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jackrrabbit · 4 years ago

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Short Leash /// Lev x f!Reader x Alisa (18+)

Summary: [Post-timeskip] The Haiba siblings get up to no good with their favorite pet.

A/N: Lev really went from skinny goblin to sugar папочка, and don’t even get me started on Alisa 😭 Also, imma lay heavy on those Russian terms of endearment 🇷🇺 I know Lev doesn’t speak Russian but I feel like post-timeskip he might, and it makes me horny so…

Dedicated to my eternal muse @koiibito for thirsting with me and stoking my lust for this duo and to @thisisthehardestthing for providing the fashion references that brought this fic to life for me (although I still can’t describe clothing for shit). Thank you!!!

Tags/warnings: (slight) pet play, threesome, alcohol/drug use mentions, size kink (yk Lev is 6’5 and Alisa is 5’10), dom/sub, orgasm control, rough sex, filming, breath play, crying, reader is a sugar baby in denial, no incest but the siblings fuck you together, yandere-ish, established BDSM relationship, all characters are adults

They like playing dress-up.

With you, if that wasn’t obvious. They’re models, so you could say that playing dress-up is a career for them, a method of putting food on the table…and Balenciaga in the closet…and every luxury pharmaceutical known to man in the medicine cabinet. And they’re so beautiful, both of them. They look good in anything. But when it comes to you, playing dress-up is a labor of love.

Today was Alisa’s turn, which means today was red: crimson lingerie in a box she had delivered to you before the party tonight. The box…it looked so out of place propped up against the bottom of your shabby apartment door that it’s a miracle no one stole it. Black packaging, lettering in gold, and the label printed on the box was French, you think? The two years of language class you took in high school didn’t help you read it, but you had no trouble understanding the number at the bottom of the receipt Alisa included with the set.

She left it on purpose, you know that. She wants you to know that the money she dropped on these flimsy little undergarments could have paid your rent for two months. But you can’t tell her that, or she’ll just insist again that your apartment is so small and ugly, it’s not worth it, it’s high time you moved in with her and Lev already, they would love to have you, and you’d never have to worry about rent again.

Spoiling you. That’s what they call it. Sometimes you think the Haiba siblings spoil you because they know it makes you uncomfortable.

Either way, you can’t say no. You’ve tried, over and over, told them they need to stop buying you clothes and shoes and diamonds but they just laugh you off. Lev, especially—he’s got this way of tipping his head to the side and blinking down at you while you try to explain how nervous it makes you to be dripping in excess, smiling lightly like he’s watching a child throw a tantrum. They just don’t get it. Or they do, and they think it’s funny.

Yeah, it’s probably the latter. You were raised right, raised not to accept gifts like this when you have nothing to give in return—but you were also raised to be gracious to the kindness of strangers, and while they aren’t exactly strangers, it’s just too exhausting to try to deny their generosity. Over time, little by little, you’ve given inches and the Haiba siblings have taken miles.

The Haiba siblings. That’s who they are, constantly presented in juxtaposition since Lev made his debut. They were born for this, and not because of their height. It’s the eyes—something savagely beautiful about that shade of green, those pale eyelashes, the slitted pupils like a cat’s.

The lingerie was Alisa’s choice, but the dress was Lev’s which is probably why he can’t keep his hands off you at the party, grip gliding down the low back and breath ghosting over your neck every time you try to put some distance between you. He’s usually more careful than this—Alisa can get away with the playful touching (groping?) because the cameras will just play it off as friendly skinship, but if someone catches Lev stroking across your thighs or tracing those long fingers over your spine while you move together on the dance floor, there’s going to be trouble. Not that it’s your problem, but one of you has to be responsible tonight, and judging by the number of times Lev’s excused himself to go to the bathroom and come back blinking and grinning and rubbing his nose, the responsible one is going to have to be you.

This time when he returns his gelled-back hair is mussed and—Jesus, how careless can he get?—there’s a little dusting of coke spilled over the collar of his black shirt. You roll your eyes and reach up to brush it off for him but he catches your hand and lifts it to his mouth. A kiss on your inner wrist first, and then his teeth are grazing over that tender skin, blunt edges digging in and drawing dents. A bite.

It’s just on the edge of painful when you belatedly yank your hand away. “Lev—you got it on your shirt, seriously—“ You try to make your voice sound scolding, but it comes out too high.

Lev’s eyes are dark, dilated; he laughs breathlessly and nudges closer to you, trapping you between his long arms and the bar. “You want some? Kotyonok, little kitten wants a treat?”

“No…I’m just drinking tonight. I don’t want to be out too late.” The vodka soda in your hand isn’t nearly strong enough, but if you have any more you’re going to be too drunk to keep your act together and deal with their antics. You don’t have the tolerance they do, and just because they can get away with all the coke and the alcohol and whatever else they’ve been playing with tonight doesn’t mean you can.

…Not that your relative sobriety stops Lev from dragging your face up to meet his, lifting your chin with both hands wrapped around the back of your head and bending down only enough that you still have to rise up on your tiptoes to kiss him. You only catch a hint of the smell of honey before the sour-sweet taste of Lev’s favorite drink (that medovukha mead stuff, it’s Russian, you think) is filling your mouth and his long tongue is sliding over yours. “Mmph—“

“Kitten, always so good,” he sighs, pressing closer so your face has to arch up to the ceiling to meet his. In your limited view you can see the muscles in his jaw flexing as he kisses you, sweeping over your tongue, biting your lip and laughing into your mouth. “So sweet…and impatient, yeah? Want to go home with us already?”

His hand on the small of your back is bunching your dress up, giving him the space to push his knee between your legs. You gasp sharply but it just eggs him on and his mouth dips down under your jawline, his body covering yours, so sudden and so public that your eyes flash around the room, wondering who might witness Lev—the international model Lev Haiba—sucking on your throat. “L-Lev, wait, someone—someone will see—“

“You’re asking to go somewhere private? Greedy girl…Alisa’s still having fun.”

You try to come up with a response, but it’s not easy to think straight when he’s holding your waist, circling it with those big hands and petting up to your ribs, cupping your tits while his thigh rubs between your legs. You can smell his cologne, bergamot and amber, and—and—you can smell his cologne—

“Lyovochka~” Alisa’s voice rings out and you know just by hearing it that she’s had as much as Lev. Her hand fists in her brother’s hair and pulls him off your neck none too gently, ignoring his curse and complaints. “Naughty, naughty. Playing without me, were you?”

“Alisa, you’re fucking up my hair,” Lev whines, but he straightens off you, pulling Alisa into your tight little trio at the bar. “Kitty says she wants us to take her home.”

You feel your cheeks heat up and wonder if they can see the blush under your foundation. “I didn’t— I can go home myself—“ Not that you have a chance in hell of leaving the party without them, but still. You can pretend to play coy.

“No.” Alisa places a finger on your mouth to shush you and then her eyes lower and her fingernail—painted silvery white, her signature color—pushes into your bottom lip. You stumble closer, hands meeting her shoulders through the thick white padding of the jacket she’s wearing, over the glittering crystals that look blindingly bright under the blacklights.

Silver and white. Always silver and white.

Her fingernail traces down your lip, drawing a fine line on your chin; on instinct, you tip your head back to give her access to pet down your throat until she comes to a rest on the neckpiece of the harness she included with the lingerie set. When her hand reaches the ring in the center of the choker she grips it, pulling your face away from Lev’s and toward hers. “Lyovochka, what do you think…? I saw it and thought of kotyonok. A collar for our little kitten.”

“Hm, I don’t know. I need to see more.” Lev’s hands are on you again now, splaying flat over your chest before his fingers curl, one by one, around the harness strap that leads from the ring at the choker down between your breasts until it disappears under the neckline of your dress. He’s tugging on it—lightly, but you can’t deny the feeling that it’s like a leash…or the feeling of heat gathering in your pussy at having the two of them all over you like this.

You shouldn’t be letting them touch you (and they are touching you, Alisa’s hand stroking your throat and Lev tugging your side into his chest). There’s always people watching at parties like this; you’ve attended these things on Lev’s arm or Alisa’s enough times to know better than to let them do as they please. You’re supposed to be the responsible one. Too bad your body is craving a lot more than the innocuous touches they can give you in public.

You swallow and Alisa grins, dark-painted lips stretching over those perfect white teeth. “So. Kitten, would you like us to take you home? Say please.”

You don’t have to say it. You could ask yourself why you let them get away with this, why you keep letting yourself fall to the mercy of these siblings, why they even want you in the first place, but those are questions for tomorrow morning—tonight, even though you should hate it, there’s a part of you that wants to purr every time they call you kitten.

“…Please,” you murmur, and as soon as the word is out Lev’s grip on the harness tightens, pulling the choker taut around your neck.

///

They end up ripping the dress.

You kind of hate them for it when you think about how many bills you could have paid with the money they spent dolling you up for tonight. But by the time they get around to it, you’re pretty much too horny to care.

They didn’t even wait til you got home (their home, you remind yourself, not yours), although that shouldn’t have surprised you. From Alisa tugging on your hair and Lev’s arm draped possessively around your shoulders, you should’ve seen it coming, but it still takes you by surprise that the three of you have barely piled in the back of the Uber when Alisa’s dragging you to sit on her thigh, unceremoniously pulling your dress over your hips and sliding her hand up the slit where the fabric falls open to rub your pussy.

You whine and squirm but can’t quite make yourself say the word “no”, instead squeezing your eyes shut and trying to focus on Alisa whispering in your ear that you’re a good girl, getting so wet for them. All three of you can hear the squishy damp noises your pussy is making sucking around her fingers, and dear god you hope the driver can’t hear it too—wait, is he looking? Your eyes peek open, traitorously seeking out the rearview to see if there’s a possibility he’s watching the show, but before you can work up the guts to tell them to quit it, Lev’s hand is folding around your jaw again and forcing two of his fingers past your lips for you to drool on. And—fuck—Alisa’s petting over your cunt, drawing slow lines up from the wetness gathered at your hole up to your clit.

By the time you’ve reached the building Lev and Alisa are staying at in Tokyo, you’re past the point of caring that other people are around. Lev has to pull you out of the car and off Alisa’s lap to get you to stop humping your ass into her lap and trying to push your mound into her fingers. Alisa winks at the driver—probably earning herself a 5-star rating despite all your bad behavior—and then the two of them are steering you past the doorman and into the elevator.

As soon as you’ve got the barest semblance of privacy, Lev pulls your back into his chest and grinds himself into you. You can feel how hard he is, the heat of his body leaching through the fabric of your clothing directly into your skin, hands around your waist forcing you to mold yourself into him while he layers kisses over the side of you neck. “L-Lev, ah— mm, someone’s gonna come in,” you whine as he pushes the bulge of his stiff cock against your lower back, but he just lets one of his hands drift up to scratch at the choker of the harness again.

Alisa’s hands meet your cheeks on either side, framing your face for a short moment so she can study your dazed expression, the flush on your cheeks, your sex-glazed eyes. You look like you want to get fucked, you know that? You look like you want them to push you down in the elevator and fuck you right there. “But kotyonok, you’re so darling. We should let other people get a chance to see, no?”

Lev’s hand spans the breadth of your throat, not quite pressing down (yet), so he must be able to feel the way your muscles contract and release when you swallow—not to mention the edge of tension that enters your body at the thought of someone seeing you in such a compromising position. “Ahh, kitty wants to be all ours, doesn’t she? She doesn’t want us to share.”

“Is that so?” Alisa doesn’t give you a chance to answer, just tipping your face up and letting her lips close over yours. She tastes more bitter than Lev did and for the brief moment you have between getting pressed between them and your brain short-circuiting, you wonder what she’s been drinking. “Are you being selfish?”

“Nnnh, I—“ you don’t have an answer for her, but it doesn’t really matter because the elevator is dinging at the penthouse and Alisa’s pulling you away from Lev into their apartment by the center strap of the harness. You’ve got no choice but to follow, and you consider telling her to quit dragging you around by your neck but there’s something about the pressure on your throat that isn’t…entirely unpleasant, so you hold your tongue.

Lev murmurs to Alisa in Russian—you hate when they do that, especially because you know they’re only doing it because they don’t want you to understand—and then you’re in the spare bedroom, the one that the siblings insist on referring to as your bedroom. Even though you don’t live here. Even though you do everything you can to avoid staying here. Even though the only times you ever spend the night are when you’re too fucked-out by the two of them to consider putting in the effort to get home.

Something tells you this is going to be one of those nights.

They work in sync, teasing down the straps of your dress and easing you out of it until Alisa snaps the harness between your tits and Lev gets impatient and someone pulls the back of the dress a little too hard and that’s when you feel tearing. “Shit,” you hear in Lev’s voice, a soft curse in Russian from Alisa, and then a reluctant peal of laughter as the dress flutters down to the ground.

“Did you—“ You’re about to curse them out for ruining something so fucking expensive, but Lev clucks his tongue and shakes his head and you fall silent. He’s pulling back from you—so is Alisa—and your heart jumps for a second wondering if you did something wrong until you realize they’re just looking at you, drinking in the image of you naked except for the lingerie Alisa picked out for you.

“Bordelle?” Lev murmurs, running fingers down the straps cinching around your waist, the belt holding up the garters—as usual, you don’t know whether to move away from his touch or melt into it.

Alisa smiles. “It was made for her, don’t you think? Our kitten looks good in red.”

Honestly, they call you kitten, but the way they look at you is less like the way owners look at a pet and more like wolves sizing up a little lamb they’ve cornered. Hungry. Starving. You’re not sure which you prefer, but it makes you self-conscious. You’d felt pretty confident about the way you looked when you examined yourself in the mirror before the party—Alisa has good taste, even if the lingerie is just this side of bondage gear and not something you would’ve bought for yourself in a million years—but now you have to fight the urge to cover yourself up with your hands…not that they’d let you.

True to your prediction, as soon as your hand twitches with the instinct to cross your arms over your bound-up tits Lev snaps down to catch it. “Let me see,” he instructs, and the authority in his voice is so definite that your arms fall back down to your sides automatically. “Good girl. Alisa, do you think we can keep it on while we fuck her?”

While we fuck her.

He says it so nonchalantly. And it’s not like you didn’t know that’s what you’re here for. You’re a grown-up, you’re sober (ish), and you’ve been in this room with the two of them enough times that you’re well aware there was only ever one way this night was going to end up. But the way he says it makes you shiver. They’re going to fuck you…like they own you. And it’s kind of terrifying how much you want to be owned.

“I think we can get the panties off without taking off the rest,” Alisa says to respond to Lev’s question, even as she brushes a stray lock of hair away from your eyes. “Besides, I have a surprise for her.”

A surprise? It wouldn’t be the first time one of them has pulled out something unexpected in bed—last time it was a ball gag and nipple clamps, and the time before that it was a magic wand vibrator (plated in literal gold, because the Haibas are nothing if not excessive) that had you begging and crying and creaming all over the sheets. You can’t help your anxiousness as Alisa pulls something out of the otherwise-empty dresser and sets it up to face the bed.

It’s…a camera. A camera? “You want to film it?” you blurt out, your voice sounding pitchy and nervous even to your own ears.

“Great idea,” Lev says, patting your head like that’s all it’ll take to make you feel better.

“Yes, kotyonok. I’m going to film you,” Alisa replies, fiddling with the settings and batting those long blonde eyelashes at the lens once she’s satisfied.

“Wait, I—I don’t know. I’m not like you, I can’t just—” you stammer. Sure, the twins will look perfect and irresistible and bewitching, but you? You’re not sure you want to have a video of yourself getting fucked stupid in their hands. “What if I don’t want to…?”

“But I want to.” Alisa’s gaze sweeps down over you and you lower your eyes so you don’t have to meet it, don’t have to feel the weight of it holding you down more securely than any leash. There’s a reason she’s a model—she could sell anything. Those eyes. How are you supposed to say no?

You want to step back away from her. You almost try, but Lev’s at your back already, long arms draped over your shoulders, a loose hold that nonetheless keeps you from moving. So instead of backing up, you just bite your lip.

Alisa’s face softens—she’s good at that, good at picking up the cues when she’s pushed a little too far for your comfort—and a second later you feel her hand wrapping around yours, holding it. “Safeword?”

Cherry. The safeword is cherry. It’s not that you’ve forgotten. It’s her way of reminding you that you have a safeword, and you can use it, and it’ll be okay. This isn’t even a full-on scene, but Alisa must be able to sense that the addition of the camera made you scared.

Picking up the change in mood a second later, Lev’s hand finds your other one and he strokes his thumb over your skin reassuringly. God, maybe it’s wrong that they can make you feel hunted one second and adored the next, but you let out a breath and relax, shaking your head to indicate that you’re not stopping.

She brings your hand up to her mouth and kisses it so lightly her lipstick barely leaves a mark—wait, oops. You’d forgotten she was wearing lipstick. You must have it all over you by now.

“Good girl. We take good care of you, don’t we?”

“…Yes.”

“We do.” Lev’s impatient, you can tell from the way he’s adjusting his grip to your waist and pushing you over to the bed. “We’re not going to share the video, if that’s what you’re worried about. Alisa likes to joke, but really…”

Your ass hits the mattress so you’re half-sitting, half-lying on the covers, propped up on your elbows, peeking through your eyelashes at the two of them looming over you—and, oh, there they are again.

The wolves.

“…we don’t want anyone else seeing you like this,” Alisa finishes, holding up the camera and flicking the little red light on to record.

///

Lev starts, like usual. You think maybe it’s a control thing, that Alisa doesn’t let you touch her until you’re already falling apart on Lev’s fingers, his tongue…his cock. As much as she likes it when you bite back, you’re cuter when you’re begging.

She’s holding your face off the bed by a hand under your chin, wrenching your neck back so your wrecked face is level with the camera. You’re on your hands and knees—or, more accurately, your hands and elbows, with your ass arched up and Lev’s face buried in your slit. “Nngh, nnnnn, fuck please please—“ Your whining is barely coherent, but Lev knows what you’re asking for and he digs his fingers into the meat of your ass to hold you still as he latches his mouth over your clit and sucks.

Fuck— you keen and try to drop your head down to the sheets to angle your dripping cunny closer to his mouth, but Alisa’s grip on your jaw prevents you from getting any further out of the camera frame. “Uh-uh, no. I want to see you.”

“Alisa…ahhh…” Your tongue is lolling out of your mouth and you know you must look like a mess, spit practically falling over your lips as you try to stop yourself from cumming right here. Fuck, it feels good, feels so hot and wet that your juices don’t even have time to cool on your thighs before more is dripping down.

“Tell the camera what’s happening, kotyonok,” Alisa purrs, wiping the saliva off your lip and then pushing her fingers over your tongue.

“…eating me out, he’s—uhhhn—licking my pussy…” you slur around her fingers. Your glassy eyes flit between her appraising expression and the lens of the camera—even though you trust that they won’t show the video to anyone outside this room, it’s making you shudder to think about what’s on the little screen you can’t see—Alisa’s pretty silver fingernails coated in your drool as she presses them deeper into your throat, your body all bound up in red straps and gold fastenings, and Lev behind you, hair falling out of its careful style as he shoves his face deeper between your legs.

The edge of Alisa’s finger bites into the plush of your lip as you moan and unsuccessfully attempt to wriggle your ass under Lev’s grip. “Who’s licking your pussy?” she asks calmly, like she’s asking what the weather is like today.

“Lev, it’s, it’s Lev—fuck ohh, oh,” you whine as Lev slides his tongue flat from your clit up to your hole and pushes the slimy wet muscle inside. It’s so long, you’re never going to get used to how stupid long his tongue is, licking out your walls and making slurping sounds that are downright fucking vile.

Heat is gathering quickly in your abdomen, and you can feel it—that plateau rising before you hit your peak, and the tension in your thighs making them twitch and quiver as your muscles contract in anticipation—and his tongue is so long and thick it’s almost reaching your g-spot, almostalmostalmost, god-fucking-damnit. Your spine curls even further, arching yourself into him, wordlessly begging for him to keep doing exactly what he’s doing. “Gonna cum, fuck Lev please make me, make me cum!”

“Oh? Did I say you were allowed to cum?” Alisa asks, cat-like eyes narrowing.

Shit, fuck, she didn’t, but you don’t know if you can help yourself. Your hand fists in the sheet, curling your fingernails around the fabric to try to ease up the heat where Lev’s mouth is latched to your cunt. “Please Alisa—I need to—“

Alisa shakes her head. “But you don’t get to decide what you need, kotyonok.”

She’s right, but—but, it’s not fair, Lev’s switching between dragging his tongue over your clit and fucking you with it—you try to pull your hips away from his mouth but he doesn’t let you, effortlessly holding you in place while he teases you even higher.

“Who decides?” she continues, petting your jawline and wiping away the first hint of a tear from your cheek as you try to hold it back—

but you can’t.

“You-you decide! You decide when I cum!” you gasp, but your body is already betraying your words, convulsing and contracting as your climax hits you like a truck. You try to hold yourself through it but it’s impossible—your eyes roll back and arms go slack, dropping flat on the bedspread with your ass still pushed up into the air as your pussy walls contract around Lev’s tongue.

He’s still licking you—slower now at least, but you’re shaking at the feeling of him stimulating that sensitive bud. “Stop…too much,” you whine weakly, but he just raises a hand off your ass cheek to give it a light smack.

“Bad kitty,” he murmurs with his mouth still pressed against your slit, and the contact makes you seize up and twitch.

“Yes. Very bad.” Alisa doesn’t look angry—she’s never angry with you, even when you’re…disobedient, you guess—but there’s a note of mischief in her eyes that sends a thrill of fear (and not just fear) down your spine.

“S-Sorry, I’m sorry,” you whimper, but Alisa’s already pulling you upright by the ring on your choker.

“Did you cum? Even though we didn’t give you permission?” she asks, even though all three of you know you did. You nod, avoiding looking at both her and the camera as if that’ll disguise the obvious flush painting your cheeks red. At your admission, she smiles indulgently and murmurs something in Russian that you don’t understand, but you get the gist.

You’ve been naughty. And you’re going to get punished.

You hear the bedsprings squeak and feel the dip of the mattress as Lev climbs up behind you, settling his body against yours so the bulge in his pants is pressed against your back again. He’s still wearing most of his outfit from the party—they both are, and you note (not for the first time) how ridiculous it is that the siblings are willing to fuck you together but being naked in front of one another is the one boundary they won’t cross—but you don’t have to wait long before you hear him undoing his pants and pulling his cock out to rut it lazily against your back.

Automatically you shift your legs apart and reach down to finger yourself like you usually do, stretch your cunt out so you’re ready to take him. But before you can reach your pussy, Lev’s hand is folding over yours and lacing his fingers over your hand to stop you. “L-Lev?”

“No, kitty,” he tells you firmly.

You shiver. Alisa pinches your cheek and rubs over your ear. “What…”

“You already came,” Lev continues, and then you feel his cock sliding between your thighs, between your soaking-wet lips, using your cum as lubrication. “You came, so you don’t need to get ready. You’re going to take all of me, okay?”

All of him. You swallow. The full length slowly rubbing between your legs is going to go inside of you, without any preparation beforehand. “But…if I don’t, it’ll—it’s gonna hurt…”

“Yes, it’s going to hurt.” He waits for a moment, giving you a chance to say the safeword, but you don’t. “It’s going to hurt, and then it’ll feel good, and then you’re going to cream yourself on my cock like always. Yes?”

“Uh—“ You blink rapidly, already feeling his cockhead pushing between your lips toward your hole. Alisa combs your hair out of your face and you turn toward her. “Alisa?”

“Don’t ask her. You need to learn that your owners will take care of you. You need to trust us.” Lev presses in, stretching your little cunt around the thick head, and you suck in a sharp inhale.

“A-Ah—it’s too big,” you whine, scrunching your eyes shut and biting your lip as he slides himself deeper into you. And yeah, it hurts…but with how riled up you are, it definitely doesn’t hurt enough for you to want it to stop. The burn from the stretch is just making you wetter, and the feeling of being filled up by him is unbelievable. This was supposed to be a punishment, right?

Alisa cups your face to kiss you gently, and then her hands drift lower to circle your neck. Lev’s still sliding his cock into your pussy, slowly, slowly, so you can feel everything, every inch of his skin and every vein dragging against your g-spot. The deeper he gets, the more it hurts and the more you want to stop him, to take the lead—but he doesn’t let you.

“Are you going to cry, kitten?” Alisa asks you, reaching down to take one of your hands and pull it over her shoulder so you’re holding her. You grit your teeth and shudder and shake your head, making her lips quirk into a smile. “It’s alright if you cry. You’re still cute when you’re crying.”

With another roll of his hips Lev’s pushing up against your cervix and you choke out a curse. “F-Fuck, I’m not—not gonna c-c-cry…”

“Shh…” Upright on his knees behind you, Lev’s body is so big curled over yours that you feel smothered between him and Alisa. You sneak a glance back and there’s a pale pink flush over his cheeks and shoulders. “You’re taking me so well…taking my cock like that, going to make me forget you were bad…”

You stay still because it hurts more when you try to move, and you need to get yourself adjusted. You have to relax, you have to, but he’s so big, heavy and thick between your aching legs. You still haven’t recovered from cumming earlier, and every time one of the aftershocks hits you and you clench around him, the mix of pleasure and pain is almost too much. Even as aroused as you are, your cunt sucking him in for all you’re worth, he’s pushing against your cervix…and his hips haven’t even hit yours yet. He hasn’t bottomed out.

You’re going to take all of me, he said. You’re not even sure you can. But no matter what, you’re not—you’re not—gonna cry.

Until Lev pulls his hips back, sliding his cock out of you so it’s only his head sheathed at the entrance to your cunt, and then snaps forward again, filling you back up in a single stroke. He knocks into you so forcefully that you jerk forward, your chest mashing into Alisa’s. The force and his weight pulls a squeak out of you and—fuck, fuck—you feel tears welling up in your eyes.

“—t-t-too fast,” you pant, squeezing your eyes shut as if that’ll prevent them from getting glossy. The pads of Alisa’s fingers are skimming over your cheeks, and her skin is so soft and silky that you want to nuzzle in for comfort.

“But Kotyonok likes it fast, doesn’t she?…you feel how wet you are on my—my cock?” Lev’s face nudges against your shoulder, and you can feel his hands curling around your upper arms, securing you underneath him, holding you in place as he pounds into you.

You like it…like it fast? Your head is spinning, you’re dizzy and hot and feverish, Lev’s cologne is mixing with Alisa’s perfume and you feel like you’re drinking it, ugh. Fuck. Feels like you’re getting bruised up inside and it feels good. Your legs are jerking, weakly trying to push yourself back on his cock to make him fill you up deeper than your pussy can take but you’re totally at their mercy.

“Let her down, Lyovochka. I want kitty to lick,” Alisa says, looking over your shoulder to make eye contact with her brother. She shifts back on the bedspread, easing herself into the pillows and pushing the skirt of her dress up over her waist to expose her panties: mesh, lace, powder-pink. They’re so pretty against her pale skin that you just stare down at her for a second, open-mouthed, before Lev’s releasing his grip on your arms and splaying his palm into your back, shoving your face down toward her lap.

You catch yourself on your elbows—barely—but you don’t have time to adjust to the new position and how stupid fucking goddamn deep Lev’s cock is hitting you before Alisa’s pulling your face up closer to her clothed pussy and adjusting her thighs to make room. Is she going to keep the panties on? Fuck—you almost ask her to take them off but you know you aren’t allowed so you just angle your face in and let drool coat your tongue so you can try to lap at her pussy through the fabric.

The awkward angle means you can barely taste her, but fuck, what you can taste is so good—they’ve conditioned you, the two of them, conditioned you like Pavlov’s dogs to crave what they’re doing to you so badly you can’t even think. The slightly-bitter taste of her cunt soaking through to your mouth has you intoxicated. She got like this from watching you, watching you cum all over the pretty lingerie she bought you, watching you get fucked so hard you’re crying. The thought of her getting off on watching you squirm makes your pussy clench around Lev’s cock.

“Gonna cum again?” Lev asks with laughter in his voice; his pace slows, dragging out the stimulation to your g-spot right as you feel him reach down to tease over your clit. You squeak out a denial but he doesn’t believe you—and why would he when he can literally hear the nasty wet noises from your pussy eating up his cock? “Yes…you are."

“I’m—n-no, I’m noooot…”

“Poor baby, can’t control herself.” Alisa’s pushing you back into her cunt, fingernails scraping over your scalp as you desperately try to lick her pussy. “Don’t be cruel, Lev.”

Another laugh, low and raspy and juddering from the pace of his cock stretching your walls and pushing against that sweet spot inside you. “I’m not the cruel one.”

They’re both cruel, you think, but that’s the only thing going through your mind because you’re pretty sure you’re going to go fucking crazy, your pussy is so hot you feel like you’re melting around him but you keep at Alisa’s cunt because you want to be good, want to be their good girl, want to be their good little kitty.

You want to be theirs.

“Please—please, can I, can I? Please let me, please I need you to let me…” you beg—somewhere in the back of your mind you know you’re going to hate yourself for giving in to them tomorrow but you want it so so so bad and you can’t cum without their permission, you can’t, you can’t be bad again.

“Well…what do you think, Alisa? Has she earned it?” There’s a growl in Lev’s voice—is he holding himself back? Yesss… He’s slowing down, fucking you up from the inside and the outside, pulling that heat out of you, making you squeal and whine and plead just like he said he would.

You want to, you need to, need to earn it, be good make Alisa feel good earn it—fuck, you have to try harder, and you flutter your tongue over her clit through her panties as well as you can, knowing you’re being sloppy but you don’t know how to help it. She waits a long moment and then sighs, pulling her fingers through your hair, pulling it away from your face so you can look up at her, those pretty pretty eyes looking down at yours so indulgently. Adoringly. Like you’re something to be cherished. “Mm…yes.”

And that’s all it takes.

Your mouth falls open and your pussy does something, convulsing—

“—cumming I’m cumming Lev, A-Alisa—“

fuck, can’t breathe why can’t you breathe? something digging into your throat—

Lev’s, Lev’s hand under the choker dragging you upright tightening cutting off the sounds coming out of your mouth, choking your scream into a pathetic little mewl so he can hold your body up next to him while he fucks you through your climax—you can feel your face turning pink, your cunny holding around him, squeezing him so tight he can barely move but he still does, hips thrusting against your ass, the pleasure so bright and heavy you’re seeing sparks, head rushing, or maybe that’s just the lack of oxygen,

too tight the choker’s too tight you bring your hand back and tap against Lev’s and he lets go immediately. “Shit—sorry, are you alright? Can you breathe?”

You can feel him pulling out, and just that movement is enough to set off another round of clenching in your pussy. You’re sputtering, throat contracting in time with your cunt, not too painful. Just raw.

“Try to breathe, (Y/N),” Lev repeats, stroking down your back to soothe you. He sounds worried, and…that’s your name, isn’t it? It’s been a while since you heard one of them actually say your name instead of just kitten or kitty or kotyonok. It’s not like you can really bother pretending you’re not at least a little bit into the nickname, but hearing your real name out of his mouth stokes some kind of soft, nervous pleasure in you. And goddamn, you do not have the brainpower to analyze why.

It takes a moment for you to catch your breath—the air tastes sweeter than it did a minute ago—and then you roll over. “Did...did you cum?”

Lev shakes his head. You turn toward Alisa, and she just pats your cheek—of course she didn’t cum. Which means you’ve gotten to cum twice, and you didn’t get either of them off.

You bite your lip, turn to the side, and try not to let your eyes water for the—third? fourth?—time tonight. “I’m sorry, I—I’ll do it again, I’ll be better—“

“No,” Alisa says gently, adjusting her position to sit next to you and kiss your forehead. “You were so good, (Y/N).”

Lev mirrors her actions on the other side so you’re bracketed by the two of them. After a second of stillness to gauge your comfort, he starts undoing the clasps at the back of the choker and massaging his fingers over the tender skin underneath. You sniffle and then feel him lay his chin on the top of your head, arrange his arm over your side. “It’s okay,” he murmurs. “You know we like you no matter what, right?”

Alisa nods in agreement, pupils coming to a rest on the skin of your throat as she helps Lev remove the tangle of red satin straps from your body. “Our perfect little kitten. Who’s a good girl?”

Kitten.

Your stomach drops. Not your name. Just kitten.

It must be the twentieth time she’s called you that tonight, but somehow this time it’s different. You cringe, feeling cold where she touches you, but that doesn’t stop her from wiping away the smeared mascara and tear tracks from your cheeks. When you try to flinch away from her, Lev huffs out an annoyed breath and pushes you back into place. “Myesto. Stay.”

It’s a command. Like you would give to an animal. When you freeze, Alisa smiles and then she’s tilting your chin up with her fingers and bringing the camera—the camera, you forgot about the camera—to your throat so she can capture the mess of pink lines and indentations from where the choker bit into your neck…

…and who are you kidding? It’s not a choker, it’s a fucking collar. And you’re not their lover, or their girlfriend, or even their fuckbuddy.

You’re their pet.

#haikyuu x reader #haikyuu imagines #lev haiba x reader #alisa haiba x reader #yandere haikyuu #haiba lev x reader #haiba alisa x reader #yandere haikyuu x reader #lev haiba #haiba lev #alisa haiba #haiba alisa #haikyuu #lev x reader #alisa x reader #haikyuu spoilers #hq x reader #hq imagines #yandere

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cherryshnapps · 4 years ago

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can you elaborate anyways on why the authors research was so poor? idk y but i find it interesting (im not coming for you im just curious)

Well first of all the surnames differ a little bit with males and females, the correct way for the female characters is to add an “a” at the end for Alina it will be Starkóva (adding the correct stress) and for Alexander it will be Morózov

Also kvas is not an alcoholic beverage it’s just fermented bread with some yeast and water, she should’ve used “medovukha” instead

wtf is Sankta anyway, I mean in the universe it means saint but why didn’t she used blessed or “sv’yatoy” it’s literal translation. I think she did it bc we have a town called Sankt-Petersburg (Saint Petersburg) maybe she thought it will be quirky to use it

Also why would you call people with magical abilities “Grisha”, it’s a male name, I find really funny!! I mean I don’t have any good alternatives and it sounds kinda unique, still funny tho. Also when darkling said to Alina “you’re grisha. you’re not alone” It’s stupid but I find it funny

(⚠️DARKLING SPOILER⚠️) I’m a darklina stan (ik I have issues) and his name is Alexander obv, and a lot of Russian names have shortened versions and Alexander is one of it, I would literally k!ll myself if in the end when he asked Alina to call him by his name she should’ve said “Sasha” THAT’S SO INTIMATE

also the name Genya wtf lol, it’s Zhenya

In conclusion Russian culture is very rich and interesting and I would love Leigh bardugo to work with some historians and republish the books, but I don’t think it will happen anytime soon

#shadow and bone #malina #darklina #with peace and love

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aideu-osha · 3 months ago

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*presses his index finger to his lips and waits on the phone* Shhh... *the door opens and he hooks the phone off, nudging his head to follow* See? Fancy, isn't it? Entertaining enough to have me keep coming back here. As for what you said, I live life simply because I can. *sits at the counter on a stool* If you have it, why not just enjoy it while it lasts? As I said before, you usually don't come to truly appreciate something until it's robbed of you. *orders a Medovukha and rests his chin in his palm* Got what you wanted coming all the way out here?

how’s it going over there?

Mhm. *closes his eyes while laying under a tree with his arms behind his head* I'll be heading my way home soon...

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jomiddlemarch · 4 years ago

Text

But who to love can give a law?

The first time Nina could remember hearing him, it had been in the freezing, reeking hold of the ship, his voice almost inaudible among the slapping sounds of the sea-water she stood in, the waves and wind that sought to destroy the vessel with nearly her same degree of rage, the low broken keening that was Agrafena; Nina had never learned the name of the other captive Grisha. Matthias was muttering something as he did something incomprehensible that appeared to make no difference at all to the ship but which occupied him more than her taunts or curses. She hadn’t been able to make out a single word, only the way he said them, as if they were familiar as breath. As murder.

After the storm, on the open sea with a filet of the hull the barest respite from the cold depths, she heard him again. She had her hand on his wrist, keeping his blood warm enough to run through his veins as he swam, driving them towards some distant shore. It was hard to make out anything over his heartbeat and her own, their noisy deaths ready to take them, but she recognized the same cadence, the same pauses before he spoke the next word.

“You’re praying,” she said, not bothering to make it a question. He wouldn’t answer her anyway. “You’re wasting your breath.”

“No,” Matthias said, telling her she was wrong again, probably reveling in it. “No.”

He spoke in his sleep and it woke her. It was some hour of the night she’d never be able to identify, that power not one she possessed. They lay together quietly, warm again without her magic, the darkness unbroken by any candle or coal. She hadn’t opened her eyes, only let herself linger in the dream’s antechamber as Sidor called it, Sidor who could summon the memory from any dream without any bitterness. Nina had let herself lie cradled in Matthias’s arms, furs piled over them as if it had been a marriage bed and the braziers were filled with incense, a flagon of spiced medovukha within reach, and had listened. She hadn’t understood. He wasn’t speaking Fjerdan, which surprised her enough to make her stir, the shift of her body against his making him pause and pull her closer. He murmured again into her tangled hair but this time she knew what he’d said,

“Roëd fetla, hiljaa. Hiljaa.”

Somehow, that settled her. Somehow, she slept, the other words woven through her dreams in a way not even Sidor could have teased out.

Out on the ice, Matthias heaped with furs and her own quilt drawn around her shoulders, the sun bright on both their faces but not the least bit warm, Nina thought to say something but then he began to criticize her again and she taunted him in return, shocking him when she could, wanting him to begin to accept a Grisha wasn’t an object, not a weapon, not a plague, that for her to be herself was as good as it was for a falcon to fly or a skald to sing the praises of a lord. They argued and then she fell; she fell and then he caught her, this time to save her life by using all his strength. As close as she was to death, she saw he’d held nothing back when she looked in his blue eyes that were the color of the deepest ice that waited for her. She’d felt it in his hands, in his arms as he pulled her back, and then when he said his name.

“I’m Matthias.”

It was a mile later, with his furs around her like an imperatriki’s cape, when she noticed he was reciting something under his breath, matching his voice to his stride. A walking-song, a working-song, Nina thought and this time she asked.

“What is that? It’s not Fjerdan and it’s not Ravkan, not Shu, though I can’t imagine you’d speak that on pain of death,” Nina said. Matthias laughed and it was the first time. She marked it and knew she’d wouldn’t forget.

“Romansh, with a little Friuli mixed in,” he said.

“You speak Romansh? With a little Friuli mixed in? You, the veritable jewel of fair Fjerda? Who scoffed when I said I spoke six languages?” Nina said.

“I didn’t scoff. I was cold and you were embarrassing me,” Matthias said. “I do speak Romansh, though I’m not claiming to be most fluent.”

“I’m almost afraid to ask now, what you’re saying. It doesn’t sound like a spell and you’ve saved my life twice over, so I hardly see why’d you set a geas upon me,” she said.

“Boëthius,” he said. “De topicis differntiis. On Topical Differences. It helps clear my mind.”

“It helps clear your mind,” she repeated. She recognized the name a little, a philosopher and a martyr, a scholar adept, as distant from the world-tree and the einhejar as the sun and moon. The edda, that she would have expected, or a folk-song, even the inventory of his family’s homestead. He had by memory a treatise, some work removed enough from honor and glory to be titled something too dull for even the dullest fabricator to be intrigued by. She wanted to shake him and then fly at him, letting herself kiss the back of his hand like a vow.

“It is a book about arguments,” he said, then smiled. “You would like it.”

“Because you think I live for nothing but disputes and quarrels?” she said.

“Because it is thoughtful and precise. Because I think it is something like your small science,” he said, careful when he spoke of her power, if not appreciative then at least without any condemnation. His eyes were the same blue as the sea that had nearly taken them both and yet, she did not want to look away. She felt the urge to put her palms together, to make and to give.

“You might tell me some,” she said, as if she were the first lady-in-waiting to the Queen of Ravka herself, not a lost Grisha in a lost world, with a Fjerdan and death as her only companions. “But say it in Romansh and Fjerdan both—I’ve an ear for languages, perhaps I’ll pick it up.”

“I expect you will, Nina,” he said. “It’s not easy, but it’s very beautiful. You’ll understand.”

For @fericita-s who wanted me to do something with Nina/Matthias

#shadow and bone #nina/matthias #nina zenik #matthias helvar #helnik #vignettes #some unauthorized world-building #boethius #de topicis differentiis #romance #in a manner of speaking

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elderkale · 4 years ago

Text

a toast (to what i have never had before)

Old Guard gift exchange @theoldguardevents for @longistheroadshortisthelife! Hope you like it and happy holidays <3

AO3

Arizona, the United States of America. Axel Safehouse. 2133.

Nicky found his husband on the roof, lounging on the clay tiles with his arms beneath his head. There was a breeze blowing from the west, teasing his curls and tugging at his shirt, and his skin seemed to glow in a way that was almost ethereal by the fading starlight. Beneath the light of the waxing moon, he looked calm—peaceful, even. His eyes were closed, chest rising and falling slowly, evenly, and, had Nicky been anyone but himself, he would have assumed he were asleep.

Carefully, he sat down and scooted to sit next to him. Joe smiled and rested a hand lightly on his knee. “Hey, babe.”

Nicky leaned down and pecked him on the forehead. Joe’s other hand came up, winding through his hair and guiding him into another kiss, this time on his mouth. Nicky hummed as Joe scratched idly at his scalp and traced his free hand down his stomach, fingers lingering just above his hip.

Joe reached down, linking their fingers together. “Hey,” he said into Nicky’s cheek, rubbing their joined knuckles over the curve of his ribs. “I’m fine, habibi.”

You are now , Nicky wanted to say. You are now. Not yesterday, when he’d been crushed beneath a falling building. Not that morning, when they’d finally dug him out, not when he’d writhed in Nicky’s arms in the back of the truck, drenched in sweat and tears as his body knit itself back together. Not eight hours ago when he’d held Nicky in a grip that hurt almost too much beneath the spray of the shower. Not twenty minutes ago when he’d kicked aside the sheets and stumbled out of their room. You are now.

He kissed Joe again on the forehead, then on each eyelid, then on his jaw. Joe chuckled and turned his head to press his own lips to Nicky’s wrist.

“I have something for you,” Nicky told him. Joe cracked his eyes open and peered up at him with barely-concealed curiosity.

He let out a groan of mingled delight as Nicky extracted the bottle he’d been hiding from behind his back. “You spoil me, Nicolò,” he said, reaching for it. Nicky tatted and tapped his shoulder until he sat up, rolling his eyes even as he leaned forwards to kiss Nicky again. “What’s the occasion?”

“Does there have to be one?” Nicky asked, swirling the mead around in the bottle. Joe hummed and Nicky twisted his wrist, freeing the cap with a pop .

“Wait.” Joe stilled his hands with his. Nicky smiled and let him take the bottle. “Mm.” He takes a deep whiff from the open neck, face screwed up into a masterful imitation of Andy whenever she’d tasted a new sample of baklava. “Ethiopia?” he guessed, opening one eye and peeking up at Nicky. “Poland,” he corrected, spotting the look on Nicky’s face. “No? New York?”

“You wound me, tesoro,” said Nicky. Joe pouted. He looked unfairly adorable when he did so, and Nicky couldn’t resist leaning forwards and giving him a quick peck on the lips, then his cheek, and then the hollow of his throat. Then, after a half-second of consideration, he blew on his ear.

“Nicky!” Joe laughed. “I’m going to spill it!”

“Don’t you dare,” Nicky growled, nipping at Joe’s neck. “Do you know how hard it was to hide that from Booker? In his own house, no less.”

“A wonder in itself,” Joe agreed, tipping his head back to let Nicky mouth at his throat. Nicky finally chuckled and leaned back, letting Joe take a swig. “Mm.” He smacked his lips, screwing up his eyes.

“Good?”

“Dusty.” Nicky elbowed him lightly and Joe grinned, taking another sip. “Good. Very good.” He held out the bottle and Nicky took a gracious sip of his own.

“Good,” he agreed, licking his lips satisfactorily. Joe leaned back against the roof and, for a while, they simply sat there, trading sips beneath the speckled midnight sky.

“Medovukha!” Joe yelled suddenly, sitting up straight. “Russia, ‘15, you—wait.” He narrowed his eyes and Nicky bit his lip, trying his hardest not to laugh. “ I bought that for you, you little vixen!” he exclaimed. Nicky let out a screech as Joe tackled him across the roof, shaking with laughter as he dug his fingers into his armpits, tickling him mercilessly until he begged him to stop.

(Later, Nicky half-heartedly suggested soaking up the spilled mead with a sponge. Joe tackled him again.)

Otjozondjupa, Namibia. Cave. 1903.

A loud crack reverberated through the cavern as Joseph hit the ground and he swore, grabbing the wall. Booker shot him a glance, one eyebrow raised, and Joseph nodded, jaw clenched. The other man nodded back wearily before vanishing after Andrea into the darkness.

There was a grating screech of metal against stone and Joseph quickly stood, throwing out his arms just in time to catch Nicholas as he skidded down the shaft. “Stupid cave,” he muttered, straightening his husband. “You alright?”

Nicholas nodded, tugging off his cap. “Are you?”

Joseph shrugged. “Ankle.” Nicholas frowned. “It’s fine,” Joseph hastened to add. “Just landed bad, I’m still healing—”

Nicholas tutted and took his hand, maneuvering him to sit against a wall. “Wait,” he ordered, pointing a stern finger when Joseph tried to stand. “Wait,” he repeated, then ducked into the shadows.

Joseph sighed and leaned his head back, stretching his legs out. It was still throbbing, loathe as he was to admit it. He watched with an almost morbid fascination as his foot slowly straightened itself, twisting back into place. He could, if he strained his ears, hear the faint creak of his bones as they realigned themselves. It didn’t even hurt that much.

Nicholas still wasn’t back. Joseph grimaced and began working at the buttons of his coat, a task made significantly more difficult by the blood drying between the clasps. He bit back a gag as he worked the tip of his thumbnail through the plug; neck shots always bled more.

Finally, he managed to more shake than shrug his coat off, wrinkling his nose when it hit the ground as a stiff sheet. What a shame—he’d liked that one.

“Joseph?”

“Hm?” Joseph glanced up. “Yeah, still here.”

Nicholas dropped his bag by Joseph’s feet and sat next to him. He’d shed his own coat, and had what looked like one of Andrea’s old shawls wrapped around his shoulders. There was a smudge of dirt on his face and Joseph reached up, wiping it away with his thumb. Nicholas smiled, letting his cheek linger in Joseph’s palm for a moment before leaning away. “Here.” He pushed a cloth-wrapped bundle into Joseph’s hands.

Joseph raised an eyebrow. “Where’d you get this from?” he asked as he began peeling back the layers Nicholas had wrapped it in. The scrap linen might once have been white, and was almost tacky with dirt.

“Buried it.”

“When?”

Nicholas shrugged. “‘77, ‘78? I bought it in ‘76.”

Joseph was grinning by the time the bottle finally rolled into his lap. “15?”

Nicholas shook his head. “14.”

Joseph laughed, lifting the bottle to peer at the faded label. He whistled. “Grenache, Nico?”

“Sardinia,” said Nicholas, resting his chin on Joseph’s shoulder. Joseph tilted his head, resting his cheek against his husband’s hair. “I was saving it for a rainy day.”

Joseph ran a hand up and down Nicholas’s arm, stroked his skin through a slit in his sleeve until he felt him relax. “It was a nice villa,” he recalled. Nicholas exhaled slowly, and Joseph pressed his nose into his hair, breathing in deeply. He was coated in a thin layer of dust—the ride over, perhaps, or just the slit of a shaft they called an opening—and his skin was tacky with sweat. The side of his head was matted with blood, his hair dyed the colour of rust, and Joseph leaned down, pressing his mouth to the skin below it. The beat of Nicholas’s pulse fluttered against his lips and he felt Nicholas’s hand encircle his wrist, fingers pressed over his vein.

Finally, Joseph drew away. Nicholas looked at him imploringly and Joseph chuckled, raising the bottle again. “Booker would kill for this, you know.”

“Too bad it is not for him, then,” said Nicholas, lip quirking.

Joseph pressed his lips to his temple, smiling into his hair. “Glasses?”

Nicholas laughed lightly, resting his head on his husband’s shoulder. “Live a little, Joseph.”

Joseph snorted and popped the cork.

The United Reformation, New Caspian Spiral. The Scythian III . 3099.

He heard the creak of metal before the beep and grate of the door sliding open. The ship was not a quiet one, nor was it particularly new.

(It wasn’t their only, of course; he knew Booker and Nils had cruisers stowed in convenient asteroid fields, and he’d eat a wrench if Zyin didn’t have an entire fleet stashed away somewhere. He and Ynko had their own crafts hidden across three systems, and Veyuz suspected he himself had buried enough spare parts across various moons to build them more than a few a liners.)

It wasn’t the first ship they’d shared together, either, nor, judging by the growing frequency of things needing fixing, would it be the last. (“You’re butchering my ship, you old mules,” Zyin had signed furiously the other day after Booker had hit a panel too hard and hurled himself into space. Veyuz had snorted and launched into an eager retelling of London ‘20 while Nils patted Booker’s shoulder until the blue receded from his skin. Ynko had just watched, the smile tugging at his lips turning into a laugh when Zyin firmly declared them all insane and waltzed back off to the cockpit.)

But, still, he held onto it all the same.

(Things grew precious with time, as people grew sacred; the Scythian was not a port in the Maghreb, or an island in the south, but it was home all the same.)

The steps shook faintly as Ynko sat down next to him, a blanket draped over his shoulder. He raised one arm, cocking his head, and Veyuz shuffled closer, letting him drape the rest over his shoulder. It did little against the drafts of the cabin, and Ynko had to hold onto the ends to keep it draped over both of them. It was as close to perfect as he was sure they could get.

Ynko tucked his chin over Veyuz’s shoulder. “What are you thinking?” he asked.

Veyuz gave the globe in his palm a quick spin. It flickered as it turned, the projection flickering and quivering for a moment, like a hologram in one of those old space movies Nils still loved (wonderfully inventful, but not terribly accurate, she’d been disappointed to learn; Veyuz was just glad he’d never have to meet a Gungan). Ynko reached over, dragging the familiar blue ball to a stop with the tip of his finger. Veyuz traced a path from the tip of Africa across the sea and over Israel. The globe jumped at his touch, the shadow of his hand splitting into a many-headed beast across the seven seas for a moment before he closed his fist. The orb vanished.

Ynko covered his hand with his own and brought it to his lips, pressing a feather-light kiss to his knuckles. Veyuz smiled and cupped his cheek. “You know,” he said, stroking the curve beneath his husband’s eye, “I was just thinking of that time in Malta.”

He felt Ynko smile against his neck. “Which Malta?” he asked, curving closer to him. “I’ve almost forgotten.”

Veyuz gasped in mock affront. “My own husband!” he accused. Ynko laughed and nudged him lightly in the side. Veyuz pressed a hand to his heart. “I don’t think I will ever recover, my once-heart,” he told him.

Ynko tugged at the blanket, and Veyuz whimpered dramatically as it slipped from his shoulders. “I have something for you,” he said, reaching into the bag at his feet that Veyuz had just noticed.

“Is it a sweater?” he asked pitifully. Ynko straightened, and Veyuz’s eyes widened. “ Ynko ,” he breathed. “Does Nils know you have this?” Ynko laughed.

“I have held on to this for too long for Zyin to throw it out of an airlock, my love.”

Veyuz laughed too. “Right.” He turned the jar around, cradled the glass—real, Earth-blown glass —in his hands. The liquor seemed to shimmer between the dim glow of the lights, the surface rippling with every rumble of the ship. The slender metal fixings seal were dull but smooth beneath his fingers, speaking of millennia of care. “How long?” he asked.

Ynko dragged his lips across Veyuz’s jaw. “Do you remember New Orleans?” he asked.

Veyuz couldn’t resist a grin. “Which New Orleans?” he asked. “I can’t seem to recall.”

“Oh?” Ynko asked drily. “Apt.”

Veyuz laughed. “And moonshine on the moon isn’t?”

“Near a moon,” said Ynko. “Near several moons, actually.”

Veyuz could almost see the fumes twisting out of the jar when he cracked the lid open; they danced like fingers of smoke through lifeless air, curling, serpentine, around steel and sterile lights. His throat burned with the first sip, and his eyes with the second. It seared his skin through his chest, leaving behind lashes of past centuries and dragged to his eyes tears shed in a world long gone. Gunpowder and cigarettes and buildings that had touched the earth, not the sky. Forest firefights and granite quarries and brass bands in alleyways. Air sealed with dust that landed, ghostlike, on glass and wood the way fingers do on the skin of lovers, cars that choked on their own rubber, powder burns that vanished and soot-black stains that stayed. Suits and polished tumblers and dresses that flashed like broken diamonds by the light of imported chandeliers. Dancing with Ynko, Nicky, Nicolò by candlelight and under the moon, wiping blood from his cheek under the stars and sweat from his lips beneath the arch of painted ceilings. Chasing the flames on his lips on stainless grates among their former stars, raising his hands, his lips, and falling to his knees in toast and pledge.

1099. 1926. Two thousand years and a hundred times more lifetimes lost and found, and carried after and in between.

“I love you,” he says and said and says again. His hand takes his, thumb caressing the edges of the same silver ring forged so many centuries ago.

“I love you too.”

#the old guard #fanfiction #writing #the old guard fanfiction #gift exchange #joe #nicky #yusuf al kaysani #nicolo di genova #kaysanova #historical #ish #acts of service #joe x nicky #joenicky #how many ship tags do two dudes need #mine #the old guard gift exchange 2020 #toggift2020

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sunflowerbi · 4 years ago

Text

The Way to a Woman’s Heart

Eve/Villanelle

Rating: T

1.79k words

Eve cooks traditional Korean food for Villanelle, and Villanelle cooks traditional Russian food for Eve. They both refuse to admit they like it, because they're dramatic. Plus they kiss because they're gay.

ao3

“It is not that I do not trust you, it is just that I do not trust this… black goop.” Villanelle was perched on a counter in the small kitchen of their apartment, trying to convince Eve to just order takeout.

“It’s not goop, darling. It’s chunjang, bean paste. It’s good, I promise you’ll like it.” Eve continued chopping the zucchini in front of her, throwing it into a bowl with cabbage she’d already cut. She grabbed a pan from the cabinet next to Villanelle, dropping a kiss on her lips in passing, before grabbing the goop, as it’d been titled, and pouring it into the pan. “You fry it with oyster sauce and sugar.” She noted, adding in the ingredients as she named them. While it was cooking, she pulled the cubed pork from the fridge, smiling as she added the marinade of ginger, rice wine, salt, and pepper. The kitchen had filled with the smell of home, and Eve realized just how much she’d missed cooking the traditional food her mom had managed to teach her. Between late nights at work and Niko’s interest in cooking, she hadn’t done it in longer than she could remember.

“It does not smell horrible, but I still do not think I will like it.” They’d been having this discussion all day, Eve insisting there were a few things she actually could cook, and Villanelle refusing to believe her. When Eve announced that she would be making jajangmyeon, Villanelle argued that they could always find a restaurant that served Korean barbeque. When Eve turned around to fill a pot with water, Villanelle smiled fondly, Eve looked wonderful, in their kitchen, in their apartment. She was beautiful, and she was happy, which filled Villanelle with a slightly unfamiliar feeling, something like pride but happier, like love but bigger. Instead of mentioning any of this to Eve, she rolled her eyes when the older woman looked at her.

“I think you will. Can you grab the noodles for me?” Eve asked, mostly ignoring the assassin’s complaints. She took the noodles Villanelle dutifully handed to her, dumping the package into a boiling pot of water. “It shouldn’t be long now; the pork is almost done and then I just have to mix the stock in with the chunjang.” Eve smiled, she knew Villanelle would enjoy it, although something told her she’d never admit it. She pulled the strainer out and dumped the noodles, grabbing one and offering it to Villanelle to test. Villanelle took the opportunity to suck the noodle into her mouth, taking Eve’s finger along with it, smirking.

“Is it done?” Eve asked, attempting to ignore Villanelle’s tongue rolling around her index finger, eventually pulling it out before her breathing betrayed her.

“Yes. Although I was not.” Villanelle pouted, trying and failing to catch Eve’s wrist again. Eve laughed and served the noodles into two bowls, pouring the simmering sauce over top. She poured two small glasses of soju, handing a bowl and glass to Villanelle before taking her own and heading to the table.

As soon as they sat down, Eve took a bite of her food, the sweet and savory mixing perfectly in her mouth and reminding her of happy evenings with her parents, of her first week of college, eating prepared meals her mom gave her. She looked over at her girlfriend, her brain still tripped over that word sometimes, girlfriend, it made her feel like a seventeen-year-old on her way to prom. She watched her girlfriend take a small bit onto her fork, looking at it like it might be poisoned. Eventually, though, she took a bite, cautiously putting it into her mouth. Ever the mystery, she kept her face neutral, taking another bite as if she needed more to make her judgment.

“It is fine.” Is all she said, taking another bite, holding her face very carefully. It was hard for Villanelle, eating slowly, feigning disinterest. She ate like she did all things, with zest, passionately going after any and everything she wanted. This time, she put small bites into her mouth, she didn’t vocalize her feelings. She refused to admit to Eve that it tasted wonderful, tasted how being with Eve felt, new but perfectly familiar, like the universe meant it that way and was so entirely happy to see it finally come to be. Instead she nodded, avoiding Eve’s curious eyes.

Thirty minutes later, they worked with each other to put the leftovers away, packaging it all and rinsing the dishes off. “Did you really not like it?” Eve still had trouble reading Villanelle sometimes, trying to figure out when she was lying.

“I told you, it was fine.” Villanelle smiled, leaning down to distract Eve with a kiss, her hands finding their place in Eve’s hair. “I will make you kotleti tomorrow, you will love it.”

“Can you hand me an onion, moyo sladkaya?” Villanelle asked, placing small, colorful potatoes into a bowl. Eve handed it over, watching Villanelle move through the kitchen like she’d been cooking in it for years, not just the two months they’d been hidden away here. She chopped the onion expertly, dumping half of the pieces in with the potatoes and tossing it all with oil and various herbs. After being spread onto a pan she stuck them into the oven and set to work on the kotleti. Villanelle had mixed feelings about Russia, and everything attached to it. She hated being there, hated the people she’d known there, the life she’d lived. The food though, still made her warm inside, reminded her of the few good points in her childhood, learning to steal from street vendors and hiding in a dark alley with warm food settling into her stomach.

“It is important to soak the bread in the milk first, otherwise it will be shit.” Villanelle explained as she tore up the bread and placed it into a bowl of milk, mixing it around a bit.

“I still don’t see how this is any different from a bad chicken meatball.” Eve stretched, raising her eyebrows at Villanelle, who only rolled her eyes. Honestly, it smelled amazing, but Eve refused to let Villanelle win. She had insisted on pretending she didn’t really like the jajangmyeon, but when Eve woke up the next morning, she noticed the leftovers were gone, and when Villanelle kissed her, she tasted like ginger. If Villanelle was going to play this game, Eve would too.

“It is not a meatball. Nor is it bad. So, that is how it is different.” Villanelle said plainly, beginning to mix the rest of the onion with the bread and the ground chicken, adding in various spices. She loved food, the way it could make people feel, the way a woman sounded when she ate something she really loved, the face someone made when they saw their favorite food. She spooned the meat into the pan, forming it into oblong patties. The pan sizzled loudly, the oil jumping around as the meat began to cook. She knew Eve would never admit to liking the food, but she would be able to tell, Eve was not as good at lying as she was, she wouldn’t be able to hide it as much.

“The table is ready, are the potatoes done, sweetheart?” Eve’s hand slid across the small of Villanelle’s back as she walked behind her, a kiss landing on her shoulder. She grabbed the medovukha Villanelle had picked out and poured it into their wine glasses, swirling the amber liquid around a bit.

“They are, yes. I just have to put them into a bowl so we can take them to the table. Then we can eat.” The potatoes and onions fell easily into the bowl, Villanelle using a spoon to help them along. “Will you bring the drinks? I assume the kotleti is already on the table.”

They ate quietly, Villanelle watching Eve carefully as she took the first bite of her kotleti, looking for any indication, positive or negative. She found Eve was better than she’d expected at keeping her expressions neutral, but little smiles gave her away, even as Villanelle inquired as to how she was enjoying her meal.

“It’s fine.” Eve smirked, impressed with herself, probably more than she should’ve been, giving Villanelle’s answer back to her. She took another bite, holding her smile back best as she could. The food tasted warm, filling, like the kind of food you bring to a friend to cheer them up. She watched Villanelle eat, quickly gathering bites of meat and potato into her mouth, pausing to savor the taste before getting more. She looked content, more so than she usually did when she ate, which said something. She had her usual passion but there was something else there too, and if Eve had to guess she’d say it looked like nostalgia.

“That is all? Just fine?”

“Yes, it’s fine.”

Eve ate the leftovers as soon as Villanelle fell asleep.

“You know, if you want me to make hoddeok again you could just ask, you don’t have to casually leave the recipe on the counter.” Eve smiled fondly at Villanelle, who was lying on the couch, reading some book she’d picked up at the store across the street.

“That would ruin the fun of our little game, rodnaya.” She didn’t look up, flipping the page as she continued to read. She really tried not to push it; she didn’t say anything when she bought the ingredients at the store, but it’d been a week and all she could think about was the honey and cinnamon filled pancake Eve had made her, fluffy and sweet, slightly sticky. So, she’d left the recipe out, hoping it would inspire Eve to cook them again without being asked,

“Hm, I suppose it would, yes. Although I think it’s well past ruined, and I could really go for some solyanka tomorrow, but you won’t cook it unless you pick out the meat yourself, so I can’t just sneakily buy it all.” Eve noted, taking the book from Villanelle’s hands and straddling her. “I think maybe we can just admit defeat, call it a tie, hm?”

Villanelle rested her now empty hands on Eve’s hips, slipping them under her shirt. “I suppose that could be acceptable, but only if I can have some sujeonggwa as well. Tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow. You make solyanka for dinner and I make sujeonggwa for dessert.” Eve leaned down, kissing Villanelle gently, trying to express the enormity of what she felt. She wasn’t sure there was a way to do that, to convey how much she adored the blonde.

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

That would have to do, for now.

#villaneve #killing eve #killing eve fanfic #villaneve fanfic #killingeveedit #killing eve s3 #killing eve s4 #killing eve spoilers #i think about you all the time #my writing

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