#switching between working on these two files at the same time made me realize this information

[exotic-inquiry]

one thing i didn't expect is that learning how to draw bg3 dragonborns has actually made it easier to draw mechs and vice versa

like fr it's just abt fitting basic shapes together. cube logic.

[eoieopda]

blindsided (myg)

After years of dating, you thought you had Min Yoongi all figured out - you didn't. And when he flipped the script on you, you never saw it coming.

Pairing: Min Yoongi x Fem!Reader | Darksided AU Type: Sequel to darksided. Word Count: 6K Content: SMUT (18+ - Minors DNI,) established relationship au, POV switch, softbf!yoongi turned dom!yoongi, sub!reader, sex tape, oral sex (f receiving,) v fingering, p in v penetration, unprotected sex, squirting, multiple orgams, over-stimulation, spanking, biting, blindfold, praise kink, pussy slapping, general depravity, aftercare, fried chicken. A/N: Seriously, go read darksided (linked above) if you haven't yet. This takes place approx. two weeks later, and while the context isn't necessary, things will make more sense! Check out the playlist while you’re here. Tags: @exhibitachol @sstarryoong @variety-is-the-joy-of-life @miraculous-disaster @wakeupinahaze

For the first time in his life, Yoongi was avoiding his studio.

He had a mountain of work left to do on his mixtape – and, importantly, the drive to finish it – but that was precisely why he’d stayed away. Anytime he stepped foot inside over the past two weeks, his mind wandered far, far away from the task at hand. His previously unyielding discipline fell by the wayside the second he crossed the threshold.

Instead of focusing on the tracks he had yet to write, or perfecting the ones he'd already recorded, his eyes would roam over the surface of his desk on the other side of the room. It'd since been returned to its usual state, covered in various notebooks, and recording equipment. But it looked so much better with your bare, sweat-slicked body writhing on top of it.

And when he'd finally muster the willpower to look back at his computer, his gaze would pass over - and then jerk back to - the wall he’d pinned you against as his fingers fucked a river out of you. His blood pressure would spike as he pictured you there, relying on him to hold you upright, and any hope of accomplishing anything would drop dead on the floor.

The very same floor you’d fastidiously scrubbed to erase the mess he’d made of you, no less.

And then he’d think to himself: This isn’t a workspace anymore - it’s holy ground. 

Yoongi was running out of time, though, and he had to do his best to keep his mind on his work, off of you. Catching himself once again rewinding through recent memories, he let out a groan and forced his wandering eyes back to the screen in front of him.

He realized as he scrolled through his editing software that he’d done a piss-poor job of labeling his masters lately. This, of course, made it impossible for him to remember which track was which. On a whim, he chose the file in the middle of the folder and brought it up.

If he’d paid attention to the size of the file, he could’ve prepared himself for the consequences of pressing ‘play' - but he didn’t and he wasn't. 

“I really couldn’t love you more if I tried.” "Should I shut it off now until you're ready to start?" "I can cut it down. I do need you to cue the track, though - when I signal you."

Biting down hard on his bottom lip, he secured his headphones over his ears. He’d never been less interested in hearing his own music; so, without a second thought, he skipped over the next three minutes. As he did, his hand dropped down to palm his hardening dick through his jeans.

“Is it me, baby? Have I got you dizzy?”

Your little whimpers were barely audible in the recording, but they still managed to ignite a fire in the pit of his stomach. The blaze spread throughout his body when he pictured the way you looked below him then - so soft and shy, but with such carnal desire sparking in the dark of your eyes.

“I can’t give you what you want if you can’t tell me what that is.”

Anticipating your next line, his hand tensed around his cock. It was a pale imitation of that vice grip he found between your thighs, but it was something; and he would've taken anything.

“I don’t want you to be gentle with me. I - I know that you -”

Even caged between the walls of unimaginable heat, the irony of it all wasn't lost on him. The best recording he'd ever produced was created purely by accident -

“Stupid girl. You know nothing.”

- and it wasn't music at all.

“Get up.”

With Yoongi working hard on his creative pursuits, you begrudgingly committed to addressing your own. Like him, you had a to-do list long enough to circle the globe; but unlike him, you weren't buried in projects because you wanted to be. 

When Yoongi crossed off a task, he scribbled five more in its place. His mind never idled because he found inspiration everywhere. A half-remembered vignette from childhood that shook itself loose to become something beautiful. A word he encountered in passing that he’d transform into some modern-day epic. He generated this much work solely because his passion - like his potential - was limitless. 

To the contrary, you generated this much work because you were easily distracted. You’d start one project, and before you could finish it, your attention would flutter off on the wind like dandelion seeds. All those half-starts would stockpile until you eventually boxed yourself into a corner - and then, somehow, you'd keep stacking. 

Today's task was simple: you needed to transfer your recent photos from your camera's memory card to your laptop. Easy. Drag files from one folder to another, and then your contribution to this month's magazine spread would be finished. It should've only taken an hour - at most - for the upload to complete. 

Instead of doing what you intended, you ended up where you always did: happily lost in the weeds. This particular distraction was a folder from four years ago, when Yoongi took you on an anniversary trip to Paris. If you really had to defend this tangent, your scattered brain's game of word association wasn't far off - the photos you were supposed to tend to were from Paris Fashion Week. 

That counts for something, right? 

You snorted as you toggled through your archive. Had you taken a single photo of the stunning architecture, or countless historical sites you’d visited? Of course not. But you had snapped approximately one-hundred shots of an unaware Min Yoongi - buying you macarons; befriending a stray cat by an ATM; grimacing as he sipped wine you both hated but spent too many Euros on to waste. 

Wait, what were you supposed to be doing? 

Whatever it was, you’d swear up and down that you really did intend to finish it, but then you heard familiar, muffled footsteps. And then you felt the mattress dip slightly under the tops of your thighs and the elbows you’d propped yourself up on.  

And then the same Min Yoongi whose face beamed on your screen - slightly older, and even more adored - slid over the backs of your outstretched legs until his knees came to rest at either side of your ass. His body was warm as it loomed over you, but you shivered, nonetheless. 

Leaning in, he pushed your hair over your right shoulder and pressed a warm kiss into your left. Though he'd targeted an area several centimeters away from your spine, the aftershocks of this chaste contact rippled down its length. From there, the current divested and shot through each of your limbs, paralyzing you. 

You hummed and let your eyelids flutter shut. He ascended the arc of your shoulder, then your neck, leaving a smattering of kisses in his wake until the trail went cold. His quiet exhale tickled the skin below your ear, but he hovered in place - too far away. 

Reflexively, you whined and tilted your head to look at him. Effectively pinned, all you could do was survey his profile in your peripheral vision. “Baby?” You nudged. 

The hand he wasn’t using to hold his weight snuck under the hem of your tank-top and caressed the bare curve of your waist. His hypnotic ministrations on your side might’ve lulled you to sleep if you weren’t so intrigued by his so-far wordless affection. 

Thoroughly spellbound, your lids closed again while your lips remained parted. There was a moan building slowly in your chest, taking its time, but it was a gasp that tore out of you when his teeth nicked your lobe. His tongue was quick to soothe the pinch, and even quicker to solicit a mewl. 

You had no idea where this was coming from. Moreover, you didn't know what additional surprises this man was capable of. Though Yoongi had always been affectionate with you, he'd only recently unearthed some rare, raw sensuality that you never expected. In the time since this discovery, his touches became more frequent. You felt more of him underscoring each one, no matter how brief. 

The fingers skimming over your waist disappeared and left you cold, but before you could process the loss, they reappeared - lower now, pushing up the bottom of your underwear, and gripping the doughy cheek of your ass. Hard. Instantaneously, your hazy eyes re-opened. 

Min Yoongi truly contained multitudes. 

"Have I told you that you're my muse?" He purred into the shell of your ear as his hand massaged the skin he'd likely bruised.  

Enchanted once again, your sole response was a breathy moan. Only after his hand raised and smacked back against your ass did you realize he'd lulled you into a false sense of security. 

"When I ask you a question, I want an answer. Do you understand, baby?" 

Your shuttered breaths and accompanying nod weren't sufficient replies. His palm collided with your delicate cheek a second time, and it stayed there. The sting was muted by his fingers digging in and pinching; but it wasn't the pain that stole your attention. 

Instead, it was the wetness gushing between your clenched thighs when he whispered, "Use your words, angel." 

"I do," You muttered urgently, "I understand." 

The grip on your ass dissolved. You knew better now than to trust the warm hand kneading your cheek, but you couldn't resist moaning. Fuck - his touch was perfect. 

He contradicted the gentle caress below with a nip at your neck; and the kiss placed at that same spot preceded the true kill-shot. He hummed against your skin and your soul threatened to leave your body: 

"Good girl." 

The noise that escaped your mouth was stranded between a gasp and a cry. Oh, this man would be the death of you. 

"You inspired my next project today," He murmured between kisses to your neck. The tip of his nose was cold as it brushed across your skin and that disparity in temperature left you in shambles. "Not something I've done before -" He paused to suckle at your neck, no doubt leaving a mark when he released you, "And I need your help, baby." 

Another whimper escaped when his index finger snapped the elastic waistband of your boy-shorts; and you felt his mouth curve into a smirk. "I'll do anything -" You meant it. "Just - please, Yoongi, I need to feel you." 

"You will," His mirth left him in a breathy chuckle. It vibrated through your body and formed goosebumps as it went. "But not yet, angel. I want to savor this." 

Confused, you pouted - another exhaled laugh against your neck - and then, in a tiny voice, you asked, "What do you mean?" 

His hand slid up the back of your neck. With the base of your skull held gently captive between his thumb and middle finger, he guided you to turn your head to the left, then down. 

It didn't click right away. Silently, you blinked down at your camera. Is this what he wanted you to see? Why did - "Oh, no," you groaned as your head drooped forward. 

"Oh no?" He repeated, and though he tried, he couldn't hide the surprise in his tone. You quickly realized that he mistook your reaction for disinterest. He couldn't have been more wrong.  

Your sudden, complete deflation was simply your body buckling under the weight of unspeakable arousal. It anticipated the world-endingly perfect way he was about to fuck you; and it couldn't process the fact that it would all be memorialized. He really would be the end of you. 

Your head tilted until it rested against the side of his. "The memory card inside it is full, but there's a new one in my bag." 

Although you couldn't see it, you knew the corner of his mouth would twitch excitedly upwards at your words. At his, your mouth dropped open: 

"Any clothes you're still wearing when I come back to this bed will be ripped off. Got it?" 

It was difficult to tell which part of this exchange made your legs quiver the most: the stern warning itself; the contradictory soft, husky tone in which he said it; or the kiss the top of your head received when you responded - out loud - in the affirmative. He was gone before you could figure it out, making his way to the camera bag in the corner of your bedroom. 

He'd barely taken two steps when you frantically pulled your oversized tank-top over your head. It landed somewhere out of sight, and it was swiftly joined by your underwear - grey fabric soaked black. Your laptop was more carefully dismissed, tucked gently under the nightstand to avoid being ruined the way you were sure to be. 

When your head hit the pillow, your heart was already racing. Suddenly, you felt shy as you lay naked in your own bed, like you hadn't been in this position so many times before. There was a long-forgotten anticipation turning flips in your stomach. It bent your knees and brought your arms up to rest over your bare chest - you hadn't felt it since the very first time Yoongi saw you like this. 

As if he'd been summoned by your thoughts, Yoongi walked towards you with his focus trained on the camera in his hands. The tip of his tongue poked out through pursed lips as he carefully slotted the new memory card into the bottom, but it disappeared when the compartment clicked shut again.

He froze when he looked up at you, and your hammering heart threatened to make a break for it. 

"Baby," He was frowning. You raced to figure out which of his directions you failed to follow; but he interrupted the frenzy in your brain with that maddeningly soft, stern voice, "Why are you hiding?" 

Mouth open and poised to respond - with what, you weren't sure - you were cut off by the extended finger he raised to silence you. You clamped your jaw shut; his mouth curved ever-so-slightly at your quick compliance. 

See? You wanted to say, I'm learning! 

He removed the lens cap before his eyes flitted back up to you. "Hands above your head -" You did as he asked, though you didn't know where this was going. "- Close your eyes -" Again, you obeyed. "Don't move." 

And you didn't.  

You laid there with your eyes closed and listened for any sign of what was coming next. You could hear the muffled tread of his bare feet on the rug; and you expected further instructions - none came. Then you waited for any familiar noise from your camera - there was silence. But you smelled his cologne as he came closer, and the warmth you suddenly felt at your side told you that he’d reached you. 

“Lift your head up – but keep your eyes closed.” 

The eyebrow you raised in question was covered with some cool, silky fabric before Yoongi could have registered it. You received your answer in his actions. Gentle fingers adjusted the way the blindfold fell over your eyes, and then – even more gently – they tied a knot at the back of your head. Not too tight, but firm enough to keep it from slipping. It was no surprise to you that he’d handled this without disturbing a single hair on your head. 

His hands, once behind your head, now cupped your face. “You listen so well, angel,” He murmured before plush lips brushed against your forehead. “Lay back down the way you were.” 

Your head returned to the pillow and your elbows bent to allow your hands to meet above it. And you waited like that, trying to sense what his next move would be.

His footsteps padded off, and you figured he was seeking the best place to set up the camera. He paused, though, after only taking a few steps. The camera whirred – the auto-focus, you recognized immediately – and then it clicked. 

“So beautiful – you know that, don’t you? How stunning you are?”  

Click. 

“Perfect -” 

Click. 

“Mine” 

You couldn't help wondering how his photos would turn out. If your cheeks weren’t red under the blanket of his praise, it’d only be because you’d turned into a puddle. Your arousal had strayed far enough to slick the insides of your thighs, and if he didn’t touch you soon, you might liquify entirely and seep through the mattress to the floor. 

In the distance, plastic settled on wood. The strap affixed to your camera slithered over whatever surface he’d chosen; you could hear it slip over an edge, then it was silent. The bookshelf, you decided, third row from the top. Maybe second, if he liked the angle better? 

Without speaking first, he crawled up onto the foot of the bed. He paused there, likely kneeling in front of you. His hands slipped under your bent knees, and the only warning you got was him purring, “Come here,” mere seconds before you were pulled forward. You imagined that your gasp was still hanging in the air when you slipped out from under it. 

As soon as he was satisfied with your proximity, his hands found the insides of your knees and encouraged your legs to spread. “Now, baby -” He started, the heat of his breath indicating just how close his mouth was to your weeping cunt. “You’ll make sure the camera can hear you, won’t you?” 

The word was caught in your throat, suddenly bashful, but it eventually slipped out, “Yes.” 

You knew you’d failed as soon as you heard it, and you didn’t need to wait long to face the consequences. You jolted when his flattened fingers collided with your cunt - the sensation was a surprise, but the sound was what shocked you. Fuck! You could hear how wet he had you already.

Sodden, pooling, dripping. 

“Don’t be selfish, angel,” He tutted after withdrawing his touch from you, “Those sounds might come out of your mouth, but they don't belong to you, do they?” 

“No -” Your desperation was palpable when you responded with your whole chest. “They don’t. I – I won’t be selfish, I promise -” 

You cried out when he slapped your cunt a second time, an obscene chord formed by surprise, torment, and unbearable need.

“Whose are they?”

“Yours!” You choked, “They’re yours. I’m yours.” 

His arms hooked under your thighs and your pulse skyrocketed. “See? You are learning.” 

And then he lurched forward, flat tongue dragging upwards over your core with a pressure so perfect, your entire body tensed. He squeezed your legs harder when your back arched, and it prevented you from inadvertently slipping away from him.  

That devilish tongue swirled over your clit, and all you could manage was a whisper of a moan. He corrected you wordlessly, digging his fingers into the flesh of your thighs. The groan he pulled from you ricocheted off each one of your ribs on the way out. Satisfied, he hummed in approval against your cunt before he proceeded to flick dizzying circles over your increasingly sensitive bud; alternating paces in the way he knew would drive you mad.  

Both of your arms reached out, and your hands carded through his hair. You pulled him ever closer, which prompted him to shake his head furiously with the flat of his tongue pressed against your heat.  

“Oh, fuck!” you wailed. As much as you wanted to watch him, you knew that – even without the blindfold - the way his mouth moved so expertly against you would have made it too difficult to keep your eyes open. They were already covered, but you squeezed them tight enough to see stars as he suckled your clit. “Shit, baby – ah – feels so good.”  

The thread holding you together frayed further and further with every brush of his tongue against your most sensitive spot. The sound of his breathing, ragged and muffled with your thighs pressed harshly against the sides of his head, would have done unspeakable things to you - if your mindless gasping didn't threaten to drown him out completely.  

He shifted without removing his mouth from you, and he unhooked his right arm from under your leg. The heel of his hand glided up over your pelvis, your navel, and your breasts before stopping at the underside of your jaw. Two fingers tapped at your chin; you took the hint and took them into your mouth.

His tongue never let up on your clit as you slicked his fingers, suckling on them the way he did you. Once he was satisfied with the work you’d done, he pulled his hand back down to your cunt.   

Tongue still relentless at your clit, his middle finger swung the focus to your entrance, which was drenched by his saliva and your own slick. Meticulous and slow, he slid his finger inside of you. He moaned at the way you constricted around him; you melted. 

He never struggled to find that secret spot hidden behind your pubic bone. He'd proven time and time again that he was more in tune with your body than you were. Every curve, dip, and line had been committed to muscle memory.  

He could anticipate your reaction to every touch, even when those reactions varied based upon your mood or your energy level - and it was automatic. Unthinking but knowing. He teased this spot without mercy, and as he likely expected, you began to shake under his touch.  

The growing feeling in the pit of your stomach was one you knew he strived for. His favorite trick, once he knew the secret. And whenever you tried to resist – still uncomfortable with the way your body reacted to him – he gave you no choice. 

No poet could adequately describe how completely your orgasm consumed you. With the way you jolted against his mouth, he could’ve electrocuted you. You wriggled and writhed in his arms as you came, but he didn’t stop, even as your walls clenched around his fingers and your thighs pressed even more tightly against the sides of his head.

Your familiar moans devolved into some desperate sounds you’d never made before, curse words spilling out over your lips as you just kept cumming – but he still held tight to you as you bucked wildly in his arms.  

There was unbelievable pressure until there wasn’t.  

“Fuck, I love it when you do that,” He growled with his face nestled into your quivering, dripping inner thigh. His teeth nicked the skin but were swiftly replaced with a kiss from his ravenous, open mouth. “That’s my good girl.” 

He let you collapse back onto the bed, but he denied you any time to recover.  

“I think you can do it again, baby. What do you think?” He teased, alternating words and quick kisses along the interior of your thigh. “Should we see how much more you can take?”  

You babbled something in response, but neither of you could’ve interpreted what you meant. Your limp neck rolled to the side while you tried to catch your breath; there wasn’t time. You felt him coat his fingers in the remnants of your orgasm moments before he slid them inside of you and curled them upward.  

The combination of relentless pressure and a feverish pace dotted stars across the insides of your eyelids. Breathless, dangling at the edge of a precipice, you stammered, “Yoo-Yoongi -” 

Despite the obscene squelch of his ministrations, his voice rang through, clear as a bell. “What, angel? Do you want to come again?” Stupidly, you nodded, but he didn’t scold you. Given your fucked-out state, he seemed to forgive your mistake. “Then come.” 

The blindfold covering your eyes was black, but your vision went white. As you spasmed and gushed uncontrollably around his fingers, there was a moment where you could’ve sworn your soul ejected itself from your body. If it was floating above you now, it would’ve seen how thoroughly you’d drenched your boyfriend; and how perfect he still looked with your juices dripping off his chin. 

His weight was shifting at your feet when you returned to your body. It took everything you had, but you lifted one, limp arm out in his general direction. No words, just an outstretched hand begging to find him. When it did, he slotted his fingers perpendicularly under yours, rubbed the pad of his thumb over your knuckles, and kissed the top of your hand. 

“What color?” he murmured against your skin. 

You sighed softly, exhausted but not yet entirely spent, “Green.” You paused and chewed on your bottom lip. After a moment of quiet, you asked, “Yoongi?” 

“Yes, baby?” 

It was pitiful how your request barely rolled off of your tongue, but the answer would surely be no if you didn’t ask. “Can I see you?” 

He was silent for a moment – so, the answer would be no even though you did ask – but then you heard his soft chuckle. Even after he pulled the blindfold off, your eyes were useless. Somewhere in the bright white haze was Yoongi, though you couldn’t confirm that the shadow in front of you was truly him. Maybe you truly had died. 

Blinking furiously, you refused to stop until your eyes remembered how to focus. Slowly, slowly, slowly, the dark figure before you took a familiar shape. Shirtless, with damp, black waves clinging to his cheekbones – there he was. Concern was etched into his features, but his narrowed eyes relaxed when you shot him a smile. 

“Color?” You inquired with a squeeze of your hand. 

When he dropped your hand, your heart fell with it. But he sat up on his knees, placed that hand on your cheek, and captured your lips in a kiss. It was perfect, but it was torturously brief.  

“Green,” He replied. He backed away from you until he was standing at the foot of the bed. One hand dropped to his belt buckle while the index finger on his other hand beckoned you. 

You crawled towards him until his palm silently instructed you to stop. 

“Elbows on the mattress, ass up,” He ordered as he made short work of his belt. It slid easily through the loops of his ripped jeans and clattered as it hit the floor.

You leaned forward as he instructed, knees and elbows digging into the comforter you’d absolutely need to wash later – especially considering the way your mouth watered when his jeans and boxers were discarded and kicked aside. Were you drooling? 

Your body buzzed with anticipation as he crossed to the side of the bed. You wished he took his time sidling over to you, so your eyes could continue to devour his lean, snow-white frame; but if the stiff cock encircled by his hand was any indication, Yoongi wasn’t interested in wasting time. Instead, he pushed himself up onto the bed, out of sight, and the next thing you felt was his hand collecting your hair, pulling, and forcing your face up to the camera. 

His free hand squeezed your ass cheek when he said, “Eye contact, baby. Show the camera how I make you feel. Can you do that?” 

With his tip teasing at your entrance, you weren’t confident that you could – but you’d sure as hell try. “I can,” Your determination was clear, even if the voice conveying it wavered. “I will.” 

“Good girl,” He hummed. He released your hair and placed a kiss on the same shoulder blade he had earlier - when he last had you in this position. “Now, take a deep breath for me.” 

It wasn’t graceful, the way you sucked in air as he penetrated you; it was an unholy, strangled sound, and it crashed through the quiet like a wrecking ball. Every instinct begged your head to droop forward, and your back to curve up upwards, but you fought them off. Praise for your efforts tumbled out over your spine between Yoongi’s shuttered moans. His noises had you clenching around his cock, and the tightened grip of your cunt transformed them into something guttural. 

He paused when he bottomed out. Like you, he seemed to be at a loss for words. The hand gripping your hip was holding on for dear life; and the one curved over your shoulder kept you in place, allowing him to bury himself as deeply as possible.

He didn’t speak until he slowly started withdrawing himself from you, “I love the way you take me, how that tight pussy fights me whenever I leave.” 

As his cock dragged over your g-spot, your entire body shivered. He felt it and chuckled; you hiccupped, “Still so s-sensitive.” 

“Green?” 

“More -” You begged, “Please, baby.” 

You asked for it, but you weren’t ready for it. His hips snapped forward and drove him back into you before you could process what was happening. And when he kept up that ravenous pace, rutting over and over and over your detonator, it took everything you had not to explode.

All your willpower was spent trying to withstand his thrusts, though – nothing could keep you from collapsing forward onto the bed as your white-knuckled fingers gripped the comforter below. 

Before your body could fully settle over the mattress, his hand on your shoulder evolved into an arm hooking over you. He pulled you upright as his arm crossed over your heaving chest; he didn’t stop until he had you pinned to his. 

Fucking upwards into you with shallow, staccato strokes, he scolded you. “What did I tell you?” His hand dropped from your hip and dipped between your quivering thighs. His rapid thrusts didn’t falter as his middle finger began to assault your clit. “Hmm? What did I just say?” 

“Eye conta -”

The end of that word mutated into a scream. He snapped his hips forward so suddenly, you never anticipated being shoved off the edge of the world. Your orgasm ripped through you, shutting off your brain and forcing your entire body to convulse around him. 

You went limp when you fell from your high; Yoongi’s hold on you tightened to keep you from collapsing. Unrelenting, he just – kept – rutting. Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit.

You wailed when that fourth wave crashed down over you. Caught in its riptide, you spoke in tongues; writhing and shrieking and imploding. Could a person die from coming this hard? 

Yoongi’s panting pulled you out of the abyss he’d thrown you in. “Shit,” He hissed, “I’m so close - fuck, you feel so good -” You felt it all over when he growled into your ear, “Tell me where you want it, baby.” 

You answered, but it was impossible for your hazy brain to know for sure if you’d replied verbally or telepathically. Either way, he understood – he always understood – and his break-neck speed was replaced by deep, deliberate thrusts. He groaned out your name as his cock twitched inside you, painting your walls white. 

The kiss Yoongi left in the crook of your neck didn’t wash away with the water cascading down over the two of you. You could still feel the uniqueness of its warmth, even in a cloud of steam - under the hot, heavy droplets hitting your skin.  

Your eyes were closed to avoid the conditioner he was massaging into your scalp, but your exhaustion was likely to keep them that way. The only reason you hadn’t slipped down the drain yourself was your unspoken refusal to be separated from him. Though, with that invisible string tying the two of you together, you’d never be able to stray very far, even if you wanted to.

“Can you tilt your head back, love?” 

This one was a request, not a command, and he made no effort to move it for you. The weight of your sleepiness caused your neck to roll more clumsily than you intended; it gave up, and your head bumped against his clavicle when it dropped backwards.

“Sorry,” you murmured, but he was already chuckling. “My motor skills seem to have clocked out early.” 

His laugh ricocheted off the tile. “You won’t need them,” He mused as his hands gently worked the remaining conditioner from your hair. “We can use mine.” Then he kissed the crown of your head, not once but twice. You could feel his smile spread against your scalp when you giggled. “All done, baby.” 

He’d taken his time with you; and he’d taken great care to clean – then kiss – every sore muscle he encountered. And when he was done, he used a large, plush towel to wick the lingering droplets from your skin. His hands on your waist steadied you as you stepped into a pair of sweatpants, and he smoothed the damp waves that you disrupted in unceremoniously tugging an oversized sweatshirt over your head. 

Once the two of you were fully dressed, he cupped your face in his hands, kissed you deep, and asked, “Do you need a lift back to bed?” His eyes sparkled at his joke – of course, he meant lift literally – and his eyebrow arched when you meekly shook your head. “I’m not sold. Is that your final answer?” 

You, once again, shook your head. He exhaled amusement through his nose at your indecision. Then, he placed his hands on your waist. Perfectly coordinated – as always – he lifted as you hopped, pulling you into his chest while your limbs wrapped around him. He carried you easily back into the bedroom and set you down gently on the bare mattress. 

All of your bedding was spinning in the washing machine on the first floor of your home, but he had a fluffy, full-sized throw waiting there for you. You held up one side of it, silently inviting him to join you. When he settled at your side, your head ducked down and came to rest under his chin. As soon as his arm curled over your back, your heavy lids finally closed. 

You were both quiet, one foot in a dream, when the growl of his stomach startled you both awake. Erupting into laughter, you each craned your neck to see the other beaming back. 

He wiped the mirth pooling in the corner of his eye and sighed as his laughter petered out, “Delivery from that fried chicken place?” 

“Oooh, yes, please.”

A/N: Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah! The response to the first post was so incredibly overwhelming, I simply had to write a follow-up. I might continue to add one-offs to this darksided cinematic universe (lol) simply because I love their relationship dynamic. And the sexual journey they seem to be on, hahahah. Please leave feedback so I know what you liked and what you didn't! Also, lmk if there’s something you’d want to see in any possible future installments 👀

[subwaytostardew]

▽ Adoptable Joltik  - Sidetracked Events⚡️

I added a 7-event (more like 3, really) storyline included as an update to the Adoptable Joltik mod. It consists of Emmet not taking loss well. He misses his Joltik. He doesn't want to bother you about it. He will get back on track eventually.

These play when you enter the backwoods/mountain pass between 6:00 and 10:00 AM after seeing the adoption event and have at least 8 hearts with Joltik. Enter the mountains at the same time for the 5th event (with Ingo). Each event unlocks a new line of daily dialogue from Joltik and starts a cooldown for the next event to not start until after 4 days. The final (7th) event requires 9 hearts with Joltik.

As always... Commentary under the read-more.

▷ Station Steward Thylak

This update didn't really have any planning. It was a spontaneous decision to make more events and all the content was written as I coded so it's a bit rougher than previous events.

I've been wanting to update the Joltik mod to use Emmet's new recolored spritesheet and lock adoptability behind 8 hearts as intended (and also... fix the event requirements since I realized it was set to 10 hearts instead of 8... oops). The file was also zipped in a way that removed the containing folder so it made using mod loaders like Stardrop and Vortex more finicky.

If you've already seen the adoption event, there wouldn't be much incentive for downloading an update since Emmet doesn't appear outside of events. I'm not ready to release him as a full NPC to the general public just yet! His heart events are still broken. I dread going back and fixing them. I got a bit burnt out from working through my backlog of things to do for the mod and wanted to switch tracks from pixel art (so many portraits...). Eventing is my favorite thing to do regarding the mod, so I decided to make more events to include in the update as a break of sorts (not working on the mod? Taking an actual break? Why, I'd never!). More events are the perfect solution for me wanting to show off the new art for Subway to Stardew while also not implementing submas as full NPCs in the Joltik mod.

I could make Emmet's 9-heart event but... I feel like that's more of a Subway to Stardew thing than an Adoptable Joltik thing... if that makes any sense. I might include it later when I get around to writing/coding it, but I thought it would be a bit abrupt to add in the Joltik mod since you don't really get to befriend Emmet as intended there. There's also some people who aren't obsessed with submas and do download the Joltik mod for well, Joltik! Only Joltik. I went into eventing with that in mind and well...

I missed Emmet. I wanted him to be clingy again. I think you can tell where I got a bit self-indulgent. Making a mod is a lot of work and if I have the ability to turn Stardew into an Emmet friendship simulator, I'm going to make the most out of it. I need my emotional support Emmet to keep me on track. So for people familiar with Subway to Stardew and do like submas, you can get Emmet hugs at 9 hearts with Joltik now because I got derailed. Yippee!

The sneaking around in the mountain pass part was just silly. Since you can't visit Emmet in the Adoptable Joltik mod, I wanted to write around you not being able to find him. He's actively avoiding you now. Whether or not you notice him doesn't matter. He's not going to talk to you. It's safer that way.

I was thinking that Emmet doesn't take loss or changes in his routine very well; adopting Joltik would cause him to split tracks with you for a little bit. He's clingy and can't stand the few he cares about being gone even a little bit. He overthinks Joltik being happier with you so his inferiority complex flares up and he gets insecure about you forgetting him, too. He's jealous of you being a two-car train and he misses having Joltik aboard. He knows it's wrong to direct his frustrations at you since all you did was make Joltik happy.

There is a lot derailing his train of thought. While it's hard for him to stay on track, he still cares about you; you're still his best friend and favorite passenger (at the end of the line...). He doesn't want to split tracks forever, so he'll steer himself away in case if he accidentally lashes out or you end up thinking he's annoying with his visits for Joltik. He doesn't want you to hate him. He just wants to make sure Joltik still cares about him and still care for them while he takes the time to adjust to the changes in his routine. He's still frustrated with you, but that's his problem, not yours. He knows that. He thought it was a good idea to avoid you until he adjusted.

After all of that, his frustrations die down and he's a little deprived of his favorite (not-Joltik) passenger. He's clingy again. He won't let anyone derail him. Not even you. But he's back on track!

[niqhtlord01]

Humans are weird: The difference in power

( Please come see me on my new patreon and support me for early access to stories and personal story requests :D https://www.patreon.com/NiqhtLord Every bit helps)  

“You are holding a human prisoner named Jonathon Clay; release him into our custody immediately.”

Those had been the first word this robed human spoke when they entered the station.  There had been no introduction, no explanation, not even an under the table bribe Mel’ka was now disappointed to not be receiving. This displeasure he now felt was something Mel’ka would gladly return to this arrogant human.

“I don’t know how things work on your dirt planet,” Mel’ka mocked as he leaned back in his chair, “but on Zendari we have these things called laws, and your friend broke quite a few of them.”

Pulling up the file on his terminal, Mel’ka read over the rap sheet of the human now languishing inside the lowest prison cell. “Disorderly conduct, heckling, possession of drugs, intent to sell drugs, attempt to hire flesh worker, ownership of a canine-“

Mel’ka had intended to finish reading the list but was interrupted by the human opposite him removing a metal badge of some sort and holding it up for him to see. It had a large sun painted black with a human skull in the center of it. Mel’ka wasn’t sure what it was, but could swear he had seen it before somewhere.

“Do you know what this is?” the human asked. Mel’ka shrugged in indifference so the human elaborated. “This is a badge of honor; a symbol of my membership in the order of the fallen sun.”

Mel’ka picked up the badge lazily and inspected it. Something finally clicked then and he realized were he had seen it before. “Your friend had one just like it.” He said as he continued scrolling through the terminal files to the section including pictures of items they possessed at time of incarceration. True enough was a badge baring the same markings, but this one had a deep gash carved into it deforming the overall image.

Mel’ka looked up and now realized who the strange human was. “You here to bail out your friend?” he mockingly chided.

To his surprise the human shook his head. “Jonathon Clay betrayed our order and fled from his duties.” Lifting his robe slightly, Mel’ka could see a sheathed blade rest on the human’s waist. He looked up into their face still shrouded by the hood of the robe and saw the cold stare in those green eyes. “I have been sent to exact the punishment of our order for such crimes.”

Admittedly this was something Mel’ka had not expected and leaned forward in his chair. Humans carrying out vendettas were nothing knew, as rumors of such things swirled the galaxy; but this was the first time he had personally encountered such a hunt.

Even seeing the blade Mel’ka was far from threatened. Between the human and himself stood a foot thick of laser resistant strogen glass, and if it was capable of deflecting the concentrated barrage of a laser cannon it would be able to stop a thin piece of metal. Though to be safe, Mel’ka flicked the attention switch below his desk that sent an alert to the guards waiting inside the rest of the station.

“Your gang of misfits has no authority here,” Mel’ka spoke as a pair of guards entered into the lobby, “so take your arts and crafts badge and leave.”

Both guards flanked the human, ready to either escort them out or take them into custody depending on how they reacted. The human was not moved by the show of force and kept their gaze fixed on Mel’ka.

“Hand Jonathan Clay over to my custody.” The human repeated. “I will not ask again.”

Mel’ka held up a hand and pointed to the door. “Get out of my face or we’ll have you written up on disturbing the peace.”

Standing silently, the human continued matching Mel’ka’s gaze. “I had wished it would be different this time.” They said as they turned around and walked towards the door, casually shoving the two guards aside as if they were made of paper. “You could have made things so much easier.”

“Have a pissy day to you too, flesh sack.” Mel’ka laughed as the human left and gave him nay a second thought. ----------------------------

*Two days later*

“Inbound vessel identify yourself at once, this is your final warning.” The system controller repeated into their communicator.

There was no reply save for the repeated beeping from the scanners as the unknown vessel continued approaching the planet. It had entered the system not more than three hours ago and had not responded to any of the hails from the system control center.

At first they believed there was a problem with the transmissions being distorted by the outlying asteroid belts, but that was dispelled when the ship passed through them and continued on a direct path to the homeworld.

Looking up from his display the system controller turned to his overseer who had been monitoring the situation. It had gone unnoticed by them for so long as the overseer was reviewing system controllers for the entire system. A lone ship was often beneath their notice, but that changed once the vessel passed into the inner sphere.

“Have patrol ships seven, nine, and six intercept the unknown ship.”

The system controller nodded and brought up a visual display for the overseer. Three patrol ship icons flashed into being and peeled off their previous routes along the merchant lanes and began converging on the unknown vessel.

“Patrol ship nine is feeding visual inputs now.”

The screen changed again to show the cold vacuum of space. Zooming in slowly the forward cameras of the patrol craft finally caught visual of the unknown ship. A long sleek design like a blade draped in the colors of black and red came into focus. There were no visible points of weapon ports or fighter bays, but the overseer was smart enough to know that just because he couldn’t see them didn’t mean that they weren’t there.

Aside from the red and black colors there were no other specific identifications for the craft save for a small image painted on the prow of the vessel.

“Increase magnification of grid three-four-three.”

The system controller entered the commands and the prow of the ship enlarged and the image came into focus displaying a black sun with a skull in the center.

“Do we have records of this image in our database?” the overseer asked as he examined the view screen. His answer was not long waiting as the rapid keystrokes of the system controllers around him replied.

“We have only one report of this image reported by an enforcement station on the surface.” The controller began. “It belongs to a human group called the “Order of the Fallen Sun”.”

“No previous reports?” This was curious to the overseer. “No affiliations, actions, previous encounters?”

The controllers shook their heads one by one as the results came back negative. Before the overseer could inquire further he was brought back to the moment by a hasty callout.

“Ship is not responding to hails from patrol craft and is not slowing down.”

Wrapping his fingers on his command throne the overseer had had enough. “Patrol ship nine you are authorized to attach towing cables to unknown vessel and force the ship to a standstill.”

On the view screen a large claw the size of a small building was fired at the human vessel. Once it attached the patrol craft would pull the line tight and flood their engines in reverse to stop the vessel while the rest of the patrol craft arrived.

“Line has been attached,” a controller called out, “patrol nine is now pushing engines in full reverse.”

The overseer watched the scanner display expecting the human vessel to begin slowing down, but there was no sign of reduced speed at all.

“Confirm the cable is attached.” The overseer demanded, to which the controller nodded.

“Cable is confirmed attached to exterior hull of human vessel and engines are in full reverse, but the human ships engines are more powerful and….” the controller stopped themselves as if to confirm something before finishing “and they appear to be dragging the patrol vessel instead.”

“Enough of this!” the overseer shouted. “Due to the clear and present danger posed to the homeworld I am authorizing the use of force against the human ship.” Tapping several keys the overseer opened a direct channel to patrol ship nine, who was now joined by patrol ships seven and six.

“Fire upon their engines and cripple the vessel, do not allow it to reach the homeworld.”

The patrol ship icons flashed green and in unison opened fire on the human ships engines. Energy lances trailed towards the tail end of the human ship before stopping short in a bright flash and then dissipating.

“What happened?” the overseer demanded, now becoming frantic. The human ship was just moment away from obtaining orbit above the homeworld.

“Energy lances impacted against projected energy barrier at the rear of the ship.” One of the controllers called out.

“If they had the capacity to block the energy lances why didn’t they block the towing cables?” another controller asked, but if they expected an answer it would be a long time coming.

“Energy build up in human ship!”

The overseer watched, expecting the worst as a potentially deadly barrage bombarded his homeworld killing millions. Instead they were greeted by a bright cone of light emerging from the ship and descending to the planet’s surface.

Several minutes passed as the entire system controller staff watched with baited breath before the cone retracted back into the human ship.

“Human vessel is coming about and heading back on previous course.”

True to the callout, the overseer watched as the human ship about faced and began leaving the system as slowly as it had entered. All the while all three patrol craft continued bombarding it with energy lances.

“Order patrol ship nine to disengaged the towing cable and cease all offensive actions.” They said defeated.

“We’re just going to let them go?” one of the controllers asked, to which the overseer looked at them angrily. Not at them personally, but in the failings of his entire organization.

“I doubt we have any means of stopping them.” -------------------------- *Two weeks later and after many completed investigations*

“After further review of the events that unfolded we have finally determined the purpose of the human vessel.”

The boardroom sat in silence as the projection screen came to life showing a human in prisoner fatigues.

“This is Jonathan Clay, a human who was detained two days prior to the attack on our world.” The presenter opened up with.

“We can now confirm that he was a former member of the human order that attacked us, but had parted ways on less then admirable terms with the organization.”

The slide changed to show a video feed capture of another human, though this one was shrouded behind a deep robe.

“A member of this human order was reported to have made contact with the local enforcement station staff were they demanded Jonathan Clay be handed over to them to receive punishment directly from the order. The staff refused and the human was sent away.”

Once again the slides changed to show the live feeds taken from the patrol craft that had invaded the system, casually swept aside the defense patrol craft, and had launched some form of energy beam to them planet before leaving.

“We can now confirm that the energy beam that was sent from the order ship to the planet was focused around the enforcement station that still housed Jonathan Clay.”

Several intakes of breath came from those gathered at this news but the presenter continued. “We can also confirm that Jonathan Clay was taken from the station via this energy beam and transported back to the ship before it fled the system.”

“They sent an entire ship just to retrieve one man?” one of those gathered asked amusingly. “Did we have their commander’s son?”

The presenter shook their head. “We are unsure, but our leading theory is that this Jonathan Clay had dishonored the order enough to the point no other punishments would be accepted.”

One of the military leaders gathered raised a hand in question. “Why weren’t our patrol craft able to stop the vessel?” he asked. “They may not be military grade, but the human ship was hardly a warship.”

“We know very little of the human orders ship designs, so it would be entirely possible that this was a warship that far outclassed out own vessels.”

The military leaders grumbled at this unconvinced. “If they had this much power, why did they not use to wipe away our ships instead of letting them fumble about?”

“We have another theory on that, though it is far more troubling.” The presenter switched the slides again to show a banner of the human order being displayed in a neighboring star system. “We believe the humans were intending to send us a message.”

“A message?” the military leader pondered, “What message?”

“That they can come and go as easily as they please and we can do nothing to stop them.” The presenter laid out in grave terms. “And we should now be strongly worried if next time they are not as restrained as they were before.”

[brittanagirlcrush]

When You Find Forever

This is also posted at FF.Net (but for some reason the link doesn't work)

Brittany is a four hundred year old vampire who has just fallen in love for the first time. She wants Santana to be hers … forever.

A/N: Found this in an old file. I wrote it during my Buffy the Vampire Slayer days but it didn't really resonate with me so I abandoned it. Found it yesterday and realized it just * might * work for Brittana. I cleaned it up but I'm not sure it worked as well as I'd hoped. Hopefully, this will make sure you don't forget me while I work on my longer fics ;).

(Yes, I am aware that I switched the spelling from Brittany to Brittanie then back to Brittany – I was trying to differentiate between Brittany present and Brittanie past.)

(I am eleven chapters into the next installment in my Brittana world and am hoping to have it finished by the end of July. * fingers crossed *)

M for some sexy times.

*~*~*~*~*~

Moonless night, lightning arcing over the ocean. A balmy breeze brought Santana's scent to her. Four hundred years, thousands of sights, sounds, and smells … and hers was the first to take hold of Brittany's heart. Four hundred years had lead her to this woman. And tonight – tonight she would make Santana hers – forever.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Santana walked to The Coffee Spot and ordered a sweet tea before making her way to the comfortable couches in the back room.

Tucking her left leg under her as she sank into the worn leather couch, she thought about Brittany and smiled. Brittany had asked Santana to meet her here tonight. The call had come out of the blue which was kind of unusual. Brittany wasn't really a “spur of the moment” girl but, then, Brittany was still quite a mystery. Maybe Santana just hadn't seen her spontaneous side.

She thought about what she did know about Brittany; it wasn't much. They'd met moonlight surfing one night, the only two people on the beach that night. Santana had thought she was the only person who enjoyed surfing by moonlight so Brittany being there had surprised her. Pleasantly so.

She and Brittany had started talking after several runs and they discovered they had more than moonlight surfing in common; campy movies, fantasy novels, board and card games, and several of the same 90's tv shows, including Buffy the Vampire Slayer. Brittany said it wasn't completely accurate but it was still entertaining and Santana enjoyed teasing her about it because, of course, Brittany knew so many vampires.

Brittany always laughed and said “Hey, you never know.”

It was almost dawn when Brittany finally stood to go and Santana headed home.

Their biggest disagreement was always over who was hotter: Willow or Tara. Santana, a slim brunette, was attracted to the curvier Tara while Brittany, who was an athletically built blonde with curves, was completely infatuated with Willow.

The best thing they had in common was that they were both nocturnal. Santana had always hated mornings and had never been able to sleep at night. It was too quiet at night which made the noises and thoughts in her head too loud. Daytime was better for sleeping; cars and people, the sounds of children playing – the noises of life that kept all her personal noises at bay.

She remembered the first time they made love. It had been around five in the morning and they'd just gotten in. Santana was going to drive home when Brittany looked at her and uttered one word as she took Santana's hand.

“Stay.”

And with that, their lips met, parting as they exchanged tongues. They had kissed before, but not like this. Brittany's tongue dueled with, caressed and then sucked Santana's into her mouth, scraping it with her teeth. Santana ran her tongue over Brittany's lips, her hands on Brittany's hips, pulling the girl into her. Brittany maneuvered them to the bed and Santana had covered the blonde with her body, sliding her hands up Brittany's sides and under her shoulder blades, clinging to her as her lips moved to Brittany's ear. She teased the ear with her tongue, suckling the lobe as Brittany gasped then moaned.

Santana felt the heat between her legs as she nibbled and sucked Brittany's neck, Brittany's moans and sighs making Santana hungry for more of Brittany's soft skin. She separated from Brittany for a moment – just long enough to strip both their shirts and bras off. She paused for a second, drinking in the sight of Brittany's flawless skin and full breasts.

“You are so beautiful,” she breathed before leaning back down and recapturing Brittany's lips, their breasts rubbing against each other.

Brittany groaned into Santana's mouth as Santana settled her knee between Brittany's thighs then began kissing, sucking and nipping at the exposed flesh of Brittany's neck, throat, collar bones, and shoulders, delighting in every gasp and groan the escaped Brittany's lips, exciting over every shudder and arch.

Brittany arched against Santana's knee, her body begging for more as Santana trailed her tongue over Brittany's heated skin, circling each breast with tongue, teeth and lips, getting tantalizingly close to her nipples without touching them.

“Oh, gods, Santana ,please,” Brittany whimpered.

“Please what?” tongue flicking closer to the nipple.

“Please,” she pleaded, “take me, please.”

At that, Santana smiled and ground her knee into Brittany's center as she captured one of her nipples between her teeth; sucking it, flicking her tongue roughly over the nipple. Brittany gasped loudly and arched hard, her body responding to Santana's love making.

Santana continued rocking into Brittany, assaulting each nipple and breast with her mouth; tongue, teeth, lips each taking their turn. Brittany arched hard with a scream and Santana felt dampness on her knee. Grinning, she pulled back and looked at her lover. Brittany's face had a besotted look on it. She looked at Santana in awe.

“You...you made me cum...oh my gods...how...”

Santana chuckled and stripped her jeans and panties off, then helped Brittany out of hers. She laid a towel down then climbed into the bed next to Brittany and pulled the comforter over them.

“I listened to your body,” Santana said quietly, “and it told me what to do.” She smiled as Brittany's eyes began to drift closed. “I love you,” she said softly, kissing Brittany's forehead and pulling her close.

A smile played at Brittany's lips as she murmured “I love you, too,” before drifting off to sleep.

*~*~*~*~*~

“Penny for your thoughts,” a quiet voice said.

Santana grinned up at her lover. “Brittany in my thoughts,” she said as Brittany sank down next to her, planting a slow lingering kiss on her lips. “Mmmm...hi there.”

“Hi,” Brittany grinned, “been waiting long?”

“Not really,” she answered, “still ice in the tea.” She rattled her glass as proof.

“You were pretty far away when I walked up,” Brittany said, taking a sip of her latte.

“Thinking about you – about the first time we made love.”

Brittany blushed. “I couldn't believe you made me cum without really touching anything but my breasts. Still can't.”

Santana grinned and leaned close in. “Want me to do it again?” she asked, her voice breathy as her tongue snaked out and caressed Brittany's ear.

Brittany groaned. “Dammit, Santana, that's not fair. Gods, you made me wet.”

Santana giggled and pulled back. “I can't help myself when I'm with you.”

“Vixen,” Brittany grinned.

“So, what'd you want to talk about?”

Brittany sobered. “Not here, okay? Let's go back to my place.”

Santana frowned. “Okay – but can we get something to eat on the way? I'm hungry.”

“When aren't you hungry?” Brittany laughed.

“I'm always hungry,” she said, standing up and offering Brittany her head, “it's just not always food I'm hungry for.”

Brittany blushed and took Santana's hand, grinning as she stood up.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

They found themselves in Brittany's room after they'd eaten, Brittany sitting cross-legged on the bed looking seriously at Santana.

“Santana...” she started.

“Yeah?” Santana smiled at her. “Why so serious?”

Brittany took a deep breath and started again. “Santana, I love you. My whole life, I've never loved anyone the way I love you.”

Santana frowned. “I love you, too, you know that.”

Brittany nodded and looked down at her hands. “I know and that's what makes this so hard. I'm not who you think I am, Santana.” She looked back up at Santana, tears spilling down her face.

Santana moved closed to her lover. “Hey … whatever it is … we'll work it out, okay?”

Brittany nodded and started for a third time. “Santana, I want us to be together. Forever.” She looked up at Santana who smiled encouragingly and nodded. “The thing is … I'm not going to age or die,” she looked steadily at the other girl – no turning back now. “Santana, I'm a vampire.”

Santana looked at her like she was waiting for the punchline. “Brittany, come on … what's going on?”

Brittany sighed, knowing there was only one way Santana would believe her; taking a deep breath, she morphed. He face was almost unrecognizable as her brow creased, her canine teeth lengthened to sharp fangs and her eyes burned red.

Santana yelped and backed away, stumbling in the process and falling to the floor, scuttling further away.

Brittany re-morphed. “I'm sorry, baby. I …”

“But … but … we've been to the beach – your skin is almost as dark as mine.” Santana looked incredulous. “This isn't real … this can't be …”

Brittany relaxed her features and started explaining again. “Sunlight doesn't kill us – we're just not crazy about it because our eyes are sensitive to the light and we do burn easily. It's not fatal. It's more of an allergy. I've been tanning for centuries to minimize the effects of sunlight on my skin but it still hurts my eyes.”

“This is crazy! There's no such thing as vampires!” Santana was shaking her head. “They're fictional. When do you … feed? How? Have you killed anyone?” Brittany slowly moved toward Santana, not wanting to spook her. Santana looked at her with a mixture of fear and betrayal on her face. “Why now? Why tell me now?”

Kneeling in front of her, Brittany took her lover's face gently in her hands. “I want to spend eternity with you. I want you …” she took a deep breath then plunged in, “I want you to join me.”

Santana gaped at her.

“I'm not expecting you to answer right away. I know it's a lot to take in. Think about it. In four hundred years, I haven't loved anyone. I want us to be joined forever. I love you, Santana.”

Santana recoiled from Brittany. “I … I have to … I can't …” she stammered, pushing Brittany away as she stood up and went to the door, leaving without looking back.

Brittany collapsed on the floor, sobbing against the side of the bed. She had known it could go badly – had been prepared, she thought, for Santana to walk away. She'd been wrong. She wasn't ready for this – her non-beating heart shattered.

There was a whisper of air and the scent of not-Santana in the room. “Go away, Constance,” she said, not looking up from where she lied huddled on the floor.

“Is that any way to talk to an old friend?”

The silky voice sent shivers down Brittany's spine – and not the good Santana shivers. Brittany swallowed a sob. “We were a lot of things, but friends was never one of them,” she said coldly, suddenly very weary.

“Your mistake, dearheart,” Constance continued as if Brittany hadn't spoken, “was telling her instead of just turning her.”

Constance stretched out on the other side of the bed as Brittany looked up and glared at her. Her movements were deliberate, designed to remind Brittany of nights long ago.

They had the opposite effect – Brittany remember those nights in a different light now. Oh, she remembered the sex. The countless hours of games and “toys”. But that's all it had been: games and toys. Constance had turned her without her permission in a moment of angry passion.

*~*~*~*~*~

It had been hot, Brittany remembered – unbearably hot. It was Paris, 1608 and Brittanie Du Maurier was a privileged nineteen year old in the court of King Henri IV. She was being courted by many handsome young courtiers but it was the Comtesse Constance LePossileaux who fascinated Brittanie. Older, sophisticated, married to a Count who was ages older than she, Constance represented everything Britannie aspired to be and Constance had apparently taken a liking to the young woman. She took Britannie under her wing, introducing her to the crème de la crème of Parisian society and schooling her in all manner of the finer things in life; wine, art, theatre. Britannie had been awestruck.

One night, unable to sleep from the heat, Britannie had slipped down to the water pond in the courtyard and slipped into the bath-warm water wearing nothing but a sleeveless cotton sheath. She floated for a bit before getting out, the sheath made shear by the water and clinging to every curve. The air was warm, but a slight breeze cooled her skin and she felt her nipples tighten under the sheath.

“You should be more careful at night, darling,” came a voice sultry and smooth as silk.

Britannie felt her heart leap to her throat and a thrill of excitement shoot up her spine at having been caught. “Who's there?” she called in the direction of the voice hidden in the shadows.

Constance, naked skin luminous under the bright full moon, stepped from under a moss covered tree.

“My, my lady...” Britannie stammered, trying not to stare at the Comtesse.

Constance less walked than glided toward Britannie.

“Yes, my dear?”

“Forgive my impropriety,” she said, lowering her eyes, “it's just been too hot to sleep.”

“We'll see,” the older woman said, circling the younger woman. “You are a lovely young thing, but you need training and you shall, of course, have to be punished.”

“P-punished?” Britannie looked up, eyes wide with fear as she thought of the dungeons.

Constance's laughter was like bells on a Christmas horse. “Don't be afraid, dearheart,” she said, capturing Britannie's chin in her hand, holding her gaze. “You won't be permanently damaged.” With that, Constance captured Britannie's lips in a punishing kiss, bruising the girl's tender lips as Constance's tongue thrust harshly into Brittanie's mouth. With her free hand, she cupped Britannie's breast and brutally pinched the nipple.

Britannie's cry of pain and surprise ended in a moan swallowed by Constance's greedy mouth.

Breaking the kiss, Constance turned away leaving Britannie breathless and bereft.

“Come,” Constance commanded, leaving no room for argument.

Britannie, for reasons she didn't understand at the time, felt her sex tighten at the tone of Constance's voice and hurried to obey, eager to please.

Brittany shivered at the memory. Her “training” had begun that night. Constance had been a stern Mistress – finding any excuse to beat her, usually until she bled.

Brittany hadn't known, until the night Constance turned her, that Constance was a vampire. In retrospect she recognized the clues but, at the time, she didn't even believe in vampires. She remembered in vivid detail the night she was turned.

Britannie had been flirting with a handsome young Duke who had expressed an interest in courting her. She and Constance had been together for five years and Britannie was ready to end it. She was tired of being Constance's slave, of being beaten and ill-used for Constance's pleasure and amusement. She needed to marry and have children so she would be taken care of. She liked the Duke – he was handsome and kind and would make a suitable husband. After promising to meet the Duke in the morning for breakfast, Britannie had kissed his cheek and slid from his arms. She hurried to her rooms and closed the door, flush with excitement and giddy with thoughts of the handsome Duke. She had no sooner closed the door than a hand slapped her face hard accompanied by a harsh whisper:

“You ungrateful slut!”

Britannie, hand to her burning cheek, looked up from the floor where the slap had sent her. She had never seen Constance so angry – her face was somehow disfigured but Britannie couldn't quite put her finger on why or how.

Grabbing a handful of Britannie's hair, Constance dragged the young woman to the punishment room.

“Assume your position on the cross, whore!”

For the first time, Britannie balked at the command. “No.”

“WHAT?!” Constance raged at her.

“I said 'no' Constance. I will no longer be subjected to your punishments. I am going to marry the Duke and you and I are at an end.”

Face mottled with rage, Constance grabbed the younger woman with a vice-like grip and forced her to the cross. Britannie felt the shackles tighten on her wrists and ankles and screamed, earning herself another hard slap.

“You are mine, you worthless cow! I decide when we are at an end!” Constance's eyes glittered with cruelty and, for the first time, Britannie was afraid. Gone were the tiny thrills of excitement these punishments usually elicited. Constance moved slowly and deliberately, making sure Britannie saw the clamps and the metal tipped cat o'nine tails. Putting the clamps on Britannie's nipples, Constance gave each of them a vicious twist causing a cry of pain to escape Britannie's lips.

“That's just to start, you miserable little nothing. Before the night over, you will well and truly know pain.”

The first lash was harsh and raised welts on Britannie's soft breasts and smooth abdomen. Again, Britannie cried out.

“Pray for mercy and forgiveness whore!” Constance snarled as she snapped the whip again and the metal again bit into Britannie's skin.

She would not beg, she decided. She would die first.

Lash after merciless lash – the tips gleaming silver, then red, in the candlelight as her blood flowed freely from the countless wounds the cat opened in her skin. She didn't know how long the beating lasted. The floor ran red and she passed out only to be awakened by a bucket of piss dumped over her head.

“Stay awake, you filthy slut – the best is yet to come.”

Wounds stinging with the urine's acid, Britannie started to cry despite her best attempt. She would not beg. She would not break – not now, not ever. The cat was dipped in the cheap whiskey they served in the taverns and the beating began again – re-opening closing slashes and creating new ones. Britannie fought to stay conscious, to avoid more piss but it was in vain as Constance dumped a bucket of cold water over her, then a bucket of the cheap whiskey. She screamed again but still refused to beg Constance to stop.

“Stubborn bitch,” Constance screamed, her face transfiguring into something hideous and inhuman; her teeth elongating and sharpening to points. “I will make you mine forever!”

Britannie screamed as Constance stepped up and sank her fangs deep into Britannie's neck. She could feel her pulse pounding as her heart fought to compensate for the blood Constance was draining from her. Her vision went red – then there was nothing until she next awoke, still tied to the cross, a faint coppery taste in her mouth, her limbs numb, body aching.

“Good morning, darling,” Constance's voice was smooth as silk again.

Britannie winced. Loud. Bright. She could hear the horses whinnying in the barn as though they were in the room with her. Constance's voice grated on her nerves.

“Wh-” Britannie couldn't speak, her mouth dry and her throat sore.

“Oh, darling, isn't it marvelous? We're going to be together forever,” Constance grinned and Britannie felt her blood run cold at the sight of Constance's fangs. No – she couldn't – vampire? No – vampires weren't real. But …

“Yes, yes … I'm a vampire,” Constance said impatiently, “and, now, so are you.”

Britannie sagged against her restraints, unable to believe what Constance said, all the while feeling the blood pounding in her ears and hearing the breathing and heartbeats of other souls in the castle. She gave in and let oblivion claim her.

The next time she woke up, she was alone in her own bed; Constance must have thought turning Britannie would hold her. Britannie growled as the bloodlust coursed through her; she was hungry and needed to feed. Instinctively, she knew what she had to do; that must have been why Constance left her alone; she'd known Britannie would need to feed and instinct would tell her what to do.

Britannie slipped from her room and found an unsuspecting chambermaid. Grabbing her from behind so she wouldn't recognize Britannie (and, truth be told, so Britannie wouldn't recognize her), she sank her teeth into the woman's neck, slaking her bloodlust but not killing the woman. She achieved a moment of clarity as she fed; she needed to leave. Now.

Quickly dressing, she gathered the gold she'd been hoarding for the past five years. She had never been stupid and had realized, after that first night with Constance, that she might have to leave in a hurry one day. She donned the men's clothing she had hidden and, after cutting her hair and putting on a cap, stole away into the night. At that time, she had no idea Constance could track her scent. All she knew was that she didn't want to be recognized and she wanted to get as far away from Court as possible before Constance knew she was gone.

It had been weeks before she got out of France, learning the rules as she went. Rules about sunlight, stakes, and holy water; entering private dwellings and the risks of not feeding. Most were myths she had heard as a child, confirmed (as rumors) in the small taverns on her way out of the country. She didn't know where she was going – just that it was away from Constance.

*~*~*~*~*~

And now, Constance was here. Four hundred years and a new world away and Constance had found her again, after following her from France, to Bulgaria, Germany, Belgium, Poland and finally England. Each time, Britannie slipped away. She was tired of running but she would not submit to Constance ever again. Not after finally knowing what love truly felt like.

“I told you we were going to be together forever.”

Brittany felt the chill in those words and looked at Constance. “How did you get in here?” she said more confidently than she felt. “I didn't invite you in.”

Constance's laugh was like ice. “Dear girl, the invitation only rule doesn't apply to vampires – only humans. Some archaic magical curse to make sure we couldn't enter a dwelling and destroy the humans in their own home.” She shrugged. “It gave the food a sense of security.”

Brittany just kept looking at her, weary beyond measure. “Whatever you want, I don't care – just go away.”

Constance stood up and hovered over Brittany. “I'm here to reclaim what's mine you stupid, stupid whore. I own you. I made you and you will be mine or I will destroy you.”

Brittany gaped up at Constance – undisguised disgust on her face. “Never again, Constance. You will never touch me again.”

Brittany snarled as Constance grabbed her roughly by the hair and pulled her to her feet.

“I will do what I want and you cannot stop me.”

Brittany was reminded how strong Constance was as she struggled to free herself. For the first time since her escape, Brittany was afraid – and then the door opened and the blood froze in Brittany's veins, fear giving way to stark terror.

“Brittany, I'm …” Santana stopped dead in her tracks.

“Santana! RUN! Get out of here!” Brittany flailed at Constance, kicking and scratching, anything to keep her away from …

“Ah … Santana,” Constance sneered, “the slut who stole my slave.” Constance snarled and viciously pushed Brittany to the floor. Constance turned on Santana, her face morphing into a twisted parody of itself, Brittany clawing at Constance's legs.

“You should have listened – and run when you had the chance.” Constance reached for Santana and grabbed her roughly, pulling the girl into her and sinking her fangs into Santana' throat.

“NO!” Brittany screamed, finally finding her feet and lunging at the two women, intent only on saving Santana. She grabbed for Constance and was stunned when she found herself in Santana' arms, the dust that used to be Constance settling over them. “Wha – what …” Brittany looked at Santana who held up a wooden pencil.

Santana shrugged and smiled wanly. “I grabbed it when I saw you two and then you yelled. Saw it in an episode of Buffy once … guess it worked, huh?”

Brittany collapsed against Santana, sobbing and clinging to the other girl as the emotions of the past two hours rushed over her.

“Shhh … it's okay, baby,” Santana held onto Brittany, lightly stroking her back and softly whispering soothing noises into her ear.

They stood like that for a long while; Santana gently rubbed Brittany's back until Brittany's sobs finally slowed and stopped. Brittany pulled back from Santana, face streaked with tears. She sniffled, “My nose is running.”

Santana giggled and handed Brittany a box of tissues from the dresser.

“You came back,” she said after blowing her nose and mopping up her face.

“Yeah, I did.”

“But … why?”

Santana smiled at her. “Because I took a walk and after the noise and arguing in my head quieted down all that was left was my love for you. Okay, so you're a vampire. A little unsettling but I love you. No matter what else, that's what it comes down to.”

Brittany looked at her hopefully. “Forever?”

Santana gazed seriously at her lover. “Forever,” she answered.

They moved to each other and kissed hungrily, tongues dueling as they stripped each other. Santana led Brittany to the bed and pushed her onto it, straddling her. Brittany felt the same thrill she always felt when Santana took control, juices flowing between her legs. Santana began kissing Brittany's neck and throat, hands expertly stroking Brittany's breasts – cupping and caressing them – tweaking her nipples as her teeth left little marks all over Brittany's skin.

Brittany moaned and arched up. “Oh please, Santana...please...”

Santana chuckled and pulled back. “Please what?”

Gazing up at her lover, Brittany said, “Take me...make me yours.”

Santana smiled and captured one of Brittany's nipples in her mouth, sucking it between her lips and holding it tightly between her teeth, tongue lapping at it. As Brittany squirmed, Santana moved to the other nipple then kissed her way down Brittany's body, pausing here and there to mark Brittany's soft skin.

Brittany continued to squirm and arch, center wet with her pooling juices. She ran her fingers through Santana' hair, holding Santana' head to her body. “Gods, Santana, what you do to me,” she moaned.

Santana chuckled lightly then buried her face in Brittany's mound, breathing in Brittany's scent before slowly dragging her tongue through Brittany's slit, savoring the juices. She then moved her tongue in a circle around Brittany's clit, not touching it until she drew it into her mouth, sucking hard at it. Holding the bud gently between her teeth, she tortured it with her tongue, flicking at it, bathing it, mercilessly assaulting it as her fingers probed Brittany's velvet walls, pressing into the soft spongy spot that drove Brittany wild. She reveled in Brittany's groans and cries. Moving her fingers faster and deeper into Brittany, Santana briefly lifter her head from Brittany's clit. “Cum for me, my love,” she demanded.

Brittany cried out for Santana as she came hard against Santana's hungry mouth. Wave after wave, the orgasms crashed over her. “YES! Oh, gods, Santanaaaaaaaaa....YESSSSSSSSSSSSSS!” she screamed.

Santana lapped greedily at Brittany's juices, slowing only when Brittany's cries of ecstasy became whimpers. Removing her fingers, Santana moved up Brittany's body until she reached her face and then kissed her deeply.

“I love you, Santana,” Brittany said, tears forming and slipping free.

“Forever?”

Brittany nodded.

Santana looked at Brittany seriously. “Then take me. Make me yours,” she said, baring her neck.

Brittany stared at her, “Are you sure?”

“I've never been more sure of anything in my life,” she responded huskily, “I love you, Brittany, and I want to spend eternity with you.”

Brittany reached for Santana and kissed her deeply. “I love you, Santana. I didn't want to turn you against your will.” In quiet tones, Brittany told Santana about Constance, the “relationship” they'd had, how Constance had turned her and why Constance had shown up tonight. “It was exciting at first but...” she trailed off.

Santana smiled, “Now I know why you like it when I take control.”

Brittany blushed, “Yeah.”

Santana cupped Brittany's chin and looked deep into the other girl's eyes. “Brittany,” she said commandingly, “bite me.”

Brittany needed no further encouragement. She drew a nail across her own collarbone and looked at Santana, “When I bite you, drink from me.” At Santana's nod, Brittany pulled Santana' head toward her and sank her fangs into Santana's neck, holding Santana's head to the blood spilling from her collarbone.

As the world spun, two lovers clung in an eternal embrace – claiming each other – Forever.

[batwritings]

Okay, I know this is technically an NSFW writing blog, but I really love the way you write fluff and I just want a hug from majority of these characters- (yes I know it shows *is pointing to the amount of Phil ramblings I've sent in*)

But, listen. Hear me out.

Sitting in Eret's lap after a long day of just being royalty and finally getting to relax in her arms as she signs paperwork that she made you hand over to lessen your workload

I also realized I send in a lot of messages sorry ^^;

-🃏

Technically, lol. But fluff is honestly just as good! Also, please never apologize for sending messages! I honestly enjoy every one of them, even if I don't feel like I can do it justice ^^; Enjoy!~

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Eret was nothing less than fair, sometimes to a fault. And it wasn't just with her subjects either, oh no. She pulled the exact same thing with you on the daily. So it really shouldn't have shocked you when her Majesty herself waltzed in and stole half the paperwork off your desk.

"Eretttt," you whined after him, the king beginning to wander back to his own office. You knew how important those documents were and that Eret had their own work to deal with. They didn't need to go and theft yours.

"Yes darling?" He responded with a smirk, still working on leaving. Careful eyes were both scanning the work he'd snatched and watching where he was walking at the same time. You hopped up, scrambling the papers you did have left off your desk before following after them quickly.

"You've got your own stuff to work on," you advised, sneaking a few stray papers back from your royal partner.

"And you need a hand, I can tell," Eret tells you, squinting at a particular strain of clauses in the document she had. The two of you arrive in her office, your king settling back at her desk. As you approach, strong arms wrap around your waist, pulling you down. "Plus, I'm lonely. Nobody said we had to do this separately."

Your face was on fire, suddenly ending up in the queen's lap would do that. But as Eret continued to work diligently, you found yourself adjusting, watching her clean writing scrawl across the parchments. You sank into her warmth, getting comfortable in the spot you'd found yourself in.

It was far too relaxing for it's own good, the feeling you felt. Calm, content to watch the SMP's royalty fill out and file some of the most boring paperwork you had the displeasure of seeing. You would watch them switch back and forth between the paperwork they stole off you and their own.

Every once and again you'd make a comment or respond to something he'd asked in regard to a particular document. Otherwise, the soft silence accentuated by a ticking clock and the gentle sound of Eret's quill against the paper was nice. So nice, in fact, that you didn't even notice your eyes drooping shut.

When you came to, most of the pile was nearly depleted. A panic went through you at first before you felt your royal partner kiss your head. "Did you have a nice nap?" she asked, voice barely above a whisper.

You sighed heavily, regret settling into your skin. "Yes, despite the fact that I shouldn't have left this all to you," you mumbled, rubbing your eyes. You slipped a document from the remaining pile, looking it over with bleary eyes.

"Hush now," Eret tutted, kissing your head again. "We're in this together, and you've been at this for days my love. It's only fair that I helped out." You rolled your eyes with a fond smile.

Eret's fairness was shining once again.

[redmyeyes]

The perfect life, the perfect lie, is one which prevents you from doing that which you would ideally have done, painted, say, or written unpublishable poetry, but which, in fact, you've no wish to do.

- a meditation on the nature of not doing things from Geoff Dyer, from his book, Out of Sheer Rage.

read below, or listen on This American Life

For years, I wanted to write a book about D.H. Lawrence, a homage to the writer who'd made me want to become a writer. It was a cherished ambition. And as part of my preparation for realizing this cherished ambition, I'd avoided reading anything by Lawrence so that at some point in the future, I could go back to him, if not afresh, then at least not rock-stale. Then after years of avoiding Lawrence, I moved into the phase of what might be termed "pre-preparation."

I visited Eastwood, his birthplace. I read biographies. I amassed a horde of photographs, which I kept in a once-new document wallet, blue, on which I had written "D.H.L. Photos" in determined, black ink. I even built up an impressive stack of notes with Lawrence vaguely in mind.

But these notes, it's obvious to me now, actually served not to prepare for and facilitate the writing of a book about Lawrence, but to defer and postpone doing so. There's nothing unusual about this. All over the world, people are taking notes as a way of postponing, putting off, and standing in for. My case was more extreme. For not only was taking notes about Lawrence a way of putting off writing a study of and homage to the writer who'd made me want to become a writer, but this study I was putting off writing was itself a way of putting off and postponing another book.

Although I'd made up my mind to write a book about Lawrence, I'd also made up my mind to write a novel. Writing them both at the same time was inconceivable. And so these two equally overwhelming ambitions first wore each other down and then wiped each other out. As soon as I thought about working on the novel, I fell to thinking that it would be much more enjoyable to write my study of Lawrence. As soon as I started making notes on Lawrence, I realized I was probably sabotaging forever any chance of writing my novel, which, more than any other book I'd written, had to be written immediately before another protracted bout of labor came between me and the idea for what I perceived as a rambling, sub-Bernhardtian rant of a novel.

It was now or never. So I went from making notes on Lawrence to making notes for my novel, by which I mean I went from not working on my book about Lawrence to not working on the novel. Because all of this to-ing, and fro-ing, and note taking actually meant that I never did any work on either book. All I did was switch between two empty files on my computer, one conveniently called C:\DHL, the other C:\NOVEL, and sent myself pinging back and forth between them until, after an hour and a half of this, I would turn off the computer.

Because the worst thing of all, I knew, was to wear myself out in this way. The best thing was to do nothing, to sit calmly. But there was no calm of course. Instead, I felt totally desolate because I realized that I was going to write neither my study of D.H. Lawrence nor my novel.

One of the reasons that it was impossible to get started on either the Lawrence book or the novel was because I was so preoccupied with where to live. I could live anywhere. There were no constraints on me. And because of this, it was impossible to choose. It's easy to make choices when you have things hampering you. A job, kid's schools. But when all you have to go on is your own desires, then life becomes considerably more difficult, not to say intolerable.

Even money wasn't an issue since, at this stage, I was living in Paris. And nowhere could have been more expensive than Paris. The exchange rate got worse by the month, and Paris became more expensive by the month. What the money situation in Paris did was to emphasize that although I had settled in Paris, really, I'd just been passing through extremely slowly.

That is all anyone English or American can do in Paris, pass through. You may spend 10 years passing through, but essentially you're still a sightseer, a tourist. You come and go. The waiters remain.

The longer I stayed, the more powerful it became, this feeling that I was just passing through. I'd thought about subscribing to the cable channel, Canal Plus, as a way of making myself feel more settled. But what was the point in subscribing to Canal Plus when, in all probability, I would be moving on in a few months? Obviously, the way to make myself more settled was to acquire some of the trappings of permanence. But there never seemed any point acquiring the aptly-named trappings of permanence when, in a couple of months, I might be moving on, might well be moving on, would almost certainly be moving on?

Because there was nothing to keep me where I was. Had I acquired some of the trappings of permanence, I might have stayed put. But I never acquired any of the trappings of permanence because I knew that the moment these trappings had been acquired, I would seized with the desire to leave, to move on. And I would then have to free myself from these trappings. And so, lacking any of the trappings of permanence, I was perpetually on the brink of potential departure. That was the only way I could remain anywhere, to be constantly on the brink, not of actual, but of potential departure.

These were all issues I intended to address in different ways, either in mediated form in my study of Lawrence, or directly in my novel, or vice versa. But there was an additional practical complication too. Since I was obliged to spend a certain amount of time away from wherever I lived, and since the rent on my Paris apartment was so high, and because of the exchange rate was becoming higher every month, I was frequently obliged to sublet it. Strictly speaking, to sub-sublet it since I was subletting it myself. And since if you are subletting your apartment, you do not want to acquire too many valuable or personal items, which might get destroyed, it then comes about that you, yourself, are living in conditions arranged primarily for those subletting from you.

Effectively, you are subletting from yourself. That's what I was doing, subletting from myself. Strictly speaking, sub-subletting, living in an apartment devoid of anything that might have made it my apartment in the sense of "my home." I'd conspired to arrange for myself the worst of all possible worlds. And my days were spent in this unbreakable circle of anxiety, always going over the same ground again and again, always with some new variable, but never with any change.

I had to do something to break this circle. And so I decided to sign a contract that would make me the official tenant, as opposed to the illegal subtenant. I wasn't even sure that I wanted to stay in an apartment where I'd actually been extremely unhappy for 90% of my stay, where 90% of my stay had been dominated by anxiety about, A, whether I was going to stay, and B, whether I was going to start a novel or start my study of Lawrence. But as soon as the managing agent said that they were unwilling to let the place to me, a foreigner with no job and no steady income, I became convinced that I had to stay in this apartment where I'd actually been sublimely happy. That there was, in fact, nowhere else on earth where I could hope to be as content. Eventually, my rich friend, Herve Landry, "Money Landry," as I like to call him, agreed to stand as guarantor.

The managing agents relented, and I signed the lease that made me the official locataire. I was ecstatic for about five minutes. Then I realized I'd taken on an awesome, not to say, crippling responsibility. And far from solving the problem of where to live, I'd actually put a lid on it, so that now my uncertainty was boiling away under pressure, threatening to blow me apart. The one thing I could be sure of was that I had to leave this apartment where I'd never known a moment's peace of mind as soon as possible. If I stayed here, I saw now, I would fail to write both my novel and my study of Lawrence. That much was obvious.

Round and round I went, making no progress, resolving one thing one moment and another the next. I wrote to the agents and officially renounced the flat, claiming that "professional reasons" had obliged me to return to England. The agents wrote back, acknowledging my decision to leave the apartment. I wrote back, saying that, "Professional reasons now oblige me to remain in Paris. Could I, therefore, unrenounce my apartment?" Relieved to be free of the trouble of re-letting it, the agents agreed to let me remain in the apartment, which I had just renounced.

And so it went on. I wrote again to renounce the apartment definitively. They sent a somewhat curt acknowledgement of my decision. I wrote back, changing my definitive decision to leave to a definitive decision to stay. But it was too late. I had to leave.

Now that I did have to leave, I was faced with the terrible prospect of having nowhere to live, of having to decide where to live without delay. And only then did I realize how much this apartment meant to me, how it had actually become my home. Although I believed that I'd hardly any of my things in this apartment, there were actually many of my own things that I now had to find a place for.

Over the years, I'd actually acquired quite a few of the trappings of permanence. I even owned a surprising amount of furniture, some of it rather nice. Where was I going to store it? And what about me? Where was I going to store myself?

Rome was a possibility. Laura, my almost-wife, had a lovely apartment in Rome and was always arguing in favor of our settling there. I fretted and wondered. Why was I even prevaricating like this? I was mad not to go to Rome. Rome was in Italy, the country where the Lawrences had spent more time than any other. If I was to stand any chance of making any progress with my study of Lawrence, it was probably the very best place I could be.

As soon as I arrived, I knew I'd made the right decision. My mind was made up. I was ready to begin my study of D.H. Lawrence. The only trouble was the heat. The heat was tremendous. And nowhere in Rome was hotter than Laura's apartment.

Even the light was hot. We tried to keep the light at bay, but it drilled through the keyhole, squeezed under the door, levered open the smallest of cracks in the shutters. My mind was made up. I was ready to work. But it was too hot to work. It was so hot, we spent our waking hours dozing and our sleeping hours lying awake, trying to sleep. We were in a kind of trance.

The perfect life, the perfect lie, is one which prevents you from doing that which you would ideally have done, painted, say, or written unpublishable poetry, but which, in fact, you've no wish to do. People need to feel that they've been thwarted by circumstances from pursuing the life which, had they led it, they would not have wanted. Whereas the life they really want is precisely a compound of all those thwarting circumstances. It's a very elaborate, extremely simple procedure, arranging this web of self-deceit, contriving to convince yourself that you were prevented from doing what you wanted.

Most people don't want what they want. People want to be prevented, restricted. The hamster not only loves his cage, he'd be lost without it.

That's why children are so convenient. You have children because you're struggling to get by as an artist or failing to get on with your career. Then you can persuade yourself that your children prevented you from having this career that never looked like working out. And so it goes on. Things are always forsaken in the name of an obligation to someone else, never as a failing, a falling short of yourself.

I've devoted more of my life to thoughts of giving up than anyone else I can think of. Nietzsche wrote that the thought of suicide had got him through many a bad night. And thinking of giving up is probably the one thing that's kept me going. I think about it on a daily basis, but always come up against the problem of what to do when I've given up. Give up one thing, and you're immediately obliged to do something else.

Let's suppose, for example, that I decided to call it a day, to give up, to abandon any attempt not just at earning a living, but having a life. But what then? What would happen next? Within five minutes, I'd be thinking about listening to music and would put a CD on the stereo. Five minutes after that, I'd be up again because I would have grown fed up with that piece of music and would be scanning the shelves and shelves of CDs, searching in vain for a piece of music that I was not heartily sick of, thinking to myself that if I had more CDs, there would surely be one that I would like to listen to. And before I knew it, I'd be out of the house and on my way to the megastore, looking for a new CD.

Should anyone flatter us by asking what we're looking for, what we are searching for, then we think immediately, almost instinctively in vast terms. God, fulfillment, love. But our lives are actually made up of lots of tiny searches for things like a CD we are not sick of, an out-of-print edition of Phoenix, a picture of Lawrence that I saw when I was 17, another identical pair of suede shoes to the ones that I'm wearing now. Add them together, and these little things make up an epic quest, more than enough for one lifetime.

Thinking specifically of the search for CDs, let's assume that after deciding to give up, after sitting around listening to CDs and going out to buy a new CD, I found a CD I liked the idea of listening to. Still, at some point, I would not simply grow tired of listening to this new CD, but would actually become heartily sick of the idea of listening to CDs and would think to myself that sitting around listening to CDs is a much more enjoyable activity, a much more enjoyable inactivity if it is a relief from something else, anything else. And so I would resign myself to picking up my pen and trying once again if for no other reason than to render listening to my CDs a little less dispiriting, to make some progress with my study of D.H. Lawrence.

And there you have it. One way or another, we all have to write our studies of D.H. Lawrence even if they will never be published, even if we will never complete them, even if all we are left with after years and years of effort is an unfinished, unfinishable record of how we failed to live up to our own earlier ambitions. Still, we all have to try to make some progress with our books about D.H. Lawrence. The world over, from Taos to Taormina, from the places we have visited to countries we will never set foot in, the best we can do is to try to make some progress with our studies of D.H. Lawrence.

[from-a-reckless-writer]

dove down my rabbit hole of wips and one of my wips isnt a wip anymore! so here, have some gay shit....

“Kelly wants to get married in the woods, I want to get married in Midvale. So, apparently, our wedding will just happen via Zoom. Her in the woods, me at the beach. Ain’t that just fucking grand?”

Alex comes through the door like a hurricane covered in leather. Her helmet lands on Kara’s counter loudly. Her keys haphazardly thrown somewhere in the general direction of the bowl by the door.

“Then have two weddings.”

Alex follows the voice and her eyes zero in on her sister’s best friend.

Lena is sitting on the floor of Kara’s apartment, wearing an oversized sweater. Her dark hair spilling down her shoulders softly. A hand wrapping around a wine glass, the other typing on her laptop, not even jumping in the slightest at the commotion that is Alex’s entrance.

Alex plops down on the couch sighing loudly, not even batting an eye at this utterly domestic scene that is her sister washing the dishes with Lena Luthor on the floor of her apartment.

Lena doesn’t comment at the Danvers’ Sisters antics and Alex doesn’t call them out on the ridiculousness that Lena and Kara are still keen on keeping up.

The three of them already well desensitized to one another’s preferred brand of bullshitery.

“You know, sometimes I forget you're a rich-ass bitch and then you say shit like that and suddenly, I remember,” Alex says, smoothly snatching the wine from Lena’s hand.

She finishes the entire glass in one gulp and Lena rolls her eyes. Alex had finally proposed to Kelly the other week and well, that meant this week all of them had fallen victim to the Olsen-Danvers wedding debacle. It seems today isn’t the day that that whole dilemma is going to stop.

The wedding, of course, was still a few months away, but both parties were stressing about it as if it was going to happen immediately the next day.

Kara swoops in then, mussing up Alex’s hair, earning her an annoyed Hey stop it! before putting down another wine glass and pouring for Lena. Her arms are still wet from washing the dishes.

Lena murmurs her thanks and continues what she was saying, “Well, since you’ve finally remembered that I’m a billionaire. Let me pay for two weddings.”

Alex chokes on the wine.

“What? You’re kidding me, right?”

Lena continues typing, ignoring Alex’s shock, you’d think she didn’t just offer to pay for a wedding.

“Well, I mean, I’m never gonna get married,” Lena explains, “but if you let me do this, I can brag around that I’ve paid for two weddings. Not to mention I’m gonna make two brides very, very happy.”

“Or,” Kara interjects, lowering herself on the opposite side of the couch, perfect for Lena to lean back between Kara’s legs and lay her head on the side of her thigh. “You can just wait for Kelly to get here,” Kara says, pointedly. “Talk it out like normal adults and reach a compromise.”

Kara’s hands start to snake their way from Lena’s hair to Lena’s shoulders, massaging, all too aware that Lena won’t stop whatever it is she’s working on on her laptop till everybody gets here.

Lena lets herself melt and closes her eyes, sighing as Kara’s fingers dip at the junction of her neck and shoulder with just the right amount of pressure.

“I don’t wanna get married in the woods, Kara.”

Lena opens one eye to take a peek at Alex, who looks exasperated, her eyes pleading, gulping down another glass of wine.

“Don’t tell me,” Kara replies. “Tell Kelly.”

“The bugs, Kara,” Alex moans. “Imagine the bugs, and the moss and the ughhh.”

She dramatically thumps the back of her head on the couch.

“Imagine the soil. Clumpy wet soil. Eurgh. Ew. What if I fall face first in that? What if I trip over a stupid tree root in my heels? In my wedding dress?!”

“Alex, you don’t even have a dress yet,” Kara deadpans.

“I thought you were gonna wear a suit,” Lena adds.

“You two suck.” Alex pouts.

****

The rest of their friends arrive and Kara finally succeeds in prying Lena’s work laptop away from her. Alex was already teasing the line from tipsy to drunk by the time Kelly comes through the door.

“Let’s get married in Vegas!!!!” Is how Alex decides to greet her fiance.

Kelly laughs, gives her a peck then answers, “As much as that sounds like a very convenient wedding, I don’t think Eliza would appreciate that, baby.”

Alex frowns at being rejected, sags against the couch and crosses her arms. Why does Kelly always have to be right?

“How much has she had to drink?” Kelly turns to Kara.

“Uhh ask Lena. She made her switch to whiskey.”

Lena—who Kelly thinks was way too busy nuzzling against Kara’s neck to even answer her question—mumbles something that sounds like “S’was just two glasses.”

Kelly just shakes her head, makes Alex drink a glass of water. Her ring making a clink against the glass.

“Alright, what if,” Nia sing-songs, eyes sparkling with mischief, “we just settle this whole wedding thing with Charades?”

Nia claps her hands together like some gameshow host and Kelly takes a deep breath through the nose.

She’s been to enough Game Nights to know where this is headed.

Everybody else was intoxicated enough to accept the suggestion as a grand idea, not at all even thinking that: Hey, isn’t this something we should all take seriously?? Maybe ask the brides what they want, maybe???

Kara nods enthusiastically, agreeing immediately, “Oh!! That’s a great idea! Fun and fair at the same time!”

“Olsen vs. Danvers. Brides get to pick their teams.”

Nia pulls a white board out of nowhere, uncaps a marker and writes “Team Danvers”, “Team Olsen” separated by a neat line in the middle.

“Are we really letting Nia take charge of our wedding venue?" She hears Alex whisper from where she has her tucked at the crook of her neck.

Kelly sneaks a glance at the chaos happening before their eyes; Brainy already claiming to be on Kelly’s team, J’onn shaking his head opting to be the game scorer instead and refusing to participate, somebody’s shouting about: NIA, DREAM PROJECTIONS AT CHARADES IS CHEATING!!!!

Guess this is their life now.

Kelly smirks, boops Alex on the nose and says, “Scared you’ll lose, Danvers?”

****

Alex loses by three points.

“How was I supposed to know you were gesturing 'Transformers'!?!” She barks at Kara, throwing her hands in exasperation.

“I pointed at Nia!” Kara huffs, incredulous at the fact that her sister is blaming her.

Nia lost them a point too!

“What does Nia even have to do with it???” Alex’s voice grows higher in pitch. Her brows furrow in a mix of confusion and frustration.

“Trans, Alex. Trans.”

“Oh my God,” Alex groans. “How are you this dumb?”

And that was the story of how Kelly got her dream wedding.

****

The frenzy finally dies down, some time between Nia making up another drinking game and J’onn making her sit back down. A movie that none of them were watching provides a background noise to the almost lazy atmosphere. Kelly and Alex were pressed close on the far end of the couch, enjoying the temporary quiet.

“Guess we’re getting married in the woods, huh?” Alex murmurs.

“I guess we are,” Kelly whispers back. Alex beams at her, grinning dopily at the thought of finally getting the ending they deserve. It would be the perfect day, she has no doubt about that. No matter where they are. It would be perfect because they got there together.

Alex can’t wait.

“What? Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Nothing.”

Alex continues to smile stupidly, nudges her nose to Kelly’s.

“Just— I don’t really care where we get married, I guess.”

“Oh yeah?” Kelly raises an amused brow at her.

“Mm-hm. So long as you’re the one walking down the aisle.”

Alex presses their lips together, breathes Kelly in deep and for the first time that night, she feels that the future isn’t so scary, even though there is still a very large possibility that she might trip over a tree root on her wedding day.

Somebody interrupts their kiss.

“She’s only saying that ‘cos she lost.”

“Shut up, Luthor.”

****

“Text me when you get home!”

Lena hears Kara call loudly after her sister, before closing the door. Game Night has officially ended and as usual she’s still here. She’ll always be here, she thinks for a brief moment. The thought holding more depth than it should.

Kara didn’t even question her when everybody began filing out and Lena just started picking up the discarded dirty plates and walking them to the sink. They’re well past the point of asking each other if the other would stay over.

It was already some unspoken rule.

Already well past the point of Lena wanting to ask Kara what the hell it is they’re doing.

She’s bent over the sink, scrubbing—Kara doesn’t own a dishwasher for the sole reason that she finds doing the dishes therapeutic—when Lena takes a glance over her shoulder.

Kara is sitting on a high stool near the counter, casually flicking through her phone. It was Lena’s turn to do the dishes tonight. Once upon a time her doing the dishes would have resulted in a fight. “I can superspeed the dishes. Why would you even want to do them?” A statement that would be met with an eye roll.

Kara has learned not to fight her on it again, after around the 7th time that Lena had stubbornly insisted and Supergirl got doused with dishwashing liquid.

And now, it’s become some sort of routine, Kara does the dishes after lunch and Lena does the dishes after dinner. Oh, how the paparazzi would kill for this—Lena Luthor Knows What A Sponge Is?

“Is it true when you told Alex you’re never going to get married?”

Kara decides to break their quiet.

“Yeah, pretty certain about that one, why?” Lena turns around, cocks a curious brow. If she’s being honest she’s beyond certain that she’s not going to get married. She always jokes about how she’s married to L-Corp but it isn’t till now that she realizes how true that is, and...how lonely.

“I don’t know,” Kara murmurs, not meeting Lena’s eyes. “I just like the idea of you getting married, I guess.”

“What?” Lena chuckles at that; genuinely confused but still curious.

“Well, I mean—” Kara wobbles through her words.

“I guess, I just— I like the idea of you walking down the aisle...in a white dress,” Kara muses.

Then, “Or a suit!!” she quickly amends. “If you wanna wear a suit, that is. That can totally be arranged, you know?” Kara waves her hand around and it’s like now that she’s started, she can’t stop.

And Lena’s just standing there, water still dripping from her elbow, unsure of how to feel about Kara imagining her getting married. Quite an incredulous scene isn’t it? Her getting married? What a crazy thing to say, an even crazier scenario to imagine!

She snaps out of it, realizing Kara’s still rambling.

“I have no objections whatsoever with that, if you wanna wear a suit. And yeah, you know? I just— I like that idea. I like the idea of you dancing to your wedding song. The idea of you exchanging your vows, the idea of you-”

“Kara,” Lena decides to put a stop to it, since it’s clearly evident Kara won’t be stopping any time soon. And Lena's feeling way too many things that she doesn’t want to feel at the moment. She’s sure that she’s going to feel more, if she doesn’t put a stop to it herself.

“I’m well aware that it’s the best friend’s job to help with the bride’s wedding,” She says, “but, darling don’t you think you’re putting just a bit too much effort into this? Certainly seems like you’ve thought about it a lot.”

At that, Kara’s cheeks turn a light pink, squirming sheepishly under Lena’s questioning gaze.

Shouldn’t Kara be thinking about her own wedding? How beautiful she would look walking down the aisle. How her blonde hair would look so nicely with her dress. How happy she would finally be after finding someone she could share her life with. Not that Lena's been thinking about those kinds of things. No, of course not. That’d be hypocritical of her at this point. Why would she even— Why were they even talking about this again???

Lena tries to rein in it, tries to focus on Kara again; hands finally finding a dry towel, hesitantly walking into Kara’s space to hear the blonde more clearly.

“Well, I mean- Like I said, I do really like the idea of you getting married,” Kara repeats herself slowly.

And before Lena can come any closer, “Like the idea of you getting married…to me. More specifically,” Kara adds more quietly.

“What?”

Lena stands frozen.

“I’m sorry, I don’t think I heard y- Kara, did you just?”

Lena’s heart is pounding away in her chest. Did she hear her right? Did Kara really just—

Lena’s a step away from her and Kara uses this to her advantage. She pulls Lena closer, tugging at her wrist, the towel dropping from Lena’s hands. Kara summons enough willpower to stare into Lena’s eyes.

“I like the idea of you getting married to me, Lena Luthor.”

“Kara, I’m sorry- What?” Lena jerks away from her, the words finally landing.

“Is that a no?”

Kara lets her go. She can’t focus on Lena’s heartbeat to assess the situation more. Kara’s own heart is betraying her, drumming so loudly in her ears.

“Uh- no, that's definitely not a no?” says Lena hesitantly, eyes wide, breathing nervously. She turns away from Kara for a minute to take a breath, hands fidgeting about.

She whirls around again to face, mutters, “You do realize marriages are for people who are—”

She pauses.

How do you exactly phrase that wedding proposals are for people who are actually in some kind of romantic relationship? And not for people who casually stay over every goddamn Thursday without fail?And okay, maybe sometimes, in a much different reality, would willingly commit fratricide to save the other? And in an also much different reality, willingly expose a secret identity to save the other?

Lena can’t find the right words.

“Oh, I don’t know, Kara,” Lena scoffs, shaking her head disbelievingly. “Marriage is for people who are actually dating each other.”

Kara takes her sarcasm as a good sign and pulls her in again.

“Well,” Kara begins. She can hear Lena’s heart thumping erratically, now that Kara’s gotten her bearings.

“We can always have our first date after the wedding, right?”

Aren’t they well past the point of dating anyway?

She’s got Lena standing between her legs now, her hands wrapping around her waist.

“First date and honeymoon all in one. That sounds great, doesn’t it? I can fly you wherever you want, Paris, Maldives, hell I even have a Fortress in the Arctic, if you’re into that.”

Lena stares at her, blinks once, twice; shakes her head and lets out a noise between a laugh and a scoff.

“Kara Zor-El, you are one ridiculous woman,” She breathes, putting a hand on Kara’s cheek. Because what else is there to say? This whole conversation really is ridiculous. But at the same time Lena feels like she’s floating? Like this may be the best moment of her life, and of course, it’s going to be ridiculous. This is Kara she’s dealing with, after all.

She doesn’t know what she’s going to do if Kara reveals this to be just some sort of joke.

But the way her blue eyes are piercing through Lena’s, so earnest and so warm, argues otherwise.

“So, what do you say? Wanna get married?”

“Are you serious right now?” Lena asks, still unbelieving. This is beyond crazy. They’ve fought aliens and monsters and traveled through time but this? This is just beyond crazy.

“Lena, do I look like I’m joking? And besides, you’d already offered to pay for two weddings, why not pay for our two weddings, instead?”

She shakes her head again, let’s herself fall closer to Kara, lets out a laugh against her neck.

“Mm. You want a Kryptonian ceremony too?”

“Yeah.” Kara’s voice turns shy. “If that’s alright by you.”

“Of course, that’s alright by me. I’d be honored.”

Her heart feels more than full at the thought of Kara wanting to share that part of her with Lena. She’s always had some doubts whenever the topic of Kara’s Kryptonian heritage arises, always half-afraid she’s overstepped on something that isn’t hers.

But looks like there was nothing to fear all along.

“So, we’re getting married, huh?” Kara wiggles her brows, her face breaking into a wide grin.

“Yes. Mm-hm,” Lena hums against her. “I do. I’d marry you. Let’s get married.”

“Seal it with a kiss?"

****

“Hi.”

Lena blearily opens her eyes, follows the soft voice, her bare back being caressed by the sun filtering through Kara’s curtains.

“Hi,” She whispers back. All this feels much too like a fever dream. She’s half-tempted to pinch herself just to check. She’s woken up beside Kara a million times before but she’ll never get used to the sight of soft golden hair and sleepy blue eyes.

Kara gives her a soft peck and the feel of her lips sends Lena reeling.

The previous night was a whirlwind in her mind’s eye. The moment Lena murmured her 'Yes, please.', Kara kissed her passionately. Once they broke away, Kara had zipped around the apartment, Lena too dazed to even ask what it was Kara was looking for.

She watched as Kara tore off a keychain from one of her bags, curled the keyring to fit Lena’s finger and whispered, “This’ll do. For now.”

Kara had kissed her knuckles reverently, her lips making Lena’s blood sing in her veins. The feel of mangled metal fitted just for her left hand is an imprint on her soul. A promise of more to come.

They didn’t make it out of the kitchen the first time. Kara had lifted her by the waist and set her down on the kitchen counter. Which was a good thing, because Lena couldn’t feel her legs after.

They didn’t make it to the bedroom the second time either. She had tackled Kara onto the couch, pinning her wrists together, licking at the shell of Kara’s ear. “My turn now,” Lena had whispered. The way Kara shivered underneath her was enough of a reward. How long had they been waiting for this?

Flashes of last night had her hips bucking slightly unto Kara’s leg sandwiched between her own, but before it could escalate further...

“I have exciting news to share,” Kara tells her.

“Really?”

“Mm-hmm,” Kara hums, now nosing at Lena’s hair.

“What is it?” Lena asks.

“I’m getting married.”

“Oh you are?” Lena plays along.

“Yes. I’m getting married to my best friend,” whispers Kara, almost conspiratorially. “How cool is that?”

Kara looks giddy with excitement and Lena knows she’s mirroring that exact same expression right now.

“Mm. Very cool, darling.”

Kara giggles and they trade more lazy kisses before Lena breaks away to breathe.

“Quite a coincidence though,” Lena husks out against Kara’s lips.

“Oh really? Why?” Kara asks, tries to keep a serious neutral face despite her nose scrunching up in that cute smile that Lena can’t resist

“I’m also getting married,” Lena confides, “To my best friend," she adds, eyes flashing. "Isn’t that great?”

“Very great.” Kara nods slowly, blonde hair falling into her face, a hand running through dark tresses.

“I love you,” Lena whispers, her lips brushing Kara’s softly.

“I love you, too.” Kara kisses her harder then, her hands lazily wandering along Lena’s skin.

They lie there quietly for a few moments, basking in the morning glow and then, “Alex will kill us.”

Lena snorts, twists in the sheets and says, “I think your sister is too busy planning her wedding to even think about plotting our murder.”

read follow-up here.

[fightxxmexxshiggy]

THREE TO A DORM

SERO x DENKI x fem reader

Tw: cum eating, dirty talk

Word count: 2.3k

You just wanted to return the CD you had borrowed the other day. Never did you think you would walk in on Denki being face fucked like an industrial pocket pussy, by Hanta no less. You stood stock still in the doorway. At one of Denki's choked moans you realized that anyone could walk by and see what you were seeing. Somehow you walked fully into the room and shut the door behind yourself without alerting either man to your presence. They were much more engrossed in this mouth watering act then you had ever seen them while sharing most classes at your college due to your sister departments. 

Denki, a music major with a minor in art history, had pulled Hanta, a history major with a minor dance, over to you after the first class of the day had ended and begged you to hangout with them for lunch that day. You were flattered and more than a little happy to make friends two attractive men with an interest in history like yourself. After that day the three of you had been attached at the hip for the most part. All of which had led you to this moment watching your two best friends getting it on like porn stars in Denki's college dorm room. Not willing to be a one man audience till the very end you cleared your throat and called their names. Instantly they froze and turned their eyes your way. 

You were totally unprepared for what happened next. Instead of pulling away Hanta continued to fuck Denki's throat while staring straight at you. Denki, not to be out done, moaned like a whore and pulled his cock from his shorts to stroke himself, keeping his eye focused on you as best he could. Slowly Hanta's hips picked up speed making the wet sucking noise sound like they were booming through the room. The faster he fucked Denki's throat the fast Denki worked his own cock. You stood there just rubbing your thighs together as the men got bolder and more into this staring game. You wanted so badly to see what they would look like when they came.

You were never one to deny your sexual desires so you didn't. Keeping eye contact as best you could you pulled your shirt up over your head, leaving you in just a sports bra and the shorts you had worn to walk through the hall in. Both men's pupils blew wide with excitement. Hanta let out a small growl at the sight  of your exposed skin. Denki's grip on his cock became harsher and shit strokes faster. Grinning you ran your hands up and down your sides before pulling on the bottom of your bra and tossing it across the room where it comically smacked Hanta in the face before falling to the floor. Surprised by the action he let go of Denki's head, who fell back laughing. 

"Chica sucia do you think it's smart to provoke me? Do you think I won't just bend you over and punish that horny little pussy of yours?"

Hanta's words did nothing but spur you on to wiggling out of your shorts and panties. Deciding to be cheeky you turned your back to them and bent over, making sure to spread your thighs and ass cheeks. You heard a booming growl behind you mix with a choked moan. The next thing you knew was the feeling of hot hands on your hips as you were tossed into the air to land on the bed with a bounce. By the time you adjusted and reopened your eyes Denki was crawling up between your legs with his tongue already hanging out of his mouth. He looked like a lethal predator about to devour his prey without an ounce of mercy. The first contact of his tongue wasn't teasing or tentative, no it was intimidating as his tongue swiped through your folds, the ball of his tongue ring grazing over your clit harshly. Your eyes, which had been squeezed shut from the shock of pleasure flew open when you heard a light buzzing sound. Denki's tongue ring was apparently a vibrating one. Smirking he pulled off his shirt, revealing a toned tight body sporting a six pack. As hot as his muscles were the thing that really got you going and made a gush of liquid dribble out of your hole was the sight of the two belly button rings he had. At the top a little ornament hung in the shape of a storm cloud and at the bottom another one shaped like a lightning bolt pointed toward his golden blonde happy trail. 

"Like what you see spark plug? If you do then take a look at Hanta. I wouldn't be surprised if you came just from taking all that sexy tanned skin in." 

The smirk on his face as he said this made your belly do a crazy little flip. Turning your head you looked over to see that he hadn't been kidding. Hanta was amazingly sexy with clothes on but seeing him now that he had taken his shirt off and stood just out of reach stroking his cock was almost enough to have you cuming, as it was your pussy started to twitch as if trying to find a way to fill itself. Hanta skin was lightly tanned, his nipples were pierced with simple silver bars and his cock oh fuck his cock had two silver bars through the underside just under the head. It was definitely the start of a Jacob's ladder and you were seriously going to ascend if they felt as good as they looked. Hanta stopped stroking his cock as the smirk on his face grew just a little mean. Coming up beside the bed he threaded his hand through Denki's hair and gave a little tug. 

"Denki be a good boy and give our little princesa a good tongue fucking so I can stretch that pussy once it's nice and sloppy."

With a broken whine Denki dove into your pussy like a starving man. His tongue ring caught on the edge of your hole as he slid his tongue inside, the vibration startled a high pitched moan from your throat. You opened your eye's to watch as he continued to eat, suck, and curl his tongue inside of your pussy. Instead you watched, absolutely entranced as Hanta stripped himself of his Jean's and then helped Denki do the same and he refused to take his mouth from your soaked hole. Once they were both naked Hanta spread a bit of lube on his cock before straddling Denki's thighs. While you cried from the sudden orgasm brought on by the sucking and vibrations against your clit, you also watched as he gripped the blonde pussy eaters ass and began to slide his cock through the cheeks, fucking them.

Denki continued to eat you through two more orgasms before you grabbed his hair and came squirting straight into his mouth. The man moaned and drank from you greedily. You guessed that he was happy seeing how he had been denied the cum he was to receive from that earlier face fucking. Seeing that your pussy was now sloppy and pleasantly relaxed Hanta shifted Denki to the side and grabbed your ankles pulling you to him on the bed. Slowly he pushed the head of his thick cock into your still tight hole until it popped in. A sharp gasp was pulled from you as the first of the two bars caught at your rim. Hanta pulled his hips back making it so his cock was just sitting against your opening. Then without warning he slammed forward filing you with more than half of his cock in one go. You screamed, throwing your head back against the pillow as your pussy tried to lock down on the thick cock that was currently splitting you in half. 

"Damn han you're really gonna make her pussy gape huh? Did the little spark plug get your blood boiling by being a brat?"

Denki had moved from beside you to kneel behind Hanta, hooking his chin over his shoulder to watch as he pinched and pulled Hanta's nipples making sure to press against the bars in them as much as possible. As he began to thrust in and out of you trying to work his entire shaft inside he turned his head and kissed the man driving him insane roughly making sure he knew it was a claiming kiss. Not to be out done Denki pulled hard and rolled Hanta's nipples. He gasped and thrust his hips forward bottoming out inside of you. You whined and came at the intense wave of pleasure that washed over you. The drag of warm metal against your walls and the pressure of hard flesh against your cervix had ripped away any control you might have had left. Closing your legs together Hanta shifted them so that both of your ankles rested against his shoulder. He leaned over pressing forward until he could capture your lips in a burning hot kiss. The new angle had you sobbing into the kiss and made your belly shudder. 

Like the little shit he is, Denki reached around and pressed down on your belly where Hanta's cock had made a bulge. Your mouths separated as you both choked on air. The added sensation had flipped a switch and you were now being pounded into the mattress by one of your best friends while the other watched and caressed the both of you. You continued to sob and babble about how full you were and how much you wanted him to cum inside of you. The more you spoke the hard he fucked you, changing angles constantly to drag his bars across every pleasure spot your pussy had. Denki was once again stroking his cock only this time he had taken to playing with his ass as well. Seeing him, seeing Hanta, getting absolutely wrecked by such a huge cock all at once was so overwhelming that you once again came squirting only this time it was all over Hanta's lower stomach and cock. Something about seeing a man's abs covered in your own squirt was way too sexy for you to put into words.

The clenching of your pussy was so strong that it pulled Hanta to orgasm much sooner than he had planned. He came deep inside and continued to cum even as he pulled out. He jerked the last few shots all over your pussy and thighs leaving you as the picture of a well fucked mess. As soon as he moved to the side to catch his breath Denki was there licking up the cum from your thighs and the outside of your pussy. He sat up with his mouth full of cum and kissed you swapping his prize back and forth with you. The kiss was messy and so fucking hot that you felt like you definitely weren't done you. Denki loved nasty sex and he showed you first hand when he thrust his cock inside, bottoming out smoothly due to the cum and how stretched you had been from taking Hanta's cock. Why were your friends cocks so damn big was the only thought in your mind when Denki too reached your cervix. 

"Fuck yes spark plug I love your sloppy pussy so full of Hanta's cum and still covered in your own squirt. I can't wait to add my own cum and eat it out of you. I know all three of us mixed together is gonna taste so good."

He was slamming his cock to the hilt every time and you felt the orgasm build deep inside and slowly swirl in your belly. You were more than into his dirty talk when you had an idea. Using what little energy you had you started to make your pussy walls flutter and massage his cock on every thrust. He went wild pounding fast and hard pushing you both over the edge into bliss. He leaned down, burying his head between your breasts as he added his own cum to the mess inside of you. When he was finally empty he pulled out ready to eat the cum out of your pussy only for Hanta to beat him to it. He scooped out a mouthful of cum and kissed Denki with it swapping it and drooling it out onto their chins. Hanta pulled Denki back by his hair and kissed his throat before gently pushing his head down to your pussy so he could eat his fill. Hand still in his hair he leaned up and kissed you lovingly in between words. 

"Princesa you have no idea how much we've been wanting you. I'm so glad you're such a chica sucia you're so perfect for us it's like you were made to fit us. It's a bit backwards to say this but how about we go on a date for dinner tonight after we get all cleaned up?"

You agreed tiredly making them promise that you could all shower together since you didn't get to touch as much as you were wanting to. He laughed when he realized that you were just as bad as them about spending most of your friendship having dirty little fantasies about them the same as they had been about you. Hanta was leaving claiming hickeys on your neck when you realized that Denki had dozed off with his cheek against your pussy. You giggled as you started to doze yourself happy that when you woke up you would have a nice hot shower with your two best friends that were now your boyfriends. Hanta was snoring quietly into your neck when you finally fell completely asleep. 

[fruitcoops]

could you possibly write something about Sirius & remus dating and remus feeling bad that Sirius keeps paying (since obviously he's big deal NHLer v trainer)

Oof, yes. This was combined with asks for some Coops hurt/comfort where one doesn't want to talk, as well as an argument. SW credit goes to @lumosinlove!

TW for wealth insecurity, small argument (not a blowout)

Grocery shopping had never been Remus’ favorite thing in the world, but he had to admit it was a lot more fun when everything came with the thrilling reminder that he was living with the love of his life. He got to learn Sirius’ preferences on everything from candles (softer scents, or something woodsy) to towels (as fluffy as humanly possible) and filed every detail away in the little pocket of his brain entirely dedicated to the beautiful man that could reach the top shelves.

“What’s next?” he asked an hour into their latest Target excursion.

Sirius tilted his phone to show the screen. “Sheets.”

“I still can’t believe you had a hole in those and didn’t notice,” Remus said with a shake of his head.

“How do you know it wasn’t your fault?” Sirius countered with a playful quirk of his eyebrow.

“I’m not the one that runs marathons in my sleep,” Remus laughed, standing on his toes to kiss his stubbly cheek. “Oof. Prickly.”

Sirius scrunched his nose. “You like it.”

“Hmm. Perhaps.”

“Perhaps,” he mimicked, bumping Remus’ hip with his own. “What kind do you want?”

Remus shrugged one shoulder as they turned down the next aisle, scanning the shelves of plastic-wrapped packages in a million different patterns. “I like the look of the white ones, but grey or blue could be nice. You?”

“As long as they’re soft and have you in them, I don’t care.”

“Sap,” he teased, though he was unable to fight the blush racing hot up his neck. Sirius didn’t protest; his small, smug smile needed no explanation. Remus pushed the cart slowly down the aisle, making note of the price tags as he went. Sheets were always an expense—not as bad as blankets or, god forbid, a new mattress, but an expense all the same. He had managed to keep his last ones in good condition for almost ten years before they wore out.

The $30 set doesn’t look too bad, but that’s a weird color…Sirius hates microfiber…I’d rather not sleep on puppy print…getting laid on a 1970s paisley pattern would kill me instantly… “How about these?”

He startled and glanced down the aisle, where Sirius was holding a set in faint gray. An unbidden grin pulled at the side of his mouth. “The softest of the bunch, huh?”

“Of course,” Sirius laughed. “Come feel, it’s like heaven.”

Remus pushed off and hopped up on the undercarriage, riding the cart all the way until he reached Sirius’ side; his hand was halfway to the exposed block of fabric when he froze. $186.99, read the price tag below the stack of sheets in varying colors. Almost $200, and the only difference was the softness. “I…” he faltered slightly, looking between Sirius and the sheets for a moment.

“Do you not like them?”

“No, I do,” Remus said as his mind whirred. He had never spent more than a hundred dollars on sheets before. It wasn’t wildly out his budget, especially once he started working with the Lions, but he had always been careful with money. Sirius…Sirius had never had to do that. Never in his life.

“Is it the color? Because they have white ones—”

“It’s 200 dollars,” he almost laughed. Sirius fell quiet in obvious confusion as Remus turned to look at him. “Sirius, those sheets are 200 dollars.”

“Yes?”

“There’s—” Remus broke off again; something a little too much like shame for his liking crawled up his throat. “I—sure, yeah, if you like them.”

“It’s not about what Ilike,” Sirius continued, as if he couldn’t see the discomfort tensing every one of Remus’ muscles. “It’s our bed. I don’t want to get sheets you hate.”

“No, no, they’re nice.” Too nice. Remus forced a smile. “I like them.”

Sirius looked at him for a moment. “Which ones do you prefer?”

The ones that don’t cost the same as my monthly food budget. “Uh, the color threw me off at first,” he said. “The blue ones are better.”

The crease between Sirius’ brows eased by a degree and he kissed Remus’ jaw gently, then switched the sets. “D’accord, mon loup. Whatever makes you happy.”

Remus was as quiet as he could be without arousing suspicion for the rest of the trip. Sirius paid for their things—like always, Remus realized with a turn of his stomach—and helped him carry the bags to the car without another word about the sheets.

He stayed quiet the whole way home.

The shame mounted as they drove. It seemed everything was a sudden, unwelcome reminder of just how different he and Sirius were. Sirius’ family had a chef during his childhood—Remus made himself PB&Js every morning for the entirety of middle school. Sirius had a brand-new car—Remus had never had cause to justify that over public transportation and Uber. It was embarrassing, and Sirius’ unintentional thoughtlessness was more frustrating than he thought it would be.

He didn’t say anything as they pulled up to the house and unloaded their shopping bags; his shirt and jeans itched his skin like sandpaper. Judging from the look on Sirius’ face, he had picked up on Remus’ frustration, but there was no way Remus was going to get into the root of it while he still felt so twitchy.

Damn you and your emotional intelligence, he thought as he slipped past Sirius’ worried glances and up the stairs to their bedroom. Be oblivious for once and let me get through this.

The bed was stripped bare—their duvet and pillows sat in a heap on top of the mattress. Remus thought back to the first night he had slept there, marveling at the cloudlike support on his achy lower back. He had chalked it up to the pure bliss that came with finally having what he really wanted, but his traitorous brain was starting to convince him it wasn’t the joy that made it seem so nice.

He had never gone without food. His parents always made sure he had clothes that mostly fit and the school supplies he needed. They paid for his hockey gear and the team dues until he was old enough to work part-time and start saving his own money; scholarships had always been of a quiet importance in their house. Things got tighter when Jules was born, but they made it work. Remus would always be grateful for that.

Sirius had never had to think about money in that way. Not once.

Remus sighed through his nose as he pulled his battered Wisconsin hoodie over his head and tightened the drawstring of his sweats, letting the comfort envelop him. “It’s not his fault,” he murmured into the mirror. “Don’t get into your head about this.”

Sirius was in the living room when Remus made his way down the stairs with his hands curled into the worn sleeves of the hoodie. He said nothing while Remus began absently cleaning up the scattered items around their junk bowl, though his gaze prickled the back of his neck.

“Mon loup?” came the soft question after two minutes of tense silence.

“Yeah?” he managed around the tightness in his lungs.

He could practically taste Sirius’ hesitation. “Did I—nevermind. Sorry.”

“What?”

“It’s nothing,” Sirius said again, though he seemed to be folding in on himself. Remus hated seeing him try and take up less space, and hated the idea that he was the one that caused it.

$200. On sheets.

“What’s going on?” Remus asked, leaning back against the countertop.

“No, I just—” Sirius pasted on a smile and cross the room, dropping a tentative kiss to the top of his head as he passed despite the wary look in his eyes. “Just a thought. It’s nothing.”

“You’re upset.”

“No, no, I’m good.”

“Please don’t lie to me.” It came out harsher than intended and Remus winced. “I mean—Sirius, something is obviously bothering you.”

He chewed the inside of his lip for a moment, rubbing his thumbs in small circles over the marble countertop before making brief eye contact. “You’re angry,” he said at last, cautiously. “Are you angry with me?”

“No,” Remus said, then paused. Sirius’ face fell. “Well, I’m a little irritated, but—but it’s stupid, and I shouldn’t be.”

“It’s not stupid.”

Remus swallowed hard at the kicked-puppy look on Sirius’ face. “It is.”

“I’m sorry,” Sirius said.

And that was…honestly, kind of the worst thing he could say. “You don’t get it,” Remus said, staring at the floor. “Sirius, you just spent 200 dollars on sheets.”

If anything, that seemed to upset him more. “You said you liked them.”

“I—” Remus flailed his hand around. “I do! But Jesus, honey, that’s kind of a lot!”

“We both liked the sheets.”

“I don’t know how to tell you that that’s expensive!” he blurted as the words wormed their way out and hung in the air. “Two hundred dollars might be peanuts to you, but that used to be my food budget for the month!”

“Remus—”

“You have never had to budget a day in your life,” he said, quieter. “Your watch probably cost more than a month’s rent for my apartment, you’ve never taken public transportation—”

“Remus—”

“—and you make millions of dollars every year!” He paused, out of breath, and ran a hand through his hair in disbelief. “Millions, Sirius. And—and now that we’re together, that we’re living together, it’s just really apparent in a way that it wasn’t before.”

Sirius’ throat bobbed. “I wish you had told me at the store.”

“It’s not about the sheets,” Remus laughed, because there was nothing else he could do other than cry. “We have entirely different views of how much money is worth. You can pay for things for me and I can’t do the same for you, and that feels like shit.”

An unsettling quiet blanketed the whole first floor as Sirius stayed very, very still, like a small animal caught in a trap. “I don’t know what you want me to say,” he confessed, barely above a whisper. “You’re right. Money is…it’s not something I’ve had to think about, but I like spending it on you.”

“I don’t like being cared for,” Remus forced out around the grate that had been keeping it down. “I don’t like feeling like I can’t support myself, or that I’m a burden on you and especially that I can’t repay that.”

Sirius finally met his eyes, and he looked appalled. “Remus, you’re never a burden.”

“It feels like it.” He was horrified to feel the burn of tears in his eyes. “Sometimes. When—when you buy nice things for me, or we go on nice vacations, or even when you buy groceries for us for the fifth time in a row, it feels like I’m using you for your money.”

“But you’re not.”

“No!” Remus said immediately. “God, no, never. That’s the last thing I want. But I don’t want you to have to change your lifestyle to make it revolve around me, either. I feel like I’m caught in the middle and there’s no good answer.”

Sirius watched him for a moment, the way that always made Remus feel a little bit like a particularly intricate play he was trying to work out. “What did you want to say at the store?”

“I—what?”

“What did you want to say while we were getting the sheets?”

Remus bit his lip in thought. “Those are too expensive, and I think we should get different ones,” he said eventually. “I like the color and the fabric, but I don’t want to spend that much money on sheets when we could do something else with it.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t ask sooner.” The earnest look on Sirius’ face eased some of the bubbling feelings in his chest. “And I’m sorry you didn’t feel like you could tell me.”

“I was embarrassed.”

“…why?”

“Because it’s embarrassing to look at your multi-millionaire boyfriend and say, ‘I can’t afford $200 sheets’, Sirius. It sucks. I feel like I can’t measure up.”

Sirius nodded. “I’ve never judged you for your money, not once. Just for the record. There’s nothing I would rather spend it on than making you happy.”

“I don’t want to be sheltered and provided for.” Remus blinked back the last of the tears and closed his eyes. “I want us to be equals. That’s important to me.”

“Okay.”

“And I don’t know how to fix this right away.”

“I don’t, either.” Warm fingers brushed the back of his hand and he leaned into Sirius without looking. “Can we try and figure it out, though? As a team?”

“Yes, captain,” he snorted, feeling Sirius’ soft huff on the top of his head. They stood silently for a few seconds before Remus let go of his tension with a slow exhale. “I don’t think a joint bank account is a good idea yet, but maybe we can start by alternating who buys groceries? Or something small like that. I don’t want to feel like this anymore, not with you. I love you too much.”

Sirius nuzzled into his hair for a moment before lips pressed against his temple. “How about we start by making the bed?”

The pressure on Remus’ chest eased. Making the bed was easy. They had the exact same method for it, a function of Sirius growing up with a militant mother and Remus’ aunts lovingly terrorizing him into learning how to do hospital corners. It was an olive branch that he could happily accept with a light squeeze around Sirius’ waist. Baby steps, he thought. We’ll deal with the big stuff when we’re better settled. He offered a half-smile to Sirius. “What are we waiting for?”

[writing-in-april]

Poker Face

Spencer Reid x Female Reader

Summary: Reader thought she could get away with speaking her desires out loud as long as they were in a different language. Turns out, someone could understand her.

A/N: Hey guys! This is my fourth fic for my 1250 follower celebration!! I got this request from @imagining-in-the-margins and if you want to see the original request go checkout my follower celebration Masterlist! I do not speak Russian, nor do I know someone who does so I made everything in italics as if they were speaking in Russian! Hope y’all enjoy reading and requests are open!

Warnings: 18+, Public sex (who’s surprised lmao), Reader is very unprofessional and probably should be fired lmao, Dom Spencer with hints of Sub Spencer in the future (dont worry all my Sub Spencer lovers I’ve got more coming for that soon!), Nickname use: Princess, Unprotected sex, Fingering, Oral sex (M receiving),Creampie

Main Masterlist Word Count: 2.1k

Words in italics are in Russian

There was no harm in voicing my thoughts I thought to myself, in a different language, Russian specifically. Especially since the only one that could understand me wasn’t near me at the moment nor would she probably bat an eye at a slightly risqué remark. Emily was snuggled up at the other end of the jet, her headphones in both of her ears. They would plug up any sound around her preventing her from translating the lusty thought that sat on my lips.

If I said my thoughts in Russian, no one would be able to catch how much I wanted Spencer’s fingers inside me. They were long, obviously dexterous- I knew they’d be able to reach places inside me that I couldn’t reach myself. I couldn’t say these thoughts out loud, in English at least,

I didn’t want Spencer to ever know. But, I wanted to get the thoughts swirling in my head off my chest, the only way to do that without embarrassment was to say it in a way that no one here would be able to understand.

As Spencer shuffled with ease and delt the cards out with his dexterous fingers my lusty thoughts were too pressing for my lips to be able to contain. So I spoke quickly with my voice slightly lowered, maybe Spencer and the people around me would miss my transition into a different language, “I wished you would use those fingers on me instead, preferably inside of me.”

Spencer blinked back at me, obviously confused by my words.

“Sorry, just spaced out for a second, didn’t realize I had switched to Russian.” I giggled out, mostly because I was amazed that I had gotten away with it. I moved on quickly not wanting to linger on my ‘slip up’ any longer, plus I finally wanted to try and play against Spencer in a poker game, “Let’s see if your poker face is as good as everyone says it is, Spencer.”

—-

“Please, fuck me?” Over the course of my daring adventures I had become increasingly louder with my declarations. Last week I had commented about how much I wanted his cock in my mouth, of course in Russian and the week before that I had made my initial comment about how much I wanted his fingers inside me.

This one happened to be the loudest out of the three little sentences that seemed like innocent slips into another language to everyone else, but to me and only to me I was voicing my desires. Each time I did it a little rush of adrenaline sparked through me, no one besides Emily would be able to translate, who wasn’t with me in the file room. It was only Spencer and I in here right now, the rest of the team had gone home for the night.

“Maybe we shouldn’t do that at the office, but if you asked me again somewhere else I’d do it.” He answered me back and in perfect Russian as well.

My entire being withered in embarrassment as soon as I had translated Spencer’s words, he understood me. He had understood all of what I had said, every last word. I should’ve remembered that he spoke Russian, we had a case where he spent the whole time translating, I couldn’t believe how idiotic I had been. I wanted the earth to swallow me up in that moment, just so I could escape Spencer’s piercing gaze. I couldn’t tell from his words or the look on his face what exactly he was feeling about my words, some profiler I was. He didn’t seem angry at least, maybe a bit bemused?

I shrank back a little more over fear if he was making fun of me or not. If I hadn’t been feeling so mortified I would’ve realized that Spencer wasn’t one to make fun of anyone, hindsight is 20/20 after all.

“Your poker face is spot on.” Was the only measly response that I could find myself to come up with, in an attempt to cover my embarrassment if only a little bit. A bunch of apologies also felt like they were crawling up my throat. I was absolutely mortified that I had been caught red handed, it was beyond unprofessional- I don’t think there was even a word for it. I had crossed the line so far I might as well have leaped over it, forgetting that it had ever existed.

“Well- I am from Vegas and before you start apologizing, you don’t need to. I liked it.”

Silence fell between us again after his smart remark. It was like we were sizing each other up, deciding what to do.

“You know- there’s no one here tonight, everyone’s gone home…” My confidence seemingly had come back after being knocked down a few pegs. I tapped my fingers absentmindedly on the large desk in the file room, my mind wandering to think about what it would be like if he bent me over it.

“That’s true.” A smirk was on his face now, one that I didn’t see often from him. I felt like I was going to be ensnared by him as soon as I took the time to blink.

Sure enough in a flash he had brought me into a bruising kiss that I got swallowed up by so fast there was no chance for me to try and win back any dominance.

In no time he had me bent over the table, my face pressed into the cool silver metal with my back arching up trying to reach his touch in any way I could. He gripped the waistband of my skirt roughly, but did not pull it down right away. He pulled my skirt down ever so slowly that by the time it reached the floor I impatiently wiggled to step out of it.

“You’re impatient.” He stated simply. I couldn’t deny it because of how true it was, all he’d have to do was pull my black lace panties off to see how wet I had become.

Instead I decided to lean in on how needy and impatient I was by whining out, “Spencerrr, please?”

“What do you want? Is it the same thing you said to me on the plane?” He pressed a kiss to my hip as he pulled down my panties just as slowly as he had done with my skirt, making me squirm again. Once I was bare from the waist down before him he paused for a moment to look at me; I withered a little under his gaze. I whined again when he carefully took his long fingers to just slightly part my folds before speaking again, “Tell me.”

I hesitated a little for a moment trying to focus to remember exactly what I had said on the plane. When I had collected my thoughts I whispered out in Russian, much more shaky than I had said on the plane, “I wished you would use those fingers on me instead, preferably inside of me.”

He was seemingly satisfied by my breathless reply, immediately beginning to work me up to orgasm. As he started to work his fingers inside of me he pressed his other hand down on the small of my back, a silent warning to not move.

I contemplated disobeying him, but when two of his fingers curled inside me to perfectly hit my g-spot it felt too good to lose.

“You gonna cum so quick for me, princess?” I got even wetter when he said princess like that, in Russian made me get even wetter than I already was. I was practically dripping down my thighs- and Spencer’s fingers.

“Yes! I’m gonna cum soon!” I gasped out and tried in vain to wriggle my hips to gain more friction, his hand on my back however was unyielding.

“Ask nicely and I might let you.”

“Please?!” I even asked it in Russian to make the plea possibly better in Spencer’s eyes. He didn’t respond right away, only picking up his pace faster. I tried to hold off my orgasm as best as I could, but I wasn’t sure how much longer I was going to be able to hold it. “Please, sir?”

“Alright, since you asked so nicely. You can cum, princess.”

I gave up the fight of holding off my orgasm, it immediately washed over me. My legs shook with the force of how hard and fast my orgasm shot through me, causing me to cry out as well.

Once I had come down from my high I slid off the table and down to my knees to repeat what I had said while at the round table a week ago “I want your cock in my mouth.”

He looked at me with wild eyes and obliged me, letting his cock free from his slacks. My mouth watered at the sight of him, his tip was bright red and dripping with precum. He had obviously not been the only one to be turned on.

As I grasped him in my hands and jerked him slowly I relished in the way he felt in my hand. He felt hot and heavy, I couldn’t wait to take him into my mouth.

I wrapped my lips around his tip, sucking lightly. Spencer’s head tipped backwards, his hands curled into fists as if he was trying to prevent himself from grabbing my hair to fuck my face. Little did he know that was exactly what I wanted.

When I guided one of his hands to the back of my hair to reassure him that I didn’t mind if he took control that way he almost let out a groan, but successfully stifled it by biting into his other fist. He then fisted my hair harder, wrapping his hand around so tight that tears prickled a bit in my eyes. It wasn’t a bad feeling at all, I enjoyed it.

I enjoyed it even more when he started to use his hand to guide my head up and down. He set the pace to the one he desired. It wasn’t too fast or hard, it was actually quite slow. He dragged out each of my movements and when my nose nuzzled at the base of his cock he had me stay there for a moment each time. Each time I gagged a little on him he let out an almost whine, it made me wonder whether or not he’d look good underneath me as well. Though I was thoroughly content with being underneath him at this time.

Even though I had already had one orgasm the tingling between my thighs was not satiated, looking up at Spencer’s blissed out face only served to make me even more turned on.

“Stop.” I blinked up at him like he had done so at me on the jet, confused. I pulled off of his cock, a slight pop echoed in the air. He then lifted me up onto the table with my legs wrapped around his waist before I could ask him why he wanted for me to stop.

“Now what was that last thing you said to me? I want you to ask me again. ” His cock was running up and down my folds teasing me. My head fell back and I moaned when he bumped my clit.

“Please, fuck me?” My breathless voice sounded wrecked already.

“Well, since you asked so nicely.” As he slid into me my eyes rolled back into my head as he slid into me. His pace was faster this time than what he had done while fucking my face. I was squirming with overstimulation and my orgasm was going to come ridiculously fast. Spencer could sense it too and brought his hand down to my clit to bring me over my peak even faster.

“You can cum again, princess.” My second orgasm was much longer than my first. It sparked through me slowly, almost in waves that felt like they had multiple peaks.

He too, was not that far behind me. When he tried to pull out to probably cum all over the tops of my thighs I kept him locked in place with my legs around my waist and asked, “Cum inside me?”

He obliged me with a groan pumping into me a few more times before spilling inside me. We were both slick with sweat, making me wish for a shower. As soon as I got cleaned up that would be the first thing I’d be doing when I bolted home. Maybe I could bring Spencer along for another round, I could hear him speak Russian to me all day.

“I’ll go get something to clean you up.” He spoke softly as if he was afraid I’d break, you’d think after the way he had fucked me that he’d realized I was not so breakable. I’d have to fix that later. As I sat there with his cum dribbling down my thighs waiting for him to return , mixing with my own I knew that I’d never underestimate Spencer’s poker face again.

—-

Tag list (message me if you want to be added):

All works:

@shotarosleftpinky @90spumkin @kyra-morningstar @s1utformgg

Spencer Reid/CM:

@calm-and-doctor @destiny-tsukino @safertokiss @slutforthegubes

Dom Spencer:

@rainsong01

[yourmidnightlover]

Hiii❤

Bestie 🎉🎉🎉congrats on 1k🥳🥳🥳, i'm so happy for you

I love your writing so much so to celebrete i chosse to request this promps: Smut 1 & 2 and Fluff 1

Much love ❤

ahh, this was very well played, my friend. i’m very excited 😌

if anyone would like to request another blurb, the link can be found here.

smut #1: “i’m just pregnant, you don’t have to go that easy”

smut #2: “... you’re not wearing underwear?!”

fluff #1: “will you let me rub your back?”

CW: smut, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, breeding kink (duh), pregnant sex, horny reader and spencer (duhhh), creampie. *let me know if i missed anything*

you were now nearing the sixth month in your pregnancy. you were just ready to be able to see yours and spencer’s sweet baby girl growing inside of you. what didn’t help with your impatience was the immense pain you felt when doing nearly anything - and the fact that spencer refused to fuck you.

“shit,” you groaned after dropping a plate because of a sharp pain in your lower back, shattering the glass on the floor.

apparently trying to lean down to pick up the pieces was not the right call, because you felt yet another pain in your back, shooting you right back up.

“sweetheart?” spencer poked his head in the kitchen from the living room where he was working on old case files.

“yea?” you strained a response, turning slowly on your heels in attempt to not hurt your back any further.

“honey, what’s wrong?” he walked over to your obvious struggling position, placing a hand on your shoulder and lower back.

“i was doing the dishes and then my back hurt really bad and then i dropped the plate and then i tried to pick it up and that only made it worse and then i corrected it and now you’re here and i’m still hurting really bad and i’m sorry,” you rushed out, not realizing tears were falling down your face until he wiped them away for you.

“you don’t have to apologize,” he chuckled with a supportive smile. “it’s okay to be in pain. although i know it must hurt. you’ve been carrying around another human being in your body, it’s bound to bring discomfort.”

“yea ‘discomfort’ is one way to put it,” you chuckled as you wiped your own tears, leaning into his touch. “it really hurts.”

“will you let me rub your back?” he asked, his fingers tracing patterns on the very place he offered to massage.

“really?” you mumbled into his chest.

“yea, really,” he pressed a kiss to your forehead.

“yes, please. that sounds amazing,” you sighed and pulled back from his touch. “right now?” he nodded. “ugh, i love you so much.”

soon enough you were laying down on your bed, your face down in your pillows in wait for spencer. you would guess that being frustrated isn’t good for the baby, and maybe that frustration included sexual frustration.

ever since you got pregnant, spencer refused to have sex with you. he just wanted what was best for the baby, but your hand wasn’t cutting it anymore. you needed something more. you needed spencer.

so... maybe you decided to tease him a bit during the massage. was that such a crime? by you just wanted your lovers help with your situation.

and tease him you did. well, not so much as tease but taunt.

“that feels really good, spence,” you groaned as he worked the flesh on your shoulders.

see, he had a thing for you in a sundress. a big thing. and when a sundress is paired with no underwear... things are bound to ensue.

“mmm,” you moaned once more. “fuck, right there, spencer.”

“here?” he questioned, hitting the same spot once more.

“mhmm,” you nodded your head in the pillow, sighing out with relief. “feels so good. can you go a bit lower?” his hands trailed down your back a bit more. “lower...” they went to your lower back, his weight going onto your upper thighs. “right there,” you announced as he stopped at your lower back.

his hands worked wonders on your muscles. you weren’t lying about being sore from carrying a baby around.

“i actually have a surprise for you,” you grinned, in spite of him not being able to see you.

“what would that be?” you could hear the confusion laced in his voice.

“look a bit lower on me, baby,” you moved your hips up so he could get a nice look at your bare core.

“... you’re not wearing any underwear?!” he exclaimed, not moving from his spot on your legs.

“nope,” you mocked him. “i need your help, spence,” you pouted, knowing he couldn’t refuse.

“i don’t want to hurt t-“

“don’t want to hurt the baby, i know!” you huffed. “but i also know that you know that there’s no harm in having sex within the second trimester. i’m cleared for it from my doctor and i’m frustrated spencer,” you tried to explain, turning onto your back to give him a better look at you pouting.

“do you know how frustrated i’ve been?” he asked himself. “you walking around here in your little sundress and moaning underneath me?” he motioned to the noticeable bulge in his pants. “i want nothing more than to fuck you.”

“then just do it,” you argued, now sitting up to face him, you now sitting in his lap. “please. i need you,” you began grinding your bare, wet core against his leg.

your head dropped into the crook of his neck, he let his leg begin grinding underneath you to give you more friction. he connected his lips to your neck and sucked a dark mark into your skin as your breathing began to pick up.

“spencer,” you kissed beneath his earlobe before sucking it between your lips, nibbling it gently to feel his body shiver beneath your touch.

“c’mere,” he moved his nimble fingers below the hem of the dress, allowing them to stroke gently through your folds.

you pulled back and looked him in the eyes before connecting your lips together. you drew his bottom lip between the two of yours, much like you had his earlobe, and moaned into his mouth as he drew circles on your clit. your chest heaved against his own as you reached your high, your breathing turning into pitched squeals as your nails dug into spencer’s back.

he let you ride out your high before lifting you up gently, sliding you back up the bed to lay down. he slid between your legs as he pulled the sundress up and over your body, your stomach and breasts now revealed to him.

“so fucking beautiful,” he awed before connecting his lips to one of your breasts, marking it while kneading the other.

he took your nipple between his teeth, relishing in the faint moans leaving your mouth as he worked your body. he switched breasts and began grinding his knee between your soaking core. your hands found his hair, tugging it lightly to bring his lips back to yours.

“please, spencer,” you begged. “i need you so bad,” you pulled his shirt off as he worked at his own belt, pulling his pants and underwear down.

he started kissing down your stomach once more, you knew where he was going. you didn’t need that anymore. you just needed him. so so bad. you pulled him up once more by his shoulders.

“just, please,” you reached between the two of you and lined him up at your center.

he slowly pushed into you, emphasis on slowly, to allow you to adjust to him once more. he treated you as a glass vase on the edge of a shelf as he began slowly rocking into you.

“so fucking tight,” you could tell he was holding back.

“harder, spence,” you sighed as you bit into his shoulder.

“i don’t want to-“

“i’m just pregnant, you don’t have to go that easy,” you reasoned before kissing the mark you made on his shoulder.

“you want me to go harder?”

“mhmm, need it,” you sighed into his warm skin.

“i can go harder,” he started slowly speeding up his thrusts into you. “want me to fuck another baby into you? gonna wreck you so much.”

“yes, please,” you wrapped your legs around his waist, allowing him to get even deeper into you. “fuck, yes.”

“you want me to fill you up again? make you mine over and over and over?” he kissed beside your ear as his hips began snapping into you at a ruthless pace.

“oh my god, yes. i want it so so bad,” you lifted your hips to meet his.

“walking around in sundresses all the time, looking so good carrying my baby, you think you’re so fucking cute. don’t you, bunny?” he growled. “remember how we got into this in the first place? these stupid fucking dresses, right? or does my dumb bunny not remember?”

“i-i remember,” you sighed, feeling that warmth beginning to pool in your stomach once more.

“you remember how these make me feel? how they make you look? i bet that’s why you wear them all the time. to drive me fucking insane,” he whispered, you felt the warmth spread over your entire body. “you know how many times i’ve had to excuse myself because i see you walking around in things like that, looking how you do? to. fucking. many,” he punctuated each word with a particularly harsh thrust.

“spencer! fuck!” you threw your head back as you came on his cock, him following you over the edge and spilling himself into you with cries that were similar to your name.

“it’s a good thing you’re already pregnant,” he laughed after he took a few minutes to calm down, laying on your chest as you stroked his hair. “because after that, you definitely would be.”

“i don’t think i’d mind,” you sighed. “as long as you keep fucking me like that, i really don’t care at all.”

[leia505]

The Sunrise and Your Sins | Tetsurou Kuroo x Reader (street racing AU)

This fic takes place in the same universe as “deciphered” by @hoeneymilktea​! Here is the link to the car visuals and spotify playlist, as well as AO3 where the fic is also posted if you prefer to read on there. 

Huge shoutout to @aikk00​ for creating the fan art that inspired both this story and “deciphered”. 

And another shoutout to @hoeneymilktea​ for pushing me to write this fic, if you’re here from deciphered I hope you enjoy this addition to the deciphered universe! 

Pairing: Tetsurou Kuroo x Reader

Rating: Explicit, NSFW(later chapters)  

Word Count: 10k

Tags: Street Racing, Alternate Universe - Car Racing, Inspired by Fanart, References to Drugs, Aged-Up Character(s), Original Character(s), Inspired by The Fast and the Furious, Inspired by Tokyo Drift, Alternate Universe - Yakuza, Mystery, Drama & Romance, Other Additional Tags to Be Added

Summary: Being a mob boss’s daughter had always been a dangerous life, but Tetsurou Kuroo—street racer and mob henchman—made it all seem easy. Although the mutual attraction between you two was undeniable, the darkness that encompassed your family took precedence over your love. Surrounded by lies and deception, you and Kuroo must work together to uncover the truth of your brother’s death and your father’s shady business.

“Hey there kitten.”

“Is that really how you want to talk to a yakuza boss’ daughter?”

“It’s not like your old man’s here to listen.” Kuroo says, pulling up a chair to sit close to you. You turned your head to stare him in the eyes as he smirked at you.

“You think a man like my father doesn’t have his own office wired?” You ask, raising an eyebrow at him.

Kuroo chuckles nervously, looking around your dad’s office. Just some harmless flirting boss. Nothing to worry about here.” He says loudly, turning to you with a wink. You can’t help but smile, you’ve always enjoyed the times Kuroo came to see your father. You weren’t going to try to deny the fact you found him attractive, but there’s no way your father would allow it. A mafia princess and a drug smuggler? What a cliché.

Your father’s sudden entrance startles you both, and Kuroo instinctively stands up to bow. You remain seated, knowing that the power he held over this city applied to everyone but you.

“Hello father.” You greet your dad as he sits in his office chair at the front of the room. He definitely has a demanding presence, which is to be expected from the man who has the Tokyo underground in his pocket. Kuroo had power, and definitely had some authority, but he was a guppy compared to your father.

“Sit, Tetsurou.” Your father says, motioning for Kuroo to take a seat. He quickly sits down in his chair, attentively looking at the mafia boss for further instructions.

“So, as you could probably guess, I have another job for you.” He says, pulling a file out from the locked cabinet of his desk. He laid the file open in front of him and turned to Kuroo. “There will be a shipping container coming in this Friday from Cuba. I’m going to need a team of your best racers to get it from point A, the ports, to point B, headquarters.” He explains, motioning for Kuroo to stand next to him to look over the details.

“Seems easy enough, standard job.” Kuroo says, studying the papers in front of him. At this moment, you can’t help but wonder to yourself why exactly you’re there.

“Exactly. Nothing new, just the same old.” Your dad agrees. “However, this is a bigger job. And we do have some eyes watching us nowadays. So what I need from you is to take the lead and choose your team. Approved by me, of course.” He says, motioning for Kuroo to take his seat again.

“How many people are we talking?” Kuroo asks.

“You, maybe two others. And your colleague, Snake Eyes, taking the lead on logistics.” Your father explains, leaning back in his chair. “Snake Eyes will be essential to this one, we need eyes and ears on the route. The less run-ins with the authorities, the better.”

‘Snake Eyes.’ You thought to yourself. ‘Isn’t that Kenma? The nerdy looking mechanic?’

“I’ll let Kozume know.” Kuroo says, nodding. “I think Oikawa and Shinsuke would be a good fit for this one. Fast, experienced, trustworthy.”

“Oikawa…he’s the one that calls himself Cypher correct?” You father questions.

“Yes sir, head of Seijoh Brawlers. Shinsuke goes by Sly Fox, head of Inarizaki Bois.”

Your dad let out a hearty chuckle, startling both of you. “You kids and your code names. You would think you’re playing spy.” Kuroo nervously chuckled in agreement.

“No playing here sir, we’re all in.” Kuroo says, giving him a confident grin.

“That’s what I like to hear, Tetsurou. With that attitude, you’ll fit right in at the grown-up table.” Your father says, getting up from his chair. You roll your eyes, bored of the conversation between the two criminals. 

“Why am I here?” You ask, causing both of them to turn to you as if they just realized you were there. You rarely sat in on your father’s meetings, so you were confused from the start as to what your purpose was.

“Oh sweetheart! I almost forgot, Kuroo has a present for you.” Your father says brightly, waving his arms at you, motioning for you to follow Kuroo out the door.

You peered your eyes at Kuroo suspiciously as he smirked at you. You continued to follow him out the door of your family’s Tokyo home, with your father following behind you.

As the three of you exit the house, your eyes fall on a bright pink car, with a giant white ribbon tied around the hood.

“Is that-“You begin saying, quickening your pace to get closer to this absolute beauty.

“A Honda S2000? Yes, yes, it is.” Kuroo says, leaning against his car, a cherry red Nissan Veilside 350Z. He holds up a pair of car keys, which he tosses to you.

“It’s mine?!” You exclaim. You turn to your dad, who smiles warmly at you.

“A gift, from the Nekoma crew to our family. Me and your mother have enough cars, so I figured you could claim this one.” He explains, chuckling.

“Thank you!” You wrap your arms around him, embracing your father in a hug. He tightly hugs you back, the same way he always has. You turn towards Kuroo. “And thank you, you and the whole Nekoma crew. How’d you know I wanted pink?”

Kuroo shrugs. “I just guessed. Seemed like your color.” He says, winking at you. He slyly opens his car door, climbing in. “Thursday night, I’ll bring the team?” He asks, turning towards your dad.

“Yes, and make sure they bring their cars as well. I need to see for myself what type of speed we’re working with.” Your dad says, switching into business mode seamlessly.

Kuroo lets out a laugh, closing his car door and rolling his window down. “I can promise you sir, the one thing we will surely not be lacking is speed.” He says, revving his engine, speeding out of the driveway and down the dark street. The roar of his engine could be heard long after he disappeared from our sight, breaking the silence of the upper-class neighborhood he sped through.

“Sweetheart, Tetsurou and his boys are here if you’d like to sit in on the meeting.” Your father says, peeking his head into your room. 

“I’ll be right down dad.” You reply, getting up from your bed. You heard their cars coming from miles away, so you were already prepared to meet them downstairs. You were curious as to why your father suddenly invited you to sit in on his business meetings, he never really allowed you to take part in your family’s activities. Nevertheless, you were glad you finally had something to keep you entertained while locked away in your home. 

As you walked down the stairs, you heard Kuroo’s voice speaking to his friends, and you were caught off guard by how mature he sounded. He must have known you and your father were coming down the stairs, so he put his big boy voice on to impress your father. 

“Hi.” you say shortly, causing all of them to turn their heads to you. You finally got a good look at all of them, and they were all exactly what you’d expect street racers to look like. Piercings, tattoos, just a bunch of tough looking guys with skeptical faces as they looked up at you. 

“Is this the one you keep bringing up?” a guy with shoulder length bleached blonde hair asks, turning to Kuroo. His voice was soft, almost a whisper. It was a drastic change from Kuroo’s deep, commanding voice. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Kuroo says, awkwardly clearing his throat, tugging at his collar as he avoided your gaze.

“Hola mami.” The brunette one says to you, shooting you a devilish smirk as you descend further down the stairs. 

“The fuck is wrong with this one?” You ask Kuroo, opting to stand next to him. You tilt your head towards the brunette guy, who was still staring at you like a luxury car. 

“He lived in Argentina for a few years and now he’s just...like that.” Kuroo says. “You kind of get used to it. He also doesn’t care that no one but him knows Spanish.” 

“Tetsurou! Glad you all made it here in one piece. Shall we move this to my office?” Your father says, waving his arm down the hall to the large double doors that lead to his office, the space where all meetings, illegal or otherwise, were held. 

The five of you made room for your father to lead and followed him down the hall. You were keenly aware of the fact Kuroo stood almost directly behind you, mainly because the smell of his cologne was too strong to ignore. Kuroo was just like that, a presence you couldn’t seem to get out of your head. 

Upon entering the office, you choose to take your usual spot on the comfortable sofa chair you put in your dad’s office over a decade ago. When you were younger, more naive to the truth to your father’s business and your family’s wealth, you frequently accompanied your father in his office on long work nights, falling asleep in the chair that was kept out of the way to keep others from taking your special spot. That’s always how your dad was, making sure to accommodate you. Anything for the princess. 

“So!” Your father announces, clapping his hands together, causing you and the blonde one to jump slightly. “Don’t be shy, introduce yourselves.” You roll your eyes at him, thinking that he sounded more like a grade school teacher than a yakuza boss with hundreds of skeletons in the closet. 

The 4 men stood awkwardly in the middle of the room, not knowing how to start. Everyone except the silver haired guy wore a bomber jacket, with names printed on the back. The brunette wearing a white bomber jacket spoke first. You noticed the teal lettering on his jacket that read ‘CYPHER’. 

“Tooru Oikawa, sir. Cypher.” He says, bowing at your dad. 

“Uh, Kenma Kozume. People call me Snake Eyes sometimes.” the bleach blonde spoke next, his voice quiet and skeptical. 

“Kita Shinsuke, aka Sly Fox.” The silver haired guy in the plain black hoodie says, giving your father a slight head nod. 

“And obviously you know me.” Kuroo says. He turns to face you, flashing his signature grin. “Your turn.” 

“(y/n).” you introduce yourself, giving them a small wave. “If you haven’t figured out who I am then you’re pretty slow.” 

“My daughter, everyone. Excuse the attitude.” your father remarks, shaking his head at you. “So, I assume you filled them in on the details?” 

“Yes sir, they’ve all been filled in on the job. Kenma running point on logistics, the control tower of the team. The three of us running the cargo from the ports to the warehouse. Basic rules, don’t be dumb, and don’t get caught.” Kuroo says. The other men looked at him, nodding slightly in agreement. 

“Excellent, I knew I could count on you to take the lead here. Keep this up and you may find some more jobs like this in your future.” Your father gets up from his chair, pulling more files from his cabinet. He hands each of the men their own file, which they all take and begin looking over. “You’ll find all the smaller details in there, as well as numbers to contact in case you run into trouble. You’ll also find a receipt, with your pay for this job highlighted. I hope you find it accommodating to your work.” He says, studying each of them as they flip through the files. 

“Definitely accommodating.” Kita comments, nodding his head as he peers down at the file. You begin to wonder when you’ll be able to see the fine tuned details, to truly see everything your father does in a day. So much of who he is still remained a mystery to you, and perhaps you found some comfort in your own ignorance. 

“Thank you sir, our teams greatly appreciate your contributions.” Kuroo says, bowing once again to your father. 

“It’s really no problem, after all, who doesn’t like a good street race.” Your father says with a smile. “And, in a way, I feel as though keeping your teams afloat helps me remember my son.” 

“You have a son?” Oikawa asks, looking up. 

“Had a son, yes.” Your father replied sadly. You winced, not expecting to have to relive these memories. “He passed in a racing accident. It was a few years ago. I think it was before your kids’ time.” 

“If you don’t mind me asking, what was his name? Or, what team was he on?” Kenma asks. 

“Keishin. He used the last name Ukai when he raced, to get away from our family name. I believe he raced for Karasuno?” Your dad says, bringing up more and more painful memories. 

“Karasuno Killers? They’re getting back on the scene nowadays. I remember someone talking about how they stopped coming to races a while back, but they just recently started racing again because they have a whole new team.” Kuroo says. 

“Really? Well, I might just have to come watch a race one of these days. For old times sake.” 

‘Old times sake my ass.’ you thought to yourself, knowing the truth about your father and your deceased brother’s relationship. Your father hated racing, and resented your brother for choosing Karasuno over the Sakanoshita name. At the time of your brother’s death, you couldn’t help but wonder if your father was truly upset, or if he was putting on another facade, the same way he was now. 

“Well, speaking of races, you wanted to see our cars, right?” Oikawa says, clearly trying to redirect this depressing conversation. 

“Oh yes, of course! I want to see for myself what you’re all going to be working with tomorrow.” Your father says, walking out of his office towards the front of the home. 

Outside, there were 3 cars parked in the driveway. You recognized the models, and you could guess which cars were Oikawa and Kita’s just from the colorways, white and black, just like their outfits. 

“Mi amor.” Oikawa says, looking at his car. “Mazda RX-7 Veilside Fortune. ‘97.” 

“He would marry his car if he could.” Kuroo comments, tilting his head towards you. You laugh, looking up at him. 

“Nissan Silvia. 2002.” Kita says, walking up to his car and opening the door. The smell of smoke was strong, and he grabbed a pack of cigarettes from the middle console. “Mind if I smoke?” Your father nods, and Kita proceeds to light one and take a puff. 

“Kenma, no car?” Your father asks, turning towards him. Kenma seems caught off guard by the sound of his own name. 

“Uh, no sir, not tonight. I have cars, but I don’t drive all that often. I don’t see the point in risking my investments.” He says, shrugging his shoulders. 

“Yeah, he’d rather be in the passenger seat with me driving and risking my car.” Kuroo says, playfully shoving Kenma’s shoulder. 

“That reminds me, I have a proposal for you Kuroo.” Your father says, getting everyone's attention. “Would you be willing to let (y/n) ride with you on this job?”

“Excuse me?” You say, interrupting the conversation. “Why am I going? You never let me go anywhere, but suddenly I’m running drugs for you?” You raise an eyebrow at him and cross your arms across your chest. 

“Well, sweetheart, I figured it was time.” Your father says, taking a step closer to stand in front of you. “I was around your age when your grandfather started allowing me to learn the ropes of our family’s business. You are the only one who can continue the Sakanoshita name. I think this is a good first job for you.” 

“For the record, it's no problem. She can ride with me. I promise she’ll be safe.” Kuroo says, inserting himself into the conversation between you and your father. 

“So, does this mean I finally have something to do? I can start leaving the house again?” You ask, hopeful that this decision from your father will mean more freedom. Things haven’t been the same since Keishin died, and your father kept you under a microscope, claiming it was for your safety. 

“We can talk about new safety rules after this job. Deal?” He asks, holding his hand out for you to shake. 

“Deal.” You say, taking his hand and shaking it firmly. 

“Looks like the princess is growing up.” Kuroo comments, smirking at you. 

“Hope we don’t scare her too much.” Kita says jokingly. 

You scoffed at him, excitement growing inside of you as you realized this will be the start of you growing into a leadership position in the Sakanoshita family, becoming the face of this giant organization that ruled the Tokyo underground. “Nothing scares me.” 

You stared at yourself in the mirror, trying to get your head together before the job. ‘What does a person bring to a drug smuggling? What does someone wear? Fucking jeans?’

‘No.’ you thought to yourself, grabbing a pair of leggings. What if you needed to run? Well then you need sneakers too. And a warm jacket, just in case. Do you bring a phone charger? Would it be weird to ask Kuroo to plug your phone in while you’re smuggling drugs together? 

“What the fuck am I doing.” You say out loud to yourself, beginning to question your own sanity. You let out a deep sigh, trying to clear your head. 

You eventually decide on leggings, sneakers, and a cross body fanny pack to hold your phone and smaller things. Before exiting your room, you hesitate. 

You make your way to your bedside table, opening the drawer and reaching to the back, pulling out a small handgun. You take it out, along with a note that was tucked underneath it. 

‘Stay safe. -Keishin’

This was a gift from your brother, before he passed. You kept it close by, both as protection and a heavy reminder. Your family name carried a lot of weight, which the both of you felt smothered by. You both understood the dark side of the luxury you lived with, saw the blood that stained your family’s money. But now, with him gone, it all fell on you. Everything depended on you. 

You make the decision to take it along with you, holstering it to your thigh. ‘Better safe than sorry’, you thought to yourself. A regular night could turn deadly in an instant, something that you were very familiar with given the way your brother passed. 

You exit your room and descend down the stairs, walking out the front door to where everyone was waiting with their cars. Oikawa was busy on his phone, and Kita was further away smoking a cigarette. Your father stood with Kuroo, most likely discussing the job. 

“Where’s Kenma?” You question, walking up to stand with Kuroo and your dad. 

“He’s back at the garage. Don’t worry, he has eyes and ears at us at all times.” Kuroo says, pointing at the earpiece he wore. “Here, one for you as well.” He hands you an ear piece, which you put in, immediately hearing the sounds of a video game, most likely from Kenma. 

“Are you ready?” Your father asks, turning towards you. You nod in response, and he looks over you, stopping and furrowing his eyebrows when he sees your gun. “Is a gun really necessary?”

“Keishin would have wanted me to bring it. Better safe than sorry, like he used to say.” You say, knowing that bringing up your brother was the easiest way to get your father to comply with whatever it was that you were doing. 

He nods, giving you a sad smile.  “You’re right. He was always the cautious one.” 

“The smart one too.” You say, smiling nostalgically. “Are we all ready to go?” You ask, turning to Kuroo. 

“Yup, all set.” He replies, swinging the passenger car door open for you. “I’ll have Snake Eyes let you know when we reach the ports, and again at the warehouse.” He says, turning to your father. 

“Perfect.” Your father says. He turns to look at you once more, then back at Kuroo. “Bring her back in one piece.” He says, holding out his hand. 

“You can count on me, sir.” He says, giving your father a firm handshake. You couldn’t help but roll your eyes, the business your family was involved in was always so masculine, so formal. It was something you would have to adjust to when you begin taking part in it. 

Kuroo closed your car door and nodded to the other two racers, who immediately got into their cars, turning their engines one. He climbs into the driver’s seat of his car, turning the key in the ignition, the loud roar of the engine startling you. He chuckles, realizing he made you jump. 

“Mic check. Roll call.” You hear Kenma say in your ear. 

“Tap once to speak, twice to mute.” Kuroo says, pointing to the earpiece. He taps once, and speaks. “DK here, with Princess in the passenger seat.” He says, grinning at you. 

“Ew, keep it PG-13 dude.” Kenma says, making you laugh. 

“Cypher, ready to roll.” You hear Oikawa say. 

“Sly fox.” Kita says shortly. 

“And Snake Eyes. Ready when you guys are. All clear on the short route to the ports, I’ll let you know if that changes. Stay safe everyone.” Kenma says, muting himself. 

“Alright, we all know the route, I’ll take the lead, Sly Fox you take rear. You already know the rules, don’t be stupid, and don’t get caught. I’ll check back in when we’re 5 away from the ports.” Kuroo says, taking the parking brake off and switching gears, the car beginning to move. 

Everyone mutes themselves and begins driving off, away from your wealthy neighborhood and towards the city’s industrial district. The Tokyo skyline was in your rear view mirror, and your heart beat faster and faster as you went further away from your home, the place that you’ve been stuck in for years now. 

“You don’t get out much do you?” Kuroo asks, breaking the silence. 

“Not really, no. My father doesn’t allow me to go many places now, ever since my brother died. He says it’s too risky, which I think is bullshit.” You say, shrugging your shoulders. 

Kuroo laughs. “I knew you weren’t just some obedient princess. Look at you, all rebellious.” 

“I’d be more rebellious if I were able to do anything. This...is my first time out of the house in 6 months. The last time was just for the dentist.” You say, awkwardly laughing at yourself. 

“Well, then we better make the most of it, right?” Kuroo says, switching gears, now going 105 km/h on the expressway. 

“Kuroo what if we get pulled over?” You ask nervously, knowing the risks he was taking just to show off. 

“Relax, (y/n), I know what I’m doing.” Kuroo says, flashing his signature grin at you. Everything about him drew you in, made you want to keep looking, to reach out and know him as more than just your father’s employee. 

“Kuroo, stop showing off. Just because there’s a pretty girl in the car doesn’t mean that you get to be cocky.” Kenma says in your ear, catching you both off guard. 

“Alright alright, take it easy Snake Eyes.” Kuroo says, tapping his ear piece once, then double tapping again to mute. He begins slowing the car down to 80 km/h. 

You let out a small giggle, looking over at him. “You think I’m pretty?” You say in a mocking tone, leaning in closer to him. 

“I think you’re beautiful.” He says in a serious tone, catching you completely off guard. You begin to slowly back away from him, retreating back into your seat. 

“What?” You ask, not sure if you heard him right. 

“You’re beautiful. I’ve always thought so. As a matter of fact, if it wasn’t for my extremely deep fear of your father, I’d want to take you out on a date.” He says, laughing. 

You laugh as well, suddenly a little sad about what he said. “Yeah, that’s too bad. I would’ve said yes.” You say, turning your face to give him a sad smile. 

He smirks at you, but his eyes drooped, giving them a sad, tired look. “Would’ve been a great first date.” 

After that exchange, you both remained quiet, lost in thought of what could have been. Thinking of the undeniable chemistry that drew the two of you together, but also the forces at play that kept you from colliding. What could have been, if circumstances were different, if the two of you were different. Normal. 

“Can I ask you something?” You ask him, breaking the silence that had fallen between the two of you. 

“Of course.” 

“What would you be, if you weren’t racing and working for my dad? Who would you be?” You were genuinely curious, because all you ever knew about Kuroo was that he was dealing before getting pulled into the Sakanoshita business, and that he raced with Nekoma. 

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.” He says, a smile growing on his face. 

“Try me.” 

“Well, I would be a student. Right before I got recruited by your family, I was in college. Chemistry major.” He says, peering over at you. 

“Chemistry?!” You ask, surprised by his answer. “You’re a science nerd?” 

“I mean, I wouldn’t say a nerd.” He says, laughing at your reaction. “In my senior year, I ran out of money. So, I started dealing. It wasn’t anything serious, but I guess I was pretty good at it. I ended up on your dad’s radar, and he took me in as a transporter and dealer. And so, here I am. No degree, but hey, I have a nice car.” 

“I’m sorry.” You say, almost out of instinct. It felt like the only right thing to say, even if it wasn’t something that was expected. 

“Sorry for what? Your dad giving me a job?” 

“You never got to graduate.” After saying this, it seems as though Kuroo realizes it as well, that he never got to finish school. “You were so close, but you got stuck with my family. I’m sorry you didn’t get to finish your schooling.” You say, meaning every word. You were sorry, and you couldn’t help the guilt you felt. After all, it was your family that pulled him into this world.

Kuroo stays silent for a few more moments, thinking over what you just said. He appears to snap out of it, switching back to his usual easy going, casual self. “Nothing to be sorry for, princess. Without your dad recruiting me, I would just be a broke bum with a lame car and no money to my name. Besides, I can go back and finish things up someday. But for right now, I’m exactly where I want to be.” He looks over at you and winks, making you laugh. “What about you? Where would the yakuza princess be if she wasn’t a mob boss in training?” 

You paused, not knowing how to answer. “I actually don’t know. I’ve never really thought about it, because there really isn’t a future for me outside of the family business.” You say, unable to hide the disappointment in your voice. 

Kuroo frowned, thinking of a response. “Well, hypothetically, what would you be doing? Let’s say, in an alternate universe, where we’re just normal people, living normal, legal lives. What would (y/n) be?” 

“A teacher.” You say proudly, without hesitation. “Or a professor. Definitely education.” 

“A teacher?!” Kuroo asks, laughing. “How do you go from yakuza boss to teacher?” 

You laugh, realizing just how ridiculous it sounds. “What, you said normal! If I had a choice to be normal, I’d want to be a teacher, in a small town. I think I’d be a good teacher!” You say, defending your choice. 

“Okay, okay. I guess I can see you as a teacher.” Kuroo says, still grinning from ear to ear. “But, the hot teacher. With a gang tattoo.” He says, referencing the giant koi fish tattoo you have on your shoulder. 

“No!” you exclaimed, laughing loudly with him. “I want to be the generic teacher, with cardigans and sensible shoes and house cats to come home to. I’d grade papers and mentor kids, and just be free to be as boring as I want to be.” 

“Y’know, maybe I can see it.” Kuroo says, smiling at you. You couldn’t ignore the butterflies in your stomach every time he gave you that smile, the kind of smile that made your day so much better by simply existing. “Maybe someday we can be boring together.” 

The profound silence that followed that sentence spoke volumes to the both of you, almost as a silent prayer to the universe, begging for a chance to be boring together. However, that silence was broken by Kenma in your ear, bringing you both back to the reality you both began to dread.

“5 minutes out, turn your headlights off.” 

“Going dark. Thanks Snake Eyes.” You hear Kita say. Kuroo flicks his lights off, leaving only the street lamps to light the way. 

“What container should we be looking for?” Oikawa asks. 

Kuroo replies, reading out a series of letters and numbers. “The boss gave me an idea of where to go, I think we’ll have to get out to look around though. Snake Eyes, you got eyes on the port? Any trouble?” 

“Nope, all clear. Limited street lamps though, you may need a car for some light.” 

“Got it. I’ll let you know when we find the container. Let us know if anything suspicious catches your eye.” Kuroo says, muting himself once again. As you enter the industrial port, Kuroo begins taking a series of turns, leading you deep into the maze of containers. The further you got, the number of street lamps began rapidly decreasing, and you became very familiar with the reason why it’s called shady business. 

Kuroo flicked his lights on, and you kept an eye out for the shipping container, or at least one that was close to the number you were looking for. 

“I think I got something.” You hear Kita say, flashing his lights behind you, to signal for everyone to stop. Kuroo turns around, putting his car in park and leaving the lights on, pointing at a shipping container with the exact identification numbers you were looking for. 

“Nice work Sly Fox.” Kuroo says, patting him on the back. You stood close by the car as the three men approached the container, Kuroo pulling a key out of his pocket and unlocking the giant lock that secured the container. 

As he swung open the door to the container, the scent was strong, but familiar. It smelled like… 

“Tobacco?” You ask, walking closer to the container. 

“Cuban cigars.” Kita says, laughing as he walked further into the container. 

“Hey Snake Eyes, let the boss know we’re in the container. 30 bricks right?” Kuroo asks into his ear piece. 

 “I’ll let him know. And yes, 30 exactly. He left a note in the file that said you may have to look around a bit for the cargo. Also, Sly Fox, don’t take any cigars.” Kenma says, right as Kita was stuffing a handful of cigars into his pocket. Kita reluctantly returns them to the pile they were taken from. 

“Got it, 30 pieces of cargo. We’ll make contact again once they’ve been located.” Kuroo says, tapping his ear piece twice. “Okay, 30 bricks. Let’s start from the back and make our way out, whenever you find one, take it straight out to my car. Princess, you’re the look out.” 

“Why do I have to be the look out?” You protest. 

“You can’t reach the top of the containers, chica.” Oikawa points out, putting his hand on one of the shipping boxes that towered over you. Kuroo snickered, walking up to you. 

“Just stay outside, kitten. Let us know if there’s any big bad guys coming?” Kuroo says, putting his arm around you and walking you outside. 

You rolled your eyes and shrugged his arm off. “Whatever, just hurry up, it’s freezing out here.” 

You stand outside, staring out to the distant city lights, listening to the quiet waves that lapped against the side of the port. Kuroo came and went, bringing cigar boxes filled with cocaine out to his car. 

After the 12th box, he noticed you were crouched down with your arms tucked into your jacket, the arms of your jacket swinging in the breeze. He laughs, walking up to you. 

“Cold?” He asks, looking down at you. 

“Maybe.” You answered through chattering teeth. You stand up, looking up at him. He towered over you, meaning you had to crane your neck in order to meet his gaze. 

“Here.” He says, taking the red bomber jacket off his body and wrapping it around you, using it as an opportunity to pull you closer to him. “Your dad might slice my head off if you catch a cold.” He whispers into your ear, making you laugh. 

“How’re we doing guys?” Kenma asks through the ear piece.

“A little under halfway done. Anything we should be worried about?” Kuroo says. 

“Nope, still all clear. Just let me know when you’re done and heading out.” Kenma says, muting himself. 

“Back to work.” Kuroo says, pulling you in tighter for a moment before letting you go. You stood there, warm under his jacket, wrapped up in the lingering scent of his cologne that remained. You wanted to freeze time, to live in this moment of calm, feeling protected just by the residual presence of Kuroo. 

They continued on, carrying cigar boxes out of the container and into Kuroo’s trunk. Every once in a while you’d hear hushed conversations from inside the container, too quiet for you to hear. 

“This is the last of it.” Oikawa says, walking out of the container with Kuroo. They each had 4 boxes in their hands, which they placed in the back of Kuroo’s car. 

“Ready to go?” Kita says, popping up next to you out of nowhere, causing you to jump. 

“Jesus, where did you even come from?” You ask, startled by his sudden appearance. 

Kita smirks, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “They don’t call me sly fox for nothing.” He says, walking back to his car. Kuroo was busy closing up the container, securing it and making it appear as if we were never there. Oikawa was leaning over the trunk of Kuroo’s car, arranging the boxes of drugs underneath a spare blanket. 

“Snake Eyes, you there?” Kuroo asks, walking back to the car. 

“Yup, all ready to go?” Kenma responds. 

“Ready when you are.” Kuroo says, walking over to your car door and holding it open for you. You climb in, ready to get out of the cold. Kuroo closes the door, and continues to talk to Kenma through his ear piece. You figured out that Kenma had made it so their communications wouldn’t be heard through your ear piece. You couldn’t make out exactly what they’re saying, but you assumed it’s some info about the drive to the warehouse. 

You watch as Kuroo leans in to tell Oikawa something, which he nods in agreeance to before walking back to his car and getting in. Kuroo then walks around to his side of the car, turning it on and beginning to pull out of the dark alleyway of the port. 

“Ready to roll, princess?” He asks, turning to flash you a grin. 

“The faster the better.” You say jokingly. He laughs, revving his engine loudly. 

“Careful what you wish for.” He says, speeding up as the three cars leave the port and enter the expressway. 

“DK, stop showing off.” You hear Oikawa say through the ear piece. 

Kuroo rolls his eyes, taking his foot off the gas to slow down. “Buzzkill.” He mutters under his breath. 

You rode in silence together, heading towards the warehouse your father owns. The warehouse was a front, being used as storage for the goods your father exported in his legal business. For the illegal business, it was used as a storage and distribution center for the underground dealings. 

“DK, we have a problem.” Kenma says. 

“Talk to me Snake Eyes.” 

“We’ve got some cops heading your way. The boss texted saying someone may have tipped them off to tonight’s job. Apparently the king of Tokyo has some enemies.” 

“That’s one way to put it.” You mutter to yourself. Your father had more enemies than allies, meaning that there was a constant target on the backs of every member of the family. It’s no surprise that something went wrong tonight. 

“Which way are they coming from?” Kuroo asks. 

“West. I think they’re gonna intercept you soon. At least 2 cars, and I’m pretty sure they’re looking for you.” 

“Shit.” Kuroo whispers to himself. “Cypher, Sly Fox, you there?” 

“Heard it all, DK. What’s the next move?” Cypher asks. 

“Sly Fox, take the lead. Take the back route, go straight to the warehouse, fast as you can. Cypher, take the rear behind Sly Fox, if you run into any trouble you’re the diversion. Got it?” Kuroo says, his voice taking on a new tone of authority. 

“Roger that. When should we check in with you?” Sly Fox asks. 

“I’ll make contact when we’re free. Just get in touch with Snake Eyes when the delivery is made.” 

“And (y/n)?” Kita asks. Kuroo turned toward you with an expression of deep thought on his face. 

“She’ll stay with me. We’ll be fine.” Kuroo says firmly, turning his eyes back to the road. You weren’t sure why, but you trusted him. Given the circumstances, you probably shouldn’t, but some part of you just impulsively put all your faith in him, trusting that being in his car was the best place for you to be.

You hear Oikawa chuckle. “Have fun princesa. I hope DK doesn’t scare you away.” 

“Shut your mouth, amigo.” Kuroo says mockingly. “I’ll see you both later. Be safe.” He says, muting himself. 

You look behind you to see Kita’s car already in front of Oikawa’s, and you see them both exit off of the expressway, their engines revving as they sped off, out of sight. 

“Maybe I’m pointing out the obvious, but aren’t you the one with the delivery to make?” You say, growing worried by Kuroo’s plan. 

“Don’t worry about it princess. Just trust me.” Kuroo says, revving his engine loudly, rapidly increasing speed. 

“You have 20 bricks of cocaine in your trunk and you’re telling me not to worry?!” You exclaim, turning your body to face him. 

“Or do I?” He asks, glancing over and smirking at you. This question caught you off guard, making you wonder if this guy was crazy or stupid, or both. 

“On your left!” You hear Kenma say, moments before two police cars appeared behind you two, struggling to keep up with Kuroo’s speed. 

You slumped back in your seat, trying to find it in yourself to trust Kuroo. The police sirens grew louder and the red and blue flashing lights started to draw closer, but somehow, Kuroo remained calm, not even bothering to increase speed. 

Your heart raced as the police cars began getting closer and closer, nearly pulling up right beside you. 

“Hey princess, ever wondered what DK stood for?” Kuroo asks calmly.

“Fucking Donkey Kong?!” You yell at him, having no patience for his games. 

He laughed at your stressed demeanor, throwing his head back and shaking his head. “Nope. Not even close.” He switches gears, causing the car to slow down quickly and making the cops draw far ahead of you. He veers off to the side, seemingly to take the ramp that curved to exit the freeway. Suddenly, he speeds up yet again, turning his wheel suddenly as the car begins drifting on it’s side. 

“Drift King.” He says with a smirk. The car drifted down the ramp, screeching as Kuroo pulled the emergency brake up and maneuvered the steering wheel to keep it steady. You were familiar with drifting, due to the fact your brother was involved in street racing before his death. You knew that it was something that only experienced drivers could do, and it took a certain level of skill and a lot of practice to perfect. You realized that this meant Kuroo was a skilled driver, far more skilled than you realized. No wonder they called him Drift King. 

By the time the two of you reached the end of the ramp and began racing down the industrial district street, the cops just began heading down the ramp, trying their hardest to keep up. 

The chase continued on for several blocks, Kuroo barely breaking a sweat. It seemed as though this wasn’t his first chase. After some time, Kenma’s voice comes through on the ear piece. 

“Hey DK, you may want to end this chase. They’re calling for backup soon.” 

“Got it, I’ll pull over now. Thanks Snake Eyes.” Kuroo replies, beginning to slow down. 

“Pull over?!” You ask him. 

“Just trust me! You think I’d put you in danger?” He asks you, grinning. The car comes to a stop, and the two police cars quickly pull over as well. 

“Give me your ear piece.” Kuroo says quickly, the two police officers quickly approaching the car. You quickly hand it to him, which he shoves in the inside pocket of his jacket. 

“Sir, please exit the car. You as well, ma’am.” The officer says, shining his light in Kuroo’s car. The two of you exit the car, standing in front of the headlights. 

“Now, what in god’s name were you doing?” He asks, as the other officer begins searching the car. 

“He was just being a show off.” You say, lying on the spot. Kuroo looks surprised by your sudden statement, but plays it off, acting natural. 

“Yeah, sorry about that. Just trying to impress a pretty girl.” He says, putting his arm around you and kissing the side of your forehead. Although it was just an act, your stomach still did somersaults just with that one simple action. 

“I see.” The officer says, shining the light at your gun. “You have a license to carry that ma’am?” 

“Yes sir. Just a personal protection piece.” You say, pulling your driver’s license as well as gun registration out. You hand it to the officer, who looks it over. 

“Sakanoshita?” He asks with fake surprise, looking up at you. 

“Yes, my father. I’m sure you know him.” You say, knowing that the name Sakanoshita held a lot of clout in the city. 

“We're familiar with him.” He says shortly, handing the papers back to you. “Anything?” He asks, turning towards the other officer who was peering into the car. 

“Nothing. Mind popping the trunk?” He asks Kuroo. Your heart begins to race, knowing what they would find. Kuroo however, remained cool as a cucumber, sauntering over to the car to open the trunk. He walks back to you with a grin, standing behind you and draping his arms over your shoulders, pulling you closer to his body. You grab his hands, bracing yourself for the big reveal. 

“Now what do we have here?” The officer says, ripping the blanket off of the boxes. You close your eyes, preparing yourself for the worst. The officers pause, opening one of the boxes. 

“Cigars?” They ask. You open your eyes, looking up at Kuroo as he continues to grin at you. 

“Yes sir, we were on our way back to her place, to deliver them to her dad. You know, the infamous Mr. Sakanoshita.” Kuroo lies with ease. 

“They’re gifts, for some associates of his.” You say, joining in on the lie. “He’s hosting a little get together tomorrow. I believe your boss, the police chief, will be there. It’d be a shame if he heard you pulled over a Sakanoshita.” You knew exactly what you were doing, using your name for your own benefit. 

“I see.” He says, closing the box of cigars and putting it back down. “Just some Cuban cigars I suppose.” He closes the trunk, walking to where you and Kuroo stood. 

“And I suppose the speeding was because the old man is waiting on these cigars, huh?” The other officer says, standing next to his partner. 

“Exactly.” Kuroo says. “Not exactly the best idea to get on the bad side of your girlfriend’s father, right?” He jokes, trying to lighten the mood. 

Surprisingly, the cops laugh. “You got your work cut out for you kid. Sakanoshita is not an easy man to win over.” 

“Yeah, his daughter isn’t any easier.” Kuroo says, pulling you closer. You laugh along, wishing for this interaction to end already. 

“I’ll tell you what.” The officer says, taking a few steps closer to the two of you. The headlights from the car streaked behind him, casting a dark shadow over you and Kuroo. “You two can go ahead home, just make sure not to mention this to your dad. Or our boss. Sound good?” 

“Perfect. Have a good night you two.” You say, hurriedly pulling Kuroo back to the car. 

“Sorry for the trouble!” Kuroo calls out as the two men walk back to their patrol cars. 

Once the two of you are back in the car, you breathe deeply, staring into space. 

“You alright princess?” Kuroo asks, turning towards you. 

You snap out of it, punching him in the arm. He jumps back in pain, looking shocked at your outburst. 

“Cigars?!” You question him, unable to form a full sentence. He laughs, throwing his head back. 

“Yes, cigars. I told you I didn’t have any drugs back there, didn’t I?” he says, grinning slyly at you. 

“Then who the hell has the coke?” You ask sternly, adrenaline still pumping from that run in with the cops. 

“Think about it.” Kuroo says, turning his whole body to face you. “Where do you think the drugs are?” 

You thought about it, the entire night, all the interactions that occurred. Only one person stood out to you, which was- 

“Sly Fox.” You say, realizing the stunt that they had just pulled off. “Kita. I never would have seen him take anything to his car, he’s too sneaky. I had my back turned to his car because it was up against a container, no one could have come from over there. That’s why you had him go straight to the warehouse. It’s all in Kita’s car.”

“Well look who figured it out. Good job princess.” Kuroo says, leaning back in his seat. 

“But why take the cigars? And why not tell me the plan?” You question him, not satisfied with the answer you had come up with. 

“In case of a situation exactly like this. Insurance, in case everything went wrong. An alibi.” He says peering over at you. “And, well, I wanted to test you. See if you could take the heat.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“I wanted to see how you’d handle yourself, with your back to the wall. I wanted to see if you trust me.” He says, with a small smile on his face. 

“Didn’t really give me much of a choice but whatever.” You grumble quietly. 

Kuroo laughs, looking over at you. “You did great, princess. You’ll be a mob boss in no time. I hope you’ll let me keep my job, though.” 

You let out a tired scoff, exhausted by the adrenaline rush that had come and gone. “Just- please keep me in the loop about things like this. If you can do that then maybe you can keep working for me.” 

“DK, everything good?” You hear Kenma say through the ear pieces that were still in Kuroo’s pocket. He dug them out, handing you one which you placed in your ear. 

“Yup, crisis averted. Have you heard from Sly Fox and Cypher?” Kuroo asks. 

“We’re right here boss. Delivery has been made, just waiting on your order.” You hear Kita say. 

“Meet us back at the boss’s house, me and the princess have one last loose end to tie up and then we’ll head over.” Kuroo says, starting the car. 

Kuroo heads back in the direction of the ports, and you assume it’s so that the 20 cigars could be returned to the container. Once again, the two of you ride in comfortable silence, your mind wandering as you gazed at the distant city lights. 

“What’s on your mind, princess?” Kuroo asks, bringing you back to reality.

“My brother.” You answer without hesitation. “If things were different, it’d probably be him doing this job with you. Maybe not in the passenger seat, but still. The family legacy would be his.” You felt a pit grow in your stomach, your eyes suddenly tearing up. You always had these lingering feelings of doubt, but you never realized it was because of Keishin, having to be in his shadow. No one ever bet on you, or thought you were going to be the one inheriting the empire. Regardless, you were there, because your brother wasn’t. 

“Well, no offense to the great Black Lung but I for one am glad you’re here. No one else I’d rather have in my passenger seat.” He says, giving you a sincere smile, one that you haven’t seen before. It was different from his flirtatious smirk, or his arrogant grin. It was just a simple, kind smile. 

Black Lung?” You questioned. 

“Your brother’s racing name. Y’know, like DK, Cypher, Sly Fox. He used to smoke like 6 packs a day, even more than Kita. He was kind of a big deal in the racing scene. After he passed, Karasuno didn’t race for a long time because there was no one that could replace him. They’re slowly getting back on the road, but your brother is definitely still a driver people remember.” Kuroo explains, pulling into the port once again. 

“He smoked?” You asked, trying to remember a time you saw him with a cigarette. You assumed it was because he only smoked when he was away from the house, because it was something that your father would have never approved of. You were pretty sure Keishin would’ve been disowned if he smoked or drank in front of  your father.

“Yeah, all the time. That was his whole thing. Did he not smoke around you?” Kuroo asks, eyebrows furrowed. 

“No, I guess he never smoked around our family. I don’t think my dad knew either if he only smoked when he raced.” You pause for a moment. “Do you know anything about it? The accident?” You ask, growing more and more curious about what Kuroo knew. Your brother’s death was always explained to you by members of your family, and you wondered if there was something that they didn’t know that the racers did. 

Kuroo paused, an expression of deep thought in his face. He looked as though he was trying to figure out the exact sentences he would say next. “All I’ve heard is that…there was an explosion. I think his girlfriend was near it at the time, and she got injured. That’s all I know though, no one really talks about it much because of how bad it hurt everyone. A lot of people cared about him.” 

“He had a girlfriend?” You ask, turning towards Kuroo as he puts the car in park. 

He looks at you, eyebrows furrowed. “Yeah, some chick named Saeko. I think she has a younger brother that races nowadays. I’m pretty sure she’s still a mechanic for the team.” Kuroo pauses, looking out towards the port. “Look, I don’t know too much about the accident. And I assume your dad doesn’t want you looking into it too hard. But if you do want to know more, just let me know. I’ll talk to some guys from Karasuno. Sounds good?” He asks you.

You nod in agreeance, knowing that there had to be a reason why Keishin was so secretive, and why your father is still keeping secrets about his death to this day. “Okay. If you end up talking to Saeko, could I come along? I just...I feel like I’m getting to know my brother all over again. I want to know the side of him that he hid from our family.” 

“Of course. Now c’mon, let's get these cigars back where they came from.” Kuroo says, getting out of the car and popping the trunk. You follow him, getting out and standing next to him. 

The two of you silently put the cigars back, working quickly to get the job completely finished. By the time Kuroo was closing the container door, Oikawa came through in the ear piece. 

“Hey love birds, are you heading back to the house soon?” he asks. Kuroo rolls his eyes and unmutes himself. 

“We’re heading back now from the port. Snake Eyes, you told the boss the delivery was made already, right?”

“Yup, I let him know. He’s waiting for you guys at the house.” Kenma replies. 

“Sounds good, we’ll be there soon. Cypher, Sly Fox, go ahead and start heading over now.” 

“Will do. See you soon DK.” Sly Fox says. 

“C’mon princess, let’s go home.” Kuroo says, throwing his arm over you as the two of you walk back to the car. You take the hand he had on your shoulder into your own, squeezing tightly. It was strange how natural it felt, being with Kuroo. It was almost as if it was where you belonged, with him, wrapped up in his arms. 

You climb back into the car, watching Kuroo as he starts the car and begins driving off once again. Your head was spinning trying to make sense of everything that had occurred that night, as well as processing all the new information Kuroo had told you about your brother. You knew this day had to come, when you would have to jump in head first into the world your family operated within, when you would have to fully take on the Sakanoshita name and all the responsibilities that come with it. 

As Kuroo rolls up to the driveway of your home, you see Oikawa and Kita standing outside with your father, smoke billowing from where the three of them were conversing. 

“Tetsurou! (y/n)! I was beginning to wonder when you’d be back!” Your father says, cutting another cigar and handing it to Kuroo, motioning for him to join the group. 

“Cubans? What’s the occasion?” You ask your father, standing next to Kuroo. 

“Your first job, sweetheart. And with no casualties, no arrests, a clean job deserves a little reward.” Your father says, grinning at you, holding out a cigar for you to take. 

“Dad, I don’t smoke.” You say, laughing. 

“Oh c’mon, the most powerful man in Tokyo offers you a cigar, you take the cigar.” Oikawa says, smirking and letting out another cloud of smoke. 

You roll your eyes, taking the cigar and allowing your father to light it. You thought more about the cigar as you drew the smoke in, about what it meant for you to be invited to smoke with your father. It meant that you were finally owning your family name, you were finally a true Sakanoshita. 

You stood there silently, listening as Kuroo explained to your father the decision he made to use Kita as the real transport and to make himself the emergency decoy. Your father listened as well, nodding along with an expression of deep thought on his face. 

“Great thinking Tetsurou. That is exactly why I keep you on my payroll.” Your father laughs, smacking his hand against Kuroo’s back. Kuroo laughs as well, putting on his usual submissive attitude that he uses with your father to gain his good graces. 

“Let’s just hope your daughter keeps me on when she takes over.” Kuroo jokes, nudging you with his elbow. 

“Well, I’m sure you’ve earned your place with the whole family.” Your father says, smiling at you. “Say, isn’t that Tetsurou’s jacket?” 

“Oh, yeah.” You say, realizing you still had it on. “It got cold at the ports.” 

“It’s funny. You’re starting to look more and more like him.” Your father says, eyes squinting as he smiles sadly. 

“Like who? DK?” Kita asks with a cigar hanging out of his mouth. 

“Keishin. The racing jacket, the gun. Even the smoking.” The hairs on the back of your neck stood up, remembering the conversation you had with Kuroo about your brother. Your suspicions about your father kept growing, and it became harder and harder to believe his mourning father act, the smoke and mirrors he used to deceive everyone. 

“Well, you know how much I adored him.” You say, taking another puff from your cigar. You and your father both pause, staring one another down. There was noticeable tension, but with no clear reason. Nothing more than a gut feeling. 

The staredown was cut off by Kuroo clearing his throat, getting both yours and your father’s attention. “It’s getting pretty late, we don’t want to keep the two of you from a good night’s rest.” He says, finding a way for the three racers to leave. 

“Yes, it is getting rather late. Oh! Better not forget these. Tetsurou, I put your friend’s pay for tonight with yours.” Your father says, moving away from the staircase leading up to the front door to reveal three paper bags with names on them, which you assume was full of money. 

“Thank you sir. I’ll make sure to get it to Snake Eyes.” Kuroo says, bowing to your father. Kita and Oikawa follow suit, bowing before grabbing their bags. 

“Pleasure doing business with you.” Kita says, walking back to his car. 

“See you next time boss. You too, princesa.” Oikawa says, waving to the both of you before getting into his car. 

“So, you’ll let me know when there’s another job?” Kuroo asks as Oikawa and Kita begin pulling out of the driveway. 

“Absolutely.” He nods, turning to face both of you. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I better get inside before your mother comes out here and drags me back in. Have a good night, Tetsurou.” He says, going back inside. It was once again just you and Kuroo. 

“Oh! I almost forgot.” You say, beginning to take off Kuroo’s red bomber jacket. 

“Keep it.” He says, taking a step closer to you. He places the jacket back onto your shoulders. “I’ll be back for it eventually.” 

The two of you pause, staring into each other’s eyes. It felt like a moment that you could live in forever, relishing the comfort that Kuroo gave you. 

“Thanks for having my back tonight. You sure know how to think on your feet.” Kuroo says. 

“Not like I had much of a choice.” You say, remembering the moment earlier in the night. A part of you wished it wasn’t a lie, that you and Kuroo were just two lovers out for a drive. Nothing illegal, nothing scary, just a guy with a car and the girl in the passenger seat. 

“Come here, princess.” Kuroo says, pulling you into a tight hug. Your heart skips a beat, startled by the sudden act of affection. You wrap your arms around him, feeling perfectly at home in his arms, being squeezed tightly against his body. 

“Please be careful. I don’t trust your father.” Kuroo whispers into your ear. You realize the real reason why he hugged you, so that he could tell you this message in secret. “I’ll talk to some people from Karasuno Killers and see if you can meet Keishin’s girl. He’s hiding something, (y/n).” 

“How do you know? What are you talking about?” You ask, holding him tighter. 

“(y/n), how would your father know that Keishin smoked? If he lied about that, then we don’t know what else he’s hiding.” Kuroo responds. Your breath catches in your throat, remembering what your father had said, about your sudden resemblance to Keishin. 

Racing jacket, gun, smoke. 

[everyhowlmarksthedead]

the lift.

STEVE ROGERS. MARVEL. ┃ USEFUL LINKS.

❝ request by anon: Girl I love that we must watch all the same things because your masterlist is heaven!! I love all the characters lol Can I request an imagine for reader x Steve Rogers where the reader is an avenger but her and Bucky are super close where everyone thinks they’re together, but it’s platonic. Reader and Steve have massive crushes on each other, but are two idiots who don’t realize it. The team has to help hem figure it out?? Or you can switch them around it you want. I love Steve and Bucky equally 🤷‍♀️

❝ request by anon: Hey girl! Awww yah! Requests are open 🎉 Can I request something for Steve Rogers? Maybe a prompt of “You came to my room at 4am...to cuddle?" I’m a sucker for Steve so honestly anything you write is fine 😅

❝ words: about 1k.

❝ a / n: don’t forget to comment and reblog if you liked it, i’d really appreciate it!

“This is a bad idea, sir”.

The metallic voice from F.R.I.D.A.Y. speaks throughout the living room. Even she knows that locking you and Steven inside the lift isn't going to help you to realize what you feel for each other.

“Sh…” Stark utters before taking a sip from his glass of whisky.

All the Avengers are there. Natasha has made popcorn to share with Bruce, while Pepper is trying to persuade his husband to stop, asking Bucky for help. But he just shrugs in her direction.

“Do you have plans for tonight?” The captain asks resting his waist against the railing, placing his hands there too.

“Nope. I think I'm just… gonna order some food and have a quiet night”. You shake your head, holding a S.H.I.E.L.D. file closer to your chest. “Why? You have another option?”

“Nope”. He imitates you with a soft grimace, almost giggling. “Sounds good to me, ma'am”.

“Oh, so, will I be blessed with your presence, Capta—”.

You can't finish the joke when the lift shakes slightly by stopping. A loud roar turns the lights inside red. Steve walks to the control, hitting every button on it as if this gesture could make it work again. And you're starting to sweat. You have claustrophobia and suddenly these four walls feel too close to each other. Like, really close.

“F.R.I.D.A.Y.?” He exclaims once and again before turning at you, hyperventilating sitting on the floor. “Hey, hey, hey! Are you okay?”

“I ca— I can't breathe, Steve”. You barely babble.

“Okay, okay, don't panic. It's okay”. Keeping as much calm as he can, the soldier removes the file from your hands to take off your jacket.

“Let the lift fall a little”. Tony casually pronounces the command to his A.I., making everyone in the room turn at him.

The lift falls a little. And the whole damn city can hear you screaming. Steve is on the verge of his nerves, standing up to try to force the doors and open them. You may be somewhere between the twentieth and the twenty-first floor. But they feel like both are hermetically closed.

“Hello? Anybody hear us?” The Captain screams from the bottom of his lungs, palming and hitting the walls.

“God, I'm gonna die”. You whisper in tears, causing your friend to kneel again close to you.

He doesn't doubt taking you into his strong arms, maneuvering to sit on the floor and put you onto his laps, tightly wrapping you against his chest. Steve rocks you, wanting you to calm down and to not think where you are, nor what's happening. He has protected and comforted you before, but this time where not even F.R.I.D.A.Y. is responding, you know it's the end. And you don't want to die in silence.

“I love you”. You sob, hiding your face under his jaw, gripping your fingers in his shirt.

He laughs quietly, leaving a kiss on top of your head. “I love you too”.

He hasn't understood you.

“I love you, Steve”. You repeat the confession. “I don't wan— wanna… die without telling you”.

“Don't be dramatic”. He scoffs, not replying to what you have just said.

Stark never thought it wouldn't happen this fast, but now, everybody is celebrating your revelation.

“Can you, for the love of God, take them out of there?" Pepper almost begs, knowing how bad do you feel in closed spaces.

“Just… one minute else”.

The excuse they gave you both was that they were training and minding their own business. But the A.I. is everywhere, so at least you don't believe them. And you can't stop thinking about what you told Steve. He hasn't acted weird after it, probably imagining it has been part of the moment. But it's not.

Getting up from your bed, not being able to sleep, you tour the long hallways to his dorm. Taking a deep breath as you notice the light under the door, you come closer to knock it. Walking inside and closing the room behind your back, you rest it against the iron door. The soldier is lying on his mattress, reading a book about Sherlock Holmes. But the story is left in the background when he raises his eyes towards you and a funny grimace appears on his face.

“You came to my room at fou—”.

“I was serious”. You interrupt him with a firm tone. Swallowing, you close your eyes to find the encouragement to repeat your words somehow. “I'm in love with you, Steve. Ever since”.

His gesture suddenly disappears, causing you to tremble a little. But before you can continue speaking, he tosses the sheets by his side over him to palm the bed. In silence, you walk straight to it slowly, hesitating. As soon as his arms can surround you, he pushes you onto his chest, tucking you there. He didn't believe the excuse Stark gave you either. It wasn't a coincidence.

“I love you too”. He whispers, not like a secret, but only wanting you to hear his —surprisedly— honeyed voice. “I can't even explain what you make me feel, but you complete me in the most perfect way. And I was good being your friend. I can't anymore now”.

Steve is aware he doesn't need vocal permission to kiss you, bringing his lips to yours. You don't hold back a soft sigh, leaving a hand on his chest and landing the other on his neck. At first, you don't have any rush. You take your time tasting each other's lips until he finds your tongue with his and something explodes within your guts. Soon the two of you are breathless, needed for more, pawing and exploring your anatomies under your clothes.

“I want to make you mine”. The soldier growls against your mouth, settling himself between your legs to shorten any kind of distance, losing the shame that still characterizes him sometimes.

“And, what are you waiting for, Captain?” You gasp tangling your fingers into the golden locks of hair.

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steve rogers: @chibsytelford

[kikilefangirl]

New Beginnings For Late Bloomers

Bucky Barnes x Reader

(Word Count: 2.4k)

You answered the Wakandan prince and princess’ call almost immediately. You quietly and swiftly made your way from your room, taking the familiar route south to the lab.

King T’Chaka’s death was so recent that his presence was still very much felt around the palace. Everyone, of all ranks, collectively mourning the loss. As you passed through the halls, you thought of his children—you couldn’t imagine losing your father, especially in such a jarring way. You bristled before turning the corner, bracing yourself for whatever was on the other side.

A pale skinned, dark haired man appeared to be sleeping in a large tube. Beside it, Prince T’Challa and Princess Shuri were in deep conversation with another white man, this one blonde. He stood opposite them and face to face with you.

You weren’t one for rudeness, but you had never seen a white man in person before, and it was strange. You found yourself switching back and forth between the and his sleeping friend. The first and second white men you had seen up close. They both had white skin tinged with pink, and their hair really was bone straight. The blonde gave you a warm smile, maintaining a slight recline and dropped shoulders.

You weren’t very good at interrupting or with strangers; your shyness was a terrible hindrance, and it was a wonder you even had friends in the royal family. The stranger’s reaction saved you the trouble, causing both siblings to do the same. Immediately, your eyes drifted the man in the tube, lightly pressing your fingers on the glass.

T’Challa cleared his throat and gestured at the blonde, “Y/N, this is Captain Rogers.”

You nodded at him and followed his downward gaze––to the other white man. Because you were closer, you could see his breath fog up the glass in front of his nose.

“We need you to watch over Sergeant Barnes while he is within our borders,” Shuri said. Though he looked relatively peaceful, what this Sergeant Barnes was like when he was awake must be hard.

“Your daily tasks will be to tend to him.” T'Challa explained.

Your gaze softened when you glanced at Captain Rogers. His concern was plain to see, enough to make you muster up whatever courage you had to speak.

“I will do as I am asked. Sergeant Barnes will be well cared for during his time here.” You replied. You gave him a small smile.

The man nodded at your reassurance, and you excused yourself. You had a lot of work ahead of you.

…

The sound of giggling and shuffling feet took you out of your reverie.

You were greeted to the sight of children laughing and chasing each other on the river bank. You smiled at their antics, but had to shoo them away. They were playing outside of Sergeant Barnes’—erm, Bucky’s hut while he was sleeping. You noticed how little the man allowed his body to rest, and you did your best to prolong it.

You knew the kids had broken his sleep, so you entered his hut, anyway. As you expected, the man was on his back looking at you with heavy lidded eyes.

“Please, try and go back to sleep,” you whispered, averting your gaze.

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw him tilt his head back on his bed. You took the opportunity to light an incense on the outer edge of the hut while you went about your daily tasks. It was the one that usually lulled him back to sleep, but Bucky was wide awake.

You occupied yourself with menial work in an effort to ignore his eyes on you. You were taking out an old blanket but when you touched the other side, you felt a thick, runny liquid. The harsh smell of iron hit your nostrils almost immediately.

Blood.

“I had another one after you left.” A raspy voice called from behind you.

You quickly wrapped the blanket in your arms, doing your best to hide the sight. Bucky was sitting up; he may have been looking at you, but his eyes were much farther away. The color wasn’t familiar to you, but the distant sadness in them was. You could see fresh scratches poking out from his tunic and the slight grimace on his face.

Gently, you set the blanket back down and grabbed the tin of shea butter from your supply bag. You unscrewed the cap and scooped the product out. You made your way to his bed, sitting on your knees beside him.

You pulled the cloth down to reveal the familiar nub where his arm used to be.

“Your head therapy with Dr. Amari has been switched to Tuesdays and Thursdays, for now. Shuri needs time to grieve the king and the mind must come before the body, in your case. ” You said softly, applying the shea butter evenly and without fanfare.

Bucky was leaning away from you, but he nodded nonetheless. You never had to yell or shout to get his attention––he always heard you, no matter how quiet you were.

When you were done, Bucky offered you a tired smile, but you couldn’t return it. You felt your face get hot and averted your gaze. It was different when you had nothing more to do, and he was just staring at you.

“I will get you new bedding and clothing when I return.”

You darted out of the hut as fast as you could, only stopping to let out the breath you had been holding.

…

“I don’t know if your treatment is working, Shuri.”

The princess was busy working on a new project. With heavy protective goggles on, and a wicked grin, there was no telling what she was up to. Carefully, Shuri shut the lid on it, and spun towards you.

You held up the bloody fabric, and Shuri frowned.

“Ah, Y/N, Sergeant Barnes’ brain will take more work than his body.” She said, scanning the blanket.

“He claws at himself while he sleeps.” You replied. The memories of his episodes were so clear in your mind. For a man who was fairly quiet and calm, in those moments he was mechanical and unflinchingly cruel. It was the first time a cold feeling settled in the pit of your stomach and it was truly awful.

Shuri was periodically glancing up at you as she read Bucky’s file. The farther she read, the more the princess looked puzzled. She clicked her tongue, then suddenly clapped loudly. The sound made you jump.

“Shuri!” You hissed. The girl was bouncing on the balls of her feet, animatedly. An especially devious smirk made its way onto her face.

“He is from New York City, ah! The city where dreams are made of!” She sang. Her off key version made you cringe at first, but a smile soon replaced it.

The Wakandan princess’s bubbly mood was the thing you enjoyed most about her. She was always so excited to explore and plot anything she wanted; it was refreshing to see.

“Take Sergeant Barnes to the market! It is a city environment to remind him of home.” Shuri exclaimed wildly.

Your eyes widened in horror at her suggestion. Shuri lit up, her ideas kept coming.

“He needs you to go with him. It can be a date!” You nearly choked.

“Princess Shuri!” You cried out. It was actually more of a high pitched squeak.

You gazed down at the blanket. It’s rich brown color was tinged with a darker one. The sickly smell of blood—Bucky’s blood—still invaded your senses. Your job was to care for him while he was in your country’s custody.

You sighed and agreed.

…

Bucky knew something was wrong the second you found the blanket.

The slight downturn of your chin as the realization dawned on you—he should’ve buried it when he had the chance.

The scratches were deep this time, but Bucky healed fast. It had been just over eleven hours since they happened. He had since changed into new clothes, so as to spare you from seeing the gashes, but he didn’t have the tools to get rid of the blood on hand.

Bucky heard your approaching steps, and went out to greet you. It was the height of the late afternoon heat; the dark haired man could see you approach through the vapors.

He knew it had been a long time since he’d been around a woman as Bucky, not the Winter Soldier. That was the exact reason why he wasn’t used to how you looked then. Your deep brown skin glowed as you came closer. A gold armband sat on your upper left arm, shining in the sunlight. You had on a green two-piece, decorated in bright Wakandan prints.

Bucky missed his phantom limb during times like this. It meant he was still capable of being the smooth, confident guy from Brooklyn and not the mess he truly was. He shifted his weight, bracing himself for your arrival.

…

“Would you like to come with me to the market?” You asked.

You wouldn’t look up at him for more than a second, but you did sit near him during the escort over. On his left side, too.

Once you two made it to the market entrance, it was in full swing. Hundreds of people were mingling through the stalls. A woman was haggling a tailor for a shoddy job he’d done. The smell of spices and roots hung in the air.

You snuck a glance at Bucky, giggling at the curious stares he received. And what a strange sight he was—a very white man in Wakanda. It was unheard of.

“I was told you were from New York City. Manhattan?” You said.

Bucky turned to you, mildly offended.

“Brooklyn, doll. Real different.” He said. You watched him inhale, taking in the bustling vendors and patrons.

You put a slight pressure on his shoulder, leading him to a street show. The performance was fun and free as the drummers played their sing song rhythms. Even you felt the urge to sway your hips to the beat.

A crowd had gathered, stomping and clapping as they went along, growing more boisterous as the dancers went on. Lost in the moment, you failed to notice Bucky’s balled fists and his blank stare. The only reason you did, was because in the middle of your small dance, you bumped into a hard body. The way you bounced off of him jostled you back to reality.

You got him some water, pouring it on your hand and then on his forehead. The cold shock worked, but with it came those scared, disoriented eyes. Ordinarily, you wouldn’t try and steer the big man any direction. You never could, Bucky was just kind enough to oblige most times. This time, he seemed so splintered, he followed without protest.

You led Bucky into an empty alleyway.

“I’m sorry. Please, let me take you back.” You said, apologetically.

You thought it would help him, not this. You leaned back on the wall opposite to him, waiting for Bucky to decide what to do. Slowly, heavy breathing subsided and he lifted his head from the ground.

“I don’t want you to think I didn’t like it. I did. But the people and the sounds and the—I know I was raised in a big city, but it’s been a long time since then.” Bucky said, finally.

He met your concerned gaze and almost looked relieved. The man stood up to his full height in one swift motion.

“I don’t think I like them anymore.” He admitted in a low, gravelly voice.

Your heart sank at his omission. Bucky had no idea who he was anymore, or what made him happy. He needed some peace that didn’t come from his place at the river, that was too familiar.

“I know a place you might enjoy, but it will take time to get there.”

Bucky had complete faith in you, and nodded imperceptibly.

…

It was a quiet ride up the mound.

By now, it was nearing dusk. The sky was a vibrant mix of purples and oranges and reds. Bucky hadn’t spoken again, and you hadn’t pressed him.

“It’s an undeveloped hot spring, Prince T’Challa and I found it together as children. No one will bother us here.”

You stalked through the heavy foliage with a clear head, muscle memory guiding the way to the cave. You were very aware of Bucky’s silent presence behind you. He navigated the vegetation with ease, carrying the food and water in a basket.

You huffed just taking the towels and blanket, and he looked unfazed. The both of you finally reached the mouth of the cave as soon as the last rays of sunlight faded. You watched as Bucky’s face darkened in the dim light.

“There are lights on the far end, vibranium powered so they will last.” You said. Bucky had far better sight than you, and he successfully found and turned them on.

He pointed the bright light toward the cave ceiling, setting off a series of shadows and patterns above you. You smiled softly, satisfied with your work. Bucky was still shook up from the market, but once he stepped into the hot spring he physically seemed more comfortable.

“Don’t stay in too long, it could be dangerous,” you warned him. A blast of warm air hit you, and you laid down on the blanket.

“Got it.” Bucky replied.

Occasionally, you heard the sound of water sloshing around, but you were too lazy to turn your head. There was no one around for miles to interrupt the calm, so you finally closed your eyes.

You heard water streaming to the cave floor as Bucky drew nearer. You thought nothing of it, until you felt warm, sopping wet hands wrap around you. You gasped the intrusion—if you hadn’t known who it was you would’ve screamed.

Bucky pulled you into him. Your face rested on his bare chest, catching the heat emanating from his warm skin. You didn’t have time to freak out.

What he did next wasn’t quite like a cry. The noise was so soft you thought you misheard it at first. It was a strangled, ghost of a sob.

“I-I can’t stop saying I don’t know.”

Bucky clung to you, letting all of his frustration and pain roll off him in waves. You took your cheek off his chest, the warm water leaving your face hotter than normal.

You stopped Bucky before he could recoil—gripping his shoulder.

“Horrific things happened to you Bucky, and I am sorry for that,” you started, staring off at the hot spring behind him. Steam rolled off its surface and wafted upwards and into nothing.

“You are rebuilding yourself and that is alright.”

Bucky peered down at you with a hardened kind of fascination. His eyes raked over you and he broke out in a grateful smile. A true smile.

“Thank you.”

He paused as he regarded you, dropping his shoulders.

“Doll? Can I kiss you?” The request sent you toppling over on the inside. You swallowed hard.

“Why?” Your voice was small. It was the cost to stare Bucky in the eyes while you asked. He needed to see how dead serious you were. You could be fragile, too. You blinked rapidly in anticipation, trying to concentrate over the roar of blood rushing through your veins.

“You never asked me to be someone, now I can be someone else.”

Your jaw dropped. You mustered all the courage you had and met his lips. The kiss was hesitant and soft. There were no expectations, just a sweet moment for two people that needed more of them.

[myelocin]

the love in life which keeps us young | matsukawa issei

synopsis: in which matsukawa issei thinks of you as he says his vows.

characters: matsukawa issei, issei anon you

genre/wc: fluff, 2000+

a/n: no thoughts brain v empty only issei

-

“Do you wanna write out our vows or do you just wanna repeat after whatever the dude says?”

You look at Issei, his eyebrows knit together in the way that tells you he’s serious about his question, then at the faraway look he has on his face as his eyes zeroes in on the wall behind you. You laugh; the kind that fills you with a sort of giddiness that you don’t think you could ever get sick of, before taking a quick sip of your drink and thinking about his words.

“This is the one time in our lives where you get a chance to make me feel like a Y/N in front of a crowd, Issei,” you laugh.

Across you, Issei pops the straw of his drink out of his mouth as he focuses his eyes on you and sighs with a pout.

“You mean you don’t feel like Y/N already?” he asks, and you smile when he shifts his focus back to the straw of his drink, as he tries to aim for the remaining balls of boba at the bottom of the cup.

“I do,” you answer, and Issei grins because he hears nothing but honesty in the tone of your voice. He knows you mean it, but none the less he pries.

“So on a level of one to Oikawa’s breakdown when his team won the Olympics, how hard do you wanna cry?” Issei asks again, pushing his emptied cup to the side before he leans forward and smiles at you.

He looks a little sleepy, you think. Issei’s kept his hair a little longer than how he used to back when you were still in high school, and when he didn’t style his hair—like now—the wavy ends of his bangs always just hung around the front of his eyes.

His eyes, you think. Its deep brown hue that always reminded you of the oak trees from back home. And when he blinks, soft and slow in the way that never failed to make him look a little sleepier than he really is—you feel warm.

Maybe you do have moments where you feel like the main character of a book.

“You’re smiling all weird,” Issei comments, and when he grins it looks and feels just as familiar with the cotton of your most worn sweater.

“Just please don’t slip in a meme during the vows,” you plead, but instead of seeming concerned, you only let out a laugh that breaks your attempt of hardening your expression.

“We’ll have to see about that,” Issei across you hums, then closes his eyes as he lets out a light chuckle.

“Issei,” you start, but only break into laughter again when he folds his arms and lays his head on the table, his face facing the open window as he pretends not to hear you.

Despite your halfhearted protests towards him, Matsukawa Issei thinks he likes the moments he spends with you the most when it’s like this.

He knows he loves you every hour of everyday. But, it’s in the in between of life stopping and starting where he sits down across you, in the same tea shop you’ve become regulars at, sitting in the same table he was first hit with the thought that he loved you in, where Issei is overwhelmed with the feeling of pure gratitude.

The fan on the other side of the wall—the one right behind you, continues to whir even though he’s currently facing an open window. The grandmother who used to serve the two of you your favorite kind of tea is now retired, but her grandson who took over the business a little over two years ago brews your tea the same way. Your notebook—the one you used to write your random ideas in that you hardly ever expand anyway is now switched with a laptop that you bought when you graduated, but he knows that somewhere in there are files filled with the scattered pieces of dialogue that comes to you during the most random parts of your day.

Your hand, years ago adorned with the promise ring that took him a few shifts at his uncle’s convenience store to buy for you, is now worn next to the engagement ring he still had to spend a couple paychecks on.

Issei smiles. Consistency despite the inevitable change.

Familiar despite the new.

And he acknowledges change, he realizes. Because the only thing constant in the world is the fact that for as long as the world keeps spinning, the people—and the world—will continue to spin into a new era.

So when he closes his eyes, basking in the sunlight, sometimes Issei likes to imagine that the teashop he’s in is still the one from ten years ago. He imagines the open field that’s outside the window he faces and smiles when he thinks of how the sun would look against fields of wheat.

But before he even opens his eyes, he hears a man’s voice calling out orders instead of the grandmother who’d just ring a bell. He hears you tapping away at your laptop’s keyboard instead of the steady scratches of the pen you used to favor using. The sound of the street outside isn’t as quiet now that there’s a busy convenience store in place of the wheat fields who’d only woosh with the breeze at its loudest sound.

“You finally awake?” Issei hears you ask when he finally opens his eyes and sits back up. And much like how it used to be almost ten years ago, his heart skips a beat from just the sound of your voice. The look in your eye is still the same.

Somehow he feels like he’s still ten years back in time.  

“Just thinking of what meme I can slip into the vows,” he laughs when you snort at him and roll your eyes at his comment.

“I swear to god, Issei,” you warn, puffing your cheeks when he sticks his tongue out as his choice of a retort.

-

“When I said I’ll make you cry, I hope you know what you were getting yourself into,” is how Issei begins his vows when the microphone was given for him.

You look at him, already a little teary eyed despite him just starting to speak his vows.

“First off,” he says. “I love you.”

Maybe it’s just how the light of the afternoon sun is hitting him, you consider. Issei’s always looked good under the sun, you think. Perhaps there was just something a little more magical in the sunlight today that struck a chord with you.

“I’ll admit that by saying I love you, that’s probably as accurate as I can possibly get my feelings to,” Issei continues, and from behind the veil you laugh as you see him start blinking with his words. Then when he says I love you, again, you notice how his hold on the paper turns a little shaky as his right foot begins to tap steadily on the ground.

It was slight enough where it could have well been unnoticeable for others, but you knew him better. You always knew him better.

These were all telltale signs that Issei was about to cry.

“I rewrote these vows over and over again until I reached the point where the more I felt—the less I could write in the paper,” Issei across you laughs. “Just ask Makki, he’ll back me up.”

From behind him, Makki shoots you a thumbs up. “It’s true,” you hear Makki quip and so you laugh with the crowd.

“But I think that’s how it’s supposed to be, you know?” you hear him continue. “Love, with you has always been more of a feeling instead of just words. I could read every sentence or every story that talked about what love is supposed to feel like and in some way I’ll agree with it—because it’s just like that.”

You notice how Issei shifts his eyes from looking at the paper then back at you as he begins to sniffle with his words.

“Love,” he begins, then stops as he corrects his words. “—no, you, have made me agree with words I’ve never even come across before. There’s always something in everything that has me connecting it back to you even if that something is the most unfamiliar thing in the world.”

“And believe me,” he adds, “—as a dude working with dead bodies you see a lot of shit.”

From behind him, you laugh at the way Makki, Hajime, and Tooru snicker with Issei’s choice of words. The minister in front of you clears his throat a little awkwardly, motioning for Issei to continue.

“Honestly, I could talk about what I want to promise you and what you deserve, because right now I feel everything I wanna say—“ Issei says, then stops when he takes a few moments to look up and wipe the corners of his eyes with the sleeve of his tuxedo.

“This is your fault,” he laughs, sniffling as he looks at you with a smile.

You laugh with him, the figure of him already blurred with the tears that welled up and slid down your cheeks.

“But I know words and promises will never come close to the value of my actions,” Issei finishes, folding the piece of paper to which you now notice barely even has sentences in it, and tucking it into his pocket.

“In this moment all I know is how I realized I loved you when we were sixteen sitting in that teashop while I drank the tea you said was good—which you lied about,” he interrupted, then laughed with the crowd, before continuing with, “—and how deep that feeling just hit me.”

“Even though we’re literally marrying each other now,” he continues, and you can only cry even harder when you hear his voice soften with his words. “I still feel that. Every moment with you still makes me feel like I’m sixteen and just realizing that I’m so in love with you over and over again.”

You’re as quiet as he is when he stares straight at you with glassy eyes.

“Love with you is something that I know is constantly changing and shifting with the world, but at the same time it’s the one thing that feels timeless. You’re the one thing that feels timeless. God knows how many times we’ve moved apartments or have changed cars, but you telling me welcome home still feels familiar. The way you always forget your chapstick in the car and then accuse me for stealing it a week later is still the same,” he laughs.

“Because everything in the world is moving so fast, I think that love is that one thing that grounds us back to the more steadier flow of time. You’re the reason why I wanna buy a house instead of jetset around the world. You always talk about that herb garden you’ve been wanting to start and we can finally get to that when we have a house. You noticing the weirdest things around every corner and smiling about it is the reason why sometimes sitting in traffic isn’t so bad anymore.”

“We’re all just trying to run somewhere with a destination we aren’t even sure of yet but you make it feel like we’ve already made it.”

“So for better or for worse, richer or for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish—till death do us part— I’ll love you.”

“You’re crying,” you whisper when he lifts your veil and stares at you with tears already sliding down his cheeks.

“Shut up,” Issei laughs, hands cupping your face while his thumbs wipe the tears on your cheeks, his face already leaning in towards you.

 -