#obviously I’m going to turn this into an instrument of my own pleasure

[evangelust]

When my sub gets fucked/blissed out it’ll mindlessly start saying “thank you… thank you… thank you… thank you…” and it gets me off so stupid bad.

[oromanticism]

Okay back to this I’m going to give some of my headcannons from this fic

First obvious question, if Geto hates non-sorcerers so much why does he have a non-sorcerer play thing?

Geto obviously believes he’s a good person doing the right thing and in his head misogyny against fellow sorcerers is wrong “Female or male we’re all sorcerers at the end of the day 😸” he thinks he’s an equal rights king.

So being the feminist king how can he subject his sisters in sorcerers to degrading sex turning such strong women into sex dolls? No way #feministking that’s what the non-sorcerer women are there for!

Yeah he becomes a full blown Naoyo Zenin type traditionalist when it comes to non-sorcerer women but somehow even worse. Hes a man with needs after all and who better to subject his depravity too than the people that should be begging at his feet.

In his head Miss Reader should be grateful he has not only kept her alive be allowed her to be the vessel of his sexual frustration her kind isn’t even worthy of life in his eyes and here he was bestowing her with pleasure and she isn’t even grateful? Wow okay then 😒

Ofc he isn’t delusional or stupid he knows why she hates him and somehow it turns him on more knowing she can’t refuse him and seeing the unwanted pleasure she gets from him ofc seeing her fight back amuses him bcs he’s so much stronger than her, it’s like watching a chihuahua growl at you. I also think he views her as an experiment to see if he can “tame a monkey”

It’s obviously a deeply unhealthy relationship, he treats her like a pet, a child and a concubine all at once he probably has a kink for all three.

Other headcanond I have:

He makes her wear traditional clothes 1. Because he thinks it looks nice 2. It makes her stand out 3. It limits her mobility

Has her practice the Koto and play for him in the evenings She will be punished for making mistakes

You know the film Tale of Princess Kaguya ? And in the film the dad forces her to become the perfect princess/wife making her practice tea ceremonies, play instruments, dress in elaborate uncomfortable outfits, walk slowly and act ladylike? Yeah that’s how Geto would be treating dear Reader but like meaner by month three you’ve read every book on jujutsu history and poured more tea than you’ve drank in your lifetime. You’re his little doll after all a plaything

Honestly the relationship dynamic is giving Lolita, he views her and her kind mentally as children stupid, weak and navie yet has no issue forcing himself on her omg y’all this is so twisted don’t worry reader we gonna get you outta there trust me😭🤞🏾

And the kimono he has for her are made brighter fabric that is usually used for children’s ones 1. Bcs again he views her like a child/a pet and 2. It would make it easier to find her if she tried to run

YALL HES SICK YUTA COME TAKE HIM OUT AGAIN FOR ME

how have I managed to annoy myself with my own headcanon Geto count your days trust me

That’s all I got guys read this fic when you can it’s really good!

Fever Pitch [Yandere Geto Suguru x Reader]

Title: Fever Pitch [Yandere Geto x Reader]

Synopsis: Geto’s been hit by a lust curse, and you take what little control you have to avoid him snapping. Follow-up to Bus Stop.

Word Count: 3200ish

Notes: yandere, kidnapped reader, dubcon, sex, some mentions of past degradation 

 It’s funny, the way you can get used to anything. When you were first taken,  you would have sworn--on your heart, your soul, on blood from a cut on your palm--that you would fight, hiss, and spit at Geto until the day you died. 

And now here you are, nestled on a seat cushion in his sitting room, quietly reading a book while he’s off collecting curses and doing favors that aren’t really true favors at all. The person assigned to you today is a familiar face, someone you don’t entirely detest, if only because they are content to keep an eye on you without emanating visible hatred towards your existence at every second.

They were even kind--or what classifies as “kind” here--enough to lend you their scissors a few weeks ago, when someone stuck a wad of sticky bubble gum in your hair as they passed you in a hallway. Sure, they kept an eye on you the entire time in order to make sure you weren’t trying to stab yourself (or anyone else); but they said nothing as you hacked at your own hair, eventually giving yourself a passable pixie cut.

Geto had raised his eyebrows when he came back that day, and had a quiet word with your keeper. But you didn’t get punished, so that was that. Cutting off your hair felt good, even. Like you were cutting out whatever part of yourself was still simmering in pointless anger at  your situation. Why be angry, why be in despair, when nothing you did mattered? You ran once. He found you. If you bothered to run again--not that you’d get the chance--he would find you again. And again. 

It was better to find something like enjoyment instead of wallowing. 

Wasn’t it?

Besides, even Geto had been different since the day he found you. He seemed content for you to be a quiet pet again. He no longer visited you in the night, touching you, forcing pleasures and sounds you didn’t want to experience from his fingers, even as he commanded you to always keep your arms away from him. He was allowed to touch--but you weren’t allowed to touch him. You hated it. 

But he hadn’t touched you in the slightest intimate way since that day. Unless you counted the condescending head pats as intimate, which you certainly did not. 

You hear Geto’s footsteps, and your muscles tense in preparation. You carefully set a bookmark in your book and set it aside; he didn’t like it when you paid attention to a book instead of him. Especially when he’d been gone for most of the day. 

But something’s wrong. Something’s different.

These are not the orderly footsteps of Geto returning to his rooms at the end of a (horribly) productive day. These steps are staggered--hesitant. 

Strange.

Your current keeper stands when Geto enters, but he simply dismisses them with a wave of his hand and an unusually curt: “Leave.” 

They hazard a glance at you--it almost feels kind--before swiftly grabbing their bag and walking away, hurried steps echoing in the hallway that leads to his suite of rooms.

As soon as they’re out of earshot, Geto begins to shed his clothing. Now this wasn’t unusual. He preferred to wear only a casual outfit around you, some trousers and a light top most of the time. What was unusual was the undignified manner in which he did it, simply peeling away his layers and tossing them on the ground, all the while his breath seemed to come in quiet, stuttering pants.

It’s enough to make you break your gaze from the floor and look at him.

Geto looks… ill. His cheeks are flushed and yes, his chest is heaving a little as he takes in short, frenzied breaths. Even the skin of his neck and collar had a slight glow to it, like he’d been exercising vigorously or done something terribly embarrassing. 

“Geto?” You ask, hesitantly. You flick your eyes back down to the floor, where you’re told they belong until he says otherwise. 

He doesn’t answer. The final layers of his robes drop to the floor. 

Normally, he would approach you now, calmly. He might tilt your chin up with his hand and ask what you did today--if you were good, if you behaved. 

Instead he staggers away, catching himself on the corner of a table.

“Geto?” You try again, voice higher, more concerned. 

You look up to see him with both palms splayed on the table, breaths coming in deeper huffs. His skin is still flushed--it’s so strange--and you swear the room feels warmer than it did a few moments ago. 

His fingers curl against the table into a tight fist, then release, then curl again. His breath comes in more ragged by the moment. There’s an unmistakable soft groan--in pain? Discomfort?

“Are you… all right?” You ask, and do the boldest thing possible in your present situation, which happens to be standing up on shaky legs and taking a step towards him.

“Don’t.” The word is practically growled out, and your muscles freeze for the moment, keeping you in place.

He turns to look at you, but instead of looking angry, he looks… desperate. His eyes roam over you and his lips part, and you see the edge of his tongue reach out to lick a dry patch as he struggles to regain control over his breath. 

The expression hits you and it’s oh-so familiar and you don’t like it at all.

Geto isn’t sick. 

He’s aroused.

You reach up to clutch at your shirt, fidgeting with the fabric like it might actually provide comfort in this unsure situation.

“What… happened?” 

He doesn’t answer at first. His mouth twists into something like a grin, but it’s twitchy, uncontrolled. He chuckles slowly.

“A curse. I should have taken a closer look, but--” He lets out a pained sigh and squeezes his eyes shut. “I was distracted. Foolish. Stupid.”

You--perhaps foolish, stupid--take a step forward. Little pieces find themselves fitting together in your brain, trying to create a plan for what will come ahead. It’s how you’ve managed to survive so far, isn’t it? Taking in everything about your situation and acting accordingly to preserve your health and sanity?

“What… kind of curse?” You ask, and take more steps, until you’re close enough that you can feel some of the unnatural warmth from his body. 

He looks at you slowly, his eyes almost rolling in a way that makes your stomach turn. You perhaps don’t need to actually hear the answer. It’s become clear, with the way he’s panting, the way his skin is flushed, the awful warmth from being so close to him. But it’s best for him to admit it, anyway, and confirm it to your whirring brain.

“Lust.”

Something seems to roil through him and he leans down, groaning in an uninhibited way that makes cold fear crawl up your arms, despite the warmth from Geto’s body. This close, you can see the sweat beading on his forehead, and when you glance down, his hardness is evident through his trousers.

Oh, you’re going to be fucked by the end of the night. You know it. It’s an inevitability. 

What if it’s like before? When he would be rough and fast, and it would feel good and terrible all at the same time? When you felt like you had no control over what was done to you, and what you were made to do? The shame that would spread through your body afterward was nearly unbearable. 

No… it was better to take charge yourself, wasn’t it? The only other option was to wait for him to snap. And if he was influenced by some lust-filled curse, there’s no telling what he might do. 

So you’ll take care of him before he can reach that breaking point. 

“Geto,” you say, and your hand reaches out slowly, like he’s a wild dog (perhaps he is) until it rests just above his back. Close enough for him to sense you. Although attempting to touch him without permission would normally have earned you a slap on the wrist and a reprimand, Geto leans into your palm, letting out a soft, pleased noise, as if your palm resting on his back was something far more wonderful.

“Let me… take care of you,” you manage, tongue sticking to the roof of your mouth before you force it loose to say the words. He doesn’t answer, breath still coming out in a pant. 

“Let’s go to the bedroom.” You speak louder, more firmly. More sure of yourself, even if a large part of you is wondering if this is a terrible idea after all. But it’s better to get it over with; to do this on your terms, or as much of your terms as you can manage. You can at least admit that.

Geto doesn’t answer, and you’re about to say something else when he grabs your wrist--it’s too tight, his palm is sweaty--and begins to pull you towards the bedroom. Your house slippers scuff on the floor from the unsteady force of his grip, but you manage not to fall.

Later, you will wonder--if you did trip in that moment, would he have simply taken you on the floor? It was a distinct possibility.

But you don’t fall. You make it to the bedroom and he lets go of you, stripping off his clothes with  a frenzy that is completely unlike him. You don’t wait for an order to remove your own clothing. He might not have even been in the right frame of mind to remember that you’re normally supposed to wait for his order on everything. Or perhaps it has been so long since he’d touched you this way, he didn’t even think of giving it in the first place.

When he turns around, both of you are naked. His hardness is evident, erect and pressing against his flushed body. You can see wetness around his tip and something between your leg twinges in both pleasant anticipation and worry at what this curse-induced arousal might mean for the both of you.

“Well?” He says, voice thick and low. 

You swallow against your throat, against the worries that normally come with seeing Geto naked. You remind yourself that this is different. That you’re taking control, as much as you can get, with him so afflicted. It won’t be like before, surely, when he would use you and leave you alone like the toy that you were afterward. 

“Lay on the bed,” you command. Your body flinches instinctively at the audacity of it. “Please,” you add, but he doesn’t seem to mind your forwardness in this moment. He crawls on the bed and leans back against the pillows, keeping himself half-upright as he watches you. 

You glance down at his cock. It twitches, ever so slightly, and you feel yourself twitch between your legs to match it. Was it because it had been so long? Or because you were the one telling him what to do? Or some awful mixture of both, and more besides? 

It was hard to tell what was normal and what wasn’t in the fucked up state of your existence. 

“Get on the bed.” It’s his turn to give a command, and you’re quick to obey it. For as much as you’re taking the initiative, you can’t let yourself forget who owns you, perhaps literally. Even if he’s currently flushed and woozy and subject to the demands of the arousal forced upon him by some wayward curse.

You climb on the bed and crawl until you’re positioned with your knees on either side of his hips. It’s the first time you’ve been above him. It would be out of the question, you think, before. He liked to remind you where you belonged in the literal sense, and that had extended to sexual positions.

Instinctively, your hands go behind your back, folding primly. You’re not supposed to touch him during sex. You know that. It’s been the rule; it was one of the first things he drilled into your head when he began fucking you. He was allowed to touch you in any way he wanted; stroking and pinching and whatever else fell within his whims. But you? You keep your filthy hands to yourself. 

And so, it’s with your hands behind your back that you carefully begin to lower yourself onto his erect cock. 

He gasps and groans, and you do, too. Your twinges were not enough to get you properly wet, and it hurts as you lower yourself down. But the flush on his face and the feeling of being full after so long begins to grant you the warmth necessary to produce your own slickness, easing the passage just a little as you take all of him in. Not enough for it to be painless. But it’s not like that ever mattered before. 

“Fuck,” he spits out, throwing his head back from there mere sensation of your pussy taking in his erection. You feel yourself clench him and he hisses in delight. It makes you feel a bit giddy, to affect him like this, with so little.

Your fists clench behind your back as he bottoms out inside you, and your own groan joins his as you steady yourself, keeping your balance as you sit on top of him. His cock twitches inside you and you let out a sigh, leaning forward. Your hair tickles your ears.

He’s looking up at you, hips writhing in a way that makes you gasp.

“Touch me.” 

You think you must have misheard him.

“I said touch me,” he says, more forceful, the arousal pulsing through him giving his voice a thick tinge. He thrusts his hips and you bump upwards, in discomfort yes, but also a growing sense of your own arousal at the fullness and friction inside you.

“All--” You gasp when he thrusts again, and perhaps the idea of taking too much control was an illusion. “All right!” Your hands slowly come out from behind your back and with a hesitation that comes from months of being trained otherwise, you slowly lower your hands to rest on his hips.

Slowly, you trail your hands up to his chest, eyeing his nipples. How long had they been erect? Was it before or after you lowered yourself on him? It doesn’t matter. You begin to pull yourself up, timing your own movements with his now-shallow thrusting. As you do, your hands rest on his nipples, rubbing them slowly with your palm--the way he sometimes does to you, if he’s not pinching them harshly to make you squeal.

“Yes,” he murmurs. “Just… just like that. Good pet.” 

And there again, the sight of his pleasure from your touch, his raise, makes you clench… which makes him hiss in pleasure, which makes you giddy. 

It’s a wonderful cycle, and so different from all of the other times he’s fucked you. This is almost nice, in its own way. To be above him, mostly in control of how fast you move, how much of him you take in and out as you lift yourself up and down on his cock.

“Faster,” he says, and you don’t mind obeying. One of your hands still toys with his nipple while the other reaches between your own legs and thumbs at your clit. It’s audacious, really--you’re not supposed to pleasure yourself without his permission.

But he doesn’t tell you to stop. Instead he simply watches the way your thumb rubs against your clit; does he enjoy the sight of his cock inside you, the way your pussy takes him as you use your leg muscles to thrust up and down?

He must, because you can feel your own arousal mixing with his, see the way his chest rises faster. Tell-tale signs that he’s getting close.

“Stop,” he orders suddenly. “Get off me.” His voice is still low, still filled with lust, but there’s something else in it. Something more familiar. 

“Geto?” You ask, confused, your own voice coated with arousal that’s just about to reach its peak. It’s disappointing to stop now, but you know better than to disobey. Even right now, or perhaps, especially right now.

He seems to regain a stronger semblance of himself. “Get off,,” he commands, and you do. 

It doesn’t take long to realize why he gave the order. He swiftly grips your arms and flips you on the bed, your back pressing against the sheets that are warm with his own unmistakable body heat.

Now this is familiar. Geto above you, naked, flushed, aroused. And you, beneath him. But this time your arousal was of your own making, and there’s a sort of power in that, you think.

He’s back inside you and by this time you’re wet enough that it simply feels good to be filled again. His wrists keep your own pinned and you murmur a plea, you were so close, Geto--and to your surprise, one of his hands leaves your wrist to begin playing with your clit.

Arousal builds quickly this time, and you come without ceremony, your muscles clenching around him and legs kicking helplessly on the bed as he continues to touch you through your orgasm.

Familiar patterns set in, and as your own orgasm begins to fade out, you know what will happen now. He’ll fuck you faster and pull out as he comes–he refuses to finish inside you–and then leave you to yourself.. Maybe he’ll have to go another round to deal with the effects of this curse, but whatever change had been over him before, allowing you greater freedom, was surely gone.

Only… maybe not.

Because as you feel the familiar sensation of Geto pushing inside you harder and faster as he nears his release, something new happens. Something different. Something that makes butterflies and battery acid flutter in your stomach all at the same time.

He leans down and presses his lips against yours, tentatively at first, then harder, until you open up your mouth and let his tongue inside.

Geto kisses you. It’s a surprisingly passionate kiss, and you let out a yelp of surprise when he grips your chin and kisses you through his own orgasm. 

He doesn’t even pull out. You feel his seed inside you for the first time, a liquid warmth. It’s uncomfortable and strange and you wonder how angry he’ll be, later on, that he did this. 

He doesn’t stop kissing you until you’re breathing heavily through your nose, and when he pulls away you take in a gulp of air.

He stares down at you with something that looks like wonder. At himself… or you? 

“Good pet,” he murmurs. But there’s no condescension in it today. 

There’s an awful, naked vulnerability that washes over you.

Geto let you touch him. Geto kissed you. 

Geto, Geto, Geto…

Was he going to be mad when this curse effect wore off? Would he get rid of you for making him violate so many of his own rules? 

You don’t have time to think about it, because you realize he’s still hard, and he begins to thrust shallowly inside your overstimulated pussy. 

He’ll have to go another round. 

--

Afterward, sleep came without warning. You had simply closed your eyes when Geto finally pulled out and that was that. 

You don’t know how much time has passed when you open your eyes, blinking away the grogginess of an unexpected nap. 

There’s a soreness between your legs, which you expected. There’s the feeling of your body being used, a low openness that combines vulnerability and humiliation in a bittersweet mixture; which you expected.

You don’t expect to blink and see Geto sleeping beside you, his arm slung around your waist, keeping you in place.

Geto never slept with you like this. He would fuck you and use you and sometimes tell you that you were a good pet if he was in a jovial mood--and he would leave. 

You’re afraid to move. If you wake him, will he be angry? Will he be annoyed that he let himself fall asleep beside you? Annoyed with himself for allowing it, or annoyed with you for being there? 

You don’t move, but it doesn’t matter. His eyes flutter open and you feel the warmth of his breath on your face as he takes in the sight before him, as you just did.

He doesn’t furrow his eyebrows in irritation or fling himself out of bed or reprimand you for existing like this in his space. Instead he pulls you closer, until your face is pressed closer to his chest. It makes you feel something--warmth? Affection? Relief that you weren’t being yelled at for being bad?--and your hand slowly leaves your side to curl up against his chest. 

He allows it. 

“Go back to sleep,” he murmurs.

And you obey.

[damonalbarn]

Hey I was wondering if you knew the article that Justine spoke about suzi in?!

It was in The Guardian in 2000. Here you go:

Sweet revenge

In the mid 90s, Justine Frischmann and Damon Albarn were the First Couple of Britpop. Then he used a Blur album to rake over their break-up, while she languished in obscurity amid rumours of heroin addiction. Now she's back with a new album, and it's her turn to exorcise her demons.

Caroline Sullivan

Friday March 24, 2000

As Alison Moyet once said, it's hard to write a decent song when you're happy. Rock bands thrive on romantic turmoil in their private lives, without which they would be reduced to padding out lyrics with football scores and the weather.

Thus it was for Blur's Damon Albarn in mid-1998 when he sat down to write what would become the 13 album. His eight-year relationship with Justine Frischmann of the chart-topping Elastica, whom he once described as **"the only person who's ever been completely necessary to me" **had just ended, at her instigation. Pained and humiliated, he decided to exact revenge by exposing their most intimate details to public scrutiny.

The outcome? Embarrassment for Frischmann, a number one album for Blur and a bit of a result for Albarn.

Break-up albums are by definition both embittered and yearning - in the case of Marvin Gaye's vindictive Here, My Dear, they're just plain nasty - but 13 got more up-close and personal than could be considered gentlemanly. Albarn portrayed his former partner as neurotic, even slipping apparent drug references into the single Tender: "Tender is the ghost, the ghost I love the most/Hiding from the sun, waiting for the night to come". Frischmann was the ghost, supposedly, who was on the verge of being consumed by what one music paper euphemistically called "the darkness at the heart of Elastica".

Frischmann's response can be found on a song called The Way I Like It, which appears on Elastica's first album in five years, The Menace (out next month): "Well, I'm living all right and I'm doing okay/Had a lover who was made of sand, and the wind blew him away".

This is unlikely to be her last word on the subject. As she ambivalently begins her first round of interviews since 1996, she's finding that everyone has the same three questions. Why did Elastica nearly sabotage a promising career by taking so long to follow up their million-selling debut? Had Frischmann taken leave of her senses when she walked out on Mr Britpop? And what about the drug rumours?

"One journalist said to me, 'Dahling, I heard you were on heroin - Mahvelous!' " she says with some amusement. "Drugs are around, but I'm not that interested and never have been, although there have been elements of party animal in my band. The rumours are a lot to do with rock'n'roll mythology, where people want to believe you're having a more exciting time than you are."

The only drugs on her person today, as she perches on the edge of an armchair in her publicist's north London living room, are Marlboro Lights. Her other indulgences are two cups of herbal tea and a Cadbury's Flake cupcake, which she nibbles with well-bred pleasure. Her dark eyes are clear, and her long, tanned body is a testament to the virtues of a daily swim in a pool near her Notting Hill home. Only Elastica know whether they really succumbed to heroin and hedonism after their self-titled debut made them more famous than they'd ever expected to be, but if they did, Frischmann, 30, seems little the worse for it.

Given the current predominance of damnable boy bands, the Britpop mid-90s are beginning to seem like a halcyon period for English music. It was a time when the underground went overground, and a self-described "little punk band" like Elastica could sell 80,000 albums in a week.

More than a few loser guitar groups saw Britpop as a licence to print money, but Elastica, led with cool elan by the androgynous Frischmann, were one of its gems. The Blur connection was a marketing godsend (Frischmann and Albarn met on the London indie circuit, she as guitarist in an early line-up of Suede and girlfriend of frontman Brett Anderson, he as a cherubic baggy hopeful), yet the spiky-haired Elastica LP embodied that euphoric time like nothing else.

Frischmann, guitarist Donna Matthews, drummer Justin Welch and bassist Annie Holland were unprepared for the album soaring to number one in its first week. When they signed their record deal, Frischmann, whose great-grandfather was a conductor of the Tsar's orchestra at the Summer Palace in Byelorussia, was five years into an architecture degree at London University. A liberal north London Jewish upbringing - her engineer father built the Oxford Street landmark Centrepoint - had instilled expectations of success, but the reality of being photographed in the supermarket and having her rubbish stolen was a shock. Fiercely independent, she also resented her unsought role as half of Britpop's First Couple.

There was more. Two of Frischmann's musical heroes, The Stranglers and Wire, decided that two Elastica songs were suspiciously similar to two of their own tracks, and won royalties. Meanwhile, there were malicious rumours that Albarn had done much of the work on the record. He hadn't, but he did find Justine's success in America, where she was substantially out-selling Blur, hard to endure.

"It was very hard for him to deal with and he's very confrontational," she says, with the flattering openness of someone who prefers interviews to be more like conversations. She admits she often says too much, but in an era of image control and spin, her honesty makes her a one-off. Not that she's likely to land herself in it too badly - she possesses the intellectual ammunition to look after herself, which must have been instrumental in attracting two of rock's more articulate stars, Albarn and Anderson.

She's been accused of being a professional rock girlfriend, though it was probably they who were lucky to get her. She spent the cab ride over reading the Sylvia Plath letters in Monday's Guardian, and muses on the irony of the poet's subjugating herself to Ted Hughes when she was the more gifted. (Her new boyfriend, by the way, is an unknown photographer, "though that'll probably change, because men seem to get famous when I go out with them".)

"I reacted the way a lot of women do, by being passive," she continues. "He put a lot of pressure on me to give up Elastica. He said, 'You don't want to be in a band, you want to settle down and have kids.' " In so many words? "In so many words. He kept putting on pressure till I started to believe him." She adds bemusedly: "I've met his new girlfriend, and one of the first things she said was that he wanted her to give up travelling with her work to stay home with the baby [Missy, born last autumn]. I'm surprised he's got away with being thought of as a nice person for so long."

After 18 months, during which they did seven American and three Japanese tours, Elastica came off the road to record company demands for an immediate second album. Annie Holland's response was to quit the group, while Donna Matthews became renowned for hard partying on the nocturnal west London scene. They lethargically recorded some demos, but their heart wasn't in it. By 1997, when a second album should have been ready to go, Frischmann and Matthews were barely speaking, and there was nothing useable down on tape.

Holland's replacement, Sheila Chipperfield (of the circus Chipperfields), was deemed not good enough and left by mutual consent. By 1998, their continued lack of productivity was being likened to the Stone Roses' lengthy and ultimately self-destructive holiday between their first and second LPs.

"I didn't think Elastica were going to continue at that point, and we did kinda split up," she says, absently stroking her publicist's cat. Frischmann is a cat person; she's owned a tabby called Benjamin since she was 10. "Unconditional love," she coos. The pet's place in her life is so assured that prospective boyfriends are subjected to his feline scrutiny before she'll go out with them.

On top of everything else, in early 1998 her relationship with Albarn was in trouble. Frischmann retains enough of the indie ethic to detest the phenomenon of celebrity couples, and was dismayed when they became one. "I really hated the tabloid interest, and I went out of my way not to be photographed with him. Only about three pictures of us together exist, I think. In many ways, I think the media interest broke us up, because it made me feel the relationship was quite ugly, and I had to get away from it. There were other factors, too, obviously, because we were together for eight years, and I finally felt it was better the devil you didn't know, really."

Albarn's ego seems to have been severely undermined by having a girlfriend who was nearly as successful as he was, and something of a sex symbol to boot. Despite adopting a resolutely boyish T-shirt-and-jeans uniform, she's thoroughly feminine, a mix that got her voted fifth most fanciable woman in a lesbian magazine.

"I'm completely heterosexual, so I didn't know how to take that. It scares the shit out of me, the idea of being with a girl. I'm glad I've narrowed it down to half the people in the world."

She seems to view Albarn with indulgent exasperation these days, simultaneously praising his intelligence ("The Gallaghers just couldn't compete") and ticking off his flaws. "Damon adores being in the press, and sees all press as good press. He orchestrated that rivalry thing with Oasis. He really wanted kids, and I didn't feel our relationship was stable enough. He was a naughty boy, and he wasn't the right person to have kids with. I had this cathartic moment..."

At which point they split up. Albarn wrote 13 and then met Suzi Winstanley, an artist. "She was pregnant within three months," Justine observes wickedly.

Of the acclaimed 13, she's tactful, describing several songs as "really lovely". She studies her cigarette for a while before adding, "but I'm cynical about selling a record on the back of our relationship". But you're doing the same now. "It's true, but at the time I had no right of reply."

Elastica finally pulled themselves together last year, just as the music industry was about to write them off (their American label had already "very kindly let us go", as she puts it). Holland rejoined, Matthews went to Wales to sort out her life and the band banged out an EP and played the Reading Festival. Things came together quickly after that. They spent the last £10,000 of the recording budget on re-recording a dozen tracks, finishing the album, after years of procrastinating, in six weeks. They've called it The Menace "because that's what it was like to make".

It's dark and resolutely uncommercial - all wrong for 2000's pop-oriented climate. It's unlikely to match the success of the first one, which is fine with them. Call it (though Justine doesn't) their White Album. Its 70s punk aesthetic brings to mind angry girls such as the Slits and the Au Pairs, although the defining mood isn't anger so much as catharsis. None of the songs is specifically about Albarn, she claims. "The dark feeling is due to the sense of isolation, tasting success and getting frightened by it. I was questioning whether I wanted to be in a band any more, and there was no one I could ask for advice. Getting success and everything you ever dreamed about is hard to handle, and makes you question everything."

She's better prepared for success, if it comes again, this time. Already the privacy-preserving barriers are in place. The next interview of the day is with Time Out magazine, which wants a list of her favourite restaurants. "I'm not telling them where I eat," she says reflexively. "I'm gonna lie."

[pressedinthepages]

Scene

next fill for @witcher-rarepair-summer-bingo

also big thanks to @major-trouble for beta-ing and @sometimesiwrite and @rawrkinjd , as well as friends in the Cake Shop for helping me spin this story together <3

Prompt: Remote/Magical Toys

Relationship: Geralt/Eskel

Rating: Explicit

Content Warnings: modern au, soft dom/sub play, subspace, domspace, public sex (kinda), marking, bruising, reverse stripping (aka getting dressed), dressing each other, edging, orgasm denial, frottage, penetrative and oral sex (m/m)

Summary: After a hard day, Geralt found his husband, Eskel, getting ready to treat him to a relaxing evening out.

Geralt sighed as he pressed the garage control that was hooked onto his visor. He leaned his head back against the well-worn interior for just a moment before pulling out his keys from the ignition and pushing open the driver’s door. The bed creaked as its weight resettled from Geralt rising out of the truck. He pushed the door shut with his hip, wincing a bit as the hinges groaned. Gotta add WD-40 to the list.

He ran his hand down the line of his jaw, scratching the tired skin lightly. His feet hurt, his back hurt, hells, even his eyes felt strained on the drive home in the light from the late afternoon sun. But even before he opened the door that led into the house, Geralt could feel the low thrum of music being played just a bit too loud, and he wouldn’t have been able to suppress the grin on his lips if he tried. Eskel was cleaning.

Something low and cozy unfurled itself in Geralt’s stomach, stretching out languidly in the relief of feeling at home. Eskel, with his broad shoulders and penchant for wearing trousers that were just a tad bit too snug around his bum, was just beyond that door, tidying his big ol’ heart away while waiting for Geralt’s return. Coming home to his husband never failed to make Geralt’s knees wobbly with affection and sweet words spill unbidden into the air. No matter what had happened that day, no matter how drained Geralt felt before he crossed the threshold into their home, Eskel was somehow always exactly what he needed.

And it varied. A lot. Some days, Geralt needed soft words and cuddles on the couch that stretched into the pastel lights of pre-dawn. Other days, Geralt needed Eskel’s sharp wit and bold hands that took him apart atop their crimson bed sheets. And still others, such as this day that found Geralt, he didn’t really know what he needed. He was really looking forward to their dinner out, a chance to relax and unwind without any of the outside world pressuring in, but he couldn’t quite place where he needed his head to be to feel at peace.

Geralt shook his head fondly as he turned the brass knob, stepping through and letting it click shut behind him. The sweet, crisp scent of Pinesol greeted him as he walked into the house before toeing off his work boots in the laundry room. Geralt’s socked feet padded quietly out into the hallway, following the sound of instrumental lo-fi playing through a speaker towards the kitchen, where he was met with a pair of fiery golden eyes and a palm facing him, willing him to stop in his tracks.

“AH, ah, don’t come into the kitchen. Just mopped,” Eskel smiled as Geralt backed away with a smirk, his own palms turned up in peace. “Just have this last corner to hit and then I’m good to go.”

Geralt hummed and leaned on the frame of the doorway, his eyes tracking down the swell of Eskel’s arms at the seams of his well-worn henley, the dark hair flopping down into his eyes with just the hint of a little curl at the ends. Eskel turned his back to him and pushed the mop into the corner, scooting backwards bit by bit.

“Hair’s getting long,” Geralt drawled. “You’ll be needing some of my hair ties soon enough.”

Eskel huffed and glanced over his shoulder, still swiping back and forth across the floor and blowing his hair away from his eyes. “Got an appointment next week for a trim, it’s gettin’ to be a bit mu-”

“Cancel it,” Geralt whispered as Eskel reached the edge of the tile and his bum knocked into Geralt’s hips. Geralt set his hands on Eskel’s waist as he stood to his full height. One of his hands trailed up Eskel’s back and tangled into the soft strands of hair at the nape of his neck. “I like it long like this…”

Eskel hummed from low in his chest, rumbling back into Geralt. “I’ll think about it.”

Geralt pressed his lips into the hollow of Eskel’s neck. “Please do. We should get ready for dinner.”

Eskel nodded and swallowed thickly, taking a calming breath before reaching for the mop bucket and toting it back into the laundry room. He wiped the sweat from his brow, the echo of Geralt’s lips still floating on his neck. He heard the low hum of the water heater kick on as Geralt got into the shower, so he unceremoniously dumped out the dirty water and left the mop propped up to dry.

He puttered around briefly, rinsing off his hands and patting them dry on his jeans as popped back into the kitchen, keeping his feet light as he grabbed a glass from the cabinet. He quickly filled it with ice and water from the dispenser in the refrigerator before walking back down the hallway towards their bedroom. Eskel pondered as he walked, honing in on Geralt’s disposition. He had clearly been in a good enough mood to be a tease, but Eskel wasn’t blind. He could see the dark circles tinging the tender skin under Geralt’s eyes, the weight of his consciousness dangling heavily from his solar plexus and pressing behind his ears.

Eskel moved over to the bedside table and set the glass of water down and left his phone to charge before walking to their closet. He had an idea, and a damned good one at that. He just needed to move quickly in getting himself ready so that he could focus on what Geralt needed. Eskel stripped out of his comfortable lounging clothes and chucked them aside, cocking his hip as he decided what to wear.

He slid on a slightly more respectable pair of jeans that hugged his ass quite nicely, sitting comfortably on his hips. Next, a simple hunter green button-down, loosely tucked in with the top few buttons left undone. Eskel finished it off with a dark brown leather belt and a pair of grey oxfords. Easy enough, he thought as he heard the shower turn off. Now, for the fun.

Eskel strode back and forth between the closet and the bed a few times, depositing new items with every pass. A pair of dark, not-quite-black jeans, a blue shirt with silver pearly buttons and a subtle paisley print, a soft pair of briefs, all folded neatly at the edge of the bed. Geralt’s most comfortable pair of nice boots, the soft leather buttery as Eskel set them with a pair of socks peeking out.

A simple black box, no larger than a shoe box, was set atop the comforter as well. It had been tucked away for a solid two weeks, just waiting for the perfect opportunity to reveal as Eskel’s surprise. Eskel put his hands on his hips and looked down at the spread just as the bathroom door opened, the soft spice of Geralt’s body wash carried over on a burst of steam. Eskel turned around and smiled as Geralt quirked his brow at him. “What, no red shirt tonight?”

“Variety’s the spice of life, Geralt.” Eskel tracked his eyes slowly, obviously, reverently over Geralt’s hair already neatly tied at the nape of his neck, down his broad chest and his narrow waist, his skin glistening with water droplets that trailed their way down to the towel slung around Geralt’s waist. “Speaking of, can we do a scene tonight?”

Eskel flicked his eyes back up to Geralt’s face, his sharp eyes catching the blush that just barely crept up Geralt’s neck. It even peeked a bit over the faint freckles on Geralt’s cheeks, like watercolors sweeping across parchment. It was that, those little things that no others had the privilege of witnessing, that always gave Eskel the most euphoric sense of joy.

Geralt nodded and cleared his throat lightly. “What-uh, what did you have in mind?”

Eskel held out his hand and his smile grew as Geralt slipped his fingers in between his own. “I want to take care of you, let you have a quiet night where you can get away from all those thoughts bouncing around your skull.”

Geralt hummed and looked over Eskel’s shoulder to the bed with a cheeky smirk. “Picked out an outfit for me?”

“Mhm.” Eskel ran his other hand up Geralt’s shoulder and watched the goosebumps bloom in its wake. “Figured that even if you don’t wanna scene, I could still help you get ready.”

“Tell me more.” Geralt appraised the box on the bed suspiciously, but with an enthusiastic glint in his eyes.

Eskel followed his gaze. “We’ve got a quiet booth for dinner tonight, set aside in a corner. I’ll dress you, be sweet. But I figured that tonight might be good to try this out…”

He turned and grabbed the box, handing it to Geralt to open. Geralt’s fingers worked quickly, tipping the lid open and turning out what lay inside into his palm. It was a toy made of velvety black silicone, a sleek graduating plug with a tapered tip and a flared base. It was reminiscent of some of the toys that they had used in the past, but Geralt could tell by the way that Eskel was practically bouncing on the balls of his feet that he was in for a pleasant reveal of just what this toy had to offer.

“I’ll work you open,” Eskel rumbled, reaching behind him for his phone, “and put that in. I-I’d like for you to wear it at dinner. And...I’ll be able to do this-” Eskel pressed on the screen on his phone and the toy gently vibrated in Geralt’s palm, practically silent, “whenever I want.”

“A-are you gonna make me cum at the table?” Geralt whispered, glancing back and forth between Eskel’s fingers and the still-vibrating plug.

“Would you like that?” Eskel asked, removing his thumb from his phone, letting the toy fall still.

Geralt swallowed thickly and let his mind wander. No work, no outside world. Only Eskel, the man that he loved more than words could dare to say, doting on him and showering him in pleasure that he so rarely afforded himself. It didn’t take long for Geralt to make up his mind. “Y-yeah, I’d like that.”

“Then when we get back home,” Eskel slipped his phone into his pocket and rolled his sleeves up to his forearms, revealing olive skin dusted with pearly scars here and there, “we can indulge more. But I think we should just keep the scene for the dinner.”

Geralt nodded, “I agree. I know that I’m going to want to ravish you by the time we get back here.”

Eskel brought his hand up to Geralt’s neck and pulled him in, resting their foreheads together and closing his eyes. He breathed in deeply, the soft musk of clean Geralt warming his chest and down his hips. “Safewords?”

“You know my word.”

“Doesn’t matter. Still need you to tell me.”

Geralt sighed with a smile that betrayed the tease on his tongue. “Steel.”

Eskel nodded. “Steel.”

“And yours?”

“Silver.” The word dripped from Eskel’s lips, passed merely on his breath to Geralt’s ears.

“Silver.” Eskel watched Geralt’s eyes begin to haze over with his eagerness, his readiness for what was so close to come.

“Ready then?” Geralt nodded and blinked, clearing himself for the touch of Eskel’s hands and the mind-bending surge of Eskel’s being bleeding into his own.

Eskel took a deep breath and felt himself slip into the role, the dominant, the caretaker. He stood up straight and allowed all of the bold streaks within him to flare out into the very tips of his fingers where he reached to pull Geralt to the edge of the bed. “Let’s get you dressed, love.”

Geralt sighed as soon as he felt Eskel’s strong touch on his skin. Eskel could feel the steady thrum of his heart in his chest, and he watched Geralt’s eyes haze over and flick down, slipping into his own role as the submissive, the wanted, the cared-for. A lazy smile pulled at his lips when he looked back up into Eskel’s eyes, and Eskel could practically taste the adoration that swam around in his vision.

Geralt’s skin was warm and dry as Eskel ran his hands over his shoulders and down to the towel at his waist. He untied the little knot and pulled it away, leaving Geralt’s side for a moment to hang it on the hook on the bathroom door. He heard the low whine that tore itself from Geralt’s throat and he hummed reassuringly. “Don’t worry, love. Just don’t want to leave a mess. You saw all the cleanin’ I did today?”

Geralt nodded as Eskel came back to him, stopping behind him and resting his hands on his hips. He peered around and met Geralt’s gaze when he turned his head, two pairs of maple-gold eyes boring into each other. “Did it for you. I’ll always do it for you, anything.”

Geralt gasped as Eskel’s hands pushed at his hips, leading him to prop one knee up on the edge of the bed and brace himself on his hands atop the dark sheets. Something low and intense burned in Eskel’s stomach at the little noise, so acutely aware of how difficult it was to drag noises like that from Geralt. “Y-hmm. You know that I’d do anything for you, Eskel. You need only ask.”

“I do,” Eskel murmured, kissing down the line of Geralt’s spine, smirking at the goosebumps that erupted around his hips, “in a heartbeat. You’re my everything, and I know that you love me more than you can rightly say.”

Geralt could feel the denim of Eskel’s jeans scratching against the backs of his bare thighs, setting their two roles apart in stark contrast. Naked, needy, exposed. Dressed, giving, guarding. The rough planes of Eskel’s cheek glanced over the small of Geralt’s back as he kneaded his hands gently into the swells of Geralt’s bum, leading him into the headspace of comfort, care, trust. Geralt felt the reins of his mind loosening with each moment that passed, yielding to the loving hands that roved restlessly atop his skin.

Eskel’s blood thrummed molten in his veins as he reached to the bedside table and found the bottle of lube, watching the little shudder along Geralt’s hips as he clicked open the cap. “Now,” he groused, slicking his fingers in a generous amount of the lubricant. “Don’t want to get you too worked up. This is for later, but I want you to be stretched out and comfortable.”

“A-alright-” Geralt hummed as Eskel gently pushed at the tight ring of muscle between his thighs, not actually pushing in, but more around. Loosening him. Relaxing him.

Eskel’s mind and body warred with themselves as he watched Geralt shake ever so slightly under the ministrations of his fingers. Eskel inhaled deeply, centering his energy in his pelvis and the tender spots behind his ears. He slowly pushed into Geralt’s entrance just up to his first knuckle, smoothing his other hand back and forth over Geralt’s hip. He bit the inside of his cheek in an effort to keep it together, dammit as the keen from behind Geralt’s teeth reached his ears, the sight of Geralt’s toes curling as he attempted to quell any other little noises from betraying his tender state. Geralt’s hole fluttered and pulsed around him as he slid his finger out and back in again, working it just a bit deeper each time. Once he was buried up to the knuckle, Eskel let out a breath that he hadn’t realized that he had been holding.

“Gods, Geralt,” he breathed, entranced by the sight of his finger, shining with lube, pressing in and out and around Geralt’s entrance. Eskel’s cock was certainly showing interest, twitching in the rough confines of his jeans. “You always feel so fucking good for me.”

Geralt’s breath punched out of his chest, his arms suddenly falling slack so his hands bunched in the soft fabric beneath them, his face braced against the comforter. A small voice at the back end of his mind fought the praise, told him that he didn’t need it, that he didn’t deserve it. But this was Eskel talking. Eskel, who had known every inch of Geralt, inside and out, for as long as either of them could remember. Eskel, whose own secure walls had been methodically weathered by Geralt’s love. Eskel, who loved him more and more every day.

So Geralt really couldn’t find it in himself to listen to that insignificant voice. It wasn’t terribly often that either of them had the opportunity to scene quite like this, as Geralt’s mind tended to be far more...stubborn than Eskel’s when it came to letting go. Oh, but when he could? Geralt indulged.

Eskel dripped more lube down Geralt’s cheeks, sliding in a second finger on his next pass. Geralt’s back arched and Eskel watched as the muscles in Geralt’s thighs and down to his calves rippled. Geralt let out a shuddering breath, the end tinged with a growl from the back of his throat.

Patience, Eskel. He had a very specific goal in mind, and that goal required resistance, endurance, restraint. Never mind that his cock was trying valiantly to make itself known, to get him to just rip his trousers off and sink into that tight, wet heat. Eskel hung his head as he worked Geralt open, willing himself calm, searching out the path to Geralt’s pleasure that had become so well traveled for him.

Geralt pushed his hips back into Eskel’s fingers, searching for more. “Esk, please. I-I need-”

“I know what you need, love,” Eskel hummed and tightened his hold on Geralt’s hip, stopping the roll of his hips back onto his hand, “and what you need, Geralt, is a bit of patience.”

Geralt gasped as Eskel thrust a third finger inside of him, stretching him wider and searching for that hidden spot nestled away. Eskel shifted, placing his knee up on the bed beside Geralt and twisting his arm so that he could crook his fingers just so. He finally brushed over that spot that sent stars up Geralt’s spine, but he didn’t linger. He couldn’t.

“You ready?” Eskel rumbled, loosening his grip on Geralt’s hip. A low growl peeled from his chest when he saw the red marks shaped in the pads of his fingers, knowing that they would soon be pretty purple bruises on one of Geralt’s most intimate spots.

“Y-yes,” Geralt sighed, sliding into a whine as Eskel pulled his fingers from inside of him. The toy was light in Eskel’s hand as he coated it with lube, dripping an extra little bit between Geralt’s cheeks as well before pressing it just barely against his entrance.

Geralt tried to rock back into the contact, his hand reaching back and grasping desperately to twine his fingers with Eskel’s. Eskel’s heart soared in his chest, feeling just how badly Geralt wanted this. He stroked his thumb over the back of Geralt’s fingers as his other hand slowly guided the toy into Geralt, lightly thrusting through the tight ring of muscle until it sat comfortably flushed inside of him.

Now, it was nowhere near the size of Eskel’s cock. It was only about the length of a typical plug, and the girth of two of Eskel’s thick fingers. But it still filled Geralt quite nicely, his slender fingers clenching the blanket with enough vigor to leave creases in their wake. His eyes rolled back into his head and all he knew was pleasure in its purest form, a constant thrum inside of him as his body adjusted to the toy.

Eskel couldn’t tear his eyes away. Geralt, bent over on the bed, his shoulders heaving with heavy breaths, his ass shining with the lube that dripped languidly down the insides of his thighs. The peek of the toy, a black flare sitting nestled along the slope of the inside of Geralt’s cheeks. Eskel slid his hands through the coarse hair on Geralt’s thighs and back up once again, spreading his ass and taking one last, long look.

“You alright if I go grab a towel? Need to get you cleaned up before dinner.” Eskel murmured low, trying to keep his voice steady and calm while a different part of his brain that he was trying very hard to ignore was stomping its feet and losing itself in the ideas of just what Eskel could do with Geralt right now, dammit.

Geralt grunted and relaxed his hands, searching for words that landed no further than the tip of his tongue. Eskel grinned to himself as he watched the gears kick back on in Geralt’s head, cracking through the haze of the subspace that he had so gently, so lightly been cradled into. He hadn’t truly slipped completely into that haze beneath consciousness, but he was lingering in that odd, yet still quite pleasant, space in-between.

Eskel shook his head and gave Geralt just a moment longer. It was so easy for either of them to fall silent while in the cozy embrace of subspace, even one as light as where Geralt found himself. But then, when adjustments needed to be made and the two of them needed to move on to the next part of the scene, they needed words. Not mumbles, not shaken heads. Clear, not cock-drunk words, that show that they came from a settled mind and knew just what they wanted.

“Geralt,” Eskel gently stroked his thumb back and forth on Geralt’s hip, coaxing him back into himself and lowering his head down to be level with Geralt’s. “Need you to use your words. Tell me, can I get a towel for you?”

Geralt’s chin turned lazily towards him, his honey-golden eyes blinking with an ever so slight furrow of his brow. “M-mhmm. Yes, Eskel. I’m good. I’m here.”

Eskel nodded, pressing his lips to Geralt’s temple and scritching the hairs at the nape of Geralt’s neck. “Alright, I’ll be quick.”

He stepped into the bathroom and found a clean washrag, running it under some warm water and ringing it back out before quickly washing his own hands. As he stepped back into the bedroom, Eskel found Geralt sprawled exactly as he left him, thighs open and head resting on the comforter. “Melitele help me,” he whispered so as not to startle him out of his fragile state of bliss, “Geralt, you are far too pretty.”

Geralt grunted again, a huff of laughter playing on his tongue. “Nuh-uh,” his voice was muffled where his lips turned into the soft red blanket, “y...you’re too pretty. With your long hair, fuck. Can’t wait to pull on it.”

Eskel shook his head and smiled, carefully reaching out to drag his fingers up Geralt’s leg. His heart warmed in his chest and the swell of Geralt’s wish sent lovely visions through his head. “Hush, you. Let me clean this up…”

He slid the warm towel around Geralt’s bum, gently wiping away the stray lube and beads of sweat that had found their way into the small of Geralt’s back and down around where the toy poked temptingly out of him. Eskel hummed low as he went, carefully wiping around Geralt’s front and finding him a bit more than half-hard.

“Well,” Eskel rumbled, using a firm hand to clean away the last few drops of lube from where they had dripped down his thighs, “someone has been enjoying themselves…”

“Mhm,” Geralt sighed, lifting his head up and propping himself onto his hands. “No shit. You were buried to the knuckles and have been whispering sweet things into my ear. Can you blame me?”

“Never,” Eskel whispered, wiping his hands off and pressing his lips to Geralt’s shoulder blade. “Now, I need you to roll over so we can get you dressed. Go slow, don’t want to jostle anything unnecessarily. And don’t even think about tryin’ to help me get you dressed. That’s my job.”

Normally, Geralt would give him snark with his sharp tongue about getting him worked open and kind of sticky so soon after his shower. He wouldn’t want the praise, the soft attention. But Geralt in this role? He had needs locked away that his conscious mind wouldn’t let spill from his lips, wouldn’t allow him to seek out with just anyone. But Eskel? Oh, Eskel had torn right past the walls that Geralt had kept so strongly built around his most tender parts long ago, but it wasn’t often that Geralt let himself get this relaxed, this malleable.

Eskel guided Geralt gently but with confident hands, hands that had squeezed and molded and felt every inch of skin on his body more times than either of them could count. Eskel smoothed his hands down Geralt’s hips and over his thighs as he settled on his bum with his legs hanging off the side of the bed, resting back on his elbows and looking up at him through his lashes. He’d started the journey back into himself from the fog of pleasure, though he was still pliant and smiley when he met Eskel’s eyes.

“How’s it feel, Geralt?” Eskel’s breath caught in his throat when Geralt swallowed thickly and closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. His cock, nestled half-hard at his hip, was beginning to flag just a tad, though it was clear that Geralt was fighting for any modicum of self-restraint.

“Mmm. ‘s good. Comfortable.” Geralt’s voice was rough gravel at the bottom of a riverbed, bubbling and tumbling up his throat. Eskel squeezed Geralt’s thighs, reassuring them both in the soft gesture.

Eskel nodded with decisiveness, letting his fingers slip from Geralt’s legs. “Right then. Let’s get movin’. Underwear first.”

Eskel picked up the soft dark pair of briefs, running his fingers along the waistband. He knelt down between Geralt’s legs, pressing his lips to the inside of his knee. He slipped the shorts over one of Geralt’s feet, followed closely by the other. He pulled them up slowly, letting them chase the path that his lips made until he reached the crest of Geralt’s hip. Eskel tapped his fingers on the side of Geralt’s leg and flicked his eyes up to him, a wordless request. Geralt clenched his jaw as he lifted his hips off the bed and Eskel quickly pulled the underwear into place.

Geralt let out a soft punched noise from his chest as he landed back down on the bed. “Alright?” Eskel asked, standing back to his full height.

“Mhm,” Geralt sighed, his eyes fluttering slightly. “Just...snug in there. ‘S nice.”

“Good,” Eskel grinned, reaching down to adjust how Geralt’s cock was sitting in the soft cradle of the briefs. He was hot and heavy in his palm, valiantly pulsing with Eskel’s barest touch. “Now, give me your hands. I’m gonna help you up and into your pants.”

Geralt grunted, moving like his arms were pushing through jello, slowly sitting up and slipping his fingers into Eskel’s. His chest was flushed pretty pink and his skin was pleasantly warm to the touch. Eskel gently pulled him up, smoothing his hands up Geralt’s arms as he adjusted his weight to standing on his feet once more.

“There’s my man,” Eskel growled from the space nestled right beneath his sternum. Geralt’s knees wobbled as he gasped into Eskel’s ear, clenching his teeth before setting himself right once more.

“M’kay,” Geralt swallowed and nodded, that same soft look still swimming in his eyes. “We can do pants now.”

Eskel pressed his palm firmly into Geralt’s chest above his heart, running his fingers through the dark thatch of chest hair. He leaned over to the bed and picked up the neatly folded jeans, letting them open as he dropped back to the floor at Geralt’s feet. He felt Geralt’s eyes on the crown of his head as he situated the legs of the pants in between them.

“Ask first,” Eskel looked up, catching the bright flicker of Geralt’s eyes boring down into him.

Geralt’s cheeks flushed a bit further, trailing down his chest. “C-can I touch you? Please?”

That was always the most difficult part for Geralt, scene or no. Saying, out loud, what he desired. Not for lack of trying on either of their parts, and they had known each other intimately for so long that they knew, most of the time, just what the other was seeking. But they both knew, too, how long Geralt’s stubbornness would keep him bottled up and silent, keeping down his own wants and needs in pursuit of Eskel’s. But that wouldn’t do.

So Eskel, in an effort to nudge Geralt into being more comfortable with saying what he needed, asked him to. Often. And Geralt had responded well, especially when Eskel offered his soft, gentle praise in return.

“Of course, love,” Eskel said, lowering his voice to as growly as it dared get. “I am yours to touch, always.”

Gods-be-fucking-damned, Geralt thought as he looked down at Eskel, his face level with Geralt’s still quite interested cock and his comfortably full ass. Eskel was clearly affected too, his chest flushed red through the peek at the top of his shirt, his trousers just a tad too snug around his arousal. Geralt threaded his fingers in the soft mahogany strands of Eskel’s hair, just running idly as Eskel’s hand found his ankle.

“This one first,” Eskel said, still staring directly into Geralt’s eyes. Geralt lifted his foot and let Eskel slide the denim over and up, letting the leg pool around his ankle when he led it back down to the floor.

“And the other, now.” A mirrored repeat, Geralt’s fingers still running rivers in Eskel’s hair. Longer than it had been in quite a while. Little curls on the end, enticing him to wrap his fingers in and hold fast. But that wasn’t part of the plan.

Not that night, anyways.

Eskel stood slowly, hooking his fingers into the waistband and dragging the jeans up Geralt’s legs. The denim hugged his legs firmly when Eskel stood back to his full height, his eyes still locked with Geralt’s as he settled the waistband on his hips and did up the zipper and buttons. Geralt had softened enough by that point so as not to be completely obvious in the tight pants, though Eskel still used a gentle hand to guide his cock into a comfortable position.

Geralt bit the inside of his cheek as he felt Eskel’s hands smooth up over his stomach and onto his neck, cupping his cheeks and pressing a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth. Geralt turned his head just a tad and slotted their lips together, not pushing or deepening, just sort of... holding each other, feeling the sweet embrace of their lips against one another. Geralt sighed as Eskel moved away, grabbing Geralt’s shirt off of the bed.

“Come now,” Eskel chuckled, “can’t just kiss you all day. We’d never actually get to dinner.”

Eskel led Geralt with a hand on his hip to spin, his chest now at Geralt’s back. Eskel dragged his nose down the slope of Geralt’s shoulder as he slid the sleeves of the shirt over Geralt’s hands and up his arms. The fabric was cool over his flushed skin, light and breezy despite the stuffy appearance. Eskel adjusted it so it sat correctly over Geralt’s broad shoulders and skated his hands back down to Geralt’s hips. He tapped his left hand twice right over Geralt’s hipbone, prompting a spin once more.

Geralt smirked and spun around on the balls of his feet, just slow enough that he knew would push and prod at the bottom of Eskel’s almost endless well of patience. He knew he had hit it perfectly when Eskel’s crooked brow came into view, one of his hands resting comfortably on his cocked hip.

“How long do you think I can keep this up before you look at your watch?” Geralt drawled, playful affection tinting the heavy snark in his voice.

“Geralt…”

“Well, you’ve spent a decent chunk of time playing with my ass, at this rate we won’t be getting to any sort of restaurant before …”

Eskel tilted his head, a playful warning, but a warning all the same. He was, after all, the one in charge. “As much as I would love to watch you try and find out, we’re not testin’ my resolve this evening. Not yet.”

Eskel smirked, hooking his fingers into Geralt’s belt loops and yanking, slotting their hips together and brushing their noses. “For now though,” he whispered into Geralt’s mouth, having ended that bout of silliness quite effectively, “let’s wrap this up, shall we?”

He ran his hands up beneath the edges of Geralt’s shirt, all the way up to his collarbones before grabbing onto the fabric. Eskel started a few buttons down, showing off a triangle of pale skin marked with shiny scars and smattered freckles. Eskel’s fingers danced quickly down the rest of the pearly buttons, neatening and straightening as he went all the way down to the last one. He leaned in and pressed his lips to Geralt’s cheek as his hands snaked around his waist, tucking the hem of the shirt snugly into the band of his trousers as they moved back around to the front.

Geralt returned the peck on the cheek before Eskel backed too far away, smiling at the soft blush that skated over Eskel’s nose. “Anything else?”

“Sit back down on the edge of the bed,” Eskel slipped his phone out of his pocket and looked at the time before setting it on the comforter. “Need to get your shoes on, then we should be ready to go.”

Geralt nodded and sat, kicking his feet idly while Eskel knelt back on the floor. “Got my good boots out?”

Eskel looked up at him through his lashes, “Of course I got the good ones, this is not amateur hour, Geralt.”

Geralt nodded and set his feet on Eskel’s thighs. “I like these boots.”

Eskel smiled and pressed his lips to the inside of Geralt’s thighs, kissing the rough denim and feeling the yield of the soft flesh nestled beneath. “I know. ‘S why I picked them.”

Eskel moved quickly, easily slipping the socks onto Geralt’s feet, followed by the comfortable leather boots. Eskel did up the laces, only knotting them a single time. Just as Geralt preferred.

He stood, bracing his hands on the bed on either side of Geralt’s thighs. He kissed Geralt gently before grabbing his phone, backing up just outside of arm’s reach. “Right then, love. Wanted to ask you something. Would you like to see how the toy feels when it’s on before we leave, or would you rather it be a surprise?”

Geralt met Eskel’s eyes, finding them clear and soft. Not the eyes of his dom, demanding answers and compliance with only a look. No, those were Eskel’s eyes. The eyes of the man with a heart of gold that Geralt loved more than life itself. Geralt shook away the last tendrils of the hazy submissive role that had enveloped him so nicely over the last while, mulling over his two options clearly in his mind.

If there was something that Geralt tried to avoid at all costs, it was surprises. Generally speaking, it was rare that anything ever truly surprised him, but there were always some exceptions. Even still, he preferred to be prepared for any possible outcome, especially when his ass was involved.

But fuck, when it came to Eskel? He would put his life in Eskel’s hands without a second thought. He knew that Eskel would never do anything to put him too far outside of his own self, his own comfort. Eskel knew him better than any other person, inside and out. He would never ask for anything outside of what Geralt would ever want, and he would handle Geralt with the finest gloves like the finest china.

Geralt’s eyes flicked to Eskel’s fingers. Before, when he had been teasing, Eskel’s fingers tapped his hip and flexed impatiently. An act. But in that moment, while Geralt was deciding just how he wanted to find his pleasure? His fingers were still, his posture relaxed and his eyes searching Geralt’s as if he could find the answers to all of life’s problems in the sunrise-golden irises.

Geralt cleared his throat and smoothed his hands over his thighs. “I...I want it to be a surprise, please.”

Eskel smiled warmly, clicking to lock his phone and slipping it back into his pocket. “Alright, good. But...and just so you know, I would’ve said this either way, but you have to be vocal with me. Need you to be honest, all evening. Less, more, not enough, stop. Anything and everything that you’re feelin’, I need to know. You have to promise me that, Geralt.”

Sure, Geralt was putting his trust, his vulnerability, his control, into Eskel’s well-worn hands. But...not really. They both had control, they both knew that this was a two-person dance that needed communication. And Geralt knew that Eskel would never ask for something that Geralt could not give, not now and not ever. So Geralt didn’t need to think twice about nodding, saying, “Of course, Eskel. I promise.”

“Wonderful,” Eskel rumbled, slipping back into the dominant headspace now that he had gotten confirmation of their needs. “Now, let’s get in the car.”

The car ride was quiet, peaceful. Eskel drove, one of his hands gripping onto Geralt’s thigh the entire journey. Not with any sort of force, but strong enough for Geralt’s mind to latch on to and yearn for more. Besides that, Geralt didn’t really know where they were heading. He figured it would be somewhere nice, especially as Eskel had spent so long planning this evening out.

“I can hear you thinkin’ from over here,” Eskel grinned, peering over at him before returning his eyes to the road. “Go on. Ask.”

Geralt swallowed and blinked out the window at the sunset, bright oranges and reds and purples painted across the sky. “What, uh… where are we going for dinner?”

Eskel grinned and squeezed his thigh lightly, pouring every ounce of his love into the tips of his fingers to bleed into Geralt’s leg. “I’m taking us to Falenti’s, I know you like their Saltimbocca…”

Geralt’s eyes lit up and flicked over to Eskel, finding the self-satisfied grin that tugged at the scar over his cheek. “I do love that sauce. Will… will you order for us?”

“Was hoping you’d ask that,” Eskel blinked slowly, his voice tumbling lower and lower the closer they got to the restaurant. “I like when you let me take care of you like this. You won’t have to think about a thing.”

Geralt preened the slightest bit in his seat and threaded his fingers with Eskel’s, letting Eskel stroke his thumb over the back of his knuckles as they pulled into the parking lot.

The weight of the toy in Geralt’s bum shifted as he rose out of the car, drawing a gasp up into his chest. Eskel knew, of course, and walked around to slide his hand back into Geralt’s. “Alright? Still good?”

Geralt grinned and leaned his head onto Eskel’s shoulder. “Yeah, still good. I’m… I’m excited.”

Eskel’s eyes went soft and his smile felt so much more real in that moment when he pressed his lips onto the crown of Geralt’s head. “Me too, love. Me too.”

Eskel led the two of them into the restaurant, a burst of cool air welcoming them as the door opened. They approached the host stand, finding a young woman with kind eyes and a bright, if not a little too much so, smile on her face. “Hello gentlemen, doing alright this evening?”

Eskel smiled and pulled Geralt closer, wrapping his arm around Geralt’s hip. “We’re doin’ wonderful, thank you. We have a reservation under ‘Rivia,’ please.”

The young woman tapped a few keys on the desktop in front of her before grabbing two menus. “Follow me to your table, your server will be right with you.”

Eskel guided Geralt by the hip, feeling the barely-there softness of the tummy that he had been trying to get Geralt to build for years beneath his fingers. Just as requested, the two of them were escorted to a booth in the corner, sequestered away from other patrons. Private, or as much as they could be in a public restaurant.

It was dark, lit only by a lone sconce on the wall that bathed the mahogany table in a warm glow. “As I said, your server will be with you shortly.” The young woman left their menus on the table and departed, leaving the two men to relax into their seats across from one another.

Eskel watched Geralt shimmy and shift around in the seat, attempting to find a comfortable position with the secret hidden inside of him. Eskel smirked, pulling his phone out of his pocket and onto the table, Geralt’s eyes immediately shooting over to it and back up to Eskel.

“Now, we won’t start at least until I’ve ordered,” Eskel said as he opened his menu, his tone borderline flippant. “After, though, ’s free game.”

Their server came over, another young woman dressed entirely in black, with a black apron tied around her waist. “Hello gentlemen,” her voice was quiet and calm, gentle waves in the dark air. “My name is Lou, I’ll be your server this evening. Can I start you boys off with something to drink, or are you ready to order?”

Eskel slid his foot up the outside of Geralt’s calf, causing him to jump slightly in his seat. Eskel grinned with a wink before turning to Lou. “I think we’re ready, actually. We’ll just do water to drink, and we’ll start with the Zucchini Fritti. I’ll have the chicken Bellini, and he’ll have the Veal Saltimbocca. We’ll have to see how we’re feelin’ for dessert, so we’ll decide on that later.” Eskel’s voice was still low, almost growly, and Geralt was mesmerized as he listed off their order. Struck dumb, he watched their server bounce away before returning with their glasses of water, leaving them alone once more.

Eskel sipped his water, looking straight over the table at Geralt, whose own eyes were glued to where Eskel’s free hand now hovered over the screen of his phone.

“T-thank you for ordering for us, Eskel,” Geralt murmured, watching the minute tease of Eskel’s fingers just barely not touching the screen.

“You’re very welcome, my love,” Eskel replied, just as quietly. “Wanna start you slow, so you have a chance to get used to the feeling.”

Geralt nodded, feeling a rush of heat bloom up his chest as he squirmed a bit in his seat. Eskel chuckled, seeing the enthusiastic glint in Geralt’s eyes as a good sign.

Geralt watched as Eskel finally, gently pressed his finger to the base of the phone and dragged up, only just barely on the screen. He felt the toy rumble to life, and he gasped despite being prepared for the sensation. It was pleasant, and Geralt already itched for more.

Geralt hummed and let his eyes fall closed, his fingers gripping onto the edge of the table. “Fuck, Eskel,” he breathed, his lungs playing catch-up with how intensely his heart was beating, “f-feels so good.”

Eskel was enraptured, watching in real time as that familiar submissive haze fell over Geralt’s eyes. “’M glad, will this be what you need?”

Geralt nodded and swallowed thickly, letting his head fall to his chest. Eskel hummed and drew his fingers up under Geralt’s chin, lifting his eyes back up to him. “Words, love.”

Geralt’s cheeks flushed and Eskel smiled, keeping his eyes soft. “Y-yes, Esk. It’ll b-nnng. It’ll be perfect.”

Eskel bit the inside of his cheek as he spotted their server returning to their table just as Geralt’s hips started to shift back and forth, chasing the soft vibrations of the toy. Eskel took his finger off of the phone and Geralt’s eyes shot open, defiant and his mouth fell into a grimace that disappeared as soon as their server came into view.

“Alright boys, one order of the Zucchini Fritti. Anything else I can get for you?”

“No, thank you,” Eskel said, shooting a sly look at Geralt out of the corner of his eye.

Lou left them once more and Geralt sagged into the cushions, his chest heaving with deep breaths. “Shit. Can always trust you to let me get all caught up and then fucking cut me off-”

Eskel hummed and reached for one of the little rounds of crispy zucchini. “You gotta trust that I know what’ll be good for you. Within reason, of course, but I want you to be able to let me take the reins. Without attitude.”

“You love my attitude.”

“I do, just as I love the rest of you. But if you want to be bratty, maybe I’ll just keep you on the edge all night, not let you finish at all?”

Geralt coughed as he sipped his water, sitting back up in his seat. Well. I guess that’s me shutting up... for now. “N-no. I’ll behave. Promise.”

Eskel grinned wolfishly. “Good. Now, let’s eat for a bit, then we can keep playing.”

They ate quietly, letting their minds relax and settle back into the liminal space nestled between their brows. As the plate was emptied, Eskel reached across the table and grabbed onto Geralt’s hand. Lou came back around and took the dish, letting them know that it may be a while before their entrees came out, as there had been a mishap in the kitchens.

“Not a worry, Lou,” Eskel smiled kindly, “we’re a patient bunch.”

“Most of the time…” Geralt grumbled under his breath.

Eskel clenched his jaw and shot Geralt a Look with his eyebrows raised. “When it counts, we’re very patient. Don’t worry about us Lou, we’ll just... relax for a bit.”

Lou had no sooner spun on her heel away from her table when Eskel slid his finger back onto the screen of his phone, cueing the toy inside of Geralt to vibrate significantly more intensely than it had before. Geralt clenched his fingers in Eskel’s hand and his body clenched before relaxing right back into the weight of the toy. His hips thrusted absently with the vibrations, following the pattern that Eskel drew back and forth on his phone.

In the back of his mind, Geralt was minutely aware of their public situation, especially as the crotch of his trousers drew tighter around his growing erection. But Eskel was whispering across the table to him, boring his golden eyes up and down Geralt’s body as if it were the first and only time that he’d ever get the chance to see him like this.

“Gods, Geralt,” Eskel breathed, tracing arches up and down on his phone to increase and decrease the speed of the vibrations of the toy in waves. “You know, I bet that if anyone were to look over here right now and see you thrustin’ up so desperately into nothing, they’d be so godsdamned jealous of me... cause I’m the one that gets to sit here and watch.”

Geralt felt like he couldn’t breathe, his body like one big nerve ending that kept twitching and shaking. The toy pressed against his prostate and he could feel his cock leaking into his briefs, and he just barely bit back a moan that threatened to escape from behind his teeth. Geralt glanced up at Eskel and came this fucking close to cumming in his pants then and there.

To anyone on the outside looking in, anyone who didn’t know the intimate tells that Eskel so carefully kept stowed away, he would almost look bored as he absentmindedly scrolled around on his phone. But Geralt, who knew every minute thing that made Eskel who he was, could see right past it. Eskel’s barrel chest, dusted with coarse dark hair that peeked through the V of his unbuttoned shirt, was flushed maroon and hitched with deep breaths taken through his nose. His hand, still gripped in Geralt’s fingers, was sweaty and his eyes were dark and lusty as they tore like fire over Geralt’s skin.

Eskel slowed the toy down, tapering the vibrations until they stopped all together. Geralt knew now to trust in Eskel’s judgement, especially considering that he really was gloriously oblivious to the specifics of their surroundings. Eskel took a deep breath in and leaned over, giving his hand one last squeeze before letting go. “Food’s on the way. Take a deep breath, love, you’re doing so fuckin’ well.”

Geralt let a dopey smile pull at his lips as he stretched his fingers and his legs out, still comfortably aroused, and maybe a little frustrated with being cut off again, but endlessly loved. His mind swam with the look in Eskel’s eyes, the lingering warmth of Eskel’s hand still nestled in the grip of his fingers.

Two steaming plates were set before them, deep aromas tickling Geralt’s nostrils. His mouth, having already been watering from their previous activities, sighed in contentment.

“Alright, how’s everything look?” Lou asked, looking back and forth between Eskel and Geralt.

“Looks perfect, Lou. Thank you.” Eskel smiled as Lou turned away, lifting his fork and putting together a generous mouthful of sautéed chicken smothered in a creamy white wine sauce with roasted peppers and olives. His eyes fluttered shut as the softly savoury taste hit his tongue, indulgent and instantly satisfying the craving in his stomach. He still felt the tingles of a craving much lower, baser, but it was quieted for the time being.

Geralt discreetly adjusted himself as soon as Lou had stepped away, giving him the perfect timing to make himself comfortable once more. His prosciutto wrapped veal wafted a heady scent of sage and fire-roasted garlic up to smother his senses, and though Geralt could not ignore the still weight resting in his bum, he found himself seeking out the intense flavors that rested atop the plate.

The two of them ate in relative silence for a bit, broken only by the occasional murmur or offer to try each others’ dish. Every now and then, Eskel would nudge his knee up against Geralt’s, putting soft pressure to just... feel him.

“Geralt...” Eskel put down his fork and finished chewing, looking for his husband’s eyes across the table.

“Yes, love?” Geralt’s eyes flicked up briefly to Eskel’s, then back again when he saw the fond look at him across the table.

“Can—sorry, do you mind if we step out? I’d like to just talk for a bit if that’s alright. Only if you want, if you need to stay in it, I’m happy to stay.”

Geralt’s chewing slowed as he, too, lowered his fork. “Sure, we can pause. You alright?”

Eskel smiled reassuringly, “Yes, Geralt, I’ve never been better.” He reached for Geralt’s hand across the table, “I’m just… I’m incredibly happy, you know. With the life we built and the life we share.”

“It’s quite something, isn’t it?” Geralt said fondly. “If we can ever get the tiling in the downstairs bathroom finished.”

“That is your pet project Geralt, and you know it.”

“Well, if it’s any consolation, I finally decided on the colour—”

“Aaand let me guess: you’re waitin’ for it to go on sale?”

“That was one time, Eskel, and you know it.”

“That’s all beside the point. This all started because I was feelin’ a bit romantic, you ornery old thing.”

“Alright, alright. I’m sorry. Didn’t mean to side track you. There’s a reason I married you, you know?” Geralt sighed fondly and rested his chin in his hand.

“Only the one?”

Geralt shook his head with a smirk turning the corner of his lip. “If we’re counting the entirety of ‘Eskel’ as a single thing, then yeah. Just the one. Although, putting a vibrating plug in my ass and taking me out to dinner is pretty high on the list.”

“Shame those things weren’t around for our wedding night,” Eskel cheeked, waggling his eyebrows.

Geralt narrowed his eyes playfully. “First of all, are you calling us old? Secondly, I cannot imagine walking around with this thing in my ass at our reception.”

Eskel shrugged. “Who said it would’ve been you wearing it?”

“Careful, now. I can’t get too far away from the scene or I’ll never get back in.”

Stroking his thumb over the back of Geralt’s knuckles, Eskel smiled softly. “Of course, love. Maybe we’ll revisit that idea later. You know, sometimes I wonder just what I did to deserve you in my life.”

Geralt’s heart swelled and he squeezed Eskel’s hand. “You didn’t have to do anything, Esk. We deserve each other, always.”

“I love you Geralt, I can’t say it enough times, but I do. So much.”

“I know, Eskel. I love you too, forever.”

They slipped back into a comfortable silence, just relaxing and enjoying each other’s air. Their plates slowly emptied, neither of them bothering to worry about saving anything for leftovers. Just as Geralt was sopping up the remainder of the sauce at the bottom of his plate with a chunk of bread, Eskel coughed lightly.

“Wanna get back into the scene, love?”

Geralt nodded, giving Eskel’s hand one last squeeze before slipping it away. “Yeah, that’d be nice. Might need a minute, though.”

Eskel smoothed his hand on his jeans and set his fork down on his barren plate. He dropped his voice back down into the just barely growly register that he knew set Geralt’s blood alight. “What do you need from me?”

Geralt’s fingers flinched and he dropped the bread onto the plate, spattering the sauce just a bit. “Shit, just that. J-just talk to me for a second.”

Eskel cocked his head and leaned back in his seat, letting that bold streak that rested low in his stomach crawl up into his chest and down the line of his shoulders. “Want me to tell you how good you’ve been all evening? How I’ve been sittin’ here, watchin’ you give yourself over to me like it’s still that very first time, or maybe how nicely you fit in the palm of my hand?”

Geralt’s eyes, already hazy and soft, followed Eskel’s hand as he reached over to his neglected phone. He felt himself clench around the toy in anticipation, but Eskel only slipped the phone into his pocket and bored his intensely golden eyes back into him, so deep that Geralt felt his very being warm with the twin suns of Eskel’s eyes.

“You alright, Geralt? Feelin’ good, drifty?”

Geralt hummed and nodded his head, resting his hand in his lap, letting just the tip of his fingers brush over his comfortably interested cock. His breath pushed out of his lungs in a soft keen, briefly closing his eyes in an effort to keep himself together under Eskel’s scrutinizing gaze.

“Geralt, I need words. Feelin’ good?”

Geralt cleared his throat and reopened his eyes, patting his own thigh a few times to wrangle what little bit of control that he still felt behind his eyes. “Y-yeah, Esk. ‘M floaty. But not too floaty…”

“Good,” Eskel rumbled, and Geralt felt the soft vibrations up his spine even without the toy inside of him even being turned on. “Will you be alright for me to run to the restroom for a moment?”

Geralt clenched his jaw with a light chuckle. “Yeah, I’ll be fine. I’ll try not to get into too much trouble without you here.”

Eskel smirked. “Geralt, that’s the only time you ever do get into trouble. Ah, hang on. Lou’s coming back, but I’ll take care of her. Just be good for me, yeah?”

Geralt hummed a quiet, “Yeah, Esk,” just as Lou rounded the corner of their table. “Everything good here? I’m guessing you won’t need any boxes,” she smiled, lifting their empty plates away from the table and balancing them on her arm.

Eskel smiled back, crossing his legs beneath the table and brushing against Geralt’s shin. “It was delicious. Now, I think we’re actually going to skip dessert tonight, but is there any way that we can just sit here for a bit longer? We don’t get to go out terribly often, an-”

Lou held up her free hand and shook her head with a grin. “Not a worry, gentlemen. You can have this spot for as long as you’d like, and I’ll leave you be. Just poke your head around if you need anything, and I’ll leave the check up at the host stand.”

Eskel nodded and he shifted in his seat, the weight of his phone burning a hole into his patience. “That’s perfect, Lou. Thank you so much, we’ll be sure to give you a shout if we need anything, but I think we’re good for the time being.”

“Wonderful,” she smiled and turned away, leaving Eskel to quirk his brow at Geralt.

“Sure you’ll be alright?”

“Mhm. I’m good. Gonna miss hearing you talk. But ‘s okay. You’ll be right back.”

Eskel smiled and nodded. “I sure will. Won’t be but a moment. Promise.”

Geralt watched through hooded eyes as Eskel sauntered off towards the restrooms, his shoulders broad and imposing even through the low, dim lights of the dining area. Geralt’s mind felt warm and while he immediately felt the loss of Eskel being within his reach, he knew that rationally, Eskel would never actually leave him for long, especially not during a scene. Over the years, they’ve figured out a balance, a dance back and forth of where their hard boundaries lie, and what could give with the well of their trust. Geralt allowed himself to relax back into his seat and his mind began to wander, floating out into the hazy edges of his awareness while waiting for Eskel’s return.

In the meantime, Eskel pushed open the swinging door to the restroom and let it fall shut behind him. He took a deep, calming breath in through his nose and held it, clenching his jaw as he counted back from ten. Watching Geralt, so willing, so relaxed, so eager, fuck it was doing things to his head. Well, and to his cock.

Eskel stepped up to one of the urinals and undid his belt and opened the fly of his jeans, letting his half-hard cock bounce into the open air. He was tempted, just for a moment, to take himself well and truly in hand and finally grant himself that sweet relief that had been hovering on the horizon for the better part of the evening. But no, no he couldn’t do that. It would be wrong, a cheat in their game. They were both clearly aware of the expectations, and Geralt had handed himself over to Eskel with the explicit trust that Eskel would be in complete control. And Eskel choosing to get up and leave Geralt alone in the tender embrace of his light subspace while he jerked off in the bathroom felt... wrong. Like he distorted and tainted the trust that was so delicately gifted to him and had lost control.

They both knew that nights like this, placing their very beings into the hands of one another in pursuit of comfort and indulgence, were for each other. They focused in on what the other needed, what they wanted. Geralt trusted Eskel to handle him with hands honed from years of practice with each other, and Eskel trusted Geralt to do the same.

Eskel sighed and hung his head, closing his eyes and focusing on anything other than the hot thrum of his blood calling him to seek out his climax. He relieved himself quickly, tucking himself back into his jeans and washing his hands. The hum of the hand-dryer was still resounding off the walls as Eskel glanced around the empty bathroom. He smirked to himself as he slipped his phone out of his pocket. Just a tease…

Geralt’s mind had just started to feel thorny around the edges, turning in on itself with harsh spikes when he felt that same soft rumble start up at the base of his spine. Ah, he thought to himself as his lips turned up in a soft grin, just as I was starting to miss him.

His arousal swelled between his thighs as the vibrations intensified, growing higher and dipping back down to a gentle hum in slow waves. Geralt’s mind wandered to Eskel, his beautiful, glorious Eskel, hidden away and still thinking of him. He arched his back and tried to sink his hips into the comforting pulsations inside of him, so achingly close to the sensitive bundle of nerves that had been relaxed away. His body yearned for more, everything tensing and relaxing and seeking out that which had not yet been awarded.

Three long, hard bursts shot up his spine and Geralt gasped, his eyes flicking over to where Eskel was exiting through the restroom door. His eyes were on Geralt the entire way back to the table, but Geralt’s eyes were on Eskel’s thumb, still pressing up and down on the screen of his phone. Feeling the patterns as he watched the separate movements that caused them in real time made his cock flex hard in his jeans, his hips stuttering as he felt the beginnings of climax overtake him.

“Not yet,” Eskel growled as he slid back into his seat, lifting his thumb completely from the phone screen. The toy came to a halt, dragging the explosive release of Geralt’s climax back down into the small of his belly as his lungs heaved in desperate breaths.

The phone clattered onto the table just as Geralt felt the tinglings of feeling return back to his fingers where they had been gripping onto the edge of the table. Geralt clenched and unclenched his jaw, seeking Eskel’s eyes in his own.

“Got pretty close there, huh?” Eskel drawled, thick and husky with just the hint of a tease seeping from behind his teeth.

Geralt swallowed thickly and nodded, screwing his eyes shut, still achingly within reach of his climax, even without the constant hum of the toy inside of him.

“Do you wanna cum, Geralt?”

His eyes shot back open and found Eskel’s finger hovering over the phone’s screen. He felt every thing all around them: the cool air coming from the vents above them, the well worn cushions beneath them, the lacquered wood beneath his fingers, the rough denim over his thighs. The soft cotton of his briefs sliding and pressing into his cock, slick and catching with the amount of precome that had been leaking from his neglected tip.

“Tell me,” Eskel whispered, coaxing Geralt along, putting the words right at the tip of his tongue, leaving Geralt with only the need to push them from his lungs. “Tell me, and you’ll have it.”

The air felt suspended around them for what could have been the beginnings of a lifetime. Neither of them could look away, their golden eyes melting into ore between their prone forms. Geralt was ready, so fucking ready, and Eskel was ready to give it to him. It wasn’t exactly the most difficult choice that Geralt had ever had to make.

“Yes,” Geralt breathed, tasting his desperation claw its way up from his chest. “P-please, Esk. M... make me cum.”

Eskel smiled, his teeth bared and almost wild as he pressed his finger firmy down to the screen, causing the toy to vibrate strong and fast and hard, pulsing against Geralt’s prostate and fucking holding there. They both knew how close Geralt was. His cheeks were flushed high and pink, trailing in soft brushstrokes down his neck and below the collar of his shirt. Eskel reached out with his free hand and grasped onto Geralt’s once more, watching Geralt’s hips reach a breaking point in their rhythm before suddenly stilling.

Geralt came with only the slightest noise, just little stunted, guttural grunts escaping up out of his chest, his eyes screwed shut as his climax overtook him. Geralt’s hips twitched and stuttered in aborted thrusts, completely unconsciously. His conscious mind was nowhere to be found, floating through time and space with the comfort of being cared for and grasped onto whiting out his vision. His mouth hung agape and he threw his head back against the high back of the chair, his chest heaving, racing, trying to bring him back into his own mind and into Eskel’s waiting hands.

Their surroundings started to push at the fuzzy edges of Geralt’s mind, the muted sounds of a still busy restaurant, Eskel’s finger slowing the toy down to a low rumble, the cooling wetness pooled in his briefs. Eskel’s voice, fading into the soft mush of his mind, “-so fucking good, Geralt. So beautiful, you’re killin’ me. You’ve gotta know how much I need you, need you more than air, love.”

Geralt blinked his eyes back open, finding Eskel in a... precarious position. His own chest dark and ruddy, little pearls of sweat beading in the hollows of his exposed collarbones. Sitting across from Geralt with his broad shoulders, hips slightly slumped to accommodate the now far-too-tight crotch of his trousers, eyes dark, mouth open slightly with his free hand beneath the edge of the table. Gerat could see from the way that he was moving that he was just barely palming himself through his pants, not seeking his own climax yet, but so starvingly desperate that he truly could not help himself.

Eskel’s thumb rubbed slow, soothing circles over the back of Geralt’s knuckles, escorting his mind with an anchor to tether his focus. “M-may I come sit next to you?”

Geralt smiled dopily and nodded, chuckling a bit as Eskel clambered out of his seat and into the spot at his side with all of the grace of an over-excited newborn horse that hadn’t quite found its legs yet. Eskel set his hand at the nape of Geralt’s neck and pulled him close, slotting their lips together with a fervor that only barely made its way to the light of day. Eskel rumbled soft whispers into Geralt’s mouth as they kissed, praises and words of wonderment, somehow sounding half-drunk and stone-cold sober in the same breath.

Eskel pulled back only enough to allow words to drift over the air between their lips, resting their foreheads together and rubbing his thumbs back and forth through the soft hairs at the base of Geralt’s skull. “How’re you feeling, love? Comin’ back?”

Geralt smiled, blinking slowly at Eskel and glancing around. He was no longer exactly blindingly comfortable, especially with the feeling of his own spend cooling in the tight embrace of his briefs, though he still felt safe and content and sated, wrapped in Eskel’s arms. “Yeah, Esk. ‘M good. That was... fuck, that was nice.”

The smile that Eskel shot Geralt was one that would saunter unbidden through Geralt’s mind until the day he ceased breathing on this earth. It was light and soft, lilies preening in the moonlight under which they bloomed. “Yeah? Here, hang on. You sh-”

“Yeah yeah, drink some water. I know,” Geralt grinned, pecking his husband on the lips once more before pulling away, though Eskel still kept him comfortably within his embrace. The glass of water, sweaty with condensation, was cool as Geralt lifted it to his mouth, letting it calm his humming muscles as the water spilled out and down into his throat. “You always break out of the scene so soon, ‘s always when I cum-”

“You’re just so damn sweet when you finish, Ger…” Eskel nuzzled his nose into the crook of Geralt’s neck, his brown curls tickling the tender skin and bringing goosebumps in their wake.

The weight of the toy still sat warm inside of Geralt, and though he flexed around just the smallest tinge of oversensitivity, it was... well. It was another thing for his mind to focus in on and cling to. “So, handsome,” Geralt set the empty glass down onto the table and ran his finger down Eskel’s neck, trailing through the dark thatch of chest hair that peeked out and hooked into the V of his open shirt. “Wanna let me take you home?”

They wasted no time in making themselves scarce, Eskel nearly ripping his jeans in his haste to remove his wallet from his pocket. He left a (thankfully, already prepared) wad of cash on the table as a tip for Lou and tucked his far too obvious for polite company erection into the waist of his pants. Eskel scooted out of the booth first, holding out a hand for Geralt to take as he followed suit.

They hurried to the host stand, settling their bill before leaving, tearing through the front doors as if their very lives depended on them getting back to their home right the fuck now. Eskel reached over the center console once they got into the car and kissed Geralt with enough heat to make a damn volcano jealous, nipping his lip and breathing his name into his mouth before pulling away like he had been struck by lightning.

“Gotta-” Eskel swallowed thickly and put on his seatbelt with a look on his face like it was physically paining him to part from the soft warmth of Geralt’s lips. “Gotta get home, or else I’m just gonna fuck you in the car.”

Geralt hummed and did up his own seatbelt, letting Eskel shift the car into drive and pull away from the restaurant and onto the highway. “A tempting offer. But both of our backs would be fucking shot in the morning. Gettin’ too old for that.”

Eskel chuckled, crooking his eyebrow. “You’re tellin’ me. Maybe we should take up yoga-”

“Don’t you even start. Unless I get to watch you do nude yoga on a mountaintop while the sun is rising, I don’t wanna hear it.”

“Maybe we’ll head up the mountains for our next vacation, see the leaves change colors?”

Geralt sighed with a lazy smile playing at his lips. “T-that’d be nice.”

Eskel hummed, and they sat in comfortable silence for a while. That is, until they got about halfway home and Geralt started to get bored. He looked over into Eskel’s lap, finding him still hard and tenting his jeans, his hands twitching restlessly on the steering wheel.

“You know,” Geralt hummed, reaching over and placing his hand high up on Eskel’s thigh, firm and holding fast just shy of where he knew Eskel was aching for his touch. “I have some ideas for just what I’d like for us to do when we get home.”

Eskel quirked his brow and kept his eyes stubbornly on the road, though his knuckles grew white with how hard he was gripping the steering wheel. “Y-yeah?”

Geralt then started whispering, honey-laced sweetness tinging the fucking list that he rattled off into Eskel’s ear. Everything from how he wanted to draw out Eskel’s pleasure for as long as he could last, down to licking the salt of his spend off of every inch of where he marked Eskel’s body as his own. Eskel groaned and his breath hitched every now and then, his knee bouncing with anticipation and just the briefest tinge of impatience.

Eskel threw the car into park once they pulled far enough into their driveway to not get clipped by cars passing on the road, his parking job about as straight as he was. He jumped out of the car and didn’t even make it to the damned door before he started stripping out of his clothes, popping open the buttons of his green button down and tugging it free from where it had been tucked into his jeans. Geralt followed behind him with a smirk, stepping across the threshold of the house and over Eskel’s haphazardly abandoned shoes.

Geralt pulled the front door shut and locked it just as Eskel crowded up behind him, spinning him ‘round and cupping the nape of his neck with his hand.

Eskel kissed him deeply, licking into his mouth and moaning, trying to undo the dainty, pearly buttons of Geralt’s shirt that he had so delicately done up only a few hours prior.

“Geralt,” he could taste Eskel’s moan on the tip of his tongue, calling out to him and begging for everything that he had.

“Yes, love?”

“Take me to bed.” Eskel’s eyes were wide and dark with lust as he finally yanked the sleeves down Geralt’s arms and let it fall to the floor.

Geralt led him towards the stairs, both of them frantically stripping their clothes away, leaving Eskel completely bare and Geralt still in his briefs when they got to the foot of their bed. Eskel dropped to his knees and mouthed at the soft cotton of Geralt’s briefs, nosing along the mostly-soft cock that was still damp with his spend.

Eskel’s eys swam with the vision of Geralt, his hands spread out on their table as his climax washed over him, his eyes hazed and his jaw slack with all-encompassing pleasure. Eskel shifted his knees forward and dragged his hard cock along Geralt’s shin as he teased his cock with his lips, suckling and groaning into his hip.

“E-Esk,” Geralt breathed, sinking his fingers into mahogany brown hair that had no business being as soft as it was. “Fuckkk, you’re too good to me.”

Eskel shook his head and rutted his hips against Geralt’s leg, dripping precome into the coarse hairs that trailed down towards his feet. “N-no. Not good enough. Never good enough for you. But you make… you make me better. Better than I ever thought I could be.”

Geralt knew that feeling. Hells, he felt it every damn day. But they both knew, logically, that they were everything that the other needed, everything they wanted. Eskel would say it though, whenever it popped into his mind, he would question why Geralt chose him. After all these years, everything that they went through together, he still couldn’t let himself believe that he could be enough for Geralt.

Geralt gently tugged Eskel’s hair, tilting his head back to look him in the eyes. Those beautiful golden eyes, brimming suns nestled in the warmest face one could ever hope to find.

“Doesn’t matter if you think you’re good enough,” Geralt murmured, tracing the line of Eskel’s brow and down his jaw, “but that I choose you. Everyday, I choose you. I love you more than every moon, every planet, every star in the sky. And I love you more every day.”

Eskel groaned and leaned forward, licking the line of Geralt’s growing arousal through his briefs. He could taste Geralt’s spend through his briefs as he licked and sucked at the dark fabric, coaxing his husband back to full hardness while Geralt’s fingers combed his hair back from his face, his spine shuddering.

“F-fuck,” Eskel gasped, resting his forehead into the crook of Geralt’s hip, still licking softly at the base of his cock through his briefs. “Ger, I-I need to be inside of you, please”

Well, and who was Geralt to deny a request like that?

"Hmmm, best quit dawdling with my briefs, then. Get in me," Geralt rumbled with his fingers still snugly nestled in Eskel's hair.

"Is this proactive enough for you, then?" Eskel smirked up at Geralt as he yanked his briefs down his legs. Geralt chuckled as he stepped out of them and Eskel shouldered his way between his thighs. He was gentle as he reached back behind Geralt’s balls, wrapping his fingers around the base of the toy and wiggling it free, soothing his fingers around the now empty, pliant hole. “Fuck, you’re still so fucking wet. All this lube and cum here, bet I could just slip right into this loose little hole, couldn’t I?”

And then Geralt felt his feet leave the ground as Eskel gripped hard onto his hips and shoved him backwards, sending him flying through the air to bounce onto the bed. Now, Geralt would deny it till the day he died, but he let out a short, barking, high pitched squeal of delight in the brief moment of being sent airborne by his husband’s hands.

Eskel crawled onto the bed and hovered over him, growling as Geralt planted his feet and twisted the two of them, pushing and yanking and wrestling atop the covers until Geralt was firmly settled atop Eskel, straddling his tree-trunk thighs.

Geralt settled his bum on Eskel’s hips, slotting their cocks together and thrusting lightly, sending sparks up both of their spines at the sudden rush of pleasure that shot through their bones. Eskel keened from the backs of his teeth and his grip tightened on Geralt’s hips. “D-don’t tease, please-“

Geralt grinned wolfishly. “You’ve been teasing me all night, love. You can’t take even a little?”

Eskel growled and his hips thrust harder, faster, bouncing Geralt in his lap. “You already came, I’ve been half-hard since I got you dressed.”

Geralt ground his hips down and cut Eskel off with a groan, still the great heft of muscle and softness under his hands. “I want to ruin you, love.”

Eskel moaned and threw his head back. “Do it, please Geralt. I’m yours. Fuckin’ wreck me.”

Geralt shifted his hips and lifted up on his knees, taking Eskel’s cock in his hand. He watched the shiver ripple through the small of Eskel’s stomach before he scooted himself forward and lined him up at his comfortably stretched entrance and started to sink down oh so slowly.

“F-f... fucking shit, Esk-” Geralt could barely connect strings between words as he was filled so completely, so perfectly.

Eskel moaned loud and unabashedly, his voice cracking as Geralt’s hips met flush with his own. “I-I was right. Sti-mmm. Still so fuckin’ loose, took me like nothing.”

“Now,” Geralt leaned down and brushed his thumbs over Eskel’s nipples, relishing the shockwave that it sent through the surface of his skin. “I’m going to ride you, and I want to make you cum so hard that you won’t be able to walk until tomorrow. Deal?”

Eskels eyes rolled back in his head as Geralt clenched his muscles around his cock, groaning into the space that kept Geralt’s lips just out of reach of his own. “Hu-h... yes, fuck. Deal, p-please…”

Geralt circled his hips and rolled back and forth, not driving Eskel in and out, just coaxing him into every nook and cranny nestled away inside of him. He sat up, bracing his hands on Eskel’s chest, his fingers dimpling into the soft muscle that tensed under his touch. “Mmm, feel so good, love. I wanna watch you shatter for me-”

Eskel’s breath hitched as Geralt shifted up and rocked back down, the slick slide of his hole gripping his cock like the last tether to the map of euphoria he was so desperately following. “I-shit, not... not gonna last long, not like this--”

Geralt leaned back down, the angle pushing Eskel deeper inside of him with each soft, devastatingly slow roll of his hips. “Then don't.”

Eskel felt every inch of his cock dragging along Geralt’s walls, impossibly warm and slick and tight, overwhelming him as he finally found the path to his release. But Geralt was trying him, forcing his hand at patience and restraint. Long, slow thrusts down, driving them further into truly becoming one. His mind frayed at the edges, electric tendrils sparking alight as Geralt’s pace just barely, minutely started to falter, both of them finding themselves at the edge of their patience.

And as Geralt was ruining Eskel, Eskel blabbered endlessly about how good Geralt was. How he loved seeing that floaty look in Geralt's eyes at dinner, knowing Geralt was trusting him entirely. Fuck, how good he looked when he came, and how Eskel could hardly control himself.

Eskel knew how to make it go a little faster. Geralt admired Eskel’s patience, it was something that had cradled him during the hardest days and the warmest times. Especially since Geralt had the patience of a hamster. All it took was a little... tactile persuasion.

Eskel’s hands found those same marks on Geralt’s hips that he had left behind earlier in the evening and fucking lifted him, dropping him back down as Eskel’s cock drove into him at the pace he’d been chasing so desperately.

Geralt slid his hips up and down, taking off at a breakneck pace that Eskel encouraged with wordless gasps and huffs from the depths of his lungs. Their skin slapped hard, Eskel’s shouts of pleasure tearing from his throat nearly drowning out Geralt’s sighs and quiet groans in response.

Geralt tried to keep control, to keep Eskel worn thin and ragged. But Eskel had at least 50 pounds of muscle on him, and besides, Geralt was fucking weak for being a little manhandled like he was nothing. He could feel every shudder that worked its way beneath Eskel’s skin, calling out to him and enticing him closer and closer to his own release.

“E-Esk-” Geralt breathed, his thighs quaking and his stomach clenching with anticipation of what was about to spill from his lips. “Ta...take what you need. F-fuck me, go on-”

Eskel ground his hips up, shoving his cock deep within Geralt with a dull roar that clawed its way from his throat and into the static air that dripped with their arousals. Eskel sat up and wrapped his arms around Geralt’s waist, his fingers digging into the hollows at his shoulder blades before twisting them around, practically throwing Geralt down onto the bed and hovering over him.

His hair, soft and curled at the ends, dripping beads of sweat onto Geralt’s cheeks, hung down in curtains that bounced and flailed as Eskel ploughed into Geralt. He was mindless, everything he ever wanted to know was hurtling towards him relentlessly from where it was tucked away inside of Geralt. Eskel would follow Geralt to the very ends of the Earth, and Melitele’s tits, it fucking felt like he was about to find that threshold.

Their arousal kept building, bouncing and amplifying off of each other, neither of them able to so much as think further than the immediate moment. Completely lost, with only each other to guide them. It was an overwhelming, all encompassing euphoria that just refused to reach a peak. They sprinted together, needing just that one last little push to finally plummet into blissful oblivion.

It was Geralt who finally spoke, husky whispers as his nails scratched along Eskel’s scalp, clawing at his hair in an effort to find something to hang on to. His bottom lip was swollen from where he’d been biting it, and the words tumbled off of his tongue unbidden. “Esk-love, p…please-“

Geralt didn’t often beg. But when he did? It was almost exclusively when Eskel was balls deep inside of him. And Eskel was weak for it.

The fucking sound that Eskel made when he climaxed was world-shattering, to say the least. A growl torn up from his chest that bursted into a shout, followed by high, breathy gasps into Geralt’s mouth. Eskel’s eyes screwed shut as he ground deep, his hips stuttering and his jaw flexing and shaking as his climax overtook him. Geralt felt the vibrations of Eskel’s chest where it pressed into his own, and when Eskel finally leaned down and mashed his lips to Geralt’s:that’s what finally set him off.

Geralt’s cock flexed and his legs shook where they were wrapped around Eskel’s waist, hot white spurts of spend shooting out of him. Nothing outside of that moment mattered, there was nothing that existed other than the heavy weight of Eskel resting atop him and grinding as he spilled into Geralt. Geralt’s body shook with waves of pleasure that threatened to send him into an impossible spiral into endless euphoria.

Eskel dragged his hands along Geralt’s sides, pressing his lips to any and every inch of skin that he could reach as their orgasms faded, leaving them dripping sweat and breathlessly gasping into each other.

“Damn,” Eskel panted, his voice hoarse and lined with velvet. “Geralt, you came on the sheets again.”

“Fuck,” Geralt twisted his head around, finding the small pools of his spend seeping into the dark maroon of their sheets. He grinned and stuck his tongue out, lapping up a few drops of spend from where it had spattered onto Eskel’s chin. “You love it. I’ll throw the laundry in before I go to work tomorrow.”

“We gotta get better about puttin’ the towel down,” Eskel sighed, resting his forehead down onto Geralt’s. He felt the occasional stunted flutter of Geralt’s ass around his softening cock and fuck he was so warm and good and everything Eskel could ever dream to want.

“Sheet’s are already fucked, go ahead and pull out,” Geralt murmured, trailing his fingers through Eskel’s hair and twisting around the ends.

“What if I wanna keep it in? Just for a bit,” Eskel rumbled, brushing their noses together and blinking his bright golden eyes with just enough softness to melt Geralt’s heart.

Geralt hummed and ran his hands down Eskel’s flanks. “I like when you keep me full. I could take a little nap like this.”

“Go ahead,” Eskel whispered, watching Geralt’s eyelids flutter diligently. “Rest, love. You know I’ll still be here come morning.”

Geralt shook his head and huffed from his nose. “Nuh-uh. W-wanna just hold you. Like this.”

They lay together like that for a long while, Eskel wrapped up in a tight warmth and feeling Geralt’s hands slowly track up and down and across the planes of his back. Everything was so soft, so warm, and watching Geralt’s eyes slowly drift shut, stubbornly blinking back open before falling closed, was lulling him into that liminal space that drifted just before sleep.

“L-“ Geralt cleared his throat and pressed his lips to the corner of Eskel’s mouth, right in the crook of his scar. “Love you, Esk.”

Eskel rolled them to the side and tucked Geralt into his chest, shifting their legs so that Eskel’s soft cock could still rest nestled inside of Geralt. “Love you too, Geralt. Endlessly.”

[lena-in-a-red-dress]

High Strung AU

Good evening my good blog-readers, here, have some snacks for the Supercorp AU trainride:

Kara is a Midwest dancer entering into her first year at the competitive National City Conservatory for the Arts (NCCA), whose attention is soon captured by a raven-haired violinist she hears playing in the subway. The woman’s music isn’t anything Kara’s heard before-- it’s dark, and intense, and angry. But she’s captivating, and her violin case quickly fills with coins and dollar bills. 

They don’t run into each other right away-- it’s not until a showtime faceoff on the subway platform causes Kara to nearly slip and the woman reaches out to catch her that they finally meet. Their meetcute turns sour when a thief uses the commotion to steal Lena’s precious violin.

The violinist is angry, at herself mostly, but she takes it out on Kara, quickly brushing her off even when Kara offers to help get the violin back. But her rough edges aren’t enough to scare off Kara. Kara drags the woman to the nearest pawn shop, hopeful that someone might have tried to hock the violin already. No one has, but the woman’s pessimism is tempered by Kara’s hopeful outlook, which has her leaving her phone number at the counter in case the violin comes in. 

In the meantime, Kara offers her name and a slice of pizza to soften the blow of the violin’s loss. Something about her well-meaning charm softens the violinist’s scowl, and she offers her name in return.

Lena.

Kara’s smitten, and she walks around on cloud nine the following day, leaving her oblivious to the attention of a fellow student, another violinist by the name of Mike Matthews. Mike Matthews is reportedly the catch of the school-- cocky, sure, but with the looks and talent to back it up. He’s used to being recognized, so Kara’s brushoff only intrigues him more, prompting him to invite her to a charity benefit being hosted by his sponsor. 

Kara accepts, but her thoughts are still on Lena. When she learns that NCCA loans instruments to students, she rents out a violin and offers it to Lena. Lena, however, scoffs at it. She’s been on her own for years, and she doesn’t need handouts from a yuppie student at a yuppie arts school. Burned, Kara takes the violin back, and turns her focus to the benefit with Mike. 

At this point, she finally picks up what Mike’s been putting down, but while she isn’t really into him, she doesn’t want to make it awkward, and so she brushes him off in a roundabout way that he doesn’t accept. He asks again.

“I believe she’s already told you no,” Lena says, appearing seemingly from nowhere. Kara stares, her brain taking precious moments to put together the rented tux Lena’s wearing with the uniform bowtie worn by all the servers. Lena’s clearly working the event, but how? Why? 

Well, obviously busking isn’t an option for her anymore, so clearly she would need to make rent somehow-- oh my god, shut up Kara and focus. 

“Oh yeah?” Mike retorts as Kara focuses back on the conversation. “You want to go outside and settle this?”

Lena only smirks. “It’s already settled, Mark,” Lena says, shooting Kara a look that tells her that she knows exactly what Mike’s name is. “She said no.”

Mike glares daggers at Lena, before his expression twists into a smirk of his own. “I know you. You’re the hack who busks the subway.”

“Lena’s not a hack,” Kara snaps. “She’s amazing--”

“Then how about you give us a show then?” Mike boasts, bowing towards the stage with a flourish of his arm. “Prove it.”

“I’m here to work, not play with little boys.”

“Oh, so you’re chicken shit AND a hack.”

Lena can’t say no to that. Not when Kara is looking at her like everything in the world hinges on this one moment. Finally, Lena shrugs. “What the hell. I’m fired for talking to a guest anyway.”

Walking towards the stage, Lena unknots the bowtie around her neck, letting it hang free as she unbuttons her blouse to the third button. She lets her tuxedo jacket hang loose as well, giving her room to move and breathe. 

When Lena picks up a violin and bow, Kara expects the music that comes out to be as confrontational as her subway performances. To her surprise, a concerto spills forth, as smooth as silk. The notes pour from Lena’s fingers, catching Kara’s breath and the eye of every guest in attendance. 

Mike doesn’t move until he hears the patrons starting to murmur with interest, at which point he storms forward and rips the violin from Lena’s hands. 

“Get out.”

Lena doesn’t put up a fight. She cocks an eyebrow at him and leaves with a self-satisfied smile. Kara goes with her. 

“Wait!” Kara calls after her. Lena slows, then stops, allowing Kara to catch up with her. “What was all that about?”

“He wasn’t taking no for an answer,” Lena explains. “Us girls have to stick together, don’t we?”

“I meant the playing! That-- that was amazing!”

Lena blushes, ducking her head to hide her smile. But it’s still there when she lifts her chin again a moment later, tilting her head to one side in invitation. 

“Wanna go get a drink?”

Kara huffs, grinning. “Yes.”

---

“I wanted to apologize, actually,” Lena offers over pints twenty minutes later. She holds Kara’s gaze. “For what I said before. I was a bitch. I’m sorry.”

“You were,” Kara agrees. “But I accept your apology.” She fidgets with her paper coaster. “Your violin seems pretty special to you.”

Lena nods. Her smile falls, but she doesn’t shut Kara out like she did before. “It was my mother’s. She taught me music, and I’ve never played on anything else. When you offered the rental it was too...”

“Too soon,” Kara says softly. “Too fresh.”

“You sound like you understand loss.”

“My parents,” Kara shares. “They died when I was little. I was really lucky, and was taken in by a really great family, but yeah. I get it.”

They talk for hours. In that time, Kara learns that growing up in Ireland, it had only been Lena and her mother. No father to speak of, no extended family or relatives. They hadn’t been well off, but Lena had always been loved, and together they had shared music, playing together with Lena on violin, her mother on piano. When her mother had died, Lena had been forced to sell almost everything they had to cover the funeral expenses. All she’d been left with was the violin and just enough money for a one way ticket to the US.

“I’d had this grand idea of learning music, making music.” Lena takes another drink of her beer before shrugging. “And now I play for coins on the subway platform. Or-- I did.”

“You know...” Kara says hesitantly. “My school is hosting a competition next month. A string and dance thing. If you wanted... maybe you and I could... you know.”

“Work together?” Lena’s eyebrow lifts again. Kara thinks she might be in love with that eyebrow. “And what’s in it for me, besides the pleasure of your company.”

“Oh, ah-- there’s a cash prize, and a scholarship to NCCA. I mean, I’m already on scholarship, so it’d be all yours, if you wanted. The scholarship, I mean.”

Lena looks at her with an unfathomable gaze. Kara waits. And waits and waits.

“Okay,” Lena says finally. “Let’s do it.”

[fallenfurther]

Rival

Happy Thunderbirds Day!!

I thought I would post a little bit of fluff to celebrate (Though I did wear Thunderbird 1 and 3 on my lanyard at work :D ) and get in there before the Whumptober posts start.

This is a little something that I found out the blue having forgotten I'd written half a fic with @selene-tempest in it. She's not demanded much for a while but this one needed to be finished. Enjoy!

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John stepped in time with the music, one hand on the hip of the most gorgeous woman in the room. His other hand was in hers which he raised high so she could twist beneath it. The edge of her black and deep purple dress brushed against his trousers as she turned. The lighting in the ballroom was perfect, as expected from the old English mansion. Penelope would never throw an event that didn't pass muster. All his family was somewhere nearby, either dancing with guests or snatching up as many of the canapés as they could. For once, John was able to enjoy the evening, with Selene he could happily dance the night away, avoiding small talk with most of the guests. The last time he'd been forced to come he'd been told the life stories of seven different people with no interest placed on his own. Though John should have expected to have a rival for his wife's attention. So far he'd managed to steer clear of him, but as the pool of women he hadn't danced with reduced, it was only a matter of time. John let his eyes dart around the room, scouting him out.

"Who are you looking for?"

John gave Selene a guilty grin; she knew him too well. Before he could answer a hand fell on John's leg. His rival didn't even reach his hip and dressed in a slightly ruffled black suit, he seemed irresistible to women. With his sparkling blue eyes and dimples, he was a favourite at the party.

"My turn. Dance with me, Selene!"

John glanced down at his nephew. Scott, as Selene's best friend, could wrangle many favours out of her, but his son was twice as bad.

"I'm dancing with Selene right now"

Those blue eyes turned to glare at him.

"No, it's my turn."

The little hand started to push on John's leg. Did the child really think he could push his way between him and Selene? John turned to Selene, who was smirking at the situation. Thankfully, she held her ground.

"I'm dancing with John right now. I'll dance with you later."

That little lip puckered even more.

"No."

Suddenly the pressure on John's leg was gone and the child was in the air.

"I told you to leave them alone."

Scott held the mini-version of himself to his face. In matching suits no one could doubt who the child's father was.

"My turn to dance with Selene."

"And she said not now."

The boy struggled in his father's arms, obviously wanting to be put down so he could continue his attempt to barge between his aunt and uncle.

"Come on, I don't think you've danced with Mrs Langley yet and she's free."

Scott carried the child away with a hand waving toward a friendly older lady that often frequented Lady Penelope's balls. If John remembered correctly she had two sons who were both married but had no grandchildren. She would fall head over heels for the youngest Tracy.

"You'll have to let him dance with me at some point."

John gazed into his wife's eyes as they started to move around the floor again. He wouldn't have minded giving the boy a dance, if dancing with Selene wasn't the best part of being at the event.

"All I have to do is delay it long enough for him to get tired and go to bed."

John slipped his hand around her waist and stepped in closer. His heart rate increased at the contact and a sly grin crossed his face. Selene grinned as their eyes locked.

"I know exactly what you're thinking."

They pressed their lips together, a little longer than appropriate for the setting, but John was past caring. They stayed close for the next dance, energy buzzing between their bodies. Only twenty three minutes until it would be socially acceptable to leave. Penelope had offered them a guest room but they had declined, preferring to head back to London and Selene's cosy little flat. Her car was outside and John had stayed away from the champagne that floated around the room in the hands of the most experienced wait staff. All he had to do was wait.

"I need a drink."

Selene kissed John's cheek before she twisted and sauntered away. Hastening after her, John scouted the room for his nephew. He stood beside Selene as she leant on the bar, asking for her favourite cocktail.

"Oh, you must be John Tracy."

John turned slowly, plastering a smile on his face instead of groaning. The speaker was a tall beanpole of a man, with neat silver hair and a thin hand outstretched. Respecting social convention, John shook the offered hand.

"I am indeed, and you are?"

"Sir Henry Tumblewood."

"Pleasant to meet you, Sir Tumblewood. Have you met my wife, Selene, yet?"

John twisted so his back was against the bar, revealing Selene and bringing her into the conversation.

"Hello fair lady, pleasure to meet you. I am Sir Henry Tumblewood."

John caught Selene's eyes flick at him as she fought a laugh. It appeared Sir Tumblewood would have fitted in well a few hundred years ago. Selene smiled as she took the man's hand to shake it, however Sir Tumblewood twisted it and started to bow down, lips pursed. Thankfully the man's grip on Selene wasn't too strong as she whipped her hand away, shaking it slightly before her fingers wrapped around the glass again. Sir Tumblewood rose with elegance while his previously soft eyes gave Selene a stern gaze. The witch just raised an eyebrow in challenge as she sipped her drink. The aristocrat appeared only slightly disgruntled at her response, making John suspect she wasn't the first to decline his graces. Unfortunately for John, the man turned straight back to him.

"You were just the Tracy I was hoping to meet. You see, I've always had a passion for the sky; you should see my collection of vintage meteorology instruments. I have the most wonderful selection of barometers and a few very unique pyranometers, but I digress. While I have been enjoying my retirement, I need a little something to keep myself busy. I'd like to study the mesosphere, and maybe branch a little into the thermosphere, and seeing as you probably know a lot about that area, I thought you'd be the right person to ask for advice."

"I don't agree with your logic there, though studying the mesosphere and thermosphere are tricky and would require significant funds."

"Do not worry yourself about funds, my dear boy, I have more than enough. Despite coming from old money, I made some good investments in my early years which has allowed that wealth to increase significantly."

John wanted to finish the conversation and his eyes glanced at his wife and her drink, which was still half full. A dance had just started so he might be able to convince her to join the next one. John just had to find a way to politely excuse himself.

"Well, I do know of a few companies who are…"

"I don't want to invest in companies! I've done enough of that. I want to build a rocket that will take the equipment up into the mesosphere."

Sir Tumblewood's voice had sharpened and he was clearly offended at John's most reasonable suggestion. Did this man not know of the many rules and regulations there were regarding research into that part of the atmosphere? A rocket or significant vessel, as he was suggesting, would need so many permissions and inspections before being allowed to launch. Despite his frustrations, John put on his best tone to try and calm the man.

"Sir, I didn't mean to offend you, however the legislation around sending rockets and similar devices up into the mesosphere would make it extremely difficult for you…"

"I have a friend who has done it. He's already advised me on the licences I will require and even allowed me to survey his previous designs..."

John didn't like being interrupted, particularly by someone who wanted his help but didn't respect his opinion when it was given. He could already tell this conversation was going to go nowhere. John was only half listening to Sir Tumblewood's drabbles as he turned to Selene. His heart dropped as a small figure raced towards them.

"Selene!!"

The cry made everyone around them turn, and even Sir Tumblewood paused, as his nephew flung himself into Selene's legs. That small face gazed up, surrounded by the fabric of her dress with sparkling hopeful eyes.

"Dance with me, Selene."

Scott appeared, having briskly followed after the boy.

"Oh my, isn't he just the most handsome little thing!"

A well dressed lady had appeared on Sir Tumblewood's arm, her pleasant weathered face betraying her age.

"Please, Selene."

John gazed down at the boy, knowing he was about to watch his wife be led onto the dancefloor, leaving him to converse with Sir Tumblewood without backup. Both Selene and Scott were about to speak when the lady beat them to it.

"Go on, dear, give the lad a dance. He's smitten with you."

"It's actually getting close to his bedtime."

Scott tried to explain, crouching down to his son's level. John’s brother placed his hand on the child's shoulder, bringing himself into the child's focus.

"It's bedtime."

"Noooo!"

A small lip puckered as fists clenched the fabric of Selene's dress.

"Come on."

His nephew shook his head and pressed his little body into Selene's legs. Scott gently encouraged he's son to let go, though it wasn't having much effect. Selene's cocktail was suddenly being held before him, and John just took it. There was only one way out of the situation without causing a scene.

"One last dance with Auntie Selene, okay? Then Daddy's going to take you upstairs to bed."

A wide dimpled grin radiated up at her and a hand stretched out asking for hers. Selene accepted the small hand in hers and was slowly led away. Scott stood and took Selene's place beside John as the pair started to dance before them.

"Isn't that just the sweetest thing?"

John caught Scott shaking his head out the corner of his eye, the man's gaze firmly on his child. Selene had to bend over so she could hold her nephew's hands, and John couldn't help but smile as the pair grinned at each other. The boy bounced around, forcing Selene to turn in circles, though he started to slow down very quickly.

"Now, Mr John Tracy, we were discussing the project and the legislation around it. Like I said, my friend has informed me of the licenses I will require and I was wondering if you could offer some suggestions on the matter of design. I've seen a few of my friend's, and they are extravagant to say the least, however they did pass muster and showed some success…"

John forced himself to listen, keeping one eye on the dancing pair. It appeared the night really was catching up with his nephew. After his pace had slowed, Selene had scooped him up and danced with him in her arms. They pair swayed together happily while Sir Tumblewood babbled on at John.

"Excuse me for barging in," Scott's voice was full of authority, though John hadn't realised he was listening, "this friend of yours sounds a lot like Langstrom Fischler."

"You know Mr Fischler?"

Sir Tumblewood brightened up at the mention of the name. It appeared Scott was on the money.

"I do, in a professional manner. That man's designs are world renowned for being poorly designed and a safety risk to anyone onboard or in the vicinity. If you are unwilling to listen to my brother, and prefer Mr Fischler’s guidance, then I can assure you your endeavours will be in vain."

"I beg your pardon! Mr Fischler is the son of a good friend of mine, a friend whose reputation is infallible."

"I'm sure your friend has a spotless reputation, but I am informing you that his son does not share that reputation."

Selene returned with a content young man in her arms. Their nephew's head was resting against her shoulder, the late evening obviously catching up with him.

"Now if you'll excuse me, I have to tend to my son."

Scott held out his arms to his child, who turned back to Selene and planted a kiss on her cheek.

"Love you, Selene."

"I love you too, sweetie."

A hug later and the boy was in his father's arms, displaying his teeth with the biggest yawn John had ever seen him do. John checked his watch as he passed Selene her cocktail back. She sipped it gratefully. John slid his hand behind her so it was on the small of her back.

"Have you enough energy for one last dance before I chauffeur you back to London?"

"I do."

John kissed her, before turning back to Sir Tumblewood.

"You'll have to excuse me, Sir, my presence is required on the dancefloor. Have a pleasant rest of the evening."

Selene slid her empty glass onto the bar before looping her arm in John's. Just ahead of them Scott turned.

"See you two back at the island. Have fun."

His brother gave them a cheeky grin and a wink, which John let slide as a small hand waved goodbye.

"Bye, bye."

Scott headed over to the mirrored wall where Penelope and Gordon were standing, deep in conversation with some of the other attendees. It would be rude to leave without thanking the host, and John would be doing just the same in a few minutes. As they stepped into the dancers, the music slowed and gave time for people to change partners before the next dance began. They didn't go too far onto the floor before turning to face each other. John guided Selene in close, stealing a kiss before the dance started. They swayed slowly, eyes on each other, enjoying the moment but also eager to head back to Camden for some privacy.

[dustofbrokenheart]

The Covenant: I’m With the Bassist

Reid Garwin x Female Reader

Word Count: 2,631

Warning:  contains physical intimacy and mature language

Summary: Your band is popular on the local music scene and one fan in particular has managed to catch your eye. One night, you take him back to the dressing room after a show and things get heated. 

Colored stage lights bore down of the band, illuminating them for the crowd’s sake but the heat had long since taken its toll. Even the crowd appeared damper than when the show first started.

Your cloth bracelets were glued to your skin and chaffed uncomfortably against your wrist with every stroke you played. The choice to wear a black top was a good one because it hid the patches of sweat well even though you felt soaked.

There was no such luck with your face—a trail of constant sweat had been trailing down the side of your face for the past hour and you suspected that the precise eyeliner you walked on stage was smudged. Hopefully, it was more of an artistic smear and not a case of you looking like a racoon, but there was no way to be certain.

Your singer’s voice trailed off as the song faded out and you strummed one last chord on the bass before ending. The crowd writhed in electric frenzy, riding a concert high and expressed their delight in different ways, most directing their energy into cheering but there were a few who opted to throw things on stage. Empty red solo cups and an assortment of men’s and women’s underthings, mainly.

The singer grabbed the mic and walked to the edge of the small bar stage. “Whoo! How’s everyone doing!?” Screams rang out in answer.

Your band was small-time only performing on the local circuit two to three times a week, but the fan base had been growing and there were always loyal faces that the venue being played on a given night.

Blue eyes in the front of the crowd caught your gaze for a second as you looked over the crowd.

Then the singer spoke again, pulling your attention back to the band. “Thanks for coming out, we love you. Honest! See you guys next week!”

The main lights turned on lighting up the inside of the bar with its usual dingy, yellow bulbs. Applause and cheers rang out once more from the fans as the band readied to exit.

Purposefully ignoring the audience, more specifically the front rows, you turned back to talk to the drummer while sliding your bass strap over your head to take the weight of the instrument off of your shoulders. The band threw quick waves to the fans, and the guitarist stopped to pick up a particularly silky pair of men’s boxer briefs with a coy smile, and then you all bustled to get to the dressing room.

Performing on stage for people was an addicting rush, for sure, but you liked having down time in the dressing room to come off of the adrenaline and go about your business privately.

First thing you did was get yourself to a mirror so you could clean up the mess around your eyes. Luckily, that night’s smeared make-up looked tastefully done and not like a clown rendition. Next, you redid your eyes so that they returned to their glory from the start of the show; a nice, sultry bass player look. A dash of lip color followed, but nothing so obvious that the rest of the band would notice that something was afoot.

You took your sweet time in the dressing room and one by one the other members left, until you were the last one in the room. A few minutes passed until you peeked out into the hall. Everyone was used to you taking your sweet time after shows so it wasn’t weird that you were still in the dressing room. Sneaking someone in was though, and you didn’t want to get caught in the act.

He saw you signal him from his position up the hall near the bathrooms and grinned, sauntering slowly towards you until he was within reach, at which point you hauled him into the room and slammed the door shut. The lock engaged with a click and you turned to scowl at him. “Could you have dragged your feet any slower? Someone could’ve seen you!”

“Are you really that embarrassed of me?” he pouted. “You’re gonna give me complex, babe.”

“You know that’s not true. It’s more like… I’m just trying to spare myself the roasting for as long as possible. They’ve never seen me with someone and they’re going to rag on me no matter who it is.”

“Even if it’s a fine specimen such as myself?” He puffed out his chest and pursed his lips in comical exaggeration.

“You’re lucky I like you so much Reid.”

Reid Gawrin, or ‘groupie guy’ as you had initially referred to him as, was a big fan of the band and had been coming to every show for three months straight. It was hard to miss him with that blond hair contrasting with his black beanie and intriguing tattoos that showed when he rolled up his sleeves or wore a loose collared shirt. And those blue eyes… it was easy to yourself in them.

He’d always made sure to stick around after shows so that he could chat you up and at first you figured he was just a groupie looking to score with a band member, hence his moniker ‘groupie guy.’ Not wanting to come off as rude you indulged him in conversation, but always kept your distance.

It wasn’t uncommon for people to try and sleep with the band, and to be honest, the band did end up in bed with some of them. Take your guitarist: she always managed to pick up the hottest women and men. It worked great for her but you wanted something more and weren’t going to take a chance on the guy, even if he was cute, if he was just looking for a hook-up.

And, who knows, maybe it had started out as purely physical attraction on his part, but the two of you had grown emotionally attached after a while too. It was the emotional side that had led to the current situation. Not officially dating, but no longer musician and groupie either. And that lack of a label wouldn’t stop you from finally getting intimate that night.

Reid picked you up with ease and you wrapped your legs around his waist, his hands gripping your fleshly thighs as he pressed you between the hard brick wall and his body.

“You were incredible tonight,” he murmured, pressing soft kisses onto the hollow of your neck. Your head titled back and hit the wall with a thud as he trailed upward with his nose so that he could kiss the soft underside of your chin.

“Yeah?” you panted with excitement. You knew what was coming next.

He nodded and finally kissed you on the lips, his tongue quickly gliding inside of your mouth with strong, measured licks. “Bassists are always hot.” Your eyelids drifted shut and you lost yourself to his ministrations, a warm cloud of pressure weighed down your muscles.

As soon as you moaned, Reid wasted no time in grinding his pelvis against yours, the friction from his belt buckle rubbing you just the right way to fire up a reaction in your core. You pulled back, panting and he chuckled at you trying to catch your breath. “You like that?”

He was obviously fishing for an answer but you weren’t so gone that you’d give into him just yet. You merely nodded your head and bit your lip at a particularly delicious thrust.

“Tell me you like it,” he pressed.

Still, you refused him and he took it as a challenge to get you to use words. He relaxed his hold your thighs so that you slid down the wall and ended up resting high on the leg he inserted in between yours. Now you were not only stimulated by his grinding, but also rode his leg whenever your hips, the added pressure making it harder to not give in.

Your will hung by a thread, ready to give at any moment. Then he upped the ante by reaching down the waistline of your bottoms into your underwear, his fingers skipping past teasing to directly touching you in your most sensitive place.

“Tell me. Tell me you like it.”

“I like it,” you whined, your mind filled with pleasure.  

“There, that wasn’t so hard, was it? You’re a good girl.”

His wandering nail-polish covered fingers reached down lower to cup your slit more fully and Reid purred when he felt a gush of wetness flow from you. “You liked that, huh? You like being my good girl.”

A nod. You weren’t used to this kind of dirty talk. Most guys are not good at it but Reid was. He didn’t give a shit what he said as long as it produced results and produced results it did.

“So wet,” he grinned as he slid a finger into you experimentally. “See, went right in you, just like that.”

A single black nail tipped finger soon turned into two and he was eager to caress your silky inner walls, scissoring his fingers into a v that stretched you nicely. “Shit, Y/N. Look how tight you are, you don’t wanna let my fingers go.”

You gasped, goosebumps raising on your arms. It was a good thing you were against the brick wall because you didn’t have the strength to support your head on your own. As it was, your head was still lulled to the side.

It took Reid capturing your chin in one hand to get you to straighten out. The other hand was removed from your pants and used to circle one of your wrists so that you were unable to turn away. He pressed his lips gently against yours, a stark contrast from the lewd things he had done a second ago.

He rested his forehead against yours, his eyes wild with adoration and desire. “Does my good girl want more?”

“Please,” you begged.  

“Do you need it?”

“Please!”

With a parting kiss, he dropped down to his knees and pulled down your pants and underwear with a single tug. Your shaking hands grasped his hair as he placed his mouth over you, the blonde strands wrapped around your fingers. His breath was warm and, unlike when he was kissing your mouth, his tongue was relentless against the bundle of nerves between your legs. Circling, laving, sucking. It all blurred together and you realized that you were in trouble. If it was this good with just tongue, how would it be when he actually put his cock in you?

You moaned just thinking about it. Your legs squeezed together in reaction to his excellent skills but he didn’t seem to mind being stuck down there. Time lost meaning; it was felt like it was passing too slowly and too quickly simultaneously.

Eventually, his mouth left you with a wet pop and he stood at his full height. Making direct eye contact, he popped the top button on his jeans open and kicked them off, his shirt and beanie following suit. He stepped forward and hooked one of your legs around his waist to make more space.

You settled your hands flat against his chest and that damn tattoo that’s been teasing you for the past couple of months is now completely exposed for your gaze. It vaguely registers that the boy is ripped. Like, six pack ripped, but it’s the tattoo that you couldn’t stop looking at. It sloped at the base of his neck and extended past his collar bone; it was mesmerizing.

“You like that one, don’t you?” he cooed, noticing your heated stare.

Blue eyes held yours as he rolled on a condom. He entered you in one sharp thrust, your core feeling stretched and full. A sound that you didn’t know you were capable of making poured out from your throat and you immediately raised hid your face.  

Logically, you knew pleasure was nothing to be embarrassed about, but you couldn’t help feeling like you needed to reign yourself in.

Reid pried your hands away from your face and kissed you while he continued to drive in and out.

“Don’t be shy, baby,” he cooed. “I like your noises.”

Almost like his voice had control over your body, another whine left you. “Reid. I-I nee- I need…”

“What? Be a good girl and tell me.”

“More,” you cried out. “I need more.”

He picked you up entirely, both legs circling his waist and walked you over to the couch. Honestly, all of the furniture in the room was probably suspect given that all the bands used it, but you couldn’t bring yourself to focus on it during that moment.

Your back hit the couch cushions and then Reid was back to swiveling his hips, his cock hitting just right. This new angle with you on your back, your legs hanging over his broad shoulders, had your cries rising in pitch and frequency.

The euphoria was suddenly interrupted with a sharp knock. Panic ensued you snapped to look at the door. Thankfully, it was still locked which meant that you wouldn’t get caught in a comprising position, but there was still the matter getting rid of whoever it was.

“Yo, Y/N. You still in there?”

You were about to answer when Reid cupped your right breast and bucked into you hard. Shocked, you looked up in disbelief, your mouth wide open with no sound coming out. He merely winked and did it again.

The second time a whine escaped you and another knock rang out. “Y/N, you good?”

Reid leaned down to whisper conspiratorially in your ear. “Better answer them, Y/N.”

You swallowed. Risk wasn’t something you considered yourself to be into, but was a lie to say you didn’t feel yourself getting wetter at the thought.

Hoping and praying that you would pull it off, you tried to talk but nothing came out but a croak. Clearing your throat, you tried again. “H-hey. I’m still here.”

“You good? Why’s the door locked?”

In an attempt to keep your voice steady, you closed your eyes and clung on tight to Reid’s shoulders. “Just changing. Locked it to be s-safe.”

That was the right thing to say cause the voice at the door immediately backed off with an apology and left the two of you alone.

“Good save,” he acknowledged. He slowed his hips slightly and reached down to circle your clit with his thumb. “I think you deserve a reward.”

“Oh my—Reid.”

The ceiling came in and out of focus as Reid coaxed you to the edge at last. “Come on, Y/N. Say my name.” One well pressured flick to the small bundle of nerves did the trick and sent you flying, bucking like a high wire cable flailing wildly in the wind and chanting his name in a desperate prayer.

Your core clamping down on him sent him tumbling right after you with a drawn-out groan as he held himself deep inside you.

He dropped next to you on the couch, out of breath. “Shit.” He took a moment to compose himself and repeated his words. “Shit.”

You rolled your head to pin him with a teasing stare. “Cat got your tongue?”

“Oh, there was definitely a pussy involved.”

A weak slap landed on his chest. “Don’t use that word, you sound ridiculous.” Your favorite tattoo was within petting range and you kept your hand there, stroking it gently. The two of you settled into quiet bliss, content to cuddle into one another.

“That was a good one,” Reid finally remarked, stroking your arm. Exhausted, all you can do is nod against his toned chest. He hummed and you waited patiently for him gather his thoughts. “Think we can get another round in?”

_______________

Forgive me, for I have sinned 😂. Is it even good? I’m not sure but thanks to those who read it. Partly inspired by a conversation with @rpwithjayn​ but I made Reid the groupie instead of the rocker. Hopefully I did him justice for all of the Reid fans out there. 

[akakeiiji]

-`,✎ Meteor Showers and Milk Bread — Oikawa Tooru

→ synopsis: when tooru sneaks out of the palace in secret, wanting to explore and experience the city for himself, he doesn’t expect to spend the entirety of his evening with an odd, brash, and frankly rude mage but he wasn’t complaining

→ pairing: prince!oikawa tooru x fem!reader

→ genre: royalty au, fluff, angst if you squint enough 

→ warnings: none (i think)

→ word count: 6.2k

→ taglist: open (just message/send me an ask!)

[ part two coming soon ]

If you’re wondering what “Planus” is, please go to google translate: Latin to English. I just thought that it was very befitting for our precious little birthday boy. 

I wasn’t planning to make this a two-parter but I wasn’t able to finish this in time before Tooru’s birthday so here we are. I’m not sure when I’ll be able to finish the second part but I’ll try my best to get it out soon. 

Anyway, happy birthday Tooru, I love you so much even if I do bully you a lot ♥︎

Even after all these years, it still never ceases to both amaze and perplex Tooru how unfailingly consistent the royal guards are. When he was younger, he mistook them as a hindrance to his schemes but now he was older, smarter, and eternally grateful to their unnatural punctuality and constancy, that of which turned out to make his life a whole lot easier.

He keeps his eye on the small, practically invisible peephole, peering into the dark—yet still grand—corridors from behind the large oaken doors of his bedroom. His left hand—uncharacteristically bare, devoid of any of his usual rings and other flashy accessories—was held firmly on the golden door handles, his other clenching a small, equally gold, pocket watch.

He stands in silence, the slow, monotonous ticking of his watch being the only sound filling the bedroom.

And then, just like the intricate clockwork of his watch, a pair of armor-clad guards appear from the around the corner of the hallway just as the clock struck twelve. Tooru grins at the sight, “Just on time.” He chuckles as he carelessly stuffs the watch into his cloak.

He waits not-so-patiently as he watches the guards march rigidly through the corridor. Could they be any slower? Tooru thinks to himself, his foot tapping rapidly.

Finally, after what seemed like a millennium, the guards pass by Tooru’s quarters—their eyes trained on the grand entrance to the room—unaware that he was watching them carefully.

Tooru definitely didn’t regret secretly installing the peephole. He worried about it being cursed, the witch who sold it to him seemed odd, but in the end, the trade proved to be worth it. Whether it was cursed or not was still up for discussion though.

Tooru waits for a few more seconds after the guards marched out of sight around the other end of the corridor, ensuring that they were out of earshot before beginning to twist the door handle open in a painstakingly slow pace, wincing slightly at the loud click it emitted. He opened it just enough so that he could barely squeeze through and took one last look into his bedroom.

He hoped the pile of pillows he arranged underneath his covers was enough to trick any unwanted visitors throughout the night. Though Tooru knows only one person would have the gall to suddenly barge into his quarters at such an hour and he doubts this would be enough to deceive his ever so perceptive personal attendant.

Speaking of Iwaizumi—or rather, Iwa-chan—his clothes are frankly much too large on Tooru. It must have been the result of his relentless training with the other swordsmen and guards in the palace.

He didn’t want to have to borrow (read: steal) Iwa’s clothes like this, but nothing in Tooru’s large, ever-expanding wardrobe would be inconspicuous enough to suit his needs for that night. He needed to keep a low-profile, to remain hidden and unnoticable. The complete opposite of his usual self.

After all, the Prince of Seijoh can’t be out and about meandering around the city all on his lonesome. It simply isn’t safe, it isn’t ethical, it just isn’t allowed for His Royal Highness.

Tooru can’t help but roll his eyes at the thought. He could clearly imagine all the royal advisors, attendants, and anyone of high position really, telling him all this if he gets caught during one of his many escapades to the city. He could already feel the long, drawling lecture from his parents and the cold stare of his sister who would be upset not over the fact that Tooru snuck out of the palace but because he didn’t take her with him.

No, it was one thing for the prince to sneak out but for the crown princess to so much as step foot outside the palace grounds without her cavalry of guards and mages? It was simply unimaginable.

Tooru reaches the end of the hallway. Careful to only step on the soft velvet carpet lining the marble floors as to not make any sounds, he edges towards the wall and peers around the corner. As usual, guards were stationed at every alcove of the corridor, ready to attack any and all intruders, trained to jump and pounce at any sound they hear. Which was fair, they were protecting the royal family after all. Which of whom would be fast asleep by now if they were the obedient little royal they ought to be, if they weren’t Oikawa Tooru.

It was a good thing Tooru memorized the palace as if it were the back of his hand. There was no need to bother with the guards lining the main entrance of the royal chambers when he could just use the servants' passageways.

He palms the wall blindly until he finds the one brick he had to press to reveal a small entryway on the once bare wall. He slips in before the entryway conceals itself once more.

It was admittedly an oversight made by the countless architects and engineers that designed the palace. Or maybe they just didn’t think that a royal such as Tooru would know that such passageways existed. Regardless, he didn’t care, what mattered was that he could now maneuver freely around the castle without worrying about the myriad of guards stationed all over the main hallways.

Palace surveillance was light in the servants’ quarters and areas. As Tooru nears the foot of the stairs from the maze of passageways in the castle, he could already hear the rowdy laughs and rambunctious voices of the numerous other inhabitants of the castle. It was at this hour where chambermaids, cooks, out of duty guards, and the like would be able to rest and relax, free from their usual day to day responsibilities in the castle. Tooru loved it here.

He wished he could stay but he pulls the hood of his cloak over his head and steps out from the stairwell, trying to seem as casual as he could.

Of course, nobody pays him any mind. There are hundreds of people coming and going in this area of the castle every day, Tooru was only one of very, very many. He snatches an apple from a farmer’s basket as he skips out through the back gates of the castle, one exclusively for the castles many servants and workers, a triumphant smile on his face.

When one thinks of Prince Tooru, they think grandeur, they think regalia, and such. The people of Seijoh know about his brains, his charms, and his wicked good looks, but not many have actually had the pleasure of seeing the prince with their own eyes. At least, not without knowing it was him.

No one would have expected that the boy wandering around the streets—the one with a look of pure, childlike wonder in his eyes—clad in an oversized tunic, loose pants, and a ratty cloak would be the infamous prince. And he wouldn’t have it any other way.

Despite the late hour, the city was still bright and bustling, shops were still open, lanterns were still lit and the streets were still lined with people, for it was the night the Planus meteor showers would grace the skies.

Tooru had been waiting for this day for years, the minute he read about them from his absurd collection of astronomy books, he knew he just had to see them for himself, only to find out that they occurred once every fifteen years. He was barely three years old the last time they appeared. Just his luck.

He had absolutely no clue why the castle wasn’t hosting a grand ball or banquet of sorts right now. There should be a celebration of some kind for such an event but no, they’d rather celebrate the birthday of some old, long deceased great-great-uncle of theirs—which was hands down, one of the dullest balls Tooru had ever attended in his life—than celebrate this.

At least the people of the city had their priorities in order; there was a three-day festival all for the meteor showers. Tooru made a mental note to tell his sister to create that day a kingdom-wide holiday when she becomes queen.

A part of Tooru is glad that there wasn’t any form of an event held that night though. It would have been virtually impossible to slip away unnoticed if that were the case and he’d never be able to witness the city in such a state.

Large golden lanterns were strung across the roads, tied to the street lights, basking the city in a warm, orange glow. Food stalls were set up in every corner selling snacks ranging from traditional sweets of the kingdom to eccentric fruits and drinks from far away countries. Jesters and wizards were performing acts and magic tricks in front of starstruck children. Crowds were gathered in the city square, where loud music was playing and people were dancing around the statue of Tooru’s great-great-grandparents, the crowd clapping along with the beat of the music—which Tooru noticed was coming from a group of instruments playing themselves, obviously the work of a skilled mage.

Tooru was clapping along with the crowd, watching the dancing couples flit gracefully around the square when a familiar scent meets his nose. His eyes tear away from the scene in front of him and finds himself staring at a small bakery, more specifically at the familiar pastries set on display by the open windows.

He bought three milk bread buns that night. Two more than he probably needed but he didn’t care. They weren’t like the ones served at the palace; the buns were smaller, denser, and not uniform in size or shape. The ones usually served at breakfast were always unnaturally consistent and identical to one another. Each one was the same size, the same shape. They were all meticulously scored giving the buns intricate designs yet even those were uniform as well.

The commoner buns were better.

Perhaps the choice of analogy could be better but Tooru thinks about how the two milk bread buns perfectly described the way he felt about the members of nobility and commoners.

Though plain, though unrefined and rudimentary, in the end, the simple milk bread buns from that little bakery down the street could beat the seemingly perfect ones at the royal palace, the ones prepared by the cavalry of specially trained cooks and staff.

Unlike the ones served at the palace, the ones he had in his hands right now were more filled with life and personality—if that even made any sense. He could tell that they were made with love, with care from the elderly couple that ran the bakery. It didn’t matter that it was flawed, not as intricately designed or made with expensive ingredients, these were loads better than any other bread the palace could have served him.

This was probably why Tooru loved being out in the city so much, devoid of his usual riches and regalia. This was also the reason why his best friend was his personal attendant instead of some other prince or noble. They were far more real than any other royal he’s met before.

Tooru is suddenly pulled away from his thoughts at the sound of yelling from afar. He follows the crowd of people who too were drawn towards the person, trying to get close enough to understand what he was trying to announce to everyone.

“—Make way! It’s starting! Everyone make way!—”

Tooru only manages to catch these words because suddenly, like a deafening canon, everyone around him starts cheering and whooping excitedly. He barely has time to react when people start clearing the middle of the roads, pushing themselves onto the sides of the brick sidewalks in a matter of a few seconds, squishing Tooru between a wall and the backs of the still cheering crowd.

Everyone was facing the cleared out road in front of them, their eyes trained at the end of the street evidently waiting for something to appear.

Tooru struggles out from in between the wall of people and the actual wall he was stuck in and walks along the streets, behind the lines of people.

“Erm—excuse me?” Tooru starts, tapping the shoulder of the nicest looking person he could spot. “What’s happening?”

The man shoots him an incredulous look, one that asked are you serious? “What’s happening? How could you not know what’s happening?”

Once it was evident that Tooru really was serious, the man chuckles and pats him on the shoulder. “Not from around here, huh?”

Tooru laughs sheepishly, subconsciously tugging his hood down even more. “You could say that.”  

The man goes to explain but his and Tooru’s attention were torn away when loud music began playing from the end of the street. Tooru was glad he was tall because he was able to see even from behind the crowds of people.

It was a parade. Of course, it was, how had Tooru not realized? He internally smacked himself for his momentary stupidity.

He stands on his tiptoes, trying to get a better view of the gargantuan floats coming nearer and nearer. The first one was the size of two carriages stacked on top of one another and it was designed to look like meteors were on top of them. It obviously had some sort of magic imbued in them since they were glowing brightly, basking the street with blues and purples.

Tooru has never seen anything like this before. His brown eyes are wide with amazement as he follows the floats with them, his mouth agape. He could imagine his teachers scolding him for doing so, saying it was unsightly to hang his mouth open like that.

Commoners never fail to amaze him.

The other floats were similar to the first one, though they featured different things such as jesters, mages, centaurs, and pegasi. His personal favorite was the one of a giant griffin, its wings were charmed to flap and spread out as it rolled by, blowing wind into the faces of the crowd. Tooru’s hood was blown back but he didn’t notice nor care. He could barely hear the music from the band of players marching by the floats over the screaming and oohing of the crowd but Tooru was able to catch a few words from a pair of girls in front of him.

“—Mina look! It’s the royal float!” She points her finger out to a white float from afar. Her friend giggles, trying to get a better view. “I know! The man playing Prince Tooru is so handsome.”

The what playing the what now?

Tooru follows the girl’s finger and finds himself staring at a float of the royal palace. It showed the facade of the castle, it even had the same flags perched on the rooftops, but what caught Tooru’s attention however were the four figures standing on the turrets of the float, waving at the crowd.

There were people playing as the royal family. They were dressed in luxurious robes: fur-lined cloaks, epaulettes, and gowns—though Tooru suspected that they weren’t actually made of the same material as the real ones back at home.

He saw a couple playing as his mother and father, waving politely to the crowd. They didn’t look exactly like his parents of course but they were able to find actors that looked sort of like them, which makes sense, the king and queen have made frequent public appearances in the city.

However, what really caught Tooru’s eye were the ones playing him and his sister, who unlike their parents, have never been seen by the public.

His sister was played by a woman in her twenties, dressed in a lavish pink gown his actual sister would never have even looked at, waving enthusiastically at the crowd, sending flying kisses and throwing petals towards them.

He would have laughed if he had not seen the man playing himself.

He was probably around fifteen, years younger than he was. He was smiling devilishly at everyone, winking and shooting looks at all the girls in the crowd. He had an air of pompousness around him, especially with the way he ran his hands through his curly blonde hair.

Yes, blonde. They hadn’t even gotten his hair right.

Asides from that he was waving a sword around at the sky, yelling about how he’s vanquished dozens of dragons—which Tooru has never and, frankly, will never do.

Tooru scrunches his face in disgust as he listened to this child make a fool of himself—which in turn made a fool of Tooru. He could admit, it was childish to feel so offended by this but he couldn’t help it.

He starts walking in the direction the floats were headed at, his eyes still trained at the “royal” float, wanting to hear more despite knowing how it would just irk him even more.

Tooru was even more horrified when the boy pulled out a rose and started announcing his love to a princess from Niiyama. Tooru would rather eat a toad than marry the frankly terrifying princesses of Niiyama who intimidate him to no end.

“HEY WATCH IT!”

Tooru really should have been paying attention to where he was going because before he knows it, he’s laying on the sidewalk. His hands were flat on the ground, bleeding slightly after the impact of the fall.

“Ow—ow—ow.” Tooru hisses as he stares at them. He didn’t know how he was going to explain this to Iwa tomorrow. He suddenly sees a sight much worse than his scraped hands.

“My milk bread!” Tooru cries out, staring at the two remaining buns which were tucked safely in his bag, now trampled and squashed on the street. Tooru could feel a piece of his heart breaking off at the sight.

His attention is torn away though by you, the person he ever so gracefully crashed into.

You, however, paid no mind to Tooru or the tragic loss of his milk bread. You were too busy examining a large telescope you seemed to be carrying earlier, not even caring that you were laying in the middle of the dirty street as you searched for any sign of damage on the instrument in your hands.  

“Oh thank god.” You sigh in relief, realizing that it was fine and only sustained a few scratches.

“Are you alright?” Tooru asks, holding his hand out to place it on your shoulder.

You whip your head towards Tooru, the relieved expression on your face turning to one of annoyance as you glared at him. Tooru freezes.

“Yeah and no thanks to you.” You huff as you clutch the telescope protectively to your chest, veering away from his hand. Your eyes then fall on your papers and books which were now littered all over the brick sidewalk and you gasp. “My notes! Great, thanks a lot pretty boy.”

Pretty boy? Tooru retracts his hand, his bottom lip jutting out slightly, and instead goes to help you pick up the rest of your papers. He couldn’t help but stop and stare at one of the papers he grabbed. It was a star chart, not unlike the ones he sees in his astronomy books, but this one was covered in scribbles and writings. Tooru realizes that these are runes, the same one he sees the mages employed at the palace read and write.

“Hey, here are your—” Tooru says as he heaves himself up only to find you gone, the space where you were just laying on empty. He twirls around to find you running around a corner, your cloak billowing behind you.

“—notes.” He trails off, staring at the thick leatherback book and pieces of parchment in his hands. As much as Tooru wanted to just leave them on the side of the road and go buy more milk bread to replace the ones he just lost, he knew he had to return the important looking papers back to you.

Curse him and his morals.

He runs after you, turning the same corner you did to find himself staring at a small street that had stone stairs leading up along it. You only had a few seconds headstart but somehow you already made your way to the top of the stairs, turning another corner towards another street, paying no notice to Tooru’s calls.

“Good god.” Tooru sighs as he runs up the stone steps after you, beginning to question his life choices.

He continues to follow you through the winding, labyrinth-like streets of the city. The farther you two went from the city square, the fewer people there were, and the darker it became. Tooru was beginning to think he’d lose you when he suddenly turns the corner and finds himself staring at a massive, open field.

You two were at the edge of the city, on top of a large hill. Trees surrounded the field which was covered in flowers filling the area with a sweet scent.

You rush over to a patch of grass that didn’t have flowers growing all over, gingerly placing the telescope beside you and then throwing everything else to the ground with no disregard. Tooru watches from behind you, bent down, and clutching his knees as he tries to catch his breath.

You two essentially ran up dozens of flights of stairs and roads that were all uphill but you didn’t seem affected at all whilst Tooru was basically dying from exertion.

Again, curse him and his morals.

“Where is it?” You cry out as you sort through the pile of papers and books on the ground. You take out your bag and begin sifting through it, praying that you’d find that specific volume of astronomy 101 you needed for your study, but alas, it had vanished.

Your mind flashes back to the time you fell in the streets, dropping all your things and you slap your forehead in frustration. “Pretty boy!” You wailed in realization.

Perhaps you still had time, maybe you could run back and find it back at the square. Hopefully, no one had taken it and it was still there.

“Looking for something?” You whip your head back to find none other than Pretty Boy and, more importantly, your textbook in his hands.

“Did you follow me?” You gasp, getting up from your spot and walking over to Tooru, who was still heaving. You grab the book and papers from his hand and flip it open; It really was your missing textbook. You sighed in relief, placing the book against your chest.

“I’m pretty sure a thank you is in order.” Tooru quips, shooting you a look as he straightens himself. He was much taller than he seemed at first glance.

“Well, this wouldn’t have happened in the first place if you were actually paying attention to your surroundings.” You state as you lightly poke his chest and you turn to march back to your little spot in the field. Just like earlier, Tooru’s bottom lip juts out, one eyebrow raised.

“But thank you—I guess.” You say stiffly, looking over your shoulder a bit. Tooru’s expression immediately lights up at these words.

Much to your surprise—and annoyance—he follows after you, matching your pace so he was walking by your side, his hands clasped behind his back.

“You’re a mage, aren’t you?” He declares this more than asks really, a knowing smile resting on his lips. “No—a mage’s apprentice.” He adds quickly, correcting himself.

You glare at him, ignoring his question, as you flop back on your spot beside your books and papers. “And why are you still here, exactly?”

Tooru looks back at the city behind you two sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. “Multiple reasons.”

“Do tell.” You voice, setting up your telescope in front of you. “I’m ever so interested.”

Tooru ignores your blatant sarcasm and takes a seat beside you, also ignoring your groans at this action. “First things first, I have no idea how to get back to the square, I’d probably just get lost and spend the rest of the evening wandering around aimlessly.”

“Secondly,” Tooru stretches his arm up over his head and leans back onto the soft grass, his forearms cushioning his head. “I’m exhausted.”

“We didn’t even go that far.” You comment, raising an eyebrow at the male who was staring up at the sky. He gasps dramatically and turns his head towards you. “Excuse me?”

“I’ve never ran so much in my entire life, I feel like I just scaled a mountain.” He lifts a hand, his pointer finger thumb just barely touching. “My legs are this close from snapping off.”

You snort, turning your attention back to your telescope. Tooru beams, pride swelling at his chest at the fact that he made you laugh—well, sort of laugh. He turns his entire body towards you so that he’s laying on his side, his right arm extended over his head, his cheek resting on his palm.

“You never answered my question.” He starts, staring at your pile of papers and books. “You are a mage, right?”

“Well you aren’t wrong but you also aren’t right.” You respond, purposefully cryptic. Tooru rolls his eyes, deciding to just drop the subject. “Fine, don’t tell me, whatever.”

His attention is turned towards your telescope when you let out a satisfied hum as you finally finished setting it up, his eyes brightening at the instrument. He’s never used a telescope, the royal mages at the palace had them but they never allowed Tooru to use them before.

“Can I try?” You smack his hand away from the instrument, Tooru huffs rubbing the spot where you hit him. “Absolutely not, you’ll just break it.”

Tooru’s pout returns as he groans. “No, I won’t, come on I’ll be careful, just this once, please.”

“After what happened just earlier, you don’t exactly have the best track record for being careful.” You chide, pointing at the base of the telescope. “Look, it’s scratched now.”

Tooru puffs his cheeks as he stares back at you and back at the telescope again, mulling over what to say.

“Well, you aren’t the only one that was affected by the fall earlier.” Tooru begins, sighing dolefully. “I lost my precious milk bread.”

You let out the same snort from earlier. “Yeah, because milk bread is just of equal worth as a telescope.”

An indignant gasp escapes from Tooru’s lips, “Don’t belittle my milk bread.” A hand rests on his chest as he speaks. “I don’t know how I’ll ever recover.”

A silence falls between you two before you both start chuckling at the absurdity of his words. This was rare for Tooru, letting out an actually genuine laugh with a person that wasn’t Iwa or his sister.

He surprisingly feels way more at ease than he thought he would. He’s always been guarded towards strangers, always polite to them as to not offend and inflict the wrath of his advisors and personal attendant but never nice enough to blossom new friendships. He was perfectly satisfied with the people he had in his life now, he didn’t need any more than necessary.

But somehow, he found himself drawn to you and your brash attitude and sarcasm. He knew you didn’t have the slightest clue that he was the prince of the kingdom but it was still odd to be treated in such a way. The vast majority of the people at the castle would freeze and stiffen when he was near, their eyes always trained at the ground as if eye contact with him was forbidden, which it certainly was not. They’d avoid having to speak to him if they could, and if they couldn't they’d always regard him as “Your royal highness” or “Prince Tooru”.

They’d probably faint at the mere idea of calling him Pretty Boy.

This was another reason why Tooru was so close to Iwaizumi. He wasn’t afraid of him. Yes, he was the prince but he was first and foremost a person, and Iwa knew this and never walked around eggshells with him. He wished more people were like him. More like you.

Tooru watches as you peer into your telescope, scribbling rapidly on a spare piece of parchment, taking note of something Tooru couldn’t see. He whines loudly.

“Just let me try. I’ll be careful, I swear!” He pouts at you once more as he inches closer to you, shooting you his infamous puppy dog eyes but you were unperturbed. You flick his forehead causing him to fall back to his previous position, groaning in defeat.

“You’re just like the mages at the palace, they never let me—”

“Palace?”

Tooru freezes, you freeze too, shooting him a quizzical look, your quill now lax in your hand.

“As in the palace? That royal palace?” You ask, pointing at the aforementioned building which was visible even from where you two were. Tooru’s really done it now this time.

“No! I mean, yeah—I, erm—work there.” He stammers, avoiding eye contact, his thumbs fiddling around each other nervously but you pay no notice to this as you stare in awe at the glowing building. “Woah, that’s cool.”

“Not really, it’s not as great as it seems.”

“Are the royal family snobs?” You tilt your head to the side. “I don't know, I just assume they are. Most of them are.”

“All royals are snobs.” Tooru says wistfully.

You bite the inside of your cheek, you may not know him but you could tell that this was a sensitive subject for him. You decide to just drop the subject.

You instead throw yourself to your work, continuing on writing down the names of stars and movements of certain planets and such. Tooru continues on pestering you, asking you questions about what you were doing and commenting on certain things he saw in your textbooks—you gave up on telling him off for touching your stuff. He surprisingly knew a lot more than you expected for someone who wasn’t a mage.

“—which is why I believe that there is life outside of Earth. Perhaps in some other planet or something.” Tooru finishes off, he had been rambling about extraterrestrial lifeforms for the past ten minutes. “Don’t you think so too?”

You shoot him a look, ignoring his question. “Do you ever shut up, Pretty Boy?” You jeer halfheartedly, he chuckles. “Only when I want to.”

You roll your eyes as you close your book. Finally done with your assignment. All you had to do now was wait for the meteor shower. You lift your arms up, stretching after staying in one position for such a long time. Your eyes fall on the man beside you, who was staring longingly at your telescope as he bit his lip apprehensively.

He opens his mouth, no doubt ready to beg once more but you cut him off before he could. “Fine, but if you break it, I will curse you into oblivion.”

Tooru’s face lights up instantaneously, jumping up from his position in the grass and crawling to the telescope, he gingerly takes the instruments in his hands before he gives you a look which asked are you sure?

“I said it’s fine, go on before I change my mind.” You urge, waving a hand. Tooru lets out a wide grin, his eyes brimming with excitement before he peers into the telescope.

Every so often, he’d let out a small gasp or “Woah!” as he observed the night sky. Just like earlier, he’d ask you a few questions about unfamiliar stars of constellations. He reminded you of a child being in a toy store for the first time.

After some time, Tooru straightens and turns to you, a satisfied smile gracing his features. “That was amazing.”

“I’m glad you think so,” You lightly punch Tooru’s arm. “But don’t think I forgot about earlier. Telescopes are expensive, you know. I doubt you’d be able to afford a replacement.”

Tooru’s small smile doesn’t leave his lips even as he rubs his arm. How funny, a commoner telling him, a prince, that he couldn’t afford something. He remains silent though.

“Hey, what’s that on your hand?” You furrowed your eyebrows as you scooted closer to him, staring at his hands. Tooru turns it over so that his palm was face up and stares at the scapes on them with a look at that say oh I forgot about that.

“It’s nothing, don’t worry about it.” But you were already digging through your satchel, ignoring his protests. You pull out a small vial that was full of a thick red concoction.

“Okay, what is that?” Tooru says suspiciously, instinctively veering away from the potion. You roll your eyes, opening the vial. “It isn’t poison, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

You hold out your free hand towards Tooru. “Just trust me, okay?” You ignored the fact that you were a total stranger and pushed on.

You hadn’t the slightest clue why you were even doing this, using an invaluable healing potion for some stranger’s minor scrapes but here you were anyway.

Tooru reluctantly slides his hand over yours and you pour a few drops of the potion onto his palms. You put the vial down beside you and begin spreading the substance over his wounds. His hand was oddly soft, as if it hadn’t done a single day of work in its life but you chose not to comment on this.

Tooru winces, the potion stinging at first before a cooling sensation instantaneously spreads on his hand. He sighs at the feeling.

“Okay, other hand.” You instruct, letting go of his right hand. Tooru follows obediently.

He stares, not at his hand on top of yours, but at your face. At your concentrated expression and the way you bit your lip as you worked, something you must do when you were focused since he saw you do it often as you worked earlier. He may or may not have been watching you.

Then he realizes it. He doesn’t even know your name.

“I never asked, what’s your—”

“Oh my god! Pretty Boy look! It’s starting!” You jump up from your seat rushing to your pile of notes, looking for a blank piece of parchment. You pull one out and stare up at the sky, writing down your observations as you did so.

Tooru whips his head around and watches the bright lights whoosh through the night sky as it basks everything in a myriad of colors, mixes of purples, blues, and greens. His eyes are as wide as saucers, his lips forming an “o” shape as he stared at the sky in awe.

He’s never seen anything as beautiful as this before in his entire life.

He turns to you, ready to jabber excitedly, only to find you frozen in place, quill and parchment forgotten on your lap as you marvel at the sight before you. Tooru decides to stay silent, not wanting to ruin the moment.

He can’t help but sneak glances towards you every now and then as the meteors flew by. He could admit, you were actually pretty when you weren’t getting annoyed at him. Okay, fine, you were actually beautiful. Especially with the way the flurry of lights shining over you, the meteors reflected on your eyes, making it seem like they were glowing in the dark.

“I have to admit something,” Tooru says when the last meteor flew past the two of you. “I lied earlier.”

“About what?”

“Well, I told you that I couldn’t go back to the square because I’d get lost,” Tooru explains, grinning slightly. “That was just an excuse, I really just wanted to stay because you seemed interesting.”

You flushed but you hoped it wasn’t obvious in the dark. You smacked him on the arm once more out of reflex. “That’s so creepy.”

A comfortable silence falls between you two as you stare at the sky, unaware that Tooru’s remained fixed towards you.

“Hey, I just realized that I don’t know your name—”

“SHITTYKAWA!”

You and Tooru jump like frightened cats at the booming voice. Thunderous stomps approach you two and before the both of you know it, Tooru was lifted onto his feet by the collar, being dragged away back to the streets by a man around your age who was yelling angrily the entire time.

You couldn’t catch everything he was saying though you caught a few phrases such as “—YOU’RE SUCH AN IDIOT—” and “—I’VE BEEN SCOURING THE STREETS FOR HOURS—”

Tooru struggled against Iwa’s grip but he wasn’t strong enough to rival his strength, he still tried though as he pleaded with Iwaizumi to let him go for a moment but it was all for naught.

When Iwa finally caved in to his best friend’s whining and pleading and let him go, he ran back up the street to the flower field to find the spot where you once were empty. The pile of books and papers, the telescope so carefully set up, and most importantly, you, had vanished in a matter of seconds.

Tooru furrowed his eyebrows together, staring at the empty field in dismay before Iwa ran back up to him, grabbing his wrist and pulling him away.

“We have to go.”

“But—”

“No, Oikawa, we have to go now.”

“But I never got her name.”

taglist:  @sugarkou​ (hi dork, ily)

[demonsonthemoon]

Standing on the Edge / We’re Already Falling

Fandom: Marvel Cinematic Universe Pairing: Bucky Barnes/Clint Barton Word Count: 3499 Rating: M Summary: Clint doesn't do romantic relationships. Bucky doesn't do sex. But they do do something together. One night, Clint has a request. "Do you mind if I jerk off?" Featuring akoiromantic!Clint. Notes: If you are here expecting smut you might be disappointed because the smut I was planning to write disappeared in between whole paragraphs of introspection. STORY OF MY LIFE. This fic has been sitting in my draft for more than a year and I STILL had to rush it to post it in time for #AggressivelyArospecWeek, so apologies if it is super wonky and there are typos everywhere. This is vaguely inspired by personal experiences and fantasies, because relationships are fascinating and I like to self-reflect. Also please note that I'm allosexual and the perspective I have on asexuality is totally external. So if you have any comments about the way I wrote it that might further my understanding of asexuality and help me write it better, let me know! Content warnings: Bucky's asexuality in this is explored partly in relation to his history of abuse so if that sounds squicky or triggering to you, be careful!

Read it on AO3.

The feeling of Bucky's lips on his wasn't anything new to Clint. That didn't mean that the pleasure of it was wearing off, far from it. First kisses were never the best. No, the really good one only came after, when you knew what the other person liked and they knew your preferences as well. When you could play each other like finally tuned instruments to elicit your favorite sounds at will. Those were the best kisses.

The one they were sharing now was quite high-ranking on that scale, at least according to Clint's opinion. They were both freshly clean from a shower, and Clint was quickly letting go of all the tension from the mission he'd just come back from. He was finally reaching the good side of pent-up where sensations were pleasurably heightened but not making him paranoid. Then there was the fact that Bucky was softly biting on his lower lip and had a hand in Clint's hair. Yeah. It was a pretty good kiss.

“Fuck,” Clint whispered at they broke apart for hair. They didn't go far from one another, just hovering on that edge of kissing again. Clint had a hand on Bucky's face, softly running a thumb over his stubble, the other over his hip.

Bucky smiled, then kissed him again. It was funny. Clint swore his lips tasted different when he smiled. It was one of his favorite flavors.

This thing between them hadn't always been that easy. There had been a time when Bucky's only two moods were “shadow in the corner” and “murder glare,” which had not been conducive to much physical intimacy. (Not that Clint had been unwilling. Everyone who knew him was aware of his attraction to danger.) It had taken a while for Bucky to become comfortable, both with himself and with the people also living on the Avengers compound. Clint had understood that. The guy had been through a lot. He'd still barely remembered who he was when he'd turned himself in after a year of leading Steve and Sam around on a merry chase.

But he'd gotten around to it. The whole being a person thing. Being something other than a weapon.

Yes, Clint had been a little protective of him. Still was. He could relate to the guy. A few days of alien brainwashing was obviously different to a few decades of being Hydra's puppet, but it still gave them more common grounds than most of the other Avengers.

They'd started getting along, and then they had started getting along, and now Clint was shirtless and kissing Bucky in his bed and it all felt really nice.

Really really nice.

“Shit, fuck,” Clint whimpered against Bucky's mouth, drawing away slightly. “Wait a sex- sec. I have a question.”

The beginning of their relationship (Clint always made a face at the word, but he hadn't found any other one that fit) had involved a lot of awkward conversations about boundaries. Clint had been on the verge of e-mailing his therapist about it several times. She would have been so proud. Clint wasn't ready to admit that, but it had felt nice for once not to be the only one tiptoeing around a minefield. That's what it had felt like in a lot of his other relationships, and most of his other partners hadn't been subtle in letting him know it was his fault.

Bucky didn't make him feel like it was his fault. He had plenty of minefields of his own and seemed grateful to have Clint here to help him figure out their layouts.

It had almost been funny when they'd realized how little they matched one another.

Clint didn't do romance. He'd learned the hard way that however much he liked the person at first, and even continued to like them, in a way, he couldn't sustain romantic attraction for much more than a few weeks into a relationship. And the pressure of a romantic relationship was just too much for him to handle. After a series of self-sabotaged messes and a divorce, he'd been forced to admit that it wasn't worth trying anymore. He'd mostly resigned himself to one-night stands and the occasional cuddle with a friend. Wanting regular physical and emotional intimacy outside of a romantic relationship just wasn't something he figured he could get.

Bucky, on the other hand, was totally open to the pursuit of romance. At least as much as someone with such severe trust issues as he had could be. But he didn't really do sex. At least not for now.

It had been kind of funny to find all of that out, but also not at all. Clint was very happy that they'd decided to figure something out anyway. He'd been even happier when the something in question had turned out to involve having a close friend he could regularly make out with but who didn't pressure him into being with each other all the time, being wooed or going on dates.

Their relationship probably looked like weird and misshapen from any outside perspective, and sometimes even from Clint's, when his nerves were too raw or his mind was too numb and he looked at the universe and only saw the result of his failures. But it was theirs, and whenever Clint felt like his skin was his own again, he found he was willing to fight for it.

It was a weird yo-yo motion, with a string that threatened to snap every so often, but so far it was still turning.

Clint couldn't help himself, and he gave Bucky another peck on the lips. Just to erase the frown that had formed on his forehead as he'd pulled away from their kiss.. “Don't worry. There's no good or bad answer here.” He tried to keep his tone confident and casual. Spy training came in handy in these kinds of situation. Of course, the fact that Bucky was just as well trained meant he could usually read through Clint's bullshit, but well. One had to try.

Clint took a breath, and smiled. “Do you mind if I jerk off?”

Bucky froze against Clint's hands. His eyes widened just the slightest bit.

And then he looked down at Clint's crotch, and the blond bit down on his own lip to avoid letting out a thoroughly undignified squeak. The outline of his erection was clearly visible through the worn material of his post-shower sweatpants. Bucky somehow seemed surprised by it, even though there was no way he hadn't felt it rub against him at any point of the previous proceedings.

Clint felt a blush rise to his cheeks. He wasn't embarrassed about sex. He didn't think that was what it was. He was just very aware of the request he'd just made and the fact that Bucky's attention was still lingering on his cock.

“You don't have to say yes. I really don't mind if we just make out some more and cuddle. I just thought... Well. I just thought that if you didn't have to... participate, you might still like to watch?” The blood in his cheeks was quickly approaching boiling point. “Or not. I don't know. I just thought I'd ask.”

Clint forced himself to close his mouth and stop talking before he fell into a spell of ill-advised chatter. For a few excruciating seconds, Bucky stayed silent. At least he was looking into Clint's eyes again, instead of at his dick. Small mercies.

“Is that something that you would like? If I watched?”

“Um.” Clint swallowed. The fact that Bucky's gaze followed the movement of his Adam's apple was enough to force him to admit he didn't want to lie. “Yeah. Yeah. I'd... I think I'd like that a lot.”

Clint didn't know what reaction he'd expected at that. A joke perhaps. Or at least a raised eyebrow. He hadn't expected Bucky to move forward like a hunting animal jumping on his prey and kiss him. Clint opened his mouth and let the kiss deepen. He wasn't an idiot, he wouldn't pass up the opportunity to get kissed passionately by Bucky just because he was confused. So he moved one arm over Bucky's shoulder, found a better angle and kissed back, giving as much as he got.

He hadn't lied when he'd said he could do just this for hours. Who cared if it made him feel like an awkward teenager again, one who was all too happy to agree to “no sex on the first date” because he didn't know how to tell his at the time girlfriend that he hadn't ever touched a condom in his life.

Clint wasn't frustrated. He jerked off a healthy amount, and in the time between he got to hang out with Bucky and get kissed senseless. There was really no drawback to this situation.

And sure, Clint had desires. Fantasies. There were many things he thought about while he jerked off, and quite a few of them inlvoved Bucky in different stages of nakedness and with various amounts of their naked skins touching. But he also had fantasies about a lot of people he had never had and would never have sex with, and that was fine. He was friends with Bucky, and his comfort whenever they spent time together was a lot more important than Clint's libido.

But he had wondered if maybe... If there could be a way to get more of what he wanted without pushing any of Bucky's boundaries. He already felt bad for not being able to give Bucky everything he wanted, everything that he deserved. Bucky should get to be with someone who would go on dates with him, who would kiss him in the rain and hold his hand it public, and whisper I am so glad that you're my boyfriend against his ear. After all the ways he'd been used and abused, Bucky deserved the certainty of someone who loved him in all ways, all the time.

And Clint wasn't that someone. Clint couldn't give himself to someone in that way without feeling trapped, without tainting the beauty of every gesture with his own fear of being controlled.

Asking for this, for this selfish thing that wasn't sex but was so so close, it was a dangerous thing. It felt like taking something more, and Clint had never felt like he deserved anything in his life, not most of the bad, but not really any of the good either, and he didn't want to be that person who just took and took from someone who had already lost so much, but Bucky had always told him to just ask and he had, and Bucky was still kissing him like there was no other way to say what he meant to say and-

“Okay,” Bucky panted when he finally pulled away far enough to form words. “I think I want to see that.”

And, fuck, this was definitely something that Clint had fantasized about before, that's why he brought it up, but his imagination paled before the real thing, before the livewire tension all across his body and the way Bucky looked hungry in a way he'd never had before, and then Clint was being pushed back against the pillows of the bed and Bucky was slowly peeling off his sweatpants to expose the boxers underneath and this was all too much already. Bucky looked so smug about it too, like this was a perfectly normal things for them to do, like anything below the belt wasn't an entirely new territory for them. Bucky settled cross-legged on the end of the bed opposite to Clint, and tilted his head in a sort of go-ahead gesture. There was such open curiosity in his eyes, and Clint hadn't known that that was something that did it for him, but it really, truly was.

In all of his fantasies, he hadn't had to think about how to jerk off, he'd already been doing it as he set the scene in his head. He had felt a certain thrill at the idea of being watched, but none of the nervousness that came from putting on a show. And that probably wasn't what Bucky even expected from him, but Clint still felt weird. It felt like the worst case of stage fright he'd had since his first performance in the circus when he'd been a teenager.

Clint took a deep breath. He looked up into Bucky's eyes, carefully trained on his, and slowly pulled his boxers off.

*****

Bucky could tell that Clint was nervous. He wanted to so something about it, but he had no idea how. Clint had been the one to offer this, to ask for this, and Bucky was just along for the ride. A ride he definitely thought he would enjoy, but he also couldn't be sure, and he didn't want to push Clint but didn't want to stay totally detached either and...

And Clint was now touching his dick, hand in a loose fist around it, going up and down, thumb brushing over the head to gather a few drops of precome. And he was staring at Bucky as he did all that, worrying his bottom lip and staring at Bucky like he held all of the answers in the world.

He was surprised at how big the urge to touch was. He wanted to put his mouth on Clint's and bite down, bite properly instead of whatever Clint was doing to deal with his nervousness. He wanted to put a hand in Clint's hair and lick along the side of his neck and then look down at where his hand was still moving on his cock.

But he didn't do any of that, even though he had before (except for the looking part), because if he did he might trip on his own boundaries, might trigger that trapwire inside himself that made him retreat.

So he just watched instead, held Clint's gaze when it met his.

This was a new things for the two of them, but at the same time... it wasn't. Not really. Because this wasn't about sex. Sex was something that Bucky felt totally detached from on a good day, and on a bad one it was something that made him nervous, made his stomach twist and weigh heavily.

He couldn't explain why, because he hadn't ever had a particularly bad experience with it. At least he didn't think so. (He hated that he still wasn't sure, couldn't be sure, because so many memories had been taken from him and he couldn't ever know if he had gotten all of them back.)

What he remembered, at least, wasn't bad, although it wasn't good. Bucky could see himself, another person in another time, lying in fresh grass with a girl, her perfume just heavy enough to make him slightly light-headed, to take the edge off the feeling of wrongness he was experiencing as he touched her, let her touch him. He could feel the purely physical pleasure of the act, perfunctory, but nothing else.

This thing right now with Clint was nothing like that, because it wasn't about the sex. It was about Clint and it was about pleasure, but physicality was only one tiny part of this equation.

Bucky watched Clint's hand run up hand down his cock, and he didn't wish that it was his instead, but that didn't stop him from being fascinated by the movement, by the way Clint's dick responded, hardening further, and by the quiet sounds that caught in his throat.

A thought crossed his mind, and Bucky stood up. The fact that Clint immediately stopped moving made him feel... something. It reminded him that, yeah, Clint was masturbating, but this thing still actively involved Bucky. And Bucky let himself be involved, since he ruffled through his nightstand and threw Clint a half bottle of lube. Clint's eyes widened even as he caught the bottle easily. A soldier's reflexes. “You-”

Bucky rolled his eyes.

“I don't have the same libido as you, but I've still got enough experience to know it's better when it doesn't chafe.”

“Right,” Clint replied, scratching the back of his head in an embarrassed gesture. The combination of that and his erection sticking out made him look completely ridiculous, but Bucky only smiled in endearment.

He settled back at the foot of the bed, crosses his legs and make a vague gesture with his hand.

“As you were,” he said with a smirk.

Clint stared, mouth agape. “You...” He chuckled. “You are such an asshole.”

Bucky didn't deny it, but he also noticed that Clint wasn't too bothered, pouring lube into his right hand and carefully warming it up. He looked slightly uncertain again, slowly touching his own dick. Bucky didn't say anything, but he watched. That's what Clint had asked for. That he watch.

Clint worried his lower lip and hummed in his throat as he worked up a rhythm again, and Bucky watched.

He liked Clint's hands, the calluses on his fingers, the various scars from knife fights and careless handling of arrows. He liked them for the stories they told, the one that had been erased from his own fingertips by serum and metal. It was something he kept to himself, unlike Clint who took great pleasure in telling Bucky how hot he looked and which pants he should keep wearing because they framed his thighs just right. Bucky didn't look at Clint's hands like Clint sometimes did his, with a far-away intensity in his eyes and his mouth just the slighest bit open. But that was okay.

Clint didn't look at him like he wanted to be what made Bucky happy, his everything, his forever, with a yearning to share as much of the other's life as he could. But Bucky...

Bucky looked up into Clint's eyes, scared of everything his own could say, but it felt like the other man could hardly see him, too caught up in the movement of his own hand and the sensations that ran through his body. It didn't make Bucky feel alone, though. Quite the opposite. Clint was including him in a moment that could so easily have been private and it was thrilling, it made Bucky feel powerful and wanting. Bucky could have touched, Clint probably would have liked him to touch him, and Bucky felt his arms strain towards the other man, but stayed still. This made the moment feel purer, safer, better somehow, and Bucky didn't get it, not really, but then again, there were so many things he didn't get about Clint and his relationship, this was just one more thing on the list.

Another fragile compromise, another precarious equilibrium, just like everything that had followed that fateful “Can I kiss you?” during a conversation that had felt half like a fight and also like the most comfortable Bucky had been in years, because Clint hadn't been scared of him and he hadn't been careful, and he had asked to kiss him and Bucky had said yes.

And barely seconds after their lips had touched, Clint had said “Okay, this doesn't have to go anywhere, but in case it goes anywhere, we need to set boundaries,” and Bucky had thought “I think I might love you.”

These days, he tried his best not to say it aloud, but he thought Clint still understood it sometimes, like right now when Bucky had finally reached out and kissed Clint one more, and the other man's hip had thrust up twice before he came, one hand grappling at Bucky's shoulder and gripping his shirt. He was panting into Bucky's mouth, eyes wide and a little scared, and Bucky kissed him again until Clint whined, louder than any sound he'd made as he orgasmed, and Bucky couldn't help but be selfishly pleased by that.

He felt warm and relaxed. For once, the arousal coiled in his gut didn't feel uncomfortable, there was no pressure for it to go anywhere.

He pulled away, and watched as Clint carefully got his breathing back to normal. “Thanks,” the blond said, a slightly pathetic attempt at filling the silence between them.

“You're welcome,” Bucky replied, too quiet and not snarky enough, but they both smile and pretended not to know what had been said behind the word. They didn't destroy the balance.

Clint looked at his hand and made a face, and Bucky pushed him out of bed with a laugh, telling him to clean up. He chucked off his own shirt, which was stained by Clint's come and oh, what a strange thought that was. And then he settled into bed.

He was pretty sure Clint would join him, tonight, though he didn't always. If he was lucky, they'd have breakfast the next day. He didn't expect to see much of Clint for the rest of the day after that though, but that was okay.

It was an equilibrium.

[mangaandlivingdolls]

Kinktober DAY 13: Stay boy!

Prompts: Pet Play + Sounding + Lactation

Character: Divus Crewel

Plot: A student gets a little too annoyed at Divus’s teaching methods and decides to punish him.

Notes: Gender neutral, mature with pron, noncon

Thank you @bashjackie for your wonderful writing and giving me this prompt!

Divus was annoying. 

No. Not just annoying, infuriating. His constant condensing ‘good boy’ and ‘stay’ was disgusting. Not to mention when he felt the need to whip someone into shape. 

In some ways, it seemed pathetic.

He couldn’t control his students without a force. He had to treat them like fucking dogs. 

And that wasn’t the only infuriating thing about him. He just had to constantly go on about fashion, design or some other bullshit. What did that have to do with making potions, anyway? Divus is just a wannabe clothing designer. Sure, he’s sold a few lines, but the fact he spends the week teaching ‘puppies’ was enough proof of his failure. 

Maybe that was why he actually favored Schoenheit, the intelligent, strict, hot model who seemed to always have a stick up his ass. In a lot of ways, they were similar; condescending nicknames, obsession with looking good, etc. The biggest difference, however, was that Schoenheit actually seemed to have more to show for it. 

For fuck’s sake, what kind of teacher is cryptic for every lesson?

That’s what led to another rant of his about how terrible the class was. Did he really think everyone could just do such an advanced potion with no advice on quantities? Of course, the majority of the class would fail when all they could do was guess. What a waste of a teacher. Then again, it’s not like the others were better.

Grinding your teeth, you watched as Divus continued to insult everyone for being ‘bad breeds’ and completely untrainable mutts. Finally. the bell rang, freeing you all from his annoying rants, at least ‘til next class. Standing, you carefully slipped a vial out of your pocket and slipped the contents of it into his cup as he berated a ‘mutt’ for not tucking in their shirt.

Too easy. 

Almost disappointingly easy, but then again, what would a purebred show dog have to worry about from a mutt? That’s why in nature, mutts are better off than purebreds.

The effects should start in one hour. He’ll notice sooner most likely, but with another class and a teachers’ meeting, there was no way he’d have time to fix it. Just enough time for you to eat lunch and gather the rest of your ‘tools’.

                                                      ~~~

How could this have even happened? Crewel rushed into his office, locking the door behind him. He obviously wasn’t pregnant, and even more so, he wouldn’t brew a lactation potion for himself. Carelessly, he tossed his wand on his desk and began to quickly remove his coat and vest. Already, his vest had become damp from his now-lactating chest. 

Damn the headmaster and his insistent prattling, Divus thought. If he hadn’t drowned on, then I could have brewed the antidote before my clothes were ruined. 

Ruined may have been a bit harsh, but he’d definitely have to change into some spares if he wanted to leave campus with no questions asked. 

Stuck in his own head, Crewel completely missed the student standing in the corner, unknowingly giving them a show. Of course, the student couldn’t really take the time to admire their panicking teacher.

Quickly, they used a stun spell, before rushing behind their teacher and throwing him to the floor. Crewel didn’t even have a moment to gasp before he found himself frozen and thrown to the floor. Just as quickly, the student shoved some bit of plastic between his open lips and quickly hooked it behind his head, forcing Crewel to bite down on the gag. 

As much as they wanted to appreciate their teacher chewing on the bone gag, they grabbed their teacher's wrist and shoved it into the leather mitt and tied it tightly, repeating the motion as Crewel tied to figure out what was happening.

The next part was going to be difficult.

The stun spell had already begun to wear off, and even without his hands, Divus was still a capable adult. Shoveling down the teacher's body, they grabbed one of his ankles and began wrapping the leather cuff around it. Sensing that he was going to be further restrained, Crewel rolled to the side and used his unrestrained leg to kick his attacker. With a grunt, they refused to relent. They grabbed his other ankle and struggled to place the other cuff on. Even with Crewel realizing what was happening, with his hands and one ankle trapped, there wasn’t much he could do. 

Finally, the student had their teacher trapped and could admire their hard work. 

Divus laid prone on the ground trying unsuccessfully to break his restraints. His hands uselessly pawed at each other in the vain hope that he could somehow get the mitts off. 

The best feature by far, however, was his face. His hair was completely ruined from the tussle on the floor, while his chin had been covered in drool from his grunts and attempts to yell.

Something was still missing, however. 

Even with Divus struggling it didn’t feel quite like enough. That’s when their eyes landed on the teacher’s desk, where his pointer was thrown.

Perfect. 

Calmly, they strolled towards the desk, slowly picked up the pointer, and messed with the pretty red collar attached to the end. Turning back to Divus, they couldn’t help but laugh at the position he had put himself in. 

Somehow, he had managed to flip himself onto his stomach and was trying to push himself up with his knees and caged hands, sticking his ass straight up in the air. With a chuckle, they skipped towards Divus and smacked his ass with the pointer. 

With a muffled yelp, the teacher completely collapsed, making it easier for his student to turn him over onto his back and straddle his waist. Divus tried to shimmy out from beneath them, but another sharp whack, this time aimed at his face, put an end to that. 

“Divus, stay.” The words seem to not register for a minute as they stared at each other, before Divus tried to buck them off with renewed vigor. Sighing, they went to work unfastening the collar and wrap it around Divus's throat, perhaps more tightly than necessary.

 “There. Now you really look like the bitch you are.” Before Crewel could even give an indignant snarl, they had already begun tearing his shirt and tie off. A red flush covered Crewel's face as his clothing was destroyed, revealing his dripping chest. 

“Wow, Divus, when I called you a bitch, I didn’t expect you to drip like one, especially right in front of your own student!” 

Stroking one of the leaking buds, they gave it a slight tug to watch more milk drip out and pool towards Divus’s taut stomach. Divus whimpered and tried to squirm away from his student’s touch. His struggle was rewarded with a much sharper pinch this time. 

As much as watching Divus moan and squirm as his chest was toyed with was amusing, there were far more important matters to attend to. With one last rough tug to his chest, they got of Divus and went over to their backpack, which was blending in with the background. Divus tried to turn his head to see what his student was grabbing, but with a quick snap of their fingers and a “Stay Divus,” he stopped squirming and merely hoped they’d had their fun and were retrieving the keys. 

A soft rattle of something metal was heard and Divus almost wept with relief that his humiliation was coming to an end, only for his student to come back into view. 

“Aw, does puppy think he’s getting a treat?”, they chuckled. “Sadly you’ve been such a naughty thing that I’m afraid your punishment isn’t over, boy.” 

Divus’s brows furrowed in confusion as his student held up a strange, thin metal object and lubricated it in front of his face.

He didn’t have any time to try and figure out what it was for before his student went back to destroying his clothes, this time his jeans. Divus whimpered and tried to shove them off, but with his hands still bound, it was futile. Finally, Divus’s hard cock was forced into the open air. 

It seemed like time stopped as Divus stared at his leaking cock. His student let out a laugh before grasping his dick, making Divus moan.

“My, my. The puppy seems awfully excited at his punishment.” They smeared his precum around the head of his dick. “I may not even need the lube, huh?”

By now, almost all the fight was out of Divus. He merely squirmed in his bondage as they played with his dick and mocked him for being in heat. 

After what felt like an eternity, they released his cock and began slicking up the metal instrument. 

Then they began pushing one end into his slit. 

Divus nearly choked on his own spit as his struggles renewed in vigor, so much so they had to use another stun spell on him. They forced Divus to only watch as his dick was violated. Surprisingly, Divus felt very little pain as it was slowly, slowly shifted further into his cock. The only feeling was pleasurable fullness. Nerves that had never been stimulated before were played with as the instrument was pushed down. Every couple of centimetres, they would stop to massage the outside of his dick to stimulate him further. 

Finally, his dick was completely full and any further pushing only caused Divus to see stars as it hit something deep inside of his cock.

“Well puppy, how do you feel?” They mocked, going back to play with his chest. In a final act of weak defiance, Divus glared at them and tried to growl around his bone gag. In response, his student bopped his nose and stood up.

“I guess you still haven’t learned anything, puppy. I’m so disappointed.” Turning away from their captive, they retrieved their backpack and began heading towards the door, causing Divus to panic and whine once again. They couldn’t just leave him like this, could they?

“Maybe if you lie there in your mess for a few hours, you might learn.” Just as they unlocked the door, they shot an amused look back at Divus. “Good boy! Don’t forget what you’ve learned today!”

Just like that, he was left in his own office, completely trapped. Divus felt tears fill his eyes as he was left on his back, the milk from his nipples, drool, and precum mixing into his skin.

[aspenflower17]

Karaoke Night - Spicy Edition 🌶

So, this came about because I was listening to a song and I just really wanted to sing it to Levi during a karaoke night. You guys can blame Lucifer and Asmo for this turning spicy. I have included the songs down below. Please note: these are spicy! If that makes you uncomfy, don’t read :)

@rensphilia

“It should be done now,” Levi said, standing up from the large karaoke machine.

“And you added all the songs I asked you to?”

“Yup.”

Mc grinned, “Thanks Levi! I knew I could count on you.”

“It wasn’t that hard,” Levi turned and lowered his head a bit, trying to hide his face.

“Well, I appreciate it nonetheless,” Mc grinned.

“Do you wanna try it out?”

“Not right now. I’ll wait for tonight. I’ve got something special in mind.”

Mc and Levi had finally convinced all the brothers to come to karaoke night, and Mc was ready to serenade her favorite brother.

Lucifer

Mc had scoured their immense music collection looking for the perfect song for Lucifer. While there had been a lot of extremely sweet songs that could have very easily described their relationship, but the one they kept coming back to was “Master and Servant”. Not only did they think he would enjoy the song immensely, there was a large small part of them that hoped he would get flustered or at least… excited.

They waited until everyone had gotten comfortable before deciding to get up and sing. They were a bit nervous, especially since the brothers had never heard the song before. They got even more nervous when they saw everyone look over at Lucifer when the title came up. He simply kept watching them, his eyebrow lift almost imperceptible.

The opening was not sung by them and was instead the track, which they were very grateful for. When the music started, Lucifer cocked his head a bit, feeling the mood shift.

Mc started singing, feeling their confidence swell, not breaking eye contact with Lucifer.

“You treat me like a dog, get me down on my knees. We call it, `Master and servant’,” Lucifer’s eyebrows shot up at that line, and his eyes got really wide, an indication he was slightly flustered, before he started grinning predatorily. Mc grinned back, and danced a little bit until the next verse.

If Mc thought he was flustered before, the second verse made him blink a couple times, though he was smirking the whole time, his “come hither” look making them want to tease him even more by getting more animated and seductive.

Asmo whooped when Mc started completely dancing during the instrumental bridge, leaving no doubt in anyone’s mind what the song is about.

They started walking slowly towards Lucifer when the music changed at the end, giving into his bedroom eyes until they were sitting in his lap, front to front.

He humphed in the way he does, leaning forward to murmur in their ear, “I knew you enjoyed our playtime, but to dedicate a whole song… Maybe I’ll have to give you a treat tonight,” before Mc was practically pulled away by Asmo squealing about how wonderful their performance was.

Mammon

Mammon had been enjoying himself and had even sung a song of two himself. Mc figured it was time to sing him their song. The song choice had taken a little bit of debate on their part, but they felt their feelings for him were best expressed by “Make Me Feel”.

Before they went up, Mc had leaned over to Mammon and whispered, “I’m dedicating this one to you,” which made his eyes light up. Before he had the chance to ask any questions, Mc was already on their way to the microphone.

The music started, and Mc smirked at Mammon. He looked excited, but almost... cautious, as if he could tell what Mc was about to do to him.

Mc closed their eyes, so they couldn’t see his reaction until the chorus. They snapped their eyes open and looked directly at him, delighting in what they saw.

They had thoroughly flustered the Avatar of Greed. Face red enough to almost be concerning if they didn’t already know him. He was leaning forward, hands clasped in front of his mouth, eyes greedily watching them as if it was a private show just for him, which it basically was (Mc was extremely glad he’d forgotten his brother’s were around, as he would’ve spent the entire time trying to get them not to watch).

Mammon averted his eyes, actually bending his head to look at the ground, once he saw Mc watching. Mc strode forward, putting one finger under his chin to lift his gaze to meet theirs. His head moved readily, and grinned cheekily at the act. To make sure he didn’t look away again, took his sunglasses and put them on, essentially marking themselves as his. He leaned back in his seat, running his hands through his hair, something Mc loved.

The energy building between them was blasted out the window when he saw almost all of his brothers either filming him or Mc at the end of the song.

“Oi! Why’re you filmin’ me Asmo?! Put down your phone!” then “Belphie! Ya better delete tha’ video of Mc right now!”

Mc sighed, shaking their head but smiling slightly.

Leviathan

Mc loved the song “Talk Nerdy to Me” a parody of “Talk Dirty to Me”. After meeting Levi, they just couldn’t get the image of singing it to him during karaoke out of their head. He was often trying to get them to go sing karaoke with him but Mc often declined saying they didn’t know enough Devildom music to sing karaoke. He had eventually offered to transfer over some of their “normie music” if they agreed to go with him. Originally, it was supposed to be just the two of them, but when his brothers had heard Mc was going, they all decided to join in. Levi had complained, but Mc had a master plan, one that might put his envy at bay for a little bit.

Mc decided to go first. Levi was okay with it, though Mc didn’t miss his muttered comment about “normie music”. Oh, was he in for a surprise.

The music started, and Mc could almost feel Levi’s disappointment that it wasn’t an anime opening. Mc raised their eyebrows at him briefly, before plunging into the song.

Mc watched as Levi slowly understood what it was Mc was doing. He looked at his brothers when the first human media reference was made, and when he realized none of them understood what Mc was talking about he started beaming. 

It was a bit short lived though, as his mind caught up and started processing just how suggestive the lyrics were. And how the music was suggestive. And how Mc’s look was extremely suggestive.

He blushed, hard, hiding behind his hand and hair, though he kept looking up whenever he thought Mc wasn’t watching. The next time he looked up, Mc was standing right in front of him. They plopped down on his lap, and they were worried he would pass out right there and then.

It happened to be right before the rap part, which Mc had completely rewritten to only include all of Levi’s favorite things. The otaku couldn’t take his eyes off of them, TSL and Ruri-chan being included in the song among other things, and Mc knew they had him.

Dancing back up to the stage, Mc reveled in his blush, and felt very accomplished that he continued to watch them (even if it was through his fringe.

The end of the song was met with confused clapping from the rest of the brother’s but Levi walked right up to them.

“I want to sing you a song next.”

Satan

After going though a lot of different songs, Mc eventually landed on Fever by Michael Buble. 

When the slow seductive music started, Mc looked over to Satan who had brought his hand to his mouth, curious about what was about to happen.

Mc had thought of little movements and moves to the music back when they were still in the Human Realm, and they employed them here, trying to accurately follow all the inflections and feeling Buble had given the song originally.

Mc watched Satan start to flush a bit, though they didn’t know if it was from embarrassment or pleasure. He was smirking though. 

The literary reference made him smile. He had often gone off about how dumb Romeo and Juliet was. Now however, he now understood the feeling of needing someone else, and had told Mc about it multiple times.

Mc changed the whole part about Pocahontas. Even though they didn’t know if he was even aware of the story, they knew most of the story was inaccurate. Instead, they wrote their own verse about Beauty and the Beast, a book and movie they both loved.

By the end of the song, Satan was grinning like the Cheshire cat, looking rather satisfied with the exchange student. He walked up to the stage and gave them a kiss on the cheek, “Wonderful performance Mc.  If you’d like, I would be more than happy to get out of here and explore this phenomena you sang about.”

Unfortunately that would have to wait, as the other brothers started congratulating Mc on their performance.

Asmodeus

“You’re going to sing me a song?” Asmo asked.

Mc smiled mischievously, getting up and walking confidently up to the stage. They had fine tuned their appearance to still be socially acceptable, but it was definitely spicy. It had to be if they were going to sing S&M to the Avatar of Lust!

Asmo squealed when the song title came on screen. Mc wasn’t sure if it was because he recognized the song or because of the title itself.

The song started, and Mc looked at Asmo the whole time, who was filming the whole thing, until the first verse started when they would look around, obviously into the song, lightly touching their own chest, or running a hand down their thigh, but their eyes would always find Asmo’s afterwards.

They watched his excitement grow each time they did, until he just couldn’t take it anymore. The said something to Satan, handed his phone over to him, and ran up on stage just in time for the chorus. Mc thought he was going to try to upstage them, but surprisingly, he just sat on the stool they had up there, and gazed at them, his eyes drinking them in, head in his hands.

Mc continued to do the same thing as before, but found themselves strutting over to him, and started touching him lightly in much the same way they had to themselves. Asmo drank up the attention, his eyes rolling back in his head multiple times in pleasure.

He then grabbed Mc, and sat them solidly in his lap. He started rubbing and touching their thighs, chest, arms, humming the song the whole time. Mc found it very hard to focus on the song at that point, a small part of their brain rejoicing they’d practiced the song as much as they had.

The last part of the song was cut off, as Mammon cut the music. Mc continued the song, but both her and Asmo were reminded they were in a public place, and they had gotten pretty… handsy. Some demons were watching them with interest, but most looked EXTREMELY uncomfortable.

“Just get a room, you two,” Satan sighed, walking up and handing Asmo his phone.

“Oh! What a good idea,” Asmo exclaimed, and then turned to Mc, “This was almost too much fun though. Wanna sing me this again when we’re alone?”

Beelzebub

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XD9nB7PFA2o (sorry! Tumblr won’t allow me to put in any more videos!!)

Mc got up on stage, and took another sucker out of it’s wrapping, “I’d like to dedicate this song to Beel,” they said, very innocently, smiling over at him. He beamed, his smile clearly visible from where he was sitting. Mc grinned, and popped the lollipop into their mouth. Belphie had helped enchant the sucker so that wouldn’t mess up their singing voice, and would have other properties. 

The song started, and Mc started singing the female part, the male part being sung by the track. Beel seemed confused by the music selection, but happy nonetheless. That was when he noticed. As they sang, they danced a bit, lifting their arms revealing their stomach and therefore their pact mark with Beel. The lollipops had been enchanted to make his pact mark glow when they sang. Beel looked at them as it came to an instrumental part, and Mc started licking their sucker dramatically, tongue out of their mouth.

Then the first chorus started and Mc looked straight at him. They watched the recognition of what the lyrics were talking about set in. His face was red, but his eyes were glued to Mc. The attention emboldened Mc, dancing the way Belphie had said Beel liked. 

Mc didn’t look much at Beel during the chorus, but when they looked again, he had moved right up to the stage. He was looking at them in a way that reminded them of a very hungry kid that’s just waiting for desert, though more intense. Not wanting their show to be cut short, they danced to where they knew they were out of his reach. They spared a glance to where the other brothers were sitting to see Belphie giving them a thumbs up.

Every chance they got, the sucker was on their tongue or in their mouth and Beel’s hungry look got more and more intense. When the guy was only singing, Mc strutted teasingly around the stage, looking over their shoulder at Beel multiple times, before they started singing again for the last time. They knew he wasn’t going to last until the end, so they walked over once they were done with their part, and allowed him to grab them.

Which he did. Promptly. He then took them from the building and burt into demon form to fly them somewhere they could be alone.

Belphegor

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TduHf1tWDvI

Belphie had been reluctant to come, and Mc eventually promised him they would sing a song specifically for him if he came. They were already planning on it; he just made them ruin the surprise by being difficult. He had been relatively quiet all night until the next song was to be chosen. Then it was always Mc’s turn to sing. They wouldn’t give him what he wanted until the very end of the night.

He stared at them through half lidded eyes, as they took to the stage and the music started. Once the music changed and he heard Mc laugh and then scream a bit though, he was wide awake. The opening of the chorus had him smirking, the languid bedroom eyes he was shooting their way making their heart race a bit. The verse had him leaning forward unconsciously, and… was that his tail moving around behind him?

(Obviously Mc will change any words necessary to fit their pronouns)

During the rap, Mc started dancing, occasionally looking at Belphie seductively wondering what kind of effect they were having on him. The effect in question had his violet eyes wide open, pupils blown, biting his lower lip, leaning forward as far as his chair would allow, seeming both to want to go watch the show up close but also not wanting to move. The fact he wouldn’t move made Mc dance even more teasingly, knowing just want he wanted to see.

[passionate-reply]

This week on Great Albums: Can you really try your hand at being a pop act with a name like “Severed Heads”? Despite a background in experimental, underground industrial music, these Australians made a pretty serviceable go at it. Find out more by watching the video or reading the full transcript below the break.

Welcome to Passionate Reply, and welcome to Great Albums! For today’s installment, I’ll be looking at Rotund For Success, first released in 1989 by the Australian electronic act, the Severed Heads. If you’re familiar with the Severed Heads, you might be aware that some people consider them to be an industrial band. But, as is often the case with such labels, it’s one that the artists themselves would reject--not to mention many listeners and fans, in turn. I, for one, have heard them described as the industrial version of “elevator music,” and while I find that hard to imagine, I can sort of see it. Wherever you might fall on this issue, there are certainly strong elements of both synth-pop and dance music in much of the Severed Heads catalogue--as on one of their best known tracks, “Hot With Fleas.”

Music: “Hot With Fleas”

First released on their 1987 LP Bad Mood Guy, “Hot With Fleas” won some club play in its own time and remains one of the best known Severed Heads tracks. Structurally, it’s a fairly typical Severed Heads composition, combining sample-heavy experimental percussion grooves with a slight hint of a playful melody. Despite its danceability, “Hot With Fleas” also betrays the group’s love for the vile and repulsive, chiefly in its imagery of being infested with itchy parasites. The sense of disgust, combined with the heavy, clattering percussion, together make the strongest case for an interpretation of the music as a part of the industrial tradition. But whatever we choose to call this style, the Severed Heads would take an increasingly pop approach on Rotund For Success--without losing all of those more subversive themes.

Music: “All Saints’ Day”

“All Saints’ Day” served as the album’s opening track as well as its second single. All Saints’ Day is, of course, a feast associated with historical observation of Halloween, which might serve to make the track come across as a little bit “spooky.” The use of squealing or screeching samples here may be an extension of that theme as well. Perhaps the most noticeable difference between “Hot With Fleas” and “All Saints’ Day” is that the latter is much more melody-centered; where “Hot With Fleas” was content to have its melodic hook either buried in the mix, stuttered into oblivion, or both, “All Saints’ Day” feels more like a pop song that happens to have an out-there percussion track. In addition to some fairly clean and pretty synth work, “All Saints’ Day” also seems to take a step back from some of the more perturbed lyricism from earlier in the Severed Heads catalogue, focusing on an individual who seems to struggle with issues of faith. The narrator feels unable to see themselves in the lives of the saints, but also asserts, in the song’s powerful refrain, that they are “willing to believe,” and strive for greatness nonetheless. While not preoccupied with “filth” as “Hot With Fleas” was, there’s still a sort of sinister undercurrent to “All Saints’ Day”: does it imply that the narrator’s faith is an impediment in their life, something that holds them back or prevents them from feeling confident? Religious faith is also the main theme of the album’s best-known single, “Greater Reward.”

Music: “Greater Reward”

Both in its actual chart performance, as well as in structure and style, “Greater Reward” is the closest thing to a pop hit that you’ll find on Rotund For Success. While it has a broad similarity to “All Saints’ Day,” it’s a bit like “All Saints’ Day” with all of its knobs turned up: brighter synth, more toylike percussion, and an enthralling, soaring refrain. “Greater Reward” feels captivatingly confident, almost swaggering--a real feat for Severed Heads vocalist Tom Ellard, whose distinctively thin or frail voice might be compared to that of Neil Tennant, of Pet Shop Boys fame. Another thing that “Greater Reward” seems to have escalated compared to “All Saints’ Day” is its lyrical subtext. Where “All Saints’ Day” portrays a struggling believer, the narrator of “Greater Reward” is perhaps a little too confident in their belief--so zealous that they seem to shun the earthly pleasures of love in favour of the titular “Greater Reward” of the afterlife. It’s easy to see how this track more clearly portrays religion as a net negative, even in the face of its simperingly cheerful melody. The track “First Steps” tackles the theme of religion in a more oblique manner.

Music: “First Steps”

The title of “First Steps” obviously implies the first attempts of a child to start walking, and the song’s remarkably slow, plodding pace also evokes the idea of a hesitant and clumsy attempt at something. It’s tempting to interpret the lyrics of the song as being things that might be told to children when they’re very young, particularly the refrain, “if you tell lies, an angel dies.” This line seems to give a third independent critique of religion: not only can it confuse those who want to do good, and cause people to neglect happiness during the one life they know they have, but it also plays a role in the indoctrination of young children, with this lyric portraying a spectral punishment that awaits wrongdoers. But the real reason people shouldn’t lie is that it harms other people here on Earth...right? In another “fairy tale” turn, the narrator suggests visiting “somebody where love is money,” only to conclude that “you can’t pay yourself, to fill yourself with desire for someone.” Perhaps this is a maxim or cliche, in some other universe. And perhaps it’s true--at some point, no matter what age we are, we have to learn that love isn’t a commodity, but rather a feeling, that can only be freely given. While I’ve emphasized the religious themes on this album a lot, not all tracks on Rotund For Success seem preoccupied with it. Take, for example, “Big Car.”

Music: “Big Car”

With the longest runtime of anything on the album, even without including a separate two-minute track that precedes it simply named “Big Car Intro,” “Big Car” certainly feels like something of a centerpiece for the album. It begins the second side of the LP, and it was released as a single, though to significantly less success than the others. Starting off with a frightful crash of breaking glass, “Big Car” is quick to introduce us to the Severed Heads’ hallmark hypnotic rhythm, and its plaintive, slightly nervous melody. The narrator of “Big Car” addresses someone who has perhaps done them wrong in the past, asking them to visit, and promising them that “never an unkind word need be said, about [their] life overhead.” If “Greater Reward” projected confidence, then “Big Car” suggests fragility, with a narrator who seems to be putting on a happy face to disguise their desperation. A more pop-minded listener might read this as a tale of a lover who’s been cheated on, crawling back to the person who betrayed them. But at the same time, there’s nothing that really suggests that this song is about a romantic relationship between the two. I think a lot of Severed Heads tracks fall into this musical “uncanny valley,” with elements of pop as well as more underground or experimental music, and perhaps to some extent what we choose to interpret in their work has more to do with us listeners than the Severed Heads. At any rate, though it may have some synth-pop DNA, “Big Car” is far from a typical pop song, with its meandering, mostly instrumental structure.

While earlier Severed Heads albums often featured grotesque and gruesome imagery, the cover of Rotund For Success eschews that in favour of an almost pithy or banal design, dominated by a large, floating pumpkin. While an argument could be made linking the pumpkin emblem with the theme of “All Saints’ Day,'' I'm inclined to interpret it as something created to be aggressively and offensively meaningless, like a corporate logo that’s been focus-groupped into a semiotic void. The album’s title perhaps also suggests a meaningless slogan for some useless product, with the word “success” serving as a stand-in for anything and everything that the consumer might desire. Much as the Severed Heads’ earlier work centered the grotesque, musically, lyrically, and visually, the move towards a cheekily trite cover and title mirror the way this album took their sound into a more subtly mocking direction. Overall, *Rotund For Success* is an album that snubs the gory details in favour of making a more abstract commentary, and I think the surface-level prettiness that this album offers makes it an enticing first look at an act with a very complex legacy.

While the Severed Heads enjoyed a perhaps surprising amount of mainstream acclaim with Rotund For Success, as well as a remix of their earlier track “Dead Eyes Opened" at around this same time, they would soon fade back into the obscurity that one generally expects of grotesque and experimental music. Their follow-up LP, the more guitar-curious Cuisine (With Piscatorial), failed to reach the same levels of crossover interest, and it would become their final release on Nettwerk Records before being dropped by the label.

Music: “Estrogen”

My favourite track from Rotund For Success is the enigmatic “LFM.” What does “LFM” stand for? Well, I’m really not sure, but the lyrics of this track suggest that we ought to feel “the power and the glory” of it. Given the religious themes of “All Saints’ Day” and “Greater Reward,” it seems possible that “LFM” is something to put one’s faith in even if we don’t understand it. But whatever it is, this track’s outro is positively sublime, with what sounds like a chorus of chirping birds to play us out. It’s rare that you hear such a nature-inspired sound in industrial music, but it really works well here, and reminds me a bit of Gary Numan’s “Engineers.” That’s all for today--thanks for listening!

Music: “LFM”

[satansliteraryhero]

The First Female Host - Ouran High School Host Club

Summary:

After transferring to Ouran Academy, your first day ends with you joining the host club as their first official female host.

Fandom:

Ouran High School Host Club

Pairing:

(Light) Tamaki x Reader

WARNINGS:

MENTIONS OF ANXIETY, LIGHT SWEARING

Words:

2,276

A/N:

I’m not sure if this will turn into a series or not. Also, Haruhi does not exist in this universe. Hope you all enjoy! :)

The sound of your heels clicked against the smooth marble flooring of Ouran Academy. You had just transferred as a first-year. So here you were, walking down the halls in search of your first class of the day, Class 1-A.

As you walked you could clearly hear all of the other girls talking about you, whispering and gossiping into the ears of anyone who would listen. While most would crumble due to the anxiety of their peering eyes, you quite enjoyed the attention and kept walking with your head held high, besides, there is no such thing as bad press.

Your family appeared to be ‘mysterious’ to most. Despite your high ranking in the world, you made sure to stay out of the news, more specifically, most of the world was unaware you even existed. Your father descended from royals, but he didn’t let that define him or his family. You could have easily shown up today in a limo, or carriage, or even a helicopter, wearing the most expensive pieces of jewelry you owned, flaunting your wealth and making even some of the richest kids at this school feel like disgusting and worthless street rats, but you didn’t. You didn’t care for all that stuff, you just wanted to attend the school like a normal kid, make friends like a normal kid, and have fun like a normal kid.

You finally reached the door to Class 1-A. You had worn the girls school uniform today with a side bag for your books. So, with two strands of your Y/H/C hair tied back with a simple white ribbon, you opened the door and stepped inside.

As soon as you stepped inside, all eyes were immediately on you. No, it wasn’t because you were late. And no, it wasn’t because you were hideous, in fact, you were very beautiful, having a pure beauty to yourself that you knew others envied, but even then that’s not why people stared at you. It was because you were new. To them, you were a mysterious piece of fresh meat, but I suppose, fresh meat is better than being seen as a spoiled brat.

You quickly scanned the room in search of where to sit. Most of the seats were taken except two, one next to a pair of wildly identical twins, or next to a scary-looking girl that looked like she would break every single bone in your royal body... you quickly made your way over to the twins. You placed your bag on your chair, making sure to take out the books you needed to start the lesson.

You turn and smile to the twins before speaking, “Hello, my name is Y/N! I just transferred here. What are your guys’ names?”

They looked at each other, seeming to give one another a silent approval to answer the question, they both turned towards you, “I’m Kaoru,” the one closet one to you says.

“And I’m Hikaru,” the one to his right says.

They both begin speaking simultaneously, “We’re the Hitachiin twins! It’s a pleasure to meet you Y/N!”

You smiled kindly, “It’s a pleasure to meet you both as well.”

You realized quickly that your conversation had ended at you turned back to the board. Hitachiin, you recognized the last name. Their mother, Yuzuha Hitachiin, was a well-known fashion designer. Although you had never worn one of her pieces, you admired her work. The teacher walked into the class, your attention snapping to him as he began class.

The school day finished quicker than you anticipated and you realized that you have yet to make any real friends, besides the Hitachiin twins, but they don’t count since you’re barely their acquaintance. You walk around the school in an attempt to find a quiet place to read. Reading has always been something you loved, ever since you were a child, of course back then your mother would have to read to you, but you still enjoyed every second of it.

After walking for what felt like days, you reached a quiet hallway, spotting a room labeled Music Room 3. You pressed your ear against the door, checking for any practicing musicians. You didn’t hear any instruments so after taking a deep breath, you opened the door.

The aroma of rose petals filled your senses as you let your Y/E/C eyes get accustomed to the bright light. You blinked a few times before looking back up, shocked to spot six boys staring at you. You were even more shocked to spot Kaoru and Hikaru among them, they even appeared to be a little surprised themselves at seeing you there.

Before you were able to greet them, an attractive blonde boy with deep violet eyes spoke up with a velvety voice, “Ah, a new guest! Welcome, Princess, my name is Tamaki, the King around here. The Ouran Host Club welcomes you!”

He had moved forward while talking so he now stood right in front of you, he grabbed your hand and before you had time to question his forwardness (and gross use of the pet name ‘Princess’), he pulled you into his chest, “Now tell me, which one of us do you find the most attractive?”

He stared into your eyes before twirling you around so your back was now pressing into his chest, giving you a view of the others. At first, you spotted the twins, they seemed to be avoiding your gaze and you being too embarrassed to smile, you looked at the rest of the boys. It immediately caught onto you that each of them seemed to have a sort of stereotypical character trait that made them stand out. You assumed Kaoru and Hikaru were known for being identical twins (obviously). You looked at the boy standing next to them, he was big and scary looking, but on his shoulders sat a smaller boy holding a stuffed pink bunny rabbit who looked like a harmless little kid. Aha! The opposite duo, the innocent child, and the intimidating yet gentle beast. You then brought your gaze to the boy on their left. He had gentle yet firm eyes and on his face he was sporting a pair of glasses, so he was probably the brainiac. And the jackass blonde behind you who manhandled you is the obviously the leader of the group, or in another term, the king. But why have a bunch of different attractive characters? Then it clicked, Ouran Host Club!

Time to have a little fun with these boys. You turned around, placing your hands on Tamaki’s chest and making sure to appear as though you were blushing and shy, keeping your voice high pitched you said, “Well gosh! I’m not sure! It’s so hard to decide... C-can I be honest?”

He leaned in, resting his hands around your waist and lower back. Even though you knew he was just trying to seduce you, you couldn’t help the chills that rand down your spine and the butterflies you felt in your stomach.

You quickly recovered, looking into his eyes through your long and delicate eyelashes, “None of you.”

You aggressively pushed him off you, making him stumble a little.

You faced all the boys and smirked, “I know what operation you’re running here, and let me tell you, your little tactics aren’t going to work on me.”

Tamaki brushed off his uniform jacket before looking at you and calmly asking, “Tell us then, what operation are we running here?”

“You’re a host club, entertainers, a brothel of sorts.”

All the boys gasped, Tamaki seeming to look the most hurt, “Brothel?! We’re not a brothel! We’re hosts, are job is to make women happy!”

I rolled my eyes, “Right, anyway, I’m assuming you’re somehow profiting off this service of yours, so that’s even more shallow.”

You turn around, facing the blonde boy, “And you,” you point a finger at him with a stern look on your face, “I know the likes of you. All charm yet they’re all full of lies. Boys like you, ones that are narcissistic and egocentric, are more hideous than any beast.”

He gasped, and you knew you got under his skin. You now stood right in front of him, feeling the eyes of the boys on you, “Because boys like you are rotting on the inside, which automatically makes you disgusting and vile looking all around, no matter how,” you look him up and down, clearly checking him out, “appealing you are to the eyes.”

As you stepped back, you saw that Tamaki was blushing and you couldn’t tell if it was from embarrassment or from you checking him out.

He began to stutter but you turned back towards the boys, “I hope you all know that there’s more to life than just being a stereotype.”

You turn towards the door, ready to leave when you hear one of the boys call out, “Wait!”

With an eye roll, you stop and spin on your heels, raising a questioning eyebrow.

The one with the glasses spoke up, “What do you mean by, ‘stereotype’?”

“I mean, every boy in this room is a different stereotype, a different character if you will. Hikaru and Kaoru are the wildly identical twins, these two are the gentle giant and childish little boy duo, you are the kind brainiac, and Tamaki is the king, correct?”

The boy with glasses raised his eyebrows slightly in surprise, signaling that indeed you were correct.

Tamaki spoke up, “Wait a minute! I told you my name, but I never told you Hikaru and Kaoru’s. How do you know them?”

“I wouldn’t say I really know them, we just introduced ourselves in the class we share.”

Tamaki looked to the twins for confirmation, they both nodded before speaking, “It’s true, this is Y/N, she’s a first year. We share Class 1-A.”

Tamaki pursed his lips, “Y/N, huh? That’s a lovely name. Tell me, are you the new student that just transferred here?”

You look Tamaki in the eyes before speaking, “Yes, I am.”

The childish blonde boy spoke up this time, “My name is Mitsukuni Haninozuka, but you can call me Honey Senpai! This here is Takashi Morinozuka! And you can call him Mori Senpai!”

Ahhh, the Haninozuka’s and the Morinozuka’s, amazing fighters. Their family’s had a lot of history together, and history with your own family as well. Your great grandfather and both Honey Senpai and Mori Senpai’s grandfathers were good friends, and to this day your families were still friends. Although, this was the first time you had ever seen them in person.

Honey pointed to the boy with the glasses, “This is Kyoya Ootori, also known as Kyoya Senpai! And him over there,” he pointed to Tamaki, “That’s Tamaki Suoh, Tamaki Senpai! He’s our king!”

Ootori, his father owned The Ootori Group, a large and successful medical facility. And Suoh, his father was the chairman, your father had spoken to him about you transferring here.

The twins stepped forward, “And you already know us, Y/N.”

You gave a nod and a smile, “Indeed I do.”

You heard Tamoki grumble but ignored him as Kyoya spoke up, “Say, Y/N, what’s your last name?”

Your eyes involuntarily widened. If you told them your last name, no matter how much your parents shielded you from the news and public, they’d still be able to find out who you were. Did it matter to you if they knew? I mean, the school will found out eventually, right?

You looked him in the eyes, forcing your voice to come out steady, “Y/L/N. My name is Y/N Y/L/N.”

Kyoya’s eyes widened a little and you knew that he recognized you. You had to admit, he was smart.

Tamaki spoke up, “Y/L/N? Where have I heard that before?”

“Yeah,” Honey agreed, “The last name seems very familiar to me!”

Kyoya answered their questions, “Her father owns Y/L/N Jewelers, a jewelry company known worldwide for their intricate, handcrafted creations. Plus, her father is of royal blood.”

All the boys’ mouths were agape except for Mori and Kyoya.

“So, you’re like, very rich?” Tamaki asked in a weak voice.

You giggled at his drama, “Yes, I’m very rich. But you see, I don’t go around flaunting my money or power, in fact, I’d rather nobody else knew my real identity. So if you could keep that secret, that would be great.”

“Woah, woah, woah!” Hikaru spoke up, “You know that you’re the most powerful and wealthiest one at this school and your choosing not to say anything?! Do you realize how popular you could be?! Girls will envy you, boys will want to be with you! You’re just going to throw that all away?!”

You pretended to think about it for a second, “Yeah, pretty much. Anyway, I should get going, see you guys!”

“Hold it!” Tamaki shouted, “Let’s say, we don’t want to keep your secret? What if we want to tell the whole school?”

“I mean, although I’d prefer you not to, I can’t stop you. Well, technically I can, but I won’t.”

Honey spoke, “So you’re not going to tell people but you won’t stop us if we want to?”

I smiled and nodded, “Correct, Honey Senpai.”

“You’re the weirdest girl I’ve ever met,” Kaoru said.

“Y/N,” Kyoya caught your attention, “How would you feel about being our first female host?”

Tamaki’s jaw nearly dropped to the floor and your eyes widened in surprise at his offer, “Oh, well, I’m not sure, you guys seem to have your own little thing going on and I don’t want to intrude and-“

“Please, you wouldn’t be intruding. I can see you have lots of potential, You’re pretty, I can see you have fire in you, and you figured out our character’s quicker than anyone we’ve ever seen.”

You brushed off his compliment and thought about his offer. Be a host? But don’t they entertain girls? Although you don’t really care, don’t they already do that on their own?

“I wouldn’t be bringing you any business, I’m sure there aren’t many girls who would be interested.”

Kyoya shook his head, “You wouldn’t host to girls, Y/N, you’d host to boys.”

“Oh.”

Hosting to boys? That could be interesting.

“So what do you say?”

“Um, sure, I guess. It could actually be pretty fu-“

“Hold it right there!” Tamaki cried, “She can’t just join our club! Not without getting the approval of daddy!”

The other boys looked at Tamaki with an irritated glare. You tried not to laugh at the fact that he just referred to himself as ‘daddy’.

He laughed nervously, “And without the approval of the other hosts too.”

You turned to him with a bored expression, “Okay. How do I get your ‘approval’, oh wise king!”

His face lit up at my use of his title but quickly fell when he realized I was being sarcastic, “You’ll have to show us that you can actually host, you’ll have to woo one of us. And then we’ll vote if you can join, majority rules. Deal?”

He stuck out his hand for me to shake. I couldn’t help but feel as though I was making a deal with the devil. Wasn’t Lucifer said to be devilishly handsome as well?

I shook his hand, smirking, “Deal.”

[bangtanstorytimetheater]

Virtuoso - A MYG Story

CHAPTER ONE

ONE

"We've decided to transfer you to the Chattanooga store."

My manager's words felt like a bad breakup. I felt my heart sink in my chest. This transfer, though unexpected and utterly terrifying, was going to be a huge leap in my career.

The music company I worked for was a small, but very well-respected chain in the tri-state area. I was proud to hold a position there, hosting field trips for elementary-aged children, and helping students demo instruments to find the perfect one. It was a rewarding job that I looked forward to every day, and I was eternally grateful for the opportunity. This transfer would have me leading the new field trip program that the company was getting ready to roll out at the other store.

I had worked at Bangtan Band Box, or BB's as the locals called it, for nearly four years. It was a great place to work, and I had watched business really take off over the time I'd been there. Thanks to a recent year-long renovation project at the store, all of the studios were now equipped with gorgeous new digital pianos and state-of-the-art soundproof walls. Everyone was thrilled with the way it turned out. We even had a grand re-opening block party. Of course, without fail, there was always at least one person who still had a complaint about something.

"The sound on these things just isn't the same. The keys don't feel right. It's not a piano..."

Ninety-two year old Jane Young was the sweetest little lady I had ever met. She was probably the only person at this store whose complaints didn't annoy me. We had grown incredibly close over the past few years I'd worked there. She was a sort of relic, being the very first ever piano teacher to teach lessons at BB's original location. Mrs. Young was the childhood piano teacher of the company CEO, and he had insisted on bringing her onboard when he opened up shop over thirty years ago.

"Jane, I completely understand where you're coming from," I said, reaching out to place my hand over hers on the counter, "They really don't feel the same as acoustic pianos, but admittedly they are pretty nice. At least we'll save a few thousand dollars a year on tuning. And I suppose all we can do at this point is just make the best of it, right?" I smiled, hoping to pull her out of her funk. Jane had been through so much over the years, spending nearly every day of the past three decades in this place, and she was not keen on all the sudden changes.

"You really are wise beyond your years, Faye. I suppose I could at least appreciate the new carpet. That iced tea stain from three years ago will certainly not be missed." she chuckled.

There's the Jane I was hoping to see today,  especially  today. Should I tell her? No, not yet.

The Following Monday

"Faye! How've you been?" Jin flashed his familiar warm smile and casually held up a hand in a lazy wave. He was always so soft spoken, but still cracking quiet jokes that had you in stitches. He'd worked at the Chattanooga BB's for a few years and we'd known each other from district meetings. He was still fairly new to being an assistant manager, but seemed to be pretty comfortable in his position.

"A bit nervous about the sudden change, but I'm looking forward to working with you. Glad that you're here on my first day. Makes it a lot easier, that's for sure." I sighed. Despite years of auditions and stressful interviews in my music career, meeting new people was still sometimes a bit stressful for me.

DING!

This store had a very loud door chime, entirely different from the one at my previous store. It was jarring, making me jump. Jin let out a louder laugh than I had ever heard come from him. I suppose being in his own store, he probably felt more at-ease than when he was attending the stuffy district meetings. It was nice to hear him laugh so genuinely.

"Didn't you guys have a bell like that at your store?" he asked, setting down his keys next to the register and taking off his coat.

"Nope. And I startle easily, so this will take some getting used to I bet."

"Hey man!" I heard a booming, but cheerful-sounding voice from somewhere over my shoulder. I turned to see a beautiful man with warm, honey skin walking towards me, his dusty blue sweater and light blue jeans accentuating his perfect tan. He had just walked in through the front door and was sweeping his wind-blown golden brown hair out of his eyes. He had a guitar case slung over his shoulder, covered in happy stickers - rainbow flowers, smiley faces, Korean hearts, and the words HOPE WORLD in big, bubbled letters across the center of the case lid.

He must be a teacher here.

"Hope! Hey, this is our new transfer, Faye Jansen. She just moved here from the Woodland Hills store. Faye, this is Hope." Jin said as he motioned towards the statuesque man in blue who was now standing face to face with me at the counter. Hope flashed me a huge, toothy smile as he carefully dropped his guitar case to the floor next to him and extended his hand to shake mine.

"Pleasure to meet you, Faye. What a nice surprise!" he smiled and squeezed my hand gently, "You can call me Hobi."

Why do I feel a little flustered? Is it warm in here or...?

Nevermind.

"Y-yes. Thank you. The pleasure is all mine. It is wonderful to meet you, Hobi. What instrument do you teach?" I asked, trying to turn the attention away from myself. I had seen the guitar case, so he was obviously a guitar instructor, but I was too flustered to think straight. I wasn't normally shy around anyone, but he was strikingly handsome, in a way I had not seen in real life before, so I almost needed a moment to catch my breath.

He seemed to notice that I was feeling a little flustered, glanced down at the guitar case then back up at me and smiled, seeming a little amused.

"Guitar. I assume you play something as well?" he asked, his fingers fidgeting with the strap of the clear plastic messenger bag slung over his shoulder.

"I studied classical voice in college, but I also play oboe and piano. I did all the demos for the field trips at the Woodland Hills BB's." I was proud of what I did, but I wasn't trying to sound too proud. Musicians can take perceived cockiness to be a huge turn-off.

"Ah, wind instruments. I envy that. I could never get past my initial few trumpet lessons as a kid. I thought I was going to pop a blood vessel in my face!" he laughed, "So instead I break old peoples' hips."

"Oh yeah?" I laughed, "That sounds terrible. Care to elaborate on that?"

"A group of us here have a jazz ensemble. We play shows every Thursday and Saturday. The older folks love to get up and dance. Let's just say that sometimes they dance themselves right into needing a wheelchair the next day. Anyway, we get pretty decent paying gigs at The Yeontan Lounge, playing all the old jazz standards. You should join us sometime. We love having other artists step in. Speaking of, Jin will you be at practice tonight?" Hobi said, suddenly turning towards Jin.

"You're in the ensemble too, Jin? That's amazing. What do you play?" I asked, excited to hear more about the group, and especially excited to hear them play.

"Upright bass. You should sing with us tonight, Faye. I heard you sing karaoke at the company party a few years ago. You sounded great. Are you still performing these days?" Jin asked.

"I haven't performed in quite a few months, but I'm sure I can manage a casual jam session tonight. What song should I prepare for you?" I asked, my disciplined mind already scrambling to come up with the perfect piece for my vocal range.

"Why don't you sing At Last by Etta James? That's a classic. Can't go wrong there." Jin suggested, glancing over at Hope for approval.

Hobi stuck out his lower lip and nodded, raising his eyebrows. He seemed pleased at the song suggestion.

"Hearing a classical singer take on At Last is going to be something special, I bet. Looking forward to it," he said. "See you tonight."

"Likewise," I said, watching him walk towards the hall of studios.

DING!

There's that goddamn door chime again.

Startled at the sound, I clumsily dropped the pen I had been holding against my notebook, and it loudly clinked on the glass countertop.

As I reached to pick it up, embarrassed at my unintended slapstick routine, out of the corner of my eye, I could see someone walking in my direction from the front door.

I looked up, and it was as if time slowed to a crawl. My eyes met the gaze of a tall, slender man with shaggy black hair and smooth, porcelain skin, wearing a button-up denim jacket, skinny jeans, and converse - all black. He didn't stop walking, but our eyes locked until he was out of view.

Instantly, I felt this surge of electricity throughout my body, as if he physically touched me when he walked past me. It was strange... and exhilarating. His deep chocolate eyes had so much fire behind them, they burned straight into my soul.

I had to know his name.

________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Thank you for reading the first chapter of my book! I'll be updating every Sunday at the very least, but hopefully more frequently than that.

Looking forward to your feedback and suggestions!

This first chapter is dedicated to the lovely 0o_pervy_noona_oO who started me on my Bangtan ff addiction, and inspired me to write my own.

[crystallinecrimsonmoth]

Moon City Don't Judge - Chapter 1

1983, NSAS Headquarters, Edinburgh, Scotland

“So this is for the newest Jamestown mission, then? What number are these Yankees on now?”

“Jamestown 85.”

“Oh, well I sure am flattered to be allowed in this late in the game. What did they tell you?”

“They’re trying to look international after the Russians had that mission with the French.”

Heather McKay snorted at that, taking the folder from Marcus and flicking through the pictures of the recent mission that had been broadcast on TV for the whole world to see just how friendly Russia were now.

The image of two astronauts with contrasting flags on their arms made her smirk a little. Since unilaterally declaring independence after World War Two, Scotland had become a far more passive nation, leaving larger countries like the US and the Soviet Union to sort out their own scraps unless they were absolutely needed to step in.

“So, they want to make nice with a passive country.”

“Exactly. I’ve been chatting with Molly Cobb, she’s head of astronauts now over at Houston, expecting one Mr McKay, second Scot in space.”

Heather laughed, nodding as she set the folder down and grabbed her water bottle from its resting spot on Marcus’ desk.

“I thought that was just a trick we played on rookie engineers and astronauts, not seasoned professionals.”

Marcus rolled his eyes, leaning back in his chair and shrugging.

“Messing with Americans is just as fun, even if they are fellow astronauts.”

“Seekers of independence from the crown playing pranks on each other. How mature.” Heather grinned, lifting her jacket from the back of her chair and shrugging it onto her shoulders.

The folder was still open on the table as she gave it one more scan, sighing.

“That’s early as hell to be rising, Marcus.”

“You can sleep when you’re dead, you know that better than anyone, astronaut.”

“Sure do, desk jockey.” The younger woman smiled at him when he gave her a deprecating look, offering him a fist bump as a goodbye.

“Have fun in Moon City, kid.”

Flying to America commercially felt like being stuck in a tin can for hours on end, though Heather was sure if she’d tried to fly it alone, she would have fallen asleep and crashed by now. She spent the time with her seat leaned back a fraction and a personnel file in her lap for the people she’d be working with. She knew Margo from a few years before when she had advised her on how to deal with a young Aleida Rosales and they had kept in touch since, so she passed by her file with ease and moved onto the astronaut section without realising she’d skipped the profile of her newest colleague, Molly Cobb.

With so many names to memorise and personal facts to store away in her head to be used at a later date, Heather barely had the energy to look at Cobb’s profile, her closing eyes skimming the information about the death of Wubbo Ockels before finally shutting as she passed out from exhaustion.

“Mrs McKay? Mrs McKay, we’ve arrived at Houston Intercontinental, it’s time to depart the plane.”

Heather came around to find a made-up flight attendant peering at her and shaking her shoulder gently, lacquered brown eyes focused on hers.

She flinched briefly at the sight before nodding when she took in the woman’s words, sliding out from her seat and looking at her once she’d grabbed her carry on from the overhead bins.

“What time is it?”

“Two in the afternoon, Mrs McKay, you’ve gained six hours.”

“Not Mrs, please, I’m not married.” Heather smiled kindly at the woman, nodding when she excused herself and exiting the plane into the fresh air.

At least, she had hoped it would be fresh. Instead, it felt like the Sahara compared to Edinburgh; the heat turned right up in Texas during June. It made her glad the man who put her through security knew who she was and went out of his way to help her through quickly.

She had a feeling that would be a rare thing in a country where nationalism was rampant. If you weren’t an American in the United States, you weren’t worth anyone’s time.

Luggage claim took longer than security for once, chewing the Scot out fifteen minutes later back into the hot Texan sun where a man in a secret service type suit stood beside an entirely black car with tinted windows.

“Miss Mickey?”

“It’s McKay. You would think with a fancy car service, the ability to say my name correctly would be included in the package.”

“Apologies, ma’am. I’ve been instructed to take you straight to the hotel.”

Heather nodded, giving him her suitcase and guitar to load into the trunk before sitting in the back of the car, relaxing into the comfortable leather after hours upon hours in a spiny airplane seat.

With tinted windows surrounding her, the sun was blocked out to make the rest of the journey easier with less heat, so she was fine to actually talk to the driver when he took off from the airport.

“I didn’t expect so much security around my arrival. It’s almost as if I’m a cosmonaut.”

“No, ma’am, the president was only concerned that the Russians may attack you to start a war with your passive nation.”

She sighed in the back seat, shaking her head as she leaned against the headrest behind her.

“I don’t believe they would. Scotland is no enemy of the USSR.”

“I meant no offense, ma’am, only to say that your head of state agrees with the president. He knows the danger too.”

Heather rolled her eyes at the mention of the Scottish leader, remembering the twelfth head of state from a meeting a few months before. She had much preferred the man who saw her off into space six years before.

“The head of state’s a misogynistic prick.”

The driver didn’t say anything in response, only smiling to her in the rear-view mirror which she found amusing. He obviously agreed but chances were there was a wire in the car to make sure he didn’t criticise his own government. How confident that made her feel about being in one of the two most controversial countries on the planet.

She’d researched the distance between the airport and the space centre before she left Scotland, wanting to make sure she knew her surroundings and not exactly thankful that there was an hour between them.

She had a feeling she’d be relying on her driver a lot during this trip if she were to get anywhere other than the space centre.

The rest of the journey was quiet, what Heather would call typical American scenery of square buildings and grey roads passing them by until they finally reached the hotel. She could see the space centre in all its glory across the road, large and looming over the water beside it.

“Much less attractive than NSAS headquarters, wouldn’t you say?”

“No pretty castles to convert in this country, ma’am. We make do with concrete and glass.”

“Looks like a bunch of grey shoeboxes to me.” Heather scoffed as she took the suitcase and instrument from him, slipping on her sunglasses and hat to avoid the sun above them.

“Maybe you can give them some design tips tomorrow, ma’am.”

She nodded, grabbing her backpack from the seat and throwing it over her shoulder with her guitar case, following him into the hotel once the car was locked and sifting in her bag for the hotel information Marcus had given her so she could check in.

“I have a copy of your booking if you can’t find your own.” She looked up at her driver to find a fresh sheet of paper in his hand and grinned, taking it and handing it to the receptionist when they reached the counter.

“Fucking bless you, boy.”

“Of course, ma’am. If that’s everything you need?”

“Yes. No, sorry, do you know where the Outpost is? My head of astronaut affairs gave me that name for the local pub, but I’m all turned around here.”

“The Outpost is across the road and five blocks to the left, Miss Mickey. You can’t miss the sign.” The receptionist spoke up before the driver could, causing the other woman to nod, taking off her glasses now that they were inside and smiling at both of them.

“Thank you. Kid, I meant to ask what your name is. I hate to have you driving me around when I don’t know who you are.”

“Liam Russett, ma’am, at your service and surely older than you so there’s no need to call me kid.”

Heather snorted at that, shaking her head as she hooked her glasses on the collar of her shirt.

“Well, if that’s true, you should get yourself a new job rather than driving around child astronauts.”

“It’s a pleasure, ma’am, really. You have my number for when you need driven somewhere. Have a nice night, Miss McKay.”

“You too, Liam.” She waved to him and grinned when he waved back, turning to talk to the receptionist.

“Hi, sorry for making you wait.”

“I’m used to it, don’t fret. Okay, Miss Mickey,”

That pronunciation wasn’t going away anytime soon.

“…you’re booked in for the next week and two weeks after your return, courtesy of NASA, but you can stay for longer after your mission if you should wish to set that up. Here’s your key and if you’re joining us for the full breakfast tomorrow, we start serving at 8am.” The woman behind the desk smiled kindly, getting another bright smile from Heather as she shifted her bags into the elevator to the side of reception.

“I’ll probably catch a donut at the centre tomorrow, but I will keep the breakfast thing in mind for another day! Thank you!” She called over her shoulder as the doors shut and she started going up to the sixth floor.

Looking at herself in the mirror, she felt like a cat dragged through a hedge backwards. Her hair was sticking to the side of her face with the sweat, the hat plastering part of her fringe to her forehead when she took it off. Her cheeks were red from the sun too and it occurred to her that she’d need sun-cream if she was going to be stuck in America for longer than a day.

As she stepped out onto the right floor and shifted open her hotel room door with a bit of struggle, the phone on the table started ringing.

Heather groaned, shutting the door behind her once her stuff was inside and picking up the call quickly, putting the receiver to her ear.

“Heather McKay, who’s calling, please?”

“Heather, you got there okay, good. How was the plane trip?”

“Hell, I’d honestly prefer a fucking Saltire shuttle.” The young woman expressed to Marcus on the other side as she flopped down on the mattress, glad for the comfort.

Her fellow astronaut laughed on the other end of the call, leaning back on his own armchair.

“Christ, worse than Saltire? Aren’t I glad I volunteered you for this mission and not myself?”

Heather rolled her eyes, staring out of the window that stretched her wall. The sky was a perfect blue with the sun shining down on the city, reminding her of decent summer days at home when she’d kick up sand on the beach. It was a relaxing memory to think about after the long journey.

“Yeah, aren’t you fucking lucky? I’m gonna head for the Outpost tonight with my guitar, try and make friends before I show up tomorrow.”

“Your social skills have come a long way since I met you.”

“And as soon as our leader and their leader aren’t bastards, I’ll be much more sociable!” She sighed, sitting up and going to the window to look across the roofs of the shoeboxes across the road.

“I don’t believe that but you’re Molly’s problem for the next month, not mine.”

Heather grinned at his words. She knew what he meant. Out of the first two Scots in space, she was far more foul-mouthed and quick-witted than Marcus, and it had definitely been a problem in the past.

“Don’t you worry, Marky, I’ll make you proud. Say hi to Laura and James for me.” She bid him goodbye before hanging up, returning the phone to its holder, and skimming through the tourist information book in an attempt at finding a place to eat after the hellish plane ride.

In the end, she had settled for a burger from the van outside NASA headquarters, sitting on a stone wall in front of some flower beds and enjoying watching so many engineers and scientists pass by, chatting away about their work.

Science was one half of her busy life and she loved it. Being at NASA was just the cherry on top of her career now, even if she wasn’t a fan of the politics the agency let itself get caught up in.

She listened to the chatter until her burger was a mere wrapper crushed in her hands and was surprised by the time on the clock outside the hotel. She sure hadn’t realised she’d been sitting there for that many hours but keeping a low profile and being jetlagged clearly passed the time faster than she thought.

Heading back up to her room, Heather changed into a fresh t-shirt and flannel before wandering over to the Outpost bar once she ran a brush through her hair. She could feel people eyeing her as soon as she walked in, clearly sticking out like a sore thumb as someone who they’d never seen before.

No one recognised her yet, thankfully. She didn’t need “socialist Scot scum” comments when she just wanted to drink and play her guitar. She let herself look at the astronaut souvenirs in the glass case by the door then approached the bar, smiling at the woman she certainly recognised as Karen Baldwin from the file about her husband.

“Hi, what can I get for ya?”

“A dram of your best Scots whisky, please.”

“Taste of home coming right up. Haven’t seen you around here before.”

“I’m new, start tomorrow. Thought I’d show my face and try to make friends before going to the moon with this lot.”

Karen nodded, the recognition clicking in her head as she slid the whisky to the younger woman.

“McKay, right? Ed was talking about you. First Scottish woman astronaut, and you changed the law on gay rights, didn’t you? Pretty ballsy.”

Heather shrugged, sipping her whisky and relishing in the burn going down her throat for a moment before speaking.

“And yet folks here in Texas would probably see me hung for it, at the very least fined 500 dollar for kissing a lady in public.”

“Some people never want to let go of their traditions, we’ll get there.” Karen smiled, nodding to the guitar strapped to her back with a slight grin.

“If you’re looking to make friends, you should play. They like music.” She told her with a wink before moving along to serve the newest patron in the door.

The young Scot looked around the bar once before taking her advice, sitting at a table in the corner near the counter and starting to play.

“Ring of Fire, good idea.” Karen mouthed to her from the bar, praising her choice of an American song as the front door opened again, none other than Molly Cobb walking through it and smiling at Karen, giving a brief wave.

“A beer, please, Karen.”

“Love is a burning thing… and it makes, a fiery ring…”

She could feel eyes on her, practically every pair in the bar turning to look at her eventually while she played. Usually, the attention didn’t bother her but the distraction of feet approaching her made her fingers tremble slightly on the strings.

Heather didn’t like being such a close focus of attention. She was used to the crowd having boundaries, being on a stage or a higher platform where they couldn’t reach her, but as she finished the song a few minutes later with every person in the bar staring at her, she could feel a wave of nerves run through her.

Molly was right there, sitting right there with her beer in hand and sunglasses pushing her hair back from her face, blue eyes focused on Heather.

“You’re good.”

“I practice.”

“Haven’t seen you around here before.”

Heather laughed in a light tone, strumming the cords of her guitar slightly. This woman had no idea that they were colleagues, that they had first woman of her nation in space in common. She was looking right through her.

“Oh, I just like the astronaut knick-knacks at this bar, plus I thought I’d try to impress the great Molly Cobb with my playing. Did you like it?” She tilted her head, acting as if she were simply an awestruck citizen and not reporting to duty for the woman the next day.

“Well colour me impressed, though that may just be the alcohol.”

“I’d like to see you do better. Your skills seem singular to flying.” She smirked, wondering how long she could get away with her secret identity.

Taking another sip of her whisky, Heather watched the other woman over the lip of her glass. She sure looked a lot more attractive in person compared to the photo in her information folder, but she wouldn’t act on that fact. It would put them both in danger for her to flirt in public here.

Even friends could turn on Molly if she got that close to another woman, Heather knew that.

“Yeah, and what other skills can you boast, sweetheart? Lemme guess, you can play two instruments.”

Oh, you bitch.

“First impressions aren’t your thing, are they? Don’t worry, ma’am, I’ll report for duty first thing tomorrow morning in your office, even if you’re a smug bitch. My name’s Heather McKay, by the way.” She held out her hand for Molly to shake as an introduction and smiled kindly when the older woman sighed, shaking her hand.

“Heather McKay, first Scottish woman in space. Marcus told me you were a Mr.”

“Wee trick we like to play on new recruits from other countries, he thought it would be funny to play it on a Yank.” Heather downed what remained of her whisky before ignoring Molly and waving to Karen as she left the bar.

“See you tomorrow, boss.”

[kosmosguk]

Holiday Melodies; 7 Days of Christmas Day 3|Yandere Yoongi x Reader

Type: Smut Drabble

Description: The Mall’s piano player has a voice that sounds just exactly like your favorite music producer who hides his identity. Call it a fan’s intuition, but whatever it is, you just have to get his autograph. And it seems that he just may be a bit of a fan of you too. 

Warnings: public sexual acts (fingering) in a mall bathroom, implied later sex, slight yandere themes but it’s more obvious with this drabble

[A/n: Merry Christmas Eve, or Christmas depending on where you are, but if you don’t celebrate Christmas then happy holidays! I’ll do my best to release a drabble tomorrow but I might go a lil too ham on cookies and pass out haha- This drabble was kinda rushed because it’s midnight here and I have to wake up early tomorrow. Be safe on these holidays and eat some good food for me]

‘’The next song will be Silent Night. Also, please be safe and keep your environment safe as you continue shopping. Thank you.’’

You stilled in the midst of your fervorous gait to the nearest sale, your hands practically trembling in their grip around the 8 shopping bags you had messily looped around your fingers and arms. You, with every cell in your body, recognized that voice. 

Low, with the tone dulcet and flowing, it was definitely the voice of your idol: your favorite music producer Agust D. He had been an inspiration to you back when you were a struggling college student majoring in music. That’s why, although you only heard his voice on the radio, you knew the man sitting at the piano was him.

You found yourself inching forward slightly, shaking with nerves as you got closer and watching as he fluidly pressed the smooth keys of the instrument. As he hit the final note, the sound resonating clearly despite the loud sounds of the mall attempting to drown it out, he looked up, meeting your intense gaze. 

Your mouth fell open before he could continue playing, your words frantic as you quickly spoke,’’ I’m such a fan of your music. You’ve been my inspiration for years, and every song you produce is so good and-.’’

He cut you off sharply,’’ Please. Do not disturb my job.’’

Your cheeks flushed in embarrassment. Of fucking course, you were an idiot, and definitely a creep, for randomly coming up to him in public to ask him about a career he obviously wanted to keep private.

‘‘I’m so sorry. You must think I’m a creep and-,’‘ your voice cut off, and you could feel yourself sweating profusely as your voice went meek,’‘ I’m so sorry. I’ll go now.’‘

You turned, still trembling, and was about to frantically scurry off to hide in the nearest store when you heard his voice again. 

‘‘I said to not disturb me in the middle of my job. We could talk when I’m done in half an hour.’‘

You froze before slowly turning around, meeting his eyes in surprise. 

‘‘Um,’‘ you managed to speak,’‘ Are you sure? I can go away if you want to; don’t feel obligated to have to speak with me because I’m your fan. I understand that you’re a very busy person and-.’’

You cut yourself off again this time, unable to speak anymore as your throat clogged from the wash of nerves that threatened to overcome you. 

He shook his head,’’ It’s fine. Don’t worry.’’

You found yourself waiting on the bench nearby, any thought of continuing to shop gone from your mind as you reeled in a rush of thoughts. Trying to calm down the flood of your mind, you rested your gaze on him, watching as he continued from one holiday medley to another, his fingers looking like they would never tire. He looked handsome as he did it too, his dark bangs clinging to his elegantly sculpted features. 

The half-hour moved on fast as you watched him play, transfixed in a daze as you watched him mold classics into ones with his own personal style. And before you knew it, he was in front of you, still in his suit. 

‘‘Let’s talk in the corridor in the hallways,’‘ he said. You could barely breathe as you nodded, getting up and hobbling slightly as the weight of your purchases dragged you down. 

‘‘Thank you for allowing me some of your time. I wanted to apologize for coming up to you randomly,’‘ you began, setting down the bags next to you,’‘ I got carried away because, God this sounds really weird, you’ve inspired me a lot to keep going with music and go under my own name of (M/P/N) and produce my own stuff. But this doesn’t excuse my behavior though.’‘

‘‘Thank you for your words,’‘ he managed to say after a short stretch of silence between the both of you.

‘‘You said you were a producer,’‘ he slowly said,’‘ I’m also a fan of your works. I listen to a lot of your pieces when I need inspiration, and you have a really unique style that I’ve never seen before. I never thought I’d get to meet you either, but I suppose we were destined to meet or some corny shit like that.’‘

You sputtered in disbelief,’’ No way. That’s really- That’s really something.’’

He laughed lightly at that, his stony expression morphing into a more gentle one. 

‘‘Yeah, that’s really something,’‘ he said,’‘ Why don’t we exchange contacts then?’‘

You stepped forward, taking your phone out and handing it to him, grabbing his phone in the process. When you finished and looked up to return it, you noticed just how close you had gotten to each other. 

‘‘Oh, sorry! I got all up into your personal space,’‘ you awkwardly laughed. His eyes seemed to get dark, his pupils blown wide, as his gaze fell to your lips. You froze, your breath caught up in your throat, and he gave you a look that asked for permission. 

Your only response was to press forward further and connect your lips with his. You never moved this quick with someone, but with him, although you had both just properly met, it felt right. You just hoped that no one would stumble into this corridor. You tangled your fingers in his dark locks, tilting your head slightly so you could go in at a better angle. His hands were on your waist, slowly sliding, and you arched further into his grip. 

His hands stopped at the hem of your skirt, his eyes imploring whether or not it was okay. 

‘’Touch me,’’ you managed to breathe out in your haze of lust. 

His fingers dove underneath the fabric, caressing the damp cloth of your panties in a way that made you shudder in pleasure. His fingers flicked the cloth aside and slid along your wet folds, playing with your clit teasingly. You pressed your face into his shoulder, trembling in anticipation, as he sunk a finger into your core. 

He pumped the first finger in slowly before adding a second and a third, watching your face intensely as you stretched and fluttered around the intrusions.  

‘‘God, fuck,’‘ you hissed out quietly between clenched teeth as you felt your stomach tighten in a hot coil. He rubbed your clit as you advanced toward a peak, and with a final hard shudder and a muffled moan, you came. 

‘‘Was that okay?’‘ you heard him softly whisper into your ear, his voice slightly rougher than its usual smooth cadence,’‘ I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable on your first time.’‘

If you weren’t still shaking from the aftereffects, you would’ve questioned just how he knew it was your first time doing any of this, but right now, cocooned from the outside world in the embrace of your idol, you couldn’t help but thank the world of music that led you to this very spot.