#honed calves

[l00k4tm4m45c415]

Denise Masino

[shadow4-1]

"Can you just pretend to love me tonight? Please?"

Simon's never gotten a request like this before.

He's never had any qualms about selling his body. Whether it was for his cock, units of his blood plasma, or his war honed body. He's always done what he's had to - anything to stay off the streets and keep a full belly.

The girls who've paid him always wanted a brute, someone to mount them and take them for all they were worth. That was what he was used to, not some doe-eyed sweet thing begging him to be gentle.

"I want to feel loved." You admit, leaning back on the motel bed, thighs crossed in nervousness. "I um...I know I'm not very pretty-"

Simon leans forward on his knees and kisses you gently. Well, he tries to. The tip of your teeth graze painfully together as he mouths you. You squeak beneath him, hands going up to his shoulders to try and push him off on rabbit instinct. He pulls his mouth off of you just enough to mutter an apology.

"Sorry." He swallows.

You look up at him with impeccably beautiful eyes brimming with tears. You seem to finally understand there's nothing gentle about him even when he tries to be. Simon wants you to call him off, send him out of the cheap hotel. He knows he can't be as sweet at you want - as you deserve. He's just physically not built for that. At least, he's sure of it nowadays. He has a brief memory of holding his newborn nephew but it slips away just as quickly as it came.

"Can we just...go slow?" You ask again. Simon can hear the waver in your voice. You're unsure if you want to continue, but you seem to trust him for some reason. "Really, really slow?"

"Yeah."

He can do slow. He can do glacial. If there's one thing he can do, it's be measured, methodical. He wasn't a Lieutenant for nothing.

For the first time in years, he takes his time. He's used to the fast paced, hungry fucks that pay his rent in thirty minutes. This is...new, not wholly uninvited. He kisses down your collarbone, down the swell of your breasts. He nips at the lacy fabric (you dressed up for him when he was expecting just to rip it all off) as he makes his way down further. He laps at the skin beneath your belly button, making your belly flutter. Ticklish. He likes that.

Simon noses his way between your thighs, easily spreads your legs with his thick forearms. As he kisses down your cloth covered mound he admits he likes how you smell. Usually the taste of women turns him off. He prefers men, but desperate women pay more. You're desperate alright, although its a different type of desperation. Something about the nervous wetness staining your new panties has his cock jumping in his trousers. He presses his nose to the fabric, inhales deeply, and relishes in your shy squeak. Simon starts to understand your desire.

You want to be explored, mapped, and consumed slowly. You want to give up control but feel as if you can stop at any moment. You want to be seen, tasted, then completely devoured.

Instead of slipping your panties to the side, he licks his way down your thighs. You squeal and try to squirm away from the sudden sensation but he doesn't stop. He kisses down your calves and across the top of your feet. His hands are so large that they wrap around your soles completely. Simon pushes them up until they're up by your ears. He knows the position is uncomfortable for you, but he likes the view of your soft, cloth covered mound.

He nips at the back of your ankles and calves, licks down the expanse of your thighs, ans nuzzles into the gusset of your panties. Simon relishes in the squeaks and gasps ans twitches of your expectant body. It's been so long since he's teased someone, much less a sweet lil' thing like you.

Your scent is heady, comforting, nothing like he's experienced before. He finds he really likes just inhaling you in. You whimper, thighs shaking already. He hasn't even licked you yet. Simon finally admits to himself that you're stroking his ego.

He plants a firm, sweet kiss to your cloth covered cunt. The fabric is practically soaked through. He can smell your taste on the tips of his lips. His curiosity wins. He takes a firm, long lick from bottom to top. Simon tastes you, but also the flowery tang of your favorite fabric softener. You taste good. He wants more.

Simon finally releases his hold on your thighs. On instinct, or perhaps strain, they fall apart. You try to sit up but he tugs your body further towards the edge of the bed. He can feel the tension in his old knees from kneeling, but he ignores it. You've opened up your body to him. He wants to take full advantage of it.

Simon goes back to lapping at your clothed cunt. He doesn't stop until his tongue is raw from brushing repeatedly over the stitches. Drool drips down his chin.

"Off."

You huff in confusion, trying to sit up. Instead. With too easy of a tug, off come your panties. There you are. Simon knows he should slow his movements but he doesn't care. You haven't stopped him yet, and he'll be damned if he doesn't get those sweet lips in his mouth. He spreads you apart with his middle and forefinger. You're a sight to behold. Perhaps not pornstar perfect anatomy, but you're delicious looking nonetheless. He eyes your glistening, dripping slit. As bad as he wants to force his tomgue deep inside you, instead he presses a firm kiss to the hood of your clit. You jolt, trying to back away or pull him closer, he can't tell.

Simon follows your movement. He mouths hungrily at your clit, flattens his tongue and practically drools against it. He laps at you with a muted fervor. He doesn't want to hurt you. He can tell you're sensitive. It must've been awhile since the last time you'd had a man willingly do this for you. A damn shame.

Your shaky little moans are like music to Simon's ears. He follows them like a map. He circles your clit, traces the entrance of your hood, even dips lower to tease the sides of your inner lips. You seem to like that alot based on the sounds you make. He sucks on your inner wings and you squeal, thighs wrapping hard around the sides of his head. He does it again and and again until you're hiccuping in delight. Your slick drips down his chin and throat. You're such a good girl for him.

Simon knows he's going to make you cum, it's just a matter of time and technique. He has both on his side. He uses his other hand to pet at your entrance. He tries to commit your anatomy to memory, and so he takes his time dipping the pads of his fingers against your fluttering slit. Despite it obviously having been awhile, your cunt holds no resistance. In fact, it practically swallows up the tip of his middle finger. Fuck yeah, that's what he likes to see.

With measured ease, Simon slips his whole finger inwards and upwards inside of you. You keen and gasp and he can feel your insides twitching. You're tight. So tight he can feel his finger already starting to cramp up from the resistance.

If he's going to fuck you right he's still got some work to do.

[moondirti]

johnny wears his sense of duty like a gold-gleaming badge of honour. and if you were to ask any one of his doting relatives, they'd tell you that indeed, he's a stand-up lad. the best our clan’s got tae offer.

johnny hones his sense of duty like a sword of high-carbon steel. his brothers in arms each have a story to credit their continued survival to him. carried me out the crash site while under heavy fire. anyone else would have left me for dead.

johnny wields his sense of duty like a heat-resistant kevlar shield. that is to say, do enough good for God and He will align your interests.

the train is empty and the hour is late. any partner worth their salt would not let you be here alone under these conditions – in your condition. he thinks it says something about your lack of one. or he's just hoping; just testing the line that marks how far he's willing to go.

he's antsy in his seat across the car. his right leg jumping, and not for their jostling along the tracks. a weight like a stone grows heavy in his crotch. he itches to adjust it, to pull his cock up under his waistband. but he's also staring, has been staring, and while he doesn't think you've noticed yet, you definitely will when the strange man donning fatigues sticks his hands down his pants.

there's a level he knows not to reach for while this exposed. johnny would rather keep his reputation shiny in the eye of the public. likes the praise too much to consider damaging it, like a dog stowing his messes under the couch.

so he sits, twitching but patient. a good old boy. sniffs. rests his elbows on his knees and squeezes his legs together to slyly grind into himself. he imagines what you must smell like between those soft legs of yours, imagines rubbing his face against the gusset of your underwear to soak himself in the scent. he's no stranger to pussy, he wonders if it tastes any different. his stare flattens over your calves. he tries to gather some phantom estimate in the salivate coating his tongue.

he thumbs the latin cross pendant he wears around his neck. God answers with a particular rough shake of the train car.

having already been fixated on your bottom half, he's one of the first to notice. second to only you, of course. a surge of water gushes out between your legs, splattering across the floor to become a puddle underneath your feet. your darling little face drops, eyes blowing comically wide as your hand slaps over your mouth in disbelief. the man standing next to you stumbles away, lifting his shoes to check for any damage. an old lady tuts.

and then, silence. no one does anything but stare.

johnny jumps from his seat, jogging to hover over you.

"ye awright, hen? aww, aw, c'mon. it's okay, y'wee thing. shhhh," he helps you up out of your seat, smoothing one hand down your back and the other over your heavy belly. one look at his clothing, at the MTP print that could only mean one thing, and you're leaning your full weight into him, blinking back a barrage of tears.

"s-sor– i'm so sorry. i– i think... think that was– my water broke." you sniff, tucking your face into his side to hide from the useless muppets surrounding you. he feels a swell of pride stretching the walls of his chest. his cock hasn't stopped throbbing despite the commotion.

"naebody faults ye for it. a’natural. a blessin', aye?" he says, not before clearing his throat of the lust he's sure coats it. "have ye got a birth plan? any hospital ye've made preparations wi'?"

"n-no." you shake your head. your voice is muffled between his layers of clothing, and he notices the gooseflesh of your skin just then. he's slipping his coat off within seconds, draping it over your shoulders, then combs the sweaty baby hairs off your temple. his fingers look rough, too big, against the dewy stretch of your forehead.

"there’s one near the next station. we’ll get aff there. ah’ll stick wi' ye, bonnie. ye dinnae have tae worry aboot a thing but yersel'."

and you nod, because of course you do. he's got commitment practically tattooed right there on his arm, alongside the SAS emblem and the cursive 141 gaz made him get on a dare. and johnny peddles that sense of duty like the psyops they've been taught to watch out for — to cover up the fact that it's a commitment to the wrong thing.

(he'll stick with you, alright.)

[wroteclassicaly]

18+

A/N: Just a little blurb to kickstart my writing for this character off ;)

Pairings: Eric x Female Reader

Warnings: Smut, vaginal fingering, NSFW.

He’s always like this with you. Gentle, clarifying your wants and desires without words — your consent. That’s never changed, even when the silence has to begin again, when no one knows how safe this island can be. There’s a stillness to your candlelit nights - this one being no different. It’s been a few weeks since you’ve settled into your small tent, most residences being established for those that have come a new.

But having a skylight zip in the roof of your tent and a relatively soft mattress, knowing you’ll have fresh water and food, light conversation in the mornings, a sunrise above water, and a makeshift family — you consider yourself amongst heavenly luck.

With Frodo out frolicking tonight with your neighbor’s cat Prudence, it leaves you and Eric alone in the tent for an hour. He’s been reading his book by the candle light, alternating between drawing his fingers down the wooden sconce, to staring at you through hooded, enriching pools of chocolate. All of this is still new, your two year long online relationship, various letters and video chats, with the arrangement to meet in New York in person, only to receive a text that sounded like a goodbye, hours after landing, but then the invasion happened and you had zero time to look for him, assuming the worst, to ultimately meeting again on the boat. He still looks at you as if he’s known you his whole life, in person. With newly shared trauma, to old shared conditions - you’re honestly not sure you’d be sane right now.

Tap. Tap.

A warm hand pinches the skin of your calve. It causes you to look up from your mindless doodling. He’s got that little soft smile, the flame of the candle dancing in the blown expanse of his pupils. His brows pinch together, his curls drooping over his forehead as he nods for a confirmation in his request. He comes closer and your agreement, knees rustling the sheets and the comforter.

He props himself beside you, one hand cupping your jaw, bringing you in to nuzzle your nose. With the exception of fires crackling, crickets chirping, some residents still up, and the distant sound of the water lapping at the shoreline — all remains a comfortable kind of tranquil. You feel his mouth on your jawline first, fingers tilting you to maintain direction. You push your book aside, listening to the light smacks of his lips as he sucks in the flesh of your neck, lightly biting down, only to release and soothe. His spare hand, it finds its way up your nightdress, resting on your knees, kneading, rolling his palm, until it splays, his dipping fingers tapping your skin.

He pulls away from the divide between your neck and shoulder, mouth red and panting, licking his teeth as his hand leaves your land and his pointer and middle finger make a spreading motion. Your heart drops into your guts, entangled and stifling the air in your lungs. You can’t tug your panties down fast enough, sliding against his chest, taking his own stubble bitten chin into your grip for a kiss as he lets his hand cup your heat, a groan slipping into your mouth. It gets harder to cover when you feel him press at your entrance, teasing the muscle, getting you so worked up that you have to stare him down with your pleading eyes that he’s so fond of. You take two digits with ease, rocking your hips, taking what you need from him, letting him spoil you.

It’s a lewd sound, one that someone couldn’t miss if they were to pass your tent. Eric’s breaths are coming out choppy across your lips, his lap swollen with need. But sometimes, it’s about giving you pleasure that gets him off the most. And you, you’re sure every creature across the world can hear how fast your heart is beating. Your body zoned out, only honing in on Eric, facing him as you near your climax.

It’s going to be strong, you both know it. He sees through his haze enough to cup your mouth with his spare hand as you tighten around his fingers, crying into his rapid pulse, that is buried beneath his wrist. You’re trembling, whimpering, and it attacks that aching fire in his belly, licking, and causes him lower his face into your jugular, warmth spurting from between his thighs and into his boxers. You hold one another through it, smiling against a sweaty daze, and he kisses you again, one finger dropping to write I Love You inside of your wrist.

[ram-bam-writes]

Golden Lust [Phillip Graves x NB Reader]

A/N: What I would give to see that man’s blackcell uniform irl… fuuuck… Lemme know if I missed any tags or if ya wanna be tagged for future pics.

Summary: Graves comes home from a long operation in a new uniform… one that has you drooling over him like some pathetic mutt

CW: pure, unabashed smut, fingering, piv/a, wrap before ya tap, light degradation, slight rank-kink if you squint, graves shoving things in your mouth, cursing, biting, aftercare, filth, no beta we die like soap

Word Count: 1252

“Darlin’...?”

The moment the man had walked inside, you stopped all movements. You knew of Graves’ usual attire. It was either an all black suit with some red details or his usual blue button-up and jean combo.

But this?

This is new.

Entirely ignoring the man’s bulky ass helmet that’s resting between his wrist and his hip, his entire outfit is fitted out with shiny, golden details. All new patches, all new jackets — the man even bought a new watch for the ensemble. 

You stalk towards the man, already tearing off your top before colliding your body against your boyfriend’s. 

“Hone-“ Graves bites back a moan at the bruising kiss, eyes rolling softly. His hands find their way to your hips, fiddling with your belt and bottoms. Now clad in only underwear, he drags the rough material on the knees of his cargo pants between your legs, eliciting the most beautiful sound out of you. “That’s it… c’mon…”

The moment your head tips down to rest against his chest, eyes fluttering at the sensation between your trembling thighs, you catch sight of the golden details on those stupid knee pads. 

“Oh…” he purrs, his helmet clattering to the floor as thick fingers run through your scalp and yank your head back. “That’s what’s got ya all riled fer me? Y’like the new fit, darlin’?”

You bite your lip and nod, hips rolling against his knee with pure lust, moaning freely despite your best efforts. His mouth finds your neck, planting open-mouthed kisses all along the artery. 

His other hand works down your back, teasing the tops of your underwear with such a delicate touch that you shiver. The rough texture of his gloves have you reeling, grasping at his biceps with a newfound need.

“Graves-!” You choke out, head falling back with a wanton moan. “Fuck, Sir, please!”

Fuck if that hadn’t sent a jolt of pleasure right down to his cock. You’re already a mess for him, already calling him Sir and all he did was put his knees between your thighs.

“That’s it, darlin’…” He croons, nipping your neck while yanking your scalp again. “Fuck yourself on my knee, make yerself cum jus’ from that…”

With the mix of his thighs rolling against your hips, soft gasps are pulled from your body, mind hazy and vision blurred. He releases his grasp on your scalp, instead dropping his hands low to grasp your ass with both his hands, kneading at the plump flesh. He doesn’t waste timing pulling out a combat knifer from his holster, slitting your underwear in half and throwing it aside, ignoring the bit of dampness he’d usually suck on.

“That’s it, pretty little thing…” He coos, hoisting you up and wrapping your legs around his waist. “Wan’ me to fuck y’with my suit on? Wanna be pinned down by my heavy fuckin’ vest with not a place to fuckin’ go?”

You’re tossed onto your back on the coffee table, thighs spread apart and calves hoisted over his shoulders. You lock your ankles around his neck, head thudding against the mahogany wood as the sound of a zipper sends you into a mental spiral.

“Tha’s it, hon… let the big, shiny Commander fuck that tight little hole of yours with his fat fuckin’ cock while you drool for his gold goddamn suit…”

Fuck…

He shoves his gloved fingers into your mouth, the thick material instantly drying out your mouth. You suckle and hum and moan, eyes filling with tears as the material drags roughly along your tongue as he thrusts his fingers in and out with little remorse.

He pulls out his fingers a bit later, but wastes no time filling your mouth once again, this time with shoving two golden glow sticks between your lips.

“You stop suckin’, I stop fuckin’, honey-pie…” He threatens, giving you a light smack to the cheek to further his point.

Oh good lords you could have cum right then and there.

But you do as you’re told, suckling and running your tongue along the thick plastic sticks in your mouth, eyes watering when his thick wet gloves swirl around your trembling hole.

“Be a good little whore and take a breath for me, darlin’…”

It’s the only warning your given before he shoves a thick finger into your fluttering hole, the rough texture dragging in and out of your tight, aching walls. The man’s usually rough, but seeing how you drooled for the golden designs, he’s making sure this becomes a regular thing.

After what feels like hours of pleasure, though in reality was mere seconds, he adds a second finger to the mix, soon including a third. He bites and tugs at the skin on your neck, dragging the tip of his nose up and down your jugular. 

“Need ya, hun…” He croons, moaning sweetly in your ear, breath fanning over the delicate skin. “Gotta fuck that sweet, needy hole…”

You hardly notice the loss of his fingers pushing against your tight walls with what dizziness is filling your mind. Drool spills down your chin from the sucking on his glow sticks, needy sobs wracking your already overstimulated body. 

His thick cock fills you with ease, veins pulsing inside of you. He lets out a guttural groan right into your neck as he bottoms out, his grip bruising on your hips. If it weren’t for his gloves, he’d have sliced your skin with his nails from the sheer force of his grasp.

“That’s it, darlin’… y’love when I fill yer hole, don’tcha, hun… yer just a needy, pathetic little toy for me to use as I please, hmm? Ain’t that right?”

You whine, nodding your head with equal vigor, moaning around the plastic in your mouth as he sets his pace to something quick and rough. Your body has little time to adjust, really, but you can’t find it in yourself to care when his teeth tug on your nipple, tongue swirling around the bud right after.

Time passes in a flurry for you. You’re vaguely aware of the thick, condescending tone of his voice insulting you and your intelligence — though you can’t deny he’s fucking you stupid. You can feel the drag of his cock deep in your walls, the way his hips slam into yours without hesitation. 

And before you can even predict it, you’re left to scream around the glow sticks, thighs shaking like a leaf in a goddamn hurricane from the pleasure that explodes within your belly. It’s uncontrollable at this point, wetness dripping all over both him and yourself. 

And when that familiar warmth floods your insides, thick and hot and so fucking filling, your body collapses as a dark veil pulls over your eyes.

———

Your eyes flutter open to the sound of a bath, body wet with warm, soothing water. The scent of chamomile and lychee fills the room, the familiar bath bomb swirling in the water producing the wondrous scent.

“There ya are, honeysuckle…” Graves purrs from behind your, warm hands stroking your damp hair. “Welcome back…” You only hum and whine in response, eyes fluttering closed once you recognize your surroundings. You can feel his smile when he kisses your head, hands low on your belly and stroking oh so softly beneath the hot water. 

“Didn’t think the new uniform would get ya so hot under the collar, honey-bun…”

Truth be told, you hadn’t either.

“Maybe I oughta show you all the things in that vest some other time, hmm?”

Fuck. Yes.

[rebelspykatie]

Part 1 of 2 🧦🧵

Part 2 | AO3

It’s the socks that break his resolve. Of course it’s the socks.

The first time he saw them, he wasn’t even sure what he was feeling. Steve Harrington waltzing into gym class in those knee high white socks wasn’t what Eddie expected to solidify his sexuality during the crisis phase of sophomore year, but he knew what he felt in that moment would change him forever. The way he couldn’t take his eyes off them. How he finally understood the whispers he heard from girls in the hallways. That fluttering in his stomach when Steve ran past his spot on the bleachers. 

There was no going back after that. Sophomore year was just the awakening. Over the years it turned into an obsession, the way he made sure he was in the building whenever Steve might be wearing them at gym class or during a game. He was disappointed when he showed up and Steve was sporting ankle socks, grumbling about it the whole way home, but staying to watch either way. 

It didn’t escape his notice that Steve looked hot in anything. Those small green shorts left little to the imagination. But there was something about the socks that did it for him. The way they stood out, perfect white against his tan skin. How they hugged his calves and the material strained to fit over muscles. The colored rings around the top bleed dull from the stretch of the fabric. The direct connection they had to his burgeoning sexuality emerging during that fateful gym class. 

Maybe it was the peak of leg hair inching out over the tops. A rare sight in the fall when he’s shaved hairless for swim season. Eddie gets a different thrill during that time of the year, hiding under the bleachers to watch Steve in his tiny speedo. But no, basketball season was more his speed. Pretending he’s there to sell while camping out to catch a glimpse of Steve in small shorts and knee highs. 

By senior year, he knows Steve hangs out at the Forest Hills park with some of the other guys from the basketball team. And this time he wasn’t even seeking him out, he just happened to be passing by after school on his way home and honed in on Steve’s car in the parking lot. If he camps out in that park to sell that summer, hoping to catch a glimpse of Steve, it’s no one’s business but his own. 

When Starcourt happens, it makes Eddie’s life easier. He doesn’t have to sneak around in a mall, he can blend in and fade into the crowd without anyone knowing his true reason for showing up in that overcrowded nightmare fuel of a place. He can sip on his orange Julius and watch as Steve flirts with everyone that comes into Scoops. He waits patiently for Steve to take his turn cleaning, bent over the tables with his back to the entrance, calves pulled taunt as he bends to pick up garbage from around booths. The socks aren’t quite as high as the Hawkins gym issued ones, but they’re still putting on a good show. 

He’s pretty sure Steve never caught wind of his presence, how he’s creeped on him for years harboring an idiotic crush. Borderline stalking. There’s no recognition on his face when Eddie holds a bottle to his throat while he’s running for his life. After surviving, they become friends and somehow that’s worse than being a nobody to Steve. 

Suddenly, he’s up close and personal with everything he’s been watching from afar. He doesn’t get to see his beloved socks for a long time, but it doesn’t mean that Steve isn’t torturing him. There are pool parties where he suffers through another round of tight shorts, this time dripping wet and clinging to areas Eddie desperately wants to see. There are movie nights in the dead of summer, Steve shirtless and hairier than ever, lounging across the couch and inches away from Eddie’s twitchy hands. There are sleepovers where Eddie gets to witness a sleep ruffled Steve blearily searching for coffee with his hair standing at a truly incredible height off his head. 

All of it was just a dumb crush, something he tried to hide away. There’s no way Steve feels the same. He resigns himself to exposure therapy, hoping with enough time it’ll go away. As if he hasn’t spent five years watching from afar as Steve grows into a man and becomes the kind of person Eddie wants to bring home at night. 

So of course, because the universe is a cruel bitch that never lets Eddie off easy, it’s the socks that break his resolve. They’re going to the county fair, all the teens, and Steve shows up in tiny little blue shorts with dumb knee high socks. Eddie’s brain is completely fried by the time he’s even out of his van. They’re the same stark white he remembers, with three blue rings around the top, stretched to their limits, just like Eddie’s restraint. He’s even wearing a gray Hawkins high basketball shirt, like he’s aware that he’s stepping right into Eddie’s dirty little fantasy. 

It’s slow torture, following him around the fair, acting like he’s not effected every time he catches a glimpse of Steve. Redirecting his line of sight every time Steve turns around and avoiding Robin’s knowing gaze. The inside of his cheek is sore from biting it to stop himself from opening his big, dumb mouth. 

He’s so, so well behaved until they get home. Everyone else heading out and leaving him and Steve alone. All it takes is Steve reaching for a glass in the kitchen, on tiptoes, his own private show, socks moving with the flex of his calves, for his restraint to snap. He lets out a moan before he even knows it’s happening, freezing in the dead silence, his own stupidity echoing in his head. When Steve turns around and looks at him with that adorable surprised puppy look, he’s a goner, crossing the room and spinning Steve around to trap him against the counter, glass clutched in his hand. 

“You and these damn socks, Harrington.”

Steve sets the glass down, but doesn’t push Eddie away. In fact, he pulls Eddie closer, wrapping a hand around his neck, “I thought you’d never get the hint.” And kisses him.

Part 2 | AO3

[blessedtoaster666]

WITCH WEEKLY - Issue 94 - December 2006

Editor’s Note:

Gentlebeings of the Wizarding World,

Our cover feature this issue is the one, the only Draco Malfoy- a man who needs no introduction, but whose presence might require the briefest of explanations.

Lord Malfoy has had no shortage of press over the years… but since his release from Azkaban we have dutifully kept an eye on him, and for sore ones he is a sight. Every time we feature him, the owls pour in. Some carry missives with love potion-laced ink, in the hopes that we’ll pass them to the man in question (no judgement, we’ve tried to slip him a little something in the past) while others are Howlers bursting to scream about our hideous facilitation of lusting after a war criminal. How dare you drool over a terrorist! But drool we do, like a three-headed dog.

It’s one of our favorite things about Draco Malfoy: those who love him, would die for him… and those who hate him, would like to see him killed. We fall into the camp of the former- do you?

Read on for 10 of our other favorite things -

Venia Plumberton, Editor-in-Chief

BEST OF Draco Malfoy

We surveyed our editorial staff, as well as witches and wizards on the street (Horizont Alley, to be exact) to determine the 10 best features of the wizard we love to hate, but don’t hate to love. Caution… at least three witches went feral after editing this piece. You’ve been warned.

#1 - CHEST - We don’t know if it’s that he’s vaguely the color of honed marble, or that we had too many brushes with the fit statues at Hogwarts during our formative years… but oh, Mummy. We don’t get to see shirtless Draco often- perhaps he’s self-conscious of the scars? Are they from the whip of a lover… or perhaps the Dark Lord?

Our seven-page coverage of his trip to Bali last year, “Draco’s Treasure Chest” July 2005, contributed to our best selling issue. EVER. We are certain our journalistic prowess has not gotten that much better. When it comes to Draco, we’re delusional, not deluded.

#2 - EYES - Pureblood politics like to keep things in the family; but if inbreeding is wrong do we want to be right? Like pools of mercury, Draco’s eyes look terribly inviting but might just kill us if we take a dip. We have on record that his nickname in school was, “The Heir of Slytherin”. Basilisk, much? We’ve heard stranger. Speaking of basilisks… this magazine doesn’t stoop to such levels… but we know where your head’s at.*

*Right next to ours, in the gutter. But at least we’re looking at the stars… specifically, the Draco constellation.

#3 - HAIR - We here at WW celebrate a man who takes the time to learn grooming spells, and we dare say the Malfoy Scion created a few of his own to tame his mane just the way we like it. Tousled, pushed back, glittering platinum everywhere the light touches it. Oh, to run a hand through that hair. Maybe pull it, just a little. Ruin our life, Draco. We are at the ready.

#4 - SIZE - When the DM walks in the room, suddenly, we orbit around him. Is it because of his white golden hair (see above) or is it perhaps that he’s the size of a planet? The Muggles have really gotten into something called gravity, look into it friends - because Draco is our sun. 6’5”, the wing span of a bloody hippogriff and the legs (oh we’ll get started with those next) of a semi-giant.

#5 - THIGHS - We could be pressed to include the whole leg, look at those calves, but in the interest of being specific- Draco Malfoy’s thighs get us through our work day.

Thick as tree trunks, we’d surrender our wand to be a part of that forest.

We spoke to Madame Mirabelle, tailor to rich and infamous, and she assured us that while she hasn’t fit Draco in years, she knows for a fact he has a tailor on staff to “rightly pinch and pin” every set of trousers he wears. One must not assume that anything off-the-rack could surround such thighs, wrap that arse, cover that bulge and hug that waist without being magically pinched and pinned. We’re due for a sewing spell seminar, it would seem.

#6 - ABS - Speaking of waists… Well. We shan’t. We’ll just show a picture, it scores a V, for va va voom.

#7 - FOREARMS - Again, we feel remiss not mention the scrumptious biceps, the scandalously sexy shoulders… but let it be known, Draco’s forearm game is unmatched. Maybe it’s the veins; maybe it’s the sheer size of them. Maybe it’s the Dark Mark- you know we need to be reminded about the danger lurking underneath. Or maybe… we are ovulating? No matter. We’d let him cast any spell he wanted at us so long as he used those arms to hold his wand.

#8 - SNEER - A snide look, on the face of Draco Malfoy, is better than a smile on any other man… We’re sure should Draco ever smile our way, he’d be crowned ‘Most Charming Smile’ in an instant… but to that end, we’ve never seen it. We’re not sure he’s capable. So we covet the sneer.

Eyes narrowed, nose flared, lip curled? Check, checkity, check. Sign us up for the next war!

#9 - JAWLINE - We long to go to a taffy emporium with Draco and watch him sample the wares… such is our obsession with seeing him clench. For Merlin’s sake, someone get the man some gum! We deserve such visions, we’ve been so good.

#10 - HANDS - Hands tell the story of the man- and here’s what we know… Draco’s hands can palm a quaffle and are typically adorned with family heirloom rings. He likes a Muggle watch, and doesn’t always need a wand. An eyewitness told us she saw him stop a falling bottle at his bar, The Jobberknoll, with just a flick of his fingers, as he dined with friends. We love a wizard who takes matters into his own hands.

[iovetecchou]

⌜Closer ⧸ Blade⌟𓂃༞♡

༞ Contains..! smut, jealous!blade, soft dom!blade, fingering, oral (f), making out, slight!manhandling, praise kink, hair pulling, creampie, biting (slight blood mention from this), cockwarming

༞ AFAB Reader.

༞ 1,655 words.

You and your partner, Blade, kept your relationship a secret for several reasons. He wanted to ensure your safety at all costs, but your shared secrecy had pros and cons.

"Ah, Blade! Welcome home. How was your day?" You perked up; the second the door swung open, revealing your boyfriend of several years. But something was… off. He hadn't spoken a word upon his arrival. And his heavy footsteps steadily approaching alarmed you slightly.

"Blade, what's wrong—" Before you could turn to meet his gaze, Blade spun you around with the firm grip he now retained on your hips. A small gasp died in your throat the second his lips smashed eagerly into yours.

His large hands kneaded your hips as he pressed all his weight into you. You could feel the back of the kitchen counter digging into the small of your back as your boyfriend desperately swiped his tongue along your bottom lip.

Your hands came up to his waist for support as you parted your lips for him. Allowing Blade to explore your mouth further with his adept tongue. He groaned against your lips as his chest pressed further into your frame.

You could feel his clothed erection graze against your lower tummy, and your eyes darted open at this revelation. You squeezed his waist before you pulled away from his lips. "Blade… what's gotten into you, hm?"

One of his hands began exploring further. His deft digits trailed up your side. Dancing along the expanse of your neck and running his index finger along your jaw. His gaze honed in on your mouth as his thumb swiped across your bottom lip before he spoke up.

"Today was dreadful. I don't wish to relive the events. I simply… need this right now. More precisely, I need you."

Blade's gaze finally met yours as your hands came up to cup his cheeks. You tucked his dark locks behind his ears, to get a clear view of his expression. Blade's crimson orbs swirled with need; his eyebrows were knitted in frustration.

You knew today was rough on him based on his actions alone. It was rare for Blade to initiate things with you in this fashion. He was usually a very passionate lover, taking his time devouring you. He only got desperate with you like this when he was jealous.

"Okay, my love, take your frustrations out on me." You whispered. Caressing his cheeks lovingly, as you felt Blade's hand tighten further around your hip. Your boyfriend gave you a curt nod tracing your bottom lip one last time before his hand moved lower.

His palm ran flat down your chest toward your navel. Eliciting a gasp from you. Blade's hands entangled around your waist as he hoisted you on the kitchen counter. He unhurriedly lowered to his knees before you, crimson eyes never once leaving yours.

"You are breathtaking, my darling. And all mine." Blade stated quietly, nearly inaudible. But you heard him. Loud and clear. He took his time with you as he pulled your pants and panties down your legs.

Blade caressed your calves. Then your thighs as his large hands spread you open. His deft digits danced along your exposed skin, causing a pleasurable shiver to run down your spine. "B-Blade… are you… jealous?"

Your boyfriend paused in his actions, thumb ghosting over your clit as his other hand tightened around your thigh. You twitched in anticipation as Blade spoke up. "If the others knew you belong to me, they would think twice about the foul things they mutter out of turn."

Before you could press further… Blade granted you that friction that you were so desperately craving. His thumb swirled around your clit with precision; slow but stern circles had you whining pleas for more.

"Hah… blade, m-more… please?" You begged between moans. Carding your hands through his silken hair as your hips began moving on their own. Blade's free hand slipped higher up your thigh, finding purchase on your hip; once more tonight.

"Keep still," Blade expressed in a firm tone. His breath fanned over your slicked-up pussy, causing you to ache for more. Nonetheless, you did what you were told. Knuckles turning white within the grasp you had on your boyfriend's hair as you tried your best to be patient.

"Fuck, do that again." Blade groaned out in pleasure from the way you yanked at his hair. His thumb drew away from your clit, but before you could protest, his tongue began lapping at your wet heat with ease.

"B-Blade!" The sudden change of pace had you tugging at your boyfriend's hair harsher than before. His hold on your hip tightened as his tongue began swirling around your puffy bud. Blade never once took his eyes off your face, his chest filled with pride at the notion that he was the only one who deserved to witness you in this state.

Blade's lithe digits toyed with your entrance as his lips closed around your clit. He sucked on your bud lightly before sinking two fingers into your needy heat. His nimble digits slipped in with ease from how wet you were from his ministrations.

"So good, my love… p-please, don't stop—!" You cried out, tugging on his dark locks for dear life. Your release was approaching; and fast. Blade could tell with how you clenched around his slim digits from where they were buried deep inside you.

He curled his nimble fingers with precision. Picking up his pace ever so slightly as he suckled your clit with more passion. "B-Blade… I'm cumming—!" Your thighs twitched on either side of your boyfriend's head as your orgasm washed over you.

Blade continued to work you through your high as you surged around his fingers. He seethed with pleasure from how hard you were tugging on his now-tousled locks. Crimson orbs soaking up your fucked-out expression.

The second your grip on his hair loosened, Blade pulled away from your sopping heat. The bottom half of his face was covered in your slick as his breath fanned over your sensitive folds. You watched as your boyfriend slowly rose back to his feet, craning his neck down to capture your lips.

You whined into the kiss as your hands interlaced around Blade's midsection. You could taste yourself on his tongue, and the lewd act had you aching for more pleasure. Blade rested his forehead against yours as you both shared the same air for a few moments.

"I need to be inside you, darling. You can give me one more, yes?" Blade declared as his hands made skillful movements to free his throbbing cock from their confines. You couldn't take your eyes off him, mind still fuzzy from the aftershocks of your high as you nodded in agreement.

Blade seized his length, tracing the tip of his cock along the expanse of your pussy. "Fuck, you're so eager for me. Aren't you, darling?" He huffed against your lips, crimson orbs flickering down to your lips before meeting your gaze once more.

"Y-Yes, my love… always!" You whined out, tugging on his waist in anticipation. Blade chuckled lowly against your lips at your actions, wasting no more time lining himself up to your entrance. Blade sank himself inside you with ease, groaning out in bliss as he bottomed out.

"You're sucking me in perfectly, darling. I knew you were made for me, but this is confirmation enough." Blade whispered before sealing his lips to yours. You could tell your boyfriend was losing his composure from how messy the kiss you shared became.

Blade's tongue explored your mouth as he pleased, trapping all his grunts and groans against your lips. He invaded all of your senses in the best way possible; yet you still craved more. You pulled Blade in even closer with your hold on his waist. Chests fused to one another's as Blade continued to fuck you passionately.

His thrusts were deep and powerful. Each snap of his hips left you breathless as the tip of his cock prodded your sweet spot perfectly. Blade was the first one to pull away from your lips. Swiftly bringing his hands up to cup your cheeks before whispering,

"Tell me you're mine. Tell me you belong to me… and me alone."

Blade's thumbs caressed your cheeks as his crimson eyes bored into your face. His brows were knitted in concentration as his teeth scored his bottom lip. Blood trickled down his chin from how hard he was biting into himself.

You could tell he was holding back; Blade needed to hear you utter those two simple words to him before he allowed himself that much-needed release.

"I'm yours, Blade! All yours, I only want— no, need, you... my love!"

Your candid confession was all your boyfriend needed to topple over the edge. Blade's cock pistoned into you harsher than before as the first ropes of his cum were drilled deep inside you.

"That's it, darling. Hah, fuck..." Blade let a desperate whine escape past his tattered, bloody lips. His eyes rolled back in bliss as his hips stilled balls deep within your throbbing heat.

"B-Blade—!" The feeling of your boyfriend releasing inside you triggered your own orgasm. You hugged his waist fiercely, pulling Blade impossibly closer as you gushed around his still-pulsing cock.

The both of you stayed motionless. Reveling in the aftershocks of your highs. Blade's eyelids opened slowly, unveiling his deep crimson orbs. He gazed at you with renowned tenderness and devotion as a tight-lipped smile painted over his features.

"Are you feeling better, my love?" He was quiet for a moment, contemplating his answer. Within the silence, Blade's hands traveled down your frame. Large hands entangled your waist before gently raising you off the kitchen counter. You instinctively enveloped your legs around his midsection, hands weaving around his neck for further support.

"Ask me again after a few more rounds, darling."

[otdiaftg]

The King's Men - Chapter Seventeen (19)

Day: Friday, April 26th / 27th* Time: 9:40 PM EST

Maybe he has a right to feel smug. It doesn't matter that Neil had started this game as a backliner. He'd been away from the court for half his life and had spent the last two years honing his skills as a striker. Riko had seen for himself over Christmas break how out of practice and miserable Neil was at defense. What Riko forgot is that Neil hadn't stepped onto the Raven court until after Tetsuji beat him unconscious. Neil's health had gotten steadily worse from there thanks to Riko's constant abuse. Tonight Neil is in perfect form, and he is mad as hell at the Ravens for hurting his Foxes. Andrew slams the ball up-court, and the fight to the last bell begins. Neil dogs Riko every step of the way, using his stick and body to ruin Riko's shots and force him away from Andrew. They fight each other back and forth across the court, ducking and darting, sidestepping and lunging, nearly tripping each other up at every turn. Riko uses every trick he has to get around Neil, but he can't outrun Neil for long. Minutes stretch by without a clear shot on goal. Riko snarls something hateful at Neil as Andrew bats away his latest shot. Neil laughs at him, knowing it'll only infuriate him further. Riko's impatience and rage are fuel, lending Neil speed and making him forget the growing burn in his thighs and calves.

Art used with permission by Kevinkevinson. Thank you @kevinkevinson!

*Due to the Leap Year, I have opted to highlight the day rather than the date to keep the events in occurrence to the 2007 year. I will continue to mark both days accordingly.

[l00k4tm4m45c415]

Denise Masino

[ayyy-pee]

𝐀 𝐓𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐘𝐨𝐮

Pairing: Satoru Gojo x f!Reader

Day 3: Body Worship

Warnings: BLOOD, LIGHT BLOOD PLAY, BLOOD SUCKING, KISSING WITH BLOOD, MDNI, Smut, Profanity bc who do you think I am, Biting, Vaginal Sex, Creampie, Unprotected Sex, A lil bit rough, VAMPIRE GOJO

Summary: In all his years on this earth, Satoru is not sure he's ever met someone as sweet as you. Literally. You taste divine, like what he'd imagine heaven would be if he weren't doomed to an eternity in hell after this life. And he'll do everything in his power to make sure you know how much he appreciates what you give to him.

Gojo art credit: 衙 YLPP

❥ Gojo NSFW Week Twitter - AO3 Collection ❥

Discord 18+ - Twitter - JJK Masterlist

The soft glow of the candlelight illuminates every exquisite dip and curve of your body in the darkness of the bedroom. You’re beautiful like this, ethereal, bare and spread along his bed, waiting…wanting. Satoru takes a step closer, and his ears perk, senses heightened. He can hear everything in the way your body reacts to him. 

One step closer and he’s bombarded with the sound of your heart pounding rapidly behind your ribcage. Your chest rises and falls with every shaky breath leaving your lungs. 

Another step forward and the sound of your blood rushing through your veins has him stopping in his tracks. He takes a deep breath, gathering himself, regaining his control. 

One last step to bring him to the foot of the bed and your thick swallow rings loud in his ears, has Satoru’s eyes honing in on your jugular.

Every noise you make has Satoru yearning to hear more. He wants to pull every sound you’re capable of from you. Every move you make has him itching to touch you. Every look you give him…well, it quite literally makes Satoru want to eat you up. Every inch of you is perfection. So perfect, Satoru can feel his pupils dilate with excitement as he drinks in the sight of you.

You lie on your back, waiting for him to approach. And he does. He crawls up the foot of the bed, slowly closing the distance between your naked form and his own until he’s reached your legs. You watch him closely, eyes blown with lust as his fingers ghost along your calf, up your thigh. Your skin is smooth, silky, and warm beneath his palm as he caresses you. You’re always so warm. Satoru enjoys that.

“You’re so beautiful,” Satoru declares quietly, more to himself than to you.

His vision is sharp, clean as day in this dim lighting. You may be able to just make out his form, maybe see his frosted tresses which seem to glow beneath the candlelight. But Satoru, he sees everything with those brilliant blue eyes of his.

They follow the trail of goosebumps that rise along your skin, his fingertips leaving them in their wake as he caresses you. They see the way your muscles tense just before a sweet whimper falls from your lips. They watch the way your hands ball his sheets in your fists when he kisses along your calves, higher and higher until his face lies between the apex of your thighs.

“Satoru…” You whine, your voice shaky, hungry, desperate for him to do more than touch you. 

Satoru places a gentle kiss to one thigh, right where a faded bruise sits beneath two tiny puncture marks. He rubs his thumb along the mark before he moves to your other thigh, eyes landing on an identical set of marks. His thumb runs along this bruise, too, and he leans forward to kiss it tenderly. His mouth latches on to the darkened skin, sucking lightly. It’s still tender. He can tell from the way you inhale sharply, back arching off of the bed, only to sigh shakily a moment later. The sigh soon fades into a moan as Satoru’s mouth remains on your skin.

You take all the little pains in stride. You’re so good to him, so good for him.

You’re enticing, bewitching Satoru from the moment he’d first laid eyes on you. Satoru feels so lucky to be able to have you have this way whenever he pleases. He doesn’t need to use any of his charms on you, doesn’t have to resort to manipulation and for that, he is eternally grateful. You give him all of you, willingly. That’s rare to find in your kind.

He releases your thigh after a long while of sucking, his pupils blown wide as he watches two tiny streams of red cascade down your skin. His tongue drags along your thigh, a sinful groan falling from his lips when the taste of copper invades his senses. Warmth blossoms in Satoru’s chest, his heart racing with the taste of you on his tongue.

In all his years on this earth, Satoru is not sure he's ever met someone as sweet as you and that is no exaggeration. He means it in a literal sense. You taste divine, like what he'd imagined heaven would be if he weren't doomed to an eternity in hell once this life is over. 

“So good, baby,” he purrs, voice husky with lust. “Always, always so good.”

His eyes fall onto your exposed core, ready for him to taste. And as much as he wants to have you there, he has somewhere else he’d like to taste you more. Though that doesn’t stop him from pressing a rough kiss to your pussy, a content sigh rushing past his lips now that he’s treated himself to just a small taste of your sweet juices.

“You’re incredible, you know that?” Satoru sits up, crawling along your body until his hips sit between your legs. He hovers over you, his weight leaning on one of his arms as he takes your wrist in his other hand.

You nod, smiling at his kind words.

“Say it,” Satoru nudges gently. He lifts your wrist, pressing his nose directly to your pulsepoint and inhaling deeply. You watch with wide eyes as he lets out a shuddering sigh.

“I’m incredible.” You repeat his words softly back to him and he smiles.

“Good girl. I need you to believe that.” You see them for the first time tonight, the long, pointed canines that peek out from beneath his lips. Satoru licks slowly along your wrist, pressing his tongue over your pulse. His eyes fall shut with a hum as your pulse pounds frantically beneath the wet muscle. “One day I’ll have you here,” he utters against your skin. “Not tonight, though. Too painful for what I have in mind.”

His sapphire gaze falls on to your breasts, nipples painfully erect, begging for his attention. He releases your wrist, palming one of your breasts in his hand. His thumb grazes over your nipple, pinching and rolling the sensitive nub between his fingers. Your back arches, a low moan falling beautifully on Satoru’s ears. His mouth kisses along the swell of your breasts, your hands coming up to tangle in his hair when you feel the slight sting of his pointed teeth graze across your skin.

It hurts, just a little, but in the best way.

Satoru squeezes your breast in his hand as his lips find your other nipple, pulling into his mouth and running his tongue along the stiff peak. Even your skin is magnificent to Satoru. The taste of your sweat is like nectar on his tongue and he can’t help the guttural groan that escapes him. He has to have more of you.

He releases your breasts, panting heavily, pupils blown so wide you can no longer make out the blue in them. “Can I taste you now?”

“Of course, baby.” You nod, running your fingers through his soft strands. You’re ready and willing to give him everything.

“My everything,” he whispers, kissing you passionately. His tongue slips between your lips, dancing with yours and you moan, the taste of copper heavy between you.

Satoru’s hand slips between your bodies as you loop your arms around his neck. His hand grips his length, sliding the head along your folds. He curses under his breath, the feeling of your dripping core making his cock pulse hard in his hold.

“Fuck,” he whimpers into your mouth, pressing the tip of his cock to your entrance. His lips slot against yours, needy and desperate until he has to force himself back. He sighs, kissing along your jaw, down your neck until he reaches the juncture between your neck and your shoulder, right where your pulse beats wildly beneath your skin and licks, readying the spot for himself. You shiver, the spot already tender to the touch from your antics a few nights ago. “Ready?” His voice is low, gravely. “I promise to be gentle this time.”

“Yes, please,” you whine, grip tightening around him. “It’s okay if you’re rough. I can take it.”

Satoru groans, low and rough into your neck. “So fucking perfect. You’re too good to me.” He brushes his lips against your skin, presses one last, sweet kiss to the spot, murmuring, “I love you.” He rubs his cock through your folds once more, shuddering as his hips surge forward. Satoru’s lips lift, pulling back as his mouth falls open to expose the long set of sharp fangs that reside at the top row of his teeth, two on each side. He sinks his fangs into your neck at the exact moment his cock enters you, stretching your walls and filling you to the brink in one switch motion.

A sharp cry erupts from you, hands finding purchase on Satoru’s shoulders and squeezing hard, the discomfort running through you from top to bottom. Your eyes snap shut, mind reeling with the intense pain of Satoru draining you while he simultaneously fills you. He pumps into you with shallow thrusts, easing your walls open for him. It hurts only for a moment before your body is overcome with pleasure. Whimpers of pain soon become whimpers of ecstasy and your grip on Satoru’s shoulders loosen.

When he feels and hears you relax, Satoru bottoms out, stretching you so full, you can’t think straight. It definitely doesn’t help that he’s draining your blood like a man starved. He gives you very little time to adjust before he’s slamming into you repeatedly, desperately searching for release as he gets his fill of you. 

“Ah– oh, fuck, Satoru! Fuck!” You feel Satoru’s tongue lapping at your skin as he pierces your neck, catching every drop of blood that runs loose as he fucks into you at a ruthless pace. Your moans fill the room, Satoru grunting and groaning just as loud, if not louder as he feeds from your neck. He shifts, hooking a hand under one of your legs and lifts so it sits atop his shoulder, all without releasing his mouth from your skin. He fucks into you with reckless abandon, his heavy balls, coated in your slick slapping hard against you.

Satoru pistons his hips, tapping that spongy sweet spot that makes tears well up in your eyes and you gasp, bucking your hips up to match Satoru thrust for brutal thrust. Your walls tighten around his dick, constricting so hard he can hardly move. It’s so fucking good, Satoru breaks away from your neck, pulling back to let out a strained groan, loud and wanton.

“Shit,” He garbles, mouth full. He swallows quickly, gasping for air as he pounds into you. You gaze up at him, the monster you love peering down at you, chin stained red, drenched in your blood. “This pussy will kill me one day, I swear,” he groans, leaning down and kissing you hard.

The taste of your life essence, salty and metallic assaults your senses. It covers you, smearing across your lips and your cheeks, filling your mouth as Satoru’s tongue explores every crevice. It makes you tremble, makes your eyes roll back. It’s overwhelming, so much to try and take in all at once. The searing pain in your neck, the sharp smell of copper, the taste of your blood, and every kiss of Satoru’s cock against your cervix has you falling over the edge.

Your fingers tangle in Satoru’s hair again, eyes squeezing shut as you shriek a muffled, “I’m cumming!” against Satoru’s blood stained lips. Your walls spasm, constricting around Satoru’s cock even tighter if possible. He keeps fucking into you, trying to find his own release as he pulls back to watch you come undone beneath him.

So insanely beautiful, covered in his saliva and your own blood. It’s one of those moments when he thinks you’re not real, something he could only conjure in his dreams. Because what human could possibly agree to this? You’re pure perfection. Made for him and him alone.

Satoru feels his balls tighten and he closes his eyes, increasing his pace, rocking his hips into you hard and fast. He knows his thrusts will leave you sore and bruised tomorrow, but he doesn’t care. He wants to cum so bad, wants to fill you up with all he has to give you. He wants your beautiful body so full of him, it’ll take weeks for you to be rid of his seed. 

“Baby, I’m – fuck, oh, fuck, baby, I’m gonna cum –” Satoru whimpers, voice high-pitched. He’s so close, so fucking close. He’s almost there, he’s right there, he just needs –

An agonizingly painful sensation hits Satoru suddenly. His neck fucking hurts. His eyes snap open, attention focusing back on you…and how you’ve now sat up and bitten down on his neck so hard, he’s sure you’ve drawn blood from him. He’s never been bitten before. Not by another vampire, not by any previous lovers, and absolutely not by a human. It’s shocking, disconcerting, strange…

…And it makes Satoru cum so fucking hard, his vision goes black. The cry that’s ripped from his throat is painful, so intense it makes you cry out with him, a second unexpected release tearing through you as Satoru’s thrusts sloppily, filling you with his cum. It’s so much you can feel it dripping down your ass as Satoru keeps pumping into you, making sure to empty his balls before he’s done with you.

You’re spent, falling back onto the bed, boneless and sated. Your eyes are locked on the small round bite mark right between Satoru’s neck and shoulder, a purple circle already forming on his pale skin. Satoru thrusts into you one last time before he falls to your side, breathless. He folds you up in his arms, kissing your forehead.

“Like I said, you’re incredible,” he gasps, carding his fingers through his hair. You hum, content and completely out of it. He should get you into the bath soon and clean up all of this blood. But he’ll let you catch your breath before he makes you both get up. The shower will likely turn into another round of lovemaking. You’ll need to get some of your strength back for that. So he simply holds you, reveling in your light snores against his chest.

Every night should be like this, Satoru thinks. He’d love to spend every night in each other’s arms, feeding from one another until you’ve had your fill. But he can’t. When you’re gone, free to roam in the sun while Satoru dwells in the shadows, he thinks of turning you. He thinks of making you his lifelong partner. Then every night truly could be like this.

But it wouldn’t be the same. Satoru enjoys the fragility of you and your body. He loves the way your blood runs hot with passion, runs cold with fear, enjoys the heat of your skin beneath his cool palms. You’ve still got your humanity and that is what makes him so enamored with you. Your body gives him everything he needs, a single drop of your blood is enough to keep him going for years. Your love gives him everything he desires.

It’s something he’s never experienced in another person, let alone a human before. In you he finds comfort, peace. Perhaps one day he’ll turn you, if only to spend eternity with you. But for now, you’ll remain as Satoru sees you: Beautiful, incredible, perfect.

His.

[missmaywemeetagain]

Sergeant Presley (a one-shot)

A/N: Somehow, against all odds in this absolute chaos of a week, I managed to bang out the "Army Elvis" prompt for this week today, like a maniac. I am both shocked and amazed that I wrote a smutty one-shot without overthinking it but also be warned this is hardly edited or revised, nor even really thought out! 😂

Thanks always to my sister wives in chaos and crime: @be-my-ally @whositmcwhatsit @vintageshanny @ellie-24 @thatbanditqueen @powerofelvis and @from-memphis-with-love

TW: Smut! Orgasms! Basically no plot!

Rating: Mature 18+ || Word Count: 2.7k

Sergeant Presley (a one-shot)

He wants to fuck you. Oh lord how he wants to fuck you, from the moment you walk in the room and sit across the aisle from him.

Maybe it’s the curve of your calves and the way they disappear under your pencil skirt. Maybe it’s how your jacket notches in at your waist, accentuating your ample hips. Or perhaps it’s the fact that even with the conservative uniform and minimal to-do with your hair and make-up (as per regulations, of course), you still are absolutely gorgeous.

Or I’m just horny, Elvis thinks sardonically, shifting in his seat.

The movement catches your eye, and he watches curiously as you do a bit of a double take, eyes widening slightly in recognition before your head whips straight ahead.

He smirks to himself at that. It never gets old, the light that goes on in women’s eyes when they take him in in person. And he certainly isn’t getting much of it lately, being effectively shackled here in Germany, clad in his drab green Army fatigues.

Well, that’s not entirely true, he thinks as he pictures the fans that gather at all hours outside the house he’s renting while he’s here, about the girls he invites in. But it’s not quite the same, not the same at all, because his fame is tenuous and teetering here. Part of him is certain that they’ve all forgotten about him at home, despite the Colonel’s reports to the contrary, despite the new movie contracts and albums he is set to record as soon as he returns. However, the sliver of fear about his fate has burrowed deep these past two years and poisons him slowly, each day he is gone.

But now he’s counting days and weeks instead of months and years, and he can nearly taste being home. His fear and the antsy feeling that permeates him is overcome by anxious excitement now, so he’s feeling better than he has in a long time.

And here he is, getting his Sergeant stripes, and that fills him with a different sort of pride altogether.

So, perhaps it is all these factors combined that have him wanting to jump across the aisle, pull you into his arms, and kiss you silly.

He’s never seen you before and doesn’t know your name until they call you up to present you with your earned rank. Feeling a bit lecherous, he admires the view of your ass as you walk to the front and the heaving of your breast as they pin your stripes. Your pretty eyes catch his unabashedly heated gaze and pink floods your cheeks as he locks you in.

Elvis knows what he’s doing. While much of it is a natural sort of gift, he’s also honed his seductive abilities quite a bit in the last four years and gets paid a lot of money because of it. He’s also well aware that he looks good, filled out in a manly way but slimmed down in all the right areas, and right now, he’s not above using his looks to get your attention. And he so does want your attention, as much as he knows by virtue of your uniform and rank, you are completely off limits. He’s not stupid—he’s too close to the end for a court martial. Though he may not be able to fuck you the way he wants, it doesn’t mean he can’t have a little bit of fun.

Crossing his arms, he brings one hand to his mouth, letting his thumb catch on his full bottom lip and his mouth fall open slightly. Then he gazes at you with a pointed but dreamy stare, his eyes blinking slowly.

He watches you gulp and fidget at front of the room, all of which could be explained away by nerves of being put on the spot, but he knows he’s hit jackpot because there’s a little fire stoked in those lovely eyes now.

Tilting his head and raising a brow, he makes a private show of looking you up and down as you walk tenuously back to your seat. Giving him a glare of admonishment, you very purposefully do not look at him once you are seated again, but your hands wring in your lap, your leg crossing over towards him.

He’s flustered you. Warmth rolls over him, pooling in his pelvis, and through the rest of the ceremony, he tries not to think of bending you over your chair, yanking up your skirt, and sinking deep into your silky heat.

His cock twitches at the thought.

Later, fate intervenes on his behalf when he realizes you’ve been seated with him at the dinner banquet following the ceremony. He shakes your hand, introducing himself, letting his fingers squeeze and his thumb graze your palm a little too intimately. The gamut of emotions that flashes over your face before you bring down a stoic smile makes him chuckle.

He guides you to sit next to him, and while you hesitate at first, he knows he’s already won because of the way your eyes widen at the suggestion.

Now that you are close, his body goes into overdrive, and he is drunk on the sweetness of your perfume and the smoothness of your skin. He realizes he’s likely being too obvious in his flirtations but can’t bring himself to reign it in. The other men and women at the table have either consciously or subconsciously deferred to him and his charms, leaving no one to compete for your attention. He lays it on thick, wanting to eat you right up.

Elvis is hyperaware of every time you glance his direction, which is happening more often as he pulls you deeper into conversation, your cool exterior thawing bit by bit. But the way your eyes dilate and how you lick your lips when he brings the bottle of cola in front of him to his mouth has a zing of arousal shooting down his spine and straight into his cock.

Oh.

Nothing if not responsive, Elvis tongues the lip of the bottle before taking a slow drag of the sweet, fizzy soda. Your eyes are fixated now on his mouth, on the bottle, and he watches you catch your lower lip in your teeth as you stare.

Heat courses through him as he pulls the bottle away, tongue rolling over his bottom lip to catch the lingering drops of sugar caught there. You swallow visibly, and he doesn’t stop his teasing, unable to keep his lip from quirking into a delighted smirk at your attentions. Your eyes fly back up to his, as if just realizing you’ve been caught, and you flush a charming shade of red before clearing your throat and looking away quickly.

But every time he raises the bottle to his lips, your eyes catch like a moth to a flame. This time they follow his hand down as he sets the bottle on the table. Condensation gathers droplets on the cool glass and he relishes the smooth, wet feeling as he strokes the bottle with his thumb.

You fidget in your seat. It takes him a second to understand why, but once he does, he feels his cock chub up, caught mercilessly in his briefs and dress pants. The little, mischievous devil in him takes great pleasure watching you watch him make a show of gripping the bottle in his whole hand, slowly thumbing over the opening at the top again and again.

You choke a little and reach for your water, taking a deep drag and blinking rapidly, as if trying to come out of the spell he seems to have you under. You attempt to throw yourself into the conversation at the table, ignoring him with all your might, your body tense in your seat.

A challenge, he thinks, smiling.

Slowly, Elvis presses his knee into the side of your thigh, loving the way you nearly jump out of your seat in surprise at the contact. It’s like a bolt of electricity between you, and he starts to strain against his underwear.

Now that he has your attention, he places his hand back around the cola bottle, lewdly gripping it and slowly twisting his hand down and back up the glass. It’s truly not that far off from his actual size, so the motion feels almost too familiar, too easy. Your mouth pops open at the suggestive gesture and it takes everything in him to not lap his tongue into that delicate little mouth of yours. He matches his rhythm, stroking his knee against your leg, which also happens to provide some delicious friction in his pants. He feels you tense, squeezing your thighs together, and he cannot help but think of your little pink snatch likely staining your panties with slick right at this very moment.

Elvis almost groans aloud at that, catching it in his throat at the last second, but you seem to hear it and your eyes fly to his. Your pupils are blown out and cheeks are hot, and he can almost smell the arousal on you. Goddamn it, he wants to make you come, right here at the table, just for him, in front of everyone, who, wrapped up in their own conversations seem none the wiser at the seduction that is happening before them.

He’s hardly touching you but feels a surge of power when you fidget again, caught like willing prey in his stare. He can’t touch you more than he already is because that would get him in trouble, but if he can’t lay you across this table and fuck you senseless, he’s going to do it the only way he can.

His ministrations on the bottle are serving to arouse him just as much as you, each stroke making his cock twitch and strain and stiffen. Your eyes dart from his to the bottle, back and forth, your breath shallow and rapid. His eyes are heavy on you, unyielding, and look upon you as though you were under him, as though he were trapped and undulating in the heat of what he just knows is your perfect, untouched cunt.

You look back at him as though you know exactly what he’s thinking, as though your tight little hole is snug around him, sweet as honey, treating him right. Your hands clutch at your silverware, your napkin, anything you can get your hands on that isn’t him, and he knows you are well on your way to where he wants you because he can feel how your legs move back and forth, creating the friction you so desperately need between them.

He wonders if he can get away with touching you under the tablecloth, with sticking his hand into those wet panties of yours to play with your swollen and sensitive nub, but your skirt is too long and tight, and your jacket hides the waistband. No, he’s gonna have to be satisfied with eye-fucking you and jerking off this cola bottle.

Your chest starts to vibrate with tension as you try desperately to hold back the short little gasps emanating from your lips and he knows then that you are set to explode. You brace your elbows on the table, hiding the lower part of your face with your napkin, as if wiping your mouth, and he feels your hips buck. You do a helluva job not moaning and rolling your eyes back as you come for him, but he sees you drift somewhere else for a moment in your ecstasy, your eyes going blank as you pant as measured as you can into your napkin-shield.

Watching you unravel so gracefully and so untouched has his own orgasm sneaking up on him. The fact that he made you come just by looking at you but also at the element of public indecency involved has him clutching the cola bottle so hard he might break it. He wants to palm his dick with his other hand, but he knows he can’t be subtle about it and kind of likes the fact you’re making him come untouched, too.

Elvis manages to hold on until you come down from your high enough to look at him with dreamy, satiated eyes and that finally sends him over the edge. His cock pulses heavy and hard, springing against the confines of his slacks, his eyes drifting closed and lips parting as he shivers through his orgasm as quietly as he can. Holy fucking hell.

Your shy, knowing smile is the first thing he sees when he opens his eyes, and he can’t help but smile right back at you in kind. Your rosy cheeks and gleaming eyes make him feel giddy. His face feels red hot and he can’t help but bring the cold cola bottle to his face to cool it off. You choke back a laugh.

“You alright there, Sergeant Presley?” another soldier questions him.

“Ohhhh, I’m fine,” he drawls, amused, “Just feels like it’s a thousand degrees in here is all, in this getup.”

For once, he’s glad of his regulation briefs, as they kept him from shooting his load straight down his pant leg, but he doesn’t have to look down to know by the sheer force and amount of his release that he’s soaking through the front of his pants. His only consolation is that he knows you must be soaked through your panties, too.

If he can get his jacket on, he’ll be okay because it’s long and will cover the mess, but how he’s going to do so without the entire hall seeing he just jizzed his pants, he’s not so sure. It might not be a problem for the average Joe, but people can’t help but watch his every move, whether he wants them to or not. He realizes in his haze of horniness that maybe he didn’t really think this through.

You seem to realize his predicament, however, pretty eyes widening after looking down in his lap. You snap your head up quickly and he can sense your wheels turning. He starts to panic a little when you don’t let him in on the plan, though, as you start telling some story that he can’t seem to pay attention to with the sticky, rapidly cooling mess in his underwear.

Before he knows what’s happening, you are sweeping your arm to the side in a dramatic retelling, knocking the half-full bottle of cola over, directly into his lap.

He yelps in surprise as the dark cola soaks into his slacks, right over the other stain that had begun to set.

“Oh! Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry, Sergeant Presley!” you cry apologetically, quite convincingly, and in other circumstances, he might try to get you into the movies with your level of commitment as you place your napkin into his lap.

He chuckles, “Oh, it’s fine, darlin’, it’s just a little soda. After all, I was going on about how warm I was gettin’, so you cooled me right off.” He gives you a wink at his obvious double entendre, and you purse your lips to hold back a laugh.

“Well, I’m awfully embarrassed,” you say quietly, fully leaning into the role. “Please send me your dry cleaning bill. It’s the least I can do.” Pulling a little pad out of your clutch, you scribble something down on the paper, tear it off, fold it, and hand it to him.

“Oh, don’t you worry about that. It’s no big thing,” he says, but takes the paper anyway, sensing that you have written something other than your dry cleaner’s information on it. He motions for your pen and paper. “Can I?”

You nod and hand them over. In his chicken scratch handwriting, he scrawls a note:

If you ever find yourself in Memphis someday, honey, come to Graceland for a visit. Ask for ‘Sarge.’ I’d love to have ya.

Love, Sergeant Elvis Presley

He finishes by adding one of the numbers at Graceland and hands the pad back to her. Wishful thinking, but maybe someday, when it’s not a court-martialed offense, he’ll be able to show you the good time you deserve.

He excuses himself, then, sloshing in his soggy, ruined pants, waiting until he gets to the car to read your note.

Sergeant Presley,

One must watch out for those pesky cola bottles…Try vinegar and cold water for that stain…wouldn’t want it to set!  

Corporal Y/N  Y/L/N

He laughs heartily as the car pulls away.

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[detectivestucks]

A Jealous Hokage X

18+ content, Minors do NOT interact

Pairing: Kakashi x F!Reader x Obito

Summary: Your project is over and now it's time to train. You are struggling to keep your training a secret from Kakashi and Obito re-enters the picture offering his help.

Warnings: NSFW, Fingering, Spanking, Biting, Nipple Play, Unprotected Penetration

Word Count: 5.7k

Part 9 New here? Check out Part 1

Your training with Ino was gratifying but grueling. For the first two weeks it was just the two of you honing your jutsu skills. She wanted to exercise your mind transfer and mind confusion jutsu before moving to combat training. 

It’s not that you weren’t proficient in both but it had been a very long time since you used them in the context of battle. Ino had you spar with her and practice a quick retreat while weaving hand signs so you could grab control of her as you landed. You were practicing with her everyday after work and weekends too. You saw changes in your body relatively early in your training. Your stomach was slimming down, your arms and forearms were gaining muscle and your personal favorite was that your lower body was filling out. 

In addition to your time with Ino, you did conditioning by yourself before work. In the mornings you were waking up two hours early to run to the training grounds. You subjected yourself to intense conditioning drills and always finished with a jog around the village. You’d return home a smelly sweaty mess and would shower before heading to work. 

You ran into Obito several mornings between his missions with a tense ‘hello’. It ate at you to know how hurt he was. You missed him. Romantic feelings aside, you had really grown to love his company. He made you happy, and now you couldn’t shake the guilt you felt around him. 

While you were caught up in your own head whenever you ran into him, Obito was staring at you, taking notes. He noticed how you seemed more tired than ever. He had heard rumors of you stepping back from high profile intel projects. He heard you requested to be a consultant rather than be involved in the projects themselves. It was unlike you. Furthermore you kept coming to work with wet hair. Another strange change in your behavior. Then on top of it all, he caught glimpses of bruises all over your body. New ones appearing every day. At first he thought they were the result of your activity with Kakashi but their placement didn’t make sense. Why would your neck be clean but your calves have purple welts on them? Why was your collarbone pristine but your forearms were battered? After two weeks of observation he figured it out.

One morning you were filling your cup when he looked over his newspaper and spoke.

“Does Kakashi know?”

You lifted your head surprised that he struck up conversation with you.

“Know what, exactly?”

“Know that you’re training.”

“No”

Ah, so it wasn’t all good in paradise.

“And why are you training?”

“Cause I intend on rejoining the field.”

“You want to go back out on missions?” He said it with a hint of sarcasm that you did not appreciate.

“Precisely”

“You’re going to get yourself killed.”

“And why do you think that?” you say, instantly feeling pissed. You turn around glaring at him with your arms crossed. 

“First, cause you’re doing it for the wrong reasons. Second, cause you’d be a liability.”

“I’m not weak!”

“You’re not strong either.”

You were seething. You didn’t work this hard just to be scoffed at. Your eyes narrowed as you spat with venom, “Watch me”

More determined than ever, you shoulder check Obito on your way out of the breakroom. You weren’t about to let him or anyone else get in your way.

********************************************

The more you trained the better you felt. The more muscle you built, the easier it was to handle their stares. The better your endurance, the less the words of all the jealous kunoichi’s bothered you. Knowing there was an expiration date to all of this helped you get through each day. 

The only truly hard part was hiding this all from Kakashi. You found yourself avoiding him quite a bit but he had been dropping by your office more than ever. Always bringing you flowers and wanting to get lunch. You kept a jacket nearby to conceal your bruises when he was around. The two of you only slept together once since your training began. He immediately grew concerned when he saw the bruise on your arm and you had to lie and say it came from falling off the bed in your sleep. He barely bought it and now that you’re covered in marks head to toe, there was no way he was seeing you naked. 

Occasionally you found yourself caught up in a heavy makeout session with him and you’ve had to pump on the breaks multiple times before he had the chance to peel off your layers. 

You knew it was selfish of you to keep stringing him along like you were. It was just so hard to push him away when he was seeking you out the way he did. He tugged at your feelings in an irresistible way and you’d be damned if you didn’t at least cash in on the reason everyone was treating you like shit. 

One afternoon after a heavy petting session, you step out of Kakashi’s office and run into Obito. He had just returned from a mission and was on his way to hand in his report. You stopped and looked up at him like you had just been caught doing something you shouldn’t. You were still annoyed with him for his remarks about your training but you couldn’t help but admire how handsome he looked in his jonin jacket.  You were about to keep walking when he grabbed your wrist. 

“Princess, wait.”

“What Obi?” You say irritated. You didn’t want to face the range of emotions he made you feel. The guilt, the anger, the longing. You just wanted to go do something to distract you from your own thoughts.

“I’m sorry.”

“What?”

“I’ve been thinking about it and I want to help.”

“Help with what Obi?”

“Help you train.”

“I can’t ask that of you Obito. I’ve used you too much already.”

“You’re not asking. I’m offering.”

“And last time you offered to help me I hurt your feelings. I don’t want to do that again.”

“Let me rephrase this then.” He says, his voice deeping, becoming thick with malice. He closes the gap between you and you can feel your breath falter as he towers over you. You look down, unable to hold his intense gaze. 

“I am not asking for your permission. I am telling you. I will train you till you break Princess. I’m not letting you go out into the world without making sure you are safe. If something happens to you, I couldn’t live with myself knowing I didn’t do everything in my power to keep you alive.”

You were barely able to breathe while he threatened you, placing a hand on his firm chest to stabilize yourself from the dizziness you felt. You weren’t sure if it was the way he was so mean when he cared for you or if it was the sexual frustration you were feeling with Kakashi, but the fire lit between your legs was impossible to hide.

“You will take everything I give you and I will be your sensei. Tell me you understand by saying ‘Yes Sensei’. “

You gulped before choking out, “Yes Sensei”

“That’s a good Princess.” he whispers in your ear. “I’ll see you at the training grounds.”

He returns your shoulder check from earlier as he lifts his head and walks away towards Kakashi’s office.  You stand there catching your breath, thankful no one else caught the confrontation. 

************************************************

“Looks like you have a visitor” Shiho says.

You look up to see Kakashi about to knock on the door to your office. 

“Yes Kakashi?”

He strides in and sits on your desk, hand lifting to cup your face. You place your own hand on top of his and lean into it. 

“Wanna grab dinner tonight?”

“I have plans with Ino.”

“You’ve seen Ino everyday for weeks. What’s going on with you two?”

“It’s nothing. She just has a big project going on and she wants my help with it.”

Kakashi didn’t quite buy it but his desperation to stay in your good graces made him resist the urge to pry further. 

A few weeks ago it felt like everything would go back to how it was. You had an amazing and passionate night together but recently you were pulling away again. He wanted to take you on a date. A real one. After nearly a year of sneaking around, everyone knew about you now. Yet the two of you were still sneaking around. He was tired of the passionate fucks in the closets and quickies in his office. He wanted to act like a real couple. One that went on dates and lived together. He wanted to share a bed with you but you were pushing him away. 

“What if I come see you after you’re done?”

“I guess I could do that. How about I come to you?”

“Sounds perfect.”

He gives you a peck on the nose before leaving, closing your office door on his way out. Once the door latches Shiho turns to you.

“It’s gonna destroy him when he finds out.”

You look down. “I know.”

“Why don’t you just talk to him about it?”

“Cause he’ll try to stop me and I’m tired of being nothing more than the Hokage’s girlfriend.”

“If only they knew you were barely even that.” 

Shiho didn’t approve of your plan but she understood. Watching how your life was completely upended by the untimely news that you had been Kakashi’s paramore for the better part of a year was painful. Every day there was a girl wanting to pick a fight with you. Most days there were men saying lewd things about you, and this Aoto guy was basically becoming your stalker. The past month had worn you down and she couldn’t blame you for feeling selfish. She knew you were training so intensely cause you wanted to speed up your timeline. She knew you were going to break the news to Kakashi in another 3 weeks and she wasn’t excited for you to leave her alone in your shared office.

“Please don’t lecture me Shiho. I already feel guilty enough as it is.”

“When do you start training with Obito?”

“Tomorrow”

“Why did he suddenly decide to help you?”

“He thinks I’m going to die.”

“He’s not the only one.”

“Thanks for the support.”

“Sorry, it’s just that you weren’t that impressive the first time around.”

“Cause the first time around my goal wasn’t to be out on missions fighting, it was to gather intel.”

You were feeling frustrated that out of the five people who knew about your plan, only Choji believed in you. Irritation getting the better of you, you stand up.

“I’m gonna go for a run.”

“Y/N, I didn’t mean it like that-”

“It’s fine, Shiho. I just need to blow off some steam.”

You walk out of your office and head for the stone faces. You decide to run up the stairs heading for the top of the cliff allowing the burn in your legs to calm you down. 

Shiho was right. It was going to crush Kakashi when you told him that you wanted to go on missions. It wasn’t like you were breaking off whatever it was that the two of you were doing. It’s just that you wanted some time away from the village. You didn’t want to be a sitting duck waiting for the next girl to pick a fight with you or the next boy make a pass at you. What bothered you more was that Kakashi seemed to be completely blind to it. He was too focused on trying to win you back to notice why you were pulling away to begin with. Sometimes you wondered if he was intentionally dumb to your troubles to avoid the guilt. 

You reach the summit and stare out over the village. It looked so beautiful from up here. Peaceful and harmonious. You wished it felt that way below. You take a seat at the cliff's edge and swing a leg over the side. You loved your village. You wanted to serve it but right now, you just needed a break from it. 

You hear someone step on a rock behind you and you leap up to your feet looking for the source of the sound.

“Your senses are much sharper than they used to be.”

“Obito!” 

“What are you doing up here?”

“Quelling a mix of guilt and angst.”

“Quelling, huh?” He walks towards you and sits down on the edge of the cliff beside you.

You let out a sigh and sit back down, legs dangling over the edge once more as you lean back on your hands, “Yeah”

“What’s going on?”

“No one believes in me. They all seem to think my only talent is my mind. Five of you know my intentions yet only one you thinks I can do it. But deep down I know even he’s just being nice.”

“Maybe it’s not cause we don’t believe in you but because we’re worried about you.”

“How can you be more worried about me on a mission surrounded by comrades than me in my office waiting for the next Kakashi fangirl to ambush me?”

“Cause a fangirl is a far less fierce opponent than an enemy shinobi.”

“And if that fangirl is a member of the Anbu?”

“Fair point.”

“The idea that it’s almost over is the only thing that’s helping me get through the day.”

“I didn’t realize it was still so bad.”

“It’s not as bad as it was at first. I don’t have people bring it up as much at work but all his little lovesick fans have been building their confidence and are slowly cropping up everywhere I go. They’re stalking me and will say anything they can to try and bring me down.”

“What does Kakashi have to say about all of this?”

“Nothing. He’s pretending like it’s not happening.” Obito clearly didn’t like this answer.

“Why don’t you talk to him about it?”

“Cause there’s nothing he can do to fix it. Plus it’s motivating my training. Without it I might be content to stay at a dead-end job.”

“You’re not at a dead-end job.”

“There’s no way for me to move higher in the department.”

“Because you were already as high as you could get without being department head. You should be proud to accomplish that so young. It’s not Kakashi’s fault you decided to back down and just consult.”

“I needed to back down so I could have time to train.”

“Princess… if being with him has made you so unhappy, why do you stay with him?”

You swallow hard at the question. You know Obito needed to know the answer but you had a hard time saying it to his face. You had feelings for him and you didn’t want to talk about your feelings for Kakashi in front of him. You look away, gazing over the rooftops of the village before you speak.

“Cause I’m in love with him and he’s in love with me.”

Obito is silent at your answer.

“I’m sorry Obito.”

“You have nothing to apologize for.” he rasps, “You can’t help your feelings.”

“Then why does it make me feel like shit to say it to you?”

“Cause the part of you that loves me is overshadowed by the part of you that loves him.”

You feel your eyes water at his response. Life would be so much simpler if you would just choose him. What was stopping you? You reach out your hand and grab his. You hold it as the two of you look out over the village.

“Thank you Obito. For always being there.”

“Don’t thank me yet. We haven’t started our training.”

You look over at him with a smile

He grins back at you before he stands up. “Well it’s good to know what kind of headspace you’re in. I’ll see you tomorrow morning Princess.” he bows at you formally.

You bow your head back, “See you tomorrow Sensei”

He decides to leave you in peace as you continue your musings. 

Well that seems to make two out of the five. That’s progress.

**********************************************

At the end of your workday you head out to see Ino, Choji, and Shikamaru. Shikamaru wasn’t thrilled about hiding all of this from Lord Sixth but you had sworn him to secrecy and he could see the desperation you felt through how intensely you were training. Choji came at you with human boulder and you were able to use mind transfer on him despite how quickly he moved. Ino was impressed with your accuracy. After two hours of going at it you told them you needed to go home cause Kakashi wanted to spend the night with you. 

“He’s not even a little suspicious?”

“He is, but I think he’s trying to pretend all is well.”

Ino gives a look of disapproval before the two of you start to walk home. While on your way you come across a random girl who scoffs at you.

“The Hokage is seriously interested in you?”

She was scanning your body up and down, commenting on your sweaty and bruised appearance. Ino shot her a look of disgust that even frightened you. “Hag” she spat at the girl.

“It’s fine Ino, I should be used to it by now.”

“It’s not fine.”

“I know but I can’t get worked up over every jealous girl or I’ll never find a moment of peace.”

Ino was extremely concerned. It was the only reason she was going along with any of this. She dropped you off at home and headed to the flower shop to say hi to her family while you got ready to see Kakashi. 

You headed straight to the bathroom to take a shower. Upon undressing you scanned your body. You had several bruises on your legs.  Mostly on your calves and shins. Long pants can cover those. Your arms were worse. You had several marks on your triceps and forearms. You checked your back and chest as well. Your back was clear and your front was too. You decided to dress in a fishnet layered under a long sleeve crop top so it didn’t seem like you were hiding your body from Kakashi. 

You shower and change before heading over to Kakashi’s to meet him for a late dinner. He opens the door and immediately pulls down his mask to sweep you into a kiss. It was deep and romantic while his strong arms held you in a tight embrace that crushed your sore aching muscles. 

“Hi” you breathed after he released your lips

“Hi” he smiled back.

“So, where are we going?”

“I thought we could stay in.”

“Oh” Normally you’d prefer to stay away from the prying eyes of the village but being alone meant he’d try to strip you naked and it had been weeks since he’d been inside of you. Your hormones were driving you wild and you were starting to lose your resolve. 

“Is that okay?”

You swallow even though your mouth has gone dry before you nod yes. 

“Good cause I cooked.”

“You cooked?”

“Yes, since you seemed so busy, I wanted to make sure you had something to eat. You’ve been losing weight recently.”

You looked at him nervously. You were hoping that if you kept seeing him regularly enough he wouldn’t notice your body change. However the look of guilt on his face made you realize that he thinks you’re not eating from stress. 

“Well I appreciate it. Thank you Kashi.”

The smile that lit up his face melted your heart. How were you going to leave him behind when you go away on missions? He twisted his fingers between yours as he guided you over to the kitchen to grab your food. Naturally it was delicious. He was quite talented in the kitchen. He could’ve been a professional chef but you were glad he became a shinobi since you quite enjoyed his ninja’s physique. He shed some of his layers so that he was down to his black tank top and you felt drool dripping out of the corner of your mouth as you gawked at his muscles. You quick grabbed your napkin and dabbed your face but not before he caught what you were wiping away. 

After your meal you did the dishes together and he held your hand as you walked over to the couch. When you went to sit down he pushed you down on your back and pinned the hand he was holding over your head. Your other hand went straight to his face but he grabbed that wrist and pinned it over your head too. 

Your eyes were wide with lust as he stared back into them. You felt your breathing hitch when he fully positioned himself on top of you. 

“If you keep pulling away from me Angel, I’ll just pull you back by force.” he whispers.

You reach your lips up to his. Why were you so weak for him? You felt the pent up frustration steer your hips as you begin to grind up into him. He gives an approving groan as he begins to grind back, pushing his hips deeper into yours. You pant under him. He removes one of his hands from your wrists and uses it to lift your crop top up over your breasts. 

“Wait” you say trying to stop him from taking off your shirt. He quickly gathers the hem and puts it in your mouth stopping any further protests from reaching his ears. 

He leans back down, pulled up the fishnet and suckles on your teet causing your eyes to flutter closed with pleasure. You inhale sharply through the fabric in your mouth as his tongue plays with your peaks. You squirm beneath him continuing to rut up against his pants. He releases his other hand from your wrists so that both could sink their fingers around your exquisite tits. You arch your back pushing into him. Your hands in his hair.

“I knew you wanted me, Angel.” 

He flips you over to your stomach and pulls down your pants to your knees.

“Kashi, wait, stop!”

He slaps both of your checks with his palms. You let out a little yelp followed lustful by a moan.

“Why do you keep running from me?”

“Kashi”

“Are you punishing me?”

“No!”

He slams his hands down on your backside again.

“Then why do you keep denying me what I want?” 

He pushes his hand between your thighs and starts playing with your bud. You moan and roll your eyes while he drinks in the sight of your sex looking adorable trapped between your closed legs pinned together by your pants. He didn’t give you time to answer before he sunk his fingers into you, feeling how you gushed around him as he buried himself up to the third knuckle. 

You find yourself rocking back and forth on his fingers, aching to be pleasured by him. He smirks and soon adds another digit. He strokes in and out of you quickly. You wanted him. You always wanted him. He knows how to touch you in heavenly ways. He curved his fingers against your sweet spot, stroking fast, milking you till you crumble. His fingers stimulate you perfectly eliciting loud cries from your lungs. You holler as you feel yourself cum in his hand. 

He undoes his pants and pulls out his length, covering it in your slick with a few strokes of his hand before pushing it into you. You let out a scream as you finally get what you’ve been aching for. You nearly came a second time just from the intrusion alone. 

“You can’t hold out on me, Angel. I know you crave me as much as I crave you.”

He was right. In spite of whatever was going on with work, Obito, or the other villagers, you couldn’t deny how you were drawn to him like a magnet. Always wet and waiting to feel the next time your unstoppable passion had you wrapped around his manhood. 

He pulls out of you, making you whine. He sits down on the couch with his legs spread and pulls you into his lap so that your legs are between his. He lines himself up with your slit and you sink down on him. Your body weight shoving him deep inside of your cavern. You bob up and down on his shaft feeling the fullness everytime you sit back. His hands on your hips guide you through each stroke and you feel yourself unravel around him. 

“That’s it Angel. That’s what I want. I know you want it too.”

You were afraid to respond. You wanted to scream ‘Yes!’ but the situation was getting out of control and you were only a pant tug away from getting discovered. Kakashi lifted his hand off your hips to strike you again. You let out a pleasured groan. His hands began moving you faster. You went up and down on him till you reached a gallop. Craving more, he became impatient and held you still while his hips thrusted up inside of you with intense speed.

Pleasured wails are pulled from your lungs during his crusade until he pulls out and shoves you down on the couch to take you from behind. Before he does, he pushes himself against your back and reaches around to play with your nipples as he bites down on your shoulder. He rolls them between his fingers and then pulls them upwards, letting the weight of your breasts tugs at the sensitive tissue. You hate how much you love when he does this to you. Always the pain with the pleasure. It gets you everytime, especially as he bites down on your soft neck. As if your body needed another bruise. 

When he’s satisfied with the mark he buries his thickness back into you, making sure you are good and stuffed as he pounds away inside your walls. Your tired arms can barely hold you up as he expels weeks of precum into you, pushing it up against your cervix. You can feel your release come quickly and you grab a throw pillow to scream into. 

You knew he wasn’t going to be gentle when you came. You knew he was going to pound away chasing his own orgasm, not granting you a moment of reprieve till he spilled his white hot ropes inside of you. 

When he was done releasing his pent up sexual frustration, you quickly lifted your pants so that he didn’t try to take them the rest of the way off and lay with you naked. He follows your lead and pulls up his own pants as you go to rest your tired head against his shoulder.

“Stay.”

“What?”

“Stay the night with me. We can walk to work together in the morning.”

“Oh, I didn’t bring my stuff to spend the night.”

“We can stop by your place and come back.”

“No, that's okay Kashi. I’d rather spend the night at my place if you don’t mind.”

You hated the disappointment on his face but you had an early appointment with Obito tomorrow. You needed his help if you were going to be a serious threat in combat. He was the next best thing to being trained by Kakashi himself. If you weren’t so sure that he’d try to talk you out of it, you would’ve preferred to battle hot and heavy with Kashi every morning instead. It was his stubborn protectiveness over you that kept him in the dark.

You spent another hour with him before saying your goodbyes. He held you tight before letting you walk out the door. His affection was almost suffocating. You loathe yourself for deceiving him the way you were but if he had just kept his trap shut for a few more weeks you could’ve had your dream job instead of resorting to all this. At least that’s what you tell yourself to feel better.

*************************************************

“Good Morning Princess”

“Good Morning Sensei” you greet Obito as you meet him at the training grounds.

A greedy smile crosses Obito’s face as you refer to him by his new title. He was going to love having you call him that. 

“You ready to regret your decision to rejoin the field?”

You scoff. “Just shut up and let's do this.” 

Obito lunges at you and you jump, flying over him and landing softly on the ground where he once stood. 

“Very good.”

“Thanks”

He goes again but this time he’s quicker. You backflip away from him and he gives a grin.

“Why do you keep running? Afraid to fight me?”

“I’ve seen you fight, I know I can’t beat you.”

“Smart, but if you’re gonna survive out there you won’t always have the chance to run.”

You let out a sigh of defeat and take a fighting stance.

“That’s more like it.”

He comes at you with a barrage of fists. You block several of them but one catches you in the gut. He pulls back as your hand braces your side where he struck.

“Your stomach is more toned than it used to be. I didn’t realize how hard you were already training.”

“I don’t do my job half-assed.”

“It’s not your job.”

“Yet.”

Obito laughed before he came at you again. You ducked down and went for his chest. You smirked to yourself till you realized your hand was slipping right through him. 

What? How did I miss? 

You go again. You’re sure you were going to land a kick to his head when once again you fail to make contact and nearly fall down when you land. 

Obito looks at you with a huge grin on his face. Something was off but you hadn’t figured it out yet.  You go in again. This time blocking his punch with your forearms as you sweep your leg to trip him, only he was still standing. 

“How are you doing that?!”

“One of the many abilities that comes with these eyes, Princess.”

“It’s what I saw you do to Kakashi the night of the gala, isn’t it?”

It wasn’t his proudest moment, but it did satisfy him to know that you were impressed when you saw his ability used in the context of a real fight.

“Yes, it’s how I avoided his Lightning Blade.”

“Well that’s just the most annoying ability to ever exist.”

He gave out a mouthwateringly low chuckle that disarmed you. You looked up at him, exhausted by your futile attempts to strike him, with widened eyes. He looked down at you with a protective look that you hadn’t noticed before. You shake your head to clear your thoughts and get back to business.

“Again” you say.

He goes again but this time as he swings at you, you dodge him and drop low before hitting him with your mind transfer from beneath. He was tough to control. His mental fortitude was top tier. You felt him fighting with you as you steered his body away from yours. You took his hand and grabbed a kunai, flipping it to point at his abdomen. “Not so fast”, you hear him say in the space of his mind.

“Why? Afraid I’ll stab you?”

“Go ahead”

Feeling defyant you take the knife and plunge. It passed straight through his body. Frustrated, you release the jutsu and return to your own mind. He stands over you panting slightly.

“Not gonna lie, I didn’t expect that out of you.” He licked his lower lip before smiling down at you. You felt a small tingle along your spine as he brought your attention to his lips.

“Yeah but you still somehow made it pass through your body. Even with me in control.” 

You were annoyed by the outcome of the match but the way he was smiling down on you made it hard to stay mad. 

The two of you keep at it for a few more rounds before you had had enough.

You were winded and it caused him to feel powerful. The sound of your heavy breathing and the pride he felt at seeing how strong you had become in just a few weeks made him ache for you once more. 

“If this is what you’ve been able to accomplish in just 3 weeks, I might ask Kakashi to put you on my team.”

“Ah, so I’m not a liability after all.” 

He gave you a look of amusement. Not wanting to allow you to be overconfident, he antagonizes you.

“No, I just want you on my team so I can keep an eye on you.” You give him a glare. “Plus I’ll need someone to keep me warm in the winters”

You go to shove him and he allows you to fall through his body. 

“Would you stop doing that already?!”

“Why would I when it’s so fun?” You giggle as he helps pick you up off the ground. “Come on, let's finish with a run.”

“Gladly.” 

The two of you tread around the village border. It was nice having a companion to run with. It felt less lonely and it was reassuring that even though he could kick your ass in combat, at least you could keep up with him in a foot race. 

“Alright Princess, I’ll let you go for today but be prepared to step it up tomorrow.”

You bow, “Thank you Sensei.”

He smirks at the title. You glare at him and threaten, “Keep laughing at me and I’ll stop calling you Sensei.” 

“Stop calling me sensei and I’ll stop helping you Princess.”

You let out a huff of frustration and he laughs. “See you tomorrow Princess.”

You turn and walk away headed towards home “Stop calling me Princess.”

“Nope!”

You shake your head as you retreat, ready for a hot shower and some arnica cream for your bruised body before another day of work.

Part 11 Masterlist

[jiminiecrickets]

THE PARADISE PARADOX: PART II. PJM / M!READER

summary. jimin hates it when others lust after what’s his.

wc. 2.5k (nsfw under the cut)

tags. smut | dom bottom!jimin, sub top!reader, vampire!jimin, blood + blood drinking, riding, edging + begging, unprotected sex, creampie, jealousy + posessiveness (jimin)

[ part one ]  [ requested ]

fear belongs to him. love belongs to fear, a subset of heart-hammering and bone-shattering primal instinct. thus, love belongs to him.

you belong to him.

he's the one draped on your arm, but nobody in the classically-beautiful bar mistakes it for ownership. they're all beautiful, glossy hair and paper-white teeth that shine a little too sharp when they smile. they know jimin and they know his history, and they keep their seductive touches fleeting and light, even if their red eyes trace your veins with rich, dark intent.

soon enough, you will fall, and jimin will scratch off another mark for his body count.

jimin interrupts a vampire without care for propriety, swaying towards you. "baby," he sighs, a little too high-pitched to not bring his moans to mind. "i'm hungry."

he reads the surprise as easily as anything else. he snakes his arms around your middle and props his cheek on your chest, a familiar pout adorning his primrose lips.

"oh," you manage at last. "okay. well, do you want to go—"

"no," he hums, gaze flicking up to meet the other vampire's. his smile is gloating. "i'll have you right here. i'm sure there's a booth with enough room to hold the both of us."

you glance helplessly back at the vampire you had been speaking to as jimin wraps his fingers tightly around your wrist and pulls you along, as if on a leash. the vampire rolls his eyes, turning to mutter with a blonde, and you catch a few words before you're too far away.

 —newest pet won't survive...

jimin leads you up the stairs and bodies part for him like the red sea. you meet the eyes of a young man in the arms of a taller, foreign woman, and something like understanding passes between you.

you are not the only red-blooded individual here tonight, and you are trophies.

his eyes lower first. you take home the gold medal.

like a gentleman, jimin pulls back the heavy red velvet curtain with a playful bow, letting it flow shut behind him. it feels off, heavier than most. sound struggles to break through.

he only uses one hand to push you down onto the loveseat, but it's more than enough to overwhelm you. you gulp as his eyes blaze like flames as he smiles, pink tongue dragging slowly over his fangs.

"pretty baby doesn't know who he belongs to," he coos, tracing your jaw with his fingertips. you lean into his touch and he smiles. "seeing those carrion-eaters touch you like that... you didn't even reject their advances. i'm disappointed, baby."

"peaches, wait—"

"that'll be 'sir' to you tonight, my love." his fingers drop down to tug out your buttons, shearing through them easily. your heart quickens at the display of strength and you don't dare cover your exposed torso, wide eyes trained on his.

eventually, he leans back with a hum to survey his doings. he places his hands on his hips. "much better. see? you know how to be quiet when you want to be. if only you stopped flirting with them earlier – then i wouldn't have to show them whose lips are allowed to touch yours."

he prowls on the loveseat like a predator honed in on its prey, his floral and woodsy cologne masking the scent of blood that clings to him like death to a surgeon. his thighs encase yours and he cups your cheek in his snowy palm, small and deceitfully gentle.

he tilts your head, pressing apart your shoulder and your jaw. for now, he controls himself, but you haven't a doubt in your mind that he can tear you apart like tissue paper.

he hums and makes himself comfortable on your lap, his tight leather pants stretching around his thighs and clinging to his firm calves oh-so prettily. he leans in, his clothed cock pressing against yours, and the visible bulge sends a thrill of desire through you. you reach for it.

he slaps your hand away. his nail cuts a thin red line along the base of your thumb.

"no," he nearly growls, that soft voice of his hardening like ice as he shoves your head against the backrest, licking his lips at the sight of your adam's apple bobbing with each harsh breath and gulp. he presses his thumb against it, giving it an intoxicating kiss that has your body shuddering of its own accord.

"i don't want to hurt you," he whispers against your throat, "but i will, if i must. whatever helps you remember who this body belongs to."

"it's yours," you whisper hoarsely. your hands itch to grab his slim waist and pull him against you, but the reward is not worth the risk. jimin's hips press down in a smooth roll, harder than the rest, with a forgiving smile, and you gasp as he briefly shoves the heel of his palm against your cock. your hands ball into fists on your thighs. "i'm yours! oh, fuck, jimin—"

his fangs slash into your neck. you grunt and one hand shoots up to clutch his hip but he doesn't seem to mind the breach of protocol.

jimin's fingers twist in your hair and he yanks your head to the side, moaning as the thick coppery twang of blood floods his mouth. his cock throbs against yours and the chill of his body clashes with the burn of yours, leaving a throbbing residue of aching pleasure wherever he touches.

your head spins. he takes more than usual, faster than usual, and he isn't so fussed about the delicate nature of mortals and how they can die from the shock of blood loss alone.

he has faith in you. you won't die – you're stronger than that. that's why he hunted you down in the first place.

"sir," you breathe as his cold fingers flutter along your hipbone and into your pants. he grips your cock and it jerks in his palm, leaking and eager. "please, let me see you – sorry, 'm sorry, won't do it again—"

jimin likes this side of you: face warm, pupils blown with lust, your body on display for his eyes only.

under his heavy, roaming gaze, you flush, attempting to pull your shirt over the many marks he loves to leave behind. a rosary of bruises litters your neck just below where your shirt collar sits.

he pulls your hand away, sliding his palm against yours as he pumps your cock, pulling it out of your pants. he hums appreciatively at the sight, blood pulsing from the two little pinpricks on your neck when the seal of his lips breaks, and your breath hitches. it soaks into your shirt.

at last, he draws the flat of his tongue along the length of your jugular, and the bleeding slows to a stop. he kisses the warm marks, curling the slick sweetness into his mouth with the tip of his tongue.

trapped in his fist, your cock leaks over his pretty, pale knuckles. slim and small, his hands are clear of the injuries that make a person – no bruises, no scars. he's flawless as a diamond, and yet despite the allure of perfection, it's the same thing that brings him down.

his body carries no stories. no history. no scars on the knees from childhood tumbles, no pockmarks of teenage acne.

"i love you," he whispers in your ear, and the whole world falls away. everything burns except for him – his fiery touch, his gleaming eyes. the heat of a forest blaze has never been more enticing. you lean into him.

he smiles, your blood dripping down his lips and chin. he swipes his thumb over the corner of his mouth, placing it between his lips with a moan.

jimin pushes you onto your back, turning fluidly with you. he gestures, an elegant flick of his hand, and smiles as you quietly cross your wrists above your head, compliant and tracking his every move with lust-blown pupils.

he leans down with a palm on your chest, slick and serpentine. his lips near your ear.

"good... hands stay there," he whispers, and he lifts his crimson gaze to yours.

the strength of his will snaps against yours like a magnet. yours falls to its knees.

you find that you can't lift your wrists. he's caught you – the fly in his web. your pulse throbs, rare and rabbit-hearted, and he smiles in dark satisfaction as your expression tightens. he strokes you slowly, dragging his tongue against the oozing pinpricks in your neck. he grabs your face with sharp nails and forces your chin down, smiling as you do your best to look him in the eye, lashes fluttering irregularly as the pain and pleasure clash down your spine.

he kisses you softly. his plush lips sting with the coppery twist of blood. "you have such a pretty cock, you know that?" he says gently, pumping it faster and humming as your stomach tenses under his palm. "so pretty... makes me wanna eat it right up," he giggles, scrunching his nose playfully as he shifts on your lap, tossing his platinum hair out of his eyes.

he pouts. "mm... you're so quiet now. don't be shy. you were so happy earlier, yapping away with vultures who would snap your neck in a heartbeat – are you scared, baby? are you scared of me?"

 "no," you manage to choke out, the quick, slick sound of your cock in his fist prickling a hard flush up your neck. "n-no, sir – i-i just – ah!"

he loosens his grip. "look at me when you speak to me, baby," he whispers. "don't you know it's rude not to?"

your gaze struggles its way up his exposed chest and pale neck. your jaw aches to clamp down on that pretty stretch of flesh between his neck and shoulder, to fuck him down on your cock and call yourself his.

with a smug glint in his crimson eyes, jimin lowers himself onto your cock, sucking in a soft breath of pleasure. he cups your chin in his hand, forcing your eyes to stay on him, watching him, as he slowly, painfully slowly, buries your cock inside him.

"don't come," he murmurs, and begins to bounce.

his well-loved hole clamps around your cock, wet with lube. you hadn't realised he'd prepped himself. you also hadn't realised he'd stripped off his trousers and torn your shirt and jacket entirely, and that they now puddled carelessly in the corner of the booth. your mind had been too busy swirling with the hot, instinctive, consuming desire to do whatever jimin wished of you.

he moans softly as he speeds up, knees squeezing your hips to keep you from bucking up into him. your nerves feel licked by flames and vacantly, you hear yourself gasping and groaning pathetically, begging him with slurred words and half-syllables to fuck you harder, faster, deeper...

you cry out as he wrenches your head to the side and pierces your jugular, reopening the wounds. his ass slams against your hips with the obscene sound of flesh on flesh and you screw your eyes shut as his tight hole scrapes your cock, his soft walls suffocatingly hot. he gulps down mouthful after mouthful of blood, teeth bared and chin smeared with your thick, hot blood – his claws scrape your temple, stinging and drawing beads of red that drip down the side of your face.

"they can't take care of you as i do, my heart," he hisses, his cries of bliss loud and shameless. "you're mine – mine! you'll moan like this for no one else – do you understand?"

somewhere between the expanding, white-fire throbbing of your cock and the embarrassing sounds slipping from your lips, you agree, babbling obscenities and pleas and apologies for things you can barely remember. your blood feels sticky and warm against your chest, the white shirt glued to your skin. you swallow harshly as jimin smashes his blood-slick lips against yours, panting against each other's lips as his ass clenches irregularly, hot wet walls pumping your aching cock.

"i'm yours, 'm yours, all yours—" you bite down on his shoulder, hips involuntarily chasing his heat "—please let me come, please, sir, please, 'm sorry, 'm s-sorry—!"

"is that right, baby? you're sorry? you won't flirt with worse men right in front of me?" he pants, his reddened cock slapping your stomach and dripping a pool of precum that runs, warm and dizzying, down your sides. "how do i know you're telling the truth?"

"i'm sorry – mngh – won't do it again!" you can't tell where you end and he begins. "please, wanna come, you f-feel so fucking good, i c-can't—"

jimin smiles, fangs poking out over his lower lip, and giggles breathily at your pathetic pleas. you're so silly, he coos to himself – his sweet baby, who loves him more than anything else in the world, who'd allow someone like jimin to rip out your dignity and every shred of power you once had. panting, groaning, perfect body exposed for him to bleed dry – how can he say no to something so cute?

come for me.

the words echo between your ears and your vision whites out as he moans, high and satisfied, in your ear, clamping down around your base as heavy warmth fills him up. he comes hard onto your stomach, glazing it over so prettily – as god intended.

your ears ring as you slump back, nothing but comfortable wool behind those eyes. lazily, jimin strokes your chest and shoulders, rocking his hips slowly to drag out your highs. something clicks in your subconscious and your hands fall to your sides, limp and yours to command once more.

jimin rests against your chest, warm breath puffing shallowly against your neck as he strokes the nape of your neck with slow, mindless circles. he hums, dragging his fingertips against the still-hot blood. he lifts them to his lips and swirls his tongue around them, extracting them with a wet pop.

"you're so pretty when you beg," he whispers, closing his eyes and listening to the strong and steady pumping of your heart. the myocytes, the intercalated discs, the valves – all busy at work to calm you down. if he concentrates hard enough, he feels he can isolate the faint, electric hum of nerve cells, firing constantly across the tiny gaps and zinging down the factory line. “but i can’t have others play with my toys, you understand? what if they break them?”

you mumble something that sounds almost like an 'i’m sorry', and jimin smiles as you shakily wrap your arms around his waist, burying your face in his neck.

"i believe you, baby," he whispers sweetly, kissing your jawline. "but if i see you enjoying someone else's touch once more, i won't go to the trouble of finding a curtain to hide behind again. am i clear, my heart?"

you nod rapidly, squeezing him close. he feels your pleasurable tremble and smiles to himself, stroking your hair gently.

this little game isn't so boring, after all.

[butterfly-stitches]

SESSIONS.

[18+ MDNI]

AO3

Masterlist

Pairings: John "Soap" MacTavish / Simon "Ghost" Riley Kyle "Gaz" Garrick & John "Soap" MacTavish Ensemble: John "Soap" MacTavish, Simon "Ghost" Riley, Kyle "Gaz" Garrick, John Price, Kate Laswell, Nikolai

Warnings: Heavy BDSM ⛓️ BDSM ⛓️ Dom/sub ⛓️ Size Difference ⛓️ Rough Sex ⛓️ Rough Oral Sex ⛓️ Oral Sex ⛓️ Anal Sex ⛓️ Anal Fingering ⛓️ Rimming ⛓️ Hand Jobs ⛓️ Size Kink ⛓️ Kink Negotiation ⛓️ Orgasm Delay/Denial ⛓️ Collars/Leashes ⛓️ Minimum Effort Aftercare ⛓️ Porn With Plot ⛓️ Bottom John "Soap" MacTavish ⛓️ Top Simon "Ghost" Riley ⛓️ Simon "Ghost" Riley is Bad At Feelings ⛓️ Bisexuality ⛓️ Touch-Starved ⛓️ Denial of Feelings > Other Additional Tags to Be Added <

Synopsis: While out bar hopping with his longtime friend Kyle Garrick, John MacTavish accompanies him to a nightclub called the 141. Renowned for its exclusivity, rumored to house hedonism in the form of domination and submission. An encounter with an enigmatic man in a skull mask leaves him curious, leaves him wanting. And despite himself, curiosity gets the best of him as Johnny follows the white rabbit down the rabbit hole and right to the masked man. A notorious Dom known only as Ghost. What was a simple arrangement to explore the dichotomy of pain and pleasure soon turns complicated as each session becomes less professional and more personal.

| | | Next →

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Chapter 1: encounter.

Words: 6,111 Summary: In which he has a chance meeting…

For an alcohol-fueled, bar-hopping night to turn into wandering aimlessly when a friend claimed to know a place nearby — only to misremember the way there — wasn’t surprising in the slightest. The causation was a single whim impelled by rounds of drink. The consequence was what remained of a “fun” night out after a long and grueling work week being misspent. And the culprit?: an overconfident Scouser. One who was supposedly a boy scout as a youngin and therefore knew his bearings like the back of his hand. 

Yet here they were, lost somewhere downtown, their phones dead. Walking through alleyways that reeked of sewage and rubbish. All for some posh club. Soap heaved out a deep sigh, and began to slow down his stride. Annoyance was starting to set in just as his patience thinned. The burning in his calves and the aching in his feet from all the walking, didn’t help his mood. And worse, the buzz from the drinks prior were starting to wear off, and he was getting more sober by the minute. 

He let out another tired sigh before he stopped walking entirely, standing still to take a breather. He took in his surroundings with a breath. He was on some upslope backstreet surrounded by old brick buildings and townhouses. A hilled boscage of English countryside on the other side, fenced off by low cobblestone walls and iron gates. The dark was honed sharp by a moonless night that ate away at the glow of lampposts. The shadows deepened, a quietness persisted, and the world seemed to fade away at the seams. 

The itch to sketch the scene thrummed through the tips of his fingers. A rarity for him nowadays. But as a cool breeze wafted through, tousling the top of Soap’s mohawk and shivering the skin underneath the freshly sheared sides of his undercut. So went the creative urge along with it. Gone. He stared off for a long moment before refocusing towards a figure atop the street’s apex in the distance. Growing smaller as it faded into the dark, leaving him behind. Soap stuffed his hands in his jacket’s pockets and grit his teeth, soldiering up the slope despite the strain in his legs. Just in time to see the figure duck into a side alley in his peripheral. 

“Slow down, ye muppet.” He said short-winded and red-faced, jog-trotting forward to catch up with the person in front of him. 

“Keep up.” 

Soap slowed to wipe away the sweat on his brow. Only to bound forward in order to not lose Gaz as he rounded the corner and onto another silent street. 

“I am just not sure ’bout this, Gaz.” 

The Scouser only scoffed at his words. “Middle age really hit you that hard, mate? Where's your sense of adventure?”

“Just don’t want to get mugged. Bit dodgy nipping through ginnels at night. Especially out here.” 

Gaz shrugged, waving at him dismissively as if it wasn’t a valid concern but a mild hypothetical. “Heh, more reason for you to keep up then.”

Soap huffed. “D’ya even know where you’re going?” 

He was met with a flash of pearly teeth, a boyish grin thrown over the shoulder reminiscent of old times. A childhood full of skinned knees, blistered palms, a broken arm, and growing pains. 

“Of course.” 

“You sure? Think we’ve been down this street already — twice actually. We're going in bloody circles at this point.”

“Huh, no sense of adventure and no sense of direction. You’re one strike away from a retirement home, Soap.”

“Oh, sod off. Don’t want to waste the rest of my night trying to find some clubhou — Wait, look.” 

Gaz stopped in tracks and turned to see what the Scotsman was directing his attention towards: a lamppost that was a bit crooked with a dimming bulb. A maintenance concern, sure. A hazard even but not anything worth stopping for. He lifted a brow from underneath his ball cap, eyeing Soap who was pointing at it as if it was an omen.

“See, been here before. I remember that lamppost. And those’re yer shoe prints!” 

“The bevvies are messin’ with your bloody head, Soap.”

“Just admit that you don’t know where you’re going, Scouser.”

“Christ, stop whinging,” Gaz told him, stopping where the pavement met a T-junction. “Come on, the night’s still kickin’.” 

He watched Gaz duck into a side alley of a warehouse building, disappearing in the dark. He let out a deep sigh.

“Boy scout, my fuckin’ ass,” Soap mumbled under his breath and chased after him.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

It felt like hours before they both came across surroundings that they both recognized. The alley had led them down another network of alleyways and dead ends, trapping them like lab mice in a maze. But they eventually stumbled onto a street leading back toward the downtown area. The way back was illuminated by neon signs from afar piercing through the cold night and the sounds of city life echoing in the distance. Before long, they were right on the edge of a city center. And immediately the pavement was overrun by other people, soused and boisterous despite the week night. Faces in the crowd blurred, the outlines of bodies silhouetted by the flashing lights of the sign boards overhead. Flocking to the nearby restaurants and pubs, making it difficult for him to follow along. Cutting through the opposite way of foot traffic was like swimming against a river current. Despite it, Soap heeded Gaz’s words to keep up and stuck close.

He assumed that the place they were heading to was located somewhere nearby in the heart of it all. But the relief he felt drained away as Soap was led further past it into the outskirts. Not as heavily populated as the prior, making it easier to move around, but still a bustling area nonetheless. Gaz and Soap stopped on the corner of a roundabout with a stone fountain at its center and hedges lining its circumference. A sight that made Gaz walk faster with a newly gained energy and across the way, towards an adjacent street’s laneway. Gaz nodded upwards, tilting his head towards a cluster of buildings and warehouse that were ahead of them. They halted in front of one of them, a multistory that loomed over them. Its stonework was weathered and begrimed, and, from what he could tell, it was seemingly empty. 

“This is wha’ you dragged me all the way here for?” Asked Soap as he stared up at it disapprovingly.

“Not this. It's by it though.” 

“Let me guess, we have to go down another alley?” He teased, a small smirk on his face. Only for Gaz to ignore him and walk away with the shake of his head.

Soap gave one last look at the building then followed Gaz to the side of it. They didn't walk far, only a few meters before they came to a stop. There, in front of them was a metal door tucked along the wall. Inconspicuous if not for the two men guarding it. 

“Huh. An underground club, eh? Didn’t know that was yer kind of scene, Gaz.”

“No, it’s not an – it’s more like a … lifestyle club.”

Realization hit Soap like a whiplash. 

“You took me to a sex club?”

The bouncers turned towards both of them at the rise of Soap’s voice and the shushing by Gaz. 

“Listen, just trust me, alright.” 

“Gaz, I dinna-”

“Look,” Gaz sighed out as he turned and grabbed onto Soap’s shoulders, “Just want to check it out that’s all. We’ll go inside. Grab some drinks and if it's not up to par, we’ll leave.” At the uncertainty on Soap’s face, he added: “I’ll even buy you a bloody pint. But please trust me on this, ok?”

Soap narrowed his eyes at Gaz, eyeballing him. Saw the eagerness on his face, the nervousness of his stature; his uncharacteristic bashfulness that was borderline desperation. And the Scotsman wondered if it was more than just innate curiosity that made the Scouser bring them over here specifically. He looked from the man in front of him to the bouncers in his peripheral then back to Gaz again. Who looked at him imploringly like a kid begging their parents for a new toy. Tensed brows furrowed over wide brown eyes, lips pursed in a plea, and a light sheen of sweat from their trek.

Soap let out a huff.

“Fine,” He brushed away Gaz’s hands on him and shouldered past, “But you owe me more than a bloody pint.” 

Gaz’s face fell into sudden ease, that wide boyish smile returning as he took a big step back. 

He nodded at Soap. “Right, just follow my lead.”

Soap was right behind him as Gaz took point. All the while the bouncers’ attention never left them. They glowered as Soap and Gaz approached, looking both of them up and down, sizing them up. 

“You lost, lads?” One of them asked.

“No, just trying to head inside.” 

His eyes squinted at Gaz, skeptical. “Hm. Name?” 

“Uh, Kyle Garrick.”

With a sneer, the other bouncer crossed his arms across his chest. “Don’t recognize it. Either of you got a membership card?”

“We don’t bu-”

“Then I suggest you turn around and get going. No membership, no entry.” 

“I’m a guest. I was invited here.”

The bouncer in front of him let out a hearty chuckle. “Sure you were, lad. Now, piss off.”

“I’m invited,” Gaz ticked his jaw, his cool demeanor disappearing by indignation. “I’m supposed to be let in.”

Soap stood up straighter as the bouncers walked forward, standing next to each other with crossed arms. And formed a bulwark against them to assert their edict.

“I said, ‘No membership, no entry’.” One growled out, glaring at Gaz who was standing chest-to-chest with him. Soap furled the hands at his side, his body intuitively going tense as the other bouncer did the same to him. They were deliberate, trying to coax a reaction out of them that much was obvious. But before Soap could step in and say something provoking, Gaz was the first to break the tension.

“Chimera.” 

The hardness of the bouncers’ sneers faltered as both their faces fell in recognition. They stood quiet for a moment, their lips pressed into a thin line. And reluctantly, the bouncers moved back.

With a tipping of the bouncer’s head towards the door, the second bouncer moved away from Soap to open it. 

The bouncer stepped towards the now opened metal door and stood in the doorframe. “This way, lads.” 

Soap and Gaz shared a look. They were led through the door by the bouncer and down a small set of stairs.

Soap leaned towards Gaz as they descended down. “Did ya say the magic word or something?”

The bouncer looked over his shoulder but said nothing. Gaz gave Soap a pointed look, but chuckled anyway at the notion. They were escorted into a narrow foyer of some bricks-and-mortar facility. It was pointedly bare but minimalistically so. Taking up most of the space was a large semicircular desk of a reception area by the front brick wall; velvet stanchion posts formed a waiting line – which was currently empty – and led to the fore. And to its right, hanging along the wall, were dark dupioni silk drapery, the indentation of a doorway barely noticeable against the fabric. 

As they neared, an older woman greeted them with a warm smile from behind the front desk. The bouncer leaned against the desk, leaning himself on it, in such a casual manner that it made the receptionist quirk her brow at him.

“Brought you some visitors.” He said, jabbing his thumb over his shoulder towards the men standing awkwardly behind him. 

Her smile dropped as her brows furrowed in confusion. But it was quick to reappear, more professional than anything as the receptionist glanced behind the bouncer to Soap and Gaz. 

Her eyes flicked away to the man leaning on her desk. “I thought we weren’t allowing any more visits.” 

Soap felt the man next to him go tense as a board.

“Thought so too but they’re invitees.” The bouncer rubbed the back of his neck, “Chimera’s.”

Her face hardened.

The rest of their conversation was hushed between themselves. Soap caught a few snippets of it: Watcher. Unhappy. Policies. Crossed the line. But he found himself uninterested after a while, not caring to eavesdrop. Soap's eyes flicked around the foyer looking at nothing really until they landed on the drapery on the wall. He shifted, feeling a sudden shiver along his skin. Wondered what to expect in this place, what sort of debauchery it had. Surely more than just a bar with watered down drinks and an empty dance floor. Maybe some ropes and chains? Blindfolds and gags? Voyeurs? Plumbers? Tax evaders? The possibilities were endless if his dabbling of adult films was anything to go by. 

Before he could think further on it there was a dig in the ribs. He turned to Gaz who gestured his chin to the front desk. Their discussion had ended and the bouncer was moving away with a tired sigh. 

“Best of luck, lads.” He said as he walked past with a curt nod, out of the foyer and up the steps.

Then, “I can help you gentlemen here.”

With a nudge, Soap walked forward and greeted the receptionist with a rather clumsy ‘hello’. Though strained, the receptionist’s smile remained warm and welcoming. She fixed the reading glasses on her face, her hand typing away on her keyboard. Soap couldn’t help but be impressed by how fast she typed. She abruptly stood up from her chair and brushed out the wrinkles in her pencil skirt. She riffled through the file cabinet behind her, pulling out stapled packets that she fastened to two clipboards. 

“Here you are,” The receptionist handed both of them a clipboard. A pen dangled off of it by a bead chain, “Fill these out. If you’re confused or need any clarification on any of the questions please let me know.”

Soap glared at the first page like it was a school exam. Eyes squinted as he looked it over. It was a standard form for personal information: full name, date of birth, gender identity, sexual orientation, marital status, etcetera, etcetera. He flipped through the rest. Medical survey. Informational pages. Risk and safety. To-do and not-to-do sheets. He shifted as he skimmed through a short questionnaire about his interests. Then the last few pages were rules, policies, agreements, information pamphlet and an NDA; all needing his signature. Soap stole a sidelong glance at Gaz. The man was focused, wholly engrossed in the task. Concentrating like it was his life on the line. He was half way through the packet now. Grasping the pen in his hand, Soap quickly followed suit, finishing it just in time as Gaz did – his writing neater than his own. 

“Hope this isn’t too much trouble.” Gaz apologized, giving her a small smile as he handed her his clipboard. The Scotsman rolled his eyes at him working his charm on the older woman. “Don’t want to be a bother.”

The receptionist blinked. Smiled shyly. Seemingly flustered as she shuffled in her office chair. “You’re not a bother. Not at all. Just a little misunderstanding on our end. We’ve postponed any guest visitations for the foreseeable future. But it looks like the new policy failed to be... specific regarding certain conditions.”

She cleared her throat, realizing she was being too transparent, and continued, “Luckily, on that note, because you're both invitees your entrance fees are waived for your first visit.” The receptionist opened a side cabinet below the desk, ruffling through a drawer before grabbing two opaque plastic baggies. “Ok, now show me the wrist of your non-dominant hand. Now turn it, palm up.” 

She clasped a gray tyvek wristband onto Soap’s wrist. Then with a shaky hand, she did the same to Gaz.

“You guys are all set.” The older woman wiped her palms on her skirt. And motioned to her left from behind the desk, pointing to the drapery. 

“Welcome to the 141. Please, enjoy yourselves.” 

141.

He thought it an odd name for a clubhouse. Unconventional by his standards. Wondered what the numerical nomenclature alluded to or the significance of it. Or perhaps he was thinking too much on the underlying meaning of just some numbers. 

Soap stepped away from the front desk, his hands clammy by his growing nervousness. He messed with his wristband, twisting it around the joint. Prepared himself to internally clutch his pearls at what he was about to witness: all the perversion, all the lechery. If his mother only knew what her wee boy was getting himself into. And knowing her, the Protestant woman would drag him out by his ear and crucify him herself. Be it due to peer pressure, curiosity, temptation, support of a friend or idiocy, Soap was here. Willingly. 

And a little bit of sin didn’t hurt anybody. Right? 

The imprint of the doorway grew clearer against the material as they stood face-to-face with it. The faded blur of lighting and silhouettes apparent from the other side. An exhale from them both. Then they walked through.

“Steamin’ Jesus.”

Soap looked around wide-eyed, gawking around the place.

The nervousness dissipated as the sight settled in. It was a regular looking place, nothing out of the ordinary, and not what he expected a supposed ‘lifestyle’ club to look like. There was no man being dog-walked by a Dominatrix or a lit stage where people gathered to watch a sadist punish someone like it was an public execution. Nor were there any orgies happening in the middle of the room. Not even a couple displaying any PDA. It was more like a pub than anything. More posh and classy, sure. Yet it was rustic like old English pubs usually were, warm and smoky. Carpet and flagstone flooring. High top tables. Aged brickwork and joinery, solid wooden furniture with dark accents. And had low lighting that was similar to a club’s atmosphere. It emphasized the shadows, perpetrating a mysteriousness to it. An embodiment of the theory of omission, that there was more to this place if he scratched the surface long enough. Dissimilarly, it had a strange hushedness.

The place wasn’t packed per say but there were other occupants. Some outfitted rather formally in refined garbs like leather, lace, satin and silks as of it was a ballroom. Adorned themselves with jewelry, brooches, bows, and even feathers. But there were other occupants that were dressed informally like Soap and Gaz were. Even then, both men couldn't help but still feel out of place. All their staring didn't dissuade the feeling.

Still, Soap couldn't help but be underwhelmed. And from the glance at Gaz, he seemed to feel the same by the deflate of his shoulders, and the drop of his facial expression.

“Kyle? Is that you, приятель (priatel’ - friend)?” Someone called out from somewhere near them. 

Soap turned towards an extensive mahogany saloon like bar, an antiquity that reminded him of American western movies. There, a man beckoned them from behind it. Gaz instantly perked up, his face lighting up. He went towards the bar with Soap trailing behind. 

“Nik!” Gaz clasped hands with him in a firm shake. But laughed as the man surprised him with a tug of his arm and leaned over the bartop to give the Scouser a one-armed hug. “It’s good to see you here.”

The man, Nik, chuckled. “Likewise, my friend!” 

For a man tending to the bar in such a place, he was dressed quite casually in jeans, a shirt, and a brown leather jacket. With a gold Cuban link chain around his neck and his raven hair slicked back. He had an Slavic accent that was sonically rhythmic. Harsh yet smooth. Russian, Soap soon recognized.

His eyes were quick to hone in on Soap staring from behind Gaz. With his hands shoved deep inside his jacket pockets, unsure of himself. Gaz clapped Soap behind the shoulder with a grin.

“This is John. John, this is Nikolai. A friend of mine.”

“Nice to meet you,” Soap shook his hand. A bit more firmly than he meant to. By the look on Nikolai’s face, he was a little surprised by it. 

He hummed, seemingly impressed. “Strong grip.” 

Soap grinned from ear to ear at his words.

“Please take a seat, my friends.” Nikolai gestured to the wooden barstools tucked underneath the bartop. 

Soap shrugged his jacket off, hanging it off the back of the barstool as Gaz settled into the one next to him. He heaved out a sigh, knackered by all that walking. His feet still ached in his boots, calves a bit sore. But the coolness of the wood grain was nice against the skin. He felt a sudden shiver run down his spine. Goosebumps trailed along his arms, raising the hairs. Like he was being watched.

“Can I get you, anything?”

Soap rubbed at his arms, blaming his nerves. He couldn’t stop himself from smacking his lips together, mouth dry, feigning for a nice cold pint. “A Tennant’s Lager, if you would mate.”

Gaz looked at the drink menu. “Think I’ll take a Black Russian.” He winked, “Needing something a bit sweet to wake me up.”

With a smile, Nik nodded, “Right away.”

And went off to fetch the drinks.

“Your tab, aye?” Soap lifted a brow at him in reminder. “Owe me a round. Maybe two.”

Gaz tsked, taking off his ballcap. “That’s all I owe ya? Surprised you’re not gonna hold it over my head.”

“Heh, feeling a bit lenient s’all. Like yer wallet’s going to be, aye. Hope yer promotion to a bloody peeler is paying well. We Scots have a high tolerance. Takes alotta bevvies for us to get sloshed.”

“Yeah, whatever. Just mind ya self, Soap.” He nudged his arm, “ I don’t want to have to break up another fight and drag your sorry ass back home. Earned myself a shiner in Glasgow the last time.”

Soap huffed and rolled his eyes, “Says the man who pissed himself then cried in the bathroom. I know my limits, ye ken. Not like ye.”

But before Gaz could continue their banter with another comment, Nikolai returned with their drinks in hand.

“Cheers.” Soap was quick to grab his lager, immediately taking a gulp of it. The cold golden alcohol was like flowing ichor. A much needed treat despite it being a light brew. He let out a satisfied exhale.

His skin grew aflame, then another shiver down his spine, rattling his shoulders like the rush of an unexpecting cool breeze. He thought it was because of the alcohol but the feeling of being watched grew stronger. Despite himself, he turned around. There amongst the dark, was a figure looming in the far corner, blending in well with the shadows. A big, scary bloke from what he could tell even from where he was. He stared on as the figure slowly leaned forward, catching the low lighting from the bar. And saw upon the figure’s face was bleached bone – a skull. 

Soap swallowed.

A gentle grab onto his shoulder and he jolted up. Eyes wide as he turned around and met Gaz’s.

“Soap. Everything alright?” Gaz followed his gaze, trying to see what the man was staring at. Then, with a laugh. “You see another lamppost?”

He blinked at Gaz’s words and swallowed again, his mouth feeling dry. “Eh, n-no.” Soap took a swig of his lager, letting the liquid settle on his tongue. “No. Just see some fucker tall as one.” 

Gaz turned back to him. Soap's proneness for puffing out his chest and peacocking earned him a sharp glare.

But Soap brushed the glare aside and smiled up at Russian bartender. “Heh, didna know it was the spooky season already, Nik."

The man gave him a blank stare back. “I don’t know what you mean.” But by the quirk of the Russian man’s brow, Nikolai was amused. His small smirk only encouraged Soap. Much to Gaz’s disfavor.

Soap tilted his chin behind himself with pressed lips. Kept his voice steady. “Talking ’bout the Halloween decoration in the corner - the big boy with the skullface. He looks ready for some trick-or-treating. Probably gonna scare your customers away though.”

Nik’s smirk grew wider, his eyes twinkling as he shined a pint glass. It reminded Soap of a fox. 

“Soap.” 

“Aye, aye. Just being observant.” He relented and elbowed Gaz’s arm in jest, “Don’t worry yer head, I'll be good.”

“Tch, you better mate.” Gaz swirled the Black Russian in his hand. His fingers clutched tight around the glass. Despite himself, as Gaz and Nikolai were talking, Soap peeked over his shoulder again. But saw that the figure was gone.

Despite the alcohol boosting their mood, dismay still lingered. Gaz grew less talkative than usual, more interested in nursing his drink than their bantering. His face was impassive but Soap could tell he was in a sour mood. Affected by the belief that this place was not worth all their effort or the ‘invitation’. Confused on how a purported sex club was more saintly than a church service and twice as dull. 

If it was any other night, Soap would’ve relentlessly taken the piss out of him. Never letting him live it down. But now wasn’t just any other night. Nikolai seemed to sense it as well, hanging around them whenever he wasn’t serving orders or cleaning the bartop. By Soap’s second lager, Nikolai’s presence seemed to help Gaz’s mood. By Soap’s third, it didn't take long for them to get Gaz to brighten up. Dismay dismissed from the mind. 

And by his fourth, Gaz had disappeared. Gone off like some wean in the supermarket. Was it to go check out the price of the tab or was it to head to the bathroom? Soap couldn’t remember. Either way, it’s been almost half an hour since. And Soap was worried.

“Want another one?” Nikolai came by and cleared the empty mug, wiping away the small puddle that had gathered from all the condensation. 

“Aye, another.”

The next drink clunked against the wood as it was placed down in front of him.

“Ye seen Gaz, Nik? Don’t know where he's gone.”

Nik scratched at his beard, thinking, before saying, “He was talking to someone by the rooms. Haven’t seen him since.”

“Un-fuckin’-believable.” He grumbled into his drink, peeved. “Bloody Scouser.” Then Soap let out a deep sigh, “Aye, well. Thanks, Nik. Make sure this one’s on his tab too, eh?”

“Of course.”

When another ten minutes had passed with Gaz still gone, Soap was more than just a little bit peeved. He finished the last of his drink and stood up. Feeling the need for some fresh air and a smoke – something to get his mind off of being ditched. Soap reached over the bartop for his charging mobile and unplugged it. And sent Gaz a quick text. Who had charged his dead mobile a bit before Soap did his own. He knew Gaz took it with him wherever he had gone. 

Soap shrugged on his jacket, stuffing his hands into the pockets. Despite the later hour, people were still there mingling and drinking amongst themselves. He could feel them staring as he left the bar and towards a non-emergency side exit along one of the walls. The door clicked open as he pressed against its push bar and stepped out into the tenfoot.

The cold night was a welcome sight, its chilliness was another. His chest rose as Soap gulped in the night air. Lungs burned as he held it. A second then another, then it blew out harshly past his lips. He leaned against the side wall, the entire night settling in his bones, weighing heavily on him. Maybe Gaz was right, he was getting old. Soap ruffled through his pockets until he found his carton of cigarettes. The cardboard was partially squashed, the box flattened at the corners from travel and use. They were the cheapest kind, just a pack he picked up from his local Tesco a few days ago. But it was almost empty now, so another visit was needed for resupply. Soap shook the remaining few in the carton, hearing them shuffle inside. 

He grabbed one, putting it in his mouth and held it between his lips. He patted around his pants for his zippo but let out a harsh sigh when his search for it came out empty and he cursed under his breath.

“Need a light?”

A sudden voice in the night. Gruff, deep and husky. Soap jumped away from the wall, startled, teeth almost biting through the filter paper. Goosebumps riddled his skin, hair stood on at the ends. He whipped around, wide-eyed and his heartbeat pounding against his chest like a rabbit’s. A silhouette emerged from the night. Appeared suddenly as if he manifested from the surrounding darkness. The edges of him blended well in the night like a pencil sketch, barely there. He stepped out into the dimmed light of the flood lamps above the exit door. Face eclipsed in shadow, white skull gleaming.

Soap stood paralyzed as the skullfaced figure walked closer to him. Slowly, deliberately. He was a towering, hulking behemoth of man; built like a brick house. Dwarfing the Scotsman with his sheer size as he stepped beside him. Soap thought himself pretty muscular but even he was nothing comparison. He realized then and there that ‘big, scary bloke’ was a descriptive understatement. He hoped that the man didn’t hear what he had said at the bar. Soap was frozen in place with eyes blown out like saucers, adrenaline pumping through his bloodstream. The natural instinct to run coursed through his body. But his feet stayed rooted to the ground, like they were made of concrete. Fear shot through his body like a cold bullet. And he wondered if the man could smell it, like a predator could.

The man was dressed in dark clothing, a navy windbreaker taut against his broad chest, brawny arms at his sides. One arm rose and Soap flinched. In a large gloved hand, he held a metal zippo out to him. But Soap could do nothing but stare, breathless, speechless. He blinked, then blinked again. Dumbstruck. His brain muddled, overwhelmed by his flight-or-fight instinct. The Scotsman hesitated, eyes darting from the lighter in his palm then back up to him. After a moment, with a clammy hand, Soap reached out for it. Their fingertips brushed, skin slid against the rough material of the man’s gloved palm. Soap quickly pulled his hand away, zippo in hand, clutched it against his chest as if scalded. The man’s eyes narrowed at the gray wristband peeking out from Soap's sleeve, visible from the motion. The burning stare made Soap shiver and he fixed his sleeve, tugging it down to the wrist. Hiding the gray band like it was a scarlet letter.

Soap's mouth opened to say something, anything to thank him. But his throat was hoarse, mouth dry and the words never came out. Instead he thumbed the flint wheel until it struck and bore a tiny flicker of fire. The man watched with interest as Soap lifted it up to his mouth. The amber flame reflected in the deep set eyes behind the skull mask. Dark as black tourmaline. Shakily, Soap lit the filter tip of it. Killed the little flame as he flipped the top back on and took a drag of his cigarette. A burst of nicotine on his taste buds, shooting up to his brain as smoke filled his mouth. He exhaled it, letting it pour out from parted lips. 

With as much courage he could muster, Soap turned around and held out the zippo to return it. Dark eyes never left his face as the man grabbed it. Fingertips brushing again, gloves against clammy skin. Soap swallowed – hard. He swiftly turned around and leaned back against the wall. The man next to him followed suit. Soap kept his gaze to the ground, not wanting to catch the man’s eyes. Wishing he could melt into the wall and disappear. He could feel the man’s eyes on him every so often, stealing small glances at him from the corner of his eye as Soap smoked. The man was still and silent as they took in the night, loitering together in the tenfoot. The man reminded him of the sit-and-wait type of predators in nature documentaries. Hiding just out of plain sight. Waiting patiently. But for what? 

Soap took another drag of his cigarette, letting his head brew it over. Then a moment of boldness as he offered the lit cigarette to the man next to him. Tilting his head, the man plucked the cigarette from Soap and held it between his thick digits. With his other hand, the man rolled his mask up, the balaclava sitting just below his nose. Revealing pale skin and a sharp underjaw, cleanly shaven. A scar marred across thin pink lips. It was Soap’s turn to watch him now. Gawking as the man lifted the cigarette to his mouth and inhaled, the tipped ember burning brighter with his intake. With a slow exhale, the smoke tumbled out from his lips like a dragon’s breath. Coiling up and around, catching the light before dissipating into the cool night.

Something stirred within him, something in him ached. Watching the man smoke, inhaling and exhaling - broad chest rising up and down. Jaw tensed, lips wrapped around the end with every drag. Soap met his gaze when he pulled down his balaclava and handed the cigarette back for him to finish. Dark eyes bore into blue as the cigarette rose to Soap’s lips. The man moved from the wall, standing up to his full height. He stared down at Soap just as he exhaled, the smoke blown out against his clothed jaw. Black tourmaline eyes went to Soap's mouth as his tongue darted out to lick chapped lips. In those eyes, Soap saw himself — round-eyed, cornered. Soap shifted, fingers twitching as he let out a strangled breath, blood thundering in his ears. He couldn’t think straight, couldn’t breathe properly. The man’s presence was all-consuming, all-encompassing. Suffocating him. Overwhelming his senses. The Scotsman was struggling to keep it together with him so close. He could feel the heat coming from the man’s body. Could hear his respires.

Those same eyes that pinned him in place, narrowed as they darted away from his face, moving back and forth. As if thinking to himself, processing it all. Weighing out his options. The man was quick to step back, moving away. And without a word, he turned on his heel and walked away. Down the tenfoot and disappeared into the night. Soap finally breathed and slumped against the wall, not trusting his legs. Hands shaky, mouth dry as he gasped for air. His clouded mind was unable to grasp what just happened and what led up to it. He rubbed a hand down his face and sighed, exhaustion and confusion settling in. Soap didn’t know how long he stayed there in the tenfoot by himself, staring up at the moonless night.

The exit door opened with a grinding squeak and he turned to see Gaz squinting at him from the doorway, ballcap in hand.

“Soap? That you mate?”

“Yeah.” Soap pushed himself off of the wall. Dropping the cigarette bud on the floor and crushed it with his heel even though the ember had long since died out. 

“You alright?” Gaz’s eyes looked over his face in concern as he stood in front of him. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

Soap could only stare at him wordlessly. 

“Come on. Let’s get a hackney home.” Gaz went to the door, rubbing the side of his neck. “It’s already way past our bedtime.” 

Soap nodded, his usual snark gone. He walked forward to follow but his foot stepped on something on the ground. He stopped and reached down, picking up something cool to the touch. A metallic zippo. The same one that belonged to the man in the skull mask. It must’ve fallen out of his pocket. He clutched it in his palm, skin warming the metal casing, and peered behind him to where the man had disappeared to. Soap licked his dry lips, the taste of smoke fading on his tongue.

Then with a deep sigh he went through the exit door and followed after Gaz.

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[zet-sway]

Fanfic: Sonnenblume

Or, I finally wrote a desert vacation fic.

[Read on AO3] - Rated E for SPICYEEEEEEEE

Pairing: Thane/FShep | Rating: 18+ | Words: ~4600

There’s a kind of transcendental brilliance to this place. Some kind of inebriating mix of oxytocin and fresh air and sunshine that ignites his synapses and levitates his heart until he feels he can touch the radiant sky.

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“I think I found a place,” she says one morning. “An old friend of my mom's, they have a vacation home back on Earth, out in the American Southwest.”

Thane raises a brow at her. They're cleaning out the cargo hold, offloading collector tech at the citadel tower dock for distribution to the council races, each of them making their requests for research and study.

“I've never been to Earth,” he muses. There are any number of arid planets to visit, it seems almost foolish he is just now considering that Earth has many climates, deserts included.

“I haven't been in a long time. Grew up in space, last time I was topside was before my Spectre appointment. But my mom's friend says it's the perfect time to visit. A month from now it'll be hotter than a Krogan’s quad.”

He huffs out a laugh. “Earth sounds lovely, Siha.”

Her smile could light up the deepest reaches of dark space.

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Day 1

They're docking in Vancouver, slipping out the cargo hold and on to a taxi to whisk them away right under the noses of the Alliance's top brass.

The joy in her eyes is supernatural, he thinks. Unshackled from the military for seven scant days, Shepard practically glows with the energy of her newfound freedom. They leave an absolutely amateur trail of evidence as they flee south, along the west coast of the United States, through mountains and redwoods and oceans. The only stop they need to make is to pick up new clothes, snacks, and sunscreen.

They're on vacation.

He has to think to remember how to say it in his mother tongue. Ten years ago, he hadn't the funds to take time away from work after his marriage. Like many within the Compact, his life had always been driven by work, using the few pockets of silence in the spaces between each job to secure the next contract, research the next target, or hone his skills. Little time had ever been spared for himself. This… outing, this vacation, is something he's long thought belonged to the upper echelons of society and caste.

But he supposes he is wealthy, in some sense.

He's in love.

Wealth is watching Shepard parade almost girlishly in front of the shopping center’s changing rooms, all blushing cheeks and nervous laughter as she twirls the golden yellow sundress that she insists she's “unsure” about. Wealth is the way her face lights up when she spots a large, wavy brimmed hat across the aisle and races to try it on. Wealth is how she winks at him over her oversized sunglasses, and the levity in her voice when she says, with a devil's grin, “They'll never recognize me now.”

She might be right. The man at the checkout counter doesn't spare them a second glance as he checks out with their things.

Vacation suits her. And as they hail another transit to take them to the arid southwest, he thinks it's beginning to suit him too. He's rather looking forward to the breezy garments he’d chosen for himself.

Shepard's ruby red hair is swallowed by her massive sun hat, casting a broad shadow down her lean and muscled frame and the golden fabric of her dress. “Civvies,” she calls them. “You know, civilian clothes.”

He's quite certain there's nothing civilian about her. Her shoulders are too square, her calves and arms too hardened. She turns the eyes of the other passengers, oblivious to or simply ignoring their blatant stares. He feels like a shadow by comparison, clothed for now in the dark colors so typical of his profession. Still, her head falls against his shoulder and she slips her hand into his, laying claim to him all the same. Her silent affection makes his heart and body ache for her.

With practiced breaths, he slips beneath the waves of memory, willing himself through the minutes until the moment when they’re finally alone.

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Soon enough, they find themselves stepping off yet another transport not far from their rental.

Nearly one with the rocky desert, the low-roofed home is a dissertation in minimalist design, with flat, concrete lines gliding across deep-set windows, leading his eye to a modest entryway and through the glass beyond. Dimly, he wonders if he might have the funds to purchase the property; the volus bankers who minded his accounts probably thought him dead, having let his assets sit untouched for years. A minimalist by nature, this is precisely the place he had long dreamed of living.

Shepard tugs his hand, her skirt fluttering in the transport's downdraft, and his thoughts melt beneath her eyes, lit from within by a soft, cybernetic glow in the shadow of her sun hat.

She drops their things the moment both feet are over the threshold. Before he’s even figured out how to lock the door, her mouth is on his. She pulls him - grasps him by the shoulders and tugs him deeper into the house, kicking off her sandals as she goes, leading him towards whatever furniture lies beyond. True to her nature, his Siha is impatient. She is the fiery crown of Arashu, and he the rolling tide of Kalahira. He tempers her flames, grasping her wrists and flattening her hands against his chest as he kisses her, slow and deep.

The idyllic home they'll share for the week isn’t much more than background noise as she yields against him.

Her shoulders are already kissed by the sun, dusted with a delicate pink hue that warms beneath his touch. He slips a finger beneath one narrow strap of her dress, sliding it down her arm, trailing kisses in his wake. One luscious breast comes free, then the other, and her dress falls to the ground without ceremony.

Not long after, she's straddling him on the couch, grinding down on him with those soft little moans he's replayed over and over again in his mind.

Their first time was like this. He basks in the ethereal headspace between past and present, crisscrossing them in his mind as her hips roll against his, hot breath on his neck. And then she lets out the smallest whimper, a sound so vulnerable and soft that he cannot help but breathe her name in return, clutching her close. His dominant hand settles on her backside, aiding her motion; the other rests between her shoulder blades as he drives himself up into her heat, his mouth wandering in clumsy gasps along her chest. The way she lets her weight fall against him is an unspoken surrender, a precious gift she has chosen only him to receive.

He will never know why she chose him. But if it's him she wants, then she shall have him. Every night, again and again, until she screams his name in ecstasy and they lay in satiated exhaustion.

Tu-fira.

He belongs to her.

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It’s difficult to articulate how natural this feels.

Night falls, a chill settling over the rocky desert. He’s been alone with her many times, but never quite like this. In the short time they’ve known one another, she’s never been more than a commlink away from her crew, her mission, her ship and her duty. Here, nestled under a sea of stars, they’re more alone than either of them have been in decades. He watches the light of the backyard firepit cast flickering shadows on her bare skin, their hands intertwined.

Long after driving one another to sweat-kissed exhaustion, they remain entangled, engrossed in conversation. It’s like meeting her for the first time all over again. The armored force of nature who had carved a willful path into his life now lay naked in a nest of blankets with him, firelight dancing in her eyes, deep into a long and meandering train of thought. She weaves tales of her life before the Alliance, of joyrides and hijinks that would have made even his younger, rambunctious self hesitate. Her excitement touches his soul with a kind of contentment that he’s not touched in what feels like a lifetime.

Inevitably, the chill of night becomes too much to bear, and their talks meander back to the physical; stories of life before one another and the various trysts that preceded.

He can hear the desire in the deep, red edge of her voice; the way her tone dips from casual to sensual as she stands, clothed only in the dancing hues of firelight, and leads him to the crisp, untouched sheets of their shared bed. He pulls her close, scaled hands sliding across bare human skin, pointedly savoring her, willing his want and his love to find their way into every corner of her soul.

He wants. Oh, how deeply he wants.

He whispers prayers into her palms, one by one, as she rides him into the break of dawn.

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Day 2

Morning comes and goes in silence.

They lay heedless to the sun's motion, tangled soft sheets lit by the dreamy glow of day through the deep-set awnings and windows of their rental. Thane dozes in and out of sleep with her in his arms, heart swelling each time he wakes, awash in the scent of her hair and skin. They lie together for some time, and when she rises, he curls into the space where she had slept, unwilling to part with her residual heat.

Heat stirs in his limbs as he hears the shower kick on, his body calling for her as though he's woken up back in time, a younger, more virile man. Half in dreams, he can see her naked and robed in morning dew like a siren, and he cannot resist.

He finds her in the frameless shower, sunlight streaming through the window beside her. Water pours over her in rivulets of gleaming light, the sun illuminating the strong dunes of her back, gleaming off her shoulder blades and the curve of her spine.

Shepard, of all the people he had known, was made of sunshine. She was made of the fiery warmth and light of day, bathing him in her glory and simultaneously blinding him with effortless radiance.

And it's here, pressed up against the polished concrete wall beneath a lukewarm deluge of water, that he shows her all the ways he loves her. Shows her how, if he angles his hips just so, the last of her burdens melt away and he knows her as only he can; through the gentle, mewling gasps of an angel on the verge of tasting her own glory, manifesting the soft heat inside her as he drives himself against her deepest reaches.

He has to be mindful of his eyes. This has always been true, will always be true of all drell, but never more so than when she nears the peak of her pleasure. Shepard is possessive, perpetually communicating her need with unending motion, gripping him close as though the mere inches between them are a chasm too great to bear. He watches the way crystalline drops of water bead on her neck and shoulders, they way they catch the morning sun like diamonds, casting pinpricks of dappled light against his own scales and streak down the shape of her as she moves against him, contorted and desperate to take him deeper, to break herself upon the sanguine friction of their joining.

Her head knocks softly against the wall, her back arching, chest thrust toward him. And then she breaks. Sweet gods, how she breaks.

It's almost more than he can take. Words can never hope to say all the beautiful things she is when she comes.

He gathers each gasp, each heartbeat, every droplet of water on her parted lips and every clench of her heat around him. He drinks them all in, safely locked in the depths of his blessed memory for all his days. There is no greater gift in this life or the next.

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Day 3

Much as he would like to spend the entirety of their ‘vacation’ finding a reason to make love to her on every unoccupied surface in their rental, Shepard has made sure to include other activities in their itinerary.

He wakes to find her half dressed, smiling at him as she pulls a swimsuit top over her head. It’s a deep, forest green, with wide, high straps that criss-cross over her collarbones in an attractive triangular shape. He blinks, anchoring himself to reality as though he can't be sure she's real. And if his drowsy eyes find purchase in the alluring curve of her breasts peeking through the small cutout at the top’s center, he's certain the gods will forgive him.

The mattress dips as she sits beside him. “Come for a ride with me,” she whispers by his ear.

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Thane has often heard that human skin is easily burned by their planet’s star. He’s never quite believed it until Shepard.

He finds himself on a beach, massaging the soft cream she calls ‘sunblock’ into her back and shoulders, wondering how he could have ever gotten so lucky. His Siha, his warrior angel, so vulnerable without her armor that she wants - needs - his hands to protect her soft human skin, heals his soul with this one simple act; the intimate joy of being her protector and lover as he takes care to make sure she is thoroughly covered. The ocean breeze blows strands of her carmine hair across her forehead as she turns her head to him, smile lines deepening with delight as their eyes meet.

They pass the time in golden luxuriation, prostrating themselves beneath the radiant heat of Sol for hours, never more than an arm’s length apart, until the sun dips below the horizon and paints the sky in a myriad of hues somewhere between floral and fire.

And as the sun bows out for the evening, he bows her into the sand, lips locked and knees knocking against her own as they collapse together on soft, weatherworn sand that clings to the warmth of the sun as it bids them goodnight.

He never wants to leave this place.

Goddess above, Earth is the very image of serenity. Freer than free, his breath unburdened, his elation pours from him into her waiting mouth as they taste the salt air together. Her beach towel is a poor shield from the sand, but it hardly matters as he uncovers her skin, inch by precious inch, until she quivers beneath his touch, the sound of his name carried away by the rolling swell of the ocean.

He can taste the sea between her legs, the irresistible twang of life and salt and need that rises from her like water from a stone.

“Don't stop,” she breathes.

He couldn't - not if he wanted to. He wants this memory exponentially more than his own pleasure. A moment finer than all the collected treasures of the galaxy, etched into his mind for the rest of his days: his Siha writhing beneath his hot mouth, gripping his scalp, crying out as she tumbles again and again through ecstasy of his making.

He could die here, he thinks. Perhaps he's already dead. He nuzzles her thighs, warm and soft, as she floats down from on high. Yes, if the gods wish this to be his grave, he would gladly bow his head in thanks.

It's an hour’s trek back to their rental, but they will stay here until the ocean wind becomes too cold to endure, dunes yielding beneath them just as flesh yields to flesh and they become one.

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Day 4

It’s the honeymoon phase, he thinks to himself, running his fingers through her hair as she lies sleeping on his chest.

Thane has been here before, in another life, waxing and waning in the warmth of his wife’s bed. Deep in a distant rational corner of his mind tries to tell him: it won’t be this way forever. But does that matter? Does it really, actually matter? Months ago he would have said that he was but a tooth on a cogwheel, destined to spin around in repeating cycles of loss, memory, and despair. But this fierce woman pursues him with all the endurance that humans are known for. Bit by bit, she chips away at the rigid crust the last ten years have borne upon him, and he is alive. Alive in ways he hasn’t known in what feels like a lifetime.

They will spend this day treating themselves to all the beauty that earth’s arid lands have to offer. From the bleached, rolling dunes of sand, to the baked and rocky landscapes dotted with life in its most hardy forms, to the golden time-carved radiance of the painted desert - Goddess preserve him. His past has never felt further away. With her by his side, his world is filled with sunlight in much the same way as Earth’s gleaming sky, now so familiar and perfect to him that he would just as easily call it home.

And when the sun’s heat is too much for her human skin to bear, he trades the scenic vistas of the American southwest for a landscape of another kind.

Her skin glows, its color deepening with each passing day in dappled patterns that betray her state of undress throughout their travels. He finds it endearing, the way her cheeks and shoulders are dusted with more freckles than he'd seen when they arrived, the way her chest and thighs remain lighter in color than the rest of her, drawing his eyes, his hands, his mouth to worship at the temple at is her body. She kneels between his knees and blesses him with the sweet heat of her mouth, stealing his breath as she tastes him, crimson hair the perfect anchor for his hands as she takes him higher and higher.

He had underestimated her appetite for him. Perhaps he'd underestimated his own appetite in turn. They haven't even made it back to their rental and he can already smell the need on her, the cramped taxi insulating and perfuming the air so thickly he can almost taste her, slick and soaking with arousal, maddeningly just out of reach but with nothing but her panties between her need and the rest of him. Powerless to the heat of her mouth, he spirals through his lust as she pleasures him, soft hands and pink lips around his shaft. Her artificial eyes gleam up at him through her mussed hair, and goddess preserve him, he’ll hack the engine himself if it’ll make this taxi go any faster.

She's fumbling at the lock as he pushes her against the wall beside their front door, covering her mouth with his. Lips locked, they stumble inside. His hand drops down to her thigh, palming at the warm skin just beneath her skirt. Shepard, in turn, tugs him in the direction of the bedroom.

He considers this, allowing himself to be led as he considers all they’ve had the pleasure of seeing today - of her radiant smile beneath her oversized sunglasses, unable to conceal the joy of her eyes from his perfect recollection. Of her freckle-dusted shoulders beneath the shadow of her sun hat. And he decides in that moment that no - as much as he adores their soft bed and its sex-scented sheets, he loves her in the daylight more.

The back patio opens with a wave of his omni-tool, and he presses her into the opulent cushions around the fire pit. She chuckles against his mouth - perhaps he's become too predictable, but it no longer matters.

There’s a kind of transcendental brilliance to this place. Some kind of inebriating mix of oxytocin and fresh air and sunshine that ignites his synapses and levitates his heart until he feels he can touch the radiant sky. He ruches up her dress, fabric sheeting off her body until she's all warm, decadent skin against a backdrop of their shed clothing. He groans inwardly at the sight of her, the shadow of her clavicles arching nearly above her soft breasts, tipped with that same aphrodisiac shade of desire that awaits between her lush thighs.

She smiles so sweetly at him, but her eyes are shaded with mischief as she opens her legs for him, teasing her folds beneath his heated gaze. He falls to his knees before her, palming her silken thighs, kissing the wet, sanguine warmth between her legs as though it were her mouth.

Her hips rise to meet him, rolling against his tongue as she brings one ankle gently against his back to guide them together, and Thane breathes out a low, pleasured groan. He loves this - the way her body talks for her, knowing full well he needs no encouragement but asking all the same, driven by biological instinct to share the most intimate parts of her humanity with him - a man from another world. Her body calls for him, beckons him, and he is both her servant and sire.

“Please, please Thane,” she whispers, hands reaching blindly for whatever parts of him she can reach.

He lifts from his place of worship with a breathy inhale, curling his arms around her thighs and hauling her bodily until she rests on the very edge of the cushion and the tip of his cock falls against her wet heat. And then he pushes forward, savoring the way her soft flesh yields to him, how her silken walls conform to every inch of his thick, ridged length, swallowing him to the hilt.

She breathes his name as he bottoms out. Takes a moment to catch her breath and then pushes up on her elbows and then her palms until she’s close enough to wrap one arm around his neck and pull him close. Thane folds an arm around her in turn, pumping in and out of her blessed heat. Thank the gods for her brilliant human flexibility.

The sun beats down on his back, his body shielding her vulnerable human skin from the worst of its rays, as he makes love to her with long, deep thrusts. He could never hope to articulate this specific kind of ecstasy - the ruddy heat of Sol crowning him with the same deep heat he seeks deep inside her.

It’s not what he would call fucking, but it’s not what he would call tender, either. It’s somewhere in between. It’s the heavy, sweet push and pull of two lovers, their minds blank of all thoughts beyond the tension, friction, heat, and pleasure that flows between them; tongues sliding together, hands clutching at skin and scales, at once desperate for release but determined not to reach it, to stay in this moment forever, unwilling to part with the sybaritic heaven they share. She locks one thigh around his hips, bracing herself with one hand so she can touch his face with the other, fingertips trailing almost too roughly against his sensitive ruby cheek as she grinds her cunt onto his heavy girth.

He needs her closer, needs her harder, consumed by the need to become one with her in that sanguine way only two lovers can. Parting from her for just a moment, he slides both knees on the cushions with her, hauling her up onto his thighs, watching for a moment as she grinds her flushed, creamy slit against his length before sinking himself back into her depths. They rock together until he’s sure beyond doubt that she’s out of her mind, blissed out and debauched before the combined heat of her sun and his desire. Until the satin sheen of sweat pooling in the hollow of her throat is too laden to cling to her skin, and she moans his name into the wide open sky. Only then does he drop his hand between them, drawing wide, steady circles around that incandescent neural bullet between her thighs.

Her voice is lost as she comes, words and sounds dying in her throat as, at last, the pleasure is too much for her body to bear. He watches beneath heavy-lidded eyes as she tenses, cries out, and breaks, as her body sings like a plucked harpstring; knowing that for those precious few seconds, she is well and truly his, and his alone.

When her mind is wiped of all thoughts but him, his embrace, his kiss, and the pleasure at his hands, he can finally let go.

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Day 5

He wakes to the sound of music playing softly from another corner of the house. Decades old, by the sound of it, plucked notes singing on a guitar string beneath the melodic voice of a human weaving a tale of a dark desert highway. He’s heard this one before, playing over a crackling stationary radio in the cargo bay where she’d often done routine maintenance on Normandy’s ground vehicle.

Rising with a contented breath, he pads over to the common area to greet the day.

She’s wearing one of his robes, and nothing else. A breezy, cream-colored cotton garment that’s too wide in the shoulders for her more feminine frame. She lets it drop down one arm, the fabric collecting in the crook of her elbow just beneath where her hand rests on the door frame. The rest of it hangs open, gauzy fabric illuminated by the glowing sun streaming in from behind her, framing her in ethereal light. Though her face is in shadow, her artificial eyes are just bright enough to search his soul as she peers back at him.

In that moment, his Siha is more angel than warrior. She's posing for him, framing herself in a mental postcard to commemorate the effortless beauty of this place, this life, this love.

She pauses in the doorway for a good long while, as though she knows precisely what she's doing. Cocking her hip, idly running her long, calloused fingers through her hair, waiting for him to sear this image into his blessed eidetic mind for the rest of his days.

It’s so easy, wrapping her in his arms, kissing her again and again, bitter coffee on his tongue and warm sun on his face.

“I got a message from Hackett this morning,” she says softly.

The tone of her voice makes his stomach clench with unease, and he takes a moment to suppress the tremor in his throat.

“How long do we have?”

“Until tomorrow morning.”

He pulls her tight against his chest, as though by some miracle he could keep her from ever leaving the safety of his arms again. Shepard tucks her head into his shoulder.

“I’m so sorry, Thane.”

“Do not apologize, Siha.” Her hair is soft on his cheek, and he breathes deep as his eyes settle without focus on the rocky landscape outside her lovely picture-frame window. “This sojourn has already brought me more joy than you could ever know.”

When she kisses him, there’s a desperation in her that he’s not felt before, as though she shares his worry. That she’s been called away is unsurprising, in and of itself. But the tension in her shoulders makes his heart quake with an obdurate fear that will linger throughout what remains of their holiday.

He resolves to suppress it. If Shepard has taught him anything, it’s how work and purpose can stave off one’s demons, if only for a little while.

“What would you like for breakfast, Siha?”

She lifts her head then, and her smile is worth whatever heartache lies beyond the indefectible threshold of their abode.

He will take what he can from this moment. Reality can wait just a little longer.