#fic: highball

[on-wine-dark-seas]

HIGHBALL

"Woman begins by resisting a man's advances and ends by blocking his retreat." —Oscar Wilde

🔞 Rating: Explicit ❤️‍🔥 Relationship[s]: Sukuna/Nadja/Toji ⚠️ Be Advised: Gun violence, descriptions of blood and gore, explicit sexual situations [gunplay, torture, and mild exhibitionism], adult language. This is a non-curse AU so there is no jujutsu, but it is still a violent world of organized crime. 🪧 Summary: Sukuna and Nadja are living an idyllic life as former figures in the rotten underbelly of organized crime. When an old contact of Nadja's shows up on their doorstep with a dire warning, the trio must prepare to do what they must to protect their newfound peace.

▶• ılıılıılıılıılıılı. 🎧 [ highball: spotify ] 🎧 [ highball: apple music ]

🌻 Prelude: The Season of Flowers 🐅 Act I: Idyll's End 🐉 Act II: Exhumed ⛩️ Act III: Legacy

⛩️ AO3 ᪥ OC Masterpost ᪥ Fic Masterpost ⛩️

🌻 Prologue I: Sunflower Woman

     The first time Sukuna met her, she’d been leaned over a flower stall, nose-deep in a sunflower, eyes shut in private bliss at something as simple as beauty and fragrance. Sukuna would never forget that day: she was wearing a jersey-knit dress the color of marigolds, and it hugged her full curves, giving her a lovely silhouette. The rich color was vibrant against her warm, umber skin, and Sukuna recalled biting his lip at the sight of her nipples poking through the fabric, of the swell of her rear’s shape seen from behind. Her hair, a charming profusion of jet-black braids, was piled on top of her head. A pair of golden earrings dangled from her lobes, glinting in the early afternoon sun.

     He watched her chatter with the florist, and her smile was everything.

     Then she turned her head to look at him, her dark eyes snagging on his. Immediately, she smiled at him, averting her eyes almost shyly.

     Sukuna approached, never one to turn down a hunt for worthy prey, greeting her with his signature smirk. He hoped she didn’t mind his tattoos. He wasn’t sure what foreigners’ views on tattoos were, but judging from her shy but interested gaze, and her posture, he’d argue she didn’t mind.

     “Hello, beautiful,” he said to her. “I hope you don’t mind my being forward, but you are the loveliest person I’ve seen today.”

     The woman raised her brows in surprise, and her smile was warm enough to melt butter. He could almost feel the flush of heat in her cheeks as she let out a sultry little laugh.

     “Oh, I bet a handsome devil like you uses that line on all the girls,” she teased.

     Sukuna laughed, taking her teasing good-naturedly. “Only the ones I hope will have coffee with me.”

     She tilted her head, dark eyes sparkling. “Coffee, hm?” She asked.

     “Just coffee,” Sukuna said. “After that, you can continue to indulge me or tell me to fuck off.”

     As it so happened, she did continue to indulge him. She indulged him over coffee, taking a unique and keen interest in his life and of course his appearance. Then, unwilling to be parted, she indulged him over dinner later, and then he offered her an invitation to his penthouse.

     And she indulged him throughout the night. Sukuna had had his fair share of good pussy over the years, but this woman was uninhibited passion in the flesh. It had taken some flirtation—which she seemed shy about—and she finally worked up the nerve to ask him for what she wanted.

     And that’s how she wound up riding him on his couch, her dress hiked up around her waist, her panties tossed somewhere across the room. Sukuna held her, thought he’d have to guide her, but she rode him like she wanted to break herself on him. She took his cock as best she could, he’d give her that, and seeing her split around him was a sight he’d be fucking his fist to for weeks to come.

     All night he let himself be soaked in her sweat, her scent, and she screamed his name when she finally came.

     And then she indulged him some more. They retreated to his bedroom, stripping as they went, and he had her in his bed, fucking her deep and hard until her voice was hoarse, until her body was limp and pliant in his large hands. He bruised her, kissed her where he bruised her [and where he didn’t], and resituated their bodies with a lewd and raunchy ease. He took her in as many ways as either of them could garner the strength until they collapsed, spent and exhausted, dawn coloring the sky.

     Tulani’s sultry voice sounded best when moaning and whimpering his name, he thought. But he found he loved her voice shortly after waking too.

     One night turned into many over the course of several months, and Sukuna could safely say he had never been happier. Tulani was uninhibited, wickedly smart, and she kept him chasing. Somehow, she had divined his predatory nature, and it became a favorite sport of theirs to have him hunt her around the city while they spoke on the phone. They set rules of course: no questionable use of technology, and only restricted to light clues. It was both a way to discover parts of the city to enjoy and to give both the thrill of the chase and being chased. Sukuna had to admit she was good at keeping him guessing. And they’d found no less than five noodle stands that met their strict standards.

     The months turned into a year, and Sukuna began to think that maybe he’d found one person on this planet that he wanted to spend the rest of his life with. No, that was a disservice to her. He knew he wanted her for himself. Wanted her forever. His sunflower woman.

     So, when he woke up one morning to her straddling him, a blade to his throat, it didn’t register for a moment.

     “Tulani?” He blinked and she came into focus, and when he felt the prick of the blade at his throat, he was instantly alert. Senses previously dulled by pleasure were honed, and defenses lowered after months of…after months of being worked on, thundered fiercely back into place.

     Sukuna had the reputation of speed on his side. Speed, accuracy, and adaptability. He’d also built a reputation as a particularly ruthless man. It was not the first time someone had held him at the edge of a blade. It was the first time someone he loved deeply had done it, and that hurt worse than the prick of steel on his skin.

     And what Sukuna didn’t know about Tulani revealed itself in the next several seconds. He moved, and he saw her eyes widen as he pitched her aside, taking her offending wrist and grinding the delicate bones until the blade dropped from her nerveless fingers.

     From there it was a war of attrition as Sukuna compartmentalized the shock of betrayal. A preying mantis had slipped into his bed, and he had the nerve to be shocked when she finally sought to be rid of him. Moreover, he had no idea who she worked for. He’d had her followed, and she’d led the most unassuming and mundane life, even worked an unassuming nine-to-five. Everything about her had been soft and ordinary and nothing like the bloody world Sukuna inhabited.

     And it had all been an act. A way to worm her way into his heart and mind, to get him to lower his guard so she could kill him.

     Fury, cold and blazing like a star in the void of space, hollowed in his gut.

     “If you tell me who you work for,” he said from behind a couch, reloading his pistol as quickly and efficiently with a practiced ease. “I’ll make your death a quick one.”

     There was no answer, and Sukuna’s senses strained to hear anything denoting movement. He checked his surroundings and could see nothing.

     The couch scraped just slightly, and Sukuna almost froze before he realized what was happening. He dove aside as two rounds pierced the back of the couch, sliding onto his knees to aim at her but she was already gone, having scrambled off the couch to find cover elsewhere.

     “Suddenly the strong and silent type?” He snarled from behind a stantion. His hearing strained again, and he heard the distinct sound of broken glass crunching. He dared to take a quick look, and barely ducked in time as a bullet whizzed past his face and shattered a vase behind him.

     Bitch.

     He was low on ammo, and Tulani was suspiciously silent. He went over the layout of the penthouse in his head and tried to account for the fact that what he knew, Tulani likely knew as well, if not more. He was her mission, after all.

     Sukuna decided to go on the offensive, moving through his home, cover to cover, checking his corners. He was thorough, and he was stealthy. He checked various places on his way to the dining room. She’d taken whatever weapons he’d had hidden around the penthouse, and he almost wanted to kiss her. She was good.

     “Why are you dragging this out?” He called from the dining room, and then moved into the kitchen. He waited, crouched between the doorway and the fridge, checking the safety on his gun before peering around the corner into the dining room. He saw the muzzle of her pistol lead into the room first and waited.

     Slowly, she lowered her weapon and stepped into view.

     Sukuna’s pistol barked once, and he heard her cry of pain, the sound of metal tearing through flesh as the round hit its mark. There was a smell, faint like heated metal and meat roasting. He saw drops of blood where Tulani once stood, and grinned. It appealed to the hunter in him, and in a twisted sense of irony, reminded him of the “games” they’d played where he would hunt her through the city.

     Sukuna followed her blood trail through the house, and found her in his bathroom, rummaging for supplies to tend to her wound. As he stepped into the bathroom, she held up her gun, pointed at him with a steady arm despite the blood loss spreading on his marble floor like a robust wine.

     “You don’t look so good, doll,” he teased, crimson eyes glittering with malicious glee. Tulani was sweating. He’d nicked nothing vital, but he’d come close to her knee. She was limping already, and he imagined the pain was not her friend.

     Still, her gun arm was fucking steady, but he had one round in the chamber, just for her pretty skull if she decided to test who was more lucid right now, and she knew it.

     “Who sent you?” Sukuna asked. “Was it Kamo? Zenin? That bastard Naobito pissed I’ve got his nephew on my roster?” He eyed her as she refused to speak, reaching for the bottle of alcohol to uncap it.

     “Nah,” Sukuna said, and when he took a step forward, her finger twitched near the trigger. “Hey!” She stumbled, letting go of the alcohol and leaning on the counter for support. Sukuna lowered his gun, went to her unthinking. When she held him at gunpoint, he didn’t even flinch. Instead, he walked right up to her until the barrel of her gun was pressed against his chest, right where it could pierce his heart when fired. He watched Tulani’s eyes widen slightly in disbelief.

     “Do it,” he said. “That’s why they paid you, right? Fucking do it, Tulani.”

     Tulani glared at him, but he could see her hesitation mixed with the pain from her wound. She needed to get the bullet fragments out, something that required a doctor and not her risky battle medicine she was about to engage in. But her gun arm was steady, if warbling just a bit.

     “If you’re not gonna shoot me, at least let me help you get patched up and we can sort out why you’re here.” Sukuna said. He reached up, slowing his movements to a crawl as he gently moved to lower her gun. Her arm shook as she resisted momentarily, but then she complied, looking away sullenly.

     “This changes nothing,” she said in a low voice. Sukuna gave a little derisive snort as he cleaned her wound, taking undue pleasure and amusement in her hisses of pain. The wound was a lot less severe than it initially looked, and he inspected it with an impartial gaze.

     “Oh, I’m sure it doesn’t,” Sukuna said, clucking his tongue condescendingly. “I imagine the price they paid for you to come for me was steep.”

     Without warning, he struck her with the butt of his pistol, catching her as she crumpled to the floor.

     It was the literal splash of ice water that woke her. Tulani came back to consciousness violently, gasping and thrashing against what she quickly realized were shibari ropes binding her to a steel chair. She frowned, growling and grunting in effort, but she knew the knots were true. Sukuna had bound her many times before this for far more pleasurable reasons. She’d fought hard to free herself on one occasion, and he’d watched in amusement as she brought herself to climax, struggling against his expert ropework.

     Judging from the barren look of the room, the single light, and the implements of pain arrayed on the walls, she guessed this was not a pleasurable shibari session.

     “Welcome back, Sleeping Beauty,” Sukuna purred, and grinned at her with a look of malicious glee. The sharp, violent lines of his facial tattoos seemed to warp, lending his handsome visage a more savage and ferocious appearance. Tulani took a deep, pensive breath, and exhaled hard and slow through her nostrils.

     “Cut to the chase,” she said coldly. “You want answers, and all of this,” she gestured with a jerk of her chin to the ambiance of the room: concrete, a drain likely to wash away the blood when it was over, and the implements of torture that had doubtless seen more blood than the Red Cross. “Is to frighten me into giving up my employer.”

     Sukuna didn’t speak, but his eyes, the color of rubies—or droplets of blood—glittered with curiosity and something else. Like a leviathan lurking beneath placid waters, Tulani caught a glimpse of the Two-Faced Demon of Tokyo’s Underworld. The right side of his face was scarred, likely from being burned. Tulani herself had kissed that scar many times. She knew him intimately, and Sukuna was beginning to realize he knew her not at all.

     “That’s part of it,” he said at last as his gaze slithered over her bound form. Tulani was fully clothed, her wound dressed [although the pain of it throbbed in the back of her mind]. Yet, Sukuna’s harrowing gaze made her feel naked. That part had not been an act: the sex had been spectacular, and his eye contact could flay a man alive or make one feel as if they were the only one in the world. There was, perhaps, a tinge of sorrow in her having to deceive him. He was worthy prey for her charms, after all.

     “And the other part?” She asked, lifting her chin a fraction, defiance in her dark eyes like a pinprick of torchlight against the darkness. It made Sukuna chuckle to see it. How proud, his Sunflower Woman, how utterly magnificent she was, even bound in defeat. She had been sent to hunt him directly, and he hadn’t even felt all the hooks she had in him until he tried to pull away. She was brilliant. He almost wanted to know how she planned it.

     But part of him already knew who sent her, and why.

     “I know Old Zenin knows better than to be so bold and direct even though he’s been wanting my territory for some time, but his nephew might be a little bull-headed and make a move…so impatient…” Sukuna remarked idly, walking toward a metal table, where gleaming surgical tools rested in a velvet-lined leather case he’d rolled out. Tulani did not have to strain to look to know that those blades were well-kept and lovingly tended. He would bleed her for information without killing her.

     “And I know Kamo is too chickenshit to ever challenge me,” Sukuna continued, his back to her as he inspected his unsettling array of edged implements. He settled on a paired set of one-sided blades called flechettes, their edges honed to such a fine edge the flesh beneath them would part like gauze.

     “So, that leaves one culprit,” Sukuna said as he turned to face her, smirking at her widened eyes. “Kenjaku is trying for my head. Well, that old bat always did know how to annoy me. But I’m going to send him a message, Miss Hikmat, and you’re going to deliver it for me. Would you like that? Being my little courier?”

     Tulani stared at him with a scowl on her face, trying not to let her gaze slide to the flechettes in his hands, but he knew she was anticipating them. He could practically smell her sweat, could see how she struggled to be subtle when straining against her binds. He almost wished he’d tied his Specialty Knot, just to watch her squirm, but the memories of the joy they’d shared—where he’d thought her just an innocent civilian looking for a dangerously good time—were tainted by her betrayal. He wasn’t even sure Tulani was her real name. A foreigner and a deadly assassin? Kenjaku wanted him dead real bad, huh?

     Ah, well. It had been some time since Sukuna got to send a message like this. Let Kenjaku see how the Two-Faced Demon dealt with assassins and spies.

     Tulani wasn’t sure at what point she had passed out during Sukuna’s interrogation, only that he had tested the very limits of her stamina and resistance. The flechettes he’d brandished had not been designed for severing or even slicing, merely for pain. To maximize their effectiveness, the cutting was usually done very, very slowly. And Sukuna was a patient man. One had to be, to tie such skillful knots in shibari.

     Tulani wasn’t sure how long he cut her, tracing sigils over her naked body while he’d suspended her by a single hook over the unforgiving concrete floor, just high enough that her toes could barely scrape the ground, giving her no real purchase. The drugs coursing through her system had aided in her sluggishness, as had the bullet wound, he’d bandaged while she was unconscious.

     But he cut her, and he didn’t stop cutting her until her skin ran with her own blood, until the marks left on her skin echoed the tattoos on his own. He’d avoided her face, and when she saw where next his blade would go as it traced the taut planes of her belly, she’d begged him to kill her. Sukuna loved when she begged, loved to see the tears in her eyes that he licked away before demanding she give up her employer and give him cause to go to war.

     But Tulani was adamant in her resistance. She gave him other things, things that could only be given up through the maiming of the flesh, but never that. Her reputation was ironclad, and she would not tarnish her flawless record and her discretion for Sukuna’s pettiness.

     In the end, however, he got what he needed: a messenger.

     That was how Tulani found herself turned loose with nothing but the clothes on her back. She knew what Sukuna was about, and so she made fit to vanish into Tokyo’s alley-ridden heart, hoping to shake the tail he’d put on her. It took some days, but eventually the cloying pressure at her nape eased, and her hackles lowered as she saw fit to return to her employer and give them the rather disappointing news.

     Tulani returned to the Zenin One building in Shiodome, having finally managed to make herself look somewhat presentable if a bit ruffled. When she gave her name to the receptionist, and after a tense back and forth over the phone, she was directed to the elevator, which propelled her up to the top floor. Tulani felt like a tame falcon that had been wild for too long returning to her master’s glove. She was irritated.

     The elevator doors opened with a single ding of the bell, and she strolled into the mahogany-colored hallway, lined with soft, ambient lights. Two guards stood at the immense double doors, sunglasses hiding their eyes. Tulani stared at them.

     “He’s expecting me,” she said, trying to will the irritation from her voice. Without hesitation, they opened the doors, standing aside as she walked into the airy office. It had been some time since Tulani had stood here, and she still had to own it was a nice office. Curved, to give a 180-degree view of the sprawling district and gardens, with floor-to-ceiling windows. Silhouetted against one of the windows was her employer.

     “So, after a year, you failed to do the one job I paid you for,” Naoya Zenin sneered with contempt, glaring at her over his shoulder. Tulani resisted the urge to heave a sigh.

     “And now word out on the street is Sukuna is preparing to bolster his defenses and make a move,” Naoya turned on his heel, eyes blazing as he glared at her. “I was told you were the best, Hikmat. Your records alone were the reason I bothered to shell out the money for your asking price. But if this is all you have to show me after a year, then I think it’s time we cut our losses and let you go.”

     Tulani knew what that meant and decided to turn on the charm. It had worked before and even now, as he approached her, she could see it in his eyes. It was a flickering flame in an uncertain breeze: carnal curiosity. Tulani had teased and flirted with the idea of crossing the lines of business and pleasure, and Naoya was leery for her reputation often ended in her giving her prey the business end of a knife or bullet. Tulani had been clear that she only seduced her targets.

     But now, she saw that the hungry seed she’d planted in his head had sprouted. He was angry with her, and willing to cross that line if it meant having her.

     So, Tulani soothed his hackles, appealing to his ego, teasing him with just enough temptation that she could see the outline of his cock through his pants. His hands trembled with the urge to grab her, to kiss her pouty lips, to taste the salt of her sweat. He wanted what Sukuna had gotten for a whole year, and it stung his pride and ego that Tulani refused to cross that line when she crossed so many others to get to her target.

     In the end, the promise of a possible tryst was enough to convince him to extend her contract. Not only that, but she also argued that she had not been given accurate information about the Two-Faced Demon. The threat of him had been downplayed, as had the intel about his operations, which she had only gotten mere glimpses of in order to tell that much. Naoya relented at last, begrudgingly admitting that the dossier had been sparse in some crucial areas.

     Tulani turned to leave, feigning anger and a threat to cut the contract herself if she wasn’t given the full context of the kind of enemy she was dealing with. Naoya, not wanting to lose his chance, reached for her, grabbing her arm. Tulani let him pull her back, feigning a stumble and allowing him to catch her against his body. She looked up at him, widening her eyes slightly, parting her lips just so. She saw color warm Naoya’s cheeks before he gently pushed her away.

     “Let me make it up to you,” he said, his voice rough with desire as he struggled to wet his dry throat. “I’ll put you up in the best digs in Roppongi, what do you say? Penthouse, anything you need. Just…I need this job done. I’ll get my guys to pass along a fuller dossier but just…don’t leave yet, alright?”

     Tulani knew then that he was hers.

     Later, Tulani found herself at the Ritz Carlton in Roppongi, in their largest suite on Naoya Zenin’s Centurion card. The Zenins had a standing agreement with a lot of the hotels in the area, that being one of their laundering rackets, as she learned. The concierge greeted her, and Tulani ascended in the elevator to the 53rd floor, and keyed into her suite. She was used to luxury given her line of work, and it was no different now. Still, she let out a low whistle as she walked around the massive, palatial suite in search of the bedroom.

     Her luggage and belongings had already been brought to the suite, along with a complimentary bottle of champagne sitting in a bucket of ice, a tray of fresh fruit, and a card welcoming her and hoping she enjoyed her stay.

     Tulani passed all of that and immediately went to the bathroom to begin running herself a nice, hot bath in the massive tub. Almost too massive, she felt like she’d be soaking up to her neck in it. There were an assortment of oils and soaps for her to use, including jasmine oil, which had been Naoya’s own personal touch. He’d commented often how much he enjoyed her scent, and she’d let him.

     Soon, Tulani groaned as she sank into the tub, letting herself relax for the first time in weeks. She basked, whiling away the hours thinking and ruminating on the past year. Sukuna was ever-present in her mind, never far from her thoughts. His smile, his deep, purring laugh, his voice in her ear: tell me, tell me, tell me. Tulani cared precious little for the Zenin heir, but he was holding her leash and paying her tab so she could not give him up. That and it was simply bad for business to spill at the first touch of a few knives.

     As Tulani scrubbed away the last vestiges of Sukuna’s rough touch from her satin skin, she frowned grimly at the fading lines of his cutting and opted to place a hot washcloth over her eyes and lean back. Eventually, the heat seeped into her bones, relaxing her fully, and her breathing evened out.

     She had just been about to slip into a much-needed nap, a rare moment of true and very private repose, when she felt the intruding breeze against her damp skin. Immediately, Tulani tore the washcloth from her eyes and sat up, glaring at the doorway now filled by one Ryōmen Sukuna.

     They stared at one another, barely a few meters apart.

     Dark, bistre eyes challenged the crimson of his own, and the whole of the past year lay between them. The joy, the flirting, the pure, uninhibited passion both of them brought to the bedroom. Sukuna looked at Tulani as she was, and all murderous intent was somehow doused in him. Tulani looked upon him and there was the shock that he was able to not only find her but gain access to her to the point that she had not realized she’d been hunted.

     It thrilled her.

     The whole of the world took a collective breath as one of the greatest assassins in the world, and the most ruthless and powerful of Tokyo’s Underworld bosses regarded one another with scarcely a few meters apart. Anyone with the good sense the gods gave a rabbit would have called for help. She should have called for help, but even if she did Sukuna would be on her in a matter of seconds, and she was already calculating the level of damage they’d do should things come to blows.

     “I’m unarmed,” she murmured quietly, the sound of water sloshing along the sides of the tub sending the light to scattering and refracting around her as she took a gamble, hoping against hope that she could salvage this mission. Sukuna took her in and smirked.

     “I don’t believe you,” he said and merited a slow grin from her for his trouble.

     Tulani stood up in the bath, slowing her movements to a lissome crawl to avoid triggering violence in him, and Sukuna watched her unblinking, his gaze as sharp as his flechettes. While she stood, she saw the tension in his hands, the slight flex of his fingers, his sleeves rolled up to reveal the thick bands of ink around his wrists, the veins in his forearms and hands more pronounced, poised to do terrible violence should her claim of being unarmed prove false.

     Sukuna had seen Tulani naked more times than anyone, by his reckoning, but even he was never prepared for the sight of her. Perhaps he’d overlooked the telltale signs of the killer in her, likening her well-honed form to a rigid workout regimen. But no, this was a warrior through and through, and he took her in as he had not before.

     Warm water cascaded down those full feminine curves, glittering in the warm worship of the soft light. Her skin which could have taught satin its texture, was glossy and silken from the water and oils she’d used, and Sukuna smelled jasmine thick in the steamy air. She looked like something molten, as if she were straining to maintain this feminine form…and what a form it was. Water slipped down her toned arms, over the curves and slaloms of her breasts, dripped from the tips of her dark nipples, along the carved lines of her stomach, the flare of her hips, and down along the bald swell of her cunt, where Sukuna’s gaze finally settled.

     Tulani’s gaze was amused and a little curious. There had been a turning point in their relationship when she finally revealed her intention and mission. There was the question of whether or not her feelings for him had been playacting, and Sukuna still longed to lash out at her for toying with him, but then there was the matter that his feelings had not been acting. He had genuinely wanted her.

     He still wanted her.

     “Pass me a towel?” Tulani’s voice threaded through the tense silence with a seamstress’ precision and Sukuna’s brows knit, the trishula tattoo on his brow wrinkling as he snorted.

     “You want me to get it and risk revealing a pistol I intend to use on you, then?” Tulani moved with a serpent’s lissome and unnerving grace, cocking one hip to the side as she quirked a brow at him in question.

     “Tch,” Sukuna hissed and snatched up one of the large, plush towels neatly folded on the counter. He knew there was no pistol there. He’d already checked, and she’d hidden them under the pillows of the bed, and a Bowie knife next to it. Her time in the bath had truly been a vulnerable one. He could have killed her with one shot if he wanted and been back home before his next meeting.

     But he didn’t. Instead, he watched as she wrapped herself in a towel and stepped out of the tub, pulling the stopper to drain the water. She gave him a knowing smirk as she passed him, and he grabbed her arm to keep her from walking further, his grip like a shackle. She glanced up at him sharply.

     “Sukuna…” She breathed his name for the first time, and it was anyone’s guess who moved first. He was on her, pulling the offending towel aside, and she was tearing at his silk shirt, heedless of the price tag, knowing he could afford it as buttons popped beneath her onslaught, her hands seeking his hot, tattooed skin beneath. Sukuna hissed as her touch blazed a path and he could get out of his clothes fast enough.

     There was only the sound of silk tearing, of a belt buckle coming loose, and clothing being tossed aside. Sukuna’s hands found Tulani’s hips, relishing the feel of her soft skin under his touch again. He gripped her hard enough to leave his fingerprints, and she relished the roughness of his touch, eager and wanting.

     Not a word was spoken between the two even as he shoved her onto the bed, face first, dragging her hips up and spreading her thighs to get a good look at that cunt he missed way more than he’d ever admit—even to himself. Without preamble, he leaned in, and spit directly in her, watching it mix with her slick and drip down onto the sheets.

     Sukuna’s free hand wrapped around his cock, and he watched as Tulani shot him a sultry look over her shoulder, grinning as if she were hiding a secret. He stroked himself a few times, dragging her to the edge of the bed and shoving her down into an arch that most would call rather cruel.

     And in one thrust, he sheathed himself inside of her.

     The sound Tulani made during that contact was nothing short of utterly obscene. A loud, throaty moan that saw her hands curling into the duvet, her pretty profile contorted in a strange ecstasy. Sukuna relished that sound, wished he could do it all over again just to hear her moaning like a whore for his cock.

     He punished her with a brutal pace, pulling her back and forth along his cock as if she were nothing more than a toy for him. Tulani moaned like a wounded animal, a savage animal at the end of its rope, cornered and pinioned by the cunning hunter. The bed was sturdy enough that it didn’t groan in protest against Sukuna’s powerful thrusts, but the proximity to the front door was rather dangerous. Anyone who strolled by would hear the obscene sound of skin slapping against skin, the occasional heavy-handed slap of a palm against what could only be Tulani’s rear, and her answering moan of pleasure.

     He fucked her like he wanted to kill her, because he did. And he didn’t. It was complicated.

     Tulani buried her face in the line of her arm, hissing and moaning curses and pleas of beseechment. Sukuna was focused on the sensation of Tulani’s beautiful little pussy wrapped around his cock, which stretched her so tightly that when he pulled back, he could see her struggling to let him go, her walls fluttering and tightening as she struggled to maintain control.

     “Isn’t this your job?” Sukuna demanded, dragging his nails along her hips as if he wanted to leave claw marks on her. To mark her in such a primal way almost made him come on the spot.

     “Isn’t this how you get your marks, you little slut?” Sukuna demanded in a growl and Tulani moaned her assent, not even sure what he was asking or what she was agreeing with. Only the sensation of his cock filling her to the point of pain, his heavy balls slapping against her clit, his hips bruising her backside in a relentless, pounding stroke that had her seeing stars. Her vision sparkled, and before she knew it, she felt a strong hand fasten around her throat, choking off her next moan.

     Sukuna drew her up against him, never slowing his thrusts, forcing her to spread wider. He wished the headboard had a mirror so he could see himself moving in and out of her, so he could watch as he rubbed her clit and fucked her harder than he’d ever fucked her.

     Fucked her harder than she had tried to fuck him.

     Tulani wasn’t sure at what point she lost control of the situation but if she had to guess it was somewhere between the moment she saw him, and the moment his hand fastened around her wrist.

     The hand on her throat traveled upward, cupping around her mouth and muffling her cries.

     “Shh shh shh,” Sukuna cooed, his voice limned in tender cruelty. “Don’t want Naoya’s posse to hear who’s making you come, do you? I just know the boy will be devastated when he learns I’ve come inside you again and he can’t even get a hug from you. Isn’t that right, Tulani?”

     Tulani didn’t answer—she couldn’t answer, because his hand was clamped around her mouth, and she was so close there were tears in her eyes. Sukuna slowed his pace, torturing her with long, agonizingly slow strokes. And just like he planned, Tulani’s moans changed too, muffled but he could hear how drawn out they were, and he was sure they’d sound slurred if he took his hand off her mouth. She was shivering in his embrace, and not from fear.

     “What’s the matter, Tulani?” Sukuna taunted. “You gonna come? You gonna squirt all over my cock? You want the Zenin brat to see you like this? Oh, I bet you do—look at you, shivering and moaning like my personal whore.”

     And then he stopped fucking her and relished the sound of her desperate whimpers. She’d been close, he knew, but there was still so much more he wanted from her. He pulled his cock out of her, delighting in the wet sound, but less delighted in the air-conditioned air hitting his soaked cock. He had to put it back inside her, so he ordered her to turn around on her hands and knees. She divined his desire and without a second thought, opened her mouth to take his cock inside, angling her head to take him down her throat.

     Sukuna looked down at her and watched as she struggled to suck down his entire cock, big as it was. But she sucked him off anyway, head bobbing along the length of him, cheeks hollowed out, and her eyes on him just like he liked. She may have struggled to throat him, but he would never admit that Tulani gave the best blow jobs he’d ever had in his life. The woman sucked his dick as if she’d invented the act. She was indulgent, licking along his shaft, sucking one of his balls into her mouth and then the other, all while she stroked him. When he grabbed a fistful of her hair and jerked her forward, he relished the sound of her gagging, the wet and painful cough as he shoved his cock down her throat and fucked her pretty, duplicitous mouth as if it were her cunt.

     Tears spilled from her eyes, down her cheeks, and she looked at him plaintively, desperate for air he refused to give her. No, she’d take it, and she’d take it as long as it took him to come.

     At one point, he hauled her against the wall, taking her on every surface he could find. She was as eager as he was, and by the time he did finally come, they collapsed onto the bed, their bodies slick with sweat, heaving and panting. They lay like that for a while, settling back into the skin and bone of their bodies, vision hazy with pleasure.

     “So, I take it you’re not here to kill me,” Tulani said, laughing to herself as Sukuna fixed her with a sardonic look.

     “How much to tempt you from the Zenin brat?” He asked. “And don’t say it’s bad for business, nobody even knows it’s you behind these assassinations.”

     Tulani rolled onto her stomach, pillowing her chin on her arms, her expression pensive.

     “It’s not that simple,” she said. “It’s not me who decides, ultimately. It is the agency who holds my leash.”

     Sukuna’s expression turned shrewd. “Ah, so the serpent is a tame one, is she?” It was his turn to laugh as she turned a sour look on him.

     “How did you find me?” She asked, not wanting to broach the topic of her agency. Sukuna stared at the ceiling, his expression distant, his eyes cold.

     “It was easier than I expected, but still rather difficult. I had you followed but you vanished according to my men. When I checked your apartment, I could tell you hadn’t been through there recently. So, I had contacts search further back. You’ve been embedded in Japan for three years, Nadja.”

     She sat up, caution overriding passion like a wind over her own grave. Sukuna gave her a simpering and smug smirk, her own pistol already trained on her from under her pillow.

     “I think the Zenin brat underestimated my reach,” he said laconically. “I’m not going to kill you, Nadja. You’re…you’re one of the best I’ve seen. Had you not slipped away from me the first time this conversation would have gone very differently. But now that I know who you are, and more importantly, who actually loaned you to the Zenins, I am going to let you slink back to the shadows that birthed you and then I am going to destroy the brat and his entire bloodline.”

     Nadja narrowed her eyes at him. “Why?”

     Sukuna raised a bored brow. “Why let you go? Because I could no more kill you than I could shatter the roseate of Notre Dame. You are a work of exquisite art, and your origins interest me. As do your unique set of skills.”

     Nadja dipped her chin, dark eyes shrewd. “You want me to work for you.”

     Sukuna sat up against the headboard and beckoned her with one hand. Nadja did not move, her gaze flicking to the Glock and then to him. Sukuna’s smirk never wavered. Begrudgingly, she crawled into his lap, straddling him. An electric shiver coursed through her as she felt the cold metal of the gun’s muzzle pressed against her ribs, just over her heart, beneath her breast.

     “Now,” Sukuna said, still smug and superior. “I’ve been hunted by assassins before, but none quite so lovely and unlikely as you. Usually, I would send your head back to your master as a warning, but…”

     He traced the gun upward, circled her nipple with it just to watch her clamp her teeth and stiffen, fighting her body’s betrayal. He chuckled darkly and traced the gun to her other breast to do the same thing.

     “I’m going to give you a chance to get clear of the fallout, Nadja,” Sukuna said. “A rare gift from me, only because you did manage to get closer than anyone has. You have a day to clear Tokyo, and when I am finished with the Zenins, I’ll find you.”

     Nadja’s gaze was fierce and defiant. “Are you so sure you can?” She challenged.

     “Nadja, there is nowhere you can hide from me,” Sukuna said. “It’s only a matter of time before I find you again.”

     His eyes cut to the door, and Nadja barely suppressed her alarm as she heard the Glock’s safety click off in his hand.

     An insistent knocking shattered the tense silence.

     “Ah,” Sukuna murmured, tracing the now safety-unlocked gun downward against her abdomen, grazing just below her navel. “Your employer wants to make sure you’re staying put in your pretty little cage. Be a good girl and tell him to fuck off for me, hm?”

     In the end, Nadja took Sukuna’s offer. Not because she saw it as a defeat, but because he was so much more than she could have dreamed. There had never been worthier prey for her to hunt than this Two-Faced Demon of Tokyo’s pale underbelly, and there never would be. So, she watched, from her rented apartment across the garden, as Sukuna’s men took out the Zenin One tower. She watched with cold and distant eyes, as impassive as a goddess. Tokyo’s neon skyline threw its smattering of colors all over her as she watched through the scope of her sniper rifle as the Zenins were cut down. She wished she could see Naoya’s face. Sukuna kept one former Zenin clan member on his payroll and doubtless they were at the forefront of the slaughter.

     No one else knew about the massacre, and she was sure when the receptionist clocked in for work in the morning, it would be all over the news.

     And in the end, Sukuna did exactly what he said he’d do: he found her. Not that she had been trying to hide, anyway. Rather, she had to reconcile with the fact that she had chosen to fail her mission on purpose, and that she felt nothing when her employer was slaughtered in the process. As far as the agency was concerned, she had been paid to assassinate Ryōmen Sukuna, not protect Naoya Zenin. Had he wanted her as a protection detail, he should have specified in his contract request.

     It was just business.

     And so Nadja found herself standing before Sukuna, with his white dress shirt still splattered with Zenin blood, Naoya’s severed head on the table between them. His lieutenants, Toji Fushiguro [formerly Zenin], and Uraume, stared at her. Toji had the look of a lean wolf about him, all fangs and wrinkled muzzle. His green eyes were wickedly cunning, and he eyed Nadja with appraising interest. Uraume on the other hand, was as cold as ice, their profile no more emotional than a cameo as they looked to Sukuna for orders.

     “Well, I think you should hire her,” Toji said at last, crossing his large, muscular arms over his broad chest. He was a mountain of a man, much like Sukuna, but he knew a fellow killer when he saw one. Nadja was small and slight, but as deadly as any of them.

     “And have a serpent loose at our backs? We’ll feel her bite come morning.” Uraume challenged with a snarl. “She already tried to kill him once, who’s to say she won’t try again?”

     “Because the contract is null and void now that the Zenin Group has been decimated,” Sukuna interrupted, not once breaking eye contact with Nadja. Something simmered between them. Unfinished business.

     “Isn’t that right, my dear?” He asked. Nadja took a deep, withering breath, filled her lungs with fear, and then exhaled.

     “True enough,” she said, not missing how Uraume gave her a withering stare. They were Sukuna’s right hand in most things, but in this they were staunchly against his wish to bring the deadly serpent into the fold. Not only was she duplicitous and available only to the highest bidder, but she was a foreigner to boot. She had no place in their world as anything more than a hired gun. Toji thought she had nice tits.

     “So, just how much would it cost me to take you from them?” Sukuna asked. Nadja glanced down at Naoya’s severed head, his expression in death looking exhausted and bewildered all at once. Like as not he hadn’t been expecting Sukuna to retaliate with such ruthless efficiency, nor did he expect his older cousin to be the one striking the final blow.

     It was more than deserved, if anyone asked Nadja.

     “That’s not how they work,” Nadja responded after a span of pensive thought. Sukuna snorted.

     “Then stay,” he said. “Work for me, I’ll pay whatever your asking price was—triple it. But stay.”

     Toji and Uraume exchanged glances. It was clear to them what was going on, but apparently not to either of the other two. Nadja looked around, smiling and there was a hint of wistfulness to it.

     “I know what your men say about me,” she said. “I am a foreigner with no place in the yakuza way of life. Some even think me an affront to their sensibilities because of the fact that I’m a woman. What do you think, Sukuna?”

     Sukuna was silent in the wake of her words. Uraume’s mouth opened and then shut, and Toji grinned as if he knew a secret the others weren’t privy to.

     “I think you’re a beautiful creature, Nadja, who needs a home that isn’t predicated on whether some gangster brat is pulling your purse strings. If you work for me, I can give you purpose but more than that…you’d be free.”

     Nadja looked up to meet his gaze again.

     Free?

     She wanted to laugh. That was not a word she had ever experienced in truth. Every move she made was for one mission or another: be it the destabilization of nations, the altering of trade routes, the assassination of rivals.

     “Free?” She repeated, her voice highly amused.

     “Free.” Sukuna affirmed with a nod. “You can be my knife in the dark, or whatever you choose. But only if you stay.”

     For a long while there was only silence save for the drip of Naoya’s blood on the marble floor of the office. No one breathed, it seemed, and Nadja thought of the possibilities of choosing a life outside of wet work. She thought of what she could possibly be outside of a killer.

     “No,” she said. Uraume sucked in an affronted breath and Toji’s brows went up in surprise. Sukuna’s brows furrowed.

     “No?” He echoed. “You understand that when you walk out of that door, you’ll be marked for—”

     “No,” Nadja interrupted. “I won’t be free with you. But I can learn to be. Until that time, I will be your…knife in the dark, as you so poetically put it.”

     Sukuna considered her words and then grinned slowly, his face tattoos warping their shape to frame his predatory grin.

     “Good,” he said. “Very good.”

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[blue-lights-to-dreams]

Golden Light // H.S.

synopsis: you go on a blind date with Harry at your best friend's insistence and enjoy it much more than you expected.

wc: 3.9k

a/n: i hope you guys enjoy this! i haven't written fic in a hot minute, so let me know what you think! this will likely have a part 2 where the exciting stuff happens, but writing even this much took me forever so i wanted to share before the Christmas mentions became irrelevant, lol!

The streets of New York City are beautiful this time of year. Christmas lights twinkle in nearly every retail storefront, some even including a dusting of ripped-up cotton balls and other snow-like materials. Just ignore the grey sludge coating the streets.

You were never one for holiday cheer, and today was no exception. Despite thinking the same of every single day, you’ve had what you would consider the longest day of your life. Your first meeting ran late by just a few minutes, but even this was enough to push your calendar so far off that you needed to reschedule your final call with the client you’d been waiting almost a month to meet with.

There was nothing more in this world you wanted to do than curl up in bed with a bottle of wine and a silk eye mask. But, here you were, trudging down the streets of New York City in your slightly uncomfortable heels, trying to dodge puddles, slush, and other mysterious substances on the sidewalk, on your way to a blind date. Emma had set you up with a friend of her boyfriend’s, and she’d made you promise you’d give him a chance.

Your last relationship had ended with a bang after you went to his apartment to surprise him after getting out of work early one afternoon, only to find him in bed with a blonde girl you never did learn the name of. 

You could easily find a man to wake up to the next morning, but after years of running your own business, it wasn’t as simple as walking into a bar to meet Mr. Right. You’d dated enough men with little ambition; you needed someone who had drive– had success.

All you knew about your date for the night was his name was Harry, he was a record executive, and, according to Emma, he was hot.

The pit in your stomach only grew as you approached Bella Napoli. It didn’t help you’d spent the last six blocks trying to lift your dress and nearly-floor-length coat high enough to keep it out of the puddles.

The little blue location dot on your maps app glided closer to the restaurant with each step you took, nearly there - mist ghosted over your nose with each exhale, doing nothing to keep it warm in the frigid weather of the city, and you couldn’t wait to get inside.

Finally, you spotted the marquee sign affixed to the small brick building half a block up, signaling the end of your journey. The glass-front double doors opened easily under your hasty pull, eager to feel the heat of the brick building’s furnace.

“Good evening, ma’am,” the hostess greeted from behind her podium. She appeared to be in her early twenties, with long blonde hair and prominent cheekbones.

“Good evening, I have a reservation under (Y/L/N),” you brushed stray snowflakes off of your wool coat. Emma had ensured she would let Harry know the reservation would be under your name, and you hoped she hadn’t forgotten.

“Ah, yes, table for two? Right this way.” The young woman stepped from behind the podium and began heading toward the main dining area. You followed her as she snaked around the tables full of affluently dressed couples and businessmen in suits, reaching a small archway leading into a more dimly-lit section of the restaurant. 

She led you to a booth in the corner with velvet seats and matching curtains, held open by small hooks on either side - out of sight from most of the other patrons in the section, who didn’t seem to be paying any mind to you anyway. A small candle sat between two menus, adjacent to a traditional silverware layout and an empty highball glass on either side of the booth.

You slid onto the bench facing the room’s entrance as the hostess filled each glass with ice water. She nodded as you thanked her and informed her a man by the name of Harry should be arriving soon to join you. Just in case Emma had forgotten.

The menu was short but obviously well-curated. The wine list was almost twice the length of the food menu - just how you liked it. You skimmed the offerings, deciding on a merlot of the second-highest price point. Your anxiety still made itself known in the way your stomach was twisting. You checked the time. It was 5:58 pm - still two minutes early. You hoped the wine would drown the butterflies (or maybe moths) in your stomach.

Your eyes returned to the restaurant’s food offerings but were again drawn upwards as another person sauntered into the secluded section of the restaurant. His pale grey, half-unbuttoned silk shirt settled just under the gold cross necklace grazing the indent between his pecs. A blazer of a much darker grey draped his shoulders, matching the straight-legged trousers just long enough to only allow the front of his patent-leather black loafers to peek out from under them. 

The air suddenly felt heavy, like you couldn’t get a breath in. Who is the lucky lady he’s here with tonight? Your eyes darted around the section, trying to find his date, but coming up empty. 

Shit, is this Harry?

Your fears are confirmed as you realize the hostess had entered the room a bit ahead of him and was leading him to your booth. The poor girl looked entirely flustered.

“Here you are, sir. Your waitress will be over shortly to grab your drink orders,” she squeaked, turning on her heels and scurrying away as quickly as possible.

You smiled at him as you shuffled out of the booth and rose to your feet, trying to seem much more confident than you were. You reached about the height of his shoulder in your heels.

“You must be (Y/N),” he spoke with a slight smile, glancing at your attire before returning his eyes to meet yours.

“That would be me. And you must be Harry.” You smiled back at him, subconsciously smoothing out the part of the dress resting on your hips.

Harry took a step toward you with arms extended, pulling you into an easy hug, His arms wrapped tightly around your shoulders and yours around his waist. He smelled like an intoxicating mix of vanilla, patchouli, and musk. Expensive. Even just brushing your fingers across his suit jacket as he pulled away, the feel of the fibers suggested it had also not been cheap.

“You look stunning. I love the color of your dress,” he complimented, pulling back slightly with his hand hovering over your waist. “It looks great on you.”

“Thank you, it was actually a gift from my mother.” Compliment-taking was not your forte.

“Well, she has great taste. Shall we?” He motioned toward the set table, waiting for you to take your seat before sliding into the bench on the opposite side. “Have you been here before?”

“I haven’t, but I’ve heard great things. Have you?” His ring-clad fingers picked up the beverage menu in front of him as you spoke.

“I have, it’s one of my favorites.” That must have been why he suggested it.

“Is the Merlot any good? That’s what I was thinking of ordering, but I’m open to suggestions.” You played with the seam of your dress under the table absentmindedly.

“Now that, I haven’t had. I’m more of a white wine guy myself. I’m a fan of the Riesling.”

“Really? My first guess would have been whiskey, honestly.” There exists a pattern in these kinds of men - they always drank some very expensive whiskey they needed to tell you all about, as if it didn’t taste like smoke-flavored lighter fluid.

“I tend to prefer a sweeter taste,” his eyebrows twitched as he raised the glass of water to his lips. You nodded before the two of you fell into a comfortable silence, taking time to browse the food menu.

It wasn’t very extensive, with a few choices to pick from each protein category. You settled on a grilled chicken tagliatelle with a cream sauce, hoping it would pair well with the wine.

“Hi, my name is Danielle and I’ll be taking care of you this evening,” a voice burst your bubble of concentration, “have we decided on what we’d like to drink?”

You recited your wine order first, with Harry following shortly after. The waitress jotted down your selections in her notepad before exiting the room with a promise to be back to take your food orders shortly.

“So, Emma said you work in marketing?” he spoke slowly. His accent was thick, only further drawing you into the conversation.

“PR, actually,” you replied, “I have my own firm, with a few employees. I love it.”

“That’s amazing,” he sounded sincere. “How long have you been in PR?”

“Almost a decade, but I’ve had the firm for a little over 3 years. At first, it was just myself operating out of my apartment, but we’ve been able to build up some clientele and move to an actual office space. Emma said you work for Atlas Sound, right?” you shifted the conversation away from yourself, curious about what exactly came with being a record executive.

“That’s right. I’m mostly in charge of production but I help out with some of the publishing aspects as well.”

“Ah, so no talent scouting? I was hoping this could be my big break…” you mused, narrowing your eyes at him. Harry chuckled, flashing the smile you’d found yourself dead set on seeing more of. 

“No, no, unfortunately, that’s not me, but I may know some people who could help. Let me guess, rap?”

You almost choked on the water you’d just taken a sip of, but managed to swallow it before the laugh burst from your throat. It caught you off guard - Harry honestly didn’t look like he would even know what rap is. A silly notion, given his career, but true anyway.

“You have a beautiful laugh,” Harry stated sincerely, and your heart just about stopped. 

Before you got the chance to respond, a full wine glass was placed in front of each of you. You hadn’t even noticed the waitress had come back. “Here are those drinks. Did we decide on what we’d like to eat? I can make some suggestions if you’re not sure what to get…”

It appeared as if she’d forgotten you were even in the room with the way she was staring directly at Harry. You couldn’t blame the girl - you’d been staring too - but she could definitely tell the two of you were on a date, so she could have at least been a little more subtle.

Harry smiled politely (and briefly) at her before turning his attention back to you to confirm you were ready to order. You both relayed your choices to the waitress, and you appreciated that Harry did not seem like he was interested in entertaining her advances.

“Anyways, where were we…” he smiled again, and your heart lurched.

Conversation flowed smoothly between the two of you, aided by the wine in your glasses. You found yourself getting less and less nervous about him not being the right fit, but more and more nervous you were somehow making a fool of yourself. 

The story of how one of your interns accidentally jammed the copier so badly you had to buy a completely new unit made Harry laugh loudly. It was one of many stories you had from your job that were definitely funnier in retrospect than they were as they happened. You were aware you’d talked a lot so far, but you couldn’t help it. The way Harry spoke was attractive, but the way he listened was even better. He seemed genuinely interested in the stories you told, maintaining eye contact, nodding in the right spots, and asking thoughtful follow-up questions. It had been a while since you’d had a date genuinely listen to you, and it was refreshing. 

He asked more about your job, and you found yourself telling him how as much as you like being “in charge” and able to have control over your firm, sometimes it was incredibly stressful, especially in emergencies. He could see the stress that followed you home every day seep back into your expression, despite you trying your best not to let it show.

His ring-clad hand slid across the table, fingers gently entwining with yours and giving them a quick squeeze.

“You know, I think you’re brave for taking that risk. You should be proud of what you’ve built.” The eye contact he made with you as he spoke was intense, with sincerity behind his words. His hand was warm, contrasting the cool feeling of the metal rings, and you subconsciously squeezed it back in an attempt to keep it where it was. Luckily, your hands stayed intertwined for another couple of minutes as you expressed your appreciation for his kindness and shifted the conversation back to his job until your food was in front of you.

The meals were delicious, just as Harry had promised. He’d ordered a mushroom risotto that looked delicious, and your pasta tasted perfect with the wine you’d chosen. Good job, self.

Soon, you found your plate nearly empty and your body warm from the alcohol. Your thoughts felt slightly fuzzy, and you caught yourself staring a little too long at the rings on Harry’s right hand, as well as the fingers adorning them. The muscles flexed as he moved his hands while speaking, and you couldn’t seem to tear your eyes away. You knew how his hand felt in yours, but how would it feel touching your cheek, against your back, gripping your - 

“Did you save room for dessert? The tiramisu is incredible.” Harry’s voice broke your train of thought, and you quickly averted your eyes back to his. What seemed like a slight smirk played on his face, but you couldn’t tell if it was because he’d noticed the staring, or if the alcohol was just affecting him as well. You prayed for the latter.

“That sounds great, but I can probably only take a few bites. Would you want to share a piece?” you suggested, much too full for an entire dessert to yourself.

“I’d love to.” Harry absentmindedly tapped his fingers against the table in a rhythm you couldn’t place, not helping your attempts not to stare. “So, tell me more about that yoga class?”

The conversation flowed again, with Harry ordering dessert when the waitress stopped by. Of course, you were just as interested in his words as he was in yours, hanging on his every accented sentence. He was a captivating storyteller and his facial expressions were no different - you loved how his eyes lit up at the good parts and narrowed at the bad in the story. The slight scruff on his face complimented the way his mouth moved as it formed words, drawing you closer. How would they feel against your own lips, you wondered? 

You could hear the words he was saying, but you weren’t fully listening as he continued telling you about the time he got a little too drunk at a friend’s birthday party and ended up volunteering to give a speech he had in no way prepared for. It was a great story, very funny, but your mind was otherwise preoccupied. Wine always made you… flirty.

Soon, the tiramisu was in front of you. This, too, looked delicious - Harry was right again.

“Would you like the first bite?” He offered, picking up one of the small forks laid out on the plate and scooping a bite of the dessert onto it.

“Well, ladies first I suppose,” you joked. You parted your mouth slightly as you leaned forward, waiting for him to place the fork on your tongue. What you weren’t expecting was for his other hand to reach out and lightly grasp your jaw, thumb on your chin to hold your mouth farther open. A choked gasp escaped your lips at the same time the sweet cake hit your tongue, but you could barely taste it, too distracted by the skin contact. Again, his eyes didn’t leave yours as he allowed your mouth to close and pulled his hand away from your face.

“Well? How is it?” he asked, with a definite smirk this time. 

You tried to compose yourself before answering, swallowing the dessert and the lump that had formed in your throat. “It’s good… really good.” Your voice came out breathier than you intended, and you blinked heavily a couple of times, trying to kickstart the part of your brain that could think of anything except what you’d like to do with the gorgeous man sitting in front of you.

Harry took his own bite next, letting his eyes flutter shut as his mouth closed around the fork. His long eyelashes rested atop his strong cheekbones, the same ones you almost had to physically stop yourself from reaching over to brush your fingertips over. His lips were a stunning, dark shade of red, still slightly wet from the wine he’d been enjoying.

His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed the bite, slightly brushing against the collar of his shirt. Seafoam green eyes made contact with yours as he opened them again, and a small smile graced his face as he realized you’d been watching him intently.

“You’re right, it is really good.” Your heart raced under the fervency of his gaze. He was staring into you like he wanted to read the thoughts echoing in your brain. “Would you like another bite?”

“Sure, but I can feed myself this one if you like,” you attempted to lighten the intense mood that had befallen your booth so you might actually be able to catch your breath,

“That won’t be necessary, I was quite enjoying myself,” Harry mused, refusing to break eye contact until you did. He scooped another bite onto the fork, reaching over to brush a stray strand of hair behind your ear before resuming his grip on your jaw and returning the fork to your lips. He felt your jaw flex as you chewed and swallowed the bite, but didn’t take his hand off of your face. Instead, he brought his thumb back to your lips and brushed below them gently, careful not to smudge your lipstick. 

He brought his thumb back to his mouth and slowly closed his lips around the pad of it, a half-smile tugging at his lips at your bewildered expression. “Sorry, you had a little something there. I figured I’d get it for you.”

You nodded, taking a deep breath instead of attempting to utter a response.

He took another bite himself before offering you another, which you obliged with little hesitation.

“You know, Harry, you need to be careful feeding me like this or I’ll get used to it.” Another feeble attempt to ease the tension and stop acting like a flustered teenager.

“I wouldn’t mind that,” he murmured, voice sincere and slow, laced with something that sent a shiver down your spine, “if it means I keep getting to see your cheeks flush.”

He’d noticed how your body was responding to him, whether or not you tried to hide it. Your face burned again, sinking further into the booth behind you in slight embarrassment.

“Well, it doesn’t help that I’m on a date with an attractive man who’s feeding me tiramisu. I think that’s every woman’s dream.”

“So it’s working?” His face glowed in the candlelight, a smirk on his face but a subtle vulnerability behind his eyes.

You knew what he was implying, but wanted to regain some of the power you’d lost by being so flustered. “Maybe.”

“That’s not good enough for me. I need a yes.” He needed confirmation that you were on the same page.

“And what exactly am I saying yes to?” A sip of wine ran down your throat as you awaited his response.

“To letting me walk you home after this,” Harry stated bluntly, scanning your face for your reaction. You couldn’t help the way your face flushed, but you held your composure, leaning back casually against the booth behind you as you pretended to mull it over. You already knew what you wanted.

“Alright, Harry,” you smirked, bringing the wine glass to your lips once more, “let’s see where the night takes us.”

- - - - - - - - - - 

“God, it’s freezing out here,” you groaned, dodging patches of ice. You were nearly home, your apartment building visible up the street.

Harry had grabbed your hand under the guise of keeping it warm a few minutes ago, something you were grateful for now as you gripped it tightly, trying to navigate the snow-covered ground in heels with little traction. He’d offered to call an Uber, but you wanted some more time with him without a driver listening in on your conversation.

As you approached the building, your imagination ran with thoughts of getting him upstairs, into your apartment, into your living room… 

Before you could get too far, you were at the front door. Your free hand patted over the pockets of your jacket to ensure that you had your keys and found them in your left pocket.

“I had a great time with you tonight, Y/N,” Harry turned to face you, not letting go of your hand. “I’d love to do this again, sometime, if you’d be interested.”

A slight flush now graced his face, glancing at the ground as he awaited your response.

“I had a lovely time. I’d love to see you again,” you confirmed quickly, not letting him worry for too long.

He was beaming now, allowing you to admire his prominent dimples. Your heart skipped a beat and you couldn’t help but smile right back at the sight.

“There’s that beautiful smile again,” he quipped. His free hand reached for your jaw, cradling it again as you both continued to grin at each other for a few moments. A silence fell upon you again, and Harry’s eyes searched yours for a second before flickering to your lips, which had slowly returned to a resting state. As he moved his gaze back up, your eyes gleamed with the reflections of Christmas lights and were swimming with the need for more contact with him. He inhaled slowly, nervously, before exhaling sharply. “Can I kiss you?”

You nodded quickly, gripping his collar to pull him closer before his mouth met yours. Electricity sparked between the two of you, his luscious lips colliding with yours over and over again, like he couldn’t get enough of you. The kiss started slow, but quickly became deeper, more desperate, as he gripped your waist tightly and pulled you close to him. Your hands searched for solace, moving from his collar to his cheeks before lightly running through the hair at the back of his neck.

He tore his lips away from yours but didn’t stray far, pressing his forehead against yours as you both tried to catch your breath. You could see both of your small pants in the air as they fogged due to the cold. A small smile played on each of your lips, and you just knew your lipstick was half-gone because you could definitely see some of it on Harry.

“You know,” you pulled away, straightening your stance confidently, “I have a bottle of wine upstairs if you’d like to help me drink it.”

Harry grinned. “I would love to.”

part 2!

[crowandmousewritingco]

We Liked Your Vibe

Pairing: Dieter Bravo x f!reader x Din Djarin

Words: 3.4 k

Rating: M (it's mostly smut folks)

Summary: Din promised Dieter to a threesome, and you have caught their attention.

Author: Mod Mouse (I know I'm not dead)

Note: Happy Holidays everyone! This is my gift to @guelyury for the secret santa exchange set up by @dieterbravobrainrotclub! Thank you @sp00kymulderrI for setting this up! I hope you enjoy your gift.

On another note, I hope to start getting back in the grove of writing. With the semester wrapped up and my life in general calming down, I hope to start posting fics again. I don't think it will be as often as I was (I can't believe I somehow put two fics a week out lol) But I'll figure out something that works. Anyways onto the smut!

“Oh what about that one?” Dieter asked excitedly, nodding in the direction of a goth looking person strolling up to the bar. 

Din glanced up from his whiskey, the melting ice giving a small tink against the glass. His gaze took in the figure, but he shook his head. “Not that one. Came in with a partner.” 

Dieter signed dramatically and slumped over the bar counter. Din slid his drink away to keep him from knocking it over. This wasn’t the first time tonight. “Diiiiiiiiin” Dieter whined. “That’s the third one you’ve said no to tonight.” 

“Yes but all you’ve shown me are couples. I said they had to be single,” Din replied raising his highball glass to his lips. 

Dieter stuck his tongue out at him before turning his head to survey the room. His dark eyes roamed the space once again. So many people with others. ‘Was no one single in the tristate area anymore?’ The thought crossed his mind and he sighed. Maybe it was just going to be him and Din tonight. 

That was until you saddled up to the bar, seemingly with the weight on the world on your shoulders. Dieter’s head poked up as you ordered a shot of tequila. You sprinkled some salt on the crook of your thumb as the bartender set the glass in front of you. Quickly you lapped the salt up with one hand and down the shot in the other, the sting of the alcohol barely affecting you. 

Without looking away, Dieter tugged on Din’s sleeve. “What about that one?” 

Din sighed, only getting slightly fed up with his husband. But when his eyes took you in, something stirred in him. You were very attractive to say the least despite not trying too hard. The favorite shirt that you choose, more for comfort than for attraction, stuck to you in all the right places leaving Din with a nice outline to admire. 

Din hummed which was the most approval he had given all night. Dieter smiled a big goofy grin and practically jumped from the barstool. Though he quickly straightened his outfit to make himself just a tad bit more presentable. Din followed soon and Dieter quickly grabbed his hand dragging the older man over. 

You hadn’t noticed them approach, your mind wiring a thousand thoughts a second. It was only when you heard someone say “Ya know we saw you from across the bar and we like your vibe.” You glanced up and blushed as you took in the odd couple. One man dressed in what you would call disaster chic and the other in a very monochromatic but well put together fit. 

You smirked. “You know this is a new one for me.” 

The messy haired one tilted his head. “Oh and how's that?” 

“Well you aren’t a middle aged straight couple who’s only way to save their marriage is to have a threesome,” You quipped. 

That got a laugh from the shorter man. “We’re about as opposite as that.” 

You raked your eyes over both of them smiling. “You can definitely say that.” 

“Oh where are my manners? Let me introduce ourselves. I’m Dieter and this is my tall, dark and very handsome husband Din.” 

Din held his hand to you and you graciously took it. The size difference from his hands against yours sent heat fluttering to your stomach. “It’s a pleasure to me you,” Din said, taking interest in your reaction. 

“Uh yes um ditto,” You stuttered, still taken aback. “Too bad I’m not dressed up.” You mumbled to yourself. 

Dieter chuckled. “It seems our friend here sees something she likes.” 

“Hmmm? Oh um yes” You blushed quickly taking your hand back. 

“So how about it? Want to see where else there's a size difference?” Dieter asked, wiggling his eyebrows. 

Your eyes darted back and forth between the pair, but you shrugged your shoulders. “I actually would love that.” 

Dieter’s eyes widened and he clapped his eyes excitedly. “Perfect.” He dramatically pointed to the exit. “Let us make haste and love!” He hurried towards the exit. 

You couldn’t help, but giggle at the man’s antics. You hopped off the stool throwing a few ones onto the counter. “Is he always like this?” You asked Din who offered his arm to you which you gladly accepted. 

“Always.” Din replied, and you followed the chaotic Dieter out the door. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dieter talked the whole way home to their apartment. It wasn’t so bad. You sat in the back with him as Din drove, and Dieter basically went over all of the kinks he had and what they both were comfortable with. It wasn’t what you were expecting considering your past experiences, but you were thankful for it nonetheless. You laid out what you did and didn’t like to do which Dieter was very receptive too. After your check in, it wasn’t long until you were making out with Dieter, his hands roaming all of you and trying to pull you into his lap. You giggle as you carefully straddled his waist, bracing yourself on the door frame. 

A low purr emanated from Dieter as he nuzzled his face into your clothed breasts. You couldn’t help but giggled as he motorboated against the fabric. With your free hand, you tangled your fingers into his curly hair, giving his scalp a gentle scratch. Dieter squeezed your hips making you squeak from the surprise. He smirked and snaked his hands up your stomach, sighing at your soft skin. You watched as he pushed up your shirt, licking his lips at the sight of your bare tits staring him right in his face. 

He quirked an eyebrow at you. “I see you weren’t interested in the support tonight.” 

You chuckled and kissed his forehead. “Nah, the girls needed to be free tonight.” 

With both of his hands, Dieter gently grasped your breasts in his hands rolling his thumb gently over your peaking nipples. You gasped, pushing your chest forward needing more stimulation from his fingers. Dipping his head, Dieter lapped at your nipples, the chill from his drink still evident on his tongue. You shivered as he lapped at your peaks, loving the contrasting warm and cold feelings. Dieter chuckled, pausing his motions and nuzzling his cheek into your chest. Playfully he bounced your tits saying, “Well I can be their support.” 

You giggled at his playfulness. “Unfortunately I can’t have you holding them 24/7.” 

Dieter pouted. “But I wanna.” 

You smooth his curls away from his forehead. “I’ll see what I can figure out.” 

That returned Dieter’s smile. With one hand still on your breasts, he sneaked his other down your stomach once more sliding them into your pants. You gasped softly as his fingers toyed with the lacey straps. Dieter smirked. “And you said you weren’t dressed up.” 

You blushed. “I wouldn’t consider underwear as dressing up.” 

“On the contrary, sweetheart. I am always an advocate of showing off the fanciest of underwear.” He purred his fingers rubbed against your clothed clit. Slow delicate circles send a pulses of pleasure through your body. Soft pants escaped your lips and you pressed your head into his shoulder. 

Dieter chuckled as he continued his motions, dragging his fingers all around your sensitive bits. His dark eyes caught Din’s in the rearview mirror and he smirked. “My love I believe your eyes stay on the road.” 

All Din gave as a response was a grunt, but Dieter could tell how worked up Din was. Dieter chuckled to himself as they pulled into their long driveway, the car gliding over the smooth concrete. Din turned the car off, quickly unbuttoning his seatbelt and opening the driver side door. It only took a second for him to open the backseat and carefully pull you off of Dieters lap holding you in his arms. 

You bit your lip as Din nuzzled his nose into your neck, his noticeable erection pressing into your stomach. “Oh and what was that about not paying attention?” Dieter teased, closing the car doors behind you. Din growled into your lips and Dieter rolled his eyes. “I’ll get the door” 

Din followed Dieter up the driveway, the footsteps of Dieter’s crocs guiding him into the house. You weren’t paying attention. All of your focus was the taste of whiskey against Din’s soft lips. Quick pants escaped your lips as the warm air of the house hit your skin. Din bit your lips sliding his tongue into your mouth. Gasping your fingers tangled in his hair giving them a firm tug. Din moaned, his cock twitching inside his pants. You chuckled and nuzzled your nose into his stubbled cheek. 

“Oh that’s such a nice sound.” Din blushed, dropping his gaze. You kissed his cheek leaning in close before saying, “I like hearing you moan.” That heard another twitch in his pants as he carried you into the bedroom. 

With your attention focused on other things, you could finally take in the space where Din had carried you. A giant bed lay against the wall with the soft silken covers adorning the top. Memorabilia from Dieter’s collection lined the wall while Din’s areas stayed relatively minimalist. You wondered how such an odd couple ended up together. 

But quickly your mind returned to the task at hand. As gently as handling an animal, Din set you in the middle of the bed. It only took a moment for him to crawl over you, encompassing you with his wide body. You bit your lips as your hands slid up his button shirt, feeling his muscles tensing under your touch. 

“Mmmmm what a lovely sight you two are,” Dieter commented as he sauntered to the edge of the bed. He made himself at home by the pillows as he watched the show. 

You blushed under the attention of the actor, but continued your focus on Din. Your fingers danced over the buttons, slowly opening them to reveal the skin underneath. The sight was utterly delicious and all you wanted to do was lick the saltiness as you made your way down. 

With a slow pull of your hands, you touched every inch of Din’s torso earning gasps from the older man. By the time you reached the tops of his jeans, he was panting, his full erection pressing against the material. Slowly you caressed his cock, feeling the magnitude against your hand. “Shit you are big.” You said, licking your lips. 

Just like his shirt, you undo the button, shifting the material down freeing his cock. It stood at attention with beads of precum already pooling on the head. With a finger, you traced the prominent vein up the shaft to the head where you gathered the precum against your finger. Curiously you brought it up to your lips, not breaking eye contact with Din as the saltiness coated itself over your tongue.

 You moaned at the taste and you could hear Dieter chuckling beside you. “He tastes better than any cocktail.” 

Humming in agreement you shifted yourself bringing your head closer to Din’s. But as you go to take his cock into his mouth, Din stops you with a gentle push on your shoulder. You look up, worried you did something wrong. 

“I want to treat you since you were so kind to agree to this,” Din voiced, a soft pink blush on his cheeks. 

You couldn’t help but blush in return. With these sorts of nights, you were lucky if the man ever went near your vagina with anything other than his cock. Din was such a considerate person that it was a shame this was only for one night. You nodded, returning back to your original position. With dexterous fingers Din pulled your pants along with the underwear off in one fluid motion. You shivered as the cool air hit your legs. Din stared at you with his dark brown eyes as he trailed slow kisses from your calf to your thighs until you could feel his breath against your wet lips. 

“I’m gonna devour you, little flower,” Din purred. 

Dieter rolled his eyes. “We all love your chivalrousness babe, but someone is also getting lonely. And I mean, she did want to blow someone.” Dieter commented and you couldn’t help but smirk. 

With a playful roll of your head, you opened your mouth ready for Dieter’s cock. Dieter smiled pulling down the waist of his well loved yet fashionable sweatpants, his own erection popping out. You lifted your hand giving Dieter a few pumps before kissing the head. His own salty taste mixed with Din’s was like a cocktail of lust in your mouth. 

That was when Din took the opportunity to take a long lick up your lips ending on a flick of his tongue on your clit. You gasped from the sudden pleasure, making you open your mouth. Dieter took the chance and slid the full length of his cock into your mouth. You gagged a little though taking no time to adjust to his size. 

Dieter leaned back his head against the headboard. “S-Shit we should have found you faster.” He slowly thrusted into your mouth, your tongue swirling around and up the shaft. “D-Din we gotta keep her.” 

Din hummed in agreement as he lapped at your clit. Sparks of pleasure tingled in your stomach, making you moan against Dieter’s cock. The full balls slapped against your throat as Dieter’s thrusts started becoming faster. Dieter cursed with each movement enjoying himself immensely. His gaze wandered down to watch Din as he continued to pleasure you like you were his last meal.

“Shit babe, leave some of that for me. She’s gonna need it when I cum inside her.” You moaned at the thought of his cock spilling his seed inside you. Dieter smirked his gaze meeting your eyes. “Is that something you want, doll?” He asked, his thumb tracing your cheek. You nodded the best you could, and Dieter slowly pulled out of your mouth, a trail of saliva connecting you two. 

“You heard the cutie. I think it’s time for the ol’ Johnson to shine,” Dieter exclaimed excitedly as Din shifted away from you. It was your time to roll your eyes at the other man’s antics. Dieter maneuvered around getting on his hands and knees in front of you. 

“You’re ridiculous,” You teased hands cupping Dieter’s cheeks and quickling kissing his lips. 

“Uh ya ridiculously horny,” He replied with a cheeky smirk. 

You threw your head back against the pillows, a loud laugh filling the room. “God you’re funny.” 

Dieter glanced over his shoulder at Din who had kneeled behind him. “See, someone thinks I’m funny.” 

“Just give it a few years,” Din teased back as he gently pulled a very fancy buttplug out of his husband. Dieter moaned at the lack of friction and you preoccupied him with your lips. He pushed for dominance against you, but you pushed back with just the same intensity. 

Din set the butt plug aside and squirted a dollop of lube onto his palm. Carefully he applied the generous amount onto his cock and Dieter’s hole. A soft gasp escaped Dieter’s lips as he shuttered against the chilly material. 

With a quick peck of the cheek, you said “Don’t worry. You’ll be warmed up in no time.” Dieter groaned at your words, his own cock twitching at the idea of being deep inside you. With a slow push, Din entered him a deep grumble vibrating his throat as he felt Dieter pulse around him. Dieter moaned, resting his head on your shoulder as he adjusted to his size. 

Gently you twirled his curls around your fingers, your nails massaging his scalp. It only took him a moment for him to be ready. Dieter gently pumped his own cock adjusting his hips to meet yours. He guided his cock up and down your slit, your arousal coating the head. You both moaned at the feeling. 

But Dieter grew impatient. With his hand he guided his cock to your hole, gathering up the wetness glistening between your legs. With an eager but still gentle push, he buried himself fully inside of you. The noise that escaped his lips was down right sinful as his legs shook from so much pleasure. Small pants flowed from your lips as you felt Dieter filling you to the brim with his cock. It twitched inside of you and you squeezed around it in response. 

“Fuck,” He whimpered nuzzling his nose into your neck, his warm breath ebbing against your skin.

Din took this as a sign to begin thrusting. It was slow at first, gauging how you were handling everything. In and out Dieter’s cock rubbed against the sensitive areas inside you, and you moaned. Fingers pulled at Dieter’s curls earning a new set of moans to the symphony of sex. 

Din grunted as he pulled his cock almost out of Dieter before plunging it back inside of him, sending Dieter deeper inside of you. The trio moaned as everyone was feeling on cloud nine. Din sped of up thrusts, the need for gentleness over. He draped his torso over Dieter’s back, leaning in to bite on the actor’s shoulder. 

Dieter twitched inside of you, and you smirked. “S-Shit I should bite you more,” 

Dieter moaned as Din’s thrusts became more erratic. It was clear that Din was close to cuming and by the way Dieter felt inside of you, he was close too. Your hand slid down your torso and your fingers began circling your clit, speeding up your motions as you felt the heat in your stomach began to grow and grow. 

With each circle you squeezed around Dieter, earning a moan each time. Your fingers pressed on a particularly sensitive bit and you moaned, sending your legs shaking. Dieter couldn’t hold on much longer. With a few more thrusts from Din, Dieter leaned his head back and came hard inside you. You could feel each bit of cum drenching your walls. 

You played with your clit as fast as you could, using your entire hand to gain the pleasure you need. Soon you joined Dieter in the realm of orgasm and came with the tensing of your legs. As you came down from your high, a series of grunts filled the room as Din filled Dieter with his own high. 

All three of you were left panting against the bed. Din was the first to pull out, and with a tilt of your head you could see the cum cascading down Dieter’s leg. Din gave Dieter’s ass a few taps before slowly getting off the bed to grab a towel from the bathroom. 

Almost reluctantly Dieter pulled out of you, his gaze drifting down to see his own seed dripping from you. “Fuck that’s such a pretty sight, doll.” Dieter moaned as he leaned down. You followed his gaze with curiosity. Dieter glanced up. “What? Think I would miss an opportunity to taste the both of us? Not a chance.” With a quick swipe of his tongue, he gathered you and his own arousal on his tongue savoring the saltiness. You gasped at the overstimulation and latched onto his curls for grounding. This only spurred him on, and soon he was devouring like he hadn’t eaten in days. Another orgasm ripped through you, surprising you with how quickly he made you cum. That made Dieter’s ego skyrocket, and he chuckled as he detached himself from you. 

“S-Shit…how?” You asked, panting, mind fuzzy from the pleasure. 

“I can’t give away all of my secrets,” Dieter winked before he settled beside you. His arms pulled you in for cuddles which you gladly appreciated. The warmth from his chest filled you with ease as you wound down from the activities. 

Din reappeared with the washcloth, and with effortless gentleness he cleaned the both of you. He tossed the material aside, dealing with it at a later time, before settling on the other side of you. You practically purred at the feeling of the two men sandwhiching you. 

Everything was quiet as you laid there. Din gently drew imaginary shapes on your skin, and Dieter twirled your hair in his fingers. “C-Can we do this again?” You asked hesitantly not wanting to break the magic of tonight. 

Dieter chuckled against your hair. “I was hoping you would ask that.” You smiled in return happy that your crappy night had turned into something you had a feeling would last a long time.

Credit: @inklore

All Works Taglist:

@for-a-longlongtime @romanarose

Pedro Characters Taglist:

@littlemisspascal @burntheedges

@carusolikey @thebeldroramscal

@morallyinept @lady-bess

@pedrostories @rivnedell

@pascalsanctuary @readingiskeepingmegoing

@jessthebaker

[trulybetty]

Sequins | Joel Miller x f!Reader

Pairing: Joel Miller x F!Reader (no use of Y/N) + no outbreak AU Reader: no physical descriptions, reader wears a dress Word Count: 3,195 Warnings: 18+, smutty mc smut smut, alcohol, nightclubs, drunken behaviour, public sexual acts, Joel Miller comes with his own warnings. Summary: On a night out with friends, you run into a broad-shouldered stranger and there's no denying that there's an immediate attraction between the two of you. AO3: Linked

A/N: everyone and all, this fic is based on the post that launched a thousand thots and we can all thank @wildemaven for all of this as she inspired the whole thing.

Sequins.

The club was loud, the lights were bright, the drinks were way too expensive and you had lost sight of your friends on your way back from the bar.

Just as you were contemplating retreating to a quieter corner of the club to check your phone, you collided with a pair of broad shoulders.

“Whoa there,” the stranger said, steadying you by the arm. “You alright there darlin'?”

His voice was a deep Texas drawl and for a brief second, the noise of the club seemed less loud as you got lost in his dark brown eyes. They were weary but kind, a stark contrast to the rowdy atmosphere surrounding you.

“Yeah, I'm fine, thanks,” you replied, adjusting your dress, cursing as several of the sequins dropped to the floor with the tug you gave it from where it'd rode up on your thighs. You clutched your drink a little tighter too, not wanting to lose the contents of the twelve-dollar highball you hadn't even had a chance to sip at yet. “Just lost my bearings for a second.”

He looked as out of place as you felt, clad in a button-up plaid green shirt and jeans, clearly uncomfortable amidst the flashing lights and thumping bass. It was endearing, in a way. With a little smile tugging at your lips, and the alcohol emboldening you, you decided to take a chance.

“You look a bit out of your element,” you winked, “First time in a place like this?”

He chuckled as he raised a curious eyebrow, “Is it that obvious ma’am?”

“A little bit,” you said playfully as you wrapped your lips around the thin cocktail straw of your drink. “But it's charming. So, what brings you here?” you asked, leaning in closer so he could hear you over the music, gesturing at the crowded dance floor.

He chuckled, his eyes crinkling at the corners, and shrugged. “My brother's bachelor party, so I couldn't exactly say no,” he said, nodding toward a group of rowdy men holding up the bar at the other end of the room. “I'm the best man, so I had to come along and make sure he doesn't do anything too stupid.”

He glanced back at you, and the corner of his mouth curled up in a mischievous smirk. “What about you darlin'? You with anyone tonight?”

“Just some friends,” you replied, trying to sound nonchalant. “We're here for a bachelorette party, seems like the place to be for pre-wedding celebrations tonight.”

His eyebrows raised in question, his gaze flickering to your left hand. “So is it safe to assume you're not the bride?”

You couldn't help the laugh that escaped your lips at his brazen assumption, the sound ringing out above the music.

Shaking your head, you had a smile still tugging at the corners of your mouth. “No, I'm the maid of honour,” you said, “I was supposed to be on duty, but I guess I failed because I can't find the bride.” Your gaze swept around for any sign of your group of friends but they were nowhere to be found.

He smiled, and for a brief second, the heavy bass and flashing lights seemed to disappear. “Well, if you’re failing your duties, I guess that makes two of us.”

You took a sip of your drink, the alcohol warming your throat, and looked Joel up and down. There was a rugged sincerity about him, a sense of grit that you found intriguing.

“So, you got a name cowboy?”

He laughed quietly as he shook his head, “Joel,” he answered, and you found the gesture of him almost offering his hand for a handshake endearing before he scratched the back of his neck nervously, “And who might you be sweetheart?” he asked.

You gave him your name before your tongue found the straw of your drink again and took a short sip. You could feel his gaze land on your lips as you sipped.

“Pretty name for a pretty face.”

You felt your cheeks heat at the compliment. His eyes were still fixed on your mouth and you couldn't help but feel a little self-conscious. You shifted your weight from one foot to another, suddenly feeling a little awkward under Joel's gaze. His eyes flicked up to meet yours and you saw a glint of amusement there, like he knew exactly what was going through your mind.

“So, your girlfriend let you out for the night?”

He released a low chuckle from deep within his chest. “No girlfriend to speak of,” he answered with a shake of his head.

“How about a wife then?” you inquired, your eyes twinkling with curiosity.

He shook his head again. “Nope. Flying solo these days.”

You eyed him with interest, studying every detail-from the sparkle in his eyes to the subtle wrinkles around them. You hummed thoughtfully before replying, “Interesting.”

You couldn't help but feel a spark of attraction towards him. There was something about his demeanour that made your heart race. Maybe it was the way he looked at you, or the way his voice sent shivers down your spine. Whatever it was, you couldn't deny that there was chemistry between the two of you.

“Interesting, you say?” Joel leaned in, a coy grin on his face. “What's so interesting about a single guy at a bachelor party?”

You matched his posture, leaning in just close enough to make the tension palpable. “Well, a guy like you, good-looking, charming, single. It's either a mystery or a tragedy.”

Joel's eyes sparkled with amusement. “You think I'm charming, huh? Well, let's call it a mystery for now.”

You smiled. “A mystery it is, then.”

The two of you stood there for a moment, on the edge of the crowded venue, caught in a mix of smoky air, flashing lights, and electric vibes, sharing a sort of silent agreement that this meeting, this connection, was something more.

“So,” Joel hesitated, clearly trying to phrase his next question carefully. He cleared his throat, a little awkward as he tried to navigate the terrain of flirtation. “If you're here, not being the bride and all, and I'm here, not being the groom, would it be too presumptuous of me to assume that you're...uh, not seeing anyone?”

His roundabout way of asking made you laugh. It was a little clumsy but endearing in its awkwardness. His flirting skills were obviously rusty, but it just made him more appealing.

“No husband, no boyfriend. Free as a bird,” you replied, giving him a reassuring smile.

He gave a half smile as he crossed his arms over his chest, the stretch of the shirt over his biceps and shoulders caused you to involuntarily lick your lips. A move that wasn't missed on him as he smirked to himself as he shifted in his stance.

“You look like you'd rather be anywhere but here,” you observed.

He looked at you, his eyes sincere. “Well, I wouldn't say 'anywhere.' I've enjoyed bumping into you, for one.”

It was evident now that there was attraction between the two of you. You could feel the electricity in the air around you, and it made your heart flutter in anticipation. The light from the club's strobe lights bounced off of your sequined dress, highlighting every curve of your body. His gaze seemed to linger on each one of them, causing a warmth to spread through you.

He stepped forward, closing the gap between you both and stopped when his body was mere inches away from yours. His gaze lifted up to meet yours, and you swore that you could see a sparkle of desire deep within his eyes.

Your fingers trailed up his bare forearm, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. Even in the dim light of the club, you could make out the definition of the muscle that flexed under your fingertips. Your fingers ran back down and you outlined the watch at his wrist, the large dial secured with a green canvas strap. Pausing for a moment you looked up at him from under your lashes and you could see from the laboured rise and fall of his chest that he was feeling whatever it was between you two also.

You paused, lifting your gaze from Joel to scan the fringes of the dance floor, checking if anyone was watching or if you were at risk of being 'caught'. The crowd seemed too engrossed in their own worlds, dancing and laughing, oblivious to the electric connection you were sharing with Joel at the edge of the dance floor.

Without breaking eye contact, and in a move that surprised even you, you took his hand by the wrist and brought it to the hem of your dress, and under. He raised an eyebrow in a silent ask of permission, your response was to move his hand higher up your thigh. He didn’t need any further encouragement. His fingers, while calloused from manual labour moved deftly to push aside your underwear. His fingers curled into his palm, he let his knuckles run down the length of you, and you couldn’t help the gasp that bubbled up from your throat as they made their way back up, your hands still wrapped around his forearm. 

Joel's lips curved into a grin as he watched your reaction. He glanced around surreptitiously, then leaned in closer, his breath hot against your ear. “Is this what you want, darlin'?” he murmured, his voice low and husky.

You barely managed a nod, the closeness of him in combination of his fingers unfurling into you while the thrill of intimacy in a public setting tinged by the alcohol on your tongue was intoxicating. 

His body moved even closer to yours, your drink balancing precariously on your upturned palm as his other hand snaked past your hip to your ass, your dress riding up slightly in the process. He kept his hand in place, his thumb gently ghosting your clit with steady pressure and his index finger and middle finger parted and slowly slipped inside of you. You let out a soft moan as your body adjusted to his fingers, and your grip around his forearm loosened.

He leaned in, his lips travelling down your neck. You felt a shiver run through your body as his teeth grazed over the exposed skin, each kiss sending shockwaves of pleasure through you. He dropped kisses to your exposed neck, his lips tracing a line up to your ear. He whispered something inaudible, the words barely discernible over the music blaring from the speakers. 

Your one arm wrapped around his neck while your free hand found its way to his broad shoulder, you held on for dear life as he continued to drop soft kisses along your collarbone. Your nails dug in as his fingers somehow managed to move deeper. His thumb increased its pressure as his fingers curled inside of you, coaxing out the sensation that had been building inside of you since the second you'd bumped into him.

The thrill of being caught heightened every sense and quickly was building a delicious tension between your hips and you let out a sigh that was drowned out by the thumping beat of the music. He pulled away slightly, looking at you with a mischievous glint in his eye before leaning back in to finally put his lips to yours, his fingers never once losing their steady pace as you hungrily returned his kiss.

As soon as he broke the kiss to catch his breath, your lips never left his. Your tongue invaded his mouth, tasting the alcohol on his tongue from the drink he'd finished earlier, before your teeth clenched into his bottom lip. He let out a soft moan as you bit down, your fingernails now scraping the back of his neck.

A moan escaped your lips as he quickened his pace, the perfect timing catching you right at the edge of your climax. His grip on your waist tightened and he pulled you towards him. His free hand rubbed the small of your back in a soothing circle, trying to calm your uncontrollable trembling.

You could feel the jagged hiss of his breath against your ear as he pulled away just enough to whisper “Let it go, darlin’.”

You pressed against him, your nails biting into his shoulder as you came hard on his fingers.

“Joel...” you managed to whimper out as you clung to him.

Your breath hitched and before you knew it, a wave crashed through your body, carrying with it sensations unlike the ones before. Your nails dug into Joel's shoulder as waves of pleasure coursed through every nerve-ending in your body until eventually they subsided and all that was left was the warmth radiating from between your thighs and Joel's softly whispered words in your ear telling you how beautiful you were.

You collapsed against him, completely spent your body still quivering around him he held you steady, never once taking his hands away.

He glanced around to see if anyone had caught sight of your public display, and thankfully no one had. “You okay there sweetheart?” he said breathlessly, his hand still in place, sliding in and out of you slowly and teasing as you tried to regain some composure.

He looked at you with a soft smile, your free fingers now playing with the curls at the nape of his neck. The bass was now shaking the floor, its vibrations now mixed with the buzz of your orgasm.

He smiled as he slowly pulled his hand away, his fingers slipping from your body creating a shiver to run through you. He leaned in closer and softly grazed his lips against yours before pulling away.

“That was…” your voice trailed off as your tongue stumbled trying to find words, your voice barely audible over the music.

Joel’s lips curved into a mischievous smile, just on the edge of uttering a response, when a lurching figure ambled up and draped their arms across his shoulder.

“Hey! There you are! Brother-” the slurred voice that came from the man who had stumbled into Joel. Based on the striking resemblance it could only be his brother whose bachelor party he'd mentioned it was. Joel quickly let go of your hand to suddenly catch him as he stumbled, shouldering the weight of his younger brother - the only thing now that was keeping him standing, “I think I want to go find Maria.” Tommy hiccuped, unaware of the spell he had just broken.

Joel's face flushed crimson and he looked at you apologetically, “I think it's time to get you home, Tommy.”

You took a step back, understanding the need for him to take care of his brother and trying not to make things awkward.

“Maybe I could give you my number? Maybe we can catch up when your hands aren't so full?” You gestured towards Tommy, whose eyes were glassy as tried to remain upright.

He frowned slightly before understanding crossed over his features and a grin appeared on his face, “Well, a gentleman could never say no to a lady such as yourself.”

He handed over his phone, managing to retrieve it from his back pocket while still holding Tommy, who was currently singing the praises of his fiancée in a tipsy monologue. You quickly tapped your way through the phone, pausing only to smile at the phone's background.

“Alright, you're all set,” you said, handing him back his phone with a smile before you busied yourself with your own briefly.

“Was that your number I just got a notification for?” he asked, pocketing the phone.

You smirked and said, “Why don’t you check it out when you get home? It's more of a surprise that way.”

He chuckled, before ushering his brother out the door. He paused and looked back at you, mouthing 'bye' as he put his arm around Tommy's waist and started walking away.

You watched them go, your eyes lingering on Joel's figure until they disappeared into the crowd. You blew out a long breath, feeling your heart thump in your chest from the adrenaline rush of what had just taken place. Your body still felt tingly from where his fingers had been moments ago and you allowed yourself to bask in it for a few more seconds before shaking off the trance-like state, and heading out to find your friends who had been blowing up your phone wondering where you were.

As you tucked yourself into bed, your phone buzzed with a new message. Opening it, you found a text from Joel.

Hey darlin', get home safe?

Smiling, you tapped out a reply, Yes, thank you for asking. How about you, cowboy?

Just got home. Tonight was something. Glad we met.

Feeling your heart swell with affection, you set your phone down on the bedside table. Squeezing your thighs together it was almost as if you could feel his fingers lingering there still. You didn't know how long you'd been lost in your thoughts when they were interrupted by a dip in the bed behind you.

A warm arm wrapping around your waist pulled you against their chest, the bristle of a beard that refused to grow nuzzled into the space between your shoulder and neck. 

“There’s sequins all over this damn house.”

“My dress,” you murmured half asleep as you leaned back into the embrace, kisses ghosting the underside of your jaw. “They just kept falling off.”

“Did you have a good night?”

“Mm, I did. It was... unexpected,” you responded, feeling the gentle press of his lips against your skin as he chuckled softly. “How about you?”

His arm tightened around you for a moment, pulling you even closer to him. “Well, I met this incredibly beautiful woman at some club, and it turns out she's already my wife. So, I'd say it's a win.”

You laughed quietly at that, loving how he could still make your heart race even after years of marriage. “You're incorrigible,” you said, placing your hand over his where it rested on your waist.

Joel chuckled softly into your hair, his warm breath sending a shiver down your spine despite the coziness of your surroundings, “In the best way, I hope,” Joel murmured, his breath warm against your neck.

“The very best way,” you confirmed, feeling your eyelids grow heavy as you nestled into the warmth of his embrace. You were both right where you belonged, and despite the evening's antics, that thought filled you with a profound sense of peace.

You smiled, turning your head slightly to catch his eyes in the dim light filtering through the curtains. “And how's Tommy? Did he make it to bed alright?”

Joel sighed, “Ah, well he definitely had one too many, gettin’ him into bed was like wrestlin' a bear, but he's sleeping it off. Thanks again for ordering that Uber darlin', I wouldn't have had a clue. Thought he was going to kick us out at one point, Tommy hollerin' about how much he'd drank.”

You both fell into a comfortable silence, absorbing the feel of each other, the simple joy of being close after a night that had, at first, seemed destined to keep you apart.

As you began to drift off, Joel kissed the back of your head, whispering softly, “I love you, sweetheart.”

A contented smile tugged at your lips. “I love you too, Joel.”

[strawberry-seob]

runaway ✩ hwang intak

🍹 wc: 4.6k

🍹 genre/pairings: fem!reader x intak, one night stand, SMUT, MDNI

🍹 warnings: dubious consent!, mdni!, alcohol consumption, drunk reader, drunk intak, one night stand, groping, sleep groping, reader crying/having an emotional breakdown, hurt/comfort (comfort provided by intak), cuddling, vaginal sex, unsafe sex, creampie

🍹 a/n: my very first intak fic is here! i wrote this as a gift for my bff @leepace (aka essexdogs on ao3) and it is crossposted to my ao3 account here.

note: the sexual practices depicted in this fic are not safe or entirely consensual - please take precautions regarding consent and STI/pregnancy safety in your own real life sexual encounters! :)

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

The sound of the shot glass slamming down on the worn wooden surface of the dimly-lit bar startled the few of the other patrons close to you, but they quickly went back to minding their own business after giving you a brief sideways glance.

You winced as the liquid burned its way down your esophagus: poisonous, warm, and, more than anything, soothing. You’d lost count of how many you’d had already, but the bartender was starting to give you that concerned expression that he probably gave to folks when he was about to cut them off for the night. You didn’t care. You could just drink at home if that happened. You’d never been kicked out of a bar, but there was a first time for everything, right?

After spending a few moments wallowing in your thoughts, you sensed someone pulling out the barstool to your right and taking a seat right next to you. Your inhibitions entirely gone at this point, you brazenly looked over to find that the person was a man: young, probably not over the age of 22, and obnoxiously attractive.

He was tall — but not too tall — and had golden tan skin and dark hair with a slight wave that hung partially in his face. His face was supple, all prominent cheekbones, soft-looking cheeks, full lips, and a nose that you could imagine men showing to a plastic surgeon to beg for the same exact one.

You looked him up and down, and nearly rolled your eyes at his outfit. It was adorable , and part of you hated him for it. How undeniably good he looked. The loose white tee shirt with the gray and black neck-scarf partially covering his defined neck, the bomber jacket that he’d hung on the back of the stool, and a pair of fitted black pants that had you trying your hardest to keep your eyes above his beltline — he was cute . So cute, in fact, that you nearly wanted to get away from him, especially on a day like this. After everything that had happened.

He turned his head and met your eyes with his wide, round, dark ones. He looked like a curious puppy, and you realized he’d caught you staring. Your face flooded with heat.

“Sorry,” you murmured, turning back towards the bar, embarrassed at the way you’d been lost in your own world and had been completely studying this guy from head to toe as if he were public property.

You heard him giggle and it sounded like music. Of course he has an adorable voice too , you groaned inwardly to yourself.

“It’s all good. Can I buy you a drink?” the man asked, and you turned to see him smiling at you, perfect teeth framed by his perfect lips, and you had the sudden urge to punch him as hard as you could, cover your fist in the blood from his mouth, knock his stupid perfect teeth out.

“Sure, if they’ll let you,” you slurred, and he gave you a look of understanding, waving the bartender down and ordering something you couldn’t quite make out.

Not long after, the bartender brought the man what looked like a highball, and in front of you, set down a tall glass of ice water with a couple large lemon slices floating near the top. You rolled your eyes and sighed, gripping the straw in your fist and jamming it down against your thigh to pop it out of the paper wrapping before shoving it into the water. You took a large sip, your vision not quite blurry, but not quite clear either, as you watched the water level in the glass go lower and lower.

“Hey, slow down,” the man said, giggling again and patting your shoulder gently. You scowled at him. “Thanks for the water. Cheapskate.”

He burst out laughing, that same warm, innocent sound, and extended his hand towards you. “I’m Intak. You’re welcome for the water.”

You smiled in spite of yourself, and reached out to grip his hand. It was warm and slightly clammy, which you found oddly charming. “I’m y/n. Are you here all alone, Intak?” you asked.

“Sure am,” he replied, and you weren’t sure if you were just drunk and seeing things, but you thought you noticed a hint of sadness in his expression.

“Pretty little thing like you? Be careful, lots of weirdos in a place like this,” you said with a wink, and he threw his head back again laughing, his cheeks flushing slightly as he calmed down and covered his mouth with his hand bashfully. You found yourself wanting to make him laugh again and again. You also found yourself wondering what he sounded like when he cried.

You scowled at your repugnant thoughts and focused your attention back on your water, taking another big sip, the freezing cold citrusy water nearly giving you a brain freeze.

“You okay?” he asked, eyes suddenly wide with concern, brows furrowed together.

“Yeah,” you began, a reluctant smile forming, “just not at my best right now.”

“Well that makes two of us,” he replied, holding his near-empty glass towards you. You clinked your water glass against it a little too hard, and it made a loud, grating sound. “Shit, sorry,” you said, leaning forward and nearly falling out of your stool. You would have fallen if the man, Intak, hadn’t reached out his hands to steady you, hands going immediately to your arms and holding them until you were upright again.

The scent of his masculine cologne lingered, filling your nose with notes of musk and bergamot. You felt dizzy, despite the fact that you were no longer falling out of your stool. You shivered, trying to shake the feeling.

“Cold?” he asked, reaching behind him to grab at his jacket and hold it out to you.

“No,” you scoffed, finding yourself annoyed with his flawless charm. He was probably out trying to find someone to cheat on his girlfriend with, and your stomach turned sour at the thought.

He nodded politely, returning the jacket to the small back of the stool. You looked over at him and softened a little. “No thank you, I meant.”

“You’re fine,” he said, holding his hands up inoffensively and smiling sweetly.

Intak ordered another highball, and your head, slowly but surely, began to clear a little. You used your newfound clarity to try starting an actual conversation with him, and found out that he and his girlfriend had broken up recently. Well, at least according to what he told you. It sounded like the perfect bullshit story to garner pity from girls to get them to go home with him, but for some reason, you didn’t get the feeling he was lying.

“Yeah, my friends don’t know that I’ve been coming here alone, but I just don’t wanna burden them with my drama. Plus, I feel a little pathetic that I’m still not over it, y’know?” he said, taking the last sip of his second highball before ordering another one, this time with gin instead of whiskey.

You nodded, staring into your second empty glass of ice water. You were starting to feel a little too sober, your thoughts getting a little too coherent and threatening to ruin your night, so you ordered yet another drink, this time a scotch, neat, that you were planning on sipping instead of shooting.

“Bathroom,” you said to Intak after placing your order with the bartender, slipping off of your stool and sauntering off to the dingy, poorly-lit restroom, head feeling like it was floating, your feet barely touching the ground. Once inside, the creaky door locked behind you, your head spun as you sat down to relieve yourself. This wasn’t exactly what you’d expected when you’d come here, but you figured you might as well enjoy it.

After flushing the toilet and walking to the stained sink to wash your hands, you stared at yourself in the mirror, your face looking unfamiliar and ghastly, and felt tears prick at the back of your eyes. You splashed some cold water on your face, dulling the heat that had made its home there for the past hour, and headed back out to the bar.

As you entered the main area again and spotted your new friend hunched over the bar staring at his phone, you paused to watch him. You had to lean against the wall in order to keep your balance steady, but you wanted these few moments to yourself. You noticed he had his feet crossed at the ankle and one of his legs was bouncing nervously. You wondered if he was a fidgety person in general. He seemed like it.

You watched as he ran a hand through his hair. And as he turned his head slightly to look at something, allowing you to catch a glimpse of his side profile, you noticed the bags under his eyes. You also noticed the way the corners of his mouth stayed slightly upturned, despite his melancholy expression. For the first time tonight, you realized… how utterly sad he looked.

It was at that moment that you also realized you wanted to take him home.

“Sorry I took so long,” you said as you hopped up onto the barstool, and he shrugged and shook his head. “None of my business, really. No need to be sorry.”

Your chest tightened a little. Maybe you’d misread the vibes he was putting out before.

“I wasn’t shitting or anything, just so you know,” you added, and he burst out in a fit of laughter yet again, nearly falling out of his stool, hand covering his mouth. He held out his hands as the laughing calmed down, but he could barely contain himself.

“Oh my god, you don’t have to explain yourself, I wasn’t getting any ideas, god,” he said, and started giggling again as he sipped his drink.

“You’re funny, y/n,” he said, and this time he was giving you a look that indicated that you weren’t wrong about the vibes he was putting out before. He’d propped his elbow up on the bar and rested a pink cheek on his hand while he looked at you with a goofy, inebriated smile, eyes crinkling at the corners.

“Thanks,” you responded. “Do you wanna get out of here?”

He blinked a couple times, eyes widening in surprise and he gave you a shocked smile, then looked away for a moment, then back at you. “With you?”

“Who else would I be talking about, you idiot?” you responded while slamming some cash on the bar, grabbing his hand, and pulling him off the stool and towards the door. Intak giggled while being dragged behind you, your chest flooding with warmth as the both of you stepped into the chill autumn air and ordered a ride to your apartment.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

Once inside your dark apartment, you and Intak nearly tripped over each other trying to kick off your shoes in the entryway. You grabbed his hand and yanked him down the dark hallway and into the kitchen, giggling, before turning on the light and letting go of him to open the refrigerator door. You bit your lip thoughtfully as the alcohol still running through your body continued to warm you. You looked at the row of cans lining the door of the fridge.

“Rum and coke?” you asked, whipping your head around to look at Intak, who was standing awkwardly at the edge of the kitchen.

“Sounds great,” he said with a sweet smile, and any remaining reservations you’d had about inviting a strange man to your apartment dissipated. Intak seemed nice. You hoped that your intuition had been right, but ultimately, you didn’t really care all that much. You were just glad he didn’t seem like a creep, at least not so far.

You handed him his drink after you’d made one for each of you, and took a long sip of it, glad to have yet more alcohol entering your body. At this point, you weren’t thinking at all about how you’d feel in the morning, because you knew it was too late — you were going to wake up wishing you were dead, anyway. So you figured you’d better enjoy it.

Looking over at Intak, you were shocked at how beautiful he looked, even in the shitty yellowish overhead lighting of your small kitchen. He lifted the glass to his lips and you stared at his Adam’s apple moving as he swallowed the liquid. As he lowered the glass, he caught you staring and walked over to where you were standing, your ass backed up against the counter.

A thick silence descended in the air as he reached over to set his drink on the counter, leaning in close enough that you were once again able to smell his musky cologne. He still had his jacket on. But you didn’t have the chance to think about that much more as he placed his hands on the countertop on either side of you.

And then, he kissed you.

Your head was still slightly spinning, so as you closed your eyes, you had to grab onto the sides of his waist in order to keep yourself steady. His mouth was warm and sweet, and he reeked of alcohol. You slotted your lips against his, and without much warning at all, sucked his lower lip into your mouth. He moaned quietly at the unexpected sensation and brought his large hands up to cup either side of your face. They were warm and soft against your cheeks, and you thought for a brief moment that you wanted them to touch you everywhere.

At that thought, you slipped your hands underneath his shirt and pressed your palms against the smooth skin of his sides, causing him to gasp slightly and smile against your mouth. Lowering your hands to his hips, you pulled him up against you, surprised that he wasn’t already flush against your body, but quickly realized why, feeling the stiff bulge under his jeans press up against you.

Your breath hitched once you felt it and without a further thought, lips still moving against his, you rolled your hips against him while you pulled his hips even harder against yours, eliciting a strangled moan from him. And before you knew it, he was releasing your face to reach down and cup his hands against your ass before lifting you up onto the countertop, shrugging his jacket onto the floor, and untying his scarf, pitching it aside. Your loose pants allowed you to spread your legs easily around his hips as he gripped your waist, deepening the kiss, and starting to become sloppier, his warm tongue licking into your mouth desperately as he started making little noises each time he rolled his hips against your parted legs.

You gasped loudly as he slipped his hand up your shirt to palm at one of your tits, twisting your nipple indelicately before impatiently pulling your shirt over your head and tossing it aside. One hand on your upper back to steady you and the other on your hip, he leaned your body back slightly and bent down to suck wet kisses down the side of your neck before eventually making it to your nipple, tongue lapping against the hardened bud as you whined from the sensation, the pleasure shooting straight to your throbbing pussy.

When you’d started nearly rutting against him, the stimulation nearly overwhelming you, he reached his hands under your ass yet again and picked you up. You immediately hooked your legs around his low back and wrapped your arms around him as he carried you easily into the living room, the only dim lighting coming from whatever was leaking in from the kitchen.

As he carried you, you laid your head on his shoulder, face hidden in the crook of his neck, and it began…

The tears.

You knew he must not have noticed it at first. Didn’t notice the way your face was wet against his neck, and probably thought the first sob was simply a drunken hiccup, but once Intak made his way to the couch and sat down with your body still wrapped around his — that was when he seemed to realize something was wrong.

He slid his warm hands soothingly across your bare back and kissed your cheek, trying to get you to look at him, but you stubbornly stayed put, face pressed firmly into the junction where his neck and shoulder met, tears flowing freely, eyes closed.

Once he felt the first sign of resistance, you could sense his muscles tense beneath you.

“Y/n? Hey, are you okay?” he said, voice tense with worry. You didn’t want to answer, but figured you needed to, considering at this point, he was probably worried he’d done something wrong.

“Yeah,” you mumbled wetly into his skin, sniffling loudly before another quiet sob shook your body gently.

“Oh my god, hey, hey,” he said, voice softening and a hand coming up automatically to pet your head gently, which made it even worse, the tears coming faster than ever. “You’re scaring me, was it something I did?” he asked, and you shook your head adamantly.

“Okay, okay,” he said, sounding borderline frantic. “Is there something I can do?”

You shook your head again, persistently keeping your face against him.

“Do you want to stay like this?” he finally asked, and you nodded your head, fresh tears pouring out of your eyes despite the fact that they were closed, quiet sobs sending tremors through your body. The entire time, Intak held you close, one arm wrapped around your lower back while running his other hand through your hair.

Even in your drunken stupor, you were mortified at your behavior. You could feel the way his dick had softened underneath you almost immediately, and you wanted to die. Like, really, truly, die. If he’d snapped your neck right then, you would have haunted him just to be able to come back and thank him.

After your sobs had slowed down and you’d gotten the chance to catch your breath, everything started to come back into focus and you realized, much too late, that maybe, you just weren’t ready for this yet. After everything that had happened… it had been too much too soon.

You peeled your face away from his shoulder and grimaced at the huge damp spot that you’d left, made of tears mixed with snot and probably some saliva as well. You couldn’t make eye contact with Intak, but he reached a hand up to cup your cheek and guide your face to look at him.

Your embarrassment was blunted by what you saw there — his big, deep brown eyes, full of pity, concern, and warmth. He was frowning and looked legitimately concerned. You almost wished that he’d been annoyed, that you could just get rid of him, but…

“Do you want me to go?” he asked, reaching his other hand up to your face in an attempt to wipe off the mess of tears.

“You don’t have to stay. It’s fine,” you said, removing his hands and putting them at his sides, trying to maintain some shred of your dignity.

“That’s not what I asked. I’m staying unless you ask me to leave, okay?” he said and you scoffed, voice still wet, and averted your eyes, wiping your nose with your bare arm.

Your shirt was still off, tits on full display, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care at this point. Your pride was already long gone.

“I’m sorry,” you finally said, “this isn’t exactly what I had in mind when I brought you home.”

“It’s okay,” Intak responded sincerely, not an ounce of disappointment in his voice, and you found yourself a little angry once again. Why couldn’t he have just been normal and pushed you off of him, then walked out the door, never to be heard from again? That would have been a little more along the lines of what you were used to, anyway. But here he was, his perfect obnoxious self: perfect skin, hair, eyes, teeth, body, and now he was perfectly sweet as well? Fuck off, you thought to yourself.

“What?” Intak replied, a hurt expression coloring his features, and you realized you hadn’t thought it to yourself, but had said it out loud, and for the first time tonight, you felt truly embarrassed, a shameful heat brightening your cheeks.

“Sorry, just talking to myself I think. Still drunk,” you muttered, and leaned forward again to press your body up against his and bury your face in his shoulder.

“It’s okay,” he replied quietly. “Do you want me to go grab your shirt?”

“No,” you pouted, “don’t wanna move.”

At that, he pushed you away slightly so that you were sitting up again, and pulled his loose white t-shirt over his head before pulling it down over yours, helping you get your arms through the short sleeves. The shirt was soft and warm from his body heat, and it smelled like him. You found yourself shamelessly looking down to take in his slender but softly sculpted form, his tan skin, the soft swell of his pecs, his nipples dark and slowly hardening against the cool air of your apartment.

“It’s rude to stare,” he teased, snapping you out of your trance with a pinch to your arm, and you laughed, actually laughed, for the first time in a while.

You rested your head on his bare shoulder again, folding your arms in front of you against his chest while he wrapped his arms around your back.

“Sorry. Thanks,” you mumbled.

“You’re welcome, and don’t be sorry. It’s okay. I’m sorry for whatever it is that’s going on.”

You didn’t accept his veiled invitation to open up, and he seemed fine with that, sighing softly against your hair.

“Bed?” he asked quietly after you stayed like this with him for a while, his energetic voice finally starting to sound sleepy.

“Mm,” you affirmed quietly, and he picked you up yet again and started carrying you down the dark hallway before he realized he didn’t know where he was going.

You giggled into his shoulder. “It’s the one on the right.”

He opened the door and shut it gently behind both of you before setting you down on the unmade bed. You took your pants off unceremoniously and crawled under the covers as he turned to walk out.

“Aren’t you coming to bed?” you asked, voice coming out a little more desperate than you’d meant.

“Restroom. I’ll be right back,” he said, giving you another one of his sweet smiles before walking out.

You’d almost drifted off to sleep when he came back in and slipped his pants off, the warmth of his body enveloping you as he crawled under the comforter with you and wrapped an arm around your waist.

Before long, sleep took you both.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

You woke up at some point in the night, disoriented, with the moon as the only light source, shining eerily through your window.

You were still fairly buzzed, your decisions from the evening starting to take root as a series of aches along your temples. You were just thankful that the nausea hadn’t come yet.

Intak was exactly where he’d been when he fell asleep behind you, bare chest pressed up against you, a single arm wrapped around your waist, but you soon realized why you’d woken up in the middle of the night.

He was beginning to stir subtly, an undeniable firmness pressing up against your ass, and his breathing was coming out shaky, disturbed, and restless.

You responded by arching your back to press your hips up against him, and he reacted by breathing out a strangled sigh, gently rutting his erection against you, and you smiled into the darkness before reaching back to touch him.

You could feel that he was already leaking and so, so needy, and you strained your arm behind you to wrap around his length over his boxer briefs, in an attempt to stroke him.

You heard him take a deep breath in through his nose and then gasp as he started to awaken. He groaned as the arm he'd draped along your waist shifted, his hand traveling downwards to your groin before he started rubbing you over your underwear.

After several moments of rubbing you with his hand, he dragged his middle finger across your middle, the pressure causing your wetness to start soaking through the thin fabric. You whimpered as he pulled away momentarily and shoved his hand underneath the fabric, fingers spreading you apart to find your clit and start rubbing wet circles against it, meanwhile gently thrusting his painfully hard dick into your firm grip.

Before you knew it, amidst a tangle of sleepy limbs, the both of you struggling in the dark under the covers, Intak was hovering over you and lining his leaking dick up against you, swollen head rubbing up and down along the folds of your opening and your sensitive clit, his wetness mixing with yours before he slowly eased himself inside.

Without a word he relaxed his weight onto you — not so much that he was crushing you, but just enough to ground you underneath him — and began a slow, steady pace of gentle thrusts as you reached up to rest your hands on his upper back. You spread your legs to allow him deeper access and eventually opted to hook your legs around his low back.

You were still wearing his shirt, and it started to dampen with sweat from both of you. It was suffocating, the way his naked body pressed against yours, his face resting in the crook of your neck, breath coming out hot against your skin while he fucked you, both of you still enveloped under the safe and comfortable warmth of the blankets. 

It wasn’t amazing, but it certainly wasn’t bad either — his dick was just the right size, big enough to cause a pleasurable stretch, but not so big it hurt. Not short, but not so long he hit your cervix either.

His labored breathing slowly changed to quiet moans, a sound that sent pleasure right to your clit and had you clenching gently around him. A strangled moan left him and he slowed down his movements.

“I’m close,” he whispered into your neck.

“Okay,” you whispered back, and began to roll your hips up into him to help him find his release. And it came even sooner than you expected, the man’s hips stuttering to a halt with a quiet series of desperate whimpers.

He stilled for long enough to soften halfway before pulling out of you, and you could feel his cum leaking out of you. You’d have to pick up a Plan B from the drugstore in the morning.

“There’s rags in the bathroom across the hall,” you said quietly and he kissed your head before getting out of bed and exiting to clean up, coming back after just a few moments with a warm washcloth for you. You cleaned yourself up silently while he put his underwear back on and crawled back into bed.

“Want me to take care of you?” he asked, resting a hand on your stomach and leaning over to kiss the side of your forehead.

“I’m good, thank you though,” you said with a wan smile, and curled up next to him, head against the warm swell of his chest, your arm wrapped around his soft stomach. He wrapped an arm around your back and kissed your head, and the intimacy of it made your stomach turn slightly, but you tried not to resist it.

Sure, you might wake up to a nightmare of a situationship, but for now, this had been everything you needed. So you decided to let tomorrow handle whatever trouble may come, and allowed the relaxing rhythm of Intak’s breathing lull you to sleep.

・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

THTH 2

Warnings: non/dubcon, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Characters: Ransom Drysdale

Summary: You have a secret, but what do you do when it threatens to come out.

Part of the Backwoods AU

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

Bored brainless, you sneak out after your parents shut off their bedroom light. You don’t risk alerting them by borrowing the car so you light up your cell phone and use it to guide your way through the dark. Some people might call you stupid, it’s not exactly safe with all the breaking twigs and rustling in the trees. There are bears up here. You know, you’ve seen them too. Whatever. 

You come in sight of The Horn, annoyed by the dew that wets your ankles. You’re almost too tired for fun now. God, you hate this place. You want to be like those women in the movies who can catch a yellow taxi or even just walk to a club or a restaurant or a salon. Here, you can’t even get a good haircut. 

You smile at the bearded man who watches the door. Al knows you and his rocky exterior cracks just a little. You push inside, met by the castle of yellow lights and the garble of voices. The clink of glass awakens you and you approach the bar, eager to sate your sudden thirst. 

You wait for the bartender, Bill, as an old drunkard in plaid rambles at him. Is that Loretta’s husband? You thought they were such good people. That’s the thing about Hammer Ford, it’s all fake. 

Finally, Bill heads in your direction. Before you can greet him, a shadow slides in next to you, planting and elbow on the trim as his other hand hovers menacingly on the stool at your other hip. The man pens you completely. 

“Gin and tonic and whatever the lady wants,” he says. 

Bill gives him a look. You do too. It’s the same man from the cafe; the newcomer. There’s been a few of those lately. The designer emblem on his sweater staves off your instinct to send him away. 

“You know what I like,” you say to Bill as you face the stranger, “thanks.” 

“Mm,” he looks you up and down, still crowding you, “and what do you like, bunny?” 

Your cheek twitches and you swallow, “what?” 

He smirks and peeks over the bar. His gin and tonic is set on the wood as he reaches into his pocket to pull out his wallet. You’re frozen there, mind racing. It has to be a coincidence. Your drink is put up next; rum and coke, with three maraschino cherries in a highball glass. The man pays and faces you with a wink. 

“Those ears suit you,” he holds up his wallet with one hand. 

“How...” your breath wisps out between your lips. 

“I didn’t expect the real thing to be even better,” he takes the highball glass and offers it to you, “and I rarely admit when I’m wrong.” You take your drink, speechless as you watch him. He reaches for his own glass and whistles at Bill, “can I get a lime for this?” 

The bartender growls. He doesn’t appreciate being spoken to like a dog. He plunks a lime wedges into the glass and huffs. The stranger is entirely unbothered. 

“How did you... find me?” The question spurrs the startling epiphany. He’s one of them. A fan. 

“I can’t tell all my secrets,” he turns to the bar and brings his hand to the small of your back, “let’s sit. Chat. How about it, pinky?” 

You take a gulp of the drink. Oh boy. Pinky... part of your username is the colour pink with and exclamation as the i. It’s definitely one of them. You’re heart is racing. This is an actual nightmare and yet it’s exciting. The very sort of thrill you’ve been longing for. 

He ushers you across to a table and you sit in the wobbly old chair. He takes the one across from you, agitated by it’s crooked stance, and sets his drink down. You keep your hands on your glass, stirring it with the skewer of cherries. You watch him, trying to figure out what to say. 

He’s not bad looking. Thank god for that at least. His hair is combed back tidily away from his clean shaven face. His jaw is square, his nose romanesque in a way, and his clothing betray wealth. It could be a lot worse. 

“Why are you--” 

“You haven’t been online. At least I know you’re not lying. Service is shit around here.” 

His tone makes you wince. You’re not shy. Sometimes, that has been your greatest flaw, like now. Being so bold on the internet has dug you quite the hole. 

“How do you know it’s me?” You’re still reeling, questions bubbling up one after the other. 

“I’d know your ass anywhere,” he bites his lip and leans forward. 

“But why--” 

“Why am I here? Well, I was bored... and I hate waiting,” he sneers, “I’m not that type. I don’t wait.” 

“Wait... for?” 

“The pictures, the videos, it’s getting a little dull,” he hisses, “figured I’d have some of the real thing. You know, I see a resort on Insta, I usually get a flight. I see a new bagel joint, I got down and try the cream cheese, I see you...” 

His smirk remains. You talk a big game but you’re not prepared for this. For him. In the flesh. 

“_ransom_ware_?” You utter. 

“You know me,” he chuckles, “people call me Ransom. You can call me Mr. Drysdale, bunny.” 

“Ransom--” 

“Ah, what did I just say?” He taps his ear, “I know you can be a good lister...” he drawls your real name and you nearly choke. 

“How--” 

“Keep asking all these stupid questions and I’ll have to shut you up,” he warns, “go on, enjoy your drink, loosen up.” He leans on his elbows and looks around, “tell me I’m not a hundred times more intersting than these redneck fuckers.” 

You stare at him. You flutter your lashes and follow his gaze around the room. Others watch. You know this will be on the tongues of the town by morning. If your mom finds out... 

You look at him and find him staring. He sips his drink and tilts his head, “you really are too pretty for this place.” 

“Um, thanks,” you give that smile you give, the one that gets you a your three cherry special from Bill. 

He scoffs, “that doesn’t work on me, bunny.” His eyes drift down to your shirt, a checker halter with buttons down the front. “I came all this way. For you. That means you owe me...” he clucks and pokes his tongue into his cheek, “I mean I am your best tipper, aren’t I?” 

You take another gulp. You’ve got maybe one mouthful left. He eyes the glass. 

“Thirsty?” He winks. 

[kim-jongin-s]

svt fic recs (minwon, jeongcheol, wonchan, jigyu, verkwan + other)

MINWON

"all that i am, all that i give". oneshot, 4k. nc-17.

Mingyu glares at him through his fingers. "I want to try bottoming again."

Wonwoo’s chopsticks clatter into the bowl, his lips forming a silent O.

"miracle of our own making". au, mpreg. oneshot, 4k. r.

The hardest part is acting like nothing has happened. It’s a Tuesday morning and he’s getting dressed for work. Mingyu is humming a song in the kitchen. The pregnancy test shows two lines.

"sit still, look pretty". au: professor!ww. oneshot, 5k. nc-17.

This year for Christmas, Wonwoo gifts Mingyu a camera. There’s only one, simple rule to follow.

"keeping cool". omegaverse: alpha!ww, omega!mg. oneshot, 5.4k. nc-17.

Like every other week, Mingyu needs Wonwoo’s help. Just…not with his homework this time.

"dynasty". royalty!au: prince!ww, commoner!mg. oneshot, 12k. nc-17.

Prince Wonwoo has been secretly meeting Mingyu outside of the palace walls. He is spared the hassle of sneaking out next time.

"the holy and the profane". historical!au, vampire!mg. 8 chapters, 28.4k. nc-17.

For his contributions to the war, Mingyu is gifted a human.

"catch the stars". au. 17 chapters, 147k. nc-17. ♡♡♡

When Mingyu’s doctor advices him to take a break from everything due to his insomnia, he defers the next semester at university and packs his things to visit his grandmother in a small village far away from the rush of the city.

Once there, he meets Wonwoo, and quickly realizes that sleepless nights are going to be the least of his problems.

JEONGCHEOL

"this happens once every few lifetimes". oneshot, 1k. pg-13.

November 24th, 2024.

"i carry you with me (i carry you in my heart)". oneshot, 1.5k. pg-13.

“Japan is lonely without you,” he adds. Jeonghan pouts on his lonely couch, but wills himself not to fall into a self-pity spiral over this.

He shivers when Seungcheol says something about the highball not tasting the same as it did when they drank it together, biting his lip before telling himself to focus. He has a promise that needs to be fulfilled.

"me, oh my". oneshot, 6.7k. pg-13.

To Jeonghan, Seungcheol is always a constant, even when he’s not supposed to be.

"hold my hand". oneshot, 11k. r.

“I’m sure that when your parents said that they considered me a son, that’s not quite what they had in mind.”

Seungcheol and Jeonghan go to Daegu for a visit.

"season of giving". au. oneshot, 16k. pg-13.

Jeonghan’s Christmas plans are ruined when he’s forced to spend three weeks in a cabin with a stranger.

Well, maybe not ruined.

"all the quiet nights". fake dating!au. 4 chapters, 51k. nc-17. ♡

Seungcheol needs Jeonghan to pretend to be his boyfriend, and Jeonghan needs to stop pretending he’s allergic to love.

WONCHAN

"us, again". au. oneshot, 4k. r.

Seungkwan informs Chan that his ex will be at Seungkwan's bachelor getaway. Chan is not coping. And then his ex shows up.

"whatever you want". omegaverse: alpha!ww, omega!dn. twoshot, 12.6k. nc-17.

Chan's always wished for Wonwoo to just take what he wants.

↳ "can you". omegaverse: alpha!ww, omega!dn. twoshot, 10k. r.

Wonwoo and Chan have a fight (?) before Chan leaves to film Magic Lamp in Europe.

↳ "make me juno". omegaverse: alpha!ww, omega!dn. oneshot, 5k. r. ♡

Something in Chan’s expression shifts at what he sees on Wonwoo’s face; something dark and dangerous flashes in his eyes, something self-satisfied. It’s the same thing Chan has when he’s about to bully him—anticipation rises in Wonwoo’s gut, despite himself.

“No,” Chan says, resolutely, “no, I want to hear it from you.” He taps at Wonwoo’s mouth, his lips, with his pointer finger. Insistent, in his way. “Speak up.

JIGYU

"the christmas waltz". neighbors!au. oneshot, 12k. pg-13.

Jihoon is already halfway in love with his cute neighbor.

The homemade Christmas cookies might push him the rest of the way.

"crashing through the snow". au: personal trainer!wz, model!mg. oneshot, 28k. r. ♡

Mingyu wasn't just trapped in a cabin with a stranger. He was trapped in a cabin with a devastatingly attractive stranger with a cute laugh and soft voice and gentle hands, a stranger that had saved Mingyu's life and was asking nothing in return, and Mingyu realized, in that moment, that his heart was going to put him in terrible, terrible trouble for this.

VERKWAN

"sundried". au. oneshot, 11k. nc-17.

Seungkwan and Hansol go on a day trip and sort out their something.

"i'm ready for the ride". au, rule 63. twoshot, 12.7k. nc-17. ♡

"Seungkwan," Hansol stared in disbelief. "With all due respect, I think you may have just been having bad sex your whole life."

Heaving a deep sigh and ignoring the burning in her cheeks, Seungkwan admitted, very quietly,

“If I'm being honest, it’s not just in… sex. Even by myself, I’ve never…”

“Oh. Well, that’s easy. I can help you.”

OTHER

"my forever is you". hoshi/woozi/dk. hunger games!au. oneshot, 9k. r. ♡

jihoon would do anything for his boys. treason pales in comparison to losing them.

[couldawouldashoulda50]

This is Part One of my entry for the wonderful @cellythefloshie's birthday BINGO, featuring Matthew Knies (I know he was past the 2018 cutoff but celly gave me the green light for him). Although I did get bingo with my 5 tropes (Virginity, Age Gap, Secret Lovers, Meet Cute, Pining), the 5 are spread across Part One and Two. I am finishing Part Two soon, and then there might be a smaller third part - I just haven't figured out the fine art of writing smaller fics yet but I'm working on it. Nevertheless HAPPY (early) BIRTHDAY CELLY! I hope you enjoy this ❤️

Warnings/Notes - profanity, toxic parenting, parent estrangement. This part mainly covers the initial development of Matthew and the OC

OC Face Claim - Anna Katharina

Approx Word Count - 5.7k

August, 2024

Well, this is a huge fucking mistake… Lana thought to herself, forcing a smile as she sat across from her date.

She chastised herself further in her mind. Shit—I can't even remember his name. Was it Terry…or Jerry? Wait…Phil? No, he was last week. Fuck.

Against her better judgment, Lana allowed her arm to be twisted by her beloved brother to go on yet another blind date.

"Just try, Lana—just try again," he'd say. Now, she was wasting away across from this person, who was blathering about a subject that she had already forgotten about, alongside his name.

Lana rotated the highball glass with her fingertips, as she pretended to show interest in the man's one-sided conversation. Although her eyes appeared to be focused on his face, she was actually gazing out the window, just over the man's shoulder. From the 51st floor of the ManuLife Centre, the view of that particular evening boasted a magnificent August sunset, which added to the magical twilight of the Toronto city skyline.

Lana pouted in her mind. Why can't I be sitting here admiring the view with someone I love? Or even like? Attracted to, maybe?

It was from these moments of desperation, or weakness—whichever it was—that she found herself in this blind date situation to begin with.

She loved her brother, Andrew, for trying to set her up with a decent guy to develop a connection with. Lana thought it was reasonable that he might know a little more about men and dating since Andrew was in a loving relationship with Jason, his long-time partner.

She thought it was reasonable mainly because Lana had never dated anyone.

As in never, ever, ever.

Based on the non-success of the past men that Andrew sent her way, Lana felt her relationship status would not be changing anytime soon either.

Lana snapped back to reality just in time to catch what's-his-name staring at her tits as he finished his sentence.

She smiled demurely as she studied his expression. She really had not heard a word he had said, and it did not appear that he was awaiting a response from her. Seizing the opportunity, she excused herself and headed off in the direction of the ladies' room.

She turned back around to glance at her date. He was already otherwise occupied, ogling a nearby female server.

In the confines of the washroom stall, Lana swiped open her phone to remind herself of the name of the man she regretted suggesting to meet at one of her favorite restaurants.

Upon finding it, she muttered "Darren."

Lana responded to a text her brother had sent her earlier, asking how things were going.

L - Do you think that Jason can start vetting these guys before you send them my way? Personality of a piece of cardboard. I think I actually may have lost consciousness while he rambled on…

Andrew must have been waiting for her message, as he promptly responded.

A- Jason and I love you but we're done with sending you men. Coming to breakfast tomorrow?

Lana smiled at her brother's message. He always teased her saying she wouldn't have the foggiest clue what to do with a man anyway.

L - Love you both too. Breakfast is a no-go. Taking a client to view some condos. TTYL

A- Msg me when you get home

Lana exited the stall and glanced at her reflection as she washed her hands. She pondered what method she would use this time to send Darren packing.

Interestingly, most men never bothered to call once she handed them her business card anyway.

They seemed to trip over the word "Owner", especially of one of the most prestigious real estate brokerages in Toronto.

As they wrapped up their date, Lana cordially offered her business card with her contact information. Darren glanced at her card and then back at her. His expression gave her all the information she needed to know about the man standing before her.

Other than "Owner", there was a second word that was a lingering fact about Lana. A word that had begun to plague her mind and body more and more. She always wondered how a man would react, if in fact they were ever able to look past the first word, and get to know her more.

That second word was virgin.

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Lana and her older brother Andrew grew up in a small, close-knit community approximately two hours northwest of Toronto.

Their parents were cold, strict, and controlling towards their children. Although they made sure Andrew and Lana had everything they needed, there were always strings attached with everything they were provided.

Andrew was intelligent, strong-willed, and independent from an early age. Being 5 years younger, Lana idolized her handsome older brother. In turn, he adored her and always pushed her to succeed in everything she tried. Their bond became even stronger as their parents became even more controlling with Lana as she approached her high school years.

Andrew clashed badly with their parents, experiencing constant conflict and turmoil while living under the same roof. Andrew was determined to leave as soon as he could. He worked multiple jobs while still managing to excel academically. After earning as much money as he could, Andrew left to study architecture abroad at 18.

Once Andrew departed, his parents no longer acknowledged his existence. Andrew always felt a tremendous amount of guilt and remorse knowing he had deserted his beloved little sister. From afar, he did his best to help his sister navigate their parents' increasingly stern and uncompromising attitude toward her.

Meanwhile, Lana was experiencing rapid growth spurts at the age of 13. She was long, lean, and had natural curves which enhanced her athletic build. Her mother often shunned her appearance, making her feel that her natural beauty and her blossoming figure were a detriment and a cross to bear.

As she entered high school, it would mark the hardest time of her life.

Lana's mother drowned her with archaic myths and cautionary tales about boys, sex, disease, and unplanned pregnancy. She would be forever "ruined" if she gave in to having relations out of wedlock. As the ever-dutiful daughter, Lana absorbed everything her parents said and never scrutinized or disobeyed them.

The teenage boys at her school, with their raging desires fueling their comments as she walked by them, did little to convince Lana that her mother might be wrong in her teachings.

Teenage girls were in some cases worse than the boys. The behavior of the girls at Lana's school was full of envy and competitiveness. She often felt ostracized and alone during her first weeks and months of high school.

Lana would message Andrew in tears in the stall of the girls' washroom between classes. He was always there for her with words of comfort but would only allow her just a few tears of pity. Andrew would then coach her on how she would need to rise above it all. Step by step, Lana put her head down, studied hard, and became active in student council and various athletic programs.

Lana developed a no-nonsense type of attitude which served her well in her secondary school years, as well as keeping the peace at home. She managed to forge a few solid friendships with those who were authentic, intelligent, and did not concern themselves with trends or being popular.

At the end of high school, Lana was rewarded for her diligence and focus by excelling in academics, athletics, and the arts. She received a full scholarship to enter the Law program at the University of Toronto.

Fast-forwarding through her first two years in university, she maintained the same steadfast and hard-working mentality that was part of her nature. However, Lana soon discovered that Law did not ignite her passion. With Andrew carving his own path in architectural design and serving as her constant guide and mentor, she uncovered an unexpected love for real estate.

She landed a paid internship with a brokerage firm owned by an older gentleman by the name of Reine Schmidt. Reine immediately recognized Lana's dogged determination, her intellect, and her willingness to learn.

Reine taught Lana everything he knew. He had a proven track record of understanding trends to predict future outcomes, alongside his charisma, sharp wit, and masterful negotiation skills. With the guidance of her brother, Lana eventually followed her instincts and dropped out of university to work alongside her older mentor.

Lana's parents were furious and, in a fit of true toxicity, they severed ties with their daughter completely as they had done with their son.

As the cloud of devastation from the estrangement dissipated, Reine became a much-needed father figure in Lana's life. He provided her with shelter, which was merely a back room of the brokerage office. He helped her with the bare minimum, just enough to set her off in the right direction. The rest, Lana would have to work on and figure out for herself.

And she did. As the years went on, Lana gained a reputation throughout the GTA, being touted as Reine Schmidt's brilliant and beautiful protégé. She was elegant and poised while being creative and shrewd in her negotiation tactics. By the time she was thirty, Lana had her own substantial property portfolio, worth millions of dollars as the Toronto real estate market exploded.

When Reine became too ill to fulfill his responsibilities at his firm, he appointed Lana to step in on an interim basis. She did not know it at the time, but Reine had already decided to will her the firm. He just needed to make doubly sure that she was ready.

Lana remained by Reine's side as his illness progressed. He had no family to speak of, and he always said that he was not in the business of making friends. But he had grown to love Lana like a daughter, and although he never said as much, he was grateful that she made sure he was not alone during his last moments on earth.

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Lana awoke the following morning with the memory of her near abysmal date from the night before all but washed away. Retrieving her cell from her nightstand, she broke her own rule about no screens until after she had completed her morning Pilates. She just wanted to check if what's-his-name had messaged.

He had not.

Her business card had become like a detection device which helped identify those that would waste her time. Moreover, she was pleased that she could still calculate risk and probability by simply observing someone's non-verbal cues and other subtle behaviors.

Lana laid back on her pillow and gazed out her floor-to-ceiling windows in her bedroom. Her panoramic view of the city displayed all the colors of the sunrise of a late summer's morning. But the sunrise triggered a pang of loneliness within her. The sunset had a similar effect on her last night, and now the sunrise was having a go. She wanted someone to lie with and enjoy the wondrous city views in the morning. She longed to have someone to sit with at dinner and have them witness the perfection of a sunset by her side. She wanted to feel what it's like to crave someone and have them equally yearn for her.

Pushing her lonely thoughts aside, Lana yawned and stretched and slid out of bed, turning her phone off until it was time to leave for the office.

Any other morning, Lana would have opted to take transit, walk, or even run to her office. She quickly realized the good fortune of driving to work that day in an air-conditioned vehicle. The humidex was already climbing and it was only just 7 a.m. Another sweltering summer day in the city had begun.

As she drove, she mentally pre-planned her morning. Yesterday, a last-minute request came in from a very important client-turned-friend to view some condo listings in the downtown area. What left Lana perplexed was who the request was from.

Lana's mind drifted to another thought while idling at a traffic light.

Just two more weeks—two more weeks until I'm off and I'll press pause on the whole "trying to find a mate" search. Maybe I'm just meant to be alone. Maybe you just need to sleep with someone once and that'll be enough… maybe he's just not out there…. Lana mulled over these thoughts as she ventured south on St. George Street.

It had become a custom for Lana to flee the city at the beginning of September and spend a few weeks at the expansive lakeside home that she co-owned with her brother. With 5+ acres and an exceptional lakefront, it was a place where Lana could experience quiet for a while. That is, quiet after their friends, colleagues, and in some cases clients, descended onto the property for a popular get-together for the Labor Day weekend.

Arriving at her office before 7:30, Lana slipped into her leather chair and dove into a landslide of unread emails.

As the office began to fill, she left her office to greet her assistant and enjoy a morning chat. To Lana, this was one of her most favorite times of the day. Despite her upbringing, Lana sought connection with her professional family and was nurturing and compassionate to all of her associates. In turn, her staff were fiercely loyal to her and it showed in their combined success at the firm.

Lana returned to her office to tie up a few loose ends before her appointment arrived.

Ainsley tapped on Lana's office door, letting her know her 9 a.m. had arrived, and asked if she would like them escorted to her office. In her mind, Lana tripped over the word "them" as she was only expecting one person. Shaking off the confusion, she declined Ainsley's offer and thanked her as she made her way down the corridor.

As she approached the reception area, she was prepared to see Aryne Tavares but not her handsome husband John and another even more striking man standing next to the couple.

Lana's professional-turned-friendly relationship with the Tavares' began with helping Aryne navigate the Toronto housing market when John was traded from the Islanders to Toronto. Although John was present during some of the preliminary preference discussions, Aryne always appreciated how Lana focused mainly on her and her needs during the conversation, as opposed to her husband. Oftentimes, it was the opposite with other firms and their agents who wanted to talk hockey or suck up to the player in the hopes they might be able to drum up more business for themselves.

For several years, Lana's name had become the number one recommended by the majority of Toronto WAGs who were either in search of shorter-term furnished rentals or more permanent homes. She understood and made it clear (while treading lightly) that where the player-husbands were often making the salary allowing the upscale and sometimes super luxurious homes, it was the wives and families that had to live in them day in and day out. As such, Lana's firm cornered the market for finding suitable homes for Toronto's professional athletes and their families. Due to the unique demands, she created a specialized team and trained them specifically to work with sports agents, significant others, and the player's surrounding support system.

Lana's eyes lit up, as did Aryne's, as they greeted each other and hugged warmly.

"What an amazing surprise! Good morning!" Lana gushed, first embracing Aryne and then John.

Lana approached the third individual standing slightly behind John. He was taller than the veteran player by a couple of inches, visibly younger, and was extremely broad and fit.

Lana thought she recognized his face but couldn't quite place it.

Aryne made the introductions. "This is Matthew Knies. Matthew, this is Lana — she's a friend and has been our real estate guru for a number of years."

Matthew's cheeks were already burning when he first glimpsed at Lana. He was positive he had never seen a woman nearly as beautiful as she was.

But when Lana turned and looked directly into his eyes while extending her hand, that's when his insides fell apart. He had difficulty swallowing, and he realized his mouth was slightly agape.

Lana squeezed his hand warmly. "I thought I recognized you. It's really wonderful to meet you, Matthew."

Trying to pull himself together, he shook her hand and with a dry throat, he squeaked out, "Nice to meet you too."

As Lana escorted the group towards her office, Aryne explained that she and John just wanted to help sort through some of the available condo listings for Matthew.

Lana smiled and explained to Aryne and John her initial confusion when the request for condo listings appeared under the "Tavares" file. After all, she had already helped Aryne find their ideal home twice as their family grew.

Matthew had resided with the Tavares family at the beginning of the 2023/24 season and later moved to a rental unit downtown mid-way through the season. Unfortunately, for various reasons, he was not at all happy in that building and wanted to start the upcoming season in more suitable place. Although it was not discussed in their meeting, the main reason being that Matthew and his now ex-girlfriend had parted ways in that same unit, and it was not an amicable ending to say the least.

Lana appreciated having John and Aryne there to assist Matthew. In recent years, other members of her sales team had primarily handled the real estate needs of younger male players. Time was ticking before the start of the season, and Lana wanted to be efficient in pinpointing exactly what would suit Matthew. John's input would be valuable in considering practical factors, especially regarding proximity to Scotiabank Arena and the practice rink in the southwest end of the city.

As Matthew sat diagonally across from Lana, he pretended to show interest in the selected listings which Lana walked them through on the large monitor mounted on her wall.

But it was only Lana that held his attention.

Matthew wanted to absorb every detail of her from head to toe. He wanted to stare and drink in every detail of her face.

Not wanting to appear obvious, he made sure his eyes didn't linger too long when they wandered to catch another glimpse of her as she pointed out various features in each listing.

Matthew had not even realized that his auto-pilot responses were in full swing. He barely recalled agreeing to see a handful of ready-to-show condos in the surrounding area and that it would be Lana herself giving him a tour of each unit.

Lana rose from her desk. "So Matthew, if you're alright for time now, it sounds like we'll be spending the morning together."

Matthew smiled as he silently willed his cock not to twitch at the very thought of being with Lana in any capacity, morning, noon, or night.

"Sure — absolutely… I'm all yours."

With the feeling that his heart was in his throat, Matthew realized how true those words had become in just half an hour after meeting this siren.

Lana stopped by Ainsley's desk and quietly gave some instructions for tasks that could be taken care of while she was out. Ainsley couldn't help but look past Lana ever so subtly at the handsome young player as she nodded her head.

Sensing that Matthew had caught her pretty assistant's eye, Lana gave Ainsley a knowing smile. "You want me to find out if he's dating anyone?" she quietly asked.

A bashful smile spanned Ainsley's face. "Oh my god, he's just so hot… I don't know… I guess it would be nice just to know if he's got a girlfriend?" she replied under her breath.

Ever so coolly, Lana gave Ainsley a discreet wink. "I'll see what I can find out and report back later, ok?"

Ainsley beamed, barely able to suppress her excitement as she nodded enthusiastically.

Lana joined the group as they meandered down the corridor towards the elevators. Little did she know that this little "meet cute" with Matthew Knies would soon change her entire world.

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Later in the day, Matthew arrived at the building of his close friend and teammate, Joseph Woll. He pressed the intercom button and within seconds, the door to the lobby clicked open and Matthew made his way towards the elevator.

Minutes later, Matthew was at Joe's door, which he had left propped slightly open inviting him just to come on through. Matthew always appreciated Joe's easy-going and considerate nature and felt grateful for his friend and how they both seemed to naturally anchor each other.

He walked through to the open living room and kitchen area where Joseph was working away assembling his most recent Lego project — the famous Concorde aircraft.

Joe glanced over the tail of his newest Lego set towards Matthew. "How did it go — see anything you liked?"

Fuck… yeah, only it wasn't a condo, Matthew mused to himself.

"Not sure… I guess nothing really stood out," Matthew replied as he flopped onto the nearby couch. "Might take a few more times… I just want to pick the right one."

Without looking up from snapping a series of small blocks together, Joe continued. "Too bad there's not anything available in this building…" He searched the table for the next appropriate piece before adding, "…but then again if you moved in, maybe there's such a thing as seeing someone too much…"

Matthew looked at his friend with a pained expression. "Ouch — fuck, bro… is that what you think?" he chuckled.

Joe shook his head laughing. "No… I just like getting a rise out of you. Oh—and just letting you know that we're meeting up with the rest of the guys at the bar around 8 tonight. I guess it's guys only now… the girlfriends opted to do something else."

"Who's all going? Mints, Cowboy…?"

Joe continued, "Me, you, Bobbo, Mints, Cowboy, but then there's a few vets coming — Max, Muzz… Doaner I think. It's shaping up to be a fun night."

Matthew stretched and yawned. "Sounds like it. Alright… fuck — I need a nap. Can I crash here for a bit? I don't feel like going back to my place."

Joe was concentrating on reading the instructions for the rudder for the plane. "Be my guest… we'll head out to the bar together then. I think you've even got a pair of shorts and a shirt here so you can change. Crash as long as you want."

Matthew traipsed down the hallway to the second bedroom and fell backward onto the mattress. He was tired, but his mind bounced in a million directions, wondering about what Lana was doing now and how her day would end. He wondered if she went home to a perfect husband or significant other who loved her and treated her right, or if she was with some prick who would never realize just how amazing she is.

Matthew's insides were starting to twist and flutter each time his memory pulled him back to the seemingly insignificant moments of that day. Sitting next to her in her car. Chatting seamlessly while stuck in traffic. Riding the elevator with her, or holding the door for her whenever they entered or exited a prospective condo.

His mind traveled back to the quick lunch they had, where Lana couldn't stop laughing after Matthew told her a story from his childhood. When she continued to chuckle about it for the rest of their time together, Matthew thought he might melt with desire right then.

Matthew finally pushed past the restlessness he had begun to feel and drifted off into a deep sleep.

Later that evening at an upscale sports bar, the table of hockey players cheered when the servers presented the group with the most bizarre and fascinating Caesar concoctions. The popular Canadian cocktail was adorned with everything from pulled pork sandwiches and burgers on skewers to tempura prawns and dessert options.

The group's boisterous laughter marked the upbeat and optimistic mood of the group with the start of a new season just around the corner.

Matthew tried to mimic the mood but he simply wasn't there in mind or spirit. He even ignored being chirped by a few of the rookies for nursing his Corona and avoiding the subsequent tequila shot altogether.

Matthew had a close friendship burgeoning with former rookie Bobby McMann, whom he sat next to at the table. Bobby noticed Matthew's glum demeanor but initially assumed it was over the demise of his recent relationship.

Bobby clinked the clear glass neck of his beer bottle against Matthew's, which was still virtually untouched. "It'll get better, man—try not to let it drag you down too far."

Matthew nodded and smiled to acknowledge his friend's support.

Joe, who was sitting across the table, silently wondered about the change in his friend's mood. Yes, Matthew had been through some turmoil in the past months with ending a relationship that had gone off the rails. However, after the dust had settled in the off-season, his mood and outlook were full of confidence once again. Joe knew Matthew was really geared up about finding a new place quickly, so perhaps his low mood was a result of not having any luck that day. It didn't quite compute in Joe's head, but he would keep his thoughts to himself, for now at least.

When Matthew quietly announced to those sitting nearest to him that he was done for the night and was heading home, Joe and Shane (Doan) walked him out just to make sure their good friend was alright before taking off. Matthew assured them he was, that he was just tired.

He ordered an Uber and was back home in no time, but the change in location to his quiet condo only exacerbated him more. Pulling out Lana's business card, adorned with her headshot that he couldn't avert his eyes from, he placed it on the coffee table. He picked up his guitar, a not-so-new hobby that Matthew freed his mind with, much like his buddy Joe did with Lego, and began to pick at the strings. He was pissed with himself as he tried, and failed, to think of anything else other than contacting his new and unexpected crush.

Setting the guitar aside, he picked up his phone, entered Lana's cell number into his contacts and sent her a brief message, beginning with an apology hoping it wasn't too late to reach out to her.

Matthew was pleasantly surprised that she responded within minutes. He asked Lana a series of questions, all about viewing more condos, but it was mostly to establish whether he could reach out to her specifically. She responded that indeed he could, and she would do her best to accommodate his schedule in the coming days. Matthew wasted no time in setting up a time with Lana for the following day, and then two days after that.

He breathed a sigh of relief and smiled.

Following a silent moment, Matthew then shook his head and muttered to himself to get a fucking grip and that he was acting completely ridiculous by already pining over a woman that he didn't even know.

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As the end of August approached, Lana and Matthew had spent a considerable amount of time sorting through listings and narrowing down options to view. Lana encouraged Matthew to be selective, as it was important for him to be happy in the space where he would spend the majority of the next eight or nine months.

On the other hand, she knew the start of the season was sneaking up quickly and she hoped, for his sake, that he would find a place before training camp, media days and everything else that goes with it was upon him.

Matthew secretly knew this and sometimes felt he was playing with fire, appearing either indecisive or hard to please with the places Lana showed him. With this in mind, Matthew quickly finalized his decision on a place and chose a second one as a backup.

He also wanted to take the plunge and ask Lana out for dinner to say thank-you.

The following afternoon, Matthew sat next to Lana on the sleek, white sofa in her office as she walked him through the paperwork. The air between them was comfortable and relaxed, but the professional nature of their relationship was still very prominent. While initialing and signing wherever Lana indicated with her elegantly simple manicured nails, Matthew tried to ignore the anxiousness that was swirling in his mind.

Lana had consumed his every thought since he first met her. Whether he was in the midst of strength training or skate drills, he imagined what it would feel like if she was there watching him. He thought about her in traffic, in the shower, or running out to get food. He continuously caught himself having these harmless daydreams and did his best to shoo them away in order to refocus his mind, but often he was fighting a losing battle.

With his last initial inked on the page, Lana smiled widely and extended her hand. "Congratulations, Mr. Knies—I think you'll be very happy in your new place. It really is such a great neighborhood."

"Well, thanks… yeah, I know I will. And thank you for all your help. And for being patient with me. I hope it didn't feel like I was never going to choose one… you just gave me so many great options," Matthew smiled as he shook her hand.

As they stood, Lana felt a little disappointed that this might be the last time her and Matthew crossed paths. Her initial impressions of him and his frat boy exterior had almost immediately dissolved and she found him to be very mature and he spoke with an intelligence that was far beyond his years. Oftentimes, Lana found that she genuinely looked forward to seeing him, especially the times when they decided to walk to each destination instead of fighting traffic. She had only felt this level of comfort, ease and enjoyment with a select group of people, and although she never would have expected it, she considered Matthew a friend.

If she was really being totally honest with herself, she had thought about him as a little bit more than a friend as her base female urges had only increased since she met him. Lana often fell asleep feeling frustrated, squeezing her thighs together to try and get relief from the pressure building in her core.

Lana moved towards the door, knowing she had limited time before her next meeting. “I hope you won’t be a stranger but I can only imagine how busy you’ll be once the season starts. Oh - and all the best…I hope you guys have a really great year ahead.”

Feeling that time was not on his side, Matthew’s adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed nervously and stepped in close to Lana.

“Hey - well, I kind of felt like I was being a bit of a pain in the ass with monopolizing your time, so to say thanks, I - I was wondering if maybe you’d let me take you out to dinner sometime?

Lana’s eyes softened as she smiled, feeling flushed at Matthew’s invite. “Absolut - “

“Sorry to interrupt,” Ainsley appeared at the door, her eyes darted between the expression on Lana and Matthew faces. “Your 3:00 is here.” The curtness in Ainsley's voice would be unrecognizable to most, but Lana picked up on it quickly. She had all but forgotten that Ainsley had developed a crush on the young hockey player. Normally, her attractive assistant caught the attention of most guys around Matthew's age and type, but any interactions she had with Matthew thus far were strictly polite and professional.

Lana thanked her and said she would be out momentarily. She made a mental note to check in with Ainsley later, as she noticed her pursed lips before she walked stiffly down the hallway.

Lana turned back to Matthew. “How about this, I send you a note once I’m home from work and we can get something arranged, ok?

“Perfect - I guess until then…” Matthew postured for a hug which Lana gladly accepted.

For a split second in his embrace, she imagined how it would feel if his hands held her a little more firmly. Pulled her in a little more tightly.

She watched as he sauntered out into the reception area, quietly mumbling as she chastised herself.

“He’s 21…you're 32. Get your mind off of this notion, Lana.”

But for the remainder of the day, she couldn't stop the fluttery sensation in her stomach. It mystified and excited her but it was a feeling that also terrified her.

After her last meeting had wrapped up for the day, she hurriedly sent a message to Andrew and Jason. She flagged it as urgent for good measure.

L - Are either of you home tonight? Desperately needing advice - can I come by?

Jason responded first.

J - Are you ok? Already setting a place for you at the dinner table.

Andrew responded asking the same question.

Lana paused, held her breath and typed in each letter slowly.

L - I think I'm interested in someone.

There was a silence that could be felt, even over the phone.

Andrew eventually responded.

A- Jason probably fainted. You might want to pick up something stronger to drink than wine.

[on-wine-dark-seas]

HIGHBALL

"See-line womanDressed in redMake a manLose his head" —Nina Simone

🔞 Rating: Explicit ❤️‍🔥 Relationship[s]: Sukuna/Nadja/Toji ⚠️ Be Advised: Gun violence, descriptions of blood and gore, explicit sexual situations [gunplay, torture, and mild exhibitionism], adult language. This is a non-curse AU so there is no jujutsu, but it is still a violent world of organized crime. 🪧 Summary: Sukuna and Nadja are living an idyllic life as former figures in the rotten underbelly of organized crime. When an old contact of Nadja's shows up on their doorstep with a dire warning, the trio must prepare to do what they must to protect their newfound peace.

▶• ılıılıılıılıılıılı. 🎧 [ highball: spotify ] 🎧 [ highball: apple music ]

🌻 Prelude: The Season of Flowers 🐅 Act I: Idyll's End 🐉 Act II: Exhumed ⛩️ Act III: Legacy

⛩️ AO3 ᪥ OC Masterpost ᪥ Fic Masterpost ⛩️

🌻 Prologue II: The Drinking Pool

     As a newer and untried member of Sukuna’s organization, Nadja’s skills and handling were placed under the purview of Toji Fushiguro, Sukuna’s chief enforcer. To Toji, Nadja was as good as any of the men that worked under him, if not better. She was clever, could make hairpin turn decisions in the field, and had a 100% clearance rate. She was a ruthlessly efficient siloed killer, required almost no guidance, and she didn’t flinch at death the way some of these younger wolves did when faced with their first few kills.

     All in all, Toji would say his babysitting job was an easy one. Nadja didn’t give him any trouble in the field and took orders the same as any other subordinate. If her skills far outstripped those of his other men, even better. Maybe that would motivate them to get their asses to the shooting range and train instead of ogling Nadja’s ass whenever she was in the room.

     Not that it was unwarranted. Toji had to admit, for so slight and vicious a woman, she was a veritable honey pot. Everything about her seemed sculpted and crafted to allure, her presence as vivid and magnetic as any flower, if one ignored the venomous serpent beneath the petals. She was disciplined in a way Toji could respect, and she never got caught up in the petty day to day shit his men entertained themselves with, though he did want to see her when she let her hair down.

     He even imagined taking a fistful of that thick, curly hair, pulling her head back to expose her throat, and sucking a mark into her satin skin. But it was clear from the outset that she was Sukuna’s woman. They had the decency to show restraint in public, but Toji had survived on reading the illegible. Where his fellow lieutenants seemed oblivious, Toji could practically see the electricity crackling between Sukuna and Nadja; a heat that bore within the promise of extraordinary violence and equally extraordinary passion. He could tell from the way they looked at each other it was over for both of them.

     It was too much to hope that Nadja would throw him a bone. He was so goddamn curious as to what she had that kept Sukuna’s smirk so sleek and satisfied, and even seemed to relax the bastard in meetings. He wasn’t one for needlessly killing subordinates to make an example—a waste of personnel, really—but that didn’t mean he didn’t devise other ways to torment those who crossed him.

     As a result, Sukuna ran a tight ship, and the threat of his ire was enough to keep the men in line. But since Nadja came back into his life he seemed content to let the men relax a bit. After all, they’d secured a victory over the Zenins, effectively dismantling their core network. It was Toji’s intel about the inner workings of his former clan that aided in that final victory.

     And Sukuna claimed their territory as his own, growing stronger and wealthier by the day. And as he did, so too did those in his organization.

     Toji had to own, life was good, and as he and Nadja worked alongside one another, it got better.

     It was after a mission in Kyoto that things shifted between them.

     Customarily, after work was done, they—the boys, mostly—liked to go out carousing in Roppongi. For her part, Nadja tended not to indulge too much, but after Kyoto she seemed restless enough that a night of drinking wouldn’t do any harm. So, they did an izakaya crawl. Their group consisted of Toji’s younger enforcers: Genji, a wild-haired delinquent who had dropped out of high school when he found out his talents with a baseball bat were more suited toward cracking skulls than homeruns; Kai, a sly trickster who was more flashy than he should have had any right to be, and cheated at cards though no one was quick enough to catch him in the act, unless Nadja’s sly grin told a different story [she cheated too, Toji noticed]. Then there was their youngest recruit, still green in his skills, newly blooded, but with that unwavering hunger in his eyes, and fewer words. Of him, Toji knew little, and he’d been thorough in his background check. Inumaki, they called him, and the only ink he bore were the concentric circles at the corner of his mouth and on his tongue. When asked of their meaning, Inumaki remained reticent.

     Kid was a hell of an interrogator, though. Toji would hate to be on the receiving end of that motherfucker’s patience.

     Toji and Nadja walked side by side, while Genji, Kai, and Inumaki walked ahead, talking and laughing loudly.

     “Not interested in the mind-tingling conversations of young men?” Nadja asked, her voice silky. Toji found it hard to believe that this woman had masqueraded as some civilian who just happened to catch Sukuna’s interest. Then again, true predators like her always hid in plain sight. Right now, he wasn’t sure what he was dealing with: lady or tiger. Sukuna was the same way, only you were always dealing with the tiger. Nadja hid her stripes until her jaws closed around her target’s neck.

     “They’re conversations I’ve already had,” Toji said with an easy shrug of his shoulders. “Let the kids have their fun, they’ve earned it tonight.”

     “But not on your dime, right, boss man?!” Genji called back over his shoulder, earning uproarious laughter from the trio, and a sultry, simmering chuckle from Nadja. Toji sucked his teeth in momentary annoyance as jokes of how stingy he was with his yen got volleyed between the three boys. A sideways glance let him see Nadja’s lovely profile, plump lips curved into a smile that somehow walked the line between sweet and seductive. He bet her lips tasted like salt and vanilla.

     Another izakaya, this one less rowdy, and they found themselves a quiet booth made instantly louder as the trio piled in, calling for a round of shots. Toji pulled out a seat for Nadja, and smirked as she looked up at him in surprise.

     “Take a seat, gorgeous, I’ll cover the tab,” he said. Nadja’s smiled turned intrigued, then. The trio gazed between them, a little mystified by Toji’s boldness. It was well-known that Sukuna and Nadja were an item, though the two were known to create an air of tension so thick at times it made everyone in the room uncomfortable. No one could tell if the two wanted to murder one another or fuck, and sometimes—if the rumors were true—it sounded like a little bit of both.

     This was the kind of delicate tripwire Toji danced around with his idle flirtations and innocuous niceties that anyone who knew Toji’s tack record could see for the game it was.

     Nadja was willing to indulge, if only out of idle curiosity. She was who she was, after all.

     So, she sat down, and Toji paid for their drinks, including the trio, much to their delight [and surprise; they’d been serious about Toji being a cheapskate].

     As the night wore on, and the shots piled up, the conversation grew boisterous. Toji joined in on occasion, trading insults back and forth with his subordinates as if he weren’t Sukuna’s left-hand man. Nadja watched the easy camaraderie and smiled. It was not a sort of kinship she herself was accustomed to given her background, but since joining Sukuna, she’d found herself with a surplus of family members, however dysfunctional.

     Beneath the table, Toji’s hand found hers, and their fingers brushed.

     “I’m gonna step out for a smoke, you want to join me?” Toji asked.

     Nadja smiled. “Sure,” she said, and the two stepped outside. She didn’t miss the hushed whispers of the trio in her wake, nor the very conspicuous shushing as she and Toji stepped outside. He was already lighting a cigarette, and he let out a satisfied exhale, as if the fresh air and the smoke were equally relaxing.

     “So, when does Sukuna think he’ll release you from babysitting me?” Nadja asked. Toji almost coughed in surprise. Whatever he’d been expecting, it wasn’t that.

     “It’s not that,” Toji said and Nadja fixed him with a quirked brow as if to say: what else could it be? She was a world-class assassin—a goddamn mercenary—who had been sent to kill Sukuna himself and nearly succeeded. She did not need a handler breathing down her neck like she was still training. Toji sighed.

     “Look, you and Sukuna’s first meeting was…pretty unconventional,” Toji said. Nadja gave him a crooked smirk.

     “I was sent to kill him,” she said casually. “It was nothing personal, just business.”

     Toji frowned. “Yeah? Then why didn’t you?”

     That gave Nadja pause, and Toji saw the predatory stillness in her. For the first time, he caught a flickering glance at the stripes she hid so well. Grandma, what big teeth you have.

     “He caught me by surprise,” she said easily. Toji had to commend her: she hid her shock well. But he wore a killer’s skin too, and they knew their own. “And with Naoya and the Zenins no longer holding my leash, killing him doesn’t serve my handlers.”

     Toji ashed the cigarette, tossing it and exhaling sharply.

     “See, that’s it, right there,” he said irritably. Nadja’s brow furrowed. “‘My handlers,’ you say. Talking about them like you’re still theirs. You pledged your skills to Sukuna in front of Naoya’s severed head. The head I took, mind you. You, like the rest of us, belong to him. And the sooner you start acting like this isn’t just some wild chapter in the fabulous life you seem to lead elsewhere, the sooner you can lose me as your babysitter.”

     Nadja’s expression never wavered.

     “So, the promise to be free was a false one,” she observed quietly. Toji smirked at her.

     “Did you really think Sukuna was gonna let you do whatever you liked just because you sucked his cock a few times?”

     Normally, Toji’s crude words would be off-putting, but Nadja had heard [and done] far worse things. There was no line to cross.

     “I had hoped it would help, at least,” she admitted with a grin that Toji found all too tempting. “It certainly seemed to make him more amenable for a time, if I remember correctly.”

     Toji pulled a face. “How the fu—”

     And then Nadja burst into laughter—true laughter. Toji remembered that night because it was the first time he felt like he was seeing her unscripted. There was no ulterior motive, there was no angle, and there was no coy batting of lashes; there was only Nadja and her amusement and joy, full-throated and from the belly, and her goddamned smile. Her real one.

     In that moment, Toji got a passing glimpse of what Sukuna probably never even saw when she was working him.

     “Well,” Toji said, fumbling with his box of cigarettes for another stick. “You’re not entirely wrong. When he thought he was courting you he definitely lost his temper a lot less.”

     “Did he?” Nadja asked, amused. “I always told him to not let petty things irritate him. I guess he did listen, after all.”

     Toji tried not to unpack why her words stung him. Instead, he lit his next cigarette. For a while, they stood in silence, and Nadja’s gaze drifted to the passing foot traffic and auto traffic that flowed like so many cells through the veins of Tokyo’s streets.

     “You broke his heart, you know,” Toji said suddenly, and became starkly aware of Nadja’s dark gaze on him. He would make her listen. “He was in love with you, thought you were really something. But it was a lie. He’s been different since then.”

     Nadja’s gaze returned to the street.

     “Like I said,” she said quietly. “It wasn’t personal. Just business.”

     “And now?” Toji asked, trying not to sound as jealous as he felt. Nadja was dressed in what could only be called ‘assassin chic,’ an all-black ensemble that accentuated her curves and lines, giving her the appearance of one of those models one saw in the glossy pages of some editorial spread in Vogue. Her hair was loose, thick and curly and bound back at her nape. A few stray curls coiled possessively along her sculpted cheekbone, framing her face like wisteria blooms.

     “Now, I have options,” Nadja said. “If Sukuna wishes for things to be as they were, I can be that, if that’s what he desires of me. But if not…”

     Toji glanced down at her, meeting her dark gaze.

     “If not…?” He asked. Nadja tilted her head, her smile soft, almost tender.

     “Then we’ll see what the night brings, won’t we?” She replied.

     Toji wasn’t sure who moved first, her or him, but he took her face in his hands, leaning down as she pressed up on her toes and kissed her.

     Her mouth tasted better than salt and vanilla. It tasted like honey. He swept his tongue between her lips, agile and seeking entry, and her mouth yielded open with a soft whimper Toji knew he’d be hearing in his dreams later that night.

     Toji pulled away first, struggling to catch his breath.

     Nadja lowered back down, lips parted as she looked up at him. Toji could no longer tell if she is hiding her stripes or not, just that he wanted her.

     “We shouldn’t,” he said gruffly. “I can’t cross that line. Not with Sukuna.”

     Nadja tilted her head, her expression quizzical.

     “Did I pledge my body to Sukuna as well as my skillset?” She wondered.

     “From what I know, your body is part of your skillset,” Toji snapped a little more venomous than intended. Nadja raised a brow, unflappable to the last.

     “I see,” she said. “And were you told by Sukuna to try and sample all of my skills, as it were?” She ventured. “Because if so, I’d be happy to give a full demonstration. I know your investigations tend to be…” She looked him up and down. “…thorough.”

     Toji stared at her, hard, verdant eyes glittering dangerously. She was tempting a leviathan she didn’t know lurked beneath the usually calm waters of his exterior. Toji was known for being laid-back amongst his men and had known Sukuna in the game long enough that they spoke more as old friends than boss and subordinate.

     But Toji was Sukuna’s left-hand for a reason.

     With a speed that startled even the unflappable Nadja, Toji’s hand shot up, almost as if to strike, and he saw her tense up briefly, not in fear, but in preparation to retaliate. Instead, his hand was unerringly gentle as he caressed her cheek with his knuckles.

     “You sure you want this, angel?” He asked, holding her gaze with unnerving steadiness. Nadja felt her pulse leap in her veins and perhaps for the first time, began to see Toji with more than passing interest. He had done what only Sukuna had been able to and intrigued the intriguing predator.

     “I promised a demonstration, didn’t I?” She replied with a soft grin. Toji’s hand came to her mouth, tracing the full, luscious shape of it with his thumb, pulling her lower lip down to reveal her teeth.

     “I’ll need more than a demonstration,” he said. “I want the full package. I see a little bit of what he saw in you.”

     Nadja smirked, then.

     “Toji,” she murmured, and turned her head just so. “You have no idea what he saw or experienced in me.”

     And then she took his thumb into her mouth and sucked.

     Toji paid the tab, of course, but he and Nadja got into a cab without another word. The tension between them was thick and by the time they got to his place, he couldn’t wait to get his hands on her.

     Keys in the door.

     Shoes off.

     Toji didn’t even hit the hallway light before his large hands sought every button, buckle, and zipper on her clothing. They tore at each other like they were only teeth, claws, and pure, unalloyed need. Perhaps that’s all they were. Toji put his hands and mouth on every inch of exposed skin, relishing in her cries in the dark as they stumbled their way to a surface that could withstand the storm gathering between them.

     There was something inordinately thrilling about working in the dark, and to two people whose darkest deeds were done in the baptism of shadows, this was a much-needed pressure valve release.

     Not to mention the slaking of a carnal curiosity that had been building for the better part of a year.

     By the time Toji got her naked he had the decency to click on one lamp, if only to get a good look at her.

     Fuck, she was magnificent.

     When Sukuna had told him about how he’d tracked her down, he’d left out a detail that Toji had later understood to be that he’d fucked the life out of her for hours after. And looking at her, Toji could not blame him. The woman was a fucking smoke show.

     Nadja lay on the bed like a sacred offering, her hair blooming in a profusion of jet-black curls like a cloudy halo around her head. Her face was sculpted with deadly intent, with dark, uptilted eyes the color of deep, forest pools, ringed by a flutter of thick, sooty lashes. Her lips, which he’d been feasting on the entire ride here, were love-swollen and bee stung, parted in an even, patient breath. Toji’s gaze slipped downward, from her collarbones to the tender swells of her breasts, tipped with dark, velvety nipples.

     Every curve. Every slalom. Toji didn’t think there was any woman who could look like this and not scare a man half to death with desire.

     But Toji was never one to back down from a challenge.

     “Open those pretty legs for me, beautiful,” he said with an easy smirk. Nadja tilted her head back slightly, as if to raise her chin in defiance. Then, with a tantalizing slowness that made Toji’s cock twitch like a fish on the line, she spread her legs. Every single thing about the simple movement demonstrated the degree of control Nadja had over her body. Her legs parted like she was a dancer responding to an unspoken cue and Toji’s eyes dropped to the tender apex between them, as if he were compelled.

     Fuck, even her cunt was gorgeous. She kept it trimmed, and he licked his lips hungrily as he spied the thick, wet heat dripping from her entrance. Toji mounted the bed, and Nadja’s smile turned eager and expectant, smoothly moving back as he crawled between her thighs. She was made starkly aware of how massive he was, even as he hooked her knees over his elbows, his palms pressed against the back of her thighs, pushing her legs back to expose her pussy further.

     “Fuck,” he whispered reverently. Nadja grinned slowly before she watched Toji’s head dip down, meeting her cunt in an open-mouthed kiss that would make a pornography cameraman look away and blush.

     Nadja’s eyes slipped closed, and her head dropped back as she let out her first, very real moan of the night, accompanied by the slippery, wet slurping of Toji’s mouth working until her cunt bloomed like a flower against his tongue, and he felt her writhe like a serpent caught in a wolf’s jaws.

     At some point—likely when Toji’s lips wrapped around her clit and sucked until Nadja’s screams threatened to cause a power outage—Toji learned that despite Nadja’s ability to shift her colors and behavior with everyone around her, there was nothing about this part of her skillset that was feigned.

     That wash of slick against his mouth as his tongue stroked her clit up and down and all around? Real.

     Her screams begging him for moremoremore and yesjustlikethatdon’tstop? Very, very real.

     And when his thick fingers found that tender plane inside of her that made her see fireworks bursting in her own head as she came, and came, and came until she left a wet spot on his sheets? Real.

     Nadja Hikmat did not feign in bed, and neither did Toji Fushiguro.

     By the time Toji was done lapping up every last drop of her, her thighs were quivering in his grasp, and she was pushing at his mop of hair, begging him not to go any further. But Toji had something to prove, and so he wrung one more out of her.

     “Fuck!” She shouted, back bowed off the bed, legs spread wide, and Toji nose-deep in her pussy like it was hiding a secret he so badly craved to have on his tongue.

     “Mmph,” he groaned, deeply pleased with his handiwork as Nadja fought the final tremors of an overstimulating climax. “That’s it, baby.” He pulled away from her reluctantly, finally letting her breathe.

     Nadja looked up at him as he released her legs which she lowered carefully. She kept them open, though, and beckoned him with open arms.

     Toji didn’t even care if she was hiding her stripes anymore, and he went to her, his cock aching to fill her. Nadja moaned as he slipped the swollen tip up and down her sensitive slit, and lifted her hips, begging him to slip inside.

     Toji, being an obliging man, did just that.

     The room filled with their mutual groans of relief and pleasure as Toji sank eight inches into her, stretching her pretty little pussy around him. Nadja’s eyes rolled back, and she bit her lip as his hips pressed against her. Toji took his time to watch her, even as he slowly pulled his hips back. Nadja’s mouth dropped open and let loose a strangled sound.

     “You like that, baby?” Toji asked. “Want more?”

     Nadja nodded, unable to speak. Toji’s dick was so damn big it was taking all of her breath not to lose her mind more than she already had.

     And then he started to fuck her.

     Toji’s bed squeaked and groaned beneath their bodies, the headboard clacked against the wall, and he knew his neighbors would be banging on the wall for peace after a while. He didn’t give a shit because right now he was stroking possibly the best pussy he’d ever been inside of aside from—

     “Put your fuckin’ legs up my shoulders, baby—yeah, just like that—nngh, fuck…!” He folded Nadja in half, and for the next fifteen minutes there was only the rude, erotic sound of skin meeting skin. Toji drilled his cock into her like he wanted her to taste it with each thrust.

     And then he flipped her over onto all fours, giving her only a split second to brace herself before he took her from behind. He spread her thighs wide, palming the lush cheeks of her ass and spreading those two, before he leaned over and spat into her cute little asshole. He enjoyed watching her pussy stretch around his cock, the sound of her choked cries soaking the room, and when he slipped his thumb into that puckered hole, he enjoyed feeling her come again and again.

     For a long while, Toji rode her hard with every intention of putting her away wet.

     “Is this what you gave him?” Toji found himself growling, grasping one of her hips to the point of bruising, and listening to her incoherent moans as he spat in between her spread ass cheeks again, rubbing it along her asshole for further lubrication for his probing thumb.

     There wasn’t a line to cross. Whatever had kept them separate had dissolved the minute they kissed.

     Toji pulled his cock out of her roughly, leaving her empty and bereft. She dropped down to her forearms, whimpering and needy before he turned her back over.

     “I wanna see your fucking face when you come, baby,” he said with that harsh grin that was like a slash to the throat. Nadja gazed at him with lust-bleary eyes, her hair unkempt, her dark umber skin glowing with sweat. Toji stroked his cock with his fist, and divining his desire, she scrambled onto her hands and knees, crawling toward him.

     “Open,” he ordered curtly, and she opened her mouth, holding out her tongue. Toji leaned down and spit in it. She moaned in response, cut short when his spit was followed by a few light taps of his cock on her tongue before he shoved it into her open mouth. “You look so fucking pretty like this.”

     “Fuuuuckkkk…” Toji groaned when Nadja tilted her head to allow him to slip into her throat. He felt her struggle, but only for a split second. He understood Sukuna in that moment. If this was the kind of head he was getting daily, hell, he’d be a lot nicer too.

     Nadja sucked his cock with an eagerness Toji was sure could only be bought and paid for outside of this bedroom. But here she was, doing it for free and because she enjoyed it. She took as much of him into her throat as she could, fat, glittering tears pooling under her lashes before running down her cheeks, taking her eyeliner and mascara with it. Toji wanted to come on the spot from the sight alone. Then there was the drool pooling around his cock, dripping down her chin and throat, down his balls, which she sucked one after the other, and massaged when she took his shaft back into her mouth.

     “Fuck, that’s it,” he breathed with a satisfied groan, head tipped back, his hand fisted in her hair as he guided her mouth along his cock, pushing her further and further. He wanted to test the limits of her throat, and he hadn’t hit it yet.

     Nadja moaned around his cock as if it were her favorite meal, as if she could spend the rest of her life being used just like this. One of her hands worked between her legs, stroking her clit, already swollen and sensitive from Toji’s attentions.

     “Just like that, baby…” Toji was so close he could see the bright edge of one hell of a nut, and he imagined what Nadja’s beautiful face would look like painted with his come.

     Nadja’s hand found his balls again, and then the other joined her mouth, and she stroked him.

     Toji brought his immediate fantasy to life as he grasped her hair, pulling her off his cock to stroke it furiously as it throbbed and twitched in his palm. Nadja welcomed the warm spray of his come along her cheeks, across the bridge of her nose, dripping from her lips and splattered on her tongue. A few pearlescent droplets even splashed across her breasts. Toji wished he could rewind this moment just to come all over her again.

     “Fucking Christ,” he groaned when he’d emptied his balls. He looked down at Nadja as he caught his breath, watched as her tongue snaked out to lick the droplets of his come that graced her swollen and pouty lips. Toji felt his breath beginning to even out and smirked at her.

     “Did I pass your inspection?” Nadja asked, her voice slightly hoarse from disuse, and the bullying of Toji’s massive cock in her throat. Toji laughed tiredly, ignoring the shiver down his spine as the air in the room grew cooler in the immediate aftermath.

     “Fuck yeah, you do,” he said. “Hell, I’ll call Sukuna right now and tell him to pull me off this detail. You’re a goddamn ace in my book.”

     Nadja laughed, crawling off the bed and heading to the bathroom. Toji followed, grinning as he palmed her ass on the way to turn on the shower. Nadja washed the mess of him off of her face as the shower grew steamy. Toji held out his hand and she took it.

     “Let’s see your wet work,” Toji said with another one of those wolfish smirks. It was so incredibly cheesy that it startled another one of those unscripted laughs out of her and Toji counted that as a win in addition to making her come so hard she drooled a little.

     Well, Toji hadn’t been entirely wrong: her body was in and of itself a skillset. One that when employed in just the right way, could make even the most skeptical of lovers believe in the lie of transparency. The trick was that nothing Nadja did in bed was feigned. She simply saw it as another card to add to her deck. How that card was played, depended on her goal. A little truth seasoned the lie like salt.

     The following week, Nadja was briefed on an upcoming mission, and she was slated to work it solo.

     Sukuna proposed to Nadja one cold winter night while they were enjoying a private dinner in his penthouse.

     She had been running in yolk with his Wolves for almost two years and acquitted herself well with each assignment. Highly competent, and after two years of observation, highly trustworthy. They’d danced around one another for a time, and Sukuna had been slow to trust Nadja again, but the attraction between them felt as sure and inevitable as gravity. Eventually, they had to talk, and of course they did, in their way.

     Sukuna counted the resulting furniture damage worth it.

     Now, however, as they ate a sumptuous full course sushi meal provided by the world class chef he’d hired, everything seemed almost like before; before he woke up that morning with her blade at his throat and that sharp predatory glimmer in her dark eyes.

     The only difference is now he saw that glimmer all the time, and when the illusion of the innocent maiden faded, he accepted the tiger for what she was…because he was a monster too.

     Outside, the panoramic view of Tokyo glittered like a carpet of preternatural jewels. They were so high up Nadja could barely see the taillights of the cars in the streets. Idly, Nadja rested her chin on her fist, watching Tokyo as if the answers to all of her questions could be divined in the neon entrails spread before her.

     “You’re awfully pensive tonight,” Sukuna said, amusement coloring his tone. Nadja’s brows went up, and she blinked like a waking dreamer, coming to life as if Medusa’s spell had come undone. It never ceased to amaze Sukuna how Nadja moved as no woman should have been able to and still remind him of a lioness peering at him from over the drinking pool.

     Well, lioness, meet tiger.

     “Offering me a penny for my thoughts?” She asked him, equally amused as she regarded her empty plate. Sukuna loved that Nadja was as enthusiastic about food as he was. She had a prodigious appetite in so many things. He’d never met anyone with so much ardent passion bubbling like magma beneath such a cool exterior.

     “I’ll offer you the entire world for your thoughts, you know that,” Sukuna countered. “But I want you to give them to me freely.”

     Nadja regarded him quietly for a moment, as if she were studying him. Sukuna gazed back, unblinking and unflinching. He was not a man easily riled, and over the course of the last year he had grown accustomed to the deadly woman before him. His passion and love for her may have carved a river ribbon into his soul, but it was still his soul, after all.

     “What do you want from me?” Nadja’s voice was so quiet, Sukuna almost didn’t hear her. But he had, and it was his turn to be still. Nadja waited, and he understood that she was serious. She wanted to know what he wanted from her, but he knew what she was really asking.

     “You pledged your skills to me, Nadja,” Sukuna said thoughtfully. “And I told you I couldn’t kill you because I found them valuable. Anything more than that was a bonus from which we both stood to gain.”

     “And is my body included in that skillset, Sukuna?” She asked, and Sukuna’s brow furrowed slightly at the edge in her tone. He’d never heard Nadja question him like this, and certainly not on the nature of how he employed her skills for his organization’s benefit. There were few lines Nadja would not cross, and Sukuna had requested and born witness to some truly dark deeds at her hands on his orders.

     But what she was asking is if she belonged to him as much as her skills.

     “I meant what I said when you joined,” Sukuna said. “You’ll be free. That includes taking to bed anyone you please.”

     Nadja’s brows raised in quiet surprise at that, and Sukuna grinned.

     “Did you think I was blind, Nadja?” He asked with an amused chuckle. “I know you and Toji have wanted a taste of each other since you first walked into my office and gave yourself to me. I also know how fast you work. So…how was he? I hear he likes to play rough and nasty. Not all his partners like it, but the ones who like it, love it. And I just happen to know that you’re the latter.”

     Nadja was so stunned that for a moment she simply couldn’t speak. She had expected many reactions from him regarding her tryst with Toji, but none of them involved him being as relaxed and candid about it as he was being, now. And it seemed Toji was such a hound that Sukuna was intimately familiar with how he liked to play in bed.

     “Well, shit!” Sukuna exclaimed in a rare moment of unfettered excitement. “I finally managed to stump that pretty, complicated brain of yours! You’ve never been quiet this long!”

     Nadja stared at him and blinked several times, as if she were trying to shake off the last vestiges of a bad dream.

     “You are taking this awfully well,” Nadja observed quietly. Sukuna gave her one of his customary smirks.

     “How else would you like me to take it, my dear? I never expected you to remain faithful to me, and Toji’s a good-looking man that I trust. I knew he’d treat you right.”

     Nadja’s brows furrowed, slightly confused.

     “However,” Sukuna said and laughed when Nadja tensed. “Relax, I’m not going to berate you or cast you out like some cheating spouse in a drama. I have a proposition for you, actually.”

     Nadja had the decency to at least look suspicious. She inclined her head, inviting him to continue. Sukuna poured himself sake, threw it back, and licked his lips.

     “If you want to continue seeing Toji, I won’t stop you of course,” Sukuna said easily. “I trust him, and I’ve come to trust you. However, in order for this to work, I need you to be mine in truth.”

     Nadja frowned. “What?” She asked, and there was that dangerous edge to her voice again. Sukuna grinned.

     “Marry me, Nadja,” Sukuna said, and watched her eyes grow wide. “I can’t rule this little kingdom alone, and if I’m gonna keep you and Toji, then I need you to be able to—”

     “You want spousal confidentiality privileges,” Nadja interrupted. Sukuna raised her brows. He truly hadn’t thought of that particular implication. And when he realized why she had, he pinched the bridge of his nose. How could he be botching his own proposal like this?

     “Damnit,” he growled. “It’s not that, Nadja. It’s just…I want you by my side. I want to marry you, and maybe even have a couple of brats of our own one day.”

     Nadja’s eyes were wide, and Sukuna feared he truly had broken her.

     “Fuck,” he laughed. “At least say something! Toji said this shit wouldn’t work on you.”

     Nadja stood up abruptly, so abrupt that Sukuna sucked in a breath. Was she angry? What was going on?

     “I don’t understand,” Nadja said. “You say you’re fine with me and Toji being together, yet you’re insistent that you and I get married. Why? What changes?”

     Sukuna stared at her in slightly stunned silence. Then, like a bloodstain, a smile slowly spread across his face. Nadja thought this must be what it was like to smile in the face of the Devil himself. Sukuna smiled and then began to laugh. It was a crazed, manic laugh that chilled his enemies to the marrow, reminiscent of bygone days when he was a whip-thin youth eager to get his hands bloody and knowing himself capable of doing so.

     “Oh,” he said as his laughter subsided. “You’re precious. Yes, you may fuck and date and love Toji to your heart’s content. You can fuck his friend Shiu too if it pleases you. I don’t care how many lovers you take, Nadja, only that I’m the only one whom you call husband.”

     Nadja placed her hands on her hips.

     “And this applies to you, as well? You can fuck and love whomever you like…and I’m the only one you call wife, correct?”

     Sukuna dipped his head in a duelist’s nod. “I would have no one else, beloved. Sex is sex, and love is love, but you’re worthy of the devotion of a husband. And, if I’m not mistaken, you were not opposed to the idea once upon a time.”

     Nadja’s mouth opened and then closed shut abruptly with an audible click. Sukuna gave her a smug grin that he was able to shut her up and stun her without having to fuck her. Twice in a row, now.

     “And can I trust you to adhere to this?” Nadja asked him. “If I say yes, you won’t turn me into a miserable wife while you become a negligent husband, right?”

     Sukuna spread his hands, sleeves rolled up, and Nadja tried to ignore how much she enjoyed the sight of those thick, corded forearms, the thick bands of ink around his wrists…his strong hands.

     “I can promise you my tomorrow, if you’d like,” he said with that devilish grin that made Nadja’s heart turn to water in her chest, drowning her.

     “I don’t want just your tomorrows, Sukuna,” Nadja said irritably. Sukuna closed the distance between them.

     “Yeah?” He asked before he looped his arms around her waist to pull her closer. “How about for as long as you’ll have me, then? I just want you to be mine no matter where you are, how far, or for how long.”

     Nadja hesitated, blinking up at him as he cupped her head with his large hand. Why did those words feel so familiar? She felt as if she’d heard them before, like some sort of dream long buried, now excavated. She blinked slowly, looking up at him again.

     “Okay,” she breathed. “Yes. For as long as we’ll have each other, then.”

     Sukuna leaned down, devouring her mouth with his own. For a long while, they simply kissed, lost in the moment they both decided that forever was good enough for them.

     No matter how far, or for how long.

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[anlian-aishang]

Vampire!Levi & Cunnilingus

Tags: levi x reader, smut, cunnilingus, period sex, blood, reader is propped against the wall, modern AU, college party, alcohol mention, fem!reader Word count: 2200 A/N: Thank you @bluebellhairpin for putting on the incredible Friday Night Bash! Had too much fun with this event 🖤 A/N2: Wrote a similar fic here if you are interested 🖤

You supposed it was only natural. 

At this age, motivation was a scarce resource. The burlier men donned flannel and jeans and called themselves lumberjacks. Any girl could become any cat with enough black eyeliner. 

Levi was the only vampire here, yet his costume seemed to take no more effort than anyone else’s. If anything, he was born a natural. Thin brows and slivered eyes. Jet black hair and moonlit skin. Fangs just barely curtained by red lips. Simultaneously, somehow the most convincing yet the most casually constructed. 

He noticed, you did too, the utter contrast that your roles conveyed. Levi was dressed head to toe in black, sparing only the white cravat tucked beneath his chin. You, on the other hand, had whipped all the white out from your closet and feigned yourself an angel. In his eyes, you weren’t feigning. House party vape could be reimagined as clouds, a heavenly background to your character. It made you shine through the swarm of sweaty brats. You were one of a handful who was neither spilling their drink nor coughing it up. In the middle of the room, a wallflower, staring down at her virgin spirit and clutching it in two hands. 

White tights hugged your legs. Blank sheer skirt hardly hid that contour. Long sleeves for the cold Halloween night, the layers beneath had compounded to caress your curves. You were covered from top to bottom. Still, Levi could read you like a book. Hard cover. Soft cover. Levi clenched his teeth and growled. 

You looked lonely as ever, tugged in contradictory directions of yearning: begging for someone to start the conversation for you, praying that no one would notice you, imagining meeting a guy here, thinking up excuses to ditch this party early. Your desires, Levi saw them, and he longed to fill all of them.

His hands began to twitch, irritated that his thoughts were getting too sentimental for his liking. Indeed, when his thirst neared such dangerous levels, he found composure harder to retain. Nails curled against the glass highball: is she really the one? 

The one he had traversed miles for. The one he had craved for the past several days. A scent and taste he needed so badly, Levi would suffer a college party for it. After all, that was why he was here. He clutched his head with his hand, silk glove smooth against his forehead. Bangs pushed to the sides, he held that grip and released a heavy sigh. At first, he thought he had done well to pinpoint it to one apartment building, even better to one apartment unit. Only once he ascended the staircase, heard the blaring music and saw the glaring lights, did he realize that the hardest part of this search was yet to come. Over a hundred people here. Half of them potential subjects. All he could do was stand idle and observe feverishly: who was the source?

Already, the bias was brewing for you, it was why his pupils were particularly quick to snap at the sudden drop of red that soiled your pristine outfit. Your inner thigh. Levi blinked harshly, but that trickle did not fade. Better yet, it tracked along the inner seam of your pantyhose: blotting, darkening. 

Toes curled against the soles of his leather shoes. Calves strained to dilute his pace as he began to gravitate towards you. From your perspective, strobe flashes of red made his approach play like a slideshow. Before you could discern who he was and what he was doing, the room would turn black again. Suddenly, he was only inches away, steady eyes met your widened ones.

“H’Hey,” Inside of his gloves, Levi pinched the inside of his palm. The attempt to ground himself did not defeat his stutter. “I thought -” a clear of his throat, “- thought I should let you know…” Levi leaned in, his lips to your ear.

His breath was cold on your skin. Beneath your blouse and in the wake of his chill, you felt your nipples peak against the fabric - even more so when he whispered, “You’re bleeding.”

On your gasp, you nearly choked. Levi found it adorable how you immediately, instinctively, brought your hand between your legs. Shameful was your expression. Shameless were your actions. Beneath your skirt, you palmed around, frantically feeling for proof of his claim. Three fingers to the slip of your panties were quickly soaked. With your gaze deadset in shock then panic, Levi allowed himself a lick of his lips. 

You turned over your shoulder to examine your backside, inadvertently revealing it to him as well. A teardrop of crimson just below your spine, having seeped through your underwear, tights, and skirt, Levi was hyper-aware of how wet you must have been in order to achieve those levels of penetration. The thought, the image, of your skin slickened in syrup made his pants turn tight.

His erection surged further when you beckoned him towards the stairway. “Maybe you could help me find a change of clothes?” 

An invitation.

"And help me out of these ones?"

Though watching you bleed through this outfit would be a fantasy for the millennium, he felt his levels dripping to empty. He needed it. Your blood in him. Now. 

But his needs were far from your mind. It was one of the only reasons your roommates had convinced you to allow them to host this get-together in the first place. You can’t sleep with guys if you don’t meet some guys. They had made it their mission to help you find someone, and it didn’t even have to be an eternal someone - though Levi Ackerman happened to be. Someone to show you a good time, to help you unwind a little. Of course, you would not settle for a trash bag, but a man who was willing to display such honesty and no disgust about the symptoms of your period - he had to be a good one, and he wasn’t hard on the eyes either. 

Your expectations had been low, perhaps a little too low. Least of all nights did you expect a booze-filled Halloween party to be the night that you brought a guy up to your room. Flinging open the door, you were met with violent whiplash: why the hell didn’t I clean?!

Chocolate bar wrappers on the floor. Midol on the nightstand. A box of overnight pads at the foot of the bed. Triple-thick tampons in a plastic bag that hung around the other side of your door handle. Worst of all, blood-stained underwear that had sorely missed the hamper and instead carpeted your floor.

“Oh my god, I’m - I’m so sorry!” You darted into the room and tried to fling the evidence out of sight. Obviously, Levi had just been deathly upfront about noticing your period. Yet, you were mortified, back turned to him and hurling apologies, “This - This is not very sexy, I know.”

Levi could only shake his head and clench his teeth. You had that all wrong. He would take this menstruation-riddled bedroom over a honeymoon suite any night. Silent footsteps brought his front to your back, his palm to your waist, “Just leave it,” Levi exhaled, his voice teetered on moaning, “and leave yourself to me.”

His arousal solid and warm against your blood-soaked backside, your enamor spiked: not only cool about this time of the month, but hot for it. You ground yourself against his member, satisfied with his length, you reached your hand to his neck and pulled him close. “Undress me, Levi.”

You were the only one who viewed this as a one-night stand. If anything, Levi hoped that you would live with him forever, that you would continue to flow, and that he could spend eternity swallowing you down. However, the haste in his movements implied that the two of you shared that one-night fervor. Nails scraped down your hips as he yanked your bloodied tights to your feet. Instead of taking them off, he used the excess length to make knots around your ankles, binding your legs into a loop. 

With inhuman strength and alarming speed, Levi had you in his arms and slammed against your bedroom wall before you could summon the breath to screech. Levi slipped himself within the cage of your legs. Backs of your knees to his shoulders. Heels dug into his nape. Your sex dwindled tantalizingly close to his mouth. 

Holy hell, you gasped, no man had ever had you like this before. By this point, you had learned that period sex was a rarity, receiving head during that time of the month - an impossibility. Instead, Levi dove straight in, unlike any of the rest.

And oh, were you spot-on about that. Levi Ackerman was no man. His skills were no act. The hair, the outfit, the fangs no occasion. This was his truest self: out of this world. He was grateful for the holiday, the one day of the year that his vest, slacks, and perfectly polished shoes would stand out. Levi admired the red lights of the party, making everyone’s irises match his giveaway shade. The greatest obstacle - the invitation, the consent - you had granted before he even had to ask. All tells he had fretted over, you made yourself perfectly blind to them. As your sex bled right before his eyes, he could only chuckle and admit, “so fucking pathetic.” 

Perhaps he was projecting. He had not even tasted you yet, had not even stripped you free, and already, he felt he was on the edge. His tip swelled against the cold metal belt buckle. Black pants hid the damp that precum had created. For a second, his mind flickered: which one of you was more wet? The answer came to him, though, by a glob of blood that dripped from your core and onto his white cravat.

Looking down, you were horrified. Mouth fell agape, an utter loss for words. Levi made up for your shortcomings as his sentiment flowed freely. 

“Oh? What’s this? Having a hard time containing yourself?” At his waist, his arousal made a mockingly timed rise. 

His teasing pricked your skin, each capillary blazed in embarrassment. You could not bear to make eye contact, instead, glued to his pristine white cloth that you had forever tainted. Years of experience, you knew those stains did not come out. 

Levi had a way.

Slowly, his tongue slid over his bottom lip and dragged along the silk threads. One strong, deliberate swipe had erased your DNA from the garment. In the throes of midnight, your eyes struggled to be sure, but Levi himself knew. At the first taste of your blood, he was sparked with revival.

“Mmm,” Levi hummed, “tastes good.” For now, he withheld: even better than I anticipated.

Though neither his hunger nor thirst were yet satiated. Not until you were sucked bone-dry, not until your pussy ran clear. Eating you out, he snuck occasional glances to affirm you were not at those milestones. In his frame of mind, rather, he had not yet brought you to them. 

Levi was the kind to savor the taste, but there was little indication of that on this cold autumn night. The motions of his tongue were swift. His slurping was delectably crude, coating his throat and coaxing out even more dirty talk. His canines grazed your most sensitive spots. You thought to ask him to take his fangs off, but in the end, realized you adored them. Good thing, they were irremovable.

Not one drop of you made it past that cravat. Most of your mess had been clotted by his skin. A red stripe ran down his face as he brought his whole front to the middle of your battle. Sweet metal. Saccharine iron. A salted cocktail. That was your drink - one he guzzled. When you asked for his fingers, he would religiously lick them clean.

Your muscles had grown weak, having lost count of how many times you had climaxed thus far. He had kept you in ignorant, mutually selfish bliss for god knows how long. It was only when you reached your arm towards him, combing through his hair and petting his head, that you realized how drained you were. Hardly able to speak, faint and incoherent, “You like that, huh? Like that, Levi?”

Through drenched bangs, he gazed up to meet your eye contact. So fucked-out, you paid no mind to the scarlet of his stare. “It’s like you can’t get enough.”

Cruelly timed, he felt your ridges start to clench around his face again. Nonchalant, he spoke into you as you began to cum again. “Makes two of us, then.”

Words seemed to make rhythm with your waves, and each one, you swore was better than the last. Tilting your head back against the wall, you arched yourself further into him, “F’Fuck, Levi!!” 

How did he - in just one night - manage to do you like this? 

Little did you know, it was not just one night, but an entire lifetime that he had been waiting, anticipating, preparing for this moment. You would remember this encounter as a night that you happened to cross paths with the man of your dreams. Levi saw it a very different way, no chance happening: the evening that he had scoured enough of this goddamned earth. A tale of lifeblood: the clean freak to your mess, monthly or otherwise.

Kinktober Year 3 Masterlist

[eudaimonia83]

@cursebrkr posted about Elain giving Lucien a Solstice present and I was like, well hell, I’ve got a fic for that 🥰

A tiny but important piece of background: Elain recently read in a reference book about hyraeths, light-butterflies of the Autumn and Summer courts who migrate across the border and are tended by air sprites in their mating groves.

Enjoy! 😁

——————————

Elain blinked, and the last of the darkness slid away. Before her was the erstwhile prince of Autumn, his hair braided and smoothly caught back at the nape of his neck, a bright blue coat with subtle gold threading outlining his broad shoulders. Even dressed relatively modestly, he gleamed, all color and light, all mischief and elegant trickery. So Fae. Even now it sent ripples up her spine, sliding along the knife edge between fear of him and trust in him. His golden eye glinted as he returned Feyre’s smile. “I wouldn’t miss your birthday for all the stars in Velaris,” he said, his voice light and teasing. “Not that even you could give those away.”

“Don’t put it past me,” Feyre winked at him.

Lucien turned to Elain, whose voice was as firmly caught in her throat as a burr stuck in a glove. “Good evening, Lady,” he said, with a slight bow. She swallowed, and nodded.

His good eye narrowed, ever so slightly, taking her in at a quick glance. “Can I get you a drink?” he asked, swinging his eyes back to Feyre, and smiling disarmingly. “The pair of you aren’t doing the party any favors sitting here without partaking.”

Feyre protested, laughing, but Lucien cocked his head and stared at her in mock accusation until she relented with a roll of her eyes. “Very well then. A half glass of the gold wine.”

He moved off toward the bar cart with a smooth stride. Feyre’s gaze shifted to Elain, whose hands were clenched tightly in her lap. What had he seen?

Feyre leaned in and said, her eyes dancing, “That’s a magnificent color on him, don’t you agree?”

Elain blushed from her ears to her chest, hating her sister for being so open, so obvious, so damn gleeful. It was confusing enough to be around him without everyone watching and whispering. She was trying to figure out what to say when he returned, a glass in each hand. He handed the wine cup to Feyre, who thanked him and then slyly slid away; he pushed a highball glass into her hand as they found themselves alone.

“Drink it,” he murmured, almost inaudible over the chatter of the party. “You look like you’re about to faint.”

She clutched the glass hard and stared at him.

“It’s only water,” he said, a trifle defensive. “You should drink it. It’s too warm in here and you’re flushed.” He leaned forward against the chaise, body language utterly relaxed — no one watching from a distance would think he was talking about anything but pleasantries — but a strain in his voice belied all that as he asked, “Did you just have…a vision?”

She put the glass to her lips and drank, the cold of the water a welcome rush on her tongue. The shock of it loosened her voice. She tried to stay as calm as possible, to imitate his nonchalance. “How did you know?”

His smile was tight. Pained. “Even if I hadn’t felt it here…” he touched his chest lightly, over his heart — “your face would’ve given it away.”

“How?”

“You…” He flexed his fingers as if they hurt. “You looked the same as…as back then. When you were first Fae.” He threw a glance at the fireplace with its evergreen bower and gestured at it, maintaining the small talk facade with ease. “Are you well?”

Surprised, she couldn’t help but turn and look him full in the face. “I’m…”

He turned his head, quizzical, as she trailed off. “You’re not well?”

“No, I’m all right,” she said, hurriedly. “But — you don’t want to know what I saw?”

Everyone always pounced when they heard she’d had a vision, starving for details, most of which she could never recall. But his eyebrows twitched together and back apart as he wiped the concern from his face, turning it bland and calm. “Not if you don’t want to tell me.”

Elain drew in a deep breath and let it out in a trembling sigh that turned into a laugh, tremulous and true — and even a little sad, if she was honest. He cast his eyes down and smiled at his hands, folded on the back of the couch. “Don’t laugh at me, Lady.”

“But you’re ridiculous, my lord,” she said, her humor finally cresting over the prickle behind her eyes.

“Eternally,” he agreed.

She was about to give him a pert answer when she noticed Feyre, standing on the other side of the parlor and grinning like the Mad Cat in their childhood storybook. As their eyes locked, Feyre seized Mor’s arm, and the two of them turned away at the same moment, leaning their heads together. Lucien followed her gaze and then looked immediately away, back down at his hands. “Being watched all the time must get tedious,” he said. “No wonder you guard your secrets.”

“I have none of consequence,” she murmured.

“Why, Mother of Mercy. Now you’re even bringing in lies. How enchanting.” His foxlike grin split his face. She couldn’t control the lurch in her chest. “I like you deceitful, Blossom. It’s intriguing.”

“Well, everyone else has their secrets,” she fired at him. “Can’t I have any of my own?”

“Certainly,” he said. He seemed utterly earnest. “I only ask that you promise to share with me the ones you ask me to keep.”

She paled. Was he going to give her away? An outright lie to Cassian and Nesta, a lie of omission to Rhysand and Feyre…they’d have her under the daemati claws in no time…there would be no secrets then, no mind left, they’d have it all and she’d be a shell of herself…

He extended his hand in a calming motion, seeming to sense her unease. “Not just yet,” he murmured. “When you’re ready. Til you instruct it, I’ll keep my silence.”

She couldn’t think of what to say, but he straightened up and nodded as Rhysand approached. She froze, feeling the sly rake of his claws across her thoughts, and focused hard on the half-full drink in her hand.

“Lucien,” Rhys greeted him, smooth and effortless as always. “Thank you for coming.”

“It’s my pleasure,” Lucien replied, and Elain was strongly reminded of the dukes and earls at the dances back in the human lands; that charm, the utter facility of sliding from one interaction to another. “Happiest of birthdays to the High Lady.”

Rhys nodded, immense satisfaction on his face as his violet eyes scanned the merry gathering. Cassian had Nyx on his shoulders; Nesta’s hand rested protectively on Nyx’s leg to keep him from falling backwards. Azriel sat by the window, shadows romping with the fluttering faelights, while Mor and Feyre argued playfully over a chessboard. And Amren stood slightly apart from the rest, her pale eyes surveying keenly. Rhys asked, a trifle absently, “How do the human lands fare?”

Lucien sighed. “The lands are buried under snow, as the seasons dictate. The humans themselves are…suffering.”

Rhys raised his eyebrows. “The fall harvest was sufficient. Once the crops come in in spring…”

“…they will still be suffering,” Lucien interrupted. “They cannot eat their seed crops if they hope to lay in the fields for next season. And yet they cannot starve. Everything there is restless. People who are hungry and sick and neglected will not tolerate it for long.”

Elain’s insides squeezed in shock. No one interrupted the High Lord. Not even Feyre, who always gazed at him with pride. But even more critically, his words burrowed through her surprise: the humans were hungry and sick. That was her village. Her friends. Mayfer, the bustling harbor city where she’d visited to wait for her father’s ships. Her former home.

Lucien continued, “Jurian has purchased extra grain stores from the continent. And Vassa took in several hundred of the country folk who would have starved otherwise, onto Lord Nolan’s estate.”

“Generous of her,” Rhys remarked. He sounded ever so slightly bored, as his eyes followed Feyre’s every move.

“Just keeping body and soul together,” Lucien replied, and his tone dropped. His expression remained mild as Elain glanced between the two males. But without even knowing how she knew it, she thought he is angry, before remembering to keep her thoughts focused on her glass of water. Angry at Rhysand. For what?

It could be any number of things, a small voice inside her head hissed, and she felt a tiny stab of shame, then covered it with thinking of how cold the glass was in her hand, beading with condensation.

“Clearly. Come see me in the morning and give a full report,” Rhys said, calm and unconcerned. But his eyes flashed as they settled briefly upon Elain. “And get Elain another glass of water. She’s parched, aren’t you, little sister?” His smile was thin and cold, and he moved away, sleek as a shadow, to stand behind Feyre, one arm draped lazily over her shoulder, fiddling idly with the knobbly handwoven string that supported the gold medallion around her neck. She reached up to stroke his wrist; the very picture of domesticity. Elain was pleased to discover that she could in fact distract him with obvious surface thoughts, to misdirect from her deeper misgivings — since she had no expertise in mental shields, that could be a useful tactic, even if it was flimsy. But warring with her satisfaction came a deep unease.

“Presents!” Mor called out from close to the fireplace, dragging a sack of brightly wrapped gifts out of a pocket realm, and everyone clustered around the couch for the exchange. Elain knew this would dissolve into spoiling the baby, and she was right; everyone competed for the best present for Nyx, who was getting a bit tired and cranky, and wanted only to play with the bright ribbons on the packages. Everyone had gotten one another gifts, and everyone exclaimed over the silk scarves, the sharp knives, the antique astrolabe that Feyre had sourced from the Day Court for Rhys…but, Elain noticed again and again, no one had gotten any gifts for Lucien.

She stole another glance at Lucien. He seemed unperturbed, smiling at the chaos of wrapping paper and mirth as Cassian opened a leather satchel from Mor with a suggestive shape. He howled with laughter as she winked and told him with supreme innocence that it was for use in the annual snowball fight. Nesta rolled her eyes, and Cassian stuffed the satchel into her hands with a hooded glance. Elain felt curiously voyeuristic, as though she’d witnessed something she wasn’t supposed to see; a tiny window into a private moment between her sister and the powerful male she was mated to. She thought of the little blue box, sitting on the table in the next room, and longed for the right moment to give it to him. But it didn’t seem appropriate, not here; not with everyone watching. She didn’t dare to give everyone else a tiny window into what was — or perhaps wasn’t — between her and Lucien. Not when it would be giggled over and teased and demeaned.

She broke away a few minutes later to gather all her presents together; jasmine soap from Nesta, tulip bulbs from Feyre, a box of expensive spices from Rhys, and found him in the hallway pulling his cloak off the hook.

“You’re leaving?” she blurted out, before she could think of anything better to say.

He turned, masking his surprise with a wry grin. “Overstaying a welcome is poor etiquette, I’ve found.”

“You’re welcome here,” she insisted. Was it her imagination that his eyebrows twitched in denial?

“Thank you,” he said, “but I think this party is for family now. And I’m not that. Whatever else I may be.”

“But…” — was she really going to say it? Her stomach clenched. Brave. Be brave. “But…I haven’t given you your present yet.”

He froze, comically halfway through securing the cloak buttons. “My what?”

“Your — your present,” she stammered. Gods above, untie her tongue from these hopeless knots. “I’m sorry no one else got you anything. But I did.”

As soon as she said it, it sounded false. Petulant. Like she was seeking a compliment.

“What for?” he asked, and he sounded bemused enough that she laughed, short and quiet.

“For Solstice, silly,” she said. She beckoned him into the darkened sitting area, turning on the lamp as she did. He followed, wary, keeping his distance.

She pushed the box at him, unsure of how to proceed, but now committed to seeing it through. He stared at it as though it was a trick, or a bomb that would explode in his face if he touched it.

“But you didn’t need to get me anything,” he said.

“I — I know,” she said, and her courage flagged. The box sank an inch or two from where she’d held it out to him. “But I wanted to. You did save my life, remember, so it’s only fair that I thank you properly.” She squared her shoulders, and in an attempt at being merry, said with a faint smile, “And I have a few Solstices to catch up on with you.”

He still didn’t move.

“Take it.” She moved two steps closer, til the box was within reach of his hand.

And with a brief hesitation, he reached up and took the box from her, pulled the ribbon off it, and opened it.

Elain was consumed with the strangest twirling in her gut, a spiral of anxiety and excitement. Gods. Dear gods. It was stupid. So stupid. Unutterably stupid, in fact. How could she have thought that it would be enough, when she had never accepted his gifts with anything but awkwardness, that this tiny thing would say everything she wanted it to?

Her cheeks flamed. She wondered if this was what it was to slowly choke…to asphyxiate under the weight of her own mistakes.

And still it was quiet. Finally, desperately, she dragged her eyes up from where her fingers twisted with anxiety and —

— and he was looking at her, his face a mix of gratitude and grief. Their eyes locked so tightly she almost heard the click of a key.

“A hyraeth,” he murmured, pulling the little pin from the box. The jeweler had fashioned it from a single piece of bright yellow amber that caught the light like honey, but also gleamed like sunshine on water. Elain had selected it herself. The etchings on the edges were done in black lacquer, faceting the surface of the amber just like the patterns on butterflies’ wings. The jeweler had done a lovely job, but her stomach corkscrewed into her legs nonetheless. Did he not like it?

“Well, not a real one,” she said hurriedly. “Just their likeness in a pin for your hair, or your lapel. But I thought you might like it…they’re from the Autumn Court,” she blurted, realizing she was babbling and cursing herself roundly for it, trying to lower her voice, which - drown her in the damned cauldron - was so much louder than was necessary.

“I know,” he said. “From the Vilderavian Groves, at the borders of Summer.” His voice fractured ever so slightly at the edges.

Her eyes widened. “Have you seen it?”

“Yes,” he replied, and there was a reverence in his voice that rippled through her like wind through grass. “Long ago. Just once. They alight on the great trunks of the hemlock trees in a shimmering mass. An ocean of tiny wings, all amber and gold and black, whispering among the green foliage. It’s a special place; the only evergreen spot in Autumn. And the sight — the whole forest alive with trembling light — is magnificent. There’s nothing like it.”

She nodded. “It made me think…” She spread her hands in defeat. That home is a journey, rather than a place. That it might not obey borders or rules, but seek its own way across barriers. That to find it, to keep it, one can endure unimaginable toil and turmoil. That there is magic in the smallest things. “…that you might someday find a place for your heart to rest. Unfathomable as that may be now.”

She could have sworn there was a gleam in his eyes, just for a moment. He closed his hand over the little pin. “It’s beautiful,” he said, softly. And then, so gently that had she not been straining toward him with every cell of her treacherous body, she would not have heard him: “I think you’ve fathomed me quite well, Blossom. Thank you.”

His eyes slid down to her lips, so close…the moment brief and shimmering, a bubble on the wind…

…and it shattered, burst by the arrival of Nyx, screaming in uninhibited toddler glee as Cassian mock-chased him through the hallway and past the open doors. Lucien started and stepped back. Elain very nearly followed him, so strong was the pull of the bond’s tidal undertow in her ribs, but she knew it was too late. Misery blooming in her heart, she turned to go.

“Happy Solstice, Elain,” he murmured.

She looked back over her shoulder, and saw him standing in the pool of light from the lamp. In that moment, he seemed aglow himself somehow. A living sun.

“Happy Solstice, Lucien,” she replied; and, unbidden, unsought, a smile rose to her lips. He returned it, shyly — and low in her gut, an ember, dormant under the ash of everything that had happened, flickered into a tiny flame.

It was nothing, she told herself sternly as she climbed the stairs to her room. So small. But even a tiny light could bring a traveler safe home.

[onlyhereforangst]

11. ellick for the mini fics 🩵

11. things you said when you were drunk

“Another.”

No sense of hesitancy, and someone who didn’t know him like she did wouldn’t pick up the dash of self-directed shame that mixed in to the simple statement. 

The bartender made quick work- not that it was hard, the bottle of scotch hadn’t gone far. The contents had, they’d travelled down the scruff-laded neck with a quick pitstop in the shot glass first. Each gulp smoother yet simultaneously less coordinated, if that was possible. 

“You wanna call it, bud?” the older man behind the mahogany bar asked. And she could tell it was familiar. Not pitying, not fearful, not even largely concerned. Just…familiar. 

He’d done this before. He had this conversation frequently. More than just the few nights she’d tagged along for in the last week. 

Oh, Nick.

He’d been sober when she’d walked away that brisk early summer afternoon. Sober for a few months even. He’d stuck to club soda for a while, she thought, remembering his little joke from a month into it. Poking fun at their earlier selves, when their world was about to upend with news of Ziva’s reappearance, but worrying about who was worrying about who seemed important. 

A calloused fingertip caught a stray drop of ice cold condensation before it could reach the bar top, dragging it back up the path it came from- back to the top of the highball glass filled with none other than- club soda. 

And if that wasn’t the metaphor of her life these past two years. A year under, two to get out. Trapped, desperate to retrace her steps, reverse the path that took her here. Three years later and back in her rightful place, or was she? 

She peered at the damage her fingertip had done—a small drop of condensation that skated around the other tiny beads, slipping away from them, out of sight- out of mind. Except now, trying to forcibly put the drop back in its place, she’d left a wake of destruction. Thousands of tiny beads smeared across the glass surface, a bulldozed path five times as wide as the first, innocent one. 

She may have slipped out of his life, but would coming back destroy more than it would fix? Was it a fool’s journey to try and put something back that probably didn’t belong in the first place?

“…f-fuck, man!” Nick’s slurred but firm timbre was clear as day, even in her seat at the far, catty-corner end of the bar. 

Her vision moved from the messy highball and up to the mirrored bar backsplash, angled perfectly for her to take in Nick’s flared nostrils and the bartender’s relaxed stance. Clearly he wasn’t put off or even remotely surprised by the outburst. Hell, no one in the bar even twitched.

Quieter, more solemn, he continued, “I fucking loved her,” his head sagged and shoulders dropped- like the life had been sucked out of him with those four simple words. The air around her stilled, vanished even. Nothing passed over her slack lips.

She could make out the bartender’s slight tilt of his head, silently urging Nick to continue even as Nick’s eyes never left the empty shot glass in front of him. 

“Ellie,” it came out as a whisper and every muscle fiber in her body froze. But his eyes hadn’t lifted to her spot at the bar, they’d glazed over, unfocused on the present, rather likely focused on the millions of small memories her mind was now flipping through. Each time her name crossed his lips, in joy, in fear, in love, she melancholically surmised. 

“I loved Ellie,” Nick amended his earlier statement. 

And the bartender shifted his weight back, nothing else had surprised the man, but this statement apparently had. It hadn’t been the declaration of love, had it? It had to have been her name. Nick had never put a name to the claim. Never wanted to make it real, she bet. 

What had changed? Why now? She’d probably never get her answers. He loved her, past tense. Three years past. 

Another flicker of movement caught her drifting attention- his fingertip, chasing its own path, circling the top of the shot glass. Round and round it went, never easing up, almost like it couldn’t, like it refused to falter or move on. Circling and retracing, wondering where it all went wrong? she guessed pessimistically. 

Until it paused. 

And his chin lifted. 

Eyes steeled as best the welled up tears would allow. 

“I love her.”

Fuck. 

She couldn’t breathe, she couldn’t move, she couldn’t think. 

“I still love Ellie...” Nick clarified to the riveted bartender. 

Her existence here, in DC at this bar in the periphery of Nick’s life, hung on his next words that came out as a deflated sigh.

“...and how fucked is that?” 

[primewritessmut]

Midori sour for the WIP ask game (if it's not too late)

BRO.

No. It’s not too late. Especially when it’s Midori Sour (which is the fic that I’ll start posting as soon as He Speaks Daggers is done).

It’s my modern AU where Mobius is a restaurant manager at the restaurant/bar where Loki brings all his disastrous first dates. The fic starts several months into Loki’s serial dating and Mobius has become kind of obsessed with the “gorgeous creature” that comes into the bar a few times a week to star in someone else’s Worst First Date™️ story. Eventually, something goes so wrong on a date that their paths finally cross and Mobius becomes Loki’s soft spot to land after his dates. (And then some.)

@punch-love tells me it's good and I choose to believe him.

I really love the tragedy of the show and have no desire to write a fix-it fic, so an AU feels like the only way to give them a happy ending. /wink wink/ /nudge nudge/ (It’s rated E is what I’m saying, but also they end up together.)

SNIPPET:

“How many dates is this?” Vee asks, idly. “At some point, don’t you have to start wondering if he’s the problem, not the dates.”

“Thank you for your input, Vee,” Mobius sighs. “Don’t you have some tables to check up on?”

“Nope. Just finishing up my side work. Which I think you are supposed to check on.”

“I’m sure it’s fine,” Mobius says, trying to wave her away and letting his eyes drift back to him. “Just sign off on it and—”

He loses his train of thought as the man at the table leans forward languidly like a cat, resting his elbows on the table and gifting his current date with a Cheshire smile. A finger decorated with two thin gold rings above the middle knuckle traces around the edge of the highball glass suggestively and a lock of raven’s wing black hair falls out of his stylishly messy top knot and across his face.

Mobius wonders why someone like that feels the need to work so hard for attention, but the guy in the polo shirt with the perfect teeth sitting across from him barely seems to appreciate it so maybe that’s why. Mobius sure as hell is having a hard time looking away. The slit in that skirt is probably going to kill him before the night is over.

x

[late-to-the-magnus-archives]

Glass - a Malevolent fic

Arthur's not sleeping. Arthur's not eating. He doesn't regret any of that.

He does regret one thing: being so damn alone.

Part of the Surrogate series.

AO3

-----------

The ward was quiet this morning. Only the whisper of diaphanous cloth, soft as if with gentle secrets, told the path of the nurses. Rays of sunlight presented diagonal stages for dust motes, which danced in silent joy to be in this bright and rare-used room.

It had not been occupied since Gokar’luh’s introduction to the world.

Nurseries for gods were not all that different from nurseries for humans, at least in effect. It had comfortable things for the infant to rest upon, floating gewgaws to hold attention, a station with easy access to whatever kind of nutrients were required, and a constant viewing sphere that kept the baby in sight of its father (with at least half a dozen eyes) no matter what went on that day.

John was not a baby, didn’t want to eat (hunger just added to the already unending sensation), spent more time than he should gluily flipping Hastur off through the viewing sphere, and had lost all gewgaw privileges because he kept breaking them in anger.

The nursery also had a glass wall, through which a glimpse of the new god could be afforded to deeply important visitors. Today, the other side held one.

One who was given no glimpse.

One who knew the baby very well, regardless of the date of birth.

One who could not see, and leaned against the thick, unbreakable glass, forehead and hands pressed flat, trying to look brave.

The rumble and splat of John rolling by in a royal snit completely defied definition. Arthur tried, anyway; the rumble was like a train, something incredibly heavy and with such mass that it could not easily stop under its own power. A real highball, it had been called by the train-hoppers he’d gotten to know back in Arkham.

But it wasn’t wheels, and there was no horn. Instead, there was John’s frustrated howl… and the weirdest, wettest, uneven organic slaps as if he moved by stretching loose skin, smacking it to the ground, and heaving himself forward. If he could do that about eight thousand times a minute, that is.

The Doppler effect as John roared past was something.

Arthur took a slow breath. “John.”

John hadn’t known he was there. He splatted to a halt, bellowed Arthur’s name, thundered up and slammed into the glass (or whatever it truly was) so hard that the entire corridor shook.

“Arthur,” John panted, accompanied by the wet, squeaking sounds of too many limbs smearing ineffectively.

“I'm here,” said Arthur, trying so hard to sound fine, to be fine, to be the strength John needed.

“ARE YOU STILL IN PAIN?” John howled, his volume levels utterly unpredictable.

Yes, Arthur was in pain. Yes, it was better. The knee-desk example he remembered Kayne shouting about—leaning one’s leg against an edge too long—made weird sense. But if he told John that, it would not help.

John panted, waiting, his tentacles (or hands with too many fingers or, Parker told him quietly, once what looked like a dozen dicks) kept sliding against the glass, grasping and sad.

“Much less,” Arthur compromised. “You don't sound better, though.”

John laughed. It was not a good sound. “Everything… too bright, hot, cold, smooth, jagged, sharp, swallowing, choking, wrong.”

“Gods. It sounds miserable.” Hastur tried to explain it; after so long with only human sight and horrifically muted other senses, even magical, John was overstimulated to a level mortals could not comprehend. He would adapt; he had to, as part of managing his power and newly renewed strength. So Hastur said.

Arthur believed it. Whatever he was going through (a dented soul, which Hastur swore was filling in just fine) couldn’t compare to this.

“I miss you,” John groaned, and from the sound of it had mashed his mouth to the glass before speaking.

“I miss you, too.” And he wasn’t sleeping. At all. “It's not the same without you.” Seventy-three steps to breakfast, but Faroe wasn’t there, and half the time Odd wasn’t there, and Parker was there but Hastur was hit or miss, and it fell like seventy-three steps of falling apart.

“Soon,” John promised, and opened other mouths to echo and harmonize with his strident vow. “Soon! Soon! Soon!” And then he laughed again, dissonant, a multi-mouth symphony of storm.

Arthur sank to his knees (hearing the rubber-wet squeal of limbs on glass as John followed him). “Soon. Soon. Soon.”

#

Fifty-nine steps to his room (and he absolutely knew Hastur had moved the “nursery” closer because these halls were as familiar as his own body, and that had not been there). Two hundred and forty-nine to his music room, where somehow, he had to write something celebrating John’s birth while bearing a dent in his soul.

Well. It wasn’t a new dent. Apparently, they’d both been in the business of mutilating themselves to ensure the other stuck around, and wasn’t that a fun thing to think about early in the morning?

Arthur didn’t know what that might mean. He knew it sounded terrible, and he’d try to argue anyone in this position out of what was clearly a poisonous relationship. But anyone else wouldn’t understand. This wasn’t poison. It had to be that way. They’d saved each other.

Arthur didn’t regret it.

He also didn’t regret John finally having a body of his own (though he missed the inevitable end of all the seduction stuff now that he was… not open, but… maybe curious). He didn’t even regret the pain, as awful as it had been to give birth (and silently, he apologized again to Bella).

He regretted being alone.

Faroe was gone. Odd was… unwell, somehow. Hastur was super busy. Parker and Sunny had their own shit to work out—Sunny was too small to do this; there was no way even the Mother knew to place him in a body without him slipping away and into death. So. Sunny would never have what John had, and that… yeah, Arthur didn’t know how to handle that. That was Parker’s mess. Which meant this was Arthur’s mess, and Arthur didn’t even know what this was.

He was lonely. So, so lonely.

He would have sworn, even two days before, that he was fine being alone. He thought he’d been alone most of his life, since his parents died and he’d learned the hard way how bad it was to grieve. Through his stubborn need to protect himself, he’d been alone with Parker, alone with Bella, even alone with John. At least, he thought he had, protecting his heart for when the inevitable happened.

It turned out he’d had no idea what “alone” really meant. Or maybe it was just the dent in his soul making his heart ache like that. Who knew?

For the first time in more years than he could count, he really wanted a drink.

He placed his hands on the unseen keys and did not play. The left one still felt weird as all hell, if he were honest, and reminded him of when he’d fractured his hand falling out of a tree. When he’d finally gotten the cast off, his hand felt like someone else’s.

It was someone else’s. But that someone had enough hands (and dicks, apparently) to keep him busy for a while.

Arthur had to write something. It had to be joyous. Hastur said it didn’t have to be new, and Arthur could put whatever the hell he wanted in there, including other people’s music, because all that mattered was appearances, but Arthur couldn’t do that.

Not for John. Not for what this meant. This had to be so fucking triumphant that angels spontaneously combusted into existence so they could sing John’s praise.

Arthur wanted John to be happy. He wanted John to know he was happy.

(He did not want John to know how lonely this was. John finally had a shot at his own life, his own path, and there was no chance in fuck Arthur would get in the way of that.)

He wrote nothing. He sat at the piano in weird and echoed silence as long as he could stand, then closed the lid and left the room.

#

Two hundred and thirty steps to the dining room.

Parker and Sunny: check. He could hear them muttering. Hastur: not-check. Arthur could feel (Feel! What a cheap word, a useless word, an inadequate word for what this was) Hastur’s location, as well as John’s; could feel the tug from both their marks in two different places. Could even, if he concentrated like he never had in his life, feel the very surface-level temperature of how they emotionally were.

(Not great, as it turned out. Not. Great.)

No Faroe, but there wouldn’t be until she got this out of her system. He told himself she would and hadn’t randomly decided to hate everybody. For fuck’s sake, he’d been a teenager once, but… he hadn’t had any adults in his life who loved him, so he wasn’t sure how to navigate this. It certainly had never been modeled to him.

Larson wasn’t here. At least one thing was going right today.

“You look like shit,” Parker said with forced cheer.

“Yeah,” said Arthur, who couldn’t sleep (and that was the least of his troubles).

“You okay, English?” said Parker, softer.

What the hell could he say? He and John didn’t have what Parker and Sunny had, so he couldn’t use losing that to draw a comparison. “I don’t know? It’s all new territory.”

“Mm,” said Parker, which could mean anything as Arthur could not see his face. “You sure you don’t want any help? We’re still offering.”

No, Parker was offering. Sunny agreed because he loved Parker, but this situation wasn’t a good one for them to sit in too long. “Thank you, but I don’t need it yet. Now… right now, I’m… I…”

“You’re without your companion, English,” said Parker the way he always said things, just so straightforward, without any of the attitude a guy could use as an excuse to get mad about it. “You don’t gotta do it all alone.”

“I do,” said Arthur through clenched teeth. “John does, too.”

“No, you don’t. Neither of you do,” said Parker.

Arthur went rigid. “You don’t know what we’re going through.” (He knew that wasn’t fair, but he hadn’t slept in days, and he was so alone, and—)

No, Sunny agreed in a whisper. And we never will.

Arthur snapped. “Good.” He stood, deciding food was for the birds. “I hope you never do because it’s hell, all right? I don’t regret it because he would have died—”

“So would you,” said Parker.

Arthur drove right over that. “—but it is absolutely fucking hell, and I wouldn’t wish it on someone I hated, never mind my family! All right? You don’t know!”

Nobody rose to the bait. “Mm,” said Parker. “Don’t gotta know why a guy fell down to lend a hand back up.”

Arthur wanted to hit him and absolutely had no right to do it, and knew he’d have to apologize later, and felt awful for what he must be representing to Sunny (blowing it again), but he couldn’t seem to stop. “Maybe a guy doesn’t want a damn hand.”

Parker’s clothes made a sound as if he’d raised both hands to say peace. “Suit yourself.”

So that temper tantrum had gone absolutely nowhere, and now Arthur was too embarassed to stay. “I’ll… see you later.” Seventy-three steps—

He is suffering, Sunny said behind him.

“Yeah,” said Parker. “I know I’d be.”

Sunny said nothing more, because maybe he still thought this would be worth the trade. Arthur didn’t know. Arthur couldn’t tell. Seventy-three steps to his room, where he could sit on his bed and stare at darkness and hear no stories and have no conversation and share no moments, silent or filled.

He couldn’t do this forever, could he?

What if John… what if John finally came back to sanity, and preferred the company of his own kind? It would make sense, wouldn’t it? To grow apart now, for John to continue his incredible maturation, to find themselves on different paths?

(Really wanted a drink, just one good shot of whiskey or something to take the edge off this.)

All right, all right. He knew that wouldn’t happen. John would never just abandon him… but that didn’t mean he shouldn’t.

Arthur already knew he wasn’t going to be able to rest. Birds chirped outside; the breeze was sweet. He decided to find his way to the water gardens on his own.

#

The gardens had clearly been redesigned again. All memorized routes were null.

He walked slowly, hands out, stubbornly trying to navigate via the tops of prickly bushes. This would be fun, damn it. A damned adventure. A damned time he could have on his damned own. A damned moment—

He stopped. The nursery was far away, fully sound and shock and magic proofed, but he could still feel John needing him.

Arthur went back inside at a run.

He hit a wall, corrected, ran again, hit another wall, stopped, unsure just where the fuck he was in this fucking labrynthian palace, and felt it again: that call from John.

He ran. Arms in front of his face, he ran, yelling when he found obstacles, yelling to get people out of his way, and encountered scents he never had before in his entire time here, and sounds completely unfamiliar, and at least one crash of multiple dishes, and so many surprised OH! cries that he wanted to laugh and start a collection, and—

He somehow entirely missed that he’d gotten to the nursery until he crashed into the glass.

It was… warm.

“Arthur?” John sounded amazed.

Arthur panted, pressing into it, unable to get closer, wondering why the glass was so warm, hearing the now-familiar squeaking of John sliding who knew what against that glass. “I’m here! I’m here!”

John’s laugh was the amazed levity of a child discovering magic. “You heard it! You came!”

“I… heard? I didn’t hear anything, John! I just knew you needed me.”

“I did,” panted John. “I do. I do. I called you. I did it!” He laughed again, wheezy and exhausted.

So this was a mark thing? Arthur sighed and sank to the floor, leaning against the glass. “You could’ve asked in the normal way, you wacko. I thought something was wrong.”

“It was. You weren’t here.” John thumped the glass.

The vibrations were strange. The glass was very warm. Uncomfortably warm. Arthur tilted his face away from it. “I’m here now.”

“Not. Close. Enough,” said John in a calm tone, and commanded Arthur to come to him.

Arthur gasped.

Oh, clarity, washing away confusion and distress and doubt! Oh, clarity, leaving nothing but the need to reach John! Oh, clarity, soothing his heart to peace.

“Come on,” said John, pressed to the glass, which was hot enough now to sizzle whatever fluids he’d left on it. “Come to me. You can do it. They’ll let you in. Come to me, Arthur.”

Arthur stood, breathing hard, unsure. He didn’t know how to get to John; he’d been given the impression that there was nothing so banal as a door to walk through. He rushed left and right, hands seeking, and found no opening. He pounded on the hot, weirdly gummy glass with his fists. “I can’t.” (He had to! Nothing else mattered but what John wanted!) “I can't! I don't know how!”

(Tug, tug, John pulling on his heart like dragging him through half-dry cement—)

“Arthur, I understand,” said John tenderly. “Then I will come to you.”

A weird, slow cracking, sticky like honeycomb breaking, and Arthur thrilled at the knowledge he could obey soon,  readied to plunge right in, tensing to leap to John and fulfill—

Hastur arrived like a storm, and everything went to pieces.

The glass shattered with a tearing sound as though John had half-melted it into something new. Hastur’s bellow sent Arthur into a state of daze, unable to think, unable to comprehend what was happening or what Hastur and John were yelling about, and he was only vaguely aware that Hastur had grabbed him around the middle, holding him high above the ground.

And deep inside, he felt the two marks as distinct, discrete, not at all almost-like, and why? Because they were pulling him in two very different directions.

This did not feel so great.

True clarity returned like snow down the back of his shirt. What… had just happened?

MINE

YOU WILL KILL HIM

That’s what they were yelling about?

It was. And (the tug did not feel good) he knew now what had happened, what John had done, and for the second time today, he snapped. “You fucking swayed me?” he yelled at the top of his lungs.

Hastur went quiet.

“I had to!” John cried. “You weren’t doing it!”

His heart hurt like a bruise. He couldn’t see John. He was sure John didn’t have a face to make expressions right now, but the miserable doubling-down still gave an impression of desperately guilty scowls.

Arthur scowled back. “You motherfucker!”

“John doesn’t know what he’s doing right now,” said Hastur softly. “He needs time.”

“Time!” This had already been one of the worst weeks of his life, and he hadn’t slept in days, and also hadn’t eaten, and John had just violated his trust whether or not John was responsible for it. “How dare you!”

John made a rapidly-retreating slapping sound.

“Don’t you dare run from me!” Arthur declared, gripping Hastur’s enormous hand around his waist and leaning forward to project. “Don’t you dare! You get your ass back here and talk about it! I don’t even care if you have an ass yet!”

“You weren’t doing what I wanted,” John argued from behind a couch or a piece of wall or who knew what, and came no closer.

“I don’t care! You bloody well know I don’t like to be pushed! What the hell is the matter with you?”

Hastur sighed. “Arthur. He doesn’t know what he’s doing. He can’t even define what he’s doing. He can’t even look in the same direction with all his eyes yet. He’s a mess. He lacks an ego, if you want to use human terminology, and right now is pure id. He can’t even recall with any consistency that to touch you will kill you.”

Arthur’s sigh was so heavy. “Damn it. It’s always something with him.”

That had not come out the way he meant.

Silence in its wake.

“I’m sorry,” said Arthur. “That wasn’t fair.”

John didn’t seem to know how to receive an apology any more than he knew how to give one. “You weren’t here. I had to call you.” He sounded pitiful.

“Will you calm the fuck down if I stay where you can see me?” said Arthur.

“Maybe,” John allowed.

“John,” said Hastur. “Look.”

Silence.

Arthur frowned. “What’s he seeing?”

John suddenly screamed.

It was a different sound than it had been in his head. It didn’t hurt the way his anger had before (which Arthur now recognized as stretching his very self dangerously taut as if to shove him from his body). But wow, that was… not a mortal’s scream. Arthur cried out, gripping his head.

“For fuck’s sake,” said Hastur, and healed Arthur’s bleeding ears.

“What the hell just happened?” Arthur said between clenched teeth.

“He sees what his unwise little ‘call’ did to you.”

“Did to me? It pissed me off,” said Arthur.

“And led to numerous bruises, scrapes, and—thanks to him breaking the glass—cuts,” said Hastur.

Arthur hadn’t felt any of it. Well, now he did. “Oh.”

“I couldn’t see him,” said John like the saddest sad boy. “I wanted to see him.”

“Now, you see him,” said Hastur more patience than Arthur would have predicted, and began rebuilding the nursery. “You owe the nurses an apology.”

“Sorry, nurses,” John said, absolutely sullen. “I can handle it. Give him to me now.”

“No,” said Hastur. “He would definitely die.”

“He wouldn’t!”

“Did you mean to break the glass?”

A triumphant snarl. “Yes!”

“So you meant to slice him up.”

Arthur winced. Yeah, come to think of it, glass could do a number on a guy. He laughed weakly. “More scars. Great.”

“Not this time,” said Hastur quietly.

Arthur didn’t know how to feel about that.

“No, I didn’t… that won’t happen again!” said John.

“It best not, or I swear, next time, you’re getting locked in a place designed to hold Great Old Ones,” Hastur threatened.

“You don’t have to lock him away,” Arthur mumbled.

“I will not let him kill you and then have to deal with the fallout from that until the end of time,” snapped Hastur.

Maybe Arthur wasn’t the only one who was tired. “I don’t think I can compose for this.”

Hastur sighed; truth soured the silence. “Yes. Of course not. It was unfair of me to request it.”

“No, it made sense, I mean… we’re supposed to be celebrating,” Arthur said bitterly.

“And we will be—but as everyone believes you have given birth to my son, and indeed, you literally have—”

“You don’t have to say it.”

“—I believe the Court can excuse some recovery time on your part. I suspect half of them will believe you’ve gone mad, anyway.”

Lovely. “Great…”

“There. All repaired,” said Hastur, and put Arthur down.

His cuts and whatever else seemed better, too. Arthur reached up and found more glass.

“Can I trust you two not to be complete idiots in my absence?” Hastur said dryly. “The delegation from Kartoun is here, and requires delicate handling.”

“Could you feel it when he betrayed my fucking trust?” Arthur said, just because.

“Yes—because you were suddenly being pulled away from my will.”

“I’m not in your will,” said Arthur, defiant.

“Mm. Well, John?”

“Yes,” said John, barely audible. “If he stays.”

“I can stay. It’s fine.”

“He won’t be able to melt this,” said Hastur, and left.

Arthur sighed and slid to the floor, leaning on the glass.

On the other side, the weird, wet, pat-pat-pat of John’s new locomotion brought him closer.

There was silence for a long moment. And of course, it was broken by John crying.

Arthur sighed again. “Are you all right?”

“I don’t know why I’m doing these things, but I can't seem to stop,” John said, stuffy. “I know I’m wrong. I'm sorry, Arthur.”

Gods. That deflated any remaining anger at once. Arthur rested his head against the cool glass. “You can’t help it right now. Hastur made it really clear: you’ve gone from… pretty much no input at all to everything, more than everything, all at once. It’s a wonder you’re not insane.”

“Maybe I am insane.” Squeaky sounds; John was rubbing the glass with limbs again.

“You’re not,” said Arthur. “I…”

“What?”

Arthur swallowed.

“What?”

“I understand.”

John scoffed. “How the fuck could you understand?”

“Because after I lost Faroe, I drowned myself in alcohol,” said Arthur, and chose not to add how badly he wanted a sip of Parker’s legendary god-booze right now. “And one of the reasons I did it was because it removed any inhibitions I might have had, including saving my own life. I had no control over myself when I was in my cups. I picked fights with anyone. It wasn’t good, though it was what I wanted. I really hoped someone would just… put me out of my misery.”

John rumbled. “I suppose Parker came along at the right time.”

“He didn’t,” said Arthur. “He was just… the right Parker. I don’t think anyone else in Arkham could’ve saved me from myself then.” And he definitely owed Parker and Sunny an apology, too. “Fuck,” he muttered, rubbing his face, and shifted his weight.

“Don’t!” John said. “Don’t go! Don’t go. No. Don’t go.”

“I will eventually, you know. I can’t just live on the floor.”

“Why not? The nurses could bring you a bed,” said John reasonably.

Arthur laughed. “Sure. I’ll just… live here. In an empty waiting room. I suppose I’ll have a wash basin, too?”

“I mean, yes,” said John. “You have to. Humans get very smelly.”

Arthur laughed again. “The hell, John.”

“You do!”

“I’m sure gods do, as well.”

“Have you ever smelled Hastur smelling bad?” said John defiantly.

“Hastur’s a weirdo who likes nice smells,” said Arthur. “Some of them are horrid. I’ve been to your damned weekly parties, remember?”

“That’s not the same thing,” said John. “That’s on purpose.”

“Eau de puke is on purpose?” Arthur grinned.

“Shut up.”

Arthur chuckled and leaned against the glass.

John fell silent. So did Arthur. His unseeing eyes drooped; it was quiet here, in the nursery. All he could hear was his breathing, John’s occasional weird mumble, and the whisper of diaphanous cloth worn by nurses sworn to silence.

I could sleep here, Arthur thought, and wondered if maybe he could ask for a cot. Or at least a pillow. John needed him here, after all. “Excuse me,” he said, getting the attention of whoever was nearby.

Minutes later, he had a pillow the size of a single mattress, stuffed with (he’d been assured) human-safe goose-down, pressed against the glass. Climbing on top of the thing was incredible. Shedding his shoes and settling into this soft, warm embrace (which immediately shaped itself to support his whole body) was bliss. Oh, he thought. He wasn’t going to last long. “I think I should sleep,” he said.

“As long as you don't go,” said John.

“I’m not going, you big baby,” Arthur murmured, and drifted to sleep for the first time since they’d been in the Wood.

He didn’t even try to tell himself that John’s presence wasn't the reason why.

[starwalker03]

You’re a bartender? Assign drinks to some of your favorite characters

ooooooooooooooof. wait.

because like. is this what I think they'd like? what I think "represents" them? what I think they'd order? there's too many options here and I have not been a bartender for long enough to know enough drinks.

My favourite characters? damn. I immediately forgot every blorbo I have lmao.

Nightwing's gotta be first. He's complicated cause I'd imagine all the batkids are trained by batman to be weary of alcohol because it impedes brain function. He probably sticks to low percentage things in general. I'm pretty sure he's also canonically a sweet tooth? and if not I think he would be. So I don't think he's a beer guy. Probably when he was younger and that's just What You Do when you're that age and start drinking cause you think 'I'm a guy so i gotta drink beer'. once he's older I figure he's more of a mixer guy, like hard soda, cruisers, that kind of thing. still one drink per serve, not super strong, mostly sugar.

If he's in a situation where he's all for getting drunk and is comfortable doing so, I can see him as a cocktails guy. He strikes me as a jalapeno margarita type. I don't think he's big into shots or anything cause he's still got that ingrained discomfort, but y'know, sweet things that are two standard drinks and only about 100mLs all up.

Honourable mention to Wally West cause I can't think of one without the other right now.

Wally can't get drunk. So to him the most important thing here is taste. I think he's a sweet tooth type. french martini or one of those fruit tingle type situations. Maybe like, a frozen drink? I could see him liking pina coladas. If this is a getting drunk situation and he's trying to get drunk quick, I could see him being the type to order a long island iced tea, even though it's usually only made with a shot and a half in most bars and is a huge red flag. eventually someone would tell him he's wasting time and taste buds, cause long islands are served in a highball and honestly taste like crap.

Okay so Kaldur'ahm. Kaldur'Ahm and alcohol is a thought.

I feel like alcohol isn't a huge thing in Atlantis, like most beverages, cause they're in the water. I can't get into world building about dining and such in an underwater setting right now cause I'll be here for hours. But I think drinking isn't a big thing down there yknow? Then on top of that, Kaldur has a high tolerance to poisons (I think young justice just says jellyfish toxin? but I feel like poison in general makes sense for him) so alcohol takes a lot for him.

I feel like he discovers mead and really likes it. there's some really interesting things you can do with mead, especially with saltier palettes, that I think Kaldur, being Atlantean, would appreciate.

When out partying, though, I think he just does shots. cause if he's just drinking to get drunk then what's the point, y'know? just give him some vodka, preferably like three shots of the stuff in one go, and he's good.

man. Favourite characters. hmmmm.

Hiccup Haddock. So he's a viking, like. mead is already on the table. looking at modern drinks, though. going off of mead being something he probably canonically likes. we're looking at sweet but also bitterness from the aging process and a depth of flavour. I think he'd be into scotch, similar depth to flavour and palette, with a smoky edge to it that I think is very "viking core" or whatever. being a dragon rider and all he's probably used to smokiness in food/drink. I'd make him a good riff on an old-fashioned with scotch instead of bourbon, and maybe something with honey and orange bitters as well. that kinda flavour profile.

Leonardo, of mutant ninja turtle fame, is a thought.

I mean it depends on the iteration. I'm mostly familiar with 2012, 2007 and 2018 (stares at word doc of fic where I mix all three) and I feel like all three of them wouldn't be huge drinkers. but if they were to drink, I'd go with a warm cocktail, perhaps with a tea base. those are very fun. whiskey-honey-chamomile or something of the sort. or perhaps fruity teas with tequila or rum.

Merlin, of BBC's Merlin show, already is seen to be drinking ale in the show. I don't think he hates it. Ale of the time wouldn't have bee particularly great, but he seems to drink it without complaint for the most part.

beers and ales have come a long way and I think he could definitely find something he liked from amber or dark ales, perhaps even as far as guineas. If asked to make him a cocktail, though, I'd try for something bitter, possibly gin-based? in my experience some of those can be interestingly dry. or maybe a highball topped with cider? oooh maybe a moscow mule would be the vibe. sub the mint for rosemary and add a really dry ginger syrup in? or cut the lime juice with ginger juice or something like that.

I could keep thinking of blorbos but I'd be here all night.

[patowrd]

anyways, dando fic snippet pt. 2 (slight nsfw warning but i've left out most of it here 😌)

they stumble through the marble-floored lobby to the kitchen, and daniel feels like electrified, his whole body thrumming as he follows lando. lando hoists himself up on the kitchen counter, daniel smirking as he examines the labels of various liqueurs and bitters with furrowed brows. “what’s this for?” he asks, picking up daniel’s zippo and letting it dance between his hands as he observes its cold steel case.

“smoking aromatics” daniel says, “orange peels, the like.” and he trails off as he turns to the glassware he’s started polishing: currently, two highball crystal glasses worth enough to cover a third of his rent back home.

“god, my dad had one of these when i was a kid,” lando says, still in awe at the silver lighter, “i always used to want to learn tricks,” and daniel watches the lighter twirl in lando’s palms and between his fingers before he lights it momentarily, leaving him wishing to be as pliant for his touch, as receptive to his fondling. 

he extends a hand and smirks, “come on, sweetheart, hand it over.”

he knows it’s dangerous, this game he’s playing, but he’s too satisfied with himself to stop. the nickname seems to give him an upper hand, to make lando blush more than he knows what to do with. and what’s the use of a secret weapon if he doesn’t get a bit of fun. 

“what’re we thinking as a starter?” he leans back against the island and watches lando, sat on the counter opposite him. he notices the golden edge of his tan, the way his thighs under his trunks go from gold to white in the places where he has not let the sun linger. there is something bitter about how sunkissed lando looks, something tantalising about the way he peers into daniel’s eyes and smirks before he talks.

“you’re the boss. surprise me, bartender.”

it knocks the wind out of his lungs. daniel obliges.

for himself he churns out a quick g&t, something crude and boozy which he knows will at least be halfway sippable. it doesn’t matter what he drinks, he’s there to serve, to observe. it’s lando who’s being treated to a tasting course, to a class in what’s good on the tongue, what’s pleasurable.

for him, he makes a paper plane. it’s bittersweet in the mouth, amaros and lemons sticking to the palate as you sip. he thinks of it as emblematic, a portrait in a drink. 

he sips at his own glass and watches, amused, as lando tentatively tastes, his red tongue darting out to lick his lips. daniel clears his throat. 

“your girlfriend won’t mind me stealing you, i hope?” it’s tentative, a little something to gauge how lando reacts to outward flirting, but it sends daniel’s heart flying as if he’s just finished a double marathon.

lando chuckles, and takes a slow (so slow! daniel thinks, so cruelly deliberately slow!) sip of his drink before he answers, “i don’t even think she’ll notice i left”

daniel’s eyes widen, his fingers nearly slipping off of his glass as the condensation pools beneath his fingertips, “how?” and after a sip, “i’d be glued to you if i was her.”

“god, i wish you’d let her know that.”

for a moment it’s silent, the only thing cutting through the static being the muffled noise of the music on the beach, and then lando takes another sip and smiles at daniel, “s’not bad, really, kinda sweet.”

daniel smiles with all his teeth, his adam’s apple bobbing up and down as he laughs, “ah, see, i knew you’d like it.”

for the second drink, daniel twists a lemon peel in a way that makes lando gasp (“you can see the spray!) and scrunch his face into a grimace (too bitter, too strong). it’s endearing how expressive he is when he lets himself unwind a bit, how eager and excited he gets watching daniel use the shaker “like a real bartender” or make up fancy descriptions for rum and cokes and vodka sodas. soon enough they’re both a little gone, the alcohol tinting their cheeks matching shades of ruby red as they giggle about incomprehensible jokes. it flows easily, the conversation, and daniel barely registers the way that he positions his body, always inching towards lando’s, or how he climbs up next to him on the counter, or how, while laughing, he sets his hand down on lando’s inexplicably bare shoulder.

the room smells sweet and earthy, the remnants of various drinks lending their aromas to the air and to lando’s scent. it’s something sandy, salty, like he’s been sweating under crystal clear waves. it shouldn’t be so wounding, daniel thinks, shouldn’t make him want to put his fist in his mouth and bite down hard. he moves his hand away from lando’s shoulder, and he’s about to jump down from the counter to start polishing glasses with his back turned again when he feels lando’s hand gently press into the top of his thigh.

it takes a minute for daniel to settle down, but when he does he notices the shift in the atmosphere, the way that everything feels hot, the way his blood feels as it rushes past his ears with every quickening beat of his heart. he marvels at how warm lando’s touch is. searing, he thinks, something like a brand he’ll wear forever on his skin. 

“god, you make this so difficult,” daniel says. it’s barely above a whisper, the words sticking to the back of his throat even as he says them. all possibilities now feel too distant yet too near. if daniel wanted to, he could bend down and place a kiss in the crook of lando’s ear, or where a mole adorns his sweaty collarbone, or… daniel realizes the options are endless, that he knows precisely what he’s feeling, and for fear of calling the feeling lust he’d rather not name it at all

“do i?” and lando’s fingers start tracing the outlines of daniel’s tattoos, inching delicately towards the flower on his inner thigh. “don’t you?”

both are looking down at daniel’s thighs now, lando’s pale fingernails tracing circles across his skin, stopping only to tug at the hem of his black shorts.

“i just do what you’re thinking,” and pressing his hand flat against daniel’s skin he smiles, the tips of his fingers just barely beneath the black fabric, “no one else is home, you know? they’re all down at the beach.”

daniel inches closer, now looking deep into lando’s eyes. he’s breathless, wordless, unable to think critically about the fact that the door is unlocked, that the others could come home at any time. he’s focused, mostly, on the rich pink of lando’s lips, on the way that his lashes gently flutter as he blinks slow, his pupils dilated wide. lando’s gaze is innocent now, almost reverent, as if he’s asking daniel to show him something good, something holy.

so daniel obliges and leans in.