#its also hard to hide it when i was already so over my own threshold for the day

[beansnpeets]

I have been trying to get Echo comfortable with the crate slowly. I have been trying to prepare her for me being away from the house for work during the day eventually. Unfortunately, it's not going well at all, and I am gonna have to just start crating her when I am gone for more than an hour. I can't let her keep destroying stuff. I know she is scared of being in the crate. But this is not gonna work. I do not have the ability to keep doing this slowly. Not when she does things like this. I was only gone for less than 6 hours. And it's not like she's destroying the whole house. She also doesn't do this every time I leave. It seems arbitrary. One time, she even did it when I was gone for 10 minutes, and literally right before I had left, we had gone for a run. And it's always small, inexpensive things. But the muzzle was the last straw. That's a major inconvenience for me now.

[the-last-kenobi]

Hi, how are you? Hope all is well) Can you please write "Where have you been" with Anakin and a very very depressed and sad Obi?

Of course!

From this various prompts list.

I admit I wasn’t sure exactly which angle you were hoping for, but this is the one my brain liked, so here we are.

_

Anakin’s hand shook slightly as he ran the cloth over the glass mug, turning it in his hands. Water beaded up in the wake of his first attempt, so he went back again a little slower, making sure he left no smudges behind. Then he carefully placed it in the cabinet where it belonged, each shelf lined with different mugs, most of them glass, a few of them seemingly random — porcelain, wood, something that looked like clay, a deep red crystalline substance.

Anakin knew that the ones that weren’t glass had all, once, belonged to Qui-Gon.

They were used rarely. Carefully. Cherished like treasures.

The rest, the glass, those were Obi-Wan’s.

He liked the perfection of glass, its transparency, the way he could watch the teas he brewed and steeped changing, colors swirling and fading beneath his fingers.

Anakin found them difficult to maintain and hard to clean.

His hand shook again, and he quickly put down the towel and set aside the next mug, turning away from the still untidy kitchen.

His gloved metal hand raked through his hair.

It was late.

It was very late.

He walked to the window and brushed aside the curtain with one hand, confronted first with his own ghostly reflection, and then focusing on the view outside. It was pouring down rain. A rare enough occurrence here on Coruscant, and tonight, of all nights, when Obi-Wan could be out there.

He could be anywhere.

Anakin didn’t know.

Obi-Wan had been missing for twenty-nine hours.

He had walked out of their shared quarters while Anakin was visiting Padmé, sometime in the early evening yesterday, leaving his cloak behind, leaving his lightsaber behind.

And then he was gone.

Anakin had searched all the usual places. He’d reached out to Dex, and alerted Mace Windu and Healer Che, and sent Ahsoka to check with the crèche and Initiates dorm in case he was there playing with and teaching the little ones. He’d contacted Bail and Padmé, and gained permission after the twelve hour mark to examine the security holos.

There was nothing.

It was as if Obi-Wan Kenobi had stepped over the threshold of their door and just fallen out of existence.

Anakin watched rain lash against the window, scattering his pale reflection into twisted fragments, and tried to remind himself that he had already been searching for twenty-five hours straight. That he hadn’t slept or eaten. That Master Koon had forbidden him from going out into the storm to search, when they already had rested and armored troopers doing a steady sweep of the Temple perimeter, even when they didn’t know if Obi-Wan had actually left the grounds.

The Temple was massive.

He could be hiding in an unused wing, or in the depths of the dustiest levels, or in the back of the Archives, or the towers.

No, not the Archives. Master Nu had already searched there and that woman would never miss so much as a hair out of place in her domain, much less a High Councilor.

Anakin had heard Master Mundi making noises about a possible trap or an abduction.

And while that was bad — nightmarish — to contemplate, Anakin had his own fears, and they felt much more realistic, much too close for comfort.

Anakin flung himself down on the sofa with his head in his hands and tried not to admit that he was frightened.

He had seen Obi-Wan like this before. Back when they were a new partnership and Qui-Gon was dead but there was still so much of him living in the Temple, like the mugs, one still the on the countertop with a faint imprint of his lips staining the rim, or his spare cloaks and boots, and the trinkets and potted plants that filled every available space. And Obi-Wan had...

Well. Whenever he thought Anakin wasn’t paying attention, he was so quiet. He barely slept for days and then slept too much. He hardly ate and then ate random things at random times. He hardly smiled.

He wandered off.

Alone.

The worst time had been when Anakin was six months in to his apprenticeship. He had woken up with a terribly bad feeling to find his Master missing from his bed, and with the unerring instinct of a worried child, he had shot off in search of Master Yoda, who had quietly raised the alarm amongst the older Masters. It was Master Windu who had found Obi-Wan, quiet and shrunken and apathetic, concealed in one of the many gardens, letting the life of the garden conceal his dimming force signature from view.

Anakin had clung to him like he was about to disappear, and Obi-Wan hadn’t seemed to really process that he was there...

Eventually he had pulled out of it. Anakin didn’t know how.

But this...

Anakin had been worried since Geonosis that he would lose his Master to death on the battlefield. Then there had been Ventress and Jabiim and Grievous and Dooku and Maul — Maul — and suddenly it felt like Obi-Wan was never safe. The war and his enemies chased him everywhere.

But Obi-Wan had lost friends and peers and younglings he had once taught or cradled in his arms when they were so very small, and his Master’s murderer had come back like a resurrected demon to plague him, to threaten his life and sanity and everyone he loved — and Satine had already paid with her life.

Others might.

And when Anakin had come racing back home from 500 Republica when he’d heard the news, it was already too late, and Obi-Wan had gone off all alone stars knew where.

That was enough.

Anakin leapt to his feet, his body trembling with fear and nausea, determined to ignore orders.

Damn their kindness and responsibility, damn the fact that he’d probably only get soaked and miserable, he was going out searching again.

Anakin strode towards the door on shaking legs.

It swung open before he neared it, and there was Obi-Wan.

Anakin gaped at him.

Obi-Wan stared blankly back. “...Anakin?”

“Obi-Wan,” Anakin breathed, staring at him, taking him in. He was without his cloak and lightsaber, as he had known he would be, and was soaking wet — completely sopping, as if he had swum in a lake rather than wandered about in a rainstorm.

“Obi-Wan,” he said again, his voice strained. “Where have you been?”

His Master continued to look blank. “I went out.”

“You went out? You’ve been gone for well over a day!” Anakin cried out. “Where have you been?”

Obi-Wan shrank away from the shouting. His blue eyes flickered around the room as if looking for an answer, or perhaps an escape, and still his expression was utterly detached. “I... I don’t know, really. Here and there.”

A pause.

“Was I really gone for so long?” he asked. He sounded distantly, disinterestedly bewildered, and Anakin broke.

“Yes!” he shouted, his face screwed up in anger, in an attempt to hold back childish tears. “Yes you have! You disappeared! There are people looking for you, and the Council was worried you’d been taken, and I was so— I was — so — I— you can’t do that to me, Obi-Wan, please, I was losing my mind!”

Obi-Wan’s blank expression finally shifted.

A look of confusion and worry built behind the vague blue eyes, and Anakin launched himself at his friend like he had all those years ago, locking his limbs around him in a fierce hug.

For a long moment it was like hugging a statue. A very cold, very wet statue that shivered ever so slightly.

But Anakin held on, determined to keep Obi-Wan right here, to keep him safe and warm, to make him understand that he was needed, that he could also rest, that it would all be okay if he just stayed. Stayed like he had before. His tunics began to absorb some of the icy moisture coming off his Master but he kept holding on, his face buried in Obi-Wan’s shoulder.

And slowly, Obi-Wan came to life.

His hands inched upwards to rest against his Padawan’s back, and he tilted his head so that he was leaning against Anakin’s shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” he said, his voice muffled. “I had no idea you’d be so concerned.”

“I wasn’t concerned, you absolute idiot, I was scared,” Anakin hissed, the confession both bitter and relieving on his lips. “How would you feel if I vanished with no word? For thirty hours?”

A long silence.

“Well,” Obi-Wan said thoughtfully, “I would be impressed with Padmé for not getting bored of you long before that.”

There was a dead silence.

Then a spluttered, incredulous laugh, and it took Anakin a moment to realize it was he who was laughing. His shoulders shook with it, with shock at the revelation of what Obi-Wan knew, that he wasn’t angry about it, that he was cracking stupid, mean, dumb jokes about it when Anakin was trying to be mad at him.

Obi-Wan chuckled quietly, and Anakin laughed harder, delighted that his friend was smiling, if only a little.

“You’re not off the hook you know,” he mumbled, guiding Obi-Wan to his rooms, planning on forcing him to take a hot shower and drink warm tea and maybe pull out one of Qui-Gon’s old cloaks, because that always helped.

“Neither are you,” Obi-Wan mumbled back, and squeezed his hand every so briefly.

~

When Plo Koon dropped by to check on Anakin, very early the next morning, he found him sleeping soundly on a chair, snoring quietly, his feet propped on the arm of the sofa, where Obi-Wan was fast asleep with an old cloak that was far too large for him draped over his body.

It was easy to forgive them to forgetting to inform the Guard to call off the search.

Mace could pretend to yell at them during their next Council meeting, during which, he was sure, the two friends would stand side by side, mischief in their eyes.

~

[helnjk]

If I Could Tell Her - H.P.

Harry Potter x reader

this is my next installment of my showtunes fic list. this is based on the song If I Could Tell Her from the musical Dear Evan Hansen. this is also the first fic i’ve posted for harry on here ! 

Word Count: 2.7k

Summary: nearly a year after the final battle, harry is still struggling to gain his bearings in the world. luckily she’s there to hold his hand along the way.

Warnings: mentions of food, & just a whole lot of mutual pining

lyrics are bolded & italicized

–

He just seemed so far away

Y/N took a deep breath.

With one foot in front of the other, she took a step and twisted to the right, feeling the familiar tightness that came with apparition. In the blink of an eye she found herself in front of the home that she and her friends had spent their summer before 5th year in. 

She chose to skip the knock on the door, opting instead to just let herself in. Many changes had been made to the house since it was the Order headquarters. The biggest and most obvious one being Harry taking up permanent residence in it. 

“Harry, love?” She called out, despite knowing that he would be where he always was. 

“In here!” A disembodied voice replied, coming from towards the end of the house. 

Like so many times before, Y/N found the dark haired boy in the kitchen. He was sat at the dining table, a few parchments spread messily in front of him and detailing the plans he had yet to accomplish for the renovations. 

The war had taken a toll on Harry, it had taken a toll on everyone really, but no one could blame him for wanting some time by himself for a while. They all knew how much he deserved to rest and recover.

But now, nearly a year after the final battle, Harry found himself less and less willing to venture out into the world again. It was as if everyone had started moving on and making progress with their lives without him. And in some ways, they were, but he couldn’t wrap his head around the fact that he was able to live a life without the looming threat of war on his shoulders. 

Instead, he focused his attention on the house left to him by his late godfather, and vowed to make a home in it. 

While most people left him to his own devices, Y/N knew that he craved companionship most days. Having been friends with him from the moment she stepped into the train compartment nearly eight years ago, she understood him more than most. So began the habit of popping by every so often to have a cup of tea and a chat. 

“Been hard at work, have you?” She smiled, taking a seat across from him. 

“Just trying to figure out what to do with the drawing room on the second floor,” He said and she noticed how his brows furrowed ever so slightly at the puzzle in front of him. 

“You mean the problem you’ve been ‘figuring out’” She used her fingers to make quotation marks, “For the last three weeks?” 

Harry didn’t answer, but she noticed him roll his eyes playfully. Y/N knew that this meant he was in a relatively good mood today, and he could take the barrage of news from the outside world that she had brought with her. 

So, she took a seat across from him and began her recount of the stories she heard throughout the week.

“So Bill and Fleur announced that they’re having a baby,” She began. 

–

The pair of them continued on with their regular routine, Harry would busy himself with his plans for Grimmauld Place while Y/N brought him up to date with the events of the outside world. Every so often, he would risk a glance up at her and the edges of her lips would curl up in a smile.

It was during these moments that Y/N always had to pause. It only took one look from Harry for her to become a puddle of unexplainable emotions. During the war, when they had gone on their horcrux hunt, there wasn’t any time to dwell on these things. Survival was always the top priority. But now, now she had months and months of these little interactions and her heart was finding it hard to ignore. 

She often found herself shaking her head and trying to clear her daydreams of the two of them. Too often she would fall asleep to images of her and Harry going on dates and pressing soft kisses on each other’s lips. But she knew in her heart that that was all they were, daydreams and fantasies. 

Harry needed her as a friend, and she could give him that. 

As the afternoon wore on, she remembered the main reason for her visit that day. 

Harry was in the process of clearing up the cluttered table and she took the opportunity to bring it up, “So there’s going to be lunch at the Burrow this Sunday.” 

His movements paused. She continued, “And I was hoping that you would come with me. Molly always has loads of food and I’m sure you’d enjoy it more if it were fresh and not leftovers like I usually bring over.” 

There was another lull in the air. 

Y/N opened her mouth to try and convince him further but he cut her off, “Sure.” 

“What?” 

His eyes met hers and he gave her a small smile, “I reckon it’s been too long since I’ve last had Molly’s amazing cooking.” 

A slow smile stretched across Y/N’s face. This was the most he had agreed to in nearly a year and she was hopeful about slowly reintroducing his loved ones back into his life. 

“Perfect.” 

There's nothing like your smile

Sort of subtle and perfect and real

The Burrow hadn’t changed much since Harry last saw it. 

The peculiar house still stood tall and proud in the Devon landscape, held together undoubtedly by magic. The smoke billowing from its chimney reminded him of cozy Christmases spent together with everyone he held close to his heart, and the lively chatter filtering through the open windows made his heart stutter in anticipation. 

Y/N took his hand and gave it a comforting squeeze. Her smile was gentle, letting him know that she was there if he needed it. He could tell that she was nervous too, not for herself, but for how he would react to being surrounded by so many people again after so long. 

He couldn’t tell how he knew, he just saw it in the way she smiled. But he was grateful for it, because without her steady grasp on his hand, he probably would have disapparated before he even got through the threshold of the place he used to call a second home. 

“Come on then,” She urged, beginning to take steps towards the entrance, “Let’s see who’s already here!” 

“Oh Y/N, you made it!” Molly’s voice exclaimed as they entered the home, “I was wondering when you’d get here–”

The Weasley family matriarch paused at the door between the kitchen and the living room, her eyes set upon the boy she considered her son.

“I can’t say no to a gorgeous meal of yours can I, Molly?” She joked, slightly tugging on Harry’s hand to bring him into the room, “And I brought a guest with me today.” 

Molly seemed to gain her bearings once again as a radiant smile crossed her face, she knew not to make too much of a fuss about Harry being over after months of hiding away. Instead, she simply patted his cheek, “Lovely to see you again, Harry dear. Now come on, there’s enough food to go around!” 

The kitchen of the Burrow was alive with conversation. Most of the Weasleys and their significant others were gathered around the magically enlarged table, chatting over steaming dishes of wonderful smelling food. 

Their entrance garnered many beaming smiles, but everyone knew not to pay them too much attention. Harry chose to take a seat next to Ron, who nudged him with a small smile on his face. He returned the gesture, already feeling more at ease. Since his hand was still connected with hers, Y/N chose to take the seat right next to him. 

Throughout the meal, Harry hadn’t spoken much, only nodding to whatever the person he was in conversation with said or sometimes adding a little quip here and there. He took comfort in Y/N’s steady presence beside him, once in a while squeezing his thigh or patting his arm. 

“–and he wouldn’t tell me how to turn it back to normal!” 

Ron’s particular way of storytelling brought him out of his stupor. He was in the middle of an exciting story on the twins’ latest prank on him, and Y/N had let out a snort of laughter. 

Harry’s heart seemed to stop as he watched her and he couldn’t take his eyes off her as he noticed the smile on her face. Of course he knew that she was beautiful, it was something so obvious to him as they grew up together. But there was something in the way her smile lit up her face at that moment.

It was like a breath of fresh air after being underwater for too long. To him, her smile was refreshing, invigorating, and all-consuming. Harry looked at Y/N and felt as if he could never get enough of her. A spark ignited in him and suddenly he was determined to keep her in his life as long as possible. 

Y/N caught onto his stare as her laughter tapered off and she raised an eyebrow, “Everything alright?” 

As quickly as it had come, the spell she had on him vanished as he nodded, “Yep. Brilliant.” 

The conversation flowed around them, merry laughter filling the air once again from different areas of the room, but Harry only had eyes for Y/N. 

But he kept it all inside his head 

What he thought he left unsaid

“Y/N-” He cut her off. 

Her eyes darted to him confused. He could feel his pulse in his neck and blood rushed to his ears. Suddenly he couldn’t help but wring his hands together nervously, unable to explain his actions. 

“Yeah, Harry?” She asked, fully turning her body to face him, “You okay?” 

“I’m brilliant,” He mumbled, heart pounding in his chest, “I just have something I want to tell you.” 

Anxiety bubbled in his chest and up his throat as the words came out of his mouth. He hadn’t even planned on telling her anything as she arrived that day, yet here he was. She just looked so beautiful, the soft candlelight almost glowing on her skin and highlighting her features. Harry was sure he had never felt more in love with her than he was in that moment, and she hadn't even been doing anything. 

Her eyes shined with concern and her attention was fully on him now. He hadn’t been known to interrupt her when she went on her long spiels of updates. Sensing his nervousness, Y/N placed a reassuring hand on his arm. 

Unbeknownst to him, her own heart pounded in her chest. Against better judgement, she had imagined a scenario exactly like this wherein Harry would spontaneously profess his undying love for her too many times. And secretly, she hoped that this would be the moment her daydreams would come true, nearly holding her breath in anticipation. 

It wasn’t. 

“I’m thinking about asking McGonagall about how I can become a professor.” 

It took Y/N a few seconds of blinking at him to completely process what he had just said. Despite the slight twinge of disappointment in her chest, she knew that this was such a big step for him that she couldn’t feel bad about it. 

“Oh love that’s wonderful!” She nearly yelled, throwing her hands up and wrapping them around him, “You were such a good teacher in fifth year, I know you’ll do great!” 

A soft blush formed on his cheeks at her praise, but he happily accepted the hug, “Thank you. I figured it’s about time I started focusing on myself and what I want to do, instead of just this damn house. Being a teacher just feels right.” 

Despite all appearances, Harry berated himself silently. He had completely chickened out. Of course, he really had been thinking about sending an owl to his old head of house, but that was not what he planned on saying at all. 

He didn’t know what happened. His mouth just blurted out the first thing that came to mind, but he couldn’t take it back now. The moment was ruined. 

If I could tell her

Tell her everything I see

If I could tell her 

How she’s everything to me 

Y/N could tell Harry was nervous. 

He was hosting a dinner at Grimmauld Place with the Weasleys and a few of his friends from school to announce his plans to get accredited to be a professor. He also wanted to show them how the renovations of the house had been going. She had arrived at his place early, as she always had, to help him prepare but he was a bundle of nerves and couldn’t sit still. 

So, she did what she always does whenever he got into a little bit of a panic. As plates and cutlery floated to their designated places and the table set itself, Y/N kept the conversation flowing. Although, it might have been more of a  monologue with the way he was only responding to her in hums or soft grunts. 

She was unaware of the inner turmoil raging in Harry. He had decided that he would finally tell her exactly what he felt about her. To hell if she didn’t feel the same, he thought recklessly, as long as he got to finally tell her what he had been feeling for nearly a year. 

During a lull, he finally plucked up enough courage to speak. 

“Listen Y/N–” 

“Harry–” 

The pair stared at each other, amused. This had always happened to them when they were still in school, as if their wavelengths were always on the same page. 

“You go ahead, Haz.” She smiled at him. 

He took a deep breath, “Alright.” 

Plucking up whatever was left of his Gryffindor courage, he turned to face her, a fierce sort of determination in his eyes. 

“I love you, Y/N.” He spoke clearly despite the ball of uncertainty in his chest.

Y/N opened her mouth to speak, her eyes shining with something he couldn’t place. He stopped her, though, placing a hand on her arm, “Just let me get this off my chest, alright? Then you can say what you want to say.” 

She nodded. 

“Looking back at what my life’s been like this past year, and honestly the years we spent at Hogwarts too, you were the only constant thing I had. And I’m sorry that it’s taken so long for me to figure out what I was feeling, especially when you were being so patient with me. But, yeah, I-I’m in love with you, Y/N.” 

For once in her life, she was left speechless. In all of her daydreams, Y/N always had a witty quip up her sleeve after Harry confessed his feelings, but now they seemed to just escape her. 

“I love you too,” Was all she could choke out, a small laugh tumbling out of her lips. 

The two shared a dopey smile as their bodies gravitated towards each other. Their lips met in a soft kiss, with a certain slowness attached to the relief and exhalation that came from their confession. Y/N couldn’t help but smile into the kiss, arms slowly snaking around his neck, as Harry pecked her lips over and over. 

A soft ‘oh’ echoed through the silent room and the pair of them broke apart. Molly Weasley was stood at the door, holding a roast in her hands and blinking furiously at what she had just witnessed. Behind her, most of the Weasley clan stood eyes slightly widened and small smirks on their lips. 

Ron was the first to speak up, “It’s about bloody time.” 

As he spoke, the silent spell cast over the lot of them was broken. Hermione rolled her eyes at the lack of tact her boyfriend had, but she was secretly thrilled. 

“Well, now that that’s finally settled, I think it’s time for dinner!” Molly bustled in, looking for a place to put her food down and the rest of them clambered through the door.

Harry spared an embarrassed glance at Y/N, but she was grinning from ear to ear. He took her hand in his and gave it a squeeze before going to help set up. 

[mintjamsblog]

Does Alfie ever demand that Tommy calls him Sir?

Okay, this is so late, (I'm sorry, I have sat on this answer for literally weeks). It also answers another ask I seem to have lost/deleted, which simply said 'sub-drop?' So, here you go, it turned into 1600 words of smut, I'm afraid. (Set in my Mistakes AU, but can be read without that background).

Subdrop

"How many fingers Tommy?"

Tommy lifts his head but it drops back immediately.

"Tommy, love, how many fingers am I holding up?"

"Ten," Tommy says, without even looking. "Everyone has ten."

"Alright, love, up we come."

It's no wonder, really, Alfie has toyed with him mercilessly for — he checks his watch — fuck, well over two hours, has brought him to the brink of orgasm over and over again, watched his face flush and his thighs tremble and his stomach contract in anticipation of the release he's repeatedly been denied.

Tommy's so fucking pretty when he lets himself go (when he's made to let go) and Alfie, well, he's always been a sucker for pretty things, ain't he? Beautiful things.

Tommy finds it so hard to relax that once Alfie gets him loose, persuades him into handcuffs or a spreader-bar or, immobilises him somehow, his inclination is to make the most of the situation, to wring him out like a wet towel, count every last drop of resistance as it splashes onto the floor — a puddle to be licked up and savoured (metaphorically speaking, of course, there's no way Tommy's licking anything off any floors with his arms and legs fastened securely to the straps of a leather sling).

The silly boy still approaches these scenes as if they're a test of his fortitude rather than a willing exchange of power and trust. And that's fine, mostly. A click of his fingers or a safeword could end it all, but Tommy'd far rather grit his teeth and pretend he don't want this at all. Alfie can allow that for a while, can give him something to bite down on until he's too far gone to care about giving a voice to his plight.

Usually it takes some impact to get Tommy to give up his sounds. He needs to be pushed past some physical threshold. A firm hand, a paddle, a whip — they each make him sing different notes, eventually, but always the same fuckin' undertone. Anger. Whether Tommy's angry at Alfie (likely) or at himself for needing this (even more likely) is neither here nor there. Tommy has plenty to be angry at; the world ain't always been kind to him and he's even less kind to himself.

But anger, well, it's corrosive innit? Useful when controlled, maybe, when mastered effectively and released into the world in small bursts that serve a purpose; to warn or threaten or reinforce the hierarchy. But not when it seethes in your blood, pumps through your heart and into each artery like slow-acting poison that seeps through veins and capillaries, reaches the tip of every extremity, hides beneath every thought. That sort of anger, the sort Tommy lives with, that anger needs to be let. Like blood.

Not that Alfie's some antiquated physician restoring balance to the humors. Nah, he fancies his particular form of therapy's far more effective, even if his tools are barely less crude than the old-timers' scalpels and leeches. Alfie prefers to mix things up, to intersperse the blows of a bullwhip with the soft, wet heat of his tongue; to lash Tommy with a folded belt, then hold his cock like a delicate creature he's trying to stroke back to life. He'll pinch and tease and whip and probe until Tommy rails and rages, fists balled, teeth bared, every muscle pulled taut as tension wire. Eventually he'll scream at Alfie, at himself, at the universe, then let the breath shudder out in increasingly shaky increments, like he's tumbling down the stairs.

The journey to that point is best travelled slow. Given time, Tommy's tight grunts and growls always soften into something looser, gentler, pain still evident in the pitch of his voice, but threaded through with desire and resignation and something else entirely ... an underlying need to give up or give in. To please, Alfie flatters himself.

That medley of sounds, the unwinding trajectory of 'em, awakens some possessive creature in Alfie. He can feel it uncoiling inside him, muscles sliding and flexing as he drives Tommy towards an apex neither of 'em can see — a pinnacle of endurance or restraint beyond which Tommy simply is. Or maybe isn't. Beyond which he is merely a consciousness, untethered from any worldly woes and oblivious to the sensations of his own flesh. Or perhaps oblivious to anything but the sensations of his own flesh. Either way, Alfie knows to watch when the sounds turn animalistic, when the groans are so low and feral that they peter out into breaths. Into nothing. Into rolled-back eyes and gaping mouth and climaxes so molten they look more like pain than pleasure.

"Come on love, that's it, down we come."

It's a struggle getting Tommy out of the sling, he's too exhausted to cooperate, to untangle his own limbs from the leather, so Alfie releases the two lower straps and pours him out like water. Like water he slips through Alfie's waiting arms and pools at his feet on the floor.

"Up you get," Alfie says, hoisting him under the arms, and up Tommy comes, unsteady but obedient in his altered state of mind.  Alfie braces him for a moment, waits for Tommy's body to harden, for a flicker of conceit to return to those down-cast eyes. Now is when Tommy should swipe a hand down his face, curse under his breath and huff an almost laugh, a poor disguise for self-consciousness, but a sign he's aware at least.

But Tommy offers no such reassurance, regains none of the control that usually washes back as soon as he's up on his feet. He's deep, Alfie realises. Deeper than usual.

He whispers into Tommy's ear, small praises that have no place in any moment other than one such as this. His fingers run down Tommy's back, tracing small paths through sweat that's turned cold, an attempt to distract and reassure, but already he knows it's too late. He's left it too late. He can feel the distant vibrations and knows they'll soon take Tommy's legs.

By the time Alfie gets him onto the bed, onto his side, the trembling has tipped into shivering, a violent reflex that even the finest goose-down duvet fails to subdue. Alfie curses himself for missing the cues, for pushing Tommy too hard. "S'okay," he whispers, "you were beautiful."

But Tommy is straining against the hold, against Alfie's leg wrapped over his own. "I need ... I'm gonna be sick," he says, and throws himself into a sitting position with a violent retching sound. The purge that follows isn't from his stomach, it pours down his face in scalding tears that drench Alfie's waiting hands. Tommy throws his arm up and buries his eyes in the crook of his elbow, taking frightening gasps after every few breaths.

"Come on, now," Alfie says, entirely at a loss. Sure, he pushed Tommy hard tonight, but it seemed like what they both wanted. Needed. "Please, don't," he whispers, hands searching beneath Tommy's forearm to thumb away some of the tears. He wants to tell Tommy he doesn't mind, he can cry as much as he likes. Alfie don't see this as victory; Alfie's not him. But he says nothing, afraid of dredging up ghosts as he coaxes Tommy back down to the mattress, runs fingers through his hair, holds him tight against his chest and lets him cry himself out till the tap runs mercifully dry.

"Why?" Tommy says, eventually.

Fucks sake, why what? Why anything? Why do they do what they do to each other? Why does Tommy allow it? Allow Alfie to pull the meat from his preverbial bones? Alfie's asked himself the same question often enough. Not why does he do this, exactly, he's well past shame over that, but why did he get this lucky? Why does he get to do this with Tommy? To see what no one else sees?  Why did he push him so hard tonight? Why did he think Tommy could take it?

"Why did you spend so long ... you know ..." Tommy sniffs, "when there's nothing in it for you?"

Alfie pulls Tommy out from his chest enough to look him in the eye. "Nothing in it for me? Are you fucking kidding me, Tommy?"

"You didn't even come," Tommy says.

At that, Alfie grabs Tommy's arm, fumbling to open the top button of his jeans and force Tommy's hand inside. "There," he says, in his sternest voice. "Nothing in it for me, hmm?"

"Oh!" Tommy says in surprise.

"Yeah, oh, you blithering idiot. Twice. No fuckin' hands."

He watches Tommy swallow, feels fingers flex through the undeniable evidence soaked right through Alfie's boxers.

"Why?" Tommy asks again.

"Why what Tommy? Why does God allow famine and pestilence? Why do good people die? Why didn't I meet you ten years ago, hmm?"

"Why did you fucking come?"

"Because you’re sexy as all burning hell, aren't you? Turn me on like a switch."

Tommy curls into him tighter, buries his face again, and it dawns on Alfie that he really and truly doesn't get it, does he?

"The first time, right, you wouldn't lay back." He keeps his voice low, strokes Tommy's perfect little ear. "I'd fingered you till you were leaking all over your stomach, all over the marks I'd left with the flogger. You should've been way past defiance by then, but you just kept trying to sit up ... your mouth hanging open, like you were trying to fuckin' kiss me." Tommy burrows further still. "So I slapped you," Alfie continues. Maybe that was a bit cruel. "And you only tried even harder. Lay your sinful tongue on your lower lip and strained up out of the sling." Alfie's hardening again at the recollection, at the way he'd thought Tommy was acting, playing the little minx, struggling to reach forward with his wrists and ankles bound to the straps above him. Only Tommy'd never appear so needy, not in his rightful mind, wouldn't chase Alfie's mouth like a newborn pup seeking out its mother's teet. And he'd gazed at Alfie through half-lidded eyes, in that way he had no right to do, like Alfie was the only face he knew in the entire unholy world, like Alfie could fuckin' save him, reach inside his body and take all the pain away, maybe, or make it ten times worse. Like whichever option Alfie chose Tommy'd fucking let 'im.

"And?" Tommy says, when Alfie falls silent. God, he really doesn’t remember, does he?

"And I leant down and kissed you, you silly boy. And I came in my pants, like a teenager."

Tommy makes a wet sound that could be a huff, or could just as easily be more tears.

"Weren't my fault," Alfie adds, defensively. "Your mouth was so fuckin' soft, despite what I'd done to you. And you. You mewled like a Siamese kitten..."

Tommy squeezes him, through his pants, seemingly soothed by the hard line he's holding, proof, perhaps, that Alfie is part of this.

"And the second time ... the second time ... fucking hell. Right at the very end. The last time you came. You looked so fucking fucked-out, love," Alfie's hands are roaming now, sliding over the marks he's left all over Tommy's skin. He seeks out the curve of Tommy's throat, presses kisses there. "All the fight gone out of you. Covered in sweat and welts and come, so exhausted you were trembling ... and please, you kept saying please." He cups the back of Tommy’s head, pulls him closer still. "And I didn't know what for. And I kept asking you, please, what, Tom? but you wouldn't answer. Couldn't, maybe. Too far gone to know." He bites gently on Tommy's ear, at the little crease where it joins his jaw, the tiniest sign of age on his otherwise youthful face.

Tommy's hand is working now, struggling to find its way beneath the fabric of Alfie's underwear. "Then what?" he breathes into Alfie's ear.

"And then you said please, Sir."

Tommy's hand stops dead at that.

"I ... I didn't--"

"S'alright, love, you were under, weren’t you? Too fuckin' deep to know." And there might be a tiny part of Alfie that wishes that weren't the case, that would like to hear that word on Tommy's lips again, but not at the risk of a drop. Hurts too much to see Tommy so upset.

He removes Tommy's hand from his trousers and laces their fingers together, pulls them up high enough he can kiss every sticky knuckle.

"You want me to clean you up, love? Tommy barely shakes his head; his fingers clench around Alfie's hip. "Okay, in a little while then."

Ain't right to feel so tender about being stuck to someone with come. To like the smell of their sweat so much you don't wanna wash it off. Hell, he'd sleep like this all night, in jeans and boots an'all, if it gives Tommy the reassurance he'll so surely claim he don't need.

[lustbile-archive]

Just Check It Out

JaehyunxReader

Word Count: 6.7k

Summary/Warnings: Smut. Oral (reader receiving), public-ish sex, flirty but also suspicious stranger!Jaehyun, sharp object and blood play/consumption, and honestly low key shitty friends.

Apart of the Club X series: Masterlist

Can be read on its own or within the series.

Your face is screwed up and your nails dig harshly into the palms of your hands in anxiety as you stare at the hollow looking building in front of you. The only signs of life is the red light that pulses and radiates from underneath the entrance door, and the taunting laughter that rattles from behind you deep from the bellies of your two friends.

“What are you, a scaredy cat?” one of your friends asks as she reaches forward to pinch your arm, “just go in.”

“What are you, a twelve year old?” you rebut, your tone a lot more clipped and harsh than you wanted, but the fear crawling up your spine fogs your judgment.

“What happened to a warehouse?” you mutter, mostly to yourself, but the sounds of confusion from behind you tells you they had heard.

“What are you going on about a warehouse?” your other friend takes her turn questioning you, her tone slightly more concerned than the other.

“What do you mean going on about a warehouse?” your voice is shrill as you turn so quickly it made you slightly dizzy, your jaw dropping and your eyebrows furrowing immediately in shock and confusion, “you two heard what that weirdo taxi driver said. He dropped that person off and picked them up from a warehouse. A warehouse! Not some weird ass club.”

The story that the skeevy old man had told you and your friends ran through your mind still. Something about how he had picked up and dropped off the same person every few weekends during his shift, but one night, when he definitely remembered dropping them off, he never got the call to take them home.

“Oh come on so what,” your first friend speaks again, her voice louder than necessary as you started to pace back and forth in front of them, “like you just said, he was just some weirdo old taxi driver. The story probably isn’t even true and if it was he probably didn’t notice that it was a club cause he was too busy trying to figure out how to kidnap the person.”

“Yeah cause that makes me feel so much better,” your stepping slows slightly as you respond, your eyes rolling so hard they ache, “and why is it me that has to go in in the first place huh?”

“Because you suck at rock, paper, scissors.”

You can’t stop yourself when you petulantly stomp your foot, a wash of shame and nerves washing over you immediately after as you cross your arms over your chest. The worst part was that she wasn’t wrong. Whatever force in the universe that was looking down, or up, at you tonight had it out for you, and it only took about three rounds of the hand game before you lost to both of the girls in front of you.

“Listen,” the a lot more gentle friend of the two started, wrapping her arms gently around your stiff form, “just go in, take a look around, and then come back. We’ll be right here waiting, and if it’s cool we’ll all go in.”

‘Or you could just come with me,’ you think to yourself, but something clogs your throat, forcing the words to remain swirling in your chest.

“Fine,” you let yourself sink into her hold for a few seconds, before you start to wiggle free. She smiles softly at the way you pout, and an evil part of you anticipates guilt tripping both of them when you escape the creepy building, “but if you’re even an inch away from this exact spot when I get back you’re dead.”

Their grumbles of ‘yeahs’ and ‘okay whatever’s’ is lost behind you as you teeter on the edge of the sidewalk. You only allow yourself a moment to wonder how a night out with friends devolved into you entering a strange club, before your looking both ways and crossing the street.

You can only imagine how silly you look as you sprint across the road, a nervous skip in your step from the lack of a crosswalk beneath your feet, and when you land on the sidewalk again you’re slightly winded from the anxiety that pumps in you.

The door and the building is about a thousand times more intimidating now that you stand in front of it, the entrance grinning at you like a hungry monster. You can feel the stares of your friends eating at the skin of your back as you stand there curled into yourself, and a warmth spreads across your skin in embarrassment when you notice two men standing to the side, at a front row seat to you shaking like a leaf.

There’s a moment of relief when you see that they don’t seem to notice you, too busy scrolling through their respective phones while one nurses a cigarette. But this relief does nothing to truly calm you of the fact that you have to enter the building marked as “Club X” or face the taunting of your friends. And while you are an adult and the childishness of the jeers from your peers shouldn’t phase you, them questioning your confidence isn’t something you’d like to deal with.

With a deep breath, you stand straight. ‘It’s one drink and a look around’ you remind yourself, ‘you shouldn’t be nervous it’s just a club and you’re an adult.’

From your own scolding you start to come to your senses that yes, there’s no reason to be scared, and without even thinking about it, you notice that your feet have already started carrying you through the threshold.

The red lighting is bright and darkens the writhing bodies that occupy the huge club. If it wasn’t for the thumping bass of music, you could have easily convinced yourself that you stand in the beginning of a horror house, and amongst all the normal club goers was a masked man holding a knife waiting for you to let your guard down for even a second.

‘A drink,’ the quiet voice in your head reminds you, and with a quick glance around to locate the bar, you're pushing through the masses of flesh and sweat to get just that.

You also remember that you're here to take a look around.

It’s a normal club from the looks of it. Too many bodies pressed too close together, a less than inviting restroom tucked in the back corner, the back of the large room littered with booths full of people drinking and yelling over the music. The music itself pumps from huge speakers that stand in front of a short elevated stage, a man standing behind a dj booth controls exactly what pours from the speakers as a group of rambunctious men drink and roughhouse behind him.

Right before you reach the bar, is when you notice something you didn’t fully expect. Towards the back, and high up on the wall, there was a balcony. There was a singular chair, large enough to hold a person and then some, and a large potted plant that branches out so far that it’s vines wrap and devour the railing beautifully, but other than that, nothing. There’s a heavy looking curtain hiding whatever room the balcony connects to, and directly below it is a hollow looking hallway with a thick rope blocking it from the general club goer.

You’re so distracted by the odd sight, you don’t realize how close to the bar you had gotten before you hip bumps harshly into one of its stools. You can’t stop the quiet yelp that leaves you from the quick shock of pain, but even worse is the hiss that escapes the teeth of the young man that stands behind the worn wood of the bar. Even in your regained embarrassment and warmed cheeks you’re able to form the thought that the guy who glances at you with gentle sympathy looks a little young for a bartender.

“Um, can I,” you stutter slightly as you take a seat in the offending stool, praying you can fake confidence enough to smother your embarrassment, “can I get a drink, please?”

“Oh um,” the boy matches your stuttering as he appears just as flustered as you at what happened, “I’m gonna be honest, um the actual bartender had to step away for a moment to uhhh… attend to something. So the best I can give you is like a beer.”

“That should be fine,” you sink slightly in relief and endearment as his own nervous state works to release you from your own.

He moves to step away from you, before you quickly interrupt, “oh don’t you need my id or something?”

“Oh yeah,” he blanks before you, staring off as if he suddenly remembers the existence of laws, “uh I’m gonna be honest, I don’t care. Just, if you see the real bartender at all tonight just don’t tell him okay?”

“I respect your honesty,” you speak to his retreating form as he grabs your drink, and when he returns with a cold amber bottle, you continue, “just between the two of us.”

“Just between us,” he places the bottle next to your hand before shooting you quick finger guns. A small grin still lives on your lips as you bring the opening up to your mouth as he walks away to try to nudge a passed out man that snoozes with his face pressed against the splintering wood awake.

Drink had, club looked at, and as far as you’re concerned, your mission is done. The club seems harmless enough, so with your bottle still gripped between your fingers, you stand to leave and report to your friends that the club is open for business if they’re interested.

Your sure you take the same path that you did to get to the bar, it would be hard not to after you’ve already established where the dj, bar, and weird balcony was placed. But when you’re standing in the exact place that you're sure was where the entrance stood, you’re faced with nothing but a solid empty wall.

Maybe you got turned around, with the amount of people rushing by and the lighting causing it to be a little difficult to see, it wouldn’t be completely out of the realm of possibility. But for the life of you, you could have sworn you turned around and took the exact same path.

You stand frozen in place for a moment, staring at the wall as people dodge and bump into you. You can't imagine how odd you look just staring at a blank wall, but a small part of you hopes that your vision is just compromised and if you look just a little harder, maybe the entrance is still there.

In a last ditch effort, you reach out. Your fingers gently brush the cold wall, before you huff and press your palm flat against it. No false wall, or optical illusion, so maybe you really did just get turned around.

All hopes of that being the truth is immediately crushed when you finally turn around. The balcony high and taunting exactly in the place you’d dreaded it would be, the corner of the bar peeking out from behind a mass of bodies almost as if it’s inviting you to return for just one more drink.

Your heart leaps to your throat when reality starts to set in, but alongside reality, is a rush of determination. There’s no way you’re just stuck here, you tell yourself. You have to get back to your friends and you’re sure that amongst the dozens of bodies that stand around you, there’s no way that they plan on staying here for good right?

There has to be another exit, at least a side door that leads to one of the alleys that stand around the perimeter of the building.

Your hand returns flat to the wall, and you begin to walk. You assume the fastest way to find an exit is to just walk the entire room, and hopefully with you grounding yourself with the wall, you won’t get sucked into the bodies that seem unaware that they’re being locked in.

You keep your shoulder pressed to the wall as well, staying close in hopes to avoid any bumping shoulders or sharp elbows. There are a few times that you have to dodge the rare groping couple that decides the flat surface of the wall is the best place to press against for a good public make out, but you’re quick to return when they’re behind you.

You trace the entirety of the right wall of the building with no luck, and as you turn the corner and pass the restroom you’ve started to huff in disappointment. Maybe the back wall, or the hollow hallway you saw earlier will bring more luck, and if not it probably won’t kill to return to the guy who’s watching the bar to demand he tells you how to escape.

Even though you’re determined to stay focused on finding a way out, you can’t help but to stare at the balcony as you get closer and closer. You can see now that the railing sparkles in the warm light, and you assume it’s made of a gold metal. The vines are even more beautiful as you get closer, and you now notice they’re accompanied by small dark red flowers that look vaguely familiar. But carnations don’t grow on vines do they?

You lose yourself so much in your thoughts that you don’t notice the body approaching you. It’s until you're about a foot away from the dark hallway that you’re pulled from your own universe by a large hand that lands on the wall directly in front of your face.

You jump about a foot in the air, a quiet yelp leaving your lungs as you follow the line the stranger's arm makes to reach his face. And while you know deep down that attractiveness doesn’t mean someone is automatically good, you can’t deny the man that stands in front of you is beautiful and his soft but mischievous eyes makes you slightly relax.

“Believe it or not, but I didn’t really intend to scare you,” he laughs softly as he leans closer, his hand not moving an inch from its spot next to your head, “but you’re looking very beautiful tonight.”

Your eyebrows furrow at how his tone sounds weirdly familiar, and how his words somewhat suggest he’s seen you before. But you know you’ve never met nor seen this man in your life, there’s no way you’d forget a face like that.

“That’s kind of bold of you,” you say with a soft smile that tells him you don’t really mind, and the task at hand starts to slowly slip from your mind as you lose yourself in his soft eyes.

“Easy to be bold when you’re telling the truth,” he leans closer as he speaks, and as he crowds your personal space, you start to feel a fuzzy static wrap around your body, “you look like you’re headed somewhere sweetheart. Can I ask where exactly that is?”

“Oh,” you pulled slightly back into reality at the question, and you even peer around his shoulder to try to see if the entrance has returned and become visible since your journey to the back of the club, “I’m trying to find the exit.”

“Hmm,” his hand not caging you against the wall lifts to scratch gently at his chin as he lets your words roll around in his mind, “well the back is kind of a weird place to be looking for that isn’t it? Why don’t you just go out the same way you came in?”

It’s impossible to ignore the slight twang of taunting in his tone, like he knows something you don’t, but you quietly choose to brush it off. Maybe it’s just your imagination.

“Oh well,” you start before you realize you may sound a little weird if you try to tell him about the disappearing entrance, “you know just… heading that way now.”

He only smiles at you as you laugh nervously as you start to fiddle with your fingers. He’s nice, his slightly drooping eyes making him seem harmless regardless of the way he presses you into the wall, but nevertheless his charming aura and the way his cologne has started to flood your nose and fog up your brain makes you start to get delirious.

“Do you think you could spare me a few seconds before you head out?” His head tilts slightly to the side as a cute and playful pout lands on his lips, and the way he stares you down tells you he knows you won't tell him no, “if only you want to of course.”

“Yeah sure,” you breathe out as you sink back against the wall, despite the little voice in your head that is desperately trying to remind you of your friends that remain outside.

“Good,” his hand finally moves from the wall, only to move a few inches to rub his thumb softly over your cheekbone, “now what is someone so pretty doing in a place like this.”

You can’t help but grin at how cliche he is, but it weirdly fits him and makes your heart flutter, “a place like this? Seems like just a normal grimy club to me, what do you know that I don’t?”

He huffs out a breath, his head softly shaking at the question, “I couldn’t even begin to tell you.”

“Ooo, well maybe if it’s that bad maybe I should go,” you tease, lifting up from the wall slightly, only for him to move his hand down to your shoulder to push you back.

“Well it’s not that bad,” he backtracks as his hand starts to test the waters and trails down your arm until he’s holding your wrist, “not if you stick with me.”

“You a regular here?”

“Hm, yeah,” he pulls on your wrist until it rests on his shoulder, and a pleased hum fills his chest when you take the liberty to stretch out your fingers to scratch at the base of his skull, “something like that.”

“Then maybe you wanna show me around, since it’s my first time here?” You pull him closer as you talk, until his chest starts to brush against you, “maybe show me to the entrance.”

“No, no. I think I’d like to keep you right here,” you were only teasing with the suggestion, but he seems stern when he speaks. This tone and the way he dips his face into the bend of your neck when he finishes makes your breath rush out of you.

“Are you okay with this?” He asks softly, only loud enough for you to hear over the thumping music, his lips brushing the now burning skin of your neck.

“Very okay,” you reassure, and as you thread your fingers fully into the thick hair at the back of his head, the idea of getting back to your friends completely slips your mind.

He only hums again in response before his mouth opens wide to lick at the skin stretched across your jugular, his lips slowly sucking a chunk of skin into his mouth and pulling blood to the surface to form a bruise.

You flinch and your other hand moves to join the other in tugging at his roots when his teeth scrape against the sensitive skin. Your head tilts to the side as he starts to move his lips across your jaw and his hips push between your slowly opening legs. The loud music feels like its wrapping around you and feeding you to the wall behind you as his hands now move to squeeze at the flesh that protects the sides of your ribs.

“Who are you?” your words come out stuttered, breathless, and broken, the question slipping out almost by accident as he continues his work on your neck.

“Who do you think I am?” He returns rhetorically. Having another question thrown back at you makes you flicker off for a moment, and by the time you pull yourself from your own foggy brain, he has his teeth biting into your earlobe.

You can only let out a whimper as he licks at the shell of your ear and you try to collect your suddenly scattered thoughts. It doesn’t get any easier as he starts to knead harshly at the skin and flesh underneath his fingers and your knees start to lose their strength.

“How far will you let me go?” Another question to add to your swirling mind, but he doesn’t seem any form of impatient as you collect your thoughts together to respond.

He pulls away from where he’s tucked into your shoulder, his forehead coming to rest against yours, and with the sudden eye contact, it's like he pulls you back down to earth.

You feel very suddenly awake, and it seems like the club disappears behind him, the only remaining evidence of it being the way the music and voices still thump against your eardrums. The way he looks at you is softer than you imagined, but there’s still the inkling of arousal behind his eyes that you know what he’s asking.

“Don’t stop,” you finally answer with zero hesitation, using the hold you still have on his hair as leverage to pull him to your mouth.

He grins wide against your lips, a deep and pleased chuckle leaving him before his eager tongue is pushing its way into your mouth.

With his strong fingers still pushing bruises into your skin, he presses you against the cold wall, his hips and legs pushing against you until your shaking legs step apart enough for his liking, and his body is flush against yours.

Your lips follow his as much as they can, before you notice that he’s sinking down to your neck, his knees bending slightly as he goes. His hands begin to start to move as well when he’s returned to licking and biting bruises against your throat, and its seconds before his cold fingers are brushing against the skin of your stomach.

His blunt nails scrape at the skin of your sternum and the swell of your chest as his lips slide across your skin until he’s nipping at your collarbones. It’s not until one hand slips under the thin material of your bralette with his fingers gently tugging on your nipple, does he finally land on his knees in front of you.

Having him move out of your immediate field of vision throws you off for a moment. The still breathing bodies that fill the room in front of you dance around you, but no one comes closer than a few feet from where he kneels on the dirty floor.

Being reminded that its not just the two of you makes you freeze, the feeling of the hand that doesn’t grope at your chest moving to lift your skirt goes almost completely unnoticed until you feel his mouth take over the garment's job of covering you.

Your fingers flex and tug at his hair when you feel his lips brush against the band of your underwear, and a quiet gasp escapes you when he teeth tugs on the elastic.

“You said don’t stop,” he reminds, muffled just barely loud enough for you to hear, before he lets go of your skirt and the fabric falls over his head and blocks his next moves from your eyes.

You feel his newly freed hand move steadily up your thigh, his fingers brushing against and tickling the sensitive skin as he goes. Once he brushes the hem of the garment, his index finger pushes under and brushes against your buzzing skin as he loops the digit around the crotch of your under to pull it away from your body.

With a harsh pull, he starts to tug your underwear down your legs, his mouth immediately takes advantage of the exposed surface and latches onto a patch of skin on your hip that’s still slightly dimpled from the biting elastic of your underwear.

Once your underwear is pooled around your ankles, his hand retraces its movements back up your thigh, and this time your body shivers at the now familiar feeling. You still groan when his fingers harshly wrap around your thigh, his palm flexing as well as he tugs your leg up and over his shoulder.

His hand shifts until his grip holds you tightly against his face, and his other hand slips down from your chest to press slightly against your stomach. Even though you’re aware enough to know what’s about to happen between the two of you, that does nothing to stop the quick yelping noise that jumps from your chest when his tongue swipes warm and flat against your skin, the tip of the muscle curling at the last moment to flick against your clit and make your hips jump into his grinning face.

He doesn’t leave you a second to adjust to the feeling of his tongue licking into you before he’s going back in. This time when he returns to your skin, his tongue dips shallowly into you, greedily licking up the arousal that spills from your body as he tries to spread the taste of your over every last one of his taste buds.

Your knees tremble and you slip a few inches lower against the wall as your head tilts back. Your heart thumps harshly at the small amount of panic that fills you at the idea of falling into the floor, but the pleasure he pushes into you and your mind scrambling to remember the hold he has on you relaxes you.

He finally moves his tongue away from where you flutter around nothing, his pace slow and maddening as you let your body go lax in his hands and use the study support of his shoulder.

Your eyes shut tightly and your muscles flex for a moment when his lips take hold of your neglected clit, the quick intake of air you pull into your lungs, immediately escapes again in a soft moan.

He uses the way you rest against his shoulder and the wall as a reassurance as he moves his hand away from your thigh to replace the open space his tongue left with his fingers.

You feel two of his long digits press into you slowly, the sudden intrusion making you dizzy and a happy noise that resembles a purr rolls from your chest.

The man kneeled between your thighs finally responds to the small noises you make for him with his own, a proud and content hum crawls out of his lips and against your skin as his tongue repeatedly laps at your clit.

He’s eager, almost like he’s been waiting to show you what his mouth can do his whole life, and as your leg curls around his back and pulls him closer to your lower half, his fingers begin to steadily pump in and out of you.

He takes the moment that his tongue and lips wrap fully around your clit to suck harshly at the bundle of nerves, to curl the tips of his finger to press into the spot that makes stars burst from under your eyelids.

You scramble to find a way to warn him of the knot that forms directly under the hand that pushes against your lower belly, the lack of knowledge you have of his name almost making you want to huff in frustration. But when he starts to massage quick come hither motions against the spot that has you in spirals, you’re gone before you can conjure any cohesive thought.

Your hips stutter against his relentless mouth as you come with a desperate whine. One of your hands leaves his hair as it flies to push against the wall next to your head, your nails digging harshly into the painted brick as he doesn’t let up on licking your through the aftershocks of your orgasm.

You’re once again thankful of the tight hold he has on you as you twitch in his hands, his wandering fingers moving back to gripping your hip so his tongue can replace them to devour you.

He moves so quickly to stand when he’s finished licking you clean that you swear you almost get whiplash, and you only get more flustered by his motions when he uses his grip on your sides to spin you around and push your chest into the wall.

“Do you know how pretty you are,” his soft cooing throws you for a loop, but only helps in the neediness you feel for him regardless of your still retreating orgasm. His lips return to press softly to the bone of your jaw and one of his hands slips back in between your thighs to roll the tip of his middle finger softly against your sensitive clit while the other moves away from your skin. The way the fabric of his pants brush against you when he unbuttons them tells you he uses the missing hand to pull himself from his underwear.

You’re proven right, when you feel the end of him nudge the back of your thigh, the precome that drips from his tip smears against your skin and makes you squirm.

“Do you have any idea,” he starts as he moves himself towards the inside of your thigh, until he pushes himself against your wetness, “how long I’ve waited for you?”

“Hmm?” You hum in confusion at his question, but when he begins to push inside you, you quickly chalk it up to him being in the moment and press your cheek against the wall.

You melt into the hard brick as he sinks into you, every inch of him stretching you and pushing against every nerve that makes hums of contentment warm your chest. He moves slowly and with his fingers still playing with you, you feel yourself get dizzy as your eyes flutter and roll.

Once he’s fully seated inside of you, he leans into you, his heated chest straightening out your spine that was curving in pleasure. His now freed hand reaches around, his fingers spreading far against your burning chest, and you feel yourself start to float away from your body when he rolls his hips at the same moment his hand wraps around your throat.

“So good for me aren’t you?” He asks quietly in your ear as he begins to move, his lips brushing your ear easily from the way you tilt your head back to lay on his shoulder. You can only gasp and whimper in response as his thumb harshly digs into your skin below the curved bone of your jaw, but the way your jaw hangs open lets him hear every noise without problem.

A deep groan rattles his chest against your back as he picks up his pace, how deep he pushes inside you with each thrust and the pressure he puts on the blood flow going to your head makes your vision fuzzy.

You can feel your body twitching, but there’s nothing you can do to relax the tensing of your muscles. Your hands start to flail slightly from the pleasure shooting up your spine, one desperately slipping up and down the wall as you try to keep balance, and the other finally finding comfort in holding onto the wrist of the hand that chokes you. You get just a moment of clarity to notice, and feel bad for the way your nails claw into his skin, but the guilt is quickly washed away by the twisting in your belly.

He shows little interest in easing up on you, even when he notices how you start to crumble against him. Almost no interest at all, when he celebrates hitting the spot inside you that finally pushes a loud moan from your lips by relentlessly quickening the pace of his fingers that moves across your clit.

Jumbled moans and slurred words squeeze through your gritting teeth, not even taking the time to be molded into full thoughts in your brain before they pour out. You say a silent thanks when you feel his hand tracing up your neck towards your mouth, assuming he’s going to cover your mouth, as you can only feel yourself start to truly lose the control you have over your volume.

You’re teetering on an edge, the promise of another orgasm dancing on the back of your tongue, and your hips form a mind of their own as they begin to jump and tilt back towards him in desperation. You can’t imagine anything pushing you any closer than what he’s already doing, until you feel his thumb start to push against your lower lip.

It’s almost as if he has you on puppet string with how quickly you move to bring the digit between your lips, your cheeks pulling in and hollowing as you start to gently suck on the intrusion. The pride you feel when he swears darkly in your ear at your action is indescribable, the idea of you causing this man to lose himself the way he is, even with yourself being in more of a submissive position, makes you grin around his thumb as it digs into the center of your tongue. And the feeling of your drool slowly dripping out of your mouth to slide down his wrist makes you feel like you’ve made some kind of claim on him.

Your arousal, and the beginning sparks of your orgasm, fogs your brain. Enough that it takes a moment for you to notice the small bites of pain that shoots across the skin of your tongue that presses against a thick ring he wears below the bend of his thumb.

You want to whimper out, maybe nip at oddly strong digit to ask him to lighten up, but you shamefully admit that the burn and the coppery taste that begins to flood your tastebuds makes you shiver and flutter around his length as it pushes you both closer and closer.

Once your blood is spilling out enough that it begins to slip down your throat, is when he pulls his thumb from your mouth, his hand moves to grip your jaw tightly. You feel your saliva that’s been tainted with your blood spill quickly down your chin and neck as he turns you to face him, and the delirious and rapid look in his eyes when they meet yours tells you he loves the mess he’s made of you.

“Come for me,” it’s said sternly. Demanding in the way that tells you there’s no room for arguments, or pleas to slow down, but you greet the command with pleasure. You’re also just as glad to accept his open mouth as it presses against yours.

Nothing about him slows down. His hips, fingers and lips devour you like he’s been starved for centuries, and you start to feel that maybe you’ve been waiting just as long.

You squeak and groan when he sucks your wounded tongue into his mouth, and when it hits you that he’s pulling and swallowing the blood that pours out of it, is when you're pushed over the edge.

You’re more than thankful for the way he presses against you, as you’re sure without it you would have crumbled in place. Your knees feel useless and you whine into his open mouth the best you can with your tongue trapped between his lips, and you feel your body curl back against him as he holds you close. The way you tremble only comparable to a body trapped and lost in a blinding cold, and your stomach flexes in pleasure.

You want your body to mesh into his as you come in his hold, his arms strong and pulled tightly against your bones as his hips stutter against you. And it’s only a moment of watching you melt into him before he’s following close behind.

The way the evidence of his orgasm spills into you is what finally pulls him away from your lips as he almost growls with his forehead pressed against your temple. His body taking control of his impulse as his brain is taken over with the way you’re wrapped around him, and almost like a reflex, his hand pulls away from your clit to swat harshly at the inside of your thigh. But the way his teeth bite into his lower lip and he’s eyes scrunch closed, you can only offer a dopey smile in response.

Your smile falls slightly as you cringe at the feeling of him slipping from your body, but his hands moving to rub up and down your sides momentarily makes you relax.

He’s quiet and quick as he bends to drag your underwear up until they’re back to resting on your hips, and you pray they do enough to keep his come from spilling out of you.

“You need to get back to your friends,” he breaks his quiet spell as he turns you to pull you into his chest, and you have a small moment of confusion at his words before it hits you what you were trying to do when you ran into him.

Your hands fly up to clench at his shirt, your curls fingers wrinkling the fabric of his shirt and the sudden puppy like look you give him makes him smile.

“I can't wait to see you again,” the sureness in his voice shakes your core a little, and you can only hope what he says is true, “I promise I won't be hard to find.”

“Can you at least tell me your name,” you say more petulantly than you intended, but you're greeted with his grinning sharp teeth as he starts to pull you away from his chest regardless.

“I’m Jaehyun,” he speaks slowly as he makes sure you’re completely steady on your feet before he starts to step away, “I promise you won’t forget. Now go, the entrance should be there just like normal.”

He nods as he finally disappears into the crowd, but you can’t help the biting voice at the back of your mind that, even though he only gave you a few short sentences, he always spoke like he knew something you didn’t.

But he was right. You took your chance with the entrance again after his confident tone, pushing through the crowd of pushy shoulders to get back to the front. The only disappointment that rests in your chest when you reach the now visible door, is you didn’t get a glance of the man amongst the crowd.

It’s almost like culture shock when you step outside. The men that lean against the wall by the door remain rooted in place, their thumbs still swiping aimlessly at their phone screens, and the shadowy outlines of your friends still stand on the other side of the street.

Even with a looseness to your muscles from what happened in the club, you still feel foolish as you sprint to where they stand, and the looks of surprise they wear makes an apologetic smile stitch onto your face.

“So how was it?” The more gentle of the two asks, a concerned glint in her eyes making you feel even more guilt on what you let distract you.

“It was pretty cool,” you hesitate telling them what had happened, you’re not sure why as you knew they would never judge you for the hookup but you can't conjure the words, “I’m sorry I was in there for so long though.”

“So long?” Your more fiery friend takes her turn to speak now, but your face only screws up in confusion at her questioning words, “dude you were only in there for like five minutes top. Were you even able to get to the bar to get a drink in that time?”

You can't collect your thoughts enough to force words, instead you fumble over syllables and rumbling noises of misunderstanding what she’s saying. You’re almost ready to ask her how something that felt like years to you only felt like five minutes to her when she interrupts again.

“Whatever. It could have been five seconds and I still would be bored so lets fucking go,” she turns to walk away, her hand reaching back and lacing her fingers through your own being the only thing that pulls you along behind them as the feeling of Jaehyun’s finger prints weighs you down, and tugs at the cord that connects you to the club behind you.

[hyunjilicious]

the premiere [chris evans]

A/n: This was requested and it took me TWO AGES to write, so I’m sorry. The anon mentioned I should make it as smutty as possible, but I thought that since this is my first ever Chris Evans fic, I shouldn’t go too far..? I still hope you’ll like it, and if you do, please don’t hesitate to tell me!! It makes my day!!

Summary: You and Chris are friends with benefits. When he takes you the premiere of his latest movie, a series of events leads to a meet-up in the bathroom, where things get heated. (SMUT) 4.1k

Warnings: unprotected sex, dirty talk with a hint of degradation (Chris is a liiiiiittle bit of an asshole but he makes up for it, I promise), daddy kink, choking + breath play and if you squint there is also some size kink there!

-

The amount of nervous sweat that had pooled inside your pores was threatening to pass the threshold of common sense. Tens of cameras and hundreds of eyes pointed at you, the uncomfortable high heels you regretted wearing and the amount of Hollywood A-listers around you, were all getting too much for you to bear.

Initially, Chris remained glued to your side; never allowing even the tiniest bit of space to be put between your bodies, but now things have changed.

You missed his presence by your side as it was literally your safe net, especially in situations like these. That was why every time you felt a conversation with some random attendee had run its course, your eyes would instantly search for Chris. Just knowing he was in the same room, calmed you down. 

Afraid not to seem too clingy, you did your best to stay away from him. But that only proved to be more difficult as more and more minutes passed. He always had a devious grin plastered on his lips whenever you looked at him from the other side of the room.

At one point, alone and away from any group of people that were only looking to make small talk, you retreated into a corner, and took out your phone. Among the tens of notifications on your lock screen, there was also a text from Chris, which arrived about 2 minutes prior. It only read an "😏" next to the name you saved him under, 'Daddy x'

Unable but also unwilling to hide your blush, you raised your gaze and found him, along 3 of his friends about 10 meters to the side. The group seemed to be in the middle of a ravenous conversation, everyone frantically gesticulating. Everyone but Chris. His eyes were trained on you, and remained like that as he took a sip of his whiskey. He watched you over the rim of the glass, and then proceeded to lick his lips suggestively.

You knew what that meant, and before your mind even got a chance to process it, your core already started to ache in anticipation. Busying yourself around the venue, you did your best to make the night pass faster. You wanted to get home, you knew Chris wanted you and that was not a mood of his you ever wanted to miss.

Things seemed to be going well until you found yourself at the bar, ordering another cocktail. As you waited for the employee to prepare your drink, you felt a strong hand caress your side, before shamelessly slapping your ass. You jumped, surprised and offended, only to see Chris as he walked away.

At this point, watching his muscles flex under the navy blue suit he wore, you were basically dripping.

When the announcement was made for everyone to take their seats as the movie was set to begin in a couple of minutes, you breathed out relieved, happy you'd finally be able to spend two hours in his presence without anyone asking any questions. 

Or that was what you thought. When you took your seat, you couldn't have been more disappointed to see Chris was nowhere around. After contemplating how bad of an idea it would be to call and ask, your phone buzzed in your hand.

"3b exit. 2nd door on your left. Now"

As you read the text, you couldn't fight the urge to rub your thighs together. But it didn't help. At all. You knew what was waiting for you so your pathetic attempt to alleviate the pain between your legs proved to be entirely in vain.

When you stood up, the lights went down and the movie started.

Slowly making your way down the hallway, you could already feel your heart beating out of your chest. When you reached the door he mentioned in his text, you saw that it was supposed to lead to a bathroom. A small pang of disappointment enveloped you, as you wished you were actually going to meet him outside and head home. Still, you took a deep breath and pushed the door open.

The light inside was a heavy shade of red, making the anyway overly exotic bathroom look downright erotic. You took another deep breath and looked to the side, your eyes landing on Chris’s frame.

He was standing in front of the mirror, his suit jacket missing from his shoulders. He had his sleeves rolled up, his shirt still neatly tucked into his pants. A sight for sore eyes, you thought to yourself as your eyes traveled down his frame.

Chris raised his head, his gloomy gaze meeting yours through the reflection in the mirror. 

"Hey" you smiled, only now closing the door behind you.

In a matter of seconds, he turned around with a devious grin on his lips. "Glad you listened to me, doll. I was afraid you wouldn't" he said, taking hurried menacing steps in your direction. 

"Why?" you giggled.

His grin only widened at your cluelessness, but only until he reached you. Chris didn't waste any time before grabbing your cheeks into his massive hands and slamming your back into the door before he kissed you.

The air was punched out of your lungs. His lips effortlessly engulfed yours as he pushed himself against you, consuming you.

Eventually, he went on to kiss along your jawline, traveling down your neck as he spoke greedily against your skin, "Teased me all fucking night long, baby"

"I didn't do anything" you breathed out, melting under his touch.

In that moment, you knew he was serious as his hands trapped your waist, his fingers burning through the material of your dress, "Don't play dumb, angel, we both know where you stand"

"Chris-" you whined, holding onto his shoulders for support as you arched your back, your breasts rubbing against his rock hard chest.

He hummed, as a signal for you to say what was on your mind.

"Come on-" you panted, enjoying the way the pain of his teeth sinking into your skin turned into pleasure. "Let's go"

To that, he stopped. Chris pulled away from you with a look of pure confusion in his eyes, "Go where, Y/n?"

"Home..? To your apar-"

"Oh" he chuckled, eyes dark as devious new ideas popped into his mind, thoughts materialising, "You're not going anywhere until I fuck the slut of you"

His words, although crude and delivered in a malicious tone, fueled your senses and made your core buzz. "Hell no" you said, against your gut, "I'm not-"

"You know how things work" he shook his head, forcibly grabbing your forearm and pulling you until you were facing the mirror. "Don't turn all good girl on me right now"

As if you weren't already shamelessly riled up, the reflection in the mirror seriously did the job. You watched your frame, delicately wrapped in the almost see-through material of your dress, and then your eyes slipped to the side, where Chris was towering over you. Shoulders significantly broader and almost a head taller than you, his presence forced your heart into overdrive.

He looked down at you, bringing his left hand up to wrap his fingers around your neck. Instinctively, you allowed a soft moan to escape your lips as you fell back against his stone solid chest. 

"Look how gorgeous you are" Chris grinned, rubbing his thumb up and down your jugular, "And I trained you so fucking well, don't disappoint me"

Heaving, you arched your back, unconsciously rubbing your ass against his already rock hard cock. "I didn't- I didn't lock the door. What- what if someone comes in?"

"Then they're gonna see me fucking my girl. So what? Isn't that why we're together? I have a slut to fuck whenever I feel like it and you, like the whore you are, actually fucking love it?"

"Shit-" you gasped, feeling his grip tighten around your neck as he spoke.

"Isn't it? Am I wrong?"

You fervently nodded your head, and as you gasped for air once again, he released you.

"I didn't hear that?" Chris taunted, leaning down to whisper in your ear.

"Fuck, of course" you said, your own words worsening the pain between your legs. "Yes, you're right"

"Now you're not just saying that, are you, angel?"

"No!" you said, with a kind of eagerness you didn't know you owned. Turning around in his hold, you placed your hands on his chest before looking up into his darkened eyes, "You know I'm all in, I'm sorry. You know I always do what you tell me, Daddy, I don't know what's gotten into me"

"That's what I wanted to hear, pet" Chris said, roughly rubbing his thumb across your bottom lip, "Now turn around and open that pretty mouth for me, princess, hm?"

Obediently this time, you spun around to face the mirror and parted your lips, eagerly awaiting his next move.

After enjoying the view for a few brief seconds, Chris sunk his right hand into the pocket of his trousers, fishing out his phone. Your heart rate picked up as his left hand returned around your neck, this time only teasing its way up to your lips. He shoved two fingers into your mouth and your muscle memory kicked in as you instantly started to suck on them.

"Oh my god!" Chris exclaimed. You felt him move around a bit, his cock pressing into your ass, "You're fuck toy material, you know that?"

With his fingers still knuckles deep inside your mouth, you nodded, eyes trained on his reflection.

"Now open wide, you little slut. Poke that tongue out for Daddy" he commanded, and then forced his fingers deeper, reaching the back of your throat.

You coughed softly, your gag reflex threatening to kick in. But he kept going, "Choke on my fingers, angel. Come on, I wanna see a sweet little tear."

A low moaning sound escaped your throat, followed by another cough which signaled your air supply was running low.

"A little more, pet. I know you can do it, show me what I want to see"

But it was him who pushed your limits once again. Chris pushed his fingers down harder against your tongue, triggering another cough. This one was rougher however, as tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, while you struggled to catch your breath even after he pulled his fingers away.

The pressure between your legs kept increasing, becoming almost unbearable when you felt his hand against your side, soothingly rubbing your waist.

In just about a few seconds, you came back to your senses and immediately turned around, eyes desperately searching for Chris's.

"That's my good girl" he smiled proudly, looking down at you in awe.

You nodded obediently, rubbing your thighs together.

"Wanna see how hot you are, angel?" he grinned, unlocking his phone and opening up the gallery. The ease with which he scrolled down through the app and typed in the password to his secret album, proved just how often he accessed your pictures. It made you beam.

Once the shots he just took popped up on the screen, your mouth watered. You didn't even look at yourself, just him - admired his immense frame, the proud smirk on his lips and the pure lust in his eyes.

"You’re such a good slut, baby" he spoke against your temple, "You love listening to me, don't you? Having no say whatsoever, no control over what's gonna happen to this sweet body of yours. Being at my mercy? I told you you don't get to breathe right now, you didn't even fight, darling. You're just too eager to please me, aren't you?"

"Yes, Daddy" you nodded, his grave tone of voice sending shivers down your spine.

"Good, good" Chris sighed.

Then, effortlessly and in one swift motion, he spun you around, to face the mirror again. Placing his big hand on your upper back, between your shoulder blades, he forced you down, bending your body over the sink.

With his foot, Chris forced your ankles apart. The sound of his belt buckle being undone made all the hairs on your body stand up, but the zipper was the last drop, forcing a sweet moan to escape your lips.

"Be patient, baby" he spoke, pulling your dress up, over your hips. Curling two fingers around the waistband of your panties, he pulled them down your legs, until they fell around your ankles.

Now, being completely exposed in front of him, you couldn't take it anymore. "Come on, please, I need you"

"I know you do, darling" Chris said with a sweet but still condescending tone, "but I'm not done yet"

It was clear what he meant when you heard the camera of his phone click again. The sound made your walls clench. All your buttons had been pushed, you couldn't wait anymore.

"Please" you whined, wiggling your body to get his attention.

A few seconds of silence followed, and then he threw his phone on the edge of the sink, mere inches away from your face.

His right hand connected to your ass, his fingers sinking into your skin until you couldn't feel the pressure anymore, just a stinging sensation. Nibbling on your lower lip, you tried your best to be good, and you succeeded, at first. When the first slap was delivered however, you couldn't help yourself.

Whimpering, you enjoyed the feeling of pain as it dissipated and turned into pleasure. Chris kept going, decorating your cheeks with countless red hand marks, each more painful than the other.

"You good, baby?" he asked, caressing the inflamed skin of your ass, "Does it hurt?"

You nodded yes.

"Good, angel, it has to. Can you take more?"

"Y-yes"

And that, that was your wrong doing. What followed turned out to be much more than you ever thought you could handle. He showed no mercy or remorse as you whined and struggled, your legs shaking uncontrollably. It was unclear why he stopped when he did, but you were grateful.

"You’re fucking dripping down your thighs" Chris said, moving his hand between your legs, "I wanna see how far I can push you, how long I can keep going until I break you, doll."

You remained silent, fighting the urge to tell him to do it. 

"But I won't, not tonight. Wish we were home, I don't want us to make the headlines for something like this"

"Fuck.." you chuckled, "God, no"

"Of course I won't anything like that happen" Chris assured you. 

A wave of warmth and safety threatened to overcome you as you took in his words, but then, less than 10 seconds later, you felt a nudge against your opening. Your mouth instantly watered as he pushed himself in, his massive cock forcing your walls to spread beyond what you considered comfortable.

He filled you up in an instant, slamming himself balls deep into your pussy. The feeling was earth shattering, just like his heavy breathing. You knew he was in 7th heaven, and you absolutely adored being the source of his pleasure.

At first he didn't move, proceeding to rub your hips and reddened ass, while allowing your pussy to adjust to his size. You felt yourself pulse around his member, every indentation and vein amplifying the sensation.

"I'm sorry, doll, but I think you were made for me. Don't think there's any other pussy in this world that can take my cock like you do"

"Maybe I was" you teased as you rolled your hips back and forth, creating a minimal amount of friction.

Chris grunted, "Fuck-"

He grabbed your hips with force, suddenly his patience dissipating into thin air. It took you aback - the way he controlled your body. Chris picked up his pace, slamming his hips into you without holding back. The momentul had your body rocking back and forth, your hair falling over your face as you didn't have the energy to even keep your head up anymore.

"Fuck yourself with my cock" Chris commanded, letting go of your hips.

He slapped your thighs one more time, as your cue to start, and then gathered his hands behind his back.

That wasn't what you wanted. You loved it when he did all the work and you had no effort to make, and just allow yourself to enjoy the moment. 

Barely managing to maintain your balance on your wobbly feet, you started grinding, slowly moving back and forth against his cock. You were doing a pathetic job and he was quick to object.

"Come on, Y/n-" he scoffed, slapping your ass with anger, "Ride my cock like you fucking mean it. Milk my cock like the slut you are"

His words went straight to your core, accentuating your arousal.

"Oh, oh!" Chris laughed, slapping your ass again, "Did your cunt seriously just clench around me?"

"Holy- urgh maybe" you grunted.

"Make me cum" he commanded.

This time, you didn't hold back.

White knuckling the edge of the sink, you found leverage and balance, now allowing you to move with ease. Slowly at first, but picking up your pace by the second, you rocked your body against his cock, your determination noticeable in the vigor of your movements.

And it was obvious that this time you were doing it right. So on point that Chris's heavy breathing and low grunts echoed above the redundant sound of your skin slapping into his. Catching a glimpse of his expression on the mirror, was proof that he was drowning in pure fucking pleasure. The ecstasy and awe was readable on his features.

And you kept going. Blocking out all sounds and surroundings, until a harsh buzz broke your concentration.

Looking down, next to your right hand, you saw Chris's phone ringing.

"Who- who the fuck is Elle N.?" you panted.

But he didn't care. It was as if your words never even reached him.

"Chris!?" you called again, this time stopping.

"What are you-" he began asking, but stopped when you shoved the phone into his hands.

"Who is that?" you asked.

"Publicist, who gives a-"

"Chris-" you said, "And I mean this with absolute seriousness, if TMZ bursts into the bathroom, cameras pointed at us, you're fucking done with me. It's all fun and games, until we show up on national TV"

He rolled his eyes, pure annoyance shining through his eyes. "What?" he yelled into the phone after accepting the call.

As he listened to the person on the other end of the line, his hand roamed over the curve of your ass, his fingers purposely applying pressure to the most inflamed areas.

You bit your lips in order to not make any sounds, but eventually started rolling your hips, determined to give him a piece of his own medicine. 

Chris closed his eyes, and threw his head back, murmuring something under his breath that you couldn't quite make out. About 20 seconds later, he ended the call with a harsh, "Bite me"

"The fuck was that?" you asked.

"You have about 3 minutes to make me cum, otherwise you're in big fucking trouble"

"What?"

He nodded his head, somehow looking amused, "And you'll also end up on national TV"

"Jesus Christ-" you scoffed, determined to pull away and leave.

"Oh fuck no" he stopped you, slamming you back down. "I came here to fuck you, you best believe I'm gonna do it. Work that magic cunt and drain my balls now, Y/n"

"Chris-" you wanted to protest.

"None of that, you hear me?" he growled, grabbing a fistful of your hair and pulling you up, "Your time is running low. You've never fucking seen me actually angry. If we get to that, you're gonna regret it. Now, be a good little whore, and make me cum"

For the first time, you actually felt a surge of fear course through your body. "Ok" you muttered.

When he released you, you leaned back down, resumed your previous position, and started pumping yourself into his cock again. For you, it was doing the trick. The angle and the fear of getting caught fueled your senses, driving you closer and closer to the edge. 

But for Chris, it didn't seem to be enough. As only a few seconds passed before he took control, framing your hips into his hands and handling your body to fit his needs. His pace was much more aggressive than what you had been doing, but it was also much more effective.

It was all a haze. Chris managed to send you falling down an endless spiral of pleasure, everything around you turning to blur. Your ears buzzed and your body was out of your control, muscles spasming unreasonably as you allowed yourself to get drunk with ecstasy.

When Chris finished too, mere seconds later, you thought you couldn't ever feel any better. He was quick to pull out, and move to the side to clean himself, but not before giving your ass a rewarding slap.

"Gotta go now," he said, fixing himself up.

You were still out of it, catching your breath as his cum dripped out of your pussy. "Yeah, I know, go"

As he did his belt, Chris involuntarily did a double take, "I'm sorry-" he said, his demeanor now unusually soft. "I wish I didn't have to-"

"It's fine-" you giggled, your voice low and breathy, "I'm still not 100% back, but I know you have to go, don't worry"

"Are you sure?" he asked, walking over to you and tilting your chin up, "I kinda feel like an asshole"

"I mean it" you said with a smile, "Plus, this is how we usually do it anyway, so it's nothing new. I don't know why you're so worried all of a sudden"

"Damn.. I really am an asshole.."

"Chris!"

"OK, I'll go" he said, advancing towards the door, "But I'll call you later, ok? I wanna talk to you about something"

"Yes, call me whenever you want. Now go"

"Bye" Chris spoke hurriedly as he rushed out, closing the door behind him.

Confusion seeped through your veins as you were left alone in the room. You studied your reflection in the mirror, and although looking disheveled with your hair a mess, you really did feel pretty. There was life on your features and it wasn't from the expensive makeup you had on.

But all that came in perfect contrast with how you were actually feeling. You felt alone, clingy, in need of cuddles from a person who has never actually given you any. It shook you, how this time, you felt entirely different from how you usually feel after your hookups with Chris.

But there was nothing to be done. You straightened your back and started rummaging through your purse, hoping the spare powder you always had on you would be able to cover the after sex glow you had going on.

As you worked on reapplying your face, the door opened and you instinctively turned away from it. You weren't in the mood. 

"Y/n" a familiar voice called.

You looked up to see Chris sprinting towards you.

"What are you-"

"Fuck 'em. Fuck the cameras, fuck the interviews, fuck the labels, fuck the reporters"

"Wait, what-" you cringed, "Slow down, I don't understand"

He took a deep breath, "Fuck 'em"

"What happened?"

"Come on" he said, grabbing your hand, "Come with me"

"Um.. Chris? I don't think that's a good idea. My hair is all fucked and I'm pretty sure the eye shadow-"

"I don't know what you mean, you look absolutely gorgeous, perfect even-" Chris said, his eyes wide open and fixed on yours, "But that doesn't even matter, let's go home"

"I don't get it. People were looking for you"

"Who gives a shit? Do I give a shit? I don't give a shit!"

"Chris…"

"Seriously, Y/n-" he said, cupping your cheeks and bringing your face inches away from his, "I wanna make you dinner. I have that gross white wine you like so much even though I don't understand how you can drink that shit. And I'll run a bath, I don't have bath bombs but I think conditioner works too-"

"It doesn't"

"Eh then we'll just smell nice" Chris said in a heartbeat. "And then I'll eat you out into fucking oblivion, yeah? Doesn't that sound good? Better than boring interviews and that movie I'm barely even in"

It was all just too much to process. "What changed? I-"

"Nothing changed" he shook his head, "I always wanted to do this. I thought that if I brought you to this event things would develop between us somehow. I don't know why I thought that. Don't ask. And that's why I told you to come into the bathroom. But then I was too shy to say anything and then I left and things were exactly where they were when we got here and I said that-"

"Chris?"

"Yeah?" he sighed, catching his breath.

"Shut up and let's see how good you can cook"

[cherrywoes]

dark sun. (ryoumen sukuna x fem! vessel! reader x oc.)

iii. yugen.

— a profound awareness of the universe that triggers feelings too deep and mysterious for words.

rating: mature.

warnings: mentions of forced child bearing, violence.

YOUR NEW HOME was small, but much larger than the tiny closet that you had been sleeping in for the past several years. A bed with a mattress lay in the center of the room, the headboard pushed against the wall, and a desk and nightstand were the only other furniture to occupy it. It was much more modern than you had expected, but still kept to the traditional layout that most of the campus had to begin with. It smelled of wood polish, cleaner, and a faint incense that was making your stomach roll unpleasantly.

“They burned sage here,” Sayaka explained quietly. She stood behind you right before the threshold of the door, holding your bag while you scoped out your new abode. The rest of the ten minute walk had been silent between the both of you, filled with Ama-no-Kagaseo’s malice, Sayaka’s worry, and your disturbing apathy at the event. She kept running her fingers over the rope handles of your bag, working at each stray strand until it fell apart. “The previous tenant passed away violently and had lingering energy in the room.”

It was a convenient lie. Sorcerers didn’t ‘haunt’ in the same way that humans would haunt their homes, families, or killers; they did not remain behind at all. Wherever they went, there was no trace of them left behind. You knew that much from a book you’d snuck from Yaga when you were younger, before you were ever a vessel. Sayaka likely didn’t know that you were aware of that fact, nor would you allow her to be. You had to be clever now; you weren’t going to lose your freedom so easily now that you had it. And if that meant hiding things from Sayaka for now, then so be it.

“I see.” Ama-no-Kagaseo’s energy swept through the room and extinguished the incense burning in a corner. The smoke dissipated as quickly as it had appeared, floating up between the slats in the ceiling and encouraged to vanish by an incorporeal hand. You would have a headache later because of the smell, but you already felt better because it was gone. You, like Ama-no-Kagaseo, had an extreme sensitivity to anything purifying or cleansing in nature—although it couldn’t kill you, it could severely cripple your senses enough to the point where you would black out. Whether or not Ama-no-Kagaseo took over was his choice after that. You had discovered that little factoid after accidentally touching a blessed object in an elder’s office. “What am I to do here? I know they wouldn’t just let me stay here without some caveat in return.”

Sayaka followed you inside and set your bag beside the door. “There were whispers of having you keep an eye on Gojou and Itadori Yuuji, but I don’t know if they ever came to an actual decision over it.”

Oh, it was too convenient—in the off chance that Gojou would wield Yuuji to take down the elders and crooked system of clans and power, you would be there to keep them in check, to counterbalance the scales into neutrality’s favor. It was a good plan, a smart one, but you highly doubted they had factored in one thing: Ama-no-Kagaseo did not follow orders.

“Right. Of course not.” You pressed your fingers into the mattress, testing the softness. Beneath the fabric, your fingertips gave way to springs, hard and slightly broken in from where someone else had slept in a specific position. It groaned beneath your slight weight and you pulled back, eyes darting around the room to search for a futon—that would be infinitely more comfortable than this bed. “So, if I’m not going to do that, then what am I going to do? Sit here and rot until they call for me?”

You were bitter, and understandably so. Your freedom was on the leash of the elders who held the other end, usually with an iron fist and heavy hand. You were always raised to never bite the hand that feeds, but it was looking far too tempting right now. You could understand Gojou, just a little bit, and his frustration with the way things worked among the sorcerer society, but it did not make you feel guilty for what Ama-no-Kagaseo did to him. Not quite.

“Just…” Sayaka sighed and sat down on a cushion at the foot of your bed. She hid her hands in her pockets, fiddling with something that sounded vaguely like a chain or chain links clinking together like windchimes. She didn’t seem nervous, for once, but more exhausted—lethargic, even. The dark circles under her eyes were more pronounced than usual, her cheeks sunken and a little wan in the light. You hadn’t paid much mind to the changes in her appearance, but when she let her guard down it was apparent that she was tired. “Be careful. The president of the Kyoto campus is coming soon for the events—no, I didn’t ask—and he’ll want to see you, presumably.”

For just a moment, you had thought she would open up to you. Your gut tumbled with disappointment.

“When am I ever not careful?” With a slight scoff and a roll of your eyes, you evaded the cushion next to her and opted for sitting at the windowsill instead. It offered a perfect view of the courtyard and a small garden out behind it, flowers just barely peeking out over the stone paths. The wood was rough and unsanded, but you tolerated it just to maintain distance between yourself and Sayaka. “My entire life has been nothing but ‘careful’. You don’t have to tell me that, Fujiwara-san.”

You could feel her flinch at the sound of her last name. You never used her last name, at least not in private, much in the same way she only ever used your last name and never your first. It was new, bizarre, and foreign, because she knew, just like you knew, that the tiny chasm that Sayaka herself had made was starting to fissure into something bigger, something that wouldn’t just close on its own.

“Right. What was I thinking?” The sorcerer rubbed her face and exhaled a long breath. With a second glance at you, she got to her feet, shrugging off the vulnerability she had shown and replacing it with the Sayaka you knew. “I’ll leave you to unpack. Dinner is at five; you can join Gojou, Itadori-san and I if you’d like.”

With that offer lingering in the air, she stepped outside your room and shut the door behind her with a quiet ‘snick’ of the lock. It wasn’t locked, but the idea was there—after all, there were no tumblers on the inside of the knob.

“Indecisive.” Ama-no-Kagaseo manifested before you in a bright spurt of black flames, stars writhing inside each individual lick of heat. You reached up to allow him to hover over your palms to which he did so gladly, the fire oddly cold against your skin in comparison to the heat in the air around him. “She knows not what she wants.”

You huffed a breath. “I know. It’s her choice to make, though.”

“Mm.” A brief flash of fire and he was reaching for his human vessel against your chest. He lingered close to it for a moment, but you could feel his thoughts churning in the connection you shared, ponderous and curious. “Interesting.”

“What is?” You inquired, watching as he allowed his human body’s eyes to slide open for the first time in decades. They were completely black and enveloped with stars, much like you had been told how you appeared, and a single blue dot appeared beneath his eye.

“Nothing. For now.” The eyes slid shut and the flame retreated back into your open palms. “Hungry?”

Your stomach was rumbling, but a glance at the clock on your new desk revealed it was just four-thirty. You wondered if you could get away with eating early and retreating to your room again without ever having to run into Gojou or Itadori, although that was highly unlikely. Avoiding anyone here was as impossible as the moon rising before the sun.

“It’s a bit early,” you said instead, leaning against the windowsill and tucking your knees to your chest. You rested your hands on your knees, watching Ama-no-Kagaseo flicker curiously at your denial for food. “It’s okay, I’m not that hungry.”

A quick rush of flames indicated he didn’t believe you, but he went incorporeal afterwards, reverting back to a cool breeze that lingered in the air around you. He likely had nothing else to say or nothing on his mind that was important; he had a habit of doing such lately, though you could never pinpoint why. You supposed that it was not important for him to retain some physical manifestation while he was thinking, or that it was not his priority if he was too deeply in thought.

With a sigh, you sat back and stretched out your legs. You weren’t sure what to do now; years without freedom had put limits on your movements and hobbies. To now be handed that freedom on a silver platter, probably with later conditions, you almost wanted to go back to being stuck in that closet room all day and night. But you couldn’t do that, not when opportunity was already in your grasp.

What did people your age do? You stared outside the window at the stone path, eyebrows furrowed in thought. You were certain they didn’t have a Curse, that’s for sure, and they definitely weren’t a vessel for the world’s most evil being in creation. They also dressed differently from you—you, who looked like you had stepped out of a mystical, traditional Japanese fantasy novel—even when they were required to wear uniforms. Their sense of style and overall mood, just from meeting Itadori Yuuji, was different from yours. You wouldn’t fit in in modern society, or even the sorcerer’s carefully monitored one.

You were stuck, in a sense, in an era that you weren’t born in.

Ama-no-Kagaseo lifted a strand of your hair with an invisible hand in comfort. He was not quick to offer a solution and merely left you to ponder on all of the possibilities within your combined power. After all, they had to be your decisions to count to the council, not his. Any hint that he was persuading you in any way would force them to lock you up in a sealed room and execute you on sight.

But that was the issue, wasn’t it? There weren’t any other female descendants. You were the last remaining female Shiraishi. The men in your clan, while unrelated to you and having married in, were too old or uninterested in obeying the whims of the elders, as was their right. You had no choice in the matter. If you wouldn’t produce an heir willingly, they would make you do it by force—you had been told that they would sweep the women away to a clinic in Tokyo and create a child artificially, guaranteeing a female offspring. You weren’t, but your father was nonexistent in your life and may as well be as dead as your mother.

“Then I’ll just have to end it,” you mumbled to yourself. It was the only right conclusion. You would stop subjecting innocent girls to being vessels and you would simultaneously release Ama-no-Kagaseo in the process. But to do that, you would need help and information from Ryoumen Sukuna. He was, after all, the one who developed the technique to seal Ama-no-Kagaseo into a human body in the first place. He would be gone as soon as all twenty fingers were found, anyway, so there was no risk for him to be resealed again. You would just have to bide your time and wait carefully until the time was right. “What do you  think, Ama-no-Kagaseo?”

In your connection, you felt him full heartedly agree—but there was also reluctance there, hesitation.

“What is it?” You inquired softly. He surprised you by completely manifesting—a childlike version of his personal form, indicative of his tumultuous emotions because, even though he was a god, he experienced emotions on a childlike level, experiencing them for the first time—and pushing himself into your arms, uncaring of his actual physical form against your chest. “Amatsumikaboshi?”

His white hair, turning a dark blue and then black towards the ends, brushed against your arms as he further wormed his way against your side, just small enough to fit on the window seat with you. He wore a drastically oversized yukata decorated with a dragon scale design, expensive, and of the same fabric as your kimono. A golden eye, as gold as doubloons, peered at you from behind a fringe of snowy white strands, and atop his head sat two sharp horns, each as white as his hair and darkening to blue towards the points. He was not as intimidating like this, but you still held the same respect for him, and he you.

“No.”

Amused, you raised an eyebrow and rested a hand on his head, combing through the strands soothingly much in the way he would yours when you were tired. “‘No’, what?”

Amatsumikaboshi—not Ama-no-Kagaseo, for this was no normal representation of a false identity—fixed you with a determined stare. He was of so few words that you only understood him through his emotions, new and unexplored as they were, and he was keeping them from you for some reason, fixed on the idea that he was going to tell you himself.

“No separation.” He frowned, then, and reached for your heart, and traced it back to his. “No split.”

“Oh.” You blinked at him, then, tilting your head to further meet his eyes. His pupils were unusual slits now, some link to a dragonic form you didn’t know of. “But we will part some day, Amatsumikaboshi. I’m only human.”

He seemed angry at that fact, eyebrows furrowing at being reminded of it. He never liked being reminded of your very finite life, at risk every time you got sick or ate something that could have been laced with poison. He glared—glared at his human form—and all at once, seemed to come to a conclusion. Some invisible future began playing out in his head, all of his own creation, and whatever it was, it made a smile appear on his face. It was the first time you’d ever seen him smile out of happiness, at least in a physical body you could see. You’d felt the others against your skin or hair, but seeing it was a different thing entirely.

“Do not worry,” he said after a few moments of silence, meeting your concerned gaze once more with disturbing intensity. “I can fix it.”

“Fix it?” You echoed. You reached forward and adjusted a fold of his yukata that threatened to crease, usually out of habit of doing it to your own. He grabbed your hand and placed it back on his head instead, waiting patiently for you to resume petting him. “What do you mean?”

“Nothing. Yet.” He rested his head against the juncture of your shoulder and chest, a hand creeping up to rest against your heart and feel the gentle beat against his fingers. “For now.”

Blinking, you were about to question him further when your stomach interrupted you. A loud growl tore through the momentary silence and Amatsumikaboshi snickered, sitting upright, all questions and thoughts forgotten—or at least ignored.

“Eat,” he said, a hint of a smile still on his face, and leaning forward, brushed a kiss against your cheek. And then he was gone in a rush of blue, black, and white sparks, as incorporeal as he was before.

You sat on the windowsill, a blush creeping up your neck, and touched the tingling skin on your cheek in slight shock. You knew he was watching you, amusement rushing through your connection, and something else—so fast you couldn’t even guess as to what it was—and probably laughing to himself.

Embarrassed, you got to your feet and slipped on your shoes, heading down the hall towards the room where Sayaka had invited you to eat with her, Gojou, and Itadori Yuuji. Hopefully they didn’t mind you being a little late.

Before you could even turn a corner, a man was staring at you—dressed entirely in black and wielding a dagger in his right hand.

“Who are you?” You demanded. He didn’t answer.

Instead, your vision went white, and before you knew it, you were back inside your consciousness, inside Ama-no-Kagaseo’s domain, except you were keenly aware of your physical body hitting the floor and Ama-no-Kagaseo’s true form standing right beside you.

“Ama-no-Kagaseo,” you whispered, shock weaving into your voice as he carefully enveloped you into his arms, much like you had earlier. He was two heads taller than you in this personal representation of himself, warm, and lean. “What happened? Why am I here?”

He hummed against your head thoughtfully, dark and insidious. “Someone is trying to break my connection to you.”

“What?” You pulled back to stare him in the face, watching those golden eyes flicker over your face as if memorizing a dream. “What do you mean ‘break’ it?”

“Don’t worry.” Ama-no-Kagaseo smiled indulgently and pulled you closer again, your ear pressed against his chest—and to your shock, the steady beat of a heart sounding against your ear. “No power in this universe will ever separate us.”

And for once, you didn’t really believe him. 

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[babbysquid]

Not A Whiskey Drinker

Author’s Note: Okay weeee I’m super excited about this. I’m really happy with how this first chapter turned out and I already have plans for future chapters. I am such a sucker for Whiskey and I can’t wait to write more.

Warnings: some slight cursing

Length: 1,934 words

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

For as much as you loved New York City, you absolutely hated its winters. Snow in the countryside was beautiful; white and fluffy, it stayed perfect for days on end. Snow in the concrete jungle however; wet, slushy, and turned disgusting in a matter of hours. Trudging your way through Central Park, the snow and salt crunching beneath your feet, you mind drifted. You had just been let go from you recent job, a personal assistant at a high end marketing office. Sighing to yourself and thinking about the possibility of moving back home your foot slipped. Before you could catch yourself you shut your eyes tight, preparing to land hard on your ass. But that smack never came. Opening one eye you were standing face to face with…

“A cowboy?” you asked, quirking an eyebrow at the man in front of you.

“In the flesh.” came the sweetest accent.

Opening your other eye you realized that the cowboy in front of you had snaked a hand around your waist. No wonder you hadn’t fallen. A beat passed and you realized the cowboy still had his arm around you. You stepped away and out of his hold.

“Thank you.” you said, giving an awkward cough and taking a closer look at you savior.

Not to be a cliché, but he was tall, dark, and handsome. Atop his head was a black Stetson, an odd sight in the middle of New York City. He had a perfectly trimmed mustache, and a small smirk underneath it. You silently thanked the cold for hiding the blush that crept up your face. The redness could easily be passed off as a flush from the biting wind.

“Anytime darlin’.” he said, shooting you a wink with eyes that you felt could swallow you whole. “Anyways, I best be on my way.”

Giving you a dazzling smile, he tipped the end of his hat with a gloved hand and brushed past you. You could’ve sworn that his hand grazed yours, but because of your thick mittens it was hard to tell.

Shivering slightly to yourself, you pulled your coat tighter around you and continued your walk to your apartment.

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

Unlocking your door and sighing to yourself you looked around your small studio apartment. It wasn’t much, but over the past year it had become your home. Shucking your jacket off you headed to the couch and sat down to pull off your shoes.

‘Guess I won’t be here much longer’ you thought to yourself.

After making yourself a steaming cup of tea you decided you may as well look at your email. Two days ago when you were told of your “dismissal” you had signed up for a couple different job search sites. If you were lucky enough maybe someone would offer you an interview, but your hopes were low.

You crossed your legs underneath you trying to generate as much heat as possible. As much as you loved your tiny apartment, it was an older building so the heating was shit to say the least. You clicked on the mail icon on your desktop and silently prayed to yourself. 10 new emails. Maybe there was hope.

10 Kale Dishes That’ll Be Sure To WOW Your Houseguests!

WARNING — WE HAVE DETECTED MALWARE

Most of the emails were similar to those: junk and spam, until your eyes landed on the last email.

RE: Y/N Y/L/N Job Opportunity FOUND!

Your eyes widened at the subject. Clicking on the email you realized that it wasn’t a scam, it had really come from one of the job search sites. Swallowing hard you hoped that it wasn’t just an offer from one of those salad making chain restaurants. You had your fair share of beginner jobs; barista, Subway, etc. After getting a taste of something more professional, you knew that that’s where you were meant to be. Besides, the pay that Starbucks gave was certainly not enough to live in New York City on your own.

Dear Ms. Y/L/N,

My name is Mr. Daniels and I am writing to inform you of opening at Statesmen Brewery, the New York City branch. I have been in search for a PA since my previous one left. After reading your resume I have become very interested in your skills and talents. Please let me know what days you are free in the coming week.

Jack Daniels

Head of Statesmen NYC Branch

You snorted at the sign off. There was no way someone’s real name was Jack Daniels and worked for a brewery. It was comedic to say the least, but there was no harm in responding to his email and getting an interview. Maybe this was your chance to stay in the city you loved, even if its winter was disgusting. Taking a sip of your tea you started to write out your response.

Mr. Daniels,

Thank you so much for your offer. I am very interested in an interview and am free Monday all day. Please let me know what time is best for you. Is there anything specific I should bring besides a printout of my resume and documents?

Thank you for your consideration,

Y/N Y/L/N

It was currently Friday so you had the whole weekend to prep yourself for the interview. If you were honest, the idea of an interview created a small pit in your stomach. It had been over a year since you’d been interviewed for a job.

May as well do some research on Statesmen.

Pulling open a new browser you typed in ‘Statesmen Brewery’ and clicked on their website. Clearly the company had some tech savvy people working for them as their website was modern and easy to navigate.

Statesmen Brewery has been brewing fine whiskey since 1885 and serving people all across the country and world.

No wonder you never heard of the company, you had never been big on whiskey.

The brewery had its start in a small barn in Kentucky and has since expanded to include two offices in New York, New York and Los Angeles, California. While our reach is wide, we consider every employee and consumer of our alcohol a close family member.

The rest of the front page went on to describe their whiskey and how smooth it was, as well as some fun facts about the company. You closed your laptop and picked up your tea, holding it close to your face and letting go of the tension in your shoulders that you didn’t realize was there. Before you could fully relax you heard your phone buzz on the couch cushion next to you.

It was your best friend Parker. When you first moved to NYC you decided to visit a small bookstore/coffee shop and accidentally grabbed the wrong drink. Turns out that drink belonged to Parker. She had come to the coffee shop to work on a script for an up and coming TV show that was set to be filmed in the city. The two of you became fast friends. You were slightly jealous of the girl as she really had landed her dream job.

Opening the text she had sent it was a photo of her holding a script she had written. Her round face was pulled up into a smile, her auburn hair slightly frizzed from what seemed to be an all nighter. You smiled at the photo and read the text that followed.

Guess who just finished her first script for SVU!

Quickly you typed out a response:

Congrats! Proud of you P. I have some good news too. Landed an interview with a fancy brewery.

Suddenly your phone buzzed nonstop, Parker was calling you.

You pressed the button to answer the phone and before you could say anything a scream hit your ears.

“AHHHHHH I’M SO EXCITED FOR YOU!!!!!”

“Haha, thanks Parker. Honestly I’m a bit nervous. I did some research and the company seems to be a pretty big deal.”

“What’s the company?”

“Statesmen Brewery.”

“Oh shit my parents love their stuff.”

“I literally know nothing about whiskey other than the fact that I don’t like it. I feel stressed. The interview is on Monday.”

“I’ll come over tomorrow and help you with prep. Also you know I gotta help pick out the perfect interview outfit.”

“Thanks babe. You’re the best.”

“I know.”

You snorted at her response. Parker was confident, and more importantly confident in you. The thought of having her help you prep eased the knot in your stomach.

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

The rest of the afternoon was spent talking to Parker over the phone. Eventually the two of you ended your call and you were left to do some random chores around your place. As you mopped the floor you slipped a bit but caught yourself before you fell over. Your mind flashed back to earlier in the day.

At the time you didn’t realize how strong the cowboy’s grip was, but it was not overpowering. You remembered how gentlemanly he was. Looking back on it you tried to remember his face. While it was a short interaction, you couldn’t deny that he was easy on the eyes. Sighing softly you tried to remember the last time you went on a date. It had been several months ago. Your busy PA job never really allowed for romantic relationships. Shaking your head you got on with your day, finishing your chores, eating some leftover Chinese food for dinner, and sinking deep into your bed.

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

You were awoken by a knock on your door. Grunting as you got out of bed you swung open the door. The only person who would bother to come over without letting you know was Parker. Your suspicions were correct as she walked through the threshold and made herself at home, talking a mile a minute the entire time.

“Okay so first we need to talk about clothing options.” she said dumping her bag on your couch.

“Not prepping for the interview?” you said giving her a confused look.

Parker sighed.

“Look, I already know you have this interview in the bag. Sure, you may not like whiskey, but you are a wonderful person. While you may be stubborn” you frowned at her comment, “that can be super helpful in interviews. You are a go getting Y/N. I have no doubts about that.”

“I suppose you’re right.”

“Fashion show time!” she said, opening the small closet and rummaging around to find something suitable.

After an hour had passed the two of you finally settled on a suitable outfit. It was professional but still had a touch of you in it. A simple black skirt with a fun silky button down shirt that had a cool pattern on it. As you looked at yourself in the mirror you couldn’t deny that Parker knew what she was doing when it came to fashion.

“Okay finishing touch time.” she said as she unbuttoned the top two buttons of your shirt.

“Parker! This is a job interview, not a date.”

“Ugh. It’s a brewery, they’re gonna be more relaxed about these things. Plus you never know, this Jack Daniels could be a cutie.” she said, giving you a wink.

You chuckled and shook your head. Parker was eccentric but you really did love her. You still had a small bit of anxiety running through your body, but the help of your best friend made you feel more positive about Monday. Maybe you’d be able to stay in New York. Maybe this job might be better than the previous.

[thembohux]

Midday

I’m trying to get rid of my writer’s block and had an idea last night to write This but it ended up way longer than I intended. Also included Hux with glasses and tattoos because I can do as I please (the tattoos are inspired by the art of @jeusus [please let me know if it was over a line to tag you])

Armitage Hux/femme enby OC

18+, minors DNI you know the drill with that

Warnings: PIV sex, degradation kink, fingering, praise kink, unprotected sex, semi-rough sex, Dominant Hux, I think that’s it but let me know if I missed anything ❤️

Armitage was home earlier than expected. Normally he didn’t get off work until four, putting him home at almost five if traffic was good. It was only noon.

Lita was on the sofa in the living room when the front door opened and Hux announced his arrival.

“I’d everything ok? It’s still so early.”

There was a gift box in Hux’s hands, his briefcase slung over his shoulder and glasses precariously balanced on his nose.

“I brought you a gift.”

“What’s the occasion?” Lita asked, tentatively taking the box when it was offered to her.

“I don’t think I need an occasion to spoil my darling wife, do you?” Hux asked, one eyebrow raised.

“I suppose not.” Lita placed the box on the coffee table as Armitage sat beside her.

“Open it, my darling.”

Lita pulled the lid off the box and pushed the tissue paper aside.

“Oh.”

“Do you like it, my love?”

She glanced at Armitage over her shoulder.

“I do but, Armitage, don’t you think it’s too much?”

“Never.”

Lita’s cheeks flushed slightly. She had plenty of beautiful lingerie that both Armitage and Kylo had gifted her over the years but this set was luxurious. They must have worked together to pick it out. Kylo’s job in the fashion industry did give him plenty of perks with obtaining designer items, which he used to absolutely spoil his partners.

“Try it on, I want to see you in it.”

Lita grabbed the box in one hand and Armitage’s hand in the other before heading up to their bedroom.

Hux stood at the edge of the bed, taking off his blazer and rolling up his sleeves, tattoos now on full display. They were simplistic, a few black bands evenly spaced that went from his wrist up his forearm. Lita was in the bathroom, stripping out of her clothes to change into her gift from Armitage.

It was gorgeous, a soft black mesh bralette and panties with little Gs emblazoned on it. Lita had seen the Gucci label on the box and garments. She smoothed everything down, making sure the garments laid nicely before stepping back into the bedroom.

Hux’s eyes lit up at the sight. He had known the set was sheer, but little was left to the imagination when Lita came closer. His hands found her waist immediately, all gentle touches as the cool metal of his wedding band made her skin break out in goosebumps.

He moved quickly, pushing Lita down onto the mattress while still maintaining his firm hold on her. Lita squealed, partially out of shock and excitement, as her back met the mattress, Armitage hovering over her.

One of his hands trailed down between their bodies, making its way between her thighs. He stopped, eyes meeting Lita’s to ask for permission.

“Please.” It was soft but enough for Armitage to continue. He pushed her panties aside, slipping one finger into her pussy and making Lita’s eyes roll back, a soft moan falling from her lips. He thrust his finger inside, curling it forward and stroking that sensitive spot along her front wall before adding another. Lita reached down between them, back arching as Armitage’s thumb brushed her clit, starting to unbuckle his belt to free his already hard cock. It wasn’t too thick, rather average in that respect, but it was long and could hit all the spots that had Lita moaning incoherently for him.

He withdrew his fingers, sucking them clean and moaning as he did, before lining his cock up with her entrance and sliding inside.

The only sounds in the room were their breathing and the soft moans that cut through the air. Armitage’s fingers nearly bruised Lita’s hips with his harsh grip.

He was always so particular about how he did things in the bedroom, just like every other aspect of his life.

A particularly hard thrust had Lita whining, trying to grab his hands and pull him closer, down onto the bed with her. Armitage didn’t give into Lita’s wishes, staying standing between her thighs while she laid before him on the bed. He loved having her like this, loved the control it gave him. Just how needy she became when Armitage held her down on the mattress, hips snapping against hers. Lita let a moan slip out, lips parted.

“My dumb little slut,” Hux cooed, slipping two fingers between her lips. Lita sucked at them, running her tongue along the pads and undersides of his fingers. She could still taste herself on his skin. “Such a sweet and pretty fucktoy. All for me.” Armitage withdrew his fingers with a wet popping sound, running his hand down Lita’s side, along the curve of her waist before settling at the swell of her hip. “Say it, my love.”

“Armitage.” It was whiny. Soft and breathy, hiding the groan Hux released when he felt her cunt clench around him. He leaned down, propping himself up on his forearms, not letting up on his brutal pace. His breath tickled her neck as Armitage made himself level with Lita’s ear.

“You love this, don’t you, darling?”

“Yes! Yes, Armitage, please!” She knew what he wanted from her. He wanted to hear how much she wanted him. How much she loved when he fucked her until neither of them could form coherent thoughts. Each thrust pushed Lita closer to that threshold, eyes rolling back and barely able to form words.

“Please, what?” The only response he received was a whine and Armitage slowed down, rolling his hips at a leisurely pace, which was met by more whining and hands desperately grabbing at his clothes. “Needy little thing,” he chuckled, punctuating his words with a deep thrust. “Does my pretty girl want more?”

Lita nodded, giving Armitage the best doe eyes she could and pouting up at him.

“You know what to do, then. I won’t give you what you want until you say it.” Nothing. Perhaps she needed her memory refreshed or to be prompted. Armitage would be happy to provide such things. In a little bit.

For now, he’d just tease until Lita gave him what he wanted. He’d give those small, shallow thrusts that made her whine, tears of frustration clinging to her lashes while his thumb just barely brushed against her clit. Perhaps he’d leave her on the very edge of an orgasm, come on her stomach and chest before going back to reading on the sofa while she whined and begged for release.

“Armitage, darling, please! Please— fuck— please let me come. I love— mmm— love your cock! Armie, please!”

Hux pushed himself back up, grabbing Lita’s waist to pull her into a sitting position as she grabbed onto the collar of his shirt. His pace was brutal, drawing loud moans from her lips that mingled with his own. Armitage leaned down, kissing and biting at any parts of Lita’s neck he could reach, fingers rubbing tight circles around her clit as her eyes rolled back.

“Come for me, love. Be a good girl, my darling.”

Lita let out a broken moan, cunt clenching around him and vision going white as she came. Armitage wasn’t close behind, giving a few final thrusts before spilling himself inside her, moaning against Lita’s neck. They both practically collapsed onto the bed, trying to even out their breathing and recover.

“Did I hurt you?”

“No.” Lita pressed a kiss to Hux’s cheek before turning his head slightly to reach his lips. “You did an amazing job. Thank you, darling.”

He pulled out, rolling onto his back while Lita rested her head on his chest. Perhaps he’d have to leave work early more often.

Tagging @cleversturmhond @starlightsearches @ratboyfanclub but no pressure of course ❤️

[childrenofthesunny]

Seek Him Who My Soul Loveth (1/2)

For my spin on @gayforgoodomens‘ Priest AU, for when she wondered off-hand how Crowley and Aziraphale might go about having sex for the first time, whilst simultaneously still pining/pretending they’re not breaking their vows. So, naturally, off I went to write what’s looking like will be a 6-7,000 word fic about it.

Listen, the only thing stopping me from turning this AU into a full-blown multichapter fic is (a) my knowledge of the workings of Catholicism being limited to some brief skimming of Wikipedia and what little of church I remember from when I was 7 and (b) I already have a multichapter WIP being posted, and I know I don't have the attention span to maintain two major WIPs simultaneously.

But I want to

(That being said, this is in two parts; part two should be done in a few days.)

If you prefer, you can also read this on Ao3 @ childrenofthesun.

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

"Ah, Father Crowley, there you are! So, this is where you've been hiding all evening."

 "Hardly a shock to find me out here, is it?" Crowley asked with a grin, squinting up at the cherubic middle-aged man now standing beside him. Like Crowley, he was wearing pants and a short-sleeved button-up with a clerical tab, in deference to the balmy summer weather. Unlike Crowley, he was very clean and neat, and not wearing a dirt-streaked garden apron. "I've been spending all of my free time this week working on the gardens, now that Shadwell's retired and can't go berating me for trying to do the job he wasn't even doing himself. Beyond me how he even got the job in the first place."

 The other man looked around fretfully, as if expecting the former groundskeeper to leap out from behind a poorly maintained bush and start yelling at him. "Oh, I know, but you mustn't be too hard on the poor fellow. The job was more to make him feel useful than anything. But Gabriel said we couldn't justify the expense anymore."

 "You were too soft on him, anyway, Aziraphale," Crowley admonished, smirking at the little huff Aziraphale let out when Crowley didn't address him by his title, as he was supposed to. "Letting him set up all that nonsense meant to ward off witches. It’s certainly never stopped Anathema from coming here to borrow one of your books."

 "At least it kept him busy," Aziraphale replied, sounding slightly aggrieved. His hands fluttered briefly by his wrists, as if he wanted to fiddle with the sleeves of the cassock that was his preferred style of dress. "Although it would have been nice if he had directed some of that energy towards the upkeep of the gardens. I did try to explain to him that the grounds are consecrated, and that surely would ward off evil, but in his eyes that wasn't sufficient protection."

 "I know, I tried to explain it that way, too," Crowley told him cheerfully. "Apparently, the fact that I wear sunglasses all the time means I must be in league with the Devil, so he didn't think my input was particularly useful."

"Is he not aware of your eye condition?"

 "I tried to tell him what photosensitivity is, but seems he's of the school of thought that science and witchcraft are basically the same thing. The tattoos probably didn't help me make my case either."

 Aziraphale made a face. "Ah."

 "Yup," Crowley confirmed, and Aziraphale shook himself suddenly.

 "You've distracted me, you wily old thing!" he chided.

 "Younger than you," Crowley pointed out, grinning impishly and making Aziraphale glower at him with impatience.

 "I was about to get cross with you," Aziraphale insisted. Crowley arched an eyebrow at him.

 "Oh? Whatever for?"  

Aziraphale gestured at the gardening tools in Crowley's hands. "That! It's far too late for you to be working out here, still."

 "Still light out," Crowley muttered, poking rebelliously at the soil with his trowel.

 Aziraphale rolled his eyes and threw up his hands in exasperation. "It's summer, of course it's still light out! That doesn't change the fact that it's almost nine thirty." He shifted his weight, arms now folded. The slowly dwindling rays of sunset caught in the white-gold curls crowning Aziraphale's head, making them glow as if from within.

 Lord, but did he look like an angel.

 Crowley hissed in displeasure as he begrudgingly got to his feet, the taut muscles of his back creaking in protest. Aziraphale gave him a reproving look.

 "'S not like it's going to weed itself," Crowley grumbled in a half-hearted final objection, wincing again. Now that he was standing, the ache in his back was really starting to settle in. He tried to straighten to his full height, which would give him a few inches over Aziraphale, but found that his spine would only comfortably let him stand with their eyes level.

 All right, maybe he had been overdoing it a bit over the past few days.

 Aziraphale pursed his lips. "Be that as it may, you mustn't work like this to the detriment of your own wellbeing. It will still be here in the morning. This is your home, Crowley, it isn't as if you'll be forced to leave if you don't turn the church grounds into Kew Gardens overnight."

 "S'pose I would've been kicked out ages ago, if that were the case," Crowley acquiesced, rubbing some of the dirt on his hands onto his gardening apron. "Y'know, when I first came here, I was really excited to see the gardens," he admitted. "I'd heard how lovely they were, especially for such a small church. Was a bit of shock when I saw the state they were in."

 What he didn't add was that, given Shadwell's constant undermining of any covert attempt he made to coax the gardens back to life, Crowley would have long ago gone and grovelled to the diocese to grant him a new assignment elsewhere. That is, had he not had a compelling reason to want to stay in Tadfield.

 A middle-aged, cherubic man-shaped reason, to be specific.

 "Well, you'll have plenty of time to restore them to their former glory, now," Aziraphale said kindly. "There's no need for you to rush anything."

 Crowley hummed in agreement, and went to bend down to pick up his tools, unable to stifle a groan as he did so. Aziraphale was quick to forestall the movement with a hand to Crowley's chest, his usual hesitance to so much as brush shoulders with Crowley vanishing under his concern. Allow me, he probably said, but Crowley couldn't hear him over the sudden rush of blood to his ears, pounding through his rapidly beating heart in a way that Aziraphale would surely be able to feel beneath his fingers.

 Aziraphale said something else that Crowley's brain refused to parse, too focused on trying to keep the other priest from realising the effect the simple touch was having on him. He managed to nod, not sure what he was agreeing to, but was rather proud of himself for managing not to whimper when Aziraphale's hand pulled away.

 "We'll just put these away first," Aziraphale told him, Crowley's brain function apparently restored now that they were no longer touching. Crowley dutifully trailed after him to the shed, putting his tools back in their rightful place. He grunted slightly when he reached to the small of his back to undo the ties of his garden apron, the motion tugging at the aching muscles of his shoulders. The sound alerted Aziraphale, who immediately fussed over him again, lifting the strap holding the apron around his neck for Crowley despite his protests. Crowley scowled as Aziraphale smiled serenely at him and hung the apron on its hook by the door. Secretly, however, he was glad that the dim, fading light meant that Aziraphale wouldn't be able to see that the tips of Crowley's ears had gone a hot, flaming red.

 Aziraphale took the lead again as they both headed for the rectory they shared, both toeing off their shoes and leaving them in the rack by the door once they'd crossed the threshold.

 "I imagine you'd want to shower before we begin," Aziraphale said as they headed into the living room. He picked up a book he'd left beside the sofa and took a seat, already thumbing it open. "Take your time, I'll be waiting here for you when you're done."

 Crowley glanced down at the dirt packed under his nails, felt the sweaty stick of his shirt against his back, and couldn't help but agree. Whatever Aziraphale had had him agree to, it probably would be best if he cleaned himself up first. Not to mention it would give him a little bit of time to collect his thoughts, to slow the still traitorously fast gallop of his heart.

 He headed upstairs, grabbed a change of clothes from his room, and did his best not to run to the bathroom, knowing Aziraphale would be able to hear the creak of the floorboards overhead if he did.

 Once enshrined in the privacy of the bathroom, shower turned on and old pipes groaning laboriously as they slowly heated, Crowley sagged against the door and let out a long, shaky breath.

 "Get a grip," he muttered to himself, flicking on the ancient exhaust fan. It rattled slowly to life, letting out the occasional whining protest, as the unbalanced blades scraped against the inside of the casing. "You're acting like… like he's about to lay down rose petals for you and take you to bed, when you know he couldn't find his way out of the closet if you gave him a torch and a map. And even if he could… he wouldn't do anything about it. You've both got your vows." He tore off his clothes and left them in a sullen pile on the floor, opening the shower door. Steam billowed out and he stepped inside quickly before too much could escape. He stood directly under the scalding spray, heedless of how his pale skin went instantly pink. His face was likely beyond sun-kissed, too, given the time he'd spent in the garden.

 There wasn't much he could do about that, but at the very least he could wash the sweat from his skin, furiously scrub the dirt out from under his nails. Whatever the evening had in store for him, at least he'd be clean.

 He fruitlessly tried again to piece together what Aziraphale had asked him, out in the garden. Now, though, naked and surrounded on all sides by steam, his mind only seemed to want to offer him lewd suggestions, each one more highly improbable than the last. Unbidden, he imagined Aziraphale walking into the bathroom to find out what was taking Crowley so long, then disrobing and entering the shower with Crowley, hot water cascading over them both as Aziraphale pressed him up against the tiles–

 With a burst of self-disgust, Crowley realised that certain areas of his body were getting very excited indeed by such thoughts, and were responding in a way that was meant to encourage him to keep thinking those exact thoughts as he took himself in hand. He'd done it a few times in the past, now, even though it invariably left him riddled with guilt and shame. Somehow, it seemed even more egregious than usual to have a self-loathing-fuelled wank over the man he worked with, when said man was patiently awaiting his return downstairs, none the wiser.

 With a sigh, he turned off the heat, standing under the cold spray for several seconds to try and keep his body from getting any funny ideas, before cutting off the water completely. Skin still pink in places, but at the very least clean, he towelled himself off, squeezing as much water out of his hair as he could. A glance in the mirror told him that he'd definitely been out in the sun too long. If he was very lucky, the skin wouldn't start peeling off over the next few days, but, given how his pale skin had historically reacted to overexposure to the sun, he wasn't exactly holding out hope. He applied some moisturiser to his face to at least draw out some of the heat, and resolved to stop being so forgetful about putting on sunscreen when he needed to.

 He put on his clothes quickly, only realising once he was done that he'd gone on complete autopilot, and dressed himself as if preparing for his clerical duties, collar and all. He felt a little stupid, but knew he'd feel even stupider if he went and changed again, so he decided to leave everything as it was, and headed back downstairs. Hopefully, wearing something symbolic of the Church would help remind his unruly body, mind, and heart how they were all supposed to be behaving.

 "Ready, then?" Aziraphale asked when he came back into the living room, glancing quickly at the page number before closing the book and setting it aside.

 "Yep," Crowley answered, still having no idea what he'd agreed to.

 "We can use my bed," Aziraphale decided. "Now that I've had a moment to think about it, the couch really is far too narrow to give us enough space to work with comfortably."

 "What?" Crowley squeaked.

 Aziraphale gave him an odd look. "I suppose we could do this here, with you laid out on the floor, if you'd prefer. I know that some people like a more solid surface beneath them for this sort of thing," he said, apparently unaware that he was giving Crowley a heart attack.

 "You… you want me on the floor?" he managed.

 Aziraphale shrugged. "Personally, I would have thought the bed would be more comfortable, but the choice is yours. This is to your benefit, after all."

 "…My benefit?" Crowley asked faintly, apparently unable to do much more than echo Aziraphale's words back at him.

 "Honestly, Crowley," Aziraphale replied huffily. Crowley managed to find space amidst his confusion to feel the little thrill he always did whenever Aziraphale dropped the honorific when referring to him by name. "The massage? That we discussed not twenty minutes ago, were you even listening?"

 "Massage?" Crowley couldn't help but parrot. Aziraphale pinched the bridge of his nose.

 "Yes. Massage. For your back. That I offered to you. Because you've been overworking yourself in the garden all week and can barely stand upright."

 "Oh. Right," Crowley managed, nodding like a dashboard bobblehead on an unpaved country road. "That massage. 'Course."

 "Honestly," Aziraphale huffed again, but far fonder in tone this time. "So. Out here, or on the bed?" "Bed," Crowley said before he could stop himself.

 Aziraphale nodded, standing. "Shall we, then?"

 Crowley nodded mutely, and when Aziraphale began to lead them both upstairs, he followed.

[come-on-shitty-boys]

//next chapter. bokuto koutarou//

Request: Ok ok. Single parent!Bokuto and you're his new girlfriend...he's never really told you about the triplets yet because you might get scared until one day he finally decided to introduce you to them because he think you're mama material to his baby owlies 🥺

Warnings: none :) just a lot of pure pure fluff

Word Count: 2.2K

Notes:  i was in desperate need of some domestic papa bokuto .-. Also peep me using the kouddi kids that elle and i dreamed up 

He didn’t know why he was so nervous, but his leg kept bouncing.  Your fingers combing through the back of his hair wasn’t even enough to bring his nerves down.  But, this was big.  It had been something that Bokuto had been anticipating since he realized just how much he wanted to see your smile every time he woke up.  He had fallen head over heels a lot harder than he should have for some girl that he hit with a shopping cart on a random Tuesday afternoon.  But, who was he to ignore the heavy pounding in his chest when you had grabbed his outstretched hand to let him pull you to your feet?  The fire that had warmed his ears was too hot to just shake off.  He hadn’t felt like that in a long time and there was no telling when this feeling would come back.

It had been a hassle, really.  He was always busy with volleyball games or practice when you were free and on the rare chance that he was available, it never failed that you were stuck at work.  But, the struggles that the two of you faced and climbed over together are the reason he finally decided to take this next big step.  It was almost four months into his relationship with you that he spilled the secret that he had been keeping from you this entire time.  

“I have kids.  Three of them, actually.  I know that I should’ve told you sooner, but I was afraid that you wouldn’t be interested anymore.  But, they mean a lot to me, so I couldn’t just keep them a secret from you, you know?  I completely get if you don’t want to see me again after tonight.  I mean, this probably wasn’t what you were expecting to hear on a F-” 

He had been a ball of nerves, similar to how he was behaving now.  Bokuto’s hands were flying each and every way, his eyes trained everywhere but your face.  If only he had seen the loving expression in your eyes sooner, his anxieties about this being your deal breaker would’ve melted away in a heartbeat, but rather, your lips had pressed gently against his, silencing his worries as your fingers shifted slowly from the back of his neck, up into his hair, that comforting touch letting your boyfriend sink even further under your spell.

But unlike back then, a kiss wasn’t going to ease him.  Telling you about his kids was one thing, but having you actually meet them was an entirely separate ordeal.  It wasn’t that he believed that you wouldn’t love his kids wholeheartedly and he was certain that the triplets had heard enough stories about you that they would have no problem adapting to you as a figure in their lives.  Oh no, those were all quite far from his concerns.  Having one rambunctious five year old would’ve made this whole thing so much easier.  One kid was easy to control and keep an eye on.  But, three young children who each had the never-ending energy of their father was bound to make you take a step back and rethink every decision that you had made up to this point.  

Bokuto Koutarou had been quiet for most of the drive from your house to his own, every now and then reaching over to place a hand on your knee to give it a slight squeeze of reassurance, for you or him, it was hard to say.  “Are you sure you want to do this?  We can turn around and I can take you home.  If you’re not ready, then-”

You catch yourself laughing a little as you lean over the console of his car to place a small peck to his cheek.  “I want to meet them, Kou.  They’re your kids and they mean a lot to you.  I really love you and I want to be able to be in their lives too.  If they want me to be, of course.”

For the first time since he picked you up, he nearly seemed like his usual self.  He let out a hearty laugh and gave you that bright smile that had you melting every time you saw it.  “Are you kidding?  They’ve been talking about this day non-stop since I told them that you wanted to meet them.  Madori, especially.  It’s been a while since she had another girl around, you know?  She’s been stuck with me and the boys ever since their mom left.  I try my best, but painting papa’s nails is more of a joke than her playing salon.  So, don’t be surprised if she latches onto the second she sees you.”  He sighed a little, the sheepish smile settling on his lips.  

“But, the boys are polar opposites!  Fukurou, he’s the shy one.  I don’t know where he got it, but he’ll probably hide from you for a little while.  Don’t take it personally.  I swear, he does it with everyone he meets, but I’d give him an hour before he’s trying to sit in your lap every chance he gets.  He’s pretty clingy, but I guess I can’t really blame him.  But, Koujirou is going to be asking you a hundred questions before you can even step in the door.  He talks just as much as I do.”  

Your boyfriend laughs gently.  There was always a certain look on his face whenever he started talking about the triplets.  He just looked so far away, like he was lost in a day dream, but the smile on his face would have you believe that he never wanted to return to reality.  But, maybe that’s what being a single father did.  It brought him closer than he could have ever imagined that he would be to his kids.  Sure, trying to juggle three little kids and a volleyball career wasn’t the easiest thing in the world, but no one said it would be.  If you had told him in high school that his life would be forever changed by three little owls before he was thirty, Bokuto probably wouldn’t have believed you.  But, his three babies had joined him for the ride and he couldn’t be happier to have them by his side.  They were wild and the house hadn’t seen a moment of peace since they were born, but they were his own and the four of them had become their own perfect little family, surviving the best they could.  

If Bokuto played his cards right and if this day went as smoothly as he hoped, his family of four would have the opportunity to grow into one of five, a new mom to step in and be that second parental figure that had been absent in the triplets’ lives for so long now.  He’d be lying if he said that he hadn’t thought about asking that one important question.  But, with the relationship just barely reaching the ten month mark, it still seemed too soon to put a ring on your finger.  Still, he couldn’t help but run his thumb over the back of your ring finger every time he held your hand, imagining how it would feel to draw the pad of his thumb over a small diamond that united the two of you together instead of your smooth skin.  Making you an official member of his family would be the perfect addition to his already incredible life.

The engine cuts and he pulls his car keys from the ignition, taking a brief moment to relax in the silence with you.  It would take roughly 20 steps to get to the front door and in 20 steps his entire relationship with you would change.  Bokuto felt your hand snake away from his hair to rub soothing circles across his back.  “Are you ready?” He asks, honey eyes catching the light of the afternoon causing the colors to appear an even more beautiful shade than they already were.  His eyes searched your face for any ounce of reservation that could cause this whole thing to go awry, but no matter how deeply he searched, you only stared back at him, features brimming with confidence.  

“Thank you, Kou,” you say, watching his brows knit together in a bemused expression, head tilting cutely to the side.  “For letting me be a part of their lives.  You never had to let us get to this point, but I’m happy that we did.”

“So, I am.  Honestly, Y/N.  I couldn’t be happier that you actually wanted to meet them.  They’ve never had anyone besides me who was actively trying to be in their lives, so I should really be thanking you for giving us a chance, shouldn’t I?”

“Shall we?”  Your hand reaches for the handle of the door, but stopping before you can touch it, waiting for him to come along on this next chapter.

He nods his head, a shaky breath passing from his lips.  “Let’s go.”  He counted each step in his head, watching as your feet moved in sync with his.  The jingle of his keys as they found their place in the lock and the short click as the bolt slid out of its place.  

“Papa!” 

Bokuto didn’t even have a chance to step past the threshold before three little flurries rushed out the door and into his arms.  They stared up at him with wide golden eyes, clinging onto his clothes as they welcomed their father home.  He laughed, reaching down to ruffle the grey hair that donned their heads.  “Listen, I’ll let you climb on me all you want, but let me go talk to ‘Kaashi first, okay?  He probably wants to head home after putting up with you monsters all day.”  He bent down, quickly tickling his fingers over each one of their sides, bursts of happy giggles filling the air.  

He was just about to finally walk inside when Madori’s small hand tugged the bottom of his t-shirt to make him squat down to her level so she could whisper something in his ear.  You could see her making not-so-sneaky glances over at you and the smile that took over Bokuto’s face as he waved his kids over to him.  “Guys, I have someone very special that I want you to meet.  This is the girl that papa was telling you about, remember?  The one that I told you was really important to me?  Her name is Y/N and she’s going to be hanging out with us tonight, is that cool?”  Three heads do exaggerated nods in affirmation, letting their father turn them around to face you as he stood.  “Y/N, this is Madori, Fukurou, and Koujirou,” he states, patting each of the kids on the head as he stated their name.  

You get down on their level and as if on cue, Fukurou’s hands make a tight fist around Bokuto’s pants, ducking behind the strong build of his father.  “I know it’s a little scary meeting someone new, but I want to get to know you guys so we can be friends, okay?  My name is Y/N.  Your papa has told me all about you three.”

“Are you going to be our new momma?” Koujirou asks plainly.

“Well, not right now.  I’m still getting to know you and I can’t be your momma if I don’t know anything about you.”

“Why not?”

“Well, I bet you wouldn’t like that very much, would you?  Some random person that you never met walks into your house and tells you that they’re your new momma, that’d be pretty weird.”

“Do you want to be our momma?”

“If you want me to, I would really like to be your mom someday, but I’m sure your papa wants to make sure that you three are okay with something like that before that happens.”

“Hey, miss?” Madori asks, her hand tugs gently on the sleeve of your shirt.  “Do you want to play hair with me?  I’ll let you be the hair person and you can do my hair if you want.  I have lots of clippies and things.”

“I’d really like that, Madori.  Do you want to go get everything set up while I put my stuff down?”

The little girl nods, skipping back into the house, disappearing down a hall to set up her very own salon, but this time she’d be able to do more than just paint her daddy’s nails hot pink and shove a few brightly colored clips in his hair.

Bokuto couldn’t tear his eyes away.  Even if he tried, he just kept staring fondly at you as you interacted with the three most important people in his life.  That wistful smile overtook his face all over again, but now, his reality was better than any dream he’d ever had.  He had everything he could have ever wanted.  His dream career, three wonderful kids (even if their favorite pastime was keeping him up at all hours of the night), and the perfect woman to complete his picture perfect future.  

Now, he was just missing one thing:

An “I do.”

[writing-gifts]

here’s the 6th part of the incubus!doppio AU!

im gonna start posting this on ao3 too (with some editing in the earlier chapters so you can check that out if you wanna)

list of parts

@wasabi-mommy @mistabrainr0t @the-average-mastermind

--------

“OW! What the hell--why’d you bite me so hard for!?”

You try to move your leg but Mutton blocks your way. Letting out a sigh, you stand in place and look down at the cat.

“What? What is the problem?”

He moves behind you and presses his head against the back of your calf hard enough to affect your balance. When you move your leg forward to stop yourself from falling, Mutton walks towards the door.

“Do you want me to let you out? But you just got here.”

The cat looks at you for a moment before placing his front paws on the door and stretching upward towards the knob.

Shaking your head, you walk over to the door. “I’m gonna get that cat door for you one day, I swear.”

Once it’s open, Mutton quickly circles your legs and pushes his head against them like before.

“Okay, okay I’m going!”

You walk out and the feline takes a few steps towards the forest ahead before turning to look back. His multicolored eyes stay locked on yours and you purse your lips when you realize what he wants.

“I guess I'm following you….”

After locking and closing the door, you walk after the cat as he continues into the forest. You wonder what exactly he’s so desperate to show you. Was this even normal behavior for cats? You weren't sure but you did know that Mutton was a little more on the intelligent side. Sometimes you even felt like he could even understand you.

So you go along with it, following a distance behind through what seems like endless trees and brush and fanning random insects out of your face. Fortunately, the weather was cool enough that you weren't sweating too.

However, the longer you walk, the more you fear that you might be lost. Trying to find your way back on your own would definitely make it worse though.

Just when you think you need to take a break, a body of water appears in the distance through the opening of the trees. When you and Mutton finally exit the packed foliage, you see that you’ve been led to a lake sitting in a giant clearing in the forest.

You stare a bit amazed at the size and notice a cabin near it a distance away. Mutton doesn't stop long to let you marvel at the scene though and continues towards the lake. You catch up to him and the both of you walk alongside the water.

“So do you know the person in the cabin?” You assume that’s where you're headed.

You didn’t expect a response, but Mutton merps to acknowledge you. You hum and your gaze quickly finds itself back on the lake. It was vast, going on so far you could barely see where it ended. The sky and trees reflect on its surface clearly and the water’s so still you almost feel like you can jump into the clouds if you want to.

Once the two of you are closer, you see that the brick and wood cabin was partially sitting on the grassy land behind it and partially on the water. You had also underestimated the size. Perhaps more than one person lived here?

Mutton leads you around the side of the house and stops to sit next to the front door. He looks up at you expectedly so you reach out to knock.

Several seconds pass before you hear the door being unlocked and when it opens, a handsome man with a neat, dark bob is revealed.

Unsure of what to do, you give a quick greeting and go quiet afterward. You didn't plan what to say when the door was answered, you just knew Mutton wanted you to knock.

Said cat walks into view, rubbing against the man’s leg as he walks into the house.

At that moment, realization seems to cross the man's face and he smiles at you.

“You must be the neighbor,” he says.

“Neighbor?”

“The person who lives in the house outside the forest. I saw someone moved in but never came around to introduce myself.”

"Oh, I had no idea anyone lived out here."

"That’s pretty much the reason why I’m out here.” The man moves to make room so you can walk inside. “Would you like to come in?"

You're a little hesitant since you just met but Mutton had no issue with it apparently. And the cat had actively been prepared to attack Diavolo for you on multiple occasions.

The moment you pass the threshold, you’re instantly awed. When you thought of cabins, simple and small came to mind. This one was neatly organized but it didn't give the homely vibe you’d expect.

The monochromatic room was spacious and decorated with nice looking furniture and curtains. The living area consisted of a fireplace surrounded by comfortable looking couches, and the stone wall above it held shelves that were crammed full of old looking books, various expensive looking decor and bottles. And to the right, closer to the back of the room sat a sizable dining set.

However what mostly grabs your eye is the fish tanks that were embedded in the walls throughout the room. At first you wonder why he had so many, but when you look closer you realize that they were not, in fact, separate tanks but a giant aquarium partially hidden within the walls.

Was the whole house like this? What type of cabin was this?

While you wonder where all the fish are, something twinkles in the corner of your eye. You turn to see what it is, but there’s nothing there.

So I'm imagining things now...

“--drink?”

You turn your attention to the man. "Sorry what was that?"

“I asked if you wanted anything to drink?”

You cross your arms and shake your head. “No I’m good…so do you know why Mutton led me here?”

The cat currently sits on the top of the back of one of the white couches.

“I actually needed to discuss something important with you, but I should introduce myself first. I'm Bruno Bucciarati--you can refer to me as either--and I'm a witch.”

You’re immediately skeptical. It wasn't unheard of, obviously, but you couldn't just believe whatever anyone told you. Bruno doesn’t look bothered by your dubiousness though.

“You're smart enough to not trust blindly. That’s good.” The man puts a finger to his chin. “You have a leaf on your shoulder.”

Before you can reach up to brush it off the man plucks it off you. Then just as quickly as he picked it off, the small green leaf begins to glow and transforms into a full flower.

You stare shocked trying to find any way to explain what you just saw. It was no trick of the eye either as the leaf’s form changed right before you into a completely different thing.

The man--no witch holds out the white rose and you gently take it.

“I--wow I just keep running into supernatural beings or something.”

"This forest does seem to attract them," he says.

Interesting…

You roll the flower stem between your fingers. “I’m ____ by the way.Uh, I don't know if you call him Mutton too--" You tilt your head in the direction of the feline. “--but is he your familiar or something?”

“No, he’s just a cat that likes to wander the forest. However, my familiar's over there though if you’re interested."

You get closer to the tank the witch pointed out to observe and even though you weren't exactly showing it, you were actually really excited and interested by the fact that you just met a witch.

At first you don't see anything in the huge tank other than greenery and a rocky cave ornament in the corner. But then something pops its head out of the opening. An eel that also managed to match the color scheme of the room. It was mostly white and covered in black patterns with yellow sprinkled in. It comes out of its hiding spot and swims back and forth as if it were stretching out it’s long body. Then it turns to you when it realizes that you're intently watching through the glass.

Your smile at it’s somewhat funny face and tilt your head a bit. The eel responds by tilting its own head, as if curious by your action.

"Holy crap. This is actually pretty cool! Do they talk?" you ask.

“Not really.” Bruno's smile falters. “But surprisingly Mutton does.”

“Huh?” You snicker a bit thinking the witch is joking but see that there’s no sign that he is on his face.

You look over at the cat and he stares back unblinking before glancing at Bruno.

"....I thought we weren't going to tell them."

Your heart almost jumps into your throat. “W-What?”

Bruno hums. “I thought about it and decided there's no point keeping it secret any longer. The incubus already knows. So it would only be a matter of time before he said something."

You're still reeling from Mutton talking that you almost missed what Bruno said.

“Hold on...Wait. Incubus? Are you talking about Doppio?” you ask the witch.

“Yes.”

You squint confused. “He knew and he didn't say anything? How long ago did he find out?"

"About a week," Mutton says.

"It might have benefited him in some way but I'm not sure why he didn't say anything," Bruno adds.

You exhale, somehow already on the verge of irritation with...everyone. Doppio was usually open with you, but apparently he thought this was a good thing not to mention.

You stare at Mutton who looks at you like he usually did, as if this weren’t an issue. But that was far from the case for you. It wasn't explicitly said but you were sure he told Bruno things about you, and it left you disturbed.

“...Well is there anything else I should know about Mutton?”

"Well his name's not actually Mutton," Bruno says.

"It's Leone Abbacchio, but you can call me Abbacchio."

You grimace from the human sounding voice coming from the cat you had been cuddling practically since...since you moved here!

“Okay Abbacchio, I don't really want you snooping around my house anymore--

“That can be arranged,” Bruno interrupts. “Once we ‘exorcise’ that demon constantly visiting you.”

Your already furrowed brow deepens. Doppio wasn't possessing anything though. You weren't even sure he was capable of that.

“No, I don't want that!”

"Listen, it might seem like Doppio is harmless, but things can become dangerous if he grows too serious of an attachment to you. And if it makes you feel better, we won’t need to hurt him if he leaves quietly."

You weren't exactly sure what the witch meant by "dangerous" but his serious tone managed to spark some anxiety within you.

"I mean it would be natural for Doppio to get upset if I suddenly wanted him gone."

"He's not just talking about being upset." Abbacchio says, annoyance in his tone. "Doppio could literally keep you against your will if he wanted and there would be no way for Bruno to reverse it."

"All demons are naturally envious creatures and the way things are going between you two, it’s only a matter of time. And this doesn't even take into account the other demon." Bruno says.

Diavolo aside, you couldn't bring yourself to see Doppio in that light.

"But--"

The front door slams open and the temperature in the room seems to drop.

Doppio stomps in, his face flushed. Once he sees you he seems to relax slightly but his expression is still irate.

“I finally found you!” he exclaims.

Bruno raises a brow and turns to Abbacchio.

The cat's ears fold back in frustration. "I was sure I lost him."

The incubus walks up to you, stopping too close and grabbing your shoulders harshly. “Are you okay?”

“Doppio you're gripping me too tightly.” You push off his hands and wrap your arms around yourself to shield your body from the sudden chill that seemed to appear. “I’m fine….But they're talking about you being able to keep me? What does that exactly mean?”

You wanted to hear an explanation from the incubus himself. You trusted him not to lie to your face if you asked him straight on.

However, Doppio reacts strangely, as if he's afraid. He makes some space between the two of you and struggles to look at you. You try to catch his gaze again but he refuses to keep eye contact.

"It's…" He strains his fingers. "Well, you see, incubi and succubi can form a….c-connection with a weaker being if they’re close enough. Then they could technically stay together forever."

Abbacchio grunts, "Way to sugar coat it--"

“I wouldn’t do that to you though ____! I didn't even consider it! U-Unless you wanted to it would never happen and I know that you like your space…”

The incubus is the most stressed you've seen him.

Even though you were still upset you didn't like seeing him like this, so in an attempt to ease him, you try to smile. Unfortunately, it comes off pretty strained.

You take a moment to mull over what he said though and come to a conclusion pretty quickly. "Even though that was kind of vague...I think I understand. And honestly, I can't see you forcing me into that."

You'd never seen a cat roll their eyes until now.

"Typical human. They're a lost cause Bruno. Let's leave them to do what they want," Abbacchio says before stretching and laying down.

The witch looks disapprovingly at the cat. "You know I can't do that. Perhaps they actually were charmed. I could--"

"Sir," you say to get his attention. "I appreciate your concern, but I trust Doppio and I'd prefer if you didn't get in between the two of us."

Having to tell your almost neighbor you just met to buzz off even in a polite way wasn't what you were expecting to do today.

Bruno doesn’t look upset though. He's quiet, studying you with an unreadable expression but then he nods.

"I'm having Leone check up on you. If anything seems off I'm getting involved."

Your brows furrow slightly. Didn't you just explicitly say you didn't want Abbacchio snooping around your home anymore?

You want to argue more but the witch didn't leave room in his statement to negotiate. And even though you hate to admit it, keeping the supernatural out of your home wasn't exactly your strong suit. It pissed you off but you couldnt do anything about it. So you give a curt nod and immediately walk to the exit with Doppio following closely behind.

Once outside, you follow the incubus through the forest. There's a long, awkward stretch of silence between you two though.

Doppio tries to sneakily glance at you, which you of course you notice but you choose to ignore it. However, after the 50th one he finally decides to say something.

"____?"

You sigh, "What?"

He slows to a stop to turn and look at you properly but, again, he has trouble keeping eye contact.

"Are you mad?"

Maybe at first but now it had changed to more of a disappointed feeling.

"Not necessarily but you knew about Mutt--Abbacchio and didn't say anything to me. So I'm not exactly happy right now."

"I didn't but--"

You shake your head. "No Doppio. I'm too tired right now to understand whatever weird logic you formed in your head."

His mouth closes and the hurt on his face instantly makes you regret your choice of words. Maybe you shouldn't have said it like that but you really didn't feel like listening to excuses right now.

You look away from Doppio. "Let's just go, please."

[cosmicbash]

I'm hesitant to post this, because??? Honestly?? I'm not 100% sure I haven't already posted it. I was perusing my Google docs trying to relabel stuff as posted and such to better organize and found this, which @lemon-coke and me both can't figure out if I ever posted. So.

Better to repost it and give you all something to reread then not post it all I assume.

Sorry!

It starts out as a misunderstanding, of course, because how else would their relationship begin?

A series of short tentative chats that somehow blossom into a full on dinner together, Colson sweating and more anxious than he's ever been in his life. It just doesn't seem real, that not only could he be mending this feud with his idol but also sitting across from him at some fancy restaurant table learning Eminem eats his steaks well done like some child. And laughing about it. 

He's actually laughing. With his idol, his rival, his highschool crush. Long legs kicking out under the table at his own bad jokes, Em half smirking back at him. Their feet brushing one too many times for the color to leave his cheeks even after he's done giggling.

By the time Colson is talking Em into splitting some crazy good looking chocolate cake he actually feels better than he has in years. Since before the beef. So of course something has to go wrong. It really would have to be a dream for things not to sour.

He wants to pretend the first few flirty comments are in his head. That Em reaching across the table to roughly rub some chocolate off his cheek is a Detroit thing. But by the time they're finished eating and waiting for the check Colson's creeping suspicion has turned into full on alarm bells blaring. There's just no way to excuse the nervous looks or Em's almost hesitant invitation up to his hotel room. 

It feels like a slap to the face. Everything suddenly makes sense. Why they're eating in the other rapper's hotel, why Em is even speaking to him. None of this is to repair their relationship or end the beef. It's all just some poorly hidden buttering up before Em asks him to get down on his knees. 

Colson should blow up. He should just lash out and throw his fist into Em's face. Storm out and flag down the valet. He's not some escort that the rapper can rent for the night and feed a fancy dinner to.

But there's that guilty feeling that has settled into the pit of his stomach. The one that's been there since he first lashed out and ruined everything with his diss track, the comments about Hailey, his childish bitching in interviews. It's only doubled since they first sat down to eat. Every muffled chuckle and weakly hidden smile from the older man digging that pit deeper and deeper. Showing him what he carelessly threw away in some desperate grab for attention.

It's got a small voice in the back of Colson's head warning him how if he says no and storms out he's just doing the same thing all over again, cutting Em out of his life. This time possibly forever.

So Colson bites his tongue and nods. His fingers anxiously climbing up into his hair to help hide the guilty look he knows must be on his face when he stutters out a "y-yeah, yeah, sure."

The genuine smile Em flashes back at him at his agreement just feels like a knife being jammed next to the shovel.

How can the man look so fucking blissful about something that feels like borderline blackmail?

But Em does. He looks stunned, downright flustered even at first at his response. Then happy. A happy that isn't hidden by some fake cough or behind a delicate yet strong looking hand for once. It gives Colson something precious to hold onto in the sea of uncomfortable and nasty emotions twisting up his stomach while the older rapper pays. 

The knot just twists itself up tighter once they're in the elevator, his silence thankfully brushed off as nervousness by Em. The almost shy glance of steely blue eyes his way making him feel so small while buttons are pressed. Usually Colson would blame this kind of nausea on the ride itself, but for once his phobia of the small metal deathtraps is actually being overpowered. A new fear worming its way through his guts as each floor number blinks to life.

He doesn't want to freak out. To run away, but hes too goddamn sober for this. Avoiding smoking and turning down the offer of wine at dinner just to try and impress his idol was threatening to be his downfall. If he'd known Em was going to show such little respect and consideration to his being like this he would have lit a fat one up right there at the table. Hell, maybe that would have changed the older man's mind about propositioning him in the first place. Surely a druggie asshole was less appealing to make drop to their knees instead of his current carefully put together primped and meek self.

"Only a few more floors. Don't go green on me just yet Kelly." 

Colson didn't know whether to take the playful nudge as comforting or creepy. Maybe, a little flattering? If Em had actually looked into him enough to learn about his problem with elevators and the man just wasn't guessing off the apparent discolor of his face that is.

"Y-yeah."

Imagining Eminem of all people actually following his interviews or caring about his personal life that much felt like a pipe dream though. 

Outside of the next 20 minutes or however long it took for the bastard to get his rocks off he highly doubted Em would put much thought into his existence at all. Which would be fair. After all the shit he's said and done he really doesn't deserve the time of day from his idol. 

A ding and the elevator doors were opening. Colson's legs feeling numb beneath him when he finally lets go of the railing in the elevator to stumble forward. Thankful that Em's focus was on digging his room's keycard out of his wallet and not his clumsy steps. Each one bringing them closer and closer to their destination, making the whole situation so vividly real he couldn't help but panic again. The other man's forced small talk about how he "Doesn't usually book the penthouse suite-" falling on deaf ears.

It’s ironic, how often he had dreamed for this exact scenario. For Eminem to be leading him up to some fancy high end hotel room, promising to shower him fully in his attention and gaze. Only now, with his dream coming true right before his eyes he can’t help but feel bittersweet about the heated gaze holding him frozen just outside the door. Em’s final offer for him to back down before they both step through the threshold clear as day in the look.

The twist in his gut tells Colson to take it, to just spin around on his heel and run away with his tail tucked between his legs. Accept he’s too much of a coward and too full of himself to actually mend their beef.

But the desperate need he feels for forgiveness and absolvement pushes Colson forward instead. Sheer will alone giving him the confidence to twirl his idols hoodie strings around his fingers to drag Em inside with him. The loud beat of his heart completely smothering the other man’s flustered outburst. 

Just like in church the blonde finds himself on his knees not too long after entering. Mouth open and hands clasped together, ready to ask for forgiveness. Except this god he’s praying to is running it’s fingers through his hair, and there’s a stiff cock separating his palms. A chorus of curses and “Holy fuck, K-Kelly just wait a second, shit, your tongue is-“ tickling his ears instead of hymns.

He’s never sucked a cock before, and it’s embarrassing how quickly he finds himself choking. But Colson doesn’t give up, even when his jaw starts to ache and the grip on his hair grows a bit too tight. His discomfort doesn’t matter here. He just needs to make Em happy, earn the forgiveness he doesn’t deserve.

“Can I- fuck, can I fuck your face?” Both of the older rapper’s palms are holding his bangs away from his face, tilting his head back just enough to force their eyes to meet. The shame in his chest doubles but so does the surprising tightness in his jeans when he sees the uncharacteristic flush to Em’s cheeks.

He isn’t experienced, the smart thing to do would be pull off and admit that. He’s seen first hand how disastrous things can go but his head bobs in a yes anyway. Eyes already starting to water from how the action jabs the other rappers cock right against his gag reflex.

A low groan is all the warning he gets before Em’s fingers are knotting in his hair, forcing his head down to meet the thrust of strong hips. Stuffing that hard dick down his throat so fast it burns and his hands can’t help but flail, helplessly grabbing onto the meat of the older rapper’s thighs through his sweats. Unable to even steal another gasp of air before it happens again. Em’s hips pistoning forward to fuck his mouth like some cheap replaceable toy. 

Even after he gags and gurgles spit the rapper doesn’t stop. 

The harsh pants of praise and encouragement burning his ears just as hotly as the tears in his eyes. “Ah, so good. So fucking good baby, the best, ah-“

Colson doesn’t know what’s worse, how quickly his heart skips at the surprise tern of endearment or how pathetically his cock jerks in his underwear. Not that he has much time to think on it with how Em abruptly forces his face right down to the bone, soft and scratchy pubes tickling his nose. Startling him before the other man’s blowing his load, Colson’s eyes widening and nails cutting deeply into Em’s legs while he chokes. There’s too much, even with his throat reflexively swallowing it still fills up his mouth and bursts out the sides. Dripping down his chin and out onto his shirt when Em finally pulls him off.

It’s salty, and thick. Nothing like the eggnog Rook’s joked to him it tastes like. There’s nothing sweet about this thick cream, even if the lightheaded feeling he’s got from milking it out still makes him feel drunk. 

“Shit. I wanna take a picture.“ Em’s palm is tilting his head back again, dragging his glassy eyes up away from the twitching spit slick cock in front of him. Thumb forcing his tongue down flat to flash what he can only imagine has to be a white mess before the hand in his hair is fumbling out a phone. “Can I?”

He almost wants to laugh at how the brunette doesn’t even wait for his answer before there is the unmistakable flash of a phone light temporarily blinding him. A curse and then another two, these ones at least allowing him the chance to shut his eyes tightly.

The shame within him is boiling, burning through his veins like lava and making his heart drop down into his stomach.

“So pretty-“ Em’s fingers are releasing his tongue and jaw to rake through his bangs yet again. Exposing his face even though Colson wants nothing more than to hide. A stifled sob tearing at his aching throat while he swallows what he can inside his mouth without completely gagging.

He can’t cry. That would ruin the mood wouldn't it? And if it doesn't, Colson doesn't know how he would handle having Em laugh at his tears. The almost soft demeanor and shy quality to his tone is all thats keeping the blonde from running away as it is. 

The shuffle of shoes and curl of strong fingers pulling him up startles Colson's eyes back open. Lashes fluttering to blink away the brief flash of wetness that's blurred his vision before he realizes he's being kissed. That Em's palms are cupping his jaw yet again, helping him to his feet. 

It's scratchy, and softer than he expects. Not that he was expecting Eminem to be kissing him in the first place, but the man doesn't relent. Just keeps kissing him, even after he's grown to his full height and the angle of their heads has switched. Em's tongue snaking its way inside his mouth while they stumble back further into the room. Until Colson's head is feeling fuzzy and his knees weak, the cushioned crash of his body hitting a mattress barely felt.

It feels wrong when Em's hands smooth up over his chest and down inside his jeans. The uncontrollable kick of his hips up into a tight hand around his cock almost blasphemous. There's no reason for Em to even be bothering with touching him there, he doesn't deserve it. But the rapper is sucking and nibbling along his neck, up into his ear to whisper a dozen filthy praises and compliments. None of them possibly true.

"So pretty-" "Perfect-" "Wanted to touch you for so long-" 

"Stop-" Colson's hands feel shaky as they drag his idols face back up to meet his in a messy kiss. Breath tight while he tries to speak between pecks. "Just- fuck, just hurry-"

When he winds up on his stomach some point into the night, Em's too big cock pressing hard against his entrance he can't help but cry out. The pitiful fist he shoves between his own teeth doing nothing to stifle the sound.

It hurts, more than the thin fingers he'd taken only moments prior. But not as much as the soothing shushes and affectionate run of hands through his hair. 

[killemwithkawaii]

Okay i can’t get this out my head s/o that bullies sally everyday and sally is perfectly okay with it and fact he loves it

Sal with an S/O who (consensually) bullies him-

(tw: degradation, sadomasochism, unsanitary, ns/fw)

>It's really, really hard for Sally to admit to himself or his partner that he enjoys being bullied to a certain extent- It seems backwards, since he was bullied so relentlessly as a kid. The thing is, he spent most of his life starved for companionship and learned that negative attention was often better than no attention at all. Being bullied meant he was being acknowledged, maybe even wanted, at least in some capacity, and the figurative and literal punches that were aimed at him hurt less than the agony of being ignored by everyone around him. 

>He knows that it's an unhealthy thing to want, especially in a romantic or sexual capacity, but he couldn't really help that it excited him whenever his S/O playfully teased him, and would often egg them on with a sassy retort to get them to go a little farther with it than they originally intended. 

>It became such a frequent thing that S/O began to suspect something, and their suspicions were confirmed when they put him in a headlock during another one of their frequent play-fights. S/O had done it a few times before, but this time, they didn't let go after a few seconds of laughing along with him and messing up his hair. Instead, they held him in place by the neck as he struggled to free himself, and after a minute or two, commented on how cute he looked writhing around helplessly in their grip. If he wasn't already hard at that point, he was then, and S/O made sure to tease him for that, too.

>To bully Sally properly (to both of their satisfaction), bully!S/O has to use just the right ratio of praise and degradation. Sure, Sal wants to get pushed around and roughed up a little, but he also wants to be reassured that his S/O cares about and is attracted to him. He has definite hard limits that he would want to talk over with his S/O once the cat is out of the bag and he gets over his initial embarrassment (and the erection that came with it). 

>Bully!S/O can say he's their property, call him a nasty pervert, and imply that he's a fuck-toy meant to amuse them, and laugh about how pathetic he looks in whatever predicament they choose to put him in, but they can't say that they don't love him. They also can't make fun of his face or say anything about his 'accident' or his family- those things just hit too close to home and are strictly off-limits. He would honestly prefer to be mostly physically bullied by his S/O while they tell him how much they enjoy doing it to him.

A few options to consider:

-Pulling his hair. His reaction to an accidental tug may have been the first thing to clue bully!S/O in on Sals secret masochistic tendencies. Those pigtails were tailor-made to be yanked when he's least expecting it (and you may earn an involuntary moan from him if you do it just right). They also make great reigns for directing him to and then keeping him wherever you want him.

-Hiding his wallet, phone, or prosthetic (if S/O is feeling particularly sadistic). This makes him unable to leave his current location and gives bully!S/O a chance to watch him struggle through a a very misleading game of 'hot/cold' while he searches for its hiding place. If there's a time-sensitive event involved, S/O might just get him to get down on his knees and beg to know where it is.

-Take pictures of him in whatever humiliating situation you've set up and you'll get twice the bang for your buck- once when the initial photo is taken and you get to document that adorable 'despondent but also horny' expression he makes during a bullying session, and again when you let him see you casually scrolling through the pictures in public and chuckling to yourself as you recall that particular scene. 

"Hey, remember last week when I made you scrub the kitchen floor and told you to make sure it was clean enough to eat off of, and then I actually made you do it to prove a point? Yeah, that was a lot of fun, wasn't it~?"

-They may not be able to make fun of it, but bully!S/O can certainly still do stuff to/with Sallys face. Having it uncovered is humiliating for him on its own, and having positive attention paid to it results in that bitter-sweet feeling he just can't get enough of. Tell him how cute he looks when he flushes with embarrassment or his features are twisted in pain, kiss him softly while you're being cruel to the rest of him, say the way he sputters and chokes and drools when you force your fingers (or whatever other object or appendage strikes your fancy) in his mouth is endearing... the list goes on

-Impossible tasks are another thing to consider, though they shouldn't be anything too important, just to avoid having Sally cross the threshold between having fun struggling and feeling actual guilt over failing to do what his partner asked of him. 

ex: While on a major grocery run, insist you buy two dozen eggs instead of just the one. When you arrive home, park further away than necessary and load up his arms with more bags than you know he can carry. He will try his hardest to haul it all to your door at once, but will inevitably drop the bundle and crush the carton of eggs you handed him (and strategically positioned between bags of canned food and soda bottles to ensure they would break), giving you the opportunity to berate him for his carelessness and punish him for wasting both food AND money (but you still have eggs in the house, and it wasn't THAT MUCH of a waste, so both of you can enjoy the resulting bullying session without any actual hard feelings) 

>After-care from bully!S/O is an absolute must. Sallys mixed feelings about his masochism and his insecurity about his own desirability can result in some serious sub drop after an intense scene. He tends to be very sensitive and needy after being put through the wringer, so plenty of time needs to be dedicated to holding him close and praising him for a job well done. And honestly? All that flattery just makes him hungry for another round so his S/O will praise him more- it's an unending cycle, and Sally is so happy that he's found a loving partner that can help him explore his unusual desires while respecting his boundaries. I mean, he's miserable, but at the same time so, so, so happy, because bully!S/O always makes sure hes just the right kind of miserable to stay that way. 💘

[jeongyunhoed]

I’ve Got a Crush on You (a surprise)

I’ve got a crush on you sweetie pie All the day and night-time give me sign I never had the least notion that I could fall with so much emotion

Could you coo, could you care For a cunning cottage we could share The world will pardon my mush ‘Cause I have got a crush on you 

Member: Wooyoung Genre: Fluff, singing, dancing, all that jazz (again!)

Things to note: Another one-shot to make us all feel single, a lot of dancing (ballroom, tap), musical actress! lead, established relationship (?) kind of

A/N: I’m back at it with a musical-themed piece. This is also a way for me to just get out of a writing rut as I haven’t really been actively updating lately and I feel bad about it. But here is something I hope people like? 

s/o to @closer-stars​ and @barsformars​ ! 

Wooyoung quietly stood by the threshold of the practice room he knew she would be in. It was hard to miss as it was the only practice room where the noises were purposely coming from the hardwood floors, caused by metal-soled shoes with its wearer being, dare he say it out loud for everyone to know, the love of his life. 

She was back in the practice room to go over her routines in another musical she was cast in, but except she was back in a supporting role. Flying Down to Rio was the name, and she didn’t mind being a supporting role again. She loved the movie, and to be cast in its Korean musical adaptation was an honor in itself. It was an opportunity she didn’t dare miss and to her surprise, the directorial team of that musical felt the same way about her. Ever since she broke out in Top Hat and in the Astaire-Rogers musicals that followed, she had become one of those musical stars that directors just HAD to cast. Her performances even caught the attention of people overseas. 

As Wooyoung quietly watched her, being careful not to get caught by her, a big smile crept on his face. He was proud of her and for what she achieved. He had no doubts in his mind that she would do well. Maybe he was biased, incredibly biased, but he knew everyone would think the same, even if he would catch himself getting jealous of her co-star, who would obviously do Fred Astaire - a name that would come up in their conversations about dance a lot - justice. 

What he didn’t know was, she was aware he was standing by and watching her the whole time. She figured she’d give him what was probably the surprise he would never see coming. She stopped the song that was playing, a smirk on her face as she played another song, a whole other song that seemed incredibly far out of the genre she danced to. 

Wooyoung looked like a deer caught in the headlights when the familiar strumming of a guitar suddenly played. It was their song, and she was tapping her feet to it, keeping up with the beats and adding her own flourish to every move she executed, even including some of their choreography. Never in his life did he imagine a version of their song being danced in this manner. He was so entranced by what he was seeing that before he knew it, the song had ended and she was standing in the middle of the practice room, catching her breath a little from what she just did. 

Before she could register what was going on, a pair of arms enveloped her in an embrace, and Wooyoung had attacked her cheek with kisses, making her giggle. “Ya! That was so good! How did you- When did you- That was really good! Why didn’t you tell me you did something like this?!” He could only ask so many questions out of excitement.  

“Well, seeing as I felt like I was boring you with all the talk of Fred Astaire, Gene Kelly, and Ginger Rogers, I thought I’d try something new and- ta-da?” She laughed, a little too loudly before he kissed her, overcome with such affection and emotion. 

“You could never bore me with that talk, especially as I can see what else you dance to now,” Wooyoung was unable to hide how moved he was and how proud he was of her. 

“Oh, one more thing,” She said, grinning. 

“What?”

“That was all improvised.” 

As if Wooyoung wasn’t already surprised, he was now and he held her tighter, ticking her sides. “Improvised?! You improvised that whole thing?” He laughed, peppering her face with more kisses. 

[krabstick32]

Hi! I love your writing so much!!! May I please request a self indulgent giyuu fic where the reader has some self esteem issues, like having long hair to cover most of her face and is plus size but has a good heart! Thank you that would make my life!!! ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

Wardrobe Malfunction

Requested by: anon

Pairing: Giyuu x Reader

Synopsis: Dress up was supposed to be fun. Your clothes say otherwise.

Tags/warnings: This work does have slight implications of self-esteem issues and body dysmorphia/body dysmorphic disorder. I’d like to say that this is not meant to offend anyone, and also to apologize for any faulty interpretations.

A/N: To the anon who requested this: i’m so glad you like my writing 🥺💖 bUT I AM SO SO SORRY FOR TAKING SO LONG WITH YOUR REQUEST :(((((( I feel terrible for taking an actual month to finish this, and i’m not even 100% satisfied with it :(( As an explanation though, I was working on something entirely different for you. It was a modern high school au, 5+1 sort of fic, which was almost finished but for some reason felt wrong...so I thought up of a new idea aka this. 

Anyway, i hope the wait was worth it anon, and i hope ya’ll enjoy it too!!

Blood Demon Arts were a complicated skill set that special demons possess. Some use it for fighting, some for catching humans, yet some were just downright weird.

A fight with a low-level demon teaches you that.

Barely five minutes into the fight, and you were already sheathing your Nichirin Blade back in its scabbard. You were fine, if not a little uncomfortable from the weird slime-like substance that came from the demon coating your uniform. The fight wasn’t difficult, but the demon was a little perverted. It didn’t even try to fight all that seriously, and instead kept trying to sneak glances under your skirt.

There were only minor scrapes around your skin—though now, you wish you could say the same for your clothes, because it starts melting.

Maybe that demon wasn’t as low-level as you thought because the corps uniform was made to withstand damage from low-level demons, but this odd liquid was enough to let parts of it disintegrate and expose your skin. Fortunately, it didn’t sting, burn or give your skin rashes—only melt off the fabric that covered your decency.

That was your last spare uniform too, because you’ve been sent to a lot of dangerous missions lately. This was the only one you had at home, but thankfully, you’ve placed a quick request for a few new ones to be sent to you.

You were lucky to have been able to beat it, so once you quickly lopped of the stupid demon’s head, you panicked and whistled for your bird to bring in kakushi. You didn’t know if this was Oyakata-sama’s foresight’s work, but you were grateful that three female kakushi pushed through the treeline, and quickly rushed to you once they noticed your predicament. One of them took care of the demon’s remains while the other two moved to you and wrapped you securely in a blanket, protecting your dignity and easing your panic.

Even if you were pretty much healthy and good to go, the girls—Chiyo, Tsune, and Hatsuko were great company as they escorted you back—ushered you to one of the many rooms in the butterfly estate. You argued that you weren’t injured and that you didn’t want to burden the butterfly nurses and the kakushi, but the girls told you that the estate wasn’t too busy, and that there was plenty of room for you.

The room was standard with a cot, a bedside table, and a few chairs for visitors, where a spare set of clothes for you was folded over. You were fine, but you were still grateful for the short time you could use for rest and for the girl’s thoughtfulness. Spending the time worrying about what you wear on your next mission would be a waste, so you lie down and try to close your eyes instead, to calm down your nerves.

The sound of shuffling doors brings you out of your light nap just in time to see a head of jet-black hair pop in.

A smile makes its way across your face as you watch your boyfriend slide the door close as quietly as possible. Giyuu looked good—clothes the same, hair unruly with the bare thread of his hair tie attempting to keep it tame—but what was new was the small package under his arm.

“Are you feeling okay?” He asks when he sees you sitting up, and takes a seat on the nearest chair. Your smile sweetens when he looks back up, feeling your heart beat a little faster as his eyes soften out of its usual steely, and impassive gaze.

Dragging your mind out of its haze, you wave off his concern and reply, “Oh, this is just a formality—I’m fine.” Well, physically you were, but you’re reminded that all is not well when he glances around the room only to find the folded tatters of what remains of your previous clothing sitting innocently on the bedside table. “Wish I could say the same about my uniform though.”

“This should solve that.” Giyuu hands you the mysterious package and it gives you a moment to notice how nicely it was wrapped.

Lightly, you run your fingers over the black ink your name was written in, on a small tag attached to the white twine wrapping around brown packing paper. The twine intersects in a small tied ribbon right at the middle, and is sealed with a piece of wax stamped with the corps’ insignia. “Ah, is that why you’re here?”

“No, I was on my way to see you when I heard you were here. That—” He gestures with his chin “—I just brought in from the kakushi.”

You choose to ignore the way your cheeks flush when he mentions his intentions and instead show surprise. With how busy the kakushi were, you were pleasantly surprised that it took them only four days to make your uniform. “Oh, thanks, that was fast of them.”

“It’s your uniform right? I can wait outside so you can try it on.”

Already flustered from his previous responses, you try to answer, “Ah, yeah, yes. Thanks, I’ll just—um, yeah.” Only to sound like a bumbling idiot. Eloquent as always.

Embarrassed by your mess of a mouth, you look down at your hands and feel your hair come to cover your heated face. Looking at him in the eye right now would reduce you to a pile of flaming ashes, so you’re grateful your long hair has saved you yet again from his piercing stare.

Before Giyuu leaves though, you hear a light chuckle until he’s gone and you’re left with the sound of the door sliding back shut and the thought of how unfair it is that he can easily get you to smile and then flustered at the next second.

The moment you let the uniform unfold, something tells you that there was something…wrong. For one, there were too many holes in it—one on each shoulder, and an entire chunk around the stomach. The fabric felt silkier than what you previously had—even the skirt was much, much shorter than what you remember requesting for.

But a quick double check on the wrapping paper confirms that this was your uniform, so you try it on. It’s been a while since you’ve ordered a new one, maybe you just…weren’t used to it? Or maybe there were new rules in place?

If it wasn’t already bad when you first looked at it, it was even worse when you were wearing it.

How is this even supposed to protect me?

The only thing covered was your chest (not even counting the skin in the middle!), your forearms, and half your thighs. The uniform was too revealing and boy, did you want to crawl in a hole right now. You felt exposed—too exposed. You've rarely felt good in your own body, and now was no exception.

Just the thought of somebody else seeing you like this? What would they think?

A pit forms in your stomach, and something black and slimy wraps around your shoulders and around your neck. You feel constricted, like you couldn’t move or breathe, and your nails were digging in too hard into the clammy skin of your palms.

You weren’t like Mitsuri or Shinobu. You didn’t have a great figure like the love pillar, or a petite frame like the insect pillar. Instead, you found yourself staring into a mirror more often than you’d like, only to feel disappointed in your oversized body. In fact, you’re extremely lucky to have gone this far without a demon catching up to you given how slow you feel your body makes you.

You shouldn’t be crying over this—it was childish to throw a fit over something like this, but you feel horrible.

A knock from the door interrupts your thoughts and Giyuu’s voice carries over through the wooden door.

“(F/N), are you okay? Should I get Shinobu?”

No, he can’t see me like this.

Quickly, you scramble back to the bed where you placed your hospital clothes, and yank the stupid uniform you requested off your body and shove it under the bed. “Ah, no! I-I’m fine, I’m just changing again!”

You slip the button through the last opening and walk towards the door to let Giyuu back in.

Maybe I should send him back?

You could say that you were feeling sleepy or that you weren’t feeling too good, but he came all this way and… or maybe he was here to see someone else? You were his girlfriend, but that didn’t mean he was automatically here for your company.

You were too far gone in your own fears that you completely forgot that you were the reason why he was even here in the first place.

Hopefully, he leaves without question. Your hair will hide your face so he shouldn’t notice how it was burning or how there were small drops of tears in your eyes. But this was Giyuu, the Water Pillar, one of the strongest demon slayers in the entire corps, and your boyfriend. Nothing gets past him, especially if it concerns you.

He doesn’t even get through the threshold before he notices. “He—(F/N), what’s wrong?”

“...It’s nothing,” You say, angling your face away from you. I just feel tired all of a sudden. How about we see each other tomorrow? If you’re free of course. I know how busy you can get.” And you rarely saw each other too. It was a shame your issues just had to swoop right in.

“It’s fine with me if that’s what you really want, but are you sure it’s nothing?”

You feel warm fingers caress your chin before his hand moves back up to cup your cheek, and that’s when your walls chip and break. You lean into his touch and peek through your bangs to see a soft look in his eyes—a look you only ever saw on the rare chances you catch him looking at you or when he had a plate of freshly-cooked salmon daikon.

“You can tell me anything if you want to, I’ll listen.”

Of course you knew you could tell him anything, but actually telling him about something so stupid had you fidgeting with the hem of your sleeve. “I know this will sound stupid, but my uniform is wrong.”

“The uniform?”

Further hunching in on yourself, your body starts sweating, and you feel like your tears were about to spill over. “It looks terrible. There was no fabric around my entire stomach, it only covered half my things and—! Ugh, I know, I know it’s really childish of me to be complaining so much about it but I didn’t feel comfortable in it at all. I hate it—” and i hate my body “—It doesn’t look right on me, I’m too big for it.”

You breathe out a small sigh and look down at the floor. Melting through the floorboards sounded nice. “Maybe it’s just my fault—if I was thinner or prettier it would probably fit me better. I don’t know…I thought it would be similar to what I had before.”

“...Look at me,” Giyuu says after a while, and takes your hands when you don’t seem to reply any time soon. “Do you trust me?”

Immediately, you look up to him and answer with no hesitation. “With my life.”

“Then I hope you’ll believe me when I say that it's not your fault.” His lips curl slightly upward when your gaze moves from the floor to him. He’s glad that he caught your attention, because he wants you to see how much he means the words he’s about to say.

“I don’t care if you’re thinner, or prettier or about anything else. As long as you’re happy, healthy, and alive, it’s more than enough.” Giyuu places his forehead against yours, and for a moment, you forget why you’re worrying so much.

“To me, You’re the kindest, prettiest, most perfect person in my eyes, and I hope you see yourself the way I do. You have a heart of gold, and you’re plenty perfect just the way you are. You don’t need to change for anything or anyone.”

Giyuu wasn’t really good with words, and he knew that. In fact, at the moment you were seeking comfort, he was in over his head. He thought he was being redundant and talking himself in circles, so he did panic a little when the tears started slipping from your eyes. Panic changed into relief though when you wrap your arms around his torso.

You were well-aware that he wasn’t good with words, so you were caught off-guard by the reassurances he was giving you. You never knew how much you needed to hear those from him, to be reminded that he liked you just as you are.

As easily frazzled you were with a somewhat constant need for reassurance, you’ve gotten used to the fact that receiving verbal assurance from him would be rare if not nonexistent. So you’ve gotten used to his quiet support. He was always there when you needed him, and tried to comfort you the best way he knew how. You appreciated it, and even came around to care for his silent quirks, but hearing him say how much you meant to him, was incredibly comforting, and

“If you hate your uniform, I've heard that Shinobu had problems with hers too at first so I'm sure we can ask Shinobu what she did with hers. I can even place a request for a new one for you.”

Giyuu was never very good with words, but he always made it up with his actions.

“That would be nice.”

BONUS:

You really appreciated that Giyuu was with you the entire time your horrible uniform was alive on this earth. As promised, he helped you handle the uniform issue, and came with you to Shinobu’s office (who was more than willing to hand you the oil and matches).

“Oh? (F/N)-chan? Tomioka-san?” She greets when she ushers you two in her office. “I haven’t seen you two in a while! I’m surprised Tomioka-san is here with you though. I thought he avoided social interaction?.”

Giyuu grumbles at her teasing, but you know these two were friends, even if both of them didn’t want to admit it. “I’m still here.”

You squeeze your boyfriend’s hand, before smiling sheepishly at Shinobu. “It’s been a busy few weeks. We should catch up sometime, but that’s not really why we’re here.”

The Insect Pillar tilts her head in curiosity, and asks, “Oh? Then how can I be of service?”

“Well, you see, all of my uniforms were ruined from my past missions, so I requested for a new one, but um…” Giyuu handed you the clothes you’ve placed back in the wrapping paper which you bring out and let unfold to show Shinobu how it was clearly not your style.

Air seems to freeze over as the seconds tick by with your ‘uniform’ hanging from your hands.

Giyuu was standing behind you, so you couldn’t exactly see his reactions, but you could see how Shinobu’s ever-present smile turned sinister, and looked like she was ready to stab someone with her sword.

“I think they got my size wrong. Giyuu told me that you mentioned having the same problem before, so I was hoping you could tell me how you got yours fixed.”

Without any hesitation whatsoever, Shinobu’s smile stays eerily plastered on her face, “Oh, it’s simple! You can just burn yours. Don’t worry, I burned mine too and I lent the oil and matches to Kanao and Aoi, so you don’t have to feel bad—I’m more than willing to lend you the oil and matches I used. How about I join you two to go to the kakushi? I have a vague idea of who the tailor might be.”

As per Giyuu’s words, It wasn’t your fault. One of the kakushi in charge of making the uniforms was too blame and decided to take some… creative liberties with yours.

When Giyuu saw the scraps of cloth Maeda-san—or scum-glasses as everyone promptly nicknamed him— back in Shinobu’s office, you thought his face didn’t change or move an inch. Shinobu wanted to laugh, because unlike typical Giyuu fashion, everyone who saw him the entire day could see the pulsing vein on his temple that seemed like it would pop any minute. It was clear that he was pissed off, as he handed you the oil to douse the clothes in and gave a readily lit match, but she found it a little sweet that he was a bit more transparent when it came to you.

After the fabric was reduced to ashes in front of Maeda-san, a new agreement was made about your uniform, and as a temporary solution, Giyuu lent you a few of his spare uniforms for you to wear on duty. You had plenty of kimonos and hakamas to wear, but you primarily wore those for training and didn't particularly provide the same protection the corp’s issued uniform did.

It was a little tight around your chest and your hips, and a bit too long for your arms and legs, but you could still move around comfortably without busting a button, so you took it gratefully, and wore it for the week your uniform was being made.

He was with you when your new uniform arrived. The two of you were eating snacks on the Water Estate’s engawa when a kakushi—in a nice surprise it was Tsune—dropped by with a new package, similar to the one Giyuu handed you before. You thanked them and hurriedly went in one of the empty rooms to change, leaving Giyuu to drink his tea alone as he waits for your return

“Giyuu!” You call as you join him back on the engawa. He turns only to be blinded when he sees you smiling to high heaven. “Look, it’s perfect! They got the measurements right this time.”

The uniform you wore right now was just like your old one, and he could see that it clearly made you happy. You even  twirl in place, gleefully modeling your new skirt and uniform blouse to him.

“I’m grateful you lent me your uniform, but I;m more used to wearing skirts.” Laughing lightly, you look down at your clothes, carefully running your fingers across the fabric. “I’m so glad this one’s perfect!”

Without an ounce of shame or hesitation, Giyuu tilts his head towards you and says, “You’re the one who’s perfect.”

Oh my god, your heart is going to explode.

Looking down at your tabi socks, you let your hair fall over your face, if only to hide the red flush on your skin. “Giyuu, are you sweet talking me right now?”

“No, I’m being honest.” From the sound of his voice, he was being one hundred percent, and a quick look on his face confirms it, even if there was a little mischievous glint in his eyes. He knew you were getting flustered and in extension, knew what he was doing to you.

You sit down at your previous spot right beside him before taking your teacup from where you placed it on the tray to hide the small smile on your lips. “Okay, okay, you can stop now, you’ve made your point.”

“But I’m serious, you look perfect.” Giyuu leans over, wrapping an arm around your waist and places a soft kiss on your cheek. He tugs you closer to lean against him and  watches how your skin changes into a deeper red. It makes him think that he should voice his thoughts about you more often.

“Ah, Giyuu! Stop it!” You giggle, but ultimately return the favor, peppering his face in kisses and smiling at him in a way that makes his heart beat faster.

He may have been a little sad that you won’t be wearing his clothes anytime soon now, but seeing you comfortable and smiling…

Well, that was more than enough for him.

A/N: A gentle reminder to those who reached the end: please know that you are a beautiful and wonderful person. You are loved, you are valued, and have people who care for you, okay?

A huge thank you for reading! online classes are being a little pain, so even if I really missed writing (and reading) fanfics, I might be a little rusty :(( hopefully ya’ll enjoyed it 🥺

Again, to the anon who requested this, i am so so sorry that it took me this long. i hope you still liked it tho 🥺🥺 (i also might post that modern hs au i was talking about earlier, so keep your eyes peeled for that <3)