#having deceptively short legs kind of sucks

[sonsband]

got called "the beast of the night" by the coach for how intense I was during a couple rounds of straight boxing and got the boys to admit how scary it was to fight me. this is the way of the hampster.

[aranarumei]

something there.

hello shiramiya fans. got inspired by ch 51 to write something. it is under the cut but you can also read it on ao3

—

On some level, Shirahama’s always been aware that he’s weak-willed. But this—this feels like something else. “Tashiro,” he says. “I'm going to slack off.”

“For the last time, I'm not—what?” Tashiro cuts his complaint short, turning to face Shirahama with a searching look.

Whatever this is, it sucks, that’s for sure. He grits his teeth. “I'm just—I have to dip out for a second.”

“Huh,” Tashiro says, the word suffused with both carelessness and judgement. His eyes flicker around their surroundings, and he adds, “Okay. It's not too busy, anyways… did you ask—”  

“I already asked Karasubara.”

“Then what are you still doing here?”

It’s a good question, but it’s not one that has an answer. It’s just—it probably isn’t anything serious, but Miyano hadn’t looked great, and what if it is serious? Even if his boyfriend’s taking care of him, it’ll be good for Miyano’s classmates to know how he’s doing. And that way he—they—won't worry.

“I don't know,” he says, and because he’s vindictive: “Why didn't you compete in the crossdressing contest this year? You seemed so pumped about it last time.”

Tashiro's hands stray to his hair, and he twirls a loose strand around his fingers. It vaguely strikes Shirahama that it’s not dissimilar to one of the sprites of the sporty basketball girl he’d romanced last week. “I didn't want to shave my leg hair,” he says, even though last year Miyano hadn’t shown a single inch of his leg.

Tashiro’s just non-committal like that, Shirahama supposes—even now, he likes to act as if his ping pong captaincy just “happened” like an accident. He's spent three long-suffering years on the basketball team—he knows the apathy Tashiro unintentionally or purposefully projects is deceptive.

“What are you waiting for?” Tashiro asks, pulling him out of his thoughts. “Go.”

It’s enough of a push, and crucially: it feels like enough of an excuse.

—

There are too many people inside this school. Shirahama can hear Tashiro's voice in his head still, the strange wry twist that he'd clearly picked up from someone else, paired with his evergreen bluntness—what did you think was going to happen at a cultural festival?

I wasn't thinking, he replies in his head, aware that it's a horribly strange conversation to be having, and the kind of shameless, setup-to-punchline answer he'd never give in real life. But when he'd thought about the decorations, he'd mostly thought about having something that would look nice, feel nice, and have their class at ease. He hadn't been thinking about all the other people that would be milling about.

If they're staring at him, he certainly isn't going to chance making eye contact. So he ducks his head and soldiers on towards the relatively isolated nurse’s office, and in a sudden fit of bravery pauses for only a moment before opening the door. That courage immediately leaves him when the door opens with a sharp creak and he startles, hold almost slipping from the doorknob, but it's the pathetic thought that counts. Or something.

As he's about to slip in and shut the door behind him, a rustle sounds from one of the beds. The breath leaves Shirahama's chest, and he watches as Miyano's boyfriend—Sasaki, that was his name—emerges from the curtains, hair wild in a way that reads more like “bedhead” than “artfully tousled”—not that he'd say it was ever artful, but he's got no place to be critiquing Miyano's boyfriend's hairstyle…

—and speaking of. Sasaki’s staring at him. He sure is tall—for a moment Shirahama wonders why he'd never played basketball, but it’s the kind of wonder that’s paired with utter relief at the nonexistent situation. Then he feels very strange about that thought until Sasaki, with the sedate aura of someone who’s just woken up, blinks at him as if to communicate something.

Shirahama stares back, caught like a deer in headlights.

“Close it quietly,” Sasaki says. Shirahama finally re-registers that his hand is hanging slack on the doorknob. “He's sleeping.” His voice is low, smooth, and deliberately softened to the point that Shirahama has to strain to hear it.

He wavers in the still-open entrance; his legs don't let him run away. The door closes with a soft click, but it may as well be a marching drum.

“I just… came to check in on him,” Shirahama says, too many beats late, careful to pitch his voice just above a whisper. He's not sure he manages. It's the “too many people” thing again, only concentrated—somehow, he’s the one out-of-place in a school he's attended for two and a half years.

Sasaki nods. “Thanks for looking out.”

“Oh… no problem.” He represses the urge to throw up his hands in a sign of “I come in peace,” but he doesn’t know what else to do with them, so they hang limply and indecisively in front of him. Miyano's boyfriend is—it would be rude to say that he's scary, because he's seen the way he acts around Miyano, who doesn't seem to think he’s anything close to intimidating, but he's also Miyano's boyfriend, a term that feels—he shouldn't say it's strange. It shouldn't be any stranger than Kuresawa's girlfriend—bad example, because Kuresawa’s so weird, and Shirahama’s suddenly, overwhelmingly relieved that Miyano doesn’t make hour-long professions of his love—but the thought rests uncomfortably in his head. It's like there's an itch he doesn't know how to scratch.

Sasaki takes the time to inspect him now, squinting at him with a look that’s not akin to judgement but does feel like some kind of thing, and Shirahama would be embarrassed about his inarticulacy if he wasn't already beyond embarrassed with himself. Though he's always hated the feeling of assessment, he does his best to not squirm under Sasaki’s gaze. What Sasaki's likely remembering is the strange hanger-on to Tashiro's high-five run and jump, but even if that's banal in comparison to, say, the date-spying—which is mortifying in retrospect and has given him an eternal respect towards Hanzawa, though he’ll never vocalize this to anyone for fear of the result—something about recognition is just sour.

“Ah,” Sasaki finally says, snapping a cord of tension in Shirahama's shoulders. “You're on the basketball team.”

A strange flush scatters across his neck. “You remembered that?” His voice cracks at the last word, and he tacks on a whispered “Sorry!” that Sasaki accepts without fanfare.

A light shrug. “Just happened to.”

Shirahama throws his memory back to the interaction. He remembers the stray basketball, for sure, but on review something clicks into place. “…Kagiura, right?” His voice settles. “You were looking for him.”

At that, Sasaki falls silent.

Shirahama almost offers to call up Kagiura, but they're not particularly close, and Sasaki's expression doesn't really read as “excited” or “pleased.” In fact it's kind of reading as “ticked off,” which doesn't bode well, because he's pretty sure that if he got into a fight with Miyano's boyfriend, he'd lose. Embarrassingly.

Then, delivered in an unsettlingly flat voice: “I don't know him.”

“What?”

“Kagiura,” Sasaki clarifies, who indeed does say his teammate's name like he's never said those syllables in that order before. Come to think of it, he had called Kagiura by some kind of nickname, hadn't he? “I just… knew of him. Was just curious,” he mumbles.

“He does always get a bunch of confessions on Valentine's day,” Shirahama grumbles on instinct. Then he realizes there's a lot of terrible implications to that routine complaint and backtracks. “Not that—”

“He's popular?”

He feels, suddenly—not actually suddenly but an ebbing and flowing always—wrong-footed. “…Yeah?”  Huh, Miyano's boyfriend is kind of a weird guy. Whether this thought puts Sasaki squarely in the space of “not scary” is debatable. But it is some kind of comfort.

There’s a rustling sound by the bed. The room falls silent in an instant, and Shirahama finds that he’s locked eyes with Sasaki. Something like meaning almost passes through there, but before Miyano's boyfriend can say something about needing him to be silent, or his unnecessary check-in, or his unwelcome presence, Shirahama tumbles out excuses in rush of whispers. “I’ve still got to help out with the festival—just thought I’d check—I’m sure you have it handled—I’m going to—I'll go.”

He stumbles out of the office, thankful he hadn’t even taken two steps past the entrance, and closes the door as quietly as he can. His mouth is so dry he’s not sure any of those words he'd said were audible. It’s entirely likely he stood there, gaping and sputtering like a dying fish, before running away.

No one's there to look at his expression and tell him. Shirahama's glad for it and the fact that there's no mirrors in the hallway—the last person he wants to look at is himself.

[bendingthelaws]

12

The last time we saw Karsten & Serena

The drive to the morgue is over, now what...

There was a slightly awkward silence for the last few blocks to the morgue.  Karsten was kicking himself for being too forward, or at least he felt he had been.  He knew she had been hanging out with Keegan at Kelleher’s, and he couldn’t pretend he didn’t know how his friend felt about the woman.  Keegan knew how he felt too, and it hadn’t stopped him from trying to have a relationship with her.  Regardless, Karsten wasn’t about to say or do anything more that would make her uncomfortable. Finally they pulled into the underground parking at the morgue.  Parking between two of the removal vans, he turned the engine off.  “Hold on, I’ll come around and help you out with that.”  He gave Serena a smile before unlocking the truck and hopping out of his side.  As if the morning hadn’t started bad enough, he’d just made it suck more and be uncomfortable at the same time.  Way to go Karsten!

Opening her door, he offered to take the cooler again.  “Here, we’ll do it reverse.  What do you say?”

The look in Karsten’s eyes when he’d said he wouldn’t hurt her had stopped Serena’s heart.  He meant it, but not just as a friend.  Not that she’d been oblivious to how he’d felt before, but it had been so clear that she couldn’t ignore it.  Just like she couldn’t ignore how Keegan felt either.   She was so messed up in the head and heart, there was a part of her that wanted both of them.

The silence had killed her those last few blocks, so when they pulled in, she’d been relieved that it would be over.  She just hadn’t known what to say, and she was sure that Karsten probably thought that she was blowing him off.  It was all such a mess, and it was all her fault.  It just made her hate Rob more for what he’d done, his deception, and his sudden disappearance.

Looking down at Karsten after he’d opened her door, she handed the cooler over, and started to get out.  This is when their height difference became apparent and slightly humorous.  “Good lord, Karsten, I feel like I’m going to have to jump down.  You need a step or something for those of us with short legs.”  She looked over at him and laughed as she tried to figure out the best way to do this without falling.  The last thing she needed was to jump down and end up falling, possibly hurting herself. That would really make the morning complete.

“Hold on, doc.”  He laughed and had her turn sideways as he slid the cooler into the floorboard of the passenger seat.  “It’s not that high, Rena.  You’re just not used to it, yet.”  The last word was a wish of his, but he kept his tone light so it didn’t seem like he was hitting on her again.  “Here, I’ll help you down.”  He reached up and put a hand on each side of her waist, picking her up out of the truck and taking a step back before setting her down on the ground.  “See, not that bad.” He gave her a wink and a smirk, but how close they were wasn’t lost on him. 

For a moment it was hard for him to breathe, their bodies brushing seeming to send an electric charge over him. Looking down into her dark eyes that seemed to pull him in had him transfixed.  His mouth seemed overly dry, his lungs tight, and he wasn’t sure if he could have pulled away if he wanted to.  She certainly had some effect on him, and he wondered if he even had a drop of that kind of effect on her.

A soft blush rising to her cheeks as she could feel the weight of his gaze, Serena gave a soft laugh. “I should have known that I could count on my favorite detective to help me out of a jam.”  She didn’t move back from him, though.  Their sudden closeness like this was acutely noticed by her, and she too was struggling by the feelings it was evoking in her.  Feelings that she had been fighting and trying to find places for. In her chest, her heart was thudding and she had butterflies.  Since Rob had left, she’d avoided being close to either of the two men that she knew there were mutual attractions building between.  Even at Kelleher’s she kept space between her and Keegan.  At the moment she didn’t want that space with Karsten, just the opposite.   As she looked up at him, her teeth caught the corner of her lower lip while she tried to figure out if they were thinking the same thing and what that meant.

Well, now wasn’t this something?  Maybe that silence hadn’t been as awkward as he thought it had been.  He found his arms going around her waist, and he smirked down at her.  His fingers played with the fabric of her shirt, waiting to find out if she was going to push him away or welcome his touch.

When he spoke, his voice had lowered some, taking on a slightly husky tone as well. "Favorite detective, huh? You know, I like the sound of that!" Damn he couldn't keep the grin off of his face if he tried.  He thought he’d completely blown it by touching her face like that in the truck; but she wasn’t pulling back and he wasn’t being hit, so there was hope he wasn’t misreading things now.

Serena could feel the heat of his touch through the thin fabric of her dress shirt and it caused her skin to pebble and ache for that fabric to be gone.  As close as they were, she wanted to be closer.  Where had these thoughts and desires come from?  She wasn’t quite sure, nor was she sure when they had started, but she was tired of closing herself off to try to keep from being hurt again like Rob had done.  Karsten wasn’t Rob, and he wouldn’t be like him either.

Moving slightly closer, her hands landing on those slim hips of his, her eyes raising up to meet those intense blue ones of his, one brow slightly raised. "Do you now? I thought you knew." Tease was laced through her voice, but there was a slight nervousness as well.  He had to know about Keegan, the two men were practically best friends after all.  Yet here they were.  There could be no way he could miss the attraction she felt to him, it was written all over her face.  She just hoped he couldn’t tell how tight her chest was and the amount of butterflies she was feeling.

A soft chuckle came from him at her tease.  Damn, she was relaxing and that smile of hers could stop his heart.  When had he become such a sap?  "After your last experience with cops, gorgeous, I wasn't sure you'd want to be this close to any of us." He pulled her in closer.  All she had to do was tell him to stop and he would, but he was hoping she wouldn’t.  "I had my suspicions,” he winked at her with a grin.  The way she was looking up at him was making him a little sure of himself, “but it's always good to know for sure."  One of his hands rose to gently caress her face, his expression softening.

"I don't paint everyone with the brush of one who hurt me, Karsten." Her head tipped back a little more to look up at him.  Not wanting to be in Mulligan’s didn’t equate to not wanting to be around Karsten.  She wasn’t sure he would understand.  "I do know a good man when I see one."  There could be no missing her meaning of those words, her expression and tone made it clear.  He was a good man, a good cop, and one she’d realized she had feelings for in recent times when they’d worked together on the Rakeovich case and trial prep.

"You know flattery will get you everywhere with me, doc." He grinned slowly, lowering his head, bringing his forehead near hers as he looked in her eyes.  "As will that smile of yours." His hand started to barely caress the skin along her jaw and then neck.  The feel of her skin under his rough fingertips was something he could get used to, and wanted to.  "Absolutely everywhere." His lips met hers softly, slowly, deepening as his fingers found the back of her neck to pull her into the kiss.  He’d waited for this, and if it was the only one he ever got, he’d make it one to remember.

The second their lips met there was a strong spark between them, one that Sereba hadn't seen coming but wasn’t going to fight. As the kiss deepened and their tongues danced together, her hands found his back to pull herself to him. She’d deal with whatever there was between her and Keegan later, she wasn’t going to dull this moment at all.   Serena’s focus was only on the handsome detective that had her in his arms at the moment.  His kiss was doing a good job of removing all other thoughts from her mind. As she kissed him back as passionately as he was kissing her, her hands found their way under his jacket and up the back of his shirt.  There was something about the way that his muscles reacted to her touch that had her pressing fully against him and melting more into their kiss.

Hot damn! She was kissing him back, and fuck did she do it well. There was no missing now that she was as attracted to him as he was to her.  He’d meant what he said in the truck, he’d never hurt her.  Karsten wanted her, but he wanted her happy more. It wasn’t just lust, he genuinely cared about her, and he had a feeling she knew it.  Watching what Rob did to her had gutted him.  Those sparkling eyes had dulled, her smile never reaching her eyes - not till she’d looked at him right before their kiss. He’d never let it be dulled again.  

In the past he'd been respectful that she was with a brother in blue, but when that had ended he'd seen an opening. He’d been patient and supportive, tried to be a good friend to her, but he’d also hoped she’d see him more than just a coworker and friend.  Now it was clear she had, he wasn’t going to do anything to jeopardize that.

When their lips finally parted, Serena found herself a little breathless. Eyes rising to meet his, she spoke slowly with a breathy voice "is that why you were wanting to help me out of the truck, detective?" Tease and temptation danced in her words and eyes.  Her head slightly spun and she knew that she was in trouble.  It would be too easy to fall for Karsten, and she was still kind of scared of falling for anyone.

His thumb grazed her jaw, "no, but I’ll help you out of the truck, your car, hell even your office chair if I get more of those.”  Karsten’s hand came up to caress the side of her face again.  Rob was a fool, but he wasn’t.  As much as he wanted to take her out, make her his, and be only hers, he wasn’t going to rush a damn thing.  Some things were worth waiting for, she was one of them.  “No pressure though, doc.  I can be a patient man when it comes to waiting for something I want, and I want this.” His forehead rested against hers, she had no clue how bad he wanted this.

"Who says you have to wait?" Mischief swirled in her eyes as she brought her lips to his this time. Her hands ran up his back, bunching the fabric of his shirt under her fingertips as they pressed harder against his back. Again she melted against him, losing herself in his arms and his kiss.  Never had she felt anything but safe with Karsten, and that was very true now only it was her heart she was trusting him with as much as her life.  

He was a goner, a flat out goner for this woman, and he didn't give a fuck about it.  He knew how his friend felt, and it would have to be dealt with eventually.  Right now was not that time.  Karsten had never hid how he felt towards Serena from Keegan, and it hadn’t stopped his friend from making his own moves from what Karsten had heard.   Keegan might think he had a lock on the gorgeous doc, but it clearly wasn't the case. Karsten was going to make sure it never was.

[hisoknen]

pairing: terushima yuji x fem!reader warnings: noncon/dubcon, alcohol, weed, virgin reader, exhibitionism/public sex, sleazy teru, unprotected sex, lil blood wc: 2.6k summary: you meet terushima at a bar while waiting for your date to show up

a/n: thank you @linestrider for reading this over, giving me your brain and encouraging me!! and @sawamooora for putting me down this path of no return,,, if you haven’t read lee’s false god  you gotta check it out!

The air in the dingy bar was thick with clouds of smoke wafting in from the outside. No matter how many times you wiped at the table in front of you, it remained sticky.

The stool you were perched on felt off-balance, rocking each time you shifted, as though there was a bunched up piece of paper holding up one of the legs. Each time the door opened and the sound of voices flooded in, you glanced over to see if he was here yet. 

Checking your phone it was already well over an hour since he told you to meet him. Never having been fond of dating sites, you grumbled with irritation, giving off a cold air to the drunk men who would slink their way over to hit on you. 

“Hey there, cutie.” You turn around, ready to tell another off when you find his face. Your eyes lowered, taking in his carefree impish grin. He was blond with broad shoulders, wearing black jeans and a sleeveless grey shirt. The stranger pulled out the barstool beside you and waved over the bartender ordering a drink. 

“I’m not here alone,” you looked straight ahead, trying to brush him off. You looked over the beer tap reading the labels over for the hundredth time that night. Your head tilted when he hummed.

You turn toward him, taking a second to look him over. He had an undercut and spiky blond hair that was slicked back a small tuft in the center of his forehead, and earrings.He gave off the vibe of a sleazy frat boy who hit on drunk girls. Someone who didn’t take things too seriously and wanted to ‘just live in the moment.’

He cocked his head to the side, looking you up and down. He quirked an eyebrow looking around the room. With exaggerated movements, he leaned back on his seat and nodded to the empty seat on your left before shifting his gaze back to you with a playful gleam in his eyes.

“You sure?” His elbow rests against the table, cupping his chin while his eyes dance along your body. Your cheeks heat up at the probing, you roll your eyes, glancing down at your phone.

“Supposed to meet someone.” Picking up your drink, you swirl the straw and watch the ice clink against the glass. The icy liquid slides down your throat, coating it with cranberry juice and cheap vodka that makes you grimace.

What should you have expected, the drinks to taste good in a seedy place like this? You laugh to yourself, tipping back the glass and finishing it off. Your words seem to float in one ear and out the other as he inches closer, snatching your phone. You dart out to grab it, but he leans out of your reach, typing. He pulls out his phone checking it before tucking it away.

“He’s just late,” you huff, your defense falling on deaf ears.

“Looks to me like you’ve been blown off,” he chuckles, scooting in closer. You can’t help but wince at the remark feeling the booze bubble in your gut. 

“Sorry I couldn't make it. Something came up.” He drawls, reading from the screen. You rip the phone from his grasp, plunging it into your bag. His arms raised in mock defense, laughing. “Can we get another round?” The blond man ignores your furious gaze, waving over the bartender. Resigning, you shrugged your shoulders. If your prince charming wasn’t going to show up, the least you could do was get some free drinks. 

“Anyway. What’s your name, pretty thing?” 

“Y/n. you?” you grumble

“Yuuji.”

—

Your mind felt foggy, Terushimas shitty jokes managing to pull laughs from you. The more you looked at him, the more you found him attractive. It was either that or the bottle of vodka pooling in your gut.

Now and then, his tongue would dip out to wet his lips, and you’d see the glint of his tongue ring. The way his hands rested on your thigh, thumbing your flesh, sent a warm hum through you—your breath hitches when you rub your thighs together. Everything about him screamed at you to run away, but you were stuck in place. Staring at him in awe and slurring your words as he fed you drinks.

Under different circumstances, you’d never give a guy like him the time of day, but his playful energy was refreshing. But with a bruised ego and enough alcohol pumping through your veins, you almost found him endearing. 

“It’s late. Lemme walk you home.” He drops a set of bills on the table and tugs your arm; you follow him stumbling over your feet. The cold air brushes past your face, bringing bumps to the surface of your skin. He didn’t know where you lived, but he was walking with purpose, dragging your body close to his and slinging a sweaty arm over your shoulder. 

“You smell delicious,” his breath reeked of booze and heavy cigarette smoke. You hated the smell, but the warmth of his body enveloping you felt too good against your shivering skin.

He brought a rolled joint to his lips, pausing as he lit it. The smoke lingers as he takes a few short puffs. You watch him as he inhales, the smoke curling as he blows it out. 

“Wanna taste?” He brings the joint to his lips. You nod hesitantly, watching as the end of it sizzles, turning red as he sucks in, puffing out his cheeks and letting a cloud out. He quickly sucks it back in, grabbing your jaw to tilt your face up.

You open your mouth, and he blows the smoke in. You breathe in as he blows, his finger brushing at the corner of your lips. You exhale, coughing as it flows out of your lungs. “First time?” The tears prickling at your eyes answers his question. He brings it to his lips, taking a long drag and relaxing his hold on you. Terushima lets out a laugh patting your back and ushering you around the corner. 

You choke back a cry when your back meets jagged brick, Terushima’s body pressed tightly against you. One hand is at your side, trapping you against the wall.

His mouth latches onto your neck, leaving behind wet kisses and bites while his hand snakes between your legs. He quickly moves under your skirt, pulling your panties to the side.

“Wait,” you freeze; he continues his sloppy assault against your neck, letting out a soft laugh and inching his fingers closer to your heat. 

“S’okay. No need to be nervous, pretty thing.” He pulls away from your throat, a thick line of saliva trailing on his lips. His mouth crashes against yours, tongue eagerly sweeping out to taste you. You try to keep up with him, feeling the cold metal ball intertwined with your muscle. 

He pulls away, panting, crushing the joint beneath his feet. He drops his hands to tug at the belt of his jeans. You can’t help but stare down at him as he pulls his cock out from the confines.

Your heart hammering against your chest, watching as he wraps his fingers around his length. It’s thick and veiny, the tip red and weeping. He looks down, pumping it a few times before letting go. You can’t help but shudder when it slaps against his stomach. 

“I’ll take care of you.” 

Terushima brings two fingers to his mouth, wrapping his lips around them. You can make out his tongue swirling around the digits before pulling them out coated with saliva. He smiles at your lust blown eyes, lips colliding with yours. 

You moan against him, tugging at his shirt. His wet fingers easing back into your underwear and brushing against your clit. His tongue lashes out, pulling whimpers from you, leaving you winded and trembling. 

“See?” He grins against your lips, kissing the corner before nudging past to find the sweet spot of your neck.

“I’ve never-” you stare up at him with uncertainty. Your blood runs cold. You only learned his name a few hours ago, while waiting to meet someone else.

You didn’t know where he lived or what kind of person he was when he wasn’t trying to get into your pants. 

“Fucked somewhere you could get caught? First time for everything, yeah?” His eyes were low, lazily drinking you in, a smile tugging at his lips. Your mouth parts, but you can’t seem to get the words out. 

“No way,” his eyes widened, “a virgin?” His jaw drops, voice picking up. He looked excited, eagerly grabbing your thigh and pulling it under his arm, wrapping it around his waist.

He reaches for his cock dragging it against your slick folds, searching your eyes for confirmation. You nod meekly staring back at him with a small smile. 

“I’ll be gentle,” he hums. His voice is sweet and deceptive, the feeling of his cock tapping against your clit, pushing away your thoughts. His hand is wrapped around his cock, flicking the head against your bundle of nerves and back through slick folds. 

“I promise.” He presses the tip against your tight hole, holding your hip tightly with his other hand. You let out a yelp when he pushes forward, fingertips digging into your flesh. 

“Might wanna be quiet.” he purrs against your ear, “unless you want an audience.” Your hand clamps around your mouth, stifling the cries. A daze begins to creep in, your mouth dry and body shivering under his hands.

“Shh, just a bit more. You’ll look so pretty with my cock filling you up.” He talks to you as though his words alone can ease you onto his cock. Your walls are fighting against him, threatening to push him out each time he moves. 

“Condom-” you stutter, trying to pull away. His grip tightens as he pushes deeper, pulling your hips in to meet him.

“I won’t cum inside s’fine,” he groans, landing his forehead against yours. His eyes are downcast, watching his cock disappear inside of your fluttering hole. 

“Just relax a little,” he grunts, pulling out and easing back in. It feels like you’re being torn in half, only able to take the tip with each pump. His fingers reach down to tug and spin your clit, movements hasty and lust-driven. “Fuck, that’s it.” His hisses at the feeling of your cunt slowly sucking him in. Your eyes shoot open when his other hand slams inches from your face, boxing you in.

Terushima presses a sloppy kiss to your lips, dragging his teeth against your puffy lower lip. He tugs on it, a breathy moan falling from your lips. Your mind is swimming in a haze, cunt quivering and releasing slowly around him. 

“Just like that. Fuck.” His fingers languidly roll against your clit, his hips stuttering. The drag of his cock easing in and out of you burns. 

“Yuuji, it hurts,” you hiccup, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. Your hips ache, thigh trembling around his waist. His cock impaling you and his hold on your leg are the only things keeping your shaking leg on the ground. 

“It always hurts the first time. It’ll feel real good soon, promise.” His words don’t help the sharp pain radiating between your legs. Looking down, you see a white sheen mixed with blood covering his cock. 

“If it really hurt that bad, you wouldn’t be gushing around me like this.” The words spewing from his mouth are filthy. You felt filthy. Moaning and letting a stranger hump into you like some back alley hooker. Terushima’s fingers swipe against his cock, gathering your slick and spreading on your clit. He pushes down, circling it with each thrust. 

You feel breathless each time you go to bring air into your lungs. He plunges into you, forcing it out. All you can manage is holding onto his shoulders, pulling him against you while he fucks into you.

“Anyone could find us. Isn’t that exciting?” He laughs, pounding into you relentlessly searching for his release as you cry out against his neck. You bite down on his shoulder, muffling your moans, pulling a low growl from his throat.

“God, you’re fucking hot,” Terushima rolls his hips into you, fucking into you with rabid intensity. Thick tears flood down your cheeks as he pulls out of you. The release of pressure has your mind swimming, not noticing he’s flipped you to face the wall until he shoves his cock into you, pushing your cheek against the brick. A burst erupts in the hollow of your belly, being tugged and lolled around with each piston of his hips. 

His hands snake under your shirt, kneading your tits while his other hand dives between your thighs, rubbing sloppy circles into your swollen clit.

It’s hard to make out if he’s grunting praise or filth against your neck, his stomach colliding with your back as he drives against you with reckless abandon. His cock grazes your cervix, and you let out a scream in the empty alley. Cheeks raw from rubbing against the brick. Your fingers dig into it, nails scraping down the wall. Terushima pinches and pulls at your nipples, 

“S’ too deep Yuuji,” you cry out, the pain morphing into a twisted pleasure that riddles through your brain and stomach. You hiccup choking on your tears and moans, body pushing back to meet each of his sharp thrusts, chasing the warm tingle in your gut. 

“Fuck, so tight.” His fingers push down on your puffy clit sending you over the edge. Your body shudders, jerking against him, and he bites down on your shoulder, groaning at the strong pulses of your cunt gripping him.

Your body falls limp in his arms, no strength left in your legs. You're held up by Terushima’s grip on your hips, his cock desperately humping between your folds. Only the lewd sound of your squelching cunt and his balls slapping against your skin fills the alley. You mumble, pleading with him to pull out but he keeps driving into you, not caring for the incoherent babbles that flood past your lips.

Your stomach flexes as he falls still inside of you, holding your body down onto his cock and filling you with ropes of cum. Your head falls back against his shoulder, knees buckling.

Terushima holds for a moment soaking in the feeling of your tight hole fluttering around his cock, milking him before pulling out of you. He eases you onto the concrete, catching your head before it crashes against the wall. He tilts your chin up, pressing a kiss against breathless lips.

“That was fun. We should do it again sometime.” Terushima kisses your quivering lips standing and buckling his pants. He runs his fingers through his hair, using his shirt to wipe away the sweat coating his face. 

“Should clean up soon. It’d be bad if someone found you out here all alone like this.” You nod, your head limbs numb and unmoving. Cold air hitting your cunt, the feeling of his cum slowly oozing out of you and slicking up your thighs as his footsteps fade out of sight. 

Your hands shake, reaching to push yourself off of the ground with quaking legs. You hold onto the wall, brushing your skirt down and grabbing your purse.

Taking a breath, you step away, slowly making your way to the entrance of the alley. You glance back to the spot where you just were, thinking back to what had just happened before turning the corner. 

You dig your hands into your purse, pulling your phone out to call a taxi. Typing in the number your eyes flicker to notification appearing at the top of the screen, stopping you in your tracks.

There’s a first time for everything

—

[ninzied]

into the woods

based on the prompt: you know that scene in TWD where shane is being all cute and kissing up lori’s stomach? that but make it kastle.

rated m. 3k.

“She should’ve been back by now.”

Frank scours the tree line along their campsite, as if she’ll walk out of there any second. She hadn’t taken much more than a toothbrush with her, only a hand towel and a bottle of water to rinse off. How much longer does she need with those things?

“You worry a lot,” Sarah remarks. She doesn’t look up, measuring out coffee grounds for their pour-over stand. “For someone who’s ‘just friends’ with her.”

“Remind me again why I agreed to this weekend,” Frank says with a scowl.

“I could use a refresher myself,” says David. He’s emerging from their tent, zipping it back up the side before stretching. “From what I recall, Karen’s the one we invited. You’re the one who chose to tag along.”

Frank arches an eyebrow at their surroundings. “Thought my invite was implied.”

David makes a protesting sound. “You don’t have a monopoly on manly activities, you know.” He comes over to Sarah, drops a kiss on her forehead in greeting before taking one of the lawn chairs next to her. “I can camp. I can do camping. I’m a survival guy too, remember?”

“Ignore him,” says Sarah. “He gets grumpy before his morning coffee.” She leans over their fire and removes the kettle of water, which has just started to boil.

“There’s one thing we have in common,” says Frank. He nods his head toward the tent David vacated. “Kids still down for the count?”

“Both of them out like a light,” David confirms. “That ghost story Karen told them last night worked a little too well.”

“Trouble falling asleep?” asks Frank, not unsympathetically. “Or was it nightmares?”

“Leo came up with a sequel, actually,” says David. “Which she insisted on recounting in very vivid detail. None of us really slept after that.” He scrubs a hand tiredly over his eyes, but he’s also grinning a little, like he can’t help but be proud of this fact.

Karen would be proud too, Frank thinks, and pictures the smile he’ll get from her later.

“How about you?” Sarah asks Frank, her tone perfectly, deceptively innocent. “How did you sleep?”

“Fine,” says Frank.

The look Sarah gives her husband is a lot subtler than the one she receives in return.

Frank clears his throat. “You two got something you want to say?”

David shrugs. “Only that it’s a pretty small tent you and Karen are sharing.”

“We made do,” says Frank.

Truth be told, though, David’s not wrong.

Karen had borrowed the tent from Nelson, who, as it turned out, hadn’t gone camping since he was about ten years old. It had been a tight squeeze—that palpable warmth in the thin sheets between them, the soft little sighs Karen let out in her sleep, had all been nothing short of torture to Frank.

But the Liebermans are on a need-to-know basis only.

David is opening his mouth to say something else when Sarah interrupts him. “Here,” she says, “drink this,” and presses a tin of steaming black coffee into his hands.

“Guests first,” says David, but Frank’s already standing.

“I’m good for now,” he says with a wave of his hand. “I’m just gonna go for a walk.” He stoops down, checks for the blade inside of his boot.

“Karen’s a big girl, you know.” David takes a sip of his coffee. “I just don’t see how this is going to win you any points in her book.”

“Oh, let him go,” Sarah chides. “He’s not going to rest easy otherwise.” She calls cheerfully after Frank, “Tell Karen that coffee will be waiting when you guys get back, all right?”

…

If anything, Frank figures he could use the time away from the others.

Last night had been exhausting, with the Liebermans up for about half of it, and then Karen so close yet just out of reach. He’d behaved himself perfectly well, but the ache of all that longing for more hasn’t left him, and so he tries to walk it off instead.

Frank steps into the trees, the morning sun filtering through in soft, muted patches of light. They’re barely into September, but the leaves here have already started to pack themselves down into the ground. It makes his job easier, tracking which way Karen has gone.

She can take care of herself; he knows that. But she knows he’s going to worry. It’s something that they’re working on, meeting each other halfway. Still, Frank reasons that there’s a time and a place for these kinds of concessions, and out here in the woods is not going to be one of them.

Frank has been walking for about ten minutes when he steps into a snug little clearing, and suddenly, she’s there.

“Karen?”

She’s a few yards ahead of him, lounging with her back against the trunk of a large maple. She’s resting her arm on one of its thick, gnarled roots, and she—

She has her nose in a goddamn book.

It’s a small paperback of Agatha Christie. One of those rare finds that she’d unearthed from the half-price bin down the street from Frank’s place. It’s where she’d gotten her inspiration for the ghost story she told them last night.

Frank knows this because she’d read it aloud to him three nights ago. The book hasn’t left her side of the bed, until she packed it for this trip. She must’ve tucked it into her hand towel before leaving their tent earlier.

Karen glances up as he approaches. She doesn’t seem remotely surprised to see him there. In fact, she’s looking at him with a teasing kind of impatience, like he’s kept her waiting, and—

Oh.

Oh.

He’d been planning to steal a kiss or two at most from her before they headed back to camp, but she clearly has more than that on her mind.

Always two steps ahead of him, his girl, and he wonders if that isn’t one of the things he loves most about her.

“Frank,” she greets him, lightly admonishing. She puts the book down. “What took you so long?”

She stands as he strides over to her, a disbelieving smile turning up the corners of his mouth.

“This what I think it is?” he asks her. He palms the sides of her rib cage, walking her slowly backward until he’s pinned her to the tree.

“Mm.” She winds her arms a little slyly around him. “You know solving murder mysteries always gets me in the mood.”

“You mean like last night?” He leans down, capturing her mouth in a kiss. Her hands are already pulling at the hem of his sweatshirt, gliding up his body and tugging the fabric over his head.

“I’ve been dying here, Frank.” Karen gasps out as his mouth moves over her jawline. “I thought they’d never fall asleep.”

“I know. Fuck.” Frank snakes his hands beneath her clothes and under her bra, cupping her breasts with a small but satisfied groan. “Couldn’t take it either. Wanted you so bad.” He remembers the reason for the Liebermans’ insomnia, and the kiss he presses to Karen’s collarbone contains the definite edge of a smile.

“What?”

“Tell you later,” he murmurs, stepping back and pulling her with him. With the toe of his boot, he carefully rearranges his sweatshirt over a stretch of some soft-looking moss.

Karen breathes out a laugh, nudging a kiss to his ear as she asks him, “Exactly how much time do you think we have?”

“Enough,” he says, and lowers her onto his sweatshirt.

He kneels over her, nosing her shirt out of the way as he deposits open-mouthed kisses up her bare stomach. He pauses over her belly button, circling his tongue there. She tenses all over with a sigh of content before shrugging her top off and tossing it to the side.

He licks a trail up her body, feeling the hitch in her breath as he reaches her rib cage. When she clasps his shoulders, he goes willingly, rising and settling himself over her. Their mouths meet, lips parting instantly, deepening the kiss.

“Mm—” Karen moves her hips into his, chasing the friction between them. She’s in a thin pair of leggings, his erection pressed up against the junction of her thighs. He can feel the heat of her, even through his sweatpants, and it only fuels his arousal, has him aching to be inside her right now.

He groans a little, breaking the kiss for a moment. There’s a few breathless seconds of them fumbling with each other’s clothes, of Frank’s vision tunneling out when she reaches down and grasps him.

Christ.

He pumps himself in and out of her hand, bending over to kiss her again. Their tongues slide together, and he swallows the sound of her cry as he slips two fingers down, feeling how wet she is for him.

His mouth falls to her neck, sucking kisses to her pulse point as he replaces her hand with his. He strokes himself before rubbing the full length of his dick up against her, pressing down into her clit with each pass back and forth.

She arches against him with a throaty little sigh. He loves this kind of foreplay with her—the liquid heat of anticipation, the throbbing ache of that sweet almost just on the other side of this moment.

And fuck does he love watching her this way, too. The soft, breathy exhales, the swell of her breasts as she writhes beneath him. The way she bites her lip, and moans.

“Can you come like this?” he asks her, voice roughened with desire. He knows he won’t last long inside her, and he wants her to finish for him at least once.

“Yes.” She’s moving her hips in tandem with his, finding just the angle she likes, the right press and release to send her over the edge into orgasm. “Yes—oh, Frank—yes—mmm—”

She shudders beneath him, her eyes squeezing shut as her mouth falls open in a silent, rapturous oh.

He kisses gently up and down her throat as she descends from her high, slowly relaxing back into him. Frank’s trying to breathe through his own need for release when she threads her fingers through his hair, coaxing his mouth back to hers.

He slides into her slowly, the air between them going shallow as they take a moment to adjust. In some ways, entering her is always going to feel like it’s the very first time, new and yet so familiar. Like the act of loving this woman comes from a place that goes deeper than memory.

Their mouths move together, unhurried, as he pulls out and sinks back in. She clutches his shoulders, pulling him closer. Each thrust of his hips has his body shifting up against hers, and he savors every inch of it, the feel of skin on skin. He cradles an arm around her head, moving his other down to slide a hand up the back of her thigh.

It has him going deeper, and she clenches around him, spine arching back. Fuck. Fuck, she feels incredible, like some kind of fever dream. Her mouth is so very warm on his, their tongues entwined, their kisses splintering apart on a gasp before they’re coming back together.

For these few blissed out moments, this is all that there is. The two of them wrapped into each other, all that soft, pale skin beneath his hands, the little moans she’s letting out as he pounds and pounds into her. It’s rougher than usual, but she only pulls him closer, hooking a leg around his waist and rolling her hips up to meet his.

Heat unfurls down low in his belly, pleasure clenching up his spine. “Karen—fuck, I—” He buries his face into the crook of her neck, trying to hold off for her as long as he can.

She turns into him, mouth finding his ear. “I’m close,” she breathes. “I’m close. It’s okay. Just—ooh—”

She cranes her head back with a soft, keening sound, and he wraps his hand over the side of her neck, kissing up her jawline. He rides her through her second orgasm, and then his own pleasure builds to his breaking point, and he’s coming apart.

Karen’s arms are around him when the strongest waves have subsided, leaving behind the small, lingering shivers. He finally collapses against her, boneless and spent, simply breathing her in for long seconds.

“Fuck.” He brushes his mouth over her shoulder, nudging her bra strap back in place. “That was…” He grunts a little as she turns them onto their side, draping a leg over his waist.

“It was,” she agrees. She looks even softer in the sunlight from this angle, and Frank inches closer, threading his fingers through the golden glow of her hair. “Guess we should head back soon. Before they call an official search party on us.”

“Guess so,” says Frank. He tightens his arms around her, and she snuggles into him, neither of them making any real attempt to move. She gives him a kiss, long, and sweet, and so indescribably tender that he could put down roots into this moment, never let it go.

Finally, with a small sigh of concession, Karen shifts up onto her elbow. She reaches behind him for something, retrieving the bottle she’d brought with her.

She bends down to kiss the crease between his brows, and smiles. “Water?”

…

They walk back to the campsite hand in hand.

Sarah’s cleaning up from breakfast, a thermos of coffee and a full plate of bacon, eggs and toast set aside for them.

“David took the kids down to the lake,” she tells them without turning her head. “They wanted to wait for you, but I told them you’d see them when you got back.”

“’Course,” says Frank, feeling a little pink in the ears. “Yeah. Sorry. Didn’t mean to make you stay behind for us.”

“It was no trouble,” Sarah says breezily. Then, still with her back turned to them, she adds, inscrutable, “Better me than David, I will tell you that.”

She’s still stacking some plates, so Frank sneaks a last kiss to Karen’s temple before he releases her, making his way over to some much-needed coffee. He takes a long drag as Karen goes to help Sarah, the two of them falling into easy conversation about Leo, her writing ambitions, how absorbed she’d been around the campfire last night.

He doesn’t interrupt them, except to come over with the plate of food for Karen. Predictably, she reaches for the coffee instead. “I’ll have something in a bit,” she says, “promise,” and he gives her a look, but decides not to press the issue with Sarah standing so shrewdly nearby.

At one point, he glances up from a piece of bacon just as Sarah reaches over, and plucks part of a leaf from Karen’s hair. Sarah lets it go without so much as a comment, simply continuing on wherever they’d left off.

Later, Sarah passes by Frank as they’re getting ready to leave. “I think there are grass stains on the back of your sweater,” she mentions to him, almost conversationally, and he hesitates a moment before grabbing a hoodie to change into.

He pulls out the sandwich he’d made from their breakfast and passes it over to Karen on the walk, in exchange for the thermos of coffee. His hand instinctively finds the small of her back every time a rock or large root juts up into their path, and after Karen’s done eating she takes his hand instead, twining their fingers together.

If Sarah’s feeling smug about it, she doesn’t let it show—much.

Leo tackles them both as soon as they’ve made it to the lake. “Hey, Pete!” Then, as if she can’t hold it in any longer, she brandishes a notebook and says, “Karen, I have the best idea for a story tonight.”

“Honey,” Sarah starts, with an amused kind of warning in her tone.

“Don’t worry, Mom,” says Leo, looking confident. “This one’s not nearly as scary.”

“Tell me,” says Karen, unable to suppress a smile.

Leo starts to tug her away when she pivots back on her heel a little, and says to Frank matter-of-factly, “By the way, you probably don’t want Zach to see you two holding hands.” She looks meaningfully out onto the water, where Zach and their dad are focused enough on their lines not to have noticed them all there yet.

“Leo Lieberman,” Sarah scolds gently as Frank exchanges a bemused look with Karen.

“He’s too young to find out what heartbreak feels like,” says Leo sagely. “Sorry, Mom. I know you told him she’s already been spoken for. But as his big sister, it’s my job to look out for him.”

“Fair enough,” says Karen, giving Sarah a wink. There’s a wistful quality to her smile now, her gaze soft on his when Frank squeezes her hand. She clears her throat, and gestures down at Leo’s notebook. “Now let’s see what we’re working with here.”

…

Their tent isn’t quite big enough to fit them in lengthwise, so they’re turned slightly sideways, Frank spooning her as they drift off to sleep. He’s hard against her rear in the morning, but they both do their best to live with it, Karen pressing a chaste little kiss to the corner of his mouth as they’re getting dressed.

David’s on coffee duty, and Frank lends a hand as Karen folds herself up in a chair and reads to them the morning headlines on her phone.

It’s slow, and quiet, and so easy that Frank almost forgets they’re not home. Karen hums out a thank you when he brings her some coffee, stooping down to brush a kiss to her forehead.

“Here you go, sweetheart.”

And it’s like any other morning, except this one has David staring at them like he can’t decide what has just happened, and just how long it’s been happening for.

“Blanket?” Karen offers, trying not to look too amused, as Frank drags a chair close to hers. She tosses it over them, and he takes her hand before leaning over to steal a sip of her coffee.

“Did you know about this?” David whispers urgently to his wife when she steps out.

“Know about what, honey?” asks Sarah, kissing his cheek as he frowns at her. “Why, did you see something?”

“You mean other than the obvious?” He gestures at Frank, who’s leaning in to whisper something to Karen. In his periphery, a look of recognition is dawning on David’s face with almost comical slowness. “Shit. You’re right. It was really obvious, wasn’t it.”

Sarah pats him on the shoulder. “So, what are we doing for breakfast today?”

And just like any other morning, Frank feels everything outside of this moment fade, his world narrowing to the small, private things—the warmth of Karen’s hand in his, the glances they steal at each other, and the way she bites her lip when she’s trying not to smile.

[whenimaunicorn]

Playing House - Part 12

“I got the high score on your game, and now, I’m going to get the high score on your girl.”

Hvitserk x f!Reader, Ubbe x f!Reader Words: 6336

It’s here, the frat bro pornfest! No new warnings for this installment, we’ve got the standard rough sex, D/s dynamics, and gratuitous use of “dude” and “bro.” Also the disaster above the text is what you get when I make my own covers.

Catch up:  1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17

“Like,” you furrow your brow, trying to catch up, “with a stopwatch?”

“Yeah,” Ubbe answers. “You squeeze me when you’re starting to come, and I’ll hit the button. Then I turn it off when you can breathe again.”

You lick your lips. “And whoever can give me the longest orgasm is the winner?”

“Oh yeah.” Hvitserk squeezes your thighs, making you jump just a little as his fingers press into the bottom of your bruising ass.

“That’s ridiculous,” you say, but you don’t sound like you mean it.

His fingertips slide deeper under the edge of your shorts, playing with the flesh left tender by Ubbe’s spanking. “Hey, if you don’t want to play my nice game, I can try one of your mean ones . . .”

“I didn’t say that,” you rush to correct, although it certainly turns you on even more when Hvitserk digs his fingers right into your sore cheeks, until you writhe and hiss above him. “Who starts?”

Hvitserk switches back to nice touches, palming your ass in hearty handfuls. His brow cocks, and he turns to Ubbe. “Home field advantage, bro. You go first.”

Ubbe reaches around your shoulders and, with a playful growl, pulls you bodily off his brother. He tucks your back in against his front, so you’re still facing Hvitserk, now seated on the center cushion of the couch between them. Ubbe’s hands come up around your body, curling possessively over your breasts as he mouths at your neck just below your ear. Home field advantage, indeed. He already knows exactly what you like, and you feel like you’re already halfway there just from all the lust pervading the room.

Ubbe pops the clasp of your bra, freeing your tits for Hvitserk’s eyes. And his own hands. After he tosses your bra he’s scooping them up from underneath, presenting them toward his brother, squeezing and teasing your nipples rather than covering them up until Hvitserk looks like he might start drooling from the show.

“I thought we decided I’d get top half first,” he finally says, leaning in toward you.

“Just warming her up,” Ubbe purrs against your neck, then releases your breasts and pushes you softly forward. “Here you go.”

Hvitserk catches you in a kiss as you lean into him, deceptively sweet before he palms both your breasts. Ubbe’s fingers tickle at the backs of your thighs, and then he’s stripping you, pushing shorts and panties together down your hips. So much for showing off that matching set. You get up on your hands and knees to help it happen.

Naked between both of them now. You have to stop kissing Hvitserk to let Ubbe get you into the position he wants from you. Hvitserk keeps helping himself to your tits as you end up with your back propped up against him, the rest of your body laying along the couch so Ubbe can get his face in between your legs.

You’ve said it before; Ubbe loves eating pussy. You’ve never had it so good from anyone. Unless Hvitserk has acquired some sort of unfathomable, god-like secrets of the female body, you don’t know how he’s going to possibly outdo his older brother. Ubbe already knows exactly what you like. He kisses along your body before nestling between your thighs, then opens you up boldly with his tongue. He closes in on your favorite spot with the steady confidence of a master, his hot tongue starting broad but never failing to hit you squarely at just the right angle with every pass.

This may be a competition, but Hvitserk is not being stingy with his assistance. His hands continue to play with your nipples, almost idly, like he absolutely can’t help himself. And the raspy way he’s breathing in your ear while he toys with your body – he’s making Ubbe’s job too easy. Caught between the two of them like this, your breath starts hitching almost before you’ve really had a chance to settle in and enjoy this crazy scenario.

“You’re close,” Hvitserk says.

“Uh huh,” you reply. It comes out throaty little sexpot voice.

Ubbe growls with pride, the vibration of it against your clit ratcheting you up yet another notch closer to release.

Hvitserk’s hands leave your breasts. One digs in his pocket, producing his phone so, just as they had said, he can open a stopwatch app. That alone should be killing the mood, but then Ubbe presses his fingers inside you and you realize there really is no going back for you. Nothing is too juvenile, or ridiculous, when the Lothbrok boys are the ones asking you for it.

Long, cool fingers wrap around your own. Hvitserk is holding your hand. “Squeeze me when you start coming,” he rasps in your ear. You can hear the excitement behind his instructional tone. This is so fucked-up, and they both love it.

Ubbe goes in for his grand finale. He finds that perfect angle, from both inside and out now, and works you relentlessly.

“Ooooh…” your moaning starts, and just as that wave of pleasure crests you clench your fingers around Hvitserk’s hand.

You hold your breath. The orgasm rocks you hard, your naked body writhing against Hvitserk’s chest, your cheek rubbing into his t-shirt and you hope you’re not going to drool on him. You had been a little worried that knowing your orgasm would be timed might be too much pressure, might make it slip away as soon as it’s crested like you’ve experienced in less-than-ideal situations before, but Ubbe is too good for that, this situation is apparently too hot for that, and you’re sure that clock is running even longer than you ever expected as the pleasure spirals in wave after wave through your core underneath Ubbe’s relentless tongue.

You suck in one gasping breath and then hold it again, somewhere in the middle there. You keep it in even after the ecstasy begins to fade, and maintain your death grip on Hvitserk’s hand. Hvitty’s a cool guy, but Ubbe’s your guy, right? One of them, at least. It’s easy to follow the urge to cheat the clock a little on his behalf. Exaggerate the results by a few more heartbeats. He deserves it. And it feels good to pick him over someone else for once.

Finally you slump, going limp in Hvitserk’s arms except for a few twitches as Ubbe finishes up with one last swipe of his tongue. He embraces your thighs, nestling in against one leg and gasping a little himself.

“Twenty-two seconds,” Hvitserk reads, “very nice, bro.”

Ubbe nips at your thigh, with affection. “She’s amazing.”

Four hands move across your body, enhancing your afterglow. Ubbe makes his way down your legs as Hvitserk sets his phone to the side and runs his palms up your flanks.

Coming as hard as that might make a girl sleepy, but under the movement of those hands you feel electrified, like every one of your nerve endings has been turned on now, and the possibilities for pleasure are only just beginning.

Ubbe comes up to his knees between your legs, leaning forward and scooping you up with a hand in your hair to meet his insistent kiss. You sit up between them, enjoying the slight soreness of your spanked ass rubbing bare against the couch cushion, and savor Hvitserk’s hands as they caress down your back to your hips. “Time to switch,” you ask between Ubbe’s kisses, “or will there be an interlude?”

Ubbe makes an interested sound as your hands run down to his crotch. As you expected, he’s rock hard and swelling into your touch.

“When we’re alone,” you croon, “you’re usually making me return a favor like that almost immediately.”

Ubbe responds by pushing your head firmly downwards.

One of the best parts about being a sub is that you’re not responsible for managing anything about a scene. Nothing but your own hard limits, of course. But something simple like this, deciding whether this is okay, or if Hvitserk will find this too rude or feel left out . . . that’s not your job to consider. Ubbe’s forcing your face down to his crotch and that’s the only thing that has to be in your world right now.

He sighs as you open up his jeans, releasing the pressure that had to be quite restrictive for him all this time. Neither of the boys have taken off a stitch of clothing, you realize, and here you are fully naked on your hands and knees between them.

Ubbe reaches in and pulls his erection out through the fly of his boxer briefs. Does It count as him getting a little more naked, if he’s immediately pulling your mouth over to swallow it up?

You always kind of think about channeling your inner snake when sucking Ubbe off, as you just about unhinge your jaw to fit that slab of meat he’s packing into your mouth. It’s worth it for the sounds he makes, though. This time he’s holding himself back, probably trying to look tough with his brother present, but his guttural grunts and muttered curses when you swirl your tongue just right are close enough to the full show. He keeps his hand on the back of your neck, too, not exactly controlling your movements but certainly keeping you on-task down there.

As your head came down to meet Ubbe’s cock, your hindquarters rose. Hvitserk is certainly getting an eyeful of your ass and whatever he can glimpse of your pussy between your bare thighs, with your knees only slightly spread for balance up on the couch cushion. It takes him longer than you expect to reach out and start exploring what’s on offer with his fingertips.

He starts low on your thighs, tracing up toward your naughty bits lightly. You arch your back a little more, encouraging him. His fingernails graze over the widest part of your ass.

The longer it takes him to come close to your pussy, the more you’re silently begging him to. You’re working your mouth up and down over Ubbe’s cock, relishing your lover’s taste and scent, sure, but you’re also quite distracted by thoughts of what Hvitserk’s looking at and what he’s going to do next.

When his thumb finally slides down to the edge of your pussy lips you moan, loudly, the sound made even more pornographic by the way Ubbe’s choking cock distorts it. Perhaps Hvitserk understands it as encouragement, because his thumb keeps sliding, up and down, in a confident delineation of the edges of your sex. You moan some more. It’s actually quite fun to hear the ways the sounds come out in garbled and staccato bursts as Ubbe’s hand urges your mouth faster and deeper.

“Fuck, keep making those sounds,” Ubbe says.

Hvitserk does his part, continuing to tease your cunt, not doing anything very specific or intense, just exploring and tantalizing and waking everything up all over again. He finds your clit and bats at it just a little, then spirals away again to swirl his fingertip at your very entrance.

“Fuck, this pussy,” Hvitserk groans through his teeth. “I want to fuck it so bad.”

You arch your back even more, almost trying to force yourself over his fingers as you continue on fastidiously with the job in front of you.

Ubbe speaks for you. “Go ahead, dude. I think there’s still condoms in the drawer.”

Hvitserk’s pressure increases, just a little bit. “Not yet.” He traps your clit between his fingers and pinches. “Still gotta win that contest. I need to keep my head in the game. I get off now, I lose my edge.”

You can’t fucking take it. You slide up off Ubbe’s cock with a popping sound so you can plead with Hvitserk. “Just a little, then? Just fuck it a little.” He’s making you too fucking crazy to keep quiet. “I want you, Hvitserk.”

“Honey, you think I can get in this cute little pussy of yours and stop myself before I blow? No one’s that strong.”

“Speaking of blowing . . .” Ubbe’s coaxing your mouth back over his dick before you can answer, using your scalp to hold you steady as he starts to fuck up into your face. Your aroused little moans turn helpless around the rough thrusting of his cock, while Hvitserk gifts you with a fraction of what you want by pressing one blessed finger inside.

“Swallow it all,” Ubbe tells you, his voice gone breathy and thin. “Don’t spill a drop.”

You fuck yourself back over Hvitserk’s long finger as Ubbe’s pace increases, spurring himself on to blast his seed into the back of your throat. Swallowing is certainly the easiest way to make sure you don’t choke.

He shudders inside your mouth, holding you close while he pants and decides he’s really done. You savor the last moments of Ubbe’s cock in your mouth. Hvitserk slowed down when your body stopped rocking, but never really stopped: in, out. In, out. That finger keeps sliding, to remind you. Ubbe’s done, but you’re not. Not. Even. Close.

When Ubbe finally releases your face, you suck him clean as you pull back and then lift your head. You hold the rest of your body still, unwilling to interrupt Hvitserk’s steady rhythm inside you. Ubbe wraps his hand under your chin, guiding you to look up at him.

His eyes are sleepy around the edges, but still sparkling. You watch them track quickly over your face. “You’re up, Hvitserk,” he says, amused. “She looks ready.”

Unfortunately, this makes Hvitserk stop fingering you. You turn towards him with a whine.

He meets your eyes and smirks. “Definitely ready. Lay down.”

You spread yourself along the couch as Hvitserk slides down off it, guiding your legs to open where he can easily reach you from his knees on the floor. Your head doesn’t fit in Ubbe’s lap from this position; you’re lying flat on your back across the middle of the couch, with your face next to his hip. He reaches down and cups your cheek, dragging his thumb idly over your skin.

It feels a little more vulnerable, to be laid out like this. Which enhances the thrill of knowing that a man you barely know is between your spread legs, staring at your most intimate places. Hvitserk lets his hot breath steam over your wet and needy entrance, building the anticipation. Hands caress the insides of your thighs, then his thumb starts sliding in to open you up.

You can feel how wet you’ve become from the ease with which he parts your inner lips. You moan and arch as Hvitserk drags that moisture up to lubricate your clit, letting him draw easy circles around the sensitive button.

When he leans in to replace his thumb with his mouth, it’s gentle, almost a kiss. Then he sucks on your clit and your eyes roll into the back of your head.

“Fuck, you look good like this,” Ubbe mutters. He leans forward and scoops up both your breasts with his hands. “I’m going to get hard again already.”

A nervous giggle slips out as you ponder how you might get caught in an endless cycle of cocks after this. If watching you with one is only going to keep turning the other one on again. Perhaps you’re fortunate that Ubbe and Ivar never try to have you at the same time like this. A girl can only take so much.

Hvitserk, it turns out, is not an idle boaster. His competence at eating pussy is instantly apparent. His tongue glides hungrily to all the right places, and when you look down, the dark satisfaction in his hooded eyes makes you feel like you’re caught in a filthy monster’s jaws.

You can’t even track what exactly he’s doing down there. All you know is that the pleasure is surging, from every square millimeter that his lips and tongue touch. He slips two fingers inside you, and rocks them in such a way that you swear he’s found something inside there that no one else has ever noticed before. Your whole body is singing.

An obnoxious noise brings you just a little bit back down to earth. One of Ubbe’s hands leaves your chest, the other left gently cupping one tit.

“It’s Ivar,” Ubbe says, scooping Hvitserk’s vibrating phone off the table.

Hvitserk sucks you hard before lifting his mouth, drawing a strangled cry from you. You realize you’ve been making all kinds of crazy noises for the past few minutes. “Let him listen,” the arrogant boy responds.

Ivar’s voice is faint, but you can hear it, issuing forth from the phone hovering above you in Ubbe’s hand. His tone is impatient, as usual: “Hvitserk, you there?”

His brother has dropped his mouth back between your legs, sucking at you in time to the curl of his fingertips deep inside. There’s no way to keep yourself from moaning, and making ragged little sounds whenever you try to breathe.

“Interesting.” Ivar drags out the first syllable. You don’t hear anything from him for a while, and then, he says your name. “Can you hear me?”

You turn your next moan upward, into a whiny little “uh huh!”

Hvitserk is not letting you get any more lucid than that.

“Are you showing Hvitserk your best hospitality?” Ivar asks, his Dom voice apparent even from this distance. Ubbe’s thumb moves and his voice gets louder. “Doesn’t sound like it,” Ivar continues, chastising you on speaker. “It sounds like you’re being quite selfish.”

Is Hvitserk getting you in trouble right now? The movement of his tongue only intensifies, threatening to turn your steady moans into squeals. Your legs are starting to shake as heat floods your core.

“What are they doing to you over there?” Ivar continues. “I don’t hear Ubbe, but I’m sure he’s lurking about.”

If he’s expecting you to answer, he’s going to be disappointed. No way you’re capable of speech.

“I hope you are enjoying yourself,” Ivar says, continuing on as a monologue. “And I hope that you’re looking forward to being punished later, for being such a bad girl. Making our guest work so hard for your own selfish, wicked pleasure.” Every word goes straight to your cunt, helping Hvitserk build you toward an orgasm that promises to be a screamer. “You’re the one that should have your mouth full right now, greedy girl. I see that you can’t be trusted to be left alone. We will begin… some much stricter training when I get home.” Fuck. “I’m sure Hvitserk won’t mind helping me teach you better manners. Are you close, greedy girl? I hear your voice changing. Enjoy it, because it might be the last one that you get for a long, long time.”

Between Ivar’s words and Hvitserk’s skills, you don’t stand a fucking chance. You clutch behind you to find Ubbe’s hand, barely remembering the rules of the contest in time as this pleasure starts to climax.

“Wait,” Ubbe huffs, “gotta get the stopwatch.”

Ivar’s chuckle drips out of the phone while Ubbe fumbles with it. He may have had some choice words for what these two gorgeous, sexy idiots are up to, but you only hear him get as far as “Are you two—” before a rushing in your ears takes over and you lose consciousness of anything else but the tidal wave of pleasure crashing through your body.

Hvitserk is relentless. He doesn’t slow the intensity a bit, pushes you through your screaming, writhing orgasm with the dedication of a pit bull as he just hits that magic spot over and over and over. You’re shaking and gasping before it’s done, and when the peak turns to oversensitivity he’s still determined to wring a few more seconds out of you, doesn’t stop until your thighs try to clench shut around his head in a helpless attempt to push him away.

You’re left panting as Ubbe announces the time above your head. “Thirty-four seconds.”

“And you started late,” Hvitserk points out. He’s panting too.

“And I started late,” Ubbe admits.

So much for your attempt at cheating on Ubbe’s behalf. Hvitserk sure as hell won fair and square. If Ivar’s little participation doesn’t count.

Wait. Is Ivar still on the phone?

“I take it Hvitserk is the winner.”

Yep. He’s there.

Hvitserk wipes his mouth as he rises from the ground, lifting one of your legs to roll you out of his way so he can resume his seat on the end of the couch. He nestles himself against your naked hip and reaches out his upturned hand to Ubbe, silently asking for his phone back.

You expect him to speak, but all you hear is the descending tone indicating an ended call. Hvitserk tosses his phone back on the table with a dismissive sound. You think you might even see a trace of a snarl on his lip as you look up at him through your post-orgasmic haze.

Then all his attention is back on you. You watch his greedy eyes run all over your body, from your upturned hip to the curve of your tilted waist, your bare breasts and your parted, panting mouth. “What were you saying earlier?” he asks, leaning in with a conspiratorial smile. “Something about want me to ‘fuck it just a little?’”

You nod breathlessly as he climbs further over your body. His hooded eyes look predatory now, and if somehow Ivar made him mad then he definitely seems ready to take it out on you. He gives your hip a little smack, watching how the impact makes you jiggle, then inspects your face while he gives you another one.

“You like it rough, huh?”

You nod, and twist your body to present your ass to him even better. Honestly you feel like your pussy is about to start dripping on the couch, so it also doesn’t hurt to get it further away from the cushions.

He nods too, thoughtfully. “There’s this position I like. Not every girl can handle it.”

Ubbe makes an interested noise above you. “She can handle a lot.”

“So I keep hearing.” Hvitserk taps at your ass. “Up.”

He stands at the same time as you do, and you don’t miss the way he readjusts himself inside his pants. He pulls you in close for a kiss, pressing your naked body fully against his clothes.

He whips his shirt off. Finally. “There are condoms around here?”

“Yes,” you say, dropping to your knees to open one of the little drawers at the base of the coffee table. You and Ubbe had scattered them all over the house before he made his monogamy pledge and the tests had come back clean. You turn back to Hvitserk, presenting him the little package in your palms.

He makes a happy little noise in the back of his throat. “I like the way you look down there.” He loosens his belt. “Now I’m thinking you need to stay on your knees and show me what that sweet mouth can do.”

You nod, eagerly, as you watch him get his dick out and step closer to your face. You meet it with your tongue, wrapping a hand around his shaft to keep him pointed down where you can reach.

There’s something extra fun about a blowjob that you don’t intend to finish. You lick around the head of his cock like it’s a lollypop, pausing to give him playful eye contact and then watching him watch you swallow it up.

Ubbe’s the one that groans. When you flick your eyes over to him he’s got one hand thrust into his own pants like he’s gearing up for round two. “You look so good. Teasing it like that.”

You can’t help yourself. You keep your eyes locked onto Ubbe while pulling Hvitserk a little closer, giving his shaft little kitten licks.

“You are fucking hot as hell, darlin’,” Hvitserk says, looking straight down the line of his body at you. “But I’ve had enough teasing tonight. Come up over here.”

He leads you to the side of the couch and bends you over the armrest.

“Saw this in a porno once.” He kicks at your legs until you spread them a little further apart. “Stop me if it’s not working for you. But I think you’re flexible enough.”

He pushes down between your shoulders until your chest hits the couch. You relax the side of your face into the cushion and just go with it. Now your hips are higher than the rest of your body, and quite decently supported by the plush armrest. Not hard so far. There must be something more coming.

You hear the sound of the condom wrapper opening. Ubbe shifts above your head, but you resist the temptation to check and see what he’s doing on his end of the couch. Ivar’s right; you’ve been selfish. You must give your full submission to Hvitserk now, and show him that you are doing exactly as he instructs. No more, no less, and no looking at his brother.

You know you’re wet but he spits on his fingers and works a little added lubrication into you anyway.

“I liked the way you were begging,” he comments, voice husky as you feel him moving in closer. “Think I can make you beg a little more?”

“Oh, Hvitserk, please.” You angle your hips up even higher, offering yourself to him. You’re positively aching to be filled up, after all this.

“Please what?” You feel the brush of something thicker than fingers against your slick entrance.

You take a breath. “Please fuck me until I can’t walk straight.”

“That is definitely the plan.” He pushes into you slow, the second Lothbrok you’ve let go balls-deep into you now. He’s not as thick as Ubbe but that hardly matters, not when you’re swollen with need and reveling in the fact that this one wants you too, bad enough to throw shame out the window and fuck you right in front of his brother. “Fuuuuck.” He presses in deep and just stays there a minute, hands gripping your ass tight.

You buck your hips up against him, although you don’t have much leverage with your belly in the couch and your legs spread so wide.

He grunts and answers your enthusiasm with his own, starting to bounce against you in measured thrusts. “Ungh, I knew you had a sweet little pussy. Are you happy to share it with me?”

“Yes,” you wail, as he pounds you harder, the friction electrifying every nerve ending they hadn’t already fried out with that pussy-eating competition.

“You gonna share it with me all week?”

“Uh huh!”

“And you can you really handle that? Three guys telling you what to do around here? Keeping this pussy full?”

“M-mhmm.”

“What was that?”

“Yes! I’ll find a way.”

“Good.” His thrusts have settled into a quick, steady rhythm. “Arch your back more.”

You really have to press your chest into the couch, and come up to your tiptoes when it feels like you can barely reach the floor as it is, but you manage it. It makes his thrusts feel deeper, threatening to bottom out against your cervix.

“Now give me your arms.”

This must be it. The thing that other girls won’t do. You give up supporting your body with your forearms, twisting them both behind your back instead. It puts a lot of your weight on your face and upper chest, the only things left to support the bouncing impacts of his thrusting, but it’s manageable. Fingers wrap around your wrists, straightening your arms back behind you. He’s using them like handles now, to pull your arched body over his cock. It’s rough, but you can take it. You’re just flexible enough.

“Fuck, you look so good like this,” Hvitserk croons.

“You’re telling me,” Ubbe says. His voice is coming from the side now. You open your eyes to see that he’s left the couch for the coffee table, sitting right across from your face where he can get the best view of your contorted figure. “Think you can lift your feet off the ground, wrap them behind him?”

You try. Lifting your legs like that clenches your pelvic floor, which makes Hvitserk yelp and then fuck you harder. Now you’ve got absolutely no control at all, laying on your face and getting fucked down into the cushions. You might be drooling. There’s nothing to be done for it if you are.

You wouldn’t be able to stay like this for long, but it doesn’t seem like you’re going to have to. Hvitserk’s making this drawn-out humming sort of noise, he’s so into it, pistoning into you at an accelerating rate that suggests he’s barreling toward climax.

“This is the hottest fucking thing I’ve ever seen,” Ubbe says. You want him to shut up so he doesn’t make Hvitserk uncomfortable, but these two do seem to have some kind of established groove for this already. And hearing him tell you how sexy this outrageously acrobatic pose is does make it easier for you to hang on in it for a little longer. It’s not an angle that’s going to get you off, but ferocious pleasure rings through your body anyway.

“Ahh—” Hvitserk’s rising wail almost sounds desperate, and then he forces air between his teeth as he grinds himself even deeper into you.

You don’t complain as he crushes you just a little more. It’s obvious that he’s reveling in a prolonged, ecstatic climax, and you’re certainly not going to begrudge him anything less than the thirty-four seconds of bliss he so recently finished giving you.

But when he gasps the end of his release, and his body stops clenching, you’re tugging your arms out of his grip, grateful to untwist your shoulders and get the pressure off your neck.

“Fuck—thanks. Fuck,” he pants. “That was incredible.” He stays inside you. You feel his forehead drop to the middle of your back as you both start letting your muscles relax one by one. You like the way his hair feels on your skin.

An insistent, gorilla-like grunt emanates from somewhere above your head. “My turn,” Ubbe says, and his hands wrap around your forearms.

“Dude,” Hvitserk exhales. “Give me a fucking minute!” His hips writhe against you. “She feels so fucking good . . .”

You feel Ubbe take a seat on the couch next to your head, but he does not release your arms. His grip flexes impatiently, but at least he’s not pulling you bodily out from underneath his brother.

“She probably needs a rest too, dude,” Hvitserk continues, his breath warming your skin. “A little recovery time from all that.” As if realizing he was barely following his own advice, he withdraws himself carefully from your body and lets you move your legs more comfortably back together.

“Nah, she’s better than that,” Ubbe rumbles, voice thick and rich and proud. “She takes dick like a champ.” His fingers tickle under your chin until you look up at him. “You want two in a row, don’t you babe.” The gleam in his eye tells you he’s fully recovered from his last orgasm, and absolutely ready to go.

Hvitserk is being very nice. But is nice really what you want? You probably wouldn’t be in this position if that was the case. “Yeah,” you say, answering Ubbe’s growling with your own throaty sex kitten moan.

Ubbe’s blue eyes blaze and he tugs you towards him. Your legs wobble a little as you climb around the arm of the couch. Hvitserk’s promise kept. Ubbe sees your weakness and scoops you up, like any good predator would.

He whirls you around, getting you underneath his body as your back presses into the armrest of his side of the couch. He can only kiss you once, as sloppy as he is passionate, before he’s struggling with his pants.

That glorious erection is rock-hard as you help him free it from his clothing. He wastes no time pushing himself into you, as if he took Hvitserk’s dirty talk about “keeping this pussy full” quite seriously.

You might be just a little bit sore. That hardly matters when Ubbe gets his rhythm going, the aching only adding to the decadent pleasure of back-to-back fuckings.

He’s got one foot on the floor, giving him ridiculous leverage to split you open against the corner of the couch. You throw your arms around his neck and brace yourself, looking over his shoulder at Hvitserk’s sleepy-cat smile as the boy catches his breath while watching you get impaled.

“Touch yourself,” says Ubbe, shifting to pull your hand down between your bodies, flexing his fucking abs to curl his body and give you room as he continues to pound.

“Ivar said—”

“Don’t you want one more, before he makes that threat official?”

Fuck. Good point. See, Ubbe can be nice too. You let your fingers fly.

“I want to feel you cum all over my dick,” he grunts out, his pace increasing as he seems to turn himself on even more with just the thought. “And I want to hear it, too.”

It doesn’t take long. Your poor pussy shivers under Ubbe’s onslaught, the clenching of your muscles as you hold yourself up against it magnifying the oncoming orgasm into something that makes you want to scream like some kind of wild shieldmaiden between your teeth.

And Ubbe wanted to hear you. So you do. That sizzling pleasure radiates out of your core until your lower half locks up, clamping around him so hard that even his punishing pace has to slow.

When you suck in your next breath and the sound of your own voice fades, you hear Ubbe gasping. He’s coming too, locked down in your throbbing pussy. You stay like that, clenched tight and pressing up against him, for a few more breaths while your climax fades only slowly. You actually felt your inner walls milking him. Drawing that seed deep up inside you.

You release a throaty sigh and finally let your body unwind.

Ubbe presses his forehead against yours. “Fuck, princess,” he breathes. “How do you keep getting more amazing?”

You end up sprawled along the couch between them, your head in Hvitserk’s lap while Ubbe massages every kink out of the big muscles of your legs. You don’t feel self-conscious to still be naked. You feel like nothing less than a classical goddess. Something the masters would line up to paint, and even more; the utterly feminine deity that men have immortalized in clay and enshrined on cave walls since the dawn of the human capacity to think. Nothing more natural in the world than your naked, beloved body.

Which doesn’t mean that you’re not grateful when Ubbe spreads a warm blanket over you, when his massaging hands have mostly finished. Sure, you were going to spend the afternoon cleaning this room, but your eyes are drifting closed in the post-sex haze now. They’ll turn the game back on, won’t they, and let you take a little nap across their laps first.

But you don’t hear the TV turn back on. Not yet. Instead, a conversation begins above your dozing head.

“You do this with Ivar, dude?”

Ubbe shifts underneath your leg before he responds. “Not like this.”

Hvitserk makes a soft sound. “Didn’t think so.” There’s a pause, long enough to tempt you back into sleep, but you really want to hear if they’re going to say anything more about this. Hvitserk has known them his whole life. He probably has some insight that would be valuable for you to know. You shift a little in his lap though, making sure he knows you’re still awake. Wouldn’t be right to actually eavesdrop.

His hand comes to your head, stroking gently across your hair. “Can't believe Ivar's really sharing with you, dude.”

“Maybe I'm sharing with him.”

Hvitserk just laughs.

You open your eyes to see Ubbe shrugging. “It’s working out so far. I let him lead.”

“I didn’t think you could do that.”

Ubbe leans forward over your feet, grabbing his forgotten bottle off the coffee table. “He’s grown a lot, since we were all at home.” He takes a thoughtful swig. “I probably have, too.” He makes eye contact with you for a second, possibly acknowledging the awkwardness of talking about these things over your head, but doesn’t say anything that might draw you into the conversation.

Not that you have anything to say. You’re just soaking up every little piece of information you can get.

Your face is pointed away from Hvitserk; although you’re in his lap, you can’t really see anything of him but his knee.

“Well, it’s the only thing I’ve ever found that works with him. Ivar has to be the one in control, or it doesn’t go well.”

“You say that like I haven’t been living with him for years, too, dude.”

“I’m saying it because it’s hard to believe you can really pull that off. You’ve always had to kind of be the top dog yourself, dude.”

Ubbe’s fingers stroke you underneath the blanket. “Some things are worth a little compromise.”

Hvitserk bounces your head just a little. “What do you think? Is Ubbe ever really not the boss?” You rouse yourself, twisting your body until your face is pointed up at Hvitserk’s. “Pretty much ran the show today, didn’t he?”

You consider your answer, glancing between their waiting faces. At least they’re both smiling. This is not an answer you need to feel worried about crafting too carefully. “I think it was pretty natural for him to guide things today,” you say, looking up into Hvitserk’s eyes, “since you and I had never—” you trail off self-consciously as you stare up into that gorgeous face.

Hvitserk squeezes you up in his arms, and his smile turns mischievous. “But now we are very familiar with each other. Aren’t we.”

You nod, suddenly breathless again.

“You want to keep playing with me, while I’m in town?”

You smile and nod harder.

“Good,” Ubbe says, his hand running up your leg. “Cuz by my count, we’re not exactly done here. You got me off twice. Hvitserk only nutted once. That’s not right,” he says, shaking his head. “He’s our guest. You should spend tonight in bed with him, at the very least.”

And why do you get the feeling Ubbe’s going to find an excuse to be involved in that, too?

“No offense,” Hvitserk says, “but that’s the kind of shit I’m talking about, dude. Telling us what to do. You let anything not be Ivar’s idea, man, and you’re done.” Hvitserk’s gaze swivels back down to meet yours. “If he can’t hold some of that shit back,” he tells you, a smirk twisting up his cheek, “you’re never going to be able to have the both of them at the same time.”

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[luxekook]

prologue.

⇥ pairing: taehyung x reader; eventual bts/ot7 x reader

⇥ genre: college au with fluff, smut & angst

⇥ summary: a series in which the reader meets (and falls for) seven members of the Beta Tau Sigma (BTS) fraternity

⇥ word count: 1.8k

⇥ warnings: 18+, cursing, dirty talk, kissing, deception, taehyung with blue hair (aka LETHAL)

© luxekook. please do not repost, modify, edit or translate.

characters | prologue | one | two | three | four | five | six | seven | eight | nine

PROLOGUE

Spring of Sophomore Year - 11:52pm

"If it gets any hotter in here, we'd need jackets to enter the fucking gates of Hades."

My stellar observation goes by unappreciated, but I'm not shocked. The music thumps heavily through the house at a deafening decibel and the only methods of communication are screaming or sign language - I had done neither.

Earlier, when my roommate Luna told me about this particular party, I had hesitations for several reasons:

This party is being held at the Beta Tau Sigma (BTS) house - a house known for its wild parties, excessive drinking, and dangerously attractive brothers.

I am not a huge fan of the aforementioned features or the trouble that always seems to accompany them.

It's Harry Potter Weekend and I am going to miss the fucking Goblet of Fire for this.

Long story short, Luna convinced me to go with her with promises of pizza and our own Harry Potter marathon tomorrow. Her promises in mind, I square my shoulders and motion for Luna to follow me to the slightly quieter kitchen on the other side of the living room.

As we cross the crowded room, Luna tugs on my wrist and tilts her head subtly towards the corner where four very large, very attractive guys are playing a rowdy game of beer pong, while three (equally attractive) others lounge against the wall watching. Taking a closer look, I notice that the two at the far end of the table seem to be winning. The one with light pink hair takes his shot and curses loudly when he misses. Annoyed, the other shoves him out of the way, lines up to shoot, and pauses. Our eyes meet.

A shiver runs down my spine as his dark gaze rests on me. His jaw is clenched and chiseled, his lips are set firmly but wickedly full. His black t-shirt stretches over wide, solid shoulders and I can almost make out the muscles that ripple beneath. His right arm is still poised to take his shot, and I can't help but notice how his bicep strains the fabric of his sleeve and how his large, tanned hand completely dwarfs the pong ball.

I barely remember to breathe as I realize his gaze is making his own assessment of me. I can feel his dark eyes rake over me, and it makes my skin buzz. His eyes trail over my black crop top down to my ripped black jeans, and blatantly checks out my legs.

Suddenly, his pink-haired partner elbows him, shattering our little moment. Shakily taking a breath, I turn to Luna who has an eyebrow raised at me. She grabs my hand and practically drags me into the kitchen. I sip my drink and fight the urge to look back.

The minute we enter the mostly empty kitchen, Luna whips around to face me, "Were you just openly eye-fucking Kim Taehyung, (y/n)?" I choke on my beer.

"Who?" I croak, still coughing to clear my windpipe of what I'm certain is shitty Natty Light. Rolling her eyes, Luna shakes her head at me like a disappointed parent, "Kim Taehyung. You know, the pledge master for BTS? Was just with his frat brother Park Jimin?"

She pauses dramatically, seeming to be waiting for some kind of response. I stare at her blankly.

Scoffing, Luna continues, "They were the ones playing pong just now, dumbass. The blue-haired one is Taehyung. You know, the one you were mentally undressing-"

"Okay," I cut her off, "I'm sorry to say that I haven't paid much attention to the members of our 'legendary' fraternities."

Pretending like I never interrupted, she resumes, "-with your eyes. Everyone knows who they are. You just live under a rock that you call the library..."

I close my eyes and pray for deliverance as Luna trails off.

"Can I get you another drink?" A deep voice definitely not belonging to Luna breaks the short silence. Opening my eyes, my vision focuses on the voice's source – a cute BTS pledge. His eyes are focused entirely on Luna, who suddenly seems unnaturally shy. She sends me a searching look, and I nod in response. Smiling, she turns back to the boy, "Yeah, I'm Luna by the way, and this is (y/n)."

“Jaehyun," he answers, giving me a head tilt while placing a palm on Luna's back. He slowly guides her from the kitchen towards where the keg was in the living room. Sending a glance over her shoulder, Luna meets my eyes and I wave my phone at her as a silent reminder to update me. She winks and disappears into the living room.

Sighing, I lift myself onto the kitchen counter to give my feet some reprieve from these heeled boots and reapply my blood red lipstick using my phone camera. Satisfied, I check the time.

12:01am. Not nearly late enough for Luna to want to leave - especially now...

Suddenly, a now-familiar buzz sizzles across my skin. Drawing my gaze up from my phone, two unopened cans of beer held by long, strong fingers meet my vision. I drag my eyes up past thick wrists and corded arms. Up goes my gaze past flexed biceps, across a broad chest, and finally my eyes meet his.

He looms over me, all broad and imposing.

"Hey," his husky voice - just slightly deeper, raspier than Jaehyun's - murmurs, "I'm Taehyung. I brought this for you."

Taehyung's intimidating; his stare is direct and unwavering. Heat rolls off him in waves, and if this party was hotter than hell, that must make him the devil.

Our fingers brush as I accept his slightly outstretched offering, and I swear I would feel the reoccurring zings for the next week. "Hey, thank you. I'm, uh..." I trail off, Taehyung's dark eyes staring at me from this close make me seem to lose all power of speech. God, do eyes that color really exist? Apparently, they do – deep brown mixed with flecks of amber, hypnotizing.

I clear my throat and try to force my last two brain cells to work together, "I'm (y/n)."

He's smirking slightly now, the gesture pulling forth the cutest flush of pink in his cheeks, "Nice to meet you, (y/n)." And I swear he says my name like he's caressing it, tasting it for the first time.

Damn, he's unholy. Where is my snarky, inner bad bitch when I need her?

"Did you win your game? Seems like you might have been a little... distracted," I smirk, there she is. I crack open my beer and revel in the emitting hiss.

A flicker of heat bursts through those brown eyes as he leans closer still, enveloping me with his intoxicating cologne. He smells like autumn woods with a hint of fresh lemon; he smells like trouble.

Taehyung sets his beer down and places his arms on either side of me - caging me in. "Things were going just fine 'til this girl came strutting through the room in some tight fucking jeans," his tongue flicks over his lower lip, "So, yeah, you could say I got a little distracted."

"I do not strut," I object, narrowing my eyes at him - daring him to contradict me.

He's undeterred, "Yeah, you do, jagi." His eyes are full of mirth and he's clearly enjoying getting a reaction from me, "It's hot."

I bristle, unsure if I should accept that 'compliment' at face value, "Does this work on most girls? You know, the whole cornering her while you give her lame compliments thing?"

He looks surprised for a second, but then his head tilts back and he lets out one of the most endearing laughs I've ever heard - all unrestrained and unabashed pleasure.

Still chuckling, he tilts his head, eyes darting all over my face - lingering on my lips, "Where did you come from, (y/n)?"

Within seconds we're making out like unsupervised high school students, right in the middle of the damn kitchen. I let out an embarrassing moan when he bites my bottom lip then sucks on it. Expertly coaxing my lips apart, his tongue meets mine in a feverish tangle while his hands grip my waist - pulling me into him.

The way that Kim Taehyung kisses is unlike anything I've ever experienced. It's hot and demandingly deliberate with a possessiveness that sends a ripple of electricity through me. I'm playing with fire, making out with him, but at this moment I can't find it in me to give a single fuck.

Blazing lips suck and bite at the side of my neck and –

"(y/n)?"

The franticly questioning voice draws nearer as I open my eyes and tear myself away from Taehyung's wicked mouth. Luna's there, peering around Taehyung's shoulder, and I can immediately tell that something is seriously wrong.

Shoving Taehyung away from me, I jump down from the counter and stumble - completely forgetting I was in three-inch heeled boots. Taehyung’s hands shoot out around my waist to stabilize me, "Whoa, easy there, (y/n)."

"Get your lecherous paws off her, Kim," my eyes dart to Luna, shocked at her tone but proud of her vocabulary, "(y/n), we have to go."

"What's going on?" I'm at a loss, and I hate it, "Are you okay? Where's Jaehyun? Do I need to chop his dick off?"

Taehyung lets out a choking sound beside me, but I pay him no mind - chicks before dicks, hoes before bros, besties before testes, etc. etc.

"What I'm planning is much worse," Luna mutters with a strange glint in here eye as she pulls me away from Taehyung and levels him with an icy stare, "Listen, Kim, I know all about your little task for the pledges. Seriously, forcing them to get with as many girls as possible before they get their letters? Are you that much of a chauvinistic asshole?"

I whip around to face Taehyung, who seems to have become intensely interested in his beer, "Is this true?" He says nothing. I stalk up to him, shoving a finger in his chest, "Is. It. True."

His beautiful, guilty eyes flicker up to meet mine, and my heart sinks.

"Fuck. You." My words come out as a whisper but are still vicious enough to make Taehyung stagger back.

With that, Luna and I stalk out of the party - heads held high and arms linked.

Returning to our dorm, we make a pact to avoid all frat boys and christen it with pizza. She never tells me how she found out about the stupid pledge task; I'm smart enough to know that she must have had her reasons.

But I wasn't smart enough to stop thinking about Kim Taehyung.

I played with fire.

I should have known I'd get burned.

[write-orflight]

Cherry Wine: SpencerXReader

*gif not mine*

Pairings: SpencerXReader (Angst w/ happy ending oneshot)

Rating: M

Words: 4.2K

Warnings: SMUT! very, very, angsty! TW/CW: Drug abuse, attempted suicide, murder

Request: OPEN/CLOSED

Summary: Inspired by Cherry Wine by Hozier. (Listen while reading)

The first thing they tell you when getting clean is to not date anyone from group. Unfortunately, neither of you can follow rules. 

A.N: Please! do not read this is drug abuse or suicide will be triggering for you protect yourself please! Much love, Cia

The first thing they told you when trying to get clean was not to date anyone from the group. 

But you and Spencer couldn’t help how you fell into each other. 

You remembered the first day you walked into group. The way the heel of your boots clacked hard against the dirty linoleum floor. You were wearing your dad’s old sweater and ratty shorts. You didn’t think anything of your outfit but Spencer would later tell you that he thought you were the most radiant thing on the earth when he saw you in that moment.

You kept your hood up as you plopped into the squeaky folding chairs. You looked over to your left to see the tall, lanky man wringing his hands together constantly. Your eyes trailed up and down his body from his battered converse to the hard outline of his set jaw. You knew you had to have him in that moment. 

You leaned over. “Hey.” you said. He jumped out of his skin practically, trying to put as much distance between the both of you as possible. You hold your hands up in surrender. “Sorry, you just look nervous and I thought you would want a friend.” 

“I-I do…” He stutters over his words. Moving back into the space and inadvertently closer to you. “I’m Spencer.” He says. 

“Spencer…” You test the word out on your lips. It’s not bad, you’ve moaned worst names. You dated a guy named Harold for a spell, nothing was worse than that. “Hi, Spencer. I’m Y/N. First NA meeting?” 

He looks down at his feet. “Yea.” 

“What was your poison?” You ask. You’re not supposed to ask that but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. 

“Dilaudid.” He says, awkwardly.

You nod. “That’s rough. How are you adjusting?” 

“I’m getting there, I just feel like an idiot being here.” 

“Well, why’s that?” 

“I have an IQ of 187, Several degrees and PhDs. I’m not necessarily the audience for drug addiction.” He says, frustrated. 

 “Well, I have my master’s in Engineering. I may not have a genius IQ but I’m by no means an idiot.” You say. “But I got hooked on pills just as bad as the next guy, you’re not dumb for needing help.” 

That’s how the two of you started. It was innocent at first, staying a little longer at meetings just to talk to each other, meeting for coffee. But pretty soon it was exchanging numbers and late night calls. 

One particular phone call was when you shifted. Whether it was for the better or worse you could not tell. 

“You sped out the meeting yesterday, I didn’t get to tell you happy 6 months.” Spencer said, over the line. You couldn’t help the gentle swoon that came with hearing that raspy voice praise you. 

“Yea, I had an early day today. Sorry.” 

“What’s wrong?” Spencer says, immediately able to tell something was up with you. “You seem upset.” 

You sigh. “I’d like to preface this by saying that I didn’t do it, I promise.”  you say, shuffling your feet that were laid on your coffee table. “I’ve been thinking about using, a lot lately.” 

Spencer gasps slightly. “And you haven’t?” 

“No, I didn’t Spencer. At least not yet, but work has been stressful and I’ve just been thinking about it alot.”  

“Well, what did you do to destress before?” 

“Honestly?” You ask. “I had sex, like a crazy amount of sex. I know it’s not the best coping mechanism but it’s better than OD’ing. I used to regularly hit up this guy but he got a job in Portland recently. So that fountain is dried up.” 

You hear Spencer mumble something. “What’d you say?” You ask.

“I said, I could do it.” He rushes through the sentence. 

“Do what, Spencer?” 

“We could… have sex…” He says, awkwardly. 

You look at the phone in shock at that. “I don’t know if I’m comfortable taking your virginity, Spencer.” 

You hear Spencer sputter on the other line. “I-I’m not a virgin.” 

“Really?” You say. That was a shock for sure.  “Could’ve fooled me.”  

You hear those words that changed everything next. “Come over.” 

“What?” 

“Now.” He says, hanging up the phone at the moment. 

You go and grab your keys not needing to be told twice. 

------------------------------------------- 

You knock on Spencer’s door a rough 15 minutes later. The door swings open and a hand is already circling your wrist, pulling you in. It’s not long before that door is slammed and you’re being pressed up against it. You try to move the hand he’s holding down but Spencer is deceptively strong, probably needed in his line of work. You look at him, eyes blown wide with lust and initial shock. 

“Will you tell me if I do something that makes you uncomfortable?” He asks, looking you in the eye. 

“Are you saying I need a safeword, Dr. Reid?” 

His eyes darken significantly as he hears his profession past your lips. “It’d probably be wise to have one.” 

You think for a second. “How about Tardis?” You say, you and Spencer had bonded over your shared love of Doctor Who.

“That works.” He says, Tugging on your wrist, pulling you deeper into the Apartment until you reach your final destination, his bedroom. 

He lets you go and shuts the door. 

“Strip.” He says, leaning against the dresser. You narrow your eyes at him to see if he was serious. He looks back at you with a waiting expression, to show you that he was. 

Might as well… you think, tugging your shirt off. You continue to look Spencer in the eyes as you shed the rest of your clothes. His eyes travel down and back up your body. He steps towards you in that moment, tilting your chin up to look at him. 

“You’re breathtaking.” He says, sweeping you into a passionate kiss. You moan against his lips as his arms bracket under your thighs to lift you up, dropping you onto the bed. You look up at him, eyes blown wide as he takes his shirt and pants off before rejoining you on the bed. You moan loudly as he sucks bruises onto your neck, grinding his erection against your sex. He leaves hot, bruising kisses down your body. Your shoulders, your chest, your stomach. Until they meet their all-time destination, right above your sex. 

He rubs a hand against your sex, kissing bruises into your inner thigh. “Look at how needy you are for me. I’ve barely touched you and you’re soaked.” He says, thumb circling your clit.

You moan, moving your hips to get some kind of friction. “S-Spencer, please--” 

“What do you want, baby?” He says. “Use your words.” 

“Please, your mouth…” you manage. 

“What do you want me to do with my mouth, huh?” He says, taunting you. You squirm under the scrutiny. “I need to hear you say it.” He said, slipping two fingers into your wet heat, curling instantly. 

You babble for a second, trying to formulate the words. “Spencer- Spen, Please!”

“I know, baby. I got you.” He whispers before giving a deep quick lick to your clit. Your head thrashes back in ecstasy as he curls two fingers inside of you. It wasn’t long before you felt that tell-tale ball tightening in your lower abdomen. 

“Spencer, fuck- I’m going to--” 

“I know, baby. Go ahead and cum for me.” Not knowing you were waiting on permission, you release yourself on his fingers. He leaves small kisses on your thighs while coaxing you through your orgasm. Once you’ve come down, he crawls back up your body. You pull him in for a kiss, tasting yourself on his tongue. You feel him crawling out of his underwear while you’re kissing. 

“Do I need anything?” He says, his tip already dragging along your wet folds.

You moan, slightly. “You can use a condom if you want but I’m clean. And I’m on birth control.” 

He smiles wickedly at you. “I’m clean too.” He whispers to you, still teasing you. 

“Spencer.”  You moan. “Please fuck me.” 

He smiles before pushing into you, not needing much convincing. You both gasp at the first contact. The hands on your hips are practically bruising. He waits searching your eyes, making sure you aren’t hurt. You don’t like that, when people look at you like you’re of value. 

“Move.” You say, Spencer happily obliges, opting to go slow. You instantly start moving your hips to make him move faster. He looks at you slightly confused but keeps his pace. You sigh, frustrated. “Are you going to actually fuck me or what, Spencer?” 

His hips snap into you harshly at that moment, making all the air in your lungs expel. “Excuse me?” He says, instantly fucking into you harder, his hand circles your throat, squeezing the sides. You moan loudly. Well, as loud as you can with him cutting your air supply while he fucks into you roughly. 

“This is mine. Don’t tell me how to fuck it, ok?” He says, moving faster, other hand traveling down your body to rub your clit roughly. He lifts you leg over his shoulder so he’s almost impossibly deep inside you. You scream out, it was too much.

“Spencer.” You whine. “I-I can’t.” 

“You know your safeword.” He says roughly. “Unless you’re going to use it, I suggest shutting up and taking it.” You moan loudly at that, liking nothing more than the feeling of being used. 

“Spencer-fuck-I’m going come.” You moan. 

“Fuck-me too.” He says. “Go ahead and cum on my cock, baby.” You head thrashes back as your orgasm takes over, Spencer following close behind. 

He collapses on top of you for a second while the two of you catch your breath. The second he’s off of you, he moves to pull you close to him but you’re already up out of the bed. You stop in the bathroom to pee and clean yourself off. Once back in the room, Spencer watches you in confusion as you put your clothes on. 

“Are you in a rush?” He asks. The awkward kid you’ve known for months now back replacing the man you had just been in bed with. “You could stay.” 

You walk over to where he is on the bed, placing a small kiss on his forehead before patting his cheek lightly. “It’s probably best if I don’t stay.” You say, patting his bare leg. “I don’t want either of us to get the wrong idea.” 

“Wrong idea?” He asks. 

You sigh. “You know, sex and drugs release a lot of the same brain chemicals.” You watch him nod. “Of course you do, you know everything. I’m just saying, this is a nice simple way to stay clean, I use you when I need the distraction from pills. And… you use me when you need it.” 

“But, I don’t want to use you. I lik-” 

“Don’t finish that sentence. Please, Spencer.” You sigh, tapping him lightly on the forehead. “This is why I don’t want to sleep over. If I do, those chemicals in that big brain will confuse the high from good sex with love and… I’m not the person you want to fall in love with right now, it’s not the right time for us. I’m a fuckup.” You say, standing up and grabbing your purse. “You may not like this now, but you’re going to have a really bad day probably, that’ll make you want to use again and if that happens…. I’d rather you call me before you do.” You ruffle his hair before walking out of the apartment into the brisk air. 

---------------------------------------------

It’s weeks before you hear from Spencer again. You almost counted him up as a loss by the sheer amount the two of you didn’t speak after you had sex. You respected his decision not to contact you and you figured even though you lost a friend at least that friend had made you cum twice before leaving you out to dry.  

You were sitting on your couch with a pint of Ben and Jerry’s and Netflix queued up when you got the call. 

“Hello?” You said around the spoon. 

“Come over.” You heard Spencer say on the other line. 

Your heart fluttered at the sound of his rough tone. “I’m in my sweats.” You say. 

“I don’t care.” He says, hanging up. 

You shrug, jumping up to put your ice cream in the freezer before running out the door. 

When you get to Spencer’s place, he answers the door almost as soon as you knock as if he’s been waiting. His eyes are puffy and red. 

“You’ve been crying.” You say, stating the obvious. 

He rolls his eyes. “Do you remember your safeword?” 

“Yes.”

“Then get inside.” 

Thus began the vicious cycle that was you and Spencer. You would call him, typically after a long day of being interrupted and ridiculed by your colleagues. He’d call you after rough cases, and you’d fuck each others brains out. One time. No encore performances. No sleeping over. No falling in love. 

It worked for a while, a long while. Spencer was still a nice friend. You’d text him about new episodes of Doctor Who or ask him obscure questions you needed answers too when you didn’t feel like googling it. He always had an answer for you. 

But of course just like most things in your life, you couldn’t have a good thing without finding some way to fuck it up. 

It started with one time Spencer called you to come over after you had worked a 12 hour shift. You didn’t tell him that, you just still went. After you guys hooked up, he watched you sleepily try to put your clothes on. Not even able to keep your eyes completely open. 

“Y/N, just stay.” He says. “I can’t let you drive home like this.” 

“No, I’m fine. I’ll go.” You say, mid-yawn. 

“Yea, real convincing.” He laughs. “Get in the bed, Y/N/N.” 

You were very tired. Spencer’s bed is pretty comfy. Why not? You think. 

“This doesn’t mean anything. It’s still not time.” You say, as you crawl back in. “I’m just tired.” 

Spencer says nothing, just turns off the light next to his bedside. “Goodnight, Y/N” 

You wake up that morning, warm and wrapped around Spencer. You leave before he can wake up 

Things really change when you get the call. 

After your mother found you on the living room floor covered in your own vomit, you could never speak to her again, not until you were clean. Fully clean and a fully functioning adult that didn’t need pills to cope. You were getting there and you thought you had time. 

That was until you were called to identify a body. 

They told you it was a robbery gone bad, that they robbed your mother’s store and was upset about the amount of money that wasn’t in the drawer. And they just shot her with no remorse. The only person in your life who cared about you, gone in seconds. 

Fuck, you really needed it right now. 

After being sober for months, your cravings weren’t bad but right now you needed to feel nothing. You wanted to drift into nothing right. You thought about how easy it would be to just float away right then, how easy it would be to join your mother. 

You should probably call someone. 

So you called Spencer. Several times. You needed the distraction, even if he couldn’t fuck you, you needed something to take your mind off the ache. But every time you dialed, you only got his voicemail. You left him a nonchalant message the first time. Just a simple hey call me back when you get a chance but after the 5th 6th and 7th time you called you never left a message, just slipped deeper into that hole you were digging. You were foolish to think he cared enough about you to be there when you needed him. You were nothing but a warm body to him. Just like you were to every guy you’ve had the misfortune of meeting. 

No one cares what happens to you. Why should you?

That was the last thought you had before your fist circled the cylindrical body of an old friend. 

---------------------------------

Spencer didn’t know why you called so much, but he knew something was wrong. Which was why as soon as he checked his phone he rushed to your apartment. He knocked harshly several times before you swung the door open, leaning on the door frame to support your weight. 

“What, Spencer?” You say, eyes heavy.

“What do you mean what? You called me several times. What’s wrong?” 

“Nothing anymore, so if you’ll excuse me.” You say moving to close the door. His hand springs out to stop you. Eyes narrowing at you. 

“Are you high, Y/N?” 

“It’s none of your business, Reid.” 

“Like hell it is.” He says, brushing past you into the apartment. “Where is it? I’m fucking dumping it.” 

“Spencer, leave!”

“Absolutely not! Where the fuck is it?” He says angrily. Before his eyes land on the now empty bottle you had sitting on your nightstand. “Did you take all of these?” 

Spence--” 

“DID YOU TAKE ALL OF THESE?!?” He asks again, screaming. You don’t say anything, he takes your silence as an answer, pulling out his phone to dial 911. 

“Spence, don’t.” You say as you hear him rattling off your address to the operator. He’s tugging you into the bathroom. 

“Make yourself vomit, now.” 

“No, Spencer.” You say. 

“Either you do it, or I’m going to do it Y/N.” you look him in his eyes, before wobbling off to the toilet to try to make yourself throw up. 

You don’t make it very far, you pass out on your bathroom floor. 

-----------------------------------------

You wake up to fluorescent lights hurting your eyes. You sit up looking around, you were in the hospital. 

“Don’t try to sit up.” You hear next to you. You look to your side to see Spencer. 

“What’re you doing here?” You say annoyed. 

“Well, contrary to popular belief, one of us actually cares if you live. So I wanted to make sure you were ok before I left.” 

“Well, I’m fine you can go.” 

Spencer runs a stressed hand through his hair. “Why did you do it, Y/N.” He asks, tears welling. “You were doing so good.” 

“You don’t think I know that!” You snap. “My mom died.” You choke on your words. 

“Y/N/N…” 

“The one person on this earth who cared about me was murdered in cold blood. I lost everything, I had no one.” 

“Don’t say that, Y/N. You had me.” 

“And where were you?” You yell. “Because I called you and you WEREN’T THERE! Don’t act like you fucking care now because I’m in a hospital bed, Spence. You just use me for a quick fuck and then I never hear from you.” 

“I use you?!” He says, words almost venomous. “You’re the one who told me that you only wanted to fuck. I wanted you, Y/N! I wanted to be with you, I loved you. And you told me no!” 

“I told you it wasn’t time--” 

“Oh yea, it’s not time yet, it’s not time yet.  So I’m just supposed to wait and be in love with you while you treat me like shit and try to kill yourself?!” Spencer says, angrily. “Because it’s not time yet! What does that even mean, Y/N!” 

“It’s not time for me to be in love with you!” You yell. “I can’t right now, Spencer. I don’t have anything in my heart to give you and I wish I did. I wish I could sit here and tell you I’m in love with you and that I want to be with you right now but I can’t, Spencer. I can’t love you when I don’t even love me!” You cry, Spencer stays across from you, wanting nothing more than to cross the room and sweep you in his arms. “You deserve more than that.” you whisper. 

“I don’t want more, I want you.” He whispers back. You look up to see the tears falling down his face too. 

“You need to leave, Spencer.” You say. 

“Y/N--” 

“Now!” You yell. “Please don’t make me call a nurse.” 

Spencer sighs, taking one last look at you before leaving you. 

You cry for 2 weeks straight after that. 

--------------------------------------------

Some years later, you quit your job. It caused you nothing but stress anyway. 

You travel for some time, spending your savings backpacking through europe and asia. You made some amazing friends, ate some good food, and had some good experiences. Life went on and thankfully got better. 

You were now 7 years sober and this time with, thankfully, healthy coping mechanisms. You took better care of your body, exercising daily and the only time you really splurged was a giant ice cream sundae on your sober anniversary. You found a good therapist and you were offered a job teaching Engineering at a local university. Which you happily took, there weren’t enough female professors in STEM. 

You had a relatively small 8AM class (no one really liked waking up.) and during a silent note taking portion you couldn’t help but hear two of your female students talking. 

“I’m telling you Whitney, that professor is fine as hell.” You heard one of them say. “I mean, personally I have no interest in Criminal Psychology but I’d be interested in anything he had to say. You should come audit the class with me so you can see for yourself.” 

“Something you want to share with the class, Ms. Rivera?” You say.  

“I’m just talking about the new professor, Ms. Y/L/N.” Addie smiles.

“New Professor?” You ask, you hadn’t heard anything about a new professor. Then again, STEM and humanities didn’t really cross paths. 

“Yea, He’s hot.” Addie says. “Name’s Dr. Reid.” 

Your heart stops when you hear that. Spencer was here, teaching. The students must’ve noticed your pause, all looking at you confused. 

“Focus on your work.” You call out. All eyes leave you, suddenly going back to their papers. 

You knew in that moment you had to go see him. Even if nothing came of it the least you could do was thank him for saving your life that night. You decided to also go audit his class. The lecture hall was already full of college age girls, meticulous putting on makeup to impress the professor. You opt for a seat in the back. 

You watched as he came out and greeted the class briefly with a bright smile before going through his lesson. You can’t help the way your heart swoons, his hair is longer and more fluffy. Like he stopped putting that product he used to slick it back with in his hair. He was older definitely but so were you. And as you watched him give his lesson you saw nothing about him had really changed at all. He was still the same excited-to-learn, nerd you fell for in the first place. 

You stuck back for a while after he dismissed his class, waiting in the far corner while a girl tried and failed to flirt with the man. You laughed slightly, Spencer never could take a hint. You watched him pack up his messenger bag before saying something. 

“Hey, Spen.” You say, the man instantly spins around, looking at you in shock. 

“Y/N?” He asks. You nod. “Oh my god, you look good, healthy.” He smiles at you, you can’t help the smile you give back. “Are you…” 

You know what he’s asking. He wants to know if you’re clean. You nod. “7 years, as of last tuesday.” You say. 

“That’s good, I’m so proud of you.” You preen a bit at the praise. 

“How have you been?” You ask. “Are you..?” 

“I’ve been better, but I’m still clean, yea.” 

“That’s good.” You say. You look at each other in silence, the conversation now stale. “I just wanted to say thank you, for that night. You saved my life, Spence and I was so ungrateful.” 

“You don’t have to thank me for that.” He says. 

“Do you maybe want to get coffee? Catch up maybe?” 

“I can’t do that, Y/N.” He says, you look down, trying not to seem upset. “I want to but, there’s still a big part of me that has all these feelings for you and I can’t just get coffee and have it mean nothing.” He sighs. 

“What if I want it to mean something?” You say, looking him in the eyes. 

“Y/N…” He takes a step closer to you, you hate how welcome he already feels in your space. “Are you telling me it’s time?” 

“There’s never going to be a right time for us, Spencer.” You say, looking him in the eye. He looks downtrodden.  “But what I can say is that I want you now, and I want to try being with you now. If you also want that.”  

He smiles at you. “I’ll always want that. I’ll always want you.” 

You smile back. 

It isn’t perfect but at least it’s now.

Perm. Taglist: @diesinspanishbcimhispanic​

[touyasthembo]

Hide, go and seek.

Keigo Takami/Fem!Reader

Rating: M

Word Count: 4.6k

Warnings: Oral (reader receiving), some slight dubcon(?), branding, knifeplay (technically?), creampie, breeding kink, degradation, praise, kind of mean!keigo, keigo fucks himself stupid, overstimulation, lil bit of predator/prey, one (1) spank, fearplay, slight dumbification, slight possessiveness, lil bit of bloodplay, some sweetness mixed in.

Notes: My first ever piece of smut that I’ve posted! Hope you guys enjoy, lots more on the way.

🌒🌒🌒

Keigo’s week has been nothing but work on top of work on top of work, hellacious and taxing, he’s rapidly coming towards his wit’s end, feeling like he’s about to snap at any given moment. You are his only reprieve, the only good in his life. He loves you so very much. Which is why he feels guilty for wanting to take it all out on you.

You, his sweet little girlfriend. You guys had been experimental in the bedroom, plenty times, certainly. He’d often made use of his unholy amounts of stamina and railed you well into the morning until you were crying, shaking, on the verge of passing out, he’d marked you up, spanked you, done all sorts of things.

Lately, his mind has been going to, well, darker places, admittedly. Some little feral avian part in his brain delights in the idea of “hunting” you down and claiming you, biting you and bruising you up in colors of his name, sinking his claws that itch to grab you into your flesh until you’re lined with the pretty little crescent shaped markings that are his everywhere. 

Maybe digging the tip of a sharpened feather into your skin, watching the blood ooze out so he can lap it up, taste the coppery flavor of you on his tongue.

The strangest thing is, he isn’t even remotely close to a rut. He chalks it off to being overworked and stressed out, wanting a physical way to get rid of all of the negative emotions brewing inside of him.

His patrol is almost over, moon looming over the dark city, bright and beautiful as he pulls out his phone, hands shaking a bit with the motion, opening up the messages and immediately tapping on your name.

keigo baby💘 : turn off all of the lights in the apartment and hide.

Little dove🕊: what? why? is something going on I should know about?

keigo baby💘 : i’m not asking.

When your eyes rove over the texts, you feel your heart pound in your chest, thunderously loud in your ears as you immediately do as you’re told, almost tripping over your own feet every couple of seconds as you do, until your entire apartment is drenched in darkness and you’re standing in the middle of the living room, mind desperately trying to figure out where to hide.

One of the curses of having such an open and modern apartment is that there aren’t many places you can think of. You realize your only safe bet is in your closet, under the pile of clothes. You run inside, trying to close the door behind you as silently as possible, before burrowing under the pile of clean yet-to-be folded clothes, holding your breath when you hear the sliding door that goes out to the balcony slowly open, followed by the sound of slow methodical bootsteps. 

Surely, you reason, that’s Keigo? Then why had he…?

You hear doors in the apartment open, shut, then more bootsteps going further away, then coming closer, you realize he’s systematically going through every single possible hiding space. You’re going to be found in no time. The question is, what happens next?

You hear your shared room’s door slowly creak open, followed by heavy footfalls, the sounds of him rustling through things, opening the other smaller closet, looking under the bed, under the covers, until the footsteps come right up outside your door. You feel your heart leap into your chest, trying to breathe as lightly as you can without passing out.

He yanks the door open without much grace, the sound it makes causing you to yelp, muffled under the clothes pile. You feel his hands reach in and pull you out, and when you look up at him you’re left slightly mortified, just the slightest bit of fear coursing through you.

The only thing illuminated in the dark is his eyes, yellow sharp and piercing, pupils fat as he looks down at you, his prey, his prize. They look wild, bordering on unhinged as he grins widely at you in satisfaction, pearly white teeth with sharp canines glinting in the low light the moon offers, slightly obscured through the window.

“Got you,” He rasps, voice impossibly deep as you look up at him in fear, wonderment, a strange sort of dark aura surrounding him and encapsulating you as well as you sit on your knees in front of him.

“K-Keigo, what’s going on?” You squeak, swallowing nervously as he continues to stare you down with his intense, intimidating yellow glare, looking so very pleased with himself at his catch.

“That’s not important right now, sweetheart, just let me do what I need to do, okay?” He murmurs, voice deceptively saccharine sweet, dripping with malice as he manhandles you up, then tosses you on the softness of your bed, illuminating you in the whitish blue of the moonlight pouring through your uncovered window.

He coos at your terrified expression, gloved hand reaching up and petting your cheek sweetly, other unoccupied hand reaching up to your little nightshirt, fingers curling around the bottom of it as he tugs, until you’re left in just your bra. 

You’d be lying if you said whatever’s gotten into him isn’t making you incredibly aroused, feeling yourself start to get wet under his predatory gaze, which roves over your nearly uncovered chest.

“Keigo! Slow down, and tell me what’s- f-fuck,” You moan, as he abruptly pulls down the cup of your pretty little baby blue bra, immediately latching onto one of your newly exposed nipples and sucking harshly, tongue lapping at the sensitive bud as his other hand pinches the other one, appreciatively squeezing the fat of your tit as he does, enjoying the give it has in his palms. 

You’re whimpering now, squeezing your legs together in search of friction while he hums softly, in between ravenous sucks and licks, alternating between both tits until they’re both wet and sticky with his saliva, his eyes never leaving yours, still with that same unhinged, borderline eerie gaze.

“Sensitive,” You mewl when he pinches a little too hard. He laughs in response to your pathetic little plea, pinching even harder and biting down on the one that he’s currently sucking on. You yelp, hips bucking into his. 

His other hand shoots down, pinning your hips to the bed as his gaze turns dark, toeing the line of furious.

“You’ll take what I give you and nothing more, am I fucking clear?” He hisses, baring his teeth at you, fingers digging in harshly when you don’t answer quickly enough, yelping out a “yes, I’m sorry!” in response that he seems to approve of, returning back to his previous task of torturing your poor chest.

When he gets bored of doing that, he shoves your flimsy little blue shorts down, tossing them somewhere away as he harshly pries your legs apart, gazing openly down at your wet, panty clad cunt lecherously. 

“You got your poor dumb little pussy so fucking wet over me playing with your tits, huh, little slut?” He hisses appreciatively as he thumbs your clit, making you jerk with the suddenness of it, feeling so sensitive from the slight contact, he takes the hand he’d just been teasing you with, pulling his leather glove off with his teeth and bringing it back, bare, against your twitching pussy.

His thumb rubs in teasing little circles through your pale blue panties, not going nearly fast enough to get you to the edge, but it still makes you ache, still makes goosebumps rise all over your sensitive body, nipples hard and neglected in the cool night air as he laughs derisively at your little needy display.

“‘M not a slut, Keigo,” You whine, fighting the urge to grind back into his touch, lest he reprimand you again. Your actions say otherwise, you know, your face heats at how you’re acting, embarrassed with how desperate you are for him to touch you. You’d be lying if you said his words weren’t turning you on even more, even if they do sting a little.

“Oh, but you are, my pretty little slut,” He purrs, using the usually degrading name as a sort of backhanded praise, it leaves you reeling every time he says it, in conjunction with his thumb swirling around your little throbbing clit. 

You’re soaking through the soft cotton of your panties, he eyes the wet spot with a rapt sort of hunger, as he licks his lips, roughly yanking the fabric down your legs, until it’s hanging off your foot, which is dangling off the bed. 

“Oh, fuck,” He says airily, sounding a bit wrecked himself as he sees firsthand how drenched you’ve gotten just from him just barely touching you, his words. You squirm, embarrassed by his entranced gaze on your dripping pussy, how he’s just staring at you without touching you.

He lunges forward, immediately targeting your poor, oversensitive clit, sucking and licking, lapping you up like you’re the sweetest thing he’s ever had the honor of tasting, the noises of him feasting on you nothing short of obscene, wet, slick sounding, you let out a high keen.

The broad of his tongue laps through your wet puffy folds, the taste of your slick on his tongue only making him feel more aroused, head getting even hazier with every little whimper and mewl he makes you let out, how messy you are, all for him.

“Fucking messy, god, you’re so wet,” He moans into you, the vibrations of his voice against you making you buck into his face, the feeling of his stubble on your inner thighs ticklish, only adding to the overstimulation he’s rapidly hurtling you towards. 

You’re dripping down his fucking chin, he realizes with a snarl, amplifying his efforts to make you cum, wanting nothing more than to hear you cry out his name repeatedly from the intensity alone, to announce to the world that he’s the only one that can make you feel this good, make you cum this hard. Nobody else would ever, could never compare.

Your eyes are tearing up as you hiccup, hands fisting in his unruly golden hair as you beg for him to slow down, speed up, babbling nonsense at this point as he devours you.

“Yeah? Gonna cum for me? Gonna cream on my tongue, little dove?” He goads, parting from you with a wet translucent string of both your arousal and his saliva, licking it up without so much as a second thought as he admires how wrecked you are, unshed tears glittering in your eyes.

“Yes, please, please, let me cum, let me- ghkk,” You garble as he shoves his long thick fingers in your mouth, telling you firmly to suck, which you immediately obey. 

Hollowing out your cheeks as your eyes flutter shut, the combination of his fingers fucking into your mouth as you lick and suck around his invading digits, his tongue fucking into your pussy, flitting up to pulse around your clit, sends you hurtling over the edge as you cum, hard, with a muffled wail.

He parts from your still clenching cunt, panting heavily as the bottom half of his face drips with your release, his tongue lapping up as much as it can, before he crawls up the length of your body to slam his lips against yours, tongue immediately invading your mouth and twining with yours, sharing the taste of your arousal with you.

You moan weakly into his mouth, the force of your orgasm making you see little stars behind your closed eyelids, he responds with soft little noises, grumbling in the back of his throat. In hindsight, you’re incredibly foolish for thinking that was the end of it, that he’d gotten what he wanted and was completely satisfied.

When he parts from you with a little wet smooch, far too sweet considering how aggressive he’d been, your heavy lidded eyes open to the sight of his amber eyes, narrowed now into little slits as he stares you down once more, you realize you’re not entirely out of the woods yet.

He summons a long crimson feather to his left hand, twirling it between his fingers as he watches your face for every little microexpression. His cock twitches in his pants when he sees the slightest hint of fear enter your pupils.

“You always told me my feathers are so pretty, wanna put that to the test, little love? Want me to mark you up nice and good, gorgeous, all for me?” He hums, tickling under your chin with the soft plumed crimson end of it, tilting his head at you. He already knows what you’re thinking, truly he doesn’t even need to ask.

You gulp, he grins, one large strong hand flipping you over onto your tummy, gripping your wrists together as he hums a little song in his throat, practically purring at the sight of your ass, bare in the moonlight in front of him. 

He winds a long arm back, smacking it harshly just to see it jiggle, releasing a low groan of approval when it does, the sting of it making you grind back against his leg that’s snuck its way in between your slicked thighs. 

He lets you, but moves it back just the slightest bit so that the pressure wouldn’t be enough for you to cum again.

When you feel the sharp poke of his feather against the tender skin of your ass, you whimper, muffled by the bedsheets underneath you, stiffening in anticipation. He puts more pressure, you feel your skin start to give, toes curling as you realize he truly does intend to cut you with the sharp end of his feather.

The pain is low, throbbing, when he finishes each little section of whatever it is he’s cutting into your skin, you feel blood bead at the surface of your skin, dripping down the side of your throbbing cheek, to your mortification he leans down and laps it up before it can stain your sheets, humming at the taste in his mouth.

It’s another couple of seconds until he’s done, admiring his handiwork as you shake and writhe underneath him, your ass throbbing with a dull sort of ache as he finally relinquishes your wrists, letting you stand back up. He drags you over to the mirror, then turns you around.

Across your left ass cheek, is his name, written in his handwriting, branded into your skin. Loftily, you wonder if it’ll scar, wobbling a little, still a bit dizzy from your previous orgasm.

“So pretty,” He praises, admiring the raised lines that spell out ‘K E I G O’ across the globe of your ass. He’d made it very compact, neat, thankfully, something that could be hidden, but he’d always know it was there, that he’d been the one to mark you. 

He comes in closer behind you, until you feel the hard still clothed bulge of his cock grinding against your freshly branded ass, murmuring appreciative little sweet nothings in your ear, followed by sweet little kisses, nibbles and licks to any exposed skin he can find, targeting your neck and ear specifically.

“Now that I’m finished with that, it would be a shame to leave my cock this hard and unattended to, don’t you think?” He cooes, voice like liquid velvet to your foggy brain, sucking little marks into the tender skin of your neck as he slowly walks the two of you back to your bed, arm wrapped protectively around your waist.

He coaxes you onto the bed with sweet lilting words, promising he’s gonna make the pain all worth it, all better as soon as you take care of him, your brain greedily lapping up his words, which are interspersed with praise.

“You’re so good for me, my little dove, so obedient,” He purrs, once again maneuvering you with rough hands until you’re once again on your stomach on your shared bed. You can hear the metal clinks of him undoing his belt, fabric shifting followed by a low groan as you hear the unmistakable sounds of him working his cock, feeling his eyes burn into the brand he’d made on you.

You feel his thick tip press against your soaked little hole, his hands on your hips, squeezing at your flesh appreciatively, as he nudges your entrance, not thrusting in yet. You attempt to grind back, but the strength of his grip on your hips immediately halts the action before it can even start.

You’re sweating, your thighs are quivering in anticipation, heart pounding in your chest as you make little desperate sounds, hoping that will be enough for him. He seems to be in a particular mood tonight, however, his silence and lack of action is deafening, only serving to make you more desperate for his cock, for praise, degradation, anything, you just needed him. 

You didn’t care if your ass stung or your body felt a bit boneless, or if your breath is coming in staccato little pants, you just want the familiar stretch, heat of him inside of you, fucking into you until you feel whole again. Fucking you until your mind goes dumb with pleasure and you’re drooling into the bedding below you, sobbing his name.

“Please, Keigo, wan’ your fat cock to stretch me out, ruin me, fuck me stupid, I love it so much, please,” You slur, turning your head to the side, so your words aren’t muffled by your bedsheets, desperate fat wet tears starting to run down your face as you hiccup.

He coos with faux sympathy, leaning down to catch one on his tongue, the wet taste of salt on his tongue. 

“Yeah? You want this cock? This cock’s the only one that can stretch you out so good, leave you sore for days, huh little dove?” He murmurs, the faux sympathy entering his voice too as he rocks himself against your dripping little cunt, still rubbing the head against your twitching hole. He slaps it against your clit for good measure, relishing in the little squeak he gets in response.

You nod rapidly, tongue feeling heavy in your mouth, eyes glittering with more unshed tears. He looks positively elated at the state you’re in, smirking smugly down at you as his sharp avian eyes gaze all around your teary eyed, warm little face, cheek slightly squished by the bed underneath you. 

“When you look this fucked out when I’ve only made you cum once, how can I deny?” He whispers, a slow sadistic grin rising on his face as he suddenly lurches forward, shoving the entirety of his thick cock inside of your wet hole all at once.

You squeal at the sudden intrusion, writhing under him as he presses all of his body weight against you, intending to fuck you into the bed with it. He’s so thick inside of you, stretching you out, bordering on painful even though you’ve taken him so many times now, you can feel him throb at the little pants and gasps that escape your mouth. 

“Fuck! Nngh, Kei-go, feels so good inside,” You sob, clawing at the sheets beneath you, the pain subsiding into pleasure as he very graciously lets your walls adjust to his thickness, the length of him, a little, anyways, before he completely starts ruining you.

“Mm, know it does, fuck you’re so tight, your pussy was made for me, you know,” He grunts, mouth open as he pants, a bit like a dog at the feeling of your tight wet walls squeezing his cock, nearly a vice grip. 

Sweat rolls down his temple as he fights the urge to start pounding into you, he’d already pushed it by shoving it all in at once, he didn’t actually want to cause you any more pain than strictly necessary, by his standards. Besides, you’d been so good for him, only disobeying him once, he deemed the brand on your ass a fitting punishment. 

When he feels you trying to rock back against him, goad him into fucking you, he laughs, mocking and deceptively sweet in your ear as he lifts up your head by your neck, long fingers winding around it.

“So desperate for me to make you my little cocksleeve, huh, angel?”

“Don’t test your luck, you’ll get fucked when I’m good and ready, so be patient, ok? Just wanna enjoy your tight little cunt clenching around me.” You don’t miss the threat in his words, wondering exactly what the next step up from a literal brand would be. 

But you listen, obedient, enjoying the sensation of his lips pressing against your sweaty face, tongue lapping up the salt he finds on your warm cheek, before moving down to your neck and suckling against the skin he finds there. 

He noses against it, the tenderness mixed with how harshly he’s been marking you swirling through your head in an intoxicating mix of love and lust you feel for him. Suddenly, you find yourself itching for a kiss.

“Kei, kiss please,” You beg, reduced to barely coherent sentences as you turn your face to look back at his, pleadingly, eyes wide and glassy, still full of unshed tears. 

How desperate you look, your eyes longingly begging him, your shaky little voice asking him for something so sweet makes his heart ache, through all the haze, the need to completely dominate you and make you his, over, and over, it makes him feel soft inside, his expression cracking from intimidating, to something softer, love-struck.

He obliges, leaning forward and pressing his lips against yours, licking into your mouth with slow, languid kisses, despite all of the fervor and heat he puts into them, you can feel he’s telling you how much he loves you, how grateful he is for you.

The room is filled with the wet sounds of you kissing, him grinding his cock against your sopping folds and against your eager hole as he slowly withdraws, before slamming into you harshly once more.

The once slow, sensual kisses turn fervid, as he bites and nibbles at your lips, tongue completely plundering your mouth as he loses himself to his base instincts to dominate, breed once more. 

His pace is nothing short of punishing, swollen cockhead pounding against the spot deep inside of you that makes you see stars, your pussy dripping copious amounts of your slick, so much so that it pools at the bottom of the sheets, down his heavy balls that are rapidly slapping against the sensitive newly carved skin of your ass.

The arm that isn’t wrapped around your waist, keeping you upright in a position so that he can kiss you, reaches down and rubs against your clit, greedily swallowing the muffled moans and mewls you make in his mouth as he continues ravaging you, feeling him throbbing inside of you, hearing the wet sounds you’re making around his cock, wet clicks and sloshes as he grunts and snarls into your messy kiss.

With every pass of the pads of his fingers over your oversensitive clit, pleasure rushes through you, up your spine and down into your toes, that curl with the overwhelming feeling, his expert fingers matching the punishing pace of his thrusts.

“Keigo-oh-oh,” You moan as he bounces you atop his cock, the motion making your words elongate, pleasure making your eyes roll back into your head, mouth flopped open as you drool, until he guides your head back to his with the strong grip of his hand, kissing you once more as the muffled sounds of your moans and his grunts fill the room, followed by the rapid sound of skin on skin as he continues fucking into your drenched pussy.

His wings span out behind him, crimson and beautiful in the dark, some of the feathers ruffling with the force of his oncoming orgasm, he can feel it, practically able to taste the ecstasy that’s going to overload his senses when he finally does, feeling you clench around his hard, throbbing length. 

He knows you’re close too. He can feel you tightening around him, feel the vibrations of your increasing moans against his lips as he kisses you, over and over, fingers rubbing tight quick little circles over your sensitive throbbing clit until he feels you pulse around him, a high little keen escaping you as you part for air, gasping and releasing little sobbing heaves of breath with the force of your orgasm, immediately sending him over the edge with you.

With a loud, drawn out moan of pleasure, he slumps against you, all but crushing you underneath his weight as his cock spurts his hot, thick cum inside your battered walls, feeling you pulse weakly around him in response, moaning out yourself in the relief the warmth offers you, his wings arching outward, spanning out to their full length as he shivers and whines.

He’s never cum this much before, still releasing soft little moans as he ruts inside of you, cock still hard and twitching, filling you to the brim with his warm sticky white cream, mumbling incoherently something about “making sure it takes” as he does.

“G’nna breed you, gonna knock you up, fill you with my brood, make sure you’re mine forever,” He slurs, face flushed red and yellow eyes unfocused, weakly moaning with every little rut against your backside, sliding back in forth in your pussy, eyes rolling back into his skull as he continues on babbling, feeling him get harder inside of your sore little pussy with every word. 

“Gotta cum inside you again ‘n again, gotta breed you, fuuuck,” He groans, speed increasing inside you as he gets desperate once more just from the little fantasies playing out in his head. 

You whimper with overstimulation, as the head of his cock once more batters against your sweet spot, the wet squishy sounds it makes as it thrusts in and out even more obscene with the added cum inside of you acting as lube, dripping out of you and making a little puddle on the bed beneath you.

He’s growling now, sinking his sharp teeth into your shoulder, between the junction of your neck, biting down hard as he pounds into you once more as you writhe and mewl beneath him, his long thick fingers once more rubbing against your abused oversensitive clit.

“Take it, god, gonna cum, gonna breed your little cunt!” He snarls as he cums once more, pressed up against the plush thick ring of your cervix, shooting more ropes of his warm milky white seed into your fertile little womb as he pants, shaking with rare overexertion, some of his feathers shooting off somewhere into the room with the force of it. 

Something about the idea of him breeding you seems to have taken everything out of him, you think as he watches his cum seep out of your tender little hole, fucking it back in with his long, thick fingers, then he reaches out for you, tugging you against him so he’s spooning you.

He peppers you with kisses, weakly murmuring praise, telling you how good you’d been for him, how proud he was of you, how gorgeous you looked covered in sweat with his cum dripping out of your sweet little pussy, all for him, how pretty you’d look swollen with his brood, tummy round and stretched.

“I’d take such good care of you, promise. God you’re so gorgeous, I love you,” He moans, shaky arms wrapped around you, still immersed in his little fantasy, feeling him hard against your back once more, knowing with relief he’s still too weak from his last orgasm to do anything yet. 

You’d at the very least get a couple hours of rest before he’d continue on, insatiable with the need to claim you over and over until the first rays of morning light filtered through your window.

[diavolosthots]

Hey girlie! I just read Chapter 5 of Dark Deception and just wanted to let you know I loved it! Anyway I have a small request for you, the brothers reacting to MC in a revealing outfit and could you pretty please with a cherry on top make it slightly NSFW? Thanks xx

Hey love! :) you dont have to ask me twice to make something NSFW lol also im glad youre enjoying the Dark Deception series!

Warning: slight NSFW

THE BROTHERS reacting to MC walking around in a revealing outfit.

Lucifer:

Lucifer stopped breathing for a moment after seeing you. His mind was racing with all kinds of thoughts, all kinds of positions in which he could make you squirm in that very outfit. Long strides would following you down the hall and drag you into his room, not letting you out until the next morning.

Mammon:

He let out a whistle at the sight of you, at which you turned. Mammon greeted you with a grin and wide arms which ended up wrapped around your waist, pulling you against him harshly. A gasp escaped your lips as you felt your chest push up against his, showing off even more.

Leviathan:

Those damn stockings are what did it for him. The thought of you coming to him in those stockings, on your knees in front of him while you sucked him off,... Levi took in a shaky breath, holding the bulge in his pants before going back to his room. He cant come out ever again.

Satan:

A deep intake of a breath could be heard through the room as you walked past him, book forgotten as he pulled you into his lap. He was asking you what you were doing, especially looking so... Delicious. His hands started to caress your sides, gently pushing you further against him as he relished in your scent.

Asmodeus:

His eyes were glued on you the minute you left your room and his legs seemed to have a mind of their own because they started to walk after you and whoops apparently his hands did too! Because now youre pushed up against the wall, his eyes dark with lust while you felt the arousal pool between your thighs.

Beelzebub:

He loved it. The way the color and shape brought out all of you made him want to compliment you over and over again, and that's exactly what he did. He complimented you. On how beautiful you are, to him anyway. Who knew compliments could lead to such pleasant outcomes such as you on top of him?

Belphegor:

He wasn't even going to say anything at first, just enjoying seeing you move in that thing. The tightness and shortness of the outfit just bringing out all the best parts in you. But he started to feel uncomfortable; his pants felt tight after a while and he realized that hes been rubbing over his crotch for a while now, his eyes still following your movements.

[everyhowlmarksthedead]

❛ NOT THIS TIME ❜

with Gilberto ‘Gilly’ Lopez.

Here it is the dirty idea you voted for our big guy 💖

Warnings: nsfw, smut.

Word count: about 2k (lmao not sorry).

Aurora says: this writing hasn't been edited, you may find some grammar mistakes, I'm sorry about that!

Gif credits: to my wonderful @sonsofeorl ✨

Masterlist. You can subscribe to my broadcast list, to be notified whenever I post a writing!

That tight pair of black shorts fitting perfectly your legs and pushing up your ass are driving him insane. And the crop top adjusted to your chest, showing up your abdomen doesn't help either. You aren't in the mood for a Mayan's party. It's supposed that you should be cuddling with your boyfriend on your sofa, watching a movie, drinking beer and eating popcorn. But the club had other plans in mind. And of course he could say no to them and stay with you. So there you are, walking around the main crew to reach the bar. Squatting to a box of empty bottles to leave yours there, you know that Gilly has his eyes glued on your buttocks, drawing a heart shape over your heels. While you're playing with fire, he's already burning among the flames. Standing up on your sneakers, your ass bounces slightly and his orbs follow the move enraptured by it. Swallowing the bitter drink, he cleans his lips with the back of his hand, abandoning his beer somewhere over the table to get up from his chair.

You would be lying if you say that you weren't expecting him, when you feel his fingertips roaming your forearms in an ephemeral caress up to your shoulders. Then, his calloused palms fall down slowly by your sides to surround your waist with his strong arms. Taking a last step forward, the bulge under his rough jeans, covered by the black shirt he's wearing, creates some friction against your butt. Your boyfriend doesn't give a shit if someone is looking at the two of you, slightly rubbing his hard dick forcibly to your body.

“Baby, I am so sorry”. He whispers into your ear, with his warm breathing provoking you some shivers.

You can feel the desperation in his tone of voice, sobbing against your skin when you intertwine your fingers with his. Believing that you are going to give him some chance, you just push him away from you, turning around to face him. You're pissed off. You asked the hospital for that free night, because he was off too. And this is not how you wanted to be. He can see the deception on your face, crossing both arms over your chest. But let's be sincere, you're just being tough.

“I prom—”.

“Don't”. You mumble raising up your forefinger to shut him up. “Don't you dare to make another promise you ain't going to keep, Gilly”.

“Baby, that's not fair… I should be here”. He's trying hard, walking somewhat closer.

“You should be with me”. Placing a hand on his middle chest, you stop him.

“And I a—fuck, mami! Don't punch me…”

“You fucking pendejo…”

“Let me make this up to you, c'mon”. He leans forward, catching again your body under his arms.

Sometimes you hate you're so weak for him, for his smell, for his voice. He wields a power on you that no one else could. And when you're about to fall for him again, you watch over his shoulder his brothers saying you with gestures to fuck him off. The encouragement you were needing.

“No, thanks”. You utter pushing him away, causing the laughs of the other men.

“Seriously? You have to be fucking kidding me!” Gilly turns at them, raising both arms with indignation. “I didn't even want to come to see your fucking shit-faces! That's not fucking fair, (Y/N)”.

He faces you again, pouting like a bitten dog.

“Mami, I'm fucking losing my mind”. He grunts in your ear, holding you tightly. So tightly that you can't move a single inch from your body. “These shorts are… so short. So, so short, mi amor… And, fuck, I can see your nipples getting harder under this top. I wanna put them in my mouth. Suck them. Bite them. Lick them. Taste them”.

“You don't deserve it”.

“I know… I fucking know… But you do. You deserve the pleasure only I can give you”. He bows down his head to your neck, letting his incisors mark his territory with a superficial bruise on it. Somehow, his hands have ended up on your ass, squeezing it and forcing you to lean on your tiptoes. “I will do anything you ask me to… You deserve it, (Y/N), because I'm the worst boyfriend of all”.

He is not, quite the opposite. But you like the way he's having to slightly degrade himself for not keeping his promises.

“Tell me what you want me to do”. Gilly whispers hoarsely, making you walk backwards to the hallway straight to the dorms.

“I want you to stop”. You grouse.

And he does. But not in the way you were asking him to. Your back finds the wall, and one of his knees finds your center. Scrubbing his leg against you, your boyfriend rolls up your shirt over your breasts. His fingers squeeze them together, so his mouth can welcome both nipples among his lips. As he said; he sucks them, he bites them, he licks them. He tastes your tits, tearing you some delicate and delicious moans. A sweet melody for his ears. Your boyfriend hums against your skin, making it vibrate, before sticking out his tongue to roam the gap between your breasts up to your collarbone over the black fabric, until finding your lips. His huge hands knead your skin tightly, devouring your mouth so desperate. And the last thing you can think on it's that you two could be caught for another Mayan.

“I bet your sweet pussy is so fucking wet right now… Isn't she?”

You gulp in silence, licking your lips and licking them too by the movement.

“Let me compensate you…” He mutters, rubbing his cheek against yours with gentle caresses. “Please…”

Gilly is still pressing his knee against your core, creating the kind of friction that turns you on. His lips attack again your breasts and your hard nipples, stealing you a lovely moan that accelerates his heart. But his task gets frustrated when you hear some voices coming closer, dressing up well and adopting a normal posture against the wall. Your boyfriend holds your hand to guide you to his shared dorm with Angel, coming in and locking the door.

“You know what are you going to do, Gilberto?” You ask with a honeyed voice, taking off your top over your head, to toss it to the floor.

“What?”

You can see him licking his top lip, walking dangerously towards you when you start to undone your shorts, falling down by your legs. Heel against heel you leave away your sneakers and the socks, walking backwards to his bed under the gloom of the room.

“You're just gonna watch”. You sentence, looking how his expression changes completely.

“Please, don't”. That beg makes you chuckle, as you get comfy on his mattress, sliding your wet panties down through your thighs to grab it with a hand raised. The piece of clothing falls from your fingers to the carpet. “Please, mi vida”.

“You watch, or you leave me alone”.

“Fuck…” Gilly complains, taking off his kutte to place it over Angel's bed.

Palming a side of his, your boyfriend lies down next to you, putting an arm under your neck to hold you. Finding his lips to kiss them, your right hand travels the skin of your stomach to your center. You can feel the heat that emanates from your wetness, digging two fingers into your pussy. Gilly drinks you gasp with eyes closed, slipping your hand in and out with a low pace.

“Tell me how it feels, baby…” He pleads you, leaving soft kisses all around your face.

“So good… Exactly as you love”.

“Yeah?” Mumbling, his right hand caresses your neck, trying to contain himself from replacing your fingers for his. He's having so much trouble with it.

“Yeah”. You reply, speeding up the pace, while your free hand gives to your throbbing clit the attention it deserves.

“Fuck, you're killing me…” He sobs onto your ear, sucking your weak spot under it.

You have to recognize that his hands feel better on you than yours, but that's the punishment he has earned by choosing the party over a night with you. Gilly's lips bite yours, tucking his tongue among them to softly caress the tip of yours. Little by little, the heat starts to flood your anatomy, stirring under his grips. He takes the risk of touring your skin with his mouth, giving you some tickles because of his rough beard, until reaching one of your nipples to attend the other with his free hand. You're about to fall into the edge, passing away to the orgasm, when you think he has been good enough this time.

Pulling out your fingers, you take them to his mouth. Gilly grunts pleased licking them. Your boyfriend grabs your wrist, sucking them with impetus, and his eyes glued on yours as you place a shaky leg over his.

“You taste fucking good…” He sighs cleaning up your juices and enjoying his favorite flavor.

“You like it?” You whisper, run out of air, stroking his strong chest with your free hand. He just nods. “You wanna make me com'?”

“Fuck, yes, baby… please, please”.

Gilly doesn't hesitate in begging you. He knows how much you like to tease him, as he does. And he looks really excited crawling down the bed to settle his torso between your legs, clinging his hands on your thighs as your legs get placed over his shoulders. His tongue licks your cunt completely, slowly, without any rush. Your fingertips travel the back of his head, slightly arching your back, while he starts to devour your beating pussy. Your moans soon flood the whole room, knowing that you couldn't have this much pleasure only with your fingers. Not even with another man. No one works your body as Gilly does. You know it. He knows it. The whole fucking crew knows it. And you can't help but feel like the luckiest girl in the world.

“Make me cum, my big boy… Only like you can do”. You whimper desperately, closing your eyes at the exact moment that he slams two fingers into your cunt.

His pace is rough, deep, fast. His lips are sucking your swollen clit as if there was no tomorrow. As if it was the last time he has the opportunity to give you pleasure. And shit. You reach the orgasm screaming out his name. You're sure that his brothers have listened to you. But you don't care at all. His mouth is clinged to your folds and he doesn't mind if your body can't handle him anymore. He continues worshiping you with his tongue drinking your sweet juices and his fingers curled inside you, pounding you. Once and again.

“Fuck…” You cry out, almost with tears in your eyes.

Rocking unconsciously your hips against his face, your thighs get rubbed by his beard, giving you dangerous shivers.

“Baby… Baby, fuck… I don't… wanna cum again”.

He suddenly stops confused, crawling over your body looking for your lips.

“Why?” He can't help but pout at you, surrounding your waist with his arms.

“Cause I want you to fuck me at home”. You brush his lips with yours, sensually, licking them. “I want you to pull my hair from behind, fucking me deep, all in four, spanking my ass…”

“That sounds good, mi niña”.

“You want it?”

He nods while pecking your lips, trying to hold on his desire for you to explode inside the intimacy of your house.

[olivia-anderson-fanfic]

Satisfied, Part 33

First

Previous

Next

Updating today instead of tomorrow so I can spend the whole day on the work I procrastinated :/

~~~

How did she end up staying at Wayne Manor for a week and a half? Deception. She’d never felt more betrayed than she did in that moment. And to think, she and Tim had been friends. 

She’d rolled her eyes when Wayne Manor came into view.

“I can go home, you know.”

“Says the person who got kidnapped on her way there,” responded Tim with a sigh. He paused at the gate as they waited for it to open. “Besides, your ankle’s messed up. You shouldn’t be walking.”

She groaned and tipped her head back against his arm so she could glare at him. “I’m fine.”

He had looked away for a moment, using the gate opening as an excuse, then he started walking. After a while, he hesitantly looked at her. “But I’m not! You got hurt because of me. Please, just... let me take care of you for a little bit.”

Her face burned. “Fine. I’ll stay until Halloween. Happy?”

He seemed to consider this, then shook his head. “But, bean, that’s tomorrow! At least stay here for proper treatment, then you can go.”

She raised her eyebrows. “I could get proper treatment without you.”

He had only sighed in response.

She bit the inside of her cheek. “Fine. Fine. I’ll stay until I’m healed.”

“Really?” He asked, his face full of hope.

She nodded.

And then, much to her horror, a smug smile stretched across his face. “No take backs! Sucker!”

Truly horrible. She’d never trust again.

~

Still, she'd be lying if she said she didn’t have a good time.

After ‘convincing’ (begging) them to go to her apartment and get her supplies she’d started working on the outfits for the steadily approaching Gala. She’d intended to do most of her embroidery while she was there, because it was calming and repetitive and she’d be able to relax with Tim... but then Dick had seen what she was doing and had nerded out with her about outfits and design. It turned out one person in their family did have a little bit of style, and she was ecstatic. Now she lazed on his way-too-comfortable bed and worked while babbling on about her designs. And he actually understood what she was saying. It was great.

And, when she wasn’t designing, she’d often be found drinking coffee with Tim (the Waynes had bought another machine for her after the first day’s... ‘incident’). They would lean against each other and drink in comfortable silence, which is exactly what everyone wants in the early morning. Who cares if it was three in the afternoon? With their sleep schedules it was practically like being awake at five in the morning anyways.

At other times she and Jason could be found together. This was less fun, because he was the one most pressed about her ankle. While everyone knew that her foot would probably be fine in a week’s time, he was the one to practically carry her everywhere like a damsel in distress. He’d learned to stop when she kicked him in the shin (with her bad leg, it was not a good time for either of them), but he was still extremely worried for her and not at all concerned with hiding it. Still, he made it up to her by sneaking her extra coffees (Dick had set a limit when he’d seen the way Tim and her binge-drank when with each other).

The only bad part was...

Her and Damian locked eyes across the table and they sent each other a glare. She didn’t even know why his presence irritated her to no end, didn’t know why her veins buzzed whenever he got too close; she only knew that she didn’t like it.

She didn’t act on it that much, surprisingly. She had no real reason to be angry with him, the slight rudeness he’d presented the day they’d met was perfectly justified. Marinette settled for the occasional snide comment at the table.

This only seemed to upset him more and more as time went on.

Finally, when her leg was healed (Jason had managed to convince her to stay an extra day to be sure), he’d grabbed her by the wrist and dragged her away from Tim before either of them could really react.

“What’s your problem?” She hissed as he pulled her along, struggling to not spill her coffee due to their brisk pace.

He dragged her into the dojo and crossed his arms over his chest. “Me? You’re the one who’s been rude the whole time you’ve been staying here!”

She couldn’t respond. He had a bit of a point. She settled for sending him a glare over the rim of her cup.

“What do you have against me?”

Marinette rolled her eyes. “Does it matter?”

“Yes! Obviously!”

“Maybe I just don’t like people.”

“You made friends with the Rogues!”

Oh. So that’s what this was about. She lowered her drink slightly. “Maybe I just don’t like you,” she corrected herself.

Damian scoffed and shook his head. “Whatever. You don’t want to answer? Fine. Fight me.”

Marinette felt like she had whiplash. He’d gone from being annoyed that she wasn’t being nice to him to wanting to fight in approximately half a second. Still, she had to admit, fighting him would probably be nice. Not only did she miss the adrenaline of a fight, but a tiny part of her hoped that her anger would dissipate if she gave him a punch or two.

She set down her drink. “Sure. Whatever.”

He looked a bit smug. They walked along the walls and pulled off equipment that they deemed necessary. Basically they both pulled on some grappling gloves and she added an ankle brace to make sure she didn’t instantly mess up her leg again.

After a few minutes of stretching they squared up to each other on the mat.

She grinned and raised her hands to her face. She didn’t actually know how good he was, but she wasn’t all that intent on going easy on him. They had a dojo, he had to have some kind of fighting expertise, that only made --.

Marinette was pulled from her thoughts as a punch came at her face. She dodged with ease and backed up a few steps, raising her guard properly. All she needed was to take her time to learn his fighting style.

She smiled as she dodged his attacks. He was getting angrier, sloppier, with every miss. His style was getting more and more obvious. Just a few more attacks and she would be completely sure --.

His fist came for her throat.

She had to do a backflip to avoid the blow.

His eyes widened.

She cursed mentally. She’d given up her one possible advantage: the high chances of him underestimating her.

Her element of surprise gone, she forced herself to go on the offense. She threw a short jab at him and raised her eyebrows at the almost practiced nature of his block, like he’d done this exact motion a million times.

Her lips twitched. Amateurs are usually the ones who choreograph their moves like that --.

Realization struck her just as his fist did, sending her back a few steps.

Her body moved on autopilot, sending a kick at his chest to get him away so she could recover. His hand locked on her foot and one of his legs swept hers out from under her. A curse slipped from between her lips as her back hit the mat, but it was nothing compared to her reaction when he dropped a bit of weight on the leg he held. Pain pulled a strangled sob from her throat and she thought her leg would shatter.

Her hand slammed the ground twice.

Damian stopped instantly at the motion a worried expression flickering across his features. Red Hood wasn’t lying, the reaction had been instantaneous in both of them. They’d both been drilled, both had the same cues. It didn’t take a genius to put two and two together.

And, unfortunately, Damian wasn’t completely stupid. She saw confusion find its way across his face. And then shock. Denial. Understanding. Anger. And then acceptance.

He dropped onto the mat beside her and covered his face with his hands. “You’re Ladybug.”

“And you’re Robin,” she agreed, pulling her still throbbing leg to her chest. “You suck with and without the outfit. It makes sense,” she muttered.

And, sadly, it really did make sense. The buzzing under her skin she’d interpreted as anger was just the cat miraculous calling out to her, to its guardian, waving its arms and screaming at her to just let him use it. And, now that she thought about it, it could only have been him. She’d probably recognized the feeling she had around Damian as the one she had around Robin subconsciously and transferred that anger onto him.

“You can’t tell anyone,” she warned.

He scoffed. “Why would I hide it? They already suspect you. Besides, it’s not like the rest of my family would care, they love you with and without the costume.”

She sat up and sent him a glare. “It’s not about that. I keep my identity secret because I want to. It’s my privacy, my secret, and you don’t get to a choice in this.”

Damian -- no, Robin -- no -- He opened his fingers to peek at her serious face and she caught an eye roll.

“And, if you don’t...” She added, her voice sickly sweet. “I’m sure your family would love to know exactly how I found out who you all were.”

It was a guess, really. She assumed that, because they were pretty open about being family as vigilantes, they all had to be in on it when they told someone about their identities. But it was still a guess. She gave him her most confident look so he wouldn’t think she was bluffing.

His eyes narrowed and he sat up as well. She scrutinized his face; she looked for fear or annoyance or something, but he’d managed to put together a perfect mask.

And then...

He sighed and stuck his hand out. “Fine. I don’t tell them anything, you don’t tell them anything. Deal?”

They shook on it.

“Deal.”

~

She spent the next three days (because Jason had thrown a fit when he’d realized she had messed up her ankle more) observing the family. It would be beneficial to learn which bat corresponded to which Wayne, it made it easier to keep her lies consistent.

She could go off of ages, of course. It was the easy way to guess, but she’d never been one to take the easy way.

Besides, the ‘hard way’ wasn’t actually all that hard.

Bruce Wayne was a reclusive billionaire known to adopt kids faster than they could say ‘hi’. Batman was a reclusive billionaire known to take vigilantes under his wing just as quickly.

Dick Grayson-Wayne was an ex-acrobat who was determined to figure out if Marinette and Ladybug were the same person. Nightwing incorporated acrobat-like flexibility and technique in fighting and was determined to figure out if Marinette and Ladybug were the same person.

Jason Todd-Wayne was a sarcastic guy with gray morals and a tendency to joke about committing murder. Red Hood was a sarcastic guy with gray morals and a tendency to actually commit murder.

Timothy Drake-Wayne was a coffee-addicted workaholic that was smart enough to become CEO of a company at a young age. Red Robin was a coffee-addicted workaholic that was smart enough to figure out Batman and Robin’s identities at a young age.

Honestly, she felt like banging her head on a wall for not realizing it sooner. Sure, she’d suspected it, but she’d been so determined for ‘proper’ proof that she didn’t realize that there was some pretty good proof right in front of her.

Well, at least she’d figured it out at some point, she supposed.

~

She sent Jason a glare as she scooped some coffee pods into her bag. “I am fine.”

“But --.”

“I am fine.”

He huffed. “You’re still limping.”

“I. Am. Fine.”

He opened his mouth one last time, but was cut off by Tim pushing past him to wrap her in a hug. “Beeeeaaaaan, please let me --.”

She rolled her eyes and didn’t bother to push him off, only detaching an arm so she could drink from her mug. “Not working a second time.”

He groaned and buried his face in her hair. She sighed and glanced at Jason. “Help.”

“Only if you promise to stay a bit longer,” he said without missing a beat, his lips curved into a Cheshire grin.

Marinette sent him a look before leaning into Tim. “You’re all allowed to come to my house at any point.”

“Yeah, but your house is boring,” complained Dick.

She threw a cup of coffee creamer at him and he dodged it without even sparing it a glance.

“It’s true, bean, it’s pretty empty in there.”

Marinette laughed quietly. “Fine. If you guys don’t like it then you’re not allowed back.”

Jason gasped and joined the hug. “How dare you?”

“Why do I get the feeling you’re trying to trap me here?”

“Whaaaaat? Us? No,” said Dick as he, too, walked over and wrapped his arms around her.

Marinette decided she’d give them a few minutes. She could still reach her coffee, and that’s all that really mattered.

At least, until she saw Damian in the hallway. Her shoulders tensed slightly at the sight of him. Ever since their agreement they’d come to a kind of truce. After all, if they really wanted they could spill the secret. Sure, there was incentive to keep quiet, but if one of their tempers got the better of them...

“Help?” She tried.

He looked away and continued walking, leaving her to suffer.

She sighed and went to work prying arms off of her. There was a lot of whining, but none of them resisted.

Outside of Tim.

Dick broke into a grin and pulled Jason out, yelling that they were going to help pack her stuff over his shoulder. She didn’t believe that was quite it. For some reason.

“Tim,” she said, rolling her eyes.

“Come back for Thanksgiving?” He asked.

She blinked. A little over a month beforehand he’d been desperate to keep her away from this place. She couldn’t help but smile a little. “Fine. I’ll stay for Thanksgiving. But only if you let go.”

“Fine.”

Marinette raised her eyebrows when he didn’t let go immediately.

“Um...?”

He smirked. “I said I’d let go, I never said when.”

She groaned and pushed him off. This time he let her. “You’re so annoying.”

“You love me.”

“Mmm,” she said, determined to not say yes or no.

He didn’t seem to notice, giving her a wide grin. “Right, ready to go?”

She smiled. “Yep!”

~~~

Taglist

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<3

[jd-loves-fiction]

➤ 【1】 𝟤 𝒾𝓈 𝒶 𝓅𝒶𝒾𝓇, 𝟥 𝒾𝓈 𝒶 𝓅𝒶𝓇𝓉𝓎

➤ Finding 1 guy seemed unthinkable as you found yourself getting lost while going to meet with your friend. So imagine your surprise when you meet 2.

➤ pairings: suna x reader | hirugami x reader

➤ genre: college!au; fluff; angst

➤ wc: 4.7k

➤ status: ongoing

➤ 🌙 Special thanks to @offendedfishnoises​ and @glorified-red​ for all the love and help🥰🥺 and if you want to be added to the taglist, let me know ❤

"Just follow the directions and you'll get there, don't worry." Was what your friend had told you a few days before Christmas break in order to help you find the place you were meant to meet at.

Which you had been looking for, for about 30 minutes more than what she said would be necessary.

You were lost.

And to add to the misery, your phone had no reception, meaning you had no way to figure out where you had wandered off to as the cold winter air licked at your flushed cheeks, growing more frigid by the minute as you continued to walk forward.

Days before, when you noticed you had a week off from classes due to Christmas arriving, you had quickly made plans with a friend of yours: to go out and find you a hot date. This as you were both tired of your complaining.

You had already attempted this on the last day of college at a park near it, to no avail as no one of interest had shown up (aside from some friends of yours).

This time you were meant to meet her at a cafe she was very familiar with and a bit far from your house, but she assured you that lots of your type of people hung out there and that it was easy to get to.

The second part was either a lie or your mental map was just that bad.

Despite the fact that the sun should still be high in the sky - were it not being hidden by gloomy clouds - by the mid-afternoon hour, the temperature was nearly unbearable, the icy cold swiftly getting under your clothes and chilling you to the bone as you contemplated calling your friend and explaining your predicament to her.

You looked around the street you found yourself in the middle of, checking for some place where you could protect yourself from the unforgiving winter air as you attempted to message your friend without having your fingers fall off.

You spotted a small cafe in between a drugstore and a shoe store, with a large glass front that allowed you to see all the wooden tables inside, behind a pub table settled against the window, where potted plants sat.

The soft, golden light shining on the plants created an invitation, hard to ignore. Pushing open the door, the low hum of friendly chatter followed by the deep aroma of coffee met your nose and the sight of various homemade pastries warmed you instantly as you rubbed your hands together.

The space was scarcely crowded, expected from the side of town you assumed to have wandered into, but the atmosphere seemed warm and just full enough that it felt lively but not overwhelming.

You ordered your chosen beverage and sat at a table near the wall with it as you inspected the shop. Most of its occupants were teenagers and young adults, either chatting amongst themselves or typing away on their laptops while sipping coffee or eating various kinds of delicious looking pastries.

The walls were a light beige, contrasting with the dark furniture and a large wall with a painting of two birds atop a tree branch caught your eye, until you remembered what you had gone there to do: check-in with your friend and figure out where you were.

You took out your phone while looking at the sign on the wall with the WiFi password and waiting for it to connect as you looked around once more.

Your eyes skimmed over mostly natural or brightly colored hair, floating over simple waves and more intricate hairdos just before your eyes drifted down and caught a pair of big, brown ones who seemed to study you with a sweet sort of intensity, almost as if in awe. That made you blush, and not from the cold this time. Just before you looked away and tried to find something to keep you busy as your phone lay somewhat forgotten by your arm, facedown on the table.

The image of the handsome man whom you'd locked gazes with remained at the forefront of your mind as you took out your most recent fixation, a book of theories about soulmates, to avoid looking anymore out of place and awkward. He might've been smiling, or it could've just been your hopeful imagination. You decided not to dwell on it lest you fool yourself with hopelessly romantic deceptions.

You had come out to find a date. But not without your friend's help!

That would certainly end in disaster.

The words before you sucked you in, capturing your attention enough that your previous worries were all but an itch in the back of your mind as your cheeks finally cooled.

A notification reaching your phone broke your focus, making you pick it up to see a message from your friend, from about 10 minutes prior, saying that she couldn't make it due to a family emergency.

Well, at least you didn't leave her hanging.

Sighing, you placed your phone in your pocket, taking another sip of your drink and returning to your book.

Just before a shadow settled over you.

"Do you believe in them?" A voice asked, calm and smooth, from in front of you, to where you directed your eyes.

You looked to where you expected to see the man's face, only to be met with his broad chest, clad in a baby blue hoodie, before you looked up and up, and up and up...

God, he's tall.

As your eyes met his light brown ones - the ones from before which had examined you closely, you noted - he smiled, sweet and charming, inviting but not pushy as he waited for your answer.

"I--," You cleared your throat as you felt your voice begin to crack, almost sure you saw his eyes flicker with delight. You nodded before attempting to speak again. "Just not in such a… clear-cut way, I guess." You spoke shyly as his brows raised in interest, motioning towards the chair in front of you, to which you nodded, making him sit.

"I'm Hirugami Sachirō, by the way." He said, still with a smile, nodding as you told him yours. "Please do continue." He tilted his head cutely as he gazed at you, expectant as you thought extra hard about what answer to give the man you were currently trying to impress, making his short wavy, fluffy-looking hair move slightly over his forehead.

"Well, I believe everyone has someone that they're destined to be with, someone who just fits. But I don't think everyone is meant to find them, for starters." You explained, focusing on your words instead of on the blush growing brighter as you went on.

"As in, they don't deserve it?" Hirugami inquired, leaning forward as he rested his cheek on his hand. Cute.

"No, I mean, maybe they're from some other time period or a place they could never travel to. I feel like sometimes the world itself just makes it difficult."

"Makes sense." He said, nodding with a thoughtful pout and chuckling lowly as you refused to meet his interested gaze. "Which part are you at?" He motioned to the still open book with his chin.

"Oh! This chapter is about the possibility of having more than one soulmate. Which I think is somewhat neat. What do you think?"

His eyes widened slightly at being directed a question, before humming reflectively for a moment before speaking, "That sounds unfair, doesn't it? I feel like you had to have been a really good person in your last life to get that."

"You're trying to bring karma into this? It's already complex enough as it is." You chuckled, watching as his smile broadened at the sound, before shrugging.

"Exactly why we need to consider all the possibilities." He shrugs, leaning back and making you suddenly miss the close proximity that seemed so intimidating at first. His legs brushed yours for a moment before he adjusted his position slightly to sit somewhat properly.

"Are you a philosopher, or something?" You asked, impressed by his knowledge of such an unusual topic. "I mean, this is something not a lot of people know about." You explained after he raised a curious brow at your question (probably meant to tease, you guessed).

"No,” his hand came up to bashfully cover the growing smile on his face, "I'm actually a vet student, I just like learning." He said, shrugging as if it was the simplest thing. "And maybe I'm a little bit of a romantic at heart."

Your lips pursed as you tried to keep your smile from getting too wide as you felt giddy with fondness for the whole-package of a man in front of you. "Is that so?" You asked, not sure what else to say to that, looking down as you traced random shapes on the table with your finger while blushing.

You couldn't see it, but Hirugami had a very serious, contemplative expression on his face as you did this.

Would it be too forward to just ask you out then and there? You seemed quite reserved... Would you be creeped out?

But if he didn't do it then, he was afraid he'd never get his chance again. Plus, he didn't want this warm, fuzzy feeling you caused in his chest to ever disappear. He wanted to hold onto it for a little longer.

"You could find out just how much of a romantic I can be..." He trailed off, inspecting your face for any signs that you might not be interested, but all he saw was how your blush deepened as your mind worked faster than his lips, so he made his move, leaning forward slightly as your eyes widened meekly. "By letting me take you out somewhere. Right now."

Your eyes snapped to his, blinking in confusion as he grinned, your blush somehow becoming even redder.

That was almost too smooth.

"Right now? It's pretty late. Where would we go?"

"Don't you like surprises?" His adorably jovial expression nearly made you give in.

"What if I don't?" You asked back with a small smirk that you promptly hid behind your nearly finished drink as you took a sip.

He sighed exaggeratedly, before leaning forward again, even closer than before as his hand fell beside your stagnant one, mirroring your position as his leg brushed yours without moving away this time. "There's this really fun Christmas market downtown... I'm sure you'd like it." He spoke with a high pitched voice, hoping to convince you with his puppy eyes and batting eyelashes. Not that you needed any of that to be convinced to go on a date with such an attractive man.

"Sure." You responded, mentally cringing at your lame reply. But Hirugami didn't seem to mind. He smiled broadly at you, taking your empty cup and throwing it away as you packed your stuff before walking towards where he stood at the entrance.

He was even taller than you thought. He had to be at least 1,90m, you noticed as you stood beside him, dwarfed in comparison. His long, beige coat made him seem even taller, complimenting his hoodie as well as the light blue jeans adorning his long legs.

"You'll like it, I promise." He said before pushing open the door for you before getting out of the shop and into the unforgiving cold of dusk, seemingly much colder than it actually was for people coming out of a warm and inviting environment you'd been in before.

You smiled at each other for a moment as you rubbed your hands together, wishing you'd brought some gloves as he led you closer to downtown.

You admired Hirugami's side profile as you walked in somewhat comfortable silence, broken up occasionally by his humming. You willed yourself to say something this time, instead of letting him lead the conversation.

Before you could come up with a topic, a kid ran in front of you to go join his friends, almost making you lose your balance if not for Hirugami's gentle hand on your lower back steadying you.

After making sure that you were alright, he turned to the group of kids gathered in a circle, with you doing the same, as they picked snowballs out of the mount they'd created before placing pieces in their mouths.

"I remember when I was that stupid." Hirugami said, smiling sarcastically, before scrunching his nose disapprovingly as the kids shouted excitedly about what they'd just done.

"You couldn't have been that stupid." You chuckled as you eyed the kids worryingly while you passed as you continued walking.

"My thinking license was revoked that day." He replied, chuckling as he reminisced, making you giggle as you talked.

"Is it still revoked?"

"If you keep smiling like that it will be."

Your eyes widened at the unexpected line, looking away as his eyes remained on you intently with a smile on his lips, breaking out into a full laugh as you looked down embarrassedly.

"Well," You began after cleaning your throat, hoping it'd distract him from your burning cheeks, "do you want to expand on that?"

"So, one Christmas, my siblings and I decided to give our mother a very expensive pair of diamond earrings. Fancy stuff." His humorous tone made you giggle. "And pretty important, since without them, none of us would have any gifts to give her. I think you can kind of see where this is going by now."

"Or maybe not, because I haven't even introduced the most important character yet, but we'll get there." You raised an intrigued brow, smiling at his excited narration. "On Christmas day, our dog was left unsupervised near the presents for a few minutes, and when we came back, she had a very special and very expensive box in her mouth." He paused for dramatic effect as you cringed in sympathy. 

He looked over at you to check if you were still listening, to find you with a scrunched up, adorably red, nose. The corner of his lips inched upwards softly, a blush dusted his cheeks and not from the cold before he regained his composure by looking ahead and making sure he didn’t stumble.

"And so, I tried to approach her and she ran away through the open window and I attempted to follow her... Only it didn't turn out as smooth as I had imagined." He sighed as you smiled with pity.

"And that's why Peanut isn't allowed anywhere near the presents."

“Peanut? Is that her name?" You asked curiously.

"Yeah! Wait, I have a picture right here." He said, pulling out his phone and showing you his lock screen, which was a picture of Hirugami and Peanut from years ago judging by how young he looked.

"She's adorable." You commented with a fond smile as you enjoyed the large, happy smile on young Hirugami's lips as he held his pet tightly, just before it was stored away in the man's pocket.

"Yeah, she takes after me."

Silence.

"I'll take it you think I'm cute."

"I plead the fifth." You both laughed loudly, earning odd stares from passersby that you paid no mind, as you approached a more crowded area close to the market. You would never tell him, but you were glad your joke was able to keep you from admitting that you did, indeed, find young Hirugami absolutely adorable. So cute that your heart could barely take it, with his bouncy looking hair and a toothy smile spreading over his round cheeks.

"But yeah, I got a whole mouthful of snow against my will and it wasn't anywhere near fun. So to see kids doing it willingly... Choices were certainly made." He said sarcastically as you laughed, nodding in agreement as you approached the wide plaza where the market was stationed, bustling with people and bright fairy lights.

"Come on! There's a stall this way that I buy from every year, and it never disappoints."

Hirugami led you towards a small stall with steam coming out of the windows as the worker fulfilled the people at the front of the queue's orders.

You stood by each other in line as you waited for your turn. "What kind of chocolate do you like?" He asked nonchalantly, and as you focused you could smell the scent of chocolate above the others.

"Surprise me." You said, not knowing exactly what he was planning to give you, but expecting something good nonetheless.

"I thought you didn't like surprises." He replied cheekily, smirking down at you as the line moved forward and you with it.

"Only on certain occasions."

"I'll keep that in mind." He said with a cheesy wink that still made you giggle. "You can stay back while I order, it'll be easier that way." He suggested as you got close to the start of the line, to which you nodded before motioning towards the fountain at the center of the plaza, waving as you walked to it.

You settled on the edge of it, taking out your phone and sending a message to your friend saying 'I have a lot to tell you.'

Just a few meters away stood a man who you were somewhat familiar with, tapping almost furiously on his screen, so unlike the deadpan expression on his face.

Bastard: Just fucking do it pussy🙄 It's the perfect opportunity!

So, clearing his throat, the man stepped forward, towards where you sat also looking at your phone.

"Here I thought you were the prettiest statue on the fountain." The man spoke from in front of you, making you look up from your phone to be met grayish-yellow narrow eyes that tugged at your memory in a familiar sort of way, though you couldn't place where you'd seen them before.

"You calling me stiff?" You asked with a blank look, holding in a smile as you finally realized where you knew him from, and by the widening of his eyes as he looked you over properly, he finally realized too.

"No! Ah fuck, aren't you in one of my classes?" The man asked, nose scrunched up in confusion as he squinted at you.

You nodded, telling him your name and what classes you shared (which were actually 2).

As he stuffed his cold hands in his pockets, his various rings caught on the fabric slightly, the glinting sliver on his pale hands matched the chains around his neck and the dangling earrings he wore. He looked down with furrowed brows which jumped up as a lightbulb seemed to go off in his head as he looked you over once more.

"Wait, was it two classes? Sorry, I don't really pay much attention to anything that happens in class." He said apologetically, rubbing his neck as he shifted from one chunky white sneaker to the other.

"Yeah, I can tell, even from the back row." You responded with a smirk, remembering the sight of the back of his spiky, dark brown hair, sitting two rows in front of you, doing everything but paying attention to the lesson. Fiddling with his jewelry or his phone,throwing anything he can get his hands on at one of his friends or simply just talking to them during the whole class. "If you didn't recognize me, then why'd you come talk to me?"

"Huh..." He trailed off, brows furrowed as if the answer was obvious.

He saw someone cute and tried to flirt with them, simple as that.

"Is that your friend?" Hirugami asked as he approached you and the new stranger, Suna, with two warm crepes with chocolate, narrowing his eyes at the other man slightly. "Hope you like Nutella." He commented as he watched you eye the sweets, handing one over to you which you took gratefully.

“We have a few classes together.” Suna said teasingly, taking a step closer to your side he kept his fox-like eyes on Hirugami’s narrowed ones with a challenging smile.

The air felt hot, slightly searing, despite how cold your hands felt, caught between two, very tall - although Hirugami was slightly taller than Suna, accentuated by his slouching -, very attractive, men.

"Well, we should get back to our date, I'm sure they can talk to you again in class next week.” The taller man said, a smile which you recognized as clearly being fake after such a short time with him on his face, taking a pleased bite out of his snack which you were also eating in an attempt to warm yourself up and distract from the tense atmosphere.

The sweet chocolate felt wonderfully warm on your taste buds, so good in fact that it nearly made you forget all about your surroundings for a moment, that is, until a hand was placed on your shoulder.

“Well, I don’t know if you noticed but your date seems cold." Said Suna - the owner of the hand on your shoulder - spitefully, smirking at the other man who blinked at your devious classmate, before they both turned to you.

Suna took your nearly finished snack from your hand, placing it into Hirugami’s opened hand as he gaped at the man - who donned some impressively sharp eyeliner - speechless as he took your hands into his pale and warm ones.

His hands were big around yours, the rings’ various textures scuffing against your skin as he attempted to create some friction tightening his grip to get the blood flowing and massaging each finger and the palms to help, breathing onto them as well as Hirugami looked in realization.

His hands had seemed cold at first glance when he’d first approached you - not like you’d been paying much attention to them, of course not - due to how pale and slim they were, seemingly incapable to provide much warmth despite being bigger than yours. But as he slowly brought warmth back to your digits, you realized their potential. He was gentle with his touches, but had a firm hold against your skin, hands so warm you wondered if he minded sacrificing his own warmth for yours.

Hirugami’s initial reaction was to chide Suna for putting the moves on his date, before he noticed the way your hands had lost some of their color, starting to regain it as the shorter man held them softly in his. He felt a sort of acceptance or perhaps even fondness for Suna’s actions, considering he saw what you needed before he could and acted without hesitation.

Maybe Hirugami's first thought of Suna, that he was a crafty man out to steal his date, was off by just a bit.

Not like he'd ever admit that. 

He still thought he was too crafty though.

His shoulders sagged as he watched the way Suna gazed at you intently, your cheeks pinker than before. His brows furrowed as his chest tightened protectively, jealousy swirling in his gut.

You looked over at the man with the beige coat, noticing the crestfallen expression he wore as he stared down at the food in his hands.  A half melted, nearly finished sag of chocolate; once prepared with care to bring warmth and comfort, now lay cold, shapeless even. His eyes stared down at it, refusing to look at the result of his carelessness unfolding before him, choosing instead to focus on the hopefulness he could still feel as he looked at the sweet snack.

“I should probably start heading home.”

“I’ll walk you to the station!” Hirugami said quickly in response, not being content with just sitting back and wallowing in his mistakes. Those days are over.

“Then, I’ll be going. See you on monday.” Suna said cheekily with a wink as he waved, eyes solely focused on you while you smiled while waving back.

The man then turned to Hirugami, giving a nod that could’ve been respectful, but he took it as mocking, since that seemed to be the only expression Suna could muster. But he nodded back nonetheless, turning away with an arm around your shoulders.

“Is this the right way?” You asked as you headed the opposite way from where you came from, looking up at Hirugami as he took his arm from around you with a blush as he avoided your gaze.

“We can get to the station this way pretty fast and I want to show you something.”

You simply nodded, clueless to the reason why he was leading you down this path.

He felt as if he had something to prove. As if he had to be better than his “rival” (who wasn’t really a rival at all, to his knowledge).

Just like when he was younger, he had to be better.

As the two of you walked in comfortable silence, you couldn't help but gaze down at your feet. Colorful lights reflected brightly off of the worn stone path, diverting your gaze upwards. Figures made of lights greeted you as you did. Hirugami smiled fondly at you after you looked up to meet his gaze, he watched as the lights reflected off of your eyes, your face becoming redder at the eye contact. The hot fuzziness you felt in your stomach forced you to look away from his intense look.

You walked side by side through the streets, commenting on the lights you saw and admiring the way they hung between buildings, right above your heads. 

At one point, Hirugami slipped his hand in yours, intertwining your fingers for good measure. His hand felt big, warm and soft, slightly bigger than Suna's with fingers just a little thicker--

Wait. 

Why were you still thinking about Suna?

Why did your mind still linger on the feeling of his rings on your hands or the way his razor sharp eyes zeroed in on you like you were the most expensive piece of jewelry he'd ever seen?

You would've felt bad for Hirugami, if your mind wasn't on him too. 

It seemed impossible for it not to be with how calming his presence was, easily lulling you into a sense of comfort like the sound of soft waves caressing the sand on a sunny summer day. 

Somewhere you sort of would rather be at right now. 

"Here we are." Hirugami's voice cut through the fog in your mind, stopping in front of the station and giving you an adorably awkward smile, swinging your still joined hands back and forth. This caused you to giggle at his antics while he laughed loudly at the released tension.

Neither of you wanted to speak, too afraid to ruin the pleasant atmosphere, knowing that you’d have to part from each other once you did.

Hirugami squeezed your hand once, then twice, then again as you did the same, rubbing his finger over the back of your hand as he took a step closer. His body heat enveloped you as he stood close enough for you to notice that his eyelashes were slightly lighter than his hair.

His hand raised hesitantly, brushing the side of your face with a feather-light finger that went around your head until he cradled it. You craned your head up in order to look at him as he looked down at you fondly, thumb stroking your red cheek. His big brown eyes roamed your features, as if committing them to memory with fond care.

“I’m glad we met. Call me anytime, ok?” He whispered, each word brushing your face before you nodded. His heart made his chest vibrate with its strength as he breathed deeply while looking intently into your eyes, nervous but elated at the happenings of his day. Well, most of them.

Hirugami’s face neared yours suddenly, eyes half-lidded while yours widened, before he placed a long and tender kiss on your forehead, making your eyes slip closed for a moment, the feeling of his soft, plump lips against your skin making your head feel light and a pleasant warmth to hum beneath your skin.

You stepped away from him slowly, hands attempting to hold each other for as long as possible before you walked towards the station, turning around every few steps to shoot him a smile or a wave before he disappeared from your view with an animated wave and a wide, toothy smile.

You took out your phone, pulling up your friend’s contact and ignoring the messages she’d sent already in response to your previous, cryptic text, and sending another message.

I have even more to tell you.

[bang-to-the-tan]

Fealty

Reader x King!Yoongi Oneshot

► Royalty!AU

Smut

Warnings: Vaginal Sex, Concubines, Mention of Political Murder and Beheadings

↳ Summary: Your king is beautiful. Twisted, perhaps, sometimes dark, and ever impossible to predict. But beautiful. 

Masterlist 

“The king is overseeing the beheadings now, lady.” 

You pretend your heart doesn’t leap into your throat. Instead of reacting, you hide it with a well-practiced duck of the head, fixing your steely gaze to the opposite pillar. You sink a little further into the bath, subtly inhaling the aroma of roses, feeling the soothing herbs on your skin. Your toes stretch beneath the water and the motion disturbs the surface.

“I’m aware,” you reply, tone cold.

“Begging your pardon, lady. Are you not feeling well?” The handmaiden continues chattering as she keeps up brushing your hair with all the delicate touch of a much younger, more innocent girl. She gathers it back from your shoulders with such nimble, sweet fingers, drawing the brush through the strands as though the sheen of your hair determined her fate. Come to think of it, it might—depending on the mood of the king once he returns. 

“I am feeling perfectly well,” you reply. You’re aware that your voice is somewhat robotic, and you can sense from the way she shifts behind you that her concern hasn’t abated. 

“Hyesun,” you say after a beat. When you crane to meet her eye, you make sure to smile as gently as you can manage. “I’m fine.” 

She returns the smile with a warmth that you envy, returning to her task in diligence. When you first met Hyesun, she was a quiet thing. Young, too young, prone to mistakes and stuttering apologies. But over the years she’s served you well, and in turn you’ve served your king. She knows better than to press matters too far. 

“They finally captured the dissenters from last spring,” she continues, her voice airy and light. “Thank the gods.” 

“Their heads will make for fine decorations, I’m sure.” 

You allow your comment to linger, floating on top of the air like the petals in your bath. You sigh and move to stand up, feeling the water pull at your legs and arms, trying to suck you back into the warmth. 

“He’ll be back soon,” you murmur, stepping gingerly out of the bath. Hyesun immediately parcels you into a soft cloth, assisting in patting down your body.

“The king will be in a good mood,” she chirps. 

“He always is after an execution. Would you fetch my—”

The door to the bathing room suddenly slides open, interrupting you mid-sentence. Hyesun smoothly drops her arms from you to dip into a bow, and you follow suit as best you can with nothing but a cloth wrapped around you, struggling to keep it pinched at your chest for the sake of modesty. 

Min Yoongi stands in the doorway, and what little you glimpsed of him has anticipation firming your stance. It quickens the beat of your heart within your ribs. Silvery hair high on his head, falling in a long ponytail behind him, dark eyes steely. You can feel him watching you with the perception of a hawk and all the vulnerability of stone. 

“Out,” he rasps. 

Hyesun bows again, deeper, turning briefly to you with another demur nod of her head. Even with your own head inclined, you can see the professional glaze over her downcast eyes. She doesn’t even blush anymore. You can’t tell if that makes you proud or saddened. You hear the slightest tap of her delicate footsteps as she scurries past you, past the king, closing the door behind herself as she goes. 

For a moment, he doesn’t speak. His feet make barely as much noise as the handmaiden’s had when he circles closer to you, like a bird of prey high above the mountains. Motion in the corner of your eye, and you recognize it as one of his pale, long hands drifting towards your chest. Gentle, but insistent, he slips his cold fingers past yours, and you relinquish your hold on the cloth, allowing him to tug it down, away from your body. 

He steps closer again, and you can feel the warmth from the sun outside radiating off him. You can almost smell the blood past his expensive perfume. 

“Did the beheading go well, your majesty?” you murmur. 

He hums, and his arm moves. You feel fingers carding past your neck, your ear, into your hair. He grasps a handful of the strands, tugging slightly to tilt your head upwards. You finally meet his gaze. 

Your lord has always been beautiful. Dark, slanted eyes that sparkle with boundless, sometimes cruel wisdom even in the low light. Finely crafted cheekbones. Lips so elegantly painted with the softest brush in the gods’ possession. Even the scar that cuts down through one eye does little to mar his face, leading only to his carefully crafted mysterious air. He watches you take calm stock of his expression. A ‘good mood’, indeed. 

When he leans to take your lips, it’s deceptively gentle. Almost kind, if possessive. Fully naked, limp at his disposal, you do little more than kiss him back, leaning into his grip. Neither of you breaks away from your locked gazes, even when his hot tongue slips across your mouth, demanding entrance. He licks past your teeth like a lover, tasting like lavish wine, eyelashes fluttering closed for a brief moment of seeming enjoyment. He groans, deep in his throat, as he kisses up your lip and parts from you with a lingering suction and a slick noise. 

He steps forward again, pulling your hair as he goes, encouraging you to walk backwards with him until your back meets the unforgiving wood of the wall behind you. Instead of stopping, he continues, and cages you in. His body claims what little space remained between you. He relinquishes his grasp in your hair to trail his hand down your skin, his eyes following its path with an almost mildly curious look. As though he’s never seen you before. When he reaches the curve of your ass, he hikes your leg up around him, pulling you impossibly close. You hook your ankle into the small of his back, obliging.

“Are you wet for your king?” he murmurs, low, his voice rubble and damnation. Your response is cut short by a gasp when you next feel pressure, feather-light, exploring between your legs, drifting upwards past your thigh, dragging a single digit through your core as if only to get a feel for you. A shiver runs through your body when he brushes past your clit, teasing. 

“Always, my lord.” 

His pleased smirk is dark, crooked, eyes trained on yours. 

“All day I’ve thought of you. I thought of fucking my seed down your throat,” he says, conversational. “Does that not please you, whore?”

“My lord is gracious,” you whimper. “My lord is giving.”

“Is he ndeed?” He pets at your clit, digging the pad of his thumb into your skin, watching the way you twitch with all the intensity of a general reading war maps. And half the warmth. His grin slinks into the corners of his mouth, replaced by a faux mask of curiosity. Concern. 

“Allowing your king’s gift to waste in your greedy maw,” he tsks. “It would serve your country better in your belly, would it not?” 

You know the answer he wants. “I crave my lord’s taste,” you stammer. “I desire it. His Majesty is oft generous enough to gift me with it.” 

“Is he?” When his hand slips from you, you huff a whine despite yourself, craning to chase his touch. He reaches to grip your chin, pursing your lips, your own arousal sticky against your skin. “Insatiable thing. You would have had my cock sheathed between your lips, had I allowed you at the beheadings.” His tongue flits out from one corner of his mouth to the other, his head tilting to peer more closely at you. Though he looks careless, his tone calm, you can see the manic light in his eyes. You are too familiar with it. 

“At my meetings, with my useless advisors, bare to the world but for a mere slip of modesty,” he continues, “draining me for your worth.” He readjusts his grip on your face, forcing his fingertips into your mouth, pressing into your tongue. You taste yourself on them when you suck.

He shuffles at his formal attire, caring little for the mess he might make of it. His length, feverish, already half-aroused, traces your inner thigh with the velvet of his cockhead. Your hand immediately flies to him, darting between your bodies to wrap your fingers around his member, coaxing him to full hardness as the two of you exchange heady breaths in the limited space he’s allowed you. His grin dissipates slightly. His eyelids fall to half-mast, his breath hitching when you twist your fingers underneath his head. When he rocks forward, purposeful, you angle him to meet you, guiding him easily into your cunt. He presses past your walls slow. His warmth sinks into you with a breath drawn decadently through his teeth. He removes his hand from your mouth to better brace against the wood behind you. 

A thrust, two, before he finds his rhythm, sheathing himself deep and fucking back in with a snap of his hips. The sounds of your coupling fill the otherwise dead space of the bathing room around you, the shuffle of clothes and the slick noises of his penetration. Your lips hang open, each inch he feeds you coaxing sharp inhales and subdued moans from the depths of your chest. He gathers your other leg, lifting your knees, pressing even deeper, closer, his mouth attaching to the column of your neck to pepper hot kitten licks and the wayward bite, his pace growing harsher, more desperate. 

“Ah, fuck,” he seethes into your ear, grunting with exertion. He slams into you, pulling back to watch you cry out in interest, eyes dark. Some of his hair sticks to his forehead, his neck, his face beginning to shine. 

“This is why you have your king’s favor,” he adds, breathless, tongue prodding at the corner of his mouth, brows creasing. “Isn’t it?” 

“Yes, lord,” you purr obligingly, rolling into him, clutching at his arms, careful not to tear at the expensive fabric between your fingers even as he pounds you up the wall.

“Cock-hungry whore,” he continues to babble. “You would do anything for your king.” 

He presses deep, too deep, and prods a spot inside you that thieves the air from your lungs. Your response is delayed by half a second, stammering, but it’s too long, and he punishes you by surging forward, grinding his pelvis against your clit with a snarl. 

“Y-Yes, my lord!” you choke, pleasure escalating inside you despite the misgivings beginning to seep into the corners of your mind at his tone. 

“Dissenters, even authorities,” Yoongi pants, his face screwed in concentration. “Nothing would stay your hand. If I wished it.” 

You try to peer at him, agape, unsure even in your lustful haze of where he’s taking this, but his quickening pace means he’s closing in on his end. It is not yours to think, you remind yourself, craning your neck back when a forceful thrust impales you on his shaft so far, you swear you could feel him on your tongue. 

But again he snatches your chin, demanding you turn back to face him, a manic grin pulling his lips crooked even as he grunts through his teeth. “Advisors,” he breathes, hollow, “these days are so prone to drinking from the wrong cups,” he adds, a dark glee swirling in his eyes when you fail to disguise your confused horror. 

His pace stutters, and again his face contorts, brows pulling together. He presses closer. His thrusts turn static, rushed, desperate for your heat. You help him as you can, tightening around him, turning his next question into a strangled moan. 

“Who is it you answer to?” he growls, releasing your face to lean into the crook of your neck. There he bites against the column, sharp, unforgiving, to match the delving of his hips against yours. “Is it your country? Is it your god?” 

“My lord is my god,” you whimper, arching, trying to pull him ever closer, mind racing. “I-I answer to my king.” 

His entire body shudders with a feral groan, strained taut through his throat, pulsing cock fucking into you once, twice, thrice more, forcing his hot seed further into your cunt with every movement. For a moment, the two of you still. You can feel sweat dripping down your back, the blazing heat of your king trapping you against the wall. 

When finally he pulls away, leaving you with a lewd noise, you realize his shoulders are shaking. At first, you worry for your life. Have you displeased him somehow? Upset him? But no. As he meets your gaze once more, it’s another twisted smile that touches his lips, narrows his eyes. You squeeze your thighs together to try and hinder the trickle of his release down your legs, hoping to soon lie down. You can’t do so until he leaves, and he seems more intent on savoring your concern than letting you go. His words sink further into your skin and you shiver.

He pulls his lips through his teeth, still chuckling, before he finally ducks away. He shuffles his clothes back in place, uncaring if they are crumpled, uncaring if his hair is sticking to his neck with sweat, his face still flushed. He looks back to you and though you bow your head, you don’t miss the shift in his expression. 

“So hard to find good concubines,” he murmurs. You can feel him come close again. Can smell him. Fingers, carding through your hair, almost convincing as a pantomime of affection. “Ones who serve their lord so well. Who know their place.” 

“Yes,” you quake, “I will serve my lord.” His semen is oozing as you speak, sneaking out of your used cunt. 

“Good.” He laughs again, quiet, hiccuping. Finally, he leaves you. You next hear his voice coming from the doorway. “I will pray for you to bear a son.” 

You bow, forcing down the bile threatening to rise in your chest. “And I, my king.” 

[starlightsearches]

Someone Else Pt. 2

Hello friends! No official request for this one but a few people did say they’d like to see part two and it kind of just . . . happened ¯\_(ツ)_/¯  Here’s a link to part one if you missed it!

Warnings: Language, infidelity, minor sexual content, threats/violence against the reader, so much angst oh fuck, but a happy ending so i guess it cancels out?

    General Hux stares deeply at his own reflection, searching intently for any hint of this deception. His eyes travel up from the bottom of the mirror, catching the shine of his boots as they pass upwards, scanning his uniform, which—as far as he can tell—is immaculate, without a spot or wrinkle. He checks his face next (blank, impassive) before his eyes roam over his stark red hair—combed back, neat. Not a strand out of place. And yet he can’t escape the feeling deep down in his bones, the one that leaches into his consciousness every time he’s with you and she’s still lurking the back of his mind: everybody knows.

    Hux rolls his eyes and gives up on the hopeless view in the mirror, sliding it back into its hiding place before turning to face you. He needs another set of eyes if he wants to know the truth. “How do I look?” 

His heart stutters again when he meets your gaze—stuttering like it did when your palms brushed over his chest, your nails raking thin red lines into his already flushed skin—and thinking about it is fire in his lungs. You’re still looking disheveled: half-dressed, hair wild, and swiveling back and forth in his chair behind his desk, your feet propped up on the surface—a move that would bother him if it were anyone else but you. A smile crawls slowly across your face, your expression blissful as you respond, “you look very handsome.”

Gods, he’s blushing again. It had taken minutes for the color to drain from his face the first time, but a soft look and compliment from your parted lips and brings it all back, alerting anyone who would look at him to his red-hot shame. 

And when you see it, your smile turns sad.

You drop your feet from off his desk, straightening your own uniform with a little less care than Hux had, your steps tentative as you cross the distance between his desk and where he stands by the door—only a few feet, but it feels like miles when you stop just out of his reach, wrapping your arms around yourself, holding tight . . . like he wants to hold you, again. Hux balls his hands into fists, forcing them to remain at his sides, fighting the urge to brush his fingers over the edge of your lips, trace the delicate skin of your jaw. Peel the uniform from your shoulders and snuff out all of his unease with velvet kisses. Hux silences those desires. After everything he’s put you through, he hardly deserves to breathe the same air. 

You examine him with sharp eyes, willfully ignoring his inner turmoil that he’s sure you notice to focus on the matter at hand. Your inspection yields good results; you meet his eyes again with the slightest frown.

“You look the same as before,” you say, corners of your mouth pulling down further, brows furrowing, “no one will be able to tell.” Hux lets out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding, a mixture of shame and relief filling the empty space in his lungs.

Had he always been such a coward? Hux had never thought of himself as one to give into such base wants, but so far he’s been totally unsuccessful in his attempts to resist you, to bide his time until he’s dealt with the root of the problem. No, he keeps coming back, each time the last time, fucking you in cramped closets and over his desk while she’s warming his bed. Losing himself in the iridescent high of your body and ignoring the sharp pangs of your love that he leaves unopened in your waiting hands. 

Silence hangs, the air full of unsaid things and your lips part—words balanced on the tip of your tongue that would pierce like knives and Hux can’t hear them because it will hurt you to say them, and he’s already caused you so much pain. 

“I have to go,” he says, cutting you off before you get the chance, “Bristol will be back soon.” Her name is out of his mouth before he can think to stop it, and your face falls, a grimace crossing your features that you can’t remove quickly enough. There are tears pricking the corners of your eyes, he thinks, but he’s not close enough to know for sure. He doesn’t step any closer. 

“Alright.” You swallow hard, suck in a deep breath through your nose so that he won’t see you break, but the smile you plaster on your face chips at the corners, and it doesn’t reach your eyes. “I’ll be here.” 

The air in the room is stifling, filled with your deafening sadness, all the feelings you try to keep from him because you know it hurts him to see you like this and you care about him so damn much. You care too much. He doesn’t deserve you. 

“This,” he whispers, like if he’s quiet enough he won’t have to hear himself say it either, “can’t happen again.” It’s not the first time he’s said these words to you, but it breaks you just the same. If it goes on for much longer, he’ll never have the chance to put you back together.

“I understand.” You turn towards the back wall, unwilling to let him see you cry—for his sake or yours, though, he’s not sure. 

Hux leaves without saying goodbye.  

No one gives him a second glance when he steps out of his office doors and into the commotion of the bridge; his worries were unfounded, just as the rational part of him knew they would be. Still, the guilt only grows as he moves through the halls of the Finalizer, on his way to greet his wife.

It wasn’t supposed to be this way. After the wedding, after that night in his office when you had kissed him for the first time and everything felt right, he had made plans—how to rid himself of Bristol and Pryde, plans to keep you at his side, love you the way you deserved to be loved. Plans that had crumbled like dust between his fingers the second he stepped foot off the transport to the Alfospar system.

He couldn’t explain it at that time, the way his resolve shriveled like paper in water when he first saw that gleaming city, the towers and spires of the royal home so different from the sleek, black halls of the Finalizer, towers and spires that Bristol had walked her entire life. Now he knows what caused it: the fear that gripped his heart. Not just fear. Inadequacy. He had looked to his new wife, saw the haughty determination in her features as she surveyed the grand palace with a look of utmost boredom, and he hated her. But he hated himself even more knowing that she was capable in ways he could never dream. She was born to rule. He had done everything imaginable to earn that kind power, and still he came short.

The two weeks in the palace passed in a color-leeched blur. Hux attended meetings. He met Bristol’s family. They consummated the marriage. And he never stopped thinking about you.

When he returned to the ship, he made new plans, plans to remove his heart with surgical precision, plans that would leave him empty and miserable for the rest of his life but would save you from him.

Those plans had crumbled, too, the moment you whispered in the darkness of your quarters, “I missed you, did you miss me?” and he had been too selfish to lie. That was the first time he had fallen into your arms, let you drown out his pain without any concern for your own.

His father had been right all along. Hux is spineless. Everyone else managed to see it. He wonders how he had you fooled for so long.

                 ______________________________

    You’re having trouble adjusting to the quiet. It’s a feat of engineering, really—a true testament to his genius—that the general’s office manages to be quieter than a grave despite the teeming world of the bridge that lives just outside it. It had been the quiet that had first made his office such an appealing location for these meetings. That, and no one would question your presence here.

    You had been careful from the beginning—given no indication of the affair, raised no suspicion, and had been ready to smother any rumor that might have spread. There was never a need for that kind of action; you covered your tracks. But sitting here in this demonic silence, you want to ruin it all. Turn every touch and kiss and loving look into a song, a battle cry. A death sentence. You want everyone to know what you’ve done. Maybe then you’d feel something.

    Your cheeks are sticky with long-dried tears, and you try to brush them off with a sleeve, a brittle laugh escaping your lips thinking back to the day of the wedding. At the time, you had believed your heart to be broken. What a fool you used to be. How little you had known about how it feels to set your heart gently into someone else’s waiting hands and then watch them shatter it.

    You stand from the chair abruptly, cutting off the image before it takes root in your mind. There’s no time for self-pity when you have work to do.

    You grab your data pad from where you left it on his desk, turning the screen face you. Your heart jumps a little in your chest when you see the messages light up the screen, but you’re left feeling sour. None of them are from him. 

    He did that sometimes, after he left you—occasionally sent an apology, told you that he hadn’t really meant what he’d said. Sometimes he wanted to see you again, already, and you’d go searching for whatever conference room or closet he had commandeered, the warmth pooling between your legs erasing any of the harsh feelings from the moments before. 

    But no message this time. Maybe he had meant it. Maybe he didn’t want you like he thought you did. Maybe he never had.

    You’re sure, now, that the uncertainty will eat you alive, burst from your chest like some grotesque thing and feast on every part of you, rip and tear and bite until it’s sated and you’re left in pieces. You wish it would. Death is better than waiting. 

There’s a gentle beep from your data pad, and you look down again, distracted momentarily from your spiraling. It’s an urgent alert, from one of the admirals. They need your help interpreting some notes the general gave them on a recent project proposal. 

You stop just before the doorway, taking in three deep breaths, letting the cool air wash away the fire of your thoughts. There would be time later to ruin yourself over this mess, when sleep evaded you in the late hours of the night cycle. For now, duty calls.

You move through the bridge with ease, reading the messages you had missed. Your eyes scan them with practiced precision, sorting them by urgency and responding to the ones you can take care of quickly as you journey deeper into the ship. It doesn’t take long for you to get lost in the process, the dark tiles passing underneath your feet unnoticed as you lose yourself in your work.

The sound of footsteps in the otherwise empty hallway pulls you out of your trance, and you look up briefly, more out of a passing curiosity rather than any real interest. Your heart grows cold when you catch her eyes, and the feeling spreads like ice over a body of water.

“Hello, your highness,” you try to keep any tension out of your voice as you address Bristol with a small bow, skirting around her in the hallway in your best attempt to avoid her sustained notice. Her eyes narrow when they focus on you, and the cold feeling shatters, the dread climbing up your legs like the water level rising in a sinking vessel.

“You,” there’s venom in her voice, a kind of hatred you never thought you’d inspire in anyone and you feel every barb of it when she latches on to you, gripping your upper arm with such strength that you can feel the indentations of her nails through the fabric of your uniform. 

The wall of the hallway meets your spine as you step back, your attempted escape only leaving you trapped, chest heaving as she stares you down like a predator. It’s clear in every aspect of her being that she’s ravenous.

“Well?” she snaps, and you flinch, the durasteel biting your shoulder blades as you try to gain as much distance as you can from her, straining every muscle in your body for any kind of relief, but she won’t let you take it, pressing you into the wall. “Where is he?”

    “I’m not sure where the general is right now, your highness,” you speak slowly, trying to gauge the direction of her anger, “I was under the impression that he’d gone to find you.”

    The moments pass in deathly silence, and the waiting stretches each second into a lifetime, but there’s nothing comprehensible in her expression. She’s wild, animalistic, the same fierceness you’ve seen in her as a leader now morphed into something frenzied and feral. It’s only a moment before it's lost, replaced with something extinguished and icy. Her grip on your arm tightens.

    “I know you’ve been fucking my husband.”

    You plunge into whatever depths she’s created for you, the shock of it short-wiring your brain and all you can do is gape at her, your mind refusing to form a single thought, let alone any string of words that might convince her to believe a lie. It’s too late anyway; your expression tells her everything she needs to know.

    “How dare you? Embarrassing me like this? I could end your life right here, and he’d have your replacement in his office tomorrow morning.” Each threat brings her closer until you can only see her in fragments—the corner of her mouth as she spits these vile words, the flash of fire in the depths of her eyes. Your heart rate spikes, a rush of adrenaline flooding your veins but your thoughts are still unfocused, without form or direction. Would she really kill you here, now? The look on her face tells you that she might.

    You struggle uselessly against her grip, but she’s got you pinned—one hand on your shoulder and a knee at your hip. Your body goes still when you feel the whisper of metal at your throat. You didn’t know she had a blade.

    “Gods, you’re just as pathetic as he is,” she laughs, quick and sharp, and the weapon quivers—you feel the gentle sting as it parts the first layers of your skin. The sting brightens as she pushes the blade further, leaning in close to whisper her parting words, “maybe you deserve each other.”

    A flurry of movement clouds your vision, and the pressure lifts; in the periphery of your thoughts you can hear the blade clatter to the ground. Your knees threaten to buckle as you lean more heavily against the wall, trying to find the source of your salvation.

The general is there, but as unlike himself as you’ve ever seen him. He looks like a storm, towering over her, shaking with rage. Like a force of nature—it’s the kind of anger you’ve never seen in him before.

Time stops. Understanding crashes into you. It's like you've been blindfolded, without even knowing it, and the covering has given way to an astonishing brightness when you first comprehend what this action means. The realization staggers you.

"You don't-" he can hardly get the words out as he seethes at Bristol, speaking through clenched teeth, "don't ever-"

Bristol quivers, aghast, and it seems that she, too, is seeing her husband with new eyes.

The hallway is filled with loud, echoey beats of a heart, and you're not sure who it belongs to. It strikes you, this sudden fear that someone might be watching these events unfold, that it might be their heart making these sounds, alerting you to their presence. You search the corridor, whipping your head from side to side but there are no prying eyes, no silent watchers, and your heart settles minutely.

You turn back to the general, wondering how he'll react to the news, but his eyes are only on you.

Bristol pulls herself from Hux's grasp and the tension reshapes itself as her mood shifts again, haughty as ever.

"So," she looks between you and the general, and as much as she'd like to hide it, her anger is not gone, "you've chosen the little whore. Interesting."

Hux ignores her statement, still watching you.

"I won't stand for this," Bristol goes shrill now, attempting to pull his attention but his eyes are locked in place and you burn under his gaze. He wants something from you, a confirmation, you realize. He wants to know that you're alright.

You nod—still hesitant, not entirely sure that this is what he's asking for—and only then does he look away, turning back to Bristol with a stare so cold you feel the chill. 

“The next breath you use to threaten anyone on this ship will be your last,” Hux speaks with an authority you’ve never heard him use around Bristol and she flinches, like she’s been slapped, “and you will stay away from my . . . assistant.” 

His eyes flash to yours again, full of unsaid things—a kind of apology for this lapse in language, but you understand perfectly. There are no words to describe what he means to you, either. 

Bristol laughs, one short barking sound, and you know she means to demoralize him, but Hux stands firm, unaffected. “You think you can scare me with empty threats? I’m sorry to say that I’m unimpressed. If only your father were here to see this-”

“But my father isn’t here,” Hux interrupts her, “he’s dead. Because I ordered it. And you should know,” he steps closer to her, his voice a deadly whisper, and she shrinks, “my threats are never empty.”

Bristol quivers slightly, unable to hide her fear and you don’t blame her. She gives up on threatening the general and looks to you instead, her eyes flashing with one last weak attempt to intimidate you before she stalks off, leaving the corridor empty. 

You search for something—anything—to say, your mouth gaping open as the general turns to look at you, but there’s nothing, your mind blank and empty of any feelings small enough to be condensed into a few words. 

There’s no need to shrink your feelings; before you can say anything, Hux has bridged the distance between you, pulling you into his arms with more force than you thought possible. It’s both suffocating and liberating—your lungs struggling for their next breath but your mind is euphoric when you can feel the press of him against you.

He has a hand around your waist, one cupped against the back of your head, and you can feel his whispered apologies as they brush against your hairline, followed by the slow drag of his lips. A low thrill crawls over your skin. How long had it been since he said he’d never touch you again? You’d live through that pain a thousand times if it meant you could experience this.

“Are you alright?” he pulls away slightly, just enough that he can look at you, the pad of his gloved thumb wiping away the thin streak of blood left by Bristol’s blade. His touch ghosts along the injury, but you still feel the sting, unable to hide the way you wince in response.

His thumb stills as soon as he catches the flicker of pain, and there’s deep fountains of regret pooling in his eyes, a sadness so complete you can’t fathom it.

“I’m- I’ll never be able to say,” he swallows, pulls in a shuddering breath, and you feel his hands threaten to part from you but you only hold him tighter, anchoring him to you, “how sorry I am for the way I’ve treated you.” 

The anguish spills over, and he’s crying in your arms a second time, quick tremors shaking his shoulders. You can’t collect the tears fast enough, brushing them away with shaking hands, silencing his fears with soft whispers.

“I love you,” he says through hiccuped speech, “and I always have. And, if you’ll have me-” you silence his doubts with a searing kiss. For you, there has never been—never could be—anyone else.

[rwby-necro-au-archive]

I'm curious: the vines on your hands oz, the feathers on qrows, the petals on Ruby's? What are those paterns?

Ozpin: oh! Those patterns are our Necromancer markings, which signify that we are necromancers. They can appear a short time after birth or once the child reaches the age of 10 (sometimes later if they’re a late bloomer).

Necromancer markings are a dead giveaway to a necromancers identity, hence why we wear gloves. And what they represent is a major aspect of Necromancer culture.

The markings are also telling of a necromancers personality. They usually have two meanings based on a variety of factors:

- type

- Color

- Shape

- Softness/sharpness

Sharper markings usually mean a angrier, more aggressive, fearful, or “evil” person. Softer, more rounded markings usually mean a nicer, friendlier, social, and good person. Some people fall into the middle.

Flow-y shapes mean more carefree while sharp shapes mean more strict or aggressive. They can also be dual colored.

General Color meanings:

- red: loving, adventurous/ignorant, naïve

- Orange: growth, care/fear, regression

- Yellow: cheery, curious/anxious, masking

- Green: life, protective/paranoia, intimidation

- Blue: calmness, loyal/cocky, selfish

- Purple: Intelligence, selfless/arrogant, strict

- Magenta: creative, free spirited/cautious, untrusting

- Pink: friendship, emotional/repression, people-pleasing

- White: Purity, Kindness/Egotistical, Deception

- Grey: Awareness, Empathetic/Negativity, Laziness

- Black: cruelty, aggression

Markings can change completely based on the person’s journey. Such as mine, which started off as pointed thorn vines but have changed to normal vines.

The one kind of marking that all necromancers avoid is the shattered glass markings. Shattered glass formations signify a cruel person. Someone who has sucked the life out of others

Markings will change to be slightly similar to those the necromancer has a bond with in a small subtle way, like family and friend bonds.

To get sharper markings you can just be untrusting and defensive, you don’t have to be aggressive or have bad intentions. Darker colors usually mean untrusting, slightly aggressive, defensive, fearful. Lighter colors usually mean, happy, caring, trusting, and calm.

Now, Necromancer markings can extend up the arms and start on the legs. But this only occurs if the Necromancer has killed people. This is a form of punishment, as the higher the Necromancer markings go, the harder and more painful it is for them to use their magic.