#the way I wish my true body could snap through my flesh and stretch out to its full size

[biohazard-inevitable]

I love this format

[hvwks]

𝐅𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐀𝐍 𝐄𝐍𝐃𝐋𝐄𝐒𝐒 𝐖𝐀𝐑: 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐋𝐎𝐆𝐔𝐄.

tag list: @joongshong , @moethequeerwitch @mynam3wastaken​ @phontao​

There once lived a pair of creatures that walked the earth donning the skin of mankind, a penchant for bloodlust rooted deep in their veins and a dull, unyielding ache in bones that felt foreign in a body fashioned from flesh & sinew. Their tale is one of heartache and longing, of war-torn corpses and a feud that would surely transcend the eons that passed them by–and though the ancient scriptures have long since lost the finer details to history, the true nature of their quarrel remained steadfast. 

Eldritch horrors cursed to dwell the earth with tapered fangs, the two halves of the pair traveled far and wide. Wherever they want, a steady river running red babbled closely at their heels. The sanctity of human life grew weaker and weaker and soon enough, one of them stood tall as the other kneeled over its prey with an unhinged maw and jagged teeth. The one who stood tilted its head, silver locks fanning behind it in the night breeze. ‘Do we walk this world with no purpose than to cheapen the worth of human life?’ 

The other reared its head, crimson smeared against its jaws. When it speaks, its tone is smooth, silken–but the way its mouth stretches wide betrays something sinister, something devilish. ‘Does human life deserve anything more than to be cheapened?’ Clawed fingers reach to brush midnight black back into a low ponytail. ‘War, prejudice, disease. Humanity never stood a chance. Are we not blessing them with the ultimate peace? With death? Is it not a kindness to give those lesser than you and I mercy in the way only we know?’’

The silver-haired creature fell silent, inhuman eyes clouded with judgment. ‘All I know is not death.’

‘Are you not Death, Himself?’

The silence that settled over the pair of monsters was suffocating–and when the moonlit creature turned to give its companion a look of mingled longing and regret, it was clear that Death would never leave them. ‘Perhaps. But Death needs not take what it doesn’t require. You have grown insatiable, my friend.’

‘And you have grown tender-hearted.’ Eyes as black as ichor stare unblinkingly back. ‘You cannot deny what we are. What our true nature entails. Violence. Corruption. Bloodshed.’

‘I do not wish to forsake a legacy that could be salvaged.’ 

When the moonlight creature turned its back to the demon bathed in shadows, something within their tethered bond snapped. A bond meant to be unbroken and eternal splintered within a heartbeat–and though the creature of the night watched its other half fade with its silver glow into the distance, it refused to move from where it lay over its massacred prey, hackles raised and the promise for vengeance dripping from the tip of its tongue.

‘You have chosen incorrectly, my heart, my soul.’ The shadow monster called out behind its forsaken companion. ‘Anytime we cross paths henceforth, you will be the piece of me I vow to slay.’

The moonlight creature paused only briefly. ‘Out of respect for the bond we shared, for the bond that I broke, I will make your endeavor to end my existence a worthwhile one.’

The names of the creatures that birthed a legion of undead that soon trickled through the crevices and hungry underbellies of humankind have since been smudged & smeared from any discernible records; the Forefather of those who have since dubbed themselves as vampires remains an enigma, a case of intricate mythos…

And yet, as the Port Mafia coven rose to power through centuries of utilizing violence as its most precious currency, one unsettling fact grew abundantly clear: the eldritch horror of the shadows continued to thrum with new life and Death, Himself, lurking closely behind his footsteps. His flesh and bone now held a name meant for human ears–Mori Ougai, feared Vampire King and slayer of those who dared to stand in his way. 

At his right hand stood the rising prince to the coven he had so carefully cultivated, a death dealer hand-picked for his cruelty and mercilessness–Dazai Osamu. 

Oh, how unfortunate it is to become death, the destroyer of worlds.

[alcinadimitrescuwu]

How about a major nsfw scene where they are walking around the castle, just talking, but end up in the dungeon, if ya know what I mean ;)

@krispytidalwavesheep This is the fic I was talking about from your ask!

Warning: NSFW

“...And you’ve contacted the florist? Will the flower arrangements be arriving by tomorrow?”

“Yes, my Lady,” you say, pushing your glasses back over your nose as you check over your checklist for the hundredth time that day. You and Lady Dimitrescu had been going over the preparations for the ball tomorrow all morning. She had followed you around as you walked the length of the Castle, making sure everything was perfect for the occasion. The parquet floor has been swept to perfection, the windows polished, the banisters a riot of flowers.

As you are walking, you turn a corner and suddenly find yourself in an unfamiliar corridor. You turn to Lady Dimitrescu, a question forming on your lips. Suddenly, you hear a guttural growl, and find one of the Moroaicǎ bearing down on you with a Claymore. A scream rips from your throat as you cover your eyes, bracing for impact. It doesn’t come; instead, you hear the slash of metal slicing flesh. You open your eyes and find Alcina standing before you with her claws extended. The Moroaicǎ’s head rolls forgotten on the floor.

Alcina immediately runs over to you, cradling your face in between her large hands, running her thumbs along your cheekbones. “Darling, did it touch you? Are you hurt?” Concern is evident in her golden eyes.

“I’m fine, my Lady,” you say, feeling your face go scarlet at Alcina’s ministrations. “Really.”

The truth was the two of you had gotten rather close over the past couple weeks after the manthings’ attack on Castle Dimitrescu. You had even shared a couple nights together. When you saw Alcina’s muscles ripple as she severed the Moroaicǎ’s head from its body, you remembered what it was like having those arms wrapped around you and you felt your core heaten with desire.

Alcina smiles and kisses the back of your hand. “Come along, pet,” she says, taking your hand in hers. “Surely there won’t be any preparations needed for the dungeon?”

She turns to go, but you suddenly find yourself rooted to the spot. She looks at you in confusion.

“My, Lady,” you say slowly. “I know that we’ve been intimate…”

Alcina chuckles. “Whatever made you think of that, dear?”

You blush further but press on. “When you make love to me, my Lady,” you continue. “You’re always so gentle with me. As if I’m a fine piece of china and you fear I might break.”

Alcina puts her hand under your chin and tilts your face up to meet hers. “And do you not like the way I touch you, ingeras?” Her tone is mild, but her aureate eyes are alert and you find yourself unable to break away from her intense gaze.

“No, my Lady,” you whisper softly, holding her hand in place to your cheek. “I rather enjoy it. But there are times when I wish you would be...rougher with me.”

Alcina’s eyes are half lidded with desire. “And is now one of those times, pet?”

You suddenly find it difficult to breathe as you whisper, “Yes.”

She moves in suddenly to kiss you but you quickly sidestep out of her reach. She chuckles low in her throat. “Feeling a bit of a tease tonight, are we?”

You dance your way back to her, taking her hand in yours and leading her to a set of manacles chained to the wall. “Now just what are you planning?” she wonders, an amused smile playing at her carmine lips.

Taking the manacles in your hands, you clasp them over your Lady’s wrists. Then you pull the chain running through them until her back is flush against the wall, her wrists chained above her head. You turn your back to her but feel her eyes upon you as you turn around in the middle of the room.

Without once breaking eye contact with Alcina, you slide your hand up your skirt and slip two fingers into your core. You know your own touch cannot possibly compare to your Lady’s but it is so worth it to see Alcina’s mouth fall open in shock, her golden eyes burning with jealousy that she is not the one touching you, that it is not her fingers buried in your core.

As you increase the pace of your thrusting, you spot the Moroaicǎ’s discarded Claymore and get an idea. You take it and slash open the front of your dress. You rest the tip of the sword over your collarbone and press in slowly until blood begins to pour down your chest, settling between the valley of your breasts.

Alcina is snarling and railing against her bonds. Her teeth are bared, fangs glinting in the torchlight as she struggles to break free. You feel your climax building as she growls in frustration, spittle flying off her lips.

You hear the sound of metal screeching as Alcina finally breaks free of the manacles with a snap. Within seconds, she has crossed the distance between the two of you. With another slash of her claws, she rips the rest of your clothes off, like they were so much tissue paper. Holding you flush to her body, she runs her tongue over your collarbone, greedily lapping up any leftover blood.

Alcina pins you to the wall, slapping your hand away before sliding her fingers into your already dripping cunt. She does not maintain the pace she usually uses. Her movements are faster, more hurried this time. You rock your hips in time to each thrust, but soon find it difficult to keep up.

The two of you have made love plenty of times before this, but this is one of the few times you’re actually getting fucked.

She leans down and intermittently darts her wicked tongue into your core, stroking your inner walls, alternating her thrusting between her fingers and her tongue. Her nails bite into the curve of your hips as she holds you in place. You wrap your legs around her waist, leaning your head against the wall as you feel your orgasm getting closer and closer.

“Is this what you had in mind, slut?” she hisses, nipping the shell of your ear with the tip of her fangs. “I hope you’re prepared for what comes next.” She gives you a manic grin as she slips another one of her fingers into your core.

You choke out a gasp as the extra digit is added and Alcina gives you a satisfied smirk. “This is what our stretching sessions have been about, dear,” she cooes. “Come now, I know you can take it.”

You’re riding three of her fingers now and she is continuing her thrusting at a relentless pace. The stone wall against your back feels cold and clammy even as you feel yourself breaking out into a sweat due to Alcina’s ministrations.

When you finally orgasm, your voice echoes along the dungeon walls as you scream out Alcina’s name. Sinking along the wall, you find yourself going limp in Alcina’s arms. You feel Alcina’s tongue rasp along your thighs as she laps up your juices. “How very sweet you are, draga mea,” she purrs. She looks up at you and you see her ruby lips are dotted with flecks of white. Holding out her hand imperiously, she proffers her fingers slick with your orgasm. “You should really sample yourself, dear.”

You take her hand in yours and gently wrap your mouth around each digit in turn, rolling your tongue around each finger, suckling at your leftover juices. You feel her golden eyes upon you as you remove your mouth from her last finger, your lips making a firm popping sound.

Alcina can see that you are happy but exhausted. She runs her dry hand through your hair, now snarled and full of tangles. “Looks like I’ve tired you out, my dear,” she says, kissing your forehead. “We should get you cleaned up. How does a bath sound?”

You smile at her and give her a chaste kiss on the lips. “That does sound lovely. Thank you.”

Alcina carries you through the castle to the Hall of Ablutions and if anyone is curious as to why the Countess is carrying you naked and bloody, they at least make sure not to ask questions. When you finally arrive at the bathroom, Alcina orders the bathroom attendant to draw you a bath and waves her off after the tub is full.

You step in and sigh as the hot water makes contact with your sweaty and clammy body. You lean your head back against the porcelain and enjoy the warmth of the water seeping into your bones.

“Is there room for one more, draga mea?” Alcina teases. You look up and see that Alcina has already discarded her clothes on the floor. You smile and scoot up a little bit to make room for her. Alcina settles herself behind you and you sit on her lap as she begins tenderly massaging your scalp with soap, getting rid of any leftover blood that may have made its way to your hair.

“Do you know why I am usually so gentle with you?” she whispers.

You turn back to look at her. “You tell me,” you return, smiling mischievously.

But Alcina is serious. She turns your face to her, rubbing a thumb along your jawline. “It is because you are precious to me. When I see that someone so kind and so pure as you would want to be with someone like me. A monster like me-”

“Don’t say that,” you say fiercely, taking her hand and kissing her knuckles. “Don’t even think it.”

“Even so,” she continues and you are shocked to see her eyes are starting to pool with tears. “The fact that you know what I am, what I am capable of, and yet you still choose to be with me means more than any words I could hope to express. You are precious to me, my dearest darling. You are a treasure. And I love you.”

You can hardly breathe. Technically this is the second time she has told you that she has loved you. But you are ready for it this time. You kiss her hard, weaving your fingers through her dark locks. You pull away and look into her fathomless golden orbs as you say, “And I love you too, Alcina.”

“Well,” she says, chuckling low in her throat. “After all the the times we’ve spent with each other, it's about time you called me by my true name.” You feel another chuckle ripple through her body as she moves to kiss you again.

[kiame-sama]

28 Years - Yandere!Silva x Reader (2nd Pregnancy)

Many have asked and now, here it is!!

Warnings; Dub-con, pregnancy, yandere relationship, manipulation, mention of past abuse, yandere, yandere behavior, yandere tendencies, nsfw, Silva extreme views, family bonding,

It had been a few years- close to six- but the scars of your emotional turmoil were still present in your behavior and actions. You would become distressed whenever Silva attempted to be intimate with you, only calming down when he would back off, giving you the space you needed. Sometimes he would and sometimes he wouldn't, but he generally had not lain a single hand on you with any intent to hurt or force you to do anything.

It seemed he might have learned from his egregious error of taking Illumi away from you and punishing you for running away from him. Now he was cautious and treated you like glass in his grip, still keeping you close as often as possible and readjusting you to his touch. Some progress has been made- you no longer flinched from his touch or sobbed when he held you- but you still reacted like you were being burned or tortured with any kind of intimacy.

Though he wouldn't admit it, Silva hated seeing your pained expression, listening to your frightened whimpers and cries, seeing your panic whenever he tried to pin you under him, and most of all he hated how you never seemed to enjoy intimacy with him anymore. Even when he had first kidnapped you, you would make such loud noises and moans of pleasure any time he touched you and now you just panicked and cried. He didn't think your rejection of his affection would impact him so deeply, but he honestly couldn't remain hard or cum when you cried in such a way whenever he took you.

He was unable to enjoy it if you didn't enjoy it.

He could be a patient man, but he also had burning needs that drew him into near feral insanity if he refused to indulge in them. Silva NEEDED you. He needed your touch, your affection, your intimacy, all of it. He had tried to ignore his needs more than once before and almost every time he was unable to last very long, aching with desire just to feel your touch against his skin.

Even if it meant you were striking him or cursing at him, he would feverishly accept your touch with absolute glee. He was so sick with how desperately he needed you. His only 'cure' to this aching need was indulgence in his addiction to you. He was addicted to everything you had to offer and to everything you did. Nothing other than you mattered to him because you were his world. You were his love, his light, his everything.

True to his assassin nature, he quietly entered the room, frowning upon seeing you curled up in your shared bed and slightly shivering from the cold his absence seemed to cause. He chose to wake you gently, massaging your shoulders and murmuring softly to you in a husky hum.

"(Y/n), wake up..."

"Ngh... Hm? Silva? What is it?"

"I want to try something with you."

He felt your body stiffen as you fully awoke due to his words, fear and anxiety shooting through you almost violently at the implications his words had. You could only muster a whimper and start shaking your head back and forth, not trusting your words to be enough to deny his advances. Still he persisted, arms snaking around your midsection and pulling your back up against a warm chest.

"Shh... Trust me."

"No... No. No! No no no no no no no no!"

You were thrashing like a wild animal at this point, clawing for freedom and screaming out as if in pain, biting him when you could as you tried to wrench yourself from his grasp. He continued to simply hold you close as you thrashed, wailing and fighting his grip with all you had. But even your energy had to die down at some point, panting and whining pathetically as you lay exhausted in his arms.

"It's alright. It's okay... See? You're okay."

"No..."

"Yes. Have I hurt you during all of this?"

"... No..."

"See? I just need you to trust me. It won't hurt and we can take this as slowly as you want."

"I don't want it..."

"You do. You just think you don't because you're scared. I hurt you. I have done you wrong and unknowingly enforced the idea of intimacy being a punishment. I should have shown restraint and should have never done what I did to make you run in the first place. Let me show you this is different. Let me show you it's okay."

"..."

Your whimpers quieted as you lay hyper aware of any movement Silva made, feeling one arm drag down your side and his hand come to a rest on your lower stomach. When you didn't immediately try to push him away, he continued to follow the soft curve of your body until his large hand was parting your thighs. He slid his hand into your sleep pants where he cupped your heat and gently kissed your shoulder, slowly beginning to rub light pressure over your sensitive body.

The softest of noises left you, some kind of mix between a whimper and a moan, uncertain if you were whining from fear or due to the gentle movements of your husband. When Silva added a bit more pressure to your warm heat, you expected a flash of pain to stab through you, instead a soothing sensation ran through your mind and compelled you to calm just a bit more. Your light moans seemed to be the only confirmation Silva needed to keep going, sliding his hand gently between your soft folds, fingers prodding at your wet entrance.

Your mewling moans turned into gasps of pleasure as you gripped his thick arm, pressing back against his warm chest and whining in bliss. The light feeling of his lips trailing over your neck made you whine and shiver, hips beginning to slowly move with his relaxed strokes. You could feel how much your responses were affecting him given the rock-hard length that pressed stiffly against your back, pulsing in desire and need.

He tugged at your loose sleep clothes, easily sliding them off of your body, leaving you bare against his broad chest. His hands were warm as they slid over your chilled flesh, letting the heat sink into your body and warm you to the core. It was clear he was taking great care to not cause you any level of pain, given his relaxed touch and gentle behavior.

You whimpered when he moved so you were laying face-down on the bed, your hips raised up and his muscled body over your own. The firmness that pressed against you made you mewl and turn your head to look at him in vague fear despite the slick that coated your thighs. It was clear you were still frightened and hesitant to the idea of intimacy with Silva after what he had done to you, but the large hands on your hips gave you little room to voice that fear.

"Shh... It's alright..."

He shifted above you and you were about to question what it was he was doing when an intense warmth met your pulsing pussy, gasping and gripping at the blankets as an obscene slurping sound met your ears. Silva lapped his tongue at your soaked heat, making you mewl and cry out against the blankets beneath you, arching your back as pleasure hummed through your entire body. You couldn't stop the moans that tumbled from your lips due to the mind-numbing bliss that sparked through your brain, balling up your fists as you tried to hold back the sounds.

"Fuck..! Fuck, it- it's so good..!"

You were practically drooling at that point from the pleasure that coiled itself tightly in your abdomen, your eyes clenching shut as you continued to whine loudly. Silva seemed to only be spurred on from your pleasured noises, sinking his tongue as deeply into you as he could, gripping your hips and moving you in time with his desperate licking. When you felt like you couldn't take it anymore, you let out a loud screech of bliss as that coil snapped and flooded your body with euphoria, shaking from the sheer force of the pleasure.

"There we go... Fuck, you look so good squirting for me like this."

A whine left your exhausted form as he slid two fingers into you, moving and scissoring them slowly to get your warm walls to loosen for him. You were able to just lean into your pillows, feeling the echos of pleasure building up inside of you once more as Silva slowly but surely worked you over. He continued with his slow movements, letting you move your hips back against his fingers and fucking yourself on them at the pace you wanted all while admiring the wonderful view he had of your blissed out expression.

When your hips began to slightly stutter and jerk at a faster pace, he pulled away from you, relishing the sound of your needy whine of disapproval. He didn't hesitate to lick his fingers clean of your slick, getting a few more slow strokes of his tongue on your soaked pussy before getting to the matter at hand. He lined himself up, only allowing the tip of his large cock to rub against your tight hole as he gently massaged your hips.

"Would you like more?"

"Ple-please! Yes- yes, please, Silva! I need- ngh- I need more!"

"Then go ahead and take more. Go as fast or as slowly as you wish. Take my cock into you."

Silva was actually slightly surprised at how you reacted to his words, almost trying to take him in too quickly as you pushed your hips back, letting him sink deeper into you. The sheer stretch of taking his entire length was enough to make your toes curl in pleasure, needing to pause for a moment just to try and adjust to the full feeling. Some part of him wondered if you were even fully aware of the grasp you had on his heart, the sole being that held all of his affections and attention.

"Silva..! Please..! I need you to move..!"

You were mewling under him, gripping the sheets tightly as you whimpered and tightly closed your eyes. It was clear that you were in need of some kind of release and he was the only one who could provide it for you.

He wouldn't deny your breathy pleas, at least.

Starting with a slow tempo that built up to a near impossible speed, the bed creaked and complained loudly beneath you due to his unrelenting thrusts. You were in mind-numbing bliss and truly didn't care about the absolute racket you were making as you practically screamed out your moans, letting the sculpted man move your body as he pleased. Silva was in a similar state, lost to the pleasure of hearing your sweet moans as he buried himself inside of you.

He had yearned for such a sound for quite a bit now and your rejection of his affection over the past few years had left him nearly starved for you. Truly, there was only so much he was able to take when it came to resisting his physical need for your touch, wanting desperately to just hold you and have you cry out for him. He was finally able to feel your tight walls milk his hot cock and listen to your breathy moans, seeing you writhe in pleasure from the large cock buried inside of you.

"Tell me how much you love it. Tell me how much you love me. Scream it for me."

"Ngh-! Silva! I- fuck- I love it..! So big..! So damn good! Please! Please I need more!"

Despite the fact you did not say everything he wanted to hear, Silva continue to rut into you with fast angled thrusts that made you practically see stars. His grip on your hips was tight, but you didn't register anything other than that thick length moving inside of you wildly. Even as your eyes rolled back, you couldn't help the whining moans that wrenched from your throat fiercely.

The moment that pressure growing within you broke, you wailed out in a near tortured moan while pleasure washed over you for what felt like ages. The hot ropes of cum filling up your soft stomach only seemed to prolong the pleasure that ran through your veins, as if time itself stood still around you. When Silva finally pulled out of you, you collapsed on the bed and panted heavily, feeling almost too full as you moved to a much more comfortable position.

Silva's large arms wrapped around you and pulled you close, letting you sink into the warm heat that radiated from his sculpted figure. It was truly as if the two of you were just basking in the presence of one another all while you slipped back off into sleep, content with the warm figure that held you so close. Silva took longer to just enjoy the moment after finally getting to embrace you once more without any fear getting in the way.

For now, it seems he had managed to mend the scars of his egregious error and had you content to be with him once more.

~~~~~~~~

You lay on your side, curled up on the tile floor of your shared bathroom, trying to get the queasy feeling to subside enough to move. You honestly couldn't remember a time where you felt half as unwell as you did at that moment, feeling tears sting your eyes as your throat burned with exhaustion. At that point, all you really wanted was to sleep, but with the current exhausted state your body was in, you had no way of reaching the comfort of your bed or the warm embrace of your blankets.

The quiet sound of your door opening drew what little you had left of your attention span, hardly able to lift your head all that far from the tile as you attempted to rouse your body into an upright position. Despite your efforts, it was clear there was no way you were going to be able to sit up and so you simply remained on the cold tile as you awaited whomever had entered the room. To your vague surprise it was not Silva who came through the door, it was Zeno and he honestly seemed as if he hadn't expected to find you in the state you were currently in.

With a surprising gentleness, the elder came to your side and rest the back of his hand on your forehead. He seemed to have some level of honest concern as he gazed down at your exhausted form splayed out on the tile.

"Shall I go retrieve that useless doctor of yours?"

"... Please..."

It took more effort than you had expected to huff out that one word, feeling oddly cared for and respected simply for the fact he asked what you wanted instead of acting of his own accord. Silva would have never done that. He would have taken one look at your unwell state and practically ran to retrieve your kind doctor to have you checked for any cause that may explain your current position.

It didn't take long for him to send out word to have your doctor come to your room before he was back by your side. Truly, if there ever were a time you felt honest appreciation for your father in law, it would be at that exact moment. He could have easily left you to suffer alone on the tile and instead not only sent for help, but returned to your side to wait with you.

"Is there anything you need at this moment?"

"..."

You tried to form some kind of sentence to respond to him, but you felt as if the energy had just been ripped out of you as your eyes began to slowly close. A sharp snapping sound brought your attention back to the man before you who now seemed to almost be more than just concerned.

"No sleeping. Not yet. Do your best to remain awake, Brat."

The faintest of smiles pulled at your lips when you heard that name that he only used for those he felt responsible for as well as those he cared for. Zeno was an assassin through and through and was a proud man at that, but he did have some kind of emotions that were reserved for family and close friends of the family. He was cold and to the point with almost everyone, but he was far more gruff and pushy with those he actually cared about given the way he has had to live on where his wife had died delivering Silva.

It was the only way he knew how to show affection.

"Where..?"

"Silva? Just left on a job this morning. A long job. It should take him at the least a month, if not longer. Of course you would choose now of all days to fall ill, Brat."

"Not.. dead yet..."

A low huff of amusement came from the older man as he sighed and sat next to you on the floor, keeping you constant company despite having no obligation to do so.

"I'm not telling Silva about this until he gets back. You know as well as I do that he would leave the job the moment he heard you were unwell. That fool loves you more than even he realizes."

His words, though harsh, made complete sense to you. Often you had thought that Silva was far more obsessed with you than anyone else realized, given how you were one of the very few who ever saw his true nature without the trained restraint and cold tone he almost always had. He was mentally unwell due to his upbringing and obsessed with you beyond reason, and he believed his actions were justified due to his familial heritage when it came to what they considered to be love.

Maha lived through it. Zeno's father died from it. Zeno lived through it. Silva will die from it.

An insane love that compelled them to do all they could to obtain and keep the object of their affections, even going as far as kidnapping and imprisonment. Silva's sickness is worse than theirs had been, and he is the only one that managed to keep his darling- you- alive. They understood and accepted the obsession he had with you and were content to keep you in Silva's arms as long as possible.

The door to your room opened with a loud creak before Kikyo made her way into the bathroom where you lay. It was clear she moved in a much more rushed pace when she saw you laying on the tile shivering, not even needing to be told to start checking you. She was being much more gentle and seemed to be far more expressive than usual as she examined you with great care.

"It seems to me you may be pregnant again."

You felt surprise run through your veins, but that surprise dulled down for a moment as you recounted what it was like when you were pregnant with Illumi. It certainly made sense, especially given all that happened up to that point.

"If she is pregnant again, I need to have a chat with Silva about keeping his damn hands off her child this time."

"Yes, sir. Shall I contact-"

"Tell him and I'll make you wish you never even considered it to begin with."

~~~~Three Months~~~~

You sat next to Zeno as you remained curled up nice and cozy in your heated blanket, sharing it with the elder who kept you company thus far in your pregnancy. Silva was expected to return any day now and you both knew the absolute fit he would throw the moment he learned what his father had been keeping from him. At least you had some peace and quiet without Silva around for a good bit, though part of you figured he would never accept another long job seeing as something important had been kept from him because of it.

Regardless, you were comfortable and starting to doze off when an unexpected question snapped you awake.

"That doctor of yours, she's the one who set you free after Silva took Illumi from you, isn't she?"

Your surprise must have been clear on your face as Zeno simply nodded, not taking his eyes away from the large television screen you two had been watching. He didn't seem particularly surprised at the answer to his question, nor did he seem all that angry either. It was almost like he knew the whole time but still wanted you to confirm it before he accepted it as truth.

"Please don't-"

"I won't tell Silva. I figured that was the case when you had somehow managed to get out. There would have been no way for you to do it on your own and the only person who had access to you outside of the family was her. To tell you the truth, part of me had actually hoped that you would manage to get away. To escape this place."

"... Why?"

"Because in many ways you remind me of my own wife. Often I wonder what would have happened if I hadn't caught her after she escaped. If I hadn't hurt her as Silva did to you... Perhaps she would still be here today."

You were surprised to hear all of this, having been too worried of upsetting Zeno to ask about the fate of his wife. It seemed she had been in the same boat you were currently in, but it had killed her where you had managed to survive. Before you could ask any more questions about the mysterious woman Zeno spoke so rarely of, the door swung open with a familiar level of force that made you jump slightly in response.

Silva was home.

There wasn't even enough time for you to welcome him back before you were being pulled up into his large arms, feeling his forehead against your shoulder as he pressed his face into the crook of your neck. His large hands easily cradled your body close to his own all while his lips roamed your soft skin feverishly. You were about to try and call out for him to stop for a moment before an old voice beat you to it.

"You can't fuck her, Silva."

"I can do what I wish with my wife, when I wish."

"Not while she's pregnant you can't."

All movement halted the moment Silva registered his father's words, tensing his entire body as he slowly came to terms with what he had been told. Silva moved rather slowly as he positioned you to be cradled in one of his large arms, his hand coming up to rest against your stomach which had already begun to swell up. He almost seemed to be in a trance while he stayed statue-still, sorting out both his thoughts and emotions on the realization.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

Silva's voice was a deep and angered growl in his chest, sending shivers down your spine due to your proximity to the very man who could quite easily snap at any moment. Zeno seemed mostly unfazed by the aggressive growl and instead took to observing his sharp nails as if he were bored with the situation he found himself in. You really had to admire the old man's lack of fear while facing off with Silva, who you feared more than you cared to admit.

"Because you would have abandoned your job and that would be a terrible reflection on the Zoldyck family."

"She's been pregnant this whole time and you didn't damn well tell me?"

"Watch your tone, Brat. She's alive, isn't she?"

"How long have you known?"

"Since the very day you left. That morning was when she first began showing signs."

You felt the tension in Silva's body rise to near extreme levels, letting out a sharp cry as his grasp around your soft body tightened past the point of comfort. Your cry made Silva calm immediately and loosen his grasp so he no longer held you quite as tight. That cry seemed to have caused a temporary lapse in Silva's anger as he treated you with extreme care and gently set you back on the couch, giving you a quick once-over to check for any injuries he may have caused.

"Never again."

You looked up in confusion at Silva's lowly growled words, wondering just what he was talking about.

"I'll never leave you for that long again, I swear it."

~~~Six Months~~~

You lay in complete relaxation under your warm blanket, spooning a wonderfully soft pillow all while you dozed lightly on the couch. If anything, this pregnancy was far more... Relaxed... Than your first one had been. Silva seemed to be taking extra care to show nothing but the utmost affection towards you and your child during this whole ordeal and honestly it was doing wonders for you.

You still had that internal need to shield your stomach and your baby from the man who had caused all of this in the first place. This meant his caution around you and extra positive attention towards your unborn infant was all your brain needed to feel more secure in your fragile state even though such a dangerous man lurked nearby at all times. Silva got you anything you could possibly want the moment you brought it up regardless of what time it was or what he happened to be doing at the time you mentioned it.

Whatever food you wanted was immediately made and sent straight to you. If you wanted more blankets you need only shiver before countless blankets were being piled on top of you. Any vague sign of discomfort and Silva was immediately doing everything in his power to ease your troubles in whatever way he could.

You even got to see your first-born Illumi more than a few times as the young boy's presence soothed you immensely as did his sweet curiosity. Illumi may show little to no emotion, but what little he did show he only did so while near you. You could only smile at the memory of Illumi's large and curious eyes staring up at you questioningly while he rest his cheek against your swollen stomach.

"But how did it get in there?"

"Eh... I'll tell you when you're older, okay?"

"Okay. Hey, Mama?"

"Yes, Sweetheart?"

"I promise to take care of any little siblings I get to have."

"That's very sweet of you, Illumi, thank you, my darling."

"Anything for you, Mama."

Despite the odd behavior and almost frightening temper of your first-born, you felt more at ease than you had given the fact that you knew your son would always be on your side regardless of what may happen. Even with his cold demeanor, Illumi showed true affection for you and seemed rather insistent that you have nothing to worry about when it came to the future of your unborn child. At least you felt as if Silva learned his lesson to not take your children away from you too early as well as learning just what a positive impact your son has on you.

You were taking a rather wonderful and deep nap after getting to spend some time with Illumi and had recently awoken, content to just lay still and let yourself slowly wake up. The slow and gentle sound of footsteps drew your attention from hazy thoughts into sharp clarity, listening for whomever they belonged to. A large hand against your stomach almost made you tense up in fear, but the gentle way it lay against your skin kept you relaxed and calm.

"If you kill her, I will come for you next."

Cold jolted down your spine as you heard the low growled words against your stomach. Silva didn't often talk to your stomach or the life within unless it was to appease some request you made or to simply cheer you up. You were well aware that Silva would not handle your untimely demise in the slightest given just how distraught he would be at any idea of you being taken away from him.

You needed to keep your baby safe. But you felt like it was a near impossible task due to Silva hovering around you almost constantly. He certainly didn't take your condition lightly and considering how he received the news months after you did, you knew he refused to spend even an hour away from your side.

To some degree you appreciated the knowledge that nothing from outside of the estate could hurt you, but you also feared the fact that your husband took his 'protector' role rather seriously and could easily cause harm to you. He always said he wouldn't and yet you felt like you knew better, especially after your first several years with him. His lowly growled out words chilled you to your core and you only hoped that he would be in a much better mood once the child was safely out of you.

~~~~ 9 1/2 Months ~~~~

When the hell was it going to end!? You head read of some pregnancies lasting up to as long as a year, but you were getting more than a little tired and Silva's patience was near nonexistent.

"That rat is NOT allowed to keep you for so long. It's coming out today."

"Silva, for once would you just let me do things my way and decide what to do?"

"I am done waiting for it to come out on its own."

"What exactly do you plan to do?"

"Get the doctors to induce labor or just cut it out of you already."

"Would you just-"

You went cold and silent as a familiar feeling washed over you, feeling a slowly growing and rolling contraction beginning to tug at your insides. The panic in your expression seemed to tell him that something had happened and he immediately dropped the subject in favor of tending to you. You were barely aware of what seemed to be going on around you as another wave of dizziness washed over you along with a rather piercing contraction.

Silva stayed with you through it all, refusing to leave even as you were rushed into the delivery room. There was not one moment that passed that Silva wasn't letting you grip as tightly as you needed to his hand, speaking in a low rumble that he only reserved for rare moments of sensitivity.

Everything was primarily a blur to you, passing by in seconds that lasted hours and hours that lasted seconds. So when you finally heard that cry and a faint congratulations, you were already blacking out far too quickly to respond as your entire body achingly tried to reduce the tension in your over worked muscles.

Silva's heart rate jacked through the roof as you went limp in his arms, clearly something having gone wrong during delivery. The honest desperation in not only his actions, but in his very being seemed to leech out any other emotion, his eyes never leaving your face all while the doctor and nurses scrambled around you to do what they could. Silva had dealt with being alone while growing up and never wanted to experience it again, the simple idea of losing you causing the most blood-thirsty aura to spill from him.

If the sheer intimidation wasn't enough to get the medical staff working desperately, that cold glare Silva had locked them with sure as hell would be. There were no questions as to the nature of the consequences they face should they fail, the presence of the dangerous man only serving to add more stress unto the delivery room. The infant had been taken away somewhere quiet and safe so the doctor and nurses could focus on your suddenly poor condition, knowing that their only chance of survival was ensuring you survived.

Silva refused to move or leave or even look away from you before the doctor was able to say confidently that you would live. Even after that time came and passed as you were brought back to a stable condition, Silva had no intention to ever leave your side.

Thanks to the fact his father kept your condition a secret on favor of Silva completing a job, Silva refused to be away from you for any longer than a few days from then on. No more month long jobs that required him to leave you for large chunks of time, now he was committed to staying by your side as often as he possibly could. He adored you and honestly figured heirs weren't worth the risk of you dying, resolving to remove any pregnancy that may occur before you became aware of it.

Two was already too many for him. He didn't want to share you with anyone, but at least the two boys will keep his father off his back about continuing the family line.

He could deal with the brats, so long as everyone knew you were his. He adored you and kidnapped you just so he could get close to you, there's no way he would give you up for anything in the world. You were his world, and ue would protect you until the bitter end.

[xavvia]

Schoolboy

(Scumbag!Eren x fem!reader)

Warnings -> dark content, humiliation, corruption, dumbification, finger sucking, dubcon (taking explicit pics without consent), eren just being an all around scumbag

Summary -> Eren is a the popular boy who is captain of the basketball team and he fucks the class president in the supply closet. All characters are 18+

You didn't fully understand how you got yourself into this predicament. Your chest was flush against Eren Yeagers as his skillful fingers circle your clit. Your back was pushed up roughly against the wall of the supply closet and your skirt was waywardly discarded somewhere.

Eren fucking Yeager. He was certainly quite the character. Some people would describe him as the esteemed captain of the basketball team with an unmatched boyish charm but that was all a ruse and you knew it. He smoked behind the science labs, gave Jean a black eye just last week for seemingly nothing and womanises anything with a hole. But no one sees that side of him. Their golden boy.

Eren sucked purple bruises along your neck as you whined into his shoulder dragging your nails into his muscular back. “Come on baby I know you can be louder than that” he cooed brushing his lips against your collarbone

“Fuck you Yeager” you retort. “Oh but you are princess and if that’s what you meant all those years I would have gladly made your wish come true a long time ago”.

All those years you would chastise and nag at Eren for coming in late, lowering the class average and being a menace to new students. All the times you acted superior to him had all come to bite back as you are now a filthy whimpering mess under his hands. Your brain had become foggy with pleasure and your body was willing to do anything just to feel that release, even if it was from Eren Yeager, especially from Eren Yeager

“Eren mmmh need more” you manage to say between whimpers as you bury your face into his shoulder in embarrassment not wanting him to see how flushed your face has become.

“Are my fingers not enough for my little class president” Eren mocks removing his fingers from your folds and admiring the way your slick looks lathered around his fingers. He roughly pushes them into your lolling mouth and forces them down your throat. You suck on them a little too eagerly as you can see him chuckling darkly at your actions, just admiring the way you bop your head mindlessly around his digits. “Come on beg for it then” he asks sweetly with his fingers still invading your mouth as you try to dumbly speak around them. Whenever you try to say a word he would push further down causing you to gag and laughing at the choking sounds you produced and how tears started the form at the corners of your eyes.

“Eren . . . . Mmhhh ple-ease I need- your cock . . Ahhh” you managed to gurgle out. Eren had a satisfied grin on his face and looked down at you and wiped the remains of your own spit roughly against your face and patted your cheek.

“Undo my belt” he commanded with a heavy grip on your shoulder pushing you down to your knees without much difficulty as your legs had already become limp with pleasure. You fumble quickly with his belt with childlike enthusiasm as he pats your head lovingly urging you to keep going.

You take his cock out in your hands and your eyes widen to the sight of it. It stood thick and longer than you had seen before with two prominent veins running along the sides. The tip was already oozing precum and twitching as your mouth instinctively opens to the sight of it.

“There’s no brain in there anymore is there angel” he said tapping at your head. “ don’t worry you’ll have plenty of opportunities to suck me off later” he said while dragging you back up by the arm and pressing you firmly against the wall of the closet. He lines his cock to the entrance of your hole and looks you with feral eyes before pushing just the tip in. He mumbles out “fuck” to himself as you can see his composure waver

You grab a hold of his shirt crumpling it in your hands as you wince at the feeling of him inside you. He grabs the back of your thigh and lifts it up to get a better angle as he pushes himself deeper into your pussy. Your cunt practically sucks him in and he groans at the feeling of your velvety walls squeezing him. He lets you adjust to his length for a minute or two before he starts thrusting into you slow and deep.

You are completely lost in lust as your head lolls back and hits the wall behind you and your pants become increasingly ragged. You still have a death grip against his back as you dig your nails in further into his flesh. You could see a ring of white slick at the base of his cock as he watched hypnotised by the way he skid in and out of you

“God you’re so tight, I thought for sure Reiner would have stretched you out” he said calmly, grinning as he saw the reaction on your face. You couldn’t process anything happening your brain was too clouded with the way Eren sped up his thrusts. But your heart sank when you heard this.

“He told you” was all you could muster in between your breathes. Eren knew exactly what he was doing.

“Aww baby he told the whole team. Kept going on and on about how dumb you go for cock. Whoring yourself out on the second date was a bad move what did you expect was going to happen” he chuckled softly.

He started moving his hips faster so they snapped loudly against you skin filling the small closet with the sounds of your pussy being abused. Lifting your thigh up a little higher and he thrusted straight against your g spot. You arched your back and let out and obscenly loud and gutteral moan. “There it is” Eren mumbled to himself as he thrusted again and again against your sensitive spot. Your thigs start to quiver and your little sex addled brain is beginning to combust

“He told the whole team what a needy cunt you have, how good you pretend to be. Jean’s fucking his fist to the thought of you I bet, he loves corrupting sluts like you” he whispered into your ear

“But that’s what you want isn’t it. Pussy wants to be used as a cumdump huh baby” you nod your head frantically. You had no thoughts in your head anymore just the pure feeling of Eren deep inside you was all you needed. You started rutting against his hips like a bitch in heat trying to get more and more friction.

You head is swimming in desperation and you feel a familiar sensation bubble in the pit of your stomach. “ ‘m close eren” you whine. You can see Erens eyes light up and his thrusts get sloppier and he loses his rhythm so you can tell he is also close.

“Come around my cock baby, clench around me” he said slowly losing control of his hips as he starts grinding into you. His fingers wander back to your clit and a few rough strokes were enough before you start convulsing around him. Your pussy clenched hard around his cock and you moan so sweetly against his ear. Drool drips down from your chin as yo come down from your high.

Eren without warning pushes your now limp body down to your knees again. You smile dumbly up at him through tear filled lashes as he pumps his own cock in his hand muttering what a good girl you were for him in a strained voice. Your mind is still foggy and dazed and nod your head sweetly at everything he says to you.

“Say ahh” he says as he grips your jaw and shoots ropes of white cum all over your face and in your mouth. He groans lowly and squeezes your face harder as his cock twitches in his hand. With a final sigh he tucks his cock back into his pants and you both hear a faint bell ringing in the back.

Eren grabs his bag and slings it over his back “ k I guess I gotta go now don’t wanna be late for class” he says cheekily before he looks down at you.

You on your knees with a dumb innocent smile, cum and drool drips from your chin and mascara tracks run down your cheeks. You lips are puffy and pouty from the harsh kisses and deep bruises are littered around your collarbones and neck. You’re still panting lightly and looking up at him with those pretty dazed doe eyes that were still a bit teary. Your hair was a mess as well and you had a bright blush on your cheeks and ears.

Eren takes out his phone and before you understand what he’s doing he tells you to smile and you see a flash. “The team’s really gonna like this one, you look so pretty in it” he says nonchalantly admiring the picture.

“You might want to clean up as well, we don’t want the class president being late and looking like that in class now do we” he says before closing the door of the supply closet leaving you sitting with the pussy still throbbing as you wonder where you left your panties

[huenjin]

warmth.

pairing — bang chan x reader

word count — 2.1k words

rating — 18+

genre — smut, includes french kissing, choking, blowjob, deep throating, face fucking, daddy kink and dirty talks.

Chan knocks at the door, once and then twice, before announcing, “I’m coming in,” and pulling open the door to your bedroom. He, understandably, decided to spend his birthday in his studio, albeit all your whines and protests. He tells you that it’s just another day and making music should always take priority.

So clearly, he doesn’t expect to see you sitting on your butt between your legs, squatting while you look at your boyfriend enter, his eyes gazing over the prettiest black lace lingerie that you decide to adorn just for him, just to make him feel a little more special today more than the other days.

“Is this my birthday gift?” He gulps, his Adam’s apple bobbing up only to slide down against his throat. “This beautiful human barely covered up by this,” he takes a step forward and takes the liberty to touch you, his finger grazing over your lingerie, circling around your nipple hardening under his touch. “Oh my! Look at my babygirl. I can see your nipples getting hard, poking through the material, baby. Are you that needy tonight?”

Your throat dries up and you croak, “Yes,” and you shift forward to come closer to Chan, craving for his touch — his warmth all over you. You had already been fuzzy with possible thoughts of how this night could go down as you waited for Chan to reach home, carefully making sure you had control over yourself so that you didn’t carelessly fall captive to the want of stuffing yourself with your fingers, pumping them in and out to the thought of Chan rawing you out. Instead, you wait. You wait for the birthday boy to do that himself.

He catches your lips into a kiss, moaning into it as his hands wrap around yours and pulls you closer, making you stumble forward, crashing into him only for you to tightly hold his black shirt. You squeeze your eyes shirt, moaning into the kiss as Chan bites the lower lip, tugs at it and releases it before crashing into your lips again, chasing after it like it’s the aphrodisiac that’s going to save him. His grip on your shoulder tighten, skin digging in as he pulls you up, making you stand on your knees. He pulls apart only to lock gaze with you and ask, “You okay, right?”

You nod, heart beat quickening at your boyfriend’s pause to check if you were at ease with how fast-paced everything is moving. “I’m fine. Now please, do whatever in the world you want with me tonight, birthday boy.”

“Oh my god,” his accent is thick, his eyes rolls back in ecstacy before his lips are on yours, right hand tracing your figure before they find their way to your neck only to grip at it to angle it the way he want, lightly squeezing your neck occasionally.

Chan leans in more as he kisses you, lips moving softly against you at first, from the bottom lip to to the top caressing his tongue on the flesh as he moved in. He moves slower this time getting the two of you wrapped up in the glorious haze of making out, that your mind blanks out and all you can think is how warm his tongue is and how much more warmer they feel against you. Your tongue moves in rhythm with his as it laps for whatever he has to give you. Here, his whole breath.

His right hand tightens against your neck as the other hand moves up the skin on your back, trailing small circles on its path as it finally latches onto the hook of your bra before snapping it open with such a finesse that the minute the lace loosens on your body, your hand grabs onto Chan’s shirt even more, fisting it in your grasp for some sort of control.

He pulls apart, your lips moving forward to hold onto him for just a little bit more. Chan chuckles, before his index finger drags the lace straps off your shoulder. He whispers, “It’s about time I unwrap my present,” and stares at how your lingerie is barely covering you at this moment, your breasts ready to spill out at any minute from now.

“How do you still take my breath away?” He gasps before his face turns darker. He softly chuckles under his breath before removing your bra and throwing it to the side. “Pretty. And all mine. Tonight, babygirl, I’ll take your breath away. I’ll make you all mine, all over again. I’ll use you all for my pleasure.” His hand around your neck tightened and your eyes widen, mouth parting almost instinctively as your tongue rests on your lower lips. Chan kisses your tongue for a short while before he stares at you, eyes trying to look deeper into you. His voice is huskier with lust, “Do you feel my hand getting tighter around your neck? I’m going to fuck you so hard that you’ll be gasping for air, legs shaking,” he edges closer to your ear, biting your pinna, “—pussy throbbing.”

You moan at his words, eyes squeezing shut and mouth wide open for air. He lets go of your throat before bending forward to slightly pleace a kiss against your windpipe. Locking gaze with you again, he orders, “Daddy can’t wait anymore for his princess to have him in her mouth.” He stands up straight, stepping closer to the bed. Your gaze lowers down to look at the strenuous bulge, aching to be freed. Your arm stretches to unbuckle his belt, leather digging into the skin of your palm as you grasp it tightly to remove it from his waist, following his pants. It drops mid-thigh, swarming the edge of the bed between the two of you. You pull down his boxer, only for his cock to slap against his lower abdomen and fall right before you. You gulp, drooling slightly at the sight of the prominent vein running along his thick cock.

You stare at it in awe before you carefully take it in your hold, wrapping both your hand around his girth, moving your hands up and down his length, testing the pace that gets him, moaning and flustered. Your hand moves down carefully, before you spit at it to lubricate it. Chan stares at you, observing every single action. You spread your saliva around his length before moving your hand, twisting your hand slightly letting your bones glide against your carpels only for it to grip at his balls and rubbing it between your fingers.

Chan’s fingers comb your hair back, pulling it into a makeshift ponytail as he pulls you in closer and mutters, “Mouth, babygirl. Use your mouth to make me feel all nice and warm.”

The flat of your wet, warm tongue sticks out to lick around the rim of his hot head. Chan groans, “That’s the way. You’re doing so good, baby. So good,” and he tightens his grip on your hair, pain shooting slightly down your nerves that only makes you slickier down there, panties a sheer annoyance at this point. You stretch your mouth, widening it and hollowing it. Chan mumbles praises under his breath, “Look at you taking me in your mouth, licking my cock from the tip and slowly all the way down.” Chan inhales a sharp breath, voice coarser as he doesn’t stop groaning, fingers threading into your hair, massaging the scalp when you relax around him as he eases you down to take more of him slowly.

“We’re going to start off nice and easy,” he tells, pulling at your hair for you to look up at him, his cock still in your mouth. “Oh shit, you already look like a mess all for me,” he licks his lower lips at the sight before him. You gasp, vibrations transmitting to his girth and he grips harder, accidentally bucking into you slightly. “And then, soon, I’m going to fuck my babygirl’s tiny little throat. I’m going to make a fucking mess out of you.”

Chan’s eyes narrows as he throws his head back in pleasure. You feel him twitching in your mouth with every minute you take him in deeper. He pulls out barely before he’s pushing back in, teeth gritted and eyes focused. Chan knows this is going down as one of his better birthdays, especially now that he can close his eyes only to see your pretty lips wrapping around his length, taking him so well as if your mouth was made for him, crafted to perfection, just for him.

Chan takes control soon enough, using your mouth like a cocksleeve as he thrusts into you, moving your head as he wished and you comply. “That’s it. That’s a good girl. Daddy’s going to reward you so well.” Chan slips out profanities with every thrust. Your eyes close and you can’t help but grind slightly into the mattress as you take him in, feeling him enter deep into your throat, causing you to gag around him, your saliva dripping down the side of your mouth.

Your throat tightens around his cock as a mechanism to fight it back, trying to gag and ease your discomfort. The vibrations rumbles out of you as you fight the reflex, only for Chan to emit a low roar before pulling you into him, your nose rubbing against his pruned pubic hair. Tears spill down your face and you know that Chan stayed true to his words. You most definitely looked like a mess. His hips stutter in shallow thrusts into your mouth and you feel the sting of more tears threatening to blur even more of your vision as you oppose your gag reflex.

The sounds of your gagging bounces off the white walls of your bedroom, followed by the deep moans and sighs emitting out from your boyfriend’s lips as he fucks your mouth mercilessly. Each thrust of his hips causes the head of his cock to push past your airway, your throat constricting and eliciting a groan from him.

You release your hold around his length, fingers thickly coated in your own saliva and his precum as you lift it slightly upwards to grab at his white shirt tugging him down slightly, causing him to thrust into your mouth at a faster pace. Your mouth is stretched as wide as you can humanly make it with tears rolling down your cheek continuously, all while you willingly take him wholly in your mouth. With every thrust, you see how coated in your saliva Chan’s cock is and you can only picture how you looked with your saliva around the face, with his precum smeared by the side of your lips.

You look up through the thin gaps of your eyelashes, enthralled to see Chan’s Adam’s apple bobbing up and down while his head is thrown back in ecstacy. His hand is firm on your hair as he uses it to guide you over his shaft remorselessly, your mouth only picking up the pace.

Chan finally lets go of your hair, only for it to fall messily on your shoulder, few strands falling forward. He pulls your head back; his cock comes out from your mouth with a light ‘pop’ followed by you gasping for air, loudly. Chan rubs your head and your back slowly, mumbling, “You were such a good girl. What a perfect babygirl.” The tear stains are prominent in the shallow lighting of the room and your hand is still tight on his shirt, gripping onto it like it’s the only thing keeping you from falling down in exhaustion.

Chan hungrily latches his lips back onto yours — it’s sloppy and messy with residues of your sinful acts smearing between the two of you, almost as if it’s a reminder of his promise to share his everything with you. He pulls back only to cup your face and mumble, “Thank you.” It’s so soft compared to all his prior actions of the night and your eyelashes flutter before you press another chaste kiss against his lips.

“Anything for you, Chan. I love you.”

“I love you too. Lay back now.” You look at him, your head tilting in anticipation, eyes hopeful with nothing alongside lust. “I’m going to reward you like I promised. You’ve been such a good girl for daddy.”

[flowercrown-bard]

Pairing: Eskel/Jaskier

word count: ~2k

content warnings: Animal death (griffin)

summary: Eskel waits for a griffin to show up when a brightly dressed bard shows up and tries to set the little goat that Eskel wanted to use as bait free

------

“It’s alright,“ Eskel said as soothingly as he could. “You’re going to be safe. I’m not going to let anything happen to you.”

A mellow bleat was the only reply he got and the tiny goat nudged Eskel’s chest with her head. Eskel smiled. He could feel the scars tugging at his lips, but it didn’t matter, not when his goat was the only one around to witness it.

Eskel secured the rope that would keep her from running away on a stake he had stuck in the earth, making sure the knot would stay in place. With one last pet or her head, Eskel stood up.

“I’m coming back for you,” he promised, before retreating into the shadows of some trees.

As soon as Eskel was out of sight, Lil’Bleater began living up to her name. Searching for Eskel and tugging at the rope, she let out a pitiful bleat.

If her scent hadn’t already been enough to attract the griffin’s attention, those sounds would do the job.

Eskel pressed fiddled with his crossbow, every muscle as tense as a bow string as he waited for the beast to arrive.

But instead of the unmistakable shriek of a griffin and the darkening of the sky as the beast flew before the sun, something far worse appeared that made Eskel’s heart drop like a rock.

It began with the sounds of snapping twigs and rocks being kicked, coming closer. Then, carefree singing joined in the distracting sounds.

A human.

Eskel couldn’t see them yet, but it was clear they had no intention of turning back.

What was a human doing here? Everyone in town knew that this field wasn’t safe. There was a reason why they had hired Eskel. No one dared come here anymore, not as long as there was a griffin attacking everything it could get its claws on.

And now there was a human – unsuspecting or just plain stupid and reckless – coming towards the griffin’s hunting place. Right where Eskel had set up bait to lure the griffin out.

For a brief moment Eskel contemplated leaving his hideout and telling the person to leave. But approaching lone travellers was never a good idea. Eskel knew what he looked like. He had no illusions of being received in a friendly way. If he told the person to leave they would likely run straight back to the town and probably tell some tale about how he had just barely escaped a witcher attacking him.

It wouldn’t be the first time of something like that happening to Eskel.  

So he stayed hidden, praying that the person would just leave quickly on their own.

Lil’ Bleater’s cries got louder, more urgent. The singing stopped. For a moment, so did the sounds of the person’s footsteps. Then, they picked up again, faster this time.

From the trees that had blocked Eskel’s sight before, a man appeared, hastening towards the goat. A lute that marked the man as some sort of bard, was slung around his back and he wore a bright teal doublet that looked so out of place in this area that was mostly inhabited by farmers that Eskel could do nothing but stare.

The man cocked his head to the side like a curious bird when he laid eyes on Lil’ Bleater.

“Hey there, you adorable little thing.” Eskel couldn’t see the man’s face, but his smile was evident in his bright voice. “The shepherd forgot you here? Don’t worry, I’ll get you back home.”

Eskel stifled a curse when the bard kneeled down in front of the goat and ran a hand over her fur with a delighted laugh when Lil’ Bleater nibbled at his fingers, all the while babbling excitedly at her. His laugh was almost as melodious as his singing had been before. Eskel didn’t get many chances to hear people laugh so carefree. Most laughter died when people realised that there was a witcher in their midst.

Eskel watched with a strangely fast beating heart how the bard started to work on the knot. He let out a string of colourful curses when he realised that the know was too tight for him to untangle.

“Fret not,” he said in a dramatic voice through clenched teeth from the effort. “I will rescue you.”

He was so strangely theatrical, that Eskel forgot himself and let out a short laugh, not loud enough for the bard to hear, but enough to startle Eskel himself. He couldn’t remember a time when he had laughed outside of the halls of Kaer Morhen.

Eskel was so taken aback by the unexpected thought, that for a second he forgot to pay any attention to his surroundings. Being negligent was a mistake a witcher only made once in his life.

A moment of distraction was all a griffin needed to emerge from the sky. It was quiet as it approached its prey. The man probably would have never noticed the impending danger if it weren’t for the shadow falling over him. His head snapped up and he let out a terror-filled cry.

It tore Eskel out of his stupor.

He jumped forth from the trees, his free hand stretched out before him and racing towards the bard. A burst of igni interrupted the griffin’s dive, but it Eskel wasn’t close enough yet to even singe the beast’s feathers.

“Get out of here!” Eskel shouted at the bard, whose head snapped up to him.

Eskel had no time to pay any attention to the way he looked at him. He had to focus on the real threat. Readying his crossbow, he ran ever closer. The first bolt flew through the air while he was still mid-run. It barely hit its mark.

The griffin screeched, Lil Bleater let out a terrified cry and the man panted in panic. And still he didn’t get up, didn’t even scramble away.

Out of the corner of his eyes Eskel saw how he worked more frantically then before on Lil’ Bleater’s restrains.

His heart skipped a beat. The distraction lasted only a second, but it was enough for the griffin to take a turn and dive down again, his claws aiming for Eskel.

Eskel cursed and unsheathed his sword. The griffin was almost there. Only one more second and he would be close enough to hit it. Or be seized by the deadly claws.

“Watch out!”

The shout came at the same time that something barrelled into Eskel and it wasn’t the griffin.

No man could push a witcher to the ground with his strength alone, but the shove came so unexpected, that Eskel tumbled to the ground when the man tackled him. The man let out a muffled groan when he fell onto Eskel, for some reason not even trying to catch the fall with his hands.

The talons of the beast missed the bard by a hair’s breadth, Eskel could almost see them gracing his hair.

His heart clenched and without hesitation, Eskel flipped them so that the reckless stranger was lying beneath him. Eskel didn’t look at him as he shielded him with his body.

The griffin’s beak darted forwards and Eskel threw up a quen-shield.

“Stay down,” Eskel commanded harshly and jumped back to his feet and spun around. This time, when the griffin lunged for him, Eskel’s sword buried itself deep into its flesh.

Panting, Eskel stood over the beast as it crashed to the ground, just a few feet away from the man. Without hesitation, he delivered the final blow.  

The stranger whimpered when the sword made a squelching sound as it was torn out of the griffin’s body.

Eskel wanted to whirl around and scold the bard for how stupidly reckless he had been. Heroes didn’t survive for long out in the real wold. If he had died that would have been on Eskel.

He forced himself to take a deep breath and tried to sooth the frown lines on his face away as he slowly turned to face the man again, though not enough to put his scars on full display. The bard had just escaped death, he didn’t need to be scared any further.

“Are you alright?” Eskel asked as gently as he could, but his breath hitched when he finally met the man’s eyes.

They were wide and impossibly blue and they didn’t look at Eskel as if the bard thought that Eskel would be the next thing to attack him. The blue-eyes man didn’t flinch back from the yellow gaze on him and no renewed spike of fear reeked off of him. True, the smell of panic still clung to him, but beneath him, but fainter than before and there was a strange sort of excitement coming off of the man.

He let out a startled laugh, likely a result of the realisation that the danger was over now.

“That was fantastic!” He shouted, his voice cracking with excitement. “That was the most amazing thing I have ever seen!”

Eskel’s brows furrowed in confusion. “I didn’t….”

His words dried in his mouth and he had to force himself to tear his eyes away from the curve of the bard’s smile and the glint in his eyes. Eskel shouldn’t let that get to him. Neither of these things were truly meant for him. Once the bard calmed down enough to think rationally again, the would realise that Eskel was not someone to smile at.

“I told you to run,” Eskel said, more to keep himself from wishing that this brilliant smile stayed on him. “You could have gotten hurt.”

The bard tilted his head to the side and he gave Eskel a long look. “Something tells me you wouldn’t have let that happen.”

Eskel didn’t reply. It was the truth, but the bard almost made it sound as if he thought Eskel was some sort of hero for it.

Uncomfortable under the almost admiring look, Eskel let his eyes wander over the bard’s body, making sure he truly wasn’t injured.

Eskel’s breath got stuck in his throat when his eyes fell on what the bard was holding protectively to his chest. The tiny goat that was cuddled comfortably in his arms gave a happy bleat.

“You…” Eskel’s eyes snapped back up. “You saved Lil’ Bleater?”

For a second the bard looked like he was about to scoff at the idea that he could ever let an animal get harmed, but then his eyes lit up in delight and his smile widened as if Eskel had said something that earned him such a reaction.

“Lil Bleater? That is the most adorable name I’ve ever heard.” A glint of mischief entered his eyes. “And what might your name be? I can keep calling you my valiant saviour in my head, but I think I’d much rather put a name to that handsome face.”

Eskel let out a huff and turned away a bit more, making sure that his scars were as hidden as they could be. He knew even without the bard seeing them, he wouldn’t be considered handsome. He was too broad, too soft in places where his muscles should show and yet too bulky to not be intimidating. But it was nice hearing the word directed at him. The way the bard said it, Eskel could almost let himself believe that he meant it.

He risked another quick glance at the bard���s face and he found no trace of mockery in it.

“I’m Eskel,” he said, swallowing thickly when the bard’s smile grew into a full grin.

“I am Jaskier,” came the reply.

Eskel’s chest clenched uncomfortably. People didn’t offer witchers their names. They didn’t smile at them or talk to them without squirming in discomfort. They didn’t save goats from griffins and push witchers out of apparent danger.

And yet, Jaskier had done all those things. It did something strange to Eskel’s chest, something he wasn’t sure he liked. He knew he should just leave. Get his pay and forget all about the man with the lovely voice and the blue eyes.

Instead, he heard himself asking, “Would you like to go back to town with me?”

It was a foolish thing to ask and Eskel knew the answer before Jaskier even opened his mouth.

But instead of coming up with an excuse of flat out refusing the preposterous offer, Jaskier’s face brightened. “Of course!” He winked and Eskel’s insides gave a strange twist at the unexpected gesture. “After all, I promised Lil’ Bleater to get her back safely. And I would be loath to part with the lovely thing already.”

Jaskier’s teasing tone allowed no doubt that it wasn’t the goat he wanted to spend more time with.

“I’m sure she would hate saying goodbye to you already as well,” Eskel replied in a strangely choked voice.

A soft laugh tumbled from Jaskier’s lips and Eskel felt the corner of his own lips twitch up in turn, for once not caring how his smile twisted his face. With the way Jaskier’s eyes softened at Eskel’s smile, he almost began to think that this strange man that saved goats and called him handsome, could see Eskel as something other than a scarred and shunned witcher.

His heart fluttered at the thought and as he held up a hand to pull Jaskier up from the ground and Jaskier took it without hesitation, Eskel thought that for the first time he could dare take the risk and find out if Jaskier’s smile would maybe stay on him a little longer.

He was almost certain that it would.

[aurabird]

Tainted Blood

Joel doesn’t believe in the demon, going as far as to ignore him entirely. But the Mezalean King’s defiance isn’t what draws Xornoth to him...but something dark and violent, a thirst for blood that cannot be quenched.

What use could a desire so strong be when mixed with corruption?

Tw: I think just blood/violence and corruption for this one.

Also on Ao3

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

Joel struggled against the chains binding him with a frustrated growl. It was obvious that he was in a dungeon of some sort as a prisoner given the way he was being restrained; arms above his head and his legs to the floor. Who would possibly have the audacity to capture him like this?

“Very funny guys. I’m not laughing, you can come out now and free me.” he shouted to no one in particular.

That is when he heard footsteps, his attention being drawn to the sound in time to see Sausage enter the room. The Mythland king wore attire in various grey shades, a black cape fastened around his shoulders by a ruby trailed behind him as he walked with calculated strides.

The outfit change wasn’t the only new thing Joel noticed about the king, black veins webbed across the man’s visible flesh in vine-like patterns, a faint crimson glow pulsating from them. Sausage turned to look at him, piercing red eyes only made more sinister by the same black veins on his face.

“Joel, good to see you’ve finally awoken!” he said with a grin that was far too sharp and a tone of voice that was only slightly off in normalcy.

“Sausage, what is this? I don’t have time for your silly games right now!”

“Games? Joel you wound me. If anyone has been playing games it has been you taunting Lord Xornoth.”

“That’s what this is about? As far as I am concerned the demon doesn’t exist, just some big elaborate prank someone is playing on all of us that we are falling for.”

Suddenly, Sausage was directly in front of him, the sharp grin still crossing their face “Ah, that’s right, he mentioned how you have been ignoring and irritating him.” the Mythland king took a few steps back before continuing, “But that’s why you’re here, he’s going to make sure you can’t ignore him anymore.”

Joel felt a shiver go down his spine at how calm and deathly serious those words were said. “He doesn’t scare me, Sausage, and neither do you.”

“We’ll see about that, King Joel. Yes we will.” came a distorted voice from everywhere in the room at once, the speaker soon materializing before the Mezalean king in a puff of smoke. Their skin was ebony in color, veins very similar to those on Sausage’s own skin covered every inch of their body and the sinister horns growing from their head were constantly pulsating purple and crimson underneath the shadows that slithered around them. A wicked grin stretched across their face, mouth not moving despite saying words.

“Leave us, Champion.” the entity that was definitely not a demon in any way ordered, dismissing the Mythland king with a wave of a clawed hand.

“Of course my lord.” he replied with a bow before taking his leave, the sound of stone grinding against stone was heard as a door closed behind him, leaving Joel alone with the entity.

“So, Xornoth right? Sausage claims you’re going to keep me from ignoring you.” Joel began with a bored, condescending tone in his voice.

“While that is true, your defiance isn’t what perked my interest in you, there is something else...something dark inside your soul that I am quite curious about. I believe you call it bloodlust?”

“What about it?”

“I find it something worth studying further.”

The chains binding Joel unlocked with unspoken command, causing him to slump to the ground where crimson tendrils were quick to coil around his limbs, preventing any struggle or movement as they held him against the cold floor.

The sound of a sword being dragged across stone drew his attention, Xornoth holding the blade in his hand, “What triggers it I wonder? Is it the sight of blood or the lack thereof?” Joel didn’t get to reply as the demon cut into his left arm, allowing crimson to poor freely from the wound.

  He ran through the forest, the wolves at his heels howling as they bayed for the blood of their prey, Joel giving a wicked grin as the desire to kill urged him forwards. He could hear them in the distance, the King and his Hand fleeing for their lives.

“THE RED KING DIES TONIGHT FELLAS!” he cackled with sadistic glee, a look of madness in his red eyes as they entered the war-torn remains of a desert.

  The scene faded as quickly as it began, Joel’s body shaking like a leaf in fear at what he’d just seen. He’d witnessed that moment countless times over in his nightmares, but never whilst awake.

Xornoth’s smile grew at the sight of the man’s fear, “Guess you aren’t as fearless as you like to believe.” he said.

Joel snarled, “Sh-Shut up. You know nothing about me!”

“I know you deny my existence and infuriate me with your defiance. I know of your bond with the Ocean Queen and the Codfather...”

“Don’t you dare lay a hand on either of them!”

His threat was ignored as the demon chuckled “Oh, I won’t. But you will.”

Agony coursed through Joel’s body at those words, a cry tearing from his throat as his skin burned where the crimson tendrils made contact with it.

  His foot nicked the fiery liquid pouring from above, an ember quickly setting his pants ablaze and causing him to panic. He scrambled as fast as he could to get over the stone brick wall and into the swamp water he knew lay beyond it.

In his act of desperation he got caught up in a lava stream which trapped his legs in sheer agony as it wasted no time incinerating flesh, his vision going black from the pain, a mercy from one of the most painful deaths.

Green eyes bore into his brown ones as the girl glared at him with a satisfied grin, the flames licking the walls of his house out of revenge casting a shadow on her decaying body and torn clothes.

The flames danced around him as he panicked to try and put them out, but to no avail, once more his body was consumed by an inferno.

  Joel’s eyes snapped open as he was brought back to reality, his gaze quickly locking onto the black webs slowly creeping up his arms from where they came in contact with the crimson tendrils.

Everything burned as the corruption spread through him, taking control of his motor functions and causing him to cease his struggling.

The demon's maniac laughter echoed throughout the room almost taunting him. Anger flared in his chest and the sight of blood staining stone from where he’d been sliced with a sword fueled a desire to kill.

His vision turned red as a haze began to wrap around his mind, but Joel didn’t fight it, the bloodlust was familiar and welcoming to him...but why there was also something different about it this time?

He had no time to question it as soon, Joel’s thoughts were no longer his own and the pain faded. The Mezalean King’s now-red eyes burned brightly as he looked up to meet those of his master, a twisted smile curving on his lips before he spoke.

“What do you wish me to do to them, Lord Xornoth?”

[writingsbychlo]

if the world was ending | mitch rapp

word count; 5152

summary; mitch broke up with you because he couldn’t handle being in love again, and now he regrets that decision, and would do anything to take it back.

notes; this is a song fic, but I didn’t include all of the lyrics, so don’t send me asks about missing chunks, please! check out the song!

warnings; smut, unprotected sex.

I was distracted, and in traffic I didn't feel it when the earthquake happened, But it really got me thinkin' Were you out drinkin'? Were you in the living room Chillin', watching television?

His key would continuously seem to miss the lock on the door, and Mitch let out a low growl, shoving at the metal once again as he tried to force the lock to work, blurry eyes and exhaustion taking him over. Before he could question it, the door was opening from the inside, metal shifting and gears clicking before the wood was moving from his sights to reveal you instead, a bright smile on your face and one of his black henleys on your shoulders, hanging slightly loose around the open collar as it faded away into a pair of sleep shorts and fluffy socks clad on bare legs.

You were a sight for sore eyes, messy hair and teasing grin, and all. 

“You didn’t even check who it was, what if I’d been an intruder?” He chastised, stumbling forwards one tired legs and pressing a kiss to your lips, humming happily as you pressed back into him just as eagerly, before he was kicking the door shut behind himself and dropping his bag down by the front door. 

“An intruder with a key?” You raised your brows at him, his lips flicking up at the sides as his shoes followed; phone, wallet and keys all being discarded onto the side unit, and his eyes were locking onto the couch, joy filling him at the idea of laying down. “Not that you know how to use it, apparently.”

“You try using a key after six days in Russia with no sleep and having to fight, like, four people at once. Everything hurts.” You placed a hand on his chest to stop him in his movements as he edged toward the couch, a whine falling from him as he turned to look at you.

“You’re covered in blood, you’ll ruin my cushions, you need to wash up first.” He let out another sigh, despite knowing that it was a true and fair request, and nodded his head. “How about I run us a hot bath? I’ll put those bath salts in that make your muscles all tingly, and I’ll wash your hair for you.” 

He nodded, a wave of serenity already washing over him simply at the idea that he’d get to relax in the warmth of the water, his back pressed to your chest as you wrapped around him from behind, holding him close. You were always so good at making him feel safe when he came home, and he knew it was one of the reasons he’d fallen for you in the first place. What was intended to be a simple fling to satisfy the cravings for basic affections and the lust deep in his gut had become much more. 

He had a key to your apartment, and the cat the roamed the halls was friendly enough to bump its head against his shins and purr. He’d met your friends, and knew the names of every worker in that Thai place down the street that you loved so much, and they knew him. It had been so easy to slip into something more deep and meaningful with you, but there was still a clawing guilt in his stomach every time. The true intentions he’d had that night when he’d bought you a drink in a shitty bar while you wore a tight dress and danced under low lights, not to woo you and love you but simply to find a quick fuck, someone to warm his bed and quash the loneliness for a little while. 

He hated that he couldn't give you what you needed, that he wasn’t able to love you, because he just didn’t know how anymore. Every time he came home and went to your place instead of his, the key he held and the emotion in your eyes every time you looked at it, it was only a matter of time before you said those three little words to him that he couldn't say back, and everything he so deeply craved would come crashing and burning down at his feet once again. Warmth would shift to icy chills and he’d have locked himself out once again, because commitment just wasn’t something he was capable of anymore.

The water was running, gentle hands skimming up his sides as you helped him to undress, his own hands working over soft skin as he pushed your clothing to the floor, mouths melding in soft kisses, fingertips leaving goosebumps over flesh as you embraced one another’s touch once again, and even with the respite from his guilt that your presence provided for him, it was still always there. A pit in his stomach that was growing bigger and bigger, because as the tender moment stretched on and on, he knew tonight was going to be when you said it, full of bliss and joy and expecting to hear the phrase back, and so he kissed you, deeply, willing you not to, so that he could selfishly claim just a few more hours with you before it was all over.

It's been a year now Think I've figured out how How to let you go and let communication die out I know, you know, we know You weren't down for forever and it's fine I know, you know, we know We weren't meant for each other and it's fine

Pressing his forehead against the side of the plane, his eyes fluttered shut for a second, the painful ache spreading over the entirety of his body was enough to make any other grown man cry, but that wasn’t the cause of the burning behind his eyes today. Today, Mitch had the painful reminded of this day a year ago when he’d been on his way to see you, but he didn’t quite have that luxury anymore. His throat was tinging, choking back the emotions he held, one’s he so wanted to release, and his nostrils flared with a deep sigh instead. 

“You’re been pouting like a child all fuckin’ day. Will you cheer up? You’re ruining the beer I’m anticipating when I get home with your foul mood.” 

He cracked his eyes open, hoping they didn’t appear as glassy and red as they felt, and he swallowed down the lump in his throat, scowling at his mentor in hopes that he’d lay off. That tactic clearly hadn't worked, however, because Stan shifted a little more in his seat, dragging a curious gaze over every inch of his face in a way that made Mitch squirm in his seat a little, uncomfortable at the scrutiny he was being afforded. 

“You look depressed.”

“That’s because I’m stuck on a plane with you.” He muttered, moving himself to look out of the window instead, and his mentor barked out an amused laugh, but Mitch could still feel his lingering stares. 

“No, I think you’re freaking out about what happens after you’re no longer on the plane with me.” He hated that Stan could read him so easily, that to everyone else he was a safe that was locked up tight, and that it was so easy for the other man to crawl under his skin, get on all of his nerves and be one of the only people who truly knew him. “You weren’t even this on edge and tense when we were on our way out, never mind coming home.”

“I just don’t like going home to an empty house, okay? It’s too quiet. Cold.”

He grumbled the words out, but Stan scoffed, and was fixed with a harsh glare in return, but he didn’t flinch like Mitch wished he would, seemingly unaffected by the burning stare. “And who’s fault is that, huh?”

Mitch opened his mouth, gaping a little, before snapping his jaw shut tightly, feeling the muscles twitch and tense as his teeth ground together. He could feel the divet between his brows, where they had puled together, a spot that always formed when he was angry or confused or concentrating, and he could still feel the warmth and weight of you sinking down into his lap while he wrote up his reports, your thumb smoothing over the spot, followed by a brush of your lips as you told him to relax. 

The thought made his eyes sting once again, and he cursed a little under his breath, giving in at the stares they were sharing as he cowered out, blinking forming tears away quickly. “I don’t get what your problem was. You clearly care about her. Why can’t you just tell her that, and stop sulking? It’d do you good o have her back, I liked you better when you weren’t sulking and single. Less of a bitch to work with.”

“You’re a bitch to work with.”

“What are you? Five?” 

He knew it had been a weak response, and he cringed a little on himself, sinking down further into the plush leather of the plane seat and trying to sift through his thoughts, something that Hurley clearly acknowledged, because he waited patiently but expectantly in silence, running a hand over his jaw as he watched Mitch try to gather his thoughts up and sort himself out. “It’s not so easy to just say. It’s complicated.”

“It really ain’t.” Stan shrugged, something about his tone making Mitch feel like he was about to get some kind of fatherly advice, and his curiosity got the best of him as he peered over at his superior. “I’ve heard you say that word before. Heard you say how much you love beer, how much you love beef dumplings and noodles on a Friday night, how much you love knocking cocky recruits on their ass.”

“Saying I love food is not the same as being able to say I love (Y/N).” He hissed, hopes dropping as he realised the statement wasn’t going to be useful, but Stan smirked at him wickedly, shrugging his shoulders and sipping his drink.

“Yeah, well, you just said it.” His face twisted up, moving between several different expressions, before a slightly nauseated shock was what he settled on, as he realised that the words he’d never been able to say aloud before, or even internally acknowledge, had finally been voiced for the first time. In front of Hurley, of all people. He was never going to be able to live this down. “Now, why can’t you say that to her?”

“Because everyone I’ve ever loved before has died, Stan.”

He could see the shock flick across the older man’s face, and it brought him a sick kind of amusement to know he’d caught him so off-guard, but then he was shrugging, and again moving back to that irritating level of passive smart-ass that only he had managed to master so effectively. “Yeah, well, you didn’t have the same training you did before now, did you? You’re not even thirty. You gonna’ spend the whole rest of your life miserable and unhappy just because of a car crash and a shooting, both of which were beyond your control?”

A dull aching in his chest flare dup a little at the mentions of those events, but he knew it was true, and his body deflated with the breath he let out as he gave the weakest rise and drop of his shoulders that he could, his hands clasping over his stomach as he turned to stare out of the plane window. A large hand found his shoulder, squeezing comfortingly, but he didn’t bother to look over. 

“Just stop being a dumbass, you clearly love this girl, so why don’t you just get your head out of your ass and go see her?”

Stan wandered away after that, ice clinking in his glass as he handed it off to a flight attendant before disappearing to the bathroom, and Mitch was left alone to wallow in painful thoughts with a stabbing pain in his chest as his heart continued to long for you. 

But if the world was ending You'd come over, right? You'd come over and you'd stay the night Would you love me for the hell of it? All our fears would be irrelevant If the world was ending You'd come over, right? The sky'd be falling and I'd hold you tight And there wouldn't be a reason why We would even have to say goodbye If the world was ending You'd come over, right? Right?

He was sweating, hands clammy with a nervous perspiration that made him feel uncomfortable in his clothes, like he wanted to curl up into a ball, dig a hole in the earth, throw up, or some combination of all three. The walk he’d done was so familiar to him, and yet right now, as he stood before your door, it had felt eerily unfamiliar.

There were definite changes. 

Your neighbour’s suspicious cat sat out on the front of the apartment building but did not come over to him, even when he’d called out its name, taking the welcome distraction as he crouched down and held his hand out to it, trying to tempt it into remembering him, into approaching him again, but it hadn't. The small animal had simply stared at him as he stood there, before mewing loudly and running away when he’d taken a fraction of a step closer to the door. 

The elevator in the main building was working, it had broken only a few months into seeing you before, and now it was back up and working like it had never been broken. The lights in the entryway were brighter, and the hallways had been repainted, the soft grey that they had once been was replaced with sky blue, much brighter and cheerier, and he remembered you telling him about it while laying in bed together one night, it was the exact colour you’d voted for when the building meeting had taken place to discuss it. 

The crack in the framing by your door that you’d never gotten around to fixing was mended, damage done by the previous tenants and he’d always said he would fix it for you, but had then always forgotten to bring the tools he would need for it, and he choked down the regret in his throat as he brushed a finger over it. He knew the route, his feet feeling like dead weight under his body as he’d trudged along the halls, before finding himself here, all but trembling with fear and anticipation outside of your door. 

The paper and ribbons wrapped around the flowers in his hands were crinkling loudly with every shake he made, and he took a deep and steadying breath, shaking himself down from head to toe. The rapping of his knuckles on the door felt like it reverberated along his entire body, his heart thumping painfully hard against his chest as he waited, eyes fixed on the floor as he watched warm light spill out from under the threshold and into the corridor, soon blocked by a shadow as he heard the scuffling of your feet along the floorboards.

Breath was stuck in his lungs, a choked sound leaving him as the door swung open, your voice ringing out but dying in your throat as you spoke, claiming that whoever it was that you were expecting - certainly not him - was early, and he dropped his eyes, just for a split second to scan along your body, before he was looking up at your face once again.

So pretty, and if he’d thought the melodic ringing of your voice was enough to end him then he had been entirety unprepared for the sight of you. The little black dress he loved so much was fitted to you like a second skin, a cocktail dress he’d seen you wear so many times before as he took you out for drinks and celebrations, his body flooding with heat. Hair styled up, makeup to perfection, and he would have been just as breathless if you’d crawled out of bed to answer the door but you were stunning, and he hated every ounce of himself for ever letting you go.

His jaw dropped as you stared at him in shock, pain flashing in your eyes before you hardened your gaze on him, an act he’d never wished to have you aim at him and yet he knew he deserved it, and yet the words were burning on the tip of his tongue as every moment he’d ever shared with you flashed before his eyes, swirling in his mind, and pulling one very prominent one to the front. 

The last time that he’d almost uttered the phrase to you, the one he was determined for you to hear from him now, even if you no longer felt the same. The last time you’d worn this dress, and you’d taken him with you to celebrate one of your friend’s birthdays, his cheeks heating up as he looked at you, but saw that day.

I tried to imagine your reaction It didn't scare me when the earthquake happened But it really got me thinkin' That night we went drinkin' Stumbled in the house  And didn't make it past the kitchen Ah, it's been a year now Think I've figured out how How to think about you without it rippin' my heart out

You were giggling into his mouth, red lipstick smeared across his chin and cheeks as your fingers scratched at the stubble lining his jaw, tongue tangled together as you stumbled into your apartment. The door slammed as it closed, hard enough to shake the walls, but neither of you cared, especially not when you were making such sweet sounds for him as his hands slipped lower and lower across the silk lining your body. 

Shoes came off first, his shoes being toed off as you tried to kick off your heels, sinking a few inches further down his body as the height fell away, and he wrapped an arm around your waist to be able to lean over you, keeping his mouth firmly on yours as wet tongues tangled together. You were stumbling through the apartment, tripping over one another’s feet and laughing breathlessly as your hands worked down the buttons on the front of his shirt. 

You were pushing the material from his shoulders, blazer and dress shirt falling away to the floor with a distant ‘thud’, the fluttering of material sounding out, and the heat around you both was crawling higher and higher. It was frantic, a night of teasing and longing looks, sipping champagne and cocktails with sly winks and whispered needs. He’d cleaned up for the event, and you’d made it clear before you’d even left just how good you thought he looked, and you were clad in dark black silk with thigh slits and heels and you were enough to bring any man to his knees, and he absolutely intended for that to be his next destination. 

He was rucking up layers of fabric in his hands until the skirt was bunched around your waist, making you hold it up, and the closest surface he could pin you to was the counter of the breakfast bar, barely having even made it through the kitchen, and hissed as bare skin found the cool marble. His knees hit the floor, your panties following until the scrap of lace was pulled tight around your knees, but then he was helping you up, sitting you on the surface, letting your lay back as he spread your legs and dived right in. 

You were dripping for him, before he’d even done anything but kiss you, a groan slipping from his lips as he all but drooled at the thrill of getting to indulge in the honey that was slick on your thighs. That was where he started, licking up the mess you’d already made of yourself as you squirmed and panted underneath him, letting him tease you with small bites and sucking at your soft skin until you’d growled in frustration, a hand in his hair pulling him closer until you were burying his face into your core, sounds that filled every wet dream he ever had taking over. 

His scalp had burned, the scratch of your nails and tugs of the strands and your thighs and hips had been littered with red marks the shape of his fingerprints that would be purple in the morning, but he knew you loved it just as much as he did. Two fingers had slipped into you, scissored and curled as he lapped around them, driving you to the point of senseless babbling just with his fingers and tongue, before you’d exploded around him. Then, he’d fucked you. 

Deep and slow on the counter with your arms wrapped around his neck, legs tights around his waist as you clung to one another, a collection of tangled limbs, a moaning mess and you chased your highs, until the two of you had been all but sobbing one another’s name into the other’s mouth as you kissed your way through your peaks, and he’s spattered your thighs and cunt with his arousal, pulling out at the very last second and leaving you trembling underneath him when he’d scooped it up and pressed it to your lips. 

It was hot, and erotic, but the moments after had been loving and tender. Taking a shower with weak muscles, sinking to the bottom of the tub together as water thrashed down from overhead, soft kisses and laughs and whispered confessions until the water had gone cold, and you’d collapsed into bed together, leaving a mess t tidy up int he morning, sheets sticking to wet skin as you were too lazy to even dry off, just cuddling together under the sheets, drunk on one another, and the words had been so close that night. A sleepy, post-orgasm haze, he’d so nearly whispered them against your lips as you kissed him goodnight.

I know, you know, we know You weren't down for forever and it's fine I know, you know, we know We weren't meant for each other and it's fine But if the world was ending You'd come over, right? You'd come over and you'd stay the night Would you love me for the hell of it? All our fears would be irrelevant

“I love you.”

You flinched, like you were standing too close to a fire and had been burned, and it felt like a knife twisting in his stomach as he watched your reaction. Your arms came up to wrap around yourself, toes digging into the wood of the floor as you stood your ground but he knew your nervous ticks, he knew you, and he frowned, but didn’t let it deter him. 

“I love you so, so much. I’m a fucking idiot, I know I am. I know you hate me, and you’ve probably moved on and can find someone who actually deserves you, but I’m selfish, okay? I wanted you to hear it, I had to tell you, for my own peace of mind. I had to know that I cam here, and had the balls to tell you that you are the person who hasn’t left my mind in an entire fucking year. Every thought, every dream, every time my heart beats, it’s all for you, and I had to tell you.” He took a deep breath, scanning your face for even a twitch, any slight tell of an emotion he could get, but you were offering him nothing. “I couldn’t say it before, I was scared and I didn’t know what I was feeling and I know that I hurt you. It kills me every day to know what I did, to think about your face, and the way you’d cried when I walked out, because it haunts me, okay? A year ago today, I lost the best thing in my god damn life, and I just had to tell you, because in another year, and another ten years, and forever on, I think I’ll still love you then. I had to know that you knew.”

You were staring at him, eyes wide and a little glassy as he took a deep breath, lungs screaming out for oxygen and his mind was finally blank. The incessant buzzing he’d become accustomed to as his mind whirled around you on a loop had finally stopped, and he was left in calm, the aftermath of an event, the silence that came after an explosion, the harmony after a fight when everything just went still. 

But there was always more to come. 

Only then did the thoughts about what you were wearing catch up to him. Pretty painted lips and sharp eyeliner and that sinful dress that made his blood run warmer in his veins as he burned from the inside out. A quick glance behind you confirmed that there was a pair of black strappy heels to match the outfit, a necklace with a gem that he’d never seen you wear before was hanging between your breasts in the low neckline of your dress, skin soft and freshly shaven on the slit up your thigh on your dress. 

He let out a sigh, shoulders slumping a little, but he tried to offer you a reassuring smile nonetheless. “Date?”

Your brows pulled in with confusion, and he could physically see the walls surrounding you begin to crumble away, before you let out a heavy sigh, your arms dropping as you caved under his faze, finally speaking to him; “No. Drinks with the girls.”

“Ah, right..”

A tepid silence took over, and he tried not to drop his eyes from yours. Soaking up every moment he had with you before you inevitably kicked him off of your doorstep, and you crossed your arms over your chest, leaning on the doorframe. “A distraction. They’re taking me out to cheer me up, because it’s been a year since the best thing in my life walked out on me.”

Mitch felt his breath hitch in his throat as he stared at you.

If the world was ending You'd come over, right? The sky'd be falling while I'd hold you tight No, there wouldn't be a reason why We would even have to say goodbye If the world was ending You'd come over, right? You'd come over, right? You'd come over, you'd come over, you'd come over, right?

A fistful of his shirt, a harsh tug that he wasn’t expected that made him fall over his own feet, and then there were lips on his own. He couldn’t help it, the embarrassingly needy whine that left him the second his brain caught up with what was happening, and he dropped the bouquet to the floor, hands finding your hips as he pulled you into him. Bodies collided, flush and pressed together, your hands circling his neck and fingers in his hair, heat flooding him from where you were pressed to him, and it felt like he’d been cold for the entirety of the past year, goosebumps rising and falling along his skin as he fell back home, into your arms.

Your cheeks were wet as you gasped into his mouth, tongues sliding together, panting from breath as noses bumped. It was urgent and rushed, not the kiss he’d imagined with you if you’d forgive him, but the one that seemed most fitting. Messy and uncoordinated as if you were learning each other for the first time, becoming familiarised once again with every inch of the other, hands roaming and tongue exploring, until you were satisfied that you were thoroughly reconnected. 

He let out a wet and hoarse laugh, raising one hand to sit on your jaw and wipe his thumb under your eyes, clearing away the tears that were already threatening to spoil the masterpiece you’d created, and he knew how long it took you to do it.

“Baby, please don’t cry. You’re going to ruin your makeup.”

You let out a laugh, and he cleared your face, stealing a few more pecks as though at any moment you were going to realise what he’d done, go back to hating him, push him away as if this was the last he’d ever get to see you. You were staring up at him, with glassy eyes and the sweetest smile he’d ever seen, and Mitch swore he couldn't even feel the floor anymore, as if he was floating, up in the clouds and lost to the world. 

“I’ll wait. I’ll wait right here, until you come back. We can talk, or you can yell, whatever you want. I’ll be here.”

“I‘m not going anywhere.” You pulled him back in, another collection of sweet kisses that he didn’t deserve but would always accept, never willing to give them up again. “I’d rather stay in and watch TV with you, but you have to go and get us takeout. You know I hate walking to get it.”

“I do, I do know that.” He sniffed, breathy exhale like a laugh as he held onto you tightly, before dipping down to collect the discarded flowers from the ground. A few crumpled petals fell away to the floor, but they were otherwise intact, and he pressed them into your hand carefully, watching as you admired them, thumbing at the delicate leaves and bringing them to your nose. 

“This doesn’t get you off the hook, you know.”

“I’ll spend the entire rest of my life making it up to you, I swear.” You only nodded, letting him into your apartment as you led him inside, smiles and tears and he dipped down, lips brushing your earlobe as he listened to you gasp in surprise. “I love you, so much.”

“I love you too, Mitch. Even if you are a fuckin’ idiot.” He only nodded, following your lead as you took him by the hand and guided him through to find a vase and water for the flowers. “Go get my phone, I need to text my friends.”

He did as told, trailing through the apartment, bringing your purse back with him and presenting the item to you, his hands searching for your body once again, just needing to hold you and know that it was real, to know that this time, you weren’t just a dream his mind was conjuring up to torment him with.

He didn’t need a night out, he didn’t need you to be dressed up, he didn’t need anything but you. You and him, and the love you shared, it was enough to get him through anything. 

If the world was ending You'd come over, right?

[skadventuretime]

XX

Here’s my piece for the Noragami @millenniumzine ! There are still bundles available at the time of this posting, so have at it.

This covers themes/details from chapter 90 of the manga (and a little before and after), so if you’re still reading through I recommend holding off on this until you’re caught up!

/

Steam drifts from subway vents outside of a downtown arcade. Children laugh as they go inside, fingers curled around an older sibling or parent’s hand, an air of anticipation humming around them. 

Hagusa ghosts in after them, more on a whim than anything. He has a fascination with humans now that he didn't before, a dizzying pull that makes him want to hold something small in his hands, or crush it.

Lights flash in neon patterns, and the smell of popcorn and sweat fills the room. Hagusa watches a girl shoot zombies on one screen for a while before the glitter of the claw machine catches his eye. A boy almost grabs a stuffed Capypa but the claw isn't strong enough or the game is rigged enough that it tumbles, face up, against the glass. A strange emotion tries to worm its way out of Hagusa’s stomach—loss? betrayal?—but disappears when a small child rushes by him on the way to a skee ball machine. Cheeks splotched red with exertion, body tilted forward in the kind of run that only ends in collision; this kid’s on a mission. 

“Slow down, Kai, it’s not a race!” cries a harried looking teen following in his wake. Their facial features are similar and Hagusa has to tamp down the thoughts of his sister. What would it have been like, to have a family who cared?

"C'mon, we gotta play at least one more before Mom makes us go home!"

His sister rolls her eyes. "No way squirt, I'm meeting friends later and I need to get ready. We're going. Now."

Humans. So strange to think that at one point he, too, was flesh and blood, that his future stretched before him as blinding and bittersweet as this small boy’s. He doesn't look any different than Hagusa would have at that age, so why does he get a family? Why does he get to live?

Hagusa’s fists are clenched at his side as the rage bubbles up, searing his not-veins and pooling in his not-stomach. With his fractured memory, this is all he’s ever been; a facsimile, stitched together with the blessing of an immortal being that was supposed to have protected him in life.

[Read the rest below the cut or on AO3.]

When does the shift occur, between being served by the gods and being named by them? Are wishes tied to memory and that's why shinki don't get to make them anymore, stripped as they are of everything that had made them human but their souls?

Hagusa summons the energy to draw a boundary and holds it in his hand. He'd deserved to have his wishes listened to with the same care the gods grant some; he'd deserved a life where his wishes were about comic books or ice cream flavors; and now, he deserves to make sure no one else suffers like he did. 

Energy builds in the room. Kai starts to cry, and his sister rushes over.

“Hey, you okay? Come on, let’s go play a few more rounds. I’ll even get you ice cream on the way home!” Her eyes have a slight glassy sheen.

Kai stops crying. “Even if you're late to meet your friends?”

His sister smiles, and it looks genuine. “Even so.”

They walk away together hand in hand, and some of Hagusa’s anger slips away. That’s right. This is his power now. He might have been cheated by the gods during his life, but he will not allow them to cheat anyone else.

He inhales slowly — funny how he doesn’t need to breathe and yet the motion focuses him, the way eating soothes a part of him that no longer hungers — and casts himself like a net across the city.

Humans fall like snow in his mind’s eye, their souls soft and pulsing with a gentle light. Within each one are tangled threads of anger, love, sadness, and hope, threads he starts to weave. Deep down all humans have the strength to do what’s right; they simply talk themselves out of it. So Hagusa becomes the voice that reminds them of their power, reminds them to protect the young and the vulnerable and to care, just a little, about those other than themselves. 

With each thread he tweaks, he thinks about the true limits of his power. If he can influence people to do the right thing, what use is there for gods? Perhaps the humans will wish the gods away themselves after learning how to pass judgment on their own. They just need to be shown that there’s a better way.

Something glimmers in his mind’s eye. A human man yelling at his wife and small child around a dinner table. The wife’s eyes are dull and the child is crying, but the man keeps yelling. He takes a step forward like he’s going to hit the child and — no, not again, not ever again, there is no more dark dark dark fingers clawing choking—

There is a metallic clang. A steak knife has fallen to the floor and the wife is looking between her shaking hand and the blood blooming from her husband’s chest. Hagusa snaps his net back to himself, and the world becomes small and quiet and whole again.

“Ah, spend a little too much energy?” Footsteps noiseless as always, Father strolls out of a nearby store and comes to stand beside him. “Interesting what your power can do when you put your mind to it.”

“I didn’t do that,” Hagusa says, more sharply than he’d intended. 

“Oh?” Father looks surprised and then thoughtful. “I could have sworn I felt Yuuki’s power being used...but perhaps you were doing something else at the same time.”

“Only people can judge each other,” Hagusa says with as much firmness as he can muster. “I didn’t make her do anything she wasn’t thinking about already. If she thinks it’s a fair judgment, then it must be.”

Father nods along. “Heaven thinks the same of their judgments. Tell me, why do you trust the humans more than your power to make them do what you know is right?"

"Because--" Because if people had looked out for him, maybe he'd still be alive. If people had taken care to notice the bruises on his arms and the dullness in his eyes, maybe he would have been loved instead of abandoned.

"It doesn't matter. I'm a hafuri, right? I just know these things. As long as humans look out for each other, no one will slip through the cracks like they do when the gods look the other way."

Father makes a noncommittal noise. "Well, come along now. I'm sure you're very tired after encouraging people to be their best selves all day."

Hagusa begins to follow Father. In a perfect world, all the wishes humans waste on gods would be spent using their own power to protect and care for one another. But the world isn’t perfect, not at all, so Hagusa will help them find their strength.

After all, humans still need to be judged. 

[bangtanbetchfics]

friction | knj (m)

genre: office au, romance, smut rating: explicit // 18+ pairing: kim namjoon x reader word count: 7.0k suggested listening: 1 billion views - exo-sc | creme brulee - gfriend | underwater - baekhyun | playlist warnings: m/f, m/m, explicit language, explicit/casual sex, masturbation, enemies to lovers, light bondage, light dom/sub, sex toys summary: your pesky and overworked assistants meddle in your relationship with your sexy rival -- kim namjoon -- and find themselves caught in the crosshairs of love and all-out war. notes: enjoy enjoy enjoy! a true labor of love. navigation: ch. i | ch. ii | ch. iii | masterlist | ao3

FRIC·TION | conflict or animosity caused by a clash of wills, temperaments, or opinions.

Taehyung yawns, interlacing his fingers and pulling his arms above his head in a stretch. He moves his neck side-to-side until he hears a satisfying crack, indicating the adequate stretch of the muscle. He waits for his computer to finish powering down before clicking the lamp on his desk off.

Taehyung’s hand reaches for his coat, but he hesitates as he looks over at your office.

The blue glare seems to amplify your stressed expression and the mildly dark crescents under your eyes.

“Ma’am?”

Taehyung quietly raps at the glass door to your office and it startles you from your concentration.

“Hmm...yes, Tae?”

You respond, mildly annoyed, as you pull a neon post-it note from its pad to stick to the desk.

Taehyung looks at you, his eyes forming wide circles as if he's ready to convince you of something. You can immediately sense his question before you exhale through your nose.

“It’s just that it’s getting late and I-” Taehyung starts, wrapping a hand around the glass doorframe.

You shake yourself out of your funk and look at him fondly, your brows coming together in compassion.

Before your mouth can form a response, the phone at Taehyung’s desk rings. 

He gives you a small bow to pardon him before he jogs to his desk to pick up the phone.

“Yes, Sir. Yes, yes. Yes, yes, yes. Of course, Mr. Min,” Taehyung looks at you a few times, pointing at the phone. “I’ll send her right up.”

Taehyung's eyes widen at you before hanging up the phone.

You come to the threshold of your office, leaning your head on the frame.

“Was it Min?” You ask, and Taehyung nods in response. 

“He wants to see you immediately. Didn’t specify what it was for.” 

You chew at your lip and then dig in your pocket, tossing him your corporate card.

“I’m so sorry, Tae. Do you mind staying until I come back? There’s just a lot going on this week with the product launch, and I’m sure he’ll add more to my plate,” Taehyung puts his hand up and shakes it.

“Of course. Anything you need.” He responds, slipping the plastic card in his pocket.

“Thank you.” You whisper, your hands in a prayer. He bows as his eyes watch you walk off.

Taehyung rolls his chair up to his desk, and he hits a few digits on the dialpad.

“Gonna be another long one,” Taehyung sighs out into the receiver.

“Same here Tete,” The singsong voice responds, equally as disappointed.

“I should have your cock in my mouth right now, but I’m here ordering takeout for the third time this week,” The voice whines.

“Jimin!” Taehyung growls into the phone, but the sound quickly dissolves into a laugh.

“What’s so funny? It’s not good for my figure,” Taehyung can tell there’s a pout in Jimin’s voice.

“Especially my ass.” Jimin continues, the pout growing deeper.

“I love your ass. Shutup.” Taehyung chuckles. “You said you’re stuck here late too?”

“Yeah. I know the product launch is coming, but Joon never stops working.” Jimin whines. “He got called upstairs by Min a few seconds ago.” Taehyung gasps and sits up in his chair, rolling it closer to his desk.

“Hmm…” Taehyung hums. He places his elbows on the surface, using his free hand to ruffle his silver locks.

“What? You sound interested.” Jimin inquires, and Taehyung drums the desk with his fingers.

“My boss did too.”

✹✹✹

Tick, tock. Tick, tock. Tick, tock.

The slow ticking of the clock snips through your veins. You press the nail of your index finger into the flesh of your thumb, creating a small crescent-shaped indent in your skin. 

You feel your heart picking up pace in your chest; steady thumps beating at your ribcage. You turn your hand around to stare at the indentation on your skin, waiting for it to vanish. It does, slowly.

You look at your boss through the floor-to-ceiling glass windows of his office, his mouth busy moving in response to someone on the other end of the phone’s receiver. His hair is a textured bowl of platinum blonde, and his long, bony fingers move through a mass of papers on his desk.

You’re unsure of why you’ve been summoned; Yoongi never summoned anyone to his office unless it was serious. Being two days out from a product launch with you at the marketing helm...well, that was never a good sign.

After a moment, heavy, confident footsteps echo through the hall.

You see a man -- all legs in his dark, smartly tailored pants -- and he immediately diverts attention from your buzzing thoughts. His aura fills the entire space, and you sit up straight in your chair.

The man’s long wool trench coat brushes at his ankles, the black fabric stiff at the tips of his shoulders. He shrugs the coat off and carefully folds it in half, placing it on the chair behind him.

He suddenly feels your eyes on him from across the room, and his sharp gaze snaps over to meet yours. His eyes crinkle at the edges, and he extends his hand across the coffee table between the two of you.

“Kim Namjoon. I’m guessing you don’t know why you’re here either?” His voice comes out in a dark, velvety tone, catching you off guard. Your eyes can't help but fix on his as you shake his hand.

“Not a clue,” You respond coolly, and the dimples in his cheeks make themselves known.

You clear your throat as his eyes hang onto yours in return, and you feel your lips subtly part. Snapping yourself from his aura, you quickly release his hand and look around the room to find something else to concentrate on.

“Guess we’ll find out...” Namjoon shrugs, sliding back in his seat. You offer him a nod in response, nervously swallowing the exchange down your throat.

You then cross your legs, pretending to be busy on your phone. 

After processing the interaction, Namjoon licks the inside of his cheek -- his head hanging down in a mild defeat for a second. He reaches into his pocket to pull out a tattered copy of The Art of Loving.

As he reads, your eyes peel from your phone and notice the way his turtleneck hugs his form, the dark fabric dipping in at the valley between his firm chest. A few lavender-tinted hairs slide from Namjoon’s slicked back style into his dark brown eyes, and his smokey gaze suddenly rises up to meet yours.

Fuck. He’s caught you.

Your eyes widen in a few seconds of brief panic and dart back down to your phone. You move your thumb around through the pages of apps; it’s all you can manage so suddenly.

Namjoon smiles to himself as he looks back down, quietly dipping a finger to his tongue to stick to a page of his book. 

Before he’s able to turn the page, Yoongi pops his head from the office.

“You ready?” Yoongi asks, turning his head in your direction.

You nod and watch Yoongi shuffle back to his desk.

You inhale and smooth your skirt as you stand, noticing Namjoon’s eyes following your fingers as they glide over the red fabric adorning your curves. He calmly looks back down and blushes as you catch him; his Adam’s apple bobbing nervously as he pretends to continue on with his book.

“Wish me luck,” You notice the way his gaze lit something sexual afire in you, but you couldn’t pay any attention to that right now. “Nice meeting you.” 

Namjoon looks up at you again, his fingers tense on the pages of the book.

“Likewise.” Namjoon’s smouldering eyes are fixed on you as he responds, and his gaze continues to follow you into Yoongi’s office.

You reach a chair across from Yoongi’s desk, sneaking a glance at Namjoon one last time over your shoulder.

Namjoon exhales the tension from his body as he watches you take a seat.

✹✹✹

You sit in the chair across from Yoongi’s desk, admiring the glittering cityscape behind him.

“I love being in here. It’s so refreshing.” You sigh, your eyes floating back to Yoongi.

“Yeah, kid? Well, it could be yours soon,” He chuckles. “I’m actually sick of looking at it. I’m ready to move onto my next venture.” Yoongi says this as if he’s in his forties, but he’s the youngest CEO in the vicinity. It's indicated by a giant, framed magazine cover of himself on a wall in his office: Top 30 Under 30 in Technology.

“C-Come again?” You murmur as you’re taken by surprise, and you sit up in your seat.

“You heard me. I want either you -- the CMO -- or Kim, the CTO running things," Yoongi says, standing up. He calls you over with his finger, motioning for you to sit in his chair. "Either of you are my best shot.”

You plop down in the cushy leather fabric, and your eyes meet Namjoon’s again. You purse your lips together and swirl the chair around to face the cityscape.

“How’s that feel?” Yoongi asks as he adjusts his cream turtleneck.

“Damn good.” You growl, your nails digging into the armrests.

“Well, there’s no reward without risk,” He says, and you raise your head in interest. 

“Try me, Min.” You demand as you cross your legs, leaning back in the chair.

“I want you to launch the product in my place at TechX this week.” He mentions casually, and you shriek in response as you shoot up from your seat.

“You can’t be serious, Min!” You throw your hands on your hips. “Isn’t that in two days? In Vegas? And like, the largest product launch ever for this company? ” You inquire, looking over at Yoongi.

“See! You understand the gravity of this launch. And yeah, and I haven’t even finished the keynote yet,” Yoongi cackles, slapping his thigh. “Partner with Kim on the presentation. It’s in front of twenty-thousand too, so make it good.” He sits down, racking away at the keys on his laptop. 

“You and Kim are both equally matched in terms of qualifications, so whoever can secure the biggest investors to ensure the longevity of the company will get a leg up in interviewing for the position.” Yoongi continues nonchalantly.

“Got it?” He taps one last key, stopping only to look up at you.

“Yes, Sir.” You nod, feeling a tightness creep into your chest.

✹✹✹

“Jimin, can you book my accommodations, please?” 

Jimin hands Namjoon a bag of takeout before he rolls his chair up to his desk. 

“Vegas, leaving tomorrow. Business class. King bed. That hotel that’s hosting the conference. You know the deal.” He rattles out, taking the bag of food. 

“Of course, Sir.” Jimin nods, watching Namjoon walk into his office.

Jimin navigates through a few windows on his screen before settling on a corporate travel portal. He’s able to book the flight without a problem, but the hotel is where he’s running into issues. He quickly dials up Taehyung, waiting for the other side of the call to pick up.

“Are you seeing the same thing?” Jimin asks, and Taehyung clicks his tongue.

“No rooms, right-” Jimin starts. “Just one left…” Taehyung cuts in to finish his sentence.

“But shit, there’s your boss and my boss.” Jimin twirls his finger around the coiled cord, pondering what to do next.

Jimin hears a eureka snap on the other end of the line.

“Crazy ass idea here, Jiminie,” Taehyung chuckles. 

"What is it Taehyungie?" Jimin purrs out, the curiosity rising in his voice at the end of the question.

“What if...they just stayed in the same room together? There’s only one King room available, and it’s the last room in the hotel. They’re both so...particular.” Taehyung continues, pressing his mouth into the receiver to keep his voice low.

Jimin throws his head back so far in laughter that his chair tips over. Taehyung hears a crash on the other end of the line, and hears shuffling noises as Jimin gets back up.

“Fell off your chair again?”

“Y-Yeah. God you're a genius! An evil one,” Jimin gathers his breaths. 

“I mean...she’s fucking hot. And she’s single as fuck because she’s holed up here every night.” Taehyung whispers into the receiver, making sure to glance over to check that you’re immersed in work.

“And Joon’s smoking hot, too. He’d melt her icy panties right off,” Jimin clicks his tongue before he slaps his desk.

“Dammit, we’re doing it. Think about it. Off work by five? What a world.” Jimin chirps, clicking away at his screen. “To add an extra layer of fun, I’m checking the romance option.”

“Jimin! Jimin. They’re gonna kill each other.” Taehyung giggles, gasping to catch his breath.

“Either they share a room and let romance bloom, or its whack-a-roach at the Motel 6.” Jimin’s tone is confident, but it makes Taehyung erupt into another fit of laughter.

“What? What’s the worst that could happen?” Jimin commands a response, but Taehyung continues to laugh.

“Mmm...we lose our fucking jobs?” Taehyung responds darkly.

The two pause for a second, but continue laughing into their phones.

✹✹✹

“What’re the topline details for the trip, Tae?” You ask, sliding on your sunglasses and pulling a handle up on your hardside luggage.

“Your flight...as you know is in three hours, and your car’s outside right now.” Taehyung walks up to you, handing you an iPad with a copy of your itinerary. “You’ll be staying at the Palazzo where the conference is held, and check-in should be getting started as soon as you arrive.”

“Mwah. You’re the fucking best,” You chef’s kiss your fingers. “This is exactly why I hired you.”

You pull your luggage behind you, but Taehyung puts his hand up. 

“Try not to get too excited. Please note that the room I was able to secure for you was the last room at the hotel two days before a conference of this size,” Taehyung says, pulling his hands behind his back.

“Okay...your point being?” You ask, pulling your sunglasses down to look into Taehyung’s eyes.

“Uhm, so, how do I put this?” Taehyung asks himself rhetorically, drawing his foot across the floor nervously.

“Tae...” You growl, your gaze slowly turning into a glare.

“Erm, you’ll have to share the room,” He starts. 

“With Kim Namjoon.” He winces as he gets the words out.

Your mouth drops open in shock, and your iPad crashes to the floor.

✹✹✹

You peruse through a luxurious spread of food in the airport lounge: crabsticks with melted butter drizzling from them, exotic finger sandwiches, spreads and dips and the like. You grab tongs, dropping a few items onto a small plate. You quickly look through the drinks on display and decide on sparkling water. 

Suddenly, you spot Namjoon arriving in the lounge and you quickly tuck the bottle of sparkling water into your armpit. You grab your plates, quickly followed by your luggage and make a mad dash for a secluded cubby in the back area.

You quickly throw on your headphones and prop up your iPad as you swipe through a few documents. 

Just as you stuff a crabstick in your mouth, you feel a tap on your shoulder. You look at the fingers, then up the veined arm wrapped with white cotton fabric, and you see Namjoon.

He licks his lips, letting out a shy chuckle just before he speaks.

“Did you really just try to avoid me?”

“Mm-maybh, ‘nd wh-r about it?” You blink at him, your words unintelligible as you slowly chew a mouthful of seafood. You furrow your brows, slightly irked by Namjoon seeing you in this state.

“I’m sure those two jokesters told you,” He continues, and you shrug as you delicately bite a small cucumber and cream cheese sandwich. “That you’ll be my roommate for the next two days.”

“I didn’t hear it, and I won’t acknowledge it,” You retort, dropping the last bite of the sandwich in your mouth. “I’m going to find another room if it’s the last thing I do.” You dust crumbs from your hands but stop as Namjoon lets out another light chuckle.

“There aren’t anymore in the whole of Vegas. I checked myself. The only other hotel left in town is the Trump Tower,” He crosses his arms and then shakes his head. “And no one wants to be caught dead there.”

“Fuck!” You can’t help but scream out, and a few people turn to look in your direction. You bury your head in your hands, and comb your hands through your hair in frustration.

Namjoon taps your shoulder again and you look up.

“Finger sandwich?” He asks, licking a finger as you glare up at him.

✹✹✹

A flight attendant walks by the two of you to do a visual safety check, and you’re in the middle seat -- Namjoon in the aisle. 

“Champagne? Champagne? Water?” Another attendant walks by with a tray full of alcoholic beverages. You spot her, reaching over Namjoon to grab a drink off the tray. She lets out a gasp, shock entangling her features. 

The beverage quickly makes its way down your throat, and you slam the plastic cup back on the tray. 

“Sorry. She’s not having the best of days,” Namjoon whispers to her and finishes his off as well, handing it to the attendant. She scoffs, continuing on down the aisle.

You shuffle your hand in your bag to locate your iPad, slipping it from its sleeve. As you look at the screen you sigh, your eyes roving over the deep cracks.

“Please turn all devices to airplane mode as we prepare for departure…”

The plane starts to rattle over the tarmac, turning to face a new direction every so often.

“What the heck happened to that thing?” Namjoon asks, leaning over to look at the fractured device.

“Don’t wanna talk about it,” You respond without looking at him. You swipe through a screen of apps before clicking into Keynote. “I scanned through the presentation, and Yoongi was nowhere near done. We’ll need to wrap up by tomorrow evening.”

“We’ll also need to submit some requests to the photographer and Design team so that the remaining graphics and specs will be ready by the time we land in six hours…”

Namjoon nods, watching as you swipe through the slides, breezing through improvements for each. Your words seem to fade out, and he finds himself enamored by your gung-ho nature as he watches you speak.

“Got it?” You ask and notice Namjoon is silent, causing you to turn your head in his direction.

You search his eyes for a response, noticing his pupils are blown as he looks at you. He covers his throat so as to not give away the unexpected heat rising up his skin.

“Sure thing. I’ll have the Product team get right on all of that,” Namjoon responds before he looks down to type an email into his phone.

You look back down at your iPad, nibbling at the inside of your lip as you tuck your hair behind your ear.

You take a second to press your head back to the seat as the plane takes off.

Namjoon reaches below the seat in front of him and pulls out his iPad to begin typing information into the slides. He glances over at you furiously typing and swiping before you grimace.

“Ow, fff-” You growl, looking at your index finger. 

Blood starts to pool in a small cut, and Namjoon takes notice. You look over at him and watch him reach into his bag to pull out a travel-sized first aid kit. He takes out a small alcohol wipe and grabs your finger, pinching the towelette to it. You wince, sucking air in through your teeth.

“You should really get that fixed.” He says as he takes a small bandaid and covers the cut.

“Uhm, I will. Thank you.” You say quietly as you search his eyes, and then tuck your hair behind your ear again. 

You break eye contact with him as your heart starts to patter in your chest...and fuck. You know you're in trouble from here on out.

Namjoon chuckles to himself through his nose as he takes a world newspaper from an attendant.

The newspaper covers his face and you sneak to observe your finger -- trying to not let a smile curl up on the edges of your lips.

✹✹✹

“Checking in?”

A woman asks you in a singsong voice and you nod, motioning for Namjoon to give you his identification card. 

You're tired, hungry and irritable from the flight and certainly not willing to engage with this ultra-chipper woman right now.

“Ugh, beautiful! How long have you two been together?” She asks, smiling as she looks at the two of you.

“We’re not a couple and we’ve only just met, why do you ask?” You inquire, swiping through a few things on a digital screen anchored to the desk in front of you.

“Oh...you’re not?” You stop what you’re doing and look up at her. “No. We’re here for the TechX conference.”

The woman releases a nervous breath from her throat and readjusts her blouse.

“Well...oh my, the room I have booked for the two of you is one of our most romantic rooms.” She giggles out nervously, not sure what to do as she hands you a sleeve of keycards.

“I’m gonna fucking kill Taehyung when I get back,” You grumble, taking your credit card and the sleeve before you march off toward the elevator.

The elevator lobby is packed, and both you and Namjoon slip into a crowded elevator.

You find yourself suddenly sandwiched between the back of a woman and the front of Namjoon, and you tighten your muscles so you don’t make bodily contact with either of them.

The elevator jerks as it reaches the floor before yours, and Namjoon collapses over you. He looks down at you as his hands land to press on the wall on either side of your head as he holds himself up.

“God, sorry,” He groans as he waits for other people to exit before he can steadily stand on his own two feet. Your eyes grow wide as you look up at him, a prickly heat creeping up your throat. His face is so close to yours from the fall that you can feel his breaths on your skin. 

“Are you okay?” He asks, looking over at you as he’s able to stand up straight.

Namjoon thinks nothing of the brief moment, but you gulp and give him a silent nod.

“This is us.” He says before he clears the way, watching you walk out in front of him.

✹✹✹

As you enter the room, you hear smooth jazz floating from a digital radio.

You drop to your knees: you see rose petals on the bed, a bucket with ice and champagne, a towel swan and a bouquet of additional roses wrapped with packages of chocolate. You drop your head into your hands and laugh out loud, and Namjoon looks down at you. His eyes quickly scan the room and he lets out a screech before he covers his stomach to laugh.

“I-I s-swear we were set up,” You gasp for air through your laughs. “God.”

“The wall between the shower and our room is frosted. Frosted!” Namjoon yells as he waves his hand through it to show you as you approach. 

You both can’t help but giggle.

“God. I haven’t laughed that hard in so long,” You mention, swiping a tear hanging on at the edge of your eye. Namjoon smiles, his dimples lighting up his face.

There’s a sudden silence as your eyes meet, and you try to find something to busy yourself with -- deciding on unraveling the towel swan.

“Anyway, I’m gonna shower. We can just relax for now as we wait for everything to come in.” You quickly open your luggage and pull out a swimsuit and a cover up before heading into the bathroom.

“And oh. Please be an adult...no peeking?” You raise your brows as you pop your head from the bathroom. 

Namjoon nods in agreement, beginning to unpack his luggage. He grabs his clothes nonchalantly to head to a nearby drawer, but he unintentionally catches your silhouette in the shower.

Namjoon gulps as he feels a tightness growing in his jeans. He clears his throat, continuing on with placing his clothes into the drawer.

✹✹✹

“Okay, okay, yes. I’m so sorry. It was the best we could do under the circumstances, and yes-” Taehyung nods his head as Jimin takes another bite of a sushi roll.

“Oof, was that her?” Jimin asks, swiping his mouth with a napkin. 

“God, yeah. She’s pissed. And she yelled. She never yells at me, Jiminie.” Taehyung pouts.

Jimin laughs as he throws his head back, rubbing Taehyung’s back.

“Don’t worry Taehyungie,” He giggles. “I’m sure they’ll thank us soon enough.”

Taheyung smiles at him and opens his mouth to receive one of the rolls on his tongue.

The two giggle as they look at each other, mouths full.

✹✹✹

You swim in the Olympic-sized pool at the hotel before you pop up from underneath. 

A hand runs through your hair to smooth it on your head before you start to float on your back. The intense rays of the sun start to heat up your skin, but you nearly moan at how good it feels.

Namjoon settles down in a lounge chair before he sees you with your eyes closed on the water. 

You only have on a swimsuit, but in a man’s mind it was the near-equivalent of seeing you in your underwear. 

Namjoon attempts to sneak away before you can spot him, but your eyes open just as he does.

“Hey! Kim Namjoon! Is that you?” You shout, paddling up to the edge of the pool. He grimaces and meets you at the edge, looking down at you.

“Did you really just try to avoid me?” You throw his question from earlier back at him, smirking.

“What? No.” Namjoon scoffs and clenches his jaw -- a bit delighted, a bit turned on.

You tilt your head and raise your eyebrows, still awaiting a real answer. His thoughts are still racing for a clever response and you can tell he’s caught off-guard.

You emerge from the water, toweling your hair and body. His eyes widen as he tries to keep them focused on your face, and you smirk at him again. 

"Cat got your tongue?" You tease, wringing out your hair.

The devilish look in your eyes shoots straight to his water trunks and he presses his legs together. He quickly wraps the towel in his hand around his waist to cover himself before you detect anything, and your eyes follow his movements.

“Uhm, you know what...I don’t feel too well,” His voice trembles. “I’m gonna go back to the room.”

Namjoon takes off in a hurry, and you scoff as your brows come together in confusion.

✹✹✹

Namjoon lets out a few strained moans as he tugs at cock -- now rock hard and bulging with thick veins. His eyes squeeze shut as you come into memory, and he attempts to regulate his arousal through deep, frantic exhales. 

The way the sun was kissing your body, the movement of the water as it drizzled down into the valley between your breasts, the smirk and banter that lit his desire alight. He gasps as he strokes his cock faster, his grip growing firmer by the second. He feels his balls tighten, his cock growing stiffer with lust. 

He growls as he nears cumming, taking a moment to spit on in his hand and spread it generously over his shaft. He jerks his cock as fast as he can, his wrist snapping in different directions to switch up the sensation of his movements. He bucks into his hand at the last few moments, wondering what it’d be like to have you atop his cock instead. 

Namjoon cries out before his cock hardens, his thick load pulsing in random patterns across his chest. 

"Fuck," He suddenly hears footsteps floating down the hall and he swiftly pulls his trunks up.

He grabs a few tissues from the night table to quickly wipe himself off.

“Namjoon? I’m back,” You announce as you open the door. “The pool’s great, you can’t miss it.”

You enter and he tosses the tissues to the ground.

You observe that Namjoon’s form is rigid and that he’s sitting up on the bed as he scrolls through his phone. Something’s weird and quiet about the energy in the room, but you just shrug it off.

“Hey.” His tone is stoic, but you can sense his voice is caught in his throat before he clears it.

“Should we close out the final pieces of the presentation tonight?” Namjoon continues, his eyes now following you as you walk around the room.

“Sure thing, eight sound good?” You ask, smiling in his direction.

All he can do is look at you with his eyes wide and nod.

✹✹✹

“How’d you find this place?” You ask, picking up one of the books stacked on the table for display.

The rest of the bar is almost like a library -- straight from Beauty and the Beast. You look up and around as bookshelves from every angle are filled with books.

"Your drinks." A waiter arrives, carefully placing each drink on the table.

"I like to wander and I stumbled upon it. I frequent here when I come to Vegas," Namjoon smiles at you, satisfied with himself. "It's a nice place to unwind and get work done outside of the hotel." You nod, impressed with his response.

"I love all of the giant KAWS figurines here, too," You mention, and he turns his head to look at you. "The valuation on those in a few years is gonna be insane."

"Oh, you like art, too?" He tries to hide the gush in his voice, but you chuckle to yourself.

"Sure do." You reply, taking a few small sips from your cup as you look at him.

As Namjoon sips at his Jameson whiskey on the rocks, you can't help but absorb his carefully slicked back hair and the leather jacket on his frame.

Namjoon notices from his peripheral and bites his lip as subtly as he can, drawing his iPad from his briefcase.

After a few minutes, he looks up from what he's typing to see you've already downed half of your drink. You drop the cup from your lips and your eyes grow wide with embarrassment.

"God, sorry, please don't judge me," You chuckle as you peel the drink from your mouth and lick your lips. "They only have good French Martinis in two places in the world. Vegas, and Europe."

Namjoon chuckles back at you, and you notice his eyes float down to your lips. 

Your breath quickens for a second, but he breaks eye contact by looking down. He purses his lips and his dimples pop out before he looks at you through his lashes.

"You've got a little something..." He motions at the foam on your upper lip, and you attempt to swipe it with your tongue. He shakes his head a few times as you continue licking your lips to no avail.

"May I?" He asks warmly. With a nod from you, he takes a miniature napkin to wipe your top lip. He's so close that you can smell the spice of his cologne, and you look into his eyes. 

A slight panic forms in his gaze before he pulls back.

“There.” He says without looking at you, placing the napkin on the table.

Both of you shake the interaction off, and you reach into your bag to pull out your iPad.

"I had Taehyung drop in the graphics. All we have to do is finish up the text," You say as you start to type, and Namjoon brings his focus back to his slides.

"Got it. I had Jimin drop in the brief outline he retrieved from the Product Lead, so we can just work from that as we go along." Namjoon chimes in, and you nod.

"I'll activate the full social strategy and content team back at the office," You continue as you type. "I'll let them know that we're almost locked so they can get ready to fire up the site and social promotions."

Namjoon smiles to himself again, absorbing the incredible synergy between the two of you. It only pushes him harder...and makes him harder. He clenches his jaw as he feels the sensation filling his lower half, but he shakes his leg to stay focused.

"Is there something wrong?" You ask, looking down at his leg.

"Hmm?" He asks, not even noticing his leg still moving. 

"Oh!" He says looking down and stretching his foot out, but it bumps yours instead.

"Fuck. Sorry!" He yelps. You chortle, continuing on with writing. 

You look at him for a bit through your peripheral, admiring his absolute focus on the task at hand. He picks up a pen to draw it around his plump lips, and you can't help but feel a twinge between your thighs. You inhale and let out a breath to take your focus off the sensation.

Just as you do, a crackle of thunder rips through the air and a few customers gasp and break into a din. 

You and Namjoon look at each other, and a few flashes of lightning light up each of your features in the dim bar.

"We should get going before it rains," Namjoon says as he starts to pack his bag. "We can finish this up at the hotel." 

You follow suit.

✹✹✹

As the two of you walk outside, the rain begins to trickle. Despite the warm Vegas air from earlier, the temperature significantly dropped in the evening and it made you shiver.

Namjoon notices, and despite him being cold -- he drops his coat on your shoulders.

"Oh. Please don't do that on my behalf." You say as you look up at him, but he keeps walking.

You couldn't worry long, noticing as raindrops begin to soak Namjoon's white tee.

"Just up here," He looks down at you and points at the hotel, but it suddenly starts to pour. He grabs your hand to quickly pull you across the street before the light changes, and you pull his jacket over your head.

Namjoon doesn't stop running until the two of you land in an empty elevator. He sighs, slicking his wet hair back with a hand. You notice that his shirt is soaked, seeping into the grooves of his firm chest and abdomen.

You arrive at the door to your room, nervously shuffling in your bag for your keycard. You can feel Namjoon's warm breath at the back of your neck, and you feel goosebumps form on your skin.

"Here." He says, reaching around you to insert his key. You feel as his body heat radiates around you as you walk through the door.

As you enter the room you shiver at the blast of air conditioning -- pulling Namjoon's coat further over your shoulders.

Namjoon returns from the bathroom with a towel, and removes his jacket from your frame. 

“Sorry, it’s totally my fault for suggesting a place so far away,” He wraps the warm fluffy towel over your shoulders, and you close your eyes in comfort.

"No, it was really fun," You open your eyes after a few seconds, shaking your head as you look up at him.

Namjoon almost looks away as you open your eyes, but his gaze fixates on yours -- causing you to lose the breath in your throat as you quickly look down.

"Thank you." Your voice only manages to come out in a whisper. You somehow get the courage to let your eyes scan his body, and then look back up to meet him still looking down at you.

Namjoon’s chest lightly rises and falls as neither of you break eye contact -- his eyes floating to your lips. He tucks your hair behind your ear, and your breath catches in your throat. His thumb moves to trace over your jawline and your bottom lip as he moves in to hover his lips over yours.

The air buzzes with a sparkling heat as your lips brush together -- neither of you wanting to be the first to make a move.

“We shouldn’t do this, right?” He whispers, the tip of his nose grazing over yours.

"No..." You whisper back, a bated desire in your voice. 

“Can I tell you a secret?” You give him a slow nod, drawing your bottom lip in-between your teeth.

You lick your lips and he tilts your head to the side, his own lips inside the shell of your ear before he speaks.

“That red dress...from yesterday? It was all I could think about for the rest of the night.” The deep vibrations from his voice causes you to let out a satisfied moan as you tilt your head back.

“Does that turn you on?” He asks, his hands sliding down your body to grip your hips.

A heated lust overcomes you, and you let your lips feverishly embrace his. Your hands roam up his wet body and land over his shoulders before you pull him closer to you by the back of his neck. The momentum dizzies you both and your back slams into the wall.

His hands move to your waist as he covers you, pulling you flush against his hard, wet body. It causes your lips to part, and he slips his searing tongue into your mouth. You easily lose the upper hand as he grips your ass, causing you to let out a whine into his mouth. His plush lips kiss at your neck, and you run your hands through his damp hair as his kisses reach your collarbones.

Namjoon moves to wipe all of the items off a cabinet near you, and the chocolate and roses crash to the floor. He throws you on top of the surface, his lips eagerly gliding over yours.

Namjoon's hands roam up your dress and on the outside of your thighs as his fingers tuck under the top of the fabric of your underwear. He tugs at the fabric as if he's going to remove it, but he jerks it up hard instead -- soothing the growing ache between your thighs. He twists the fabric in a bunch so he can keep pulling at it in intervals to soothe your clit.

Your head falls back in desperation and he takes the opportunity to suck a hickey into the exposed skin. He nibbles at the skin harder and you gasp, gripping the back of his mullet.

Namjoon growls into your ear as you pull his hair, and yanks your underwear down each of your thighs.

Just as he does, he feels his wrist buzz. He pulls from your lips to look at his watch.

[Assistant: Park Jimin.]

Namjoon lets out a long exhale through his nose. He rests his forehead on yours, both of your lips still swollen and vibrating from the session.

"I have to take this," He lets out in a deep exhale before touching a green icon on his watch to receive the call.

"Are you alright, Sir?" Jimin asks, hearing Namjoon’s intense breaths cooling on his end.

"Just came from the gym, don't worry about me. What’s on fire?" He breathes out, and the edges of your lips curl upward at the lie.

"Nothing at all, Sir. I've just called to give your daily rundown as requested." Namjoon sighs, forgetting it’s something he did in fact ask for.

“Can I call you back in five?” Namjoon asks, and you shake your head.

After Jimin hangs up, Namjoon immediately dives back into your lips. You savor it for a few seconds, but you tease him a few times as you pull away.

"I think we should finish up in the morning and get to bed," You whisper, your hand floating down his cheek. "Long day tomorrow." You bite your lip as you look into his eyes.

Namjoon lightly growls in disappointment as he pulls you down from the top of the cabinet.

You lift your hair up into a ponytail, and you turn around and look over your shoulder.

“Mind helping me with the zip?” You ask, and you feel the heat from his breath at the back of your neck drawing goosebumps from your skin. His breaths shallow out with every inch of the zip, and he lets out a light groan as it ends at the curve of your back -- just before your ass.

“Thanks.” You whisper as you head toward the bathroom, looking over your shoulder once more with a grin before you disappear around the corner.

Namjoon waits to make sure you’re gone before he screams into his fist out of frustration.

✹✹✹

“Seeya, I’m gonna head over to the conference hall to start getting prepped,” Namjoon mentions, stuffing a croissant in his mouth as he picks up his briefcase. “You said you’ll be a few minutes behind me, right?” He asks, using his free hand to push his glasses up his nose.

“Uhm, sure! Yes! Yesyesyesyes. Have a nice day!” You nod eagerly, your eyes wide as you watch him head toward the door. He furrows his brows, finding you a bit too enthusiastic.

As the door shuts, you hear his footfalls disappear down the hall and you toss your robe to the ground.

You take in a deep inhale. You knew you needed to be focused for this presentation, and you definitely couldn't have what happened last night top of mind.

Where to start? Him eyeing you in the office? The wet t-shirt? Oh, yes. There.

You sink down in the bed and slowly spread your legs, your fingers gliding over your already wet lips. You gasp in pleasure as you recall his plump lips dragging on your neck -- his teeth embedded in the sensitive flesh. It’s enough for you to dip a finger inside of yourself -- make it two -- before you let out a moan.

The thing that really made you wet, though, was his mind. The fucking book bar? Kudos. His knowledge of the product? Points. A tattered copy of a book about love? You were practically dripping down your thighs at the thought. Those nerdy glasses he wore before he left this morning? Fuck me.

It’s all enough to make you cum until-

Bzz. Beep.

You quickly draw the covers up on your frame and you can feel your cheeks burning as Namjoon enters the room.

“I...left my coffee...” He says cautiously, seeing your robe on the floor before his eyes meet yours. “Uhm, sorry?” His voice comes out in a high, questioning pitch -- and he grabs his coffee before he hurries himself out the door.

As the door shuts, you kick your feet around in the bed and then slap your forehead.

Fuck. He caught you.

[mcfreakin-bxtch]

I Know (Rewrite)

Javi Peña x F!Reader

Warnings: Smut, Angstttt more angst than the smut i’m sorry peeps, Language

Word Count: 2.3K+

Summary: The end was always inevitable. 

A/N: So in case anyone missed it I decided to delete my old Javi fics (which was only three) and rewrite them. I apologize if this upsets anyone. I will also try to do part two to this like before if y’all would like!

Javier Peña is a walking contradiction sometimes. 

Like now, with the way he fucks you. Rough and yet gentle, crude words as he pounds into you followed by a soft praise. 

“Fuck look at your pussy, taking my cock like a good girl.”

You respond to it like you do every time, even when you know that this will be it; you knew it the moment he walked through that door, giving you one look before clashing his lips to yours. 

“Javi,” you gasp through another powerful thrust. “Javi.”

Javier grips your hips tighter and maneuvers you closer to his hips, panting just as you are; a sheen of sweat covers his chest and his hair is tousled from your fingers, pouty lips pulled back in a snarl, he is one of the most beautiful thing you have ever seen in this world. 

Which makes this so much harder. So fucking hard. Tears start to sting at the back of your throat but you swallow them down; you will not ruin this. 

“Hey,” Javier slows his thrust to a languid stop, keeping himself deep inside your weeping pussy. 

The scrunched lines on his forehead tell you he’s worried—funny, because he knows exactly what he’s doing. So, what is he exactly worried about?  

You finally think it’s hitting him. What he’s doing. Coming to terms with the decisions he’s made. Sees right through your façade and realizes just how hurt you are; it’s more than that, much more and if that doesn’t tear him apart too then what was the point of any of this? 

It’s not just the sex you’re talking about, either. That’s always a given with the infamous DEA agent Javier Peña and you knew that from the start. It’s how he checks in on you throughout the day, making sure that the dangers that plague him aren’t passed on to you, going farther by making sure your doors and windows are always locked and secured, giving your door handle a jiggle after he leaves and locks it. How one time, when you got sick and tried taking an extra shift at your job, he fought to keep you in bed so you could rest. Or when he would just sit with you in your tiny apartment; comfortable silence, small talk here and there, shoulders brushing against each other in a nervous, unspoken dance. 

It’s all the things that make up the definition of love. A sensitive topic for someone like him, so afraid of letting anyone see his true colors, all the love he has stored in him—when he shows even the slightest of it, he runs. You knew that from the beginning, too. 

“Let me ride you,” you whimper. 

He nods and leans down to press a chaste kiss to your lips. It’s not enough for you, so you wrap your arms around his neck to bring him back; he lets his body slant perfectly atop yours, cupping your jaw with one hand while steadying your trembling thigh with the other, allowing your tongue to trace gently around the seam of his slightly chapped lips and opening his mouth to your eager tongue. 

This may be the last time you’ll ever get to taste him. 

The thought makes you whimper, but he takes that as a sound of pleasure and grinds his stiff, thick cock into you, breaking the kiss to let out a low groan. The curls of his pubic hair scrapes against your clit, making your pussy jolt with the much needed attention. 

“I got you,” he assures in a soft coo. 

You wish that were true for more than this night. 

“I got you,” he repeats as he carefully turns the two of you over so he’s lying on his back, keeping your hips connected. 

For now. 

Looking at him from this angle makes the ache in your chest pulse wildly. Those dark chocolate eyes of his peering up at you like you’re the most beautiful thing yourself, a goddess in the making, the light in his darkness—this is going to destroy you.   

“Please,” he begs in a whisper. “Baby. Please?”

He knows. 

Placing your hands on his hairless chest for balance, you lift your hips as far up as they can go until his slick red tip hovers just below your puffy folds, and slide back down hard. 

“Fuck,” he hisses through his teeth, throwing his head back. 

He keeps his fingers on your hips, digging blunt nails deeper into your flesh with every harsh thrust you give him; he isn’t hitting your g-spot and the drag of his cock against your velvety walls is only enough to teeter you on the edge of an orgasm he’s chasing, but that doesn’t matter to you right now. 

What matters is the mewls he lets escape through closed lips, a rumble in his throat that vibrates through you. The intimacy in how close you’re pressed against each other, not an inch of you untouched or unmarked from his hands, or mouth; they’ll be reminders in the coming days. 

Then suddenly, as if he was reading your thoughts, he sits up and wraps his arm around your lower back to keep you close, thrusting up into you as you go down, finally hitting that soft spot inside you that curls your toes.

“So fucking beautiful,” he breathes against your mouth. “Always so wet for me, so good to me mgh—” He chokes when you move faster, tugging on the small strands of hair on the nape of his neck. “Shit, princess.”

Javi attaches his mouth to your breast, latching on to your perk nipple and hollows his cheeks; his mustaches scratches your skin and you want to take back any time you ever complained about it. You whine and hold him to your chest, angling your legs to stretch out; the action brings him deeper inside you, bumping against your cervix so hard that there’s definitely tears now. 

“Oh fuck,” you cry out, feeling your whole body shiver along with your cunt. 

He lets go of your breast with a pop. “Close?” He moans. 

You nod. He pulls you down with him, holding the back of your head so that you’re angled with his face—sharing the same breath, noses brushing against each other, tongues flicking out for another quick taste of the other.   

The claps of skin against skin echo louder in your bedroom, along with the obscene squelches of his cock slamming into your pussy. The bedframe slams against the wall with every push and pull, and you know that in the morning you’re going to hear it from your very pissed off neighbors; you’ll tell them they won’t have to deal with it anymore. 

Javi plants his feet on the bed and starts drilling into you, holding you down so that you have no choice but to take what he gives you. Pointless babbles fill the air, begging for more, give me more than this, more of this. 

“Fuck!” You cry out, feeling your pussy spasm around him. “O-o fuck keep going, baby don’t stop.” 

Your moans spur him on. “I won’t. Gonna cum deep inside this gorgeous pussy, f-fill you up so that you’re dripping for me.”

Your pussy clenches at the words, earning a strangled gasp as you feel his cock throb. You bury your face in his neck, nipping and sucking at all the spots you know turns him to mush. 

“Princess I’m gonna—” Clapclapclapclapclap. “T-touch yourself, let me feel you soak my cock.”

Your eyes squeeze tightly shut and you follow his order, bringing your hand down between your desperate bodies to circle your aching clit. 

“Javi,” you preen in his ear. “I’m—”

The rest of your sentence gets stuck in your throat. The coil in your lower stomach is too much to keep a hold of, eliciting a blazing tightness in your core that just snaps under the pressure of his onslaught but you want this to last, fuck you don’t wanna cum now but he’s—shit you can’t breathe, you can’t think, can’t speak, can’t feel anything other than the warmth radiating off him and the clenching of your cunt—

“Yes,” Javier gasps. “That’s it, that’s it baby, just like that.”

Your moans get louder and louder until they turn into screams, and you can no longer hold back and your pussy explodes around him, gushing him in your juices. 

“Fuuuuck,” a growl resonates deeply from his chest and hot ropes of cum spurt into you after, and yet he still moves inside you, pushing through the persistent fluttering and the combined fluids of your releases until the sensitivity gets to the both of you. 

Your moans mix together into a chorus, dying down with the pace of your thrusts, drawing every bit of your orgasms out as you can. You collapse on his chest, panting heavily; his chest moves quickly, heart beating rapidly and steadily under your ear. He continues to hold your head, lightly scratching your scalp and rubbing your back—if you didn’t know any better, it’d feel like he was staying. 

Your eyes start to droop under exhaustion that seeps from more than the physical workout of the night. His fingers slow and curl until they gently rest, holding you—the way he does is comforting, and real.   

This. This is what you’re going to keep precious. This is how you’ll choose to remember him after all that anger subsides. The real Javier Peña you know and love.

A few moments and he sighs and pats your hip. You flinch as you lift your hips off him, his cum leaking out of you, some even dripping onto his soft, glistening cock; you ignore it. 

You pull the sheet over your naked body as you watch him quickly pull his pants up, forgoing boxers. He reaches across from you where his cigarettes rest on your nightstand, not looking you in the eyes and turning his back to you once he straightens. You expected it, but it doesn’t ease the sting. 

The muscles of his back curls deliciously as he curls his hand around the cigarette. The orange gleam of the burning stick glows as he sucks the smoke in, inhaling deeply before exhaling away from you. The smoke curls around his head, slowly disappearing just like he will. You can’t take this anymore. 

“Javi,” you finally sit up, struggling to keep your voice from cracking. 

“I know,” he interrupts; his voice sounds forced, like he’s struggling himself. “I—I… you know…”

It brings a sudden ignite of fury in you. Now that he’s acknowledging it out in the open, it’s not only the heartbreak that’s been clouding your life, there’s now rage boiling inside you. 

How dare he? How dare he take your heart and stomp on it right in front of you and not even have the grace to say sorry? Or make this any less painful for you when it’s his fault. Hisfaulthisfaulthisfault—

“Yeah.” Your voice is, surprisingly, steady. “Just take care of yourself, Javier.”

You see it. The way his face crumbles. You don’t know what he expected.

He says your name, hesitates, then finally makes up his mind. 

“Is it okay—fuck never mind.” He waves it off.

You don’t want to ask him what he was going to say—you’re too afraid to, if you’re being honest. 

“I’ll always love you, Javi,” your voice trembles with tears. “But if you can’t love me back, if you can’t work with me on this… Javi I can’t let you hurt me like this anymore. It’s not healthy, for either one of us.”

He watches the tears stream down your cheeks with glistening eyes of his own. It creates a stir in your chest, tying your stomach in knots, tightening your throat, knocking all the air out of your lungs; you wouldn’t wish this kind of pain on anyone. 

It seems like an eternity of staring at each other. Committing the other’s features to memory, remembering the good that isn’t tainted, shadowed by the agonizing reality he’s created for himself, bled onto you by your own free will. 

Silently he gathers the rest of his clothes scattered across your room. He dresses leisurely, and as angry as you are with him you’re grateful for the extra few minutes before he walks out your door for the last time. 

When he finishes fastening the last button of his shirt and slides his shoes on you can’t help it. You throw your legs over the bed, not bothering to throw your shirt on and throw yourself in his arms. 

“Hmph,” he grunts, nearly doubling over from the unsuspected force. 

You wrap your arms tightly around his shoulders, burying your face in his neck. He hesitates again, but when his arms do wrap themselves around you it’s crushing; you feel the muscles in his arms bulge from how hard he’s hugging you, making it a little hard to breathe but you don’t care. You inhale his cologne, the smell of smoke on his clothes, the shampoo he uses for his hair, the different soap for his body; he’s doing the same, burying his face in your neck as well. You hold each other until it reaches a point that if you don’t let go now, you never will.

Javier’s the first to pull back. Calloused hands cup your cheeks, gives you a glimpse of the torture behind his eyes, and he leans in and presses a final kiss to your forehead; he holds it, keeping his lips still, and something hot and wet trickles down over your eyebrow. 

When he walks away he doesn’t look back. His footsteps toe quietly away, followed eventually by the soft thump of your door.

The door handle jiggles and the sob you’ve been holding back breaks free.   

 Tags: @talesfromtheguild​, @absurdthirst​, @chews-erotically​, @hiwelcometochillys​, @legally-a-bastard​, @bluengrayfox, @pascaliprincess​, @oloreaa​, @thisis-theway​, @jaynoellef​, @ben-is-a-hoe, @hayley-the-comet​, @pascalisthepunkest​, @kenedyybrooklin​, @paintballkid711​

[slutsfordoves]

Ok I absolutely love the trope of accidentally calling someone daddy and I can't stop thinking about Jaskier doing it to Geralt and Geralt finding he actually enjoys it

YES please and thank you. sorry this took forever, i did in fact start it like 12 seconds after you sent me this ask but...c'est la vie

cw: daddy kink, some mild sadism?, anal gape, and a slightly more humorous tone than i usually write

-----

"What did you say?"

Geralt pauses, though it means his cock is left buried near to the hilt inside Jaskier's arse. The grip of his insides is exquisite, a tight and rippling heat; Jaskier is wet and stretched loose from Geralt's mouth and fingers and a full bottle of rapeseed oil, his body primed for a fucking. It galls Geralt to stop for even a moment, (for this critical moment - the first slide into too-tightness, as Jaskier had begged Geralt not to prepare him fully, had insisted he loved the pain, the burn) when all he wants is to pin Jaskier's hips to the cot, to rut into him rough and deep. But Jaskier had said - that - and Geralt is, perhaps, more easily seduced by a mystery than by even the surest of sexual conquests.

Jaskier himself has gone bright red beneath Geralt's bulk, his eyes wide. He's looking at Geralt as though expecting Geralt might like to wring his neck.

"I just got caught up in the moment," he says, voice low and breathy. "Don't trouble yourself over it."

That doesn't seem right. Geralt peers down at Jaskier. His heaving chest, slick with sweat, the little curls of his chest hair and the puff of his nipples, red from Geralt's teeth. The flush from his cheeks has bloomed across his pectorals, spotting his skin in a way that Geralt finds begrudgingly charming. He's perched on Geralt's cock, his thighs pulled back, knees to chest; and his mouth is scrunched up into a moue, as it is any time Jaskier has something to say and is worrying that Geralt might ask after it. He is clearly attempting to communicate that he wishes for Geralt to just drop it.

"Why?" Geralt asks, not dropping it.

"Why what?"

"Why did you call me that?" He hesitates. Connects a few vague thoughts in his head. "Do you - "

"No! No, no, no!" Jaskier squirms. Geralt swats him lightly on the thigh. Jaskier squeals, and Geralt indulges himself, pressing Jaskier's thighs further back, thrusting and grinding his hips in small, lazy circles just to coax more noise out of Jaskier's throat.

"Careful," he says. Runs a hand from the inner part of Jaskier's knee down to his arse. "Unless you're trying to snap me off inside of you."

"Might suit me better. I'd fuck myself well enough and not ask myself any questions."

"Listen," he says while Geralt chuckles, all in a rush, as though expecting Geralt might try and get another barb in, "I know what you're going to say and no. I do not think of you as a father figure. Strike the very thought from your mind."

"Noted." Geralt leans down to kiss him, and Jaskier swats him back. "Jaskier, if you don't want to explain, you don't have to."

"Hmph. It's not like that. It's just - it's embarrassing."

"You? You're embarrassed? Your immodesty is known the Continent over. I'd wager you're more recognized for your whoring than your music at this point."

Jaskier sniffs. "You speak so sweetly to me when you're rutted up my arse."

Geralt rolls his eyes.

"Jaskier."

"Yes, fine. Alright." It takes him a moment. He still has a look about him, a timidity foreign to Geralt's understanding of him, but he rallies quickly, moves on. "You're just. So strong. You make me feel small and safe and - and loved. Protected. The way a father might."

Geralt nods. This makes sense to him. He digs his thumbs into Jaskier's thighs, rubs soothingly at the muscle; Jaskier correctly assumes he's being encouraged to continue.

"Why, just last night, you chased that boarheaded oaf right out into the street after he grabbed my arse. You remember, don't you?"

He grunts. He remembers just fine. Jaskier was always popular after the end of his sets; loose-hipped with drink, glowing with the praise and adulation of his audience. His joy was infectious, drew eyes like moth to flame. He'd looked particularly fine that night, freshly bathed and perfumed, stripped down to only a cream-colored chemise loose round the collar and tight round the waist. The oaf in question had gotten a broad, ham-thick hand on one of Jaskier's wrists, slid the other down to cup and grope - and Geralt, from his seat in the shadows, had burned.

He'd only had to square off with the man before he'd decided, wisely, to find somewhere else to be. It had been disappointing. Geralt would have liked to have broken the bastard's fingers. 

"Don't look so murderous," Jaskier says. "Nothing happened. You made certain of that. It's just - you didn't need to. I could have defended myself, but - it was nice. To feel so cared for. A bit like a - a father defending the honor of his son."

"Mhm."

"I'd like to please you, make you proud."

That Jaskier had routinely failed at pleasing his own father goes unspoken. As does the fact that Jaskier's father had failed to protect him - had not even cared to try. Jaskier succumbs briefly to a faraway look, but before Geralt can respond, he says,

"And that beard you've been growing doesn't hurt."

Geralt brings a hand to his own chin without much thought, fingers dragging through the white hair there. It's true he's been putting less effort into his morning ablutions as of late. He hadn't realized this lack of effort had been received so favorably (or indeed had been considered much at all).

"You please me just fine," he says, grinding his hips into Jaskier's. He takes hold of Jaskier's narrow hips, moving him, encouraging him to roll, languid, into the stretch Geralt's cock has provided him.

"Flatterer," Jaskier sighs. "And are you, uh. Proud of me?"

"Hm. You take my cock well. And you look pretty enough lying there."

Jaskier preens. A smile bright as the sun unfurls across his face, but there is also a sweetness, a shyness there, in the demur tilt of his head, the pinkness of his cheeks. He seems to Geralt in that moment as fragile and delicate as lace. Yes, he is human, Geralt thinks, he is easily undone by my hand; but now, I could just as easily hurt his heart, and he trusts me and loves me still.

Warmth floods Geralt's chest.

'Say it again."

Jaskier blinks.

"Daddy," he says, uncertain. Unusual for Jaskier to be uncertain of anything. Something about the vulnerable downturn of his sweet pink mouth, the way he peers up at Geralt through thick, wobbling lashes - he is not childlike, but embodies a youthful innocence that arouses a fire in Geralt's belly. Feels as though it goes straight to his already hard cock, throbbing against Jaskier's insides. 

"Again," he says.

"Daddy."

"Hm."

Of course. It would be Jaskier that would unlock this desire within him. This strange, dark part that must have been slumbering until Jaskier had stumbled into it and smashed a broom into its face.

"Good. Keep saying it. You want to be a good boy for me, don't you, Jaskier?"

"Oh fuck, Daddy, yes," Jaskier whines, and clenches down on Geralt like a vice.

---

He pulls himself free of Jaskier's arse. A thick spill of come follows him, leaking out on the cot, soaking Jaskier's thighs. His overworked hole gapes without Geralt having to pull him open; he hooks a thumb against the rim anyway, tugs at his reddened flesh while Jaskier whines and nudges Geralt's chest with his feet. He feels a deep, dark satisfaction at seeing how Jaskier's body has cleaved to him. How Geralt's cock has cored him open, left Jaskier to drip himself dry.

"Don't," Jaskier says. He clenches; Geralt feels the weak pulse of muscle on his thumb, watches another fat dribble of his own spend slide down the cleft of Jaskier's arse.

"Hush. You want me to see how good you've been for me, don't you?"

Jaskier shudders; Geralt can feel his trembling. Jaskier pouts, sniffles, wobbles, heaves watery sighs, but finally says, "Yes, Daddy," and stops trying to move away from Geralt's hand.

He pulls at Jaskier's puffy hole, toying with him; rubs his knuckles against the hard swell of his cock, his balls. Imagines he might move Jaskier to his hands and knees, fuck a few fingers inside of him, disallow Jaskier to orgasm unless his arse is full. Jaskier is sensitive to having his hole fucked after he's spent; Geralt thinks he might force Jaskier to come and keep on fingering him, until he's weeping with it, until he cries and begs for mercy.

Geralt wonders what he would put up with, if only his Daddy were to ask it of him. 

His cock gives a rallying twitch where it lay, limp, against his thigh.

"Jaskier," he says.

"Yes?"

"Do you promise to be good for Daddy?"

Jaskier looks at him, flustered, flushed, his blue eyes shining and wide.

" Oh, Geralt - yes, yes."

[mimiplaysgames]

Terraqua Week Day 1 (Weak Spot)

Summary: We all have to make peace with the past. (In which Terra returns in Xemnas’s body and I scream SIZE DIFFERENCE.) || Word Count: 8,319

Read on AO3

A/N: AAAAAHHHH I’m so excited that we’re doing a whole other @terraquaweek !! I have to apologize ahead of time, my fics this year are super long and super packed, but I’m pretty proud of this collection and I can’t wait for y’all to read! I can’t wait to hear what you think! <3

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

When Time Takes You For Granted

Terra looks so different. 

No matter—Aqua has to fight. She can’t hold back when he summons red sabers of light from his palms, can’t falter when he hammers them against the staff of her Keyblade, can’t blink when canyon dust is kicked into her eyes, can’t be fooled by his face because this man is not Terra and couldn’t ever pretend to be.

He opens his arms to conjure a fatal blow—but he underestimates her speed. She’s grown up fighting large men. He is no big deal. 

The man with Terra’s face withers when she strikes his midsection. One arm grips his stomach to hold himself together and he brings his other hand up. Dark tendrils evaporate from the leather of his gloves. 

“As you wish,” he says to her, richly voiced, smooth as a river stone. “Friend.” He staggers to his knees, groaning as he flickers away.

“Terra!” Ven calls, too fast for Aqua to hold back. The man still wears that same black cloak that marks him as a member of the Organization.

The man shivers when Ven shakes him awake, a quiet “Aqua? Ven?” escaping his lips. He huffs out a hoarse chuckle that clutches out of pain, with a voice that sounds like a morning at the summit of a mountain. “Ven, you’re so short.” 

There he is.

“Terra.” Aqua rushes over. “Can you hear me? How do you feel?” she asks, checking for signs of physical injury, a refusal to use a limb, the inability to breathe. 

His breath stutters. “Aqua?” There he is.

“I’m here.”

He pants, opening his eyes—now blue again, his hair dark again, there he is. He jerks forward as if desperate to find her, but it’s like he can’t see her. In a drunk and feverish whimper, barely with the strength to sit himself up, he stumbles back. “Aqua. Aqua, I have to tell you something.”

“Don’t worry about that,” she says, checking his temperature with the back of her hand, “just rest.”

“No, I have to say it,” he mumbles. “I have to. I didn’t last time, I didn’t and look what happened—”

“Okay,” she whispers. “Go ahead.” 

He pauses, moaning, “I’m sorry. I love you.”

“What?”

Ven bursts into a fit of hysteria. “Perfect timing, Terra. Ten out of ten.”

But Terra seems unaware, straddling between the drift to sleep and the fight to stay awake. He nods as if to confirm, mumbling to himself like a baby.

Aqua stares at him, her heart itching to hear it again in case she misunderstood. She has daydreamed of this moment—not like this, anything sweeter than this but genuine all the same—and yet it comes to her like a splash of ice on the face. Terra is older. He has more pronounced cheekbones with less elasticity in the skin, folds of dimples and knowledge when his lips twitch, a thicker jawline, a stronger nose. A glimpse of the future, his long brown hair stretching past the shoulders, oily and excessively gelled up for ridiculous bangs. Aqua brushes his cheek with her fingers.

She should have said something years ago, too. 

“What’s going on?” a voice calls out. Riku’s. He skids to a stop when he sees them. “Is that Xemnas?”

The man Aqua fought never introduced himself, but he sure liked to talk a lot. Whoever he was, he’s not relevant anymore. “He’s delirious. We need help picking him up.”

“Wait a minute,” Riku says, approaching them with a smidge too much caution for Aqua to appreciate. “I’ve been fighting Terra all these years?” 

“Xehanort,” Aqua says quietly, wrapping Terra’s arm over her shoulders. She shuffles her knees. He’s too heavy. “You’ve been fighting Xehanort.”

Riku nods. It’s his way of apologizing. “Well. That sucks.” He offers to take the other arm. “Xemnas was the leader of the first Organization. A self-inflated piece of work… I didn’t know who he really was. I didn’t recognize him.” He pulls a smile to his face and nudges Ven with his elbow. “Sora and I made sure to give him a hard time.”

Aqua wants him to stop talking. 

Footsteps approach them, crunchy with the sound of sand and dirt, and Aqua braces herself for what’s to come. Riku whips around to prepare an explanation, but it’s none other than Kairi. 

She sees them with wide and round eyes. Brings her hand to her mouth. “Riku?” Kairi says specifically, asking him questions with her eyes in a private language Aqua can’t understand. 

He shrugs. “What do you want me to say?”

Kairi sits on her knees, her skirt too short to cover them from the dirt. “This poor boy. It’s not fair.”

Aqua purses her lips. Ven stares past everyone else. 

“We’re all getting punished,” Kairi continues like the sting of knowing that after all is said and done, Sora is gone somewhere and here are Aqua and Ven picking up their own brittle, little pieces. “Look at him.” 

Riku sighs. “I have space in my Gummi ship for him. But we need to be quick about it.”

Kairi gasps, wide-eyed. “That’s right.”

Aqua doesn’t want to ask why. Ven does it for her. “What’s up?”

“We can’t let the others see him,” Riku says.

Too late. Roxas appears on the other side of the clearing, heavy in breath. He’s sweet and gentle even when it seems like his mind is a distance away. He looks exactly like Ven but nothing like Ven, a grimness to his smile and a thoughtfulness to his speech like he’s seen and knows too much. 

Roxas frowns. “What are you doing?” 

“We’re helping him,” Aqua says as a matter of fact, flexing her ankles to stand up with Riku, shouldering half the weight. Terra stumbles on his feet, mumbling something about not wanting to step on any mice. “This is Terra, by the way.”

Roxas stares. “Why?” he asks accusingly. 

Aqua stammers. How this boy who has been ripped away from his own friends could ask such a thing— 

“Come on, he’s our friend,” Ven says. 

“You call him a friend?” Roxas points at Terra. “Do you even know what he’s done?”

Xehanort. What Xehanort has done, but Aqua stops herself from snapping. She says softly, “Terra would never—” 

“What if Terra saw what happened? What if he knew? Is he the type to be okay with that?”

She glares at him. No answer comes to her, except when Xemnas called her a Friend.

Kairi steps forward, arms out like a barrier. “He needs medical attention. We don’t have to talk about this right now.”

And they won’t have the chance. Xion slowly comes up behind Roxas. They’re both dressed in the same black cloak that Terra wears like it’s a mark, a forced tattoo. She has her hands cupped into each other, bringing them to her chest like they’re a shield. 

“Roxas?” Xion asks. She looks terrified.

“Forget it,” Roxas says, turning over and tugging her by the elbow. “This is dumb. We don’t need to care or be here.” 

Aqua refuses to fight this battle, not when Terra is wheezing and flinching as if he’s being crushed under mineral and earth. 

“Kairi,” Riku says solemnly, “just guide us back to the ship.” He says to Aqua, “If it’s any consolation, I think he would’ve done something if he knew.” 

Aqua nods, choosing to create solace out of his delicate comfort, if only to find the strength to drag Terra across the desert.

It’s a laborious but peaceful walk, what with Kairi talking about healing potions (I’ve learned some during training, maybe I can make Terra one?), and Ven excited about the first meal they’ll have together as a trio again (Pancakes, Aqua. Pancakes.), until they find Lea standing in front of the Gummi ship. He has his hands in the pockets of his cloak, and Aqua wonders if he’s concealing weapons. 

Lea is a double-sided coin. One side a mask with a running end of jokes and playful jabs designed to hide the other, steely and scrutinizing. 

“I promised myself I would never see Roxas that upset again,” Lea says, as if to blame them for breaking it. “I’ve never seen Xion that upset.” That brand of Lea-lilt in his voice, the one he uses every time he spits out Got it memorized?, is gone, and Aqua admits she respects him more for it. Lea nods over to Terra. “Shouldn’t we leave the trash where it belongs?”

“You’re really going to ask that when you’ve been pining all this time for Saïx?” Riku snaps. 

Lea laughs. “You might as well shave my entire head and tell people I’m ugly.” He chills over. “I’m no saint either, but don’t compare us to”—he points at Terra, not Xehanort or Xemnas or whoever—“him. You want to know what I think of Xemnas? He doesn’t deserve an ounce of the worst. The core of rotten fruit. The smell of ass after a trip to the bathroom. The pits of the ocean where all the fish shit clump together and the bloat of dead flesh float around.”

“Don’t mind him,” Riku tells Aqua and Ven. “He likes to exaggerate.”

“I like to make a point.” Lea steadies his breath, hot petrol on the verge of exploding, letting the steam lose pressure. “I like to tell the truth when it matters.”

Aqua glares at him. She doesn’t know Lea that well, and doesn’t know what matters of truth are supposed to mean. But she holds her head high. Her truth screams from the inside of her head. 

“Terra would never,” she announces. 

Lea scoffs. 

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

Ven trips on dragging fabric. They’re taking some of the Master’s old robes to Terra, who can’t fit into any of his own clothes anymore. The castle at the Land of Departure is stiff and quiet, like a long-lost stranger. Home isn’t home but a dream, a memory, a trip through aged photos.

“I don’t think this is going to work,” Ven says in a sing-song voice.

“The Master was a large man,” Aqua insists. 

“Yeah, but Terra’s bicep is bigger than your head now.”

That’s true and… not something Aqua wants to think about—his body though, it’s impressive—not if she wants to hide the blush in her cheeks. Terra is huge now, the crown of her head reaching the base of his diaphragm. He’s so broad that if he hugs her, she’d disappear into the flesh. 

Aqua and Ven turn the corner and enter Terra’s room, who has a towel wrapped around his hips. He’s fussing with the wet roots of his hair.

“So much grease,” Terra complains, scratching his scalp with the pads of his fingers. “What the stars was this guy thinking with all this hair gel?”

Aqua stares at the wood of his dresser—not at how sculpted his muscles are (more than ever, actually). Not at the chisels and grooves on his back as he breathes and moves to grab a robe from the rumpled stack is Ven’s arms.

“That one will look nice,” Aqua says, eyeing the ivory color of the robe Terra chose.

“Might,” Ven corrects. “Might look nice.”

Terra snorts. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You’re bigger than a rhino.”

He laughs. He sounds the same. “All the more to terrorize people with,” Terra says and it wretches at her chest. 

“Glad to know you’re still an idiot.”

Terra slips his arms through the sleeves, pulling the robe over his shoulders and across his chest. It’s not flattering. The seams are stretched, the threads exposed, and it wears on his shoulders so tightly that the muscles form hills under the fabric. 

Ven points and laughs. “I told you. No one listens to me.”

Aqua pulls the robe off Terra’s shoulders when he slouches into his chair. She tosses it with the rest of the Master’s unfittable artifacts onto Ven’s arms. “Can you take care of these? I’ll stay and help Terra.”

Ven eyes her. With a knowing grin. Like an imp that should be slapped. “Do what? Put his pants on?”

Terra gapes. “What?”

“You’re obnoxious,” Aqua says to Ven.

“You’d miss me if I wasn’t,” Ven says with his nose high to the ceiling. He leans forward, the imp smile stretching to reach ear to ear, curled upwards. “But Terra would like it, wouldn’t he?”

Terra coughs and clears his throat. “Ven, get out.” He waves his arm—and a crash explodes before Aqua can understand what happened. Everything in his room—his shoes, the coat rack, the lamp by his bed, his pillows, books from the shelf, dirty laundry that hasn’t been washed in a decade, dust collected from the same amount of time—fly at Ven. The comforter in particular is what knocks him over.

“What was that?” Ven squeals, sitting up from the rubble. “What was that?”

Terra’s lip quivers. He stares at his hands. “I don’t know.”

“It’s okay,” Aqua says, bending over to stack books in her arms. “Ven, get a broom and some rags. We’ve got some cleaning to do.” 

Ven trips before heading off, like he couldn’t wait to get out. Aqua has a feeling he’s going to bug her for details later. 

“I’m so sorry,” Terra whispers, balling his hands into fists and shoving them into his lap as a preemptive measure. 

The Organization’s cloak sits thrown on the floor, still dusty. Aqua pads the excess off. 

“Don’t worry,” she says, pulling cheer from somewhere inside to lighten the mood. “I’ll sew you a new robe.”

Terra won’t look at her. He mumbles her a word of thanks when she hands his dirty cloak over.

“Leather can’t be scrubbed like everything else,” she explains. “I’ll clean it later.”

“It’s fine,” Terra says, holding it in his giant hands. He doesn’t move to put it on, and instead stares at the large mirror hanging over his desk in front of him. Aqua stands by his side. She’s tall, but she never once considered herself as thin, her frame skeletal by comparison. 

By comparison, she hasn’t changed.

Well, she has. Her smiles are not the same. 

Terra’s hair is messy, now with much more for her to brush her fingers through. She doesn’t try. “I don’t remember any of these,” he whispers. 

The scars. Knicks in crossed-over patterns across his chest and biceps. A rippled scorch mark by his elbow like a crater, a gouge on one side by the stomach, a deep ravine on the other, near the ribs. More on his back, a textured map for nowhere to go. 

“Not a single one.” His voice cracks. 

Aqua caresses his shoulder. Those scars are not stories he needs to hear. “What do you remember?” She actually doesn’t want to know, in case Roxas was right. 

“Nothing.” 

She wants to be relieved, but she isn’t. “Nothing at all?” In twelve years?

“No.” 

Aqua wraps her arms around his shoulders from behind him, aware of how he tenses at first and relaxes after, a puzzle piece fitting in exactly the right spot. “Where were you?”

“I don’t know.” He sighs, leaning his head onto hers. “I wasn’t anywhere, I… I don’t want to talk about it.”

“That’s fine.” Twelve years of nothing and twelve years living with nightmares; there’s not much to talk about. She traces a divot on his shoulder. “I know this one.”

“Yours,” Terra says. When he smirks that way, he looks the same as he always had.

“I stabbed you with a wooden sword.”

“My wooden sword.” He brushes his fingers on the scar. As if he’s reminded of something, Terra frowns. “I was just a kid.” He studies his skin on the reflection, pulling on his face with his fingers, watching the way the skin ripples, the sharpness of cheekbones, the dips and dimples that didn’t used to be there. There are thick streaks of silver underneath the outer layers when he brushes his hair back. He never asked for this. “Can we get rid of every mirror in the castle?” he whispers.

Aqua lets him go. The way he asks makes her want to try memory alteration, to slowly erase what haunts him so he doesn’t have to deal with harsh reminders or sudden blows to the mind. She forces herself to smile—if she shows distress, it would only upset him more. There is nothing they can do about the past and there won’t be a mention of what it’s robbed from them.

“Maybe just the one in here. I’ll help.” 

Terra stands up and takes one of his old, simple cotton shirts that he prefers when he goes to bed while Aqua tests the bottom part of the ornate frame. It won’t budge, heavy as lifting a boulder. 

“I look ridiculous,” she hears Terra say. The shirt is as tight as second skin, what used to sit on him loosely now gripping for dear life across his upper stomach, his belly button exposed. 

Aqua purses her lips, heat to her cheeks. “Do you remember waking up?”

“Where?” He’s layering the cloak over the scandal. 

“At the Keyblade Graveyard.”

“No,” he says. She’s known him for years. She can tell he’s sincere. “Why?”

“Just wondering how far your memory goes,” she says, playing serious. She’ll have to figure out a different way to bring up that conversation. “I can’t lift this alone.”

“Not a problem.” Terra grabs his side of the mirror and lifts it off its hook like it’s a single piece of paper.  He clears his throat. “Um—wow.”

“That’s impressive,” Aqua says, and Terra blushes purple. 

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

Aqua makes it back home in time for lunch, and finds Terra sitting on the bar that splits the kitchen from the dining room, wearing his cloak with the zipper open, no shirt and leather pants. It must be blistering hot in those considering the sunny weather. He’s complained about having to sleep naked. 

She presents him with several bags on the counter. Rolls of fresh cotton shirts and pants for lounging, nylon for sparring and wool for the winter. He splits a warm grin when he feels how soft they are. It almost brightens his deep dark circles. 

“I also found these gorgeous fabrics,” Aqua says, showing him the silk she means to make him a new robe in that same ivory color, with embroidered, rust-colored strips that she’ll use for the borders and trims. “This will look good with your armor.” 

“Let me show you what I’ve been working on.” On his lap are a set of the Master’s old hakama. Terra is attempting to tailor it…all through hand sewing, the needle swallowed by his thick fingers. The threads are bunched up and knotted over, if they don’t skip some parts. “What?” he asks. She must be making a face. “It’s ugly isn’t it.”

“Nothing that skill can’t help,” Aqua says, taking the pants from him and not apologizing for anything.

He taps the counter with his fingers. “Riku told me about Xemnas.”

Aqua stops the urge to groan, folding over the fabric carefully and pretending that name doesn’t boil her blood. “What did he say?”

“Xemnas was a telekinetic.” 

That explains some things. “Okay.”

“Apparently he could lift entire buildings.”

Aqua snorts.

Terra leans forward. “Hey, you can’t blame me for the back door.”

“But it makes sense.”

Terra has blown open said door. He has also destroyed historical statues and windows that are difficult to replace. He has even ripped a tree from its roots when he practiced his powers outside. The more he gets scared of these abilities, the more destructive he becomes. Terra’s body is not entirely sane on its own either—he’ll step on pebbles, on glass barefoot, and he can’t feel a thing. 

“Can you answer Riku for me?” He pulls the Gummiphone from his pocket, the device smaller than his palm. “The buttons are too small. I’m thinking of asking Chip and Dale to build me a custom-sized one.” 

She takes his phone, the screen smudged with his round fingertips, larger than her nails. “Are you going to stop training your new powers?”

He flinches. “They’re not mine.”

“Well...” she says gently, cradling his phone in her hands. It’s warm from his touch. 

“Not that I can control them.” He huffs, frustrated enough to crack the counter in half if he tries. 

“Why don’t you show me how far you’ve come?”

He glares at her. 

“The oranges.” She points to the kitchen on the other side of the room. Oranges, pears, and apples sit in a wooden bowl by the sink. “Pick one of them up.”

“That’s a little too much to ask for.”

“One tiny orange?” She smirks. “You can balance it on your pinky.”

He scoffs. “You talk as if you like me like this.”

Aqua clears her throat, suddenly deep in a trench that she can’t climb out of. “You can’t help what happened to you, but you can help yourself.”

Terra rolls his eyes. “Yes, ma’am. Stars, it’s like being in class again.”

“I’m pleased with that. Try sliding the bowl over.”

Terra leans his elbows onto the counter and opens his palms, his fingers curled like claws. What surprises her is how fast the bowl responds, like it’s channeling an emotional reaction, immediate and neurotic. It rattles, as if it weighs several tons under an ocean. 

Aqua looks over at his furrowed concentration, sweat glistening as though he’s wrestling instead of picking up fruit. “What’s stopping you?”

“I don’t know what’s going to happen.”

She smiles. “There was a day when we didn’t know what our Keyblades would look like. That was exciting and terrifying at the same time, remember?”

“You sound like the Master.”

“I take that as a compliment.”

Terra grunts. “Fine, I’ll try harder.” Though he doesn’t have to prove anything to Aqua. Ever.

Terra waves his hands to the right and—disaster.

The bowl flips over and crashes into the fridge. 

Plates and mugs burst out of the cupboards, shattering when they hit the floor. Pots and pans soar, crossing the entire kitchen and slamming into the grandfather clock, destroying the glass casing and tearing apart the inside as gears sputter to the floor. 

The clockface nearly lands on Ven’s head when he enters with a glass of water in his hand. He freezes. It cracks when it hits the tile. Forks, spoons, and other utensils spin past him and stab the wall, the knives wedged into it. 

“Ven!” Aqua calls, running to him. He’s fine. If anything, he’s shivering from shock. 

“Ven,” Terra starts, scrambling up from the stool but he flicks his hands too quickly. The water from Ven’s glass splashes him on the face. “Stars, I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t,” Ven says, wiping his face. “Worry about it.” He inhales. “You nearly impaled me.” 

“I’m sorry—”

“Sit,” Ven says, pointing at Terra. “On your hands.”

Terra does as he’s told, slumping his shoulders over as if to shrink. But it’s a parody, an elephant hiding behind a palm tree, a giant monster puppy rejected.

Ven looks over the destroyed grandfather clock—it was one of the Master’s newer ones, who developed a fondness for them late into his life. “This one was a stars-damned eyesore, anyway.”

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

Aqua is dressed in her shorts and shirt, preparing for bed when she hears another crash, this time a dull crack, breaking apart right outside her bedroom. 

Terra is carrying a door handle, still attached to shards of wood. He is furiously shivering, wearing the new clothes she bought for him.

“Terra, are you okay?” she asks gently.

With effort, he calms himself, the handle shaking in both of his hands, a hole in his door the only other thing amiss. “I can fix it.” His undereye circles are getting awfully puff, his voice broken by static. 

“You should really get some sleep,” she says, stepping out. 

He sighs forcefully, as if to ask her to stop. “I can’t.”

She nods. “It’s hard for me to sleep, too.”

“I can’t help but feel like my body is going to sleepwalk without me knowing.”

“I don’t think it would.” She smirks but it doesn’t comfort him. “I take rounds around the castle sometimes. I would notice if you’re a zombie.”

His lips quiver, and he squeezes the handle as if to snap it on purpose. He doesn’t. Terra turns to her but stares hard at the floor. In a voice so quiet that he sounds like a small boy, he asks, “Can you stay with me tonight?”

Her heart jumps, trying to wretch itself out of her chest. “Terra?”

“I want to sleep. I can’t. I think it would be easier if…” He fiddles with the door handle, a shy boy unable to speak. “If you were with me.”

Aqua smiles. He’s braver than her for asking. “I’d feel safer behind a locked door. Come in.”

On her desk is her sewing machine, the pattern of his new robe designed, his measurements already taken, the fabric put together in pins and ready to be weaved with thread. 

But there is a mirror in her room, and when Terra enters, he stops in his place. 

“I’m sorry,” she says, moving to pull one of her bedsheets to cover it. 

“It’s fine,” Terra says, but she’s too fast, balancing out the coverage. He slouches on her chair and leans back with a grunt. His fair falls behind him like a cascade. It’s always been wonderfully thick and dark. Aqua indulges this time, brushing it with her fingers, tempted to braid it. He audibly relaxes, and says, “Riku told me what happened in the Graveyard.”

Aqua swallows. “What did he say?”

“How Roxas and Lea reacted.” He gets quieter the more he speaks, words slipping into weak whispers. “To me.” Tears drip out of his eyes, running to his ears and down his neck. He sniffs. “Xion is terrified of me and I don’t know how to live with myself.”

“It’s not your fault, Terra,” she says softly, lightly rubbing his scalp when she sweeps his glorious hair, brown and silver like silk on her skin. It soothes him. 

“Kairi said the same.”

“Kairi is wise.”

“She wants to find a way to get us all together.”

“I think that’s a great idea,” Aqua says, and he groans. “Let me figure out how to set that up. I’ll coordinate with her.”

“I don’t think that will end well.”

“We should try. We all have things in common and have faced similar hardships. We need each other as friends.”

“But look at me.”

She does. He’s beautiful. “I’m looking.”

“What am I going to do?” Terra has always been too sensitive for his own good. Aqua thinks about who she’d possibly call to help me. “They’ll never talk to me.”

“You’re already trying your best.”

“Aqua, I’ve been a beast since I’ve been home.” He rubs his thumb and fingers together. A body that fails him. 

“Terra, please, you’re fine the way you are.”

“Two more grandfather clocks under my belt and all the vegetables in the garden in my pocket,” he reminds her.

“Let’s try one more time,” she says, taking his hand. “I think if you could outwin your powers, you’d feel better.”

“Your room is too immaculate for me to mess with.”

“Not my room. On me.”

“Why would I do that?” Terra stands up. 

“I think if there’s a parameter that you’re forced to work under, you’d improve the way you want to.” 

Terra pauses. “And put you in danger?”

“If that’s what’s going to work.”

“I care too much about you to do that.”

“I know you love me,” Aqua says, startling herself. She shouldn’t have said that, especially now that he’s staring at her wide-eyed—but they’re best friends. Of course he loves her. Of course it’s the most natural thing to say. There’s not much more to imply. “You won’t hurt me.”

“Intentionally,” his voice croaks, looking everywhere around the room except at Aqua.

“What do you want out of your training, Terra?”

“I want to feel less like a freak.”

“Here I am.” She widens her arms. “Hit me with your best shot.”

“What if I fling you out the window like a rag doll?”

“You won’t.” Now she’s nervous he will.

“Or burst your skull open?”

“Then don’t.” Aqua swallows.

Terra sighs and runs a hand through his hair, the silver glistening from the light of her ceiling lamp. 

“Be gentle,” Aqua suggests.

Terra hesitates, one step too far behind necessary confidence. She takes both of his hands in hers, and he gives her a feathered squeeze in return. 

“Promise me you won’t break,” he says.

“Promise you won’t break me.”

He blinks back tears when he holds her waist, his hands a hearth through her thin shirt. He’s about to pick her up but he lets her go instead, intentionally widening his hands as if pulling strings. As though gravity has shut off, the air around her loses all weight. Her feet lift off the carpet and she’s suspended above her dresser, her limbs moving slowly as though she’s underwater. Terra trembles from so much concentration. He’s worried, delicate with her, lifting her up like a cloud drifting over a mountain, her desk distant like it’s inside a doll house, her bed too small for a body to sleep in.

She gasps. “Wow.”

Terra wrestles with a smile but every muscle is engaged as though he’s picking up a boulder. 

“You’re doing wonderful,” she says. When he looks up at her, he cries. “Now put me down. Gently.”

It’s like she’s asking him to drop that boulder, all collateral be damned. He groans, a vein throbbing on his forehead. He’s hesitant at first but he exhausts when he finally relaxes. The threads that hold her snap. Aqua falls. Terra catches her by her bare thighs. 

“You did so well,” she whispers, holding onto his shoulders. Dust collects on the top of her door frame that she’d never notice otherwise. “You’re so tall,” she laughs.

He sighs. “I’m so tired.”

“Oh, you can put me down.”

His arms stutter when he slides her off him, and he plops onto her mattress, the adrenaline making him tremble. But he smiles. That’s the most Aqua could ask for, and yet that’s the thing, for some reason, that unplugs the dam. 

“I know what it’s like,” she starts, resting a hand on his head. “I wish it never happened. I wish I didn’t have to meet Xemnas, or that I fell into Darkness. Or that anyone hurt you. We wasted all those years.”

“Don’t say that,” he says softly, tucking her hair behind her ear. “You came back the same and you can redo all that time. Enjoy it.”

“But you?”

Terra sighs. He’s aged. He lays on her mattress, knees sliding off the edge and feet firm on the floor. “I’m okay. I’ve made my peace.”

When she settles next to him, she has to curl her legs in, fitting right into his side, her head on his shoulder. She relaxes to the way he strokes her hair. Peace shouldn’t have to be made. It shouldn’t be bargained for, it shouldn’t be difficult to win in a twisted game. But it is for most people, isn’t it? It is for anyone who’s been betrayed, who has suffered misfortune, who has been robbed or tortured, who has been fractured into pieces with no reason to justify it. 

Terra and Aqua have kissed before out of curiosity, years ago. It left her wanting more. And the wanting has led to yearning. And the yearning lingered on, Aqua choosing to wait for the right moment, for the right hour, for the right occasion, letting it all slip her by each and every time for the most mundane reasons. Terra and Aqua have napped together in the woods, in the shade of a tree after hours of sparring, shoulder to shoulder, one of them promising to wake the other before they’re late for their lessons. 

“If I ever get up in the middle of the night...” Terra starts. 

“Where is this conversation going?” 

“And I’m not actually awake—”

“That’s not going to happen.”

“—and I’m walking around like a zombie—”

“Pfft.”

“—please hit me as hard as you can.”

Aqua chuckles. This shouldn’t be a joke at all and yet what else is there left for them to do? “As you wish.”

“Promise me you’ll wake me up. No matter what.”

“Of course.” Aqua nuzzles her face into his shoulder, feeling the way his pec curves over rock-hard muscle. “Always.”

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

They’re in the study, where some of the most outdated books in the castle find their home, for decoration more than anything.

Terra has new suspenders and hakama pants. The robe she’s designed for him, ivory with rust-colored trim, has one proper sleeve. The other is more of an open cape that curls under his armored arm, pinning at his shoulder like a shawl, made to show off the metal, burgundy and shiny. He’s elegant, tall and intimidating, respectable and warm. 

“I love it,” he says.

“You almost look like the Master,” Aqua says.

“Do you think he would have liked it?”

“I think he would have been proud.”

Ven knocks on the door frame, holding up an Okay gesture. “Nice getup.” 

Terra smirks. “It makes me look less scary.”

“Are you going to throw away the black cloak?”

Aqua flinches, pinching the robe and straightening it, though not because it needs it. 

“I’m still thinking about it,” Terra says. “It depends on how today goes.”

“Speaking of,” Ven says, and Aqua sighs. “Aqua, he’s here.”

As though all breath has been sucked out of the air, they fall quiet. The crackle of the fireplace snaps. 

“You doing okay?” she whispers to Terra.

He nods, but his skin turns green. 

“Just relax and get comfortable,” she says.

Ven follows Aqua to the entrance hall, where their guest has welcomed himself inside. Isa stands with a poise that demands to be matched with a level of professionalism. Aqua crosses her hands together and keeps them to herself.

“Thank you for coming,” she says. When she messaged him to be a mediator, she wasn’t sure what to expect. Lea and Isa may seem to be opposite but they are two peas in a pod that way. Lea is a book of riddles, one page contradicting its own backside depending on which version of him shows up that day. Isa’s book is blank.

“I appreciate your invitation,” Isa says, though an instinctual tick deep in her stomach tells her that appreciation was a difficult word for him to use. 

“Hey there.” Ven waves. 

Isa raises his eyebrows. “Hello, Ventus,” he says… and nothing else.

Ven glances at Aqua and blares a tight, awkward smile. “Okay. Well. I’ll leave you to it.”

After Ven leaves, Isa breathes, like he’s been holding it. “I suppose the rest of this visit will be similar.” The grin on his face is sudden whiplash for Aqua, his strict posture now with blurred edges. 

“In what way?” Aqua can’t quit the habit of letting go of her hands.

“Roxas usually wears a scowl. To see the same face greet me so warmly, it was quite the surprise.” 

“Ah.”

“But a welcomed one.” His intense green eyes drill a hole into her. “Believe me when I say that I’m more than happy to come here and see him for myself, though it puts me in a fickle position with my family.”

Aqua brings her hands to her heart. “I think Sora would want us all to get along.”

“If that’s the angle you want to approach this with, I’d say you have a moderate chance of convincing them.” 

She nods and leads the way. “He’s excited to meet you.”

Isa doesn’t reply. Terra is waiting on one of the lounge chairs in the study, telekinetically spinning pages on a book floating in front of him. He snatches the book as they approach him, and drops it on a nearby desk. 

Terra doesn’t say anything. Neither does Isa, who sits himself on a comfortable chair opposite and crosses his legs. Aqua, not knowing where to go or what to do with her hands, stands by Terra. She’s hoping for an amicable meeting, anticipating an interrogation.

Isa smirks and it’s not exactly inviting. “Shall we skip the pleasantries?”

Terra nods like a dog scolded. “I’m glad you’re here,” he says with a shaky voice. 

Isa hums, interlacing his fingers as he stares—rather studies Terra with scrutiny. “Do you remember me?”

Terra shakes his head, choking on a cough. “You’re asking the wrong person.” 

“Are you certain?”

“I know of you.”

“What do you know of me?”

“You’re with Lea.” Terra licks his lips and balls his hands into fists. He only gets this way when he’s being tested, when he wants to get every answer correct. “You’ve had a complicated history with Organization XIII.”

“Complicated,” Isa repeats. 

“You were a Nobody.”

Isa smirks coldly, much like how Aqua would have imagined from the stories she’s heard about Saïx. “We were brethren.”

Terra hangs his head. “I don’t know much else.”

“How is that possible?” 

“I don’t know. I resigned. It was so painful not to. I was nowhere. Nothing to have, nothing to see, nothing to hear. I waited for an opportunity for it to stop hurting—” Terra croaks. “And I woke up.”

Isa uncrosses his legs and anchors his elbows onto his knees, cupping his chin into his hands. “You’ve no memory of the command to manipulate Sora into vanquishing Heartless for us?”

“Why wouldn’t he?”

“To gather enough energy to summon Kingdom Hearts.”

“That doesn’t make any sense to me.”

Isa sighs, and Aqua swears it sounds like anticipation. “And the scar on my face?”

The way Isa asks demands an explanation, and Terra—sweet, sensitive Terra, whose eyes grow hollow—can’t handle the implication. 

“No. I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” He grits his teeth, staring at the armrest. Aqua stops herself from speaking and holds his shoulder. There isn’t anything for Terra to be sorry for. 

Isa closes his eyes, trembling. After a moment, he jams his thumbs into his eyes and stills, silence befalling all of them, settling among the gentle presence of the fire and the movement of the clouds outside. 

When Isa sits up, eyes glassy but kept together, he summons a smile. Softly, he says, “You look nothing like him.”

Terra, at a loss for words, nods meekly. “Did you keep it? The black cloak?”

“Of course not.” Isa scoffs. “We burned ours.”

Terra offers no condolences or congratulations. He smiles, exhausted. 

Isa stands up. “Please don’t tell me you enjoy white wine with red velvet confections.”

Terra recoils, popping into a laugh as though he’s cracked under the pressure. “That sounds like it tastes awful. I don’t drink. I don’t like losing control of my body.”

The sound of Terra’s laugh shocks Isa. “Sensible.” He addresses Aqua with a look. “I must go. This has been… rather cathartic, and I’d prefer to release it in private.” 

Terra bolts out of his chair, reaching out to cradle one of Isa’s hands in both of his. 

“Thank you,” Terra says, and though Aqua is behind him, she could hear the tears. “Please come back whenever you feel comfortable. I’d love to have your company.”

Isa nods, turning over his shoulder for the door.

The abrupt exit leaves Terra pleading Aqua with his eyes. “Did I say something wrong?” he whispers, slapping his forehead. “I couldn’t honor his experiences. I should have figured out a way to remember.”

“That’s not your burden to bear. It wouldn’t help you anyway,” she whispers back, gently gripping his elbow. “I’ll be back.”

Aqua trails Isa back downstairs, skipping steps. It’s as though he’s in a hurry to get back home. 

“Isa,” she calls. When he stops, she almost trips on herself. Her hands return to their crossover position. Something about Isa makes her so self-conscious, it’s indescribable how he can unravel her like this. “I wanted to thank you again for taking the time to come here.” 

His eyes are pink. “I will tell the others there is nothing to fear.”

“Really?”

“Of course. Lea is unbearably stubborn, but he is intelligent. He already knows Terra is not to be blamed. He simply hasn’t buried his demons yet and that is his responsibility.”

Aqua sighs, relieved. “I needed to hear that.”

Isa doesn’t smile. Instead, he traces a finger across the X-shaped scar over his nose. “Terra and I are forced to face our mistakes in the mirror for as long as we breathe. If we are ever to forge a new life from the ashes, we would need to throw our transgressions into a pyre.”

“I think your presence makes him feel less alone.”

“I want to apologize, Master Aqua.”

“For what?”

Isa considers his words. “Lea and I have lost so much of our youth to a worthless cause. It is not natural for us to enjoy freedom. We expect a harsher punishment to catch up to us any day now, to steal more time from us. Perhaps we deserve to live in fear of that every day. I certainly do.” He watches her. “I can see the story you’ve endured this past decade in your eyes. It’s horrific.” 

Aqua stays quiet.

“And Terra,” he continues. “He will age and die long before you and Ventus. I’m so sorry for that. The rubble we’re left with, it is such a weight for us to bear.”

She wipes a tear from her cheek, too proud to let them continue. “That’s why we need to make the best of it.”

Isa smiles; this time it’s warm. He holds her bicep. “I agree.”

“Will you and the others join us for dinner? Terra speaks for all of us, we’d love to have you around.”

“Bribe Lea with an extravagant experience and he will surely say yes. The children will follow once we assure them.”

Aqua nearly jumps to hug him but she keeps herself composed. Instead, she bows to him. His eyes pulse open.

“That was not necessary,” he says.

“You need to understand how deeply I appreciate this.”

“Lea was right. You old-fashioned wielders are certainly an odd bunch.”

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

On her way back to the study, Aqua breaks into a sprint, desperate to fly so she could get to him as fast as possible, see his face when she delivers the news.

Terra sulks by a window. Before he could say anything, Aqua jumps and throws her arms around his neck in a clash of grunts, her legs dangling. 

“They’re going to join us for dinner,” she says. She can’t tell if she’s the one who’s trembling or if it’s Terra. Because her arms are wrapped around his neck, she drags him down with her when he relaxes. He rests his forehead on hers as he leans over her, his hair falling around her like a curtain. 

“Stars,” he whispers. “It’s happening?”

She smiles into his cheek. “He wants to bring everyone with him.”

He squeezes her by the small of her back. “We’ll have to invite the others too. Riku and Kairi. Naminé. It will be a feast.”

At the sound of his own words, Terra straightens out, and their fleeting moment of excitement vanishes as quick as it graces them. He nervously clutches a handful of his hair. “Wait, how soon are they coming?”

“Is something wrong?”

“I want to wear it in a ponytail.” He brushes his hair up, exposing the silver near the scalp. “Do you think it’s possible to dye it?”

That’s what makes him so insecure? Aqua stands on her toes to fiddle with the hair. “Come on. It’s a little tedious, but it can be done.”

Aqua snips the necessary plants from the garden, and after grinding them, she dumps the blend into a mix of water and animal fat. Terra slips his robe off and bends over the kitchen sink, letting her sweep the dye with a paintbrush and pinch it across the strands of his long hair with gloved hands. This is the tedious part, separating his hair into thin chunks and being diligent enough to leave nothing untouched. 

“It won’t last for long, right?” he asks, shifting his weight.

“I can find a spell to seal it and make it last longer.” She nudges him to turn his neck over so she can work the other side. In this direction, he can look up at her.

“This feels like I’m cheating.” 

“I think we all cheated. We all came back by some star’s blessing.”

Terra frowns. “When Isa wanted to know if I remembered anything, I felt like I was playing a rigged game. Like I had gotten away with it so easily when he’s stuck with them on his own.”

“Bend your neck forward,” she says, and he follows so she could brush the dye into the back of the scalp. “Well, Isa doesn’t blame you and no one should. And you do get away with certain things.”

Terra flinches but she keeps her hold on him. “Like what?”

Aqua pinches more of the dye into the hair at the neck, wrapping a towel around his shoulders. He will have to pass the time needed for the color to sink in. She can’t wait until he sees it for himself in the mirror. She can’t wait until he smiles more, until he can walk with seeded confidence. 

“You can stand up,” she tells him, instructing him that it will take almost an hour for the dye to settle. She pulls out her gloves and considers an answer to his question. “You get away with what you say sometimes.”

Terra gapes. “Did I offend you?”

“No.” She smirks. This has never been the way she daydreamed it would go—she had prepared a scenario where they would talk about it under the stars in a clear night, in the spring where the flowers have blossomed. Not with yet another shirt that they’ll have to replace.“You told me you loved me that day in the Graveyard.” He doesn’t flinch. “And you don’t remember saying that either.”

The bowl of dye rattles and Aqua catches it from falling over, spilling the excess into the sink and rinsing it. “Terra?”

“Uh.” The cupboards shake as if about to spill open. Terra grabs the knife block and throws it into the fridge, just in case. “Well.” He splays his hand over the handle and burns it with a fire spell, molding the metal together so it can’t burst open. “I’ll fix that later. Um. It’s—” He tips over the fruit bowl so nothing will fly out in different directions. He can’t look her in the face, taking deep breaths. “I mean. It’s not—it’s not a lie.” 

Aqua waits a moment, afraid another word is going to make the oven explode. “I should have told you the same.” She bites her lip. 

“What are you saying?” The burner grates of the stovetop blow up and hit the cupboard over it. “All this time, I could have known?”

“Maybe you should have done something about it.” 

“I’ve been driving myself crazy wondering how you felt. Ever since we came back home.”

“And you said nothing?”

Terra stares at her. “You know what—I’m not protecting you from the oranges.”

“What are you doing?” She chuckles.

He flips the bowl back and waves his arm, five oranges punching her on the arm that she’s using to shield herself.

“Terra!”

She stumbles as the oranges bounce back from the floor and arc over to hit her again. Terra squeezes his fists and the oranges unpeel themselves, sputtering juice all over her face, a tart taste filling her mouth.

Aqua laughs and runs into the dining room, ducking behind the table.

“Get back here,” Terra calls. He rushes into the dining room, clumsy enough to be caught off guard when she charges at him. 

Aqua has to jump higher, kicking off his chest to flip over. The goal is to slam her foot across his face—the best sparring trick in her arsenal. Terra catches her by the ankle but his balance is tested when she bends her knee to throw him off. He’s stronger, a tight grip on her calf. They both fall onto his back, a tower broken in two and collapsing on itself.

Aqua rests her head between his chest, giggling so much that her chin digs into his thorax. 

Terra groans, his soaked hair leaving brown tracks over the tile. “You got some on you.” He rubs a thumb on her temple where it meets the base of her hair. “Hmm, you’d look good as a brunette.”

“In your wildest dreams.”

“If one can come true, then you never know.”

Aqua holds herself up on her elbows. Terra is so large, he’s a mattress in the middle of the dining room floor. Streaks of dye draw across his cheek. They leave what look like slashes across his neck. It’s going to take some scrubbing power to remove them. She sweeps some of the hair off, not caring about the stain it leaves on her fingers.

The next move is natural. A touch of lips to lips, careful and giddy, puckered and softer than she expects, two hands on her back and a powerful jaw under the grace of her fingertips. 

Ven opens the door and gags. “Ugh, all the stars in hell, could you do that in your room?” He turns on his heel and stomps off. “I’m too young for this.”

Aqua snorts into Terra’s mouth and he spits. “I’m sorry,” she says.

Terra licks his lips of juice. He leans up for more. “You taste tangy.”

[waiting4inspiration]

A New Life? (Bucky x Phoenix!Reader)

Summary: Bucky’s been having dreams of a woman bursting in flames, but is certain that there is no chance she can be alive. During a mission at a familiar HYDRA base, Bucky finds the woman, and figures out what she really is. Especially after he finds her in the ashes as the blown-up base.

Warnings: angst, strong language, magical elements, phoenix!reader, not really much

Word Count: 2,070

7k Mythical Creatures Masterlist II Marvel Masterlist

Bucky’s used to having nightmares almost all the time. He’s used to waking up in a cold sweat after dreaming about something that has to do with HYDRA. He’s had dreams about killing innocent people, about having no control over his actions, about being the Winter Soldier again. 

Lately, he’s had the same dream over and over again. A new dream. One he hasn’t had before. A dream about a woman on fire. It’s a short dream, but he knows the dream like the back of his hand; both flesh and metallic. 

It starts with him waking up from cryo, after his memory had been wiped. He doesn’t know how he knows, but he knows that he’s going to meet with his partner; The Flame. 

The room is freezing, it’s a wonder how anyone can survive in a room this cold. But there in the corner is a female figure, knees held close to her chest but not shivering. Not even slightly. 

In the dream, Bucky blinks and he’s behind a glass window. The woman is in a new room now, a warmer room, but the temperature on the monitor shows that it’s like a hot day in a dessert in the room. And yet, she doesn’t appear to be sweating. That’s when he notices the wings from her back, how they burst into flames when you stretch them out, how the fire engulfs your entire being. 

And when he sees a pile of ash on the ground after the spontaneous combustion, that’s when the dream ends. 

He’s done research, knowing that it’s no normal for a human to just combust like that without any reason. And because it’s HYDRA, chances are that this female, his partner, isn’t completely human. Perhaps, a mutant. 

But all he’s come across is one thing; a Phoenix. 

He doesn’t think it’s a Phoenix. A Phoenix is a bird, a mythical bird. It can’t be the answer he’s looking for. 

So, he puts off researching for his answer and focuses on the current mission to take down a HYDRA base. 

“Barnes, focus,” Tony snaps him out of his own thoughts about the woman in his dreams. “We can’t afford any mistakes here.”

Bucky rolls his eyes and steps off the jet. “I know this base like the back of my hand. I got it,” he says, knowing that Tony heard him over the comms when he flies overhead. 

This base was his home for a while when he was working with the woman in his dreams. He wishes he could remember a name, but he can’t think of one. Not that it would matter. If his dreams are true, she must be dead. He can’t remember when his dream took place, but no one walks out unharmed after bursting into flames. 

When the mission stated that the base is still occupied, Bucky didn’t think it meant that the total number of occupants are less than 50 people. Just enough to keep a base running. But for what reason? 

As he scouts through the halls with Steve, he passes a hallway that makes him freeze. 

“You okay, Buck?” Steve questions, his head turning over his shoulder when he hears his best friend’s footsteps stop behind him and then turns when he finds him staring down a hallway. 

Bucky recognizes the hallway, not from his dream but from his memories as the Winter Soldier. The sign on the wall says ‘Fire Room’. In his mind, he can hear the heavy footsteps of him and the agents following him down this hall. 

Now, his footsteps are lighter, almost like he’s scared he’ll frighten off the memory growing in his mind. Steve follows behind him, unsure of where Bucky’s leading him to or what a ‘Fire Room’ is. 

Hearing hushed voices around the corner, Bucky stops and holds his hand up to tell Steve to stop too. They glance at each other, nod as Steve pulls the shield off his back and gets ready to throw it. 

As they step forward, they see two men standing guard in front of a door. Steve aims, and throws the shield, knocking both men out without either of them realizing it. “That was easy,” Steve mentions, walking forward with Bucky to collect his shield off the floor. 

“Because they weren’t the best on the team,” Bucky mentions, nodding to the numbers on their uniform. High numbers, but a lower rank. “Still, they were guarding something,” he whispers, staring at the door with a frown on his face before slowly taking a step forward. 

Reaching out with his flesh hand, he feels the coldness radiating off the door. 

Bucky thinks of his dream again, about that freezing room. And he can’t help but wonder why this room would still be running after all this time. 

Steve reaches out to stop Bucky by grabbing his arm. “Maybe we should call the team in on this,” he suggests when Bucky glances at him. “We don’t know what’s behind there-”

“I have a pretty good idea what’s behind there, Steve,” Bucky cuts him off, pulling his arm away from his grip to pull on the handle of the door. 

Why didn’t he think it would be locked?

“One of the guards must have a key,” Steve mutters, glancing down to the two unconscious men. 

But Bucky doesn’t want to waste time looking for a key. Taking a step back, he kicks the door in and lets the coldness escape. And without a second thought, he steps into the room. 

It’s like he’s dreaming again. But, instead of a non-shivering female figure in the corner of the room, his eyes land on a terrified, wide-eyed woman. 

“(Y/n).” The name just rolls off his tongue when the memory hits him like a truck. 

You sigh, your breath evident from how cold the room is, and the fright on your face turning into relief as you push yourself to your feet. “James,” you whisper, stepping forward slowly, unsure of the man behind him. But he doesn’t seem to be part of HYDRA, and you can see two men unconscious on the ground, the ones guarding your door. 

“You’re alive?” he questions, stepping forward with you and frowning how you seem to be the same as when you two worked together. You haven’t aged. But you’re not in cryo. “But the fire. I saw you go up in flames.”

You stop walking, a breath catches in your throat as you blink in shock. “You don’t remember, do you?” you softly say, wrapping your arms around you as you step backward. “James, I’m a-”

You’re cut off by a blaring alarm. 

“Oops. That was my fault,” Tony speaks over the comm, but it doesn’t break Bucky’s stare on you. “Everyone might want to get out of the base, say in the next 3 minutes.”

“We have to go,” Steve says, stepping forward and making your eyes snap over to him. 

Bucky steps forward, your eyes shifting back to him and he holds out his hand. “Come with us. You don’t have to be under HYDRA’s control anymore,” he urges.

A smile grows on your face as you drop your head between your shoulders. “A new life,” you whisper, turning your head over your shoulder as you flex your back muscles. 

That’s when Bucky sees them. Wings rising away from your back and black feathers rustling together. Wings like the ones he dreamed about. 

“You should go. I have something to do first,” you encourage, but Bucky shakes his head. “James, I want you to get out of here and come back to look for me in ashes,” you whisper, reaching out to touch the side of his face. And for someone who’s been in a freezing room for God knows how long, your skin is pleasantly warm to the touch. 

“Ashes,” he whispers, remembering the last part of his dream of seeing nothing but a pile of ashes after your spontaneous combustion. 

A smile grows on your face as you run your hand down his neck and shoulder before letting it rest on his chest. “You remember.” He shakes his head and breathes out a laugh. “You will. Now go. Time is running out,” you remind, pushing him back out the room and into the hall.

He runs with Steve towards the nearest exit, but when he gets to the corner of the passage, he turns to look back at you. 

You have your wings stretched out behind you as you fire the other way. Towards the ‘Fire Room’. “Bucky, let’s go.” Your head snaps over your shoulder to look back at him when you hear those words. Giving him a reassuring smile and nod, the black feathers ignite and turn into wings of fire. Just like in his dream. 

It spreads to your body, but he doesn’t stay to see you combust and turn into a pile of ash on the ground. 

And just as he and Steve get to the jet, the base explodes like a bomb was placed in the middle of the building. 

Bucky insisted on doing clean-up duty, and Steve knows why. Of course, searching through rubble isn’t a one man job. So, the two super soldiers go together. 

“So, who is she?” Steve questions, thinking that it’s a good time to find out from him who you are and what you have to do with HYDRA. 

“She was my partner,” Bucky states, answering more than one question in Steve’s mind. “I wasn’t told much about what she is. HYDRA didn’t know much about her. The only one that knew everything about her, was the man that brought her in. He was killed so that she could belong to HYDRA completely,” he carries on, speaking his thoughts, his memories out loud. 

He can trust Steve with that. 

“Who’s she loyal to?” Steve questions, wanting to know if there’s a chance you’ll still ‘belong’ to HYDRA after this. 

Bucky shakes his head, frowns to himself and tries to remember the answer to that question. “Herself. She only acts to survive. If doing what HYDRA wanted her to do means that she lives, then she’ll do it,” he states, turning his gaze up to Steve as they come to a stop in the place where the hallway where he last saw you would be. 

“What is she?” That’s the question on Bucky’s mind too. 

Then, he spots a body. Two. The guards. 

Stepping forward, his eyes move slightly up to find another body, wings wrapped around them. It’s you. 

Ashes. He remembers ashes. Rebirth. A new life. 

His research.

Touching your shoulder, you jump and turn over onto your back. Pushing yourself away from him, you stare at him and Steve with wide eyes and fright on your face, like when he kicked down the door.  “Who are you?” you spit, bringing your wings around you to hide your naked body from them. 

You don’t remember him? 

Bucky holds up his hands to show you he doesn’t mean you any harm. “We want to help you,” he softly speaks, shifting forward and making you move back away from him. 

But the longer you stare at his face, the more familiar it seems to be. You tilt your head to the side and frown. “I know your face,” you whisper, your eyes slowly moving to his hands that he holds up. One of them is metal. “James,” you say the name on the tip of your tongue before lifting your eyes to see if you are right. 

He smiles and shifts closer again, holds out his flesh hand for you and nods his head. “(Y/n),” he whispers in return. 

Hearing him speak your name makes you relax and you place your hand in his, allowing him to help you to your feet. You then notice your surroundings and glance around you. “Where am I?”

Of course. You’re a Phoenix. Bursting into fire to start a new life means that you forget everything that happened before. It’s why HYDRA forced you to do that every time he was brought out of cryo. It was an easy way to wipe your memory. 

You remember him because he became a constant factor in your life. Or, lives. You were the last person you saw before combusting and the first person to see when you are reborn. You remember him.

Like my work? Support me HERE

Permanent List- @cassindeansass​ @simsadventures​ @fandomfic-galore​ @belovedcherry​ @a-mess-of-fandoms​ @official-and-unstable-satan​ @patton-fielder​ @geekandbooknerd​ @lonewolf471​ @rainbowkisses31​ @moonie-flower101​ @p8tn0lish​ @rinkashirikitateku​ @readsalot73​ @tragicmisfits​ @petlaufeyson​  @bangtan-serendipity​ @aworldwideapart​ @mythicalbullshit​ @ateliefloresdaprimavera​ @xbuckxnastyx​ @madithemagicalfangirl​ @ivarthebloodyking​ @shannygoatgruff​ @a--1--1--3​ @nerdypinupcrystal​ @mblaqgi​ @tephi101​ @coconutqueen21​

Marvel List- @animegirlgeeky​ @nerdypisces160​ @rororo06​ @dreamlesswonder86​ @rohaintahquil​ @xxloki81xx​ @smolbeanthings​ @jennmurawski13​ @kiki583 @iloveyou3000morgan​ @readermia​ @heartislubbingdubbing​ @dark-night-sky-99​ @inlovewithjamesbarnes​ @caswinchester2000​ @chaoticfiretaconerd​ @momc95​

[kiru-da-ho-beeeech]

Sugar Daddy AU - Mista

Warning: NSFW, degradation, death threat, choking, spanking, hair-pulling, implied murder, I wrote and post in mobile so I can't put this under the cut, read the warnings please

Did I really just write a 2k word fic because Mista called himself Daddy? Yes. Yes, I did.

It was the garterbelt and stockings that did him in, you knew.

Amazement and lust shone clear in his eyes as you slid off your long coat, revealing the lingerie set that had been gifted to you last week. Your Daddy sat in his office chair, a leg atop his knee and his bottom lip trapped between white teeth as one hand lowered and put out a half-burned cigarette in an ashtray. His eyes burned holes in your body, travelling up and down, especially lingering at your stocking-clad legs. You rubbed your thighs together. He took a deep breath.

You giggled at his reaction. He really made it too easy.

"Care to tell me why you're here wearing that, baby?" He asked after a few minutes of staring.

You strode to him, crossing the distance from the door to his desk, and sat on the cold mahogany surface. Ass facing him, of course. He let out a slow breath at how the globes looked, soft and perfectly squished.

"I went to Paris." You began, twirling a lock of hair between your fingers.

"Cool. How was it?"

You made a drawn and disinterested 'eh' sound as your palm began moving up and down your thigh. His ebony eyes followed it like a hawk watching a mouse. 

"It was fun. I ate raw oysters. Got new clothes, shoes, perfume…" you stretched a hand out to him, wrist up, "Wanna smell?"

You knew he knew what you were playing at. He wasn't the Don for nothing. Yet, he still leaned down, encircling your wrist in a gentle grip and bringing it up to his nose to take a whiff. Though the rule of the business was to not get attracted to your benefactor, the way his nose flared as his eyes closed did some things to you. He's just so damnably handsome and obliviously sexy that you can't help the way your gut wrenched nor the way your cunt flooded with moistness. Once he opened his eyes to look at you, they were half-lidded and burning with desire.

He grinned, dimples dipping so deep it made your mouth water. You wanted nothing more in that moment than to lick them, "Smells good, baby. Delicious."

Distract yourself, your conscious screamed, you came here with a mission to complete. Your eyes scanned his desk and found a mug. You reached for it, taking back your hand from him. You picked up the mug and drank from it absent-mindedly, surprised at what you tasted on your tongue.

"M-Milk?"

He chuckled, "Oh, yeah. I ate something too spicy earlier. Which reminds me--"

He patted his knee, a signal for you to come sit on Daddy's lap. You complied, putting the mug back down. You removed yourself from the desk and rounded it, spreading your legs and straddling him-- his crotch in particular-- then wrapped your arms loosely around his neck. You could already feel his semi-hard length pressing against you, teasing you with promises of a good time and a sore body.

"-- My tongue still hurts like shit. I need something sweet." His hands firmly gripped your thighs, "To balance it out, you know?"

The way he ogled at your breasts told you it wasn't food he's talking about.

Despite your determination not to give in, you ground your hips to his.

He released a shaky sigh, burying his head at the crook of your neck and gripping your sides harder. You did it again, firmer this time, which earned a low rumble from him.

"Baby girl, what is it that you need?" His voice weakly asked. God, he's so easy to tease you almost feel bad.

Almost.

"Daddy, I had so much fun in Paris… Thank you for sending me there and giving me an allowance~" He just grunted as a response so you continued, "but I've used them all up and my bills are due next week."

He lifted his head to look at you. Smirking, he held the side of your face. His hands were warm and rough, and you leaned into it instinctively.

"That so?" His thumb stroked your cheek, swiping lower and massaging your bottom lip, "But baby, our condition says I'll only give you your allowance once a month. We can't breach the contract now, can we?"

You whined. It was too good to be true. He may act silly and friendly, but he was still the Don. The most powerful person in the gang. He won't give in so easily.

He took your arm off his neck, guiding your hands down his belt. With a seductive smile, he said, "If you want more, you'll have to work for it dolcezza."

Ah, of course. This was a transaction of gestures. And you were all too eager to participate in the exchange if it meant seeing six digits in your bank account.

You removed yourself from his lap while he stood. Kneeling in front of him, you unbuckled his belt and undid his pants, letting his member spring out. You were just about to put him in your mouth when he stopped you, guiding you to bend down on his desk. You thought it was going to be one of those days where he had to fuck you quickly because he's in a rush. Maybe an appointment in thirty minutes or so?

You released a startled cry when his palm connected with your behind rather harshly.

"You think you can just come in here unannounced?" His voice was dark and gravelly, tickling your core like a feather and making you even wetter. He stroked the abused spot lightly, the skin already feeling like it's on fire. The sting felt so splendid, so dirty. You never even thought you were into pain until you met him. Only he knew how to deliver it in ways that had you craving for more. He grabbed a fistful of your hair and yanked your head back, "I'm the Don, puttana. You have no right to do as you wish, and you do not disrespect me like that, am I clear?"

A whimper escaped your throat, "Yes, Daddy. I'm sorry."

"Very good. I like you, (Y/N). I'd hate it if you have to go for being too much of a little brat." That wasn't a threat, as you've learned. In the world he lived in, it was a warning. There was a cold edge to his words and it made your heart beat erratically to the rush of both fear and excitement. He was truly dangerous, the only man who could kill you and wipe your existence from the planet as though you've never existed in the first place. Being his sugar baby meant being the devil's plaything. L'incarnazione del diavolo, that's what he's called. The devil's incarnation. He was the plague inside Pandora's box: cruel, merciless, inhuman-- a chaotic package wrapped up in delightful curly black hair, broad shoulders, and reddish bronze-skin.

Your attention snapped back to the moment when he ripped your flimsy panties off. The sheer power he showed made your core gush as you imagined him using that force to pound into you. The cold air hit your uncovered pussy, but not for long. His warm fingers were immediately shoved inside your needy cunt. You gasped at the sudden intrusion, but soon was reduced to a moaning mess as he began pumping his digits, a thumb joining the others as it rubbed on your clit in the same rhythm. He landed another slap to your ass, the added pleasure from the pain driving your mind into a complete haywire.

"Tsk. I haven't even put my cock in you yet and you're already gone. Don't cum without my permission, or I'll really be angry." His voice was almost drowned out by your sounds. You nodded, but shrieked when he slapped your ass again.

"Answer." He commanded.

"Yes, Daddy!" You all but screamed.

He petted the soreness on your skin, "Good, bambina."

He withdrew his fingers with a wet squelch. You had to quell the protest down your throat. Acting bratty now would just make him delay your orgasm further. You felt him press his length to your slit, teasingly moving the head up and down. You were panting, exhilarated by what he'd do next. To your disappointment, he slid his cock lower, settling in trapping it in between your folds and creating a back and forth motion that sent delicious friction to your clit. His hands came up and slid your bra off, cupping and squeezing your breasts. He flicked at your nipples, rolling the buds and twisting them, making you writhe wildly. You could feel yourself approaching the edge. Your hips began to jerk, meeting his as your ass bounced against his pelvis.

"Daddy! Daddy, please! Please let me cum, please, please, please, please!" You begged, voice cracking with overuse.

He only answered with a breathless 'No' before drawing away.

"Daddy!" Your tone was irritated as you called him, but you could care less. If you didn't die by his hands for acting out of place, then you most definitely would through orgasm denial. At this moment, you'd prefer to perish through the former rather than the latter.

He growled at your attitude, bending down to lay his torso flat against your back as a hand came to slither and clasp around your neck with delectable force. 

"You dare to use that tone on me?!"

You wailed when he plunged his entire shaft inside you-- harshly, no warnings, up to the hilt. 

"I don't think you understand your situation so let me make it clear, cara--" he began thrusting, deep and with so much force that you saw stars whenever his dick dragged along your insides, hitting your G-spot  over and over, "-- I have the power to kill you and make it seem like an accident. I can take everything away from you and make you wish I'd killed you instead. I can strip you naked and let each of my men fuck you. Do not test me again, you hear?"

Though you were lost in delirious bliss, you answered, "Y-Yes, Daddy! I'll be a good girl! I won't make you mad again! I promise! Please, please, please, let me cum!"

He groaned as you began bucking against him, "Not yet."

He increased his pace. He was fucking you so hard that the edgr of the desk dug into your flesh. You were about to go insane. Your thoughts empty aside from the tingling inside you that grew more and more intense. Your senses dulled, mouth dripping with spit, and eyes crossing with how incredibly overstimulated you are. His grip on your neck tightened and he roared.

"Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! I'm close! Touch yourself and come with me, baby!" He panted.

You eagerly obeyed, hand slipping down. Your fingers pressed steady circling motions to the bundle of nerves. Your vision was beginning to darken due to the lack of air, but you could only think of chasing your completion.

"Shit, I'm cumming! I'm cumming! Baby-- fuck, cum for me! Now!" He yelled.

You didn't need to be told. Everything blurred, then exploded. Pure, white, hot rapture tore through you as you screamed your lungs out and shook from the orgasm that crashed down on you. You've flung yourself off the cliff, and you relished in the feeling of absolute release. Your insides milked him, contracting and pulling him in even more that he came tumbling after you. You could only faintly recognize the feel of him spilling himself. He came so much that it had nowhere else to go inside you and began spurting out, dribbling down your thighs.

He removed his hand from your neck, scooping you up gently and planting you on his lap as you both collapsed back into his chair. Your vision slowly returned, unfocused eyes affixed to the ceiling. Your chest hurt from breathing--actually, everything hurt, but it was the kind of pain that you loved. The kind that meant you just got your brains fucked to high heavens.

After the both of you had calmed down, he began weaving his hands through your hair.

"Sorry, principessa. It was a bad day." He whispered softly, "Don't worry, I'll have the money deposited to your account before the day ends."

You made a small sound to acknowledge what he said, too tired to do anything else. This was the part where you always fell asleep. Tendrils of drowsiness creeped around your conscious, you were too weary to fight them off. You felt his lips at the crown of your head before succumbing to sleep, lulled by the sound of his steady breathing.