#i spent so long trying to get the texture on his shirt to look wet and clingy to his skin

[anakindoodles]

Stormy night was the April discord prompt so I drew angsty Kaz Brekker >:) Ao3 link: x

[phefics]

𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐩𝐡𝐨𝐥𝐞

𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐩: kaz brekker x reader 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: kaz struggles with touching peope, specifically skin-to-skin contact. he finds a way around his aversion to make you feel good. 𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐥𝐮𝐝𝐞𝐬: afab!reader, fem!reader, fingering, kaz's gloves, intimacy struggles, mentions of kaz's canon trauma, virgin!kaz, cumming untouched 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: ~1k

Kaz can’t stand skin-to-skin contact. It was inconvenient, yes, a frustrating side effect of his complicated past, but he’s managed to find loopholes.

Like the gloves, for instance. They acted as both a safety net and a talking point, starting those delightful rumors of his hands being permanently stained with the blood of his enemies, when in reality, he would be incapacitated without the scraps of leather to protect him.

But it had never mattered much, before you.

Human touch, connection, was never something he craved. He appreciates Jesper’s friendship, but has never longed to embrace him. He is fully capable of recognizing an attractive person, acknowledging beauty where it was obvious, but he’s never felt an desire to act on the attraction.

Lust was never something he felt, before you.

He had tried to act on his urges, to be like any other man and touch you, but it had ended poorly. You had given him space as he let the water retreat, and he had been filled with self-loathing for his failure.

And so, he found another loophole. He was a thief, a conman, so of course he could come up with a plan for anything.

The cool leather of his gloves took some getting used to, at first. The same fingers that so easily picked locks and pockets turned clumsy and unsure when they ventured between your legs.

You sat on his desk, naked from the waist down and legs spread wide, while Kaz sat at his desk chair in front of you, still fully clothed. Well, he had undone the top few buttons of his shirt, but that was as close to nude as he could handle at that moment.

Being naked in front of you didn’t embarrass him. Before there was any romance, any attraction evident between you, Kaz had stripped in your presence without concern. It was the proximity though, the vulnerability, that made his clothes a necessary barrier.

One gloved hand rested on your thigh, a silent reminder to keep your legs open for him, while the other was searching for your clit, still unfamiliar and inexperienced with your anatomy.

“Can I guide your hand?” you asked, tone gentle.

He nodded, so you took his wrist softly, being sure to touch only over his sleeve, and helped him find that special spot, the rough texture of the leather a new and thrilling sensation as his thumb flicker softly over your clit, curious.

You whined, your head lolling back as he followed your lead, his touch taking on a new confidence.

Kaz chuckled quietly. “Is this really all it takes?” he asked, a smug look on his face. “I’ve barely done a thing.”

“It feels good,” you replied. “Your gloves...It's different."

"A good sort of different, I assume?" he asked.

You nodded, another moan leaving your lips as he continued to touch your clit with his thumb, deciding to try slipping a finger inside of your hole. You were wet enough to ensure that the leather didn't feel painful going inside.

Although he wasn’t the one being pleasured, Kaz couldn’t help the breathless noises that left him — seeing you so worked up because of him, because of his actions, it was a completely new feeling.

“Saints, Kaz, you’re doing so good,” you panted. “Making me feel so fucking good.”

Your words made him whimper, although he’d take that detail to the grave, his face flushed. It felt good for him, too, to please you. Although he hadn’t touched himself, or let you touch him, just the friction of his pants was almost too much for him to handle, having never experienced masturbation — sometimes, he would wake up with sticky sheets, irritated and embarrassed.

He had spent so long refusing to give in to those dreams, the little thoughts of sex and pleasure and bodies against each other, and you had set loose something within him, the primal desires he'd been forced to ignore due to all he'd been through.

His hips thrust into nothing, the head of his cock leaking as it rubbed against the seam of his pants. You were the only person receiving any stimulation, and yet, he seemed more spent than you. It was endearing, hot and adorable at the same time.

“Fuck, I’m close,” you breathed. “Can you go a little faster?”

Kaz nodded, using two fingers to pump in and out of your pussy, picking up the pace as you’d requested.

It didn’t take long for that sensation to build in your belly, your sounds of pleasure growing louder, more frequent. You came with a shout of his name, and although his cock had remained untouched, he followed you soon after.

His expression was completely shocked, having experienced his first ever orgasm, at least, while awake, and making a conscious effort to make it occur.

You giggled as you came down from your high, looking fondly at his flushed, surprised face. It was an unbelievable honor to see Kaz Brekker at his most vulnerable.

“Did you…?”

“Don’t,” he interrupted, his tone attempting to be stern, and completely failing as his voice shook and his mouth fought to curl into a smile.

And you just laughed again, catching a glimpse of his glove, slick with your cum. “I think you’ll be needing a new pair.”

Kaz looked down at his hands and laughed, too. "I suppose I will."

He didn't seem to mind.

It wasn’t a perfect, passionate night of sloppy kisses and skin slapping skin, but Kaz had made an effort to shed his armor for you, to face his fear of intimacy, and touch.

And that little loophole was just the beginning.

(maybe a part 2...?)

[deadsnothere]

Gunslinger Girl! pt.2

Synopsis - After getting a call from Garp, Alias made her way to the Baratie for a nice bite to eat and a long needed reunion.

Part 1

WARNINGS!! - READER HAS A NAME!!

Request - no, not taking them.

Word count - 2.5k

Speak Ali! - Both parts together make 5,340 words, it's evolved my brain man.

I saw this ending many ways. Deep diving for Luffy was one of the many.

I unclipped my gun holster so they fell right off my shorts and dove in after Luffy as soon as Arlong was out of my sight. Water made him lighter so it wasn't hard to get the hefty boy back onto land, with help of Usopp and Sanji of course. I hated it, watching him cough up water and choke like he did. I wanted to find the largest ice bullet known to man and put it in that stupid man's skull. Luffy Spoke, even if it was weakly. “Where's Nami?” Usopp spoke next. “She’s gone. She’s a member of Arlong's crew.” He gave up trying to stay up and just laid there. “No. She can't be.” Usopp was sitting with his legs open, arms resting on his knees, Sanji stood on his knees, and I was sitting on my left thigh beside luffy taking my button up shirt off all the way (the texture of the wet clothes on my body made me want to scream.) and grabbing my guns from their holsters to insure they were ok.

The Baratie’s ship bell rang. As everything slowly went quiet, nothing but me and Luffy's heavy breathing filling the thick sea air.

–

I was introduced to a sleeping man named Zoro. At that point both me and Luffy's clothes had dried, so we weren't dripping on him. I said hello, introduced myself and decided I was hungry so I walked out of the room to get something to eat. This is one of the only times I was sure Luffy wouldn't follow me to the kitchen. I knew he wouldn't follow because he doesn't eat when he's feeling guilty. Once he didn't eat dinner with Dadan because he felt bad for accidentally punching me in the face with his gum gum power but he felt better after we talked about it and he ate almost everything in the house that night. Me and Sanji had a lovely conversation, he's a bit of a perv but he's a gentleman so he definitely gets my respect, especially with those fighting moves i saw earlier.

“So how did a beauty like you meet him?” Sanji was chopping up some beef he brought from the Baratie. He asked if I wanted anything and I kindly asked for beef stew, because everything is better with stew, or soup! I was swirling some of the Marlot from the bottle I bought earlier around in a different wine glass. “Me and Luffy grew up together, he was a careless idiot. I think most of the time we spent together was me patching him up after he would fall from a tree or something.” He could tell the thought made me happy by how a smile drew across my lips in a thin line. It was subtle but those smiles were always the most feelingful ones. He nodded along with me laughing at my words. “And how did you become a warlord of the sea?” I clicked my tongue and laughed softly. “Now that is a long story for a different day. How did you become a cook?” He stopped what he was doing momentrally and looked me in the eye. “I was picked up by a cruise ship, the cooks took me in and taught me everything I know.” He continued to cook. “Except for the stuff the old bag taught me.” I laughed at the name and finally took a sip of my wine. “Well they did an excellent job teaching you.” I winked at him and he just laughed back.

I took both pistols out of their holsters and set them carefully on the table. “Where are your guns from, they look familiar.” I smiled and reached for one of them, holding it in my hand carefully. “Their names are Alice and The White Rabbit, both of them are Dual-barreled, they're quite sleek, I've always thought it was important to keep your best companions clean. They were given to me by an old friend I still hold close to my heart.” I set the gun back down and smiled at the cook as he poured some veggies into the pot. "One was named after her, and the other after her clean fluffy friend. We had a beautiful friendship, if only it hadn't ended so soon.” There was a morbid but soft feeling in the air. We both hadn’t been telling the complete truth but we really didn't care, we would tell eventually, either with the rest of the crew or not. The rest of the time spent cooking was silent, right until the end. When he was finished stirring the pot.

“So how long have you been in love with Luffy?” I spit the wine out of my mouth, my hand reaching up to wipe it off my chin. “W-What-” He held a smirk on his face as he lit up a cigarette he got from the pack in his pocket. “You don't look at him like your friends, and no one normal starts to physically shake when they see someone.” I winced slightly at the mention. Standing up from where I sat. “There are..certain things about me and Luffy that are platonic..and there are some that aren't. I've spent the last ten years of my life trying to figure out what he feels for me. And I'm telling you Sanji, it's not love.” I sighed and finished the little wine I did have left in the glass. I met face to face with Sanji a little ways away from the island, I reached up slightly and kissed his cheek, winking at him over my shoulder as I walked out of the kitchen. “Luffy’s a hard man to read, but I like a challenge.”

I walked over to the room with the loud voice effects and talking, walking into a conversation. “You scared ‘um off, huh?” It made me laugh, that is definitely not what I remember happening. Usopp agreed. “The Great Captain Usopp.” I was leaning on the door frame watching the once sleeping man talk from afar. “Yeah.” I smiled, it was sweet. “That is not what I remember happening.” Luffy looked back at me with a wide smile on his face, his hands starting to shake as he tackled me. “Luff!” The wind was knocked out of me as the rubber man was standing above me. “ALIAS!” he just looked so excited i couldn't bear being mad at him. “Hi Luffy.” His grin continued to spread, and I couldn't help but smile right back. His smile was like my drug, it filled my body to the top with joy, made me want to start giggling like a schoolgirl in love with her best friend. Which is what I practically was.

Luffy left a kiss on my cheek and I left a kiss on his forehead. “How have you been? I see you took to the pirate life well.” He laughed loudly and sat in the middle of the hallways in his own manor. His legs laid on the floor and his hands held the heels of his feet in them. “Yeah! you ready to join my crew now!” My face scrunched up when he said it. “Luffy- you know it's not a good idea-” He interrupted me anyway. “I don't wanna hear that, we made a promise.” I sighed softly and placed a hand on his cheek. “Luffy it's dangerous- Not only will you have the Marines after you because you're a pirate but you’ll be harboring-” He put a hand over my mouth, a fight of who can stop themselves from shaking longest.

I could feel Luffy's body start to tremble underneath my hand on his cheek. but at the exact same moment I started to shake, the callousness on his hand felt like mini kisses on my lips making a shiver go down my back. Which means I lost. I sighed softly as I took my hand off his cheek and my face started to turn red. Luffy had a smile on his face, knowing he won. “I don't care who comes after you, we made a promise. You need to keep your end.” He stood up off the floor and put his hand out for me to grab. My hand went up to his almost by routine but I didn't grab it just yet. “I would be putting you and your entire crew in so much danger..” He grabbed my hand, clasping it tightly. “We’ve been through worse-”

I unclasped our hands and jumped up to hug him. All he did was laugh and pull me up, his arms wrapped around me in his warm luffy way, I could feel his curly hair on my head and his warm hands holding my waist. When we pulled back from the hug, I swiped the hat from his head. “Well- Captain.” His face lit up like a light bulb and his hands started to shake. “I hope you're ready to set sail!” I walked back into the room. Both boys trying to act like they weren't listening in to the conversation happening very close to them.

Usopp looked between both of us and finally spoke. “So uh…are you two?-” I laughed as I took the hat off my head and placed it back on Luffys. Just ignoring the question. “Nice to meet you Zoro, I mean- awake this time.” He looked at me but closed his eyes right after. “Yeah the captain over there said he was waiting for you, Kept talking about you so much I almost thought you weren't real.” I looked over to Luffy, the little glint in my eye causing his hands to shake. Usopp patted Luffy's back, when the flustered boy looked down to the floor. All I could do was smile and answer back. “That's Captain for ya..” Luffy looked back up at me as I said it. There was a flirty tone in my voice but I think the other two were trying to give us a moment. “So I hear you're a gunslinger..and a warlord?” I nodded softly, looking over to usopp who i'm assuming told him. “Uh yeah..You know how it is- World's Youngest Warlord of the Sea..” I trailed off as I finished the sentence.

“How did you get that title at fourteen?” I sighed again, all three boys were staring at me with such intent in their eyes and ears. “I was kidnapped by the world government…They held me captive for years but when I turned fourteen they allowed me my own assigned pirate crew and just a bit of freedom if I did their dirty work.” Luffy hated that story, he always said. “I was stupid as a kid, I should've protected you.” and I said, “You were 9, if you tried to beat up those Marines they would’ve thrown you into a seawater tank.” It always made Luffy pout but it doesn't matter, it was the truth (And his pout is really cute).

Zoro looked like he was calculating that story in his head, trying to figure out the pieces. Usopp on the other hand looked confused. “Why didn’t you just run?” I laughed, it was a genuine laugh, nothing fake or out of anger. “I did, I ran- and ran. and ran. but no matter how far you run there's always going to be someone to catch you.” I sat down on a chair not too far away. “I once joined a pirate crew..i stayed on that crew for a year and that's how i got my name, but no matter what the government will always be back to get me.” Usopp let out a little ‘Oh.’ before Zoro finally spoke up. “So you're joining our crew?” I looked up at him, then glanced over to Luffy, who was waiting for my answer. “Yeah, if anyone has the best chance of keeping me hidden, I guess it's my oldest friend.” I winked at Luffy and Usopp did a little fist pump in the air, Zoro on the other hand was just laughing.

“So what do we do now?” Usopp was looking between all three of us, his gaze constantly going back and forth. “Plot a course for the grandline?” Luffy looked conflicted but also completely sure of himself. “Nope.” Now Usopp was the one conflicted. “But I thought we were going after the one piece.” Luffy looked so sure of himself, he was always confident and ready. “We are.” He looked down at Zoro and me, and then back up at Usopp. “But we can't do it without our whole crew. First..” He brought his straw hat back onto his head, now that it was dry it looked much better on him. “We’re going after Nami..” He had a small accent to his voice, it came from where we grew up. I was sad when mine had disappeared after being away for so long.

–

“Lot of dried meat in these barrels.” Both me and Usopp were bringing Barrels over from the Baratie for the adventure over to nami’s island and farther. “You think we brought too much?” The only difference was Usopp was sweating and carrying half as much as me. As I let the barrels drop on the ground, both me and Zoro spoke up at the same moment. “You know who you're sailing with?” Luffy was climbing the roping. “Yeah..”

The small moment made me laugh, instead of dwelling on it I continued along to grab the final three barrels from the baratie, but I was interrupted by sanji, who caught me gracefully when I fell into him after tripping on a loose board in the pier. “Heard you guys need a cook.” Sanji was still holding me close. “YEAH!” Luffy yelled, Sanji helped me stand up straight and I thanked him and looked up at the idiot who looks like he's gonna fall in excitement. “Yes, we do!” It was quick moving from then on. We finished supplying the ship, and quickly made sure to get out to sea in time. I was the ship's temporary navigator, but I would love to learn more from Nami if she agrees to join.

–

Usopp made his way down the stairs of the ship standing near Zoro who was sitting on the stairs behind him. “So we’re…we're going after Nami, but how are we gonna find her?” Zoro spoke up next. “Yeah, we don't even know where she is.” Luffy who was standing on the top floor of the ship said “I know someone who does.” Making all four of us confused and a bit conflicted about our decisions to join him. Everyone got up from their seats or made their way to follow him into the kitchen. When we got into the kitchen luffy was unveiling a clown head on the table, he was spitting out the sand from the bag that he was complaining about earlier. Buggy looked overly happy to see us, his smile wide. “Hello boys! and Misses Cat over there!” I rolled my eyes at the stupid name he’d given me. While Luffy looked so proud of himself.

@otaku-degenarate

[likeastarstar]

Birthday Boy Pt. 2

Summary: WARNING! smut ahead. Can be read alone but this connects to Birthday Boy. Later that day your follow through on your promise of head <3

masterlist.

"Do we have to go?"

"Yes."

"But what if we just stayed in instead?"

"No."

"Got it," Namjoon sighed, walking into the bedroom that you shared.

You rolled your eyes and clipped your bra on, adjusting the straps so that they sat smoothly on your shoulders. It was his birthday- of course you had to go to the dinner you had spent the last three weeks planning. You had been saving up for this for two months, insisting on paying for everything yourself. Namjoon was rich, clearly- but you weren't a moocher. So you had rented out his favorite restaurant, spent a week trying to coordinate everyone's schedules so his best friends could be there, days finding the right decorations, hours setting up the entire place earlier today when he went hiking with some friends.

Everything was perfect and you just needed Namjoon to suck it up and go to his fucking birthday party.

"Are you read- woah."

You turned around, Namjoon standing in the closet doorway with his eyes stuck on your tits. You couldn't blame him, you did happen to have on a very extravagant lingerie set. It was a dark green color, lacey, and sheer in the right places- a matching bra and panty set with a garter belt to match. The belt was a little extra but it was worth it, given the look on his face right now. He watched you pull a pair of stockings up your legs and clip them securely to the belt with a blank look on his face, hands clenching and unclenching around air.

"I'm almost ready," You smiled, putting your hands on your hips.

"You take birthdays way too seriously," He breathed out, still unable to take his eyes away from your body.

"You've told me that already," You nodded. He was right, you were being unnecessarily celebratory. But this year had been hard and he deserved one day of perfection.

"I really like the color," He mumbled, watching you walk towards him and place your hands delicately over his. You guided his hands to your ass before hooking yours around his neck, peering up at him with innocent eyes.

"Do you wanna touch?" You asked, your voice quiet and demure- the exact opposite of your actual personality.

He nodded and tightened his grip on your backside, kissing you slowly. You smiled into the kiss, feeling him away the two of you side to side like you were dancing. "Well too bad. Go sit on the bed," You instructed, nudging him backwards.

Namjoon did so willingly, watching you tie your hair up into a ponytail with ease, "Oh shit- I was kidding about the head before dinner thing."

"I wasn't," You snorted, getting on your knees between his legs.

You placed your hands on his inner thighs, pushing his legs further apart as he leaned back to untuck the front of his dress shirt. You worked on his zipper, sliding it down easily and easing his cock out, wiggling slightly in your place between his legs. You loved his cock, could spend hours focusing on just that one part of his body. You hummed in contentment, smiling softly, "Ah, I'm going to enjoy this."

"You're looking at my dick like it's your friend," Joon chuckled, only laughing harder when you shot him a glare.

"It is my friend," You noted. Namjoon reached out a hand towards your figure, hand going directly towards the soft skin of your neck. You slapped his hand away lightly, sending him a warning glance, "No touchie."

"It's my birthday," He whined, pouting.

"You can touch after we get home from the dinner. Unwrap me as your last birthday present." You smirked, taking his cock in one hand and licking a tentative stripe down the length so that he was nice and wet.

He groaned, feeling your tongue on his skin and leaned back even further, hips bucking up towards you. You smiled wider, pumping him with two hands and twisting at the head of his cock, admiring the way it was starting to grow underneath your touch. His cock was a dream, long, thick, and smooth. You stared at it wondering how on earth this thing fit in you, wishing it was in you now.

But there was no time for that- you had a reservation to make.

Instead, you took the head of his cock into your mouth and sunk down quickly, wiggling your tongue on the underside of it as you took him in further. You deepthroated him instantly, choking slightly before pulling up and replacing your mouth with your hand.

"Holy shit," He moaned, chest rising and falling in hard pants.

You swirled your tongue over the plump head of his cock, tasting the salty precum beading at the top. You teased the ridge, licking, and sucking as much of his length as you could take in your mouth comfortably. Your hand made up for wasted space, twisting and pulsing at the base of his cock in a quick rhythm. You squeezed your thighs together, ignoring the heat pooling in your stomach as you looked up at your boyfriend, who looked like he was about to cry.

You were doing a good job.

Massaging the skin of his inner thigh, you grazed down to his balls, taking both of them in your hand and caressing the soft skin lightly. You explored the texture freely, pulling off of his dick to take each of them in your mouth and sucked lightly, still stroking his cock with a hand. Namjoon moaned and his jaw fell open, the look of sheer pleasure on his face enough to have you moaning around his balls as his hips flexed into your face.

"Baby-"

You nodded and knew what he wanted, releasing his balls with a 'pop' and going back to sucking the life out of his cock. He felt silky in your mouth, the taste of him filling your mouth as he thrust into your face in long, fluid strokes. You felt lightheaded and reminded yourself to breath through your nose, getting caught up in the moment to remember that you actually had to inhale oxygen. His hands were balled into fists behind him, holding his body up while trying to resist grabbing the sides of your face to fuck your face. He was driving you crazy, the way he looked completely lost to lust, your name rolling out of his mouth in a whiny tone. You took him further and tried deepthroating him again, a bit more sucessfully this time.

You swallowed around him and heard him gasp- "I'm gonna fucking cum."

You nodded and patted his thigh lightly, letting him speed up the jerking of his hips until creamy fluid filled your mouth and you sucked harder, milking his orgasm. Namjoon groaned, falling back flat on the bed, his breathing heavy and labored. You pulled off of him when he had completely finished, sitting back on your heels to catch your breath for a moment.

"Jesus Christ," Namjoon groaned, propping himself up on his elbows, "That was amazing."

You smiled at him and wiped the corners of your lips, knowing you probably had to touch up your makeup now, "I love you!" You grinned, sending him an innocent smile as if you hadn't just done something entirely dirty to him.

"You're a minx, you know that?" He laughed, shaking his head in disbelief.

"You love it," You shrugged, standing up slowly. "I'm going to put my dress on and brush my teeth and then we'll leave, okay?"

He nodded and tucked himself back into his pants, wrapping an arm around your waist before you could go very far. He pulled you into his lap and kissed you, smiling against your lips.

"Thank you, I love you," He whispered to you, nuzzling his nose against yours.

"Don't say thank you yet- you still have to get through this dinner and unwrap your last present," You said cheekily, gesturing to the lingerie set you had on. He gave you one last squeeze and let you off his lap, watching you walk towards the bathroom.

"Can I eat my birthday cake off of your ass?" He asked, staring at your backside.

"You're insatiable," You gasped in disbelief. You turned back around to stare at him, watching him wiggle his eyebrows suggestively. "Yeah- yes, you can."

Good thing you were also insatiable when it came to Namjoon.

(A/N: this is DIIIRTTYYY. Can you tell who my bias is? Feedback is appreciated!)

[yanderenightmare]

Can you write some more about nice guy jock kiri? Please and thank you. Have a good day!

yandere ! KIRISHIMA EIJIRO - RED RIOT

goodiebag WARNINGS: nsfw, dubcon/noncon, suggestive language, manipulation, coercion

THAT ESCALATED QUICKLY

He said she could pick the movie this time.

He said she could pick out any movie at all. Whatever she wanted, they were going to watch. Yet in the time she’d spent making lunch, Kirishima sprawled lazily in her bed, browsing half-mindedly, eyes sliding from viewing the screen to looking at her round grabbable ass dancing as she padded about the small kitchen, begging for him to come pinch as she put the stir-fry in bowls and walked over to plot herself down next to the muscly block of man, he’d already picked a movie, far away from something she’d choose, though when eyeing what puppy-dog look he gave her, she couldn't very well say no.

Kirishima has always been clingy. She wouldn't like to call it suffocating, or controlling, though it does border on the word. But she cannot blame him for being handsy and suggestive when they’re alone, in her apartment, in her bed. He’s always been needy, always touching her, so very big-hearted and forward, easily distracted, easily discarding of tasks in favor of doing what new activity calls for his attention, like a dog.

She was becoming quite used to his confident nature, how hap-hazardously he would go about touching her, kissing and licking at her the way he so often went about doing, so much so it was strange to think that they hadn't ever actually slept together.

They had been dating for a couple weeks, and Kirishima was clear about his intentions and aspirations and wants and needs from the start, being a very open honest person, but she couldn't help but feel as though he was pushing her, nudging her, guilt-tripping her with candid words of how horny he was because of her, how frustrated he was, how frigid, how it was effecting his schoolwork, how good a boyfriend he was for waiting, for being patient and tolerant, how she couldn't blame him for wanting something in return, even though that something was a thing she wasn't ready to give him.

It would be wrong if she said he didn't respect her wishes, because he had, albeit begrudgingly. Each time she invited him over, or... he invited himself over,  when he became rowdy, it would always take a good amount of bargaining and persuasion on her side, which was always met with even more coaxing and encouragement from him. How he would message his hand into the inside of her thigh, and she would push ever so gently to keep him at bay until he finally laid off, the mood stiff and awkward as he left her apartment to walk to his own place, alone, with a rejected boner he would have to take care of alone, then go to sleep alone, and wake up alone. He had still respected her wish in the end, or... maybe not respected, but at least accepted it.

She hadn't picked out the movie, and it being something she hadn't really invested very much thought into, she didn't try and stop him from nuzzling into her neck, kissing and sucking on the tender flesh found there. She allowed him to lift her shirt up to rub circles into her stomach with his warm roughened hand, let him grab and grope and mold her breast through the fabric of her bra, let him swing his leg over her body, to lock her position beneath him and his brawny heavy frame as he cuddled into her.

She could already feel the stiff bulge bump into her thigh, tried to forgive him for always riling himself up when he knows what her answer’s going to be, knows how she isn't ready to give him what he wants. Hearing his breathing picking up, becoming rugged and raspy, hot against her neck as he tried humping into her, having rolled and positioned and handled both their bodies so he could lie between her thighs, face mushed into the soft skin of her neck, nipping at her collarbones , spiky hair poking into the underside of her chin, hands abrasive when squeezing at the flesh of her ass and thighs, gripping them to lock around his torso, venturing to grab at her waist and breasts, becoming more and more frenzied, more and more rugged, forgetting his strength, forgetting her protests, getting more and more carried away.

She jolted once she felt his fingers hook into the band of her panties, having slipped up her skirt and spidered playfully up her thigh. She grabbed his arms loosely, small hands obviously not able to wrap around the thickness of his muscles, though applying what strength she deemed necessary to make him take her seriously, lightly digging her fingernails into his skin. “Uhm, Kiri-” She squeaked unsurely, breaching the shapeless noisy silence of heavy breathing and rugged groans and building growls that had filled the room, movie still quietly playing in the background, white noise completely ignored by the burning of her ears.

“Come on, let me feel.” He purred into her ear, giving her lobe a nibble. 

“Uhm, I don't think-” She shoved at him, balls of her feet digging into the mattress, trying to sit up.

He laid his weight down on her, immobilizing her movement, keeping her under him. “Come on...” He drawled, voice rumbling. “Please?” Mumbling into her skin, knowing how it always makes her giggle from the tickle by the light scruff on his chin, knowing it makes her sweet and pliable. “Pretty please? It’ll feel good, I promise.” 

He didn't really wait for any response, his face mushed into her neck, seeming cute as he pleaded but also acting as a great trap, his hand succeeded in pushing her panties aside, warm worn fingers, foreignly larger cuddled with the sensitivity kept there. His breath shuddered, lips spreading into a toothy grin against her neck, so wide she could feel it. 

“Aww.” He moaned. “That’s so warm and wet.” She cringed, but hadn't the time to tell him to stop, hadn't the time to decide that she valued her limits more than maintaining the good vibe, and then she hadn't the mind to really think about it at all, too preoccupied with wrapping her thoughts around the fact that Eijiro had just pushed one thick knuckled finger inside her, roughly at that, pumped it in, stuffed her with it, with an equally chaffed thumb-pad laying heavy pressure down into her little beading clit.

It would probably have felt awful, the brutish boyish clumsy inconsiderate rubbing, but having him dry-hump into her for the better half of the entire movie made for a little messy spill between her thighs, perfectly ready to make whatever rough movement he gave seem like God’s touch, enough to have her moan at once.

“Does that feel good?” He asked, cocky undertone almost completely smoked out by livid lust, his arousal so very clear in his voice as he removed his weight when feeling her body melt and comply to what his hand was giving her of bliss. His large muscly frame rising to kneel between her legs, having her thighs hiked up and spread atop of his, forehead resting against hers. She bobbed her head in a series of quick sporadic nods, teeth biting harshly into her lip as she watched with a bowed head his finger disappear in and out the vulnerable sensitivity found between her spread thighs, the smell of beer on his heavy hot breaths fan over her face before he kissed her head. “You wanna cum?” She gave a moan, indicating an unspoken yes as he rubbed his thumb over and over her tender pearl, pushing another one of his long fingers inside her, making her gasp out a moan, mewing as he curled and scissored the two digits inside her, making her inevitable unraveling arrive much quicker.

He wiped his sticky hand on his pant leg with a small smug smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth, watching as her head fell back to rest against the pillow again, beginning to unbutton his jeans. 

The sound of him sliding down his zipper pulled her focus back, eyelids fluttering open just in time to watch him pull his throbbing hard erection out with a sigh. And though the red-head had gone about the reveal in an unceremonious manner, whether it was out of lack of showmanship or Kirishima deeming it unnecessary, it didn't really matter to the virgin beneath him. She took one look and she wasn’t able to look away. A surprising black bush drew her focus at first, what more the two easter-eggs that seemed to be nestling there, but not before long her eyes felt the need to follow what bulging pumping purple vein ran up the underside of the thickness, almost like a spine, or a pin that reached up to a red-blushed head, glossed like a candy-apple, with a slit running though it and a spill of pre-cum dripping down to disappear in the dark forest below.

She could swear it sized up to her whole arm’s-length.

Her eyebrows knitted as she continued eyeing the hard pole, watching it bob with strength, straining against his stomach, standing proudly on it’s own as he lifted his shirt off his arms and shoulders, throwing it to the floor, revealing what mouthwatering washboard rock-hard abs he kept beneath. 

His hand once again reached out, this time to grab her wrist, guiding her shaking hand back to his thick member, watching her hesitate to wrap her delicate little fingers around his length once he squeezed her wrist too hard in impatience, seeing her bite her lip at the feel of the almost rubbery-smooth texture of his length in her palm, warm to the touch. His larger hand wrapped around her smaller one, guiding the movement as he started pumping up and down.

He groaned, head hung and resting atop her shoulder where he knelt with her sitting form in his lap, red eyes with wide pupils locked on watching her small hand loosely holding onto him, his cock looking so unbelievably huge in her tiny grasp, like some beast, where the more he thought about it and the more he looked, it was��big compared to all of her, he could only imagine what she was thinking as she eyed his length with that cute childish level of curiosity and sweet tinge of virgin anxiety. She needed to bite her lip to prevent it from trembling, wanting to squeeze her thighs shut when they too became unruly, wanting to protect what was kept between them.

It only made his cock throb even harder.

“I- fuck-” He grunted, thrusting shallowly up into her hand by angling his hips up, looking down upon her enticing pretty silken dew-kissed heat, his finger greedily reaching to touch the tender entrance only to hear her whimper out a small whine at once when his rough digits brazenly made contact. “You’re so shy, it’s adorable.” 

The loosely given hand-job felt good around his priorly ignored arousal, what with how sensitive he was, but was missing what her pussy was welcomingly dripping with. 

He lowered himself, hand grabbing his base to steady the attack, yet was declined by her placing her own hand in front of the poor unsuspecting virgin tightness. “Uhm, Kiri- I-”

He shushed at her, prying her hand easily away, replacing it with his own, rubbing those electrical patterns he did before into her pretty budding pearl. “No, no, Baby. Come on. Pretty please, it’ll feel so good, I’ll be gentle okay? It’ll be good, I promise.” He swirled his thumb over her clit, an act far from gentle, though sending those sharp involuntary spikes of pleasure into her core, giving to something pooling in her stomach, something warm and sticky and heavier than before, almost burdening with how it strained in the muscles of her thighs, making her shake beneath the man’s mere thumb. “I love you, Baby, don't you want us to take the next step?”

“Uhm...” She gasped as he abused the sensitivity under his course strength.

“Thank you, Baby.” He purred, lips carved into a smile fit for devouring, planting kisses down her face and into her neck, his cock pushing into the velvet folds.

But she backed up, balls of her feet pushing into the mattress, her palms doing the same, but Kirishima had other plans, none of them including letting her up.

“Kiri, no-” She pushed lightly at his chest then, as she’d done before, trying to soothe and smooth over the feathers she’d ruffled, trying ever so gently in those small soft caresses to apologize for having riled him up so.

But seems this time he wouldn't have that either, her hands cupped and pulled rather dismissively out of the way, dominated by his own and how he intertwined his digits, raking them in with her dainty ones, locking their hands, or rather securing hers, before pushing them flat into the sheets beside her, giving him full access to what lied beneath him without her bothersome fists getting in his way. “Come on, Babe... stop being a little tease...” Her hands slipped their confinements in his as he rather needed them to manage her body, felt that twitching itch to grab and grope and tug and pull at all her doughy flesh. She gasped as he groped a mans handful of her ass, bumping his bare cock into her, rubbing it up and over her pussy, bobbing between their stomachs.

His face was still so adamant on nibbling at the flesh of her collar, leaving what she knew to be ugly swelling purple stains that turned into those vile green and yellow marks looking like fungus blooming on her skin. “I’m sorry-” It was all too much to have his warm skin pressed against her, his naked hardness, all of him, his rough hands, his brutish needle-sharp teeth, that thing that poked at her, humped into her where he’d made a sticky wet hot mess, with her underwear put somewhere out of sight and most definitely out of reach. “I’m not ready to-” Her hands tried softly but with increasing effort at getting him off, trying to get her discomfort across to the seemingly clueless baboon who was handling her body to his own selfish ends on top of her. 

“It’s fine.” His voice was heated, soft despite trodding over her own, as he tried calming her down, again with his hands tugging at her wrists and pushing the annoying things away from him, again so he could lie himself down on top of her. “We’ll try something-” His efforts at soothing her weren’t appreciated by the girl beneath as she continued pushing, bordering on thrashing beneath the giant red-head.

“Kiri, stop. ” There was an edge to her voice this time, an edge he didn’t appreciate.

Large hand wrapped their fingers around her wrist and crushed it with a strength she couldn't hope to match, a dark chuckle following, rumbling just beside her ear alongside a small smile carving his lips at the cute pop of bones followed by her whimper. “Stop being so difficult, Babe.” He chastised, voice dismissive and completely unbothered by her spiked struggles, treating her reluctance like it was nothing but a minor inconvenience he could simply swat away like a fly. “I know you’ll like it, you just need to-”

“I don’t need to do anything!” She cried now, adorable small whines as she tried prying her hand out of his hold. “Get off me!”

“Kinda feels like you’re trying to piss me off here.” His tone darkened, and so did the look in his eyes, and though she was just short of bawling with the lump  of hopelessness and fear caught stuck in her throat, the adrenaline gave her such a rush of confidence as her leg finally managed to shuffle under his, allowing her to knee him right in that swelled thick slug he was so transfixed on appeasing.

And though she managed briefly to slip out from beneath him, it was no victory, and she felt that ounce of triumph that fluttered in her heart snuff out at the feel of his brawny taunt and rock hard arms wrap around her torso, hoisting her off the ground, only to throw her right back where she’d been laying not moments ago.

“Please, Eijirou, please, you're scaring me, stop.” She kicked now, flopping beneath him like a fish hauled up on a boat, tried prying her hands out of his grasp yet couldn't stop him from holding her down, rolling her on her stomach while he pulled off his uniform necktie, bending her arms behind her back and tightening the noose around her wrists, pulling the tail between them to secure the knot tightly, before rolling her back with her hands being crushed beneath her.

Her face reappeared tear-slicked and panicked. “There we go, all pretty and perfect for me.” He lightly tapped her face as he stuffed her mouth with the panties he fished back up from his pockets, settling between her legs again as she whined through the make-shift gag.

Rough course hand, like sandpaper, like rock, slid down between her thighs, slowly in their venture, pushing and kneading into the softness, hungry as they groped and pushed her open, wrapped her around his torso so he could slap his rock-solid cock onto her vulnerable little opening.

“Let me paint a picture for you, Babe.” He started, catching her attention. 

Her eyes so unbelievably wide as she looked up at him through the thick hazy ominous darkness of the room, a darkness that once seemed so cozy now so overwhelming, the sun having gone down, the TV turned to black, the lights left off and the only glimmer coming from the streetlights and the dim white glow of the moon shining in through her window, leaving Kirishima’s sharp teeth to hang above her and how they seemed to drip, eerie shadows cast upon his face, eyes red and hazy, drooped to slits, drunk and cocky as he continued rubbing his cockhead up through the lips of her pussy ever so causally, like she wasn’t bound and bawling beneath him. 

“So listen up and listen carefully. Can you do that, Babe?” 

She felt cold suddenly, chilled to her core by his tone, reduced to shivering beneath his confident touch, shuddering where she laid, chest pushed upward above the support her arms gave, head drawing in the dune of her pillow, thighs lifted to straddle her boyfriend’s waist, his hand keeping her there by curling his thumb into the underside of her knee. 

“The way I see it, you have two options.” He leaned in, voice sturdy but soft like a straight-jacket. “Either you be my good girl and give me what’s mine.” Tone swooping low into a growl. “Or...” 

His hands moved steadily as they began unbuttoning her shirt from the bottom up, planting a kiss on the newly exposed skin of her tummy, just short of her belly-button. The light scruff of his chin tickling the thin skin it rubbed against as he continued licking and nibbling on the flesh the more it was exposed to him. 

“You run along to your friends, tell them what a bad bad guy I am. They ask for proof, but silly little you have no proof to give.” He chuckled, warm breath breezed on the peach-fuzz of her chest as he kept sucking his marks into her, hands fingering the last of her buttons. “People love me, Buttercup, so let me ask you this...” The crimson spikes of his hair stuck into the underside of her chin as he licked up her throat, kissed her jaw and bit at her earlobe, whispering. “Who’s side you think they gonna take?” Humming as he watched another fat tear run down her cheek. “You go to the teachers, they ask for proof, something you still don’t have because there is none. And even if they did believe you... no saying they’d do anything about it. I’m destined to be a billboard hero. Do you really think they’ll throw all that away on some ditz from general studies?” Question after question, answer after answer, each one another stab and twist of the rusty blade in her hope. “Think again.” With her shirt open she witnessed him morph his hand into sharp rock, a jagged finger burrowing beneath the bridge of her bra and cutting the thick fabric loose, now fully exposed to his mouthful of teeth and slobbering tongue. “Hate to break it to you, but that’s not how the world works, Sweetheart.” 

She closed her eyes, clamped them shut, but it only helped her feel all his entitled actions even more, how he moved, rightfully, regardlessly, without regret or remorse. She swore she could feel him pulsating against her, his cock pumping against her swollen clit, where she could argue that the rip of him tearing apart her skirt was the loudest noise she’d ever heard in her life. 

“And perhaps it ends there, but I know you. You continue, trying to make anyone believe you, eventually ending up in management for crazy obsessed fanatic fangirls -of which I have many- or you give up.” His mouth enclosed her nipple, tongue swirling around the bud, fingers tweaking the other breast with boyish greediness. “Either way, you end up missing. With no friends to bother coming to find you, thinking that your delusional ass offed yourself, when in reality...” 

Large hand curling around her neck, squeezing as he rose to look down at her, rock his hips to allow his cock more friction, sliding up and down between her thighs, bobbing against her stomach, thrumming and spilling thick whiteness, dripping and smearing onto her skin. 

“You’re right back here with me.” 

Her heart skipped, seemed to stop, everything seemed to stop. His words hung poised, forgetting how to drop, like dust settling, lingering about the air as she looked up at him, thinking he looked like the onset of hell, like a demon, his hair like horns, his eyes like hellfire, and those teeth, those sharp unforgiving teeth. 

“You see, if you don’t give, I will take.” He juggled her head with the tight grip he had on her jaw, playing with her as his other hand swept through her delicate sensitive folds, made her cringe, try and shimmy away, all to his disgusting amusement shown in the snaggletooth that hooked over his lip as he smirked a grim curled line. “And right now it looks to me like I might just have to show you just how defenseless you are to stop me.” His digits wiggled inside her, and she whined into her panties as she sucked on them, her eyes clinging to the dangerous heat simmering inside his. “Aww see? You’re already getting so wet. Your body sure knows who it belongs to, I’m sure you will too, very soon.”

[angry-geese]

Choso Kamo x Reader

Warnings: sfw. mention of nudity but it's really nothing graphic. very brief nsfw mention. fluff. gn!reader

Notes: some fluff with Choso. reader decides to have a spa day and makes Choso join them

Word Count: 1.8k

It feels like it's been forever since you've gotten a day to relax like this.

You've designated today as a self care day. You could really use one. It's been a while since you properly sat back and relaxed. You've decided to go all out, breaking out new skincare and slightly pricier soaps you were saving for a rainy day. Things you always said you’d use, but never did because the situation never felt right. You figure you'll do your hair, too. Might as well. You’ve got time.

You like your showers warm. It always worries Choso that you’ll burn yourself. You sit with your hand in the water, gauging the temperature. A thin layer of bubbles covers the surface. Steam coils off the water. It's hot enough.

Choso can't help but watch with almost a childlike wonder. Wherever you go, he tends to follow. In his defense, he's curious. All the soaps and candles smell good. He's never really seen you do anything like this.

His gaze drifts to the floor when you start undressing. He's not sure why, only that he knows it's wrong to stare. He's seen you like this plenty of times before, but it always makes him blush. Doesn't matter if it's his first time, or his hundredth. You remind him that it's okay to look, that he can see you like this. Only he gets to see you like this. He's certain of that.

You try to distract from the anxiety of being the only naked one in the room.

"Are you coming in or not?" You ask.

"You want me to..." His face turns bright red.

"Of course," you motion for him to join you.

You coax his shirt over his head. He gets the hint, undressing the rest of the way.

He watches with baited breath as you slip into the water, steam drifting off your skin. You sigh and lean back, resting your head on the edge of the tub. The suds cling to your skin.

He settles into the water in front of you, his knees pulled to his chest. You part your legs enough to give him room to sit between them. He leans against your chest, trying to be mindful of his weight. He really isn't that heavy, but he's a bit wary of hurting you. You card a wet hand through his hair, drawing it out of his eyes. The warm water and epsom salts feel nice across his sore muscles. It's a bit too hot for him, leaving his skin pink, but you don't seem to be bothered by it so he says nothing. You gather a bit of suds in your hands, leaving a dot of them on his nose, laughing at his confused look.

Choso closes his eyes and sighs, leaning into your touch. You press a kiss to the top of his head. His cheeks turn bright red. Your arms snake around his body, holding him to your chest. He leans his head back, his eyes meeting yours. His hair tickles your neck.

“I feel like I could fall asleep.” He says.

You rest your chin on top of his head. “Good.”

He's never felt love quite like this. Of course he's felt love before; with his brothers, for his friends. But his love for you is vastly different. It's strange. He wants to hold you close and never let you go. He’s head-over-heels for you. The way you look at him with such adoration makes his chest swell with affection. He can't stop the smile that spreads across his face.

The face mask is a violent shade of green against your skin. You warm the paste up in your hands for a moment, though you can't tell if it helps or not. It smells strongly of cucumbers. You don't want to get up to look in the mirror, so you haphazardly apply it to your nose and the skin under your eyes.

“Do you want some?” You ask. He looks uncertain, but he nods anway.

"It's cold," he says.

"It's good for your skin." You say.

You give him a pleading look. You've forced him to sit while you paint his nails, or braid his hair. He likes it. As long as you're giving him attention, he'll tolerate a lot.

His response is only a wary look. He relaxes once you finish, closing his eyes, leaning back into your chest. Your body is warm. He runs a bit cold, naturally. He hardly notices it, but you certainly do. The hot water has turned his skin a nice shade of red. Under the water, his hand rests on your thigh, gripping it softly. He likes the way your thighs rest around his waist. They're warm, and softer than his. He's always admired how soft you are. He loves the way your body curves and dips. He loves the way his clothes look on you, or yours on him. He thinks you're strong, sturdy and beautiful in a way he never knew before he met you.

"Lean your head back so I'm not waterboarding you," you say, pressing a kiss to his temple.

He hums as you pour a bit of water over his head, your fingers working through his hair. Your nails are getting long. They feel nice against his scalp.

He practically begs you to play with his hair. He says it helps him sleep. You believe it. He's usually knocked out within minutes of you starting. Many of your nights together are spent with him sitting between your legs, or his head in your lap. It doesn't matter how warm it is outside, he has to sleep either in your arms, or with you in his.

The shampoo you use smells like coconuts, he notes. It smells nice. He practically purrs in delight as you start working the suds into his hair. His breath hitches as you brush a particularly sensitive spot at his temple. You make sure to work that area specifically.

You work out any tangles in his hair with conditioner and your fingers. He likes this part the best. You spend extra time brushing your fingers through his hair. He groans when you work down to his neck, kneading the muscles of his shoulders in your hands. At this point you aren't even scrubbing his head anymore.

He's almost disappointed when you stop.

"Let me do yours." He says.

Choso moves so you can lean against his chest. You worry about putting all of your weight on him. He insists he can take it. He can. But your initial hesitation is there. His chin rests on top of your head. His strong arms snake around you, holding you close. You feel so safe in his arms. You could fall asleep there.

And you just might.

His fingers run through your hair as he pours water over your head, shielding your eyes. He knows it can be a bit unpleasant. Once your hair is wet, he squeezes a sizable glob of shampoo onto his hands. Your hair is soft, he notes. He wonders if you like your hair being played with as much as he does. You hum softly as he starts to work it into your hair.

Slowly his hands work down, kneading the muscles of your neck and shoulders. Goosebumps raise along your flesh. He presses a kiss to the top of your head. His hands are warm. You find yourself dozing off in his arms. You feel so safe cradled against his chest.

When all the suds are rinsed out, he helps you work out any knots with his fingers. He likes the texture of the conditioner far less. It's cold and slimy, he says. You're not sure if that's how you'd describe it. He'd use 5-in-1 soap if you'd let him; which might be Yuji's fault.

He leans down to give you a kiss. It's just a quick peck, but the warmth of his lips lingers on yours for long after. You pull him back to deepen it, your tongue pressing past his lips, exploring his mouth. A line of saliva connects your lips when you pull away. You giggle at the way his face turns red.

Under the water, his fingers lace with yours. You lift his hand up, pressing a kiss to his knuckles. His heartbeat stops for a moment, before picking up in pace.

The two of you stay like that until long after the water has gone cold. Choso’s breathing has evened out, he hasn't moved in quite a while. You’re too warm and content in his arms to move. You’re not sure how long it’s been since you’ve dozed off. But the water is cold, and your fingers and toes are wrinkly from being underwater for so long.

“Did you fall asleep?” You ask, giggling when he shakes his head.

He still tries to hold onto you even as you get out of the water. You’ll worry about cleaning up in the morning.

You steal one of his shirts to wear. It's too big for the both of you, and has long since been designated a sleep shirt. His clothes are always huge on him, he likes the way they swallow him (and you) up. He sits with you between his knees, drying your hair off with a towel. You hate going to bed with wet hair.

Idly you flip through channels, looking for something to watch. Not much looks good. You have netflix—you have Yuji’s password—but nothing there looks good either. Eventually you settle on a late-night game show. You’re not particularly interested in it, but it's pretty nostalgic. It used to wake you up when you were a kid.

“Let me paint your nails,” you say. “Please?”

He nods. Your pleading look will be the death of him. Choso can't deny you anything.

He’s never been so hopelessly in love.

You sit cross-legged in front of him, pulling one of his hands into your lap. The nail polish you choose for him is clear. The other ones are in the bathroom, and you don't feel like getting up. You’ve tried all sorts of colors on him. His favorites are black and dark purple. He thinks they match his outfits rather well.

When you’re done, you grab ahold of both his hands, carefully examining his nails. They look fine. Really, you just want to hold his hands. You deem them good enough. He holds his hands as still as possible so as to not smear the nail polish.

When you’re finally ready to settle down for the night, he pulls you into his arms. You tug the covers up to your chin, making sure to wrap them around him too.

“Y/N?” He says.

“Yes?”

“I love you.” He says.

“I know.” You say. “I love you too.”

[gouged-out-eyes]

Wedding Night

Summary: You and your big orc husband enjoy your wedding night. 

Pairing: Orc x chubby female reader

Warnings: Smut. It’s literally just badly written smut. Size difference, face sitting, unprotected sex, exophilia, badly written ending

A/N: Finally after a century I have written something. This was requested by an anon, so here you go anon, I hope you like it. I’ve never written for an orc before so this was interesting. I took a more modern twist on it, and kind of based the orc off of WoW orcs, so I hope that’s what you had in mind. Anyways, enjoy the badly written smut with an even worse ending!

It had finally happened. You had gotten married. You had dreamed of this moment for a long time, since you were a little girl. It excited you, the prospect of being married, despite your family’s hesitation with your decision on a groom. Your mother had been understanding, but your father had his reservations about your choice of partner. But he was your father. He wouldn’t approve of anyone who wanted to date you, let alone marry you. But you didn’t care. You loved your big orc...husband. You could call him husband now. 

You leaned your head on his shoulder as he carried you into your hotel room. It had been a gift from your parents for the night before you would leave for your honeymoon. Tulgan had to duck slightly to make it in the door. You weren’t kidding when you called him big. You were small for a human, but you barely cleared his elbow when standing next to him. 

You didn’t care. You loved every inch of him. 

He sets you on the bed gingerly, ever the gentle giant. You look up at him in all his glory. He had stripped out of the tuxedo jacked during the reception and was currently laying on the luggage that had been delivered to the hotel early. The fitted shirt hugged his muscles just the right way, the starched white contrasting with the evergreen tone of his skin. He wore his hair braided back, a tradition that spanned centuries. You can’t help but ogle as he kneels down, fitted pants stretched across thick, strong thighs. You’d be out of your dress in a second if you caught a glimpse of his ass. 

You bite your lip as he grips your ankle, hand firm as it carefully massages the tires muscles. Your heels weren’t tall, but they certainly had done a number on your feet between the ceremony and the reception. 

He carefully removes them, setting them on the floor. Your skirts were bunched up slightly, tulle and lace partially blocking your view of him. A light moan leaves your lips as his hands slide upward, working their way to your knees. 

“Feel good?” 

You bite your lip, nodding. 

“You looked like an angel, walking down the aisle.” He parts your knees to settle himself amongst the tulle of your skirt. “I couldn’t stop thinking how lucky I am to have you.” 

You smile, tears threatening to fall from the emotional night you’d had. “Oh Tulgan, you big softie.” He chuckles, the sound vibrating through you. You reach a hand up, tracing a tusk with your finger. “I’m certainly the lucky one.” 

He smiles, eyes scrunching in the adorable way as his arms reach over your dress to wrap around your middle. He presses his forehead against yours, breathing you in. “I think we can call it even and say we’re both lucky.” He presses a kiss to your forehead, sitting up slightly. “Now, I’m sure you’d like to get out of this dress.” 

You nod, groaning slightly. “I was ready four hours ago.” 

You let out a squeak as he picks you up, hands on your waist. He sets you down, back facing him. Dulled claws work at the ties and zippers keeping the dress on. You start to feel slightly nervous again, your brain’s reaction every time something like this happened.

Four years and you still can’t quite shake the self-consciousness around him. You weren’t exactly a supermodel. You were...soft. Tulgan said he preferred you that way, wanting something to hold on to at night. He had spent hours reassuring you of his love for your body just the way it was. 

You had met plenty of orc women in your time around Tulgan, and none of them were exactly supermodels. You try to remember that as his hands release the last zipper and it drops to the floor, leaving you in nothing but your underwear. Tulgan’s hands are warm as they smooth along the skin of your waist, the broad expanse of his body pressing against yours. You can feel every hard muscle against your back, plus something else pressing into the dip of your lower back. 

“Happy to see me?” You ask, fingers splaying out on his smooth shirt. 

He chuckles, the sound almost morphing into a low growl. “Always.” 

Tulgan’s warm breath fans through your hair, still in its updo. You wanted to take it out, but at the same time you knew you weren’t exactly going anywhere. Dulled claws trace along the skin of your stomach, tickling you enough to cause goosebumps to form. You let yourself go, letting your body lean back against the orc behind you. He’s warm, warmer than a human, and it’s comforting to you. You loved his warmth, even in the heat of summer. It was like a comforting blanket, reminding you of his presence. He had sworn to protect you in his vows, and he meant it. 

You turn in his arms, hands smoothing over the broad expanse of his chest. It swells slightly in pride as your fingers begin to work on his shirt buttons. His hands are at your back, claws scratching your skin as he undoes your bra, yanking it down your arms and tossing it across the room. You don’t care to look where it lands, busy sliding his shirt over his shoulders and down his arms. You may have been considered soft, but no one ever said that about him. He was made of hard muscle, a warrior born in a time of peace. His strength was immense, far surpassing your own. You knew he could crush your skull without strain if he wanted to, but the way his hands delicately cup your face tells you he would never do such a thing. 

“I love you.” He says, running a thumb over your lips. 

You smile up at him, standing on your toes to give you as much height as you can. “I love you too.” 

He presses his lips to yours, bending down the rest of the way. His tusks tickle your cheeks, tongue quickly working its way into your mouth. You hadn’t wanted to stop kissing him at the altar, but you knew there would be time for it later. It was now later. 

You grip his shoulders, his hands waiting to catch you as you jump into his arms. His hands grip your thick thighs, holding you easily as you continue kissing him. He tastes musky and like the whiskey he’d drank at the reception before you had left for the hotel. 

He separates your lips as he lays down on the bed, holding you above him. You’re sitting on his stomach, abs flexing as he breathes. Your legs are spread wide across him, the wetness beginning to dampen your panties pressed against his skin, and by the smug look on his face you can tell he feels it. 

“You better lose that smug look.” 

He smirks deeper, hands gripping your waist. “Or what?” 

You give him your own smirk, leaning down to his ear before taking the pointed appendage between your teeth and biting down. He lets out a roar loud enough to shake your entire body, claws digging into your skin, but you don’t care. You release his ear, sitting up with a smirk. He looks utterly wrecked under you: panting, eyes hooded. His hands reach up, cupping a breast in each. He’s wearing the leather beaded bracelet you had made for him as a gift during your courtship, your own leather necklace still around your neck. 

His claws circle your nipples, already peaked, and he’d barely touched you. You know you’re going to get it, having taken a bold move biting his ear. His fingers pinch at your nipples, drawing sweet moans from your lips. He loves hearing the sounds of your moans, like music to his ears. 

You can feel yourself getting wetter, hips moving against his stomach. You can feel the rough texture of his skin through your panties, deliciously rubbing against your clit. He watches you, biting his own lip as he strains painfully against his pants at the sight. You are absolutely beautiful to him. 

His hands leave your breasts, lifting you up slightly, stopping your movement. You let out an adorable whine at the loss of contact, but he inches you closer up his chest until you’re practically seated on his face. You grip the headboard, his hands easily tearing your panties off of you. You can’t bring yourself to care, as his lips are on you instantly. His tusks press against your thighs, scratching against the skin. You know you’ll have plenty of marks from tonight on your body tomorrow. 

His tongue licks a line across your folds, teeth scraping against your clit. Your body jerks in reaction, grinding against his tongue and teeth. Jolts of pleasure shoot through you, your legs shaking from his ministrations. You hold yourself up, partially with the help of his hands on your waist. His tongue is thick and hot as it traces your clit, winding you up towards the edge you can practically see. 

And then you fall over, reaching your first orgasm of the night. 

He laps every drop, licking you clean practically. You feel overstimulated, hips trying to move away from him when he finally lets you go. He holds you against his chest, stroking your hair softly. 

“You good?” He rumbles, claws tracing patterns on your back. 

You nod, fingers playing in the dark hair on his chest. “Yeah. Better than good.” 

He laughs. “I’m just getting started.” 

He takes your hand in his, pressing it against the sizable bulge in his pants. You let out a quiet sound, feeling the hardness against your palm through his tuxedo pants. 

“Well, maybe we should do something about that.” You say, sitting up slightly and undoing his belt. 

He doesn’t stop you, watching you as you undo his pants, his hips lifting to help you slide them, along with his boxers, down his legs. He kicks them off, leaving himself bare to you. He’s huge, hard and leaking against his stomach. You blanch for a moment, wondering just how he’s going to fit inside you. He had to be the size of your forearm, easily. 

You reach out, gripping his length in your hand. You can barely get your fingers all the way around him, his own hand closing over yours, showing you how to grip him. He moves your hand with his, teaching you the rhythm he likes. You catch on easily, working him up more than he already was.

He pulls your hand away before too long, pulling you back against his chest. “You’re in control.” He says, sitting you over his stomach again. 

You gulp, but you’re glad for the invitation. You had never had anyone nearly as big as he was, and you knew it would take a lot to get him in. Regardless, he holds you up, using his strength as you situate yourself over him, easing the tip against you. You slowly press yourself down on him, a burning stretch to fit him even just an inch inside. You brace yourself on his stomach, legs trembling already from the stretch as your body tries to adjust to him. He sits up, wrapping his arms around you, breathing sweet nothings into your hair, praising you. 

You slowly inch yourself down his length, taking him more and more as you adjust to his size. You’re already fluttering around him, feeling close to the edge, and you had just barely gotten started. You hold yourself back, though, gripping his shoulders as you take as much of him as you can. 

He lays back down, gripping your curves with his hands as you begin to move, using his arms for leverage as you roll your hips. He’s so big inside of you, stretching you and hitting every part of you without trying you’re not sure how much longer you’re going to last, and by the look on his face you know he’s not going to last much longer either. 

You push yourself further onto him, taking as much of him as you physically can, his tip hitting something inside you that has you crying out. He groans at the sensation, his hips jerking slightly as you tighten around him. You repeat that movement, hitting that spot over and over, and before you know it, you’re practically seeing stars. He growls underneath you; the sound vibrating through your body as he thrusts up into you a couple times before finishing himself. He’s hot as he spurts into you, a sheen of sweat on both your bodies, but you don’t care, resting on his chest anyway. 

You groan as he slips out of you, a rush of fluid following. You moan slightly at the feeling, his hands brushing over your skin gently. 

“Are you alright, love?” He asks, touch gentle on your overly stimulated body. 

You nod, limp on his chest, limbs like jelly. “Yeah. Never been better.” 

He smiles. “Good. Because we’re not finished here.” 

Orcish stamina, a curse or a blessing?

[littlest-dark-age]

We are fire

!contains suggestive material! Please do not read if you do not wish to read suggestive/nsfw material!

You'd known what you'd been doing to sirius, you had to. He couldn't imagine a world where you didn't know what you were doing when you slipped on his button down, which you stole from him the last night you spent in his dorm, instead of your own and tucked it into your skirt. Not even hiding your grin as you loosely done your tie. Oh, but that wasn't all was it?

No, of course not. Sirius figured it would be a much longer day then it usually would be when you slid his hand between your thighs and up your skirts in the middle of the second lesson of the day. Letting his hand wander to your panties to feel the oh so familiar texture of a specific pair of panties. The yellow cotton panties that he adored, the way they looked cupping your ass the way he so desperately wished he could at the moment. Sirius had to bite his lip to keep from groaning when you clamped your thighs shut to keep his hand just out of reach of dipping his long fingers into the warmth between your legs that he often wished he could be locked in at any given moment.

And then? What you did at lunch? He knew you were trying to rile him up then and unfortunately, it was working.

The way you kept pressing your chest against his arm, rubbing your thighs against his and sliding your hands over his half hard cock in the disguise of using his thigh to help you be able to grab something off of the table. Sirius had half a mind to smack you then and there, then he'd see if you wanted to do this little game again.

But now….after lessons which included more teasing and what felt like an entirely too long dinner, he had you.

Dragging you up the stairs as you let out soft whimpers at the pace he was angrily walking at, not able to stop the way he rolled his eyes at the sounds

"Maybe I wouldn't be so angry if you weren't a fuckin' brat all day, thought bout that pup?" Sirius can't help but to slam the door once he gets the both of you through it, making sure to lock it. Not that it matters, the boys were used to straying from the dorm when he was like that and seeing your...affections towards one another.

"Didn't mean it daddy, swear it" you pout and bounce onto his bed as sirius tosses you down to the mattress. Letting out a gasp at the swift hit to your exposed outer thigh that your skirt revealed when you fell onto the bed.

"I don't appreciate lying, now do I? Believe that's somethin' that's gotten you into trouble befo' hadn't it?" Crawling over you with a fire in his eyes that could rival even the sun's flames, wrapping one of your thighs around his slim hips whilst your other leg dangles off the bed.

He leans down to your face, his dark hair acting as a curtain around the two of you. Resting his forehead against your own as you try to lean up for kiss but stopping at the large hand that comes up to softly rub at your neck with a gentleness that sirius only seemed to show you. After a moment of rubbing the skin of your neck, his hand reaches down to tug off the barely hanging on tie and toss it to the corner of the room although he didn't seem to care where it lands at the moment. Shutting your eyes as you feel his slightly chapped lips replace the spot his finger occupied just a second ago before sinking his teeth into your sweet skin, pulling a small mewl from you. Pulling away and leaning back on his legs before rolling his hips briefly into your covered heat with a wide grin.

"Oh look at that pup? Can you feel what I've been dealing with for the past few hours? What you caused?" Finally flipping your skirt up to completely reveal your panties and the dark spot in the middle of them before pinning your hips to the bed.

Seeing your chest start to rise quickly and your brows furrow, free leg kicking about as a whine slips through your mouth at his teasing actions. Sirius's grin turns into a light scowl as he starts to take off your, his, button down despite how much he wants to just to rip the buttons off. Slowing his movements to tease you even more, causing you to try and lift your hips but getting met with a soft smack to your cheek. Drawing a huff from you causing him to laugh and mockingly pout at you.

"Yea, don't like when you get what you deserve now do you? Oh but m'love, you look so pretty like this. All splayed out for me to toy with…."

His head falls back to your chest, pressing kisses to it as he continues to unbutton your shirt until it's completely open. You sit up with his help, practically ripping the shirt in the process of getting it off and toss onto the floor. Once again not caring where the cloth landed, knowing you'll have to hunt them down later. Sirius reaches a hand to tug the zipper of your skirt down, dropping your thigh from his waist to help you shimmy out of it.

All you're left in now is your underwear, while he still has all of his clothes on causing you to whine and tug on his belt buckle. He rolls his eyes and smacks your hands away from it and starts to undo it himself. You can't help but stare at the way his hands move around and manipulate the metal, it's a sight you've seen a thousand times before but you can't help but stare every time. You know he knows, which is why he always does it so teasingly slow. Taking his time and drawing it out as much as he can. "Siriusssss hurrryyyy" unable to stop the whine from coming out, he raises a brow as if daring you to say more.

"First of of all, pup, sirius not my name right now is it? Second. You don't get to whine and complain about me taking my time when all bloody day you've acted like a little slut, yea?" He all about says fuck the rest of his clothes before deciding against it. He steps back and your legs occupy the space his own once was, making a show out of stepping out of his pants and shirt. Slowly starting to tug his own underwear, you can feel yourself start to practically drool at the thought of finally being able to see him completely. You're unable to stop the grin the creeps its way into your face when he finally sheds his final layer and returns back to the bed, crawling on top of you once again and forcing you to lay back.

"Your panties are practically swimmin' aren' they? This what I do to my baby's cunt huh? Make it all wet and sloppy?" Sirius bites his lip as he leans down, propping himself up on one hand that's beside your head. He shakes his own head with a soft laugh as you hook your arms around his neck and toss one leg around his skinny hips, rolling your own to tease his throbbing member with the warmth of your heat. Finally, he gives you a proper kiss as the hand not holding him up sneaks around to unclasp your bra expertly. Leaving your lips, he leads a train of kisses down your jawline and your neck. Following the valley of your chest before pushing the fabric of your bra up to reveal your soft nipples, they pucker slightly at the chill in the room although you know the two of you won't be cold. Continuing to leave kisses over your belly and down to your panty line, sinking down between your thighs. Sirius looks up at you from his spot and pressed the softest kiss to the damp spot in the yellow cotton, making your legs jolt and try to clamp down around his head. You feel the grip on your thighs tighten as he sits up once again, hooking a finger into the side of your panties and tugging them to the side.

"Aw look at that, my baby's pretty cunt. Weeping at the thought of m'cock fucking into it, if I weren't so generous….I'd just leave you here with tied hands so you couldn't even get yourself off. No no, that's what I do. Nobody else, not even you."

Taglist @plzineedhelp

Smth for @randomoutsiders

[freakie-deakie]

Lucas // How To: Kill an Idea

i have been really struggling with feeling numb lately and i super projected that onto this character. i really do apologize if it doesn’t make for the most interesting read. i may or may not end up rewriting this when i’m feeling better.

Warnings: emotional numbness and detachment

Masterlist

THIS IS PART 2!!! Read part one here: How To: Hurt My Feelings

Lucas x Reader (angst // 7.3k words); ft. stepbrother!Johnny

The way the lights reflected off the water brought only distant memories of the Han flowing through the city of Seoul and mirroring the life around it. The bustle of the city, the calm of the river banks. The things that you neighbored so long ago.

You could become so lost in the remnants of the past - that you would forget to lose yourself in the readiness of the moment.

You owed the Garonne. After tirelessly looking over you for months on end, you owed her your presence at the very least. How dare you look at her in all of her beauty and only think of another.

She smiled at you nonetheless. The Garonne sat with you one last night and told you how much she would miss you - how much all of Bordeaux would miss you. She told you that the stone buildings, the ones in the alleyway that you cut through every night as you return to your dorm, didn't know what they were going to do without you. She told you that the little birds that had nested outside of your window had practiced a sadder song to sing after you left. She swore that the lights in the city shone brighter than they ever had before when you landed and that they would fade upon your departure.

She made you promise that you would come back to see all of them: the buildings, the birds, and the lights. On your own accord, you promised you would come back to see her.

The Garonne waved you off that night, sending you to bed and wishing you a restful slumber and a safe flight in the morning.

Tired and stiff, you limp out of the terminal with your laptop clutched to your chest and a yawn escaping your lips. You mindlessly followed the crowd of other travelers to baggage claim and patiently waited for your suitcase to be sorted onto the conveyor belt.

"Pardon me, Mademoiselle," a familiar voice reached your ears, "I believe a poor boy has been waiting far too long to see you here."

You spun on your heel, a bright smile suddenly overtaking your features. "Lucas," you call quietly as you envelop him in a tight hug. You had barely moved for sixteen hours straight, but once in his arms, every desire for motion ceased. It seemed that he agreed, as he latched onto you and refused to let go.

"I missed you," he admitted before placing a kiss on the top of your head and moving to grab your bag off the belt.

"I missed you more," you answered softly.

He took your hand and kissed it before leading you through the airport and down to the parking garage where your brother was waiting, leaned up against his car, and dusting the cigarette ashes off of his sleeve.

"Hey there, Miss France," he says as he moves to envelop you in a hug of his own. "How was your flight?"

"It was fine," you answer simply. "Long, but fine."

"Well, you have an hour-long car trip to give us the highlights of France, if you're not too tired. We could stop by a late-night diner too if you're hungry."

You nodded along as you climbed into the car, enjoying the banter after your long trip. But as you rode in the passenger seat home (funny, you thought, that you still called it home), you took in things about the city that you never really appreciated.

The locals that ignored the do-not-cross signs, the billboards that were so shrouded in smog that you could barely read them, the stray cats that freely wandered the city like it was their own personal playground. All the things that you used to neighbor.

And when you got to the bridge that you'd longed to see since you left, the Han welcomed you home with as much love for you as it had six months ago. You made it a point to tell him about the Garonne sometime. You think he would enjoy hearing about her.

"The pastries," you say simply. "It was France; of course the pastries were the best."

Johnny dropped you back at your apartment and your boyfriend opted to stay the night, helping you settle back into the space that you could once again call your own.

Another tenant had contracted your apartment for the time you were away - there were a few more cuts and bruises than you remember leaving, but it was nothing you couldn't patch up. The bed wasn't where you had it, the shower knobs had been replaced, and an empty curtain rod rest stretched along your window seal.

"The stuff you left with us, it's still back at the frat," he chuckles awkwardly.

"That's okay." You offer him a small smile and plop down on one of the only four pieces of stand-alone furniture left in the space, the old black sofa in the same spot it's always been. "At least they didn't take my couch."

"Y/N, darling, I don't know if I would lay on that if I were you."

His words took a moment to register, but when they did your eyes shot open and you were out of your seat comically fast. "Oh God, ew..."

He laughed again and pressed a small kiss to your temple. "Let's take a shower and then we'll figure things out, okay? And you know, you don't have to sleep here tonight. There are no sheets on the bed or anything, so you can-"

You cut him off with a quick kiss and lead him to the bathroom, ready for a warm shower to take away all of your travel pains.

"Not really," you answered honestly, rolling your head to the side to look at your boyfriend. You'd been looking at his ceiling for a while, head resting on his thigh while he played with your hair. It felt nice, you thought, to get a chance to live in your memories - specifically the memories you had left with him here in his room, the ones that always waited for you while you were away. "All of my days in France were spent doing something or another. By myself, with the people that I met. So no, it never really got mundane. I didn't think that kind of life existed for anyone over the age of nine." You let out a small but heavy breath. "I guess I had to experience it for myself to understand."

Lucas doesn't say anything for a moment. Instead, he focuses on gently detangling a knot that his fingers had caught on. Your hair was longer now than it was.

"I'm happy for you," he reassures you. He doesn't quite know what he's reassuring, but he reassures you nonetheless.

"Lucas?" you ask softly.

"Hmm?" he responds, his gruff voice sounding tired.

"What would you have done if I didn't come back?" His finger stop working in your mess of locks and all of his attention is focused on dissecting what you just asked him.

"I don't know what answer you want me to give you," he says smally, glancing down at you before retraining his gaze on the ceiling, its texture nearly lost in the dark.

"There isn't a certain answer I want. I'm just curious."

"I don't understand the question," he almost interrupts, suddenly a bit tenser than he was only moments ago.

"I don't mean anything by it, Lucas. It's not a loaded question." Your soft voice is enough to lul his hand back to its comforting motions. "Would you have gone after me or would you have let me go?"

"I would have gone after you without a second thought. Definitely, I would have."

"I thought about staying you know."

There's a pause, a small silence of thought on both ends.

"Why didn't you," he asks with genuine curiosity.

"It wasn't home. You weren't there."

A wolf whistle follows you into the kitchen the next morning and you feel the need to suppress your groan.

"If I knew you were staying the night, I would have held a cup against the door."

"Oh, gross, Jaehyun," you sneer, turning to jab your elbow into the older boy's side.

"What? Not everyone gets to tour France." You can't help but dramatically roll your eyes and threaten him with a punch.

"Do you want a cup of coffee? I was about to put on a pot."

"Sure," he smiles gratefully. "And you can tell me about Bordeaux while we wait."

"Oh, it was beautiful," you think back as you prepare the grounds. "As the sun was setting, the sky would turn golden. If there were any clouds that evening, they would turn all different shades of pink. The lights over the water - words wouldn't do it justice."

Jaehyun chuckles before yawning out, "Well, that's a first."

"Jung Jaehyun, if you are trying to say that I talk too much-"

"That's not what I'm saying," he defends. "I mean you always have a way with words. It's your thing, ya' know. Words."

You hum, turning back to your task. "I guess I hadn't thought about it that way - at least not for a while."

The door to the kitchen swings open and another boy ungracefully stumbles into the kitchen. Haechan is clad in a plain T-shirt and dark shorts (if you could call them that). His hair is no longer silver; it's now a dusty brown, curling up into the picture of a sandstorm blowing about his head. He looked healthier, or maybe just more mature since you last saw him. He'd filled out a bit, and grown into those long limbs of his.

"Man, what's will all the commotion in here? It's Saturday and- Y/N?" The boy immediately perks up upon seeing you. "Oh my gosh, Y/N! You're back!" He hugs you and sits down at the island beside his older friend, suddenly as energetic as a child on Christmas morning. "Great, because I made a list of pranks we're gonna pull together. Jaehyun, since you're here, I guess you can help us too. Okay, first of all, we're gonna shove a bag of chocolate powder mix down the shower drain. I'd like to make sure that one gets Mark because he blamed me for breaking Johnny's lamp."

There were things you would have to readjust to in Korea. Things that you didn't think would catch you off guard, yet still managed to turn you around every now and again. The wet bath was one of them; you were going to miss your tub. You also suddenly found bowing a bit more strange than you originally had, as well as keeping personal space when you greeted someone altogether. Most prominently, the language barrier that you weren't so sure you'd ever really overcome in your first life in Korea.

Words were suddenly weird to you again. Ideas that could manifest themselves in one language but not another. At times, there were no proper parallels, nor were there ways in which to express everything going on inside your head.

Though you tried your hardest, what little French you learned simply wouldn't translate properly to English, or the English wouldn't translate to Korean, or the Korean to French, or the French to Korean, or the Korean to the English. The words just never came out the way you wanted them to, and in a way, it was like a piece of you fell away from the rest, lost somewhere between all of your different lives.

Lucas noticed how much quieter you seemed since you'd returned.

You made it a point to generally avoid contact with everyone while you were away. You occasionally checked in with them to let them know that you were alive, but other than that had kept your space. You became more dedicated to learning about yourself and how to care for your well-being. You began making decisions of your own, from what you would eat every night and how early you would wake up every morning to what debacles were worth your time and energy. You decided that most of them weren't. You decided that pondering your life was taking years off of it, and that you didn't like to eat snails. You decided that you weren't so bad after all, and for that matter, no one else was either. You decided to live.

"Hey, can I see something on your Instagram real quick?" you asked softly, setting your bowl of fancy ramen on the coffee table in front of you. "I think one of my friends just had a baby and I wanted to see if she's posted any pictures yet."

Without giving it much thought, Lucas hands you his phone and turns back to his meal. "What happened to your Instagram?" he questioned.

"Deleted it," you quip, pulling up your friend's account. He hears you coo before you shove the device back into his hands, urging him to look at the baby. He thought the child, redfaced and wet, looked like an alien, though he'd never tell you that.

"Why'd you delete it?" he pursues.

You simply shrug and cover more of your legs with the blanket that rested on the both of you. "Didn't need it." He gives you an unsatisfied groan, but you can't think of a better answer. It was simple - while you took plenty of photos to document your life, you no longer found it necessary to post them.

"Okay," he tries, "what about your Kakao Story?"

"Deleted."

"So you no longer use Facebook, Twitter, Snapchat, Skype, Instagram, or Kakao Story? What if someone needs to contact you?"

"I still have Kakao and Discord."

"Okay, what about my posts? Or your other friends'?"

"If they have something to tell me, they will," you sip your hot tea and lean into his side.

"It’s like she doesn't want to talk to me. She doesn't want to talk to anyone," groans Lucas as he sprawls out on Mark's bed. "She doesn't talk nearly as much as she used to."

Mark's hand didn't stop relaying notes to his journal as he talked with Lucas, translating as many of his lyrical ideas onto paper as he could keep up with.

"She's not the same person she used to be, Lucas."

Lucas had trouble making sense of it, why Mark sounded so sure about that. It almost hurt his pride that one of his roommates was telling him something about you, his girlfriend.

"Who is?" Lucas rubs his eyes. "We've all grown up since then."

Mark's hand halts. "Since then?"

"Since-" he sighs. "Ya' know, since... Since we..."

"Don't hurt yourself," Mark chuckles. "Maybe," he offers, "this chapter of your life is written in a different style. Did you even notice? That your life hasn't been going the same since she got back?"

"Of course it's not the same," the elder defends. "It's infinitely better."

"Spare me. Look, I'm just saying, the less she talks, the more dialog you're putting in your own book. And I think it's better this way. I mean, I can't tell you how to write your life, but I can honestly say I think you're doing better now than you were before. You started using your words instead of acting on impulse. That's not easy, man. Words are hard."

Words: your staple, your foundation, your life. They were your nothing anymore.

And Lucas didn't know how to understand.

He tried not to take it personally, but soon you fell into almost complete silence both with him and his friends. When you joined them for a Smash Bros competition, you didn't exclaim your victories nor mourn your defeats. When you dressed, you didn't ask for his opinions on the color of your lipstick nor the type of heel you should wear. When you laid in bed with him and watched his fan turn above your heads, you refused to humor his desire to hear your voice. And he took the fault upon himself.

He felt guilty asking anything of you anymore because you never opened your mouth to ask for favors in return.

"Y/N, will you come cuddle with me?" he calls with as much endearment as he can shove into his tone.

This was for your own good, he reminded himself.

You hadn't watched the news in months, and he knew that. You, ever the stickler for meaningful conversation, had devoted large portions of your time to staying up to date before. As of late, however, you preferred "to watch the world crash and burn around you from a first-person point-of-view rather than a third-person point-of-view."

He hoped that sitting you down to watch the news for a while would spark a fire in your opinionated soul. So imagine his reaction when you crawled into his arms and fell asleep, paying absolutely no mind to the colors or words on the screen.

His next plan was to plant your favorite novel in the hands of your favorite philosopher.

This was for your own good, he reminded himself.

He shoved the book into Doyoung's hands with a stern "fix her." Needless to say, Doyoung had the book read within a couple of days and Lucas invited you over as soon as his friend flipped through the pages for the final time.

"A piece of modern art," he suggests. "A sorrow lost to the sands of time and a meaning forgotten by society."

Lucas watches in amazement as you sit and nod along to everything that Doyoung says. You didn't interject your ideas even once. You just listened.

He was running out of ideas. So his last plot was his last hope that there may be a bit of yourself left inside of you. He would take you on a date - the best date you've ever been on - and thrust so much happiness and gratefulness onto you that you wouldn't be able to contain it so silently. He knew it was a dirty trick, but how else was he to make sure that you were okay if you would no longer tell him anything about yourself.

This was for your own good, he reminded himself.

Really, he should have asked you out first, before he came barging into your apartment (tidier than he'd ever seen it before and reeking of cleaner) with a bundle of flowers and demanding your attention for the evening.

Surprise.

He was about to push open the door to your bedroom when he heard a soft sniffle from inside. His eyes widened and his shoulders fell. His heart broke when he heard a small sob fall from your lips.

He peeked inside. It was dark, mind the laptop that sat on your desk and illuminating your shaking form. You laid your head on one arm and used your other hand to rake through your stringy hair. Your glasses had been tossed to the shadowy void and your cheeks were wet and sticky.

The header of your philosophy paper stared you down as you unraveled before it. The rest of the blank page was absolutely daunting. Your acceptance of the world around you had drained away your ability to have a coherent cognitive thought about it, forget about writing one.

To some extent, you missed the days when you were confident in your ability to build empires out of words. Now, you couldn't even build a ten-page paper, especially not by 11:59 pm that night.

To a greater extreme, you couldn't understand why you would want to return to your opinionated ways or your charismatic skills that abused fact until it bent to your will. What purpose did fact or, more importantly, idea have anymore, other than to aid your ability to charm others to abide by your purpose?

It felt wrong to write a definitive philosophical thesis, especially when you couldn't bring yourself to definitively believe in anything particular.

"Y/N," you jumped at the sound of your own name and quickly wiped your cheeks with the back of your sleeves, sitting up straighter and making yourself more presentable before you turned around to face him. Lucas saw it all. He watched you put your mask back on right before his eyes, and he realized that you were hurting in ways that he couldn't see until now.

"Lucas," you cursed your shaky voice. "What's up? Why are you here?"

He takes a few quiet steps until he's standing before you and kneels to look into your eyes. There are things that he wants to say, 'you're scaring me' being the most prominent, but he knows he should choose his words more carefully.

"I want to know what's going on. I want to help." He slips his hands into your own and rests them on your knees.

"I just don't think you can," you answer simply.

"Can you tell me what's the matter?"

You shake your head and the tears come rushing back to your eyes. "I don't know what's the matter." It's honest. You don't know why your head can't wrap around your assignments, or your conversations, or your own thoughts as of late.

All that time spent with yourself taught you how to understand yourself and your own needs. You feel that you have exchanged your understanding of the world around you for a simpler version of life. Did that make you selfish? You didn't know.

All Lucas could do was watch you as you fell back into your frustrations. It didn't take long before your brows were knitted back together, your nose was running, and your eyes had glazed over as you retreated back inside of yourself.

"Y/N," he softly called. Your eyes only met his for a second before they were cast somewhere else and your attention ran away from you once again.

"I think," you started, unsure of every word that slipped past your lips. "I think you should go."

You didn't know how to explain to him that you were afraid of what he might think of you at that moment, or that you didn't want to hurt his feelings any more than you guessed you already had.

"I don't want to go. I'm tired of leaving you alone." He stood, gently pulling you to stand with him, and led you to the edge of your bed with a delicate touch. "You don't have to sleep. You don't have to talk. Just lay here with me for a little while and let me be close to you."

"You know," Lucas started as he tossed the noodles in the pan. He'd tucked you into the couch earlier that evening and told you to forget the paper you'd been stressing over. You happily complied. "I don't know how to say this any better." You listened keenly as you pulled a throw pillow into your lap and wrapped yourself around it. "I know that this is probably the last thing you want to talk about, but I did something very wrong to you. I'm still sorry, and I hope you know that. But..." He cast you a quick glance over his shoulder before reaching for the seasoning in your pantry. "I don't think I ever gave you the chance to yell at me. Or like, to be mad at me - ya' know?"

You thought for a moment, front teeth chewing on your thumbnail before you shook your head softly and answered, "I don't want to yell at you. I don't want to be mad at you."

You heard a repressed sound of discouragement before looking to see him dishing your dinner plates. "I wish you would. I wish you would yell at me and tell me what I did was wrong. I wish you would be angry with me for a little while. I wish you would just tell me something about how you feel about it."

He handed you your plate and watched as you ran back inside of your own head. He watched your eyes glaze over as you replayed his words, and yet you made sense of almost none of them. You didn't understand what he was asking of you.

You toyed with your food as you tried to process his request. You didn't even notice when he took his seat beside you, nor did you notice the burning gaze he watched you with.

"Y/N," he called, shaking you out of your trance. "I want you to yell at me." You looked at him like a deer caught in headlights - big black eyes staring down a deadly light. "How did you feel when it happened? Shout something horrific at me about what was going through your head at the time."

You took a small bite and swallowed, training your eyes on the coffee table before you. "I don't remember."

You looked so small, so helpless, and so distant. You were there, right next to him, and yet you were so far away. He was having trouble finding you.

"Yell. Break something. For fuck's sake, please."

The more pressure he applied, the further you seemed to slip away. Before he knew it, you were gone.

"That's not her anymore." He found himself on Mark's bed once again, tucked into the younger boy's covers and pouring out his heart. "She's not all there. She just looks so empty now."

"Dude, I don't know why you come to me for this sort of thing. It's not like I'm just great with girls," the younger quips from his desk chair. "And Johnny would know more about her than I would-"

"No. He absolutely cannot know that I broke his sister."

Mark hummed in thought for a moment before he laid his pen down in his textbook and turned his full body to his friend. "Lucas, be honest with me about something." Lucas nodded. "Did you see anyone else while she was in France?"

Lucas shook his head as he took in his friend's words carefully. He had no right to be mad at the accusation, so he kept his temper in check until a particularly vile thought trotted across his mind. He sat up immediately. "Oh God, do you think that she did? Do you think she considered it a break and she slept with someone else?"

"No, that's not what I'm saying- hey- Lucas, stop." Lucas was already to his feet and out the door before he could finish. "So not my fault," he grumbled to himself.

Finally, it all made sense to him. You couldn't be mad at him if you were also guilty. You couldn't yell at him for committing a sin you'd also committed. He was going to redress the scale. He was going to make you the word again. He was going to be the action.

The solid thuds against your wooden door made you jump up from your floor. Adrenaline spread through your fingertips and you took a step back towards your bedroom.

"We need to talk."

Lucas sounded angry. You pushed and pulled with your memory, but found no trace of experiencing this feeling before: fear of him. You moved against your gut to let him in. You barely opened the door before he pushed his way inside, rattling off accusation after accusation.

"Did you think we were on a break? Because we weren't on a break."

You just listened.

"Did you just forget about me while you were there? Did you just ignore the fact that I was waiting for you? I was stuck here, waiting for you every day while you were in France."

You didn't speak.

"So you just got to do whatever you wanted while I had to sulk here? You just couldn't control yourself, huh? Do you know how hard it was to keep control of myself while you were gone?"

'It was hard?' you thought.

"How about we take another break then? How about this time, I get to sleep with whoever I want? Well? Aren't you even going to open your mouth to defend yourself?"

You didn't.

"Am I wrong?" He prompted. "I didn't think so. Now we're on a break. Now you can fuck around with whoever you want."

Shocked couldn't begin to describe the state he left you in. You stood there, clambering for answers as to what could have sent him on a warpath to your apartment in the first place. His seemingly unprompted fit of jealous rage couldn't really have been sparked without a cause, you figured.

Maybe he'd seen pictures of you with your male friends in France. Maybe a rumor had been spread about you. Maybe he was just tired of you and feeding himself a rotten narrative as an excuse to break up with you.

You didn't want to know. You opted to rather accept his decision, and all of your own emotions that came flooding back with it.

"Hey man, have you talked to Y/N lately? She took one of my classes last year, and I wanted to see if I could get her notes before semester tests." Haechan asks his elder who lay sprawled on the couch.

"Nope," he said, popping the 'p.'

"What?" Haechan asked, looking up from his phone. "What do you mean you haven't talked to her?"

Lucas lazily yawned and reached for his soda can beside him. "It's not like she's my girlfriend or something. I'm not her keeper."

"Shit, Lucas, you didn't," Mark groaned, rubbing his temple.

"No, you were right. She was sleeping with other guys while she was in France. She didn't even try to deny it."

"Hang on, I never said that. You conjured that one up all on your own, buddy."

Haechan frowned as his frat members debated. He was focused on a much bigger issue at large.

"When did you break up with her?" he asks cautiously.

"Hey, we're just on a break. Don't go getting any ideas-"

"Jesus fuck, can your ego get any bigger?" Lucas crossed his arms and refocused his attention on the television, jaw clenched tightly. "You're so annoying," Haechan mumbled under his breath, already moving towards the door and shooting your brother a message telling him to meet in front of your apartment.

"Damn, you got called annoying by Haechan. How does that feel?"

"Can it, Lee."

You could feel it all, the swarm of emotions swirling and twirling around inside your chest, and yet you couldn't begin to name any of them. All you knew was that it hurt and you wanted it to stop.

You laid in your bed and watched your ceiling fondly. You liked how it didn't move. You didn't struggle to keep up with it. And it was dependable; it would always be there.

You didn't move when the knock at your front door finally registered in your ears; you were tired of playing doorman in your own residence.

You were just tired actually.

"Y/N," Johnny called, lightly pushing open the door to your bedroom. A strong sense of deja vu winded you. You knew this scene, you'd lived it before. "It's me and Haechan. I'm sorry we didn't call first." You didn't know how they managed to get inside, nor did you care. You just wanted to sleep.

Johnny took a seat next to you on the side of your bed. He brushed a strand of hair out of your eyes in an attempt to capture your attention. That's when the smell hit you. The heavy stench of cigarettes washed over all of your senses causing you to retract from his touch. He looked shaken at first, scared that he might have hurt you.

"You didn’t smoke before," you recalled. It was almost a feat in and of itself to remember the bitter past, but the small victory was stifled by the thick, wet air of the bitter present.

His eyes softened before he reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a pack he'd bought just a few days before. "I started a few months ago while you were away. I knew you wouldn't be happy about it."

"I don't care," you answered promptly before slowly pulling yourself to sit up against your headboard.

Haechan watched from the doorway. He wondered if he'd ever seen someone in this state before, or if he ever would again. He looked at you and almost failed to see the human being in front of him. He watched you move like a frightened animal, stiff and weary. He watched your untrained gaze flicker between your brother and your brother's outstretched hand. 

This couldn't have just been the work of Lucas, he concluded. There were more deeply rooted implications here. There was an unresolved issue before your idiot boyfriend played to his own role.

"Can you tell me what's wrong?"

"I don't know," you answered honestly.

Johnny looked to Haechan for support, but the younger could offer only his presence in this situation.

"That's okay," your brother soothed. "Haechan," he turned to your mutual friend, "can you call Ten and Yuta and see if they've, uh, noticed anything weird lately about..." He gestured to you. Haechan excused himself to place the calls. "Food? Food always helps, right?" he tried with a dry chuckle. You paid absolutely no mind to him.

"I can't take this," Ten muttered to himself, excusing himself from your bedroom. Five boys had soon found themselves huddled in your doorway, watching your every move intently as you resisted every attempt your brother made to move you.

You felt like a lab rat, being looked at from all angles as Johnny poked and prodded to see what would make you tick. It felt humiliating.

"Let's just go for a drive," he tried again, gently pulling your arms away from your chest and trying to guide you out of bed.

"No," you answered again, pulling yourself away from him and settling further back into your bed.

"Maybe we should just let her be for tonight," Jaehyun suggested, moving to stand beside your brother whose head was fallen in defeat.

"I can't just leave her like this, Jae. I still don't understand what's going on."

"Just give her some space," Jaehyun tried again. "This clearly isn't very effective."

Johnny sighed but ended up in compliance as everyone except for Jungwoo moved to your living room. They quietly deliberated as Jungwoo read allowed one of your favorite novels from the end of your bed, hoping against all hope that it would in some way bring you back from the void in which your mind seemed to currently reside.

"Honestly, we had planned to just come and cheer her up," Haechan had said. "We didn't know we'd find her like this. But I can't say it really surprised me, she's been off for months now."

"I thought something seemed weird. She hasn't said much to me in a while."

"Me either."

"Yeah, same."

Everyone generally agreed with Ten's statement.

"Do you guys think something happened in France?" Jaehyun suggests.

"Or maybe things haven't been going so well between her and Lucas for a while?" Yuta offers.

"Everything just feels like it's spinning," you said, cutting off Jungwoo's reading of Mary Shelley's finest work. He was just happy to have heard you say anything at all. "Everything is going so fast around me. I just wanna take a nap, sleep for a while." As you relayed your simple disposition, you found yourself moving to lay on your side, plenty warm but unwilling to relinquish your comforter. "I don't feel like I belong here, so I'm going to sleep instead."

Jungwoo set the book to the side and laid himself down at the end of your bed. "I don't feel like I belong here sometimes either," he relates.

"But you do," you say, looking over his features and seeing every sharp and jagged curve for the first time.

"You do too," he promises.

Hours of hushed worries bled into the night, and you awoke alone in your apartment in the morning. You had no initial intention of getting out of bed. It was the hardcover copy of Frankenstein standing upright on your bedside table that stirred your aching joints into motion.

Then you remembered.

How could you ever even forget?

The Han River smiled when you arrived, taking a seat on his bank. He asked you why you'd been such an unfamiliar face as of late, to which you had no reply. He thanked you for coming to visit him nonetheless and told you about how much Seoul had missed you while you were away. He told you about the alley cats and how they missed the treats you would occasionally leave for them on your way to classes. He told you about how much the sky cried about you spending spring away. He told you that the city lights drowned out the stars while you were gone, but let them peak back into the city when you returned.

You had no beating heart to pour out into his water, so instead, you gave him your soul. The Han understood and sat with you until you bore no more faults on which to complain. He told you he missed you. You told him that you missed him too. You told him about the Garonne and how much you thought he would like her. Then he sent you off into the afternoon bustle of the city with a watchful eye.

You wondered the streets for a while. Not a penny in your pocket, and still you found so many little joys in all the cracks and crevices of Seoul. You pet the stray cats; they'd always been particularly fond of you. You walked around an antique shop making wild guesses about the past lives of every item in sight. You climbed a tree in the park without a damn to spare the onlookers. By sunset, your feet had taken you back to your campus and directly to the front door of your apartment.

"How about some tea?" you ask yourself as you push the door open, not half expecting to be ambushed by a group of concerned young men demanding to know where you were.

"Would you all like some tea too?"

It was still a struggle to hear your voice most of the time, but visible relief settled over those who'd seen you cowering from your brother in your bedroom only days prior. They all continued to check in on you frequently, as they still had difficulties coaxing you away from your apartment.

"Lucas," Johnny had finally caught him lurking in the kitchen around midnight. He was beginning to grow irritable with how troublesome he had become to locate.

Lucas froze, cup ramen clasped in one hand with chopsticks in the other. Busted like a child with their hand in the cookie jar.

"Look, I'm sorry about your sister," he started without really knowing where he was going. "I know that I kinda jumped the gun-"

"I don't want to fight with you again," the elder said. He had kept his calm since the situation had arisen. The last time you and your boyfriend had a falling out, all hell broke loose in their dorms. He had landed a good solid punch on the more-than-deserving idiot and held the belief that he probably deserved a few more. However, he'd rather not have everyone in a frenzy once more, turning against one another. "I just need you to tell me what was going on before you left."

Lucas's shoulders slump and he sets his late-night meal on the countertop. "I was just so frustrated. She always let me into her head before - but when she came back, she just stopped talking to me. She shut me out," he relayed. "I tried everything I could think of. I tried to make her really happy, I tried to make her really mad. She wouldn't talk to me."

"She won't talk to me either," Johnny said, resting a reassuring hand on Lucas's shoulder.

"I'm sorry," he responds, taking some measure of the blame upon himself. He felt that maybe if he'd had more patience with you, he could have helped you to get better. Now you were detaching yourself from not only him but your other friends and family as well. "Do you think she would want to see me?"

Your brother shrugged but a small smirk played on his lips. "I dunno. Maybe you should go find out tomorrow."

Needless to say, Lucas felt displaced and burdened by heavy guilt as he stood in your doorway, looking down on your fragile body. The last time he came knocking on your door in the most awful hours of the morning, he begged and cried on his knees for you not to leave him. He felt himself resist the urge to fall to the ground and repeat his mantra of pleas.

You didn't ask him why he was there so early in the morning, nor did you ask him if he wanted to come in. Your stare made his skin feel cold. He cleared his throat to dispel some of the awkward tension that he felt clawing at his airways.

"Can I come in?" Without a word, you moved to the side. "Thank you. Were you asleep?"

"No," you say simply, trailing behind him as he steps into your kitchen.

He lets out a low chuckle as he glances around the room. It looked so surprisingly unhomely and clean. Not a single dish in the sink, nor a potted plant out of place. "I keep messing up pretty badly, don't I?"

He hated the empty way you looked at him. It was as if you didn't know him. It was as if you had just let a complete stranger into your apartment.

"I don't understand, and I'm really trying to. I know that you know that things have changed since you got back. I don't know what that means yet, but I do know that I still love you. And that I'm stupid. I know that too."

You hummed along, a thoughtful expression overtaking your blank features.

"And I know that I’m sorry. I let a stupid idea get into my head and I let it hurt my own feelings. I shouldn’t have taken that out on you. Please don't leave me."

You didn't offer an answer, instead opening your arms and inviting him back into your embrace. He placed a small kiss on your lips, something he felt like he hadn't done in ages, and wrapped himself around you in an effort to keep you by his side forever.

"Are you happy here in Seoul?" your boyfriend asked, picking at the grass in front of his crossed legs. He looked at you as you looked down at the water. "I mean, I know you don't want to go back to (country), and I have a feeling that you don't exactly want to go live with my family in China. But like, would you rather be in Bordeaux? Or would you rather stay here?"

"I don't know." He hummed and waited for you to elaborate, but you made no real effort to.

"I know that we're still young and we don't have to make any decisions about where we want to live yet," he cooed, looking up to watch the sun set behind the large city towers, "but would you stay here in Seoul with me for a little while?"

You nodded, reaching over to take his hand in your own before pulling him to lay in the grass with you.

"You know, you're not the same person that you were before you left. I've realized that," he said with a sad smile as he looked over at you and placed a small kiss on your chin, pulling a small giggle from your lips. "It's a pleasure to meet you. I can't wait to get to know you again."

[marlahey]

under the same roof part three: all the time you need

a harry styles rpf part three of six written by annie and aj (marlahey and formerly harryonstage) ratings/warnings: disaster gays, endangered ovaries from dad!harry, women aggressively supporting women notes: enter the rest of harry’s family unit! in case anyone’s curious, annie tells sylvia to give her dad a kiss in vietnamese, to which he responds, good girl. before anyone comes for me, there will be plenty more opportunities for bed-sharing to come. side note: aj always pictured olivia coleman as officer warren.  masterlist | part one | part two | part four (21.12.20)

............................................... • saturday, 5th january 9:18 am • The second time you’re roused from sleep, sunlight illuminates Harry’s room. You lift your head, squinting, but more quickly you recognize where you are.

Harry is nowhere in sight, but a fresh glass of water is within reach on the nightstand, and a cardigan knitted with primary-colored patches lies folded at the foot of the bed. After slipping your arms through the loose sleeves, you take a few gulps of water and make sure to shut his bedroom door quietly on your way out. You hadn’t spent much time in the living room as per Officer Warren’s instructions to avoid the windows, but you can see into it from the hall. And since there’s still no sign of Harry, you take a minute to discreetly look around at the place he and his daughter call home. His flat is obviously larger than yours—he has two bedrooms versus one—but the morning light seems to stretch the space even further, like an open armed welcome. The atmosphere bustles with a little dose of chaos. Two brimming bookshelves span one wall of the living room, and plants line the windowsills. A half-sized Christmas tree stands off in the corner, wrapped in twinkly lights and strings of popcorn. A white fender guitar decorated with various stickers stands with a speaker beside the couch, and records tile the wall behind it: Pink Floyd, Fleetwood Mac, The Stones, The Cars, Hello I’m Dolly.  There is ample evidence that a child lives here, too. The walls are dotted with drawings in watercolor, crayon, and sparkles. You can see pieces of Lego strewn out on the carpet; they must be from that towering box Harry had towed into the lift a week before Christmas. A small smile tugs at your lips as you follow the smell of espresso into the kitchen. You find Harry leaning against the counter looking contemplative, holding aloft a cup of coffee that he seems to have forgotten about. He’s wearing the same shirt he’d slept in, but thrown on a pair of joggers. You bid a quiet, “Good morning.” He inhales sharply as his head whips toward you, his drink sloshing over the edge of his mug slightly. “Jesus, sorry,” he laughs softly, shaking his head at himself. You watch as he wets a dishrag and cleans the small mess. “Not really used to company my age.” “Oh… Sorry.” “S’alright.” His voice is covered in sleep; it almost sounds like he has a cold. “Coffee?” You hum appreciatively. “Love some.” “Were you able to get some sleep?” he asks, pulling a mug from the cabinet. “Enough, yeah.” All you can think about is waking up locked in his embrace, on the still-dark cusp of sunrise. “Thank you for letting me, um…” “Course. Cream?” “That’s great, thanks.” Harry nods over his shoulder towards the bedroom. “It help at all?” How are you supposed to answer that? “The real bed?” he clarifies, like it is at all necessary.  You listen to the spoon clink rhythmically against the ceramic, and settle on “I think so,” as noncommittally as possible. “How did you sleep?” “Very well.” In passing you your mug, Harry catches your eyes for the first time today in a way that feels like not an accident. “More importantly, how are you feeling about everything else?” You shrug, eyes glued to the cream swirling in your coffee. “Better, a little.” “That’s good.” “What about you?” you ask. “You’ve kinda been through the wringer, yourself.” “I’m good, yeah.” Harry pushes up his glasses. “I was thinking—if you don’t mind—I’d like to come with you to the police department this morning.”  “No, no, Harry.” You wave away the offer. “Don’t worry about that.” “No, really. It might make more sense. I saw him in the hall last night, and I was with you in the lift. They might need to ask some questions of both of us.” You consider this a moment. “I don’t want you to feel like you have to.” “I don’t have to,” Harry counters. “I want to. I want you to, y’know… ” he trails off. “I want them to get this guy.” You blink at him. There’s a strange feeling in knowing that Harry has clearly thought about your wellbeing beyond the night that you’ve effectively been trapped in his flat. Regardless, it’s too early for a battle of wills, and he has a point. You slouch against the fridge. “Alright. Well… I still have India’s car so I can drive us,” you concede. A smile lights Harry’s face. Suddenly your stomach rumbles so powerfully and for so long that it interrupts the conversation. You cover a small, mortified laugh with both hands as Harry’s eyebrows raise. “Well,” he begins, exaggerated. “Let’s take care of that… You take the first turn in the bathroom, I’ll fix us some breakfast.” “You sure?” “Go ahead.” He grabs a skillet from the drying rack, turning on one of the burners. “Thank you, Harry.” “It’s no problem.” You wash your face with something you find above the sink and brush your teeth on auto-pilot before considering your bundle of clothes from the night before. Your cardigan lays at the top of the stack. Four of your fingers fit through the gaping hole in its collar, and dirt covers one of the sleeves. You hadn’t forgotten about the shape it was in last night, but you didn’t consider it a problem until now, as you hold it up in front of you by the shoulders, frowning. You try to tame your hair with a purple, sparkly brush to no avail, so you take a quick look around to see if Sylvia has any spare barrettes or pins. Thankfully there’s a single hair tie floating in the bottom of your purse. You shrug back into Harry’s patchwork sweater—oddly comforting in how fully it swallows your shoulders and hands—and slip back out to the kitchen, where Harry plates grilled tomatoes and bacon. “We’re about ready to eat.” Harry turns the stovetop down to a simmer as the toaster pops. “How do you take your eggs?” “Sunny side up, please.”  He salutes you with his spatula, attention already returned to the pan.  “Can I help with anything?” Harry nods to a drawer. “Yeah can you pass us a couple napkins from just there? I’ll be right back,” he rushes, already halfway out of the kitchen. You pull a few paper napkins from their packet as he returns with two chairs that you recognize from his small wicker table. “Blinds are open in the other room, thought it might be best if we just eat in here.” He sets the chairs apart, facing one another. “Now this is living,” you deadpan. Harry laughs lightly as he gestures for you to sit. The two of you get adjusted with your plates on your lap, and your knees almost bump in the small space. “This is great, Harry. Thank you.”  “I’d make you bubble and squeak, too, but we’re fresh out and Sylvia hates beans so we don’t keep them on hand. So technically...” Harry lowers his voice to a whisper. “S’not a full English fry up.” You can only smile around your mouthful, unexpectedly endeared. The rest of breakfast passes in silence. You shouldn’t have slept on an empty stomach; you’re ravenous from skipping a meal last night.  He looks up at you eventually, a touch more serious than before. “Shall we think about heading to the police station soon?”  You dab your mouth with your napkin and nod. Harry stands from his chair and reaches an open hand down to you for your plate. “No, no,” you nudge him away with your elbow. “You cooked, I’ll clean.”  “Let me deal with these. You’re a guest.” “I’m a captive.” “No you’re not! You’re—” He breaks off, hesitating a moment before plunging on with an amused slant to his lips. “You’re my sort-of friend.” Your assumption he hadn’t overheard that comment to your mother last night on the phone was clearly in vain. You press your lips together against any inadvertent reaction. Your head swivels toward him, eyes full of lighthearted reproach. “Look, just let me do the dishes to give myself the illusion that I’m not just a freeloader here. Besides, I’m already ready to go.” "Fine,” he caves disapprovingly. “I’ll get myself sorted and be out in a minute.” “Take your time.” While Harry is preoccupied, you finish slotting the clean plates from breakfast carefully into the drying rack and pull out your phone to message India. Hey, I have a lot to update you on but it’ll be much easier to explain in person. I still have your car and I need it for one thing this morning but I promise I’ll fill the tank ASAP. It’s about the guy that’s been following me. Just know that I’m safe and everything’s okay. I’ll call you when I can. Love you. Send. That’ll have to do for now. Harry returns in jeans and a sweater. It’s still strange to see him so dressed down. “Ready?” he asks. “Yeah. You mind if I wear this to the police station?” you ask, pinching the fabric of his cardigan. You feel the urge to explain yourself—the hole in your sweater, the grime—but Harry’s already shaking his head. “Not at all. Do you maybe want something a little less… loud? I don’t even wear that one out, myself, really.”  You consider the bright cacophony of color like it’s brand new to your eyes. Loud is right. “Yeah, that’s not a terrible idea.”  Harry’s lips twitch. “C’mon then. You’re welcome to pick anything you’d like.” Pick? You nod because you’re worried the surprise is painted on your face. “Okay.” Harry leads you to his bedroom again, and over to the large wooden wardrobe.  He pulls the double doors open and you cannot help yourself from gawking a little. You’re taken by all the exquisite patterns and intricate textures of the suits, but it’s oddly wistful to run your fingertips along all of them hung in a row. You smile privately, a bit removed. “What?” Harry laughs from behind you. “Nothing!” you reply, glancing over your shoulder before saying more softly, “I just recognize some of these.” “Oh, thought you were sizing them up. My mates all take the piss… They say my suits are eccentric.” He rolls his eyes, reciting the insult like he’s quoting their words verbatim. You turn back around to his closet. “I think they look nice—I think you look nice in them.” You take a step back and crane your neck to the shelf of folded sweaters above the hanging rod. The extensive array of muted wool and cotton is a bit overwhelming. You spot the planet sweater he’d worn the first time you saw Sylvia, the oversized yellow one that reminded you of Charlie Brown, the black one with half a red heart and the letters, NY in bold white text… It takes a minute of jogging your memory before you can recall him wearing something more plain. Harry doesn’t own a lot of plain. You still can’t quite reach the shelf up on your tiptoes, but Harry is at your side immediately. “The brown?” He tugs it from the stacks and passes it down. “Yeah, thanks.” You examine the camel colored fabric with tiny flecks of black thread, and run your hand along the smooth purl. “This should do.” You tug the sweater over your head; it’s boxy, your arms aren’t long enough to fit, and it isn’t doing any favors for your shoulders. You have to roll the sleeves up past your wrists before the outfit can half pass as something you purposely wore out of the house. You spin around to face him. “Does it look normal?” Harry’s jaw flexes as he gives you the up-down. You fiddle with one of the sleeves. “Yeah,” Harry says stiffly. “Looks normal.” It’s bizarre walking through the level six hallway; it’s identical to your own, but the last time you’d been here, everything down to the carpet and light fixtures had been tainted by your deafening fear. What’s more is that riding down in the lift with Harry feels entirely different now. You see it all from his perspective, and try to visualize what you look like to him most mornings, standing in the corner with your school bag and a book tucked beneath your arm. The lift picks up a few people on its way down, but by the time it reaches the garage, you and Harry are alone. You catch his eyes in the reflection of the doors a second before they open. He clears his throat. “I know it’s probably… we’ll be fine, but stay close, yeah?” You look up at him and nod. It’s easy to keep to your word. Harry guides you to walk in front of him the entire way as your eyes scan the shadows in between the rows of cars. You’re sure you will never be able to see this garage quite the same way. “It’s the old Volkswagen.” “I see it.” You’re so out of it that you almost try to get in on the passenger side. It’s the kind of slip up that Harry might have teased you about, but he’s quiet and looking around, too. You pull the jacket you’d left on the seat last night into your lap, the two of you strap in, and you cannot pull out into the street fast enough. The mustard yellow envelope in the back seat is an unwelcome passenger, visible in your rearview mirror.  Who else knew about these photos? How many are there that weren’t in your envelope? Are they online somewhere? Would they follow you to law school? Your grip tightens on the steering wheel as you grind your teeth. “Alright?” Harry asks. His voice brings you back down to earth. He’d asked you that question when you pricked your finger on the poppy in your jacket pocket. He’d asked you in his bed on the most terrifying night of your life. And he’s asking you now. You nod. “I will be.” • saturday, 5th january 10:42 am • In the parking lot behind Lavender Hill Police Station, you’ve killed the engine but remain in your seat. Part of you is still reluctant to have Harry come along; keeping your composure in front of the police feels hard enough without the prospect of him being there, too, but maybe that’s the one thing that will get you through this. “Sorry.” You shake your head, suddenly aware of how long you’ve been sitting motionless at the wheel. Harry’s gaze is unperturbed. He watches you push anxiously at the sleeves of his sweater. “Take all the time you need.” It’s the same phrase the initial officer who’d taken your statement all those weeks ago had used. It’s what Officer Warren had said to you on the phone last night, and you’re so tired of hearing it. You don’t want to have as much time as you need to feel calm or steady or normal again. You want your time back. You want to reclaim all those extra seconds spent checking over your shoulder, the minutes lost to changing your routes, and the hours spent staring up at the ceiling when you should have been asleep. Rationally, you know that there will be time to relearn how to walk down the street and feel at ease, and plan that trip to Brighton you and India have been talking about for months. There will be time with Harry that isn’t this… stuck in a cramped space, crushed by the weight of your own fear. You hate the way you felt with him in the lift this morning; you want that back most of all. “Faster we get in there,” you say—half to Harry, half to yourself, “the faster we’ll get to leave.” Harry nods. “C’mon then.” The heather grey of the building is no less intimidating than it was in October, but at least this time you don’t have to pull the heavy glass doors open on your own. Inside, you speak with the woman at reception, who gestures for you to sit in a small waiting area just beyond the desk. People in uniform bustle back and forth. Harry’s leg brushes against yours as you sit. He doesn’t move. Neither do you. You have no sense of how long you sit waiting—this doesn’t feel like a place where it’s appropriate to play Solitaire on your phone. You can feel Harry looking at you periodically, but you don’t glance back until a woman with a familiar voice appears before you. She ushers you to follow with a quick, professional smile. Harry doesn’t quite offer the same, but you’re reassured anyway. “I’m Officer Warren.” She stops at a desk with an empty chair beside it. You take care to shake her hand firmly, introducing yourself with all the confidence you can scrap together. “Are you comfortable sitting here?” “Yes, this is fine.” If either Harry or Officer Warren notice your voice is an octave higher, neither of them make any sign. “Good.” She reaches past you to shake Harry’s hand too. “Harry.” “Nice to meet you both. We can also find a conference room, if you’d like somewhere more private, or if you’d both like to sit.” Harry speaks up when you don’t right away. “I’m fine standing.” He looks exactly as he had in the car—calm and willing to take your lead, so you sit before you can change your mind. Officer Warren smiles again, clearly trying to put you at ease. You wish it was more effective. “Right, well I won’t take up too much of your time. Since I took your statement last night, I’ve already got a copy of the transcript from our conversation over the phone, and you won’t need to go over all of that again.” Your shoulders cave a little in relief. Harry’s fingers hook gently over the top of your chair. “Okay.” “But,” she continues, “there is the matter of how to proceed. What we talked about regarding your flat still stands… it really isn’t safe for you to remain there, especially since the suspect seems to know which one is yours, and we still don’t have a clear idea of where he is now, or how he was able to access the car park in your building in the first place.” “So…” You shake your head, in either confusion or denial. “I can’t even go home?” “I’m afraid not, for the time being.” Her eyes are soft, regretful. “Not if he knows where you live. Not if there’s a chance he could get more photographs, or try to break in again.” Your stomach twists. “Were you able to figure out who he is?” You’re not even sure you want to know. Officer Warren’s mouth pinches apologetically. “Not yet. We have a couple technicians working on the security footage and the photos you’ve turned in, so hopefully we’ll be able to get something from them. The car he was driving had no plates. You haven’t seen any sign of him since we spoke last?” You shake your head, and she glances up at Harry as if to confirm. “Alright, that’s a good sign at least. He knows we’re watching, now. On the other hand, there’s a chance he’ll carry on, but be stealthier about it. Is it possible for you to physically stay inside, completely out of sight for let’s say, a week?” “I mean… where?” “Do you have somewhere else you can stay for the time being? With a friend?” You open your mouth, but the “Yes,” is not your own. You force yourself not to turn back to look at him; Harry’s fingers touch your shoulder again. “Yes, she does. She can stay with me. We live in the same building after all, so it’ll hardly be disruptive.” Officer Warren gives him a long look. You can’t tell if she approves or is displeased with him for speaking for you, but now that the initial shock has worn off, gratitude washes over you. Asking India to stay with her indefinitely would have been out of the question; there’s no way you’re endangering your best friend any more than you already have. You’d be putting her in a position where she couldn’t say no. She has four roommates. She doesn’t even know about the photos yet.  “That works,” you hear yourself say. This will only be for a few days, you reason—it’ll buy you just enough time to find your feet. By then, you can sort out a longer-term place to stay if the police still haven’t found the man. Officer Warren is speaking again, and it takes effort to actively refocus on the conversation. “The objective here is to make it seem as though you’re gone. On holiday. He’ll be keeping an eye on the building, no doubt, so he’ll notice if the car is gone, or your flat is empty. Is there any way you can take your classes remotely?” You find you can barely speak, so you just nod instead.  She leans in a little, her eyes finding yours more carefully. “I know it’s frightening, but you’ve been incredibly strong. This won’t be forever. In the meantime, we can send an officer back with you this afternoon so you can gather a few of your things.” You nod again. “Do you have any questions for me?” You force yourself to say, “No, thank you,” which Harry echoes. Officer Warren nods, almost perfunctorily, and stands. “If you wait here just a minute, I’ll introduce you to the officer who’ll take you back to your flat. You’ll be in an unmarked car, and we can arrange for yours to be retrieved.” “Thank you. I’ll call my friend now,” you say. “Maybe she can… I'll have to ask her to look after my cat. And it’s her car, anyway.” Officer Warren nods, apparently satisfied.  You shake her hand again, though your mind is stuck on this won’t be forever. As you rise from the chair, you feel the gentle pressure of Harry’s hand on the small of your back. When Officer Warren returns with another uniformed policeman, you don’t want to move, but your legs carry you anyway. Harry’s gaze finds the side of your face periodically like a lighthouse beam while you call India from the backseat of the police car. After reassuring her again that you’re fine, you gloss over the details of staying in Harry’s flat. You can tell even in her silence that she’s not going to let you off the hook that easily, so you start rambling about what to do with Chowder before she gets the chance to say something embarrassing while Harry is sitting right there. “Of course I’m taking Chowder,” she says before you get the chance to phrase the question. “Don’t even worry about it. I’ll get in a cab right now. Do you need help packing up?” “Yeah sure, thank you. But what about your car?” “I’ll take the keys from you and get it after. Honestly, it’s fine. It’s not like it’s gonna get stolen from the bloody police station.” It’s a stupid joke but you’re comforted a little anyway. “Okay.” “Be there soon. I love you.” “Love you too.” Harry glances over at you. “Everything okay?” “Yeah.” You smile a little and for the first time in ages, it doesn’t feel forced. “She’s gonna meet us at home and take Chowder for me.” “That’s great.” “I know,” you reply, a little distant. “Harry, thank you for coming with me… It was nice not to have to, y’know, do that alone.” “That’s alright.” His voice is equally gentle. “We’re gonna… They’re gonna find him. And they’re gonna fix this, and then everything’s gonna go back to normal.” You aren’t sure which of you he’s trying to reassure, but Harry meets your eyes and you nod. Back at your building, you meet up with India. “Think I might just pop home, if that’s alright,” Harry says, going in for the sixth-floor button on the keypad. “I told Annie a bit about what’s going on, but I owe her an update.” “Of course.” You look up at him in the reflection of the doors. “We’ll see you down there.” It’s your first time seeing the dent and scratches on the door to your flat in person. You shiver, turn the key, and push the door open.  “Chowder!” you shout as a flash of orange darts through your legs, meowing down the hall. The officer’s hand lands reflexively on his baton as your cat scares all three of you half to death. Once you manage to corral your cat back to your corner of the hallway, you struggle to keep him still in your arms. “Indy, his crate is under my bed—” “Hold off a minute, I’m going to do a quick walkthrough. I’m sure everything’s fine, but wait out here.” The officer leaves the door cracked open behind him. India offers a small, encouraging smile when you flinch at the sound of him announcing himself in your apartment. You stroke between Chowder’s ears; he is heavy and warm in your arms, and his fur sticks uncomfortably to the sweat on your palms. “All clear.” The officer reappears. “Let’s try to be quick about this.” India immediately ducks through the door following him, but you have to take a deep breath before stepping through the threshold. The place looks completely untouched. Had you been expecting company, perhaps you would have thought to clear the dishes from the sink or remove your laundry from the drying rack. After coercing an unusually talkative Chowder into his travel crate, you and India work as a team to stuff as much into your duffel bag as will fit. Shirts, bras, and pants hurtle past your head. “Indy, I’m staying at a neighbor’s for a few days—what on earth am I going to need this for?” You hold up the silk, strappy dress that just landed on your neatly-folded stacks, shooting her a disapproving look. “I’m just grabbing and throwing!” “Well just, y’know… let’s make sure we’re not speeding through this at the expense of packing with a little common sense.” “I’ve got this,” India says, waving down at the open duffel. “Go sort whatever toiletries you need, yeah?” Thankfully you’ve stayed overnight at her place enough times to warrant a travel case of essentials that lives under your bathroom sink. There’s makeup cluttered all over the counter. You stare at it a moment before rolling your eyes at yourself. “We should probably get going.” The officer’s voice from the other room startles you both as India zips up your duffel. “Are you two about ready?”  As you stick your head out of your bedroom, the officer is peeking through the blinds across the street. “Yes,” you reply. “We are.” Overnight bag and Chowder in tow, you clamber back onto the lift. “Did you get your toothbrush?” “Yes.” “Face wash?” “Yes.” “Pillow?” “Indy, you saw me putting it in—” “Towel?” “Yes.” “Phone charger?” “… Shit.” Ding. The officer steps out with you on the sixth floor as you thank him, and bid a quick goodbye once he reassures you to call if you need anything or, of course, if anything happens. India turns to face you next. “He’s this way.” You nod down the hall, and she leads. “It’s right at the end. The one with the wreath.” The doors of the lift close. You don’t want to think about the last time you’d been walking down this corridor and heard that sound from behind you. India moves aside holding Chowder’s crate by the handle, and the shopping bag full of his supplies as you step up to the welcome mat with your things. Harry swings open the door to his apartment after the second knock, immediately taking the duffel bag from off of your shoulder. “Oh, Harry, you don’t have to—” “I got it.” India elbows you in the ribs. Harry turns to carry your bag to Sylvia's room, and when you look behind at her, her eyebrows are raised above an animated smirk. “Don’t,” you whisper through gritted teeth. She raises a hand in defense as Harry returns before reaching out to accept his offered hand. “Hello, I’m India.” “Harry.”  “Pleasure.” He flashes her a warm smile. She nods appreciatively as they shake hands—at you, however, instead of Harry and your cheeks ignite. “Okay great. That’s settled then. Shall we—um… Indy?” You cut in, then turn to her, nodding to the door with I’m going to kill you in your eyes. “Lovely to meet you, Harry!” “Cheers, dear. You as well.” Harry’s attention returns to you for a moment. “I’ll just be…” He gestures vaguely to the kitchen. You step out into the hall with India. Chowder meows from the crate in her arms and she almost drops him. “What,” you hiss, “was that?”  She ignores your tone, then says your name like it’s a plea. “Call me if you need absolutely anything, or text me—no matter what time it is. I’ll drop everything and come straight to you.” “I’m sleeping two floors below where I usually do, Indy, I’m not dying.” “I know, I know… How’s a Skype dinner tomorrow night? I’ll order us a take away.” “Definitely.” You wish you could squeeze her in another tight hug, but Chowder’s crate impedes you. “Thank you.” “Love you, babe.” “Love you too.” She looks unsatisfied. “It’s going to be fine, I promise. Text me when we’re eating, okay?” You begin to walk backward into Harry’s apartment and blow her a kiss. “I will… Bye!” “Please don’t kill my cat!” You lean on the door frame, watching India’s silhouette shrink as she heads back down the hall to the lift with Chowder. You sigh and close the door, but as you turn around, your hand rushes to your chest in a gasp; Harry is standing just behind you, rubbing his face. “So I’ve just rung Annie while you were upstairs… ” He steps aside to give you a clear path through the hallway. “Oh?” “I’m sorry—they’re just coming,” he rushes, sounding a little panicked as you step into Sylvia's room. You set your phone and laptop down with the rest of your things. “They insisted ‘cause they’ve got a spare mattress, and I told them you needed a place to crash for a bit and also that you stayed here last night so… yeah. You don’t have to be here for that. When they come—oh, and they probably have Sylvia, too, if that’s… ” Harry trails off.” “Wait, I’m sorry.” You close your eyes and shake your head. “Annie? You mean—” “Sylvia’s mum, yeah, and um… her fiancé, AJ.” Harry tilts his head down, as if to gauge your reaction. “And they want to give… they have a spare mattress? But you already have a mattress.” “That’s what I said!” Harry gestures wildly. It must have been a lively phone call. “Oh, well that’s… awfully kind of them,” you begin, trying to keep up. “Would it be easier if I wasn’t—” “No.” He’s clearly surprised at his own volume as he cuts you off. Harry literally leans back, hesitating. “I mean… stay. They’d love to meet you. They’re my family and you’re…” His eyes flit back to yours and hang on. “You’re obviously gonna to be staying here a bit, and they drop by all the time so I jus’ don’t wanna overwhelm you, is all.” Suddenly, it’s your turn struggling to look at him. “Well, I—” “H, open the door! This is heavy!” a voice bellows from beyond the front door. Harry’s eyes shut momentarily. “Coming!” he calls. You stand there, in the doorway to Sylvia’s room, stunned at the pace with which this is all unfolding. Harry jogs to the door. You poke your head out as an explosion of noise disrupts what had before been so peaceful. A child’s high-pitched shriek rips through the flat, followed by a long, labored groan from Harry as Sylvia barrels into his arms and he crouches down to lift her. “How’s Daddy’s girl?” he greets. Sylvia simply continues screaming and tries to bend over backward out of his arms. “Hi, Harry.” A striking woman with jet-black hair waltzes in, carrying a large dish of food wrapped in tin foil, seemingly unphased. Harry shifts Sylvia to one arm, bending over to greet her in a side hug and quick kiss to the cheek. “Hi, love.” What appears to be a twin sized mattress with twig legs follows in suit, grunting softly. “Still heavy.” “Right, sorry.” Harry hands Sylvia off to who you assume is Annie as he hurries to take the mattress, revealing a second, much taller woman with sunglasses atop her blonde head of hair. She’s wearing red lipstick and bright suede pumps. “There we go,” she sighs. “I need a fag.” Harry almost takes out a light fixture as he hauls the bed. You press yourself up against the wall as he offers a quick, “S’cuse me,” and passes you to Sylvia's room. The two women look at you as simultaneous smiles light their faces. “Hi!” “Hello!” Sylvia waves at you, too. “Guess this one doesn’t need an introduction,” the dark-haired woman laughs, approaching with a hand extended. You notice that she’s the one wearing the ring. “I’m Annie.” “It’s great to meet you, Harry has spoken so highly of both of you.” You turn to the other woman after introducing yourself. “AJ.” One corner of her mouth quirks up. “It’s a pleasure.” “Thank you so much for the mattress, ” you begin, wringing your hands. “It seems like everyone’s done so much to help me in the past few days… It’s really meant a lot.” AJ tilts her head to look at you with a more meaningful gaze, and Annie steps forward to rest a hand on your forearm. “Harry hasn’t gone into a terrible amount of detail but… we’re so, awfully sorry for what’s happened to you.” She squeezes gently, her fingers in the crook of your elbow. The strange familiarity of the gesture disarms you. “I can’t imagine what you must be going through, and with your family so far away—I just… we heard about what was going on, and that was it. We had to help.” You nod and suddenly have trouble swallowing. There’s just something different about discussing this with women. “Harry’s air mattress,” AJ chips in, sardonic, “belongs in an incinerator.” “Hey!” His voice comes muted from the open door of Sylvia’s bedroom. Now that you’ve seen the both of them together up close, you realize how wrong you were in thinking that Sylvia only took after her father. Annie’s features are evident in her daughter’s deep, brown eyes, her nose, and the high angles of her cheeks.  “Well,” Annie starts, raising her eyebrows at everyone, “we’re obviously feeding you.” You laugh in disbelief. “No you’re not!” “We are!” She smiles as she sets Sylvia down, who weaves through everyone’s legs to her bedroom. “And relax, it’s already cooked so there’s no use in turning it down.” AJ pulls you in for a side hug, which you were grossly unprepared for. “Thank… you.” In your bewilderment, it’s all you can manage to say as Annie removes the tin foil from a full pan’s helping of chicken and vegetables. “Isn’t this supposed to be tomorrow’s roast? The Sunday roast?” Harry appears in the kitchen with Sylvia on his hip. He frowns, poking his head over Annie’s shoulder as she preheats the oven. “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she replies. They lock eyes. Something tender passes between them; part of you feels like you should look away. “Annie… ” Harry says, softer now. “You didn’t have to do all this.” She ignores him, setting the timer on the oven as AJ slides a small mountain of tupperware into the fridge. The kettle starts to scream. You hadn’t realized someone started tea. You’re not sure what to do besides stand by the sink and stare. AJ rushes over to fill four steaming mugs, portioning different amounts of cream and honey into each. She turns to the few stray dishes in the sink, beginning to wash. “AJ, stop tha—” “Harry, relax would you?” She whips his leg with a dish towel and he relents. “Why is she staying in my room?” Sylvia pipes up from Harry’s arms. He looks across the kitchen at you, and then down to her. “Well see, bug, Daddy’s got a friend who’s gonna stay here for a little while.” Harry points at you and twists so she has a better view. You wave your fingers at her, and Harry asks Sylvia if she can say your name, but she simply buries her face into his sweater. “Like a slumber party?” “Um—” Harry falters. “Sort of, but not quite.” “It’s a grown-up slumber party?” AJ chokes on her tea. The tips of Harry’s ears go crimson.  “Honey, it’s like when Auntie Kristen comes over to Mummy and Mum’s to stay on holiday,” Annie salvages. Harry’s shoulders visibly relax.  Sylvia tugs at the collar of Harry’s sweater. “How long?” she begs. Your heart falls. “‘M not sure, Vi.” Harry moves some hair from her face as she pouts, then kisses her forehead. “Not forever.” “This’ll be good for you, Harry. You need more friends.” Annie pinches Harry’s side before turning to you with a smirk. “Maybe you can finally start hanging out with people your own age.” You shrug to play along, pursing your lips against a smile. “I mean… ” “Harry doesn’t go out much.” Annie’s comedic whisper fills the room as she carries your tea over to you. “Neither do you!” Harry retorts, frowning playfully over his shoulder, attempting to smack her; she narrowly dodges. “Yeah, just the one time,” AJ deadpans, pointing between them and then nodding to Sylvia. “Jesus Christ,” Harry breathes before they break into laughter. You can’t help but join in. Sylvia’s head swings from parent to parent, smiling in oblivious delight. “Alright, alright,” Annie wipes a tear from the corner of her eye. “Just leave the roast in there until you’re ready to eat. We should get going soon.” “Have you got sheets that fit the bed?” Harry asks, bouncing Sylvia on his hip. “Right!” Annie’s eyes go wide. She turns to AJ, “Darling, you mind popping down to the car to get those?” “Since I already hauled up the mattress, am I allowed to play the gender card?” AJ throws eyes at Harry. “Hands are full,” he replies cheerfully. He holds one of Sylvia’s arms up to wave. “Fine,” she relents, plucking the keys from Annie’s back pocket. “Thank you!” Annie calls after her. AJ simply waves a hand behind her head. “Promise I’ll make it worth your while later!” AJ begins to walk faster. Harry shoots Annie a jokingly scandalized look with a hand covering his gaping mouth. She squints at him and rolls her eyes. He puts Sylvia down, whispering in her ear as he points to the miniature arts and crafts table in the living room.  Sylvia takes a seat on the colorful stool, her tiny features already pinched in concentration as she finds a crayon and begins to draw. Harry crouches at her side, watching her for a moment before kissing the top of her head. He breezes past you before you hear the bathroom door lock shut and now it’s just you and Annie alone together. “I love Harry, but he’s a man and he doesn’t know anything.” You shouldn’t laugh, but you do. “We live ten minutes away. If you need anything at all—anything, I mean it, please call us. Mine and AJ’s mobile numbers are both on the fridge.” “Thank you, Annie.” She hesitates, playing absently with the tag of her tea bag before nodding to the living room. “Let’s sit.” You have a seat on the couch; Annie takes the small leather armchair on the other side of the coffee table. Her eyes are warm. You see a flash of that expression that had passed between her and Harry. “He is a good man.” Annie’s voice is so low, it’s almost a whisper. “One of the best I’ve ever met… You’re in good hands, I promise.” There isn’t a chance for you to respond as the sound of the faucet running in the bathroom interrupts. Harry re-enters the living room, his eyes flitting between yours and Annie’s with a curious look on his face. “Am I interrupting something?” “Course not, lovely. We’re just waiting for AJ with the sheets,” Annie replies. She must be killer at poker. AJ slips through the door with a folded bundle of checkered sheets nearly covering her face. “Miss me?” She perches on the armrest of Annie’s chair upon returning from Syvia’s room, an arm wrapped around her shoulders. You are acutely aware of the warmth of Harry’s leg against yours, suddenly too nervous to shift and potentially draw attention to it. Though you try hard not to, you can practically see the silent conversation happening between the three other adults in the room; if you had to guess, it’s probably about you. You categorically refuse to look at Harry, so you’re left with AJ’s nearly imperceptible eyebrow-raising, and a curl of Annie’s lip that seems to be a question and a confirmation all at once. The three of them are a little… too quiet. “Well we should be off then,” she says, drawing her hands together in a clap. “Someone needs a bath tonight.”  Sylvia hurries over and locks her arms around Harry’s legs. He scoops her up like she weighs absolutely nothing. “C’mon now, angel,” he murmurs, glancing over his daughter’s head to look at you with a vaguely resigned expression. “Gonna see you tomorrow, aren’t I? Gotta be good for your mums.” Harry fixes Sylvia’s wobbling lower lip with a stern look. “Hey, now. What’s this about? S’not any different from Mummy’s normal turn with you, right? You know you’ve got too much love pumpkin, we gotta share ya.” Sylvia mumbles something too soft to make out; Harry ducks his head close. “Tell me?” You don’t catch all the words, except, “stars.” His face crumples a bit. “Oh honey, of course you’ll still have your bedtime stars. They’re not going anywhere. Nobody’s gonna take your stars.” “And that sounds like the beginning of a meltdown,” Annie says, standing quickly and pulling Sylvia from Harry’s arms. “Best be on our way before she tests all our eardrums.” Sylvia momentarily seems like she might reach back for him, but then she looks at you as though by accident, and shrinks back into her mother’s arms. Shame knots in your stomach as the two women head for the door. Sylvia peeks over Annie’s shoulder as AJ slings her purse over her arm with the car keys in hand. You busy yourself clearing the empty mugs of tea in some small attempt to give them privacy. “Come ‘round about six, yeah?” Annie says as AJ waves at you and disappears first out the door. Harry is sliding Sylvia’s arm through the second sleeve of her coat. His and Annie’s teamwork seems fluid and practiced. “Sounds good.” He tugs her tiny knit hat more securely over her curls. “Love you, bug.” “Hôn ba đi, Vi.”  You have no idea what Annie’s just said to Sylvia but Harry leans forward to receive his daughter’s kiss, placing an audible one on her forehead in return.  He says something else to Sylvia that’s not English. That deeply tender look in Annie’s face returns. Harry’s hand falls to her waist and she touches his jaw to place a quick peck at the corner of his mouth. “Call us if you need anything.” She turns back to you. “You too. Our numbers are—” “On the fridge,” you finish with a smile, waving. “Thank you, Annie.” Harry shuts the door behind them and the flat falls silent for the first time in what feels like ages. You hear him laugh once before he turns to you. “Sorry about that.” “No. Harry, I should be the one apologizing. Sylvia’s so upset, I feel awful.” Harry looks from you to the door and back again, shaking his head as he moves towards the kitchen. “Oh no, don’t worry about that. She was mostly tired, is all. Happens all the time.” He pauses before joking, “Sorry you had to hear my really terrible Vietnamese.” You watch as he begins to rifle through the cabinets. “What are you doing?” “I’m sure I left it in here somewhere—aha!” He holds an empty mason jar aloft before grabbing a sharpie and the magnetic pad of Hello Kitty sticky notes from the fridge door. Harry scrawls quickly, the cap of the pen between his teeth, before sticking a note on the glass and holding it up for you to read the big, block letters. APOLOGIES.

[marsbutterfly]

Hey there! I been really enjoying your written work. I was wondering if you could write a scenario about porco and his s/o 'getting it on ;) maybe a college AU? if not, just ignore it~

Covalent Bonding

WARNING: NSFW

Summary: Porco is struggling to finish his organic chemistry lab report and comes to you for help. The lesson quickly goes off-topic.

Note: First of all thank you SO much for requesting this, we really hope you enjoy it. I wrote the intro and the outro. All of the smut was written by my amazing wife @tsukidrama ALSO the word count on this is around 5.3k so this is a long boi.

tsuki’s note: ok the porno i watched for research purposes while trying to conceptualize this fic started with the lines “wow, i hope no one comes along to fuck me in the ass and jerk my dick off” and then the girl walks in holding a strap on and says “oh hey, i just came here to fuck you in the ass and jerk your dick off.” i did this for you, anon. i accidentally pulled out all the stops for this, and i regret nothing. i had so much fun writing this, and i am now madly in love with Porco also?? everyone always writes him as such an edgy bitch or a headass dom and i’m sitting over here like....... but he is... a soft baby.... who cries during sex, falls in love, and gives kisses...... just sayin

Colab with @tsukidrama 💕

Wattpad Version! | AO3 Version!

“We’ll cover Chapter 23 on Monday.” The professor’s voice echoes through the silent classroom. “Please make sure to submit your lab reports by 11:59 PM on Saturday night. E-mail me if you have any questions.” 

Before you finish putting all of your belongings in your backpack, you share a look with Porco, who sits by your right side. He looks just as ready to leave this chemical filled room as you are. 

Once you stand up, you feel his hand on your shoulder. As you turn around, he smiles brightly at you.

“Have you done your lab report yet?” Porco asks for the fifth time that week. You let out a burst of laughter. Butterflies soar in your stomach as his cheeks blush lightly, rubbing his neck in embarrassment. 

“I did the intro and the outline,” you answer, tilting your head as you place a hand on your hips. “You want help with yours, don’t you?” 

He starts laughing and avoiding eye contact with you. 

“Well I was going to suggest that we could do it together.” He smiles at you once again, and the butterflies in your stomach now travel through all your body. “But I would accept your help, too.” Even though he tries to look tough, Porco has always been shy, especially when it comes to asking for a favor.

You simply nod at him before grabbing his hand, “Let’s go get to work then!” 

.

The setting sun spills into the large, windowed hallway, casting long shadows against the wall beside it. The two of you clatter down the stairs to the level below your classroom, where all the different labs are located. 

After peering through the dark window of a lab door labeled: ORGANIC CHEMISTRY, you punch in the security code that unlocks all of the orgo classrooms and labs (courtesy of your professor). The door unlocks with a small beep and the flash of a green light. Porco takes a few steps ahead of you, turning on the lights and checking to make sure nobody else has claimed the lab as a study space. 

You sit down at the lab table farthest from the door, and before you sit you take your laptop and notes out of your backpack. Porco thumps a textbook between the two of you as he sits in the chair beside you. He smiles gratefully at you, a gentle red blush still coloring his face. Once you’re settled down, you frown at him quietly. 

His face drops. “What wrong?” he asks, eyes filled with worry. You touch his hand and pull your chair closer to him, close enough for you to plant a kiss on his cheek.

“Much better!” you say, and Porco clutches his chest in relief.

“I thought you were mad at me!” he exclaims, “bitch.” he adds under his breath, but his voice is quiet and gentle, even more so than usual. He shoots you a playful look. The fluorescent lights of the lab makes his hair look blonder than it already is, and you reach up to tuck a strand back into place amongst its slicked-back brothers. You put your free hand on his neck and you notice goosebumps on his arms. A smile on your face, you speak again.

“Where would you like to start?” You look at him and notice he has his thinking expression on, consisting of his lips moving one side to the other and his eyes focused on the ceiling. A few seconds pass before he looks at you.

“Alkanes, alkenes, and alkynes” he says, squeezing your hand. “I still don’t know what the fucking difference is.” You look away, trying to hide your burning, red cheeks from him, but his words still bring a smile to your face. 

“Yeah, you better figure that shit out, huh?” you quip jestfully, and exaggerate your squeal as his hands shoot forward to tickle your stomach for your comment. 

.

An hour passes while you two focus on his report. You spent most of that time explaining to him the types of bonds that differentiate aliphatic compounds, and end up just writing the opening paragraph for him. When you flip the textbook to the page that displays a chart that shows differences between the different structures, you can see from the corner of your eye that he very much does not care about the positioning of hydrogens and carbons. He's been staring at you for the past three minutes. 

You bite your lower lip gently, though you’re already losing focus as he’s undressing you with his eyes. You take a deep breath and stop typing.

“This isn’t my lab report, you know,” you say, as shifting your body to fully face him. “You could at least grab your note-” But before you could finish your sentence, you feel his lips on yours. It takes you a moment to realize what’s happening but, once you do, you wrap your arms around his neck as he touches your thighs. 

“I’m sorry. I really do appreciate you helping me with this, but you look so beautiful tonight.” He says, flustered. He looks at you with stars in his eyes. You tilt your head to the left as you try to hide the smile creeping across your lips. You try to look away but you feel his cold fingers touching your chin, forcing you to look at him. 

“You’re ridiculous, Galliard,” you say before closing the space between the two of you once again. You can feel him smiling against your lips. He quickly changes the focus from your lips to your jawline, leaving a trail of wet, gentle kisses as he makes his way down. 

A quiet moan involuntarily leaves your throat when you feel his fingers against your skin, slipping underneath your shirt. Your left-hand travels from his neck to his head as you disrupt the perfectly swept-back coif of hair. The smell of his hair gel and cologne mixed with the scent of your own perfume excites you even more. 

Suddenly, he removes his lips from your skin. You let out an annoyed whine, and open your eyes to glare at him. 

“Is this ok?” he asks, touching your hand. Your annoyances melts into a gentle smile as you lift a hand to touch his face. He snuggles his cheek against your touch. 

“Yes, Porco,” you reply, “Of course.” 

He nods, the faintest glimpse of a smile visible across his lips before he moves in to kiss you once again. One arm wraps around your waist to pull you closer, his other hand quick to travel from your face to underneath your skirt. He plays with the waistband of your underwear, trying to slip his hands lower. You softly hold his hand in place.

“Wait,” you say, a mischievous smile creeping onto your face, “I have an idea.” Porco wordlessly tilts his head and looks at you, incredulous. He looks confused yet adorable. 

“I have something. From last time,” you continue, pulling away to dig in your backpack. You toss aside a notebook and a pencil case before you find the drawstring bag you’re looking for. You pull it out by the strings. 

“Ta-da!” you say, presenting him with the bag. His eyes go wide with realization. 

“Shit,” he says under his breath, “You’re serious, aren’t you?” 

You nod, accidentally smiling a little too brightly. 

Porco chuckles nervously, a dark blush spreading across his cheeks. “Here? In the lab?” he asks. 

You nod. “Here. In the lab.” 

He looks at you, then at the bag, and then at the door and the closed blinds covering the windows. His eyes come back to you, and again to the bag, then to finally lock with yours. His face is burning even redder now, but he nods. 

“Okay, let’s do it,” he agrees, “I trust you.” 

Excitement stirs deep in your gut. You pull open the bag and take out its contents to place them on the lab table. It thuds lightly against the table, bright pink textured silicone standing out against the dark wood. From its well-defined head to its base, the dildo sits about six inches long. A metal ring holds it in place against a black nylon harness, with another inch or so of silicon balls underneath. A small, half-empty bottle of lube clatters next to it along with a couple of brightly colored condoms you snagged from the free bowl in front of your RA’s door. 

Porco looks away, nervously scratching his neck as you pick up the harness. 

“Come on,” you tease, sticking your leg through the maze of straps and buckles, and then the other. You pull it all the way up, securing it at your hips underneath your skirt, which tents around the pink phallus betwixt your legs. “Now… do I need to tell you to bend over?” 

He shakes his head and shoots you an eager look, quickly unbuckling his belt and undoing his zipper. His jeans hang loosely around his hips as he rests his forearms against the lab table, stretching out and arching his back, ass on display. 

You admire that shit for a moment before you press yourself against him from behind. You kiss his cheek, and softly brush your lips against the outer shell of his ear, relishing the shiver you feel travel down his spine. 

“Fuck, Y/N,” he whispers, grinding his ass into your hips. You giggle, bucking your hips into him playfully as you kiss his cheek once more. 

Your hands rest gently on his hips as you slip your fingers into the belt loops of his jeans. Once they’re hooked around your fingers, you gently pull them over his ass. He doesn’t even give you time to get it halfway down before he reaches down with one arm to pull down his boxers as well. The giggles come back to you as you help him free himself of clothing. 

“Don’t laugh,” Porco whines, covering his eyes with his hand, “it’s embarrassing.” 

“You’re just cute,” you assure him, “I’m not making fun.” The cap on the bottle of lube pops open with a snap, and you pour a generous amount of it on two of your fingers. You take a step closer to him, setting the lube down on the table as one of your arms snakes under his shirt to wrap around his chest. The other slides down his spine, over his tailbone to trace the curve of his ass. Porco’s breath hitches in his throat when your fingers reach their destination, softly prodding at the entrance. 

“Ready?” you ask, speaking softly in his ear. He nods vigorously, breathing hard. 

“Please,” he says. So you give him what he wants, and slowly push in your slicked fingers. 

Porco just gasps in response, his head dropping below his shoulders. He isn’t nearly as tense as he was the first few times you did this, and your fingers easily sink to the second knuckle. You gently move them in and out. With your other hand, you gently trace your thumb against the soft skin above his solid pectoral muscles. Gently, you plant a kiss on his shoulder. 

“Are you okay?” you ask, rubbing his chest. 

He turns his head towards you, his face flushed. “Totally fine,” he says breathlessly, and you feel him opening his legs wider to accommodate you. 

You press your cheek against his shoulder, shifting your weight to a more comfortable position. Porco tilts his head to look at you. He doesn’t say anything, just looks at you with wide eyes. You move your fingers inside of him, trying to find the angles he likes. You press against something you find promising, and he confirms it with a sharp intake of breath. 

You thrust deliberately and carefully, and once he starts to get more into it, you begin to scissor your fingers ever so slightly. Porco gasps, and gently rocks back against you. His eyes slip closed, his lip parted and his blush darkening in his cheeks and spreading down onto his neck. 

“Y-you can put another one in,” he mutters, so quietly that you can barely hear him. 

“Hmm?” 

Porco grunts in frustration. “You know exactly what I said, you asshole!” 

You can’t help but smile as you oblige his request. You slow your pace as you ease in the third finger, but the combination of lube and his enthusiasm makes it a short-lived adjustment. He grinds into your hand, and you tilt your fingers to again find that sweet spot inside that elicited the little gasps and moans he was trying so hard to muffle. You soon begin to move more freely, thrusting nearly all the way inside. Your fingertips twitch inside of him, and to your absolute delight, he lets out the sweetest and most delicate moan, though he tries to muffle it with his fingers. His shoulder blades jut into the air as he pulls his own hair, hips squirming. 

“Fuck,” he says into his hands, “fuck, you’ve got to give me more.” 

“What do you want, Galliard?” you ask, though you’re fairly confident that you know the answer. 

“Damn it, put it in!” he exclaims, still muffled. “Fuck me, Y/N...” 

“Well, since you asked so nicely,” you say in a tantalizing manner, smiling cheerfully as you reposition yourself behind him. You squirt a generous amount of lube into your strap on, careful to coat the length entirely. Your hands lay gently against his hips, lining yourself up with him before you use one hand to guide the head of the pink silicone dildo into place. 

“Okay,” you say, partly to ready yourself, and partly (mostly) to ready him. Porco whines in anticipation, and you don’t deny him. He spreads his legs just a little wider to lower himself, and you rise up on your toes to meet him. 

You push your hips forward slowly, making sure to listen for signs of discomfort. Porco moans, this one poorly muffled and loud. One of his hands slaps against the table for support. 

“Don’t stop,” he says, his breath hitching in his throat, “please, don’t stop.” 

No discomfort, then. You continue on. 

Your fingers tighten their grip against his hips, digging into them for leverage as you thrust your hips. Despite the fact that you aren’t quite as tall as he is, or you aren’t as practiced in your thrusts as he is when he fucks you, you like to think that you’re good at what you do - based on the low moans and intermittent gasps and whines, Porco certainly seems to be having a good time. After all, he let you fuck him again. And in the lab, at that. 

Porco shifts positions, and you notice one of his hands has disappeared in between his legs. You notice pressure building between your own, but ignore it in favor of grabbing the bottle of lube. The cap clicks open, and you pull your hips back just long enough to squirt a little bit onto the silicone dick before you push it back in. Another haphazard squirt into your own hand, and you reach around his body, nudging aside his hand to replace it with your own. 

“Some for you, and some for me,” you say, snorting at your own joke. Porco just moans in response to your touch, biting his knuckles. 

Your hand wanders up from his hips, fingers wandering up to brace against the muscles on his back, through the shirt (but better than nothing). Still wandering, your fingers rake through his hair from the back, twisting the blonde locks hard enough to tug, but not painfully. Porco’s shoulders slump, his arms and head both flat against the table top. 

You let go of his hair, raking your nails down his back until you dig your fingers back into his hips. You pull out slightly, readjusting your foot stance for a better angle and shifting so that you can better reach around to stroke his cock. 

When you push back in with the new angle, Porco lets out another exclamation of pleasure, much louder this time than any of his previous vocalizations. Warmth pools between your thighs at the sound, but you can’t help but get a little bit nervous at the idea of actually being caught. 

“Shh,” you hiss. Between his (admittedly, wonderful) noises, the slapping of your thighs and the creak of the wooden lab table, you’re pretty sure that anyone who walked within 10 feet of the door would know exactly what was going on behind it. 

Porco mumbles something unintelligible, and he doesn’t make any attempt to clarify. You quicken your hips’ pace while your hand stays tight around his cock. You rub your thumb over the tip gently before stroking down the entire length. The lube is slippery, and it makes you work to keep your grasp - your grip tightens as it slides almost entirely out of your hand, and Proco loudly groans again at the increased pressure. 

“Shh,” you reiterate, more forcefully this time. 

Porco groans, lifting his head to look at you. “Oh… You shut the fuck up.” 

“Ooh, sassy. Do you talk to your mother with that mouth?” you chide, lightly smacking his ass with your free hand. 

“Do not talk about my mother right now,” he says, voice strained. 

“Mm,” you agree. Your hand cups around his ass before you allow your fingers to drift up the curve of his back. 

His cock twitches, and you again rub your thumb around it’s head before you go back to pumping along the shaft, twisting your hand the way that you know he likes. 

“Oh,” Porco whimpers. His cock pulses in your hand, and you stroke him hard and fast as you feel the rest of his body going rigid. “Oh fuck.” 

His back arches as he cries out, shuddering beneath you as his cock spills hot cum over your hand. You slow your hips’ pace and rub his back soothingly. You press your cheek against his back, the closest you can get to him. 

“I got you,” you say over and over again as he twitches below you. “I got you.” Another rope of cum drips down your hand. Where his arm overlaps yours, he holds you to his body tightly. You notice that he’s still shaking, so you continue to rub his back. 

After a few seconds of heavy breathing, you raise your hips and pull the dildo out slowly and carefully. 

You touch Porco’s back softly and hug his shoulders from behind. “You okay?” you ask softly. 

He nods, turning his head to face you. His face is flushed and sweaty, his normally impeccable hair skewed out of place in every direction. He looks at you with glazed-over eyes the size of the moon. You lean in to kiss him. 

Porco pushes himself up from the table to cup your face with his hands, kissing you back deeply, with passion. You smile as he kisses you. 

“What’s so funny?” 

You nuzzle the tips of your noses together. “I’m not laughing, I just love you.” 

He pulls you in for another kiss, and this time, you can feel him smiling too. 

The two of you stay like that for a moment - kissing, and of course, Porco’s hands (predictably) end up wandering underneath your shirt. As he explores the expanse of skin beneath, you become acutely aware of the way he’s pressing his leg between yours. Your breath hitches as he nudges the strap on harness up in a way that a strap brushes right up against your clit. His hand finds your breast, and circles your nipple with his thumb. 

“Again? Already?” you ask, bemused, but still very willing to be convinced. 

“It wouldn’t be fair,” he pouts, still thumbing over your nipple torturously, “You got to fuck me.” 

“Well, you’re the one who’s scared of getting caught!” you exclaim, and gasp at the sensation. 

He takes a moment to think, and his hand moves back down to your waist. “I would rather be caught fucking you than be caught with you fucking me.” 

You laugh while you shrug your shoulders, then loosen the straps from around your hips. The harness falls, but you catch it on one of your ankles and toss it on the table near your bag. The pink silicone dick points upwards, the shaft glistening with lube. 

“Okay,” you agree, slipping your underwear off and tossing it the same way next to the strap on. “You can fuck me.” 

Porco’s lips curl into a smirk you know all too well. You prop your elbows up on the lab table, sticking your ass out in the same position you fucked him in. 

“No, no. Turn around,” he tells you, “I want to see your face.” 

Your fingers lightly cover your mouth in embarrassment. “Awww, Porco. You love me…” you tease. 

He blushes and looks off to the side. “Shut up. Of course I love you.” 

“I love you too,” you remind him soothingly, stepping into his grasp. His arms snake around your waist, and you rise up on your toes to kiss him. It doesn’t take long before his hands wander to slip underneath your already hiked-up skirt. 

You flatten your hand against his chest, and as his fingers brush against the apex of your thighs, your fingers curl, and take a fistful of his shirt with them as you gasp. He kisses your cheek, and makes his way down the side of your neck. You squirm against him, slapping your hand against the table blindly until your fingers feel that familiar crinkle of a condom wrapper, and you pull away from him with a huff, and then yank his shirt. 

The two of you stumble backwards into the counters at the back of the classroom, with you guiding him. You spin him around so that his ass is backed up against the counter. 

“Get up,” you say, releasing your hold on him and gesturing. 

Porco laughs as he looks behind himself, then uses his arms to boost himself up to sit on the countertop. He slides a box of microscope slides closer to the scope they were meant for. 

“We would be so fucked if we broke those,” he says. 

You look at him hungrily as you tear into the serrated plastic edge of the condom wrapper. “You’re gonna get so fucked anyway.” 

He smiles before lunging to grab you beneath the arms, tugging you up on the counter with him.  You laugh and kick your legs as you scramble to balance yourself on the smooth linoleum.

“Technically, you already did fuck me.”

“Yeah, and now I’m gonna fuck you again.”

Both of you burst into laughter as you straddle his lap. You throw the condom wrapper off to the side, and focus on rolling the condom itself down Porco’s cock. Once your hand reaches its base, you lift your hips to position yourself above it, but Porco’s hand touches your wrist to stop you before you have the chance to lower yourself down. 

You look up at him expectantly, only to be pulled into another kiss. Immediately, you forget what you were doing as you feel yourself being wrapped up in his arms, his smell, his lips. His hands wander up your body, flattening against your stomach and cupping your breasts. You shudder as his thumb circles around your nipple again, and you instinctively grind your hips into his. When Porco finally breaks the kiss, he reaches between you to line himself up. 

Some kind of noise rushes out of your throat when he finally guides your hips down, and you finally get the gut-punch you had been aching for as you let your knees slide apart further to take him in. Thighs trembling, you brace yourself against his shoulders for support until you can’t go any further. He guides your hips back up again, and then again until you find the strength to move on your own. 

Once you’ve established a rhythm, Porco kisses you again, sloppily this time. You grind your hips down, and he groans into you. 

“Mmphh,” he mumbles into your lips, “you’re so fucking sexy.” 

As you bounce up and down, you swivel your hips in tight circles. Porco keeps one hand on your waist and lifts the other to grasp your breast, twisting the nipple just enough to make your eyes roll back into your head. 

“Tell me more about it,” you tell him, voice cracking. You double down on your efforts, bouncing faster and now squeezing down around his cock. 

Porco digs his fingers into your skin, and bucks his hips up to meet yours. “You feel so good. If I hadn’t — fuck,” he chokes as you bounce down particularly hard, “—if I hadn’t just come, you’d already have me in pieces.” 

Another bounce and purposeful grind of your hips and his head drops forward with a whimper. You smirk, though you know he can tell you’re coming unraveled, too. 

“I can get you there again.” 

Now that he’s worked up again, that beautiful flush has come back to stain his cheeks. You feel yourself losing purchase as you move against each other, but you don’t care. 

“You sure as shit will if you keep going like that.” Porco gasps, thrusting up into you hard, and you couldn’t control the noise that comes out of your throat if you tried. 

The both of you are breathing heavily, moving against each other with an increasing desperation as you both get closer to finishing. Porco’s hands are back at your waist, gripping so hard that you fear it may bruise, but this only encourages you. Your arms snake around his neck, and you cling to him as you press your forehead to his. Your fingers rake up into his hair, pulling gently and further knocking it out of place as you wrap your fingers in the long strands on top. 

You whimper as you feel the pressure inside of you building, every stroke inside you stirring up more and more inside of you. Your body moves on its own against him as you feel yourself reaching the edge. Everything from the sweat sticking against your skin, to the way he pulls your body into his like you’re all he needs, excites you. You love the way you’re completely wrapped up in him, with his touch against your skin and his smell in your nose and his cock bottomed out in you, pulls you over the edge. 

He kisses you as you come, muffling the moan that rips itself from your throat. He wraps his arms around you tight, though he doesn’t slow his pace. You do your best to keep your legs open for him as your orgasm hits you. You crumple into him, toes curling as he thrusts up hard into your oversensitive core. 

Within seconds, Porco buries his head into the crook of your neck, letting out a choked groan. His cock twitches inside of you as he comes for the second time that evening. You stroke his hair, gently kissing his temples as he finishes. His arms tighten around you, and you rest your head atop his. 

You stay like this for a minute or two, enjoying each other’s presence as you wait for your legs to stop shaking. Once strength returns to your body, you reluctantly move your hands onto his chest for support as you push yourself up, shifting your right leg to the other side of the counter, you feel his dick leaving the warmth of your body as both of you let out one final moan. 

As your feet hit the floor, you watch Porco quietly struggling to get the condom off and a gentle giggle escapes you. 

He meets your eyes and you see his blush darken. 

“The lube is making this harder than it should be.” He says quietly. You bite your lip, holding in a laugh. Hopping off of the counter, you walk towards your backpack and look around the inside for a few seconds before finding a small towel.

“Porco.” You call his name before throwing the cloth in his direction. A smile never leaves his lips as he grabs it midair.

“You really came prepared, didn’t you?” He says. You simply shrug your shoulders before flashing him a smile of your own.

“Of course, you never know when you’ll get to peg the boy you’re desperately in love with.” You say as you focus on fixing your own clothes.

He stays quiet for a few seconds before murmuring something underneath his breath. “Huh?” is all you say, trying to get Porco to repeat himself. 

“You’ve never said you were desperately in love with me before,” he says as he wraps the (finally) removed condom in a piece of paper he took from his own notebook, “or that you were in love with me.” 

You feel your cheeks burn as you look away, trying to avoid his gaze. “I thought it was obvious. We say ‘I love you’ all the time.” 

Once his pants are back on, he quietly walks towards you before reaching for your hand. His cold fingers are soft and gentle as he pulls you in for a hug.

“I don’t know, it feels different for some reason,” he says softly. 

You nuzzle your face against the side of his neck while wrapping your hands around his back. A sense of calm washes over you. 

“But I’m in love with you too,” he whispers, and twirls a strand of your hair around his finger. You lift your head to press your lips to his. He kisses you like you’re the only two people in the world, and his smile against your lips makes your heart skip a beat. 

After a few seconds, he pulls away and looks around the lab. On the counter, can see the perfect print of his ass cheeks in lube. He shakes his head and reaches for the towel yet again.

“We better clean this place up a bit,” he observes, and you nod in agreement. 

While Porco focuses on making sure there is no lube (or cum) left on any surfaces, you put the dildo back in its bag, along with your study materials. 

It takes a few minutes, but soon enough the room looks exactly like you found it. All you need to do is put Porco’s laptop away when suddenly you two are reminded of the reason you went into the lab in the first place.

“Shit, my report!” He says as he covers his mouth with his hand. You slap your face, and just one look at him tells you that your work isn’t over yet tonight. 

“Let’s go to the library so that we won’t get distracted again.” you tell him, “and we’re going in a communal area because if we get a study room we’re gonna end up fucking again.” You grab your backpack and walk towards the door, the blonde-haired boy following closely behind, carrying his laptop in one of his hands.

“Aww, would that be so bad?” Porco teases. 

“It would be bad for your chem grade.”

Neither of you say anything as you descend the final flight of stairs, but as you are about to leave the building, you feel him lacing his fingers with yours. A blush creeps over your cheeks as you walk right next to him, making sure that, not even for a second, your hands will drift apart. 

Porco has been here for you ever since you enrolled in college, rooting for you and taking care of you. In your head, you make a promise to yourself to never let him go. Not only because he’s the perfect man for you, but also because there’s nothing you love more than the expression on his face while you fuck him in the ass. 

One more look at him, and you turn ahead to face the lights of the street ahead of you, getting lost in your thoughts as you walk towards the library. 

You appreciate all the time you spend with him and deep down, you pray that this lab report will take even longer than you think it will, all so you can stay close to him for as long as you can.

[siriusheadspace]

august - sirius black x muggle!reader

Warnings: I guess it's a bit angsty? But it's also cute, summer love fluff, so idk

Pairing: Sirius Black x Muggle!Reader

Summary: You meet a cute boy in your summer job. You share secrets and live a beautiful summer love, but will you still see each other once school starts again? Inspired by "august", by Taylor Swift.

A/N: Thank you so so so so much for liking my last fic, illicit affairs! I guess I'll have to create a master list here lol. This one's a bit less gloomy and there's *sequel potential*, so please tell me if that's something you'd be interested in! Also, should I open requests? Do you guys have any? lol. I'm taking too long in this A/N, so lemme shut up. Enjoy the fic!

Words: 3.5k ish

-

Salt air And the rust on your door I never needed anything more

You were chewing the pen cap while at an especially tedious English Literature class. A head full of luscious black hair poked through the door, and you jumped in your chair, thinking for a second it could be the person you missed the most. But, of course, it was just a girl asking the teacher to make a class announcement. You tuned out immediately and let the memories flood through your mind. It was just the beginning of summer and your first day at an ice cream parlor in the middle of London. It was a funny neighbourhood - you didn't know why, but it always had a couple of people wearing the weirdest outfits, like weird flowy capes and tunics. But that wasn't really important - you just wanted to make a little money of your own this summer, and the ice cream gig was supposed to be easy. You quickly found out it wasn't as easy as it should be, since the owner decided to leave you to be cashier and server from the start, leaving you alone on your first day after little training. You were stressed, trying to guess if the ice cream machine was supposed to be that noisy or if you already broke it after only a few customers, when someone got in. Sirius regretted everything about spending the summer with his family. He was fifteen going on sixteen and decided to spend most of his days roaming through London, looking for a way to have a halfway decent summer, sending letters to his friends every day. He was about to go spend the day at the Diagon Alley, but he figured he could actually try to see different stuff for the day. Muggle stuff. Perhaps get a couple of new posters for his bedroom? That would piss off his mother. He smiled at the thought. But it was too damn hot for the beginning of summer, and he definitely wore too much black for his comfort under the scolding, rare sunshine. His locks of dark hair were starting to get wet with sweat, and he decided to put his muggle money to good use when he went by an ice cream parlor. He was pleasantly surprised to be greeted by one of the most beautiful girls he'd ever seen, her hair in a lazy, long braid, her skin tanned and glowing, and her brows frowned as if she was bothered to see him. And you'd never forget how pleasantly surprised you were to see the tall guy that just went inside the store. You'd never be able to forget the way that there was something else about him - he was gorgeous, his long strides revealing from far away how tall he was, his hair pulled back in a makeshift bun - but there was just more, an aura that made him magnetic; magic, you first though instinctively, but shook the thought. Charisma, perhaps. But you'd soon found out it was his own particular mix of both. The bell started ringing and pulled you away from your memories.

Whispers Of "Are you sure?" "Never have I ever before"

While you walked through the corridor, you felt the rush of excitement you'd always feel when you remembered you knew a secret, one so special no one would believe you, even if you told them. "You must know something about me, doll", he said, cuddling with you on your bed in the middle of the afternoon, your parents still away at work. You ended up quitting the job pretty quickly after your first day, but you were making good use of your free afternoons. "What, babe?", you said, and you felt his smirk against the top of your head, where his lips were, him breathing in your scent. You liked to use gauche pet names as much as he did. "That you're not the smartest, since it's very stupid for us to cuddle in the middle of a hot afternoon? Or that you're actually really smart, but just enjoy being around me anyway?", you joked. "How very funny of you. I am actually kind of smart, I swear", he said, jokingly, but you felt him tense up as he started talking again. "It's sort of a serious thing, actually", he said. "A… Sirius thing, you mean?", you joked again, but he brushed it off with a quick laugh. "You would know if you'd let me finish speaking", he said, and you waited. He got up and seemed nervous, not sure what to do with his hands. You never saw him like this. "Do you know how you always ask me how do I do a few things? Like, how did I fix the vase I broke the first time I came here so perfectly?" he asked, and you nodded. "You said you got another one", you squinted your eyes, trying to guess where he was going. "On the same day? Y/N, I want to be close to you, to be truthful to you. And I can't do that if you don't know about such a huge part of my life", he said. "I have… certain… habilities. And my family does, too. And my friends, as well. The school I go to… Everyone has these abilities", he completed, and pulled out a stick from his backpack. No, not a stick - not by the way he held it, with purpose. You looked for the right word in your head. A wand. "Can I trust you with the biggest secret humanity has?", he asked, and you nodded. "You can trust me with anything and everything", you said. And nothing was ever the same.

But I can see us Lost in the memory August slipped away into a moment in time

You missed him so much your entire body ached; the feeling of his callous fingertips against your cheeks, the pressure of lips on yours, how his tongue felt against yours, his laughter tickling your skin… You had to stop thinking about him. It was no good and absolutely useless. It was good while it lasted, but it was over. Still, walking home, you couldn't stop thinking about how it was once you were in on the secret, how he'd do magic in front of you, how he would tell you all about Hogwarts, about his friends… And you knew back then that there wasn't a place for you in that world.

'Cause it was never mine And I can see us twisted in bedsheets August sipped away Like a bottle of wine 'Cause you were never mine

You could remember the warm nights you spent together, once your parents decided to spend a weekend away, visiting friends or your grandparents, and how you had to pretend to be sleeping over a friend's house while you had Sirius over. You would meet at a pub, and he'd charm someone into selling you beers, so you would drink together, just enough to feel buzzed. Sirius loved teasing you. He would start by just brushing his knee against yours, but as the alcohol got to the both of you, he would get bolder, running his fingers up and down your thigh under your flimsy summer dress, whispering sweet nothings against your ear, kissing your neck. You felt so much joy, basking in his attention and his carresses. The walk to your house would always take longer than it should. He was the most sociable creature, making quick friends with everyone that grabbed his eye. He would help an old lady carry her groceries to her apartment, completely out of your way back home, while charming her; there was the time where he joined a deep conversation about bikes with a guy that had one, this huge black Harley Davidson, convincing the guy to let the two of you, clearly tipsy teenagers, to have a ride on it. It took Sirius five minutes to figure out the basics of riding that bike and convincing you to join him. "Don't you trust me, baby?", he pouted, and you gave him a quick peck - you couldn't resist his pouts and pleading. "Not with that bike, I don't", you said, watching him already seated at the bike as if it belonged to him. He looked the part, his muggle (the word always bothered you) clothes made him look like the hot, moody guitar player in a rock band, the wind flowing from his side making his hair fly in front of his face. "Then take a little risk", he chuckled, pulling you closer to him. "You can use it as an excuse to feel my abs", he said, and it was your turn to laugh. "Ok, I'm sold", you sighed dramatically, and sat behind him, your hands creeping under his shirt for a moment when you wrapped your arms around him. The speed was more intoxicating than the few beers you had, the wind whipping your exposed skin, the noise violent on your ears, the warmth that came from Sirius' back being the only thing that made you feel safe. Once you gave the bike back to its owner and were back on your foot, you would still take your time on the way there, Sirius listening to stories about your friends, the books you were reading, the movies you were watching - you promised to take him to the movies, shocked to hear that he never set foot on a movie theater. And sometimes, since you would take that long on your way home just to tease each other, he would push a loose strand of hair behind your ear and pull you in for a kiss, your back quickly meeting whatever wall was closer and spending a few minutes against the texture of the tiles while Sirius gave you long, slow kisses, trying to make the most of the night. Once you got home, you would barely have the focus necessary to find the keys and open the door, and Sirius oftenly used magic to make your life easier. "Alohomora", he said, opening the door soon after, and you chuckled. "You sound so hot when you speak fake latin", you said, and he laughed while he followed you inside, quicky going back to kissing you while you tried to guide him to your bedroom. On those nights, after he was fast asleep, his smug expression erased out of his face by sleep, you never thought about how it would be between the two of you once summer was over.

Your back Beneath the sun Wishing I could write my name on it

One week, you decided you would both spend a couple days in Brighton Beach, counting every penny that you had so you could afford two nights in the middle of the week in a cheap bungalow. Sirius had exchanged magical money for muggle money and it wasn't as hard as you thought it would be to get the amount necessary. "Well, my family sucks, but at least my allowance is halfway decent", he smirked, but the smile didn't get to his eyes. "It does help that muggle money is so devalued. Shouldn't you guys complain with your prime minister, or something?", he said, expecting you to go along in the joke as you usually would. But he touched on a subject that you felt it was taboo: he never talked about his family. You knew something was wrong - all the time you spent together was outside or in your house, and he never seemed too keen in having to go back to his parents place. "Is this the moment where you tell me more about your family?", you asked, and he sighed. "It didn't go unnoticed that you felt more comfortable to tell me about actual magic before taking me to meet your mom", you joked, but he knew you meant it. "Oh, Y/N… You could never meet my family. They'd never be able to appreciate you", he told you, and then went on to explain how there's a side of the wizarding world that despises muggles, that values purity of blood before anything else, and it killed you inside, a bit. That you were right in that gut feeling that you tried to ignore. He was too good for you. You didn't belong together. There was a whole part of his society that focused on that. And his family was totally on that side. But you avoided thinking about that in those two blissful nights away. You were close before, but that routine - waking up together, cooking breakfast for each other, seeing him getting letters from his friends delivered by owls that came inside the kitchen of the bungalow as if that was normal. He bought a polaroid in the beggining of summer and tried to adapt it to take magical pictures - according to them, they were supposed to move - but it didn't work. Still, you documented those days in normal polaroids, from candids of him drinking tea in the morning to pictures of you at the beach, and he sent one of you two together to his closest friends, and your heart ached at the thought of part of his world being even the least bit accepting of you. You'd trace random patterns on the skin on his back while he tried to tan, writing your name on him and hoping there would always be a part of him that belonged to you, that would be able to return to you once you were apart, like you did with your favorite toys when you were a kid. A childish desire to keep him with you. You loved your nights out, holding hands while going on rides that were probably unsafe and operated by other teenagers, convincing Sirius to try to win you prizes, and actually getting him a teddy bear - you were a better shot. And he would try to do magic discreetly when you asked him to cook or clean something, and you messed with him for cheating on those chores. It felt like you could absolutely live together forever, making that little bungalow home for those magical hours. You even held his wand, felt the texture of the wood against your fingertips, noticed how it was well used, the parts of it where you could see that his hands touched more oftenly, the worn wood reminding you how he was a part of something that you could only imagine for way longer than he was part of your life and your world. But he soon joked that you were "taking too long playing with his wrong wand", and you'd laugh and kiss him and forget your concerns.

Will you call when you're back at school? I remember thinking I had you

You felt the nervousness as the summer approached its inescapable end. As Sirius went out to buy school supplies one afternoon, you couldn't escape the anxiety caused by the uncertainty surrounding your relationship. You just spent the most amazing few months of your life with this guy you absolutely Loved, with a capital L, and you weren't even sure you'd meet again after a few days. You didn't know his address and you couldn't send letters there anyway. You had no idea how to send a letter to Hogwarts. Once you met him at a park near wherever he would buy supplies for a magic school, with him excited to show you what he got and hear about your day, you were already unable to hide the change in your mood. "What's wrong, sweetheart? I was just talking about you with James and..." he said, and he noticed he chose the wrong words when you winced at him. "So you can't even introduce me to your friends that are supposed to be tolerant that you're dating a muggle?", you asked, trying to sound mean, but he could hear how much you were hurting under the façade of anger. "It's not like that, Y/N. There's too many people from Hogwarts there now, people that don't like me or my friends and despise, hum, people like you, and it would be dangerous for you if they knew they could hurt me by messing with you", he explained, but it didn't soothe the pain in your chest. "What is it gonna be like once you're not here, Sirius? Is there a way for us to even talk? I don't own a magic owl, and I don't think the postman is going to able to find Hogwarts", you said, spiteful. "Do you even want to continue this, us? Or are you going to be with people your friends and family can actually know about and meet, that can defend themselves instead of just being a source of weakness for you?", you asked, your voice trembling, all the thoughts you avoided for months taking space and energy, growing inside of you and blurting out. "Y/N..." Sirius started, but you were done for the day. You got up and went home.

But I can see us Lost in the memory August slipped away into a moment in time 'Cause it was never mine

You liked being with him too much to waste your last few days together, so you accepted his apologies for not taking you to meet his friends or more of his life, but you couldn't help but notice that he didn't have plans to do what he apologized for not doing. Still, you enjoyed your last few days, the picnics under the last few sunny days of the year, taking him to the movies to watch silly horror movies that Sirius fell in love with, making out with him under the soft movie lights that reflected beautifully on his gray eyes.

And I can see us twisted in bedsheets August sipped away Like a bottle of wine 'Cause you were never mine

The last night you had together made you nervous. Sirius had prepared himself to go straight from your house back to the station, hiding his luggage on your parents garage and climbing to your window. You drank wine you stole from your parents cabinet and talked in a low voice the entire night - you thought that was what you'd miss the most, just being near him and listening to his voice, to the varying inflections, to the fancy words thats would slip and denounce him as someone from a rich family, to his excitement at the perspective of being back with his friends, and to the low energy tone that followed once he said how much he would miss you. "Hey, I figured out how to keep in touch", he said, a coy smile creeping on his lips. "But I need to know at what time do you get home from school", he completed, and you quirked up a brow. He explained that his owl would bring you a letter from him and wait for you to answer with one of your own, since you didn't have another way of getting to him. You were happy that he found a solution, but it didn't go unnoticed, again, that it seemed like a simple solution that maybe he though about before, but wasn't sure he wanted to go through with you. Also, you'd always be at his mercy and will, having no way of contacting him besides when he wanted to hear from you. But at least there was a way, a chance…

Back when we were still changing for the better Wanting was enough For me, it was enough To live for the hope…

The next morning, he woke you up at dawn with a quick kiss and said goodbye, promising to contact you again. That was three weeks ago. I mean, you couldn't really blame him. He was beautiful, talented, smart, and everyone knew summer loves weren't forever. He was probably met by a swarm of beautiful witches that would do everything for him. It would be easy to forget about you, your normal, common life. But you felt resentment towards him. He could've just been honest, you thought. He shouldn't have given you hope. He should've been honest about your intentions. He shouldn't have made you act like a fool everytime your classes came to an end, always running home and looking for an owl in the sky, only to be greeted by the emptyness of your silent house. You were getting tired of feeling angry, though. It tarnished your beautiful memories of a perfect summer. You just had to say goodbye to your hopes of getting to see Sirius again, to hear his perfect laughter, always laughing with you and never at you, the ringing in your ear that would send a shiver through your back, or that you'd never feel the silky perfection of his hair tangled between your fingers again… You were trying to come to terms with that, distracted, once you got home. There was an owl on the front window, standing on the window sill. Your heart skipped a beat.

[ao3bronte]

🌈🎸LUKANCIEL HEADCANONS🌈🎸

<< [PART 2]

It’s August now and Paris is sweltering. Marc and Luka lay sprawled on the wood floors of Luka’s bedroom drinking Coca-Cola and working on their respective projects. Marc is responding to comments on his latest Catradora fic and Luka is finagling with the reverb on yesterday’s recording of ‘Truth & Lies’. They’re both so caught up with what they’re working on that Marc doesn’t even realise that Luka’s taken off his shirt until ten minutes later when he gets up to turn the fan on high.

Luka hears the vibe in the room shift and sets his iPad to the side, peering up between his bangs at his dark haired friend. He’s redder than the hoodie hanging from Luka’s porthook and Luka realizes belatedly that it’s probably because of him.

“Sorry,” he says, reaching back over to grab his Jagged Stone tee from where he’d tossed it. “I didn’t mean to make you feel uncomforta—”

“It’s-it’s fine,” Marc squeaks, shoving his stylus in his mouth to keep himself from making any more embarrassing noises. Luka finds it oddly endearing and vaguely realises that he has a type. “It’s y-your room after—after all.”

“It’s just so hot.” Luka grimaces when his skin unsticks from the shellacked floor with an awful squelch. “I’ll grab a tank.”

“Y-you don’t have to.” Marc swallows the lump in his throat and tugs at the choker around his neck. “I don’t...um. I don’t mind.”

Luka might not be great at communicating, but he’s spent long enough watching the way Juleka and Rose act around each other to know what this is. “Are you sure?”

“Very.”

Luka’s lips curl into a mischievous smirk. “Should I take off my jeans too?”

He most definitely deserves the red hoodie being thrown into his face a second later.

They dance around each other after that. Luka’s intrigued at the way his brain is suddenly noticing the slender length of Marc’s fingers and immediately regrets helping him repaint his nails. Having Marc’s hand in his causes Marc all sorts of grief by the looks of him as they sit stiffly on Luka’s bed, and Luka’s starting to wonder if Juleka is right about him having a bisexual crisis.

Luka has to do something. The tension between them is thicker than the cloud of smog hovering over the sweltering city and Marc seems like he can barely breathe, let alone say what’s on his mind.

“Do you want to kiss me?” Luka immediately regrets it the second he says it, hating the way he sounds so ridiculously blunt. Why can’t he use words like he uses his fingers to wring love songs from his fretboard?

“What?” Marc’s entire body jerks away from him, nearly knocking the bottle of polish out of Luka’s fingers. “No? I mean—yes? I mean, of course I do! Look at you!” Marc gestures widely at Luka’s bare chest, wet nails be damned. “You’re like Apollo! You play guitar like you’re trying to make love with the strings and it’s killing me and I don’t know what to do because you’re not gay and you’re not even my type!”

Luka forcibly has to force his jaw closed. “Who says I’m not gay?”

Marc blinks. “You dated Marinette.”

“Doesn’t mean I’m not bi.” Luka screws the lid of the polish back onto the neck of the bottle. “And what do you mean, I’m not your type?”

“You’re—I mean.” Marc reverts back to flailing his arms in his general direction. “You’re tall and handsome and you have really nice arms and your back—oh god, when your guitar strap settles between your shoulder blades—” Marc tries to gain back his composure and fails miserably. “You’re just—you know, you wouldn’t know I’m a writer by listening to me right now.”

Luka laughs. “Hold your nails in front of the fan before you ruin them.”

“Good idea.” Marc exhales, then turns his back to him. Luka slowly gets off the bed and carefully laces his thumbs through Marc’s belt loops, giving him plenty of time to move or say something to stop him. Instead, Marc releases a shaky breath and leans back against his chest. The crown of Marc’s head fits perfectly beneath Luka’s chin and Luka worries that Marc will be able to feel his hammering heartbeat through his tie-dyed shirt.

“I think they’re dry,” Marc whispers after a few minutes, comfortably accustomed to the way Luka has relaxed behind him. Marc feels protected in a strange, exhilarating way. He had no idea he was into broader, taller guys but now that he has one pressed against him, Marc can’t help but thrill at what might happen next.

“Well?” Luka hums and Marc shudders at the way his voice rumbles against his spine. Marc slowly turns around, Luka’s thumbs dislodging from the waist of his jeans at the movement, and tips his chin up to see exactly what he’s up against.

“You asked me if I wanted to kiss you.” Marc draws his lower lip between his teeth for a moment before willing himself to speak. “I want to, but only if you’re okay with it.”

“I am.” Luka wishes he knew what else to say to make this sound more romantic or something, but his words seem to do the trick regardless. Marc rises on his toes and Luka bends down to meet him halfway, their lips brushing with the kind of promise that has Luka reaching out before he can stop himself. Hands now firmly anchored to his friend’s waist, Luka nudges him closer and drinks his fill.

Eyes closed, Luka loses himself in the texture, the taste, the sound of Marc as he sinks into his embrace and kisses him properly, well acquainted with the subtle art of kissing him senseless. Marc has a lot more experience than him but Luka makes up for it in enthusiasm, letting his body react eagerly to every sigh and kiss and caress of his tongue. Luka moans as Marc seems to push his every button like an expert, guiding him towards the wall step by step. Marc clearly wants to be captured and Luka’s desire to claim burns in his veins like an addiction, kissing him senseless.

They kiss and explore their newfound feelings, heedless to the world around them. Luka can feel the songs being written with every caress and burning touch of skin, searing in its intensity. He loves this — knows it down to the marrow of his bones — and can feel something incredible on the cusp of creation.

The minutes pass like seconds and they’re already half gone by the time they both realise that there’s more between them then the music they’re making together. Luka pulls away with a gasp and Marc grins back mischievously. It’s definitely the beginning of a beautiful relationship.

fin.

[clareguilty]

Kinktober 2020 Prompt #11

I’m not super satisfied with this but it does what I needed it to do.

Soldier 76/f!reader Rating: Explicit | No Warnings, Daddy kink, first time Word Count: ~1900

Dorado was breathtaking at night. Warm lights, beautiful decorations all across the city for the coming festival. Flowers and sugar skulls and candles at every corner. Autumn was crisp, but still warm. It was late enough to be quiet, but the life hadn’t yet faded from the streets. The last helpings of food were being served, the last drinks being poured. The sounds of dishes being washed, floors being swept, jovial evening conversations.

Commander Morrison kept as far from it all as possible. You trailed behind him, staring longingly at the lit streets that you were moving farther and farther away from. Your work wasn’t there.

A local gang, Los Muertos, were using the festival preparations as a cover to smuggle tons of contraband. You and Jack were scouting the operation, gathering as much information as possible. If it was something the two of you could handle alone, you would. If this was too big for the both of you, it would be time to call in back up.

Closer to the coast, the city turned into a warehouse district. Fewer pedestrians, poorly lit streets, the perfect place for a smuggling operation.

Commander Morrison led the way through alleys and back roads. You kept an eye out for anything of note. So far, it had been quiet.

It was getting late, and you silently mourned that it would not be possible for you to buy cochinadas on the way back to the safe house. There was a shop right around the corner, but they were probably long closed by now.

So lost in thought, you didn’t notice that Jack had ducked into the shadows. You were about to walk right past him onto an open street when he grabbed you.

His gloved hand wrapped around your throat and dragged you back into the alley. Your back slammed into the rough wall. He shielded you with his body, pinning you in place as he glanced back out onto the street.

A noise escaped you -- instantly choked off as you tried to keep from blowing your cover. But it was too late for your dignity. Jack had heard you.

You had moaned.

Your commanding officer had just grabbed you by the throat to keep you from blowing your cover.

And you had moaned.

Your face grew hot, pulse racing in your ears as you avoided meeting his eyes. His body was still warm against you, gloved palm pressed hard against your breastbone. You wanted to melt out of his hold and seep into the ground beneath your feet. There was no other choice for you now.

You couldn’t see his face, but the red glow of his visor was fixed on you. He said nothing.

Several moments of silence and burning humiliation. Your pulse never slowed.

Jack stepped away, checking the street. You nearly collapsed when he released you.

“Let’s go. We’ll head back for tonight. We can try again when it’s light out.” He raised his hand as if to reach for you but immediately dropped it.

He usually had no problem with contact. The two of you had been travelling together for months and had grown quite comfortable around each other. You had just ruined all of that.

You nodded and walked with him out onto the street. It was silent the whole way back. You stayed a few steps behind Jack, keeping your eyes on the ground in front of you for most of the way.

The cochinadas shop was closed as you had thought.

The door to the safe house closed behind you, lock engaging automatically. You set your bag down and all but collapsed onto your bunk.

“Are you alright?” Jack asked. You couldn’t even look at him. Couldn’t bring yourself to speak.

A weight settled on your bunk, and you jolted as he placed a hand on your arm. “Sorry.” He pulled his hand away. “Talk to me.” His tone had changed. More commanding. He was giving you an order.

You sighed, refusing to lift your head. “I’m embarrassed.”

Jack said nothing for a moment. You wanted to see his expression, but the thought of him seeing you was mortifying.

“You’re embarrassed because I grabbed you?” His tone was innocent. An honest question. Your chest felt like it was going to crumple.

“I’m embarrassed because I liked it.” You squeezed your eyes shut. It was already more than you wanted to admit. Especially not out loud.

“Oh.” Another moment of silence. “Sit up. Look at me.”

You couldn’t ignore the orders. Pushing up to your elbows, you forced yourself to meet his eyes. He had taken his visor off and was watching you carefully. Was he going to throw you out? Was he going to be angry?

“You’re afraid,” he said. “Are you afraid of me?”

You shook your head. “No. A little. I’m afraid you-” It took a moment to find your words. “I don’t want you to be disappointed in me.”

“I’m not disappointed. I just want you to feel safe.”

The words were a comfort. “I do. I do feel safe.”

He leaned in closer, closing a hand around your wrist. “Even now?” He asked, eyes locked on yours. Your heart began to race again. Everything felt too warm.

“Yes.”

He pushed forward again, his hand resting on your breastbone, exactly where it had been earlier. “Now?”

Your breath was coming quicker. His expression hadn’t changed. Just calm curiosity. “Yes,” you breathed.

His hand slid up, the texture of the leather scraping lightly over the skin of your neck. His fingertips pressed into the sides of your throat. “Now?” His eyes were bright, dangerous. You had never seen him like this before.

“Yes.”

He pinned you onto your back, holding you in place with his weight. “You trust me?”

You answered without thinking. “Always.”

You had dreamed about kissing his scarred lips almost every night. An entire hot summer burning with longing for your commander. Every single night in the desert, trying to keep your feelings hidden.

He kissed you deeply, pressing you into the mattress as he dragged your bottom lip between his teeth. You did your best to keep up, but you were a mess of nerves beneath him. This was all happening so fast.

“I thought I had hurt you. I just grabbed you without thinking.” He was speaking low against your skin. “I never wanted to assume -- to jump to conclusions. It’s been so hard to be good.”

You had to fight through your own desire to make sense of his words. “You… you wanted me?” You had spent so much time trying to hide your feelings from your commander, you never considered that he would feel the same about you.

“So, so badly,” he growled. “I’ve felt terrible. Like a monster.”

You breathed a laugh. “I’ve been trying to ignore my feelings for you for months.”

“You’ve thought about me before?” His eyes brightened. He wanted to know.

You tried to look away. It was so embarrassing to admit.

“Tell me. I want to know.” He grabbed your chin, turning you to meet his gaze.

Your face was hot. “You’re so strong… and commanding. You’re dangerous, but I know you’ll protect me.”

He smiled. “Of course.” He pulled his gloves off so he could run his fingers over your skin. “I’ll always keep you safe.” His fingers found your neck once more. You tugged him down so that you could kiss him, feeling more comfortable this time.

He slipped a hand under the hem of your shirt and you froze. You had never done anything like this before.

Jack pulled away.

“I’ve never-” you were so nervous.  “It’s my first time,” you finally admitted.

Jack blinked. “Really?”

You nodded, already trying to hide your face.

“That’s okay, sweetheart,” he grabbed your wrists to keep them still. “You just have to tell me what you need, okay?”

“I want to. I’m just scared.” 

“You’re just fine.” He pulled you into his arms. You fisted your fingers in his shirt, burying your face his chest. His hand ran up and down your back. He had comforted you like this before.

Slowly, carefully, Jack undressed you. He whispered to you the entire time, making sure you were comfortable. You wanted him so badly, wanted to feel him.

He held your hips in place, teasing you with just his fingers. You were dripping wet, desperate for more. 

“Please,” you begged.

“Please what?” he asked. “You’re going to have to tell me what you want.”

“I want…” You were almost too embarrassed to say it. “I want you inside. Please.”

“Of course, sweetheart.” He dropped a kiss onto your hip and slowly pressed a finger inside of you. You moaned, rocking you hips at the sensation. “That’s a good girl,” he encouraged you. “I want to know how good it feels.”

It felt good, but it wasn’t enough. You needed more. You moaned and squirmed beneath him. Every time you tried to curl in on yourself or hide your face, he put you back the way he wanted, splayed on your back, arching beneath him as he fingered you.

“More,” you gasped. You had never felt anything like this. Another person touching you in this way. You couldn’t get enough of it.

“More what, baby?” he teased, slowing his pace. “You’ve got to tell me what you want. Be good for Daddy.”

Hearing something so dirty from someone so powerful, you shuddered and bit down hard on your lip. “Daddy,” you moaned. “Please?”

The word alone was enough to drive him wild. He dragged you in for a bruising kiss, grinding against you. You fumbled with the fasten of his pants, desperate to free his cock.

He took over, tearing off his clothes before climbing back over you. “You’ll tell me if you need me to stop?” he asked.

You nodded.

“Say it.”

“I’ll tell you.”

“Good girl.” He pressed inside of you. It was slow, careful. You squeezed your eyes shut as you acclimated to the feeling of him inside you. It was a stretch, but so satisfying. It felt so good to be filled.

He began to move, slowly at first, but quickly picking up the pace. “You feel so good. So good for Daddy.”

You couldn’t speak, so overwhelmed by pleasure. He was strong, experienced; he knew exactly how to fuck you. His thumb rubbed over your clit, and you let out a wordless cry.

“That’s it. Let me hear you. Come for me, baby.”

You obeyed, clenching around his cock. He kept his pace steady, moving his grip from your hips to your thighs to deepen his thrusts. It was a few more long moments before he pulled out, spilling across your pussy and thighs.

Much to your surprise, he didn’t pull away. He stroked himself through his orgasm, groaning as he finished. Large hands gripped your thighs, turning you onto your knees. He pressed back inside of you, fucking you into the mattress.

He went again and again, fucking you and kissing you and holding you close. You were half conscious, drunk on pleasure and the feeling of being held.

At last, he sighed and pulled you into his arms, laying on the small bunk. “Are you okay?” he asked.

“Mhm,” you nodded into his chest. “Thank you.”

He chuckled, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

[haloud]

homecoming king

ao3 -- [rated e] -- for @lambourngb, a prize fic for @rnmbingo!

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Alex knew he was home, not when his plane touched down in Albuquerque, not when he passed the kitschy sign welcoming him to Roswell, but when he climbed out of his car, stretched away some of the aches of the road, and felt his suitcase lighten in his hand.

Glancing over to the front door, he was met with the most welcome sight in the world—Michael lounging against a pillar, barefoot and dressed only in a pair of his sweats. Did he sleep? If he did, his skin would still be warm and soft from it. The cool morning air pricked at Alex’s skin, soothed his beating chest with every inhale.

Michael raised an eyebrow, and Alex nodded, releasing the handle of his suitcase to let Michael carry it away with his TK, placing it just inside the front door. Then Michael took one step off the porch, Alex rounded the front of his car, and before Alex could blink Michael’s arms were around him, Michael’s grinning mouth was pressed against his neck, their heartbeats thundering together. Alex wound his fingers in Michael’s curls and kissed the side of his head, the closest thing he could reach, let out a measured sigh that stirred the little hairs standing up on Michael’s skin.

 Home.

As he drew back, Michael slid his hands along the plane of Alex’s back to curve around his ribs; but he only went far enough to nudge his forehead against Alex’s, freeing his mouth enough to speak.

“Good trip?”

Alex just laughed, cupping Michael’s face in both hands, tipping him at a better angle to kiss him, lavishing in the rough-soft of his chapped lips, the liquid heat of his tongue sneaking a taste. When they pulled apart, Alex answered him, “Not compared to this,” and drew him back in to kiss him again, Michael swaying into him, laughing into each other, giddy with something as simple as small talk.

The last two weeks had been an unacceptable eternity, but it was over now.

“Want to get out of the driveway?” Alex said in Michael’s ear, and Michael pulled back, ran his hand down Alex’s arm to take his hand, and pulled him toward the door.

“Sure thing. Wanna get you off your feet.”

The words were innocent enough, but the way Michael’s tongue stroked his bottom lip was anything but.

They all but rushed to the door and privacy, and once inside, the door fell shut behind them, taking half the light with it. In the soft blue of morning, Michael’s hair was dark, his eyes still drooping with sleep, his shoulders rounded and his lines soft, and Alex was too awake from travel, too sensitive from weeks of understimulation, Michael a shock to all his systems. His suitcase floated toward the bedroom and settled at the foot of the bed for Alex to unpack it whenever he was ready. But he wasn’t ready yet. There were other things he had to do first.

His mind sent a hundred signals in a hundred different directions; there were a hundred things he needed to do, wanted to do now that he was home; but only one of them was important, and it screamed loud enough to drown out any inhibition that might try to lodge a complaint. He just about leapt into Michael’s arms, and Michael caught him with an oof, locking his arms around Alex’s waist, Alex’s shirt and hoodie rucking up so Michael’s arm laid across skin, and Michael held him with his feet a couple inches off the ground, bearing all his weight, solid and steady.

“Hey,” Michael murmured, nuzzling the side of his neck.

“Hey,” Alex whispered back. He raked his fingers through Michael’s hair a few times while Michael held him, then said, voice just as low, “You going to carry me to bed?”

“Yeah?” Michael nudged their noses together, speaking right against his mouth. “That what you want?”

Alex nodded, rocking their foreheads against each other. “I missed you.”

“I missed you too.”

Michael caught his mouth in another kiss, and Alex fit his fingers on the curve of Michael’s jaw, fingering the sweet roughness of his stubble, basking in the sensory input.

“Let’s take care of that, huh?” Michael murmured when they parted.

Before Michael took even a single step toward the bedroom, Alex kissed him again, so starving he couldn’t bear to even have him distracted by walking. With a gentle moan buzzing between their lips, Michael leaned forward, dipped Alex down to kiss him deeper, Alex wrapping a leg around his waist, opening himself up in every way he had to devour Michael’s warmth.

“We even gonna make it?” Michael rasped. “Or do you want me to lay you out right here, babe?”

Alex slid his hands down to cradle Michael’s neck, drawing him into another kiss, and another, and in between, he said, “Here is fine. Here is great…”

“Don’t know if it’s good enough for you.” Michael grabbed his thigh, holding his leg high up on his hip and starting to rock them together, firm enough when he ground down to make Alex arch back out of pure instinct. “I want to get you on the bed, give you everything you need, give it to you right…”

Pushing his weight forward, Alex swept Michael off balance, sliding a hand down his bare chest and twisting his grip in the waistband of Michael’s sweats, only inches from the mouth-watering line of his half-hard cock. He arched his own hips to make certain they rocked together, to make Michael’s eyelashes flutter, and then he said:

“Then give it to me.”

And let go of Michael, spun around, and stalked toward the bedroom with Michael on his heels. Michael caught up to him just over the threshold; Alex was arrested by arms around his waist, hauling him back against Michael’s strong body, his cock rocking against the curve of his ass, and Alex let out a laughing moan, moving with Michael as he almost-lifted him again and deposited him on the bed. They didn’t need to talk; on instinct, Alex started taking his leg off—he wasn’t going to need it for a few hours—while Michael grabbed lube and condoms and wet cloths to clean up with after, and then Michael was behind him, kneeling, an arm around his stomach and his lips against his neck.

“You smell so good,” Michael groaned, and Alex could only laugh, because whatever scent Michael found on his skin paled in comparison to the heady perfume of rain that soaked them both, that wet each grateful breath into lungs that had been too long without it.

“I want to smell like you,” Alex blurted, then bit his lip, then forced himself to let go. It didn’t matter how embarrassed he was to say things like that, Michael—

Yeah, Michael groaned again, fingers creeping up under the hem of Alex’s shirt, and Alex let him strip him out of it. The first touch of skin on skin lit up Alex’s senses so bad he shook, a rolling shiver that ran down his spine and over his skin and under Michael’s hands, rubbing up his arms to his shoulders and down again.

“Alex…”

“Michael.”

And then Alex was caught, looking up just an inch or two into Michael’s huge, sparkling eyes, his slightly furrowed brow, his red, parted mouth.

Just two weeks. Was it only? God.

Two weeks of texts and pictures and the simulation of his voice a phone could produce, and it hadn’t been enough. Alex was new all over again back in Michael’s arms, in their home, and Alex could feel Michael anywhere, anywhere in the world, but when they were together, when they collided in space, nobody ever got used to that.

“What do you need,” Michael almost-begged. He was always asking to be allowed to give Alex what he needed.

“I told you—I want to smell like you.” Alex said, running a hand down his thigh and hitching his own over top of it, canting his body back so the curve of his ass rested sweeter in Michael’s lap. Michael held him there, his hand a lovely fulcrum giving him leverage to rock their half-hard cocks together.

As Michael murmured and started rocking with him, Alex said, “I’m not gonna last—”

“Me neither—”

“Not for the first one.”

At that, Michael blushed, and Alex had to fight down a grin to continue, “I want to be inside you, but we aren’t going to get that far.” Already, Alex could feel his groin tightening, the warmth of Michael’s body, the feel of his friction, perfect, perfect. “So I just want you to come on me, let me feel you, make me yours—”

“Alex!”

“—And I’ll make you mine.”

Alex pitched his voice low, on purpose, rewarded with the way Michael’s pupils blew black and deep, the way his fingers clenched on Alex’s thighs, tips digging into his ass, until he was scrambling to get his pants pulled down before he spent in them like the teenagers they were always making of each other. Alex knocked their foreheads together, giggling helplessly at the urgency in Michael’s movements. He was so fucking cute, and hot, and Alex did that to him. Alex Manes.

A few quick pumps of their fumbling hands, a rub of Michael’s cock against the tender skin of his thigh, high up just before hair began, the texture of Michael’s treasure trail against his sensitive, sensitive skin—Michael came first, with a shuddery gasp, and Alex tumbled after him, tipped over by the hot streak of Michael’s come against his skin, the feeling of Michael’s hand right after, rubbing it into his skin, just like, just like Alex had—it hadn’t sounded like begging when he said it, but he was—just like Alex asked, to smell like him, to be his. It was hot. It was a little over the top. But it was something primal in Alex’s chest; something farther away than the stars, something closer together than atomic nuclei.

A soft sigh feathered across Alex’s cheek, so Alex reached up and ran his thumb along the lower lip that gave it to him. Michael dipped his head to kiss it, taking the tip into his mouth and sucking it in, just holding it between his teeth.

So much he could do with Michael like this. Wipe Alex’s own spend from his skin and lay it on his tongue, roll Michael on top of him and pull him down until nothing else was real, or do the other, and press Michael down, down, bury himself and everything he is and all the missing time and all the missing pieces in his body.

When Michael told him—the pieces want to be together—they were deep underground, and the only light for miles in any direction but up came from Michael’s eyes. Here, now, with the first true yellow of morning peeking through the parted curtains, Alex understands.

“What are you thinking?”

Michael pulled his mouth off Alex’s digit, so Alex wiped it on his cheek, focused on the pattern of pores and freckles and every minute detail of his face, drinking in his fill before he tries to answer.

“I’m thinking…I need to get out of the next trip somehow. I’m thinking about being glad to be home. I’m thinking…I’m still hungry.”

Michael’s pupils widen, his cock twitching against his thigh, so Alex drops a hand to give it a little love, and Michael curls around him, sliding a thigh between his.

“I’m still hungry, too.”

Alex swallowed; Michael’s eyes tracked the bob of his throat. “How do you want to get fed?” Alex asked, voice hoarse.

Rolling them both, Michael didn’t answer and squirmed down Alex’s body, kissing down his sternum and his belly and lower as he went, until he was on his stomach at the foot of the bed and looking up, tucking one of Alex’s thighs over his shoulder, and diving down.

“Fuck, Guerin!”

Alex shouted, hand flying down to grip Michael’s hair and tug as his cock sank into Michael’s hot, wet mouth.

Pulling off to take a breath and adjust his angle, Michael wiped his mouth and glanced back up, and Alex gave him his due—his undivided attention. He was so fucking beautiful—so fucking beautiful—all golden skin and well-padded muscle and soft, honey-brown curls—so much of him to watch and take in, and Alex savored it, stroked down his face and across his shoulders and back and everywhere he could reach, but his hands always returned to his hair, petting and pulling at him while he let little sounds of pleasure escape his mouth. Watching Michael for any sign of discomfort, he rolled his hips into the suction of his mouth; but all Michael did was begin to roll his own hips in rhythm, frotting his cock against the bedsheets.

Finally, Alex pulled harder, yanking Michael up by an inch or two despite the unsatisfied noise he made.

His voice was hoarse—cock-rough—and he whined, “Alex—”

“Enough,” Alex said, and that one word was enough to get him to close his mouth, a jolt of fire licking through Alex’s veins at that reaction, roaring hot enough to loose his next words. “You like the taste too much, and I don’t want you coming from my cock in your throat before I’m done with you.”

“I could come again—as many times as you want. Til I’m dry, til it hurts—” Michael panted.

“You can come when and how I want you to,” Alex corrected.

Michael moaned theatrically, eyes rolling and a grin spreading wide across his full mouth, and he crawled up Alex’s body to kiss him silly, Alex grinning into the kiss all the same, licking the taste of his skin out of Michael’s mouth.

Murmuring against his lips, Michael said, “How do you want me, then?”

“Lie back.”

He obeyed, flopping down among the pillows, and Alex moved to straddle his thighs, to give him the space to stroke his soft cock back to hardness.

“You’re still smiling,” Alex commented. No matter how much time passed, no matter how much control Alex thought his life let him with, that smile on Michael’s face did funny things to his stomach.

“Got a lot to smile about. Now that you’re back.”

“Cheeseball.”

“’S true.”

Alex ignored that along with Michael wandering his hands all over his body, his chest and his sides and his arms and his hips—he could grab his wrists, lean his weight forward and pin them to the bed and bite at Michael’s throat until he whimpered and kept himself still—but he needed to be touched as bad as Michael needed to touch him, so he let it slide.

“Did you touch yourself while I was gone?” He asked, tilting his head to better take in the sight of Michael, hair haloed across the pillow, golden skin against the dark blue sheets.

“You know I did.”

“That’s right.”

Abandoning Michael’s cock, Alex ran his nails down his thighs and back up, paying special attention to the curve of his ass, the sensitive skin right where his legs joined, leaving light welts just barely enough to sting, souvenirs for Michael to ponder the rest of the day, at least. Maybe he’d leave more before he had his fill. He wouldn’t be going anywhere again anytime soon, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t make sure Michael remembered him in every step, every breath.

Too possessive? Maybe so. But Michael drank it all in, in long, thirsty gulps, body twisting under Alex with every touch, and his desperation told Alex everything words couldn’t—possession was an ecstasy unparalleled.

“What did you think about?” Alex asked, taking his own cock in hand and stroking it slowly, still wet enough from Michael’s mouth to slick his way, a thought that sent a pulse of blood right to his groin.

“Mmmn…” Michael shifted underneath him, and Alex put a hand on his hip to guide him, to make him comfortable, to ground them both. Then Michael continued, “Thought about having you underneath me, had a vibe in my ass and thought about fucking you while you controlled it. You’d keep me on the edge but I’d come just from seeing your face when I gave it to you…then later I’d suck you off in the shower.”

Alex nodded. He could picture it: the vibrator buzzing just below hearing, the thrust of Michael’s body, the flex of his stomach, the way his hips would writhe on the backstroke as his own shifting muscles worked the vibe inside him—then, later—the pounding of the water, Alex gripping the shower bench to keep himself stead, Michael’s mouth and throat working him tip to root—

“Good boy. I love your imagination.”

But he didn’t move to reach for the drawer where they kept the few toys they used; he was in a hands-on mood, and Michael’s fantasy could wait.

(They had time.)

The cap clicked off the lube and Alex spread it on his fingers, watching as Michael watched him, tip of his tongue peeking out between his lips, a high flush pinking his face. His cock was full and red against his stomach—like he could be any other way after Alex said the magic words.

 Good boy.

And he was. So fucking good.

“What’s your imagination telling you?” Michael rasped.

Alex started his answer by lifting Michael’s hips and running a finger down the crack of his ass, enjoying the shiver that rippled down his body at that light touch.

“Whether it’s imagination or instinct, I’m thinking that no matter what you’ve jacked off to, you haven’t had anything down here since I left. And that means you must be aching for it, hm?”

“F-fuck, I—”

“Yes or no, Michael.”

“Yes!”

“Why did you deny yourself? I’m curious.”

He ran his finger back down Michael’s ass, catching the tip on the furl of his hole.

“Hnnn…I didn’t want…!”

Michael’s voice broke off when Alex moved his finger again, flicked over his hole again.

“Yes?”

“I didn’t want anything that wasn’t you. Your cock—size, shape, hot inside me—anything else just…” He whimpered. “Isn’t good enough.”

Alex raised an eyebrow. “Are you saying I’ve—”

“Ruined me for anything, anyone else.” Michael blinked his huge, amber eyes up at Alex. “Yeah, I’m sayin’ it.”

“You…”

Unbelievable. He was unbelievable.

“You’re unbelievable,” he said it out loud, and then he leaned forward, unbalancing himself deliberately and trusting Michael to catch him, surging forward to swallow him in a kiss. Their chests pressed together—Michael bore his weight, bore him up, supported him, easily—and their hearts pounded, battering against the bone and blood and cartilage keeping them apart.

When they pulled apart, mouths slick with each other, without needing to be told Michael braced Alex to assist in leverage him back to sitting. Fuck, he was so good. Alex could almost wonder if he’d been taking mind-reading lessons from Isobel, except that this was just Michael, or at least Michael with him, eager and observant and attentive and just so, so good.

 I’m going to fuck him til he cries from it.

He reached for the lube again. He knew Michael, knew how to play him, fret to string, chord to chord, so he knew how he whined when he was wet and open, teased until his cock was wept slick onto his stomach.

Michael shifted underneath him, spread his thighs best he could, tipping his hips forward chasing more friction against his ass. Alex’s head swam with sex and sweat and shimmering summer rain—he dove down deeper, licked a stripe up a tendon in Michael’s neck, bit at the edge of his jaw.

Finally, Alex took pity. “Put a pillow under your hips,” he commanded, and Michael obeyed. When he was situated, Alex took another tender kiss from his lips—so he could feel and taste the shuddery breath Michael took when Alex finally slid just one, single finger into the hot clench of his body.

“That’s it,” Alex murmured.

“Ahhh…”

He repeated, “That’s it. Does that feel good?”

“Hh—more.”

“Not yet. You can wait, can’t you? One at a time.”

Michael whined. For a brief second, Alex considered slowing down even more in the face of that impatience—but he didn’t have the patience himself.

Slowly, he began pumping that finger in and out, hooking it against Michael’s rim on every pass, keeping a close eye on every minute flicker of his face for the moment he began to give over to the sensation—only then did he crook his finger on the next pass, seeking out his prostate.

“Alex!”

“I know. Michael.”

A thousand different endearments always tripped off the tip of his tongue when he had Michael so near to all his senses, but nothing was so sweet or so true or meant so much as the simple syllables of his name.

“More—mmph!”

Alex cut off his pleading with another finger, scissoring them, stretching Michael roughly before  going back to rubbing his sensitive spot in light, rolling passes, just enough to be a torment.

“You’ve already come once,” Alex said. “How long do you think you’ll be able to hold out for another? If I asked you to?”

“F-fuck—however long, I’d try, however long you wanted.”

“And do you want that? Or do you want me to let you come, like you already said, as many times as I make you, even if it starts to hurt?”

“Whatever, whatever you want.”

“No, Michael.”

He paused the rhythm of his fingers, just held still deep inside Michael’s body—Michael bit his lip, eyes flicking down and away from Alex’s face—so Alex reached up with his clean hand to thumb his chin and tilt his attention back to where it belonged. Only when Michael met his eyes again did Alex speak again.

“You’re going to decide, and I’m going to give you what you want. Okay?”

What you want matters, too. It was an old fight, and not one they’d ever had in so many words, and not one they were going to have right now. Not with Alex’s suitcase still packed at the foot of the bed, not with the sun still lavender-new in the sky, travel still clinging to his skin starved too much for Michael for him to even shower before having him, and having him again. The both of them threw themselves on so many grenades for the other; fighting that ground-in instinct was a daily effort, but one that they’d proven was worth it.

Michael nodded his chin into Alex’s hand, and Alex thumbed his bottom lip to make his teeth let it go. He pulled his fingers out of Michael’s ass just enough to drizzle more lube on them and then thrust them back in, a little slower this time.

“Touch yourself,” he said, following his own advice and stroking his own cock, as soon as Michael got a hand on his.

“What if I wanna touch you?” Michael said defiantly, and Alex laughed.

“You’ll get your chance, I promise. I definitely want to feel your hands on me. Never had anyone touch me like you do.”

The words came out hoarse. It was supposed to be a tease, dirty talk, part of the game they made of riling each other to fever pitch, but Alex couldn’t possibly help but to mean it.

And Michael, as always, met raw with raw.

“Never touched anybody like you,” he said, so Alex kissed his sweet, hot mouth, then trailed wet kisses from the corner across his cheek to his ear, where he said:

“So tell me what you want, so we can both get what we need.”

“Fuck me,” Michael said. “Fuck me until you come inside, that’s all I want. Fuck me like it’s been two weeks—like it’s been forever.”

For just a second, Alex had to press his forehead to Michael’s temple and collect himself. Then he said, “Okay. Okay, Michael. I can do that.”

He didn’t waste a second longer, slicking up his cock and rubbing it against the upturned seam of Michael’s ass, then guiding his tip to the hole and pressing inside.

Michael bent in a graceful, grateful arc as Alex pushed in, stretching him far beyond what two fingers did for him inch by inch; his stomach flexed, his elbows went underneath him, his throat was exposed as his head tipped back and his mouth tipped open on a hissing gasp. Alex paused, hips settling flush with his ass, and his eyes fluttered as his cock throbbed with every little twitch and clench of Michael’s muscles.

Then, Michael moved on purpose, rolling his hips to fuck himself shallowly on Alex’s hard dick, complaining, “Fuck me, Alex—”

And Alex answered with a sharp thrust instead of with words, driving into Michael’s body with singular purpose, toward a singular point, palms planted on the bed on either side of the pulse rabbiting in Michael’s neck to balance him and brace some of his weight off his knee. Michael cried out, lower body curling up to meet him, toes curling, thighs trembling at the onslaught of sensation. His hands grabbed for Alex, slipping on his skin, clutching at his back.

“Alex—ah—Alex—”

Michael’s moans were just that—just a litany of his name, and Alex could hardly stand it, muscles wanting to go all weak with the emotion, but he redirected that instinct into pouring love all over and all into Michael’s body instead.

On his next thrust, Alex angled towards Michael’s prostate and struck gold, coaxing a wild, abandoned cry from Michael’s chest that he cut off with a hand across his mouth. So Alex grabbed for his wrist and forced that hand aside, pinning it beside his head.

“I want to hear you,” he said.

“Alex…”

Michael turned his head to kiss the vulnerable underside of Alex’s wrist and up his arm as far as he could reach before collapsing back down again, moaning behind closed lips when Alex stroked against his prostate again.

Alex almost did something about it—he wanted to hear him—except Michael took matters into his own hands first, tugging on Alex’s hand, pulling it to his mouth, taking his index finger between his lips and sucking it down, filling his mouth as Alex stuttered in the rhythm of his cock filling his ass, as Michael’s tongue flickered against the tip of his finger.

“You little shit,” Alex laughed, and Michael gave up a grin that bore his teeth against Alex’s knuckle, so Alex gave him what he wanted there, too, driving two fingers against his tongue, toward the back of his throat.

Fuck, fuck, Michael was so gorgeous with his mouth full—like he wasn’t gorgeous any way, all the time, taking Alex’s breath away, turning his world inside out. Next time one of them had to leave, they’d have to do more, do better, video chat or send more pictures or something, even if it meant coaxing Michael out of his comfort zone when it came to technology.

But that was for the future, and Alex wanted to soak himself in the present, the tight clutch of Michael’s body, the pulse and strain of his own muscles, the heat in his blood and the sounds of skin and pleasure and the deep perfume of musk and rain, and—

The best laid plans slid aside for what mattered, beyond any clever talk, beyond any of the games they played together, beyond anything but chasing the kind of completion they could only find in each other. And Michael matched Alex thrust for thrust, fingers curling against his shoulder, sliding down to rest a palm flat against his heart. Pain seared across his chest for a split second—Alex cried out—and then it faded, and Alex was left clutching Michael’s hand to him, pumping out the last few strokes before he came deep inside his body. Michael tumbled right behind him, hips jumping, thighs shaking as he came all over himself for the second time. His head jerked back so sharply Alex’s fingers were pulled from his mouth.

But that was okay, because Alex flopped down to the mattress and occupied his mouth another way, kissing him in between sharing breathless laughs.

“How’s that for a welcome home?” Michael asked hoarsely.

Alex nuzzled their noses together and answered, “Am I home? This isn’t a dream I’m having asleep on the plane?”

Whatever Michael was going to say in response was cut off by Alex’s stomach grumbling, so Michael just laughed again and said, “Are you usually hungry in dreams? How about you go ahead and grab the shower while I whip up breakfast, or, uh…” He checked the clock, and his grin turned sheepish. “Maybe brunch.”

“That’s a good plan.” But Alex didn’t budge, and Michael didn’t make to move, either. “Maybe later.”

“Later,” Michael agreed.

Later came with Alex’s hair still dripping onto the shoulders of one of Michael’s old, thin, soft t-shirts, sitting at the kitchen table with the sun in full splendor gilding the floor, the wood, the air itself. Michael put a plate and an omelet on the table in front of him and sat across, and they ate in happy silence, Michael’s handprint and his love nestled against Alex’s breast.

He couldn’t stop touching it, the place on his skin that had only just begun to shimmer, passing his thumb over it again and again like he expected it to feel different somehow.

“You’re already feeling it? My emotions, I mean?” Michael asked, his eyes resting on Alex’s chest, a little furrow between his own brows.

Alex reached out to take his hand, rubbing his knuckles like he’d just rubbed the handprint in an attempt to reassure. “Just a little. It’s…it’s something else.” He lifted Michael’s hand to kiss it. “You’re going to have to practice more.”

Michael’s eyebrows lifted. “Is that a reference to the orgasms I still owe you?”

“Ha, no. It’s me saying…I want to be able to feel you any time we want that there. I…I always want to carry your love inside me, and do that for you, how this feels, I…”

Michael leaned over the table and kissed him, threading his fingers through the hair on the back of his neck. Their food got a little cold before they got around to eating it, but that was just okay.

[miceandmonsters]

Minotaur Boyfriend - Firran

Male minotaur x female reader; 1.6k

Establish relationship; praise

Request: A very sweet minotaur man (gentle giant style) and a curvy reader!

Rain pattered against the window panes, low and steady. Two empty mugs sat on the coffee table, teabags slowly drying nearby. The television volume was basically muted. Not that you really needed it at all, you’d seen this episode of The Great Elven Bake Off several times before. There was nowhere to go, nothing that had to be done. It was the perfect way to spend a drowsy afternoon, made all the better by the addition of your boyfriend, Farrin.

You didn’t live together yet, though you were beginning to think that he probably spent more time at your apartment than he did his. You certainly didn’t mind. He was the sweetest person you’d ever dated, kind and thoughtful and unintentionally charming. Never one for big gestures, just a thousand small everyday habits that spoke volumes for how much he cared for you. You weren’t about to give him up anytime soon.

In addition to being gentle and honest, Farrin also made a pretty decent couch. He was large, tall and broad, like most minotaurs, and covered in shaggy ginger fur. (You sometimes wondered if he’d fluff up even further if you took the time to blow dry him after a shower. A theory yet to be tested.) But you’d discovered that he was pleasant to sit or lie on mainly because he enjoyed picking you up every chance he got. It was difficult at times to pass through a room without him pulling you down onto his lap or up into his arms for a quick kiss. At first, you’d attempted excuses, claiming to be too heavy to sit on him or to be lifted, but he just responded by carrying you bridal style to bed most evenings without so much as a hint of strain. Even you had to admit he won that argument.

So you were spending the afternoon sitting between Farrin’s legs, leaning back against his chest, in the overly large chair and a half you’d purchased second-hand after you’d started dating. With his strong arms draped around you and his chin resting on your head, you were very content to let the rest of the day dawdle around you both without changing a thing.

As one episode ended and another one began, you stretched lazily, luxuriously, your hands reaching up and running along his broad horns before brushing away the locks that were forever in his face. 

Farrin laughed quietly, pressing a kiss to your temple. “Thank you, love,” he murmured, hands dipping to surround your waist momentarily exposed from the stretch.

You hummed a contented response and settled back in to see if Éloudie’s custard tart would prove to be better than her opera cake last episode. Farrin’s hand smoothed over to rest on your stomach, thumb leisurely stroking across your bare skin under your shirt. Just his one hand nearly reached the breadth of your middle… something you not-so-secretly enjoyed, and he did too. In the same unhurried manner as the rest of the afternoon, his hand slid north, fingertips circling and raising goosebumps across your skin as he went.

Since you were just relaxing with Farrin, you hadn’t bothered to put on a bra, and you were very glad you hadn’t as his hand finally reached its destination. Gently he cupped your full breast, thumb circling across your quickly tightening nipple. You tried to stay relaxed, pretend as if nothing had changed and just watch the show. But your breathing shifted deeper as his second hand mimicked the first, and he pressed a soft kiss to the top of your neck just behind your ear.

“If you’re bored, we can pick another show,” you murmured, tilting your head back to rest on his shoulder.

A puff of warm air skated across your cheek as he chuckled. “Not bored now.” He delicately caught your nipples between finger and thumb, making your whole core tighten. You could feel his smile. “And neither are you,” he added, sounding proud of himself and gently rolling them between finger and thumb.

“Wasn’t… wasn’t bef--ohh, don’t stop, baby, please.”

But instead he let go and placed another lingering kiss on your neck. “Watch your show,” he whispered into your ear, making you shudder anyway. That was a lot harder than he made it seem as his hands never wandered away from your breasts. His knuckles brushed over the tops of them; he gently squeezed them; his fingertips trailed over the whole area. All in the same relaxed speed that somehow just raised every sensation higher with the anticipation.

“Firran,” you breathed after nearly half an episode of delicious torture.

His hands stopped, and he brushed his cheek over yours. “Yes, love?”

“More? Please?” you said in that same pitiful voice. Luckily, it nearly always worked on him.

He kissed your neck. “Of course,” he murmured against your skin. His hands wandered away but only far enough to pull your shirt off of you. He did the same for himself and pulled you back against him, arms wrapping around your middle as you both soaked up the comforting sensation of contact. His fur was soft and lightly textured, like fine wool, against your back.

“Have I told you recently how beautiful you are?” he said conversationally.

You smiled and shook your head. “I haven’t showered yet today.”

“That doesn’t make you any less beautiful.” His hand traced from your shoulder, down your arm, to take your hand in his, fingers intertwining. He squeezed. “Someday I hope you see it too.”

You tilted to the side enough to catch his eye. “I’m trying,” you sighed with a small smile that he returned.

“I know.” He kissed you, gentle and deep. His kisses were nearly overwhelming, but never sloppy. Soft lips glided over yours, and warm breath filled your lungs. As he kissed you, he lifted you up into his lap properly. His hands slid down your thighs to spread them on either side of his legs, squeezing the flesh affectionately. “Let me show you how beautiful you are today,” he whispered, sliding a palm down your bare stomach. 

He stopped just above your waistline, waiting for your permission or possibly for you to just ask again. You gave both to him in a long kiss and rested your hand over his. “Please, Firran,” you murmured. “Touch me.”

His large hand slid down, cupping you under your pajama pants but over your underwear and feeling the warmth he’d made from his toying earlier. Not quite what you wanted. A frustrated sigh left you in a huff, making him chuckle.

“Alright, alright,” he chided. Finally, his fingers slid across delicate skin, making you sigh in relief now, legs opening as wide as possible for him. He dipped between your folds, both of you groaning as he discovered precisely how much you wanted him. “I love how wet you get for me,” he whispered into your ear, making you whimper.

In the same unhurried manner, his fingers started circling, finding your most sensitive spot instantly. He knew your body fairly well by this point, seemed to have made it a personal goal of his when you first picked up together. And now you thanked whatever gods that were listening that he had.

As if Firran’s talented fingers weren’t enough to please you, he was often very vocal whenever you were together, and he was very good at bringing you along with him. Right now it came out in heated, whispered praises and compliments whispered in your ears that just wound the coil in your stomach tighter and tighter.

“That’s it, love,” he said as he changed directions again, making you shudder and clutch at his hand. He used his other arm to hold you against him, hand flat against your upper chest to keep you exactly where he wanted you. “So good. Such a good girl.”

You pressed a hand to your mouth as a truly desperate, breathy cry fell out of you, the other hand tangling into his fur. 

“Do you want more, love?” he asked, his own breathing deep and heavy. You nodded, whining as his fingers slowed to stop. “Use your words.”

“Yes. Gods, yes. More, please, more.”

Firran was considerably larger than you, so even with how much you were begging, he still took it slow as he slipped a single finger inside you. It curled and stroked right against the spot that made stars bloom behind your eyes. Though as he coupled it with grinding the heel of his hand against your clit, you were pretty sure a whole galaxy appeared in your vision.

“Look, love. Look at how beautiful you are,” he whispered. 

Teetering on a precipice, you pulled your eyes open. Just barely you could make out your reflections in the television--he must have turned it off at some point. Somehow seeing what he was doing to you made it feel all the stronger. You looked desirable, evocative… beautiful. Even muddled, you could feel his gaze pinning you to him as his hand pulled every bit of pleasure from you.

Your orgasm hit you abruptly--bright and explosive. You bucked once and curled over yourself as you let out an uncontrollable cry. Still shuddering through it, Firran surrounded you, wrapping strong arms around you and whispering gently in your ear. It took a moment for your brain to process his words, but then you finally heard them.

“I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you…” Over and over again. 

It took a few minutes for you to come down, but eventually you were able to look back at him and give him a long kiss. “I love you too.”

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