#imagine watching those impossibly tiny fingers curl around your own

[aventurineswife]

May I please request Aven playing with his twin babies??? (I always imagine him having boy and girl twins)

Like, imagine their tiny hands trying to grab his expensive trinkets and use them as teething toys (idk what they're called LOL) 💖💖

“Sometimes the smallest things take up the most room in your heart”

Summary: Aventurine finds himself caught in the simplest yet most precious game of them all: fatherhood. As he watches his twin babies playfully fight for his trinkets, he is overcome by a rare sense of joy and love and forgets his usual guarded ways. The twins bring out this part of him, an element of play which he has kept hidden for so long, reminding him that the gamble may not always be about wealth or power but about love and family and sometimes just the little things in life.

Tags: Dad!Aventurine, Family, Parenthood, Humor, Mischief, Love, Emotional Vulnerability, Joy.

A/N: searched it up and it's called teething toys (for babies), so you're correct! Don't worry :3

Aventurine had always been a man of risk—whether it was navigating the volatile corridors of power or placing a bet on an impossible con. But today, the stakes were far more personal, and far more precious.

He sat on a plush velvet armchair in the lavish sitting room of his estate, his usually composed features softened by a rare, unguarded smile. His children—his twin babies—played at his feet. The boy with his bright eyes and unruly hair laughed as he reached out for the small trinket that rested on the low table in front of his father. The girl, her dark eyes twinkling mischievously, was already doing her best to grab at the same piece of jewelry, her chubby fingers curling around the delicate gold chain.

They get him with a teasing, affectionate smile, the careful mask slipping in their presence. Aventurine thought himself a strategist: one reads the room and predicts the next move. This game of life has changed, though, when it comes to these two; his heart runs in an uncharted course.

"Ah, no, no," he crooned softly, reaching down to pull the gold necklace from their jaws, "That's not for you to chew on."

The boy whimpered softly, his huge eyes looking up at his father, while the girl beamed up at him as if plotting her next move. It was as if they were already working together—hard not to laugh at this. He had a feeling of something between alarm and endearment at the mischievous streak that mirrored his own.

"You two are already scheming," he said to himself, shaking his head. His eyes remained on their small hands, still reaching for anything they could grab. The girl grabbed the chip coin, clutching it in her chubby little fist. Aventurine's heart fluttered at how such small hands could hold such weight in his life.

"You know," he started, settling back in the chair as he absently fidgeted with his bracelet, "your parent would have a fit if they saw you two playing with my trinkets. They're far too expensive for you to be using them as teething toys."

But the two of them did not give up. The boy, not wanting to lose, managed to tug at a delicate gold ring on his father's wrist with a surprising strength in those baby fingers.

With a theatrical sigh, Aventurine carefully took off the ring, his voice playful yet firm. "If you keep this up, you'll ruin my reputation as the greatest gambler in the universe," he teased. "People will hear about the time I lost my ring to a toddler."

The twins giggled in perfect synchrony, their little voices harmonizing in the most innocent way yet having in their expressions mischief written. Perfect, the gamble paid off in the most wonderful of ways—though Aventurine would never admit how much a gamble fatherhood was truly.

As the boy squirmed closer now to pull at his father's choker, Aventurine couldn't resist. His usual wariness was forgotten in the glow of the moment, and he let them have their play. For the universe held no treasures to rival the joy he felt in their company.

"You little thieves," Aventurine laughed, hoisting the girl up onto his lap, her face breaking out into a grin that was at once his charm and her parent's warmth. The boy crawled up to his side, reaching for his father's face, as if trying to claim him entirely.

Aventurine’s heart fluttered again—this time, he didn’t even try to stop it. He was theirs, every last bit of him. And for once, he didn’t need to calculate the cost of that connection.

For this gamble, there was no risk at all.

[kraviolis]

making myself cry over my golden guard oc :(

[lillyspeakz]

Can you write some incelbur bieng huge and reader bieng tiny smut ???

lowkey dub-con; pinning down, restraining, SIZE KINKKKKKK, hand kink, choking, degradation, aftercare!, a lot of spit

“You think now that I finally got my hands on you I’m gonna let you go? Stupid, stupid thought little one.” Wilbur groaned as his hands pinned you down on the bed, leaning his weight on your body as he did.

Wilbur finally got his hands on you, finally making you love him and showing how much you mean to him. You were everything he revolved around, every waking thought, everything he needed. Truly. So when you invited him into your house after a date one night, he knew he had too do something to show you. Show you just how much you meant to him.

“Look how fucking small you are, bet you want me to split you in half and use you for all your worth yeah baby?” Wil said as he thrusted slowly into you, pulling all the way out and slamming back into you, making you cry out into the pillow.

You were lying on your stomach, hands behind your back as you took him, body lying limp as his weight forced you down into the mattress. As much as you squirmed and denied every sentence, you loved all of this. How gross and cruel he was being, leaving you on the edge the whole time as he tore you apart.

Wilbur leaned down, his body covering yours entirely as he pulled your head to the side in order to see your face. As he saw tears fill your eye line as your eyes rolled back to your head as his thrust continued, getting harder and harder each time to keep his patience up. He was hitting so deep inside you, his length and girth filling you up and hitting every spot imaginable. Your back arching in his hold as he let go of your hands and pulled your hips up to meet his, gripping the skin hard as he finally fucked you fast and hard, drool falling out of your mouth as your mouth opened in silent screams, broken moans following.

Wils thrust faltered as he bottomed out inside you, pulling you all the way up, pressing your back against his chest, holding onto your throat as one hand pressed down on the bulge appearing in your stomach. “Feel that baby? That’s all me, no one else. Only I can make you feel like this. Make you feel amazing while claiming you as my cocksleeve yeah?” Wilbur smirked down at you as you gripped his hand that was on your throat, your hand moving his wrist up towards your mouth. “Does the slut want my fingers in their mouth? Love my hands that fucking much you need them in you at all times?! Didn’t think it’d be this easy to corrupt you darling-“ Wilbur chuckled as he shoved two fingers down your throat slowly, relaxing them as they curled into your throat.

His thrust continued as he pressed down on your tongue, making you gag as your head fell back into his shoulder. His fingers fell out of your mouth, drool falling across your face as your whole body went limp in the man’s hold, the pleasure of the situation being too much for you to keep up.

“Stay awake baby, I’m not nearly done with you. I’ve waited this long for you, so you’re gonna take all of it.” Wilbur smirked against your ear as he pushed you back down on the bed as he gripped your hips harder and fucked you hard and deep, his moans filling the space as your body took all of it.

It was like you were his own personal toy. Something for him to throw around and fuck whenever he wanted, and you were. You will be. You didn’t mind, if it meant this treatment everytime.

“Come on baby, give me those noises.” Wilbur demanded as he lifted your head up by your hair, a pool of drool dripping onto the bed as your breathless moans and whines left your mouth, your mind barely with you as you let him control your mind. “Good job baby! Fuck, I’m gonna cum!”

Wil watched as he disappeared inside you, the ring of white around his base as your arousal ran down your thighs and into the bed. He groaned at the sight of your needy core, fucking you impossibly harder as you brought a hand back to catch his, squeezing it as you screamed in need.

Wilbur placed your hand back down on the bed as he held it, leaning down on the bed as he placed his body on yours. “Come on baby, cum for me! Did so good for me- fuck! Good job baby!” Wilbur moaned out as you tightened around him, his thrust faltering as you sucked him in as tight as you could, eyes rolling back as your thrusted into you one more time before cumming inside you, as deep as he could go.

Heavy pants and whines were heard as you both came down from your high, Wilbur slowly pulling out of you. You whines as he left you, the emptiness leaving you feeling cold in some odd way. Sitting up, Wilbur spread your legs open again, mesmerized by the way his cum ran down your core and into the towel he had laid out before.

“All mine baby. Only mine.” He whispered as he kissed your thighs, massaging the skin around them. “Did so good baby. My good darling, always.”

“‘m tired Wil.” You whines as you reached for him, eyes closing as your body relaxed.

“Stay awake darling, you need to drink some water first, here.” Wil helped you onto your side as he grabbed the water bottle from your nightstand, helping you take a sip before lying you back down and placing a small peck on your lips. He quickly got up and went to the bathroom, finding a small cloth to wet down, quickly coming back as he wiped you down as quickly and gently as he could .

As you hissed from sensitivity as the cold cloth tan against your clit, Wilbur quickly apologized as he cleaned your thighs quickly and threw the cloth and used towel somewhere else than the bed.

Flopping down beside you, Wilbur brought you into him as he kissed your forehead, small snored being heard from your lips already as he laughed,

“Goodnight to you too darling, I love you.”

[wri0thesley]

you cannot tell me itto doesnt have the biggest size kink in teyvat - he’s already taller than like, a majority of the visible population so far and it doesnt help i hc him to be even taller than his in-game model depicts - like those oni genes making him a bare minimum of 6’5 (~195cm) if not even more. and he’s just so. Big and bulky - his model even agreeing with his extra defined abs and muscles even through his (albeit somewhat minimal compared to the other genshin men) clothes. he’d just engulf you in the best way possible - be it to fuck your brains out and watch the bulge in your stomach disappear and reappear or just for the best bear hugs and cuddles. please i need him

- might as well call me the desperate itto wanter anon at this point - he’s taking over my entire mind T-T

cw; not sfw, minors dni. size kink, mating press, fingering, tummy bulge, ‘pussy job’, pet names (babe, pretty baby,), itto has a longer-than-average monster tongue and also a monster dick (as it should be, not sfw link for what i always imagine him with). afab reader, gn pronouns! 

(send me a genshin kink thought/thirst for elucidation and drabbles)

Itto’s breath is panting hot against your ear. Big hands are curled around your thighs, almost bending you in half, your knees nearly up around your ears - and despite that, the way that he’s holding you and keeping you pinned beneath him seems effortless. 

The panting is not from the exertion of having you in this position - the panting is, instead, from the way you feel as his thick, stiff cock slides in between the messy slick that leaks and drips from your sex. 

“Babe,” Itto is panting, mumbling, practically whimpering against your ear. “Babe, s’not gonna fit.” The muscles in your thighs twitch and clench as the tip of his cock nudges your clit again from the way he keeps rutting his hips against you - sliding his cock between your wet folds without actually managing to penetrate inside of you, where you desperately want him to be. He whines out in desperate despair; “You’re too small. S’gonna break you in half--”

It would be impossible to not feel small beneath Itto. His broad shoulders block out any light that might filter through into the bedroom from the window; his hands taking up a great swathe of your bare thigh, the expanse of his own chest glistening with sweat. The muscled planes of his abdomen, the thick, defined line of his thighs--

Taking one of his fingers is already a stretch for you. One that has you squirming beneath him; looking up at him with your eyes blown wide and your lips swollen from biting. You’d taken two of them tonight, as Itto made you come apart with nothing but the curl of his knuckles and the drag of his thumb along your clit - but that hadn’t been enough. 

“I need your cock,” you’d told him, even with the damp proof of your own gushing release shimmering on his fingertips. The sight of his long - just slightly too long, in a way that makes your insides clench - tongue licking up that same wetness and clearly revelling in it had done little to ease your desire. You hadn’t cared if your tone had leant to petulance as you’d insisted; “Itto! Want you inside of me. I want you to stretch me out more . . .”

Arataki Itto is not good at saying ‘no’ to you. Despite his position of the leader of a gang, despite the loud exclamation of his horns saying he is something other than human, despite the sheer breadth of him . . . you have him wrapped around your little finger. And looking up at him like that and earnestly begging him to ruin you when his cock had been begging to be sheathed inside of you since the first time you’d kissed him . . . any attempts at retaining the self-control he’d had for fear of hurting you with it had been pushed to the wayside, as the inhuman part of his brain had looked down at you and thought ‘mine, mine, mine’.

That inhuman look had been in his eye as he’d wrestled you into position; as he’d manoeuvred you like a ragdoll until you felt tiny and utterly claimed in his grip. Itto’s red-gold eyes stare down at you with something between hunger and adoration painting them, as he slurs out (his cock not ceasing rubbing up and down the lips of your sex);

“You’re so much smaller’n me . . . Really could break you, huh?”

“I can take it!” You whine up to him. You rock back on your rear as best you can, your elbows keeping you propped up on the bed, and the position manages to stretch you just a little bit wider - at the cost of making you even more helpless to do anything but stay in the position that Itto has man-handled you into. His eyes drag down your body, centring firmly on your sex. 

“Shit. . .” He sighs, quietly. “Can’t-- can’t not put it in ya, seein’ as you want it so bad . . . So wet. You’ve made a messa me already, pretty baby--” 

A few more helpless strokes of his cock between your folds, and the slightly spade-shaped tip of him is gently nudging at your opening. Your mouth drops open as you gasp - Itto gently, gently, gently pushing himself inside of you. The way the tip of his cock widens makes your thighs jump again, your stomach tight - and your cunt clench around what little of him is already inside of you. Itto whines.

“Fuck, babe, you’re squeezin’ me--”

“Keep going,” You breathe out at him in return, feeling tears spring to your eyes. “I-- at least get the tip in, Itto, please--”

“Ah--hnn. Can’t say no t’my pretty baby when they ask like that, can I-- hold on, yeah?” 

He shifts slightly, and you realise he’s reared up fully onto the balls of his feet, effectively keeping you completely pinned beneath him in a mating press, even with barely an inch of his cock inside of you. Your fingers twist into Itto’s rumpled sheets as slowly, inexorably slowly, he sinks the entire head of his cock inside of you. Sweat is dripping down his forehead, his eyes glittering dangerously - and he is every inch an oni, like this, bearing down upon you.

And you cannot help but love feeling like his prey. 

“So big,” you tell him, in a whining little moan. “I can take more, I promise. Wanna feel all of you.”

“I-I’ll go slow,” Itto manages, choking through the waves of desire that are roiling through his entire being. “I wanna feel alla you too.”

Itto is true to his word, though every second that lasts feels like it lasts a lifetime. The sensation of him sinking inside of you, inch by slow, torturous inch, makes you feel fuller than you’ve ever been; the ridges and bumps of his cock rubbing against your inner walls in a way at once pleasurable and mind-numbing. Your mouth is open; you think you might be drooling. Certainly, the over-stimulatedf tears that have been threatening to fall for what seems like hours have made shiny trails on your cheeks. 

He’s so big, simply getting wider and wider as he fucks further into you. You think you might be split apart - you think that you might come just from the sensation of being so utterly taken, as your heart pounds so loudly it echoes in your ear. 

Time stands still, slow like molasses - nothing in your mind but the complete stupification of being stretched to your limits and then some. And then Itto groans out your name like a prayer and says, over-awed;

“I fitted.”

And then, as his eyes once more travel over you, his mouth drops open and you see the glint of his fangs.

“Babe. Your tummy.”

You look down to see that Itto has finally bottomed out inside of you; the heaviness of his full balls pushing against your opening. But, more pressing than that is the sight of how your stomach has distended; a noticeable bulge, right where all of Itto’s cock is currently nestled inside of you. 

“I--I can feel you there,” you breathe out - and Itto urges you to hook one of your knees over his shoulder so that his hand is free to press gently on said bulge. As you feel that pressure, his thick fingers and hot palm against it, your eyelids flutter and roll back into your head, pleasure zapping through your synapses. 

“I can feel it too,” he says. “I . . . I gotta move, babe. If I don’t fuck you ‘m gonna just . . . ‘m gonna die right here, I need you so bad, gonna be careful I promise--”

You look up into his eyes; clouded with a haze of lust. You feel so small underneath him; so small even with him inside of you, stretched out around him, claimed and loved and wanted and taken. 

“Itto,” you say. You hold his gaze, feeling your lips curve into a smile. “D-don’t. Don’t hold back.”

[moonlit-reveriee]

Baby Blue

technoblade x fem!reader

concept: techno is scared of ‘corrupting’ the reader, but the reader’s kinda into it...

content warning // NSFW, virgin!reader, very minor angst?, small argument that gets resolved

listen to this while you read: BBBlue (Single) by Olivver the Kid

(this fic was heavily inspired by the lyrics of this song, so i highly recommended giving it a listen!)

───※ ·❆· ※───

When Techno found out you were a virgin, he was terrified. Not necessarily of the thought itself, but of the implications.

He’d never forget the look on your face when you told him. You tried to be casual about it, but he knew you well enough to spot the dusting of pink across your cheeks. You nuzzled yourself closer into his side. Whether out of embarrassment or something else entirely, he couldn’t tell. All he could feel was his heart dropping as the voices chanted at him to “ruin her”

Of course you, his pure sweet angel, would be a virgin. He once again crumbled under the idea that you had chosen him. How on earth could a person like you even think of being with a beast like him. Yet alone, giving up your virginity to him.

He hated how horribly turned on he was by the thought of taking it.

The voices had been relentless about it ever since. They were hyper focused on your every move, twisting every thought of his into something promiscuous. When you rolled out of bed in the morning and stretched, a small sigh escaping your lips, it was endless cries of “make her do that again” “you should fuck those moans out of her” “make her scream”

While making breakfast together in the morning, they wouldn’t stop telling him to “bend her over the counter” “take it right here”

Even at times where he was alone, the voices preoccupied him with endless thoughts of you. He was fairly certain they had forced him to imagine every possible way in which he could have you. “imagine fucking her against the wall” “you can be gentle for the first time y’know” “she’d feel so good writhing underneath us” “press her face into the mattress instead” “make her get on her knees and suck you off” “she’ll be such a pretty little slut for us”

He tried to take care of himself as often as he could, but it was becoming impossible to keep up with. There were only so many times a day he could jerk himself off alone behind locked doors. He was desperate, and sexually frustrated to say the least.

He felt disgusting for it.

After a week of this torment, he could barely even look at you yet alone touch you without the voices and his own guilt pounding against his skull. You couldn’t even think about broaching the subject again, because he was avoiding physical contact like the plague. He wouldn’t come to bed until he knew you were asleep, and would leave long before you woke.

As much as he tried to hide it, you could tell he was tired. Something was wrong, but you knew that he’d never just tell you about his problems unprompted. Techno was insufferably stubborn in that way. After several days of avoiding your gaze and leaning away from your touch, you chose to confront him.

“Techno”, you called for his attention quietly, trying to sound stern while remaining gentle with him. He didn’t turn to fully face you, but he glanced at the spot on the wall just above your head.

You struggled to find the words you wanted to say, so you settled on telling him, “Techno, you look tired.”

He turned his attention away from you. “Just a lot of work around the house this week. I’ll be fine after I rest.”

“Then come to bed with me.” You saw the way his body tensed and tilted away from you at that simple suggestion.

“I just need to write a couple letters first. You can go ahead of me.”

“Techno...”, you whined, daring to take a step closer to him. He gave you an almost panicked look, “why does it feel like you’ve been avoiding me?”

“I haven’t been avoiding you”, he responded quickly, trying to look through you instead of at you.

“Yes you have”, you responded firmly. A flash of guilt washed over his face at your tone. “You haven’t kissed or touched me for nearly a week now. I don’t even know for sure if you sleep in the same bed as me anymore. Fuck, you barely even talk to me.”

Angry tears threatened to spill down your cheeks, but you wanted to hold them in. Techno felt his chest tighten at the sight of it. He instinctively turned and reached out to comfort you, but forced himself to freeze.

“There”, you said, gesturing towards him, “just like that. You’re stopping yourself. Why are you doing that?”

He repeatedly opened and closed his fists at his side, wanting to have any conversation other than this one.

“[y/n], there’s just a lot going on in my mind right now”, he said. It wasn’t a complete lie. “I just need to work though it.”

“Then let me help you.”

“No”, he responded a little too quickly, “I- I mean, I just don’t want to talk about it with you yet...”

“Why not?”, you retorted, trying to squeeze any information you could out of him.

“I just don’t, okay? It’s uncomfortable, I don’t want to talk about it yet.”

“... is this about me being a virgin?”

“I never said that”, he replied, but the tension in his shoulders was enough to tip you off.

“Ah geez Technoblade, if it was that much of a problem for ya, you should have just told me”, you said sarcastically, “instead of avoiding all physical contact for a like week straight!”

“It’s not a problem, [y/n].”

“Certainly doesn’t feel that way.”

Techno huffed in frustration, grabbing a fistful of his hair at the root. He wasn’t sure if he was more upset with himself, or the fact that a few of the voices were still begging him to “please fuck her already”

“Love, I wasn’t avoiding you because I didn’t want it. They”, he tapped a finger against the side of his skull, “they want it so badly. It’s driving me insane.”

He breathed in and out shakily, trying to gauge your expression in the brief moments before he continued.

“I’m a monster. I’ve spilt more blood than anyone every should in a single lifetime. My appearance is more beast than man.”

He looked up briefly to find you staring right at him, a tight-lipped frown upon your face.

“What does that have to do with any of this?”

“I- ... I don’t want to corrupt your innocence”, he admitted.

“What on earth do you mean by that?”

“[y/n], you’re so perfect”, he answered almost breathlessly, “you’re so kind and so pure. Just living with me does enough to taint your reputation, I don’t wanna-“

He cut himself off to swallow thickly. He almost seemed scared of the words he was going to say next.

“I don’t want to ruin this part of you either...”

A heavy silence filled the tiny sitting room of techno’s cottage. In those few seconds, your eyes widened ever so slightly as his words suddenly clicked in your mind. This hulking boar of a man, an undisputed war criminal, was scared. He was scared of damaging you, your reputation, or your recently revealed ‘innocence’. Compared to himself, he saw you as a pure being who could be tainted by unwholesome thoughts.

If what he said about the voices was true, then his actions of the past few days would’ve made sense for him.

“Oh techno...”, you muttered softly, tentatively placing a hand on his jaw. His posture was curled inward, making him look small despite his size. He was stiff at first, but allowed you to lift his gaze to meet yours. He searched your eyes desperately for an indication of your reaction. You gave him a reassuring smile.

“Do you remember when we first met?”

A small wave of confusion washed over his face, but he nodded anyways. “It was at the festival...”

“That’s right”, you said, moving the hand on his face down to rest over his shoulder, “and do you remember what I did that day?”

“You threw an axe into Schlatt’s shoulder”, he answered, watching as the scene played out in his memory.

You lived with Niki in her bakery at the time, and witnessed firsthand the injustice she faced during Schlatt’s presidency. As the chaos after Tubbo’s execution occurred, you took the opportunity to hurl your axe where Schlatt stood upon his podium. The blow wasn’t fatal, but that wasn’t necessarily your goal. You just wanted to see the man in pain.

“It was a lucky shot really”, you admitted, “I wasn’t even aiming properly.” That managed to draw a small smile onto Techno’s lips.

“And do you remember”, you continued, “when I tried to confront the Butcher Army by myself?”

He grimaced at the thought. You had told him you just needed to make a quick trip to L’manburg for some supplies, leaving him at home alone to recover from the previous day’s events. You returned that evening with a sprained wrist and a couple large bruises forming on your body. None of them were trying to kill you, but you took a pretty good beating from Quackity just for trying to confront them.

“Why are you bringing all of this up now?”, he asked.

“Because”, you said, “this is the evidence that will support my next point.”

He looked bewildered by that statement, but continued to listen.

“I’m not a perfect person”, you resumed, “I have blood on my hands just like you do. I know it’s hard to compare to you, but I’m not devoid of my own sins. I can be mean, I’ve hurt people. I’m not a pure, angelic being who would quiver at a single inappropriate thought. I think you forget that sometimes.”

He let your words swirl around in his head; he couldn’t deny the logic in them. The evidence prevented him from denying the truth of your statement. He could almost be mad that you’d talked him into a corner, but he was more overjoyed at the fact that you knew him well enough to do so.

“And you know...”, you spoke quietly, letting your hand fall down to rest on his chest, “if you did somehow ‘corrupt my innocence’ as you say... I really wouldn’t mind that.”

Techno’s breath hitched in his throat. There were a brief few moments, maybe minutes, where he just stared at you. Then his lips were on yours; sudden and clumsy, but passionate. You gripped the fabric of his shirt as he grabbed at your waist, desperate to have you in his arms again.

“I’m sorry, I had to”, he muttered, his lips left hovering a hair’s breadth away from yours.

“You’re so silly sometimes”, you sighed affectionately, rubbing small circles into his collarbone. He gave you a gentle smirk before pressing another kiss into your lips.

“I’m sorry darling, I really am”, he said as he drew you into a tight hug. He took in your scent and the feel of your skin for the first time in days. It felt like he could survive off the feeling of your arms wrapped around his body alone. He wondered why he ever let himself be depraved of this.

“You know I trust you, right?”, you spoke with your face pressed into his chest.

“I’m not sure why, but yes.”

You decided not to reprimand him for saying that. You could help him unpack all that later. Instead, you brought your head up to whisper in his ear.

“You have my full and unconditional consent to take my virginity whenever you’re ready.”

Techno inhaled and held his breath, though for what, he wasn’t sure. It took a while for the full weight of those words to sink in. He leaned back to stare at your face, bringing one of his large and shaky hands up to cup your cheek.

“Are you sure?”, his eyes were wide with trepidation, practically pleading with you to tell him the truth. You leaned into his palm, indulging in the feeling of his skin on yours.

“I want you, techno. I’ll wait as long as you need me to.”

Techno was lost in your words. The sudden absence of guilt left his heart light and airy in his chest. For the first time in days, the voices were only a gentle murmur.

“she’s so beautiful” “she wants you” “make her feel good” “show her how special she is” “make her smile” “she’ll be so pretty” “she’s always pretty” “be gentle, no need to rush”

“make love to her”

“... I think I’m ready now.”

───※ ·❆· ※───

ayyyy guess who finally finished writing something!!!

parts of this feel a little rushed but ehhhhhh i was just excited to finally post it. i looove writing techno as an extremely self-conscious character who’s too caught up in their own head to see how ridiculous they’re being. so, this was a treat for me to write

i hope you enjoyed :D

-moonlight

[forever-rogue]

what do you think bucky would be like with his baby? i was just reading obvious (which is the cutest) and just got the thought of what he would be like with his baby

idk why i always imagined bucky as a girl dad, i just feel like he'd want a girl really bad

On James Barnes and Fatherhood;;

Bucky Masterlist

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

“She’s so small,” Bucky was somewhere between incredulous and horrified as he looked at the tiny baby nestled against your breast. She looked so impossibly minuscule and fragile; suddenly every single worry in the world was at the forefront of his mind. How was he supposed to protect this newborn life, a life he helped create, when he still had moments of doubt in himself?

“Come here,” you whispered as you reached for his hand, gently beckoning for him to come closer. He hesitated slightly before nodding and coming closer, “it’s okay, my love. You have nothing to fear. I’m right here and so is she - she’s your daughter. Can you believe it? We made her...”

“What if...what if I hurt her?” he watched in awe as you stroked the newborn’s chubby little cheek. She already had a shock of dark hair and the sweetest little face. You swore that she had smiled at Bucky as soon as she laid eyes on him, “I don’t...”

“She’s not glass, Buck,” you motioned for him to sit down in the chair next to you, “it’ll be okay. I promise - I love you. Just hold her like we’ve practiced and it will all be fine.”

“Okay,” he agreed softly, swallowing the nervous lump in his throat. You shifted as gently as you could, trying your best not to wake her up as you passed her to Bucky. He was stiff as a mouse as he gingerly took her in his arms and let her rest against his chest. She made a small sound for a moment, wiggling slightly and he immediately panicked. But she quickly settled back down, “is she okay...”

“Of course,” you put your hand on his cheek, stroking it gently, trying to get him to calm down. Bucky had forgotten to breath for a moment, so choked up as he studied your daughter - his daughter, “she’s just getting comfy. It’s alright, Bucky. It’s okay to be nervous, I am too. We’re both new to this, but we’ll learn, we’ll get through it together.”

“Is it possible to love someone so much, without even knowing them?” he looked at his daughter with nothing but adoration written on his face as she curled her little fist around his finger. He made a small sound in the back of his throat as he vowed that he would be the best father; he would do anything in his power to protect her.

“Of course it is, “ you laid back and watched the two of them. Your whole world was right there next to you, your (now) husband and your daughter. It amazed you that everything you could ever love or want was found in those two people. Bucky turned back to you with a nervous smile before leaning over and pressing a gentle kiss to your lips, “I love you, Bub.”

“I love you, pretty girl,” his nerves had quickly dissipated and turned to into a beaming smile. He looked back down at the small bundle in his arms. He thought she took after you, but you were already insistent that she’d taken after him, “and I love you too, baby girl.”

“She’s going to have you wrapped around her finger,” you teased as you watched him already get lost in her. Gods, it reminded you of when you first told him that you were having a little girl. You knew that it didn’t matter to either of you whether you had a boy or girl, but there was something about finding it was a little girl that had set Bucky over the edge. The man had practically broken down as he fell to his knees and hugged your belly, pressing gentle kisses to the swell of it. He was smitten with her from the start, just as he had been with you.

You knew then that it was about a lot more than just finding out what you were having. It was about the whole lot of it; Bucky had been through so much, often at the sheer mercy of others, and been told over and over again that he didn’t deserve anything. He was a killer, pure and simple. It had taken him years and a lot of love and patience, from himself, you, and others to finally get to where he was at now. But you always, always, made it a point to remind him of how amazing he was, of how loved he was.

It was in that moment, as he stared down at his newborn daughter, that you realized he knew. He knew that he deserved this, and that you both loved him more than anything.

“That’s totally fine with me,” he whispered as he sat back and realized that although he was nervous and anxious, he could do this. Together, the two of you could do anything, “it worked for you, didn’t it?”

“I like to think so,” you laughed lightly you laid back and closed your eyes. It had been a crazy couple of days and you were thoroughly exhausted. You knew that it would be tons of sleepless nights ahead, so you were more than happy to take advantage of as much sleep as possible, “i love you both so much.”

“Hey,” Bucky tenderly brushed a few loose strands of hair out of your face, “rest now, I’ve got her.”

“You sure, Bub?” you yawned as you grabbed his hand and pressed a kiss to his knuckles, “I can s-s-stay up with you.”

“You just had a baby,” he reminded you, “a whole ass baby. You deserve some rest. Besides, I think I’ll be okay. I can handle this.”

“I know,” you promised as you closed your eyes and yawned again, “love you both, Bubs.”

Bucky sat there in gentle silence for a few moments, finding himself more and more at ease with each passing second. His stomach that had been in knots slowly lessened up as he watched his daughter sleep soundly tucked into his chest. You had a gentle grip on his arm as you too succumbed to slumber.

He almost couldn’t believe it; his own little family. It was perfect.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

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BTS FIC RECS (PART 2)

Jeon Jungkook/Jung Hoseok | J-Hope

Don't Get Charmed by shikiso

When an injured omega is found on their territory, Jungkook's instincts scream danger. He is the pack's omega, they don't need another one. Jungkook is doing a good enough job by himself, protecting the den and soothing the tension off everybody's shoulders.

Why is the pack so adamant on keeping that useless omega in ?

They have Jungkook, they don't need Hoseok.

Why can't they even see his little game ? Hoseok definitely knows how to play the scared and helpless omega. But, if he manages to trick everybody, he can't trick Jungkook. He is immune to his sweet scent and sweeter eyes.

He won't fall into his trap.

Jeon Jungkook/Park Jimin

Omega Drip by sugamongoose

Park Jimin is the kind of alpha who makes you coffee and asks about your day before reducing his partner to a crying, writhing mess on his organic cotton sheets. He doesn't even seem to care one bit that Jungkook is a broken omega who doesn't get wet when he's supposed to.

“Are you busy right now, alpha?” Jungkook asks, holding his breath in anticipation. He can already visualise getting on his knees for the smaller man, can imagine those soft-looking hands petting his hair in approval when he shows just how good his mouth is.

Jeon Jungkook/Kim Namjoon | RM

Every Kind of Way by Oh_Hey_Tae

And then he realizes, quite belatedly, that he’s not supposed to be shaking the hand of the barista. Because that’s weird. And uncalled for. And really, really weird.

So Jungkook draws back his arm, grips the straps of his backpack, and promptly flees the building without a word spoken. Which is fine. Sometimes you have to get out of awkward social situations and blacklist particular cafés and adjust your route to school to avoid said café and the barista with the heart shaped face and his sweet pea scented hands. It happens.

“Jungkook-ah, meet Kim Namjoon.”

And sometimes during your bi-weekly dinner one of your good friends introduces you to said barista with the terribly soft hands who also happens to be getting his masters in social work to help underprivileged youth in inner city neighborhoods. Which is fine. This is fine. Jungkook is doing just fine.

 (Or: Jungkook adores everything about Namjoon except that the man can't catch a clue.)

Here Is What I Know by Oh_Hey_Tae

There are flowers growing on Namjoon’s arm. They aren’t real flowers, of course. That would be absurd. Impossible. Ridiculous. But Namjoon spends most of his lecture on Kant watching the garden of ink bloom on his skin, beginning at his pinkie and spreading across his wrist, trickling down to his elbow, curling up and around his bicep and out of sight under the sleeve of his shirt. Irises and peonies and roses and sunflowers. The girl who’s sitting beside him is staring, and when caught, gives Namjoon a bright-eyed grin before glancing back to the board. Namjoon spots a faded smiley face inked into the skin of her thumb, what looks to be a grocery list scrawled over the back of her hand. Notes or reminders from her soulmate maybe. Soulmates. Huh. It looks like Namjoon has one of those now.

try to resist, i still want it all by exarite

At first, Namjoon doesn’t think much of him.

He looks familiar, but he’s too far away for Namjoon to really see or scent out his dynamic. He’s cute, but Namjoon's not new to cute boys either. He's far too used to handsome, and pretty, and everything in between in the industry.

But then he stands up. Namjoon's eyes catch on the swell of his belly, and every nerve in his body lights up, his mind going blank, and—

Oh, he breathes. He's pregnant.

::

Namjoon fucks a pregnant Jungkook.

just let me adore you by elle_O_moonchild *

Rockstar omega Jungkook has never let an alpha tie him down. He was independent, and happy, and had no need for a domineering knothead to mess up his career and lifestyle.

But powerful and wealthy alpha Namjoon only wants to spoil the pretty omega rotten.

or

A smitten alpha Namjoon gets a weary omega Jungkook to go on a date with him and shows him just how good they can be together…

Jeon Jungkook/Kim Seokjin | Jin

more and more and more by moonsuns

"If you haven’t had sex by the time you’re twenty, then I’ll have sex with you. That way you’ll have a guaranteed end date for your virginity.”

“Do you promise, hyung?”

"I promise."

The problem was, Seokjin never expected to be called on it.

you shouldn't give it to me (good like that) by jamaisvore

opposites in the eyes of the media, but a perfect match in each other's arms.

or: supermodel!jk x rockstar!jin

Jung Hoseok | J-Hope/Kim Namjoon | RM

Pull Me Under by Oh_Hey_Tae

It’s been two weeks. Hoseok has managed to survive two weeks of Kim Namjoon’s progressively darkening thighs and his cheek craters and his swooshy hair and that stupid laugh he does that makes him sound like a bleating sheep.

Yoongi looks over his shoulder. Stares. Slowly draws his gaze back to Hoseok. “Are we discussing the same man who tried to brush his teeth with sunscreen yesterday?”

“Ew, he did that?”

“Your voice says that’s disgusting but your face says you’re enamored.”

Hoseok presses his palms against his eyes until he sees colored spots. “Make it stop, hyung.”

  (Or: Hoseok works at a summer resort and Namjoon is the newest lifeguard. Chaos ensues.)

fall underneath by crycoby

“Is this secretly about your huge crush on Namjoon?” Jimin asks, his fingers digging into the back of Hoseok’s neck in a way that is frankly criminal. “You know that if you like him, you’re going to have to be more direct. He doesn’t like to assume things about people and… He overthinks a lot,” he finally settles on diplomatically.

Hoseok groans, half because of the pressure and half because the idea of talking about this, about any of this, about any of the gnarled mess that is the clutch of Hoseok’s emotions in the knot of his chest, gives him hives.

//

hoseok could talk about his big messy feelings about namjoon, or he could talk around them instead and just hope for the best. yeah. that sounds good.

Methods of Mutual Stress Relief by Only_A_Fangirl

Hoseok cringes, “How weird would it be if I actually asked to jerk off in here with you?”

“Very,” Namjoon answers instantly.

Hoseok nods, “You can choose the porn.”

Namjoon blinks, “Are you for real?”

lyre lyre lyre by oliviacirce

Namjoo regrets every life choice that has led her here, to the hard wooden floor of this dance studio, where she's lying on her back like a beached whale.

Jung Hoseok | J-Hope/Kim Taehyung | V

the long and winding road by moonsuns

Hoseok is (basically) forced to go on vacation and leave his stressful idol life behind, at least for a little while. He wasn't expecting to find Taehyung, that's for sure. (He's glad he did, though.)

Kim Namjoon | RM/Kim Seokjin | Jin

Procurement by FlyYouFools1 (WIP) *

Seokjin and Namjoon have waited decades for a little of their own. Taehyung just wants to pay for his little brother's education.

Kim Namjoon | RM/Kim Taehyung | V

Dandelion Love (part of the (Not) Destined series) by almostsophie1

Taehyung is twenty-one when the word on his wrist turns ashen. The kind of love that soulmates share is forever out of reach.

(But enter one Kim Namjoon, who doesn't think the same.)

Kim Namjoon | RM/Min Yoongi | Suga

Bleeding Love by beebalm

Yoongi was already dressed and halfway to the door, nothing but a dry chuckle and a See you around when Namjoon asked for his number.

OR

It's not that Namjoon is hurt Yoongi only ever wanted him for a one night stand. And he doesn't have a crush. He just wishes they didn't have to keep seeing each other all the time.

Kim Namjoon | RM/Park Jimin

but i want it anyway by ameliabedelias *

Park Jimin’s roommate goes to study abroad for a semester. Kim Namjoon takes over the lease.

only lingering around you by moonsuns 

“I don't. I mean...this is going to sound awkward, but I’m...not really looking for a relationship right now.”

Namjoon considers, for a moment, elaborating and telling Jimin about everything with Hoseok, but there wouldn't be any point in that. And also, Namjoon is pretty sure that Jimin doesn't care about any of that anyway.

And he's right. At this, Jimin outright laughs. It isn’t a mean laugh, but Namjoon is pierced by the sound anyway. “Who said anything about a relationship, or even feelings? It’s just sex.”

Or, Namjoon and Jimin are friends with benefits.

Kim Seokjin | Jin/Min Yoongi | Suga

운명 (Fate) (part of the (Not) Destined series) by almostsophie1

Yoongi is part of that three percent population left without a soulmate word. It doesn't matter if he falls in love, because love isn't meant for people like him.

(Then he meets Seokjin.)

candy on my lips (part of the just desserts series) by moonbabie

Anonymous advice columnist and baby bi Kim Sujin meets queer club president Min Yoonji, and does the following: writes some cheesy advice columns, cuts her hair, and figures out her shit. (aka a queer romcom meets emotional constipation, self-discovery, and clueless wlw)

Min Yoongi | Suga/Park Jimin

pull me closer in the backseat of your rover by moonsuns

Jimin had just wanted to get off. He didn't think he'd end up with a boyfriend at the end of it all.

Or, another friends with benefits AU.

Nip & Bloom by sugamongoose (WIP) *

The year is 2021, and yet traditional and oppressive views of alpha/omega relations run rampant in the Korean society. Unmated Park Jimin is placed in a government programme which pairs delinquent omegas with support mates to make them more comfortable in their submission. Jimin’s alpha for six months turns out to be Min Yoongi, a tiny music producer who wears fuzzy sweaters, and who won’t stop talking about his kitten Holly.

“You look like an omega,” Jimin blurts out. The strange alpha flashes him a smile that reveals the pink of his gums. “Is that something you prefer? I saw your file, and it said you identify as queer.” “Oh, you looked at my file just to see if I like to fuck other omegas? Knot swelling yet?”

POLY RELATIONSHIPS

OT7 - Relationship

indiscentsible by cloudyworld *

Jungkook had been a little disappointed when, after all the build-up and speculation, he'd presented as a beta. Betas are great! They play an important role in society: level-headed, big-picture thinkers, the solid foundation that holds everyone together. But that pull of instinct that comes with being an alpha or omega, the feeling of belonging... He was crushed at the thought he might never get to have that.

In a pack with three alphas and three omegas already, presenting beta was a gift; Jungkook learns to see that too.

Precious Mettle by glitterandgilt (WIP) *

Jin loved his nest. He'd built it very carefully from the ground up. Spent centuries on selecting the individuals he wanted to spend the rest of his immortal life with. He was proud of his nest and protected it with a possessive love that rivaled a dragon's guard on their trove.

Jin didn't get the chance to go through that evaluation process with his newest treasure. But he would never let it go.

Or

When Jin's blood is stolen and used to sire a new fledgling, Jin has two choices: to ignore the strands of magic binding him to his new childe, or to lay claim to another jewel for his collection. He chooses the latter and drags his entire nest into a situation none of them were anticipating.

Kim's Seven by Gobi17 (WIP) *

Jungkook, 17 year old YouTuber, is in awe of the 6 hot boys who have adopted him online.

Bangtan are a dangerous group of vigilantes who seize the opportunity to kidnap the stepson of their latest target.

Found Kin by Adaptive_Artist (WIP)

Jungkook is starving. Food doesn't make anything better, and his teeth ache like someone is hammering on them. He thought he was cursed. Turns out he's a hatchling kin, and is now the precious baby of the renowned Kim nest. He's also growing little fangs.

Huh.

love bites (series) by feraljk (WIP) 

Summary from the first fic:

newly-turned vampire jungkook still has a lot to learn, but his hyungs are there to help him. taehyung enlists yoongi and jin to teach the fledgling how to teethe and helps him discover how much of a bonding activity teething can be.

or: trans koo and tae teeth on their hyungs and also come

Isn't it lovely? (all alone) by hopefully2020

At age eighteen, all citizens are given a concentration that will determine their fields of study. A small empty square on their wrist will gain a color corresponding to their skill set. Everyone’s fear is that their square color is black, meaning they are destined for a life of crime. When Jungkook turns eighteen, he waits anxiously for his square to gain color, only to be presented with a blank square. He is shunned by his family, having to struggle through high school while trying to figure out what to do for the rest of his life. Jungkook's life gets flipped upside down on the day of his twenty-first birthday when the store he works at is robbed with Jungkook at the cash register. Fearing for his life he believes he is going to die, only to be saved by a figure in black with a mask covering his face. To make things even worse, Jungkook suddenly becomes the target of one of the largest drug syndicates, solely because of his new connection to his savior and five other men who turn out to be the biggest crime lords in Seoul. What happens then, you ask? Well, then the blank world Jungkook always saw starts to drip with black, just a little bit.

blueberry peaches (a serendipitous summer) by elle_O_moonchild (WIP)

Jungkook spends a life changing summer working at a beachside car wash and meets 6 new lovers who change his heart and life forever.

Jeon Jungkook/Jung Hoseok | J-Hope/Kim Namjoon | RM 

Falling For an Alien From Amalthea 5 by Pyotr_Keats78 (WIP)

Jungkook has been in and out of the hospital for years with various medical problems. Eventually, his heart becomes so weak that no human medicine can save him. Believing he will die never having come out as trans to anyone, he gives up. That is until his brother Jimin tells him, “You have two choices, Jungah: you can stay here in this hospital and get high every day until your heart fails you, or you can go to Amalthea, grow a parasite, and live.”

Jeon Jungkook/Kim Taehyung | V/Park Jimin

Mentoring on Marsa by FlyYouFools1

Jungkook comes to the planet Marsa after being promised a full scholarship to Marsa National University. When the scholarship falls through, his academic advisor gives him the number for a mentoring service for newly stranded omegas on Marsa. With rent due, no way home, and no success in finding a job, Jungkook calls the number. The organization sends him Min Yoongi, a fellow omega who's been living on Marsa for 8 years. Yoongi teaches him how to survive. Jungkook's first attempt at survival is alpha couple Jimin and Taehyung.

Features: Yoongi doing his best to teach Jungkook how to manage handsy alphas, handsy alphas (like all of them are touchy) taking liberties with omega protagonists, and my best attempt at writing problematic but entertaining sex. A lot of fluff too, actually. The alphas are fluffy as hell with the omegas, and pamper them a lot, even though their actual behavior is wrong.

Jeon Jungkook/Kim Taehyung | V/Min Yoongi | Suga

November (series) by cuttothequickk 

Summary from the first fic: 

Sometimes, Jeongguk gets so lonely he doesn't even feel alone anymore. He's practicing, and he's very good at it. Loneliness. Being alone. It's blustery cold, and the leaves are falling from the branches of trembling trees, and Jeongguk is alone in a big city, shivering without a jacket, trying desperately to keep himself warm.

There is no one, and then there is someone. Two someones. The lovely winter boys from Daegu, Taehyung and Yoongi, opposites and equals, so loving and in love.

It would be ridiculous, really, if Jeongguk didn't fall for them, too.

Jung Hoseok | J-Hope/Kim Namjoon | RM/Min Yoongi | Suga

how, or when, or from where by moonsuns

“Stop calling it my quest,” Namjoon whines, and Hoseok laughs.

“You’re the one that said it first.”

“I was drunk.”

“Well, the bad thing about going out with people, is that you can’t take back the stupid shit you said when you were drunk. Especially when they’re way less drunk than you.”

Or, after Namjoon almost dies, he decides to go on a quest to live his best life, and takes Yoongi and Hoseok along for the ride.

(* Personal favorites)

MASTERPOST FIC RECS PART 1

[steviespanties]

I have a whore knee thought but I’m afraid to write it myself so I thought I’d send it here, if it catches your fancy. Love your work!

Omega!Steve always had a hard time getting turned on when he was with other alphas. His body just wasn’t into it, but with Billy he’s always ridiculously wet and ready. Everything about his alpha—Billy’s scent, his command, his fervor—keeps Steve loose and pliant.

sdfGHJ I LOVEE it!!!!!!!😍💗💗💗😳 Thank you for sharing this with me, it’s *chefs kiss* amazing!! (1,5k words. omegaverse smut, obviously. vague descriptions of unsatisfying drunk - but consensual- sex. pants being ruined. something something fated pairs. sorry for the lack of editing!!)

So, Steve’s a horny guy, okay? Always has been and has never made a secret of it. His friends know. Most of the school knows. Sure, he’ll pretend for his parents that he’s a good ol’ Christian boy who goes to church every Sunday and totally doesn’t sneak out to parties to get dicked down by eager alphas any other day of the week. It’s just also always been frustrating. 

His selection in Hawkins leaves much to be desired, with smug alphas who think just having a knot makes them God’s gift to humanity and simply whipping their dicks out will get Steve gushing wet immediately. They’re lucky his libido overrules his endless disappointment. No time spent on working him up, alcohol dulling his senses to make the ache he feels less uncomfortable. It’s not bad. It’s not really good, either. 

There’s an itch underneath his skin, a formless desire for more that never takes shape no matter how often he tries. He’s a spring coiled tight and no matter who he lets between his legs, he can’t bring himself to unwind. He lets fucking Brody from the baseball team plow him into the guest bed at a post-game party and even the tiny sparks of pleasure brushing his insides can’t make his back muscles unclench or his hole more wet. There’s just pathetic grunts coming from above him. The sting of a hand slapping against his asscheek and a huffed “make some noise, will ya?”

Yeah, no. He gets up instead. Ignores Brody’s halfhearted protests as he tugs up his pants and throws him an icy glare that makes the guy sputter and shut up. Pathetic.

It takes time, he thinks. Time to get him loose and trusting. Effort, too, to make him want to bow his back and present himself. Steve hates to sound like his mom, but when he jerks off later that night with a hand around his dick and three fingers in his wet hole, imagining a formless someone to sweep in and fill him up, he thinks ‘there’s just no quality alphas in this town’.

And then Billy Hargrove rolls into Hawkins, stinking of cigarette smoke, fucking Aqua Net and perfume and underneath it all? Jesus fucking Christ. A cloud of pheromones so strong and fragrant, it makes Steve drool a little just from catching a whiff of it in the hallways. They haven’t even talked yet and he already feels a hook in him. Right next to that itch. Closer than ever before to scratching it. He wants, more than he has ever wanted before, to get this guy’s scent on his skin. Wants to drip with the guy’s come.  And, to his massive surprise, underneath that raging storm of pure instinctual lust, there’s simply interest. He feels like a dog with his ears perked up and his snout in the wind. He’s on the chase.

If Steve has learned one thing, though, is that if he really, desperately wants something, he has to pursue it carefully. And nothing is more of a siren-song to alphas than an interested, yet reserved omega. So he’s not among the welcoming committee of fawning followers at Billy’s heels. He counts on them to fill the guy in on all the gossip. Walks by close enough in the hallway to get a whiff of Steve walking by. Feels those ocean blue eyes burning holes into the back of his head by the end of the day, just like he anticipated. Of course, it blows in his face within hours.

He’s not even properly buzzed at Tina’s Halloween party, too busy to keep Nancy away from getting shitfaced while they wait for Jonathan to pick her up. He swallows his frustration. This was supposed to be his opportunity to leave a lasting impression and instead he’s stuck babysitting his ex because she can’t hold her liquor.

And then he sees him. He takes one look at Billy Hargrove and even from across the room, clearly stalking towards him through a crowd of dancing people Steve can tell: The guy is trouble. 

In his periphery, he registers Jonathan swooping in and dragging Nancy off. Registers the cheers of people around them. Hears through the pulsing music “Harrington, right?” and his mouth says “Steve, actually.”

Hargrove leans forward. Close. Closer. Right into his space, stinking of beer and smoke and that irresistible hook underneath that pulls Steve’s body over a precipice he knows he’s crossed when he watches Billy’s pupils blow up and his chest move in the most unsubtle scenting he’s ever seen.

A heavy arm wraps around Steve’s shoulder and with a decisive pull, he’s flush against the warm, firm side of- “Billy,” is purred into his ear. Breath on his sensitive skin that makes him shudder and warmth pool in his belly. His arm winds around Billy’s waist and he realizes in that moment that any resemblance of a plan has flown out of the window. He’s putty.

“I’ve already heard so much about you,” Billy grins. There’s a wild edge to his smile. A mischievous spark in his voice and eyes that sinks the hook even deeper. Steve can’t help but smile back.

“Of course you have.” As they talk, Billy steers him through a room filled with eyes glued to their every move. It’s a familiar feeling- being the center of attention, even when people desperately try to play it cool. Letting the curiosity and jealousy pearl off his skin like drops of water, an entire audience to Steve being felt up and led around and held close throughout the evening with no resistance from him.

He’s just hungry. Watches Billy drink beer from a can and lick his lips with a pink tongue. Feels Billy’s hands firmly grip his hips as they dance and his eyes on Steve’s as he tucks a loose strand of hair behind his ear. It’s impossible to escape Billy’s scent, growing stronger the more he sweats. Becoming overwhelming when he tucks that strand of hair behind Steve’s ear for him and brushes his scent gland in such a deliberately soft motion it makes that pool of warmth in Steve’s belly transform into molten heat and a shocking pulse of slick. Right in his pants.

Billy’s eyes are wide, expression stunned. This isn’t how it normally goes, Steve wants to tell him through his embarrassment. Breathes more of Billy in and hears “Let’s get out of here” instead of a leer or an insult.

Steve knows he’s easy, okay? He’s been searching for someone in this town to make it worth his while and it’s been a disappointing search so far. So even when Billy pushes him into the backseat of his car, tugs his pants down and peels Steve’s soaked briefs off his legs, he still wonders if this will be a fluke. Right up until Billy’s heavy body covers him and their lips and tongues meet in a slick, delicious glide and his hole pulses slick right onto the car seat.

Before he can even settle into pure mortification, there’s that purr again. “Holy shit,” Billy says. Wondering. Delighted. A gloved hand glides over Steve’s skin. Up the inside of his thigh, to his hole where he’s more sensitive and swollen and wet than he’s ever been before for an alpha. Steve gasps. “Open your legs,” he’s told. And he does. Gets an appreciative “Just like that” in return that makes his arms break out into goosebumps.

Maybe it doesn’t take time at all, he thinks dazedly as he watches Billy pull off his gloves and glide a finger into his pulsing hole with such confidence and ease, it makes Steve moan immediately. Maybe all it takes is an alpha with a California tan and a wicked laugh that makes Steve want to smile along. The kinda guy who drags him around a party and never lets him go, who can’t stop petting Steve’s side and his hair.

And maybe, he thinks deliriously as sweat rolls down his back and the slick glide of Billy’s cock has turned into loud squelching on every powerful thrust that makes Steve gush onto the seats, maybe it does take trust. Because Billy looks at him. He scents Steve like he can’t help it, leans down to steal breathless kisses between moans like he needs every bit of contact just as desperately as Steve does.

‘He has freckles,’ Steve thinks incoherently as his dick twitches in Billy’s grip. Once, twice. Another time, right as Billy’s knot catches, locks them together in perfect pressure and everything falls apart in white-hot pleasure that spills over Steve’s body and out of him in ropes of come over his belly.  Billy bends forward when he comes. Like he can’t get close enough even when they’re locked together, a twitching, moaning weight on top of Steve’s fucked out body.

They bask in the afterglow for a long time. Steve pets Billy’s head, curls turned soft from a night of constant movement and sweat. There’s no need to get off this ride. Not when that itch has finally been scratched and one look at Billy’s blissed out face tells him that the hook he’s felt under his own skin has worked itself under Billy’s as well.

[buckyownsmylife]

Do I wanna know? - Chris Evans smut

The one where you’re pregnant, and Chris can’t keep his hands away from you.

Warnings: smut, masturbation, dirty talk, daddy! kink, kind of breeding kink?, possessiveness but kind of in a cute way?, pregnant reader

A/N: Day 10 of kinktober prompts were pregnancy and watching the other get off. Still publishing smut unrevised because I can’t be bother to both write and revise everything in the same day, so if anyone wants to become my beta, I’ll love you forever.

Y/N’s P.O.V.

Even when my belly was barely visible, he was already incapable of keeping his hands to himself, always holding, and rubbing and kissing and then his hands would go a bit lower and he’d find me wet and ready for him, like I always was.

Only now that I was big enough that I was waddling my way everywhere, it was like I was some sort of visual viagra for Chris. He was always hard, always in need of my help to get through the day. Our sex life had never been slow when he was back into my arms, but now it was impossible to do anything without finding myself getting pounded by my boyfriend wherever we could find any semblance of privacy.

Which was why when he gave me those puppy eyes after seeing me take off the dress I’d put on for our weekly date night, I decided it was time to try something new. 

“Chris, I physically can’t have your dick inside of me anymore, at least not for a few days,” I warned him, holding the hands with which he was trying to grab me to pull me against his body. “I’m serious.”

He was full-on pouting, now, and I could see from the corner of my eyes that there was already a tent on the sweatpants he had put on to bed, so I sighed, getting on my tiptoes to deposit a quick kiss on his lips, and quickly running away before he could grab me again.

“Here’s what we’re gonna do…” I started, sitting on our bed by the headboard, and stretching my legs open as I held my nipples between my fingers. “You’re gonna sit on that chair by the corner of the room, and you’re gonna play with your cock as you watch me play with myself.”

He groaned, immediately wrapping his hands around himself over the sweatpants and almost falling over his own legs while trying to reach his seat. “Fuck, you look so sexy, princess… If you could only look at yourself right now.”

The sight of him licking his lips as he stared at me, sprawled out for his viewing pleasure, had me whimpering. Fuck Christopher Evans and his eyelashes and his stupidly pink mouth. “You like it, daddy? This is yours, all yours. I’m all yours, baby.”

I pulled on my sensitive nipples, just enough to get me whining. I really was roughed up from the amount of times I’d had Chris inside of me the last few days, but if I was gentle enough, I’d be able to still put on a show for him and pleasure myself without hurting my lower parts.

“Shit, yeah, baby. Pull on those sweet nipples for me. I love sucking on them so much, I can’t wait to see our child drinking from you.” Fuck, one of the things I loved the most about my man was how filthy he could get when we were down to business.

“Oh, yeah, daddy? What about this pussy, so you like tasting it?” I allowed my hand to travel further down my body, until my middle finger was grazing my opening and I could use it to circle my clit. It was so enlarged from my hormones getting me horny despite the fact that I’d been fucked every single day of the week that this simple touch felt like heaven, making me throw my head back and expose my neck to Chris, who cursed at the sight of my breasts bouncing slightly from the sudden movement.

“Hell yeah, baby girl, I love it so much. You taste so fucking sweet, I miss it every single time I’m not down on my knees, with your legs over my shoulders. Collect some of that wetness and taste it yourself, honey. Want you to understand why I love eating that pretty pussy.” He’d made me suck on his fingers after they were inside of me a thousand times, but doing it myself, under his watchful gaze, made the whole thing so much hotter.

He was right, I was sweet. But I don’t think I would have appreciated it as much if he wasn’t looking at me like that, like he wanted to devour me whole, his bottom lip trapped between his teeth, the veins in his neck popping from the restrain he was exercising as he tried to keep himself from cumming.

His thick cock, the reason for many of my wet dreams, was dripping from it’s red tip, and I had to bite my own lip to contain my desire to have him in my mouth. There was always time for that later. Right now, this little experience we were sharing was more than enough.

Chris’ P.O.V.

“So fucking hot, baby. I love you so much. I could spend the rest of my life between your legs and I’d die a happy man. And you’d let me, wouldn’t you? It doesn’t matter that your pretty little pussy is red and abused, if I asked you to spread your legs for me, you’d do so in a second.”

I had to chuckle at the long, drawn-out whine my girlfriend emitted at my words. “Don’t whine, baby. You know how it gets me too fucking hard when you whine like a pretty little baby. If you whine, I’ll have to put you over my lap and punish you.”

She gasped at my words, her little fingers finally plunging inside of her hole as she stared down at me with those fuck-me eyes. Oh, how I loved her. She was my partner, my equal in every single way. 

“I don’t think we can get any kinkier, honey,” I joked, squeezing my dick as I watched her thrust her fingers inside of her pussy. She let out a tiny choked up laugh at my teasing, still too busy with chasing her high as I watched her from the chair.

“I don’t know… I can think of a few new ways to experiment when I’m no longer knocked up.” I growled at her response, suddenly feeling my cock throbbing against my fist. Not only the knowledge that she truly was as horny as I was, and up to try new things anytime, already had me feel like cumming, but the reminder that she was pregnant with my child almost made me lose control then and there.

Of course, the visual reminder was there, and I fucking loved it - it was the main reason why I’d been unable to keep my dick in my pants these last few weeks - but to hear it in her mouth, it only made the entire experience even more real.

“You like being pregnant with my child, baby? You like knowing that I ruined you for any other man, because the only cum you’ll want between your legs is mine?” Her breath hitched at my words, her movements on her clit accelerating, as I mirrored in my own cock. “Tell me you love my seed, honey. Tell me you love the fact that I turned you into a mommy, that you can’t wait to be knocked up by me again.”

It was enchanting to see her cumming, and one of the many reasons why I knew I had to have her for the rest of my life. I couldn’t imagine myself without her anymore, and I wanted to be the one bringing (or, in this case, witnessing) her pleasure until our dying days. 

The sight of her mouth hanging open, her fingers deep inside of her - where I wished I could be - and her breasts jumping from her effort to get more air in her lungs had me cursing as I, too, reached my own high, spurting cum all over my stomach. 

“You okay, honey?” I asked after I grabbed a wet towel to clean ourselves with, sitting by her side on the bed, where she laid like she didn’t have any ounce of energy left in her body.

“Yes,” she guaranteed me, but I could hear it in her voice that she was almost asleep already. “Chris?” She asked as I softly ran the fluffy fabric in between her legs, and I hummed to let her know I was listening. “Why are you so attracted to the idea of me being pregnant?”

My lips twitched up in amusement at her question, but nonetheless, I knew the answer already. “I like the idea of the world knowing you’re mine. Yes, it’s possessive, but that’s me, and I know you love me, sweetheart.”

I kissed her little nose as I curled up behind her, my hands protectively holding my unborn baby and my very sleepy baby mama. “I do love you, you absolute caveman,” she joked, and with a laugh, I went to sleep with barely contained excitement for the next day, when I would finally be able to add a ring to the list of physical evidence that she was mine and mine alone.

[hobidreams]

november 1868.

but you’ve always been his, haven’t you?

pairing: joseon king!yoongi x reader genre: smut, angst words: 2.8k contains: historical au, mentions of death, unhealthy relationship dynamics (but era-appropriate; you know how it goes), explicit sexual content, longing.

moonlit throne index. this is drabble eight. start from the beginning?

If there is one inevitability in life, it is that time goes on.

You, like everyone else under King Yoongi’s reign, simply do your best to survive with your head intact. With the ground now mostly frozen over with ice, you have no reason to visit the gardens, and honestly, it becomes less of a loss by the day. You have your hands full with work; the worsening winter always means a higher possibility of catching an illness for the court ladies, and so you are left with little time to think of the king. Willful ignorance is a powerful defense mechanism when even the mere mention of him brings a frown to your lips and a lingering pressure in your chest.

But it is impossible not to think of him today, on the 11th of November. What would have been Queen Jeonghui’s birthday, but is instead a day of mourning.

All official business has more or less halted for the day. The entire palace is somber, the occupants moving through familiar routines feeling numb from more than just the cold. You are among their number, having finished all the work that could distract you while the sun set. Now, you wander in the pitch dark, through the open corridor towards your quarters with heaviness in every step.

You miss her laugh. The queen had always treated you like one of her own, asking after your interests, new discoveries, and health even while her own dwindled. You miss hearing the stories of her surprisingly rambunctious life before she came to court. You miss the brightness in her voice when she spoke of the hopes she had for the future of the kingdom, and for her precious Yoongi. You blink away a tear as your journey comes to its end.

In your small but private room, you begin to undo the straps of your hanbok with the relieving sense that this day is almost over. Stripped to your undergarments, you’re eager to crawl beneath the warm blankets and let blissful sleep take you into tomorrow as soon as your eyes shut.

Except sleep is not easily persuaded to come tonight, as you soon learn.

Even when you force your body to stay still as long as possible, even when you try to block out all thought and simply imagine blankness before you, you remain no closer to dreams, forcibly stuck in this bleak reality. That’s when your exhausted mind begins to wander to places most dangerous, even though you already vowed to stay far, far away.

You wonder whether the king is alone in his grief tonight. Has he eaten properly, or has he completely shut himself away? Does he even have enough heart left to mourn from all you’ve witnessed these past months?

(This last thought is what makes you ache the most, despite yourself.)

Then a quiet voice mutters your name from outside.

You blink and look up, uncertain whether it was just the wind. Who would it be at this late hour anyway? Who would be so bold as to call your name and not your title? But then the sound comes again, louder this time with some impatience in the syllables, and you realize exactly whose voice it must be.

Scrambling to your feet with the chill of losing the blanket sweeping over you, you have a split second to decide between keeping him waiting and having a proper appearance. You land somewhere in the middle, pulling on a loose, long jeogori that was once your mother’s before throwing the door wide open before you can think it through.

Damn all the odds.

It really is him.

In the moonlight, his hair seems almost ethereal with the way most of it cascades loosely around his shoulders. It’s fine, pale gold, spilling across the crimson dye of the royal robes that have been left slacker than is normally allowed in public company. There’s still a hardness in those midnight eyes, a set obstinacy in lips twisted down for a scowl that seems all too inherent to him now.

“Jeonha,” you exhale, more breath than sound.

How are you meant to receive him after all that has happened?

Wordlessly, he moves forward. You flatten yourself against the wall to allow him entry into your tiny home, your world without question, just like you always have. His sleeves brush past you as he walks and the incredibly subtle scent of plum blossoms begins to swirl around the air, so familiar it brings a hot sting to your eyes in an instant.

“Is that—”

“Shut the door.” His voice is biting, forcing you to drop the question.

You have little choice in the matter. When you turn back to face him, this room feels about three times smaller with the imposing aura that emanates from him. He has never felt more like a king to you than now, staring at you down his nose like he holds your life in his palm. At this distance, you fear he can hear the palpitations of your treacherous heart.

“Um.” You involuntarily wrap your hands around your stomach, trying to calm the jitters. “…How may I help you, jeonha?”

His lips curl in a smirk, but there is no real humor in it. “You must know the only thing a man and woman can do alone at night?”

Surprise is so blatant on your face that it amuses him; the smirk grows wider but remains empty still.

“You— You wish to do that?”

He raises an eyebrow. “Did you or did you not say to come if I had anything I required?”

He remembered. He knew it was you. A part of you thaws, just an inch.

“Still— Must… Must it be tonight?” Of all nights.

“It has to be.”

You swallow, dry. All you know of the act are the medical descriptions and consequences of such copulation as written out in your studied texts. To think of such a thing occurring in real life— to even consider it with the king! It was beyond your wildest thoughts, even when you used to let your childhood fantasies soar. But even more ludicrous than that, for him to consider being with you, a mere uinyeo when all the ministers routinely brought their high-born daughters to court in hopes of tempting him… “W-What of the court ladies, the ones waiting to be made concubine…?”

At your last word, he scowls like a bolt of lightning, gone before you can confirm that it was there at all. “I see.” He shifts, as if already prepared to leave. “I should have gone to them first.”

Your stomach drops.

The prospect of a random woman wrapping herself around him in seduction, holding him closer than he’s ever been to you… You wince. The mere thought of how he might fit against her, leave a part of himself inside her body, strikes envy deep into your mind. Especially when you consider all that could follow such an intimate act.

You know it’s not your place to be so concerned; it never has been, but damn it. Here he is in front of you, and not them. That has to mean something.

“No!” You blurt out, and watch his face darken with satisfaction. That in itself makes you fiercely aware of how much he has changed but still, you say, “no. Don’t… don’t go.”

In a stroke of boldness, you slip the jacket from your shoulders and let it fall to the floor.

“Good girl.”

It all happens so quickly.

Grasping your arm, he brings you to him with one strong tug. Invades your space with his heat. You’ve never been this physically close before but you are given no time to savor it. Your eyes search his for a hapless second before he forces his gaze away with a light whip of his hair. For a second, you think like he might kiss you, but that particular touch never comes.

“Bed.” The air around the word makes it sound like he’s rushing as he pulls you both towards the mussed bedspread, but of course it’s not that. It’s almost laughable, the thought that he would want so badly to claim you as his. It’s more likely that he wants any warm body beneath him, and you happened to be the most convenient.

As he pushes you to the floor, as he begins to strip you of your undergarments, your mind struggles to set aside your worries and the rest of the world with it to focus on the feeling of his unobstructed fingers on the skin he reveals with each passing second. For a moment, it works. For a moment, all you know is the heat of his desire as he throws aside most of your coverings, then discards his own as if they were nothing more than cleaning rags. Staring at his bare body for the first time, you take in all the lean muscle that make up his chest, the paleness of his skin that brings to mind the word delicate. It’s at complete odds with the ugliness that’s surrounded him for so long and really, you don’t know what to believe anymore as he rakes his eyes over you too.

You’re shivering. Keenly aware of your nakedness, made even more stark when your king practically fixes you to the floor with his presence alone. He must know this is all new to you, that he’s the only one able to put you in this position even after everything he’s done. But will that afford you the tenderness you so crave? Your pulse thunders in your ears as you await the answer.

“Turn over. On your hands and knees.”

Your breath hitches.

He doesn’t even want to look at your face.

You choke back the emotion that yearns to spill over, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of knowing exactly how he affects you when he doesn’t allow you the same luxury. You’re stronger than this, even though your fears have just been confirmed. That this, his broad hand harshly squeezing your ass, is the only reason he broke through the thick wall of silence between you. That he treats you just like any other woman, not one he’s known all his life.

What does it say about you that you’re still willing to give him everything?

His other hand trails down your back as if lightly scratching an invisible character there. Then, when he reaches for your sokgot, the last bit of cloth left to you, it truly hits you that there will be no going back from this. Not after he physically carves himself into your memory. It makes you unthinkingly tense up; in turn, the hands against you stutter to a pause.

The silence feels thick, smothering. Then—

“Are you afraid of me?”

“No.”

You say it before you can decide whether it’s the truth or merely what you wish would be the truth.

“Hm.”

He leaves you wondering if that was the answer he wanted and resumes, undoing the ties, pulling away the layer that wants to cling to the slight wetness between your thighs. Evidently not one for wasting time, and why would he linger when he just wants an easy release anyway, he runs the tip of his thumb down your slit before pushing eagerly into your heat. The lewd moan that you emit is a noise you’ve never made before, and it makes your face burn with shyness.

You’ve touched yourself like this perhaps three times ever, more out of medical curiosity than anything. You didn’t quite see a point in it when it just left you feeling lonely once the high faded. But under your king’s control, it feels maddeningly new. Maybe it’s because you don’t know what he’s going to do next, like when he suddenly pushes in a second finger and you feel the spike of pain work its way through your limbs before giving way to the next wave of pressure. It’s just almost too much to take, his insistent kneading against your dripping walls.

“Your cunt is so fucking tight. Just for me? Only take my fingers like this?” He feeds you another finger when you nod, huffing a smirk at your whine. The unfamiliar words are as harsh as his hands. You’ve never heard him like this, so rough and cocksure, practically an utter stranger. But a stranger could never bring out such overwhelming emotions in your chest, your poor, confined heart.

Your legs are soon shaking with the strain of holding up your weight when pleasure and pain war so intensely in your body; but you don’t dare collapse in surrender, even though this has always been a losing battle. Not even when he rears back, replacing his cream-slick hand with what you think is the blunt head of his cock. He whets it along your folds and it feels so much thicker, intimidating like the rest of him. But you want it. You realize then just how much you want it, even if this is all you’ll have of him when it’s over.

He leans over you, hot breath whisking across your back, a palm on your hip. “I’m your first.” It sounds like a boast. “No one else.”

“No.” You shake your head. “No one else.”

And he takes his first stroke.

Hisses when he feels you squeeze around him, and you wonder if this is his first time too. Then you have to force yourself to stop thinking about that altogether, afraid that the real answer might hurt more than this: the ache of being spread apart with every brutal, solid inch, filled too quickly by a man who doesn’t seem like he could take things slow even if he wanted to. He keeps shoving forward, biting down every surfacing grunt as his nails dig into your waist and it hurts. It hurts so much but you grit your teeth, refusing to back down because you need him to know that you can take this. Even when your mouth feels drier with every yelp, every moan, you tell yourself it’ll be easier the next time he wants to have his way with you. Right now, that seems better than not feeling him at all.

“This cunt,” he finally growls when he bottoms out, for once sounding so unbridled that goosebumps speed down your weakening arms. But you find yourself liking the sound, craving it even as he pauses to catch his breath.

The first few thrusts are slightly awkward. Just his hips bumping against your ass as he tries to find his footing. It doesn’t take long until he picks up a rhythm. Starts to slam into you, jolting you forward. Soreness starts to grow exponentially with a foreign feeling you think might just be pleasure spreading throughout all of you. You concentrate on that in lieu of your knees forced repeatedly against the hardness of the wooden floor, the bedding too thin to provide any real comfort.

“Jeonha,” you gasp on a particularly deep thrust, and he seems to like that. Strokes faster in response (or perhaps reward). You don’t even register that you’re half-smiling when he does, having learned something about him that is privy to only the two of you.

On top of that, he can’t seem to stop touching you. It goes beyond the way he fucks into you, more into how he can’t stop exploring the expanse of your back with his nails or with his mouth, sucking stinging marks into your body. It’s as if he needs to have as much skin contact with you as he will allow himself, needs to feel your warmth just as much as you crave his. Maybe that’s just wishful thinking, but you try again with a hoarse, “jeonha.” He gives it to you harder, rousing, stoking that dangerous tension.

You don’t even notice his mouth beside your ear until— “Mine.”

He claims you, and something inside you melts. Not a particularly powerful feeling but a sea change nonetheless, a weak peak that ripples out, thrums through you both. He allows you to submit to the sensation for a few scarce seconds before he tears himself away, leaving you to pulse around nothing, whimpering from the emptiness. You barely recognize the sound of skin on skin friction but suddenly, heat splatters across your back, white painting itself over your skin as he gives one, elongated exhale and it’s over.

The king backs up, shifts away. Lets any lingering warmth between you dissipate into the ice air of winter, but this time he holds your gaze with a certain firmness, as if trying to pluck out the slivers of truth in your expression. In his eyes, the thin scar ever carved down the right, you find only more depths. Fathomless, endless depths – dark and painful still.

[lafiametta]

Nina x Matthias, a missing scene from 1x08 → from a prompt borrowed from this list: “24. Dust floating in golden sunlight”

“I can’t wait to introduce you to my truest love,” she says, and he wants nothing more than to believe her, to believe as she does in a world of love and pleasure and warm, bright laughter. As a rule, drüskelle had little use for such things—strength and self-sacrificial honor were the austere pillars of their faith. But at this moment, Matthias’s vows seem very far away, and Nina Zenik much closer.

His heart is leaping, compelled by a magic all its own.

She straightens up, as if readying herself to go, and so he reaches out to stop her, the only way he can think to: by cupping her jaw in his hand and bringing her mouth to his.

He should not be surprised at her softness—and yet he is, the fullness of her lips a revelation that nearly steals his breath away. Her eyelids flutter shut and he can feel the corners of her mouth curl up into a smile. As if by instinct, Matthias’s right hand moves up to mirror his left, holding her between them, like a treasure he cannot bear to watch slip from his grasp.

There is little grace to the way he kisses her; he feels big and clumsy, unmanned by his need, and she is so small in his hands. No doubt his inexperience is showing as well, for while he has knowingly sent three men to their deaths, he has never kissed a woman besides his own mother, and even then it was barely more than a boyish peck on the cheek. He has never been ashamed of it—until now.

Thankfully, Nina seems unconcerned with his fumblings, patiently showing him what to do, how to change the pressure and the angle, when to go fast or slow. He’s a quick study, following her direction as best he can. Then she opens her mouth against him, her tongue tracing warm and wet along the seam of his lips, and he abruptly loses all capacity for rational thought.

“Drüsje,” he growls, the word no longer a threat but an invocation, and hauls her up into his lap.

She squeals, and for a moment Matthias fears he has hurt her, but then her arms curl eagerly around his neck and her mouth finds his once again. He feels slightly more prepared this time, enough so that he parts his lips and lets her guide him, her tongue brushing against his, urging him onward. He takes a tentative swipe, lapping gently into the depths of her mouth, praying to Djel that he’s doing it right. She kisses him harder—as good a sign as any—and runs her fingers from the nape of his neck up into his hair. It’s only slightly mortifying to hear the low groan that escapes his lips, his embarrassment tempered by the thick haze of desire that’s rapidly emptying his head of any other consideration.

The room has turned ridiculously warm—she must feel it too, no?—and there’s no reason for him to still be wearing this heavy coat. He pulls himself away from Nina just long enough to slip his arms out of the sleeves, and then, grinning in triumph, leans over to press her back against the coverlet. It’s a far cry from that cot in the whaler’s hut—the bed’s twice as big, for one—and he can easily imagine laying down to sleep for a fortnight or two, with Nina curled in his arms.

She’s staring up at him, those sea green eyes grown needfully dark, lips full and red from being kissed. His gaze drops to follow the rise and fall of her chest, shame flooding his cheeks once he looks up to see that she’s been watching him.  

But there’s no recrimination in her eyes, only sparks of fire catching along their depths.

“It is rather warm, isn’t it?” she murmurs, and reaches up to unbutton the corner of the embroidered panel that runs down the front of her blouse. The unbuttoned panel reveals, naturally, more buttons, arrayed in single file from collar to navel. She starts at the top, unfastening three or four before she sighs and glances up at him, one dark eyebrow cocked. “You could help, you know.”

Matthias nods, breath frozen in his throat as he follows her path, slipping each button from its threaded enclosure. When the last is free, she extends her wrists toward him, and he unbuttons the cuffs as well, letting the pad of his thumb slide against the soft, pale skin underneath. Is that her pulse he feels, beating a skittish rhythm in her veins?

She sits up a little, pulling the blouse out of her skirts and then up and over her head. It catches in her hair, just enough to pull some of the strands loose, leaving them in soft dark waves against her pinked cheeks and the back of her neck.

His eyes widen as he takes her in, following the lines of her corset as they flow from waist to bust, the lace embroidery of the chemise that peeks from out of the top of the corset and runs over her shoulders, and finally the creamy expanse of skin from chin to wrist that now lies almost entirely bare. He had seen it before—seen much more, in fact—but that was different. That was survival, necessary to keep them warm and alive. This is—well, it’s something else. A choice, certainly. It almost feels like an offering.

“Cat got your tongue, drüskelle?” Nina asks as she lays back down, gently mocking him in that maddening way that only she knows how to do.

“No,” he stammers, only to shake his head. “Yes.” He decides at once to stop talking, the only thing that makes sense now that all the blood is flowing away from his brain. He could try switching to Fjerdan, perhaps, but he’s not entirely sure he could trust himself in any language, at least not one that involved speaking. Instead, Matthias reaches out and rests his palm along her waist, slowly skimming along the stiff boning of the corset as it begins to flare along her ribs. His eyes follow the line of metal hooks that run along the center of the garment, as he momentarily wonders how difficult they might be to unfasten.

As he leans in closer, he catches sight of the dusting of tiny freckles that blanket her chest and shoulders. Perhaps he hadn’t noticed them before—perhaps he had been trying desperately not to notice anything about her—but now they’re all he can see, arrayed across her like constellations of stars against a midnight sky.

His hand moves up, fingertips slowly grazing the dip of her collarbone. The skin there is delicately soft—and warm to the touch. He brushes aside the strap of her chemise, letting it fall along the downy curve of her shoulder, and then he pauses, his breath stilling with the sudden realization of how impossibly perfect she is. It goes against everything he’s ever been taught, all the unshakable truths he had never sought to question, but he cannot deny it. This Ravkan witch could stop his heart with a mere gesture of her hands, and yet he feels more at peace in her arms than he has in a very long time.

She’s probably laughing at him by now, ready to tease him for his naiveté, for his foolishness and bumbling hesitation. He wouldn’t blame her.

But as he glances up, he can see that she is not laughing, not at all.

Her lips are slightly parted, just enough for him to notice the tiny shudder of her breath, the way her gaze is darting from his eyes down to his mouth with undisguised anticipation. A blade of golden sunlight falls across the coverlet, catching along the side of her face and the dark corona of her hair. Everything is still and silent, dust motes floating in the hushed air, and for a moment Matthias swears he can hear the thrumming of her heart as it echoes his own.

Nina bites against her lip, the mere hint of white against rosy red enough to unleash a wave of desire that he feels unfurling from deep within his belly. There’s no time for thought or self-conscious hesitation: he leans down and roughly captures her mouth, feeling her warm and pliable beneath him.

He would worry about crushing her—breaking her, somehow—but she doesn’t seem to mind his weight. Her hands are grasping, greedy, curling hot against the back of his neck, clutching against his ribs. And as their lips meet again and again, each brush sending a river of sparks up his spine, he feels himself falling, drowning, lost in her like a man set adrift in a raging sea.

She shifts underneath him, hooking a leg over his hip and letting him sink deeper into the cradle of her thighs. Even through her skirts, Matthias can feel the heat of her, the way their bodies are fitting together that’s making every inch of him catch fire, from his toes to the very tips of his ears. He wants nothing more than to get closer, to press his lips against her throat and the pale span of her neck.

And yet a part of him pauses, whatever infinitesimally small part that still possesses the capacity for caution. He may be inexperienced, but Matthias knows enough to foretell what lies at the end of the path they’re headed down. It isn’t that he doesn’t want to—Djel knows, there’s nothing he wants more at this very moment—but it isn’t what he wants for them.  

Nina—this infuriating, intoxicating woman in his arms—she deserves more just than a quick tumble in a rowdy travelers’ tavern in the middle of the afternoon. And he wants more than that for himself, if he’s being truthful; if he is to break his vow, it should at least be with intention and a proper measure of solemnity.

It’s impossible to know how their story will unfold, but at least Matthias can make sure it begins in a way that brings them both pleasure at the memory, and not regret.

He pulls back a little, stilling in her embrace, and with his free hand gently shies her leg free from his hip. It takes a moment or so for her to realize he’s no longer kissing her, an eternity as he waits, hoping more than anything that she’ll understand.

“Nina,” he says quietly, even as blood pounds in his ears.

She glances up at him, green eyes meeting blue, and he watches as the initial lines of confusion lining her brow begin to melt away, replaced by a soft, knowing expression.

“It’s all right,” she eventually replies, and he’s dumbstruck at how grateful he feels that she’s not going to make him explain himself. Instead, she places the flat of her palm against his chest and gently pushes him up, her other hand searching for her discarded blouse. Her smile is wide, indulgent. “Come on, let’s go find you some food. Then we’ll come back here and stay up all night while you tell me all your stories about Fjerda.”

“Stories about Fjerda?” he asks. “What stories?”

“Did you never go ice-fishing, Matthias? Or dive head-first into a fjord?” She pulls the blouse back over her head, eyes sparkling with mirth. “I’m certain you must have wrestled at least once or twice with a bear.”

“Only once,” he tells her, feeling himself being caught up in the magic of her spell. “And he was very moody.”

Nina laughs as she rises to her feet, the sound like the chatter of sparrows circling in the summer sun. “A moody Fjerdan bear, hmmm? Was it like looking in a mirror?” She takes his hands and tugs him up—she’s surprisingly strong, his Nina—so that they’re standing face to face.

It’s where he’s meant to be, he realizes, her hands still tightly clasped in his. And, Djel willing, it’s where he will stay.

[plainlo-inthemorning]

A little written-in-the-middle-of-the-night Loki fic snippet that just grew another leg. TVA Loki + Lokane. Rating T.

(First part is here)

Shine a Light, part II

The tempad feels hot and slippery in his palm as he stalks down the hallway, quickly putting distance between himself and the hunter he left unconscious amidst overturned chairs and tables in the canteen.

The mess had already been there, leftovers from workers rushing panicked to man their stations. He had simply added one more touch.

Tiny droplets of sweat bead his brow and blood has started seeping though the tear in his crumbled shirt.

The fabric is clinging wetly to his bicep, but in the mayhem unfolding around him, nobody gives him a second glance.

For the first time, he is thankful at least to be wearing the anonymous uniform dictated by the oppressors.

He reaches the kill me kind of room again and shuts the door behind him.

You were meant to cause suffering and death.

You’re a cosmic mistake.

You were meant to die at the hands of the mad titan.

Lies.

All lies.

Still projected on the wall is the paused image of a lost memory of his unfulfilled fate.

He sees himself, Thor and her on the barren planet with the black soil. The man he never became is lying on the ground, Thor cradling him.

She watches them both in shock.

It resonates in his bones. He has to go there.

He has to reach his brother at this precise, excruciatingly rare moment of heroism. His act of heroism.

Before the scheming and deceit poison their bond once more in an endless loop of disappointment.

In this moment, all is forgiven. Thor will listen and help. A different path will branch.

And he has to go to her.

It is ludicrous, this riddle, yet the truth of it presses hard on his chest.

On the grainy roll of film, he saved her life and her eyes bore into his with such intensity, his acute need still reverberates like an echo between the walls of the kill me kind of room.

The smell of lilacs lingers.

What will happen when he faces his own self on the timeline, he can’t imagine. Also, he gives it little thought at this late stage with universal logic already suspended as it is. Hopefully he can reason with the man he was meant to be.

He has had quite enough of being his own past, present and future selves’ worst enemy.

And so he pushes the buttons on the tempad.

//

Something is very wrong.

The sky is too blue, the distant sound of waves lapping calmly at a shore is misplaced.

He has emerged from the door onto a quiet gravel road lined with tall grass and low pines. A single, white wooden house stands to his left, surrounded by a lawn dotted with wildflowers. The sun is warm on his back.

This is Midgard, he is sure of it.

How could he shoot past his destination so spectacularly?

He is about to scroll down the list of numbers and names on the tiny screen of the tempad when he notices a man approaching. Old, walking leisurely with a round, short-legged dog much the same white color as the mortal’s own wispy hair.

The latter starts a little when he spots Loki.

And then he does the most unexpected thing and speaks his name.

Loki’s name.

He almost drops the tempad (no! Not again) and the old one grins good-naturedly. “Hold on to your fancy phone there. Far away, were we?”

Loki only just about stops himself from shaking the man by his shoulders. His fists clench uncontrollably.

“What year is this?! How do you know my name?”

His voice sounds shrill, feverish, and unsurprisingly the eyes in the lined face before him go wide with puzzlement and … something else.

“Loki, what on Earth? Are you quite alright?”

Shock washing over him, Loki staggers back. H-how?

But the man is closing the gap between them, oozing concern. “Have you - are you drunk?” he asks incredulously.

He reaches out.

What is happening?

Loki shies away from the touch, his mind spinning.

Forcibly gathering his composure, he straightens and wills his words to come out steady. “No, I’m okay. Apologies. A bad joke”.

He smiles reassuringly. It takes more effort than parting an ocean.

The dog is sniffing insistently at his ankles.

The man looks him over with suspicion but the worry is subsiding. “Okay, then… no harm, no foul. You know, sometimes these peculiar ‘jokes’ of yours can make a neighbor all kinds of slightly worried”.

Neighbor?

“Most understandably, won’t happen again. Sorry to have bothered you”. Loki cuts him off smoothly. “Have a nice day”. He nods and turns before hysteria can creep into his voice.

“In case you need it for your punchline, the year is 2016”, the man calls over his shoulder as he shuffles away, pulling the reluctant dog after him.

Loki’s blood runs cold. 2016. Oh, this is so wrong. Three years wrong.

Did he hit another button at the last minute? He had been clutching the tempad so hard the edges cut into his fingers.

He curses his own impatience. Tech savvy indeed.

Holding up the blasted piece of TVA wizardry, he tries to enter a new series of numbers when his name rings out again.

And again, he almost jumps. But this time, his heart stays in his throat.

//

“Loki? What are you doing out here? I’ve been looking all over for you”.

Her voice reaches him from the porch of the white house. She is skipping lightly down the steps, the screen doors left open behind her. Music drifts into the garden from somewhere inside.

She is crossing the lawn. He is no longer breathing.

Her long auburn hair is tied back in a ponytail, and she is wearing a light blue summer dress. Her feet are bare.

Absurdly, he notes that she looks more tanned than the last time he saw her through the visor of the destroyer in the desert. A year and a lifetime ago. To him.

His grip on whatever reality he’s been clinging to since New York is seriously faltering.

She is beaming. He cannot move a muscle.

She comes all the way up to him and without pause wraps her slender arms around his neck. He can feel the warmth of her body through his shirt, smell the perfume of her skin. She smells of … -

“Where did you go, handsome?” She smiles playfully.

“Pepper called earlier to say that she actually got Tony out of the door on time, if you can believe it, so they’ll be here any minute. And her and I agreed that you two hotheads are going to play nice tonight, okay?”

She is teasing him but he hardly understands the words she’s saying. It makes no sense.

And then, before he can begin to form a response, she stands on tiptoes and kisses him and the world falls away.

Reflexively, he puts his arms around her, drawing her close to him. She moans happily. He leans into the kiss, not knowing what he’s doing other than that he never wants to stop.

Her mouth is soft and warm and new and familiar all at the same time, and the way her fingers curl in his hair sends electricity shooting down his spine.

It should be all anguish and tragic confusion, like before in the castle beyond time, but it is not.

It feels more right that anything he can remember since before his fall from the Bifrost, more real and yet more magical than his recent journeys into mystery.

Then it’s over all too soon and she draws away.

His arms are suddenly much too empty and he almost reaches for her again, craving her touch.

For a fleeting heartbeat, his soul had no longer felt torn apart to the point of forgetting he’d ever been whole.

The chaos had crumbled in on itself like a bad dream.

He is surprised he still knows what peace of mind feels like after what has happened to him since arriving at the TVA.

But now she looks at him with alarm in those beautiful brown eyes and he is crudely reminded that he is an intruder in her reality.

What she thought she saw, she clearly no longer recognizes.

It takes him all of three stupidly long seconds to remember that she said his name. That he’s wearing his own face and not a disguise.

That she knew him immediately, just like the old man.

She kissed him.

Too many impossible possibilities and the thunderous sound of his own heartbeat (surely she can hear it too) blur his vision.

He’s only vaguely aware that he is stepping towards her, trying to say something without the faintest idea of what’s going to come out of his mouth.

If it’ll even be words.

Her eyes dart over his clothes, his face.

“Loki, what - Why are you dressed like that? Have you been gone? Is that … blood?”

She retreats further, fear building.

“Jane, I-“

Her name rolls of his tongue with a sweet-tasting intimacy like he has said it a thousand times before.

But he doesn’t get to dwell on this, nor gather his thoughts to say anything else before something abruptly lifts him off the ground and hurls his body across the road.

“How dare you touch her, beast?!”

Immediately as his back connects with the rough gravel, someone is there, a knee pushing him down, fingers closing around his throat. A sharp object presses against his chin.

There is a dangerous, unhinged growl as his attacker breathes hotly in his ear. “You will die for this!”

The man is strong and somehow blocking Loki’s own magic, but he still manages to twist his head -

And looks right up into his own eyes, nearly black with rage.

//

“Speak! What are you??”

The man with a face exactly like his presses the tip of his blade closer to Loki’s left eye. “You will show yourself right now or -“

Gathering his magic tightly around him (focus!), Loki pushes back, hard.

With a surge of energy, their bodies are separated, and the other version of him lands heavily in the middle of the road some meters away.

Both of them are on their feet with the fluid movements of two panthers ready to pounce, the other now in full armor.

He has to leave, right now, even if means leaving her which is a catastrophe that might either kill him or make him try to kill his other self if he stays here another minute.

This timeline is clearly not his own.

It cannot be.

Arm outstretched to ward off his furious twin with a shield of magic, he tries to work the tempad with one hand.

“Well, well, what do we have here?”

A booming voice above their heads.

“You know, when Jane pressed the panic button just now, I thought we had an actual emergency. Not that you were preparing a little dinner show for us, Reindeer Games. Gotta be honest though, this doppelgänger stunt was never my favorite -“

“Stark!”

The variant - for he must be a variant - angrily interrupts the man in the metal suit hovering in the air.

Of course, Loki remembers him all too clearly.

What has it been, less than a week since he threw him, or a version of him, out the window of the glass tower?

“This is not my creation”, the variant hisses with venom dripping from every word. “I caught him assaulting Jane. Kissing her”.

“What?!”

Stark focuses all his attention (and one of his iron fists) on Loki. A metallic humming rises steadily from inside the suit.

“A man on a suicide mission then. Boy, did you smooch the wrong wizard’s baby-mama. He may look all domesticated and cute now, but I assure you he’s still all kinds of crazy. In fact-”.

“Hey!”

“What?”

“I know it’s asking a lot, of you in particular, Stark, but could we possibly save the personal insults till we have dealt with this right here?”

Wait, just wait.

Damn it, he can’t tap in the destination on the tempad without looking at it.

Green smoke is swirling around the hands of his other self. He knows what’s coming.

“This is your last warning, devil! I will not have you hiding behind my face as I -“

“This is my face! I’m you, you fool! Bigger things are at large here and-“ Loki falters, his silver tongue failing once more with rising predictability within what seems a disconcertingly short period of time.

Although he honestly can’t tell anymore.

“Please, take a minute -“

He can’t help but shout, sounding hopelessly desperate.

In another life, he might have felt humiliated, but letting pride dictate his emotions is no longer a luxury he can afford to indulge.

Still, the silence that follows his outburst is not nearly as long as he needs it to be.

The variant stares blankly at him, mouth slightly ajar, but Stark recovers easily, his voice now icy.

“Yeah, dude, that one might have worked better if you’d put on a clean shirt. Time to fess up real quick or we’ll have to-“

Drawing what might become his last breath, Loki looks away and down at the tempad. He presses the button. No more time to double check.

“What the?!”

Both Stark and the variant visibly flinch as the door appears.

He quickly makes for it. “I - I’m sorry. Truly, I am”. He looks to their stunned faces before turning to his exit.

Out of the corner of his eye, he registers the variant move (he has to be a variant). His mouth twists in an ugly snarl and two familiar daggers are appearing by his sides.

Before the door snaps completely shut, Loki sees Jane run up to the man and grab his arm.

“Love, no, don’t!”

He sees the slight bump under her dress that he didn’t notice before.

And then the scene disappears and he’s gone.

Part III

[cellard0ors]

Fic: Movement (4/5)

Still working on this for @peachworthy. Should wrap up sometime this week or next and then the full thing'll get posted to AO3. Part 1, Part 2, Part 3 here for now!

They decide to do it on a Saturday night.

Link has the weekend off from work and no classes. Rhett’s schedule is also free. They discuss the matter in terse terms, both seeming nervous about the idea, but neither backing down.

As such, Saturday rolls around with little fanfare until late into the evening. An evening that finds Link sitting on the couch, one of his legs jiggling and bouncing about as he waits for Rhett.

Rhett comes out to the living room holding a pillow and he offers it to Link. Link looks at it with some confusion and his friend clears his throat, eyes darting away, “For your lap.”

“My-?” Link looks down and then to Rhett and then…oh. Link colors, realizing that the pillow is to be used in order to cover any potentially ‘arising’ situation on his part. Feel exposed yet stubborn, he remarks dryly, “Don’t think I’ll need that.”

Rhett lets out a loud laugh and pats him in the chest with it, “Trust me. If I’ve done my job right? You will.”

“…point taken,” Link says softly and he takes the pillow, settling it over his crotch. To be fair, he probably will pop wood. After all, he sometimes pops it when Rhett’s full clothed.

Nude?

Yeah.

Link presses down on the pillow harder, even the errant thought of a nude Rhett causing a stirring. Rhett walks to the television and fiddles with the remote.

An app that Link’s noticed before, but never bothered with, is clicked on. Erotes Plus. The screenshots for the videos that come up are…certainly something. Link looks away, almost overwhelmed by all the bare flesh before him. The titles of the videos are also a bit much. Rhett notices and Link can hear the smirk in his voice as he says, “Prude.”

Link scowls and glares back at him and the screen. He is nota prude. However, titles such as ‘Lonely Housewife Squirts for The First Time’ and ‘He Rides His Daddy Dry’ would take anybody aback. At least Link would like to think so – he supposes some people are more immune than others. After all, his own history with porn is on the small side.

During puberty he’d taken his healthy peeks at nude magazines and a few of his friends had snuck out adult VHS tapes to check out, but for the most part it hadn’t interested him. Granted, this was probably due to his eventual discovery that – while he appreciated the female form – it didn’t draw his interest quite like the male one did.

And finding gay porn? Where he grew up? Yeah, pretty much a completely impossibility. And then – when he’d finally managed to snag some – it had, once more, disappointed. It all just seemed so cold and callous. Like a business transaction with a boatload of grunting. Not at all to his tastes.

Rhett, scrolling through the videos, finally finds one titled simply ‘Movement’ and turns to Link with an apprehensive glance, “Still plenty of time to say ‘no’.”

Link’s throat is dry. Unlike some of the other screenshots, this one is vaguer. It’s two forms silhouetted in shadow. One of those forms is Rhett. Link feels numb as he speaks, “I’m good.”

Rhett clicks the video and it begins.

He moves over and sits near Link, lounging against the other side of the couch in an oh-so-casual way. As if an adult video starring him hasn’t just begun to play.

The film opens with a lithe redhead in a yoga outfit doing various poses. While this is being shown the title card appears followed by the starring and since Link highly doubts Rhett goes by ‘Jenessa Star’, he can’t help but chuckle at, “‘Donatello Velvet’?”

“What?” Rhett asks simply and Link gestures to the television, “That’s you, isn’t it?”

“Problem?”

“That’s the screen name you chose?”

“What’s wrong with it?”

“Nothing’s wrong with it, I just don’t see you as a ‘Donatello’,” Link grins at him and Rhett laughs, rubbing one finger along his top lip thoughtfully, “What would you’d’ve gone with then?”

“If I was doing adult film?” Link asks and at Rhett’s nod, he crosses his arms and thinks, “I don’t know…Bevin, maybe?”

Rhett tosses his head back and laughs and Link feels a fissure of delight at that sound, just as he always does. He turns back and the redhead’s poses have become…much more complex. Almost painful looking as she contorts herself to degrees Link wouldn’t think possible and then she rises, stretching out and that’s when Rhett enters.

Or maybe it would be better to think of it as Donatello enters. Yes, it’s a little easier that way and Link does his best to cling to that, to try and stay nonchalant as he offers dryly, “Well, well – there’s a familiar lookin’ fella.”

Rhett just hums and they both watch as he walks up to the woman. He runs his hands along her shoulders and down her arms, whispering into her neck huskily, “Good form.”

Link can’t help but let out a snort. Rhett rolls his eyes, “Okay, okay – I know, I know. Dialogue’s a bit-?”

“Bad?”

“…it could use some improvement.”

“Uh huh,” Link just beams and hey, this isn’t so bad. Cheesy and kind of silly and maybe it will just stay like this. Light and fun. For all Link knows, they won’t even watch the whole thing. Maybe just some of it and then they can turn on something els-!

Rhett begins kissing Jenessa’s neck, white teeth visibly dragging along her skin and Link’s whole body tightens. A phantom sting starts along the same side of his neck that Rhett’s touching on Jenessa. Jenessa’s whole throat arches back, a pleasured moan leaving her and Rhett’s tongue is…very pink.

Link’s Adam’s apple bobs as he says (much huskier than he’d like) “N-Nice camera work…”

Rhett just hums, “Mac’s always had a good eye.”

“Mac?”

“Mackenzie, the director of this one.”

Link just lets out a sound of acknowledgement as he watches Rhett reach around Jenessa and tug at her tank top. Tug until her small, pointed breasts pop free. He cups them in his hands and he has…great hands.

They looks so tan against her skin, palms rough and big, and Jenessa lets out a full throttle moan. Rhett teases the pink tips, fingertips agile as they play along the sensitive flesh, as they circle around her areolas.

She whimpers and turns, kisses him fully, passionately, and it’s…messy. Wet. Link can feel his whole heart thump hard at the sight. Janessa’s hair is shorter than Rhett’s – cropped close to her scalp and Rhett’s hands have abandoned her chest to run through the short strands.

Link barely stops himself from reaching up and touching his own hair, instinctively wanting to mimic how that might feel. To imagine Rhett doing it to him.

He tries not to fidget and talking, talking will help, “Surprised this isn’t more, ah, instant.”

Rhett shrugs, “Foreplay’s a thing, man.”

“No, I know,” Link knows his voice pitches a little high at this, defensive, “Just…figured, mean...’s porn…”

“Some of the earlier videos on here are like that, but when EP got bought out, the new owners took the company in a different direction.”

“EP?”

“Erotes Plus. The platform these films are on,” Rhett explains and then he starts mentioning a few things about different production companies and distributors and the like, but Link is too distracted because Jenessa is now fully naked and Rhett is on his knees between her legs, feasting on her moist lower lips.

The silken tip of his tongue is parting her, dancing along the bundle of nerves that is her clit and her head is tossed back on a loud, wild whine.

Her pale body undulates and she’s gripping his long hair so hard. Link feels as if he’s having an out of body experience. This is his roommate. His friend. The man he’s secretly in love with.

And he’s pleasuring this woman with such…focus. With intensity and finesse and when he rises, his erection is clear, straining at the linen pants that are containing it. Link points to the screen weakly, “Hippie clothes.”

The comment is stupid and unhelpful, but Rhett just laughs, “Yeah – kinda the theme of this series. I’m like, a Yoga Instructor or something? Least that's the way it was explained to me, so – linen pants, cotton top – I mean, we’ve had better costumes, but for this shoot-!”

Rhett is talking some more but, again, Link is barely listening. His eyes are transfixed by what’s taking place on the screen. Janessa easily strips off Rhett’s shirt and then his pants and – No. Underwear.

Link is seeing Rhett’s dick. It’s there…thick, but not as big as his own, a visible vein running along one side. Dusky dark and with a blushing pink tip and gently curling hair hiding his full, taunt sack…

“Link? Buddy? You doin’ alright?”

“Fine.”

“Lookin’ like you seen a ghost," Rhett teases, but there’s a breathless quality to his words, “My body all that bad?”

Link just shakes his head and watches as Jenessa strokes Rhett, as his head falls back and he lets out a shuddering gasp that Link feels in his very bones.

Link is suddenly very, very thankful for the pillow that bobs some as it reacts to the situation taking place beneath it. That situation being Link’s own dick perking upwards, making his jeans tight and constrictive.

“You…?” Something Rhett said finally seems to click in Link’s head, “You said this is a series?”

“Yup,” Rhett murmurs and now the film shows him pressing Jenessa against one of the studio walls and she raises one leg high. Insanely high. It’s a very gymnastic level move and Rhett slots his cock up with her opening, sliding hard and deep into her body.

Jenessa lets out a wail of pleasure as he presses in and she holds that leg up – all strength and grace as he begins to move within her at a steady rhythm.

Her hips answer some, but it’s more about how…open she is. And how deep he’s getting. They’re eyes are locked as he picks up his pace, rocketing in and out of her, shaking her whole form with his thrusts, her tiny breasts jiggling with each movement and movement, they call this…

“Got an award for this one.”

Thank God. That one comment draws Link back to some semblance of sanity even as his body quickens with an unspeakable longing, a carnal hunger that aches, “Really?”

“Uh huh,” Rhett says with no small amount of pride, “Best Sex Scene.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. I mean, I owe it to her to be honest,” he waves to the screen, “She’s the one turning herself into a pretzel throughout this thing. Same for the rest of ‘em. They kept finding co-stars for me to work with who had had extensive training in this sort of body contortion. It was just my job to, uh, well…”

Rhett waves again and the answer is obvious: to fuck them through it. Link is not at all limber. In fact, he’s kind of a klutz. Nothing to match up with someone like this.

For some reason, this realization leaves him hollow. Cold. His arousal dims some, “Where’d you get the award from?”

“XRCO.”

Link makes some sound that would imply he understands, but he doesn’t. Rhett sighs, “Got nominated for Most Popular Male Performer on Pornhub but lost to Johnny Rockwell. Guy deserved it though. Performance he did that year was nuts.”

Link’s lost in the vocal cacophony that is erupting from the television speakers. Moans, gasps, grunts, cries of sheer ecstasy as Rhett and Janessa really ramp it up.

They’re in a different position now, Jenessa’s body once more arched at a crazy angle and Rhett's just...really getting in there. His hips are pumping double time, like a jackhammer, and she is loving it.

Her blue eyes are flashing with adoration, her lips curled in that moue that speaks to an almost pleasurable pain and Link can’t help but ask, “Are the others with her?”

Rhett takes a moment to process the question and when he realizes Link is asking about the other films in the series, he shakes his head, “Nah, man. You don’t usually have repeating partners. Like I said, they found other people who could bend in weird ways. The sequel to this sees me with Julian St. Croix. Great guy. Really smart. He’s actually working on another doctorate. Plans on working in the tech field when he retires, which – money he’s making, should be pretty damned soon. You want me to dial that up?”

Link just shakes his head. The idea of watching Rhett doing something like this with yet another person and with a man no less…

He feels crappy for, well, feeling crappy. This is Rhett’s job. He shouldn’t take this personally.

Besides, it’s not like Rhett knows how Link feels about him. To him, they’re just friends and he should play the part of friend – be a friend, a good friend, “I can see why you won the award, Rhett. You’re doing a…a great job. Real good acting.”

The sound of the shocked (yet oddly sharp) laughter that leaves Rhett at that actually causes Link to finally look at him.

Rhett’s face is a ruddy red, like he’s embarrassed or something, and he’s looking at Link with a bit of a wildfire in his eyes, “‘Good acting? Are you serious?”

Link finally shifts about on the couch (which feels fantastic considering his body has been fighting off a plethora of sensations for a while now) as he fully turns to him, pillow still firmly in place, “Of course! I mean, it-it seems like you’re really into this girl,” he gestures to the screen, “when you’re doing this and I imagine that’d take some acting chops.”

He chews on his bottom lip and lowers his gaze, hands ghosting over the pillow as he talks to it more than Rhett, “Un-unless you really are into her.”

“Into her?” Rhett pokes one finger over to the television, “Into Janessa?”

“Yeah, I mean…if-if you two are a couple or-or were one or-?”

“Me and Janessa?” Rhett asks incredulously and some of the heat seems to leave him. Link gets the impression that Rhett had, for a moment, been mad or affronted by Link’s well intentioned compliment, but now is completely changing track. Now Rhett seems charmingly baffled, “You think I’m into Janessa?”

“I-I was just saying if you’re not into her in this,” Link waves to the screen where (seeing as the volume is dying down) it would seem the film is reaching its conclusion, “Then the acting is good and if you are-!”

“I’m not,” Rhett confirms firmly, “I am very much not, nor was I ever, into Janessa. We’re friendly, but we’d never work as a couple, man. She likes cats.”

Rhett says the last as if it’s a blasphemy and Link can’t help but giggle, suddenly feeling bright and light even though he knows better than to do so, “Problem?”

“Not a big fan of lil demons…”

“Noted, “Link sighs and he feels much, much better. The film is finally over, he’s seen some of Rhett’s work, and he can now say the following with sheer confidence, “I’m proud of you.”

And with that, Rhett freezes. He freezes solid, back going ram rod straight, and his eyes – they’re as round as dinner plates.

Big and green and looking at Link like’s a wild anomaly and Link worries that maybe he, somehow, inadvertently offended him with the remark so he’s quick to explain, “I-I mean it, bo. I’m proud of you. Going out there and-and doing something like this. Being so…so exposed and vulnerable and for anyone to see and yeah, sure, I mean, I guess it’s just for people to-to beat off to or whatever, but when you think about it, it’s something that brings people pleasure, which is a lot better than bringing something bad into people's lives and I know some would argue that porn is like, some gateway into violent dark tendencies or whatever, but for the average person it’s a good thing to explore and the fact you can so freely provide that to them and not be ashamed-!”

Link is blathering.

He’s a blathering idiot.

But he feels like if he stops talking, Rhett might snap at him. Or be mad. Or-!

But instead Rhett just shakes his head and whispers, “You’re unbelievable.”

Link’s diatribe cuts off. His blood stops in his veins. He feels completely seized.

“I’ve been trying so hard…fighting with everything in me,” Rhett breathes and he just…eases forward, eases closer. He’s in Link’s personal space and Link wonders if he should back up or something.

He can feel the heat coming off Rhett’s skin. His breath is bathing Link’s face as he rasps, “But I can’t anymore. You’ll have to forgive me, but…”

Rhett kisses him.

Rhett. Kisses. Him.

Rhett kisses Link.

Their lips meet in the smallest, quickest, sweetest little peck. The sound of it, the quick wet click of their lips…it’s earth shattering, sound-barrier breaking.

And Link feels his whole nervous system lurch at it. And Rhett is still looking at him, searching his eyes wildly. Link blinks and licks his lips and tries to speak, but there’s nothing to say.

Rhett just grins softly, “Bad for business…that’s what you are…”

Link’s gaze dips to Rhett’s mouth. To his lips. Lips that were on his seconds ago. His eyes feel heavy lidded as he gulps and Rhett just huffs as he kisses him again. Again.

Another kiss and this one is more than just a peck. This one? This one is the one Link’s been dreaming of, the one he’s been wishing for.

This kiss is perfect.

[lilyharvord]

Sun

OH OH BABY. It’s MOTHER’S DAY. You know what that means…. :))))  It’s time to celebrate Mare Barrow. While I’m working on the next chapter of the Chain, I figured I’d give you guys this. This next chapter is gonna have to steep like a fine tea cause it’s Cal and the Colonel going head to head and those conversations need to be GOOD. LOL it’s unedited too, sorry. ALSO AVAILABLE ON AO3: link 

Rain patters against the window next to me, but the day outside is too dreary and grey for the event that occurred this morning. I couldn’t care less though, my entire focus is on the little bundle squirming in my arms. My son is as restless as he was inside of me. Still, I smile down at him as I lean back further into the pillows so I can see him better. He looks like me, and like Shade. My heart breaks a fraction at the thought, and heals at the same time. I never thought I’d see my brother’s face again, but there it is, on my son’s.

A tiny gasp draws my eye to the doorway, and my face splits into an elated grin as Coriane sprints across the room and tries to leap onto the bed.

“Momma!” She cries as she only manages to get the top half of her body up. Cal’s right behind her to lift her the last foot so she can crawl across the sheets to me.

“Hello darling.” I laugh as she nuzzles into my side. “I’ve only been gone a day, but you are acting like it’s been forever.”

“It was forever!” She bemoans, her large amber eyes growing impossibly wider as she tries to wind her arms around one of mine. “Grandma told me I had to sit and be quiet but it was so long.”

I don’t need an imagination to picture how that went. My child has more energy than a lightning storm. She bounces around rooms with a smile bright enough to power Ascendant for the rest of its existence, but she can be loud, and a handful if Cal or I isn't there to keep her in check.

“I hope you were good.” I murmur, earning a bright red blush from her as she turns her eyes to Cal. He sink down on the edge of the bed as she crawls away to sit in front of him. Nearly identical features mirror each other as he raises a brow at her when she looks up at him. That simple fact is a reminder of why I’m holding another baby right now. I may have carried and birthed Coriane into the world, but she is her father’s daughter in all aspects. She looks like him, she mimics almost every one of his expressions, and she follows him around like a duckling. The only distinguishing factors are her burning Red blood, and my skin color and mass of curls. I wanted one more to even the score when I realized that maybe she was more of a daddy’s girl than we had originally thought. And I got my wish, which makes me happier than a bird taking flight.

“I was.” She replies when Cal doesn’t step to her immediate defense like he normally does. Which just tells me she was opposite of good and I may have to find a way to thank my parents for watching her.

Her eyes fall to her brother and she edges away from Cal to get closer to me, a strange silence and stillness falling over her. She sits on her haunches next to me, her eyes trained on the little baby sleeping in my arms. She reaches a tentative hand out, but pulls it back quickly, as if thinking better of touch him.

“It’s all right.” I assure her, before shifting Shade so she can see him better. She leans forward, her eyes blinking a few times as she takes in his now sleeping face. With one of her fingers, she touches the tip of his nose and then traces his cheek.

“His skin is so soft.” She whispers, before looking up at me with wide eyes.

“Yours was too.” Cal teases before leaning forward with her. I haven’t let him hold Shade yet, and he may be getting a little impatient that it’s been a few hours. I wanted my time with him first, and he had willingly given it to me. He knew from the moment I found out it was boy that this was going to be my baby for a while. That doesn’t mean he doesn’t want to hold his son though.

“He’s so small. Was I that small?”            “You were actually smaller.” I smile weakly at the memory of her little body settling in my arms for the first time. Tears begin to build in my eyes at the memory and I roll them at the hormones that will take a while to calm down, before wiping the tears away.

Coriane watches my movement with a curious tilt of her head. That’s not one of Cal’s movements. A part of me flutters in surprise at the concept. She must be starting to develop her own mannerisms. Julian told me she would eventually, when she got old enough to start building her own personality. And she certainly is doing just that.

“I’m not sad darling.” I say, even though another tear slips by and falls down my check. She still wears her concern like Cal though, between her brows which scrunch just slightly.

Reaching my hand out, I curl my arm around her little shoulders and pull her into my side. She settles on her knees so she can press into me at a comfortable angle. “Sometimes, people are so happy, they can’t hold it in and it comes out as tears.”

“Having a new baby made you so happy you are crying?” Coriane reasons as she reaches a hand out for Shade again. He blinks open honey colored eyes and yawns. My daughter’s face splits into a bright grin as he weakly closes his hand around two of her little fingers.

I don’t know what gods to thank for the fact that she does not think we’re replacing her, or handling this like any of my siblings did when a new baby came. I remember thinking Gisa was the worst thing my mother ever made, simply because she took my parent’s attention away from me for a bit. Coriane hasn’t shown us that she’s acting like that. In fact, she had been the opposite side of the spectrum. She might have been more excited at the prospect of the baby than we were.

“Both of you make me so very happy I can’t hold it in.” I whisper to her before pressing a kiss on her hair. Never in my wildest fantasies did I see this day coming. I may have had faint visions of children when I lived in the Stilts, but those thoughts had never been serious. I had been so focused on simply getting through the day, I hadn’t thought about the months or years to come. I didn’t want to bring a child into the mud and the life that I had been forced to live. I didn’t even really want to bring one into this new world that we were all forging from the broken pieces of the old. But Coriane had moved inside of me, and I had become so sure of the path I was walking that when I finally saw her face, I knew I had made at least one right decision in my life.

Cal’s hand is warm on my knee as he gentle massages the joint with his thumb. Laying my cheek on Cori’s head, I smile at him. He returns the gesture. He looks tired, maybe just as tired as I do. We have a long couple years ahead of us too. Piedmont tries to march on the States every other month, and the Lakelands puddle along to the beat of their own drum, no matter how hard Evangeline tries to beat a different one. Tiraxes and Prairie refuse to hear talks or peace. We’ll be called on sooner rather than later. I know now more than ever, I will be loath to leave this little slice of peace that Cal and I have carved out over the years. There is war and strife all around us, but at least for this moment, we are together.

Pressing another long kiss to Coriane’s head, I whisper to her. “Your brother’s name is Shade.”

“Daddy told me.” Coriane replies in kind. “Grandma said it’s a special name like mine. That it was your brother’s name.”

“It was.” I try to keep my voice even, but it breaks on that admission all the same. Cal’s hand grows a little warmer, and he squeezes my knee a little tighter. There’s no room for him this high up on the bed, but he still wants me to know he’s here. I couldn’t be more grateful for him in this moment.

Coriane rests her head in crock of my shoulder and says, “He’s Clara’s daddy.”

“He was. And he would have loved both of you.”

Shade would have loved my daughter like he loved his own. I know he would have, and he would have teased Cal mercilessly the whole time. His absence is like a knife in my heart still, but the blade has dulled over the years. My son has dulled that blade further, and I suppose removed it an inch.

“Can I hold him?” Coriane breathes her question so quietly I almost miss it.

When I don’t respond to she looks to Cal and then back up to me for permission. I hesitantly push her hair behind her ear in response to her gaze.

“Dad hasn’t held him yet.” I murmur in answer, and her little lips immediately purse into a pout.

Cal rises from the bed in the rustle of sheets before scooping her into his arms and sinking down next to me with Cori in his lap. “We can hold him together.” He says to her with a smile that is reserved only for her. She grins back up at him, before turning that shining look on her brother. She practically vibrates out of Cal’s lap as I reluctantly give him over to them.

Even though Cal takes most of Shade’s weight in his hands, it’s Coriane’s body that Shade presses up against. He squirms for a moment, not happy with being shifted so much so soon, but settles quickly as Cal adjusts for him.

Coriane’s eyes open wide and her mouth opens in a little circle as she whispers, “he’s heavy momma.”

“You don’t need to tell me that darling.” I can’t help the comment. It slips past the filters I built after having my daughter. She’s getting older though, and she understands those sideways jokes for the most part now.

           “Be careful, make sure you don’t move too much.” Cal warns her when she squirms and tries to hold him by herself.

           “She’s all right, let her try.” I nod down to our children and Cal watches me for a heartbeat, trying to judge my comment. When I don’t say anything else, he adjusts his grip and lets Coriane take the full weight of her brother. She takes to him like a duck on water, and grins up at me when he nuzzles into her chest. I return her smile, joy oozing out of me. The lights overhead flicker for a moment, and then buzz louder as my emotion tries to manifest as something else.

           Cal smirks at me, but I can feel the pride and heat that rolls off of him in waves. He can’t hide it either. He wanted this as much as I did. I’ve always known he would be a good father, whether or not I was the mother of those children had remained to be seen. But it happened, and I couldn’t be happier to be doing this with him, to be growing our family and trying to carve out a place for them in the world.

           “He looks beautiful.” Cal leans around Coriane to whisper that to me, trying not to disturb the moment our daughter is having as she coos nonsense to Shade. Clara did the same thing to her when we brought Cori home and let my niece stick her head into the bassinet to say hello. The memory brings another wave of happiness over me that immediately makes the lights buzz again.

           “He’s healthy, and that’s all that matters to me.” I reply with a smile before letting him press a gentle kiss to my lips.

           “You were faster this time. Even your mother was impressed.” He teases before pulling back to avoid the sparks I try to snap at his cheek with. He smooths Coriane’s curls as he gives me a mischievous smirk she completely misses. I hope she never sees that smile, because then she’ll start copying it, and I don’t think I can take my child smirking at me like that.

           “Momma.” Coriane calls for me again, forcing me to switch my scowl for a smile instantly. She tries to wiggle and offer Shade back to me, her face pinched with her effort. Cal almost dives forward to make sure he makes it back into my arms, and I have to move just as quickly to avoid him falling into my lap. He makes it nonetheless, and I breathe a tiny sigh of relief as I sink back. Coriane, oblivious to the moment as much as a child can be, immediately starts trying to cliimb all over Cal. Apparently she was done sitting still.

           Cal manages to wrap an arm around her when she throws herself over his shoulder and says, “I wanna go play with Clara again.”

           “You don’t want to stay with momma and Shade?” Cal asks her as he twists to catch her and guide her back into his lap. She giggles at the game immediately does the whole thing again.

           “I wanted to make sure momma was okay. She’s okay.” Coriane dangles from his shoulder again and gives me an upside down smile from around Cal’s back. “And Shade’s okay too. I wanna go play now.”

           Cal pulls her back through and manages to wrangle her into stillness before saying, “let’s try to stay together as a family for a little bit.”

           Immediately she pouts, and her eyes glint as she glances at the door. I know that look, and it does not belong to Cal. That’s my brain turning wheels over and planning how to escape.

           “Just for a little bit darling.” I whisper as I reach out to brush my fingers through her hair. She glances at me, drawn like a magnet. I wonder if she’s an Ardent, an electricon like me who senses the electricity that dances under my skin. We haven’t had her tested, and we don’t want to know either. Let her be normal for a bit.

           Her pout melts away and she lets Cal hold her a bit closer before moving closer to me so we’re all squished together. I’d normally protest the discomfort, but right this moment, I want all of them as close as possible. A warm arm slides around my shoulders and I sigh before sliding into Cal’s embrace and resting my head as best I can against him. Coriane wiggles between us, trying to get comfortable, until she ends up in the crevice between our bodies. She’s already getting too big to squeeze into that space, and soon Shade will be that size and then they’ll both be grown. When they are, they’ll be taller than me, Sara told me as much. I don’t mind that though. I’d hate for my children to be burdened with my height.

           “This is the last one.” I whisper to Cal after a few minutes of being lulled by his warmth. Coriane sighs as I shift, and when I glance down, it’s to see her eyelashes fluttering as she dreams. I hope they’re happy dreams, tinged pink and covered in honey. She deserves that life, and I plan to carve it into existence with my bare hands for her and for Shade.

           “You said that after Cori.” I can hear the laughter in Cal’s voice at the same time that I feel his lips curl into a smile against my temple.

           “I’m serious this time. I’m fine with being a mother twice over. But if you get me pregnant again, I will kill you, Tiberias.” I murmur, but the threat loses all power as I smile down at Shade who grabs a tiny fistful of my shirt.

           His laugh is quiet, but deep and wonderful. I love that he laughs so much these days, that I laugh just as much. His fingers brush along the scars that reach up the back of my neck as he whispers, “But you make such a wonderful mother.”

           I can’t help but smile, even at the same time that I swear to myself that Shade will be the last one.

[seijorhi]

After Dark

The second instalment for Spooktober: Vampire Dabi

hjsdhbchjkl it’s probably not what you’re expecting tho 👉 👈

Dabi | Touya Todoroki x Female Reader

TW blood, minor character death

It was a few years back that the rumours started. Some teenagers went missing; the dropouts, the runaways from bad homes, the ones with nothing better to do than drink, smoke and fuck around out by the tracks in the middle of the night.  

And nobody cared, not until the Mayor’s son joined them.

That’s when the searches began in earnest, the town rallying together to search through the woods, the abandoned mines on the outskirts of town, anywhere really, where the boys could have disappeared to. It was as if suddenly they cared, now that somebody important was missing, somebody from a good, proper family.

The funny thing was, Touya fit the mold. A little older than the others maybe, but otherwise just like them. He might’ve been the product of a rich, upper class upbringing, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t common knowledge that he was doing everything within his power to get as far away from all that as possible. Touya lived to piss his dad off. Staying out late and stumbling home wasted and high and smelling like cigarettes and cheap alcohol, indulging in bouts of petty theft and vandalism and fighting with anyone who so much as looked at him twice. You’re pretty sure he stole a cop car once - took it for a joyride right through the middle of town. 

You were a few years younger than him and you ran with different crowds, but you knew his brother pretty well. You guys were in the same class at school - had been ever since you moved into town a few years back. 

You remember the hollow look in his eyes that stuck around for months after Touya went missing. 

You didn’t really know if Natsuo was all that close with his older brother, but losing him like that, it hit him hard. While the rest of the town searched for the missing ones, Natsuo just kind of… withdrew. It was like he’d given up before everybody else had, like he knew something that they didn’t. 

You remember sitting with him once, a week or so after Touya had disappeared, twisting your fingers in your lap as you tried to figure out what you were supposed to say. And maybe he took pity on you, or maybe he just knew what you were thinking and didn’t want to talk about it, but those gunmetal grey eyes met yours and he just shrugged his shoulders.

“He’s gone.”

There was a sense of finality there that knocked the breath from your lungs, made you ache with sadness for the poor boy who’d lost his big brother. You wanted to tell him not to give up hope - they hadn’t found any bodies yet (they hadn’t found anything) but you knew that it’d only come across hollow and insincere, a meaningless platitude that would do neither of you any good.

It wasn’t until much, much later that you’d come to realise that he’d chosen his words carefully. ‘Gone’, he’d said, not ‘dead’.

-

Kids don’t stay out late anymore. 

Nobody does, not if they can help it. 

People still go missing from time to time, though it’s not really talked about anymore, at least not out in the open. Instead it took on a life of its own as an urban legend; a story whispered after dark about a bloodthirsty creature that stalked on the outskirts of town, luring the unsuspecting folk back to its lair to feast on.

“That’s why nobody ever found any trace of ‘em,” your friend tells you, nodding sagely. You’d rolled your eyes, scoffing. You were almost eighteen; far too old to put any stock in scary stories of monsters and things that went bump in the night. 

Something awful happened to those poor people, you wouldn’t deny that for a second, but back then you were positive that whatever fates had befallen them, monsters had nothing to do with it.

You know better now.

-

The walk home from campus to your apartment only takes fifteen minutes. You’d arrived at the library early in the afternoon, seeking peace and quiet to try and blitz some study before your midterms. Lost in your textbooks and the endless pages of notes, hours slipped away from you. 

One minute the sun was shining and the library was abuzz with students and the next you were utterly alone, the sky awash with striking hues of purple and deep blue. 

You really shouldn’t have walked home alone, but what were you supposed to do - drag your friends out from the comforts of their own homes just because you didn’t feel safe walking home alone after dark?

You should have waited. You should have at least called someone.

But above all else, when you heard a muffled shout shatter the crisp night air, you definitely shouldn’t have strayed from the path to go and investigate.

You didn’t really know Touya Todoroki all that well before he went missing, but the stars are out tonight, and bathed in the soft, unearthly glow of a waning moon, the bright, cerulean eyes that snap towards you are impossible to mistake.

Later you’ll think about the boy lying trapped and bleeding out beneath him. You’ll remember the agonised expression on his face as he desperately tried to reach for you, his weak, gurgled cries for help and the gaping wound on his neck. You’ll realise that you recognised him, that he sat two rows in front of you on your Monday morning lectures. 

But with your heart frantically beating against your ribs, trapped under that searing gaze your mouth falls open in a gasp, and a single word slips out.

“Touya…”

You don’t know why out of everything, you choose his name. Not a shout or a cry for help, not even a plea for mercy, just his name.

And maybe it’s your saving grace, because the creature before you cocks its head and grins, sharp canines glinting under the low light. It - he laughs, a low, gravelly rasp that makes your stomach clench and the tiny hairs on the back of your neck stand on end.

“Don’tcha know it’s not safe for pretty little things to be out all alone after dark?” He wipes crudely at the mess of blood smeared across his chin with the back of his hand, eyes fixed on your trembling form. He tuts mockingly, shaking his head as if you haven’t just stumbled across him feeding, his teeth ripping at some poor bastard’s throat. “Run along home now, doll,” he drawls, and it’s amusement, you think, that glitters in those pitiless depths. 

You don’t need to be told twice. 

Lying wide awake in your bed that night, you’ll wonder whether you imagined it all. You’re stressed from your upcoming exams and overtired and your imagination must have been running away with you. 

Monsters don’t exist, and Touya Todoroki disappeared years ago. 

You might’ve been able to convince yourself of it too, if you hadn’t caught sight of those same burning blue eyes watching from the outside your window a few nights later, a faint smirk curling at his lips.

A promise of things to come.

[chikaiomoi]

take the fire from within, you won’t break me

characters: LOV, hawks (eventual dabi x hawks x female reader)

title: ‘take the fire from within, you won’t break me’ (lyrics from ‘tourniquet’ by breaking benjamin) | part one

words: 5k

warnings: dark themes, drug mention, guns, knives, gangs, shigaraki being... shigaraki, cops, suggestive themes. MINORS DO NOT INTERACT.

synopsis:

it’s the end of the university semester and you’ve returned home for a break, excited to see your loving parents and your adorable younger sister, himiko. however, something is off with your sister. you follow her, only to be dragged into the world of underground criminals and gangs.

[quirkless au/modern au]

Fresh blossom and cinnamon — the scent of home. It greets you as you walk inside, returning to your family home after weeks away at university. Of course, it’s not the only thing that greets you.

“Welcome home, onee-san!” The voice of your younger sister chimes. Himiko bounds down the stairs, skipping every other step as if falling down was simply impossible. She jumps on you, throwing her arms around your tired form to embrace before you have a chance to drop your heavy belongings. She mewls with excitement, kicking her legs in the air as she hangs from your shoulders before finally letting go. 

She looks the same as she had the last time you were home - blonde hair in messy buns on either side of her head. Still in her high school uniform, she must only have returned home recently.

You grin at her and pat her head whilst dropping your bag on the floor, shoulder thanking you for relief from the weight. “Missed me, huh?” you tease as you remove your shoes and slide on the slippers eagerly awaiting your return. 

“Duh,” Himiko scoffs and practically drags you into the living room. She plops down onto the small couch, but so kindly left room for her big sister. “Who else am I meant to annoy when you’re away? Can’t you come home more often?” she whined.

Her golden eyes peer up at you with such a desperation that you’re almost tempted to say yes, but you know it’s pointless; you’ll only disappoint her in the future. Life as a medical student is hard and you’re busy studying so much of the time, as well as working part-time to support yourself. The least you can do is spend as much time as possible with her whilst visiting home.

“I wish,” you sigh and lean back, stretching out your legs, stiff from the train journey. “Why don’t we go to the convenience store, buy some snacks, then come back and have a movie night?” It’s a good suggestion, usually. Although you have different tastes in movies, the two of you always have fun. 

But Himiko sighs. “Can’t tonight — gonna hang out with some friends.”

Friends? Friends?

Himiko has never been good at making friends. As much as you love her, she’s too forward and overwhelming. If she has friends, you can only imagine they’re of a similar calibre to her.

You might have pouted and begged her to stay if the thought of your sister finally having friends didn’t fill your chest with joy. You grin and poke her arm. “Friends, huh? What are their names? Are they from school? What are they like?”

The blonde rolls her eyes at the sudden barrage of questions. “They’re cool, that’s all you need to know.” Those are the only answers you’re getting for now — you’ll press for more later. 

It’s then that your parents come down the stairs and greet you with bright smiles. Only, they’re dressed in fine clothes and your mother has makeup on, which she only ever wears when going somewhere fancy. You pout. “Are you going out too?” 

Your father holds up his palms. “In our defence, you weren’t supposed to come home until tomorrow.” 

Your mother squeezes your cheek as if you were still six years old. “There’s leftovers in the fridge, plenty to choose from.” 

Wonderful. Your first night back and you’re spending it alone. At least you don’t have to cook for yourself. 

Your parents leave before Himiko does, but once they’re gone, she hurries up to her bedroom to change. After sliding your feet out of your slippers, you curl up on the couch and grab your phone to flick through social media. Friends post pictures of their cakes from cafés, or snaps from their evening at karaoke, or even pictures of the evening sky. You could have joined along if you hadn’t come home a day early. 

After half an hour, Himiko skips down the stairs, dressed in casual clothes, hair still as it was before. Dropping her backpack onto the floor by your feet, she goes into the kitchen. “Do you want a drink? I have stuff for tapiru,” she calls. “I’ll make you one before I go — a way to say sorry for abandoning you tonight.” She giggles and your lips curl up into a smile.

“Yes, please!” 

Your legs spin over the edge of the sofa, ready to jump up and join her in the kitchen, but her backpack is slightly open and the ceiling light reflects off something that catches your attention. Glancing up, you make sure she can’t see before you peer into her bag. 

You gasp, hand shooting to your mouth. 

A gun. A silver handgun. It’s not a toy. No, by the weight of it, it’s real. When you push it aside, you see a sheathed knife too. 

Why the fuck did she have these?! 

It had to be these new friends of hers. Yes, Himiko had always been a little crazy and had a bizarre obsession with slasher movies. In this regard, the knife didn’t startle you that much. But the gun? No, no… Himiko hadn’t liked guns, would never use one if given the chance. Not personal enough, she would say.

Your first instinct — out of fear and concern and anger — is to yell at her and ask her why she had dangerous weapons. But a tiny voice in the back of your mind stops you. 

If Himiko finally has friends, your concerns won’t be enough to stop her. Friends are all she has ever wanted; even the pleas of the sister she loved dearly won’t be enough to pull her from that friendship. 

You must be pale when she returns with bubble tea, because she giggles as she hands the cup to you. “You’re not afraid to be alone tonight, are you?”

Forcing a smile to your lips, you shake your head and take the tea. “No, just tired. Thanks, Himicchi.”

The nickname makes a wide grin spread onto her face, revealing the two pointed teeth that always make her stand out from the crowd. Your mother has a similar shape of canines, but you inherited the blunter ones of your father. 

Once you taste the tea and she knows you like it, she scoops up her bag. “See you later, onee-chan!”

Your stomach turns with uncomfort, twisting and clenching. Your little sister… with a gun. 

When she leaves, you watch her from the window, and it takes all of your strength not to follow her.

Fuck that, you don’t have the strength to sit idle. You slip on your shoes, pocket your phone, and follow your sister.

When you were younger, you were always better at hide-and-seek than she was, which might be why you’re able to follow her through the streets without her noticing. If she has noticed, she hasn't said anything or tried to throw you off her trail. 

The building she approaches is concerning – it’s old, abandoned, and derelict – but it’s not that which concerns you the most. It’s the group of men, all your age or older, hanging outside, greeting her as she approaches. Two are smoking, and from the shape of the piece in their fingers, you can’t tell if it’s tobacco or weed. One is sitting on top of a car, counting notes before handing a lump to Himiko. He pats the top of her head before returning to counting bills. 

From the dark doorway, two other men approach. One is tall, easily the oldest of the group, wearing a waistcoat and a tie like a dodgy businessman. The other you can’t make out that well. His raggy blue hair covers most of his features. At their gesture, the others and Himiko go inside.

Your heart sinks into your stomach. 

You ought to run in and shout at them. What do they think they’re doing hanging around a sixteen year old? And what were they paying her for?! You ought to rush in, grab your sister’s hand and drag her out of there.

But doing so might only push her away from you. It could do more harm than good.

So, instead, you go home and wait for the night to be over.

*

Eyes narrow as you glare at the run-down building, which only looks worse in daylight. It’s a Friday and Himiko is at school, giving you the chance to finally approach the scumbags. They’re in there – you watched them saunter in ten minutes ago. 

You’re too concerned with your sister’s safety to think about your own, to consider that they likely have weapons with them, and you storm into the building, burning with fury. Your hands shake and your heart pounds at one million miles an hour, but you don’t care. They need to know just how scummy they are, how disgraceful it is that they’ve roped a teenage girl into whatever gross activities they get up to. You follow the sound of voices and slam open the door. Six heads snap in your direction.

“What the fu–” a blond man starts, but you cut him off.

“How fucking dare you,” you growl, fists clenched at your sides to hide the trembles. “Do you know how old she is?! She’s sixteen, for fuck’s sake! What are grown men doing hanging around a sixteen year old? She’s still in school! Are you fucking perverts or something?! And what are you paying her for, what sort of…”

You trail off when your eyes register the barrel of a gun pointing at your head. 

The blue-haired man, who looks your age up close, holds the handgun, pressing the barrel against your forehead. A sickly grin spreads across his face, chapped lips revealing teeth. “You must be Himiko’s older sister.” He laughs and the sound shakes your bones – it’s dark, it’s unnatural, it’s predatory. Then, the grin drops and his crimson eyes bore into you. 

“Let me lay this out for you,” he says. “None of us have even looked at your sister that way. We’re not that kind of criminal.” His words earn chuckles from the others behind him. “Pretty bold of you to storm in here like a trembling doe. If you know your sister has been hanging out with us, then surely you know how dangerous we are?” As if for emphasis, he releases the safety on the gun.

You swallow the lump blocking your dried-up throat. Your stomach turns, threatening to bring up breakfast. 

“We’re not very nice people,” he continues. “Not very nice people with scary guns are very dangerous. If you say or do the wrong thing, you could end up with a bullet right between those pretty eyes of yours. I should kill you for trespassing, really, but I’m not that cruel.” Another sick laugh escapes him as he lowers the gun. “I can be nice when I want to be. So, I’m going to make you a deal.”

He holsters the gun and grabs you by the shoulders, fingers digging into your flesh. “There’s a job you can do for me. I’m sure you’ll say yes. After all, you don’t want to die, do you? And you certainly won’t want little Himiko doing it.” With a wave of his hand, he gestures another man over. 

One of the smokers steps forward, holding up a tightly sealed package. You’ve seen enough crime shows and documentaries to know what it is – drugs. The dark-haired man smirks at the way your eyes widen, throat bobbing as you try to form words, but your voice fails you. 

“I’ll forgive you if you deliver these,” blue-hair speaks again. You assume he’s the leader, even though he looks the youngest (aside from Himiko). “Take Dabi with you. I don’t want you running off to the police crying and begging for help. We’d know if you did, you see, and we’d make sure you were very, very sorry.”

Sucking in a slow, shaky breath between your lips, you nod. You couldn’t refuse. Refusing means a bullet in the head. Refusing means your sister will have to deliver the drugs instead. Although your body trembles and begs you to run away from it all, you allow Dabi to grab your elbow and drag you out of the building. He opens the door to a black Ford Mustang, decorated with blue flame decals by the wheels. It’s tacky and cringy and under normal circumstances, you would pull a face and comment on it. But not now. 

Now, your life is in danger.

“Put your seatbelt on,” Dabi’s gravelly voice sounds as you both get into the car. “Don’t want you flying through the window if we crash.”

“Are you that bad of a driver?” The comment leaves your mouth before you have time to consider his reaction. The moment you hear the words yourself, however, you flinch and look away.

He doesn’t snap at you, though. He chuckles and ignites the engine. 

“So… Thought you could burst into our hideout and actually frighten us?” he laughs, glancing at you from aside with those piercing blue eyes. “Where do you get that confidence from? I’d love to know.”

Your face heats up, cheeks turning red, and you roll your eyes. “I wasn’t thinking,” you murmur. “I was just mad. All I knew was that my little sister was hanging out with adult men. Do you know how suspicious that is?”

Dabi scoffs. “I get your point, but as the boss said, we’re not like that. I like women, not girls.” The corner of his lips curl upwards. “I like smart women. Independent women. Women who go out there and do what they want to do.” He pauses, then continues. “I like women who secretly enjoy reading manga. I like women who sing in the shower like no one is listening. I like women who come home to their families a day early.”

You narrow your eyes. “Himiko has mentioned me, hasn’t she?”

“Maybe,” he chuckles.

You roll your eyes again. “Dick.”

“Thinking about that, huh?”

His words only turn your flush redder. “I’m not interested in men like you.” Even if he is pleasing on the eye, he’s a criminal, certainly not someone you want to take home to your family. He’s the sort of guy you’d fuck one night if confident from alcohol in your system, no the sort of guy you’d go on a date with. 

The rest of the journey is mostly silent, save from the music playing almost inaudibly through the speakers. You don’t recognise any of the songs, and when you ask him who the artist is, he names someone you have never even heard of. Not that you have any intention of listening to it when you return home. 

Eventually, the car stops by an empty alleyway, relatively dark considering how bright the sun is. “Here we go,” he said, unclipping his seatbelt. He passes the package to you and smiles. “Don’t be long. I’ll be here if something goes…” his voice trails off when he peers out of the window and down into the alley.

You shrug it off, grab the package, unbuckle your seatbelt, and open the car door.

Dabi grabs your wrist. “No, no, stay here. I know that guy.”

A brow on your forehead raises. “So? Let me go, I need to do this jo--”

“No, you’re not. I went to high school with him, he’s not the kind of guy to want drugs.” 

You sigh. “Maybe he’s changed since high school. Himiko never used to be the kind of girl to join a gang, but here she is. I never used to be the kind of girl who would sing in front of others, but now I go to karaoke with my friends every weekend. People change, Dabi. Now let me get out to do this job.”

He looks at you, head tilting ever so slightly. “You go to karaoke every weekend?”

With a scowl, you shake off his grip and get out of the car. In a hushed voice, he tries to summon you back, but you ignore him and approach the man waiting.

He looks no longer than you, messy blond hair pushed back, headphones around his neck. There’s a cigarette between his fingers, which he drops and stomps out with his boot. “I wasn’t told I’d be getting eye candy too,” he chuckles, plastering a grin on his face. His hand thrusts out. “I’m Hawks.”

You can’t help but laugh. “Is that your real name?” You don’t shake his hand.

“Of course not. You think I’m going to use my real name for this?” 

You hum and hold out your hand. “Money first, please.” You’ve never dealt drugs before, but you’ve seen enough crime shows to know that the dealer never hands items over without feeling the payment in their hands.

Hawks laughs at you but he doesn’t argue. He pulls out a wad of notes from his pocket and drops it into your open palm. 

A fake smile finds its home on your lips and you hold the package out. 

“Oi, get back here!” Dabi shouts from the car.

Hawks’s expression drops. He tosses the package behind him and grabs your wrist, spinning you around. He pins you to the wall just as you hear tyres screeching. Dabi’s car is no longer in sight when Hawks speaks again.

“You’re under arrest for the intent to supply,” he says, and reads out the rights to you, but his voice fades into nothing.

You hear nothing. You only feel the cold, metal cuffs clamped around your wrist. Your body doesn’t react as a police car pulls up and Hawks pushes you into the back of it. 

Nothing. You feel nothing.

Numb. 

Numb. 

Empty.

Until the police station comes into view and your body fills with fear. “N-no, you’ve got this all wrong, I’m not-”

“I caught you in the act, sweetheart. Unless you’re going to tell me that wasn’t cocaine in that package?” 

You fall silent again, only speaking to answer questions when they register you at the front desk. You don’t even speak when they pat you down. Then, Hawks takes you through to an interview room, tells you to sit, then takes off the cuffs. 

He sits opposite you and leans back, crossing his arms. “Detective Takami Keigo. Want to tell me what you were doing dealing drugs?”

Your throat dries up and you force yourself to swallow before you even try to speak. “I-I…”

“The front desk couldn’t pull up a criminal history because you have none. How did you get roped into this?” he asks. 

“I was trying to protect my sister,” you mutter. So much for helping her… Now she was going to find out what you tried to do. It’s so easy to picture the face she’ll make when you return home; the way she’ll cross her arms, the downward turn of her lips, the crease between her eyebrows when she frowns. 

“Protect her from what?” Keigo asks.

With a sigh, you rub your eyes. He’s a detective. If you’re honest, surely, he will understand and you won’t be in trouble? “Yesterday I found out that my little sister is hanging around men much older than her. So, today, I found them and I… Well, I told them what I thought of them. What else was I supposed to think they were doing? She even had a gun in her bag, she’s never had one before. But then the leader - I can’t remember his name - pointed a gun to my head and said if I didn’t do what he asked, he’d kill me. He said if I did this, then it would mean my sister didn’t have to.”

He studies you as you speak. When you finish, he leans forward. “The gang leader, what did he look like?”

Your face contorts into an expression of pure disgust. “Like he needs to invest in moisturiser. And needs to take a bath. His hair is blue and it hangs over his face so you can’t really see what he looks like, but when he gets close, he has the sickliest of smiles.”

Keigo hums. “Shigaraki Tomura. We’ve had our eye on him for a while. We know he’s up to something more than simple drug-dealing, but we don’t know what, yet. If we arrest him now, he’ll not be away for long enough. He’s tricky, though. Always goes under the radar just when we think we have something.” 

“Detective Takami, please…” you say as you lean forward, hands flat on the wooden table between the two of you. “I just want to protect my sister and get out of there alive. I didn’t want to do anything illegal. I’m a university student, I want a good life.”

His lips grow into a faint smile. “Then I’ll make you a deal. You and your sister will be granted immunity… if you feed information on Shigaraki Tomura to me.”

Your chest squeezes tight. “H-how do I do that?”

“You’ll have to go back.”

“N-no, please, I can’t-”

“If anything gets too dangerous, then I’ll get you out of there,” Keigo promises. He grabs your hand across the table and squeezes it, his palm warm over your skin. ���But if you help with my investigation, then I promise both you and your sister won’t face criminal charges for anything you’re involved in.”

You take the deal. Of course you do, you’d be a fool not to. This morning you promised to yourself that you’d protect Himiko. Then, you had only intended to shout at those guys, but now… Now you’re helping with a criminal investigation. 

Fuck.

A police officer drives you home, but you ask that he drops you off several streets away from home. You don’t want your family to see you get out of a police car, so you walk the rest of the way. Your parents aren’t home yet, but Himiko is.

She’s waiting for you, arms crossed as she stands in the doorway, eyes narrowed, that crease between her brows. “Dabi told me what happened,” she says, her voice colder than you’ve ever heard it before.

“Himiko-”

“How could you be such an idiot?! You should have listened to him, you wouldn’t have been arrested if you had!”

You’re too tired to argue. Too tired to shout at her for joining a dangerous gang. Too tired to explain your reasons. You can’t, anyway, it would jeopardise your deal with Detective Takami. Instead, you apologise and go to bed. Himiko doesn’t bother you for the rest of the night.

Your plan is to wait a couple of days before returning to the hideout. Given how afraid you were, if you go back straight away, it might just look suspicious. It gives you time to psych yourself up for going undercover, anyway. 

You wander out to the convenience store down the road, craving something sweet and overwhelmingly carbohydrate. You’re browsing the selection of sweet breads when an arm drapes itself around your shoulder. 

You gasp and squirm away, only to come face-to-face with Dabi when he pulls you back to him. “Thought you’d be in a prison cell.”

Cheeks flushing bright red, your gaze darts around quickly to check no one heard him. “They let me go seeing as I have no other offences. I claimed I had no idea what it really was. Don’t think they believed that, but I don’t think I’m the type of person they’re after.” 

His azure eyes pierce through yours, searching deep into your core. If he stares at you for too long, you might just crack under the pressure and blurt out the truth. Thankfully, he looks away and grabs two melonpan and gestures for you to follow him. Once they’re paid for, he guides you out to his car. “Get in.”

You do as you're told because, quite frankly, you’re too afraid to say no. He drives off and bites the corner of the plastic off the wrapper, then bites into the melonpan. The taste makes him groan, and you wonder if, beneath that tough criminal exterior, he’s a normal guy who likes the taste of good food. 

“So,” he starts mid-bite, because obviously he lacks manners. “What exactly happened?”

“Like I said, they let me go.”

Dabi scoffs. “Bullshit. Tell me the truth.”

You huff. “I am telling the truth!”

He just laughs and shakes his head. Of course he doesn’t believe you.

Shigaraki doesn’t believe you when you tell him, either.

“Do you think I was born yesterday?” he asks, glaring at you beneath thick blue hair. “They wouldn’t just let you go. Tell me what happened.”

“As I said-”

His hand drops to his gun.

“O-okay, okay, that’s not what happened…”

Shigaraki chuckles and moves his hand away from the gun. “Good girl.” He studies you. “They asked you to relay information to them, didn’t they?”

You start to wonder how he worked it out so quickly, but in all honesty, you’re not surprised. He’s probably more organised than your class notes. 

He walks closer to you - so close that you can smell the overly-sweet aroma of his breath from the energy drink he downed when you walked in. “You’re going to feed the police incorrect information, do you understand? Because if you don’t…” His face contorts into a tormenting smirk. “I’ll break your kneecaps. Then, I’ll break your elbows. Once I’ve done that, I’ll put a bullet in that pretty head.” A bony hand caresses your cheek, brushing hair away from your face. “But not before I do the same to little Himiko.”

Your heart stops. 

No.. No, not to Himiko.

Your sister’s smile pops into your mind and you can hear her laugh. Not your little sister. 

“A-alright…” you mutter and clench your fists to hide your trembling. “I’ll do it.” 

Shigaraki pats your cheek. “Good girl.” He moves away and waves his hand. “Take her home, Dabi.”

The journey home is so silent you think you’re going to suffocate on it. Yet, at the same time, there’s nothing you can bring yourself to say. Dabi doesn’t even play that shit music he had on yesterday. 

When he pulls up outside your house, you both remain there, quiet, until he leans a little closer and his arm drapes over the back of the passenger seat. “I know this is frightening for you. Shigaraki can be overwhelming and intimidating and fucking sick and scary.” A heavy breath escapes from his nostrils and he reaches into your pocket, swiping your phone. You try to grab it back, but he holds it away and types something in. “There’s my number. I’m here if you need anything, alright?”

You look up at him with a frown as he hands back your phone. “Why?” you mutter. “We’re strangers, we don’t know each other.”

His eyes search your face as he chuckles, and you take the chance to do the same. Scars line his sharp jaw, although it’s not obvious we’re they’re from. His hair is dyed - you can tell by the hint of white at his roots. Well, it’s either that or he’s going grey early. His face is young, perhaps only older than you by a year or two. He’s handsome. Incredibly so. When you think of criminals, you think of rough-looking folk, but he is nothing of the sort. The bright blue eyes are incredibly charming, as is the smile on his lips. 

The smile he forms because he notices you’re staring at him.

You look away, your cheeks turning pink. With a huff, you hold out your hand. “Phone.” When he gives you it, you type in your details, then shove it back into his hand. His fingers graze over yours, warm but calloused. The contact makes you suck in a breath, and you mentally scold yourself for reacting in such a way, 

Dabi leans closer and his voice lowers in tone. “If you need anything, just text me, or call me. Anything.” He leans even closer and you think he’s-

Knock, knock, knock.

Your heart nearly jumps out of your throat as you snap towards the window. 

Himiko glares as Dabi rolls down the window. “Oi, stop flirting with my sister.”

“H-he wasn’t-” you quickly say, but he just laughs.

“Aw, Toga… I’m just having fun.”

Himiko rolls her eyes and yanks the car door open, practically dragging you from it. “Goodbye, Dabi!” she says as she slams the car door shut. She doesn’t let go of your hand until you’re both inside the house and she huffs, poking your warm cheek. “Don’t blush at his words. He’s a player.”

Maybe he is, but all you can think about for the rest of the day is the warmth of his breath against your skin as he leaned closer. All you can imagine is what might have happened if your sister hadn’t interrupted. 

Lying in bed that night, you stare at his contact details. Maybe you should text him… Just to say thank you for driving you home, right? Your finger hovers over the screen.

Ping.

Remember, I said you can contact me for ANY reason. I don’t care what. 

You roll your eyes and type back.

I know what you mean, you pervert.

You stare at the three dots that bounce on the screen whilst he types back. For some reason, you’re eager to see how he’ll respond to such name calling. Naturally, he lives up to it.

I look forward to receiving one of your late night texts, then, when you just can’t sleep because of the throbbing heat between your legs.

You pull a face at his vulgarity and set your phone down to close your eyes. But then… That throbbing heat between your legs disrupts your attempt to sleep.

You won’t text him. You won’t. 

So, you don’t, and you fall asleep completely unsatisfied.