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honeyhotteoks · 2 years ago

Text

and if i stay (j.yh + p.sh)

summary: sequel to room for three - a year has passed, and things are going well, until yunho watches watches another man flirt with you.

note: 18+ content, minors DNI. // i just can't stop thinking about husband yunhwa, so please have this absolute smutty and fluffy brain rot.

warnings: non idol!yunho, non idol!seonghwa, fem!reader, established yunhwa relationship, mmf, jealous!yunho, rough sex, oral (f receiving), oral (m receiving), rough oral, praise, gratuitous use of good girl, mean!yunho, double penetration, the return of the cute husbands - please let me know if i missed any.

pairings: yunho x seonghwa x reader

genre: smut, angst, fluff

word count: 12.3K

my masterlist || read it on AO3 || part three; their gift

For the first thirty minutes though, it’s chaos. The gallery where the event is hosted is a labyrinth of contemporary art installations amid white lacquered walls, a maze of intellectuals and their cocktails standing between you and the much larger room where a small stage is erected for Seonghwa’s publisher to announce him, and for him to read a few passages from his new work.

Like all things in your life, it goes slightly wrong at first before it goes right. Yunho is stuck in traffic, shooting off frantic texts to you about exactly how far he is and seeing what you can do to stall the event. You can feel Seonghwa’s nerves coming off him in waves when you finally make it back to him, pushing through the throng of people and past the empty stage to the quiet side room. He’s pacing, adjusting his tie again and again, and you know he’s having a hard time without the calm center that is his husband.

“Seonghwa,” you murmur to him, standing in the doorway and hoping you don’t disturb.

His head snaps up and you can see the way his hand is gripping a copy of his book, “Hey,” he says.

“He’s on his way,” you assure him, “I just talked to him.”

“On his way like he’s five minutes away or on his way like I still have to start this thing without him?” Seonghwa asks.

“Somewhere in the middle,” you settle, “but he’s hurrying,”

“He’ll get himself killed on the highway in that stupid car if he’s not careful,” Seonghwa sighs and tosses the book down onto the table, slumping back against it and resisting the urge to drag his hands through his hair.

“You’re going to do so well, Hwa,” you step towards him, in his space now but not yet touching.

“Thank you,” he breathes, but he shakes his head, “I just do better when he’s here.”

“I know,” you nod, and he lifts his eyes to meet yours.

His leg bounces nervously and he sighs, heavy and sounding exasperated, “He keeps me calm, I always just look to him when I’m doing a reading,”

“I know,” you repeat, soothing him. You reach out and rest your hand on his.

He turns his hand over to interlace your fingers, his leg stilling, and he squeezes your hand as he takes deep breaths. Pulling his book back over with his free hand he flips it open to the bookmarked section, “Are you sure about this passage?”

“Absolutely sure,” you reply without hesitation, “we all agreed that it sounded the best as a stand-alone,”

“Right,” he nods, and you think back to two nights before, tangled up in bed together and pouring over his book to find just the right words for him to say. Yunho had stroked his lover's back with a steadying hand, giving him calm guidance and assurances. You know that’s what Seonghwa needs now, even though you also know the minute he’s on stage he’ll turn on the performance without hesitation. It’s just getting to the stage that’s the problem.

“Do you want to read it out to me one more time?” You offer.

He silently skims the passage, his tongue darting out to wet his lips and he shakes his head, “No, no, I have it.”

The sound of rushed footsteps is a sudden comfort – you were close to pulling Seonghwa up and convincing him to get out to the stage, but you know the presence behind you is Yunho before you even exhale out your sigh.

“Hey,” he sounds out of breath, and as you turn, Seonghwa stands and breaks his hand from yours. Yunho looks frazzled, his suit jacket a little wrinkled at the bottom, you suspect from laying on the back seat of his car instead of hanging in a garment bag like Seonghwa would have preferred. None of that really seems to matter now though, and Yunho finds his husband’s eyes, visibly relaxing when he does, “I’m so sorry – I’m, it, there’s no excuse, I’m sorry,”

Seonghwa shakes his head and reaches for him, “It’s okay,” he sighs, long, letting Yunho pull him into a hug, “I just needed to see you before I went out there,”

“I know,” Yunho nods.

In moments like this, even a year after you first bumped into them in the bar, you sometimes feel like you’re encroaching on their relationship. Yunho leans back from Seonghwa, holding his face, and dips forwards to kiss him, tender and slow. Seonghwa melts, leaning into Yunho’s chest and exhaling softly.

When their lips part Yunho smiles, “I’ll be near the back wall on the left side, okay?”

Seonghwa nods.

“You’re going to be perfect,” Yunho soothes, his voice deep and warm, “and they’re going to love the book.”

“Yeah,” Seonghwa nods, but you can hear the lack of confidence in it. His two previous releases, while received well, were done quietly. His book events in the past were small, private, and with much less fanfare, no stuffy literary critics ready to pass judgment.

“Please,” Yunho rolls his eyes and you smile, “y/n and I are going to have to talk to a bunch of pseudo-intellectuals all night and pretend we care about… Sartre or whoever,”

“Who would be talking about Jean-Paul Sartre at this?” Seonghwa laughs.

Yunho rolls his eyes and shakes his head, “I don’t know but I wouldn’t put it past any of them,”

“Okay, okay,” Seonghwa clears his throat and straightens up, “I’m ready,”

Yunho smiles wide, leaning in to give him one more kiss, “I love you,” he assures him.

“I love you too,” Seonghwa smiles, and you notice just how steady he is, calm and confident now that he’s had a moment to be grounded. He steps away and tucks the book under his arm, before reaching out for you and pulling you towards him.

You stumble forwards in your heels with a squeak, but Seonghwa’s hands are sure, and he brings you in for a kiss. With a sigh as he pulls away he holds your eyes, “Thank you,”

“Always,” you squeeze his hand, “now get out there,”

Seonghwa smooths down his jacket and disappears through the doorway to find his publisher and you turn to Yunho. He laughs immediately, “I think I’m parked illegally,”

“Of course you are,” you grin and he reaches for your hand to pull you into his chest.

“Hi, sweetheart,” he sighs, wrapping his arms warmly around you, “how are you? You look beautiful,”

“Good,” you nod, “I’ve just been running around today. Is everything alright with your client?”

He makes a dismissive, irritated noise, “Fine, he just wouldn’t stop talking and the meeting ran over time, but it’s not like I can tell him to stop, he’s paying the firm a lot of money,”

“Mm,” you nod, understanding completely, “but it’s okay, you made it.”

“We should get out there,” he says as the sound of a mic being tapped echoes through the gallery and Seonghwa’s publisher starts speaking.

“Let’s,” you agree, and Yunho dips for a quick kiss before stepping away.

You head back out with him to the main space of the gallery, Yunho’s hand warmly positioned on your mid back, his thumb brushing along your bare skin where the dress dips low. You make it to the back corner just as Seonghwa is introduced and together you watch him step on stage. He’s dressed smartly, his suit fitting exactly, and where you once saw nerves you now only see cool confidence and a bit of swagger.

When you glance at Yunho, you smile. He’s watching Seonghwa with awe, but you also recognize the glimmer of desire in his gaze seeing Seonghwa so commanding and you’re sure tonight is going to be a memorable one once you all make it out of here and back into bed.

Seonghwa reads three passages, his voice honeyed, the enunciation of his work is crisp and paced. The room listens with rapt attention, making the right noises at the right parts, and when he finishes and closes the book there’s a long breath of silence. Nervously, you glance at Yunho, but his eyes are steady on Seonghwa, centered.

The applause is sudden, and you watch Seonghwa light up at the fond reception, moving to thank everyone for coming into the microphone and telling them to enjoy the free drinks. It takes about three seconds for someone to notice Yunho as the crowd starts to break up, and before you know it he’s caught in a conversation with someone who wants to talk about how it feels to be married to such a promising young writer.

You touch his arm gently, “I’ll grab us some drinks,”

He gives you a grateful smile, and then turns back to his conversation.

You slip away, weaving through the crowd to the open bar. Thankfully at these events, you’re still able to fly under the radar. While Yunho and Seonghwa don’t make an active effort to hide your relationship, they also don’t advertise. After months of casual sex, you’ve simply became a fixture in their lives. They liked you, much more than they would have assumed, and their routine of going out to find a new partner every few months disappeared. They kept you. But it’s still only been a year, and labels so far haven’t really felt necessary, so there’s no need to find a way to describe what you are to each other.

When you finally make it up to the bar, you select two glasses of white wine and start to make your way back. Yunho is still in conversation with the person who interrupted you both before, so you slow to a stop. You’re not sure if you should let the conversation run its course or save him from the interaction, so you decide to give it a moment and see how it plays out.

Standing between large panels of brightly colored canvas you wait, studying the splattered mix of colors before you.

“Do you like the art?” A voice startles you out of your fixed gaze on the painting, and you turn towards it.

“Excuse me?” You ask, seeing now the source of the question. A man stands to your left, and you take him in immediately. He’s handsome, if not a little rough around the edges looking, with smooth, tan skin and dark eyes. He’s dressed well, in a satiny black suit that closes at the front, a sliver of his bare chest visible at the base of his throat where the suit parts, and a fine delicate silver chain hangs from his neck, disappearing down his chest. His hair is sandy, long, and the right kind of messy.

“Do you like the art?” He gestures with a hand towards the painting, repeating his question for you.

“Oh,” you blink, recovering a bit and realizing just how close he’s standing to you, but you make no move to shift away. You glance back at the painting, “Not usually, but this is nice,”

He smiles widely at your honesty, and you find yourself noticing more little things about him. The dark freckle on his lip, the matching one under his left eye, his ears adorned with silver piercings. He nods, “Me too, I never know what to say to people at these things.”

“Ah,” you smile, “so I take it you’re just here for the event?”

He shakes his head, “I’m just here for the food,”

You laugh, and he smiles wide again, his eyes direct and sparkling. You know he’s flirting, but you don’t necessarily mind. “That’s a nice suit if you’re just here to eat,” you tease him.

He shakes his head again, brows knit together, “Well I am here for someone, it’s just not the book.”

“Oh?”

“My friend owns the gallery,” he admits, and then nods towards the painting you’re both in front of, “and this is his,”

“Oh!” You exclaim, “You’re a friend of Hongjoong’s?”

“You know Joong?” His eyebrows raise and he shakes his head, “He never told me he knew a girl this pretty, I’ll have to have a word with him later.”

You don’t mean to blush, but you’re sure you do and you turn towards him a little more. “I don’t know him that well,” you concede, “but we’ve met a few times.”

“Ah,” he nods, and you watch his eyes flick down to the wine glasses in your hands. He deftly takes one and smiles, “I take it this is for me?”

“Presumptuous,” you laugh, but let him take it.

“Maybe a little,” he takes a sip of the wine, his eyes never leaving you, and then takes a step forwards, moving into your space a little tighter, “so, beautiful girl, do you have a name?”

“I do,” you reply smoothly.

“And are you going to tell me your name, or should I guess?” He takes another sip from what should be Yunho’s glass.

“It’s y/n,” you offer.

Some kind of recognition sparks in his eyes, he’s heard your name before but he can’t remember where. He nods, “I’m Wooyoung,”

“It’s good to meet you,” you take a subtle step back and sip your wine, putting an extra inch of space between you.

“My night is certainly better now,” he says, and you’re about to open your mouth to protest but he continues, “tell me, are you free tonight?”

You shake your head and he pouts just slightly before saying, “Ah, I thought I could help make your night better too,” He coasts the back of his knuckles down your bare upper arm, soft and quick, removing his hand and returning it to his pocket before you can really register it.

“I’m sure you did,” Your eyes flick over him.

His narrow for just a moment, and the edge of his flirting fades, “Am I misreading things?”

“I would think so,” Yunho’s voice is abrupt, no trace of anger or irritation, just matter of fact, and he moves close to your side. He slips a hand over your hip and presses a kiss to your temple, “there you are, sweetheart,”

Wooyoung’s eyes dart between you both and he takes a step back. It’s incredibly obvious what Yunho is doing, but it works. He doesn’t hang on you, simply slides his hand off you and moves to stand at your side just as he normally would, before extending his hand out to Wooyoung for a shake, “Jeong Yunho,”

Wooyoung takes it, shaking it firmly and you can’t help but find the whole thing a little ridiculous and territorial, except that something deep in your belly fluttered at the tone of Yunho’s voice when he appeared. Wooyoung clears his throat, “Jung Wooyoung,”

Yunho smirks almost imperceptibly at the shared surname before pulling back his hand and this time letting it rest warmly on your upper back, just at the base of your neck.

“I think this was meant for you, then,” Wooyoung lifts the glass and then shrugs, “apologies.”

“No harm,” Yunho replies, “I’ll get another.”

You cut in there, looking up to Yunho, “Is Seonghwa still making the rounds?”

He nods but doesn’t break his gaze on Wooyoung, “We’ll be stuck a while, I’m sure,”

Understanding dawns on Wooyoung’s face and he laughs to himself, your name and association with Yunho and Seonghwa knitting together in his mind. Hongjoong had mentioned you, it was just not in the context he would have hoped for.

You look back to Wooyoung, an eyebrow quirked, and he shakes his head, “I see why you called me presumptuous now,”

Yunho smiles at that, and you nod, “Mm,” with a shrug you smile, “sorry about that,”

“No, no,” Wooyoung holds up a hand, begging off, “it’s fair enough. I should let you go and see if I can find Hongjoong,”

“It was nice meeting you,” Yunho cuts back in, ending the conversation there..

“Yeah, it was nice meeting you too,” Wooyoung says to him, and as he starts to step away he gives you one more charming smile, “have a good night, beautiful girl.”

Yunho’s hand tightens slightly on your skin and your stomach flips.

As Wooyoung fully turns away, he holds his glass of wine up once more, “And sorry again about the drink!” He’s gone through the maze of people in a second and you're left alone in front of Hongjoong’s painting with Yunho.

“Well,” he breaks the silence after a moment, “he seems like an ass.”

“I think he was a little embarrassed,” you shift away from him so you can face him and talk to him a little more easily.

A brief expression crosses his face but he relaxes quickly, “I wouldn’t call it embarrassment,”

“Well, anyways,” you shake your head, “we should get you a drink either way.”

There’s a cord of tension suddenly between you and you’re shocked by your own response to it. A piece of you wants to roll your eyes and tell him to calm down, irritated at the way he was staking a claim on you, but the other piece has your stomach tight and an image of Yunho bending you over the first available table flickers through your mind.

“Let’s go, and then let’s go find Hwa,” his tight expression clears, and he smooths his hand down your back again to steer you forwards.

You end up staying at the event for two and half more hours and accidentally making eye contact with Wooyoung from across the room four more times, nearly bumping into him once when you go to say hello to Hongjoong.

Not a single time escapes Yunho’s notice. So much so that by the end of the night Seonghwa is quietly asking his husband if something’s wrong. It takes another fifteen minutes to clear out of the gallery and find Yunho’s car, poorly parked in a clearly yellow zone with a ticket tucked under his windshield wiper.

The ride home starts quietly, Yunho driving and Seonghwa in the passenger seat. Yunho’s hand is tight on the steering wheel, and you can barely believe he’s let Wooyoung’s naturally flirty nature get under his skin so much. You watched him flirt with at least three other women there, it was just clearly who he was.

Seonghwa finally breaks the silence, “So are you going to tell me what’s going on?”

Yunho sighs, his hands relaxing, “Everything’s fine,”

“You really seem like everything’s fine,” Seonghwa says, throwing you a glance.

Yunho smiles and reaches across the middle of the car, smoothing his hand over Seonghwa’s knee, “I’m sorry, everything’s fine. You know these things wear me out a bit, but you were great. Everyone was saying such good things about the book,”

Seonghwa relaxes, “Good, okay. It felt like it was received well,”

You lean forward, resting your hand on his arm, “All I heard were good things,” you assure him, “and you sounded perfect on stage.”

“Thank you,” he rests his hand on top of yours, “I’m sorry you both had to make small talk all night though,”

“Oh, no it’s fine, I had a nice time,” you assure him.

Yunho makes a small noise and you glance to him. You’ve never had an argument with either of them before, but all of a sudden it seems like Yunho is spoiling for a fight, and you had never pegged him to be quite so prone to jealousy.

“Okay,” Seonghwa looks between you both, “what is going on?”

“Nothing,” Yunho repeats, but then adds, “y/n met someone new, so I think she did enjoy herself.”

Seonghwa is no stranger to that expression and immediately things start to click into place for him. Your jaw sets in annoyance, “Yunho, stop it. I’m not friends with him,”

“I didn’t say friends,” Yunho shakes his head, “I saw the way he looked at you, and he was not interested in being friends.”

“Fine,” you sigh, “you’re right, he wanted to take me home, but I’m obviously not there with him. I don’t understand why you’re so upset about this,”

“I’m not upset,” he counters.

“Yunho,” you lean forward in your seat to see him better and he glances back at you.

“Put your seatbelt on, what are you doing?” he waves you back.

You listen, but you catch the way Seonghwa rolls his eyes, and it seems like this kind of sudden type of response from Yunho isn’t completely out of the blue.

You click the seatbelt into place, “There, happy now?”

“That you’re not going to go flying out my windshield? Yes,” he huffs.

“Alright,” Seonghwa finally interjects, “let’s all just relax.”

“Fine,” Yunho says, but you can’t let it go.

“Yunho,” you keep your voice calm and even toned, “he was flirting with me, yes, but I didn’t go home with him. You can’t get upset over every man that flirts with me. It happens,” you watch the twitch of his lip in the rear-view mirror at the idea and you can’t help yourself. You press his buttons further and you have no idea why, “It happens more often than you think.”

His hands tighten on the wheel and Seonghwa sighs, “She’s right,” he says, “you really don’t need to get so upset about this.”

The muscle in Yunho’s jaw tenses and relaxes, and he sighs heavily, “I’m sorry,” he glances up in the mirror to meet your eyes quickly before refocusing on the road, “he just bothered me. I don’t like the way he was talking to you, propositioning you like that.”

You smile, but Seonghwa says it before you have to, “You mean like we did?”

“That is completely different,” he protests.

“Is it?” You laugh, “You literally saw me across a bar and took me home. Arguably that’s more cliché,”

“Alright, alright,” he says, exasperated, and checks his mirror to start merging into his exit lane to get back into their neighborhood of the city.

“You’re cute when you’re jealous though,” you smile, “I thought you were going to smack that wine glass out of his hand for a second,”

Seonghwa laughs and looks back at you, “He is,” he agrees.

Yunho relaxes, letting you both poke fun at him and tries to let the image of Wooyoung inches from you in that dress fade from his mind. He knows you’re right, of course, you weren’t home with Wooyoung, you were with them just like always, but the niggling uncomfortable feeling in his gut just won’t go away.

It takes another ten minutes to make it to their garage and up to the door of their apartment, but once inside you let out a sigh and slip off your heels, “I’m going to change, and then should we eat something?”

“You didn’t eat at the party?” Seonghwa cups your cheek.

“I did,” you assure him, “I just want something more substantial,”

“I’ll make you something,” he kisses you quickly and starts for the kitchen.

You smile at Yunho as you pass, and he returns it, loosening his tie and kicking off his own uncomfortable dress shoes. When you come back out to the kitchen you’ve changed, dressed now in soft cream sleep pants and a fitted tank top. Over the past year, you’ve gotten comfortable letting them take care of you. They had told you that on the first night you met, but at the time you had assumed they meant strictly sexually. You certainly didn’t expect a section in their closet and regularly home cooked meals, but they’re surprising like that.

Seonghwa is still fixing you a small, light meal when you lean on the kitchen bar next to Yunho. There were plans for the night, things you all previously discussed that would be a special treat, but after the little disagreement in the car you’re wondering if Yunho’s still in the mood.

You lean against his arm, and he glances over, “Hey,”

“Hey,” you smile.

A beat passes and you watch as Seonghwa clicks off the burner and starts to plate your dinner. You rest your hand on Yunho’s arm, “Are we okay?”

“Of course, we’re okay,” he answers immediately, “I’m sorry I got short with you,”

“It’s fine,” you squeeze his upper arm softly, “but I promise there was nothing to worry about, he’s just a flirt.”

“Mm,” Yunho nods, and you notice the way his fingers tap out a pattern on the bar. You push off the counter and you’re about to move away from him to meet Seonghwa in the main part of the kitchen when Yunho says, “Why did you flirt back if you weren’t going to go home with him?”

“What?” You look back to him, Seonghwa immediately dropping the pan back on the burner and turning towards the conversation.

“Why did you? It’s an easy question,”

“Yunho,” Seonghwa’s voice is firm now, “you’re out of line.”

“I just,” he sighs and turns towards you fully, standing tall and imposing above you, “I’m just trying to understand.”

“I’m not having this conversation,” Anger bubbles up inside you and you push past him, but Yunho catches your arm in his hand.

“I’m sorry,” he says again, “I’m being an ass, I’m sorry,”

His words slow you down and you let him maneuver you back into his arms. Pressing close you shake your head, “You need to let this go, okay? It was fine at the gallery, but Wooyoung was trying to get under your skin, and now you’re letting him. This kind of jealousy isn’t sexy. It’s…”

“I know,” he insists, “god, I know,”

“Okay,” you push up on your tiptoes and lean forwards, pressing a kiss to his chest where his shirt is unbuttoned and parted open, “I’m here with you, and there’s nowhere else I would rather be, okay?”

He wraps his arms around you, dropping his lips to your hair. When you both pull away, he brushes his fingers along your cheek and dips down to kiss you properly, dragging you up against him so that you’re perched on your toes and holding onto his arms for stability. It starts soft, but you feel it when it shifts, his fingers gripping your waist more firmly and his lips parting to better access your mouth, tongue against yours.

You gasp against his lips when he presses you back two steps and your back connects with the kitchen bar. He slides one hand to hold your back, and drops the other flat on the counter, fingers spread wide to stabilize you both as he kisses you harder, encroaching on your space in every conceivable way.

His hand moves down, slipping into the waistband of your pants so he can grip the bare skin of your backside, and you release a surprised moan when he squeezes and kneads your plush skin. You break your lips apart, pushing him back a little, and you drink him in. He looks hazy, panting and his eyes blown out.

“What are you doing?” You hold him, your back aching against the island behind you.

“I want you,” he dips to kiss you again.

You press backwards so he can’t quite reach you, “Yunho,”

It’s clear to you now that he hasn’t quite let the evening go, but with hands on you like this and his hot breath on your cheek, your mind flicks back to the earlier image you had conjured in the gallery. Yunho standing over you, your body bent over a table and your skirt pushed up around your hips. His hand in your hair. Wooyoung’s face flashes next, the idea of him seeing, realizing you could never be his.

Desire quickens in you, and you swallow hard, “I,” you start to say.

“I’m starting to feel like I should be a little jealous,” Seonghwa’s voice snaps the spell and Yunho falters back a step.

“Hwa,” he says, “fuck,”

You expect the worst, but as you turn you see Seonghwa shake his head, and then he turns to you, “Are you alright?”

You nod and he sighs, “Do you want to stop?”

You cut him off with a shake of your head. Seonghwa and Yunho share a look, one you’re not sure you’ve ever seen before.

“Don’t stop then,” Seonghwa moves towards you both, and your eyes are on him when you feel Yunho tug down your sleep pants and underwear before hoisting you up so that you’re leaning back on the bar countertop, your hips hanging off and fully supported by his arm around you.

“Fuck,” you breath when he pushes your legs open wide and steps between them, his hands working at his trouser zip for a second before he frees himself.

“Be quiet,” Yunho directs you, and your mouth clamps shut. He strokes his cock to draw himself fully hard, and then sinks two fingers inside your cunt without a word.

You jerk, gasping at the intrusion, but when he finds you already wet that’s all he needs. He shifts between your thighs, and before you can exhale the breath caught in your chest, he pushes inside you with one firm snap of his hips.

You weren’t quite ready for him, and the stretch burns. He draws out of you and then back in with another sharp thrust, and a strained noise leaves you, one hand flying to his back to grip onto him.

He meets your eyes, pausing for a moment and he adjusts to better support your hips in his hands, letting you fall back onto the counter top, your back against the cool stone. His eyes are dark, hair falling in them as he holds you steady on his cock, “Did you want him?”

“What?” You blink, focusing now on his words.

“Tell me,” Yunho says, “did you want him?”

“No,” you shake your head, and he looks down, his eyes studying the place where your bodies connect.

He thrusts hard, “I don’t believe you,”

“I didn’t,” you insist, your fingers gripping the granite beneath you for purchase but slipping.

“I saw you,” he pumps faster, and you watch his mouth drop open at the sensation of your hot channel around him, “I saw how you looked at him,”

A rush of heat runs up your body at another sharp thrust, the head of his cock now rhythmically stroking that tender place inside you, and you feel the blush erupt across your chest and sweat at your brow. A harsh moan leaves you and you reach for him, but he doesn’t take your hand, “Baby,” you whine, “I didn’t, I promise,”

He shifts forwards, hovering over you now, and sinks one hand into your hair, tightening against your scalp, “Aren’t we enough?”

Words don’t come, and it dawns on you that the desperation in his face is real, the fear of you leaving with someone else is palpable. His words sink into your chest and he pants above you, “Don’t we give you everything?”

“Yes,” you inhale sharply and grip onto his upper arms now that he’s hovering above you, “Yes, baby,”

“You let him touch you,” he drops his head, unable to hold your eyes any longer and you can’t answer him.

He doesn’t slow his pace, and you arch against him at a shock of pleasure directly up your spine, a breathy moan suddenly on your lips. Your head falls to the side, and you see Seonghwa, leaning on the edge of the counter across from the bar, quiet and watching. You’ve been with them individually now, and always with the other watching, but this feels different.

Yunho slams his hips forwards and stops suddenly, and you gasp against him, an unexpected whine leaving your throat. He brushes your hair back from your face with his wide palm, bringing your face back to his. He searches your eyes, and you can feel him trembling above you, just a little, “Would you have gone home with him?”

“No,” you lay your hand softly on his cheek.

“If we weren’t,” he sighs, “if you weren’t with us, would you have gone home with him?”

“I don’t know what you want me to say,” your voice is almost a whisper.

“Say no,” his hands tighten on you, and he starts to move his hips again, slow, and steady.

You twitch under him at steady pressure on your clit, but hold his eyes, “Yunho, you don’t own me,” you murmur.

Yunho’s jaw sets tightly, and he pushes off you, his cock sliding out of you as he steps away fully, and you brace yourself on the counter not to fall off the edge and instead ease down. He tucks his still hard length away and refastens his pants before running a hand through his hair and turning on his heel, disappearing down the hallway. The bathroom door slams with a sharp sound and nervous tightness floods your chest.

“Come here,” Seonghwa’s soft voice murmurs from next to you, and he helps you step back into your sleep pants.

“Hwa,” you turn to him, emotion tight in your throat, “what is going on with him?”

“He can be like this,” Seonghwa says, his eyes soft.

“Can he?” You look towards the dark hallway, barely believing it.

“When he wants something? Yes,”

“I don’t understand,” you slump into one of the bar chairs, “he has me, you both do,”

Seonghwa glances towards the hallway himself, sighing and finally, finally meeting your nervous gaze, “Do we?”

“How could you ask me that?” The night is officially starting to twist out of control.

“Listen,” he steps forwards and takes your face in his hands, “you know we don’t see anyone else. We love having you here, you know this. But we’ve never asked the same of you,”

“Oh,” you soften under his hands, his words starting to make sense.

“We don’t pry, we don’t know where you go every night. It’s not our place to ask,” He clarifies, “but if you think we like the idea of you with another man, let alone seeing you with one?”

“We were just talking,” You press, “if that’s a problem then we need to have a much different conversation.”

“Of course, it’s not a problem,” Seonghwa shakes his head, “that’s not at all what I meant,”

“Please,” you sigh, “then what do you mean?”

“Do you think you’d like it if Yunho and I saw other women?” Seonghwa asks, trying to explain himself, “If you came to meet us for a date, and you saw us talking to another woman like that?”

A tightness knots in your stomach, “No,”

“It’s like that,” he explains, “and we’ve never asked you stop seeing other people, but knowing that you might be is very different than seeing you talking to a man who you could go home with,”

“I’m not seeing other people,” you say simply, and suddenly he looks relieved.

“You’re not?”

“No,” you shake your head, “I haven’t since we started seeing each other more regularly, that’s what… five or six months? You could have just asked me,”

Seonghwa nods, looking down for a moment before he says, “We didn’t want to ask that of you when we weren’t sure what we could give you,”

“Seonghwa,” you pull him closer, “I want this, just what we have, but I don’t want it with anyone else.”

“So tonight,” he trails off.

“A misunderstanding,” you explain, “Wooyoung is a flirt, and I won’t lie to you and tell you he isn’t good looking or charming, but that’s all,”

“I’m sorry,” he drops his forehead against yours.

“You don’t have to be sorry,”

“I should have stopped things earlier,” he murmurs, “Yunho wasn’t thinking clearly, and he was too rough with you,”

You shake your head, “I didn’t say stop,”

“I know, but,”

“But nothing,” you shake your head again, “I wanted him too, but now…” you twist your head and look towards the still quiet hallway, “I should talk to him.”

“Yeah,” Seonghwa kisses your forehead and steps away, “Go to bed, I’ll wrap the food up for later and be right there,”

“Okay,” you nod.

In the bedroom you wait, sitting on the edge of the bed and listening to the sound of the shower through the bathroom door. The water is still running when Seonghwa walks into the bedroom, unbuttoning his dress shirt and running a hand through his hair.

“I’ve never seen him angry,” you murmur to Seonghwa, “what can I do?”

“Usually, he just works things out for himself,” he replies, “he doesn’t even share it with me most of the time.”

The sound of running water cuts off and you reach for Seonghwa. He comes closer and sits on the edge of the bed with you.

“This is weird,” you shift to push him back a bit, sitting between his open legs and pulling his arms to wrap around your torso, “that’s better,”

Seonghwa smiles, hugging you to his chest and kissing your bare shoulder, “Yeah?”

“Mhm,” you rest a hand on his thigh. Not touching him feels worse than anything, and now you’re so used to always having your hands on each other when you’re here, the centering calm of their warm skin on yours. Sitting next to him, passive, with space between you is foreign and cold.

Seonghwa holds you, his fingers tracing patterns on your skin as you both wait. When the bathroom door finally opens, you sit up and Seonghwa follows suit, his arms loosening but not leaving you.

Yunho's hair is wet and messy, and his skin is mostly dry except for the beads of water that still hang on his bare shoulders, a white towel hangs low around his hips. When he sees both of you on the bed waiting, he pauses.

His voice is gruff, and he clears his throat, “Hey,”

“Hi, baby,” you murmur, “are you okay?”

His brows knit together, “Yeah,” he sighs, “I should be asking you that.”

“I’m fine,” you dismiss, “I’m not upset,”

Yunho’s eyes flick from yours to his husband’s and you feel Seonghwa nod behind you. You reach for Yunho, open palm extended and he moves to you and takes your hand in his.

“Can I be honest with you?” You ask him, giving his hand a squeeze.

“Always,”

“You’re scaring me a little,”

His expression drops, “What?”

“I understand how you feel,” you tell him, “but you can’t ever accuse me of something like that again because you’re angry. I have never and would never do something like that to you.”

His cheeks go pink, his ears heating red with embarrassment and he drops his eyes, “I’m so sorry,”

“Come here, please,” you tug his hand down and he drops down, kneeling in front of you to rest between your knees, and you interlace your fingers with his. You stroke the back of his hand with your thumb, “Seonghwa helped me understand,”

“He did?” Yunho meets his husband’s eyes, and you can see the nervous swell of emotion there.

“I’m not seeing other men,” you say it clearly, simply, and Yunho’s gaze snaps back to yours, “I haven’t for a long time. I have no interest in sleeping with or dating anyone else. I want to be with you and Hwa, for as long as it feels right for all of us. I love being with you both, and I would never, ever hurt either one of you like that.”

“Oh,” he can’t think of anything to say, but he lays a hand on your thigh warmly, giving it a squeeze.

“Men are going to flirt with me sometimes,” you continue, “and that’s all it is.”

He nods, and Seonghwa unwinds a hand from around you to rest on Yunho’s forearm. Yunho swallows hard and nods again, “I’m sorry, for everything I said,” he kisses the back of your hand, “you didn’t deserve any of it, sweetheart, and I’m sorry.”

“Thank you,” you murmur, your voice small, and you feel Seonghwa exhale behind you.

A beat passes and then you squeeze his hand again, “Yunho,”

He looks up to you, holding your gaze as you pull his hand forwards and press it to the waistband of your pants. His eyes flick down and you see the question is his gaze, “Will you take care of me tonight?”

Seonghwa loosens his hold and slips his hands to hold your waist, fingertips sliding along your bare skin, and you drop back against his chest.

Yunho looks hesitant for a moment, “Are you sure?”

“Please,” you nod, “I want you both, I want to show you what you mean to me,”

Yunho shakes his head slightly, “You don’t have to do that, I was wrong, not you,”

“No,” you pull him closer between your legs and he comes up off his heels so he can meet you eye to eye, “I want to.” You brush your hand along his jaw, “You didn’t even know I stopped seeing other people… I clearly haven’t shown you much I,” the word catches in your throat and suddenly you swallow it back, it’s something you can’t tell them. You’re together, yes, but the love that exists is between them. It was here before you and it will be here after you, and the night had been hard enough without adding your emotions into the mix. You recover smoothly, “How much I care about you.”

Yunho nods, and Seonghwa presses his lips to your temple before he says, “We’ll show you too,”

Yunho’s fingers dip into the waistband of your pants, keeping his eyes on you as he slips them back off while Seonghwa maneuvers your shirt off over your head. Yunho pulls you forwards into a kiss, tender and slow, his hands coasting up and down your bare thighs.

Behind you, Seonghwa unbuttons the rest of his shirt and tosses it aside. “Lie back,” he runs a hand up your spine and you comply, separating your lips from Yunho’s. Seonghwa widens his legs, and Yunho understands immediately where this is going, gently taking each of your legs and hooking them over Seonghwa’s thighs, holding you open wide for him.

“Here we go,” Seonghwa soothes, leaning back onto a forearm into a reclined position, “how’s that?”

He’s always so attentive, warm and concerned for your comfort, and you smile, “Perfect,”

“Baby,” Seonghwa says, directed to Yunho, “take care of our pretty girl, will you?”

His words make you twitch against him and Seonghwa hums against your back. Yunho shifts forwards, dipping down low to kiss along your inner thighs, his teeth dragging along your sensitive flesh lightly and making your legs quiver.

He traces a finger along your slit, teasing gently and earning little pants and sighs from your lips. As Yunho teases, the softest brushes of his finger tip on your clit, Seonghwa reaches around with one arm and cups your breast, holding it in his warm palm.

“Please, don’t tease me,” you look down between your legs at Yunho. He smiles, leaning back immediately at your words and you clench. He runs a hand through his wet hair to push it out of his eyes and sinks deeper into his position kneeling between your open legs. It’s moments like this you savor, the anticipation of the night to come bubbling in your chest and the way they look at you. It’s the most honest thing you’ve ever had.

“Don’t tease you?” Yunho’s lip quirks up, his hand falling away from your core.

He wants you to whine, he wants to watch you breathless and desperate and aching for something inside you, and he drops his hands into his lap, ready to make you.

“Hmm,” Seonghwa hums from behind you, the vibrations from his deep tone echoing through you, “I said take care of her,”

“I know,” Yunho says, his eyes still locked on yours.

“She needs something to touch her,” Seonghwa sighs, now shifting to tease you too, “look at how needy our pretty girl is,”

Your hips jerk at his words, fingers tightening on whatever part of Seonghwa you can hold, and Yunho smiles, nodding, “Should we ask her what she wants? Or should we just give it to her?”

A quiet whine slips from your lips and Seonghwa kisses your temple softly, “We know what she needs,”

“Please,” the word a whisper.

Seonghwa slides his hand from your breast, coasting down your stomach and stroking the skin softly, “I didn’t hear you, darling,”

“Please,” you manage, a little louder, “Hwa, please touch me,”

“Very good,” he soothes, and he presses down with his fingers, sinking into your wet folds and parting them perfectly, his fingers rocking against your clit with a perfect and sudden rhythm.

Your hips draw back at the sudden sensation, moaning, and your hand slips off Seonghwa’s thigh to brace against the bed. Seonghwa doesn’t stop, and you shudder, the way that Yunho’s eyes darken as he watches knotting up a tense cord of sensation in your core.

Yunho bites his lower lip, an unconscious response as you writhe before him, and shifts his hand over the towel around his hips, parting it and starting to stroke his hardening cock. His eyes flick between Seonghwa’s hand on your warm core and your face, his hand working a steady rhythm to match Seonghwa’s.

“Such pretty little noises,” Seonghwa sighs, increasing the pressure of his fingers, and you inhale sharply, your hips jutting against his hand for the perfect pace.

“Fuck it,” Yunho dives forwards, pushing your legs apart further with his sure hands on your thighs, and licks a firm stripe up your slit, catching against Seonghwa’s fingers as he does before shifting lower on his knees to better position himself, devouring you.

You jerk back again, pressing hard against Seonghwa’s chest, your legs starting to quiver as you rapidly plunge to the edge of orgasm. You lock a hand in Yunho’s hair and he groans against you, his hands tightening almost painfully on your inner thighs. “Don’t stop,” you plead, “please, please, don’t stop,”

“We’ve got you,” Seonghwa’s voice is deep and steady in your ear and you pant out a moan.

You’re close, dangerously so, and at the sudden push of two of Yunho’s fingers inside of you, long and crooked up just right, your muscles flutter around him and you release, hard and shaking with a dizzy cry. Yunho pumps his fingers in and out of you steadily as you come, slowing down alongside Seonghwa when he knows you’re almost through it.

Your chest is heaving, and as your sensation comes back to you, all you can feel is their hands on your skin and the way they lovingly stroke it. Yunho has relaxed his grip on your legs, and he leans his cheek against your inner thigh, sighing against your skin and pressing a quick kiss to your flesh.

“There you are,” Seonghwa smiles, laughing a little, “I was afraid we broke you,”

You shake your head, but still can’t quite come up with anything to say. Yunho grins up at you, “We might have,”

They give you a few more moments, but eventually Yunho stands, stretching tall and the towel falls away from his hips. He reaches for you, carefully lifting you off of Seonghwa’s lap and putting you down on your feet, and you hold his biceps to catch your balance.

Seonghwa stands up behind you both, crossing to the other side of the bed, “Come and lie down for us, love,”

You shift back onto the bed, crawling across to where he’s standing. Seonghwa finally takes off the rest of his clothes, tossing them aside and he moves back to you, his cock red, straining, and aching to be touched. You settle on all fours at the edge of the bed, licking your lips and looking up at him with hooded eyes, “Like this?”

He shakes his head though, a small smile on his lips, pleased that you’re so ready and willing to relax into whatever they want you to be. “Let’s get you comfortable,” he brushes his hand along your cheek, his hands guiding you where he wants you, “lie back,”

He positions you flat on your back, the crown of your head at the edge of the bed. You’ve only done this position with them a handful of times, the first time a little terrifying when you ran out of air and spent fifteen minutes soothing your abused throat, both of them worried they had done too much. But you tried again, and after the third time you worked out a rhythm with them.

Yunho follows you onto the bed, and you lift your hips up when he presents you with the angled foam cushion that usually stays stowed under the bed. He tucks it under you, and the three of you move in sync to slide you so that your head is hanging off the edge of the mattress and your hips are lifted up and supported just right.

“Good?” Seonghwa checks, looking down at you.

“Mhm,” you nod, “let me just,” you shift a little on the cushion, and then nod again.

Yunho’s hands coast up your legs, massaging your pressure points a little, and then lifts your legs high. Holding your calves, he shifts forwards further and settles into a comfortable kneeling position, his hips now perfectly aligned with yours. He rests your legs up on his shoulders, and then looks down at you, squeezing one of your thighs in his broad hand. “Perfect,” he murmurs.

“Yunho,” you sigh, “come here,”

He pushes his hips forwards, the head of his cock pressed against your entrance. Your eyes flutter shut, and you let your head hang, your hands curling into the sheets underneath you and gripping them. He pushes in little by little, taking his time with you now, a little more gentle than normal and you suspect that has something to do with the way he fucked you in the kitchen.

You whine when he seats himself all the way, his body pressed flush with yours, and he groans tightly when he thrusts once, dropping his hands to hold you better, one hand on your hip and one around your opposite leg.

“Hwa,” he nods to his husband.

Seonghwa lifts your head with his hand, and you open your mouth readily, tongue pressed to the bottom of your mouth and relaxing your throat open. He positions himself and as you take a centering breath, he slides his cock through your lips, over your tongue, down your throat. He gives you a moment, making sure you’re comfortable, but when you tap his thigh to tell him you’re ready, he can’t hold back any longer.

Seonghwa moves first, picking up the pace of his thrusts fast. Your eyes squeeze shut so you can concentrate, tears gathering in the corners already from the overstimulation and limited air supply, but you breathe slowly in and out through your nose and keep your throat relaxed. You almost forget Yunho is inside you, you’re so focused on Seonghwa's thick length stretching open your throat. When Yunho draws his hips back and you feel the sensation of him dragging out of you, you make a muffled moan.

Yunho’s slower, but picks up the pace, and the sensation of his cockhead steadily stroking over your g-spot again and again has you moaning more, the sound cut off and garbled by Seonghwa’s cock.

“That’s our good girl,” Yunho’s voice is warm, honeyed and kind, despite the firm strike of his hips against yours now.

“Yes, she is,” Seonghwa slips his hand into your hair, bracing the back of your head as he continues fucking your throat, “so pretty taking us both,”

You whine at his words, hands tight in the sheets.

“Do you like being ours to use, baby?” Seonghwa groans as he feels the head of his cock connect with the soft spongy back of your throat, and the way it tightens at his words.

A hot flush runs through your body, a blush spreading up your chest and cheeks, and warm pleasure tightens in your belly. The sensations are overwhelming. Yunho’s hands holding you firm, the way your body stretches and shudders around his cock, Seonghwa’s crooning words, his praise at the way you’re offering yourself to him.

You feel yourself cresting again, dizzy and hot suddenly, and you tap Seonghwa’s thigh a few times in quick succession. He pulls out of your mouth quickly, still holding your head steady, and a desperate cry falls from your lips unobstructed. You blink up at Yunho, “Harder,” you beg him, as if you can almost reach out and touch your pleasure, only needing a little more, “please,”

He’s panting, a glisten of sweat across his chest, and he twists his head to the side to kiss your calf before he tightens his hold and draws out, forcefully pushing back inside you and knocking you back on the cushion as he does.

“Fuck,” you moan, “I’m close,”

Seonghwa drops to a crouch, holding your head steady in his hand so you don’t have to support yourself and kissing your head, “What a mess he’s making of you,” he says, low and pointed in your ear.

“Oh god,” your body is trembling despite the way you’re held in place, and your mouth drops open.

“Fuck,” Yunho groans, still thrusting into you, hips crashing against yours like a drumbeat, “fuck, baby,”

With your eyes on Yunho and Seonghwa murmuring in your ear, your body locks up. You curl forwards, twisting on the bed with the sudden rush of pleasure and Yunho slips his cock free, letting you pull away from him. You’re shaking when he eases his legs off your shoulders, and you look to him immediately. He’s still rock hard, glistening with your slick arousal but still desperate and straining. Both of them still need to come, and despite being a shuddering mess, you want them again.

Yunho rocks back and out of his kneeling crouch, stretching his legs out long in front of him and you watch him make a slight wince from his knees being bent for so long. Yunho relaxes against the pillows and smiles over at you. Seonghwa strokes your cheek once more, and then moves to settle next to Yunho on the bed, laying long next to him, his still hard cock resting on his husband’s thigh.

If you had to guess, after the evening you had earlier, they probably both assume you aren’t going to want to try something new, but you do. You’ve wanted them both for months now. You pull yourself up and sigh, a laugh on your lips as you realize just how fucked out you must look.

“Doing okay?” Seonghwa checks, always wary after taking you so roughly.

You clear your throat, and though it feels a little tight, you’re fine. You smile and nod, “I’m good,”

Yunho swallows, and opens his mouth to say something but you’ve already started to move forwards, pulling yourself up on his chest and meeting eye to eye. He chuckles and runs a hand up your bare back, “Hey, sweetheart,”

“Hey,” you kiss him softly.

“What are you thinking?” He smiles, “You have a look,”

“Let’s try,” You murmur, pecking his lips again and reaching for Seonghwa.

Yunho’s hand stills and he pulls away to get a better look at you, “Tonight?”

You shrug, trying to keep things light despite the nervous flutter inside you, “Yeah, I mean, that was the plan,”

Yunho still seems hesitant but Seonghwa leans in and captures your lips, kissing you tenderly and tracing his fingers across your bare skin, “If you’re ready,”

You nod, and when both of you shift to look at Yunho, he sighs. He’s always been a bit nervous about both of them fucking you at the same time, concious that it might be uncomfortable or even hurt, but you know you’ll be fine. After months of getting comfortable size training with plugs and experimenting with them both, it’s just a matter of you all saying yes at the same time.

Yunho nods and Seonghwa smiles, hopping up off the bed so he can go to his nightstand and locate a bottle of lubricant. Yunho positions himself a little better, reclined with his legs wide, but still largely seated against the headboard, and then he pats his thigh.

You move to straddle him, holding yourself up on your knees and sinking down onto his cock again, shuddering at the full feeling.

“Let’s take our time,” Seonghwa says as he climbs back on the bed and settles behind you, both of you now effectively straddling Yunho’s hips.

You nod, turning to look over your shoulder, “So… how should we do this?”

Seonghwa drops a kiss on your shoulder, “Don’t be nervous,” he wraps his arms around you, tucking you into his chest tenderly and settles his hands over your stomach. “You’re trembling,” he observes.

Yunho’s hands run up the length of your thighs, back up and down to calm you, “We’ll take care of you,” he soothes, “we always do.”

“I know,” you murmur, and let your head fall back against Seonghwa’s shoulder.

“Hwa,” Yunho looks over you to his husband, “she needs a little warming up,”

You nod, and Seonghwa kisses your skin again, “Touch her, make sure she’s wet,” he kisses you again, “I’ll do the rest,”

The hold you, pliable between them, and you can do nothing but let them. Yunho presses his thumb to your swollen clit and starts to rock it in circles, groaning a little when your walls contract in response on his cock inside you. Seonghwa spends time kissing you, his breath tickling your skin as he sucks softly on your neck, one hand moving up so he can flick your nipple slowly.

You gasp, your body jerking lightly on its own, bouncing only an inch or so up on Yunho, but he nods, “That’s good, you can move,”

With slow movements you start to lift yourself up and sink back down, fluttering warmth through your body and getting you fully accustomed to his size in this new position. You stay like this for a few moments, Yunho groaning softly below you, Seonghwa tenderly caressing your skin.

You barely catch the look they give each other, but then Seonghwa leans back from you and Yunho reaches up, “Come here, baby,” he murmurs, pushing your hair over your shoulder as you lean over him. Yunho kisses you, tongue flicking against yours while he holds you steady.

Seonghwa cups your ass with one hand and squeezes, kneading your soft flesh gently with soothing touches. You make a noise of surprise against Yunho’s lips when Seonghwa finally presses his fingertip to the tight ring of muscle between your cheeks.

“Just relax,” Seonghwa pets you softly, “we’ve done this part before,”

You sigh, dropping your head to Yunho’s chest, “I know, I’m good,”

Seonghwa’s slow, practiced at making sure you feel no pain and you’re properly worked open before he even thinks about fucking you. His fingers are coated in warming lubricant and by the time he’s inserted two inside you and started to scissor them, you’re panting, “Please, I’m ready,”

“Okay,” Seonghwa kisses your shoulder, “You feel good?”

“Mm,” you nod against Yunho’s chest and he strokes his hand through your hair.

Seonghwa shifts behind you and you hear him uncap the bottle of lubricant again, when he shuffles close the head of his cock brushes against your ass cheek and you inhale sharply. You’re starting to feel desperate. Seonghwa strokes your hip, calm and steady, and before you know it the head of his cock is pushing inside you. You gasp against Yunho, your fingers tightening on him at the surprising sensation.

“There we go,” Seonghwa says softly, sliding in another inch, “how about now?”

“More,” you nod, “you feel amazing,”

Yunho chuckles below you, “That good?”

“You have no idea,” you groan as Seonghwa moves again, this time pushing more, and he must be nearly all the way inside you now.

“Fuck,” he breathes behind you, his hand suddenly tight on your hips.

“Are you okay?” You glance back, but the expression on Seonghwa’s face is nothing but pure pleasure.

“You’re so tight,” he groans again as he thrusts his cock just a little more, “Yunho… you’re,”

“I know,” Yunho lets out a deep exhale and you shift around to look up at him.

“Does it feel different for you too?”

Yunho can only nod, biting his lip when Seonghwa finally thrusts again, this time fully pressed inside you and choke out a sudden moan, pulled from somewhere deep inside you at the sudden buzzing sensation in your belly.

“Still good?” Seonghwa checks, his voice strained.

“Yes, fuck yes,”

“Thank fuck,” Yunho manages, “this is too good,”

“I need somebody to move,” your hips shift back as if to draw them both deeper and they both make their own little noises of surprised pleasure.

“You first,” Yunho says to Seonghwa, “let’s see if that still feels good,”

You lean up, perched on Yunho’s chest, and Seonghwa kisses your shoulder once again before leaning back and starting to thrust. The first drag of his cock out and back in has you dizzy already, you’ve never felt so full. Combined like this they have your body stretched wide, but you can take it, and with every movement your muscles start to relax further.

“Yunho,” your voice a tight whine.

His eyes flick back to your face, “Baby?”

“I need you,”

“Are you,”

“Don’t ask me if I’m sure,” your voice caught in a moan, “please just fuck me,”

The switch flips instantly, “Hwa, stop,”

“Why?” You blink your eyes open.

Seonghwa stops moving but Yunho smiles at you, “Come here, hold yourself up a bit,” he prompts you and with his help you shift your hips higher. Yunho plants his feet on the bed and uses the leverage to pulse up once, an experimental thrust at this angle and you grip his shoulders.

“Stay just like that for me,” Yunho holds your waist, his gaze darkening and he smiles up at you, “be a good girl and we’ll give you everything,”

Seonghwa pants pleasantly behind you, humming a soft moan and as your eyes flutter shut they start to work in tandem. If you thought you were stretched before, full before, anything at all before this sensation, you were wrong. You almost lose your grip on Yunho and fall forwards but he won’t let you go.

“I always knew you could take us,” Seonghwa groans, “but feeling it?”

You mumble, incoherent words caught in pleasure.

“Look at you,” Yunho reaches to cup your face, his thumb flicking along your bottom lip where your mouth hangs open, “You were made for us,”

Hot pleasure expands inside you, the feeling rising up your chest and into your throat and your body trembles between them, sweat slick now and aching but you never want this to end. His words pull another whining cry and his brows knit together as they fuck you.

“This little body,” he pants, “molded just for us,”

“Yunho!” your hands tighten on his chest.

The pace increases, and that’s when it all falls apart inside you. It feels suddenly like tumbling, like you were building up to a perfect pressure and then a snap cracks apart inside you, a weightless blurry feeling to your limbs and a sudden heat flooding up your cheeks.

“I’m going to come,” you hear Seonghwa groan behind you as your muscles lock down around them.

Yunho locks his hand over his husband’s where it’s anchored on your hip, “Fuck yes, baby, fill up our girl,”

When Seonghwa comes it’s with a hard thrust, pushing you forwards on Yunho and only extending your orgasm, leaving you shaking, quivering and confused. Your ears are ringing, and when Seonghwa pulls out of you with a groan the sound that leaves you is panicked and tight.

“Shh,” Yunho murmurs, soothing you.

With Seonghwa shifting away, Yunho holds you to his chest and rolls you over smoothly, keeping himself locked inside you as he does. On your back your legs fall open, your muscles spent, and he kisses you again, Seonghwa moving to lay next to you both.

“I can’t,” everything feels fuzzy, your orgasm leaving you tender and raw.

“Come here, my love,” Yunho murmurs, holding you close as he rolls his hips into you at a slower pace.

He’s never called you that before, and through the fog you meet his eyes, shining and warm. Seonghwa shifts closer, reaching between you to cup your cheek. “Our beautiful girl,” he sighs.

Yunho grunts at a particularly forward thrust and catches your eyes again, “Can I have you?” He must be close, but the slow pace he’s keeping up for your comfort isn’t enough, and you nod quickly.

“Always,” you manage, “I’m yours,”

His eyes snap shut and he drops over you, fucking you faster and finding the right friction for himself. You hold on, gripping him tightly and Seonghwa shifts, kissing Yunho’s arm, his shoulder, stroking his back and tenderly coaxing him to release.

“You’re ours,” Yunho pants in your ear, and you shudder against him, “you belong to us, baby,”

You nod against him, “Yes, yes,” you’re overstimulated but still feeling lights of pleasure up your spine and you moan, biting your lip and your eyes slipping shut.

“Say it,” he begs you, “please,”

His words from earlier echo through your mind - Aren’t we enough?

You wrap your arms around his shoulders, your lips against his ear, “I’m yours, I belong to you, baby. Only you,”

He comes with a stuttered cry, falling over you, his cheek against the mattress next to your head, breath shuddering. His weight on top of you quickly becomes too much and you tap his side. Yunho shifts off, pulling his now softening cock free, and for the first time you feel a chill, utterly empty at the loss of them.

Seonghwa notices your expression immediately, sliding down the bed and finding your eyes, “Are you alright?”

You nod, and emotion catches in your throat, “Yes, but will you hold me please?”

Yunho shifts around at the tone of your voice, and they both move in, cradling your body between them.

Yunho strokes your hair, “What’s wrong, my love?” The first time you weren’t sure you heard it right, but you must have. You’ve only ever heard him call Seonghwa that.

You push those feelings to the side for a moment and snuggle into Seonghwa’s chest, tugging Yunho’s hand so he’ll come closer and spoon you better from behind. “I just feel like I need you close,” you try to explain, “it was so much and then you weren’t there,”

“We are,” Seonghwa hugs you closer, “I promise you we are,”

You rest like this. It takes time for the feeling to come back to your body and for your mind to come through the fog, for the emotions that suddenly welled up to recede again. Seonghwa’s humming softly when you stop drifting in and out of sleep, his fingers in your hair.

You sigh heavily against his chest, and Yunho shifts behind you, propping himself up on one elbow to look down at you. “Baby?”

“Hi,” you breathe, and you kiss Seonghwa’s chest before you roll to your back between them.

“How are you?” Seonghwa asks first.

“Exhausted,” you smile, “but that was so perfect,”

“Good,” Seonghwa kisses your palm and goes back to playing with your fingers gently, “we should get you washed up and get some food in you,”

“Mm,” you stretch, testing out your limbs and the little aches of your body, “I don’t think I’ll ever make it out of this bed,”

Yunho grins, “Come on, I’ll even keep you company,” he kisses you quick and stands, holding out a hand for you.

Seonghwa sighs, “I’m going to warm up dinner again, I’ll shower after you.”

“Oh,” You twist to look at him, “you’re not coming?”

“I can,” he smiles, “do you want me to?”

“Please,”

Behind you the sound of the shower turns on and you know Yunho is warming up the water for you like he always does. Seonghwa touches your cheek softly, and pulls himself out of bed to locate his boxers, “I’ll tell you what, I’ll go preheat the oven and put the dinner in, and then I’ll come meet you in the shower. Is that okay?”

“Yeah,” you sigh, “that’s good. I just want to be together tonight,”

“I know,” he says, “I won’t take long, I promise.”

“Shower’s ready,” Yunho calls, and you stretch your tired limbs to stand and meet him. Your body feels sore, but in a good way.

You meet Yunho in the bathroom, and he brings you up for a kiss, stroking your cheek gently before moving back the shower curtain and helping you step in. He dips you back into the warm spray, taking care with you as he scrubs you clean, somewhat of a post-coital ritual now in your lives.

“I’m sorry about earlier,” he says quietly.

“Yunho,” you rest a hand on his chest, “you don’t have to apologize again,”

“I know,” he nods, “but I still never should have spoken to you that way, treated you that way. I was jealous, and I let it get to me,”

You nod, rubbing his chest softly, feeling his heart thumping under your hand, “It’s okay,”

“It’s not,” he shakes his head, “and I’m not normally like that. I don’t like that side of me, but when it comes to people I love, I don’t always make the best judgment calls.”

The word hangs there between you, and he doesn’t even know he’s said it. He reaches for the shampoo like nothing, but you’re frozen, a knot tight in your gut. He glances and sees your expression, tipping some of the shampoo in his hand, “What?”

“You love me?”

His eyes widen, realizing his mistake, “I didn’t mean to say it like that,” he swallows tightly and nods, “but yes,”

Tears prick at the back of your eyes suddenly, “What about Hwa?”

Yunho grins, laughing at your terrified expression, “We both love you,”

“You do?”

“Yes,” he drops the bottle, letting the water wash his hand clean and pulling you in, “We weren’t sure when to tell you,”

“But what about,” you pull his hand to yours, your finger running over his ring.

“We’ll figure it out,” he shrugs, “none of that matters, we feel how we feel.”

You dip forwards and rest your head on his chest, he wraps his arms around you snugly and sighs. “Yunho,” you murmur, “I love you too,”

He kisses your head sinking into your touch, the nervous knot in his own gut dissipating with your words. A quiet knock sounds on the wall by the shower and Seonghwa’s voice floats in with the steam, “Can I come in?”

“Yep,” Yunho’s voice cracks above you, and for a split second you think there might have been tears in his eyes but he clears his throat and recovers well if there were. Seonghwa steps in, relaxing into the hot spray and looks at you both.

“What did I miss?” he looks between you.

You can’t help but grin, they love you. Seonghwa’s warm round eyes assess you and he smiles, still trying to work it out, “What’s with you?”

Yunho opens his mouth to cut in, but you get there first, “I love you.”

Seonghwa stills, eyes flicking to his husband and then back to you.

“It’s okay,” Yunho rests a hand on his arm, “I told her,”

You step closer, wrapping an arm around Seonghwa and tucking in close, “He told me you love me, that you both do,”

“Oh,” he wraps his arms around you, “well then,” his voice a whisper.

Yunho rests a hand on your back, dipping down to kiss Seonghwa softly, an apology in his expression at the timing but it barely matters. Seonghwa had thought about planning something special, but in the end if you were together that was surely enough. He murmurs his love low in your ear, pulling you up for a kiss and holding you close.

Under the warm water, both of your boys wrap themselves around you. Breathing steadily together and intertwining your fingers, hot kisses saying everything you’re not sure how to put into words yet. They give you dinner like always, and brush out your hair. They cuddle and caress you and each other on the couch later as you relax, and then ask you about your work week ahead. They spoon you in bed, and ease you asleep, just like always, and in the morning you know for sure, you’re staying for good this time.

#seonghwa x reader #yunho x reader #yunhwa x reader #yunhwa #yunho #seonghwa #ateez #ateez smut #ateez angst #yunho smut #seonghwa smut

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esmeriandreamer · 2 years ago

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So I've been going through some old roleplays I've done with people, and one of the stories I wrote with my friend is just.. the perfect plot for a Dreamling fic??? Like, it fits these two so well, and I might write it myself- But if anyone in the fandom is inspired by this, feel free to take the idea! and also link me to it please and thank you <3

(Please note: This would be a medieval fantasy AU where there is magic, but the Endless siblings aren't their actual anthropomorphic personifications. Maybe they have minor powers over their domains, or they just have their nicknames, I say go wild with it-)

Okay. Let us set the scene.

Through some shape or form, Morpheus, one of the Endless princes, is cursed to see his first spouse die in a horrific way before his eyes. This, of course, scares away any potential suitor when they find out about this curse, because fuck that, they're not too keen on dying in a horrific way??

So, the king and queen decide on a plan; Morpheus will just have to marry some commoner who nobody would really miss, somebody who would've probably keeled over from illness within a month or three, so the curse will claim them and Morpheus will be free to find someone he wants to marry without y'know, constantly fearing he'll see them die a traumatizing death-

Enter Hob Gadling, an ex-soldier with no family, who the royal guards just plucked out of a local tavern, under the guise of "providing a special service for his country". He gets taken to the palace and is freshened up a bit, before going straight towards the chapel to marry the prince.

Morpheus is very much Not Pleased with all this, and after the wedding ceremony, once they are alone, he tells Hob about the curse. That he doesn't know when Hob will die, could be hours, days, months, or even years, but he will be dying a gruesome death and Morpheus will be forced to watch it happen. So, y'know, he's sorry this guy had to be roped into all this, he seems nice, it's a shame he'll have to die.

Yet Hob seems to take it pretty well, for someone who's been told they are now fated to die in terrible pain and all that jazz. He just smiles and basically goes "Welp, then I'll enjoy the remaining time I've got I guess- Life is still very rich and I intend to enjoy it by your side, your highness."

Morpheus can't help but admire the other's optimism a bit, but he tells himself that no matter what, he will not get attached to this man, because it'll only hurt more in the end. He tries to avoid Hob at the castle, but fate/the Plot keeps steering them back together into the same space, and spoiler alert, the prince starts to like this guy more and more, even though he knows it's gonna hurt when Hob perishes.

And then one day, while out on a ride together or something, Hob gets kicked in the chest by a horse, which would be breaking every rib and undoubtedly puncturing all the possible organs in that region of the body. And Morpheus, as stated by the curse, has front-row seats to the "Watching your husband choke to death on his own blood" show, sitting there all alone.

Only problem is... Hob doesn't die..? Like, he's clearly choking, but the bruises seem to slowly.. disappear? And he slowly stops choking on his own breath?? He even begins to cough and sit up???

Cue Morpheus freaking the hell out because huh???? How the fuck??? And Hob is just complaining that ow, fuck, that hurt like a bitch, can he please get some water?

More incidents like this start happening, to everyone's confusion but Hob, who seems to believe he's just ah.. very sturdy.

Hob's food gets poisoned with something that would've killed three grown men, and he gets violently ill, but a week later he's back to normal, and the spy on the staff who did the poisoning gets exposed because they cannot hide their extreme confusion as to how someone survived a triple dose of Night's Kiss???

Someone's fire spell goes wrong and Hob should've been burned to a crisp, but he's only got some first and second-degree burns, that'll heal, he's sadder about the fact that one of his fave new outfits got destroyed :c

A drop from the tower, the tallest one in the kingdom? Yeah, that one. Geez, it was high, and he has some broken bones, but he'll be okay, bones heal within a month anyway, right? (Right?, he asks, to a horrified but kind of impressed Morpheus, who can't even bring himself to tell Hob no at this point-)

Hob falls into a very strong river current, which sweeps him under and must surely drown him ten times over, but two hours or so later, Morpheus is met with a very soaked and chilly Hob, who climbed out of the river a few miles downstream and look, he even caught his prince a fish or three during his little adventure ^^

It's not until Hob 'dies' in a way that cannot be explained by having a strong immune system or being able to muscle through some pain, like.. I dunno, a decapitation or something, that Hob goes "Wait a second, weird idea, but maybe I'm immortal?"

"YOU THINK???" - Morpheus, on the verge of a nervous breakdown at this point-

And also at this point they realize that wait a fucking second, Hob literally cannot die, and the curse cannot pass on to a second spouse, holy shit, Morpheus gets to keep him- And it'll be cute and whoever/whatever gave Hob immortality in the first place goes "Okay, sure, your hubby can live forever too, here you go-"

Really tempted to write it now, but feel free to steal this word vomit idea of mine if you want- xD

#dreamling #dream of the endless #hob gadling #fic idea #the sandman

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cevansbrat0007 · 3 years ago

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BiBi & Stranger Danger: A Growing Pains Drabble

Summary: Andy and Reader are at the park when a strange man approaches their BiBi.

Warnings: Creepy Dude, Smart BiBi, Stranger Danger, Aggressive Reader, Protective Andy, Violence, Minors DNI

A/N: Part of my Growing Pains Series. Let me know what you think. I promise BiBi is safe. Bye now!

___

BiBi Barber was enjoying her time on the swings when the man approached. Oh, she was going so high that she felt like she was going to launch herself into space.

She giggles at that. Her Mama and Daddy had taught her how to pump her little legs so she could get herself moving whenever she wanted to swing. But they still were willing to push her whenever she asked. At five-years-old, she loved being independent, but she also loved when they did that for her.

And if she could read her parents’ minds, she would know that they hoped she never stopped asking them to have to push her on the playground.

While you and Andy were excited about her newfound independence, your girl still loved to cuddle. She still loved ice cream and Mickey Mouse. And sometimes she accidentally screws up and calls Andy “Dada”.

Of course you remained Mama.

You and your husband were both at the park with her today, keeping a mindful eye on your daughter as she ran around and played with the other kids. Andy was catching up on a case he was working on as you snuggled into his side. You recognized some of the other parents in this park, mostly because it was only five minutes away from your house. Which was honestly great, because it gave your BiBi some semblance of built-in playmates.

Andy strokes your face as he gets up to go to the bathroom, letting you return to your Tessa Bailey novel.

“Be back in a minute, baby girl. Don’t you two run away without me.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, husband.” You kiss his large hand. “See you in a minute.”

You watch him walk away and then spare a glance towards Bianca, who is happily swinging by herself. She didn’t need either of you to push her anymore, and that made you kinda sad.

With a sigh, you go back to your book. Only to look up a few minutes later when you notice a strange man approach your daughter. And then you hear him ask if she wanted to help him find your lost dog.

What the fuck, motherfucker? Was this an after-school special?

“Do you like puppies?” You hear him say. “Because mine is missing somewhere in the woods.” He tells your baby. “Will you help me look for her?”

BiBi looks at him, pausing her swinging. “I have to ask my Mama first.” She tells him.

Good girl. You think to yourself as you take in the exchange. Because you were going to kill him. You just had to come up with enough evidence to get you out of the case you were surely going to catch.

“They won’t mind.” He coos at her. “You’d be doing a good deed. In fact, they’d be proud of you.”

“Really?” She says.

“Yep.” He responds as he holds out his hand. “I know it. I can tell that you’re a good little girl.”

“Still need to ask.” She tells him. “I will help, but Mama and Daddy need to know. They get scared if BiBi goes away.”

“No, honey. I’ll bring you right back. I promise.” The scruffy faced man tells her.

You watch the entire exchange with narrowed eyes, knowing he was a dead man, but also being proud of her baby for remembering the importance of traditional stranger danger. Part of you felt bad that this concept, this thing would never go away for her. There were many things to celebrate about being a woman, but not this. As a woman, she would forever spend her life having to watch out for creepy ass men.

You rise from your seat and stroll over to them. “Hi. Can I help you?”

“No, not at all, I was just -”

“Talking to my child.” You finish for him. You turn and see some other fathers you recognize, as well as your own husband, strolling towards you. “Why the fuck were you asking my baby to go find your puppy?”

“Cuz she missin’ Mama.” BiBi tries to intervene.

“Shh, sweetheart. When an adult has a problem, he or she is supposed to come to another adult, not a sweet little thing like you. Now please hush for a moment.”

“I’ll ask you again, why were you asking my child to help you find your dog? Do you also have a van full of candy too?” You make sure your voice is raised. Letting everybody in the general vicinity hear what you’re saying. “Answer my question, dude.”

The Moms tense behind you, ready to brawl. But here come the Dads, including your husband.

“You wanted my baby to do what, you fucking pervert?” Andy snarls. “You need help locating your goddamned dog, then you come and to me or another father here.”

Another two fathers, Parker and Ramone are quick to pull up at his side.

“We’ll help you find your dog.” Parker grumbles.

“We sure will.” Andy growls.

“You say she’s somewhere in the woods? Well then, let’s go look. We’ll do it together.” Says Ramone.

“Yeah, with the three of us we are guaranteed to learn all about you and your missing dog. Along with why you would ask a little kid to find your damned dog.” Your husband laughs angrily.

The stranger turns to back away. The other two dads are quick to grab him and wrestle him to the ground. He tries to struggle against their hold, only for Andy to kick him in the face.

“Thanks, buddies.” Your husband hisses as he dials 911. “I owe you both a beer.”

And I owe you a fucking blowie.” You think to yourself. You just kept me from committing murder.

END

#cevansbrat0007growing pains series #Cevansbrat0007 fic #chris evans fanfiction #chris evans #andy barber #chris evans black!reader #andy barber x black reader #chris evans woc!reader #andy barber x woc!reader #chris evans imagines #andy barber imagines #andy barber fanfic #bianca barber

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moonlit-imagines · 3 years ago

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Headcanons for being Robby Keene’s coworker

Robby Keene x reader

warnings: minor claustrophobia warning??

a/n: olive i love u and im going nuts over coworker robby (somewhat based off of true events). also this is set before season 1

prompt: a spinoff idea from these headcanons by olive my love 🥰🥰🥰 @retvenkos

robby and you had started working this fast food job relatively close together

like within two weeks of each other

two high school hires, what could go wrong?

(a lot)

you two got scheduled for shifts together pretty often, but managed to hold down the fort

“robby?? oh, fuck. oh, no, no, no” -you in the back

“what?” -robby, turning the corner “how?”

*the floor drain clogging up*

“i dont know!!!” -you

“our shift ends in…twenty minutes. don’t even worry about it, it’s not there” -robby

“but—” -you

“nope, not our problem” -robby, pulling you away

always keeping an extra clean uniform in your bag in case robby couldn’t do laundry at home

which happened pretty often

ALWAYS covering for each other when the other needed it. no questions

big “fuck it” energy all of the time

goofing off when there aren’t any customers

and when there are

“will one of you just take my fucking order?” -rude customer

“why don’t we try that again, sir” -robby

“nevermind…i’ll be leaving a bad review on this place” -customer

“oh noooo, we’ll shut down for sure!” -you, sarcastically

robby walking you to your car, the bus, or home on late shifts

MAJOR shit talking the other staff members and management

“i mean, how hard is it to take out the trash every once in a while?! that’s their job!” -you

“you know, i asked how to ring up a ‘special request’ the other day and the manager told me ‘it’ll just do it itself.’ the fuck does that mean?! anyways i just didn’t charge them. whatever.” -robby

“dude! and he knew the mop bucket was broken and didn’t tell anyone! my feet were covered in mop water, i had to tape it back together!” -you

“how do we work for such idiots?” -robby

“well, it’s a good thing we work for these idiots or we never would have met” -you

singing in the back while you do the dishes

which robby sometimes joined in on when he felt like it

messing with each other when one of you goes into the walk-in fridge or freezer (enclosed space)

*light turns off* *screaming*

getting absolutely destroyed during rushes

shit talking customers

trash can trick shots

“watch this” -you, kicking a piece of food off your shoe and into the trash

“what?! no way, let me try” -robby

predictably who gets fired next

“i got ten bucks on peter by next week” -robby

occasionally snagging some food from work

“you’re really gonna eat that? after everything we see back here you’re gonna eat that?” -you

“food is food” -robby

“not what it poisons you” -you

sneaking pictures of robby whenever you get bored

they can be pretty funny sometimes

when you’re not working with him, you know you can talk shit about whoever you ARE working with

y/n l/n: i cannot live like this. they just made food without gloves on

Robby (work): you’re joking

y/n l/n: i really wish i was. please save me

threatening to quit at least twice a week

“if you quit, i’ll quit. we can quit together” -robby

never actually quitting

convincing robby to make dumb videos with you while it’s slow

definitely have a ton of “disappointed face” pics together

every once in a while a crackhead strolls through the store and you just roll with it

if they don’t bother you, you don’t bother them

robby argues with customers as time goes on

ESPECIALLY ones giving you a hard time

having that “look” at each other when you know you’re annoyed with something but cant say it out loud at that moment

“did someone…did someone throw a salt shaker at us?” -you after dodging a salt shaker during a rush

“we don’t get paid enough for this shit” -robby

finding the most insane messes

“someone squirt ketchup all over the window” -robby

“wanna look for new jobs together?” -you

eventually you guys get some pretty sketchy customers

“name for the order?” -you

“trey”

“cruz”

they start getting all buddy buddy with robby and offer him a “job”

“can that one come too?” -robby, pointing to you

“think they can keep up?” -trey

“they run circles around me, they’ll do just fine” -robby

quitting on the spot—together. just like you planned

the perfect end to the perfect beginning

taglist: @ravenmoore14 // @retvenkos // @sweetheartlizzie07 // @an4aaa // @dindjarinsspouse // @summersimmerus // @xoxobabydolls // @sapphireplums // @petersgroupie // @ravenhood2792 // @mellowkingdombouquet // @itachisdangos // @evilcr0ne // @thedarkqueenofavalon //

#robby keene imagine #robby keene x reader #robby keene #cobra kai #cobra kai x reader #cobra kai imagine

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iiraven · 3 years ago

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Odyssey

Pairing: Poseidon!Armin x Reader

Genre: romance, smut

Warnings: slow-burn, minor character death, manipulation, stalking, possessiveness, Yandere behaviour, puppy play, piss play, body worship, throne sex, implied age-gap, oral(male receiving), hair pulling, collaring (without consent)

Word count: 9.8K

Synopsis: Armin’s quest for revenge leads him to you, daughter of a merchant and object of his infatuation.

Author’s note: thank you @bubbleteaimagines for hosting this collab and allowing me to join <3 Also, thank you @onyxoverride for teaching me how to write about pee!

Attack on Titan Masterlist

Present day:

If the river could speak, you wonder what it would say.

In the silence that surrounds the rushing of the water, you’re sure you would hear it. Sometimes, you’re sure you can hear it, but then you remember the dangers of trusting unfamiliar voices. Especially unfamiliar voices in a place like this.

No one goes near the river Shiganshina. And you forget the reasons why much too often.

It’s rocky, slippery, there’s no path to walk on, and the nymphs grow sharp teeth when men approach them, hissing and eyes glowing red. But that’s what makes it perfect for you.

Sasha first mentioned the river months ago, recalling the places on the island that her and her father avoided whenever they went hunting. You hadn’t paid much attention to it until days later, when Connie recounted with round eyes how Floch’s body was found beside the river Shiganshina, mouth full of water and eyes gouged out. You knew you needed to go there yourself.

A pearl necklace is what you stole. And under the guise of going to wash clothes at the well, you made your way south of your small island with only Sasha’s vague instructions and your intuition guiding you.

You could hear the ocean as you walked through the untouched woods, your heart hammering in your chest every time the waves crashed against the island’s cliffs. You weren’t allowed to see the ocean- you weren’t allowed to be around any large body of water, for that matter- but you still knew your island well enough to know that a step in the wrong place could lead you tumbling down the cliff.

You would die before you got to feel the water on your skin and that, you thought, would be the most tragic part.

As your feet began to sink into the muddy ground, you could smell the salty water, and a slight metallic scent behind it that only drew you in closer until you reached a clearing. It was small, crowded with foliage with only a few dead plants on the ground where you could only assume people had attempted to step foot.

And there was the river. It was small, its water emerging from underground before the tide pushed it to the edge of the island- to a waterfall. So loud that it could drown out any noise, any screams. You shivered. For a moment, you just stood back and watched. The water was was green, but so clear that you could still see the fish swimming beside the floating objects. Coins, silver, small statues, and whatever else hopefuls had tried to offer. You pulled out your own offering and whispered a short prayer before throwing the necklace in.

It could have been your imagination, but the water calmed. It was quieter. And, like that, you felt as if the river had opened up its arms to you. Strong arms that you have to be cautious not to spend too long within lest you get trapped.

Thankfully, you’ve learned to read the signs. You know when the river wants you to leave, when it wants you to keep your distance, when it wants to keep you close, and even when it wants you to bathe. Those are the special moments. It’s rare the river is calm enough for you to dip your naked body into, but surrounded by the cool water, you feel like you could stay their forever.

If the river could speak now, however, you’re sure it would tell you to fuck off.

Either that or it would tell you to come back when you have something more to offer its god than a single golden bead from your grandmother’s necklace. Only three are left on the thin string, though you think you might keep the last one to honour her death. After that, you’ll have to go back to offering coins and whatever other trinkets that will keep the god of this river sedated long enough for you to dip your feet into the cool water, maybe take a sip, and then return home before your father realises where you’ve been, much less where you’ve been unchaperoned.

The latter is hardly your fault. Sasha and Connie are too scared to step foot in the Shiganshina forest, let alone the river itself. And you can’t trust anyone else to accompany you, especially the servants whose tongue could slip at the drop of a golden coin. Your father would never forgive you for spending time in the territory of the God of the Ocean or- as he liked to call Armin- the destroyer of seas. And thus, being left alone seems to be the only way.

Well, that’s unless Mr Arlert decides to join you.

The owner of the stable who appeared on the island out of nowhere is the last person anyone would expect to be brave enough to spend time at the river Shiganshina. He mostly keeps to himself, only ever seen tending to his horses or immersed in scrolls of literature and poetry. And yet, he’s here almost as often as you are, almost as vulnerable as you are.

Despite his solitary nature, Mr Arlert has been quick to make himself adored. Mothers swoon over his charm, scholars constantly indulge in his curiosity, and sailors are fascinated by his knowledge of the world and its oceans. He’s no warrior, and already in his late twenties, but he’s still without a doubt one of the most eligible bachelors on Paradis. And, yet, to any marriage proposal sent his way, he declines with a polite “A husband is not what I am fated to become”. Even Annie Leonhardt- whose father Mr Arlert would constantly visit- had her heart broken. But no one blames Mr Arlert, of course, who was there to comfort Annie, to make her realise that she just needs to be a better person, that’s all. It’s not his fault her heart broke, Mr Arlert reassured.

Thinking about it now, you’re amongst the handful of women who haven’t been offered to the tall blond. And with that comes a sigh of relief as you drag your fingers through the water.

It’s not like you dislike him- the opposite, actually- but being with Mr Arlert is like taking the hand of an invisible man in the dark and letting him guide you.

His words constantly have your thoughts spiralling in directions that they shouldn’t be. Thoughts about leaving the island, thoughts about going to the ocean, thoughts about becoming a priestess. Thoughts you aren’t allowed to have.

You fate is bound to the home you were born in, a thick rope tied to your ankle, only letting you go as far as this very river. And Mr Arlert sits beside that rope, a knife in his hand, blue eyes staring into your soul, waiting. You’re not sure what he’s waiting for. But what you’re sure of is that to be taken away from the life you know of is an inconceivable fantasy. The unknown is a dangerous thing, after all.

The small island of Paradis may lie far away from the rest of the world, but their core values remain the same. A woman must grow up to either serve her father or her husband. Your fate has already been decided for you. And, frankly, if it means not having to share a bed with an old man who marries you for your dowry, you’re very happy with taking care of your father until the day that he’ll be put into the ground.

But then there’s always the third option. A woman who serves neither her father nor her husband will serve her god.

You had never been given that option by your god-hating kin. Simply suggesting a future as priestess would earn you at least five lashes, so why… why can’t you stop thinking about it? Your instincts have you blame Mr Arlert, but you know that your fixation began before he arrived on the island; all he’s done is vocalise your thoughts.

As a gust of wind blows the leaves and the salt from the sea gently caresses your cheek, you wonder who your god would be. Do you resonate with Pieck’s beauty, or Zeke’s creativity? Maybe. But as you look into your reflection, you know that your god is no other than Armin, the god of the ocean. The fates must think this is hilarious, but you just want to scream.

“It’s getting late. I wouldn’t want your father worrying about you.”

You jump at the sudden voice, turning around at the familiar face, leaning against a tree with a gentle smile.

“Thank you, Mr Arlert.”

His footsteps are so gentle, as are his apologies.

“You don’t need to thank me. I’ve come to invade your space, after all.”

“It’s not my space, it’s Armin’s. The god is only letting me stay here.”

He smiles a knowing smile, one that you would usually find patronising on any other man. But Armin is charming, too charming for you ever to think that of him. “I suppose you’re right.”

He comes to sit down beside you, taking his usual place at your right- the voice of reason. It’s quiet for a moment, before you remember.

“Lemnos,” you say.

The blond smiles. “I’m not named after a place.”

And you roll your eyes, as you’ve done every time he’s given you a useless hint. “That hardly narrows it down.”

“Well, I can’t make it too easy of a game.”

“You can’t make it impossible either!”

“It seems like I already have.” And you’re not sure if you want to wipe the smirk off his face or just stare at it.

“What about Tree?”

Arlert laughs. “No, but you have one guess left.”

“What?!” You sit up straight, eyes wide. Now you really want to wipe the smirk off his face.

“You have seven guesses, and in the eleven months we’ve known each other, you’ve used up six.” His explanation is calm and rational enough for you to almost convince yourself that the rule has been there from the start.

“Wait- wait. I never knew about this!”

“I thought everyone did. It’s traditional wager rules.” Mr Arlert’s tone is sorry, but you know he’s everything but. So, you cross your arms and pout, hoping that staring him down might at least give you the smallest chance of winning your wager.

He leans forward, mirthful and you feel a shiver go down your spine. “What is it, little puppy, sulking because you’re afraid you can’t win?”

You flush at the implication of your loss- “No- no not at all- no”- before registering his actual words are and only then can you feel the heat rise and you’re sure it’s doing you no service. “I know I can win!”

“I know you can too,” he assures you.

You frown. “Are you being sarcastic?”

It’s his turn to flush. “No, not at all! You can win- the water god favours you, after all.”

And although you shrug, his words stick. They always do.

Before you go home, you pass by Armin’s temple and place at the foot of his statue the remainder of your grandmother’s necklace.

A year ago:

Amrin knew how fickle the gods were and he thought that this knowledge made him impervious to those feelings. He watched how Eren jumped from woman to woman daily, how Reiner picked and chose his battles without a care, how every single fixation a deity would have never lasted more than a year. He thought of how stupid it was to spend a life of immortality indulging in such temporary pleasures. And he looked down on his kin for that very reason.

It was only after one argument too many that Armin finally let it slip. The god of the sea was usually quiet, offering soft smiles, casual conversation, and minimal conflict. That was his only rule: keeps quiet before the gods of the pantheon as he takes his anger out on the humans below. But that day, he forgot about his rule.

Maybe it was the years of silence that caused the Eathshaker’s outburst, or maybe it was just Eren’s bored expression as he talked about his mistresses in front of Mikasa. Armin couldn’t take it. Gathered at a marble table beside all the Olympians, he scowled and told them how stupid they all were.

“Don’t you realise? You’re all wasting your immortality by being so idiotic, so fickle! Everything you touch becomes a temporary pleasure, ruined by your inability to act like real gods.”

He should have stopped; he really should have stopped. But the crack in the glass bridge had been there for years, and now the shards of glass were dropping down into the sea. “You might as well be human!”

The room went silent. Eyes went wide, and mouths gaped, but the gods opted for silence. Every deity wanted to speak up, maybe even draw their swords, but they were more intelligent than Armin was in that moment, which was more unusual than one might think. He had never snapped so violently before. Armin may have been aggressive, but he knew his place. Knew when to be docile. Now, he felt like he could crumble Olympus itself with his rage and bury the Olympians with their dead parents.

The king of the gods, however, leaned forward. His emerald eyes were unmoving, devoid of emotion though his lips tilted into a monstrous grin.

“You’re just as fickle as the rest of us, brother,” was all Eren said.

When Armin lunged at him, knocking the fine glass off the table, it was Mikasa who pinned him down. Arms locked behind his back, all Armin could do was watch as mirth flooded Eren’s face, and the god of the sky laughed. The bastard laughed and laughed and licked the small wound on his hand from a shard of glass. It healed immediately. Even their pain was temporary.

And like he had been doing for the past millennia, Armin found solice in his only rule: if he couldn’t take out his rage on his brother, Armin would take out his frustration elsewhere.

His first instinct was to find a woman, but the thought of seeking out temporary pleasure, from a mistress no less, reminded him too much of Eren. So, he descended to earth, trident in one hand as the other gripped the reigns of his horse and they rode for three days and three nights. That’s all it took for the god of the sea to find what he was looking for- someone deserving of his hatred.

There are many humans like the merchant. But most of their hatred is silent. And when it’s not, blasphemy often falls upon deaf ears. The merchant just happened to be at the wrong place at the wrong time when his drunk rambles led him up on the deck screaming out Armin’s name like it was venom in his throat, until he could scream no more. He was drunk, but the merchant’s hatred for the god of the sea did not cease when he was sober.

And when Armin heard his name, the god wasted no time calling forth a storm to sink the merchant’s ship. He took care to ensure that the arrogant man watched each and every one of his men be swallowed whole, their bodies only resurfacing lifeless, before the storm calmed.

It took five days for the merchant to swim back to his island.

He never returned to the sea.

As the weeks passed, he relocated his home to help him stay away from any body of water and made sure that his family followed suit.

But Armin followed, and the merchant’s father died weeks later with saltwater water found in his lungs.

Unfortunately, that was not enough to sedate the god of the sea’s need for vengeance. Fortunately, it was not enough to sedate the merchant’s hatred either. The hubris didn’t leave him. Instead, it just grew and grew and grew until the merchant considered himself more of a god than Armin would ever be.

“Oh, oh.” Armin couldn’t help but smile as he watched the man urinate before his temple. “This is perfect, so perfect.”

Armin was going to show his uncaring brother how different he was from the rest of the miserable Olympians. As he stood above the island of Paradis, golden hair blowing in the ocean wind, the god vowed to begin his Odyssey. An eternal Odyssey. A journey that would last longer than the ten fleeting years he had with the Greek hero- a journey that would last longer than the universe itself.

And he knew exactly where to begin. A man’s most valuable possession: his child.

It was only after your grandfather’s death that Armin noticed you. When he first began watching the merchant’s household, under the guise of either a guest or a bird, he had been surprised to learn that the blasphemous man had no wife, nor children. Armin only realised his mistake one night, when you came to lay a blanket on the drunk man’s barely conscious body. The merchant had pulled you towards him, muttering apologies and you had wrinkled your nose before offering him a soft smile. “It’s okay, papa”.

A daughter sheltered from the world, it seemed.

The god had initially thought you were one of the servants. There were only two in the house, and your tasks were all similar. But as Armin began to watch you closer, he saw how you did have a life outside your home with friends, interests, men- a life your father was blissfully unaware of.

The merchant hardly left home- playing the part of the sick man- and you took care of him- playing the part of your dead mother- in a happy sort of agreement.

You didn’t speak about it to your friends, but you detested your doting role. Armin could tell. The way you wrinkled your nose every time your father walked through the door, the eye-roll when you were given a load of laundry. The god couldn’t help by laugh at how pathetic the merchant was that not even his only daughter- his lifeline- cared for him. The merchant didn’t know, of course. Your fake smiles and gentle hands were enough to deceive him, keep him sane. But Armin was going to break that pattern.

The merchant didn’t deserve the care of a woman. He didn’t deserve anything. So, Armin was going to take you away from him.

His initial plan was to kill you. Simple, efficient, quick. And then he thought of dumping your body somewhere far so that the search for you would break your father’s spirit even more. He hesitated, though, he wasn’t sure why, but he did. And then, you changed your routine.

After meeting up with the two individuals you called your friends at the Sunday market- instead of going back home- you carried on walking. Through the houses on the outskirts and into the dense trees, you almost stung your sandal-clad feet twice before reaching a river. The river had no god of itself, but you still threw in an offering and muttered. Stupid human. And then you sat beside the river and- nothing. Your routine was boring, obviously a ritual to let you escape from reality. Yet, he couldn’t tear away from you. The woman at the river Shiganshina was a different one than the woman who served her father. The one here relaxed her shoulders, cursed at the world around her, smiled- albeit randomly but it was real. He decided there that he would kill you tomorrow.

But when, the next day, you led him back to the river, Armin was lost in you again. Lost in your honestly, lost in your need to escape. He wanted to see more, he needed to see more. Metaphorically, of course. But when you began undressing, the pleated robes dropping to reveal soft skin and tender curves, the god of the sea realised that he wouldn’t mind literally seeing more of you. Armin had been with goddesses and nymphs and, hell, even Aphrodite herself, but never had he been this awestruck. He had to hold himself back. Even though the way you were bathing made it seem like you were worshipping him, water dripping from your body, wet hair hiding the swell of your breasts. Armin’s breath stuttered. He couldn’t reveal himself. He couldn’t.

So, he watched, and watched. Trying desperately to take in everything you were from a distance. Armin didn’t count the number of times he visited you before finally decided that killing you was no longer an option. He told himself that his change of mind was progressive. A practical choice to draw out his revenge into the most painful and convoluted Odyssey. To do that, he couldn’t kill you. No. He was going to take you for himself. Armin was going to turn the daughter of the merchant into a servant of the one God he detested.

Putting the thought into your mind was pathetically easy. As you walked past his temple on your way home, an echo of laughter emerged from the marble building. You paused for only a moment, but it was enough for Armin to catch the look in your eyes. It was one of longing, mixed with a curiosity that threatened to pull you in. But you seemed to catch yourself in the act and hastened yourself home.

And so, Armin’s true Odyssey began.

For his journey to progress, he had to meet you. Not as a bird or a horse or through glances as a guest. He had to meet you properly. This was the only way to draw you in, he told himself. The only way for you to submit completely and willingly.

Armin could have forced you too your knees, but he had to ensure that your father watched has his daughter chose Armin over him. And chose Armin you would. Every piece was in perfect place. The fates seemed to have woven a beautiful cloth of gold for the god of the sea.

What he failed to realise was that the cloth was in fact a snare- a trap which he will never be able to escape from.

Eleven months ago:

A short gust of wind had the pears in your thin basket tumbling down onto the rocky ground. You rushed after the fruit, crouching down to pick it up when a shadow appeared, and a hand reached out to pick it up for you. The sandal-clad feet were pale- paler than anyone living on this warm island and the robes a fine, ironed white. He somehow seemed to glow brighter than his clothes, and you purposefully let your fingers graze his as you picked up the fruit.

“Thank you,” you said, standing up.

You were hoping that he wouldn’t catch your staring. But even if he did, you couldn’t tear your eyes off him. He was lean, taller than you but not intimidatingly so and his eyes were like oceans that you found yourself staring into as he introduced himself as Mr Arlert. Just Mr Arlert. The new owner of the stables with a voice so soft, it took a moment before you remembered to introduce yourself.

“Y/N. And thank you, again.” It isn’t appropriate for an unmarried woman to be talking to a man on her own, but you couldn’t help but ask. “Do you have a first name Mr Arlert?”

His smile was contagious. “I do. But names are a powerful thing. I’m afraid I can’t give mine up freely.”

“Oh.” You scrunched your nose. “Can I pay for it then?”

You were dead serious, but the blond man laughed. How can someone look so pretty when they laugh? You wondered.

“I’m serious! I can pay you; name your price.”

Mr Arlert looked down at you, blue eyes twinkling. “I’ll think about it.”

“So, is that a no?”

“It’s a no, for now. One day I’ll tell you my name.”

He was sweet, so sweet, but you still gave him a sceptical frown, nose scrunching and eyebrows furrowing. Mr Arlert in turn gave you a sorry look before his eyes lit up and he pulled out from his brown satchel a small book of yellowed pages and a dusty blue cover, the gold embossing hardly visible. You nose only scrunched further.

“My name is in this story. It’s mentioned few times, but it’s an important one,” he said to you.

You took the book and flipped through the worn pages, immediately recognising the tale of Aphrodite and Ares. The lovers.

Why the challenge? You wanted to ask Mr Arlert but you knew the answer you your get would be too cryptic. Besides, you think, I like a challenge.

“How long do I have?” You asked instead.

“A year and a day.”

“And what will I get if I figure it out?”

At this, he pondered. But it seemed feigned, and you wondered, just for a split second, if the man had planned this from the beginning. But why? This was another one of your questions that went unanswered that day. Because before you could say anything more, Mr Arlert leaned forward and said, “Your reward will be divine”. And he walked away.

Nine months ago:

Life was well after Armin arrived. There was no other way to put it. Your father was confining himself to his room more often than before, and you were finding more opportunities to visit the river, leave the house and, eventually, you met the handsome baker’s son. Jean was kind, a gentleman, but not the arrogant type like most the men your age. You didn’t even feel too much guilt when you thought that spending a future with Jean- taking care of him and his home- wouldn’t be too bad. It’s quite pathetic that your life had been reduced to not being “too bad”, but the idea of marrying Jean sat on the comfortable line between reality and fantasy. Safety.

And then you were visited at the river.

Mr Arlert wasn’t even surprised to find you there, he had just smiled and sat beside you as you clenched your fists and forced yourself to smile back at him. You had always enjoyed him, his company, his challenges, but now it was like he was provoking you. The river Shiganshina was your river, your special place away from the hellscape that was the town. And now Mr Arlert had brought himself and his ordinary life into it.

You pulled your sandals back on, the crease in your brow evident. He clearly couldn’t get the hint. But before you could stand up, he spoke, and you paused.

“I wish I could jump in and swim away,” he said.

Curiosity got the best of you, as it often did with the man.

“The waterfall would kill you.”

The awkward laugh again. It had an effect on you so that your jaw couldn’t help but unclench. “If it means that I get to touch a waterfall, I wouldn’t mind, you know?”

You knew. You knew exactly what he meant. But you didn’t tell him.

“Didn’t take you as the suicidal type,” you said.

“I might get saved, who knows.”

“If you’re counting on me to jump after you, I’m letting you know I won’t.”

“I know,” he laughed. “I was thinking of more of a divine rescue.”

You finally looked at him, and- unsurprisingly- his blue eyes were glued to yours. What was surprising was his unwavering tone, his straight face. Mr Arlert was being serious. Why was he opening up to you this suddenly? So far, your interactions had consisted of him staring, you trying to guess his name, and him continuing to stare. In that order. You knew there was more to him, but it’s only now that you found yourself wanting to seek that out.

“You think Armin would save you?” You didn’t miss Arlert’s smile.

“I’m hoping I’ve gained his favour- done enough for him to allow me freedom via waterfall.”

It was your turn to smile. “You probably have, You’re at the temple often.”

“Thank you.” He blushed and you quickly pushed down the thought of how cute he looked. Sitting beside you, trousers rolled up and feet in the water, Mr Arlert looked more than cute. He looked like he belonged. You weren’t sure how that made you feel but, in that moment, you didn’t mind him entering your world.

“I think you would also be saved if you jumped into the waterfall,” Mr Arlert said.

You laughed. “Is that your way of saying I’m a nice person?”

“Something like that.” He paused. “I think Armin would appreciate your- uh- honesty. You’re like a priestess.” He laughs nervously at your expression. “You know, they have this personal affinity with the water and such.”

You knew exactly what he meant. How a stranger could read you so perfectly, you weren’t sure. But as you hid your smile between your hands, you wondered whether you were prepared to face the fear of the unknown. Maybe, with Mr Arlert, it would be a bit less unknown.

A few days later, Jean was announced missing. A search party was sent out and even Mr Arlert, on his recently acquired brown horse, couldn’t find him.

Present day:

Armin isn’t sure if he likes playing the part of the nice boy or not. Humans are simple creatures who praise him continuously and, without divine responsibilities, there is no need to take his rage out anywhere. But a god is who he is, and every day, he yearns to be seen as one. To be seen as one by you. He watches as you worship him, but you never look at him- not like you do the statues, or even the small river which you think is your only true connection to the god of the ocean.

You both want more, and you both know that, but you only ever admit it to each other when you sit beside that very river. There, in those moments, Armin feels a bit more like a god. Whenever he’s around you, he feels a bit more like a god.

He’s told you before, but your perfect honesty has made it easy for him to unravel around you. He wants to unravel around you in other ways, too, and he wants you to unravel around him. Armin can’t count the number of times he’s sat beside you at the riverside and wanted to do nothing more than to kiss those lips of yours, to press the hard cock that he hides inside of you and watch as your eyes roll back, and you call out his name.

But the God of the Sea is not Eren. Armin will earn you. And he’s very close to doing so. Not Mr Arlert. You have no interest in human men, that much is clear. You yearn for something more powerful. And you’re right. Only a god is worthy enough to stand beside you, lay between your legs, be in your arms. Mr Arlert is simply a means to push you to realising that the god in question is Armin.

In the meantime, he’s been nothing but patient.

It’s only when you come to his door one night, eyes puffy and red, that he lays his hands on you for the first time. He rubs your back as you cry and cry, fat tears refusing stop falling. You tell him about bout your father. About how, since he got better, he’s been refusing to let you out of the house, snapping at every moment and accusing you of being a filthy god-worshipper.

“He s-sai-d- he said we’re ‘gonna move away- said we’re gonna get as far away from the s-sea as possible.” You can hardly speak, though the tears have stopped, your voice still shakes violently. But Armin listens, he holds you close to him and repeats that everything is going to be fine.

You can’t stop thanking him as you leave, and he promises that his door is always open for you. “Whenever you call for me, I’m here,” Armin tells you. “Right beside you, always,” he adds as he watches you walk away.

He’s reached a new chapter of this Odyssey.

Present day:

You suppose your father’s death should have been expected. He was an old man, obviously depressed, and his only lifeline was his daughter who hated him.

You also suppose you should feel guilty. You don’t.

Familiar faces give their condolences and whisper questions of what is to happen to you now. You only pay heed to Sasha and Connie, though, who give you a soft hug before Sasha tells you that her family would be happy to take you in. You reassure her and everyone else that you have a plan, though your best friends are the only ones who seem to believe you.

“I heard Marie has a son who’s single, maybe they can-“

“You’re not actually talking about marriage here are you?”

“Well, the girl is all alone in the world, now! She needs a man to lead her on the right path.”

The old women are wrong, so very wrong. You don’t need a man. You’re fucking sick of men- sick of them all- everything they’ve created and everything they stand for.

What you need is a god.

The head priestess of Armin’s temple in unsurprised when you knock on her door with nothing but a bag and the clothes on your body. Those clothes are burned soon after, along with many of your other things, leaving your old life behind.

She tells you that you’re lucky there’s a place for you. The last priestess left running off with a man, “Which is a cardinal sin”, she makes sure to repeat every-so-often. The head priestess seems to hate men more than you do, sneering whenever Connie comes by.

Sasha and Connie are unsurprisingly shocked at your choice of work and even if they visit almost every day, they always tell you that they miss you. They think you’ve come the temple out of desperation- everyone does- and you let them believe. Because despite cleaning the marble floors or whatever other arduous duty you’ve been given, a smile is never far as you realise that you’re free from man. Indeed, explaining the truth to anyone would be far too difficult.

Well, except one person.

You’ve never missed anyone before. Not with your father keeping you so sheltered for most of your life. But as you push through the Head Priestess’ relentless schedule, you can’t help but miss Mr Arlert. He disappears after your father’s funeral, so you leave him a note at the empty stable with your final guess. You like to think he decided to follow his own path, you also like to think that he too wishes you were beside him, a guide in the unknown.

Present day:

The room is a box of marble, with a throne sat upon a dais at the centre and one fountain at every corner, each one sculped into a horse. The object of your interests, however, is the large bowl of water on the floor in front of the throne.

This is your initiation. You will emerge from this room not as an apprentice, but a Priestess.

You kneel down and lift the pot of clay to your lips. The head priestess kept on repeating how important it is to not put it down until you’re finished. So, you gulp the water down until you can see the image of Armin. You’re the one who selected the pot, with its faded paint depicting Armin and Hange’s fight for patronage of Sina. It’s a powerful image, but when you put the pot down, you come face to face with something very different. Armin is standing in a room-this room, you realise- and crouched down before him is a young woman, looking up in awe. It takes bit longer of a moment for you to realise that the woman is you.

Looking up slowly from the pot, the first thing you see is sandal-clad feet. Golden sandals, just as fine as the robes he wears, draped in perfect waves. The first word you think of to describe him is divine and it’s indeed accurate because-

“Mr Arlert.” Your voice is barely above a whisper.

But you know that’s not correct. The man- no, not a man- before you is taller than Mr Arlert, by a foot and a half at least. His muscles are more prominent that the stable boy’s ever were, strong legs visible through the large slit between the layers of fabric draped over the god’s figure. Half of his shoulder-length hair is tied back using a golden pin whilst the rest frames his perfect, perfect face. You can’t help but think that Armin looks nothing like his statues- no medium of art could capture the ocean within his eyes, glowing in the dull light of the room. Then again, the stories didn’t capture the way the god acts either.

“Armin,” you say, this time your voice louder.

Now, you know.

His sad smile is familiar, but there’s something there that never was. “Oh dear,” he says. “I’m afraid you’ve lost out wager.”

Armin can’t help but compare you to a puppy, with large eyes staring up at him from your crouched position and an expression a perfect mix of excitement, curiosity, and shock.

You reach out a hand tentatively, but it hovers in the air between the two of you once you notice Armin’s raised brow. But he doesn’t rebuke you for it. After all, it’s only your first encounter with the god. He can’t expect you to behave perfectly, to adopt the right etiquette- no, he’ll have to train you first. Like he would a baby mutt. The thought makes him smile.

“I’ll accept any consequences, my god,” you say. Your voice sounds so sure of itself, so unlike your usual ramblings, those that Armin could and would listen to for hours. Right now, though, the certainty, it’s laced with desire that sends blood rushing south. You don’t notice. You’re too lost in his eyes to notice anything.

When he places his hand on your chin to hold it up, he can feel you shiver. “Such a perfect little worshipper,” he says. “I couldn’t possibly punish you.”

Armin can swear he sees disappointment in your eyes before he turns around and walks up the dais. The marble of the throne is cold beneath him, but the sight of you looking up at him with such longing is enough to warm him up. Now, Armin is sure you’ve noticed his growing erection because you crawl towards the dais, not yet climbing it, but close enough to see and lick your lips.

“Let me thank you at least, Armin.” He almost groans at the sound of his name. God, he wants to hear you say it over and over.

“Come here.”

And you climb up the dais only to pause before Armin leans forward and grabs your hips. Two lips, as if led by an invisible string, meet. You kiss like you’ve been waiting years for Armin and, in a way, you have. His tongue is inside your mouth quickly and he’s kissing, sucking, letting his teeth gently graze your lips as he revels in the feeling of you. As your bodies lean against each other, you can feel his heart hammering against your own. His chest is stone, but his lips are so soft and your hands find his golden hair. It’s also softer than it looks, and Armin can’t help but let out a moan as you gently tug.

When you pull back, his pupils are blown. “Thank me, then,” Armin says, breathless.

Sitting between his legs, your hand is tiny compared to his cock, and you can’t stop staring at it. Long and somewhat slender, but veiny with a flushed red top- he can see you gulp before you take an experimental lick at him. Armin’s hold on your hair only tightens and you look up at him, doe eyed and seemingly innocent.

“Put it in your mouth, pretty girl,” he says, guiding your head gently. “So obedient- Yes, exactly, just like-ah- just like that.”

But he doesn’t need to push down- no- he lets you set your own pace only because you do it so perfectly, almost as perfect as the wet noises you make. Armin doesn’t have time to be surprised, he’s just able to react fast enough to suppress his own moans so he can hear your wet tongue caress the base of his cock, as your lips create the perfect o-shape to accommodate him. Your drool is everywhere in a matter of seconds- his balls are coated with it, and so is your lap, where the spit seeps through the thin white fabric you call a robe.

“Like a puppy,” he murmurs. And you look up quizzically. “You’re drooling over me like a desperate puppy- a puppy in heat,” he grunts. “You just want to please me, don’t you? ‘S alright, puppy, I’ll let you do that.”

If you could nod your head, you would. Instead, your cheeks burn, and Armin is so lost in the way that you look- not even able to take his entire cock in his mouth- that his hips begin to buck unconsciously. He hits the back of your throat, and you gag at the sudden impact, but he hisses and murmurs “What a good, wet hole. So good, good-”

The earthshaker is afraid that if he speaks any louder, his voice will slur into incomprehensible sultry sounds. But as you struggle to take his cock even deeper into his mouth, he lets out groans that go straight between your own legs. You moan around him, and the reverberations make his head roll back. God, you could stare at him forever. And he would let you.

“Look at me,” he says whenever your eyes go astray. “Look at your god.”

As his hips buck more violently, Armin can feel the pressure in his lower stomach, the impending orgasm and he wants to stop- wants to hold out the way he always has. But he can’t, it’s too much and he just cannot pull out of you. He simply pushes further and further into your tight throat, repeating your name like it’s a blessing. “fuck, puppy, ‘m going to- I’m going to cum down your throat. You want that, do you you’re your god’s cum- ah, fuck, ahhh”-

Pushing your head down to the base, both of his hands at the back of your head, Armin cries out you name and you can feel the warm liquid go down your throat, thick ropes filling up your mouth, some of it dribbling out. Armin reflexively pushes it back in your mouth, ordering you to swallow it all, to show how grateful you are. Of course, you oblige. But before you can even regain your breath, Armin suddenly pulls you off his cock. His pupils are dilated, and he wears an expression- anger? Shock?

“You’re not a virgin,” he hisses, teeth gritting against each other. His breath is frantic, uneven. It’s not a question and you begin to recognise his expression. Rage. “You’ve done this before.”

Fuck.

The God of the sea has his fair share of consorts and mistresses. Some of them virgins- though he never chases them the way Eren does- some of them not, but none have made him cum so fast. He would like to blame it on the year of pining, of restraint, but he knows better. It’s you. You do this him. You make him so wild, so willing, so pliant even.

In that moment, as he looks your worried face, so desperate to please, he thinks that he’ll never be able to let it go. You’ve consumed Armin and he wants to do nothing more than burn eternally. You must understand that- that you exist as his beacon, that’s where you’ll be your happiest, but those thoughts are too complex for a human. You, in your fragile state, can’t understand. It’s alright, he’ll just have to show you bit by bit that you’re his. But to do so, he must first take on the role he’s familiar with. That of the punisher.

“Who is he?” Armin snaps.

“It was only-“

“Who is he?”

You pause. Memories of nights spent together, huddled close and trying to keep quiet already fading. “Berthrolt Hoover.”

Armin’s shoulders relax, “I see.”

His breathing slowly goes back to normal, and, at the back of your mind, you know you’ve signed the young warrior’s death. But your worry is fleeting as Armin grabs you by the neck and hoists you over his knees, laying you down on your stomach effortlessly. “A priestess who isn’t a virgin?”

You look up as see Armin’s familiar sweet smile, but it’s laced with mirth that makes you forget the Mr Arlert he was before. You cry out at the first slap of his hand on your ass, more out of surprise than pain.

“I don’t think the people of Paradis will be very happy to hear that,” he says. “An unmarried woman giving herself away to a pathetic boy.”

Slap!

“I’m sorry!” you cry out. “It was a mis-”

He slaps you thrice.

“No excuses, dumb little puppy. I’m afraid you’ll have to endure this punishment.” His voice is deceptively soft, as if he is actually sorry. And when you look back up at Armin, his face betrays no malice. But it doesn’t show any cruelty either. Instead, there’s a fascination.

Armin has you sprawled across his lap, at his mercy and he is discovering you bit by bit. As a god. His cock twitches and then suddenly he tugs off the fabric of your robes and they disappear.

The way you squirm is half- hearted, and Armin has to laugh. “Embarrassed? Now of all times? I didn’t know you were such a prude. Or is this all just to compensate for the fact that you’re a whore in my temple?”

You shake your head, “I swear, I’ve never belonged to any man!”

Fingers trace the expanse of your naked body, soft enough to send shivers down your spine. “Oh? Really?”

“Yes yes, I swear, ah!” His fingers find your naked ass and they grab onto the flesh, massaging, groping, feeling you. Armin’s other hand rests on top of your head, stroking it gently and you’re so lost in his touch that you almost forget to speak.

“I belong to no man, I never have. Only you. It’s always been you, Armin.”

The god’s eyes widen, and he gently pulls you up from his lap only to seat you on it, upright and, this time, there’s so much more to admire. “You’re right,” he says. Armin captures your lips and this time, it’s longer, rougher. He doesn’t want to pull back, doesn’t want to lose the feeling of your soft lips against his, but his hands have already found your breasts and soon, his tongue joins them. You moan as he begins to lap at your breasts, leaving hickeys and spit in his wake as his finally finds your nipples and begins sucking them like a child as you whine and lean into him.

“You do belong to me,” he finally says, his voice partially muffled as he loses himself in the worship your breasts. “You’ve always belonged to me.”

And you can do nothing more than nod your head as your fingers tangle in Armin’s hair and you’re pulled into another kiss. His hand goes down your body, squeezing every single mound of flesh as if it needs to be touched so that when he finds your cunt, Armin can’t help but smile at how wet you are.

“Already, but I’ve hardly done anything to you?”

What a liar, but you don’t have a chance to tell him before he plunges a finger inside of you. “Oh, puppy, my puppy,” he groans at the contact the same time you moan, pushing your hips against his digits. “You like my fingers like that inside of you?”

“Yes, yes, I do, I really love them- it feels, oh my god, it feels too good!” you grip his shoulders, unable to do anything but desperately buck your hips at the smiling Armin. He knows what he’s doing, he knows that his fingers are giving you just that satisfaction, but it’s still not enough to bring you over the edge.

“Please Armin, please.” You squeeze his shoulders.

“Tell me what you want, tell me, I’ll give it to you- I swear.”

“I want to feel you, all- ah- all of you. I need to feel you inside of me!”

You’re not sure at which moment Armin removes his robes, but as he moves both of your legs so that you’re straddling him, your hands are on his bare, lean chest. The god’s nipples are flushed pink and pert, practically calling to you and you respond by brushing your fingers over them and watching him twitch ever-so-slightly in response. You withhold the urge to take them into your mouth, even as Armin rubs his cock against your cunt, releasing the sweetest of sounds.

He’s already leaking precum and it mixes with your juices so perfectly, his cock being dragged back and forth, only making you gush even more. “So messy,” he mumbles as he uses his tip to spreads your juices across your thighs. At this point, you can practically feel it throbbing, ready to be sheathed inside of you and the whimpers of your desperation echo against the temple walls.

When Armin slips inside of you, simultaneous gasps escape your lips. The god pulls your body closer to his as you throw your head back, stars in your eyes.

“Look,” he whispers. “Look how easily I slip in- it’s- it’s like your cunt is made for me.”

“Armin,” you whisper back. “Armin, Armin- ah- Armin.”

He sinks you down slowly, the stretch hitting every single spot that leaves your legs practically limp. The god is holding you up, whispering his own mantra that you can’t hear over your bliss. Once inside, your eyes look lock with Armin’s and he’s staring at you in a way he’s never done before. You’ve never seen pupils so dilated and the two of you stay like that as if making up for the moments when you should have been connected in this way. An eternity, it seems, the two of you have needed each other.

“I’m your god,” Armin finally says. “I’m your god and- hng ah-” He begins moving you up and down his shaft. “And I’m going to make you cum all over this cock- okay? All over your god’s cock.”

You nod your head pathetically as he lifts your hips and slams them down against his own. He is strong, ruthless in the way he bucks his hips up every time he lifts you from his cock, as if he can’t bare the empty feeling of not having your tight pussy clamped around him. At this relentless pace, you’re sure that the sound of your connecting bodies could penetrate even these marble walls. And yet, you don’t hold back. Thanks and praises spill from your swollen lips and Armin can’t help but lean forward and push his tongue between your mouth, as if he can absorb all of your word. “So good, so good, it’s- uah- I just want more, more of your cock, you fill me up so good!”

Armin can’t deny you. He pushes your thighs to your chest and picks up your entire body to fuck himself. He manoeuvres your body like a toy and as your tongue rolls out and your eyes become glassy, you begin to look like one too. The only sounds coming out of your mouth are incomprehensible, even as Armin attaches his mouth to one of your bouncing tits, you can only squeal.

“Such a good puppy,” he says between kisses. “Letting me use her holes like this. A god using a puppy’s holes- you should be- you should be grateful! Tell me, tell me you’re grateful!”

“I am!” you cry out. “I am grateful!”

“Good girl, good puppygirl.”

When Armin flips you over, you’re sat on his throne and he fucks into you harder, harder than he was doing before, and you swear his moans are louder too. He’s looking down at the movement of your stomach as if hypnotized by the way his cock disappears into you. And, in a way, he is. The fascination of being inside of you- just the idea even- is enough to make him want to cum.

The sudden position has him hitting new spots and the build-up is so fast, you hardly have the time to warn him. “Armin, Armin I’m cum-“

He grabs your face as you release around his cock, body spasming but unable to look away as Armin’s gaze burns through you. “Good girl,” he says. “Show me, show me how you cum. Just like that, just like that.”

He continues to plough his hips into yours and the spasms of your pussy leave him unable to hold back. “Inside of you,” he practically growls. “I’m going to cum inside of you- yes, yes, yes I am puppy. I’m going to cum inside of you and you’re going to show me how you take it yeah?”

You’re too far gone to even register the implications of what he’s saying, but he buries his cock in your warm walls and releases his cum inside of you with a heavy groan. “Just like that, just like that- I’m going to fill you up with my seed, puppy, my puppy.”

Armin feels like he’s emptied his balls- two powerful orgasms which leave his legs shaking violently. And yet, he pulls out of you slowly and stands back up to his full height, cock in front of your face. Almost instinctively, you rub your cheek against it, giving Armin soft kitten licks and he coos at you, stroking your hair. But he doesn’t push, he just holds his cock there and pumps softly as he stares at your fucked out face. Messy, covered in his spit, his hickeys, his bites, his cum- you look perfect, divine. Only one thing is missing. “I’m going to give you everything I have, puppy. And you’re going to take it, okay?” You nod and open your mouth for him and, immediately, a strong stream of pee emerges.

At the bitter taste on your tongue, your eyes roll back, and you spread your legs even wider, a welcome to the mess he is about to make. Armin accepts and angles his cock to release his pee over your chest, then your stomach, and then your already-throbbing cunt. He lifts a foot to rest on the throne and Armin doesn’t think he’s even seen such a beautiful sight in his life.

As if guided by an implicit will, Armin’s foot hovers on top of you and suddenly, he presses against your lower stomach. Your eyes snap back into focus as you whine out for him to wait, wait just a moment “I just had water,” you cry out. “It’s gonna- It’s gonna come out!”

But Armin simply grins. “Let it come out,” he says and presses his foot down harder. “Pee yourself dumb little mutt, be a good puppy for your owner.” The trickle that emerges is involuntary, but Armin’s grin is wider. “Yes, good girl, just like that. Let me see more, let me see more of you.”

The pressure that was holding the bowl of water back broke and you felt the warm liquid against your thighs before you realise what’s happening. Armin practically moans as he watches you whimper and struggle to hold your pee back as it spreads over the throne, the dais, and even Armin himself. He doesn’t stop until you’ve given it all to him.

You expect Armin to disappear.

You’ve given him everything. His goal is complete, you think, he has nothing more to do with you. But, as he has done many times before, the god surprises you. Armin’s body is heavy against yours when he collapses on top of you, but the weight is comforting. Despite the malaise of urine and cum rubbing against both of your bodies, you wrap your arms around the god of the ocean and hold him close.

Even as you close your eyes and lean your head back on the marble throne, Armin doesn’t leave you. Even as you open your eyes back up and see blue ones staring back at you, the look he gives you is so familiar and long hair in such unfamiliar disarray that you can’t help but smile.

He doesn’t ask why. Instead, Armin calls forth a stream of warm water from the adjacent fountain to clean the both of you. It feels like a fever dream the way floating droplets caress your bodies, and when Armin stands you up, his hands not leaving you, the perfume that suddenly envelops you is heavenly.

“Can I give you a last kiss, please?” you ask when your robe appears once again. And Armin leans forward to capture your lips, dragging his tongue on your bottom lip as if to taste you.

It doesn’t feel like a final kiss. You’ve had many of them- Jean, Sasha, Berthrold, your father, and even your mother, though you can’t remember it. This kiss is different. It feels less like a kiss and more like a promise, a vow. a shiver runs down your spine.

“I am your god,” he says and lifts his both of his hands slowly to wrap around your neck. “And you’re my worshipper.” You gasp as a cold sensation spreads around your neck, just below Armin’s fingers. It’s sudden, and heavy and when he removes his hands, yours fly to your neck and there’s a metal band there where there was none before.

“It’s sculpted from Hephaestus’ gold,” Armin says as he strokes his fingers along the metal. But he’s not looking at his gift, instead he looks at you.

“Armin- I- this is. But why?”

For the first time, he can’t read your expression. But it doesn’t matter. You belong to him. You always have, but now you know. And if it takes time for you to understand, Armin can wait. He’ll wait right beside you, always, always there to guide you.

“This is not the end of my Odyssey. My Odyssey is eternal,” he says before giving you another short kiss and disappearing, the warmth of his lips still present.

The gods might not all be fickle, you think, so you just smile sadly. But the gods are all selfish, so you touch the collar around your neck.

A/N: This is my first ever collab and I was- as still am- a bit insecure about how this story turned out so I appreciate all of your support ❤️. I would also like to apologise to my fellow history nerds for the historical inaccuracies.

439 notes · View notes

lovenona · 3 years ago

Text

ON THE SACRED BONDS OF BROTHERHOOD.

synopsis; choso may be their beloved frat brother, but he’ll always be your brother first. (for the frat au collab.)

pairing; frat boy! choso x f! reader

contains; stepcest, dubcon (reader is under the influence but having a good time), extensive descriptions of knife play and blood play, marking (choso carves his name into you), oral (f! receiving), borderline yandere/possessive choso (he loves you A Lot), choso goes from mean to Soft, consumption and romanticization of drugs and alcohol, (1) use of ‘angel’, reader is afab and uses she/her pronouns, this is essentially all foreplay and ends before the fucking because i got tired, minors do not interact or perish

word count; 6.5k

the yard outside is clean, well-kept. there’s talk that the house’s landlord is a retired gardener who receives great joy from keeping up the hydrangeas and peonies along the sidewalk. it’s certainly award-winning, that front yard, with its colorful blossoms and plush bees circling the mailbox.

they’re so lucky, students bemoan on their way to and from class. i can’t believe the frat boys get to live there. i bet they don’t even know how lucky they are.

it’s a seemingly kind house from the outside – recently renovated with navy blue paint and white trimming, a large front porch and a few inviting windows. the place that omega lambda now calls home is, simply put, a dream. it sits just a few minutes from campus and it tells the street proudly, fondly, that there is no better place to be than here.

it’s true, in some respects, that omega lambda likes to see themselves as above the sweat and grime of their fellow frat brothers. they don’t spend their weekends “fucking and drinking” and tracking dirt across the carpet like animals. their fun is calm, refined: to be invited to a night with omega lambda means a night of smoke curling into the air, of gossip over olive-colored couches, of pills under tongues, of ease and relaxation.

it’s slower than the others, they say in the back of monday morning lectures, but no less extreme, no matter what those boys try and tell you.

i think i was tripping for days, the girl from psychology 101 boasted. whatever the fuck yuuji gets is strong.

such stories amaze you: and even as you stand on the sidewalk outside the perfect blue house, petunias curling inward with the evening breeze, you cannot believe they are real. it’s hard to imagine the face of your beloved stepbrother tied to these antics. it’s hard to imagine that the boy who used to come home every winter and summer with bloodshot eyes and a beat-up skateboard also swore a loyal, unbreakable oath of brotherhood to a band of boys you’ve never met.

it’s hard to imagine that your own stepbrother, choso, the one who taught you how to ride a bike and how to apply eyeliner and how to kiss without teeth, quite literally runs what has been dubbed the chillest fraternity on campus.

but yet, here you are, new to university, fresh-faced and eager, cowering outside the door of the omega lambda residence. your favorite skirt hovers around your thighs and you tug at the collar of your shirt, fiddle with the charm of the necklace choso gave you for your birthday a few years ago.

he’d invited you here almost immediately after learning that you and your roommate had tried your hand at partying with beta pi epsilon. naoya is trash, choso’s fervent texts read the next morning. absolute dick – don’t trust him. come hang out with us instead. he’d attached the address of the blue house along with a reminder to have a snack and take some medicine for your godforsaken hangover.

the message had taken you a little by surprise. choso’s always been sweet to you – doting, even, if you wanted a better word for it – but you hadn’t been sure how he’d handle attending the same university. your other friends all complain that they’d rather die than see their families; twins separate after orientation, brothers and sisters look the other way if they pass each other in the quad. you feared choso would be the same, that the omnipotent attention he gave you at home would completely dissipate the moment you moved into your dorm.

but his text reaffirms you, if anything. and although your roommate had opted to be wined and dined by the boy from calculus this evening, you don’t mind attending alone. her absence from your side only means you will be able to see your stepbrother without a distraction.

the music buzzes through the door as you knock and wring your fingers on the doorstep. should you just walk in? should you text choso and wait for him to fetch you? the ins-and-outs of frat etiquette cloud your mind until the door swings open and you’re met, face-to-face, with a young pink-haired man dangling a blunt from one hand and his phone, opened to his spotify playlist, from the other.

“hi,” you say, words foreign in your throat. “choso invited me?”

“oh, cool,” itadori yuuji says, shrugging his shoulders like he never would have questioned it. “come on in. you can put your shoes over there.”

while omega lambda is not packed from wall to wall as your night at beta pi epsilon had been, the various couches propped against the walls and surrounding the living room coffee table are nearly packed to the brim with the frat brothers and their guests. the air, hazy with smoke and desire and drinking, shifts and swirls as it curls around purple LED lights before fogging up the windows and disappearing up the stairs. it is warm here, easy, like dropping into the depths of a pleasurable dream.

“there’s drinks in the kitchen,” yuuji is saying, voice thick with his high, “and we’ve got some other stuff on the table, although you’ll have to pay yuuta for those–”

yuuji’s narration is cut off as a familiar figure crashes into yours, sweeping you into a hug so tight you fear your bones will snap from the pressure. choso smells like the cologne you bought him for his birthday, like fresh laundry and comfort; you breathe him in, deeply, and let yourself relax into the soft cotton of his black t-shirt.

“glad you could make it,” choso mumbles into your skin. he draws back slightly, drinks you in, your little skirt and your dainty socks that he’s always been partial to. he looks from you to yuuji, still vibing to the side with his playlist, and his eyes crinkle in what must be mirth.

“it’s good to see you,” you say.

“you saw me at lunch with mom last week.” choso smiles, the black line across his nose crinkling when his eyes light up.

“you get what i mean.” you tap his shoulder, lightly, as emphasis. the anxiety dissolves; it’s you, and him, like it’s always been. it’s your stepbrother choso who watches your shadow and wraps you up to keep the rest of the world at bay.

but the tender moment is broken when someone, a tall blonde girl with the aura of a lioness, calls out to choso to ask him for assistance. he looks at you, a bit forlorn, before telling yuuji to help you get settled in and making his way to the other end of the living room.

“yes, this way!” yuuji grabs your arm and drags you across the floor like you’ve known each other forever. “i make some fucking good drinks if i do say so myself.”

which, consequently enough, is how you find yourself losing your mind within the walls of omega lambda.

it’s not that you’re a virgin to the world of cocktails and lime and pills: it’s that you’re too sweet to know when to stop. it’s hard to tell yuuji no more, thanks when his face is so bright, when he and the strange, blue-haired frat brother mahito are asking you to try this and try that and to let us know what you think.

so you let yourself sway through the house, from couch to couch, listening to this mahito boy tell you about his latest philosophy courses as he dances cold fingers across your shoulders, listening to yuuji explain the very serious business of pulling an all-nighter without coffee, watching the LED lights shift from purple to blue and back again.

(you’re not sure where choso is. perhaps, in your altered state, he’s sitting just across from you and you don’t even know it. but you don’t mind, because his brothers get along with you just as well. you don’t mind, because you’re too drunk or too high to know any better.)

“and how are you doing?” a dark-haired man slides into the empty couch space next to you. arms littered with various tattoos and dark hair pulled back into a casual half-bun, he could have been your beloved choso had he not exuded such finesse, such arrogance, which choso could never be capable of doing.

“i’m alright,” you say, but you’re more than alright. the room is so warm and your brain is so fuzzy that you might melt into the couch if someone looked away for even a minute. “i don’t think we’ve met before? i’m choso’s stepsister.”

he simpers, a humid thing, one that coils around your eyelids and sets your insides alight. “ah! i’ve heard a lot about you. it’s nice to meet you.” he holds out a manicured hand; black nail polish glimmers in the dim light. “geto. i’m one of choso’s frat brothers.”

his handshake might take your soul with it. his hands are smooth, refined. you swear he can feel your quickening pulse as you introduce yourself. he watches you like you might be the only person in the room, like you might be the sweetest thing to have ever crossed the threshold. and filled with rum and liqueur and confidence you take it, gladly, because you’re young and the thought of university still puts stars in your eyes.

“so what are you studying?” geto is saying, prying you apart, picking through your history. he’s in his final year and you’re in your first and he knows all there is to know while you still have nothing. you latch onto him because he gets it, because he’s handsome, because you’re silly and desperate and drunk. somewhere along the way your thighs touch and his hand greets your shoulder and you think that you finally made it into his lap because mahito complained that the couch was too full.

geto smells like expensive cologne. you smell vaguely of lemons and shampoo. yuuji jokes with you from across the table and you like it, the way these brothers’ eyes fall on you.

so you spiral, further and further, into a daze you cannot escape from. you barely react to geto’s firm hand snaking up your bare thigh because you are too busy trying yuuji’s latest creation and asking mahito for more of whatever he gave you. it’s fun, it’s weightless; you feel beautiful, supreme, like the kind of college girl you’re supposed to be. you’re desirable, cute. you’re the girl to be in love with, the one who sets the scene.

those rumors were right. the party is certainly slower than the other frats you’ve visited, with more emphasis on sitting and vibing than on dancing and drinking games, but no less extreme. you’re so far out of your brain that you wonder briefly if it will ever be possible to come back down. maybe you’ll be her, on monday morning, the girl who’s still tripping.

“you know,” geto is saying, his breath eerily close to your pulse, a moment away from pressing a kiss to your cheek, your neck, “you should stop by more often.”

“yeah?” you hope you sound sexier than you are. “i’d love to–”

“excuse me,” choso’s voice cuts through your lazy fantasy like the sharp fall of a guillotine. “i’d prefer if you didn’t hit on my sister, geto.”

geto’s laugh reverberates against your back, your ears. his grip on you lightens immediately, and whatever words he’d saved for you die away. “i’m not,” he says, but his voice is too easy to be honest. “just keeping her company. right, sweetheart?”

you’re finding it hard to see straight. caught in this game of cat and mouse you find you can do nothing but sit lamely in geto’s lap and watch choso’s favorite necklace reflect the purple light. it’s only after a revolution around the sun you realize you haven’t spoken, that you’ve done nothing but hover, a lot of drunk and a little high and a little nervous, between one man and the other. you mumble a yes in affirmation but it’s clear from the tension that choso doesn’t believe it.

“oh, for fuck’s sake,” choso sighs. “come on, then. you’ve had enough for one night.” familiar arms lift you off the couch and you stumble, much like a baby gazelle, into the safety of choso’s chest. the room spins with the sudden change; you cling to him like a lifeline as you abandon the party to head upstairs.

of course, bedazzled out of your mind, you do not question when choso leads you to the end of the hallway and over the threshold of his bedroom. it feels expected in a way, safe, as if the party had always been meaning to end here. as if there was no other place you should be.

“so?” choso asks, casually, shutting the door behind him with a damning click. “did you enjoy being a little whore with my brothers?”

his words take a long moment to settle in your ears. you’re caught in the swirl of euphoria in your brain, the black t-shirts scattered across the floor, the small houseplant you once bought him seated on the windowsill. it warms your heart to see it there, after all this time.

“well?” choso demands your attention. he takes your jaw in his hand and lifts your eyes to meet his gaze. his silver rings, imposing and cool on slender fingers, burn into your heated flesh like embers. his eyes swim with distaste and you know it’s your fault, somehow, but when the walls tilt and your rationality fogs over, you can’t quite pinpoint why.

“i–” your words catch in your throat. it’s clear, from the darkness in his eyes, from the way his nails dig into the soft flesh of your jawline, that anything you say to defend yourself will be futile. it’s choso’s world, you’ve always known, and even now, you’re merely living in it.

“i invite my sister to see me, because i miss her,” choso’s words nestle themselves deep into your bloodstream, settling amongst the brandy and wine, “and she chooses to spend the night bending over for my brothers. how do you think that makes me feel?”

it’s a look you know: a look that has haunted you for hours and days, a look that you know better than any other. it’s the look that guides the hand between your legs at night and the look you recreate in your mind’s eye when your vibrator just isn’t enough. you’re crumbling already, like sand beneath his touch.

“i’m sorry,” you say to him, but the words are soft and whispered things, shy beneath the weight of your own guilt and disappointment. “i didn’t mean to–”

“no,” choso admonishes. he steps closer, guiding you backwards until his bedsheets brush the backs of your knees. “of course you didn’t. you’re still too dumb to know what you’re doing.” his voice, evenly condescending, hardly matches the gentle brush of his fingers as he moves to cup your cheeks. you close your eyes against it, savoring the shivers he sends across you body with every heartbeat, every movement. “still need your big brother to keep you in check.”

you do not respond: he does not intend for you too. instead choso presses you back until you fall onto his bed, crawling over you to cage your body beneath him like a predator and its prey. your brain falters with the sudden movement, with the lateness of the hour and the depravity of your position, but you can do nothing but look at him with your helpless doe-eyes while something saccharine pools in your belly.

“look at you,” choso says. “high out of your damn mind. good thing i caught you when i did. who knows what would have happened.”

you believe him, you do, especially when choso dips his head to kiss you and demands your subservience. his tongue licks the aftermath of your cocktails from your lips and claims the expanse of your mouth, your teeth, your sanity. you let him take you, body and soul, even when you’re clamoring for air and freedom. there is no safety but choso’s lips, flavored with his cinnamon chapstick, no sacred home but the warmth of his mouth.

“there’s my girl,” choso breathes, nose brushing against yours as he pulls back for air. “going to be good for me now? going to make it up to your big brother?”

he doesn’t wait for a response; fingers dance along the silk of your blouse as he undoes each button, one by one, letting his fingers dip slyly against the newly exposed expanse of your collarbone and your chest and your stomach. you make no move to stop him, caught somewhere between choso’s aura and reality and time.

(and maybe in another life you would have stopped him. maybe in another life you would have been ashamed. but it’s choso, your sworn protector and god among men, and you would be a fool to try and stop the one who knows best. he is safety, protection. who knows what would have happened if he hadn’t taken you away when he did.)

“is this new?” choso asks, studying the curve of your bra as he rests against your hips. “who are you trying to impress?”

it’s thin lavender lace, choso’s favorite. your face warms at the observation and you turn your head away, nestling among the sheets, as if you could escape choso’s eyes: but his fingers still trace the material and you can still hear him breathing and you know he will never look away.

“i just got it,” you answer, humbled and mildly humiliated and certainly a little fucked up. the words are slow and imprecise as you stumble over your own tongue. “i wanted to…treat myself.”

choso’s exploratory hands move from your bra to the waistband of your skirt. “could’ve just asked me,” he says earnestly, intently. “i would’ve gotten it for you.”

your affirmative hum is lost when choso mindfully pulls your skirt down your legs and discards it somewhere in the shadows of the room. he says nothing of it, of the thin fabric or the way it flattered you just right. perhaps he is jealous of it. perhaps he does not want to remember the way his brothers looked at you when you wore it, the way geto’s hands caressed the places no other man should go.

“they match, i see,” choso gestures towards your underwear. terrified and knowing and aware that you’re growing damper with each passing minute, you press your thighs together. “they’re cute.”

“t-thank you,” you whisper. “i… i got them for you. your favorite color.”

he smiles, a precious and glorious thing, a smile that causes flowers to grow and birds to sing. you electrify at the sight of it, blissful only when he is.

“i’d hope so,” choso says, “because i don’t think i could take it if this was meant for someone else.”

he reaches over to the nightstand while his words claw through you. choso smells like cinnamon and safety and pleasure; your heartbeat quickens as his t-shirt brushes against you, as your world collapses into nothing but choso’s profile, his butterfly hair-clips and his glowing skin and his power.

when choso settles back over you, resting against your thighs until you think you might die of it, something silver and shiny rests in his palm. you’d recognize it even if your eyes were closed, if the room were so dark that you couldn’t see if you tried. a searing and insatiable sensation lodges itself in your veins; it is fear personified, it is anticipation of a behavior you cannot even name.

choso twirls his beloved switchblade deftly between his well-manicured fingertips. it reflects the low-light of the room. it calls out to you, the beautiful and dangerous thing, a siren’s song that promises both your misery and your fortune. choso’s face is relaxed, serene, as the envy and the fury seemingly melts away from him and leaves only a disinterested vessel behind.

he lets you study it, lets you study him, and you know he’s pleased when he can feel your thighs tense, when you try so damn hard not to let choso know just how affected you really are. he shifts, grinding gently against your pelvis as he moves, causing you to bite your lip in a desperate attempt to surpress the gentlest of moans.

“well,” choso says, disregarding the state he’s slowly working you into. he shifts down your body and runs a lackluster hand across the lacy expanse of your underwear. shivers pierce your navel, silver rings poison your skin. it’s all you can do to watch him, his heartless eyes and his casual form, as his thumb prods at the place where you underwear crosses your hip. “let’s get these off. i’d hate to have anyone else see you in them.”

you feel the blade before you see it. cold, unfriendly, it rests against the gentle skin of your hip, a killer ready to take a life. a humiliatingly choked whine is out of your mouth before you can swallow it; your gasp reverberates throughout the room, the sound of one who knows they’ve lost a fight.

“choso–” you breathe, but you don’t know quite what it is you’re asking him for.

he doesn’t answer immediately, opting instead to tease you further with the blade as he presses it against you until goosebumps rise in chorus. your fingers curl in on themselves, desperate for purchase, while fear and longing hum everywhere in your being.

“don’t worry,” choso says. “i’ll buy you more. now be good and stay still.”

you want to writhe, to lash out and squirm beneath the intensity of the moment, but you fear choso’s disappointment more than you crave such release. your big brother choso has never been afraid to hurt you: to pierce the skin where it hurts, to draw blood where he means it. if you move, the blade will move with you. you know this as you know every scar choso has left behind.

it’s agonizing, this pace. choso’s tongue peeks out from between his teeth as he works with the ease of a great master. it’s like watching paint dry, like waiting for grass to grow or continents to shift. he cuts away at the expensive lingerie you bought just last weekend like he has all the time in the world, like he does not care if the sun rises and you are still crying beneath him.

(and he does it, you know, because you’ve never been one to be patient.)

“choso,” you whine, drawing his name out, long and frustrated, as if in song. “go faster.” your legs twitch in protest and the blade comes ever closer.

“no.” choso does not even spare the kindness to look at you, his beloved little sister. “stop whining.”

the rest of your complaints lodge in your throat. you fear disobeying him, so you grip the comforter like a lifeline, exasperated tears pooling in the corners of your eyes as the blade cuts through your clothes and ghosts across the bare skin beneath. it’s embarrassing, really, the way you can feel yourself becoming more and more desperate the further choso drifts away from you, the more he refuses to indulge.

you wonder if he can sense the arousal on you, feel it, smell it, even, like you’re nothing but his own little plaything in heat.

after an eternity, the blade finally cuts through your panties with a satisfying rip. the torn fabric sits pitifully against your hips, a reminder of your own subservience, until choso peels it away from you with enough condescension to move you to tears. the cool air of the room hits your thighs, your cunt, like a ghost who’s taken up residence beside you.

blissfully unaware of your feelings, choso studies the remains of your ruined underwear, the thin fabric and the obvious stain of your arousal. locking eyes with you, he bring it to his nose for a brief and pleasurable inhale before he discards it somewhere on the other side of the room.

“there we are,” he says, as if he hadn’t just smelled yourself in front of you. “now no one will ever know about it but me.”

“choso,” you whimper, hot. it’s a gift and a humiliation to be beneath him like this, to shake with need and yet to be denied it, to ask for something, for anything, in a voice so unabashedly loud that anyone who passes by the door might hear it.

he ignores you, again, and turns his attention to your bra as it flutters against your fervent chest. you watch with wide eyes as the blade comes closer, closer, dancing against your ribcage and sending ice into your lungs until it slices through the front of your bra, down the center of your chest, like the thin fabric was made of nothing but water.

“get rid of this,” he says; you listen. with quick and quivering fingertips you shimmy your way out of the delicate material and toss it over the side of the bed faster than the speed of sound. choso, pleased with your obedience, intently traces the curve of your breasts, thumbing your nipples until you find yourself arching into his touch.

(choso, you mumble, eyes falling shut at the feeling. still, as always, he does not listen. he draws his hands away.)

it kills you, the way choso’s eyes possess you, own you, dictate the movement in your bloodstream. it’s akin to being pulled along on marionette strings, a puppet of choso’s own design, made to dance for him and him alone.

it’s the prize he deserves, your big brother, to own you and protect you, body and soul.

it’s that very intensity which moves you to misty tears, which causes your hands to fly out to meet him against your better judgement. choso lets you pleasure yourself for a moment with the texture of his t-shirt and the outline of his shoulders before brushing your hands away like unnecessary flies.

“did you whore yourself out like this when you went to naoya’s?” choso prods. the patronization lies beneath feigned and genuine curiosity. there are no inflections, no signs of anger. this is how your big brother gets you, every time: it’s the neglect, the disinterest, that breeds your guilt. “are you really so easy for every boy that comes your way?”

you shake your head and wish you could bury yourself further into the bedsheets. no, never. try as you might the first-year college boys here just haven’t been enough, the older ones too preoccupied with better cunts to look your way.

“just because those guys are my brothers,” choso continues, shifting further and further down your body, spreading your legs until he can fit himself comfortably between them, “doesn’t mean i have to share everything with them.”

“i’m sorry, choso,” you try again, “i’m sorry. i don’t want anyone else–”

“that’s right,” choso interrupts. “you don’t need anyone else. no one is ever going to love you the way i do.”

the way your big brother does, his eyes say, but he doesn’t have to voice it. you already know. it’s true that no one knows you better than choso does. no one understands your limits and your desires the way your brother has for as long as you’ve known him. no one knows how to caress you when you cry, how to run their tongue across your lips to silence you when you’re too eager. it’s always choso. it’s always been choso; but sometimes you’re just too much of a fool to see it.

the blade, cool and demanding, presses against the soft flesh of your thigh, just below the hip. you twitch in surprise at the sensation and curl your toes to quell the ache in your cunt. it’s slick, weeping; you can feel it, the arousal, as it pools and pools and drips quietly onto the comforter.

“choso, what are you–” you ask, breathily, pitifully, but choso’s quick glare reduces you into obedient silence.

he licks the cinnamon chapstick on his lips. a stray hair falls across his eyes and kisses the dark line across his nose. he is love and danger, a cocktail of possession and surrender. “i think,” choso says, the words slow and thoughtful, “you need a reminder of who loves you the most.”

a strangled cry escapes your lips when the blade pierces your skin just enough to draw blood. the sting travels up through your spine and fogs up your senses, causes your cunt to weep in horrible anticipation. it hurts, it does, the first cut, but still you find yourself waiting for more of it, more, in terror and lust and love.

“choso–” you cry, a misty tear escaping out of the corner of your eye, but the call is met by another stroke, longer this time, drawn out, until your knuckles clutch the bedsheets so tensely they might as well turn to stone.

“stay still,” choso admonishes amidst the burn of it. “you’ll hurt yourself.”

as if you were the one in control. but you listen, obediently as always, and the alcohol from earlier combined with the need in your chest mixes together until your body is as taut as a desperate wire, until you no longer have control of yourself or your limbs. the knife cuts easily, choso’s hands as steady and precise as ever. you can feel the blood dripping onto his sheets like a series of hot tears.

it’s too much, all at once. it is a fire which destroys you, which renders every coherent thought into ash and causes you to sob nothing but drawn-out cries and pleads of choso’s name into the dark bedroom. he has you just where he wants you: pliant, dumb, obedient. if he asked you to fetch him a star, you would have asked him which one he needed.

choso’s tongue darts between his teeth as a steady hand continues its masterpiece. you sob unabashedly in reply with every stroke, with every flex of his fingers as he works his blade against your tender skin. and yet, as the pain grows, so does your need for something, for anything, for release; with every aching minute your cunt grows hotter and lonelier and emptier between your thighs.

you crave something, anything, choso, perhaps even more than you wish for air.

“there you go,” choso says, just as you release another cry so piercing there’s no way even yuuji wouldn’t have heard it. “all done.”

you sit up on your elbows to peer down at the masterpiece below your hip. smeared with blood, aching and raw from the blade, the word CHOSO spreads across your upper thigh in an uneven but heartfelt script. it makes you dizzy, this marking, this sign that no one owns you better than your sacred brother does. you wonder if it will leave a scar, if it will heal; and even more so, you wonder if choso will merely rewrite it, again and again, until every cell in your body knows that you are nothing without him.

you say nothing; a whine escapes your lips as your eyes flit from the mark to choso’s eyes, dark and possessive, as he looks back at you.

“you like it?” he asks, once again the sweet thing, the doting one.

“yes,” you whisper back, never one to lie to your perfect big brother.

but you cannot hide the insatiability. choso notices the way your thighs twitch from the intensity, the way your cunt drools and your eyebrows furrow because you cannot relieve this ache on your own. you’re helpless, entirely at his mercy. choso tilts his head with a soft and unreadable simper at the sight.

“you’re really worked up, huh?” he pretends your distress is not blatantly obvious. he twirls the bloodstained knife between his fingertips for a moment before bringing the flat edge of the blade against his lips in a somber kiss. “this little thing’s got you down bad, i see.” he flashes the switchblade at you like a diamond. you watch, entranced, as choso slides his tongue across the metal until any traces of your blood disappear into his mouth.

your belly’s on fire. the switchblade shines with choso’s spit and he smiles, your blood on his tongue, while he prods your legs apart, further, until you’re entirely open for him with nothing to hide. you whine lowly as choso’s eyes flicker between your eyes, dazed and helpless, and the slick on the bedsheets.

“choso,” you repeat. “please, help me.” your eyes are wide and your voice is small and you crumble beneath the weight of your own needing, of your own body working of its own volition, of the high that collapses all over you.

perhaps it’s the way you call for him, your big brother, in your time of need. perhaps it’s the way choso can never really deny you, even when he feigns disappointment or rage or neglect. he’s bound to you, your protector, and you can see in the way his eyes soften ever so slightly that choso will not deny you this request.

“sure thing, angel. let me clean this up for you.” choso’s voice is generous as he bows his face towards your hips with the reverence of one before the altar. he leaves no room for your answer. an eager tongue swipes across your thigh and laps at the blood which pools there. his movements are indulgent, refined, as he holds your legs open with intimidating palms and drinks you in like medicine.

“choso–” you gasp, unable to look away. his eyes flit back to meet yours in reply but he continues his ministrations, slow, teasing, as he ignores your cunt entirely and licks at the fresh wound until it’s finally, sacredly, clean. your newly beloved CHOSO glimmers with his spit when he pulls away. he smiles at you then, praying over your hips, lips stained red with your blood, with your being.

“i may be their brother,” choso gestures towards the door, to the party which must still rage below, “but i’m your brother first, and now you’ll never forget it.”

the words are followed by his tongue on your inner thigh, fervent this time, as he travels downwards, downwards from his name on your leg until his nose is a breath away from your clit. you thrust your hips towards him impatiently and he accepts it, gratefully, burying his face deep into your cunt like he’s searching for gold. choso lavishes your clit with plump lips and an eager tongue, drawing the bud into his mouth and kissing it until you cry, until your legs tremble as they ensnare him in your garden.

“choso–” you’re crying, voice transcendent throughout the frat house, his favorite song. there’s a tongue prodding against your hole and a silver ring on your clit and you lose yourself within it, within choso’s breath on your folds and the fire which erupts into chaos.

when it comes to pleasing you, choso does not require air. he refuses to resurface as his tongue explores every inch, as he laps away at you with the passionate abandon only an older brother can provide. what you need, he needs, and what you desire most, choso is always willing to provide. he holds you steady as he works so you cannot escape him. he forces you into stillness as he abuses every sacred inch of your cunt, as he works you into a frenzy with his fingers and his tongue until you can think of nothing but wanting to cum.

and then, then, at the precipice of pleasure, choso pulls away. you pause as you catch your breath, heartbeat like an earthquake, and recollect your shock. why has he stopped? where has he gone? you’re about to sit up, to feign sobriety, to demand what the matter is, when something cool and smooth presses against your clit.

choso’s cheek rests against your inner thigh as he presses the flat edge of the switchblade against your cunt. it’s cold and dangerous and sublime and you cannot help but think of the way it could ruin you, that if you shifted or choso wanted it everything could end here, now, forever. and it is this fear, coupled with the coolness of the blade suffocating your clit, with the alcohol in your bloodstream, that sends you into a place from which you may never return.

the orgasm is as violent as a hurricane. the moment you tense and begin to quake with a strangled sob choso replaces the blade with his tongue and rides you through it, coating his lips with your cum and swallowing the vibrations and heightening the sensation until you are tortured by it, by the sting of pleasure and overstimulation and want.

(“that’s it,” you think he says into your skin, but your ears ring too loudly to know. “cum for me, just like that.”)

it takes some time for the waves to recede and for your body to become still again. with a head comprised of of jelly and limbs made of water you lie still, panting, as choso nonchalantly licks your slick from the switchblade with a hum and gingerly sets it back down on his dresser. you watch as he slides the belt out of his jeans and tosses it into the dark room, as he hovers above you like an angel and its lover.

“better now?” he asks against your parted lips. you nod. he kisses you, deeply, a kiss made of iron and cum and blood, tongue swiping across your teeth before he draws the air from your lungs. your vision swims when he plants a kiss on the tip of your nose, your cheeks, your forehead, between your eyebrows. he plants his love until there is nowhere left untouched, until you are buzzing with the security only your brother choso can give you.

“yeah,” you mumble back to him, content, satisfied. even the sting of his name on your body is a pleasantry now.

“good.” choso wipes the perspiration from your brow. his jeans scratch against your pelvis, and it is only then that you finally register his cock, hard and eager, waiting patiently for its turn. it is only then that you realize choso’s lesson is not yet over, that your brother’s desperate need has only begun.

“now,” he purrs, gently, lovingly, “can you show me how much you love me?”

(as always, forever, you do. you show him your love, endlessly, even when the party ends and the house falls eerily silent. you show choso everything, all of it, loyally, just as he asks, with an only you, choso, and a no one else loves me like you.

because although choso offers his love to the brothers downstairs, he will always, forever, be your brother first, til death do you part.)

#tw incest #tw dubcon #tw knife play #tw blood play #tw marking #tw yandere #choso smut #choso.#it's dark in here #it's hot in here

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not-me-simping-for-blasty · 4 years ago

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some soft!bakugou brainrot for the soul:

-he likes when you greet him in the morning. will absolutely roll his eyes and say sum “jesus, idiot, it’s too fuckin’ early for pathetic enthusiam like that” but will also simultaneously get pouty if u dont say hi to him first

-very much a quiet boy when it’s late at night. will just sit back with his eyes half-lidded and head in his hands, giving a little “mhm” to everything you say. you think he’s not listening but when you don’t finish a thought he will, without missing a beat go “the hell? really? gonna talk that much and then not even finish the story?”

-will cook meals that you like but will insist that he likes them too. bakugou is 100% trying to convince you that he made it for himself but the entire extra portion with your favorite toppings implies the opposite

-pays attention to what you’re doing in training, and will not outright tell you if you’re doing well,, but when ur alone he’ll just sorta “you looked less pathetic than last time, dumbass” with a slight smirk as he brushes past you

-likes to bicker,, i mean come on, obviously, but what i mean is that he just looks so weirdly happy when u yell at him (def goes heart eyes but literally do not say a word about it pls)

-goes very soft for hand massages,,, just like, ground ur thumb into the heel of his hand and rub at his knuckles. man’s will melt into wherever he’s sitting and close his eyes

-will absolutely bite your head off if you’re reckless, but then spend the rest of his time trying to think of ways to avoid u ever being in that much danger again

-remembers places you’ve been together very clearly. so like, if y’all wanna revisit some restaurant, bakugou is leading the way and ur just like “??? that was 6 months ago how do u know where you’re going” ,, n he just scoffs and “because i’m the best. now shut up and pay attention we’re about to cross the street”

-is very soft about u wearing his clothes but only when no one else is around to see it. idk contrary to popular belief i actually see him being very flustered by the sight of u in his clothes. so he won’t let u wear anything around others rlly, but when it’s just him??? poor bby is so soft for it. like, v much hiding his red face in your neck and just breathing u in type of soft

-has a specific blanket that he keeps for when u hang out. eventually it starts to smell like you, bc obviously, n he’ll cuddle up with it when you can’t be with him

-adores when you sing to him. 100% doesn’t matter if you’re good or not,, bakugou just likes that you don’t do it in front of anyone else

-likes when you get needlessly angry with him. idk how to explain it,, but just like, if he’s bitching at one of his friends and you back him up, purely bc u like the chaos, bakugou will be totally 🥰 over it. only after he’s done yelling tho

-mans has a thing for praise. he does. we been knew. but he rlly has an even bigger thing for mundane praise, like rlly small things like, “wow your handwriting is so neat” or “omg your room is so clean! you’re so organized!”,,, jus tiny stuff in passing that let’s him kno he’s doing good

-will absolutely not admit it but he 100% prays for lint on his uniform so you’ll brush it off for him. it’s like, a tiny little touch, just enough to sate him, but not so much that it feels like embarrassing pda

-is a sucker for someone he can just sit in silence with. like idk, if y’all noticed it, but he literally has like, nothing to say when he’s not bitching, so if he’s not angry he’ll just be quiet. if u can be quiet with him, in the same space but not talking, bakugou is a very happy boy about it

-he likes to know things about you no one else does,, so if u tell him anything in confidence, literally anything, he’ll keep it secret. 100% every time, no exceptions, will never spill a single detail even if someone is begging him to

-probably demands that u say u love him multiple times before y’all go to sleep. its the only affection he outright asks for so u give in every time

-shares whatever he has with u. just wordlessly will hand u a piece of whatever he’s eating. doesn’t warn u if it’s spicy tho,, bc he’s still a little shit

-sort of just follows you wherever you’re going. like, if u tell him u want to be alone he’ll leave, but otherwise he just kinda assumes he’s meant to follow. most times he’s right

-he is 100% the type to know something is wrong without u having to say it. he prob knows exactly what it is too. lmao like, sure, he’s still totally clueless on how to approach/support you but bakugou is the furthest thing from dumb. he knows,, he just does.

-gets super protective about your things. like, god forbid somebody try to write anything in ur notebook while you’re not paying attention,, bakugou’ll threaten them before their pen even touches the paper

-he likes to tend to your injuries. like, even the rlly minor ones. like, let’s say u get a papercut??? pls mans is grabbing your finger, running it under water, and wrapping a bandaid around it before u even register it. he’ll grumble the whole time like “jesus, dumbass, can’t believe i have to do this.” but rlly he enjoys doing it bc it makes him feel important. like maybe he’s someone heroic to u

-if no one else is around, and there’s a lot of trust established, he’ll prob do whatever u tell him to. now ofc there’s gonna be a lot of complaining, bc it’s bakugou, but he’ll do it

-is a big fan of when you tell him he’s your favorite. pls the man is so see-through ahaha,, u could be like “omg! bakugou! you took out the trash without me asking?? that’s why you’re my favorite!” n all he walks away hearing is “they think im the best. i fucking am the best.”

-he likes to watch you do mundane things. like rlly little, every-day things like brushing your hair or tying your shoes. idk he just thinks your methodical movements are weirdly calming

-is a sucker for forehead kisses. like obvi, only when y’all are alone, but like, press a kiss to his hairline?? suddenly it’s rip angry bakugou, soft bakugou hrs only

-doesn’t rlly initiate touch that much,, but when he does mans is extremely petulant about it. like, if u decide u have something more pressing than him, bakugou is almost immeadiately going “that’s fucking stupid. what you’re doing. you should stop.” n then he’s just poking and prodding and needling at u until u fall into his arms

-shadows you at social gatherings. very guard-dog like from an outsider perspective, but rlly it’s just bc when katsuki says he doesn’t like anyone else, he means it. he’s sticking by you bc you truly are the only one he tolerates

-he secretly rlly likes when u fuss over him. like, when u ask him if he’s sore from training or if he has any injuries. bakugou will brush u off like the absolute bitch that he is, but secretly he’ll be so warm about it. he just likes that u care enough to ask

-he tries very hard to be gentle for u. ofc it pretty much never works bc it’s him, but he’ll still forever be reading romance manga n going “yeah, i bet they’d like that. gonna it do it way better though. im the fucking best, i can do it.”

ahahaaha me?? a bunch of bakugou thoughts?? never, idk what ur on about

#bnha bakugou #bakugou katsuki #katsuki bakugou #bnha bakugo katsuki #bnha fic #mha bakugou #bakugou x reader #bakugou headcanons

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oviids · 4 years ago

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pls share some of your spn fic recs 🥺🥺

ok, a few things first:

followers and mutuals who do not have supernatural brainworms, kindly avert your eyes

i don’t normally rec or even read much fanfic any more but this is a CRISIS ok (cont.)

there is so. much. content for deancas out there and i have incredibly high standards, several ancient ao3 bookmarks, can speedread, and want to spare you guys the experience of wading through it all.

i also have a section for spn femslash since I was pretty into that back in the day (sadly a lot less fan content for this :/)

I don’t really like au’s or pure smut (I honestly usually just skim or skip those scenes) so if you’re mainly looking for that kind of thing this probably won’t be very helpful to you. jsyk.

i’m not great at describing stuff but i’ll do my best, i’ll also try and add tw’s when neccesary.

i wil try and keep updating this with any other decent fics i find, feel free to rec stuff too since i’m like 7 years behind.(edit 1/25/21) this is getting looooong so i’m going to start making another list on my spn blog rather than update this one

(edit 1/3/21) since this has gotten pretty long i’ve added rating/approximate word counts and marked my particular favorites with an asterisk.

Dean/Cas fic:

So Says The Sword*** - explicit/85k. FUCK its good...au/time travel where dean is not pulled out of hell by cas and says yes to becoming the michael sword. honestly could serve as an alternative to actually watching the show, if you want to get into dean/cas without actually doing that to yourself.

Fata morgana.* - teen/6k, pst s9 finale. very bela centric and i love it, she finds cas looking for dean in hell.

Redemption Road -misc/600+k. an incredibly long fic from a collaborative writing group back in the day. canon divergent from the end of s6 on, has a cool take on godstiel and the leviathans, as well as the lovecratian mythos connection. ngl when i reread it i only made it about 28% in but imo the casual reader can actually stop around there, the rest concerns a lovecraftian apocalypse that is still good (i think i don’t remember it very well) but not required to enjoy the first half. if you prefer i have an ebook version i can send you on gdrive.

Someone Who's Feeling For Me* - mature/45k, s12. they run into lisa braeden and dean thinks cas is into her while cas thinks dean still likes her. treats lisa way better than the show ever did and the miscommunication is pretty funny rather than annoying.

a turn of the earth - mature/95k. time travel fic where cas from s10 keeps showing up in deans life from a few years before s1 to right before the hellhounds take his soul. slow burn, good character study, and at one point cas punches the dad in the face and it rules.

On the Wings of War - teen/85k, canon divergent s5. dean accidentally becomes the Horseman of War. plays fun, fast and loose with biblical lore, michael has some rights.

Named - mature/95k, alternate s5. EXTREMELY blasphemous in a fun sexy way. manages to predict metatron almost to a T. there’s one major character death and its literally jesus christ, everyone is very sad about it and it sets the rest of the story rolling. an alternate interpretation of cas’ mission to raise dean from hell which had me on the floor. ngl its kind of misogynistic at points, but its from 2010 and tracks with late oughts-2010 spn (sorry anna the author did you dirty here:/).

The Girlfriend Experience - explicit/15k. uhhh i don’t normally rec or even read smutty stuff unless someone i know is specifically asking for it but this has stuff like sam trying to be a good ally and dean thinking holding hands with cas is ‘kinda gay :/’ minutes after having gay sex with him.

i crippled your heart a hundred times - explicit/19k, s8. cas confesses his feelings and dean spends a long time getting his head out of his ass about it. truly hits different after the actual confession, despite being written six years early it feels like its actually what could have gone down more or less if the writers weren’t talentless demons who hate us.

My Roots Take Flight** - mature/125k. reverse au where cas is a hunter and dean’s an angel...OR IS IT???? an alternate retelling of s4. tw for briefly being set in a psychiatric hospital/the hospital being mentioned somewhat frequently throughout the fic, plus more references to torture in hell and heaven than usual.

The One Thing You Can't Lose* - teen/4k.you know those posts about how cas is a super-strong super-tough ancient warrior but he just lets dean tug him around because he likes it? thats it thats the fic.

Hands, From Which All Things Are Built - teen/14k, post s8′s ‘goodbye stranger.’ cas is on the run with the angel tablet but keeps in touch with sam and dean by text, he and dean still manage to be terrible at Actual communication.

Autrement, Danger - or, The Account of an Exceedingly Long Day - mature/30k, post s11. a monster that takes the appearance of your soulmate leads to some wild miscommunications and dealing with years of repression, also dean gets to see cas’ true form which is always cool. tw for non-graphic mentions of underage sexual assault/sex work.

Down to Agincourt - mature/explicit/900++++k, endverse continuation. endverse!cas survives his encounter with lucifer and discovers another time-displaced dean from s7. i’ve only read the two of four parts but its really good, veeeeery slow burn, has a lot of fun oc’s and takes a rather surprising but (imo) entertaining and intriguing turn into Hellenic history and mythology. usual tw’s for endverse/endverse!cas but nothing graphic, it’s actually pretty light-hearted (relatively speaking of course).

Nothing Equals the Splendor** - explicit/8k, THEE finale fix it fic you’ve been waiting for! posits that the entire final episode was just a (very bad and lame) djinn’s vision.

like moses and batman and james dean - explicit/31k, post s8. explores dean’s trauma and internalized homophoba from his technically canon experience with sex work and its impact on his relationship with cas. the sex work itself isn’t really shown in any detail but it’s still a relatively heavy fic.

Crazy Diamonds - explicit/25k, s4/alternate s14. fresh-out-of-hell dean and dean from 10 years in the future are displaced from time and sent to each other’s present.

where the weeds take root - explicit/30k. au where the men of letters kick them out of the bunker and they accidentally move out into the country, get over their codependence and semi retire. featuring chicken coop building, sam volunteering at a dog shelter, gardening, and blissfully mundane domesticity.

No Resting Place - teen/6k. djinn dream fic, switches back and forth between cas’ dream of being married to dean and retired from hunting to the aftermath when he wakes up. tw for brief mention of suicide since, y’know, djinn dream.

any port in a storm - mature/52k. post s8 finale. cas and dean have to pose as a couple going through a rough patch for a case and actually deal with their emotional baggage, cas struggles with being human and metatron is up to stuff.

all this and heaven too* - explicit/7k. in the author’s own words ‘...a love letter to every trans person who ever projected onto Dean Winchester.’ absolutely unzipped me emotionally and theologically, its just. so good. tw for very brief mentions of internalized transphobia/dysphoria.

Because it is* - mature/6k, finale fix it. killing chuck does not bring back anyone back and the winchesters spend a very long time dealing with what they’ve lost, cas and dean SOMEHOW still manage to have signifigant communication issues even after the confession. tw for suicidal thoughts/brief attempt.

Vena Amoris and Other Old-Fashioned Bullshit* - teen/4k, s6. when cas fell for dean it automatically soulbonded/angel married them, shenanigans ensue when dean finds out during the angel’s civil war. funny and actually written back when s6 was airing so cas is still (or at least pretending to be) kind of an OP asshole which is fun.

Rinse, Repeat - teen/3k, s8. angsty character study of cas as he’s reprogrammed and trained to kill dean. not really dean/cas since its just cas’ pov of canon events but its beautifully written and ends with him snapping out of it through the power of love (also now a canon event!).

Emergence - explicit/59k, canon divergent after s11. dean meets a hunter he only recognizes as their friend claire novak’s missing father, but soon realizes he might be the answer behind the mysterious void in his memories and feelings (aka everyone’s memories of cas are completely wiped away for three years).

Cuckoo And Nest - explicit/10k, early established relationship/character study, cas tries to figure out how he fits into dean’s life and space in the bunker.

Build a Home* - teen/20k, canon divergent s12. sam and eileen are cute and turn the bunker into men of letters/hunters hq and everyone but cas moves in, mutual miscommunication issues and pining ensues.

Down in the River - teen/5k, early s8, cas prays to dean in purgatory while sam and dean try to figure out a way to get him out.

Teaching Poetry to Fish* - mature/52k, ?? BC through the entire series/canon divergent s14 and 15. retelling of crucial scenes throughout the shows timeline from cas’ pov, feat. actual fish and poetry.

the minor fall, the major lift - gen/4k, post confession/finale fixit. dean goes into the empty to save cas and runs into several old friends (and enemies).

With the Kisses of His Mouth* - teen/3k, gen later seasons. dean and cas keep kissing by accident.

Remaining Grace - explicit/109k, alternate s6. au where cas asks dean for help with raphael and dean, of course, does. tw for temporary major character death/semi-graphic depictions of alcohol withdrawal.

The face of heaven.* - teen/10k, au, dean is a regular guy and cas is a fallen star (think ‘stardust’, kinda).

Stories Are Made of Mistakes* - teen/5k. newly human cas has trouble getting used to a human body and humanity in general, but still figures out that he and dean are A Thing before dean does.

Hurry Up And Wait - mature/21k, canon divergent s12. a fairyland and quite possibly LOTR related case comes up and dean goes full fanboy, mary is introduced to the wonders of the peter jackson adaptions, many references and comparisons (including between cas and dean’s ‘friendship’ and arwen/aragon). also charle is still alive and has just been doing fairy stuff this whole time.

There Are Many Things - explicit/28k, s9. cas is extremely lonely/touch-starved and trying to figure out this whole human thing, as well as where he and dean stand after being kicked out of the bunker.

It's A Long Life to Always Be Longing - teen/40k, post s11 finale. amara helps dean by putting him in a magical coma so he can finally get some much needed rest and show him possible futures for him, sam and cas. meanwhile sam and cas go on a roadtrip (or several) to find componets for a spell to wake dean up. really good sam and cas friendship, they actually talk about their shared lucifer trauma and stuff.

Non-Photo Blue - gen/2k, s4/5/alternate s5. fifty moments from cas’ memories of dean.

Tall Grass - explicit/57k, canon divergent post series. cas becomes the ultimate plant dad. feat the wayward sisters gang, cathartic character growth, fun oc’s, domesticity, and lots of actual botanical info-dumping.

on vessels - no rating/gen/2k. established dean/cas, cas tells dean about how he used to imagine what it would be like to have him as his vessel.

search for tomorrow on every shore* - teen/11k, post-finale (extremely derogatory). some angels in jack’s new heaven act out and dean gets temporarily resurrected in 2003 and runs into his younger self.

Architecture of the Minotaur’s Heart - explicit/45k, very canon divergent post s1. dean’s new house seems to have a life and mind of its own, while in his dreams he sees glimpses of a world and apocalypse that never came to be and an angel that looks strangely like his mysterious neighbor, cas. loosely inspired by the book house of leaves (which i highly recommend for fans of weird horror).

The Distance Of The Setting Sun - explicit/17k, post s5. established dean/cas relationship, team free will finally takes advantage of cas’ abilities to go on vacation around the world.

diamond star halo - teen/5k, s11. dean lets cas use him as a temporary vessel while he recovers from rowena’s spell, sam is a long-suffering third-wheel.

Make Known** - teen/16k, s6/7. dean struggles to understand how cas could have become his enemy and whether he ever truly knew him in the first place.

blunt little instrument* - mature/1.4k, post finale. dean finally confronts his father in heaven, very cathartic.

my heart a compass*** - teen/10k, post confession. the empty forces cas to re-experience his most regretted moments while dean tries to snap him out of it and bring him home.

A Crash Course in Someone Else's History - teen/11k, s6. cas from the very start of s4 is brought forward in time by s6!cas to distract the brothers from his and crowley’s plans.

The Cuckoo Father - mature/8k, s7 au. the woman who found cas in the river post-leviathans does not marry him bc he was sent to her by god or whatever, but actually identifies him as jimmy novak and sends him back to claire and amelia.

The Dead Dean Clause* - teen/5k, post alt s5 ending. team free will celebrates surviving taking down lucifer by getting blitzed, cas lies to a cop and gets an impromptu driving lesson. title/description sound dark i know but it’s actually very funny and light.

Suck It, Judy Garland - mature/20k, s12 (after the ‘i love you...i love all of you’ episode). cas and sam have to pretend to be a couple for a case and dean is NOT happy about it.

By Daylight and In Dream - teen/16k, s5. pre-dean/cas, dean invites cas to use his dreams to hide from the other angels. tw for very brief mention of a memory/dream of alastair sexually assaulting dean.

The Five People You Meet in Heaven - mature/22k, post-canon. an actually happy (if sometimes bittersweet) heaven endgame written several years ago, though some details are rather eerily similar to the show’s ending.

heaven is a place on earth* - teen/2k. dean’s pov of some of the times cas left him behind throughout the show, and one alternate ending where he finally gets to stay.

I Cleanse The Mirror - teen/20k, alternate s6. dean’s body is stolen by an ancient elemental and his soul has to hitch a ride in cas’ vessel.

an exploration of gender; angelic*** - mature/4k. *oscar isaac voice* lets get into angel gender politics!! aka cas is trans.

Zenith - explicit/33k, s9. after 9x06 an angry witch curses cas with the ability to see supernatural beings and human souls.

La cucina. - gen/3k, alt s9. dean goes wild helping a newly-human cas find out what kinds of food he likes, or the early s9 domesticity we deserved!

Dean Winchester, Cocksucker at Rest***** - teen/7k, post-finale. john and mary finally come over for dinner and john reacts to dean/cas in a rather predictable fashion. SOOOOOOOOO good omg, its so funny and a little sad and very very cathartic. part of a series that has a few other really good short fics.

The Way You Didn't Go - teen/5k, s15. coda to 15.09, dean has nightmares about the moc!cas timeline.

On Drowning - teen/28k. dean saves cas after he nearly drowns, they both try and deal with the physical/mental fallout (aka the fic where thee iconic “you only touch me when you think I’m dead or dying” originates). tw for realistic depictions of drowning/triage/misc medical information.

The Thirty-Six Questions That Lead to Love* - mature/13k. claire has dean and cas pretend to be her gay dads for a case and they play the titular 36 question game, get mistaken for swingers, and birdwatch, among other things.

Assorted F/F stuff:

Deep Breaths* - mary/ellen, au where mary said no to azazel’s deal and let john stay dead, still becomes a milf.

Like Rebel Diamonds - krissy/claire, they become hunter gf’s on the hunt for cas to kick his ass for taking jimmy. not-so-stealth dean/cas as well.

To Ash and Bone - anna/ruby, same author as the previous fic (p much all of her stuff is good from what i recall). au where ruby is a witch and helps anna when she’s cursed.

Holy Clockwork Angels - jo/ruby, STEAMPUNK au with very cool worldbuiilding.

At Day's End - jo/anna (my fucking KINGDOM for more jo/anna content, the dean/cas parallels are allllll there), au where they are both at the camp in the endverse and gfs.

these posts - ok so not actually a fic but i’m now obsessed with this hannah/meg dynamic.

Tagelied - mary/ellen, the true story of how ellen got into hunting before angels interfered.

Hell's Bells** - meg/abaddon, alternate s8/9 where meg survives crowley’s attack with sam’s help and teams up with abaddon (who she has a sk year old crush on) to take back hell.

The Ecstasy of the Rose - anna/ruby, anna travels back in time to escape heaven and becomes a signifigant part of ruby’s old human life.

Angel Underground - anna/jo, kind of an urban fantasy au with a very intriguing premise (sadly its very short, i’d love to see more if this ‘verse).

Clover, Flame - billie/mary, billie was always the reaper that showed up to take mary after her death(s) over the years.

Drag Me To Heaven - anna/ruby, a variant on the ‘last night on earth’ thing with dean.

Come Home* - jo/anna, canon-divergent au where anna is the new waitress at the roadhouse and helps jo set up a (probably not really) haunted house for halloween.

#if you told me i'd be doing this in 2020 three weeks ago i'd have laughed in your face :/#deancas #supernatural #fic recs #spn femslash #destiel #fic #the alie tag #spn posting

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