#hope that helps :) and as an aside I’m in the corner over Dream bed because I feel like I write a lot of things that involve sleep & dreams

[bleue-flora]

https://www.tumblr.com/bleue-flora/760094246832357377/canonically-i-am-this-plant-in-the-corner-by-the?source=share

Wait where is this picture from i don’t remember seeing this

As you can see… me and @elmhat are lurking in the corners (it’s so dark I lowered the shadows so we can see elmhat) :)

original -> crank up brightness [clip]

original [clip]

and btw these are from Tommy’s and Tubbo’s povs when they go to slit Dream’s throat in his sleep (obviously without the editing of the plants lol ;D)… [Tommy - Tubbo]

[weirdkpopgirl]

Stay | Dream Reaction #7

Reaction: To the First Time their GF Stays at their Place

Genre: Fluff, slight angst

Warnings: mentions of stress, subtle mental health stuff in Renjun's, making out in Haechan's (but nothing explicit), oh, and mentions of fighting in Jaemin's part?

Word Count: 2780k

Author's Note: Hii, this was requested by a lovely anon. It's been a while since someone requested something, which made me really happy. To the person who messaged me, this may not be exactly what you had in mind. I did go a slightly darker route with some of the members. But I still hope you like it. Thank you for reading ^ - ^

Also, no one probably cares. But I've been listening to Dream's mini album nonstop XD

~ ~ ~

MARK

The corners of your lips downturned into a frown at the sight of your boyfriend’s workaholic state. Honestly, you weren’t surprised. But it didn’t make you any less angry.

Taeyong had sent you a text, relaying his concerns about the boy overworking again. He already had enough on his plate with hectic schedules for both 127 and Dream. Yet there he was, hunched over his computer and surrounded by crumpled balls of paper.

“Baby, it’s so late,” You said quietly, walking up from behind,

Alerted by your voice, Mark lifted his head. “(Y/n)-ah? When did you get here?”

“Just now,” You replied quickly. “I was worried about you.”

You gently lifted his chin, to get a better look at him. Despite his room's dimmed lights, you could still see the dark circles under his eyes. 

Mark brushed you off. “Babe, I’m fine. You don’t need to worry.”

He always told you that, and it always lit this flame of anger in you. Usually, you refrained from saying anything for fear of causing him more stress. But you cared too much to hold it that night.

“How can you tell me that when you've been working nonstop this past month without a break?” Your voice wavered. “You probably haven’t gotten any sleep, have you?”

Mark looked down, unable to respond. So you took matters into your own hands and started by shutting his computer off. You ignored his poor attempts to protest and brought him to his bed.

“I’m going to stay here to make sure you get some actual rest,” You asserted before laying down beside him.

Even though Mark knew you were being serious, he couldn’t help but smile. This stern side of you was refreshing, and a reminder that there were people who cared about his well-being.

“Will you stay the whole night then?” Mark asked softly, reaching for your hand.

You didn’t expect him to say that, as you've never slept over at his dorm before. Honestly, you didn’t hate the idea. And if it meant getting your boyfriend’s mind off work for the rest of the night, then you’d say yes.

When you nodded, the two of you moved closer to get more comfortable. And for the first time in weeks, Mark finally got some sleep.

✎__________________________________________________________

RENJUN

It was one of those days when Renjun had a small gray cloud of rain over him. Maybe because work has been hectic lately, or maybe he was suffering from a lack of confidence. Whatever it was, sometimes Renjun just felt down. Fortunately for him, you were determined to cheer him up.

Before going to his dorm, you stopped by the grocery store and picked up a few things for hot pot. Renjun’s eyes immediately lit up when he saw you even bought his favorite shrimp balls. Since some of his members were there, you guys all ate together.

Aside from dinner, Renjun locked the two of you inside his bedroom. Then he would vent to you about what’s been bothering him lately. Sitting beside him on the bed, you would hold his hand in yours and listen the whole time. When it came to responding, you gave the best encouragement you could and reassured him that his feelings were valid.

8:30 p.m. was when you usually left to go back home. But this time, Renjun tugged on your wrist when you made a move to get up.

“Stay, please?” He spoke in a tiny voice. 

You were a bit taken aback because this was the first time he’s asked you to stay over. The two of you could get pretty shy about these things. But there was none of that from Renjun tonight.

So you nodded and let him pull you back into the bed to lay down next to each other. He hummed as your fingers stroked his hair.

“Thank you. I honestly don’t know what I’d do without you,” He’d say a few moments later. In response, you smiled and kissed him on the forehead. 

“Of course. I’ll be here for as long as you need.”

✎__________________________________________________________

JENO 

He and the Dreamies had just returned from their tour in Japan. Even though he was gone for a few days, the time was too long for Jeno. So when you came over to cook a welcome-home meal for him and the Dreamies, the boy refused to leave your side.

Throughout dinner, you were practically glued to Jeno’s lap. His arms remained securely wrapped around your stomach, as his chin rested atop your shoulder. Any teasing from his members went largely ignored. Even when it was late, Jeno didn’t want you to go home.

“I spent all week missing you. Can’t you stay a little longer?” He avoided the stern look you were giving him.

The sensible part of you said to just go home like you usually did. Jeno’s slept over at your apartment a few times. But you’ve never stayed in his dorm, afraid that it’d be weird with his members also being there. However, they had all retired to their rooms by now. And it wasn’t like you had any plans the next day.

Your eyes dropped down to the boy who was playing with your fingers with a pout. Though you had a hard time expressing it, you had missed him just as much as he did. There was no harm in staying over one night, right?

You let out a pretend sigh, “Okay…I guess I can stay.”

“Really?” The boy’s eyes lit up, surprised that you said yes.

Since you didn’t have any clothes to wear to sleep, Jeno happily lent you one of his shirts and a pair of sweatpants. His eye smile appeared when you waddled out of the bathroom. 

“I look ridiculous, Jeno-ssi.” 

“No, you look cute,” He stood up to take you in his arms. “I should just have you wear my clothes from now on.”

You shook your head with a smile, and let him carry you to his bed. From there, you guys would lay in each other’s arms, talking about miscellaneous things until you guys fell asleep.

After the first time, Jeno knew that he wanted to sleep with you in his arms for the rest of his life. This was where he belonged.

✎__________________________________________________________

HAECHAN

A smile crept on his lips when he heard you yawn beside him. Since the holiday season was busy for both of you this year, you took this single free night to have an at-home movie date. And by at-home date, you were at the 127 dorm, cuddled up with your boyfriend in the living room.

As the ending credits of the movie you just watched played on the screen, you sat up to check your phone. It was pretty late. You then glanced out the window and gasped when you saw how much snow was flying everywhere. The storm had just started when you arrived, but you didn’t expect it to be still going on. And you didn’t have a car, which meant you’d have to walk home because the buses were most likely done for the day.

You then glanced at Haechan who already read your mind. “Well, it looks like you’re snowed in. I guess you won’t be leaving tonight,” He cutely shrugged. 

“Of course, you’re happy about that.” You narrowed your eyes at him.

He pouted in response, “Whyyy? This means we can spend more time together!”

If anyone else saw how clingy and cute Haechan was around you, the boy would never hear the end of it. You shook your head at the boy and reached for the remote. 

“Should we watch another movie then?” You suggested. 

The male smirked and looked at you with a teasing glint. “I was thinking we should try something else.”

Before any suspecting questions could be asked, Haechan grabbed you by the neck and pulled you into a passion-filled kiss. You let out a gasp, only to be swallowed by the pressing of his lips on yours. The initial shock quickly faded as you felt yourself melting into his touch. However, your eyes opened as soon as they closed. You forced yourself to pull away, earning a whine from the boy.

“You do realize any of your Hyungs can walk out this very second, right?” You pointed out while trying to catch your breath. 

There have been too many embarrassing times when someone caught the two of you in moments like this. All thanks to Lee Haechan, of course.

“Don’t worry about them. They’re all sleeping.”

He kept his hand on the nape of your neck, ready to kiss you again. But just as your noses touched, the sound of shuffling footsteps disrupted the two of you. 

“Hey, Donghyuck are you still up?” 

You instantly motioned for the boy to get off you and sat up to see Mark coming from the hallway.

“Oh (Y/n), I was wondering if you had gone home yet. It’s pretty messy outside,” He scratched his head.

You nodded in agreement, “Yeah, it is.”

“What were you guys doing?” He asked. Haechan rolled his eyes, annoyed by the rapper. 

“Before you interrupted us, (Y/n) and I were—” 

“Deciding on what movie to watch next!” You cut in, afraid of what he was going to say.

Haechan shot you a “why did you do that?” look. You sent him a glare in response. Mark, on the other hand, remained clueless as ever.

“Really? Has (Y/n) seen Elf yet? You should totally watch that,” The elder walked around to sit at the end of the couch. “Do you mind if I join you guys?”

Before you could answer, Johnny and Jaehyun came into the room.

“Yah, are you watching Christmas movies without us?”

You laughed nervously and turned to your boyfriend who was dumbfounded by this turn of events. Things certainly didn’t go as he had wanted them to. You mouthed a “sorry,” as the other members started to join you guys. He sighed in defeat and rested his head on your shoulder.

And that’s how the first time you stayed at Haechan’s dorm ended up turning into a Christmas movie marathon with the 127 members. Not as romantic as he would’ve liked. But it was certainly memorable.

✎__________________________________________________________

JAEMIN

Over the past week, your roommates have been at each other’s throats. As someone who was a little afraid of conflict, you chose to stay out of the situation. But their screaming at each other nonstop prevented you from getting any sleep. They remind you of when you lived with your parents who fought all the time. You tried to hold it together, repeatedly telling yourself that you should be used to this by now. Yet no matter how strong you pretended to be, it wasn’t enough. 

One night, you decided that you couldn’t take it anymore. You knew it was late, but you were so desperate right now. After grabbing your phone and wallet, you snuck out of your home. Not that you think they would’ve noticed if you had left in front of them. They probably wouldn’t care and continue blaming each other for things.

Jaemin would be lying if he said he wasn’t surprised when you showed up at his apartment at 11:30 p.m. But he was more concerned when he saw the clear distress on your face.

“I-I’m sorry.” You huffed out cold air. “But can I stay here for the night?”

It only took him one look at your watery eyes to tell you were on the verge of breaking down. Of course, he welcomed you with open arms. Not many words were exchanged as you guys settled in his living room. 

“Sunji and Juran haven’t made up yet?” He asked in his usual low voice, as he sat beside you on the couch. You noticed that he sounded deeper in the nighttime.

You shook your head despondently. “At this point, I’m waiting for one of them to move out.”

A short silence followed your words. Jaemin watched as your eyes fixated on the mug of green tea he gave you.

“I didn’t know where else to go,” You mumbled, before finally taking a sip of the warm beverage.

A small smile stretched across his lips. You always kept up this wall around your friends and family. Part of him was grateful because he was the only person who saw your vulnerable side.

“You did well (Y/n)-ah,” He cooed, reaching his hand to pet your head. “Thank you for coming to me.”

Calmed by his touch, you glanced up at those adorable eyes of his that were overflowing with admiration. In the next second, you let him take you into his embrace. The two of you stayed cuddled on the couch, watching some k-dramas to get your mind off things. Every so often he’d press kisses into your hair, which made you snuggle into him further.

You guys only started dating two months ago, and have never spent the night at each other’s places before. He was probably tired from work, and yet he let you in without question. If this wasn’t love, what was it?

✎__________________________________________________________

CHENLE

It was just another one of those days where you were at Chenle’s house keeping him company. His mother and aunt weren’t in Korea at the moment, so you guys had the whole place to yourself. The both of you agreed it was nice, after not seeing each other for the past few days.

Currently, you guys were napping on the couch. Napping was a more recent thing for the two of you. Mainly because he was always tired from work, and for you it was school. Though you were hesitant about the idea at first, you started to love these moments with your boyfriend. They were those few chances you got to relax and recharge.

Chenle secretly loved when you guys did this as well. Especially when you nestled your head into the crook of his arm, while your arm rested on his chest. Often he found himself staring down at you, admiring your features. It was always the hardest when you guys had to break out of such a comfortable position. And today, he really didn’t want to.

You had woken up first, realizing you had slept much longer than you intended. But when you began to sit up, Chenle brought you back down.

“Don’t go,” He said with his eyes still closed. “It’ll be too dangerous to walk home when it’s so late.”

“It’s only nine,” You murmured. “And I have university tomorrow.”

His hand wrapped around your wrist, pulling you closer to him. “Your class isn’t until noon, and you have your school bag here.”

 You weren’t sure how he could speak so coherently when he was half asleep. But he was right. His place was also closer to the college you went to.

“Just stay.” 

His words were simple but persuasive. So you returned to your previous place in his arms and closed your eyes. 

“Okay.”

Chenle would smile, pleased to have won you over. He placed a small kiss on your knuckles before letting sleep consume him.

✎__________________________________________________________

JISUNG

For the first time, Jisung bought an apartment and was able to move out of the dorm. It took some convincing from his manager and the members. But Jisung was ready for this. After all, he wasn’t a 14-year-old kid anymore.

With that said, Jisung and you decided to take the next level into your relationship. By “next level,” that meant spending an entire night together. Jisung was quite excited because he would get to spend some quality time with you. However, things didn’t go quite as he expected.

Everything was normal up until you finished your third movie and it was time to sleep. Despite being together for almost two years, you guys were as awkward as you were when you started dating.

“I can sleep on the couch…” You suggested.

Jisung instantly turned down that idea. “What? No, we can just sleep on my bed!”

So after some anxious rambling between the two of you, you eventually ended up in his room. The two of you would lay face to face on his bed, with his comforter covering you up to your necks. 

“Not too bad, right?” Jisung chuckled nervously.

You nodded, “Yeah, we’re okay.”

The two of you would spend the rest of the night giggling like little kids and exchanging kisses under the covers. Overall, 10/10 experience!

✎__________________________________________________________

[lady-wren-of-tella]

Undeserving (I Love You Too Much to Let You Stay) -- a Zivy oneshot

word count: 5,215 tw// mentions of past abuse, extreme self-doubt I've been working on this oneshot for a while and I'm so proud of how it turned out. I hope you enjoy this very self-indulgent piece.

love you guys <3 (and thank you @miirohs for your help + enthusiasm)

Zira wakes up with her skin crawling. Her eyes flutter open and Zira is greeted by the beautiful sight of Ivy’s freckled face soft with sleep, red hair resting on the pillow around her like a halo of protective fire.

The sun streams through the bedroom window, light blessing Ivy with its golden touch.

Zira looks at the personification of perfection and feels her heart sink.

With grace and stealth learned on the most bloodstained of fields, Zira slides out of bed, careful not to disturb Ivy. She walks around the bed to close the curtains, trying to breathe through the feeling humming under her skin. Everything about this morning feels wrong, and, unfortunately, shrouding the bedroom in shadow doesn’t help anything.

Still asleep, Ivy lets out a deep exhale and Zira feels her body warm with a mix of affection and guilt.

She’s perfect, look at her, Zira’s mind whispers. You’re ruining her.

She dresses quickly, deftly slipping out of her bed clothes and putting on a simple day gown. The tailored fabric feels soothing on her skin, but the steel circlet she slides over her head to rest against her forehead feels better. Zira resists the urge to hold it to her nose just to let the calming smell of metal wash over her.

The sheets rustle as Ivy turns over and Zira’s heart jumps. Her heartstrings strain at the sight of the frown on Ivy’s face as her arm falls through a space beside her that should have been filled. Guilt pools in her gut, but every fiber of Zira’s body screams at her to get out.

The princess ducks out of the bedroom, making sure to close the door as quietly as possible.

Mornings in the Imani palace are bright, sunlight bouncing off the marble tiles in the hallways. The guards draw the curtains away from the windows as Zira walks past, bowing shallowly.

Zira wants to scream.

Hide yourself away. You’ll hurt them if you stay close.

She scratches her nails down her forearm, finds a bit of comfort in the sting.

Walking to the kitchens takes longer than Zira thought it would. The route feels drawn out, with more corners to round and stairs to the basement, but eventually, her hands meet the worn wood of the kitchen doors and she pushes them aside.

Sam Yinlar, the royal cook, looks up and smiles at the sight of her, quickly retying the strings of his stained, white apron.

“It’s rather early,” Sam comments, quietly dismissing the other people working in the kitchen as Zira pushes herself up to sit on the farthest corner of the counters. “It’s been a while since you’ve visited me like this.”

Zira sighs, letting her head fall to her knees. “Hi, Sam.”

“Zira.”

She huffs, twitching her fingers and summoning a fork to her hand from right next to Sam. “If you’re not helpful, I’m going to leave.” She allows the ferrokinesis humming in her blood to sing, crushing the fork into a metal ball. “Better yet, I’m going to fire you.”

Sam isn’t phased, he continues cutting the vegetables on the cutting board in front of him, corner of his mouth tugged upwards with amusement. “With all due respect, Princess, you’ve been threatening me with that since you were seven. I’m going to call your bluff here.”

“Sam.”

“What’s bothering you, Zira?” Sam pushes, scooping the neat cubes of vegetables into a ceramic bowl. He gestures vaguely at her with the point of his cooking knife. “And don’t try to get around the question. I know your tricks.”

Zira pinches the metal ball, kneads it as if it was clay. “It’s Ivy,” she finally says, and winces because she knows how it sounds.

The royal cook freezes. He sets the knife down calmly and fixes Zira with a look so focused she wouldn’t dream of breaking eye contact. “Zira. Is everything okay? Is she hurting you?”

Zira wanted to scream, earlier. Now, her eyes water. Now, she wants to cry.

It takes a deep breath to keep the rivers of emotion at bay.

“No, Sam. It’s me.”

Sam’s eyes narrow. “Elaborate. Now.”

“I think I’m hurting her,” Zira breathes, unable to help the way her eyes flick down to her hands, as if expecting to see scarlet pooling in the creases of her palms. “She’s too good for me, Sam. Everyone knows it.”

Flinching isn’t something Zira does much of anymore, but the sound of Sam stabbing his knife into the wood of his cutting board makes her tense too obviously to be missed.

“Zira Sevaan,” the man's voice rings, forceful as it bounces off the surfaces in the kitchen. “Look at me right now, and listen.”

She complies.

“Have you hurt her?” Sam asks and Zira frowns, irritation simmering in her gut at his stupid question.

“I just said-”

Sam sighs, yanking his cooking knife out of the cutting board and setting it down calmly once again. “I’m going to be blunt, Princess. Have you hurt her in the way your mother used to hurt you?”

Zira stills.

She swears a shadow shifts in the way it shouldn’t, but that’s just her memories playing tricks. They like creating little hallucinations to mess with me.

It takes work to make her vocal cords work to form the sounds of her answer. “No.”

An encouraging glint shines in Sam’s eyes. “Have you purposefully put her in situations where she could get hurt? Are you manipulating her?”

“She’s with me, Yinlar. I think that’s dangerous enough,” Zira shoots back bitterly. “You likely only know half of what I’ve done.”

Like always, Sam is patient, wise in his rebuttals. “I know you’ve killed people, I know you’ve done worse, and I know you’d do it again in a heartbeat if you had to.”

Again, Zira’s gaze flits down to her hands. Seeing tan, scarred flesh feels wrong. She almost craves the sticky sensation of blood seeping into every little line and crease in her skin, almost misses the sharp, unmistakable scent of it. 

“It’s like I told you. I’m going to ruin her. I’ve done awful things– for Delphine’s sake I practically killed her best friends! She deserves someone so much better than someone damaged and morally unsound.” Zira rips off her circlet and rakes an angry hand through her hair, grateful she didn’t bother to braid it before coming down to the kitchens.

“She still loves you and chooses to be with you?” Sam asks pointedly.

Zira nods, and it pains her. “That’s the probl–”

Sam Yinlar cuts her off. “You haven’t coerced or manipulated her into being your partner, correct?”

“No. Of course not.”

He smiles. “You have done awful things, yes? And you’d do them again?”

Zira hesitates before delivering the honest answer waiting on her tongue, if only because the pause has the potential to make her sound like a better person. “If the situation called for it.”

If she asked me to, goes unsaid. If someone threatened or hurt her.

Sam smiles wider, and Zira braces herself for the killing blow. 

The royal chef may not be a Mythica, may know nothing about what war feels like, but he beats Zira every time. He corrals her into a corner so she can’t escape with practiced deflection before forcing a mirror in front of her face and a basket full of truths into her arms.

“And no matter what, you’d never even think of harming Ivy?”

I’d rather die, Zira could say.

You’ve said that before, she knows Sam would retort calmly, so I don’t think that even begins to describe a fraction of your feelings towards this girl.

You’re right, Zira would admit.

She settles for a simple, “Never.”

Sam knows me well enough at this point to fill in the blanks.

The royal chef nods, as if Zira’s measly answers could solve her problem, the insecurity and guilt chewing at the worn threads of her being. “Then you have your answer, Princess. You aren’t hurting her, and you aren’t going to hurt her.”

Zira groans in annoyance, throwing her head back against the cabinets above her and relishing in the sound and spark of pain it produces. “You’re not getting it!”

Sam frowns. “Zira, you came to me with a concern, and I talked you through it. You said you thought you were hurting Ivy– that you didn’t deserve her, and I explained to you how that clearly isn’t the case.” He leans on the counter, weight on forearms. “What am I not getting?”

Zira wanted to scream. She wanted to cry. Now, she does both.

The sob that rips its way out of her throat is painful, it sounds guttural, made worse by the way it echoes in the kitchen. Instinctively, she draws her knees to her chest, clawing at the skin of her upper arms as she wraps them around herself.

She buries her face in the little space her crossed arms create, letting her tears flow freely as her body trembles.

Sam is at Zira’s side in a heartbeat, standing in front of her and gently pulling her into his embrace. He drops his chin to rest atop her head, squeezing her body once to try and stop the shaking. “Hey. Kid. It’s okay. You’re okay.”

Zira whimpers.

She feels pathetic, dirty.

She goes to claw at her skin again, but Sam stops her gently, just keeps hugging her until she eventually melts into the steady comfort of his hold. 

“I’m sorry I didn’t get it, Princess. Do you want to explain it to me?”

It takes a few seconds, far more than a few, but Zira eventually gathers herself enough to answer. 

“I don’t deserve someone as perfect as her,” she whispers, words muffled by the rough fabric of Sam’s apron. “She’s far too good to be with me, and I don’t deserve her.”

The admission leaves her feeling scrubbed raw.

Sam exhales deeply, a thumb rubbing twice at her shoulder when she trembles again. “Ivy’s hardly perfect. She’s hurt and killed people too.”

Zira frowns. “Don’t do that,” she orders firmly. “Don’t try and make her sound like a bad person just to make me feel better about what I’ve done.” She takes a calming breath. “I don’t deserve someone good.”

Sam squeezes her tighter, but Zira knows he’s wrestling with the idea of pushing apart to look her in the eye. “I don’t care what anyone else says, Zira Sevaan. You deserve every good thing that comes your way.” He taps a random pattern onto her shoulder. “No one is perfect. Everyone has done good and bad things. The mistakes you make don’t define you as a person.”

Zira pushes herself away, quickly drying her tears. “They weren’t mistakes, though, Sam. I made the conscious decision to murder and torture people.”

“You realize it’s wrong, though,” Sam tries.

“I’d do it again.” Zira is stubborn.

“Zira,” Sam tries again, firm. “You are not a bad person. You did bad things, but that doesn’t make you a pad person. You were hurt. You are still hurting. The bad things you did don’t cancel out your right to heal.”

“That’s not what my mother said,” Zira mumbles, ghosting a thumb over her forearms as if remembering how it felt to have bruises there. “That’s not what a lot of people say.”

Sam frowns. “Your mother was abusive and I don’t care what other people have to say. You deserve to be happy.”

Vulnerability is terrifying. Vulnerability flays Zira limb from limb, dissects her for Sam’s observant eyes to pick apart. This time, she doesn’t shy away. This time, she sticks it out and steeps in the discomfort.

“Feeling happy feels wrong, sometimes. It feels like I deserve that almost less than I deserve Ivy,” Zira confesses, falling into the embrace Sam offers again.

Sam just holds her, simple and meaningful in his display of affection and comfort. “I’ll say it as many times as you need to hear it: you deserve the good things that are happening to you, you deserve to have Ivy and all the happiness she brings you, and you are not a bad person.”

The tears start flowing again and Zira doesn’t bother stopping them. She lets them fall, lets Sam’s words soak into the hollow cracks that had formed over the years of her existence.

The two of them take solace in the silence.

“I’m a good person,” Zira tries out saying, just to hear the way it rolls off of her tongue. She whispers it like it’s a secret.

It feels almost instinctive, the way Sam’s hold on her tightens. “You are. You really are.”

Zira keeps going. “I deserve good things.”

“You do, Princess.”

“I deserve the happiness my partner makes me feel.” Her voice cracks and wavers. I deserve to wake up beside her every morning and brush her soft hair away from her pretty face just to kiss her on the nose. I deserve to be able to bicker with her about staying in bed or actually fulfilling our duties.

“I couldn’t have said it better, kiddo,” Sam whispers. “Now how about we make some plica for you to enjoy at breakfast with her?”

Zira smiles softly, drying the final tears from the corners of her eyes as the two of them step apart and she hops down from the counter. “I’d like that a lot. Thank you, Sam.”

Already walking away to grab ingredients from the cabinets, Sam smiles at her over his shoulder. “Go be helpful and grab some bowls for me.”

Anytime, Princess, goes unsaid.

��� --

Zira takes a deep breath before pushing open the doors of the library with her foot, tray stacked high with plica in hand. The servants said she’d be here. I hope they’re right, she thinks as she balances the tray while slipping through the space in between the doors.

Sure enough, a head of familiar, red hair whips around at her entry.

Ivy’s face goes soft, eyes sparkling, and Zira feels her heart warm at the sight.

“Good morning, love,” Ivy says, beckoning her lover over. “You brought plica!” she exclaims happily, spotting the contents of the tray. “Is that what you were doing this morning?”

Walking over to set the tray of pastries down on the big table in the center of the table, Zira settles down on the couch right next to Ivy, settling against her side even as her gut swirls with guilt she tries to get rid of. “I thought I’d pay a visit to Sam,” she answers, shrugging in an attempt to seem casual.

An arm comes to rest around Zira’s shoulders, soft fingers brushing across the nape of her neck, and Zira’s heart jumps. “That early? You should have stayed in bed and visited him later,” Ivy admonishes fondly, thumb ghosting over the base of her lover’s skull

Zira’s breath catches in her throat and her heart skips too many beats.

You’re going to hurt her.

She flinches backwards hard enough that she tumbles off of the couch, knees and elbows making painful contact with the floor. The loss of Ivy’s warmth against her side makes her shiver, but the guilt woven into every fiber of her being keeps her from returning to the other’s embrace.

Hands still outstretched as if she had tried to keep Zira from falling, Ivy schools her face from shock and sadness to kind and contemplative. “Bad day?” she asks.

“Bad day,” Zira answers quietly.

They developed the system a bit ago, and it works better than Zira could have ever imagined. In the early days, Ivy would ask “Good day or bad day?” before even coming close to making contact, because some days, the very thought of being touched made Zira want to both stab someone and disappear.

Ivy nods and readjusts on the couch, crossing her legs and scooting over to only take up one half of the couch. “Good day,” she answers for herself. 

Take what you want, she means. Whenever you’re comfortable, I’m here.

Shame making her face warm, Zira rises from the floor and sits back on the couch, crowding herself as far into the corner as possible. 

Ivy points to her forehead, at the circlet resting against her skin. “You should take that off. Your skin’s going white.” Her eyes soften, voice too. “It’s hurting you.”

Zira’s heart aches and she reaches up to take the steel thing off, taking a deep breath and willing her ferrokinesis to mellow out. Immediately, a headache she didn’t realize was forming begins to subside. 

Reaching out slowly, giving Zira time to pull away if she wanted to, Ivy takes the circlet from Zira’s hands. “For now,” she says softly, “just be Zira for a bit. Forget the circlet and the title. I want to talk through this.”

The circlet transforms into a steel rose in Ivy’s hands.

Zira makes the flower float upwards with an almost missable twitch of her fingers, not looking away from the mesmerizing green of Ivy’s eyes. Just as slowly as the other did, she stretches out a hand, gently tucking Ivy’s red hair behind her ear. Zira grabs the floating rose out of the air and tucks it behind her lover’s ear as well.

“Thank you,” Ivy whispers, her breath ticking the skin of Zira’s palm as she leans into the lingering touch. “It’s beautiful.”

Zira smiles softly, ghosting the pad of her finger across Ivy’s cheekbone. “It’s not the only one,” she says, heart sparking at the sight of the blush beginning to color Ivy’s cheeks.

You can’t have this with her.

The princess’s face falls and her hand drops like a stone into her lap. 

Kindly, Ivy leans away, resting against the back of the couch once more. “I’m here,” she says simply. “I’m here if and when you need to talk, always.”

Zira feels the cracks forming, prepares to shatter and braces for the feeling of accidentally cutting herself on the shards of her being. She steels herself, draws upon familiar impassivity to keep from bursting into tears right there. 

“You’re so good,” she chokes out in a low whisper after a bit. “And you’re good to me.”

Ivy tilts her head to the side in confusion, not having heard her, silently gesturing to ask for an explanation.

Don’t tell her, Zira’s thoughts whisper, in a voice that sounds eerily like her mother did. She’ll realize the truth and leave. You’ll be alone.

“I don’t want us to be together,” she says, trying to sound firm. It comes out weakly, her voice wavering and betraying the uncertainty, guilt, and sadness she had been trying to hide. “We’re– we’re not a good match.”

She had kept an admirably even disposition throughout the entire interaction thus far, but Ivy flinches hard, arms instinctively drifting upwards to wrap around herself protectively. But she doesn’t whimper or cry, even though her eyes water. “Explain – now – because you’re not making any sense.”

See? You’re hurting her.

Zira wants to scream and cry and break herself to pieces so she can’t hurt this being of perfection before her. 

The princess cuts off her connection to metal, afraid of what could happen with her wild emotions and the metal resting so close to Ivy’s skin.

“Take the flower off,” she orders quietly, as if volume could soften the blow. “Please.”

Ivy frowns, a single tear falling from her eye. She wipes it away quickly, hand returning to rest on her opposite shoulder. “Why don’t you do it yourself?” she challenges, but it sounds weak too. “You’re more than capable of controlling metal.”

“Please,” Zira pleads again, panicking at the feeling of her ferrokinesis humming under her skin again. “I can’t. Take off the flower and set it on the table.”

“Next to the plica you made for someone you spent time making for someone you’re not a good match with?” Ivy shoots back, but she complies, setting it down next to the tray of pastries. “There, done. Now–” her voice cracks with emotion and another tear falls. She wipes it away just as swiftly. “Now,” she tries again, “explain, Zira.”

Look! See? She’s crying. You’re hurting her and keeping her close to you when all it’s doing is damaging her more, the ghost of Kamara’s abuse returns once more to say.

“Please go,” Zira asks, desperation bleeding through the syllables that fall past her lips. 

Ivy lets out a bitter laugh and the sound grates on her lover’s ears. “You’re not making any sense right now. You walked in this room with plica you made for both of us, gave me a pretty rose you made out of your royal circlet, and now you want me out of your sight.” Her bottom lip quivers, voice shaking. “Explain,” she begs.

With every second she spends near you, she only gets more hurt.

Zira forces iron-strong resolve into her voice, uses it to mask her breaking heart. Please, love, she pleads in her head, please go before I hurt you more.

“Go, Ivy.”

Zira almost flinches at how cold she sounds, hating how it sounds like her mother did.

Ivy stands up from the couch, expression unreadable. “I want an explanation soon,” she says, defeat weighing down every word. “I love you,” she says softly before turning on her heel and leaving.

The door slams shut behind her.

Zira takes one look at the steel flower and the tray of plica and bursts into tears. 

—

They avoid each other for the rest of the day. Zira hides away in her office, tending to her queenly duties. The title is still new and fresh, and she’s still drowning in work. The servants tell her that Ivy spent the day in town with her friends.

Night falls mercilessly and Zira falls asleep at her desk. 

She startles awake at the feeling of someone’s hand resting on her shoulder, papers fluttering sadly to the ground when they’re knocked off by her wild movements. 

“Easy, easy,” the voice soothes, and Zira recognizes it with a twist of her heart. “It’s late, Zira. You should come to bed.”

Still half asleep, Zira leans into Ivy’s touch. “Missed you,” she mumbles, voice muffled by her arm and slurred by sleep. “Missed you a lot,” she chokes out, groaning as she uses her aching muscles to sit up.

Ivy laughs lightly, and Zira doesn’t realize how forced it sounds. “I’m here now. You need to come to bed, or you’re going to hurt your neck.” She takes Zira’s hand, lacing their fingers together before tugging gently. “It’s a bad day, so I’ll sleep somewhere else.”

“No,” Zira says, and she feels her face burn in embarrassment when she realizes how quickly she responded. “I want— If you want, please stay with me.”

With a sardonic huff, Ivy’s hand falls away. “What I wouldn't have given to have heard that this morning.”

Now look at what you’ve done, child. Just as I predicted, you’ve caused her pain.

Zira’s blood goes cold at the reminder of their conversation that morning. She thinks back to the flinches and the fear, how volatile, dangerous, and guilty she’d felt. “I’m sorry,” she whispers after a moment. “I just didn’t want to hurt you.”

The words tip Ivy over the edge. “Too late, Zira,” she spits back. “You already did that.” She moves away, sitting down in a chair a few paces away from the desk, and Zira finds hope in the fact that she didn’t leave. “I think we’re both too tired to talk it out right now,” she admits.

Zira gets woken up completely by that, reaching out for Ivy instinctively. “No. I’m awake and I need to explain.” She turns in her chair to face Ivy completely. “And I need to apologize.”

Ivy nods. Go on, the gesture says.

“You are a good person– the best I’ve ever known,” Zira begins. “You deserve happiness, a perfect partner, and every other good thing that comes your way.” She takes another deep breath. “I am damaged. I am a bad person who’s done bad things and you shouldn’t settle for that. I don’t want you chained to someone unworthy.”

Zira’s skin crawls and her ferrokinesis begs to be used.

Ivy’s face shutters. “You’re not a bad person,” she says firmly. “And even if you were, that would change nothing.”

“It’d change everything,” Zira argues, frowning. “And if I am not a bad person, I’m a dangerous one. Death and tragedy follow me around like I have them on a leash, and we both know neither take well to being controlled.”

Vulnerability is a demon Zira hates facing. Ivy sees her attempts at loose avoidance and forces her towards the confrontation, somehow both unflinching and comforting.

“What are you so afraid of?” Ivy challenges.

“Myself,” Zira answers simply, watching as clarity and understanding flutter across her lover’s face. “I have damaged everyone and everything that has ever been in my life. I can’t do that to you.”

Ivy sees the twitching of Zira’s fingers and pulls her into a tight hug, one arm around her waist and another cradling the back of her head. “Cry if you want to,” she whispers, pressing a long kiss to her lover’s hair.

Zira breaks. “I can’t ruin you,” she admits into the warmth of Ivy’s neck and shoulder. “You’re so good – so perfect – and I’m afraid of ruining you because I’m too selfish to let you go.” She chokes on a sob, on the weight of keeping everything at bay.

The metal in the room cheers, screaming and begging for attention.

Immediately, Zira tears herself away from Ivy, scrambling backwards across the massive office to cower in the farthest corner. The breaths don’t come easy, getting caught in her throat. Her chest heaves as the tears turn messy.

Ivy gets up slowly. “Zi-”

“Don’t come near me!” Zira begs, crossing her arms in front of her chest and pinning her arms between her arms and torso. “Don’t come near me,” she repeats, quieter this time as she trembles.

It’s going to happen and you’re going to see. You’re going to lash out and you’ll ruin her and what you have together. Just like everything else, it’ll end with blood on your hands. 

“Take deep breaths,” Ivy soothes as she sits down on the floor too. She starts taking off all of her jewelry, setting it down in front of her. 

And Zira wants to cry, because Ivy understands, and feeling so seen is terrifying.

“Listen to my voice and take slow breaths. It’s going to be okay.” Ivy meets Zira’s eyes unflinchingly, somehow isn’t terrified by what she finds burning in her brown eyes. “You’re not going to hurt me because you’re not that person and you’re strong enough to hold back.”

Deep breaths, Zira tells herself. Focus on one bit of metal and make it your anchor.

She lets her ferrokinesis rip into Ivy’s necklace, uses the overflowing energy to take it apart and reassemble it in the air. The channeling works, slowly, and Zira starts to relax as her heart rate calms.

The metal chain links separate, a thousand little pieces suspended in the air.

Zira takes a deep breath, blinks, and it goes back together. She exhales, and commands the necklace to float back down onto the floor.

Ivy breaks the silence tentatively. “Zira? Good time or bad time?”

The princess looks up, drying her tears. “It’s fine,” she assures, voice scratchy with the remnants of her crying. “I’m okay now.”

As she crosses the room to sit right next to her lover in the corner, Ivy smiles. “See? I was right, love. You didn’t hurt me. I’m okay.”

“This time,” Zira retorts, tamping down the anxiety that prickles her skin at Ivy’s proximity. 

Ivy rolls her eyes. She takes Zira’s hand, grip loose enough to slip out of if she wanted. “Do you trust me?”

Zira answers immediately. “Yes. Of course.”

“Then trust my decisions,” Ivy says simply, holding Zira’s gaze unflinchingly. “Trust that I am happy with you and trust in my faith that you won’t hurt me.”

It takes a second, but Zira concedes. “Okay.”

Ivy allows herself to celebrate the small victory with a little smile, but she doesn’t stop pushing. “Trust that you’re not going to “ruin me”– whatever that means. No one can deny that you made mistakes, but you’re a good person and you deserve happiness.”

Zira opens and closes her mouth, not sure what to say.

Stifling a little laugh, Ivy leans forward, kissing her tenderly. “Don’t feel guilty, love. You’re allowed to want this and you’re allowed to have this. You’re not going to mess anything up.

The influx of emotion makes Zira’s eyes water again.

“I don’t know how–” she chokes on her own feelings. “I never want to lose you.”

“You don’t have to.”

It never works like that. We both know that and it’s stupid to pretend otherwise.

Zira hesitates, trying to make sense of the heat in her veins and the pounding of her heart. “I think I want to spend the rest of my life with you,” she admits quietly, and smiles at the way it makes Ivy’s face light up. “I think, someday, I could be good enough to deserve that.”

Ivy smiles, and Zira knows she’d give up everything to see that for the rest of her life.

“It’s late,” Ivy says softly, brushing her fingers through Zira’s soft hair. “Let’s go to bed.”

— --

Zira falls asleep feeling loved. Her eyelids flutter as they fight the weight of exhaustion and she struggles to stay awake, the repetitive motions of tracing little patterns on the bare skin of Ivy’s shoulder lulling her to sleep.

She brings her hand up to make constellations out of Ivy’s freckles, distracted for a second by the gentle curves in the waves of Ivy’s red hair. Zira brushes it away from her face with a feather-light touch, scared of waking her up.

The princess smiles, overcome by the comfortable warmth in her heart.

Moonlight streams through the gaps in the window curtains, swathing both of them in gentle silver. For the first time in a while, silver doesn’t feel threatening or cold.

Ivy looks peaceful, happy, at home in their bed. She looks perfect, beautiful, good. Even in sleep, the gentle embrace she holds Zira in is comforting. When she was still awake, she’d tighten her hold every few minutes, just to hear the other girl giggle softly with tired amusement. 

Right before she’d succumbed to her exhaustion, Zira brought them even closer to each other, intertwining their legs and lying close enough that their noses brush, comfortable with the proximity and touch.

At every point of contact, Zira feels her skin buzz pleasantly.

She takes a slow, tired blink, and smiles again. This is perfect, appreciate it, her mind whispers. You deserve it.

The stars sparkle overhead as she leans forward to kiss Ivy gently.

“I love you, Ivy,” she whispers against the soft skin of her lips. “I love knowing that for the rest of my life, I’ll have you by my side.”

Zira falls asleep feeling loved.

[oonajaeadira]

Hi 🥺 I adore your writing and I’m OBSESSED with how you write PATS. He is. So fine. I was wondering if reader ever had a wet/sex dream about PATS during their nap time and how PATS would react to that if he caught them… 👀 sending much love and hope you’re taking care! ♥️

Hello, friend. Thank you!!!

That would require him being in the room with her, say maybe after recreating a certain night in a hotel? I think he'd enjoy it...

...if he wasn't distracted.

Sorry, anon. I started to answer your ask and got distracted...

Truth or Dare: Unblurring the Lines, part 2(GTTT PATS)

FANDOM: Calls - Apple TV (PATS is a character from ep. 3. “Pedro Across the Street.” This is not RPF.)

(gif by hoberynmartell)

Twenty more minutes and he’ll wake you from your nap. Most of the clients find the soft ticking of the analog clock soothing. Soporific.

He wonders if he should paint the ceiling a darker color. Soak up some of the ambient light.

The weather must be getting warmer; the house is settling, little ticks and creaks here and there.

It’s a windy day outside. The rush of it is in direct opposition of your gentle breath on his chest as you sleep.

As planned, he’d let you take control of him again, lost his mind over you again, fucked you in the shower again.

Curled up with you in bed. Again.

But this time, no sleeping for him. 

Just thoughts playing on a loop against the cool white ceiling.

“Gotta ask you about my Thursday client,” he’d asked Shell at their latest get together.

“Thursday client?” Her eyes slid to the side, searching her memory as she took a sip from the bottle, her coral nails clinking on the glass. “The divorcee?”

Back booth, Rusty’s bar, last call crowd, early 2000’s alternative rock satellite station. Tired faces, slumped shoulders, unfocused eyes.

He sat back in the corner of the booth, one leg up on the bench seat, folding and unfolding a damp cardboard coaster. “Yeah.”

“Not like you to talk about clients. This must be good.”

“Why’d you send this one to me, Shell?”

A shrug. A tap of a nail against the bottle. “You were in such a funk about Renee getting married. You needed a distraction. This one seemed to be your type, recent divorce, probably not looking for anything, wouldn’t get in too deep, maybe some fun for you.” Her eye pinched as if preparing for a blow. “You’re not still treating her?”

“Yeah.”

The bottle scraped against the table as she dragged it aside, out of her way, more room for her elbows as she leaned in. “Shit, Pat. It’s been months. What’s going on?”

“It’s a long story.” He thought about giving her the shorter version. Then went for the shortest. “I’m getting attached.”

“She’s a good fuck then.”

“She’s very…open. Playful. I..." want to take care of her "enjoy her enthusiasm. I feel myself giving more than I take."

An arched eyebrow. “My powers are too great, it seems. What’s her reaction to this?”

A sigh. A reflexive pinch to the bridge of his nose. Trigger point. Good for headaches. “I don’t know. There are nights that seem like a normal session and others where… I’m sure she…feels the same.”

Shit. He shouldn’t have brought it up. It’s why he asked Shell out for a drink but…shit. He knew what she was going to say. Didn't want to hear it. Then why did he meet with her? Because he needed to hear it. Needed a little help at the wheel.

Thank god he didn’t say anything about the hotel. Fuck.

“Did you tell her about your–”

“–She knows.”

“Huh.” While Shell wasn’t exactly enjoying his discomfort, but she still wore that big-sister smirk, the one that knew her friend and his foibles all too well. “Well, if she knows, she knows, and if she’s still willing to play along, then what’s the problem?”

“I don’t want another incident.”

“So don’t date her. Just fuck her and get paid and have fun. Enjoy yourself.”

“Not real professional.”

She laughed, a hoarse but genuine and loving laugh, and had his hands been on the tabletop he’s sure she would have folded her own around them. “Professional. You? Listen. The woman was cheated on by her husband, I’m sure the last thing she wants to do is date a sex junkie.”

He tried to ask the next question with a neutral attitude. And faltered. “And what if she did?”

“Damn. You’ve got it bad. Listen. Stop worrying about shit until you’ve got something to worry about. Does she take advantage of the extra nights you offer her?”

“No.”

“Does she ask for more of your time?”

“No.”

Another shrug. “Sounds like you’re both happy with this arrangement. Until she says any different, I wouldn’t worry about it.”

As he lays in bed now with his arm curled around you, fingers lightly tracing your hip, he closes his eyes and cringes inwardly when he thinks about the rest of the conversation. How much he wishes he had just let it end there. But no.

It just fell out of him.

“And what if I needed more?”

Shell waited until he stopped fiddling with the coaster. Until he met her eye. It took a while. He wasn't looking forward to this.

“You think you can commit?”

Just because the question came from a place of trust and deep friendship didn’t mean it didn’t hurt.

“No.”

“Then you’d have to cut her off.” Simple. Truthful. Tough love.

“Yeah.”

Her inhale was an invitation–one of taking in courage and understanding, readying them both for the advice he’d come for from the person who had seen him try and fail to overcome the worst side of himself and still accepted him as a whole human. “But. Keep her around, let her know you’re always going to be there for what you agreed to be there for, and she’ll continue to show up and give you what you need. Keep it up for as long as you both are satisfied and deal with it if there’s a problem. Deal with it later. It’s not like you have anyone to answer to. You make your own rules, right?”

His breath hitches as your nails dig into his chest. Your fingers claw and grasp at him languidly, dragging him back to this room and this Thursday and he listens as you moan low and long in your sleep, the ache resonating deep in the back of your throat and hits against the back of your clenched teeth.

It’s a sound he’s heard you make before. It’s a sound he’s caused you to make before. Knows exactly where that button is and at what angle to hit it and for how long.

Your head rides high on his chest as it puffs up in self-satisfaction.

He might guess what you’re dreaming about.

Is it because you can smell him? Feel him? He should feel guilty for staying–you’re not getting your best rest like this.

Just this once, it doesn’t matter.

He lets your moan vibrate through him.

But the sounds soon start breaking. Start catching in your throat. Start to sound like a struggle to speak. Your body twitches. And your nails dig in hard.

“Hey,” he coaxes, stroking your shoulder and gently pulling your fingers away from his chest. “Hey, preciosa. You’re having a bad dream. Come on.”

Coming to with a swift lungful of air, you pull back to open eyes at him, a desperate soul, like a woman arriving from another time and place, a blank moment as you register where you are before falling back onto him with a pained exhale. “Shit.”

“You okay?”

You don’t answer for a long moment. Your breath comes in greedy inhales, gravity-pulled exhales. Your pulse thrums against him. One thing he can give you is time.

“I took that job,” you mumble, and his stomach drops. “But I came back to see you. Showed up and your house was gone. Just… gone.”

Ah. Just a dream.

He should feel panic, sees where it should be gathering in his mind, and instead turns away from it toward an assembly of relief. 

He makes his own rules.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he reassures, strokes your hip, your shoulder, his palm coming to rest heavy on your head, pressing you gently against himself, his gaze roaming the ceiling. Blue. He should paint it a velvety royal blue. You’d sleep better.

Your fingers clutch.

Definitely blue.

________

Long after your car is gone, he’s still staring out the window after it, numb, his thoughts not landing on what he might expect; there’s a few episodes of a show he’s been watching he should catch up on. He should pull that steak out of the freezer for this weekend. Gotta go change the sheets for tomorrow’s client.

Has it always been this quiet in here?

The next thing he knows, he’s standing in the massage room staring down at the carpet. He’s been here a while now. You usually just put on your outer layers and drive home commando when you’re done with him. Stash your bra and panties in your purse.

Since he was in bed with you, he didn’t have the chance to lay out your clothes . You’d picked them up off the floor to dress this time.

This time, something was forgotten.

He picks up your underwear. Places them on the bedside table. He’ll deal with those later.

It really is quiet in here.

The room still smells like you.

He’ll deal with it later.

___

___

NEXT

SERIES MASTERLIST

[toru-oikawas-milkbread]

First Time With Issei Matsukawa

Pairing: Issei Matsukawa x f!reader

Prompt/summary: Finally moving into his own apartment, Matsukawa was ready for a new chapter in life; for new opportunities, for time alone with you— better time with you when his siblings weren’t around, when your parents weren’t creeping around the corner as if he was going to take something you long ago lost away from you. At 23 years old and getting a start in life, Matsukawa was ready for new changes and bigger steps in your relationship, one step that you were ready to take as well. The night of moving day, you always planned to spend the night, getting some time alone with him, spending hours laughing and unpacking with him, helping him get his apartment arranged nicely. But the night is far from over when the two of you end up kissing while you took a “Short break” from arranging furniture

Word count: 3.6K

Warnings/contents: Smut: Oral, fingering, clit stimulation, squirting, daddy kink, pussy penetration. Strong language, fluff, 18+

Notes: Time for Matsukawa content!! It took me a few days to really finish this chapter off, but I did it! I know it isn’t as long as the others, but I hope you guys enjoy this chapter anyways! 

<>~<>~<>

You gave a cute giggle, one that made your boyfriend grin as you threw a pillow back at him.

“Asshole,” you teased as he caught the pillow and set it on his bed. The two of you had been arranging things all day— he was grateful you came to help him, even more-so that you were spending the night. He honestly didn’t even know where to begin when it came to decorating or arranging things. As you had always teased him about, his old room was simply a mess. Unorganized, things simply tossed aside.

But yours? Your room was a dream— it had a feel to it that was so welcoming.

So whether or not you helped him today, the day he was finally moved away from home, closer to his school and work, closer to the funeral home he was planning to apprentice at, he knew he needed your help. Thankfully, when he asked, you offered to do it immediately. Things had been busy lately, not to mention his siblings were more clingy as of late. Because he was moving and they weren’t going to have him around all of the time.

As much as they argued, he loved his family. He was a good brother and his siblings loved him. It was cute to see them so clingy even as he rolled his eyes and kicked them out of his bedroom when you came over.

“I’m exhausted,” he sighed, walking over to you, hands easily sliding around your waist. “Do you wanna help me sit on the sofa?” You laughed at the man, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and leaning up to press a kiss to his lips, one that ended too quickly for his liking.

“Sure. We can take a small break.” You said, pulling back to grab his hand. “Come on, we can maybe watch a movie and take a 30 minute break, but then we can get back to work with things.”

Quietly, you moaned, hand in your boyfriends soft, curly hair, occasionally giving a laugh at the man on the tv as he told jokes and breaking the kiss, but otherwise your mind was occupied with the way that Matsukawa’s fingers were moving inside of you. His lips on your neck, sucking gently and making everything feel better. You shifted beneath the man, a blissful sigh of his name leaving you as he curled his fingers, making the man ache for you.

Now that he was finally moved away, the two of you were free to do this as you pleased. Finally giving you some alone time when otherwise you were always either at his house or your own. It was hard to do anything as little as cuddle with him on the sofa without his siblings talking to you— something that you enjoyed and never minded but always had him rolling his eyes.

Of course, your short 30 minute break ended up lasting longer as you kissed the man. However the last thing the two of you had been able to do like this was when you sucked his cock on the way back to his house from the restaurant you went to on your last date— 3 weeks ago. You knew this was going to happen tonight, but you were excited and it seemed like he was, too.

It was over a year ago that you finally started to date Matsukawa. As heated as you could get sometimes, as little things that you’d done, you’d yet to have sex purely because he didn’t want to have sex with you in the car and both of your houses always had someone lurking around the corner and neither of you wanted to get caught with him balls deep inside of you.

“Mmm, Issei?” He gave a soft hum in question, pressing one final kiss to your neck before sitting up and meeting your gaze. “Will you fuck me?” A small smirk twitched onto the corner of his lips as he nodded, leaning in to press a soft kiss to your lips.

“Do you wanna do it now or later?” He asked, fingers curling inside of you and making you lean into him for another kiss he gladly gave you. He could feel how wet you were, how ready you were, but he didn’t want to deny you if you weren’t wanting anything more yet. He could stay here for as long as you wanted just to feel your pussy clenching around his fingers. As excited as he was to have sex with you, he knew it had been over 4 years now since you’d last had sex and he didn’t want to make you feel rushed.

“We should do it now before it gets too late.” You said, finally pulling back from the kiss. Matsukawa gave a nod, sliding his fingers out of you and bringing them up to his mouth to quickly lick them off as he stood. He offered you his other hand, helping you up and returning your small smile.

“Come on, let’s go to bed.” He said, excited to finally have his own apartment and be alone with you. He knew you loved his family, he loved them too, but this time alone with you was nice. Not worrying about having to leave to touch you, no siblings bothering the two of you when you were cuddling and instead he just got to hold you, no lurking parents and other family at your house.

Matsukawa shut the door behind the two of you out of pure habit, pulling you close by the waist and earning a cute laugh from you that made him smile. He leaned in for another soft kiss, fingers gently tugging your shirt up. You pulled back, stripping the clothing off and tossing it aside. He hummed, eyes falling to your bare breasts. He grabbed your hand, bringing you to his bed and sitting down, guiding you onto his lap. He leaned in, mouth immediately enclosing around your nipple.

Your fingers slid up into his hair, twirling his soft curls around your fingers while he groped at your chest and sucked on your nipple. A soft sound came from you as you shifted on his lap, fingers sliding along his shoulder. Your boyfriend pulled back after a minute, leaning back to take his shirt off and tossing it aside. You eyed his body for a moment as he leaned back on his hands and sent you a little smirk.

“You like what you see?” You chuckled, leaning in and pressing a soft kiss to his lips.

“I always have.” He hummed, arms wrapping around your waist and pulling you back with him. You gave a soft sound in shock, hands pressing to the bed by his head as you laughed, your chest pressing to his while he kissed your neck. “Mmm, issei,” you giggled, shifting on top of the man who gave an obvious smile against your neck. He pressed one final kiss to your skin before he pulled back with a soft sigh.

“Here, lay back,” he gently nudged you off of him, sitting up on his knees beside you while you laid on the bed. He gave a soft hum, his fingers sliding down your chest and to the hem of the sweats you wore. “You’re so pretty,” he complimented you, gently tugging on your sweats. “Can I take these off now?” You nodded, lifting your hips to help the man. He easily slid the clothing off, eyes admiring your underwear while he tossed them aside. “Well aren’t these cute,” he said, his fingers hooking around the thin string. The material was see-through, patterned with flowers but let him see almost everything. “It’s almost as if you knew.”

“I had a sneaking suspicion we’d be doing something in your new apartment.” You said playfully, watching a smirk creep onto Matsukawa’s face. “Something… different than when Makki comes over tomorrow.” Matsukawa hummed, easily sliding your underwear off and tossing them aside carelessly.

“We sure won’t be doing this when Makki is here.” You giggled, watching the man get down on his stomach, wrapping your legs around his shoulders and pulling you close. He leaned in, sliding his tongue along your folds, the second time around worming his tongue against your entrance and earning a soft sound from you in return. He teased you, fingers reaching around to rub your clit, making you moan at the stimulation.

You knew firsthand how good Matsukawa was with his mouth, though only in fleeting moments before he had to pull back in fear of getting caught. You couldn’t wait to feel more now, though you especially were excited to feel him inside of you. He was long, thick— you knew he was going to stretch you out nicely.

He moved, tongue licking along your folds and teasing your clit, bringing his fingers around to tease your entrance. He easily pushed two of his fingers back inside of you, tongue lapping at your clit. You moaned, watching the man with a slightly agape mouth as soft moans came from you with every lick and pump of his fingers. His mouth enclosed around your clit, sucking hard on it and nearly making your eyes roll back into your head as he curled his fingers inside of you at the same time.

“Oh, Issei…!” You moaned, head laying back on the bed with a gasp as he pumped his fingers quicker inside of you. “Oh, fuck! Oh, Issei!” He gave a hum, sucking on your clit, making you squirm on the bed beneath the man. He used his free hand to grope at your chest, fingers teasing your nipple and making you give a jolt and whine in shock. “Fuck, daddy— faster!” You begged the man who easily complied, fingers moving quicker inside of you and making you moan out louder than before as he lapped at your clit and sucked nicely on you at the same time. “Fuck! It feels so good!”

You could feel yourself getting closer to an orgasm, hips wiggling against your boyfriend who didn’t seem to care in the slightest, fingers pinching lightly at your nipple while he sucked on your clit and quickly moved his fingers inside of you. He could feel it getting closer in the mere way you were clenching around him, steadying his quick movements as much as he could. His arm cramped, but your moans were desperate. For once, he didn’t really want to tease you.

“Oh, fuck— I’m gonna cum!” You struggled out, hand reaching up to hold his own over your breast, the other grasping desperately onto the sheets. It only took a few more curls and steady pumps of Matsukawa’s long fingers and you were nearly gushing around him. It’d been awhile since you’d had an orgasm, leaving your eyes rolling back in your head as he sucked on your clit and prolonged the feeling. “Fuck!” Was all you were able to struggle out, grasping hard onto his hand over your breast.

When he finally pulled back, you were gasping, peeking tiredly at the man as he moved and leaned over you with a cheeky smirk. Quickly, Matsukawa licked his lips before leaning in and pressing a kiss to your slightly parted lips, though he left quickly.

“You taste so good, baby.” He said, kissing you again quickly before pulling away for good this time. “Come here; you want to sit on daddy’s face?” You licked your lips, shaking your head quickly.

“I wanna suck your cock.” You said, sitting up on your knees. “Will you please let me put it in my mouth, daddy? It’s been so long.” He hummed, a small smirk creeping onto his handsome face.

“Sure, baby.” He sat back on the bed, getting comfortable against the pillows. He took his sweats and boxers off easily, tossing them aside while you fixed your messy hair and moved between his legs. He leaned back, eyes traveling down your body while you got comfortable and leaned down, ass poking slightly up in the air. “Mmm, will you let me fuck you in doggy tonight, baby?” He asked, eyes barely peeking down at you to see you looking up at him while you reached for his shaft.

“Yeah, I’d like that,” you said, slowly licking along his shaft. “Will you fuck me in doggy first?”

“It’d be a fucking pleasure to feel that pretty pussy clenching me so tight so soon.” You hummed, taking his cockhead into your mouth and teasing him with slow bobs of your head. He hummed, shifting against the pillows and reaching for your head. He wasn’t too bad of a head pusher, but he had his moments, giving your head a gentle nudge to force you to take more when you were teasing him.

You took the guidance, sliding more of him into your mouth and bobbing your head along his shaft. He held your head, fingers sliding into your hair that was held back in a hair tie. You tried to be mindful of your teeth, not wanting to scrape them along his cock while you teased his shaft, sucking hard and slowly pulling back to his cockhead.

Matsukawa watched your movements, mostly letting you do as you pleased, knowing he was going to feel good. Spit dribbled down his shaft as you sucked hard on his cockhead, taking just a second to breathe before you took him back into your mouth, gagging as you took him as far as you could down your throat. He gave a soft hum as you started to bob your head faster, aching to take more of him into your mouth.

When you were younger, before you’d ever experienced it, it had seemed so gross and unappealing to suck on a dick, never thinking you could enjoy it— until you did it, and especially now that you had Matsukawa’s cock in your mouth, you enjoyed it. Enjoyed making him feel good, enjoyed when he’d cum in your mouth, you enjoyed it when he’d hit the back of your throat, you enjoyed building up your endurance and taking him inch by inch down your throat.

But he was bigger than anyone else you’d ever taken before. It was intimidating at first, eyeing his cock in front of your face that you were going to put in your mouth. It was so thick you could barely fit your mouth around it, so long you could barely take it. After such a long time of nothing sex wise, you had to rebuild your endurance, but thankfully for your sake, Matsukawa was patient with you.

And in turn, it only made you love him that much more.

You peeked up at the man, meeting eyes with him. Your cheeks warmed, not realizing he was watching you so intently. He sent you a small smile, fingers gently rubbing your scalp while your eyes lagged shut as he bumped against your throat. You took him down your throat, sucking hard and gagging around him but enjoying the way he moaned too much to stop.

Slowly, you teased him again, bobbing your head along his shaft and hollowing your cheeks around him, fingers holding his legs. He was warm, twitching in your mouth and giving sweet moans beneath his breath that you couldn’t deny hearing more of. You hummed, gagging yourself immediately after on the man.

“Mmm, baby— it feel so good with your mouth around me like that,” he said, fingers gently pushing your head down and making you gag. With a soft sigh, Matsukawa gently guided your head up, confusing you as his cock fell past your lips. “Come here,” he brought you up, lips sweetly pressing to yours— something you sunk into immediately. “I wanna fuck you now. Can I?” You nodded, moving with the man and sitting on your knees. “You still want it in doggy?”

“Yes,” you leaned down, resting on your elbows and glancing at the man as he gently tugged your hips closer. Giving a soft giggle, you moved back, flushing when you felt him press to your ass.

“Alright, I’ll go slow for you this time.” He promised, grasping his cock and gently pressing himself to your entrance. You rested your head on the bed, trusting the man and closing your eyes as he gently rubbed himself against your entrance, barely pushing himself inside before he pulled back and gave a soft sigh. “Fuck… you’re so wet,” he mumbled, pushing the head back in, this time gently pushing himself deeper as well.

You gave a moan, hands grasping at the sheets and shifting on your knees as he let himself go and gently grabbed your hips.

“Does it feel okay?” He asked, making sure he wasn’t hurting you as he slowly rocked himself inside of you.

“It feels good,” you assured the man, turning your head the best you could to glance at the man who was being amazingly gentle with you. “You can go deeper.” You said, toes curling slightly. “And you can move a little faster, too.” He nodded softly, barely glancing at you before he started to rock his hips against you a bit more, nudging himself deeper with every gentle thrust.

Another moan came from you as you rested your head back on the bed, fingers clenching at the sheets as he pushed deep inside of you.

“Oh, it feels good!” You moaned, trying your best to hold still for the man as he thrusted inside of you, cock bumping deeper than anybody else had inside of you. The sensation of him stretching you out made your eyes roll back into your head, fingers clutching almost desperately at the sheets. “Fuck, it feels so good daddy!” You moaned out, eyes squeezing shut, your hips groped and grasped hard at by Matsukawa as he started to move faster. “Yes! Fuck, yes! Faster, faster, faster!” You yelled out, demandingly, but he did as you asked, or rather demanded, easily, thrusting his hips hard against your ass and nearly making you scream as he pushed deep inside of you.

After 4 years of absolutely nothing besides your fingers, his, and occasionally a dildo nowhere near as long or thick as his cock was, inside of you— this was amazing. An experience you were sure you weren’t going to forget for a long time. Even as you had more sex with him, you were certain you’d never forget the feeling of the first time with him as he stretched you out and made you gush so easily now, leaving you damn near sobbing into the mattress.

Matsukawa gave a shaky breath as you squirted out, wondering if he was going too hard as you moaned and seemed to sob slightly into the bed, but as he slowed his movements, you were quick to pipe back up.

“No! Don’t stop! Don’t slow down— please, please daddy, keep going, please!” You begged the man, unable to turn around to look at him. He bit his lip, thrusting quicker inside of you again and earning a relieved moan from you.

He could barely even think about a noise complaint as he fucked you, as the headboard hit the wall. He leaned down, body pressing against yours. You squirmed slightly beneath him, hips pushing down on the bed as he held you close, arm wrapping around your neck. You leaned easily back into the man as he kissed your head, eyes rolling back into your head as he started to move quick against you again, pushing deep even in the new position.

“Fuck!” You moaned out, leaning your head against his bicep, gently biting down on the man and earning a quick hiss in return, but he didn’t slow down. Hips thrusting hard against your ass as he pounded into you. “Fuck, Issei— it feels so good!” You moaned almost pathetically, eyes screwed shut as you let him do as he pleased, toes curling, fingers grasping tight onto the sheets as Matsukawa’s large hand placed over yours.

“Mmm, you feel so good around me,” he said, kissing your head and panting lightly. “Fuck, you’re gonna make me cum.” He said, unsure of how much longer he was going to be able to go. You were squeezing him tight, let alone he hadn’t let himself cum in your mouth, leaving him already on edge. “Fuck, I’m gonna cum.” He said, but you didn’t seem to think it was too fast.

“So cum,” you moaned shortly after, nuzzling your head against his arm. “Fuck— I have all night. Fill me up daddy, fill me up with your cum.” He licked his lips, mind nowhere near his freshly washed sheets as he felt you squeeze tighter around him again as you gave a light sob. “Fuck, daddy— fill me up, I wanna feel you fill me up! Please!” He closed his eyes, leaning his forehead down onto your shoulder.

“Ah, fuck— I’m gonna cum in you, baby.” He moaned, thrusts nearly getting sloppy. “I’m gonna cum… gonna cum,” he mumbled almost lazily, panting as he spoke. With three more deep, hard thrusts inside of you, Matsukawa was unable to hold himself back as you reached another orgasm around him, clenching his cock tight. Your moans pushed him off the edge as he slammed himself inside of you one more time, earning a loud moan from you as he came, forehead pressing almost too hard to your shoulder.

The two of you quietly panted together for a minute, your head against his arm, his against your back. His cum seeping slowly out of you and onto his bed. He moved, earning a soft whine from you as he pulled himself out and gave a soft puff of air.

“Fuck. You really took it out of me already, baby.” He chuckled, watching you sit up and turn to look at him.

“You giving up?” You asked with a teasing smirk. He hummed, leaning in and pressing a kiss to your shoulder as your knees shook.

“Not yet, baby. Like you said, we’ve got all night.”

[obi-wkenobi]

For @gay-cheerios. I know you’ve had a difficult few days, and I hope that this is able to bring a smile to your face. Know that I love and adore you very, very much, lovely. 💙 --- Anakin had a lot of nightmares as a child. As an adult, he had hoped that they would cease, except, in the past year they had become more frequent. Violent and vivid. Sleeping undisturbed was a rare occurrence.

Talking in his sleep was a new phenomenon, too. 

Six months ago, he had awoken to Obi-Wan shaking his shoulder, the covers from his own cot opposite Anakin shoved aside. 

Anakin stared at him blankly.

“You were having a bad dream,” his Master whispered, hovering over him, barely visible in the darkness.

“What?” Anakin mumbled. “How’d you know?”

“You were talking,” Obi-Wan said gently, brows furrowed slightly in concern.

Anakin grimaced. How embarrassing. “What was I saying?”

“I don’t know, but you sounded frightened.” Obi-Wan sat tentatively on the side of his bed. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Anakin hesitated. He imagined revealing all. About the death and despair he repeatedly experienced upon seeing Obi-Wan and Ahsoka ripped away from him. He pictured the disappointment that would appear on Obi-Wan’s face if he knew the depth of Anakin’s attachment.

He couldn’t bear the idea of it.

He swallowed, hard. “No, I’m okay.”

“Okay,” Obi-Wan echoed, unsure, before he moved back to his own cot.

For a moment, Anakin considered asking him to stay, maybe even inviting him under his covers, but quickly dismissed the idea. He was already humiliated enough. There was no need to make it worse.

When Anakin woke up the next morning, Obi-Wan was in his own bed, unfortunately, and they never spoke of the night before.

Except, it kept happening, again and again, and again. The fifth time, because they had been stationed on a particularly chilly planet, Anakin had moved toward the edge of his cot and lifted a corner of his blanket. A silent offering that Obi-Wan took wordlessly. They always maintained a carefully suitable distance between them, at least a hands width apart, and his Master was always back in his own cot by the morning. It became an unacknowledged routine, something they never dared speak about in the light of day.

But at the beginning of the second year of the war, Anakin requested that they sleep in separate tents. Obi-Wan didn’t deserve to be woken up so often. Anakin knew he already barely slept, and he refused to be the reason why the dark circles beneath Obi-Wan’s eyes grew more pronounced than ever.

“Have the nightmares stopped?” Obi-Wan had asked.

“Yep,” Anakin had lied.

Obi-Wan hadn’t looked like he believed him, but he didn’t press for more.

Besides, Anakin was a grown man. He shouldn’t need Obi-Wan to comfort him anymore.

—

Now, Anakin really wished Obi-Wan would do what he used to do. When he woke up shaking, the sheets beneath him damp with cold sweat, he knew what it was he wanted.

In his dream, Ahsoka had been tortured, and Anakin had stood there and done nothing. Then the dream had shifted, and he had been the one hurting his Padawan.

The potential to be cold, vicious, compassionless—like all the owners who had beaten him when he was young—lived inside him like a festering wound. Whenever he gave into those impulses, like how he had with the Tuskens, it grew. Even if he never returned to that oily tar of darkness, he knew that it remained within him, just waiting for the moment he would cave.

“Obi-Wan,” Anakin whispered into the emptiness of his tent. He thought, hoped, that just saying his name might bring comfort. “Obi-Wan,” he said, louder, feeling the way his mouth shaped the familiar letters.

Anakin knew that this wasn’t normal. Knew that the yearning gnawing its way inside him wasn’t appropriate. But denial hadn’t helped him stop wanting, and neither did acceptance. It lived beneath his sternum, in the crevices between his fingers, in the pit of his stomach.

Knowing that sleep was out of his reach for the rest of the night, he slipped out of his cot and retrieved the holomap and datapad on a nearby table. Settling back on the cot, he activated both. He began reading through the current mission plan for tomorrow, making slight alterations as he went along.

—

“That’s a thorough plan,” Obi-Wan commented after their meeting with Rex and Cody had ended. His shoulder brushed against Anakin’s as he moved away and it was enough to make goosebumps arise on Anakin’s arm. Hopefully his Master hadn’t noticed.

It happened all the time lately.

Anakin leaned his hip against the holotable they had all been stood around, purposefully casual. “I had some spare time to look it over and make some adjustments,” he smirked, proud of his work.

Obi-Wan frowned and rubbed a hand through his beard, thoughtful. “We only came up with the plan yesterday, when would you have had time to work on it?” he asked, observing Anakin with those discerning slate blue eyes.

Anakin shrugged. “Maybe I’m more talented than you give me credit for, Master,” he said, flushing.

Obi-Wan observed him a moment longer, something like exasperated fondness exuding from him into the Force, and looked like he was about to say something else when their comms chimed simultaneously. They left the tent together, something simmering between them that reminded Anakin of sunshine yellow.

—

Lying in bed, heart still pounding from a dream about Obi-Wan lying in a pool of his own blood, the crimson liquid staining the marble floor beneath him, Anakin began to formulate a plan for the following night. It may have been a selfish plan, but it was necessary.

He couldn’t do this anymore.

The next day, after Obi-Wan had left to do recon with some men, Anakin moved his cot into Obi-Wan’s tent and took down his own, stating some kind of damp smell when Obi-Wan asked him about it later.

—

“Anakin.”

He sat up with a start, chest heaving. The cot dipped where Obi-Wan was sat.

“Are you okay?” Obi-Wan whispered.

In this dream, Anakin had been howling in pain, ash and scorching heat licking throughout his writhing frame. He had sobbed as his Master had watched and then turned and walked away. He tried to slow his breathing and to dislodge the sensation of burning alive. “I’m fine,” he mumbled.

A dim light appeared and Anakin could just make out the concern on Obi-Wan’s face. The plan had worked. He didn’t know if he felt more guilty or relieved.

“What was your nightmare about?”

“I don’t remember,” he lied, not wanting to recall the horror of it. Obi-Wan didn’t believe him, Anakin could tell, but he didn’t prod. Rather, he slipped under Anakin’s blanket, as if this ritual of theirs had never stopped.

It certainly wasn’t a gesture he felt he deserved. Selfish. So selfish of him.

“So,” Obi-Wan began, speaking softly as Anakin tried to regain control of his breathing, “tell me what it is about planning missions that you like.”

Anakin stared at him in surprise. His flesh hand fiddled with the pillow beneath his head, twisting the material between his fingers as he thought. “It calms me.” None else would have asked such a question. None else would have noticed the pride that Anakin took in the action. But this was his Master, and sometimes, he thought, only Obi-Wan really understood him.

“When everything is too much, I know that I can do that. That I’m good at it even.”

Obi-Wan smiled at him, so softly, and Anakin’s breath hitched at the kind crinkle lines by his eyes. “You are very good at it. You have a strategic mind and are fiendishly intelligent.”

Anakin flushed, deeply, and he became immensely grateful for the darkness surrounding them. “Thank you, Master.”

They were quiet for a while, then, “What made you move your cot back into my tent?”

“What?” Maybe it had been stupid of him to think that Obi-Wan wouldn’t put two and two together. But he wasn’t about to admit why. It was mortifying.

“It’s okay, Anakin.”

Anakin turned away, feeling too exposed. Vulnerable. He hated it. Maybe if he pretended to fall asleep Obi-Wan would leave. Only, that wasn’t what he really wanted, and he suddenly became distinctly aware of how close together they were. How he could feel the warmth radiating from Obi-Wan’s body.

After some time, or maybe no time at all, Anakin gave up. He felt like a fraud, and Obi-Wan deserved to know the truth.

“Master?”

“Yes?”

Anakin sighed. Of course he was still awake.

He stared up at the discoloured ceiling of the tent. “I…you know.” Obviously he didn’t know, or he wouldn’t be lying here. He dug his nails into his palm, preparing himself. “I have feelings for you.” He waited for Obi-Wan to do something. Jump out of the cot, scold him, lecture him about the dangers of attachment, look at him with that disappointed expression that Anakin abhorred. Something. Anything.

Eventually, Obi-Wan simply said, “I know.”

Was he really that obvious? He had always struggled with the Jedi notion of no emotion, but he hadn’t known he was so transparent. Well, he reasoned, Obi-Wan had always been very observant. He very briefly considered playing it all off as a joke, but he knew his Master would see through the lie immediately.

Instead, he buried his face in his pillow and wished a Separatist tank would roll right over him. “You can go now. You don’t have to stay here,” he mumbled.

Obi-Wan didn’t move, didn’t even twitch. Anakin lifted his head and looked at him, Obi-Wan stared back at him with an unreadable expression.

“What? Am I too pitiable to leave alone?” He had hoped to come off derisive, except he only sounded defensive.

“Maybe you’re not the only one with feelings,” Obi-Wan replied, still with that stoic expression on his face.

Anakin rolled over angrily. “Leave me alone, Obi-Wan,” he hissed cruelly. He hadn’t expected Obi-Wan to toy with him like that. To mock him. Anakin shouldn’t have said anything. What was he thinking? Stupid.

Obi-Wan still didn’t leave.

A minute later, Anakin felt gentle fingers brush the back of his hand and then intertwine with his. Anakin scrambled over to face Obi-Wan, shocked by the contact. Obi-Wan’s eyes were wide and hesitant, his gaze flicking all over Anakin’s surprised face. Obi-Wan bit his lip and squeezed Anakin’s hand, his palm clammy against Anakin’s own.

“Is this okay?” Obi-Wan breathed.

Anakin nodded, unable to find any words.

Obi-Wan shifted, pulling Anakin into his arms and tangling their legs together. His face rested in the crook of Obi-Wan’s neck, and he could smell the unique smell of Obi-Wan’s beard oil. Musky undertones with a heart of cedarwood and a top layer of green mandarin. Anakin closed his eyes and breathed deeply. His body felt as hot as molten heat, warm and tingling but unable to hurt him when wrapped within Obi-Wan’s arms.

Though his mind struggled to comprehend the turn of events, his body was very much present. His flesh hand carded through Obi-Wan’s hair, cautious, a part of him still waiting to be told off or pushed away. That wasn’t what happened. Obi-Wan pressed his face into Anakin’s hair and made a small, contented sound.

“You should try and get some sleep,” Obi-Wan said quietly.

Anakin knew he should, but he also didn’t want to sleep through a moment of this. His body had other ideas, with its limbs heavy from exhaustion and thoughts for once silent. He couldn’t remember the last time he had felt so safe.

Sudden emotion rose within him and he cleared his throat. “I don’t want you to go back to your cot.”

Somehow, Obi-Wan pulled him in even closer, and a tender hand rose to stroke through his hair. “I’m not going anywhere. I’m exactly where I want to be, Anakin.”

Any remaining tension left Anakin’s body, replaced by relief.

—

That night, he slept better than he had slept in years.

[juletheghoul]

Burning Hour (Part 3)

This series has completely taken over my life and I am so happy you are all enjoying it so much - thank you for all of the lovely messages and comments - I treasure them deeply.

So - you shouldn't be surprised that this particular moment on the red carpet absolutely inspired a scene in this story and I regret nothing. Hope you all enjoy this fantasy that's keeping me going lol.

Din Djarin x F!Reader (Virgin reader)

Pairing: Din x F!Reader

Word Count: 4.9k

Warnings: (18+ NO MINORS) Angst, pining, slow-burn, implied arranged marriage, language, age-gap (about 10-11 years, legal, reader is of age) Yearning, jealousy, fingering/touching / slight dirty talk (slightly possessive)

Let me know if I missed anything!

reblogs are appreciated

Masterlist Series Masterlist Part 4

—

You floated through the morning.

Your dreams were full of kisses, of declarations of love and beskar glinting under the sun and it was hard to concentrate on anything.

You smiled to yourself as you broke your fast with warm bread and butter, feeling his eyes on you from his place behind your father.

“Your highness-” Your father’s advisor came through the door holding the usual paperwork, things for him to look over, letters to read. “-A letter has come for the Princess.” He turned to you then with a smile. He was an old man, grandfatherly and sweet. He handed it to you and you noticed from the corner of your eye Din’s helmet turn towards you.

It was a small letter and you noticed how beautiful the script was as you opened it.

Dearest Princess,

I would be honoured if you were to join me here at my home for dinner. My messenger awaits your response and if you agree, I will send my personal household guard to accompany you. I also imagine your knight will be in attendance, I welcome him and whoever else you choose to bring at my table. Ruby as well of course.

Hoping you’ll say yes.

Ever yours,

Poe. D.

“It’s from Poe, he asks that I join him this evening for dinner.” You were frowning at the letter, conflicted because you wanted to stay home, wanted to meet Din in the garden again. A tiny part of you however, the tiniest part wanted to say yes - wanted to see how Poe would behave. Part of you wanted him to do something unforgivable to wipe the smiles off your parents faces.

“Oh but you must go!” Your father’s voice boomed through the room and you imagined that you could almost hear Din’s jaw clenching.

“Yes my darling, you must go. What does the letter say?” Your mother held her hand out and you handed it to her. She smiled as she read it. “Din, you must accompany her.” She was smiling big, excited at the prospect of a match having been made. No one bothered to ask if you wanted to go.

“Yes of course, let his messenger know that the Princess will be in attendance. She will go, Din- I leave her safety in your hands. Take you who must.” It had been decided for you, and you had to accept it. You felt Mila’s hand grasp yours under the table in understanding.

-

“Which gown would you like to wear your highness?” She asked sadly as you put on your undergarments and you sighed.

Whichever one makes everyone leave me alone.

“Whichever you think would look best sweetling, I have no preference.” You said the words and they were honest. Yes - Poe was charming and sweet, handsome and in another life you would have been faint with excitement at his interest in you but you were in love with Din. He was the one you wanted to share a meal with. He was the one you wanted to kiss in the open - to have holding your hand as you sat together in front of the hearth. He was the one you wanted in your bed.

“How about this one?” She held out a lovely powder blue gown. You would have said no, something more plain but you had to be seen to be making an effort.

“Yes, that will do nicely.” You smiled but it didn’t reach your eyes. She didn’t comment on it.

“I will tie a blue ribbon around Ruby’s neck to match, and I think you have some sapphires as well.” She brought over a tray of jewelry for you to peruse while she laced up your gown.

Your mind drifted to an interesting place. You imagined you were preparing for dinner with Din and imagined your knight picking out jewels for you to wear.

Would he prefer diamonds? Would he like me better in opals or emeralds?

You had a feeling he wouldn’t mind either way, but it was lovely to pretend even for a moment. She placed a dark blue cloak about your shoulders and stood back.

“You look beautiful Princess, the blue looks lovely against your skin.” She held up a silvered looking glass and you saw the reflection of a happy woman, although why she was happy - no one could know.

“Thank you sweetling, let's get this night over with shall we?” You smiled at her as you both made your way outside.

---

Din, along with five of his best knights, waited for her to set out for Damerons home. Damerons own household guard waited as well, having been sent to accompany her and he surveyed them. They seemed competent enough, he gave them their space nonetheless.

It was getting more and more difficult to put the future out of his mind - he knew that the Princess would marry at some point, it was her duty as Queen. She might even marry Poe - he knew that objectively they were a good match but his mind simply couldn’t stay objective. Not when it came to her.

This whole thing was moving faster than he hoped and he didn’t know what he could do about it.

You have to face facts Djarin, you’ll never marry her. You are a knight, she is a Princess, there is no place for you. Maybe you should just let her go.

It was in him to do so, to ignore his feelings for her; to find Gisela and ask her to marry him - have a couple of little ones and pray for things to work out. The harsh words to get her to hate him on the tip of his tongue but they evaporated like dew on a sunny day when he saw her come out to meet him.

She was a gem- a bright, glittering thing that he wanted so desperately to hold onto.

“I am ready Sir, shall we?” She smiled shyly and he nodded.

“Of course Princess, allow me.” He guided her into the wheelhouse, dreading and cherishing every single second.

--

The ride was uneventful, the road was quiet thankfully with nothing to see but long swathes of trees and greenery in the gloaming of the evening.

Ruby was napping softly in your lap but woke quickly when you arrived, her little tail wagging happily at the prospect of exploring.

“Yes my little darling - we are here.” She was in Mila’s arms when you pet her, the two of you waiting for the wheelhouse to come to a stop.

Din opened the door for you, he was helping you climb down when you heard Poe’s voice sounding out.

“Princess, I am so pleased you agreed to come-” He was striding over, his squire on his heels. “-I am happy to see you all. Please - be welcome.” He was smiling big at everyone as his guards retreated, no doubt returning to their posts. He crouched quickly to pet Ruby before approaching you.

“Hello Poe, I thank you for your invitation.” You smiled as you took in your surroundings. His home was a beautiful sprawling estate. He must have been wealthier than you thought. “You must give me a tour of the grounds - I would love to see the gardens.” You smiled at him as he offered you his arm.

“Of course Princess, I will show you whatever you wish after our meal - unless you’d like to go now?” He paused for a moment.

“After dinner would be just fine.” You answered as he guided all of you inside.

--

You weren’t sure what to expect about his home when the letter had come in earlier but it was a pleasant surprise. There were fresh cut flowers everywhere, painstakingly detailed tapestries hung up on the walls as you made your way to the large dining room. Lush carpets and plush chairs, truly a man who enjoyed his comforts.

“You have a lovely home Poe.” You smiled as he led you to your seat.

“I thank you Princess -“ He turned to Din and the other Mandalorians waiting by the table. “-Please, sit with us. I meant what I said, you are all welcome at my table.” He gestured to them to sit.

“I do not wish to intrude, we would be happy to eat with the rest of your household guard.” Din replied, his voice was clipped however.

“Nonsense. I insist, I dare say the Princess would be more comfortable if you were to join us.” He said it with an easy smile and Din hesitated slightly before agreeing. They all sat, lining their helmets up before them.

Din barely spoke.

He had never been one for long speeches - you were unsure whether it was because of the helmet, or just his nature. The other Mandalorians were friendlier and Poe took it all in stride. You could see that he took nothing personal and treated them just as he treated you.

Aside from Din’s cool demeanor and Poe’s etiquette, the dinner went well. The food was wonderful and you didn’t fail to notice some of your favourites on the menu.

“I took the liberty of finding out what you like to eat.” He said it quietly, not wanting to draw attention and you favoured him with a smile. It was hard not to like him, he was very thoughtful.

Once the meal was done, he fulfilled his promise and escorted you outside. It was much more open than the gardens back home - everything illuminated by torches and lanterns. There were flowers and neatly pruned shrubbery surrounding the large building. You noticed a stable on one side, as well a modest greenhouse on the other.

“It’s nothing compared to what you’re used to but I enjoy it. The kennels are just behind the stables and there are flowers and different fruit trees just to the right there - that’s where they get the most sun. I’m afraid the night doesn’t do it justice, it’s much lovelier during the day.” He was walking you through the grounds, your arm tucked under his as your party followed.

“It’s lovely, truly.” You were sincere and you couldn’t help but look up, the sky awash in stars. “I would imagine you must spend a lot of time out here.” You let him guide the way.

“Not as often as I'd like to, but I try. Perhaps when we marry I’ll make more of an effort.” He said it with a wink and you scoffed loudly but without malice.

“Oh is that so? Well then I suppose I’ll have to change some things around since in your mind I’ll live here hm?” Your tone was playful but sarcastic and you were acutely aware of Din following the two of you.

“Oh yes Princess, I am quite sure. My home is yours and you may do with it what you will. I live only to make you happy.” He was just as playful and as annoyed as you were that he was so confident in your union, it was also aggravatingly refreshing to be able to speak to someone so honestly - better yet for them to respond in kind.

You ignored it, Poe was charming, that’s all.

Much to your annoyance, the night was enjoyable. Poe was an excellent host and it was later than you had originally planned when you set off for home. The woods were pitch black in some spots, it made you anxious to ride in the wheelhouse while the world outside seemed like it didn’t exist. The soft light of the moon doing nothing to pierce through the darkness of the road at times.

Reaching the palace had been a relief and you said as much when you stepped out.

“You should have told me Princess, I would have ridden in it with you - if it would have helped.” He spoke as he guided you inside. You had wanted to, but the temptation of having him so close would have been too much - and as much as Mila knew about your feelings towards him - you didn’t want her to see you kissing him.

You patted his arm in silent thanks and he said nothing else.

When you reached your room you hesitated at the door, wanting him to pull you away somewhere but he didn’t - instead he waited until Mila got in. He took his helmet off and you smiled at the state of his hair. Your fingers itched to ruffle through it.

“Princess, if it’s not too late, I would ask you to join me for a midnight ride.” He waited for your answer and your smile widened.

“Of course! Would you permit me to change quickly?” You didn’t want to ride in such a stuffy gown - as beautiful as it was.

“I will wait however long it takes.” He motioned for you to go and you did - urging Mila to help you once you reached your bedchamber.

“The soft linen dress I think - with the long shift and the heavy cloak. I want to be comfortable and warm.” You changed as fast as humanly possible - all but ripping the jewelry off and within a few minutes you were rushing out the door. The two of you making your way towards the stables as silently as possible.

You watched him work deftly, his skilled hands saddling his horse with ease. One horse, not two.

“Are we to ride together?” You looked at him confused.

“Is this a problem for you Princess? I thought it might be quicker to get us to safety should something happen if we were on the same horse. I could saddle you your own if you prefer - we just wouldn’t travel too far.” He hesitated momentarily and your heart leapt at the thought that he would be holding you so closely.

“I trust your judgment Sir, one horse it is.” You kept your voice neutral and he nodded, finishing his work quickly. Once he was done - he helped you up and pulled himself up behind you. The cool beskar pressed up against your back as his arms reached around you to grab the reins.

Your dress pooled up around your thighs slightly, but your legs were covered by your big cloak but it was exciting nonetheless. You felt exposed, with his proximity it excited you way more than it should have. It felt forbidden, taboo and thrilling to have it feel like he was holding you. You couldn’t stop yourself from leaning back into his body slightly but he didn’t complain.

The ride through the forest was quiet except for the sound of the night birds, the crickets and the creatures that prowled at this time. The sound of the horses' steps, the sound of its breathing mixing with yours as well as Din’s. He rode through trees, through the little paths only he seemed to know and after a while you were beside a lake. The soft sound of the water kissing the shore added to the nightsong and you were happy that he had brought you here. He had been silent the whole ride, but you felt him take his helmet off behind you and secure it somehow to the saddle.

“You should know that you looked exceptionally lovely today Princess, blue is your colour.” His breath tickled your neck and you shivered. You turned slightly to look back but you couldn’t fully face him, the angle awkward but he kissed you just under your ear to let you know it was okay.

“I thank you Sir, I hoped you would like it.” You leaned back into his arms to tuck your head under his chin.

“You wore that for me? I thought you wore it for Dameron.” His hands came up to hold onto your arms as he pressed little kisses to your neck.

“I always dress for you.” You left it at that, hoping he would understand that despite everything- he was the one you wanted.

“Can I confess something?” His hand came up to slowly undo the cloak tied at your throat.

“Yes, anything.” You answered almost breathlessly, watching his hands open up the cloak to expose your shoulders, the skin of your thighs poking out where the dress had bunched up even more.

“You might think me wicked but, I thought about what it would be like to kiss you.” His hand trailed down as he spoke, rubbing at your thighs over your dress and you watched them in the low light of the moon, mesmerized.

“You’ve kissed me before Sir, you could kiss me now.” You turned a little more but he stopped you.

“I wasn’t thinking about kissing your mouth lovely girl, I was thinking about kissing you somewhere else.” His hands slowly gathered the fabric of your dress, bunching it in his fist - lifting it inch by inch to bare your legs to him. “May I show you where I want to kiss you?” He stopped but you clung onto his arms around you.

“Yes - please show me.” You felt is other hand join the fray and soon he had exposed your lower half to the cool night air. Your undergarments were damp you knew it - the arousal pooling low in your belly at the thought that he might touch you where you most wanted him to. He didn’t disappoint.

His hand trailed up your inner thigh lightly, slowly, up until he skillfully slid it into your undergarments. He groaned deep in his chest when he touched your bare sex.

“Right here. I long to kiss you, taste you here.” His touch was feather light on the lips of your womanhood, slipping along the seam of you. You whimpered, no one had ever touched you here and you felt the slick dripping out of you as you let him explore. “Would you let me Princess? Would you let me bury my tongue right here?” He dipped his fingers low, parting you slightly to dip his fingers just at the entrance - collecting your arousal onto his fingers before slipping them out and bringing them to his mouth behind you. You moaned at the sound of him sucking you off of them and you nodded frantically.

“Yes Din, I would let you - I’m yours.” You moaned the words and his other hand held you in place.

“And I am yours.” He responded before bringing his hand back to where you craved it, this time he spread the lips of your cunt open wide, honing his middle finger on the pearl of your sex. He rubbed tight, slow circles around it and you moaned - trying desperately to open your legs wider. He chuckled darkly behind you.

“Does that feel good Princess?” He turned your face with his other hand, twisting his upper body enough to capture your mouth in a messy kiss, not quite aligned but it sent a shiver of arousal through you and you felt yourself climbing higher and higher- his finger relentless as he sped up a little.

“Yes - Gods yes - it feels so good Din, I thought about you too.” You moaned the words into his mouth. “I think about you touching me like this, when I do it to myself.” He groaned at your confession, his tongue thick in your mouth when he kissed you again.

His finger dipped low to collect more wetness and the glide of it was just right, just slippery enough to send you over the edge and you almost screamed. Your body seizing up with pleasure as your sex clenched around nothing. He cooed into your ear as you rode it out.

“You are intoxicating my lovely one.” He kissed your neck, as he lowered your skirts.

You watched him, blissed out and boneless as he licked his fingers before grabbing the reins again and slowly making his way back to the palace.

-

Mila was snoring softly when you slipped into the room and you were careful not to wake her and as tired as you were from travel it took you a long time to fall asleep. Your heart full of love for Din and a hunger you couldn’t satiate filled your belly. It was a craving for his body, for his kisses, for physical love a woman shared with her husband. You fell asleep hoping - though secretly knowing- that he craved you the same way.

—-

As happy as you were when you awoke the next morning, it was quickly dampened - your father informed you that Poe was to arrive at the Palace as his honoured guest. That he was to stay for a time as a gesture of good will.

You saw right through it.

Your parents had decided that Poe was the suitor they wanted for you and they weren’t being at all subtle.

They informed you with big smiles on their faces, no doubt in hopes of pushing you towards him. It was exhausting - this constant reminder that you would never be truly free to live the life you wanted with Din.

When Poe arrived, he was happy - taking this as a sign that he was winning you over.

“Greetings Princess, I cannot tell you how happy I am to be able to spend more time with you.” He was all smiles and you had no choice but to smile back.

“It will be interesting for sure.” With the way you felt about Din, the intense desire to be around him was at the forefront of your mind. As well as the way Din behaved around Poe, it would definitely be interesting to say the least.

—

Your father invited Poe to dine at your private table, and he engaged him in conversation almost the whole night. They spoke of the future, of how Poe would help rule if he were indeed to marry you. Your mother smiled silently, happy to let the conversation center around the two of you.

Din stood still behind your fathers chair and you wanted nothing more than to pull him to sit with you. To talk to him, kiss him and feed him from your own plate.

“I would want to help people to be quite honest, extend a hand to those that aren’t as fortunate as us. There are people out there starving and that doesn’t sit right with me.” He was honest, to a fault like he said but you admired that.

“That’s very noble of you my boy.” The king nodded.

“It’s very honourable isn’t it my darling?” Your mother smiled at you and you smiled back, nodding around a bite of your food.

“I’m sure the Princess and I could do much and more to help the people who need it the most, if she would let me that is.” He had a shy, genuine smile for you, tentatively reaching over and taking your hand in his. You couldn’t very well snatch it back but you felt Din’s eyes burning into the interaction.

This could get messy.

“Princess, I would humbly ask that you accompany me for a walk through the grounds - chaperoned by your knight of course.” He asked as the remnants of the meal were taken away.

“Oh I’m sure she’d love to join you wouldn’t you sweetling?” Your mother cooed, and you smiled and nodded.

“Yes of course.” You let him guide you, Din following closely behind.

—

“I hope I’m not intruding - I know that the King and Queen are very keen for this to work between us.” He held your hand as you walked arm in arm and you couldn’t help but sigh softly.

“Yes they are aren’t they.” Your tone came out a little more exasperated than you’d hoped but he was well aware that you were not to be swayed by him so easily, you knew he should expect some hesitancy from you.

“I understand that you aren’t impressed and that I am most likely not your first choice. For all I know you might already have your eye on someone else.” He laughed and you couldn’t help but look over your shoulder at Din. “Regardless of that Princess, I know this must be difficult for you but I beg of you to give me a chance to show you that there is potential here. I believe that in time you might come to love me.” He pulled your hand up to his mouth and kissed your fingers.

“You are selling yourself quite hard Poe, I appreciate that you understand that my feelings for you aren’t where you want them to be.” You looked up at him apologetically, expecting him to have a sad look on his face but he surprised you; he was smiling - content to listen to you speak.

“I know, it’s not in you right now but I believe you will see me in a different light. I have faith.” He left the conversation there.

——

It was hard to find time to meet with Din, Poe seemed to be everywhere and his determination seemingly had no bounds.

Your mother found you as you dressed for the day - she had a note from Poe. He was asking you to accompany him into town to hand out some supplies. You couldn’t refuse him, not when your mother had delivered it herself.

“Will Din accompany us?” You asked it offhand, your voice neutral - your face a mask of nonchalance.

“No your father is going on a hunt and Din will be protecting him, there will be other guards with you.” She said it with a shake of her hand as she searched your wardrobe for an appropriate dress. “This will do nicely.” She picked out an off the shoulder, deep berry coloured dress that was not at all practical for a day out in the city.

It would have to do.

-

He had taken you to an orphanage in the heart of the city. There were kids running around of all ages and the older ones ran towards Poe when you entered - recognizing him. He had a big smile on his face as they hugged him around the middle, all decorum forgotten.

“Poe did you bring us anything?” A boy of about twelve years was eager, looking around you to the entourage of guards waiting behind you.

“Of course, brought all of you some good stuff like I always do.” He ruffled the boys hair before he held his hand out to you, you smiled and stepped forward. “I have someone very special here with me today, this is the Princess. Come on over and say hello.” He called them over to you and you saw some of the little girls eyes light up. They flocked to you, asking you if you were indeed the Princess. Asked you if you had a crown, and most importantly why you were there. They were precious.

“She’s here to help just like I am.” Poe answered for you.

A little girl of about six pulled on your dress and you lowered yourself slightly to be at her level.

“Princess, I like your dress, you’re so pretty.” She was smiling at you, her hair was a tangle but her eyes were bright.

“Thank you sweetling, you are much prettier I must say.” You moved the hair out of her eyes and she smiled wide, her little hand clutching at a makeshift cloth doll.

You helped Poe hand out toys and new clothes and there was food for them to eat. You spent the day playing with them and learning about their lives. The women who ran the orphanage knew him and you saw that all of the talk of helping the less fortunate was real, he had already been doing much more than you had ever even imagined.

It was hard to deny the little spark of something that he held within you.

He was handsome, he was kind and smart- funny and generous and with the way his eyes found yours throughout the day; he felt something for you. His eyes were piercing, dark and mysterious and for the first time, he gave you butterflies.

One of the little ones was showing you his space within the building, his bed and his tiny toy horse. He was waxing poetic about how one day he would be a knight. You were smiling at him when Poe stood next to you, his gaze heavy and it sent a flush crawling up your neck to light up your ears.

The fabric at his neck was crumpled and you couldn’t help but reach up to fix it, your arm extended over to him and his gaze focused on it, reached up to hold it to his neck. He placed a delicate kiss to your bicep and pulled you closer. The act was small, but so intimate it did something to you. Melted a tiny piece of you that up until now was frozen to him and he saw it on your face. Felt it in the way you let him hold you close, your arm still around his neck, his hand moving down to hold onto your waist.

The little boy was in front of you now, asking Poe if he would ever give him a real horse and he laughed, not unkindly.

“One day my boy, one day I will give you a horse - only if you promise to behave and be on your best behaviour. Can you do that?” The little boy nodded sagely promising he would. You didn’t pull your arm away, and you couldn’t pinpoint why.

—-

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[emwritesstuff]

housesitting | bucky barnes x reader

summary: Housesitting for Steve Rogers has many perks. The man has the comfiest bed you’ve ever slept in; his coffee machine is top tier; and he also pays for every single streaming service you could think of, because he doesn’t wanna miss anything.

You can hardly see how Bucky Barnes stumbling into his apartment at 3 am with multiple wounds is one of them. But I guess it might be?

notes: this is my attempt at a more ~comedy centered one-shot, with some making out in the middle because uh, who doesn’t like that? In other news, reader is Chaotic. Canon mcu (Infinity War/Endgame) is non-existent in this.  (word count: 3K)

warnings: language, mentions of blood, gunshot wounds, general patching up shenanigans, some making out/grinding but not quite third base

[PART 2: breaking and entering]

Housesitting for Steve Rogers has many perks. The man has the comfiest bed you’ve ever slept in; his coffee machine is top tier; and he also pays for every single streaming service you could think of, because he doesn’t wanna miss anything. An old popsicle thing, you assume.

It’s peaceful, too. The neighborhood is nice and quiet, the other tenants are either extremely polite or too scared of Captain America to make much noise. You’ve had very nice stay-cations at his place, where you were free to choose to binge The Office while eating an entire pizza in the spam of 2 episodes or taking advantage of the quiet to write your grad-school thesis.

So when a loud BANG almost makes you drop your coffee mug on the floor, your spidey senses are immediately on alert. You don’t care how many times Peter insisted that it wasn’t a thing, your arm hairs stood up and your heart started hammering on your chest all the same.

You contemplate squeezing under the bed, turning off the show that was long abandoned and hiding until whatever it is goes away, but before you can do any of that, a string of sharp cursing and soft thumps and thuds snaps you out of your fear.

Maybe it’s a burglar. You could take a clumsy burglar, easy.

Now feeling like Tony had just welcomed you into the Avengers, you hop off Steve’s bed and let your baby Yoda socked feet carry you stealthily into the living room, holding a table lamp as if it was a baseball bat.

Everything is quiet, with no signs of forced entry at the door (you remember someone on Law and Order using those words), and in the dark you don’t notice the bloody trail coming from the kitchen.

You’re imagining things, then. When was the last time you slept? You don’t even feel tired, but you know sleep deprivation always gets you all kinds of crazy.

It happens the second your arm falls to your side and your posture shows the slight of relaxation. A strong arm around your neck and a hand against your mouth to muffle the screaming.

In the quiet of Steve’s apartment building, there is only you shrieking and howling and thrashing against the hold of a stranger.

“Don’t fuckin’ move.” You still.

And then you bite into the hand that is muting you, immediately regretting it when your teeth sink into something hard. Metal? Concrete? Ouch. You resume your resistance, determined, and is shoved away.

“Who the fuck are you?”

“Who the fuck are you.” His voice is gruff and dulled over the mask he is wearing, and as you’re taking this giant of a man in, you notice it.

The metal arm. The strapped leather jacket. The tortured blue eyes.

Winter Soldier.

The intruder is James “Bucky” Barnes, Steve’s best friend. That’s who the fuck it is.

“I’m Steve’s house sitter! I even have a key.” You say, with arms in front of you to signal no harm but inching closer to the table lamp with every step.

“House…sitter? Where’s Steve?”

“Who knows. Maybe a mission. He texts me, I come over.” You shrug, and put a chair back to where it was before it got knocked over.

“I don’t believe you. Where is Steve?”

“Listen, I don’t know, okay? I guess he’s just out for a few days. I don’t ask. He just lets me stay in here so I can water the plants and feed the Avengers.”

“The– the what?”

“The Avengers! The fish, see.” You point to the aquarium, where a handful of colorful fish swam peacefully in.

Peace. So much for your peace, because now what you have is a surly super soldier eyeing the fish tank like it was the most loathsome thing in the entire universe, except maybe for you.

“I hate this thing. Naming them makes it even worse.” He trudges back to the kitchen, stomping on the floor like he was on a parade.

So much for the other people’s peace, too.

“Hey! Sir. In case you haven’t noticed, it’s 3 in the fucking morning?” You sass, putting your hands on your hips when he retorts that yeah, he does know. “What are you even doing here?”

“Back from a mission.” He grumbles without looking at you, as if you’re the one who stumbled into his place in the middle of the night.

It wasn’t your place, but still.

“Don’t you have a house?” There’s a part of you that knows pushing the Winter Soldier’s buttons is asking for trouble, but your tired and confused brain decides to ignore it.

“You interrogating me? I need a motherfucking– ” He wheezes and nearly doubles over, holding on the door frame between the living room and the kitchen. You finally spot the blood, both on the tiles and seeping out of the Soldier’s jacket and pants.

He’s hurt. Shit.

“– first aid kit.”

“You need a motherfucking hospital!” You shrill, panic chilling your bones. You don’t do blood. Or any kind of wound, for that matter.

The man ignores you, opening up cabinets hastily. You huff, and walk past him to get to the actual home of the first aid kit. Steve’s oldest, closest friend and can’t even find a box with pharmaceutical supplies in his kitchen. You slam it on the counter next to him.

“You’re welcome.”

“Zip it.”

Just a look from him is enough to render you speechless, and not in the good, butterflies-in-your-stomach kind of way. You’re positive that one swat of that metal arm and you’ll be flying out of the window.

He begins by removing his mask, revealing a handsome face underneath, and you try your best to focus on how dark and menacing it looked while locked in that scowl of his. Then, he unbuckles his jacket and discards it on the floor, it coming to a stop next to your feet.

Oh man, he’s naked. Well, not really, just the incredibly toned, strong and muscular top half of him, but you stare wide-eyed as if he was.

“See somethin’ you like, doll?” He quips, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips, and you turn your back to him, mostly to hide your own embarrassment.

“No.” You cross your arms resolutely, because you definitely don’t think he’s attractive. He is a rude, grumpy, private-property-invader-bastard. Doll. Yuck.

You hear a rumble come out of his chest. Is he laughing? Shithead. Other noises follow, wheezes, small grunts and the tinkle of metal on the marble counter.

A particular pained grunt makes you turn, and you see Barnes with his body twisted, trying to reach a bloody hole on his back. It would be funny if he wasn’t trying to poke a gunshot.

“Do you need… help?” You ask, against your own will, only to be met with his icy gaze.

“No.”

“Come on, you can’t even reach that.”

Another glare is shot your way, and you quirk your brow up. He did need the help, you think, because aside from the muscles and the sweat making him glisten like a delicious – wait what – glazed donut, the man looked like hell.

“…fine.” He slides a pair of surgical prongs, something you identify in your head as oversized tweezers, and you instantly regret your offer. Pressing an iodine-soaked cotton ball to a wound, sure. But not this.

He turns his back to you without a word, supporting himself on the marble. You think that he’s about to make a dent on the goddamn stone if he keeps holding onto it that hard.

“Ah, fuck. Shit. Fuck. Ugh, it’s so gross. Fuck.”

It’s the most horrifying thing you’ve ever done, but you try your best to get to the bullet quickly, so very thankful that Barnes holds himself perfectly still for you. “Got it!”

He lets out a long breath when you toss the prongs and the bullet on the counter with the rest and resumes his cleanup. So, he’s not even going to say thanks. Great.

You try not to think about how you still want to make conversation while you hurriedly scrub the blood from your hands, because aside from the hostility and him jumping on you as a meet-cute, the guy peeks your interest.

Steve has said Barnes is nice, too, and you believed Steve, because he’s basically incapable of lying. Or maybe because he’s pretty. Both, for sure.

With your hands now clean, you turn to him, mouth open with some kind of conversation starter that is immediately forgotten.

Oh man, he’s naked. For real this time.

Bucky Barnes has stepped out of his pants while you were overthinking by the sink, now standing in only a pair of black boxers. It’s like he feels you staring at his butt, because he turns to you with raised eyebrows.

“Last one’s on my thigh. I got it.” He’s holding the prongs this time, and you’re glad you don’t have to do anything, because your face next to that groin might make you go into spontaneous combustion.

“Yeah.”

He hums. You hope all of this is a fever dream.

“Isn’t there a med bay at–”

“Don’t like people prodding and pokin’ at me.” His comment makes you grimace. He’s the Winter Soldier, damn it. You know the stories, everyone does. Of course he doesn’t like being prodded.

He looks at you funny, probably because you went dead quiet. You don’t want him to think you feel pity, because you don’t, but god don’t you feel bad for poking him now, even if verbally.

“I’m gonna – grab one of Steve’s – uh. Dude you need to put some clothes on. Jesus.”

He laughs at you again, which you’re thankful for because anything is better than the awkwardness of the other subject. You pick up a black pair of sweatpants that was so deep in one of Steve’s drawers that you know he’d have to have bought it and never had the guts to put it on. This one would do just fine.

If there is one thing Steve Rogers isn’t, is a black sweats guy.

“Here.” You deposit the sweats and a white tee on the counter, one of the millions that you found inside the closet. Barnes was patching himself up now, bandages wrapped everywhere on his body.

Got his ass kicked good. You shudder when you imagine the state of the other guy.

He eyes the clothes, and saying nothing, returns to his task. “You’re welcome, by the way.”

“I didn’t ask you to help me.”

“Yeah, but I did anyways! ‘Cause I’m stupid, I guess.” You almost hurl a dirty plate at him when he scoffs, muttering a yeah, guess you are. “God, why are you so grumpy?”

“Well you try being shot 5 times and see how cheerful you are after.”

“You got shot 5 times?!”

Looking at you from between his brows, the Soldier nods to the five mangled bullets sitting on the counter. You think about how you’ve made yourself a sandwich just hours earlier on the exact same spot. You want to puke.

Taking time to look around yourself, you can finally grasp the state of Steve’s ever-so-pristine kitchen, now a mess of dirty clothes, blood and your own few dishes from the night before. You don’t even think about what you’re doing as you move, gathering every single cleaning supply you can find, and start working on the cleanup.

You’re struggling, because obviously you’ve never done this before. Anyone can tell, from your soft abdomen and your severe lack of muscle, that you’re not an Avenger. Sure, you work with them, but you’re usually neck deep into advanced tech, not in the gym by any means. Also, you don’t do blood.

That means you have to think about something else, anything else, while you’re manically cleaning the floor. One sheep, two sheep, three sheep, the Winter Soldier’s tight ass, four sheep, get it together goddamnit –

“Leave it. I’ll clean.”

You huff, he huffs back, and you look up at him.

“You got shot five times. Go sit down or something before you blow your back too, grandpa.” You call him that to assure yourself that he is old, like actually super old, and thirsting over him is weird. Even weirder when he’s all bandaged and bleeding. And still shirtless. Shit.

He mumbles something that you ignore, and stomps off. You think you actually did a pretty decent job with the cleaning, considering.

You need coffee. Definitely an entire bottle of vodka too, but there was no alcohol in this god’s good home, so you settle for the brew that you made earlier. You pour a mug for Barnes too, because you’re nice like that, and amble into the living room to find him slumped on a chair.

“Coffee?” You start, settling his mug on the table next to him.

“It’s almost 5 a.m.”

“Guess I’m up early for once. Maybe I should go for a run.”

He snorts, and opens one eye to inspect you from where he is. He reaches out for the coffee, using his metal hand, and you consider the two ways this could go.

He’d shatter the mug right then and there. Or, he’d throw it at you. Your jaw goes slack at what he actually does, sirens blaring loudly in your head. Truly astonishing, the most bewildering turn of events.

He drinks from it.

“Thanks. Quit staring at me.”

“Wow, Mr. Winter knows the magic words. Mr. Barnes. Sergeant?” You’re thinking aloud, abandoning any trace of sanity you’ve been holding. You even sit on the couch next to his armchair.

“It’s Bucky,”

Again, absolutely bewildering. You must be going insane.

“– and you talk too much.” He finishes, with an end-of-story tone, and returns to his rest. At least that felt like normality.

“Bucky. Bucky.” You roll the name on your tongue, feeling a weird buzz start to take over you. It grows stronger when you notice he’s looking at you, one brow quirked as if you lost your marbles. “You know, Bucky, this is definitely not how I saw my night going. Home invasion, playing surgeon – not my usual kind of fun.”

You get up, maybe because you decide that you – and Bucky – need a blanket, or maybe because you need a distraction from his chest going up and down like it’s got a business with making you want to touch it.

You’re not a slut, but who knows? Jim Halper would get it.

“You’re that kid, aren’t you? Stark’s assistant.” Bucky’s voice, low and husky, makes you jump. You look at him, your eyebrows furrowed slightly.

It’s surprising that he knows you, considering. He’s – well, he’s basically a celebrity, if ex-assassins could be considered that. You’re only Tony’s techie, and you and Bucky have never actually met, not even in the few parties you had attended to stop your boss from nagging you that you had to actually go out and have some fun sometimes, because you’re still young and cute and you need to enjoy yourself before you get saggy and bitter.

Jokes on him, you were born bitter.

“I’m no kid.”

“Nice socks.”

You wiggle your toes and it makes the ears of one of the baby Yodas move.

“Still not a kid! If you wanna be sad and wear your sad, plain socks, Bucky, that’s entirely your choice.” You said, pointing your index at him, making circles in the air with it to really get your point across.

Bucky smirks, and you go up to him with the two blankets on your arms. He’s blocking the door with that bulky body of his, and you raise your eyebrows quizzically.

“I’ll have you know – meeting Steve’s annoying, mouthy, pretty house sitter is not how I saw my night going either.” Bucky puts a doubtful tone on house sitter, as if he still doesn’t get exactly what it means.

You blink. You’re positive you heard it wrong. Is he… is this flirting?

“You think I’m pretty?”

“I called you annoying and mouthy too.”

“Yeah, I mean I know that much about me.” You chuckle, rolling your eyes. “The pretty part is new though.”

Bucky still hasn’t moved from the doorframe, and you find yourself staring up at him. He is inches away now, pupils blown wide in the darkness, and you can see a ring of steely blue around them. He licks his lips, and you’re drawn in.

The maelstrom in his eyes sends you spinning.

“I think someone should say you’re not see through, much less–”

Bucky shuts you up by pressing his lips onto yours, a slow, exploratory kiss, the tenderest he’s been all night. His metal hand rests on your lower back, making you shiver at the cool touch.

You’re all panting and eagerness when you cup his face with both hands and press your body against his. You need to deepen this kiss. You haven’t drooled over Bucky Barnes all night to keep things lovey-dovey.

He responds in earnest, pulling you closer. The flesh hand on the back of your neck is a stark contrast against the chill of the other. You and Bucky stumble from the corridor and back to the living room, knocking over a few of Steve’s decorations in the process.

“I don’t feel as bad for this one.” You mumble against his lips, stopping to look at a particular framed picture of Captain America in uniform, surrounded by every single counterfeit Cap in Times Square.

“S’ one of his favorites.”

You nod, you’re aware. Steve thinks it’s the most hilarious thing ever.

Bucky’s breath tickles the hairs on your neck when he continues.

“I hate it.”

“Yeah.”

You capture his lips again, and you two resume your chaotic redecorating. You’re thankful for Bucky’s strong arms keeping you from falling over, because at this point you’re not sure if your legs work anymore.

He takes you with him when he drops down on the same armchair from earlier, and the dizzy spell you find yourself in is broken when you hear him groan.

Right. He’s battered up and stuff.

“Shit, Bucky, I’m sorry–”

“No.” He pulls you close again, and guides your body to straddle one of his thighs. “Stay right here, doll.”

Doll. God-fucking-damnit.

His hand moves under the elastic band of your pants, oh my god you’re making out with Bucky-Hot-Piece-Of-Ass-Barnes in your wiener dog pajama bottoms, and finds the hem of your underwear. He pulls on it, and you yelp when he lets it snap against your side.

He laughs, and you vibrate along with his chest.

You find yourself grinding on his leg, sucking on his bottom lip, raking your nails along his shoulders, doing anything, everything for more, trying to burn the taste and the feel of him on your memory. He moves on to kiss your neck and you sigh, tugging on his hair and making sure you’re holding on for dear life.

Your eyes flutter open, enough to see the fish Avengers in their tank.

The Avengers.

Steve Rogers is an Avenger. So is Bucky, technically.

You’re making out with Bucky. One of his hands is on your boob.

This is Steve’s apartment.

You manage to sober you up enough, despite Bucky’s constant attacks of open mouth kisses and bites on your neck.

“I don’t think Steve would – if we–” You lift your head begrudgingly to look at him. “You know, on his armchair.”

“Right.” He didn’t seem convinced, but his hand moved up from your butt to your waist again.

Steve Rogers was probably miles away right now and still cockblocking you.

Even worse, his furniture was cockblocking you.

Stupid star-spangled IKEA shopper.

And his hot best friend. Who’s currently smiling at you in a such a way that makes you almost abandon all comradery towards Rogers and the sanctity of his place.

You debate getting up, but resign yourself to burying your nose in the crook of Bucky’s neck and just staying there, because honestly, when are you going to have the chance to do this again. Never, that’s when.

Also, he’s surprisingly comfortable for someone with a metal arm and such a jacked-up body.

“You’re sleepy.”

“No, I’m like, super awake.”

It’s a lie, because now that the sparks have flown and the rush of blood in your ears gave way to the quietness of the early morning, you feel yourself drifting, on and off, surprising yourself when you come to once and find that Bucky is still there, warm under you.

“Sleep, doll. I need it too.”

You shift, ready to let his rhythmic breathing lull you to sleep. The last 75 sleepless hours catch up with you.

“Bucky? If you want to break into someone’s house again sometime – I have a first aid kit too. Just sayin’.”

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

I’m not sure if anyone requested this yet, but can you write some sweet headcanons where Malleus, Vil, Riddle, Azul and f!s/o bond with their child? Like they've all graduated from NRC and they're adults and parents now. Thanks Raven!

Curiouser and Curiouser...

As the ruling family of the Valley of Thorns, you are often busy with political and economic affairs. One day, your child will become the next monarch, so they follow you around to important meetings (when they’re not with their royal tutors) and sit in to watch you and father work. This way, they are able to learn while also spending time with their parents.

A beloved family past time is taking a stroll in the palace gardens, hand in hand--your child holding one of yours, and one of dad’s. Malleus knows just what their favorite flower is, and sometimes does little magic tricks to get them to giggle--a shower of petals, or perhaps making all of their favorite flowers bloom in unison.

Sometimes Malleus joins his child for their lessons! It can be boring studying history books or practicing the violin alone, so he might read aloud to them, or take up a string instrument himself to show them the ropes!

Malleus also joins his child for the occasional spar. Of course, he never really goes all-out, but he does try to push them to think quick on their feet. Each battle tends to end with Malleus lying on the floor and pretending he has been “slain”--and when his child cautiously approaches to check on him, Malleus strikes back by tickling them until they’re squealing with laughter.

He knows it can be hard to get a grasp on magic, so when the first sparks start to appear in his child, he makes the time to help them control it. Malleus keeps mint candies in his robes to help cool fiery belches, and he kindly guides his child through shifting from humanoid to dragon and back.

There’s always ice-cream--the king’s favorite treat--on hand! He loves to share it with his child (especially if they’ve expelled a fiery burp earlier). Malleus constructs large and elaborate sundae boats to surprise them after a long day of their studies.

Malleus’s imposing height actually makes him the perfect playground for his child! They love to cling to his back or ride his shoulders, all while reaching up for the sky--which they hope to one day soar through with their father.

His status as an A-list celebrity tends to keep Vil away from home for extended periods of time, but he keeps in touch with his beloved family! That means lots of video calls with you and his child--and it makes all the moments you do spend together all the more meaningful. (Your child has a habit of pointing at magazine covers and the TV screen whenever they see their father on.)

Whenever Vil returns from work, he typically has a gift in hand for his child. It could be merchandise from whatever brand he has partnered with at the moment, a souvenir from abroad, or a plushie, flowers, or candy from his fans. It always brings a smile to his kid’s face--because their dad is thinking of them, even when they aren’t together.

Vil’s his child’s greatest supporter. He believes they can do anything they set their mind to, and he actively encourages them to work hard toward those goals. No matter how busy he is, Vil will show up to every sports game, every dance recital, every awards show his child is in.

He takes his child on lots of outings! The movies, restaurants, parks, spas, stores... anywhere, really! He thinks it is important for his child to see and experience as much of the world as they can--and besides, he loves doing anything and everything with them.

Vil allows his child to dig into his vanity and wardrobe for things to use for playing dress-up! He’ll sit at the kitchen counter and pretend to be a commentator as his child struts out in various outfits and looks they’ve thrown together.

Occasionally, Vil will sit down and let his kid make him “absolutely beautiful” with his own cosmetics. There’s a whole photo album in your phone of your husband in crooked lipstick and liner, or wildly messy eyeshadow, courtesy of your child.

If they have trouble sleeping,  Vil will read a fairy tale to them--and he’ll crack a little smile when his child tells him he’s like the prince in the story. Other times, he’ll sing lullabies to soothe them. When they’ve, at last, settled into sleep, Vil will brush their hair aside and kiss them on the forehead, wishing them sweet dreams.

Riddle is stern, but not emotionally closed off. He has sworn to never be like the tyrant his mother was to him in his youth. Though he may be upset when his child does an oopsie, he takes a deep breath, brings himself down to eye level with them, and calmly explains why it is he feels the way he does. Together, they’ll talk out their feelings and find a compromise that works for both of them.

He plays tea party with his child, even going out of his way to properly address each of their stuffed animals by their full name and title. Riddle sits down in a small plastic chair and pretends to sip his “tea” (cola heavily diluted with water) and eat his “scones and sandwiches” (colored clay cut into lopsided triangles).

They look after the family pets--a pair of hedgehogs--together. Riddle shows hid child where the hedgehogs like to be scratched, and how to properly hold them and bathe them. They love to give the hedgehogs their food, the lie on their bellies and proper their faces up to watch the pets eat.

He sits down with them to help with their homework. If there’s something they don’t understand, Riddle can talk them through it--though he won’t just spout out the answer. He wants his child to be able to think critically for themselves--he’s there to provide a little nudge, if needed.

Riddle and his child often experiment in the kitchen. He’s sure to pick simple, kid-friendly and easy recipes, and makes sure that his kid follows proper safety precautions. They serve you up the dishes they make, from fruit sandwiches to pasta salads to no-bake cheesecakes.

Whenever he’s eating something with strawberries on it, he offers the fruit to his child, since he knows they also enjoy them. They typically banter back and forth a bit before agreeing to split the strawberries in half so both of them can enjoy~

He often takes his child out on strolls through the neighborhood so they can see what life is like outside of the house. If some neighborhood kids want to play with them, Riddle lets his child run freely--he’ll just keep a careful eye on them from a distance.

Like their father, your child is ambitious and intelligent for their age. You can often find them trying to negotiate with their father for various things: later bed times, more allowance for the week, cake for dessert instead of fruit tonight... Azul usually still wins in the end, but he’s a good sport about it and allows the conversations to drag on a little to encourage his kid to put together a coherent argument.

Speaking of allowance, Azul is sure to make sure his child earns that money through various small acts, like doing the dishes or taking out the trash. That’s part of how he shows his love: by instilling values of fairness and working hard into his kid. He also does his part to teach them about the benefits healthy eating and exercise, so his kid can live a long and healthy life!

His child sometimes surprises him at his workplace. Whenever that happens, Azul grants them their own special table in the corner and serves them himself. There’s plenty of free finger foods and endless refills for them, but he’ll gently scold them if they run the risk of overeating or indulging in too many unhealthy foods.

Azul takes his child to the pool or to the beach to swim! He’s notably less enthusiastic about it if he has to do so in his true form, but he’ll do it if his child begs enough. They’re fascinated by his many arms--and to be honest, they come in handy when Azul needs to make a quick rescue or prevent them from drifting too far out on their own. When they’re old enough, Azul holds their hand, and they dive deep to explore the depths.

When the winter comes, Azul personally secures his child in a scarf and several other warm layers before sending them out into the cold. The Coral Sea can get to frigid temperatures during these times of the year, and he tends to worry for his child’s wellbeing and health because of it.

Azul doesn’t give his child gifts often (he wants them to be appreciative for what they already have), but when he does, they are generous ones--a big kitchen playset, a cash register with tons of play money, a lightning-magic powered car they can actually ride in...

Family board game night! Azul has a cabinet full of tabletop card games and board games specifically for these occasions. Monopoly in particular is especially... stiff competition. There’s betrayal and drama around every corner, but you still have tons of fun regardless.

[samstree]

“Hey, Jaskier. Wake up.”

Geralt shakes the bard gently on the shoulder. Through the thin chemise, he can feel Jaskier’s too-warm skin—the fever is down a bit, but not gone.

And the bard remains dead to the world.

“Jask,” Geralt calls again. “Come on, I need to tell you something.”

The bard curls into himself, and that’s when Geralt notices the pillow he’s hugging under the cover—Geralt’s pillow, to be exact.

Jaskier seems to catch these words, and his soft snoring quiets down. Geralt keeps running a hand up and down his bicep but it only serves to make Jaskier bury his face deeper as if he doesn’t want to let go of the blissful oblivion.

Geralt never knew the sight of Jaskier sick and vulnerable could do so many things to his heart, make him feel like a pool of warmth is gathering in his stomach. But again, he never expected Jaskier. Not how much he would come to care for this chatty and colorful bard, not how hopelessly he would be in love with him either.

That’s why he needs Jaskier awake. Now.

“Just open your eyes for a while, Jask. Come on.” At those words, Jaskier’s eyes meet Geralt, sleep-muddled and strikingly blue. Geralt softens at the sight. “I’m in lo—”

“G’ralt?” The bard croaks his name miserably. Blue eyes flutter shut again. A frown forms between his brows. “I’m…so…so tired…”

Jaskier buries his nose into the pillow and inhales. The bard is not a small man but at this moment, he looks as if the bed and the layers of blankets can swallow him whole. Geralt can’t help but wrap his hand around Jaskier’s chin to soothe his distress.

“Shh. Let me say this and you can rest. Come on,” Geralt coaxes. “I love—”

“Why are you so cruel to me?” Jaskier sounds like he’s on the verge of tears, heedless of Geralt’s now twice interrupted confession. “I’m sick. I want to sleep… ‘m cold… alone. I’m alone and I can’t…”

Jaskier trails off, his protests pitiful but he still manages to nuzzle into Geralt’s palm. Is it possible for a witcher’s heart to burst with love?

“It’s the fever talking, Jask.”

Geralt continues to rouse the bard, and finally, finally, Jaskier rubs his eyes open with clarity. An adorable furrow remains, and Geralt wipes it away with a thumb.

“I love you.”

The confession comes out in a whisper, but not because Geralt is unsure of his heart. Only the gods know how long he has been brewing these three words, how he has played out the scene over and over in his head.

Jaskier stares, and stares, the sleepiness in his eyes now completely gone.

“Is this a dream?”

The question is so careful, so full of restrained hope. Geralt’s heart clenches.

“I’ve been in love with you, Jask, for longer than I know.” The corners of Geralt’s mouth tug upward. “I made so many plans for this moment, just so it can be perfect for you, but now... This is enough.”

Jaskier knowing his heart is enough.

“Oh,” Jaskier breathes. “Just like that, you’ve—”

He tries to prop himself up but a pained grimace overtakes his face. His joints must still be aching from the fever. Biting back a grunt, Jaskier lets his body fall to the bed. Geralt moves his hand to the small of his back and starts kneading the taut muscles there. Slowly, the bard leans into the touch and goes completely limp.

“Hmm,” he groans contentedly. “Just like that, you made a grand confession the most anticlimactic thing in the world. My writing professor back in Oxenfurt would be disappointed if you put that in a romance novel, my dear. A random morning, when I’m still in bed, no less.”

“Not random.” Geralt moves to Jaskier’s knees, massaging the soreness away. “Had years of build-up. For me, at least.”

If Jaskier feels any surprise, he hides it well.

“Why now, then?”

Jaskier stills his hands, and Geralt threads their fingers together instinctively. Blue eyes fix on him in earnest.

“You mentioned the fever you went through as a child.”

“And?”

“How it made you feel cold and alone. Like no one could reach you.”

“Like I would be alone forever.” A haunted look clouds the same blue eyes. Geralt squeezes his fingers in sympathy, and feels the gesture returned.

“You talked in your sleep,” he continues. “You begged me not to leave you here alone.”

Jaskier instantly tries to hide his face away, his blush deepening from embarrassment. “Gods, it’s so humiliating. I didn’t mean to—”

“I need you to know that I won’t.” He puts as much conviction in those words as possible. “Because I love you, Jask.”

Deep down, Geralt has long since learned that the bard is not someone he can just leave anymore. But Jaskier won’t know it, not without him saying it out loud. From the looks of it, the bard is taking in everything pretty well. His entire face has turned beet-red, the flush stretching down to the open collar of the chemise, but now, there’s also an air of giddiness in his eyes.

“Come here then.”

Geralt lets himself go to Jaskier, the blankets thrown aside so his body heat can do the work. He guides Jaskier’s head to the crook of his neck and makes sure the bard is nestled comfortably. He buries his fingers in those messy brown locks like it’s where they’ve always belonged.

Jaskier is hugging him tightly with those strong arms, circling Geralt’s torso the same way he always clings to a pillow. The urge to say it again is overwhelming. So he does.

“I love you,” Geralt murmurs into Jaskier’s hair.

“That’s way too many times in a row, darling. One might start to believe it’s genuine.”

The sliver of doubt might be masked under the teasing, but Geralt is too well-versed in Jaskier’s moods to let it slip past his attention. He has to earn the trust, after all these years, after breaking Jaskier’s heart too many times.

“Good. They are,” he adds. “I’ll prove it.”

“When I wake up, maybe.” Jaskier lets out a timely yawn, his voice rough with exhaustion. “First, you’ll have to tell me about your big plans. I’m sure there’s a ballad in there or two.”

“Are you?”

“Mm-hmm. It’s you, you know…” Jaskier’s hand is resting near Geralt’s heart, so he takes it to his lips. “Always the dramatic one.”

Geralt gives up on hiding the grin on his face and places a quiet kiss in Jaskier’s palm. With that, the bard slips into a peaceful slumber, knowing he is loved.

[sunkissedpages]

instead of you [part fifteen]

pairing: [best friend’s brother] tom holland x college!reader

summary: you didn’t expect to spend your summer pretending to be your best friend’s girlfriend- then again, you didn’t expect to fall for your best friend’s brother, either.

warnings: swearing, alcohol consumption

word count: 1.7k

series masterlist

Don’t tell Sam. Sam. SAM.

“Shit.”

You had to fix this in a matter of seconds. Should you slap him? Act like nothing happened? Pretend you were drunker than you actually were and play dumb?

“Wait, you’re not Sam?” you squinted your eyes like you were trying to see who was in front of you, acting like you were too drunk to remember who you were with. “Oh my god.”

“Y/n, I’m so sorry,” Tom tried. 

“I-” you didn’t know how to respond. “Why did you do that?”

He ran a hand through his hair and shook his head. “I don’t know, it didn’t mean anything!” You’d be lying if you told yourself that didn’t sting a little. If he didn’t have any sort of feelings for you, why would he kiss you? “I wasn’t thinking.”

“No, you weren’t.”

“I’m sorry,” he repeated. “Please don’t tell my brother.”

“You want me to lie to my boyfriend?”

“I mean, is it lying if you just don’t mention it?”

“It’s a lie of omission- are you really going to debate me about philosophy right now?”

“Then yes, I do want you to lie to your boyfriend because if he finds out he’ll never speak to me again.”

“You realize what kind of position that puts me in?”

He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Yes.”

You couldn’t even think straight. Feelings of confusion, panic, anger, and regret fought for control of your conscience. “What if someone had seen us? Taken a picture of us? You’re a public fucking figure, Tom. That could’ve put your career at risk.” “Don’t you think I know that?” he growled. “I don’t need you to lecture me on how stupid it was.”

“You’re an asshole,” you scoffed.

“I know.”

You stood from the table to leave, hoping he wouldn’t follow you, but he called after you, your name echoing in your ears like a warning. Reluctantly, you turned back to face him with a bitter taste on your tongue.

“You won’t tell him, right?”

You stared him down for a moment, watching nerves etch themselves onto his features before answering. “You don’t have to worry about it.”

It was a promise you didn’t want to make, but you felt like you had no other choice. You hadn’t just broken the ‘no flirting’ rule, you’d blown straight past it into completely uncharted territory. And technically Tom had been the one to initiate, you hadn’t kissed him back, but you couldn’t say you hadn’t felt something when he did. 

You had never lied to Sam before- at least not on this scale. You felt sick to your stomach, and it had nothing to do with the alcohol. 

You almost didn’t want to go back to your room. You urged the elevator to go as slow as possible as you checked your appearance in the reflective wall. The tarnished gold was smudged with handprints, but you were still able to make out your ruined lipstick. You weren’t sure it had been messed up sometime during dinner, or if it was Tom’s doing but you couldn’t take a chance. You used your thumb to wipe away the evidence as the intercom on the elevator let out a ding to let you know you’d reached your floor.

With a shaky breath you pushed yourself into the hallway and forced yourself to put one foot in front of the other to walk to your room. You didn’t have a key, so you had to knock. You half-hoped Sam was already asleep, even if it meant you’d have to spend the night in the hallway. 

But as luck would have it he was still up and he opened the door seconds later. He was definitely out of it, blinking at you to put you in focus. 

“There you are,” he said tiredly, rubbing one of his eyes with his hand. “I was wondering when you’d come up.”

“I hope I didn’t keep you up,” you apologized as you breezed past him into the room. 

“Nah, I was just messing around.”

A lie, you knew, but you let it slide knowing you were keeping a much bigger secret. He was already dressed for bed in his boxers and one of your t-shirts and his hair was wet from a shower. 

“Are you okay?” he asked, noticing your anxious energy.

You nodded. “I had too much to drink.”

“Ah, me too, I think. Come take a shower. It’ll help.” 

You took his advice and tried to sober up in the shower, letting the cold water run over your bare skin until you were shivering. When it didn’t make you feel any better you turned off the faucet completely and dried off, wrapping a towel around your body and sitting on the edge of the tub. 

“Y/n?” came Sam’s muffled voice from the other side of the door. 

“Yeah?”

“Are you sure you’re okay?” 

You sighed. Why did he have to know you better than you knew yourself? You pushed yourself up from the tub and opened the door. 

“I had like three more shots after you left,” you mumbled.

The color drained from his face as he took in this additional information and he frowned. “Jesus, I thought I was drunk. Do you feel sick?”

“Not yet.”

“Okay, well let’s go to bed,” he urged. His accent was always thicker when he was drunk, and in a funny way it sounded like home, like all of those Friday nights back on campus. 

Sam gave you space to change into your clothes for bed and crawled under the covers to wait for you. You dressed yourself, hung your towel in the bathroom, and shut off the main light before feeling your way through the darkness over to the bed. 

You managed to get your drunk ass in bed without tripping which you considered to be a miracle. Sam slung his arm across your stomach as soon as you settled on the mattress and pulled you against his hip. You tensed underneath his touch, but he didn’t seem to notice. 

You couldn’t relax no matter how hard you tried, and sleep taunted you for hours, hovering just out of your reach. 

Sam’s alarm woke you from restless dreaming some hours later, when the sun had barely brushed the horizon. 

You groaned and rolled over onto your stomach, burying your face in your pillow. Your head was pounding and you didn’t even want to think about facing Tom. The simple motion of rolling over had made you nauseous and you knew that standing up was going to be a whole nother ordeal. 

“Come on, love,” Sam said, nudging you with his knee. He was already sitting up, rolling the tension out of his neck from a night on the stiff mattress. “We gotta be downstairs in a few minutes.”

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes and you felt pathetic. You didn’t have the strength to be around Tom today, especially with Sam right there.

“Don’t feel good,” you moaned.

“We’re all hungover,” Sam sighed. “We’re not even doing that much walking today.”

You turned your head enough for him to see the tears running down your cheeks and he pursed his lips, expression turning worried. 

“Oh.”

“Can you make something up?” you pleaded. 

He nodded. “I’ll tell them you have a fever or something.”

You swallowed your shame and squeezed your eyes shut, whispering thanks into his shirt. Sam kissed your forehead and then got up. You vaguely heard him moving around the room getting ready, but drifted in and out of sleep as he did. 

Once he was dressed he softly told you goodbye, that he hoped you felt better, and that he’d bring you back some food later on. 

The door clicked shut and you let your guilt continue eating you alive. 

You wondered how Tom would react when Sam told his family you weren’t feeling well, if his face would give anything away. He was an actor, he should be able to handle it. But you also wondered what he was feeling, if he felt as guilty as you did- or even more so. Or maybe he wouldn’t even care. You never knew when it came to him.

You rolled onto your back and propped yourself up on a pillow, using the free time to respond to some messages from friends and family. It was the middle of the night back in the States, but at least they’d wake up knowing you weren’t dead. To be fair, everyone knew your communication skills weren’t the best so they probably weren’t expecting anything from you anyway, but you still wanted to put in the effort. 

The rest of the day passed by quicker than you would’ve liked. You spent it in bed, tossing and turning as you desperately tried to fall back asleep. You kept pushing the blankets off of you, then burying yourself beneath them again, flipping between hot and cold. Maybe you really did have a fever. Your clothes were suffocating you so you ended up stripping and dropping them on the floor by the bed. 

By the mercy of some higher power you were able to nap for a couple of hours scattered throughout the afternoon, but by dinner time you were wide awake again and passed the time by watching Avatar: The Last Airbender in Italian on the hotel tv. 

It was playing an earlier episode, the one where the gaang visited Kyoshi Island. You couldn’t understand any of the dialogue, obviously, but you still found comfort in the familiar scenes. 

There was a knock on the door suddenly, startling you out of your focus. You jerked your head towards the sound and scrambled from the bed. You slipped back into your t-shirt, but didn’t bother putting on pants before opening the door because you figured it was just Sam. And it was. He looked exhausted, but in the best kind of way and was holding a styrofoam container of food that was presumably for you.

“Forgot the key,” he said sheepishly, offering you the food. You smiled and took it from him, stepping aside to let him in. 

He didn’t take your cue, instead he stayed where he was standing in the doorway awkwardly. It was then that you realized he wasn’t alone, that his older brother had been standing behind him the entire time.

Sam offered no explanation, only shrugged like he didn’t know why he was there either.

“Tom?” you asked, awaiting an explanation for yourself.

“Can we talk?” 

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[proserpina-magnus]

Regulus Black dating a muggleborn

word count: 2863

[ warning; gender neutral reader, mention of death, description of crying, angst, no happy fucking ending, swearing, mention of lap sitting (none sexual), kissing, awkward teen love, regulus is kind of edgy and a dick sometimes ]

Fanon Regulus, not Canon. This doesn't line up with anything canon! So please do not take this seriously.

- Did I say dating? I meant secretly dating.

- Regulus spotted you studying alone at a table in The Three Broomsticks, he just couldn't hide the part of him that felt an intriguing feeling towards you.

- He asked a few people around, nudging them and gesturing towards you, asking a small "who are they?"

- It took him a few days to finally get someone to answer him and once he knew your name, he knew he'd fallen into a rabbit hole. he couldn't stop thinking about you, his mind twirling around your name in a constant spiral.

- Luckily, you had been partnered with him for a potions assignment. he couldn't talk to you, he couldn't even mutter a "hi" he was so nervous.

- He had never felt this nervous feeling in his stomach, it was coming to the point it was drowning him.

- Finally, the next day during potions he was able to gain enough courage and actually talk to you about the project, though his voice sounded so mellow and drawn out, like honey.

- He didn't try to engage in conversation other than the assignment, so when you offered that you and him could go to the library and do a bit more research, he said yes almost immediately.

- You both decided to go after dinner since the library wasn't as filled in the evening.

- So when he came back to his dorm after eating, he tried to change into something more casual than his school uniform. it took him a good 15 minutes to pick what he deemed was fit for the occasion.

- He was just about ready to step out the door with his books until his dormmate said something that caught his interest.

- "you're meeting up with your potions partner, arent you?"

- "Yeah, why?'

- "Nothing, it's just their a mudblood, you shouldn't be hanging around those types of people"

- "oh... I didn't know they were a... mudblood"

- 'yeah, nasty they are. you should just ditch 'em"

- So regulus did, he ditched you. he felt guilty, leaving you all alone in the library. you must had thought he was another pureblood prick.

- His conclusion was right, you waited for a good thirty minutes for him. When you realized he wasn't coming, you just decided to do the whole project yourself, it was better if you could just get this stupid assignment done yourself so you'd both could go your separate ways.

- The next day when he got to potions class, he saw you pass in a report to Professor Slughorn. He felt his stomach drop, he knew well enough you had finished the assignment last night without him.

- After class, he caught up with you, pulling you aside as he watched you stare up at him blankly.

- "what?" you had asked him, a hand on your hip as you gave an annoyed sigh.

- "I'm sorry I ditched you, I just didn't know you were a... muggle-born" he admitted, looking anywhere but your eyes as he caught a few of Slytherin boys looking at the two of you.

- "whatever, Black"

- " you didn't have to do the whole assignment, I would have helped you."

- Your eyes met the Slytherin boys who were watching you both, you gave a pitiful frown.

- " don't worry about it, I get it. next time, just tell the professor you don't want to work with me. don't lead me on for a stupid joke"

- He didn't get to explain himself as he watched you walk away, he felt horrible. he had never felt this deep connection to someone before, it made his heart sink when he watched you turn the corner.

- A few months pass, he hadn't gotten another opportunity to talk to you again. he felt like an idiot, he had a chance and he completely blew it,

- Late at night, regulus would stare at his ceiling and dream about what would happen if he had just done what he wanted if he had gone to finish the assignment with you. You both would meet up, exchange dislikes and likes, talk about your dreams for the future.

- He couldn't focus on quidditch, it was coming more frequent of his team captain yelling at him.

- Luckily, he had gotten another opportunity to talk to you again. both of you were selected to be a part of the slug club. Regulus was going to say no, but when he heard your name get mentioned, he joined.

- The first dinner party of slug club, was like a dream. his eyes scanned over your outfit and how it looked absolutely pleasing on your body. his eyes kept siding over to where you sat and when you caught him, he would just look away.

- After a few more meetings, he was done with the 'whole looking away whenever you looked at him' ,  there were only a few more months of Hogwarts left. his eyes met yours and he didn't look away, he gave a smile.

- When you had smiled back, he couldn't help but smile a bit wider, his cheeks glowing with a red flame.

- The next meeting, you had sat next to him. it didn't take long until you both had been exchanging words and stories, laughing at jokes and giving each other shy looks.

- After a dinner meeting during slug club, Regulus offered to walk you back to your house common room. (if you are in Slytherin, then he would just walk with you till you both had to go separate ways to your dorm).

- Once you arrived at your destination, it was awkward. He looked anywhere but you, his face was hot with red as he began to get flustered.

- You had said a quiet goodbye, turning to head back to your dorm but he grabbed your hand. Holding you back as he stiffened up and asked you out.

- "will you go out with me? This weekend, it's a Hogsmeade trip, I'll pay." His words were hard, but his body language was a complete mess.

- "you're not gonna ditch me again are you?"

- "no, defiantly not ." His words had still been raw and hard, he felt like he was going to throw up butterflies.

- "I'm a muggle-born, I heard you purebloods don't really like us very much. This kind of seems like a set-up"

- God you hoped it wasn't a set-up, ever since you've sat next to regulus at the slug club meetings, he had stolen your heart.

- "It might become an issue for some... people, but it doesn't bother me much"

- Regulus was defiantly not good at phrasing things, especially romantic feelings.

- You didn't take his words too seriously, you debated for a minute. You wanted to go with him, it felt like every nerve was alive.

- "Alright, one date couldn't hurt" with your words, you leaned up to kiss his cheek.

- "goodnight Regulus" ... and then you had disappointed out of his view. Once you reached your dorm, you screamed into your pillow with excitement.

- The date went well, you both had gone to the three broomsticks sticks and sat at a table near the very back.

- You had talked about everything you could, Though he made sure to stay away from the conversation of his family. He didn't want to ruin the date by mentioning his pureblood supremacist family. It's sorta a mood killer.

- You both stayed out of busy spots, even hiding and giggling in a bush as his dorm mates passed.

- That was your first kiss with regulus, tangled in bushes and twigs as you heard footsteps fading. His lips were soft, his hand coming to rest on your cheek.

- When you pulled away, both of you were flushed and looking towards the soil. He walked you back to Hogwarts, separating ways.

- You both couldn't see each other often, only giving each other looks in class or exchanging waves when passing each other in the hallways.

- It was fine for a few months, though the secret meetings were stressful yet fun. You didn't want to hide anymore, which resulted in your first fight.

- "don't you get it? I can't be seen with you! I've told you about my family. They don't like muggle-borns, this Voldemort guy doesn't either and I can't risk exposing our relationship! You'll get hurt!"

- "I don't care if I get hurt Regulus! Our love shouldn't be hidden because your afraid of what people will think! I'm tired of this sneaking around, I'm sick of it!"

- The fighting continued for minutes, both exchanging hateful words. At one point he had said something very vial, saying he couldn't be seen with someone like yourself.

- "What is that suppose to mean?" You sneered at him, eyes tearing up as your arms crossed over your chest.

- "you know damn well what it means," he said back, quick and hard as he just glared down at you.

- You huffed, turning away as you wiped at your cheek. You turned back, shaking your head at him before disappearing out of the room.

- He stayed in the room for a while, thinking about everything. He was so angry, his veins were about to pop from frustration. He hated his family, he couldn't believe that he would lose the one he loved because of his ratchet mother and father.

- He went to Sirius, which was a first in forever. He explained everything to him, he told him how he was sneaking around with a muggle-born and how he didn't want to stop loving you.

- Sirius smirked, thinking he had finally gotten Regulus to betray their spoiled family. Sirius talked his ear off, telling him that he was glad he was gonna change himself and come join the hated family member club.

- Regulus didn't just want to leave the family, he wanted revenge.

- He disregarded Sirius, telling him to piss off and leave him alone for a while.

- The end of 6th year was coming up and Regulus wasn't given any chance to speak to you. He knew damn well you both hadn't separated, just fought. Though he laid in bed at night and worried so hard he thought his brain was gonna rot.

- On the train, he made sure to pull you into a compartment with just you and him. Shutting the blinds so no one will disturb you both.

- "Regulus I don't want to talk to you"

- "I can't meet with you or write to you all summer, I'm not putting up with this break anymore. I only have 2 hours with you and I'm not wasting it."

- "aren't you afraid you're gonna be spotted with me?" ... Regulus wasn't quite good at sarcasm (HA! As if) but he knew well enough from the tone of your voice that you weren't too happy.

- Regulus sighed hard, watching you look out the window as you played with the bottom of your shirt; tucking it in and out of your skirt/trousers (or whatever you're comfortable in).

- "I'm going to do something crazy over the summer break and I don't know if it's going to work but all I know is if I can protect you, I will."

- "regulus what are you talking about?" You asked, you felt worry build up in your stomach. You reached out, grabbing his hand.

- He instantly interlocked your fingers together, he moved to your side as he stared deep into your eyes. His eyes always looked so cold, but right now in this moment, they felt warm.

- "I love you, honestly, if I could marry you right now I would"

- He denied to speak about what he said before, he didn't give you any more information.

- Halfway through the ride, you had been positioned on his lap. His arms looped around your waist as his head rested in the crook of your neck. He let you play with his hands.

- " I love you too" you mumbled in the quiet atmosphere. Regulus held you tighter at the words.

- "hmm?" He hummed, wanting you to say those words again.

- " you told me you loved me, I didn't say it back. But I do love you regulus, I love all of you."

- Regulus felt himself smiling, he couldn't stop the wide grin as he nudged his head into yours lovingly.

- "I can't wait to see you after the summer break" you whispered to him, kissing his forehead as you felt the train start to slow down.

- Dread filled the empty spaces as you hugged each other as tight as possible, not wanting to let go.

- "it's alright, I'll see you after summer. I promise" he whispered into your ear, before bringing your lips to his and kissing one last time.

- The kiss felt like fireworks, there was so much longing and passion mixed into it you didn't want it to end.

- Sadly, the kiss ended and regulus soon disappeared in the crowd of people.

- That summer, regulus had gotten the death mark, he reeked of anger and emptiness. All he wanted was to see you again, to hold you in his arms and kiss you until you both couldn't breathe.

- He had gotten close to Voldemort, he played all the deatheaters with his fake words and praises. He had learned about Voldemort's Horcruxes.

- Regulus had sat at dinner, fork pressed into his hand as he thought hard. His love for you was so strong, he would kill for it.

- He counted down the days until summer break would end.

- 2 more weeks.... 13 days... 11 days... 8 days...

- On the 7th day before September 1st, his plan came to action. He would destroy Voldemort's Horcrux and defeat him and after, he would live 7th year in peace.

- Though his plans didn't come to a win. It stormed and rages of rain came upon him as he made his way to the cave. All he could hear was his heartbeat and the sound of rain outside, along with the padding of Kreacher feet.

- He could hear his breath, his eyes casting over every edge and dark spot. He smiled, he was going to do it, he was going to defeat Voldemort.

- "Whatever I say Kreacher, don't listen. Just keep feeding me the water"

- Kreacher grumbled, "of course, sir"

- "for you love, all for you" regulus whispered before dipping the shell into the crevasse, bringing it to his lips as he took a sip.

- Drinking the liquid felt like poison, regulus had to fight himself to not throw it up.

- The liquid was almost gone, but Kreacher had to take regulus place and force-feed him. Regulus was begging and thrashing, saying whatever came to mind.

- Regulus couldn't finish the drink, weird slimy skeletons climbed from the water surrounding them. Regulus was in a horrid state he couldn't even tell.

- When Kreacher finally force-feed him the last of it, regulus mind came to stillness. His limbs too weak, but he was able to understand that the weird-looking skeletons were not friends.

- "Kreacher, take the Horcrux and go! Hide it! Try anything to destroy it! Go!" He had yelled out, voice dry and strangled.

- Kreacher had to obey by request, he snapped his fingers and disappeared with the Horcrux.

- Regulus tried to fight, his wand shook in his hand as he casts spells after spells. It worked for a few minutes, but there was only one of him and so many of them.

- Regulus was pulled into the water, he kicked and thrashed in spite of trying to get loose. He couldn't swim even if he escaped, his eyes stared through the muddy water as his lungs filled with it.

- Regulus thought of you, your smile, the first time you kissed him, the way your hand fit in his so perfectly, the way you would send him kind eyes whenever he passed you in the halls.

- He sank, and of course his body was dead, but his mind was still there. He was barely conscious enough, but he was there. His body limp and rotten as the years pass.

- His disappearance travelled fast, you had heard first on the train.

- The first years had wondered why a a 7th year was weeping so bad that they couldn't even stand properly.

- You shook hard, gasping and not even trying to grab anything as you sank to the floor of the train. You couldn't care that people were giving you looks, your boyfriend was gone.

- Regulus was gone.

[otptings]

Tease

Idol; Haechan

Genre; Smut (unprotected, mirror sex, semipublic sex, slight degradation, unintentional edging, exhibitionism, Jaehyun knows too much)

I will be continuing the big dick Haechan legacy I do not care anyway a one shot for one of my favorite brats in NCT hope you guys enjoy and requests are open for any idol that you would like

Letting out a ragged breath I watched as the mirror fogged up. Haechan’s grip on my wrists tightened. Pushing my face directly against the window as his other hand moved its way down to my shorts. 

I don’t regret a single thing.  Haechan has been teasing me every single day. Grabbing my waist and press his cock against my ass in passing, sliding his hand up my thigh when we’re out with the boys. He took it too far by pulling me aside at one of our magazine photo shoots. Pushing me up against a door, sliding his hand underneath of my dress, rubbing me through the built in shorts before walking away. Leaving me horny and flustered in the middle of a photo shoot, with all of the NCT boys. I was fuming. 

For my payback I decided to tease him right back. Haechan likes to sit in on my private dance practices. So I played one of the sexiest songs I knew (Wow by SKZ Danceracha) and danced to it. A dance that had plenty of body rolls, drops with my legs spread, splits, and more. A dance that was more fit for a strip club than for a Kpop group. It did the trick. Haechan got so horny he bypassed the bratty phase and went straight to being dominate. 

His hand pulled my shorts down so they were around my thighs before his finger pushed into me with no warning. I let out a shaky moan as I felt him thrust his finger a few times, before adding in another one. A louder moan left me, the music covering some of the sounds hopefully to anyone walking past. The cool of the mirror on my hot face, and the feeling of his fingers as they worked inside of me, scissoring, and curling up to hit my spot just made my brain go fuzzy. 

“So you like being a tease? You act just like a slut and wonder why I act this way.” Squeezing my wrists I whimpered a little as a pain shot through them.

“Haechannie it hurts.” Haechan only squeezed them again, thrusting in a third finger causing me to let out a moan. The pain and pleasure mixing perfectly, causing a shiver to run down my body.

“Now I’m Haechannie? You really think your slutty ass has the right to call me that.” Haechan pulled his fingers out causing me to whine at the lost of the pleasure. My building orgasm slowly faded away and I felt tears welling up in my eyes. 

“Hands above your head, don’t move them!” Haechan released my hands and I instantly placed them over my head, pressing them against the mirror. I knew the mirror would have visible handprints but I couldn’t care. Pulling my face off of the mirror I looked at Haechan’s reflection, watching him pull off his clothes. His cock rock hard hanging between his legs. Haechan was the biggest that I’ve ever had. He was long and thick. The first time we fucked I refused to believe that he was as big as he constantly bragged. I became a believer after losing the ability to walk the next day. That was pretty hard to explain during dance practice. 

I felt my mouth watering at the thought of finally getting what I've been craving. Taking my shorts off properly he threw them behind me before grabbing my hair and yanking my head back, pulling my face off of the mirror. Pain shot through my scalp and a few tears escaped my eyes. 

“Look at my pretty girl,” his other hand slid up to my neck and squeezed it, “You know I missed you. I like teasing you because of this. Look how fucked out you are already, you’re crying already.” Haechan laughed at me mockingly, releasing my hair. Rubbing his cock against my slit, I moaned at the feeling. Weeks of his teasing between our schedules finally paying off. Haechan slowly pushed his head in and a few tears slipper from my eyes. The feeling of him slowly stretching me out caused me to squeeze around him, a hiss leaving his mouth. 

“Haechannie please.” I let out a loud whine as he bottomed out. Haechan leaned into my ear and I felt myself shiver again as his breath ghosting over it. 

“You might not wanna be too loud either, the door isn’t locked.” I felt myself slowly start to drip at the thought of any of the other boys walking in on us. All of NCT already knew that we were dating, but seeing us in the middle of fucking, inside on of the practice rooms nonetheless is a whole new level. “You liked thinking of one of he boys walking in on us? I can tell by the way you squeezed around my cock. The cute girl maknae getting fucked by her oppa right against the mirror. What do you think they’d say?” Haechan’s grip on my neck tightened as he slowly started to thrust into me. The song in the background had changed again, causing the sound of bed squeaks to fill the practice room (we all know the song). Fitting.

“My pretty girl, so pretty and tight for me.” Haechan’s thrust slowly picked up speed until my face was pressed against the mirror again. I bit my lip trying to hid my moans. Haechan couldn’t say the same he was groaning loudly in my ear. The sounds of skin clapping, and my wetness as Haechan fucked into me were echoing throughout the practice room. I prayed that none of the boys could hear. I felt my orgasm coming around again when Haechan pulled out. A loud whine left my mouth at my second failed orgasm. 

Turning me around Haechan pushed me so that my back was against the mirror. The cold mirror felt amazing against my hot, sweaty skin. Grabbing my left leg Haechan pulled it up to wrap around his waist before thrusting back into me, quickly resetting to the previous brutal pace. This time being able to see him I couldn’t help but let out a loud moan. His golden skin was covered with a layer of sweat that seemed to only make him flow more, his mouth was open and letting out pants and groans freely. He looked like a walking wet dream.

“You feel so good for me princess. So amazing.” Haechan groaned into my ear. “Only for me to see right pretty girl?” I nodded my head quickly another moan slipping out from my lips. 

“Haechannie please.”

“Please what?”

“Kiss me.” Haechan finally connected our lips for the first time. Our lips moved in sync as his thrusts never faltered from the brutal speed that he set. Haechan picked my leg up higher causing his dick to go deeper. I let out a gasp as the blunt head of his cock rubbed against my sweet spot.  “I’m gonna cum, please let me cum Haechannie.” His hand slid down to my clit, rubbing quick, and rough circles into it. I winced from the sensitivity  but the pleasure overtook everything, and I felt my eyes roll back as I cam all over him. Haechan continued to thrust into me, helping me ride out my orgasm, before pulling and jerking himself off quickly. With a loud moan he came on the inside of my thigh, warm and sticky against my skin. 

We stood there in silence before Haechan walked over to his back pack and pulled out wet wipes. After wiping the cum off of us, we got dressed before moving to the couch in the corner to snuggle. 

Someone knocked on the practice room door before it opened, revealed Jaehyun in the door way. He started to walk in to the practice room before making a screwed up face.

“Manager will be here in 10 minutes.” Jaehyun then smirked at us before turning around and walking out of the room. 

“You think he knows?” Glancing over to the mirror I saw that it had smudges, and handprints all over it I nodded my head.

“Definitely.” 

-

“Why did you have wet wipes in your bag?”

“I had planned to fuck you today anyway.”

“Are you fucking serious?”

“You’re hot when you dance what can I say.”

[ncssian]

A Favor: Part Twenty-Eight

Nessian Modern AU

Masterlist

a/n: the beginning of the end :,) if u made it this far i think ur cool

***

“Where do you see yourself in five years?” Lana asks.

Nesta closes her eyes, letting the picture swirl and take shape in her mind.

This time last year, she would have imagined nothing. Nothing but a desk in a busy law office, and maybe a nice apartment if she was lucky. That would be it. But now she sees…

“Somewhere with good food and good music,” she muses. “Maybe a sea breeze.” The sun-faded buildings of Portofino fade into the foreground of her imagination. “There are lots of people with me,” she hears the sound of children shrieking and Cassian’s rumbling laughter, “but it’s okay, because I love every one of them.” Her eyes open. “Is that a good answer?”

A near invisible smile tugs at the corners of Lana’s lips. “You tell me, Nesta. Do you like what you see?”

“It’s a little too cinematic if you ask me,” Nesta says nonchalantly, picking up her bag from the ground, “but I suppose all dreams are that way.”

“It’s a good dream,” Lana says. “A worthy dream, and one you deserve to chase.”

Nesta shrugs lightly, not too worried about the burden of the future for once. “Maybe I will.”

“In that case, congratulations on completing your final therapy session,” Lana says, setting her notebook aside. “You’ve made some amazing progress this year.”

Nesta gives her therapist her signature what’s-wrong-with-you look. “I’m going on vacation, not firing you for good. I’ll see you again in two months.”

“Two months can be enough to lose all your progress, if you forget everything you went through to get here.”

Nesta isn’t stupid. She knows that she isn’t suddenly desperate to make babies or be maid of honor at her sisters’ weddings or some bullshit. She knows that the image she just dreamed up, with Cassian and kids and her unburdened heart, is likely more than five years away. If it happens at all, it could be ten, even twenty years of hard work away.

She’s not nearly finished growing yet. “I’ll see you in two months, Lana,” she repeats.

Lana smiles at her fully this time. “Enjoy your summer, Nesta.”

***

The air is different in the Smokies.

Nesta rolls the truck windows down so she can inhale it, relish it. Wind whips her hair every which way as they drive down the winding freeway cutting through the lush mountains, and something about the look on her face makes Cassian chuckle and press down on the accelerator.

Nesta watches the red needle on the speedometer cross ninety, then one hundred. She can barely feel the June heat with how fast they’re going.

In the end, it was Feyre and Elain that reached out and invited her to the Tennessee summer home. Cassian had made it obvious that he wouldn’t push her to go if she didn’t want to, and at first she really didn’t want to. But Feyre had looked so hopeful when she asked Nesta to come with them, and even Elain had revealed a glimmer of eagerness that Nesta would say yes.

So against all odds, she agreed to go.

Exchanging one mountain home for another isn’t much of a getaway, but Nesta can’t help but be excited. Even with the unhappy memories of her childhood, she loves these hills more than any other.

The pure exhilaration of being back in Tennessee overcomes her at some point during the drive, knocking her out in the passenger seat where she sits. In her drowsy state, she distantly hears the windows being rolled up, before feeling Cassian’s hand guide her head to rest against the glass. The rest of the drive is warm and sunny, enough to lull her into a deep sleep.

The next thing Nesta’s aware of is the crunch of gravel and the feeling of the truck tires slowing to a stop. Fingers brush against her heated cheek, and then Cassian is murmuring at her to wake up.

Blinking her eyes open, Nesta twists around to see their destination.

For a moment, she thinks she’s still dreaming.

“Welcome to Holly House,” Cassian says with a grin. The house in question is quaint and sprawling at the same time, the way most upper class Southerners like their houses. The whole thing gleams with a fresh coat of white paint under the afternoon sun, complemented by a sky blue wraparound porch. Colonial style windows and proud columns decorating the facade of the building makes it look like the setting of a fairy tale.

Beyond it, Nesta can see cherry blossoms. Pink, fluttering cherry blossoms that fly off their branches and swirl through the air, some of them disappearing into the thick woods behind the house. Woods that Nesta has walked countless times before.

“The rest of the guys won’t get here until tomorrow afternoon,” Cassian is saying to her, “so we have the whole place to our—”

Nesta isn’t listening anymore. She unbuckles her seatbelt and shoves open the truck door, hobbling outside on unsteady feet to make sure she isn’t hallucinating things. But no, this is…

“Cherrywood,” she breathes, eyes wide in disbelief.

Cassian gets out of the truck, coming up beside Nesta to slip his hand into her shorts pocket. “What’s wrong? You okay?”

“This is Rhysand’s summer home?” Nesta points at the house. “This place?”

Cassian looks around at the building grounds in confusion. “Has been for the last two decades, yeah.”

It’s been eleven years since she last stepped foot on these grounds.

With wonderment in her voice, she utters to Cassian, “I’ve been here before.”

At his puzzled look, she explains, “I lived just on the other side of those woods.” She points to the trees. “There’s an old cracked road that hasn’t been maintained since it was first paved, and you can follow it straight to the poor side of town. Whenever I wanted to get away, I would come down that road and trek through the woods, and I’d end up here. I stopped coming because…” she trails off.

Because she got caught that one time.

Cassian seems to realize it at the same moment as her. His hand slips out of her pocket. “You…”

Nesta remembers a tall boy with shocked eyes and shaggy hair, and she shakes her head slowly in forceful denial. It can’t be true. It’s too much of a coincidence.

But he points at her, then her feet. “You—with the size six Converse,” he sputters. “It was you.”

Before Nesta can confirm or deny it, he grabs her by the wrist and starts tugging her along, up the porch stairs and inside the house.

Even with Rhysand and Feyre’s renovations, it looks undeniably the same as all those years ago. The living room is to her right and the farmhouse style kitchen and dining area is to the left, though she speeds by it all as Cassian pulls her farther inside the house, to the closet beneath the curving stairs.

He lets go of her hand to search the small closet, muttering, “I know they were here somewhere.” But the closet looks like it was stripped empty for renovations, with only bolts in the walls indicating that shoe racks used to hang there.

Cassian turns and heads for the stairs, and Nesta blindly follows him. She also wants to go upstairs, wants to see if the bay window looking out onto the garden has stayed the same.

Like he read her mind, he leads her straight to the room she used to spend hours reading in. It’s smaller than all the other bedrooms in the house, but it’s always been her favorite because of the view.

As Cassian keeps looking for whatever it is he’s looking for, upturning boxes and checking beneath furniture, Nesta drifts toward the bay window. She looks from the cherry blossom trees outside, to the full-sized bed, to Cassian, and a weight drops even heavier in her gut. She has to reach out and grip the edge of the dresser for support.

Finally, Cassian pops out of the closet victorious. In his hand are a pair of ragged shoes that Nesta hasn’t worn in a long, long time.

He comes over and drops them with a thud at her feet.

“Whose room is this?” she asks with a rough voice, still staring down at the shoes.

“Mine,” he answers simply.

“Oh.” She met him before. She met him before.

When Nesta dares to look up and meet Cassian’s eyes, what she finds there nearly robs her of breath: wonder, astonishment, and unwavering fealty. He breaks into sudden wholehearted laughter, which dazes her even more.

“What’s so funny?” she demands.

Cassian gets out between laughs, “What was it Rhysand said about Feyre? When they found out they were close to crossing paths when they were younger?”

Nesta’s earth-tilting shock slowly slips away, replaced by a stern look. “Don’t say it.”

He pretends to remember. “I think it was fate.” A wicked smirk pulls at his lips at Nesta’s resigned sigh. “But I have another word for it, too.”

“Don’t say that, either.” She pleadingly holds up her hands, only for Cassian to snatch one out of the air and intertwine his fingers with hers.

“Soulmate,” he says quietly, now less amused.

Nesta swallows thickly, not having any words for him. All she knows is that he is never going to let her live this down.

“Imagine if we’d gone to the same high school,” Cassian says to her later that afternoon as they lounge in his old room. “Fuck, I could’ve saved myself so much time with all those random girls.” They’ve been swapping childhood stories for the past hour, as if they might find more instances in their history of a red string tying them together.

Nesta doesn’t need coincidences or fateful run-ins to know that a string has always been wrapped around her ring finger, pulling her to Colorado and to that cabin. But for Cassian’s sake, she’ll gladly amuse him. “I would have been a freshman while you were a senior,” she says matter-of-factly. “It never could have happened.”

He hums in thought, head propped up in his hand, elbow propped up against the bay window seat. “Maybe if you were older. You would have been the smart, quiet girl, and I’d have been the player jock, and as soon as we locked eyes in math class, I’d be head over heels in love with you.”

Nesta cackles from where she sits in the window seat above him. “Now you’re just writing fanfiction.”

Cassian grins up at her but doesn’t send a rebuttal her way. The conversation falls into a lull, until Nesta has to reach out and ask, “What are you thinking?”

His smile turns a little sad. “That I wish we weren’t doing this right before I leave for another country.”

Right. That’s what’s been hanging over them the entire trip to Tennessee: that as soon as they get back to Colorado, Cassian is going to be on a plane to Milan.

Getting Keith O’Connell to quit—how exactly Cassian went about accomplishing it, he still won’t tell Nesta—left Rhysand at square one with his search for a team leader for his overseas venture.

When Cassian brought up the idea of taking the job to Nesta, he sounded like he hoped she would shoot him down, talk him out of it. He both wanted to go and was reluctant to leave, like his very soul was glued to his home and he didn’t want to unstick himself.

So Nesta, being his home, had to do the unsticking for him. She nearly accepted the year-long Milan position herself for Cassian’s sake, and it took weeks of coaxing and convincing to put him at ease about the whole thing.

“But we promised to go together for the first time,” he kept saying.

“We’ll still go together one day, and it’ll still be our first time there with each other,” she reassured him.

Eventually, he relented to her and Rhysand’s pressures with a single condition. “I’ll do six months. Not a year.”

Only Nesta knows deep down how much Cassian needs this opportunity. Though Cassian must know it a little bit too, because he wouldn’t have taken the job if he didn’t.

Nesta might have needed him in order to come out of her shell, but now he needs to get away from her in order to find his own shell. Something he can call his own, unburdened by his loyalties to the people he loves. So he can find who he wants to be for himself, without always being attached to her hip.

Rising to her feet, Nesta raises her arms in the air in a full body stretch. Her back and legs ache with being curled up in that window seat for so long without movement.

Dropping her arms, she holds out a hand to Cassian still sitting on the floor. “Come on,” she urges him. “Let’s go outside. I haven’t seen a Smoky sunset in years.”

“But it’s not evening yet,” he argues while taking her hand.

Outside, they explore the garden that leads into the woods while waiting for the sun to slink down the sky. Cherry blossoms ride the summer breeze wherever it takes them, resulting in Cassian sniffling and scratching at his neck as they walk hand in hand.

“Rhysand wanted to take these trees down and replace them with a flower garden for Elain,” he tells Nesta as they walk. His sinuses sound clogged, but he’s refused to go back inside until he’s explained every inch of the land to Nesta. “I convinced him not to because it would ruin the view from my bedroom window. Didn’t I make the right choice?” He throws a grin in her direction.

Nesta’s swallow is tight at that grin. “The view from your room was always my favorite part about the entire place. So yes, you did good.”

His eyes widen at that tidbit of information, and she can almost see him tucking it away as more Soulmate Evidence.

They stroll through the woods for a while, and Nesta points out the path she would take to get to Cherrywood—she still insists on calling it Cherrywood, even when Cassian argues that the house’s original name has been around since the sixties.

“Show me the rest of the way?” Cassian asks her, face lit up in boyish hope. “Show me where you ran away to that day I found you.”

Nesta almost expects the memory of the rundown apartment complex she grew up in to feel like being shoved into sludge: dirty, cold, and slimy. Instead, she finds she has no problem with looking back at her old home, no matter how many ugly memories she holds from there.

However, the dappled sunlight streaming in through the trees overhead has turned from yellow to dark gold, and she shakes her head in apology to Cassian. “Another day,” she promises him. “It’s almost sunset.”

They walk back to the house, rounding it until they reach the front. At the bottom of the hill that the house is perched on stands a pier that leads all the way out to the lake. Green mountains frame the lake from both sides, creating the perfect cradle for the sun to sink into.

They go all the way out to the edge of the pier, as if they’re trying to get as close to the sunset as physically possible. Dragonflies lazily swoop by as the lake is gradually painted in a hundred different colors.

Once there’s more darkness than light in the sky, Cassian nudges Nesta with one of the arms he has around her. “Look.” He points.

Along the shoreline of the lake, little dots of light have lit up to welcome the evening, their blinking glow so small that Nesta almost doesn’t catch it. Fireflies.

Nesta watches the insects flit in and out of the long grasses of the lake shore, getting tangled in the weeds and wildflowers. In that moment, she remembers something Cassian once confessed to her not long after his birthday.

I want to see more beautiful places with you.

Nesta ticks this beautiful place off the long list in her head—the first place out of many that she plans to see with Cassian.

More beautiful than the scene before her is the man in her arms. The man who was kind enough to understand a woman who barely understood herself, and to be her friend when she had none. The man who is extending his kindness right now by not having made any breaking-and-entering jokes about Nesta so far, though she’s sure he’ll pull them out eventually.

Discovering that she once found Cassian, just to let him slip by running away from him, only to find him again over a decade later—it comforts the tiny part of her that’s loath to say goodbye to him in two weeks.

Like Cassian is thinking the same thing, he murmurs into the dark, “I can’t wait to come back to you.”

Nesta huffs in amusement. “You haven’t even left yet.”

“I know.” After a moment, he adds in a low voice that not even the fireflies can hear, “Thank you for convincing me to go.”

She reaches up to squeeze his bicep. “Always.” And then she adds what she really wants him to hear: “Don’t come back until you find what you’re looking for.”

“I better find it quick then,” he jokes. Still, he nods in promise against the side of her head.

The only sound after that is the chirp of cicadas and the occasional lap of water meeting the pier beams. Nesta and Cassian stay outside in the June heat long after the sky turns ink blue.

***

a/n: next chapter is just some ic bullshit so take all ur bittersweet sentimentality here and go

tagging: @sjm-things @thewayshedreamed @drielecarla @valkyriewarriors @superspiritfestival @aliveahaahahafuck @cupcakey00 @sayosdreams @rainbowcheetah512 @claralady @thebluemartini @nessiantho @missing-merlin @duskandstarlight @lucy617 @sleeping-and-books @everything-that-i-love @cassianscool @swankii-art-teacher @wannawriteyouabook @arinbelle @awesomelena555 @julemmaes @wickedqueenoffantasy @poisonous-bloom @observationanxioustheorist @gisellefigue08 @courtofjurdan @theoverlyenthusiasticwriter @wolfiixxx @cass-nes @seashade @royaltykxx @illyrianundercover @monstrousloves-explodinggalaxies @humanexile @that-golden-lyre @agentsofsheilds @mercy-is-alive @cassiansbigwingspan @laylaameer01 @verypaleninja @maastrash @bow-dawn @perseusannabeth @dead-on-the-inside666 @jlinez @hungryreadingaddict @anidealiveson @planet-faerie @shallowhighwaters @ghostlyrose2 @chosenfamily-valkyriequeens @rarephloxes @readiajin @nessiantrashh @live-the-fangirl-life @ifinallygavein @xoblivisci @sjmships @jungtaekwoonie-is-life @lysandra-tiara @lanyjoy-13 @post-it-notes33 @loosingdreams @fromthelibraryofemilyj @18moneytoad @dontgetsalmonella @champanheandluxxury @togreblog @ladygabrielli1997 @meridainthedisneyland @moodymelanist @pixieelea @teagoddess99 @mystic-bibliophile

[yeojaa]

feed me, fight me.

pairing.  boxer!jjk x f!reader.  rating.  explicit.  tags.  relationship issues, baby angst, comfort, unprotected sex (please be responsible!).  wc. 3.5k.  beta reader.  @hobi-gif​, always.  💖  author note.  i’m really into comfort fics rn so... 

What do you get when you mix a pissed off girlfriend with a neglectful boyfriend?  (Aside from trouble, that is.)

The answer is you - throwing punches far harder than you should be, completely disregarding the fact that you’re meant to be playing the part of perfect partner, meeting pads in the sequence he’s laid out.  It’s you throwing a hook when you should be swinging an uppercut.  It’s you, snapping your leg out with a satisfying thunk! of your shin when you should only be thip kicking.  It’s you, not giving a single damn as you take out all your frustrations on someone who’s growing increasingly more irritated by your childishness.  It’s you, blatantly disrespecting him in his ring - sending a reminder that there’s more to life than the four corners of this space. 

How can he blame you though, when he’s the reason?  When you’ve voiced your annoyance more than once - more than twice, more times than you care to count - and each time it’s met with a half-hearted apology (if you could even call it that)?  How can he hold it against you when you’ve asked, demanded, pleaded for more? 

“Cut it out,”  he seethes, quiet, under his breath, irritation igniting his expression, something hot and angry burning in the dark of his stare.  A withering wildfire in an empty field, smoldering coals flickering bright.  It presents itself in how his mouth curls, the hard line of his jaw as bone threatens to snap in half from the tension. 

“Cut what out?”  Your retort is punctuated by the smack of leather on leather, the worn edge of your boxing glove meeting the pad that Jungkook raises just in time to avoid a black eye. 

“What’s your problem?”  How he manages to snipe back - somehow sounding disgruntled by your behaviour - you’re not sure.  All you know is it boils your blood, searing heat within your veins when he effortlessly blocks your next jab.  He knows you well and knows the sport better, predicting each movement as if you’re telegraphing it all with a giant neon sign on your forehead. 

(You probably are.  You’ve never been good at hiding your emotions, pinning your heart on your sleeve, your sadness heavy in your mouth.  They wear you, rather than you it.  A weakness of yours.)

“You’re my problem.” 

“Shut up.”  It’s not the usual exasperated annoyance he levels you with, meaner and paired with a swat of your gloved hand.  He’s not supposed to be countering you, instead only blocking the punches you throw his way. 

(But then again - when did he ever listen to you?  When did he ever do what he was supposed to?)

(It’s not a fair assertion.  You’re just mad.  Livid beyond belief, standing atop this hill that you’ll happily die on.)

“Fuck you,”  you snap, offering the petulant comeback in the same instance you surge forward.  He blocks your jab - sees it coming from a mile away - and goes to block your hook. 

Except it never comes, your knee straightening out instead, hard edge of your shin slamming right into the side of his leg. 

He crumples more out of surprise than anything, eyes wide, all the anger swept away by something closer to astonishment.  It shines impossibly bright in his eyes, turning his entire expression upside down when his knee hits the ground.  By how he falls, you’re sure you’ve hit just the right spot, left his nerve endings buzzing uncomfortably as the feeling leaves the limb. 

“Are you serious?”  You know he’s genuinely baffled then, voice slipping, cracking in a way you’d normally find adorable.  (It goes to show how upset you are, the awkward split of his words doing nothing to soothe your temper.)  “What’s your issue?”  He’s still seated on the floor, rocking back on his heels, brow knit in consternation.  It’d take him seconds to jump up - to put you on your ass - but he chooses to remain where he is, staring up at you with that look on his face.

(That look you love.  That you hate.  That makes your insides turn to goo on his best days and misery on your worst.  That you’ve seen every single day for the last three years, as the first thing upon waking up and the last thing before passing out.  That makes you hesitate now, peering down into it.)

(Were you being unnecessary?  Unbearable?  Was this on you?)

“I’m going home.”  It’d be nice to tear your gloves off, throw them in his face and storm off in a huff.  It’d cause the scene you’re hoping for, push him to where you need.  (Because that’s the thing about Jungkook - he doesn’t react otherwise and you’re sick of it.)  Instead, you turn on your heel and slink away, silent as a mouse.  

You’re tired.  Too tired.  Why had you started something you couldn’t finish?

It shouldn’t surprise you that you’re home alone for hours that night, curled up in bed and half-asleep when light from the hallway spills into your bedroom.  It comes with hardly any noise, a tell-tale sign he’s trying not to wake you (or disturb you or get caught).  You almost let it slide when his figure appears in the doorway, broad frame swallowed up by the oversized sweater he wears.

He’s moving near silently, having already deposited his gym bag in the laundry room.  He doesn’t even switch the light on, moving around in the muted glow of the hallway, fumbling as he strips his clothes off and tosses them into the hamper against the wall. 

You expect him to head directly into the en suite, wash away whatever grime he’s accumulated throughout the day.  He’s always been this way, far too concerned with dragging in odour and dirt into your bed to do otherwise.

Except tonight, he doesn’t follow his usual routine.  Tonight, he makes a detour.

The bed dips before you realise what’s happening, grip on the pillow under your head tightening.  Words fit between your teeth, ready to spill out, lash out, tear out like a bullet deadset on landing a bullseye. 

“I’m sorry.”  Two words you’ve been waiting to hear, that startle you enough to throw your anger out the window, tossing them out with the wash.  “I don’t know why you’re upset but I’m sorry for whatever it is.”  He’s speaking into the quiet of your bedroom.  You can feel his hand settled on the bed, wrist somewhere over the line of your spine.  

Oh - he thinks you’re asleep.

“Things have been crazy.  I’ve been stressed.”  Here, under cover of night, he’s vulnerable, explanation tumbling forth uncertainly.  You can hear it in the way the words form, syllables slipping into each other - a sure sign of his exhaustion.  “I know that’s not an excuse, so I’ll be better.”  Though he readjusts, weight distributing differently over the bed, he isn’t touching you.  You can only imagine how he looks, the posture he’s taken on, arms leant over knees, hands twisting together in that way of his that begs a silent help me.  A version of him you’ve seen only a handful of times.  

(Jeon Jungkook does not let things get to him.  Never has, likely never will.  He’s immaculately put together, strung tight by years of growing up too fast, wanting too much and fearing it’ll slip away.  He goes and goes until he can’t any more and only then does he still, crashing headlong over a cliff of his own creation.)

It’s then that you realise while you’ve grown irritated with his preoccupation, coming second to the man you’ve only ever put first, he’s been suffering right alongside you.  Differently, certainly, but suffering nonetheless.  Holding his cards close as he’s always done, shouldering all the things on his own and hoping for the best.

Irritation flares first.  Anger at the fact that he hadn’t confided in you.  It burns bright, erodes everything else in its path.

And then it dims almost immediately, overshadowed by a tenderness that blooms in the small of your chest.  Rosebuds that fill the cavity and swath affection in broad strokes, colouring everything purple - a pretty mosaic made up of equal parts love and sadness.

“You should’ve said something.”  

Bambi-eyed baby is your nickname for your boyfriend - one he reluctantly wears, scowls at when you use it in public - and yet you’re still blown away by the glossiness of his stare, how wide it goes when you roll to face him, simultaneously flicking your bedside light on.  There’s embarrassment crowding his expression, lighting up every handsome facet of his features in technicolour.  He works to hide it almost immediately, moves back on the bed as if he might find himself a home in the shadows.

“I thought you were sleeping,”  he mumbles, not quite looking at you, stare focused on your pillow case, the white linen that you’d bought when you’d moved in together.  “Did I wake you up?”

Though his concern is real, you know it’s a distraction too.  His way of deflecting, shifting the focus back to you.  

(Jeon Jungkook doesn’t live in the spotlight.  Hates it, in fact.  It’s a curious combination - wanting to be praised, to show off, and yet fearing failure so strongly.  A worrying mix when he’s down and an endearing one when he’s up.)

You’re still cocooned, still held far enough away that he hasn’t run for the hills, locking himself in the bathroom to put a further physical barrier between you.  Should you move too fast, you know he’ll spook.  Push too hard, he’ll leave.  

“Couldn’t sleep without you.”  It’s true enough.  Dreams had evaded you for the better part of the evening, held somewhere by hands inked like his, blemished by scars and calluses like his. They’d been kept in his coat pocket, tucked behind his ear.  (So maybe it’d been anger, too, that’d kept you up.  That doesn’t matter now.)

The disbelief is evident, both in his words and the quirk of his mouth, bathed in dim light.  “Really?”

(You sometimes wonder how different the two of you see things.  What a day looks like from his point of view - whether he reads all of your interactions in the same way.  You’ve always been terribly incompatible in that way, opposites in so many respects that it’d frankly baffled your friends when you’d started dating.

You were intent - sometimes too intent - on resolving problems, never letting up.  Forcing conversations you felt you needed to have, demanding answers even before there was one.  He, on the other hand, was uncomfortable with conflict, choosing to ignore the things that bothered him until they went away.  It’d driven you absolutely insane at first, made you worry that it was you that was the issue, simply being too much.  

But over time - three long years, to be exact - you’d found a common ground.  Or so you’d thought.)

“Why are you so surprised?”  

“You were pissed earlier.”  There’s a lightness to his tone, careful consideration poured into each word he offers, as if he’s navigating a minefield.  You’ve had these kinds of disagreements too many times for him to believe otherwise, as if his caution is a part of him, stitched lovingly - forcefully - by your hand.  “Thought you wouldn’t wait up for me.”  

“I shouldn’t have,”  you retort before you can help it, still just a little childish, a little hurt.  “But you know I hate going to bed angry.”  Of course he knows.  He’s lost hours of sleep due to your insistence that everything be talked out. 

He hums a noncommittal sound - more of a grunt - and you know your window is closing.  Now that you’re not out for blood, he’s retreating as he always does.  Readying himself to rise from the bed, close this half-read chapter and move onto the next. 

You beat him before he can, curling your fingers around his wrist, over the dangling silver chain.  (His birthday gift this year, heavy metal that’s cold under your touch.)  

“Don’t.”

One blink.  Another.  Slow and confused - deliberately so.  Then he’s looking away, staring down at the ground as if you haven’t just read his next move.  The ring might be his domain but home is yours;  it’s the one place you hold the upper hand.  “What?”  

“Don’t leave.”  It’s easy to read the meaning in between your words, the unspoken request that might as well be brilliant red ink.  It’s far kinder than your usual demands, more pleading than begrudging, more need than want.  

“I need to shower.”  

It’s not a no - which you suppose is a win. 

“Just wait.”  Your request comes with an adjustment, whole tired frame rising from the bed only to sink back down - this time against your partner, your other half, your infuriating love.  He accepts you readily, dropping his ink-strewn hand over your covered thigh.  The weight is comforting over the warmth of the duvet, grounding you in the quiet of your home.

“I’m gross,”  he complains, though he doesn’t make to move away.  Stays right by your side when you drop your head against his bare shoulder.  “Now you’re gross.”

“We can be gross together.”  Because you’re not ready for him to leave you, to close the door as he so often does.  (And, for once, you’re not quite as angry, not seeking an argument that’ll give you the resolution you hope for.  You want communication, open and honest.  You want him, vulnerable and soft.)

A little sigh comes, a puff of breath that expands his doughy cheeks and sends wayward strands fluttering.  It’s less resigned and more endeared - you know how much it means when his acquiesces like this.  

Maybe he wants those same things, you think.  

“Do you wanna shower?”  You ask in perfect tandem, words folding together.  You nod in the same way.

Encased in the small space - it’s different.  He’s preoccupied, back turned to you, shielding you from the slow-heating stream.  It’s as if his mind is a thousand lightyears away, trapped somewhere with the stars as the water rains down around the two of you, fogging the glass and wetting his hair. 

“Babe?”  

There’s a delay before he reacts, peering over his shoulder at you, a faraway look in his eyes.  You wonder what he’d been thinking of, whether he’s still on the same page as you or if he’s skipped ahead as he tends to do.  When he speaks, you have your answer, his words flicking through paper to bring you two where you need to be.  

“Can you wash my hair?”  An indulgent treat he rarely requests, one he seldom allows.  He’s far too on the go, jumping from this to that to spend much time like this with you. 

It’s a sign if there ever was one. 

You reach for your shampoo bottle wordlessly, popping the cap and depositing sweet peach-scented liquid into your hands.  They fold into his strands carefully, tips of your fingers pressing into his scalp, delightful bubbles accumulating between your digits.  He doesn’t make a sound but you feel the way he relaxes, practically melting into your touch as you work the cleanser through his roots, careful to keep the suds from descending into his eyes. 

When was the last time you’d done this?  Weeks ago?  Months, maybe?  You honestly can’t recall.  (Not that it matters now.  You’ve found yourselves back here, terribly tender and intimate in the dead of night.  Almost as if no time has passed at all.)

Silence stretches between the two of you.  You don’t even need to instruct him to rinse, running seamlessly through the routine without hesitation. 

Conditioner replaces shampoo, deft fingers combing through the few knots in his feather soft strands.  Though there are hardly any, you know he loves when you take extra care, treating him in ways he’d never ask for otherwise.  He savours these quiet moments of almost-solitude, spoiled rotten by your familiar touch and comforting affection.  

You’d give it every single day if you could.  Had, in fact. 

That’s what’d brought you here, after all. 

“‘m sorry,”  he says - mumbles really - surprising you as you’re working your fingers into the nape of his neck, concentrating on the tension that’s carved out a home beneath muscle and sinew, turned bone iron-clad. 

“For what?” 

Any other time, it might’ve come across demanding, needing an answer that would soothe whatever inadequacy he’d somehow strung your heart up with.  Now, it’s genuine, asked more for him than you.  

You want to be let in.  Need it. 

“Being out of it, I guess.”  It’s a lot for him - admitting this.  “I’ve just been busy and I guess I kind of just—“  The imposing line of his shoulders rise and fall, a mountain range disturbed by the uncertainty in his voice.  

“Forgot about me?”  You don’t mean it meanly.  It’s a simple statement of fact, one the both of you have to face. 

“Yeah.  Something like that.”

You deliberate accepting the apology and moving on, sweeping it under the rug because he’s already come so much further than you’d thought he would.  But that’s not the kind of person you are, so you press just a little more, stand just a little taller. 

“I don’t think I ask for the world, Kook.”  Maybe more than some people.  Maybe less than others.  “If I’m being too much, I’d rather you let me know than shut me out.”

A sigh comes, so heavy you wonder whether he might be Atlas, carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders.  

“No, I know.”  

“Do you?”

(At some point you’d stopped massaging the conditioner in, opting to crowd your hands over his back, working into the knots that run beneath his skin.  He hadn’t been lying - he’s stiff as a board, entire broad form twitching any time you press the pads of your thumbs into a particularly sensitive spot.)

“I thought I’d figure it out myself,”  he reasons, in that oh-so impossible Jeon Jungkook way of his.  “Didn't realise it was taking a toll on you.” 

“On us,”  you correct, not at all tactful.  

“On us,”  he agrees with another sigh, smaller this time, tinged blue with something that feels like guilt and fills up the glass space. 

“We’re a team, you know.” 

(You know he knows.  You just have to remind him sometimes, anchor him with the knowledge that it’s not him against the world.  That you’re in his corner - always.)

“I know.” 

When he turns to look at you - doesn’t even flinch when the sudden movement has you wobbling on your feet, catches you when you stumble - you don’t doubt that.  He loves you just as much as you love him, sees the whole world in the small of your stare.  

“I’m sorry,”  he says again, two hands coming to cradle your face, palms warm over each cheek.  “Just give me some time.”  For what, you’re not sure.  You don’t mind waiting to find out though - willing to weather the storm just to see him happy.  

Jungkook holds you close, threads his fingers through yours and peppers love into the silk of your hair.  Dresses your skin in the heat of his affection and sears his signature into the velvet of your skin, teeth dragging, tongue gliding.  

“Is this better?”  He means how he holds you, how he treats you like porcelain as he fucks you slow and tender, keeps one leg hooked back over his own. 

It’s not that this is the kind of lovemaking you prefer but rather the one you need, with him consuming you wholly, sweetly, filling you with each fluid roll of his hips and nothing else.  No elaborate dirty talk, no overzealous bouncing, just the two of you together, curled against each other like you might not survive otherwise.  

He’s not pushing you to your finish with deft fingers over your clit, not taking his fill with greedy hands.  He’s simply there, with you, feeling every curve of your body as he sinks into your aching cunt and sighs as if he’s in heaven.  (And maybe he is - because where he is could only ever be where you are and you feel like you’re floating, weightless and lovestruck, anchored only to your bed by the hand that squeezes yours and the mouth that purrs your name.) 

“Yes,”  you breathe, exhale in a breath that seems to take all of your effort.  It’s hard to focus when he splits you open so well, fills your pussy and your heart and makes your chest erupt with a kaleidoscope of butterflies. 

“I love you, sweetheart.”

When he says it like that - folds it like a promise and tucks it into the spot behind your ear - you know it’s true.  Even if you don’t always feel it, even if he doesn’t always show it, there’s not a doubt in your mind. 

In all the ways he can, he loves you.  And whether that means enough from one day to the next, you don’t mind sticking around to find out.  Not if it means more of this. 

(Of him, of you, of your life together.)

tag list.  @neverthefirstchoice @youwannabelostandnotbefound @snackhobi @codeinebelle

[ahkaahshi]

steadfast [miya osamu x reader]

pairing: miya osamu x fem reader + miya atsumu x reader x suna rintarou

genre: smut (18+)

warning(s): explicit sexual content, group sex (threesome), cuckolding, dirty talk, swearing, praise, daddy kink, deep throating, squirting, brief mentions of jealousy, and just a lil bit of that competitive spirit ya know?

word count: 4.3k

overview: after years of witnessing suna and atsumu shamelessly flirting with his girlfriend, he decides to give them one chance to change her mind knowing damn well she won’t.

By nature, Osamu is observant. Few things escape his attention, whether it’s trace amounts of ice cream disappearing from his tub in the freezer or the longing look you always give him moments before you press your lips against his in an affectionate kiss. Though he wants to pay full attention to the intense game of Super Smash Bros.a few of his former teammates are playing, he can’t help but let his eyes wander to your form as you shuffle into the kitchen to grab another beer. It’s not for you, but for his twin brother who places a lingering touch against the small of your back upon accepting it.

To the untrained eye, the action would appear as a gesture of appreciation and nothing more. But Osamu understood his brother well enough to know that he’d always had a habit--or intention, rather--of being handsy with you. His dark, stone-colored gaze quickly flicks back to the game on the television, however, when you saunter over to him to lean down and place a gentle kiss against his temple.

“Need anything, babe?” you ask, (e/c) eyes tracing over the handsome features of your boyfriend’s face.

He shakes his head and assures you, “Just ‘cause this is our place, don’t mean ya hafta play hostess, y’know.”

“I know,” is your cheerfully spoken response before you turn your attention to the chaos unfolding on-screen. “Damn, who knew Kita-san was good at video games?”

Aran, who overhears your comment, laments, “Not me. This guy acts like it’s his first time holdin’ a controller ‘nd then proceeds to give us an ass-beatin’!” That deceptively sweet smile you’d seen many times before soon spreads across Kita’s lips as he casts it in your direction. Moments later, you notice his chosen character catapult Aran’s off the side of the screen, making the man sigh and hand his controller over to a somewhat unsettled-looking Ren.

The exchange makes you laugh, and your amusement quickly spreads to Osamu, who smiles as he pecks your cheek. “Why don’tcha come sit down, honey?” he suggests, patting his knee and slowly pulling you closer by giving your hand a gentle tug.

“Later. I’m gonna go talk to Rin real quick.”

Giving his shoulder a gentle squeeze, you back away and dart past the television to where Suna’s standing on the balcony outside. Osamu doesn’t miss the lazy grin that tugs at the corners of his friend’s mouth when you greet him and seat yourself on the chair beside him. Though he’s noticed how much of your attention Suna must’ve been aiming to steal away the entire evening, he doesn’t comment or intervene. Instead, he sends a sideways glance at Atsumu, who plops down on the couch beside him, pops another sliver of pickled plum into his mouth that Kita brought with him, and returns his attention to the game onscreen.

It’s not until later that he decides to speak on the issue, when everyone’s left the informal team reunion but Atsumu and Suna. As you’re scanning the apartment for any trash that may have been forgotten—though there’s not much to find since Kita and Aran scolded anyone who so much as left their drink unattended—you find yourself tripping over the rug sprawled across the wooden floor. Atsumu, who’s seated on the couch nearby, avoiding any tasks associated with cleaning up while tapping through his own Instagram story, quickly extends his arms towards you to steady you as you stumble towards him.

Feeling his hands on your hips and hearing him say, “Careful, there, girly,” brings a rush of heat to your neck and face.

“Thanks, ‘Tsumu!” you chirp quickly, pushing yourself away from the couch with haste.

“Anytime, hon,” is his nonchalant response. Normally, you wouldn’t think much of it because he’d developed a habit of giving you affectionate names over the years you’d known him, but, in this situation, his reply has you glancing over your shoulder at Osamu. Though he remains silent and focused on the task at hand, that quiet but dominating presence of his is intense. You know his brother’s actions are hardly going unnoticed, so you hustle into the kitchen to start cleaning the dishes Kita had neatly piled in your sink—which you’d had to practically beg him not to clean for you by insisting that he was your guest.

Osamu’s dark gaze narrows at his brother in a silent warning once you’re occupied again. Atsumu, being competitive and provocative as ever, simply raises an eyebrow at him as a challenge. However, both their attention soon snaps to you when they hear you and Suna snickering about something that must’ve been just hilarious while he helps take care of the dishes. Jealousy isn’t an emotion Osamu’s entirely used to, seeing as he’s always been secure in his relationship with you, but knowing the types of things his friend and his brother have said about you in confidence before the two of you started dating makes a flicker of it burn within him.

Finally, he speaks, not even attempting to hide the curtness to his tone when he questions, “Why don’t the two of ya just fuck ‘er already?”

The silence that befalls the house following his outburst is deafening, and you freeze in your act of handing Suna another plate to stick in the dishwasher. The three of you collectively turn your gazes to him, though theirs clearly portray an intrigue to learn more about what he means.

“What’re ya sayin’ that for, ��Samu?” Atsumu asks rather coyly, leaning forward and placing his elbows on his knees.

However, your boyfriend isn’t having any of his twin’s attitude tonight, since he retorts, “Don’t fuckin’ act like ya don’t know what I’m talkin’ about. I know you’ve been wantin’ her for years now. I see the way you both fawn over her whenever I bring ‘er around.”

“Baby…” you coo softly and dry your hands so you can approach him.

The daggers he sends sticking into you with a sharp glance in your direction stops you in your tracks, though, as do his words. “What? It’s not like yer doin’ anythin’ to stop it.”

You swallow thickly, your eyes sinking to the floor as shame wells up inside of you at the truth his statement holds. You had never intentionally flirted with either of them, but you hadn’t done anything to put an end to their advances. Even though Atsumu and Suna were close friends of yours—and had been since high school, when you’d first met them along with Osamu—you knew they’d both harbored feelings for you at some point over the years. Part of you didn’t stop them because you hadn’t wanted to think the worst, which was that they still had any remnants of desire for you when you were clearly in a committed relationship with Osamu.

However, as you look around and find yourself the subject of not one but three hungry sets of eyes, you realize that they’ve still been hunting you regardless of the fact. “’Samu, I—”

“Do ya wanna let ‘em fuck you?” he interrupts. The fire you can sense burning behind his ash-colored eyes robs you of a response, so he adds, in a softer tone, “’S okay if ya do.”

Atsumu chuckles, “Might not wanna give ‘er the chance since she might rethink her decision about who she chose.”

Without thinking, you shake your head diligently and argue, “I would never leave him.”

“So, is that a yes, then?”

As you take a moment to ponder his inquiry, you notice Osamu moving closer to you before he takes your face in his hands. Tenderly, he kisses your cheek and leans towards your ear so he can murmur, “Why don’tcha let ‘em live out their li’l pipe dream for one night, (f/n)? You’ve got nothin’ ta lose, since I’m the one who suggested it in the first place.” A slow, shuddering breath escapes your lips when he adds, “In fact, I want you to do it. Show ‘em a good time; hell, enjoy yourself too.” He lets his finger run over the gentle curves of your neck, sending tingles down your spine. “I hope they make you feel good—or at least try to, since I know there’s no way they’ll be able ta make you squirt like I can, pretty baby.”

His words quickly fill your core with heat, and you’re consenting with an enthusiastic nod without so much as another thought. A small smile ghosts across his lips for a moment before he gives you a gentle nudge in the direction of the hallway leading to your bedroom, silently telling you to lead the way. Even though your body’s abuzz with excitement at what you’ve willingly gotten yourself into, you can’t help but feel somewhat sheepish at being the subject of three intense gazes. Having them follow you down the narrow hallway makes it somewhat hard for you to breathe, but it’s not long before they’re finding more physical ways of taking your breath away.

Upon entering your bedroom, Atsumu’s the first to paw at your shirt, taking the soft fabric in his grip so he can pull it over your head. Your bra is unclasped moments later and tossed aside haphazardly before you’re pushed onto the bed. The suddenness of your body hitting the mattress makes you squeal, eliciting a low chuckle from Atsumu as he leans over you and captures your lips in a surprisingly tender kiss. While your eyes are closed, you can feel one set of fingers trailing lightly along your sternum while another pair of hands tugs at your pants before removing them, along with your embarrassingly wet panties.

“Mm,” Suna hums gently, pressing his lips to the inside of your thigh, “Soaked already?”

“Lemme feel.” The fingertips grazing the expanse of skin between your breasts soon travel down closer to your core, plunging inside and emerging coated in your essence. A soft whine escapes your mouth at the fleeting sensation of being somewhat filled, and you watch with half-lidded, (e/c) eyes as Atsumu slides his fingers into his mouth. “Just as sweet as I expected,” he comments before placing another passionate kiss against your lips so he can swipe his tongue along yours to give you a taste. “What did ‘Samu say that gotcha all worked up, honey?”

From where he’s sitting on a chair across from the bed, Osamu grunts, “None of yer damn business. And don’t call ‘er honey.”

Suna understands why Atsumu’s attempts at using this pet name for you are futile when he sees the way you clench around nothing at hearing it leave Osamu’s mouth. “’Samu,” you whimper softly and look in his direction. In spite of the way Suna and Atsumu’s hands feel against your skin, you’re still pining for the familiarity of your boyfriend’s touch. Eager to bring you back to the matter at hand, Atsumu turns your face back towards him and occupies your lips once more.

Meanwhile, Suna sets himself to running his fingers through your glistening folds and pleasuring your sensitive spot, making you moan into Atsumu’s mouth. When his digits venture inside of you, your hips instinctively buck against them, desperate for the thumb you know he’s intentionally keeping away from your clit. “Keep making those pretty sounds, baby,” Suna coaxes, using his free hand to palm his erection through his pants. Between him thrusting his long fingers into your core and Atsumu pinching your nipples with his, it’s not long before you feel the knot in your stomach threatening to come undone.

What pushes you closer to the edge is the smooth, wetness of Suna’s tongue dragging over your slit. “Rin!” you squeal, grinding your hips against his face to get as much contact with his mouth as you can. He squeezes your thighs gently, holding them in place over his shoulders where he kneels on the floor at the side of the bed. At hearing his name leave your mouth between kisses from Atsumu, he rewards your behavior by flattening his tongue against your clit and licking in broad stripes. Suddenly, a wave of ecstasy crashes over you, reducing you to a moaning mess as you cling onto Atsumu’s arms and squeeze Suna’s head between your thighs.

Your wanton cries have all three men in the room mesmerized. However, their awe quickly transforms into something more animalistic, and, in your ecstasy-induced haze, your body is nothing more than putty in their hands as they maneuver you into a different location and position on the bed. You’re vaguely aware of your own hands reaching for Atsumu’s shirt to remove it before unzipping his pants so his erection can spring free.

As you move closer to him to take his cock in your mouth, Atsumu grabs a fistful of your (h/l), (h/c) hair to keep you from doing so. “Oh, sweetheart, I love how eager you are to suck me off, but I’m dyin’ ta see whose cock you like better: mine or ‘Samu’s.” Osamu growls with irritation at this comment but feels his dick throb painfully at knowing what he’s about to witness. With that said, he relinquishes his grip on your strands of hair so that he can readjust your position, bringing you face to face with the tent in Suna’s pants.

This time, it’s him who’s threading his fingers amongst your locks, but with a much gentler and more affectionate grip than Atsumu’s, and his sandy-colored irises fasten on you as you work on unzipping his fly to give him some relief. If anything, knowing he’d just brought you to an orgasm with his mouth spurs you on to use yours so you can do the same for him. The way you eye his erection hungrily once you’ve freed it from the confines of his pants has him tugging your hair backwards to tilt your chin up towards him. He’s always wondered what it’s like to kiss those delicate lips of yours, and they look far too delectable—slightly swollen from Atsumu’s bruising kisses and glistening with the saliva he can see dripping off your tongue—for him to show any restraint now that he’s been given a free pass to do so.

“Are you gonna be good and take all of it?” he wonders, his mouth brushing against yours with each word. Your diligent nod earns you a deep kiss, and you moan into his mouth at the feeling of his tongue trailing along yours, carrying the taste of you. “Gonna drool all over my dick for me with that pretty, little mouth of yours?”

You’re barely able to let out a breathless, “Yes,” before his lips are over yours once more. But, just as quickly as his onslaught of kisses started, he’s pulling away and moving your head down south. Saliva collects in your mouth at the sheer size of him, and you cast him a demure glance up at him through your eyelashes as you lick a long trail from the base to the tip, causing a low groan to rumble in his throat.

At feeling the head of Atsumu’s cock teasing your sensitive clit, a whimper rolls off your tongue. “I’m gonna fuck this sweet, little pussy of yours so good, (f/n),” your boyfriend’s twin murmurs, his hands moving your hips so he can push the tip inside of you, “so you’d better take it like a good girl.”

“Don’t hurt ‘er, dumbass,” Osamu barks, the hand he has shoved down his sweatpants coming to a halt at the thought of your comfort being compromised by his brother’s greed and desire to show off. “She’s sensitive.”

“Oh?” Atsumu challenges as he inches more of his cock inside of you, making you remove your mouth from Suna’s dick to mewl loudly and drop your head towards the comforter. “It’s ‘cause yer not used to bein’ filled up are ya, sweetheart?” Another lascivious cry from you is stifled by the thick duvet when he snaps his hips against yours, sending himself deeper into your clenched core. “Don’t worry; I’ll take care of ya in all the ways ‘Samu can’t.”

Osamu’s face burns ever so slightly with humiliation and anger, but he finds he can’t tear his gaze away from the scene before him. He watches in silence as Atsumu’s fingers dig into the supple skin on your rear and snake around your hips, pulling you closer to him as he sheathes more of his cock in your greedy cunt. Then, his eyes are darting to where your pretty lips are wrapped around Suna’s dick, eyes gazing upwards at him in an affectionate manner that he thought was only reserved for himself.

He feels as if he should be enraged by the whole situation—by the way he’s being forced to sit and watch while his brother and his friend fuck your pussy and your mouth, respectively—but he isn’t. In spite of being excluded and having derogatory remarks thrown his way by Atsumu like daggers, he loves it. He loves every moan of their names that leaves your mouth because of how good they’re making you feel, as well as the hungry looks in their eyes at how good you’re making them feel. Because no matter what his twin says about how he’s “gonna make ya feel better than ‘Samu ever will,” he knows he’s wrong. In a scenario where Osamu should be the one feeling inferior, his ability not to lose sight of what he knows is the truth is what keeps the warmth burning in his stomach.

No matter how much you drool all over Suna’s cock while he thrusts deeply into your mouth, batting your eyelashes at him each time he sends a compliment your way, he knows whose pants you’re pulling down after he’s had a long day at work. Even as Atsumu’s hips snapping against yours reap a myriad of mewls or moans from your mouth that bring a self-satisfied smirk to his face, he’s confident that you’ll always be louder for him. Nobody knows how to treat you quite like Osamu does, and nobody knows how to fuck you like he does either.

So, as he slowly strokes himself off to the sight before him, he’s able to ignore the sting of every off-handed comment thrown his way and the sound of you begging Atsumu for more in the moments when Suna’s dick isn’t down your throat. He might as well let them have all the fun they want with you, seeing as it’ll be their last time doing so. He only intended to give them a taste of how good you are as a way of getting back at them for all of their shameless advances towards you in the first place. What’s better revenge than giving them something amazing that they can only remember, but never recreate? Nothing, he thinks.

“Lemme cum inside ya, pretty girl,” Atsumu coos, though his voice is raspy from his heavy breathing as he slams into you. Removing your mouth from Suna’s dick with a loud pop, you shake your head, making them both look at you with raised eyebrows. “Why not?” he asks.

Osamu nearly finishes on the spot when you whine, “Only ‘Samu can.”

Atsumu shoots his brother a withering look that he beats down with a smirk but obeys your wishes anyway. “Whatever ya want, princess,” he murmurs, placing a gentle kiss against your spine before continuing to thrust into you at a breakneck pace that has you crying out with ecstasy in no time.

Your breathy moans sending vibrations along Suna’s dick have him finishing inside of your mouth, and you swallow his seed as you sink into the bed once more. Atsumu’s hands keep your hips flush against his as he plunges into your spasming core until he can hardly take the sensations your body’s offering him anymore. Once it gets too much for him to handle, he obediently pulls out of you and cums on your back, spreading warmth along your skin and eliciting another whimper from you.

As you come down from your highs, you feel Suna’s long fingers stroke the side of your face affectionately, as if trying to communicate the praises he can’t find the words for. Meanwhile, Atsumu takes one last look at your back coated in his release before grabbing a tissue and cleaning you up. “So,” he mentions, interrupting himself to place a gentle kiss against the nape of your neck, “whaddya think? Did we change your mind?”

There’s not even a moment of hesitation before you shake your head and reiterate, “I’ll never leave him.” The soreness you feel settling into your body does nothing to quell the warmth in your belly, especially with the way Osamu’s gazing at you hungrily from his seat at the other end of the room. It’s almost as if your body moves by itself as you get up from the bed and shuffle over to him so you can seat yourself in his lap. “I want you, baby,” you breathe as your arms instinctively wrap around his neck.

A shit-eating grin appears on his lips as he places his hands on your waist, pulling you closer to him. You moan softly at the bulge in his pants pressing against your sensitive entrance as he mentions, loudly enough for the other men in the room to hear, “How cute. Even after getting’ fucked by them two, ya still only wanna be stuffed full of my cum, huh?”

“Please.” Your plea escapes you in a soft whine when he bestows a fleeting kiss against your lips. He hums into the tender skin on your neck, eyeing Suna and Atsumu over your shoulder while he does so as if to clearly convey to them who’s won this challenge. However, his silent gloating is soon put to an end when you wriggle your hips against his, move your face closer to his ear and beg, “Please, daddy.”

In an instant, he’s barking at Suna and Atsumu to get off the bed so he can push you down onto it. “So good for me, honey.” Osamu’s loving words have you clenching around nothing as he shoves off his sweatpants and positions himself at your entrance. “Shoulda never doubted ya. I know how much you love me, don’tcha, baby girl?” he muses, flooding you with heat once more.

“Mm!” you chirp enthusiastically, “I love you so much, ‘Samu.”

His smooth voice becomes ever so slightly strained as he pulls your hips towards him, slides his cock into your warm, velvety core, and replies, “I love you too, (f/n).” Having him inside you once more brings you a pleasant sensation of comfort that you felt as if you’d been missing earlier, and you reach for one of his hands. Sensing your desire to be more connected with him, he wraps his fingers around yours and presses the back of your hand against the mattress beside your head.

You moan softly at being filled once more when he bottoms out inside of you. Glancing over at where Suna and Atsumu are sitting nearby, he comments, “Ya feel so good, honey,” and increases the volume of his voice before adding, “it’s like yer sweet, li’l pussy was made for me, wasn’t it?”

“Just for you, daddy,” you agree with a small smile, eliciting a low groan from him and spurring him to start thrusting into you with long, deep strokes. From where he’s standing at the edge of the bed, he’s able to lift your hips upwards to drive himself even deeper into you than he’s sure Atsumu could reach. Any overstimulation you felt initially has since been replaced by pleasure once more as he showers you with kisses accompanied by compliments that you confirm enthusiastically, earning you more of what you want.

“Why don’tcha tell ‘em whose cock ya love the most, baby girl?”

You cry out his name once.

“Who’s making ya feel so good right now?”

Twice.

“Who’s gonna make ya cum harder ‘nd faster?”

Thrice.

He leans down towards you to press those slow, passionate kisses against your lips that you’d missed so much, spreading your legs further and pounding into you with more speed. It’s clear he knows the map of your body that he’s made through experience like the back of his hand, since he’s able to hit that sweet spot within you time after time with more accuracy and precision than anyone else could. ��Right there!” you cry, fingers dragging along the muscles rippling beneath the skin on his arms as your toes curl.

A few more thrusts send you over the edge again, and the strength of your orgasm is felt by every man in the room. Atsumu and Suna realize your cries are much louder than they were before, and Osamu smiles when he feels you squirt as your walls clench tightly around him. He doesn’t mind that you’re getting his clothes and the comforter covered in your essence—he only cares that he’s delivered the promise he’d made for you earlier. It’s not long before he reaches his high and fills you up with stuttering snaps of his hips and labored breaths. You moan breathlessly at the sensation of warmth inside your core, and let your head come to rest against the bed while he finishes inside of you.

As much as you want nothing more than to crawl under the sheets with him and rest, you’re reminded of your guests when Osamu casts his dark gaze in their direction. “Ya got whatcha wanted. Go home,” he announces, eyes narrowing at his twin brother who, along with Suna, are clearly still in awe at what they’ve witnessed. 

Turning back to you and planting a tender kiss against your collarbone while they rise to their feet and head for the door, Osamu adds deviously, “So much for rethinkin’ her decision, huh? Now ya know why she won’t.”

treat me to a coffee! ⭐︎ kinktober masterlist

taglists (see pinned post on my blog for form)

general: @dinablossom, @newfriendjen​, @devlovesramen, @ohbyunhunn, @aftcrlust, @mister-future, @kyleclxin​

osamu: @pretty-setters​, @misora-msby​, @why-aminot-dead​, @atsunakaashi​, @heyhinata​, @why-aminot-dead​