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linpunny · 1 year ago

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Requested by @/anon: Teasing the Hantengu Clones in public (acting or trying to act innocent afterwards. Urogi and Karaku got reader whipped they don’t even try and act innocent just get straight to work)

CW: teasing, pet names, implied back shots and fucking (sekido) , slight degradation, implied dick riding (aizetsu), public dick teasing/masterbation (aizetsu ), dick sucking, exhibitionism (Urogi, Karaku) public sex, Popsicle sucking, public masterbation (f. Receiving), dry humping, thigh fucking

Dessy: my bad this took years too finish again. July was taiju month and then I ended up getting really sick near the end of the month.

Network @enchantedforest-network

Pairing: modern au Hantengu clones! X Fem!reader (no pronouns but reader has a kitty)

Sekido is frustrated, his aggravation very evident in every mannerism as he pulls you possessively into his side tightly wrapping an arm around your shoulder the entire walk home. He was silent but you could feel through the firm grasp and the way his nails dug into your skin that he was pissed and maybe you had bent down just a few too many times in public in the short little dress that was gifted to you by Karaku. maybe flashing Sekido and everyone else with curious eyes was a little too far. Yet the thrill of seeing his dark crimson eyes glaring at your shameful act to get his attention was worth it though. seeing him break character, cheeks darkening, the bob of his Adam’s Apple as he swallowed dryly, corners of his lips pulling into a smirk, that was gone by the time you blinked and replaced with his usual snarl.

he pulled you into his room, foot slamming the door shut as he locked it and turned his attention back to you as he popped the button to his pants, pulling the hem of his boxers down enough for his thick cock to spring free hitting his abs with a loud smack, hand fisting the length slowly a few times as he turned his attention on you, a dangerous glint burning in his eyes.

You tried to protest, act like you didn’t do anything as you batted your lashes up at him with a fake innocent smile playing on your lips. His pointer finger lead your gaze to the bed, his command was clear and you obediently crawled on top of the sheets, bowing your head down low into the pillow, hem of the kimono bunching up on your waist as you lean on your knees, legs spread wide for Sekido as you waited.

“You want to act like a dirty bitch in public, then I’ll fuck you like the dirty bitch you are.”

Aizetsu is desperate, a dark flush spreading across the crack like birthmarks of his cheeks as his dick reacts almost instantly, feeling your hand brushing along the muscle of his thigh, squeezing the tense flesh again. How many times since the two of you had entered the cafe had you run your hand along his inner thigh,rubbing small circles into the material of his sweats, nails dragging down to the bend of his knee and then slowly scraping back up to tease him. His cock twitched, thick head dribbling sticky droplets of pre cum that stuck to the fabric of his boxers.

He was so uncomfortable brows furrowing as he swallowed back a filthy whimper, hating the way the growing tent in his sweats rubbed roughly on his sensitive length. He wanted more, he was trying so hard not to buck his hips up and knock the table over and the way you were now slowly palming his rock hard dick under the table wasn’t helping. “Thats enough. I can’t handle much more.” Aizetsu growled lowly, ocean blue eyes locking on yours with the most intense gaze that you stopped stroking him immediately He literally struck fear in you as a shiver ran down your spine watching as he pulled out enough cash to cover the tab and threw it on the table for the waiter to collect. He quickly grabbed your hand and pulled you in front of him, arm snaking around your waist, pulling your ass flush against his throbbing bulge to hide himself as he hurried the both of you home and straight into his room.

Once inside Aizetsu quickly spun you around until you were facing him, dark eyes roaming to your lips as his hands slid down the sides of your thighs, squeezing roughly just as you had done to him in the cafe earlier. “Jump.” he whispered hotly into your ear as he kissed up your jawline hungrily , tongue swiping at your lips, taking advantage of your open mouth as you tried to plead your innocence with him. Instead you ended up with his tongue swirling around yours, hands tugging at his messy long hair, legs wrapped around his middle as his hands sunk into the soft plush of your ass as he walked you straight into the door of his room. Your back rests on the door frame as he quickly moves your panties to the side, pulling his sweats down enough for his dick to plop out as he sank you down onto his cock in one swift movement.

Urogi is impatient but more than anything he’s amused as you steal glances and playfully throw yourself at him, making sure that your breasts rub his arm as you cling to his side. It’s cute. He really thinks you're so fucking cute when you're teasing and trying so hard to get his attention. He would give you all the attention in the world and he didn’t really care if someone else saw the attention he was giving you. His smile was wide as he looked at you with a giant fanged grin, his golden eyes brimming with joy as you once again flung yourself into him, making sure that your breasts were bouncing on the muscles of his forearm as you dragged him over to a ice cream stand at the park you were on a date at. The one thing that pushed Urogi over the edge was the way you were eagerly sucking on the popsicle he had bought you from the vendor while the two of you were walking around the park, tongue kitten licking the tip of the melted juice that dripped down the popsicle and onto your fingers, your eyes closed as you deliciously wrapped your mouth around the popsicle’s base, sucking up the sweet juices. You pulled off with a loud ‘pop’ and he couldn’t ignore the throbbing in his pants any longer.

He quickly walked you over to a secluded wooded area of the park, one he’d been to countless time when he wanted to enjoy the sounds of nature, but he wasn’t here to nature watch today. Before you could question Urogi he took the popsicle from your sticky hand and tossed it on the floor, “You’re sucha tease, why don’t you put that sweet mouth to work on my dick instead?” He cackled while firmly planting his palms on both your shoulders pushing you down until you rested on your knees, head level with his crotch, where you could now see the very noticeable outline of his hard dick straining in his joggers. You gulped looking up at him through your thick lashes as he nodded with his head cueing you to get to work, smirking with the biggest shit eating grin as your fingers quickly pulled down the band of his joggers, springing his rock hard cock free. One hand moving behind your ear, fisting your hair as he yanks hard, pulling your head back as the other hand guided his tip to your shiny syrup covered lips, prodding himself at your mouth till your lips parted, taking him deeply into your throat. He groaned, “See, doesn’t my dick taste better than that popsicle? You should have just told me that you wanted to suck on somethin’,sweetness. You suck enough and you’ll get a much sweeter treat than the popsicle.”

Karaku is cracking the biggest smile as you not so subtly grind your clothed cunt over his length as you sit in his lap, straddling him, arms circled around his neck. His hands slowly travel to your waist making sure to map out every single curve before he rests his hands on your hips pulling you down to feel just what you were doing to him. His dick was rock hard as you rolled your hips desperately chasing your orgasm. the deep bass of the music and the low lights of the club your thigh fucking Karaku in swallows the whines and moans that fall from your lips. anyone could look over and catch you, but every single person was too entranced in the beat of the music to see that you were already at the edge nails digging into Karaku’s shoulder as he guided you through your orgasm, one hand lightly rolling your hips while the other rubs your swollen clit through your bottoms.

“Cum f’me like the dirty whore you are! Show everyone how hard I can make you cum, let ‘em see how easy you are. ” He leans forward to nip the shell of your ear, tongue swiping down over your ear, and down the expanse of your neck, tip lapping up the sweat beading on your heated skin.

The moment his voice rumbled in your ear, you were done. the white hot ball that had been smoldering low in your abdomen had burst, drenching your panties with your own arousal, thighs shaking as your head fell on his shoulder. Nasty loud moans ripped through your lips as Karaku dragged you down onto the imprint of his dick, forcing you to ride out your orgasm until you were panting and in tears.

#Hantengu clones #hantengu clones smut #kny smut #demon slayer smut #sekido smut #aizetsu smut #Urogi smut #karaku smut #sekido x reader #aizetsu x reader #urogi x reader #karaku x reader #Hantengu clones head cannons #dessy’s tomes

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minefield-of-a-ninja · 2 years ago

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28 DAYS: CHAPTER SEVEN

Summary: Dean Winchester is an addict and an alcoholic, a USMC veteran, a father, and an older brother. As Battalion Chief with Lawrence Fire & Medical, Dean comes under investigation when he makes a dangerous and impulsive decision, defying his superiors and abandoning the team he is supposed to lead. He is given a choice to go to rehab for 28 days or jail. His lawyer insists on rehab, and Dean begrudgingly abides.

Chapter warnings/tags: mentions of underage sex work

Words in this chapter: 3,100

Author’s notes: Allegedly, the Dean v. Dean scene from “Dream A Little Dream Of Me” was supposed to be John v. Dean but JDM couldn’t make the schedule work. That got me thinking about how else I could use that pivotal scene in this AU. You’ll see that scene sort of sprinkled throughout this chapter.

Thanks for your patience as I adjust to my new work schedule. I have the next two chapters as well — they just need some marinating and beta-ing.

Many thanks to @brrose-apothecary and @stusbunker for pre-reads and for being my friends.

CHAPTER SEVEN

“I do hope he makes it.” Rowena waves as she, Gabe, Dean, and Meg watch Crowley make his way to the exit.

Crowley turns before walking out the door, tossing Rowena a nod before flipping two backward Peace signs to either side of her, effectively telling Dean, Gabe, and Meg to fuck themselves.

“Rude,” Meg murmurs into her coffee as Gabe wraps an arm around Rowena’s slight shoulders.

“Ya know, Ro, statistically, only three-tenths of us make it,” Gabe says. “So it’s better for us if he doesn’t.”

Meg does a spit take of coffee while Dean barely keeps his own in his mouth to swallow. “Fuckin’ savage, Gabe,” Dean chuckles, slapping Meg on the back. “Breathe through it, sweetheart.”

“That smarmy dick — affectionate,” Gabe pretends to assure Rowena that the insult is meant with the best of intentions, “deserves the very best.”

Rowena turns and sniffles into Gabe’s embrace.

There’s a lot of affection within their small group. Dean’s stopped questioning the fraternizing rule, though, because Meg does wonders for the tension in his neck and shoulders with her tiny little hands.

“I’m gonna hit the gym. Anybody wanna join? Dean-o?” Meg tosses her empty cup in the garbage before arching and stretching to make her spine pop and crack.

Part of his recovery from addiction and his injuries is structured and supervised exercises. It’s done nothing for his persistent hard-on, but it helps with boredom, anger, and the satisfaction of succeeding at something, even if it’s not much.

Dean turns his back on Gabe and Rowena’s canoodling. “Sounds good. What time?”

“Ten?” Meg claps her hands together enthusiastically.

“Yep,” Dean answers, dumping his cup into the trash before they go their separate ways — Meg to the women’s sleeping quarters and Dean to the men’s.

It’s been 10 days since the fire. It feels like weeks to Dean. He read once that it takes 21 days to create a habit and 90 to make it stick. He always thought that seemed arbitrary, but he’s starting to believe it because his day-to-day here is quickly becoming routine.

When he gets to his room, he finds Jack in bed with Red Hood Arsenal Vol. 1, covered in candy wrappers.

Dean arches a brow as he yanks his drawer open. “You ever get outta bed this mornin’?”

“Not really feeling social today,” Jack murmurs, gnawing on a piece of chocolate and nougat.

Dean digs around for a pair of basketball shorts and a t-shirt for the gym. “Well, ya should eat somethin’ real before they close the kitchen.”

He shoves the drawer closed before turning to face his roommate.

Jack keeps his eyes on his comic as he replies. “You’ve only been wearing that sign for a day. Have you already forgotten my eating habits are none of your business?”

Dean drops his eyes to the sign around his neck as he tongues the back of his teeth before roughly grinding them.

“Nope. Haven’t forgotten.” His stomach tightens and flips, and his face starts to heat. “Ya know... I just-”

“Still none of your business.”

Jack’s tone, assertive nature, and blunt words make Dean tense. He wants to yell. Yelling relieves tension for him. Punching things also relieves tension, so Dean decides to keep his mouth shut and get dressed to work out, even if he can only punch with one fist right now.

He passes Billie’s office on his way to the gym. Her door’s open, so he pokes his head inside. “Hey.”

She silently and expectantly looks up from her desk, pen frozen in her hand.

“Just...” Dean juts a thumb over his shoulder as he steps fully into the doorway. “Headed to the gym. Thought I’d say hi.”

Billie raises her eyebrows and chin before nodding. “Well, hi.”

Her less-than-enthused response further agitates him. “Man, I’m just pissin’ everybody off today,” he mutters.

“You’re not pissing me off.” Billie carefully sets her pen aside before pushing her chair away from her desk. “Come in, Dean.”

Dean walks inside, feeling rejected. It’s uncomplicated when he thinks about the reality of the last 15 minutes. These people are practically strangers, Jack’s a 17-year-old kid, and Billie’s a fucking shrink so he shouldn’t give a shit what they think. Yet these perceived slights would’ve sent him straight to a bottle of pills or whiskey and searching for pussy outside these walls.

“Your door was open. I just thought I’d say hi instead of just walkin’ by like you don’t exist.” He walks over to her designated visiting area and takes a seat.

“And that’s very kind of you.” Billie settles in one of her chairs across from him.

“So then why’re you just like ‘hi???’ like I’m annoying you,” he asks.

He fully realizes that he sounds like he’s trying to start a fight, but he does nothing to dial it back.

“You’re not annoying me. I wanted to be sure you didn’t need something first.” She pauses. “Did something happen with Jack or Meg?”

Dean shrugs. “Jack acted like I tried to set his stuffed dragon on fire when I reminded him the kitchen was about to close.”

She isn’t making notes right now, which relieves Dean. “Can you expand on that?”

“Well, he brought up my stupid-ass sign.” He flicks the sign making it flop against his chest ineffectually.

Billie nods, appearing to also curb a smile of amusement, which lightens his shit mood for some reason. “That’s what the sign’s for, Dean.”

He scoffs. “To repeatedly remind me that I’m a pain in the ass?”

Billie narrows her eyes and sighs. “No. The signs serve many purposes, none of which are to remind you that you’re a pain in the ass. They help maintain boundaries and remind everyone to focus on themselves and their own recovery.”

Dean chews the inside of his cheek. “So, if the 17-year-old kid I’m rooming with starves to death, I’m just supposed to keep my eyes on my own prize.”

He’s being dramatic. He knows he’s being dramatic. It’s a great outlet, though, with the absence of his other sorely missed vices.

“First of all,” Billie begins to count her retorts on her fingers, “Jack isn’t going to starve to death-”

“I’ve never seen him eat anything but candy!” Dean cuts her off with exasperation.

“Dean.” Billie drops her hands in her lap.

“Sorry.”

Expressing his frustrations and regrets isn’t something he’s comfortable doing because he never learned to do it any other way than physically fighting, fucking, or getting wasted. That’s not BIllie’s fault; it’s just facts.

Billie calmly begins again. “He will not starve. Nor will he learn to feed and care for himself adequately if we don’t let him figure that out on his own.”

Dean sighs, looking up at the ceiling. “Can’t save everybody,” he mutters.

“Correct,” Billie answers. “What else?”

“I need to focus on my own recovery.”

“Yes.”

He brings his gaze back to hers. “Sorry for...” He waves his hand in the air as an explanation. “Barging in, whining...”

“No apologies necessary. You aren’t whining, you have questions. Bucking the system demonstrates healthy curiosity.” Billie peers at him above the tent of her fingers. “You know, some might assume, as a Marine Corps veteran raised by a Marine Corps veteran that you’d follow orders without a second thought. But you don’t.”

Dean stares back quietly. He and Billie have made progress. He trusts her to do what she says she’s there to do. The problem right now is she’s probing a scab he isn’t willing to expose.

“Well, I got people who look to me for answers — my team, my kid.”

Billie nods. “Yes. And you’ve amassed a group of people here who also see you as a leader, and as a natural leader, it’s important to be mindful of your intentions and of the impression you leave on others.”

“When you say it like that, I feel like a fuckin’ asshole.”

Billie shakes her head. “You’re not an asshole. Go to the gym.” She motions to his outfit as she stands. “During our scheduled session this afternoon, we can talk more about that.”

As he gets up and walks to the door, Dean’s chest feels heavy even as his heart spits and sputters.

The gym doesn’t help clear his mind or calm his anxiety. He’s stuck in the spiral of memories from his last argument with John.

“I’ve been back for five days, Dad, can I just get my bearings before you start-”

“Your brother is leaving, and you won’t lift a finger to stop it. All you’ve done is whine about how you’re gonna miss him when he leaves!”

“He got a full ride.”

“And you’re gonna what, help him pack?! Came back from that war as mindless and obedient as an attack dog — good soldier and nothin’ else.”

That’s fucking rich, coming from John, who only ever treated Dean like a soldier. Dean learned so much more about life and relationships over there than John ever taught him.

“That’s not true.”

“No? What else ya got, then, kid? Your car? That’s mine. Your favorite leather jacket? Mine. Your music? Mine.”

John’s ever-panning searchlight of fury has all but lost Sam and is fully focused on Dean. While Dean doesn’t love being under his dad’s scrutiny, he hopes that his presence buys Sam a few more minutes to get his shit together and get out.

“Your entire fuckin’ personality is me and that kid brother of yours.”

Dean’s slumped against the living room wall with his dad looming over him, red-faced, sweating, and spitting rage.

“You’re fuckin’ obsessed with keeping us here. Sam was built for somethin’ better-”

“I’m obsessed?” John rapidly blinks, clutching his left arm. “How the fuck did you handle not havin’ little Sammy on your heels in Afghanistan? You got nothin’ outside of this family, and you know it.”

“You’re fuckin’ drunk and high.” Dean shakes his head and pushes away from the wall. “You need to sit down.”

“Listen here, you ungrateful little shit-”

“Yell all you want, I’m still leaving!” Sam strides into the living room, hoisting his bag over his shoulder.

Dean takes a step forward, and John takes a step back.

“All that shit you dumped on me about protecting Sam? That was your shit.” He pokes a finger into John’s chest. “You’re the one who couldn’t protect your family, and now that we’re adults with our own fucking lives, you can’t handle it.”

“Keep talkin’, asshole.” John is panting heavily, and his face is turning darker red. “You think you know what it’s like to raise a kid-”

“Yeah! I do!” Dean walks John right back to the couch where John drops to sit. “You were never fucking here for Sam, I always was. All you ever did was train me, boss me around — Daddy’s blunt little instrument — I was never your kid.”

“Oh, please...” John groans, his words slurring as he squeezes his arm harder and he drops his chin to his chest.

“But Sam... Sam you doted on. And now he’s leaving. Talk about what’re you gonna do now, huh? What’re you gonna do, John?”

“Dean...” Sam’s voice is hollow.

“Geez, what happened to you between finally gettin’ rid of that cranky old queen and now?” Meg asks.

Dean breathes and grits his teeth as he mentally counts his wall push-ups. “It’s a whole thing.”

He doesn’t want to get into John with Meg. Not right now. The thought of getting into his history with his dad at all makes him feel like jumping out the window.

Meg furrows her brow and nods. “You’re too hard on yourself.”

Dean shoots her a look, thinking she’s teasing him. What he finds when he really takes her in, though, is so raw and delicate that he can barely stand to look at her.

“Yeah, I’m my own worst nightmare.” He completes his wall exercises and eases to the floor for the rest.

“Don’t do that,” Meg says. She stands over him with her hands on her hips.

Dean tosses his hands in the air in surrender. “I’m kidding. OK?” He starts his hip stretches and the pain carries a signal of satisfaction and success to his brain.

“No, you aren’t.”

Dean groans at the stretch. “What’s with you? This is our thing. The self-deprecation thing.”

Meg sighs and drops to the floor beside him to do some of her own exercises. “Dean, you’re one of our 2.1.”

Dean shakes his head. “What?”

“I did the math; three-tenths of seven is 2.1.”

Dean scoffs and rolls his eyes so hard they take his whole body with them. “Are we including Crowley in that seven?” He goes back to carefully lifting and stretching his hips.

“Yeah... better odds for the rest of us that way.” Meg twists her spine so she’s facing Dean with her knees pointing in the opposite direction.

Dean snorts, and Meg chuckles as they watch each other try to get better.

Then her face softens as well as her voice. “You’re gonna make it, Dean. Because you’re a fuckin’ badass.”

Dean swallows back a lump from trying to form in his throat.

“You’re here because of a blip.” She rolls her watery eyes. “You are better than this. You’ll come out on the other side stronger because you’re already so strong.”

Dean draws a shallow, shaking breath. “And what about you?” He’s almost afraid to ask, but she doesn’t disappoint.

Meg smirks. “I figured out one thing about this world — just one.” She twists back to lie flat on her back, looking up at the ceiling as she pulls each knee into her chest. “You find a cause, and you serve it. Give yourself over, and it orders your life.”

Dean nods, rolling to his side. “Sex work and heroin didn’t give you the kinda order you wanted?”

Meg chuckles and switches knees. “At one time, my pimp’s mission was it for me. But things change, right? We learn, we grow... Now?” She turns her head to look at him again. “My cause is getting sober.”

Dean purses his lips. “So you and I’re the lucky two?”

“Pretty much, yeah.”

He wishes her insistence that he’s so strong made him feel that way. Instead, he feels like there’s a light shining on his weaknesses. If there was a way for him to be all the good things people claim to know about him and nothing else, maybe he could finally stop hearing his dead dad’s voice in the back of his mind, telling him that he’s worthless.

“We’ve been here for over an hour.” Meg sighs then rolls away from him, to her side, and up onto her hands and knees. “Let’s go eat and chain-smoke before group.”

She hops to her feet before reaching out a hand to help Dean up. He smiles softly before accepting her offer.

“Do you feel akin to Jack?” Billie asks.

It’s their scheduled session in the afternoon. Dean is exhausted. There’s so much talking and listening and correcting — yourself and others.

“I’m old enough to be the kid’s dad, so I guess? Things’re different than they used to be.” Dean shrugs.

“For who?”

Dean drops his head to the back of the chair and sighs.

“You’ve had a long day, I know,” Billie says, and Dean rolls his head to the side and peeks at her with one eye.

“Therapy and recovery aren’t quick and easy.” Billie shakes her head. “If they were, everybody’d do it. Right?”

Dean snorts. “I guess.” He sighs again, this time much less dramatically, then sits up straight in his chair. He clears his throat before moving forward with what he knows he has to talk about.

“Sometimes… we didn’t have what we needed— Sam and I— because Dad was... whatever and wherever, and I did things. For people.”

Billie nods.

Dean is surprised to find her unsurprised by his confession. He thought his juvenile records would be sealed no matter what. Maybe she just knows because she’s a brain doctor.

“I wasn’t a hooker.”

“OK.”

“I just did what I had to do.”

“I understand.”

“Like the time I stole bread and peanut butter from the 7-Eleven and got thrown into a boys’ home.”

Billie nods.

“And the time I let the PTA president suck my dick for dinner five nights a week for Sam and me.”

Billie narrows her eyes slightly, still listening, still not taking notes.

“Or an extra hundred in cash for clothes for the kid who grew outta mine the second he turned 16 just to let the guy on the corner watch me eat out his wife.”

Dean wipes at his nose and then looks out Billie’s windows.

“Thank you for telling me, Dean.”

Dean nods and swings his gaze back to Billie. “It’s just... Meg says I’m this badass, gonna pass outta here with flying colors, and Jack... thinks I’m a nag.”

Billie bobs and shakes her head. “No one’s just one thing.”

“Are we having the ‘not everyone is thinking about you all the time’ conversation?”

Billie smiles. “While you were your little brother’s hero, you were someone else’s prey.”

Dean’s jaw tightens, and he looks out the windows again.

“While your daughter sat broken-hearted on one side of town, you single-handedly carried Cyrus Styne to safety.”

Dean closes his eyes and lets a tear roll down his cheek. “So what’s in between?”

“It’s not about other people’s perceptions.”

Before looking back at her, Dean drags his hand over his face. “Then what’s it about?”

“You had to eat and care for your brother, right?”

Dean nods. “Yeah.”

“What about Emma?”

Dean flicks his gaze up to Billie’s.

“Do you see a likeness between Emma and the teenage boy you saved from her high school?”

Dean smirks. “Besides the fact that was her high school?”

Billie smiles and nods. “Besides that.”

“You think I’m avoiding her.”

Billie tilts her head. “Are you?”

“Dean. Hi. How are you?”

“Hey, Lydia. I’m... OK. Is Em around? She blocked me on her phone. I really need to talk to her.”

Lydia is quiet on the other end of the line for a beat. “Just a minute, OK?”

Dean watches the clock on the wall above the phone tick by almost a full 60 seconds before Lydia’s phone is unmuted. There’s a bit of muffled shuffling at first, then...

“Hi, Daddy.”

Chapter 8

Please let me know what you think!

Series Masterlist

MJ’s Masterlist

#au dean winchester #dean winchester is saved

47 notes · View notes

tenderlyrenjun · 4 years ago

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the one with the roommate

summary: you and yangyang decide to keep your relationship secret just for a little bit, but neither of you are very good at subtlety.

↛ ↛ ↛ Yanyang x older reader

↛ ↛ female reader, college au, mentions of alcohol, smut (phone sex), suspense (hopefully), feat Xiaojun

↛ word count: 6,9k (lol)

part one > part two > part three > part four

if you are under 18 and interact with this fic at all, I will block you

“Fuck, fuck, shit,” Yangyang drawls out, voice cracking at the end. He stretches his legs down the mattress, nails clawing through his bedsheets into his palm. The back of his head, also stretched by his spine, nearly splits his headboard in two. He tries not to sound so hazy, to come back down, so he tightens his hand around the tip of his cock, unsuccessfully pushing away his orgasm. “No,” he whines, turning his head toward the phone speaker (a useless act, considering that he is wearing AirPods), pressing his cheek into the pillow. His pre-cum trickles outside his fingers. “I’m not gonna cum,” he declares, strained, “Not yet.”

“Why not?” your pretty voice comes through. And he shuts his eyes, tightening them in addition to his fingers, wishing that yours would do that sexy thing he likes – when you loosen your grip, then trail your nails along his tip. His cock always twitches in entirety when you do that, yet he does not finish. He wonders how you do it, but then again …

“It doesn’t feel as good without you,” Yangyang answers. “It’s not that easy.” … to cum without you on top of him, under him, around him. He just prefers you to be with him. “I like us. –“ And he says it like a worship to God, almost begging you to drive over.

“What’s wrong, baby?” you tease. Yangyang groans again.

“God, you’re sexy.”

“And that’s a problem?”

But he keeps quiet, biting his lip because, well, he just said: you are very sexy. And while you are not with him now, physically, your sultry voice envelopes him like the soft sheets he dampens with sweat.

“Tug your nipples then.”

Yangyang pauses before he does it, not out of hesitation, rather to slow his quickening breath. Unfortunately, the silence sounds like disobedience, something neither of you (but you especially right now, over the phone – his domina) like. And he chokes out an indiscernible sound; even he did not know what he wanted to say.

“Come on. Do it, please,” you coax, “for me?” Then he whines again, loudly, complying. “Good job.” The evident smirk in your praise makes him want to reverse the roles, to flip you under him and quite literally spank you with how deep his dick goes.

But he can’t. Not yet. His cock throbs between his fingers, which tighten again, despite the way his hips naturally gravitate to his hand, wanting so badly to finish. Yangyang unlatches his hand and reattaches it to the tip, sliding the pre-cum further down, like a lubricant – wet and thick. Unfortunately, he thinks, this sensation pales in comparison to your legs wrapped between his.

“Come,” he whispers, barely, elongating the word while he extends his hand all the way down to the base, touching the surface of his balls. He almost cums, and you start to say something, breaking whatever punishments the both of you think about, in favor for reality. You must think that he squirted, so he finishes the thought (not his touch). “Over. Come over.” Yangyang rubs one of his nipples, circularly, and presses the other into the sheet, grinding himself to the edge. “Fuck, -“ He looks down at his hard-on, panting shakily with a parted mouth. “- come over before I cum.”

“You have another full house,” you remind him, frowning through the sentence. “We almost got caught last time.”

“But we didn’t – ah, please,” he squeaks softly. “We’ll be even quieter this time; just come over, fuck.”

You return the swear, moaning lewdly, mouth probably open as wide as your legs would be if he were there, or you here, like the previous day. He remembers you blowing him under the table while he played a game with his friends, until he left mid-battle to push you on the bed and get his fingers wet. God, your fingers must be so wet right now. The thought makes his dick twitch, trying to thrash around, in his firm hold.

“Emmgh.” Yangyang pumps himself faster, twisting his wrist about the top half of his shaft. He throws his head on the pillows again, contortioned a bit uncomfortable to focus on literally anything that his not his hand – fails though. “Does your pussy miss my fingers? Like my dick misses you?”

“Of course,” you whisper, breaking each syllable between moans. “I miss you.”

“You’re disgusting,” he quips, automatically, except – and don’t tell his psych professor (because he already knows about the honeymoon phase, and you two might as well be on a honeymoon with how often you keep having sex) – he misses you, too.

“Be disgusting for me then.”

“Come over, then I’ll cum.”

“How is that an incentive?”

Yangyang pauses, taking deep breaths to (1) plateau his orgasm buildup and (2) give him time to try another phrase, “I love you.”

“That’s not disgusting.” He can hear the eye roll in your voice, and he imagines your eyes rolling to the back of your head when he digs his fingers into your waist, grinding all of his dick into your pussy, pushing his hips around your clit, or your eyes fluttering to meet his when you are down on your knees, sticking your tongue out for him to cum all over, or your eyes closing when he is on top but then asks you to look at him. “That’s greasy.”

“You have to say it back,” he says, like all the times he tells you to return his gaze, the one underlying with adoration that both of you feel and acknowledge but say nothing about.

“I. Love. You. Too,” you punctuate. Your intonation changes the pace of his pumps, but the last syllable is too short, and he groans again, tightening his hand at the base like a ring. “That thing you do with your fingers, when you’re with me, fucking them inside me with each syllable –“

“I’ll go over there if you won’t come here,” he interrupts, biting back another moan. Now that you suggested it, he really wants to shove himself in you.

“Can I cum first?”

“No,” Yangyang responds firmly. He situates himself against his headboard again, breath slowly evening out, then shakes his head for extra measure. “You’re being naughty,” he whispers into the phone with a deeper voice, “dirty girl.” He dribbles like a term of endearment – you seem to like it, given the way your back always arches toward him when he uses it. You extend your body up enough, every time, to kiss him, so yeah, he thinks you like it. And he really would love to make you cum, right now, not over video. “It’s not fair,” he says, twitching back to reality with his cock in hand.

“Why?” you taunt, adding a sultry accent to the end. “You want to finger me instead? Tired of being hard? Aren’t you going to touch yourself? You know I am.” You moan, and Yangyang echoes it.

“What are you going to do about it? You gonna come –“ His voice cracks at the thought, holding his dick straight up as if you were lowering down on him again. He always saw the girls in porn do that, and the premature tip has really helped him out, especially now, as he thinks about it, squeezes and unsqueezes the base of his cock. “Over? Please tell me that you are going to come over.”

“And deprive you from beating out a samba? I’m not cruel.”

“Of course not,” he agrees sarcastically (though the urge to roll his eyes is suppressed by the need to hold his orgasm back). “That is reserved for your punishment, and you deserve a hard smack.”

“You do that all the time.” He can hear you roll your eyes this time, but the image in his head holds a much different connotation – one with you under him, head hugging the pillow closer under your shoulders, rolling your eyes far enough to see stars. “How would this be any different?”

“Maybe I’d tie you up and blindfold you this time, make you focus on how hot your ass gets –“

“Don’t you mean, ‘how hot my ass is’?”

“Bratty!” Yangyang shouts. He picks up his phone, speaking directly into it for a louder effect, trying to make you wish that he were touching you, punishing you, fucking you right now. “You’re bratty. I didn’t ask for bratty.”

“Probably because it’s my turn to tell you what to do,” you whisper as if pouting, almost enough to make him relinquish … but then again …

“I know how bad you can get, how bad you are,” Yangyang stands firm in his decision. “You always close your thighs around my hands, and I want them open, so that I can touch you. I’d have you draped over my legs, ass falling off the side, warm and upright,” He knocks his head against the headboard. “God, I bet you’re so wet.”

“And if –“ Your breath hitches, squeaking out a sharp moan as your fingers flex even deeper inside you. “An-And if I am?”

“Well, when you get here,” he says, again projecting his desires onto you (but isn’t that what phone sex is all about?), “I’d have to pull you by the hair, to make you look at me. And because I’m so irresistible – don’t scoff at me! Because I’m so irresistible, you’re going to kiss me, scratching along my scalp until I move away, marking up your body, palming your tits, spanking your ass … all. at. once.” Yangyang grips his dick, pointing the tip away from his chest. “Fuck, come over before I cum.” He hears you sit up, sheets ruffling with you as you return his swears (albeit a lot more colorful).

“You have a full house tonight,” you remind him, but it is not a no - he has yet to hear a no.

“So I guess you’ll have to be quiet.”

“Fuck,” you whisper, still playing with your clit.

“Did you get wetter?” He imagines it, thumbing down the pre-cum along his shaft. “Ungh, come here and I’ll make you cum three times over.”

“Can I – mmmh,” you whine into the phone. He conjures up the thought of you turning on the speakers, rolling around in your sheets, whining like his dirty baby girl. “I’ll head over after I cum.”

“No, no,” he grumbles, trying to will himself also. “No cumming right now.” He knows that it’s not particularly fair. “But I’ll make it up for you I promise. Come over and let met fuck you. Ugh.” Yangyang opens his eyes and looks down. “This can’t be good for my dick.” He has been hard, edging himself, for nearly an hour at this point, and he uses your name like a prayer. “You get me so hard. Just stop biting your lip and come over already. I miss you.”

“I miss you too,” you whisper smally, still panting as the urge to orgasm pulses.

Yangyang hears the droopy beeps in his AirPods, indicating near-battery death. He pulls them out and holds the phone between his ear and shoulder. “Come over, please.” He grips his dick a little tighter. “I’ll make it up to you, and this way we can sleep in before the festival tomorrow.”

“Hmmm,” you purr, considering his request again. “Let me eat the hui goo raou Kun made this afternoon.”

“Hui guo rou,” Yangyang corrects. Your Chinese is getting better, lagging a bit with a few tones but still very pretty. “And I was hoping for something a little more … sexy.” He rolls his eyes. At this rate, your punishment is going to focus on keeping quiet.

“Oh, baby,” you say sultrily. “You’ve already promised to make me cum three times over. Add the stir fry and I’m guaranteed there in 5 minutes.”

Yangyang stares at the ceiling, not really contemplating the bargain because you will end up feeding him half of it anyways; he is just trying to still his orgasm again. “Come over, and it’s yours first thing after I cum.”

“You’re mine,” you shout, clearly a couple metres from the phone. He can hear you picking up random things around your room, probably throwing them into a bag or getting dressed. “And keep me on the phone! I’ll edge you all over again.”

“Fuck.”

“But don’t cum.”

And true to your word, five minutes later, you are jumping out of an Uber that barely had a second to park and Yangyang is running down the stairs, slipping and sliding on his socks to let you into the house. You give him a quick peck on the lips, then shush him back through the front door because Lucas is 5 metres behind you, drunkenly flirting giggles into his own phone. The two of you are half a staircase above Lucas, trampling the carpet steps as Yangyang smacks your butt a few times and you give him a sexy bite, telling him that he is only stopping you from biting him. At that, Yangyang takes his hand off your ass, grabbing yours, then practically carries you into his bedroom before anyone can see. He spins you onto his bed, and you land, backside down, arms propping you up on the cluttered mattress, while he eavesdrops on the doorway for Lucas to get into the next-door room and pass out (he is a sleepy drunk – Ten is Happy; Xiaojun is Dopey; Kun is Sneezy; etc.). When he hears an all clear, he saunters toward you, caging your torso between his arms as you slither your hands up his chest, cupping his face. You start sighing into the kiss, tilting your head to the left, brushing your nose over his, and extending your fingers to the hair behind his neck. After, a door creaks open loudly.

“Lucas, I swear to God, if you have a date back there!” you hear Xiaojun shout, then slam his door closed.

Yangyang pulls back, almost cracking up. He has to put a finger sternly against his lips to prevent from screaming so loud, which also brings him to turn on the speakers at a moderately loud, playing BUTTERFLY EFFECT to hide his next few flirtations. The walls are not necessarily thin, but the extra measure goes well with three orgasms. And Xiaojun seems to agree, given that there no complaint throughout the entire hour.

But then, the door opens again and doesn’t close. XIaojun’s footsteps start padding closer to Yangyang’s room, and your eyes widen. You throw the blanket off your chest, stumbling out of bed, searching left and right for a good hiding spot. Yangyang hurls a towel at you, but you just shove it in the air – what the hell are you supposed to do with it? He mimes you wrapping it around your body, to which you give him a continuous blank stare. Oddly, Yangyang’s door starts creaking open, so he shoves you inside his reach-in closet, mouthing apologies before he closes the door. Before he shuts it completely, you give him back the towel and he folds it on his waist, spinning around to face Xiaojun.

“Dude, what the fuck!”

“Why are you naked?!”

“Why are you staring!?”

“Right! Uh –“ Xiaojun turns around, covering his eyes for extra measure, and Yangyang slips on some shorts. “Why are you listening to music so loud and naked?”

“Mmmm,” Yangyang stutters for a second, tugging on the ends of his shorts. “I took a shower earlier! Remember when I snatched the bathroom before you? Well, uh, my DLC finished downloading after, and I went to check on it then got absorbed in a side-quest.” Xiaojun tilts his head in understanding. Thank God; he bought it.

“Okay,” Xiaojun concedes, “but are you not in the least bit bothered by Xuxi having sex so loudly?”

Yangyang’s smirk fades. “Uhh … um,” he stutters softly, open mouthed, searching around his bed for another excuse. He lands on the speakers! “I – I - My speakers! Drowned him out. Travis Scott albums can only be blasted, you know.” Xiaojun tilts his head again. Either he is a bit dull or Yangyang is a better liar than he thought.

Another door opens amidst the conversation, down the hall. Renjun barely peaks through, eyes squinting, shoulders drooped, hair tousled, but he never steps outside. “Shut up!” he shouts weakly. “Some of us are exhausted in this house.”

“Yeah?” Xiaojun responds, leaning against the doorframe, poking his own head out for extra effect. “I have to be up in four hours, so you tell Xuxi to shut the fuck up or go to his date’s house instead.”

“Fine,” Renjun relinquishes. As his roommate opens yet another door, Yangyang turns around and sees you give him a look that he can only shrug his shoulders at. You hide back in the clothes when Renjun starts shouting again, cracking open Lucas’s door, unafraid of his roommate’s assumed nakedness, “Shut up, Lucas!” He slams the door and walks back to his own, slamming that one too, shouting a good night to everyone.

“Right,” Yangyang says slowly, nodding his head. “Well, that means you can get out of my room now,” he directs at a scuffled Xiaojun, “unless you’re trying to shag me or something.”

Xiaojun crinkles his nose. “No, I still have to be up in a few hours.” He takes a step toward the exit, then reconsiders his words; he shakes his head, it doesn’t matter, but he turns around to point at the speakers. “Oh, and turn down the music. I get that you’re trying to drown Xuxi out, but headphones can probably do the same thing.”

Yangyang rolls his eyes and throws the towel at the door as Xiaojun closes it, before jumping back into his bed. You tip toe next to him, and he spoons you from behind, whispering, “So now that we have a scapegoat, wanna go again?”

Xiaojun pushes his sunglasses further up the bridge of his nose. Well, actually, they are Kun’s sunglasses; he stole them off the nightstand this morning after Kun belatedly informed him that the conference was cancelled. The two of them were supposed to attend a series of seminars about music and media, but his undergrad status eliminated his participation and Kun had forgotten about his thesis rough draft due Monday morning. So, Xiaojun figured, while up and dressed at 7AM, might as well see if any wristbands are still available for the EDM concert that everyone has been babbling about for the last couple of days. And since the cute weatherperson on the school news station forecasted a bright 30°C, he snatched the Ray-Bans off Kun’s nightstand just before a pillow was thrown at him (he threatened to sleep over). All Xiaojun has to do now, really, is cover his eyes because the sun is so damn bright. And if he drops dead (asleep) in the middle of a concert field, maybe he can catch up on sleep, and Yangyang isn’t here to tell him that no one can truly replenish their sleep schedule like that (his roommate truly is that psych major who has to refute every conventional wisdom – the know it all).

But his other roommate – the bastard – Lucas, Xiaojun assumes, aka the only person in the entire house bringing dates back to the house, kept him awake, last night, past 4 in the morning! Everyone else has the decency to go to their date’s place, or, at the very least, fuck while the house is empty. None of them, to Xiaojun’s knowledge, has an exhibitionist kink, and he rolls his eyes at the thought. Hendery has been slumming it elsewhere. Lucas has been in and out of the house at all hours of the day. Renjun’s crush has been actively avoiding him, so he coups up in the library or at one of his other friends’ apartments. And Yangyang … please, no one in the house would accuse Yangyang of having a friend, nor would he be stupid enough to play porn at 75% volume.

Still though, over the last two days, Xiaojun has barely gotten any sleep. He essentially pulled an all-nighter on two, maybe three, hours, max, of sleep! And his primary reason for even enduring this sleep deprivation played already at 10 this morning. He had every intention of renting an AirBnB the previous night, to get an actual 8-hours and meet Kun earlier, but he forgot about a small literature papers (he has been neglecting about half the GE’s course modules in favor of all the econ homework that his professors assign near-daily. Get a minor in business, they said; it’s not that bad, they said. Yeah, tell that to the rock cover band he kept dozing off during. Not even a glass of whiskey could wake him up, and he had it in the late morning, when both his brain and taste buds relaxed into a false sense of stupor.

Xiaojun blinks rapidly, stretching his eyes. Man, fuck his roommate. He needs to splash water on his face or something. This is ridiculous. He rubs his hands down his face. Is there a coffee cart somewhere, or is everyone just pretending that it’s five o’clock somewhere?

The nearest building with a bathroom (because porta potties are disgusting) is between stage A and a merchandise tent, on the left most side of the entire event, making Xiaojun resent his roommate a lot more. He manages to drag his body past the festival newbies, through the drunk sorority girls (their bikini tops are very intriguing, but also, it’s 1 P.M.; why the hell are they already plastered?), beyond the Instagram influencers, then finally into the shade. It should not feel as relaxing as it does, to stand in the dark, but God, he is exhausted, and if he has any chance of catching The Struts before the rave portion of the evening starts, he needs to freshen up.

And oddly enough, he jolts away outside the bathroom.

Solely because Yangyang slams the door in his face, more forcefully than an alarm.

“Xiaojun!”

“Uh, good morning?” he greets. That’s his name; don’t wear it out, or use it as an alarm, he guesses. Yangyang’s tone sounds exactly like the awful air horn prank the frat pulled on him and Ten after the 2019 New Year’s party that he cannot entirely remember. The noise also resembles the initial alarm that people set to sleep through, and he groans all over again, flickering his eyes like a drained battery light. He really needs to wake up, otherwise he will pass out in the grass. So he makes a move to walk around Yangyang (when the hell did he even get here?), but a hand that is not his prevents him from opening the door in the first place. “Excuse me,” Xiaojun politely orders.

“Sorry, Xiaojun,” Yangyang emphasizes his name again, still not relenting his death-grip on the door handle. “I’m just about to go inside the bathroom!”

Xiaojun matches his roommate’s posture, straightening up to scrutinize Yangyang disbelievingly, glancing from their near-touching hands to his face. “I could’ve sworn you were just leaving.” His voice maintains some control, albeit moderately slurred by fatigue and the alcohol form earlier. Still, though he likes to think that he is plenty aware, to remember seeing Yangyang walk straight out the door, literally a second ago. He might actually echo a personified question mark, at this point, second-guessing his own unreliable memory. “Alright, whatever,” he mutters. “I’ll find another bathroom,”

“There’s a bathroom in the pavilion by stage B!” Yangyang shouts as Xiaojun retreats.

Yangyang leans away from the door, anchored, still, by the handle, until Xiaojun disappears completely around the corner, muttering some incoherent sentences about mirages, whatever meme that relates to. His chest starts to feel free again, to breathe, exhaling when he knocks his head on wood, as if popping the bubble in his diaphragm. And it takes him a little bit, to get out of the headlight, scrambling back into the bathroom until he slams the door in your face again – he seems to be doing that a lot, as of late: slamming doors in your face. First at the Halloween party, just sneaking out of the closet before you, then last night in his room, ironically to also keep you from Xiaojun, and now today with the bathroom door. Although, it was somewhat necessary, compared to Monday when he was just teasing you. Hopefully, a kiss mollifies any confusion, or exasperation. He won’t admit it; he just likes kissing you. There is always a sense of purpose with his embraces, he thinks. This one calms his nerves and brings you closer to you. Instinctively, as you open your mouth, his hands adorn your face, like applying a faint blush, his fingertips also sweeping along your cheekbones to pass along his excitement.

And that excitement manifests as momentum, propelling his long legs slightly past yours, making you stagger with him into the middle of the room.

“What the hell?” you breathe into his mouth, momentarily surprised but not hating another kiss.

Yangyang left the bathroom first because his outfit is easier to adjust – a pair of jeans, a t-shirt, a long sleeve, and a concert jacket that he bought. Well, you bought one too. Well, he offered to buy you a jacket. That is what all the movies show; it is supposed to be romantic, which he particularly is not so he has to learn from somewhere, but the hoodie is ₩85,000 and you bought it yourself. Except, as you came out of the shop, Yangyang sported a matching jacket underneath his wide smile, claiming that now you have couple items (instead of you just stealing his tops all the time; a bit ironic, considering his position in the bedroom). Contrast, your outfit has too many components – all of which he complained about earlier, before he tugged you closer by the thigh highs, yanked your skit up, and nearly ripped your brand-new jacket over your head. He vaguely recalls you telling him that your outfit prepares you for cold weather (same as his!), but (1) it is just below 30 degrees, and (2) you’ve already pleated your socks down to your ankles. It is funny – the difference in your outfits: his is cozy, and yours is … like Ariana Grande in the fall, or at least, he thinks so. His frame of reference for style is torn between streetwear and nightlife, neither really suitable for summer but very wearable for a date. Maybe, he is an exhibitionist – having sex when he can so easily be caught, showing off his relationship behind a sheer curtain, always being one of the people to speak up during Socratic seminars. All of that gets clouded though, because you are the only person who he really wants attention from.

“Xiaojun’s here,” he mumbles, sticking his tongue in your mouth right after to soften the blow of the statement. It is not particularly the right time to reveal your relationship just yet, a thought mutually shared between the two you. Living in a small bubble right now is fun. You can pull through an official first date without any judgement from your friends. Although, the two of you have been on plenty of unofficial dates – at the coffee shop in the physics department, home dinner dates, a few one-on-one movie dates. He likes dating you in this nice little bubble, for now, not necessarily a secret, just … without anyone’s two cents. Give it another week or so. You roll your head around, like a morning stretch, and he takes it as an agreement, letting you push his back into the wall while you stand on your toes a little bit taller to dominate him. Yangyang lulls into the kiss, sighing out, “Thought he’d never leave”, about his roommate’s unexpected appearance.

“Mhmm,” you hum, agreeing quickly to keep kissing him (he is not entirely confident that you heard him the first time). But his smile is too wife, and you really enjoy looking at it – his happiness is easy to emulate, brightening the mood, relieving your nerves. Then you recede and square your hands of his pecs, matting down the grey hoodie across his shoulders. He slowly peeks open his eyes to find you scanning his face, licking away the taste of his cherry chapstick (ha, kidding, he had a very dehydrating americano forty minutes ago). You peck his lips deeply one last time and remember, “Ten isn’t even coming to this thing. Why is Xiaojun here?”

“Right? I know!” Yangyang runs a hand through the front of his hair. He reaches out a hand to brush a few of your loose strands behind your ear, giving him the space to suction another brief kiss on your jugular, hoping that it is more soothing than sexual (but still a little sexual). And it is, given the way that you slouch forward, into his chest, wrapping your arms around his small waist for a second. Instinctively, Yangyang returns the hug, limbs circling your neck. The new position puts him close enough for you to hear him whisper, which is comforting, especially with his soft voice. He really knows how to control his tone. “But when The Struts play, you can expect Xiaojun to come. I just didn’t think that it was every time.”

You sigh, squeezing him tighter, standing taller on your toes to rest your chin above his shoulder. “I forgot they even played. We went to see Cloud Nothings.”

“Yeah,” Yangyang drawls. His arms slack when you switch positions, pushing his elbows outside yours. Without hesitation, he adapts, brushing your hair again before dropping his hands around your waist. It feels like a dance, and in Georgian times (him and his European elementary education), it would afford you the same amount of privacy as hiding in the bathroom post-coitus. He feels you cuddle the comfort out of him, which is nice, because it means he is being your boyfriend. That is what the whole going on dates is supposed to be about, like going to see a rock band (obviously, a different one than Xiaojun). “Because Cloud Nothings played at the same time as The Struts.”

You nod your head slowly, as if processing everything that he said. He waits for you to look at him, mind wandering a bit to mentally read the musical line ups for today. Both acts (The Struts and Cloud Nothings) are scheduled to perform again later, not at the same time, so you two can see the English band one more instead of the American one if you want. “Right, -“ You pull away, staring up at him. “- we like Cloud Nothings more than The Struts.”

Yangyang bends his knees, hugging you lower until he can make sure that you see the cocky smirk on his face. “We? We’re a ‘we’ couple now?”

You nod your head cutely (he thinks), simultaneously hiding your face in the crook of his neck, crawling a bit taller to tower him. He giggles mischievously, thinking that he got you flustered once more, especially when you squeeze him tighter, making him stumble against the door, and he pinches your butt teasingly. But your voice sounds more confident than he expected: “You called me clingy. This is your punishment.”

Yangyang pulls away, just a little bit, enough to peck your lips and keep you caged in his amrs. “It’s not a punishment if I like it.”

You roll your eyes then poke his cheek. He pulls his face into one of those bread smiles that you call cute. “Come on, let’s grab a beer before Curiosity performs.” The EDM DJ is scheduled in twenty minutes, and Yangyang knows that you (along with he) want to pregame prior to the actual rave porition of the night. So he waits for you to readjust your skirt with more finality, one-handedly (because just being around him makes all your clothes fly across the room). And when you try going around him, for the door, he blocks it, making you look up at him purely.

“I love you,” he says simply, cooing the last syllable so that you embrace his open arms. The brooding in his posture seems to return you to him because he looks a bit pouty, expectingly, but you jokingly dodge him, reversing the roles with you at the door and him standing in the middle of the bathroom. He sulks deeper until you cave, mirroring his teasing façade (slightly more mischievous, he would say!!) and slide into one more hug, a back hug. “Hehe, caught you again.”

You wiggle your hips a bit, to get a perfect angle that will let you pinch his sides. “I love you, too, you big baby.” You initiate another kiss, with the intent to stay put for a few extra seconds, but after he pushes you against the door, he opens it, making you trip over your own feet, need to hold onto him as he physically leads you to the soju tent, arms trapping you, cackling evilly.

When he double dips to the beverage tents for another Irish coffee, minus the coffee, Xiaojun notices that alcohol is insanely popular amongst college students (and high school students with fake IDs, but some of them don’t have very good ones – they need to dunk it in a bit of iced tea then laminate it). And as he receives his order, Xiaojun barely remembers ordering extra blue kamikaze shots. Nevertheless, he still downs them, all three of them at the pick-up window, amongst cheers from the sorority girls behind him, before wobbling toward the plastic picnic benches.

Xiaojun rubs the side of his face. Maybe he should have gotten something to eat as well – there is a yummy cookie stand at one of the venues. Eh, he’ll find it later. For now, he can just steal fried chicken off Yangyang’s plate.

Wait.

Damn.

Minute.

Nope, never mind; Xiaojun waves a hand. That makes sense. Yangyang was one of the people who pointed out the graphic poster with the neon-outlined shot glasses. He did that sometime around Thursday, and Xiaojun guesses that it went so deep into his subconscious that he made the decision to drive to a festival after his conference was cancelled. Yeah, he should go over and thank him.

Xiaojun heads toward Yangyang’s side profile, raising his hand to wave, opening his mouth to shout …

Yet, as he gets closer, tilting a bit further on the left just to make sure the person is really Yangyang, he spots you too. It isn’t unusual, Xiaojun thinks, because he knows that, even though you are Ten’s best friend first and foremost, you do hang out with everyone in the house individually (well, everyone except Renjun when you had that super obvious crush on him). You and Hendery went urban exploring earlier this month at an abandoned coal mine; you and Lucas caught lunch before his 1 o’clock somewhere downtown; hell, you hung out with him the other week, even brought malatang to his choir practice! Except you never lay your head on anyone’s lap like that.

Yangyang is sitting on the plastic picnic table bench, leaning his back against the top, scrolling through his phone. You sit on the grass below, on leg tucked under the other, gently laying a cheek on his lap. Still a friend distance, which prompts Xiaojun to get over there too (you can hang out as a trio!), a little bit faster. But then, Yangyang nudges the crown of your head with his elbow, smiling widely and gummy. Xiaojun expects you to just lift your head or Yangyang to extend his arm further. So, his eyes widen into saucers, his normally groomed thick eyebrows losing hair after they shoot into space, when you crawl between Yangyang’s legs, resting your head on his inner thigh, drawing your knees to chest and hanging a bottle of soju above your knees, as he encloses you between his arms, showing off his phone as if he shows you some funny thing that made him laugh because he wants you to laugh with him – that is not a very platonic thing.

The walk over seems to drag along, nearly putting Xiaojun to sleep, enough to match the way you start closing your eyes, dangling on Yangyang, who starts combing the back of your head, staring intently with doe-eyes – a bit pure and … and smitten. Xiaojun frowns, wondering if you are leading him on. Ten mentioned in passing, when they met up for bowling at the campus arcade, that you are semi-seeing someone. You tug on Yangyang’s pants, mouthing something that Xiaojun could not discern even if he were 100% sober. He does recognize that Yangyang said something antagonizing though because you straighten up, smacking his thigh … a little too intimately, too close to his … yeah, for friends. Yangyang gives you a sarcastic haha look, and you turn away jokingly; only for half a second though, before he taps your shoulder, seemingly melting away your faux anger. Then it happens in the other half of the second, and Xiaojun puts a hand over his heart, like he just ran a marathon! Yangyang kisses you.

“Ah!” Xiaojun shouts, waggling a finger at them, not caring that people start glancing at him. He probably would not even notice it, since the weather masks any blush on his face by sunburn.

You and Yangyang scramble to get up and knock heads (practically kissing foreheads this time! Is the world not mad enough??). Yangyang holds his head as you stand up fully, with him. You rub the sore spot, seeming to hesitate giving him another kiss, but still decide on it anyways – to which Xiaojun shouts at again! You shush him, waving your arms around because people keep glancing over.

“You!!” Xiaojun points at you first before turning to Yangyang, more surprised that his roommate is on a date than he is about Yangyang dating you – although, it is one hell of a shock. “An-and you?”

“You!!” Yangyang repeats, equally loud. “What are you doing here?! You have a conference!”

“Shush!” you whisper-shout, nearly spewing spit on the both of them as you half-hide behind Yangyang, hugging his tiny waist, probably a bit embarrassed.

“Cancelled,” Xiaojun informs, glossing over your exclamation, darting his eyes quickly across the situation, trying to reason something that would make any more sense than you with Yangyang or Yangyang kissing anyone. “You though! You’re kissing! You –“ He points at Yangyang. “- don’t kiss! And you –“ He points at you, flapping a hand between the two of you, talking about you both. “- don’t kiss!”

“Hey!” you shout indignantly at that. Xiaojun looks at you with a silent apology, miming that he is still shocked by this, at the same time Yangyang starts talking again.

“You can’t tell anyone about this. No one knows.”

“How?! When?!” Xiaojun returns to shouting.

“It happened in March,” you sigh, albeit a little relieved to finally tell someone. You tiptoe a bit taller, resting your chin on Yangyang’s shoulder, partially jumping on his back.

“March?!”

“Shush! Shush!!” Yangyang hisses. “We don’t want to make a big deal out of this.”

Xiaojun stares at him incredulously. You are literally clinging onto him; he literally just kissed you on the mouth. “Not make a big deal out of this??” Xiaojun mocks, voice cracking halfway through. “This is a big deal.”

“Yeah,” you concede, drawing out the word, looking to Yangyang for something – words of encouragement or another kiss, anything out of right field, if Xiaojun was being honest.

Yangyang looks back at you, then pulls you into the conversation, making a triangle between the three of you, still holding your hand, rubbing the tops of your knuckles until you level your hands at your sides. He sighs too, “We just … We don’t want to make a whole thing out of telling everyone.” He smiles; it is his turn to make a we statement – the we couple. Then he returns to Xiaojun. “Not yet. So, please don’t tell anyone.”

“What the hell,” Xiaojun breathes. He runs a hand through his hair. “This is unbelievable! I mean, this is great – totally great,” he says, implicitly/indirectly promising not to tell anyone, “but just, wow, what the hell.”

Ironically, two weeks later, after he gets home from class, Xiaojun is ambushed by Lucas, Chenle, Hendery, Handong, and Yuqi – similar to when he was hazed into the frat. They push him into a chair; Chenle dramatically turns on a lamp, turning the bulb to him like a murder suspect in a 1950s black and white movie.

“What do you know about Yangyang and [Y/N]?”

#yangyang #liu yangyang #yangyang imagines #yangyang fluff #yangyang smut #wayv #wayv imagines #wayv smut #nsfr #wayv fluff #nct smut #nct imagines

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hopelikethemoon · 4 years ago

Text

Moonbeam (Ezra x Reader) [smut] {Werewolf AU}

Title: Moonbeam Rating: Explicit Length: 6,000 Warnings: Non-graphic description of bodily injury and smut (cunnilingus, doggy style sex, mentions of masturbation). Reader Details: To the best of my knowledge, there are no references to Reader’s physical details, beyond being a bisexual woman. I tried my best to keep it as vague as possible. Notes: So, this is the second lengthy Ezra fic I’ve written this month, but the only one that will see the light of day. Shout-out to @rzrcrst for pre-reading this for me. Werewolves are my niche and I’m absolutely incapable of writing them without creating the lore around their existence. Ezra exudes big werewolf energy (P.S. Javier exudes big vampire energy) and since I’m not really in a fandom until I write a werewolf AU, I present you all with my very own version of space werewolves. Depending on audience reactions, there might be more of this story to tell.

Taglist:@princessbatears @djarin-junk @absurdthirst @hdlynn @legally-a-bastard @opheliaelysia @heather-lynn @sabinemorans @crazinessgraveyardsandcartoons @pedrospunk @maybege @chews-erotically @katlikeme @lose-eels @youmeanmybrain @theindiealto @irishleesh93

You had heard the rumors, but never once had you believed that they were true. A werewolf living on a moon? Werewolves were the stuff of fairytales. They weren’t real.

They weren’t real.

But someone who had come before you had clearly considered the potential. Why else had someone thought to set up a cleverly concealed steel trap?

The pain was overwhelming. Worse than anything you’d ever encountered before. You were lucky your leg hadn’t snapped in two — your heavy coveralls were your saving grace.

You howled out in pain as you dropped to your knees, trying in vain to pry the trap off your leg. The sharp teeth had bit through the fabric of your coveralls and the dark stain forming told you everything you needed to know about your future. If you didn’t get the trap off soon, you were going to bleed out.

And then you’d become a smorgasbord for whatever creatures lived on this moon. There had to be something terrifying in the forest that had convinced everyone to believe in werewolves.

“Kriff.” You swore, your arms throbbing with effort as you tried yet again to free your leg from the trap. You dropped back onto your ass, before sinking down onto the soft mossy ground beneath you.

At least the stars were out. You could see them through the bareboned trees as they swayed above you in the evening breeze.

The pain wasn’t so bad at a certain point, most likely because of the blood loss. That would do it. That woozy, tingling sensation that had your vision blurring at the edges.

A branch snapped nearby, sending a dull spike of nerves through you. You hadn’t made a study of the flora and fauna on the moon — but that certainly didn’t sound like a small creature.

“Please don’t eat me.” You mumbled, tilting your head to look in the direction of the sound. The filtered moonlight from the crescent moon above barely illuminated the forest around you and your flashlight was just out of reach.

You heard the sound of another branch snapping under foot, “Hello?”

All men are beasts in their own right, but the man that stepped into your line of view seemed an unlikely candidate.

“I do believe that trap was not set to ensnare one such as you,” He drawled out with a honey-sweet cadence as he moved towards you.

“I don’t think it’s broken,” You offered weakly, trying to sit up as he knelt beside you, but your vision blurred harshly and you sank back onto the ground.

“How fortuitous you are that I take my evening stroll through this very copse of trees.” He mused, effortlessly freeing your leg from the steel trap.

“How—“

“You have lost a considerable amount of blood, little lamb. I would be most obliged to offer shelter and succor. These woods are no place to remain alone. One can never know what creatures fresh blood may attract.”

You exhaled shakily as you stared up at the stars above you. He was right — you’d never make it back to your transport alone on your leg. “Promise not to kill me?” You cracked, tilting your head to look at him.

He flashed you a toothy grin, “I promise.”

“What is your name?” You asked as he hoisted you into his arms, with surprising ease.

“Ezra.” He told you, looking down at you. “And what is your name, little lamb?”

“Ezra.” You repeated softly, resting your cheek against his chest as he carried you through the forest. You gave him your own name, feeling a strange warmth wash through you when he repeated it back in that beguiling tone of his.

“Am I right in my assumption that you are the occupant of the transport that arrived just two nights ago.” Ezra questioned quietly.

“Depends on who is asking.” You jested lightly, “I am. Reconnaissance mission for a mining program.”

“Ah,” His grip on you seemed to tighten. “Another greedy venture to strip the moon of its precious lunaxium?”

“I can only assume.” You glanced up at him, “Above my pay grade.”

“You should leave within the week.” Ezra remarked, keeping his sharp gaze focused ahead of him. “It won’t be safe for you.”

“You don’t believe in that stupid story, do you?” You questioned, “Isn’t that just a tale to keep prospectors from coming here?”

“I once believed that.” Ezra muttered, before falling silent for the remainder of the journey to his humble abode.

You had so many questions for your serendipitous savior, but he tended to your leg in relative silence and then left you to rest in his bed.

From what you could tell, Ezra had fashioned a home for himself out of a crashed transport vessel that you could only assume had been his own at one time. Perhaps he’d been like you once upon a time, a drifter picking up odd jobs and landing in bad situations.

Ezra was handsome. The moonlight hadn’t tricked you into thinking that — in the garish light of his bedroom, he was still just as striking. Warm eyes, long lashes, a mess of chestnut hair with a shock of blonde, and a wiry frame.

How long had he been living on Lykaios? Had his vessel crashed on a wayward venture and he’d had no one to come looking for him? Not that anyone would come looking for you either.

Maybe Shiva. They would’ve probably come looking for your corpse just to get what was owed to them.

It was a damn miracle that Ezra had stumbled upon you. How had he even found you? The woods all looked the same.

Sleep came slowly and fitfully. Despite the shot Ezra had given you, your leg was agonizingly painful if you moved at all. Fortunately, there were books within reach — well-loved, with worn pages. You wondered if they had been Ezra’s to start with, or if he’d found someone’s abandoned transport.

He had excellent taste.

You hadn’t seen a stack of Chaucer since you were much younger. His copy of Canterbury Tales had been opened so many times the spine wilted in your palm.

Ezra announced himself with a short knock, before sliding open the durasteel door. “I expected you to be asleep. You had quite the evening, little lamb.”

“I tried.” You made a note of the page you were on before closing the book and sitting it aside on the bedside shelf. “I got distracted by… your collection of novels.”

He chuckled, leaning against the doorframe. “I see you’re getting acquainted with my old oppo Chaucer.”

“I’ll have you know, Chaucer is my friend.” You quipped, drumming your fingers against the cover of the book. “It was nice to retrace old lines.”

“He’s an acquired taste,” Ezra tucked his hands behind his back and stepped into the room. “Youth may outrun the old, but not outwit.”

You smiled a little, “Earn what you can since everything’s for sale.”

Ezra chuckled, shaking his head. “And how true that is.” He gestured grandly towards your leg, “But oftentimes it comes with folly.”

“Is that how you ended up here?” You questioned, “I wanted to ask you last night, but with everything...”

He shrugged, dragging over a trunk and perching on the edge of it. “Five years ago I stood where you stand. They were looking for a new form of clean energy — lunaxium seemed like the answer.” Ezra pressed his tongue to the inside of his cheek, looking away from you then. “This place is filled with hidden dangers. Once you can put weight on your leg, I encourage you to leave.”

“You could come with me.”

Ezra’s gaze snapped towards you, “No.”

Your brows furrowed together, “Alright.”

“I need to change your bandages,” Ezra exhaled heavily as he rose from the trunk, he turned his back to you as he moved to retrieve the roll of gauze from a shelf.

Your eyes widened as you spotted a twisted scar that ran up the back of his neck into his hairline and vanished down the back of his shirt. You hadn’t noticed it last night while he fussed over you.

“Ezra, why can’t you leave?”

Ezra sighed heavily as he sat down on the foot of the bed, drawing your leg into his lap. “It’s home.” He answered simply, unwinding the bandages. “I know it doesn’t look like much, but this—“ He gestured around him. “It’s mine.”

“And you haven’t gone stir crazy after five years?” You questioned, grimacing as he prodded at your wound. “I was gone for two months on a solo mission once and I don’t think I’ve ever been so glad to Shiva again. Even if they did rob me blind during liar’s dice.”

“You get used to solitude.” Ezra glanced at you briefly, before turning his attention to the task at hand. He cleaned the area around the wound, before wrapping fresh bandaging around it. “Once or twice a year, someone like yourself arrives and…”

“And the mythical werewolf eats them?” You jested, sinking back against the mattress as he laid your leg back down on the bed.

“Something like that.” He offered dryly, eyeing at you warily. “There’s a full moon in eleven days. I would advise you not to wait around to discover whether or not it is simply lore.”

Your brows knit together and you sat up, arms curled around your waist. “You say that like there’s a chance it is true. You’ve been here for five years… What have you seen?”

“I have things I must attend to away from here.” Ezra said abruptly, “Rest and I’ll return in a few hours to escort you back to your transport.”

Ezra did little to assuage that sinking sensation that told you that maybe just maybe there were werewolves on Lykaios.

“Before you settled here, what did you do?” You questioned, leaning into Ezra’s side as he kept a firm hand coiled around you for support. “Your transport didn’t offer many clues, outside of your exquisite taste in literature.”

Ezra chuckled, looking at you from the corner of his eyes. “I was a harvester. A damn good one, at that. But seasons get hard, tides turn, allegiances bend. Fell into a bit of a snare with an associate and had to dig my way out.”

“I think we’ve all been there before,” You shook your head. “I enjoy gambling. Nasty habit.” You admitted. “I wasn’t meant to be the one to come to Lykaois. My friend — the one I mentioned before — had been assigned to this mission. They lost it in a dicey bet with me.”

“Dicey?”

“What gambler plays honorably?” You countered. “I cheated.”

“And this friend of yours was meant to come here instead?”

You nodded, “Tried to win it back right up until the moment I took off.” Shiva had been furious that they’d lost and even more furious knowing that you hadn’t played fair. “I’ve heard the stories about Lykaois and I wanted to find out if they were true.”

“One shouldn’t go looking for the stuff of myth.” Ezra drawled out. “In my erstwhile profession, I had a certain predilection for danger. It can be damning.”

“Look, I don’t mean to pry, but… is there a reason you can’t leave?” You stopped abruptly, causing him to stumble slightly. “My transport has life support for three. If there’s someone else you’ve got here — if that’s why you don’t want to leave.”

You could feel Ezra’s gaze bore into your skin.

“I’m not leaving.” You told him, when he made no attempt to answer your question. “I’ll take a day or two to rest, but I’m finishing what I’ve started.”

“It’s not safe.”

“Then why don’t you leave?” You pushed back. “If it’s so dangerous, why aren’t you trying to leave?”

Ezra worked his jaw slowly, before looking towards the sky and sighing heavily. “I’m not the only inhabitant on this moon. Some have been here for much longer than me and they…” He shook his head slowly.

You curled your fingers around his forearm, turning to stare at him. “They’re what?”

“Little lamb, be glad you were found by me and not one of them.” Ezra gritted out, holding your gaze. “Consider your luck and leave before it runs out.”

He wasn’t going to relent. Whatever secrets Lykaois held, he wasn’t going to reveal them to you.

“Will you at least let me give you a few of my books?” You questioned, squeezing his arm tight as you used him to support your weight.

“Depends on what you’re offering.” Ezra retorted, “But we need to keep moving. You need to get your leg up.”

Ezra was entranced with your small collection of books. Like a man starved, he snatched up every book — flipping through its pages with reverence. You couldn’t imagine spending five years without getting your hands on a new book.

You thought he would abruptly leave once he had you safely tucked into your transport — but he lingered.

“Nothing in the world is single; all things by a law divine in one another's being mingle. Why not I with thine?” Ezra read, the words falling from his tongue with a richness that your mind had never been able to give them.

“Shelley?” You questioned, tilting your head to try to get a look at the book he was holding.

“Indeed.” He closed the book and held it to his chest. “Our dear friend Percy had quite a way with words. Overshadowed — and rightfully so — by his beloved wife.”

“I haven’t been able to get my hands on Frankenstein. Not since I was maybe fourteen.” You admitted.

Ezra snapped his fingers, “You should’ve spoken up, little lamb. Mary has kept me company on many lonely nights.”

“I will part with Percy,” You told him, hobbling towards him on your wounded leg. “But only if you are willing to part with Mary.”

He hummed thoughtfully, still clutching the book to his chest. “I will have to consult with her.” Ezra told you with a soft smile, “I have no doubt that she is as tired of my company as anyone would be.”

You reached out and covered his hand with yours, “I will let you reunite the couple for just one night. But you have to promise me that you’ll bring me Frankenstein.”

Ezra’s gaze lowered to where your hand was on his, a faint color rising in his cheeks. “Promise me you’ll leave once books have been exchanged.” He covered your hand with his other hand, squeezing gently. “If you stay, I won’t be able to protect you.”

“Protect me from what?”

“Me.” Ezra breathed out, his dark eyes setting on yours. “I will bring you lunaxium that you can take back to whomever hired you. Warn them from this place and forget it.”

“It’s not that simple.” You found yourself leaning into him for support, “I have to complete testing and analysis. Reports. I can’t just take back a lump of lunaxium and hope for the best.”

A growl like sound rose up in the back of his throat, “Then I’ll do the reports for you. I know more than I ever cared to know of lunaxium and this godsforsaken rock. You are not to venture beyond this transport.”

You pulled your hand away from his, “I’ll do as I please, thank you.”

Ezra gritted his teeth, “Do you have a death wish? Now isn’t the time for obstinance. Not this close to a full moon.”

You blinked at him, “Are you…?”

His expression faltered, fingers twitching against the book before he held it out to you, “Keep it and leave tonight. Please.”

“No.” You shook your head, “I want to know.”

“Among these stories,” He gestured to your shelf of books, “I’m afraid it’s an unimpressive tale.”

“I’m always looking to hear new stories.” You told him, grimacing as you put too much weight down on your leg. “Shit.”

“Please sit,” Ezra urged, moving swiftly to curl his arm around your waist as he guided you towards the makeshift sofa you’d made from a weapon crate and oversized pillows.

He sank down onto the opposite end, hands covering his face as he let out a heavy sigh. “Five years ago, I was just like you. Starry-eyed, devil-may-care.”

“Is that how you see me?”

“Yes.” He glanced at you from the corner of his eye. “I came here looking for lunaxium like every ill-fated prospector before me. The rumors, the legend, the myth — they made for a tantalizing adventure.” His expression sobered as he stared straight ahead. “It’s painful. Muscles tear, bones shatter, skin stretches.”

Your heart clenched and your stomach roiled at the thought.

“They say the first was a corruption. There are wolves among us, lurking beyond the trees — fearful in their own right of what looms above them. Someone played with fate and made a monster that even Shelley couldn’t have imagined. Lunaxium has no effect on humans, but it calms the beast for awhile.”

Without even thinking about it, you carefully shifted onto your good knee, letting your leg rest over the side of the sofa as you leaned towards Ezra. “This scar.” You said as you gingerly brushed your fingers over the back of his neck.

He tensed, fingers clenching and unclenching in his lap. “I was attacked on my second night here.” He confessed, exhaling slowly. “Forgive me, little lamb. It has been a right smart spell since I have felt another’s touch.”

“You shouldn’t have to live like that, Ezra.” You whispered, playing with the hair at the nape of his neck. “Isolating yourself… Maybe there’s a cure.”

“I can’t leave Lykaois.” He admitted, closing his eyes as he relaxed under the gentle touch of your fingers. “We’re reliant on the lunaxium and whatever this moon is cursed with. I would go mad.”

“Has anyone ever tried to leave?”

“There are stories.” Ezra turned to look at you. “I appreciate your offer. If it weren’t for what I’ve become, I would accept it without hesitation. But I would rather perish in the solitude of my transport than lose my mind somewhere among the stars.”

You trailed your fingers from his hair, along the curve of his jaw. “I could come back.”

“And put yourself in danger twice over?”

“I put myself in danger every time I venture out on a harvest with a ragtag team that might turn their weapons on me. Life is a risk, Ezra.” You held his gaze as you brushed your thumb over his bottom lip. “I can be your connection to the world you’ve lost. Name it, anything — I’ll bring it back here to you.”

“It’s dangerous.” Ezra seemed compelled by the offer. “The others… they’ve been here long enough to lose what’s left of their humanity.”

“Then protect me.” You brushed your fingers through the hair that fell against his forehead.

“There’s so much I miss,” He admitted, his expression matching the way his voice broke as he held your gaze. “Five years… it’s a lifetime to spend alone.” He curled his fingers around your hand, rubbing his thumb against the center of your palm. “I don’t want you to risk yourself for me.”

“I’m not afraid.” You told him, and as foolish as it was — you weren’t.

Ezra’s gaze flickered between your eyes and your lips and your breath caught somewhere in the back of your throat when he started to lean towards you.

He wasn’t the only one who had gone years without knowing a lover’s touch. You played things close to the chest, avoided anything that could ensnare you — except for him.

For all of his warm charm, there was an underlying current of danger that had you feeling like a moth to the flame. He was a monster. A creature made from a curse you hadn’t even believed in.

“Ezra.” You breathed out, leaning in until your nose brushed against his.

He petted his fingers over your cheek as his breath mingled with yours, “You’re hurt.”

“It’s just my leg.” Your lips were a hair’s breadth away from his, “I think we both need this.”

Ezra curled his fingers around the back of your head as his lips crashed against yours. You groaned against his lips and his tongue took the opportunity to slip into your mouth, curling against yours.

He kissed like a man possessed, desperate and all consuming. He hauled you into his lap like you weighed nothing, his hands clawing at your back, your ass, your arms — anywhere he could reach.

He was starved for a connection like this. You had sensed it in the way he gravitated towards you, the way he lingered, the gentle touches as he mended your leg.

You hissed softly as you shifted your weight in his lap, trying not to put pressure on your leg, but it was hard not to in that position.

Ezra cupped your cheek, drawing your focus to his face as his other hand curled tight around your hip. “Do you trust me, little lamb?” He questioned, waiting until you nodded before he started to guide you back lengthways on the sofa.

You scraped your fingernails over his scalp as you slid your fingers through his hair. His knee slotted in between your thighs as he draped himself over you.

Greedy hands grabbed at the back of his shirt, pulling it up to reveal new skin to touch. He was touch starved. Every brush of your fingers against his untouched skin made him rut against your thigh.

Ezra’s mouth worked down the column of your throat, teeth lightly scraping as his tongue darted out to taste your skin. His own hands sliding under your shirt, skimming over your ribs.

You’d missed the feeling of large, rough hands against your skin. It had been more than a few cycles since you’d fallen into bed with a man. A year, maybe two, since you’d been with anyone at all.

“Ezra.” You breathed out as his mouth moved over your covered breast, his tongue seeking out your nipple through the soft fabric.

His eyes snapped to meet yours, pupils blown with arousal as he let out a ragged breath. “I can smell you.” Ezra murmured, his tongue flicking out to tease the peak of your nipple, the fabric darkened from his mouth. “You’re soaked, aren’t you little lamb?” He questioned, a hand wandering down your side, curling around your thigh.

You felt your chest and cheeks burn with a heady mix of arousal and embarrassment. You were slick. You could feel your underwear clinging to your cunt, desire fueled solely by the man crowded onto the sofa with you.

“In my bed,” Ezra whispered, untangling the hand you had in his hair. He brought your hand to his lips, inhaling deeply before wrapping his lips around your first two fingers.

An unabashed moan escaped you, your hips lifting off the sofa as you ground yourself against his knee. You should’ve been ashamed — he had known that you’d tried to put yourself to sleep by burying your face in his pillow and your hand between your thighs.

Ezra released your fingers with a wet pop, his nostrils flaring as he held your gaze. “You didn’t come, did you? Did la petite mort evade you?”

“Yes.” You whispered, tracing your dampened fingers over his scruffy cheek. “I was so close, but it wasn’t enough.”

He smirked at you as he pressed his knee firmly against you. “May I?”

“Please.” You nodded, sinking back against the sofa as Ezra moved down your body. Skilled fingers worked at the fastenings of your pants, peeling the heavy fabric down your thighs before tossing them aside.

He inhaled deeply, breathing in the scent of you, “Sit up, little lamb.” Ezra told you, sinking onto the ground in front of you. “Look at you.” He drawled as your thighs parted, your injured leg draped over his shoulder.

You gasped quietly as he stroked his thumb over the damp spot on your underwear, barely brushing over your clit — but even that mere touch was enough to make you tremble.

“Did you think of me?” Ezra questioned, peeling the fabric to the side, sweeping his fingers between your slick folds.

“Maybe.” You retorted, biting down on your bottom lip as you watched him lick your arousal from his fingers.

A quiet growl rose up the back of his throat as he leaned in between your thighs. He held your underwear to the side as he lapped at you, his tongue sweeping between your folds.

Your fingers slid into his hair, grip tightening as he traced the tip of his tongue over your clit.

“Do you need these?” Ezra mumbled, tugging at your underwear.

“No. No.” You shook your head, pitching your hips towards him.

Ezra effortlessly tore away the crotch of your underwear, his mouth descending upon your tender flesh. His tongue delved between your folds, thrusting into your slick core. He grabbed at your thigh, holding you steady as he turned his attention to your clit.

You cried out as he wrapped his lips around that throbbing bundle of nerves. He sucked lightly at it, swirling his tongue over it as his fingers pressed into your cunt.

He didn’t let up, his tongue working over your clit as he worked his fingers in and out of you. His fingers were deliciously thick, dragging in and out of you, brushing over that sweet spot within you that made your entire core quake.

Ezra was good.

His name was heavy on your tongue as you shattered, your inner walls clenching around his fingers, thighs trapping his face between your legs.

“I need…” You panted out, breath hitching as he curled his fingers within you. “Fuck!” You shouted, nearly ripping his hair out as you felt a dam break as your vision blurred from the sudden burst of molten desire. Ezra was undeterred, his tongue sweeping up every drop of you.

“More.” You urged, writhing beneath him. “Ezra, please.”

“I might hurt you.” Ezra warned you, dragging his hands down your thighs as he nipped at the soft flesh of your inner thigh. “I don’t… I don’t know if I control myself.”

“Forget about my leg,” You tugged at his hair. “And fuck me.”

Ezra squeezed your hip and barked out, “On your knees.”

You waited until he let go of you before you gracelessly flopping over on the sofa, knees planted firmly on the cushion as you grabbed at the metal shaft that made up the back of the sofa.

“You smell so fucking good like this,” Ezra breathed out, hands sliding over your bare hips as he crowded close to you. “It’s been so long.” He pressed his lips to the back of your neck, his breath hot against your skin.

“Same.” You laughed breathlessly, reaching behind you to grab at his hair. “I don’t break easy.”

“You’ve never fucked a werewolf before.” Ezra murmured, curling his fingers loosely around your throat, keeping you pinned back against his chest as his cock slid between your oversensitive folds. “Have you?”

“Not yet.” You gritted out, curling your fingers around his forearm, thankful that he was able to keep you upright. He was strong, but the fingers wrapped around your throat were gentle.

The head of his cock caught against your entrance and Ezra’s hips bucked forward, pressing into you.

You moaned, completely caught up in the sensation of his thick cock filling you. The stretch was just this side of too much — especially in this angle.

Ezra pulled back, his cock nearly slipping from you entirely before slamming back into you. His thrusts were brutal — all that strength and power that was hidden in his wiry build. He was reaching spots no one else had ever hit.

He released his tight grip on your hip, slipping his hand between your thighs to stroke your aching clit. You clenched around him in response, making him feel even thicker as he drove into you. Again and again.

Your nails bit into his forearm, leaving crescent moon shapes in his skin as you clung to him. You were so close, perched right on the precipice of another orgasm.

“Come.” Ezra’s fingers curled around your jaw, his lips close to your ear. “I want to feel you come. The sweet clench of your cunt around my cock.” He mouthed a row of kisses down your neck, growling against the crook of your neck as your body obeyed him.

He didn’t relent, even as your body pulsed around his cock. “Fuck.” He grunted out, his teeth scraping your skin.

“Ezra.” You moaned out, your eyes falling closed as you basked in the overwhelming sensation of him fucking into you.

His grip loosened at your jaw as he started to slide out of you, but you reached behind you, grabbing at his ass — desperately trying to keep him right there.

Something snapped. Some frayed cord of control that he had been clinging to.

You grabbed at the back of the sofa for support as he roughly grabbed at your hips. He bottomed out once, twice, three times before he growled out your name and came.

Ezra curled his arm around your waist, keeping you pinned to him as he rearranged the two of you. He kept the softening length of his cock buried within you as he sank down onto the sofa with you resting back against his chest.

“You’re very strong,” You mumbled, scratching your nails through the hair on his forearm as you looked down at the arm he had tightly curled around you.

He huffed, a throaty chuckle escaping him as he rested his forehead against your shoulder. “One perk of this damnable curse.” He brushed his thumb over your stomach gently.

“Is the sex a perk too?” You questioned, closing your eyes as you leaned back against him. “Because, I’m not sure I want to leave at all now.”

“I wouldn’t know.” Ezra kissed your shoulder. “I’ve kept my distance. From the others.” He sighed heavily. “You don’t want to become like me, little lamb.”

“I never said that I do.” You pointed out.

“No, I suppose you didn’t.” He shifted beneath you, whispering a quick apology when you whimpered at the movement.

“I’m okay.” You promised, trailing your fingers up the side of his thigh. “Overwhelmed.”

“Two days.”

“Hmm?”

“You can safely stay for two more days, but then you must leave. It gets harder to maintain this the nearer we draw to the full moon.” Ezra told you, nuzzling at the crook of your neck.

“Two days.” You agreed solemnly.

Ezra returned just after nightfall with a stack of research notes and his well-loved copy of Frankenstein.

“Did you know she dedicated herself to getting her husband’s works published.” You mused, looking up from the notes on lunaxium to watch Ezra as he consumed Percy’s book of poems.

“Hmm?”

“Mary.” You explained. “As accomplished as she was, she also worked to ensure her husband’s writing would be read.”

“Indeed.” Ezra tucked the red ribbon into the page he was reading and sat it aside. “I believe their romance blossomed on her mother’s grave, no? A rather odd pair.”

“His works are dreadfully romantic, for such a macabre couple.” You pointed out, flipping over another page of notes, copying down a comment on your own notations.

“The sunlight claps the earth, and the moonbeams kiss the sea: what are all these kissings worth, if thou kiss not me?” Ezra recited, drumming his fingers against the cover. “I had forgotten that was dear Percy.” He sank back against the wall, pushing fingers through his unruly hair. “I miss the sea.”

“I’d bring it back in a bottle if I could.” You told him, chewing on your bottom lip. “I meant what I said before. I can come back.”

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep, moonbeam.” He let the word slip off his tongue like it was sugar-sweet. “You will grow bored of the to-and-fro.” He pursed his lips. “Though I am much appreciative of the offer. You should go back to your friends.”

“I have one friend in this galaxy Ezra and oftentimes I’m certain they want to ring my neck.” You shook your head. “You deserve to have a friend too.”

“I will never be able to leave,” He reminded you. “And you can never stay.”

“There’s still an in-between.” Your brows rose hopefully. “A new moon, perhaps? When the moon is there, but not visible.”

“You’re persistent.”

“I’ve been told that before.” You smirked a little. “What would you like me to bring back when I return after the full moon?”

Ezra exhaled heavily, pinching at the bridge of his nose. “I would be forever indebted to you if you might get your hands on a copy of War & Peace. Dreadfully long, but I hunger for some longevity in my literature.”

“Done.”

He snapped his fingers, “Cheese.”

You arched a brow. “I have cheese.”

“Real cheese?” Ezra corrected. “That wretched aero cheese is nauseating.” He blanched, watching you as you rose from your seat.

You hobbled out of the room, into the corridor where the hyperfreeze unit was mounted in the interior wall beside the coolant system. You returned moments later with a block of Reggianito.

“You’re in luck.” You said, sinking down onto the floor beside him. “I have a hook-up on Sector Block G7.”

Ezra broke off a piece and popped it into his mouth, sinking back against the wall with a satisfied moan. “It will be safe for you to return in a fortnight.”

You slapped his leg playfully, “You’ll let me return if I bring cheese?”

He grinned and continued. “If you come then, you’ll have a fortnight to stay, should you choose to.”

“That should give me enough time to find War & Peace for you and settle my debts.”

Ezra took another bite of cheese, before passing it back to you. “Do they still make those honeysticks?” He questioned. “Little tubes with honey collected from…” He squinted, “I can’t remember the planet.”

“I can look.” You wrapped the cheese back in the cloth, before sitting it aside. “How will you be when I return?” You questioned.

“A little worse for wear,” Ezra shrugged a shoulder, resting his hand on your thigh. “The lunaxium helps.”

“Is it… is it like a drug?”

“I suppose.” Ezra dragged his teeth over his bottom lip. “There’s this hunger,” He explained, knocking his fist against his sternum. “This clawing sensation. It gets worse closer to the full moon. I lose my mind.” He shook his head. “I tried to wean myself off two years ago. Just to feel something.”

“What happened?” You rested your hand over his.

“It triggered the beast.” He answered with a frown. “Middle of the cycle and violent.” Ezra tilted his head to look at you. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You won’t.” You shook your head slowly, interlacing your fingers with his. “Maybe this will be good for you. Help you keep your humanity.”

“How so?”

“The others, the ones that were already here.” Your brows furrowed together as you turned to stare at him, “Did they lose their humanity because they lost touch with other humans?”

Ezra blinked, “You, moonbeam, are a clever one.”

“I read a lot.” You smiled at him, “And you’re in luck — I have always loved monster stories.”

#pedro pascal x reader #ezra x reader #ezra (prospect)#ezra (prospect) x reader

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viv-writes-badly · 4 years ago

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Tics

Relationships : Anxcietmus

AU: pre-AA

Warnings: tics, self harm, death ment., cooking, food ment., Christmas ment.

Summary: Virgil and Remus have tics. Janus insists that his boyfriends bake christmas cookies with him.

Notes: I do not personally experience tics to this extent so please correct me if I am wrong <3

AO3

It was nearing the Christmas season, which was why Janus had insisted all the dark sides baked cookies together, a tradition they had always made a point of keeping despite the challenges that came with it. The first challenge was getting all three of them to decide on a time. Janus always wanted to do it in the morning, but it was rare that Virgil was awake and functioning properly before 11 at the earliest, and by then Remus had usually gotten bored and disappeared into the imagination. But eventually they always worked it out, usually ending up being around lunchtime as they could then have lunch as the cookies were in the oven. The next challenge was significantly bigger. Something about the task of baking, or even cooking in general, set off Remus’s and Virgil’s tics. The whole process becomes a lot more messy and dangerous when uncontrolled movements are involved. That’s not to say that they don’t have a good time, it’s easily all of their favorite tradition, it’s just that it takes a lot more preparation than it usually would. Even the organisation of the event had set Remus’s off, the random yelling of disturbing thoughts and jerk of his body to dangerous objects increasing significantly at the thought of the next day's events. And to those that knew him well, Virgil’s had started to act up too, fingers twitching, spine suddenly straightening every now and then as he sat on the couch, tipping him backwards slightly, a few facial tics occurring too. However, Virgil was much more comfortable and practiced with suppressing the involuntary actions. By the time they were all gathered together the tics had only kicked up, Virgil struggling to keep them down as he leaned against the wall so he didn’t constantly fall. Despite this, they managed to get past hand washing with little more than a shout of “Disease!” that the anxious side couldn’t suppress. Next was measuring out ingredients. From years of experience they had discovered that a separate bowl should be used when measuring things out, as more than once had the duke dumped an entire bag of sugar or flour into the mix. “A spoonful of sugar” followed by a whistle sounded out as Remus scooped up the sugar before it was promptly thrown up into his own face. He scrunched up his face as the rough granules hit his skin before laughing, as did Virgil and Janus, Vigils head twitching to the side ever so slightly. Slowly the trio managed to get a bowl of dry ingredients and next was to add the eggs, which always proved to be an ordeal. This recipe called for two eggs so Janus decided that rather than crack the eggs like he usually did he’d hand them off to the others, mostly so they could laugh about how one was inevitably crushed. And one of them was. Remus's egg which was smashed against the counter as he screamed “dead baby!” Virgil’s lasted a little bit longer, as a tic in his spine sent him to the ground, but he felt it coming on soon enough to drop the egg on the counter, creating only a crack in the egg. As Janus finished cracking the eggs, Remus reached down to help Virgil up with his egg free hand, and then promptly smeared the egg across the other's face, sending the pair into a fit of giggles. Janus simply shook his head before wiping his boyfriends clean of egg using a tea towel. Soon enough they were rolling out the dough, happily chatting as they worked. Remus’ always ended up with a slightly lumper dough than the rest of them as he bashed the rolling pin onto it, partially because of his tics and partially because he found it fun. The mood quickly declined though, when Virgil’s rolling pin ended up smacking the back of his head to the point where even Remus stopped to look over at the other who was near tears from the pain of the hit. Quickly he was wrapped in Remus’s arms, ignoring the mess on his front as Janus gently pressed an ice pack to where a small bump was already forming. ~character limit reached, please continue on AO3, sorry <3~

#anxcietmus #anxciet #anxceitmus #anxceit #dukexiety #intruxiety #sanders sides virgil #virgil sanders #remus sanders #janus sanders #ts remus #ts virgil #ts janus #viv writes

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beebubbly · 4 years ago

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AN~ So I've never written something like this before and I don't know how this has turned out...

A huge thank you to @jamespotterthefirst, for pre-reading this and her kind words and tips. You're amazing! 💕

AU where the MC died in the attack. Pairing: Ethan x F!Mc Casey Valentine.

Warning: destructive behaviour, mentions of death.

If You Ever Come Back

He had failed.

He had failed and broke his promise to her that she would be okay, that it wouldn't be the last time.

The apartment was cold and dark but Ethan didn't care, he couldn't feel it, he couldn't feel anything but numbness that her death brought.

Drowning his pain with alcohol didn't work, it was as if she had burned herself into every part of him, sober or drunk. Nothing helped ease the hole she had left.

In a fit of anger Ethan stood and threw the glass of bourbon at the wall, where it shattered into a thousand tiny pieces.

But it wasn't enough.

With a cry of anger he flipped his coffee table and it made a loud crash, the glass top cracked slightly. Ethan bent down and picked up one of the books and began pulling it apart, ripping the pages from the spine.

She was gone.

Casey was gone and there was no bringing her back. No second chances, no telling her just how much he cared for her.

She would never know.

Ethan fell to his knees breathing deeply, he wanted to cry, but the tears wouldn't come. The range he felt moments ago, faded down into that empty, hollow feeling.

He had been holding her in his arms, watching helplessly through the hazmat suit as she closed her eyes falling asleep, but never to wake again.

It was all his fault, he couldn't save her in time. He should have seen something, anything, to stop Travis and the attack. He shouldn't have allowed her to convince him to bring Ed to Edenbrook.

She would still be alive.

The others had been working on a cure, and they had found one. Just too late for Casey. When her friends had excitedly come to the window, tired and proud he couldn't look at their faces as he broke the news.

The cry of horror and pain from Dr Trinh, Sienna, would forever haunt him. He vagly remembered how he had watched the young doctor collapse into her friends arms.

Everything else was black, he didn't remember what happened after he broke the news. He wasn't even sure what was happening now.

A soft knock at the door filled his mind, but he couldn't move. His body refused to move and he was too tired to fight.

"Dr Ramsey?" A small voice sniffed through the door. "It's Sienna"

Ethan's eyes moved to the door, but he remained in place, his throat tightened with emotion and he couldn't speak. He wanted to tell her to leave, he wanted to yell.

"Dr Ramsey?" Sienna called softly. "Dr Ramsey I'm coming in"

The door opened slowly, and the petite doctor stepped into the apartment. Ethan could see her face was red and puffy even from here. Her eyes took in the scene before her before she carefully crossed the room.

Ethan remained silent as the young doctor crouched down in front of him, her red eyes filled with unshed tears, and he could see the pain and pity shining in them.

Usually, Ethan would scoff at the idea of someone pitying him but he couldn't bring himself to care.

"I know" Sienna whispered to the broke attending.

Ethan remained silent, Sienna understood his pain. Though the elder doctor had only shared that he and Casey were more than colleagues a few days ago, she knew better.

She had seen him leave their apartment the morning after the trial. She had seen how devastated Casey had been when he left for the Amazon. If that wasn't enough to convince the young doctor, the small touches, the longing gazes the pair sent one another when one wasn't looking told her.

Sienna carefully moved forward and wrapped her arms around his neck. Ethan didn't move, not to stop her but he didn't accept the hug either.

It felt strange, it wasn't warm or as comforting as when Casey hugged him. But he wasn't in love with Sienna.

He barley remembered the last time he was truly happy. It must have been the night of Casey's trial, they had been laying in her bed together.

Casey's eyes were fixed on his face, a strand of her soft hair obscured her face, he tentivly reached out and brushed it from her face. His fingertips lightly trailed over her cheek, her skin soft under the rough pads.

"Can you stay the night?" she whispered a soft blissful smile on her face.

"I can't" he shook his head ruefully. Casey nodded in understanding.

Ethan let his eyes roam over her face, from this distance he could see the light dusting of freckles on her face. Her bare shoulders had a few dotted here and there. Without realising what he was doing, he gently trail his finger from one freckle to another, drawing an unknown pattern on her skin.

"You keep doing that, I'll fall asleep" Casey breathed out, her eyes fluttering shut.

Ethan allowed himself a rare true smile, reserved just for her as he continued his pattern. Casey wriggled closer to him, resting her head on his chest.

His hand moved from her shoulder and into her hair, where he soothingly ran his fingers through the soft stands. A few moments later, soft snores filled the room.

Ethan looked down at the sleeping woman in his arms. He pulled her tighter against him as he placed a soft kiss to the top of her head.

He didn't want to move, not when he was so blissfully happy and he knew it would be over the moment he left her bed.

Just a little longer, he convinced himself.

"We'll get through this, for her- for Danny too" Sienna whispered bringing Ethan back to the present sharply.

Ethan wanted to tell her she was wrong, that nothing would stop the pain he was feeling. That he couldn't get through this because Casey wasn't there to help him.

But he couldn't.

Sienna moved away from him and stood, she began cleaning the mess he had made by picking up the papers. He could feel her presence leave the room, to return a few moments after with a dust pan and brush, for the broken glass.

She worked in silence, her eyes flittering to the attending ever so often. But he remained in the same state. On his knees, a blank expression on his face, but she could see the broken hidden in his eyes.

Once she had finished Sienna headed back to stand in front of Ethan. Her hands fell to his shoulders.

"You should sleep, or have something to eat" she whispered.

Nothing.

Sienna took a deep breath and gave a small nod.

"I'm going to go, I'll stop by tomorrow with some food, maybe you'll be able to manage something then"

Sienna turned and headed to the door, her small hand rested on the handle as she glanced back at the broken man.

"We'll get through this" she repeated quietly before she turned and left.

Ethan was once again left in the darkness and he realised he preferred it that way.

Casey Valentine, the love of his life was gone and she was never coming back.

#choices #ethan ramsey #ethan x mc #open heart

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angryschnauzer · 4 years ago

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Superior Specimen - Chapter 7

Summary: One night when you are following the Archaeology tag on instagram you stumbled across a fun looking dig… and an even more interesting Paleontologist who soon follows you back. Over the following weeks you start chatting and a friendship soon grows.

Relationship: AU Henry Cavill x Female Reader (No race or body shape mentioned)

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6

Warnings: Slow Burn, NSFW, 18+, Mutual Masturbation, Phone Sex, Drunken Piggy Back Rides, Oral Sex (Female Recieving), Drama, Theft, Amateur Heroics, Hospital Visit, Shower Sex, Oral Sex (Male Receiving), Blow Job, Fingering, Lavish lifestyle, Henry is loaded, The Shard, Expensive Gifts, Sixty nine, Unprotected Sex, Multiple Orgasms, Public Sex, Exhibitionism, Angst, Argument, Jealousy,

I do not operate a tag list, but please follow @angryschnauzerwrites and put that blog onto notifications, as you will then be notified whenever i post something new.

I don’t have a masterlist, but all my works are on AO3, link here. Usually i post oneshots to Tumblr and AO3, and multichapters exclusively to AO3, but as this is my first henry story and its going to be a short series, i’ll post to both places.

Chapter 7

When you emerged from the bathroom Henry was just coming out of the kitchen area, two bottles of water in hand before he opened one and handed it to you;

“Drink”

“Thank you” you took it from him and lifted it to your mouth, not realising how dry your throat had grown from all the exertion. As you drank in silence you couldn’t help but to let your eyes stray over his exquisite body, from his broad chest to his narrow waist, to his thick cock hanging heavy between his enormous thighs. You hadn’t realised how long - and obviously - you’d been staring, but when he held his arms out and span slowly around with a smirk on his face you realised it hadn’t been in the tiniest bit subtle;

“Like what you see Princess?”

Stepping forwards you wrapped your arms around his waist, resting your chin on his chest as you smiled at him;

“You know I do”

With a sly grin you pressed the cold-water bottle to his naked ass and he let out a high-pitched squeal and leapt forwards, knocking you to your ass onto the soft plush carpet. Propping yourself up on your elbows you grinned at him as he towered over you, a look of dark amusement on his face;

“Oh, you are in for it now Princess”

You let out a squeal as he suddenly swooped down and threw you over his shoulder before stalking back to the bed and tossing you onto the king-size mattress. You squealed and laughed as he was suddenly upon you, tickling your sides in a relentless fashion as you writhed and wriggled beneath him. With your legs entangled you were soon rolling around, skin sliding against skin and you could feel him getting hard against your belly. In a moment of weakness you were able to twist your body enough so that suddenly you were on top, straddling his waist. You caught his hands in yours and intertwined your fingers together, your chests heaving from exertion and laughter.

You leant forwards and pressed a kiss to his lips, and that’s when you felt it. You weren’t sure if henry knew what you were about to do, but as you knelt back upright and rolled your hips just right, you slowly sank down onto his hard length that had notched just right at your entrance when you’d kissed him. His eyes went wide in surprise, his jaw hung open before the feeling of your hot soaked walls completely enveloping him was too much to process and his eyes fluttered shut;

“Oh… oh-hoh… fuck…”

His lip trembled as you slowly rolled your hips, arching your spine before straightening. With your fingers still linked you moved, riding him slowly, spelling out letters and words with your hips to rub him just the right way to make him go crazy. Out of all the times he had known how to work your body and drive you to an intense orgasm, now it was your turn. With a roll and curve of your hips you felt his fingers tighten against yours, his mouth moving but unable to get out the words he wanted to say, before finally finding his voice;

“Hu-holy… fuck... Princess, I-if you keep going I’m gonna cum”

“That’s the plan…”

“But you…”

“Shhh… don’t you worry about me Hen, just enjoy it”

His body relaxed when he realised what you wanted to do, that you weren’t concerned about your own orgasm, and instead wanted to drive him completely crazy. With a swirl of your hips you started to spell out certain letters with your hips. You closed your eyes and concentrated on spelling and with each letter Henry’s moans and cries got more heated. On the second to last letter he let out a high pitched whine and his hands flew to your hips, the tell-tale tremble where your bodies were joined, and as you swayed your hips from right to left to right to left it was the trigger and his back arched, pumping you full of another load of his thick seed.

He wrapped his hand around the back of your neck and pulled you down to his lips, kissing you before you settled onto his chest, your head resting on his shoulder as you held him in the afterglow of his orgasm. When he finally spoke, his voice was barely a whisper;

“Thank you”

“Umm, you’re welcome?”

“No, really, thank you. It’s been a long time since a lover has solely given me pleasure without expecting it in return… which I absolutely will do, but…”

In that moment you felt for him, you knew that he knew he was a skilled lover, but when you have a skill sometimes people can take it for granted. You went to speak but in that moment your stomach rumbled, and you giggled as he ran a hand softly over your back;

“You are feeling hungry again Princess?”

“We did work up quite an appetite… do you think it’s too late for room service?” you propped yourself up and smiled at him.

“Go check out the fridge… I would move but you’ve rendered me useless for the next few minutes with that pussy from heaven…”

You delicately shifted off him, feeling his now soft member slip out of you, and you stood on wobbly legs, walking bow legged to the kitchen as you felt Henry’s cum slowly coating your inner thighs. Bending to look into the fridge you let out a squeal when you saw the large plate decorated with miniatures of all the restaurants famous desserts.

“Bring two spoons!” you heard Henry call from the bed and you smiled as you did as he asked, carrying the plate in one hand and the cutlery in another as you made your way through the room lit by a single lamp at the side of the bed that he’d switched on and settled the plate on the bed beside Henry as he sat propped up against the plush pillows. You handed him a spoon and grinned;

“Okay so we’re not going to just eat these off each other’s bodies?”

“Uh-huh… you see this one?” he swiped his spoon halfway through what looked like a chocolate cheesecake; “This one has cocoa nibs in… they get caught in my chest hair”

He lifted the spoon to your lips and you moaned as the rich Ecuadorian cocoa hit your taste buds, before grinning and talking with your mouth full;

“So, you’ve done the body cheesecake eating thing with someone else?” you cocked an eyebrow, before your eyes went a little wider when you saw him start to blush and you stopped chewing.

“Not exactly…” he took a deep breath and smiled sheepishly; “I was staying here last year - my Air B&B wasn’t ready - and I ordered room service. I had fucked up my shoulder on a dig so couldn’t be bothered to wear a shirt… and proceeded to drop an enormous spoonful of cheesecake on my chest”

You let out a burst of laughter, struggling to keep the chocolatey mess in your mouth as he continued;

“So not only was it super cold, it got caught in all the hairs… and my dominant arm was fucked up so when I went to pick it out I missed the plate with the crumby base and dropped it on the floor… then proceeded to step on it and leave a trail of brown stains across this carpet to the bathroom that looked like I’d trodden shit around the suite”

Your eyes watered from trying hard not to laugh and spray cheesecake over him, but the thought of him having to speak to the concierge about another ‘its-not-shit-its-cheesecake’ incident was too much… thankfully Henry could see your predicament, quickly reaching to the plate to grab a paper napkin that had been set on it and handing it to you so you could spit the cheesecake out.

The pair of you picked at the desserts, feeding each other, talking and laughing, before you stifled a yawn;

“I need some sleep… you’ve worn me out”

“Let me get rid of this” Henry grabbed the empty plate and started towards the kitchen area; “And then I’ll see about sorting you out Princess”

Standing you smiled as you headed towards the bathroom, your body and mind in that pleasant glow of pre-sleep, absentmindedly calling out to him;

“I love you to pieces Henry but you are not coming near this pussy again tonight, she needs time to recover… I’m gonna pee then fall asleep in your arms in that massive bed”

With your back turned you weren’t aware of Henry’s reaction to your words, how he’d picked up on your casual use of Love, and that he knew it came from the heart.

By the time you returned to the bedroom Henry had lowered the blinds and was laying in bed, the covers to his waist as you climbed in beside him, curling up to his wide chest as he wrapped an arm around you and pressed a kiss to your forehead. You were asleep within minutes; however Henry was wide awake, his mind racing, processing something that had never been said to him before.

You woke to find Henry’s arm draped over your waist, his chest to your back as the cracks of daylight peeked in through the miniscule gaps in the blinds that covered the windows. You shifted a little and he rolled silently onto his back, the sheets draped over his lower body and you could tell he was sound asleep. Sitting on the side of the bed you reached for the water bottle only to find it empty, and with a longing glance at sleeping beauty you pushed yourself to your feet in the search for a drink.

Twenty minutes later you emerged from the shower, having found your lower body to be a sticky uncomfortable mess upon waking, you spied Henry’s shirt from the night before draped over a chair and pulled it on, smiling at the scent of his aftershave as your body heated the luxury cotton as it nestled against your naked body. Quietly making a cup of coffee you peered in at Henry, still snoring away in the massive bed. Letting him rest you took a seat in the dining area, resting your legs on the glass table as you checked your phone, snapping a shot from your hip that showed Henry’s shirt tails draped over your thigh, your steaming mug of coffee, and the London skyline in the background.

One Instagram upload later you were quietly enjoying your coffee as you checked your messages when one caught your eye, from your roommate. As you read it your heart sank. Two years ago when you’d been hunting for a flat share in London you’d been introduced to a friend of a friend, a photographer that had a flat in Fulham and was never home, as he was a Paparazzi and travelled for 9 months of the year. He kept a place in London that was in essence a storage flat, but for security he liked to have a roommate. The last person had moved out and he needed someone to take on the spare room. Rent would be low by London standards, and for most of the year you’d have the place to yourself. Well, now he had decided to make the move to LA permanent, and wanted to touch base with you regarding how you and he should go about sorting the flat… and he was giving you first refusal to see if you wanted to buy it.

You set the phone down on the table and stared out of the window, a million and one things racing through your mind… did you earn enough to get a mortgage? Would it just be easier to move out and find another place? You were chewing on a fingernail when a large pair of hands slid down your shoulders and slipped inside the open shirt to cup your breasts, whilst the owner of said hands bent over you and kissed you;

“Morning”

“You look delicious in my shirt Princess”

Henry's voice was rough from sleep, immediately ridding the previous problem from your mind and it sent a jolt of arousal straight to your core;

“You looked pretty damn good in it too last night”

Turning you stood and wrapped your arms around his wide shoulders, sighing into the tongue filled kiss as he lifted you and set your ass down on the cool glass of the table. Slowly he unfastened the few buttons that were holding the shirt together, before letting the garment fall open to expose your naked body. He ran his hand down your body, cupping your sex before sliding two fingers through your folds;

“You’ve showered”

“I have… I was sticky…”

“Mmmn… I’ll just have to make you sticky again”

He angled his hips and you felt his morning wood press against your entrance, his thumb rubbing against your clit as he slowly pushed into your soaked channel. You were expecting him to just fuck you on the table, but when he lifted you and wrapped your legs around his waist, you let out a cry of surprise before he walked the few steps to the massive windows and pressed you against them;

“I want all of London to see how beautiful you are when you cum, how well you take my dick…”

He started to fuck you hard against the glass, your head resting against the cool surface as you clung to his shoulders, and with each delicious flick of his hips he was driving you rapidly towards orgasm, his thickness filling you completely. You were almost there when he paused, and it brought your focus back to his face, surprise to see he wasn’t looking at you, instead his attention was outside. You following his gaze and let out a shriek: the window cleaning crew were hanging from their gantry, squeegees in hand and jaws agape as they watched Henry railing you against the window they were cleaning from the outside.

With a smirk Henry reached over and pressed the button for the internal window blinds to be lowered, the two of you still carnally connected as the outside world was cut off. In the now muted light Henry started with fresh vigour as he fucked you harder than ever before, filling you repeatedly before you came with a scream, squeezing his body so tight he followed soon after, pumping you full again.

He spent the longest time just holding you, pressing kisses to your face and neck before your legs started to cramp and you begged to be let down, the sclooping sound of his heavy length pulling free of your cum soaked channel met your ears and it sent a grin to your face;

“I’m going to need another shower”

“I think I’ll join you” he replied with a grin, before picking the room phone up; “I’ll order breakfast so it’ll be here for when we’re finished, say 45 minutes?”

You nodded silently, realising that the shower wasn’t going to be a ‘just get clean’ shower.

The shower had proven one thing; Henry was insatiable and had the stamina of a horse. He’d had you bent over from behind in the shower before you’d both cum, finally washing yourselves clean after that. As Henry shut the water off and stepped out he held out a hand to you, before wrapping a huge fluffy towel around your body and pressing a kiss to your nose. A knock at the suite door interrupted, Henry wrapping a towel around his waist as you started to dry yourself.

Emerging from the steamy bathroom a few minutes later, you’d tied the soft robe that was provided by the hotel around you and found Henry setting out the trays of breakfast on the table that only an hour before he’d been fucking you on;

“Breakfast is served! What would you like; waffles? Fruit?”

“Yes, it all sounds amazing”

You sat beside each other quietly eating, before Henry sat back and smiled at you;

“What would you like to do today?”

You shrugged;

“I hadn’t really thought about it to be honest… I wasn’t expecting an overnight stay at a hotel, so I didn’t exactly pack a change of clothes. I guess just head home after doing a walk a shame through reception in my evening dress”

Henry stood suddenly, holding a finger up in a ‘just a moment’ way, crossing the room and disappearing to the bedroom. You heard the quiet woosh of the sliding wardrobe doors opening, and moments later he reappeared carrying a number of bright yellow giftbags with ‘Selfridges’ emblazoned across them;

“I thought of that…”

He set the bags onto the table in front of you, and you raised an eyebrow;

“Hen… what’s in the bags…”

“An anti-walk-of-shame kit” You stood and looked into the bags, before starting to pull out their contents as he continued to explain; “I wasn’t sure what to get, or what the weather would be doing, so I got a few choices…”

Pulling a floaty summer dress from one bag you held it against you and twirled around, revelling in the way the fabric drifted on the breeze. Checking the label you saw that it was the right size, before setting it down and going through the other bags. You found a pair of comfortable velvet sliders that your feet would certainly welcome after wearing the high heels the night before, a cardigan, and a bikini that looked incredibly tiny along with some lace panties. Another bag contained travel sized toiletries and a hairbrush. Another held a pale tracksuit in the softest of jersey fabrics. You set everything back into their bags and looked at Henry;

“Thank you…. Is this normal for you?”

“No, not at all” he wrapped his arms around your waist; “With everything that happened this week, I wanted to treat you, surprise you with a night that couldn’t beat any other night you’d ever had with anyone in your past”

“What if I hadn’t said yes to staying the night?”

“Then I would have taken all this back to my place for you to use there” he shrugged and a smile on his lips.

“And why the bikini?”

“Oh, there’s a pool here, thought we could make use of it before lunch?”

The sight of Henry in swimming trunks was enough to make you want to drop to your knees, the fabric closely cropped around the tops of his massive thighs, and the way his dick bulged obscenely in them, well, you were glad you were the only ones making use of the pool. Your bikini that he’d chosen for you wasn’t much better, the top merely two triangles of fabric with an array of straps, the bottoms just about covering your pussy but not a lot else. You were thankful for the robes the hotel provided for your short trip to where the pool was.

Once you were in the water however the playful side came out of both of you, hands sneaking under the water for surreptitious squeezes and caresses. Just at the point where Henry was about to have you pressed against the wall of the pool you heard the door open to the pool room, and a family with three kids came in, the kids dive bombing into the water. You both laughed at their excitement of swimming in a high-rise, the views over London just as stunning as in every other room, and as the parents apologised for the kids you told them it wasn’t a problem at all;

“We were just about to get into the jacuzzi anyway”

“We were?” Henry muttered but didn’t argue as you led him up the steps and quickly sank down into the hot bubbling waters, the jacuzzi just around the corner from the pool. You were in the same room but thankfully out of sight, and the second the two of you were enveloped by the bubbles Henry pulled you to sit on his lap, facing away from him.

“There are camera’s here” he whispered in your ear; “But they can’t see what happens underwater…”

His fingers snuck into your bikini bottoms, seeking out your folds before rubbing against your clit. Resting your head back against his shoulder, to anyone watching it would seem you are just a couple in each other’s arms; what they couldn’t see was Henry already had two fingers knuckle deep within you. He was grinding his dick into your ass when you let the water float you above his lap enough for him to tug his shorts down just enough to free himself, before he pulled you down and you sank onto his hardness.

As you watched the city go about its day Henry whispered utter filth into your ear, his hips making the tiniest of thrusts beneath the water, his fingers rubbing hard against your clit as you did your absolute best not to moan, sigh, or give anything away above the water that you had Henry’s massive dick plundering you yet again, this time in public.

His breaths were getting shorter in your ear and you had almost bitten through your lip from trying not to moan at the pleasure that was building in the pit of your stomach, so when Henry’s other hand snuck inside your top and pinched at your nipple you let out a tiny grunt and started to cum, the tightness of your walls contracting around him setting his own orgasm off.

Soon after you climbed out having rearranged your swimwear, pulling your robes on before nodding to the family that were blissfully unaware of what you’d just done, their kids having been squealing and screaming far more than you two ever could.

Back at the room and showering again, you laughed as you playfully slapped away Henry’s hands as he kept trying to grab your ass in the shower, before finally turning and cupping his balls;

“Henry, give these two a rest, they’re almost empty… gotta save something for my afternoon snack…”

He grunted as you carefully washed him down of the soapy suds that covered his cock and balls, before kissing him once. As he soaped your back his voice was quiet;

“What would you like to do now? Head out somewhere? Borough Market is just across the road… Or it’s just a short walk down the embankment to tower bridge… we could be proper tourists for the day”

“That sounds good”

Sipping on the multiberry smoothie you’d bought as you and Henry had looked around Borough Market, the pair of you slowly strolled along the embankment alongside the River Thames. There was little to no breeze which you were truly thankful for as the dress he’d bought you was shorter than you were expecting, however he certainly wasn’t complaining and rather vocally had expressed how much he enjoyed seeing you in it. With your fingers interlinked with his you were deep in thought as you sipped on your drink, walking in silence towards the ornate towers of Tower Bridge.

“... Princess?”

Stopping you turned to Henry;

“Yes? Sorry, did you say…?”

Henry quietly laughed;

“I have in fact been wittering away for the entire length of the embankment… what’s on your mind?”

You saw a bench and nodded to it, Henry following you as you sat down;

“My roommate has told me he wants to sell the flat”

“Oh… I didn’t realise you had a roommate… and a ‘he’ at that…”

You sat back and looked at him, raising an eyebrow;

“Are you... Are you jealous?”

He leant forwards, resting his elbows on his knees. Taking a deep breath, he let out a single laugh before shaking his head;

“No… yes… kind of…”

“You don’t need to be. He’s gay. He’s out of the country for nine months of the year. When he is in the country, he’s barely at home with the hours he does”

“What does he do?”

“Paparazzi photographer. He’ll be here for a few months in the springtime… when it’s warm enough for celebs to be here for holidays and shopping. Usually starts with the Brit awards in February and is gone by May”

“Where does he sleep?”

“In his room of course”

“His… room?”

You stood, getting frustrated at the points Henry was focusing on;

“Yes, his room. The door off the right of the living room. That’s his room”

“Oh”

That was it. He didn’t say another word, instead just looked down at his hands. And it annoyed you. This man, this gorgeous, kind, caring man, the same man you had thought of and nothing else for the past few weeks, who had been your knight in shining armour, was suddenly focusing on such a small detail of your life and becoming jealous of it? The longer you looked at him the longer he kept his gaze averted, saying nothing.

You’d stayed long enough, silently you turned, the lump in your throat growing as you walked away, tossing the remains of your drink in the nearest bin. You didn’t look back. If he was going to be like that over something so tiny, perhaps you’d fallen too hard for him.

Chapter 8 >>>

#henry cavill #henry cavill x reader #henry cavill smut #henry cavill x you #henry cavill fanfic

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unicyclehippo · 5 years ago

Note

Do you accept beau/bright queen prompts? Otherwise for the number thing #3 “It’s three in the morning.” :)

ooh i haven’t done consecuted au in ages! fair warning, i don’t have a concept in mind to fulfill this prompt so imma just,, write & hope that it comes to me

They bring Beau back to the Xhorhaus and care for her as best they can, a restoration when they think it might help but mostly salted stew and a cold cloth draped over her neck. They replace it when it quickly becomes drenched in the sweat that pours off her and Beau is left feeling half-melted, like a wax statue, as the sweat and water droplets sit in a tepid film over her entire body. She feels herself sloughing away piece by piece in small and then larger sections; it’s not real—Beau is as hale and whole as ever—but there is something working at her mind that regects who she is, burns and melts away at this form with her weak eyes that cannot catch the moons light, the long arms and unfamiliar hands. The multitudes of selves within Beau clamour to claim sections of her, of themselves in her form, and at one point, when Beau looks down at her hands and finds she does not know them, she moves to the stairs that glide up to the second floor and she lays on the cool grey stone.

The ceiling of the entrance—hall? not quite—of their gifted house is high here. It rises to the second floor along with the staircase and above the doorway is a large circular window of fogged glass that fills most of that space. Beau stares up at it and shivers with fever and clench-jawed dismay; nothing that is happening to her feels good or normal or makes any kind of sense.

She remembers a party. Here in this room. This house they’ve had all of a month. This house that stands barren and watched, with her and her empire compatriots. This house that has never seen a guest while they have been in it—she remembers it filled with people and the chime of laughter and quiet conversation. Beau doesn’t remember herself, but she remembers this.

A party, back when the threat of war did not loom overhead. There were many of those times but the memories seem to be less immediate than those of Beau’s many deaths—a knife, plunged into—

She snaps her eyes back to the window.

Circular fogged glass.

‘Do you think it’s supposed to look like the moon?’ Lee asks her. She looks bored; she always looks bored at events like this.

Surathai flicks her eyes to the window. ‘Hmm.’

Lee scowls. Drinks deeply of the goblet in her hand.

‘Have I offended?’ Surathai asks, tone smooth and empty of apology or any of her own upset. And she is upset. Why? The thought shakes through her like the ringing of a bell and Surathai shivers with it. For a moment, she could swear that sweat dripped in a column down her neck, her spine. But the night is cool and she had not been permitted to wear her armour; her fine long tunic is untouched by sweat.

‘Have I offended,’ Lee repeats, the tone mocking.

Surathai arches a brow. It will make Lee furious. Why? That whisper comes again, and not far behind, like heavy blunt fingers poking and prodding, Who is she? What is this party?

Surathai glances about the space. She misses the way Lee scowls toward her as she scans the space: the Den umavi are clustered together like gossiping hens deeper into the house, their consorts either at their shoulders or, if they’re particularly lax, a step back from that most holy of spaces.

Lee tries shift deeper into the house without her, flanking through the east wing, a spacious library that corners onto the small dining hall.

Surathai wasn’t reborn yesterday. She follows easily. Each time Lee tries to ditch her, Surathai adjusts.

‘The more I must pay attention to you,’ she says, stepping into the space by Lee’s shoulder after the young woman had managed to put an entire door between them, ‘the less attention I have for would-be assassins.’

Lee scoffs.

‘Leylas,’

‘Shouldn’t you be calling me Your Majesty,’ Lee cuts her off, and the words sound bitter as she spits them toward her. ‘If you’re so intent on playing as my guard dog, at least do it properly.’

Surathai blinks. ‘Is that why you’re upset?’

Lee looks up from the spread—delicious, fresh, a real effort from the new Den—and for the first time this evening her lips soften from the flat obsidian slash they have been.

‘It’s a party, Sura. You’re my betrothed. You’re supposed to be on my arm, not at my shoulder.’

‘Oh.’

‘Oh,’ Lee repeats, but this time her mocking is far more gentle. Teasing, really. ‘You didn’t know?’

‘Was I supposed to?’

‘You’re not exactly dressed to fight assassins,’

‘I would make do.’

‘It’s a very expensive fabric.’

Surathai plucks at her tunic with a slow of mild distaste. ‘You do not need to buy me expensive items. Especially not clothing.’

‘I’m the Queen, nothing is expensive for me,’ Lee says with a wave of her hand. She laughs then, not quietly, and waves her hand far more imperiously when varied heads turn to look at the Queen and her Consort half-hidden in the next room. Lee waits until everyone averts their eyes. Then, ‘I’m joking, Sura. Don’t look so foul with me.’

‘Our people have need of that coin,’

‘I know, my love.’ The endearment slips out, the way so many secrets and memories do between them.

They’ve said those words many lifetimes over; they still bring a bruising flush to Surathai’s cheeks.

‘Hmph,’ she says.

Lee ducks her head.

No longer upset, Lee loses the sharp bearing with which she had cut through this party so easily before. She is caught in many a discussion with many a boring individual and as the night wears on, so too does the party on Lee’s patience.

Surathai steps in before Lee’s new tongue can get her in trouble with an old friend. She wraps her fingers around Lee’s wrist and pretends to not be surprised when Lee rests a good portion of her weight comfortably into her.

‘It’s a party tonight, Taskhand,’ Surathai chides. She is allowed to chide. Her only concern is the Queen and does not have to pretend otherwise, unlike her betrothed. ‘Forgive us but we haven’t had an opportunity to dance...’

‘Of course.’ The Taskhand bows, excuses himself.

Lee shifts, sets her chin on Surathai’s shoulder. ‘Bodyguard or betrothed, whichever, don’t let anyone talk to me for—the rest of the night.’ A great yawn cracks her jaw.

‘Shall I glare at them?’ Surathai asks, voice soft, cajoling.

‘Oh yes. You glare so nicely.’

‘Mm. I do try.’

Lee chuckles. Shifts closer still, winding her arms around Surathai’s middle in a loose hug. Sura returns the gesture slowly and begins to sway to the gentle music that drifts through all of this house.

‘What time is it?’

‘Late. Early, really.’ Sura glances to one of her disguised guards, flashes a question. When they respond, she tells Lee, ‘Three in the morning.’

Lee groans. ‘My feet are killing me.’

Surathai hums. Is doubly relieved that she had passed over the death trap shoes that had been delivered with the outfit. Her own boots could carry her halfway to Asarius Settlement before she started to blister.

‘Shall I carry you home?’

Lee’s arms cinch tighter. She turns, nose brushing against the sensation skin of Surathai’s neck. ‘Would you?’ she asks. Breathes. The question tickles against her skin on that quiet exhale; Surathai shivers.

‘Of course.’

‘Because I am your Queen?’ Lee asks. She tucks her face more fully into Surathai’s neck so that her expression cannot be seen no matter how Sura tries; her tone is entirely empty save for the note of the question.

Sura hesitates. She isn’t sure precisely what Lee wants from her; her fallback then, the oath she had sworn two-fold upon her sword, and the promise of her rebirth itself. Dedication to her Queen, and all else that follows—honesty, forthrightness, protection. Love had not entered that vow on any iteration; that was sworn later, that third oath, upon her knees once more.

‘Because you are my queen, and my wife-to-be, and my wife-who-was, and the woman I choose life after life.’ Lee hums. Surathai frowns. Had that not been the right answer? She searches her mind for what is missing and can think only that she would like for Lee to laugh. ‘I like carrying you,’ she blurts, feeling abruptly and stingingly her young age at the clumsy words.

She gets her wish though. Lee laughs suddenly, pulls back—not out of her hold, but enough that she can see Sura’s face.

‘Is that so?’

‘Well—I’m—‘

‘Strong.’ Lee drags a nail down one of Sura’s arms, over the dip and trip of her muscles. ‘I‘ve noticed.’

‘I wasn’t. Last time.’

‘Hmm.’

‘You like?’ Sura asks, clumsy pre-century flirting clogging her thoughts and tongue. She flexes. She hopes this isn’t the life Leylas decides actually this version of my wife is far too awkward.

Beau comes awake at the sensation of a cold hand on her head. Blinks up into blue.

‘Jes?’

Her friend smiles, relief clear across her face. ‘Beau! You’re awake! Oh my gosh, Beau, I’ve been so worried, you were on the stairs and you were, like, just staring at the roof and Fjord said maybe you had been paralysed or, or, your mind was gone because you couldn’t hear us and that wasn’t a fun time at all but then you started talking and Caleb said it was Undercommon?’ Jester says all in a rush.

Beau hears most of it. She understands most of what she hears.

‘It’s getting worse, Beau,’ Jester tells her.

‘I know.’

‘I think it’s time.’

‘I dont—I don’t want—‘

‘I know,’ she agrees, and winds cold fingers into Beau’s.

The shock of it is nice, like cold water on a hot day. Refreshing. Beau clutches at Jester’s hand, tries not to feel like the other girl has seen too much of her, seen her sick and shivering and way too fucking weak, tries not to feel like so much grime at the bottom of the bucket.

‘I know it’s scary, Beau, and you probably don’t want people in your mind,’

Beau agrees with a grunt.

‘But we don’t know how to help you and—‘ Jester catches her bottom lip between sharp teeth, worries at it. Her brows push together and up, the picture of concern. ‘You’re in pain, Beau. We don’t want—I don’t want you in pain anymore. It’s awful, it’s just awful.’

She blinks up at her best friend. ‘Feels—like my head is all - crammed full.’

‘Memories?’

‘Mm. Yeah.’

‘Does it hurt?’

The heat begins to ebb and fade, lulling her and sapping with it her energy. Beau feels heavy, her tongue dry and thick in her mouth. ‘Only when I die,’ she says unthinkingly.

Jester gasps. Squeezes her hands tighter. ‘Beau...’

‘Ask ‘em if it’ll help? I wanna—finish this. Stupid. To put it off. Stupid.’

‘No, no.’ Jester brushes her fingers over Beau’s clammy forehead. ‘Not stupid. You’re just—stubborn.’

Through her slow-blinking eyes, Beau sees Jester smile and it’s one of the loveliest things she’s seen in all her lives. She thinks she says as much. Maybe she doesn’t. She sleeps.

#tagging my stories #prompt fill #cr tag #consecuted au #losely

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asphalt-cocktail · 5 years ago

Text

Kinkmas Prompt #6: Dirty Talk

A/N: Yeah, I went really over board with this fic and I’m NOT sorry. This is probably my favorite one that I have written so far so I hope you all enjoy! All your comments, likes, and reblogs are so nice to see/read and I appreciate every one of them!

If you would like to request a prompt and character yourself please reference my Kinkmas masterpost.

Pairing: Roger Taylor x F!Reader

Word Count: 5.1k

Warnings: Smut, oral (m and f receiving), p in v, unprotected, HELLA dirty talk, also smoking and alcohol, fluff, public sexy time, the WORKS people, its high key filthy, also its kind of a college AU??? But not really, (it’s still the 70s), not proof read as well

Kinkmas 2019 Masterlist

General Masterlist

Asks

If you are considered a minor do NOT interact with this post. This is fictitious content and I own nothing.

You didn’t know why you had agreed to come along to this party, in fact you don’t even know how you managed to get invited in the first place. It was a friend of a friend situation that caused you to show up on Freddie Mercury and Roger Taylor’s college apartment one warm spring night.

To summarize it quickly, you knew John’s girlfriend, Veronica through attending the same university. You met in a freshman seminar class and bonded over your mutual love of disco music and drive for success as women. Eventually when dorm life became too restricted for your liking and you were seeking a roommate, Veronica just so happened to be in the same position. Now, two years later and into your third year of college you found yourselves living very well together.

You knew her boyfriend, John, he was quiet and smart but also had quite a sassy mouth on him and a secret wild streak. That was a quality that John and Veronica shared, they often went out late to go dancing, leaving you alone in the flat. You didn’t mind, you weren’t one to go out and preferred to stay inside, reading or listening to LPs. But when Veronica knocked on your door the Thursday before, begging you to go, you found yourself unable to say no.

“Come on,” She whined, “Roger is going to be there…” She said in a sing song voice.

You scoffed “So,” You said crossing your arms over your chest. Sure you knew of the other three guys that made up John’s band, but it wasn’t like you actually liked any of them.

“Oh don’t even pull that, I’ve seen you making eyes at Roger.” She said lightly pushing your shoulder. You rolled your eyes in response and opened your mouth to comment but she quickly interrupted you “You could at least use a quick shag even if you don’t fancy Roger. You never leave the house.”

Your jaw fell open, “What!” you shrilly said, “I leave the house!” you really didn’t have much else to say, even if what you yelled wasn’t all that true.

“Yeah! For class! When was the last time you brought a guy home? That Michael guy? That doesn’t even count, he was in and out of the house in 15 minutes!” Veronica had a point, Michael from Lit 305 was a disappointment, he was one of those guys who aggressively rubbed everywhere but your clit and repeatedly asked if you were coming. Spoiler alert: You weren’t.

“Fine, I’ll go!” You yelled back in defeat, “But I won’t have fun and you’ll have to kill me before you put my hair in rollers!” if you were going to go out, you were going to do it your way, and not hers.

So here you were, the annual Mercury, Taylor spring end of year bash. You could hear the yelling from outside their damn apartment building and could see people cluttered on the balcony and scattered throughout the yard, Christ this was going to be a mess, you could already tell.

You lugged a case of beer up the steps and opened the door, letting yourself in and were greeted with a grinning and red-faced Veronica “You came!” She squealed and pulled you into a hug.

You furrowed your brows and patted her back awkwardly, “Yeah, yeah, I wouldn’t hear the end of it if I didn’t.” You muttered and scoped the room out, you couldn’t see Freddie, but you could hear him amongst the smoke-filled room and over the loud music. Brian was sitting on the couch his long arms comfortable spread along the back, you could tell he was in a casually heated debate. John was right behind Veronica, his arms firmly wrapped around her waist once she pulled away from you; their red faces and grins matching. But Roger, he was standing by the keg, pouring a drink for himself with several girls flocked around him, laughing at something they probably pretended was funny if you had to judge by the looks on their faces.

“Can I set this down somewhere it won’t get stolen?” You asked, nodding to your case of beer and scrunching your nose as someone bumped into your shoulder while they pushed past you.

John perked up “Oh, you can put in Roger’s room.” You opened your mouth to protest, the last thing you wanted was to see Roger, “Rog!” He called, catching the blonde’s attention and waving him over.

Roger walked up, beer in hand and looked you up and down, his grinning face settling on your scowl, “Can [Y/N] put this in your room?” John asked, swaying with Veronica lightly to the music.

His gaze broke away from you and he glanced at John, “Sure!” He said and pushed his way through the crowd with you following suit.

As the two of you pushed further into the house, the more crowded and densely packed together the bodies got. Roger reached a hand back for you to grasp so you wouldn’t get lost and you took it, feeling the callouses on the palms of his hands and on the pads of his fingertips. You gulped and clutched your case of beer under your arm while the two of you continued to push through before you finally reached his door. He pulled out his keys and unlocked it on the first try. The rush of cool air that left his room was refreshing and didn’t smell like stale beer, cigarettes, and sweat. You had only met Roger a hand full of times but knew the smell in the room was so uniquely him.

He kicked some of his clothes out of the way and looked over at you “You can keep them in here, just grab a few and stick them in the fridge, if you need a refill you know where to find me.” He said giving you a cheeky salute.

You froze, there was a reason you tried to never interact with Roger. It was because that stupid soft voice of his made your knees weak and your head begin to spin. “O-okay” You answered quickly, adverting your gaze and grabbing an arm full of beers, “Do… do you want one?” there was something about this man that caused you to lose all sense of focus and you hated it.

Roger gave you an odd look, “Sure,” He said taking a beer from your hands, “You able to carry all that?” His wide blue eyes looking down at you.

You shifted your stance and nodded your head “Yeah I got it,” You answered just as three cans slipped out from the gaps in your arms and fell to the floor “Shit,” You cursed, bending over and dropping several more cans. You let out a frustrated huff, now holding significantly less than what you had been previously and looked up, only to see eye to eye with Roger as he bent down to help you pick up the fallen cans, “I got it,” You repeated, your hand darting out.

Your hands collided together in a very cliché manor, “It doesn’t look like you do.” He teased, “I can help.” He insisted, you let out a long sigh and finally agreed to let him help you.

When the two of you exited his room, you found Veronica immediately standing at the door, “Oh hey!” She said smiling sheepishly. You narrowed your eyes at her, knowing exactly why she was standing there.

Roger, clueless as every grinned back “Hey Ronnie, you seen Fred?” He asked, craning his head to look over the crowd.

Veronica nodded her head “Yeah, I think he’s on the balcony or outside?” Her answer was more of question, some how he was everywhere at once, running around and insisting on interacting with the guests that had arrived in order to be a good host.

“Right, well I’m going to help [Y/N] put these in the fridge and find him. Roger answered, pushing through the crowd with you in tow.

You were thankful the kitchen was sparsely populated and only contained a few stragglers that were looking to mix their drinks. You placed your cans of beer in the fridge and grabbed one, cracking it open and gulping down the bitter liquid, “I need to be way more fucked up to be here.” You muttered to yourself.

Apparently, Roger had heard you, “Want a shot?” He asked, curiosity flashing behind his azure eyes, “You know to loosen up a bit?” Roger waved a cheap plastic bottle of vodka in front of you.

You looked at your beer, at Roger, and then at the bottle of vodka and your face broke into a grin, “Only if you take one with me.” You responded.

Roger poured out four shot glasses he’d pulled from the cabinets, not caring that he spilled a little as he filled them to the brim, “Ready?” He asked before the two of you raised your glasses to clank them together, tapped them on the table, and then swallowed the clear liquid, it burned going down and caused the two of you to wince and cough. Roger shook his head, trying to clear the sting and blew out a puff of air “Next one, quick,” He said grinning.

You laughed and followed the same pre shot ritual, now feeling a bit more loosened up. The alcohol caused a shiver to creep up your spine and spread through your ears, “That was awful.” You sighed out but couldn’t help but laugh.

Roger grinned back at you, “I know!” He answered back before looking around the room “I’ll be around if you want to do more, ‘kay?” Right, Freddie still needed to be found.

You nodded your head, “Yeah, course.” You responded and exchanged weird nods before he left.

Of course Veronica was waiting for you to exit the kitchen, “Did you kiss him?” She pressed, quickly bombarding you with questions.

You made a face “Of course not, we just took shots and he went to find Freddie, just like he said he would.” You made sure to point out, “Nothing, is going to happen between me and Roger.” You made sure to put emphasis in your sentence.

As the night continued and the alcohol flowed, you found that you weren’t upset about being forced to go out tonight. You and Veronica laughed and danced to the loud continuous music and continued to suck your drinks down like they were water. A wonderful buzzing feeling spread through your body, warming your face and hands. It had been ages since you’d loosened up this much.

Despite the fun atmosphere the small apartment soon became stuffy from breathing recycled air and the lack of circulation, “I’ll be back I’m stepping outside.” You yelled back over the crowd to Veronica who gave you a thumbs up.

You pushed past everyone, looking over the crowd to the balcony which looked as though it was one person away from collapsing and opted to just head outside.

Once outside you coughed at the surprisingly cool air as it filled your lungs and patted your pockets looking for your pack of cigarettes. “Fuck,” You mumbled unable to find the crumpled pack. You leaned against the cool brick of the building and huffed out a sigh of disappointment, at least you still had your beer.

“Need a smoke?”

You turned to see Roger next to you, leaning on the wall of the apartment, his hands casually in his pockets and a cigarette dangling from his lips, “Please,” You asked looking sheepishly at him. He stuck the soft pack out and you picked one placing the cigarette between your lips.

Roger held up his lighter and you looked quizzically at him “You need a light right?” He asked, pulling you from your daze.

You shook your head “Oh, yeah, right.” You answered awkwardly and leaned in towards the little metal flip lighter. He flicked it open and used his hands to shield the flame from the wind, you inhaled as the flame danced around the tobacco and paper, feeling the smoke trickle into your lungs. You pulled away, puffing the smoke into the air and watching it disappear.

As you smoked your cigarette you continued to sneak side glances at him, observing how he shifted the weight from one leg to the other and stuffed his hands as far into his jean pockets as possible. The colorful and thin button down was doing nothing to keep the cool air out, especially since it was hardly buttoned. “What?” Roger finally said breaking the silence.

“What?” You answered back, slightly taken back.

“You keep looking at me.” He accused, you could hear the amusement in his voice as he spoke.

“No, I don’t.” You said defensively.

“Yeah, you do.” Roger said matching your tone and now turning to face you, “Why do you act so weird around me?” He pressed, shifting closer to you.

You found yourself leaning back away from him, looking down and making a weird face “I don’t act weird around you.” You continued to defend yourself.

Roger grinned, turning his head away and letting out a soft laugh before looking back at you “There you go making that face,” Before you could continue to deny he interrupted you “Anytime I come over you run and hide in your room, you’ve lived with Veronica for three years and this is the most I’ve heard you speak let alone seen you.” He looked at you with keen eyes.

You looked away, averting your gaze from his and flicking the ash from your cigarette “I’m just shy,” You answered.

Roger let out a loud laugh, causing you to jump “That’s a lie and you know it.” he was close, you could smell the combination of cigarettes and alcohol on his breath and felt your face getting flushed “Do I… make you nervous?” His voice was teasing and low.

It caused you to clench your thighs together as heat pooled between your legs “I-I… no…” You managed to peep out. Your skin felt like it was on fire and you had dropped your long-forgotten cigarette on the ground, placing your palms flatly against the building behind you as you turned, looking away from Roger’s face.

“Look at me,” Roger’s voice was demanding, and his hand cupped your chin urging you obey him, “Be a good girl and look over here, love.”

You chewed on your lip, stifling a whimper that still managed to seep out of your lips and looked up at Roger. He was so close to you; his shallow breaths brushed against your face and filled your nostrils with the scent of cigarette smoke and alcohol. It was intoxicating. “There you go…” He said softly. You looked up at him wide eyed, like a deer in headlights. You swallowed thickly and tried to calm your rapid breaths and urge to look away from Roger’s intense gaze. “See, that wasn’t so bad, was it?” He asked, his hand sliding from your chin to cup you the side of your face.

Roger’s thumb traced your lower lip and you found your self letting out a shaky breath, your lower lip lightly quivering against his rough fingers. His thumb pressed past your lips into the wet warmth of your mouth, “Suck,” He ordered.

You found yourself obeying and closing your lips around his fingers, gently rubbing your tongue along the soft pads of his thumb and groaning lightly as you sucked on it, “Good girl.” He said breathlessly.

You whimpered, clenching your thighs and hoping the pressure would help ease the arousal you felt. He pushed his thumb further back into your mouth, pressing at the back your throat. You gagged, your mouth opening as you coughed and your throat constricting around his thumb. He quickly pulled his finger back and looked up at your glassy eyes, maintaining eye contact with you as he pulled his thumb completely from your mouth.

Saliva dribbled down your lip and you wiped it off with the back of your hand, keeping eye contact. Your eyes were glassy, and tears had formed in them as a natural reaction to gagging. Roger’s hands cupped either side of your face and he licked his lips, “Bet you with you were gagging on my cock instead of my finger.” He boldly stated.

Your breath hitched in the back of your throat and you felt your face heat up. He wasn’t wrong, that was the problem, “What are you going to do about it.” You had no idea why you said that, you truly didn’t. Perhaps it was the alcohol you had been drinking, or the fact it had been well over a year since your last decent lay, either way you eagerly awaited his response.

“You wanna get on your knees here, or inside?” He asked, pressing his body against you. His cock strained through the already tight fabric of his jeans and pushed against your leg. You whimpered and felt yourself slinking down onto the ground.

The coolness from the damp grass soaked into the knees of your jeans as you knelt in front of him, palming him through his pants. “Fuck,” Roger breathed out before stepping around you to lean against the brick building and quickly scrambled, fumbling with his belt and taking his cock out from his pants.

You instinctively reached up, gripping him at the base and pumping your hand along his length. His head leaned back and he widened his stance, shoulders resting comfortably against the wall. You licked the tip of his half hard cock and looked up at him. His mouth hung ever so slightly ajar as he watched you engulf his length and begin to bob your head up and down.

You let out a content moan, feeling him stretching and filling your mouth with his length and sucked him into your mouth, rubbing your tongue along his length. His hips bucked into your mouth and Roger found himself loosing composure.

Roger roughly gripped your hair, his fingernails scraping at the base of your scalp as you began to pick up your speed, bobbing your head and moving your hand in synchronized movements. Spit began to gather and seep from the corners of your mouth and down your hand as you continued to suck him off, soon forgetting the two of you were outside.

“Shit,” Roger cursed out, bucking his hips hard against you causing his length to hit the back of your throat. You found yourself gagging unexpectedly, pulling back to wipe your mouth and catch your breath. Quickly you found yourself opening up, ready to swallow him once more “You like sucking me off outside?” He asked, tapping his cock against your flat tongue while his other hand kept your head firmly in place.

You looked up at him wide eyes and nodded your head, “Yes,” You rasped out between ragged breaths.

He slipped his erection between your lips once more, this time your hands braced yourself on his hips and he slowly pumped into your mouth. Soft grunts and moans left his lips as he held your head in place with both of his hands, thrusting into your mouth, careful to not make you gag. His movements were surprisingly slow, like he wanted to savor the moment and not waste it.

But a cat call shattered the moment. Pulling the two of you from your own little bubble and back into reality. Your face flushed and you quickly pulled away, burying your face in your hands in embarrassment. Roger couldn’t help but break into a grin, “As fun as this is.” He said tucking himself back into his pants, “We should go inside, I wanna see that pretty pussy of yours. I know you’ve got to be soaked.” He continued to speak and reached down, helping you up from the ground.

“Wait!” You said, stopping in your tracks as the two of you headed for the front door, “Do you have a back door up?” you asked and averted your gaze nervously “I… I just don’t want Ronnie snooping around.” You said, rubbing your fingers along the hem of your shirt.

Roger smiled softly and nodded his head, taking your hand in his own “Yeah, come on we can go through the car park.” He offered.

After your little detour, the two of you had successfully made it back into his flat without much of a bother. The crowd had died down and only a few stragglers and passed out friends remained in the living room. You and Roger slipped into his bedroom where he immediately locked the door and pushed you up against it, capturing you in a hot opened mouthed kiss.

Your teeth clanked together, and you let out a soft whimper feeling your back hitting the wooden door, it was quickly swallowed by Roger’s feverish kisses. He sucked your lower lip and lightly tugged on it as he pulled away, “Bed, now.” He said pulling away and lightly pushing you in the direction of his bed.

You nodded, scrambling to make your way over, plopping down, Roger pushed you back and you fell onto his plush blankets. He quickly climbed on top of you, wasting no time kissing down your neck and continuing down, nipping and licking at every bit of skin that had been exposed by your tee shirt riding up. He paused, kissing the waste band of your jeans and looking up at you, “Keep going,” You said breathlessly, “Please.” Roger grinned and unbuttoned your pants, slipping them off and revealing your panties which had soaked through. He nuzzled his nose against the dark spot of moisture that had collected and licked you through your panties. “Fuck,” You said, raking your hand through your hair with anticipation.

“You’re so wet,” Roger said, spreading your legs more and kissing along your thighs, gently licking and sucking at the soft supple skin, “You wet for me, love?” He asked, “You wet from sucking me off?”

You squirmed against him, inching closer so he would get the hint, “’M wet for you.” You whimpered.

“You like having my cock in your mouth?” Ge asked, hooking his fingers on either side of your panties and slowly pulling them down.

You let out a helpless sigh “Yes, I want your cock in my mouth.” You responded bucking your hips into his touch.

Roger held down your squirming hips and spread your folds apart, giving him an unfiltered view of your wet cunt, e led with his nose as he buried his face between your legs, his tongue followed, flatly licking at your core before his tongue swirled around your swollen clit causing you to let out a whiney breath, “Ah, Rog,” You moaned, reaching down and lacing your fingers in his hair.

Your stomach tightened, as the tip of his tongue meandered around your wet cunt, making sure to explore every inch you had to offer. He slipped two fingers into your tight cunt, slowly pumping his fingers into you and curling them as he alternated between suckling and lapping at your clit. Before he pulled away to watch you, sigh in disappointment at the loss of pleasure.

“Please, don’t stop,” you begged and bucked your hips onto his fingers that curled against your walls, rubbing against them. You back arched against his touches and as you felt him dive back between your legs, feeling his tongue sharply darting backing and forth on your sensitive nub. You tugged his hair and pressed his face closer into your cunt hoping to relieve some of the pressure that was building in the base of your tummy “Fuck, fuck, ‘m so close.” You mumbled out, your thighs clenching tightly as you tried to stave off your looming orgasm.

He paused momentarily, “It’s okay, you can let go.” He huffed out before swirling his tongue around your clit and sucking on it immediately after, sending you over the edge. Your chest heaved as your thighs clenched on either side of his face, your hand holding him in place as you felt a wave of pleasure wash over you.

He pulled away, watching your pussy clenching and pulsating around his fingers as they slowed down, milking and prolonging your pleasure. You found yourself pulling back from his soft teasing touches “Stop, stop, stop,” You whimpered helplessly as the pleasure and frustration soon became too much for you to handle.

Roger stuck his fingers into his mouth, sucking on them and softly grunting at the taste.

You looked at him through hazy eyes, your mouth still ajar and trying to steady out your erratic breaths. You soon found yourself pulling him back up your body, kissing him softly and sensually. Your mouths slowly moving against each other as you held him tightly against you. Roger pulled away pulling off yours and his shirts and trailing a line of kisses from your jaw and down your neck. “You want me to fuck this tight pussy of yours?” He growled right in your ear and ground his hips against your sensitive core.

You whimpered and held his hips in place, moving with them “Please,” you sighed.

“How do you want it?” He pulled away and studied your face, hoping you’d answer him honestly.

You stuttered, trying to find your words, no one had ever asked you that before “I… I…” you could hardly think of an answer “I don’t want to be able to walk afterwards.” There was your answer.

Roger’s face broke into a wide grin, “Turn over for me, love.” He said pulling away and tapping the side of your hips.

You quickly followed suit, rolling over onto your stomach and getting on your knees, spreading your legs and pushing your ass back against him. Roger licked his lips and spread your cheeks, getting a perfect view of your already swollen and wet cunt that was still sensitive from your previous orgasm “You’ve got such a pretty pussy, you know that?” His soft voice saying such lewd words caused you to twitch with anticipation. He hummed, “You like it when I talk to you like that?” He asked and slowly inserted two fingers into you causing you to gasp, “When I call you a good girl and tell you how good that pussy of yours taste?” You let out a low moan and clenched his fingers as they began to pump in and out of your cunt, “I could eat that cunt of yours all night if you’d let me,” He let out a soft sigh, “But, fuck I want to feel you clenching around my cock.” He said and pulled his fingers out of you abruptly.

You whined at the loss of feeling but he quickly pushed into you, his cock stretching you as he filled you up. You clenched the bedsheets tightly and gasped “R-Rog,” You sobbed out as he started moving slowly, still barely recovered from your previous orgasm, “Harder, please?”

Roger pulled out from you nearly all the way and slammed back into you, “You want me to fuck you harder?” He asked leaning over to growl in your ear and gripped a fist full of your hair, pulling it back and forcing your back to arch.

“Yes, please,” You cried out, “Please,” seemed to be the only word you could choke out as his hips harshly slapped against you. The sound of your slurred words mixed with his grunts and the sound of your skin slapping together and filled the room, forming a sinful combination.

His let go of your hair, allowing your arms to collapse as he now pushed your head into the mattress, driving you into the soft plush blankets with his hard-steady thrusts. His hand reached around pressing hard against your clit “You gonna come for me again, baby?” He asked rubbing harsh messy circles on the swollen and sensitive bud. You nodded your head against the mattress, whimpering incoherently, “I want that tight cunt of yours to come all over my cock, come on, I know you have another one in you.” Your walls fluttered around him, your second orgasm building easily and quickly threatening to overtake you.

The tight feeling in your belly began to build and you clenched your eyes shut tightly, choking out a high-pitched whine before your walls clenched hard around Roger’s cock “Ah, fuck, that’s my good girl.” Roger grunted through his tightly clenched jaw. His hands dug into the meat of your thighs and hips as his pace began to lose rhythm and become uneven. He groaned loudly, burying himself to the hilt as he spurted hot ropes of come into your still clenching pussy, allowing it to milk him as he worked the two of you through your highs with a few shallow thrusts.

His hand stayed on the small of your back as he stilled, slowly pulling out and whimpering as your tight walls brushed against his sensitive member. You straightened your legs out and laid flatly against the bed while Roger flopped over next to you. The sound of your rapid breaths filled the room as a comfortable silence hung in the air before Roger broke it, “I knew I made you nervous.” He said proudly.

You turned your head towards him, your muscles aching as you did, “Shut up,” You said and buried your face with embarrassment.

Roger pulled you into his sticky and sweaty chest, kissing your bare shoulder “I think it’s cute.” He mumbled against your skin.

“Cute?” You asked, peering up at him.

He swallowed thickly and nodded his head “Yeah, cute.” He reassured and reached down, pulling his tangled blankets over the two of you. You rolled onto your side, your back against Roger’s chest as he tapped soft mindless rhythms against your skin, “You know you should come around more often.” He said softly.

You rolled over and faced him still in his arms “If this is what happens when I come around more, then I guess I can.” You tried to feign disappointment but couldn’t hide it behind your post sex glow.

Roger’s hand came up, lightly brushing your messy hair from your face, “If you would have stopped hiding in your room, this would have happened sooner.” Roger admitted, his thumb softly rubbing circles on your cheek.

You closed your eyes and leaned into his touch, sighing softly, “Can… can it happen again?” You asked sounding hopeful.

Roger couldn’t help but grin as you resorted back to your shy tactics, “Of course it can.” He said and once again pulled you back into his chest and running his fingers through your hair.

As the two of you laid in silence and felt a wave of exhaustion claim you, you couldn’t help but secretly feel thankful that Veronica had convinced you to go out tonight.

#roger taylor x reader #roger taylor #roger taylor smut #ben hardy #ben hardy x reader #ben hardy smut #ben hardy!roger x reader #ben hardy!roger taylor #ben hardy!roger taylor x reader #queen x reader #borhap fanfic #queen fanfic #reader insert #ACs Kinkmas

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hungline · 5 years ago

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you and me, we’re like kerosene

pairing: 2seok genre: pwp, smut, fluff, established relationship au, rated e warnings: explicit sexual content, anal play, fingering, spanking, anal beads, anal sex, aftercare words: 1500

summary: Beads.

All seven of them connected on one string with a ring at the end, only one of them big enough to make Seokjin wary. Hoseok’s waiting for him though and Seokjin doesn’t feel like now is the time to tell Hoseok that he’s never used anal beads before.

Everything is hot.

Hoseok’s touch on his skin, Seokjin’s hands on Hoseok’s waist, their cocks rubbing together with only their own pre-come to help the slide. It feels like a fire is waiting to start between them, their gazes heavy with gasoline.

The spark is what’s missing.

But it comes all too soon when Hoseok is pushing something into his hand while he gets on all fours on the bed, ass bent out into the air for Seokjin to take. There’s lube by Hoseok’s knee, a condom as well, but Seokjin is more preoccupied with what’s in his hand.

Beads.

Seokjin grabs the bottle of lube and squirts some onto the beads and his fingers, rubbing it all together in his palms. A shiver runs down Hoseok’s spine when Seokjin grabs the cleft of his ass, trying to pry them both apart with only one hand, the other preoccupied with the beads.

Hoseok gets the memo though and Seokjin is in awe of how easily Hoseok holds his ass open for him, trusting Seokjin to know what to do. Seokjin lets his finger delicately circle Hoseok’s rim first before pushing in, testing how tight Hoseok might be around him. Hoseok groans at the intrusion, face buried in the bedsheets and Seokjin presses a kiss to his thigh, letting his tongue flick out at his ballsac, wringing another groan out of his boyfriend.

Hoseok is hot around him, adding, even more, gasoline to the fire and Seokjin goes willingly, slowly working him loose until he’s able to slip two digits into the younger.

Hoseok groans again, his face to the side now, letting him breathe and his voice rings out in the silence of their bedroom. Seokjin presses another kiss to his thigh, taking one side of his ballsac into his mouth and sucking greedily until Hoseok is a mewling mess.

“Hyung, please,” Hoseok moans, his voice sounding strangled.

Seokjin complies, slipping another finger past Hoseok’s rim before he presses the first bead into Hoseokーthe large one, the one that made Seokjin think twice about what they were about to do. Hoseok’s body tenses, his hips rising and Seokjin holds his waist to keep him from moving away, trying to anchor his beloved boyfriend to this moment.

“Tell me if you want to stop, okay?” Seokjin whispers as he pushes in the second bead, the feeling smooth on his fingertip.

Hoseok nods desperately, eyes shut tight as Seokjin pushes the third bead in. “Okay.”

It’s all too easy to press in the fourth bead, then the fifth bead and the sixth and suddenly, Seokjin is pressing the seventh and final bead in. Hoseok’s body relaxes then, skin still hot wherever Seokjin touches him. Seokjin knows what comes next, he can tell from the way Hoseok is settling himself down on his arms, ass sticking out even higher in the air as he waits with a tense breath for Seokjin’s hand to come down on his skin.

“Color?” Seokjin asks quietly.

“Green.”

The sound of skin slapping against skin is loud enough to make the both of them flinch, and Seokjin pauses, seeing if Hoseok is flinching because of the pain instead.

“Hobi?”

“I’m fine,” Hoseok gasps out, one eye opening to stare at Seokjin above him. “Please, keep going. It feels amazing.”

Seokjin nods, smoothing his hand over the cleft of Hoseok’s ass, tugging on the ring the slightest bit as his hand comes down in one quick movement. Hoseok’s body jumps like a live-wire touched him but all he does is moan with the slap, his ass blossoming a beautiful red under Seokjin’s touch.

He kneads the skin then, deciding on ten being enough for Hoseok. Hoseok is grinding back into nothing, his breaths heavy with want. Seokjin takes mercy on him then, palm slapping Hoseok’s ass a little rougher while pulling one bead past his rim and watching as Hoseok’s body shakes, a loud moan ripping the air around them.

“Fuck,” Hoseok gasps, his shoulders shaking and Seokjin bends to press a kiss to his shoulder, wanting nothing but to comfort him in the moment.

“You’re doing great, Hobi. Seven more, okay?”

“Okay,” Hoseok responds, nodding his head quickly.

Seokjin kisses his spine then, hands still massaging his backside before raising one to slap against Hoseok’s left cheek this time, tugging on the ring again, but not hard enough to pull another bead out. Hoseok groans once more, face buried in his arms as he tries to focus. Seokjin kneads the warm and irritated skin under his palms and reaches underneath Hoseok’s body to wrap his hand around Hoseok’s untouched cock, tugging his foreskin back before pressing his thumb right underneath the swollen head. Hoseok whines, moving his hips back until Seokjin’s own cock is nestled between his cheeks and Seokjin has to stop himself from fucking into the warmth of it all.

Another slap and Seokjin tugs another bead out, hand quickly wrapping around Hoseok again to stroke him through the waves of stimulation. His other hand trails across Hoseok’s backside, following the red streaks that are beginning to form. Hoseok’s breath is heavy but he still mutters green when Seokjin asks him his color and that pushes Seokjin into a pattern.

A smack, a new bead being pulled out then one hand on Hoseok’s ass while the other strokes his weeping cock, collecting the beads of pre-come and sliding down to the base of his girth, the slide smoother. Seokjin does this four more times before he’s facing the big bead and Hoseok’s hole is reluctant to let it go, clenching down on it until Seokjin tugs on the ring harder and Hoseok gasps, the last bead finally springing free.

He wraps his hand around Hoseok’s cock then and pulls him up until his back is plastered to Seokjin’s chest, his own cock nestled between Hoseok’s asscheeks again. Hoseok goes willingly, his body feeling weightless as Seokjin gets him into position.

Hoseok moans when Seokjin strokes him all the way down to the hilt, a tight ring of his fingers formed around Hoseok’s girth. Seokjin presses a kiss to Hoseok’s shoulder when he lets his hips rock forward, everything hot between them once again. There’s a burning thrum of pleasure racing through Seokjin’s veins now and Seokjin knows that the fire is roaring.

Hoseok’s skin feels like a live flame against Seokjin, and when he slides up into the curve of his back, Hoseok whines until he’s turning and tugging Seokjin onto the bed, climbing onto the elder’s lap. The condom Seokjin forgot about is held above him as Hoseok tears it open and slides it down his length, holding the base of Seokjin’s cock to his rim before he sinks down on it. Seokjin grips Hoseok’s waist and waits with a heavy breath as Hoseok adjusts, his thighs shaking, but all too soon, Hoseok is rocking down into him, his thighs slapping against Seokjin’s waist.

Seokjin takes this as his cue to move and then they’re both cursing out loud when the head of Seokjin’s cock brushes against Hoseok’s prostate.

It’s almost comical how fast they come, but considering how long their foreplay was, Seokjin doesn’t blame them. Especially with how heated everything is.

Seokjin comes first, deep within Hoseok, but still rocking up even deeper to help Hoseok into his orgasm. Hoseok clamps down on the elder as he comes, spurting over his fist and dripping down onto Seokjin’s stomach, his thighs shaking with the strain. Seokjin’s orgasm feels like a stream of cool water, quenching the roaring fire Hoseok had ignited in him and Seokjin swims in it for a while, only breaking the surface when Hoseok hands him a bottle of lotion and Seokjin takes it, sitting up to start massaging Hoseok’s backside.

Hoseok is pliant underneath him, almost sleepy with how lazy his movements are.

“You okay?” Seokjin asks, his voice cracking near the end.

Hoseok smiles and turns at the waist to pull Seokjin down by his neck. “More than okay.”

When they kiss, their lips are nothing more than a gentle slide against one another, but Seokjin wouldn’t have it any other way.

Hoseok turns back to lie on his stomach once they break apart and Seokjin rubs the lotion into his skin, glad that the flaming red is already beginning to cool. The younger sighs gratefully as Seokjin kneads into his sensitive skin, pressing a kiss to the base of Hoseok’s spine as he does.

It’s quiet in their bedroom again and Seokjin knows their sheets are a mess, but he really doesn’t find it in him to care when Hoseok tugs him down into the mattress for another gentle kiss.

#2seok #jinhope #btssmutclub #seoknetwork #hyunglinenetwork #btswritingcafe #kwritersworldnet #btsguild #betareadernet #bts #smut #fluff #p:seokjin/hoseok #f:y&mwlk #m: fic

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itsnotgray · 10 months ago

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Cassie screamed so loud when Michigan won. She literally tackled jj when she saw him.

oh absolutely!

as he was walking over to talk with his family cassie intercepted him and tackled him in a hug.

“we fucking did it baby!” she screamed as she latched her arms around his neck, a few tears falling from both of their eyes, because they did it- michigan really did it- jj really did it.

but as quick as she smothered him in a hug, she unlatched her arms, and gestures to his family, “i’ll see you later j- go see everyone,” and she pecked his cheek, before running off to excitedly converse with a few of the cheerleaders.

#cracked spines and pre-wrap au #csapw #jj x cassandra #jj mccarthy

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hallie-fics · 5 years ago

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author spotlight - restlessqueenx

“If you get yourself killed doing this,” Harry murmurs, his hand on the back of her neck, his forehead warm where it's leaning against hers, “I will never ever forgive you.”

- Someday I’ll Need Your Spine to Hide Behind @restlessqueenx

it’s not hard to note the fics that define a fandom. this author has written three, three defining stories. the amount of love and respect i have for them is immense, and i was honored to be able to ask and receive answers for these various questions regarding everything from their writing process to favorite hallie headcanon.

this is only the first in a series of interviews done with hallie authors. if there’s anyone who you’d like to see, please message me and i’ll get that sorted out right away!

the q&a

*quick note, I tend to shorten my titles when talking about them because I always pick such long titles, so I may refer to Someday I’ll Need Your Spine to Hide Behind as “Spine,” It Feels Like Winter Follows You Around as “Winter” and Screaming at the Stars as “Stars”

Favorite of your stories (and why)

I think, at least right now, it has to be Someday I’ll Need Your Spine to Hide Behind, because it’s complete. Also, because Winter (Harry’s POV) wouldn’t exist without it (I had never intended to write it, and it just sort of happened), and Screaming at the Stars is probably more in the vein of what I normally write, but I can’t decide how satisfied I am with it until I wrap it up.

Easiest story to write

Probably Screaming at the Stars because it just sort of showed up as this emotion in my chest and I knew I wanted to put it down on the page. Spine was pretty time consuming because it’s canon divergent and I was constantly having to check scenes to get the dialogue/descriptions right. I wanted to use as much of canon as I could, but that meant that I couldn’t really write it if I wasn’t home with the episodes available. Winter was (is) difficult because of how dark of a headspace I sometimes have to get into with Harry. Stars is overall a much lighter emotional space to access.

Hardest story to write

Spine, just because of how much work it took to weave the canon with the canon divergence and reframe scenes. Winter is easier because (even though it does include some scenes that aren’t in Spine) I have the blueprint of Spine to refer to, and I reuse some sections of it word for word to highlight the difference in POV when it diverges. Winter is definitely emotionally heavier, but it’s less tedious work.

Pre-writing process (if any)

For me, it depends a lot on the fic. With Spine, the very first thing that came to me was “What if I wrote a soulmate AU where the only thing that indicates that is that wherever you fall asleep, you always wake up where your soulmate is?” Then I thought, “Could this be set in the canon universe? How would that potentially just twist around or change what we’ve seen?” And everything spiralled out from there. I didn’t really outline initially, I started writing it, just to see where it was going. Then I ended up having to go through every episode and watch each Harry, Allie, and Hallie scene and write basic outlines of the dialogue and what happened in those scenes so I could start to figure out how to adjust the scenes/story to fit the soulmate AU idea. I’m not very patient about outlines, so I mostly just bullet point brief descriptions of what I need to write and then re-examine the scene as I’m writing. I’ve never written something that relied so heavily on canon before. It’s a lot of work and I’m really impressed by people who do it regularly. So Spine’s pre-writing was basically an idea on a twisted trope (I don’t know if I’m the first person to think of it, but I’ve never read a soulmate au with the basis of Spine before) and then watching/transposing the canon scenes. Winter didn’t really have any since I had Spine as a basis. Stars I started thinking about while taking a shower and I just jumped right into it.

What drew you to Hallie?

I love ships that I see potential for, but aren’t all neatly worked out immediately in canon. And I love ships that I feel the characters have a lot of potential to grow and change as individuals within the relationship. I was a little unsure about Hallie at first as I was watching the show, because it took me a while to work out how I felt about Harry in general, but I just see so much potential for a great story between them. And, to be quite honest, Kathryn and Alex just have loads and loads of on screen chemistry, they just light up with each other in scenes. Sometimes actors just have that with each other and it’s almost hard to look away.

Hopes for season 2

Growth and help for Harry! I’m okay with having to wait for romantic Hallie (presuming we get more seasons) as long as keeping them apart feels organic and true to the story (and not done solely for tension & keeping the audience coming back), but I need to see Harry receive help (I get that he can’t get professional help in these circumstances, but he really needs people who are genuinely looking out for him and trying to help him) and to also grow as a person and make better decisions/amends for some of his actions. I want Harry to have friends/people who actually care about him. While I really love Kelly’s character, and appreciate that she’s tried to keep an eye out for him, I think Harry needs people in his life outside of just an ex (and obviously outside of Campbell) and that’s pretty much all he’s had for a while. Harry’s so isolated in season 1, and I don’t see him being able to develop much (in a positive manner) if he continues to be so isolated in season 2.

Favorite line (or lines) that you’ve written for a hallie fic/ a section that you’re really proud of

From Spine, probably my favorite pieces are-

Allie tells him to leave like it matters, like come morning she won't find herself curled in his bed, close enough to feel his body heat. She tells him to go, because she wants to hate him, thinks she deserves to hate him, but she doesn't. And that's even worse.

And then the end, which I wrote long before I actually got to it. Specifically-

“There's probably a world somewhere,” Harry says, and his voice rumbles through his chest, against her skin, “where we never worked any of this out, and you and I are on opposite sides and always will be.”

“Probably.” It wouldn't be hard, she thinks, to have ended up somewhere else, anywhere else. They fought for this, a small sliver of peace in a fucked up world. It might be all they get.

“I'm glad it's not this one.”

“Me too.” Under her cheek, his heartbeat is steady, in sync with hers.

From Winter my absolute favorite section so far is the flashback to Harry when he’s 13 & deals with his familial relationships. I also am pretty happy with-

Allie is simultaneously fragile and hard as steel, one for a moment, the other the next. Harry doesn't understand it, how she can bear to wear her feelings to blatantly on her face, how she survives without a protective shell to keep her safe. He could never do that. She doesn't burrow down inside herself, she burns. He almost can't even watch it. Harry doesn't know what he is, but he knows Allie is something else entirely.

And-

She lets out a little shaky exhale. “I don't know how to hate you.”

Harry wonders how that can be. It's easy, he wants to say, if she doesn't already, all she needs to do is crack open his ribs, see that dark void yawning underneath, that place he falls into. But Allie isn't like him, even her darkest moods and thoughts are full of fire, casting light. Allie burns things down, she doesn't swallow them up.

He tells her the truth, one he's known for a long time. “I do.”

And, finally-

She's not starlight or sunlight or candlelight, she's a forest fire. When she leans into him, skin fever hot and her nails biting into his shoulders, he wonders if her inferno could burn the darkness right out from behind his ribs. Harry thinks he could be reduced to ashes, but he'd still let her try.

From Stars, I’m a little less sure, but I do like this part-

Just outside the doors, she catches a glimpse of Harry, head thrown back, laughing, his friends crowding close to him like moths to a flame, like they can't help it. Harry's always been magnetic. Allie remembers his face in the moonlight, the way she'd felt compelled to lean closer. It wasn't her fault; if you get close enough to Harry, he draws you into his orbit, planets rotating around a sun, basking in his light. Even now, her feet ache to drift in his direction. Those aren't her friends, he's not her friend anymore, but his gravitational pull is strong.

What type of Hallie stories do you like to write/read? (canon divergence, modern au, soulmate au, etc)

I’m an AU girl at heart, which is ironic considering 2 of my 3 Hallie fics are canon divergent. But really, I’m a big fan of AUs, almost any of them, I love them so much. I think I get more and more attracted to them the further I get into a show (the more seasons) because canon gets more confining as you have more of it. I think the kind of AU I like the most depends on the ship. I like soulmate AUs (obviously, I wrote one, lol) for Hallie because they have a history of not being super fond of each other & it’s a great way to force them to interact.

Favorite Hallie trope?

I think…. maybe Bed Sharing? You may notice that I write it into like everything I write ever. I just love the intimacy of it and the conversations people can have late at night in the dark or sleepy in the early morning. I dunno. It’s a thing for me, I guess.

Favorite Hallie headcanon?

I haven’t written it into anything (yet), but I have this mental picture of Modern AU Hallie getting really competitive about playing boardgames with each other. That has a soft spot in my heart.

How long have you been writing for?

Pretty much as long as I can remember. The first thing I can remember writing (like thinking I was seriously writing something people would want to read) was this ridiculous story about unicorn royalty when I was about seven years old. I never finished it, but I think I actually did write like at least a couple thousand words before I quit. I have hundreds of beginnings of original works, literally several hundred, but most of them are only a few hundred words. My parents always encouraged me to write, so it was just something I did pretty much ever since I physically could.

How has your writing style evolved over time?

Oh, I’m not even sure where to begin with this. Because I’ve been writing since I was really young, it’s definitely evolved a lot, some of it just through age and getting a better grasp of language, and some of it deliberately. I think when I was younger, I tried really hard to mimic the styles of writers I liked, and I’ve definitely moved away from that as I’ve gotten older and found my own voice. I’m not trying to sound like anyone in particular now. That’s not to say I don’t find other writers influential, I certainly do, but I’m not actively attempting to write in someone else’s style. I think everyone who writes is always evolving. You can’t help but be influenced by everything you read and absorb.

Do you ever worry about how your stories are received?

All the time. I only have 3 works on the restlessqueen AO3, but I think I’ve posted about 25 fanfictions over various platforms/accounts for various fandoms and ships, and I get nervous about them every time. Whenever I write something, I usually get this glow of like “Oh, I’ve done something and I like it!” and then that sort of slowly wears off and I start to just question everything about it. I don’t know anyone who feels 100% confident about the stuff they post. I think I’m a little less nervous about it than I used to be, because people have been very kind to me for the most part (I have one old fic from around 2012/13 that got a couple of comments that still haunt me a bit, but other than that I’ve had good experiences) and so that’s helped ease some of my fears. I think what makes me the most worried now is when I post something and I just don’t get much feedback or it takes quite a while for responses to roll in, because I’m always thinking like “is it really so bad no one has literally anything to say?? Is it that bad and I didn’t realize it?” Also, I’m a bit insecure about my descriptive writing, I feel like I don’t do a very good job of describing location/setting, and it’s something I’m working on. I’m always a little scared someone will say they basically just didn’t get any sort of mental picture from what I write.

What’s the hardest part of writing for you?

Focus. I have so many ideas always bouncing around my head, but I get distracted super easily. I can’t ever seem to only do one thing at a time. If I’m writing, I’m definitely either listening to music or sometimes even playing a podcast in the background because it’s like if there’s any free space at all in my brain, I just completely lose my ability to do anything. It’s a big struggle for me. I actually write with the most focus when I’m supposed to be doing something else. I wrote 150k worth of an original piece by writing when I was supposed to be taking notes in history class in high school. In fact, a lot of my fanfiction has been written during lectures, because somehow if I’m supposed to be focusing on something else, I’m almost always the most productive version of my writing self. I wish I were different, though.

Do you get writer’s block and if so how do you deal with it?

Ugh. Unfortunately. I’m not great at handling writer’s block, tbh. Sometimes I just don’t write for a long time. I think reading can sometimes oust me from it, but not always. The worst is that occasionally I have to just push through it and write my way out of it (which basically means just writing really uninspired crap until I manage to find some inspiration again). I do think that talking to someone about what I’m working on is a big help, though it’s not always an available option. I’m part of a writing group, and I usually feel really inspired after we’ve had a writing discussion.

Biggest risk you’ve ever taken as a writer?

Wow, this is actually a really hard question. I feel like I’m not a big risk taker, and this is making me wonder if maybe I should try to take more writing risks. I guess most recently it could be creating the restlessqueen AO3. I made it because I have written quite a few fics for a pretty large fandom and I had gotten comfortable within that space and I thought it would be good for me to step outside of that world for a bit. I think it really has been, too.

again, the biggest of thanks to @restlessqueenx for doing this with me! to anyone who hasn’t read any of these fics, please do so immediately. each of them are amazing and i will never step recommending them!

#the society #hallie #hallie:fic #fic rec #author spotlight #i will forver recommend spine to anyone who asks for a soulmate au #restlessqueenx

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whichstiel · 6 years ago

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Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Supernatural Rating: Mature Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Charlie Bradbury/Kara Characters: Charlie Bradbury, Kara Additional Tags: Episode: s14e06 Optimism, Optimism, spn 14x06, episode coda, Episode Tag, Cupcakes, Bakeries, Meet-Cute, Apocalypse AU - Pre-apocalypse Series: Part 5 of Season 14 Codas Summary:

Charlie's having a terrible day, but an accidental collision just might flip her day - and her life - upside down.

2012

The elevators of Richard Roman Enterprises were designed for ostentatious display, with their wide window wrapped exteriors and show room lighting. They were elevators you could strike poses in or have torrid, very public affairs. They were elevators to see and be seen. Charlie Bradbury preferred to ride them alone. It was easy to do. Come in an hour earlier than everyone else; leave an hour later. Headphones were armor; her shield was her steady gaze on the floor whenever anyone had the audacity to join her. Even when she had to share an elevator with someone, Charlie had a knack for disappearing into the glassy backdrop. She was a programmer, inconsequential, and that was just the way she liked it. Life was so much more peaceful that way.

Today there was no such peace. Roman Enterprises was under a newly announced congressional investigation and the complex stirred like an angry beehive. The main lunch room spanned half the third floor and it was, for lack of better descriptor, a madhouse today. She’d just endured fifteen minutes attempting to read her book under the constant barrage of her cubicle neighbor’s worried monologuing about the stability of his job (as though Roman Industries was the last possible place to find work in the Chicago area). Charlie clutched her book under her arm and rode the elevator down, ready to find some much needed solitude in the quiet of her car. There were other people in the elevator talking loudly about the press conference, as though they were all survivors jammed into a life boat. Charlie stared at the floor and tried not to roll her eyes. It wasn’t like it was the end of the world, after all. If one thing failed, there would always be something else out there.

The elevator settled at the ground floor with an almost imperceptible quiver and the doors slid open. Charlie hurried out with her eyes still low, the spine of her book cutting into her arm. And then the edge of a box glanced sharply off her shoulder. Charlie looked up, breath drawn in to protest the assault, and was faced with three huge pink pastry boxes precariously stacked on top of each other. From behind the boxes issued a high, feminine moan of dismay. The top box, jostled by the collision, slid inexorably towards the ground like an iceberg sheeting off a glacier. Charlie’s arms shot out instinctively. Her book dropped to the marbled floor with a crack. She caught the box.

“Whoa,” Charlie gasped as she tried to balance the oddly weighted box in her hands. It wobbled as the contents thumped to one side. “Watch where you’re—“ And then her mouth dropped open and her protest faded away.

A delicate face twisted in agony peered at her over the other two boxes. Mahogany eyes, full lips, and a halo of dark curls framed her contrite expression as she said, “Oh shit. Are you okay? I’m so, so sorry about that.”

“Hi,” Charlie said, stupidly. Warmth crept over her ears and engulfed her cheeks. “Um. I mean, I’m fine. Don’t worry.” She tried for a reassuring grin, bobbing a little out of habit before remembering that she clutched a poorly balanced pastry box. She froze and tilted the box carefully horizontal again. “Are you okay?”

“I’m—“ The woman bit her lip again and her gaze darted around the busy lobby. She smiled ruefully. “Lost,” she finished. “I have to deliver these cupcakes to the Eagle conference room, wherever that is. The guys at the guard station told me to go up to the fifth floor and then I would ‘know where to go from there.’”

Charlie laughed. “Oh god, yeah. They’re pretty useless. Also, you need a key tag to get in.”

The woman’s face fell and she glanced back towards the buzzing guard station ruefully. “Of course I do. They told me I could just go right up. I guess I could—“

“I could walk you there? If you want?” Charlie offered it without thought, still glowing from the sudden shock of meeting the other woman’s wide, warm eyes.

The woman turned back and flicked her gaze along Charlie appraisingly, her strained frown rapidly replaced by a slow, warm smile. “Okay. Thanks.”

“Awesome.” Charlie felt the heat leave her cheeks and suffuse the rest of her body instead. Pretty sure she just checked me out ohmygodohmygod.“So…”

“The Eagle Room?” Laughter shone in the other woman’s eyes.

“Right. This way.” Charlie jerked her chin over her shoulder, indicating the closed elevator doors behind her. “I’ll just get the button,” she murmured, shifting the pastry box to one arm and reaching for the gold embossed buttons on the wall. She glanced backwards. “I’m Charlie, by the way. Charlie Bradbury.”

“Charlie, it’s wonderful to meet you,” the other woman said, moving to stand next to Charlie. “My name’s Kara Olson.” She hefted the boxes in her arms demonstratively. “This is my business - Hey, Cupcake!” She intoned the name jovially. ”Well, not this exactly. Not just these specific boxes. But, you know…” She stopped on a steep inhale, then leaned towards Charlie and half whispered conspiratorially, “This is my first big corporate job. Kind of make or break with the bigger caterers, you know? I’m a little nervous.”

“Oh! Wow. So did you make these?” When Kara nodded Charlie said, “that’s so cool. I’m sure you’re - they’re amazing.”

Kara laughed richly and looked up at Charlie through her lashes. “Thanks. You’re pretty amazing yourself for, you know, rescuing me.” She nodded at the box in Charlie’s arms.

The entire right side of her body, inches away from Kara, felt suddenly electric. Charlie tossed her hair flirtatiously. “Always happy to help a damsel in distress.”

Kara affected a swooning look, lips parted dramatically and eyes cast ceiling-ward. “My hero.”

Read the rest on AO3

https://archiveofourown.org/works/16639328

#supernatural episode coda #spn 14x06 #optimism #charlie bradbury #kara #cupcakes

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dinoswrites · 6 years ago

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Cold Ashes

The Arcana, Role-Swap AU. Pre-game.

[Previous | Masterpost | A03 | Next]

Anyway a while back @cedarmoons wrote this role-reversal AU and now I actually know what my apprentice looks acts and thinks like because nothing gets me going like a chance to worldbuild on someone else’s turf. So here’s how Kai finds her familiar in a world where Asra is charged with Countess Nadia’s murder, and Julian is the doctor famous for easing the symptoms of the plague and allowing its victims to live longer.

One month after she is brought to Doctor Devorak, Kai runs away.

She is… angry. Angry that he is leaving again, and forbidding her from following. Frustrated with herself, that her mouth will not form sounds into words and she cannot even tell him how she feels.

“I have to go to the palace,” he tells her as he throws on his cloak with shaking hands. “I’m sorry, Kai. I’ll be back as soon as I can—just… just stay in your room. Alright?”

She can’t tell him that she’s scared. That when he’s not there, her only company are patients with empty plague-reddened eyes staring at her, coughing, reaching—

Or an empty room. With the bed she sleeps on, the clothes Julian has given her, and some things that she supposes are supposed to bring her comfort but they are books she cannot read and tools she does not know how to hold—

One of the patients is screaming. The Doctor has said that the worst are not here, over and over, but this man started screaming when Julian left, and he hasn’t stopped, and now he’s banging on the door of his room…

It’s quieter outside. The man’s screams are muffled by wood and stone, and she can hear her own breathing, and try to collect her scattered thoughts. The air is colder, and the jacket she stole from Julian’s closet is heavy on her shoulders. Julian’s shoes did not fit her, and she curls her toes on the cold stones outside the clinic, and remembers walking them before. Remembers bare feet on rough ground, a blanket someone had thrown over her shoulders, and how it seemed the whole city was aflame.

There is no fire, now. Not a soul on the street at all—the very air itself oddly still, though a chill still runs up her spine.

She takes a breath, picks a direction, and starts walking.

She doesn’t know what she’s looking for. If she’s looking for anything at all, or where she’s going. But she leaves the clinic behind her, walking past buildings with shuttered windows that let out as little light and noise as possible, and she finds her steps take her downward, and the buildings around her start to become smaller, more run-down, and she has to look at the ground at her feet so she doesn’t step on lumber or broken bottles, or worse things she can’t identify.

After a while, she grows tired. Her steps falter, and she finds a quiet alley off to the side of a dark, dingy street—but there are some wooden that aren’t too dirty, and she means to only sit on them a moment, but her knees give out the moment she even thinks about rest. She collapses sideways on the crates, and pulls Julian’s heavy jacket closer to herself, shivering as she tucks her aching legs close to her body.

She doesn’t mean to fall asleep. She’s doesn’t remember closing her eyes, even—but all of a sudden there is a noise, and she jerks awake, and it’s lighter out than she remembers.

She sits up so quickly that she makes herself dizzy a moment—and she has to sit there until she feels steady again, her breath coming out in little frantic white puffs into the cold morning air and her teeth chattering so loudly that for a moment she honestly can’t hear anything else.

Then she hears the noise again—a high-pitched cry of pain, certainly inhuman, followed by shrieks of laughter.

She stands up and follows the source of the noise—and she winces as her feet scuff on frostbitten stones, and every joint in her body burns as she moves. She ignores all of it as she stumbles up the street through the early morning chill, and around a corner and into the next alley, where there are three children gathered around a barrel.

She stares at them—she’s seen children before, although not a one of them healthy. They look skinnier than they probably should, she thinks, and covered in dirt with too many holes in their clothing for how cold it is. Only one of them is wearing shoes, and the other two have simply wrapped cloth around their feet.

One of the children raises his hand, and she sees that he is holding a rock. He throws it down into the barrel, and she hears that noise again—the yowl of some animal in pain, coming from inside the barrel.

Kai yells, without thinking. Wordless and rough, and louder than she means to—but it startles the children, who barely even look at her before they scatter, disappearing into the maze of alleys faster than her eyes can follow.

It’s not the children she cares about, though—instead she rushes to the barrel, and leans over it to peer inside.

At the bottom, crowding itself as far away from her as it can get, is a small cat. So small and black it looks almost like a streak of soot, in the bottom of the barrel, aside from its angry yellow eyes, so bright against the rest of it they almost seem to glow.

It scowls up at her and hisses. As it tries to move further away, she sees that one of its legs is clearly broken, and there is a gash in its side from one of the rocks now lying at the bottom of the barrel.

She gets more scratches up her arms than she can count, and a few deep bite marks on her hands, but she gets the cat wrapped up in Julian’s spare coat. Afterwards, she stands in the alley while muffled growls of rage and pain emanate from the coat in her arms, not a soul in the streets around her, and it occurs to her that… she has no idea what to do, now.

The cat struggles, but is unable to escape the coat. She resists the urge to clutch it tighter, worried she’ll hurt it more. She takes a deep breath and steps out into the street.

Kai wanders through the streets of Vesuvia for hours—when she sees someone, she approaches them and holds out the coat. The cat inside then yowls, and the person in question usually ignores her, or flees with haste.

She tries a guard only once. He shoves her so hard he knocks her clean off her feet, and only a firm grip on the coat keeps the cat from escaping. She does not stick around long enough to listen to the things he screams at her as she flees.

It’s nearly dark again, and she is tired and thirsty and hungry when she finally hears a familiar voice. The cat has stopped yowling, though it growls weakly whenever she stumbles. Which she does as she turns a corner, and sees an open door, and an old woman arguing with someone at its step in a language Kai doesn’t speak.

She… knows this woman. Has seen her before at Julian’s clinic. She can’t remember her name, but she brings soup sometimes.

Kai takes a few cautious steps forward, and clears her throat.

The woman turns—and while the man she is arguing with looks over Kai with a bland expression, the woman’s face lights up in recognition, and then immediately alarm.

“Kai,” she says, rushing forward. “Where have you been? Ilya is worried sick!”

Kai opens her mouth as if to respond, then closes it and merely holds the coat out. The cat lets out a pitiful mewl, so soft Kai can barely hear it.

“Ah,” the old woman tuts as she grasps Kai’s shoulders. “I’m not expecting you to answer, girl. You’re cold as ice, come in, come in. Moriz!”

The man snaps to attention.

“Get Ilya! Bring him here! Quickly now!”

Kai finds herself rushed into a small home with boarded up windows. The moment she is inside, she realises how much her teeth are chattering, and how much her knees are shaking. Every bit of her skin burns, and she can’t feel her toes or the tips of her fingers. The inside of her throat feels like it’s on fire with every desperate breath of too-hot air she gulps down.

She closes her eyes, and for a moment she smells smoke, and hears the roar of waves in her ears.

She does not remember falling. But when she next opens her eyes, she’s lying on a bed, covered in blankets, and the old woman is blotting at Kai’s nose with a scratchy piece of linen.

“You fell,” she supplies, frowning. “Out cold. Made an old lady carry you.”

Kai blinks up at her, confused. And then, all in a rush, she thinks about the cat, and sits up so fast her head starts spinning again.

The old woman’s scowl cracks into a fond smile, and though she tuts admonishingly she helps Kai sit properly, and steadies her a moment before turning to the foot of the bed where, lying on Julian’s now-unravelled coat, is the cat.

It’s… bled a lot, she thinks. And it seems almost smaller than she thought, when she swaddled it up—its breathing is shallow, and it seems barely able to keep its eyes open as it tries its best to glare at the old woman.

She is not deterred—she picks it up, ignoring its weak protests, and deposits it in Kai’s arms.

“He is very weak,” the old woman says, just as the door bursts open.

“Where is she?” Doctor Devorak yells as he nearly throws himself into the room. He’s carrying his medical bag, the one he takes when he goes to places that are not the palace, and he nearly drops it when he finally locks eyes with her, his whole expression rapidly shifting from total panic to utter relief.

“Kai,” he says, rushing forward, his face growing stern. “I was—I can’t believe—I told you to—”

He stops when he reaches the bed, and she holds out the cat.

He looks down at it, brow furrowing, and then back up at her.

“Never mind the cat,” he finally says, kneeling by the bed and opening his bag. “Let me take a look at you, you’ve been out in the cold for—”

She makes a small noise of distress, low in her throat, and holds the cat out again, more urgently this time.

Julian sighs. He looks down at the cat once more—breathing still, but growing weaker by the second—before he runs a hand over his face.

“Kai,” he says, softly, “I’m—I treat people. I don’t know the first thing about cats.”

She stares at him. He drops his gaze from hers, busying himself with his bag.

“I’m sorry,” he says.

She takes a breath—and that’s when she realises she’s crying. She’s not sure why. She—can’t explain it. But it seems—it seems like such a waste, to have come all this way. To have Julian brought back to her, right when she needs him most, and… and for him to do nothing?

She thinks of the people in the clinic, walking away sobbing with relief. With pouches of herbs and promises that their loved ones will live a little longer—and of how empty Julian looks, when the door is closed and he thinks she is no longer watching. How utterly exhausted he is when he slumps in a chair, and buries his face in his hands.

“Please.”

Julian starts. He looks up at her, wide-eyed with alarm. She takes a sharp breath—because she said that, didn’t she? It came out croaky and rough, and strange to her ears, but…

“Please,” she says again, and it sounds a little better this time. “Julian. Please.”

He stares at her. Just… stares, for so long that she wants to strangle him. But eventually he looks down at the cat in her arms, and he sighs—and finally, he reaches forward, and takes one of his gloves off before pressing his hand to the gash in the cat’s side.

She watches, wide-eyed, as a strange symbol on his neck begins to glow. And then she watches as the cat’s wound glows with the same white light, and then slowly begins to knit itself back together.

The cat jerks in place, and as she lowers it to rest in her lap it sits up and immediately begins cleaning its fur where Julian touched it.

And then Julian collapses.

She cries out and tries to stand—but Julian waves her off between wheezing coughs, and the old woman makes no move to help him either. She actually just looks unimpressed as he rolls around on the floor, gasping for breath, blood seeping through his white shirt between his fingers—

And then his breathing evens out. The blood flow eases, and he groans as he sits up, and then allows the old woman to help him get to his feet.

“Another shirt ruined,” he croaks, before the old woman helps him into a chair.

“So dramatic,” she scolds, before turning on her heel and heading over to the fire, and the pot of soup simmering over it.

Julian flashes his familiar overconfident smile at Kai. “See? Nothing to worry about. Nothing at all.”

She just stares at him.

He smirks. “Cat got your tongue?” he teases, before looking down at the actual cat and scooting his chair a little closer. “Where did you even find such a tiny little thing—”

He reaches out to pet the cat—and mid-groom, it arches its back and hisses at him, the only warning he gets before half a heartbeat later it takes a swipe at Julian’s outstretched hand.

Julian recoils, and Kai watches as a long, angry red scratch on his hand slowly disappears, leaving no evidence it was ever there. “Charming,” he drawls.

The cat growls at him.

Kai’s hand falls to rest on the cat’s back, and under her touch she feels it immediately calm. Its tense muscles relax, and it turns in her lap to headbutt her hand, and then to stretch its neck so she can scratch him under its chin. It starts to purr, loudly, while kneading the blankets still covering her lap.

“Ungrateful little—you’re welcome!”

The old woman laughs deep in her belly as she drops a bowl of soup into Julian’s hands. He hardly seems to notice, looking so utterly offended that Kai starts to laugh in turn, though she does try to cover it up with her other hand.

“Eat up,” the woman tells her, and Kai stops scratching the cat long enough to take the bowl. It mewls pitifully at the absence—before she lowers the bowl enough for it to drink out of.

“I wouldn’t let it do that,” Julian gripes, a spoon of soup halfway to his lips. “It’s probably diseased.”

The cat flicks its tail and its ears twitch in annoyance. Kai only smiles, and smooths the dirty fur over its back as it drinks its fill.

#the arcana #julian devorak #mazelinka #role reverse au #the arcana fanfic

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dear-mrs-otome · 7 years ago

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Consonance, Chapter 1: Exposition

Fandom: SLBP Pairing: Mitsunari + MC Rating: No Warnings (NSFW in later chapters) Summary: Transferring to a new school, and a new orchestra, is no easy task for any student. Even less so when your new roommate and fellow violinist is a polite but mysterious young woman with an absolutely infuriating twin brother. (2k words, Modern + College AU) Author’s Note: This should be longer. This should be better. This should be a lot of things, but I am too stubborn to not post something on the Mitsun’s birthday, so have this first chapter anyways. There are many more to follow, eventually. MAJOR SPOILERS FOR MITSUNARI’S ROUTE.

It was impossible to be homesick in a violin shop, as long as one never opened their eyes. The layouts might change, the shape of the building or even the people within it, but some things never did. The faint strand of notes floating in from the back room where someone was changing out strings. Rosin and varnish and old old wood on the air, catching you up like a dear friend’s hug.

“Can I help you find anything, miss?” The employee’s polite voice broke your reverie, and you shook your head with a smile.

“No, thank you. I’m just looking for the moment.” At his nod, you turned to brush a wistful gaze over the lovely Hesketh on display, curling your fingers behind your back to keep from reaching out to touch it. Some off these violins cost more than you would pay for your entire higher education - even with having just transferred to a more expensive university in Tokyo.

You ambled further into the store, past rows of cellos and violas and mathematically precise hashmarks of bows lining the wall. Nestled in long cases of squeaky-clean glass was a myriad of chin and shoulder rests, reminding you that you’d meant to replace yours for awhile. Now, before starting up with a new ensemble, seemed as good a time as any.

“Your neck is too short to require a shoulder rest.”

You glanced up from the array, half expecting to see an overbearing employee dispensing advice - but the man beside you was young. Close to your own age, and startlingly handsome. Neatly dressed in a pullover sweater and slacks, with a shock of midnight-blue hair that kept trying to fall into his equally blue eyes - the only thing even remotely unruly about his tidy appearance. He had the relaxed air of one browsing as well.

“Excuse me?” Had he actually been talking to you? You glanced around, but there was no one else nearby.

Waving a hand at the display case, the man fixed you with a flat stare. “The shoulder rests. I noticed you looking. I was merely pointing out that they were unnecessary.”

The first, tiniest spark of irritation flared in your belly, and you returned his stare. “I’m quite sure I know what works for me, thank you very much.”

He only blinked at your reply. “Have you ever even tried without? You are aware that the shoulder rest is a relatively recent invention, and the old masters never would have dreamt of it. Even if they weren’t creating instruments with female players in mind.”

“I am. Very aware. Thank you. But I also know that it improves my vibrato.” You couldn’t believe you were even humoring this…this…patronizing.

“If you require a rest to support your vibrato, that simply means your vibrato motion needs to be changed.” He frowned then, the expression pinching what would have otherwise been elegant features. It figured, didn’t it? The prettiest ones were almost always jerks.

“I do not need to defend my decision whether to use a shoulder rest or not from some…random man at the violin shop.” Tension hunched your shoulders, and you kept your words barely above a hiss. You were not going to cause a scene the first time you’d stepped into a new place.

No matter how tempting the thought was, right now.

“I don’t believe anyone was asking you to. I stated a fact, you have chosen to dismiss said fact - there is little else to be gained from dwelling on the matter. If you insist on ignorance, by all means, carry on.” And with that he turned away dismissively, his attention falling on a nearby display of bows he immediately strode over to, leaving you gaping in his wake.

He walked away from you? You had half a mind to follow him, and finish giving him a piece of it, but the first step set the case slung over your shoulder tapping against your thigh and you tamped down the urge. You had business to take care of, boxes to finish unpacking, and groceries to snag - you didn’t have time to waste any more breath on arguing with a know-it-all.

You plucked the shoulder rest you’d been eyeballing from its spot and stalked over to the register with it.

“Please, don’t mind him,” the clerk behind the counter begged as you set it down, his weathered gaze flickering to the stiff, ramrod spine of the man you’d been arguing with. “Mitsunari is a regular here. He means well.”

Smothering your grimace, you handed over payment. “I hope he purchases enough to make up for all the business he’s probably lost you then,” you grumble, half under your breath.

Wrapping your item in a bag, the elderly man nodded. “He teaches violin lessons to children in the back space of this shop, actually. They bring in plenty of business.”

You half choked on your breath. “That man?” You pointed across the store at his still-turned back. “Teaches children? Do their parents dislike them?”

“You might be surprised.” Chuckling as if he knew a great secret, the man merely shook his head and offered you your parcel. “Have a good day, miss. I hope we see you back again.”

Loaded down with bags, you elbowed the button in the elevator for your floor, the action still novel enough to make you smile. Back home there was no need - your house was modest and the city small, still steeped in history and sleepy in its own way. Nothing like the immense bustle and dizzying heights of Tokyo.

Shifting your load to one arm you pressed the security code to unlock your door, the numbers dredged up from memory. You’d stared at them for hours upon receiving your housing arrangements from the school last month, the four simple digits seeming to hold all of the secrets of the universe. What was this apartment going to look like? Were you ready for a roommate? What sort of person was this woman going to turn out to be?

At least, you could be grateful you knew it would be a woman. That was one advantage of attending an all-women’s university.

The door swung open with a sleek hiss, opening onto a modern entryway with space to change your shoes. You’d already seen the neat, minimalistic interior when you and your mother and Yahiko had moved boxes in that morning, but you hadn’t seen any sign of your new roommate at that time. Not even a hint of personal items or touch amongst the bare essentials of the pre-furnished decor. Just a terse note left on the counter that explained they’d be back that evening.

But you noticed there was one less pair of house slippers than there had been earlier, and from down the hallway that led to the two bedrooms there was the faint sound of music. Lilting and full of bravura, clearly Paganini. The recognition brought a smile to your face.

Maybe this would go much smoother than you’d even hoped.

“I’m home,” you called, toeing your shoes off and putting on a pair of slippers before shuffling deeper into the apartment. It was spotless, if small, and your grocery haul was more than enough to blanket the small amount of counter-space afforded your tiny kitchen.

No matter, though. You’d grown up cooking in one almost as tiny as this, before the restaurant had finally begun turning profits and your mom had been able to move the three of you into a proper home.

You had your head stuffed partway into the half-sized refrigerator, stowing some fruits and vegetables, when a voice came from just over your shoulder, startling you. “Welcome home.”

A yelp of surprise found its way loose before you could squash it, and you jumped, cracking your head on the inside of the fridge. Tears immediately sprang to your eyes and you clapped your hands over your head, rubbing the sting away as you straightened. Coming face to…almost face with a tall woman whose features swam slightly in your blurred vision.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you,” she said, sounding genuinely remorseful. There was a pleasantly husky edge to her voice, and what little of her smile you could see carried a genial air, until she seemed to finally get a good look at you and her smile fell away, drawing the rest of her features tight as it did. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah, don’t worry.” You offered her a wobbly grin as you let your hands fall back to your sides, blinking back the rest of your watering eyes. “Can’t hurt something that’s empty, my mom always teased me.”

She smiled again, but even you could tell it was merely politeness and not genuine amusement at your bad joke. “I’m Saki. You must be…well, you know your own name. And I read the paperwork too.” Bowing just the right amount, she cut off any further discussion of the topic. “It is nice to meet you.”

Alright, that was almost uncanny. She looked…disturbingly like the man you’d spent the afternoon glaring holes through at the violin shop. The same deep blue eyes, the same angular face, the same dark hair - although hers was long and caught up in a plait, and she seemed to be missing the beauty mark below one eye you’d grudgingly noted on the man.

“Is something the matter? Do I have something on my face?” Her tone was mild, but there was a subtle edge to it, and you realized you’d been staring.

“No. It’s just that - this is going to sound very odd, but - do you have a brother, by any chance? About this high?” You gestured with your hands to the top of Saki’s head, fingers fluttering uncertainly. This was ridiculous, right? “Seems to frown a lot and has very….strong opinions?”

“Ah.” Saki made a small sound of acknowledgment, her gaze drifting away almost uncomfortably. “Mitsunari. My…twin brother.”

“I’d say so. You look almost exactly alike!”

Her expression grew pained, and you realized that perhaps it hadn’t come across the way you intended - maybe you’d offended her telling her she looked rather like a man. But at the same time, telling her you thought her brother was attractive (even if he had ruined the effect by opening his mouth) didn’t seem like the wisest course of action either. As you scrambled for something else to say, the awkward silence spooled out between you.

Saki broke the tension first. “It is possible you’ll see him again. I’ve always given him free use of the apartment. Since his is much further away and his school and work are so close by, sometimes he stops here to study or eat between them. Unless that will be a problem?”

“No,” you hastily reassured her. This had been mentioned briefly in the handful of emails you had exchanged before arriving, and it seemed petty to change your mind now simply because her brother had proven himself something of an ass upon your first meeting. “It’ll be fine, I’m sure.”

You hoped. Worst case, you could make yourself scarce when he came around.

She smiled politely, and pointed at a whiteboard on the refrigerator door that was covered in lines of neat print. “I put a rough schedule on there, for safety and so that you’ll never be surprised by his visits. If you would please fill in yours when you get your classes ironed out, that would be helpful.”

“I will.”

“And over here…” She moved past you in the small kitchen gracefully, managing to give you a wide berth in such a small space, and drew your attention to another grid tacked to the wall. “I have taken the liberty of putting together a chore chart. If you have objections to any of these, then we can discuss other arrangements.”

At the silent shaking of your head, Saki nodded with satisfaction. “Then if you’ll excuse me, I have studying to do. Good night.” Before you could scramble together a reply, or wonder what she could possibly have to study before classes had even started, she’d turned on a heel and disappeared back down the hallway, out of sight with the soft snick of a door sliding deliberately closed. Leaving you with a handful of bean sprouts and taking your half-formed hopes of a friendly first dinner with her.

Tag list: @ayatoiloveyou @cavern-of-bells @soundless737 @that-otome-potato @atroniascreamsube @ihavenotfallenyet @wonky-glass-ornament @saizoswifey @belxsar @alva-radio @shikikira @enchantress96 @frywen-babbles @eth-real @kawa-akarin @yoolee @tinydadkanetsugu @nightingaledarling @thegreenfairy25 @pseudofaux @mandakatt @meruchan @his-pretty-little-doll @jjonghugs @em-jplaysotome - If you do not wish to be on the tag list for this fic, or any others (or if you DO WISH TO BE) let me know! No hard feelings ever!

#slbp #slbp mitsunari #ishida mitsunari #my writing #slbp fanfic #spoilers

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