#purposefully digging my bones at them

[thinkingnot]

lets sit or lie down or be in whatever most comfortable position, a meter apart but in the same room and be in silence together doing our own things. lets exist and breathe in each other’s presence until at some point one of us are done soaking up in our shared solidarity that we close the gap and initiate/welcome physical contact. lets be cats for a moment.

the worst part ab having online friends is that to maintain the friendship you actually sort of have to have conversations with them. if we were all irl friends i would invite you into my home, give u my xbox controller & let u play a game on my bed while i lie next to u and coexist in ur space and backseat game you

[50cal-fullauto-astarion]

☈ your bones singing into mine [interlude]

one - two

nikto x f!bio-weapons engineer reader (no use of y/n) NSFW A/N: had to write my own damn porn, but thank you, my beautiful envoys and beacon lighters. this is porn without plot and not canon to the main YBSIM storyline. reader is referred to with afab genitalia. as usual, shit's not proofread.

Nikto is a possessive, handsy, and handsome drunk.

Sometimes, he'll downgrade the mask to a balaclava, then tip bottles back to his lips with the fabric between. Always necks the bottle, but he'll only sip at a glass in your company. And, then, he's throwing drinks back like a shot.

Everything about him is violent, sudden, and sharp.

You're of his caliber—together you laugh darkly and call it decisive.

He is decisive when he's been drinking, his cock aching from straining against his zipper, and he snaps an arm around your waist like a shepherd's hook to force you into his lap. There's an armchair in the master suite of one of the hideaway homes he's made for you. It's across from a full-length mirror, and it's perfect for him—he gets to feel and see you squirm yourself comfortable in his lap.

"Pauk," he groans against your neck, humid and needful. His hand drops between your legs, using his grip over your cunt to haul you deeper into his lap. "Our Pauk—soft and warm," he rumbles, burying his face against your neck, breathing your scent hard. You can feel the jutting bone where his nose had been carved off his face, taking all the cartilage and skin.

"Talking about me like I'm a kitten-cat or a down-clothed bird," you snort, arching back against him, planting your feet on his knees. He starts to rub circles over your cunt with his hard, callused, cold hand; in the mirror, you watch his gloved fingers press against the fabric, in a spot you know they'd be teasing your entrance if you were bare.

"Mm. Nyet," he hums, all arousal-rampant thought. "We wouldn't say that. You've got too many sharp corners." He drops the mostly empty bottle in his other hand on the floor, too low in volume to spill out of the neck, and he brings both hands to the waistband of your pants. "Lift your hips. Want you to cum before we get our cock out."

You do as he asks, helping him slide your sleep pants down your hips, past your knees, off and onto the floor over the discarded bottle, but you ask, "Why not fuck, Andryu? Can feel the way you throb against my ass."

The moment you settle back in his lap, he has a hand lifted before your mouth, and you use your teeth to bite down on the fingertip, dragging the garment off.

"Because we'd rather make you cum than fucking breathe."

It's said with the tone of a smirk, and he plunges his middle and ring finger into your wet pussy, finger-fucking you like it's more exciting than every Christmas and first of the month that he's ever lived through. The heel of his hand claps against your cunt with every pump of his fingers, faster and faster, targeting your clit with every landing.

"Lyubimaya, talk. We want you to talk," he growls, shoving his free hand under your shirt to toy with your nipples, pinching and tugging them, making you snarl and buck against his hand, nails digging into the armrests of the seat.

You're not good at talking. Not ever. Especially not when you're getting fucked to within an inch of your purposefully darkened life. But, for him? You try. For him, you always try.

Your legs shake and try to snap shut around his hand, but they jump right back open, as if they refuse to even muffle the wet sounds coming from your body for a single moment. Dropping your head back against his shoulder, you moan, trying hard not to thrash against his body as his breathing grows ragged. And then that moan escalates, turns into a howling laugh, something silver-toothed and prowling, as you warn him, "Andryu, I'm going to squirt, you're making me cum, slow down—!"

He doesn't, of course.

"Yes, Pauk. Yes, lyubimaya, cum. That's a good girl. That's our good girl, our Paukya," he grunts, chin resting on your shoulder, watching between your legs as your pussy spasms around him, soaking his fingers, his lap, every fiber and blessed neuron and synapse of his fractured, tessellated mind.

Just because he loves to make you cum, doesn't mean he has any more patience than he does in any matter of his life. Andre Nikto is swift. He is decisive. When he wants something, he already has it crushed in his fist.

When your hips buck off him, he unzips his pants, letting his cock spring out between your legs. Smooth as reload, smooth as grenade-throw, his fingers slide out of your pussy and stroke his shaft wet, timing it perfectly for your hips to snap down and take half of his length in one motion.

"Andre!" you gasp, too dazed with pleasure to manage a full snap. How could you? Not when his hands are so needy on your hips, urging you low-low, a pretty plea to swallow him up, to blot out all the noise that runs in his head.

When you look up in the mirror, he's already staring back at you, glacier-blue eyes unblinking, rotten with desperation and pup-belly softness. Makes you crack and run like an egg. Like an overripe berry, mashed to red pulp in the hands of an eager child.

"Oh," you swallow. A moment passes, held in the suspension—you're the last two of a kind, preserved perfectly in amber, so long as your hearts can hear the echoing drumbeat of the other's—and a silent agreement is exchanged.

No. Nyet. Not an agreement—a declaration.

You love every one of him; every one of him loves you.

How simple and beautiful a thing—a concept you both can hold gentle in your flesh-rending claws for a soft, turning examination, before you consume it, as if to vaunt the flesh of a beloved death.

He thrusts up shallowly, meeting the gentle rocking of your hips. The hand once teasing the swollen walls of your pussy rests over your lower belly, pressing down heavily just over your pelvis. It makes every stroke of his cock feel tenfold more pronounced—deeper, slower, fuller, all the harder to stave off or deny.

"Can," you start, trying not to squirm too much, wanting to last as long as possible, "I touch your hair? The mask you can leave be, that I won't ask you, but I want to lover-touch the hair at the back of your skull."

He heaves a violent shudder, slamming his way deep, all the way home, and wordlessly nods. More than that, he meets your hand as it darts to the back of his head, guiding you the rest of the way, and pulling up the balaclava only enough to find the satin-slip of his shining black hair.

He holds your hand there, grunting and cutting off moans next to your ear, his head bowed into your shoulder. He prays over you. He prays for you. You are his answer. Perhaps, you have always been.

The pair of you stay in this ecstatic trance, moving together forcefully and slowly, for long, long minutes. You begin to sweat, reeking of one another. You begin to shake, your muscles burning.

His hips move in the way only a drunken, determined man's can. A bit clumsily, but massively greedy. There's a slop in the way he fucks up into you, but there is greediness, too. He can see how wet your pussy is, sucking and spasming around him. He can see how it's made his cock glisten, and how it's darkened the fabric of his pants where it's dripped. He likes it. But a man in love will like anything that comes from his lover.

"Paukyushka," he growls, eyes squeezed closed with the restraint that has always held his entire body together, "can you cum? We're. Pizdec. We're close."

"I can cum, kotik, just keep going," you breathe, fucking down harder on him, mouth curling in a pleased little grin.

He lets go of a ragged moan at that, as if you're the one tearing it from his perforated throat, fucking faster, pulling grunts and tight sighs out of your body as he ramps you up. It becomes hard to hold onto—more oddly, it becomes harder to let go, and, fuck, do you try.

It expands lie molten heat in your lower belly, pressuring your pelvis, your bladder—makes your swollen, sensitive clit throb as your walls start to spasm, clenching wildly around the length of his cock. Shit, you can feel it in your shoulders, tensing the muscles between the blades.

"Mm, fuck—shit, oh fuck," you hiss, your legs jolting and ring to snap closed.

"Pauk!" he barks. Nothing close to a warning or threat, simply a harsh plea.

"Shh! Quiet your mouths," you hiss, "I'll get it done!"

He grumbles under his breath, talking a plan over with his many facets, and acts.

His arm snaps over your rips, trap-sprung, and rucks you up his own body. It makes you squawk, head swiveling as you snake an arm around his neck for balance, and that makes him laugh, gritty as sandpaper. His cock barely manages to stay inside you, by an inch, if that. His other hand goes to the back of your thigh, pulling you open over his knee as he pants his booted foot on the seat of the chair, giving him more leverage.

This weird, tangled position gives the many demons in the both of you fits, and he's not going to last long, but that was never the intention. Two, then three hard thrusts, and you're sucking in air through your clenched teeth, cumming around his cock, digging your nails into his chest and his forearm.

With an ungodly bellow, he pulls out at the very least second, shooting his load straight over his cock, your thigh, his lap. You're both shaking, trembling, disgraced piles of flesh, and you wonder if you sit still for long enough, could you possibly melt into a mingled pile of flesh and splintered bone.

At once, the two of you slump together, though you do turn on your hips to miss a majority of the mess on his legs. He strokes your hair. You reach back to play with his.

"What a mess you've all made," you huff, panting and breathless. "Like a boy; all balls, no control."

"No babies," he says in a stern, but thin voice.

"No babies," you mimic, borrowing his drizzled tone for yourself. "No babies, yes, but my upholstery you've ruined."

"Mm. We...do not care," he finally decides, and you find glory in the smile in his tone.

"Good. I like that," you say, packing in as much dignity as you can manage before the facade crumbles. You're left laughing, stupid and free, and his answers back, a rumble that echoes through your ribs.

[chronicroderick]

Old Games

Hannibal has been manipulative because he's bored and provokes Will into taking matters into his own hands.

Shameless Smut, Hannibal Lecter/Will Graham, Consensual Violence, Blood Kink, Knife Kink, Scarification, Canon Typical Toxicity, Consensual But Not Safe Or Sane, Wound Fingering, Post-Fall

Old Games on Ao3

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Will was beating the shit out of him, and God, was Hannibal rock hard. This was no fantasy, though there had been many times when it was. This was real, flesh on flesh, knuckles digging into his cheek bones, causing his teeth to clack with each blow. How strong Will was. How resilient those hands were. That was the only thing going through his mind as he tasted his own blood in his mouth.

Hannibal had been more shrewd than usual lately. Picking at Will, second guessing him, even when it was not necessary. Was he sure that he could pick the freshest vegetables from the grocery store? Did he turn the water off completely after washing his face before bed? Was every one of his little mongrel dogs accounted for or did he leave one outside? Will had never forgotten one of his pets, but there was ‘a first time for everything’. Besides his contrariness, the two men had lived the closest thing to domestic bliss that either one of them had ever experienced, even before the fall.

Here they were, off the coast of some Greek island – Will wanted to settle somewhere that was new to the both of them – in a home built from the ground up. It was adobe, white to match the local buildings, set a great distance from any other living soul on a modest cut of land. They had a fenced in garden, expansive, and they had dogs. They would occasionally take day trips to the large islands and scout for new sources of meat. Will went fishing almost every morning and Hannibal would join him, sitting on the shore, reading a book, every now and then glancing up from his page to gaze at his lover who floated far away on his canoe. They should be happy. He didn’t feel happy. He felt bored.

So here he was, flat on his back, Will sitting on his stomach, while those strong fisherman’s hands smashed his face to a bloody pulp. The flames of pain caressed him, cut through him, searing in the cut on his eyebrow now, down into his skull and his brain. A tightness twisting low in his gut. What had he said? Oh, yes.

“Where else would I go?” Will had piped up while Hannibal was chopping carrots.

“What was that, my love?”

“Don’t ‘my love’, me, Hannibal.”

He was only Hannibal when he had done something wrong.

“You think I’m afraid you wish to be somewhere else. You betrayed the FBI for me, Will. We have killed together. We ran away together. As far as I am concerned we are an inseparable pair and I do not understand why you are so paranoid about these things.”

Will stood from where he leaned against the island in the middle of the room and walked up next to him, one hip against the counter and arms crossed over his chest. Hannibal stilled his hands and looked at Will with a warm smile that he knew would infuriate him.

Will frowned, “If you keep playing the fool I’m going to lose my temper.”

A thrill ran down Hannibal’s spine at the threat. At a degree in which he had not felt in a very long time.

“What part do you wish me to play then?” He tilted his head, smile still on his face, fingers curling ever so slightly tighter around the chef’s knife.

Will narrowed his eyes, purposefully keeping them off of the weapon, those ocean blue rings raging darkly behind his glasses. He was so beautiful when he was angry. So stimulating.

“You’ve been toying lately. Undermining me. Eroding.”

This was dangerous territory. Before Hannibal had started picking at Will’s scabs, they had had many heartfelt conversations, one of which included the brunette expressing his fear that his thoughts and actions were not his own, even after all this time. He had soothed him then. He did not feel like soothing him now.

“You speak of me like some spurned housewife.”

“You don’t deny it.” There was an edge to Will’s voice.

“What reason would I have to do such a thing? We are long past the game of cat and mouse,” He turned away, chopping the rest of the carrot, with a dismissive tone, “really, you’re quite the by product of your post traumatic stress, you should quit—”

“Don’t.” Will interpreted, and Hannibal could almost hear his knuckles creak as he formed a fist.

He smiled to himself, knowing full well how it would be interpreted, “Being so paranoid, my love.”

To say the blow came out of nowhere would be a lie, but he had underestimated the hatred behind it, fueling its power, as it caught him across the side of the face. It gave him a headache immediately, Hannibal instinctually switching his grip on the knife, blade pointed down, but Will knew him well. He could feel the calluses against his forearm as his wrist was smashed into the stone countertop with enough force to send shooting nerve pain up his arm, the knife falling from his hand.

Hannibal growled, half anger at being surprised and half pleasure, his other hand coming up to grab Will by the throat, fingers digging into the sides of his neck and pushing the man backwards until his back slammed against the refrigerator. Will’s left hand still held Hannibal’s arm, but his right arm came up, elbow crashing down on Hannibal’s arm, breaking his grip on the other man’s throat. He was feral, unpredictable and blind to the admiration in Hannibal’s gaze as he threw all of his weight into his shoulder and lunged like a football player, tackling Hannibal to the ground.

His head hit the wood floor with a hard knock, dazing him slightly, but his lover did not let the moment go to waste. He felt the weight of Will on his stomach, knees pinning down his out flung arms as they painfully crushed his elbows. His nose crunched with the second punch that was thrown his way, the third surely would have broken it as well, were it not already broken. Will was saying something, something hard to make out over the sound of the blood rushing in Hannibal’s ears and the ringing of his head injury.

“... paranoid. After all those years of manipulating me. Here I am. Here I am.”

Planting his feet, he attempted to buck Will off him, giving himself a chance to roll over, but the moment his weight shifted, he got a swift blow to the eye socket. It was mean enough to cut his eyebrow open, blood pooling at the corner of his eye like a great well of tears, and sloppy enough that it could have caused serious optic damage. The severity of the situation dawned on him. His cock twitched.

“Will –”

There was no reply, only another blow to the face. They rained down on him now, one after the other. He did not fight, did not even struggle. He took in a ragged breath, smothered with arousal, determined to take in every detail of this moment with all five senses. All of Will’s pain and rage washed over him. He could feel the way his skin tore apart, ragged, under the force of Will’s hands. It was delicious to know that he was the cause of such strong emotions. He could hear Will’s heavy breathing, hitching slightly when he exerted himself. It was him, Hannibal, that had so much influence in Will’s life. No one else. He smiled, his lip split in two places, and it felt like being cut with a razor blade as the skin stretched over his teeth. His brown eyes twinkled up at Will, taking in the sight of his bloody knuckles, unsure if it was just his blood. Hoping it was both of theirs. The idea blew his pupils wide. Will’s features darkened and he grabbed Hannibal by the collar of his shirt, before bashing his head into the floor over and over.

“I gave up everything for you! You don’t get to play games anymore.”

He was disappointed that Will had not positioned himself on his lap, for his cock stood at full attention, the inside of his boxers damp with a spot of precum. How ruthless his lover was. Hannibal wished to grind himself against him, while those well trained hands gripped him by the hair, guiding his lucid head to look up. There was a constant throbbing in the back of his skull, his hair plastered to his head with a thick, wet warmth. The kitchen stank of blood, or maybe it was just everything that was pouring out of his nose. When he saw Will’s hard features searching his face, he was filled with a sense of certainty that this was what their victims saw before death overtook them, and need cut through him. Will’s eyes narrowed, which was no surprise, he could read Hannibal like no other.

“You’re hard right now.” He stated disapprovingly.

“I am.” Hannibal replied, blood staining his teeth pink as he smiled.

“You’re not mad at me,” Will blinked once.

“I am not.”

When Will only silently leaned back, removing the weight of his knees from Hannibal’s elbows, he was afraid their altercation would yield no sexual satisfaction.

“Mylimasis,” He whispered, flecks of his blood spraying across Will’s face as he spoke, “do you not find the spark of our old games as exciting as I do?”

Will scoffed, but the corner of his mouth pulled up into a smirk, “You goaded me because you miss getting off to our rivalry?”

“I miss when you were not a domestic animal, Will Graham.”

He could not hide the truth of his words, dismay hitting him like a freight train as he saw the way they made Will’s face twist. As he opened his mouth to explain himself, a hand closed over it, smelling strongly of sweat and blood.

“Not a word.” Will said monotonically.

When he was sure Hannibal would not speak, he removed it, and scooted his hips backwards until he sat right on top of Hannibal’s clothed dick. This made him sigh, the pressure bringing relief, but in return Will slapped him hard enough to turn his cheek red. He gave Will a surprised look and the other man only frowned.

“No sounds either.”

They could both feel the way Hannibal’s cock twitched against Will’s ass. He nodded, just barely, maintaining searing eye contact with Will who was cold as ice. Will began moving his hips back and forth, grinding down on Hannibal who bucked his hips up against him eagerly. He needed to feel more, so much more. His nose ached, the pain pulsing out into the rest of his face as his heartbeat quickened. Will’s hard on was evident, the outline of it visible against his pants, Hannibal eyed it hungrily. His tongue dashed out, wetting his lips, playing over the cuts on them, as he watched Will’s body move above his. He looked glorious, all dark curls and severe jawline, his skin coral and cream as he palmed himself over his clothes. His blue eyes caught sight of the ministrations of Hannibal’s tongue and he leaned down, their dicks rubbing together as he licked one of the cut’s on Hannibal’s lips. The sensation made Hannibal’s hole clench, his eyes fluttered shut as Will lapped up the blood from the second cut. He hissed when he felt Will’s teeth sink into his lip, fresh blood flooding his mouth from the open wound, and because he made a noise Will bit harder, creating puncture wounds and ripping it open more. Will ground his cock against Hannibal, relentlessly dry humping as he kissed him. All Hannibal could taste was his own blood, it was electric, swirling around his mouth on the vessel of Will’s tongue. Will’s lips tasted metallic, soft yet unyielding, Hannibal licked at the back of his teeth, rubbing his tongue over the other man’s with a clear desperation. Will pulled back, got off of his lap, then undid his belt.

Hannibal followed suit, shoving his pants down without a word, his cock springing free. Will didn’t look at him, he only tugged his own pants and underwear off over his shoes, and flung them to the side. Hannibal felt like his excitement was visible to the naked eye, the way the scent of his blood flooded his senses, his skull pounding in time with the rushing in his veins, the thick swallow he had to take every couple seconds, it all stoked his desire, the object of which now crouched over him, hovering just above his aching cock. He looked down at himself, saw how stiff his dick was, flushed pink, thick and sure to spread Will open like many times before. He almost whined like a dog when his lover gently lowered himself, his hole squeezing his tip over and over, precum slicking the entrance. Then the sensation was gone, Will was standing over him now, looking down with that cutting gaze.

“Will?” Hannibal protested the lack of contact.

Shaking his head, Will’s hand wandered the counter, in search of something out of Hannibal’s line of sight.

“You want the delight of carnage. I'll oblige.”

The blade of a knife glinted in the sunlight that came through the window as Will inspected it, surely for Hannibal’s benefit. It was lean, one they often used to filet seafood. His cock jerked and he wiggled his loosened front tooth with his tongue.

“It seems you almost knocked my tooth out, my love.” He tried to hide the elation in his voice as he once again spoke out of turn.

Will fell to his knees, straddling Hannibal once again, their bare dicks rubbing together as he worked the tip of the knife into the small crevice of tender flesh between his collarbone and his shoulder. Hannibal closed his eyes, clenching his teeth in a mixture of pain and pleasure. He tried not to think about the hole that was cut in his shirt. Will twisted the knife as if he was lazily trying to start a fire, tearing more fabric and skin. It made his head spin. When he did not respond, Will pushed slightly harder, until a half inch of stainless steel was inside him. He could feel the warmth of his blood welling up around the tip. Felt the warmth of it pooling into his clothes.

“You could cause serious nerve damage if you're unfamiliar with what you're attempting.” Hannibal chimed clinically.

“Enjoying being a brat, are we?” Will purred, gently pulling the blade towards him, cutting Hannibal at such a slow pace it was ripping more than slicing.

The blue eyed man hummed happily as Hannibal bucked his hips, their cocks sliding over one another, his precum wetting his own happy trail. Will moved on, tracing the knife lightly over Hannibal’s chest, poking and prodding every now and then until he settled just below his belly button. Hannibal watched the entire time, never taking his eyes off those brilliant hands as Will gripped the hem of his shirt and cut it in one long go right up the middle, as if he was being gutted. The fabric fell open, revealing his chest and stomach that already had a few red marks, and Will pushed it out of the way, ghosting his fingers through Hannibal’s chest hair. He rubbed his hips teasingly, cock brushing back and forth against Hannibal’s, resting all his weight on the hand in the center of the older man’s chest. Holding him down. Hannibal could feel his heartbeat thumping against Will’s palm. With the knife in the crook of the L of his thumb and forefinger, directly over Hannibal’s heart, Will applied pressure, the sharp bite of which bloomed outwards.

“Put it in.” It wasn't a demand or a question, it was like Will was observing the weather or their horoscopes.

He was more than happy to obey, grabbing hold of himself, resisting the urge to pump his cock, and lined it up with Will’s hole. Not a moment after his tip brushed the man’s ass did his lover sit himself onto it, slowly taking his cock, never taking his eyes off Hannibal’s face nor the knife off his chest. Instead, the more length he took, the deeper he drove the blade into Hannibal’s sternum. It was overwhelming.

“Penetrating me as I penetrate you?” He quipped. This was all part of it. Will knew he could never resist a chance to prove he would be willing to take things further than Will would.

In response Will cut into him. It wasn't hesitant or jerky, it was almost surgical. Deep enough for blood to spill immediately, but shallow enough that Hannibal was not afraid for his life. It hurt, it made him tense involuntarily as the knife made its way down his chest, leaving a burning crimson trail behind. All while his cock was slowly buried to the hilt inside the other man. He groaned, not trying to be a smartass, as Will began moving up and down, but was punished for his transgression anyways when the knife sunk deeper. The scarring would be unavoidable at this point. Hannibal ground his teeth together to keep from speaking, grabbed Will by the hips and helped him ride faster. His dick was being squeezed so tight, pumping in and out of Will’s hole as he watched the brunette’s cock bounce with every thrust. He pounded up into Will, hips snapping against the bottom of his ass. His passion made the work of the knife unsteady, dipping deeper and shallower with no design at all, the line Will was creating winding ever so slightly like a river down to just above his belly button. Hannibal could feel drops of blood cascading down his belly towards his ribs. Will moaned above him, clenching down on his dick, then ran two shaky fingers up the wound he had just inflicted, never slowing down, Hannibal violent in his thrusts that made every curl on Will’s head bob.

Will brought the two fingers up to his pink lips, dark pupils trained on Hannibal’s face as Will sucked on his middle and index finger. He pulled them out clean, except for the faint ring of red that was like lipstick around the second knuckles. Hannibal’s eyes narrowed with lust and he grabbed the hilt of the knife in Will’s hand, at first the other man resisted letting go, but when he slowed down in his thrusts, emphasizing his sincerity, Will relented. Hannibal took the weapon slowly out of his lover’s hand, Will was doing all the work with his hips now, and the salt and pepper haired man turned the blade on himself, tip pressed firmly to his stomach. With a small smile and a slow blink, jittery from the heat engulfing his dick, he stuck the end in his abdomen, somewhere he knew wouldn't be vital if he had gone deep enough for that to even matter. It made him gasp and he was so close to the edge now, but he wasn't finished. Hannibal dropped the knife, grabbed Will's hand firmly, splayed out his fingers, then pushed one of them greedily inside the wound. It made him shudder, meeting the pace of Will’s hips now, feeling the tip of his finger inside the cut sent stripes of ecstasy straight to his dick. Pumping himself in and out of Will, while Will pushed his finger deeper into his skin, Hannibal stroked the man’s cock, admiring the slight bend in it and the feeling of precum slicking the inside of his hand. Both of them were covered in a sheen of sweat and blood on the kitchen floor. He felt like an animal. He felt alive.

“This is what you wanted?” Will asked, words punctuated by small gasps.

Hannibal nodded, racing to the end, all fervor and fire. Slamming up into his Will. His Will. He would bleed only for this man. He would hold all of his beloved 's rage. He was made to bear any pain his lover put his way. Hannibal’s thoughts were becoming less linear. Will was panting, surely his legs burned, his dick twitching in Hannibal’s uncoordinated grasp, until finally he came. Seed shot onto Hannibal’s chest, mingling with his blood. The feeling made Hannibal climax too, unloading inside Will with a stifled moan. He couldn't take it. He sat up without thinking, grabbed Will behind the shoulders and sank his teeth into the crook of his neck. Will cried out, but didn't push him away. He bit deeper, Will’s hole milking his cock of every last drop of cum, his wounds throbbing and burning and flooding his body, his lover’s cum making a warm, slow trail down his stomach into the deep cuts. He might need stitches. Biting deeper. Will would be bruised. They'd have to set his nose. He did not break the brunette's delicate skin.

They sat like that on the floor, Hannibal’s teeth in his neck, Will’s trembling thighs straddling his waist. Hannibal pulled back, still ensnaring Will in his grasp and looked into his eyes. They seemed bright, normal, better than the storm he had cultivated for the last few weeks. He kissed his nose and brought him into a hug. Will sighed and rested his head on Hannibal’s shoulder. Their breathing slowed. Their heartbeats turned to normal, almost in sync. It would be enough. It already was.

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I am so incredibly upset because I couldn't find the gif of fantasy Hannibal smiling on the ground as Will beats him :'( EDIT: I FOUND IT YAHOO

[achaotichuman]

A Proposition

Some people get sentimental about the new year starting, some people have a mental breakdown, some people are recovering from a wicked hangover, and others are mentally preparing to start writing 2025 on dates rather than 2024

I'm writing gay sex and sharing it with the internet. Here you go, internet. Happy New Year to all my fellow whores, I hope your 2025 is not disastrous and full of good things, here's what I hope will be one of said good things.

Summary:

The High Lords meeting is being held in the Night Court, and Lucien is bored out of his brains, but when he realises the Heirs of Night and Spring have slipped off, what would have once been a very boring day suddenly becomes the opportunity for something he'd never even thought of.

Fic below the cut or here on Ao3!

The Night Court wasn’t his favourite territory to visit, but it wasn’t the worst. Lucien had freezed his ass off in Winter, and whilst the Night Court had a bite to it, being in the Hewn City meant that there was temperature regulation in most rooms. 

Eris had scolded the six of them the night before this visit, had lined his younger brothers up like soldiers and given them the talking too of a lifetime.

“Don’t screw around. Don’t run off with any dalliances. Don’t provoke anyone. Don’t get into fights with each other. Toe the line.” 

The Heir had talked himself hoarse, it was a miracle he had a voice to use today. 

Of course, the warnings weren’t really aimed at Lucien, but all the behaviours Eris told them not to partake in were regular patterns amongst the Vanserras. Lucien couldn’t say he wasn’t guilty of jabbing Silas too much, or purposefully pushing Brom to the brink of insanity, at times.

Any other Courtly visit and Lucien may have wandered off on his own, ignoring Eris’ warnings in favour of his own curiosity. However, when they passed through the stone doors of the Hewn City. When they had sealed shut behind them, trapping them all in the dark depths of a mountain renowned for cruelty, Lucien had decided to stick close to his brothers. 

There had been a formal introduction, followed by the usual custom of mingling and small talk, as music played in the throne room, and people with stiff backs danced with their respective partners. Everyone on edge, as if waiting for a bear trap to snap closed. It had successfully killed any fear Lucien had, replacing it with tearful boredom as he resigned to dancing with a Lady named Mirassa, she had smiled and giggled and entertained him for some time. They danced for the majority of the night, until the merriments ended, and the High Lords were called to the meeting. Lucien left, and Mirassa’s disappointment had trailed after him long after he left the dancing. 

The meeting itself was a near disaster, with Beron and the High Lord of Spring, Elvin going at each other like cats and dogs. 

Elvin scared the shit out of Lucien, and not just because of his famously cruel nature. He looked like something fresh out of a nightmare. Handsome, yes. With long dark gold hair that appeared a light chestnut colour in the dark, and like gleaming yellow gold in the sunlight. Gold-speckled dark eyes, tall and well-built. Yes, he was handsome but…

The way he looked at people, like he could skin them with his gaze, dig his hands into exposed flesh, examine the bone. He was like a creature that took Fae form to deceive. Only here because of how intrigued he was by people and their strange forms. 

Beron and Elvin had been at it a long time, before even Eris was born. So, Lucien wasn’t surprised when they made the whole evening about their petty grievances. He sat in the seventh chair, at the back, in the corner, away from everybody. 

But it wasn’t long into the meeting that Lucien noticed two missing presences. 

The daughter of the High Lord of Night sat beside her father and mother, hands folded in her lap, despite how bored she looked. But there was something missing…

Rhysand. 

How had Lucien not noticed? It was like he was a thread pulled away from a piece of cloth, unnoticed, not missed. 

Lucien blinked rapidly, the feeling of their being something off persisting. It was then that he looked towards Elvin. 

His wife, Dahlia sat next to him, raising an eyebrow as she watched her husband bicker with Lucien’s father. She seemed somewhat amused, snagging glances at the Lady of Night, who fought to keep a smile off her lips at every glance from Dahlia. Lucien thought to note that for later. 

But there was something else… Baile, the eldest of Spring, and Aletris, the second-eldest sat beside their mother. Baile looked at though he had more than enough, and Aletris twitched every so often. 

Tamlin. The thought hit Lucien in the chest. Where was Tamlin? 

A knot formed in Lucien’s chest, it was not like the Tamlin to miss a meeting like this, his father would have his head. He was usually extremely punctual, heeding to the tight schedule his father demanded, bending in impossible ways to fit the expectations of others. 

But Rhysand… Rhysand did as he pleased. 

Lucien clenched his fists until the knuckles turned white. 

Tamlin befriended Rhysand almost a year ago now. Found him in the War Camps. Sounded about right, of course the spoiled brat of Night would find amusement in watching those beneath him train. But for whatever reason that Lucien wouldn’t understand, Tamlin had seen something in him and decided to get closer. Now, the two were practically attached at the hip. Every single time he and Tamlin saw each other, it was just, Rhysand this, Rhysand that. ‘Oh, Lucien, look what Rhysand showed me.’ ‘Oh, Lucien, Rhysand taught me how to do this.’ ‘Lucien, Rhysand took me to this place.’ ‘Rhysand, Rhysand, Rhysand, Rhysand’ It never ended. 

He was not jealous. He was not in the slightest. Tamlin had trouble making friends and Lucien was glad he had found someone else to have fun with. After all, because of their fathers, Lucien and Tamlin often didn’t see each other. Though Rhysand's father and Tamlin’s father didn’t like each other in the absolute slightest either, Rhysand was in the War Camps, which meant they were with each other from when the sun rose, to when it set. 

Of course, they would be friends. It didn’t mean Lucien had to like him. Or approve of him. 

Rhysand was bad news. Rhysand was cruel. He was unpredictable. He liked playing with people until he pushed them to the very edge, he drove them insane. He was spoiled, and reckless, and frustrating. 

And worst of all, Rhysand was a snarky, arrogant, handsome, cocky male. He was vile in every sense of the word and he knew it. He was a slow-acting poison, and Lucien was forced to just watch Tamlin drink him down. 

God, where were they? If Tamlin ended up with yet another bruise, broken bone, or scar from his father’s punishments because Rhysand made him late, or worse, convinced him to skip the meeting. Lucien would set him on fire. 

“Will you now?” A voice like cool silk floated down into his head. 

Lucien nearly jolted in his seat, but managed to catch himself. 

“Where is Tamlin?” Lucien addressed the Heir of Night. 

“With me.” Rhysand seemed to laugh, clearly amused at Lucien’s growing anger. 

“Figured. Where are you?” 

“Come find out, fox boy.” Rhysand taunted. 

Lucien blinked. 

“What?”

“They won’t notice, they’re under a minor enchantment. They won’t even notice you getting up and walking out.” 

“You can’t be serious.” 

“Do you want to know where Tamlin is?” 

Lucien took in a sharp breath. Yes, he did want to know where Tamlin was, and he wanted to get Rhysand far away from him. He wanted to pull him away from the Night Court entirely, and convince him to stop fucking drifting away from him. Godfuckingdamnit, Tamlin was his friend. Not Rhysand’s. Not anyone else's. His, fucking his, all his. 

Laughter, bright and full, once again bubbled in Lucien, not his own though. It came from Rhysand, speaking to him from wherever he was. It shocked Lucien back to reality. 

What the hell was he thinking?

“What the hell are you thinking?” Rhysand purred. 

“Get out of my head.”

“Come find me and make me.” Lucien didn’t know how, but he knew Rhysand was smirking. 

Fuck. 

Gently, Lucien eased out of his seat. Watching the faces of his brothers. Of the other Lords. As he came to his feet, not even Eris glanced his way. 

Quietly, he slipped away, to the door, resting his fingers on the doorknob, he glanced at Eris once more, and his empty seat. Sure enough, none of them noticed as he left the meeting. 

“Where are you?” Lucien muttered. 

“Go towards the higher rooms.” 

The higher rooms, the ones that were reserved for the High Lords. Bathed in purple luxury, and gilded with gold, they were specially made. 

Lucien swallowed hard. 

“What are you doing to him?” Lucien found himself asking Rhysand. Feeling sharp anger stabbing his core, he let all of his rage pour out into the entity invading his mind. 

“Oh you wanna spy on him now?” Rhysand mocked, “I’ll do you one better. Do you want to hear what’s happening to him? Then I’ll let you guess what I’m doing.”

Shit, shit, shit. Lucien didn’t know what he was thinking anymore, as he picked up his pace, going up the spiralling stairs, feeling a tug that grew stronger with every step. 

“Well, Lucie?” Rhysand demanded for his answer. 

Fucking Hell. 

“Fine.” 

There was a pleased hum from Rhysand that vibrated through his entire being, against every good sense, he shivered. 

Then another voice came into his head. Lucien nearly tripped, as his heart started beating out his chest, heat flooding his face making a pink flush spread from his cheeks to his ears and down his neck.

“Please. Oh, please, Rhys. Pleas- Fuck.” The words were breathless, interlaced with gasps and low whines. 

The connection quickly cut off, and Rhysand returned saying, “Is he still only yours now, Lucie?”

“You vile piece of worthless shit-” Lucien mouthed the words out loud, unable to contain the rage stoking higher and higher, as a pressure settled low in his gut. 

“Such language…” 

“Where. Are. You?”

“Why do you want to know, Lucien?”

Those words made Lucien stop in his tracks, staring at how far he’d come. The solid stone walls, the spiralling staircase behind him, the hallway stretched out in front of him. 

“You know what they say, Lucie.” Rhysand murmured, “Two is better than one.”

“I don’t know what fucking game you’re playing, Rhysand. But quit it.” 

“I’ll spell this out for you, Vanserra.” Rhysand said, “You can go back to that meeting, stay there bored out of your brains while you imagine what I’m doing to your beloved- No, don’t try to deny it. We both know you will. Or you can come find us.”

Lucien felt his whole body shake. 

“What’s it going to be?”

Fuck…

He didn’t even have to think about it. What did that mean for him? That he so easily gave in to this invitation? 

“Where are you?”

Lucien could practically feel Rhysand’s grin. 

They were in one of the highest rooms. The large door was heavy, locked. But as Lucien reached to touch it, he heard a click from the inside. The invitation was there. 

He couldn’t hear anything from outside, his blood pounding in his ears as he tried to imagine what could be happening. What they could be doing. What he was going to walk in on. 

“Fuck.” Lucien whispered, but he couldn’t stop his hand. He pushed the door open. 

He didn’t know what to imagine when he walked in- No, scratch that. He knew exactly what he was imagining, it was just nothing could compare to the real thing. 

The room itself was one of the smallest, it had to be the one made up specifically for Tamlin. Whenever a High lord visited, the chambers he was given to reside in were customised according to the Lord’s needs and preferences, the same was done for all whom accompanied him. But Lucien and Tamlin being the youngest, both got the scraps compared to what their superiors were given. 

But still the bed was large, in the centre of the room, it was decorated with dark, emerald green silk, and when Tamlin first came here, it was no doubt made up perfectly. 

It wasn’t perfect right now. 

But in Lucien’s head in that moment, it was better than perfect, because Tamlin was twisted up in the sheets. Sweat-slicked skin gleaming, back arched, his hair an absolute mess, face scrunched up in pleasure all the while, Rhysand was bent overtop him, his slender fingers fisting the back of Tamlin’s head, shoving his face into the mattress. They laid facing the door. 

Lucien’s breathing picked up, and heat shot straight down into his belly, as he shoved himself back up against the door, slamming it closed. 

The sudden noise alerted Tamlin to someone entering, Lucien could see the moment, those hazy green eyes snapped from his own cloud of pleasure, panic filling them as he quickly looked up. 

But that panic subsided as it gave way to disbelief when he locked eyes with Lucien. 

“Lucien,” Tamlin breathed out, Rhysand still over top him, pressing him down in the mattress. 

“Seems like the little fox has come to play, my love.” Rhysand murmured. 

Tamlin craned his neck back to stare at Rhysand confused, “What-” He shook his head, quickly grabbing the sheets tangled around them to try and protect his decency. 

But Rhysand’s strong grip held Tamlin firmly against him, “I mean it my love.”

“What?” Tamlin repeated a little firmer this time as he looked back at Lucien, his eyes still a little unfocused, no doubt trying to stay grounded, even as Rhysand’s naked form was pressed against him. 

“I should leave.” Lucien said, making no move to leave. 

Rhysand smiled so cruelly at him. Tamlin was breathing hard, his cheeks and ears scarlet red, his hands fisted in the sheets. His hair was an absolute mess, he was an absolute mess, and Lucien’s heart was beating faster. 

“You can leave.” Rhysand said, that smile refusing to leave his face. Lucien had the sudden urge to slap it off him. With his hand of course. Even though his eyes kept darting to his lips, “Or…”

“What are you doing, Rhys?” Tamlin hissed, shooting an apologetic look to Lucien, his eyes filled with embarrassment, Lucien wanted to cradle him close and present him with Rhysand’s filleted body on a silver platter. 

“Oh me and Lucien have been chatting.”

Tamlin’s face dropped, all at once, anger swallowed that fucked out look on his face as he purposefully shoved Rhysand back, but the older male still kept him down, “You’ve been mind-speaking to him! While we’ve been-”

“I should leave.” Lucien said again, this time his hand reaching for the handle behind him. 

“Before you run off and before he bites my dick off.” Rhysand spoke in a drawled, lazy manner. Looking at Tamlin struggling against him disinterested, “I have a proposition.”

“What are you trying to do?” Tamlin demanded to know. 

“Don’t try and tell me you wouldn’t have him sit in that chair and watch you if you could. I hear your thoughts, darling.” Rhysand replied, his eyes going towards Lucien at the end. 

“Rhysand!” Tamlin shouted, actually managing to shove him off this time. Rhysand took the push gracefully. Leaning back onto his heels, unlike Tamlin, who scrambled to grab a sheet to cover himself, Rhysand was perfectly content to let Lucien see every part of him. 

Lucien froze. 

Locked in a space between what his relationships with these two had been before and what it might end up being, he stared at Rhysand, then his eyes drifted to Tamlin. Lucien slowly cocked his head to the side. 

“You fantasise about me?” He asked, Lucien was surprised by how breathless his voice sounded. 

Tamlin’s face somehow got redder, and he glared at Rhysand.

But he didn’t deny it. 

“Now, back to my proposition.” Rhysand declared. 

Tamlin loosened a growl, but the Heir of Night simply waved him off. 

“Little Lucien made the trip all the way up here just to find you, darling. It would be rude to send him off so quickly.”

“Spit it out, Rhysand.” Tamlin growled. 

Rhysand rolled his eyes, then he looked towards Lucien, “I’ll be more direct then. I want to fuck you both.”

The room got infinitely hotter, though it wasn’t as if Lucien hadn’t been considering this. He’d practically agreed to it when he spoke to Rhysand through his mind. When he’d heard the way Rhysand had been making Tamlin sing out. 

Fuck. 

But Tamlin looked at him as though he’d threatened to light the whole of Prythian on fire. His mouth opened and he looked towards Lucien like he might apologise, but his words were stolen when he watched what Lucien did. 

With a cunning, graceful slowness, Lucien slid his jacket off as he stepped closer to the bed, “I wouldn’t be… opposed.” He breathed out. 

Rhysand’s eyes scoured him, raking over every inch of his body like he was a piece of art to be studied, understood. Lucien didn’t miss the way his mouth opened slightly, his blue eyes seeming to deepen in colour. 

Tamlin couldn’t seem to land on an emotion to feel, his face not hiding a single one as they flew through him, but underneath it all, Lucien could smell his arousal, could see the hardness he attempted to hide with the sheet. 

Images ran through Lucien’s head, what his friend’s cock looked like, what it’d feel like in his mouth, what his seed would taste like. Flicking his eyes to Tamlin’s lips, Lucien wondered if he was thinking something similar about him. 

“Only if Tam wants it.” Lucien added, not daring to look him in the eyes, instead his gaze roamed over his throat, the bruises there that were already starting to heal, all no doubt left by Rhysand…

The want to mark that milky, freckled skin with his own mouth was nearly startling. 

“Well, darling?” Rhysand asked, crawling across the sheets to grab at Tamlin’s waist pressing kisses to his skin that made him shiver, “What do you say?”

Tamlin’s breathing turned shallow, as he looked back up at Lucien who was no close enough to be nearly towering over him. 

“Are you sure?” He asked. 

“I would have left if I wasn’t.” Lucien assured. 

Rhysand cocked his head as if to say, “Well?”

Tamlin looked between the two of them, then his eyes drifted back up to Lucien’s. His voice was practically a whine as he said, “Please.”

That was all it took for Lucien’s restraint to snap.

He shoved one knee into the mattress as he leaned forward to capture Tamlin’s mouth in his own. Tamlin moaned as their lips met, opening up to let Lucien deepen the kiss. The fire Lord wanted to drag it out, he wanted to start slow, but he felt Rhysand sliding up beside him, dragging his tongue across Tamlin’s nipple, Tamlin’s hand fisting in Rhysand’s hair as Rhys started biting and sucking. The loud moan that was torn from Tamlin’s throat, was enough to make Lucien quicken the pace. 

Lucien grabbed a fistful of Tamlin’s hair, the blond loose curls soft and wet with sweat between his fingers. Tamlin’s other hand flew to his shirt, trying desperately to undo it. A claw slid out of his knuckle, and Lucien broke the kiss to lean back and undo it himself. Trying to preserve what clothing he had brought with him. 

Rhysand laughed lowly, and Tamlin’s head tipped back, eyes once again bright with bliss and pleasure. 

The Night Lord looked up briefly, locking eyes with Lucien, and understanding hit him all at once. 

This was about Tamlin. 

The blond had been stressed out of his mind as of late. In the few times Lucien had managed to be able to see him he hadn’t been sleeping or eating properly. Sometimes Lucien had to force him to lie down or eat even a little bit of a meal. Neither of them really knew what was going on, but for a little while now, Tamlin had been going to Hybern with his father more and more often, and every time he came back from those trips he looked worse and worse and worse. 

Tonight was about Tamlin. It was about bringing him as much pleasure, as much happiness, as possible. Gods, the man sometimes just thought too much. 

But how could he possibly think, if he was being fucked out of his mind?

Lucien quickly threw his shirt to the ground and crashed his mouth against Tamlin’s again as he fiddled with getting his trousers off. He was never wearing this many layers again. Not if they slowed him down from being able to finally fuck the male he’d been dreaming about. 

When Lucien finally was able to pull his trousers down and let them join the rest of the clothing scattered across the floor, Rhysand settled behind Tamlin, his hands going up and down smooth, toned thighs, while Lucien rested in front of Tamlin, their knees touching, his decency still hidden by the thin green silk sheet. 

“How do you want it, darling?” Rhysand murmured, his voice soft like silk as his lips trailed the line of Tamlin’s neck, Lucien watched, transfixed. His hands moved on their own, wanting to touch, to hold, to bite, bruise and suck. 

“I want…” Tamlin was breathless, his eyes falling closed as his head tilted back, practically begging for that soft spot between his throat and shoulder to be bitten. 

“Cat got your tongue?” Rhysand laughed, then he hummed, as his fingers buried themselves into Tamlin’s hair, “How about you make Lucien feel welcome, hm?”

The breath was stolen from Lucien’s lungs, as his cock twitched with interest, Tamlin’s eyes flicked down to it, his hand flexing slightly. 

Rhysand moved back, slipping off the edge of the bed, and then all of Lucien’s attention was on Tamlin. 

“Can I?” Tamlin asked, as he moved to kneel. Lucien felt his face go hot, as he opened his legs on instinct. 

“You may.” Lucien said, he watched as Tamlin grabbed the base of his cock, stroking slowly. A breath whimper left him, he was helpless to stop it, especially as those pink, plush lips ghosted over the tip of his dick. 

It was breath-taking. Tamlin, looking so utterly fucked, with his hair a mess, his skin a mess, his eyes staring up at Lucien, searching for approval, for his approval. Lucien’s cock started leaking as Tamlin’s tongue dragged along his shaft. 

The blond wrapped his lips around him, sucking on the tip hard, before starting to work his way down, stroking what he could reach. Lucien moaned and bucked his hips, feeling like he was being unraveled, he forced his cock deeper down Tamlin’s throat, grabbing at his long hair with one hand. 

“Fuck, Tam,” Lucien moaned, “You feel so good. Such a pretty mouth.”

The moan that left Tamlin, vibrated along Lucien, and he couldn’t stop the way his hips moved, making Tamlin gag on his cock. The sensation was quickly pushing him towards the edge. 

In all of this, Lucien hadn’t been watching what Rhysand was doing. He didn’t even know where he was until he saw him return from somewhere in the shadows, holding a bottle of what looked to be oil. 

Rhysand watched as Tamlin worked Lucien with his throat, spit and precum dribbling down his chin as he sucked and stroked.

He was getting closer, his body was burning, everything was so hot. He felt so good. He looked so good. He was fucking perfect. Tamlin’s wet, hot mouth was bringing him so close to the edge, just a little bit more. Lucien’s moans grew louder and higher, his fingers curling tighter in Tamlin’s hair. 

“I’m gonna… I’m gonna cum. Tam, fuck-” 

Lucien just about nearly screamed when Tamlin was roughly yanked off his cock. Rhysand tutted as he kept Tamlin’s hair fisted in his hand, Tamlin’s neck bent back at an uncomfortable angle. 

“Not so fast, little fox, we still have so much to do.” Rhysand grinned, his smile only widening at the tears pooling in Lucien’s eyes from the stimulation, and the aching in his cock. 

Rhysand then leaned down and asked Tamlin, “Think you can take us both, darling?”

“Yes,” Tamlin all but moaned as Rhysand let go of his hair, his face falling into the mattress. Suddenly, that fire in Lucien’s core burned twice as hot, the heat threatening to consume him entirely. He and Rhysand locked eyes and that cheshire grin was suddenly on Lucien’s face as well. 

Being shoved back against the headboard, as Rhysand manhandled Tamlin over both their weeping cocks was not where Lucien thought he’d be today, but he wasn’t about to argue, especially not as he watched Tamlin’s face, sweat collecting on his brow, clutching his shoulders as Rhysand’s oil slick fingers stretched him out. Tamlin moaned, his head dropping into the crook of Lucien’s finger as Rhysand purposefully propped that sweet spot inside him. The Heir of Spring rocked back against his fingers, oil slicked up the insides of his thighs, his hips kept thrusting into the air, his legs trembling and Lucien needed to be inside him. 

“Are you alright, darlin-” Rhysand tried to ask, but Tamlin cut him off by taking Lucien’s cock in his hand, lining himself up and sinking down. 

Both males moaned as the head of Lucien’s cock stretched Tamlin’s wet, hot whole. Lucien’s fingers flew to his hips, digging into the flesh, digging red marks into the skin. All coherent thoughts went out the window as unbearable warmth shot like poison through his body. He wanted to cum so badly, his depraved imagination wanted to shove Tamlin down into the bed and watch as his cock sunk in and out of his hole, he wanted to fuck Tamlin until he was crying out his name, until he couldn’t think of anything outside of Lucien, and how fucking good he felt. 

Then Lucien’s attention was drawn to Rhysand, and how his hands had travelled to Lucien’s thighs, digging in there. Lucien’s eyes found Rhysand’s, and the Night Lord grinned that stupid fucking grin. That smile like he knew everything going through his head. 

Lucien’s mouth fell open as he remembered, Rhysand did know everything going through his head. 

“Our little fox wants to ruin you, lovely.” Rhysand whispered in Tamlin’s ear. Tamlin blinked his eyes open, staring into Lucien’s with that soft gaze that only Tamlin could give to him. Lucien bathed in it, he felt Rhysand’s hands roaming him, watching him, listening. 

He felt more seen than he had in his entire life. 

Tamlin’s hands tightened on Lucien’s shoulders as his eyes squeezed shut, moans, whimpers and high-pitched whines falling from his mouth as Rhysand pushed the head of his cock inside of him, his hole stretching to accommodate them both. Lucien looked down and watched as Tamlin took both of them, slowly adjusting to the intense sensation. 

All three of them were panting, little whines and moans escaping as Tamlin finally sunk down to the root. Lucien held so tightly onto him, trying his best not to lose his control entirely and just fuck without restraint. 

Tamlin crashed their lips together, kissing him hard, Lucien’s mouth opened, and Tamlin slid him his tongue. They both grabbed at each other, feeling more like wild animals than anything else. 

“You ready, darling?” Rhysand asked as his hands left Lucien’s thighs to grab hold of Tamlin. 

“Fuck. Me.” Tamlin ordered. 

And the two were happy to obey. 

Tamlin bounced up and down, his head falling back, leaving his neck exposed to Lucien’s bruising lips as the two of them fucked into him, not in sync but going hard and fast. Tamlin quickly got lost, Lucien manoeuvred himself to hit at a deeper angle, and Tamlin nearly cried when he started abusing that bundle of nerves deep within him with his cock. 

“I’m so close.” Tamlin cried, “I’m so close!”

Lucien was relishing in this, as his eyes rolled back, sweat dripped down his neck, his hair which had been brushed and styled to perfection was a mess, his clothes were somewhere on the floor, and he’d never felt so fucking good. Everything was good. Especially watching Tamlin ride both their dicks like he was made for it. 

One of Tamlin’s hands left its place on Lucien’s shoulder, grabbing the wooden headboard, scratching echoed through the room as Tamlin’s claws jutted out. And seeing that powerful display, seeing this male, so far above him in terms of just how much strength he wielded. Falling apart, impaled on dick, barely able to control himself, was what finally snapped all Lucien’s last remaining threads of self control. 

Lucien dug his heels into the mattress, digging his fingers so hard into Tamlin’s hips, bruises bloomed underneath them. He fucked up, harder and faster, hitting Tamlin’s prostate with every thrust. Rhysand leaned over and grabbed the headboard, seemingly feeling the exact same way, as they both abused Tamlin’s hole. The blond’s legs nearly gave out underneath him, but Lucien kept his grip strong. Just a little bit, just a bit more.

Tears filled Tamlin’s eyes as a scream was ripped from his throat, white cum shooting out over his stomach and Lucien’s chest. The other two weren’t far behind him, and just a few thrusts later, white heat shot through Lucien, his orgasm hitting him violently. His body twitching and shaking as he came inside Tamlin. 

Rhysand came, his teeth digging into Tamlin’s shoulder as he did. Then the three collapsed atop each other. Or… more just atop Lucien. 

After a few minutes were spent trying to catch their breath as their bodies refused to come down from the high, they finally found enough energy to get underneath the blankets. 

As clarity came back to him, Lucien blinked his eyes open to see the white ceiling above him, and a sinking feeling came to him, as he thought Tamlin and Rhysand might kick him out. Might say he had to go back. 

But, instead, he was cocooned in warmth, as Tamlin slung an around over his chest cuddling into his side, Rhysand curled around his side, his lips pressed gently against Lucien’s neck. 

“How was that?” Rhysand asked. 

“It was so good.” Tamlin answered in a breathless voice. The praise sent a pleasant warm tingling all over Lucien’s body. 

“Next time, you should show Luce your wings, he’d have a field day.” Tamlin commented. 

Lucien blinked, confused, he turned to Rhysand who was half-heartedly glaring at Tamlin. 

“You have wings?” 

“I am half-Illyrian, I inherited the wings… High Fae tend to be off put by them.”

“I wouldn’t be.” Lucien answered, sincerity lacing every word. 

Rhysand seemed unconvinced, but Tamlin reached over, lazily twirling a black hair strand around his finger, and Rhysand’s expression softened.

“Maybe next time. If you want a next time that is?” That grin returned as Rhysand traced circles on Lucien’s chest, the redheads breathing askew once more. 

“Maybe.” Lucien offered, normally this was where he’d quip something smart. But he fucked out of it. Having both these males so close to him, still covered in their shared fluids, still feeling that lingering warmth and tingling of pleasure. He couldn’t think if he tried. 

“I want a bath.” Lucien said. 

“Same,” Tamlin agreed. 

“Demanding, both of you.” Rhysand said deadpan, still getting up to go run the bath. 

Once he disappeared, Tamlin took in a breath and whispered, “So…?”

Lucien sighed, turning towards his lover, he said, “He’s not so bad.”

Tamlin smiled so beautifully, and Lucien kissed him. 

As they separated, Lucien heard footsteps, and looked up to seeing Rhysand looking down at him with an unreadable expression. He turned his head slightly away, “The bath’s ready.”

Lucien smiled, he sat up and tilted Rhysand’s face towards him, and kissed him too. 

[lottiecrabie]

bartender george blurb please i'm begging please please please u know who this is Asking

i will do crazy things for a bartender!george blurb before you leave us

bartender!george warriors are Lucky it’s my bff’s birthday and they’re one of yall🕺

shift drink has the usual suspects scattered across some tables, nursing a beer or a glass of wine. normally, you’d be sitting across veronica, advising her on her tinder swiping and laughing at adam’s poor attempts at avoiding participation in this mating ritual. you’d twirl a blue umbrella in your sex on the beach, and wince when a man showing off a fish would appear on veronica’s screen.

this time, you sit across george, his forearms on the bar showing off tatted skin and glinting silver rings, looking you directly in the eyes with that intense gaze of his, and not down the cleavage you’re purposefully trying to show off.

‘so?’ his grin teases at the corner of his lips. ‘opinions?’ his new cocktail idea resides in a tall glass in front of you, half downed and sticking to your lipgloss.

you hum, faking some sort of deep reflection, as though you haven’t started drinking for the first time merely six weeks ago. the entirety of your knowledge in cocktails start and end with whatever he decides to serve you. still, you say, ‘i like it. very flowery.’

‘it’s not too intense?’

‘not to me.’ then you smirk, cheeky. ‘but i’m a very intense girl.’

george snorts. ‘that so?’

you gape in faux offense. ‘you don’t believe me,’ you say, accusatory.

‘apologies, sweets, it’s just that you’re— you know.’ his hand— your eyes jump to those ringed fingers, long and rough— wave vaguely.

you arch an eyebrow. ‘what?’

‘well,’ he says, and his shiteating grin shows he’s not even a bit bashful in saying it, ‘a bit sheltered. y’know, daddy’s girl.’

a secret part of you tenses and melts at the words, slithering up the muscles of your legs. it hits to your core, where something shameful and hot grows. a bigger part of you feels the telltale signs of competitiveness buzz under your skin. you set your eyes on him with a challenge.

you down the remainder of your drink in one long mouthful, glad for the sugary taste of it drowning out the bitter vodka. you slam the glass back on the counter, jump off the stool and stare at george, absolute. ‘maybe i am. want to find out?’ george chokes on his own breath, and just that reaction could be enough.

you don’t wait for an answer, too afraid of losing your cool. you practically flee out of the dining room, walking down the hallway to the safety of the dry storage. you wait there a moment, back to the door, feigning not to be listening for the sound of his steps, not to be hoping. your heart slams in your chest. god, why did you do that? you’re so stupid—

the door cracks open and slams closed. you smile, spinning with bone-deep relief, with thrilling excitement. his eyes are dark and intense, staring with that uneasy way of undressing, unspooling, unmaking. he sees through your bones and you can tell he wants what’s underneath.

‘did you—‘

‘yes,’ you cut, eager to get to it. ‘what are you gonna do about it?’

‘depends. are you gonna be sweet for me, sweets?’

you cock your head, teasing, ‘gonna make me?’

george is on you in a second, lips catching yours as you crash against the nearest shelves. he pins you in place, hands flying to your waist, digging under your shirt. you barely have enough place to arch your back into them, to invite him in. he crushes you against his body, against the metal, while he steals and steals and steals from you. breath, moans, the letters of his name. licks them all up until you lose your head, then goes down your cheek, your jaw, your neck.

your shirt is off and your bra cups down before you’re aware of what’s going on, and now george’s head is bent to your breasts, sucking a nipple and teasing the other with his hand. your head bangs against a shelf with a guttural groan. ‘fuck, george.’

he hums, coming back up, though already busy with hiking your skirt up your thighs. ‘thought you were gonna be daddy’s girl?’ your cheeks heat when confronted with your previous bravado. ‘what?’ he pouts, a little mocking. ‘too intense?’

‘fuck me,’ is all you answer, his teasing having made you horribly wet and needy. you rake your nails through his short buzzcut.

he grips your thighs and picks you up, wrapping your legs around his waist. your ass half hangs off a shelf, another one digging into your back. you barely feel them, too busy with him unbuckling his belt. your core drips at the mere sight, needing him so thoroughly it threatens to make you crazy.

‘ask nicely.’ you shiver at the sound of his voice, authoritative and demanding. you grind your hips into his as best you can, though the angle is awkward and not enough to get you off.

‘please,’ you whisper. he gives you a look, unimpressed. ‘fuck, i—‘ you shake your head. his finger pushes your underwear aside and finds your clit, rubbing it as added argument. with a moan, your eyelashes flutter at him, playing a part. ‘i need you, daddy. i’ve been wet every time i see you. just thinking of you and i— oh!‘ george slams into you with a groan.

you cling onto his back, digging into the fabric of his shirt, trying to hold on as he bucks into you fast and wild. you cry in his shoulder, trying and failing to catch your breath, to get used to him.

his head falls to your neck, sucking and biting. you moan in his ear, something primal waking inside of you at the thought of him marking you. of being his. he licks his branding, whispering in your ear, ‘should’ve told me my little girl needed me. didn’t mean to leave her all wet every day.’

he raises you up higher, changing the angle until he hits a spot that has you gasping for air. you tremble under his fingers and they dig into your skin, keeping you in place, leaving new branding marks to revel in later. he’ll be everywhere on you, in you.

‘gonna take care of you,’ george promises. ‘gonna fuck you all dumb and drooling to make up for those times, baby.’

you pull his face closer, burying a moan into his parted lips. ‘make me your girl.’

he snorts. ‘i don’t have to.’ he grins, cheeky, ‘you already are.’ his mouth crashes against you. you lose sense of coherent thought.

george fucks you until you’re whining and babbling, stringing swear words and begs in-between equal amounts of georges and daddys. he relishes in all of them, kissing and groaning at them, muttering sweet promises into your skin, as if planting the seeds into your very pores.

‘come for me,’ george pants. ‘come for daddy.’ you’re putty in his hands, only held up by him and the shelf banging against the wall. ‘wanna see you fall apart on my cock. wanna feel you.’ he groans, a hand flying up and digging into your cheeks. ‘god, you’re so goddamn sweet.’

as if trying to make him right, you come between two moans, shaking and crying for him. still, the pleasure somehow takes you by surprise, and you’re knocked off axis just by the sheer intensity of it.

george follows right after you, yelling your name as he spills inside of you, still buried so deep you have to assume he’s just fiending for another way to mark you.

you stay there as you catch your breath. finally, he slip out of you, letting your underwear fall back in place to keep his cum from running down your legs. he kisses your cheek, then pulls your skirt down and your bra cups up.

‘did so well for me, sweets,’ he coos. ‘such a good girl for daddy.’ you preen under his words, grinning up at him. ‘now let’s get you home so i can keep my promises.’

‘promises?’ you gasp, head flashing with filthy fantasies.

his smirk is dangerous. ‘don’t think for a moment i’m done with you.’

[the-trinket-witch]

New TWST OC Hub!

(NOTE: All art depicted is a combination of freehand art and sprite manipulation, So I cannot say this is wholly my own hand. As well, SD sprites are created via this picrew and edited further by me.)

Albert Eastwind (アルバート・イーストウィンド):

(TWST OF: Mary Poppins)

Age: 17

Pronouns: He/Him (わたくし)

Birthday: Aug 27

Height: 5'9" (175cm)

Class: 2-C (Student 64)

Homeland: Altus (Queendom of Roses)

Best Class: Practical Magic

U.M: 'Step in Time'- Can slow time around up to 15ft (4.5m), can only use up to an hour of time (passes as 5 minutes IRT). Buildup of blot makes use of <1hr dangerous.

Likes: Taking care of others

Dislikes: 'Piecrust Promises' (lying or sparing someone their feelings)

Personality: Cheerful, practical, self-flagellating, one to suffer in silence, truthful, wordy, uplifting, formal

Nicknames: Swordfish (Floyd), Monsieur Parapluie (Rook)

Eugenio 'Yuu' Hernandez (エウヘニオ・ヘルナンデス)

(TWST OF: N/A)

Age: 16

Pronouns: They/Them (僕)

Birthday: May 15

Height: 5'4" (162cm)

Class: 1-A (Student 13)

Homeland: Alameda, CA, USA

Best Class: P.E

U.M: 'Beast Tamer'-not magical, but the threat of La Chancla upside one's head tends to put rowdy schoolboys in line

Likes: Cooking, learning about Twisted Wonderland, days off

Dislikes: Overblotting, Some of the Dorm Leaders, having to do Crowley's go-for work, going hungry

Personality: Pragmatic, wry, inexperienced, mature, tired, fun-seeking

Nicknames: Shrimpy (Floyd), Monsieur Trickster (Rook)

Tidus Rhin (ティダス・ライン)

(TWST OF: Archimedes-The Little Mermaid (TV Series))

Age: 16

Pronouns: He/Him (自分)

Birthday: Nov 17

Height: 7ft (213cm)

Class: 1-C (student 50)

Homeland: Coral Sea

Best Class: History

U.M: 'Fathom's Below'- Can use infrasound frequencies to cause a variety of physical/psychological effects

Likes: Human Culture

Dislikes: Being used exclusively for his strength

Personality: Bubbly, curious, naive, scholarly, headstrong, tame, protective

Nicknames: Jinbei (Floyd), Monsieur Vaste (Rook)

Lázaro Muertinez (ラサロ・ムエルティネス)

Age: 18

Pronouns: He/Him (俺)

Birthday: Nov 2

Height: 6'0" (182cm)

Class: 3-D (Student 42)

Homeland: Land of Dawning

Best Class: Music

U.M: 'Recuérdame'-digs up lost memories of those who hear him playing music. Memories are random.

Likes: Playing any instrument he can get his hands on

Dislikes: Art theft

Personality: Cheery, familial, boisterous, spontaneous, savant, festive

Nicknames: Celebes (Floyd), Roi de la Guitare (Rook)

Aadesh Sona (アーデシュ・ソナ)

Age: 28

Pronouns: He/Him (俺-様)

Birthday: Oct 18

Height: 6'5" (195cm)

Subject: 'Counselor' (Inside Trader/Intel Gatherer)

Homeland: Sunset Savannah

Species: Beastman (Constrictor)

U.M: 'Silver Mist'-lowers brainwave activity, putting people to sleep. Cannot influence actions via UM itself, but has a degree in psychology so only needs to have one in a more suggestible state.

Likes: Having the upper hand, Praise from Mr Khan, power

Dislikes: Things not going his way, Knots in his tail, Kids too smart for their own good

Personality: Conceited, intelligent, scheming, two-faced, obsequious, manipulative, eloquent, self-serving

Nicknames: Scaly Bastard (various), Creepy Constrictor (various) Doctor (clients)

The Janitor (管理人-さん)

(TWST of: Myself! My Actual 'Self insert')

Age: 6 months

Pronouns: They/Them (自分)

Birthday: Sept. 15

Height: 5'4" (163cm)

Role: Janitor

Homeland: Nightraven College Science Lab

Species: Construct (animated anatomical model)

U.M: N/A (Has a charm that makes their sign language understood by those they communicate with)

Likes: Cleaning, free time, learning about 'Life'

Dislikes: Purposefully messy areas, People not understanding their signs, (eventually) being treated as a slave

Personality: detail-oriented, tidy, tired, sassy, overworked, nonchalant, wry

Nicknames: Handybones (various), Bones Malone (various), The Assistant (Sam), 'Oh Shit You Scared Me' (various), The Walking Halloween Decoration (various) Glassfish (Floyd), Souverain de Propreté (Rook)

Rajesh Khan (レージェシュ カン)

(TWST of: Shere Khan-Jungle Book)

Age: 53

Pronouns: He/Him (俺-様)

Birthday: Nov. 17

Height: 5'9" (175cm)

Career: CEO (Khan Corp.)

Homeland: Scalding Sands

Species: Beastman (Tiger)

U.M: 'King of the Jungle' Magically amplifies his infrasound roar, making it easier to intimidate.

Likes: Exotic food, smooth business dealings, news from Aadesh, opera, body building

Dislikes: Insubordination, lack of information, kicks to the knee

Personality: Austere, collected, explosive, cutthroat, confident

Nicknames: Sir, Mr Khan

Finally also: the Voice Claim Trailer

[harpers-tartarus]

Is there anything you want to write in your fics that you maybe haven't written yet?

oh, so many things!

this throne is not mine:

speaking with Ruvina, which I have not even begun to write

possibly ending up back in the forest of Sylvaire and fighting Arianwen

purposefully planning to take the Last Stand, so they try to level up at least once more (Riz is an extra level, level 14 rogue, level 1 cleric because he had to fight the Court of Stars by himself and killed 8/12)

It coming out that Riz and Fabian are a thing and so many ppl are like??? they weren't dating before???

Futton no Mito:

THE CHUNIN EXAMS, I'm so hyped for it

I've written this but it hasn't been posted yet, but Anko and Iruka being genin teammates and both having the curse seal

Tsunade's return and reconciliation with Mito

Sakura becoming Hatake Sakura and finally getting it at the Chunin Exams when she's targeted for being Kakashi's kid

Mito kisses Shikamaru and tells him she'll only date him when to hits Jounin and he's dumbfounded but 2 weeks later there's a rumor that she's dead until Naruto rushes through the front gates carrying her, somehow alive after being cut by Hidan's scythe.

Mito helping Naruto speak with Kurama and then wandering around in his psyche and finds the Yondaime Hokage, who gives a sheepish wave as she gapes at him

Strongest of the Warlocks

I'm feeding in more Arthurian Legend stuff into this fic and its gonna show

Morgana asks Merlin to find out more stuff about her parents and when she gets back, she's immediately accused of witchcraft bc Uther wants to silence her

The resurrection of Elmet, when it happens, will be so great

Merlin meeting Cian in the flesh on Arthur's quest and Gwaine staying with her to help her dig a grave for his bones than leave them behind

Arthur always impressed by Percival and he has no idea if he's serious when he says that the day they met, Merlin fought off a group of bandits to save his life

A Shift in the Force

Anakin and Ahsoka bonding

Sabe reaching Ossus and spending her fortune on repairing it bc the Force tells her that soon Coruscant won't be safe

Her realizing she's pregnant again and its not the best time, but she'll make the best of it

Quinlan eventually meeting his kid an Caleb HATES him, he's a mama's boy all the way

Tempest

Dick and Amy keeping a low profile when they start dating until they hit three months and decide okay, everything's going well, we should tell our folks

Ariel and Jason are on the anti-Dick squad but Jason's more serious about it

Amy running off to Mount Elbrus for the second time. Katya is ecstatic, except for the reasons that bring her

Amy and Wally fighting bc she won't come back to the Team and won't tell them why

Roy's funeral

Unexpected Changes

Callum and Ibis dream team. Callum leaves for a few months to train at the Storm Spire

Harrow and Ilmadia courting doing complicated things bc sometimes Ezran calls her Mom and Callum shuts down a few times

Callum and Rayla learning how to communicate with a linked mirror and a combination of sign language and written elven

Ethari makes Callum a staff and is startled when he starts crying over it

Brace For Impact

Hope getting arrested for using the patronus charm and her wand gets snapped, but when they go to bring her out, she's utterly unfazed, surrounded by madness and decay

Hope and Cliodhna's eventual duel. "You may win against me, but only for a time."

Ron going to the OotP and being Hope's mouthpiece bc he refuses to let her in that place and she has complete faith in him

Sirius and Hope dragging Regulus' corpse out of the lake and Sirius mourning him at long last.

Hope meeting so many gods

Path Built on Graves

Allen coming to the Order and Kanda immediately detests him bc Maria's face goes white when she sees him

Finding out that Allen Walker is Allen Campbell and Maria's just like 'of course my kid would be the one to willingly join up with the Order'

Her brothers finding out that Maria's Allen is still alive and they're so happy for her...tho Tyki's a little irritable that he lost so much money to him

Maria having a contentious relationship with Bookman and refusing to elaborate on why she doesn't like him

The Golden Sun

Ed and Al having to split up to locate the next two gems. Ed gives everyone the slip and Al, not about to be outdone, takes off for Creta. Ling follows Ed and Fu has no choice but to follow Lanfan as she goes with Al

Ed and Al meeting the other Liebs :)

Eden joining Central City University and becoming Roy's roommate

Ed somehow finding faith in the form of Ishvala

[violetswritingg]

Only in Darkness

Jason Todd X OFC!

Description:

"Only in Darkness can you see the stars."

Or

Marlowe Knight stumbling upon a girl prophesied to end the world and going on the adventure of a life time.

Rating: M (Blood, cannon typical violence, sibling rivalry, scars, torture, trauma, angsttttt)

Want to read the other chapters?

Click here

20

Chicago

2018

Marlowe had seen some pretty messed up shit, she had done some pretty messed up shit to other people but even with that under her belt… it was still hard to look at the photos displayed out on the glass table in the sitting room portion of the condo.

Marlowe felt restless, she couldn’t stay sitting, even if she was enjoying Jason’s body heat up against hers. Standing she paced a couple steps away, crossing her arms over her chest as she settled into a hip, shifting her weight back and forth on her heels.

The girl purposefully turning to face the windows to dodge the concern and confusion on Dick and Jason’s faces.

“I know these people.” Dick realized, directing his confusion down and back down to the photos on the table. Hands intertwined in between his knees a little tighter. “I worked with them at Haley’s circus.”

“Before your parents were…” Jason trailed off, Marlowe shooting a wide-eyed look over her shoulder at the boy, effectively shutting him up. His concern shining through his annoyance as he looked at the bottle blonde, her throat tightening up as a result.

Dick watched on like it was a tennis match as Jason huffed and looked back to the original Robin, “Yeah.” The man muttered, shoulders rolling in a little more.

“That must have sucked.”

Marlowe’s sharp inhale was almost kept under wraps but her quiet ‘oh my god’ was not.  Jason ignored her, gritting his teeth as he forced his eyes to stay on his role model.

“He burns them with acid.” Jason continued, as if he hadn’t heard Marlowe at all.

“Hydrofluoric acid.” Dick corrected, words overlapping with Jason’s.

“Calling card of the Maroni crime family.” Marlowe muttered just loud enough to be heard, turning to face the boys slowly, eyes never dropping to the table.

Jason grinned, she had actually paid attention to his home when she was there, saw it the way he did, tried to understand it. Understand him. Never asking it to change, just trying to help it be better than it currently was. His lips slid into a smirk as the light blew in from behind Marlowe making her look like something holy. Powerful, strong, as always. Sometimes he was so incredibly proud, other times he wished she would give herself a little more breathing room. This was Marlowe though, she had probably never been relaxed a day in her life.

“Harvey dent, your parents-” Jason started to list, forcing his gaze to leave the bottle blonde in front of him.”

“I know.” Dick bit, because, obviously, “Tony Zucco worked for the Maronis when he killed my parents. But they were put away years ago.” The man turned away, his eyes once again ghosting over the images before them. Jason’s eyes still watching Dick, gaze narrowing.

“Why’d he do it?”

“Haly owed the Maroni’s protection money, but he couldn’t come up with the cash. So, my parents paid the debt with their lives.” Neither Marlowe or Jason could keep watching as Dick stared holes into the photos, shadows falling across his eyes and cheeks.

“Papers call this guy “the melting man,” because he melts the flesh right off their bones.” Jason oh so helpfully explained, he was lucky he was cute. “Creepy as shit, huh?”

Marlowe eyes slammed shut as she let out a breath and dropped her head down. Fingers coming to pinch the bridge of her nose.

“Any idea who this freak is?” Jason asked, slight confusion coloring his tone as he seemed to argue with Marlowe silently. Huffing after a moment and a sharp glare from the girl, Jason’s eyes flashed white before he looked back to Dick.

Dick looking between both Marlowe and Jason before puffing out a breath, elbows digging into his knees just a little more. “The man I’m thinking of is dead.”

“So that’s a no.” Jason could sense the shift, and his voice dropped. Defensive sarcasm dripping off the short, almost mocking, statement on the man’s behalf.

Seriously?” Marlowe sat into her hip as her head tilted, crossed arms falling to her stomach. Dick dragging a hand down his mouth and chin as he tried to think.

“Have you checked back in with the police?” Dick asked, trying to get more info, maybe answers.

“Why would I go to the fucking cops?” Jason spit as if Dick had forced poison in his mouth. Marlowe’s eyes narrowed, this was one area they didn’t fully agree on.

“Because five people were murdered.” Dick’s hand dropped from his face as he turned to look at Jason full on. Eyes wide and steaming, hands tightening just a bit more.

“The cops are a joke, man.” Jason jumped on Dick’s sentence with a scoff. “There’s two kinds, useless and dirty.”

“I’m sorry? I don’t think I heard you right.” Marlowe’s natural accent popped out on the last three words, the twang adding a bite that had Jason wincing.

“Besides the O’Dares.” Jason amended, “I was getting there, okay?” He held up a single finger to point at her. Enjoying the way one of her eyes twitched. “Hailey’s wrath is enough of an incentive to not lob them in with the rest of the pigheads.”

“You’ve met the O’Dares?” Dick sputtered, eyes flying open before he set his jaw, shook his head and raised a hand as if to wipe the slate clean, “Not important, is that what Bruce says?” Dick questioned, not finding the moment particularly funny.

“No. It’s what I say.” Jason patted his palm on his chest, maintaining eye contact with the older man, “They hit a dead end, so they came crawling to Bruce and me. As usual. When Bruce realized who the victims were, he sent me to find you. Besides, any excuse to see free spirit over here.” His intense tone melted as he smirked a bit, eyes drifting to Marlowe before returning. Testing the waters, pushing his luck. As usual.

Dick chuckled and shook his head as he messed with the photos on the table, shoulders falling an inch when he had to admit defeat of any kind, “Where is the computer room?”

~~*~~

Dick grabbed the rolling chair and plopped down and swiveled around, leaving Jason and Marlowe to lean back against the table next to the main desk with the TV sized monitor, four smaller screens stacked in a square behind the two young adults.

Jason letting his hands fall to his sides along the lip of the smaller desk, like Marlowe had. His fingers slightly overlapping on hers, adding pressure for a second before letting go and just resting. Testing the waters. Pushing his luck. In front of Dick. Did he have a death wish?

She noticed his eyes darting over her, and then back down to his shoes, or her. A stupid grin growing on his face with every repetition. Marlowe having to turn to look and see what the hell Jason was finding so goddamn funny.

Dick’s hands paused over the keyboard, the credential page still up asking for login info.

Oh.

Oh.

Marlowe jammed her elbow into Jason’s ribs, the boy jarring away from her with a muffled groan, her sharp glare cutting off his protest before it could even form as she shook her head.

Dick’s shoulders dropped as he turned over his shoulder, “Hey, you mind?”

 “No, I do not.” Marlowe huffed, angling herself away from Jason, his arrogant air dropped.

“Thanks.” Dick muttered as she typed quickly a long string of keystrokes.

“Don’t mention it.” She muttered, “Like, really, don’t.” She pulled back quickly Jason reaching out and missing as Marlowe pulled her hand from his fingers. His jaw worked itself over as his hand fisted in the air, recovering by stepping forward to Dick’s side. Watching Dick type in the search bar Atlas the strongman.

Photos popped up across the screen of the man in question, Dick laughing under his breath at some of the poses the man had struck for the camera, relief tinging the sound as he read more, “Phone bill paid last month, utilities on. Looks like he’s still alive.”

Marlowe grinned at Dick, bending at the waist to meet the man’s eyes before stepping up to his other side, hand hovering over his shoulder. She hesitated another second before her hand laid down on his henley covered shoulder, squeezing for a second before ripping itself away.

Dick looked up at Marlowe with a small grin as he pulled out his phone, dialing the number on the screen. Jason was watching every second with a heated intensity that threatened to burn holes through Dick’s shoulder.

“Milwaukee is only an hour and half away from here. I gotta go make sure he’s safe.” Dick scooted back and all but leaped out of the chair. Marlowe anticipating the move and getting out of the man’s way.

“We’re going on a road trip. Excellent.” Jason put some pep in his step, as much as it bothered him how close Dick and Marlowe were for only knowing each other for like a week, he still looked up to the guy. They were essentially family now, he wanted Dick to like him.

“Not us. Me.” Dick corrected immediately, “Look, I appreciate you bringing this up to me. I really do. But there’s no reason for you to come. This is personal. You’re Bruce’s Robin, not mine.”

“No. I’m my Robin.” Jason countered, standing his ground.

“I don’t need your help.”

“You did back at that apartment.” Jason tilted his head ever so slightly, the two bird boys locked in until the computer started beeping. Marlowe letting out a breath and rushing to the screen.

“What the-” She muttered as a new screen popped open, video from the camera at the elevator downstairs. Gar’s little wave to the camera, Rachel’s annoyed look and Kory’s obvious impatience as she tapped her foot pulled a chuckle from Marlowe’s lungs. “Took them long enough.”

~~*~~

               Marlowe waited by the elevator, Dick having gone down with it to let the others up. Jason passed behind her as he exited the kitchen, an open beer bottle in hand, his free one reaching out to her and brushing against the small of her back. Finding her fingers and forcing her into a twirl, his silent demand for attention not lost on her as quiet giggles bubbled past her lips. Jason never did like being left out of the loop, and he also didn’t like sharing. Anything. Marlowe, her time and affection, his least favorite thing to share.

               Plopping down on the couch, Jason gently dragged her with him, hand finding her hip as she stood between his spread legs.

               “I’m sorry, am I not paying enough attention to you?” Marlowe pouted, but the amusement dancing in her eyes gave her away. Her now free fingers coming up to rest on the back of the boy’s neck, fingers gently twisting into the soft strands of inky black. Jason scoffing and taking a sip of his drink and shaking his head, pushing more into her touch as he rolled his eyes. Fighting the urge to let out the breath in his lungs and lean more into her touch than he already was. Fighting the urge to just melt and hang his head into her stomach, fighting the urge to just give in and let her cold fingers send the usual pleasurable shocks down his spine. Keeping their delicate balance intact. Even when Marlowe made it hard for him.  

               It was that moment the elevator let out a soft ‘ding’, Marlowe’s head whipping to the sound. Her hand dropping back to her side, limp as she took a step back, Jason’s grip on her hip falling as well as Dick walked into the space. Kory and the others right behind him. Jason stood, in Marlowe’s space, though the girl didn’t mind. His fingers falling to her jeans wait band, finding a belt loop and hanging on for dear life. A silent plea for her to not forget he was there.

               “Who are your friends?” Jason asked instantly, Marlowe finding her balance shifting when Jason pulled her closer to him at the foot of the couch chaise.

               “Not important.” Dick answered immediately, barely gracing Jason with a look. Marlowe laid a gentle hand on Jason’s shoulder as she pushed away slightly. Crossing the distance and meeting Rachel in the middle. The girl smiling softly and wrapping her small arms around Marlowe’s middle. Marlowe returned the hug with a soft smile. Pulling back, after a second, missing Jason’s frown at the soft moment had with someone other than him.

               “Who’s he?” Kory questioned, looking the boy up and down before glancing at Marlowe, noticing his narrowed gaze directed to the dark-haired teenager as she stepped back from Marlowe.

               “Not important.”

               Marlowe cleared her throat, her lips puckering as she let out a breath through her nose. Dick winced in response but ultimately kept quiet.

               “Anybody want a brew?” Jason held out the bottle in hand in offer, trying to find his place among the group in front of him. Wanting nothing more than to grab Marlowe and scream ‘mine mine mine’ as he watched her interact so closely with people she had known a fraction of the time that she had known him.

               Marlowe sighed when Gar almost pounced, Dick blocking him.

               “No one wants a brew.”

               Marlowe walked back over to Jason and pushed his arm down gently, sticking by his side sensing where his mind was going.

               “That can’t be Adamson.” Kory noticed, confusion coloring her tone as he head tilted slightly. Watching closely how close Marlowe was in proximity to the boy.  

“He’s not Adamson, Dr. Creepy is in the bathroom.” Marlowe piped up for the first time beside her quiet greeting with Rachel and nod to Gar when he came in behind the girl. “Unconscious.”

Rahcel’s gaze had landed on the boy who had been tracking Marlowe’s every breath like it was his job, feeling the connection between them and just how strong it was. Whoever this boy was, he was important to Marlowe.

“Hi, I’m Rachel.” She introduced herself, trying to get rid of the tension in the room. His eyes closed off, negative feelings directed right at her pouring out his skin like bad cologne. Rachel almost choking on the jealousy. Even with his hand outstretched his name on his lips as he reciprocated.

 “Okay, who we all are doesn’t matter right now.” Dick cut off the possible connection before it could even form. Not needing these two worlds to collide. “Can we just chill out, relax, sit on the couch and watch TV or something?”

“Yo, when did you get another one?!” Gar had wandered over to the long dining table, hands pressed onto the tops of the suitcases. Marlowe’s marked with its own stickers she had picked up from her travels. Dick and Kory whipping around at his voice as Marlowe fought a chuckle at the chaos unfolding. Lots of people in a semi- small space.

“That one’s mine.” Jason smirked, Marlowe reaching for his bare wrist, pinching the skin. The boy hissing in response and swatting her hand.

“Yours?” Gar choked on his own breath; eyes wide as he looked at the dark-haired boy. “Wait, you’re robin too?!”

“I thought you were Robin?” Rachel immediately piped up, Dick dropping his head into his hands for a moment to collect himself as Rachel made her way over to Gar and the cases. Dick’s eyes following her as she crossed the space.

“I am.”

“He was.” Dick and Jason overlapped each other and Marlowe had to bite back a grin, so not letting Jason live down the younger sibling moment later.

“How many Robins are there?” Gar chuckled out, voice pitching up at the end, eye lighting up like a kid’s on Christmas, “Are there a lot? ‘Cause I would love to-”

“Okay, quiet.” Kory took control of the room, the younger two silencing themselves instantly at the command. Marlowe puffing out her cheeks to keep from laughing, “Sit.”

Marlowe turned into Jason’s shoulder to hide her laughter, the boy grinning down at her, his arm naturally sliding around her back. Fingers splayed against her hip possessively.

Marlowe stayed back in the living room as Dick and Kory disappeared down the hallway to the bathroom, mainly because she didn’t think Jason would let her go again so soon. Marlowe meeting Dick’s eyes as he passed her, silently agreeing to keeping it under control out here while they were away.

Jason pulled her to the side a bit, face to face, with inches between them as he leaned down to her ear, “Who are these people?” Marlowe could hear the stress strain his voice and it had her instantly reaching for his elbow. His fingers pressing into her skin harder by the second, only calmed by her touch dragging across his fabric covered skin.

“Friends.” Marlowe answered quietly, ducking her head to meet Jason’s eyes, promises of truth and pleading for him to trust her with her eyes. The bottle blonde shooting a grin at Rachel and Gar before meeting Jason’s gaze again. The blue-green intense as he searched her eyes, searching for silent soothing for his frayed nerves. Marlowe giving it to him in droves as she smiled the smile that was reserved just for him, squeezing his elbow before knocking his shoulder with hers. And it may not have been skin to skin, it was still enough to get him to let go of the tension in his shoulders.

There was just a lot going on, but Marlowe still looked at him like he hung the stars, the usual sparkle he had become addicted to seeing dancing as brightly as ever, but only when it was directed at him.

“Okay.” Jason muttered under his breath, “Okay.” He chuckled, taking another drink of his drink before sitting and dragging Marlowe down next to him.

“Can I be Robin?”

“Oh my god.”

~~*~~

               Marlowe had eventually gotten restless, pushing up from her spot beside Jason. The boy instantly missing the warmth of her thigh pressed against his, his eyes tracking her as Marlowe stopped at the wall of windows, arms crossing loosely over her stomach as she watched the world move in silence.

               Rachel smiled watching the interaction, Marlowe looking back for a split second, a small grin on her lips. As if telling the boy that she hadn’t forgotten about him, the unconscious reassurance kept the energy between them calm. Peaceful. Content.

               It was a nice change from the usual storm Marlowe brought with her. It was nice to see her so… happy.  Gar only noticed the same thing because of his insistent gaze at the boy around his age who had somehow become Robin. His brain was trying to figure out how he too could live out his dream and don the black and yellow cape.

“How long have you two been together?” Rachel asks, breaking the quiet. Marlowe’s eyes widened to the size of dinner plates, and she coughed.

“We’re not together.” Jason commented, knowing where they stood and hating it, hating that he was the one who said it was okay all those months ago.

“We’re friends.” Marlowe sputtered and Rachel looked between them with a raised eyebrow. A shared glance with Gar letting Marlowe know the younger girl was not impressed. Jason’s jaw ticking in a way that ate at Marlowe’s stomach, feeling her face get warm as she rolled her shoulder back and cleared her throat.

Jason busied himself by peeling the label off his beer bottle.

“Sure. Just friends.” Rachel nodded along, though the way her mouth pursed told everyone she didn’t believe that for a second.

~~*~~

A/N: I'm backkkkkkk, hello, it is I back from the dead. I apologize for leaving you guys waiting for so long. Life has been kinda (a lot) sucky lately and I just had a really hard time finding the time to sit down and write. But here she is. I'm going to buckle down today and get some more stuff on the page so we might have another chapter out tomorrow. I will keep you updated. Enjoy!

[armin-stan]

Only Mine (Wanderer x Reader)

ok ok so, this is gonna be my first time writing smut and it'll be a bit long (that's what she said). so, we'll see how this goes

warning(s): reader has female body parts, slightly possessive behavior, fingering, straight-up sex, lots of biting and marking, and a touch of exhibitionism

Growing up in Snezhnaya, just a few houses down from Ajax, now known as the Eleventh of the Fatui Harbingers, Tartaglia, or Childe, was interesting, to say the least. Before he fell into the abyss, he was your best friend and eventually your first kiss, resulting from a silly childhood crush. Now, however, that kiss resulted in a fairly annoyed Wanderer.

"You really didn't tell me this months ago?!" You had finally let it slip about what happened between you and Childe all those years ago, and to say Wanderer was jealous would be an understatement. Over the course of traveling with him for the past 6 months, you had finally decided to tell him about that past, and his reaction was not what you had been expecting.

"I don't get why you're so upset by this. It was when we were kids, and it doesn't matter now." Your voice came out slightly annoyed and confused by his reaction. You watched as Wanderer huffed and crossed his arms before speaking again, "You're wrong. It does matter." In response to this, you simply tilted your head in even more confusion, which caused him to roll his eyes and groan like you were purposefully being dense. He pinned you against the hotel room wall in a flash, with one of his hands holding your chin and the other trapping you there.

"You're mine. The thought of that idiot even having a sliver of a chance with you... infuriates me." Wanderer's voice is cold and possessive, like an all-consuming blizzard, chilling you to the bone and causing your heart to race. He had never been like this before, and it was enticing. His face moved closer to yours, his lips brushing against your own as his piercing indigo eyes bore into your own. One of his legs presses in between your own, trapping you even further.

"You're such an idiot if you think I don't know; you think of me as yours as well." Wanderer tilts your head and presses a lingering kiss to your jawline. His thumb brushes against your bottom lip as his gaze meets yours again; as possessive as he is, his eyes are asking for permission. You don't respond with words, instead smashing your lips to his in a needy and desperate kiss, the result of months of tension building. As a groan leaves his throat, his mouth is cold against your own warm lips.

Wanderer nibbles on your bottom lip harshly and slowly releases it as he leans his head back. His free hand travels down your figure, tracing each and every crevice, curve, all of you, while the other hand moves to the back of your head. He grasps your hair and forces your head back as his lips move down to suck and bite at your neck. His teeth dig in at your nape and leave an imprint.

"Mine..." His words are muffled as he continues a passionate assault on your sensitive neck, leaving more and more marks. All so everyone knows that you are his. His roaming hand snakes under your shirt and plays with your nipples. The cold of his hands ignites a fire in you as your body grows warmer and warmer; you can't help but pant desperately and arch into his touch. Wanderer takes this opportunity and presses his knee further up, making you grind on his leg. He chuckles devilishly as you bite back a moan.

"Oh, my dear, don't hold back those pretty sounds. I want everyone in this hotel to know you're mine." He sucks on your shoulder as you grind against his leg and let out a needy moan. Your hands grasp for his pants, pleading for them to come off.

He moves your hands away before pressing himself further against you and shakes his head as he speaks darkly, "Uh uh, not yet... I want to mark you just a bit more before the main event." You can feel just how much he enjoys this, not just in the touch of his hands and lips but in the ever-growing bulge of his that presses against your inner thigh. His hand moves from your chest down to your pants, and he traces the hem of your pants teasingly. "Please..." You plead with him, which only earns another cold laugh from him.

"You can do better than that. Tell me that you're mine and only mine. That you don't belong to Childe, only to me." He whispers against your neck before sucking the sensitive skin into his mouth and nibbling it. Your mind is only on him and getting what you want. No, what you need. "I'm yours, only yours. No one else's." Your words are whiny and desperate. Just what he wanted to hear.

He loosens your pants before his hand slips in. His fingers rub on your clit, and your folds. You finally realize just how aroused you've been as his fingers slide about with ease, thanks to how wet you are. He doesn't hesitate to plunge a couple of his fingers into your cunt. Your head falls back, and a loud moan escapes you at the feeling of his cold fingers in your warm hole.

He moans softly, right against your ear, "Fuck... you're already this turned on. My (Y/n), no one can make you feel this good so quickly but me." Wanderer's fingers move in and out at such a painfully slow pace that drives you crazy. You moan and try to grind more against his fingers, but he presses you further into the wall with a disapproving look, "Be patient, just a bit longer, and I'll give you exactly what you want."

"Need..." You barely get the word out between your unrelenting moans. This causes Wanderer to smirk and let out a groan before he bites down on your other shoulder, marking it as well. His fingers curl inside you, hitting just the right spot, causing you to moan louder than before. He assaults this spot each time his fingers slide all the way back in, turning you into a panting and moaning mess. You can feel a knot forming in your lower stomach, and right when it's about to unravel, Wanderer's cold hands slip out, denying you your release.

You pant and lower your head to give him a pleading gaze. As you open your mouth, he presses his lips to yours as his hand fully loosens your pants, and they fall to the ground with your underwear close behind. His tongue slips into your mouth, and you taste a hint of mint on it from dessert. Your own hands go down to his pants and loosen his belt, causing his pants to fall to the ground with a thump. You could feel his cock fully spring out and instantly go between your legs.

"You want this, right?" His voice has lost that coldness, and Wanderer shows immense adoration as he gazes deeply into your eyes, searching for any hint of rejection. You nod slowly and grind on his shaft, "I do. I want to be yours and yours alone." His eyes light up at your soft and needy tone. With one final caring kiss to your lips, he slides his shaft all the way in. He can't help but suck and nibble on your jawline the whole way through to make it as pleasurable as possible for you.

"Archons, you were made for me. You're so warm.... so tight." His voice quivers slightly as he starts to pump in and out of you slowly at first. Wanderer throws his robe off, only leaving his form-fitted black shirt on. He grips your hips and lifts you up, using the wall to help hold you in place as he moves faster. You gasp and moan louder than before. You need more of him and wrap your arms behind him to hold on and dig your nails into the exposed parts of his back, marking him in your own way.

His head lulls, and he returns to assaulting your neck and shoulders with his teeth, tongue, and lips. Wanderer moves faster, causing your moans to reach a new level. The wall creaks slightly from the passion, and he smirks against your neck, "Everyone in this hotel will know what we're doing if you keep up that moaning." You try to muffle your moans with one of your hands, but he pulls it away from your face and shakes his head, "No, no, love. I want them all to know who you belong to. If these marks on your pretty little neck aren't evidence enough that you are all mine." Wanderer increases his pace, and that familiar knot starts to form in your stomach once again. The sounds of skin meeting skin is like a hypnotic rhythm to this song of lust.

"Wanderer... I'm..." Your words are cut off by more moans as he increases his speed and lowers his head to begin marking your chest, leaving bite marks and hickeys wherever his mouth wanders. He hums in response as he takes more of your flesh in his mouth. That knot in your stomach gets tighter, closer, and closer to unraveling. Wanderer can feel your close and keeps his current pace. As he bites down on your nipple, you're pushed over the edge completely.

"Wanderer!" You scream out his name as he pounds into you, getting closer to release himself. You spasm on his shaft, and he moans softly against your skin. He mutters against you, and his rhythm turns erratic as he is close to cumming. "Shit, (Y/n)..." His words fade out as he bites down harder than before on your shoulder, more than likely drawing blood as his cock spurts deep inside of you, filling you up in a new way. His thrusts start to slow, and he gradually releases your shoulder from his teeth. You remain pinned up against the wall for a moment, your legs dangling free, before he slowly lets your feet meet the ground once again, his cock still remaining in you. The feeling of your cum mixing together around his shaft is intoxicating.

He pants briefly before speaking slowly, "Given that I'm a puppet, cumming in you shouldn't have any effect." He kisses your cheek softly, so tenderly compared to what just happened, "Yet, we can keep going all night and find out what really will happen." He smirks wickedly before he kisses your lips with such care. He chuckles into the kiss as you pant, still recovering.

"Let's say we keep going. We might even get a noise complaint." You weakly nod your head, wanting more of him before meeting his lips once again; kicking off a long and loud night.

[safetypinned]

with their fingers tangled together, sam's attention is drawn towards them--gold rimmed blue and green gaze take in the picture their palms touching one another make. if he could? he'd never let go. draw out that moment for as long as humanely possible. because it's simple and peaceful. she cares for him. he cares for her. can't get any more boiled down than that. the things he would do for her? have no bounds. the thing is? he doesn't need to imagine she'd do the same. he knows it. to his bones. even if he'd never want her in the line of fire for his sake. or for any sake. there's never a voice of that opinion, however. never given breath because he knows her hunt is as important as his. stuck inside of her as deeply as her bones. it'd be like yanking her skeleton out for it to be taken away. or spit on by dumb sentiments like i wish you wouldn't do this.

sam's point he's attempting to make has nothing to do with that. though he wishes she could have a normal, safe life. for her sake. maybe for a greedy, little piece of his own, too. one where she could live in a big old house with a wrap around porch. some laundry hanging on a line blowing in the breeze. sun tea catching beams of light as it brews on the porch. something better than dingy hotel rooms, rough sheets, gunpowder residue on her hands and greasy diner food of questionable origin.

yet, correcting himself? unnecessary. she gets him. natasha takes what he says and doesn't dismiss it. doesn't chalk it up to him just being a bitch or tell him to get it out of his head when he damn well can't. she talks him through it. and his hand squeezes hers in thanks. a thumb comes to life. tracing the side of her palm. feather light. barely a graze but unending. back and forth. a small circle. rinse and repeat. he aims a smile down towards his chest. chin dropping as his head bobs in a singular nod of understanding. and appreciation.

the curve of his lips becomes something more when dean's taken a soft jab at. light laughter that bubbles up from his chest and breathes life into his eyes. makes them sparkle and crinkle at their corners as they meet hers. "...he'd be lost within a few hours of trying to dig through the internet to find some answers he's looking for. his attention is pretty limited to a certain flavor of website after about thirty minutes. might do okay in a library. surprising as that might be. if he's forced to cause he's on his own. but yeah.. i'm glad he's not alone. that i'm here for him." he pauses, searching her eyes with something so vital on the tip of his tongue and still? he swallows it down. just like he did for sonny. just like he does for everyone else. because why he's here isn't for him to tell--his brows press towards one another then purposefully flatten. the back of her palm is swing up, he presses a peck to her knuckles. "did i ever tell you how glad i am we met? gotta be careful, though. being a voice of reason for me and my brother? big job. no benefits. and the pension is shit." look at that grin..

how far is too far, she wants to ask because at one point she had been willing to give her life for those she loved and yet it hadn't been enough. years ago, she'd been busy drowning her sorrows in alcohol, cigarettes, and mindless unattached sex ——no one could get hurt if she was alone and more importantly, she wouldn't lose anyone she cared about. but over time natasha had learned that remembering isn't such a bad thing and neither is befriending people like the winchesters. her features are soft as he speaks. brows threaten to knit together in empathy and she finds herself reach for him once more—— fingers give his a squeeze and this time she doesn't let go.

"i get it... well, not really. i understand in some way what you mean but i don't think you not being here would have prevented any of the bad things from happening. bad things would still happen to those we love just slightly different because we can't control other people, only ourselves. and even then, we might think we would choose differently but when push comes to shove we would make the same choices over and over again." here she is speaking more about herself because lord knows how many sleepless nights she's spent turning over every decision she ever made, wondering if there would have been a choice that wouldn't result in all the pain and anger she carries. was there a choice she could have made that would have saved those she loved most? doubtful.

natasha averts her gaze to her coffee and takes her hand back because that's the most honest she's been with either of the brothers since meeting them. a choice she doesn't recall actively make: and yet the need to twist what she just said with lies never comes. ( the nagging voice of experience reminds her that this line of work is lonely, but also dangerous, and that it is only a matter of time before something happens to someone she cares about. )

"i can't speak for siblings but what i've been told is that, for some, losing a child is worse than losing a partner. your loss could have affected your parents in ways you can't know." for the sake of her grief filled heart, this sliver of truth is wrapped in a lie—— she doesn't think she could tell anyone that truth. "i do know that you being here means that you've helped dean save more people than he'd be able to save on his own. and you're the brain to his brawn so you really have helped him." there's an amused tone to her voice as she attempts to lighten the mood and distract from her vague confessions.

[here2bbtstrash]

Kick in the door waving the coco hello it's me, your favorite omega here to request some consented somno for Jihope because energized and wired post-concert Hobi using sleepy and flushed eager to please Jimin has rotted a hole inside of my brain the size of lake Michigan. I love you. Did I mention I love you? Okay cool I love you.

OH HELLO LOVE OF MY LIFE !!!! this idea has also rotted straight thru my brain so thank u for sharing it with me and putting it in as a request so i can subject everyone to the jihope agenda 😭 this got soft af because of who i am as a person but i refuse to apologize!!!!!!!

~taking jihope drabble requests all month!!~

pairing: jimin x hoseok wordcount: 1k on the dot 💪 contains: heads up!!! this is literally member x member!!! so perhaps do not read it if that is not ur bag !!! POV switch bc i was feelin feisty, post-hobipalooza hehe, jihope have fucked before but they're not like together (but they Are in love), very small amounts of biting and scratching, anal fingering (w lube ofc), protected anal sex, consensual somno obvi, a little under-negotiated within the context of this specific scene but I HAD LIMITED WORDCOUNT OKAY everyone is FINE WITH IT i swear, dirty talk, overuse of the word hyung bc i'm me, and there are some lines in here that really punch me in the chest emotionally so uhhhh have fun !!

~*~

Hoseok can’t sit still.

He’s got that post-adrenaline energy running through him, giggly and stupid in the afterglow, and Jimin can’t keep up. Not with the bone-deep exhaustion that’s settling into him, his body thoroughly out of whack from waking up on the other side of the world this morning.

Jimin drops onto the mattress like a stone, and Hoseok pounces. He’s all hard angles, slimmed down from stress like this– knees digging starbursts into the duvet, sharp elbows and dainty wrists caging Jimin in as Hoseok covers the body beneath him with his own. 

They mouth at each other, Hoseok really laughing more than kissing. His teeth catch on the plump fruit of Jimin’s bottom lip; his breath comes hot in Jimin’s mouth.

Jimin sinks into the familiar warmth, the fireworks that pop in his gut when their hips slot together. His cock twitches in his pants.

“Jimin-ah,” Hoseok rasps, nose skimming the line of Jimin’s jaw. “This still okay?”

It hasn’t happened in a while. It’s sweet, Jimin thinks, that he asks, even after all this time. He answers with a sleepy nod.

“Tired, baby?” Hoseok croons.

Another nod, this one purposefully cute.

“Hyung’s keepin’ you up, huh?”

Jimin’s eyes blink open– when did he close them?– when Hoseok shifts a little above him. He catches glimpses, slips of honey skin, in the gaps between the buttons of Hoseok’s shirt, bought oversized and now enough to drown in.

This lingering feeling has been surging up in Jimin’s chest all night, and it hits him again with the way Hoseok’s looking at him: overwhelming, right behind his ribs, ocean-deep.

“Not,” he answers, voice mostly air– he’s made himself hoarse, he screamed so much at the show. Hoseok’s pretty painted nails are already dragging down the zipper of his shirt, pressing faint pink lines into the smooth skin they find beneath it.

Jimin is pliant, letting himself be played with. He lifts up enough for Hoseok to work him out of his clothes and tries to remember what he was even saying. “Want you to. I like it.”

“Gonna let hyung fuck you right to sleep?” Hoseok punctuates the question with another sweet laugh and kneels up to strip himself, efficient as ever.

Jimin’s own giggle flutters through him, face flushing a little. “Wouldn’t be the first time.”

It’s true, they’ve done this before: just one of those things that happened, growing up together. Sharing cramped bedrooms and ruined sleep schedules and adolescent hormones; using each other’s willing bodies, fucking to shake off fear, adrenaline, jetlag.

With a grunt of effort, Jimin gracelessly flops over onto his stomach. His favorite way to take it. He’s sure Hoseok still remembers.

“‘M your fan,” he slurs into the pillow, the world already smeared at the edges when he tries to look back at Hoseok. “Your groupie, hyung. Let me watch from backstage, took me to your hotel room, so fuck me.”

“Aw, baby,” Hoseok purrs. “‘Course I will. You came all this way.”

Jimin can feel it now, the firm outline of his own cock, filled out and pinned beneath him. He thinks he feels Hoseok’s hands, too, warm on his thighs, guiding them apart.

There’s a click– probably the travel-sized lube Hoseok keeps in his meticulously organized toiletries bag, Jimin remembers that from the last tour– and it’s chased by the warm, wet stretch of Hoseok’s fingers slipping past his rim.

“Fuck,” Jimin breathes. “Feels good, hyung.”

“Just relax,” Hoseok murmurs, pressing deeper, rubbing at his walls. “Open this pretty little ass up.”

Jimin means to answer, but the dark blue pull of sleep weighs his tongue down thick in his mouth, and then it drags him under entirely.

~*~

Jimin’s hot inside, squeezes the head of Hoseok’s cock so right that it works a rough whine out of him.

Hoseok sinks himself in to the hilt and stays there. Barely thrusting, mostly grinding, letting the vice grip of Jimin’s tight little hole suck his mind blank.

It’s so good, Jimin’s body beneath him so sweet, softer and rounder at the edges than he was the last time Hoseok had him. Jimin’s complained about it nonstop, threatened a diet when he gets home, but Hoseok likes him so much like this, with hips that beg for the kiss of fingertip bruises and an ass that jiggles.

“So pretty like this,” Hoseok groans, not even sure if Jimin’s still present enough to hear him, saying it anyway. “Jiminie, baby. Taking hyung’s cock just like he taught you.”

Hoseok drops down over Jimin’s frame beneath him, watching the steady rise and fall of his breath, until his nose brushes at the stretch of Jimin’s spine.

He’s riled up, has been all night, all week, and he can’t keep himself from babbling, the way he always does when he’s close.

“Did that whole show, just thinking of you. Really did mean it, baby. I was in the dark and you, fuckin– pulled me back. Don’t think you even know. What you do to me. Everything’s easier.”

That cord of arousal in his gut pulls tighter, and Hoseok chases the feeling, watches the whole of his cock disappear up inside Jimin on every thrust. Laying all sweet and open for his hyung, cheek smushed into the pillow.

Hoseok grunts, dips to smudge a kiss to the nape of Jimin’s neck, and it's enough. He’s coming, giving a final ragged gasp as he spills into the condom.

It takes a second to get his breath back, and then he withdraws. His legs shake under him as he slips into the bathroom to clean up.

Fuck, at least he’s finally starting to feel tired.

Jimin has rolled over when Hoseok gets back, away from the wet spot– there’s space in this king-sized bed. A luxury from how it used to be, twin dorm bunks with no sheets.

Little miracles, Hoseok thinks, and then Jimin stirs.

“Sleep. Said I’d make you.”

And, well. That feels like a miracle too.

[supermarvel-fics]

How about "Looks like we're going to have to do this the hard way" with ler Loki and stoic fem reader? Romantic, please! These drables are all so cute! Thank you for your work!!

“Looks like we’re going to have to do this the hard way…” Loki sighed and walked over to you, where you had your arms folded across your chest and and a frown on your features.

You rolled your eyes, sinking further into your bed. “Why do you want me to smile so much. I promise I smile when something is funny.”

“Ah, but you don’t laugh either. You know how much I love hearing that melodic sound. I’ve learned to treasure it because it doesn’t happen often.”

Loki climbed onto the bed on all fours, towering above you.

“Well, I’m not really in the mood to laugh right now, so I don’t think your jokes are going to work this time,” You twisted your head to the left, avoiding eye contact with your lover.

Loki chuckled darkly. “I’ve got other ways to make you laugh and smile, darling.”

He planted his weight on top of you, effectively pinning you to the bed, then wiggled a single finger at your belly.

You jerked and let out a strangled gasp. “Don’t. Even. Think about it.”

“I always forget how devastatingly ticklish you are. This seems like a fantastic method to hear those wonderful giggles of yours, hm?” Loki smirked, slipping his hands under the hem of your shirt and fluttering his fingers beside your navel.

“MM-MM! Loki, no!” You said through gritted teeth, doing your best to not give in to laughter. A smile had already creeped its way up to your face, though, and the ever perceptive Loki had noticed.

“Ooh, there’s that smile I love so much!” He beamed, tickling his way up to your ribs. “Come now, let me hear that laugh.”

The smallest of giggles slipped out, so you clamped your lips shut and began pushing at your boyfriend’s hands.

Loki knew exactly where your weak spot was and you knew that he was purposefully tickling you elsewhere to try and see if you’d laugh without him targeting that wretched spot.

But you had egged him on and Loki couldn’t let that slide.

He ripped his hands out from under your shirt and shot them down to your hips, toggling his thumbs in circles at the soft spot next to the bones.

You broke immediately. “AHAHA! DAHAHAMN IT! LOHOKI, YOHOU SUCK!”

“You can insult me all you want, dove, but I got that pretty little laugh out of you. I accomplished my mission,” He boasted as he continued pinching at your hips.

“OKAHAY! OKAHAHAY, I’LL LAUGH MOHORE. JUST NOHOHOT THERE!”

Loki paused his fingers, but kept his hands firm where they rested. “Your laugh is beautiful, darling.”

Heat rushed to your cheeks, more from the compliment than your disheveled state. “Thanks.”

“Don’t make me have to tickle it out of you again,” Loki threatened you, digging into your sides for just a moment.

You giggled once more, slamming your elbows down. “Okay! Okahay! Fine! You win.”

————————————————————————

this prompt was immaculate <3

[tendous-whore]

Ur naoya fic had me shook tho, I literally had to make a new account to send this request bc my mutuals on my main have no idea I’m into smut fics lmao (Dw tho I’m not a minor, age is in my blog desc.).

If you’re accepting requests…nanami and breeding kink pls. I love how the fandom has like decided that he has one lol, I see him as the type to *seem* vanilla buuuuuut he can actually be rough (everything is consensual tho). But that dom side of him only comes out when he’s sleeping with someone he makes a commitment to. Sorry for rambling. I’m looking forward to whatever you have to share next!!

you are the first person to send me an ask so far (which are ALWAYS open btw) so you have no idea how much I smiled when reading your message 🥺

when i woke up to read some jjk fics today, I was so shocked at how many people liked my naoya x reader!!!? it’s so weird that people enjoy my work, especially since it’s my very 1st explicit fic!

ANWAYS nanami is one of my fav characters, aside from naoya, for reasons other than both of them being goDAMN SNACKs😤 so definitely will dedicate a more in depth story for nanami later on. but! your request gives me the perfect opportunity to share a little bit of my own take on him hehhehhehe

so enjoy!! <3

nanami + breeding

the embodiment of “gentleman in the streets, freak. in. the. sheets.”

with his job, he hardly has the time to indulge in relationships, so he’s pretty lax in the bedroom at first. just goes with the flow, ya know

but the longer you stay, the more comfortable he gets when he realizes you’re not going anywhere anytime soon.

but nanami doesn’t rush to pull out the whips and chains, he’s gradual when it comes to sharing his interests with you in the bedroom.

until he isn’t.

so when the two of you are alone, and the doors are locked, the nanami in the day contrasts the man he is at night.

nanami is already dominant in all aspects of your relationship, to some degree. but it doesn’t compare when he has you crumpled, completely submitting beneath him, or bent over his knee after a long day of dealing with your shit

he’s more cutthroat than the first time you two had sex. yea, he has a soft side too but when the mood is right, he knows which to bring out

so when your spread for him, accepting everything he gives, how can he not indulge in all he wanted with his pretty little thing?

the act of pumping you full drives him wild, and at times in need, it keeps him going, until the next time

and on top of that, nanami definitely gets off on the size difference between you and him, and shows

when he purposefully pushes on your stomach, feeling the outline of his bulge, when you fold underneath him without resistance

don’t even get me started on how he loves to take you ugh

when he has you locked in a mating press, unable to move and just take. take. take.

probably likes it even more when he’s done his research, knowing how much more likely you could get get pregnant with his cum when he’s plowing into you

the thought alone is so dangerous. but that’s why he likes it. hehe.

Nanami is diligent with the way he works your body, he’s mesmerized every detail down to the bone like the back of his hand. He knows when he pushes you further into the bed, forcing himself deeper than before, how full he makes you feel. Your body is so honest when he does, how the way your legs tense and shake and your tummy bulges when he thrusts at that one angle.

It is a sight that has him breathing faster, and his tongue dipping out to lick his lips. He’s hungry, a thirsty and dying man before you. Feeling the way your walls squeeze him, coating his lower half in a layer of slick feeds him bit by bit, but the urging desire to already fill you up has his hips stuttering.

But right now, he wants to savor this. Savor the way your body lays beneath him, your mouth slightly ajar, hair tangled between his fingers as you cried with pleasure. You looked so pathetic with the way you choked on air, your hands pressed against his chest as you took everything he threw your way.

That’s why Nanami loved you. It wasn’t easy to submit yourself to someone, but you did, allowing him to give you all that he wanted. You were good for him, so good and so pretty. And prettier when his thrusts would finally come to a stop, when his body would pull away from your battered figure, his face pulled down and his eyes focused and just watch.

Watch the way your ass trembled, your body wracked with an uncontrollable shake as you came down from your high, better than the one before. And he’d groan, the deep guttural hiss audible in the quiet room that smelled of sex when finally, his cum slowly leaked from your twitching whole.

And Nanami smiled, his eyes brighter then before when his fingers pushed it all back into your cunt, carefully gathering every drop and slowly fucking his seed into you again and again. And he’d tell you in that sweet voice of his so quietly.

“what a waste.”

“it’s not enough.”

“one more time.”

as he takes you in bed, promising that the next wave of euphoria will be it for tonight. That your walls will finally taste nothing but of Nanami, his scent etched into your skin. But you know better. Once Nanami has had a taste, he can’t bring himself to stop, not when you’re crying for him, begging for his cock to stuff you full and breed you stupid.

so when you’re nearing you end and Nanami grows sloppy, his thrusts more frantic then before, he palms your stomach. His fingers trace the outline of his cock, dragging in and out at a delicious pace, his hand digging deeper and deeper until your writhing under his grip. It stings, but when his fingers press harder and harder, it forces him to hit that one spot that has your breath stuck in the back of your throat and thighs aching.

“gonna breed this pretty little pussy.” He breathes.

“til’ it’s full and heavy.”

He’s rational, logical and very decisive. But when he is high off of the adrenaline and pleasure that’s pumping through his veins, Nanami silently hopes that his cum will bleed into your womb, that your pill won’t repel his seed. That somehow, by some miracle, you miss your period.

And if you don’t?

Then the next time, he’ll look forward to doing it all over again.

[pleasantanathema]

Dirty Old Man

Pairing: Kenny Ackerman x Fem!Reader

Rating: Explicit (18+ Only)

Warnings: Dubcon themes in the beginning (it’s later all consensual), Knifeplay (to remove clothing), Captivity/Kidnapping, Slapping, Daddy Kink, Some Assplay, Gagging (on fingers), Choking, One mention of blood, A little bit of bondage, Rough Sex, Dirty Talk, Age Gap, Kenny is a dirty old man.

Word Count: 5.5k

A/N: It’s late, but it’s here! Here’s my part to the Smut Pile’s Western Collab! Please heed the warnings. Kenny is disgusting and I’m disgusting but here we are, fucking Kenny.

           “I told you to stop running away. I’m gettin’ real fuckin’ tired of chasin you down.” Kenny spit the words out like poison, crouching in front of you to place the tip-end of his knife against your corseted chest as a warning.

           You attempted a protest, but the makeshift gag made out of a torn piece of your skirts kept you virtually silent. Your wrists were burning, the rope around them scratching against your skin behind your back. The inn he’d taken you to for the night was damp and dirty, the floor you were tossed into reeking of piss and sour bourbon.

           He had come for you again. You’d had some wistful doubt that he wouldn’t, but like always, he’d tracked you down as easily as hunters do footprints in thick snow. He’d followed your trail and bound you with that thick rope of braided hemp he always kept at his side. Evading him was never easy, but you thought you’d gotten away with it this time when you’d found a meager orphanage to cook at. He hated children—you thought he’d never set foot in the place, but reckoning had come for you in the early hours of the morning, with a dark shadow moving in the corner of the kitchens.

           “You never fuckin’ learn. Maybe this time I’ll teach you a lesson you won’t forget.”

           The sharp point of his blade dug into your clothes, the cutting edge purposefully situated between featherbone channels so it could slice at cotton threads.

          You swore against the cloth in your mouth, your curses soaking into the spit-damp fabric. He hooked a finger under the gag digging into your cheek, pulling at the material with a smirk.

          “Got something to say, kid?”

          Slowly, he pulled the torn cloth from your mouth, your head twisting to shake away strings of drool that had attached to the textile.

          “Maybe I like the chase, Kenny,” you hissed out his name, not bothering with the Mr. Ackerman bullshit you’d called him at home.

          He had once been a rather removed presence in your life; he was just that outlaw in the corner who did the terrible things the rich families in your town had the money but not the gall to do. But now he’d become the bane of your existence, the dark thread that always pulled you back into the oppressive home life you were running from. He never seemed to care. If anything, he seemed to take a sick joy in finding you quicker each time you snuck out and ran in a new, farther direction.

          “So we’re on a first name basis now, huh? Good, cause we’re about to get real intimate.”

          “You could make this real fun and actually untie me.”

          “I’m not untying you, ain’t fucking happening. I didn’t spend weeks tracking down a stupid maiden for her daddy for you to run off into the woods the moment I turn my back to piss.”

          You winced a little at his harsh words, still very aware of the cold steel carefully skating through the middle of your chest. The threads of your corset were popping and curling back toward the bone linings.

          “I’m not some fragile maiden.”

          “I don’t give a fuck what you ain’t, what you are is a big pain in my ass. I don’t get paid enough for this shit, so I’m takin’ what I’m owed.”

          The reality of your situation settled in when you felt cool air sweep across your freshly exposed breasts. Your initial thought was to kick him, but when you felt him dig the blade a little too deep into the clothes at your belly, you hesitated. One wrong move and he could be slicing you open accidentally.

          Your wrists pounded with lack of blood flow as you painstakingly tested the knots for slack again. Of course, there wasn’t any. He’d probably tied up hundreds of unfortunate souls in his miserable lifetime.

          A thrill raced across your skin as you heard the knife clatter into the floor, Kenny peeling away the layers of split clothes on your body like he was prudently opening the petals of a rare flower.

          “Well, well, look at you, kid.”

          Grey eyes swirled with mirth and mischief under the brim of his hat, a wicked smile curling across bearded cheeks.

          You felt vulnerable and far too hot, the heat of embarrassment licking over your chest, up your neck, burning at your ears. Worse, blazing excitement was pooling between your legs, the dull thump of pleasure beginning to pound in your head.

          A calloused hand began to paw at the fat of your breast, testing the weight of it in his palm.

          “You’re a fucking pervert.”

          “Never said I ain’t.”

          He flicked your nipple with his comment, chuckling as you gasped. The slight twinge of pain sent a jolt of lightning down your spine, making your fingers dig into the thick rope at your wrists and your head tilt back against the wall. Kenny repeated the motion, rubbing his warm thumb over your nipple before flicking it again. You sucked in a quick breath, making your lungs expand and breasts inch closer to his hands.

          “You like that?” He teased, a finger tracing the sensitive underside of your breast.

          “No.”

          He laughed, “Liar. Your pretty nipples are harder than my cock.”

          Kenny proved his point by cupping both your tits and making you moan, back arching toward him instead of away. Seeing the opportunity, he moved in closer, making the remnants of your skirts bunch around your hips as he pressed himself between your legs. You turned your face away from him when he dipped down to kiss you, making his wet lips and wiry beard press into the curve of your throat.

          He sucked at the tender flesh of your neck, teeth and growls gently scraping against skin.

          “What’s my pa going to think about you taking advantage of me like this?”

          You knew you made a good point—unless Kenny had decided to pack some petticoats and powder into his saddle bags, he couldn’t cover up the carnage he was creating.

          “I’m your daddy for tonight, kid. Maybe if you’re good I won’t even take you home this time.”

          “Really?” You knew your voice portrayed your enthusiasm, but you couldn’t help it. You’d do anything to be free of your family and go make a life of your own.

          Kenny took his time thinking over his response, too busy licking and sucking at the delicate column of your throat. It felt good, too good, even the scratch of his beard had you holding back whimpers. His long fingers were still groping your tits, thumbs rhythmically petting over your peaks.

          You felt like you were engulfed in flames, like the hellfire and brimstone that bible-thumpers warned about were taking over your senses. All because of fucking Kenny Ackerman, the dirtiest old man you’d ever come across.

          Though you’d be lying if you said you hadn’t imagined something like this before, it was hard not to when most of your time had been spent tied up on a saddle with him. The pervert always had the audacity to have his half-hard erection pressing into your lower back as you shifted on the smelly horse. It was difficult not to imagine how it would feel to have him inside of you when the horse’s trot had his cock sliding too perfectly against your ass. You’d spent a few nights imagining how he would manhandle you, rough and impatient, and far more skilled than the boys you’d fooled around with.

          Kenny was a dirty old man, but you had no doubt he could fulfill every naughty fantasy women like you weren’t supposed to dream about.

          You shifted forward a bit, draping your thighs over his so you could get closer, press your aching core against that familiar stiffness in his trousers.

          “I’ll be a good girl, daddy,” you let the name roll off your tongue as you tilted your face down to his, “I promise.”

          You sealed your vow by pressing your mouth to his, a victorious frisson tingling at your nerves when he groaned into your lips. His kiss was rough, one of his hands snaking up to your neck with a vice-like grip to keep you from changing your mind. It made your vision go blurry behind your eyelids, grey spots dancing in the corners of your lashes. He tasted like booze and smoke, remnants of his addictions tainting your tongue. But you kept up with his pace, eager to show him that you would be good, that you wanted this, that you’d let him have you. Even if he did take you back home anyways, at least you’d get a thrilling fuck out of this arrangement.

          “You ain’t never been a good girl,” he rumbled against your lips, “daddy’s gonna have to teach you how to behave.”

          You gasped when he used his leverage on your neck to push you farther into the creaking boards of the wall. Your wrists were trapped between your back and the floor, going more numb by the second. He caged you in completely, had you sitting in his lap with his cock pressed against your damp drawers and one hand tangling into the mess of your skirts.

          “Women and all their fucking clothes,” he snarled down at your half-dressed body. Your eyes went wide as you noticed him reach back for the discarded blade, his other hand still content to press against the sides of your neck.

          “W-wait, I don’t have anything else to wear!”

          “You ain’t going to be needin’ em anyways, kid.”

          Time slowed down like the creeping slush of molasses as you watched Kenny begin to slice through your dress and petticoat, each tug of his wrist sending cotton fibers spilling into the floor. You could feel your heart pounding in your chest and sweat beading on the back of your neck every time the spine of the knife grazed the freshly exposed skin of your thighs. You struggled against the rope and the hand holding you back when he began to cut through the length of your drawers. The blade was too close to your intimate places, grazing against your sweltering flesh and making you whimper.

          “I ain’t gonna cut you, darlin. As much as I wanna carve my name into your skin, I couldn’t stand hurtin’ you.”

          You swallowed thickly and he must’ve felt it, his thumb petting at your neck like he was trying to soothe a scared animal. He stopped cutting at your clothing, lifting his pointed chin so he could look up into your face. He grinned, soft but still wolfish, wrinkles gathering at the corners of his eyes.

          “Gimme a kiss, it’ll make you feel better.”

          You complied, perhaps too happily, slanting your mouth against his and moaning at the rough feel of his black hairs against your cheeks.

          Kenny ripped the rest of the threads from your body with his strong fingers, finishing the work that the knife had started. A weight was lifted off of you when your heavy skirts and the skeleton of your corset finally slipped into the floor to be forgotten. He took particular care in relieving you of your cotton drawers, the shadow of his hat obscuring his face as he marveled at the juncture of your thighs.

          “Look at that pretty pussy, all wet and sloppy just for me.”

          You cried out when he brushed a knuckle between your dripping folds, finger slowly uncurling so it could prod at your tight hole.

          “You always get this wet when you’re around me?”

          “Hard not to when you’re always groping me like some animal.”

          His gaze flickered back up to you, the mixture of a frown and a smirk tugging at his lips. He pressed his palm more firmly against your windpipe, making you choke.

          “Don’t know why I bothered to ungag your smart mouth.”

          “I’ll be goo—” you didn’t have the chance to finish your plea, his long fingers uncurling from your neck only for two of them to abruptly slide past your open lips. Your eyes watered a bit from the thrusting motion of his digits and you could feel your moans vibrate against his skin. He started to push his fingers farther into your mouth, seeing how far he could go before your throat tightened, smirking the whole time. His skin tasted like rawhide and copper, like leather and blood, and you breathlessly traced your tongue along his slim knuckles.

          “Your mouth looks better stuffed,” his other hand resumed teasing your lower lips, “Let’s see how many fingers you can take.”

          You almost bit the knuckles in your mouth when he shoved his middle and index fingers into your tight cunt. You muffled out a squeal, eyes rolling shut when a wave of pleasure splashed over your body with the timing of his fingers pushing inside of you. He wasted no time in stretching you, spreading his strong fingers as he withdrew and pressed back inside of you over and over again.

          Your tongue went still and flat in your mouth, spit pooling around slim fingers that still pressed farther back into your throat with every thrust of his hand between your legs. You could practically hear him grinning like a madman with both of his calloused hands pressing into two of your wet holes. You sucked around his fingers when he touched a sensitive, fleshy patch inside of you, fingers curling against your walls and stroking the spot repeatedly.

          Weightless, you felt weightless in Kenny’s lap, like each thrust of his fingers into your mouth and pussy was sending you higher into the clouds. Even your own fingers had gone limp behind you, no longer clinging to their binds.

          “Not bad, kid. How about another?”

          You screamed around his hand when his ring finger stretched your opening wider, your pussy burning from its invasion. He laughed, a sadistic rumble from his chest that vibrated against your tits. At the feel of your cry, he pushed the fingers against your tongue even farther down to the back of your mouth, making you fight your gag reflex and sputter. Spit was falling from the corners of your mouth and you could feel your slick drooling down your thighs and onto his pumping wrist between your legs.

          “Good girl,” he praised, picking up his already merciless pace, “daddy’s got a big cock, need you to be ready for it.”

          Kenny groaned when you nodded your head, eyes fluttering open to catch his gaze. Some twisted pleasure brewed in your lower stomach as you noticed his lopsided grin, pearl white teeth bared over his full lips.

          “I bet you look so fucking pretty when you cum. Think you can? Can you cum from an old man stuffin’ you full of fingers, darlin?”

          You shivered at his words, your thighs shaking as you felt like you were being pulled apart. The three fingers inside of you knew exactly how to make your head go fuzzy and your nerves wild with pleasure, and it only got more intense when his thumb began to circle your already aching clit. You whimpered around his fingers, finding a momentary reprieve when he pulled them from your lips and admired the drool flowing over his knuckles. But he slid them back in after you caught a quick breath, pumping them at the same speed as the fingers buried into your cunt.

          It was like you were brimming and boiling over with the taste and feel of Kenny. Your mind could barely keep up with the shots of ecstasy stemming from your belly, your toes curling against the cold floor, your wrists rubbed raw from rope. Your lower muscles were starting to clench, spasm, shake, and he groaned.

          “Fuck you’re gettin’ tight. But I’ve got one more place to try.”

          Your brows scrunched together when you felt his ring finger slip from your pussy, only to feel his slim pinky finger prod at the tight pucker of your ass.

          “Kemmy, mf, umph,” you struggled to speak with his fingers stuffed in your mouth.

          You finally bit against his skin when you felt the length of his smallest finger slither into your ass.

          The new sensation rocked you, had you gasping and leaning forward and gagging on his fingers and cumming all at the same time. You screamed as you felt your asshole tighten around his digit, the pleasure of it sending you raring into bliss at full force like you’d just been slammed into a wall. It felt so fucking good, every hole stuffed with him, every muscle clenching and unclenching as he had the nerve to laugh at how easily you came from feeling a finger in your ass.

          “Heh, seems you like that, don’tcha?” He let you ride out the remnants of your orgasm for a few moments, fingers still and just feeling you contract around him.

          Finally, he worked on setting you free of his hold. He took his time with it, each finger sliding out of you painfully slow like he was slowly uncorking a pent-up bottle of champagne. With your mouth free first, you took your time breathing and gathering your wits, looking down into the floor as shame crept over your body. It was all so nasty and dirty, and when he pulled his fingers out from between your legs, you knew all you wanted was more of it.

          “Fuck,” you breathed, surprised when he lifted your chin and placed a rather chaste kiss against your messy mouth.

          “I take it you’ve never had somethin’ in your ass?”

          “N-no, but it…”

          “Feels good, yeah?”

          You shot him a suspicious look, “How would you know?”

          “I’ve been around, kid.”

          Kenny groaned as he sat back, moving you off his lap.

          “My knees are too fucking old for this. Get on the bed.”

          You didn’t know how you could. Your legs felt like pudding and your hands were completely numb behind your back. Kenny walked to the corner of the small bedroom, pulling his suspenders down so he could toss his shirt into the floor. You struggled to move, eyeing the knife in the floor carefully so you didn’t accidentally cut yourself as you fumbled like a little fawn gaining her legs.

          You enjoyed the feel of standing for a moment, leaning back against the wall in all your sloppy nakedness as you watched Kenny dip his hands into the wash bin.

          This was the last thing you expected when you woke up this morning. You’d been free, ready to get started on a cornbread and bean breakfast, only to be kidnapped before you could even lace up your shoes. Now you were watching Kenny Ackerman get undressed and hang that signature bowler hat on the back of the door.

          He looked better without the hat. In fact, he looked so much better naked.

          He had sun kissed skin on his arms and neck from working in the sun, lean sinews of muscle carved over his chest, his thighs. He was dusted in wiry black hair, like someone had taken ash from a fire and doused him in it. And his cock was hard and proud between his legs, long and curved up toward his stomach. Your ego spiked at the thought that you’d made him that way; you were the reason his swollen head was leaking and twitching.

          “Can I touch you now?”

          “What?” He looked puzzled, running a hand through his dark, shoulder length hair. It looked longer than when you last saw him.

          You moved toward him on still shaky legs, making a show of pulling at your hands bound behind your back.

          “Shit, I forgot you were tied up. But you gotta promise me when I cut you loose you ain’t just gonna sprint out that door.”

          “I don’t have any clothes, Kenny.”

          He laughed genuinely at that, scratching at the back of his neck. He’d have to remedy that tomorrow, go out and buy you something to wear so he didn’t parade you around town naked as the day you were born.

          You stayed still as he reached for that big knife of his on the floor, settling up behind you to start gnawing the blade through the thick rope. Your shoulders felt at ease when you felt the slack begin to set into your binds, the last bit of hemp audibly slicing away. You pulled your hands in front of you, immediately rubbing at the raw spots on your wrists. They’d be bruised tomorrow, scab over by the next day.

          Kenny wrapped his arms around you from behind, hands first skimming over your shoulders and upper arms.

          “If you didn’t have such a bad habit of runnin’, I wouldn’t have to do that to you, kid.”

          “You’d run away if you had my life, too.”

          You knew you didn’t need to fill in the blanks for him. He’d been around long enough to know the ins and outs of your story.

          “Suppose I would.”

          He kissed your neck as he walked you to the bed, turning you around so he could crawl up the naked expanse of your body as you laid back against the hay stuffed mattress.

          “Someone as pretty as you don’t deserve someone like me chasin’ after you.” But his confession didn’t stop him from settling between your thighs and bending down to suck one of your nipples into his eager mouth. You moaned, elated to have your hands free so you could tangle your fingers into his long hair.

          “I told you,” you gasped when he bit into your skin hard enough to leave marks, “I like the chase.”

          He licked a long, hot stripe between the valley of your breasts before bringing his face back to yours. You kept your hands in his hair as he leaned down to kiss you, all brute force and greedy tongue like you’d gotten used to before. You were just as hungry for him, your body feeling fresh and ripe after your orgasm and ready to be filled again. You bit at his lower lip, smirking when you got a reaction from him. Your tongue began to map the insides of his mouth, letting the taste of him overwhelm you.

          Kenny was impatient, gripping your hips and spreading you apart again.

          “I like you better when you’re submissive.” He murmured into your mouth, skilled fingers spreading your pussy so the fat head of his cock could rub against you.

          “I said I would be a good girl, daddy.”

          His head dropped to your shoulder with a groan, “I can’t fucking handle you calling me that, kid.”

          “Oh yeah? Is me calling you daddy going to make you cream early, old man?”

          He slid his cock inside of you rough and fast to shut you up. Your head fell farther back against the pillow as you mewled, his fingers still having not prepared you for the feel of his stretching you open. Your walls were snug against him; you could feel every throbbing vein under his silken skin dragging against your insides as he pulled out and pushed into you slowly.

          Each thrust had euphoria blooming from your stomach and spreading across all your extremities. It was like you could suddenly feel everything, the pleasure making the world around you sharpen. Kenny was breathing hotly into your neck, your nipples were painfully hard and sliding against the dark, downy hairs of his chest. Your fingers were coming back to life, your nails scraping against the greyed roots of his hair. Your toes were curling in the air, your thighs and hips burning from bearing the heaviness of Kenny between them. Both your heart and his were beating fast, blood pumping as if in the same drumline together.

          “Fuck you feel so fucking good,” he drawled, “s-so fucking soft, so tight.”

          Little sounds were leaving your parted lips, eyes struggling to stay open as each plunge of Kenny’s cock was engulfing you with ecstasy. He was starting to get a bit punishing with his movements, moving hard and fast inside of you and making you forget yourself. His nails were biting into the fatty flesh of your hips, where half-moon marks would surely adorn your skin in the morning. You’d have hickies on your neck too, especially now as he sunk his teeth into the tender spot where your throat met your shoulder.

          God it felt good to be used, to be wanted. And you knew Kenny wanted you, he’d even said he wanted to carve his name into your skin. Something inside of you told you that he’d want to own you, if you’d let him. You caught a lot of his longing gazes before, whether in the back of the saloon he frequented or the ridiculous dance halls your family drug you to. You’d often wondered if he would fuck you against a wall if you tempted him to, and now you had your long-awaited answer.

          “Oh daddy,” you purred, both purposely and not, little oh’s and mhm’s following behind.

          The name spurred Kenny into a new gait. He shifted back onto his knees swiftly, the same hand from before resuming its chokehold on your neck. You moaned at the familiar contact, the sound trapped behind his spread fingers. He had more power behind his hips from this angle, sending his cock deeper into your depths and into places his long fingers couldn’t reach from before. Your eyes squeezed shut, tiny gasps all that could be formed behind the wall of his hand.

          “Who knew you were such a little slut, darlin. Might keep you around after all.”

          Your tits were bouncing in rhythm with his relentless assault, your hands now fisting into the feather pillow next to your face.

          “F-fucking shit, I—” you were going stupid, is what you were. Your tongue felt heavy in your mouth and your brain felt foggy in your head.

          “You’ve got such a dirty mouth on ya,” Kenny put more pressure behind the fist around your neck, the lack of oxygen making it even harder to think than before, “you really do need a daddy to teach you some, fuck, s-some fucking manners.”

          All you could do was nod, completely lost to the feeling of him encompassing you, filling you.

          His free hand pulled at one of your limp legs, hoisting it up and over his shoulder. He smothered your skin with wet kisses, nipping at your ankle and chuckling when he felt the bubbled squeal beneath his palm. The hair on his torso tickled the back of your thigh, adding a new layer of sensation that you didn’t think you could handle. It was too much—Kenny was too much, fucking into you like a feral beast that just got his first taste of sweet flesh.

          “You’re never gettin’ away from me again,” he hissed out between gritted teeth, “you’re mine now.”

          You couldn’t think to respond. Kenny unwrapped his hand from your throat, letting that blood flow return to your head.

          “You hear me?”

          You opened your mouth to speak, but no sound came out. All you could focus on was the drumming of his cock hitting your insides, the wet, squelching sounds of your pussy sucking him in.

          The sound of him slapping his hand across your check registered before the pain did. You gasped as your head swung with the force, the side of your face smarting with a throbbing sting.  

          “Say you’re mine, kid.” Seriousness laced his tone, those dangerous, long fingers grasping at your jaw and pulling you to look at him. He leaned forward, curling your leg with him, making you groan at the pleasure and pain mixing as he tested your flexibility. He kept moving inside of you, pace never faltering.

          “Fucking. Say. It.”

          Your heart was racing with adrenaline, a strange concoction of fear and bliss spreading over your consciousness.

          “Y-yours,” you croaked out, wetting your lips with your tongue, “I’m yours, Kenny!”

          You didn’t mean to scream it, but it seemed to please him, that lecherous grin of his spreading over his lips.

          “That’s fucking right. I own this tight, pretty little pussy.”

          He released your jaw only to slap you again, quicker and softer this time, and you moaned the moment he made contact.

          “You like getting slapped around?”

          You turned your face back to him, smirking through the sting, “yes, daddy.”

          The devilishness that swirled in his eyes made your stomach flip. He paused the movements of his hips, letting your cunt flutter and clench at his stilled cock. Your breathing picked up as you registered what was about to happen.

          Kenny hit you with the back of his hand this time, bony knuckles thumping with the quick flick of his wrist. Without his cock moving inside of you, all you could do was bask in the stinging pain left behind on your cheeks. It felt so wrong, but it made the coil in your belly tighten like never before.

          “F-fuck,” you moaned, your balled fists releasing the pillow.

          Without a second thought, you grabbed at his hair, jerking him down to meet your mouth.

          “You better cum inside me after that, daddy, I think I deserve it.”

          “Oh, you deserve it darlin,” he started pumping inside of you again, sending your head flying back and his mouth landing on the pulse of your neck, “gonna fill you to the fucking brim.”

          His movements were cruel, fast, cock ramming inside of you so harshly that you felt it all the way in your throat. Your hand slipped from his hair and found purchase on his back, nails scraping against sweaty flesh. You could feel his rough skin splitting, but you didn’t care, all that mattered anymore was the way his cock slid in between your gummy walls, the way he was moaning your name like a fucking prayer against your skin.

          Kenny’s thumb found your clit, swirling quick, brutal circles over your swollen bud. You could feel yourself clench around him, the sharp pleasure almost painful. You were going to explode. You were going to topple over in ecstasy and it was all because of the wickedness of the dirty old man inside of you.

          “K-Kenny, holy f-fucking god, I-I—”

          He must have felt it before you did. Hot ropes of cum were seeping inside of you the moment you hit the high point of orgasm. Your nails slid down the entirety of his back, slim, warm rivulets of blood following in their wake.

          It was like the bliss never ended. You were caught in the waves of it, each one cresting and falling over and over again as you milked his cock dry, slick and cum pooling between your thighs and soaking the linens.

          Your heart was hammering in your chest. Kenny placed a delicate hand between your breasts, like he was trying to slow it down for you. His small act made the world narrow in around you; the remnants of stinging pain and excruciating pleasure still hummed, but you fell into the quiet of just listening to the two of you breath for a few moments.

          Eventually, your toes went numb. You’d fully forgotten the poor leg that had been curled over his shoulder. You shifted to move, and Kenny got the hint, finally pulling his spent cock from inside of you and rolling over on his back.

          “Shit,” he hissed through his teeth, hand reaching over his shoulder as he met the mattress, “you’ve got fucking claws.”

          You had half a mind to apologize, but you didn’t bother, still basking in the afterglow of sex. Your body was tired, wrists still aching, thighs shaking.

          “You alright?” A warm hand found your cheek, even hotter lips pressing to yours in a soft kiss.

          “Mhm, more than alright.”

          “Didn’t know you had that in you, kid.”

          Kenny pulled you into his chest, long arm curling around your back. His fingers traced soft, swirling patterns on your hip, and you nearly shuddered as you remembered those were the same movements he’d used to abuse your clit. You curled one of your legs over his, needing to get closer, those pesky after-sex hormones and needs clawing at your instincts.

          It felt oddly like home to be pressed up against him, your face against his chest, one of your hands mimicking his and drawing circling in his damp chest hair. He smelled like home, anyways, like earth and spices.

          “You gonna take me home?”

          He was quiet for a second, pressing his lips into your hairline.

          “Nah, I’ll take you someplace safe. Maybe buy you a fucking train ticket so you can get out of this part of the world.”

          “You sure you don’t want to keep me?”

          “Now don’t fucking tempt me with that, kid.”

          “I wouldn’t mind being yours, you know.”

          “You don’t wanna be mine, even if I make you say that shit when I’m fuckin’ you.”

          You knew he was right, but you didn’t offer him an affirmation.

          Maybe you’d let him fuck you for a few more days before you ventured off on your own, maybe you’d convince him to chase you down a few more times just for the thrill of it. Maybe you’d wrap your fists around his suspenders and convince him to run away with you.

          You did like Kenny, after all. Even if he was such a perverted, disgusting old man.

[renaerys]

This is just for fun, but how do you compare Sakura and Ino characteristics and personalities in your writing? Do you ever found them to be overlapping or do you consider them to be opposite or both?

I think they're very different but complementary characters. These are my personal takes under the cut, since it's a bit long.

To preface, I base everything on the original Naruto manga. I don't read Boruto, don't care about it, don't want to know anything more about it beyond what I've been forced to absorb through cultural osmosis. My takes on Ino's and Sakura's characters are probably going to be different from others who do subscribe to Boruto.

Ino

Ino would have followed in Inoichi's footsteps to become the prime Yamanaka mind reader for Torture and Interrogation post-war. She'd be a top Sensor type, would have worked closely with people like Ibiki and Anko and Shikamaru, and become a high ranking member of Konoha's tactical division. Those interactions would influence and augment certain aspects of her personality and proclivities quite a lot, and they inform how I see her in a post-war world.

I talked a lot about Ino's personality in this post. Ino is someone who I see as the better "people person" between Sakura and her. Meaning, she's above average good at reading people and anticipating what they will do or how they'll react in certain situations. Crucially, she's the type of person who will also act on that information if the situation calls for it, such as to benefit herself, her social standing/reputation, her goals, etc. And in that same vein, whether it's these personality traits or straight up shinobi abilities, she's the type to set a goal and get it the fuck done no matter what (remember her badass moment in the 4th war when she telepathically connected to everyone? Queen shit.). The other post I linked goes into this a bit more, so I won't repeat it here.

I see her as someone who isn't afraid to use tactics like lying and manipulation and charms if they will benefit her endgame. She's cunning and crafty and suave, but she's not a malicious person. Rather, she's demonstrated a high capacity for empathy and compassion (the basis of her friendship with Sakura, to name the earliest example of that). But I think she is also the type who is willing and able to get her hands dirty, keep secrets, and condone tactics that other personality types (like Sakura) would deem going too far or would find reprehensible. Two things can be true at the same time, and they make her a really interesting and contradictory person. She's your bitchy BFF. She's the person who will dig too deep into something because she is a dog with a bone, and this makes her capable of hurting people, however unintentionally.

Which is why she really benefits from having a friend like Sakura who will check her on that.

Sakura

Sakura is very much what you see is what you get. She's not cunning or crafty or manipulative the way Ino is (she can be those things insomuch as any person can be those things, but I wouldn't call them defining or key traits like I would for a character like Ino). Sakura wears her emotions on her sleeve, is straightforward and to the point, and highly determined. Like Ino, her personality is complemented by and reflected in her abilities and fighting style. She is front line, in your face, honest and unsubtle and no bullshit. The opposite of Ino in many ways. I think Kishi made those choices purposefully (although, I always hesitate to give him too much credit considering his track record with women).

Sakura has protagonist-chan vibes, which makes sense considering that is who she is in the manga. She gets the underdog story, the smurfette "I can keep up with the boys and I'll prove it to you" story, and that makes her relatable to literally anyone who grew up with insecurities and worked to overcome them. (Crucially, Ino doesn't have that arc because she never had those same insecurities or competition with her boys.)

All of this makes Sakura a lot less complicated and more vanilla than Ino. I don't mean that in a bad way at all, I just mean that given her standing in the manga as a deuteragonist, she is THE female character and therefore much easier for people to project themselves on to. That's why there are so many more fics and fanworks centering her than Ino. Sakura is hashtag relatable to so many people, and that's her main appeal and why she's so successful as a female character. But, unlike a lot of cardboard female protagonists in other media, she's able to be those things and have a distinct personality and unique traits, and I really like that about her! Ino is a harder pill to swallow because her personality is messier, rougher, more jagged than Sakura's. Again, none of this is bad! It's just the way a lot of archetypes go. Think about any of your favorite media. The relatable "everyman" protagonist female character usually has a "sassy best friend" type who doesn't share her insecurities and, instead, acts as a cheerleader to help her move past them. That's how Sakura and Ino are set up in the manga. It's a very traditional and oft-used archetype, which doesn't make it bad. It just is.

That archetype dynamic makes them great together, which is kind of the whole point of characterizing them in that way. Ino is often the sassy BFF in fics about Sakura, but I really love to see Sakura has her very important BFF in Ino fics too. I think it's an underutilized dynamic (just purely from a statistical standpoint since there are exponentially more Sakura fics than Ino fics). But if we consider that they are best friends, it stands to reason that they have a lot in common too. You can't tell me Sakura is best friends with someone like Ino and is just vanilla protagonist-chan a la Hallmark rom coms. Nah, that girl is some bless-this-mess chaos. Her bull in a china shop tendencies make her such a great complement to Ino. Sakura can be hilarious, chaotic, and weird and keep up with Ino's sharp wit and unapologetic judgment. They're like a comedic duo where one of them is the "straight man" and the other is clown shoes, but the fun twist is those roles are seamlessly interchangeable between them. I write them this way in my fic The Heiress and the Hierophant.

Sakura and Ino both are fantastic characters with plenty of room to build upon their canon foundations if you put in some work. I do wish more people would give Ino a fair shake as main and let Sakura live that fun BFF life. She's excellent as the BFF. And I haven't even touched on the excellent InoSaku romantic dynamics that exist! There's so much there between them, and all of it is good.

[bratkook]

will you let me? (m) knj.

pairing. namjoon x reader genre. smut, pwp, established relationship word count. 1.2k warnings. unprotected sex, impreg kink, dirty talk, but also kinda cute note. based off a request sent in for thirst night! i hope u enjoy the insanely short filth🤠(also my first published joon fic can i get a hell yeah, also not edited sorry)

The air is stuffy all around you, each harsh breath released only thickening it up, leaving your skin hot and your mind fuzzy. Namjoon groans into your ear, mouthing kisses along your neck, tongue trailing down your jugular before he gently nips your skin. 

“God you’re so warm—fuck—so wet,” he mumbles on, rambling without a thought, too enveloped in the feeling of your walls wrapping around his cock. You felt every inch of him as he fucked you, the two of you finally agreeing to not use a condom for the first time. Namjoon swears he’ll never want to put one on again. 

The smack of your skin mixes in with each of your moans, your hands wrapping around him, digging your nails into his back as he rocked forward. “Ah, Namjoon,” you whimper, eyes rolling back as he starts to suck on your neck. “Harder baby, please.”

“Yeah? Feel good?” he rasps, holding himself up to stare down at you. The pink tendrils of his hair stick to his forehead, damp with sweat, and the sparkle in his eyes shows his excitement. His soft lips spread out into a smile, dimples sinking into his cheeks as he does so. 

Another precise thrust has you nodding, wrapping your legs around his hips, pushing him closer. Namjoon could fuck you harder, could grip your hips so hard they bruised as he pistoned into you, but he liked this too much. He wants to savor the feeling of your velvety walls pulsing around him, wants to remember each of your trembled breaths when he hits your gspot, and wants to really enjoy the feeling of his hot cum filling you up. 

The thought alone makes him shut his eyes, groaning deep in the back of his throat as he pictures it, imagines seeing the globs of white dripping out of you, stuffing you so much your tummy would bulge. And suddenly he wants that, his eyes fall to your stomach, seeing the way it tenses in pleasure. Namjoon wants to claim you this way, make you his in a way you’ve never been before. 

“Fuck baby,” he pants, jaw slack as the thoughts flood his mind, hips snapping into yours with more determination. “You’re so fucking beautiful.”

A teasing laugh spills from your mouth, one of your hands coming up to cradle his face, wondering where this was coming from after the filthy words he had been spewing earlier. “You think I look beautiful covered in sweat?”

Namjoon nods like it’s the most obvious response, surging his cock deeper into you, wanting to reach as far as he could. His balls slap against your thighs from the force, making your tits bounce around and he groans once more when he imagines how they’d look if you were pregnant. 

“Always look so beautiful,” he continues, cursing when you purposefully tighten your walls around him. “Look pretty when you’re stretched around my cock, fuck, bet you look pretty full of my cum too.”

His words make your skin warm up further, the thought of it sinking into your bones, already imagining how it would feel. And then he says something you never thought he would, “Wanna knock you up. Will you let me baby?”

It takes you a second to comprehend it, mind blanking as he moans above you, whimpering slightly when you fail to answer him, hips becoming more desperate. “Baby,” he whines again, feeling his release creeping up on him, needing to know if you’d be okay with him filling you up this way. 

The head of his cock rubs against your walls deliciously, snapping you out of your small daze as you nod frantically. “Yes, yesyes please. Fill me up Namjoon.”

Those were the golden words he needed to hear, burying his face into your neck as he fucked into you, making the whole bed rattle, the wooden headboard slamming into the wall so hard the neighbors would surely complain. He didn’t care though, not when you cried his name so beautifully as your orgasm crept up your spine. With his close position, each of his thrusts put pressure on your clit, sensitive and needy for attention, you mewl at the friction, rutting your hips up in time with his. 

“Namjoon, c-close—please don’t stop.” 

“Mm, don’t worry baby, I got you.” he softly reassures you, shivering when your hands tangle themselves in his hair, nails raking along his scalp. Another few thrusts is all it takes to sends you over the edge, shouting out his name as your ears rang from the pressure. Namjoon groans in your ear as your walls spasm around his cock, milking him for his orgasm, desperate for him to fill you up the way he promised. 

“Joonie,” you keen, feet pushing him closer to you as you mewl in sensitivity. He gasps when you pulse around him, wanting him to spill his load inside of you, needing to see him fall apart. 

“Ah shit—“ he rasps, pushing himself up as he thrusts deeper into you, bulbous head of his cock just shy of reaching your cervix. “Are you gonna take my cum like a good girl? Let me fill you up until my pretty girl is messy, hm?”

You visibly shiver at his words, mouth dropped open in awe as you watch him, nodding along. “Please, please.”

“Fuck, take it baby.” It washes over him instantly, hips stuttering into you as he grows desperate, eyes squeezing shut when he feels his cock throb inside of you before hot spurts of his cum splash along your walls, painting them in ribbons of white. The feeling makes you hum, limbs limp on the bed as he shallowly thrusts into you, making sure you take every last drop. 

He falls over you like deadweight, forgetting his giant self could crush you if he wanted. His cock is still nuzzled deep within you, slowly softening as it kept the cum from leaking out. “Hey, watch the baby!” you playfully call out, giggling when he snorts against your skin, large palm sliding up your sides in a soothing manner. 

“Don’t tease me.”

Your hands trail through his hair again, feeling the damp strands slowly detangle as you take your time. “You know, I could always get off birth control and we could actually try.”

He visibly perks up, brown eyes staring up at you with a certain glimmer to them that makes your heart flip in your chest. Picturing Namjoon with your child, strapped to his chest as he did things around the house, tucked into a stroller as he took him for a walk around the park, finally having a little human to fit into the baby shoes he was so obsessed with buying. You couldn’t imagine a better future. 

“Really?”

“Yeah you dork, let's have a baby. Knock me up.” Your brows wiggle in time with your words, and when he slips out of you as he attacks your neck with kisses, you let out a squeal in delight. 

“C’mon, we gotta practice then!” he announces in all seriousness, not caring that his cock was still soft and you had just been thoroughly stuffed by him seconds prior. But when he was determined there was no stopping him, so instead you coax him up, dragging him into the bathroom with the promise of shower sex and the freedom to be as messy as he wanted.