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osiiiris · 1 year ago

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Dinner time [Kids temp part II - Papa Emeritus IV x F!Reader -OS]

Following the suggestion of a reader, here it is a second part where we witness the after-encounter commentary of the Sisters… and so much more.

This had been sitting in my drafts for literal months, but there were some details I really couldn’t work until inspiration hit back again.

I know I often make parallels between cunnilingus and food, but girl, if they gotta eat, they gotta eat.

This story in particular was written mostly for fun and to give a little bit of love to the Sisters, with little glimpse of their everyday life at the Ministry. Enjoy ;)

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Title: Dinner time [Kids Temp part II]

Genre: PWP, smut, explicit, oral sex, sex, nsfw

Pairing: Papa Emertitus IV x F!Reader (Sister of Sin)

Rating: Nc17

Summary: After the first encounter in his office, thanks to a cup of kids temp coffee, Papa requests you to serve dinner in his chambers. You obviously do not neglect the task… and the new bet with your Sister-best friend. Wattpad | AO3 or down here 👇🏻

Fors those who haven’t read the first part: Kids Temp >>> Wattpad | AO3

You run straight to your group of Sister friends, jumping with your brightest grin.

They are grouped in the cloister, enjoying each other’s company between chores.

You hug the Sister you had made the bet with, your best friend, wrapping your arms around her neck and kissing her on the lips. “Do you feel it? That’s the taste of victory!” you chirp with your high-pitched voice.

“Nooo way!” she screams in response, just as happy as you. “My little hoe!”

“Ah, great, you did it…” you hear Sister Lucy, visibly irritated, "but you know what? I fucked Terzo so many times that you can go fuck yourself.”

“All pre-Copia sisters here fucked Terzo, there's really nothing to brag about.” another sister comments.

"Oh, come on, don't be sad... maybe he was just in a bad mood that day," you try to comfort her. You know she's not really mad at you, only let down because she didn't make it with Copia. You're soon interrupted by the other Sisters.

“Come on, tell us about his cock!”

"And his perfume! Does he really smell that good?"

"He smells like he bathes in Armani every morning..." you confirm, rolling your eyes all dreamy.

"I knew it was Armani!"

"How did you persuade him? He looks so unreachable lately..."

"It was pretty easy, actually. I don't know what worked… I just acted annoying as usual." You shrug. "You just have to insist a bit more, I guess. It's all about keeping the connection."

Another Sister interrupts you again. “But back to the most important thing: the dick.”

“Is he big?”

“Yes! He IS big! And he is soooo good… And he likes deepthroat…”

“All men like deepthroat.”

“Yes but the way he pushes you down is…” again you roll your eyes as you were telling them of a dream “…so demanding.”

"Did you only blow him?"

"Yeah," you say with a little bit of disappointment. "But it was great anyway."

"Well, you made it anyway. Maybe he likes you..." Sister Ania tenderly caresses your hair with the sweetest smile. "Maybe he'll make you his new chosen partner."

You really wish… you feel so in love.

You decided to join the Clergy after watching the band at a concert, after Copia was proclaimed new Papa. In the dimly lit concert hall, hidden from your oppressive family who had no knowledge of your attendance, you watched in awe Papa Emeritus IV magnifically honoring Lucifer and decided you wanted to spend the rest of your days kneeling before that man. It was your call to escape, to run away from your family, finding a new, loving one in the other Sisters with a similar background as yours.

To everybody you are still “The little one”, everyone’s child. Much like the other girls who joined the order at a tender age, you sought refuge among the Sisters, forging bonds with those who shared backgrounds akin to your own, supporting each other and sharing fantasies of your favorite Papas, fueled by the tales of the older sisters, who were much more experienced than you but always ready to guide and protect you through their teachings.

You found in sex liberation and power, when you felt ready to experiment with it, and in the Sisters of Sins a new, loving family.

Days are dedicated to the rigors of the Ministry, toiling away at chores and immersing yourself in rituals, masses and daily life of the order. But as the sun dips below the horizon, nights come alive. The dormitories echo with the sound of celebration – parties, orgies, and whispers that stretch into the morning. Here, you all share the common bond of sisterhood, stories from the older ones, and the simple joys of being together.

Among the many sisters, one name reigns supreme: Serena, The Legend. She holds a unique distinction, having been with all the Papas throughout her time. Contrary to common belief, having sex with a Papa wasn't something to be taken for granted.

Even before the formal inception of the Sisters of Sin order during Secondo's papacy, Serena was already a devout fan. She had followed the band from its humble beginnings in small clubs, led by Primo. During that period, she had been engaged to an insufferable man who only succeeded in making her feel insecure.

Yet, as she found herself chanting those unholy lyrics alongside Primo and a handful of early fans, it was like a clarion call to reclaim her independence. Serena had been one of the earliest to join the Sisters of Sin order. Breaking up with her useless fiancé, she embarked on a personal mission: to find Primo and complete the to-do list of Papas. She tracked him down in the Ministry and managed to sneak into his room one night.

When asking her how did she manage to fuck with him, given his age, she just responded “Dick didn't work well anymore, but damn me if the man can still use fingers and tongue!”

She had a personal chart of the Papas, which looked like this:

Primo: definitely too old to have a proper fuck, but the best with tongue and fingers.

Secondo: the biggest dick of all. Dominant, strong, perverted. The drawback was that he was often too drunk; a few times, he even drifted off mid-action.

Terzo: a pretty average dick, but totally compensated by his twisted kinks and his romantic ways. He definitely knew how to treat a woman, while he was a total whore with boys and Ghouls. Funniest sex, especially in group, but better not to trust whatever he said during it. He just forgot the moment he came.

Copia: she fucked with him both as a Cardinal and as a Papa; even though she had been one of his selected partners for a bit, she first got the impression he preferred boys, to the point she thought he was just gay. Big dick, a shame he was so shy now. A wasted potential.

Needless to say, Papa Nihil is definitely off-limits for everyone.

You spend nights awake in her dormitory listening, along with the other girls, to her stories and hoping to reach her success and confidence.

Copia is only the first Papa you had been with.

You love your friends.

“Have you seen my panties?” One of them is now calling you while you have your hand busy into Cardinal Anthony’s pants.

“No, honey...”

“A ghoul wants to smell them while we fuck.”

“I haven't seen ‘em, but here, take mine.” you grab the panties on the floor near you and hand them to her, keeping the rhythm of your hand on the cardinal. You know the Ghouls can easily smell the difference but you’re sure that will not be important on that occasion.

“Thank you, love.” and she leans to kiss your temple before leaving with your panties.

The orgies are an integral part of your daily routine. They serve not only to celebrate Satan’s - and yours - lust, but also to strengthen your bonds with your siblings and hierarchy figures, as well as to explore yourselves and your boundaries.

Although some might say that is a mere exploitation of the Sister’s body, to all of you it is an empowering expression of freedom. Every participant holds absolute autonomy over their bodies and choices. You have the freedom to accept or decline an invitation, to select your partners, and determine the duration of your participation. In this environment, all forms of unions are not only allowed but encouraged. You never felt so safe, and you are grateful you had your first sexual experience there, in a safe and controlled environment.

No longer after, another voice distracts you in the middle of the encounter.

“Once you’re finished here, take a shower and come to the kitchen.” An older Sister instructs, standing beside you as you ride the cardinal with moderate emphasis.

“Why?” You ask breathkessly.

“He wants you to serve his dinner in his room.”

“Who?”

“The Papa, sweetheart.”

“Papa?!” you burst into the biggest grin.“Yes!” you scream while riding even harder the cardinal under you, “yes!” and the thought of him fills your mind while you lose yourself in the overwhelming orgasm.

Not long later, you stand in the kitchen, fully prepared, patiently awaiting the moment to deliver the tray to his room.

You look down the tray: a salad, some fruits, a yogurt and a juice brick. All cold food. You smirk, your mind already awash with enticing fantasies.

Once more, you find yourself standing before a wooden door, tray in hand. It feels like a déjà vu, but this time, the wooden door leads to his chambers.

Less than an hour before, you had quickly cleaned yourself after the intercourse with cardinal Anthony and had run, still naked, to your best friend, who was blowing a ghoul.

“Papa wants me to serve his dinner!”

She had gestured you to wait one second, her mouth obviously full. Once done, she had just said “What?”.

And you had set another bet.

This time you needed to come both to win it. Full sex. You couldn’t wait.

Once more, you present the tray to the Ghoul and knock on the door, glad to hear his voice again after months, allowing you to enter.

"Your Unholiness," you greet him, a touch more confident than your last visit but still carrying a hint of insecurity from the time apart. "I've brought your dinner."

"Thank you, dear," he utters, his attention momentarily absorbed by his work at the writing desk. After a few moments, he shifts his gaze toward you. He's donned a pair of reading glasses, which he removes before rising and moving to the grand dining table at the center of the room. The place exudes opulence, adorned with a lavish predominance of gold that glistens with every source of light.

Everything within it seems so precious, and you can't help but imagine yourself surrendering to Papa's expert hands while leaning on that table, surrounded by all that opulent gold.

He appeared to be busy but you really can't tell with what. He gestures to the table, "Leave it here," he calmly instructs. There's a perpetual aura of solemnity that surrounds him, making you feel small and fortunate if he merely spares a glance in your direction.

You do as instructed, carefully leaving the tray where he indicated. You're now close enough to catch the faint scent of his cologne. Today, he's dressed in a somewhat more "casual" manner, wearing a decorated black cassock.

"It's good to have you here again," you express, allowing yourself to inquire, "How was the tour, if I may ask?"

"Very thorough, but successful indeed. We had a very positive response," he replies.

"Me and the other sisters watched some videos… you've been amazing," you share, with a certain admiration.

“Oh, you have? How nice.” you feel relieved to see his little smile again every time he says something. “How is it going here? Did you girls behave well?”

"We had a couple of LaVeyan's rituals, I’ve done the altar once!" you exclaim with excitement.

"Ah, really?" He seems pleased to hear that. "I know Secondo loved LaVeyan's rituals. I'm glad you're carrying on the old traditions."

He then glances at you standing beside the table. "But please, have a seat," he invites. "I don't want you to stand there like that."

Now, you're feeling noticeably more confident. He appears much more approachable than the first time you were alone with him. As you sit at his table, you gather the courage to ask, "How are you, Papa?" but almost immediately wonder if "Papa" might be too informal of a name to use.

However, he doesn't seem to mind. "Content, but tired... hopefully I'll have a little break from my duties now that the first part of the tour is over."

"Time to relax a bit..."

"Yeah... time to relax."

For a moment you stare at each other with complicity, and then you add, "I've known you specifically requested me to bring you dinner..."

“I may have.” he confirms. He rubs his fingers before continuing “You seem like a… colorful distraction to have around.”

You smile, surprised by his tender words. "I'm happy to know you still remember me,"

He smiles briefly and glances away, seemingly a bit embarrassed by his own thoughts. "Sometimes... you came back to my mind during the lonely nights after gigs..."

You can already see where this conversation will lead. "I hope there were good memories."

"You left me with a good memory, indeed."

"You too..." your smile transforms into a smirk. It seems like the time for small talk has come to an end. "...and with a good taste."

“Actually…” and he pauses, as you slowly pull up the skirt on your thighs, progressively folding the fabric in your palms to expose yourself before his eyes, legs slightly apart. He looks down on you, interested, looking away after a few seconds, moving his tongue inside his mouth before continuing, “Well… You really don’t like to wait, little girl.”

You can only smile and bite your lower lip with joyful anticipation. “Why wait when time is already so little…”

He tilts his head, raising an eyebrow as if hit by those words. “As I was trying to say, I thought that last time we met, we only focused on me… maybe it wasn’t really kind of me to send you away without some… proper care.”

“That’s very nice of you…” you say. Leaning forward, you add, "May I come closer? This table is so large, it's hard to hear you."

As you stand up, your skirt gracefully falls to your legs. You move to his side, circling the table. Now standing in front of him, you create a smaller space between his chair and the table. He looks up at you, and you continue, "I was impressed by your stage performance, especially with your… fingers… and the thrusts…”

Copia chuckles, recalling the scenes he did during the heatwave of the shows.

"I wonder if you could show me in person..." You take one of his hands from the armrest and guide it lightly to your chest.

“Yes, I like… to use fingers…” and he timidly opens his glove covered hand to caress your breast, softly and hesitant. “I must say… you know how to start a fire.” he considers, pushing his hand on you a bit more, feeling your nipples wake up when he squeezes it, once again letting himself ignite by the growing excitement.

You smirk, looking down at him. You take off his glove, then slide his hand down your torso, until you reach your groin. He massages it through the fabric of your habit, but again you lift up the skirt, and his fingers finally get in contact with your bare skin. He starts by timidly caressing your inner thigh with the back of his index finger, while you start to breath heavily already.

He must find it so easy to casually slide his thumb up and down your clitoris, already wet. The other fingers lightly touching the area of your well lubed entrance. He’s still timid, looking distractly away, but when he looks at what his hand is doing he can’t help but release a heavy breath, his eyes darkening in desire.

You moan, your head rolls back with a step backwards, stopped by the edge of the table. Your hands grab the wood at your sides while you move to sit on it.

He then pulls the chair closer, and you have a silly realization of what he really meant by having you serving his dinner.

“Can I, sister…?” He asks, looking up at you, his hands already on your thighs.

“I bet you must be hungry…”

A smirk, and he disappears under your skirt to finally start enjoying his meal. You don’t see it but you feel what he is doing. You really feel it, and you remember why you like older men, thinking how many girls they have licked to gain their experience. He really seems the type who doesn’t really know how to start, but once in action he doesn’t hold back at all.

He’s patient, precise, moves his tongue with experienced technique; not in that fast, fidgety way the young priests and Brothers, and even other Sisters, do; his laps are soft, long and warm, just like he was eating a melting ice cream, licking all directions to prevent the cream to slide down… he licks you like he really loves doing it.

And he loves to delve his tongue deep between your labias and hear you panting while you move your hip towards his face, immersed in the warmth of your thighs.

All of a sudden, he speeds up, and that warm stimulation of his tongue moving quickly on your clitoris makes you almost jump.

You instinctually raise a leg and put your foot on the chair armrest, guided by his hand, gently pushing it to open you up a bit more.

You need to hold on something so you reach to his head, running your fingers through his now partially silver hair, gently guiding him when you need him to push more against you. The only thing you hear is wet sounds mixed with yours and his soft moans, which makes your whole body pulse and tremble.

At the end, when you start to run out of breath and your leg vibrate for the pleasure, he decides to stop, leaving you breathless and slightly disappointed.

Copia stands up, and that move alone is enough for you to flinch and gasp with anticipation. Despite not being exceptionally tall, he still towers over you, even as you sit on the table, and you look up to him, lips parted, impatient to feel his big hands on your waist and his mouth on you again. That’s what he does, grabbing your waist to pull you closer. In his face now, you catch a glimpse of the fierceness he shows on stage. You are his audience now, and he knows the power he got on you. If he were to ask you to bark, you'd already be on all fours, ready to give him your best performance.

You hope for it a little.

But instead you moan to the sensation of his covered erection against your nude, sensitive skin, while he takes advantage of your open lips to surprise you with a deep, passionate kiss, pushing between your legs even more. You taste yourself on his tongue and lips.

He hesitates for a moment, as if struck by a sudden thought.

"I don't want you to think I'm only using you…," he whispers against your lips, a hint of reconsideration showing on his face.

"You can use me any way you desire," you respond.

"Don't say that," he says softly before kissing you, his thumbs caressing your cheeks.

Before you can even expect it, you find yourself heavily panting to the sudden sensation of fulfillment that his two fingers pushed deep inside you provide. His head is hidden on the curve between your neck and shoulder, easily deepening inside you, curving his fingers in search of your point, then going out and in again, faster and faster.

“Please, Papa... I need more…” You manage to whisper with broken voice, following his rhythm with your hips. “Please…” and you remove your cap, finally freeing your hair. He grabs it, pulling you to him for a greedy, wet kiss while his expert fingers keep pushing inside you with no mercy.

Time to take the lead, so you reach his cassock to unbutton it under his curious eyes.

“Oh, Sister…”

You hear him grunting in your ear, muffling his moans through your hair, never daring looking at you while thrusting between your legs, with his cock in your hand.

With a little help he finally slides in, one hand on the table and the other on your hip, gasping and pushing in with all his strength.

The thrusts you had seen him do on stage are now pushing him as deep as he can in you, proving that’s not only stage acting. In a crescendo of your voices, him grunting quietly and you panting like a dying maiden, with high pitches whenever a well assessed thrust mercilessly hits your spot.

In the meantime, you frantically touch yourself on the clit, feeling him reaching his limit. His last pushes, the hips rotation and the crack in his voice give you the adrenaline rush you needed to reach your pick too, and as he greedily slides his tongue between your lips at the end, it is enough to come, resting your head on his shoulder, panting heavily in his ear as the orgasm shakes you for a few moments.

He holds you even tighter in his last spasms, feeling his desperate grip on your back, his hips tiredly moving for the last time before climax shakes his entire body, exhaling one last, exhausted grunt, leaning his neck over your shoulder.

“Wow…” you can only say, trying to catch your breath again. “You should spend more time with us… you’d make all us Sisters so happy.”

He shooks his head, chuckling “I’m not Terzo or Secondo…” he says with a tired smile “And you Sisters certainly have way more productive ways to spend time…” he finally falls on the chair, relaxing his limbs on the armrests while you fix yourself up.

If you could see his cheeks tinged with a light pink beneath the paint, you might notice how he appears even more tender, regardless of his role and age. “I’m not what I used to be anymore, I’m afraid you girls are way out of my league now, eheh.” and that little jiggle while he brushes his hair back with his hands reminds you how much you love him.

He takes the plate of salad and positions it in front of him on the table once you get down. Some leaves have fallen onto the tray, and the juice box now rests on the side. He doesn't even look at you as he distractedly asks, “So, did you win this bet too...?”

Voices really run fast through the Clergy.

#the band ghost #ghost band #papa emeritus iv #the band ghost fanfiction #smut #copia x reader #sister of sin #Now and forever seduce the old man

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sineala · 1 year ago

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Five fic self rec meme!

Tagged by @nostalgicatsea approximately two weeks ago. I am not entirely sure what the parameters of this meme are but I think it might just be reccing five fics of mine that I like. I currently have 302 stories on AO3, so sifting through the contenders here was challenging. I tried to stick to shorter work of mine. This is all Marvel fic because that's what I've written the most of, because I feel like I've become a better writer over the years, and because I decided that the PWP I wrote in The Eagle fandom in Latin might have, uh, limited appeal.

All-Time Low (Marvel 616, Steve/Tony, 12,000 words, Explicit.)

You know how sometimes you write a story that ends up being exactly the story you wanted to tell? You get it down on the page and somehow it's exactly the way you wanted it to be in your head? The words just come out of you easy and fast and you're in the zone the entire time? (Yes, I know the term is actually "flow state.") And, sure, maybe it still needs some editing, but writing it is just this extremely good experience where you don't ever stop and wonder how any of it should go and all the words are just there. You know the thing I mean? I only have a couple stories that happened like this, but this one is one of them. I don't have much memory of actually writing this one, which is how that goes; I remember that I got the prompt and I knew what I wanted to write and then somehow this entire thing happened.

It was actually written for one of Kiyaar's prompts, which was that Tony should be sleeping with men for money during the second drinking arc and Steve should find out and there should be "shame and humiliation and tears." I looked at it and I thought, oh, I got this. The element of Steve then sleeping with Tony after he finds this out, which is a big part of the story, was actually not part of the original prompt, which I don't think even occurred to me until after Ki read the story and said she liked that development that I'd come up with that part myself. My brain was just like, hey, I know exactly how this story goes. Never even crossed my mind to do anything else.

I keep putting off writing the fix-it sequels -- I have Plans for how the blizzard goes in this universe -- because I am afraid I won't be able to make them as good as the original story.

The Libertine (Marvel Ultimates, Steve/Tony, 6,000 words, Explicit.)

One day, I was just sitting there minding my own business and I thought, "You know what? Ults began in the early 2000s and therefore early-canon Ults Tony would absolutely have self-identified as a metrosexual," and then I thought, "Goddammit, I guess I have to write this story now."

I know that this one is in most ways a pretty standard first-time getting-together story but I thought it would be delightful to make Steve and Tony's roles in it opposite from what the prototypical Ults Steve/Tony story would do. So Tony here is like "actually, no, I'm not gay, I'm just metrosexual... oh shit, wait, I think I'm actually pretty gay after all" and Steve is the guy who spent World War II sleeping with every guy he could find. In the story, neither of them expect this about the other one, and I think fandom doesn't either.

I am also weirdly proud of thinking up the title of this story because "libertine" is a word you would probably want to apply to Ults Tony and yet Steve, the Sentinel of Liberty, ends up claiming basically every other liberty-related word, for obvious reasons. And maybe here he gets this one too.

(Incidentally, reading through the See Also section of the Wikipedia entry on "libertine" is a trip I think you should all take. Wow.)

The Longing and Yearning (Bullet Points. Steve/Tony, 13,000 words, Explicit.)

This is also a pretty standard first-time story but it's also my attempt to make Bullet Points fandom happen, which I think pretty much worked, so I'm pretty happy about that. It's a very small continuity, but it's a Steve/Tony thing now!

Steve and Tony never actually meet in canon and also Steve dies halfway through the series, but I had a lot of fun imagining what they might be like together. It was interesting to get to write Tony hero-worshipping a much older Steve, who was Iron Man and had basically all the physical trauma Tony usually gets from being Iron Man, and Tony wanting to be Iron Man because of Steve being Iron Man. Which is, you know, not usually how Steve/Tony goes. I also had a lot of fun furnishing Steve's 1950s-1960s house for him (Gwyn helped me out a lot with this while betaing) and writing Steve and Tony into a world of slightly vintage US government employee homophobia in the age of the Red Scare, which I don't usually get to do in Avengers fic although it occurs to me now that I actually really could have been doing this all along in 616 early canon.

Look After Your Heart (Marvel 616, Steve/Tony, 19,000 words, Mature.)

Last week, I remembered I'd written this when someone was asking for recs of stories where Tony's loneliness plays a major role and I ended up describing this one as "loneliness is Tony's villain origin story." I hadn't thought about it in years and I reread it and was like, you know, this wasn't half-bad.

This has not been one of my most popular Steve/Tony works, I think because the tags and summary make it look like a real downer -- which, okay, yeah, it kind of is -- but I would like to point out that it actually has a happy ending. I wish to stress this. Happy Steve/Tony ending. I promise. You just take a trip through hell to get there.

So this is an AU where time bullets don't exist and when Steve gets shot at the end of Civil War, he dies and stays dead. Tony finds this out when he wakes up after World's Most Wanted, doesn't remember the past couple years of his life, and discovers that Steve is now dead. He experiences a lot of grief. So this is a canon-divergent AU running through the events of Avengers v4 and Hickmanvengers up through Superior Iron Man, in which we all get to find out exactly how far off the rails Tony can go when he continues not to have Steve around to keep him sane, functional, heroic, or sober.

This fic is also interesting as a historical document, because it's one of my earlier stories in the fandom. I actually wrote it when Hickmanvengers was still going, before Time Runs Out happened, and even before Superior Iron Man happened. The last thing in here that was based in canon is the Great Society incursion. At this point, we knew that Tony was going to be Superior but we didn't know how it was going to happen, what it was going to be like, or how Hickman's run was going to end. So I took a whole bunch of guesses, and I honestly like a few of them better than what we actually got.

Smell Like I Sound (Marvel Adventures: Avengers, Carol/Jess, 7,000 words, Explicit.)

This is a Carol/Jess fic with background Steve/Tony. Look, I didn't promise they were all going to be Steve/Tony. This is set in MA:A, mostly because I needed a canon fairly close to 616 where Carol and Jess hadn't canonically met, and Jess does exist in MA:IM. I wanted to tackle an issue I hadn't really seen explored much in Carol/Jess fic, which was "how do Carol and Jess actually get together if Jess's pheromones uncontrollably don't have good effects on women?" because that seems like it would be bad. (I mean, it would also be bad if Jess's pheromones did uncontrollably have good effects on women, but that would be a different story.)

(Because comics are gonna comics, I'm pretty sure that MA: IM Jess's pheromones do have negative effects on women. This is not necessarily the case in 616. We actually found out a couple years ago in 616 that Jess can in fact pheromone women in the fun way, which, yes, I do have a fic outlined based on this. You bet I do. I just have not yet written it yet.)

I don't write a whole lot of femslash, which in this fandom is partly due to The Carol/Jess Troll (thanks, dude) and it's partly because I have a femslash problem I've never figured out how to consistently solve, which is that I can't manage to write a whole lot of f/f that has the same kind of stakes and feelings and tropey idficcy goodness as the m/m that I like to write. I can't really even articulate the problem in a useful way; I just try writing f/f and then I read it back and mostly it's not the thing I like because what I end up writing just doesn't seem exciting to me. And I know it's possible for me to write the thing I like because this one is the thing I like! I did it here! It's just not a trick I can pull off consistently. But, anyway, this one was fun. I think I did this one right.

Not sure who has done this meme, but I'm gonna tag @blossomsinthemist and @isozyme.

#posts i actually wrote

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andthatisnotfake · 2 years ago

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Decided to get some writing done today one way or another, so currently I have all my WIPs open - all 12 14 of them - and the goal is to write 1-3 sentences in each of them (regardless of whether or not it's good, it makes sense, I'll delete later or not, etc.), then close one and write another 1-3 sentences in each, then keep on doing that. Sure, one of them will have only 1-3 sentences written, but I should write quite a good chunk in a few of them. Is this a good idea? Probably not. But it's new and different and I thought I'd give it a try, since nothing else seems to be working to get my writing motivation going.

Fic titles and fandoms under the Read More and I'll be updating this post with how many words I've written into each of them to hold myself accountable (though you can feel free to nag me about them as well, that helps).

EDIT: round 1 done! Now to decide which fic to close... Guess wherever I've written less it'll be.

Round 2 done and two fics added. ☠️

Round 3 finally done. This actually helped, but I think I might focus in one or two next so I can get something finished. Still, more than I had written in a while, so it was fun.

Never Enough* - Mother of The Year (Thomas x MC pwp): 301

We're looking for something dumb to do - DRUK2 (Vegas AU with Taywhora/Asttimini/Diamond Chaney): 44

That's what you get (when you let your heart win) - DRUK2 (Pitch Perfect AU Bimini-centric group fic): 460

Come jingle my bells - DRUK2 (Christmas fic I was meant to gift @comedychallenge in 2021 🫠 - I forgot to include it in the first round, so I wrote double in the second): 319

The One That Got Away - Gallavich (canon-divergent fic I pretty much abandoned years ago and have no idea how to continue, this will be fun): 150

Red Velvet part II* - Royai (sequel to my Roy's surprise bday party one-shot, where Roy and Riza celebrate in private): 291

Words written down (they are falling now) - Young Royals (Wilmon soulmates AU): 382

I think I dreamed you into life* - Young Royals (another Wilmon soulmates AU because @princesimonsblog asked for one for the gift exchange and I couldn't decide which one to write so I started two): 436

Place Your Bets* - Young Royals (Wilmon funny/smutty one-shot): 325

Hidden* - Young Royals (Wilmon fluffy one-shot): 325

If you're horny (let's do it)*- Young Royals (Wilmon pwp): 355

Untitled Wilmon Gamers AU - Young Royals (Which I swear I was already writing before @missmeganlee mentioned it!): 399

Untitled 10 Things I hate about you Wilmon AU - Young Royals: 614

Sugar, oh, honey honey* - Young Royals (Stedrika baking one-shot @frogprincesnowglobe somehow roped me into writing - I wrote double for it, since it wasn't in the first round): 253

*Fic still not posted anywhere, title subject to change.

#Writing goals #Tagging the fandoms so y'all can help me with the nagging #playchoices #MOTY #DRUK2 #Royai #Gallavich #Young Royals #Wilmon

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phoenixtakaramono · 1 year ago

Note

29 - Truce or TNotG 50

Re: Questions for Fic Writers

Ty, anon, for the Ask! I’m gonna give a huge Spoiler Warning for Truce chs 3-4 (and TNotG ch1) which have not been posted to AO3 yet, so read at your own risk.

29) What songs would be (or are) on a playlist for [insert fic]? Explain your choices if you want!

…Oh goodness, last I checked there were 89+ songs I have for TNotG’s playlist, haha. They’re pretty self-explanatory, in my opinion, but I ordered the songs all by the first world we start in + the six arcs + return to Billy’s world. I’ll link the playlist at the bottom end Author’s Note when The Name of the Game ch1 is ready to be published to AO3 in September 2023, but you can also listen to it here:

As for Truce (which you can read ch1-2 here), there are 47 songs…ahhhhh, essentially for both fics, I listen to these songs I like to help set the vibe, mood, and atmosphere for me while I write. It’s like my background music/ white noise. For me, it’s usually the lyrics which tie into the story, usually highlighting a character motivation, their vibe, or just setting the scene. I can highlight a couple songs:

Crazy - Jake Daniels - It really set the vibe for me to get into Homelander’s headspace whilst writing the prologue, because everything in this chapter is from Homelander’s POV. The atmosphere, the lyrics, and the coincidental bloody superhero album art? I thought it was perfect.✨

Wolf - Zack Merci X Arcana - For ch2 (part I), this song encompasses Billy’s overall goal and manipulation of everyone (the Boys, Homelander, and Vought). It’s pretty much the theme song of this chapter.

(Keeping in mind: 🔴 Billy’s POV, 🔵 Homelander’s POV)

Lyrics:

Got you in the palm of my hand

Sowing distrust over this land

I can make it hurt till you understand […]

I was such a fool

Under your command […]

See the truth is I had change of heart

And all that I know is

I will be tearing you all apart […]

I’ll get in your head like a nightmare

And if I was you, I would be scared

Bet you never saw this coming

Don’t you know that I am a wolf in sheep’s clothing

Power - Isak Danielson - If Truce could have an opening number like how every show does, this is pretty much the theme song for Truce overall. It also sets the vibe for ch3 (part II) when Billy and Homelander finally get frisky on the kitchen island countertop, and kinda for ch4 as well. Although the entirety of the chapter will be in Billy’s POV, I want you to know as everything is happening, especially if you listen to this song when you read ch3, these lyrics represent the desperation of the ideal that Homelander sees in Billy. He’s ready for that unconditional love, for that perfect soulmate partner who gets him 100% and is just as obsessed with him as he is; in a dramatic turn of events, he’s now essentially pinning all his last hopes for a human connection onto Billy. (Notice ch1’s line: “keep me sane. Keep me grounded. You are the one person preventing me from razing this earth to the f*cking ground” before it shifts into the fear that Ryan, his flesh and blood, will end up disappointing him ➡️ pivoting to the line of how “the definition of insanity was doing the same thing over and over, expecting different results. Failure, after failure, after failure […] Maybe what needed to be done was to reevaluate his life. Acquire a different perspective on things, a new outlook.” ➡️ The SHEER POETIC IRONY now that he’s shifted that target in his brain to Billy after what’d happened in ch1. It’s a disaster waiting to happen but we’ll only allude to the disastrous future potential at most because Truce is 4 chapters only and not 12 chapters so we’ll end on a Happy Ending for this PWP fourshot. For me, it’s a song that shows that it’s not always a women that can get stuck in a toxic codependent relationship and that men can also be stuck in the same shoes. And if that ain’t the situation with Homelander and Billy in Truce?

(Keeping in mind: 🔴 Billy’s POV, 🔵 Homelander’s POV)

Lyrics:

I still look at you with eyes that want you

when you move, you make my oceans move too

if I hear my name, I will run your way […]

it’s my desire that you feed, you know just what I need

you got power, you got power

you got power over me

I give my all now, can't you see, why won't you set me free?

you got power, you got power

you got power over me

I was lost until I found me in you

I saw a side of me that I was scared to

but now I hear my name and I’m running your way

All I feel as I get closer to you

is the Desire to move like you do

so now I hear my name and I’m running your way

I am ready now […]

I give my all now, can't you see, why won't you set me free? […]

You’re the one that seduced me, lured me in with your beauty, now I know that you used me

All you did was confuse me, you're no longer what I need, touch me slow, feel my heart bleed

(Also this song^ is the bee’s knees. I never skip this song in my iTunes playlist when it comes up and always belt it out when I’m alone. This song is very, very, very underrated. I highly rec you give it a listen.)

Rob a Bank - Confetti - “Who's to say that I can't break into your house / While you're working / I'm just lurking through your bedroom like a mouse / Gettin' naked on your sofa wearing just your penny loafers / Take some pictures leave 'em by your dirty dishes” ⬅️ What can I say? This screams Homelander to me and I laugh at the imagery of him breaking in, trying out Billy’s shiny new polished penny loafers whilst getting naked on his sofa and taking dirty pictures of himself to leave by the dirty dishes for Billy to find. It’s like a tomcat in heat scent-marking his territory. This song does help me imagine the dynamic when we get to the NS*W parts.

Religion - Isak Danielson / Dancing in the Sky - Kristen Cruz One of these songs will represent the penultimate ch4 which’ll entirely be written in HL’s POV; Religion mostly represents Homelander’s POV (which is really just him desperately trying to deceive himself if we look at it meta-ly, but shhh, he himself is not that self-aware in ch4) whereas Dancing in the Sky represents Billy’s side of things as we end the final scene in the story with Billy given approval to take Ryan to visit Becca’s grave to pay respects and for one last emotional send-off—whilst HL (who Billy doesn’t want to see him anywhere near this day) secretly watches the private moment from far away like a lurker outsider. It’s supposed to be a bittersweet emotional touching moment to tug at the readers’ heartstrings—which gets twisted because this is HL’s POV so it becomes tampered with his desperate obsessiveness and possessiveness of Billy being his and HL’s jealousy of Becca that he won’t admit to but, as an audience, we can tell he’s supeeeeer jealous (like, thanks for giving birth to my son—but you’re dead buried six-feet under, and your husband will be my husband now so good f*cking riddance; I will be the winner; he will come to forget you and love me only). It’s a very fatalistic self-fulfilling prophecy. I REMIND YOU, we will still have a Happy Ending for the Billy/ Homelander ship in Truce (hell, HL will even get to fondle Billy’s old wedding ring and think about having his own wedding ring on Billy’s wedding finger) but we’re gonna get a couple parting ouchies as a souvenir at the end a là Becca’s resting place visit.

Religion Lyrics (HL @ Billy):

Can we say goodbye to, to the lies you told

You know I’m wiser, I’ve been here before

I believed your stories, at least the blind in me

You gave my eyes what they wanted to see

I’ve lost my reality

I’ve lost everything in me […]

You act like a God and you’re trying too hard but I need it

I was once a believer

Now I’m back to believing

I’m trying to be smart with a stake through the heart but I feel it

Turning into addiction

Praying in your religion […]

Future doesn’t matter

I'd give it up for you

Even though I know that you’d never do

You know your power and I know it too

I’ll end up in fire, burning with you

Dancing in the Sky Lyrics (Billy @ Becca):

Tell me, what does it look like in heaven?

Is it peaceful? Is it free like they say?

Does the sun shine bright forever?

Have your fears and your pain gone away?

'Cause here on Earth it feels like everything

Good is missing since you left

And here on Earth, everything's different

There's an emptiness […]

I hope you're dancing in the sky

And I hope you're singing in the angel's choir

And I hope the angels know what they have

I'll bet it's so nice up in Heaven since you arrived

So tell me, what do you do up in Heaven?

Are your days filled with love and light?

Is there music? Is there art and adventure?

Tell me are you happy? Are you more alive?

50) Answer any question of your choice, or talk about anything you want to talk about!

HMMMM. Since the ball is in my court, I’ll answer 49) What are you currently working on? Share a few lines if you’re up for it! I tweeted a screenshot of TNotG ch1 - scene II yesterday night but I can give y’all a longer preview of a couple lines from my new QT:

Look forward to The Name of the Game being posted to AO3 on September 2023! Presently exposition scenes I-II (which total 38 pages, with scene I essentially being a speedrun to catch readers who are unfamiliar with these characters and the fandom up to speed whereas scene II is laying out all the story foreshadowings and as many Chekov Guns as I can reasonably shove in for now) are completely done and edited; I’m now trying to get to the finish line of scene III which is the more…exciting part of the three scenes (where dragon!Billy, our transmigrated black-bellied scumbag ML, meets knight!Homelander, our black-bellied scumbag shou, for the first time) before I can give an advanced notice on my socials of the week it’ll probably be posted. ✌️

#butchlander #homelander #billy butcher #billy butcher x homelander #the boys tv #the boys #the boys amazon #ask #anon #phoenix talks #ty for the ask anon!#*coughs* don’t worry about the C-novel terms at the end; it’s cuz I have danmei readers who don’t know who these charas are #so it’s a way to catch the ppl—who’re only interested bc it’s a QT—up to speed #truce #the name of the game

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imaginetonyandbucky · 7 years ago

Note

Hi! I love the imaginetonyandbucky blog, there's so much amazing fic and art on here. Prompt: Alpha Tony, Omega Bucky. Can be as G-rated or as smutty as you want, I'm simply flat-out tired of submissive Tony. Give me the alpha who fought off hostile businesses and gold diggers, and the omega soldier who followed orders. Optional Beta Steve.

Combined with:

I’ve seen a lot of alpha!Bucky/omega!Tony, but not much the other way around. Just… Bucky in the 40’s, only dating female alphas because most alpha men were jerks. No respect in the army ‘til he learns to snipe. HYDRA injecting him full of chemicals because an Asset in heat is just inconvenient. Tony being scorned by Howard because he’s too soft, too small. Tony never liking the alpha stereotypes or the reputation he gains because of them… Them meeting their equal but opposite in each other.

and:

Imagine a switch on the A/B/O where Bucky is the Omega and Tony is Alpha. Bucky gets pregnant.

and:

Imagine Bucky completely hiding his sexuality in the 40s (if he got arrested who would look after Steve?), 70 years later Tony is his first (male) everything.

No Such Thing as Soulmates (Probably) - Part I of II

The scent hits Tony the moment he steps out of the elevator; sweet, almost cloying in its intensity, settling thickly in the back of his throat when he breathes in too deeply. It’s overwhelmingly strong, and has Tony stagger before he braces himself with a hand against the wall, blinking rapidly and shaking his head against the fog threatening to descend over the more rational parts of his brain.

This isn’t Tony’s first encounter with an Omega in heat, not by a long shot, but it’s the first time since early puberty that his body and hindbrain are reacting in complete, harmonic unison without his say-so. He has to close his eyes, and cup his hands over his nose and mouth, breathing in the smells of a day spent tinkering in his workshop to calm down his racing heart, and soothe his Alpha instincts currently going absolutely haywire.

Once his head feels a little clearer, Tony slowly removes his hands, takes an experimental breath, and lets out a relieved sigh when nothing happens. He considers heading back to his own floor, and scouring his own, much emptier fridge for something to eat, but the sour, distressed note buried under the prominent Omega in heat scent makes him hesitate. Worrying his bottom lip, Tony cautiously makes his way towards the kitchen, but stops in the doorway when he’s greeted with a growl.

Barnes is sitting on the floor amidst a mess of loose tea leaves and shards of a shattered mug, pressed back against the cabinets, legs drawn up against his chest, arms resting on his knees, and face buried in his arms. He doesn’t look up at Tony, but he does make another low warning noise when Tony carefully inches across the room, reminding Tony to keep his distance.

(Watch out for the break!)

Tony concentrates on radiating calm, trying to appear as harmless and non-threatening as possible, but Barnes remains tense and suspicious while Tony gets two new mugs, fills them with water, and puts them in the microwave. He rummages through the first aid kit until he finds the heat pack, wets a dish towel, and then grabs the ginger tea and adds a bag to each mug when the microwave dings.

When everything’s ready, he sits down across from Barnes—who has lifted his head in the meantime, just enough to track Tony’s movements—far enough away to not encroach on his personal space, and puts his offerings on the floor between them. “Hi,” he says, nudging the heat pack a little closer to Barnes, and smiling reassuringly. “These things are great for muscle pain.”

Barnes watches him warily, and Tony can’t blame him. They haven’t had much to do with each other in the month and a half since Steve brought Barnes in, apart from a couple of meetings with Helen and Bruce to discuss the issues with Barnes’ prosthesis—comfort clearly hadn’t been a priority of the goddamned butchers who first installed it—and how to fix them. And now Barnes is in heat, in a bad one from the looks of it, as vulnerable as he’ll ever get, and Tony is an Alpha he barely knows, an almost stranger his instincts are most likely telling him is a possible threat.

Even though Barnes could easily take Tony out with both hands tied behind his back. While blindfolded, probably. Saying as much makes one corner of Barnes’ mouth twitch up, and his shoulders relax minutely, which Tony decides counts as progress.

“The tea’s ginger, it’s supposed to help with nausea,” he says, nodding at the mug. “And we still have some of that mixed flower honey Nat brought back from Switzerland, if you want.”

Barnes shakes his head, and reaches for the towel, draping it over the back of his neck with a quiet hiss. “This is fine,” he says, his voice hoarse, barely above a whisper. He grabs the heat pack, too, and uncurls enough to slip it under his shirt, pressing it against his abdomen. “Thanks.”

His hands are trembling when he goes for the mug, bad enough that some of the tea sloshes over the rim, and he nearly drops it. Tony reacts without thinking, and leans forward to put a hand over Barnes’ to steady him, and they both freeze. Tony’s about to apologise—way to be a pushy Alpha douchebag—when he notices that while Barnes’ scent has flared up, it’s not with fear or anger or defensiveness, but with interest.

Tony feels it a moment later; a warm tingling sensation, fanning out from where Tony’s fingers are touching Barnes’, and slowly but steadily spreading up Tony’s arm, over his shoulder, and down his back, across his whole body. He’s suddenly hyperaware of Barnes, all senses tuned in on Barnes, and Barnes alone.

And he knows what it means, too. They’re compatible.

People less jaded than Tony call it the soulmate phenomenon, and tend to romanticise the whole thing, talk about finding their one true love. It’s a nice idea, albeit an inaccurate one. Some people have dozens of compatible partners, while others have none at all. The only thing being compatible really means is that the compatible parties are biologically and emotionally as close to perfect for each other as possible, and that there’s the potential to form a bond, if the people involved decide to put in the time and work.

“Oh,” Barnes breathes, and lifts his free hand to brush a tentative thumb over Tony’s cheek.

Tony gasps, the skin under Barnes’ thumb flushing and warming, and sways into the touch for a moment before he catches himself. “This doesn’t have to mean anything.”

Barnes’ eyes are wide, his pupils blown when he looks at Tony, but his expression is serious nonetheless. “Doesn’t have to. Could, though?”

Tony would be lying if he said he wasn’t tempted. He sucks at his bottom lip, considering, and watches Barnes’ eyes drop down to his mouth before lazily, unashamedly being dragged back up to Tony’s. “Tell me what you’re thinking?”

“‘M thinkin’,” Barnes says, and puts the mug down on the floor next to them so he can, after waiting for Tony’s nod of permission, settle both his hands on Tony’s waist and tug him closer, “that ‘m hurtin’, and there’s a gorgeous Alpha right in front of me. An’ that he could help me out. That it’d be good.”

“What about suppressants?” Tony asks, even as he moves with Barnes until he’s straddling Barnes’ now outstretched legs. “Spending your heat with an Alpha isn’t the only option you have here.”

That makes Barnes’ bare his teeth, his scent bittering with anger. “‘M full to the gills with suppressants already. Whatever HYDRA did to me, I didn’t have heats while I was with ‘em, as far as I remember. Doctors think my body’s tryin’ to catch up now.”

“Shit,” Tony says, the picture of eloquence. He winces apologetically. “I’m sorry. About, well. All of it.”

Barnes shrugs, dismissive. “‘S not your fault. ‘Sides,” he waggles his eyebrows, but he’s grinning a little, making it look more dorky than sexy, “heat partners are s’pposed to be better than suppressant, ain’t they?”

“Definitely the case when it comes to ruts,” Tony agrees, and lets some more of his weight settle in Barnes’ lap. “That what you want? A heat partner? Just this once, a favour kind of thing? Or make it something regular? Something more?”

To his credit, Barnes takes a couple of seconds to think about it before he answers. “I want someone to do this with me, this time. An’ if it goes well, maybe do it again. ‘M open to more, if you are.”

“So,” Tony says, wiggling in place a little, anticipation building now. “Hot, mindblowing heat sex now, see how it goes, and go from there? You’ve got yourself a deal, Barnes.”

“Mindblowin’, huh?” Barnes teases, and Tony kisses him.

Barnes growls again, low and full of promise this time, and grabs Tony by the back of the neck with his metal hand, tilting his head for a better angle. Tony lets himself be moved, shuddering when he tests Barnes’ grip, which is tight enough that getting away would be a struggle. “Bossy,” he murmurs against Barnes’s cheek, flicking his tongue out to lick at the corner of his mouth. “I like it.”

That makes Barnes pull back a little, brows drawing together into a frown. He flexes his fingers, seemingly fascinated when Tony lets out an appreciative moan. “You do,” he breathes, awed. “I didn’t think—I’ve never done this, any of it, with an Alpha. Or another guy.” He smiles, sheepish. “‘M used to takin’ charge.”

“No complaints here.” Tony winks at him, and ducks in for another quick kiss, before sitting back. “We can take it slow, do as little or as much as you want. Whatever you’re comfortable with.”

“I want everythin’,” Barnes groans, eyes fluttering. He pushes up with his hips, grinding his erection against Tony’s ass, and guides Tony back in to bring their mouths back together. “Been waitin’ for so long, you have no idea. Never could, before, was too dangerous. Couldn’t let myself get caught with a Beta guy, or ‘nother Omega, they woulda locked me up for good, taken me away from my family. Couldn’t risk havin’ some shithead Alpha claim me, either, put me behind a stove, force me to pop out a bunch of kids for ‘im.”

Tony pauses at that, and moves back, despite Barnes’ protesting whine. “Have you done any of this before? Alpha women weren’t legally allowed to claim anyone until the 70s, and Beta women can’t—”

“‘M not into women,” Barnes says, pushing his free hand under Tony’s tank to grope at his pecs. Tony has no idea what his face is doing, but he must look pretty close to how horrified he feels, because Barnes winds both arms around him, hugging him close. “Sucked for a lot’a us back then, but it was what it was.”

“So,” Tony asks, burying his nose in Barnes’ hair to breathe him in. “You never dated? Anyone? Or—are you a virgin?”

He feels more than hears Barnes sigh. “Depends on your definition of the word. I dated, had a few steady Alpha girlfriends to keep up appearances, took ‘em out to dinner or dancin’, all very proper. A kiss here an’ there, coupla handjobs. Not sure I woulda managed to do more, anyway.”

“If you want to stop—”

“Does this,” Barnes twitches his hips up again, his cock still rock hard, “feel like I want to stop?”

Tony wants to ask if he’s sure, but swallows the question back. Barnes is a grown man, who’s had more than enough choices taken away from him in the past. Tony’s not going to be someone who makes him feel like his decisions aren’t valid or getting respected. He does press closer, though, and rub his cheek against the top of Barnes’ head, covering him in his scent in a possessive, blatantly obvious soothing gesture.

Barnes hums, amused, and playfully nips at the hinge of Tony’s jaw. “Such a good Alpha.”

He’s being a little shit, the rational part of Tony knows that, but it makes him preen anyway. Barnes laughs into Tony’s neck, sliding his hands up over Tony’s back, scratching softly through his shirt. Tony gently bites at his ear in return, grinning when it makes Barnes breath stutter, and asks, “What do you want?”

“A bed would be pretty nice, for starters,” Barnes says, voice sly, and jostles Tony a little. “Gettin’ heavy there, buddy.”

His knees are definitely happy about getting off the floor, but Tony still shoots Barnes a flat look as he levers himself up. “Too bad you don’t have superhuman strength,” he says, deadpan, holding out a hand. “Up and at ‘em, Barnes, come on.”

Barnes lets Tony pull him up, then links his fingers through Tony’s. “If you plan on stickin’ your dick in me, you should probably start callin’ me Bucky.”

- Potrix

#winteriron #tony x bucky #tony stark #bucky barnes #alpha/beta/omega dynamics #alpha tony #omega bucky #mating cycles/in heat #future mpreg #soulmates #soulmate au #kind of #enthusiastic consent #no sex yet #but part ii is pretty much pwp #prompts #potrix

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seasonsbloom · 2 years ago

Text

bad habit (hangman)

read part ii, read part iii

pairing ; hangman x female!reader

synopsis ; the moment you meet hangman, you know you hate him. and then suddenly, you're not so sure anymore.

“Sweetheart,” he drawls, “when you look like me, you don’t really need any lines.”

wc ; 15k

warnings ; angst, explicit language, mentions of previous character death (reader’s mother dies of cancer), mentions of sexual activity, (some) explicit sexual activity, horrible dirty talk, age gap, hangman is sort of an asshole but not really, inexperienced reader

note ; i cannot believe i am posting this, it is so LONG and i am so embarrassed... at first it was just supposed to be pwp and then it suddenly had a LOT of plot and backstory and then i was at 15k and hadn't even really gotten to the smut part yet and now... i'm thinking... part 2? maybe? let me know if you're interested lol. anyways... first fic... yay?

Fightertown is all sand, suntan lotion, and contrails crisscrossing like latticework across the endless stretch of baby blue that is the Californian sky.

At first, you don’t know how to handle it. You’re from Seattle, which means an average of 156 rainy days a year, and here it feels like the only water you’re ever gonna feel again is the Pacific Ocean and the layers of sweat drying sticky on your skin when you wake up every day. You’re too stingy on your electrical bills to leave the fan spinning circles that herd stale air through your room all night, and it gives you a stuffy nose anyways, so you just suffer through it. Then, in the morning, you spend ten minutes standing under ice-cold water until your teeth chatter with enough force to hurt your jaw, only to forget once more what it feels like not to be hot minutes later.

Penny says you’ll get used to it eventually. But, two months in, you’re wondering if maybe she’s wrong.

“‘Sigh no more, ladies, sigh no more,/ Men were deceivers ever,-’” you read from the book in front of you. “‘One foot in sea and one on shore,/ To one thing constant never.’ Now, what does Shakespeare mean by that?”

Amelia is starting to look like she’d rather be anywhere else. You’ve been at it for about 55 minutes, meaning you’ve got approximately 5 more left for today’s session. Usually, you’d call it quits by now and let her enjoy the remainder of her afternoon because she looks tired enough to fall asleep right here at the dinner table, but you don’t want to leave yet. You’d like to think it’s because you’re a sensible teacher. Most likely, though, it’s because the Benjamin residence is airconditioned, and Penny keeps that shit racked up to a moderate 71 degrees all day, and apparently, you’re a selfish bitch who will put her own need for heat relief before her student’s need for a reprieve from Shakespeare.

Which, like. Semantics.

“I don’t know,” Amelia says, chin resting in the open palm of her hand. She probably would know if she’d listened at all, but you’re pretty sure her mind is as much on the popsicles in the fridge as her eyes are on the clock on the wall.

“It means men are moody assholes who can’t stay faithful,” Penny says as she steps into the living room, ignoring her daughter’s scandalized Mom! “Pretty self-aware for the 16th century, don’t you think?”

You hum. “Pretty true, too.”

Penny laughs. “Don’t you know it? Take it as a life lesson, Amelia.” Then she extends something wrapped in colorful plastic in your direction. “Fudgesicle?”

Maybe some part of you should feel bad about exploiting the Benjamins for their aircon and free ice cream, but you’re sort of past that point.

“Thanks.” You take the fudgesicle and start unwrapping it without any further ado.

“Mom,” Amelia, her phone in one hand and her own ice cream in the other, asks as she gets up, “can I go upstairs now?”

“Ask your tutor,” Penny responds with a thumb pointed in your direction.

You shrug, preoccupied mainly with the flavor of chocolate and fudge melting on your tongue. Your bank account doesn’t really allow for luxuries like popsicles anymore, but, God, this must be heaven.

“Yeah, we’re pretty much done with Shakespeare today. Go over those pentameters again before the test, okay?”

“Sure.” Amelia smiles at you, already halfway to the door. “Thanks. See you next week.”

You wave at her turned back, and wait until she’s disappeared before you say, “She’s a good kid.”

Penny snorts. “A little glued to her phone, maybe.”

“I think that’s sorta par for the course.”

“Not very good with Shakespeare, either.”

“Now that’s definitely par for the course with a fifteen-year-old. Be glad they aren’t reading Hamlet.”

Penny laughs. She sinks into one of the unoccupied chairs at the dining table and stretches her legs out with a sigh. She’s already switched her usual cotton shorts for jeans which tells you she’s about to head over to her bar for the rest of the night.

“I guess I should count my blessings,” she says. “At her age, I’d already hijacked two planes with two different pilots.”

Penny’s stories about her teenage transgressions are always enough to make you feel stuck somewhere between awe and profound jealousy. Your own life is downright dull in comparison.

Then again, your life - and especially the romantic aspects of it - are downright dull compared to most things.

“You must have given your parents gray hairs,” you say, packing up your pencil and notebook in your tote bag. It’s not easy with only one free hand, but somehow you manage without leaving a trail of chocolate across Penny’s tabletop.

“I sure hope so.”

You’re down to the part of your Fudgsicle where the wooden stick pokes out of the ice cream, and try to avoid licking at it accidentally. You hate the feeling of the wood against your tongue, but the whole thing is a bit difficult, as you’re also trying to eat at a pace you know will give you a stomach ache later.

You have to get out of here before Penny sinks her talons into you and…

“You should come by the Hard Deck today,” she says, and you bite back a groan.

Too late.

“I can’t,” you say semi-automatically, “I’ve got work tomorrow.”

Roughly a month ago, you pinned a sheet of paper to the bulletin board at the gas station where you’ve been picking shifts up since you arrived in town, advertising Tutoring for English, Grades 1 to 12. Penny was the only person who answered. Since then, you’ve been coming to the house once a week to tutor Amelia and, unofficially, to be lectured by Penny on all the joys life has to offer.

Her words, not yours.

“No, you don’t. You never work Sundays,” Penny shoots back immediately. Then, at your frown, she just shrugs. “You can’t lie to me, sweetie. I used to do it professionally. It takes one to know one.”

You sigh. “I don’t know that I feel like going out tonight.”

“You’ll feel like it once you’re actually out.”

Having finished your fudgesicle, you place the stick carefully in the wrapper before getting up. You reach across the tabletop and heft up your complete edition of Shakespeare’s plays. The thing is thick enough that you like to keep it by your bedside, just in case you ever wake up to an intruder in your apartment. It definitely doubles as a defensive weapon.

Penny lets out the long-suffering sigh of someone over going through the interminable motions of this spiel the two of you have inadvertently established. “What are you going to do then, tonight?” she asks. “Eat Cup Noodles and read Shakespeare?”

You can feel your face heating up. That really had been the plan.

“Jane Austen, actually,” you mumble without looking at her, clutching the book to your chest like a shield.

“Just… come down tonight, yeah? It’ll do you good to see some people. You’re twenty-three, sweetie. You shouldn’t be sitting around all on your own,” she says gently. “Please?”

The thing about Penny is that beneath her cool-girl veneer, beneath the tough-as-steel attitude of a bar owner, beneath the badass single mom allures, she’s really, really kind. It lets her get away with stuff that would be unacceptable coming from anybody else, but it also means she’s coming from a place of love, most of the time.

You know this. Which is why the next thing you ask is, “Does your bar have aircon?”

The dress was a mistake.

You know it the moment you step out of your Uber. It’s too short, so you just know you’ll be spending the rest of the night tugging at the hem every few minutes. It’s also low in the back where the tightly tied straps of the halter-neck slap against your shoulders, and that means everyone can probably see the patch of acne your dermatologist promised would subside after puberty. Turns out, all men really do is lie. So you’re also going to have to find a wall to perch against and maintain that position until it’s socially acceptable to leave without Penny being angry with you.

In short: you’re deeply uncomfortable.

You don’t even remember why you picked this out earlier, let alone why you bought it in the first place. A mixture of misplaced bravado and alcohol on a night of online shopping, probably. It’s just that there’s this thing you sometimes get, this peculiar tug in your stomach, this strange desire to be seen at the same time that you’re terrified. You want to be invisible, but sometimes you think you’ll die if you don’t get any attention.

Maybe you just want people to perceive you, but without any of the negative consequences that might come with it.

That’s not how the world works, though, a voice at the back of your head tells you that sounds so much like Penny it scares you.

You spend a good five minutes idling by the parked cars, turning your keys over and over and over in your hands. You have half a mind just to go back home.

The Hard Deck is spilling buttery yellow light into the darkness of the night, and people migrate to it like moths to a lamp. You can hear the music and the chattering of voices even from where you’re standing in the gravel parking lot. It’s the sort of thing that should probably make you excited, but instead, you feel the familiar swoop of anxiety in the pit of your stomach.

Ridiculous, you scold yourself. You can’t honestly be afraid of a night in a bar.

Even past ten o’clock, with the sun set beyond the horizon in a display of pinks and oranges and blues so ostentatious it bordered on smugness - like the sky was saying, hey, look what I can do! - it’s still too hot. You can feel pearls of sweat beading in the nape of your neck, the tops of your thighs, the peak of your hairline. If you don’t go in now, the make-up you spent an embarrassingly long time perfecting will melt down your face in a puddle of mascara and lipgloss.

I’ll just stay for a while, you think. I’ll let Penny make me a pink and fruity cocktail, and then I’m going home in an hour. It’s gonna be okay. I’m gonna be okay.

You’re really trying to hype yourself up as you climb the few steps to the front porch. A few people are milling about here, nursing beers, a couple making out towards the railing where the light doesn’t reach.

Inside, the air smells like sweat and beer and good times. There really is air conditioning, but it doesn’t do too much to dispel the heat of too many people pressing into too little space. People crowd towards the bar, a throng of them, as they nudge and poke to beat each other to the next drink order. It’s mostly people from the Army base, you realize, a little taken aback. A sea of short hair and tan uniforms, beers in hands, and smiles on faces. The jukebox is playing a Springsteen tune.

You’re distracted enough that when somebody bumps into you, you let out an actual yelp and almost lose your footing.

Large hands come up to steady you by the elbows. “Sorry, sweetheart,” someone says from behind you.

You turn on your heel quickly. The guy is beautiful, because of course he is. The sort of beautiful you can recognize even when you get only a glimpse of his jaw and shoulders. Tall, tan, fit.

Your heart skips a beat.

He’s also not looking at you at all, hands already gone from you, neck craned to presumably look for someone in the sea of people.

“Didn’t see you there,” he says, and then he’s strutting away from you just as quickly as he’d come.

And, okay… ouch.

Now you regret wanting to be invisible earlier. Turns out the actual thing does not feel good. Not one bit.

A pit opens up in your stomach, and you need to swallow down whatever emotion is rising in your throat. You have the sudden, embarrassing, debilitating urge to cry.

Then somebody calls your name across the room. It’s Penny, waving at you from behind the bar with a massive grin on her face, and you could fall to your knees with relief.

You push your way through the crowd, fighting elbows and knees until, finally, your palms hit the wooden counter. It’s sticky beneath your fingers. You cringe.

“You made it!” Penny cheers. She draws a perfect glass of beer from the tap even as she talks to you.

You’re reluctantly impressed.

“Yay!” you agree, miming sad little jazz hands.

Penny laughs, never one to let even the most pitiful excuse of a joke pass her by. “I was starting to think you wouldn’t show.”

“I did promise,” you say. You didn’t mean for it to come out as defensive as it does.

Penny shakes her head, still smiling. She deposits the beers in the waiting hands of a Navy pilot, then turns to you. “I don’t doubt your integrity, sweetie. Just your commitment to having fun.”

“Yeah,” you agree, slowly letting your gaze wander over the overstuffed bar. “Fun.”

This time, Penny actually snorts. “Just have a drink, yeah? Relax.”

People have been telling you to relax for years now. You’re too tense, you’re too uptight, you gotta loosen up a little. They did it in high school. They did it when you were studying for an English degree in college you haven’t used even once in the year since your graduation. Hell, you’re pretty sure somebody did it when you were still showing up to kindergarten Halloween costume contests dressed up as a Math teacher while everybody else was a Power Ranger or a Princess.

It’s just a little difficult to relax when all you’ve got is childhood trauma, an apartment you can’t afford, friends you don’t talk to anymore, and student loans to pay off until the end of your life.

“I haven’t been relaxed a day in my life,” you say drily.

You can’t be sure because she’s turning to fill a row of shot glasses lined up neatly on the countertop, but you’re almost positive Penny is rolling her eyes.

“I could help you relax.” You know it’s the guy from earlier before you even turn to confirm your suspicion. He’s sidled up behind you, leaning half over your shoulder. This time, he glances down at you and has the audacity to send you a wink. “I’ve been told I’m quite good at that.”

Now that you know he’s a total sleaze, you feel better about how he ignored you earlier.

“Seriously?” you say. “Has that line ever worked for you?”

A grin spreads over his features. You realize he has an incredibly punchable face.

“Sweetheart,” he drawls, “when you look like me, you don’t really need any lines.”

You bristle. A remark you hope will be scathing builds up on the tip of your tongue, but you’re interrupted before you can let it loose.

“Hangman.” You’re seriously confused by the tone of genuine affection in Penny’s voice. What the hell is that about? “What can I get you?”

“I’ll have a round of beers.” He lets his eyes drift down to you again, and his grin grows impossibly wider. “Plus whatever the little lady’s having. You can put it on my tab.”

Little lady. You’re about to vomit on the countertop. You’re definitely not feeling a strange tightening sensation in your stomach. Nope, no way.

“No, thank you,” you say pointedly. “I can pay for my own drinks.”

Never mind you know for a fact you have about ten dollars left in your wallet.

“Come on,” the guy says, nudging you a little where he’s still hovering over you. He’s so goddamn close. You can feel the heat he radiates, can smell the scent of his aftershave, something spicy yet sweet. When he speaks, his chest rumbles with the sound inches behind you. “See it as an apology for knocking into you earlier.”

So he does remember. You’re not sure if that makes you feel better or worse.

Penny is watching the exchange with a raised eyebrow and a twinkle of something you can’t name in her eyes. It’s enough to inspire actual fear in you.

“Let me guess…” The guy pretends to think about it for a moment or two. “You want something pink and fruity, yeah?”

You can’t believe it’s that easy for him to read you, can’t believe the way it has instant, white-hot shame flashing through you. Now you really want to punch him.

Shoulders actually, genuinely shaking with all the anger piling up inside of you, you turn to face Penny. “Scotch,” you say. “Neat.”

Penny is staring at the two of you as if she’s watching a tennis match. Then, you become suddenly and uncomfortably aware of a bar full of people tailgating behind you, waiting their turn to order their drink.

While you’re starting to feel your skin itch with all the attention, the guy seems to have no qualms. His finger appears in your field of vision as he points at you. “You heard the little lady, Penny. One scotch. Neat.”

He over-pronounces the word, the t crisp and sharp, mocking you, and you grab the countertop hard enough your knuckles protrude white beneath the skin.

Penny shrugs and reaches beneath the bar to retrieve a glass and a bottle of scotch. Then, as if calling back to some inside joke, she says, “You got it, Hangman.”

That stuns you.

“Your name is Hangman?” you ask, and you can’t keep the genuine disbelief out of your voice. “What, did your parents hate you? What the fuck kinda name is that?”

He raises an eyebrow, but the smirk remains unrattled. “You got a pretty dirty mouth, huh, sweetheart?”

“I can curse as much as I like, thank you very much.”

He hums, says, “We’ll see about that.”

And when you look over your shoulder, you find him staring at your lips.

You whip back around, elbows squished between your body and the bar, heart beating a hundred miles a minute. Blindly, you stare straight ahead, through the open back doors, to where the moonlight reflects off ocean waves. Something is itching beneath your skin now. You have to calm down before you blow your fuse.

“Hangman,” he explains after a moment of silence, “is my callsign.”

That clarifies just about nothing to you. “Callsign?” you repeat. “What are you, a phone sex operator?”

It was supposed to be an insult, but he throws his head back, laughing like you made the funniest joke he’s ever heard. Then he leans forward, all the way into your personal space, chest pressing to your back, shoulders brushing yours, his breath hot against the shell of your ear as he says, “If you want me to talk dirty to you, sweetheart, all you need to do is ask.”

It sort of wipes your mind clean. No thoughts, only your body reacting - stomach tightening, hairs standing on end, a shiver down your spine. Penny sets the scotch down in front of you, then breezes off to serve some other customers. You barely even see her. Your breaths are coming a little faster, your heart is beating a little harder.

Then he straightens up again, all points of contact suddenly gone. If you weren’t sandwiched between him and the bar with nowhere to go, you think you might tip over backward. It’s all so sudden it leaves you dizzy.

He chuckles, and you hold your ground. Refuse to look at him. If he has picked up on just how rattled he’s got you, you’d rather at least not know about it.

“Sorry to disappoint you, but I’m not a phone sex operator,” Hangman says. “I’m a fighter pilot. More dangerous, just as sexy.”

You twist around to get a better look at him. Then, for the first time, you take note of the khaki uniform. Nobody, you think, absolutely nobody, should be able to make that color work for them. And yet somehow, it brings out the green in his eyes.

“Bigger environmental footprint.”

It’s pretty weak, admittedly, but this whole night has spiraled into a realm you didn’t plan for so quickly that you can’t come up with anything else. As a result, you’re uncharacteristically out of your depth.

“Bigger everything,” he shoots back, raising a single eyebrow in challenge.

You don’t know how to counter that, so you take a sip of your scotch and then have to concentrate way too hard not to spit it right back out. The first time you ever tasted alcohol, you snuck a gulp from your dad’s class of Whiskey on the rocks. This is almost as vile, if not worse. Years of consuming margaritas exclusively seem to have dialed your tolerance for straight, hard liquor down to a solid zero.

“You still sure about that drink?” Hangman asks. The amusement is so evident in the upward turn of his mouth that it makes you want to kick his teeth in or hide behind the counter with Penny. One of the two, just as long as you don’t have to keep looking at him. “I’ll buy you something else. Maybe Penny serves juice boxes.”

Just to spite him, you down the whole thing in a single, long drink.

It burns a trail of fire down your esophagus, and you have to fight a coughing fit so violent you’re not sure you aren’t about to choke. Big mistake, definitely. Huge.

You try your best to keep your face neutral, but your muscles aren’t cooperating. At least if Hangman’s smirk is anything to go by, he’s definitely called your bluff.

“Well, you took that like a trooper,” he says drily.

Anger lodges in your throat.

“You must be the most insufferable pilot in the whole Navy,” you tell him, hoping all the distaste you feel for Hangman translates into your voice.

Not that it matters. He seems to be one of those guys so infatuated with themselves that everything just rolls off their shoulders, like water off a duck’s back.

“I like to think so,” he says amicably. “I excel at most things I try. Always strive for excellence.”

You’ve never considered yourself a particularly violent person, but you’re pretty sure you would have broken his nose right then and there if it hadn’t been for Penny choosing that exact moment to swoop in.

“Here are your drinks, Hangman.” She places them on the countertop, then jabs a thumb towards the back of the bar. Her voice goes a little pointed as she says, “I think your friends miss you.”

He doesn’t look annoyed to be interrupted, and you can’t believe it, but it puts a little dent in your pride.

Just how stupid am I? you ask yourself, making a point to face away from him again.

Hangman twists his upper body to reach around you, somehow balancing three bottles in each hand, clamped between his fingers like he’s the alcoholic version of Edward Scissorhands. For a moment, you’re completely enveloped by him, in his arms, and it’s too much, definitely too much, goes straight to your head. You can smell him again, the aftershave and the body spray and the sweat, and as his chest presses flush to your back, you swear you can feel the beat of his heart against all that bare skin exposed by the dress.

“You ever need some help relaxing,” he says into your ear, and for an instant, you feel the ghost of his lips tracing against your ear lobe, “you just ask, yeah, sweetheart?”

And then he’s gone, leaving you clutching at the bar desperately. Your legs feel like jello, ready to give out beneath the weight of your body.

What the fuck just happened? you ask yourself silently. Your mind is still completely, absolutely blank.

Penny pops up out of nowhere like a meerkat. Something on her face tells you you’d better run for cover right now unless you want to get wrapped up in one of her schemes, but you’re rooted to the spot.

“So…” she drawls, and the grin blooming on her face is downright devious. “Hangman, huh?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you mumble, rummaging through your purse just to have something to steady the tremors in your hands.

“He was so coming onto you.”

“He was not.”

“Oh, yeah, he totally was. That was aggressive even for Hangman standards, and, lord, that’s saying something.”

“Can I get, like… a glass of water?”

Penny ignores you. “You should totally go for it.”

She nods her head in the direction he disappeared, and you can’t help but follow with your eyes. A group of Navy pilots is shooting pool in the back towards the opened doors. Even among all the uniforms, Hangman sticks out to you - blond hair, tan skin, smirk you want to slap right off his face. He’s laughing at something the only woman in the group said - a real, full-bellied laugh - and then, out of the blue, as if he can feel your gaze, looks right up at you.

Across the chaos of the bar, across the scattered tables, across the people swaying to the ABBA song playing from the jukebox, across the raised beer bottles and lowering shot glasses, he sends you a wink.

Feeling caught, you turn away instantly. Your cheeks feel like they’re on fire.

“No way,” you say. It doesn’t come out as firm as you want it to, your voice wavering, and you have half a mind to ask for a bucket of ice to thrust your head into. Maybe that could clear the cobwebs.

Penny laughs. “You sure, honey? You look like you’re about to spontaneously combust.”

“I’m sure I do,” you agree. “From anger. I’ve never met somebody that obnoxious.”

It’s pretty clear you’re grasping at straws here.

“I’ve known him since he was a student at Top Gun. He’s a good guy,” Penny says. “Deep down.”

“How deep are we talking? Like Mariana Trench? Center of the earth?”

Penny rolls her eyes. “Come on. Stop thinking so much. Go and have some fun.”

You point at the sign hanging above her bar, the one she’s so proud of she has mentioned it to you several times. “I thought you were supposed to help out when somebody disrespects a lady in here.”

It makes her laugh, a genuine laugh full of amusement and affection that bursts out from deep in her belly. She pets your hand gently.

“You can handle yourself. I know it for a fact.” The smile goes from genuine to mischievous. “Besides… you could stand to be disrespected a little. In the bedroom.”

You gape at her retreating back for a moment.

Then you drop your face into your hands and mutter to yourself, “Oh, God.”

Again… what the fuck just happened?

“Hangman asked me to give him your number.”

Penny doesn’t even wait until the end of the lesson this time.

You’re at the Benjamin dining table, watching over Amelia’s shoulder as she writes a short paragraph on misogynistic themes in Much Ado About Nothing. All the ice cubes in your water glass have melted, and the condensation leaves rings on the tabletop and damp against your palms.

When you glance up from Amelia’s work, her mother is standing in the doorway to the kitchen, arms folded in front of her chest. She’s grinning. You look back at the notebook and pretend your heart hasn’t just started racing.

Amelia, whose pen has stilled, asks, “What’s a hangman?”

“Who,” Penny corrects. “He’s a guy interested in your tutor.”

“There’s only one c in unnecessary,” you say. “A shirt has one collar, two sleeves.”

Amelia doesn’t seem to have heard you. “Oh my god,” she says. “Is he cute?”

“Very,” Penny answers at the same time that you grit out, “Not at all.”

“Is he a pilot, too?” Amelia asks, shooting her mother a look you don’t miss.

For all that she is just a teenager with all the eccentricities and dramatics that entails, Amelia has what some would call an old soul. She’s always looking out for her mother, always thinking things through to the bitter ends that Penny would rather look at through the lenses of her perpetual rose-colored glasses.

It reminds you of yourself, and sometimes you want to hug Amelia, hold her, tell her she doesn’t need to take on all these battles. That she deserves to be a child, should revel in it for as long as she can. You don’t want her to end up like you, all this baggage and no one to help you carry it.

“Of course.” Penny, unperturbed, pushes into the room and pulls out a chair for herself. “Nobody can resist those Military men.”

You hide your snort behind a coughing fit just so you don’t give Penny the satisfaction of thinking she’s actually funny. She doesn’t deserve that.

“When did you meet him?”

“Saturday, at your mom’s bar,” you explain, pulling her notebook towards you. “And we didn’t meet. He almost knocked me over and then proceeded to mock me for ten minutes. Not exactly romantic.”

Penny rolls her eyes. “Oh, please. He was flirting with her like crazy.”

You pretend to be busy scanning over Amelia’s writing, but you don’t register much past the words Hero and Claudio.

“Which one is Hangman again?” Amelia asks. She sounds much too invested in this for your liking.

“The blond one.”

“Oh, with the green eyes?”

“That’s the one.”

“Wait, he’s so cute.”

You groan and drop your head onto the tabletop.

So yeah, maybe there are people out there with real problems. People that are starving or people that have lost their homes. Compare your situation to them, and your toil will seem like nothing. All that is true. But right now, at this moment, you can’t imagine a fate worse than having both Benjamin women pouncing on you like this.

“Don’t be so dramatic, sweetie.” Penny pats the top of your head like you’re a small dog. A miniature poodle or something. “If anything, Hangman will be a good time.”

You turn your head so your cheek is pressed against the wood of the table and glare at her. “Maybe we shouldn’t discuss this in front of your teenage daughter.”

“This isn’t the worst conversation she’s had in front of me,” Amelia says. She’s doodling something in the top corner of her essay. At your skeptical look, she shrugs. “Mom gets chatty when she’s drunk.”

“What I’m saying,” Penny continues, voice rising just a little, “is that you won’t regret giving Hangman your number. You need to loosen up a little.”

“I’m gonna pretend I didn’t notice that innuendo,” you mumble under your breath, then sit back up abruptly. “Absolutely no way. He’s not getting my number.”

“I think it would be cool if you had a boyfriend,” Amelia interjects.

“You and me both, baby,” Penny agrees, leaning across the table to take a sip of Amelia’s sugar-free Mountain Dew.

You are going to start screaming spontaneously any minute now.

“I’m perfectly fine being single.”

Amelia grimaces. “You literally know half of Much Ado About Nothing by heart.”

“What’s wrong with that?”

“Nothing,” Penny reassures quickly and gives her daughter a placating look. “Just that you might have a bit too much time on your hands.”

“That’s not true. I work six days a week.”

“Exactly!” Penny smiles from ear to ear. It’s almost angelic, that smile. You can’t believe there’s an actual demon hiding behind it. “Which is why I should give Hangman your number. You have to have some fun at least one day a week.”

“I agree,” Amelia says.

“Am I still getting paid for this?” you ask, glancing at your phone to get the time. “Does this stay on the clock?”

Penny doesn’t answer your question. “I just think anybody in Fightertown needs to go on at least one date with a Navy pilot. It’s a rite of passage, really.”

“Aren’t there any other eligible pilots around then? Somebody nice? Literally anybody else?”

Penny’s smile turns soft. “You’re not seriously trying to convince me you’d be content with a nice guy, are you?”

That gives you pause. “What’s wrong with nice guys?”

“Absolutely nothing. Just… I don’t think nice is what you need at all, sweetie.”

You exhale loudly and then sit up, shaking away the strands of hair plastered to your cheek. “I don’t think I could stand being around Hangman either.”

“I’m not saying you should get married to the guy,” Penny acquiesces, “just… go on one date.”

You think about it for a moment. Think about dressing up in your prettiest dress, waiting outside your shitty apartment complex for Hangman to pick you up. Would he wear his uniform again or civilian clothes? You imagine him in jeans and a t-shirt, a hoodie for when it gets colder, the way the fabric would hug his broad shoulders. Would he take you to a restaurant or to the movies? No, Hangman seems like the type of guy to take you somewhere he can show off, you decide, to go bowling or surfing or something equally embarrassing for you, gratifying for him. You think about sharing a bottle of beer on the beach, the ocean spreading far and wide and blue in front of you, waves cresting, the moon gleaming, his warm hand on your back, his voice so close to your ear. Think of drawing him closer, his breath on your mouth, his touch on your hips…

You shake your head to banish the thoughts.

No way, you think, and something inside of you flutters with the sudden fear of it all, no way I can do this.

“I don’t think so, Penny,” you say. Your voice has gone quiet, dispassionate but firm, and you know Penny will know not to push further. “We should get finished with this lesson.”

Penny is quiet for so long that you know she’s swallowing down words. So you make it a point not to look at her.

There’s a fear inside of you, a fear that stands in doorways and won’t let you pass. A fear that blocks the pathways of your life. You’ve been static for so long now that you don’t know how to shake it. Sometimes you don’t even know if you want to.

There’s something reassuring about not moving. It means you won’t get lost.

Finally, Penny sighs. “Alright,” she says, rapping her knuckles against the tabletop. “Be good, you two.”

You concentrate on the words blurring and sliding off the page in front of you and ignore the insistent, nagging voice at the back of your head chanting coward coward coward.

It’s Friday, but you’re not feeling at all inclined to thank God for it.

The gas station is deserted, which, in your humble opinion, is much worse than when it’s busy. Because no costumers mean nothing to do and nothing to do means nothing to occupy your mind with, and nothing to occupy your mind with means thinking, thinking, thinking.

You’re like a broken record - getting halfway through a thought before you circle back to the beginning, endless loops cartwheeling around and around.

It goes: Penny, Amelia, Hangman, Saturdays at the Hard Deck, Arizona Ice Tea spill in aisle four, Hangman, Hangman, Hangman… record scratch, pause, tape spooling, rewinding, replaying.

You’re so bored you’ve counted all the ceiling tiles four times. On the radio, they’re talking about the weather. The slushie machine is spinning cherry-colored ice with little, gurgling sounds.

The bell chimes, and you barely look up from your phone screen. A few lowered voices, the sound of laughter, and shuffling feet on linoleum floors as the group approaches the glass walls behind which row after row of drinks stands huddled can to can in the blessed cool. You blow a strand of hair out of your eyes.

“Well, well, well, what do we have here?”

And you must have done something really horrible in a past life - there’s no other explanation for why the universe keeps doing this to you.

Hangman is leaning against the counter, one elbow braced on the top, the other arm lifting to flick his sunglasses down to the tip of his nose. He’s smirking, and the expression has become so familiar already that you think it might be melded with his face. You pretend not to notice the sleeve of his uniform straining against his bicep.

“Are you stalking me?” you ask.

“Definitely not.” Stepping away from the counter, he lifts a sixpack into the air. “I’m buying beer.”

You raise an eyebrow. “You got any ID?”

It punches a laugh out of him, and you don’t like it. You weren’t aiming to amuse him - you want to annoy him. You want to make his skin crawl the way he does to you. You want to slip inside his mind and burrow there, stay there, get lodged there. A splinter in his finger. A thorn in his side.

The intensity of it scares you, and when you reach for your water bottle, playing with the cap, your hands are shaking.

He reaches into his pocket and gets out his wallet. The picture on his driver’s license is old; He’s younger in it but no less handsome. His hair is just as blond, his eyes just as green. There's nothing ridiculous about it, unlike the botched photo you took at the DMV years ago.

You glance at his date of birth belatedly, almost like an afterthought, then do the mental math quickly. Not because you think he isn’t old enough to buy the beer. Just to find out how big the gap between him and you is.

Seven years. Seven years… you don’t know what that means. You don’t know why you care.

“Alright.” You move to ring up the sixpack, but he shakes his head.

“Waiting for my friends,” he explains with a thumb thrown over his shoulder.

“You have friends?”

He laughs again. “You’re funny.”

“I’m not trying to be,” you mutter and, resolved not to engage with him any further, pick your phone back up and settle in against the shelf of cigarettes behind you to ignore him.

He is having none of it, and you’re not even surprised.

“I liked the dress better, but those shorts aren’t half bad either.”

You look down at your work uniform of white denim shorts and a hideously orange vest with your name tag pinned to the chest. It is a downgrade from Saturday’s outfit, that’s for sure, but you haven’t settled on how you feel that he remembers it yet.

“I didn’t think you noticed my dress,” you say.

“Sweetheart, you’d have to be an idiot not to notice that dress.”

It has you lifting an eyebrow, seeing an in. “Oh, so you admit you’re an idiot then? Since you ran into me and all?”

His smirk goes just a fraction wider. “Maybe I did it on purpose.”

“You run into girls on purpose often?”

“Only the real pretty ones.”

It makes your head spin because… things like this just don’t happen to you. Not with guys like Hangman, at least. And it’s not even because you think you’re ugly or unappealing. Rationally you know you’re not. It’s just that he’s so… he’s so…

“What, am I so handsome you’re speechless?”

He’s so goddamn insufferable.

“You torturing this poor girl, Hang?”

You recognize the woman from last Saturday, her sharp cheekbones, the glossy hair sleeked back into an army-mandated but nonetheless impressive coil at the back of her neck. She’s pushed her sunglasses up to the top of her head, which already makes her less of a show-off than Hangman by a mile. The smile she gives you is genuine and warm, and you feel yourself relax.

Anything’s better than being alone with Hangman.

“Oh, hardly.” Hangman shuffles to the side to let the woman heave another six-pack onto the counter. “If anything, she’s the one torturing me.”

There’s a literal ball of fire in your stomach, radiating heat all the way up to your cheeks. You must be looking like a deer caught in headlights right now.

The woman purses her lips. There’s so much derision in this one minuscule expression that it has actual jealousy jolting through you. Man, if only you could look at Hangman like that, you might actually make some sort of impact on him.

“Stop lying, man.” The woman rolls her eyes and then shares a look with you, something conspiratorial, something long-suffering only women can share in the presence of a man severely overestimating his own desirability. “She’ll punch you before she lets you take her out.”

Hangman shrugs. “Fine with me. It’s a fine line between love and hate.”

“What the fuck,” you mumble and busy yourself with the register.

“Is he bothering ladies again?” Two other men in Navy uniforms step up. One, tall, dark-skinned, mustachioed, dumps a whole armful of snacks on the counter, then grins at you a little sheepishly.

“Always,” the woman answers without missing a beat.

Hangman says, “I’m not bothering her if she enjoys it.”

You’re almost entirely positive that he winked at you again, but you make it a point not to look up and start scanning items instead.

“You guys need any bags?”

“That’s alright,” the woman answers.

They chat among themselves as you ring them up, but you can feel Hangman’s eyes on you the whole time. It’s enough to make you feeble, clumsy, and try your best not to drop anything.

You don’t know what compels you to say something. By all means, you should stay quiet. Let him leave. Never think about it again.

Instead, you pick up a bag of flaming hot Cheetos and say, as casually as you can manage, “Are you having a party?”

“Bonfire,” Hangman corrects. His elbow is still balanced on the counter, all that tanned skin, and you let your eyes follow the trail of his arm, up to his chest where his name tag spells SERESIN, all in capital letters. You pause there, staring at the name. “On the beach.”

You think that’s going to be it, that you’re going to ring him up and send him home. You’ll bite your tongue bloody before you say another word.

But then he continues, “You should come.”

He hasn’t been exactly subtle in his flirting, so this shouldn’t come as a surprise, and yet somehow it does, enough to stun you. Maybe it’s just your lack of self-confidence, but such a blatant invitation to spend an evening not just with him but with all his friends, makes your brain short-circuit.

“I have to work,” you answer almost automatically, brain operating completely on auto-pilot.

He lifts his shoulders in a noncommittal shrug. “After work, then.”

You open your mouth but can’t come up with another excuse, so you just settle on, “Your total is 42,98.”

You think he will fight you on it like he’s been fighting you on everything since the first time you met. But he just smirks, only one side of his mouth lifting, and gets his card from his pocket.

“I’ll pay,” he says.

When you accept his card, you take painfully meticulous care not to let your fingers brush against his.

The woman watches the whole exchange, and as you glance at her, something unreadable, some tiny flicker of emotion crosses her face before a genuine, slight smile replaces it.

Hangman stores his wallet in his pocket and starts collecting snacks in both arms, as do the other two men. You watch it all with a strange feeling fluttering in your chest, something that grows in your throat, threatening to choke you.

You wonder what it would be like to live in the moment, to stop thinking of consequences, stop weighting every decision with scales, overthinking every issue until you’ve looked at it from every angle and still haven’t found a single solution. You wonder what it would be like to throw your hands up in the air, say fuck it, who cares, wait for the end of your shift and drive down to that beach, get drunk on the beer you sold to the most obnoxious pilot in the history of the Navy, to take him home later and then have him inevitably never call you or text you or even speak to you again.

You wonder what it would be like not to feel the weight of the world drag you down, down, down.

“See you around, sweetheart,” Hangman says, smirking, pushing his aviators back up the bridge of his nose until the green eyes disappear behind the dark shades, until he’s obstructed from view. Until he becomes once more just a guy you pass on shopping streets, too beautiful to be real, too beautiful to ever talk to you. He turns towards the door, the other two in tow.

If he looks back, you think, torn between wishing and dreading, if he looks back, I’ll go.

He doesn’t look back.

Only the woman hangs back, looking at you with the same expression you can’t make light of. Curiosity, maybe. Interest.

“He’s not giving you too much trouble, is he?” she asks after a moment.

Her voice is different now, less harsh somehow. Softer.

You can’t even imagine what it must be like to try and make it as a woman in a world that’s still as obviously run by men as the army. You suppose there’s some amount of adjustment involved, some posturing. A shell as thick as armor.

“It’s… it’s fine. He’s harmless.” You’re surprised at your own words but not as surprised as you are to find that you actually mean them.

No part of you feels threatened by Hangman; no part of you feels unsafe or intimidated. You’ve been hit on by enough sleazy men in bars to know that that’s a rarity.

“He can be a lot, sometimes.”

You snort. “I can tell. If anyone’s in danger here, though, it’s him.”

She raises an eyebrow, and her sunglasses, still pushed into her hair, climb with the movement. “How so?”

“If he keeps going as he has been, I’ll punch him in the face.”

She grins and says, “I don’t doubt it.”

It’s nice. Pleasant. Easy.

You can’t remember the last time you spoke to somebody close to your own age like this, almost like you’re friends. At the realization, your heart gives a painful pang.

“I’m Phoenix, by the way,” she says, offering you a hand across the counter.

You take it without hesitation and smile at her as you tell her your name.

She nods. “We usually hang around the Hard Deck on Saturdays if you ever want to come by.”

“Oh,” you say, “Thank you.”

It’s a genuine offer, you can tell. She doesn’t strike you as somebody who says things she doesn’t mean, and that’s why it’s special to you.

She nods again, says goodbye, and pushes off the counter.

By the door, she pauses suddenly. Then, with one hand already on the handle, she glances back at you.

“He’s not a bad guy,” Phoenix says, face gentle, and you don’t need to ask who she’s talking about. “He’s just… he’s just Hangman. He acts like an asshole, but he’s a softie on the inside.”

You sink your teeth into your lower lip, unsure how to answer.

Phoenix shrugs. “I just thought you should know,” she says.

The bell above the door rings as she steps outside. A gust of warm wind blows in. The aircon groans once and pumps more stale, cool air into the room. The radio is stuck on a Katy Perry song. You tap your fingers against the countertop in a rhythmless pattern, squeeze your eyes shut, and think of the long, long stretch of nothingness that extends before you.

Three months ago, you packed your life into a car.

It had never been part of the plan. Because that was a thing you used to have, once upon a time - a plan. You knew exactly what you wanted, from the job to the dog breed to the car. There was a house down the road from your parents, a house with a blue door and a white fence, and a tire swing dangling from the branches of an old, twisting willow tree, and you had known you’d buy it one day since you were five.

When you were eight, you used to run past that house every day to catch the school bus, thinking what it would be like to be up on that swing, kicking your legs and soaring higher, higher, higher, up into the blue of the sky. When you were fifteen, you wondered what it would be like to live in a house with two stories, a house where things wouldn’t be cramped, where you didn’t have to spend fifteen minutes waiting for the only bathroom to be free, where you didn’t hit your elbows and knees and shins and toes on all the nooks and crannies and rusting nails protruding from wood. Finally, when you were twenty, you wondered what it would be like to come home from work to a husband who loved you and kids who smiled at you.

So you used to have a plan. Go to college, get a job, grow up, get married, buy that house. You used to have things figured out.

And then your mother died.

You remember watching her as she began to fade, as she went translucent like the paper she used to wrap your sandwiches in. As cancer dissected her, flayed her open, ate away her edges, a little more each day. As she went from vibrant colors to shades of gray, film history reversing itself. You remember when it got so bad, you left college to go back home, to sit by her bedside every day, to feed her by the spoon as she had once fed you, to read to her from the books you had once studied in 8 am classes, from Bronte and Joyce and Fitzgerald.

One morning you walked into her room, expecting to see her awake, and found that she’d gone cold in the night instead. To this day, you’ll never forget how that felt - the grief of it, instant and cleaving you in two, the panic of practicality, of not knowing what to do or who to call. And then the relief, that horrible, warped thing that welled up inside of you, that you still can’t forgive yourself for, because at least it was finally over, all that suffering and all that waiting around for the inevitable.

It was a small funeral. Your parents divorced years ago, back in the cartoon and apple juice days of your life, and your father was clumsy as always, a stranger in the face of the familiarity you’d shared with your mother. Just a touch of his fingertips to your shoulder at an open grave, a downward twist to his mouth, whispering sorry, kiddo, before he disappeared back into the lovely townhouse with his new family and the younger, more agreeable versions of you, the children he’d actually wanted. Back to sending you a birthday card a week late or a month late or not at all and never calling and never visiting and scheduling Facetime calls he forgot about in favor of dance recitals or school plays.

So then you were alone. Resoundingly. Irrevocably.

You finished college in a daze, graduated just because you had gotten halfway there, and dropping out seemed like a bigger hassle than finishing. Found yourself with a degree you no longer remembered what you had wanted to do with in the first place and all those crippling student loans.

That house with the blue door and the white fence and the tire swing on the willow tree had lost its meaning. Your plan had turned to dust and slipped through your fingers, had been buried right alongside your mother.

So you sold your mother’s place (because who wants a house full of ghosts anyway, a house where each room reminds you of something that will spend the rest of your life missing from you) and got in your car, and you drove. You drove along the coast, through the thick trees of Washington, past the streams of Oregon, through the deserts of California, and when your car finally broke down in Fightertown, you said, fuck it, whatever, might as well, other places suck too. And you stayed.

It has remained the only time in your life you have ever acted on impulse, ever let your heart decide instead of your head, and you’re still not sure if it was the right decision.

You spend your days now trying to scrape together enough money to pay for your electricity bills and your rent and your gas. Just enough to get a frozen yogurt every once in a while. Just enough money so you don’t have to think about money all the time, counting it, saving it, missing it.

It’s sad, you think, when you’re alone at night, spread-eagle on your bed, limbs dangling off the sides of the mattress, staring up at the water stain spreading like a plume of smoke across your ceiling. A sad, little life with no direction.

You’re wallowing, and you know you are. Your penchant for dramatics is getting the best of you.

Most days, it’s not so bad. You like Penny, and you like Amelia, and the other day you went to see a movie at the theater, and that was nice. You like your books and your music and the Reese’s peanut butter cups you buy with your employee discount at the gas station. You like the beach, the taste of salt on your lips, and how the sun feels on the tip of your nose.

So most days, it’s not so bad. And then sometimes, it is.

Then it settles around like a dark cloud, like a fear you just can’t shake. That nagging anxiety in the pit of your stomach that seems to have no cause and no solution gnaws at you, yaps around your ankles, sinks its fangs into you, and won’t let go.

That’s when you curl into bed (but not under the covers because it’s still California and still too hot and still too expensive to keep the fan spinning) and blink into the nothingness and don’t move. And that’s when you dream, or else the dread of it all will swallow you whole and never spit you out again.

So you tell yourself that’s why you’re here again, at the Hard Deck, for the second week in a row, choosing to spend your Saturday with a bunch of sweaty drunk people instead of a family-size pizza. It’s just because you want to avoid the maelstrom of your mind.

It’s definitely not because you couldn’t stand the echoing loneliness of your shitty apartment anymore. It’s definitely not because Phoenix invited you and just seemed so goddamn nice. And it’s most definitely, a 100 percent certainly, cross-your-heart-and-hope-to-die, not because of Hangman.

You’ll go to your grave swearing that.

When you shuffle into the bar, Penny stares at you like you’ve grown a second head. It’s early enough that there’s still space to move.

“What the hell?” she says, abandoning her task completely in favor of turning to gawk at you. “What are you doing here?”

You shrug your shoulders, trying for nonchalance even as you feel like there are tiny bugs wriggling beneath your skin. Too many eyes on you. “I was craving a drink.”

Penny raises an eyebrow in what you recognize as the international sign of not convincing enough.

“Who the hell are you,” she asks, “and what have you done with my daughter’s tutor?”

Ducking your head, you clumsily climb onto one of the barstools and fold your arms on the counter. Then you try to look around the bar as inconspicuously as possible.

“He’s not here yet,” Penny says.

“Huh?” Feeling caught, you busy yourself with adjusting the hem of your skirt, so it covers as much thigh space as possible. “What?”

Penny doesn’t even pretend to buy it for your benefit. “Hangman,” she says. “That’s why you’re here, right?”

You stiffen, alarm bells going off in your head. If she can read you this easily…

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you lie.

“Oh, come on, sweetie.” She pats your hand in a gesture you can’t describe as anything but pacifying. “It’s alright.”

Your face feels hot. “It’s not like that,” you say, but even you can tell it’s a feeble attempt at an argument.

Penny chuckles. It’s not a mean sound, quite the opposite, actually, but it still makes your heart sink an inch or two.

“There’s nothing wrong with being attracted to someone, you know?”

That has you bristling. “I’m not attracted to him,” you protest. “I hate him.”

Utterly unbothered by the note of distress that has snuck its way into your voice, Penny shakes her head, an affectionate smile playing about her mouth. “There’s nothing wrong with a little bit of hate-fucking either.”

The gasp her words elicit from you is downright scandalized. You throw a furtive look at the patrons around you to make sure nobody heard, but that just makes Penny’s smile grow.

At least one of you is having fun.

“I’m not going to hate fuck anybody,” you say and then immediately wish your voice had sounded more firm. Less squeaky.

Penny shrugs. “Alright. It’s a fine line between love and hate anyway.”

“Why does everybody keep telling me that?” you whisper.

Either Penny doesn’t think that worthy of an answer, or she didn’t hear you. Which is fine either way. It was more of a rhetorical question anyway.

“So what do you want to drink, then?” Penny asks, finally seeming to decide to indulge you just a little.

Finally you perk up. “Can you make me a Mojito?”

You spend the better part of an hour sitting at the bar, telling yourself you’re definitely not waiting around for him. You’re only here to get drunk.

But the longer you sit alone, watching people around you enjoying themselves, watching as the chatter goes from quiet to deafening, as the place fills up with a steady stream of patrons, the worse of an idea the whole thing seems like. You can’t remember what provoked you to come in the first place for the life of you.

Suddenly, your bed, a gaping, looming lion’s mouth earlier, seems like the most inviting place in the world.

“Penny,” you call, leaning across the counter and waving your hand to get her attention. “Can I just pay, please?”

“You’re going home?”

“I… yeah. I think so.”

With the way Penny is frowning at you, you can tell she isn’t too pleased, but she doesn’t fight you on it.

“I’ll let you go home, but you’re not paying,” she says.

“Penny, you already pay me. You don’t need to let me drink here for free, too.”

She chuckles. “Oh, I’m not. Hangman said to put anything you drink on his tab if you ever show up again.”

That gives you pause, your stomach tightening. “I can’t accept that,” you say, and your voice comes out strangely choked.

“Oh, but you can.”

It’s Hangman, because of course it is. He seems to have an uncanny ability to show up whenever you do so much as think of him. Like he can sense any mention of his name even from miles away. His ego is certainly big enough.

Grinning, he claims the empty space at the bar next to you, leaning his back against it with both elbows braced on the wood. “I wouldn’t be much of a gentleman if I let a girl as pretty as you pay for her own drinks, now would I?”

“Gentleman,” you repeat under your breath. “We’re just saying whatever now, huh?”

He ignores that, twisting around instead to chirp, “Penny, darling, light of my life, will you get her another… what is that, a virgin Mojito?”

You wish you could come up with something witty, but you’re distracted by the long, long stretch of his legs, and all that comes out is, “I drink them with alcohol, actually.”

“Really? Is it only scotch you have trouble with then?”

Now this reminds you just why you hate this guy. Who cares if he’s handsome? Who cares if your heart starts cartwheeling every time he smirks at you? He’s a certified, purebred bastard, and you’re seriously considering if the satisfaction of breaking his nose would be worth the inevitable lawsuit.

“I don’t need you to pay for my drink,” you say, voice firm this time.

“I know,” he counters, still smiling, “but I’m pretty sure the Navy pays me better than whatever you’re making at that gas station, so I don’t mind. Just stop being difficult and let me pay for whatever you order.”

The anger settles in your throat, already familiar. It’s difficult to keep it down, to keep your head from exploding.

“Fine,” you grit out from between clenched teeth. Then you turn away. “Penny? One round for everybody. It’s on him.”

The smile slides off Hangman’s face, his expression morphing into something stunned. For a moment, he actually looks impressed.

Then he laughs and shakes his head. If you didn’t know any better, you’d say there was something like begrudging admiration flickering across the planes of his face.

“Alright,” he says, “I’ll hand it to you, sweetheart. That was well played.”

He gives Penny the okay, smirk once more firmly in place. And you, triumph so short-lived that it dies inside you like a pathetic little candle snuffed out by a typhoon, consider letting loose a long, echoing screech.

Is there anything that will break that steely resolve of arrogance he carries everywhere he goes?

Penny rings the bell, and the answering cheer almost pops your eardrums. You turn away from Hangman before you do resort to violence and drain the last of your cocktail in a single sip.

“I’m going home,” you say and hop off the barstool. It brings you inevitably closer to Hangman, your thighs brushing his, and you pretend not to notice.

“So soon?” he asks, and you don’t need to turn to know he has raised one eyebrow. “I only just got here.”

“Hence my leaving,” you counter drily.

“And here I was thinking you wore this dress for me.”

He doesn’t touch you, but for a moment his fingers hook into the soft pink fabric of your dress, where it flares out around your hips. It’s enough to send a shiver down your back.

The worst part of it all, you think, is that he isn’t wrong. You upended the contents of your wardrobe earlier tonight until every available surface in your room - from the bed to the chair to the floor - was covered in clothes you deemed just not right. This number - flimsy, tight, low in the chest but a little more modest where the hem hits almost halfway down your thighs - was buried at the back of your closet, practically forgotten and with the price tag still on. Even as you laughed at how ridiculous you were being, part of you hoped he might notice.

And now that he has, you’re wishing you could rewind time and exchange the infernal thing for sweatpants and an old flannel.

“You’re way too full of yourself,” you tell him.

“So I’ve been told.” He gives you another once over, and suddenly you feel as if you’re standing naked in the middle of this bar. “This one’s spectacular, too, sweetheart, but I still maintain that first dress was my favorite.”

Somewhere between flattered and fed-up, you shoulder your purse. “Goodbye, Hangman.”

“Oh, come on.” He steps to block your path but makes no further move to touch you. “Have another drink with me.”

You’re about to protest when a gentle hand lands on your shoulder.

“You really need to learn how to take no for an answer, Bagman,” Phoenix says. “The lady’s not interested.”

You can feel the smile spreading on your face. Just in time, you think.

Ignoring Hangman completely, she turns to you. “You wanna shoot some pool with my friends and me?”

You glance at Hangman from the corner of your eye, unsure whether you hope she counts him among those friends or not. Then you nod because Phoenix is still nice, and you don’t actually want to go home to your empty apartment, and playing pool sounds fun just about now.

“Sure. Why not?”

As Phoenix leads you toward the tables in the back, you feel Hangman’s eyes on you like hot irons.

You’re five drinks in by the time you give up on pool.

“God,” you whine, lowering your cue. “I suck at this.”

“I’d disagree,” Payback says, staring down at the green felt of the table like he might be about to cry, “but I think you’re right.”

“Hey, we’re supposed to be on the same team!”

He grins. “Sorry, but my mother didn’t raise me to be a liar.”

There’s a warmth flooding your chest, something liquid and light. It might be the alcohol or the unfamiliar levity of it all. You’re more used to intense fits of worrying and anxiety than laughter with people you met only about an hour ago but still almost feel like friends.

“Want me to teach you, sweetheart?”

Hangman’s sitting on a barstool not far away, nursing his beer. He’s been staring at you since you started the game, and maybe it's part of the reason your cue stick kept going in directions you didn’t mean for it to. Now you can just hear the smirk in his voice.

If you were less drunk, you’d come up with a witty response. But, as it stands, you just say, “No.”

Hangman ignores you. You can feel him behind you even before he steps up, your fingers tensing around your cue, your whole body locking up as if in anticipation, as if in dread. And then he’s there, solid and warm behind you, fingers curling around your arm and moving it backward.

The place he touches you seems to tingle.

“Like this,” he says, voice low and chest rumbling with the sound. He’s speaking right into your ear again, and suddenly it’s impossible to talk, to think, to breathe.

He brings you into position with one hand on your waist, and you can’t believe it, but he’s practically bending you over that pool table in the middle of that bar, and you’re just letting him. His hips press into your own, an insistent weight that makes your head spin, makes you feel like you’re about to slide right off the face of the earth. The table's edge cuts into your abdomen, but you barely even feel it. You can’t register anything past the feeling of his skin gliding against your own as he lets his free hand wander slowly, slowly, down the expanse of your arm.

“Now, just gently…” He guides your arm backward as he speaks, his voice right in your ear, right in your head, his breath against your cheek, the side of your mouth, and you’re dizzy, can’t even see the ball that’s right in front of you, have no idea what he wants you to shoot at. “... thrust.”

The ball lands in the pocket with a resounding thunk.

For a moment, you just blink at where it disappeared.

“Good girl,” Hangman says, so quietly that only you can hear, fingers squeezing just once where he still holds you by the hip, and then he steps away.

It sends a jolt of molten heat through you. Your knees, which felt wobbly before, threaten to buckle. You just stay there for a moment, frozen, bent over that table, feeling like the earth beneath your feet is rolling in waves. A sound escapes you, something from low in your throat that gets swallowed up in the bar's noise - all the chatter and the music and the sounds of the engines running in the parking lot.

And then it’s an ice-cold panic that has you scrambling, standing upright, stepping away from the table, turning towards the group of people around you, and pretending you’re not trembling all over, that your panties aren’t soaked through.

“I’m done, I think.” You raise your cue above your head like a sports trophy. Your voice is remarkably firm for how frail you feel. “Who wants to take over for me?”

There’s a shuffle as a few of the guys whose names you can’t remember start fighting each other for your spot on Payback’s team. You give up after a while and just drop the cue. Somebody catches it before it can clatter to the ground, and you turn your back on them.

Tugging at the folds of your skirt, you try desperately to regain control. The evening is slipping through your fingers like wet rope. You feel unmoored.

Phoenix, grinning from her perch against the jukebox, offers you a swig from her beer bottle. “I think you weren’t too bad.”

“Well, I did keep forgetting if I was supposed to hit the stripes or the solids, so, like….” you admit, accepting the bottle and taking a tentative sip. Maybe this will help calm you. The taste hits your tongue, and you grimace. “Ew. I don’t get how you guys drink this.”

Phoenix laughs at you. “It takes practice.”

“I don’t wanna practice that,” you say. “I’ll just get another Mojito, I think.”

You’re not going to survive this night unless you have another drink. Hell, you might not survive this night even if you have another drink.

You don’t think you’ve ever been this confused. Your mind is a thicket of thorns that bite your skin at any move.

Hangman leans forward in his seat until he’s in your field of vision. His eyebrows are furrowed in a way you haven’t seen before, but beneath them, his eyes glint. It hits you suddenly that he knows exactly what he’s done, that he is perfectly aware of the effect he has on you.

You consider getting that cue stick back and whacking him over the head with it.

“You sure you want another one, sweetheart?”

You frown and say, more forcefully than necessary, “Why? You don’t wanna pay for it?”

“Oh, I’ll pay for it,” he says. “I’m just thinking somebody will have to carry you home if you have another one.”

“Don’t act like you wouldn’t love to carry her home,” Coyote chimes in, grinning and wiggling his eyebrows. At least you think that’s Coyote. Things are starting to go a little blurry.

As you approach the bar, you say, a bite to your words, “I’ll make your dreams come true, then.”

Penny is busy at the opposite end, so you order from a girl who seems a lot less interested in serving you than the group of aviators currently trying to get her attention. Which you can’t really blame her for.

From behind you, maybe-Coyote keeps going, “You should make some of his other dreams come true, too.”

Phoenix lands a well-placed elbow between his ribs. “Shut up, man. You’re being creepy.”

“I don’t sleep with drunk women,” Hangman says as the bartender deposits a dispassionately assembled Mojito in front of you. “My mother raised me to be a gentleman.”

Your snort is decidedly unladylike, but you couldn’t care less. You’re so far gone.

“You keep saying that, but I haven’t seen you act like one even once.” Then, as an afterthought, you add, “Also, I’m not drunk.”

You pull your drink towards you, the glass cold with the ice cubes swimming in it, and promptly spill a healthy stream across your own arm and the bartop.

“Sure you’re not,” Hangman agrees smoothly. He procures a stack of paper napkins from somewhere and starts dabbing at your elbow, soaking up the worst of it. You stare at his movement with your head spinning. Why is he being nice? “I’m not a gentleman in the bedroom, though, I’ll have you know.”

He winks at you, and that’s more like the nefarious Hangman you know. It lets you relax a little.

“Christ.” Phoenix looks like she might hurl. “You want to lay it on any thicker, Hang?”

He just shrugs, so casual about it all. You wonder if he’s ever been rattled by anything. If he’s ever felt as out of his depth as you do every time he enters a room.

“Who doesn’t like it a little rough in the bedroom, Phoenix?”

You can’t believe he said that to her. Part of you expects Phoenix to roll her eyes and give him a piece of her mind, but she just grins, shaking her head.

“Me, actually,” she says. “Just leaves you sore. I prefer it slow.”

“Slow?” Hangman repeats. “You and Rooster would be a match made in heaven. Masters of the geriatric pace.”

“Who’s Rooster?” you ask, wondering if Hangman is trying to set Phoenix up with someone running a poultry farm.

Nobody answers your question.

“It’s been my experience,” Phoenix says, “that most guys only like it rough cause they have no idea how else to do it.”

Coyote laughs at that. It’s obviously meant to taunt Hangman, but he doesn’t react much beyond a tiny upward twitch of his mouth.

You’re left wondering if these are normal conversations people have with their friends. Are you just a prude? You feel like you’re going insane.

And then Bob, who has been quietly snacking on peanuts for most of the night, pipes up, “I think it just depends on your partner. You gotta listen to them.”

Hangman stares at him like he’s just revealed he likes to take his clothes off and perform an Irish jig on top of an aircraft every Sunday. “Am I just supposed to believe you’ve had sex with multiple partners?”

Before you can stop yourself, you slap Hangman’s chest. Admittedly, both the alcohol and the way your head is still reeling have the move lacking any real vigor, but it still leaves you a little stunned at yourself.

“Don’t be mean,” you say. His chest feels very firm beneath your palm, muscles hard and heartbeat steady. Then you realize you’re still touching him and withdraw your hand as if you’ve burned yourself.

Hangman is grinning from ear to ear. “Oh, don’t act like you don’t like it when I’m mean.”

That almost makes you choke on your Mojito.

“Right,” Coyote says. His teeth gleam white when he smirks at you. “So, how do you like it?”

You freeze. Your mind stumbles, then short-circuits.

“Oh, god, boys. Just leave her alone,” Phoenix sighs. She gets up to sling an arm over your shoulder. It’s a reassuring presence by your side, one that makes you feel a little less like you’re about to levitate off the face of the earth. “You don’t have to answer that if you don’t want to.”

Hangman is staring right at you. He’s still smiling, but something in his eyes has shifted.

You can’t look away from him. Your heart stutters in your chest.

“I… I don’t…” you falter.

Across the distance between you, Hangman raises an eyebrow. “What are you, like a virgin?”

It hits you square in the chest.

You know you need to laugh it off, know you need to counter with another quip, another insult, another jab, but your mind is blank. Time seems to freeze for a moment. You can’t breathe.

Your eyes burn, and you realize with a sudden, horrible lurch that you’re going to cry, and there’s nothing you can do about it.

Several emotions pass over Hangman’s face in quick succession. The glint is gone from his eyes now, replaced by something like genuine guilt. That’s how you know he was just joking around, but it doesn’t soften the blow at all.

Anger, humiliation, and, worst of all, the remnants of your earlier desire pump through your veins. You feel weak and tired and helpless. A snowglobe shattered on the floor. All of it hits you at once.

You’re painfully aware of all the eyes on you. You’re painfully aware you haven’t said a single thing in way too long.

Hangman says your name, his tone caught somewhere between concern and apology.

I can’t, you think. I just… can’t.

So you turn on your heel and all but sprint for the open doors.

Out back, the air has cooled down to a more bearable temperature, but it does nothing to calm you. Your skin feels several sizes too small, the world is tilting a little bit to the left, as if everything’s written in cursive. In your ears, your blood rushes like a roar.

You’ve never been so embarrassed in your life.

A few tiki torches light a path from the Hard Deck’s back entrance towards the sand of the beach. You follow almost blindly, stumbling down the two steps. The ocean stretches endless and dark blue in front of you. Your sandals fill with sand that scrapes against the soles of your feet.

You walk a few steps until you reach a weathered tool shed with the blue paint eroded by years of wind and salt spray. Only when you’ve found shelter behind it, when you know you’re hidden from view, do you allow yourself to cry.

They’re bitter tears. You’re embarrassed about your display earlier, about letting Hangman get to you, embarrassed because everybody saw. Embarrassed that you didn’t deny it when it isn’t even really true, not technically. Embarrassed that you’re twenty-three and practically a virgin, embarrassed that it matters to you. It shouldn’t matter.

Virginity is a social construct, you remind yourself, and then you just cry harder.

Most of all, you’re embarrassed because you want Hangman.

It’s the first time you admit it, even to yourself, and the truth of it settles heavy in your stomach. You don’t think you’ve ever wanted someone as much as you want him, and you don’t even like the man.

It’s ridiculous, humiliating, mortifying, and suddenly you wish you had stayed home tonight, had never come here in the first place.

And then he says your name.

The moonlight paints his hair a blueish shade of silver. He looks impossibly handsome, standing just a step or two away from you with his hands in his pockets, backlit by the flickering of the torches.

Immediately you straighten up and rub your cheeks to get rid of the tears. Your fingers come away stained black with the remnants of your mascara.

For a moment, you and Hangman just stare at each other. The distance between you gapes like an open wound, like a canyon, like an ocean.

Finally, he asks, “You okay?”

You don’t trust your voice, so you just nod.

He looks torn. His jaw moves as he grinds his teeth.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

You don’t have to ask him to clarify. You know exactly what he means.

“I don’t know you,” you say quietly.

He makes a strange, strangled sound at the back of his throat, then buries his face in his hands for a second. When he re-emerges, he looks honestly distressed.

“If I had known,” he says softly, “I would have stopped being so aggressive.”

You don’t know how to tell him that that’s the opposite of what you want. You don’t know how to tell him that you don’t know what you want.

You don’t know how to tell him that you know exactly what you want.

Everything’s a mess.

Shrugging, you say, “It doesn’t matter.”

“Doesn’t matter?” he repeats, disbelief in his voice. “Of course it matters. I never meant to make you uncomfortable.”

That makes you frown.

“I didn’t say you make me uncomfortable.”

Aggravated, sure. Annoyed, wound-up, frustrated. All of that. But uncomfortable? Never.

That gives him pause, but only for a moment. He goes on, “I shouldn’t have… it was too much. I’m sorry.”

You can’t explain any of this, but you want to. You wish you could just make him understand, but you can’t even make sense of yourself.

Your insides are all tangled.

“It’s not like… it’s not like I’ve never done anything,” you rush to explain. “I did sleep with someone when I was sixteen, but I just… and then there was always so much other stuff that I didn’t have time to date, and then other stuff happened, and I didn’t even want to date, so I just….”

At the look he gives you, you trail off.

“So you’re not a virgin, then?”

“Not… technically,” you confirm, then cringe at how ridiculous it all sounds.

He just stares at you.

“It… what does it even matter?” Suddenly, you’re angry. “Even if I was a virgin, there wouldn’t be anything wrong with it. And it’s none of your business. Why do you even care?”

One of Hangman’s eyebrows raises. “I don’t care if you’re a virgin,” he says, voice perfectly calm. “I care that you’re comfortable.”

That staggers you. “I… why?”

He shoves his hands back into his pockets. “Because I happen to like you.”

Now you’re the one staring.

That can’t be right. Hangman’s not supposed to like you, not when you’ve just established that you can’t stand him. Not when you’ve spent every night since you’ve met him listing all the reasons why you need to stay as far away from him as possible.

When you don’t answer, he starts talking again. “Why didn’t you just say you’re not a virgin in there?” he asks, jerking his head back in the general direction of the Hard Deck.

You shrug and look away. “I’m not… experienced.”

He waits for you to continue.

“It was just once, with my first boyfriend, and it wasn’t… I didn’t… well, after it was over, I never wanted to do it again.”

Hangman’s expression is unreadable. The breeze picks up, and you shiver, crossing your arms over your abdomen.

“I’m not…” You swallow. “I’m not confident. I can’t talk about it the way you guys do. So easily.”

He looks at you for a long moment, and when he speaks again, his voice is gentler than you’ve ever heard. “I’ll stop, then. This was too much. I’m sorry.”

But there’s something there, in the words. A challenge. He’s giving you a way out at the same time as he’s giving you an in.

The way he’s looking at you seems to say, Ball’s in your court now, sweetheart.

In your life, you’ve always taken the familiar path. You thought things through thoroughly, made decisions with your head and not your heart. You liked to be safe, too scared to step out of your comfort zone. And so the house with the blue door stayed a dream, one that eventually moved so far out of reach it lost any appeal it ever had.

But then you think of your life stuffed into a car. Arriving in an unfamiliar city and deciding to stay. Diving headfirst into the unknown.

If you have done it once, you tell yourself, there’s no reason you can’t do it again.

“I don’t want you to stop,” you say, voice quiet, hands shaking. “I like it.”

It might be the hardest thing you’ve ever done. Being honest. Here in this moment, with him, bathed in moonlight that dips the worlds in shades of mercury.

It’s almost impossible to get the words out, and then they dangle awkwardly in the air between you. You feel exposed, stripped, flayed open in front of this man who is practically a stranger to you.

Over the beat of your heart hammering away in your chest, you can barely even hear the roar of the ocean.

And then Hangman steps closer to you, bridging that distance. His features are dipped in half-shadows, but you see his eyes flickering down to your lips.

You swallow around the lump in your throat.

“When I saw you for the first time,” he says, and his voice is husky, low, “in that little dress… I wanted to bend you over the bar and fuck you right there. With everyone watching.”

It knocks the air out of you. You let out a choked sound that might be the beginning of a gasp. A jolt goes through the core of you.

He comes even closer, and, instinctively, you stumble backward. He crowds you against the wall of the shed. The wood is rough and cold where it presses against your back.

The stupid nametag is right in front of you then, and it occurs to you suddenly that you don’t even know his first name.

“Look at me,” he says.

In spite of yourself, you listen immediately. There’s something in his voice, not just demanding but commandeering. You don’t think you could disobey him even if you wanted to.

And Hangman’s so close now. Close enough that you can see the specks of gold swimming in his eyes, close enough that you could probably see yourself reflected in them if it wasn’t so dark.

One of his hands is braced against the wood by your head, palm down, and the other goes to cup your cheek. Fingertips trace across the jut of your cheekbone, down, down, down over the planes of your face, avoiding your mouth to ghost toward your chin and then the line of your throat.

You don’t dare breathe.

“You’re so beautiful,” he says softly.

It’s such a stark contrast to his earlier words, so crude, that it leaves you light-headed.

You can smell him; over the lingering ashes of burnt-down bonfires, over the salt of the ocean, there’s the scent of his aftershave. Cinnamon and spice. You think you could get drunk on that smell.

“Hangman…” you whisper because you can’t think of something else to say for the life of you.

He shakes his head, tuts gently. “My name’s Jake.”

“Jake,” you repeat. It’s like you’re in a daze, dumb with the intensity of it all. If this night is giving you anything, it’s a severe case of whiplash.

He hums in response, eyelids going heavy. Lets his fingers trail from your throat, where your pulse is beating like a sledgehammer, down your chest, between your breasts, over the flimsy fabric of your dress. He pauses on your stomach, lets his fingers spread out like a starfish, and just watches for a moment as his hand moves with each breath you take.

When he speaks, his voice sounds almost pensive. “Has anybody ever made you come?”

The sound you make is much too close to a whimper for your own comfort. Involuntarily, your thighs clench together, and you realize faintly just how wet you really are, the skin just below the lines of your panties sticking together.

You don’t need to look at Hangman to know that he’s noticed your reaction.

“It… no,” you admit hesitantly. You’re going to spontaneously combust, you just know it. “Just… myself.”

He grins at that, but it’s not a mean expression. “So you touch yourself?”

It’s so hard to swallow. Even harder to talk, to find words, even to form a coherent thought.

Jake leans closer still, so close his breath traces across your face. “Answer me.”

“Sometimes.” Your voice has gone so quiet you’re sure he wouldn’t have heard you if he wasn’t standing so close to you. Like he wants to climb into your skin.

You’re becoming painfully aware of all the points where he isn’t touching you. A minuscule but safe distance between your hips, your faces, your chests. That arm curving around you, braced against the wall. No point of contact except for the large hand on your abdomen.

You shudder.

“What do you think about? When you touch yourself, what do you think about?”

The muscles in his arm flex, straining against the fabric of his uniform, veins protruding blue through the skin, and it shouldn’t be this hot, but it is. You’re on fire and he isn’t even touching you, not really, but you’ve never been so turned on in your life, wound so tightly, a kite dancing higher and higher into the sky.

You shake your head quickly, unsure if it’s supposed to be an answer or just a way to get rid of the fog that’s descended on you.

Jake’s hand wanders a little lower, almost imperceptibly, just about half an inch, but you think your heart almost fails you.

“I…” you swallow again. Your mouth is dry, and your palms are sweating. Your core pulses with the sort of desire that’s impossible to ignore. “I don’t know. I don’t…”

God, if only you could be casual about this sort of thing. You wish you could say something sexy, something teasing, something that would make Jake feel even a fraction of what he’s making you feel. But you’re just you. Inexperienced, unsure even of what you want.

You choke up, and, to your mortification, tears pool in your eyes again.

“Shh,” Jake immediately shushes you, and his face is almost tender. “That’s okay, sweetheart. I’ll give you something to think about.”

“Oh,” you say dumbly, blinking up at him.

And then it’s back, that signature Hangman smirk, the same one you’ve wanted to slap off his face so many times, only it’s making you weak in the knees now, makes your lips part, makes you wish he would just touch you already.

“I’m not going to kiss you tonight.”

It’s almost shameful how quickly you try to protest, really. If it hadn’t been for those five and a half Mojitos, you would have stuck your head into the sand right here.

Hangman laughs at you, the sound just a little mean. “You’re much too drunk, sweetheart.”

You suppose it doesn’t make much sense to argue. Now that you think about it, you really are drunk. The fuzzy, warm sort of drunk. Just on the right side of intoxicated, where everything feels packed in cotton, and nothing feels impossible.

Even that someone like Hangman might want to dirty talk to you behind the Hard Deck’s tool shed.

“Can you do something for me?” Jake asks.

You can just bite down on the anything that threatens to spill from your mouth the moment he’s uttered the question, and, god, what’s wrong with you? This is getting out of hand.

Dumbfounded, you nod silently.

He leans impossibly closer, his nose trailing along your jawline, and whispers, “The next time you touch yourself… When you’re alone, I want you to lie down on your bed. I want you to spread your legs, and I want you to touch your pretty little pussy for me.”

You clench your eyes shut, breath stuck somewhere in your throat, as Jake’s hand lifts from your stomach. He takes a fistful of your skirt and pulls it up, using his other hand to hold it away from your body. The cool breeze caresses your legs, but that’s not why you shiver.

His fingers slide along the inside of your thigh, from kneecap up to the very tops of them. You can’t breathe, can’t blink, can’t do anything but stand there and hope you won’t dissolve into a puddle.

“And when you fuck yourself,” he whispers, “I want you to think of me.”

And then he touches his fingers to your core, over the lace of your panties.

If you weren’t so far gone, you think you’d never forgive yourself for your reaction.

You all but squeak, back arching off the wall, pushing yourself into his palm, mouth dropping open as pure heat spreads through you, like an ache, like a tightening at your very center.

“Jesus,” Jake says, and his voice sounds breathless. “You’ve soaked these through, sweetheart.”

It’s the first indication that he’s affected by this, too, that you’re not the only one impacted, and somehow that’s enough to make you want him even more.

You wonder what it would be like to get him off. What he would look like, sound like. Taste like.

Your exhale is a tiny, shuddering thing.

“Can you do that for me?” he wants to know. “Touch yourself for me like I asked?”

“I…” You think you would have agreed if he had asked you to lasso him down the moon.

Anything you say, Hangman. Anything you want. Just keep touching me. Please.

“Yes,” you agree. “Yeah, I… okay.”

“Good girl,” he says. His lips press to the side of your throat just once, right where your pulse is pumping at a rapid pace.

And then he steps away, fingers gone from your panties, mouth gone from your neck.

The loss of him leaves you reeling, dizzy, plastered to the wall like roadkill.

Even Hangman looks a little disheveled, but it's minimal comfort.

Again, you feel on the verge of tears.

Hangman clears his throat and asks, “Do you have a ride home?”

It takes an uncomfortable amount of time for the question to even register. You just stare at him at first, blinking owlishly.

You barely even remember your own name. How are you supposed to answer this?

“I… Uber,” you say.

It’s not even a complete sentence, no verb at all, but it seems enough for Hangman.

He nods once. Then he takes a moment just to watch you.

Finally, he says, “I changed my mind about the dress.”

He takes a step back to admire you head to toe. As he looks at you, the torches reflect in his eyes until it looks like they’re gleaming. You’ve never felt so exposed in your life, and it makes you squirm.

You’re still so wet, wetter than you’ve ever been, and you’d do anything for him to touch you. Slide his fingers into you and fuck you right here, behind Penny’s bar, out on the beach where anyone might see. Think you might just die if he doesn’t.

Jake reaches once more for the skirt of your dress, but this time he doesn’t pull it up. Instead, he just lets his fingers dance through the folds once, the touch featherlight. Just a whisper of his digits across your thigh. You barely feel it.

You’re going to shake apart right here and now.

“I think this is my favorite after all,” he says, grins that Hangman grin, and then he’s gone.

You’re left leaning against the shed, breathless, panting, head and heart a mess. Alone, as you stare out at the white foam cresting on the waves, wondering what the fuck just happened.

read part ii

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#top gun maverick #hangman x reader #hangman fic #hangman #jake seresin #jake hangman seresin #jake seresin fic #jake seresin x reader #fic #writing #mine #f: bh #idk how to tag this i'm literally going to cry lmfao

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huenjin · 4 years ago

Text

the devil’s tango.

summary — and when your demon boyfriend's best friends ruin your valentine's day plans with said demon boyfriend by lighting up a restaurant in flames, they make sure to apologise well. or, in which jisung, changbin and chan show you all the ways a devil can fuck a woman.

pairing — 3racha x reader

genre — smut | demons!au

ratings — 18+

word count — 14.4k words

warnings — mentions of flame, indications of objectification, mentions of themes of afterlife, heaven and hell | smut specifications under the cut

note — the way this was written only thanks to @chaangbin and her sprinto discord thing pwp and is totally inspired from this one nsfw asmr i chanced upon on reddit. happy reading and sinning, babes.

smut warnings —

i. groping, dirty talk, objectification, car sex, marking, slight temperature play, thigh riding, dirty talk, slight blood play (jisung gets a slight rush !!), grinding, fingering, sir kink, nipple play, clitoral stimulation, vaginal stimulation, ruined orgasm;

ii. changbin calls you baby girl (!!), choking, cunnilingus, dirty talk, dumbification (changbin talks a loooot dirty, heads up !!) nipple play, breast play, pain kink, spitting, marking, so so so much marking omfg, intercrural sex, clitoral stimulation, unprotected sex (better safe than anything else irl okay?), squirting, overstimulation, reader slips into subspace, changbin's kinda hard on the reader; chan bring you back from subspace because he's protective like that !!!

iii. tattooed!chan — chan has this huge dark feathered wing tattoo in his back omf and the reader has a tattoo kink, of sorts— dick piercing!chan, tongue piercing!chan, so !! much !! making !! out !!, calls you princess throughout the story because you are one, nipple play, breast play, daddy kink, grinding, spanking, pain kink, degradation (but chan like gives reader heads up in such a nice way because chan best boy !!), teasing cause chan won't give it to you just like that !!!, so much begging, pussy slapping, clitoral stimulation, cunnilingus, fingering, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, squirting, penetration, unprotected sex (wrap it before you snap it!), bulge kink, creampie, slight after care.

Chan thinks Valentine's Day is a marketing scheme by the very commercial, capitalistic world.

Not that his devilish self cared when he could have all the luxuries in the world in his hand by the very thought of it. Chan doesn't care even more because you, his girlfriend, loved Valentine's Day more than anything in this world, second only to your love for him. If anything, you loved Valentine's Day this much because of him.

And that is exactly why he is driving down the neat lane to this newly opened restaurant, right across the town, that you have been hyping up for months now. His fingers wrap around the steering wheel, shoes pressed flat against the gas as his other hand lies gently on your exposed thigh, thanks to your little black skirt riding up to his delight.

"Thank you for doing this," you mumble, your right hand shifting to place itself on top of his hand and grip at it softly. "You know, even after you hate all the couples out there, ever to exist."

Chan laughs, a hearty one in fact. His thumb rubs against the palmar side of your hand — one of the many affectionate things your devil does for you, albeit all the times he reminds you he is second to Lucifer himself.

"I don't hate them all." Lie. Chan knows that's an obvious lie and so do you. You click your tongue and your boyfriend bites his lower lip in a sheepish action, momentarily glancing at you before bringing his attention back on the road. "I like us. We make such a power couple. If anything, we should be the only couple to exist. Valentine's Day should exist for only one couple and that should be us."

Raising your eyebrows before letting it fall, face softening up instantly as you gaze at your boyfriend's side profile, you coo, "Aw. I see finally that there are things the devil too doesn't get at his will."

"You were one amongst them," Chan sniggers, his hand slowly trailing upwards as they shift from underneath your hand's grip. "But look where we are now."

Your breath hitches as his fingers slightly trace parallel lines as they move upwards and your eyelids flutter a bit. The pads of his fingers are hot against the coldness of your skin and the temperature difference is great enough to raise goosebumps on them.

"Chan." It's a whisper. Almost as if a great amount of determination is required for you to make this decision to turn him down. "You are driving. Plus, let's not ruin the night already. You've booked us a nice table in this amazing restaurant on this beautiful night."

"But I could make it even better." Chan licks his lower lip as he presses on the brakes, the heavy traffic stopping him from proceeding further. His hand is now completely underneath your skirt, short enough to his pleasure, fingers edging so close to your panties that your head involuntarily shifts back and your lips part.

You have been dating him for months now and every single time he touches you, you feel like a starved woman craving for every drop of his affection, desiring every part of him. Chan has been more than willing to comply, however. Your body reacts to his touches and his kisses like you are on heat and every time your boyfriend points it out, you blame it on his extraterrestrial, hellish skills; that he had you in his control.

Little do you know that it is the other way round. That Chan chooses to stay in the mortal world for you, to be with you. That he knows he will have to part with you one day when you shift over to the other side and maybe you could have sinned enough to be with him in the other world too. However, Chan knows how much God loves playing his cards and for that, he'll seize every single moment he gets with you.

All because he loves you. He is in love with you.

Chan realises this a few weeks back. Of course, he feels the weird thing humans call butterflies when you are so understanding of him being hell's very spawn. However, it is when you cook dinner for him as you wait for him to come, or how you ask him about his day and listen ardently that he realises: hell could never be worthy enough to have someone as beautiful as you. He shouldn't deserve you — fuck, the very act of him laying his filthy eyes on you should have sent your guardian angel into a frenzy but you chose him. You chose to be with him and for that, he'd mayhaps, thank that lousy old God up in the heavens.

"Dinner first," you strictly say. You remove his hand from underneath your skirt, wrapping your hand around his as you hold it up to kiss his knuckles. "When we get back home, I promise. In fact, I'll be the one to jump at you as soon as we reach the doorsteps." Chan laughs, mumbling, "Ah, my baby girl, my princess," under his breath and turns to look at the signal that has changed to green. He presses on the gas, speeding to reach the place on time as per reservations.

Having Chan's hand in yours roots you in confidence from your biggest fear deep down — that he would fade away from your life one day and worse, he'd take away the memories with him to rid you of the pain from his absence. His calloused hand grips onto yours and you hold it close to your chest, shutting your eyes for a minute because this is what Valentine's Day is all about for you. Bang Chan and everything your devil of a boyfriend is. He has shown you both heaven and hell and even though you did not believe in the afterlife, you do not mind going to hell, especially not if he is there with you.

"Why is there smoke up in the air?" Chan asks himself in absolute confusion as he takes the right on the road to the restaurant. Upon finding a neat parking spot about a hundred meters away from the restaurant, he gets out of the car, rushing to your side to open the door for you like a true gentleman.

"Why, thank you!" You giggle, hand slapping right across your lips at the unpleasant sound that leaves your mouth and Chan smiles so widely at you, almost as if he is looking at his whole world right before him. You get out of the car and Chan closes the door right behind you.

"You look so damn pretty today, baby," Chan hugs you by the waist temporarily and snuggles into your neck, only to leave a quick kiss against it. You push him slightly and Chan chuckles, raising his right hand, that is not held by you, to protest. "I'm not making a move. We did get dressed well so let's have a nice romantic dinner first and when we get back home—" His voice drops a note lower. "We'll have a hot night and let this Valentine's Day wrap up rightfully as it should."

"And what's the right way, Mr. Hotshot Devil?"

"With my dick wrapped around your sweet little pussy," he smiles, lips extending so wide across his face that your cheeks heat up. He leans closer, pressing his lips against the pinna of your ears as he whispers, "You'll be begging me over and over and I'll treat you like the good little girl you are for me."

Your breath hitches and a flustered broken gasp leaves your lips as your fingers dig into his forearm. Chan's harmonious laughter over having made you a flustered mess rings in your ear till it is cut off by loud screams and foggy vision thanks to dark grey smoke.

"That's a lot of smoke," you comment worried as your boyfriend takes you by his hand and walks you down the road to the restaurant. He takes small strides to let you walk at ease. "I wonder if something is on— Fuck. The restaurant is in flames. It's on fire. Fuck."

Chan's eyes widen and he stares at the fire long enough to see two figures making their way towards you. Two very familiar faces too hard for him to ever forget, especially because Chan has spent more than a millennium with them.

"Jisung? Changbin?"

"Do you know them, baby?" You whisper into his ears, hiding slightly behind him as you cower at the magnanimous presence of the two individuals before you.

"Sometimes I wish I didn't," he rolls his eyes and folds his arms as he looks at the two younger demons in a gaze filled with doubt and suspicion.

"You lie!" The taller of the two says. "We had ramen together and you know ramen is exactly the way for people to bond."

"That's Jisung," Chan introduces as he slightly brings you forward. Your fingers play with the end of your short skirt, trying to bring it further down as the two men — demons, you presumed — looked at you and almost seemed to be studying you. "And the one by his side is Changbin."

"We've been friends for a while," Jisung informs and judges at Changbin who still continues to stare at you in displeasure. Did one of Chan's friends already not like you? You guess it is normal but deep down you know it hurts. You have always had the innate tendency to make sure that everyone liked you and the very thought of Chan's friends disliking you puts you to this sorrow as much as you hate to agree to it.

"Stop scaring my girlfriend, Bin," Chan glares back at the shorter of the two before drifting his attention to Jisung and enquiring, "How did this even happen?"

"That's on me. I crashed my car into the restaurant," Jisung rubs the back of his neck sheepishly. Your eyes widen and you look further beyond the two men to see a beautiful red Maserati driven into the restaurant, caught in flames just as the whole building is.

"The people!" You scream, rushing forward. Chan holds your wrist in worry, holding you back, and you look at your boyfriend with eyebrows furrowed in concern. "They are my people."

Changbin scoffs, mumbling under his breath, "Stupid humans and their weird sense of morality at all the wrong times." Your heart drops at his words and Chan lets go of your hand, only to take a step forward in Changbin's direction, eyes narrowing at the demon.

Jisung laughs hesitantly, slipping right between the two males and pushing them away. He looks at you and rushes forward to lean close to you. You are taken aback by the sudden invasion of your personal space but something in his eyes holds you fixed, enamored by his whole being.

"There are no casualties, sweetheart. Don't worry!"

Jisung leans back soon after, standing firm on his toes, and turns to look at your boyfriend. Smiling as wide as you've seen any devil smile, he prompts, "Since all our Valentine's Day plans got ruined, what if we spent it together?" He glances at you and you look away, eyes catching Changbin's who still looks at you in suspicion.

"I—"

"Jisung," Chan warns.

Jisung rushes to Changbin's side. Directing his attention towards you all while nudging the hell out of Changbin's side, he wiggles his eyebrows, "He may seem rude like this but trust me, he's the tsundere kind of lover."

"What the fuck," Changbin mumbles and turns his head away. "I'm not saying anything."

Your boyfriend is very flustered at the very happenings around him. Jisung suggesting a possibility of a wild night, the restaurant going into flames, and his girlfriend, albeit looking scared, positively looking at this whole proposal — maybe it has been too long since he has been away from hell for the mere chaos to fluster him.

Without a word said further to his friends, he pulls you away. You bite your lower lip, nibbling and pulling at the dead skin. Chan quickly takes your hand in his, eyes fixing on yours and staying in silence for a short while till he finally asks, "Are you okay?"

"Can I be honest?"

"Yes, please."

"Are all your friends this hot and a solid mess?"

"Should I be offended?" A soft chuckle leaves his lips when he sees you joke nervously.

"No, no." You hit his arms, jokingly. You draw circles onto his arm and bring the topic forward finally. "I know I might have looked like I was taken aback — I was — but remember how we had this talk once about bringing people into our sex lives," you gulp, "I think this is a great moment to see if we'd like it in our relationship."

"Are you sure?" Chan's hand frames your face and you lean into it.

"One hundred percent."

"These are demons, baby," he hesitates.

"And you're a demon too. Stop stating the obvious, Chan. Plus, I have you."

"Are the two of you done?" Jisung asks loudly. You hold Chan's wrist and drag him towards his friends. Changbin raises an eyebrow at the sudden beam of confidence that radiates from you.

"We are. I'm Y/N," you finally introduce yourself. "Sorry for being awkward in the beginning—"

"Oh, don't be," Changbin mumbles, gaze still wary of you. "Jisung tends to have that effect on people."

"Hey!"

"Anyhow," Changbin finally smiles tonight. "Thanks to someone," He glares at Jisung, "We lost both our dinner and our car. So do you mind if we travel with you?"

"Oh, no," you clasp your hands together. "We'll give you a ride back to our place. Chan could cook us something," you smile at your boyfriend and he merely shrugs.

"And we can let the night roll into whatever it is, right?" Jisung's gaze is different, almost like he's insinuating a thousand different sex positions in one look.

"Yes," you say after a long pause and an audible gulp. "We can let the night roll into whatever setting it turns to."

"Lead the way, princess," Jisung's arms move in abduction and you smile, skin wrinkling by your eyes at his chirpy self. You walk forward to the car and Chan slows down his strides to walk with the boys.

His arms wrap around the shoulders of both the demons and he pulls them closer to sharply whisper. "You fucking hurt her and I'll have both your arses burning in the hottest flames in hell. I swear to Lucifer."

"What if she likes it?" Changbin raises an eyebrow, almost provoking Chan and your boyfriend glares back at him equally, gritting his teeth and almost growling.

With clenched teeth, he restates, "Keep it tame," and lets go of them.

Chan should know better. Nothing is tame for the men in hell.

Changbin calls shotgun, putting you next to Jisung in the back seat while Chan drives the car.

"This is consensual, right?" Jisung asks again. There is concern lacing his face and Changbin sighs, mumbling, "She has said she wants us more than ten times, Sungie."

"Chan, you're alright with me fucking your girlfriend in the back while you drive?"

Chan's breath hitches, coughs entailing and you smile at how lost he looks for a minute as he turns back in worry, slowing the car down. "In the back or in the back of the car?"

"You never know. Maybe she might like it."

"Don't you dare!"

"Fine," he begrudgingly agrees.

"As long as she's okay with it. Do not make her uncomfortable at all, guys," Chan sighs and turns back, pressing on the gas and almost taking all his thoughts out on it. You blush, cheeks staining a shade lighter and heat rising up as soon as you feel Jisung edge closer to you. In the front seats, Changbin talks to Chan, catching up on every single thing they have missed out in these years.

In the back seat, however, Jisung has different plans. A whole different plan to break you down into putty in his hands.

"So, it seems like you are the girl that Chan wouldn't stop talking about and fawning over," Jisung's voice is huskier in the low tone he chooses to speak in to keep the conversation just between the two of you. "Nice to meet you, lovely. I'm Jisung. Now that I see you, I realise what all the fuss is about. You really are breathtaking."

You giggle, "You flatter me. Do all demons sweet talk this well?"

"Only the finest," Jisung winks. His hand wraps around your forearm and he slowly asks again, "It is alright for me to fuck you, right?"

The crudeness of the word in front of not just you but also two other demons leaves you flustered. Jisung pushes your hair strands that have gotten loose and fall to cover your eyes, behind your ears.

"Yes, it is," you repeat for what you have counted in your head as the eleventh time. "It's totally alright, Jisung."

"Then, can I come closer?" You nod and Jisung edges forward, closer than he already is. "You know how us demons work, right?"

"Uh," you look down at your hands on your skirt. "You get wild every now and then." Jisung hums in approval, cupping your face with his left hand.

"Bingo, you're right!" Jisung grips your face a little stronger than a second before. "We, demons, love to go wild." He scoffs and continues, "Your boyfriend loves to play nice and pretend like he doesn't lose control and has only virtuous thoughts. All a big fucking facade to hide the fact that he just wants to bend you over and fuck you—" Jisung kisses your neck right underneath your face. "—Again and," he kisses your jugular. "Again and again."

"I however am not. I like to do a lot of things to you."

Jisung bites sharply into your neck, sucking at the skin. The lewd noises resonate in the locked car and you know your boyfriend can hear each moan and each sound that comes from the back seat. The car moves only faster and Jisung's action matches the pace. He lets go of your neck only to crash his lips against yours, sucking in your lower lip as he kisses your hard. His arms snake around your frame and push you against him.

You moan against his lips. It's volatile, you realise. Jisung's kisses are volatile. One minute they are harsh against your lips, strong enough to bruise them with cuts, and the very next minute, there is nothing softer than his lips or the goosebumps that trail your skin that he touched after untucking your shirt.

His skin is hot against yours, hot enough to raise goosebumps again on your skin. His lips are warmth personified and his grip makes you want to go unhinged

He pulls back, lips parting and looking sinfully delectable. "It's in moments like these, princess, I realise how different our body temperatures are. How much warmer demons always are compared to humans. It must feel nice to have warm hands over you, doesn't it?" Jisung removes his hand from your bare skin and from underneath your white shirt. You gasp at the lack of contact, your skin feeling irritably cold all over again, and move closer into him.

"What a needy human," Jisung chuckles, and in the very blink of your eyes, he unbuttons your first two ones, exposing your black bra, laced to perfection, to him. "That's a pretty one. You really did go all out for Chan, did you not, princess?"

"I did. I wanted him to fuck me stupid and make me his tonight," you agree boldly and the car jolts to a stop suddenly. You are pushed forward into Jisung's warmth, your half-naked self pressed against Jisung's nice shirt. Changbin chuckles, looking at Chan and you turn to the side to see the traffic. You whisper again, "I still want him to fuck me stupid tonight."

"Oh, you are going to be all of ours tonight. We are going to make you such a slut for demon cock, princess. Make you greedy and desperate for it."

You are in the public. You are on the road, visible for any child or adult to look into your car only to see all the lustful deeds out in the open. You should have felt embarrassed, quivering in nothing but shame. However, all these triggers are for you to get wetter, panties sticking to your core and your grip to tighten on Jisung's arms.

Jisung's hand moves back to unhook your bra. He lets it fall off your shoulders slightly before taking your left breast in his arms and bringing his face closer to it. He sucks on your left nipple, nipping on the areola around. His hand massages the right breast over the black lace bra and your head lolls forward. Your hand tightens around his shoulder and you desperately crave some friction in your nether regions.

"Can I sit on your thigh, please?" You beg and Jisung's mouth leaves your nipple only to look up at you.

"Only if you call me sir."

Jisung has an immaculate grip on your waist as he lifts you slightly, holding you mid-air and not letting you settle down on his thigh until you call him by what he desires to be called.

"Please let me sit on your thigh, sir."

"You're a good girl," and Jisung drops you down on his thigh. You blush at how Jisung calls you a good girl. You like being called names. Be it a good girl or a slut, the words coming out from them right during sex made you feel unique and special. Your skirt rides up and your wet panties are pressed flat against his nice formal pants. He kisses your lips again, this time biting into your lower lip and drawing a bit of the blood. The copper taste does nothing for the demon exactly, besides indulging him in a slight high he could almost get off on. You seethe against him and your hips grind down on his thigh almost unknowingly. Your lips part behind your panties, the two materials underneath and his flexed thigh providing you enough to ease the lust and thirst of wanting to feel more.

"Does this feel good?" You moan in response and Jisung's eyes sparkle. "Ah, look at the expressions you are making." His hands grip tightly on your hips as he resolves to go back to your breasts and suck on them till the nipples harden for him and the areola swells up. His hands help your hips to move against his thigh quickly, soaking his navy blue pants darker. Your covered clit rubs over and over against his flexed thighs and the moans that leave your lips are loud and unhinged.

"Sir, ah, ah—" Your hands drop to hover your palm over his covered cock that rubs against your outer thigh. "I want more, sir. Fuck, fuck, I want more. Please, sir." And just as you begged, Jisung bites slightly into your breast just when he lets go of your hips and plunges two fingers into your wet lips, pushing the panties and skirt aside slightly. With your pussy filled with his fingers, Jisung continues to suck on your breasts and little kisses and hickeys all over them.

Your moan is the loudest so far this night in that minute. His fingers are long and bony and they hit your walls and push against them exactly the way you like. Your pain and pleasure senses, both activated, seemed to be mixing signals leaving you with a slow, slow path to euphoria. "You like that, princess? Tell me."

"Your fingers feel so good, sir." You move against his thighs quickly, grinding on it rough as your pussy is stuffed with his fingers. "Sir, sir— Fuck, sir. There." Jisung curves his fingers, the joints by his finger rubbing against your spot, deep inside that has your thighs shivering and your whole body aching for more. He rubs against the spot till you gasp over and over again and he's laughing like the very devil he is.

"Oh my god, you're so wet for me, princess. You are dripping." Jisung quickly stills you on his thighs, his other hand digging into your hips. "I'm going to go a little—" He pulls out slightly before thrusting his fingers back in.

"Sir, oh my god," your voice pitches higher and Jisung takes the positive signs well. He pushes his fingers back in after pulling them out. His forefinger moves away from the middle all while they are deep inside of you, stretching your walls apart and the sensation rules you up further as you move down, pulling him deeper and making you feel fuller than a second before. His fingers scissors inside of you, enhancing the sensations against your soft wet walls

"You're so needy, princess. You like that, huh? Does it feel nice to have my fingers wide apart inside of you? Do you like it when I curl them up?" And Jisung curls them, eliciting a loud groan from you and your head dropping into his shoulder as you can feel yourself edge closer.

He thrusts them faster. The lewd noises from your arousal gushing out and being pushed back in thanks to his fingers is intensified in the small space and your moans are like spice. Jisung sucks on your neck as his fingers hit your spot over and over again till the knot tightens so much that tears well up in your eyes and you pray he pushes you over the boundary.

"You like my fingers thrusting fast, princess?" You nod and Jisung orders, "Words, princess."

"Yes, sir. I love it. I love it. I love— Ah! Ungh—"

His thumb brushes finally against your clit and you bite into his shoulder. "Such a good princess. You deserve to cum, don't you? You were such a good girl." Jisung's thumb presses into your clit. His thrusts stills for a short second and your impatient self slides yourself up to fuck his fingers. The obscene sounds get louder with every second as you move closer to your orgasm.

"I think I should introduce another finger. Princess got my two fingers sopping wet." Jisung's third finger now plunges into you, pushing you apart even further and your breath hitches. He thrusts at a great speed, "We'll be faster, a little bit faster. That will be alright, right?" You know you are close, just a little bit of clitoral stimulation and Jisung's three bony fingers thrusting up into you, hitting the spots—

The electric motor revs and the garage door opens. Chan slowly moves the car into the garage, darkness seeping into the car. Jisung thrusts sloppily, once and then twice before pulling them away from your core, leaving your walls to clench on nothing desperately. You cry, "No, no, no, no—"

His voice is husky as he says, "Looks like we are here, princess. We are home." Slowly, without breaking contact with your eyes, Jisung sucks on his forefinger and then the middle finger and then the third slowly, tongue wrapping across it, dancing almost like a whole orchestra was playing in the background.

Chan rushes to open your door. He sees your haphazard hair, unbuttoned shirt and exposed breasts and he groans. You are insatiable just as he has always known. Your eyes are lost and mind far away at dreams of achieving orgasm. Chan buttons up your shirt and helps you get out of the car. His hold on your frame is tight and he kisses the side of your forehead.

"Chan's making pasta," Changbin announces and walls towards you, raising an eyebrow at your sight.

"We already have a whole meal here." Jisung licks your arousal from his lower lips. Chan rolls his eyes, before calling out loudly, "Jisung!"

"Yes?"

"You're helping me with dinner."

"But why me? I want to fuck Y/N," he whines. "All I did was tease her in the back of the car."

Chan leans into you and whispers, "Feel free to hit him when you want to. You'll have me to reason out and save you from anything." You laugh lightly, head slowly focusing on your boyfriend. He shifts his attention back to Jisung, "Because I said so and it's the least of hospitality you must show."

Jisung groans, before reluctantly agreeing, "I have a huge appetite, so heads up." You stare at Jisung, head with thoughts far in the past than in the present.

Fuck appetite. Fuck Han Jisung. Figuratively, and if fortunate, quite literally. You have a ruined orgasm for the first time that night and all you have an appetite for is one — to be humble — mind-blowing orgasm to take you to the end of the world and back.

Your boyfriend is a gentleman.

In the years you have known Chan, you know for sure that heaven and hell is nothing but a lie. Ironically. The stigmatization of having to be only bad or only good is so skin deep in humans that the very thought of a devil being nice seems like an illusion. That is, if the whole concept of heaven and hell is not an illusion already.

Chan is nice. He is nice to you and that is all that matters to you. He treats you like a princess because you are his princess — the only person worth staying on earth for.

So when he lets the guys go ahead and pulls you behind a wall right before the huge living room of his apartment is in view, you know he has something to say. That, or he has a kiss to steal.

"Are you okay?"

Chan's eyebrows are furrowed, eyes softening in worry as his hands lift up to cup your face, thumb rubbing circles into your cheek. You break a smile, leaning forward to brush the tip of your nose against his and you place a delicate peck on the same spot.

"More than ever. I told you, baby, right? That I'll tap out the minute this gets too much for me."

"I'm just so worried. You've never—"

"Are you guys making out?" You hear Jisung's voice resonate against the walls and you turn your head, stifling the laughter that bubbles inside of you. Jisung yells again, "Chan, pasta!"

"I'm coming," he yells back, dropping his hand from your face. "I'm coming. Oh, if only Lucifer burnt you alive!"

"I'd have to be alive for that, ha!"

"Go," you chuckle, kissing his lips only to pull back in a short second. "I'll hang out with Changbin."

"He's. . ." Chan sighs. "Just remember to be comfortable, baby, okay?"

"I know. I trust them. Beyond everything, I trust you."

You hold Chan's hand in yours and pull him away from the shadows of the wall, bring him before his friends. Changbin raises an eyebrow at the two of you, before taking a step forward as Chan follows Jisung to the kitchen.

"That leaves us together alone for a while," Changbin suggests, arms folded over each other as he takes quicker steps towards you. He doesn't tower over you much but his entire persona that he broods is enough to make you whimper, lips to part unknowingly and eyes to widen in want. "I should probably introduce myself properly. I'm Changbin. I've known your boyfriend since forever. We became demons around the same time."

"Oh," you respond, mouth patching up with the excessive want.

"I'd like to get to know you, sweetheart?" Changbin is close enough for you to feel the warmth that exudes from his body. His arms drop for a small second before his right one lifts up. His thumb and forefinger grips on your chin to angle it up slightly for you to look at him properly. The name he calls you by makes you gasp under your breath, loving the endearment and he notices. Changbin notices how much the term has its effect on you in this minute.

"Do you like being called a sweetheart, princess? An angel, maybe? Do you like dressing up in pretty pink lingerie for Chan? Maybe you want to be a baby doll on top of me for the night?" Changbin lets go of your chin before taking a step back and walking towards Chan's sofa. He sits down on it, thighs spread apart as his arm rests on the side. His attention drifts back to you, lips quirking up in brief excitement. "Or despite dating one of the most sinful creatures ever to exist, you like being called a good girl?"

Your thighs clench together and you grip at the end of your skirt. Changbin laughs at the reaction he draws out from you. He taps on his thighs and beckons for you, "Why don't you come be a good girl on my lap, hm?"

You take shy steps towards him, before sitting on his thighs that he now has pressed together. Either of your legs dangle on the sides of his body and Changbin holds your hips as he pulls you closer. Your skirt crumpled up, exposing so much more to him and Changbin is in delight at how pretty you look on top of him.

"May I?" And you nod, mumbling a soft yes. His hand slowly trails above, starting from the point right above your knee joint. It's slow and sensuous for a soft second as his fingers slowly climb up your thigh before the tables turn over and Changbin's hand rips the panties from underneath your skirt and throws it to the side. Your eyes widen, cheeks heating up as you hold onto his shoulder at the sudden force.

"We won't be needing that for the night now, do we?"

You bite your lip and Changbin's hand hovers over your sodden lips from the previous encounter with Jisung. He rubs his palm over it as he locks his gaze with yours and asks, "Respond, princess. I need to hear you respond."

"No, we won't need that."

"That's my good girl," Changbin praises you and presses the heel of his palm into your clitoral region and you moan explicitly and unhinged. He rubs it slightly and your burning core oozes more of your arousal out into his hand, burning for that long forgotten orgasm you had hoped for. Using his other hand, he rips open your blouse, the top button letting free from the dress at all the harsh happenings it has been through for the night.

"Oh dear, look at that," Changbin clicks his tongue repeatedly before plunging his fingers into your core and pulling your bra down with his teeth at the same time, grazing slightly at your breast that it leaves you thrusting yourself on his fingers that drive hard into you.

You whimper, "Changbin, fuck," and he lets out an amused sound. He thrusts his two fingers in and out of you as he lips wrap around your nipple, lapping at it. He lets go momentarily, hot breath fanning all over your mound and he asks,

"Do you like this or maybe is it some pain that you like?"

And within a second, Changbin's teeth bite into the flesh by your mound. His unoccupied hand cups your mound, massaging it before flicking your nipple. Harshly. You gasp, head dropping forward as you lean into Changbin's chest, whimpering repeatedly.

"Baby girl likes that, doesn't she?" He flicks it again, pain shooting up your nerves and you slightly bite into his neck. He speaks into your skin. "She likes it a lot."

Changbin says he likes art. He talks about how he loves the purple colours that blend into the pink and then, the colours of your skin. He sucks on your bosom, littering the area around your areola with pretty, pretty marks all while his fingers are plunged deep inside of you, pads of the same rubbing your walls while his palm rubs the collected arousal into your core, pressing into your clit and stimulating it

Your senses are alert and every breath, every moan that is present in the air is hyperbolised in your ears. You can feel Changbin's rough fingers slowly pull out while his mouth trails down to wrap his lips around your areola, tongue wrapping around your nipple and he laps at it like a starved animal.

"Chan's too nice to you, too gentle, too kind to you. Treats you like some porcelain doll. I don't blame him for that," Changbin taunts you. He pulls his fingers out from your dripping core and his mouth leaves your breasts. Your walls contract at the sudden absence of his fingers and you grind down onto his thighs, expecting — begging more.

Changbin flicks at your stimulated clitoris. It sends a rush of both pain and pleasure intermingled up your spine, hitting your brain cells, leaving you lost and in a trance. He continues the mockery, "I usually don't fuck with humans. In fact, I even condoned Chan for doing that. No offense to you, baby girl, but humans are delicate, too fragile, for my taste. No matter how sex crazed or ravenous you are, you are still no match for a demon by comparison."

Changbin kisses up your neck, marking you up as he draws out his mockery. You think it is weird that this time round Changbin doesn't intimidate or anger you. Rather every word he says sends a trail of arousal shooting downwards, making you wetter with every passing second — making you anticipate for so much more. It is embarrassing at how wet you are from every single teasing you have been put throygh for the night.

"You may think Chan is different but he isn't, baby girl. He's just as demonic as we are, just as fucked up as every creature from hell is. He might hold back for you, but when you push his buttons well enough, you know he'll unleash it all. Even Jisung. The only difference between them and yours truly is that—" Changbin pauses. His lips quirk up and his hand unbuckles his belt, metal clinging as it comes undone. He unzips the pant and shoves it down as he lifts himself up with you with such ease that your fragile, weak and overstimulated self is in surprise. He pulls his dick out from his formal pants and it is hot, hard and everything you crave at this point.

You think it's unfair for a man with this big an ego to have this thick a cock and you were this close to blaming God for being unfair when you realise this isn't his territory. And history has proven that Lucifer has always been kind to his followers.

Changbin strokes his cock, thumb rubbing at the slit at the hot head. You salivate, almost ready to drip from the corner of your mouth when Changbin cuts your thoughts — filthy thoughts, too dirty to be spoken of; filthy, filthy thoughts on how heavy his cock would be on your mouth, on how wide his cock would stretch your mouth and how deep he'd go, perhaps all the way to your throat — and holds your thighs, pulling you closer into him to position you in such a way that his cock is straddled right between the flesh of both your thighs.

"The only difference between me and the other two, baby girl, is that," Changbin's voice drops an octave lower as he almost growls, "I don't make a habit of suppressing it at all. I can grab you by the throat just like this—" The demon holds you by your throat, his fingers wrapping around your neck hovering right across your jugular and carotid, pressing them slightly. It is scary how you are here trusting a demon fully aware that an inch deeper and you would be accompanying him in your journey to the other world. Or mayhaps it's your trust in your boyfriend. Changbin's fingers are wrapped deliciously around your neck and your pussy leaks juices, coating his dick that is pressed against it. "—and thrust my dick so deep into you and fuck you so hard that your body, mind and soul is broken beyond repair."

Your mouth opens wide, tongue resting against your lower lip and Changbin spits into your mouth, ordering you instantly, "Swallow," and when you do, he lets go of your neck for a second, caressing the roughened area and mumbling, "You're a good, good girl for me, aren't you, baby girl?"

You nod, voice hoarse as you beg like a kitten in her worst heat, "Please, please, please—"

"Please what, baby girl? Use your words like the good girl you are."

"Fuck me, Binnie. Fuck me, fuck me. Need your dick in me. I'll be a good girl."

Changbin laughs loudly, almost as if he is mocking you. He is, because his fingers wrap around your neck once again as he thrusts his cock upwards. It slides against your wet lips, striking against your clit. "How could I fuck you when your thighs are this inviting? Look at how wet they are because of your arousal. You are leaking, baby. What a good whore."

"Binnie," you gasp, barely phrasing with his hold on your neck as he thrusts back upward. He holds your close as you equally grind on him. "Binnie, I want more. I want more."

"Be a good girl and I'll reward you, baby girl. Be a good girl and let me fuck your thighs." You nod and grind down. "How does it feel like, baby girl, to have my hard cock rubbing against you? Squeeze your legs tightly around me—" You wrap your legs around him, heels digging into his back. "Fuck, just like that."

The squelching sounds are loud and prominent. The friction of his cock rubbing against your wet skin is amplified in the silence. Your hips move slightly trying to get as much as contact possible on your clit. Your head is empty, voices hindered and you can only think of how badly you want to get fucked, how badly you want Changbin to treat you more roughly.

Changbin is vocal. Very, very vocal. He whimpers at every rub, moans loudly and grunts as you grind down on him. The filthy words that leave his mouth does not stop — "Your skin feels so warm and cool against my cock. Oh fuck, can you feel your clit throbbing against my dick, baby girl? You naughty little fucking thing."

His pace quickens as he thrusts further, grunting, "You are fucking delicious, baby girl. Chan's been keeping a whole asset away from us."

"Binnie, Binnie—" you moan, breasts rising and falling with every occasional jumping you do on his thighs to match the pace of his thrusts. "Choke me harder, please."

"What?"

"I want you to choke me harder."

"Fuck," and Changbin listens clearly. His fingers dig a little deeper and you are gasping, arousal dripping even more and staining his navy blue formal pants after coating his cock further. "Fucking grind on my cock. Baby girl, you are making me rethink my policy on humans."

"Ungh," you whimper when his cock stills and grinds onto your clit, focusing only on that. Changbin chuckles. His voice is laced with tease, "Easy there, baby girl. If my cock were to accidentally slip into your pussy, who knows what I might do."

"Please, please—" You barely speak out when Changbin's grip on your neck loosens for a bit.

"Did I fuck the words out of you, baby? Did I fuck you stupid? I haven't even fucked you with my dick yet and look at you already. You would want that right, baby girl? For me to fuck you dumb, fuck you stupid. I'll have you ride my cock till all you know is how to be a good girl for me and how to take my big fat cock."

"Yes, yes, yes—"

Changbin stops right when your whimpering increases, pitch shooting up higher and your chest rises and falls as he halts. However, in one swift motion, he pins you on the sofa, him on top of you and he stares at you. You are a disoriented mess, hair spilling onto your face and everywhere, clothes open partially but enough to spill everything and your legs — thighs specifically — are glistening in the lights.

"It sucks that you are Chan's girl, sweetheart? Do you think he'd mind sharing more than once?"

Changbin does not wait for your response. With the support of his hands, he brings his body down, head in direct contact with your skirt stained with your arousal and the precum that oozed out from his cock. He sucks deep purple marks into your thighs, trailing them all the way to your glistening core. And then, his mouth is on your sodden lips.

It's a miracle at how you are able to keep your eyes open. All the teasing this night has made your body heavy and yet, like some starving woman on sex steroid, your pussy aches for more. His lips are on your wet ones as he licks at the lips, pushing it apart as he takes in your arousal, lapping in to take it all. It is merciless. The demon he is, is marvellous, hot and a sex god at that. His tongue licks your lips, tip teasing your entrance as he rubs your clit, slowly. he draws small circles over it, tapping at the engorged button till your toes curl in, knees lift up to bend for your feet to press down. Your eyes are squeezed shut and your fingers pull at his hair every time you feel the knot tightening.

The room is filled with lewd noises and your moans are loud enough for everyone in the house to hear. Changbin licks stripes after stripes on your lips, lapping up your arousal as he hums in delight. Another stripe up your wet lips and he soon wraps his plump pair around your clit and sucks on it, loud noise of suckle resonating and causing you to move your hips slightly.

Changbin's sharp teeth graze over your clit, nibbling slightly till you feel the knot clench in your stomach. The vortex forms deep within you again, the sign of an impending orgasm and you can only pray that he doesn't leave you begging like Jisung did. It's coming. You are so close, again, for the second time this night and you needed it. You are sure that you would go crazy if you did not receive the release you had so prayed for. Changbin rubs your clit furiously, lips moving back to your cunt as he eats you out. Changbin's tongue flicks to perfection, hitting your sensitised bud over and over again till you snap and come undone all over his face, arousal squirting out and over his entire face.

Your legs quiver as Changbin laps it all up, tongue swiping across your lips till he has drunk every single drop of your arousal. Your eyes that were squeezed shut opens and you see the mess you have made on his face.

"Fuck, I'm sor—" You try to lift yourself up to help him when Changbin pulls you by your legs closer to him and wraps his lips on your clit, sucking on the bud till it borders overstimulation and you are screaming out in both pain and pleasure, your abdomen pitting at the sight of another orgasm with his actions.

"Binnie, fuck, oh fuck," Tears well up at the corner of your eyes on being overstimulated. You can feel your brain getting fuzzier, sense hyperbolic at everything around you. You are falling into something you are unfamiliar with. "I'm sensitive, fuck. I'm so sensitive."

He moves forward, overstimulating you and your eyes roll up at all your nerves being triggered to send the excess messages of stimulation to your brain, knots tightening and you are ready to combust once again until Jisung walks out of the kitchen, announcing, "Dinner's ready."

"Too bad I had my fill," Changbin sniggers, tongue extending out of his mouth to lick your arousal off the corners of his mouth. Your chest rises and falls and you try to focus in on something on the ceilings — ah, the spokes of the fan, yes. Three. Three. Three. Three. Changbin quickly notices the change in your demeanor, "Baby girl? You alright?"

"Princess?" Chan's rushing to your side as soon as he hears something is up with you. You giggle, laughing soon enough as you look up. Changbin stands up from your side, concern filling him when you start laughing. Jisung, on the other hand, walks to keep the pasta on the table behind the sofa. "Princess, are you there with me?"

It is the rush of endorphins that cloud your brain. Your heart beats fast, breathing rapid and it's a different kind of high you are in. You hold onto Chan's sleeve, giggles nonstop as you mumble in between, "Chan, uh, Chan! Chan!"

"I've got you, princess," he says softly, before wrapping his arm around your thighs and the other over your torso before lifting you up. "I've got you. I'm right here." You cling onto his shirt, snuggling into him as he verbally assures you.

He stops midway in his path, turns to look at two of his friends, especially glaring at Changbin, before firmly saying, "Eat and leave. I'll talk to you later. I have to take care of her."

"We could hel—"

"Not today. Not now. I'll—" Chan sighs, holding you closer to him as you mumble words incoherently, smiling to yourself. His face softens, as if he's trying to comfort Changbin who looks guilty for the first time before Chan in eons of years together. "We'll talk to you later."

"Okay."

"And guys?"

"Yeah?"

"Thank you for tonight. I know she liked it. A bit too much, if anything."

Chan holds you close.

So close to him that even the rush of endorphins in your brain isn't loud enough to hear how loud your own heart beats next to his faint beating one.

His arms wrap around your frame, hand holding your head close into his chest as he soothingly rubs the back of it and at every short interval, he coos into your head, "I'm right here, baby." Your body shifts to a relaxed position from the very tensile state it was in that second thanks to his voice, at his words and at his very being.

"Relax, baby. This is going to pass. You did so well, so, so well."

And you giggle into his chest, eyes closing warmly for a fraction there before looking up at him. Chan believes if synesthesia was a thing for demons, he would see the colours behind your eyes. How the crimson red slowly — so, so slowly — turned to darkest shades of pink and then the softest ones and Chan knows. He knows for sure that this is it. This is his whole world.

Chan feels jealous of humankind for the first time.

He is envious about how it would not be him that grows old with you, has kids with you and gets to be physical with you at every point. He knows he can't do that with you forever. He cannot do this with you forever. And even if he did decide to fuck it and do it anyway, you'd leave him one day.

Chan knows he could never do much. He cannot change fate or turn himself into human for you. That is impossible. And yet he hopes — ah, a dangerous thing for a demon to have, something they mustn't possess — that every moment he spends with you is infinite and never dies.

Your body tightens up again, goes rigid in his hold and he worries for you. That is Chan's first mistake, or so he believed years back. He cares for you. He cares for you in ways a demon shouldn't. He cares for you enough to know that demons have feelings or at the very least, he does. He cares enough to call it love.

"It's alright," he mumbles and you mumble back, "We couldn't spend time together tonight."

"It's still eight. We have time," Chan smiles and rubs the hair off your face, only to press a soft chaste kiss on your forehead. "We have a lot of time. You should rest. You were such a good girl tonight."

"I was," you hold onto his shirt before letting your hands trail underneath and Chan realises the endorphins are slowly calming down, keeping you in a safer position than you were minutes back. "Wasn't I, daddy?"

"Princess, you really had a lot today, do you—"

"I want to. I—" You kiss Chan, hands cupping his face and lips pulling at his before letting your tongue twine with his. You moan unknowingly as your body rises to lean further into him. Your fingers graze the small stubble by the side of his jaws as you find yourself getting lost in him, in the feeling of his hot tongue lapping around yours.

"Mmh," Chan moans before holding your jaw tighter, leg wrapping around your frame. In a swift motion, he pins you down underneath him as he still kisses you. His lips are beyond tempting as you draw every kiss out, draw every moan out from him. He pulls back the minute you lift your hips to grind onto his crotch, feeling himself against your bare core. "We should stop—"

"No. You're my Valentine. Not Changbin or Jisung. You'll always be my Valentine," you respond, tugging him down into you by his shirt. Chan's eyes widen before softening as he looks at you — looks at you like you are everything better than him, hell and afterlife.

"But you really had it rough today and—"

"I want more. I want so much more rough and I want them from my boyfriend. No one else." Your hand grades the stubble again and Chan leans into your hold. "The fact that you've never been rough with me and that I had to hear about it from Changbin and Jisung did no good to my ego, baby."

"They were—" Chan pauses on his own this time. You don't interrupt or cut him. He knows he can't lie to you. He knows how much he holds back but Chan knows that he has no issue with that. It's a safer option for you and yet here you are tonight asking him to be himself, be everything he is and show you how far he can go — he was going to fucking lose it at that alone.

"You know they were not lying," your voice lower. "They are demons, you had said, and that I should be careful. But Chan, baby, you are a demon too. So why do you hold back? Is it because I'm a human?"

"Yes," Chan reluctantly agrees and you sigh. You drop your hand from his face and Chan's lips pucker in response. "I don't want to hurt you."

"You know you won't," you reassure him. "You could never hurt me unknowingly and even if you did, you know you'd take care of me till I'm back to the same."

"There shouldn't be a situation that leads to the worst case scenario, Y/N."

"But I want that. I want you to show me everything and I want to know if I'd like that. Give me a choice. I—" You gulp, scared of telling it out loud finally now that you have come to a partial conclusion to it yourself. "I liked Changbin being rough on me. I liked it a lot. I liked Jisung edging me. I liked it so much that all I could think about till Changbin touched me was of Jisung giving me an orgasm."

Chan's hand presses down by the sheets adjacent to your face and he holds it tightly. If care was an emotion he shouldn't have felt, jealousy is another that should never have a place in a demon's mind. Especially not when they were all brought up with the thought of sharing.

He hates how Changbin got to be rough with you before him. Something so petty and so, so territorial arises in him that he wasn't even aware for him to feel this. He knows he gave consent. He knows he was there to hear it all and yet hearing you say you liked it brought in exactly two emotions in him that conflicted each other so much that he knew he was going feral — a) delight, over you being so content and over you being so understanding of demonic natures and b) jealousy, over another demon having had you in ways only he had before.

"Chan?"

"Yes?"

"You were lost there for a minute."

"You promise me you'll tell me to stop if it gets too much, right?"

"Always," you peck at his lips. "I'll always do that. I just want everything you are and you have to offer. I don't want to know stuff from others. I want to feel them through you."

And Chan kisses you again. This time however, it is a lot different from the previous kiss you drew out from him. His lips find home in yours as they come upon you, imperatively. The kiss gets deeper each time, tongues chasing and lapping each other, earning continuous whines and whimpers coming out from both of you. Your arms wrap themselves around his neck, your fingers trailing up his nape to his hair, gripping the small hair at his back and Chan kisses you passionately, his hands cupping and tilting your face, angling it so that he could intensify the kiss as he desired.

He's desperate to show you everything he is.

The very second your mouth had brushed his, Chan knows that you are the one for him. It had always been you. Even now, if he closed his eyes, he could feel the tingle over his lips and your warm breath wafting over his chin. It is exactly as he had carved in his mind, etched so deep that it could never fade away.

His hand is prominent on its grip on your neck, as you lift your chin higher — so you can press your lips harder into his — while your hands fist into his shirt — white, clean and perfect all for the night only for it to be discarded to the very corner of the bedroom the two of you share. His free hand drops to wind around your waist, arm pressed between the bed and you and in one swift movement, he pulls your body flush against his.

Gasping at the motion, Chan seizes the opportunity to slip his tongue between your teeth, your lips parting further in response. His tongue swipes across yours, curling around your tongue and gently massaging it. The metal ball at the tip of his tongue provides a sharp coldness and you hiss into his mouth, only for him to provide more contact with the metal that it leaves you emitting moans into him.

It is electrifying. Every single thing with Chan has been exciting, unpredictable and leaves you begging for more. It is perhaps mankind's adhesive nature towards sin itself that made you like this — that made you into such a moldable clay in his hands and you don't mind going to hell for this. Because every single moment you lived on earth, if it were with him, would be relentlessly passionate. You would never want to swap with anything, even if someone handed heaven to you on a platter.

Because Chan is your heaven.

When you feel his tongue flick against yours, slightly, grazing it, your hands uncurl from his shirt - only to wind up his chest, along his throat, towards the nape of his neck. You find yourself lapping around the metal ball on his tongue, rolling your eyes shut.

With every passing second, you find yourself drowning into Chan. His body is pressed flat against yours, chest against yours, his saccharine taste coating your senses till that is all you can think about, and his warm breath all over your face. You find yourself drowning into him — you always have — his entire presence encasing your senses as you lose yourself deep into his entire being.

Is this how people were dragged into hell? Tempting.

Chan pulls back and you smile at your boyfriend, like a little girl happy to have received her candy. You glance down at your shirt that is half open as a result of everything that happened tonight and proceed to unbutton the rest and remove it off your body. Chan's eyes linger more than ever on the marks that Changbin has left all over your body — marks that have turned dark purplish red and he seethes at the very sight of it in anger.

"If we do this again, on your request, of course," Chan kisses over all the marks slowly, taking his own time to lick it over with his tongue before pressing his lips against it. "I'm going to be physically present. Not going to let anyone mark my baby up like this. That's for me."

And Chan sucks over it. His hand goes behind your back to unhook your bra and toss it aside. His hand lands firm on your breast, fingers playing with your nipple as his mouth slowly moves down to kiss your other nipple before sucking on it, lewd sounds emitting from his mouth.

"Daddy, fuck—" Your back arches, hips jutting upwards into his pelvis only to feel his covered growing length rough against your sticky skin. Chan uses his free hand to hold onto your waist and lift you slightly, allowing you to hook your leg over his waist, tight enough to tease you.

Chan hums in approval as you grind up, exposed core moving and staining your favorite formal pants of his, all while his tongue laps at your areola. The metal ball right at the centre of the tip of his tongue is pressed to your nipple and the difference in temperature has your mind spiralling.

His palm squeezes your breast, thumb running over your nipple before he purposefully leans down and gives you a taste of his warm mouth. You gape open at the contact of his mouth on your nipple, teeth purposely grazing against the skin only for the metal ball to soothe over the burn.

Puckering his lips, he presses them to the sensitive spot by your jugular before sucking harshly. Responsively, a low mew resounds from your lips, leaving them in the open for just you and him to hear to.

"Do you remember the safe word?"

You nod, "Red for you to stop, yellow for you to give me time and green for you to proceed."

"Perfect," and Chan moves so quickly to remove your skirt off your body as he hovers over your completely naked self, fully clothed. You have always wondered if Chan would ever be into power play, especially with how he could project himself sometimes. Like in moments like these. You make a note in your head to ask him about the very thing.

Chan kisses your lips, tugging at your lip before dipping himself further, getting lost in you. He rubs his tongue across your lower lip, metal ball harsh against your coral lips. He kisses your cheek and then, your pinna.

You feel his warm breath against your ear, shuddering in impact. You are about to ask him to stop teasing you — that you've had enough foreplay the whole night. However, in the next second, his hand lowers and lands on your inner thighs in a loud spank and you gasp, not expecting it. He hits the same skin almost a second after before the pain recedes and you are moaning out loud, brain wiring differently as heat pools between your legs.

“Fuck," he swears under his breath. His hand edges closer to you, dangling so close to your core that he can feel your arousal by your thighs, all over again and over the dried ones by your thighs. "You’re so dripping wet,” Chan mutters, only to laugh and comment, "At least I can credit this to myself."

Chan leans forward, next to your ear again and mumbles, "Baby, I'll be using words that would come off as very demeaning but I need you to know that I would never use them unless we are in the mood. You are and will be my baby girl, my princess forever. Is that alright?"

"It is," you blush, heat shooting straight to the core and you can feel yourself leak further, embarrassingly, right when Chan's hand is so close to your lips.

"Fuck, you are dripping. Such a filthy whore," Chan taunts and you feel it, deep in your gut. You've never seen this side to Chan but fuck, you love it. You love it more than Changbin having called you a good girl. You want to be called a whore, a slut — as long as you were his whore, his slut.

Chan collects the arousal that you drip out, coating his fingers and palm. Moving his fingers, he collects your arousal that leaks from your gaping hole and watches the transparent stick to his fingers. The bulge in his pants is hard and seems too painful to be confined. You gulp evidently, throat parched. Chan's hand edges closer towards your lips and languidly strokes your slit with his fingers coating in your arousal. The pads of his finger circles your hole and you mewl, clutching slightly onto his shoulder.

"Daddy, please, need your fingers in me."

"You've been fucked by two demons already and you are still so horny," he scoffs. "Impressive." He raises an eyebrow. Almost like he is teasing you further, he continues to play with your cunt. You whimper, gasping and hoping to feel the burn of the stretch that would come with him thrusting his fingers up.

Each small action Chan does has you moving forward in pleasure, hoping for the same as you try to move with his hand, all in an attempt to drive his digit deeper into you. Nonetheless, Chan controls the pressure and the pace and no matter how hard you try to move, he never lets you have his way, clearly showing that it was him in power here, not you. Growing tired of his teasing, anticipation filling you to insanity, tears brimming your eyes, you whine, “Fucking hell, Ch— Daddy, come on."

Chan chuckles, kissing your clavicle, biting into the skin above and sucking furiously enough to mark you. You sigh, breath exhaled out desperately. "Please, please, pl— Ah!"

Chan hits your core with the pads of his finger, labia silently flapping in impact and you moan at the pain that shoots up from your sensitive core. This causes you to moan, body moving forwards in a surprised reaction. The palm hitting the clit sends electric sparks throughout your body, your brain almost fusing. The sound is sharp as it rings through the air before you feel pain along the vulva. Crying in pain, you mumble softly out before holding to him softly, “Please,” you implore. "I need you, daddy."

The sensation of the pad of his thumb swiping against your swollen, needy bud causes you to buck into him, your cunt soon contracting around nothing. Chan mumbles as he lowers his body silently, kissing your skin on his way. He kisses the skin right above your acetabulum, tracing his lips down till he kisses your core, a soft peck over it.

It is a stark difference in your clothing that takes you aback; of how you were completely naked while Chan was completely clothed and yet that excited you. The power he has is enough to have you ooze out more arousal that would prompt the sheets to stain further.

Chan licks at your core, once, twice and then he is sucking at your clit, like a man walking days in a desert with no water source. His mouth is against your core, licking on it, the cold wet metal ball pressing against it, before he sucks on your engorged button. The lewd noises that leave your mouth are pornographic and your legs have lost their strength.

You are about to say a word before Chan curls his fingers up into you and your back arches slightly at the feeling of his fingers in you. "D-Daddy!"

You feel Chan searching your walls for the spot he has felt enough that he finds it in a few minutes. He rubs against the same spot that brings the loudest reaction from you before dragging his fingers back slowly only to slip his fingers easily into you again, the slick of your arousal dripping down your thighs. The sheets are stained. His pants are stained and so is his white shirt.

"No demon I've fucked before would have sex this close to being out of the world. Fuck, princess. Your slutty pussy is clutching onto my fingers." He rubs your walls and your enlarged button. Your hips gyrate with him, thrusting and chasing after his fingers desperately as you press into him.

Chan's fingers are fast as they thrust in and out of your core. You could find yourself getting wetter and wetter with the lewd sounds that resonate the walls. The demon presses his metal piercing flat against your clit and you gasp. "F-Fuck, Daddy!"

And as Chan sucks on your button of nerves, his fingers thrusts into you at a relentless pace, pushing right at the spot that has you feeling the endorphins spilling into your bloodstream. You feel the knot that tightens in your stomach, ready to fall over the cliff till Chan's teeth graze your clit and you lose it.

“Come for me, my princess,” Chan urges. His command, paired with the way his tongue dances across your clit and how his rough thick fingers drags against your sweet spot, has you careening off of the brink of pleasure and into an oblivion. You can feel your bloodstream soaking slowly with the rush of endorphins. You need a moment to calm down from how good that orgasm is, as Chan slowly rubs you through your high.

You think Chan is about to drag his fingers out of you and away when he picks up the speed of his fingers. He toys with your sensitive clit.

"Daddy, ah—" You feel the pain slightly of being overstimulated, slowly getting intense and intense. You are crying and he slows down, looking into your eyes, expecting a colour to be screamed and when you don't, smiling softly, he continues, kissing you and swallowing every cry you have.

You feel your skin standing at the very precipice of being sensitive to anything. In a split second without any warning, his mouth still on you, Chan holds your clit between his forefinger and thumb before twisting it and instantly, you feel something deep within you tighten up.

That was it. Your breath is disoriented. Your jaw falls loose and you let out a loud cry as a powerful orgasm cuts right through you. Chan drops his hand on to the bed as you squirt on being overstimulated. Your arousal soaks his shirt, fabric sticking to his body and he is amused. Your thighs shake, quivering uncontrollably as your back curves, body lifting up. Chan's other arm wraps around you as he kisses you through this. Your muscles tremble, ache and are sour. Eventually, you find your hips stopping gradually as you fall victim to the pleasure, squirting slowly receding. His hand is covered in your juices and he chuckles against your lips after pulling back, placing you lightly on your back.

"That was so fucking hot," he looks at you proudly, pressing his forehead against yours. Your eyes are closed, post that powerful orgasm, tears staining your cheeks. He moves only after your eyes open, making sure you are alright and are able to breath right.

"Daddy," you smile and Chan smiles brighter. That's his girl. That's his girl, alright.

"You've got my shirt messy, princess." He chuckles and your cheeks heat up in embarrassment as your head drops to the side to look away. Chan holds your face with his messy hands and kisses you, drawing out another long kiss to rid you away from any other thoughts besides ones of fucking him tonight.

You pull away and mumble, "It's not fair that you were dressed completely in the first place."

"Is that so now?"

"Yes," you huff and your hand trails up Chan's arm, fingers digging into his arm. "It's a damn bother."

Chan unbuttons his shirt, taking his own time with it as his fingers roll against them before popping the material out of hold from the button. Your hand lies in wait by his waist, fingers rubbing against the curve of his ass and you stare up at him. With every button that he maneuvers his shirt out of, you can see his tattoos more and more clearly.

The feathers that poke out through the corner of his shoulder, flat on the coracoid process, more present superficially right above his clavicle, are detailed. You can see the feathers variant in their styles as they fall from a greater source that lies behind him.

Chan's tattoo had always been magnificent, as if they were rebuking the almighty as he acknowledged his very being. The ends of the black feathers also tease into the head of his biceps. Two beautiful wings, bold and powerful, arise from his spine and exhibit loudly on his back.

Your mouth gapes open at the sight of it as Chan bends forward to unbutton his pants, the wings clearly visible to you and your heart leaps at the sight of it. Chan raises an eyebrow at you, staring down at his tattoo, as soon as he pulls down his pants.

"Ah, the tattoo kink," he chuckles. "How could I forget."

"It's not a thing," you blush.

"Please," he laughs, eyes wrinkling soon. "There's no way you could lie to me, princess."

You blush. Crunching forward, you stretch your arms, fingers pointing to draw against the outline of the wings. "It's beautiful," you whisper. "It's so fucking beautiful, Chan." He chooses to ignore the call of his name because nothing else would sound sweeter in this moment than his name itself. What you would do to give everything in wrapping your lips around his flesh by the corners of the wings and to ruin it with your own marks.

He unsheathes himself off the confines of his undergarment. Chan has always been bigger in comparison to every single one you had seen, girth firmer than you had envisioned and the frenum piercing has you salivating. It shines under the dim lighting of your room, your eyes unable to drift away from it, lips parted slightly.

You let out a small mewl — the walls of your core throbs against his member at the sensations of the piercings rubbing against the same — enhancing both your senses. Chan notices how your thighs quiver and he raises his eyebrows in sheer amusement.

"You really don't fail to surprise me, princess," Chan sniggers. "Look at you eye fucking me all while I just unstrip."

"Please," your eyes glisten and Chan coos. "Please. Need your cock in me, daddy. Need your big fat cock to fill me up and stuff me stupid." Your hands move down to hold his engorged length in your hand, rubbing the metal balls on the head with your fingers and feeling the coldness in a sharp contrast to his hot girth.

"You've been such a good, good whore tonight. Daddy's going to reward you well. So well." His hand trails down your frame and you shudder as they move down your sides.

Chan moves slightly, his hands bracing on either side of yours. The strong muscles of his arms twitch as he bears the entirety of his body weight on them. You push your body upwards and you stretch your arms up. You run your hands over his naked shoulders and his back, grazing his tattoo a little more before tangling your fingers into his hair as you tug him further over you.

A soft gasp slips from your mouth when his weight presses over you: his defined chest over yours and his hips pressing into yours in the most enticing way. His cock brushes against your thighs slicken in your arousal and you moan. The metal ladder framing underneath his shaft is cold against your skin and you can feel the goosebumps that arise atop your skin all the way to spread the heat to your core.

Chan's arms wrap around your body, holding you so close to him that your chests brush against each other. You feel his hardened erection sharp against your thighs, brushing against your core and you whimper in his hold. "Please."

"Please what, princess?"

"Fuck me, daddy."

Chan's lips crash onto your swollen ones with a force that has to be reckoned. He grinds his heavy cock into your core, rubbing over your clit. It leaves you moaning, holding onto his deltoids with a ferocious grip, fingers digging into the muscle.

Holding onto the opportunity that presents itself to him, Chan seizes and dives his tongue right into your mouth. They glide across your tongue, your body arching in pleasure. You feel the metallic ball of his piercing run over your tongue in a wistful want, you wrap your own around it before kissing him at the same intensity. Chan's groan hits back through the air in barely a whisper as you swallow most of the sound. Immediately, you let go of his lips and your hand reaches out for his cock slowly coated in precum, you squeeze it softly.

Before you can think straight, you can sense Chan holding his cock in his hand to position himself and with a mere grunt, he enters through your twitching core. His thick girth pushes your walls apart as they move further down into you. Your grip on his deltoid slips to his biceps, desperate to catch hold of something. All that leaves your mouth are parched breaths and desperate moans.

The lewd noises from his dick seeping through your wetness to enter you and stretch you out resonates through the wall only to hit back to both of your ears. Chan's gaze shifts downwards to watch his cock spread open your lips and disappear into your being — all it does to the demon is excite him more.

You feel the piercings against your wall, dragging across your softness. The slight dentations cause you to moan as Chan moves it against it over and over again, ensuring to hit your spot as much as possible with every thrust.

"You're dripping all over my cock, fuck," he grunts as he slips out only to thrust back in carefully. You grind back this time round, trying to match his pace with your fragile body. It takes you aback when you feel Chan grow into his complete girth inside you, stretching you out with an intense burn.

"Daddy," you choke out, words caught in the back of your throat. "Too big, ah."

“No, it’s not, princess," he bites his lip. "We both know you can take it. You're doing so well,” Chan coos. You find him slowing down with every thrust, making sure you are alright. His fingers ghosts right adjacent to your side, caressing your breasts with affectionate touches.

Slowly, the pain fades away, only to be replaced by a rush of pleasure with every thrust. The hard metal of his piercings drag against the sensitive nerves of your wet core, enough to stimulate every other nerve in your body, rubbing it over and over again.

Chan notices your face calming and how you were truly living in the moment. He takes this as a sign enough to thrust quicker, metal piercings striking the spot furiously. The sudden intrusion has your lips parting, eyes rolling back and tongue falling out in ecstasy. Your thighs, that quake, spread apart to take more of him, to let him have more control over you. Your walls clamp down on him, holding his cock tightly and magnifying the thick length of his. The moment his length pokes at the end of your cervix, you jerk, throat drying up instantly as a reaction. He was so thick and so full that he reached all the way to your cervix, ready to show you what it truly is like being fucked by a demon.

Chan grunts as he presses his hand down on your belly after pressing a short kiss. There is a slight bulge and Chan loves how you are, almost as if you are made for him. This leads your wall to press around him. His length pulses against your walls and you feel him completely, in his length and girth. Your walls ripple around his length accepting him completely — in his large, engorged, thick length.

"Fuck, I love this. Hell, I love how your juices coat my length and your lips kiss around my cock. Perfectly fitting my cock as if you were made for me,” he mutters. "Aren't you? You're mine. All mine."

“So pretty, princess,” he coos. With every thrust of his length into you, your body is jolted back and forth, rocking the bed loudly, at an impeccable strength along with your boyfriend's.

In between all the thrusts of his cock, the way his piercings mercilessly drags inside you, triggering every single nerve bundle ever to exist in your body, you feel the clouds of euphoria come at your being. You slowly find yourself losing your being into the sheer bliss of Chan's actions.

With one more rough thrust, you are unable to hold back and with a loud cry, you come undone around Chan's cock. Feeling your walls clamp vigorously around his length, he lets out a deep growl and continues to thrust his hips into you. It is these thrusts that draw out your orgasm, bringing forth waves of bliss and euphoria, slowly seeming to shut down all your senses. The results of your intense orgasm still fluctuate through you. Your thighs tremble and toes curl. Your walls wrap so tightly around his cock that it drives him close.

His cock pulsates in your warmth and you know it too. "Oh fuck! That’s it, princess,” Chan groans out. He thrusts back into you messily, trying to keep up with the same initial pace. However, he falls out of the same relentless thrusting in the pursuit of his own orgasm. Burying his cock as deep into you, he erupts inside of you. He plays with your clit and comes undone in your core as he swears under breath, unfiltered compliments showered upon you.

His thick cum fills you up. Buried deep, he empties everything of his load, coating your walls with thick stripes of his residue. Slowly, you find yourself back to your senses, body more alive, having ridden yourself of the giddiness of your orgasm. Your body shudders under him in your haze of orgasm.

Chan pulls out his softened cock out from you, glistening under the coated mixture of yours and his orgasm. He holds you close and rubs the side of your face gently as he compliments you, "You did so well, princess. I'm proud of you."

You kiss his lips in response, a soft, chaste one. Chan continues showering you with compliments as he falls by your side, holding you close into his sweaty naked being. He lifts himself soon enough to attend to you when you pull him down, locking him with your grip on his wrist.

"Let me take care of you, baby."

"Five minutes more, please." You look at him with a puppy like expression and Chan sighs, knowing fully well that there would be no way that he could deny your request.

"Fine, princess," he rubs your hair away from your forehead and pulls you impossibly closer into his chest.

"Chan?"

"Hm?"

"Happy Valentine's Day, baby."

Chan chuckles, kissing the top of your head and then your forehead as he teases, "You worked too much for a Valentine's Day, baby."

"Please," you stretch the syllable and speak into Chan's chest. "If anything, it is the wildest one I've ever lived to attend."

And as Chan holds you through the night, attending and taking care of you, his phone beeps soon enough,

[1] Voicemail from Changbin Happy Valentine's Day, beautiful and to you too, Chan. Call me back when you hear this. Bye.

[1] Message from Jisung This is how technology works??!!!! Oh my God. Fancy. Anyhow, Happy Valentine's Day. This goes down in my history as best Valentine's Day ever, bitches. P.S. Best sex ever too. Let's have a foursome sometime soon.

#straykidsland #stray kids smut #skz smut #chan smut #jisung smut #changbin smut #han smut #bang chan smut #kpop smut #3racha smut #chan x reader #jisung x reader #changbin x reader #writings.rue #skz imagines #skz scenarios #this is unedited and is just smut plis #so heads up for errors

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prettyiwa · 3 years ago

Text

AO3 | NSFT 18+ | Playlist 🎵

I do not authorize the translation or reposting of my work anywhere. Do not mention me or my work on Tik-Tok.

Pairing: Iwaizumi Hajime x F!Reader Rating: Explicit 18+ Content Warnings: Manga Spoilers, Post-Time Skip, Explicit Sexual Content, Mentions of Alcohol, Shameless Smut, PWP, Vaginal Fingering, Choking, Hair-Pulling, Impact Play, Multiple Orgasms, Creampie, Slight Exhibitionism/Voyeurism, These Bitches Are Switches!, Enemies to Lovers Summary: Iwaizumi's never really understood why everyone seems to like you, especially when you do nothing but get on his nerves all the damn time. It's disappointing when he finds that it looks as though nothing's really changed upon his return to Japan. Word Count: 2,310

A/N: A submission for @/onyxoverride's Hellfire Collab that, again, fits wonderfully with Kinktober. Part II will be released by the end of the month~

“What, you don’t like being called Princess?” Iwaizumi taunts, thoroughly enjoying the blatant ire in your eyes, thoroughly enjoying seeing any emotion that you’ll throw his way. Anything but that typical fucking apathy with which you regard him.

You take a step closer and he can nearly feel the rage that radiates off your being and it feels like he’s finally seeing you for the first fucking time since the two of you met nine years ago. “I like it just as much as you like it when I call you Pretty Boy. So. You gonna answer my question, Pretty Boy?”

Venom drips from your voice, falling off the words you leave hanging in the air, but he can’t find it in him to give a shit. Not when you’re revealing more of yourself than you ever have, not when he’s finally understanding what they fucking see in you.

“Really? You mean to tell me that, after all this time, you still haven’t figured it out?”

What the hell is your issue with me, Iwaizumi? The fuck have I done for you to hate me this goddamned much?

He’s not certain himself, honestly. He could point in a hundred different directions, but none of them really stick. The way your smile is never fake and your laugh comes all too easily. The way there’s always a witty remark on the tip of your tongue—or a barbed retort, waiting to strike. The way that you’re impossible to fucking read because of that damn façade, that fucking mask that puts Shittykawa’s to shame. The instantaneous way your expression drops and that mask is placed when you turn your attention to Iwaizumi. The fucking way that all of his friends fucking adore you and he can’t fucking figure out why.

But you’re showing more than you ever have and he can’t tell whether he’s enchanted or reviled. It doesn’t fucking help that you’re invading his senses with your fucking smell, untainted by the plentiful alcohol available in the kitchen, with that tiny fucking dress and that pretty little necklace that falls just between your tits, with the burning in his fingertips, wanting to reach out—

“Is it because I don’t fuck around with you like I do the boys? Is it because I take your energy and throw it back at you? Or maybe it’s because I don’t fuck you? Should I have tried to seduce you years ago?”

He keeps his mouth shut, not knowing what words will come out if he doesn’t. Regardless, he feels the shift in energy, even if that look in your eyes hasn’t changed, even if you’re still breathing just as hard. It’s palpable, suffocating, tension building until it’s ready to snap—

And he’s not certain which one of you started it, but he can’t keep his hands off of you now, can’t seem to remove his lips from yours, can’t fucking think with you clouding his mind. Now that he’s started, he can’t fucking stop and it’s absolutely intoxicating to know that you’re in the same fucking boat. Your hands don’t stop exploring, don’t stop pulling at his clothes, don’t stop touching all they can.

Grabbing onto the lapels of his jacket, you pull him to the empty bedroom at the end of the hall, pushing him through with surprising strength. Neither of you bothers with the door, not when your hand is wrapping around his throat and you’re kissing him as though you’re trying to steal the breath from his lungs.

With a sharp bite to his bottom lip, you pull away, kissing his jawline with light nips intermingled throughout as you palm him through his pants. He can feel your smirk when he’s unable to contain the fucking groans that escape him. “Fucking shit, Princess,” he breathes before your grip around his throat tightens.

“C’mon, Pretty Boy,” you taunt lightly, releasing him completely and stepping back towards the low bed. Your hands start to pull at your dress, reveling at the way he can’t take his fucking eyes off of you. “Why don’t you show me what you’re hiding? You’re overdressed, after all.” Your dress is nothing but a pile of cloth on the floor, leaving you in nothing but a strappy lingerie set.

As much as he wants to refuse on the basis of the name alone, his desire to fucking touch you, to be buried deep inside you until all you mutter is his name between broken moans overrules all other coherent thoughts. While he undresses, he can’t help but watch as you fall back onto the low mattress, can’t help but watch as your hands ghost over everything he wants to touch.

He joins you once he’s down to his boxers, ignoring your teasing tut, favoring the moan you give him when his fingers tangle in your hair and he pulls you into a hungry kiss. Your fingers trace the planes of his chest, pinching and scratching as they roam unknown territory. Rolling your hips to meet his, you both groan, feeling the arousal of the other.

You’re so fucking wet he’s certain he’s at risk of drowning, but fuck if this isn’t one hell of a way to go. Letting go of your hair, his hand settles on your throat and he takes note of the way your eyes darken, the way your pupils dilate, the way your breath hitches.

His free hand slips between your legs, pushing aside the barely-there fabric so he can play with your pretty little pussy. If he liked seeing your unfiltered rage earlier, then watching the challenge in your eyes melt away into unabashed pleasure is something fucking else. He finds no resistance when he slips a finger in, then another.

You keen and whine at his touch, at how easily he’s pulling you apart. The thought crosses his mind—he shouldn’t be enjoying this as much as he is, shouldn’t enjoy making someone he thought he hated feel this fucking good, but he can’t find it in him to look away, to do anything but watch with rapt attention. Watching you like this—because of him?—is better than he had thought it would be, more addicting than he could have ever anticipated.

His thumb grazes your clit as his fingers rock against that bundle of nerves that reward him with the most beautiful cries and you jolt in his hold. “Yeah? Does my princess like that?” A glimmer of irritation flashes in your eyes before he increases pressure, making your face contort in pleasure.

Your walls start to flutter around his fingers and he knows it’s coming and he wants nothing more than to know what you look like when you come undone. He wants to know how your lips curl when waves of ecstasy wash over you. Do your eyebrows stitch together while tears gather at the corners of your eyes? When you come, are you silent? Do you whine or do you moan? Will your hands tangle in the bedding, or will they reach for him? More than anything, he wants to know.

When you do come, his name falls from your lips, a breathy invocation, the soft call of gratitude. When you do come, your hands wrap around his wrist, ensuring he doesn’t let go of your throat. When you do come, you tremble, you release everything, you drop your walls. More than anything, he knows. More than anything, he wants more.

So he doesn’t slow his pace, doesn’t relent, continuing to fuck you with his fingers as trembling turns into shaking, as his name turns into shattered pleas and harsh whines. He continues as your eyes meet his, as hints of desperation appear. One orgasm turns into two turns into three turns into —

“Fuck,” he breathes as you squirt, as you drench him and the bedding, as you start to come down while he finally gives you a break, as he finally releases you.

Your hands grab at him, pulling him to you with unparalleled rapaciousness, apparent in the way you kiss him like you can’t get enough. When he finally frees himself from his boxers, he notices the wicked little glint in your eyes before you flip the both of you.

He hisses when you wrap your hand around him, when you gather precum with your thumb before spreading it over his swollen head. There’s a ghost of a smile on your lips as you watch him as closely as he did you, taking in as much of him as you can.

“Dunno why you hate being called ‘Pretty Boy’ as much as you do, cause fucking damn are you pretty,” you murmur as though you’re confessing some long-kept secret. He can feel the blush forming on his cheeks at your praise, at your unwavering attention, untainted by any ill-intent.

You lift your hips, making certain that your underwear is still out of the way, and position him at your entrance. When you sink down on him, you both moan. All logical thought leaves him as his mind can only focus on the way you feel around him.

His fingers dig into your hips as you start grinding down, as you get lost in the feel of him filling you to the brim. Your head is tilted back as soft moans tumble from you and he’s certain that he’s going to have this image of you permanently imprinted in his mind.

When you look at him again, it’s with an almost unnervingly soft expression. Your hands start to trail along his chest again before stopping at the base of his throat. You roll your hips, hissing as his cock drags along the gummy walls of your cunt, and wrap your hands around his throat as you slam back down, setting an unrelenting pace.

It’s unbelievably easy to get lost in you—in the melody of your moans and the rhythmic slapping of skin, in the way your eyes don’t leave his, in the feel of your fingers around his throat, the weight of you on top of him, the way you pulse around him. And he feels it, his impending orgasm. He’s not quite ready for this to end.

He pushes himself up and your grip leaves his neck in favor of wrapping around his shoulders. You rock against him, picking up your pace, lost in your own pleasure at the new angle. And fuck if you aren’t fucking beautiful right now, if he doesn’t want to taste you right now. Leaning forward, he captures your lips in a sloppy kiss, one you’re more than happy to oblige.

And despite the fact that your walls are down, that your mask is lost somewhere with the clothes strewn about the room, he still can’t quite decipher that look in your eyes right now. He still doesn’t know why he hated you, but he’s starting to question whether he really hated you at all. And maybe you can see that in him, that quiet little thought that stands on the precipice of revelation. Maybe that’s why you pull him in for another kiss, one that seems entirely out of place.

He lets go of your hips in favor of wrapping his arm around your lower back, securing you against him as he starts to fuck into you. With his free hand, he slaps your ass, once, twice, feeling just how much you love it. He feels those same signs that he felt on his fingers earlier—the tensing of your muscles, the fluttering of your walls, the faltering of your rhythm—and he knows that when you come again, you’re going to be taking him with you.

Your nails dig into his shoulders and your mouth falls open as you surrender the rest of your control to Iwaizumi. He takes the opportunity to lay you on your back, to hook your legs over his shoulders, to fold you in half and fuck you into the bed. A lone tear starts to fall from the corner of your eye and, before he can think about it, he wipes it away.

“Fuck, Hajime,” you whine. “Fuck, ‘m so close.”

“I know, doll. C’mon,” he murmurs, slipping his hand between your bodies to find your clit, to help push you past the edge. “Wanna feel you come on my cock.”

And fuck do you. You come with a shudder and a cry, clamping down on him so tight he can’t pull out which seems to prolong your orgasm. His hips stutter against yours before what little composure he was holding breaks and he’s filling you with his cum.

He feels as though everything’s been removed from his body, leaving nothing but nerve endings, all firing at the same time, all sending pleasure throughout his being. It takes a moment before he’s able to slide out, before he’s able to roll off of you, but you don’t complain.

Once he’s certain that his legs work again, he gets off the bed to get a warm cloth from the adjoining bathroom. It’s different, seeing you like this, post-coitus, relaxed, without a care in the world. You’re both quiet as he cleans you, but the silence that lingers isn’t unpleasant by any means. He means to answer your earlier question, the one that sparked the argument, but exhaustion’s pulling at him and he can’t find it in him to do much else than to flop down on the bed beside you.

Worst case, he can answer it tomorrow.

“So. It sounds like you’re going to be sleeping out here, Oikawa,” Mattsun tells him with a smirk and a half-assed pat on the shoulder.

“Welcome back,” Makki grins at the pouting setter. “The couch isn’t too bad.”

“When I said I wanted them to get along better, this isn’t what I had in mind,” Oikawa laments.

Haikyuu!! Masterlist

#haikyuu x reader #hq x reader #iwaizumi x reader #iwaizumi hajime x reader #iwaizumi smut #haikyuu smut #hellfire collab #hq smut #this is the one that hit the limit #good to know before posting my mattsun or kuroo pieces and not reposts #!!#🏐.haikyuu!!#✒.ix writes #✒.temptation

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arshipweek · 3 years ago

Text

AR Ship Week - Shipping in 2022

This is the first weekly post in the lead up to Alex Rider Ship Week. Only 3 weeks to go!

This week we’re going to look at Alex Rider shipping fandom again, one year after our previous meta on Shipping in AR Fandom and Popular Ships.

(Note: spoilers from the TV series season 2 will appear in this. Stats accurate as of February 27th)

A year and around 700 new fics on AO3 later, and here we are again. That's an average of around two new fics posted every day the entire year, and that's pretty damn impressive for a fandom of this size. So what has changed since last time?

In terms of fic categories, not much despite the large number of new fics. Alex Rider remains primarily a gen-fandom, with 50.5% of the fics on AO3 tagged as 'Gen' (up from 49.4% last year). The remaining categories have remained roughly the same as well, with the exception of the smallest category - F/F - which has increased from 10 fics last year to 28 (!) fics in total this year. It still only makes up 1.7% of the fics, though.

Last year, the top five most popular pairings were the usual suspects: Yassen/Alex, Tom/Alex, Yassen/John, Helen/John, and Alex/Wolf (possibly helped along by season 1 of the tv series).

This year has seen a shift in the list:

1. Yassen/Alex: A favourite since the early days of fandom, Yalex remains the most popular pairing by a large margin. From PWP to long, slowburn, plot-heavy fics, with ratings from General Audience to a hard Explicit, the pairing reaches from one extreme of the fandom to the other. Of the 371 fics, the most popular tags include fluff (60 fics), angst (59 fics), hurt/comfort (53 fics), dubious consent (49 fics) and Yassen lives (41 fics (note 1)).

2. Tom/Alex has seen a bit of a revival in the past year and remains the second-most popular ship on AO3. Of the 48 fics, 17 of them have been posted since the end of February '21. This surge in Tomlex fics was likely born from the TV series, in which Tom plays a much larger part than he did in the books, and their chemistry was noticeable from the moment we were introduced to them.

3. Yassen/Ian is a new arrival from rarepair hell: of the 41 fics with the pairing (between the general tag and the TV-verse tag), 27 of them have been posted between the end of February '21 and now, and the pairing has quickly approached the number of Tom/Alex fics. This sudden popularity was - like Tomlex - likely spurred on by the glimpse of their relationship that we catch in season 1 of the TV series. Both Ian using 'Yas' for Yassen, and his complete lack of surprise at Yassen's continued survival (a fact that even MI6 was unaware of) hinted at a familiarity we never saw in the books and created a foundation for a much more complicated and personal relationship. This moved it to the third-most popular pairing in the fandom (and the most popular pairing not involving Alex).

4. Alex Rider/Artemis Fowl II (Alexmis) has grown to the fourth-largest pairing in the fandom with 33 fics, most likely thanks to a small but thriving tumblr-community that isn't just active with fics but also an impressive amount of fanart. This is also the only crossover pairing among the top ten most popular ones.

5. John/Helen rounds out the top five pairings with 31 fics and is the first het (and canon) pairing on the list. By nature of canon events, fics focused on the pairing either tend to take place before the events of the books or in an AU-verse, which does narrow down the possible fics it might appear in. Seen in that light, the number of fics the pairing does appear in is pretty impressive!

Compared to last year, the addition of Yassen/Ian and Alex/Artemis in the top five kicked John/Yassen and Alex/Wolf out of the list. Will this still be the case in another year or two? Only time and a possible third season will tell.

As for shipping in the top ten most kudos'ed fics, things have shifted slightly, too. Last year, the first shipping fic in terms of kudos was number five on the list (Synergy by Sigma). Of the top ten most kudos'ed, five were shipping fics - and only four of them were pairings that involved an AR character (the last being a crossover with Sherlock/John Watson - homes out of human beings). Two of the other fics were Yassen/Alex, two were crossovers with Alex/James Bond.

This year, the first shipping fic still appears as number five on the list, but this is now a Sherlock/John Watson pairing (homes out of human beings), which has moved up the list. Synergy (James Bond/Alex Rider) comes in as number seven as the only other shipping fic in the top ten. This also means that none of the top five most popular pairings actually appears in the most kudos'ed fics this year, either. The first of those appear as #11 (John/Helen) and #12 (Yassen/Alex).

Looking at the top ten fics with actual ships in them, five are Yalex, two are James Bond/Alex, and the last three are one each of Sherlock/John Watson, John/Helen, and Alex/Stupidity. The latter pairing is probably one that should be used in a lot more fics than it is (note 2). While Yalex is the overwhelmingly most popular pairing in the fandom, it does prove that there is room for other pairings as well, even if they don't have anywhere near the number of fics as Yalex does.

In short, while the categories as a whole haven't changed and the fandom still favours gen, the non-Yalex pairings that make up the ship-fics in the fandom have shifted. Given the small number of fics in question, though, it wouldn't take a lot of fics to move another pairing into the top five next year, leading to a possible comeback for Yassen/John (29 fics) or Alex/Wolf (15 fics), or the possible arrival of Alex/Kyra (11 fics) on the list.

Next week, we'll look at the Alex Rider fandom history. Until then!

______

Notes:

1) As an aside, 'Yassen Gregorovich Lives' is up to 103 fics in total! This is not counting the TV series, which made this canon.

2) Among other tags of note are "Alan Blunt Being an Asshole" (14 fics), which should probably appear as an auto-complete suggestion if 'Alan Blunt' is added to the character list, and "Alex Rider has PTSD" (32 fics) which is probably canon at this point.

#alex rider #arshipweek #...#....#mod posts #meta

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tomandpeterthings · 4 years ago

Text

Masterlist (AO3)

Click for AO3 link; feel free to subscribe if you want to be kept up to date.

Update October 20th, 2021

I mostly write angst or dark fics, but I do have some fluff/PWP works as well. Here’s an overview of my completed, in progress and future work (titles are clickable):

I. Works in Progress:

“Cruel Minds” (Starker & n/c Spiderio; 22k)

Tormented by his past mistakes, Tony does everything he can to find and rescue Peter from the person Tony had once considered a trustworthy friend. Meanwhile, Peter desperately tries to keep his promise to Harley and not give up, but with every day that passes, he gets one step closer to falling apart. Can Tony save him before it’s too late? Or will Peter find a way to save himself?

“Mine. Yours. Ours.” (Winterironspider, 12k)

After his second hook up with the married, billionaire couple Tony and James Stark-Barnes, college freshman Peter Parker suddenly finds himself living in their penthouse - temporarily, of course. However, what’s meant to be just a couple of days of sex and fun, soon turns into something more, when all three of them realize that their feelings for each other are much deeper than they had previously thought.

“Deprivation - One Shots & Short Stories” (Starker; 23k):

Just some one-shots, drabbles and short stories, set in my Deprivation universe. For now, all of these take place during the time Peter's held captive on the island.

II. Finished Works:

“So This Is Christmas” (Spideychelle, 4k)

[Post-NWH] Life has to go on, even if it’s hard. Especially on Christmas.

“While the World Tries to Make You Choose” (Spideychelle, 2k)

[Post-NWH] It's Graduation Day at Midtown High, and Peter wouldn't miss it for the world.

“Cruel Intentions” (Starker; 156k):

When college student and SI intern Peter Parker starts dating billionaire mastermind Tony Stark, he couldn't be any happier. That is until Tony's son Harley shows up, kicked out of college and with his eyes set on his father's secret boyfriend. Peter soon finds his relationship put to the test by the one person that could unravel his happiness, or make what he has with Tony stronger. Blinded by jealousy and resentment, Harley enlists the help of Quentin Beck to sabotage the relationship, not realizing that Beck might have cruel intentions of his own...

“Deprivation” series (4 fics; Starker; 252k):

Peter and his history class are taken hostage by Tony and the other Dark Avengers. There’s a lot of torture and non-con in it, but eventually, it evolves into a very plotty story about survival, exploring the complicated, twisted mindsets and the relationship between kidnapper and victim.

The One-Shots & Short Stories fic will stay a WIP!

“What Money Can(‘t) Buy” series (3 fics; Winterironspider; 15k):

Tony and Bucky are a happily married dom couple. To spice things up in bed, they look for a cute sub they can dominate together. Through a dating app, they find Peter - sweet, shy and innocent, yet witty and somewhat cocky. All in all, he's everything they ever wanted.

Completed: Teenage Hustler, Two In One Ongoing: Mine. Yours. Ours.

“Fateful Bargain” (Winterironspider; 7k):

The main story is about Peter and Tony starting a forbidden, pretty toxic and abusive relationship full of lies and angst. Part 2 and Part 3 explore different paths and choices, leading to alternate endings to the main story.

“Devil Inside Me” series (3 fics; Starker/Winterspider; 147k):

“Tears of Summer” (Spiderio & Irondad; 18k):

During his promising summer internship at Stark Industries, Peter gets to work with Quentin Beck, the genius mind behind the world-famous BARF technology. At first, Peter doesn’t question Mr. Beck’s intensive, penetrating stares or the random, almost casual touches, dismissing it as his overwhelmed mind getting paranoid. After all, he’s one of Tony’s most brilliant engineers. He surely would never do anything Peter wasn’t comfortable with… right?

“Wolf in Sheep’s Clothing” (38k)

When Peter Parker was approached by an older teenager in the library one day, it didn’t take long until they became best friends. Peter should have known it was too good to be true.

“A (Not so) Merry Christmas” (Irondad, 4k)

How Tony found out there were three main reasons why Christmas was Peter's least favorite time of the year.

“A (Not so) Mysterious Murder” (Irondad, 2k)

A hangover, grumpy Tony Stark and an eager, excited Peter Parker spend the first day of the new year in a rundown hotel room, trying to solve a mysterious case of murder. To succeed, however, they have to overcome an even bigger challenge first: stop bickering.

“Hitchhiking” (The Devil All the Time fanfic, 5k)

Arvin gets picked up by Carl and Sandy. Only this time, he doesn’t manage to take his gun out to defend himself.

III. “Coming soon”:

Post-NWH meets SIM!Tony

Tons of headcanons/ideas I hope to have time for one day

"Coming soon” fics are subject to change!

#fanfiction #MCU fanfiction #starker fanfiction #irondad fanfiction #peter parker fanfiction #peter parker #winterspider fanfiction #nelamasterlist #starker #winterironspider #winterspider #spideychelle #spideychelle fanfic

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baebeyza · 4 years ago

Note

For the send ship meme, Megop. Since there’s more than one version, do as many or as little as you want.

Thank you ~ Tho I think I talked a lot about my stance on MegOP in previous posts, but whatever, lets do a crash tour of all the shows I watched with them! G1: G1 to me is kind of the playground for all kinds of ships and szenarios, the one to go to when you write about no perticular canon at all (well g1 and IDW, but I aint talking about idw here) So g1 Megop to me is more like the general idea for it and I do like it. My main ship Megablade is an exception when it comes to my shipping preferences, as I do enjoy shipping enemies with each other! Makes for more complicated and angsty content :D (And for the most part I just aint into reading pure fluffy, wholesome and sweet stuff, I want some conflict)

Beast Wars: Apart from that one gay scene, I never really cared for their dynamic in this show. There aint much homoeroticism in it and their enemy dynamic also never develops or changes. It doesn’t need to, but I like it when there actually is a change in a dynamic. In BW they are just flamboyant villain and takes-no-nonsense-hero and thats it.

Beast Machines: Megatron’s hatred for Primal is so real here, I cannot even see it as erotic xD They’ve both given up on that gay shit, they are just here to defeat the other to prove that their equally shit takes on harmony is true Beast Wars II: Since I always count Megastorm as a Megatron version I’m gonna add it here too - Lio Convoy and Megastorm have no dynamic, because Megastorm aint the leader here. RiD01: I say it everytime and I’ll say it again - Megatron doesn’t do shit in this show xD 90% of the time he never leaves the ship, aint no gay if he aint there to gay it! TFA: THIS IS THE SHOW WHERE I LOVE MEGOP! Because their dynamic does change, Megatron changes his opinion on Optimus and their different personalities and characters play into each othe nicely - Optimus has to deal with an enemy who is far more experiences in being a leader than he is, and it plays really well into his insecurities! I know it’s not the good rivalry murder-soulmates dynamic of other shows, but it works for me! :D

TFP: I see the appeal, but again: Their dynamic in the show never changes either. They interrupt the status quo a few times, but it goes back to normal murder soulmates quickly. I applaud the people who are able to create so much content for them and who revel in their backstory! Just aint for me Prime Wars Trilogy: It’s sad that this show is trash (my trash tho, I love it), because their interactions and dynamic is actually pretty neat here! Post-war gives them some unique stuff that I am sure can be explored nicely. At first Megatron was ready to kill Prime, than he went chill and is seen to have some chats with him, and when Prime dies (spoiler sdhfbdss) he actually seems to be a little resentful of that we know he still thinks about him. Also you cannot ignore that Megatron was Prime’s first choice when he and Windy needed more fire power for their plan to destroy the enigma! “Hmm, who can I call??? How about the villain everyone still hates, my former arch nemesis who lives in exile and will prolly try to kill me on sight?” “How about Ironhid-” “Megatron it is. I choose him.” There is no heterosexual reason for Prime to seek out Megatron xD Cyberverse: Kinda the same as TFP - the only time their dynamic seems to shift is the end and well. Megatron doesn’t seem to be in proper shape at the end :/ Siege: They talk like two times man, and I am 100% sure Megatron wants to see Prime dead with the same intensity as in Beast Machines. Which means, a hella lot xD There really aint much to grasp on, their “dynamic” is built on exposition dialogue and nothing else. We don’t even really get a sense of what their past dynamic was. So I’ll just stick to MagsMegs here, at least they offer a hella lot of angsty fic ideas :^)

In general I like the idea of MegOP, I like to read fics of them that are short, AUs or just their own little story with no perticular show/continuity attached (and just straight up pwp, I’ll admit it) but when they are attached to a certain show in which I really don’t care for the ship, I skip it Send me more ships if you like my ramblings! ~

#transformers #ship asks #megop #transformer posting #teamew34

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sothischickshe · 4 years ago

Note

Yeah I got some question for you, specifically 1, 6, 12, 17!

What made you start writing fanfic?

well, technically the first fics i wrote weren’t gg ones and i wrote them bc... well im not sure i know! i guess cos i read fic and i wanted to try it, and there were specific things i wanted to read abt that didnt seem to exist, and i like writing?? but i had no inclination to share them with anyone

and then with gg fic, which is the only stuff ive ever posted, it was i. the season 2 finale which was very stupid and ii. how encouraging and welcoming the fandom was

6. Name three stories you found easy to write

hmm. idk that any of them have been really easy, but conversely idk that the actual WRITING part has been that hard for any of them (it’s more the planning/staring into space and editing/polishing that presents challenges; the writing part is normally pretty chill and fun, unless i pass out a lot and end up covered in ink).

but three that were probs easier/st:

i. The Good Kind: i mean it was the first and i had no idea what i was doing and so it was pretty quick, and also while it is verging on actual pwp it has a well-defined conceit and i guess plot which is contained, so it’s not like there were many details to tie up etc

ii. A time to refrain (from embracing): it’s the shortest thing ive written and it kind of burnt out of me very fast after the s3 premiere (i think i had it pretty much in the chamber and just didnt commit to writing it till we saw the beginning of the season) and i don’t think i edited it that heavily

iii. Maybe it’s something in the water: i basically wrote this to cheer myself up, the concept was something i’d been toying with for chapter 2 of filing her nails but then was like no that’s too silly (which, if i’m saying it...hoooo) so i had it lying around my mentalscape. also it’s short and t-rated and mostly humorous, so it wasn’t hard to write? long and smutty and angsty is def more effort!

.12. For E-rated fic, what are some things your characters keep doing?

boning

talking (gross)

fantasising and/or masturbating (205 fucked me Up in a way i will never recover from)

teasing

having Emotions

appalling pillow talk

unprotected sex (a Sharp increase of this after the pregnancy lie/essentially confirmation that beth n rio are too dumb to know abt condoms which is frankly correct characterisation bc they’re fkn morons)

watching their reflection (204 obviously fucked me UP in ways i will never recover from too)

robe stealing (and other clothes stealing i guess but yknow)

trying to wrest and/or maintain control

complaining about their knees

hydrating

angsting around

things that i think are funny

getting me yelled at which is unfair

a lot of oral sex

17. why is lauren like this?

GREAT question, i ASSUME she has really weird looking elbows, and is simply trying to deflect attention from that fact

fanfiction asks!

#pretty sure im right bout the elbows yea?#fanfiction #fanfic #writing #on writing #god maybe i should dig out those old fics #i feel like they are v bad #but also probs v odd ha ha #but yea the gg fandom was and is v encouraging!#there were lots of authors notes like hey if you're thinking of writing something pls do i want to read it!#or amazing things written by ppl who were like idk this is my first fic #and you'd be like hwwhhhhhhat #(ah i do love that second person pov huh)#angst is def harder to write #long is def more work to edit #smut is def more effort to make mm story-specific?#although looking at that list there are a lot of similarities ha #god i fucking hate it when they speak #why do i keep writing them speaking?! AWFUL

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epicstuckyficrecs · 5 years ago

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Weekly Recap | October 14-20

Here’s what I read in the past week :)

Complete

💙 hold that thot by Deisderium/ @deisderium (Vampire Bucky, Dragon Steve | 10K | Explicit): He's a vampire! He's been on a liquid diet for two years now! He doesn't think it's possible for him to have gained weight--but still he can't get dressed.

Chuck Roast by galwednesday/ @galwednesday (Spy AU | 5K | Teen): “Uh, I hate to say it, but the man has a point,” tall guy said. “I mean, I’m hacking his panic room right now, that’s a pretty threatening action. If I were him I’d feel very threatened.” “Thank you,” Bucky said triumphantly, before belatedly realizing exactly what the man had just said. “And stop hacking my panic room!”

Something Else Underneath by goodmanperfectsoldier (PWP | 3,5K | Explicit): Bucky goes away on an undercover mission and comes back with something else undercover as well.

💙 i just called to say i love you by brideofquiet (Modern AU | 7,9K | Teen): Both times Steve makes a fool of himself in front of the soccer coach, it’s mostly an accident.

💙 Bend and Break by ClaraxBarton/ @claraxbarton (Modern AU | 16K | Explicit): Ballet dancer Bucky Barnes is still recovering from a nearly career ending accident when he meets Steve, a stupidly handsome stranger, and has a one night stand.

Inbound by leavinghope (Post-EG, Non-EG compliant | 3,2K | General): Once again, Steve Rogers emerged victorious. Thanos had been defeated. The Avengers had won. Now, somebody needed to take care of Steve.

Party Favors by AidaRonan/ @bisexualstarbucky (PWP | 2,3K | Explicit): Steve can think of a lot of better ways to spend a Saturday night than at a party hosted by the Barnes family. But hey, the scotch is good, and even if James Barnes is the most annoying person Steve knows, he's still a veritable buffet for the eyes.

True Lies by roe87 (Spy AU | 6K | Teen): Secretly a spy but thought by his husband to be a simple data analyst, Steve Rogers injures his arm on a mission and is ordered to stay home and recuperate. Steve realises that his neglected husband, fiction writer Bucky Barnes, is feeling bored. So, Steve uses some of his spy know-how to spice things up. Things don't quite go to plan...

💙 oh meet me, my darling, where the sun sets over the barley by charlesdk/ @mlmsrogers (Modern AU, parent Steve | 54K | Mature): Steve’s friendship with his childhood best friend ended suddenly after one night of mistakes and misunderstandings and he has spend the last eighteen years trying to forget about it and move on. But when he runs into him again, after so much time and so much life lived, everything gets brought back to the surface. Including feelings he never wanted to acknowledge.

💙 This Side of the Blue by notlucy/ @notlucy (Mermaid AU | 156K | Explicit): A trick was the only explanation for what Steve saw floating there. This figment of his childhood. This myth. This legend. Within the tank, the siren bared its teeth.

💙 a deeper season than reason by cobaltmoony/ @cobaltmoonysart, CoraRochester (Bucky/Thor | 34K | Explicit): “This is nothing like falling,” Thor promised, wrapping a thick arm around Bucky’s waist and tugging him even closer so Bucky’s front was pressed flush along Thor’s muscular side. His armor was hard, unyielding, and Bucky’s belly instinctively tightened as he gripped the back of Thor’s armor with his right arm. “I won’t let go. Just a few moments, and we’ll be in Asgard. All you have to do is hold on.”

all your tenderness by belovedmuerto/ @belovedmuerto (Canon-ish | 23K | Teen): In which they watch a lot of TV and Steve is very happy, so happy he really doesn't know what to do with himself. (Part 2 of 💙 in the shadow of your heart)

leave a light on in the night by belovedmuerto/ @belovedmuerto (Canon-ish | 17K | Mature): Bucky and Steve go on vacation to Maine. Their relationship progresses. They take care of each other. (Part 3 of 💙 in the shadow of your heart)

Reading in progress

you go to my head by alby_mangroves/ @artgroves, brideofquiet (pre-TFA | 43K | Explicit): “Why would you do that for a man you don’t know?” Bucky asks. Steve looks him in the eye when he says, very patiently, “For money, Bucky.”

STAR PLAN by birdjay/ @bird-jay (Modern AU | 56K | Explicit): He’s the most gorgeous thing Bucky’s ever laid eyes on. He’s his new tentative boss. Maybe. If this interview goes well enough, anyway. “So, Mr. Barnes?” Steve asks, blinking at him from across a particle board table. He smiles, revealing those crooked teeth. “You ever work security before?”

WIP

💙 Found God in a Lover by HeroicPinups, MsPooslie, sablier_bloque/ @sablier-bloque (Modern AU, BDSM | 2/4 | 22K | Explicit): Bucky left New York seven years ago to help his family care for his ill sister. When he returns to go back to school, he finds that his lifelong best friend is now a confident pro-dom with cool friends who spend their weekends at The Victorian, a 19th-century music-hall-turned-BDSM-club. One voyeuristic night at The Vic leaves Bucky reeling, longing for things he never knew he wanted, namely to fall to his knees and submit to the guy whom Bucky had spent his whole childhood trying to protect.

💙 oh the glory of it all by hitlikehammers (Post-Endgame | 8/23 | 19K | Mature): They end up stumbling almost unexpectedly into the white-picket-fence, apple-pie life they used to dream of. Except it’s not like that at all.

💙 there's a light at the crack that's separating your thighs by voxofthevoid/ @voxofthevoid (Werewolf Steve | 1/5 | 7,4K | Explicit): Three times Steve and Bucky almost get caught having sex, and the one time the Avengers walk in on them. (sequel to happily ever after has bite marks in it)

💙 Sex With Benefits by verzacefatale/ @verzacefatale (Modern AU, FWB | 2/? | 6,6K | Explicit): Bucky makes a movement that encompasses the ehness of banging dudes and hooking up with friends. “It’s not that big a deal. We’ll fuck, then eat pizza and watch Real Housewives of Rhode Island. You can be an honorary homo.”

Re-read

The pigeon with the pizza slice by Nejinee/ @nejineeee (Darcy POV | 3,5K | Teen): The two hot guys had to get together. Darcy was not going to let the fact the two men were complete strangers get in her way. She was going to be the best Goddamn matchmaker this subway car had ever seen.

dance with a ghost by crinklefries/ @spacerenegades (Shrunkyclunks, Ghost Steve | 12K | Teen): “Captain America is haunting me,” Bucky says over a bowl of ramen. His pronouncement is met with a round of silence. “Captain America,” Natasha says. “As in--” “The first Avenger,” Bucky confirms. “Supersoldier and hero of World War II. The fabric of the American conscience.” “But he’s--dead,” Sam says. His look of perplexed concern, ever perplexed and ever concerned, only increases. “You’re aware of that, right?” “I know,” Bucky says. “That’s why I said he’s haunting me.”

💙 happily ever after has bite marks in it by voxofthevoid/ @voxofthevoid (Werewolf Steve | 29K | Explicit): Bucky Barnes is just fine. He lives by himself in a cabin in the middle of nowhere, hasn’t killed anyone for the better part of a year, remembers nearly all of his life except the parts he spent in a glorified freezer, and has nightmares only three nights out of five. It’s as good as it gets. And then he meets a mutant wolf with his dead best friend’s eyes.

#stucky #stucky fic #stucky fanfic #stucky fanfiction #stucky fic rec #weekly recap

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fangirlofeverythingme · 6 years ago

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“Beauty Queen II”

Author: fangirlofeverythingme

Reader gender: Female

Paring: John Deacon x Reader

Summary: Reader accompanies Queen to the photoshoot for the Queen II album. Watching them awakes a lot of affection for a certain young bassist.

Words count: 3 300

Warnings: smut, PWP, this is filthy, ok?, they TALK DIRTY, I mean it, bathroom sex, oral (male receiving), unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it, kids!)

A/N 1: I was looking at that picture one morning. I was looking way to hard and now here it is, my first ever John Deacon smut. It’s simply PWP, without much thought and lirycal touch into it, lol. Enjoy, my thirsty John!girls :)

A/N 2: Late as always, but here it comes, promised John smut (seriously I should put in my bio that if I announce a fic, expect at least a week of delay).

This thing is filthy, alright? I have this headcanon that John is very good with his words and he can really talk dirty to you. I know he seems shy and reserved at first, but I mean, one he gets comfortable with you he’s a kinky little bastard, we all know it’s true. And his dirty mouth is such a kink of mine.

You weren't going to make it. There was no way. That photoshoot would be the death of you.

How could four men achieve such a level of beauty? Was that even legal?

You stood on a side to let the crew do their job, and shamlessly stared at your friends, as they had their pictures taken for the cover of Queen II album. And you couldn't look away even if you wanted to. They looked absolutely stunning.

Especially Deaky. All dressed up in white, with a scarf draped around his neck, his long, fluffy hair neatly styled and his makeup-covered face of a baby. He looked like an angel. Yes, they all looked like angels, but he was your angel.

Ever since you started hanging out with Queen, you formed a special bond with the boys, friendship maybe, but with a lot of cheeky grins, heavy flirting and not so accidental touches. But you were always the most fond of the young bassist. The tension between the two of you was so obvious that the others had told you on multiple occasions to fuck it out already. You did, once or twice, maybe three times, but it was always coming back. And today, as you watched him pose for the photos, all cute and innocent, you felt it reach the critical point again.

So as soon as they called a break, you walked straight to him.

“John,” you said quietly and he turned around.

The look on your face left no doubt on what you had in mind and his breath caught in his throat. He still managed to ask:“W-what is it?”

You replied nothing. With the motion of your head you pointed to the corridor and gave him a lingering look, before leaving in said direction.

John's cheeks turned slightly pink and he nervously looked around the room. Everybody were too busy to pay you any attention. The boy bit on his lip, thinking for just a second, then followed you.

You waited impatiently around the corner. As soon as he showed up, you grabbed his shirt and shoved him against the brick wall, crashing your lips with his. He let out a surprised yelp but gave in to your touch easily, returning the feverish kiss. His hands fell to your waist on their own accord and you pressed your body flush against his. He held you steady as you tiptoed to reach him properly, your hands moving to his neck to pull him impossibly closer to you. He moaned into the kiss and you found the opportunity to sneak your tongue into his mouth, not asking any permission, just rudely taking what was yours. He didn't seem to mind though, as another moan rose in his throat at the taste of you.

The oxygen run out way too soon and you pulled away to admire your work. You took in the sight of his flushed face, shinny eyes and kiss-swollen lips. Fuck, he was just perfect.

“What?” he asked breathlessly, noticing you staring at him.

“Nothing. You look so pretty,” you said, equally out of breath and grinned at him.

“Pretty?” he questioned with a frown.

“Yes, pretty. And I love pretty boys. God, this photoshoot is driving me crazy!” you whined as you pressed your lips to his throat. “You are driving me crazy.”

Saying that, you tore away from him just to sink down to your knees.

“Y/N, what are you doing?!” John hissed, his face turning bright red at the sight of you.

“What does it look like, baby boy? I'm about to suck your cock,” you replied without a bit of modesty, licking your lips as you reach for his zipper.

But John caught your hand, his eyes growing wide at your words and he blushed furiously. His voice was a strangled whine as he spoke:

“Not here! Anyone can walk by and see!”

Damn, he was such a prude sometimes. You couldn't ignore his pleading tone and frightened look though. With an annoyed groan you scraped to get up, just as you noticed the bathroom door that was only a few steps away from where you stood. Grabbing Deaky's hand, you dragged him to the empty room.

He locked the door behind you, huffing out a relieved sigh, just to turn around and draw in another sharp breath. You were right there, on your knees again and your hands found his hips, pushing him against the door. The determination in your face told him that nothing was going to stop you now, that you were practically alone.

It was no time or mood for teasing for you. Wasting no time, you did a quick work of his trousers, shoving them down along with his underwear, freeing his already half hard cock. You sighed, content with finally getting what you wanted. Looking John straight in the eye, you leaned in and run a tip of your tongue up the underside of his shaft. You repeated the motion with your lips, sucking ever so slightly, knocking the air out of his lungs. Encouraged by his response, you placed your hands on his bare thighs for balance and sucked his head into your mouth. It made him curse under his breath, his eyes fluttering shut and his fists clenching by his sides as your mouth moved further down. He was clearly trying to control himself, biting down on his lip to stifle a moan. That made you chuckle.

“Oh, come on. Don't get all shy on me now,” you laughed and he opened his eyes to glance down at you. You took his hands and moved them to your head with a smirk. “I need something to touch myself to when you get back there.” And you blinked.

John groaned loudly at your remark, his fingers twisting in your hair involuntarily. With a triumphant smile you took him in your mouth again, slowly working your way down. You knew he watched you this time, he watched your full, wet lips wrapped around him, taking him deeper with every move. His hands were guiding you gently and his hips started to buckle as you picked up the pace. His breathing grew heavier, louder and you knew he was getting close.

Just then, a harsh knock shook the wooden door behind John's back, followed by Roger's yell.

“Deaky, you in there? Hurry up, we're ready for part two!”

The bassist froze, a sheer horror painting on his face but you had no intention of stopping now. You just pointed at the door and crooked your eyebrow as if you wanted to ask ‘'Ain't you gonna answer your mate?’ But your mouth never left his cock.

John swallowed hard, trying to compose himself before he spoke:

“Yeah, I'll be right there” was all he managed to choke out and he sounded huskily and very much fucked out. There was no way Roger wouldn't notice. Thoug he left, you heard the footsteps and John let out a breath he was holding.

“You have no shame,” he started but you didn't let him finish, because you choose that moment to suck him down your throat, making him inhale sharply. His head fell back against the door with a loud thud and his knees trembled.

“Fuck, Y/N, you gonna make me come,” he groaned, loosening his grip on your hair.

But you didn't mean to pull away. Instead, you grabbed the back of this thighs and swallowed around him. The contraction of your throat was the last straw and he released in your mouth, gagging you slightly. The stream of curses and moans of your name fell from his lips as you worked him through his orgasm, until he pushed you away gently.

You sat back on your heels, admiring your doing. You watched John's chest heaving with elaborated breaths as he tried to calm down. You watched his legs shaking a little and his softening cock jerking lightly with the aftershocks. The sight alone was enough for you to come. You were very pleased with your work.

Deaky's eyes opened and he took in the image in front of him. You sat there, looking up at him, your face flushed, panting a little, your big eyes wide open. You looked almost innocent at the moment. Almost. But with a cheeky grin on your swollen lips and bits of his cum running down your chin, you were the sexiest and the dirtiest girl on a planet for him. His cock bobbed slightly with a renewed interest.

“Shit, if you could only see yourself right now,” he whispered, bending down to haul you up to your feet. He crushed his lips with yours, a fade taste of him on your tongue causing him to groan. He pulled away, searching your eyes with his.They were dark with desire.

“Meet me here after the shoot, I'll show you what a pretty boy can really do,” he said in a low, hoarse voice that sent shiver down your spine. You couldn't help but smile widely at his promise. You stole one last kiss from him before he dressed up and left the bathroom.

The next two hours was a real torture for John. You were constantly in and out of his sight, disappearing for long periods of time. When he could get a glimpse of you, your face was always pink, eyes glazed as you sent him meaningful glances. He knew the reason for that. You were keeping your promise and touching yourself to the thought of what had happened in the bathroom not so long ago. And just a simple idea of it was turning him on beyond imagination. He could feel himself getting hard whenever you smiled at him innocently. You knew exactly what you were doing to him.

So every time Roger fooled around, messing the shoot, or Freddie got picky about the lights, John grew more and more annoyed. When they finally called it a day, he scanned the room to see you were nowhere to be found and he knew you were already waiting. He got changed in a record time, wave off the offer of taking his makeup off (something told him you'd like it better that way) and all but sprinted down the corridor, before anyone else could leave the dressing room.

You paced the small area, anticipation making you look at the door every five seconds. Your heart almost jumped out of your chest when you finally heard the knocking.

“Yes?” you called out as casually as you could.

“It's me,” John's voice answered you from the other side and you practically run towards the door, hearing how strangled by emotions he sounded.

He slipped inside and the next thing you knew, you were in his arms, pressed tightly against him. His hands cupped your face and he kissed you hungrily, his tongue invading your mouth and pulling a muffled moan out of you. You could feel his hard-on trapped between your bodies and you broke the kiss with a smirk.

“Someone's eager,” you cooed.

“And vice versa,” the bassist raised an eyebrow, dropping his eyes to where your hand was already traveling down his chest and to the front of his jeans.

“And what could possibly get you so worked up?” you wondered, grinning up at him.

Instead of an answer, you got another rough kiss.

“You little minx, you know exactly, what you've done to me,” he growled against your neck, his teeth scraping your pulse point, making you shiver.

“And what you gonna do about it?” you challenged.

His eyes darkened and with one swift motion he spun you around in his arms, earning a surprised yelp from you. His lips pressed against your ear as he spoke:

“I'm gonna bend you over and give you what you came here for.”

His words made you weak in knees and you whimpered. His angelic face didn't fool you for a second, from the moment you met him, you knew he wasn't all that innocent. And you loved that side of him.

He laughed quietly at your reaction, his hands moving down your sides, over your hips and legs, just to slide back up under your skirt, caressing the insides of your thighs. The laughter died on his lips as his fingers connected with a bare skin of your pussy.

“No panties? Naughty girl,” he growled.

He pushed you forward and you grabbed the edge of the counter to steady yourself, bending over the basin. He hiked your skirt up, exposing your ass and humming with appreciation, making you bit on your lip.

There was something really hot in the idea of him admiring your up close. It made your blood flow, especially when his hands moved to cup your cheeks, squeezing them firmly. You moaned at the feeling, wiggling a little, causing the fabric of your skirt to fall down and cover you. John pushed it up once more with annoyance, his palm resting heavy on your lower back to keep it there. The other hand slid down between your legs, rubbing your folds slowly.

“Fuck, you're so wet already,” he groaned, sinking his fingers between your pussy lips. “You really did that, didn't you? Touched yourself to the thought of sucking my dick? Teased that pretty cunt of yours, fantasising about me? Got it nice and ready for me.”

A wanton moan was all you could give for an answer when his expert fingers circled your clit. Your hips jerked at the sensation and he grabbed you firmly, tugging you closer to him. He continued his sweet torture, alternating between flicking your clit and massaging your folds, listening to high pitched whines and sobs he was extracting from you.

Suddenly his hands disappeared and you protested loudly, but hearing the zipper of his jeans being dragged down caused a new wave of fire spreading through your veins. Then you felt his rock hard cock pressing against your core and moaned shamelessly.

“You ready for me, baby?” you could hear a smirk in his voice, along with a strong dose of lust.

“I was ready when I walked into this fucking studio,” you breathed out, desperately trying to grind down on him. John's hand connected harshly with your ass and you cried out, not expecting that.

“Language,” he chuckled. “You have such a dirty little mouth.”

“Because you fucking love it,” you huffed out a laugh and he slapped your ass again, harder this time.

“Now you just did it on purpose, right? You liked it? You want me to spank you?” he asked, his voice low and thick with desire, as he leaned down to your ear. “Wait till I get you home, doll.”

“Jesus, Deaky, just fuck me already!” you begged, his words wounding you up so tightly you didn't know if your legs would hold you up a minute longer. Good thing he was there to support you, grabbing your sides strongly as he lined himself up and pushed inside you with one motion.

The two of you groaned at the sensation of his cock stretching your walls. He didn't give you much time to adjust, pulling almost all the way out and pressing back in, before he settled a slow, steady rhythm. Not that you needed it, your fingers did just fine preparing you for him. But they weren't nearly enough to satisfy you, John's cock was what you wanted all day. And now, that you finally got it, you were both so desperate for each other that there was no point of trying to make it last.

You closed your eyes, reveling in the feeling of his cock filling you up perfectly, sliding over the most sensitive places, working you up higher and higher as he sped up his pace.

“You wanted to see something pretty,” John broke the silence, slightly out of breath. “Look up.”

There was amusement in his voice and you followed his order to meet his eyes in the mirror hung above the sink. You cursed under your breath as you took in the reflection of you both in the glass surface.

“Not bad, if you ask me,” he smirked.

You could only nod in response, mesmerized by the image of him behind you, his flushed face and wet lips parted lightly, as he kept thrusting into you. His eyes were locked with yours as he leaned in to whisper in your ear.

“This what you wanted, sugar? That's why you begged to come over today? To come?” His lips curled around the last word so sinfully, it made your pussy clench and a needy moan fell from your lips. “Do you want to come now?”

“Yes!” you cried out when he emphasized his words with a particularly hard snap of his hips. It wasn't exactly quiet, anyone left in the building must had heard you, but you couldn't care less at the moment, because Deaky grabbed your hips and started pounding into you really hard.

Within seconds he pushed you over the edge, white exploding behind your closed eyelids, heat taking over you blood vessels. Your hands were shaking and hurting from holding to the counter for dearest life. John fucked you through it, watching as wave after wave of pure pleasure crushed over your body.

“So fucking perfect like that,” he praised. “So tight and greedy. Feel so good, baby, I won't last. You want me to come too?”

“Please,” you whined somewhere in the litany of incoherent cries and obscene moans.

He tensed a little, your sounds visibly effecting him.

“Inside or outside?” he asked through gritted teeth and the sheer filth of his question send your mind into overdrive.

“Inside,” you panted out and he growled in response, eager to fulfill your wish. God, you wanted it so much, you weren't able to think straight.

John's thrusts grew more erratic and purposeful. He draw his lip between his teeth and furrowed his brow, focusing on the feeling of your pussy quivering around him. His breath hitched in his throat and his fingers dug into your hips so hard, they were surely going to leave bruises. You could feel his cock pulse and jerk inside you as he got closer. He let go with a strangled groan, your name falling from his lips as he came. The sensation of his hot seed coating your walls induced another small orgasm of your own, your pussy squeezing and milking John's dick.

The two of you stood there for a while, trying to recover. You hid your head in your sorrow shoulders, Deaky's sweaty forehead rested on your back and you both struggled to remember, how to inhale and exhale normally.

“Fuck, that was hot,” you laughed breathlessly and he lifted his head to meet your gaze in the mirror, lazy grin turning up the corners of his mouth.

“No two ways about it; it's the hottest thing we've done so far,” he huffed, placing a few light kisses to your clothed spine. “But we should probably get the hell out of here before somebody finds us.”

He helped you up, rubbing your back gently when you winced at the sting of stiffened muscles. You quickly cleaned yourselves and rounded out your attire, trying your best to look somewhat presentable. You kept glancing at each other the whole time, grinning and stealing kisses now and then.

“Your place or mine?” John asked, holding the bathroom door for you.

“Yours, of course. I believe you promised me something,” you smiled wickedly as you pulled him for another chased kiss.

His eyes found yours, as you moved away, pupils widen with lust and you knew he got the hint.

“My place it is,” he said, wrapping his arm around you as you left the studio.

Part two anyone?

Something tells you guys wouldn’t mind seeing this:

@rogers-wristbands @deacytits @another-blog-bites-the-dust @fredthelegend @anotheronebitesthedeaks @jiswoogannon @deakysgirl @deakysdiscos @cosplaynerd833 @semi-otto-matic @niyanadeaxon

Also tagging EVERYONE who liked the announcement post for this fic, because I’m a sucker for nots and likes, which this story deserves (i must modestly add):

@1001-yellow-daffodils @yourspookyfriend @deaky-dandelion @untitled52718 @sverchokus @no-parker @agnosticofgod @underratedmisfit @grandaddy-roger-trash @lelitzlora @queenie1223 @turnontuneinanddropout @man-johnnie @ahvenanahvena @ironstans @memory-vacant @mayoroftinytown @memebigbee @discodeacygotmorerhythm @deathontwoclogs @scarfylovesallons-y @smuttybisho @justevraimentconfus @john-disco-deacon @awessomness @danceforthedarkone @pastelhybristophiliac @rogertaylorssunglasses @sjwinchestersherlock @joes-milk @hardcoredisneynerd @sharkwithnohands @bitchyhardy @bhemianrhapsldy @rogerinafordayz @awkwardangelshezza @jojomazzellhoe @never-fear-brooklyns-here @lucyboynton1 @rogertayluhh @spaghettiblowjob @benfckinhardy @thedeacywaltz @succulent-rk800 @cosmictime45 @strangemaximoff @francesca-olini5 @minetticatinwonderland @rogerinaislife @freddiebulbasaur @queenlover1997 @ahsokanarwhal @happy-at-home @ixchel-9275 @fatheadthefirst @nooddsocks @teenwolflover28 @borhapbaby @deakysgroupie @partydulce @live--aloud

Sorry, if anyone didn’t want to be tagged here.

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