#a weight off my chest but also another fucking learning curve i have to witness

[swampthingking]

just came out as trans to my sister HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAIMGOINGTOBESICKHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHASHETOOKITWELLBUTSTILLHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH

[allegra-writes]

Bratty b****

Peter Parker x Stark!Reader

NSFW

Warnings: Dom!Peter, Smut.

The request:

Hi love your writing and have never made a request but here goes. Tony’s daughter is going through a rebellious phase, going out to parties and getting to the Tower at all hours of the night. Punishments don’t seem to be getting through to her at all and everyone’s at their wits end. Insert dom!Peter finding her at a party and bringing her back home to lay down the law if you know what i mean…

Also, for all of you the anons that wanted new Dom!Peter and SSC talks.

MY MASTERLIST

“Are you out of your fucking mind, Parker? Put me the fuck down right NOW!”

Peter complied, letting go of you so suddenly you ended in a heap on the floor. The indignant look you threw his way reminded him of an angry kitten, and he had to suppress a smile. Even drunk and disheveled you were god damn adorable. And that was part of the problem: you had everyone wrapped around your finger, and were perfectly aware of it. 

No wonder you weren’t afraid of any punishment, none of them ever stuck long enough for you to regret your actions, consequences always swept under the rug before they could sully you or your reputation. Even the press, so merciless with lower socialites, was so happy to have the Stark heiress back, that every new misadventure was portrayed in an indulgent light, words like “enfant terrible”, “little hellion” or “New York’s favorite troublemaker” decorating headlines everywhere he turned.

But that ended tonight. 

He watched you stand up, fixing your way-too-short-dress so it would cover the top of your thighs, taking in the unfamiliar surroundings. 

“Where are we?”

“My apartment” Peter replied, simply. You knew the penthouse was just on the next floor, but there, in that darkened kitchen alone with him, it seemed incredibly far. You hadn’t been alone with him since Titan, and you didn’t quite know how to deal with this Peter, so different from the awkward, wide eyed boy who used to trail behind you like a puppy. This grown up, confident Peter that was older than you, that had been an Avenger for six years, intimidating enough to clear a party all by himself, without needing his Spider-man persona.

But then again, you didn’t know how to deal with much of anything these days. Going to sleep in 2018 and waking up in 2023 would do that to you. 

“Why did you bring me to your apartment?” Your voice came out a little unsteady, as you tried to get a grip on your heart, beating wildly inside your chest, tried to squash that little sliver of hope down before it managed to cut you and bleed you dry. Because you knew what you wanted from Peter was something you could never have. And it wasn’t just cause of that awesome girlfriend of his. 

He leaned casually on the kitchen island, arms crossed in front of his chest and you couldn’t help but notice how solid and powerful they looked clad in black leather.

“To have a little talk” he met your eyes, concern clear in his, “about your behavior…”

Your stomach drop with the weight of a thousand dead butterflies. Of course. This was an intervention. He was being big brother Peter, that was how he saw you, a little sister, just like Morgan, another Starkling for him to guide, to nurture and protect.

And maybe your own little sister preferred his bedtime stories over yours. Maybe your own father called him son, and your -technically step- mother sent him to chaperone you whenever you went out to party, but he was never ever going to be your brother. 

“And exactly who do you think you are to have a talk with me?” You sneered, voice like sugar venom, sweet and cruel. Lethal. “You are no one, you’re not my boyfriend, you’re not my friend, and I know you like to pretend you’re a Stark, but you are not my brother. You are nothing.”

You watched the air get knocked out of his lungs, as if your words had physically hit him as they hit their mark. Satisfied with the stunned, devastated look on his face, you turned to leave. But only made it a couple of steps before feeling his fingers wrap around your wrist in a vice like grip, spinning you around and pulling you to him.

You stumbled, falling against his chest, and he kept you there, arm snaking around your back, pressing you close. Dangerously close. 

“And you” he whispered, nose pressed against your cheek, breath hot against your face. You realized you weren’t the only one that had been drinking. “are a bratty little bitch. You think I wanna be any of those things? That I’d be satisfied with any of those things?“ 

His fingers dug deeper into your skin, and you cried out, finally reacting.

"Parker, let me go, your hurting me!” You struggled in his grasp, but he was way too strong. 

“You mean more than you’ve been hurting yourself? Hanging out with those losers” He spat, shaking you a little, “Day drinking? Sneaking out every night? Have you any idea how worried Pepper was when she called?" 

"Peter, you’re scaring me!”

“Good!” He replied, shaking you harder, “It’s about fucking time you learn that your actions have consequences" 

He manhandled you until you were trapped between him and the kitchen island. A firm push against the square of your shoulders had you bent over it, face against the cold marble, as he took both of your wrists in one hand and pinned them against your back, his other hand traveling under your dress. He kicked your legs open, placing a knee between yours so you couldn’t close them back up.

"What the fuck are you doing you sick fuck?!”

“I’m thinking eighteen slaps” He commented casually, ignoring your insult, “one for every night you sneaked out this month, and you are going to count them”

You renovated your struggle as he pushed your dress up, exposing your ass, but he leaned over your back, trapping you under his weight. 

“Wanna know who I am, little girl?” He breathed against your ear, sending shivers down your spine “I’m your master.”

SLAP.

You cried out. There was strength behind the hit, the sting lasting long after his hand was gone.

“One” he said and you remembered his words, he wanted you to count the slaps, but your brain was in shambles 

SLAP.

“One” He repeated, “You better start counting or they’ll be a lot more than eighteen…”

SMACK.

“One…”

“FINE!” You yelled, finally finding your voice, “Fine, I’ll count them you sick bastard! That’s three!”

“I should make them twenty just for that" 

"Fuck you!”

SLAP.

The sound that left your throat when his open palm struck just between your legs was not one of pain. You cursed under your breath, there was no way he could have missed that moan.

“What was that, princess?”

“F-four”

He chuckled, and you felt him get off of you. But with your wrists still in his grasp, there wasn’t much you could do, he had super strength after all. You were quite literally at his mercy. 

The thought should not have been so hot.

“I was actually talking about this” He traced his fingertips over your lace covered slit, tearing another moan from your lips. “Such a pretty sound” He hummed, approvingly, “I want more…”

He used his thumb to tug your underwear to the side, dipping one long, talented finger into you. It slid inside easily, so easily… it was embarrassing how wet, how ready for it you were. Peter wanted nothing more than to sink himself in your cunt, to get lost into your tight, pink, velvety soft insides. But where was the lesson in that? What kind of message would he be sending you if he too failed to deliver the promised punishment? Fourteen slaps, that was all. Fourteen more hits and then he could have you. This was for your own good.

He took his finger out. 

SMACK.

“Fi-ve” You whimpered. That one had really hurt. His hand came down against your other cheek just as hard. 

“Six”

Another one, and his finger was back inside your pussy, this time with a companion, pumping in and out, making it difficult to speak, but you managed to stutter a breathy “Seven”

It wasn’t until the next slap hit the soft flesh where your your thigh met the curve of your ass with his fingers still thrusting into you that you realized he had released your hands. But by then you were a moaning, wanting mess on the counter, a willing accomplice more than a prisoner, dutifully keeping count,

“Eight”

Slaps nine and ten came with him three fingers deep in your heat, pinky sloppily rubbing circles on your clit. You were close, just one more thrust, one more slap, one more dirty word in your ear and you would be coming. How stupid of you to believe he was actually going to let you.

“Noooo” You couldn’t help the pathetic whine that left your mouth when his fingers left you, your walls clenching pitifully around nothing. Your own hand went for your mound, desperate for release, but he caught it, pinning it to your back again. 

“I don’t think so, little girl,” He chastised you, “your punishment isn’t over yet…”

You had eight more slaps left. You could do it, you could take it.

…Couldn’t you?

He let go of your wrist and you felt him shift behind you. A moment passed, then another one. You had started to turn to see where he had gone when you felt it: the soft caress of cold lips against your burning backside. 

“Is this better, baby girl?” He inquired, placing glacial kisses and licks on the reddened, sore skin. “You like this?”

“Yes…" 

"Yes, what?" 

"Yes… sir?”

SLAP.

“Eleven. Yes, dom?”

SLAP.

“YES, DADDY!”

Peter froze. He was actually going for ‘master’. Mister Stark, Tony, he was your father. But more than that, you were his daughter, his precious baby. Asking to be called that while he fucked you would the lowest betrayal, Peter knew that. It would be defiling that title forever, making you think of Peter and the filthy things he did to you whenever you called your dad by it. It was wrong. It was perverted. 

And Peter wanted it. 

More than food, more than water, more than oxygen, he wanted it, he wanted you for himself, with a hunger, with a greed that scared even him. He. Wanted. You.

And he was going to have you. He licked a long stripe up your pussy. Cold, so cold it made you shiver. 

“Say it again, baby girl" 

"Daddy”

“Again” his order was muffled, face buried against your cunt, devouring you. 

“Daddy!" 

SLAP.

He placed another ice cube on his mouth, only to push it into your cunt making you scream, tongue fucking you with superhuman skill. The contrasting temperatures of the ice and his mouth against your molten insides were too much. You were sobbing, shameless and desperate, bucking your hips back against his face, the familiar tension building up, and up. Your toes already starting to curl… and then he was gone. 

"Yellow!” You cried. Peter was on you in an instant, turning you around and helping you stand, pushing your hair away from your face.

“Baby, are you ok? What is it?” His voice was worried, breaking character. 

“O-orgasm denial” You gasped, “wasn’t part of the deal…" 

"Shit! You’re right, I’m sorry baby, I’m so so sorry!”

Peter looked about ready to cry, so you hurried to reassure him,

“Pete, it’s ok, I’m not safewording…yet" 

He nodded his understanding, but still looked uncertain. You kissed him, sweet and soothing, but soon that absurdly talented tongue of his slipped inside your mouth, deepening the kiss, turning it into something heady, slow and dirty. You melted into it. 

A ripping sound resonated in the quiet kitchen, and you felt your dress fell off your body. Stunned, you broke the kiss, to look at the remains of your favorite garment now lying lifeless on the dark mahogany floor, and then at the smug, smirking face of your boyfriend. 

"It was in my way”

And just like that, he was all dom again, towering over you, still fully dressed while you stood, vulnerable, in just your hills and a, ruined, lacy tong, made almost completely sheer by your juices, glistening between your legs. 

He let one of his fingers dip under the lace.

“Wanna come, little girl?”

“Yes” You breathed out.

He hummed, fingertip finding your clit,

“And if I let you come,” He started the delicious, quick circular motions that he knew drove you insane, “will you be a good girl? Do as you’re told?”

You considered lying to please him, pretending to be the perfect little sub for him, but that wasn’t really you, was it? You looked him dead in the eyes, and opened your mouth.

“No”

Something snapped behind his eyes, and he growled, deep in his chest, fisting your hair, forcing your head back, bending you over backwards on the kitchen island, as his other hand made quick work of his zipper and belt.

“This what you wanted, little girl?” He entered you, hard and fast and deep, tearing a scream out of your throat, railing you into the marble, “Daddy fucking your pussy like this?”

“Yes!”

“You like taking it like this? Pretty little pussy stretched around daddy’s cock?”

“Yes!! Yes daddy, just like this!" 

He was fucking into you with such force that you slid over the cold marble with each thrust of his hips, but there was nothing for you to brace yourself on. He grabbed your thighs, hooking your knees over his elbows to keep you in place and open you wider for him, going deeper, owning places inside your pussy you didn’t know existed. The edge of the counter was biting into his thighs but he couldn’t care, not with your walls spasming around his cock, squeezing him so good that his eyes rolled back inside his skull. You were crying, little whimpers of ‘Daddy, daddy!’ and it was so blasphemous, so unholy, it made Peter’s blood boil with it, lighting running through his veins, pleasure exploding in every single nerve ending of his body, cause you were his, his and no one else’s, his claim overriding every previous one made on you. It was too much, he exploded inside you, filling you up until you were overflowing with it, the pearlescent liquid dripping down his thigh. 

And he still couldn’t stop. Like a man possessed, he kept going. And you kept on taking it. 

…

"Are you ok?”

“I should be the one asking that…”

You lifted your head to meet his eyes, staring back at you with genuine concern. Sometime during your fucking, you had managed to disvest him of his clothes and now he was as naked as you, lying on the massive couch, sated and spent, with you tucked on his chest.

“Pete, this whole thing was my idea” You reminded him, gesturing vaguely around you. The whole apartment was a mess: paintings fallen from the walls, torn clothes littering the hardwood floor, a broken coffee table… but the kitchen had taken the most damage, where Peter had managed to crack the marble on the kitchen island, and thrown away glasses and even a couple appliances in his haste for getting you on it. There even was a puddle of cold water, from where he had knocked over the glass of ice cubes he had used to tease you.

He frowned, 

“I seem to recall it was mine…”

“You said you wanted to take control” You placed a soothing kiss right above his heart, to let him know everything was alright, “I was the one who wanted the spanking. And the roleplaying. And the hair pulling…”

Peter’s smile grew bigger and bigger with every item you named. He loved it, loved that you trusted him enough to ask exactly what you wanted, loved feeling so comfortable with you as to explore everything he had been too scared to do before. He loved that with you, he was free, there was no fear of judgment, he could let go, cause he knew you wouldn’t let him fall. He loved you. 

And it was so natural, so easy as your conversations were, even before the blip, when you were four years older than him, so beautiful and unreacheable. As stealing a kiss that first night had been. He would have never thought something good could come out of Thanos, of the blip, of losing his arm and almost losing his life. But you had come visit him on his hospital bed right after the surgery, eyes full of tears and he had made a joke about every great Jedi losing his arm, and you had laughed. 

And then you had sobered up, an impossible emotion behind your eyes. Impossible, because he had only ever seen it directed at him in his wildest dreams.

“Ani, you’ve changed so much!” You had quoted.

“You haven’t changed a bit” he had replied without skipping a beat, “You’re exactly the way I remember you in my dreams”

And then he was kissing you, just like he was kissing you now, good hand on your cheek, biorobotic one slowly raising to tangle in your hair. 

“The ice play was my idea” He commented, breaking the kiss. You threw your head back, laughing.

“And a very good one at that” You approved.

“The daddy kink was a surprise…”

Your laugh died. Suddenly embarrassed, you hid your face on his chest.

“You know I’m not-… that I don’t really want to… sleep with my dad, right?”

Even with his super hearing, it was difficult to decipher your mumbling.

“What? No- I mean yes!” He stammered, “Of course I know that, babe! And you know I don’t want to… like… be him or anything…" 

You nodded, finally meeting his eyes.

"But it was kinda hot”

“Babe, it was all manners of hot” Peter confirmed, making you smile. 

“You still owe me five slaps, tho”

He groaned,

“I do, I totally forgot! God, I’m such a bad dom!”

“Of course not! You’re the hottest dom I’ve ever seen!" 

Peter snorted,

"I’m the only dom you’ve ever seen…”

“I saw Fifty Shades of Grey once…” You argued, making him laugh harder.

“Ok, ok, you win, even I am a better dom than that" 

"The edging…”

“Yeah, sorry 'bout that…”

“No no, I was actually thinking…” You felt your cheeks grow hot under his gaze. Peter was trying to appear nonchalant, but you could see the glimmer of lust in his eyes, evidently it was a serious turn on for him. “We could explore it more next time…”

His face lit up,

“Really? Thank you babe!” He caught your mouth in a heated, earnest kiss, “You won’t regret it, I’ll make so good for you…” he promised against your lips, making you moan in anticipation.

“Maybe I’ll even spare you those slaps I owe you…”

Peter didn’t miss the way your kiss falter at that, or the spark of defiance in your mischievous eyes.

“Maybe” You replied, noncommittal, releasing his lips to nibble at his jaw. He could practically see the wheels already turning in your head, planning ways to test his patience, pushing the limits just enough to guarantee a reaction, to earn yourself a new punishment. You were such a brat. 

His spoiled, gorgeous brat. 

[babbushka]

Something Incredible, Something Unstoppable

Supreme Leader Kylo Ren x Reader 

3.7k ; explicitly NSFW, warnings for mentions of murder & blood 

Also on AO3! 

                                                             ---------------

You step out of the shadows, when he’s done.

When his lightsaber has pierced the heart of an Emperor long thought gone, when he’s breathing hard at the implications of this news, at the implications of this man and how it hits him, how it changes everything he’s ever known, everything he’s ever believed.

The room crashes and crackles around you, some deep dark chasm, some ancient cave, where statues of Sith legends peer down at you with their stony eyes. They judge you, but that’s okay, because as you shoot a glare back at them, at the ancient beings who have witnessed the murder of your husband’s tormenter, you judge them right back.

The crippled old man slumps in his throne, body sizzling, not having expected Kylo to turn on him, not expecting Kylo to be so quick to kill him. The old man has lived a thousand lives it seems, but now his last has finally come to an end.

“Kylo.” You say, voice soft. You do not need to shout, do not need to scream out his name, for he hears you, always hears you. You could be a thousand lightyears away and he would hear you, there inside his head.

You saw the whole thing, the entire thing, from your spot at the entrance of the cave, the room where Kylo dared not let you step into fully. Surrounded by the Knights of Ren, by your sworn loyal hounds, by your guards, you watched as your husband struck Palpatine down.

He’s shaking, trembling, his jaw clenched tight as he powers off the saber and turns towards you, desperate for you. If he doesn’t get near you soon, he’ll scream, his entire mind in shambles from the revelation that everything, everything, has been by Palpatine’s design. He wonders just how far the plan would have gone, if he had simply walked away, if he had taken up Palpatine’s offer and ran with it.

He wonders how that plan would have ended, a vision of the future that could have been; a twinge in his spine of phantom bones cracking in another universe where he did not just slice the man in half, sliced him into two in the same manner as he had done to his master not so long ago.

His master who, like everything else, was nothing but a puppet with invisible strings.

He does scream then, but it is not of fear, or of pain. He screams because there is too much energy and nowhere to put it, nowhere for it to go, as the power of the Force shudders through him. With Palpatine gone, there is only him, only his body for the dark side to call home. It is a harsh sound, his scream. Deep and primal, one that rips through the vocal cords in his throat, one that shocks through the walls of the cave.

His chest heaves as he storms across the chasm to you, to the squadron of protection he has wrapped you in. The danger is gone now, smote by his own hand, but still, still he demands your protection.

“Time to go.” You say gently, firmly, holding a hand out for him.

You want him out of here, want him away from this place. There’s too much to process, too much to sort through, you don’t want him here.

You don’t want to be here.

Kylo takes your hand, and you don’t even so much as bat an eye when your glove stains red from the blood on his gloves, you only let it drip between your fingers as you turn and lead him out of the cave, back to the ship where he has docked it, where he can shred your clothes and dig his fingers into your flesh and cling to you in the way he’s desperate for.

He follows, and as he does, so do the Knights.

As he does, so does the Force.

It’s like the Force knows, it’s like it agrees -- it’s like it adores you, adores Kylo. Adores the love and the bond you have built together. It creates an umbrella above you as you clear the short distance to the ship, keeps you dry. The rain is not worthy to fall on your skin, to dampen your hair, to darken your clothing. You are contained inside a bubble, one that no one in the universe could ever burst.

 Inside the ship, he barks an order, sets the coordinates for home, for the star destroyer that stalks the galaxy, the monument to the Order’s power. He will no doubt take control of the fleet which Palpatine has been so kind to amass, so kind to build. You are filled with the thrill of power when you think about how it will be under your command, under Kylo’s.

You are also filled with the heady anticipation of his adoration for you, his desperation for your body. You can feel it pulsing off of him, it’s oozing in waves so thick you’re sure everyone around you can feel it. You can’t help but let a small smile through, at the thought of everyone going to fuck the stars out of each other just from the few intoxicating moments of being near Kylo’s lust.

And oh, how that lust is intoxicating.

By the time you arrive to the quarters which have been lavishly furnished just for you, quarters with the lights turned down nearly all the way, the glow of the distant stars illuminating the space, it is as though every fiber of your robes are permeated with the smell of it. It’s nearly painful, the way which he craves you so feverishly. You had never had the misfortune of being struck by the lightning which he can summon from his palms, but you think if you were to, it would feel like this.

Electrifying, blistering, blinding heat – a tremor runs through your spine as the static charge of his love radiates in red crackling currents through your very soul.

He loves you, and that is a dangerous thing.

You love him back, love him with every cell in your body, love him unapologetically and openly, love him completely. And that is what will bring the remaining corners of the galaxy to its knees.

There is a ritual you share, no matter where you are, no matter when he wants it. A ritual you take great stock in, a ritual which you uphold with utmost respect. You begin by stripping him down to his bare skin, removing layer upon layer of his clothing slowly, folding each piece with care.

You begin at the top, with the cape which clips to his tunic. He is so broad, so incredibly broad, you think as your hands smooth down his chest to the buckle of his wide belt. You smile at the little tracker placed inside it, grateful for the technology as you rest it over the back of a plush armchair in the corner of the room.

Underneath his outer tunic of black ribbed weatherproofing fabric, lay a pair of high waisted leather pants and a protective layer of armored padding. He had learned, since being shot in the stomach by the bowcaster of an old friend, to not be so neglectful. You unclasp the padding, undo the buttons on his trousers, sinking to your knees along the way.

You kneel before him, before your Emperor, your Supreme Leader, as you remove his boots one by one. You bend down to kiss his ankles, open mouthed kisses that have his hands balling into fists, and now it is his turn to tremble. The boots come up halfway to his calf, and you suck and breathe kisses onto the leather as you move up them, unbuckling the straps and letting him step out.

All that remains of his stately attire, are his gloves and those trousers unbuttoned and slung on his hips. Trousers which you peel slowly slowly slowly down, down his thick muscular thighs, down his newly freed calves.

His cock is so hard that it curves up slightly, seeking friction, seeking heat.

You smile at Kylo’s restraint – though it is barely there – he knows he’ll have you soon. This slow sweet torture is not something to be skipped, anticipation of fucking making the fucking itself that much sweeter.

You nuzzle your cheek into the hardened muscle of his lower stomach, so close to his cock that occasionally your other cheek grazes the head of it, and he bucks his hips involuntarily from the sudden jolt of pleasure.

“Share with me a secret.” You whisper, when you have decided that he’s had enough torment.

He offers you a strong and steady hand which you take, and he hauls you up carefully to your feet.

“I’ve never felt stronger than when you’re with me.” He licks his lips, lips which are perfectly bitten from how his teeth had worried them while you made out with his boots. He licks his lips and swallows, cups your cheek with a calloused palm and tilts your face so he can better enter your space, so he can better kiss you. He doesn’t kiss you yet, instead he asks, “When I close my eyes, do you know what I see?”

“Tell me.” You breathe, as you feel the invisible hands of the Force slither around your body, an agreement with the universe that you need to be naked too.

“Paradise.” Kylo’s eyes flicker redorangeyellowgold, just for a moment, just for an instant.

“Show me.” You say, not quite a demand, not quite a beg, but somewhere in between.

And just as slowly and sensually as you had removed every stitch of clothing on your husband, he removes yours. The Force aides his hands as he carefully undoes the intricacies of your dress.

Your cape is not a separate piece of clothing like Kylo’s, instead it is made of yards of fabric which actually hang from your belt. The fabric folds behind you and drapes up over your throat beautifully in a criss-crossing manner, protecting the fragile anatomy there and providing a sense of elegance you were known across the galaxy for.

He unclips the big sleek metal belt-buckle, and lifts the looped fabric from your neck to allow the cape to flutter gently to the polished marble floor. The neckline of the dress plunges, held together by a single button at your navel which is normally hidden by the belt. When undone, the sleeveless bodice slips down your shoulders, and under the weight of its own it too slips down your hips.

You wear no undergarments, and when the dress is nothing more than a puddle of black satin on the floor, you stand in nothing more than your gloves and your boots. Unlike Kylo’s, your gloves extend pass your elbow, leather and shiny and black. Your boots rise all the way to your inner thigh.

But like you, Kylo falls to his knees.

His hands shake, when they ghost the flesh of your thighs. He begins as you did, at the bottom, kissing and licking the black leather boots. But he has a much longer way to go than you did, and as he kisses up up up your leg, he begins to shake more and more strongly.

You know his patience is being tested, but his patience will soon be rewarded, you both know this.

So he kisses up your leg, and finally, finally, when he reaches the top of your boot, he is mere inches away from the one thing he craved possibly more than anything in the entire galaxy.

More than the murder of his inexorable sister, more than the death of his traitorous uncle, more than the collapse of the rebellious organization that insists on terrorizing his precious reign – your beautiful, hot, glistening pussy.

“Take me.” You tell him.

And just like that, the patience breaks.

The Force rips the gloves away from both of your hands, peels them off and throws them into the corner so that when you and Kylo embrace in a meeting of fire and brimstone, it is with the electrifying spark of bare skin on bare skin.

The bed is large and soft, but he lays you down upon it with an urgency that has the whole mattress shaking, rippling under his power as he props your hips up with a silk pillow. He does not waste time burying his face in your pussy, his tongue insistent, impatient, demanding entry between your folds.

“Kylo!” You say, you say because you cannot say anything else, cannot express anything other than the love you have for this man.

Your hand grabs a fistful of his hair and grips him tight, holds him in place as he licks hot broad stripes with the flat of his tongue through all your slick, drinking it down with a fervor that would have you chuckling if you weren’t moaning instead.

His arms hook underneath your thighs and his grip on you is bruising, absolutely bruising with the way his blunt nails carve crescent moons into your skin. He is breathing hard, so hard, as he moans into your cunt with the way he tries to shove his mouth harder against your pussy, kissing and drooling and massaging your thighs with restless hands all the while. He bites the soft skin of your inner thigh, bites down hard enough for you to tighten the grip in his hair and yank slightly. Kylo only laves his tongue over the harsh indents he causes in apology, one that you’re happy to accept.

“Stars, fuck (Y/N),” Kylo pulls back for a moment, because he too is overwhelmed by his own acts of worship. He wants nothing more than to worship you.

He sucks on your clit then, out of nowhere. The pleasure is immense, nearly blinding, because as he latches his mouth around it, something cups and kneads your tits, pinches and tweaks at your nipples. The stimulation has your knees clamping down around his head, and your eyes shut closed so tightly that you can see stars forming behind your eyelids.  

“Oh, yesyesyes,” You arch your back off the sheets, pushing your hips up against his mouth further, “Kylo, yes please – oh fuck, fuck honey -- ”

He eats your cunt and toys with your nipples until your toes curl in the sheets and you’re gasping, coming coming coming on his tongue. He doesn’t let up, doesn’t stop, only continues to lick and suck suck suck on your clit, the force finding its way around your throat, into your mouth. Phantom fingers stroke your tongue, and you cry out Kylo’s name as you shudder so hard from your orgasm that your teeth clack.

He pulls away only once he can sense you’re overstimulated, but he’s not anywhere near done with you yet. His cock weeps for you, you can feel it dripping pre-come across your thighs as he positions himself on top of you fully. The wetness smears between your bodies as he drinks the nectar of your love from your lips, kisses you while the last legs of bliss from your orgasm ripples and shakes through you.

“Good, you’re so good,” Kylo pets the side of your face with one of his large mitts for hands, strokes your cheek. “So fucking good for me, you precious thing.”

Unlike his words, he is not gentle, when he fucks you. It is like much else about him – harsh, severe, explosive. He doesn’t even wait to bottom out before he begins to thrust into your sweet pussy, the blood pounding in his head too loud for him to even appreciate the sick squelch of your come as he grinds his hips against yours. He is fast, he is hard, he is angry.

All the anger that he felt, all that passion that was imbibed in his veins when he slaughtered the man who had ruined his life by his design, all that rage comes flowing out now, now that he has the sweet surrender, the infinite release of your body to take him.

And take him you do, happily you take what he gives, and you give everything you can in return. His cock is so fucking big, so skilled, so adept at maneuvering inside your body from the years of sex you have engaged in together. He fucks you skillfully, even if a little sloppy in the wake of all that rage.

He is some feral thing, unhinged.

Years ago, a crippled puppet had once described Kylo as having raw, untamed power.

Now there were no more strings, no more shadows behind closed doors a thousand lightyears away pushing the pieces – and Kylo felt free.

He grits his teeth and pinches his face up in anger as he rails you hard, fucks you up up up the mattress until your head nearly hits the ornate headboard, and you bring Kylo out of it for just a moment so he can see that soon there will be no more room for him to pound you. He nods – but instead of pulling out of you so you can shuffle back down the bed, he uses the force to drag your joined bodies to the center of the mattress once more, and he resumes his frantic pace.

“I want – I need – ” You pant, body jolting under him as he lifts one of your legs for a better angle that has tears spilling into your hair, chin trembling from how fucking good this new position feels. It all feels good with Kylo, but this, this is magic.

Once it has its hands on you, the Force doesn’t seem to want to let you go. You think it’s sweet sometimes, how it vies with Kylo to cover your body in its presence. Kylo is a large man, large in every sense of the word as he has to pin your hips down against the pillow, skin smacking harshly against yours. Kylo is large, but the Force is a greater power, and the Force wants you almost as badly as Kylo does.

Not more, because nothing could want you more than Kylo, but almost.

It anchors itself around you, opens you up further for Kylo to take and give more pleasure, more more more of his power seeping into you. Your flesh breaks into goosebumps, limbs shuttering as you feel the tendrils of the Force wind around your neck, plunge down your throat, wisp around your wrists and tug at your ankles.

It is an unbreakable rope that slithers and snares its way into every possible crevice and orifice that your body possesses, thick cord that binds you, binds you to him, to Kylo.

“Holy shit – ” You gasp, sharp and high and loud.

Kylo has found the spot inside your cunt that makes you go blind with pleasure, and he milks it both with his cock, which throbs at the realization that you’ll come around him soon, and the Force, which somehow has the power to intensify the feeling, getting in and stimulating the very nerve ending in your pussy.

“Please Kylo, your cock is so big I can feel it up in my throat, please, please, fuck, I’m coming, yesyesyes– ” You sob for him, beg beg beg for him, and he is drenched in sweat at the praise, teeth gnashing and hair tossed wild as he brings you to orgasm once again.

You’re almost worried for a moment, that you’ve blacked out. It’s happened before, the sheer overwhelming power of your orgasm simply too much for you to handle sometimes, too overwhelming that your brain doesn’t know how to respond to all the pleasure. Your entire body is convulsing, and suddenly, it’s as if a switch as been flipped.

Kylo’s hips drop to a slow grind, a screeching halt of the bruising smacking rough rhythm he had immediately set out with. You’re not sure which drives you over the edge further, the brutal fucking or this, this measured, restrained, even flow. It is almost methodical, almost too perfectly even, and it makes you sob.

You are wordless, fucked dumb by your Supreme Leader’s cock.

You don’t know how long this lasts, how long your orgasm rips through you. The Force keeps it strong, keeps it bright white hot behind your eyelids. Hands are all over you, and you’re not sure which are your husbands and which belong to the universe. Every part of your body is massaged, squeezed, groped, claimed.

Your voice is so high as you shout it out, you have to let it out somehow, or you’re sure you’ll die. Kylo milks it for all it’s worth, forces himself to maintain this slow and steady pace, to both of you practically snarling into each other’s mouths simply because you’re both so far gone.

When he finally comes, the alarms blare.

His release is so strong that it shatters the shields of his ship as it hurtles through time and space, hurtles toward a future of grand opulence and power – a future you will build together. The shields shatter, and the alarm blares, and Kylo looks down at you with a strange mix of fear and bewilderment and pure awe. He’s coming, still coming inside you, his eyes wide open from the shock of just how good it feels.

He gives you this look every time, and every time it fills your entire being with pride, fills you with a warm satisfaction that you can give him this, that you can allow him to feel this way.

He gives you this look every time, as if it’s the first time, as if it’s the only time he’ll ever have; but with this – the power the fleet the force – you know it won’t be, it’s just the beginning.

The beginning of something incredible, something unstoppable. You know this.

You know because unlike the feeling of your hips settling under his as he grinds his pulsing cock into you deeper deeper deeper, something in him is new. Something in him is fresh, is so shocking that the realization hits you both at the same time and has you both splitting into grins so wide it stretches the pearly white skin of his scar.

You know because when he presses his forehead against yours and lets the Force bond open up, lets his mind flow into yours, for the very first time inside his head, the only voice he hears, the only whispers which curl around his skull,

Are yours.  

                                                 ---------------------------

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[dreamscapefics]

Imagine Geralt being too scared to pursue a relationship with Ciri since she's his child surprise, but Jaskier going right for her as soon as she's of age. Jas knows Geralt wants her so he makes a point to get a room next to his in every inn and fuck her up against the wall, growling against her neck and calling her his good girl, making her squeal on his cock and Geralt can hear every single noise, every moan and whimper and kiss

Anon! Thank you so much for sending this prompt. I loved it and honestly went crazy with it, so I hope you like it. It’s 7.4k (I know, I have a problem with length, oops?) of jealous pining!Geralt and Ciriskier getting it on. Please enjoy!

Tags: cunnilingus, cocksucking, overstimulation, incest/pseudo-incest, accidental voyeurism, consensual voyeurism, age difference, cum inflation kink, cock-dumb, aggressiveness/possessiveness, daddy kink, under-negotiated poly

~*~

Geralt

Geralt has known since he first laid eyes on his Child Surprise that he wants to make her his. In every sense of the word. But considering that they met under unfortunate and traumatizing circumstances, Geralt had to set his desires aside first because bringing Ciri somewhere safe took precedence.

Nonetheless, he can’t help but admire her ethereal beauty. Emerald eyes hardened by her recent experiences since fleeing Cintra soften every time she looks at Geralt when the witcher comforts her from a nightmare or cuddles her when it’s especially cold at night. Ash-blonde hair, which he had to cut shoulder-length to avoid being recognized, makes her look more mature than her thirteen years of age. Her built is slim, the top of her head barely reaching Geralt’s chest, and yet it doesn’t fail to send heat pooling low in his gut every time Ciri hugs him or huddles closer to him. For warmth or for comfort, it doesn’t matter, since he appreciates it all the same.

The walls that Geralt built around his heart for decades seemed to crumble to dust whenever he lays eyes on Ciri. Something primal, almost possessive, curls in him at the thought of his Child Surprise being so comfortable and pliant around him.

If Geralt hadn’t thought of himself as a monster before, he would do so now at the depraved thoughts and images that constantly permeate his mind about his ward. A part of him feels guilty, sure, but a bigger part of Geralt appreciates the lack of fear and disgust whenever he takes a subtle whiff of Ciri. There’s nothing but the smell of melancholy (which makes sense), safety, and affection. Affection for Geralt, which Ciri freely offers in abundance.

“How far along are we to Kaer Morhen?” Ciri asks him one night.

They’re camped in the middle of the woods, and the young teen is curled around Geralt to fight off the chill despite the roaring fire next to them and the furs Ciri is buried in.

Geralt hums and curls his arm tighter around Ciri’s frame, hand resting almost possessively on the girl’s hip. He doesn’t hide the small smirk that graces his lips when he feels Ciri shudder against a gust of wind and buries her angelic face on the crook of his neck.

“At least another month,” Geralt rumbles, his other hand rubbing soothingly along the thin arm wrapped around his torso. He chuckles and can’t help but kiss the top of his Child Surprise’s head when Ciri groans, his leather pants tightening a fraction when the girl breathes out against his neck. “Sorry, pup. We’re taking the longer route to keep Nilfgaard off our backs.”

“It’s okay, I understand,” Ciri whispers. “Thank you for keeping me safe, Geralt.”

Affection blooms in Geralt’s chest, and he tightens his hold around her before pressing another kiss to her head. He seems to be doing that a lot lately. Being openly affectionate.

Hmm.

“Always, pup,” Geralt whispers back, chest rumbling in pleasure when he feels Ciri huddle closer. The weight of her growing tits pressed against his side sends another bolt of possessiveness to run through him.

He wants, so fucking much, but he knows he can’t.

~

They accidentally bump into Jaskier at one of the backwater villages they’re passing through.

After giving a heartfelt but stilted apology to what happened at the mountain almost a year ago, in which the bard milked every word Geralt uttered through gritted teeth like a cat that got the canary for a few seconds longer than necessary before accepting it with an over-the-top bow, Geralt introduces his friend to Ciri.

Ciri, who giggles behind her hand at Jaskier’s theatrical display, smiles and curtsies at the man dressed in bright colors.

“Lovely Ciri,” Jaskier says after he straightens himself. “What an absolute pleasure to meet you at last, my dear.”

“Likewise, Jaskier,” the young teen says. “Geralt has told me so much about you.”

Geralt arches a brow at her. He’s quite certain that he didn’t talk that much about Jaskier. Maybe once or twice. In passing.

Probably.

“Hm, has he now?” Jaskier directs a curious look at Geralt, who grunts in response. The bard grins at that. “Ah, I’ve definitely missed that.” Then he claps his hands. “So where are we off to next?”

“We’re going to Kaer Morhen,” Ciri pipes up before Geralt can answer.

He glances at his Child Surprise, only to feel dread settle in his stomach when he sees a sparkle in her eye as she continues to look up at their latest companion. That familiar sparkle has only ever been directed at Geralt before, and he’s not sure if he likes the way Ciri is staring at his friend.

When Geralt turns away to look at Jaskier, he doesn’t miss the calculating look in the bard’s eye as he meets Geralt’s gaze with an impish smile.

“Well, to the Witcher’s keep, it is!” Jaskier says with a grin, but not before winking at Ciri, who giggles again.

Geralt rolls his eyes but doesn’t say anything, although deep down a part of him doesn’t look forward to sharing Ciri’s affections with him.

~

Like everything in his life, Geralt learns to deal with it.

Yennefer, Vesemir, Eskel, Lambert, and Jaskier. Hell, even Triss.

They all become a part of Ciri’s life, and Geralt is so proud of her for having such a huge capacity for love. He’s secretly thankful to have the others’ support. Should anything happen to him, at least Ciri has other people to rely on.

“You’ll always be my number one,” Ciri tells him on her sixteenth birthday.

Geralt gifted her a customized dagger, emerald and topaz stones decorating the hilt. Upon seeing it, Ciri thanked him profusely with a kiss on his cheek and a tight hug, which Geralt returned just as tightly, lifting her petite form from the ground.

“Love you, pup,” Geralt whispers in her ear.

He feels Ciri shiver, her arms tightening around his neck. His slow heartbeat stutters when he feels moist lips press on the curve of his jaw, Ciri’s breath warm in his ear as she lovingly utters--

“I love you, too.”

Fuck.

~

The years pass by, and Geralt’s affections for Ciri deepen the older his Child Surprise gets. He, Lambert, Eskel, and Vesemir train her to be a Witcher minus the mutations, while Yennefer and Triss teach and train her to control her Chaos. In-between that, Jaskier educates Ciri in literature and history, geography and maths, and even poetry and politics.

She grows from a sweet-faced, cautious girl to a beautiful, powerful, and courageous woman. Ciri also developed a mischievous streak, thanks to Lambert, but it only made Geralt’s heart soften further every time he sees his ward’s beatific smile or hears her peals of laughter.

He knows he’ll always want her, always lust and crave for Ciri the way a man who’s responsible for raising his daughter isn’t supposed to. But Geralt has long accepted that it can never be, so if all he can ever have of Ciri is this, then it should be enough.

But it can’t be helped the way his heart cracks every time he sees Ciri, now eighteen and ready to walk the Path, flirt back with Jaskier.

He witnesses Jaskier flirt, shameless in his affections as he bestows a kiss on Ciri’s knuckles. On Ciri’s cheek, her forehead. And one time, the curve of her jaw from when she hugged the bard in greeting after not seeing one another for nearly a year.

This is enough, he thinks, even as he stands to the side and witnesses the two people he loves most fall for each other.

It has to be, he thinks again, even if it’s the furthest thing from what he desires.

~

Jaskier

Jaskier has always known Geralt has feelings for Ciri. Well, not always, perhaps. But he’s suspected. Ever since that first time Geralt introduced them to each other, Jaskier saw that glint in Geralt’s expression when the witcher thought he wasn’t looking. In the years they’ve been friends, Jaskier has studied and memorized every grunt and expression, and the face Geralt made that time when he was looking at Ciri was one of longing and desire.

And Jaskier, well. He’s also not blind to Ciri’s less-than-innocent affections, bestowed upon both him and Geralt.

Oh, yes. As much as Geralt claims to understand humans, he sure doesn’t see just how much Ciri wants him back. Granted, the child is more subtle about it, and it’s only thanks to Jaskier’s very good observational skills that he managed to detect it at all. It only worsened (improved? Eh, technicalities) over the years, as they trained her to be a Witcher and sorceress. The hopeless romantic in Jaskier yearns for these two to get their heads out of their asses, but to no avail.

So it shouldn’t come as a surprise when Jaskier’s flirting pays off. Though Jaskier has known earlier that she’s always had a bit of a crush on him, when Ciri started flirting back with him it still took Jaskier by surprise, if only briefly.

Can’t blame her, really, he is quite a catch, after all.

Besides, there’s nothing wrong with it anyway, given the fact that Ciri is eighteen and a grown woman. And Melitele, how she’s grown. As much as he wants Geralt to have the happiness he so deserves, a part of Jaskier - the selfish part, that is - can’t help but cave in to his own desires.

Ciri has grown so beautifully, her ash-blonde hair framing her high cheekbones and striking emerald eyes. She’s grown in height as well, but Jaskier is still taller, the top of the young woman’s head reaching his chin, which is perfect because he only has to dip his head a fraction to kiss Ciri’s forehead. As for her body - gods, she’s curvy in all the right places, her breasts big and ripe and so tantalizing to look at, the globes of her ass plump and firm.

Surprisingly, nobody was against the blossoming romance between him and Ciri, and Jaskier thanks his lucky stars for that. He surmises that he’s probably the lesser evil, that it’s better that Ciri ends up with him - a humble bard and a trusted friend and companion of the White Wolf - than with some random person who may or may not have ulterior motives for bedding the princess. Some part of Jaskier thinks that he should feel guilty for pursuing his best friend’s daughter, but Geralt has remained tight-lipped about it, save for that time he nodded at Jaskier when Jaskier was whispering sweet nothings in Ciri’s ear after dinner.

While a part of him feels guilty, another part feels sorry. Sorry that Geralt is unable to make a move, to stake his claim or whatever. No, Ciri is not some animal or a property to be claimed - she’s a person meant to be loved and cherished and treated well. And Jaskier does. While a part of Jaskier feels sorry for Geralt, he also can’t help but be smug about it. He’s not going to shove it in his friend’s face, no, Jaskier is not that cruel. But he can’t help but feel pride at the fact that Ciri chose him.

And not only just choose Jaskier, but also lose her virginity to him.

~

“Jask,” Ciri moans, head thrown back in pleasure against the pillows and thick furs beneath her. “Fuck, just like that- fuck!”

Jaskier moans from where his mouth is sucking on her clit, hands grasping the backs of her thighs as he forces them further apart. They’re in Ciri’s room in Kaer Morhen, halfway through the last winter before his love sets out on the Path come spring.

He settles one leg over his shoulder before bringing his hand to Ciri’s pink folds, already slick with her juices after having come twice on Jaskier’s mouth, tongue, and fingers. Jaskier loves her like this, laid out naked on the bed, skin sweaty and flushed with arousal as he inserts two fingers inside her.

“Ah!” Ciri cries out, one hand moving to grab Jaskier’s head while the other remains by her side, tightly gripping the sheets. “Fuck, Jaskier, just fuck me already.”

“I am fucking you, my love,” Jaskier answers impishly, licking a stripe between her folds before swirling his tongue around her swollen clit.

Ciri makes a noise between a growl and a whine.

“D-don’t be an ass,” she gasps out when Jaskier’s fingers start to piston in and out of her, his tongue unrelenting on her clit. “I want your cock in me, Jask!”

Jaskier hums. “Just one more, Ciri. One more for me, my good girl.”

Ciri sobs as Jaskier inserts a third finger inside her, lips closing around the little nub as he starts to suckle on it greedily. They’ve been having sex for weeks now and Jaskier easily got used to the fact no matter how quiet they try to be in their lovemaking, the other Wolf Witchers will still hear them. So, really, there’s no need for them to hold back.

Which is why Jaskier loves it when he goes down on Ciri, the young woman so sensitive and receptive to his touches that she turns to putty every time Jaskier eats her out. He knows she loves it, loves how overstimulated she can get by Jaskire’s mouth and fingers before he eventually slides home into her. Her moans and whimpers, cries and demands for more and please and harder, Jaskier, never fails to send a thrill of pleasure and desire up his spine.

Jaskier lets go of her thigh as he lets his hand travel up his lover’s hips, abs, and then to her breasts. He pinches and rolls Ciri’s pebbled nipples, and she shouts and rolls her hips against Jaskier’s mouth and fingers, eagerly chasing after her third orgasm. It’s after a simultaneous pinch of her nipple and a suckle of her clit that Jaskier feels Ciri’s body shudder, inner walls clenching tight as she comes with a loud, broken moan of Jaskier’s name.

Pulling out his slick fingers, Jaskier sucks the digits into his mouth while he climbs up and on top of Ciri. Grinning blissfully, Ciri meets Jaskier’s lips with a pleased hum, loving the taste of her juices in his mouth. She pulls her long, muscular legs up to wrap around Jaskier, her feet resting on the small of his back as Jaskier guides his cock to Ciri’s wet cunt. They moan in unison, mouths still gliding against one another, when Jaskier finally enters her.

“Oh fuck, yes,” Ciri moans breathily. She wraps her arms around Jaskier’s broad shoulders, fingers curling on the back of his head in a light grasp. Jaskier moans as she bites his lower lip, and he snaps his hips roughly into her in response. “Jask. Fuck, baby, just like that.”

Jaskier shudders. He fucking loves it when Ciri uses that endearment on him, and he knows Ciri is aware of it, too. His arms move to wrap around Ciri’s body, their sweaty chests flushed together now. He adjusts his position, legs spreading a bit wider and planting his feet on the flush bed before deepening his thrusts, the wet squelch of skin slapping on skin drowned out by Jaskier’s grunts and groans and Ciri’s wanton moans.

They’re no longer kissing but their mouths are pressed together, open and panting. Jaskier angles his hips and thrusts in roughly, making Ciri gasp and grasp his hair tighter. Jaskier groans then traces the seam of Ciri’s lip with his tongue before diving into the hot, wet cavern of his lover, who reciprocates by tilting her head for a better angle. The kiss is hot and messy and filthy, and Jaskier’s chest blooms with love for the woman underneath him.

“I love you,” Jaskier murmurs against her mouth. He smiles back when he feels Ciri smile.

“I love you too,” she murmurs back.

“Are you okay, darling?” he whispers next as he starts to kiss a trail from Ciri’s mouth to her cheek and jaw. “What else do you need?”

Ciri cranes her head to give Jaskier more access to lavish kisses and bruises down the side of her neck, legs adjusting to wrap tighter around him.

“S’perfect,” she whispers back, sounding wrecked and fucked out, which was Jaskier’s plan for tonight. “You’re perfect, Jask. B-but please - ah! - please, baby, fuck me harder. I want to feel you when I train tomorrow.”

Fuck. “As you wish, darling.”

And Jaskier delivers, plowing hard and rough into Ciri until it’s probably bordering on painful for his beloved, but Ciri’s moans become higher pitched until she’s screaming her pleasure from the intense fucking Jaskier is giving her. He hisses when he feels blunt nails scrape down his back to grasp his asscheeks. But the brief pain only spurned Jaskier to look down at Ciri’s lust-filled eyes, sweat trailing down his forehead and lashes as his hips begin to falter when he felt his balls draw tighter, his orgasm drawing closer.

He unwraps one arm around Ciri, only to bring it to his lover’s engorged clit. It only takes a few strokes before Ciri comes, her walls clenching around his cock that it makes Jaskier see stars when he comes half a dozen thrusts later. And he comes so hard inside her he nearly passes out, but fortunately he was able to fall beside her rather than on top, their chests heaving as they come down from one of the most intense climaxes they shared.

“Fuck,” Jaskier gasps out. Ciri snorts in laughter beside her, and he can’t help but chuckle in return. “What are the chances they’re on the other side of the keep?”

“Zero.”

“Fuck,” Jaskier repeats, but it’s more amused than worried.

Ciri snorts again before turning to curl herself around Jaskier. Despite the sweat and come sticking to their heated skins, Jaskier doesn’t hesitate to wrap his arm around her, fingers trailing soothingly from waist to hip as they bask in the afterglow.

“I can’t wait ‘till we’re on the Path together,” Ciri murmurs from the crook on Jaskier’s neck. “Hunting monsters, earning coin, and getting fucked silly by my lover.”

Jaskier is too old to blush, but here he is, flushing pink at being referred to as Ciri’s lover. Because he is. He’s Ciri’s. And Ciri is his.

“I can’t wait for that, too,” Jaskier murmurs back, pressing his lips to her sweaty forehead. “Oh, the songs I will write and sing of you, my love.”

Ciri giggles, and Jaskier’s heart skips a beat at the familiar sound he’s grown to cherish so much.

“Me, too.” Then she adds thoughtfully, “Hope dad doesn’t complain much, though.”

Jaskier’s brow furrows. “What do you mean?”

“Oh, didn’t dad tell you? He’s traveling with us for a few months. Didn’t want him to at first because I’m a grown woman, but he said he just wants to ease me into the Path now that I’m officially a Witcher-slash-Sorceress.”

Huh. Now that’s interesting, Jaskier thinks. Geralt never mentioned anything about traveling with them come spring, but then again it sort of makes sense. Firstly, Geralt is nothing but an overprotective dad, which Jaskier doesn’t blame him for in the least bit. And secondly, Jaskier isn’t an idiot. He’s seen the looks Geralt keeps giving him since he and Ciri consummated their relationship. The longing and want is a sight to behold on the witcher’s face, but jealousy is not a suitable look on him.

Jaskier isn’t sure what Ciri’s feelings are for Geralt, now that they’re romantically involved. Maybe it was just a passing crush, maybe it’s more. But knowing that Geralt’s affections for his beloved has not waned in the slightest over the years, Jaskier supposes that it won’t hurt if he carries out a few tests of his own. Just to see if the attraction still goes both ways.

And he knows the perfect thing to do.

~

Geralt

Spring finally arrives, and Geralt sets out on the Path once more. But this time, he leaves with Ciri and Jaskier, the former beside herself with excitement at the prospect of finally leaving the Witcher’s keep to find her place in the Continent.

Once they reach the bottom of the Blue Mountains, they set on the path and continue traveling for several days, camping in the forest and bathing in rivers, until they reach a village. After stabling their horses and paying the stableboy to tend to them, they first go to the inn to rent a room for the night.

“Make that two rooms, please,” Jaskier interjects at once after Geralt grunts at the innkeeper for a room with two beds. Geralt and Ciri exchange a look before Geralt turns suspicious eyes on the bard. “Single beds would do. And two baths as well, lovely madame.”

Ciri purses her lips to hide a smile but Geralt’s frown deepens at the wink Jaskier throws at his… at Ciri. He’s spent most of winter listening to them go at it like rabid animals, and Geralt is not in the fucking mood for whatever the bard is planning. It’s one thing to hear Ciri’s moans and whimpers in the safety of Kaer Morhen’s walls, and it’s another out here on the Path. Where other people can hear. And that’s something Geralt isn’t sure he’s comfortable with.

“Two rooms are too expensive,” Geralt grumbles to Jaskier as they take the stairs to the second floor. “And unnecessary.”

Jaskier waves him off with a smile and a pat on his shoulder.

“Come now, Geralt,” he says. “Ciri’s a grown woman. Surely you want to give her some privacy when she’s bathing.”

Jaskier gives him an arched look while Ciri blushes prettily beside him.

The image of Ciri - wet and naked and bathing herself, touching herself - is brought to the forefront of Geralt’s mind, and it takes a moment longer for him to think of an appropriate reply.

“Don’t be crass,” he grunts with a scowl, swallowing inaudibly past the dryness in his throat. “I’m just being practical.”

“It’s fine, dad,” Ciri soothes him with a hand on his arm. Geralt turns and his heart melts at his daughter’s soft smile. Then it broadens until she’s grinning cheekily at him. “But Jask is right. I’m a grown woman now.”

Geralt rolls his eyes but nods his head in understanding.

“Great! Let’s meet at the tavern for dinner, then? Our baths will be arriving soon.”

And just his luck, Geralt’s room is right next to theirs. Geralt just grunts in agreement before unlocking his door and stepping inside. He can hear their muffled voices next door, interspersed with giggling and wet smacks that can only be them kissing. Geralt tries his best to tamp down the jealousy that’s been simmering lately, taking deep breaths instead to keep his emotions under control.

He’s happy for Ciri, of course he is. And he’s happy for Jaskier, too. His daughter and best friend finding love in each other was shocking at first, yes, but Geralt has grown to accept it. But it doesn’t mean he’s not immune to fits of jealousy every now and then. Hearing Ciri’s sounds of pleasure has brought Geralt to completion a handful of times, yet it’s a torture of its own kind because he knows why Ciri is making such beautiful, shameless noises. The fact that it’s Jaskier who is giving her such pleasure somehow makes Geralt ache for her more, makes him crave to get a touch, a taste, of his little girl.

A thud breaks Geralt out of his musings, and he looks up in confusion from arranging his packs in the corner. Realizing it’s coming from next door, Geralt is about to yank his door open when he hears another thud, followed by moaning.

Geralt blinks and then exhales through his nose. Fuck.

“Jask, please,” he hears Ciri moan. Geralt’s leather pants become tighter at the sound of her breathy gasps. “Please, please, I want your cock.”

Fuck, Geralt repeats as he gulps and staggers to the end of the bed where he lands on gracelessly.

“Begging so prettily, my love,” he hears Jaskier praise, then it’s followed by the sound of sucking and slurping and-- shit, Geralt thinks. The bard’s mouth is likely buried on Ciri’s cunt. “You’ll be a good girl for me, won’t you?”

Ciri lets out a whimper that makes Geralt’s cock throb, the huge bulge on his leather pants bordering on painful, but Geralt grits his teeth.

“Yes yes, please, I’ll be your good girl.”

“Fuck,” Geralt whispers under his breath. He closes his eyes, imagines Ciri saying those words but to him instead. “Fuck.”

What follows is what Geralt can only describe as a quick and dirty fuck. He listens, enraptured, as Jaskier gets off Ciri twice, his daughter obviously holding back on her moans and whimpers. Geralt wets his dry lips when he hears the rustle of clothes being shed and thrown carelessly, the sounds of flesh pressing against flesh as two bodies land gracelessly on the straw mattress bed. Geralt grits his teeth when he hears Ciri beg for Jaskier’s cock, her voice breathy and dripping with lust and love and desire. And Jaskier eagerly replies back, just as breathily, that Ciri’s being such a good girl, his good girl, as he tells her to turn around and go on her hands and knees.

At this point, Geralt finally gives in and unlaces his pants. He only shoves it down past his thighs before he grasps his throbbing cock with a hiss. Precome dribbles down from the tip and Geralt smears it around his thick length, spitting on his hand to add more slick. He lets out a gasp when he focuses back on the two people fucking next door, the sounds of Jaskier rutting into Ciri mixed with their moans of pleasure.

“Is this what you wanted, princess?” he hears Jaskier growl.

“Yes!” Ciri moans, and Geralt can tell she’s moving her hips back to meet Jaskier’s thrusts. “You always fuck me so well.”

“Of course I do, darling. You’re such a good girl. You’re my good girl.”

“Yours,” Ciri affirms with a broken sob. “Always yours.”

Geralt tightens his grasp around his length, one hand stripping his cock while the other fondles his heavy sac. He’s only a room away, but it’s like he can hear Ciri’s voice in his ear, the squelch of her dripping cunt being plowed roughly by another man’s cock audible from where he’s perched. His nostrils flare, and Geralt swears he can smell her sweet and musky scent from here as well, and it’s that thought that sends him over the edge.

Geralt comes hard, thick ropes of hot cum painting his chest and throat. He opens his eyes in shock when he hears Ciri make a high keening sound, and he’s heard it dozens of times before that he knows she reached her climax as well. A minute later and Jaskier follows, hips stilling as he cums inside Ciri with a drawn out groan.

Everything is silent aside from their heavy breathing. Geralt’s heart is beating like a normal human’s against his ribs, and he blinks several times at the realization that he just masturbated to Ciri and Jaskier having sex. Next door.

Fuck, Geralt thinks.

“That was incredible,” he hears Ciri comment with a breathy giggle. Geralt’s heart twinges at the sound.

Jaskier returns it with a throaty chuckle of his own. Then it’s followed by a smacking of lips and tongue.

“Glad you enjoyed it, sweetheart,” Jaskier replies, and even Geralt can hear the smugness in his tone. “I’ve been wanting to do that all week.”

Ciri giggles again. “So that’s why you got a second room, hm?” There’s no reply, but Ciri’s laughter is bright as she says, “Brilliant idea there, love. But next time, maybe don’t get a room next to dad’s?”

Geralt stiffens, and he hears Jaskier hum before the bard replies, “Maybe. But where’s the fun in that, hm?”

What?

“You’re awful!” Ciri laughs while a light smack to Jaskier.

“I’m really not,” Jaskier disagrees smoothly, and Geralt is confused. “Now come on, darling, our bath’s arriving soon.”

As they get up to dress once more, Geralt remains seated on the bed, pants unlaced and soft, wet cock hanging out. And all he feels is confusion and longing.

~

It happens again at the next village they pass through.

Geralt has been soaking in the steaming bathtub for the better part of an hour and a half when he hears Jaskier and Ciri stumble into their room next door. He hears them clumsily shed their clothes in-between heated kisses and muttered praises, Ciri’s whimpers turning to moans at the telltale sound of Jaskier sucking bruises on her collarbones where it can be hidden by her shirt. Geralt’s cock swells until it’s stiff under the water, and he bites his lower lip to fight off the groan that rumbles in his throat when he guiltily takes himself in hand.

He can hear their heartbeats pick up, which is quickly followed by a loud thud of someone’s back hitting the wall. Geralt nearly jumps when he the sound reverberates on the wall next to him, and he realizes how small the distance is from his position in the tub to where Jaskier and Ciri are.

What follows next nearly short circuits Geralt’s brain. There’s the thud of someone going on their knees, then he hears Jaskier swear before he chokes off into a moan. Ciri’s moan joins his before it’s interrupted by the sound of suckling.

“F-fuck, Ciri,” Jaskier gasps.

Ciri hums, then she takes a deep breath, her voice muffled around a mouthful of -- of cock. Fuck, she’s on her knees and deepthroating Jaskier, whose head is thumping against the wall. The wall that’s the only godsdamn thing that serves as a barrier between Geralt and the coupling that’s happening next door. He continues stroking his cock - long, languid strokes as he closes his eyes and listens to Jaskier’s filthy praises of Ciri’s cocksucking skills, how she’s a good girl taking his cock so well and how Jaskier is going to reward her for being the best lover he’s ever had.

Geralt’s chest rumbles, jealousy and desire and longing warring within him as he listens to Jaskier talk while Ciri hums and mutters, “you taste so good, baby” before diving back in to swallow the precome with a slurp before taking Jaskier’s cock to the hilt. This goes on for several minutes until Geralt can smell how close Jaskier is, and then the bard forces Ciri off his cock. Ciri’s moan of protest is immediately cut off when Geralt discerns the shuffling sound as Jaskier pulling his daughter up from the floor, only to turn her around as Ciri’s back hits the wall.

“Jask-- oh.”

Geralt’s breath hitches when he hears Jaskier’s huff of breath, accompanied by him lifting Ciri off the ground.

���Fuck,” Geralt mutters, and he grips his cock at the base when he perceives Ciri’s legs wrap around Jaskier’s waist.

“Going to take you like this, love,” he catches Jaskier mutter, his voice muffled from where it’s likely pressed against Ciri’s long, pale neck. “Going to you make you mine like this.”

There’s a faint sound followed by Ciri whining.

“Jask, please, baby, please,” she pleads, and fuck if that doesn’t make Geralt’s cock pulse with want. His baby girl sounds fucking stunning like this.

Jaskier tuts and then murmurs, “No, darling. I want you to come on my cock. Just my cock. Be a good girl for me, please?”

Ciri lets out a sob but Geralt thinks she nods her head.

“Okay.”

“Lovely. So beautiful, Cirilla. So good for me. My love, my princess.”

Jaskier continues to whisper pretty names and erotic praises, and Geralt makes out the sound of his cock entering Ciri’s wet, tight cunt. The bard groans while Ciri lets out the filthiest moan Geralt has heard so far. It’s a high keening sound that breaks into a drawn out “fuck”.

Geralt holds his breath and his patience is rewarded as Jaskier proceeds to plow into Ciri. The thuds against the wall become a steady, crude beat as Ciri tightens her hold around Jaskier, whom Geralt guesses is clutching her plump cheeks while relentlessly driving his cock in and out her. Geralt finds himself matching Jaskier’s thrusts to his strokes, distantly impressed by the bard’s stamina.

“So fucking good, darling,” Jaskier says in-between grunts. “You love having me inside you, don’t you? Can’t get enough of my cock keeping you warm and full.”

“Yesyesyesyes fuck.” Ciri chokes off a moan when Jaskier’s next thrust comes rougher. “Just like that. Jask - ah! - fuck, I love your cock. Love how f-full I feel. L-love it especially w-when you - ah, ah - cum inside me.”

“Fuck,” Geralt grunts.

“Fuck,” Jaskier groans. Somehow, Geralt thinks he changes the angle because Ciri squeals and whimpers, the squelch of skin slapping on skin lewd and obscene to Geralt’s ears. “Ciri. Darling, sweetheart. Oh, my good girl. So good for me. I’m close. So fucking--”

“Yes yes yes,” Ciri moans wantonly. “Fucking cum in me, daddy!”

Holy shit.

Geralt does. He bites his knuckles hard to stop himself from moaning. He distantly hears Jaskier groan out loud, the bard going still as he spills his seed inside Ciri, who in turn comes with a cry.

“Daddy, huh?”

Geralt’s fucked out brain registers Jaskier’s voice, a teasing lilt in his tone. Ciri’s answer comes a beat later, embarrassment clear in her voice.

“Yeah, well,” she clears her throat before she tries again. “You keep calling me your good girl, so. Calling you ‘daddy’ sounds fair.”

There’s silence for a while. Geralt’s heart rate returns to normal when he hears Jaskier hum thoughtfully along with a light smack of lips.

“I prefer it when you call me ‘baby’, though. Are you sure it’s me you want to be calling that, hm?”

And Geralt’s heart picks up again.

“Jask…”

“Yes, love?”

“Come on. You know I…” she trails off again. Geralt takes a whiff, and his brows furrow when he detects the scent of embarrassment, lust, and… and guilt.

Guilt?

Before he can ponder further, Jaskier’s soothing voice filters through again.

“I know,” he says reassuringly. “And you know I’m fine with it. In fact, I encourage it.”

There’s doubt in Ciri’s voice when she replies, “I know, but what if… I don’t think--”

“There’s no harm in trying, right?” Jaskier interjects gently. “Besides, you know I’m perfectly okay with it.”

“Okay, but not right now. Soon.”

“Okay. Soon, then.”

“I love you, you know that, right?” Ciri says when they break apart for air. Geralt blinks, and his heart twinges at the clear affection in her voice.

He hears Jaskier kiss her deeply before pulling away again to say, “Yes I do, and I love you too. Nothing is going to change that, my love.”

They start kissing again, and this time it’s accompanied by the shuffling of their feet as they make their way towards the bed. As Geralt listens - eavesdrops - on such an intimate moment, he wonders to himself what Jaskier is encouraging his daughter in.

~

“Hope you enjoyed last night.”

Geralt stiffens in shock from where he’s saddling Roach, and he slowly turns his head in time to see Jaskier’s knowing smirk. He couldn’t breathe for a second, fear gripping his heart as he meets his friend’s steady gaze. Jaskier’s smirk softens into a look of understanding, then he pats Geralt’s shoulder.

“It’s quite alright, my friend,” he murmurs as he walks past Geralt. Fortunately, Ciri can’t see Geralt’s stoic face, or hear what Jaskier says next. “Our girl loves to put on a show for you.”

Then he walks away humming a familiar tune, and Geralt is left standing beside Roach, mouth agape in shock as his brain processes Jaskier’s words.

~

So that’s what they do. Every time they stop by a village and rent a room for the night, Geralt is treated to a “show”.

Ciri bouncing on Jaskier’s cock as Jaskier fondles her breasts and narrates to her all the filthiest things he wants to do to her when they return to Kaer Morhen for the winter.

Jaskier going down on Ciri and getting her off three times with his hands and mouth before flipping her over and plowing into her from behind until Ciri is sobbing and begging for Jaskier to ruin her, to fuck her so hard she won’t be able to ride her horse for the next week.

Ciri choking on Jaskier’s cock as Jaskier grasps her hair and fucks her throat before pulling out to paint her face and chest with his cum, Ciri moaning and suckling on the tip of Jaskier’s cock to milk him dry.

There’s that time they were slightly tipsy and Geralt fisted his cock to the sounds of Jaskier bending Ciri over the desk, lifting one of her legs to rest on top of it, and then taking her from behind. Ciri’s whimpers and pleas for more, harder, please, baby, was so lascivious that Geralt came twice before either of the two reached their own climax.

Geralt also notices that they have a thing for fucking against the wall. Ciri especially loves it when Jaskier lifts her up, the only thing supporting her the wall she’s pressed against and Jaskier’s strong arms. Jaskier drives his cock into her at a punishing pace every time, and that never fails to make Ciri squeal and cry out like a whore, and then come with that high keening moan that breaks halfway and makes Geralt’s cock throb that he comes so fucking hard.

And then there’s last night, when Geralt is in bed and stroking himself for what’s probably the hundredth time as he listens to Jaskier pound Ciri through the mattress, their moans salacious and loud to his enhanced hearing. The heavy thumping of the headboard hitting the wall can also be heard, and Geralt half wonders, not for the first time, just where Jaskier gets his stamina because not once has the bard failed to keep up with Ciri.

“Gods, just like that.”

“I love it when your cunt quivers around me, darling.”

“Harder, ah, harder, fuck!”

“I’m gonna cum again, love. Do you want it?”

A broken sob. “Yes, Jask, yes. Please. Want it so much. Want to be full of your cum.”

Jaskier only lasts for another minute until Geralt picks up his change in breathing before Jaskier stills and lets out a deep, satisfied groan. The image of his friend, face slack in pleasure as he spills his seed inside Geralt’s ward sends him to the edge, back arching and hips bucking as he strokes once, twice, thrice before angling his cock and painting his chest and abs with thick ropes of cum.

Fuck.

Geralt lets out a slow exhale, his body limp on the lumpy mattress as he regains his breath after listening to the coupling next door for nearly an hour. He doesn’t know what’s happening anymore. They’ve been doing this for three months, and Geralt should’ve parted ways with them a month and a half ago, but something compelled him to stay and continue… whatever this is.

Oh, who the fuck is he kidding? He knows the reason why he hasn’t left yet. He knows who, and though Geralt is still confused at what exactly they’re up to, he remembers Jaskier’s words to him.

“Our girl loves to put on a show for you.”

And Geralt has every intention to see it through the end.

~

The end, Geralt finds out a few weeks later, is far from what he expected. Given the fact that he’s been actively listening in and masturbating to his best friend and daughter’s coupling for the past several months, Geralt was expecting something explosive or… hell, even dramatic.

But that wasn’t the case.

Nonetheless, the sight still left Geralt breathless.

He’s just returned to the inn from being at the market, having spent a few hours haggling with the blacksmith for repairs on his armor, restocking his potion supplies, and looking for a new bridle for Roach. Geralt climbs up the stairs, and he’s almost at the end of the hall where their rooms are when he hears an odd noise coming from his room. Senses on high alert, Geralt unsheathes a dagger from his side and quickly pushes the door open, only to be greeted with an unlikely sight.

It’s Jaskier. And Ciri. Naked.

On Geralt’s bed.

Geralt distantly feels his hand let go of the dagger, his weapon clattering to the floor as his mouth hangs open in shock, amber eyes wide at the salacious view before him. Jaskier is leaning against the headboard, chestnut locks slightly damp and curling on the edges as he stares at Geralt with a pleased, knowing smirk as he trails his hands up and down Ciri’s curves.

Ciri. She’s leaning against Jaskier, her back pressed to the bard’s broad and hairy chest, and it’s this particular view that has Geralt clenching his jaw and gulping inaudibly.

Ciri, whose ash-blonde locks are put up in a messy bun, her neck and chest glistening with perspiration. Her legs, lean and long that go on for miles, are tangled with Jaskier on the sheets below, but at the sight of Geralt she shamelessly bends her knees and spreads them. Eyes wandering from her perky breasts to her abs, and then the curve of her hips, Geralt’s nostrils flare when he gets a whiff of her sweet, musky scent - a fragrance Geralt has become intimately familiar with in recent months. His mouth salivates when his eyes finally land on Ciri’s cunt. Her pubic hair is trimmed, exposing the pink folds moist with her juices and arousal, the little nub looking swollen and so fucking inviting.

Geralt’s leather pants are tighter now, his cock swelling at the sinful beauty in front of him.

“Ciri,” Geralt rasps out, eyes feasting on the image of one of Ciri’s hands going down to her cunt, fingers trailing between her southern lips as she starts to play with herself. “What…”

“We thought you might want to be an active participant for the encore,” Ciri purrs, emerald eyes hooded with lust as she bites her lower lip to fight off a moan when she flicks her thumb against her clit.

Geralt’s breath hitches and he looks from her to Jaskier, who’s still smirking at Geralt.

“You heard our girl, Geralt,” Jaskier agrees with a cock of his head. “Well? Are you going to shut the door or not? We’d really prefer not to have an audience for this.”

Geralt moves to close and lock the door behind him, but not once did he look away.

“Are you…” Crazy? Joking? Serious? Sure?

It’s Ciri who answers this time.

“Yes,” she says with a sigh as she buries her middle finger inside her stretched hole, emerald eyes dark with want as she meets Geralt’s hungry gaze. He growls low in his throat when Jaskier moves his hands to fondle Ciri’s breasts, fingers pinching and rolling her pink nipples as Ciri moans and starts to roll her hips against the two fingers now buried inside her. “Please, daddy.”

“Fuck,” Geralt grunts, and it’s like his body is moving of its own volition as he quickly divests himself of his boots and clothes in record time. Naked, he kneels at the foot of the bed, right between Ciri’s spread legs. He inhales their arousal - his, Ciri’s, and Jaskier’s - and something unfurls in Geralt. “What do you want, little girl?”

Ciri shudders, but her voice is strong when she says, “I want you to fuck me, daddy, and I want you to cum in me.”

“Such a good girl,” Jaskier praises, mouth sucking bruises on the side of her neck as he lightly squeezes her tits. “Telling daddy exactly what she wants.” Then he looks up and meets Geralt’s gaze, and Geralt feels something like understanding pass between them. Jaskier’s smile is lazy but seductive when he tells him, “Go on, then, love. Feast on our girl. She’s all yours.”

“Yours,” Ciri agrees with a moan.

Well, who is Geralt to say no or deny their desires, right?

So he leans forward and finally, he feasts. Once he’s sated, he goes for seconds. And thirds, and fourths.

And so on.

~*~

A/N: I didn’t know how to insert it in the fic, but Ciri drinks some birth control potion to prevent her from getting pregnant ‘cos she’s a cockslut and really loves it when Jask, and now Geralt, cums in her. ;) Also, I know I ended it in a cliffhanger, but I intended it like that. Thank you for reading!

[stylessemantics]

I O U

In which Harry’s sort of babysitting his cousin at a party, but y/n is right there making his self-control dissolve, so at the end of the night, Harry guesses he owes y/n an orgasm. 

Enjoy!

-  I O U  -

Everything was too loud. 

The music, the people, the urges. 

It was a crazy night and Harry couldn’t say everything had sank in just yet. 

He had downed a few drinks upon arriving at the place, and talked to some friends while at it, without paying them much attention. He had other things in mind, the biggest one was how was he getting away with hiding the biggest hard-on of his life from everyone. Well, everyone except y/n . She was there, giving him a look that let him know she knew. 

Of course she did. She had caused it. 

They hadn’t seen each other in a while but she never failed to make him hot under the collar – and it didn’t help that all Harry could think of was the last time they saw each other, during which y/n was between his legs – and before he could act and convince her of a quickie in one of the rooms of the house, his cousin had interrupted him. Only Harry had this bad of a luck. His cousin was a freshman and this was his first party, so he immediately tried to impress people by drinking and being loud and trying way too hard, and Harry needed to step in before he did something incredibly stupid.

He rolled his eyes at his pain, sighing in exasperation. Any longer and he would burst, he was ready to go home and jack off or something. Anything other than being there sipping cheap beer and acting like he cared if his cousin got drunk off his ass – except Harry cared, a little, enough to not want anything bad to actually happen to him.

But thankfully, y/n seemed just as hung up on the last time they saw each other as Harry, because after a long, painfully slow fifteen minutes after their first attempt at a conversation – read: flirting – was interrupted, she walked over and started talking to him. Lips grazing his ear with how close she got to say her part, making shivers run down Harry’s spine. He would be caught dead before he admitted it, but y/n was his favourite. He didn’t do “dating” or anything of the sorts, instead having fun with whichever girl he could and wanted to, but, Lord had y/n charmed him. She probably was a witch, making him want no one else but her giving him pleasure, and he craved to give it back to her too.  “So, you were saying?” she said, loud enough to be over the music, but not so that she was actually screaming in his ear, keeping some sex-appeal to her actions. Harry smirked.  “I’m not sure. Refresh my mind” “hmmm, something about how good I felt?” Harry’s eyebrows arched. He’d said that. He’d said it loud and clear that she had taken him expertly, riled him up and brought him to a climax faster than he could control. “Maybe we could do that again?” “Now, now, y/n... Someone’s a little horny I see...” “Yeah... you” she bit back with a smirk that sent his cheeky flirty one to the trash. She was clever, fast on her toes, ready with a comeback before anyone had a chance to reply. Harry liked that. The wits she had about her made her incredibly alluring, to the point where Harry was sure he would crawl behind her if she asked so. 

Some different song blasted through the speakers and two of y/n’s friends came rushing with excited grins and squeals, asking her to go dance. Y/N agreed with a youthful smile, handing Harry her almost empty cup. Before she turned around to sway to the makeshift dance floor – just a furniture-clear space where everyone else was dancing – she pressed her lips to the edge of his jaw, where she knew Harry would cave, and she whispered the words Harry wanted to hear. “Upstairs. Ten minutes.”

Harry’s knee bounced the first seven minutes. He wasn’t sure whether he should replay the image that was y/n riding him a week ago, to keep his erection, or if he should let it go, knowing well enough that y/n would give him another one – and a little more – in three minutes. He watched his cousin be silly and dance and drink, and he rolled his eyes chuckling at the skinny lad’s antics. At least the dude was having harmless fun. Will he be embarrassed the following morning when someone shows him the video of how awfully he danced, and how Jenny Stevens had turned his drunk self down? Yes, he would, but Harry figured – and hoped – his cousin would also learn a lot from that video and this whole experience, so he ignored it. Everyone had that awkward freshman year story, this was it for his cousin, and who was Harry to take it away from him?

At the nine minute mark, he got up from the couch where he had stationed himself after y/n left him. He saw her silhouette walk up the stairs and he knew. He tapped his friend Niall on the shoulder. “Hey, man, look after Austin for a bit, yeah?” “What? I’m no babysitter” Harry rolled his eyes annoyed and continued to scream to Niall’s face. Someone had turned the music up, and by bloody Jesus, Harry wanted to know if they were going deaf already.  “Just check up on him a bit, he won’t get in trouble, he’s too awkward” “Where are you going?” Harry blanked, letting out an exhausted sigh to gain time. “Christ, Ni... I’m... Gonna get a drink and some food? And I need a wee if you need to know” Niall was the one to roll his eyes this time, waving his hand at Harry as if saying ‘fine, go away’ and returning his attention to his drink and the conversation around him. 

Finally. Harry thought while climbing up the stairs. Fucking finally. He saw y/n by the end of the hall, and when she saw him she gave him a smirk and entered the room closest to her. Harry rushed behind her, blood coursing through his veins at high speeds.

She pressed her mouth to his when he walked inside, not even allowing him to close the door proper behind him. Harry moaned against her lips, taking hold of her hips and pressing her closer to his frame, turning them around to trap her between a wall and his chest, and reaching over to close and lock the door, engulfing them in darkness. In their hurry they had walked into a small bathroom and Harry turned on the light, wanting to see y/n’s pretty face when he brought her to her climax in a bit.  “Hmm, you’re such a bad influence, y/n” He said between kisses and licks and gropes. “Why’s that?” “Making me leave my drunk little cousin for your pleasure.” He tsk-ed after pulling apart. Eyeing her with a hungry stare and a deep smirk. “Naughty, very naughty” “Well, you didn’t have to agree” she teased playfully, tugging at the hem of his shirt, wanting the weight of his frame over her again, and the fabric off his body. “Oh, but I did. How could I refuse your horny pout?” y/n gasped, faking offense, as if she didn’t have the horniest pout when she talked to him. Harry chuckled, allowing his shirt to be removed over his head and wrapping y/n’s legs around his hips, making sure to sink his once-more growing member, to her centre.  “I guess we’re both at fault then” she whispered to his lips, barely touching hers to his hungry mouth, and with that she bit down on his lower lip, hands roaming down his body to unclasp his pants and snake her hand under the fabric to touch him. Immediately making him jump and shiver. 

There it was again, that delicate hand with a gentle, sensual touch Harry was missing deep down. Harry made it his mission to scatter kisses around her neck, leaving little marks here and there. Her dress was riding up her thighs and he made sure to smack and grip the supple skin that showed.  “Where do you want me, Harry” she whispered to his ear. He was going to faint. The music from downstairs was muffled, fading away in his trance, as if it wasn’t as loud as he knew it was, but he could feel his heart beat almost in sync with the fast song, y/n was driving him insane. All of his senses were clogged with her, and here she was, being such an nice obedient girl, wanting to pleasure him. He sighed content, how could he ever want more? 

See?, he thinks, this was the stupid sorcery she pulled on him that had him whipped against his will. 

“I want me down your throat, love” he said, placing her feet back down and tugging at her hair, making her chin tilt up, granting him space to finish sucking a dark purple mark at the base of her throat, where all of him would be running down through in a matter of minutes. 

Harry loved that Y/N was funny, she was considerate, she was gorgeous, she was nice, and she was currently on her knees, proving she was also very, very naughty, just how Harry liked her. She finished undoing his pants, obediently tugging away until he was freed from the confines of his tight briefs and resting on the curve of her cupid’s bow. Y/n moved her hair back, off her shoulders, and placed her hands on his thighs, squeezing lightly. Her tongue poked out, licking her lips and making her pretty mouth glisten right before she opened wide, letting his weighty shaft drop on her bottom lip, ready for Harry to guide himself in. 

He did with shaky breaths, a moan caught in the middle of his throat, only coming out when she closed her mouth around him and sucked. Her fingers tapped at his skin, running up and down his legs and towards his V-line, tickling him and making his eyes roll to the back of his head when her tongue circled around him, filling him with absolute pleasure. 

“Fuck” he sighed. Her mouth was working wonders around his cock, had him panting in seconds as she bobbed her head up and down slowly, dragging out his bliss. Harry tugged at her hair, making her moan. The look on her face was everything Harry needed. Her eyes were closed and her cheeks red. She was enjoying it just as much as Harry and he could tell. He could tell by the way there was a smile hidden in her features even as she sucked and licked. He could tell by her small moans and how she was taking her time, savoring him.

Arms extended over her frame, hands placed flat on the wall supporting him, he looked down at her when she let him go with a pop. Gorgeous face and wet lips, a string of cum connecting her to the reddened head as her hands massaged him, squeezing the right amount. God, she was so good at this. She didn’t just suck him off, she gave him a whole show. She licked a stripe from the base of his cock to the top.

“Oh, look at you, y/n... So pretty like that, with my cock in your mouth” Harry wiped his thumb across her lip, the way she looked so innocent glancing up at him, made shivers run down his spine. “Go on, pet...” she slid him inside again, engulfing him in warmth. “Let me fuck that pretty mouth of yours” and he started moving his hips back and forth, taking a hold of her hair as he fucked her mouth properly, making sure to touch the back of her throat with each thrust. Y/N edged him on with moans and pinching the skin on his legs. 

The movements quickened after Harry took control, searching for his bubbling climax. He had been horny for her all night now, and finally here he was, making her gag on his length, a sight for sore eyes. 

As he felt his orgasm slowly take over him, he pulled himself from her begging lips, her chin coming forth in search for more, she wanted him weighting down her tongue some more, but Harry tsk-ed, keeping her at a distance by her hair, his free hand grabbing his glistening member as he pumped slowly. Just cause he wanted to cum down her throat didn’t mean he would do it without full permission, and even though he knew that she wanted it, he just enjoyed the look on her face when she begged for him, so he thought he’d make her beg a little.  “Harry!” y/n exclaimed when he wouldn’t let her continue. “Where do you want me, love?” it was his time to ask, but the smirk on his face let her know he already knew the answer.  “Here–” She opened up wide – “please, Harry” “You sure?” he teased, and she whined for a response, nails digging into his skin as she tried to get him back inside her, not wanting to give up the taste, eyebrows furrowed in a cute pout, resembling a kid throwing a tantrum and Harry chuckled. “Fine” and with a tight hold of her chin he pushed himself back in, making sure to make her gag as he sank his hips and drove himself deeper and deeper. He kept his strong hold around her face which helped him make her keep her lips closed tight around him, he thrusted a couple more times, taking advantage of the smugness “You better take all of it... Not a drop gone to waste, y/n” he muttered between pants and short intakes of air as his orgasm took over him, making him cum in thick streams, all expertly swallowed by y/n. His mouth dropped open in pleasure, neck arched back as he groaned. Y/N whined against his cock, tip of her nose brushing his pubes with how deep he was inside her, reveling in the taste of him.

He pulled out of her, leaving y/n to gag and gasp as she regained her breath, but she quickly drove forward, licking the head of his manhood for any forgotten drop. 

Just how he ordered, she took all of it. 

“Good girl...” all y/n could do was smile at his fucked out face, sweaty curls stuck to his forehead, framing his face and making him look younger and alive. His red cheeks were decorated with his dimples as he smiled down at her. “Now, what am I gonna do with you?” he smirked. It was her turn, and Harry would gladly sink his red cheeks between her legs if she so desired. At least while he recovered. She had sucked him dry, but he wasn’t leaving without being inside her in another way, so he needed a moment to regain strength and then he’d fuck her proper, but in the meantime, he was down to play and he knew she was too. 

All they got to do was kiss as they slowly switched positions, Harry slowly dropping down her body, sensually taking his time and taking liberal bites here and there, making sure she was on the edge. Little gasps and moans left her mouth and those were Harry’s favourite. As his knees started to bend and his hands reached under her dress, fingers hooked to remove her underwear, there was a frantic series of knocks on the door that jolted them out of their trance. Suddenly they were back at a party, fucking in a tiny bathroom as music blasted from downstairs. Harry cursed under his breath when he recognized the voice on the other side. “Harry! You in there, mate?” It was Niall. “Shit, shit” Harry mumbled, laughing, the fact that they were about to get caught causing them both to explode in giggles. but the tone of his friend’s voice was laced with some panic, and immediately after noticing, Harry worried too. 

Throwing his shirt on and quickly buckling his pants, he pulled himself up. Y/n readjusted her dress as she hid behind the door, trying to make herself as small as she could.  “Damn it Niall, I’m coming!” Harry said when the blonde one kept knocking like a maniac. Y/N almost giggled. Technically he came already. Harry opened the door. “Jesus, Harry, how long do ya wee for?” y/n had to bite her hand to keep from laughing out loud again, the thrill of almost getting caught giving her the giggles. Well he did use his dick, but not for what his friend thought.  “Fuck off, mate” “Been looking for ya! Austin got in a fight” “What?! What the fuck Niall, I thought you were looking after him?!” “It happened fast! I wasn’t looking! Next thing I know Austin’s got Matt’s fist on his face” Harry grunts, annoyed and angry. With shaky hands he scatters, readjusting his pants and shirt, ready to bust out of the room and follow Niall. Surely the chants downstairs sounded like some fight was going on and Harry was going to have to break it up and take his intoxicated cousin home. More embarrassing stories for Austin to remember for the rest of his life. Before he walked out, he made sure Niall wasn’t looking when he reached behind the door and grabbed y/n’s hand. “I’m so sorry” he mouthed to her. “Harry, come on!” they both heard Niall scream down the hall. Y/N winked at Harry with a smile and a nod, assuring him it was okay before he took off, leaving her in the poorly lit bathroom with the biggest case of blue balls ever. She understood, after all Harry was sort of babysitting and she did take him away from it to give him a blowjob and hopefully get something back, but she was now left to calm herself down. 

Overall, her own climax would have to wait. On one hand she could always go home and pleasure herself later, despite it not being as good as she knew Harry could be. She was, sadly, horny for Harry, and not for anyone else or even her own fingers. 

On the other hand... her phone vibrated just a few minutes later, as she was about to leave the small restroom, more calm and collected. She checked it.

From: Stylesss I O U ;)

Y/N smiled. He definitely did, and she would hold him to that promise. She knew Harry was a man of his word.

feedback is greatly GREATLY appreciated. PLEASE! My Ask.  Masterlist

Smooches, Iv. xo

[floralharjuku]

I have a fic request! I noticed after Ending B 9S gets really protective of 2B and tries to stand in front of her a few times during the assault mission. When you go in his room during the credits, he talks in a gentle voice, while showering 2B with power up items, money, and tells her to be careful. So, I have this headcanon that they had sex after Ending B and that's why he was acting like that toward her. Would you be willing to write another lewd fanfic of these two again? Thank you!

({Analog})

…

(Once again, I’m doing the dirty and this time I’m like, fuck it, I’m sin mother and this ship is mine to steer. No real attention was put on the “how” in this one, however. Androids have genitals now; deal with it.)

-Tumblr formatting legend: * = italics -

…

Her gloved fingers brushed along the side of his face, judging the reality of his existence by this simple set of light movements of leather against artificial skin. Her knuckles curled as they ran over his cheek, a finger tracing his chin and, after a moment of slight hesitation, following the shape of his lips. His shaking breath parted the plump skin, his cheeks lightly dusted with blush pink.

She realized that this moment was something he didn’t expect and wasn’t something she had planned. It was born of a spontaneous desire to assure that it really was him and not another formatted version she needed to learn to love again.

“2…B?” He finally ventured when her fingers finally came to rest against the shell of his neck. She looked down but only saw the blackness of his visor, not the deep, dark blue eyes his model type was equipped with. His voice caught, embarrassed.

“Yes?” She prodded. 9S adverted his gaze even though he couldn’t see her eyes behind her visor. She raised an eyebrow, inviting him to voice his thoughts.

“…I…um,” he took her hand in his own. He gripped her smaller, delicate yet deadly fist in his own as if debating allowing her to fight this internal war with him.

N-not now.*

“Thanks.” He gave her a soft smile, a smile she could could see past with no assistance.

She wasn’t going to push him, not now anyways. This wasn’t the time, time that was running short. At any moment, Command would give an order that would possibly divide them and she would never get this opportunity again.

So she ignored it and gently separated their hands, moving hers to press against his chest before leaning forward and bringing their lips together. The cool and firm skin yielded against hers, warm breath mixing as they each tested the boundaries of what they could do behind the closed door of the room the Resistance had given them. She felt the steady hum of his systems underneath her palms, growing in confidence with each beat before tugging that the buttons of his coat. 9S froze and swallowed, unsure of how he should react or use his hands as they rested uselessly at his sides.

He didn’t have to wait for long before his chest was exposed to her hands, which tugged urgently at his skintight undershirt. Her tongue pushed against his lips, looking for any sign of entry into his mouth as one hand slid up his back and entwined itself in his hair, nails pressing on his scalp.

She felt her pulse rate spike as they gave into the simpleminded desire coursing through their systems, blood pounding in her ears. A combat model, she shouldn’t feel this nervousness. Yes, she was bold and confident but that was in a situation where breaking the other person was perfectly acceptable and the desired goal. 9S wasn’t a person she wanted to hurt, even accidentally.

Gently, she pushed against him, causing him to rest on the bed, her palms on either side of his head. Their lips had came unglued during the transit; 2B panted, a small trail of saliva of unsure origin slicking the skin as she stared down at him. His cheeks and ears had become a shade of red that could only be described as “adorable”, his mouth just as lewdly askew as hers.

She stared down at him, attempting to gage his reaction to what had transpired before. Everything about him urged her on, begging her to keep going, including the obvious stiffness in his pants that was growing harder as movement aroused them both.

Still…she reached behind his head and undid the knot of his visor, pulling the obscuring black fabric from his eyes while doing the same to herself. His eyes, despite being artificial optics with wires and no soul behind them, were the most expressive part of him. One look into them told her everything and sealed the consent she needed.

Granted, she doubted that what she saw behind the thick veil of lust and desire was that look in his eyes she knew and feared. It was that look that was always followed by a swift betrayal in the form of a sword through his chest. He knew something and he wanted to tell her, but he was still searching for the right time and that wasn’t now, thank the God she still believed had abandoned her.

His coat and undershirt were urgently pulled off to silence her own thoughts on that terrifying subject. He couldn’t speak those words if his mouth was occupied with hers, his hands flush against her backside.

She could feel her own body heat rising, the fabric of her undergarments and clothes becoming too tight and heavy for her to bear. It felt similar to a buildup of reactor heat before the inevitable self destruction, her neither regions throbbing with sweltering, wet need.

“9S.” She separated their lips to gaze into his eyes again. He took the hint surprisingly well, but she didn’t doubt the label of “high end” attached to his model type. His logic systems worked far and above hers, able to solve these kind complexities when his own sheepishness finally died. He undid the near invisible buttons right at the side of her chest, the black fabric of her shirt coming loose before falling from her shoulders and arms and onto the ground. His thumbs trailed over her bare skin, tugging at the edges of her leotard to get to more of that smooth flesh he just wanted to feel*.

He visibly twitched when he felt her palm slide along his crotch, fingers grazing his member. One dragged against the damp tip, playing with him mercilessly as he panted uselessly against her mouth. “Ah…a…2B.” She cupped her hand around his length, the leather of her glove smooth and molding to his skin.

They moved against each other, losing clothing and inhibition. Underneath all the layers was bare skin, soft, peachy and a layer of untouched sensitivity. Other loosely regulated YoRHa members spoke in not-so-hushed tones about doing this very selfsame thing all the time around the Bunker, but 9S himself had never been privy to the practice. The way 2B moved for them though, her hands firmly planted on either side of his head and hips hovering above his crotch, broadcasted experience he couldn’t match. A tiny, jealous part of him wondered who else had the undeniable honor of witnessing her lewd and bare, the part also wondering what happened to them. He hadn’t even been inside her and he knew she felt as breathtaking as she looked when her eyes were low and her cheeks red with the effort of restrained sounds.

Keeping the theme of control firmly in her hands, she lowered herself onto him, hissing as she twisted the sheet in her fingers. His systems flushed with heat, his back arching at the sudden but welcome feeling that rushed through his nervous systems.

Who could possibly give this feeling up? After a moment, her hips began to rock against his before they became full thrusts, rapid exhales leaving their mouths in synchronized shallow breaths of air. What kind of idiot would let her go?

She had done this before. With him. Of course, he doesn’t remember, but she knows where he’s weak, the spots he didn’t like to be touched and the way he moved.

He hadn’t changed. They hadn’t wiped him away…and for that, she’s glad. It’s a small consolation prize for the suffering she will soon bring down onto him, pleasure before pain.

She wondered if it was worth it.

Inside, she was capable of burning him alive, smothering him in the greatest way possible with crushing, dominating force. Her slick muscles held him firm, wet, hot and…shit, he’s burning and his blood is boiling in his veins.*

He pushed against the bed, going against her weight to sit up with her in his lap, her head on his shoulder. She followed his lead, wrapping her legs around his back, tightly holding him flush to her. Fuck, it felt too good.* Her head throbbed, processors firing in overdrive as it all began to dull into one feeling of never wanting to stop*. If she didn’t stop…if they never stopped…

“Ngh…ah…ah.” His tongue fought a losing but heated battle with hers, warm saliva trailing down her lips. 9S moaned as she curved her back to allow for deeper penetration and closer contact between them. N-no way he was going to live through this. The way she rode him so desperately, so hungry for him and…well shit she was heavier than him and she wasn’t being gentle. If he broke his new body though, it was a hell of a way to go.

*Man, 21O is gonna be pissed…“how did you break your body again?” “I got fucked by a combat android and I learned that being on the bottom is dangerous to my health yet really awesome.”*

No way in hell he was going to tell anyone about this.

“Don't…don't…” She licked her lips and gasped for words. “Stop…thinking.”

*Just do me one favor please*, she wanted to beg. *Don’t do this to me again.*

Her nails dug into his skin, trails of red left in her wake. The pain was nothing compared to the all consuming pleasure, a mere inconvenience in the face of something he needed if he was going to be strong and…was he really going to tell her? He trusted her with his life, but his own mind was in shambles with what he had learned from digging where he had no right. Was he really going to doom her to the same fate? Was that fair?

“Stop thinking,” that’s what she had demanded.

Losing himself in her, in the feelings she drew out of him, was far better than the truth.

…

They had been called back to the Bunker and separated by circumstance, preparing the mission that would hopefully end the war. Adam and Eve had been destroyed, leaving the machine network venerable.

This was their chance, and yet *their chance had past. She came to his room one last time, the air heavy with knowledge and tension. His skin still smelled of her, his chest marked by thin cuts. It was fresh, the feeling still raw in his mind.

What could he say…? He was pathetic when it came to her. All he could do was give her a gift and words heavy with barely repressed affection and love.

Maybe…maybe when this fight was over, they could run from YoRHa no matter the outcome. They could escape together, become rouges and relocate where Command could never find them. He could research machines and she could fish and…and…

Was it…selfish? Was this what she wanted? Did she still want war or did she want the same peace he did? Was he only doing this for himself?

He had no time to answer. The mission came first.

Her hand lingered on his shoulder, as if she wanted to say something else, do something else, but nothing came to her.

“…Be careful, 9S.”

There it was, the frigid love he so hated. He wanted more warmth, more heat, more of the genuine person she was, not the soldier façade she put up.

“You too…2B.”

He would tell her. No matter the outcome, she deserved the truth.

[sonyeondone]

Not About Angels

ONE SHOT

Character: Jeon Jungkook x Female Reader (third person) A/N: AU! Where angels walk amongst humans and are considered an upper class who don’t usually associate with humans, and are only there to protect them. But Angel Boy Jeon Jungkook has been your best friend and watched you grow up. One day he shows up to your door, battered and bruised from another failed attempt at aviation, and finally breaks down, revealing how hard it is to be one of them.

How unfair, it’s just our luck Found something real that’s out of touch

Could they truly do such a thing, he wished his wings would just fall from their perch on the blades of his shoulders. He yearned for their absence, the weight of them too much to bear, not within his body, but deep within his young heart. 

There was too much life held by the boy. That’s all he was, after all, a boy, hardly 70 years old, fresh in the eyes of a divine. Only just learning how to navigate the world he was deemed to protect.

Forever, he would move with the body of a young man. A never-changing face that was always inclined to smile. That same smile seemed to contain the mesmerizing qualities of a star-ridden night’s sky, and his eyes the same.

But, there were some things that even those of higher being found struggle in. His own existence was the worst of them all.

The soft rap on the door echoed throughout the sun-lit rooms of her house, bringing to her a smile of recognition. It was a familiar sound that accompanied the arrival of a miracle. Her miracle.

“Coming!” with obvious elation she called to him, lifting herself from her kitchen seat and retrieving him from the door. Yet, upon opening the door, she was met with a sight far less exceptional than she would hope for.

He was a mess to say the least. His wings weren’t far from tattered ribbons, feathers of delicate nature bent and out of place, dirt swiped across his cheek and arms, his shirt’s threads unraveled and torn all over.

“I tried again. I got about 5 meters up before I fell again.”

He needn’t detail his endeavors for her to understand what he’d tried to do. At least once a week, he’d try. He was never gifted success.

“You’ll get it again next time,” she assured, as her hand gingerly reached for his, and she led him to the kitchen and to her bar stool at the bench, setting him down upon it and retrieving her first aid kit. She set it on the island bench that stood center of the open room, and swiftly removed him of his shirt, a casual gesture necessary in the aiding of his healing. Her touch was perfect for the task of fixing him up, as she did it so often, and her hands had become familiar with the wings that sprouted from her best friend, her closest companion in existence.

There would never be a moment where she wouldn’t think about him.  He was strange, after all, an oddity in a range of different ways. Where most angels would not speak to humans at all unless truly needed, he’d made a best friend out of one. Emotionless was a word often used to describe an angel, yet if you’d met him it was a word that would be reconsidered. He was highly expressive. He danced, he sang, he let his emotions be known out loud, things you’d never expect from a being of heavenly nature. They were expected to be a certain way, act a certain way. And, most of the time, he tried. But before her, he was nothing more than a child, the youngest of the local divines. He was himself. He gave off the most joyous of smiles, and they often were contagious. He also fell victim to cruel and unforgiving expectations, set and managed by himself only, based on the perception of his kind. What he was, and what he was supposed to be. What the wings on his back really meant. They were his symbol, and his burden.

“Jungkook, have you ever thought of asking any of the others for help? I’m sure they’d be willing to help, they always sound like they would be the sorts to help you.”

She’d never met any of those he walked among, but he’d always talked of them. Jungkook was the only angel she’d ever gotten the privilege of conversing with, and further so, growing up with. He’d met her in the early bursts of spring when she was of a mere handful of years old, when she’d lost her way in a cold garden park, and he guided her back to her family, like any good human protector would have. From that day forth he’d visit that park often, not knowing why he felt the need to see her again. Perhaps it was her smile and the way her little arms had wrapped around his leg in thanks once safely returned to her family. She too often visited the park with her parents, and soon enough the were inseparable, the child refusing to let go of her very own ‘angel’. He’d held her hand through sand pits and heartbreaks, he’d held her when tears spilled from grazed knees and shattered hopes. From childhood to adulthood, he’d been there.  First he was a role model, someone who helped her learn and grow. Then, a best friend. A confidant in her hopes, and wishes. He was awkward and childlike, a smile that mimicked the soft charm of a bunny’s. Now, he was a light. A need in her life, and the only thing she’d ever loved with such fierceness as she did. Through it all, he’d always been there.

“No. I don’t want help.”

There was more spirit and personality in him than the standard heavenly being, and possibly even more than a mere human, which were particularly susceptible to their feelings and emotions. He was stubborn, and asking for help was out of the question for him. There was a certain pride in being what he was, and any form of incompetence of incapability sent sharp pains of broken worth straight for his heart.

With the faintest of strokes, she straightened his feathers, and washed the dried blood from his back. Scratches and bruises flowered over his skin, and she knew he must have been trying to take flight for hours, pushing himself through the ache of the marks he’d left on himself. Soon, her movements slowed, until finally she set down the dampened towel she’d been using, and she instead let her fingertips trace over old scars on his shoulders, his arms, ones that were undeserving on such a perfect embodiment. Angels were never made to wear such scars. But these were the scars he’d made for himself, trying to lift himself from the ground into the sky, where angels belonged.

“I don’t want this anymore.” 

The words were a whisper that in the silence sounded thunderous in his own ears, after he’d spoken them. In any other company, he would have been anxious to speak them, yet under the gaze of her eyes, he knew there was nowhere else he could possibly utter them, and he really, really needed to say them out loud. Just once.

“Don’t want what?” she asked, as she peered over his shoulder in confusion, slipping her hand from the space on his back between his downcast wings to his shoulder, turning him slowly and slightly. 

“I don’t want to keep trying.”  There was an unfamiliar beaten down edge to his words, that he tried so hard to hide. It was the verge of tears that somehow fogged his eyes and simultaneously clogged his throat.

“Then don’t, Jungko-” she began, not given any moments notice before he stood up and let out a shout of pure frustration, one that had been bubbling deep inside since the first moment he’d fallen that day. She jumped back, her touch on him retreating. Her figure huddled away from him, not knowing the consequences that would come of his rare and never witnessed anger.

“I have to! I have to keep trying! I’m an angel, for hell’s sake, why can’t I just- fly?!”

Amidst enraged eyes and clenched fists he kicked over one of the kitchen chairs, and let his heavy breaths rack his body, heaving in lungfuls of air and sending them back out through his nose harshly.

“I’m not…not made for this life. I’m too… I’m too human. At least, I act it. I feel it. I talk about anger and the others can’t relate. I try to fly, not because I want to, because I feel like I have to otherwise I’m not a true divine. But, lo and behold, my sorry excuse for wings don’t want to leave the fucking ground, as if I was never meant to have them!”

White knuckles that seemed clenched as if holding onto something he could lose in a moment-possibly his sanity- hit the ground, along with his knees, as finally, he came undone, on the chilled tiles of her kitchen floor. His shoulders shook and it took a moment for her to realize, he was sobbing quietly. 

He was done. He couldn’t possibly stand it anymore. The overwhelming, crushing pressure of an eternity of silence was something he couldn’t accept. She moved to come before him and get on the ground with him, sitting on her knees and taking him in her arms.

“I’m not meant for this life,” he cried gently into the curve of her neck, his wings shaking as his tears fell. “I want to laugh. I want to make friends. I watch humans interact with each other and I get a strange pain in my chest. I think it’s jealousy. It’s the same feeling I get when I see you talk to others, when you smile and laugh with others and they get to do it back without worrying what judgement their actions will bring. I want to be able to do something for myself, and be selfish and not question my creation for it. I want to dance. It’s fun. I find pleasure in it, a selfish pleasure, and it makes me happy. I like what it feels like to be happy.”

He also liked what it felt like to be in love with her and everything she was to him. His love for her had grown over the years and blossomed into something of a romantic nature. His love was something he would never be able to act upon, as he was an angel and she was a human, and the way she held him like she did in that moment was shocking and blasphemy enough.  Yet that was another feeling he could not contain any longer. These days, he’d been plagued with thoughts, deeper thoughts than his species were designed to have, about her and her tendencies as a human such as aging. Such as dying.

“Jungkook…” she started, unable to find reasonable words to follow. She could only share her thoughts through a tighter hug and her fingers lazily running through the back of his hair, in attempt to comfort him as much as a human could a divine.

“I don’t want to watch you die. I don’t want to love you and watch you leave,” he continued, his voice nothing above a whisper. She couldn’t believe the words, and she couldn’t move from where she was. The words had her paralyzed. They were words she’d always wanted to hear, and never wanted to comprehend. She knew she couldn’t have him, as much as she truly wanted him.  It was a love that could never be.

He snaked his strong arms around her body, pulling her in closer, as if he could lose her at any moment, as if she could be taken from him.  They sat on the kitchen floor as he wept for a life he knew he would never have, and the girl he would never be able to keep. He wept for the times he’d jumped, hoping that maybe this time, maybe, his wings would lift him high enough to see across lands, and solidify his purpose, his existence as an angel. Maybe they would provide clarity as to why he was a divine, and would help him grow comfortable in the body he was created in. They never did. He cried for what he was, for who he was, and the contradiction they would forever seem to pose him.

He cried for the love he had for the girl in his arms; something so real, and out of touch. “These wings weren't meant for my body.”