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chaos-in-deepspace · 3 months ago

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LADS Zayne: A Good Day | NSFW

Happy Birthday Zayne!!! Our boy deserves a good day because he's our little meow meow! I'm so happy with his event and today imma play his card because I've been holding myself back and AAAAAAAH I am so ready for this. Also this is going to have two parts, the other will be posted by mid-day!

❧ Pairings: Zayne x Reader ❧ Warnings: Fluff, Dry Humping, Cum Eating, Hand Jobs ❧ Synopsis: Zayne's birthday is finally here, and he asked to have a simple, uncrazy day. So a hike through a forest and a picnic dinner by the lake sounded perfect. Halfway through the hiking trail though, Zayne decides he wants his birthday present early. ❧ Word Count: 4.5k

Disclaimer: This is an original fan work for “Love and Deepspace”. Do not repost on other platforms or plagiarize. All characters shown in this fic is 18+.

Blog Information | Masterlist

Part 2

Zayne

A Good Day

Being on a private hiking trail was certainly something that you weren’t used to. The path was well kept, but there weren’t any signs to your destination. While you were always used to running into people, even if it were one or two, you hadn’t seen a single soul. It was nice, for once, to be as affectionate as you wanted to on your walk with Zayne without having to worry about random passersby.

Zayne was still a little uncomfortable with PDA so you normally tried keeping it to a minimum. This entire hike you had been clinging to his arm, randomly pulling him down for a kiss, and just being all over him the entire time. It was probably why the hike was taking longer than anticipated. He didn’t stop you once, instead leaning closer whenever you tugged on him and giving a knowing look, sometimes commenting that he wasn’t going to walk off without you if you let go.

You had full plans on making it there for an early dinner so you could sit and enjoy the sunset while you sat by the lake at the end of the trail. Zayne had thought ahead and made sure you two left earlier than expected because he knew you, and he knew you’d probably get distracted and want to take a few breaks here and there. Your loyal doctor was, of course, right in this assumption.

Which is what you were doing now, sitting on a perfectly flat rock that was clearly placed on the trail for people to sit on. The uphill climb was more tiring than you expected, especially with how you were practically skipping because you were so damn happy to be spending a vacation with Zayne. You once swore you would never be one of those lovestruck smuck, but there was just something about this man that had you acting like an idiot.

You felt something ice cold touching the back of your neck and you let out a small yelp at the sensation, almost jumping right off the rock. You turned your head and was met with Zayne having that ‘innocent’ smirk on his face, the one he always swears he doesn’t give you whenever he’s being a little shit. Everyone always thought this man was so calm and composed, but you knew better. He always had a teasing streak when it came to you, even when it came off with his dry humor.

Your eyes went down and you saw the water bottle he was holding out to you, which was the culprit of that freezing sensation. He had used his evol most likely to make sure it chilled perfectly for you. He always told you warm water was better at quenching your thirst, but after you had complained once he always made sure it was cold for you.

“You should hydrate,” he commented as you took the water from his hand. You stuck out your tongue, and uncapped the bottle; pressing it against your lips and taking a few sips, then wiping your mouth with the back of your hand.

“Thank you, honey dearest,” You said with a teasing smile. Watching the man’s face get a small flush from your endearing nickname was adorable as you placed the bottle next to you, “We’ve only been hiking for like…what an hour and a half? Why is this hike so hard?” you were whining now, although as a hunter this was nothing, you still wanted boyfriend sympathy. Sadly though, your boyfriend was a logical man and only gave you sympathy when you actually deserved some, not fishing for it.

“The first half is up a steep incline and we’re carrying a lot of supplies. Once we reach the peak it’ll be downhill so it should be easier,” Zayne pointed out. Right next to your feet was a rather large modified picnic basket. You had brought a lot of stuff, wanting to make sure you and Zayne would have enough for dinner. He had claimed he didn’t want to do anything extravagant for his birthday dinner, so taking it out in nature by a lake was the best solution you could find.

Just the two of you with beautiful scenery and some home cooking. You had even prepared a small surprise for him in the basket, which is why you had insisted you’d carry it. Zayne had protested a lot about that, but your stubbornness won out in the end when you told him this would be good training for you.

“Are we almost there?” you asked, knowing that Zayne had been the one to get the map so you two wouldn’t get lost. After your last little hike ended in a two hour detour because you swore you knew where you were going, he became the navigator.

“We’re about ten minutes from the top, and going downhill will only take maybe twenty minutes.” He stated and you let out a small sigh of relief. You couldn’t wait to get there and just relax and have a nice dinner. You had managed to work up a good appetite from the hike, and your stomach rumbled slightly as if reminding you it was still there.

“Good, I��m starving,” you commented. You had been preparing your dinner all afternoon, and as a result skipped lunch by accident. You did have a few samples of what you were making though, mainly because Zayne would keep stealing bits and then pressing it against your lips so you’d try it. It was most likely his attempt at making sure you didn’t become hangry later in the day. He used the excuse of helping you as well, not letting you say no when he asked, so you had given him simple tasks.

It had been fun having him helping you out in the kitchen. Especially when he had been content to just wrap his arms around your waist and rest his head on top of yours while you stirred a pot. Moments like those were irreplaceable and you wished you could do it every day. Sometimes your busy schedules were truly a hindrance. One day though, perhaps one day you two would get to have that domestic bliss every day.

“You know, you never did tell me what was in that mystery package when you put our lunch together,” Zayne said as he decided to sit down on the rock next to you. You glanced at him with a smile, knowing he was trying to pry information from you. The package was something you had made at your own apartment yesterday before you guys had even come to this cabin.

You had been very stubborn in telling him not to look in it when you placed it into the fridge, letting him know it would be for dinner. Of course it didn’t stop him from being curious, probably because he figured it was a dessert of some kind. He had been cuter than usual when he saw you place it in the fridge. He had pressed a kiss to your cheek and asked if he could have his present early. He even used your weakness of nuzzling his face into the back of your neck while cuddling, knowing it made you absolutely melt.

So far you had managed to keep it a top secret from him, but it looked like his curiosity was getting the better of him. Sometimes he really did like to push it since he knew you always caved in with a few looks and touches from him. This man knew the effect he had on you, and wasn’t opposed to using it to his advantage.

“I told you, it was a surprise,” you said, feeling his hand cupping your cheek. His thumb trailing over you then going to tuck a strand of hair behind your hair. He was being cute again, giving you a soft look. This stubborn man…

His hand went back to just resting on your cheek and you were now leaning into his touch, unable to help yourself. “Yes? Did you need something?” you mumbled, already knowing you would be caving in soon. Your resolve was already melting away and he just needed to push a little more and it was all over for you.

“Is it so wrong for me to want to look at my partner?” he asked, pressing his thumb against your lip now. You chuckled, looking at him and kissing the finger there. Zayne smiled, the tips of his ears only a little red for the time being. You leaned closer to him on the rock, your hand almost touching his thigh and he shifted himself in case you wanted to come just a little closer and close the distance between you two.

“Normally it isn’t, but I know you,” you pointed out, taking his hand in your own, and playing with it. “You’re trying to butter me up right now,” you turned his hand so you could place some kisses on his knuckles. A small shiver went down Zayne’s spine as he looked at you with slightly wider eyes. His expressions came a little easier since it was only you two right now. While to others he still seemed expressionless, you could tell from the most subtle twitch of his lips how he was feeling now.

“I’m doing no such thing, I’m simply admiring you,” it was a weak argument, but it was enough to make you blush. You let out a small whine of protest, knowing you were losing right now. He was flustering you too much, the butterflies in your stomach going batshit crazy because he was just so perfect you couldn’t handle yourself. Who told him he could act like this and make you feel things?

You suddenly felt his warm lips pressing against your cheek, causing another whine to leave you. You wanted more, you wanted to feel his lips on yours. When he leaned back he could clearly see it on your face, but instead of doing anything about it he just had that subtle, knowing smirk. You were pouting now, knowing you’d have to take charge if you wanted a kiss and play right into his hands.

Instead of giving in immediately you decided to just try to continue on your conversation, “Well, if that’s all…” you murmured, your eyes looking away from him. You squeezed his hand and he adjusted his grip to run his thumb across yours. It was his turn to bring your hand to his lips and kiss the back of it, making your breath get caught in your throat.

“However…” he began and you knew it. This was it. This was where you broke and gave the man whatever it is he wanted, “Perhaps a snack wouldn’t hurt to help us reenergize for the last leg of our trip,” there it was. It was almost relieving that you had gotten to know Zayne so well that you just knew what he was going to do sometimes.

You laughed, pushing him slightly on the chest and rolled your eyes, “I fucking knew it,” you huffed. You could see the ghost of a smile on him because he already knew he was getting what he wanted now.

“Language,” another eye roll from you was the result of his little comment. You leaned closer to his face until you were staring directly into those hazel eyes of his.

“Besides, it was merely a suggestion, I don’t know what you’re trying to imply with your comment,” he played coy, as though he wasn’t trying to manipulate you into giving him the treats you had packed. You groaned and leaned forward, pressing a kiss against his lips.

“You’re playing dirty,” you said against his mouth, feeling the tug of his smile as he leaned in for another peck. “Way too bold today…” Another peck was his response as he took your chin between his pointer and thumb to keep you in place.

“Was it not you who said the ‘Birthday Boy could have whatever he wanted today’?” he reminded you, pressing another sweet kiss to your lips. You were absolutely putty in his hands right now, wanting to just kiss him breathless.

“How dare you use my own words against me,” your complaints fell on deaf ears as he brought you in for a longer kiss. This time your mouths working together, pressed up and savoring the contact. You felt him nibble on your lower lip teasingly, making you gasp. He really was being bold today, and you were all for it. He parted before you could lean in to deepen the kiss, a small pout on your lips and you could hear him huff in amusement.

“You can’t be mad at me for being curious. You’ve been sneaky the past few weeks, claiming you were ‘busy’ and then coming back smelling like sweets,” He said after a moment, leaning away from you for a moment. You whined, knowing he was done kissing you for the time being. Normally he was the one who had no restraint when it came to these things, but the man was on a mission.

He had probably been wondering what you had been up to since you continuously told him you had plans when he asked you to cuddle on the couch…which was easily one of the hardest things you had done in your life. Saying no to Zayne? Unspeakable. Still, you wanted this to be the perfect surprise, so even if you left his home almost in tears because you wanted to run back into his arms, you held strong.

“I told you, I was going out with Tara,” You reminded him. It wasn’t a lie, when you told your friend you wanted to do something special for Zayne, she suggested making his favorite sweets. The only issue is that his favorite sweets happened to be macarons. So she had been going to classes with you. You only thought you’d be attending one, but after failing miserably you went to four more just to make sure you had it down to a science.

“Then care to enlighten me as to what you were going out for?” He asked, trying to pry it out of you. You let out a little groan the moment you saw the look in his eyes. He was giving you those big, pouty eyes. The ones he swore he never made at you. You knew he was a filthy liar though, the look on his face could only be described as a kicked puppy. He was almost begging right now, knowing how weak you were.

“Did you want your surprise right now?” You caved in, knowing that it was futile. You shouldn’t have stopped at all, should’ve powered through the walk and gotten to the lake to avoid this. He would be the end of you. You could give him the entire world if that’s what he asked. It’s the entire reason you had made him take time off work so you could spoil him for his birthday. Spending a couple days together in a secluded cabin is all you wanted so he could relax.

You felt him kissing your cheek again, “Only if you feel like sharing with the class,” he said, happy to have won this round. You almost pinched his cheeks for that, he seemed far too satisfied knowing he got you to crumble.

Instead you groaned and nodded, “Okay, fine, but only because you’re being really cute right now,” you saw him frown a little at that. He always said he wasn’t ‘cute’, but anyone with eyes could see it, “You can only have one though. You can have as many as you want after we eat an actual meal,” you at least could hold strong on this stance. You refused to let his appetite get spoiled because he ate too many sweets. Sometimes he could really act like a child…not that you were any better. You two brought out the best of each other, the childlike whimsy coming back in each other's presence.

“That’s agreeable,” it better be. You brought him down for a quick peck again before parting and going to the picnic basket you had. The bottom compartment had a cooler in it that you had stashed the treats in. You rummaged around, finding the perfectly packed box that you had wrapped in a pale blue cloth with snowflakes decorating it.

“Alright, close your eyes,” You instructed him. He complied, closing them with a smile on his lips. You took out one of the macarons you had slaved over; it wasn’t perfect by any means. Still the top and bottom were smooth and not burnt, and the cream inside tasted amazing judging by how you kept sampling it. They certainly weren’t worthy of being sold in a bakery, but they’d suffice for the time being.

You placed one at his lips and he opened and took a small bite out of it. He covered his mouth as he chewed, finally opening his eyes to see you holding out the other half of the macaron. He took your hand and brought the rest up to him, taking it into his mouth and savoring the sweet treat. You flushed at his boldness as he made eye contact with you.

His eyes then went to the box in your lap where he could see the rest. Some of them were a little disfigured, but you could vouch that they tasted good, “You made these yourself?” he finally said and you nodded.

“Ya, I went to classes with Tara so I could make them for you, they’re not the best, but they taste good at least,” you said, suddenly feeling a little nervous. You watched as Zayne’s tongue poked out, licking the remnants off your fingers and you gasped at the action, feeling the teasing sensation on your fingertips.

“They were perfect,” he said and you swallowed thickly, not knowing how to respond. You looked away from him, your heart was beating widely now because of him. He knew what he was doing because he kissed the pads of your fingers in response.

“I-I mean they’re not that great…” you murmured, “If I bought these in a bakery I would be pretty mad,” you tried rambling on, avoiding eye contact. He let go of your hand and you felt your shoulders relax as you could now think clearly again.

“I’d prefer it if you didn’t talk down about my favorite baker,” Zayne said with a small sigh and you let out a whine from the back of your throat. His compliments were starting to get to you and you really didn’t know what you were supposed to say.

“I…fine,” you decided to just go with it. Arguing would only result in sweeter compliments being thrown your way. You sighed as you took the box and wrapped it back up, then placed it to the side so it was out of the way, “Well now that I’ve officially spoiled the birthday boy by letting you have a present early, I think we should get back to heading to the lake,”

Zayne had other ideas as you felt his hand around your waist, dragging you closer to him. You had to adjust yourself, throwing one leg over his lap so you could straddle him since you already knew this dance. Anytime Zayne could get you on his lap, he would. It was basically your favorite chair at this point, and it felt a lot better than the hard rock you were on.

“Yes?” you chuckled, waiting for him to tell you what he wanted. Instead you felt his hand on the nape of your neck, dragging you closer to him. Your lips met and you were still smiling against him. This time it wasn’t just a quick peck, it was a little more heated. His lips worked against you and made you moan once you felt his tongue prodding your lips, requesting access to your mouth.

He still tasted like macarons, sweet on your tongue as it glided against yours so perfectly. You couldn’t forget the irony of getting off of a hard rock, only to find yourself on a different hard object. Zayne’s hands went to your thighs, dragging you closer to his body, and you had to place a hand on his chest, moving your face away and watching the small string of saliva between you break as you panted.

“You’ve spoiled me, I think I want another present now,” his voice was a little more gravely as he pulled you in for another kiss. You moaned against his lips, feeling his hips rolling up into yours. You could feel his growing arousal pressing between your legs as you pushed your hips down on it. The way Zayne’s breath hitched at the movement sending a shiver right down your spine.

“Zayne, don’t forget we’re in public right now,” and on the edge of a hiking trail. Sure you guys hadn’t seen a single soul on the trail, but the thought of doing something so lewd in such an open area was…well you couldn’t say it wasn’t a turn on. You were just so used to Zayne being more modest about how he acted in public.

“This is a private cabin that the lake is connected to. Nobody else should be walking this trail,” Zayne said, squeezing your thighs a little harder. You moaned again as you began grinding down on him, “And you did say the birthday boy could have whatever he wanted today.”

With his permission you began grinding down on him again, letting out small moans as you felt his cock rubbing at you through your thin pants. His pants were already so tight that you could feel the outline of him perfectly through it.

Your hands were gingerly placed on his shoulders, giving you more support as you worked yourself on him, pressing down on him just right to hear small moans leaving him. The grip he had on your thighs was near bruising as he held himself back. He still rutted up into you, even through the layers of clothes he could still feel the warmth of your core against him.

“Zayne, you’re such a pretty boy. I love it when you become a mess just from something like this,” You moaned, looking down at his flushed cheeks. His hair was already a little disheveled, and he was panting, his kiss swollen lips parting slightly as he looked up at you with hazy eyes. Just the sight of him had your insides clenching around nothing.

He let out another groan and gasp, pulling you down tightly against his lap to stop your movements, “G-give me a minute to-,” he started and you could only chuckle. You pressed a kiss to his forehead, then another to his cheek. You could see he was taking one of his hands to bring to the front of his pants to take out his cock, so you grabbed his wrist and placed it back on your thigh.

“If you take your dick out here it could count as public indecency,” you chided, moving your hips as much as you could on his lap. There wasn’t much he could do, not when he found himself under your mercy as you rolled against his cock, the fabric only providing more stimulation to him.

He bucked his hips up into you, jolting your entire body as you began working on him again, this time pressing your hips harder onto his own, intent on making him cum just from a little dry humping.

The moment you could hear him whimpering you knew he was almost there. He always had the same, cute reactions when he was close to coming. The way his body subtly shook against yours, his thrusting became sloppy and erratic, and the way his noises got louder as he lost the ability to keep himself quiet.

“Zayne, are you fine with it in your pants, or no?” You finally said, panting now as you started pressing kisses along the column of his neck, being careful not to leave marks in places he couldn’t cover. He groaned at your words, holding your thighs still.

“No, out,” was all he managed to say between moans and you nodded. You unzipped his pants quickly and took out his dick. The moment it was in your hand you stroked it once and held your hand over the tip as he came. Your hand collected the warm fluid as he groaned, rolling his hips up into your waiting hand.

You watched as Zayne panted, pressing his forehead against your shoulder as he took a moment to calm down, his body still going through the after effects of his orgasm. You slowly took your hand away, satisfied you were able to not cause a complete mess in his pants. As much as you would’ve loved to, you knew you guys still had a full day of plans and it would probably be uncomfortable for him.

“Feel better?” You asked after a moment, noticing how his breathing started to go back to normal. He let out a small moan against you, lifting his head. He took a moment to stare at you which you decided was the perfect opportunity to bring your hand up to your lips.

You licked at his release, letting out an exaggerated moan at the taste. While cum wasn’t the best flavor, Zayne did take good care of himself so it lacked the normal bitterness. Zayne let out a groan from the back of his throat as you spoke, “Tastes even better than the macarons,”

You felt his large hand wrapping around your wrist and then dragging you forward onto him, locking your lips in a heated kiss. His tongue pressing against your own as he tasted himself on you. You smirked into the exchange, licking the roof of his mouth and making his gasp as you bit down on his lower lip.

“Is the birthday boy satisfied?” you finally asked, pressing a peck at the corner of his mouth. You watched as he cleared his throat, slowly coming back to himself. You began working his dick back into his pants and zipping it back up so he had at least some decency for the moment.

“Almost, we still need to take care of you,” Zayne said, looking down at his lap. Of course he would realize you didn’t cum just yet. You chuckled, cupping his cheek with your clean hand and making him look at you.

“You know, the picnic blanket I got is really comfortable. Maybe we can take care of one another and work up an appetite before dinner?” You watched as Zayne’s throat bobbed and he flushed slightly. It was clear he liked the sound of that, already thinking of all the ways he could have you by the lake.

“We can do that,” he said and watched as you stood up. You grabbed a napkin from your bag, wiping up the rest of the mess on your hand and running some of the water he handed you earlier. You then reached out, helping him to his feet albeit shakily.

“Oh and by the way…happy birthday,”

Tadaaaa! And if anyone was wondering, yes the Rafayel fic is coming and soon. I just need to do the final edits and I'll post it. I wanted to get it out before Zayne's birthday, but it's a literal behemoth of a fic.

#loveanddeepspace #love and deepspace #Zayne Love and Deepspace #Lnds #Lnds Zayne #lnds x reader #x reader #reader insert #zayne x reader #l&ds #l&ds zayne #l&ds zayne x reader #lads x reader #lads zayne #lads zayne x reader #rabid rabbit hours

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sylusjinwoon · 4 months ago

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{ 206 }

afternoon delight.

sylus x (non mc)fem.reader

warnings: an 18+ thirst post; minors don’t interact.

by choosing to interact with this 18+ content, you have consented to viewing something n-fw despite the warnings.

the moment sylus decided to slot his lips between your legs, you knew you were in for a treat.

your day started out normal enough; after having lunch that afternoon, sylus had invited you to workout with him and you quickly obliged. since he was so busy, it was often rare to spend any amount of time with him. he was dressed in his usual workout clothes, with his fists wrapped up and ready to go, and each time he walked in front of you, you take a moment to admire the thickness of his backside.

upon entering the basement that held all of sylus’s gym equipment, you watch as he headed towards the punching bag while you opted for the stationary bike. a holographic woman greets you and asks you to join her in a biking journey all across the universe. as her voice drones on and on about the sights, you were barely paying attention as you kept your gaze on sylus.

your eyes look past the hologram, nearly salivating each time sylus moves. with his fists clenched, you watch as his biceps seemed to tighten in response, revealing the delicious veins that surround his pale skin. your hungry gaze continues to move downward, taking in the sight of the prominent bulge that was settled in the front of his shorts, making your knees go weak as you struggled to keep pedaling.

sylus must have heard your soft whimpers when he suddenly stops his training, still in mid-punch. he frowns at you, eyebrows furrowed as he picks up the bottom of his tank top to wipe the sweat from his brow, giving you the perfect view of his perfectly sculpted abs. your mouth goes dry at the sight, and you were so focused on those hard wall of muscle that you missed the way sylus’s lips were tilted up in a knowing smirk.

he hums, releasing the fabric of his tank top before heading to the fridge. your legs had completely stopped pedaling now, eyes watching his every move with fervor. your lover doesn’t acknowledge your heated gaze, simply uncapping the water bottle to take copious gulps from it. the air comes out of your lungs in slow, uneven breaths, simply watching as sylus drinks his water all while admiring the way his adam’s apple bobs with each gulp. your mouth suddenly turns dry upon seeing a single droplet of water trail down his jawline and onto the base of his throat.

by then, the ache between your legs became all too prominent, all too painful for you to ignore. it were as though you were caught up in a trance, coming off of your bike while stepping closer to sylus. he sees your form approaching him and smiles. “want a sip, sweetie?”

you wordlessly take the bottle from his larger hands, licking at your bottom lip before tilting the bottle upwards and into your mouth, draining the entirety of the bottle with one last swallow before tossing the emptied plastic to the side.

you were no longer thinking clearly the moment you slide down his body, earning an amused chuckle from sylus. he keeps watching you with an eyebrow quirked, causing a light purr to escape from your parted lips as you gripped at the waistband of his shorts, pulling it down in one, swift motion as you revealed his half-hardened cock.

you press your head against him, taking the mushroom tip of his cock into your mouth, your tongue curling against the veins felt pulsating against it. he groans, hands already going to your hair as you worked on sucking his cock to full hardness with your hot mouth and stroking whatever part of him you couldn’t fit with your hands. you licked away the beads of precum, not minding the strange and bitter taste of it solely because it was coming from him. you continue to pleasure him, bobbing your head and forth until you felt the familiar twitch in your mouth, ready to drink up all he had to offer when he suddenly pulls away from you.

within seconds, his thick cock was out of your mouth, his hands already gripping at your hair as he forces you to meet his gaze. you caught a glimpse of his dilated eyes before he tosses you over his shoulder, whispering harshly in your ear, “let me return the favor, kitten.”

he walks until arriving at the showers settled off to the side of the personal gym. he strips himself of the rest of his clothes while practically ripping off the fabric of yours with a low growl. a whine of protest manages to escape from you, but such protests were immediately swallowed by the sheer intensity of his kiss.

never once removing himself away from you, he enters the walk in shower and turns on the faucet, allowing the hot water to slide down your sweaty bodies. but you barely payed attention to the steaming waters felt cascading down your form, entirely focused on sylus as he seemed to deepen the kiss. your lips were locked in a battle for dominance with the leader of onychinus, letting out a gasp when sylus manages to slam your back against the slick, shower walls.

“you’re so naughty.” you whisper breathlessly against his lips, feeling him trailing hot kisses down the side of your neck. he chuckles darkly in response to your statement, gently biting down against your shoulder while saying your name.

“oh, i’ll show you just how naughty i can be.” mischief was seen gleaming in his gaze when he spreads your legs out with the palm of his hand, making you tremble when you saw how the shower made droplets of water appear across his hair. he was already devastating to you out of the shower, yet such a sight of him beneath the spray of water was enough to make you cum right then and there.

while sylus presses his face against your entrance, your hands automatically delve themselves into his hair. much like how you did with his cock in your mouth, sylus indulges himself on the sheer taste of you. his tongue traces over your labia, collecting the arousal that coats your pussy lips with a groan. as his hot mouth was felt exploring your slick heat, you knew that sylus was going to take you to heaven.

your grip on his hair tightens when sylus introduces a finger into your aching cunt, making some scissoring motions as he sought to drink up all you had to offer. your moans echo throughout the shower stall, feeling the onslaught of his tongue and thick fingertips being too much for you. your juices were felt escaping from you in waves, and before your cunt could tighten around sylus’s fingers and the tip of his tongue-

he pulls away from you-

earning a choked sob from you. you were so close to feeling the sweet sensation of your release, only to have it be ripped away from you. tears dot your vision, and you were close to yelling profanities at sylus had he not lifted your leg up, allowing your ankle to brush against his shoulder before his cock swiftly enters you.

the moment his cock was completely sheathed within you, the ache was immediately gone. however, (embarrassingly enough), you became so sensitive that you felt yourself releasing on his cock, spilling yourself on him as sylus winces in response, feeling your walls gripping at him almost painfully.

“fuck.” sylus takes a moment to reorient himself, settling the palm of his hand against the wall while keeping your legs in an upright position with his other hand. once he feels the convulsion of your walls die down, a wolfish grin paints his expression. “aw, what’s this? did my princess already cum? since you’re satisfied, maybe i should stop?”

he was teasing you, already working removing his cock from your core when you began begging at him to stay. “no please…! one time isn’t enough…! n-need you so bad, sy!”

a dark chuckle was heard when sylus decides to drill himself back into you, the squelching sound of your eager pussy swallowing his cock while echoing throughout the shower. he pounds himself into you with a growl, feeling his cock growing within your cunt as his balls kept hitting at your ass. “you’re always s’tight f’me.”

sylus literally continues to fuck you against the shower wall, with his cock reaching the deepest parts of you, parts you didn’t even know even existed. the red hot pleasure you felt seemed to increase by a tenfold, making you lose all of your senses as sylus continued to drill himself into you.

you were vaguely aware of another dark chuckle coming from him, with his thrusts quickening as you struggled to catch your breath. “y’know, this is what you get for being such a damn tease. i saw the way you were lookin’ at me, riding that bike, wishin’ that you were riding me instead.”

your lover’s dark words were enough to make your walls tighten around him, with you letting out a moan as sylus places your leg off of his shoulder and around his waist. “come f’me… come on, princess, come f’me, wet my cock with your sweetness.”

with a hiss of his name, you arch your back against the shower wall, spilling yourself on his cock. he feels the way your warm juices slides down the length of his erection, earning a choked groan from him as he works on pumping himself into you. with one final thrust, sylus stills his hips, releasing his seed directly into you as you swore you felt him filling at your womb.

your breasts were heaving in tune with your uneven breaths, feeling sylus weakly thrusting his hips in and out of your cunt. only when he was certain that he was completely emptied did he finally stop, catching his breath as the crimson quality of his eyes returned to him.

you felt your own, post-fuck clarity begin to kick in, simply basking in the pinpricks of pleasure as you wrapped your legs around his waist and gently grind against him for good measure. sylus ends up scoffing at your movements, wincing when he felt you squeezing at his now limp cock. “tch, what am i going to do with you…? you just love pushing my buttons.”

“heh, so do you, sy.”

he rolls his eyes before wrapping both hands on your ass, ready to pull out of you and finally wash off when you refused to let him go. a handsome smirk paints his expression when he quirks his brow at you once more. you giggle and bite at your bottom lip, giving him an innocent expression when you sweetly ask, “since we’ve already made such a mess, why don’t we enjoy ourselves and have some more rounds?”

the fire seen within sylus’s gaze and the way he was felt hardening inside of you was all the confirmation that you needed, feeling him use his strength to bounce you up and down his cock as he shakes his head,

“you’re lucky you have me wrapped so damn tightly around your fingers, sweetheart. because i can never deny you of your wants and needs.”

a.n. - the chokehold sylus has me in ever since i unlocked his workout quality time 🫠🫠🫠🫠🫠

all stories are written by rei; reposts, translations, and plagiarism are not allowed.

#sylus x reader #love and deepspace sylus #lads sylus #lnds sylus #l&ds sylus #sylus smut #love and deepspace smut #lads x reader #lads smut #lnds smut #jin woon x reader #jin woon smut #jin woon x you #.stories

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witchy-scribblings · 6 months ago

Text

running late

kamo choso x reader

synopsis ➳ the plan had always been donning your best mini dress and enjoying a well-deserved night out with your girls… or had it?

warnings ➳ afab reader with fem pronouns, fwb choso, kind of free use, but everything is consensual, dirty talk, possessiveness, dom choso (like, i love love love subby choso but my demons won), there is literally zero plot in this, lowercase, mdni!

wordcount ➳ 1.7k

[crossposted on ao3]

“fucki’mrunninglate!”

choso looked up from his phone to watch you rush into your bedroom - hair dripping and towel only barely secured around your body - and couldn’t contain the amused smile at the myriad of curses that followed your every frantic movement.

“then you should have started getting ready sooner,” he answered out loud from his comfortable place in the living room of your apartment, snickering quietly when you groaned in response.

“no shit, sherlock.” your voice may have come to him muffled, but choso could perfectly hear every ounce of sarcasm laced in it. still, he knew that you knew that he was right, that you did have a procrastination issue going on, not that it was going to stop him from teasing you at any harmless opportunity. after all, you weren’t running late to anything more important than a girls’ night out, so a little banter wasn’t out of place, really. “any other helpful observations?”

choso forwent his instagram feed once more, turning his head back at you with the beginning of a shit-eating grin that froze on his lips the second he noticed what you had changed - impressively fast - into.

“you look hot in that dress,” he hummed, perpetually tired eyes following you as you hastily flung your high heels in the general direction of the doorway and ducked back inside the bathroom. the couch squeaked when he got up and tossed his phone on the coffee table.

the remaining hot steam hit him in the face when he stepped into the bathroom, right after you, but there you were already bending closer to the foggy mirror and pinching your trusty eyeliner pen between your fingers; standing from the doorway he had an unrestricted view of the way your already dangerously short dress rode up just enough to offer him a glimpse of your round ass.

the bathroom was small, and so two steps was all it took for him to stand right behind you.

“choso-”

“really hot in that dress,” he repeated, ignoring the warning in your voice. he grabbed your hips like handles, and pushed your ass back against the crotch of his sweatpants.

“choso, my uber will be here in fifteen, i absolutely have no time for this right now,” you grumbled unconvincingly, chastising yourself for shivering when his big hands slid under the tight material on your dress and started toying with the skin on your hipbones.

“and who brought this upon herself, hm?” whether he was talking about your time predicament or his hardening boner, you weren’t entirely certain, and you could only scoff in protest. his right hand started to inch towards the front of your panties, teasingly ticking your covered mound. “don’t you worry baby, i’ll be quick-,” he bit on your earlobe, delighting in the smell of your shampoo, “-you know i always am.”

you had half a mind to turn that statement against him, but his fingers against your damp slit succeeded in making your voice and your legs tremble. choso wedged his knee between your legs, forcing them further apart while his big hand covered the entirety of your pussy through your panties, stroking his middle finger in a steady rhythm. it’s not lost on you how he starts to grind his erection against your ass, free hand gripping the edge of the counter and effectively caging you against him.

“come on baby,” he husks, and through droopy eyes you make out the sneer facing you on the mirror. “weren’t you in a rush? that eyeliner isn’t going to do itself.”

scowling, you decide that the slow pace he has set up is not distracting enough, and bring the uncapped pen back to your eye, fully convinced that you could make it in time and bag in an extra orgasm… until choso slid one finger under your panties and dipped it into your hole the very second you pressed the wet tip to the corner of your eye.

“ah!” you yelped, glaring at the inky splotch and, straight after, at the fucker pressing that very finger further into you.

“oopsie.”

“fuck off.” that came off more whiny than you’d have liked, and choso reveled in the noticeable arch of your back.

“c’mon, you can still fix it. should be around ten minutes left, remember?”

and fix it you tried, shakily, enduring every stroke and every pump of choso’s calloused fingers against and into your tender cunt. as his movements grew slicker, so did your moans grow louder, and at this point you were multitasking between perfecting the edge of your liner and edging yourself on his hand. just as you were struggling to unscrew the tube of mascara you felt the familiar clenching against his fingers, and so did he.

“aw, is my pretty girl going to come soon? gonna cum like the good little slut she is?” his voice cut through the lewd squelching of his fingers working you towards climax, and then you came, huffing a series of stuttering breaths while your pussy squeezed around his fingers and drooled on his knuckles. choso hummed, satisfied as he watched you slump fully onto the counter, holding onto the unused mascara tube like a lifeline. “see? i knew you could do it, and with five minutes left to go.”

somewhere in the back of your post-orgasmic mind you whined that you didn’t have time to do your hair, but it became an unimportant notion when choso suddenly yanked down your ruined panties until they were stretched to their limit around your quivering knees.

“choso-!”

“too bad i haven’t fucked this pussy yet.”

your whine of (unconvincing) protest was cut off by the sting of his palm on your bare asscheek, which he immediately rubbed in soothing circles. his free hand toyed with the waistband of his sweats and boxers, tugging both items down to his thighs until his leaking cock pressed against your exposed slit.

“fuck, you thought you could put on this tiny dress and go on your merry fucking way?” he growled, and you cooed at the wet ‘plap, plap, plap’ of his dick smacking your swollen lips. “who were you hoping to seduce, huh? wanted to tease some other fucker with your whole ass out?”

“s-so what if i did?” you stuttered with no bite nor bark, yet still needing to feign some sort of self-assurance despite feeling your whole body jerk when he teased the fat head inside your pussy.

“if you did, you’re a bigger whore than i thought,” and with a hand on your hip to keep you steady, choso plunged into your awaiting hole, grunting as your walls immediately molded to the shape of his every vein. “but nah, i think i know what you were trying to do…”

his free hand moved back to your clit and started rubbing tight circles on it, and you would have escaped his touch hadn’t he been pining you in place.

“you wanted to see if i’d care that you went out looking like a slut. my pretty princess wanted to see if i would get jealous? possessive?” he snarled, and you moaned as he finally started moving, snapping his hips back and forth and filling you up until there was no more space to take up. “you wanted me to mark you as mine and that’s what you’re fucking getting. no complaints. just. fucking. take it.”

and take it you did, gripping the sink with trembling hands and looking at the messy slut in the mirror, with her bitten lips wide open against every moan and her eyes rolling back.

“f-fuck, i love seeing your fucked out expression,” choso panted, never breaking rhythm, not while the hand on the counter crept up your body and found a comfortable spot against your neck. “but i want to see you ruin that eyeliner you worked so hard on.”

and where you thought he intended to apply heady pressure to your throat, his hand worked its way only slightly higher, until the tips of his fingers were rubbing and smearing spit all over your lips; until his palm was cupping your jaw, and his long thumb was firmly pressed against the back of your tongue.

you gagged on his finger and felt the first prick of tears well up on your lashes, just as you felt yourself clench on his cock. the initial overstimulation had quickly worn into building pressure, and with his forefinger working your clit and the head of his cock abusing every sweet spot, you knew your second orgasm was fast approaching.

“that’s it, show me how you cry for my cock, princess. show me how pretty you look when i mess you up.” he started to sound breathless, and you knew he was as close as you were, as desperate to fill you up as you were to be filled by him. “want you to cum on my cock looking a beautiful mess for me, c’mon… please!”

and it was with his thumb on your tongue, with a hoarse cry and with inky tracks across your cheeks that you clenched hard around him, sucking him in deeper and faintly feeling, along with the pulsing of your own cunt, his cock throb as it neared release.

“oh fuck, i’m gonna come. you look so pretty, baby, did so fucking good for me,” he rambled through gritted teeth, giving into the pleasure with sporadic humps against your ass before he finally pressed himself as far as he could go, filling you up with a long moan.

after a few seconds of uncomfortable cuddling against the sink, you grumbled.

“you fucking horndog.” choso smiled against your shoulder.

“you were totally into it.”

that you were. you didn’t complain as he removed himself from against you, from inside you, nor as you felt his fingers push his leaking load back into your sensitive pussy - well, you did whine a little bit. and you definitely didn’t complain when he texted your friends on your behalf that you were going to have to sit this one out after all, nor when he helped you into your comfy loungewear and cuddled you to a sappy movie in the living room.

choso was totally paying off the uber cancellation fee, though.

#jujutsu kaisen #jjk #jujustsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen smut #jjk x reader #jjk smut #jjk fanfic #choso kamo #choso kamo x reader #choso x reader #choso x you #choso smut #choso kamo smut #jujutsu kaisen fanfic

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bloodbruise · 7 months ago

Text

@jegulus-microfic | april 26: aimless | 1,276 words | trans! regulus

james does regulus' tape binding aftercare <3

James lingers in the doorway, quietly observing Regulus in their softly lit bathroom.

He's perched on the ledge of the bathtub, seemingly lost in thought, his head bowed and fingers idle and aimless where they trace the rim of it. He's shirtless, clad in only boxers and socks. His bare thighs press against the cool porcelain, causing goosebumps to rise there. Soft, late evening light leaks from the window, casting gentle shadows against his frame.

Outside, the rhythmic passing of cars punctuates the stillness, their headlights casting golden beams that dance across the wet asphalt. The nearby stoplight's red glow mingles with them, creating a surreal mix of colors on the shimmering pavement.

There's a soft rustle of movement as James enters the room behind Regulus, moving to the sink. He sifts through the contents of their vanity, hands passing over their shared face wash and the cup holding their toothbrushes to retrieve the items needed for Regulus' tape aftercare. Deft hands gather oil, washcloths, cotton swabs, and salve before placing them on the bathtub ledge. He approaches Regulus with a tenderness reserved only for moments like these, for him.

"Ready, love?" James' voice breaks the silence with a mellow murmur. He settles his weight behind him.

Regulus turns his head, giving a small nod against his own shoulder. "Yeah," he says, voice crackling from disuse.

James leans in to press a kiss between Regulus' shoulder blades. He lingers there for a moment. This close, he can see the faint dusting of freckles that mark his back. They're spattered across the skin like spray from a wave on sand. Speckles in shades of russet, sepia, and chocolate dance across his pale skin, shifting as Regulus shivers lightly. As James' lips leave his back, the muscles beneath those pretty dots tremble.

James reaches for the oil, uncaps it, and warms it between his hands. He presses both his palms to Regulus, carefully smoothing the oil over the edges of the tape. His touch follows the span of the tape from Regulus' back, under his arms, to the front of his chest. His movements are slow and practiced, designed as much to reassure as to treat. The oil glistens slightly on Regulus' skin, catching the dim light as it begins to soften the adhesive.

As they wait for the tape to loosen, a comfortable silence settles over them, punctuated only by the distant sounds of the city and their own quiet breathing. James doesn't stop his ministrations; his fingers continue to trace gentle paths along Regulus' shoulders, the back of his neck, following the delicate contours of his shoulder blades. These moments are so special to him; he wants Regulus to feel loved through his actions, to experience the same palpable surge of affection with each pass of his hands that James feels. There is so much trust that Reg offers him in these moments—it's intimate. James is the only person Regulus allows to see the most vulnerable parts of himself, and that knowledge alone makes James' heart swell with fondness and love. He has never loved someone as he does Regulus.

Regulus, Regulus, Regulus.

Sometimes, James thinks Regulus was crafted specifically for him; as if the cosmos themselves conspired to mold him to perfectly complement the contours of James' own body, his own soul. Looking back, it's almost silly to him now—he thought he knew what love was like before him. His heart was already overflowing with it for Sirius, his mum, his dad, his friends. He's always had big emotions, brimming with affection and fierce protectiveness for the people around him. He's always cared deeply and felt profoundly, but nothing could have prepared him for the depth of feeling that Regulus brought into his life.

James knows nothing, nobody else could ever make him feel like this.

He settles his hands on the edges of the tape on Regulus' left side. "Gonna take it off now, okay?"

"Yeah, okay James. Go ahead"

James pulls at the tape gently, easing it from the skin. He's careful not to pull too hard or move too fast, patient as he works. He grabs Regulus' bicep, thumb pressing into the underside, fingers curling over. "Lift your arm up, Reg," he instructs softly.

Regulus raises his arm, holding it aloft as James' hand moves back down to steady the skin being separated from the tape. He can't resist pausing to press a kiss to the underside of his bicep before continuing to peel off the tape there. When he encounters a tough spot, where the tape still clings to his skin, James reaches for more oil. He warms it between his fingers once again before lightly holding the piece back, rubbing it into the seam between Regulus' skin and the tape until it loosens enough for him to continue. He carefully removes the first piece, then works at a second, a third, before repeating the process on Regulus' right side.

There's still a faint trace of leftover adhesive where the edges of the tape once were. So, James takes a cotton swab, dips it in oil, and meticulously traces the outlines left by the pieces. He moves slowly, with deliberate delicacy, mindful of the soreness of his skin.

Once he's satisfied, James fetches the washcloth. He soaks it in warm, soapy water and carefully cleans the area, wiping away excess oil and any lingering traces of the day. Then he reaches for the salve—the last physical part of their routine, though James knows the comfort it brings goes beyond just the skin. Two of his fingers dip into the container, scooping up the soothing balm. James is so careful with him, his fingers so gentle as they spread the salve, taking extra care with the tender skin under his arms and over his ribs. He traces the rungs of them, then the dip of his chest, making sure no skin is left uncared for.

James then grabs what's technically his own shirt—a worn, soft thing that Regulus has claimed as his own, his favorite pajama top—from the ledge of the sink. He helps Regulus slip it over his head, taking advantage of every second he allows him to be so close, to take care of him.

"Feeling okay?" James asks once Regulus is settled.

He trails his hand at the hem of his shirt, slipping it underneath to rest gently on his stomach, careful not to brush the newly cared-for skin or his chest.

Regulus hums an affirmative, "mhmm." Eyes closing and head tipping back as he nods.

"I'm not just asking about your skin, love," James whispers. It's tough for Regulus sometimes, taking the tape off, sitting with his chest. It's a necessity though, for his well-being, despite the discomfort it brings. And James always does everything within his power to make it easier for him. He knows he can't fix everything, but he'd be damned if he didn't at least try to.

Regulus reaches back, his palm sliding from James' elbow to his hand beneath his shirt, their fingers intertwining at his stomach. Their faces are so close that Regulus' cheek drags against James' as he turns his head, planting a soft kiss on James' cheek. "I do, I feel okay. I promise," he murmurs, giving James a warm smile.

Leaning back into James' frame, Regulus lets his weight settle comfortably against him. "You make it easier," he breathes out, words floating into the space between them. Another kiss, "Thank you. I love you."

James holds him a moment, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breath, heart swelling just a little bit more. "I love you too."

#i wonder if the transphobes in my inbox realize that all that they accomplish is motivating me to write more trans reg sooo #jegulus #regulus black #james potter #jegulus fic #jegulus microfic #marauders #starchaser #sunseeker #marauders fanfic #james x regulus

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lorelune · 3 months ago

Text

of carnage

|| blade x reader || E/18+ || shared toxicity, band au || wc: 8.8k || ao3 ||

You and Blade are mutually assured destruction. You know this, and yet it does not stop you from chasing after him.

minors, antis and ageless blogs dni

notes: well hello :3c this fic is part of a trade i did for some LOVELY selfship art with MOST BELOVED @rabbbitseason!! they asked for toxic bladie and reader and i come to DELIVER 🙏 setting and au are heavily inspired by my time in my local music scene and all of the 💀that came with it. i'm glad it can be all get repurposed into blade smut 🫶 THANK YOU!! to bitti for giving me so many fun wants to craft around!! THANK YOU!!! as well to @ofmermaidstories and @2kmps for beta reading!! now, please mind the tags on this one and enjoy <3

CW: dark content, band au, dubcon, pain during sex, bleeding during sex, toxic relationship between blade and reader, angst, hurt/a little comfort, manipulation, gaslighting by blade and the reader @ themselves, face slapping, spanking, spitting, reader smokes cigarettes, reader drinks, self destructive reader, past blade/dan heng, implied unrequited jing yuan/dan heng, kernels of jing yuan/reader

“Are you going to the gig tonight? Fu Xuan asks as if the answer isn’t obvious already.

You crane your neck back to look at her from your roost in front of your full-length mirror. Your knees dig into the carpet and the tips of your fingers are tinged with black. You’ve spent the better part of the last thirty minutes attempting to perfectly smudge the smoky line of eyeliner on your lower lash line. A tube of dark, red lipstick (his color) and sticky gloss rests on the fluffy carpet beside your folded knees.

“Of course.” You can’t make yourself smile, not when your stomach is in knots. “Are you?”

“I should if you are going,” she huffs, leaning against your doorframe. “You need a chaperone.”

(She’s probably right.)

“Please tell me you’re joking.” You grimace and turn away, unable to meet her gaze. She’s too good at reading you. “I’ll be just fine on my own, thank you very much.”

“... He’s playing, isn’t he?”

“I mean, yeah.” You rub more aggressively at the widening smears around your eyes. “But that’s not the only reason.”

“Sure.”

“It’s not, really.” You meet her gaze with a glance in the mirror. It’s hard to keep, her stare intense and full of judgment— (And worry.) “There’s a bunch of good bands tonight. There’s a touring group— all the way from Pier Point.”

“Uh-huh.”

“You have no faith in me, do you?” You pout, keeping your voice light, and hoping it comes off as a bit of a jest.

When you finally turn to face Fu Xuan fully, she dips to sit beside you, on her own folded knees. She plucks your soon-to-be-worn lipstick off the ground and uncaps it, just long enough to see the color, before sighing and closing it once more with a pop.

“Not really, no.” Fu Xuan leans against your side, cheeks puffing out. “Not when it comes to him—”

“You can say his name, you know.” You smear chalky highlighter on your cheeks with your fingertips. “It’s not a slur. He’s just some guy.”

“‘Some guy’,” She groans. “If he’s really just some guy, why don’t we skip the gig tonight and stay home? We can order in some nice food, and I could invite Qingque.”

“... I—”

“You know that going is a bad idea, right?” Fu Xuan sighs. “We’ve gone over this before.”

“I’m aware of that.” You can’t suppress your scowl any longer, turning to face her. “Blade is fine—”

“He treats you like shit.”

“He treats everyone like that.”

“That doesn’t make it better. If anything, that makes it worse. You deserve better.” Fu Xuan sounds genuinely upset. “And you can do better. Easily. With literally anyone else, even if you find them at one of your nasty house shows. Try entertaining the thought?”

“You don’t have to be so—” You turn to her, fist balling up on your knees— “So mean about it.”

“It’s messy.”

“And it’s not your business.”

“It’s not!” Fu Xuan says, exasperated as she rolls her eyes. “I really shouldn’t even be bothering, but you are my friend. And it is painful to watch you chase the tail of a man who will hardly give you the time of day or bare minimum respect. Excuse me for showing concern.”

“Your concern is noted.” As it has been before. “But I’m fine. I wasn’t lying earlier— there’s other groups I want to see tonight. You... don’t have to come along just to babysit. I’ll be alright. I know you hate them.”

“I do.”

Fu Xuan crosses her arms and exhales, something angry and burning. “At least let me drive you. I can pick you up later too. Rather I do than some stranger or him—”

“Blade. His name, Fu Xuan.”

“Blade.”

“God, you do say it like a slur.” You roll your eyes, the pit in your stomach having become larger and darker. You swipe below your eyes and thank an Aeon or two that your eyeliner is waterproof.

...

The house venue is a bit out of town, in the rural suburbs on a lot that’s big enough to host a crowd and not bother the nearest neighbors. Fields streak by during your journey, humming with junebugs and chirping with late- summer crickets. Low hills roll by as a harvest moon rises, waxing and half-full.

Fu Xuan drops you at the curb and idles as you collect yourself. A crossbody bag carries your essentials (your phone, your sticky lip products, a lighter to go with the pack of cigarettes that you actually don’t smoke, and two condoms shoved against the bottom). You fiddle with the strap against your shoulder.

“Call me when you need me to pick you up, okay?” Fu Xuan taps the steering wheel. “I’ll be awake.”

“Okay, mom.”

“I mean it—”

“I know.”

“Don’t go home with Blade. Or let him drive you home. He handles a car like he’s trying to kill himself.”

It’s a fair assessment but you still shake your head, trying to seem good-natured despite the rot you feel curling in the back of your throat. Bile, rising, before you have a drop of liquor in you. It’s a little pathetic; you’ll really think so in retrospect. For now, you walk toward the venue itching for a drink in your hand or familiar company. Thundering bass and ripping guitar vibrate from the basement windows, shaking the ground beneath your feet.

A crowd clusters at the back of the house. Folks swap cigarettes and clutch cans of cheap beer and flasks decorated with stickers. You quickly survey, looking for, searching for him—

(He’s usually out here before his set, hiding away somewhere with Kafka sharing cigarettes and glaring at anyone dumb enough to make a pass at her.)

A hand grabs you by the shoulder, and you nearly jump out of your skin. “Oh my gosh, you’re here! I didn’t know you’d be coming to the gig!”

It’s March, you know. She is easy to identify with the sweet, candy-like perfume she wears and the slight press of her almond-shaped gel manicure into your shoulder. March turns you abruptly, throwing her arms around your shoulders and squeezing. Too tightly, knocking the air out of you in an instant. You give her a tentative hug back and pull away quickly. The contact scalds you.

“Have you seen—?”

“Blade?” March pouts and tilts her head. “You know, I feel like you only come to these things to see that guy. He’s nothing special. And I have seen him. He was off sulking a while ago, by the sheds in the back of the lot.”

“... I’ll have to check. Thanks, March.”

She sighs as you walk away from her, before calling out to Stelle (who is always a step or two behind her anyways.)

You feel— bad about how you treat them. They’re both good people. So is the third in their trio, Dan Heng, a man with a beautiful face and an eerily calm demeanor, especially when compared to his companions. The group of them was introduced to you back when you first started attending these shows, hanging around the scene, and sweating in the basement of mildew-filled houses. They were some of your first friends, and easy to mesh with when you gave yourself the time and space to. Stelle always had a flask with lukewarm vodka or tequila, and March kept a case of seltzers in her trunk. Dan Heng was the ever-reliable sober cab.

(It was nice back then. Before you had become so entangled with Blade and the subsequent social politics that came with chasing and occasionally fucking the hot, albeit emotionally-unavailable bassist of HUNTERS. It was far easier to hold those friendships than to orbit around a man who you can never tell if he hates you or wants to fuck you in his back seat.)

You find Blade tucked away around the side of the house, cloaked in shadow while taking long drags of a cigarette. The cherry glows in the dim light. From the basement window peeking out from the ground, a red glow pours out, illuminating the well-worn combat boots he wears. They’re crusted in filth, falling apart at the toe.

(You’d still lick them if he asked you to. Hump them if he asked you twice.)

Another figure stands across from him. Serene, arms crossed, with storm eyes visible even in the poor lighting. Dan Heng keeps a perfectly neutral expression as he speaks, hushed, to Blade who wears a scowl so perfectly that it looks like he’s carved of immovable stone rather than not flesh.

You’re not quite within earshot. You can’t make out their words, only their tone. It’s an angry exchange, one that’s charged with heat lighting and ire. Blade spits something at Dan Heng, venomous in his tone like he so easily is. Dan Heng replies back something so cooly that it’s like a low-tide wave lapping at your feet.

If you were better, you would turn around and leave. Neither of them know that you’re here, so close. It’s invasive to listen, but you know that there’s... history between Blade and Dan Heng. You’ve always wondered what it is, and considering that Blade has the emotional availability of a rotting vegetable, you won’t be getting those details out of him.

Maybe witnessing their dynamic (yet again) could provide you some clarity—?

(And maybe, if you know why Blade was so, so hurt by Dan Heng, you can do better. You can be the exact thing that Blade wants, and then he will want you, just as much as you want him.)

You listen more keenly:

“I’ve asked you to stop booking shows where the Express is already playing.”

“And I’ve asked you to get off my dick and stop being such a priss, but it doesn’t look like you’ll ever do that.”

“I’m asking you to be reasonable.”

“Sure, because clearly asking me to not play prime gigs is ‘reasonable’. Not to mention you should be taking this up with Kafka or Elio, not me. Did you just want an excuse to talk, Imbibitor Lunae—”

“Don’t call me that.”

“What, have something else you’d prefer to be called? I remember plenty of things you liked hearing. Want me to name a few?”

“Hold your tongue—”

A stick cracks behind you and you nearly jump out of your skin.

“Bladie~” Kafka purrs behind you, hands sliding up over your shoulders, hot breath over the back of your neck. “We’re on soon. Soundcheck in five, Firefly has a vodka shot for you if you want.”

You’re frozen.

Blade grunts from around the house, and as he does, Dan Heng emerges from the shadows quickly, on hastened feet, and nearly stumbles when you see him. Your expression must be— fucking stupid. Wide-eyed and slack-jawed as Kafka runs her nails up and down your neck.

As Dan Heng practically sprints off, Kafka croons quietly into your ear, “And what are you doing all the way back here? Looking for Bladie again?”

You don’t need to speak for her to know your answer. Blade’s steps thud against the ground over the short, dry grass.

Part of you knows you should scramble away and pretend you weren’t just lurking like a stray dog begging for kitchen scraps. It’s humiliating to be caught by Kafka (yet again), doing the same shit on a different day. Another part of you, one which is much louder, more persuasive, and saccharine sweet, urges you to face Blade. If you get caught in his maw, good.

Your hands shake as Blade emerges from the dark.

He looks like death. Ghostly pale skin with deep purple eyebags, like bruises. His eyes are cut carnelian, ethereal and volcanic against his parlor. A cigarette hangs between his plump lips, threatening to burn and melt the pieces of his fringe that hang around his cheeks. Long, wild black hair, tipped in faded crimson, falls down his back in frizzy waves. His arms bulge obscenely in the tight, black shirt he wears. A carved jade pendant hangs off of his belt.

Blade stares you down and his scowl deepens, turning even more sour. He mutters something under his breath, something unintelligible but cruel. It’s not the first time he’s spoken to you that way. He’s done so more loudly and more brutally.

You—

(Hate it. You love it. Well, maybe not love, but you crave the way that Blade is awful to you. You’re horrible.)

“Better get inside now,” Kafka hands drift to your waist, tugging on the belt loop of your pants. You let out a little yip. “I’m sure the front row is filling up fast. No need to spy on Bladie if you get a prime spot during the actual set, hm?”

She’s right; she usually is.

Kafka leaves you with an elegant twirl, humming one of HUNTERS songs from their new EP under her breath. You know the tune. You’ve been playing it on repeat for the last two months.

It’s easy to follow the jarring trills of soundcheck as you float inside the home, following the trail of people headed toward the basement. Descending down the rickety, railingless stairs into thick, humid air that reeks of sweat, beer, and fledging mold. Down, down, down you go— maybe to hell, where you perhaps belong.

...

Moon Drinker by HUNTERS

You taught me that the high moon

Was our lovers’ sigil

How quickly did you throw away our runes

How empty is your cup

Moon Drinker

That you would break mine too

...

The gig is decent. That’s how these shows tend to be and you enjoy them just enough to tolerate the stench and humidity of grungy basements like this one.

Three bands play, IP3, the Express, and HUNTERS. The interest you expressed to Fu Xuan about Pier Point’s IP3 was a lie, but they’re not bad. The frontman, a blond with eyes like inverted crystals, has a sultry edge to his voice that verges on sexual. It’s a cleaner sound that rips into something dirtier, filthier, as their set goes on.

The Express follows IP3. You’ve seen them more times than you can count, but the trio is still nice to listen to, even now. March always plays with the crowd in between her harmonies in a way that riles folks up just enough without causing abject chaos. The band plays a new song you don’t know, one that is angry and loud and so unlike their normal sound. Dan Heng is on vocals, rather than solely on guitar, and you’re reminded of how mournful and melodic his voice can be. The exact words of the piece get eaten by the cement foundation of the basement, but you imagine that it’s an elegy.

HUNTERS is last on.

They usually are, as their music is the loudest and gnarliest, and they’re typically the most well-known (even if they have a shit reputation and their crowds leave trashed venues in their wake). You feel— insane when they start playing. You know all of their songs, even if you don’t really like their music. Kafka’s voice is hypnotic in a way that’s disarming, even on a recording. Silver Wolf is too good of a drummer for the caliber of band that they are, and Firefly shreds easily on guitar, trained on strings since childhood, but using her talents in a grunge band rather than on a world stage.

Blade’s bass playing is messy. Though his tempo is sure and unwavering, the actual rhythm drags and punches in intervals that verge on unnerving. You have never been able to place if this is due to whatever rage and poison he carries into music making, or if his fingers are as arthritic as Kafka jokes that they are.

It doesn’t really matter, in the end. The sound blends together in a cacophony that sounds like the way bursted flesh looks. If you could taste the way their newest EP sounded, it would be the iron tang of blood and the acrid burn of bile.

You’re fucked for it— for Blade. You’ve been since you first became tangled in this web.

A pit opens in the middle of the crowd, small at first, but rapidly widening, with more and more people throwing themselves into it. They bounce around and bash against the individuals at the sides of the pit, only to be shoved back in a moment later.

You try to stay away from it. Instead, you watch Blade like a fucking pervert.

The basement has gotten hot. Steamy, if you look hard enough at the air that barely circulates against the low, pipe-ridden ceiling. Blade has thrown his hair up in a high ponytail, wisps of hair still cling to his neck and temples, sweat visibly rolling down his neck. His shirt sticks to his toned chest as the overclocked speakers try to keep up with the HUNTERS most recently released song— ‘MOON DRINKER’.

Blade doesn’t look at you. Not once.

His eyes are fixed elsewhere, deeper in the crowd, beyond the bodies in the pit and those who hang at the outskirts by the house’s ancient boiler. Blade’s attention is fixed on— something (someone. You can assume who.) Not once does his gaze drift down his instrument, and never does he acknowledge the way you stand in the front row, so close, with your attention squarely on him.

(This is normal. So normal, it’s painful.)

The pit expands even further, widening as more gig-goers jump into mosh as one song bleeds into the next. You almost get swirled in yourself as a stranger slams into your side with enough force to nearly knock you to the ground.

A broad, warm hand catches you by your bicep, hoisting you up before you even have a chance to fall.

“Be careful now,” It’s Jing Yuan (who is much too powerful and rich to be at a basement show, but yearning pushes you both to do stupid, nonsensical things) who speaks directly into your ear, so you can hear him even as your ears ring muffled. “Are you alright?”

You turn to nod at him, flashing him a thumbs up and nervous smile. The cologne he wears permeates the space around you, overpowering the sweat and mildew with ease. He gives you an easy smile and a squeeze, before letting you. He sidesteps your frame to be closer to the pit, crossing his arms over his chest and shielding you from the worst of the throng.

You’re grateful for the cover; it would be embarrassing to topple over right in front of Blade.

It takes you a moment to recenter yourself, lost in Jing Yuan’s scent and the roar of Firefly’s final, aching guitar riffs. You look back to HUNTERS once more as they finish out their set in a loud, carnal flourish. The expensive speakers they’ve dragged with them are going to fucking blow out—

Blade is staring at you.

Not into the crowd, toward the placid face and cold heart that so clearly plague him, not to his bandmates or instrument, but looking at you.

In the red-lit basement, his eyes nearly glow, unnatural in their anger as they always are. It seemed more concentrated, feral and crystallized in its intensity. Rage. You want to cower under it while your insides feel hot and frigid all at once. He pierces so easily, so thoughtlessly. As the crowd erupts into cheers and shouts as the set ends, you cannot move. Staked in place.

Not once does Blade look away from you, and his mouth does not deviate from the twisted frown he wears.

...

Swordmaker by HUNTERS

If I were forged alongside you,

Do you think I would forgive you then?

If iron was your skin,

Steel your lungs

and lead your heart,

You would be easier to hold.

Empty are memories

Full is the garden

And bloody is the blade.

…

You should be better than this.

Blade slams you up against the back of the shed, the motion jarring and far too fast to be pleasant. Your head knocks painfully against the wood and peeling paint, and despite how you whimper with the impact, Blade doesn’t react. He doesn’t seem to care.

(You know he doesn’t.)

He hikes your leg up over his hip and grinds against your core through your pants. The motion is rough, clumsy and far too harsh to be pleasurable. The dry friction through your panties makes you squirm and dig your nails into his shoulders. Blade grunts in your ear. You think he likes the pain.

The gig was only let out half an hour ago, and plenty of people are still milling around. Whispers are circulating about if and where there will be an afterparty. You weren’t paying much attention to them— they’re easy to ignore— especially when Blade had been dragging you by the wrist just far enough away from the main house to fuck without being overtly noticeable.

(Barely, though. Blade can be loud and you can be loud when you’re with him. You’re tempting fate to be caught, seen with him in this way. It’s an open secret that you’re the scraps that Blade entertains himself with, but you would rather not be caught with your literal pants down.)

Blade smells like cigarettes and sweat. The scent of unclean smoke tangles in his unruly hair as you get a grip on it and tug. The juncture of his neck has the faintest hint of some cologne you’re sure he doesn’t know the name of and stale sweat. You press your lips there and dare to drag your tongue across his skin and taste him. It’s not a good taste, not necessarily, but you love it. Salty and filthy. (It’s disgusting, but familiar and morosely comforting.) You are drunk on it and it makes you feel pathetic at the same time.

A growl sounds in your ear as Blade pins you with his weight to the shed. Dragging you back from his neck, he grabs your jaw, forcing you to look at him fully.

“Don’t leave marks.” He paralyzes you with his stare and sneer.

“I’d never.” You try to sound earnest, even if it’s a lie. Because you would— you’d bite and tear at his neck (like he does at yours) until the skin there is black and blue. Happily, you would leave hickies above his collar. Split his lip and bite his jaw hard enough to bleed. You could wear his blood on your teeth and smile for once at these fucking gigs.

Instead, you do not bite him. You just let Blade maul you as he desires.

He grinds against your core. The pressure is unpleasant at this point, too much and too little all at the same time. When you whimper now, he just ignores you and slips his hands under your shirt. He grabs your waist in both hands and squeezes.

“Turn around,” says Blade, already twisting you himself, so your front is pressed against the shed.

“H-Here?” You laugh nervously. Despite your... reputation, something cold, unwelcome and uncomfortable settles in you. “C-Can’t we go to your car? Or inside?”

“Maybe later.”

(It’s awful. It’s sick, the way your heart flutters at the implications of ‘later’. ‘Later’ means more of him. More of Blade’s time, his touch, his hardly-there care. More scraps for you to gorge yourself on, more time to beg for more. It’s sick. It’s sick how fucked you are for him.)

Blade reaches around your front to undo the button at the top of your trousers. In a swift motion, he has them around your thighs. Just enough that he can bend you over and access your cunt with some amount of ease. He keeps your panties on at first (he usually does this. You’re never sure why. You can delude yourself into thinking it’s him taking his time with you, but you know that that is a lie).

Blade places one of his hands on the back of your neck to flatten you against the shed, while the other must be unbuttoning his own pants to get his cock out, based on the jingling of metal and shred of a zipper. You swallow, your mouth dry. You’re dry, but you know that if you try to touch yourself to prep at this point, Blade will only be meaner.

The most he does is run two fingers over your slit, over your panties. It’s barely enough contact on your clit to be felt, but you gasp and shudder anyway. Canting your hips back, you try to encourage more contact. Anything he’ll give you.

He sighs behind you. Disappointed. Aggravated. It makes you want to cry.

Blade peels down your panties. The cold air shocks you, your core tightening up, but you hardly have time to adjust to the temperature before Blade’s equally cold hands fully part your folds. He sighs again, pulling away only to spit on his fingers, and smear his saliva around your hole. It feels dirty. You feel dirty.

When Blade pulls away, you whine at the loss of contact (at how cold it is, at how the crowd milling around smoking cigarettes and cheap weed is just on the other side of this dilapidated shed crows and laughs into the night). You swear you can recognize March’s giggle above the din of conversation.

You’re brought back to your entanglement with a harsh slap to your ass. Harsh and audible. The sound that escapes your lips is choked and high.

“Don’t get distracted,” Blade huffs. He spits again, presumably on his dick.

You nod, latching onto the pain radiating from slap to your ass. As if sensing it, Blade lays down another strike. This one is hotter, harder. He isn’t holding back. It is sure to bruise the tender flesh there. A mark. Something that will tangibly ache, something leftover from your tryst.

You could cry.

The velvety head of Blade’s cock nudges your folds. He brackets you into the wall, arms on either side of you. Heat radiates off his chest and sinks into your spine.

“‘Feels good?” He asks, voice hoarse as he coats himself in your meager slick.

“Y-yeah,” you lie. It’s not enough to feel good. You don’t care.

Blade seems content enough with your answer as he bears down on you. Flattening you to the dirt-covered shed, he hitches his hip down, then up, trying to fit the tip of his cock into your hole. He maneuvers your hips as he pleases, grunting when the tip of him catches on your cunt. When you dare to whine, even the smallest sound, he cracks his hand down on your ass again. Your vision speckles into darkness with the shot of pain and—

(The roar of anxiety and subsequent shame when you realize how much quieter the milling crowd nearby has become.)

“Hold still.” Blade's voice has sunk low, gravely with the cigarettes he’s been smoking all evening.

The next time his cock touches your opening, he presses in without hesitation.

It’s—

It’s too fucking much.

It is, it always is, every single fucking time he fucks you. Any prep he gives you is perfunctory. Blade will never lavish you with attention, not in the way that you probably need. That you—

(Might even deserve.)

No, the most that Blade will do is fuck you filthy behind a shed, near some of his more well-adjusted peers and probably come inside of you. On past occasions, he has let you suck him off in the backseat of his car. He’s only accidentally (‘accidentally’) came on your face a few times. Less than ten, more than five. Once, he ate you out for a few minutes, but you swear to god he was groaning someone else’s name as he did.

(You’re fucking pathetic.)

This is always too much. Blade is too big. Too big, even if you were stretched and primed with a few fingers like would be right and proper. As tight and dry as you are, it’s painful. He has to grind into your cunt with rolling little thrust so he can fit himself in at all. Each one shocks a breath out of you, a shattering, fragile sound.

When Blade bottoms out, he lays flat over your back. The weight of him is suffocating. His corded muscle is all dead weight above you as his cock twitches inside you. You can’t tell if he’s idling to allow you some time to adjust, or purely for his own leisure. You can’t be sure. You don’t want to ask him either.

“You’re tight.” Blade’s voice threatens to break.

(Of course you are. He’s the only person you will let fuck you, and these trysts only occur every few weeks, when there’s a show that you can be cornered at.)

He bucks into you, deeper still. The head of his cock is touching parts of you that shouldn’t be touched.

You whimper, “Blade—”

He growls in response. It’s a raspy and low tone that makes arousal burn in your gut and leak down your thighs. (You hope so anyway— it’s more wet and you don’t think it hurts enough that you’re bleeding.) Blade fucks you in earnest, then. There’s no delay, no waiting, no potential for momentary, perceived niceties. He pulls out of you almost completely, then thrusts back into you in one single motion. The friction burns and your vision wavers.

(You still moan like a whore.)

You feel— dirty. Disgusting. Pathetic as he fucks you like. You don’t feel like a person as he fucks you; you never do. How could you? The grip he uses on your hips is too bruising and the force and strength he’s using to brutalize your cunt is just too much. He fucks you like he’s taking anger out on a piece of drywall. Blade shares physically with you in the way a dog shreds a chew toy to bits, then leaves it on the ground to fester.

Blade grunts next to your ear, nipping there.

He doesn’t kiss you— well, not often. He can’t with your current position. You wouldn’t expect him to anyway. Sometimes he leaves a ring of dark hickies across your neck, like a collar. You like those, but he always waits an extra long time to see you after he marks you like that.

(You presume to make sure that the bruises have fully yellowed, then faded. A clean canvas.)

Blade’s pace increases, just before he pulls out. His cock rests on the cleft of your ass and he tips his forehead to rest on the shed, just beside yours.

“You’re still dry.”

“Sorry—”

He cuts you off. “It’s fine.”

...

It apparently isn’t fine.

Blade drags you toward the house. He barks at someone, then Kafka, to find a room. You feel dazed as he does. Out of your body, as you receive a number of knowing and unknowing stares from the lingering show-goers who cluster around a firepit.

(How many of them heard you just now? How many know the exact sounds you make when in barely-there pleasure? In certainly-there pain? How many of them know the sound of Blade’s too-big cock slapping into your too-dry cunt?)

It makes you feel sick to think about.

A room must be found for the two of you, as Blade drags you up the stairs of the back porch.

As he does, he hesitates.

(He has so rarely done this.)

His gaze is not on you; it pierces elsewhere in the dark. A floodlight off the back of the house illuminates a section of the yard, and just beyond its reach, nestled somewhere between the dark and light, he fixates. His jaw sets and locks.

There are figures, you realize.

They’re easy to identify once you actually focus. One is lithe and short-haired, the other broad-shouldered and long-haired. Dan Heng and Jing Yuan. Speaking on the outskirts. It feels private. Their attention turns from their hushed conversation to the two of you as Blade stares daggers and swords into them. As if he could pierce them with nothing more than his silent rage and angry eyes.

You freeze.

Their expressions are obscured in the lowlight, but you can almost feel the looks they give you. Like a sickly mucus that gets stuck to you and rolls down your flesh in slow, cold globs.

Dan Heng (once so dear to you, still probably dear to you—) looks guarded, thought darkened. Contempt twists his expression, anger following just after. You’d ever wager that he’s disgusted, maybe. Probably with you, because he knows you’re better than this. Beside him, Jing Yuan wears an expression of careful passivity, of geniality, as he always does, but it’s tinged with something sad and old. For all parties involved in this silent, momentary exchange.

Jing Yuan regards you directly, slowly blinking at you, as though he was a large house cat intent on making you feel safe, and not a presence that only drives the bubbling anxiety in you higher.

It’s a seconds-long encounter that stretches for an eternity. You cannot make yourself move. You cannot feel anything other than rotten and small.

Blade lets out a harsh exhale and yanks you away. The scene breaks and you’re dragged inside. He whispers under his breath, vitriol-tinging his tone. Your panties feel sticky and wet as you walk.

Kafka had found a room for you, on the second floor of the house. God knows whose it actually is. You don’t get a good look at the room as Blade pushes you inside.. It’s dim, the only light is licking in from the dirty window, an afterburn from the raging bonfire outside. You hear muffled voices still, leaking in like a draft.

Blade locks the door and pushes you onto the unmade bed.

It’s a cheap mattress with flannel sheets. It smells like old weed smoke and cheap incense. Fu Xuan would tell you that you deserve better than this. You think you might.

Blade climbs on top of you, jaw still locked, and eyes far away.

(You do wonder what happened between him and Dan Heng. Something did. Something gutting and heartbreaking— you hear it when Blade sings. A betrayal, an intangible knife cut but still so painful. Dan Heng has always spoken about Blade with a type of protective neutrality. He warned you to never get involved with Blade. To stay away, to not get on Blade’s bad side, and if something did entangle you with him, Dan Heng could sort it out. He has always cared so fiercely for those he loves; it’s a shame that you have squandered it.)

(Blade is a sentimentalist. Blade is so held in the past that it chokes him. It always has, during every moment you’ve shared with him. He lingers in the bloody past, he holds it in his hands with a grip that’s meant to snap bird wings and flay flesh. He hates Dan Heng. He still loves him, though. You see it on his face sometimes. You hear it in Blade’s music. The ache, the death, the unending grief and mourning and rage that the man simply won’t let go of.)

(It is obsession.)

It shouldn’t make you bitter to think about. Yet, it does. It’s not your place to hold those types of feelings, let alone express them. For so many reasons, Blade will never see you as anything more than a cheap fuck. You think Dan Heng is the primary one. Over time, you’ve grown bitter. Resentful.

Blade pulls off your shirt in one swift move. He’s slower than he usually is. More deliberate. His hands are shaking, like how they do just after he finishes a set. It’s… off—

You hate it. You hate that the lingering pain of someone else will effect Blade more than you ever, ever could in the present.

You grab a fistful of his hair and tug. His breath catches as you do.

”What the fuck is your deal?” You sneer at him. There’s a cruel edge in your voice that does not sound like you. Blade brings out the worst in you, and you fall prey to it, so easily.

Blade glances up at you, eyes sharp like cut gems. He says nothing.

”You and Dan Heng,” you laugh. You don’t mean to— you don’t, you don’t— and you yank Blade’s hair so he has to look at you better. “It’s pathetic, you know. How you look at him like a kicked fucking dog. What happened between the two of you, anyways?”

Blade freezes. So do you.

You’ve misstepped so brutally. So stupidly and tragically and idiotically. You’ve pushed too hard for what—?

Blade is on his haunches in an instance and he slaps you across the face.

Your head follows the force of the impact, forcing your face to the side. Your cheek smarts. It wasn’t— that hard. Blade is strong. He could do worse. Still, it shocks you. The pain is enough to make you gasp and reel.

”What the fuck—“

”Don’t,” Blade grabs your jaw, “open your mouth about things you know nothing about. You should know better.”

You should. You do.

”I could know more, if you ever told me, I don’t know— anything?” You laugh in his face, manic behind your eyes. You’re crushing the delicate nature of your cheap arrangement like how a child would crush a flighty butterfly’s papery wings.

Blade shakes his head, smothering a laugh. He wrangles you forward, half-off risen from the bed, and parts your lips with his thumb. Before you can react, bite, claw— he is raising himself higher than you, dwarfing you in height, and spitting down into your mouth, onto your tongue.

”You don’t know when to shut up, do you?” He pats the side of your face, over the cheek that he struck. It burns. In another world, this touch would be tender. Here, you can only wince.

Before you can reply, continue to run your mouth and rile him up further, Blade kisses you.

It shocks you, stuns you.

He— he hasn’t ever kissed you before. It’s never been an explicit boundary, but never once during these trysts has Blade ever initiated this type of contact. It has felt dangerous to do so yourself. Something that’s too intimate, too personal to share. The core of your entanglement is the way he uses you. It’s impersonal.

A kiss, you think, implies something more tender.

You gasp into his lips, and he takes the opportunity to all but violate the inside of your mouth. His tongue plunders inside, licking at his own spit that you have yet to swallow. A noise chokes off in the back of your throat. Something desperate and shocked that you hardly recognize. It’s filthy. He nips at your lips and pushes you back down.

Blade devours you.

It’s too much, really. It’s a gesture of tenderness that has been so thoroughly mutilated, calling it a kiss feels paltry. The way his lips are on your own is much more like an argument and a subsequent conquest. One in which you lose ground. He nips at your lower lip, snags it between his teeth, and tugs it as he pulls away.

You pant, the sound of your own breath roars in your own ears. Your hands are still buried in his hair, grip unyielding, anchoring you.

Blade smiles, something poisonous and satisfied. You are too drunk on the singular kiss he gives you to care that much.

“That’s all it takes, is it?” He laughs, the sound dark and rolling, like the sound of an earthquake cracking the earth.

He already knows you’ll beg for scraps. God forbid he gives you even a morsel more.

The bed squeaks as he flips you by your hips so you’re laid flat, belly-down on the dirty sheets. Blade spanks your still-clothed ass for good measure before rustling around behind you. Assumedly to disrobe, just enough to fuck you. Assumedly, to ignore the condoms you brought (knowing he would disregard them—). Assumedly, to fuck you with every inch of your life.

You want it. You want him so badly it physically hurts.

(Or, maybe you tore while he had you behind the shed. Who is to say?)

Blade clamors behind you, shaking, arthritic hands tugging your pants by the waistband. He doesn’t even bother to unzip them this time. Your panties get pulled down along with them, and they get tossed elsewhere in the barely-lit room. Blade spits behind you, and a sound of too-dry stroking follows.

“D-do you want me to suck you off?” you ask with a hum. You’d let him fuck your face, if he asked. Or, if he wanted. Blade wouldn’t ask.

“No.”

“Just let me know.”

Blade sighs behind you, but you think little of it.

You brace yourself up on your elbows, lowering your upper half to be flat against the bed, and arching your hips as high as they’ll go. It’s as if to make yourself look appetizing. You hope it entices Blade, even a little.

(Please, you need him to want you. You need him to want you so badly. Please, please, please—)

The head of Blade’s cock rubs as your hole, down to your clit, then back up again a few times. He’s so hot, it’s like he is burning you. Contact that scalds. The contact against your clit is... nice. It’s the most warm up he has graced you with in a while. You could crave more, but settle for this.

“C’mon Blade,” you whine. Your voice sounds airy. “Fuck me.”

He doesn’t reply, not with his voice. The rocking of his hips becomes more pronounced, and the slide of him against you becomes slicker. Still too big, too hot, but wet at least. Which is a bonus. Pre and blood are probably leaking onto the shaft at least a little bit too.

It makes it easier once he slides home in a single blow.

It’s too fucking deep— especially with this angle. The head of his cock presses against your deepest parts, bruises them in a place where no one can see or feel but you. Blade is huge, the girth of him stretches you as his hips rest against your ass.

A wretched noise bubbles up past your lips. Something between a cry and a plea, for more, for less— to go home, to be in a warm, clean bed with someone who actually cares— you aren’t sure. Your desires have been twisted up and wrong for so long, you can’t tell what you really want.

It makes you feel rotten, and then there’s only one thing you want.

(To hurt.)

Blade fucks you, then. Fully in, fully out of. Long and deep thrusts that carve out your insides in a brutal way. It’s violent. He leans over your back, and braces himself over you. You feel small, stupid, and hurt. A horrible swirl of things that make tears spring up at the corners of your eyes. You bury your face in the crusty pillow you’d manage to snag nearby—

And Blade tugs it away immediately. His big, calloused hand curls to hold your jaw up, so every pitiful whine and whimper you let out can’t be muffled. The bed squeaks as his thrusts slow.

“Don’t hide.”

“I-I won’t.”

“You were.”

“I won’t a-again—”

“You want this, don’t you?” Blade growls in your ears, then moves to the most fragile skin of your neck and bites.

(You do, you do— god you do. You need this.)

You nod, and Blade keeps biting. His jaw nearly locks. You’re sure that you’ll be bruised for a week.

Blade scoffs and rears back, grabs your hips in both hands for leverage. And he fucks you.

That’s all it can be, really. You can’t get a solid hold on anything. The pillow has been thrown off the bed, and you struggle to find purchase on the sheets. All you do is take it. Pleasure, or something like it, builds in your core and goes nowhere. It simmers but never crests anywhere near orgasm.

You don’t mind. This is enough.

Blade’s pace increases, never frantic. Never with him. Manic maybe, insane, tortured and damaged, but never frantic. Not with you. His rhythm falters as his cock slides in and out of you, slick beginning to stick to the inside of your thighs.

His hand comes down on his ass. The other cheek, this time. It’s enough force to bruise again. You’ll have trouble sitting for a week.

As Blade nears his peak, his rhythm stutters. His breath grows harsher and more strained. His grip goes from bruising to breaking. You gasp with the pain, but don’t tell him to stop. His cock brushes against your cervix, and never your sweet spot.

Blade flattens you to bed, prone, and puts his entire weight on top of you as his orgasm hits him. A strangled cry shatters from his lips into your ear as he fucks you too fast and too hard. A gush of warmth fills your insides, spilling to your outsides when there isn’t enough of you to hold all of him.

The bed frame slams into the wall with his final few thrusts.

You lay there, in the filth, in the pain and the dissatisfaction of the tryst, and rot.

...

Blade leaves you there, at some point.

Not right away, but eventually. He rolls off you at some point, catches his breath for a while, checks his phone, then rises to right himself.

You cannot make yourself move. The only thing you can make yourself do is take slow, measured breaths. Each ache in your body is punctuated, loud and unignorable now that the fizzling pleasure of sex has dissipated. What’s left of it is this: carnage.

“You have a ride home?” Blade asks. He must be near the door, based on the sound of his voice.

Fu Xuan’s warning words come to mind, and shame fills your belly.

“Yeah.”

“Good.”

And he leaves.

You rot for a while longer.

This is not the first encounter that has gone this way. Blade fucks you like this and leaves. There’s no reverie or sweetness. There is using and being used, and the conclusion that always follows is this. Cooling, soon-to-be dry cum leaking out of you in thick droplets and a bite mark on your neck you’ll need to conceal for the next two weeks. Blade will ignore you like he doesn’t know you, next time he sees. But still fucks you like a toy.

It’s awful. It’s all you want.

You force yourself up at some point.

You’re surprised to find that your pants and panties are in a heap on the end of the bed. You are sure that they were tossed farther, but perhaps you misremember. Painstakingly, you rerobe yourself. Moving your legs in such ways hurts so bad, you could cry. You probably did cry while Blade fucked you.

The quick stop in the squalid bathroom confirms this. Mascara smudges around your eyes and down your cheeks. The sticky gloss you were wearing has been smeared away. Not even a stain of the crimson remains.

You feel hollow as you walk down the stairs, outside, toward the bonfire and its rapidly dwindling flames. A few folks still millaround, people you recognize, just barely, though no one you could call a friend remains around the pit. Stelle, March, and Dan Heng are long gone, probably. You’d feel too ashamed to look them in the eye anyway.

Someone offers you a warm beer and you take it. Your hands shake.

Hollow and wordless, you move around the backyard like a specter. Part of you wishes you were one, just something mostly formless and shapeless. Transparent. No one could see you make a fool of yourself that way. There would be no witnesses to your desperation and perversion.

You swallow back bile when it rises in your throat, and wash it down with a chug from the can.

You’re surprised to find Jing Yuan idling around the corner of the house. He looks up when you near him, and he greets you with the same genial smile he always wears. He nods to the space next him, already plucking a pack of cigarettes from the breast pocket on his shirt. You take one, and he lights it for you in the next instant.

“It looks like you needed that,” he hums. He doesn't take one for himself, only tucking the carton away and out of sight.

“Maybe.” You want to vomit. Or slide down the wall of the house and rot there.

He laughs then. It’s too... warm of a sound for how you feel. For how dirty these venues are, and for the company that you have come to hold, it feels dissonant. Jing Yuan is too kind, too patient.

(He cannot be your friend because your ruin would spread to him, maybe.)

“Take as many as you like,” he urges with a hum, and settles next to you.

Silently, you ruminate. Descend into yourself. You suppose, given the events you’ve seen tonight, that you’re both stewing in something akin to yearning.

(Jing Yuan is better than you for it. He, at least, doesn’t sleep with his unrequited adored in someone else’s bed after a messy house show.)

“Do you have a way home?” asks Jing Yuan, breaking you from your slow-rolling spiral.

You shake your head. It would be rude to call Fu Xuan so late. You— you hadn’t really thought about a ride. Not yet.

Jing Yuan looks you up and down and his smile looks sadder, “How about a ride home?”

“Sure.” You nod.

The ride back home in Jing Yuan’s (too nice, too expensive, too decadent) car is quiet. An album from a band you don’t recognize plays at a low volume. Soothing, soft voices, so juxtaposed from the venue you leave behind. Maybe you just can’t recognize the words because you’re decaying. Your phone lays in your lap, over your aching thighs.

[no new messages]

(Because Blade never messages you after a fuck. You’re not worth that much to him.)

...

Gingerly, you unlock your front door and enter your little apartment. Fu Xuan lays on the couch, on her back, with her phone against her collarbone. Her mouth is parted in peaceful sleep, though her hair is still done up, all of her pins are still in.

(She waited for you, again. And you failed her, again.)

You don’t know how she puts up with you. Or why either.

Some part of you wants to vomit. Wretch, like it’ll purge the awful, disgusting thoughts warming you. They do not serve you. You should just—

(Know better. You gain nothing from entangling yourself from Blade. The sex is... enough. Because Blade doesn’t know his own strength sometimes and makes it hurt, unintentionally toeing the line between too little and too much. It’s still not worth it. It shouldn’t be worth it. You’d be better off never going to any gigs, ever again. You wouldn’t have to disappoint and embarrass yourself to your old friends then. You wouldn’t have to linger in the yearning of others while never having that affection given to you.)

You collapse atop your bed. Your makeup has been roughly scrubbed off with an old towel, and you can feel the crunchy remnants of mascara clinging around your eyes. You can’t make yourself care. Burying your face in your pillow, you burrow into your blankets. You’ll probably be sore and hungover tomorrow... today? The songbirds are just beginning to chirp their morning arias. It makes you sick to your stomach.

As you begin to doze, your phone vibrates.

[one new message]

blade: did you get home

Your mouth feels dry and your chest feels so tight you could die.

you: yeah. jing yuan drove me.

[seen: 5:11 AM]

You hold your breath as Blade begins to type. Then stops typing. Then begins again. It goes on for several volleys and you really do think you might puke.

blade: get some sleep

You drop your phone somewhere in your sheets. Giddiness fills your chest, despite the exhaustion and ache and bone-rotting fatigue. Elation causes you to smile, something wide and girlish that you have to hide in your pillow, lest it be beared to the world.

(It’s a scrap. It’s nothing. It’s worse than the bare minimum and the bar is already in hell.)

But, it’s something.

A morsel. Something to clutch onto and hold and cherish.

You want to put his words between your teeth and swallow.

#lore writes #blade x reader #ren x reader #hsr x reader #thank you to bitti for giving me so much juice to work with!!!#thank you to my early 20s and my time in the local music scene to reach about the most toxic men you can imagine <3 #ENJOY LOVES <3

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ssahotchnerr · 1 year ago

Note

just saw this (https://www.tumblr.com/ssahotchnerr/732194441050374144/the-person-talking-about-their-dream-scenario) and it inspired something in me KATIE listen imagine during a pinning era with aaron and you ask him to hold a small mirror that you carry everywhere in case you need to fix your make up/ redo your lipstick!! while applying your lipstick your lips went 😗 and aaron trying so damn hard to keep it together he's just blushing due to the close proximity between the two of you i want need to kiss him so bad

unreservedly

no i need to kiss him cw; bau!reader, gn! but reader wears makeup, small suggestiveness, mutual pining and fluff <3

"hey," you picked up speed in your pace, weaving past some officers and allowing you to catch up with aaron a bit more quickly. "do me a favor?"

"well, it depends on the favor."

you shot him a playful, exasperated expression. "ha ha. if you don't mind," you held up a small compact mirror in one hand, your usual lip liner and lipstick combination in the other. "someone's in the bathroom, so i gotta go with plan b. and it's an emergency."

your sentence finished in a near whine - by now, aaron understood your sense of humor, and frequently bounced it right back at you - in case he needed any convincing (he didn't).

"sure, of course." with a gentle chuckle, aaron retrieved the mirror from you, opening such and holding it aloft, steady with his index finger and thumb.

"my hero," you teased and released a dramatized breath of relief, a delighted glint in your eyes.

first, you adjusted his hand a smidge - the brief skin to skin contact causing your heart to skip - alternating the position of the mirror as he was much taller than you. once you could perfectly see your small reflection peering back at you, did you uncap the lip liner and fall into immediate, firm concentration, lining the top edge of your lip.

as aaron stood there patiently, a nervousness trickled into him. he internally questioned whether or not you wanted him to, or were expecting, him to look away. would his unwanted attention possibly break your engrossment? or was it just, awkward? you applying your makeup, with him silently standing there. though, it didn't feel awkward - it felt rather comfortable, actually - but he could almost laugh at himself. this felt similarly like high school, running his mind and second guessing his actions.

but regardless of your preference, he couldn't pull his gaze away from you even if he tried.

the close proximity allowed him to admire you, and all your features, to his heart's content unreservedly, with zero holdback. for example, he never noticed the faintest of freckles scattered across the bridge of your nose, completely unknown to the plain eye. it filled him with a silly giddiness, something he would be embarrassed to admit aloud; noticing yet a new part of you, one others probably didn't have the knowledge of.

you secured the cap onto the lip liner, and aaron immediately offered his continued assistance, obtaining it with his free hand. you flashed him a bashful smile, before puckering your lips and beginning to apply your nude-pink lipstick slowly.

your lips, dangerous territory. as his eyes dropped, heat immediately pooled in his face, his ears flushing as well. aaron bit down onto his bottom lip, hard, silently urging himself to snap out of it and pull it together.

but it didn't help he could feel your light breath occasionally fan onto his skin, reminding him of the proximity. it would be way too easy to lean in just a bit closer, to foremost and finally kiss you, just like he's been dreaming of.

aaron let out a not-so-silent exhale at the thought, and before his mind could wander, as if it hadn't already - your lipstick lightly tinting his lips, his neck, or scattered along numerous parts of his body. the sound gained your focus, and drew your attention to his profusely blushing face.

your eyebrows crinkled as you pulled the lipstick a few centimeters away from your lips. "are you alright?"

it took aaron a second to find his voice, speaking after a nervous swallow, small strain present and accompanied with a brisk, stiff nod. "fine."

"you don't seem 'fine'." you shrugged, resuming your task. only this time, your lips were parted lightly, forming a small 'o'.

fuck.

"jus' a bit... hot." aaron managed softly, blushing even more if it were possible and finding it difficult to hold the mirror perfectly still. his eyes involuntarily shot back to your lips, but he indulged himself - letting his gaze linger.

#aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner fluff #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotch x reader #aaron hotchner imagine #criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds drabble #aaron hotchner drabble #criminal minds fanfiction #hotch imagine #criminal minds x you

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thewritingrowlet · 6 months ago

Text

The Best Way to Celebrate A Birthday, ft. tripleS Nien

tags: anal, daddy kink, creampie (both type)

author's note: whew, I've finally managed to finish this fic despite the distraction that is NBA playoffs. Thank you always for reading my stuff, hope you like this one as well <3

p.s. send me your asks

edit: forgor to put the word count smh my head

word count: 5,8k+

”Oppa, you’ll be home for our birthday, right? I would love to celebrate with you”.

“Of course, I wouldn’t miss our birthday, ever”.

That was the conversation you had had with Nien over dinner last week before you left for a business trip. You finished everything you had to do just in time to go home and celebrate this year’s birthday. Never in a million years did you think you would be in a relationship with someone who has the same birthday as you, but here you are, sharing a birthday with your girlfriend.

You’re speeding through the highway in your car; Google Maps says that you’ll get home at around 8pm. There will be plenty of time to celebrate; “just need to go home fast,” you think to yourself. Your car is more than capable of cruising at high speed without sacrificing comfort—shoutout to the Germans for their genius engineering minds. You turn up the music volume a little bit as you keep on driving through the dimly lit roads—"man, tripleS is great to listen to in the car; should tell Nien about them,” you think to yourself as Heavy Metal Wings plays over the speakers.

After getting off the highway, you find yourself close to the downtown area where your apartment is. It is now time to sway and swerve your way through city traffic—15 minutes until you get home, Maps says. You’re driving more dangerously now, as proven by other motorists’ horns that you hear every time you make a move on someone in traffic. “Do these people not have places to be?,” you say as you overtake a slower-moving car; you look over and find out that the other driver is distracted by his phone, “get off your phone, man; you’re on the road!,” you yell in annoyance. With every move you make on other drivers, you’re getting closer and closer to home; you silently hope that you’re not going to get a ticket for reckless driving or something of the sort.

You finally see your building after sailing the sea that is downtown traffic. Tap your resident card at the gate and go to your reserved parking spot; “cool, Nien is home,” you say as you see Nien’s car on one of the two spots you have. You get out of the car, caring less if it’s parked perfectly, and head to the elevator, impatient to come home to your girlfriend’s warm embrace after a long week of business trip.

You finally reach your door after a short elevator ride. You knock on the door before entering the passcode; “huh, no sound of Nien,” you think to yourself. You then open the door and almost pass out from shock: Nien is standing right behind the door to surprise you. “Why, hello there,” she says as she reaches out to hug you, “welcome home, oppa. I’ve missed you”. You enter her embrace and immediately feel her warmth that you’ve missed. “Hey, baby,” you say to her before kissing her, “I hope I’m not too late for our birthday”. “The food just arrived so I’d say you’re just in time,” she says as she drags you to the kitchen. You see that she has ordered burgers, pizza, and drinks from your favorite place, as they’re spread all over the dining table. You pull a chair for Nien and wait for her to sit on it before sitting on the other side. “Happy birthday, oppa,” she says. “Happy birthday to you as well, hon,” you reciprocate her sweetness. “So how was the trip?”, she asks as she takes a bite of pizza. “It was boring but necessary, just like all the other ones,” you say to her. “You live a boring life so that I can live a fun one,” she says before letting out a laugh. She’s right, though; you’re working day and night so that you can provide for the two of you—not that Nien is uncapable of doing so herself, it’s just that you two have agreed to do it like this after you had expressed your desire to work and convinced Nien to stay at home.

You two spend an hour eating and catching up. Nien tells you about the horror dramas and movies that she has watched during the week. She also asks you to tell her about the things you’ve done during the trip. You don’t want to bore her with your stories but since she insists, you have no choice but to tell her. You know that it is boring, but you see that Nien is paying close attention to everything you’re saying, which you find to be touching. You two keep exchanging stories back and forth until the food runs out, and that is when she invites you to her next agenda. “Let’s continue celebrating, oppa,” she says. “Wait here and don’t enter the bedroom until I tell you to,” she tells you as she retreats into the bedroom, winking at you as she does. You decide to clean up the trash while she gets ready for whatever she has in mind. As soon as you’re done, Nien yells out to you, “I’m ready when you are, oppa”. You’re as excited as you’re confused with what she has come up with, so you immediately make your way to the bedroom.

“Coming in,” you announce as you knock and open the door. Your jaw drops at the sight in front of you: she’s wearing a sleeveless top and shorts that barely cover half her thighs and a sleeping mask is hanging around her neck. “I know you love it when I wear this sort of clothing,” she says. “What do you have in mind, sweetie?”, you walk up to her. “I’m thinking we can have some fun,” she says as she wraps her arms around your nape, “you look tired, though,” she adds, disappointment in her voice. “You know I’ll do my best for you, love”, you say, putting your arms around her waist. She smiles lovingly at your words, “The best is exactly what I need from you,” she says before pulling away and opening the wardrobe. She grabs a vibrator from the wardrobe and hands you the remote, “you know what to do,” she says before inserting the vibrator into her pussy. She then lays on the bed and puts the sleeping mask over her eyes.

“Oh, almost forgot,” she removes her sleeping mask, gets up from the bed, and head to the wardrobe. “I’ve been trying stuff, you see,” she says as she shows you her anal plug. “Would you do the honors?”, she says as she hands you the plug and bends over in front of you. You don’t want to hurt her, so you cover the plug with your saliva before putting it in her ass. You tap her butt cheeks and she spreads them for you. You slowly push the plug into her ass and lodge it in, making her let out a soft moan. “Oh my, I feel so full already”, she says, referring to the vibrator in her pussy and the plug in her ass. “Imagine if I have my cock in one of those holes,” you give her cheek a slap. “That’s the plan, but now—” she says as she climbs into the bed again and cover her eyes, “make me cum with these, please”. You grab the remote she gave you earlier and set the vibrator on the lowest speed, to which Nien lets out a small moan. “I’m so wet for you right now,” she says between moans, “I’ve missed you so much, oppa”. She’s squirming around in bed as you fiddle with the speed of the vibrator, turning it up and down every so often to stimulate her.

Judging by the way she’s moaning and squirming, you know that she’s getting close to her orgasm. You set the vibrator on the highest speed before you take off your clothes to get ready for some action. “Oppa, I’m about to cum!”, she exclaims. “Go on, baby. Let it all out”, you say, stroking your cock at the sight in front of you. “AHHH FUCK!”, she yells from the top of her lungs as her first orgasm tonight hits her. You stop stroking your cock and look at her, as she’s panting in bed from her orgasm. She then pulls the sleeping mask off and calls out to you, “take them out, oppa”, so you get in bed and pull the vibrator and the plug out. “I’m still not sure what the sleeping mask is for,” you say to her. She lets out a chuckle before answering, “oh, I just wanted to try some things”. You smile at her before coming in for a steamy kiss.

You fight her tongue with yours, as Nien lets out moans into the kiss. You keep pushing and pulling in the kiss until Nien pushes you away to take a breather, “the things you’re doing to me, oppa—I swear I’m going crazy”, she says while taking off everything she has on her body. You chuckle at her words and start kissing down her body, starting from her neck, shoulder, and then her breasts. She’s whining and rolling her body, as if trying to shove her breasts into your mouth. “You like them, oppa? They’re all yours,” she says before letting out a moan. You then suck hard on her left nipple while you pinch the right, making Nien scream in surprise. Unbeknownst to you, she starts rubbing herself and moaning louder, “O-oppa, I think I’m cumming again,” she tells you. “Here, let me help,” you say, bringing a hand to her pussy and rubbing it aggressively. After rubbing it for a bit, she suddenly announces her second orgasm to you, “I’M CUMMING AGAIN, FUCK!”, squirting her juices on to the bed. She immediately falls limp on her back, “my god, you’re killing me,” she says, as her chest rises and falls with heavy breaths. “Would you like to have some water?”, you ask. “I would like to have your cock”, she giggles, “just a second, though. Let me catch my breath”.

Despite Nien rejecting your offer for water, you leave to get some anyway; with what you have in mind, she’ll definitely need some later. You return to her and see that she’s now lying on her stomach. “Hi there”, she says when she sees you, “ready to have some fun?”. You laugh, “have we not been having fun?”. “We have, but the night is still young,” she says, “come on, oppa, take me. I need you”. At her request, you lie in bed next to her; “do you mind warming me up?”, you say to her. She then moves towards your cock and put it in her mouth. The comfortable warmth and wetness of her mouth makes you let out a sigh. You pet her head in bliss, and Nien takes it as a cue to keep going. She goes up and down your cock faster, coating it entirely with her saliva. “You’re so good, baby,” you say when you feel her tongue on your cock, “such a good girl, aren’t you?”. She gives you a wink, your cock still deep in her mouth. You hold the back of her head and tell her to brace herself. You then start thrusting up, hitting the deepest points of her mouth. She tries her best to not gag while you use her mouth like a fleshlight. “Oh, fuck, I’m gonna cum”, you warn her before slamming your cock into her mouth, “take it like the good girl you are”. She does just that: she collects your cum in her mouth without letting a drop leak out. Once it’s all in her mouth, she swallows it in one go. “Oh, I’ve missed that taste”, she says, “that’s one hole you’ve cummed in, time for the next one”.

You pull her up and kiss her, the taste of cum still lingers on her lips. “I like how you don’t avoid kissing me after cumming in mouth”, she says. “I mean, it’s mine”, you say, shrugging. “True, but you know there are guys who don’t think the same”, she continues. “Come on, oppa. I need you to get hard again,” she strokes your half-hard cock. Once she’s satisfied with the stiffness, she sits on your thighs. “Would you look at that,” she says, pressing your cock against her stomach, “all the way to my belly button”. “So?”, you challenge her. “So, let’s put it where it belongs”, she aims your cock at her entrance and gradually goes down on it.

“Oh, fuck, so big”, she says with heavy breaths, “hope it’s tight enough for you”. You find her words to be absurd as she’s always tight and hot down there, so you say to her, “you’re always so tight, baby. No doubt about that”. She kisses you as a gesture of appreciation, “you always say nice things about me, oppa”. You want to reply again but your thoughts were cut off when she takes you in entirely and rolls her hips, throwing her head back in the process. She proceeds to ride you faster, letting out yelps between every moan. “If only I wasn’t on pills”, she says, “you would knock me up for sure”. You put a palm on her stomach and feel the subtle bulge your cock makes with every thrust; “tempted, aren’t you?”, she chuckles, “imagine what it would be like, oppa”.

Lust has completely filled the space in your head, and now you want to take control and do things your way. You roll over and switch positions with Nien, who’s now on her back underneath you. “Did I poke a nerve?”, she teases. “You did”, you chuckle as you palm her neck, “and now it’s on my terms”. You squeeze her neck and speed up your thrusts. You see that Nien’s eyes are rolling to the back of her head thanks to everything you’re doing to her. It also doesn't help that you’re restricting her airway, but she seems to be taking it well, as proven by her moans and grunts. That doesn't last long, though, as after around a dozen thrusts, she taps your arm repeatedly. Feeling merciful, you let go of her neck and let her breathe without letting up the action down below. “Oh, fuck”, she says, as she’s allowed to breathe, “oppa, you’re ruining me”. You laugh, “you’ll take it like a good girl, won’t you?”, you say as you fold her legs and press them against her chest. Nien catches the signal right away and holds the back of her knees; “yes, yes, I’m your good girl, oppa—oh, fuck, please”, she screams when she feels your cock bottoming out in her pussy. “Fuck, you’re even tighter like this”, you then look down and see how your cock is slamming into her pussy and how it takes you oh-so-obediently; “if only I could take a picture right now”, you think to yourself.

You keep slamming into her aggressively, until she announces her impending orgasm. “Oppa, I’m-I’m—OH, FUCK!”, she can’t even finish her words, as her third orgasm tonight hits her like a truck. You keep fucking her through her orgasm because you’re naughty like that, until Nien begs you to stop, “pull out, let me catch my breath—fuck—please, please, oppa”. You don’t want to go beyond the line, so you pull out as she asks, groaning as her juices leak into the bed. “We’re gonna need to change the sheets tonight”, you say to her. Your exhausted girlfriend says none, opting to roll on to her stomach while letting out small whimpers. “I’m gonna feel this in the morning”, she grunts, “you must have missed me too”. “Of course, how can I not?”, you say while gently stroking her hair. “Here, have some water, hon”, you tell her as you put the bottle close to her lips. She takes a few sips before pushing the bottle away. “I knew you’d need it”, you tease her. “You’re going hard on me, oppa. I-I like it”, she says, her cheeks tinted in pink.

You let her catch her breath for a moment and lie down next to her. You praise her performance tonight, but there’s still a lingering question in your mind, “do I get to cum tonight, sweetie? I’m still hard, you see”. “Of course you do, but I’m too tired so you’ll have to take me like this”, she says, still lying on her stomach. You sneakily grab her butt plug before getting behind her. “Ass up, please”, you pull her waist up and line up her pussy with your cock. You stick your cock in her pussy not-so-gently, which makes her scream into the pillow in surprise. ��Mmmh, so big, how do you fit inside me every time”, she softly says. Your ego is inflated even more and with it your lust is peaking again, so you slam your hips into hers roughly, earning moans and screams from your girlfriend. You hear her mumble something into the pillow, so you lean forward to catch what she’s saying, “say that again?”. She turns her head so that she isn’t talking into the pillow, “I love it, daddy”, she says, “you’re ruining me, and I love it”. “Yeah? Let’s see how you like this”, you say as you grab the plug and poke her ass with it. “Gently, please”, she says before hiding her face into the pillow. You cover the plug with your saliva again before inserting it in her ass, it goes in easier this time as her ass is more relaxed from her warmup earlier.

The plug is now perfectly snug in her ass. You pick up the speed of your thrusts again, and that’s when you hear a particularly loud scream from Nien. “DADDY, YOU’RE TEARING ME IN HALF”, she yells from the top of her lungs. She rests her head on the pillow again and whimpers, “daddy, slow down. Please, I’m begging you”. You slow down your thrusts and settle for slow but deep ones. You see that Nien has tears on her cheek, so you lean forward and wipe them with your thumb. “You okay, baby? Wanna say the safe word?”, you make sure she still consents with this. “N-no, I’m fine. I-I just felt like I was torn into two”, she replies. “I’m sorry, I’ll be gentler this time”, you stroke her back softly. “No, do as you wish. I’ll say the safe word if I really want to stop”, she tells you, determination in her gaze. “As you wish, love”, you say before kissing her sweaty back.

You start thrusting slowly and steadily again as you make sure Nien isn’t in pain. You see that her expressions have returned to a lustful one, so you know she’s enjoying this. You gradually pick up your speed and hit her deepest spots again; “she’s moaning again, must be enjoying it”, you think to yourself. Unfortunately for her, you’re one naughty customer; you decide to play with the plug in her ass by pulling it out partially and shoving it back in repeatedly. She doesn’t seem to mind, though; it’s just that her moans are louder, as if she was half-screaming. Your hand keeps pulling and pushing the same way your hips do, stimulating your girlfriend to get her to orgasm again. Her ass stretches when the bubble-like part of the plug almost comes out, which you find to be arousing. “Would you ever let me fuck your ass, baby?”, you ask her. “Mm-maybe—oh, fuck—maybe I would—daddy, I feel so full”.

You keep delivering steady and deep thrusts into her, until you hear your orgasm knocking on the front door. “Nien, I’m gonna cum soon”, you notify her. “Ah, ah—yes, give me your cum, daddy”. You spank her round and smooth butt cheeks until they’re bright red to distract yourself and delay your orgasm. Your orgasm is only delayed for but a moment, as you feel your cock twitch in her pussy. “Oh, fuck, take my cum, baby”, and with it, you’re filling your lovely girlfriend to the brim with your seed. She lets out a long moan as she feels your cum flow into her, “oh my god, that’s so warm”, she sighs, “thank you, daddy. I love you”, she adds.

You pull out your half-hard cock out of her pussy and your cum drips out of her lower lips right away. “Naughty girl, you’re supposed to keep it all in”, you spank her butt cheeks again. “Oh, fuck, I’m sorry, daddy. You’re gonna make it leak more if you keep spanking me”, she pleas. “I don’t care, I’ll just fill you again. Not without punishment, though”, you smack her ass harder until it’s as red as a tomato. She gathers the last bit of strength she has remaining and rolls on to her back to hide her ass from you, “daddy, it hurts, please”, she says. You’re dumbfounded; have you crossed the line? Have you really hurt her? These questions ring in your head endlessly. “There’s a way to fix this, though”, your brain tells you. “I’m sorry, baby. Did I hurt you?”, you say, taking her hand and rubbing the back of it softly. “You-you did, but it’s okay. Nothing I can’t take”, you know that she’s pretending to be okay—she’s lying down languidly in front of you; she’s worn out. “Wait here, okay?”, you kiss her forehead before leaving to get a wet towel.

“Come here, baby”, you pull her up and have her sit on the bed. You start wiping the entirety of her body to clean her up before going to bed. Once you’re done, you carry Nien to the armchair and have her sit there so you can change the sheets that were soaked with cum. Nien covers her face with her hands when you show her the wet spots on the sheets, “that was your fault”, she says. You let out a laugh in agreement and finish changing the sheets. You carry her from the armchair back to the bed and put her down on her stomach. “Um, what are you doing?”, she’s concerned that maybe you’re not ready to call it a night yet. “Nothing, baby. Just stay still, please”, you start rubbing her butt cheeks—which have been tinted in red by your hands—softly to help ease the pain. “I’m so sorry, I went too hard on you”, you bring a hand to her head to stroke her hair. “It’s okay, I know you’ve been frustrated”, she sighs in relief, “your aftercare always feels so nice, oppa”. You reach to the space between her cheeks and pull out the plug, to which her asshole responds by winking at you.

You put on a pair of shorts and big-spoon Nien, ready to get some sleep after dressing her in a tank top and shorts. “Oppa”, she turns around to see you, “I love you”. You pull her into a kiss and peck her forehead, “I love you more”. “Aww, really?”, her eyes widen with love, “I really love you so much, though”. “Yes, baby. I love you so much more”, you laugh, “let’s try and get some sleep, love”. “Sure. Happy birthday to both of us. Good night”, she turns around again and becomes your small spoon.

Not long after saying good night, you go straight to dream land. As someone who can comprehend his dreams, you’re shown a recap of things you have done throughout the week, presented in a series of images—the people whose hands you shook, the food you ate, and places you visited. Sleep feels nice and peaceful, as you manage to sleep through the night and wake up the following morning.

You feel Nien poking your cheek repeatedly; “oppa, wake up”, she softly pinches your cheek. “Ngh, what time is it?”, you try to gather your soul. “It’s around 4 am, and it’s Monday”, she says. “Can’t we sleep more? I already told the secretary I’m taking today off”, you’re fully awake now thanks to her efforts. “You can sleep more if you want to, I just want to do this”, she gets away from your embrace and pulls your shorts off. You decide to play along and cooperate with Nien. She strokes your length to get it hard; “what do you have in mind?”, you inquire. “I wanna stuff my face with your cock”, she says, “now get hard for me, daddy”. She does as she says and takes your entire shaft deep right away. The sounds she’s making with your cock arouse you, and your cock is now rock hard in her mouth.

If you weren’t already fully awake from earlier, you sure are now. Nien is going up and down your cock, taking you deep in her mouth consistently. You can feel that you’re hitting the back of her throat every odd move, which makes her gag every time. She goes up for a breather, “I’m so lucky my boyfriend has a huge cock”, she wipes the leaked spit on her face. “Oh, please—I’m the lucky one”, you groan in satisfaction. You can spend all day arguing who’s luckier to be dating the other, but it’s clear that you’re thankful for each other. “Fuck, that feels good”, you sigh when she runs her tongue on your cock, “you’re so good, baby”. She chuckles, “only for you, daddy. No one else deserves me the same way you do”. You give her a nod as she takes you deep in her throat one more time. She fights her gag reflex as she presses her face against your crotch—you’re not holding her head and she’s doing this on her own, life is great for you right now. “You’re fully awake, aren’t you?”, she strokes your cock fast, “can’t have you cum yet, though”. She gets off the bed and digs through her handbag, and you can’t help but observe. “You know what this is, daddy?”, she shows you a bottle of lube—“I’m getting in her ass!”, your excitement goes through the roof.

She takes some lube in her hand and covers your cock with it. She pulls you to a sitting position and pecks your lips before getting on her hands and knees. “Take me, daddy; stretch me, ruin me, do what you want to me”, she tells you, and you’re more than willing to oblige. You get behind her and spread her ass to get access to her puckered hole. To Nien’s surprise, you don’t fuck her ass immediately, opting to bring your mouth to it instead. “I don’t mind having this as a regular thing”, you murmur before kissing her the forbidden hole. “Mm, I guess we can do that”, she moans when she feels your tongue on her asshole. You know how hard it is for a woman to take it up the ass—some avoid eating for hours before anal, some have a hard time training and getting used to it, and so on—so you decide to only play along when she wants it and not specifically ask to get in her ass.

After you feel like she’s warmed up enough, you press the tip of your cock on her rear entrance. She closes her eyes and grips the sheets when she feels you pushing into her ass. She breathes heavily when you have your tip in her ass, doing her best to get used to your cock stretching her asshole; “ngh, gently”, her voice weak from the stimulation. “You’re doing so well, love”, you rub the small of her back, “you’re my good girl”. You keep pushing until your shaft is fully buried in her ass. She throws her head back at the sensation, “oh, fuck, I’m-I’m so stretched”. You start moving your shaft back and forth in Nien’s ass, as she lets out loud moans and little screams. The sight in front of you—the way her ass is accommodating your girth and length so tightly—is truly intoxicating. You’re amazed that you have managed to fit in such a small hole—and so does she, “how can you fit in there, oppa?”. You have a rough estimate as to how, and that is because Nien is simply the best girl there is.

Nien has become more relaxed now, as you see that she’s no longer gripping the sheets with all her might. You push her back and make her rest her head on a pillow, while you steadily pump her ass. You happen to thrust a little bit too hard, making her lift her head and scream loudly, “FUCK, YOU’RE SO DEEP, DADDY”. “Can’t help it, baby; you’re just so tight”, you groan, “you’re doing so well for me”. You try your best to control the pace and make sure you don’t hurt her too much. You’re still naughty, though, as you pull her torso back up so that you can see her expressions on the mirror that is conveniently placed in front of the bed. You see that she’s making all kinds of faces while taking your cock in the ass—both pain and bliss are mixed in her face at the moment. “Look in the mirror, baby”, you pull her hair, “tell me what you see”. She sticks her tongue out lewdly, “I see someone who’s being a good girl for her daddy”. She then looks back at you lustfully, “harder, daddy”.

You tug her hair as you fuck her ass faster and harder; her moans turn to screams thanks to you. “Yes, daddy, yes”, she chants over and over as you slam your cock into her ass repeatedly. You glance at the clock hanging on the wall above the mirror; 4:50 am, it says—you’ve been fucking Nien in this position for over half an hour, so you decide that it’s time to switch things up.

You pull out your cock out of her ass and sit on the bed. You then ask Nien to ride you in a reverse cowgirl position and plunge into her ass again. You look at the mirror and see the way her tits bounce with every thrust you’re giving her. “Look at your tits”, you take her tits in your hands and play with them, “all for me”. “Ngh, ngh—yes, daddy. They’re yours—I’m yours—oh fuck, so big”, her breaths heavy from the action. You can’t be the only one chasing an orgasm, so you help her by reaching around and rubbing her clit. She leans back against your chest and yelps, “you’re going to make me cum, daddy”. “Go on, cum for your daddy”, you dip your fingers into her pussy to send her across the line.

“DADDY, I’M CUMMING AGAIN”, she screams before slumping forward. You stop pumping her ass and wait for her to come down from her high. You find it hot how she’s panting and trembling in front of you while your cock is still deep in her ass. Nien then looks back at you when she’s calmed down enough, “how far away is your orgasm, oppa? I’m—fuck—getting pretty tired”. “Honestly, not that far away with the way your ass is squeezing me right now”, you slowly start fucking her again. “Ngh—give me your cum again, daddy”, she’s slumped forward away from your body now, too tired to keep her back straight.

After a handful of thrusts, your orgasm is at the door again. You notify her about your impending orgasm, and Nien in her exhausted state can only reply with a low groan. You keep pounding her ass until you feel that your cum is at the tip of your cock, ready to pour out into her ass. “I’m cumming, sweetie”, and with that, your lodge your cock in her ass as cum starts flowing out. “AH FUCK DADDY IT’S SO HOT”, she yells as she moves forward to take your cock out of her ass. You’re shown the gape you’ve made out of her asshole—it’s doing its best to return to its original shape before you stretched it. “God, that’s so hot”, you murmur to yourself. “You did so well, love. Thank you so much”, you kiss the back of her head, “come, let’s get comfortable”. You straighten her weak body and make her lie on her stomach before leaving to get another wet towel.

When you return to Nien, she doesn’t make any sound and you wonder if she’s passed out from exhaustion—she doesn’t respond when you touch her back, so you guess that she’s asleep. It doesn’t stop you from doing your responsibility of helping her clean up, though. You start from her back, which is covered in sweat for the second time tonight—that’s what sex in a hot summer night does to you—all the way down to her legs. You flip the towel and spread her cheeks so you can clean her used asshole, and that is when Nien screams in shock. “Please, please, not again”, her voice laced with panic. “Hey, hey, you’re okay, sweetie. I was just trying to help you clean up. Just breathe, baby”, you avoid touching her so that she doesn’t panic even more.

Once you feel like you’ve done a good enough job of cleaning her up, you flip her onto her side and spoon her like before. You whisper your gratefulness and satisfaction to her ears as a gesture of appreciation for what she’s done tonight. You’re curious, though; “how was it, baby?”. “You’re too big to go there, that’s for sure”, she says with an exhausted voice. “You did so well, though, so thank you for that”, you peck the back of her head. “Really?”, she turns around to see you, “thank you, oppa—I like being appreciated, you know?”. “You’re literally the best for me, love; I’m thankful for you, always. What do you want to do now?”. “Can we stay in bed for a few more hours? I don’t know if I have the energy to do things right now, thanks to you”, she slaps your chest lightly. “We sure can, we have today and tomorrow for ourselves. I love you, my little strawberry”, you peck her forehead and close your eyes to get some more sleep, and that is when you hear Nien say, “I love you too, daddy. Thank you for being who you are”, before letting out a soft sigh. You try your best to not shed a tear at her words, but you hear your heart say, “isn’t love the best thing in the world?”. Yes, love is indeed the best thing this world has to offer.

#girl group smut #triples smut #kpop smut #smut #kpop fanfic #kpop fanfiction #male reader smut #male reader

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fluentmoviequoter · 10 months ago

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Wintery

Pairing: Jason Todd x fem!vigilante!reader

Summary: Gotham winters are brutal, but your best friend Jason Todd and work friend Red Hood know how to combat the cold. Unfortunately, you're falling in love with both of them.

Warnings: reader and Jason don't know the other is a vigilante, fluff, brotherly teasing, kissing, more fluff

Word Count: 1.5k

A/N: I have no idea where this idea came from but it wouldn't leave me alone, so I had to write it. I hope it's okay and feel free to let me know what you think!🤍

Masterlist | DC/Jason Todd Masterlist | Request Info

Picture from Pinterest

Gotham winters are cold, windy, and relentless. There are few places to find refuge from the harsh bite of the chilling wind and fewer remedies to the wind-burned skin and seemingly permanent chapped lips.

Jason Todd, however, is a Gotham boy, born and raised, so he knows the importance of staying moisturized and protected in the winter. So, it's no surprise that he keeps lip balm in his pocket all winter.

No, it isn’t intimidating to see Red Hood putting Chapstick on, but having cracked lips is far more frightening. He finds quiet alleys, tipping his helmet up to combat dry lips before returning to his vigilante duties. Nightwing has only caught him once, and Jason is intent on never experiencing that level of brotherly torture (teasing) again.

✯✯✯✯✯

Since joining the small group of vigilantes, Red Hood has captured and kept your attention. Never saying more than a few words to you, he always seems nearby and eager to help you out of trouble, but you can’t get past that point.

Nightwing and Robin occasionally tell you their ideas to get him to open up to you, convinced there’s something between you, but you brush it off and admire the man in red from a distance.

The night wind is blowing hard enough you’re uncomfortable standing on such a high roof. You tuck yourself behind anything stationary, including Red Hood.

Under the hood, Jason smiles to himself. He knows why you’re standing close to him, your concern for the wind mixing with an irrational idea that he will allow anything to happen to you. But, if you want to use him to block the wind from your pretty face, he’s happy to stay perfectly still. However, his gaze keeps dropping to your lips.

Jason watches you; he has been since you first stumbled upon them in a less than satisfactory suit. You were bleeding from a run-in with several muggers but smiling through your pain because you managed to make someone feel safe in Gotham; a rare feat unless you’re Batman. Instantly drawn to you, Red Hood has let himself get close enough to consider you a friend but not close enough to talk to you or worry incessantly about where you are through the day.

You say something, and Jason shakes his head to escape his memories of you, focusing on you and your dry-lipped smile. The winds are blowing up the building and into your face even as he blocks the worst of it, and your rosy cheeks amplify Jason’s growing concern. He wants to offer his jacket to you, even his chapstick – an unwelcome idea of kissing you to share it enters his mind, but he shoves it away. Or tries to; the imagined feeling of your lips on his is hard to shake.

After your question goes unanswered the second time, you wonder if Red Hood fell asleep under the helmet. He jerks sideways when you slide your hand into his pocket. His grip falls away from the holster on his thigh when he realizes it’s just you. (Though he’d never think 'just you' about anything.) You pull your hand out of the worn leather jacket, a small white tube in your grasp. Keeping your eyes on the small eye slits of the mask, you uncap the balm and put it directly on your lips.

“Thanks,” you say, smiling as you place it back in his pocket before turning away.

Anyone else, and he’d throw it away, unwilling to share such a personal item, but since he just thought about sharing it in a much different way, he doesn’t mind the idea of you doing it again. He’ll have to remember which pocket he put it in and leave it there for you, he decides.

✯✯✯✯✯

“It’s freezing,” you groan, rubbing your arms as you walk inside the warm apartment. “Why can’t we move to Metropolis?”

Jason laughs at you, his best friend. Since he developed what Dick refuses to call anything but “a crush” on his vigilante partner, he’s wondered what this thing with you is. You are his friend, of course, but there is something more there. Jason has never been good with feelings, and he’s in a strange spot between two women who affect him, similar yet completely different in how he responds.

“Because we can’t afford it,” Jason hums, welcoming you onto the couch beside him.

You slide your cold feet under his sweatpants-clad legs, sighing when he lays his arm over your shoulders.

“We who, Mr. Trust Fund Wayne?” you tease, leaning your head against his upper arm. “Thanks for inviting me over, though, even if I did get frostbite on the way.”

Jason chuckles, stopping short when he remembers something someone else said after fighting Mr. Freeze during a riot at Arkham. Shaking his head, he determines that he has a type.

“I’m stealing this,” you interrupt his reading, pulling a hoodie from the back of his couch.

“Be my guest,” he murmurs, watching you pull it over your head. You feel warmer beside him after a few minutes, and when you dig a small tub of lip balm out of your pocket, Jason wonders if he should move to Metropolis.

✯✯✯✯✯

“Where did it go?” Jason says to himself, barely audible through the voice modifier of the mask.

“Whatcha looking for?” you ask, dropping to the fire escape beside Red Hood. He doesn’t answer, but when you realize all his attention is focused on one pocket, you know. “Really? I need it again, too,” you lament.

Red Hood sighs, turning toward you. Your lips still look fine, with no sign of chapping in sight. Deciding he needs it more than you do, Jason seizes the opportunity.

Pushing his helmet up, he grabs your face between his warm, gloved hands. Pulling you against him, Jason presses his lips to yours, moving with you as the moisturizing gloss spreads across his lips.

“Better?” he asks, smirking before his face is hidden behind his helmet again.

Your face is still in his hands as you nod. “Nightwing took it,” you whisper.

Jason rolls his eyes and leans forward, whispering, “Who needs it when I have you?”

“You do,” you reply, dumbfounded and breathless from the kiss you’ve admittedly been daydreaming about. “I got mine from you.”

Red Hood laughs, and it warms you from the inside out. You think for a moment you’ve heard that laugh before, but then the idea disappears.

✯✯✯✯✯

The next day, you beat Jason back to his apartment after leaving the manor. Letting yourself in, you walk to his bookshelf to see if he’s gotten any new books. A leather jacket is lying on the floor beside the shelf, and when you pick it up, something falls out of the pocket.

“Hey,” Jason greets, closing the door behind him.

Turning, you hold the chapstick up, looking at him with wide eyes and a slack jaw.

“Yeah?”

He comes to your side, his brows pinched.

“Are you-“

You drop everything in your hands before grabbing the collar of his shirt and pulling him down to you. As you kiss him, everything clicks into place.

Falling in love with Jason and Red Hood simultaneously wasn’t some cruel trick of fate or a mistake… you’d been with the same guy all along.

Pulling back, Jason takes a moment before opening his eyes. He blinks at you several times, trying to speak and failing.

“Really?” you ask, tilting your head. “I see that made a much bigger impact on me than it did on you.”

Jason still can’t answer, his mind going over each similarity that he should have caught on to, each mirrored movement or similar response. Your kiss, though… your kiss is unmistakable. He believed his lies about the touches and the words, but nothing can compete with your affection.

“Thank you,” Jason whispers, pulling you close again.

“For what?” you ask, brushing your fingers through the white streak in his hair. “It took me way too long to realize.”

“For everything,” he answers before kissing you again.

✯✯✯✯✯

Your first patrol after learning not just Red Hood but everyone’s true identities is interesting. Bringing your own protection against the current blizzard, you're grateful for the foresight after you get separated from Jason.

Waiting near Arkham and shivering in the cold, you don’t hear the crunch of boots on snow until Red Hood grabs your waist and spins you around. Without his helmet, only a domino mask to protect his identity (pointless in the dark storm), he doesn’t wait before pressing his lips to yours, eager to try a new flavor and get more of you. After waiting so long and being tortured by his tragic decision to love two women at once, Jason deserves to show you how much he cares for you twice as often as he wishes. And if you start buying crazy lip balm flavors to mess with him, he’ll love you even more for it.

#jason todd x reader #jason todd x fem!reader #jason todd x you #jason todd imagine #jason todd fluff #jason todd

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c0mbatchameleon · 9 months ago

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@jegulus-microfic March 12, prompt: retire, words: 953

Aka optometrist reg au (part 1? maybe) loosely based off of this post

James is having trouble breathing.

The problem is, he can’t quite remember how to do it right now. His brain, rather impressively, emptied of all of its contents the moment the optometrist opened the door.

Right off the bat, the man had been straight to business; swift stride into the room, eyes glued to the clipboard in hand, a curt “hello” and introduction before he sat down and uncapped a pen with his goddamn teeth. James could only stare dumbly, mouth agape as he stumbled over half-sentient responses to the all routine eye exam questions (“See okay with your current prescription?” A black curl falling over the doctor’s otherwise perfectly framed face, cheekbones carved by the sea, like stones.

“Uh huh.”

“Taking any current medications?” Beautiful silver-blade eyes meeting his expectantly.

“Uh-“ James coughing and clearing his throat, “no. No medications.”)

Now, he's at least regained his ability to form sentences. But as James watches the doctor fiddling with machinery, silver rings glinting in harsh, sterile lighting, he is finding immense difficulty in breathing like a normal human being.

“So,” James begins, leaning to rest his elbow on the table and swelling his chest ever-so-slightly. He does his best to smooth out his voice as he speaks, going for casual with just a sprinkling of something sultry. “Dr. Black, did you say it was?” He may not be able to fully function but God help him if he can’t still flirt.

The doctor's eyes flick up for only a split second, but James counts it as a win. “That’s correct.” He maneuvers what looks like an avant-garde torture contraption towards where James is sitting. “Rest your chin on the platform.”

James does as he’s told, holding back from an absurd urge to respond with a Yes, sir. He's definitely not conjuring a medley of alternate scenarios in his head in which Dr. Black orders him around. “And what might your first name be?”

“It might be of no relevance to the matter at hand, Mr. Potter.”

“Call me James, please.”

Regulus sits on the other side of the torture-machine and begins turning dials. “You should see a red X on the right side, James,” he replies flatly. Still, the sound of his name on the man’s tongue is fucking intoxicating. It's echoing around his skull--James James James JamesJamesJames--he wants to hear it a million more times, every minute of every day until his last.

James usually hates these appointments. Hates the big machines he has to stick his face in, blowing air and shining bright lights in his eyes. Hates that stupid picture of the house that they make him look at a million times over while some old man who looks just about ready to retire asks “One or two?”

But Dr. Black is not some old man.

He’s new—James has been coming here for years and has certainly never been graced with the sight of this angel-fallen-to-earth before. He's young, too; despite the way he carries the poise of a man with years of experience under his belt, cool and confident and collected, there’s no way Dr. Black is old enough to be more than a couple years out of school. All sharp edges and smooth skin.

And god, his skin. It looks impossibly soft, stretched over slender hands and freckled cheeks, strong nose and cut jaw. As James runs his eyes hungrily over the landscapes of peach-pale skin--hills and valleys spanning the doctor's face and neck and fingers and knuckles--he considers how easy it would be to reach out and touch it, find out for himself if it's really as smooth as it looks.

“James,” Dr. Black's voice cuts sharp through his fantasy, one brow raised where he's clearly caught James drooling over him. “Please look into the eyepiece.”

It’s not like James can help it. He’s a bit entranced by the way the doctor maintains such a stoic expression, posture rigid and cold eyes unwavering, especially now. It’s all the beauty of a pointed blade, glittering in the sunlight, begging to draw blood.

But James doesn’t miss the light blush now in full bloom across the man’s cheeks. Silver-clad fingers have begun tapping a sporadic pattern on the table as storm cloud eyes sweep down and back up James' face, quick as a flash of lightning, and isn’t that just curious? Suddenly, James wants to know what it would take to get that stone-cold cast to crack.

He shoots back a sly grin. “Sure thing, nameless doctor.” He looks into the contraption. “Oh would you look at that. A red X.”

The doctor lets out a muted sigh. He fidgets some more with the dials and buttons on the other side of the machine as James watches the X shift in and out of focus. He breaks the silence only when it's stretched for just a moment too long. “My name is Regulus. There’s gonna be a bright flash now.”

Immediately, a blinding white light flashes directly into his eye, burning a goddamn hole into his field of vision. He swears he can see the inside of his pupil for a moment.

But James doesn't care. Once the shock subsides, he finds himself grinning ear-to-ear.

Now we're getting somewhere.

He looks back up from the eyepiece to where the doctor, Regulus, is still intently focused on the computer and equipment. Evading James' gaze. Cheeks still pink.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Regulus.”

#I can’t get them out of my head #so here’s a small little thing #didn’t even rlly finish the scene so might continue it some time #laughing at james trying to puff out his chest and strike a pose at this eye exam #james potter #regulus black #jegulus #starchaser #jegulus microfic #james potter x regulus black #jegulus fanfiction #jegulus fic #sunseeker #marauders #james x regulus #writing stuff and things #microfic tag

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bennysblabbering · 2 months ago

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An Unexpected Reaction

contents: armpit kink, musk kink, thigh riding, praise, cumming in clothes (you're the one cumming), pet names used are babe/baby and cutie

words: 1.3k

g/n afab reader

↓ Ficlet below the cut ↓

Toji's just finished his workout in the other room, the heavy equipment hitting the ground with a hard 'thunk'. You're sitting on the couch as you watch his silhouette make its way down the hall and closer to you, his perfect broad torso on display; his outfit of choice is simply a pair of compression shorts with no shirt, and it makes you salivate at the sight.

The exhausted man sits down next to you with a huff, leaning back and stretching his arm across the back of the couch, his other hand uncapping a water bottle and bringing it to his lips.

"Good workout?"

He nods as he swallows before parting from the bottle. "'S fine. Annoys me that I can't do as much as I used to."

You shrug. "It's alright. You're still strong as fuck."

He chuckles, flexing his arms, placing his hands behind his head. "Damn right."

At this angle, you can get a perfect view of his sculpted armpit, a tuft of coarse black hair on display in the dip of the glistening muscles. The thick, savory scent of his sweat floods your senses and you can't help but let out a small hum.

"Like what you see?" He smirks, letting his arms back down and leaning back into the seat again. You playfully roll your eyes and lightly smack his chest. He must have noticed your pleasant reaction, but assumed it was from looking at his physique. Which, of course, you did love his body, but he wasn't aware of this particular kink of yours. You'd been too embarrassed to bring it up yet; you'd just started getting sexual with each other- your first time having sex was only a week ago. How would he react to you telling him about such an...odd interest? Would he make fun of you for it like previous partners had?

He takes another drink of water for a moment, huffing as he sets it down. "Gonna go shower. I fuckin' stink." Standing up, he starts to make his way across the room. Shit, when are you gonna get this opportunity again? Should you tell him? No, it's too early, he'll think you're weird!

"Hm?" He turns his face slightly with a quirked brow.

"What?"

"You just whined like a sad puppy. What, you wanna shower with me?"

You freeze and blink. Did you really make a noise like that? You must have been disappointed at the idea of him getting rid of the tantalizing musk and fucking *whimpered.* Get a grip. Fuck. What should you say?

"Um...well if you're offering, yes, but...maybe later. Can...can you come back for a sec?"

You can feel your face heat up, your cheeks turning redder with every step he takes back towards you. You ball your hands into fists and can feel your heartbeat quicken. Too late to back down now.

He sits back down where he was before, a hint of concern in his voice, but his expression remaining collected. "Somethin' wrong, babe?"

You shake your head, keeping your gaze downward. "No, no, it's just...I think..." You scoot your way closer to him meekly, keeping your eyes downtrodden but your arm makes its way to gently place on his bicep.

"Sorry if you think I'm weird for this, but...I actually...really enjoy the smell of sweat. I think you smell really good. Stay for a few more minutes?"

Chewing on your lip nervously, you look back up at him, expecting a confused or disgusted look. But that's not even close.

He's grinning like a motherfucker. "Oh yeah?"

You feel your pussy twitch. He likes the idea? Would he really let you?

You meekly nod, a smile slowly creeping onto your face. "Yeah. Um...armpits are my favorite though."

The grin is still plastered on his face as he raises his arm, the upper half parallel with his head and his forearm behind him. "Come get it then."

And there it is once again, perfectly on display; his muscular pit, sticky and warm with sweat, the thick hair puffing out, almost inviting you in. You swallow hard, feeling your core clench once again, eagerly anticipating being able to indulge in your more personal kink.

You briefly look into his eyes, searching for a hint of judgement. But there isn't. The only thing you can sense from him is sincerity and even a bit of arousal. You lean forward, all in one motion, so you can't back out from nervousness.

Nuzzling yourself into the crevice, the hair tickles the sensitive skin of your face as you take in the intense, rich smell. As everything hits you all at once, a moan is forced out of your throat. Even though you're absolutely mortified, you can't help yourself but keep going. His scent is enveloping you, slowly sending you into an aroused trance.

"Damn, cutie, you really like this huh?" He smiles down at you, feeling his own arousal rise from seeing you in such a state. "You like my stink?"

"Yeah...." You nod with closed eyes, a dazed smile on your face. If you'd known he'd be this accepting before, you'd have tried this way sooner. Placing yourself on his thigh, you grind down a little as you put both your hands on his body, one lovingly sitting on his waist as the other squeezes at his chest.

"Yeah? What about it do you like?" He can feel his own cock hardening, excited to discover a new interest of yours. He'll definitely be doing this with you more often.

At this point, you're fully lost in the scent of his musk, drooling a little and lazily dragging your needy cunt across his muscular thigh. "I...I like...that it's so...instinctual. It's full of pheromones...makes me want more. 'N it's...I dunno...something so...masculine about it."

"Oh? You like it 'cause I'm a man, huh?" He grins as he uses his other hand to place on the back of your head, pushing you even further, your face now completely enveloped in his pit, skin meeting skin. "Maybe I should work out here more often, really get that nice sweaty stink goin' for ya. Huh, would you like that?"

You simply whine and nod in response, unable to form words anymore. You almost feel high. And knowing that you trust each other so much to do something so intimate, especially something others might judge you for outside of this room, really makes your heart swell for him.

You can feel that familiar warm and tight feeling building in your core. Fuck, are you actually getting close from this? How does he always know the perfect things to say and do in every situation, even something he's never done before?

"Good little cutie. So good for me, like me so much you even want my scent, you want me bad don't you? C'mon baby, I can tell you're close. Give it to me. C'mon, be good for me. Cum all over me, show me how much you like my musk."

And finally that thread snaps. A gush of warm juices are released from you as you tremble and moan, gripping onto his body for dear life as you make a mess on his leg, whimpering into his armpit as you ride out your high.

Pulling back with shaking arms, your heavy and enamored eyes lock with his. His deep gaze softens as he smiles slightly, content with your satisfaction. You're still lost in the post-climax high; you giggle and place a kiss to his lips before laying your head on his shoulder. He wraps his arms around you, picking you up and making his way down the hall once again.

"Alright baby, time to shower."

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n0ts0surel0ck · 6 months ago

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Some autistic Sherlock headcanons!!

Based on my own autism

Sherlock hates getting his hair cut. He can’t wear ear defenders and he despises the small talk and how loud the clippers and blow dryers are. So, he generally wears his hair long and/or cuts it himself. Mariana eventually starts cutting it for him, since it equally bothers him when his hair touches his ears or neck. She’s just… not very good at it.

John finds a salon for Sherlock that does sensory appointments. It’s a silent appointment, so he doesn’t have to talk, and John gets him some earplugs to help with the noise. They’re not as good as his ear defenders but they do for the short time it takes to get his hair done. He mostly gets a dry scissor cut so he doesn’t have to be wet and so the clippers don’t touch him. He doesn’t like the vibration. He finds that he actually enjoys the sensation of a blow dryer when the sound isn’t overwhelming him. The heat and the air pressure are soothing.

Sherlock is very particular about fabrics. He despises polyester and other scratchy, synthetic fabrics. Everything he wears has to be 100% cotton. If he got his way, he’d wear an old pair of holey, decade old pajama pants and a jumper everywhere, but he doesn’t. He understands that he has to be presentable. He likes linen, the material doesn’t touch him as much, doesn’t stick to sweat, and allows for plenty of airflow. During spring and summer, and often stretching into fall and winter, he wears a pair of grey linen trousers. When it finally gets too cold, he switches to a pair of cotton ones that have an elastic waist band. He hates when there’s a lot of pressure below his diaphragm, so he keeps it loose. Shirts are mostly tees in the summer, a bit too big so they don’t touch him much. In the winter, he wears big sweatshirts, a half-peacoat, and a green scarf.

He’s been buying men’s high-top converse since he was in middle school and refuses to wear any other shoe. They’re comfortable, allow him to move without being heard, and don’t add to his height. He hates breaking in new ones, and so holds on to the ones he’s wearing for dear life. John has seen him wrap duct tape all the way around his shoe to keep the sole from falling out before.

His bedroom is kept perfectly organized by absolutely agonizing effort. He is particular about that space, since it’s where he rests. He doesn’t work in there. His chemistry equipment is in the living room and he never goes into the room on cases unless John forces him to change clothes. His room is a sensory heaven that he works tirelessly to keep so. Cleaning is difficult for him, but he resets the space every time he leaves it, even when he’s in a rush.

The rest of the apartment is a bust. His executive dysfunction takes over as soon as he crosses the threshold into the hallway. He leaves toothpaste uncapped, cups and plates everywhere, clothes wherever they fall. It drives John insane and he tries to clean up after himself, but it feels like an insurmountable task.

His hyper fixations overtake conversation constantly. Sometimes he and John will engage in conversation that is just… incomprehensible to those around them. John’s talking about the weather and Sherlock’s talking about Pendolino trains. Neither is acknowledging the other’s topic of conversation, but they’re responding to each other in turn and seemingly having a lovely time.

He likes to stim “with” John when something exciting happens. He grabs both of John’s hands so they’re facing each other and has John pull him back and forth quickly. He likes it when John and Mariana mimic a stim back to him, especially vocal ones. When the three of them are in the office together, it’s just an echo chamber of mouth pops and buzzes.

Sherlock respects the fuck out of routine. His in unconventional, but he follows it almost religiously. This means he respects other’s routines just as aggressively. He never moves John’s items, and if he borrows anything, he puts it back exactly where it was, position and all. He noticed John folding laundry in a certain way and now, if he steals one of John’s shirts and washes it after, he folds it in that certain way.

#sherlock & co #sherlock and co #sherlock holmes #john watson #mariana ametxazurra

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hiraeth-sonder · 8 months ago

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Kept Dove - Purgatorio

Yan!Sunday x Reader

Even if a bird with clipped wings can only fly so far, it is a freedom nonetheless

TW: pseudo-incest, suicidal behaviour, stalking, general manipulative and toxic behaviour

//Characters may be OOC, please go easy on my glass heart. Spoilers for the 2.0 story quest but also I may not remember things correctly so- Not at all accurate to future patches/lore. Excerpts from the Song of Songs.

Behold, thou art fair, my love; behold, thou art fair; thou hast doves’ eyes

⋅───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───⋅

Through veiled curtains and under warm lights, you tug your socks up with a careful hand, your eyes tracking the movement through the large mirror across you. The soft sheer fabric ascends your leg, trailing up and up until it reaches exactly above your knee. Just the slightest askew, you check once more, turning your leg and watching how the edge on your inner leg dips down, sneaking your finger under the garter to readjust its height. When deemed satisfactory, you reach for your sock garters, clipping the metal fasteners onto the ends as the upper ends hang limply by the side of your leg. You do the same meticulous routine for your right leg, putting your legs together to ensure that they are perfectly even.

Hung on a hanger was a blouse, with no evidence of wrinkles or lint. Gingerly, you slip it off and let the cool fabric caress your bare skin, once again peering into the mirror to straighten the ends only to carefully push every little fabric-covered button through equally miniscule openings. It hugs your form perfectly when finished, tailor made to adhere to your body like a second skin, with bishop sleeves to be held together with custom cufflinks. You do so, deft fingers piercing the fabric with the golden optics before clipping the ends of the shirt with the once hanging garters.

Your skirt comes next, prudent and pure. You step into it and bend ever so slightly, bringing it up to your waist to fasten the button that would keep it closed. It is only now that you pad across soft carpet towards your lineup of shoes, from sensible flats to respectable high heels, of shined leather to patent, fit for any occasion. You hook the backs of a pair of heels with your fingers, making your way back to your vanity to slip them on. It is now that you turn your attention to the perfumes decorating the front of the gilded mirror, each of them gifts handpicked by your siblings, bottles easily distinguished by your sister’s fondness for winsome designs and your brother’s partiality for elegance. You uncap a lacquered white glass bottle, the airy and floral aroma that comes from the nozzle is one of their favourites.

There is a light knock at your door, a gentle rap of knuckles against hardwood. It is merely a courtesy, he has no real need to announce his presence when you have long known he would come. Your eyes do not even have to glance at the ticking clock, the knowledge of the minute hand’s exact position of twenty minutes to eight a matter you have grown familiar with over the years.

“Come in.”

Familiar, practised steps barely sound through your room, a few strides until a silhouette appears behind you. Letting out a soft breath, your eyelids flutter close as you turn your head away from the mirror. “I’m afraid you have little to help with today.”

“I merely wanted to check on you,” Your brother’s voice is delicate, even in your mind there is a kindness to his lilting rise.

A sigh escapes your lips. ‘Check on you’ can mean all matters of things, whether it truly does entail merely checking on you is a test only known to him. Your eyes open upon the slightest hint of movement, watching through the mirror as gloved hands pull your hair back, reaching for a tie to bundle it up into a half-bun. The action in itself is practised and skilled, moreso a reminder of how many times he has performed such on the women of his life, it sends an inexplicable grief aching in your heart.

He lowers himself to your level, and as the warm lights cast an intimate gleam upon his features, you get the day’s first look of your brother. Golden eyes softened in gentle fondness, or perhaps some amalgamation of it, cool steel locks lay in perfect formation as his soft wings unfurl to reveal his stately countenance. There is a soft smile pulled across his lips, yet for some reason you must wonder why that tightness in your chest exists so.

“Happy?” You manage to croak out, still fraught with his full attention on you.

Sunday tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, clearly admiring his work as he hums, “Very much so, you look quite comely like this.”

You glance at yourself in the very mirror that has aided your preparation, the small wings at the back of your ears hang downward in some odd shame, the sharp tips of your halo glinting with a keen shine. The dark wings flutter lightly, and that recurring shame seems to bubble back to the top of your mind everytime you are reminded of their existence. A corvid among songbird and dove, a stain in their otherwise blemishless perfection. A pathetic excuse for a halovian, you had little sway, little influence, little image. Your very existence was a means to uphold their depiction.

You were just the child taken pity upon, the mutt picked up from the side of the road to house and feed. Thus, you are an extension of them, whatever you do, however you look, it all went back to them. You sometimes wonder whether they know how much you pale in comparison to their light.

All too quick to shove such a treacherous thought to the back of your head, it would be a cold day in hell before someone pries that thought from your brain. He casts you an inquisitive gaze, one you wave off with your ascent from the chair. Your steps, three steps slower, accompany his longer strides, padding out from soft carpet to thudding wood.

Leaving the mansion is always some arduous task, and you suppose that there is no one to blame but your brother for all the fuss that needs to be sorted out. Twisting hallways, confounding rooms, even the little sandpit of the Golden Hour, it made it so that leaving required his notice, lest you end up arbitrarily lost. Of course, this also meant that you were severely limited in the times you got to leave the mansion, since he always had so much to attend to in the day. And it is not like you refuse to learn, but rather that you cannot learn its ways that you remain unaware. Furthermore, it is exactly because that he does so much that you find it hard to even bring up your grievances about such a matter, how could you? So even if you yearn to see the world far beyond what he has allowed you to see, you very often keep your mouth shut and play at content.

As you emerge from those familiar depths, a wing raises itself to shield your eyes from the sudden influx of bright lights. Penacony, the city of dreams they call it, but to you, it has been nothing more than an incandescent lie. Why else would your sister leave?

It is then you see her, with her flowing light blue hair and her familiar visage. Her attire remains the same as all the advertisements you see with her face plastered on them, her halo tilted to the right and the gems under her left eye in flawless position. Yet, in your heart, your most sincerest of affections borne from years of companionship, you know that it is not her. There is nothing that would infer this thought, the locum in front of you a perfect copy in all matters, but you cannot help but deny the image in front of you.

Turning to Sunday, a slip of your true thoughts revealed through the furrow of your brow, “Who is this?”

“A fool, nothing more,” He spares you a glance, but says nothing else.

“Will she listen?”

It is only then you manage to meet his gaze, not a second more and not a second less, his voice is placid, revealing nothing even now, “You trust me, no?”

“Of course, but I just worry…” Your plea seems to go unheard, and you wonder whether you were even meant to come along if it meant you would only receive this kind of treatment.

“Shall we depart?” He offers to the ‘Robin’ in front of you, dignified courtesy and trained care. You remain behind, watching on. His voice rings in your head, the only part of him you get, “Fret not, dear sister, all will be well.”

In your heart, something twinges with an acrid twist. Though this ‘Robin’ is clearly some cheat, he still treats her the same, still has that leak of affection. You have always known that he never took to you the same way she did, he could try to play at siblingly affection, could try to interact with you the same way he did her, but you knew that he never meant it. The daily check-ups, the gifts, the occasional contact, it all means nothing to him, and in the end, is that not what he does best? Lying with a sweet smile on his face, tempting you with a delusion all the while he wishes for nothing but your descent. The only one he could never perform such deeds to was his own sister.

Yet even in front of a fool, with the face of your sister, you could feel no hatred towards her. Because she has never done anything to warrant such, not when this dream of theirs is one you have done everything to uphold, not when she might have been the only light in your life. So even if what stands before you is a fake, even if you do not know what your brother has planned, you will keep your mouth and play at content.

⋅───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───⋅

O my dove, that art in the clefts of the rock, in the places of the stairs, let me see thy countenance, let me hear thy voice; for sweet is thy voice, and thy countenance is comely.

⋅───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───⋅

In the end, he had never even told you where the day’s itinerary would take you, so when you had found yourself in reality’s Reverie Hotel and met with an interesting situation, you had much to restrain from expressing. A group of four people you have never truly seen before and a man from the IPC, seemingly engaged in a difficult matter. They do not seem to notice your approaching footfalls, neither does Alley.

“Alley, just a moment,” Sunday speaks up, gentle yet assertive

“The Family cannot allow guests to enter a dream while bearing burdens.”

The crowd, now aware of your presence, shifts their attention. The grey-haired youth catches your attention, so clearly out of place yet seemingly intertwined, you can only ponder why. Still, it is not as if their gazes remain on you, rather it would be more accurate to say that they were never on you in the first place, positively enraptured by the natural radiance

“Speak of the devil, look who's here! It's Sunday, the most handsome man in Penacony! Along with the singer renowned across the universe: Robin!” The blond, who you vaguely recognise as hailing from the IPC introduces the two of them with a flair, clearly playing up the flattery.

‘Robin’ turns to face him, an amused smile playing at her lips as her eyes crinkle in mirth, “He said you were the most dashing person in Penacony, how interesting.”

An older man and a red-haired woman stand before you, their expressions shifting to alert, yet they are paid no mind.

“I’ve kept you waiting, Mr. Aventurine. This way please, let us speak in private,” Your brother offers, a request that is taken with a courteous quirk of the blond’s lips.

Your ‘sister’ instead takes charge of caring for the rest of the guests, “Astral Express guests, please come this way and rest your feet.”

It is by now that you have completely mentally checked out of the situation, your presence clearly not noticed nor ignored. Though you yearned to return and perhaps sleep the rest of the day away, your feet automatically flanked the guests of the Astral Express so as to guide them, your eyes following after the grey-haired youth who seemed to yearn to run after Aventurine. Oddly, they do not do so, obediently following after the pink-haired woman.

You keep your posture perfect and your expression pleasant, not quite hearing but watching, eyes tracking lips so as to turn your perceived attention to whomever was speaking at present. Your ‘sister’ still enraptures, no matter the truth of her nature. Your ears pick up the vague mention of an apology, her hand held to her chest in polite regret. It is only when the redhead’s lips, a woman you believe is called Himeko, move in a manner that seems to be directed to you that you tune back in, a pleasant smile still painted as you meet her gaze.

“And who’s this? I don’t suppose we’ve met before, have we? Ms..?” She offers, playing at cordiality though it is clear she may be a little on guard.

Your lips move to answer far faster than your mind, practically instinctual. The response you get is kindly, one you are not sure is genuine but it makes your head rush.

The older man, Welt, calls your name, a sound that feels like it should belong on his tongue. There is a familiarity to it, the kind you would hear from an older relative. “It is a pleasure to meet you.”

The rest of them start with their pleasantries, and for some odd reason, your chest tightens with a yearning. You had watched them band together earlier, seen the way they interacted with one another and even through your haze, could all but feel the amity between them. These were people who were bound together by chance, people who have simply decided to become this family and not only played the roles, but might as well be actual family.

“Thank you, it's a pleasure to meet all of you as well.”

‘Robin’ seems to fade into the background, a sight you are not used to, but this fool’s interest in you is not a matter you are too worried about. Rather, the new-found attention you found yourself under was now almost overwhelming, too much yet not entirely unwelcome.

“If we’re not overstepping, may I ask how you’re affiliated with Mr. Sunday and Ms. Robin?” Himeko’s voice is sweet in your ears, a soothing sound.

“They’re my siblings, my older brother and younger sister to be exact.”

The pink-haired youth you believe is called March 13th, is almost all too excited at that answer, yet it dies to wonder, “That’s cool! But why haven’t we heard about you before?”

“Ah, I’m afraid I’m merely not as noteworthy as them….” Your play at humility is almost entirely accepted, a notion you are at least glad for. Out of the corner of your eye, you notice your brother’s approach, a signal to return back into the background. With a hand to your chest, you bid your exit, “If you’ll excuse me.”

It is another haze that clouds over you when your brother arrives to slot himself into the conversation, one that once again seems to block out the words spoken.

“I apologise for taking up everyone's precious time, and we shan't keep you any longer. If you need anything else while in Penacony, The Family stands ready to serve,” He hums, genteel and ever flawless.

‘Robin’ follows suit, her hand to her chest as she continues the courtesy, “May your dreams be beautiful and pleasant.”

Your eyes fall upon the Astral Express, and though your heart knows what can only be imagined can never be brought to reality, you could not help but wish that you had never been brought in to your siblings. Perhaps in another life, perhaps in a dream far more beautiful and pleasant than this one.

“May your dreams be beautiful and pleasant.”

You were tired, so very tired. If Penacony truly was the world of dreams, yours must be some sick joke for your life to turn out this way. Given this glimpse of what could have been, how could you even bear to keep living in this illusion?

⋅───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───⋅

His eyes are as the eyes of doves by the rivers of waters, washed with milk, and fitly set.

⋅───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───⋅

The marble railing is cold against your bare feet, one wrong step and you’ll be sent careening off the side of the building, falling into a never-ending abyss. In the distance, playing on the record player, was the vague lilt of your sister’s voice. You could barely hear it through the wind, yet the very fact that she was there, truly or not, was more than enough. You have all but memorised her every song, humming along as though she was with you.

In a thin nightgown, you have long been free from the confines of your strict dress, hair let loose and face bare. Any matter that once adorned your form has been stripped, left exactly where they belonged in your room as your legs danced along to the melody. Chasse, a whisk and a natural turn, your arms wrapped around some imaginary partner, it all came to you without little thought, merely letting the music guide your form. You have never danced before, never thought yourself fit to, only read about the basics in a book a time forgotten, but you think you enjoy it. Perhaps in your next life you will be a dancer, no matter the fame, it would be something you could do without fear of tarnishing another’s image.

Caught in your reverie, you are scarce to hear the knock on your door, the heave of heavy wood and the quick steps to the open balcony. Through the flowing curtains and under the starry night, your brother still looked nothing more than empyrean, regardless of the unnerved furrow of his brow and the dilation of his pupils. You do not stop from your actions, continuing to let your body move along the wind.

“What are you doing?” He manages to utter, not as gentle yet cautious.

Humming, you return his question with another, “What does it look like I’m doing?”

Your dearest brother, the man who allows himself only the most minute interaction with you, the man who would not even meet your eyes beyond the confines of your home, though his words sounded as though they came from a more composed man, the slight tremble to his voice told you more than enough.

“Dear sister, you won’t die even if you take such drastic actions.”

“You’re right, but at the very least I’d be soporose, no?”

There is a pained edge to his voice, visage finally broken out of that placid facade, “I don’t enjoy these words you’re saying.”

“When have you ever?” You laugh, eyes crinkled in levity as a smile pulled across your lips. Bare feet halt from their untethered sway, leaning to meet your brother’s gaze. Your words crawl out from your throat, hoarse from use yet elated nonetheless, “I’m sure that if I were to even look into that head of yours, those few thoughts you dedicate to me would be nothing but pure odium.”

Perhaps you would have been less inclined to disparage your brother once upon a time, more desirous of his attention for once, yet it is now you could care less. His focus means nothing to you now, not when he could not even bother to do so when it mattered most. Even if he threw himself at your feet and begged you to come down, you find it hard to believe you would listen in this state.

Sunday’s voice is soft, yet simultaneously it is the loudest you have ever heard it, “You seem so convinced that I do not care for you, have you ever read beyond what your eyes tell?”

“Would you let me?” The air in your lungs feels faint, turning your voice breathy as tears strangely dew at your lower lashes.

Would he even let you witness such? Let himself become vulnerable and open his tempestuous mind for you to pick and pry? You do not even believe he has allowed any other to come so close. Yet perhaps this is what you need to quell that storm in your chest, the last nail in your coffin, your last reason confirmed.

He nods.

Through dark veils and cloudy bubbles, you see it. The truth of his neglect, the reality behind his constant avoidance, his performed favouritism, all of it some cruel and horrific attempt to distance himself from emotions deemed iniquitous. All those times the clock would read seven forty, all those times you believed him to arrive on some schedule, that damned bird had been in your room all the while. Tucked away in some corner too high for you to notice, it stood watch at all hours of the day, keenly broadcasting your most natural state to him as if it were nothing more than the daily news.

What a monster love can be, its dark shadow following you everywhere, in your most private and public moments, you have never been alone. Longing to embrace, alabaster hands ghosting over skin and breath fanning across bare chest, desiring to possess, to keep that object of yearning within a gilded cage and to tuck the key away. Twisting yet ever rigid, covetous and desirous, it is no wonder that your very existence should always be tied to him. There is no you without Sunday, no crow without dove, for what is a pious man without his conflict of sin?

“I love you,” He pleads, finally raw and true, finally directed to you. His face twisted in pure desperation as he approaches you, with his arms outstretched as though to compel you from your perch, your brother practically begs, “So please, stay with me.”

Beneath your gaze, beneath you, he is but a wretched thing. You never thought him stupid, yet for him to think that this was enough to wipe the slate anew, you must have overestimated him.

You bark out a harsh bite of laughter, void of mirth and filled with scorn, “Do you expect me to just forgive you just like that? A measly ‘I love you’ and years of indifference can just be forgotten?”

“Sunday, you’re nothing but the last etching on my grave.”

Your feet leave the cold marble, tipping off into the unknown abyss below as a breeze flies through your wings.

Your sister’s face flashes before you as your eyes flutter shut, her soft smile the one thing keeping your head clear and your limbs limp. You hear her sing, even past the rushing wind. Your dear sister, the one person who had been keeping you looking forward to another day, her crooning voice that played from the record player in your room, it is now you hear her clearer than ever.

A bird that has never flown can only fall when thrown down, wings unable to catch the wind and soar from its cage, yet it is because it has never flown that this feeling is still a kind of freedom. And as your skin pebbles from the chill and your hair flows along your descent, you have never felt any freer, even if it is only for a brief moment.

⋅───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───⋅

Behold, thou art fair, my love; behold, thou art fair; thou hast doves' eyes within thy locks: thy hair is as a flock of goats, that appear from mount Gilead.

⋅───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───⋅

Through lace curtains and under warm light, a hand caresses your leg as it tugs white socks ever higher. Soft fabric clinging to your skin as he raises it to your thigh, far too intimate, far too familiar. He does the same for the other leg, knelt at your feet with his head bowed, the socks are nothing but perfectly aligned as per his preference. The garters hung around your waist, silken material his own hands placed upon you, he grasps the clips as he attaches it to the socks, ensuring he does not blemish your skin beneath.

Your arm raises when he brings the blouse, silky and smooth. Sunday lets the cool fabric kiss your arms as he buttons each clasp, meticulously pushing them through each miniscule opening. Another piece he had ensured would fit you without fault, it followed the natural lines of your form without fail. He smooths the shoulders down and presses a kiss to the top of your head, moving to pin the sleeves with optic shaped cufflinks. Coaxing you from your seat, he has you step into your skirt, brought up to your waist and clasped neatly. Your shoes, perfectly shined heels tailor made for only you, are slipped on and buckled. Even the sweet florals of your perfume, another white lacquered glass bottle he gifted all those years ago, is applied by his hand.

His dear sister, someone he has tried so hard to keep at an arm’s length, someone he has done nothing but debase in that torturous head of his, now stands before him, obedient and adoring. Far too tempting to keep away, his arms move to embrace you, resting at your waist.

Instinctively, your arms raise to wrap around his neck, weight leaning against his hands as he bows his head to press a kiss against your lips. You accept him languidly, your eyes fluttering close as he brings your bodies to but a fingertip’s distance. It almost seems meant to be, how they move against each other in a rhythm known only to the two of you.

“I love you,” He murmurs against your lips, the words leaving him so naturally that if one were to tell him that he could finally utter these heavy words to you, that him of the past would have merely waved it off. “More than you could ever know.”

“.....love…”

“..you….”

Your wings flutter shyly around your two faces, as though to hide away from the rest of the world, even your halo trembles ever so slightly, an endearing act as you try your best to convey your affection to him. Still, that does not discourage you from attempting to cling onto him.

He smiles, pressing another, more chaste, kiss to your lips to tide you over. Recovery has been hard for you but he finds he quite enjoys having you so feeble for him. Barely able to even form full sentences through telepathy, it meant that he would be able to hear your sweet voice much more often. You were no songstress, but it is your humming that truly provides him with succour. Furthermore, having you so dependent, so keen for his help, it only serves to soften his heart.

To reintroduce you to the rest of Penacony not as his sister, but as his dearest lover has been easy, and he can only thank his foresight for keeping your very existence so negligible. You would finally get what you have always yearned for, no matter what lies you told yourself, his full and utter adoration, demonstrable and undisguised. Lest you try to leave him once more. So he will keep you in this cage with him, care for you and love you so that beyond reasonable doubt, you shall have no desire to spread your wings once more.

⋅───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───⋅

I sleep, but my heart waketh: it is the voice of my beloved that knocketh, saying, Open to me, my sister, my love, my dove, my undefiled: for my head is filled with dew, and my locks with the drops of the night.

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