#she has a good time with everything except belly brushing

[kiadanta]

Kia has decided to retire her winter wardrobe all over my everything

[cakesunflower]

lovelorn (and nobody knows) [rafe cameron au fic] chapter 13

Summary: Isla Carrera had planned for the summer before college to be focused on three things: helping out at her family’s restaurant (the helpful daughter), preparing for college (the good student), and having fun with the Pogues (the loyal friend). But one fateful night, where her car breaks down and her rescuer is none other than Rafe Cameron, seems to send her summer down a path she didn’t see coming–one teeming with a secret, illicit romance with the last person she expected. And if her friends and sister found out, Isla isn’t sure they’ll be so understanding, no matter what her feelings are.

Previous Chapters: Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10 | Chapter 11 | Chapter 12

“We can’t stay here like this.”

Isla groans, face pressed to Rafe’s chest, which rumbles with his answering chuckle. She can feel his fingers lightly brushing up and down her bare back as they lay in her bed, tangled up in her bedsheets. “Why not?” she practically whines, face scrunched and arm thrown over his torso.

Amusement colors his voice when he says, “Because your sister might be home soon.”

With her leg thrown over Rafe’s, she buries herself deeper into his side, loving his warmth, and mumbles, “She’ll be back late. We have time.” With a crack of a smile, she adds in a light tone, “Unless you’re eager to leave—”

Her words cut off with a half shriek, half giggle when Rafe playfully pinches her butt, Isla slightly smacking his chest in retaliation when she looks up at him. He throws her a heated look that she feels low in her belly as he says, “Don’t be ridiculous.” Rafe presses a kiss to her forehead, one that has Isla instantly relaxing next to him once more. “Wouldn’t wanna be anywhere else.”

Isla smiles, softer, as she lays with her head resting on his chest, feeling the comforting and steady thumping of his heartbeat. Her own finger traces nonsensical patterns on his chest, the two of them laying together in companionable silence, her gaze on the stars she can see twinkling in the night sky beyond the window. The curtains dance ever so slightly in the gentle breeze, rippling with every thought that crosses Isla’s mind.

If she’s being honest with herself, a small part of her had expected her to feel guilty in the aftermath of sleeping with Rafe; like an amalgamation of all the guilt she should feel from the moment she started being interested in him to now. If her friends saw her right now, they might just crucify her, and while Isla wouldn’t be able to blame them, she also wouldn’t be able to look them in the eye and tell them she regrets it.

If anything, Isla is relieved that she doesn’t feel any guilt. All that is present is a soul-deep contentment she didn’t see coming; more than satisfaction and satiation. Rafe holds her so tenderly and Isla is liable to bury herself in him, to fall asleep right here if she’s not careful. Whatever line was left to cross, she has crossed it, and Isla doesn’t want to look back. Telling her friends about her and Rafe is inevitable, but how can she go about it? How can she tell them in a way that will make them understand her feelings?

This warmth inside of her right now—it’s a pretty and pure manifestation of happiness. Rafe made her see stars, left her completely breathless and had her forgetting everything and everyone except for him. A dizzying, wonderful experience that she wants to cling onto and never let go of, which she is totally on board to do—until a low rumbling sound escapes her stomach and makes her cheeks heat up.

Rafe chuckles quietly. “Hungry?”

“Just a little bit,” she says with a light laugh as she pushes herself up. “Come on.”

They spend the next few seconds getting dressed—or half dressed, really, with Isla putting on her underwear and one of her larger hoodies, and Rafe simply slipping his boxer briefs back on so she can keep admiring those solid, lean muscles. Her gaze lingers on his six—no, eight—pack as she slowly untucks her hair from her hoodie, stomach clenching until she hears his amused voice.

“You’re staring, baby.”

Isla’s gaze snaps up to meet his, catching that smug smirk that curls at his lips as he strolls over to her. Coupled with his messy hair, the guy is sex on legs—and Isla kind of wants to forget getting something to eat and pull him back onto the bed.

But she scoffs and turns, not wanting to give him the satisfaction. “Food,” she says determinedly, walking out of her room and hearing him chuckle as he follows after her.

In the kitchen, Isla finds herself pulling out the loaf of bread, a butterknife, and the half full jar of Nutella. She waves at Rafe, eyebrows raised and a smile growing. “You like Nutella?” Isla gives him a half serious look. “Careful—your answer is gonna determine whether we’re gonna keep this relationship going or not.”

While amusement dances in his eyes, Rafe scoffs as he snatches the jar from her hand. “Of course I like Nutella, the hell?” he says, unscrewing the lid while Isla laughs and takes out some slices of bread.

Rafe takes it upon himself to make them the Nutella sandwiches, and Isla hops up on the counter next to him with a grin, taking the first sandwich he makes and taking a hearty bite as the cool marble of the counter chills her thighs. The hazelnut chocolate flavor explodes in her mouth and she hums approvingly, legs swinging back and forth as Rafe takes a bite of his own sandwich. “Delicious,” she mutters, swallowing the bite.

Rafe smiles around his own bite, leaning back against the counter right next to where she sits. “Did my sister recruit you in her beach clean up?”

Despite her surprise at his question, Isla snorts out a laugh. “You do know both our sisters are spearheading that, right?” she asks with a shake of her head as Rafe chuckles lowly. “Sarah and Kie recruited all of us into it.” As part of an environmental non-profit they both volunteer for, Kie and Sarah organized a beach clean up to pick up any trash that’s been left behind. No one wanted to end up on their shit list by refusing to give up a day to help out. “Sarah asked you to do it, too?”

Rafe throws her a dry look. “Yes,” he answers before taking another bite. “She and Wheezie have the doe-eyed look down to a science. Hard to say no.”

His words make Isla laugh, eyebrows raising as Rafe shakes his head, almost looking embarrassed. Which makes Isla find him even more endearing. “Aw, who would’ve thought your sisters would have you wrapped around their fingers?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Rafe says with a roll of his eyes and a subtle flush on his cheeks, though he doesn’t deny Isla’s teasing. When he looks at her, his gaze dips for a second, his lips twitching as he gestures with his hand towards her face and says, “You’ve got a little. . .”

Her eyebrows flick up, wiping the skin by her mouth. “Did I get it?”

Rafe chuckles. “Not even close,” he says and before Isla can blink, he has closed the gap between them, kissing her soundly. She makes a small sound of surprise, eyes fluttering shut as she feels Rafe smirk into the kiss. His tongue swipes against the corner of her mouth as she feels his free hand grip the back of her head, keeping her right where he wants her as he kisses her.

Isla could stay like this forever, as the butterflies in her stomach go amok, but somehow, over the sound of her racing heart, she picks up on the crunch of gravel, and when her eyes open slightly, sees the beam of headlights cut through the window to the right. “Oh, shit,” she says, pulling away as her widened gaze goes to the window. She most definitely hears a car engine. “Oh, my God, Kie’s home.”

Rafe’s own eyes widen as he follows Isla’s gaze before looking at her again, mildly alarmed. “What do you wanna do?” he asks, helping her off the counter.

“Um,” Isla starts, trying to think through the panic. “Okay, you go upstairs. Close my bedroom door but, uh, hide in my bathroom, okay? She won’t find you there. When she’s not paying attention, we’ll get you out of here.” Isla places her hands on his biceps and turns him, pushing him towards the stairs. “Go, go.”

Her heart thunders in time with Rafe’s feet pounding up the stairs, and Isla lets out a quiet breath as she hears the door shut upstairs. Putting her sandwich down, Isla brushes away the crumbs from her hand before fixing her unruly hair as much as she can, her gaze on the windows looking out onto the porch to keep an eye out for Kie walking up.

Glancing down at herself, Isla figures her current attire isn’t too out of the ordinary, so she doesn’t stress about that as she leans forward casually on the counter, weight resting on her arms as she eats her Nutella sandwich despite the small lump lodged in her throat from the mild panic of Kie’s arrival. She swallows the bite when she finally sees Kie on the porch, using the keys to unlock the door and enter the house.

“Hey,” Isla greets from where she is, before Kie can spot her. “I thought you’d be home later.”

Kie startles, nearly dropping the keys as she spins to look at her. “Jesus,” she breathes, walking over. “Scared the shit out of me. Nah, we dipped out of the second movie early ’cause Cleo got a headache.”

Isla’s eyebrows furrow together in concern. “She okay?”

“She’ll be fine,” Kie reassures as she braces her hands on the countertop opposite of where Isla stands. “What’re you doing? Late night snack?”

Isla hums in confirmation. “You want?”

“Nah, I’m beat. I’m gonna head to bed,” Kie answers, fighting a yawn.

“Yeah, me too,” Isla nods, trying not to show too much relief as she finishes off her sandwich and dusts her hands above the sink to get rid of any crumbs. She goes upstairs, glancing down the hall to see Kie’s bedroom door closed but can see the light on inside, and Isla hurries inside her own room. “Rafe,” she hisses, shutting the door behind her. “Come out.”

The bathroom door opens a second later, Rafe endearingly peeking his head out, now fully dressed. He raises his eyebrows, stepping outside. “Coast is clear?”

“Yeah, Kie’s in her room. We need to get you out of here,” Isla says with a gentle, still slightly alarmed, chuckle as she reaches her hand out for him.

Rafe takes her hand in his, moving closer to her and giving her a soft smile. “Relax,” he says quietly, calmly, because he can definitely notice her mildly panicked state. “It’ll be fine, alright? Breathe.”

Isla nods quickly, exhaling slowly through her nose as Rafe maintains her gaze. It helps calm her racing pulse down a bite, reveling in the way he squeezes her fingers reassuringly. “Okay, yeah, I’m good.”

He flashes her a smile before Isla turns and slowly opens the door, other hand still holding Rafe’s. Isla looks to the right, down the hall, and sees Kie’s door is still closed and gives Rafe’s hand a tug. They leave the room, shutting the door quietly, before quickly and quietly making their way down the carpeted hallway and towards the stairs.

“Don’t trip,” Rafe quietly teases from behind her as they hurry downstairs.

“Don’t make me laugh,” Isla mutters through a burgeoning grin, making their way through the darkened house and towards the front door. Her pulse has quickened again because of the nature of their sneaking, Rafe being extra careful since he’s got shoes on and he’s trying not to let them thud too loudly on the floor.

Isla unlocks and opens the door, the summer night chill greeting her bare legs as Isla presses her back to the open door to make room for Rafe to pass. “Go, go,” she says with a breathless laugh, looking up at him as he comes to a stop in front of her.

“I’ll see you later?” he asks with an arch of his eyebrow, the porch light giving him a pretty glow.

Isla nods, biting back a grin. “Definitely,” she whispers, her giggle getting muffled by Rafe dipping his head and pressing his lips to hers.

She desperately wants to prolong the length of the kiss, to keep him here forever as the butterflies in her stomach come to life once more. Her hand presses to his chest, warring against pulling him close and pushing him away. “Okay. Okay. Goodnight,” she says against his lips, pulse fast—both because of him and the fear of Kie walking downstairs and catching them.

“Goodnight, baby,” Rafe mutters lowly, pressing one last kiss to her lips before pulling away completely. He looks down at her with that teasing smirk, those glinting eyes, as he walks backwards out of the house. Rafe jerks his chin. “Go back inside.”

Isla laughs airily, nodding as she watches him walk down the stairs and driveway. He turns to wave at her in the dark, and Isla’s smile widens, waving back with flushed cheeks and only closing the door when Rafe disappears around the corner once he reaches the sidewalk.

She blows out a breath, locking the door and turning to head back up the stairs, relieved that Kie is still in her room as Isla walks back into hers. The tingle in her skin has yet to dissipate as she collapses back onto her bed, sighing happily, contently, with a foolish smile she can’t get rid of. She is fairly certain she falls asleep that way, too.

*****

Waves gently crash along the shore as the sun glitters against the water, and several people are spread out around the beach with pick up claws and bags to throw their trash in. Sunglasses shield Isla’s eyes from the sun, with the help of a hat from The Wreck. It’s not an aggressively hot day, fortunately, and though Isla’s skin flushes under the sun, she hums to herself as she picks up a crumpled bag of chips and drops it in the trash bag she carries.

“What’s up with you, girl?” Cleo asks, nearly startling Isla as she looks up to see her friend approaching. Cleo has her bag thrown over her shoulder, hip jutted as she arches an eyebrow. 

Isla blinks. “What do you mean?” she asks, confused.

The corner of her mouth curls up in a smile. “You’ve been acting different lately. Hummin’ all the time. Happy.”

Scoffing out a laugh, Isla picks up a soda can. “As opposed to how I’m miserable rest of the time?” she asks sarcastically, smiling in amusement despite the momentary skipping of her heart beat.

“’Course not,” Cleo laughs, tracing a fish in the sand with her trash picker. “But something’s different about you,” she adds, narrowing her eyes and waving the stick at her. “You get laid or somethin’?”

Her heart stops. “What?” Isla asks, eyes widening behind her sunglasses as she gapes at Cleo and hopes her friend doesn’t notice her shocked expression. She also hopes the sudden flush in her cheeks can be attributed to the sun, and not to the images of what she and Rafe did the other night flashing through her mind. Flashes of his head between her legs, blue eyes darkened with lust as she rode him to oblivion, his fingers digging into her flesh—Isla can feel her blood rushing as she desperately tries to push those memories away. “Please,” she scoffs out another laugh, hoping she doesn’t sound as flustered as she feels. “If I got laid, you and the girls would be the first to know.” Liar. 

“Uh-huh,” Cleo says, unconvinced, as she eyes Isla skeptically. Isla, in turn, merely smiles before turning her attention back to picking up more garbage and attempting to appear nonchalant. “You’re just this happy to pick up trash, huh?”

Isla shoots her a wide grin, hoping to keep Cleo’s focus away from where Isla definitely doesn’t need it to be. “Just doing my part in cleaning our planet. We only have one, y’know.”

Cleo laughs. “True that. Except we’ve only been here fifteen minutes and John B already almost got into it with Topper.”

“Topper?” Isla repeats, surprised as she swings her gaze back to Cleo. “Topper’s here?”

Isla highly doubts that Sarah reached out to her ex-boyfriend to help out with the beach clean up. Even if she were short on volunteers, Topper wouldn’t have been anywhere on Sarah’s list of people to reach out to help. Case in point: John B almost getting into a fight with him, according to Cleo. Isla doesn’t have to witness it to believe it.

“Yeah, I think he showed up with Rafe,” Cleo answers, shoving a soda can into her bag and missing the way Isla’s back straightens at the mention of Rafe.

Thank God for Isla’s sunglasses, because her gaze immediately begins to wander, dancing over the several people gathered for the clean up as she tries to catch sight of Rafe. She knew that he was coming, since Sarah had recruited him, but it’s also not like Isla can actively seek him out, unfortunately. Which sucks—especially when she finally catches sight of him talking to Sarah.

Or, well. . . Isla chews the inside of her cheek. They look like they’re arguing, as Isla can easily note how tense Sarah is—and the way John B is putting a calming hand on her shoulder. Isla squints slightly behind her sunglasses, noting the way Rafe holds his own hand up, like he’s trying to defuse the situation too, and Isla has to stop herself from walking over and butting in.

Twisting her lips to the side, she grabs another piece of garbage to put away, watching as Rafe nods at something Sarah, who seems to have calmed down, says, before waving her off and walking away after snatching a garbage bag and pick up stick. Isla’s eyebrows furrow together when she notices the stiffness of his shoulders even from where she stands, and her gaze flicks towards the nature made wall of rocks, tall enough to block out the other side from anyone on the beach. 

Cleo has wandered off to find Pope, so Isla nonchalantly makes her way towards the wall, pulling out her phone and sending a quick text to Rafe.

Meet me behind the wall?

She phrases it as a question, unsure if he’s going to be in the mood to talk if he just got into a spat with Sarah. Isla wonders if it’s about Topper tagging along with Rafe because as far as she knows, things between Rafe and Sarah are good. Or they should be, if she asked him to come today and he showed up. As tough as Rafe presents himself to be, he values his family, even if he used to scowl at Sarah and John B’s relationship. But he’s changing. Isla can see that. She wouldn’t have involved herself with him otherwise.

Behind the wall, there’s the safety of some shade from the sun, as the wall rises a good two feet above Isla’s head. There’s some trash back here, too, only a few things, so she quickly picks them up and dumps them in the bag as she waits for Rafe—if he’ll come. It’s risky, given all of the people around, including her friends, but she can’t help it. There’s an ever-present desire to be near Rafe, consequences be damned.

Still, her pulse quickens at the mere thought of someone catching her and Rafe—and he’s not even here. 

Until a figure turns the corner, and Isla straightens against the wall she’s leaning back into at the sight of Rafe appearing. Sunglasses shielding his eyes, shorts, and a white striped shirt shouldn’t look so good on a person, yet there he stands.

There’s a skipping in her chest, especially when his expression smoothes out into a smile as he approaches her. “Hey,” he greets softly, walking over to her.

His smile brings out one of her own as Isla drops the bag and leans the pick up stick against the wall. “Hi,” Isla returns, tilting her head to the side as she smiles. Her gaze rakes over him from behind the sunglasses. “You okay?”

She sees his smile turn a little confused as he moves to lean against the wall next to her, dropping his own bag and stick. “Yeah. Why wouldn’t I be?” he asked with a quiet chuckle.

Isla moves her sunglasses to rest them on the top of her head, hands at her back. She hesitates for a moment before saying, “Saw you and Sarah. Looked a little tense.”

“Oh, yeah,” Rafe huffs, leaning his head back against the stone wall. “She’s just upset that Top came along.”

Isla purses her lips. She figured. “And why did he?” she slowly asks, arching an eyebrow as she turns to lean on her arm, facing Rafe. “Obviously, he knew John B was gonna be here. Why is Topper always picking a fight he’s not gonna win?”

“Hell if I know,” Rafe mutters, running his fingers through his hair. “He’s still holding out hope, I guess.”

A scoff escapes Isla, shaking her head and crossing her arms over her chest. “It’s never gonna happen,” Isla says bluntly, unable to keep the distaste from scrunching her nose up. She can’t help it—she can’t really stand Topper.

“I know that. You know that. The whole of Kildare county knows that,” Rafe says, sighing as he tilts his head back to look up at the sky. “I told him he shouldn’t come here, but he doesn’t wanna listen, so of course, my sister thinks I’m the bad guy.”

Isla’s eyebrows furrow together at the frustration that sharpens Rafe’s voice, taking note of the way his jaw clenches with his head still tilted back. It’s obvious that he’s more upset than angry, like the idea of Sarah being pissed at him because of Topper truly bothers him. It softens something inside of Isla, her hand reaching up and resting at the back of Rafe’s neck, giving him a gentle, comforting squeeze as he turns his head to look at her.

She smiles at him, sweet and sincere. “You’re not the bad guy,” she tells him—and she means it. When he scoffs like he doesn’t entirely believe her, she gives his neck another gentle squeeze. “I mean it. I also think it’d go a long way if you, as Sarah’s brother, told Topper to back off.” With a playful smile to lighten the mood, she asks, “Isn’t there a bro code or something about not dating your friend’s sister?”

It gets a short scoff of a chuckle out of Rafe, dipping his chin to look at her from over his sunglasses. Raising an eyebrow, he asks, “Isn’t there a Pogue rule not to date a Kook?”

Isla rolls her eyes. “If there was, John B’s the first one to break it,” she points out, pulling her hand away—only for Rafe to catch it and interlock their fingers. The touch makes her smile as Rafe’s head dips like he’s observing their hands, her own gaze following to watch the way his hand envelopes hers, the gold family ring glinting on his finger as his thumb rubs her hand.

“True,” Rafe agrees, a smirk curling at his mouth. “But you breaking that rule is a lot more scandalous.” 

Pushing himself off the wall, Rafe uses his free hand to take off his own sunglasses and hand them at the neckline of his shirt as he turns to Isla, effectively making her turn as well to lean her back against the wall as Rafe comes in front of her. His smirk remains, smug, as Isla has to tilt her head back slightly to maintain eye contact. She’s between the wall and Rafe, the rest of the world falling to the background as the heat of his body seeps into hers. 

“You’re not wrong about that,” Isla murmurs, her gaze dipping to his lips. She takes in a sharp, quiet breath, her stare lingering on his mouth. The tension between them is begging for Isla to close the gap, to kiss him. The thundering of her heart overpowers the sound of people on the other side of the wall. “We should get back.”

Rafe only leans closer. “We should,” he mumbles, his own eyes dropping to her lips as she tilts her chin up dazedly. It’s like he appears in front of her and everything else empties out of her head. “But first. . .”

He closes the gap and slants his lips over hers, Isla’s body nearly sinking into his as her lips part under his, returning the kiss that sends shocks of electricity across her body. Rafe moves his lips against hers slowly, deliberately, heat curling low in Isla’s belly, which is highly inconvenient. 

The sound of someone’s laugh cuts through, pulling Isla back into reality. “Okay, okay,” she breathes, free hand pressing to his chest and reluctantly breaking the kiss. Rafe’s own breathing is slightly labored, their foreheads pressed together, noses sliding along as Isla presses her back to the wall. Opening her eyes, she looks up at Rafe with a breathy laugh. “Let’s quit while we’re ahead.”

“Right,” Rafe groans, making Isla laugh at how dismayed he looks. The feeling is totally mutual. “The beach isn’t gonna clean itself.”

Isla snorts out a laugh, hand covering her mouth at the sound that escaped her as her cheeks flush in embarrassed heat. Her gaze flicks up to Rafe, who is watching her with a wide grin that only intensifies her embarrassment. “Stop,” she whines, pushing him back and crouching to pick up her garbage pick up claw and bag.

“What? That was adorable,” he says through a chuckle, his finger hooking through the belt loop of her denim shorts. She shakes her head, but his grin is wide, and it makes her smile, too. “You’re fuckin’ adorable,” Rafe repeats, ducking his head to press another quick kiss to her lips.

Chest fluttering, she shakes her head and steps away from him. “You’re gonna get me in trouble,” she mutters, blushing as she walks away—despite not wanting to.

She can just hear the smirk in Rafe’s voice as he replies, “Isn’t that the fun of it?”

Isla shakes her head, throwing him a grin over her shoulder which he returns as he puts his sunglasses back on. She does the same, sighing as she returns to the main part of the beach, picking up any trash piece she sees and hoping no one notices anything. She’s alone with her thoughts for all of fifteen seconds when an arm drops around her shoulders, nearly making her stumble.

“Jesus—JJ, you’re gonna take me out,” Isla huffs when she recognizes the blonde hanging off of her.

“I’d break your fall,” he says dismissively, spinning around the pick up claw like a damn lightsaber. Sunglasses cover his eyes, along with a red Kildare baseball cap. “You know what we haven’t had in a while?”

“Hmm?” Isla hums, picking up a crushed water bottle and JJ opens his bag, letting her drop it in.

When she glances at her best friend, he’s got a shit eating grin on his face, dimples deep, that can only meet trouble. Isla’s expression instantly turns wary as JJ says simply, “Kegger.”

Isla lets out a laugh. “Are you kidding? The party Sarah threw wasn’t even that long ago, JJ.”

“It’s been weeks. Summer’s almost over. We need to live it up,” JJ argues, throwing her a feigned affronted look.

“It’s only the end of June! We have the whole summer still left,” Isla argues, shaking her head in exasperated amusement. Trust JJ to look for any way, any rhyme or reason, to have a party. 

“Come on. Boneyard kegger?”

Isla arches her eyebrows, tilting her head to the side to look up at him with a knowing expression. Putting the garbage bag on the ground, Isla plucks off JJ’s cap and fits it over her own head, JJ’s free hand running through his blonde hair as she asks, “Have you run this by the others, or am I the first stop on your convincing tour?”

“Kie and Cleo are down,” JJ says. “I’m sure John B and Sarah will be on board, too.”

Isla snickers, her gaze flickering past JJ and spotting Rafe some way down, who seems to be chatting with some other volunteers. She swears when his head turns this way, he’s looking directly at her and JJ, watching them. Pushing down the fluttering in her stomach that arises under his attention, she looks back at JJ. “So you’re saving Pope for last, huh?” she asks knowingly.

“He takes the most convincing,” JJ says with a grin, his arm still hooked around Isla’s shoulders. “But if I’ve got everyone on board, you know he’ll say yes.”

“Yeah, because he gives into peer pressure too easily. Especially from us,” Isla points out with a smirk.

JJ’s grin is wide, dimpled, and shit-eating. “What else are friends for, huh?” he laughs, giving her a shake that pulls a giggle out of Isla. “So, you in? Tomorrow night? You’re not working, are you?”

“No, I’m free to party,” she tells JJ with a wide grin. She hesitates for a moment before asking, “Pogues only?” And probably the tourists, too.

JJ throws his head back in an exaggerated groan. “In a perfect world, yes. But you already know the Kooks are gonna crash, so whatever.”

Isla raises her eyebrows and points at JJ warningly. “No fighting, alright?”

“You know me. I’m a saint.”

[queserasora]

SANJI X READER | FEM! READER, SHE/HER WORD COUNT: 1,301 words CW: Sanji is sick and tired of y/n shit, brown curly haired y/n doing the most on a sunny day, mangoes are juicy and salacious, a little bit NSFW, mostly teasing nothing serious A BADLY WRITTEN SUMMARY: The one where Sanji decides he’s going to fix the y/n problem he has but he feeds her instead, he is a gentleman! Most of the time, and Luffy tries to invite himself over for a midnight snack

PART TWO

You had been teasing him for days on end, trying to meet the last line of his patience. Sanji thought there was nothing he couldn’t handle in all the seas but he never accounted for your tenacity.

He was tired of the looks you launched at him when he was least expecting it. You often found an excuse to pass him by–to squeeze where you didn’t fit, just enough to graze your breasts against his back or chest. You relished the way he would hold his breath, anything to avoid hissing within earshot. You’d giggle at his reddening face and walk away, not before letting your fingers brush his chest on your way out.

He was tired of feeling your presence in every room; like a heavy heat weighing his shoulders down. His brown eyes would seek out yours and find your plush lips stretched into a smile. He was tired of the growing warmth at the bottom of his belly when he watched you rub cocoa butter on your legs. He tired of smelling it on you at dinner time, or when you’d sneak into the kitchen while he cooked to ‘just have a taste’ of what he was preparing.

He grew tired of the way he wanted to give  you a taste, alright, and how shameful it made him feel.

He quickly grew tired of that too; tired of waiting.

The sun was docked on an island and the crew had all gone shopping. Sanji had given Nami a list of groceries, as she requested. Everything was taken care of–everything except the annoying itch he couldn’t scratch. Sanji didn’t know or understand the reason for you to stay behind; something about being too hot to walk around. If it was too hot, then why were you sprawled out on the lawn chair, ass up in nothing but a bikini bottom.

Where had your top gone? Disappeared along with your common sense?

He swallows and approaches you despite the possibility of a nosebleed. Saliva thick, he pushes it down with sheer determination. You had called his name. It would be rude to ignore you.

“Yes, my dear?” he asks slowly. You hum upon hearing his voice and turn your head to look at him. Your face is partially covered by your tight curls but he can still see the smile on your lips; the tiniest twinkle in your eye. He feels his face heat up. He knows you’re up to no good again but can’t bring himself to leave you alone.

“I’m feeling a little thirsty,” you say with a pout and reach towards him, fingers grazing a knee. He pulls away sharply and clears his throat. 

“I’ll bring you something,” he says and leaves just as quickly. Once inside the kitchen, there were no witnesses, so he allowed himself to scream silently–at least this once. Having regained his composure, he prepares a quick drink–something sparkly, and grabs some mango from the fridge that he had already prepared earlier this morning.

He meets you on the deck again, his eyes following the path of the sweat dripping down your brown back; he is mesmerized by the slickness of your oil coated legs, the way they shine under the sun. You turn slightly to meet him, one arm draped across your breasts. He breathes out harshly, fighting for control.

Your arm is barely enough to contain them. They spill over the top, teasing him. 

He places the drink down on the small table next to you, and grabs a piece of mango from the plate with dextrous fingers. “Here, open up,” he commands gently and places the juicy slice of mango against your lips. You watch his gaze, how his heavy lids barely contain the heat in his eyes, the way his cheeks are rosy pink. You can’t help but notice how his lips remain parted, anticipating your next move. You smile against the fruit, watch the juice drip down his fingers before giving it a careful lick. 

He is in trouble, and he knows it. A jolt of electricity travels from where you grab his wrist, up his arm and throughout his body. He watches you with a mixture of horror and delight as you ignore the fruit pinched between fingers, to lick the side of his palm instead, where juice had made you sticky. 

He was tired of this game. 

In a swift move, he grabs your wrist instead and is on you, the lawn chair creaking underneath the weight of both of you. His mouth is hot and moist against yours. He invades your mouth despite your muffled protests, and sucks on your tongue eliciting a soft moan from you. 

You think, for the first time, perhaps your teasing had gone a little bit too far.

You try to distract him, mention that he is being wasteful now that the piece of mango laid forgotten where it fell; trapped somewhere between your chests. Sanji smiles.

“Waste not, want not,” he declares with a grin. He lowers himself enough to suck the piece of mango with his open mouth. You are unsure why but it makes you shiver. “Mm, there’s more,” he says almost in a pur, and he is licking the slick juice left behind. He follows the path that dripped sideways under one breast. He continues to lick and suck, despite your fingers in his hair, doing a poor job at pushing him away. 

He is relentless. He ignores you.

His mouth continues to lick, suck and bite his way down your soft belly. His fingers press against the dips and rolls on your sides, taking pleasure in your softness, how good it felt to grip you; all of you.

Your back stiffens as he gets near the top of your bikini bottom where his tongue runs along the seam, back and forth. He is watching you, as if looking for the merest sign of weakness.

“Don’t,” you breathed out in a hiss. Your eyes glance sideways, thinking perhaps you heard someone coming back; perhaps it was your imagination.

“Why?” he asks, slipping an index finger under the elastic. You bite back a whimper. Sanji pulls on it just enough to slip his tongue under it. He pushes a little further, feels the soft tickle of your hair and hums to keep himself from moaning. “I thought this is what you wanted?” The heel of his palm is on your cunt, and he rubs at your clit gently, in circles. “I just want to please you. I live to please.”

Your body shudders, and you moan. As you toss your head, you are blinded by the bright sun. Spots dance in your vision. You drape a hand over your face to shield yourself from further punishment, and to hide your embarrassment.

His hands were on your thighs, and you almost cast caution into the wind when this time you definitely heard footsteps. Sanji hears them too and brings his hands up as you sit up with a jolt, holding them there as if to admit retreat. 

“I meant what I said,” he says, tilting his head and smiling wide. You are floored at his feigned innocence. Sanji reaches for the abandoned fruit. It was warm now as it sat cooking under the sun. He brings another slice of mango to your mouth. This time, you open up for him. He slides it in, leaving his index and middle finger a second too long in your mouth. “If you’re thirsty still later tonight. I’ll bring some mango juice to your bedroom.”

He gets up as Luffy approaches.

“I want mango juice too!” Luffy declares, fists on his hips, chest sticking out. Sanji drops a heavy hand on his shoulder as he walks past him.

“No. Not for you.”

[ladyinred2248]

The Offering (Finan x Luna) Part 2

Warnings: Mature themes, MINORS DNI

Word Count: Long :) Ha!

Summary: Finan can hardly contain how he feels as he travels with Luna and Uhtred's men to Saltwic. Setting is Season 3, Episode 5-6.

*******************************************************************************************

Dawn approached, giving light to the horizon as the men gathered belongings and supplies. Sihtric began readying the horses to ride to Saltwic. 

Luna heard stirring outside the tent and opened her eyes. She had slept through the whole night, not waking once. She turned and glanced toward the ground at her bedside to search for Finan, but he had already gone. Luna turned on her back and sighed as she rubbed her eyes. A moment passed as Luna breathed silently, looking up when Finan entered the tent, dressed in armor and seemingly prepared to get going to Aethelflaed’s estate, not seeming tired from yesterday’s battle.

“Good morning, little lady!” He rang out. “Come, let’s eat and get going. You are riding with me.”

Luna groaned as she rolled to her side and sat up at the edge of the bed. She brushed her hair back and looked at him standing near her, a smile on his face. She smiled back and began to put her boots on.

“Make haste, lady, and put on your clothing so that I am not tempted to delay our trip,” he commanded and winked at her.

“Yes lord,” she whispered, teasing him. Finan took a deep breath and walked out of the tent. Luna finished getting dressed and gathered her belongings. She had a quick breakfast with Sihtric by the ashes of what had been their firepit the night before. The men seemed relieved to be getting back onto the road, even if the journey ahead was long. “Will Aethelflaed except me?” She asked Sihtric. 

“Of course she will,” he answered. “She is tolerant and accepting of our differences. And I don’t think you have anything to worry about now with the Irishman guarding you.” He smirked. 

“Luna, let’s go lady!” Finan shouted as he prepared to mount his horse. He had prepared Osferth a cart to ride in for recovery and planned for Luna and him to ride behind to keep an eye on his baby monk.

Luna came over to him swiftly. “I’m ready, lord.”

Finan smiled at her as he looked into her eyes. “Up ya go, darling.” He said as he helped her onto the horse. He swiftly mounted up behind her, and firmly wrapped his arms around her waist as he scooted her back against his groin and chest with a yelp from her at the surprise. He grabbed the reins and nudged the horse forward. 

They had been on the road for a week, taking short stops for rest. Finan had kept his focus almost entirely on Luna, having late night conversations and always trying to find ways to make her laugh. God, she is so cute when she laughs, he thought every time she held her belly in unrelenting laughter after some stupid joke he made with the other men. Sihtric seemed most happy to have her around, and Uhtred caught the similarities between the two as he observed Luna’s temperament and personality. He began to enjoy having her around too, and took note of how happy Finan seemed to be as well. It was probably the most joy he had ever seen from Finan.

Finan held Luna tight as they journeyed toward Saltwic, not letting her go for a second. She eventually relaxed into his embrace after many days of travel, leaning her head back and against his chest. She could smell his musky, woodsy scent on his skin and it made her wish that he would drag his hand to her inner thighs, or stop for a rest and take her in the woods to relieve the ache that had been building for him in her core for what seemed like never ending days.

This man is a Saxon, an Irishman who worships the Christian God, she thought. It goes against everything I believe in. And here I am, submitting to his grasp and claim on me. Oh gods, but I want him to…

Finan felt Luna stir and adjust herself in front of him. He leaned his mouth to her ear to speak, “Lady, we will be stopping soon once we find a good place to camp. I can tell you are getting restless.” He whispered in her ear with his raspy accent.

“Yes, Lord.” She replied. With that, he wrapped his hand across her lower stomach and pulled her closer once again. She gasped at the surprise.

What is this woman doing to me? Finan thought as he held her close, trying hard to not let the blood rush to his cock. I am being too forward with this woman, but God she tempts me… how can I keep my hands off of her? I desire to protect her, keep her near me… and God it would be amazing to touch that body with my hands, and have her all to myself. Her screaming my name…

Finan lightened his grip on her as he now shifted as well and took a deep breath.

“Getting restless, Lord?” Luna asked teasingly as she looked back at him.

“Luna,” he began, “as much as I like the thought of being your lord - you can call me Finan.” He said as he smiled down at her and saw her gazing up at him innocently.

“I only serve who I desire to serve lord,” she replied as she brought her hand to his thigh and pinched it with her fingernails. 

That’s it woman, he thought. Now you are really going to get it. Fuck.

“Mm” he growled in her ear. Suddenly, he nudged the horse into quicker motion and strayed from the others.

“Finan! Where are you going?” Uhtred yelled. 

“I will meet you up ahead, Lord,” Finan yelled back. “Go on, we’ll catch up.”

Finan rode Luna quickly to a familiar clearing off the road that he and the other men had camped before on another journey. It was beautifully covered with low hanging trees and grasses, with a small river stream just ahead.

Luna’s heart beat erratically in her chest as she knew this was the first time they had been alone, and it had been on purpose. Finan dismounted the horse and helped her down as well, keeping a strong grip on her hips. 

“Luna,” he whispered as he began trailing kisses on her neck. “I can’t stop myself any longer.”

She whimpered as he continued to kiss her neck, now bringing her hand to the back of his head and through his hair, a slight shake in her hands as her body became engulfed with yearning for him. 

“I won’t have you here,” he whispered. “Don’t worry.” He said, sensing her nervousness as he grabbed her hands in his and kissed her palms. She sighed as she gazed deeply into his dark, brown eyes. She stayed silent as he looked at her intently, cupping her cheek with one of his palms.

“Do you want me as much as I want you?” He asked, his voice almost a growl. 

“Yes, lord, please…” she whispered before she brought her lips to his fiercely. They kissed back and forth passionately as they gripped one another, Finan holding her strongly against his body. She felt his hard cock in his trousers and let out a soft moan. He pulled himself away from their kiss after a few minutes, groaning as he placed his forehead to hers. “We must go and catch the others, sweet girl.”  He muttered under his breath. She nodded as he forcibly turned her around swiftly, still pressing himself to her body with him now behind her, his groin pressing into her behind as he brought his hand across her neck gently. “Yes, lord” she replied with a sigh, now aching to feel his body without clothing and at a complete lack of words. 

“We shall be at Saltwic before dusk,” he said, “and before the night ends you will be mine.”

He assisted her back on the horse, chuckling as he witnessed her flushed cheeks and chest. He joined behind her and quickly nudged the horse back to the road. Luna suddenly couldn’t stop smiling as they road back.

“Well that was quick,” Uhtred teased as Finan and Luna fell back in line with the other men on the road.

“It was just a private conversation, lord.” Finan replied with a smirk. Sihtric looked at Luna and chuckled. Sihtric felt protective over his sister, but he also felt trusting of Finan and his treatment of women. He could only bring her bliss, he thought.

@gemini-mama @sihtricfedaraaahvicius @bhxrdy @valeskafics @king-alfred @persephones-journey @finanhasmyheart @tlkfaerie

@mojosdumpingground

[kazscrows]

Crooked Kingdom Reread

Chapter 2: Wylan

The first Wylan chapter!

Wylan’s very first thought:

What am I doing here?

That thought had run through Wylan’s head at least six times a day since he’d met Kaz Brekker. But on a night like this, a night when they were “working,” it rose and fell in his head like a nervous tenor practicing his scales: WhatamIdoingherewhatamIdoingherewhatamIdoinghere.

#relatable

Wylan watched Kaz deal another hand to Smeet, Jesper, and the other players at the round table. He wore the same sky-blue staff jacket as Wylan and his hands were bare. Wylan had to fight not to stare at them.

Imagining Kaz wearing that jacket is funny

I mean.. they have little clouds on them!

I should draw him in it

Kaz’s hands moved as if they’d been made for no other purpose than to manipulate cards…

Trickster hands…

…long white fingers flexing in easy rhythm, the shuffle precise, each turn economical. Kaz had claimed he could control any deck.

Wylan is fascinated by Kaz’s hands and you know what? That’s fair.

Me too

Wylan knew Nina could handle just about any man and any situation, but he didn’t think she should have to sit half-dressed in a drafty gambling parlor, perched on some leering lawyer’s lap. At the very least, she was probably going to catch cold.

Wylan is worried she’ll catch a cold that’s so cute 🥺

Matthias probably isn’t in the room because he’d just have steam shooting from his ears the whole four hours

And he might kill Smeet over how he’s eyeing Nina

Smeet grinned, clearly pleased. “This is nothing compared to managing a business.”

“I can’t imagine how you do that either.”

“Sometimes I don’t know myself,” Smeet said on a sigh. “It’s been a hard week. One of my clerks never came back from his holiday, and that meant I was stuck shorthanded.”

Hate to break it to you, but that clerk is definitely not coming back

Jesper rose and reached for his guns. Wylan clutched the bottle of champagne in his hands as the other players pushed back from the table, ready to grab their own weapons or dive for cover. But all Jesper did was unsling his gun belt. Gently, he laid the revolvers on the table, fingers brushing over their high-gloss ridges with care.

Poor Jesper

He’s offering up his children

…what was Jesper thinking? He loved those guns. He might as well cut off his own hand and throw it into the pot.

See? Wylan gets it

But it’s alright it’s all part of Kaz’s plan (sort of)

He tossed Wylan a cape and mask, the trappings of the Gray Imp, one of the characters of the Komedie Brute. “Let’s go.”

“Me?”

“No, the idiot behind you.”

HA

Poor Wylan constantly getting teased and mocked

Kaz rarely used his cane when they were roaming parts of the city where he might be recognized. But despite his lopsided gait, Wylan had to jog to keep up with him.

Kaz’s disability never made him weak

He’s probably also pushing through the pain because everything they’re doing is for Inej

“How is—”

“Nina is fine. Jesper is fine. Everyone is fine except for me because I’m stuck with a gang of hand-wringing nursemaids. Keep a watch.”

BAHAHAHA

Here’s Matthias

I love how Kaz knew he was going to ask after Nina

And I love how he is just so done with everyone being worrywarts

“hand-wringing nursemaids”

They’re like: Now Kaz, dear.. are you sure this will work? Is this even… safe?

He’s over it and very stressed

I love Kaz

They should have some faith in him though!

Kaz blew again, lips pursing in time with the pattern of a new command. The dogs quieted and flopped to the floor with a disgruntled whine. one even rolled over on its back.

“Now why can’t people be this easily trained?” Kaz murmured as he crouched to oblige the dog with a belly rub, black-gloved fingers smoothing the short fur.

I’m cackling

And of course the classic Kaz stops heist to pet dog scene™️

Wylan could still hear the clerk screaming as Kaz dangled him by the ankles from the top of the Hanraat Point Lighthouse. I’m a good man, he’d shouted. I’m a good man. They were the last words he’d spoken. If he’d talked less, he might have lived.

Oh I forgot Wylan witnessed this!

I started to think this was a memory Kaz had, but it was actually Wylan recounting it

And I told you that clerk was never coming back from holiday

He’s super dead

Jan Van Eck has a printing press under Wylan’s name…

This man feels me with rage

“I’m slowing you down,” he said.

Kaz flipped open another sheaf of documents. “I knew exactly how long this would take. What was your mother’s family name?

I love how Kaz just immediately proves his thought wrong

Kaz planned on needing more time to peruse the files by himself

He knew Wylan would be helpful in finding out the names things were under. He brought him along for that, not as an extra pair of eyes to read

Our thoughts can lie to us

Wait.. wait.. Wylan just said that his mom “died” when he was eight-

Wylan is.. he’s sixteen now!

You’re telling me Jan Van Eck just hid Wylan’s mom from him for eight years—

Oh my gosh—

He couldn’t go to her funeral because there was no body- She’s still alive-

“…Why do you guys say that, anyway? No mourners, no funerals? Why not just say good luck or be safe?”

“We like to keep our expectations low.”

I’ve always thought this was kind of funny

I got excited when Wylan asked this question in the show, but then Inej answered him instead of Kaz and I remember being like:

“Yay he said the thing!! And Inej.. said the other… thing ..?”

I was confused at first and then later a little disappointed because… I don’t really think it’s something Inej would say?

It just hit different than having Kaz say it

Like honestly it was kind of depressing instead of mildly humorous

It’s a little depressing when Kaz says it too but…

For a second I thought they had actually changed the answer, but really I had just forgotten Kaz was supposed to say it

Like “Huh.. that seemed wrong I guess they altered it a little”

But the quote wasn’t wrong the person was—

And this is now a very long rant for two short lines of dialogue—

Has more bullet points than my entire Joost chapter review. RIP Joost—

But it bugged me in the show okay??

Kaz never yelled the way Wylan’s father did, but Wylan had learned to listen for that low note, that bit of black harmony that crept into Kaz’s tone when things were about to get dangerous.

I’ve always loved imagining Kaz’s voice and I love how Wylan explains how it gets more dangerous sounding here

Kaz isn’t really a yeller. He doesn’t need to be loud to scare people

“…he’s been making donations to the Church of Saint Hilde for the last eight years. If you want to pay your respects to your mother, that’s probably the place to start.”

Wylan stared at Kaz dumbly in the shadowy room. He’d never heard of the Church of Saint Hilde. And he’d never known Dirtyhands to share any bit of information that wouldn’t serve him.

He’s in such disbelief that Kaz would just tell him something out of.. can this be called kindness?.. Yeah, I think so.. maybe

Does Kaz have ulterior motives for this? I honestly can’t remember…

Regardless, Kaz really does care for his own. His Crows

Oh Wylan was so sure Kaz would just kill Smeet’s daughter…

I mean he’s thinking about the lighthouse incident again

Kaz had held him by his ankles and the clerk had wet himself, screaming and begging for mercy before he’d finally given up Smeet’s whistle commands. Kaz had been about to reel him back up when the clerk had started offering things: money, bank account numbers for Smeet’s clients, and then—I’ve got information on one of the girls at the Menagerie, the Zemeni.

Kaz had paused. What do you have on her?

Wylan had heard it then, that low, dangerous note of warning. But the clerk didn’t know Kaz, didn’t recognize the change in the rough scrape of his voice. He thought he’d found a wedge, something Kaz wanted.

…

Slowly, Kaz began to let the man’s legs slide through his grasp. It’s terrible, isn’t it? Knowing someone holds your life in his hands. The clerk’s voice rose another octave as he realized his mistake. She’s just a working girl, he screamed. She knows the score! I’m a good man. I’m a good man!

There are no good men in Ketterdam, Kaz said. The climate doesn’t agree with them. And then he’d simply let go.

Kaz was actually so insane for this

Insanely hot—

But in all seriousness. Kaz doesn’t just kill people. Especially children

He was about to let this man go free right up until he realized just how rotten and disgusting of a person he was

We’ve all seen the memes that are like “Kaz is okay with murderers , but he draws the line at disrespecting women”

And we stan

Well.. I don’t actually condone murder that actually is super bad-

Don’t kill people— but…

This is just a book—

Don’t include almost the entire chapter challenge go—

Annnd I failed immediately

Kaz squat down so he could look the little girl in the eye. “What’s this big fellow’s name?” Kaz said, laying a hand on the dog’s wrinkled neck.

“This is Maestro Spots.”

“Is that so?”

“He has a very fine howl. Da lets me name all the puppies.”

“Is Maestro Spots your favorite?” asked Kaz.

She appeared to think, then shook her head.

“I like Duke Addam Von Silverhaunch best, then Fuzzmuzzle, then Maestro Spots.”

“That’s good to know, Hanna.”

Her mouth opened into a little O. “How do you know my name?”

“I know all children’s names.”

“You do?”

“Oh, yes. Albert who lives next door and Gertrude on Ammberstraat. I live under their beds and in the backs of the closets.”

“I knew it,” the girl breathed, fear and triumph in her voice. “Mama said there was nothing there, but I knew it.” She cocked her head to one side. “You don’t look like a monster.”

“I’ll tell you a secret, Hanna. The really bad monsters never look like monsters.”

Now the little girl’s lip trembled. “Did you come to eat me? Da says monsters eat children who don’t go to bed when they’re told.”

“They do. But I won’t. Not tonight. If you do two things for me.” His voice was calm, almost hypnotic. It had the coarse rasp of an over-rosined bow. “First, you must crawl into bed. And second, you must never tell anyone you’ve seen us, especially your da.” He leaned forward and gave Hanna’s braid a playful tug. “Because if you do, I’ll slit your mother’s throat and then your father’s, and then I’ll cut out the hearts of all these sweet slobbering hounds. I shall save Duke Silverhaunch for last so that you will know it’s all your fault.” The little girl’s face was as white as the lace on the neck of her nightgown, her eyes wide and bright as new moons. “Do you understand?” She nodded frantically, chin wobbling. “Now, now, no tears. Monsters see tears and it only whets their appetites. Off to bed with you, and take that useless Maestro Spots along too.”

Kaz is the boogeyman confirmed

“When she was gone, Wylan slipped out from behind the door and followed Kaz down the steps. “How could you say something like that to her? She’s just a child.”

“We were all just children once.”

“But—”

“It was that or snap her neck and make it look like she fell down the stairs, Wylan. I think I showed remarkable restraint. Move.”

I probably didn’t need to include this entire scene, but it’s always been a favorite of mine

Kaz is so scary here

And yet- he’s almost playful too

If he hadn’t threatened to kill her parents at the end it’s a mostly silly conversation

Matthias gave a high birdcall from the other end of the street. Kaz glanced at his watch and ran a hand through his hair, ruffling it wildly. “Right on time.”

They rounded the corner and slammed directly into Cornelis Smeet.

Previous | Next

[erodasfishtacos]

blurb for cowboyrry: harry being so caring and helping y/n do her treatment for IVF like the injections and getting her through it

tw: fertility struggles, needles

-

It was nearly ten at night, Harry had just walked in after a long day at the farm - working for four am to ten pm had him dead on his feet.

The summer was the busiest time on their farm, they had produce, milk, meats that had to be sent out to their vendors on time or that meant a loss in wages.

Anyone other man would be at their wits end, no patience, after doing hard labor in the southern heat for over twelve hours with little to no break.

Harry, however, his patience for his wife seemed never ending - it didn’t matter how stressful his day was, he always had time for her.

He knows he has to be home to help inject her shot, right at the plush of her tummy because she struggles to do them herself with shakey hands - plus he wants to be there.

YN is wrapped up in a towel, laying on their bed when he walks in, he was filthy, and so he murmurs, “Hi sugar, give me a minute to jump in the shower.”

After Harry’s scrubs clean and in a new pair of briefs, he gathers the tote of medical items they use nearly five times a day and brings them out to the bed.

YN is unusually quiet as she unties her towel, revealing herself to be completely bare except for a pair of cotton panties.

“Sweet pea,” Harry says softly, it’s a statement in itself because he’s thumbing at her soft skin where they’ve been instructed to inject - it was swollen with gnarly bruising.

His words make her begin to sniffle before she’s full on crying into her hands, closing herself off like she’s embarrassed.

“Darling,” Harry replies alarmed, reaching up to pull her hands away from her face and tugs her into his strong chest, “You’re gonna break m’heart with these tears. What’s happening?”

“I-it’s,” YN stammers as her chest heaves, “It hurts. Every time it hurts. The more we stab at the same skin, the same area. I just want a baby.”

Harry pulls back, scooting down the bed until he’s level with her belly, he kisses at the irritated skin as his hands come to massage at her hips.

“Sweet pea, you know we can stop whenever you want to. I would never force you to do something with your body that you don’t want to,” He reassures her, thumbing over the bruising with a frown.

“Don’t act like you don’t want a baby just as much as I do,” YN snaps defensively, she was rarely ever like this, Harry knew he had to handle this situation with caution.

“Of course, I want to make you a mama,” Harry responds truthfully, “See your belly all full of my baby, watch you feed ‘em, and raise them together. But I want my wife first and foremost.”

“I just want to give you a baby,” She nearly whispers, looking back down at her hands, “And I don’t feel like I’m doing a good job.”

Harry titters as he sits her up more, “You’re blind, aren’t ya? ‘Cause I see my strong, resilient wife enduring all these tests, blood draws, pinches, and prods so that we can have a baby. You’re doing an amazing job, honey.”

YN leans forward and kisses him softly, her hand coming to brush away a few of his stray curls that are damp from the shower.

“Let’s get this over with,” YN sighs as she sits up straighter and tugs down her underwear a bit, preparing herself.

“I love you,” Harry reminds her firmly, his thumb coming to lightly ghost over her hard nipple before thumbing at the soft skin of her breast.

“I love you more,” She responds with a small smile as he rips open the alcohol swab and runs it over the injection area.

“That’s impossible, sugar. I love you more than anything on this earth and in the heavens,” He tells her as he draws the medication into the syringe - flicking the air bubbles out, “Just a pinch, pea.”

YN squeezes her eyes shut as he injects the shot into her belly, pricks of pain making her want to double over but she breathes through it.

“All done,” Harry rasps as he disposes of everything properly and takes the bag back into their bathroom before returning, “Let me rub your back.”

YN chuckles as she wipes a few stray tears, “You just work in the hot sun all day and night. I should be rubbing your back.”

Harry shakes his head as he helps her flip over, he can’t help but let his hands wander down to her bum and lightly massage her cheeks.

“What you’re going through is way more difficult than anything that I do,” Harry praises as he begins to knead at her tense shoulders, “Just let me take care of you.”

YN isn’t quite sure how she wound up with the most loving, loyal, hard-working cowboy as her husband but she really wasn’t complaining.

[bokuroskitten]

᯽⸱៰ ͘ ࣭⸰ 𖥔 ͙ࣳ Purity ring

warnings: NSFW 18+ MINORS DNI, mentions of a purity ring, is this sacrilegious? IDK LMFAO but just in case?? Clothes ripping, shibari, size kink, strength kink, manhandling, pussy inspection, a couple spanks and slaps but nothing on the face, fem-bodied reader, belly bulge, Taiju is meant to have yandere vibes so lemme know if that came through, not betaed, this is literally just the filth rotting in my brain today

Wordcount: 1.2 k 

Authors note: happy taiju day <33 the man is taking up all the space in my brain. I thought of this idea a while ago in this post about the purity ring things and it spiralled into this monster. Im trembling as I walk around, have to keep biting my lip or im gunna moan. God. he. Him. anyway. Enjoy this mess JFIJSKRHJER I am brain dead. 

It’s early Sunday morning and as per usual, you and your partner have arrived to service early. Taiju does most of the talking, his hand pressing up firmly against your spine. None of the church members would notice how he’s holding you a little tighter than usual, fingers gripping onto you from time to time when your legs seem to subtly buckle. You two go to this church every Sunday, socialize with the crowd. You’re active at the church, volunteering at the Sunday school services, and helping with the choir. 

“Those are lovely bracelets.” One of the women comments on the thick gold bangles you wear on your wrists. You give her a kind smile, head tilted a little, but of course, Taiju is the one to speak. “Don’t they suit her? She deserves nothing but the finest.” Nothing but the finest is right. He does make sure that everything that graces your body is the best of the best, including the thick, heavy red cord that encircled your wrists the night before…

He speaks as his hand smooths down your back, thick fingers coming to interlock with yours. The pad of his thumb encircles the pretty, danty purity ring on your ring finger. 

It seems like the whole church has seen it, and has commented on it before. They all know that you and Taiju are the ideal, young couple. So honourable and loyal that you wear that ring for him, save yourself for him until the two of you can happily wed right here in the church. You wear it everywhere, a symbol of your devotion to him, a symbol of the guilt that sometimes builds in your gut. 

Because although Sunday is for mass, Saturday is for you and Taiju. 

It’s for when Taiju picks you up over his shoulder. You can plead and beg all you want to be put down, kick your feet and ask him to wait. But if you skip the fight you don’t get the feeling of his large hand smacking against your ass, a single spank hard and firm enough to leave a hand print on your pretty skin. 

He hauls you onto the bed, that pretty silky nighty you wear is like child’s play between his fingers. He tears it in one smooth motion, leaving you bare, exposed to him. 

Naked except for that pretty ring on your finger. 

He’s been learning about your pussy, and has been addicted to it from the moment he first swiped his tongue along your soft folds. It’s possessed him, he claims, that your pretty body takes over him and there’s nothing that can stop him.He still takes such good care of you, even though he bounds you up with heavy ropes, the patterns overlapping your skin and making the flesh bulge where the knots meet. 

“T-Tai…” you whimper, voice slightly muffled into the sheets as you squirm the best you can with your arms bound behind your back. He’s manhandled you into this position, face down ass up and thighs spread nice and wide so you are exposed to him. He hums as a response, cheek pressed up to your ass as his amber eyes stayed glued to your pussy. He watches as it twitches under his feather-like touches, his gut tightening as he brushes his thumb over the pulsing little bud that is your clit. When he uses two fingers to pull your lips apart, exposing your clenching hole your thighs suddenly twitch. It’s too embarrassing, your body is far too hot, too exposed, and your thighs try to snap shut. 

His hand smacks on the back of your thighs so hard, the sound resounding throughout the space that is your bedroom. The welted hand print that appears matches the one on your ass and his voice lowers into a growl, rumbling through your skin and making goosebumps appear on your sensitive skin. 

“Don’t you dare, hide from me princess. Keep your thighs open” 

Your mover into his lap when he finally decides to sink into you. There’s no need for the ropes anymore, your skin is already bruised, and your nails dig into his shoulders for dear lide as he slowly, carefully sinks you on his cock. 

The first few times it was only his tip. The less he allowed into your sweet walls, the better he’d feel. He wasn’t penetrating you fully. But then your pussy started to squeeze, suck him in further, harder. And before anything else, Taiju was a good partner. If your pussy wanted more, he’d give it. Then it was half, but when he saw how your stomach started bulging as he bottomed out, how was he supposed to hold back? 

“Relax, princess, relax my pretty girl.” His voice is gruff, still holding a bite despite the nice words that leave him. His thumb is pressing steady circles into your clit, massaging it while his hand holds your hip, swallows it actually. His cock is hugged between your pussy lips and you cry as another inch breaks past your walls, arms looped tightly around his neck, heated face hidden in his shoulder. “S’too— too big.” You murmur dumbly, and he smirks to himself when your sweet mouth latches onto his skin, suckling harshly. 

“I know it is…” he responds, and it's so mean that his patience runs thin, but with a pussy like yours that’s already dribbling, soaking his lap, his heavy balls in your needy slick, he just can’t help himself. He pushes you down on his cock, the gasp that rips from your mouth Turing into a broken sob as he bounces you on his cock. 

The squelching is downright sinful, skin slapping on skin and groans sounding throughout the room. Taiju is loud, moans, grunts, and filth spills from him, his tongue smoothing over his canine teeth. 

“Fuck, prettiest fucking pussy. My pussy. Puts a fucking spell on me. Makes me a worse man, you know that baby? Fuck, your pussys gunna be the death of my fuckin sanity.” 

And you can only knod dumbly, lips hung open, drool spilling freely. Both of his hands hold your hips now, easily fuckinh you on his cock. His hips press up to meet yours when he starts to feel his balls twitch, his teeth grinding as he growls against your swollen lips, tongue sloppily exploring your mouth. 

It’s the sight of his cock in your guts that really pushes him over the edge, that and the sound of your broken cries for him. It’s the best when you get like this, your inhibitions gone, your eyes crossed and your body shaking. You beg, beg for him, his release. 

“Fill me, Tai! Oh please fill me up, daddy! Fill me fill me— make me yours~!” 

You don’t even know what you're saying, but he certainly does, and he actually laughs, voice booming when your back hits the mattress and his cock drills its shape into you. 

Your eyes stare at the pretty ring, how it glistens perfectly under the lights of the stained glass in the church. You look up at the man beside you, who stands so proud, so fall and strong as he listens to the gospel. Even when your fingers intertwine with his he doesn’t look, instead, he goes back to petting that pretty little ring. 

The ring will always stay on, but next time maybe he’ll just keep you home. He can still feel the grip of your pussy around his cock, it’s burned into his memory, his nerves. And if his soon-to-be wife just stayed at home, spread out in bed, bound pretty awaiting with a wet hole. Well, that wouldn’t be all that bad.

Property of ©bokuroskitten DO NOT COPY/TRANSLATE OR REPOST ONTO ANY OTHER PLATFORM

member of @hanayanetwork @tokyometronetwork

[jeremiah-fisher]

you and me,

—a the summer i turned pretty fic starring my first and favourite book boyfriend, jeremiah fisher ♡

「part forty, reader insert」

JEREMIAH

It’s quiet.

All around me, it’s quiet. No hum of the television, chirps of a bird, or the tune of a favourite song to signal an incoming phone call. Everything is quiet except the inside of my head.

For the last two days, quiet has been the general story of the atmosphere my body is stuffed in. Everyone in the house moves around like a ghost. We don’t say much of anything to each other except the common ‘dinner is in five minutes’ or ‘I’m going out.’

Belly cries nonstop. Usually, she does it behind the door of her bedroom, but because mine is right next to hers, I hear it through the walls, especially when I don’t want to. Because of that, I’ve taken to abusing my headphones and Spotify account. I play awful rock music or shitty rap to filter out other noises I don’t want to hear. I do it so much that my ears ring throughout the day. 

Mom is the only person who smiles anymore. She smiles at breakfast, at lunch, and at dinner. She smiles when she paints or when she gardens. She smiles when Conrad tells her he doesn’t want to eat dinner and she smiles even more when Laurel tells her not to. I think the two of them are fighting, but I’m not too keen on figuring out if that’s true or not. 

Today, my eyes are bound to the ceiling. I can’t look away even if I want to. 

All my summers have been spent in this house. Mom inherited it from my grandparents who bought it back in the early seventies. Mom spent all of her summers here, too, with her parents and her friends, then eventually, with Laurel and with Dad and the rest of us. This house has all her love in it and it’s everywhere, inside every nook and cranny, splattered on every wall and floorboard.

I don’t wipe the fresh tears which begin to stream from the corner of my eyes. I’ve cried so much lately. It feels like it’s half of the only things I do at all now. I’ve gotten so good at it, too. I know when it’s okay to cry and when I should hide my tears away.

There is a knock at my door. Instead of telling the person to come in, I pull my blanket over my head and pretend no one is there at all. Maybe if I pretend enough, I can pretend away reality.

Someone comes in anyway. 

Her presence is muted, though her steps are solid and precise. Although her figure is petite, her strides are long and in seconds flat, she is taking a seat on the corner of my bed. I hear her take in a short breath, preparing herself for what she wants to say to me. 

“It’s almost noon,” she tries gently. “Aren’t you hungry?”

I count to five in my mind prior to answering her. I’m not sure why I do it. I just know that I need to. I need those few seconds to keep myself from exploding whenever anyone speaks to me. 

“No.”

Her fingers latch onto the hem of my blanket and pull downwards. I don’t bother to struggle. If this is a war, she will find a way to win. She always does. 

“Jere, you haven’t eaten since yesterday. You have to be hungry.”

I lick my lips and turn my body away from her. “Well, I’m not.”

“The Jeremiah I know can eat six times a day if he wants to, so how am I supposed to believe you when you say you’re not hungry?”

“Laurel…”

Her smile is infectious when she teases, “Yes, Jere-Bear?”

“Please go away.”

Although I’m not expecting her to listen to me, her hand on my face is startling. Laurel brushes my hair back, her smile dimming. Her eyes fill with tears but she doesn’t cry. “You kids grew up too fast,” she murmurs. Her hand is soft on my skin.

I rub my eye with the back of my hand. “What does that mean?”

“It means…” The shake of her head tells me she wants to keep the answer to herself. “Come down and eat, okay? Even if it’s just a chocolate bar.” Laurel hates sugary foods most of all because she claims it rots our teeth, so her willingly saying I can have some is a massive deal. 

After she leaves, I sit up in bed a little then reach for my phone. It’s holding onto ten percent battery life because I haven’t charged it since yesterday morning. When the screen clicks on, text messages fill the area and so do missed calls. All from the one person I hate and miss, at the same time. 

I click away the notifications without looking at them. I already know what they say. What I’m left with then is a picture. A picture I took of her in the driver’s seat of my car smiling at me like she was both a little bit annoyed and over the moon with happiness. 

My thumb flows over the part of her cheek which shines under the sun. That’s when I notice she’s wearing my t-shirt, too. An old one I hadn’t even known was missing. There are probably a crazy number of my clothes in her closet which neither of us knows about. 

I used to leave a shirt or a crewneck in her bedroom as a kid on purpose, just to see what she would do with it. At first, she didn’t do anything but give them back. But around the time we were thirteen, she stopped. And then she started wearing them and pretending like they weren’t mine even though we both knew they were. I did a lot of stuff back then to get her to swing her gaze on me. I guess she was doing the same. 

I enter my phone and head for my messages. There are more than a hundred from her from today alone. They seem to go on forever as I scroll through them, more or less saying – begging – for the same thing. 

Daisy: please talk to me

Daisy: i’m so sorry, fishie

Daisy: please

Daisy: you have every right to be mad 

Daisy: i know that

Daisy: i’m so so sorry

Daisy: i just want to know if you’re okay

Daisy: did you eat? 

Daisy: you have to eat

Daisy: please eat

Daisy: i know you don’t want to see me or hear from me

Daisy: but just tell me once that you’re okay 

Daisy: please

Daisy: i love you

Daisy: you can hate me all you want but just know that

Daisy: i love you and i’ll never stop

There were so many times this summer when I wanted to hear those three words from her so bad that I thought it would drive me crazy–both the want and the receiving. I had spent so many of my years of my childhood the exact same way, hoping and hoping she would feel the way about me that I felt about her.

Mom says me and YN are inevitable. From the moment we met, we were meant to be together. Even when I cried in her arms last night and told her how angry I was with YN, my mom said the same thing. 

“You two you will find your way back to each other. I know it.”

And I believe her, too. I don’t want to, but I do. I’m just so mad. I feel so cheated. I never thought YN would lie to me. Not about anything. That isn’t how our friendship operated. But if I look back on this summer, I can see all the lies we did tell each other–the big and the small ones.

Is this who we are? 

Liars?

My finger hovers above the text box. So much of me wants to text her back, to yell at her digitally like I can’t physically. But I don’t. I can’t. I put my phone in my pocket. 

Exhausted despite having only just woken up, I slip out of bed wearing the shorts I never changed out of yesterday and pad my way to the door. When I open it, I’m greeted by the familiar scent of cheeseburgers and their presence in the doorway. I pick up a slightly greasy, brown paper bag and scoff, ripping off the note stapled to the top. I crumple it up and shove it in my pocket without reading it. It probably says the same thing as the one from yesterday. 

I’m sorry. I love you. 

A bedroom door down the hall cracks open. Steven walks out with his head bent over his phone. When he notices me, he starts to say something but then his gaze falls on the McDonald’s bag in my arms.

“You let her in again?”

His expression gives away his guilt, though he says nothing. I push the paper bag into his chest and tell him, “You eat that,” then I head downstairs with a pain akin to flashes of thunder in my chest. 

Mom is in her garden. Her plants surround her as if she is in a forest of her own, and there is an easel set up in front of her. Her white overalls are covered in old paint marks, splashes of reds and blues and purples. Her hair is loose and every time the wind blows a little too hard, strands fall into her eyes and she pushes them away with the back of her hands. And she’s smiling. Happily. As if life is just so perfect.

Conrad walks in from the side with his boogie board. He stops by our Mom and she smiles even more. She reaches up to caress his face and he lets her even though Conrad usually hates it when people touch him. When we were kids, he told me I’m not allowed to hug him unless it’s for something really important. I didn’t care. I hugged him anyway.

I turn away from the scene. The middle of my chest burns with an oppressive weight. I busy myself with the kitchen cabinets so I don’t have to think about it. I search through two before I locate my old, blue tumbler. I need something to drink, preferably with ice and lots of sugar.

Conrad waddles in from the back door. He has a little smile on his face and it makes me sick. He drags murky water and wet sand inside and for once, he seems not to care about it so much. I would consider it a win that he’s not picking up a mop except I know why he isn’t, and the knowledge makes me even angrier. 

“You’re tracking dirt into the house,” I tell him pointedly. “Who’s gonna clean it?”

Conrad raises a brow at me, and he looks a bit bemused. “Since when do you care about that?”

“Since now.”

He opens the storage closet and grabs a mop. He starts in on the mess then stops. Hesitation paints his features. He thinks for what feels like a whole minute before he finally speaks up again. “Can we talk?”

No. 

“What’s there to talk about? The fact that you knew Mom was sick this whole time or that you fucking lied about it to my face for months?” I swig a big gulp of my lemon water for show. Mentally, I cringe from the taste. I don’t know why I expected mine to taste like hers. It’s missing her touch. “Take your pick, big brother.”

“Jere,” he sighs. He rubs his eyebrow frantically. “I had to.”

“No, you didn’t have to. You just did. Just like you always do, you did what you wanted and left me out.”

Conrad stares at me for a second. He looks at me like he pities me, feels sorry for me, and that makes me even more irate. He has no right. None. He’s known since fucking April. He had all this time to get used to it, to know it, to look at our mom and think about the future without her. 

Dad says he’s my older brother so he’s responsible for taking care of me, and when our parents aren’t around, he has to give me everything I need. But what about everything he’s taken?

I start to walk past him when he says, “I was just trying to protect you.”

I flip around to growl at him. “From knowing something about our mom? I think you forget that she belongs to both of us.”

He doesn’t look at me when he whispers, “I never said she doesn’t.”

“You say a lot of stupid shit without saying it.”

My aggression seems not to phase him. Conrad goes back to cleaning up his mess then making more of it as he shuffles around. For some ridiculous reason, I don’t go back upstairs. I want to but I don’t. Whatever keeps me here, watching my brother with narrowed eyes, is the same thing which escalates the pressure in my chest. 

I don’t know what comes over me when I blurt, “You still like her. Don’t you?”

The her in question is obvious. Conrad stops mopping to look at me. The two of us become encased in a room of silent explosives, and I’m buzzing to load one up for a massive show.

His pitiful expression returns and I step forward, ready to smack it off his face, when he tries, “Jere… come on, man. You know I don’t.” He swallows and looks away for half a second. Then he rubs his eyes. “Even if I did, it wouldn’t matter.” 

I hate it. I hate when he gets like this. Like just because he’s older, he’s smarter and more mature and everything he says is better than anything I could ever say. When I’m mad, it ticks me off even more. He has no fucking right. Mom raised us as equals. He just thinks he’s better than me. He’s always thought that.

“Of course it fucking matters. You two kept Mom’s secret to yourselves all summer. Who knows what else you did behind my back.” 

The hidden accusation in my words makes me cringe. I hate myself a little bit for suspecting anything romantic happened between them when I know, in my heart of hearts, that nothing did. That nothing will. YN wouldn’t do that to me. 

…right?

Conrad sets the mop against a wall. He frowns at me. “You know what, Jere? Maybe I could’ve been enough of an asshole to make a move on her. But her? You know she never would.”

“I don’t know anything since you two seem to keep everything from me.” 

My brother rolls his eyes. “No one can talk to you when you’re being childish.” 

This time, I don’t hold myself back. I let my innate desire push me into tackling him to the ground, like we used to when Dad made us wrestle each other after dinner. I hated wrestling Conrad because it was never about having fun. It was about showing Dad who was the best. Conrad always won. But not this time. Not ever again.

I throw my arms around his middle and drop us both to the ground in a whirlwind of body weight, flying limbs, and heavy breathing. He instantly responds, exactly like I knew he would–by shielding himself when I go to punch him. He tries to move out of the way but I’m relentless. I want this. I need this. 

“We could have done something!” I shout, shoving him back with all the force I can muster. His head hits a wall and he groans. I go in for another punch. “All fucking summer, Conrad! You kept it to yourself! We could have done something to save her!” He pushes me in the chest but I hardly move an inch. He forgets that I still play football even if he doesn’t. 

“Jere–”

I hit his jaw. “Shut the fuck up!”

Conrad groans again when I cram him up against the wall. I grab him by the neck of his shirt to force him to look at me. I get ready to say something, something to make him feel as shitty as I’m feeling, when I notice the small tears beginning to drip down his cheeks. I freeze. His eyes land on mine. “It’s aggressive,” he whispers, and I notice a thick bruise starting to form along his jawline. He looks like the fourteen year old he was when he got tackled in football for the first time. Dad told him he couldn’t cry and we spent the whole ride home in silence. “It’s spread to her liver. There’s nothing we can do.”

I stumble back, flinching as if he just punched me. My lips wobble as he cries. Conrad Fisher, my older brother who never cries. I think about how I don’t want to cry. I can’t. Not in front of him. “N-No. That’s not t-true. Mom isn’t–” 

“Jere…” His voice chips off at the ends, then softens. He puts his hand on my shoulder and squeezes. There’s no strength to it. None at all. “I’m sorry.”

I push him away and start to stand, only to end up on the floor again. I don’t look at him when I grumble, “You’re just like Dad.” Conrad makes a noise from the bottom of his throat. It rings heavily through the kitchen, leaving its mark upon the walls and on our skin. I look at him angrily. “All he does is take and take and you took this from me, you know that? You and YN.” I put all the pressure I can manage on my knees and stand up. My whole body trembles with pain. Everything around me spins, rings, and then blurs. It feels like sensory overload. My mouth twists in a snarl as I grouch, “Both of you can go to hell.”

The moment I turn on my heels to stalk away, Mom steps in from the backyard. The screen door is halfway open, a light breeze flowing in as summer welcomes the end of August. Mom has her arms full of paint supplies. When she looks at us, every part of her being seems to fall apart in front of me. 

I suck in a breath, hating myself for letting her see us like this. I always promised her that I’d be good to my brother, that I wouldn’t fight with him about anything. But what am I supposed to do about this? This big, fat, ugly mess in our lives? This horrible thing I can’t fix?

I try to hold in the tears. I try and try but in the end, it doesn’t work. Not when Mom puts her things aside and quietly walks up to us, her paint speckled left hand finding my heated cheek. “I’m sorry,” she whispers, breaking at the seams. 

Her arms fan out and I fall right in, covering her frail body with all my skin and bones. I’m so much bigger than she is but in her arms, I feel small. I feel like I’m eight years old, hiding behind her cotton housedress when I thought there were monsters under my bed because Conrad and Steven told me there were. Mom helped me look under there and showed me there was nothing, nothing except old plastic wrappers because I had a habit of sneaking candy into my room when I wasn’t supposed to. Mom didn’t even scold me for that. She scolded Conrad and Steven for scaring me instead. All my life, I knew I could count on her. All my life, I’ve known her love better than anything else. 

“Mom,” I cry into her shoulder as she runs her hand down my back. “Please… tell me there’s something… something w-we can do. Please.”

“Oh, Jeremiah,” she whispers, her voice teetering on the edge of a sob. “Oh, my love. I wish there was. I wish for it everyday.” Her fingers sift through my hair. Then she urges me to lift my head so our eyes can meet. “I don’t want to leave my boys.” This time, she really does cry. Big, whimpery sobs which take me and Conrad by surprise. Mom isn’t a crier. Conrad gets that from her. Her eyes tear up all the time, but she never cries. Never like this.

From behind us, Conrad stumbles in. He wipes the blood from the corner of his lip where it split then slowly drops his own forehead on our Mom’s other shoulder. We encase her this way, as if shielding her from the inevitable, and then we just cry. Not one of us stops to think about how it looks or how Laurel, Steven, or Belly might see us, hear us. We don’t care about any of it. 

After a while, the motion of Mom’s breathing slows, and reluctantly, me and Conrad pull away to give her space. Her eyes are bloodshot, the skin on her cheeks wet with teardrops. Conrad wipes them away as I sniffle. 

Mom reaches out to hold both of us by one hand each. Her arms are so thin. I can’t believe I spent the whole summer without noticing how much the cancer has changed her.

Her gaze flows over our faces languidly, as if she is taking her time to sketch us to memory. She did that so much when we were kids, especially when she first got diagnosed. Whenever any of us was doing anything, anything at all, Mom would sit and tilt her head a little and just watch us with the fondest smile on her face, like what was happening in front of her – even if it was just a bunch of kids building a pillow fort in the living room – was the single greatest event to ever take place. Mom always says the small moments matter just as much as the big ones, and sometimes, you remember them more after time has passed.

“I’m sorry,” she says again, squeezing our hands. “I didn’t want you to know. Either of you. I wanted this summer to be perfect, just like all the ones before. I couldn’t forgive myself if my sickness took away your happy smiles.” Mom peers at Conrad, and something even gentler transforms her expression. “Connie, I should’ve known that you knew. I think…” Her tears start falling again. She takes a deep, albeit shaky breath. “I think I was scared to believe it. I thought I was hiding it well. I just wanted you both to be so h-happy. I’m so s-sorry.” 

Conrad, who had previously been drilling holes into the ground with his intense stare, brings his eyes up to our mother. His lips wobble, too. “Mom, if there’s a way–”

Her lips dive inwards and she nods. “I don’t… if there was a way… God… if there was a way, I would do anything. I would do anything to stay with you both.” Her hand shakes in mine so I hold on tighter. Mom sets her eyes on me. “Forgive your mother this once for not knowing what to do.”

I take everyone by surprise when my incoming sob transforms into a hiccup. I feel every bit as childish as Conrad said I was. 

Mom hugs me to her, and I let it happen. Then for the first time in my life, I whisper an honest prayer.

. . .

The next day leaves two more before the end of our summer in Cousins. 

When I wake up, it’s to the sound of muffled voices outside my bedroom door. All night, I sat on the sofa with Mom and Laurel watching musicals. From Moulin Rouge to The Sound of Music. 

Mom was so excited when I offered to watch them with her. Back at home, I actively avoided being roped into musical nights, pretending I had homework or that I was sleepy. Now, I want to do everything I can to make her happy. Even if that means sitting through God-awful music films that make my ears pop (although, admittedly, Bugsy Malone wasn’t so bad). 

Tiredly, I sit up in my bed and use a pillow to keep myself propped up. I can see two pairs of feet under the thick strip of space under my door. It doesn’t take much guessing to comprehend who they belong to, and once I understand, I am up on my own feet and shuffling to open the door. 

Mom’s lips part as she takes me in, apparently not expecting me to be there, while the girl beside her stares at me with shocked, watery eyes. I barely glance at her even though all I want to do is stare. I haven’t seen her in days. I didn’t know missing her and hating her at the same time could hurt so much.

“Why are you here?” I spit, adding as much rage as I can to my voice. I notice a familiar McDonald’s bag in her arms and a packet of Skittles. I swallow the lump in my throat. “Get out of my house.”

Mom snaps her head towards me and gasps. “Jeremiah!”

“Mom, make her leave. I don’t want to see her face.”

But I miss it. 

I miss her.

I look at her again. I don’t want to, but I do. And then I wish I hadn’t. 

Her face is wrought with emotion. Every sad, pathetic, pleading emotion under the sun, and when I look at her, I feel them. I feel all of them, as if everything in her heart races to find mine.

Body frozen, lips timidly parted, and splotchy skinned, YN appears every bit as grieved as the rest of us are. The colour of her dark brown eyes is veiled by the misery of my mother’s situation with old and fresh tears springing to the surface. Each time a tear threatens to spill out, she sharply inhales through her nose. I take it to mean exactly what she wants it to–this isn’t about me. 

Her body language tells me wretched stories of days past when all she did was cry. Half of me thinks good, she deserves it while the other vehemently scorns the part of me that is okay with hurting her in any capacity. 

Even when I hate her, I love her.

Mom slides her arm around YN’s shoulders determinedly. YN stifles a cry while she seems to hold her up. And it kills me. 

“That is no way to speak to your girlfriend, Jeremiah Fisher,” my mother argues, enunciating my full name with particular fervency. “Apologize to YN right now.”

YN cranes her head to shoot her down but I beat her to it. “I’m not apologizing to someone who lied to me all summer.”

Mom sighs and drops her arms to her sides. She looks at me the same way Conrad did yesterday–with pity and shades of remorse. “Your brother and I asked her to keep it a secret. YN did nothing wrong.” 

The truth hits me square in the chest. It wraps its arms around the pain there, the pain which has bled my heart dry for days, and forces me to acknowledge it, to sit with it in my head and figure this out. 

I clench my fist and shake my head. Then I push down the new lump in my throat. “That doesn’t change anything.” 

Except it should. It should. 

So why doesn’t it? Why am I still so hurt?

I don’t wait for either of them to respond, to add something new to the mix. I walk past them, down the stairs, and out the front door. I run down the porch steps then sprint as fast as I possibly can towards the beach. All the while, hot tears drip down my cheeks, and I don’t bother wiping them away. What was the point–of doing that or anything else when my Mom is dying and there is nothing I can do to stop it from happening. 

The moment I drop down on the stretch of land that had belonged to our family forever, the sky begins to crackle and hefty, grey clouds float in. It takes all of twenty seconds for the first few raindrops to make their descent downwards, meeting my bare skin as I stretch my head back towards the gloomy weather.

All around me, sand grains bead up and roll off, the ocean roars with furor as it laps against the shore, reaching for me and I think about it, I think about letting it take me away. 

The rain on my skin soaks me from top to bottom as I sit out there. A few times, I think I hear someone calling my name, asking me to come back. But then it goes silent and all I hear is the Earth and my own heart. 

It doesn’t last long, the rain, and by the time it leaves, so much of me is begging for it to come back. When it rains, I don’t have to think. I don’t have to worry or stress or wonder. I can just be. 

I push my hair back, sniffling to myself and start to draw shapes in the sand–squares, triangles, hearts, flowers. Everything which comes to mind in this moment, I draw into the wet sand beneath my feet. 

A few minutes later, the presence of someone else joins me. He says nothing, does nothing except stare out at the waves, and we sit there, in cloves of silence. And it’s silence I’m not good with, which is what pushes me to lure his thoughts out with a long inhale.

“I don’t need babysitting.”

“I’m not here to babysit,” he explains, chuckling a little. Every little thing makes him laugh, even the hard stuff. Whenever the moms scolded him as a kid, he would laugh about it way before he cried. Like a nervous habit to shield his feelings. “Even though you are acting like a big, dumb baby.”

I roll my eyes with a quiet scoff. “Whatever.”

He crosses his legs beneath him then swings forward to draw a cat in the sand. Like YN, he has always been exceptionally good at art. He ignores that part of him, but it’s there; an innate talent. “How long are you gonna stay mad at her?”

“Forever.” He stops drawing to stare at my side profile. It becomes suffocating after he doesn’t say anything for a short while. I look at him. “What, Steven?”

He shrugs and goes back to his drawing. He gives the cat a bushy tail. “I don’t know, man. I don’t get why you’re mad at her. Not anymore, anyway.”

“What the hell do you know?”

Again, he shrugs. This time, he stops drawing altogether. He stares out at the ocean again. “I think you’re dumb as fuck.”

“Bro, you don’t–”

“Don’t ‘bro,’ me,” he instantly argues back. “She was just trying to protect you. You’re gonna throw away being happy with her because she made a mistake?”

“She lied to me.” 

“To protect you. Jere, it’s YN. She’s not just some girl you hooked up with this summer. She’s…” Steven folds his lips in. He seems to lose himself in a myriad of thoughts for a second. “Don’t do what I did and fuck this up. There’s no guarantee you can take it back.”

For a moment, I let his words wash over me. I try to make sense of them in my head, but my heart is unrelenting. It wants to scream and shout and beg for things to be different even though I know they can’t be anything other than what they are. 

Steven keeps talking. His voice is softer now, less harsh. “And you’re gonna need her.” He pauses to swallow and I know he’s close to crying. “We’re all gonna need each other.” He sets a firm but comforting hand on my back. “I know you’re pissed, and that’s your right. But don’t shut her out. What you have with YN… that’s once in a lifetime. And you got damn lucky to have it in this lifetime. No one loves you like she does. All the stuff she kept from you was to protect you. No matter what, she didn’t do it for any other reason. You gotta know that.” 

We spend a good portion of the morning there, me and my oldest friend in the world. We sit there and look out over the horizon, making silent wishes until it’s time to go back into the house. 

On the way back, I see her in the backyard with my Mom. Mom has her easel set up again, rain droplets all around, and she’s laughing, painting an image of YN with daisies in her hair. And for the first time in days, I smile.

. . . 

YN

Toward the end of the morning, Susannah finally finishes her portrait of me. She refuses to let me see it because she wants to do a big unveiling on our last day in Cousins. Then she says she will hang them all up in the family room amongst her other prized art pieces, like the original photography by Cindy Sherman of 1950s America.

Jeremiah is playing video games with Steven and Conrad in the living room when I walk back into the house. I stand by the entryway to the living room for a while, pretending like I am interested in what Laurel and Susannah start to talk about, just so I can sneak glances at him. Belly notices and shakes her head at me. 

She is furious with me, too, but she is better about it than anyone else. She says she can understand why I kept everything a secret because it’s hard to say “no” to Susannah when she asks something of you. 

When Jeremiah turns around to look at me, finally noticing my presence, I hurriedly walk towards the front door. I shout, “I’m gonna head home!” to anyone who is listening then hightail it out of there. I race home as quickly as possible, my lungs on fire as I reach my porch. When I get to my bedroom, I fall face first into my bed and allow the mattress to pull me into its embrace. 

I stay like that all day. Hours pass and I don’t do anything except stay in bed and cry and cry until there are no tears left. Even though more still come. It feels like I could cry for an eternity and not run out of tears to shed. 

My mother comes by twice to check on me. The third time, she forces herself into my bedroom and tuts at me for letting my dinner go cold. When I tell her I don’t want food even though she has cooked my favourite, my mother sits down beside me and pushes my hair back with her palm. Her smile is sweet, albeit a little pensive. 

“He’ll come around,” she promises. “He loves you.”

I breathe in slowly, avoiding more tears, but they keep coming. “I don’t think love is enough to fix this.”

My mother shakes her head and smiles a little brighter and says, with all the hope I lack, “Love is always enough.”

Close to midnight, when the space inside my room is so quiet you could tell it every secret in the world, the legs of my bedside table begin to shake as a result of the crude vibrations exiting my phone. I try to ignore it at first because the last thing I want to do is talk to Shayla or Steven or Belly or even Conrad. I don’t want to talk to anyone I know besides the one person who refuses to speak to me. Though, eventually, ignoring my phone becomes almost impossible. 

I sniffle as I go to pick up my phone. When the screen clicks on, it shines too bright and in the darkness encasing me, I very nearly blind myself. I dim the screen before attending to the incoming notifications. A few of them are from TikTok, a few from Instagram, two texts from Shayla saying goodbye because she’s leaving Cousins earlier than planned, a text from Belly wondering if I’ll go into town with her for muffins tomorrow, and finally, a single text from Jeremiah. 

I leap out of bed to read it.

Jeremy: don’t fall asleep

The beat of my heart gains new purpose as it wistfully springs back to life. It feels as though someone has brought me back into the world after I spent days lost and lonely in space. 

I rush to the balcony and pull the doors open inward. Gerald’s trunk shakes hastily. I hold my breath. I count to five in my head. I pinch my thigh. And when he finally falls into my view, I take a nervous step back. 

All I wanted ever since the night of the debutante ball was to see him again. For it to be just us two with no distance in between. I wanted to hold him and explain myself and tell him he means the universe and more to me over and over until he knew it. And I wanted him to understand, above everything else, that I would never leave him, I would never stop loving him with every part of me. 

Jeremiah crosses into my room and shakes his hair out before he turns back to shut the balcony door. Then he makes a joke and it feels like everything is fine when it isn’t. When it will never truly be again. Not when Susannah is sick. 

“I think Gerald’s getting old. He shakes like a leaf when I climb him.”

I hesitate, and then, “Jeremiah…” 

The boy in front of me closes his eyes for a second, and then tardidly and gorgeous, his mouth rises up in a smile. “I missed that,” he says, opening his eyes again, “hearing you say my name.”

My lips tremble. I try again and fail at holding my tears back. The emotions pour out of me in dense, broken sobs. “I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”

He takes a step towards me. I stay rooted where I am. His scent wafts into my house and I try so hard not to let it affect me even though it does so easily. He licks his lips. His eyes are a chaos; the blues of them as lost and lonely as me. “Do you know how impossible it is not to love you?” His eyes start to shimmer, and I really think he might cry. “Even when I was so pissed off at you… I still missed you.” 

“I’m sorry–”

He shakes his head and takes another step closer. We are almost chest-to-chest now. I take a step back. “I don’t want to hear that anymore. I don’t want you to be sorry.”

“Then…?” 

He bites his bottom lip then pulls it into his mouth. Tears loosen from his eyes and cascade down, leaving a moistened trail of his woe upon the red pudginess of his cheek. His Adam’s apple bobs, up and down, while he swallows then looks away. And I recognize it. After all our years together, I know him. 

I take back the steps I took away from him and reach for his hand. I interlace our fingers, mine wrapped with his, and bring it between our chests. I hold us here, in this imperfect space in time, watching him take tiny breaths, little gasps almost, as he cries. 

“I’m here,” I whisper, my thumb settling over his as it gently moves back and forth. I peck the back of his hand. “I won’t ever leave.”

He breathes out, so slow and laboured that it seems to go on forever and ever. Then he falls into me, his tall, heavier frame over mine and I hold him to my chest with all the love I carry for him inside me. His body seems to go limp, and I keep holding him up.

On my shoulder, he whispers, “I don’t wanna think about life without her.” I wind both arms around him and hold on tighter. He brings himself higher and fixes his face into the space between my neck and shoulder. I pile my fingers in his hair, tangling them with his curly, blond locks.

I kiss the side of his face, stumbling over my own tears, “I love you.” 

His own arms wrap around me, our hearts and souls grim with thoughts of the future. I take him to my bed, depositing him on his favourite side, then sliding in, too. I let my fingers rest in his hair again, pushing strands back and forth until the slow, dreamy motion sends us to sleep.

. . .

author's note: oh my god. i cannot believe this is real and we're at the end of you and me. thank you for taking this journey through daisy and jeremiah's love story with me. i had the time of my life writing this fic for myself, for you, and for these beautiful characters. thank you times infinity 💘 i’ll see you in the epilogues next! 🤟

[moonchildstyles]

the other anons got me thinking…

i think h and pretty girl would cockwarm occasionally because it makes her feel that much closer to him, and especially when their schedules are so busy they hardly see the other except at night, but i also think that they’re suckers for going bare in general and getting messy 🥸 like she loves feeling him like that and how noisy it makes him that he can barely speak and she’s just carding her fingers through his hair and keeping their foreheads together even though they can’t kiss properly because of their moans, and h is definitely one to keep eye contact when he comes (especially when it’s a particularly passionate night), mainly because he loves to see his girls facial expression when she feels him cum inside her and he obviously pushes her to another orgasm while that’s happening and they are both on cloud 9 breathing heavily and she’s whimpering because Harry can’t help but keep lightly brushing his fingers around her clit and up her body as they both come down and he distracts her with a kiss when he pulls out and he can feel his cum going with him and he pulls away from her to hike her knees up by her chest and just watch as his cum seeps from her and she’s covering her face with her arm while he just stares at her and he’s mumbling “don’t be shy, sweet thing, you know how pretty you look like this,” and she can’t even deny that because maybe they’ve taken some photos of this exact thing before and they both agree it’s one of the times she looks the prettiest because shes fucked out and pliant her hair is messy and lips swollen, but the love in her eyes is unmatched as she looks at Harry. and after a few seconds of just watching himself drip out of her, he makes even more of a mess, dipping his thumb into the sticky mess and swiping it over her centre, her hips jolting when he brushes her clit and then he’s slowly slipping his fingers inside of her, making her gasp as he mumbles about how he wants her to keep it all inside for him, “you can be my good girl, right?” and she’s nodded, trying not to squirm against his hand as he curls his fingers up and sparks more heat in her belly again and he’s slowly working his fingers, the mess spreading to the inside of her thighs and when she’s breathing heavily and her thighs are threatening to close in his grip, that’s when he leans down to lick over her, moaning at their taste and he can feel himself getting hard again, his lips around her clit as she cums again around his fingers and only causes more of himself to drip onto the sheets and he’s mumbling sweet praises to her, lifting up and swiping his tongue over hers as he puts her feet back down on the best, “my best girl letting me clean you up whenever you get messy,” and she’s mumbling back something about how he caused it and he can’t disagree, and maybe since he’s hard again she sucks him off- I can see them doing it where maybe he’s sitting on her face but still letting her have the control as she works her mouth over him until he’s spilling into her mouth and pulling away to kiss her again before she has the chance to swallow everything… i just think h really likes the mess and tasting each other together 😌 - 🍓

this......thisis.......I don't even know if I can elaborate bc just the idea of him folding her up just so he can see him dripping out of her.......CLEANING HER UP WITH HIS TONGUE.............AND HER SUCKSHFGSIHOFUSOF HIM OFF SHUFHSUFIHSUF AS HE SITS ONH HER FACE HUSOFGHSUFHSU okay I literally need to lay down

[lacheri]

streets

pairing: dom!Levi x stripper!fem bodied reader

content: modern au, sex work (stripping), degradation, hint of praise kink, fingering, unprotected penetrative sex, choking, slapping, dom/sub themes, Levi's a whole freak in the sheets, also mf has a split personality, minors DNI

summary: erwin drags his lonely best friend, levi, out to a strip club.

wc: 7.7k

Violent vibrations of bass shook through your platform teasers, one leg moving tantalizingly slow in front of the other as neon lights flashed around you. The silver pole loomed in front of you, your hips swaying as you strutted across the stage. You could feel the intense stare of eyes belonging to strangers as you finally wrapped your fingers one by one around the cold metal, circling so slowly around it, pushing your ass and chest out on display. You flicked your eyes up, heavy from false eyelashes, and searched around you.

Some familiar faces, most new, met your gaze as the club’s lights lit up in a dark red. They were all focused on you, sitting forward patiently in their plush seats, waiting to devour your body with their eyes. You leaned your back against the pole, looking down at your body. You were glad you had worn your favorite set of dancing gear, a see-through black mesh bralette and a matching set of panties, and of course, your six inch sparkly pleaser heels. It was simple, yet so effective when it came to the stuffed wallets of your onlookers.

There was one man in the sea of others who caught your attention tonight though. He sat directly in the center, his expression seemingly unamused and unentertained. You wanted to roll your eyes, discarding yourself of this fantasy you were presenting on stage. You resisted the urge, instead, turning your head in the opposite direction, and rolled your torso until you sat crouched. You leaned forward, head turned straight now, ass sticking right up in the air as the tops of your breasts squished against the stage. You used the leverage from your knees to shake your exposed ass cheeks, watching the raven haired man bring his hand to his face, stroking along his jaw as he took in the sight of you.

You parted your legs slowly, bringing a knee in front of the other, crawling towards the edge of the stage. You pushed yourself up from your elbows until you were in an upright position, allowing your hips to sink forward as you continued to roll your body to the beat. Still, no reaction, or sign that he was going to throw money on you, you scoffed internally and turned your attention to the blonde gentleman sitting closely next to him, a wad of dollar bills crushing in his grip. You smirked mischievously, leaning backwards until you felt the cold metal brush against your back. Flattening out, you brought your legs up, shaking them high in the air to allow your ass and thighs to move in rhythm. You felt the air brush past you as bills went flying in the air, and you smiled in euphoria. Money was your love language, and anyone who threw bills at your half naked form became your lover for however long your dance lasted.

You placed your feet on solid ground, leveraging yourself upwards to a full stand, turning around sauntering back to the pole. You wrapped a lone leg around the cold cylinder, elongated from your heels, and jumped into a spin. Your hands gripped high above you, dangling your head back as you swung in a pretty circle, your other leg posed straight down. Once you had found this balance, you let your right hand leave the stability of the pole, running it down the front of your body, over the swell of your breasts and the flat of your stomach, stopping right before you met your center. You slid downwards until both your feet met the stage floor as you crouched once more, popping your ass out to move the muscles one at a time of your cheeks. You glanced backwards, and you were pleased to see the dark haired man’s cold steel eyes locked in on your body.

He was very handsome, as was his blonde friend. Your best guess was that they were in their late twenties, maybe early thirties. You watched the ravenette reached in his pocket, almost in disgust as he pulled out single bills. You couldn’t see the dollar amount from your angle, so you maneuvered back onto your knees to give all your attention to the man in front of you. You tried the same move as before, crawling on all fours as seductively as you could, this time your knuckles wrapped around the very edge of the stage. You learned forward, a couple of feet away from the man as his expression darkened. As if you were a gravitational pull, he leaned forward as well, only a few inches away. Close enough to reach out and touch him, your thumb and pointer finger met the collar of his white button up, softly trailing the fabric. At the same time you reached out, he was doing the same, tucking the small stack of cash in between the valley of your breasts, managing to not touch any of your exposed skin as he did so.

Thinking about your other awaiting customers, you quickly withdrew your teasing, a smirk laced on your lips. You blew the man a kiss, winking, crawling backwards on the stage.

Your onlookers ravaged your body with their eyes as you continued your dance. Your chest was rising rapidly, out of breath as you did your final spin on the pole. You ended your dance in a slow split, toes pointed and curled as you felt your clothed pussy meet the now warmed material of the stage under you. You pulled yourself up after an explosion of cash was tossed on stage, flashing a seductive smile before retreating behind the curtain to the back of the stage. You’d have one of the security guys clean your cash up before the next girl walked on, knowing they’d get a small cut from doing you the favor.

You relaxed your body into a chair in the dressing room, sighing loudly. The room was empty, makeup and costumes littered about the mirror space as all the girls working were either out on the floor or giving out private dances. You just needed the quick break, you had danced pretty hard out there. You were debating switching outfits, as this one was a little too revealing for casually strolling on the floor.

You shrugged, getting up to get into your locker space, retrieving a cropped leather jacket, chains dangling around the body, brushing against your exposed skin and as you pushed your arms through the sleeves. This would at least give you the illusion that you were covered up much more than what you had believed.

Powdering your shiny face before you exited, you breathed in deeply as neon lights greeted you once again on the club floor. You worked at a pristine strip club, ratings high and prices even higher. There was a twenty dollar fee to even get in the place, and when you finally got in the door, the bouncers up front would make a copy of your driver’s license, just in case you fucked up somehow and they needed to add to you the banned list. Which was a pretty long list, hence the photo copies.

The dancers were high quality as well, all different shapes and sizes and ethnicities. It was almost like a buffet, you could get whatever you desired, just had to go out and look first. Everyone working the shifts danced, absolutely no exception. Of course, you’d want to dance though, making exceptionally more money than on the shifts where you’d stick behind the bar crafting drinks. If you were asked by one of your friends how much money you’d make on a night like this, you’d feel guilty as you would humbly lie, not wanting to entice them into auditioning at your place of employment. When the club was at full capacity, as it was right now as you sashayed to the bar, you could easily walk home with a couple grand. This job paid your bills, bought you pretty things, put food in your belly, it meant everything to you.

“Hey, Annie! Gin and tonic, pretty please,” you batted your thick eyelashes at your favorite blonde bartender.

She only nodded, shooting a desperate plea between you and the overcrowded area of the bar area with her eyes. You snickered, feeling her pain all too well, having spent many a night behind the counter, non-stop pouring drinks. Annie slid your drink over as quickly as she could, being stolen away by an already drunken man requesting a round of shots before you could hold a conversation with her. You shrugged, taking large gulps of your glass. You were parched from your dance, alcohol quenching your thirst. You hadn’t realized you downed your cocktail until you felt the clink of ice hit the front of your teeth. You left the empty glass at the bar, turning around and leaning against the counter as you planned out your next moves.

“You should dance to Doja Cat more often,” you heard a familiar voice hum next to you, looking up into the eyes of your security guard, Connie. A black bag you knew was full of your cash was held in his grip, a playful smile on his lips, “Took me like ten whole minutes to clean this up off the stage.”

You laughed lightly along with Connie, “What would I do without you? Could you put that in my locker for me, babe? I just left the dressing room.”

“‘S gonna’ cost you,” he joked, already leaving your form to follow your request. “You owe me a round of tequila shots, Patrón!”

Connie disappeared in the sea of bodies before you could call out a remark. You sighed, flopping your head onto your shoulder, eyeing back the gazes from different men who took in your relaxed body. None of them piqued your interest, and you found yourself feeling quite lonely in the middle of the club.

This was the last place on Earth Levi had pictured himself in. When Erwin had grabbed Levi’s arm, tugging him out of his home office, a strip club was the very last place Levi could’ve fathomed ending up in.

“You, my friend, are going to have a good fucking night!” Levi recalled his blonde friend shouting at him, tossing the much smaller man into Erwin’s passenger seat of his truck. Levi had only grumbled, disappointed his hot cup of tea would become cold in his absence, the novel he had been reading left disheveled on his desk. When Erwin had pulled into a parking lot, Levi finally had taken notice of their destination.

“What the fuck are we doing at a strip club?” he spat through clenched teeth, a migraine coming on.

“Attempting to get you laid,” Erwin smirked, sliding out from the driver’s seat. Levi had no choice but to follow, Erwin not giving him even a moment to try and talk his way into heading back home.

“Why?” Levi was seething, blood pumping loudly in his ears. Why did Erwin care about Levi’s state of his love life, or lack thereof?

“Levi,” Erwin paused, sighing before the entrance. “I’ve known you since sophomore year of college, that was almost six years ago, and that entire time I’ve seen you go out on one date. You didn’t even see the girl again after it either!”

“She was boring,” Levi defended, his eyebrows furrowing. “Most people are boring. Why waste my time?”

“Because, some people are worth it. I forced you to be my friend, and look at us now!”

“You’re not an idiot,” the corner of Levi’s lips lifted.

“I think that might be the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me,” Erwin chuckled, tone sarcastic. It was true though, Levi would’ve never allowed Erwin to try and befriend him all those years ago if he had been a total lost cause. Erwin was smart though, driven and ambitious. He worked hard and never slacked off, traits Levi deeply admired. “C’mon, what’s the harm in having a bit of fun?”

There was a lot of harm, turns out. Levi was caught completely off guard by how nice this club was, bouncers all over the pristine premise. He visibly relaxed at this point, his inner germaphobe sated. Though he did use hand sanitizer generously before sitting down on the plush chair in front of the stage, Erwin chatting in his ear over how beautiful the dancers were here. Levi half listened, more interested in his glass of whiskey than his best friend. He downed it easily, almost like he was drinking water. Then the lights dropped, and you had walked out.

With all his might, Levi tried to act like he wasn’t enticed, not wanting to bring Erwin any satisfaction. It was true, Levi’s love life was basically nonexistent. Only having sex with maybe three girls in his lifetime, it had been awhile to say the least since he had seen a beautiful woman in this state of undress. When you had leaned down, breasts pressing so sinfully against the stage, crawling towards him all on fours, a primal urge rippled through Levi’s body. Like you were daring him to act out, to cave in entirely to your will.

He felt a piece of himself missing when you exited the stage, but the room felt lighter, taking a deep breath to steady himself. Erwin was in a similar frame of mind, shooting Levi a knowing look.

“Well, what’d you think?” Erwin leaned towards his friend, a small smile on his face.

“I think that’s the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen in my life,” Levi groaned, uncomfortable admitting this, rubbing his hands across his face.

“You should pay her for a dance, I know I’m definitely going to get one later,” Erwin’s eyes followed a thick dark skinned woman, swaying her hips, winking at Erwin as she walked past. He pushed up off his chair then, “Actually, hold that thought.”

The absence of his friend so suddenly had left Levi feeling awkward and out of place. His lips held an amused scowl as he watched Erwin confidently approach the woman, her luscious lips twisting into a smile of her own as she grabbed his hand, and led him away from Levi’s view. The ravenette stood then, empty glass in tow, and decided that he would need another drink to get through the rest of the night.

That’s when Levi had seen you, leaning so casually against the marble countertops of the bar as if you had owned the place. Your eyes drooping in disinterest, too cool to associate with the crowd around you. You didn’t even seem to notice various men eyeing your form, talking amongst each other, never breaking their focus from you. And Levi had to admit, you did look so fucking cool. The realization that Levi himself had joined the crowd of your many onlookers startled him, beginning to feel embarrassment and guilt for admiring you almost as if you were an object. When your eyes had met his though, and a pretty smile changed your entire expression, any and all thoughts and feelings rocketed out of Levi’s mind.

He felt his feet move towards you before he could think thoroughly. You stayed, still and collected, eyes never breaking from his. As his strides graced closer and closer, Levi broke the connection from you, stopping to your side and calling out an order to a blonde bartender, ignoring you entirely.

Your shock rang through you like a gong, deep and humbling. This wasn’t what you had predicted in those fleeting seconds when you had seen the raven haired man making intentful strides to you. He was close enough to your body that you could hear the soft cotton of his white button up brush against the thick fabric of your leather jacket, and you felt licks of insecurity, a rare emotion for you.

“What? Shocked I’m not down on my knees begging for you?” Levi couldn’t stop the words from leaving his lips, noticing from the corner of his eye that you had stiffened dramatically.

You whipped your head to see him, to see his stupid expression as you were sure this man thought he was God’s gift to mankind. You knew this personality well, a common one with your clients believing that because you were after their money, you were technically working for them. To your surprise, you were met with the man’s steel grey eyes hard set in disinterest.

“No one’s going to give you a dance with that attitude, sir,” you huffed, clawing mentally to keep your cool. “Keep it up and watch how fast we get you kicked out.”

This man, a complete stranger to you, only ‘tsk’ed, digging in his black slacks to pull out his thick wallet, “I’ll pay you a grand if you take me back for a dance right now.”

Oh shit, you blinked, trying to process his offer. That’s a lot of fucking money.

“You have a funny way of showing that you like me,” you quirked an eyebrow, debating internally. “What’s the catch? What’s your thing?”

“My thing?”

“Your kink, your game, what’re playing at?”

“I’m not going to pay you to stand there and talk to me about what I like in privacy,” Levi scoffed, slightly embarrassed at the very public conversation that he believed was always meant to be in private.

“Fine,” your hand shot out, circling around his bicep, his strong bicep. “Let’s go, sir.”

Honestly the pet name was a shot in the dark, your best guess at what could possibly please this very attractive client. His moody attitude was throwing you off of your very whimsical and flirty facade, parts of your real personality peeking through the cracks. You didn’t know that Levi was actually enjoying this interaction, feeling flutters of admiration at your sharp tongue and quick mindedness.

You guided him to the back of the club, a bouncer stationed outside of a hallway. You nodded to the burly man, and he stepped aside and allowed the two of you to enter the hallway of doors. Numbers gold plated on each wooden door led the way, and Levi was starting to feel flickers of impatience.

The feelings settle once you unlock a door, pushing it open and Levi gazing inside. A plush leather couch sat in the center of the small room, LED lights flashing different colors slowly along the ceiling, and you guided him to sit down. His face was passive, and had you known the man’s thoughts in that moment, you’d know that Levi was unbelievably nervous. While he had the help of the liquid courage provided by his whiskey neats, Levi was incredibly inexperienced when it came to beautiful women, more specifically, you.

“What’s your name, love?” you cooed, hand trailing over his bicep as you placed yourself next to the ravenette, taking in his stiffened form.

“Levi,” he managed to choke out, feeling the deep stir of arousal from your simple touch. How could he not be attracted to you? The way you pressed yourself to his side, so tempting, you were an enchantress.

You mumbled out your stripper name, and Levi felt a pang of unease knowing that the ridiculous chosen name was not your real one. Your fingers trailed electricity over his clothes, the pads of your digits playing with the end of his sleeve. You leaned further in, breathing right against the shell of his ear.

“Ready for your dance, Levi?”

Levi gulped, raising a hand to push back his fringe from his face as you stood before him. His hands finally settled atop his thighs, legs comfortably opened and spread as he took a deep breath in, willing his mind and body to relax. Like Erwin had said, what’s the harm in having a little fun?

Goosebumps raised on Levi’s skin as the smooth bass of a somewhat familiar song kicked in. He had heard it on the radio once or twice, finding it quite catchy and therefore had never felt the need to change the station. His heart hammered in his ribcage, mouth drying as he watched you shift into character. A very fitting one, he thought to himself, a total and complete vixen.

Your back arched as you posed before him. His eyes drinking you in hungrily lit a flame deep within the depths of your soul, feeling the dire need to please the man in front of you. You bent down, tips of your fingers brushing against your toes, and then you threw your head back, hair falling seductively around you at the force. Levi was cursing profanities in his mind, a very verbal ‘fuck’ exiting his lips at the sight.

You turned your back to your handsome client, giving him a full view of your scantily clad ass as you teasingly slid your arms out of your jacket. Levi’s eyes followed every move, afraid to miss a single thing, every detail of you and your body becoming his biggest priority. Your leather jacket fell to the floor noisily, chains clanking as they hit the wooden planks. You threw a longing gaze over your shoulder, a pretty smirk on your face, and Levi had the startling realization that he had never felt a stronger attraction to a woman in his life. In fact, the intrusive thought had his mind traversing through past experiences, and had him wondering if had truly ever felt the tingling of arousal that you had awakened in him.

“Levi?” you brought your fingers under his chin to his surprise, angling his gaze to meet your curious expression.

“I’m alright, just,” Levi paused, letting his focus drift away from you. “This is my first time.”

Your face softened at his confession, genuine concern as you spoke, “‘S okay, just let me know if you want to stop at any point. And if there’s anything at all you want me to do, tell me.”

Levi was mildly stumped at the second half of your response. He could make requests of you, of this dance? The last thing he wanted in the world was for you to stop, in fact he never wanted this moment to end as you resumed your routine, eyes never leaving his.

Levi felt the blood rush to his lower half as you positioned yourself on the balls of your feet, leaning over his seated deposition, ghosting your lips over the shell of his ear, “You know, you’re quite handsome. You probably get that all the time, but truly, you are.”

“Thank you,” Levi managed to mumble, thoroughly embarrassed by the heat of your compliment. “You’re very pretty.”

You smirked, pushing yourself back to take in his shy appearance. You had a hunch that maybe if you provided Levi the confidence he needed, this hesitance would melt away. With that in mind, you turned your body once more, hands reaching behind you to undo the clasp of your lacy bra. Levi’s eyes widened, his fingers twitching in anticipation. When the material was released, you let out a silent sigh of relief from the pressure of the tight material. Your mesh top fell off your arms, you gently flicked it to join your jacket on the floor. Instead of showing your freed breasts to your handsome client, you bent down to your toes once more, shaking your ass and thighs. Levi’s eyes were ready to roll out of his skull.

You finally did turn, crouching between the space in between his thighs. Your hands slid from the bottom of his shins to the top of his thick thighs, you felt the subtle flex of his muscles as he tensed. His lustful expression showed you that Levi was less than hesitant, actually he was really enjoying himself now. This was his private show, and Levi was feeling extraordinarily special. He didn’t dare to raise his touch to grace your exposed skin though, not wanting to risk breaking any rules.

Your knees heaved you up once more, and you moved to straddle the raven haired man’s lap. You felt the hump of his erection between your thighs, and you bit back a moan at the sensation. Levi was in a similar frame of mind, trying not to let his bodily instincts and desires take over entirely. You rolled your hips, teasing his clothed length, and his grasp on control was nearly lost. Your naked breasts pressed against his chest, nipples hardened from your excitement. By no means were you the kind of girl to sleep with your clients or even entertain the thought, but when Levi’s lids fluttered and he bit the inside of his lip, you were rethinking every morally right ideal you held within yourself.

On par with the beat of the song, you leaned back, hands on his knees, and thrust your hips lazily in rhythm. Levi watched your ribcage expand and disappear under your naked torso, your navel shrinking and opening at the rolling motion. You flicked your hair behind your shoulder blades, your lips parted, and you let out a shaky breath. You were flushed against his hardened member, you could feel your center weeping at the contact. This was not your intention, to rub yourself all over this stranger, but the way his hands twitched and his eyes were so hungry had you feeling things you only indulged in by yourself, in the comfort of your bed and with your favorite pink vibrator.

“Make it fifteen hundred, and I’ll let you take me back to your place,” you mewled against your better judgement.

Levi’s concentration was broken, the whites of his eyes exposed as he shot his attention to your face. His lips contorted into an egotistical smirk, a contrast to his past shyness, “We haven’t even been in this room for five minutes, and you’re already wanting to leave?”

“Two grand,” your eyebrows furrowed, pushing your hips into his pelvis, satisfied when you heard a hiss leave his lips. “Keep teasing, and my price goes higher.”

“I’ll pay you whatever I want,” Levi’s features darkened. “Get your things. I want you to finish your dance when we get back to my house.”

You never did complete that dance. Levi was gripping your thighs and lifting you before you could even protest, your back slamming into the wall after he had unlocked his front door. His lips were all over you, your lips, your neck, your exposed collarbones. Your fingers were woven into his scalp, clinging desperately to the man.

He could barely contain himself on the drive home, seated palming your thighs in the back seat of a taxi. He had sent a quick text to Erwin, not explaining much but letting him know he’d talk to him tomorrow. Erwin hadn’t responded, not that Levi cared, but he had a feeling his blonde friend was in a very similar situation.

“You,” Levi growled into your neck, sliding his hands greedily under the t-shirt you had thrown on in the locker room of the club, “Are the sexiest woman I’ve ever met.”

His teeth sunk where he could feel your pulse the strongest under his lips, and you wantonly moaned out. Although Levi lived a generically organized lifestyle, in this moment all he craved was chaos. He wanted to see your perfect body littered in his marks, his bites and bruises. He wanted to wreck you, bring you out of your nonchalant attitude, stupefying you. Levi was going to fucking break you in all the best ways.

“Levi,” you breathed shakily. “Please, bedroom.”

Levi rammed his clothed hips into the center of your spread legs, your ankles hooked around his waist in this position. You gasped, moaning at the contact. Your nails raked up his back, and you felt a similar urgency as he was feeling, wanting to feel the tear of his skin underneath your fingernails. You felt Levi’s hands grip your thighs to adjust his grip, and soon he was carrying you into the unfamiliar territory of his home. He guided you easily up his staircase, reaching his opened bedroom door and unceremoniously throwing you on your back on his mattress.

Levi was on top of you in an instant, his lips swallowing yours as he grabbed the collar of your shirt with both his hands. He fisted the material, and with a quick fluid motion, he tore the fabric in half. You were shocked, but figured you could easily borrow Levi’s clothing upon your exit. You didn’t stop him as he treated your bra in a similar fashion, thankfully not ripping the expensive lace. He reached under the arch of your back, unclasping it, and you pulled your arms through the straps and the remnants of your poor shirt. Your breasts were on full display for his eyes now, and Levi’s mouth pulled away from you. His hands snaked up your exposed torso, thumbs rolling past your hardened nipples to your neck.

Levi wrapped his right hand around your neck, and your breath hitched in your throat as he mumbled, “You like it rough, don’t you, brat? Want me to use your body however I want?”

You didn’t answer, wanting to seek punishment. His fingers tightened, and you felt a gush of arousal slicken your lower lips. Your hips bucked upwards, eyes pleading as you watched a sick satisfaction cross his expression.

“Answer me,” he spat venomously, leaning in to brush his nose against yours.

“Yes, sir,” you stuttered out, feeling the tips of your ears redden. You were so turned on right now, body responding loudly to every word and touch.

“Good girl,” he praised, not releasing his grip around your neck. His left hand stayed at your breast, tweaking your right nipple roughly, rolling the beaded skin between his forefinger and thumb.

You whimpered, bringing your own hands to rest above your head, stretching your skin more for Levi. His eyes were honed in on your face, all your desperate expressions as his hand left your chest and dipped under the elastic of your grey cotton shorts to meet the lace trim of your panties. His forehead rested against yours, his breath hot against your lips as you panted. When you tried to reach up to capture his soft lips in a kiss, he only squeezed tighter around your neck, discouraging you from trying again. He wanted to watch you squirm, memorize the way your eyes would flicker and your lips would quiver at his touch. His fingers tugged the cotton of your panties aside, and ran two digits across your folds, the pads soaked at the contact.

He circled your clit agonizingly slow, spreading your essence over your hood. Your eyes rolled back into your skull, back arching up to feel some kind of skin to skin contact. Levi was not going to allow this though, and ripped his touch away from your cunt. You whined at the loss, tears pricking on the edge of your lash line. You yelped suddenly when you felt the harsh slap of his palm against your folds. Levi’s gaze was hardened, lips almost pulled back in a sneer.

“Stop, or you’re not getting what you want,” he growled, and even though he was hovering over you, you could swear you felt the vibration from his chest deep in your bones.

You meekly nodded, willing your body to lay there as still as you could be. He smoothed his palm over the reddened area of your center, and his soft, teasing touch returned. His middle and pointer finger spread your lips open, ring and pinky finger kept your panties tucked to the side. Levi tucked his digits inbetween your heat, caressing your folds. It took everything in your resolve to not buck your hips at the feeling of the roll of your clit in between the pads of his fingers. You whined, blinking tears away rapidly.

Levi felt merciful for a moment, and fled his intimate touch down to your fluttering entrance. You could feel your muscles clenching in anticipation, letting out a moan of relief as he dipped the two extremities into your tight hole.

“You’re so wet, all because of me?” Levi teased, brushing his lips against yours. “Such a good slut, you’ve wanted me to touch you since you got on that stage tonight, haven’t you?”

“Yes,” you panted sharply, his fingers curled inside your walls and began to pump. “Wanted your attention so bad.”

“Like I had a choice,” he chuckled without humor, flicking his wrist hard into your core. “You came out looking like that, what was I supposed to do? This, you on your back, so needy, this was the only conclusion.”

He fucked his hand harshly into your sopping cunt at the end of his sentence, sending your mind reeling and your lungs gasping for air. Your plush walls encapsulated his fingers, you could feel the ridges of his knuckles deep inside of you. His finger pads prodded your sensitive spongy spot, and upon hearing your deep groan of pleasure, Levi aimed for that destination with every thrust.

“Feels so good,” you praised, your knuckles white from gripping the pillows above you. Levi still had his right fist around your throat, he could feel your esophagus tighten as every muscle in your body clenched.

With a hasty release, his right hand came down to pay your heaving breasts attention. His lips replaced his fingers, sucking harshly on the most sensitive parts of your throat. You were almost screaming as he plunged in and out of your pussy, your left nipple harshly being pulled with his other hand, his teeth sinking into your neck. Your clit was throbbing with need, your coil in your stomach desperately searching for any form of release.

“Levi,” you cried out loudly. “Wanna’ cum.”

“Are you asking or telling me?” he grumbled against the column on your neck.

“Asking, please, need you to touch my clit,” you begged, too far gone to care about vulgarity, clearing noting the ravenette’s disregard for formality in the heat of the moment.

He let out a ‘tch’ at the nape of your neck, and pulled his fingers from your dripping heat, “You’re not cumming unless it’s around my cock.”

With his soaked hand, he tore your shorts and panties down to your knees in one swift motion. You lifted your legs, allowing Levi to slide them down the rest of the way and throw them onto the floor. Stark naked and exposed completely to the man now, your knees bent in the air, Levi slapped the backs of your thighs. You whimpered, clenching around nothing upon impact. He let out a groan, tugging his button up over his head, not bothering with the buttons. Your hands left the safety of the pillows above your head, fumbling with the belt that rested on his hips. He met your hands, finishing the job for you. Belt unbuckled, slacks unzipped and freed, he stood quickly, shoving the pants and his briefs to the floor.

You jaw slacked in amazement at the sheer size of his cock. Levi was hung, his member standing tall and proud and mouth watering. He returned to you in an instant, positioning his lower half to align with your spread center. His dick throbbed at the wet contact of your vulva, teasing the head against your clit. You threw your head back, arching your back and angling your hips to allow Levi better leverage. His fist flew to the base of his aching length, roughly fucking himself above you. You could feel the tightness of his knuckles as he brushed against you, and you moaned out his name.

“Such a needy little slut,” Levi degraded you, face set in false anger. “Desperate for my cock, huh?”

“Yes, yes!” your eyes screwed shut, you could feel the pounding in your pussy. “Want you so fucking bad. Please fuck me.”

“Please, what?” he cocked an eyebrow, letting out a groan as his thumb pressed into the underside of his head.

“Please, sir,” you begged as a tear fell down your cheek.

“All you had to do was ask, gorgeous,” he chuckled darkly, sinking the tip into your tight little hole.

You thought he would enter you slowly to allow you to adjust to his enormous girth, you were sadly mistaken though as he plunged his entire length deep inside of your soaking pussy. You let out a strangled whimper, more tears rolling down to your chin. Levi wouldn’t give you the pleasure of patience, pulling out just enough to threaten his head falling out, snapping his hips right back until he brushed your cervix.

“Fuck,” Levi moaned loudly, his hands circling the tops of your thighs, throwing your ankles over his shoulders. “Feels so fucking good.”

All you could do was fist the bedsheets under you as he took you violently. Sobs of pleasure racked through your chest, tits bouncing at the sheer force of his thunderous thrusts. The sounds of your cunt squelching around his intrusion was deafening accompanied by the smack of the skin of his balls hitting your ass. Levi pounded mercilessly into your heat, searching for his own heights before addressing yours. Of course he wouldn’t cum before you did, but the way your pussy fluttered around him gave him clear signs that it wouldn’t take much to push you over the edge.

Levi let out an animalistic growl as his pace quickened, slapping the meat of your thighs as his grip adjusted your knees to your chest. He leaned forward, and in the dim lighting you could see the beads of sweat rolling down his forehead. His steel colored eyes were locked in with yours, lips parted as he breathed heavily from exertion. Levi could feel the burn in his hips as he gave you everything he could, fucking you as hard and as fast as he could.

You were nearly screaming, unable to bite back any noises at his assault. You felt his fingers slither around your neck once more, tightening dangerously around your windpipe. He could feel the collection of your tears in the dip of your throat, and his cock was throbbing at the sensation.

“Crying ‘cause it feels so good, aren’t you?” Levi snarled, placing his sweaty forehead to yours. When you didn’t answer, he released your throat to bring his wet palm in a roaring slap to your cheek, “Answer me.”

“Yes!” you screamed at the tops of your lungs, your cunt contracting at the stinging pain turned pleasure. “Please, please, please, let me cum!”

Levi barked out a groan as he felt your plush walls tighten, making his hips stutter in his rhythm. His free hand came down to your clit, slapping the top of your pussy with no real force. His thumb commenced its own pattern then, rubbing the engorged bud with vigorous intention. Levi plowed briskly, his climax on the horizon. You were quivering under him, fat tears leaking from your eyes as hiccups and whines left your throat. You could feel the soreness in your hole, and knew the second you came, you’d be squeezing the ever loving fuck out of Levi’s massive cock.

“So close,” you sniffled, vocals raw from the pressure of Levi’s fist clenched around your esophagus.

“Gonna’ cum all over me, pretty girl? Yeah, fuck, c’mon, my little fucking slut,” Levi’s eyes were smoldering, veins prominent in his neck as he approached his own release.

“Fuck fuck fuck, I’m cumming, I’m cumming,” your eyes attempted to close.

Levi slapped your cheek, “Keep your fucking eyes open, bitch. Don’t look away, wanna’ watch you.”

You nodded meekly, the build up in your stomach at its peak. His thumb circled faster, and you could feel every single motion in your pussy as he slammed his fat tip against your g-spot. It was too much, too intense, and you felt your coil snap as you clenched viciously around him.

With a loud gasp of air, not enough due to Levi’s fingers digging into your throat, you couldn’t stop yourself from bucking your hips. Your vision blurred over in thick tears, your skin was burning hot as Levi cursed above you. Your pussy contracted around him in a mind blowing flow, pleasure seeping in every pore and every cell in your body. If Levi had neighbors, or roommates, the noises you were making would be entirely concerning, sounding as if something gruesome was occurring in his home.

Levi was pushed out of your cunt from the pressure, and he dared not to slip back in your contracting hole out of fear of dumping his seed deep in your womb. He pushed your legs flat down after removing his touch from your clit, positioning his hips over yours as he fucked his fist at the same rapid pace he was drilling into your center. Loud moans escaped his parted lips, pistoning his pelvis with a death grip on his red swollen cock. Thick ropes of cum shot across your breasts, his thrusts never slowing.

You pushed your breasts together with your hands, fingers toying at your nipples to visually stimulate the man above you. He growled at the sight, “So fucking hot, yeah, take my fucking cum.”

He stilled, head thrown back as he let his girth fall from his grip, his cum oozing from his slit. You moaned at the sight, your mouth watering. Had you not been in such a hurry from the start, you would’ve gladly swallowed his cock down your throat, consuming every drop of his load. Maybe another time, if there would be one, you thought.

Your orgasms simultaneously slowed, until the two of you heaved heavily from the hard labor of the vigours fucking that had just occured. Levi moved off of you, grabbing tissues from his bedside table, and wiped up your torso. Before he could collect all of his cum though, you let a finger dip into a puddle in between your breasts, Levi’s eyes watching adamantly as you placed the digit on your tongue, rolling your eyes back into your head at the taste.

“You’re so needy,” he teased, a smirk crossing his exhausted face.

“Maybe,” you giggled breathlessly. “Maybe I just wanted a taste.”

Levi hummed, pushing back his dampened bangs from his forehead. He gazed at you in curiosity as you pushed your aching body off the bed, wincing at the indistinct soreness between your thighs, “I have clothes you can wear, don’t worry about giving them back either.”

Ah, so here came the awkward after the one night stand conversation. You smiled politely then, “I wasn’t worried. ‘Was gonna’ steal them one way or another.”

“Lucky I didn’t catch you then,” he mused, pushing himself off the mattress as well. “You’re welcome to take a shower, if you need to. I’m about to get in myself.”

“Nah, I should probably get home, it’s late,” you searched for your phone on the floor, finding it in your jacket pocket as you tapped on the Uber app.

“I can drop off the money tomorrow at the club, if you’re working,” Levi leaned against his bedroom wall, biting his lip as his demeanor changed back to his previous one from earlier.

You smirked, looking up at him through your eyelashes, “Baby, believe me, you couldn’t pay me to have sex like that. I wanted to fuck you, the money was just a fun little fantasy.”

Levi felt his ego inflate at your confession, his own lazy smirk rolling off his lips, “Let me pay for your Uber at least.”

And so he did, walking you out to the car when it arrived. You were swallowed whole by his comfortable clothing, and he placed a sweet kiss to your lips before you ducked your head into the vehicle, closing the door behind you. The car drove off swiftly, and Levi dug his hands in his pockets, walking back inside the comfort of his home to take that much needed shower.

The usual neon lights greeted you as you spun around the pole the next evening, less customers this time. You were feeling the undeniable soreness of your throat and center as you twirled around. Thankful for full coverage foundation to hide the bruises and marks littered across your entire body, no one had questioned why you were walking with such a limp. Well, aside from your favorite security guard.

“You’re off your game tonight,” Connie noted as you placed your sore body onto the bar stool. “Any reason why you can’t sit fully down without wincing?”

You flicked a unamused glance his way, “Any reason why you’re being so fucking nosy?”

“Just wondering why that guy left with last night has been following you around the club all night is all,” Connie took a swig from his beer mug, eyes batting to point behind you. “Hm, yes, very strange.”

You rolled your eyes, turning your head in the direction of his gaze. Your breath caught in your throat as Levi strided cooly over to you, a small smirk on his handsome face. He ordered a whiskey neat over the counter next to you, and cleared his throat as he finally looked into your eyes.

“Thought I’d actually get to catch your dance this time,” Levi greeted. “Y’know, since I missed it last night.”

You heard Connie snort obnoxiously, and your eyes threw daggers in warning. Connie threw his hands up to mock surrender, taking his drink and walking away. You returned your attention to the ravenette beside you, “Just couldn’t stay away, could you?”

“Just couldn’t get you off my mind,” his eyes trailed to the pout of your lips. “When does your shift end?”

“In a few hours, why?”

“I wanna’ see what kind of place a girl like you can afford,” he smirked. “Maybe get a private dance this time.”

“You do pay pretty well,” you flirted, trailing your fingers up to the collar of the fashionable black sweater. “Guess it wouldn’t hurt.”

“I’ll make it worth the pain,” Levi breathed out cockily, swiping his thumb over the swell of your bottom lip. “Wouldn’t want to get out of here now, would’ya?”

“I guess I could for the right price,” you parted your lips, lightly biting down on the tip of his digit.

Levi didn’t respond, instead he grabbed your wrists and led you impatiently out the door. You’d text Connie later and have him hold your tips until your next shift. You had a very important client to dance for.

LACHERI © 2021: all writing content belongs to LACHERI. I do not allow reposts or translations. this is my only account.

[wizkiddx]

living and reviving II

yep when I said three parts I think I meant 4 oops

summary: an overdue conversation that has to happen - like it or not

warnings: cheating, swearing, pregnancy talk, lots more angst, think thats it?

tomhollandxreader

/////////////////////// prev

So with a new sense of dread and fear and complete and total isolation you uttered three single words before hysterically running away.

“Don’t follow me.”

Not now, not ever.

That had been three weeks ago.

And it still fucking hurt like hell.

It had ended up that Yamna had taken you back to hers, where you had stayed for a couple nights. During that couple of days, Tom had tried. He had tried to apologise, tried to explain, tried to fix things. But it just wasn’t that easy.

Whatever he said, it didn’t take back from the fact that he had in that moment meant it. So no amount of sorrys could ever take that back.

After everyone had realised just how serious their situation was, Tom had moved out of your shared flat - so you could at least be in the place you were comfortable. Afterall the nursery was built in your flat and clearly it was you doing all the baby stuff for the moment. Thankfully Yamna, having been cut loose so without job, offered to move in with you. Which was probably the only thing keeping you going.

Well, that and ben and jerrys ‘phish food’. Honestly the shop must think you’re running some sort of ice cream black market at the rate you’re getting through their tubs.

Everyone kept parroting that it wasn’t good for the baby. Too much ice cream . Too much heavy lifting. Too much stress.

And yes, it probably was. But that was out of your control . The stress and lack of man in the household meant you had to do the heavy lifting of shopping from the car up the stairs. Shopping meaning ice cream, which you only depended on so much because of the stress.

It was a vicious cycle of hell.

Even Yamna, the person you were relying on keeping you sane had started walking on eggshells. It was as though you were literally about to pop, she always had to have at least half an eye on you. You were even banned from locking the toilet door - just in case.

It felt like you were a captive animal, people kept coming to observe you, giving sad looks before gleeing the scene.

You hadn’t been sleeping well either. Of course, being 3 weeks of your due date didn’t help - but neither did the lack of Tom. In fact, for the first time since shit had hit the fan, you had actually been managing to get some decent sleep when Yamna knocked on your bedroom door, quietly calling your name.

“I’m asleep” Groaning, you pulled the covers further over your head, praying to god that she’d leave you alone. But of course that wasn’t happening, she just lightly chuckled before you felt the bed dip - she had perched on the edge… Toms side.

“You never normally sleep talk.”

“I’m never normally this sleep deprived.” She sighed, whilst you still stubbornly kept your eyes closed.

“I’m sorry I woke you…. but this is important.”

“What?” Almost grunting, you threw the covers down looking up at her in anticipation. That was another thing about pregnancy - you were always on high alert, always worried.

“Toms here.”

“Tell him to f off.” Quickly you stopped caring about what your bestmate had to say.

“He’s saying that he’s the little ones dad and that he deserves to be involved and…. and I think I might agree.”

“I deserve a boyfriend who stays loyal to me so clearly neither of us are getting what we want.” You weren’t angry at Yamna and snapping at her wasn’t the answer. And yet you still did it.

“Y/n….I love you and I am completely on your side. I just think that maybe, perhaps, you should at least manage to be civil before baby arrives. Otherwise… thats going to be a lot to deal with all at once.”

It was your turn to sigh, deep and heavy (or at least as deep as the baby let). Most infuriatingly she was right. The conversation had to happen at some point. With a baby there too it would only be even more traumatic.

“He’s here now?” It only dawned on you how broken you actually sounded when the words croaked out of you.

“Yeh hunny… I didn’t let him inside so he’s standing outside the door looking like a dickhead right now.” The image cheered you up a little, enough to sit up in bed and be wrapped in Yamna’s arms. Her actions said it all, she really only meant the best for you and knew how hard this would be. After a moment she leant back. “I almost considered calling the paps so they could get a picture and label him as a groveling dick.”

“You should of.” Of course you didn’t mean it, but the answer had you both laughing. It took a minute to calm down before she changed subject slightly.

“You want me to make myself scarce? I can hide in my room or go to the shops or-“

“Text the guy from the bar - you deserve a night off ‘babysitting Y/n’ duties.”

“I’m not babys-“

“Yes you are. Go out with him and have some fun, I’ll be fine.”

“You sure?”

“Yeh”

That was a bare face lie - but Yamna had been almost too good to you. She really really needed a break. Especially as the current plan was she’d be helping with the newborn too. Right now you wouldn’t have wished a baby on yourself - never mind your best mate.

“Okay, get ready then babe - but do it slowly, leave him waiting outside in the cold for as long as possible.”

“Obviously.” You laughed, hauling yourself out of bed, where she gave you one more encouraging hug before leaving.

After hearing Yamna leave, and brushing your hair and throwing on a new pair of trakkies and hoodie, you slowly walked towards the door. It felt as though impending doom were on the other side and every fibre of you wanted to scream and run the other way. But it just had to happen at some point. Why not now?

With a final sharp exhale, attempting to pull yourself together, you opened the door. Immediately your heart sank, seeing nothing. Had you really been that long? And even so, was a 10 minute wait enough for him to give up? You could already feel the hormonal pregnancy tears starting to spring, when a grunt drew your attention.

What you hadn’t considered was the fact Tom was ready to camp out, sitting on the floor beside your door. Springing to his feet, he seemed shocked you’d actually opened the door - makes two of you. When Yamna left she had told him you were coming, but seeing really is believing.

“Y/n! I-I… I wasn’t sure you were ever going to answer.”

“You and me both.” You replied dryly, still leaning on the door. “Do you er…. do you want to come in?” Again he seemed shocked, as though he wasn’t sure you meant it.

“Is that-that okay?” Shrugging you just nodded, stepping back so he could get in. He did pay half the mortgage afterall.

“You want a drink?” He quickly declined your offer, not vocally but instead rushing past you to the kitchen and turning the kettle on himself.

“Your the pregnant one. Go chill on the sofa, I’ll bring you a cuppa.”

And a bit taken a back by his forcefulness you followed instructions, from the sofa watching how effortlessly he danced round the kitchen. It wasn’t shocking, it was technically his kitchen too. But seeing him there felt so alien, almost transporting you back to much much simpler times. Seemed a lifetime ago.

After a couple of minutes, he rounded the sofa with a hot chocolate in one hand for you (because caffiene is bad for the baby) and a cup of Yorkshire tea in the other.

“So… how have you been?”

“Ate a lot of ben and jerrys” You answered without really answering, except he knew you all too well.

“That bad?” He sighed, scrubbing a hand over his brow “how about the baby?”

“I don’t tend to carry an ultrasound on me but she’s been keeping me up all night kicking - so normal I guess.”

“Thats good” He spoke before realising what he said. “Sorry no I um-I don’t mean it like that!” You all but laughed in the face of his flusteredness, only making the tips of his ears go pinker.

“I assume you had something to say and that you came here for a reason rather than just pity me?”

“I want to make things right Y/n - I-I mean your having my kid.”

“OUR kid”

“ Exactly! And-and I love you too and-“

“Bullshit” You may have murmured it under your breath but you had intended for him to hear.

“Oh come one Y/n, you know that!”

It was like the man was asking to be yelled at.

“Don’t sit there trying to patronise me! I THOUGHT i knew it but then I saw you all over another girl. So yes, I’m calling bullshit.”

“Ugh I… If your not going to even try to hear me out then…”

“Then what Tom? You gonna kick me out. I mean this is your flat after all! Maybe you’d like to dump the mother of your unborn child homeless on the street and forget about us - how’d that sound? I’m sure your fans would blindly applaud you.”

“Listen! Please would you just listen to me.” His voice was loud and tone harsh, making you flinch a little. Not because you were ever worried he’d hurt you - but how this wave of uncomfort shuddered through your body, baby even squirming in discontent. So focused on that you just nodded, shifting back into the sofa.

Tom had noticed your reaction and seeing you seemingly scared of him like that, well it broke his heart. Even more.

“Sorry I didn’t mean to shout, I just…. I really need to try and fix this.” He leaned closer, letting out a thankful breath when you just nodded, as if to say go on.

“I’ve really really missed you… these past couple of weeks I’ve never felt so gulity in my life. Not because of what I did! Well yeh that but-but more how much it hurt you and-“

“Fuck.”

You couldn’t help but let out that little curse of pain as a new wave of pain, which seemed to originate from your lower back, shuddered through you. Tom looked up from where his eyes had been nervously wringing his palms whilst he spoke. Rubbing a hand over your belly you shook your head and motioned for him to continue.

She was just kicking really really hard. Right?

“Uhm yeh so I just wanted to properly tell you everything that happened that night so at least we are on the same page? A-And I’m not going to try and use this an excuse but I had been drinking so-“

Seemingly baby disliked the end of that sentence too, causing another rippling wave to echo through your body, feeling as though a band was pressing tightly round your stomach. With another small curse it forced you to stand up, in the hope that’d ease her. Clearly she was as done with his shit as you were.

“Need a water.” You muttered, already waddling to the kitchen, where you heard Tom follow you immediately - like an inpatient dog.

“Y/n sit down I can-“

He was silenced by you freezing and grabbing his arm tightly - a physical contact he hadn’t been expecting from you.

“Tom… get your phone.” You spoke slowly, still not having dared to have moved an inch - fingers almost white from how tightly you were squeezing his forearm.

“Wha-are you-are you okay?”

“I think my waters just broke. Get the phone. Now.”

~~~ feedback is really appreciated + would love to know what u think as still in the process of writing so can be guided / helped by asks !!! ~~~

taglist: @maraudersandco @@minejungwoo @sippin-on-tea @thegirlintheswivelchair @lovehollandy12 @hollandlover19 @thefernandasantana @hunnybunimdun @hallecarey1@cedricdiggorysimpp @msmimimerton @hollandfanficlove @pandaxnienke @crossyourpeter @thegirlwiththeimpala @tom-softie @sunwardsss @spiitfiiires @radcloudenthusiast @ladykxxx08 @prancerrparkerr @wildxwidow @arctic-monkcys @ownbauer13 @tomhollandlol @marvelsbitch8 @peterr-parkourr @lizzyclifford13-blog @user1683 @elishi03

[parkersroses]

mother’s day. | harry styles.

summary: it’s mother’s day and harry makes you breakfast in bed, no thanks to your little baby’s help.

pairing: harry styles x fem!reader

wc: 2.4k words

warning(s): all fluffy like cotton candy <3

a/n: (disclaimer: gif belongs to @harrysimpact​) happy mother’s day everyone! enjoy this fic about husband/dad!harry !! make sure to reblog and comment if you like it, consider donating to my ko-fi too if you like this or any of my other writings. all the love <3

The sun is just rising when Harry wakes up; even for him it’s very early and he’s usually a morning person. He rubs the sleep out of his eyes and stretches, feeling a pop between the muscles as he does so. He makes sure to switch off any alarms to ensure his wife doesn’t wake up soon. He even switches off the baby monitor next to her bedside table too, hoping their baby doesn't wake up so soon either, though it would be inevitable knowing she’ll cry for milk. 

It’s mother’s day. What’s more exciting is that it is your first mother’s day as a mother. 

Over the last year, you have found motherhood to be as challenging as you expected. It started off with the morning sickness and strange feeling of not bearing a certain smell. At that point, both you and Harry had already discussed having children. It’s something the both of you always wanted and you knew yourself that Harry would be an amazing father to your children. The thought of having a little human that was half of you and half of the person you love and adore, running and playing around the house as your husband playfully chases after them in your backyard while you watch with awe. It was a cute little dream in your heads that soon became a reality.

You both cried when you found out about your pregnancy. It was a momentous and exciting moment for you. Over the several months during your pregnancy, Harry had grown a bit overprotective about you and your little bub, yet you don’t really blame him for it and assumed it’s just his pre-fatherly instincts kicking in. Harry had always made sure to accommodate to your (weird and odd) needs and cravings. He’d happily wake up in the middle of the night and get you both some snacks, despite being tired himself. 

Your favourite part though, is whenever Harry would talk to little bub. Even when you weren’t showing yet, he’d always talk to the baby girl in your belly, occasionally singing to her, telling her how much daddy and mommy loves her and that he’ll always be around to look after her. That makes you cry sometimes, because you knew already that he is the best dad to your baby. 

Little Amy was soon born before you both know it. You still remember holding the little human of your own in your arms, all swaddled up in a fluffy blanket, her eyes wide open as she was introduced into this whole new world. She had captured both of your hearts and you both knew it. She was the most precious person you’ve laid your eyes on and you both love her immensely. 

Harry for one could not believe that he was finally a father, considering he’s always dreamt of having a little family of his own. It was up until the delivery that he remembers how much you’ve given to carry Amy and how amazing you are to have carried and nurtured her for so long. He’s never loved anyone even more than he loves you and now with Amy. 

Harry intentionally wakes up earlier than you today, despite his schedule begging for him to sleep again. He looks over you next to him, seeing that you’re still huddled up under your thick blankets and your face pressed against your pillow. He takes notice of your chest rising and falling from every breath you take and how pretty you look on this morning. 

He leans over and plants a small kiss on your head, careful to not wake you as he gets out of bed. He pulls on a pair of sweatpants and walks out of your room, gently closing the door behind him. 

He makes his way across the hall to where little Amy is sleeping in her nursery. He wouldn’t be surprised if she’s already up at this hour, probably so she could cry out for some food or comfort from her parents. Harry slowly opens the door, he can already hear the soft sounds of Amy moving around in her crib. 

It’s almost as if she’s been waiting for him to come because her head perks as he leans over her crib. “Good morning, my little bub,” he says gently to her, already smiling so bright at the adorable little human looking up at him. Amy looks up at him with the same bright smile, her limbs flailing around in excitement as she sees her father. 

“Da,” she says, giggling as he caresses her head lovingly. Her arms reach up, signalling that she wants to be carried like the little princess Harry says she is. He gladly picks her up, letting their noses nuzzle against each other before he kisses her head. 

“Y’know what today is, bub?” Harry asks Amy. Amy merely stares at him, not understanding a single word, with the same green eyes she inherited from him. It still makes him choke up just thinking about it. Amy coos as her little hands trace over the swallow tattoos. “Today’s Mother’s Day,” he says in an excited voice, and he chuckles at the way her head perks up. 

“Mama?” She asks, her green eyes staring innocently and adorably at him. He nods, bouncing her lightly in his arms as he carries her out from the room. 

“That’s right, bubba. It’s mama’s day, and you’re gonna help me make her breakfast. Except you won’t really be doing anything but watching me and keeping me company. Let’s be honest, your cooking skills aren’t the most helpful yet, bubs,” he tells her as they enter the kitchen, setting Amy down in her high chair. 

Amy giggles, seemingly finding whatever Harry said funny. He grins at his adorable little baby, sometimes all he wants to do is cuddle with her and smother her with all the love he has for her. “Yeah bubs? Gonna help me or sit here lookin’ cute and adorable while daddy cooks?” He asks as he leans down so his face is levelled with hers. Amy simply giggles and nods at his father, even though she tends to nod at nearly everything they both say to her. 

Harry laughs and kisses her chubby cheeks. “Love you, my little bub,” he tells her. She babbles at him as her hands reach for his face. “Yeah, love me too? I think you do,” he says, kissing her little nose which makes her giggle again. 

Harry begins to make breakfast as Amy sits and watches him, babbling and cooing at him as he does. He nods and talks back to her like they are having a simple conversation, him simply agreeing with whatever she says. 

“Want a bite, bub?” He holds up a piece of strawberry in front of Amy and he grins widely as she tries to reach out for the red fruit. “Taking that as a ‘yes, please’,” he jokes as he bites off a tiny piece of the fruit for her to take. Amy hums in delight as she munches. He watches in awe of the little baby as he eats the rest of the fruit. 

At one point, he heats up some milk as Amy starts to get fussy. 

Harry doesn’t make much for breakfast, simply making some half boiled eggs, french toasts, some cut up fruits and coffee. He hums in the tune of one of his songs, Amy bobbing her head as she drinks her milk, enjoying this quality time with her father as he hums and sings to her. It is no doubt that she has grown familiar with the songs he sings to her. Harry’s convinced that she must’ve heard him even when she was still in your belly. 

As he watches the oil sizzling around the bread, he feels two arms wrapped around his waist and a head on his shoulder. He grins at the familiar touch of his wife. It’s amazing how the both of you have grown familiar to each other’s touch through all the years. 

He turns around, keeping a hand on the handle of the pan and the other arm wrapped around you, kissing your head. “Morning, my love,” he says, laying his head on hers. “Morning, baby,” you mumble out in a tired voice. “Bed was cold,” you pout as you stifle a yawn from your mouth. 

He chuckles at your tired state, knowing how much you enjoy waking up next to him instead of an empty bed space. “Happy Mother’s day, lovie,” he tells you, smiling as he sees how your face lights up at his words. You couldn’t believe it yourself that you’re able to spend this special with your little family. “Thank you, bubs,” you beam at him, leaning up to kiss him. Harry hums into the kiss, his lips moving slowly against yours. 

A baby’s babbling snaps you both from the kiss you shared, you could see your baby girl whining as she reaches out for you. You both laugh at this, breaking away as you walk over to her. “Hello, my little baby love,” you say as you kisses all over her face, eliciting giggles from Amy. “Mama,” she says, nuzzling her face into your neck. 

“Have you been helping daddy cook?” You ask her as you brush through her soft curls. You hear Harry scoff behind you as you say this. “She hasn’t been helping at all, just bossing around in her little high chair,” he says jokingly, Amy laughs at his fake pouty expression directed at her. 

“And you,” he says as he turns off the stove, walking over to you. “Should be in bed. Was gonna bring ya breakfast in bed as a surprise. All romantic and shit.” You slap a hand on his shoulder as he curses. Harry laughs at this as he wraps his arms around you. “Don’t swear around her,” you tell him with a fake angry tone. 

Amy pays no attention to them, busying herself by finishing her little bottle of milk. You turn around to face him, hanging her arms around his shoulders. “Now, I feel bad. I could just run back up, pretend to be asleep until you come in,” you suggest, running your fingers through his curls. He sighs at the comforting feeling. 

“Mmm. The surprise is kind of ruined now, so,” he shrugs as he says in a matter of fact. You roll your eyes at him. “Well, I still would love to have breakfast in bed with my baby and my handsome and loving, made by said husband,” you say cheekily at him. 

Harry grins at you, resting his forehead on yours. “Handsome and loving husband, huh? Gotta be one lucky bloke to have married an amazing woman,” he teases, making you throw your head back laughing. “Alright then,” he says, patting your bum. “Go on then. Pretend you’re sleeping, give me an award-winning performance when I come up.”

You hum as you give him a quick peck on the lips. “See you in bed, my handsome husband!” You call out behind you as you make your way out of the kitchen. Amy puts down her finished bottle and frowns as her mother goes off. “Mama?” She pouts at her father. 

Harry comforts her as he kisses her head. “We’ll join her in a bit, Amy. Gotta get breakfast ready.” She coos in response as she traces over the butterfly tattoo on his stomach. 

Harry puts Amy in the baby sling they bought for her as he prepares the food on a tray. He coos at her as she cuddles up on his chest, loving the warmth he radiates. He slowly balances the food tray as they ascend up the stairs to your bedroom. 

When he pushes the door open, he sees you in bed, seemingly asleep, although the hint of smile on your face would say otherwise. He gently sets the tray down on your bed. Amy is already reaching out for you as he sits next to you. 

He shakes you gently. “Wake up, lovie.” Your eyes flutter open, smiling sweetly at your two loves. “Hello, my loves,” you say to them. You both laugh at the silliness as you lean up to kiss his lips. You take Amy out of the sling and set her on your lap. 

“So, was my performance worthy of an award?” You tease him as you kiss all over Amy’s face, making her giggle.

“Oh yeah, definitely. Couldn’t tell you were acting,” he plays along. 

You sniff in the delicious scent of food laid out in front of you. You moan in delight as you lay your head on his shoulder. “I love you. Thank you.” 

“I love you too, honey.” He kisses your head. He kisses you again, long enough for the feel of his lips to linger on yours. “Happy Mother’s day,” he says lovingly, taking a piece of the french toast he made. 

You beam at him as he entertains with Amy’s babbling. And you think to yourself, you would much rather just stay at home, order in food and watch movies in bed with them today. Perhaps Harry might be up to take a nice bubble bath when Amy has her usual afternoon naps.

Truthfully, you couldn’t wait to spend more Mother’s Days, as long as you are with your two loves. And hopefully, with more little ones in the future. 

[nervouscupcakeinspace]

BTS FIC RECS (PART 2)

Jeon Jungkook/Jung Hoseok | J-Hope

Don't Get Charmed by shikiso

When an injured omega is found on their territory, Jungkook's instincts scream danger. He is the pack's omega, they don't need another one. Jungkook is doing a good enough job by himself, protecting the den and soothing the tension off everybody's shoulders.

Why is the pack so adamant on keeping that useless omega in ?

They have Jungkook, they don't need Hoseok.

Why can't they even see his little game ? Hoseok definitely knows how to play the scared and helpless omega. But, if he manages to trick everybody, he can't trick Jungkook. He is immune to his sweet scent and sweeter eyes.

He won't fall into his trap.

Jeon Jungkook/Park Jimin

Omega Drip by sugamongoose

Park Jimin is the kind of alpha who makes you coffee and asks about your day before reducing his partner to a crying, writhing mess on his organic cotton sheets. He doesn't even seem to care one bit that Jungkook is a broken omega who doesn't get wet when he's supposed to.

“Are you busy right now, alpha?” Jungkook asks, holding his breath in anticipation. He can already visualise getting on his knees for the smaller man, can imagine those soft-looking hands petting his hair in approval when he shows just how good his mouth is.

Jeon Jungkook/Kim Namjoon | RM

Every Kind of Way by Oh_Hey_Tae

And then he realizes, quite belatedly, that he’s not supposed to be shaking the hand of the barista. Because that’s weird. And uncalled for. And really, really weird.

So Jungkook draws back his arm, grips the straps of his backpack, and promptly flees the building without a word spoken. Which is fine. Sometimes you have to get out of awkward social situations and blacklist particular cafés and adjust your route to school to avoid said café and the barista with the heart shaped face and his sweet pea scented hands. It happens.

“Jungkook-ah, meet Kim Namjoon.”

And sometimes during your bi-weekly dinner one of your good friends introduces you to said barista with the terribly soft hands who also happens to be getting his masters in social work to help underprivileged youth in inner city neighborhoods. Which is fine. This is fine. Jungkook is doing just fine.

 (Or: Jungkook adores everything about Namjoon except that the man can't catch a clue.)

Here Is What I Know by Oh_Hey_Tae

There are flowers growing on Namjoon’s arm. They aren’t real flowers, of course. That would be absurd. Impossible. Ridiculous. But Namjoon spends most of his lecture on Kant watching the garden of ink bloom on his skin, beginning at his pinkie and spreading across his wrist, trickling down to his elbow, curling up and around his bicep and out of sight under the sleeve of his shirt. Irises and peonies and roses and sunflowers. The girl who’s sitting beside him is staring, and when caught, gives Namjoon a bright-eyed grin before glancing back to the board. Namjoon spots a faded smiley face inked into the skin of her thumb, what looks to be a grocery list scrawled over the back of her hand. Notes or reminders from her soulmate maybe. Soulmates. Huh. It looks like Namjoon has one of those now.

try to resist, i still want it all by exarite

At first, Namjoon doesn’t think much of him.

He looks familiar, but he’s too far away for Namjoon to really see or scent out his dynamic. He’s cute, but Namjoon's not new to cute boys either. He's far too used to handsome, and pretty, and everything in between in the industry.

But then he stands up. Namjoon's eyes catch on the swell of his belly, and every nerve in his body lights up, his mind going blank, and—

Oh, he breathes. He's pregnant.

::

Namjoon fucks a pregnant Jungkook.

just let me adore you by elle_O_moonchild *

Rockstar omega Jungkook has never let an alpha tie him down. He was independent, and happy, and had no need for a domineering knothead to mess up his career and lifestyle.

But powerful and wealthy alpha Namjoon only wants to spoil the pretty omega rotten.

or

A smitten alpha Namjoon gets a weary omega Jungkook to go on a date with him and shows him just how good they can be together…

Jeon Jungkook/Kim Seokjin | Jin

more and more and more by moonsuns

"If you haven’t had sex by the time you’re twenty, then I’ll have sex with you. That way you’ll have a guaranteed end date for your virginity.”

“Do you promise, hyung?”

"I promise."

The problem was, Seokjin never expected to be called on it.

you shouldn't give it to me (good like that) by jamaisvore

opposites in the eyes of the media, but a perfect match in each other's arms.

or: supermodel!jk x rockstar!jin

Jung Hoseok | J-Hope/Kim Namjoon | RM

Pull Me Under by Oh_Hey_Tae

It’s been two weeks. Hoseok has managed to survive two weeks of Kim Namjoon’s progressively darkening thighs and his cheek craters and his swooshy hair and that stupid laugh he does that makes him sound like a bleating sheep.

Yoongi looks over his shoulder. Stares. Slowly draws his gaze back to Hoseok. “Are we discussing the same man who tried to brush his teeth with sunscreen yesterday?”

“Ew, he did that?”

“Your voice says that’s disgusting but your face says you’re enamored.”

Hoseok presses his palms against his eyes until he sees colored spots. “Make it stop, hyung.”

  (Or: Hoseok works at a summer resort and Namjoon is the newest lifeguard. Chaos ensues.)

fall underneath by crycoby

“Is this secretly about your huge crush on Namjoon?” Jimin asks, his fingers digging into the back of Hoseok’s neck in a way that is frankly criminal. “You know that if you like him, you’re going to have to be more direct. He doesn’t like to assume things about people and… He overthinks a lot,” he finally settles on diplomatically.

Hoseok groans, half because of the pressure and half because the idea of talking about this, about any of this, about any of the gnarled mess that is the clutch of Hoseok’s emotions in the knot of his chest, gives him hives.

//

hoseok could talk about his big messy feelings about namjoon, or he could talk around them instead and just hope for the best. yeah. that sounds good.

Methods of Mutual Stress Relief by Only_A_Fangirl

Hoseok cringes, “How weird would it be if I actually asked to jerk off in here with you?”

“Very,” Namjoon answers instantly.

Hoseok nods, “You can choose the porn.”

Namjoon blinks, “Are you for real?”

lyre lyre lyre by oliviacirce

Namjoo regrets every life choice that has led her here, to the hard wooden floor of this dance studio, where she's lying on her back like a beached whale.

Jung Hoseok | J-Hope/Kim Taehyung | V

the long and winding road by moonsuns

Hoseok is (basically) forced to go on vacation and leave his stressful idol life behind, at least for a little while. He wasn't expecting to find Taehyung, that's for sure. (He's glad he did, though.)

Kim Namjoon | RM/Kim Seokjin | Jin

Procurement by FlyYouFools1 (WIP) *

Seokjin and Namjoon have waited decades for a little of their own. Taehyung just wants to pay for his little brother's education.

Kim Namjoon | RM/Kim Taehyung | V

Dandelion Love (part of the (Not) Destined series) by almostsophie1

Taehyung is twenty-one when the word on his wrist turns ashen. The kind of love that soulmates share is forever out of reach.

(But enter one Kim Namjoon, who doesn't think the same.)

Kim Namjoon | RM/Min Yoongi | Suga

Bleeding Love by beebalm

Yoongi was already dressed and halfway to the door, nothing but a dry chuckle and a See you around when Namjoon asked for his number.

OR

It's not that Namjoon is hurt Yoongi only ever wanted him for a one night stand. And he doesn't have a crush. He just wishes they didn't have to keep seeing each other all the time.

Kim Namjoon | RM/Park Jimin

but i want it anyway by ameliabedelias *

Park Jimin’s roommate goes to study abroad for a semester. Kim Namjoon takes over the lease.

only lingering around you by moonsuns 

“I don't. I mean...this is going to sound awkward, but I’m...not really looking for a relationship right now.”

Namjoon considers, for a moment, elaborating and telling Jimin about everything with Hoseok, but there wouldn't be any point in that. And also, Namjoon is pretty sure that Jimin doesn't care about any of that anyway.

And he's right. At this, Jimin outright laughs. It isn’t a mean laugh, but Namjoon is pierced by the sound anyway. “Who said anything about a relationship, or even feelings? It’s just sex.”

Or, Namjoon and Jimin are friends with benefits.

Kim Seokjin | Jin/Min Yoongi | Suga

운명 (Fate) (part of the (Not) Destined series) by almostsophie1

Yoongi is part of that three percent population left without a soulmate word. It doesn't matter if he falls in love, because love isn't meant for people like him.

(Then he meets Seokjin.)

candy on my lips (part of the just desserts series) by moonbabie

Anonymous advice columnist and baby bi Kim Sujin meets queer club president Min Yoonji, and does the following: writes some cheesy advice columns, cuts her hair, and figures out her shit. (aka a queer romcom meets emotional constipation, self-discovery, and clueless wlw)

Min Yoongi | Suga/Park Jimin

pull me closer in the backseat of your rover by moonsuns

Jimin had just wanted to get off. He didn't think he'd end up with a boyfriend at the end of it all.

Or, another friends with benefits AU.

Nip & Bloom by sugamongoose (WIP) *

The year is 2021, and yet traditional and oppressive views of alpha/omega relations run rampant in the Korean society. Unmated Park Jimin is placed in a government programme which pairs delinquent omegas with support mates to make them more comfortable in their submission. Jimin’s alpha for six months turns out to be Min Yoongi, a tiny music producer who wears fuzzy sweaters, and who won’t stop talking about his kitten Holly.

“You look like an omega,” Jimin blurts out. The strange alpha flashes him a smile that reveals the pink of his gums. “Is that something you prefer? I saw your file, and it said you identify as queer.” “Oh, you looked at my file just to see if I like to fuck other omegas? Knot swelling yet?”

POLY RELATIONSHIPS

OT7 - Relationship

indiscentsible by cloudyworld *

Jungkook had been a little disappointed when, after all the build-up and speculation, he'd presented as a beta. Betas are great! They play an important role in society: level-headed, big-picture thinkers, the solid foundation that holds everyone together. But that pull of instinct that comes with being an alpha or omega, the feeling of belonging... He was crushed at the thought he might never get to have that.

In a pack with three alphas and three omegas already, presenting beta was a gift; Jungkook learns to see that too.

Precious Mettle by glitterandgilt (WIP) *

Jin loved his nest. He'd built it very carefully from the ground up. Spent centuries on selecting the individuals he wanted to spend the rest of his immortal life with. He was proud of his nest and protected it with a possessive love that rivaled a dragon's guard on their trove.

Jin didn't get the chance to go through that evaluation process with his newest treasure. But he would never let it go.

Or

When Jin's blood is stolen and used to sire a new fledgling, Jin has two choices: to ignore the strands of magic binding him to his new childe, or to lay claim to another jewel for his collection. He chooses the latter and drags his entire nest into a situation none of them were anticipating.

Kim's Seven by Gobi17 (WIP) *

Jungkook, 17 year old YouTuber, is in awe of the 6 hot boys who have adopted him online.

Bangtan are a dangerous group of vigilantes who seize the opportunity to kidnap the stepson of their latest target.

Found Kin by Adaptive_Artist (WIP)

Jungkook is starving. Food doesn't make anything better, and his teeth ache like someone is hammering on them. He thought he was cursed. Turns out he's a hatchling kin, and is now the precious baby of the renowned Kim nest. He's also growing little fangs.

Huh.

love bites (series) by feraljk (WIP) 

Summary from the first fic:

newly-turned vampire jungkook still has a lot to learn, but his hyungs are there to help him. taehyung enlists yoongi and jin to teach the fledgling how to teethe and helps him discover how much of a bonding activity teething can be.

or: trans koo and tae teeth on their hyungs and also come

Isn't it lovely? (all alone) by hopefully2020

At age eighteen, all citizens are given a concentration that will determine their fields of study. A small empty square on their wrist will gain a color corresponding to their skill set. Everyone’s fear is that their square color is black, meaning they are destined for a life of crime. When Jungkook turns eighteen, he waits anxiously for his square to gain color, only to be presented with a blank square. He is shunned by his family, having to struggle through high school while trying to figure out what to do for the rest of his life. Jungkook's life gets flipped upside down on the day of his twenty-first birthday when the store he works at is robbed with Jungkook at the cash register. Fearing for his life he believes he is going to die, only to be saved by a figure in black with a mask covering his face. To make things even worse, Jungkook suddenly becomes the target of one of the largest drug syndicates, solely because of his new connection to his savior and five other men who turn out to be the biggest crime lords in Seoul. What happens then, you ask? Well, then the blank world Jungkook always saw starts to drip with black, just a little bit.

blueberry peaches (a serendipitous summer) by elle_O_moonchild (WIP)

Jungkook spends a life changing summer working at a beachside car wash and meets 6 new lovers who change his heart and life forever.

Jeon Jungkook/Jung Hoseok | J-Hope/Kim Namjoon | RM 

Falling For an Alien From Amalthea 5 by Pyotr_Keats78 (WIP)

Jungkook has been in and out of the hospital for years with various medical problems. Eventually, his heart becomes so weak that no human medicine can save him. Believing he will die never having come out as trans to anyone, he gives up. That is until his brother Jimin tells him, “You have two choices, Jungah: you can stay here in this hospital and get high every day until your heart fails you, or you can go to Amalthea, grow a parasite, and live.”

Jeon Jungkook/Kim Taehyung | V/Park Jimin

Mentoring on Marsa by FlyYouFools1

Jungkook comes to the planet Marsa after being promised a full scholarship to Marsa National University. When the scholarship falls through, his academic advisor gives him the number for a mentoring service for newly stranded omegas on Marsa. With rent due, no way home, and no success in finding a job, Jungkook calls the number. The organization sends him Min Yoongi, a fellow omega who's been living on Marsa for 8 years. Yoongi teaches him how to survive. Jungkook's first attempt at survival is alpha couple Jimin and Taehyung.

Features: Yoongi doing his best to teach Jungkook how to manage handsy alphas, handsy alphas (like all of them are touchy) taking liberties with omega protagonists, and my best attempt at writing problematic but entertaining sex. A lot of fluff too, actually. The alphas are fluffy as hell with the omegas, and pamper them a lot, even though their actual behavior is wrong.

Jeon Jungkook/Kim Taehyung | V/Min Yoongi | Suga

November (series) by cuttothequickk 

Summary from the first fic: 

Sometimes, Jeongguk gets so lonely he doesn't even feel alone anymore. He's practicing, and he's very good at it. Loneliness. Being alone. It's blustery cold, and the leaves are falling from the branches of trembling trees, and Jeongguk is alone in a big city, shivering without a jacket, trying desperately to keep himself warm.

There is no one, and then there is someone. Two someones. The lovely winter boys from Daegu, Taehyung and Yoongi, opposites and equals, so loving and in love.

It would be ridiculous, really, if Jeongguk didn't fall for them, too.

Jung Hoseok | J-Hope/Kim Namjoon | RM/Min Yoongi | Suga

how, or when, or from where by moonsuns

“Stop calling it my quest,” Namjoon whines, and Hoseok laughs.

“You’re the one that said it first.”

“I was drunk.”

“Well, the bad thing about going out with people, is that you can’t take back the stupid shit you said when you were drunk. Especially when they’re way less drunk than you.”

Or, after Namjoon almost dies, he decides to go on a quest to live his best life, and takes Yoongi and Hoseok along for the ride.

(* Personal favorites)

MASTERPOST FIC RECS PART 1

[slasherholic]

Contains: gender neutral reader, torture, forced scarification, bondage, spanking, fear play, body horror, threats of violence, mentions of drugging.

Asa Emory x Favorite!Victim Reader | One More Chance | Chapter 2

part one here

He stops in front of the elevator. Green-grey mold climbs the peeling beige wallpaper on either side of it like creeping fingers. The tarnished doors sit locked away behind a rusting barred gate. You had tried to use this exact same elevator when you almost got away from—

When you disobeyed him, interjects the part of your brain that just spared you your limbs. You had tried to use this elevator when you disobeyed him.

But he had locked it up tight from the top floors, too.

Upon realizing that, you nearly went slinking back to your room. You remember thinking that if you went back, if you crawled back inside your trunk and shut the lid, if you curled up very tight and very small, if you were good for him, when he found you, he might forgive you. There would still be a punishment for jimmying the lock; but if you showed him that you were sorry, ready to obey, ready to let him keep you without a fuss, the punishment might be bearable.

Then you had discovered a vent with a screw loose. Loose enough for you to peel back the grate.

The moment your slow descent to the lobby through the vents began, you knew forgiveness was out of the question. If he caught you before you made it out of this hotel, you would be tortured for it.

There is not a single doubt in your groggy, muddled, drugged-up mind that you are still about to be tortured for it.

He lowers your body to the grimy floor and unhooks his keychain from his belt. The keys jangle as he flips the ring once around his finger and catches it again. 

A shrill cry leaves your throat when his boot comes down on your temple.

He presses the rubber firmly into your cheek, smushing your face against the cold floor, covering your eyes. He’s not going to let you see this part. 

You hear him flipping back and forth between the keys, in no particular hurry to find the correct one.

One,

two,

three locks click open.

The pressure on your temple lifts mercifully away. You watch his boots as he slides the grated rusty door barring the elevator open. When he picks you up again, he slings you over his shoulder, his hand coming down to hold your naked thigh.

There are fifteen amber buttons on the chrome panel inside the elevator. You know your room is on the eighth floor.

Dread knots your stomach when you see the counter above the doors pass floor number eight.

He’s not taking you back to your room. 

The elevator stops on floor fourteen. He steps out, and into a part of the hotel you have never seen before. He starts down the decayed hall.

You pass one of his dolls. You don’t shut your eyes in time before you see her.

The first thing you see is the woman’s guts.

Shimmering in a slippery wet blue-purple pile on her abdomen like a tangle of worms, leaking blood down her ribs from stress-worn ruptures in the meat. The stench of her insides hits you like a kick to the face. You realize you must be smelling the chemicals of her stress and fear, cortisol, adrenaline, the pungent amalgamation of everything her panicking brain released when he did this to her.

It must have been recent; nobody could survive this for long.

She whimpers weakly at the sound of his approach. Where her eyes are meant to be, there are only bloody, glistening hollows. 

Reaching out, he grazes her IV line with his fingers, letting his hand brush her face tenderly as he walks past.

The woman’s whimpers rise into a steep pained cry that twists her features and dribbles quickly back to whimpering when she seems to realize that he has continued on walking, and isn’t going to linger to touch her more.

He takes you to the end of the hall. You hear the jingling of his key ring, the squeal of a turning handle.

The room inside is utterly unlike the rest of the hotel. Clean, tidy, well-furnished, well-lit. The cream colored wallpaper is spotless and adorned with charts boasting detailed portraits of various species of beetle and moth. All the furniture looks new.

He carries you to a long leather ottoman and starts to push it with his leg away from its resting place next to a bookshelf. In the middle of the room, he deposits you belly-down across it. Your arms fall limply to both sides. He steps out of view.

A radio crackles and sputters to life. Some melody plays faintly over it.

This is some sort of study.

You stare blankly at a locked glass case on the opposite end of the room as he moves somewhere behind you where you can’t see him. Sat upon the shelves are rows upon rows of insects preserved in jars of orange fluid.

Except some of them are very clearly not insects.

You shut your eyes, not caring to see what’s in those jars. Behind you, he opens a cabinet door, and starts to push a trolley cart with a squeaky wheel. You open your eyes when he gets too close.

There are two trays atop the cart. One white, one silver. You watch him lift a thin tool out of the silver tray, turning it over in the light, and your heart falls into your stomach.

It’s a scalpel. He’s holding a scalpel.

You launch right back into your desperate pleading frenzy.

Wait, wait, no no no, I’ll be good, I’ll be good—

The words come out as pitiful, slurred garbling. The drug has paralyzed your tongue.

His gloved hand shoots out. He seizes the underside of your jaw, cruelly. The pleading catches in your throat.

“No more of that.”

The order is stern, yet his voice remains unnervingly steady. It is the first you’ve ever heard him raise it above a whisper.

Fresh tears prick the corners of your eyes. You obey him without thought and fall silent.

From a desk in the corner, he pulls up a three-legged stool, and sits down next to you, knees level with your face. The simple proximity to him has your heart beating out of your chest. He wipes your back down with something cold and then his fingers alight to trace your shoulders gingerly. He rap-tap-taps the scalpel he’s about to use on you against the leg of the stool. 

Steadying you with a hand pressed flat on your back, he starts to work.

The bite of the scalpel is unforgiving. Your tears come fast. Before long you’re shrieking, sobbing, struggling to breathe. He doesn’t tell you to stop, doesn’t tell you to be quiet. His incisions are swift and skillful. You can feel the little flicks of his wrist as the blade sinks in and out of your back.

You see him wiping thin bloody slivers into the white tray on the rolling table, pieces of you. The sensation of the warm blood streaming down your back and shoulders turns you clammy and cold. He wipes the runny red up with a cloth from the trolley before it gets on his ottoman.

When it is over, your mind is soup.

You gape like a fish as you suck in shuddery breaths and stare blankly at his gloved hands as he sets the dripping scalpel down in its tray again, passing it through the light once more, watching it shimmer with your blood.

Your body flinches reflexively as he stands suddenly from the stool. Straddling you over the ottoman, he rearranges your legs to make room for him. His shins graze the back of your thighs as he sits. Pressing his palm flat against the small of your back, he traces your skin gingerly, examining his work. You whimper and cry. He pats your cheek.

Getting up, he goes to his desk. When he comes back you hear the click of a camera, the whirr of a picture printing. With two fingers, he slides a polaroid photo onto the ottoman, and tells you to look.

You tremble and cry. You don’t want to.

“Do I need to repeat myself?”

You obey him and look.

You start choking on your own sobs.

Butterfly wings. He’s given you butterfly wings. Wings with intricate, skillful patterns. Their graceful swooping tails reach all the way to your lower back. Bright red pools in the raw pink divots where he removed layers upon layers of your skin.

His hand closes firmly around your wrist. He cleans your fingers with a wipe. Rotating your hand behind you, he makes you feel the slippery cuts.

You whine at the sting, trembling in his strong grip. The wounds are just as deep as they look.

“It’s going to scar,” he states, matter-of-factly.

He leaves the polaroid sitting on the table next to your face as he begins to dress the wound. The cleaning hurts almost as much as the cutting, and though he’s being gentle now you think it would be more bearable if he was being cruel. His light brushes leave you trembling like a leaf.

On goes the adhesive bandaging. You watch him through shimmery tears as he gets up, goes to stand at the glass case, undoes the lock, and squats to reach the bottom shelf. He removes an empty jar and a bottle of preserving fluid.

Going back to the trolley, setting the jar down, he screws off the lid. The preserving fluid sloshes as he pours it inside. Reaching into the white tray, he carefully sets the thin pieces of what he sliced off of you into the preserving jar, one by one. You watch them flutter down and settle at the bottom. He screws the lid back on and writes something in cursive in black marker on the label. Going back to the case, he carefully moves aside a beetle specimen, and places his new collection piece on the top shelf.

He checks his watch. Peeling off his gloves, which are wet with your blood, he deposits them in a small trash can in the corner and removes a new pair from his back pocket.

He doesn’t put them on. When he walks past the ottoman he trails the gloves lightly across the nape of your neck. Your body winces and shudders. You don’t hear him shut the door as he leaves the room.

His confidence in his drug is accurate; by the time he comes back, the only movement you’re able to accomplish is a useless twitching of your fingers and toes.

You aren’t facing the right way so you can’t see the chains he’s holding in his hand but you can hear them and the sound makes a pang of dread explode inside of you. They clank and rattle as he drops them beside the ottoman. He greets you with another soft caress of your nape. His gloves are wet again, with someone else’s blood.

He peels off the dirtied second pair and doesn't bother putting on another.

He crosses your arms behind your bandaged back as you sob into the leather. Snap. The pair of thick shackles close around your wrists. The cuffs are tight and uncompromising. He measures the circumference of your neck with a measuring tape, wrapping it taut around your throat, holding it to the base of your skull with two fingers.

You make fragile broken whines as he fits a stiff steel collar around your neck. You hear the click of a padlock. His warm knuckles come down to stroke your cheek. 

His hands go under your body and he lifts you, sinking down on the ottoman in your place, splaying you across his lap. He grips the chain shackling your wrists behind your back, securing your arms tightly. In his shadow, you see him pull back his hand.

Whack.

A shattered sound rips out of you at the impact. You think for an instant that he has taken his knife out of his pocket and stabbed your backside.

With the next smack, you realize that it's his palm, and that he’s spanking you.

One more and you know he’s about to ruin your ass.

Ten seconds on and your sharp yelps are rising into screams. Thirty seconds and your cries are animal. Your cheeks are burning, blood rushing to the spanked area. His palm comes down again and again. 

You feel him switch hands. His fingers curl around the front of your throat, gripping you above your collar, hot from the friction of his slaps and your own swelling skin. He rests his palm on your bruised bottom, groping the stinging flesh.

“Count,” he orders. “Out loud.”

Whack.

You obey his order through tears, blurting out the numbers between strangled sobs.

Whack. Wham. Whack.

The slaps are brutal. He’s putting all his strength behind it. Your lips are trembling as you count your punishment. You realize you can feel his clothed erection pressing against your side and that makes you sob harder. 

At five, he stops. His hands leave your body, and you hear him fidgeting with his mask. The unlaced black fabric concaves in on itself as it falls to the floor, resting next to his boot.

You can’t look him in the face. You wouldn’t even if you could. You don’t want to see him. 

Gripping your jaw, lifting your chin, he presses his nose and mouth to your ear.

“Shh… Shh shh shh...” He shushes your whimpering quiet.

Brushing your cheek with his knuckles, he informs you that five is the number of days he’s going to feed you with nothing but the tube he’s about to shove down your throat.

[lena-in-a-red-dress]

Project Runway AU: Snippet #1

Kara feels a thrum of excitement as the clock ticks closer to the hour-- and the arrival of their models. She’s worked hard in every challenge to win any potential advantage, and finally it had culminated in her being able to choose her own model. This time, it had paid off. When she’d blurted out Lena’s name before Karlie Kloss had even finished speaking, the others had laughed and groaned, but shed only felt nerves fluttering in her belly.

Every challenge she designed for Lena was one more chance to fall on her face in front of the most beautiful woman in the world. So far she’d lucked out, earning a top look or win with every collaboration, but there was always the chance she’d totally miss the mark.

When the models arrive, Kara braces herself for the full force of Lena’s easy beauty. But where the other models wear bandeaus and crop tops, Lena is cozy in a full-bodied sweater. As she approaches Kara’s station, pale hands emerge from long sleeves to brush a crumpled tissue under her nose.

Wait, what?

Kara’s brain record scratches, and suddenly the look changes from one of comfort to one of discomfort. 

“Whoa, hey,” Kara moves forward with hands outstretched,only for Lena to wave her away.

“Don’t come too close,” Lena warns, voice scratchy even as she smiles. “I don’t want to get you sick.”

“Are you okay?” Kara asks.

“It’s just a cold,” Lena assures her, “but the last thing you need at this point is to be under the weather, on top of everything else.”

She looks sheepish for even showing up, but Kara is glad she did. She’d designed her look for Lena specifically, after all. But her heart aches for the red nose that Lena dabs at with her tissue, and the watery eyes that smile at her. 

“Stay right there,” Kara instructs sternly. She turns on her heel and marches towards the lounge, unaware of the way Lena stares forlornly after her. When she returns with a mug in hand, Lena stands awkwardly, sad and a little miserable. She perks up as Kara approaches, but remains wary until Kara pushes the mug into her hands.

“Chamomile with honey and lemon,” Kara explains. Lena softens, and her hesitant smile returns. “Now, I have to finish the skirt real quick, so I want you to stay here and rest for a bit, okay? Then we’ll get you fitted real quick and get you out of here.”

Lena smiles with a nod of understanding. “Okay.”

Kara’s never finished a skirt so fast in her life. It’s a miracle it turns out at all, but as it settles around Lena’s hops it maintains its shape and structure the exact way Kara needs it to, and Kara issues a silent thank you to any god listening that all she has to do is pin a couple of darts before moving on to the top.

She checks in constantly. “You okay?” she asks for the tenth time in as many minutes.

Instead of being irritated, however, Lena smiles down at her. “I’m fine, really. You don’t have to worry so much.”

“But I like worrying about you,” Kara mutters, completely forgetting that she’s wearing a mic. She isn’t sure Lena hears it until she looks up and meets the model’s gaze, impossibly soft. Kara clears her throat. “Besides, I want you to feel better for tomorrow, right?”

“Right.”

“Wouldn’t want you to sneeze on the runway, now do we?”

Lena giggles, and Kara feels her heart leap for the moon.

---

The day of the runway show, Lena feels better, but is still a little sneezy as things shift in her sinuses. She kills it during the fashion show, but as she stands with Kara among the other top looks, a sneeze begins to build. 

She has nothing to cover with except Kara’s fashion, so she tries to hold it in, but it only continues to build. Kara’s handkerchief appears in front of her, and she takes it without thought just as the sneeze overtakes her. She hears the judges pause, and she too waits a beat to see if a second sneeze was on its way. When nothing happens, she twists back to find all eyes on her.

“Sorry,” she says.

Karlie looks at her in concern. “Are you okay?” she asks.

Lena nods. “Just getting over a cold.” Beside her, Kara removes her suit jacket and drapes it over Lena’s bare shoulders. Lena smiles at her in gratitude. “Thank you.”

“Do you want to sit down?” Kara asks, her voice barely audible. 

Lena shakes her head. “I’m okay,” she whispers back.

Even so, she sneezes twice more during the judges’ private deliberation. After being dismissed, Lena lingers. She takes her time getting dressed, and hangs out backstage as the designers gather in the lounge and the judges continue deliberating off camera. She’s careful to dodge the film crew as the top and bottom designers are called back to the stage. 

Her throat aches and she’s absolutely exhausted as she waits with Christian behind the monitors. But she waits and waits, until Karlie finally announces Kara as the week’s winner.

Christian quietly cheers with her, their hands clasping briefly before Lena slips away to intercept Kara on the way back to the lounge. 

“Psst,” she whispers.

Kara’s head whips around towards the sound. When her eyes land on Lena, her entire face lights up with an instant smile. 

“Hey!” Kara exclaims quietly. She rushes towards Lena and receives the offered hug with a small squeal. “What are you still doing here? You should be at home resting.”

Conscious of the cameras that have followed Kara, Lena reluctantly pulls away. “I wanted to congratulate you. I knew you’d win.”

“Only because of you,” Kara brushes the praise aside. “I’m glad though. It’s good to see you.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah!” Kara scoffs. “Oh my god, you have no idea.” She moves in for another hug. Lena’s arms lift of their own volition, and she squeezes Kara tightly. “But seriously, you should go home.”

Lena nods into her shoulder. “I won’t keep you.”

Even so, their embrace continues.

Finally, Kara pulls away. “Okay, go home. I mean it.”

Lena smiles, throwing a hand up in mock salute. “Yes, ma’am.”

When she finally falls into bed that night, Lena drifts to sleep with the echo of Kara’s arms around her body.

[refriedweeb]

PUT YOUR LIPS ON MY SKIN ( HAWKS + READER 18+)

A/N: heyyoo! refriedweeb here again with another request from @alexandria-selina and has elements of jealous hawks with his wings (from that tiktok head canon of them puffing out you know what I mean) and this post from @keiqos !

Prompt: “A jealous Hawks where his s/o gets hit on by another pro and she's blushing. She's just being shy but Hawks takes it as she likes it. Instead of getting into a fight with the pro, he shows his s/o why she shouldn't look at anyone else.”

Tags/Warnings: smut, overstimulation, jealousy, mirror fucking, spit, a lil bit of blood, rutting, feral, aftercare, kink, jealous, dirty talk.

Word count: 5,080

Keigo Takami hated hero events. He hated having to wear the Hawks persona day in and day out, especially when it came to being surrounded by his fellow pro heroes. Now, don’t get the guy wrong, he did enjoy what he did for a career despite any behaviors he had to unlearn from the hero commission themselves. He wanted to save people, he wanted to make the world a better and safer place. He just hated all the bullshit politics that came with it. They were heroes, hell. It wasn’t about making best friends and going to fancy events when there was always going to people out there that needed them while they clinked glasses of overpriced champagne.

Though, one thing Keigo didn’t think he minded that much was seeing you dolled up in a dress that led his mind to sinful, dark places. You and Keigo had only recently started dating, after months of him slowly starting to open up to you about the shit that he’d gone through, how he’d really felt about the commission once he’d gotten the sense that he could trust you. It’d been a struggle to call yourselves an item, but now that you could, Keigo felt what he could only assume was peace inside of a darkened and traumatized heart. There was also another emotion that was stirring in him that had nothing to do with peace, and all of those awful things that he wanted to do to your body. None that he would apologize for, of course.

It wasn’t his fault that the commission had decided to host a little event when he was in the peak of his rut season.

And oh, was Keigo in trouble. You’d recently started wearing a new perfume that had driven him up a wall the moment he’d caught the scent on you at the beginning of his mating season. It wasn’t sickly sweet, but sweet enough, and mixed perfectly with your natural pheromones to create a musk that drove his cock to twitch every time you shook some hair over your shoulder, stretched, fucking just breathed. He’d been unable to keep his hands off you for the majority of the weeks that had past, except as of late. You’d told him to keep his filthy paws to himself leading up to the event, not wanting to be bruised or love bit to all hell because Keigo couldn’t control himself. The way that he saw it, the dress you’d picked for the night was to torment him on purpose. Deep red velvet that matched his wings, settling over the curve of your hips, the flow of your waist.

You’d made him promise to be on his best behavior for the night, not wanting any trouble or any media to get wildly stories about what your relationship was really about. But damn, if the moment you were alone with him, he was going to tear that dress to shreds with what little talons he had in place of regular nails. You, on the other hand, your body had been spent. Keigo was insatiable on a good day, but ever since the rut season had started, it’d been exceptionally so. Not that you could complain, your body was sore in a much different, more appreciative way than you felt with sparring.

And yes, you had chosen the red velvet dress on purpose. It was your goal of the night to drive Keigo as out of his mind as possible. You couldn’t read him quite as well yet, your relationship still relatively new, and Keigo working through an entire lifetime of walls to protect his emotional security from the hero commission. His expression was a blank one, but when you locked eyes with him, Keigo gave you the smallest eyebrow raise as he looked you up and down. A silent stamp approval that had heat blossoming up your neck. He wanted to make that perfume you were wearing mixed with his own, he wanted to make sure that anyone who got a whiff of your scent knew who you belonged to. He wasn’t a fan of sharing by any means.

The night carried on, speeches given by the leaders of the commission (which you’d always found yourself by Keigo’s side much to his comfort), Endeavor’s speech, All Night’s retirement speech, and so on and so on. There’s been a light array of snacks while the pros mingled, finding yourself talking to Shinya Kamihara, otherwise known to the world as Edgeshot. It wasn’t very often you got to mingle with the top ten pros, your rank in the high teens, so you found yourself shy. Not quite sure how to handle yourself around such class, experiences, and amazing heroes. You were sure the blush on your cheeks, your neck, was visible from outer space. Shinya was a gentleman, he complimented you on your quirk, your work, and the little bit of history you’d talked to him about on why you had made your choice to become a hero. From your point of view, it was a harmless conversation that was borderline on friendly as you got to know the fellow hero, but from a certain outside perspective it was something a little more.

Keigo wasn’t paying attention to any of the conversation going on around him, his eyes were focused on you. The way you tipped your head back as you laughed, sending another ripple effect of your smell through the air. Was that bastard Edgeshot trying to move in on you? Did he really think he had a chance? He swallowed the jealousy in his throat, though his avian side had a mind of its own on this. His wings, proud and defensive, puffed out. This caused a stir of the other heroes around him, asking if there was something they missed that he’d alerted to. Keigo laughed, the same charismatic Hawks as always, saying they just needed a stretch. He crossed his arms, fidgeting with one of his cuff links. Keigo, jealous? Haha. HAHAHAHA...ha? His eyes were narrowed into slits as he watched you pat Edgeshot on the shoulder, leaning in to kiss his cheek before the other hero moved away.

His instinct was to claim you right then and there. To rub his scent all over you and yours on his so that no one else would mistake you as open. But...that’d certainly cause a scene and that was something he promised he wouldn’t do that night. So, Keigo bit back on his instinct, unclenched his jaw, and behaved for the rest of the night. Anything that came after that was entirely out of his control. You’d floated around to him throughout the night, not doing much outside of brushing hands together, a chaste smile shared between you. This was your first real hero event ever since you broke into the teens of your career, and it was one you wanted to soak in. Keigo knew this, and didn’t want to spoil it for you despite his own feelings on the event. 

Keigo’s mood, his want, took a turn for the worse when it came to someone actually flirting with you. You, not experienced enough with the personalities of some of these heroes to realize what was happening. It wasn’t Edgeshot this time, no. Now...it was Ryo Inui, better known as Hound Dog. And he was like Keigo in a way that he wanted to mark whatever it was that he wanted. Ryo put his hand on the small of your back, where Keigo’s hand was supposed to go. He laughed when you laughed, leaning in close to you as like there was some desperate secret he needed to share with your ears only. Ryo was flirting with his girlfriend and was being so bold about it. No, nope. That would not do for him. His wings fanned out again, this time catching the attention of several people around him, you and Ryo included. Your mouth dropped open in awe at the sight, though when you caught Keigo’s eyes to see his pupils narrowed into slits, something like a firework set off in your belly. 

That fucking mutt dared to spoil that perfume that sent him into a frenzy with his dog-like scent? That wasn’t something that Keigo could stand for in the slightest. That scent was you. It was the scent he had been planning on burying his own in.

The two of you left the event shortly after.

On the ride back to Keigo’s place, the car was silent. Not a word was spoken between the two of you, though it was full of tension in a way where if you breathed, you felt that you could choke on it. He drove fast, shifting gear after gear with aggression that made you wish it was your neck he gripped so hard. As you sat in the passenger seat,  you couldn’t help but rub your thighs together to feel some of that much desired tension between your legs. This didn’t go unnoticed by Keigo, and he hissed. 

Still, the two of you didn’t exchange words until you were behind the privacy of his front door. And even then, you spoke first. “Everything okay, Keigo?”

His pupils were still zeroed in on you, as he stalked towards you, every bit the predator bird that he was. And fuck, if it didn’t make you want to melt into a puddle at his feet. You walked backwards, careful not to trip over the towering heels you were in. His body was hot, flush against yours though he refused to touch you. Keigo wanted to take his time with this, with devouring you. You’d rubbed it in his face how much the rest of the heroes wanted you, being the little flirt that you were. There was no need for him to rush into anything, the way Keigo saw it. “Oh, everything’s fine.” He commented, tone dark. “I could handle that nimrod Edgeshot eyeing you up like some desert, sure. I behaved,” Keigo tipped his head to the side as he shrugged. He’d managed to walk you back into the bedroom you’d been sharing recently. 

“What are you talking about? Edgeshot was just being friendly!”

Keigo’s chuckle was cynical, but it turned the silk of your bundle into a pearl with how quickly it excited you. “He wanted to tear this dress of you just as much as I do.” How he was. “But then you had to go and be a little tease, didn’t you?” Keigo was watching you like a hawk would watch a mouse just before it clutched it in its’ talons. “Had to let Ryo rub himself on you like the mutt he is. In the middle of my rutting season.” Your back bumped up against the floor length mirror behind you as Keigo gripped your jaw, the sharp curve of what would have been talons biting into the skin there. “All I can smell on you is him.”

He clucked his tongue. Sharp, narrowed eyes lowered over your skin and back up. You were breathless and Keigo hadn’t even touched you yet. “That just won’t do, now will it, (Y/N)?”

“K-Keigo, I don’t know what you’re-”

A soft cry of pain rose from the back of your throat as his version of talons sank into your skin, enough to draw a little bit of blood. This was Keigo in his rutting form times a million, a possessive version of him you’d never seen before. Part of you was scared, but the larger part of you was excited. He wanted to claim you. He wanted to make you more than just his. 

“I asked if that would do, (Y/N)?”

Unable to speak with how tightly Keigo gripped your jaw, you simply shook your head from side to side. No, it wouldn’t do. That crooked smirk brushed over Keigo’s lips, and you wanted to taste him so bad. Taste the anger on his tongue, feel the fury in the rows of his teeth. Keigo was pissed, more than anything, that someone had tried to erase his claim on you. So, the only way to make sure that never happened again was to mold the scent of you with his. “That’s a good little slut.” Keigo released his hand from your jaw, the faint tickle of blood that ran down your jaw sending a shiver down your spine.

Keigo turned surprisingly gentle as he turned you around, as he pressed your hands up against the curve of the mirror that you were facing. “I’m going to make you watch me claim you. Fuck you and fill you until there’s no fucking mistaking who you belong to.” His hands dug into the back of your skin, and you winced. “You keep these hands right here, and if you don’t, there’ll be problems. Do you understand, little bird?”

“Yes, Keigo.”

His devilishly wicked smile returned. And so did the greed in his hands. Keigo took his time groping you, the swell of your breasts full in his hands. The winding curves of your waist and hips. Down the silken road of the dress that he swore he’d destroy. He wasn’t soft, gentle. Keigo was at his brink already, but he wanted to take his time with torturing you for being such a teasing little whore. His hands gripped the sides of your thighs, plunged through the velvet fabric so that lines of red were exposed in the slits he left behind. A soft moan escaped you at the sensation of talons digging through your skin, and he watched your expression in the mirror’s reflection as he did it over your backside. “Do you like that, whore?” he whispered in your ear. “When I leave my mark on you? When all you can feel is me?”

“Yes, fuck,” you breathed in response. He buried his face in the juncture of your neck and collarbone, taking a deep breath in that still smelled like mutt, fueling his need to erase that smell completely. His kisses were wet, sloppy, tongue traced over the length of your collarbone, of your neck. A soft sigh escaped you, your grip on the perimeter of the mirror growing tighter as the need to touch Keigo grew. His teeth sank into the soft spot of your neck, your head falling back on his shoulder as he suckled the skin there, a patch of pink blossoming against the skin there that would eventually bruise. The assault against your neck and your shoulders didn’t stop there, either. He ran his nose along the length of your shoulders, leaving trails of wet, angry patches from where he’d bit and pulled at your skin. There wasn’t a single ounce of Keigo that was kidding when he said he was going to erase every trace of anyone on your body but him. His cock was hard, and it would have been so easy to just bury himself inside the soft warmth of your cunt, and god how he ached to.

But the best things came to those that waited.

While his tongue and mouth worked at your neck and shoulders, his fingers played with your breasts, groping and pulling at the skin there with reckless abandon. Fingers pinched at your nipples, sharpened nails ghosted across the tender flesh there. You shuddered, shifted where you stood as you ground against his hips, feeling the thick length of him there. Keigo had barely even touched you, but you could feel the pool of warmth between your thighs only growing wetter. “Keigo,” you mewled. 

“Hmm?” his breath came hot against the ear he had been nibbling on, and your knees knocked together. 

“Touch me,” you pleaded.

“Touch you where?” His tone sounded positively bored, pinching your nipple between his thumb and index finger that caused you to squeal.

“My pussy,” you caught sight of your own desperate expression in the mirror, all while Keigo looked like a predator playing with his food. And in that moment, you realized this was exactly what it was. Keigo was toying with you before he sent you to the next level of existence. Your legs quivered.  “Play with me.”

“Have you been a good little bird?” He asked.

“Yes.”

His hum seemed to be a satisfied answer, because his hands left your breasts, finding a new home at the back of your dress. But rather than go for the zipper, Keigo simply tore the fabric. The sound of it ripping filled the room as it pooled down at your feet seconds later. Leaving you exposed save for the same colored red pair of panties you’d worn that night. The dress had left no room for a matching bra given the dip at your back it’d once had. But that was of no consequence to Keigo. Keigo let out a sharp breath through his teeth as he admired your body and all that came with it. His hands found the curve of your backside, kneading the flesh there with thought. You could feel the tent of him pressing in between your thighs, and you let him slip between your thighs, shifting your thighs back and forth to alleviate some of the tension in his cock for him.

On instinct, more due to the fact that the bird in him wanted to cover you in his scent and his cum, Keigo rolled his hips into you with a snap of a thrust. It pushed you forward, almost sending you colliding with the mirror. “Little bird, that wasn’t very nice of you.” He scolded, letting a finger draw under the band of your panty before lifting it up. A moment later it was slapping against your skin, and you hissed. “I’ll have to punish you. Such behavior tonight...” he drawled, quickly shedding his formal attire until he was dressed down to just his pants. Keigo pressed his chest against your back, rubbing himself against you. His free hand returned to one of your breasts, toying with the nipple there as he murmured in your ear, his voice husky. 

Feral.

“So naughty tonight...” Keigo continued as his other hand slipped down the front of your body, underneath the dark red lace that had kept that pretty little cunt concealed from him. He found how wet you already were for him, slick glaze quick to coat his fingers as he ran them up and down between your legs. “Already so ready for me. You really are the little tease, aren’t you?” A moan escaped you as he teased the tip of his finger around the circle of your clit, but not quite touching it. “So filthy...” he went on, breath hot against where he’d drawn out hickies moments before. 

You were so eager for him to be inside of you, already so wet for him, Keigo had the perfect punishment for you being so naughty. He brushed his thumb against your clit, and your grip on the mirror slid down as you fought not to grab onto him. He was tantalizingly slow as he circled around your clit, tapping against the swollen bud every so often but not often enough for what you needed in that moment. His chuckle was dry, the hand that had been playing with your breast sneaking up to your neck. Your thighs were slick with your need, your core on fire as he teased you closer and closer to your edge. 

Keigo tipped your head back, opening your mouth as he leaned in. As he spat on the tongue you’d pushed out like the slut you were. Every possible hole he could find to fill you with, Keigo was going to. You weren’t going to be able to walk down the fucking street without a single person forgetting who you belonged to. “What do we say, little bird?”

“Thank you,” you rasped as he slid two fingers into you, feeling him stretch your walls as he slowly pumped them in and out of you. He was slow, methodical, holding your jaw in place so that he could look down at that awestruck expression on your face as he finger fucked you. Your belly was on fire, waves of fire rolling as your orgasm wound tighter and tighter around his fingers. Keigo could feel his own cock slick with his precum, knowing he wouldn’t be able to last much longer himself.

 “I don’t like it when other people look at you like you’re theirs for the taking,” Keigo muttered when he the tip of his nail along your clit. The featherlight sensation caused your knees to buckle, your hips to buck as you fell back into him. “You’re mine. And I’m going to fill you so fucking good that no one makes that mistake again.” He stretched your walls further with a third finger, and you writhed in your standing position as he continued to work those fingers in and out of you. The coil in your belly was wound tight enough where you thought

“Who do you belong to, little bird?” His fingers picked up pace, the sound of your silken glaze coating him filling the room while you fought to make your brain remember words. Your mouth hung open as he finger-fucked you, head bobbing against his shoulder as he looked down at you expectantly. “Tell your man who this pussy belongs to, and I’ll let you cum.” He could feel how close you were, the sound of your mewls turning to pants.

“You! It belongs to you!” you whimpered, grinding against his hand, your hips rolled forward to press his fingers deeper inside you. “Please, Keigo!”

This satisfied him enough, at least for now. His pace quickened still until your head was hung forward between your shoulders, moaning his name over and over as you watched him finger fuck you. Your orgasm was on the brink, the precipice of pleasure and all you needed was -

“Ah, fuck! Fuck, Ke-AH,” That needed push found you moments later and you were spilling around the spread of his fingers, your orgasm taking over you as your legs spasmed, knees buckling so that Keigo had to support you with a hand around your waist. Your grip on the outer of the mirror so ironclad you thought you’d break it. It rolled through you in waves, Keigo’s fingers sticky as he pulled them from you, suckling your sweetness of his fingers like it was candy. Shit. 

“What a good little slut,” he whispered. The sound of his belt loosening, the pants falling, re-sparked that fire you’d just doused by orgasming. You could see his cock, curved and thick with a head already milking his cum. “Gonna fill you so good now, gonna fuck you full of my cum.” You watched, mouth dry as he milked himself with a fist. “Gonna watch me fuck you, baby bird.” You could feel the press of his head between your thighs, and you widened your stance to accommodate him. 

Then, without warning, he thrust so hard into you, that you cried out in pain. His thrusts from the get go were borderline violent, painful as you fought against being thrown into the glass of the mirror. A hand fisted into your hair, pulling it sharply enough that you could feel the pain, but with enough leeway that you could still watch as he moved in and out of you, his cock already wet with what was left behind from your first orgasm. The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room, the smell of sweet sex coming shortly after. You were unable to make any intelligible noises aside from mewls and gasps, while Keigo was behind you muttering to himself about how good your pussy felt, how it was made for his cock, how he was going to fill you up so fucking good. 

The mountain climb to your orgasm started again, your cunt clenching around him as he thrust in and out of you with feverish need. His hips were sloppy, and you didn’t dare tear your eyes away from where he slipped in and out of you. “Such a sweet fucking cunt,” Hawks groaned, twisting your hair tighter in his fist. “My fucking pussy.” he hissed with a thrust that hit the highest point of your wall and caused you pain. Yet you didn’t dare stop. The look on Keigo’s face, the roll of his bottom lip between his teeth, let you know he was close to his high. The sight of him so focused on fucking you wound your belly tighter, and you missed the hand that slipped down to your clit once more. You cried out, the over-sensitized nub of your clit protesting as his thumb found it once more.  The grip you had on the mirror shifted again, a move to get his hand away from where you were most sensitive.

“Don’t you fucking dare.” he growled, and your legs quivered. His eyes were still narrowed into near-invisible slits as you obeyed the order. You shook, spasmed, as he raced your orgasm to line up with his. 

“Please, please, ah, hrnngh, Kei-” your hips found the rhythm to match his almost instantly, and tears sparked in your eyes as the bundle of nerves exploded inside of your body, every nerve ending inside you set on fire, exploding as your second orgasm found you just moments before Keigo found his own. 

“Fuck, fuck yeah, gonna fill you so fuckin-Urngh,” Keigo groaned, fucking into you with one last violent thrust as he spilled himself in you, shooting ribbons of cum that went scorching through your core. There was a moment as the two of you stood there, Keigo still inside of you, breathing heavily. You on the other hand, were shaking all over, barely able to keep yourself on both legs. 

Keigo’s callused finger pad was still resting over your clit, and even the smallest shift sent a wave of pleasured pain coursing through your entire body. You were overstimulated, likely to cum if he persisted again. “Kei...” you whispered.  His head was resting over your collarbone, hung low. He reached out and slapped your hand away, pressed it back to the mirror. He wasn’t done with you.

“Told you, little bird. Gotta punish you.”

A whimper rolled through you, “I can’t, I can’t, I-” you let out a whine as he tapped his thumb against you again, slowly rolling a half-hard cock in and out of you as he started at your clit again. Massaging it slowly, cruelly. Your legs bowed out, slack as it was on Keigo alone to keep you supported with your weight against his chest. “Gotta make sure you know,” his hips snapped against yours again, and those tears that had been hidden in your eyes slipped loose. “That no one else is gonna fuck you this good. No one’s gonna make you feel this good.” he said, your body screaming at you for relief, for the prickling of nerves in your skin to cease. “You’re my good little slut.” You could feel whatever remnants of his cum shooting out into you once more, wetness cascading down your thighs. 

The perfume you’d been wearing now, Keigo noted, was mixed so heavily with his own pheromones and sex, that there was no mistaking who fucked you at night. Who you were mated to. You were all Keigo’s, and that was what mattered to him. But he still had to finish punishing you for being a little tease, for allowing that musky scent to be tarnished by anyone other than him. You were a whimpering, sobbing mess, flushed against his body as your hips moved on their own accord in time with the fingers he was using between your sopping lips. Your cries were pained, unintelligible pleas to cum and be released. Yet, he took his time. Feeling that sweet cunt clamp down around his fingers once he pulled out of you. A moment’s reprieve before his fingers stretched you all over again. He wound you tighter, and tighter, sending that fire racing through your veins.

“I can’-” you cried out, a threatening wave of pleasure and pain coursing through you. “Please let me cum, please. I’ll be good, I’ll be good.” tears were wet against your cheek as he played with you. 

“You promise, little bird?”

“Yes! Yes I promise!” you begged.

After all that time of keeping your hands on the perimeter of the mirror, your third and final orgasm had them flying to Keigo’s hair for stable purchase as it overtook you. Your sobs filled the room as your rode out the final orgasm, your chest heaving in shuddering breaths as Keigo worked you through it, held onto your body tightly to keep you from collapsing. Your legs were soaked, your nether region slick from top to bottom. Keigo pulled his fingers from inside you, slick and thick coated with both of your bodily fluids. His eyes met yours through the mirror as those fingers dipped between your lips, pushing them onto the flat of your tongue as you lapped and sucked them clean. Only when he was satisfied you’d gotten every last drop of each other’s cum, did Keigo pull his fingers from your mouth.

“You did so good, little bird.” he cooed in your ear, nuzzling his nose against the curve of your ear as he placed gentle kisses to sweat-soaked hair. Brushed away the tears on your cheeks. “Such a good girl,” he said, a hand smoothing over the places he’d bitten and marked you.  Lips gentle as he pressed chaste kisses to the place on his jaw where his talons pricked you. The feral need for Keigo to fuck you into oblivion was satiated for now, his touch now gentle as he caressed and soothed you, the aftershocks of an overstimulated orgasm lessening as time lapsed. He was pleased that your scent now, was so heavily mixed of him and that perfume. No one was going to act as Hound Dog had, especially now. His lips were soft against your temple, his thumbs tender against the curve of your shoulders. It was a scent he was immediately fond of, and a scent he’d do anything to protect, to maintain. Keigo hummed, folding you up into the safety of his arms, surrounded by nothing but contentedness.