moments with Y/N in his head. As soon as the knife broke skin, he regretted everything he did. She was the first person to ever show Ethan love, and he hurt her like it was nothing. 

His father’s voice played in his head over and over again.

“If you kill them, you’d be doing the world a favor.”

“It’s not easy what you and your sister are doing, and I need you to be perfect.”

“Richie would be proud of you.”

The night he killed Anika, his father praised him. He praised him like Ethan was Richie. And Ethan finally felt a part of the family. That was the only night he didn’t cry himself to sleep at the thought of Y/N’s near death. 

Ethan’s eyes darkened, and he slid the mask back onto his head. Chad just punched Quinn, knocking her down. Ethan’s legs bounced up and down as he watched Chad lift a glass candy dispenser in the air, preparing to throw it on Quinn. 

Chad had done everything for Ethan. He urged Ethan to ask Y/N out, disregarding his own feelings, and he was the one who pushed them together. He was the one who took Ethan to everything, and he always made sure to make him feel included. He was Ethan’s only friend. 

He huffed as he rushed in, stabbing Chad in the side. 

—

“So, you think you’ll like it?” Chad asked, mouthful of one of the tacos they had picked up on their way home. 

Ethan shrugged, picking off tomatoes from his food. “Seems alright,” Y/N cut a few strawberries up, feeding Ollie small chunks as she listened. 

“Your boss seems weird.” Chad stated simply. The truth was, Chad wasn’t an idiot. He had plenty of experience of reading people’s emotions from their behavior. He knew Mary most likely was attracted to Ethan, and that pissed Chad off. In a weird way, Chad only wanted Y/N and Ethan to himself. Three was enough in their relationship. 

Not that they were in a relationship, of course. 

Ethan nodded in agreement as he rewrapped his taco. 

“These are the best tacos, I swear to god,” Y/N groaned, taking a bite. 

Chad chuckled. “I’m surprised you’re not tired of them. You had them like every day when you were pregnant.” Ethan smiled awkwardly, not knowing how to react to that. It wasn’t any secret about how much Chad was there for her when Ethan…well wasn’t. 

Chad noticed Ethan’s change of demeanor, and he casually rested his palm on Ethan’s knee. Ethan’s eyes widened at his hand placement, and he gulped, not knowing how to react to that.

“Dadda,”

Ethan jerked his head towards the sound. Ollie was standing in front of the couch, next to Ethan’s legs. His small hands rested on the couch cushion, and he started jumping up and down. 

“Did,” Ethan’s voice suddenly became high-pitched. “Did he say that to me?” 

Ollie’s eyes glimmered at Ethan, his gummy smile showing. 

“He’s lookin’ at you,” Chad responded in a whisper. “He only ever calls me daddy anyway, not that I blame him…”

Y/N threw a couch cushion at Chad, who laughed as it hit him in the chest. Ollie reached for Ethan, insisting that he’d pick him up. Ethan obliged happily, and he rested Ollie in his big arms. 

“Did you call me dadda?” Ethan asked, smiling at Ollie. Ollie giggled, and Ethan’s heart swooned. He’d never felt this way before in his life. Y/N stared happily at the two boys, and she glanced at Chad, who also grinned ear to ear. Maybe this could work, maybe they could be a family; all of them. Maybe they could forget about the Ethan that hurt them, maybe he was gone. 

Ethan kissed Ollie’s cheek and blew a raspberry, earning a loud laugh from him. Y/N let out an involuntary choked laugh as she held back tears. Ethan stood up, sliding Ollie to sit on his hip. 

“Think we should celebrate with some shots, huh?” Ethan baby-talked to Ollie as he tickled his belly. Y/N gave Chad a pointed look after Ethan spoke. Chad cleared his throat. 

“Don’t you think it’s a little late?” Chad asked Ethan cautiously. “Don’t you have work in the morning?” 

Ethan turned around, his smile slowly dropping. “I think I can handle one shot.” 

“Eth, you’ve already had four beers,” Y/N said softly, gesturing to the empty bottles that sat on the coffee table. Ethan’s eyes followed to the table. 

“Let’s just go to bed.” Chad spoke again, his tone more stern this time. Ethan rolled his eyes, and Y/N stood up next to him, adjusting her jeans. 

Ethan stepped away from her. “I wanna have a shot.” She shook her head and sighed. Her fingers pressed to her temple, applying pressure. Chad stood up as well. 

“Dude, just go to bed. You’ve had enough to drink.” Chad warned, rolling his sleeves up. Ethan ignored both of them, taking Ollie into the kitchen with him. Y/N sternly said his name as she followed him, Chad behind her. 

Ethan grabbed a shot glass from the cabinet, and he reached his hand to the top of the fridge. His head snapped up once he realized the bottle of liquor wasn’t up there. 

“I threw it out.” Chad stated as he leaned against the counter opposite of Ethan. Ethan groaned at his words. 

He couldn’t take being sober anymore, even tipsy, he needed something. He needed to feel the burn of alcohol soothe down his throat. He needed to make the noises go away. He needed to stop hearing his father’s voice. He needed to forget about that day, and he needed Chad and Y/N to stop looking at him like that. 

Chad cautiously walked up to him, holding his arms out to take Ollie. “Go away,” Ethan mumbled, but he wasn’t talking to Chad. The voices of his father rang in his head. 

You were born to hurt people. 

Chad put two hands on Ethan’s shoulders, which caused Ethan to tense. 

You’re not good enough to be my son. 

“Come on dude, just come to bed. We want you to come to bed.” Chad whispered to Ethan, gently rubbing his shoulders. Ollie babbled to himself, and Chad smiled at him and put his hand and the back of Ollie’s head. Ethan saw this, and he immediately reached to grab a knife from the knife block. 

Chad’s eyes widened, and he stepped back. 

“Get the fuck away from me!” Ethan screamed, holding the knife up at both of them. Y/N held her hands up in defense, her eyes flicking to Ollie, who started to cry. She slowly said his name and walked towards him, hoping to take Ollie from his arms. 

Ethan turned the knife towards her, causing her to stop in her tracks. “Ethan, please,” she cried. While Ethan was distracted by her, Chad inched towards Ollie, finally sliding him out of Ethan’s arms. Ethan turned towards Chad, and for a split, measly second, he saw his father. He saw his father instead of Chad, and he laughed sinisterly as he held Ollie. 

He couldn’t let Ollie get hurt, he made a promise. He swung the knife, cutting his father’s arm. Y/N and Ollie’s cries filled Ethan’s ears as he watched the blood seep down his arm. But it wasn’t his father’s groans he heard, it was Chad’s. 

He looked back up with widened eyes. Chad clutched Ollie in his left arm, and he hissed as he looked at the fresh cut on his right. Chad looked at him in horror and anger. 

Ethan’s hand shook as he slowly looked at the knife in his hand. He heard ringing in his ears as the knife fell from his hands, clattering on the floor. 

“I-I…I’m sorry,” Ethan stammered. He looked at the blood splatters on the floor from the knife. His eyes started to water, and he cried along with Ollie. Chad mumbled something to Y/N, and she shakily took Ollie into her room. “Y/N wait,” Ethan begged as he tried to follow her. Chad stopped him by pushing his forearm against Ethan’s chest. 

“Leave it,” Chad muttered. Ethan’s chest rose up and down as he stared at him. Chad looked like he was about to cry, but he repeatedly blinked and held back his tears. 

Chad whimpered as he looked at his arm, and Ethan immediately reached for him. “Let me help,” he offered in a small voice, but Chad jerked away. 

Ethan had never hated himself more than now. He thought he could change, become a different person than the one his father molded him to be. Maybe he was wrong. Was his father right? Was Ethan always going to be like this? Maybe Ethan should have stayed in jail, and he silently cursed the person who bailed him out. 

“I’m sorry,” he said in a whisper as Chad picked up the knife. Chad didn’t say anything, he only glanced at Ethan before leaving him alone in the kitchen. It was mere minutes Ethan stood there, alone with the blood stains on the floor, until he finally left. And as Y/N stitched Chad’s arm, exchanging soft whispers and tears with each other, Ollie peacefully sleeping in their bed, the dresser moved back to barricade the door, Ethan went to the one place he knew he was welcome at.

(Taglist: @onlyreadz, @lloyd907, @hearts4meeks, @emitaylorsverson, @depressedseaweed, @athenalive, @b3bybunny, @aliciacat20, @whoaitsbibi, @fallinforhappiness, @Dabbin22, @leyla-1905, @sflame15-blog, @i-love-milfs2, @zerodotzer0, @ahalliwell5, @gabbylovesreading, @wishyouwere-sober, @leaveitbythewave, @itsnotino, @elltheawkward, @writinganything, @buffhoshi, @reysdriver, @asapkyndall, @champomiel)

[strawberrystepmom]

nsfw - minors/ageless dni i will block you. yami sukehiro x f!noble reader. oral sex (m&f implied), inexperienced but ambitious reader, slight age gap (yami is early 30’s, reader is mid 20’s) implied.

“Knew I’d find you here, kid.”

Your primly crossed ankles dangle off of the edge of the bed, hands resting atop your knees, and you turn to Yami with the prettiest snarl he has ever seen etched into your face.

“How many times do I have to tell you not to call me that? You aren’t that much older than me.”

Closing the wooden door behind him, he chuckles and slowly unbuckles his belt with one hand, letting the leather and pouch attached to it fall to the ground with an unceremonious clang. His katana rests in his other hand, given the reverence of being placed on the small desk in the corner of the otherwise unimpressive space.

It’s certainly nothing compared to your quarters at home. You imagine Yami sandwiched between your crisp, perfect linen sheets in all of his oversized glory, wiping your release off of his lips using the gauzy fabric of your canopy. A chill zips down your spine, you play it off by shifting your hips and raising a brow.

The quiet while he goes through the motions unnerves you slightly. Silence indicates comfort and that has never been part of the deal for either of you. This is fun for him, something you graciously allow him to have at your expense. For you, it’s simply a tutorial on how to be a good wife.

At least that’s what you keep telling yourself every time you hear the utterance of his name and decide to press your luck by showing up at this same old inn in the same old room the two of you have now darkened more times than you can count.

“You’re not a kid, no.” He confirms, brow raised to mirror yours, shuffling with his thighs slightly spread while unlacing the ties keeping his pants closed. This mountain of a man looms and you glance up at him over the curve of his impressively defined chest, equally curious and afraid of what he’ll say next. “But compared to me? You’re nothing but green.”

The lack of elegance elicits an eye roll from you though your eyes still and quickly to fall at where his hands are working, thick fingers teasing you with every movement. You haven’t yet reached this intimacy with him yet, instead being treated to lessons in how a man should make you feel with his mouth and fingers and by allowing you to grind against the corded muscle of his thigh. Yami has seen you completely nude, spread and wet and ready for him.

Now it’s your turn.

Blood pounds in your ears, cheeks warming at the sight of the coarse hair growing just below the waistband of his pants. You swallow, hands pressed to your knees, glancing up at him with those eyes that remind him you are both cat and mouse in your own game.

Mouse for obvious reasons, even beyond the sweet way you squeak when enough pressure builds between your thighs and in your stomach that you drench his knuckles. Cat because you keep tempting him just the same, a predator beckoning toward him sweetness that could eventually be his undoing. It’s not his problem either way, he chides himself internally.

Besides, you are positively mousy right now, eyes wide as the moon outside the one window in this room while glancing at his now visible cock. The man can’t be sure what you were expecting but he has a feeling it may have been slightly less than what he’s working with, his half hardened girth bouncing against his palm as it fills with blood.

“Now tell me, little girl,” he smirks down at you, erection still bouncing against his palm, tilting his hips near your face. “When’s the last time you played with a toy like this?”

A dark chuckle sends another shiver down your spine, the head of his cock waving antagonistically near your mouth and cheek. Your body is practically screaming at you to act, to touch him or run your tongue along that slit that looks so enticing, but your pride prevents it. You remain sitting primly, glancing at Yami for some kind of hint about how to proceed next.

Your cheeks burn with arousal and embarrassment, ashamed of your own immaturity when faced with this situation. This is why you’re here, you remind yourself. To learn and figure out how to avoid this ever happening.

“Judging by that quiet mouth I have to guess, hm, never.” Laughing at his own joke, he wraps his fist around the shaft of his cock and points it toward your mouth, brushing the head against the seam of your lips. “Don’t be shy, sweetheart. I’m not judging you. Just teachin’ you, right?”

Cheeks still burning, you scoff yet tilt yourself forward enough that his cock touches your mouth. A moan escapes before you can swallow it and you let your eyes flutter shut, keeping unshed tears from escaping and running down your face. He’d find that too rich and you won’t give him the satisfaction.

You are childish and immature and stupid and…the voice in your head clears, another filling your ears and telling you what to do.

“Stick just the tip of your tongue out for me.” It’s Yami, clearly bent at the waist and hovering just above your ear, gravelly voice replacing your own mocking internal monologue. “Just a little. You could keep your eyes shut but they’re too pretty for that and I wanna see ‘em.”

The corner of your mouth lifts in a smile. Your lashes flutter open and hazel eyes gaze into your own, pupils dilated.

“There we go. Tongue out for me, run it along the tip.” He instructs and you follow, eyes glued to him the entire time. A groan in his throat causes one in you, a breathy whine not even a partially opened mouth can obscure.

He reaches to cup your cheek, rough thumb running over the roundest part of it, entire hand sliding downward until it clutches your jaw. The touch is gentle and you relax beneath his fingers, jaw unclenching. A smirk is your reward, his other hand tapping the head of his cock against the tip of your tongue.

“I hope you’re ready to learn a thing or two tonight because I plan on keeping you busy.”

You nod, now kitten licking him of your own volition. You’ve always been praised for your ability to pick up on most anything quickly and tonight will be no exception if you have anything to do with it.

[tasteleeknow]

— bunny. part two.

pairing: minho x fem!reader genre: smut, angst, fluff, strangers to lovers, neighbours!au. content: 18+ minors dni. chapter warnings below cut. word count: 5.4k

summary: after leaving your toxic relationship, you and your bunny are completely alone in the world—until your soft spoken neighbour slowly brings down your walls.

⇢ part one .

afab!reader. jealousy. protective!minho. profanity. violent themes [physical fight, mentions of blood]. swimming [mention of drowning]. unprotected intercourse.

“Muffin,” Minho says, holding his hand out in expectation. He’s lounging on his usual bench, hair messed from sleep. He’d stopped attempting to look like he hadn’t just rolled out of bed. He kept his pjs on these days, ready to collapse back into bed when you’d left for work. 

“Payment,” you respond, sitting yourself next to him and pursing your lips. He pecks your lips then snatches the muffin from your hand. You can’t help smiling as you watch him devour the blueberry muffin. “I finish early, by the way. We can pull up the carrots today.” 

“Okay,” he mumbles around a mouthful. You reach over to brush a crumb from the corner of his mouth with your thumb. 

“Don’t forget to brush your teeth before you go back to bed,” you remind him, noting his heavy eyelids. 

“Mm.”

“I should go, I'll be late,” you announce, reaching down to grab your bag. 

“Stay with me today,” he whines, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you against him.

You laugh as you squirm, trying to free yourself from his hold. “I can’t, baby. You know that.” 

“Quit and we’ll live off our garden.” 

You note his use of ‘our’, something warming deep in your chest. You stop squirming, letting him hold you. “Hm, tempting. You’re gonna quit your job too then?”

“Mm.” 

“How are you going to afford the cat’s premium food?” 

He pulls back, loosening his grip on you. He pouts. “Fine. Go to your stupid job.” 

“Don’t call my job stupid.” 

He huffs. “It keeps you from me.” 

You lean down to tie your shoelaces. “Dramatic.”

“Move in with me.” 

“Stop asking me that, I explained why I can’t.” 

“I’ll keep Jack safe, promise.” 

“It’ll be too much work. You’ll get sick of me.” 

“Never,” he responds quickly.

You lean over to kiss him properly, making up for the quick peck earlier. You lick another stray crumb from the corner of his mouth. “I’ll see you later,” you whisper against his lips. He wraps his arms around you again to kiss you back, only releasing you when you push your hands against his chest. 

You look into your rear view mirror as you pull your car out of the driveway, he’s sitting on the bench, offering you a little wave as he watches you leave. 

Jack bounces around Minho’s small backyard as you pull up the carrots, dropping them into a woven basket. He’d attempt to jump up into the vegetable patch occasionally, giving up once you redirected him. 

“Jack,” Minho scolds, voice stern but no louder than normal. He’d kept the promise he’d made you the first time he’d shouted around you. He hadn’t raised his voice since. 

Apparently the bunny had snuck past your defences while you were distracted, bouncing over the wooden plank and digging into the fertilised soil. Minho stands to approach him, scooping him up from the ground. You watch your boyfriend place your bunny down gently in a patch of dirt away from the vegetable patch. “Dig here, not near the vegetables, okay?” he says, as if the rabbit can understand him. “Throw me a carrot?” he speaks to you now, pointing at the basket. 

You grab the smallest one then toss it over to him. He reaches up and snatches it out of the air with one hand, raising his eyebrows at you cockily. You watch as he feeds the small carrot to Jack, stroking him softly as the bunny nibbles away happily.  

A banging noise directs your attention to the house, looking over your shoulder quickly. “Is that someone at the door?” you ask, pushing yourself up from your knees to stand. 

Minho approaches you, Jack in his arms. “I’ll check,” he says, passing you the small bunny carefully. You watch him enter the house as you pet Jack, a little unnerved. Nothing had come of the report you’d made for the break in. You’d felt silly for even bothering anyone with it at all. You had no evidence at all anyone had broken in. You’d changed the locks and had a security camera installed, what else could you do?

You enter the house cautiously just as Minho reaches the front door. You open your mouth to call for him, to say what, you don’t know. You just feel something is off. Before you can get his name out he’s swinging the door open and your breath hitches. You sway a little on your feet before gathering yourself. You march forward, stopping just behind Minho at the door—he keeps his body between you and the man outside. 

“How the fuck did you find me?” you manage to keep your voice even, frustration bursting in your chest. 

“Who’s this?” he says, tilting his head to gesture at Minho. Minho is a silent wall between you. Unresponsive.  

“None of your business. Leave,” you say, proud of yourself for sounding so assertive. Speaking your mind over the phone was one thing, but saying it to his face? It felt different. 

“I came for the rabbit,” your ex says casually, as if he had an appointment to come and collect him. 

“What?”

“I bought him, he’s mine. I want him back. I tried a few weeks ago, but you weren’t home.” 

“You. You broke in?!” you can’t help raising your voice, taking a step closer. Minho takes a small step sideways, keeping himself between you. 

“Your window was open,” he says, as if that excuses him—as if that made what he did perfectly moral and legal. He was always a fucking moron. 

Minho speaks before you can, his voice low. “You somehow found out where she lives—I assume by following her from work—broke into her apartment to steal her pet, realised she wasn’t home and just left? Why?” Your ex opens his mouth to speak but Minho continues before he can. “Because you wanted to take him while she watched. You wanted to see her hurt. Am I right?”

“You fucking her now then? You think just because she let you between her legs you get a say in any of this? Mind your fucking business.” 

Minho’s arm reaches out behind him, gently pushing you back a little. “You need to leave. Now.” 

Your ex takes one step closer, breathing in Minho’s face. “Or what?” 

Minho takes a step back, guiding you further back with him. He attempts to close the door but he’s stopped, your ex holds it open—his foot over the threshold. “Get out of my house,” Minho says, voice still no louder than he usually spoke. His tone though, you’d never heard him sound like this before. Your heart races in your chest. 

You look down at the bunny in your arms then to the small travel cage against the wall. You dash over to place Jack inside, it takes you 30 seconds max. That’s all the time it takes for something to start behind you. You’d put money on it being your fuckhead of an ex boyfriend that made the first move but you turn just in time to see Minho catch his balance as he’s shoved back. He charges forward and then they’re gone, out of your line of sight. Your fingers feel like jelly as you struggle with the latch on the cage. By the time you manage to get it fully latched and race to the door they are both down the two steps, Minho on top of your ex on the pavement. 

“Stop!” you shout, rushing forward. Minho turns at the sound of your voice. His bottom lip is split. He turns back and leans down, it looks like he’s whispering something in the ear of the man he has pinned to the ground. He sits back just as you reach him, then pulls himself to his feet. You grab his arm, attempting to help him. 

“I’m fine,” he reassures you, voice much more like it usually sounded. You look down at the man beneath you. He looks back. 

“Leave,” you say, tempted to take a step forward and slam your foot into his gut. He’s still for a moment, and then looks to Minho before pulling himself onto his feet and taking a few steps backwards. He holds his hands up in the air, a sign of surrender and then turns and walks down the rest of the driveway. You don’t move until he’s fully out of your sight then you turn to look at your boyfriend. 

You reach up to touch his split lip lightly with your thumb. “What did you say?” 

“Don’t worry about it,” he says, fingers wrapping around your wrist. Your eyes are drawn to his knuckles for the first time, they’re bloody. 

“Your hand,” you breathe. He looks down at the hand around your wrist then releases you quickly, dropping it to his side. He takes a step back as you reach for him. 

“Min—”

“You’re okay?” he interrupts. 

“I—Yeah, I’m fine.” You take a step closer to him again. “Can I—”

“I’ll see you a bit later, yeah? I’m just gonna… deal with this.” He waves his unbloodied hand over his face. He walks back until his heel hits the bottom step. 

You frown. “Let me help.” 

He backs up to his door. “I’m fine, I’ll see you later,” he says, disappearing back into his apartment and closing the door. You stand at the bottom of the steps, bewildered. Maybe this was it. You were too much, too much baggage, too much trouble. You feel around your pockets for your house key. Nothing. It was in your bag on his kitchen counter. He clearly didn’t want to see you. You turn and look down the driveway, knowing your ex had walked that direction only minutes earlier. 

“Bench, it is,” you mutter, trudging up the steps and slumping into Minho’s bench—where he’d wait for you every morning. You close your eyes, replaying the last 10 minutes in your head. What the fuck just happened. What had Minho whispered in his ear? Your ex had followed you home from work? It made sense. That was the only place he knew where to find you. You’d worried about it at first, considering searching for another job. The anxiety that had filled your chest at the mere thought of another job search was enough to put you off. Finding the job you had now was a miracle in itself. 

Deep down you knew it was a risk. That he was stupid and fucked up enough to show up at your work one day. You just hadn’t imagined he’d follow you home. Or you hadn’t let yourself. You look up at the security camera at the end of the porch. You hoped it had caught the moment Minho was first shoved. You sigh, then lay yourself down along the bench—pulling your cardigan off so you can use it as a pillow. Minho will be out soon. He had Jack, after all. You close your eyes. 

The sound of a door opening startles you awake, jolting upright from where you’d fallen asleep. You look up to find Minho exiting his door, Jack’s travel cage in his arms. 

“Baby? What are you doing out here?” he asks, placing Jack down on the ground. He picks up your cardigan from the bench and sits down next to you, stroking the hair from your face. 

“I left my keys inside.”

“You locked yourself out?” 

“In your place,” you correct. He frowns. 

“You’ve been out here since—” he stops himself, hand dropping from your cheek. You can feel indents in your skin from your cardigan pillow. How long had you slept? “Why didn’t you knock?” he asks. 

“You…seemed like you wanted to be left alone.” 

He leans back, hands covering his face as he breathes in deeply. He’s cleaned up his knuckles. They aren’t bleeding anymore, but they look raw. Painful. You resist reaching for him. “I’m sorry. I was embarrassed,” he says, hands dropping from his face. 

You frown, confused. “Embarrassed? Of what?”

“Letting him get to me, hitting him back, letting you see me like that,” he rushes out. 

You reach for him slowly, something in your chest settling when he lets you hold his warm hand in yours. “You didn’t do anything wrong. He came into your home and assaulted you. You were defending yourself.” 

“I wasn’t,” he says quickly, pulling his hand from yours and standing up quickly. “I did it because of what he said, because of what he did to you. I-I kept hitting him. I didn’t need to keep hitting him.” 

“Sit down,” you whisper, patting the bench beside you. “Please?” He slumps down next to you, shoulders hunched. “Look at me?” You reach to gently turn his head towards you then trace your finger over his lip. “I don’t think any differently of you. You didn’t scare me. You didn’t do anything wrong, I promise. You’re okay.” 

His expression relaxes, eyes softening. “I love you,” he says easily. His eyes widen, caught off guard by his own words. “I mean—I just—I just…I do. I have… for a while.” 

“A while?” you whisper, lips curving up into a small smile—a welcome change of mood. He buries his head in his hands and groans. “I love you, too.” 

He lifts his head from his hands, sitting up quickly. “You do?” 

You take his injured hand in yours again, bring it up to your lips so you can kiss him softly. “Very much.” You look up at him, his eyes are fixed on his hand. “Did you put anything on it? Or just run it under water?” He says nothing. “Minho?” 

He looks up at your face. His ears are tinged pink. “You love me?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Move in with me.” 

You huff out a laugh then lift one leg up over his legs so you can lower yourself into his lap. “Are you gonna keep asking me that until I say yes? Our apartments share a wall. We live metres apart.” 

“I don’t want to live metres apart. I want you to sleep in my bed every night. I want you to be able to work in our garden whenever you want. I want my muffin in bed.” 

“You want me to move in so you don’t have to walk to the bench for your muffin?” 

“Partly.” 

“You’d still have to get up to brush your teeth after.” 

He smiles. “I love you.” 

You peck the corner of his mouth softly, avoiding his cut. “Love you too,” you say, the words coming easily. 

The grass tickles your thighs as he fucks into you, the glare from the sun forcing you to close your eyes. With your eyes closed your other senses heighten. The sound of his moans in your ear, the feeling of his cock stretching you open. You’d come out here to plant some more carrots, to replace the ones you’d dug up. Minho had been ravenous all week, fucking you against every surface in his apartment—and out apparently. The lawn was a new one. 

“Say it,” he groans, hands grabbing at your hips so he can fuck himself into you harder. “Please,” he begs. 

You know what he wants you to say because he’d asked every time this week. “Love you,” you gasp out, tits bouncing in your sundress. His cum floods your sore cunt as he whines your name in your ear—thrusting into you erratically a few more times, attempting to draw out his high. “Love you,” you whisper again. He presses his lips to your neck. 

You hold your hand over your eyes to protect them from the sun as Minho catches his breath next to you, having rolled over onto his own patch of grass. You look for shapes in the clouds, something you hadn’t done since you were a kid. “Have you thought any more about it?” Minho’s voice brings you back down to earth. You sigh, rolling onto your side to face him. 

“Can you just drop it?” 

He frowns then sits up so he can pull his pants back up his legs. He keeps his back to you as he speaks again. “I can’t,” he sighs, “I know that’s what you want but I don’t think I can.”

You sit up. “Why?” 

He stands abruptly, walking away to the fence and then turning and marching back towards you. “He broke into your apartment,” he says, clearly struggling to keep his voice down. “He followed you home from work and broke into your place when you weren’t home.”

“He didn’t hurt me, he’s an idiot—I know he’s an idiot—but he hasn’t ever hurt me. It’s…a waste of their time.” 

Minho runs his hands through his hair and then collapses onto the ground in front of you, crossing his legs and leaning forward to take your hands in his. “He’s harassing you. He’s broken the law and he’s inserting himself into your life when you’ve told him to stay away. It’s not a waste of time,” he’s got himself under control now, sounding much more like he usually did—calm and soothing. “You’re so strong… and brave…and I know you’re used to being alone—to feeling like no one cares. But I care, more than I’ve ever cared about anyone. I need you to be okay. Safe. I need you to be safe…” he pauses, stroking your hands gently with his thumbs. “Do it for me? If you don’t want to do it for yourself, do it for me? Please? I’ll take you now. I’ll stay with you the whole time.” 

He’d given you so much since you’d known him, hardly asking for anything at all in return. Sitting there on the soft grass, his cum leaking from your cunt, looking into his watery eyes—you couldn’t deny him anything. So you say yes, you’d go with him to the station to report your ex. He falls forward into your arms, head against your chest. You fall back onto your back, taking him with you. A cloud catches your eye as it passes overhead, it reminds you of one of your blueberry muffins. You stroke your boyfriend's hair. “Should we do some baking when we get home?” you mutter absentmindedly. 

He lifts his head from your chest to look up at you. “I love you,” he says, eyes still watery. 

“They’ll be okay,” you reassure him for the umpteenth time since you’d left the cats with his friend. Minho had suggested you take a weekend trip to the coast, to get away from home for a little while. You’d had a court date the day before, hopefully the last one. “Chan seemed nice,” you add, having met Minho’s friend for the first time when you dropped the cats off with him. 

“He is, but he’s never had a cat before.” 

He takes one hand from the steering wheel to squeeze your thigh lightly. “You aren’t worried about Jack?” 

You’d left him with a co-worker. She had two rabbits of her own. “Do you want me to be anxious this whole trip or not?”

He huffs out a small laugh. “Sorry, I’ll shut up.” 

You intertwine your fingers with his. “Are you gonna let me teach you?” you ask. He groans, turning to look at you quickly before looking back at the road. “Pleeease. It'll be fun.”

“It’ll be tiring.” 

“Don’t you want to learn?”

“Not particularly.” 

You sigh. “Alright, I won’t force you.” 

He looks over at you quickly again then grumbles something under his breath and squeezes your hand. “Fine.” 

“Really?”

He nods. You lean over to kiss his check. “Love you.” 

The corner of his mouth lifts slightly and then he turns his head, looking out his side window. Neither of you say any more about it.

“Kick! Kick!” you encourage, your cheeks hurting from laughter. 

You hold Minho’s hands in yours, walking backwards down the hotel pool. You’d tried to remember as much from your childhood swimming lessons as possible. It wasn’t much. His cheeks are a little pink from the sun, indicating your lesson should probably end for the day. When your back hits the wall he grabs the edge at either side of you, standing easily at this end of the pool. 

“I’m hungry,” he whines, a little out of breath. “Are you finished torturing me?” 

“Torture? I’m attempting to save your life. What if you get stranded on a tropical island and your only way off is to swim to a boat in the distance?” you smile, enjoying teasing him.

“I’ll find some shade and accept my fate.” 

“You’d just give up?”

He leans forward to press his lips to your neck. “You can do it, you’re a good swimmer.” 

“What if I’m not with you?”

He lifts his head from your neck, his brows pulled together. “Why wouldn’t you be with me?”

“We aren’t going to be together every day of our lives.”

“Why not?”

You look away, suddenly embarrassed. You spot a small child with a large ice cream cone. “Do you want some ice cream?” you ask, redirecting the conversation. 

Minho presses his lips to yours, the taste of chlorine doing nothing to spoil it. You wrap your arms around his neck. “Was that a yes?” you ask.

“That was an ‘I love you’ but yes, I want ice cream.” 

You peck his lips again. “I’ll be right back. Don’t drown, please. I can’t drive your car and don’t want to have to find another way home.” 

He grins at your teasing. “Strawberry.”

“I know.” 

You pull yourself from the water, grabbing your phone from your bag. Minho rests his chin on the edge of the pool, eyes closed. You grab the sunscreen. “Put some more of this on, your face is burning.” 

Your boyfriend squints his eyes open and looks up at you. “But then the ice cream will taste like sunscreen.” You settle yourself at the edge of the pool—legs dangling in the water. 

“Come here.” He moves between your legs and you pop the cap off and squeeze a generous amount into your palms. “Look up.” He lifts his chin and closes his eyes so you can begin lathering his skin with the sunscreen. You're careful to avoid his eyes, they’d always start hurting if he got any too close. When you’re done he drops his head to kiss your thigh then moves back so you can get on with your mission: ice cream. 

There’s a bit of a queue, it was peak tourist season and today was particularly hot. By the time you’ve gone to the bathroom to wash your hands, waited in the long line, and finally bought the two cones you’re desperate to get back in the water. You lick some of his strawberry off your wrist, the ice cream already starting to melt on your short walk back. You pause at the opposite end of the pool. A girl in a bright red bikini is sitting at the edge, clearly engaged in conversation with your boyfriend. A little twinge of jealousy ripples through your chest before you gather yourself. Silly. He loved you. 

You walk around the edge of the pool, the girl throwing her head back in laughter at something Minho had said. She looks up at you as you approach. You drop your phone from under your arm onto the lounge chair, hands full with your ice creams. When you turn, Minho has his arms outstretched—ready to accept your offering. He looks totally relaxed, like he hadn’t just been making a very pretty girl in a bright red bikini laugh while you were gone. Why shouldn’t he look relaxed? He’d done nothing wrong. You settle yourself next to him, on the opposite side of the girl. 

“It’s melting,” you say, handing him the strawberry cone. He takes your hand before you can pull away, licking a stripe up the side of your hand where the ice cream had made a mess. You feel your cheeks warm, hyper aware of your audience. 

“I’ll leave you to it, then. Nice to meet you, Minho.” She smiles and Minho offers her a polite goodbye back as she stands to leave. You’re quiet once she’s gone and Minho is too distracted by devouring his ice cream before it melts to notice. You sink into the water when you’re done, letting yourself slip completely under. You let yourself sink to the bottom, not very deep at this end of the pool. You loved doing this as a kid, letting all the sounds of the world slip away. You’re hardly under 10 seconds before a hand wraps around your bicep and pulls you to the surface.

“What are you doing?” Minho asks as you push the hair from your eyes. 

“Just sitting on the bottom, it’s peaceful.” 

“Don’t. Makes me anxious.” 

“It’s calming, I’ll show you.” 

He looks a little hesitant and you reach over to take his hand. “Just hold on to me and we can come up together.” He nods and you turn so both your backs are to the wall. “Ready? 1, 2, 3.” You suck in a deep breath and sink down, letting a little breath out to help you reach the bottom. Your eyes are squeezed shut, the only indication Minho had done the same is his warm hand in yours. The world is quiet, the distant muffled sounds of kids playing all you can hear. 

You were used to being alone in this world, the hand in yours a new but welcome addition. It was quiet and you were calm, but not alone. You’d never considered you could have both at once. Minho squeezes your hand and you push off the bottom, both of you resurfacing together. You wrap yourself around him before he’s fully gathered himself, unable to hold back your laughter. Minho’s arms wrap around you slowly, clearly a little taken aback. 

You pull back and brush the hair from his face for him. He traces his eyes over your face and then his mouth curves up into a smile, almost big enough to match yours. “It was better that time,” you say before crashing your lips into his. 

“What’d you talk about while I was getting ice cream?”

“Hm?” He runs his hand up and down your soapy arms, breath tickling your ear. You were lying up against him in the large spa bath. The hotel you were in was fancier than any you’d stayed at before. You’d bounced up and down in excitement when you’d wandered into the ensuite and spotted the bath with spa jets in the corner. You’d had to convince yourself to be patient and wait until that evening to use it. 

“With that girl, by the pool,” you clarify. You’re glad you aren’t facing him, embarrassed for even asking about it. 

“Oh, just small talk. She was waiting for her husband.” You say nothing, tracing your fingers around your belly button. “Why?” he asks. 

“No reason.”

He wraps his arms around you, pulling you a little tighter against him. “Just curious?”

“Mm.” 

“Not jealous?” You can hear the smirk on his face. 

“Why would I be jealous? You love me.” 

One of his hands moves to your jaw, turning your face to the side. “That’s right,” he whispers, pressing his lips gently to yours. You turn yourself over, chest pressed to his. He slips down the bath a little and has to readjust himself as you devour his mouth. He laughs a little at your desperation, one hand moving down to grasp a handful of your ass. “Got you, baby,” he mutters and you moan into his mouth. He sits up, pulling you into his lap properly. “Should we try the jets?” he asks, reaching over to press the start button before you can answer. 

The spa roars to life, bubbles bursting to the surface as the jets circling you push air into the water. Minho reattaches his mouth to yours, moving your back until you feel one of the jets tickle your lower back. He kisses you until your lips are swollen, wet bodies pressed up against each other. Then he turns you, so you're facing the edge of the bath. “Put your legs over the side,” he whispers. 

“What?” 

“Have an idea,” he says, sounding distracted. 

“You and your ideas,” you mutter, indulging him. You lift a leg over the edge of the bath, Minho holding you against him as you lift the other. 

“Now move a little left,” he instructs. You look to the left of you, the bubbles from a jet bursting through the surface. You look up from where your head rests against his shoulder. “Just say if it doesn’t feel good, mm?”

You’re speechless, caught off guard. Then you shuffle to the left a little, Minho helping you from behind. The jet hits your cunt and you gasp, immediately overwhelmed. Minho shuffles back a little, pulling you with him. It’s lighter this way, bearable. 

“Nice?” Minho mutters, reaching up to grasp one of your tits in his warm hand.  

“Mm, tickles.” 

“Good girl,” he breathes, pressing his lips to your temple. A whimper escapes your lips, he’d never said that before. You’re a little caught off guard by your reaction. His finger brushes your nipple. “So good for me.” 

You squeeze your eyes shut, basking in the sensations consuming you. Minho whispers small encouragements in your ear as you begin rolling your hips, the feeling of the jet against your cunt sweeter as you work yourself up. He holds your thighs open as you reach your high, helping you drag it out. You twitch and whimper, signalling your sensitivity. He pulls you back and turns you around to sit in his lap again. You’re practically limp and he devours your mouth, groaning words of affirmation between kissing. “So perfect…love you so much…my pretty girl…” 

Just as you’ve gathered yourself again he lifts you off his lap so he can climb out of the bath. “Be right back,” is all he says as he exits the ensuite. Your eyes trail down his wet body when he comes back, his hard cock bouncing as he lowers himself into the water again. He holds a bottle of lube in his hand, a bubble of anticipation bursting in your chest. He guides you to the edge of the bath, this time to the end that has a large ledge—big enough for you to lay yourself down on. He helps you, your tits pressed to the cold tiles—cunt just above the surface of the water. 

Minho drops the bottle of lube next to you, having poured a generous amount into his palms. He doesn’t hesitate, cupping your sensitive cunt to lather you in the cold slippery lube. You suck in a breath, grateful he’d thought to bring it. His fingers slip through your folds, like he’s inspecting your now thoroughly sloppy pussy. “Okay?” he asks, his voice much breathier than when you’d last heard it. 

“Okay.”

He lifts himself onto his knees and pulls you down a little to meet his cock. You sigh as he enters you, still sensitive but feeling empty—the kind of desperate emptiness only his hard cock can cure. He’d clearly worked himself up much more than you’d realised because he grasps your hips and starts hard and fast. No build up. The water sloshes against the edge of the tub as he fucks you, mixing with the sound of his skin against yours. You know he’s nearing his high when he asks you to say it. To say the one thing neither of you could stop confessing since that day on the bench—when he’d first said it.

“Love you,” you gasp out, palms flat against the tiles beneath you—nothing to grasp onto. He pulls you hard against him once more, cum flooding your cunt. 

“Move in with me,” he gasps out between his panting breaths. 

You can’t help laughing, his cock still buried deep inside you. “Okay,” you answer after you gather yourself enough to speak. He pulls you back into the water, settling you in his lap—still connected. A laugh bursts from his chest.

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[sarahscribbles]

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐆𝐨𝐝 𝐨𝐟 𝐌𝐢𝐬𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐞𝐟 𝐚𝐭 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐠𝐚𝐦𝐞. 𝐇𝐞 𝐢𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐢𝐦𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐝.

𝐊𝐢𝐧𝐤: 𝐒𝐩𝐚𝐧𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 𝟐.𝟓𝐤

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: 𝐋𝐨𝐤𝐢 𝐱 𝐟!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐊𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐭𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

𝐋𝐨𝐤𝐢 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

You know you’ve danced with the devil before you even enter your bedroom.

The double doors to the room are shut, but Loki’s displeasure seems to permeate from within, making the air in the hallway feel heavy and sending your heart thundering within your chest. He hadn’t appreciated the little game of cat and mouse that you had initiated at Nat’s birthday party - something that was all too clear when he skulked from the room an hour ago - and now you’re left to wonder if you’ve sorely miscalculated by trying to play the God of Mischief at his own game.

You had only wished to provoke him into some angry sex against the nearest horizontal surface - and maybe again against a flat one for good measure - but now? Now, you’re running through a list of what might be waiting for you on the other side of the doors

Loki, afterall, has punished you for less - the thought of which sends a shiver down your spine and a pleasant tingle between your thighs. 

When you finally push open one side of the doors, you step into a room in shadow. The only light in the room comes from the twin lamps that adorn your separate bedside cabinets, but it’s enough to see Loki sat in the chair by the bottom of the bed. One long leg is crossed over the other and a book is lying open across his lap, though you know he isn’t reading it. He doesn’t look up at the sound of the door snapping closed in the latch, or at your footsteps on the wooden floors. 

Oh. 

His silence is unnerving and makes your stomach flip in excited trepidation. He knows exactly what he’s doing in dragging this out, knows exactly how to play with your mind as expertly as he plays with your body. His soul is bound to yours, and it’s one thing he’ll always use to his advantage. 

It’s only when you begin to noticeably fidget that he decides to speak. 

“I do hope you didn’t leave the party because of me, darling.” You hear his deep voice purr while attempting to unbuckle the strap of your heels. It doesn’t budge no matter what you do, and you’re suddenly very aware of the heavy weight of Loki’s gaze resting on you. “No. They stay on.”

A brief pulse of irritation surges through you. “Loki, it’s been hours. I need -,” you begin, but the sound of his book slamming closed silences you instantly. 

Oh shit.

“It has been hours,” he replies, his voice deadly but still smooth as silk. “Hours since I last saw you at the beginning of the celebrations. Now, why would that be?”

Your painted lips quirk in the beginning of a smile, but you’re quick to bite it back. “I was only playing the game that you’re always to eager to start, my prince,” you reply sweetly, making sure to flutter your eyelashes at him. 

Loki’s gaze doesn’t leave you, and the brat slowly awakening inside you refuses to back down. You raise an eyebrow and you swear you see the corner of his mouth twitch.

“I wasn’t in the mood for games, darling,” he says quietly. “I had an entire evening planned for you. One that would only end when your voice was hoarse.” 

That same tingle of anticipation, of promise, sizzles to life between your thighs again and sets your blood on fire. 

“Maybe if you had worn a different suit I might have been interested,” you reply breezily, not missing the slight narrowing of his eyes. 

“By all means, continue to be a brat, darling. You’re only succeeding in prolonging your punishment.” His voice wraps around soft as velvet, but with just enough of an edge that you know he means it. 

“Oh, no! What are you going to do, Loki? Fuck me into the mattress? Please, have mercy!” you tease him because you love nothing more than digging your own grave. 

Loki lifts the book from his lap - an elaborate hardcover that you bought him the previous Christmas - and lets it fall from his hands to the floor, the resounding thump echoing that of your own heartbeat.

“Over here. Now,” he says.

The commanding timbre of his voice lights a fire in your veins - he’s fully committed to being dominant tonight, but, unfortunately for him, you’re equally committed to being a brat. 

His eyes roam over you as you cross the room, taking in every inch - or lack of inches - on the little black dress you’re wearing. He doesn’t stop until his eyes reach your feet, still locked in your heels by his magic, and you swear you see the bastard smirk. 

Loki leans back in the chair, spreading his thighs obscenely wide while he rests one elbow on the armrest. The other is dangling loosely over the side as he appraises you like you’re a prized portrait he’s considering purchasing. 

It’s predatory and hungry, but it only makes your cunt throb. 

Elegant fingers toy with his lips as he continues to watch you, but they don’t hide the smirk that’s only grown across his handsome face. “I thought you had realised by now, darling,” he purrs, shifting his hips so you can see the faint bulge at the front of his trousers. “You don’t stand a chance of ever winning these little games.”

“Who said the game is over?” you reply, surprised at how sassy you’ve managed to sound. 

Loki’s eyes smoulder as he looks at you, a roaring flame of arousal and determination reflected back at you. The intoxicating feeling of seeing so clearly what you do to him is something you’ll never grow tired of. 

“Me,” he says simply.

It’s one word, one tiny word, but it squashes out any remaining push back that was in you. The game is over and you lost. 

You feel a sudden pressure at your back, enough to startle you before you realise he’s using his seidr to push you towards him. Each step is one that’s out of your control, and you hit his knees at the same time he reaches out to easily maneuver you across them, resting a strong arm across your upper back to hold you in place. 

“God of Overreacting much?” you huff quietly, something that earns you a firm smack to your ass. You’re still covered by the soft material of your dress, so it doesn’t hurt much, just enough to make you fall silent.

For now.

Loki’s cool fingers dance along your bare thigh, back and forth, back and forth, sending a pleasant tingle shooting through your lower stomach. His touch has the power to both ground you and excite you, it’s comforting and electrifying.

It’s Loki.

“Are you going to continue being a brat? Or are you going to take your punishment like a good girl?” he asks quietly.

Those sinful fingers are still ghosting over your skin in a silent threat, almost daring you to give a contrary answer. “I’ll be good,” you answer because, truthfully, what other choice do you have?

Loki releases a hum of approval. “Good girl,” he purrs, using one skilled hand to slide the hem of your dress over the swell of your ass. “Nothing underneath, darling? My, my, what were you hoping for this evening?” 

He’s given you the perfect opening, one that you can’t pass up even though you know you’ll regret it. Loki will make sure of that. “To see if what everyone says about Bucky’s metal arm is true,” you reply. 

You know you’ve waved a red flag to a bull, and it’s only confirmed when Loki’s hand comes down again in a decidedly harder smack. This time, it’s enough to make you hiss quietly in pain. 

“Continue to be a brat and you’ll have no release tonight. Understood?” His tone is firm, leaving no doubt that he will deny you if you push him any further.

With your orgasm potentially on the line, you’re quick to answer him. “Yes, Loki,” you reply obediently, submissively. 

Above you, all you can hear is the deep, steady sound of his breathing and the barely perceptible rustle of his clothing. The uncertainness is tantalisingly teasing, especially with how his hand is slowly caressing your ass in a wordless promise of what’s to come. 

It’s enough to have you clenching desperately around air. 

“How many, darling, hmm?” he asks finally, mischief dripping like honey from every syllable. 

It’s a cruel game he plays with you. If you guess too low, he’ll double your answer, but if you guess too high, he’ll call you his little masochist and follow through gladly. 

Because Loki can be a bastard when the mood strikes him. 

“Ten?” you answer slowly, feeling your heart thudding in your chest with anticipation. 

There’s a beat of silence after you speak, long enough that a cold fear begins to weave through you. You’ve guessed too low. You played it safe and any second you’re going to hear that velvet laugh of his before he mocks you.

Maybe, if he’s feeling particularly sadistic, he’ll make you beg for more. 

When he finally speaks, you release a quiet breath of relief. “Ten aside? I’m inclined to agree with you, dove,” he concedes. 

You bite your tongue. You hadn’t meant ten aside, but you know he’s being merciful, and you’re in no position to tease the dragon tonight. You swallow a whimper and brace for the force of his hand, but as the seconds keep ticking by, it still doesn’t come. He’s playing with you, making you wonder and wait, so that when his hand lands firm and fast against your ass, you can’t help the sharp shriek of shock that escapes you. 

“Count, darling,” Loki warns. “And remember to thank me.” 

You take a breath, steadying yourself now that the initial shock is waning. “One. Thank you, Loki.” 

Your ass stings in the aftermath, crying out for Loki’s cool soothing touch, but he refuses to give you it. Instead, his skilled fingers dip between your thighs to expertly tease your clit. 

“Good girl,” he praises you, all while you’re quietly moaning at how good his touch feels, even going so far as to try and spread your legs. Loki only chuckles. “I don’t think so, darling,” he teases and removes his hand. 

A mewl of discontent slips past your lips before you can stop it. “Please, Loki,” you plead, rocking your hips against his knees in a vain search for friction. 

He doesn’t answer nor entertain your plea, instead only brings his hand down sharply again. The sound of flesh hitting flesh seems to echo around the room, but it doesn’t mask the sound of your pained groan. 

“Two. Thank you, Loki,” you hastily find your voice. It hurts more than you thought it would, but you’re also wetter than you thought you would be. 

His little masochist indeed.

The next few are rained down so rapidly that you don’t get even a second to recover. They’re swift and so firm that you won’t be surprised if there’s an outline of Loki’s hand on your ass tomorrow morning. He isn’t going easy on you tonight, and it doesn’t take long until your ass is burning and the occasional tear is slipping down your cheeks.

He pauses after seven to let you catch your breath, blessedly caressing your skin to soothe the burn, though you know without a doubt he’s taking the time to admire his handiwork. The coolness of his touch feels so heavenly that you’re almost whining when it leaves to dip back between your thighs. 

“You’re doing so well, dove. I’m very proud of you,” he murmurs gently, teasing your clit until the first faint stirrings of an orgasm begin to lurch to life. “Only three more, but, I must warn you, they’ll be the most difficult.” 

Just like that, his fingers are gone, and you have to fight the overpowering urge to beg for him. As much as he enjoys it, you know he won’t waver tonight. You release a breath and nod, only partially hearing Loki’s “good girl” before his hand connects with your ass again. The force of it is enough to make you cry out and grit your teeth.

It also makes the ache between your thighs multiply tenfold. 

“Eight. Thank you, Loki,” you say shakily. It stings so bad, but you’re determined to see it out to the end. You’re determined to be his good girl. 

His hand leaves again, only to land with equal force on the same spot as before. Your ass has never hurt so badly. 

“Fuck!” You curl your hands into fists and groan. “Nine. Thank you, Loki.” 

You wait nervously for the final one. You know he’s going to make it the worst, the one that will likely leave a colourful bruise in its wake, and the anticipation has your stomach doing summersaults. 

But when that final smack comes, it’s barely more than a love tap to your ass. 

Your entire body deflates gratefully. “Ten. Thank you, Loki,” you finish. 

As quickly as it started, your punishment is over. The heavy weight of Loki’s arm is lifting from your upper back and he’s easily gathering you up and twisting you around so you’re straddling him. Without a word, he’s wiping the last of your tears away with the soft pads of his thumbs. 

“There’s my good girl,” he says softly, now cradling your face in his hands. “I’m so very proud of you, my darling.” 

His praise has a golden warmth bubble happily in your core. Your sore ass is entirely worth it if Loki calls you his good girl. 

“I’m sorry for avoiding you. I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings, love,” you say quietly. You are sorry - you know how quickly Loki’s mind can feed him lies out of something innocent, and you never want to be the source of any of his hurt. 

He hushes you and, before you can draw breath, he’s pulling you into a kiss. It’s slow but hungry, soft but filled with all the raw desire for you that’s pulsating through his blood. You wrap yourself around him easily, twisting your hands into those silky curls and losing yourself to the taste of him. 

Your god, your Loki. 

His hands drift to cup your ass, and you can’t stop the grateful hum against his lips at that soothing coolness. It’s something that Loki doesn’t miss, and you feel him smile into your kiss. 

“Would you rather this? Or would you rather I reward you for your exemplary behaviour?” he teases, smirking wickedly at you as his hands continue running over your ass. 

You pretend to think. “What does this reward entail?” you ask coyly. 

“It entails you and I in that bed for the next few hours,” he says, leaning in to begin placing tiny kisses along the column of your neck.

You hum while his lips continue to travel along your neck and across your collarbone. “I’ll take it.”

[lipglossanon]

Moonlit Walk

☆。*。☆。☆。*。☆。☆。*。☆

Subby Stepbro!Leon S. Kennedy x fem!reader (one shot)

Warnings: 18+ minors DNI, stepcest, masturbation, dirty talk, pillow frottage, unprotected sex, creampie, mommy kink, spanking, Leon whining and begging

Not proofread ✌️ just a thought that wouldn’t leave my brain 🤭

title from Moonlit Walk by Purrple Cat 🐱

☆。*。☆。☆。*。☆。☆。*。☆

His low moaning wakes you up. 

Your parents brought you to some silly retreat for the family; you’re having to share bunk beds with Leon which is hilarious to you but it’s been so busy and the walls so thin that you’ve honestly collapsed into bed each night and passed out. 

Now though, you’re wide awake staring at the springs above you as Leon whines and groans, wet noises loud in the quiet as he fucks his fist. 

“Oh fuck yes,” he whimpers softly, “unh, fuck, mommy, please. Feels so good.”

You bite your lip as you listen to him jerk off. 

“Wanna cum so bad, unh unh,” he whines, then you hear as he spits into his hand, moaning louder when he starts to stroke his cock. 

“Yeah mommy want that pussy, want that perfect cunt,” the bed above you creaks as he humps up into the slick tunnel of his hand, “give it to me, give it to me, been such a good boy.”

Slick leaks into your panties as you listen to Leon mutter dirty talk under his breath. 

“Noo,” he whimpers, going still in his bunk, “wanna drag it out, mommy, hate edging but fuck it feels so good.”

You quietly ease yourself out of the bottom bunk and step up on the bottom rung of the wooden ladder running up the side. Using Leon’s own noises to mask the slight creaks, you climb up until you can see his form splayed out on the mattress. 

“What’re you up to, Leon?” you whisper with a laugh. 

He jumps, trying to cover up with the blanket before you pull it away.

“Keep going,” you climb all the way up and lay down next to him, wrapping your leg around his thigh as you nuzzle into his neck. 

“Wanna watch you play with that pretty cock,” you press a wet kiss into his neck, watching as his dick twitches and kicks in his hand. 

“Fuck,” he gasps, slowly dragging his fist up and down his cock, thumb swiping across the head as he pulls the foreskin down in his strokes. 

“Heard you moan for mommy,” you kiss across his neck, “is that who you need right now? Need mommy to make you cum.”

“Yeah, yeah, I do,” he whines, “need mommy so bad.”

“Poor baby,” you simper, kissing him on the shoulder, “I have an idea.”

You raise up and kneel next to his hip, patting his side.

“C’mon kneel for me and face the foot of the bed,” you shift as he moves around until he’s sitting on his haunches, watching you.

Grabbing one of the pillows, you place it in front of him. 

“Hump that pillow, show me what a good boy you are,” you murmur. 

He whimpers and shoves it between his thighs, widening his legs as he drags his leaky cock all over the soft pillow case. 

“Ohh,” he whines, “like this mommy?”

“Sandwich your cock for me a little more, pretty boy,” you run your hands down his chest and tease his pink nipples until he’s bucking his hips like crazy. 

“S’good, fuck,” he whispers, eyes watery as they watch you

“Yeah? Like your cute nipples pinched?” you grin as you tug them with your fingers. 

“Uh huh,” he grinds his hips harder into the pillow, precum soaking the fabric, “making my cock leak.”

You bite your lip as you softly tease and twist his hard buds until he’s fucking the pillow harder and harder.

“How do you feel, little bro?”

“Want mommy’s pussy,” he pants, hands clasped around the pillow tightly, “wanna fuck my fat cock into your perfect cunt, cum all in you.”

“Keep talking,” your hands scratch a trail down his stomach to his balls, softly squeezing them in your palms. 

“Unh, unh, fuck, mommy, please,” his head falls back with a keen, “wanna bury my cock in your fat pussy and cum, fill you up so good, over and over all night. Stay in bed all day and just rut my cock in your sexy fucking pussy until I can’t cum anymore.”

“So dirty,” you giggle as you tease and rub at his balls, “you know we can’t stay in here all day, so you’re just gonna have to cum all over this pillow for me.”

“Mommy,” he whimpers pathetically, “it’s not as nice as your cunt— your wet, tight mommy cunt.” 

You shift until you’re pressed against Leon’s side, hands caressing his body softly, teasing across his abs and up his ribs. 

“Be a good boy for your big sis,” you kiss his shoulder, hands squeezing his pecs, “and I’ll let you fuck me.”

“Oh thank you, thank you,” he chants, hips flexing as he thrusts into the pillow faster.

“Y’know little brother, I love watching my pretty boy fuck his makeshift fleshlight, like watching as he can’t help but want to cum all over himself,” you whisper against his skin, “so desperate.”

He whines so loud, you pinch his nipples.

“Hush, you’ll get us caught.”

“Ngh, fuck, can’t help it, feels too good,” he snaps his hips forward, making sloppy wet sounds as his cock drags through the sticky strings of precum clinging to the pillow, “just need you so bad, sis. Need my big sister’s pussy or ‘m gonna go crazy.”

You yank the pillow away from him and throw it into the floor. Shoving Leon down on his back, you straddle his lap, grabbing his cock with one hand to drag across the gusset of your drenched panties. 

“Pull my panties to the side so I can sit on your fat cock, baby brother,” you coo down at him, watching with dilated eyes as he quickly follows your instruction. 

You tap the drippy tip against your swollen clit before dragging it across your slit to press his head inside your slick hole. 

“Please, I’ve been such a good boy, please, I’ll do anything,” he begs, blue eyes so needy as they stare up at you. 

You slowly sink down on his cock, feeling as he stretches you out to the point you think you can’t take anymore, only to sink down even more. Leon’s hands grab your ass making you whine and grind down until he’s completely buried in your pussy, dick so fat and long it feels like he’s in your throat. 

“Spank me, Leon,” you circle your hips without letting his cock pull out, “want you to be rough with me.”

“Y’sure?” his voice sounds wrecked and raspy.

“Mmm yeah, go on, spank me for teasing you earlier,” you bounce a little on his dick making him whimper. 

One of his hands comes down with a loud smack, the sting making you clench down hard around his dick.

“Oh fuck yes,” he whines, spanking you even harder making you squeal and hump down on his cock. 

He alternates hands as he slaps your ass, getting harder and harder until you fall forward, burying your face against his neck as you constantly whine and moan, pussy walls milking his cock as he fucks up into you.  

“Leon, oh fuck, s’too much,” you whimper.

He doesn’t stop or even let up, “You deserve it, teach you a lesson in being such a tease.”

You moan, mouth open and drooling against his chest, grinding down on his cock. 

“I do, fuck, give it to me, want you to spank me so good,” you mewl as he grabs your ass with both hands and squeezes, the hot skin sticking to his palms. 

“Oh god, so good, yes, yes, ungh,” he sighs, bouncing you harder on his cock, “love my mommy so much, got the best pussy, takes my dick like she’s made for it.”

You moan and raise up to ride him faster, swiveling and grinding down onto his fat dick. 

“Mmm yeah, make me take it, make me take that big fucking cock, little brother,” you lean back, placing your hands on his thighs to fuck down on him even faster. 

He growls up at you and you feel as he pushes you up and off of his cock making you keen at the loss only for him to shove you down onto your back and plunge back into your soaking wet cunt.

“So good,” he kisses you sloppily, tongue licking into your mouth before pulling away, “gonna cum for you.”

“Do it, fill me up,” you tangle your hands in his hair and yank him back in for another messy kiss.

He grunts as you pull his hair again, hips snapping into your squelching pussy so hard, the bunk shakes. 

“Mommy, fuck,” he gasps out, burying his cock deep into your spasming hole and pumping you full of hot cum. 

He reaches down and rubs your clit until you clamp down around his dick, your own orgasm making your whole body shudder. His fingers continue to rub and flick your clit until you have to push them away, body shivering from overstimulation. 

Slumping down onto your body, Leon kisses your neck. 

“Sleepy now.”

You giggle and rub your hands down his back, “Me too.”

You feel his cock pulse and throb inside your walls as they softly milk him.

“Wanna stay like this, keep you plugged up,” he slurs, eyelashes tickling your skin as his eyes droop. 

Arousal coils low in your belly but you tamp it down. 

“Mmm for a little bit, but then I need to get a shower.”

“Kay,” he nuzzles further into your neck, letting his body weight sink down onto you so you’re pressed snug against the mattress. 

His breath evens out as you pet his hair, your own eyes slowly drifting shut. 

[hxzxrdous]

Note: The following fic is a collab with @cissyenthusiast010155 She is an insanely talented writer and she's extremely kind and an amazing person. Thank you, babes, for getting me out of my writing slump. 🧡🫶

The School For Good and Evil

Platonic Lady Lesso x Never!reader

TW: None

UNWAVERING SYMPATHY

As the Monday morning sun slowly crept into the dormitory, you stirred in discomfort. Fatigue weighed upon you, amplified by your disdain for Mondays. Your dreaded shark week had arrived, just yesterday evening, leaving you in agony and pain.

Comfortably nestled in your bed, you contemplated rising for the day, it was barely 5am, so you could easily go back to sleep for another two hours. But your eyes widened as you felt it. You quickly stood up, turning on the light on the bedside table... There was a blood stain on the sheet. Panic surged as you looked down at your pajama, feeling the trickle down your leg, staining even your socks and slippers. You would've cried if you weren't in so much pain.

With a lantern in hand, you hurriedly gathered fresh clothes and a towel, making your way to the dormitory's shared bathroom, tiptoeing across creaky wooden floors to avoid waking your fellow Nevers. A warm bath offered a brief comfort, a hopeful start to a smoother day. Returning to the dorm, you cleansed the stained floor and changed the sheets before slipping into the first lecture, albeit slightly late. You entered just after the roll call.

"Y/LN..." The dean, Lady Lesso looked up from her parchment of names. "I don't recall you being on my attendance sheet..." Her voice was stern as her grey eyes continued to rest on you.

"I- I overslept, ma'am," you answered quietly. "I apologize, it won't happen again," you added.

The dean eyed you for a moment longer before returning to the attendance sheet. The room remained silent as she marked things down on her sheet with a frown.

"You may sit." Lady Lesso pointed to one of the desks with her cane.

Lady Lesso was walking around the classroom, waving around with her cane as she talked. As the lecture progressed, your cramps intensified, distracting you from the professor’s teachings.

You watched the fellow Nevers. Today you felt like they were more annoying than ever. Especially Hort and his single werewolf hair. You looked at Hort who was sitting next to your desk. His werewolf hair, triggering a sneeze from you. It happened again. You felt the leak through the pad. Soon, the bell rang and Lesso dismissed the class with her cane. The students hurried out of the classroom, all except for you as you remained seated behind your desk.

Lady Lesso continued to walk around the classroom once all students had left, looking at you, the lone student who had stayed behind. Her eyes narrowed.

"You," her voice was firm as she pointed with her cane at you, "stand up."

"I- I can't... ma'am," you replied quietly, your cheeks turning red.

"What?" A scowl appeared on the dean's face as she raised a brow at you. "I didn't stutter, I said stand up," she tapped her cane on the floor, waiting for you to obey.

As if this day couldn't get any worse.

You carefully and slowly stood up, feeling the familiar gush once again. Now your blushed cheeks turned pale immediately. You looked down, another pair of your pants ruined. You would run to the bathroom if you wouldn't be so frozen from fear as Lesso watched you like a hawk.

This was more than enough to get her to lose her temper as the dean stomped to you. She was just trying to figure out what the matter was, but you were completely quiet. Her impatience boiled over as she grasped your shoulders, demanding an explanation forcing you to look her in the eyes.

"Well what is it? Cat got your tongue?" There were no other students around so she didn't need to be polite, not like the woman was ever polite.

"I know it's not like you're shy enough to simply be mute. So what's the matter? Do you need to use the bathroom?"

There was a moment of silence between you two as you were standing there, frozen... And your cheeks lost what color they had. Lesso's face went from confusion to mild curiosity as she stared at the stained seat...

"Yes, please," you replied.

The dean's eyes lit up with a mild shock as it finally hit her what you were going through.

How could she have been so ignorant…

Her face softened almost instantly when you finally admitted that you needed to go to the bathroom.

If the dean knew you were having your cycle then she would have been a bit more tactful than she initially presented. She understood that this was a very hard stage of life of being a girl, not just going through teenage angst but going through puberty too.

Lady Lesso sighed and turned her head towards the exit.

“You are dismissed.”

You nodded timidly and began for the door, but the woman stopped you.

"Before you go, Y/LN... You're free for the rest of the class today. Come to my office later when you'll have the time, I'll make you some tea." Lady Lesso said softly, sounding almost as if the woman cared.

Lady Lesso waited in her office for you, two cups of chamomile tea waiting on the desk. You entered, sitting down, your head hung low as Lady Lesso was rummaging through the closet in the back.

"Y/N... Clarissa Dovey once gifted me a blanket. It's enchanted so it helps with alleviating the pain and decreasing the... flow... I believe you need it more than me." Lady Lesso replied softly, walking towards you, kneeling down, putting the blanket on your lap.

"Th..thank you ma'am..." you said as you accepted the blanket that Lady Lesso had given to you, wrapping it around yourself to help with the cramps that always seemed to happen at the worst time. It seemed to work immediately and you snuggled up to the heat it provided, inhaling the lavender scent that came from the blanket.

"I can see you're tired. Off you go back to your dorm and take some rest. If you have any more trouble, don't hesitate to come to my office," the dean said.

"Yes ma'am," you said as you got up to leave, wrapped in your new lavender-scented blanket. "And thank you, again ma’am," you added before making your exit from the dean's office.

[pillow-anime-talk]

:) you already know 😅 could you do prompt 50 with Kaneki or Urie with fem reader? Thank you, love! Your writing is always magnificent and can’t wait to read this one!

# tags: scenario; current marriage relationship; hot romance; also fluff (kaneki deserve it!); kid!fic, family!au; smut; nsfw

warnings: mention of sex and sexual activities, on the sofa, kaneki wants another baby (breeding), unprotected sex, lactation, sloppy kisses, body worship, bites, pet names

includes: female reader ft. ken kaneki {tokyo ghoul}

author’s note: hii! i wrote about urie for you, so i chose kaneki this time :) i hope you find the plot and tags interesting and you enjoy it. i am also sorry you waited so long :(

50. “S-Stop. Someone is looking at us.”

You breathed a sigh of relief when in the tiny bedroom with two cute beds you could only hear faint snoring and calm breathing. Your (almost) two-year-old daughter had her eyes closed in a white cradle with a pacifier in her mouth, and your five-year-old son was sleeping peacefully in a small bed, cuddled up to his beloved mascot in the shape of a yellow tiger. At the same moment, the very pleasant smell of freshly brewed coffee reached your nostrils, so you just kissed your children on their smol foreheads and then left the room, closing the wooden door behind you. After a while, you returned to the kitchen where your husband was waiting for you.

In his hands there was a black mug with the image of a white cat, and next to his person, on the counter, there was a white mug with the image of the same animal. With a smile, you thanked him for the life-giving caffeine, and a moment later you felt a light kiss on your left cheek. Leaning against the counter, you started a conversation with Ken about light-hearted topics, and somewhere between the first sip of the hot drink and drinking it to the last drop, you moved to the living room, wanting to turn on a movie from the plan to watch list on Netflix app. It was a simple horror movie with a predictable plot and comedy elements. However, the horror faded into the background the moment you started talking again; about your husband’s friend’s birthday party, about household chores, about wanting to go to the mountains, about Ken’s job... There were quite a lot of topics, and the quiet evening and the presence of a few lights hanging on the curtain rod added a pleasant atmosphere between the two of you.

You haven’t had an evening to yourself for a long time; you were busy raising your children and taking care of the house and your husband working hard and earning money for the four of you. Plus, there were many other, unforeseen situations that were often full of emotions, stress, happiness, or great physical and mental effort.

That’s why you needed each other more than usual on this particular night.

The light kiss you received from your partner was full of tenderness and longing. His cool hands touched your waist at one point, and you smiled because of caress, almost melting between the blond man’s fingers.

“... Aren’t you tired, butterfly?” He asked with a slightly raised eyebrow, wanting to respect your possible tiredness and desire to watch the movie to the very end. But you shook your head, giving him a quick smootch on the cheek. Ken took that as an answer and then moved slightly closer to you, while settling your body on the spread out sofa, full of soft pillows and beige blankets. His kisses changed their position in a short moment and now, instead of your lips, his teeth were lightly biting the skin of your neck. A few long seconds later, with his right hand, he pushed aside the nightgown you were wearing and also kissed your breasts, which were still very swollen from feeding the younger child with your own milk. “You’re very beautiful, you know, love?”

Your both cheeks immediately turned red and your eyes sparkled a bit as you felt your panties being slowly pulled down. The long blue fabric stayed in it’s place, as did your husband’s pajama top. Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed a rather large bulge in Ken’s boxers, but you didn’t comment on it in any way. Too busy touching his body under the material of his clothes, you almost forgot about the condom you kept in several strategic places around the house. So you wanted to reach into the small, mahogany hiding place in the armrest, but your beloved grabbed your hand between his long fingers.

“Maybe you want to have sex without it?” He asked a little uncertainly and a little with hope in his voice; he also couldn’t hide the smile that involuntarily appeared on his lips.

“... Why?”

“Hmm. Wouldn’t you like another child?” He asked, pressing his cock harder against your damp pussy, and you bit your lip, feeling your body heat up even more. “You look very pretty when you’re pregnant, baby.” He added in a light whisper, nibbling on your left ear.

“Oh. Really?” You laughed, and then after a moment of thought, you nodded, retracting your hand and intertwining your fingers with your husband’s.

In a short moment of a few more kisses and sincere compliments about your future pregnancy, you could finally start enjoying your husband’s cock, perfectly fitted to your body, which was entering your wet as fuck pussy with the greatest gentleness. Young man touched specific parts of your body and face every now and then. He adored your breasts, your hips, your neck decorated with several red marks, as well as your deep eyes and lips swollen from pecks.

“Maybe this time we can have twins, huh?” He asked quietly, rolling up your shirt and pinching one of your nipples, and when some of the white fluid came out, he almost ejaculated right inside your hole, thinking about how good you would look with a big tummy and then with another two newborns. “What do you think, Y/N?”

“Mhm… Maybe.” You hummed, your eyes squeezed tightly shut. His fingers wandered through your partner’s soft hair and back, and he held your hips tightly as he bounced against your body. The tip of his cock touching the back of your uterus. You imagined your family growing even bigger and you almost groaned out loud.

However, instead of making any sound between your lips, you heard a slight creaking of the panels in the living room and you opened your eyes at once, looking towards the noise almost inaudible to the human ear.

“S-Stop. Someone is looking at us.” You whispered, your voice hoarse, and then you raised yourself slightly on your elbows, smiling at the five-year-old who was rubbing his eyes with his fists. “W-What happened, Kenji?” You asked your little boy, almost throwing off your husband, who quickly hid under the fabric of the blanket, and you invited the child closer to you.

“...I had a nightmare, mommy.”

“Oh, a bad nightmare? Well then, why don’t you stay here with us and we can talk about something pleasant?” You asked quietly as your son sat down next to you. The boy nodded tiredly and then snuggled closer to you.

You were embarrassed, but with full professionalism, you told a child’s story about dinosaurs and treasure hunting, every now and then sending a glance to your husband who didn’t even know how to react to the situation.

You two will definitely finish what you started, but first you had to take care of your duckling, who – in a short while – will fall asleep.