#another delightfully quick one

[turtleations]

Interview with Setsumaru Masahoko (Nippon Broadcast Organization)

Published in the hide BIBLE (by Akemi Oshima) 2008

Q1: When did you meet hide for the first time?

A: I think the first time was when hide-san came as a guest to a radio program I was in change of to promote his solo single. But I only really talked to him when I took a business trip to L.A. from 31 March until 4 April 1998 to record “hide’s All Night Nippon R” radio program.

Q2: Please tell us what kind of impression you had at the time.

A: He seemed like a shy person. At that time, hide-san happened to be checking the jacket for his single “Pink Spider” and I remember that the way he handled that jacket was very polite, making me think, “hide-san must be a sensitive person.”

Q3: Please tell us of an episode with hide that left an impression on you.

A: It happened when we were at a Japanese restaurant, celebrating the three days of recording being over. We had a passionate conversation about music, and I can’t forget him saying, “I really want to get a Grammy.” Also, he wanted to do this event in Summer, wanted to promote his “Psyborg Rock” sound, and I felt like he really was a creator from the heart, overflowing with ideas.

Q4: What kind of person was hide to you?

A: The “big brother” of my heart.

Q5: If you ever saw him live, please tell us of your impression.

A: Dramatic, powerful, beautiful. The things hide-san produced where always sensationally beautiful.

Q6: Out of hide’s songs, which is your favorite and why?

A: I can’t choose a “favorite”, but “Pink Spider” is profoundly memorable. Because I heard hide-san himself talk about it a lot, and every time I hear it, it brings up irreplacable images of the promotional video and the members of Spread Beaver for me.

[rafesangelita]

lmaoo what if rafe made cookies for pogue!sweetheart!reader using her recipe but he accidentally used salt for sugar or something like that but reader see’s how proud he is of his creation so she pretends to like them even though they’re awful. you don’t have to write this but if you do, thank you so much!!!!

warnings: reader being the sweetest gf, suggestive ending, slight humor (?)

“honey, i’m home!” rafe jokingly shouted from the front door of your camper, a tupperware full of cookies in his hand. “i have a surprise for you.” he smiled as you threw your arms around him, stepping on your tippy toes to press a kiss to his cheek. “aww, ray..” you melted at the sight, your heart blooming in your chest at the sentiment. “i decided to give your recipe a try. ‘wanted to bake for you since you’re always baking for everyone else.” he handed you the container.

“oh my god.” you opened the lid, a little confused that you couldn’t smell anything sweet. “rafe, these look amazing!” you sat down, offering him one to taste. “nah, i want to see your reaction first.” he shook his head, taking a seat across from you. smiling nervously, you held one up, not seeing anything wrong with it. “pretty color, soft texture.. you might be me i’m afraid.” taking a bite, you immediately refrained from making a face.

you felt like you had just bit into a block of salt. “well?” making a quick recovery, you moaned delightfully, flashing rafe a reassuring smile. “it’s.. wow!” you nodded enthusiastically, quite literally forcing yourself to chew. rafe’s gaze faltered. “you don’t like them?” your panicked at the disappointment in his tone. he was so excited walking in here and now his shoulders had fallen in defeat. “are you crazy?! they’re perfect!” you took another bite, immediately coughing.

“are you sure?” he sounded unconvinced. “uh, yeah! you could put me out of business with these..” you laughed, waiting for him to look away before you hid the rest of the cookie behind the vase of flowers on the table. “now you’re making me want to try one.” he smiled, popping one in his mouth before you could stop him. you gasped, watching as his face morphed into one of disgust. “jesus, fuck, y/n—” he ran to your kitchen sink, “that should be a crime.” rafe spat.

you couldn’t help the laugh that fell from your lips. “i’m so sorry i subjected you to that. why didn’t you tell me that they tasted like they fell out of a salt shaker?!” he wiped his mouth with his shirt, exposing his glorious abs underneath. “you were so excited to show me rafe, i didn’t want to shut you down.” you pouted, cupping his face. “it was just a little mistake, next time we’ll make sure that it’s sugar that you mix in.” both of you laughed, the cookies long forgotten on the table.

“i may have messed those up, but i still have a sweet tooth..” rafe backed you up into the counter, his large hands resting on the curve of your ass. “yeah?” you teased, trailing a finger down his arm. he hummed. “yeah. you have some dessert for me?” you smiled, eyes flickering to your bed in the corner. “find out.”

[klausinamarink]

You’re Never Too Much

rating: T | cw: negative self talk | wc: 1.5k | tags: angst with happy ending, hurt Steve, arguing and making up, established relationship, post-canon | prompt: Love is giving them space when they need it

written for @steddielovemonth

Steve knows he can be unbearable with his partners sometimes. 

He can’t help it. He doesn’t have a switch that shuts down the sparkling fountain of love like his parents apparently possess. It just naturally flows his veins without pause and surges anew every day.

His first girlfriend Heidi had broken up with him three days into the relationship, saying that Steve was too much for her. He had been more confused than devastated back then because since when did hugging your girlfriend from behind with a kiss to the cheek become ‘too much’? It only confused Steve more when he saw Heidi’s new boyfriend doing the exact same thing with her and they’d been together for three months by then.

Steve had ignored the tiny pang in his chest, shrugged off Carol’s comments, and moved on. Maybe he and Heidi weren’t meant to be anyways.

But it kept happening with the other girls. Leaving romantic poems in the locker instead of make-out invites? Too much. A bundle of flowers after class? Too much. Wanting to cuddle after sex? Too much. Stay the morning after? Too much.

Then came Nancy and she had adored every one of Steve’s antics that none of his previous girlfriends had liked. He quickly made his own schedule of sneaking into her bedroom late in the evening to help her study because he loved her blush and the bright gleam in her eyes. The day when Nancy told him that he was a dork was the day when Steve felt his heart swell because finally, he wasn’t being too much. 

And then Barb disappeared and monsters turned out to be real.

Nancy stayed with him but it wasn’t the same anymore. She would still laugh at his corny jokes and affirmations but Steve had seen her distant eyes, no longer bright with the same love. Like she had managed to switch it off by herself.

Steve should’ve split up with her. But he didn’t want to be an asshole and leave her miserable with no support who knew nothing about the Upside Down. But she hadn’t pushed him away or told him his efforts were too much. So he stayed.

If he had left sooner, then Steve wouldn't have been told in a stranger’s bathroom that his love wasn’t just too much, they were bullshit instead.

He couldn’t trust himself with another romantic partner after that.

And then about two years later, he and Eddie started dating. 

Everything that Steve had been told was ‘too much’ or ‘bullshit’ became ‘give me more’. More lazy kisses in the morning, more cuddles on the couch, more help with the laundry or dishes, more lovemaking, more, more.

Steve also found out real quick that Eddie loved whenever Steve quoted Shakespeare - especially Romeo and Juliet or Much Ado About Nothing - for no reason except to watch his boyfriend turn and scream delightfully into his own shoulder. Of course, Steve had taken his advantage, dialing it up with the Harrington charm just to make Eddie’s face redder. Whenever he thought that was too much, Eddie turned back around and kissed him with stupid smiles on both of their faces.

For a while, Steve had thought he finally found the perfect partner.

But he forgets that he doesn’t know how to shut his heart down.

—

Steve casually leans against the living room wall, acting totally non-suspicious as hides from view of the front door. He hears it swing open and then Eddie coming inside, the metallic clicking of his crane accompanying his steps. Steve waits just a bit longer until Eddie makes his way to the kitchen. Then he hurries around the corner and giddily wraps his arms around Eddie’s torso, lifting the man up.

“Welcome back-” Steve starts, a petname ready to fall out as he’s ready to bemoan his loneliness. But Eddie’s cold tone makes his jaws instantly clamp shut.

“Put me down.”

Steve obeys, swiftly but carefully as not to agitate Eddie’s leg. He keeps his arms around his boyfriend, squeezing just once in what he hopes comes off as assuring. However, Eddie only stiffens and says in the same cold tone-

“Let me go.”

Steve does. Eddie continues on towards the kitchen, not even glancing over once. Anxiety starts to drill into Steve’s spine, already making its way into the lining of his stomach. Something clearly happened to Eddie that’s putting him in a foul mood.

Tailing after him, Steve finally finds his voice and asks, “Is everything okay?”

Eddie doesn’t respond. He plops down onto a chair, burying his face in his hands. His shoulders are starting to shake. The anxiety shifts into concern as Steve hurries over to his side. “Eds-”

Eddie suddenly slams his hands onto the table, startling Steve back. He whips his head around to glare at Steve, yelling, “Is it too much to leave me alone for one minute?!”

Too much.

Steve swallows the thick lump in his throat, mumbles something he hopes is an apology, and stumbles outside to the backyard. He stares at the pool for a second before he quickly rounds to the side of his house, stopping just along the walls where he always felt the sunlight wouldn’t reach. Steve slowly crouches down to the ground, staring at nothing in particular despite the burning pressure behind his eyes and heart.

He should’ve seen this coming. Actually, he had known the day when Eddie finally had enough of his unbearable actions was approaching soon. They’ve been together for nearly a year. Just as long as Steve had with Nancy before that Halloween party. But Steve’s been living in blissful ignorance, hoping that it wouldn’t happen.

But even that had been too much.

A wet laugh bubbles out of his lips and Steve quickly clamps a hand over it. He feels like a kid, hiding behind his house like he’s avoiding his father instead of Eddie. It’s so stupid but very on-brand.

He lets the tears drop, forcing his hand to remain on his mouth so he can stay quiet. He doesn’t want to upset Eddie anymore.

Crunching stones under shoes approach. Steve doesn’t even look up when he hears a sucking of breath and Eddie’s murmuring voice, “Shit, Stevie.”

Calloused, ringed hands gently cup both sides of his face. Steve barely catches himself from sinking into the grasp. It’s always too easy to enjoy the feeling of Eddie’s hands on his cheeks. Was it too much for Eddie as well?

“Stevie, please look at me.”

Despite his brain screaming at him no, Steve does so. Eddie’s eyes are bloodshot red and tracks of tears practically shine on his face. In another scenario, he would look as beautiful as ever. But instead, he looks like shit.

Eddie’s fingers tap on his hand, the one still clamping over his mouth. Steve shakes his head quickly. He doesn’t want to break down into a sobbing mess and demand Eddie’s comfort.

“I’m sorry.” Eddie rasps out, a line of spittle popping out of his mouth. His voice sounds rough like he had just cried. “I’m so sorry, Steve, I shouldn’t have yelled at you. Work was-” He closes his eyes, shudders out another breath, and opens them again. “What happened at work wasn’t an excuse and never should be. Even if I was exhausted and upset, I shouldn’t have lashed out. I wish I could take those words back, baby.”

Steve finally removes his hand, managing to speak coherent words just before the sobbing finally breaks out. “Am I too much though?”

He catches the horrified expression before Eddie suddenly pulls him forward into a tight embrace.

“You’re never too much, sweetheart. You’re just fucking perfect.” Eddie whispers into Steve’s ear, clear as day.

Steve doesn’t know how they spend kneeling on the ground as his entire body rattles out from crying while Eddie keeps holding him and occasionally gently shushing Steve. Eventually, Steve’s eyes dry out and he feels so tired that he just wants to tuck himself into bed and sleep.

Eddie helps him up and guides him back inside the house. They linger at the foot of the stairs, both of them realizing the same thing.

“Do you… want me to sleep with you still?” Eddie asks softly. He hasn’t let his hand go from Steve’s where it occasionally squeezes around his fingers. It fixes something in Steve’s heart but it’s barely enough to soothe the ache over.

“I-” Steve cuts himself off. Eddie looks at him earnestly, his brown eyes appearing to grow bigger with the still-there shining tears. Steve sighs and continues, “I think I want.. space. Just for tonight.”

Eddie nods, pursing his lips. “So do I. I think that’ll be good for tonight.”

“You won’t leave?” It hurts Steve to ask even though his gut is certain that Eddie will rather chew his hand off than leave.

“I’ll still be here.” Eddie raises a hand up with a small smile. “Especially in the morning when we’re rested and less pissed-off.”

Steve smiles back, “Okay.”

And when the morning does come, Eddie’s still here. When they talk and apologize, Eddie tells Steve again that he never thought of Steve as an unbearable boyfriend.

It makes Steve feel warm from the overflow of Eddie’s love.

[mypoisonedvine]

𝐝𝐞𝐯𝐨𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 || william killick x reader

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 || your husband sometimes gets carried away with his devotion to you...

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 || 3.7k

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 || noncon/heavy dubcon smut (18+ only!!! rough sex, breeding kink, marking kink, hair pulling, praise and degradation, dark but the reader is lowkey into it lmaooo), jealousy and possessiveness, yandere vibes?, gaslighting/manipulation, established relationship, alcohol consumption

"Heavens, you look stunning!" Gordon announced when he saw you, opening his arms wide as an invitation for an embrace.  You only went in for a quick hug, but he grabbed you tight and kissed the top of your head as you laughed delightfully.  "Doesn't she look ravishing?  Don't I have excellent taste?"

The other ladies nearby nodded in agreement, hanging off of him like they tended to.  That was the way Gordon was: magnetic, for his personality just as much as his looks.  Blonde curls with light brown eyes and that megawatt smile… as long as you'd known him, he'd never had trouble with ladies— he just made trouble for them.

"Aren't I the greatest literary agent you ever had?" he asked you, and you rolled your eyes.

"You're the only I've ever had," you reminded him.  "You represented me when I was a teenage girl trying to sell my assignments from secondary school!"

"Yes, so I win by default," he decided with a big kiss to your cheek that made you scrunch up your nose.

"But that makes you the worst I ever had, too, doesn't it?" you noticed as Gordon relaxed his embrace to just an arm around your waist.

"See?" he prompted the nearby women, "Didn't I tell you?  Can't get anything past this one— sharp as a whip, she is—"

As you shrugged in dismissal of the praise, you looked around the room in awe of all Gordon had done for you now.  He had a taste for the extravagant, clearly; truth be told, it was nothing like you'd pictured it, and nothing like what you'd asked him for when he insisted on throwing a party.

"So, please, drink up, be merry, all of that," Gordon instructed his ladies, motioning out towards the crowded room, "get properly sloppy if you must— all in honour of this lovely woman right here… a genius of writing, and one of my longest and dearest friends."

As they departed in search of free drinks, you turned to Gordon with a nervous frown.  "I'm not sure this is really all for me, Gordy," you sighed.

"Of course it is," he chuckled heartily, "I told you I'd throw something to celebrate another year of us working together— I wanted to have a gala for your novel's first publishing, but you were too busy on the honeymoon then—"

You smiled just at the mention of your honeymoon.

"All these people, doll, they're here for you," Gordon assured.

"The people, maybe; but the evening wear, the drinks, the music, the glamour?  That's for you, isn't it?" you smirked.

But before he could respond to the accusation, his eyes fell somewhere at the other end of the room, and he turned you to look the same way.  "Speaking of people here for you…" he trailed off.

You perked up when you saw William, slipping through the crowds of people, already approaching you with his hat tucked under his arm.

"You came!" you squealed with excitement as you jumped towards your husband, wrapping your arms around his neck and kissing his cheek.  "Oh, dear," you sighed when you saw that you'd printed berry-red lipstick on his cheek, starting to wipe it off with your fingers.

"I couldn't miss it, of course," he smiled at you, his voice so soft you barely heard it over the hustle and bustle of the party.

"They shouldn't have let you in," Gordon said, making you both look back at him.  "It's black tie only, you know."

William smiled slightly with his lips pressed together.  "He's only joking," you realised with an awkward mumble.

"The uniform seemed to go over alright," William replied, sticking his hand out towards Gordon for a shake.

"Oh, don't be so formal," Gordon laughed as he yanked William into rough side-hug.  "We know each other, don't we?"

"Sort of," William answered under his breath as Gordon put a heavy hand— adorned with golden decorative rings— on his shoulder.  

"Though I've half a mind to rough you up for convincing my star author to publish her next book under her married name," Gordon continued with a haughty laugh.  "She's already so established with the maiden name!"

"I didn't convince her of anything, I only married her," William defended.  

"Never thought you'd manage to tie this one down," Gordon smirked, "independent as she is."

"She didn't put up too much of a fight," William winked at you, and you felt a little flushed as you blinked quickly.

Apparently tired with that line of conversation, Gordon stood beside you and flipped it back to the real topic of the evening: your writing.

“She’s quite a prodigy!” Gordon exclaimed with a wide grin, wrapping an arm around you, then.  “You’ve read what she writes, haven't you?”

“Some of it,” William admitted with a nervous laugh, looking down for a moment.  “The rest is too sad for me, I’m afraid.”

“Her latest is a masterpiece,” Gordon assured.  “Forbidden love, secrets, affairs—”

“Sordid stuff,” William frowned, shaking his head.

“Sells, though,” Gordon winked.  “Men and women— we’re even selling copies in America!”

William only nodded, not seeming too convinced, and you deflated slightly as you reached out for your husband’s hand.  “Aren’t you proud of me?” you asked, sounding much more pathetic than you meant to.

“Of course, darling,” he smiled at you, “always.”

“You don’t mind if I borrow your lovely wife again, do you?” Gordon beamed.  “There’s some people over there she should meet— they might just sponsor the tour for her next novel.”

“All these book tours, I feel as if she’s hardly ever home,” William sighed.

“Well, we’ve got to keep her on the tours,” Gordon chuckled, “or that pretty face will go to waste!”

William’s jaw tightened as he nodded curtly in agreement, and you felt nervousness turning in your stomach.

“You should have a drink, soldier,” Gordon offered to lighten the obvious tension, handing William a wide glass of champagne.

He patted your husband a little too roughly on the back as he drank, before dragging you off to talk to some publishers or whatever— you glanced over to try to see your husband at the bar, hoping to catch him smiling at you, but you only caught his icy stare over the edge of his glass.

~

Enough liquor loosened you both up, and you managed to enjoy the party well into the hours of the night— it was almost one in the morning when you got home, yet you had a shocking amount of energy still coursing through you as you started to undress at the vanity.  It must’ve been all the people there, and knowing they were all celebrating you; it was electrifying, even as someone who preferred to be cooped up alone with her typewriter.

William leaned against the bedroom doorway as you shed your heels and stockings, then unpinned your hair.  When you saw him skulking on the reflection, you smirked to yourself, taking out one of your earrings.

“What’s the matter, love?” you asked sweetly, but he said nothing.  “Love?”

“I guess I’m not much of a partier,” he explained flatly.

You smiled a little, taking out your other earring and then reaching behind your neck to unclasp your necklace.  You didn’t even really notice the silence before it was broken.

“I don’t like the way he looks at you,” William said suddenly, and you scoffed— once you realised what he was talking about.

“He’s just that way,” you assured, “I don’t take it personally.”

“And all the talk of your genius, of your prodigious writing— that’s not personal?”

You shrugged slightly as you turned slightly and looked at him over your shoulder, smiling but knitting your brows together in confusion.  “Isn’t that why you married me?  I thought you liked the way people fawn over me.”

“But you know him,” William insisted again.  “You knew him before you even met me, you work with him— you spend long hours with him, when I’m gone—”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” you laughed, standing up, but he only glared at you.  You tilted your head as you approached him.  “William, you couldn’t really think—”

“Don’t patronise me,” he sneered, and when you reached out to touch his face, he snatched you by the wrist and yanked you closer.

“William!” you scolded, whimpering as he moved his face close to yours, nostrils flaring as he breathed heavily through them.  “William, please—”

“Look at me,” he demanded, grabbing your face with his other hand.  “Look at your husband, darling.”

You bit your lip to suppress its shaking, meeting his fiery— yet cold— stare.  “You’re hurting me,” you whispered, tightening your hand into a weak fist as he held it painfully tight.

“I can see, you know,” he told you sharply and quietly through his teeth.  “I can see the way you laugh at his jokes, and let him pull you closer.  His hand on your hip—”

“It’s nothing, William,” you breathed, and his hand moved down from your face to your neck, then your chest, where he brushed his fingers over the neckline of your dress.

“Wearing the dresses he buys for you,” he noticed with a sneer.  “God, he’s got you looking like his fucking whore.”

He shoved you back and you tripped to land on the bed, hiding your face in fear and shame as he stalked towards you.

“Now you want to play innocent?” William spat as he towered over you.  “I told you to fucking look at me!”

“I can’t!” you sobbed, fighting when he grabbed your arms and tried to pry them apart, attempting to force you to turn onto your back.  “I can’t, William, not when you’re like this!”

“You made me like this!” he accused, eventually getting you to turn over so he could pin down your wrists on either side of your head.  “You made me like this,” he said again, voice lowered from shouting to a soft growl.  “You let him put his filthy fucking hands all over you, didn’t you?”

“No, William,” you denied, crying weakly as you shook your head.  “Never.  I love you— I love you more than anything.”

“But you won’t tell me the truth,” he snarled.  “The truth, darling, not another story— not another one of your goddamn stories!”

“He kissed me!” you admitted suddenly, and before you could explain, William roughly slammed his lips onto yours.  You whimpered into it, struggling against his tightening grip, and he pressed you down into the bed with the weight of his body.

“Tell me how it happened,” he demanded, lips still brushing against yours as he spoke, eyes still piercing through you.

“I swear, Will, I told him to stop,” you breathed, “I pushed him away.  I told him I love you, William— and I do, don’t you know how much I do?”

“He kissed you,” William repeated, rage tinting his voice.

“That’s all, I swear,” you promised.

“And you didn’t tell me—”

“I thought you’d get angry,” you defended weakly.

“You didn't tell your poor, doting husband,” he groaned, “your heartbroken husband—”

“I’m so sorry, William,” you whispered.

“Why didn’t you tell me, hm?  Because you love him?”

“No!  Fuck, no,” you cried.

“Because you considered it— because you thought about letting him make love to you?”

“No!” you shouted, but he suddenly put a hand over your mouth to muffle it.  When you stopped, stilling briefly as he looked down at you, he took his hand away and stroked your cheek with it.

“He must have forgotten,” William whispered under his breath, petting your face and acting oddly sweet.  “He must have forgotten that you… belong to me.”

You blinked quickly, shivering as he pressed a slow, short kiss to your lips.

“That these lips belong to me,” he continued with a sigh, “that this neck belongs to me—”

He kissed it, but brushed his teeth teasingly over your pulse.

“That every single, beautiful, perfect part of you,” he went on, hands running down over your chest and settling on your waist tightly, “belongs to me.”

He bit down harder on your neck and you whined.

“Did you forget too, darling?”

“William, you’ll leave marks,” you whimpered, “you’ll bruise me—”

“Good,” he purred, “then you can’t just take your ring off and act single, can you?”

“I never take off your ring, William,” you swore, “not even to bathe…”

“I still want my marks all over you,” he explained darkly, “I still want you bruised tomorrow.  I don’t just want them to know you’re married, darling— I want them to know how good I fuck you.  I want them to know that your husband fucks you.”

Suddenly his hands were at your dress, tearing it to shreds right down the front.

“And I want them to know,” he continued with a groan, “how much you love it.”

He flipped you over roughly, yanking you up by your hair until you were forced to scramble onto your hands and knees.  Your head dropped defeatedly when he let go of your hair, and he held your hips tightly with one hand as he opened his trousers with the other.

“W-wait,” you stammered, but he ignored you, reaching up under the tatters of your dress to yank your girdle and panties down.  Before you could beg for some mercy again he slammed into you, making you choke out a wavering cry; instantly he was fucking you hard and fast, making you shake all over and try to reach back to grab his hips so he might slow down.  “W-Will, love, please—” you whimpered helplessly.

“Fuck, if that son of a bitch could see you like this,” William sneered.  “If he could see you now— he’d know who you belong to, wouldn’t he?  If he could see you on your hands and knees, begging for me…”

He fucked you even harder— his hand reached up to hold onto your shoulder so you wouldn’t fall forward from the force of it.

“If he could see what a dirty little wife you are,” he groaned, digging his fingers into your skin— more marks, you were sure.  “Fuck, you’re soaking me already, darling.”

A whimper slipped from your mouth as he leaned down, holding you tightly and speaking right by your ear.

“You like it, don’t you?  Playing with me,” he hissed.  “You like driving your poor husband crazy, thinking you might be stepping out on him?”

You shook your head, choking on a moan as he slowed his movements to make sure every thrust reached as deep into you as possible.  “N-no, love, no—”

“You like how I fuck you when I’m angry, don’t you?” he went on anyways, biting the shell of your ear until your channel clenched around him.  “Is that what got you so wet, darling?”

Biting your lip to hide your moans, you held tighter onto the sheets beneath you, and one of his hands came down to wrap around yours.

“So sweet,” he cooed, “such a sweet little wife.  You look so innocent, darling, they have no idea what a slut you are— none of them do, but fuck… they will.”

He sped up again and you whined loudly; the pain and the pleasure together made your legs shake, hardly able to hold you up on the bed.  He snatched one of the nearby pillows and shoved it under your hips— it kept them up when he began to fuck you so hard that you fell forward, and the angle hit just right inside you as a desperate scream was muffled by your face falling into the sheets.

"Yes, there she is," he praised, "my whore wife— how she loves to be fucked, reminded of her place.  This is your place, isn't it?  In my bed, sweet cunt taking my cock?  Not out with that awful man— not on those godforsaken book tours—"

When you tried to reach back to keep him from going too deep again, he grabbed your wrists and pinned them back beside your face as he kept thrusting even faster, making the whole bed bounce and shake.

"You can take it all, darling," he promised with a groan, "you can fit your husband inside, all the way— fuck, you're so beautiful like this.  You're so perfect, my angel…"

He buried his face in your neck as he thrusted into you, his own moans rivalling yours while he kissed your neck and ear and shoulder.  

No one could accuse your husband of lacking passion, even if they didn’t see him like this— which you really hoped they didn’t.  From the very beginning, he’d pursued you fervently: he read one of your short stories, and wrote rather effusive fan mail to the magazine in which it was published.  And then when he came to your publisher’s office hoping to meet you, he took one look at you and became properly obsessed.  He insisted you were the love of his life… and before you’d even really gotten to know him!  You were nearly offended at first; but the longer his seduction went on, the more you couldn’t help but fall for him.  Strong yet tender, kind yet stern, intelligent yet sensitive… and creative, much more than you expected.  He had quite an imagination.

Unfortunately, that imagination had a dark side, especially with his tendency to be quite jealous.  It had never gone this far before, though.

He pulled out of you, only a moment of relief and disappointment, before turning you onto your back and hovering over you.  “Look at me,” he demanded again, though his voice was low and gentle now, “look up at me, beautiful.”

He tilted your chin up with two fingers, admiring the tears in your eyes with a tender sort of expression.

“Oh, my darling,” he whispered, leaning down to kiss your neck as he slowly pushed back inside you.  Your back arched and he slipped one arm under it to hold you tightly as he set a more careful pace than before— though still not all that slow.  "My beautiful girl— you can't help it, can you?  The way men feel about you."

A slightly deeper thrust made you gasp and reach up to hold his shoulders, blinking through the watering in your eyes.

"Of course he kissed you," he breathed, "if you were another man's wife, I'd kiss you too.  I'll always have to have you, darling, nothing could stop me."

"I pushed him away, love," you swore again.

"I know, I know," he cooed.  "But I still can't stand to think of it… of my darling wife being kissed by someone else.  He would've only done that if he thought you'd kiss him back, you know— he thought you would let him fuck you."

He picked up his pace, staring deep into your eyes and gripping you tightly.

“When you’re pregnant, then he’ll know,” William announced proudly as he held your hips.  “Then everyone who sees you will know: you fucking belong to me.”

Overwhelmed by it, you felt yourself get even hotter and slicker between the legs at the idea of that.  He was wrong about you wanting to make him jealous, but neither of you could deny now that you got some gratification out of it.

“Say it,” he ordered.

“I belong to you,” you promised, “I’m yours— you know I’m yours, love, always—”

He hummed in agreement, pumping deeper and faster into you as your head spun.  “You’ll be the most beautiful expectant wife there ever was,” he purred, a rough hand tugging your bra out of the way and groping your breasts.  “These nice and full— all of you swollen and soft—”

“W-William,” you stammered, hardly able to breathe with his weight on you and the way he filled you.

“Big belly,” he cooed, “and my baby inside— our baby.  Fuck, how can I wait to see you like that?”

“F-fuck,” you choked out, “don’t stop, please… please, my love—”

“I’ll fill you, darling,” he promised lowly, baring his teeth as you started to fall into it— your head tilting back into the mattress, pleasure overtaking you, your fingers digging into his shoulders.  “I’ll give you everything I have, every night, until it takes—”

“Please,” you begged, holding him tighter and lifting your face up with what little energy you had to bury it in his shoulder.  You cried from the intensity of it all— from everything— as shudders wracked your body.  He groaned as he felt you pulsing around him, kissing your face and groaning beside your ear.

“What a good little wife,” he praised as you came, “what a perfect little wife— you want it, don’t you?  To be pregnant, have my child?”

You barely managed to nod, you were so overcome by every sensation running through you.  But you did, and he growled proudly.

“You will, my angel,” he promised, “I’ll make sure of it.  Just say one more time that you love me, darling— that you’ll always be mine—”

“I-I love you so much, William,” you swore, muffled in the jacket that you clutched needily.  “I’m yours— I’m always yours— oh!”

You lost track of your words, but it didn’t matter then because you were drowned out by his gasps: heavy, low breaths as he pressed into you one last time and filled you completely.

Instantly, you were flooded with even more emotions: shame, ecstasy, confusion, hurt, love.  It was too much to take even if you weren’t still slightly tipsy and entirely sleep-deprived, but altogether it just turned you into a mess.

After coming down from his high— though he was still catching his breath— William seemed to sober up in a second as you cried harder.  Cooing gently at you, he wrapped his arms tighter around you and hugged you close.

“I’m sorry, darling,” he breathed as he held you tightly, “I’m so sorry.  You know it’s just my love that makes me this way— I just can’t stand to see another man lay his hand on you… I just can’t imagine you with anyone else, it breaks my heart, darling.”

“You break my heart, William,” you whispered back, still hiding in his shoulder, “when you think I could ever hurt you like that.  When you accuse me of something like that—”

“I just get scared, darling,” he sighed, petting your back slowly as he rocked you in his arms.  “I just get scared that you’re too good to be true.  That this beautiful creature can’t be all mine.”

You smiled against his skin, holding onto him tighter.  “I love you so much, William… I’d never— you have to believe me, I’d never—”

“Shh,” he soothed softly, as he held your head and kissed the top of it.  “I know, darling, I know.  Because you belong to me.”

[readbyred]

may i request how the dps boys would react to realising they have a severe crush on a, preferably shy, reader! tysm <\3

Oh, I've been waiting for dps requests! Sorry for my late replies everybody, I got demotivated again because tumblr deleted a few of my x reader posts (and a few others). But I'll try to not let that happen again if I can even help it

I think Knox would have such a silly time trying to approach you. Because we all know he’s awkward, but determined at best and, well… pushy at worst. I'm trying to go with the version I saw in a play, because thankfully they cut out the party scene which means he’s still delightfully insufferable but not awful. Anyways, he would jump on every occasion to talk to you. And then just. Stand there. He’d try to give you flowers and poems, everything really. But he loses brain cells every time he’s around you. At least you’re both equally stressed about social interactions. He gets a little braver when you give him a smile or any other sign you like him. Not less awkward, but a bit more motivated to go for it. His main problem is that he can't read you well and despite being big on feelings and all, he still has a hard time actually talking to you. Clumsily, he showers you with over the top things, that most would find cringey but you think of as endearing. And if he thinks there's a chance he’ll lose you, he’ll confess right away. I think he is brave and pretty open about feelings. Just stressed out

With Neil, it's not an issue at all that you're shy. He’s more so taken aback by his own strong feelings. Because he wasn't expecting to fall this hard. But give him like five work days to process and he’ll be all in. I feel like he would take his time to confess but he’d make it known that he cares about you. He’d be checking up on you every time he can, bringing you coffee, asking to practice lines together, go to the movies in town. Even before you two start dating you just wake up and half of his sweatshirts are in your drawer (he likes to borrow you his clothes if you’re cold) and your desk is littered with poems he shared with you. He’s a gentle lover, but he knows what he wants and when the time is right Neil has no problem confessing

It's much funnier with Cameron because this boy is in panic mode 24/7. At first he legit thought he was sick because he always felt dizzy and distracted around you. And he’s a traditionalist. Everything has to be perfect when you’re around. Like he beats himself up about every little mistake he made around you. But also makes a point to treat you RIGHT. If you’re shy he might not know how to approach you at first, because he’s not sure if you’re even interested. And how to make you like him. After much teasing (mainly from Charlie, of course) he gets fed up with his friends and decides to make a move. It might not be the most romantic when he does, but it's sweet and genuine

Another one that would take time to confess is Meeks. He’s pretty quick to accept that he’s crushing on you. He’s like, yeah obviously they are amazing, now what do I do with that? He tries to give you things. Small things. Like maybe he could borrow you a book that you’ve wanted to read for a long time of buy you a coffee/tea if you’re out in the town. He doesn't explicitly say that he liked you but it's easy to tell and he’s not one to be shy about it either. So when you guys do get together, you already know his more… romantic side

On the contrary, Charlie takes time to process his feelings. He had crushes before, but real feelings (strong ones at that) aren't the norm for him. Sometimes he catches himself losing his cool around you and it messes with him so bad. He would probably ask Knox for advice. Which is a bad move. But he figures that at least his friend is more familiar with having those sorts of feelings. Nothing much comes of it because I can't imagine Knox giving him any good advice on the subject, but after he was able to talk about liking you, he decides to just go for it. Well, in small steps. Primarily because he’s just not an intense guy, but also because he’s surprisingly mature when it comes to respecting your levels of comfort. Doesn't mean it gets boring though, it's Charlie we’re talking about. Once you get together there's not a one dull moment with him by your side

With Todd, it might be difficult at first. He’s overwhelmed by fis feelings and has a tendency to talk himself out of making any sorts of moves. Why would you like somebody like him? He tells himself he doesn't have a chance, surely. It only confirms his suspicions when you don't take initiative. It's only after he’s been moping around for a few days that Neil approaches him about it and proceeds to give him shit for not doing anything to let you know his feelings. He’s like, bro, so you care about them so much that you’d rather not have them in your life because you want them in your life so much??? Make it make sense. So with Neil's encouragement, he tries to at least talk to you and see where it goes from there. Still shocked when you end up returning his feelings. You’re in his poems now, even if it's not very obvious (he's not as straightforward as Knox, so it's not ‘i love (yn) and I want them to be mine’ kind of deal). This is the only one where I'm sure you might have to make some sort of a move. Todd’s like a spider - he’s more scared than you are and if he could, he would just silently hang out in the corner of the room you’re in. But he gets a little braver after he starts feeling more secure

Lastly, Pitts is not as bad as Todd, but still takes his time. He’s comfortable with liking you and he knows what he likes, but he’s not in any rush to make things official. So any time he has any chance to talk to you, he does and just wants to see how things go from there. He jokes around with you, asks to come study together, tries to be close. He does care, just in a more chill way than some of the other poets would. If you two have been talking for some time, he would have no problem asking you to go out with him, doesn't make you feel pressured or anything. If the others are cool with it he will do his best to have you come to their meetings at night as well. So you do not only get an awesome boyfriend out of it, but also a great friend group

[dark-and-kawaii]

How do you think haarlep would be with a virgin tav?

I love your haarlep work so much 💙

Awhhhhh!!!!! Baaaabes, thank you sooo much xoxo!!! I’m sorry this took forever to get to (˚ ˃̣̣̥⌓˂̣̣̥ )づ♡!!! Please accept my apology!!! I love this and my dear friend @halsinningiswinning actually asked me the same thing!!! So please enjoy ♡ ♡ *smooch*

⋆✴︎˚｡�� The Virgin

─── ♡ Pairing: Haarlep x F!Tav/Reader

─── ♡ Content: NSFW - Virginity - Stretching - Blood

Haarlep would so bewildered, like this pretty little thing is a virgin??? Oh, the thought makes his cock twitch with excitement. The incubus would lick his lips, eager to explore your untouched cunt, and when those thick fingers over his feel that delicate hymen ready to be broken… he can’t wait to pin you and dominate you, to reshape your soft, pliable walls to fit him~ No one else will ever satisfy you like he can. You’ll be begging for his embrace, crawling back to him on your hands and knees.

He craves to brand you as his own, so the creature starts with a kiss upon your lips, his tongue entwining with yours so that his spit coats every crevice, his fingers withdrawing from your depths while focusing on your mouth. He wants to make this unforgettable, to etch his touch and this moment deep in your mind- to ensure you never forget him should you lay with another.

He’s so soft, so tender at first ♡ His lips dance across your skin as his hands roam your body, caressing, memorizing the shape of your body, and how you taste. When you open yourself up to him, he is quick to take advantage, pushing inside your waiting virgin cunt with a slow roll of his hips, moaning delightfully against your smooth neck as he finally, FINALLY sinks into the slick tightness of your pussy. He can feel your hymen tear and break, “My little dove~ all mine for the taking~” He murmurs, his voice a little raspy as his hands cup your face. Your eyes are closed, tears at the corner of your lids, but don’t worry, he’ll happily lap them up ♡ ♡ ♡ And so he does, his warm tongue kissing your skin so that he may taste and wipe your pretty tears away.

He wants you to know how good he feels, how your virgin cunt is squeezing his cock like it never wants him to leave.

His pace is gentle, but firm, he wants you to remember him always. So when he pulls out, you feel the drag of his thick, meaty cock against your walls. How every infernal ridge catches on your once virgin walls, and those squeals you release… oh how he wants to feast off you until you’re nothing more than a ragged doll.

Looking down, Haarlep revels in the mixture of blood and your womanly juices that cover his thighs and the base of his cock ♡

That pure virgin blood of yours smells fucking divine, it makes him crave to coat his tongue in it, to relish the taste of it on his tongue the as he indulges. So why not feast? His finger glides down from your bouncing tits, his sharp nail teasing your skin as it moves towards where your sweet crimson nectar leaks. Flicking his finger across the red mess that is your blood, he brings it to his lips and wraps his tongue around his digit, savoring your taste deeply.

When he thrusts again you can feel every pulse of his cock as it plunges into you, and when he grinds against your cervix you can feel the blunt, hot tip of his it trying to burrow deeper, to push right into your womb.

And when you finally moan, “Haarlep~” thats when he loses it, his pace suddenly quickening, his grip tightening as his hips slam into you again and again and again. He wants to feel your cum squirt over his cock, wants to watch as you orgasm on his cock, his hand coming to wrap around your throat, squeezing just hard enough to make you see stars, his hips slapping against yours so quickly, so desperately. You thought this would be a teaser moment between lovers? No, this is a creature, an incubus… a demon claiming a virgin’s pristine cunt, making it his and his alone.

[casuallyimagining]

Family. Duty. Self. || myg

Less of Them - One: Family. Duty. Self.

NSFW. minors dni Pairing: Min Yoongi x reader Genre: arranged marriage au, established relationship, star-crossed lovers, angst, smut, fluff Word Count: 9,968

Summary: As the daughter of one of the oldest families in the kingdom, when the king decides that it's you he wishes to marry, you're forced to make a decision and fulfill your duty, leaving behind everything you've ever known--and the only man you've ever loved.

Warnings: weaponry (swords), language; nsfw: awkward first-time, hand-job, fingering, unprotected sex

Notes: Thanks to @oddinary4bts for really coming in clutch and helping with the smut and to both her and @daechwitatamic for encouraging me to make it more sad.

The book mc is reading at the beginning is Wurthering Heights.

"I do know there are all kinds of barriers to love. I do believe the world needs less of them." - Lang Leav

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The snow began to drive thickly. I seized the handle to essay another trial; when a young man without coat, and shouldering a pitchfork, appeared in the yard behind.

The clank of metal against metal grates against your ears and jolts you out of your book. It’s a nice day, and you had some free time; you thought that maybe it would be nice to read outside for a change. But now, you aren’t sure that was the greatest idea you’d ever had.

…shouldering a pitchfork, appeared in the yard behind. He hailed me to follow him, and, after marching through a wash-house, and a paved area containing a coal-shed, pump, and pigeon-cot, we at length arrived in the huge, warm, cheerful apartment where I was formerly received. It glowed delightfully-

The soft thump of a dulled blade hitting the softness of a body and an exasperated curse again draws you away.

“Again,” a gruff voice commands, and there’s the clink of metal clashing briefly.

Another voice groans. “This is pointless.”

“Your father told me to teach you how to fight,” the first voice says. “Again.”

You roll your eyes. They’d been at this for a week now. You were starting to believe that maybe it was pointless.

It glowed delightfully in the radiance of an immense fire, compounded of coal, peat, and wood; and near the table, laid for a plentiful evening meal, I was pleased to observe the “missis,” an individual whose existence I had never previously-

Metal against metal once again, and then the clatter of a sword falling into the dirt. A frustrated sigh.

I bowed and waited, thinking she would bid me-

A soft thud, then, “Shit.”

I bowed and waited, thinking-

The shriek of metal on metal, then the clatter of a sword hitting the dirt. “Shit!”

I bowed and-

“Take a break,” the gruff voice says, and the second voice grumbles something in response. “Don’t go far. We have more work to do.”

You try to go back to your book, you really do. But then a body plops down under the tree beside you. Ever so gently, the book is taken from your hands. He keeps a finger in the pages to mark where you’d left off, but he turns the book to inspect the cover and the spine. He hums. It’s his book.

“You shouldn’t torture him like that,” you chide once he’s returned the book to your hands. “You know he isn’t suited for it.”

“Your father wants him trained.”

“You and I both know Namjoon has no business on a battlefield.”

At that, he laughs. “His form is really terrible.”

“Even I’m better than he is.”

“Is that right?”

“Oh come on, Yoon.” You roll your eyes and nudge him slightly. You both know you’re right. His father had trained you beside Yoongi, and while you hadn’t been as quick to the blade as the young knight, you could defend yourself well enough.

He stands, plucks the book from your hand once again, and leans in so that his face is mere centimeters from your own. “Come, then, my lady. Prove yourself.”

You roll your eyes. “You can’t be serious.”

“Deadly.” 

He closes the gap, lips connecting to yours ever so briefly. Even though the kiss is short, it sets your veins alight all the same.

“Fine,” you say when he pulls back. “To battle, then, Min Yoongi.”

He smirks, and you steal a kiss when he helps you stand. For a moment, he has the audacity to look offended, but you push him out of the way.

“Come on,” you say. “You wanted to spar. Let’s get it over with.”

“We’ll see how smug you are when you’ve been defeated.”

You shrug and follow him to the training yard. It’s only a few feet from the tree you had been reading under, but your back had been to it, and you’d been unable to see Namjoon before he left. Now, though, you can see that your younger brother had gone in a huff, his practice sword tossed carelessly to the side. You pick it up. It’s a bastard sword, longer than you’d like and a little on the heavy side, but it’ll do. You roll your wrist, testing the balance as you wait for Yoongi to ready himself.

As he turns to face you, you widen your stance. You know you look ridiculous, legs and arms wide, positioned better to climb a tree than for sword fighting. It has its intended effect, though, because Yoongi erupts into a fit of near-silent giggles, shoulders shaking and eyes crinkled at the corners.

“What are you doing?” he asks gleefully.

“Are we not fighting?” you question, deepening your voice to match Namjoon’s lower timbre. “Is this not how you do it?”

He almost drops his sword, he laughs so hard. “Okay, fine,” he says, body still shaking from giggles. “You can go back to your book.”

You smile. That hadn’t really been your goal, but you aren’t one to turn down an opportunity. You hand him the practice sword as you pass and open your mouth to leave him with one last quip about trying to be patient with Namjoon, but he catches your waist as soon as he can and pulls you flush against him. Immediately, your hands come up to rest on his chest, playing with the loose collar of his cream colored shirt.

“Can I help you, sir?” you ask coyly, tugging a little at the fabric over his collarbone.

“I don’t know,” he whispers, lips mere centimeters from your ear. “Can you?”

He kisses you then, properly this time, firm hands on the small of your back, holding you against his body. He’s warm and soft and solid, and you can smell a hint of the cologne you’d bought him for his last birthday. His kiss is slow, almost lazy, but there’s a greed in it, like he could keep at this forever if you’d let him.

You’re tempted to let him.

You slide your hand up his chest to tangle in the short strands of hair at the nape of his neck. You give a gentle tug, and he lets out a low whine.

“Don’t tease, my lady,” he mumbles darkly, pulling away just far enough to kiss up your jaw. “I’m afraid you’ll start something you aren’t prepared to finish.”

You never get the chance to respond. Namjoon calls your name, his voice floating down from the walkway that overlooks the courtyard. Immediately, Yoongi jumps away from you. Your relationship is no secret, but he’s always been shy, and you’ve long grown used to his fleeing any time anyone sneaks up on you.

Namjoon calls for you again, this time, his voice is closer, and when you turn, you can see he’s running down the stairs. He pauses momentarily, catching his breath for just a second before blurting out, “Father is looking for you. He’s received some official-looking letter and asked me to come fetch you.”

You hum and nod. “Alright. Tell him I’ll be along soon.”

Namjoon shakes his head. “I don’t think that’s a good idea. You’d better come now.”

Your eyes drift to Yoongi, who stands now just off to the side. His cheeks and ears are tinged ever so slightly pink, and he busies himself with inspecting one of the practice blades. He must feel you looking at him, because his dark eyes connect with yours. You shoot him a look that you hope conveys an apology. He nods toward the keep silently before picking up the discarded sword and wandering off in the direction of the armory.

“Lead the way,” you tell your brother, gesturing in the direction he’d come from.

You follow him out of the yard, up the stairs onto the walkway and into the keep. Evening is starting to fall, and the attendants already have the sconces lit in the halls to stave off the darkness. You pass some of them as you go, and they nod respectfully–more to you than to Namjoon, but he’s younger and has never really cared about being deferred to in the way that you are. 

He leads you to your father’s study, and when you enter, you’re shocked at how full it is. You’ve always loved this room, filled to the brim with the finely crafted furniture made by the people of the forest town. Blackwood trees are known to have a delicate, earthy aroma long after they’ve been felled, so the study has always smelled as warm and inviting as it felt. Now, though, with the number of eyes that dart in your direction when the door opens, you’re uncomfortable.

The five of them sit at the heavy, ebony round table in the center of the room. Your father sits with his back to the window, his fingers steepled and his brow furrowed, papers strewn about in front of him. To his left sits your step-mother, a rare good day for her. She looks grim, but you get the sense that the pain she’s feeling may not be just her own. Namjoon takes a seat to her right. To your father’s left sits Jaesung, your father’s advisor and head of the armory for as long as you can remember. The look on his face is neutral, but you can see an anger behind his eyes. In nearly 30 years, you’ve never seen Jaesung angry. Beside him sits Seokjin, your elder step-brother, a fidgeting ball of nerves. 

“Come,” your father says gently, gesturing to the empty chair across from him. “Sit. We have much to discuss.”

You can feel a chill as you pass them all. Your step-mother, paralyzed by an unknown pain. Jaesung, poised for a war you don’t yet understand. And Seokjin, who refuses to look at you, even as you sit down beside him. 

It all makes you nervous.

Your father stands, the chair pushing out behind him as he leans forward, passing you the papers in front of him. It’s a letter, the wax seal on the envelope indicating it was sent from the Ironhold.

A letter from the king, you muse. What could he possibly want?

It’s no secret that there’s little love between your family–the Lins of Castle Blackwood–and the Chois in the Crownlands. The Chois have sat on the throne of Cotaria for hundreds of years, and the seat of the Crownlands for hundreds of years before that, and their customs have been around for just as long. They don’t like how your father rules the Westerlands, but there isn’t much they can do about it. The Lin family is far older and has had far longer to build ties, and you contribute more to the Crown’s stores than the Chois would care to admit. 

Your gaze falls to the letter in your hands, reading but not comprehending what it says. You fixate on certain words. Duty. King. Auspicious. Marriage. But no matter how many times you read it, no matter how long you stare at the neatly printed words in front of you, they don’t make sense.

The room is quiet. Too quiet. You don’t like how long it’s been since someone’s said something, don’t like how they watch you. Your mouth is dry, and it feels like you’ve tried to swallow a rock.

“This is real?” you manage, swallowing hard. When did your hands start shaking?

“I’m afraid so,” your father responds. His voice is soft, measured.

“And?”

“We did not ask for this.”

“And yet here we are.”

He sighs. “And yet here we are.”

You close your fist around the paper, crumpling it. Beside you, Seokjin jumps, startled. For the briefest of moments, you close your eyes.

Marriage to the king. A man you’d met once three years ago at his father’s funeral. He’d been miserable then, a spoiled brat too accustomed to getting his own way. You’d dreaded the funeral, dreaded being forced to interact with the young king, dreaded having to be pleasant to him. But you’d plastered on a smile and endured the funeral and feast. And now he wanted to take you away from your home, your family.

Your Yoongi.

You shake your head, forcing your thoughts back to your father’s study. You can’t think of him right now. “This,” you lift your fist, the letter still clutched tightly within. “I don’t really have a choice, do I?”

“There’s always a choice,” Namjoon blurts, immediately shrinking back into his chair. 

Your father hums. “You can decline. Your brother is right.”

“Jaesung?” The man’s eyes snap to yours, and you’re struck by how similar they are to his son’s–dark, cat-like, ever-observant. “If I say no…?”

He takes a moment, his head bobbing back and forth as he weighs the options. “Chances of retaliation are high, yes.”

“We would weather it,” your father says. “Our family has endured far worse.”

“And if they strip us of our titles? Take away our home?” You toss the letter into the center of the table. “Either way, we lose.”

“So just tell him to fuck off,” Namjoon says. Your step-mother frowns, and immediately, he wilts under her gaze. “Sorry, mother. But you understand what I mean. If both options are bad, pick the best worst choice.”

You glance up, above your father, above the window behind him. The family crest hangs there, centered on the wall. A sea of blue with green chevron, golden thistle in the foreground. The Lin family words are engraved into the bottom: Loyalty does not yield. 

Loyalty. It’s been ingrained in you since birth. To family, duty, self. All three in tandem. Now, though, they’re pitted against each other. Your family against your own desires. Your desires against your duty. An impossible choice.

You make eye contact with your father across the table. He nods almost imperceptibly and sighs.

“The steward arrives tomorrow?” you ask softly.

Jaesung nods. “Letter said they would arrive the day after it did.”

“Okay.”

There’s precious little to discuss after that. Jaesung is the first to go, the war in his eyes more fierce than when you’d entered. He doesn’t look at you as he goes. Your stepmother leaves shortly after, walking around the table to you. Her hands find your shoulders, skin cold against yours. She gives a gentle squeeze and kisses the top of your head.

When she’s gone and the door is closed behind her, Namjoon erupts. “You realize how ridiculous this is, right?” he asks. It’s directed toward your father. “They would never dream of doing this to any of the other old families.” 

Seokjin sighs. “They couldn’t.” His voice is soft, but holds all the authority of older brother.

Ever insightful, your step-brother is right. The Lin family is the only one of the old families that allows for a female heir, and even then, your father had only married Seokjin and Namjoon’s mother after his first wife–your mother–had died. You’d been here first. In your father’s mind, you were the clear heir. It helps that Seokjin, older than you by one year, has never shown much interest in leading, and between you and Namjoon, you have always been more eager to learn everything. But because all of the other heirs of the old families are male, they will never be put in this position.

You stand. Your head hurts, and so does your heart. You don’t look at your father as you leave the study, too afraid of what you might see.

You’d intended to go to your chambers, but when you get to the staircase, instead of going up, you go down. Yoongi’s chamber is at the end of this wing of the castle, closest to the outer wall and the library tower. Over the years, you’ve probably spent just as much time there as you have in your own chambers. But this is the first time you’ve felt nervous standing at his door.

You knock. You almost never knock, but it feels weird barging in right now, when you’re standing on the precipice of a future so far in the opposite direction of what you’d been imagining. The door opens, and there he is, leaning casually against the heavy, blackwood door. You must be some sort of sight, because almost immediately, he frowns, a small crease appearing between his eyebrows.

“Jagi?” he asks, concern evident in his voice.

It’s all it takes. You surge forward, hands coming up to cup his face gently. It’s easy to fall into him, easy to lose yourself in his kiss. He lets you push him back into his room, shutting and locking the door behind you in one easy motion. 

He laughs a little as you kiss up his jaw. “To what do I owe this pleasure?”

You don’t answer. Right now, you just want to lose yourself in him. The room is not large, and you’re able to push him toward the bed in only a few steps. He pauses when his legs hit the edge of the goose feather mattress. Gently, you push and he falls backward, his hands on your waist pulling you down with him.

You hover over him for a moment, just holding his gaze, losing yourself in the dark eyes you’ve come to love so much. You wonder if he’s able to read the distress in your eyes–maybe he is, because he pulls you down in a kiss that leaves your mind spinning, as his hands tighten on your waist ever so slightly.

His tongue hesitantly darts out to meet your lips, and surprised, you pull away to meet his gaze again. His cheeks are slightly flushed pink, and his lips glisten prettily in the light of the sconce on the wall. 

You survey his features carefully, feeling your own cheeks turning red as you realize that you don’t want to stop. Not tonight. You want to be able to feel him at least once before you have to go. You bend down again to capture his lips in a languid kiss, welcoming his tongue against your own the moment he does it again.

You gently move your hands up his frame, burying them in his soft hair as he wraps his arms around you to pull you flush against him. You have half a thought that you’ll crush him, but you can’t bring yourself to care as his tongue awkwardly swipes at yours again, earning a breathy sound from you that you’ve never made before.

It startles both you and him, and you pull away from the kiss once more, meeting his gaze.

“What was that?” he asks, the flush on his cheeks having deepened from the prolonged kiss.

You find you can’t look at his eyes anymore, your own gaze sliding away. You laugh awkwardly. “I don’t know.”

He kisses your jaw to gain your attention again, but your eyes stubbornly stay away. That is, until he says, “It was cute.”

Your gaze shoots back to his. “Yeah?”

“Kiss me again,” he asks, and there’s something new in his tone. A desire you’ve never really seen, or maybe it’s just manifesting differently this time around.

Maybe he can feel the sense of urgency in the moment. But he doesn’t question you, just welcomes your lips against his the moment you kiss him again, unable to resist the pull of his gravity.

His hands move down your back, and hesitantly, he grazes his fingers over the curve of your ass, barely even touching. You feel electrified, like lightning is coursing through your bloodstream, and you bite on his bottom lip.

He grunts. He grunts and you know that there is no way you’ll stop now. Not when you sit back on his lap, hands resting on his chest to hold you up. Even through his linen shirt, you feel his heart beating wildly, echoing your own. 

And right where you’re perched, you feel the hint of his arousal, matching the arousal that’s slowly warming up your core.

You’ve touched each other before. It was awkward, neither of you really knew what you were doing, and you’d stopped, too afraid to get caught, too afraid of the consequences. 

Tonight though? You want to feel his skin on yours, want his warm breath to mingle with your own while you lay with him. So you grab his tunic, pushing it up until it reveals a small sliver of pale skin on his lower stomach. You look at it, admire it as if it’s art, and then you meet Yoongi’s gaze again.

“Can you take this off?” you ask, fingers shaking even though your voice holds firm.

He nods, sitting up so that he can remove the shirt. It brings him close to your face, and you can’t resist but kiss him again, molding your lips to his like it was always meant to be.

But not anymore. 

You push the thought away, wanting to focus on Yoongi, on this moment with him. You want to commit it to memory, to remember every plane of his body as he finally, slowly takes his shirt off, revealing more of his sculpted frame.

Being a knight has its advantages. And they show in the powerful build of Yoongi’s body, even though he’s a little more on the lean side. You gently rest on your hands on his chest, before gently caressing down, reveling in the feel of his warm skin under your fingers and palms.

He watches you, lips slightly parted, until your fingers graze the hem of his pants. But then he stops you, grabbing your hands in his.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs when your eyes meet his. “You really want to do this?”

You nod, breathing out a soft, “Yes.” You nod again, though your cheeks burn. “Yes, I want it. All of it.”

He gulps, eyes darting to your lips before going back to your gaze. “Can I take your corset off?”

The question sends your heart into overdrive, yet you agree, guiding his hands to the knot at the top of the corset. You notice his fingers shaking as he slowly starts untying it, much like your own fingers are trembling, and you let out a small chuckle.

It’s unexpected, and a little awkward, yet it feels right in this moment with him. He laughs lightly as he struggles, a sound that makes you feel like you could soar in the sky beside the ravens and falcons of the Blackwood. 

Maybe, if you could fly, you’d never have to go to the Ironhold.

Again, you push the thought away to focus on Yoongi’s fingers as they struggle with the laces. He curses under his breath, which makes you chuckle again.

“Let me help,” you tell him, and he begrudgingly lets you take the lead, the tip of his ears red.

You’re much more efficient, and soon enough, you’re able to undo the lacing and take off the stupid garmetn, leaving you in just your linen tunic. Yoongi runs his hands up your sides, dragging the fabric of your shirt up, and your breath hitches in your throat when he slides his hands under the fabric.

His fingers leave a trail of goosebumps on your skin, and he brings his hands up until he’s able to grab your breasts, squeezing lightly. He grunts softly again, and you feel something twitch under your lap.

“Yoongi,” you breathe out.

He doesn’t look at you, just keeps staring at the spot where his hands cover your breasts, hidden beneath your shirt. You take that as a cue to pull the fabric off, and you throw it to the side, to meet his own shirt where it fell to the floor.

Yoongi stares at your chest, eyes slightly widened, cheeks flushed, and his breathing is quicker than usual, as if he’s been sparring for a while. It makes you feel powerful to know that you’re the one with this effect on him, and you smile down at him when he finally meets your gaze again.

“You really are so beautiful,” he says again, as if in awe. 

You blush at the compliment, leaning down so that you can kiss him again. To your surprise, his hands leave your breasts to rest flat on your back, and you almost screech when he spins you around, until he’s lying on top of you. 

As he’s hovering over you, Yoongi stares down at you, chest moving fast from his quick inhales and exhales. 

“Sorry, my lady,” he apologizes at the look on your face.

You chuckle shyly. “Wasn’t expecting it, that’s all.”

He pecks your cheek, smiling against your skin. “I like taking you by surprise. Doesn’t happen often.”

You melt for him. Like the last snow under the spring sun, you melt for him. Your hand grip his biceps as he looks down at your perked nipples, and you feel like molten ore as he then traces his lips along your neck, down down down until he reaches the top of your breast.

He kisses there, once, before going lower, flicking your nipple with his tongue. When your hands wrap around his shoulders, he does it again, a little harder.

“Yoongi…”

His lips close around your nipple, and he sucks hard. You squirm at the foreign sensation, and Yoongi quickly meets your gaze, apologies written in his gaze.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” you immediately reassure him. “It just feels… strange.”

He nods once, and then looks at your nipple, now shimmering with his saliva. “Do you want me to do it again?”

You grab his face, pulling him up to kiss you instead. He doesn’t resist, and he sighs against your mouth as you run your hands through his hair. 

Yoongi is gentle. He always has been, but tonight he’s even more so, taking his time to take off your pants once you part from the kiss. He realizes that you’re still wearing your boots when your pants are around your calves, and he curses under his breath as he unties them and slides them off, while you laugh awkwardly, hiding your face behind your hands.

When he finally manages to take all of your clothes off, you look at him from behind your fingers, admiring how his eyes darken as he looks down at your pussy. You instinctively want to hide, to close your thighs together, and he quickly says, “Don’t… it’s…” he clears his throat. “You’re so pretty.”

Your hands fall away from your face, and you hold his gaze longingly, hoping that tonight will never end. That somewhere along the line, you’ll be able to stop time, so that you can dwell in an eternity of lying here with him.

But fantasies like that are works of fiction, and you can’t alter time. So when he stands to take off his own clothes, you quickly sit on the edge of the bed, helping him with his belt even though your hands feel clumsier than they usually are. Maybe because of the nerves wracking through you–it’s hard to tell, and you frankly don’t care.

Because this is Yoongi. Your Yoongi. You want this to be with him, a memory to treasure forever once you’re gone.

A few seconds later, Yoongi is out of his clothes too, and you think your heart stops in your chest at the sight of him.

You’ve never seen him fully naked like this. You’ve touched him, hands sliding in his pants to wrap around his length while you kissed. But you’ve never seen him, standing proud and tall and leaking precum just inches from your face.

It’s sinful, and you look up to meet his gaze as you hesitantly wrap your fingers around his cock, pumping quickly.

He winces, grabbing your wrist to stop you. “Not so fast,” he tells you gently.

You slow down, biting your lower lip, and then your eyes fall down the pretty expanse of his body until you’re watching what you’re doing so that you can do it properly.

Or at least, what you assume is proper.

Yoongi grunts softly as you jerk him off, hips thrusting forward instinctively once in a while. Something wet is pooling between your legs, and all you can do is look at him, at the tip leaking with precum. He’s rock hard under your fingers, rigid veins and velvety soft skin, and it makes your heart race in your chest with every swift motion of your wrist.

“Stop,” Yoongi lets out, sounding out of breath. “Or I… I won’t be able to do more.”

You let go of him, hand sheepishly falling in your lap. Yoongi sits next to you, and he gently pulls you closer. This kiss is softer, slowly, born of the love between you and him.

He pushes you down until you’re lying on the bed again and climbs on top of you. You spread your legs for him, wrapping them around his waist, which leads to the head of his cock rubbing against your entrance.

You let out a soft moan that has him pull away. 

“Does it hurt?” he asks.

You laugh. “No, you’ve barely touched me yet.”

He seems conflicted for a while, brows furrowing. “Should I touch you first?”

“I don’t… know,” you admit.

You both exchange a look, and Yoongi quirks an eyebrow before finally deciding for the two of you, kneeling between your legs. His eyes drop to your pussy once more, and he hesitantly brings a hand to the apex of your thighs. You stiffen, waiting for his touch, and the moment one of his fingers slides between your folds, a volcano erupts inside of you.

He slowly pushes in, stopping at the first knuckle to gauge your reaction. When you don’t give any sign of discomfort, he finishes pushing in, until most of his finger is swallowed by you.

“It’s so tight,” he says, but there’s barely any lust behind it. Just curiosity, which makes you laugh. He chuckles, eyes crinkling at the corners as he watches you. And then he starts moving his finger again. “How does it feel?”

“Strange,” you admit. “Good?”

Though you say it like a question, he nods. And he keeps at it for a while, slowly fingering you. The sensation is new but not unpleasant, the slow drag of his finger against your walls, the slight arch of it as he pushes in and out. It makes you want more, and you blindly grope for his cock, though your hand falls short and lands on his thigh instead.

“Is something wrong?” he asks.

“I think I want you.”

He stops moving his finger, before pulling it out to return to his previous position. Suddenly bold, Yoongi holds the base of his cock so that he can rub it on your pussy, and his lips parted as he looks down at you.

You moan softly, and he watches you for a moment, never pushing in. Once again, he asks, “You’re sure?”

You nod. “Please.”

It doesn’t take him more to push in, slowly. It hurts, and your face contorts in pain, which makes him stop between your legs.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he says, about to pull out.

“No, it’s…” You wrap your legs so tight around him that he can’t move. “They say it’s supposed to hurt. At first.”

“Oh?”

You shrug. You’d heard the handmaids gossiping, and after a while, you’d just accepted it as fact.

He nods once, before gently caressing your thighs. “Let me know if it’s too much.”

“I promise,” you whisper.

And though it really does hurt, you don’t stop him as he finishes pushing all the way in, stilling when he’s fully sheathed within you. There, he stops, leaning down so that he can kiss you again, his tongue dancing languidly with yours. You hold him close, bask in the feel of the weight of him on you as his hand finds your hip, his thumb caressing circles into your skin.

It takes a moment, but the pain slowly lessens until it turns into a numb sensation that you can almost entirely ignore. You nod. “I’m ready.”

He moves from your mouth to your neck, and he says against your skin, “I don’t know what to do.”

You hold him tighter. “Just move. I want to feel you.”

He nods, and then he pulls almost all the way out, before pushing in again. It still hurts, but when he does it again the pain is less, and by the tenth time you barely feel it anymore. 

You kiss his shoulder, and Yoongi sighs, his lips ghosting on the side of your neck before he decides to suck on it, and the sensation makes you moan again, your arms tightening around you.

“Jagi…”

“Yoongi,” you breathe out like an echo.

“I don’t think I’ll be able to last long,” he admits. “You feel… like silk.”

You nod. “It’s okay.” You kiss his shoulder again, before adding, “Do you think you can go faster?”

He stops moving for a time, meeting your gaze. His dark eyes are filled with intensity, with lust, passion and love for you. He kisses you gently, thumb brushing against your cheek, and then he increases his rhythm. 

Your words seem to unleash him, because the second you let out a small moan again, Yoongi starts going even faster, and the sound of skin against skin fills the room. Even though it feels strange, you let him do it, keep holding him close, and soon enough, pleasure starts to vibrate in you, ignited by every deep thrust.

It’s a little rough, a little clumsy, but Yoongi’s pace doesn’t falter. He grunts in your ear, and you instinctively dig your nails in the skin of his back.

That’s when he loses it. He stills deep inside of you, moaning softly, and you feel his cock twitch as he releases. You hold him through his high, gently caressing his back even though he’s covered in a fine sheen of sweat–you don’t care about it. It’s him, and you think you love all of him. 

You breathe in and out, slowly, as he’s still deep inside of you. When he turns his head towards you, you kiss him deeply, trying to pour all the love in your heart into the act, trying to let him know that forever and always, he’s the one that you’ll love.

Eventually, the kiss ends, the need for breath overcomes it, and Yoongi lies next to you. When he pulls out of you, you feel his warm seed dripping out, and you blush at the feeling, at the dirtiness of it, though you don’t think there’s anything purer than what just happened between you and him. So you put your head on his chest, molding yourself into his side, content just to lay with him.

It’s quiet, your mingled breathing and the sound of his heart under your ear the only noises in the room. You try to concentrate on everything, to commit it to memory. The warmth of his body, the gentleness of his touch, the stillness of everything. It’s electric, the way his fingers slowly ghost up and down your bare arm. He presses the gentlest of kisses to the crown of your head, and you have to force yourself to stay here, in this moment.

You aren’t sure what prompts it, but his arm tightens around you. “What’s wrong?” he hums, tilting his head so that he can better see your face. “Are you okay?”

Until this moment, you’d been doing well, keeping yourself together as your world shatters around you. But the concern in Yoongi’s voice, it breaks you. You don’t respond to him, merely bury your face in the bare skin of his shoulder and try to stitch yourself back together somehow.

For the two years you’d been together, when you pictured your future, it was this–it was him. You’d loved Yoongi for as long as you’d known what love was. Probably longer. He’d been your best friend, your staunchest rival, your biggest supporter. You’d spent more nights than you’d care to admit sitting on one of the castle balconies and complaining to him about your brothers, and you’d listened as he’d lamented the rigidity of his father. Losing him, being forced to walk away, it feels a little like you’re losing a part of yourself. The part that feels safe, the part that feels loved, the part that could take on anything so long as he’s there with you.

He holds you close as you fall apart, the only thing keeping you from entirely shattering. He’s basically silent, and you can’t help but think that he must be so confused, which only serves to crush you more.

“I’m sorry,” you manage finally, wiping your tears.

“What’s wrong, jagi?” Yoongi asks softly. “You’re worrying me.”

You sigh. “I have been given an impossible choice.”

He hums sympathetically. “Whatever it is, we’ll get through it.” 

His confidence almost spirals you back off the edge you’ve barely clawed yourself away from. But instead of breaking again, you reach up to cup his face. In the silence, you study him, trying to memorize all of him–soft, round cheeks; button nose; dark, feline eyes. He’s handsome in a gentle sort of way. Skilled in swordplay, with a mind to match.

“Not this time, I don’t think.” Where to start? Because you should start. You owe him that, at least, after appearing at his door, bedding him, and then dissolving into tears almost immediately after. “That letter father got earlier? It came from the Ironhold. As it happens, our darling king is looking to find himself a wife.”

He blanches, a frown immediately replacing the concern on his face. “When?”

“Tomorrow.”

For the briefest of moments, he deflates, his head sinking deep into his silk and feather pillow. But then his arms snake firmly around you and he pulls you impossibly closer. He kisses the top of your head before nuzzling into your hair. You feel him breathe in deeply and hold it for a moment before he slowly exhales.

“I wish there was a way to get out of this,” you mumble into his chest. “But even your father said-”

“You don’t have to explain.”

“I love you,” you say desperately. You know he knows, but you need to say it. 

“We’ll get through it,” he says again. “Somehow.”

You don’t sleep. You’re pretty sure that Yoongi doesn’t either. You can’t bring yourself to miss a minute, so you lay there, skin on skin, listening to his breathing and watching the moon out the window. The night is slow, but not nearly slow enough, and eventually, the sky begins to lighten.

“I should go pack,” you mumble softly, snuggling into him more.

His arm tightens around you as he hums. “Want help?”

“You don’t have to.”

“No,” he agrees. “But I’m not ready to let you go just yet. And if that means I have to help you pack, then I help you pack.”

You sigh, resting your chin on his chest so that you can look at him. “I don’t even know how much I’m allowed to bring.”

“We’ll figure it out.” He sounds so confident, but looking at him, you can tell it’s a front. His eyes have lost the sparkle they normally have, and the smile he’s wearing doesn’t go beyond his lips.

You stall for a few more moments, but force yourself to get up. He helps you find your clothes and you dress quickly before sneaking out into the hall. It’s still early, almost no one should be up yet, but you have to pass both Seokjin and Namjoon’s rooms to get to your own, and Namjoon is known for keeping strange hours.

Thankfully, this is not the first time you’ve made this journey, and you know just how to move to avoid making noise. You manage to unlatch the door to your chambers with only the slightest of sounds, and you and Yoongi sneak in. He helps you light the wall sconces and a few candles, and as your room lights up, you sigh.

You suppose you should pack on the lighter side. The king’s letter hadn’t said… anything, really, about what awaits you in the Ironhold, but you suspect that whatever you bring won’t be good enough. 

Yoongi helps you fill a trunk with clothes. Or rather, he handles everything, barely letting you do any of it. He folds each garment carefully, like it’s made of glass, choosing his favorite garments like a sommelier chooses wine. You can’t read his expression, can’t tell what he’s thinking, but there’s a cloud over his eyes, and you know he’s lost in thought. 

You leave him to it, figure that maybe this is something he needs to do, and busy yourself with gathering other things you want to take. A few books. A figurine of a duck your father had bought for you for your birthday as a child. Your favorite blanket. A drawing that one of the artists in town had done of your family–your father, your step-mother, Seokjin, Namjoon, and you. There’s one of you and Yoongi, too, that you tuck into one of your more boring books.

You aren’t quite sure when it happens, but you look up, and suddenly, it’s light out. A knock at your door pulls you out of the trance of going through your belongings. Yoongi’s closer, and he reaches out to open it before you can even say anything.

It’s Seokjin.

He stands there, looking a little sheepish, clutching a burlap bag. You aren’t sure if he’s nervous because Yoongi opened the door, or if he’s nervous just being there in general. 

“Hey,” he says softly. “Do you–am I interrupting something?”

You exchange a quick look with Yoongi, and he shakes his head. “I’ll be back soon, yeah?” he says to you. And when you nod, he leaves you and Seokjin alone.

For a few brief moments, it’s quiet. Seokjin wanders silently and mindlessly around your room, looking at your desk, a shelf, your bedside table. But then he sighs, and a pained look crosses his face.

“What have we done to get here?” His voice is quiet, tentative, like he doesn’t want to talk too loudly.

You shrug helplessly. “I wish I knew.”

“There’s one good thing to come of it, I suppose.” He sighs once again, and this time, it’s dramatic. “Now you’ll finally have a reason to be a royal pain in the ass.”

In any other situation, you may have laughed. The two of you aren’t strangers by any means, but you’ve always been closer with Namjoon. Seokjin has always been far more interested in the artisans in the forest town than what goes on in the castle. You wouldn’t begrudge him anything, but you also annoy the everloving hell out of each other. 

True siblings, your father had once proudly declared. You hadn’t always been quite as confident as he was, but the fact that Seokjin is here now… well, maybe you’re closer than you’d thought.

“I uh…” he starts awkwardly, sweeping his bangs out of his eyes before rubbing his neck. “Got you something to take with you.” He lifts up the bag, gesturing with it slightly before handing it to you.

Confused, you take it. The handle of the bag is rough, the burlap tightly woven for strength even though the contents aren’t particularly heavy. Looking in the bag, you pull out a box that’s about the width and length of a book. It’s made of blackwood, the inky black surface polished into glass. There’s a seam that splits it in half, and two golden hinges on the left side. The front of the box is engraved, a gilded thistle stands resolute against the darkness. You slide open the latch on the side and open it. The box is empty, but there’s enough room to store things.

“It’s very pretty,” you tell him, closing the box gently and slipping the latch back into place.

Gently, Seokjin takes the box out of your hands, and with both thumbs, pushes the leaves on either side of the thistle stem. There’s a quiet sound of sliding wood, and when he opens the box again, a panel inside has been moved, and suddenly, there’s more room. He closes the lid, presses the flower of the thistle, and the sliding happens again.

He pushes the box back into your hands, his eyes not leaving yours. You have questions, but the intensity of his gaze says enough.

“How?” you ask finally. You doubt he just had this lying around.

He shrugs, shoving his hands into the pockets of his trousers. “I asked Haejeon to put a rush on it.”

You nod. Haejeon is one of the artisans in the forest town outside the castle walls. He makes games and trinkets. Your father has hired him many times to carve and build small ornaments out of blackwood, and he’s old enough to be your uncle, but when you were kids, he’d given Seokjin a puzzle box to play with, and ever since, your step-brother has been practically stuck to the man’s hip. Over the years, as Seokjin has gotten more and more interested in the creators and builders and artists, Haejeon has taken him under his wing in a way, offering guidance and friendship outside of the castle. 

“Thank him for me. Tell him it’s beautiful.” You hope to God you won’t have reason to use the secret compartment.

A noise outside the door draws your attention, and for a brief moment, Seokjin stares at the dark wood. But then he nods. “Probably Yoongi,” he says lightly. But when he smiles, it doesn’t reach his eyes. “I’ll let you kids get back to it.”

But when he opens the door, it’s Namjoon that’s standing there. He’s still in his nightshirt, and a pair of warm, woolen pants hang a little crooked on his muscular legs.

“I wasn’t sure if you’d be up,” he says from the doorway, looking completely past Seokjin. You motion for him to enter, but he shakes his head. “I don’t want to stay long, I’m sure you still have plenty to do.”

“Namjoon,” you scold, barely any bite in your tone. Easily, he gives in, taking a few tentative steps into the room.

“I brought you this.” He holds out a book in your direction.

It’s bound in plain leather, and is neither particularly large nor particularly small. The pages are old and yellowed. The front cover is entirely non-descript, the only real identifying feature to the outside simply the word ‘Lin’ stamped on the spine.

You open it, and immediately you recognize it as one of the handful of tomes from Castle Blackwood’s library that details your family history. Its handwritten pages go back thousands of years, back to when Seinal Lin first settled the Westerlands.

“I thought that maybe you’d want it. To tell them about us.”

He doesn’t have to say who he means. If this turns out the way most royal weddings do, you aren’t sure when you’ll see your family again. These people who have been your life and your heart for over two decades will more than likely be strangers to any children you may have. This history that Namjoon has given you is more than just a book. It’s a reminder of who you are. It’s a lifeline.

Suddenly, you feel like you’re breaking apart again, but you fight it off, pulling Namjoon into a tight hug. He makes a noise of surprise but after a second, his arms tighten around you. You stand there for a moment, unwilling to pull away, and soon, you feel another body press against your side. Seokjin’s arms wrap around you both, and now you couldn’t pull away, even if you wanted to. 

As quick as it came, the moment passes.

“We should let you get back to it,” Namjoon says softly, a hand still on your arm.

They both nod solemnly, and then, just like that, you’re alone.

The silence is unbearable, the soft crackling of the wall sconces deafening as you’re left alone with your thoughts. Thanks to Yoongi’s earlier efforts, your things are packed, so there isn’t much left to do. You pull out your desk chair and sit, picking up your quill and twirling it between your thumb and forefinger. Thoughts swirl in your mind, and you pick up a piece of parchment.

Once you start writing, you can’t stop, and the words flow out of you as quick as you can write them down. You’re mid-word when there’s a knock at your door, and you hurry to finish and sand the ink.

“Come in,” you call, blowing across the page to get rid of the sand and excess ink.

You have the parchment folded by the time the door opens. Your suspicions are confirmed when a dark head of hair pokes in. Yoongi. He enters slowly, almost silently, and sits on the edge of your bed, watching curiously as you hold a dark green wax stick, melting it with the flame of a candle. You press your seal into the warm wax, removing it quickly before it can stick. The thistle stamp glistens in the candlelight, the wax still soft. You leave it to dry and turn your attention to Yoongi.

His gaze follows your every move, dark eyes soft with fondness. You pretend not to see the redness and puffiness that accompanies it. Silently, he reaches out, catching your hand in his own to tug you toward him. His arms hook around your legs, keeping you close.

“Father asked me to tell you they’re close,” he says softly, a pained look crossing his face briefly. “Word was sent from the first guard post.”

You hum and nod, running your hands through his hair. He’s changed his clothes, but his hair’s still a little tousled from your earlier romp. There’s still some time–the first guard post is at the bottom of the mountain, where the forest is still a thin stand of trees–but suddenly, your heart is in your throat. It hadn’t felt real, not really, but now… You push his hair back off his forehead once again and swallow thickly in an attempt to hold yourself together.

“I love you.” It just kind of bubbles to the surface, quiet but necessary. 

He squeezes the back of your thigh, a soft, “I love you more,” on his lips. After another moment, he releases you. “You should change,” he says quietly, standing.

He’s almost to the door when you stop him. “Stay.” You aren’t sure why you say it, but he freezes in place. “Please,” you add. And, after a brief moment of consideration, he nods.

You dress quickly, pulling on a pair of trousers and a new tunic, barely checking to make sure they match. Yoongi helps you with your corset, his deft fingers having no trouble with the laces this time round. When he’s done, you pull him close, wrap your arms around him tightly.

You are determined to not let go of him until you have to.

“Hey,” he says softly, leaning back away from you ever so slightly. Your hands stay around his waist, but he brings his hands between you to tug at the ring on his littlest finger. Carefully, he pulls your hand away and places the ring in your palm, closing your fingers around it.

“What-?”

“Take this,” he says, squeezing your fist.

You inspect the ring. It’s funny, you’ve seen it before–you’ve played with his hands countless times, looked at it while it was on his finger–but it’s like this is the first time you’re actually seeing it. It’s silver, the flat face of it etched with a shield, a sword standing at attention in its center. On either side of the ring’s face, thistle flowers bloom along the band. 

“Yoongi,” you protest. You don’t want to take his signet ring. It’s the crest of the Min family, the ring serves as a seal to press into wax. He needs it.

He insists. “Keep it. Don’t wear it if you don’t want to, but I want you to have it. To remember.”

“As if I could forget.”

Yoongi smiles at that, a soft, somber smile that curves his lips but doesn’t meet his eyes. 

The quiet that settles is interrupted rather rudely by the door opening. A head of dark hair and Yoongi’s sharp eyes peer in at you. It’s Jaesung.

“Lord John asked me to fetch you both,” he says, and you can sense the anger barely concealed in his voice. “They’ll be here soon.”

Yoongi nods, but you can feel him let out a sigh. 

“Shall I grab your trunk?” Jaesung asks, gesturing to the now full case behind you. It’s probably heavy, but you nod anyway. You’ve seen him lift heavier before, and you trust him to know his limits. You pick up Seokjin’s box and press the leaves, slipping Yoongi’s ring into the compartment before shutting it back up and stashing the whole thing in your trunk.

Yoongi trails behind you, his fingers grasped loosely in your own as you slowly and begrudgingly make your way through the castle. The wall sconces have been extinguished and the shutters have been thrown open, bathing the stone hallways in morning light. Instead of taking the back stairs you did last night–the ones which go past Namjoon’s and Seokjin’s chambers down to Yoongi’s–you follow the plush carpet down the hall to the grand stairs. They curve around the main hall, criss-crossing from front to back.

You pause at the first landing, just above the grand entrance. Yoongi stops almost immediately, his head falling to one side in confusion.

“Take this,” you say softly, handing him the letter from earlier. 

“But-”

“Take it,” you insist, pressing it into his chest. “Don’t read it now. Give it a day or two. Please.”

Your eyes meet his, and silently, you plead with him. For a moment, he stands firm, his grip on your wrist tight. But then he relents, shoulders sagging, and nods. “Fine,” he says, taking the letter from your grasp and stuffing it into his pocket.

The heavy blackwood main doors of the castle are at least double your height, and they stand wide-open now. Your father and step-mother are in the courtyard, you can see them out by the centuries-old blackwood tree that stands sentinel in front of the castle. You’d spent many days of your childhood climbing its thick boughs, throwing seeds down to pelt Namjoon as he sat in the shade and read. Usually, the courtyard is bustling with people–from the castle, from the forest town, visitors–but now, aside from your father and step-mother, it’s completely empty.

“Stop pacing, love,” your step-mother says. She sits in a chair just to the left of the sentinel tree. She must not be feeling as well today. “You’ll make yourself sick.”

“I fear it’s too late for that, Sara, my dear” your father mumbles. And when he looks up, he sees you and Yoongi approaching. “Ah.” He outstretches an arm, beckoning you forward.

When you’re close enough, your step-mother grabs your free hand, enveloping it in her own. Her hands are cold, and there’s no real strength to her grip. Yoongi stands close behind you, his chest practically touching your back as you hold the gaze of your step-mother. 

“Brave girl,” she says softly. 

“The towers sent word ahead of time. The envoy is in a hurry to get back to the Ironhold,” your father tells you. He’s stopped his pacing and now stands beside your step-mother’s chair. “We wanted to have time to say goodbye.”

You frown. Already, the king is not making a good impression on you. Between the sudden letter and the incoming envoy that feels more like an abduction than a transport, you’re certain that this is the worst decision you’ve ever made in your life. And yet, as you look back and forth between your father and step-mother, as you hold Yoongi’s hand, you know it’s probably also–unfortunately–the right one. 

Your father comes forward, his big hands cupping your cheeks. “You are smart,” he tells you, voice low. “You are strong. You are kind. Give ‘em hell.” He kisses your forehead and lets you go, turning almost immediately and walking toward the castle entrance to watch the road. You don’t miss the glisten in his eyes.

Your step-mother pats your hand. “I don’t think he will ever let this go. The Ironhold may say they’re doing this for the good of our two families, but…” She sighs. “I fear they’ve made an enemy out of the west.” She meets your gaze again, honeyed dark eyes big and sad. “Don’t let them dull you.” 

Carefully, she reaches up and unpins a brooch from the front of her dress. It’s beautiful–you’ve admired it since you were a kid. A mother-of-pearl thistle blossom inset into an oval of ebony blackwood. She stands, a little unsteadily at first, and you reach out to help her gain her balance. Without looking up, she pins the brooch to your tunic, right over your heart.

You hear the hoofbeats before you see the envoy, the clattering of a carriage and several horses enough to draw anyone’s attention. Jaesung arrives just in time; he and Namjoon place your trunk just under the tree beside your step-mother’s chair. Like a spectre, Seokjin appears to your left. They all huddle closer when the first horse appears at the gates.

It’s not really that large of a traveling party–two men on horseback, a carriage with its driver, and a supply wagon–but the sight of it has your stomach churning all the same. You’re glad you didn’t take time for breakfast, or you might actually be sick. Yoongi presses closer, your entwined hands hidden behind your back.

One of the riders dismounts–you assume the steward–and approaches your father. They shake hands, and you can see the man’s gaze flick to you as they talk. Yoongi squeezes your hand. After a moment, they come closer. Your father’s face is grave, almost ashen, as he gestures for you.

The whole exchange is silent. You dare not look at Yoongi, too afraid that if you do, you’ll falter or worse. But as you step forward, he refuses to let go of your hand. Only until you’re physically too far away does he loosen his grip, and as soon as his fingers are out of your grasp, you miss him. 

Your trunk gets moved to the carriage. The steward shakes your father’s hand again. Namjoon hugs you. Seokjin kisses your forehead. You’re passed around your father and step-mother and Jaesung. You refuse to look at Yoongi. And then it’s over. And you have nothing left to do but get in the carriage.   

The inside of the carriage looks lavish, with soft velvet covering the bench and luxurious curtains covering the windows. But when you actually get in, the bench is hard, and the fabric over the windows leaves the carriage dark and confining. It’s impossible to see out, but you do your best, pulling the fabric away from the window and shoving your face against the wood of  the wall. 

They stand there, everyone you hold close, clumped together. The carriage jolts forward, and even though they can’t see you, you wave. Yoongi is the only one that lifts his hand, and you hold his gaze until the carriage enters the forest town and you can no longer see him. 

Your heart hurts, and somewhere, deep inside your soul, you feel something breaking.

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your support means a whole lot, especially now when I'm low on energy and time. grad school is hell, but I wanted to post this to give us both some joy. please let me know your thoughts. I hope to finish this sometime this century, so please look forward to the next two parts!

[hiraiologist]

keep you in my mouth (and hope to never take you out)

hirai momo x f!reader

9.4k words

synopsis: at first it’s a party. then it’s a study session. then it’s like you’re addicted to her, and you find yourself caught up in everything that is hirai momo.

tags/warnings: ambiguous location but college/university setting, alcohol, drugs, parties, mentions of throwing up, smut (strap, cunnilingus, overstimulation, begging), fluff!, light degradation (reader is referred to as whore and slut lul), friends to lovers, switch!momo ??? idk but momo’s the best girl :]

a/n: i haven’t written for fun in… over 5 years? not since i was in high school… so i'm extremely out of practice SORRY! i’ve definitely regressed (T_T) i wanted this to just be a quick way to get back into writing, so its not all that articulate or anything. i started this last thursday when i was off work bc i was sick and bored, and i was gonna post it over the weekend but then with seollal and going back to work, i kinda forgot about it. partially ib my own college experience :p i feel obligated to say don’t do drugs and don’t drink underage but…! title from flashing room by 2am club.

the resounding thump of the bass sinks into your skin, replacing the steady beat beneath your ribs.

you feel a body next to you—someone’s pushing past you across the room, their sweat smearing across your exposed forearm. it’s damp and uncomfortably cool, an off-putting and striking contrast to the heat of the crowd. you stop dancing and frown. you turn to your left, pinching a piece of your friend’s shirt between your fingers, wiping the sweat onto the dark fabric. chaeyoung stops moving to the music and swats your hand away.

“what are you doing?”

“someone touched me.” you wrinkle your nose. “it was sweaty.”

“so you wiped it on me instead?” the shorter girl glares up at you, though her eyes twinkle with mirth—or maybe it’s just the reflection from the led light strips on the walls. she pulls out her phone to check the time. “i need another drink before we go. c’mon, let’s go find tzuyu and dahyun.”

you shrug as the two of you link fingers and begin to find your way back to the makeshift bar for more drinks. you’re already drunk—yooyeon’s playing bartender tonight and you’ve been taking advantage of it as much as possible.

“ladies,” yooyeon greets as you approach her table. she spreads her hands over a few stacks of cups filled with red liquid. “what can i get you this time?”

the options are pretty limited. actually, there’s really only one option: a delightfully strong mixture of jungle juice made oh so lovingly by yooyeon and jiwon.

“you’re hilarious,” you say flatly as you roll your eyes at her. she just cackles and starts fixing up two new cups. “have i ever told you that you’re my favorite bartender?”

“that’ll break jiwon’s heart,” she replies with a laugh. “but i won’t tell if you won’t.” she holds out the drinks with both hands.

chaeyoung accepts one of the cups and takes a long swig. “hey, we’re actually probably heading out soon. going to a kickback with some friends,” she says to yooyeon. you take the other cup and swallow some of the jungle juice. it’s your third cup of the night, so maybe you’re just drunk, but it tastes divine. you’re pretty sure that, at the very least, it tastes better than the tequila shots you’d downed earlier with chaeyoung before leaving your apartment.

yooyeon pouts. “why?” she leans in towards the two of you. “don’t go. you guys practically just got here.”

you shake your head. “no can do. we promised jihyo we’d go to her place tonight.” on another night, you might stay, watch jiwon do a few lines in the bathroom, drink more alcohol until your vision starts to blur, maybe let yooyeon or jiwon—or both—put delicate hands up your shirt and leave bruises on your hips. tonight, though, you’re going to a kickback held by one of your closest friends, jihyo, and you’ll consume enough substances to ensure you wake up with your head pounding, mouth dry, body aching all over.

it’s going to be fun, you think to yourself. you chug some more jungle juice, finishing your cup more quickly than you’d intended. chaeyoung’s texting tzuyu, instructing her to meet you guys by yooyeon’s setup. as the alcohol sets into your bloodstream, your skin warms, a muted blush settling on your cheeks.

chaeyoung spots tzuyu and dahyun walking towards yooyeon’s table and waves them over. yooyeon pours two more drinks and offers them out to your friends as they approach.

“thanks yooyeon!” tzuyu happily tips her cup back into her mouth. dahyun does the same, though she only takes a small mouthful. you’re pretty sure she’s sober. you’ve been at the house for about an hour, but you know she’s only been occasionally stealing sips from everybody’s drinks instead of just getting one of her own. really, you’re a little grateful that she’s not drunk—you know that by the end of the night, most of you will be too inebriated to get home properly without help. dahyun’s always been a little less raucous than the rest of the girls, but it doesn’t seem to bother her. dahyun hands her barely-touched cup to you to finish and you flash her a playful grin with a wink.

“finish your drinks and we’ll go. i’ll go ahead and call an uber now,” dahyun directs while pulling out her phone. the rest of you nod and tap your cups together in a cheers. a few moments pass before dahyun slips her phone back into her pocket and announces, “okay, he’ll be here in… six minutes. jihyo said nayeon and mina are already there.”

yooyeon makes eye contact with you. “will you guys come back later?” her eyes are hopeful, bright—she’s more a puppy than a party girl. but you’d rather be with your other friends, so you just shoot her an apologetic expression.

“not tonight.” you shake your head. “but maybe we’ll see you later this weekend or something?”

before yooyeon can respond, you hear someone squeal from a few feet away. “guys! what are you doing here?” you all turn to find sana skipping towards your group, a huge smile on her face.

“sana!” the four of you yell simultaneously, pulling her into hugs with each of you. she’s beaming wildly. you didn’t know she was here; if you’d seen her earlier, you would’ve dragged her onto the dance floor and probably made her your drinking buddy. sana’s a little older than you and she’s infinitely cool. you’d met her at a party last year, where she’d pulled trig for chaeyoung after knowing her for about an hour. you’d all instantly fallen for her, and she was a welcome addition to your group. sana was confidence and optimism wrapped in sex on legs—but she was also undeniably cute, with her bubbly personality and squishy cheeks. she’d easily become one of your closest confidants, spending time with you every week, showering you with affection and giving you advice whenever you were struggling. her status as a social butterfly also meant that she has a lot of other friends, so your group of four—you, tzuyu, chaeyoung, and dahyun—had rapidly expanded to a group of ten, with sana bringing her best friend momo into the fold, then jihyo, mina, jeongyeon, and nayeon with them. but sana’s infinite list of friends turns her into a pretty busy girl, so when chaeyoung had invited her out with you all tonight, she’d politely declined, stating her previously-arranged plans with momo and jeongyeon.

“i thought you were hanging out with jeongyeon and momo?” you look at sana in excitement.

“i am! well, jeongyeon had to go home early because she’s got a test tomorrow morning, but momo’s here. she’s talking to yoona right now.” sana points a few feet away at momo, engrossed in conversation with another girl you vaguely recognize. “wait, this is great! we can all hang out!”

“actually,” tzuyu interjects, “we’re leaving right now. but we’re heading to jihyo’s! nayeon and mina are there right now. will you come with us?”

“i’m down, but let me ask momo.” she giggles before bounding towards the older girl. she taps the girl on the shoulder and yoona offers them both a wave, walking off to find her friends in another room. sana starts to talk to momo; after a moment, she points over at your group and momo turns to glance at you all. her gaze seems to drag over you slowly. then she looks back at sana and says something, prompting sana to grin and tug at her arm, dragging the girl towards you. dahyun, chaeyoung, and tzuyu all give her a quick hug and big smiles.

momo pulls you into a hug last, her firm arms wrapped around you tightly as sana exclaims, “momo said she’s down to go to jihyo’s!”

“we should probably head outside, then,” dahyun suggests. “it would suck if we missed our uber.” you all nod and start to find your way to the door. you quickly turn towards yooyeon and send her a wave. the girl perks up and shoots you a smile before you turn back around and follow chaeyoung out the house to the front.

you all stand outside, chatting idly amongst yourselves as dahyun watches for the right car to pull up. eventually, she spots what must be your uber and walks up to the vehicle, waving at the driver as they roll down their window. the rest of you trail behind her.

“for dahyun?” when the driver nods, she continues, “uh, so we have six people, actually. is that okay?” dahyun smiles sheepishly at the uber driver and bites her lip. he looks at you all warily and sighs.

“yeah, sure. it’s not like we’re going very far, i guess.”

tzuyu climbs into the passenger seat while chaeyoung scoots into the middle seat in the back. dahyun takes the seat to the right of chaeyoung, with sana climbing into her lap naturally. you quickly realize your predicament as the rest of the girls settle into the uber. you turn to momo and say, “you can sit on me. if that’s okay.”

the girl’s cheeks instantly turn the prettiest shade of pink you’ve ever seen. “oh! um, okay. sure. thanks.”

you open the door on the left and climb into the last seat. once you’re seated, you look back at momo and smile. she quickly gets in, sitting awkwardly on your lap. you reach for the door handle with one hand, close the door, then snake your hand around the girl’s waist, pulling her towards you more tightly. she squeaks a little, but shifts her body more to settle comfortably against you. your uber driver eyes you all in the backseat with a tired expression before driving off slowly.

“this top looks really good on you, by the way,” you say, lips twitching into a small grin. you play a little with the ends of her hair before dropping your fingers to brush along her shirt. she stares at the floor.

“thanks,” she replies quietly. her cheeks are red when she looks up and her eyes dart away when she notices you’re looking at her face.

the rest of the ride is filled by your friends’ conversations and your driver’s playlist coming low through the speakers of the car, your fingers rubbing circles into momo’s hip soothingly as you feel her take quiet, even breaths. you’re almost disappointed when the uber stops in front of jihyo’s apartment.

when you arrive at jihyo’s door, jihyo welcomes you all with a hug and ushers you inside. she leads you to the kitchen, where nayeon and mina are chatting next to the table covered with an array of drinks. you greet nayeon and mina with hugs as well, chatting with them for a minute before you decide to make a few cherry bombs for everyone. the girls seem to have found their spots in the apartment: tzuyu, dahyun, and chaeyoung are sitting on the floor in jihyo’s living room while sana and momo fumble with jihyo’s speaker system, squabbling over jihyo’s phone to try to queue up a few more songs. nayeon, jihyo, and mina continue to chat while they watch you in the kitchen as you mix cherry vodka with redbull. when you’ve prepared a few shot glasses, you offer them to nayeon and jihyo, knowing mina won’t be drinking. you all quickly down your shots and nayeon and jihyo excuse themselves to go find a game to play, leaving you in the kitchen with mina. she offers to take two of the shots over to sana and momo, and you agree. you grab the remaining three shots, find dahyun, chaeyoung, and tzuyu in the living room, and watch as they knock back their cherry bombs.

you plop down on the floor next to chaeyoung, letting out an excited giggle when she produces a small tin from her pocket and pulls out a perfectly rolled joint. as she lights it and begins to take a hit, you look towards the speaker where you spot sana and momo laughing with mina. you observe them for a moment before you feel chaeyoung tapping at your shoulder, offering you the joint. you take a hit and hand it back to chaeyoung. dahyun and tzuyu get up; you vaguely register them saying something about finding some ping pong balls. you and chaeyoung chat quietly, asking “would you rather” questions, passing the joint back and forth until eventually it’s reduced to nothing and you’re forced to stub it out. by now, the combination of the weed and alcohol has you feeling light and slightly dizzy, but it’s pleasant and you’re smiling a little dopily. chaeyoung pulls you up with her when she sees tzuyu across the room, setting up a table to play beer pong.

“tzu! i wanna play!” chaeyoung exclaims happily. “can i play?”

“sure,” the taller girl agrees easily. “you can be my partner. y/n, wanna play?”

“wait, who else is playing?”

tzuyu shrugs. “go find someone!” you glance around; mina’s sitting on the couch with dahyun, both tapping away at their phones. nayeon and jihyo are sitting at the table in the kitchen, already playing some kind of card game. you start to walk off to look for sana and momo and tzuyu calls after you, “oh, get sana! she needs to get on our level!”

you find sana in the kitchen with momo. you quickly grab another cup, mixing vodka with soda haphazardly, taking a big gulp as you bound up to sana. “i’m drunk,” you state the obvious with a giggle. “and you need to catch up! let’s play beer pong with chae and tzuyu!” you point your cup towards sana, who giggles back at you, takes the cup, shares a look with momo.

“thanks, y/n!” she hums as she sips at the drink. “actually, i think you might regret recruiting me for beer pong.” she winks at you and hands your cup to momo, who tilts her head at you for approval. you nod quickly and she takes a long drink before handing the cup back to you. “but momo would love to be your partner tonight!”

you beam at the other girl hopefully. “would you really? please?” momo looks at you with wide eyes, seemingly caught off guard. she sneaks a glance at sana, who just bats her eyes innocently.

“oh, sure,” she agrees quickly. “i’m down.” you cheer as you grab her hand and guide her towards the table where chaeyoung and tzuyu are setting up the cups and pouring beer into each one. you chug a bit more of your drink, which has dwindled down to just a few more mouthfuls. you offer the rest to momo, then pout when you realize you don’t have anything else to drink, making sana laugh from behind you. she walks back to the kitchen as you and momo take your places at one end of the table, chaeyoung and tzuyu at the other. it’s decided that you and momo will go first. momo gestures at you to go ahead, and you grab one of the ping pong balls and eye the pyramid of cups across from you.

before you can toss the ball, sana returns with two new drinks, places one on the small table by the couch. she points at it and says, “that’s for you, y/n. when you’re done playing.” she takes a sip from the other drink still in her hand.

“thanks.” you nod at her words, focusing intently on your form. you decide to just go for it, casually arching the ball forward, watching as it sinks cleanly into one of the cups in front of tzuyu. “yes!” 

momo whoops. “nice.” she offers her hand out for a high-five. tzuyu takes the cup, removes the ball, drinks the beer. momo quickly finishes off the drink you’d given her, adding it to the cup tzuyu drank to start a stack on the side, then moves to take her shot. she hesitates for quite a while before eventually throwing the ball. it bounces off the side of one cup, but falls into the one next to it. you cheer loudly as momo’s eyes widen and she turns to face you, a giddy expression on her face. you sneak a quick peck on her cheek, delight in the way the skin pinkens immediately as momo looks at you bashfully. chaeyoung takes the cup out, removing the ball before downing the contents inside. she boos half-heartedly but she’s smiling as she hands both ping pong balls back to you.

you immediately toss one across the table. it bounces off a cup and drops onto the table. you pout. “ugh. got too cocky. redeem us, momo!” but momo misses her shot, too, so you hand the balls to chaeyoung and tzuyu.

tzuyu tosses her ball quickly and it immediately falls into a cup in front of you. you grab the cup, take the ball out, drink the beer, add the cup to the stack. chaeyoung takes her position, squinting momentarily across the table before shooting the ball, landing it in a cup next to momo. the older girl grabs the cup, takes the ball out and hands it back to chaeyoung before tossing the beer back into her mouth. a droplet of beer shines at the corner of her mouth. without thinking, you lean forward and wipe at it with your finger before popping it into your mouth to clean it off. momo stares at you, but you don’t seem to notice. tzuyu and chaeyoung take their shots again. tzuyu lands her ball in a cup—momo drinks it quickly—but chaeyoung misses hers. they hand the balls back to you and momo. you arc one ball perfectly into a cup. momo’s turn is kind of disastrous; she throws the ball towards the cups, but it ends up smacking chaeyoung in the tit.

“sorry!” momo squeaks. chaeyoung just laughs and waves her off. the game keeps going, but it quickly becomes obvious that chaeyoung and tzuyu are going to win. you only land your ball into the cups two more times, and momo misses every shot she takes, looking all the more distracted as each round passes. eventually, you and momo lose pretty spectacularly. jihyo and nayeon push you both out of the way to take on chaeyoung and tzuyu.

disgruntled, you grab the drink sana made for you and take a gulp. “i can’t believe we lost!” you wail as momo follows you to the kitchen.

momo shrugs. “we’ll get ’em next time,” she promises, wrapping her arms around you from behind. you settle against her with a sigh.

“you’re so…” you gesture a little vaguely at her body, “comfy?” you finish, pulling momo’s arms around you even tighter. “like, you’re firm. you have really nice muscles and... you know. but you’re super cozy.” she hums in your ear as you lift your cup to your lips again.

“thanks,” she laughs. “i mean, i eat a lot. but i work out a lot too.”

“oh, i’ve noticed. your body always looks so good,” you continue absentmindedly before you pull away from her to look her in the eyes, slightly embarrassed. “i—it’s not like i stare. i just mean i wish i had your athleticism, you know? i don’t really know how to work out, and i don’t have a whole lot of stamina.” that causes momo’s mouth to twitch into a subtle smirk and you flush. your tongue suddenly feels very dry, and you’re not exactly sure it’s cotton mouth.

“well, maybe i could help you with that,” momo quips before she steals a bit of your drink and starts to move to the music blaring from jihyo’s speaker, and it pushes you to dance as well. after a song or two, momo’s hands make their way around your waist and you let your arms wrap around her neck, your cup dangling over her shoulder. it registers in your mind that you like this—like momo pressed against your body, like big brown eyes twinkling as she grins at you, like momo’s laugh vibrating against your chest. you smile at her as you dance together, your friends jumping and singing along to the music around you as they toss ping pong balls at each other.

everyone else seems to be preoccupied, not paying any attention to you and momo. you hardly realize that momo’s been guiding you towards the bathroom until she pushes the door open, closes it behind you, shoves you against the wall. her eyes bore into yours, looking for your approval before she leans in to kiss you. you close the distance, bringing a hand up to cradle her jaw. it feels incredibly intimate as she runs a hand from your neck down your side, eventually resting it on your hip. you continue to kiss her softly, sighing into her mouth as she lets out quiet hums of approval. after a while, she licks into your mouth, nips at your bottom lip, and you gasp as things begin to progress quickly from there.

her teeth tug at the skin of your throat. you try to suppress a moan, but it rips out of your mouth before you can stop it, and momo laughs, kisses you again. “maybe,” she breathes against your lips, “we should get out of here.” you nod enthusiastically, connect your lips again, savor the taste of her peach chapstick. you follow her out of the bathroom. you go to the front door, grabbing your belongings while momo walks up to the rest of the girls, all still either dancing or playing beer pong, says to them, “i think y/n isn’t feeling great. maybe she drank too much? and i’m kind of tired anyway, so i’m gonna take her home. we’ll see you later.” she leans in to whisper something privately to sana, who squeals and shoves momo’s shoulder. then sana waves you both off, turning back to cheer jihyo on as she tosses a ping pong ball into a cup.

and then you’re out the door, stumbling as you walk the few short minutes to momo’s place, giggling as momo pulls you into her arms every few steps to kiss you exuberantly.

you’ve never actually been to momo’s apartment, you realize. it’s nice; it’s relatively simple, a comfortable lived-in vibe filling the space. in the back of your mind, behind the haze of tequila shots, jungle juice, cherry bombs, beer, and weed, you remember that this isn’t just momo’s apartment—this is also sana and nayeon’s new apartment, the three having just moved in together recently.

you follow momo to one of the rooms, presumably hers. as she punches the numbers into her keypad, you take a moment to check your phone. you have a text from chaeyoung.

text me when you get home please, it reads.

not sure when i’ll be home but i’m okay! i’m at momo’s, you respond before following momo through the door.

quietly, you take a moment to observe momo’s room. it’s cozy, photos adorning the walls along with a bunch of figurines momo must like. there are a few drawings hung on the walls, too, and if you lean in, you can see on each of them a signature that looks kind of like momo’s name.

before you can get a closer look, though, momo’s running her fingers down your arm, pressing feather-light kisses against the back of your neck and your shoulders. you turn and wrap your arms around her neck, pulling her into a proper kiss as she settles her hands along your waist. she kisses you with vigor, smiling as you respond just as fervently. she pushes you lightly, the backs of your knees hitting her mattress, making you fall backwards onto the bed. she makes quick work of your clothes, pulling your top and pants off as she kisses down your skin. momo takes her shirt off and you stare at her muscular arms and abs in reverence. your jaw drops when she pulls off her bra next; her boobs are actually perfect. it’s like she’s not even real. she smirks as she pulls her pants down her legs and kicks them to the floor, shaking you from your daze. then she crawls back on top of you, leaves another hickey on your chest, strokes your hair.

“if you wanna stop at any point, just tell me.” her voice is gentle but insistent, and you nod.

“same here,” you respond, and she sends you a little smile that’s entirely too cute for her own good.

she undoes the clasp of your bra, throws it somewhere to the side and momo descends immediately, full lips around your nipple, sucking hard and assertive, the other one rolled between two fingers. after you begin panting, she switches sides, makes sure to pay attention to both of your breasts as you let out lewd moans and sighs.

you lose yourself like that for a while as she pleasures your tits before eventually she removes her mouth from your chest, shifts up a little, grinds down on your thigh—you can feel the heat from between her legs, the soaked fabric of her panties pressing down onto your skin. you let out a whine.

“you sound so pretty for me, baby,” momo breathes into your collarbone. she sucks a dark hickey at the base of your throat. you moan again, the sound vibrating against momo’s lips. you let your hand drift down towards her clothed core, rubbing circles against the wet spot on her panties. she lets out a whimper, and you push her a little so she sits up. you easily pull her panties off, let them fall to the floor. you use your fingers to tease at her folds, coating them in her slick. you start to rub circles on her clit and she lets out a series of breathy, high-pitched whines. you keep going like that for a while, momo pulling you down to make out with her as you stimulate her clit. soon, momo’s body is shaking. “i need your fingers in me, y/n,” she chokes out. 

you hum. “ask me nicely.”

“please, y/n. please fuck me with your fingers.” you lick your lips and nod.

you start by easing one finger inside her, thrusting in and out until she’s whimpering softly. then, you add another finger, curling them both upwards as you sink them into her pussy, caressing her g-spot. momo groans, low and sensual, as you start to fuck into her with your fingers. with each thrust, your palm makes contact with her clit, and eventually her head starts to loll back, loud moans rising out of her mouth.

you think you could get addicted to this—her sounds, her heat, her pleasure. it’s enough to get you dripping.

“i’m gonna cum,” momo gasps out. “oh, fuck—i’m—”

you nearly cum when her orgasm takes over, grunts and whines falling from her lips as she shudders and gushes onto your fingers. you slow down, rub at her clit gently a few times before eventually pulling your fingers out. you shove them into momo’s mouth. “suck,” you command, and she does so immediately, tongue flicking around your digits. “good girl.” you take your fingers out and immediately pull her into a kiss, licking into her mouth and tasting her cum on her tongue, sweet and tangy and a little salty.

yeah, you could definitely get addicted to this.

for a while, you kiss her like that, her heavy breathing eventually evening out as she recovers from her climax. slowly, momo slides her hand downwards, stopping at the edge of your panties. she circles the hem of your underwear, presses a kiss into your neck again. your breath catches in your throat. you’re positively soaked. momo moves down, settles between your thighs. she kisses at the wetness on your panties, reaches up, pulls them down your legs, over your thighs, tosses them away from the bed. she kisses your clit and you whimper. you look down and oh—she makes eye contact with you, smirks, licks into your slit, collecting your slick on her warm tongue.

momo sucks at your clit just as unrelentingly as she had your nipple, and you’ve always been so sensitive. you’re moaning, breath ragged, body shaking as momo licks at your cunt.

you’re so drenched, momo easily slips two fingers in and starts pumping them in and out. the feeling of her fingers curling into your g-spot makes you gasp, and she keeps darting her tongue against your clit, licking against your labia, spreading your wetness around her mouth. you moan loudly and your hands fall to grip at her head, grasping into her hair.

you let out a strangled, “oh fuck, momo, oh my god—” as her fingers fuck into you, tongue licking broadly against your folds and flicking against your clit. her lips wrap around your bud and she sucks, the sensation sending you over the edge. “momo, i’m gonna cum, ’m gonna—fuck—”

your body goes slack as you cum powerfully, momo still lapping at your folds, sucking around your clit and thrusting her fingers into you. eventually, she pulls away, lets you lay there as you recover, brushes your hair out of your face. she gets up off the bed and says, “be right back.” then she’s rummaging through her drawers as you close your eyes, trying to catch your breath.

you notice her shadow looming over you when she returns. “so,” momo breathes out, tugging at your hair. you let out a whimper. “i have something else i’d like to try with you, if you’re up for it?” you open your eyes and look at her, see the harness and pink silicone dildo in her hands. instantly, you sit up and surge towards her, kissing her desperately. she pulls away with a laugh and says, “i’ll take that as a yes, then.”

before you know it, you’re face down on the bed, on your hands and knees, elbows resting on her pillow, back arched and legs spread. momo runs her hands down your back as you shiver, grips your left hip, uses her other hand to rub the tip of the shaft along your dripping slit. she teases you leisurely and you quickly begin to grow impatient. you whine pathetically, “more. i need all of you. please, momo.”

momo’s mouth quirks up in satisfaction. “you’re a greedy little whore, huh?” but she complies, places the head against your pussy, pushes the tip in, doesn’t wait for you to adjust and slides the length all the way into you in one movement. you grasp tightly at the sheets beneath you, letting out a low moan. momo slowly pulls out, looks smug at the slickness spread along the strap, pushes back inside you with a giggle. she pulls out again, repeats the action, thrusting harder and quicker each time, hands gripping your ass firmly. she’s found a good rhythm and she lets out a deep groan. you feel yourself clench at the sound, thighs quivering as pleasure surges throughout you.

she continues to fuck into you deeply until eventually your arms begin to give out; she slows momentarily, pulls out completely, grabs your hips and flips you over so you’re on your back, staring up at her. she lines up the dildo against your cunt again, buries the shaft in you, but she doesn’t move. instead, she smirks down at you as you begin to whimper desperately.

“what is it, baby? use your words.”

“momo,” you gasp out, “please move, please.”

she tilts her head. you’re squirming, trying to fuck yourself on her dick, but momo’s strong, holding you in place, preventing you from finding your own pleasure. “beg properly,” she drawls, “and maybe i’ll think about it.”

“will you please move, momo? i’ll do anything, baby, please, i need your cock so bad,” you cry. “please fuck me, please i’ll be such a good slut for you, momo, just please move, please.”

“how cute,” she coos before she starts fucking you at the same pace as before, hitting hard and deep inside you every time. you’re gasping and grunting each time she thrusts, her round eyes shining in amusement as she stares down at you. you eventually break eye contact when you glance at her body.

the sight of momo’s toned abs and round tits glistening with a thin layer of sweat nearly makes you lose your mind, and you claw desperately at her arms. she starts rubbing at your clit with one hand, the other holding you down securely by your waist. the combined stimulation sends you into overdrive, and your breath hitches, vision begins to blur, body shakes frantically with momo’s name falling from your lips repeatedly as your orgasm ripples through every part of you.

as you come down from your high, momo slips out of you, making you exhale sharply as you adjust to the loss. you feel completely wrecked, pussy raw and sore from the intensity of momo’s actions. she quickly leaves to bring you some towels and a glass of water. she returns with a soft expression; the two of you lay together as she gently, carefully wipes you down. you sip at your water gratefully, finishing the entire glass, but you can feel fatigue engulfing your body. she practically carries you to the bathroom, where she lends you a spare toothbrush and leaves you to use the toilet. when you’re finished, she really does pick you up this time, setting you gently on her bed, pulling the sheets up over your body. you barely manage to whisper out a “thank you” before you’re passed out, surrounded by momo’s scent and breathing peacefully. momo just smiles, tucks your hair behind your ear, presses a soft kiss against your forehead. as you fall into a deep slumber, she gets up, folds your clothes and puts them in a tote bag, finds your phone. noticing your almost-dead battery, she plugs it into a spare charger. then she crawls into bed next to you, turns off her light, and falls asleep to the soothing rise and fall of your chest next to her.

you roll over, eyes sticky with exhaustion and haziness. your body aches, and you reach a heavy hand out to find your phone. you feel around for a few moments before your phone is pushed gently into your hand. startled, you blink a few times and sit up.

momo lays next to you, body half-covered by the sheets, lips cut into a smirk. “good morning,” she husks quietly. “sleep well?” you stare at her for a moment. you’re aware that you’re both still naked, and you try not to think about her flawless chest and delicious abs.

“uh, good morning. yes. yeah. uh, i… i did. did you?” your brain feels all jumbled and looking at momo doesn’t seem to help.

“sure did,” she drawls with a grin, all teeth and rosy cheeks. “your phone’s being blowing up all morning, by the way.” you look down at the device and unlock the screen. your notifications are flooded with missed calls and texts from your friends—sana and chaeyoung’s names seem to take up the majority of them. noticing the time, your eyes widen comically.

“holy shit,” you breathe, head snapping up to look at momo. “uh… fuck. i am so sorry.”

her head tilts, adorably confused. “what for?” she shifts forward, reaching for your torso. she tugs at you a little until she’s snuggled against your body, burying her head into your side and wrapping an arm around your midsection.

“uh.” it seems to be your favorite word this morning. “for staying here so long? i didn’t mean to fall asleep here, i swear.” momo just laughs softly and closes her eyes.

“i don’t mind,” she sighs into your skin. your heart starts to beat a little faster.

“are you sure?”

she hums. “yeah. i even made breakfast, if you’re ready to eat. i wouldn’t have done that if i weren’t okay with you staying here.” her tone is teasing, but you can feel the sincerity in her voice. it makes you blush.

you squeak, “you made breakfast?”

“mm,” she responds. “just before you woke up. should still be warm. you still like waffles, yeah?”

“uh,” you repeat. you mentally kick yourself—where is your eloquence? “waffles are… good. hey, is sana here? and nayeon?”

her lips twitch. “would i have made breakfast naked if they were?” you turn bright red. “nayeon decided to head over to jeongyeon’s last night,” momo continues, “and dahyun took sana home with her and tzuyu. neither of them will be back until later.”

“oh, okay,” you exhale. “right. so, uh…” you don’t quite know how to say the words.

“hey, if you’re worried about this ruining our friendship,” momo starts, fiddling with her fingers, “we don’t have to make it anything more than just a hookup. we don’t even have to mention it again, if you’d like. i don’t mind. it’s your call.”

instantly, you flush, embarrassed that she’s read you so easily. “i’m sorry,” you say quickly. “it’s just—last night was incredible, beyond incredible, and you were so good, really, but i just don’t want this to make things weird between us. you’re one of my best friends and i like being with you, you know?” stop talking, you think. momo raises an eyebrow and you can’t help but continue, “not like that—or, well, maybe like that, if that’s something you want, because i definitely wouldn’t be opposed.” oh my god, stop! talking! your cheeks are hot and you look down at the floor.

momo lets out a laugh and reaches for your hand, prompting you to look back up at her. “y/n, it’s okay. i’m not, like, offended or anything. i totally get it. i’d never want to jeopardize our friendship, either. but it doesn’t have to make things weird. because i also like being with you, whether it ends like it did last night or not. no pressure. we don’t have to do anything you don’t want. we can just go with the flow.” she sends you a comforting smile. “how about we eat breakfast now? before it goes cold.”

“sure,” you agree, “but i might need help walking over there.”

momo’s proud smirk that follows replays in your mind even weeks later.

when you’d come home the day after jihyo’s kickback, chaeyoung had asked about your sleepover at momo’s, but she didn’t seem to think much of it. miraculously, none of the girls had noticed the array of hickeys that momo had left all over your body, or wondered why you’d spent the rest of the weekend entirely in bed, only moving to get ready.

before you’d left her apartment that day, you’d mustered up the courage to lean in to kiss her, and momo had closed the distance before saying goodbye sweetly. you’d given in and texted momo not even two hours later, and ever since then, you’ve been chatting back and forth with the older girl, messages flirtier than they’ve ever been, tension accumulating as the weeks go by. you see momo a lot when you hang out with your friends, and nobody seems to think anything of it when she intertwines her fingers with yours or pulls you into frequent hugs, hands gripping at your waist. you hang out with her alone, too, though it’s all been completely friendly so far, with only your texts to insinuate there might be something else between you. you won’t say it to her, but you really wouldn’t mind if she just kissed you sometimes, or edged you in the bathroom during lunch, maybe.

on one morning, between classes, you go for coffee with her and sana—invitation extended by momo followed by a mouthwatering mirror pic of her, post-workout, abs gleaning with sweat and thumb hooked into the front of her joggers, along with the message working on my stamina. needless to say, you’d nearly forgotten about the coffee entirely.

“you guys seem to have gotten really close recently,” sana remarks as momo goes to pick up your orders. the two of you sit at a table, observing the oldest girl as she thanks the barista and starts to carry the tray back over to you.

“well, we were close before,” you say, trying to not sound too affected. “but i guess we have been hanging out a lot more recently.” momo takes her seat then, passing out your drinks and pastries. sana just hums and fails to hide a smile behind her cold brew. you cough.

before you head to your next class, sana pulls you aside as momo’s tossing away your trash. “just so you know,” she whispers, “i think you should go for it. if you like her, i mean. you’re totally momo’s type.”

before you can respond, momo’s standing in front of you, doe eyes sparkling as she swings her bag over her shoulder. sana winks at you.

you bid them both goodbye and make your way to class. it’s kind of funny—the entire time, all you can think about is sana saying you’re totally momo’s type. you try to ignore how the thought sets your skin on fire.

you have statistics class with tzuyu, jihyo, and momo every tuesday and thursday at 10 a.m.

only now, you start to notice momo—she always sits at the end of the row next to tzuyu, while you sit in between tzuyu and jihyo. momo’s quietly immersed in her phone most of the time. she doesn’t really take notes, or even listen to your professor. in fact, whenever your eyes find her, she’s always staring into space or typing something on her phone. sometimes you catch her with her notebook open and pencil scrawling something across the pages, but you can see she’s just doodling. you wonder what her grade is. after all, you spend half your time in this class playing games and texting with tzuyu, and the both of you are barely clinging to a low B as it is. jihyo, on the other hand, is always focused—her hard-earned A is the reflection of her determination and work ethic.

you subtly begin to switch seats with tzuyu so you can sit next to momo. tzuyu doesn’t really seem to notice or care, but one day, after a couple weeks, jihyo asks you about it as you slide into a seat, five minutes early for class.

“why are you sitting there?”

“huh?” you say smartly, pulling out your notebook and pencil. jihyo does the same, but she gives you a look.

“tzuyu usually sits next to momo. what, you don’t like sitting next to me anymore?”

“oh! no, that’s not it. uh, i guess i just didn’t notice.” you hope it comes out as casual as possible. jihyo gives you another look, which you ignore, and pulls out her stuff, settling into her seat.

“momo! hey!” at jihyo’s words, you nearly break your neck looking up so quickly. jihyo tries to stifle a guffaw.

“hey jihyo.” momo glances towards you and her eyes sparkle more brightly. “hi, y/n.”

“hi momo,” you reply breathlessly. again, you pay no mind to the giant grin jihyo’s sending your way.

momo drops into the seat next to you, scoots a little closer to you, her leg brushing against yours. your breath falters slightly. jihyo suppresses a cackle; you ignore her resolutely. “are you guys ready for the test next week?”

“wait, there’s a test next week?” you squeak.

“hey, you should’ve been paying attention.” jihyo tsks. “i invited you the other day to come to my study session. at least tzuyu actually showed up.”

“well, we can still study until the test,” momo offers. she glances at you. “y/n, what do you think?”

“oh, uh.” you look at momo. “sure. i could use the extra help. i mean, tzuyu and i…” you peek over at jihyo sheepishly. “well, yeah. i could use the extra help.” momo lets out a laugh and you blush.

jihyo rolls her eyes. “oh, now you want to study together? hey, you missed your chance.”

you wince. “sorry about that again. it’s just… well, i just didn’t feel like studying.” momo can’t help but giggle again at that. secretly, you’re preening inside at the sound.

“you can study with me.” momo leans closer to you. you stare at her, brain faltering at her close proximity. “i might not be a genius like jihyo, but i’m good. good enough to have an A, at least.”

you’re about to respond when tzuyu hurls herself into the seat between you and jihyo. “hey guys! did i miss anything?”

“hey tzuyu.” momo looks at her. “no, not yet. we were just saying we should study together again before the unit test, maybe next week?” you all agree and begin to make plans, but quickly quiet down when you notice the professor walk in.

the entire lecture, all you can focus on is momo—momo’s leg, pressed against your own—momo’s fingers, tapping every so often along the desk—momo’s perfume, something sweet and citrusy and a little powdery—momo’s jawline, sharp and gorgeous—momo’s eyes, huge and twinkling—

you don’t even notice when class ends, only registering it when momo’s standing up to leave, waggling her fingers teasingly at you as she exits the hall. jihyo and tzuyu gesture for you to hurry up and gather your things. you look down at your notebook, page completely empty save for the words stop staring at me in momo’s cute handwriting scrawled next to a heart.

jihyo and tzuyu exchange a look as you stare at the paper. when you peer up at them, jihyo just laughs. tzuyu rolls her eyes but sends a soft expression towards you. you suddenly feel very dizzy.

you’d spent the week trying to study to prepare for your statistics test, but you didn’t seem to get very far. now, you’re standing in front of momo’s door, textbook in hand with your bag slung over your shoulder as you knock gently.

jihyo and tzuyu had chosen to study on their own, with jihyo ultimately deciding that you would be too distracting for tzuyu to focus if you were together. she’d offered to study with you separately, but you’d instead jumped at the chance to ask momo to study with you. jihyo hadn’t tried to convince you otherwise, just giving you a knowing wink, and momo was more than happy to say yes.

the door opens to reveal a barefaced momo, dressed comfortably in sweatpants and an oversized t-shirt, doe eyes blinking at you behind big round glasses, fluffy hair falling softly around her face. your heart bursts at the sight. she beams at you before pulling you into a hug, shutting the door behind you.

“hey, you,” she greets you fondly. “ready to study, buddy?” you roll your eyes but laugh anyway.

“i guess,” you respond. “but to be completely honest, i’m pretty lost on this whole unit. and not just because i usually spend half of lecture beating tzuyu at candy crush.” momo raises an eyebrow at that. “i mean, i’m not stupid or anything, but it kinda just doesn’t click for me. just to warn you.”

momo just shrugs, gives you a comforting smile. “that’s okay. i’m pretty patient.”

you follow her to her room and you settle on the floor, pulling out your materials. for a while, you’re determined and fully concentrated on your studies. momo’s not wrong: she’s extremely patient, and the way she explains things is direct and simple, and somehow, things start to fall into place, and you grasp the concepts from the unit fairly quickly.

but after a couple hours, your focus begins to waver, and you find yourself incredibly distracted by the slope of momo’s nose, the mole on her neck, the rosiness of her cheeks—

“you’re staring,” momo singsongs, breaking your train of thought. her mouth is configured in a lopsided grin. you blink. “again.”

“sorry,” you say, not feeling very sorry at all. “you’re just really… you know. pretty.”

“i’m pretty?” she smirks at you, leans into your personal space. you nod dumbly and she giggles. she tilts her head forward to capture your lips in a kiss, and you can’t help but sigh. despite her flirty behavior, it’s been almost two months since you’d last kissed, since you’d spent the night with her after jihyo’s party, and you missed it. you missed her.

the two of you collapse onto her bed and kiss lazily for a while; you relish in her gentle touches and natural beauty. she’s so pretty. she’s certainly handsome, too, you think. she’s honestly just the most gorgeous person you’ve ever seen in your entire life. her lips are soft and full, dragging lightly along your jawline before she nips at your throat. you whimper quietly as momo bites down on you again.

statistics long forgotten, you take your top off, toss it to momo’s floor.

momo’s plump lips are pressing hot, wet kisses against the column of your neck. you try to keep your composure, but a guttural moan makes its way out of your mouth and you instantly flush red. momo pulls at your pants, tugging them and your panties down your legs.

momo eats you out until you’re trembling, chest heaving and nothing but moans and broken speech falling from your lips. her lips and chin glisten with your slick, but she just gives you a quick kiss before leaning back down and attaching her mouth around your clit again. you fall apart once, twice, three times—your clit throbs intensely, painfully, too sensitive to keep going. but you don’t tell her to stop, so momo doesn’t stop, and you really like that she doesn’t stop. by the time you’re shuddering your way into a seventh orgasm, you’re limp and mumbling incoherently. momo finally lets up, licks into your mouth instead, your own cum coating your tongue as she kisses you wetly, desperately.

you go home that night feeling complete—and momo completes you again and again and again for hours when you show up at her place a week later, a giant A displayed at the top of your statistics test.

you’re pretty sure you’re addicted to momo.

you hang out with the older girl constantly. you go to movies together, study together, eat meals together. you don’t even go out to parties anymore, unless it’s held by one of your friends, choosing to go out with momo instead. you can’t remember the last time you saw yooyeon or jiwon. it hardly matters when you’re settled between momo’s thighs, lips wrapped around her clit, the sweetness of her cum dancing along every corner of your mouth.

eventually, you’re ending every other night in momo’s room. it doesn’t always involve sex—really, you just feel like being around momo. it’s nice. momo certainly isn’t complaining.

she starts to keep a toothbrush for you in her bathroom, and your clothes begin to mix in with her own closet.

chaeyoung doesn’t text you asking when you’re coming home anymore. instead, she asks if you’re coming over. whenever you swing by what’s technically your apartment with momo in tow, chaeyoung beams hugely at you, gives you a wink or a thumbs up. it’s only mildly embarrassing.

you’ve never had a friend quite like momo—she’s in a league of her own. she’s easily the best hookup you’ve ever had. you feel lucky just to be friends with her.

you think about momo’s taut abs, the way her skilled tongue curls inside you, her incredible stamina. you think about her contagious laugh, her alarmingly loud sneezes, her focused expression when she’s cooking something in the kitchen. you like all of these things about momo. you decide that, yeah, momo feels right. your head starts to spin when you think about what that means.

it dawns on you that this was what you’d been feeling every time you think about momo—want, pure desire, love. you’ve never craved anything or anyone like this before. you never felt want like this, love like this—it never felt right, not unless it was momo.

you’re at dinner with jeongyeon when you finally get the bright idea to actually tell momo you love her.

really, it’s more like jeongyeon hands you the idea on a silver platter.

“you seem happy,” jeongyeon says before biting into a dumpling.

you hum. “i am happy,” you say, not at all surprised to find your thoughts immediately drifting to momo. you begin to space out a bit as you think about all your recent memories with her; it’s not just the sex that’s good, but she makes you feel alive. when you’re with her, you forget about the rest of the world. it feels good to be around her. even just thinking about momo makes you feel at ease, content.

jeongyeon smiles at you, eyes softening. “so you and momo made it official then?”

that jolts you out of your reverie.

“momo—official—we aren’t—what?” you splutter incredulously. you stare at jeongyeon. she just blinks at you.

“you and momo,” she repeats, slower this time. “aren’t you guys, like, dating?” she says it so casually, in between bites of meat—you feel like the world has stopped spinning. “did she finally ask you to be her girlfriend?”

“momo and i are not dating,” you choke out nervously. “where in the world did you get that idea?”

jeongyeon stops chewing, swallows haltingly. “you’re kidding, right?” she sits up straighter, looks you in the eyes. “you guys aren’t subtle. like, at all. you know, we’re polite, not blind. those hickeys aren’t invisible, and you only got away with faking sick so many times before it tipped us off that something was up. plus, you’re always looking at each other with heart eyes. it’s kind of sickening, actually.”

you sit in silence as you absorb this. after a beat, you croak, “so, all of you… know about the sex?” she nods. “i see. well, honestly, i love her. but i’m worried that she’s not there yet.”

jeongyeon looks at you. “y/n, i’m pretty sure everyone knows that momo loves you. like, i’m not kidding, but she’s had a crush on you since you met. just ask sana. she’s been playing wingwoman for momo for months and it was like you were completely blind until the first time you and momo kissed. you know sana called me that night, drunk in dahyun’s bed, both of them shouting at me to start planning the wedding? mina helps momo pick out outfits for your dates. nayeon buys extra groceries because you practically live at their apartment now, and don’t think chaeyoung hasn’t noticed that. don’t even get me started on the updates jihyo and tzuyu send every week.” she decides to make it very clear to you. “momo talks nonstop about you, and the sex isn’t even a quarter of her rambling.” she rolls her eyes, but her lips stretch into a tender smile.

“oh. i guess i should probably do something about this, huh?” you rub your fingers at your neck as jeongyeon just rolls her eyes again.

“yeah,” she responds. “make it simple and just tell her ‘i love you.’”

you unlock momo’s room when you return from dinner and march up to momo, who’s laying on her bed, listening to music and staring at the ceiling absentmindedly. “i love you,” you say to her, feeling completely breathless. she sits up, looks extremely confused, but smiles blindingly at you. “i’m sorry i didn’t say it sooner.” you pause. “all of our friends seem to be under the impression that you love me back, so…” you trail off shyly.

“well, they’re not wrong,” she laughs out. “i do love you back.” you’re blushing, but momo just reaches towards you, pulls you onto her bed next to her. “no need to be sorry, by the way. i told you i was patient.”

that night, you see stars over and over and over as you and momo make love for hours until you’re both ready to pass out.

when your eyes finally shut, the last thing you register before you drift to sleep is momo whispering against your lips, “i love you.” and you think love might just be your new favorite word in the world.

[theanimeroom]

Possessive! Ichigo x reader please 🥹❤️

AHEM. if i may 👩🏽‍🏫

💎 possessive!ichigo who hates going out in public with you because he can’t gouge out peoples eyes without going to prison.

the first time he noticed your popularity, you two had been together for about 2 months. he was used to you getting compliments about how pretty you were or how nicely you dressed, but he figured it would have calmed down at some point or another.

wrong.

it was never ending; countless glances being thrown your way, phone numbers being written down on receipts, one woman’s baby even started crying because she wanted you to hold her, but the woman said no. he couldn’t escape it even if he wanted to, but he wouldn’t deny the sense of pride that flourished in his chest knowing that despite their advances, you only had eyes for him.

it got easier as time passed to deal with the constant stream of onlookers, what with your reassurance after every encounter, small kisses being pressed to his face as you reminded him that you were his.

despite that, you always found his jealousy and possessiveness to be quite entertaining, sometimes using others advances to poke a little fun at the uptight male. you would never dare cross a boundary that you shouldn’t, but when you catch a glimpse of his flared nostrils and the rigid nature of his posture, a little flirting couldn’t be helped.

you knew that testing him probably wasn’t the best idea you’ve ever had, but if you were going to be hit on all the time, then why not have a little fun with it?

he was only gone for a couple of minutes, a quick bathroom trip being all you needed to be approached by a random passerby in the store. you were a rather kind hearted person, always greeting people with love and light whenever you interacted with them, but you weren’t stupid.

you could tell from a mile away that the man was trying to hit on you, sly smiles and pitiful jokes being thrown your way. not wanting to be rude, you indulged in conversation until ichigo had returned from the bathroom.

“are you local? if not, then i know a couple of good spots that serve the best sushi i’ve ever tasted,” he rambled, your uninterested expression coating your eyes as you tried not to lose your patience. a streak of orange behind the man’s head caught your attention, a sudden smirk replacing the tight line of your lips. “if you were interested, we could try one of them sometime.”

you hummed as you watched ichigo pause a couple of feet behind the man, his eyes popping back and forth between you and your suitor. you gave the random the sweetest smile you could muster, crossing one of your feet over the other as you feigned interest. “hmm, what did you say the name of the place was again?”

you could see the sparks shooting in his eyes as he took his chance, quickly pulling out his phone to pull up the name of the location. you peered over into his device as hand rested on his shoulder gently, hiding the grin on your face when you suddenly felt another hand slither its way around your waist. you didn’t even get the chance to react before his other arm wrapped around your chest, neck being tucked into the crook of his elbow as he pulled you back against him.

your bottom lip hid behind your teeth as you felt his grip tighten, the slight pressure on your neck making your stomach turn delightfully.

the suitor paused as he noticed ichigo’s presence, eyes widening as he scanned the current state that you two were in. you had to hold back your giggle at the way his mouth dropped in horror, understanding the situation rather quickly, luckily for him. ichigo easily had a good two or three inches on the guy, his vision moving upwards to look your orange-haired companion in the eye.

“sushi does sound pretty good, doesn’t it?” ichigo grinned, looking down at you who was already peering up at him, holding onto his forearm with darkened eyes. ichigo shot his gaze back up to the man in question, giving him a harsh glare as he spoke again. “but i think we’ll pass, i can think of something else that i’m in the mood to eat.”

your breath hitched as he held you a bit tighter, your bodily movements being restricted by his vice grip. you barely even remembered that the other man was still present, your mind only being filled with thoughts of how ichigo would make you pay for your antics this time.

the orange-haired man didn’t give the passerby a chance to react as he pressed a kiss to your lips, before dragging your pliant body along throughout the store.

“did you have fun?” he asked, question being punctuated by a firm squeeze on your hip. you lurched slightly at his touch, a mischievous smile making its way onto your face.

“eh,” you shrugged, aimlessly following the man in front of you. “he was decent. i’ve had better of course, but-“

a sharp pinch to your waist made you yelp, ichigo glaring down at you with pupils so dilated that you couldn’t tell where they started or ended.

“enough,” he hissed, an even bigger grin spread across your face as you could practically see the steam spewing out of his ears.

yes, you loved to tease your boyfriend. but alas, every man has his breaking point, and you managed to help him reach his.

“mphh!” your words were completely incoherent with the fabric of ichigo’s t-shirt pressing against your tongue, legs shaking as you tried to keep yourself upright for longer than 10 seconds.

a handful of hair was wrapped around ichigo’s fist, harsh tugs leaving you moaning breathless whimpers into the cloth. his hips pressed quietly against yours as he held your focus on the mirror against the wall, his dark expression staring back at you.

his cock was pulsing inside of you, long drags leaving your mind hazy with lust as you tried to push back against him. he refused to fill you up completely, halfway as a punishment but also being cognizant of where you both were currently located, although, he was more than long enough to fill you up without having to bottom out.

you whined again, pushing yourself back until you felt his tip press against the spongey area inside of you, your eyes squeezing shut as a rush of pleasure sent needles through your fingertips.

another harsh tug on your hair and your eyes were shooting open, muffled words escaping into the quiet fitting room. his hips froze immediately, quiet pleas escaping you as you begged for more friction.

“what did i say about looking away from me?” he asked, waiting until your eyes made contact in the tempered glass once more. a content hum was all you got before he was forcing his cock inside of you, one of your hands reaching for his that was wrapped tightly around your hip. you could feel your vision trying to blur, the instructions given to you making you forced them back open enough to watch as ichigo rearranged your insides. “you’re gonna watch me fuck you until you remember that you belong to me, got it?”

i’ve always belonged to you, is what you would have attempted to say, but the only thing you could muster in your current condition was a desperate nod of your head, silently pleading with him not to stop.

a low curse left him as he fucked you mercilessly in the fitting room, the hand in your hair tightening even more as his head fell back. the beginnings of a heavy groan prepared to permeate the air, quickly being silenced by the skin of his lip being tucked away behind his teeth.

you felt your stomach starting to twist, your eyes glossing over as ichigo leaned down, mouth panting heavy sighs into your ear.

“mine,” the word came out like a definitive statement, your clit throbbing at the implication. “mine, mine, all mine.”

you dared to take a chance by reaching for the shirt in between your lips. a desperate huff escaping you the moment your mouth was free. you threw the shirt down onto the bench below you, whimpering softly before whispering back to him. “all yours, baby.”

BONUS:

💎 possessive!ichigo who definitely bought you a necklace with his initials on it afterwards, making sure that no matter where you went, you always had proof that you were already taken 🫶🏽

[babyangelsky]

My Favorite Expressions in Love Sea Ep. 6

Every week I think I cannot possibly be having a better time with this show than I already am and every week I'm proven wrong. I LOVE IT HERE AND I'M HAVING A GREAT TIME!

Well Mut, I suffer from this condition as well. It's called Permanent Heart Eyes and it's incurable.

This is such a universal expression. Anyone who has ever watched someone they love eat something they cooked for them and enjoy it has made this face. Food is the greatest love language of them all.

Also, very pleasantly surprised to learn that Tongrak is a leftovers girly. I didn't expect him to be and now I love him even more.

Peat really has mastered the shift from 🥺 to 🥰. He does it a lot this episode and it barely takes him a full second each time, I love it.

When I tell you I COULD. NOT. LOVE. THIS. MAN. MORE. We only see him in profile when he delivers the last part of this line but this is a delightfully murderous expression. If I don't get a scene of Mahasamut cussing Prin out I'm going to be so disappointed.

The utter shock at hearing that Mut wants to hear about Tongrak from him. The quiet disbelief. The relief. I can't show it in a screenshot but Tongrak breathes out when Mut says this and his shoulders relax. No one has ever given this man the courtesy of asking directly if they want to know something about him and allowing him to decide if he wants to share things and Mut does it so easily.

The way he marvels at Mahasamut as it sinks in that he gets a choice, that he gets to decide if and how much to tell is just... it's lovely and completely fucking heartbreaking at the same time.

And because he was actually given a choice, he had no choice but to open up. Mut has made him feel so safe and respected that opening up becomes easy.

"Even though they have a complete, loving family with a loving father."

Stab me, it would hurt less.

No expression but the vibe is "I didn't say you could hug me but also I'm going to cling to you for dear life and try to burrow inside of your chest".

This is another one of those scenes that could have its own dedicated post and for which I would hit the picture limit immediately because the expressions were phenomenal and numerous so I'm cutting myself off.

Would you look at that. Tongrak opened up and now we're cuddling and taking a nap inside of the bedroom no one has ever been allowed to enter. Phenomenal. I'm so proud of this sleepy kitten.

Quick, someone google "how to tell your buddy that you're his husband's best friend's new sugar baby" for Mut he's asking for a friend it's him he's the friend.

THE CUTE AGGRESSION IS ETERNAL AND RELENTLESS.

Fort does the scolded puppy face so well.

Well aren't WE a jealous little jellyfish, Khun Tongrak? He's so bitchy I love him so much.

Not pictured: him refusing to speak first when he talks to Connor even though he's the one who called and the 30 different emotions he goes through during that call.

I spy with my little eye TWO jealous lil jellyfish. What's a group of jellyfish called?

*looks*

A bloom. There's a bloom of pouty jealous jellyfish in this house. I do love when "fights" are for silly reasons and everyone involved knows they're being ridiculous.

Side note: I covet this wallpaper. I need it on one of my bedroom walls immediately.

Also, I would like to do my clown check in for the week and point out that Vivi has solid-colored textured pillows and patterned pillows on her couch but Tongrak chose to cuddle the patterned ones.

We finally got to meet Tongrak's niece Meena and oh but she's a darling, precocious little thing. I also look at Mahasamut like this but you have no business doing it, miss thing, you're a baby! Same goes for reading your uncle's novels I say as someone who started reading romance novels when I was about her age.

2.7 seconds apart. I timed it. I'm saying it every week at this point but Peat, I love everything you do with your face.

And I am very quickly growing to love everything Nina does with that cute little face, too. It's good for Meena to see her beloved uncle being so loved by the beautiful man living in his house.

I have so much more to say about Meena but that definitely will get its own post because it's not limited to her facial expressions. There's a lot to unpack in this scene and in the cafe scene with her and Mut.

I mean--do I even need to say anything? I can't wait to reblog every single gif I can find of this scene because it had me screaming into a pillow like Tongrak.

I'm reaaaaally starting to hate the 30 image photo limit because it truly is not enough to capture everything I love in this feast of a show. Prepare to be so sick of me because there WILL be more posts about this episode.

Also, if you'd like to be tagged in my weekly ramblings about micro-expressions, let me know! 💖

[orangekittyenergy]

A little smutty ficlet (smutlet? Idk)

Gale x Reader (you - no mention of description or pronouns)

NSFW - 18+, blindfolded Gale, teasing, idk how many words I wrote this on my phone in a flurry

(Don't mind me, had to get a brain worm out so I could focus on my longer fic 😅)

Gale moans softly, his body tensing and wriggling beneath you. He reaches, as if by instinct, to the blindfold that covers his eyes. Quick as ever you grab his hands and force them back down to the bed.

"Tsk. Naughty." You say with a smirk down at him. He can't see you but you know he can hear the mirth in your voice; even if it is to chastise him.

He squirms again.

"I want to see you, my love." He breathes out, his chest heaving.

"In due time." You practically whisper, leaning down to let your breath gaze over his lips. He tilts his chin up, pushing out his lips, searching for a kiss but you have already pulled away.

"Can I touch you at least?" He practically whimpers, his hands clutching desperately at the sheets below your bodies. A smile plays at the corner of his lips; he's enjoying this as much as you are.

"In." You start to crawl backwards and place a kiss on his collar bone. "Due." A light flick of your wet tongue over one of his nipples. "Time." You're practically off him fully and place one final kiss at his navel.

He groans again. This time it's a noise of frustration. Most likely mourning the loss of contact of your warm body pressed against his.

Face to face with his groin, his stiff cock throbs beneath the fabric of his underwear. Whisper light, you trail a finger across it, outlining it with the barest of touches.

He gasps hard and you look up to see his jaw fall open. A wicked smile crosses your face. This was finally payback. All his nights insisting on spending hours between your own thighs, overstimulating you, teasing orgasm after orgasm from your body until you could barely move.

Every time, you said you'd pay him back through your chapped lips. But he would just smiled at you, give you a kiss, and the next time you were naked you fell into the same trap of his.

But Finally. Finally. You had caught him first. Pulling him to the bed and practically forcing him to accept the same devotion he gave to you. Mostly devotion... Maybe a little teasing.

One hand trailing around the upper part of his thigh your other goes back to his erection; softly touching it at first with your palm then more firmly as you slowly rub your hand up and down.

He moans loudly again and you look up to see his hands lift and twitch.

"No touching, remember." You remind him, your voice playfully sharp. He's touched you enough; this was your turn.

He sucks in a sharp gasp of air and lets his hands fall back down.

"I remember." His voice shakes as he answers and his tongue darts out to wet his lips.

You give him another stroke of his cloth covered cock as a reward. After a moment of teasing, his pulse pounding beneath your careful hands you gently pull down his underwear down a touch and ease his hardness out. The movement alone, your warm palm finally touching his aching flesh, is enough to bring forth another moan from his lips.

You smile again and let out a satisfied breath, letting him feel it, hot against his skin. You feel his whole body shudder, again, at the barest of your teasing touches. You lick your lips, planting careful kisses along his thighs, working your way closer and closer to your main goal.

"Gods, please." He groans out. "Touch me. Anything."

You haven't even started yet and he was practically begging, panting and quivering from the anticipation alone.

"Since you've been good." You breathe out again and slowly give him a long slow lick with your tongue, from base to tip, before pulling away again to wrap your palm around him instead.

You were in no rush. This was going to be a delightfully long night.

[syoddeye]

kinktober - day 15 - jealousy, outdoors

soap x transmasc!reader | 1.3k words cw: slightly mean!Soap, biting, nipple play, fingering, penetrative sex, semi-public sex, italics stan, 1 good boy a/n: the words cunt, cock, and hole are used to describe genitalia of a transmasc reader’s body. reader has a flat chest (can be read as post-top surgery), and brief reference to a hysterectomy. went off list. summary: riling johnny up has fun consequences. banner by @/cafekitsune | kinktober list

Playing with fire. That’s what he whispered into your ear as you paused for a drink five or six songs ago. A big grin on his face as if he wasn’t absolutely seething inside.

Johnny’s always had a flair for the dramatic, but playing with fire? Funny. You’re just dancing.

So what if your jacket is abandoned in your chair? Or that your shirt is unbuttoned to a scandalous degree? That you’re in the arms of another man, a handsome one, spinning like a top across the dancefloor?

It’s a wedding. You like to dance. Why wouldn’t you say anything other than yes to an open hand?

But you feel his eyes leading up to the dip. You know he’s watching when you neck your drink and ditch the glass. And when your partner does tilt you allll the way back, eliciting whoops and applause, you hear his chair scrape the parquet above the noise.

One minute, he’s across the hall; the next, he’s beside you.

“Cuttin’ in.” Johnny announces, voice deceivingly calm. There isn’t a moment to protest before the slowed opening notes of the next song fill the air.

Johnny’s muscles strain under his shirt, flexing as he guides you into a clumsier rendition of a waltz. You gloss over the stretched material to his face, taking in his poorly feigned nonchalance. His focus is cast over your shoulder, fixed on some point, like he’s not even dancing with you at all.

You smile.

It takes a minute for him to notice.

“What’re ye lookin’ at?”

“You’ve got something green on your cheek.” He lifts a hand, but pauses at your bark of laughter. “You’re positively green with envy, John MacTavish.”

Winding him up is dead easy. “Not true.���

“Oh, well, now your ears are turning red, so…”

His cheek puffs out as he works over your teasing, brow dropping into a glare. “Alrigh’, that’s it. Outside.”

Abruptly halting your dance, he marches you through the packed dance floor, right past the amused-looking newlyweds. You dig your heels to delay the delightfully inevitable.

“Price, you’ve got to talk some sense into him.” You half-joke, brushing arms with the groom.

John lifts a brow. “Not getting involved. Not today.”

“Traitor.”

Your host chuckles and shakes his head. “Somewhere out of view this time, yeah?”

Johnny’s smug as he reels you in close. “‘Course, Cap.”

“John—Johnny!” Your protests dissipate into giddy laughter as he jams a hand into your opened shirt. You dizzily look over his shoulder for the hundredth time, and he nips at your jaw.

“Nobody’s gonna see.” he grumbles. 

Probably not. Past the garden and a small field, the two of you are hidden within a copse of trees. Though you no longer see the lights from the wedding, you still hear the music.

Your trousers and pants warm your ankles, and your hole warms two of Johnny’s fingers. He impatiently scissors them open, his hand all the way to his wrist dripping with his work. You brace yourself against the tree at your back, knees almost knocking together with how he makes your legs shake.

He twists a nipple and bites the other, tugging until you squeak. The cool air hurts when he releases it, and his stubbly cheek scratches your chest as he works on sinking his teeth into your flat chest.

“I ken ye wanted this. Dancin’ like ye were. With him.” He mutters, yanking another sound out of you by suddenly stuffing his fingers to the webbing. “Ye wanted my attention? Now ye fuckin’ have it.”

His thumb brushes sparingly over your cock. Avoids it if it can. Part of your milquetoast ‘punishment’. His prep is quick and dirty, fingers pulling out after opening you up just enough. You suck in deep breaths, holding his fixed gaze as he makes short work of his kilt. He frees himself, stroking his length, foreskin sliding back and forth as his jaw works.

Just when you start to relax, he moves. On you in less than a second.

He heaves one of your legs, the hinge of your knee fitting to the one of his arm, and presses in a heartbeat later. It’s a stretch in two ways, and pain bursts through the back of your skull as your head thuds against the street.

“Christ on a–Johnny!” 

He doesn’t stop, cramming himself into your hole, shallowly rocking a few times to fit all the way inside. The slight burn is part of what he wants, the impression he wants to make. You know him well, so you let him have it, showing him the few tears all his pushing brings to your eyes.

The way coos at you is mean, but tinged with an edge lacking any real sharpness. Patronizing, but not cruel. He’d stop if you spoke up, you’re sure, but he’s not completely off base with his accusation. You wanted his attention, and now you have it. All of its inches retract, then shoves back in with a filthy groan in your ear. He steadily picks up the pace, and your fingertips dig deeper into the tree with every thrust.

Your body acclimates quickly, walls adjusting to Johnny’s feverish speed, but the friction you desperately need just isn’t there. Your cock throbs, bouncing some as Johnny fucks you with abandon, knocking you into the tree so hard, you know you’ll be sore in more ways than one tomorrow. All you need is a little push, a little more attention to glide off that cliff. You test letting go of the tree with one hand as he pumps into you, but he clicks his tongue.

“Keep ‘em where they are, and beg.”

“Please,” Shame doesn’t exist between you. Even like this. Especially like this. “Please, Johnny. I’m so, so close.” 

He chuckles, lips curling back into a feral grin. “That so?” 

“Please! Johnny,” your pitch rockets up with a particularly hard thrust. “Need to come, sorry for–for–”

“Actin’ out?”

“Yeah, yeah, acting out. Oh god, please, I just, oh–fuck!”

His free hand drops unceremoniously between you, finds your cock, and starts stroking you in time with his hips. His fingers glide along the tender underside, thumb toying with its tip. Every touch shoots an electric buzz from your core, sending warmth down your nerve endings. The trees blur together behind Johnny, and the night air turns thin. Your breath hitches and hitches, the pressure of your oncoming orgasm pushing the air out of you in full-body shivers.

Before they can escape, he pulls his hand away, swiftly smothering them with slick fingers. You watch Johnny grit his teeth, chasing down his own release with a violent single-mindedness. He uses you, keeping your leg up even as it goes boneless, and frees your mouth to plant a palm beside your head. He pistons into you ruthlessly and ignores your babbling about it being too much.

When his orgasm hits, his eyes roll back, and a stream of hissed curses spew out of his mouth as his rhythm breaks into something erratic.

Johnny floods your cunt, shuddering as his cum pumps into you, only withdrawing briefly to guide what’s escaped back in. He presses in as deep as he can, letting go of your leg, making it nice and snug. He lazily mouths your neck, murmuring how you make him mad, how much he loves it. His thumb pets over the long, vertical scar beneath your belly, hidden beneath your happy trail. 

You weakly squeeze him as soon as the phosphenes clear, and your soul reattaches to your body.

“Fuck, that’s–that’s a good–” His hoarse praise stops with a bite of his tongue, but when you meet eyes, he laughs breathlessly and lets it go. “That’s a good boy. Learned yer lesson?”

You wet your lips, finally prying your hands off of the tree. Your fingertips sting as you start to button your shirt haphazardly. “Yeah, sure. I’ll never try to make you jealous again.”

Johnny’s smirk turns knowing when he pulls out, head tilting to watch his cum leak onto your thigh. “It’s a good thing I’m no’ the jealous type.” By the time you return to the wedding hall, Johnny’s arm is tucked around you for support, and the party’s in full swing. Kyle catches your eye across the venue and shoots a wink. You lift your bottle and mouth, thanks for the assist.

[hog-farmer]

Build Your Bear *At Home*

Through the dense wilderness a sizable tanker truck carefully winds down a lone road. The crunch of gravel under its tires and its rumbling engine disturb the otherwise peaceful atmosphere. After a while the monotony of trees finally parts to reveal a large lakeside clearing. 

An expensive log cabin house sits at the end of the remote path. Standing one story tall with a wraparound porch that encompasses the main entrance and its waterfront side. The wood of its roof and siding has a reddish hue to it that contrasts against the overwhelming evergreens surrounding it.

The truck slowly rolls to a stop before the cabin, letting out a loud creek along with a puff of air as its engine rests. Moments later its driver door is thrown open as the man behind the wheel emerges. 

Clad in a pair of dark navy coveralls he steps down out of his seat onto the ground below. The only significant detail on his suit is the name embroidered across the left breast pocket, ‘Locke'. Small tufts of bright blonde hair peek out from all sides underneath his cap. A company logo is centered on its front, composed of the letters, ‘BYB'.

Free from his vehicle the man takes a moment to stretch out the stiffness from his muscles. After giving his cap a quick adjustment he begins sauntering towards the cabin. In his brief walk he admires the home's scenery till he comes to a stop at its front door. He gives it a brisk but firm knock before following up by pressing the doorbell off to the side.

After roughly a minute later the door finally opens to reveal a man on the other side. He appears to be middle-aged, most of the color has left his beard and has begun creeping up his sideburns towards his dark hair. The only other thing that might signify his age is his soft rounded middle, giving him a little exaggerated dadbod. Regardless of the extra padding, he's fairly well-built everywhere else. A firm puffy chest, bulky arms, and tanky thighs to round out his figure. He's dressed down in a pair of light gray sweatpants and plain white t-shirt.

“Good afternoon, sir,” the driver greets the man inside with a tip of his hat. “My name is Gordon and I'm here for an at home ‘build your bear’ visit.” 

“Nice to meet ya,” the other man replies with an outstretched hand that Gordon promptly takes. “Name’s Mike, come on in,” he continues with a nod of his head as he turns to head in. Gordon follows along, stepping through the threshold and beginning to survey the home around him.

The aesthetic of the inside definitely matches that of the outside. A warm and cozy cabin vibe throughout every decoration and piece of furniture. It all appears very well kept, not completely immaculate but lived-in.

“Hon? Who's at the door?” Gordon distantly hears being called from somewhere in the house.

“Delivery!~” Mike responds to the voice with a slight teasing tone. 

The muffled pattering of steps follows before another man appears around the corner. He looks older than Mike, short gray hair combed back with a few streaks of white. Laugh-lines frame his eyes while a bushy goatee sits between his bubbly cheeks. Similar to Mike he has a bulkier figure, though visibly softer with his age. His outfit is just as relaxed as Mike's too, with long plaid pants and a dark shirt that his fuzzy chest and belly peek out from.

“I thought that wasn't supposed to be here till next week?” the new man asks, confused but delightfully surprised.

“They called with an opening in their schedule, so I thought ‘eh, why not?’,” Mike recounted as he approached, swinging his arm around the other man's lower back.

“Well consider me excited,” the older man replied with a bright smile as he softly brought their noses together. “Now, care to introduce me?” He cheekily adds with a leading glance over to Gordon.

“Right right right,” Mike quickly mutters with an amused huff. “Gordon, this is my partner Arthur. Arthur, this is Gordon,” he continues as the other men exchange a handshake and their own greetings.

“So, who will I be working with today?” Gordon pointedly asks after a moment, quizzically looking between the two men. 

“Oh, that'd be our boy, Ricky” Mike clarifies while smiling back at Arthur. “We had our five year anniversary with him a few days ago, so this is gonna be his gift.”

“Ah, Alrighty then. Why don’t you show me where I’ll be working, then I can go get my gear and get things started,” Gordon cheerfully suggests.

“Sounds great, let me show you to his room,” Mike agrees with a wave for Gordon to follow after him.

“You boys handle that, I’m gonna head back and finish prepping lunch,” Arthur waves them off as he departs back to the room he came from.

The two men round the corner and make their way down a spacious hallway. Photos and memorabilia are spread throughout its walls. As his eyes drift past them one photo in particular catches Gordon's attention.

It's of Mike and Arthur with a third young man between them that Gordon assumes is the aforementioned Ricky. He looks to be in his early twenties with short, somewhat curly auburn hair and light stubble across face. The three of them smile brightly as they're out at some sort of pride event. They're all shirtless with leather harnesses over their bare chests. Ricky has his arms draped over the older men's shoulders while their hands proudly rest on the budding bear's small starter-belly.

Gordon is brought out of his fixation when he hears soft knocking. At the far right end of the hall Mike stands in front of a bedroom door. His hand is still raised from knocking while the other rests patiently on its handle.

“Ricky~ Baby? You up?” Mike gently calls out. When no response comes through he proceeds to quietly open the door and enter. Gordon hurriedly catches up with him, though the sight past the threshold makes his eyebrows rise in slight surprise.

The young man Gordon caught a glimpse of moments before is now in front of him, nearly taking up the entire width of a queen-sized bed with the sheer size of himself. His legs lay spread out, completely encased in cellulite, especially around his inner thighs. Half of a thin blanket lays over the lower portion of his thighs, the other half is wedged under his expansive stomach. It reaches nearly as far as his hips do, coming short just a few inches. Past his gut are a set of heavy moobs. His reclined position causes them to sag to his sides, emphasizing his side rolls as they spread out as far as the length of his puffy upper arms. As he sleeps his head lays back against a pile of pillows that's propping him up. Other than much rounder cheeks, slightly unkempt hair, and another chin his features are all the same from the photo out in the hall. 

“Hey Ricky~ C’mon bud, wake up,” Mike softly coaxes as he approaches and gives the incredibly fat man’s shoulder a little shake. This seems to be enough to rouse him as he takes in a deep breath, lets out a big yawn and blinks his eyes. He looks around a little disoriented till he notices Mike at his side.

“Mornin’ Daddy~” Ricky yawns as he brings one of his hands up to wipe the sleep from his eye.

“It’s afternoon Baby,” Mike corrects with a chuckle as he combs his fingers through the young man’s hair.

“Oh right,” Ricky mumbles as he recounts having breakfast a couple hours earlier. 

“Guess what buddy? Daddy and Papa got a present for you,” Mike says as he steps back towards the doorway and gestures to Gordon. With that and a confused look from Ricky, Gordon decides to enter and introduce himself.

“Hi there, I’m Gordon. I’m here for an at home ‘build your bear’ visit,” Gordon says as he comes forward to shake Ricky’s hand.

“Hey,” Ricky greets as he reciprocates the gesture. After a momentary pause his stomach lets out a resonating rumble. “Daddy, I'm hungry. Where's lunch?”

“Papa will be here with it in a bit bud, don't worry,” Mike comforts.

“Actually, it might be a bit better if he waits to eat,” Gordon interjects. “It’ll put less pressure on his stomach and let the process act faster.”

“What? But I'm hungry now,” Ricky complains with a distressed whine building in his throat. His pleading eyes stare up at Mike for help.

“You can wait a little bit, bud,” Mike consoles. Not happy with that answer Ricky proceeds to turn away and pout. After a couple minutes of trying to comfort the large young man Mike eventually gives up with a sigh. “Ok, what'll it take to make you agree and wait?”

This finally gets Ricky's attention. He stops his pouting and instead mulls over what he wants in exchange. As he thinks his eyes land on Gordon which causes him to smirk devilishly as he comes up with an idea. He waves for Mike to come closer so he can cup his hand against his ear and whisper his idea to the middle-aged man.

“You want us to do what?” Mike recoils in surprise when Ricky finishes.

“That's what I want,” Ricky finalizes by crossing his arms over his chest as best he can. “Please Daddy?~” he follows with a very pleading expression. 

The older man contemplates for a second before he relents and agrees to Ricky's demands. Having won, the young man giddily wiggles in place, causing his fat to ripple across his body. Mike tousles the young man's hair before proceeding to exit the room with Gordon on his tail.

“So… what did he ask for?” Gordon breaks the silence once they're halfway down the hall.

“He… said he’d wait if he got to watch Arthur and I fatten up afterwards,” Mike shares, amused and a little embarrassed.

“Oh,” is all Gordon can muster, surprised himself, but also intrigued.

“Yeah, honestly it’s not surprising. It’s how we met him in the first place,” Mike comments.

“Really? Then how’d he end up being the spoiled and pampered one?” Gordon prods further.

“Well, we first started chatting with him online. He was some hotheaded cub that was all about being on top and dominating. So we invited him over for some fun and… he ended up being complete putty in our hands,” Mike recounts with a fond expression. “Though that doesn’t stop him from being a total brat when he wants to be.”

“Yeah that makes sense,” Gordon acknowledges with a chuckle.

“So, can ya do it?” Mike questions, referencing Ricky’s demand.

“Adding you two to the mix? Oh yeah, I’m happy to oblige,” Gordon confirms. “I’ll go get my supplies and get things ready for all of ya.”

“Sounds great,” Mike agrees.

From there the two men part in separate directions. Mike heads for the room they’d last seen Arthur enter while Gordon exits through the front door. The blond man makes his way back to his truck and climbs inside. Rummaging through the equipment haphazardly deposited behind his seat Gordon manages to find what he needs. An insanely-long industrial hose, three phallic-shaped nozzles, a bottle of lube, and the remote for the tanker’s pump system.

With his supplies in hand Gordon takes them around to the tanker’s side. Taking one end of the hose he positions it onto the tanker’s release port before locking it in place. With that secured Gordon checks over the tank’s pressure valves and vents to make sure they’re all working properly. Confident that everything is ready he takes the other end of the hose and begins trailing it towards the cabin. Through the entrance, pass the main living area and down the hall till Gordon’s outside Ricky’s room again.

“Just one treat Papa?” Gordon hears Ricky ask as the room’s interior comes into view. Ricky, unsurprisingly, is still firmly planted on his bed, though now the older men flank him on both sides.

“No bud, you promised you’d wait,” Arthur halfheartedly scolds before throwing in a cheeky non-threat. “Or do you not want Daddy and Papa to get fattened up for ya?” 

“You guys ready?” Gordon interrupts as he reenters the room and fixes a nozzle to the end of the hose.

“Yup all set,” Mike replies.

“Okay, now, normally this is the part where I tell the subject to strip, but…” Gordon trails off as he gestures at Ricky’s blatantly naked form. This earns a blush from the young man and a few chuckles from the older ones. “So let's get him propped up, lubed, and ready.”

“Oh you don’t have to worry about lube with this one. Trust me, he’s loose enough,” Arthur embarrassingly comments.

“Papa!” Ricky cries as the red of his face flushes an even deeper shade.

“Okay okay, let’s get going” Mike deescalates as he starts removing the pillow propping up Ricky. Arthur joins his efforts by taking the young man’s hand and helping him into a more upright position. While they’re busy with that Gordon comes around with his supplies.

Eventually they get everything ready. The space behind is clear and Ricky is sitting up as best he can, though he’s leaning over his belly a bit. His legs are awkwardly splayed out to the side with his feet just hanging over the edge of the bed. This leaves the big mounds of his ass completely exposed.

“Ready Ricky?” Gordon asks as he leans into the space behind the young man. 

With a firm nod from him Gordon instructs the other two men to start. From both sides they each reach toward the crevice of Ricky’s ass. Once they have a good grip they pull to pry his massive cheeks apart. They make a good effort of it but it's not quite enough to reveal the young man’s hole, so Gordon decides to probe around for it. 

It’s easy enough to slip a couple of fingers into the fleshy divide with how damp it is with sweat. Gordon’s hand is enveloped up to his knuckles before he finally feels where the two mounds meet. He doesn’t feel Ricky’s hole yet so he trails his fingers downward till he does. As soon as his digits brush up against the sensitive ring Gordon feels Ricky’s body give an anticipative shiver. Tentatively, Gordon probes the muscle further, finding it to already be fairly loose like Arthur commented earlier.

Using his thumb and index finger Gordon exposes Ricky’s hole as best he can with one hand. With that ready he takes the hose and brings its slicked nozzle towards the exposed muscle. It’s met with little resistance, only needing a few wiggles to ease the inner muscles and guide it deeper. Ricky lets out a relieved sigh as he feels the invading equipment finally brush past his prostate.

“Okay, that should be deep enough,” Gordon decides once roughly a foot of the phallic-shaped nozzle is planted past the young man’s rim. The other men relax their hold on Ricky’s boulder-like ass, letting the gelatinous flesh envelop the hose further. As the smaller men step back they convene at the front end of Ricky’s bed. Gordon unclasps the tanker’s remote from one of his suits pockets and hands it off to Mike and Arthur. The blond man gives them a short rundown of its control, mainly pointing out the start switch and volume knob.

“You ready for this baby?” Mike tenderly asks the young man as he and Arthur lean in close to his face.

“Yeah, make me huge,” Ricky replies as he gives his belly a quick pat. With that the two men dive in and plant a kiss on each of Ricky’s chubby cheeks.

They step back once more and finally turn on the tanker’s pump, setting the volume flow to about halfway. Nothing happens for roughly a minute till they see the hose begin to twitch along the floor. It steadily pulses as the shadow of the liquid inside inches further up the tube. Soon enough the fluid begins to enter Ricky, snaking its way through his guts before coming to settle in his stomach.

After a minute Ricky begins to feel a cycle of pain and relief as the pressure in his stomach grows and eases. Eventually it all blurs into the background as a general uncomfortableness when he notices his belly subtly creeping further outward. 

“At his size a couple of pounds is like a drop in an ocean, so his growth will be more of a subtle climb than anything drastic,” Gordon explains while everyone is fixated on Ricky’s slow-growing form.

Watching his body slowly expand like dough Ricky idly strokes his hands across his stomach. His flesh gets softer and larger with each pulse in his stomach. Mindlessly, the young man finds himself breathing in sync with the pumping. His hands drift to his chest, squeezing and cupping his nipples to try and completely cover them. In his grasp he feels them grow, their weight increasing around his digits till they’re unmanageable and he lets them flop back down.

After a couple of minutes Ricky’s stomach has swelled large enough to nearly reach the end of his bed. It’s already begun to drool over its sides. Behind him his ass has gone from large mounds to absolute mountains. They’ve reached his headboard at the other end of his bed and are steadily creeping higher up. His legs were useless before, but now they’re far beyond that. They’ve blown past the size of keg barrels, preventing the hope of them ever being able to bend again. Even his feet are turning puffy with fat as the adipose of his ankles threatens to swallow them up. 

His hands and arms are becoming just as encumbered. The excessive fat around his shoulders and elbows have just about locked his limbs in place, forcing them to lay uselessly atop his side rolls. His fingers are almost at their limit to be able to bend with how swollen they’ve become. Around his face another chin has formed under his second one and his bubbly cheeks have started encroaching closer together. They force his mouth into a permanent pout and cause his eyes to squint. 

*Creeeeek* *CRACK*

The bed frame lets out a high pitched whine before quickly giving out. Its legs completely snap under Ricky’s climbing weight, dropping the mattress and boxspring clean to the ground. The one foot drop sends a massive ripple through Ricky’s malleable form. Every fold, roll, and mound of fat doesn’t settle its jiggling for half a minute. It’s at this point that Ricky feels the pressure in his stomach slowly fade away, and the pleasurable growth alongside it.

“Nooo… why’d it stop,” the now immobile man struggles to whine through his puffy cheeks.

“Sorry bud, gonna have to stop ya there,” Arthur consoles as he comes up and places a comforting hand on one of Ricky’s rolls of back fat.

“Besides, don’t you wanna fill that belly with something else?” Mike interjects. This reminds Ricky of the food waiting for him, causing the blobby young man to wiggle his fat as best he can in excitement.

“Okay, I’ll go get his lunch,” Arthur volunteers. “While I do that, why don’t you get yourself ready?” He adds with a cheeky wink as he walks past Mike, giving the man a brief peck on the cheek as he does so.

With his partner now out of the room Mike turns to Gordon, “Welp, you heard the man, let’s get things started.”

“Alrighty, while I get Ricky here unhooked you strip and get comfortable,” Gordon instructs as he steps back around to Ricky’s rear. 

The titanic cheeks have enveloped much more of the hose in their growth, smothering the equipment underneath it. Gordon grabs the hose with one hand and uses his fingers to crawl along its length and reach a point of it further trapped within the doughy flesh. He gets as deep as he can till his arm is up to his shoulder in ass fat. From there Gordon takes a firm grip of the hose and begins to slowly tug backwards. He hears Ricky groan above him as it drags across his insides once again. When the giant man lets out a sigh of relief Gordon guesses the end of the long nozzle finally exited past his rim. He still gently extracts the rest of it till it's completely free from between Ricky’s gigantic cheeks.

While Gordon was busy doing that Mike began removing his clothes. Tossing his t-shirt to a random corner of the room and shamelessly shucking off his sweats and underwear in one swoop. He kicks them to the side and as he waits for Gordon to finish up Arthur returns to the room with a cart of food in tow.

The older man parks the cart right next to the bed and grabs one of the dishes on top of it. He’s about to hand it off to Ricky when he takes a second to realize the young man’s not really able to feed himself anymore. “Well, guess it’ll be hand feedings from here on out, huh boy?” Arthur comments as he leans over the bed and brings himself and the plate close to Ricky’s face. The enormous man doesn’t vocally reply, instead expectantly opening his mouth for the food in hand. Arthur rolls his eyes at Ricky with a fond smile as he feeds the young the first bite of his meal.

“Okay, you all set?” Gordon asks, regaining Mike's attention from the other men in the room. He stands ready as he spreads a generous dose of lube over a new nozzle that's been attached to the hose.

“Yup,” Mike responds before calling over to Ricky. “You ready to see Daddy get stuffed up?” Ricky manages to pull his attention away from the food being fed to him. His eyes now fixate on Mike, though he still opens his mouth and accepts every spoonful Arthur brings to his lips. 

With an amused chuckle Mike gives Gordon the signal to go ahead. Nodding, the blond comes down to one knee behind Mike. Using one hand to part the ample cheeks in front of him Gordon uses the other to tentatively press the nozzle of the hose against the ring of muscle. Gordon hears the man let out a sigh as he relaxes his muscles to let the head of it begin to invade him. Inch after inch slowly slips in with little resistance till roughly a foot of it is firmly planted inside. When Gordon’s done inserting the hose Mike lets out a shaky breath and leans forward with his hands on one of Ricky’s bed posts for support.

“You good?” Gordon gives one last check, wiggling the tank’s remote in his hands to imply the next step. With a nod from the other man Gordon activates the controls and sets the pump into motion.

The liquid hits Mike a lot sooner than he expected, now realizing most of the hose didn’t have to be filled like when they waited for Ricky. He feels the pressure of it start deep before steadily rising up into his stomach. Reaching full capacity causes the upper portion of his belly to bulge a little. After a second the pressure subsides and just before Mike can let out a relieved sigh it rises again. As Mike becomes accustomed to the cycling pressure he looks down to watch his expanding body.

The external bump of his stomach is quickly hidden under the new layers of fat on his swelling belly. It gradually loses its firm round shape, becoming soft and doughy with a divot forming that splits the bottom of it. His chest slowly loses what little definition it had, turning into full moobs that sit heavily over his stomach.

Mike’s upper arms and thighs take on the new fat much faster than the latter portions of his limbs, giving them a slightly unbalanced look. Every so often he has to adjust them, widening his stance and the angle he holds out his arms. Under his beard his neck starts to bulge out into a chunky ring, straining the movement of his head as he tires looking behind himself.

A couple sets of rolls have developed along his hairy back, respectively connecting around to his belly and chest. The largest spectacle behind him though was his ass. Like his thighs much more of his weight has settled into his ass, giving Mike a very over exaggerated pear shape.

“Okay, I think that’s good,” Mike calls over to Gordon. The blond man gives him a thumbs up and proceeds to turn off the pump. After a few seconds Mike feels the pressure finally subside, allowing him to regain his composure and right himself. The new weight throws him off for a moment but he quickly adjusts and becomes accustomed to it. 

“Now don’t you look handsome,” Arthur compliments as he approaches Mike. His hands roam over all the newly softened flesh of his partner. Feeling up his plump arms and thighs, lifting his full chest and heavy belly. Finally Arthur brings their lips together for a passionate kiss as his hands settle over Mike’s overly doughy rear. Fondling, jiggling, and kneading the malleable mounds to his heart’s content.

“Okay, okay, that’s enough ya horndog,” Mike chuckles as he breaks their kiss and playfully bats Arthur’s hands away. He tries reaching around himself to withdraw the hose, but he can’t quite reach it. His back rolls won’t let him turn like he used to, so the farthest he can grab of his sizable rear is the top cleft of his ass cheeks. “Help me with this thing will ya?” he asks with a nod behind himself.

“Sure thing hon,” Arthur replies with one last peck to the other man’s cheek. 

He steps around Mike and reaches for the hose protruding from his ass but pauses as he grabs it. A devious idea just popped into his head, and he immediately follows through with it. He holds Mike’s hip for leverage and slowly starts removing the invading object. Though when it’s roughly halfway out he promptly reverses its direction. This catches Mike by surprise, making the man let out a soft lewd moan at the sensation. Before he has a chance to respond Arthur proceeds further by subtly shaking the hose, causing its nozzle to wiggle around inside of Mike. The larger man’s legs turn weak from the teasing abuse of his prostate, forcing him to lean against Ricky’s bed again for support. After roughly a minute of this Arthur stops toying with Mike and completely removes the hose.

“Fuckin’... bastard…” Mike laughs through labored breaths. He quickly collects himself again and heads to the half emptied cart beside Ricky to finish off his meal. Though as he walks over he keeps his gaze locked on Arthur, plotting ways of getting even with him. 

“Alrighty, my turn,” Arthur declares over to Gordon as he lifts his shirt up over his head. Stripping further, he pulls the waistband of his pants down past his hips and ass, letting them drop the rest of the way on their own. He steps away from the discarded piece of clothing and bends over against the end of Ricky’s bed. His head lays in his arms while his pudgy belly and chest freely hang below him. With spread legs and his plump rump on full display he gives his ample rear a provocative shake, wiggling it back and forth.

“Shameless as ever,” Mike chuckles under his breath, amused with Arthur's little display. Arthur responds with his own chuckle before turning his head back to Gordon and telling him to go ahead.

Hose ready in hand, Gordon approaches and squats down by Arthur’s ass. Once more parting a sizable pair of cheeks for the pink ring hidden beneath. He gently probes the nozzle against it, easing the head of it to slip through. To Gordon’s surprise though once the tip of it has entered the surrounding muscles begin to coax the equipment deeper inside all on their own. Transfixed, the blond watches as inch after inch of the hose is slowly consumed by the insatiable hole. When it's down to the end of the nozzle Gordon gives the hose a cheeky little tug to let the man know to stop. With the hose secured Gordon takes the remote and sets the pump into motion.

“Ooo baby,” Arthur shivers as he lolls his head to the side, feeling the vaguely warm fluid begin to flood him. The sensation slowly climbs upwards till it hits its limit with his stomach at full capacity. Unfazed by the pressure inside himself Arthur lets out a relaxed sigh as the subtleties of growth begin to show.

Like rising dough every inch of Arthur slowly expands, though his position pools most of it downward. His billowing belly hangs lower and lower from his abdomen with each pulse of fattening fluid that enters him. His upper arms mimic its growth with gravity pulling them down as their volume increases. A good portion of the growth deposits itself into his soft chest. Making Arthur a little more top-heavy as they become exceedingly round and voluptuous.

Surprisingly, his plump ass and hips retain most of their shape. Expanding outwards rather than sagging down, though his legs probably assist that a lot. They’ve become massive pillars of support to hold up those monolithic spheres. Down below them his feet have swollen to develop cankles and the flesh of his calves threaten to overlap them.

His back looks like a developing landscape with all the ridges and rolls of fat that’ve grown along it. The hair across his body has started to become a little more sparse with his expanding flesh. His face begins to plump up too, giving him very chubby cheeks and another chin to frame his goatee.

When his breathing starts to turn labored and his legs begin to wobble from effort is when Arthur finally taps out. “Alright, that’s all I can take,” he concedes with a wave over his shoulder to Gordon. The other man promptly follows through with the request, using the remote to turn off the pump. Gordon kneels back down beside Arthur, waiting to see the shadow of the liquid recede down the hose before he begins to remove it. With a couple teasing wiggles the full length of the instrument is quickly extracted.

Now freed, Arthur begins to feel the weight of his newly enlarged body. With some effort he props his body up with his chunky arms. His tits really catch his attention with how prominently they obscure the view of his belly below them. A soft ‘ooo’ breaks his staring though, when Arthur looks up to see Ricky just as transfixed on his chest as he just was.

“See somethin’ ya like bud?” the older man coyly asks, using his hands up to lift and emphasize his breasts. Ricky gives a mindless nod in return with his encumbered hands twitching in a useless attempt to reach out and grab them. Amused, Arthur decides to take pity on him, lifting himself onto the bed right up to the young man. Now face to face with Arthur’s plump rack Ricky lets out a whine for the remaining distance to be closed.

“Please Papa~,” Ricky whines with a pleading glance up to the older man. Arthur laughs and rolls his eyes at the display, but gives into the plea anyway. 

Leaning forward into Ricky’s massive bulk Arthur envelopes Ricky’s head in his chest. The young man eagerly sniggles in, motorboating the two heavy sacks till his tongue comes out to taste the doughy flesh. After a minute, Arthur adjusts his chest so one of his nipples is right in front of Ricky’s mouth, to which the bed-bound man immediately latches onto. His lips work the sensitive skin around it while his tongue goes wild on its tip. 

Eventually Ricky calms down, content to gently suckle the pair of tits at his own leisure. Arthur relaxes into the moment as well. Tenderly combing his fingers through the young man’s hair and letting out the occasional soft moan as his nipples are played with.

While those two are occupied Mike makes his way around to Gordon who’s gathering up his equipment. “Here, let me help walk ya out,” Mike volunteers as he picks up a portion of the hose that’s at the room’s threshold. The pair work to gather its length through the house till they come to a stop at the front door.

“Well, I sure hope you guys enjoyed your delivery today,” Gordon remarks with a hint of sarcasm. 

“Oh we definitely did,” Mike chuckles. “I’m sure we’ll be shut-ins for the next week or two ‘enjoying’ or delivery,” he adds with a suggestive wiggle of his eyebrows.

“Good to hear. Also, I might recommend browsing our company’s clothing options,” Gordon cheekily responds with an obvious glance down to Mike’s enlarged figure.

“Yeah that might be a good idea,” Mike concedes, thinking how none of their wardrobes will remotely fit them anymore.

“Anyways, thank you for choosing ‘Build Your Bear’ and have a great rest of your day,” Gordon bids farewell with a tip of his cap as he leaves out the front door.

---

Well it's been roughly a year since my first 'Build Your Bear' story, so I thought it'd be right to follow through with the 'at home' services I eluded to back them. It was fun to revisit this world with a new batch of characters, and I'll definitely be back to it again with some new *holiday themed* ideas.

I'm really surprised how fast I wrote this story out, only took roughly a month and a half. Guess I had a good rhythm for it. Though there was a bit of a struggle in the beginning for solidifying a plot. I knew I wanted these characters, it was just deciding who I wanted to be fattened, how much, and their dynamic between each other. Like I thought of the inverse with three bear employees working together to really fatten up one guy. Another idea was the bears giving themselves over to a benefactor to live out a very pampered blobby life.

Maybe I could explore some of those avenues at a later point, but for now I'm happy with how this one turned out. Anyways, thanks for reading and I hope to post again sooner rather than later.

[unfortunate17]

(wilmon.) Shivers run down his spine when Wille's fingers draw lines across his back.

another university!au - apologies that this isn’t the greatest, I’m currently on a train to Naples and exhausted LMAO

thank you for the prompt 💕

Shivers run down his spine when Wille's fingers draw lines across his back. Normally, Simon would be embarrassed about letting some rich boy from class he’d only talked to a handful of times press him up against a wall during the middle of a crowded party, but inhibition seems to leave him entirely when faced with Wilhelm’s warm eyes and hands.

Simon still remembers the first morning of the semester. He’d been late, blearily squeezing into a seat and trying to make sense of the syllabus already projected up front, when someone had tapped his shoulder. When Simon had looked up, it’s had been like all of his senses had come alive at once. Suddenly, he was wide awake, blinking back at deep, dark eyes and tumbling, soft-looking hair.

“Sorry,” Wilhelm had whispered to him, discreetly trying to hand him a phone. “Is this yours? I saw it fall.”

Simon had hastily checked his pockets, flushing when he came up empty handed. “Shit,” he’d cursed, “yeah, fuck. Thanks.”

And the rest, as Ayub often jokes, had been history. Slowly, as the weeks passed, Simon begins to enjoy quick hellos, the thrill of their shoulders brushing in class as he pretends to pay attention, and the sizzle of something more sparking in his chest whenever Wille meets his eyes.

All said and done, Ayub thinks he has a crush. Simon, however, vehemently disagrees. Wilhelm is smart, pretty, and funny - it’s only natural that Simon enjoys his company even if the Rolex on his wrist costs more than Simon’s entire tuition and Wille’s second cousin and brother lord over the university rowing team that Simon had tried out for last year only to be brutally cut despite being better than half the people there.

“Don’t feel too bad,” Wilhelm had tried to reassure him once. “Everyone that made it is a family friend. Erik and August can’t really cut them without it being awkward.”

“Then why do they even have try-outs?” Simon had grumbled, crossing his arms as Wille snickered beside him, his own rowing team t-shirt stretched distractingly across his shoulders.

It was always these little details that remind Simon that Wilhelm is not like him - that his family has millions upon millions of kronor, multiple summer homes - Wille had once mentioned a chateau in the south of France - and an aristocratic group of friends that look at Simon like he’s nothing more than the dirt beneath Wille’s expensive shoes.

Which is why he’s still stunned that he’s here, on a random Friday night, in the large penthouse that Wille shares with Erik and August, with people that have never spoken to him in his life.

Begrudgingly, Simon admits that maybe, just maybe, Ayub is right about that crush after all. It’s not like Simon can really deny it when Wille has him up against a kitchen wall, his mouth hot and slick as it works its way across his pulse point and down the length of his throat.

Simon gasps at the slight sting of teeth, tangling his fingers into the short hairs at the nape of Wille’s neck. He tugs weakly, trying his best to angle them back into a kiss.

Wille makes a sound of protest at the interruption, but when Simon tips his head back to wordlessly ask for a kiss, he leans in immediately, crushing their mouths together.

The sounds of the party - pounding bass and the tittering of the crowd - all fade away under the boom of Simon’s heartbeat.

“Wille,” he murmurs, relishing the feeling of Wille’s firm, warm grip tightening around his waist, “can we - ”

A gaggle of people walk by, one of them jostling them hard enough that Wille has to pull away. “Yeah,” he replies, voice delightfully breathless as he pushes his mouth to the crown of Simon’s head, “my room’s down the hall.”

Simon swallows, heat flaring in his stomach. He nods, taking Wille’s hand in his own. “Okay,” he tucks in close enough to smell Wille with every inhale, dizzy despite the lack of alcohol. “Let’s go.”

Wille kisses his forehead again before he turns, half dragging Simon out of the kitchen. Just before they reach the hallway though, he freezes, turning back to Simon with an odd expression on his face. “You want this right?” He asks, eyes searching. “With me?”

“Yeah,” Simon breathes, pressing their bodies together. It’s hard to imagine anything he wants more. “Please.”

“Okay.” Now, Wille looks a tad uncomfortable, “I just - I need to know that you’re not just doing this because you think I’m going to like - give you money.”

Simon feels like he’s been dunked headfirst into ice water. He takes a shocked step back, flinching. “What?”

“I mean like, like,” Wille squirms, “my family’s - you know who they are. And I’m supposed to be careful about the people I associate with because everyone wants - ”

Simon rips his hand away, humiliation making his face feel hot. “So you think because I’m not - I have a job, Wille. I don’t need your fucking money.”

Wille’s expression is blown wide open, his eyes rounded with horror. “That’s not how I meant it,” he insists hotly, “I just - I wanted to make sure.”

“Don’t worry,” Simon shoves his hands in his pocket, turning to blindly push his way in the direction of the door. He’d been a fool to come here in the first place. A fool to think someone like Wille would ever take someone like Simon seriously. “We’re done here anyway.”

“Simon, wait,” Wille scrambles after him, tugging at his shoulder, “please don’t leave. I didn’t mean to - ”

“You did,” Simon sneers, the beginning of mortified tears burning at his eyes, “this never would’ve - I don’t know what I was thinking.”

“Forget I said anything, okay?” Wille grips him tightly, spinning him around. Simon watches as neon lights play across his lovely face. “Let’s just - come on, Simon. Please.”

And Simon wishes desperately that he could - aches to even. But his pride is burning almost as much as his face is, so he shakes his head wordlessly, resolutely forcing himself away from Wille’s intoxicating presence.

The last thing he sees before he shuts the door behind him is Erik and August coming up to each sling an arm around Wille’s neck, steering him back in the direction of the kitchen. For a moment, he irrationally hopes that Wille will shake himself free, that he’ll follow Simon out into the night and back to his house. Instead, he watches, stomach sinking, as Wille only smiles in response, leaning into Erik’s side as the crowd swallows them up.

[spiderlily-w1tch-blog]

𝙻𝚘𝚐𝚊𝚗 (𝙷𝚘𝚠𝚕𝚎𝚝𝚝)||𝚆𝚘𝚕𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚎 - 𝙿𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚢

𝕎𝕀𝕊ℙ𝕊𝕀𝕄ℙ𝕊

— — —

ft sitting in his lap, a hint of teeth, cock-warming + some grinding, human present, oral(R!Receiving), fingering; ft GN!Reader, no pronouns used to refer to Reader or explicit genitalia

𝐃𝐢𝐬𝐜𝐥𝐚𝐢𝐦𝐞𝐫: I do not own X-Men/Marvel or its characters, all credit goes to its creators and actors

WC: 2,082

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆: Includes reader being entirely nude except for a ribbon, pet names babydoll, babe, baby, doll, and sweetheart are used, No Use of Y/n, obligatory exhibitionism/public sex warning (Series Warning)

𝔐𝔦𝔫𝔦 𝔑𝔬𝔱𝔢: pet names used(babydoll, doll, sweetheart, etc) are all intended to be gender neutral, reader has a mostly ambiguous mutation, but it is mentioned to have a self-healing factor,, Also, I’d like to preemptively apologize for the puns, there’s only a couple but,,, yk,, puns

【Ｍａｓｔｅｒｌｉｓｔ】

— — —

You carefully adjust the bow over your sex as you breathe to calm yourself before you present(I’m hilarious aren’t I?( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)) yourself to the birthday boy.

Logan and you have been together for nearing 2 years now, but you still get flustered when it comes to things like this. You’ve fucked in front of people before but then it was strangers and you weren’t entirely nude except for a ribbon twisted around your form. Knowing it’s his birthday, you steel your nerves and don’t let yourself think too much as you wait for your cue.

“Now, Logan, I think it’s time for your big present!” Scott announces, making sure to be loud enough that you can hear him. One last quick breath to release your last bit of stress and you’re out. You take shy steps into the room and the bright red ribbon contrasting against your skin catches his attention immediately.

His eyes rake down your form and a wide grin slowly grows on his face the more he sees and the closer you get to him.

“Damn, babydoll. All that for me?” He bites his lip with a borderline feral smirk on his lips.

“‘Course it is, birthday boy,” You smile at him, it was intended to be sultry but became more soft and sweet than anything. His feral smirk softens and he beckons you towards him. He brings his hands up to stroke over your thighs once you stand in front of him and he takes in the sight of the ribbon delightfully contouring against your skin and how delicately it’s wrapped around your body. It perfectly frames his favourite parts of you.

It loops around your hips, dipping into the crevices where your thighs meet your groin. The red forms an intricate shape over your chest and tastefully runs directly over your nipples. It all connects in the pretty bow right at the centre of your pelvis to cover up one of his favorite spots between your legs.

“You look perfect, babe.” He leans forward and places a soft kiss, with an underlying hunger, on your belly. He pulls back just enough to look up at you with thinly veiled lust in his eyes, “Turn around, babe, I wanna see the back,” the light command sends a small surge of heat through your body as you obey.

Turning around, you see everyone else here for his party. And for his present. Scott sits in an armchair to the right with Jean sitting on the arm with her legs over his lap. Kurt sits on the floor cross-legged with his eyes trained on you with fascination. Rogue sits on an ottoman behind him, trying and failing to look indifferent to the situation. Remy sits in another armchair with his arms resting comfortably on the arms and one leg crossed over the other, looking almost like a mafia boss or something, orchestrating this whole thing with the smug look he has while watching you intently.

Hank is in a large chair, made for him with his beastly size, watching both Logan’s and your actions carefully. For one reason or another, you’re glad that the Professor had to leave on business. You don’t think you’d be able to look him in the eye if he were here to watch you and Logan like this.

Logan still sits behind you as he appreciates the work you put into wrapping yourself up for him. The ribbon runs under your ass cheeks and across your lower back to perfectly frame your ass. Along your back, rather than being jumbled awkwardly to only make the front pretty, the ribbon crisscrosses delicately.

“You know exactly what I like, huh, doll?” He asks cheekily as he brings his hands up to trace over the ribbon. He reaches where it frames your ass and grabs handfuls of your flesh to squeeze and spread to get a good glimpse of his goal. He leans in and sets a long lick over his favourite hole, slicking it up and groaning at your taste. He pulls back to slap at your ass hard enough to watch it jiggle for him.

“Mmm, fuck, baby, c’mere,” He pulls your cheeks apart again and sucks on two of his fingers to slick them up to properly stretch you for his cock. Because of the healing aspect of your mutation, your body always resets itself so you’re tight as a virgin no matter how many times you take his cock.

His fingers pushing into you has you moaning already and makes you arch your back as your arms reach back to steady yourself on his shoulders. He turns his head to place a light kiss on your wrist as he pumps his fingers in and out of you, scissoring you to open you up.

“L-Logan… Fuck…” You pant and lose yourself to the feeling until he deems you ready and pulls his fingers back. You slightly whimper at the loss, hearing the snickering from some of your friends as they see how needy you can be.

“C’mere, baby,” Logan chuckles and turns you around to face him again, “you all ready?” He asks, a smug smirk on his face with an eyebrow quirked up. You nod with a slightly whiny ‘Mhm’ as he quickly shimmies his sweats off his hips to let his cock bounce up and hit his toned stomach. Once his cock is free and ready, he slides his hands back up your thighs to reach the ribbon over your crotch.

“Time to open my present,” He smirked and places a kiss to your hip as he carefully undoes the bow. After he pulls the tail, the ribbon unravels and lets all the rest of it wrapped around your body go slack. Not wanting to waste too much time but still wanting to appreciate your gift and all the detail, he follows the direction of the ribbon to pull it all off of you.

He pays extra attention to the bits between your thighs and framing your ass, and to the intricate design on your chest. As he unravels the design, he makes sure to stroke over your nipples and even pulls you down to straddle his thighs, once your bottom half is fully free, to lick over them and tweak them. Once the whole ribbon is off, he sets it to the side, making a mental note to keep it since it’s already catered to your measurements.

From there, he slides you forward and brings his fingers to your lips to have you wet them. He bites his lip and groans at the sight of you sucking on the appendages. When he deems them wet enough he slips them out of your mouth and brings them down to his cock to wet it for your entrance.

“Fuck… Logan…” You sigh at the sight of his hand pumping his big, hard cock.

“Don’t worry, doll, you’ll be feeling this in no time.” His smirk showed off his teeth and it reminded you of the night before when he’d marked you up with bites and hickeys that had, unfortunately, already healed. Soon, he brings his fingers back to your stretched hole and slickers it up even more before he guides your hips to position over his tip.

“You gonna be good and take it all, babydoll?” He grunts out as his tip rubs over your hole and his lips pressed to your chest.

“Yes, oh god, yes..!” You call out, feeling almost tortured by his tip only rubbing over where you desperately needed him buried inside you. At your answer, he smirks and helps to lower you down on him, not stopping until your ass is fully seated on his lap.

“Fuuucck… Tight as ever, sweetheart,” He mutters to you as he wraps his arms firmly around your waist and you bury your face in his neck. You go to move your hips to ride him but he tightens his hold around your waist to keep you in place.

“Lo..?” You ask, your voice no louder than a whisper in his ear.

“Just relax, babe, I want you to keep me warm, ‘kay? Just stay like this, baby,” He noses behind your ear and places a kiss just below it. You couldn’t concentrate with his dick stretching you full, but you nodded anyhow and buried your face further in the crook of his neck.

“Summers. You said you guys got a cake?” Logan calls out to Scott as if everything is completely normal.

“Uh, yea!” The brunette says, seemingly surprised out of a stupor as he scrambles to get up. He sends a quick confused look around the room but gives a quick shrug as he jogs to the kitchen.

“Wait, so, you’re just going to… stay like that?” Kurt asks, clearly confused at the concept.

“Yup. Here’s a lesson, bub, you don’t gotta actively fuck to have this kinda intimacy. I’m guessin’ you never heard of Cock warming.” There’s a small pause of silence which you assume is Kurt shaking his head in lieu of a verbal answer, “Well, this is it. You just got your partner sittin’ on your cock. Not movin’ or anything, just sittin’ pretty and bein’ a good little cock sleeve.” He moves his hands to not be clutching you so tight and to rub over your sides and your back, keeping you comfortable and sated.

He presses kisses to your jaw and neck, leading onto your shoulder as they waited for Scott to get back.

“Ow! Shit!” You all hear a quiet hiss from the kitchen after a small ‘zap’ followed by an equally small ‘bang’. You would have giggled at what you all know just happened but the feeling of your gut tightening accentuates every part of you that’s clamping down on Logan.

“Haaappy Biiirthdaay too youu,” You can hear Scott trying sing all wobbly like he’s trying to purely focus on the cake in his hands. Everyone else joins in, though it seems awkward as many of them are still distracted by the situation of you in Logan’s lap. You try and lighten the atmosphere by weakly joining the song which does earn a chuckle from your boyfriend. Luckily, it seems you succeeded when the others start to focus on the events now going on.

Soon enough, Logan has to shift slightly to look at the cake to decide what piece he wants as is customary. You clench around him when he shifts which affects you both, coaxing a moan from you and a pleasured grunt from him. Quickly, he places a light kiss on the crook of your neck before he does back to his task of picking out his piece of cake.

You can feel him give a nod of thanks to Scott when he hands him the small plate. It seems everyone simply indulges in the rest of the party while you sit and cock warm Logan. He offers you bites of cake every so often and occasionally licks frosting off your lip. Once he’s done, his hands return to your waist and he brings you back enough to kiss you properly.

“You’re doing so good for me, sweetheart. You feel amazing,” He murmurs against your lips before he indulges again.

“Wanna be good for you. Wanna be so good for you, Lo,” You let out in a whine. You grind your hips down on his and he inhales a hiss, his hands on your hips tighten at the feeling.

“Mm, fuck, baby… Stay still for me, ‘kay? Oh, fuck, you feel so good, doll, promise…” He grunts out. His hands move to your ass and grab big handfuls of it with a squeeze to still your movements, “If you’re good for the whole party, I’ll let you cum on my cock, alright? Would you like that..?” He asks in a teasing tone as he brings one of his hands forward to stroke your sex slightly, making your intended movements falter from the shock of pleasure he just sent through you.

“Mhmm!” You nod rapidly and completely still your hips. You can’t help but clamp down on him when he continues to lightly stroke your sensitive spots.

“You’re such a good little cock sleeve, sweetheart.” He smirks and brings you forward back into his chest and nestles his head in your neck. He leaves small, teasing bites on you as a promise of what’s to come. If you’re good, that is.

— — —

𝕋𝕒𝕘𝕝𝕚𝕤𝕥:

@frosch-thefrog

[blackkatmagic]

for the ask game! how about granta omega?

Sometimes, there are doors to the spirit world in the most convenient places.

Granta slips out of the wild tangle of electric and organic and into the sterile halls of the Senate building, light on his feet in the darkness. The air here hums, heavy and dark, and Granta breathes it in and smiles.

It never fails to satisfy, the fact that so many thousands of benders and Force-sensitives are so desperately chasing one poor, powerless thief around Coruscant, howling like tookas that just got their tails stepped on.

Well. For certain definitions of powerless. And poor.

Pulling his hood up, Granta hums a quiet tune, scanning the Vice-Chancellor’s office. Mas Amedda isn't quite stupid enough to leave proof of his involvement with the Sith out in the open, but it’s a near thing. And he’s certainly not that careful with proof of his corruption. If Granta didn’t know better, he’d think Mas Amedda was outright asking for someone to blackmail him into betraying Palpatine, and, well. Granta will graciously take him up on the offer if he’s so desperate for it.

It only takes a few moments of slicing to find what he needs, and Granta tucks the data chips away in his coat, neatens the office to erase all signs of his presence, and heads for the hall. There’s another door into the spirit world three levels down that opens up in a plain half-consumed by wires that grow and leaf like vines, and from there Granta knows a path through one of the more misanthropic spirits’ territory, leading to another exit deep in the Undercity. As much as Granta enjoys making the Senate Guard pull their collective hair out over his entrances and exits, sometimes it’s more productive to get out with less of a fuss—

Glass cracks, shatters, and the wind howls like an enraged thing, so strong that for an instant Granta is almost spun off his feet. He snarls a curse, wrenches around, and stopping a bender’s power is possible but not here, not suddenly. Getting away is a better plan, because once Granta is out of sight he’ll be faceless, unremarkable even to a clone trooper.

When he goes to run, though, the airborne shards of glass that are supposed to be shatterproof are still spinning through the air, and the trooper in the center of the storm has his blaster up and aimed, perfectly steady despite the gale.

All benders are at least a little annoying, in Granta's perfectly objective opinion, but airbenders are some of the worst.

“Surrender,” the clone says, a clear warning, and Granta rolls his eyes even as he takes a half-step back, gaze flickering up and down the hall. Getting back into the spirit world is possible even without retreating to the door he emerged from, but the idea of giving away what he is so early in the game is disappointing. Granta was hoping to see the Guard scramble around looking for clues for at least another few weeks while he set up all the pieces on the board.

“Little old me?” Granta asks, pitched to faux innocence that’s meant to infuriate. He takes another step back, calculating his odds of getting into Mas Amedda’s office again before the clone can reach it. “I'm just doing my civic duty. Shaking off a few cobwebs, uncovering the truth about our esteemed leaders. Are you really going to persecute me for that?”

“No,” the clone says, entirely, delightfully unimpressed. “I'm going to persecute you for burglary and breaking and entering. Hands up.”

Obligingly, Granta raises his hands, palming one of his knives as he goes. “Really,” he drawls. “How uninspired of you. Commander, wasn’t it? I think I've seen you around before—”

Movement. Impossibly quick, almost as quick as a Jedi, with the force of a hurricane behind it. Granta flings the knife even as he throws himself to the side, hits the ground and rolls beneath a scything kick, a burst of air so concentrated that it leaves a dent in the wall. It just misses him, though, and Granta whirls grabs for the blaster at the small of his back and puts two shots in the air—

Impact, hard enough to steal his breath, and the clone commander slams him up against the wall with all the force of a tornado, grabs for his hood—

The face is as easy to slip into as a new coat, and Granta throws his hands up, turns his cheek like he’s braced for a blow as the dark hood falls away. The commander freezes, breath catching audibly, and Granta looks up at him with a clone’s face, eyes wide.

“Commander,” he says, and it wavers, almost cracks—

“Fox!” another clone shouts, and instantly Fox is moving again, grabbing. Granta throws himself to the side, but Fox follows him, hits the ground on top of him, and Granta laughs as he lets his own face flicker back into being.

“Fox,” he repeats, halfway to mocking. “What a good name.” In an instant he’s pulled that face up, twists out of Fox’s grip as a sleek black fox and flips free, then bolts sideways even as the other clones lunge to catch him. This shape is quicker than a Human, though, and in an instant he’s hurtling back towards Mas Amedda’s office, rounding a corner with Fox scrambling behind him—

One step sideways, a leap, and he’s back in the spirit world, landing lightly amidst a forest of trees with metal-veined leaves, the mortal world falling way behind him.

“Thank you, Mother of Faces,” he says lightly, and when he rises it’s as a Human again. The opposable thumbs are so useful, after all, even if wearing different faces all his life has left him only vaguely attached to any of them.

And then, with a whirling gust, wind sweeps through the forest, rattling the tree leaves and startling Granta. He whirls, and across the half-there shimmer of distance that marks the separation, he can just see Fox in his bright red armor, stalking up the hall and straight towards the spot where Granta vanished. He stops there, close enough to touch, and even if Granta can't hear what he says when he raises his comm, he can guess. Laughs, leans in, and there's no way for Fox to feel the brush of fingertips that aren't in the same plane, but Fox still pauses, turns his head.

“How interesting,” Granta says, and he can feel the shard of the Mother of Faces inside him, present since the moment he was born, turn towards Fox in contemplation. She likes the clones, so set in their identity, forging their own faces out of sameness. And that makes Granta like them, too.

Of course, that doesn’t mean he can't play a few games, particularly when it comes to toying with Fox. The man is interesting, after all.