#to the point that as soon as i smile sweetly at them; they unclench their jaws akchskxj

[fucking-relax]

turned on post notifs because every time i see your url i remember to unclench my jaw. it works. thanks!

wait does that mean by my answering this, you will get a notification and therefore unclench your jaw?

my power......

[sirthisisa-wendys]

One, Two, Three: Geto Suguru x Fem!Reader

synopsis: You and Geto have to get away for a week because clerical work isn’t fun, and he’s dying for a break from Satoru. But a private balcony on a private residence on the beach doesn’t exactly equate to playing in the sand, does it? 

words: 2092

tw: nsfw (smut, light pain play, exhibitionism?)

Lips dance around the crook of your neck and down your shoulder blade, making you gasp into the crisp spring air. 

“A private balcony… a private residence…” You begin to put the pieces together as your wrap dress easily comes undone in Suguru’s hands. He chuckles behind you, smoothing his fingers over the swell of your breasts and down to your slightly rounded stomach. 

“I’m nothing if not purposeful,” he breathes into your ear, making you shudder. “This week is just for us. Like I said, no missions, no curses, and definitely no Satoru.” The promise of no Gojo elated you to the point that you were pushing Suguru out of the door the day of the trip, hoping to avoid the terribly nosy companion on the way out. 

Ever since you and Suguru had quietly announced your pregnancy four months ago, Satoru had launched into a full campaign to be the “best uncle” to your unborn child. It was mildly annoying at first, with him showing up unannounced to your private dates to make sure “you were eating the right things”. Then it progressed to shadowing you during your training as a desk worker, making sure no one “stressed you out too much”. If you so much as sighed at the computer, he’d grab the keyboard and type faster than you could comprehend, thus doing your job for you. 

But this week, you’d be relaxing with Suguru on the beach, listening to nothing but the sound of the waves crashing onto the shore and the occasional sound of wildlife. No clicking of keys, no shuffling of papers, nothing. 

Suguru brings you back to the present moment by taking your neck in one hand and sliding his other hand down the front of your underwear, pressing your pussy lips apart. “I’ve got you to myself all week.” You moan low in your throat as he begins his slow ministrations around your clit, his fingers tenderly rubbing the nub. His lips come to the sensitive point behind your earlobe, and you exhale deeply as you feel the tension building in your core. The raven-haired sorcerer behind you takes in all of your exhales, all of your pants and moans, and delivers them back to you in an endless stream of pleasure. Another shudder passes through you and goes straight to your clit. The sensitivity builds as his fingers dance over it, smearing your slick around and almost playing with it to torment you. 

“Su…” At this, he dips a finger into you, and your head sinks back onto his broad shoulder. You see his eyes widen just a fraction, a gentle breath passing between his lips as he fingers you shamelessly on the balcony of the rented home. His middle finger rocks against the inside of your cunt, hitting the soft spot with ease. You can’t help but rock your hips against the palm of his hand, painting his unoccupied fingers with your wetness. “Suguru, please!”

“Say my name as loud as you want,” he sings, making his movements just a little faster before adding another finger easily into your dripping cunt. You grip the wooden railing of the balcony just a fraction tighter and hope that soon, his fingers will be replaced by the thick cock rubbing against your ass. Bucking against his hand, you feel the pressure of release building even more and engulfing your thoughts. 

His fingers are doing a delicate kick against your soft spot, and you’re losing your control as Suguru reaches a hand down to palm your breast, tugging at the nipple. You cry out, feeling the tender flesh give way to pain as he rolls it between his fingers again. “Should’ve given it to you much sooner, huh?” His fingers slide out of you, and with one hand, he forces his boxers down around his ankles. With his wet fingers, he pumps his now freed cock eagerly, the angry red tip a sure sign of his desire to be buried inside of you. 

Without apologies, he pulls off your underwear, snapping the flimsy thing in half and letting it fall to the ground before angling your hips upward. “Lean forward,” he mumbles, and you rest your elbows on the railing. The head of his cock slides around your entrance for a little while, becoming wet from your own arousal. 

When he pushes in, your mouth forms a neat “o” and you inhale deeply while Suguru groans. The filling sensation takes you a minute to adjust to, but when your walls unclench from around his cock, he knows he can move without restriction. He rocks his hips back and forth, hissing at the contact of his balls against your cunt once he sinks into you fully. It takes you both a minute to decide to incrementally speed up, and you thrust your hips back to meet his with ease. 

“Shit, y/n…” His hands rest on your hips while he sinks into you time and time again. You look over your shoulder at the man and find his hair is slipping from the neat bun he always wears, his bangs flopping over his grimacing face. You reach a hand between your legs and play with yourself while he maintains his speed.

“Fuck, Suguru,” you growl, and he takes your expression as a need for more, which he answers with a hand on your swollen breast as he tweaks your nipple again, moving his hips much faster. “Su-gu-ru!” A whine begins low in your throat, but is torn from you while your walls contract around his cock and fingers rub the last sensations from your clit. The orgasm lasted a fraction of the time it normally did, and Suguru notices right away.  

“That’s it…” His thrusts stutter a little, but he isn’t coming. Not even close. He resumes his normal pace, and your hands quickly find the railing again. “Count your orgasms for me.” 

“One,” you pant, and he smiles sweetly, pushing your curls away from your face. 

“Three should do the trick, hmm?” His question is punctuated by a deep thrust, and you gasp, losing your balance. “Or maybe four will do…” He pulls out and turns you so you’re facing him before picking you up. With his impressive strength and coordination, he presses you between the stone wall and his bulky frame, capturing your lips in a kiss before sliding back into you. 

“Unhh…” The feeling of his hard length inside of you empties your mind, and it isn’t long before Suguru starts to move. His face hovers above yours, eyes focused on your facial expressions as he takes his time drawing soft cries and moans from your lips. “That feels so damn good…” A smile tugs at his lips while he moves your arms around his neck, then trails a few kisses down your face. The sorcerer’s hips rut forward eagerly, but his thrusts aren’t ravenous enough to repeatedly smack your back against the stone wall. But they are enough to fan the flames of desire tenfold. Somehow, every single time you were at his mercy, he found a way to make you unravel until you held no thoughts or memories in your head. The only thing that would be left were the ripples of pleasure he’d give you. 

“Su… I need you t--” When one of his fingers hits your clit, you gasp and angle your head back. Your eyes close as he moves his fingers in circles; somehow knowing exactly what you need before you can even articulate it. He presses his lips to yours again, muffling your cries of pleasure only a fraction. “Oh, god,” you moan into his mouth, giving him a chance to slip his tongue between your teeth and kiss you even deeper. You tangle your fingers into his messy hair, tugging gently on the strands as he continues rutting into you.

When Suguru breaks the kiss, he hoists you off the wall and into the bedroom, laying you gently on the impossibly soft sheets. You expect him to re-enter you, but the expectation was only met with a tongue lapping against your core. “Oh, fuck!” You almost shoot right off the bed, but Suguru steadies you with hands against your legs, pressing them back open easily. You lift your head a little higher to watch him eagerly devour you, his eyes meeting yours. 

Watch me, he seemed to say without speaking. Watch me turn you into a mess. 

The thought was too much. You lay back on the bed as his teeth graze your overly sensitive clit, groaning from the equal dose of pain and pleasure. His tongue swirled around you without care, hitting all of the right spots as if it were a pinball machine. Suguru moans into your cunt when you grab his hair again, and his hairtie falls out completely, letting his inky locks cascade around his face. Combined with his hand pushing back the hair that obscured his view of you, his gaze transfixed you completely. 

It was all just too much, and you gasp before your mind hits that point where the only thing you can think of is nothingness and the only word that flies out of your mouth is Suguru’s name. You rock against his face greedily, hoping that you can ride out just one more orgasm on the heels of your second one, but Suguru knows your tricks by now. Lifting off of you, he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, grasps his cock, and sinks into your heat once more. 

“Count,” he whispers darkly against your ear, reminding you of your duty.

“Two!” The word comes out choked, as if he had his hand around your neck, but the only thing he’s doing is making you see stars after your second orgasm. 

“You can’t tap out now,” Suguru laughs, seeing your cross-eyed stare. “I need you to hold on for me; only one more.” You only whine in response, feeling the tip of his cock touch your cervix. His arms were caging you in, holding you underneath him with precision. 

“I don’t know if I --” 

“Oh, yes you can.” His response is clipped short by a loud moan, and you feel his pace quicken. “I know you can.” Suguru’s lips latch onto your other nipple, tugging and pulling and driving you insane. You write beneath him, lifting your knees to add to the depth of his strokes and perhaps even allow him to hit that one spot…

The sensation of needing to pee crashes over you quickly, and you grasp Suguru’s arm, struggling to hold on. He hisses at the feeling of your nails digging into his skin, but it only adds to his own feelings of euphoria. “Oh, my god, y/n.” 

You whimper, trying to find purchase with anything anywhere, even going so far as to dragging your nails across his back hard enough to draw blood. But in your ecstasy, you don’t hear Suguru exclaim in shock. All you can feel is his cock sending you straight to heaven with no stops along the way. When the dam finally breaks, your legs shake vigorously, wetness running down to the sheets like a river. And Suguru finds his release in yours, pumping his cock into you as he cums, adding to the mess. You both lay there for a moment, sweat dripping down Suguru’s body and onto yours as you both catch your breath. 

While he goes soft inside of you, you kiss his face before finding his lips and pressing tender pecks there. Suguru slides out of you completely after a moment, then falls onto the bed beside you. Rolling onto your side, you nestle close to his body heat, feeling cum leaking out of you but not minding the sensation at all. “Three.” 

Suguru chuckles, wrapping an arm around you and pressing a kiss to the top of your head. 

And that’s when you feel it. 

A little flutter on your right side. 

You lift your head to meet Suguru’s eyes and find him, as always, looking back at you. This time, it’s not with laser focus, but with confusion. “Did he just--” Suguru insisted it was a boy - because he” just knows these things” - even going so far as to call your unborn child “my first-born son” whenever he spoke about it with Shoko and Satoru.

“I think so…” you laugh, and when you look down at your belly, you see a little raised bump slowly receding for the first time.

[redhoodieone]

Destroyed by Each Other

A/N: Hi everyone! This fic isn’t new, but the link to this story isn’t working so I’m posting it again. Hope you enjoy it again!

Warning: Unprotected sex, Oral sex, birth control, condom talk, language, and happy ending!

 It’s happening so quick. Before I can even say a word, Jason’s head is already lowered down, and his mouth contacts my overly-sensitive pussy. He licks an agonizingly slow lick up my slit and to my clit. “Oh! Fuck!” I cry out. The touch of his tongue is wonderful. I can hear him smirk and repeat the same actions. But it’s torturing me more and more. I reach out to tug on his dark hair; and gain some stability because I know I’ll be falling apart soon. “Fuck Y/N...you taste so fucking good. I think I wanna stay here and eat you all day long,” Jason moans against me. The vibrations send heat throughout my body. He begins to suck my clit gently and then furiously. The long torturous circular licks around my clit has me whining beneath him. His patterns, techniques, and patience prove how much this means to him. How in the fucking world can Jason Todd be the master of eating pussy? I’ve never felt this way during oral sex. Maybe my ex-boyfriend’s never knew what to do and never took in consideration how to build me up, and instead just fuck me without giving me an orgasm first. Jason Todd is the perfect fucking gentleman. It’s like he knew what my body was dying for. He knew the sensitive spots and knew how to work me up instead of just ramming fingers and fists inside me. Jason moves away for a second to quickly kiss to my thigh. I whine and try to grip the tile beneath me. He returns to my clit and licks it slowly but runs his tongue faster now and looks up at me to see my face flushed and sweaty. My moans must be boosting his self-esteem. He chuckles when I try to move my hips against his mouth. I need more now!  

Jason becomes protective in a sense to hold me, but since he’s eating me out, he uses his hands to hold my legs down, but one hand continues to rub my thigh.

I’m gasping and whimpering pathetically, Jason has me under his spell. One of my hands is holding myself up in a sitting position, while the other is pulling Jason’s hair. My hips move against his mouth, I need more constant friction and touching.

A long finger enters me.

“Jason! Oh my God!” I pant, as he moves it inside and out of me. It’s not enough. “I need more! Please!”

Jason glances up at me. His mouth is wet from my arousal, but the shit-eating grin is there again. “What’s that doll? You want more than that? How about this instead?”

Another finger, and the curling motion to rub against that sensitive but perfect spot has me a moaning and gasping mess. My body feels like I’m on fire, and I’m only going to keep burning and burning until the last spark.

“Oh fuck, Y/N. You’re so fucking beautiful. I wanna see you cum so bad. I wanna taste your cum. And to think it’s all because of me would make it so fucking delicious,” Jason pants. His fingers continue working their magic inside me; stroking my g-spot, as his thumb rubs relentlessly against my clit.

It’s all too much. The overwhelming pleasure has me gasping for air, and tears are running down my reddish cheeks. I remove my hand from his hair and reach out to move him up to where I’m sitting.

Jason’s eyes are focused on me. The pupils are dilated to where the blueish, gray eyes are vanishing for a moment. His mouth is parted, and he’s breathing heavily too.

Instinct takes over. I grab Jason’s face to kiss him. The second our lips touch, an electric spark shoots from my toes and to my stomach. I can taste myself on him, which triggers another moan from me. Our tongues are battling for dominance, he wins as usual and licks and searches throughout my mouth until I’m whimpering for more.

And then I clench and unclench around his fingers; gushing all over his fingers as the dam has been broken. I break away from his mouth and scream, the searing pleasure has me gasping for air.

Jason quickly moves back down and licks up my juices. Moaning and savoring the taste he helped me make shows me what kind of man he really is.

It’s like Jason Todd takes pleasure in making girls cum that he might actually get off on just that.

He raises his head back up and licks around his lips. I stare at him and wonder what’s in those mischievous eyes.

“Holy fuck, doll. That was fucking hot, wasn’t it? And better yet, there’s still more.”

I shake my head no. I don’t think my pussy can handle more. The thought of more pleasure makes my thighs clench to shield my pussy. “No, I don’t think so, Jason. I-I don’t think I can do anything else.”

“Oh, come on baby girl. I need a release too! And since I made you cum, I think I deserve to cum as well, right?” Jason practically whines. He frees his thick cock from his boxers, and hastily parts my legs. He rubs the tip against my juices for lubricant. “And besides, I don’t think I’ll last much longer considering your orgasm was like foreplay for me. Just seeing you moaning and cumming on my fingers is enough to bring me on the edge. I don’t think this’ll be very long.”

With one more kiss from Jason, he thrusts himself into me; stretching me to the point where it hurt a bit but was pleasurable enough to want him more. He begins to thrust slowly and deeply, before my nails on his shoulders and chest scratch him to pick up the pace.

The sounds of skin on skin slapping is loud; I immediately wonder if Bruce and Dick can hear us. Dick must have already heard me during oral sex, and I wonder why if he’s still out there and listening to us.

It’s as if Jason knew I was thinking about Bruce and Dick. He snarls and slams his cock deeper and harder into me. I release a long overdue moan and scratch his back once more. He then lifts me up a bit, to the point where he’s holding me up and fucking me upwards to where he can hit that spot he knows so well.

“There...I-I found it...How many fuckers can say that when they’re fucking you, Y/N?” Jason pants, breathing heavily from his nose. He’s struggling to speak, but he wants to do much.

“N-not many!” I choke out. Jason’s cock is deliciously rubbing hard against the spot, and I know I’ll be coming undone any second.

“Good! Because this spot is MINE! Only I can find it and make you cum! You’re my cum queen now, Y/N!”

And Jason isn’t even quiet during sex; he’s very vocal. He often drops his head beside mine to groan loudly. Between our panting bodies, his hand slips down and rubs my clit hastily to get me to the edge where he’s waiting for release.

But Jason is still that guy who needs reassurance; who needs compliments because the guy has never been praised for much in his life.

“Oh Y/N. You’re so fucking good! You’re taking my cock so well in that beautiful pussy of yours. P-please tell me I’m good, too. P-please tell me I’m fucking you good, too,” Jason pleads, the look in his eyes breaks my heart.

“Y-you’re fucking me so good, Jason! You’re doing so good! I-I need more of your cock!” I shout uncontrollably.

Jason smiles sweetly. He kisses me harder which shows the confidence is back, and his thrusts are deeper, faster, and harder now.

I kiss him back harshly. Our lips must be red and chapped from sucking and biting each other’s moans. I bite his bottom lip once more, and I gasp into his mouth. My pussy clenches and unclenches around Jason’s, and my juices soak his cock.

“Fuck! Y/N! I’m fucking you so good! I’m gonna cum in you!” Jason groans loudly. His thrusts are getting sloppy.

“Jason, don’t cum in me! Pull out!” I warn him.

Jason thrusts a few more times, and then he shuts his eyes. His mouth is open, and he chokes back on his gasps. His orgasm must have been strong, and it takes a moment for him to open his eyes and breathe again.

He pulls his cock out, and he grimaced. “Oops.”

“J-Jason! Did you cum inside me?” I demand.

“Yeah...but you’re kinda ruining the sexy sex glow. It was hot, wasn’t it?” Jason breathes out.

“But you came inside me! Why? Why would you do that, Jason? It’s not exactly safe!”

“Yeah, but you’re on the pill, right?”

“Yes, but it doesn’t matter! It’s not a hundred percent effective! Oh my God! Do you do this with your other girlfriends?” I panic. Pushing him far away from me, I begin to get dressed, despite my legs shaking and my breathing uneven. I’ll have to tell Bruce. He’ll know what to do.

Jason quickly gets dressed and stops me from walking around him. “Look, I-I know what I did was stupid, but I don’t go around fucking girls without protection. I don’t trust any of them, and I’m obviously clean. So, you don’t have to worry about me giving you STD’s and shit,” he explains worriedly.

“I know you’re clean! I didn’t think you were a manwhore or anything. I just hope I don’t get pregnant because of one unprotected fucking!” I cry out.

“You let Bruce pull out. Isn’t pulling out just as dangerous as me cumming inside you?” Jason argues back.

I frown. I’m being a hypocrite. Jason’s right. Maybe I should be more careful and have better judgment. But truth be told, I don’t think I really regret anything.

“You’re right. I’m sorry. It’s just...well, you can go ahead and call me a whore too, but all I want is to have fun. I don’t want to settle down, have kids, and do the whole ‘family thing’ yet. After everything that has happened, I just...want to have fun and not worry. So, I guess in a way I’m only looking for sex and nothing serious right now,” I confess. I hope Jason goes easy on me and my confession.

Jason’s tall as fuck, he towers over me to where I must look up at him. He sighs, and then smiles at me.

“I get it. It doesn’t make you a whore unless you just fuck one person from now on. So, I guess you have to pick someone and just stick with them until you figure yourself out. The question is...” Jason says, before he tilts his head to the side. “Is it me?”

Before I can say anything, Tim and Damian come into the kitchen. The smell of sex is still strong and evident, and the paper towel with Bruce’s cum is still on the counter (which I believed I threw it away earlier, but I guess I never did). They raise their eyebrows at us, before Tim clears his throat.

“Wow, kitchen’s crowded. So, um...we’re going to leave now and see you guys soon,” Tim says anxiously before he turns away first to leave.

Damian raises an eyebrow at me. “Don’t even think Drake and I are next for your sexually active sessions, sister. If I had to support one of them for your sexual activities, choose the one man who really makes you feel special and worth it. But believe me when I say I’m just shocked and relieved you didn’t resort to male prostitution for your strong urges. Carry on then.”

With Damian gone, I exhale. Maybe it had been too long since I’ve been intimate and loved. And even though I’m not biologically related to anyone here, it just makes it more difficult to understand how I feel.

Never once has any guy here used me and thrown me to the side.

Never once has any guy here ignored me and abandoned me when I needed him the most.

Never once has any guy here made me feel unloved and alone.

I’m drowning in these thoughts when I barely notice Jason has been staring at me the whole time.

I wonder why he’s even staring at me. We just fucked, so shouldn’t he be off bragging about it to Bruce and Dick?

Because even now, I don’t know what he wants from me. I don’t even know what I want.

It’s as if he’s read my mind again. Jason wraps his arms around me and brings me into a bear hug I’ve seen and heard so much about. With a kiss on the forehead, he lowers his head to where our foreheads almost touch.

“Stop thinking so negative, Y/N. I really like you, and I’m not going to stop anytime soon.”

“We just had sex. So, shouldn’t we be done with each other?” I ask curiously.

Jason manages to look down at me. He frowns. “Why would we be done with each other? What we had was the most fucking hottest sex ever, and you don’t want me now?”

“I didn’t say I didn’t want you. I just figured you wouldn’t want me now after you’ve had your taste and fun,” I defend myself.

Jason looks destroyed. Pained, heartbroken, and rejected. The natural glow of happiness in his smile and eyes are gone. He releases me and takes a step backwards away from me.

“So...that’s what this is all about. You think I would just use you for sex, Y/N? You think Bruce and Dick are better than me, and would want you after a good fucking? Bruce and Dick may be more emotionally stable than me and have their shit figured out but look who’s still here after the good fucking! I’m the only one here, doll!” Jason snaps. He raises his voice and his fists are clenched at his sides, but I know that he wouldn’t hurt me. “What do I have to do for you to believe in me and see that maybe I’m worth it, too?!”

“You made Dick leave,” I point out.

“If he was man enough, he would have taken me out of the kitchen instead of just leaving you here!”

I feel like total shit. Maybe I shouldn’t have said what I said. Maybe Jason has grown up since I’ve known him. “I-I’m sorry...Jason. I just...well, I can’t make excuses for what I’ve said and done, but maybe I have shit I have to work on, as well. I really need to work on self-esteem issues and having more faith in those I love. I guess I’m not exactly on Bruce and Dick’s level.”

Jason sighs, and then looks back down at me. “I’m sorry, Y/N. I guess we’re more alike than what we thought.”

“I guess so,” I agree.

“Let’s just...start over. Can we?” he asks softly. Looking at me with hope in his beautiful and strong eyes.

“I don’t think I can have any more sex today, Jason.”

He laughs hard. “I was thinking of maybe getting food or something, and then just sit and talk,” Jason suggests. “That sounds much better,” I accept excitedly. “But I should probably point out, I can’t exactly walk right now.” Jason smirks, and throws me over his shoulder. With one slap on my ass, he walks us to the front door. “Then that means I did my job well.”

“That you did!” I approve. “You’re one lucky girl, Y/N.” “You’re one lucky son of a bitch, Jason.” “I am, but just remember, Y/N: you’re mine from now on. No more fucking other guys.” “Same to you, Jaybird. I mean, other girls though.” I laugh and receive another spanking from Jason.

[skullrock]

the parents - Steve x Reader

pairing - Steve x Reader

request - Hi! If possible could you write a something where the reader meets Steve parents for the first time (after being cancelled on so many times) and they’re not the greatest which results in the reader standing up for Steve!

word count - 1.7k

warnings - swearin’

a/n: this was CATHARTIC I hope you enjoy <3

===

Steve’s grip on the steering wheel is so tight that you’re worried he’s going to break his knuckles.

“Hey,” you say calmly, resting your hand on his thigh. “It’s just a dinner.”

“It’s not just a dinner.” He rakes his hand through his hair and clenches his jaw. “It’s a dinner with my… my shitty dad.”

You lean back in your seat with a sigh. Steve had cancelled, and cancelled, and cancelled on his parents. They finally tricked him into coming by with you, and he was not happy. Actually, he was really pissed off.

“Please unclench your jaw. You’re going to break it and you’re too pretty for that.”

He relaxes slightly, a faint smile on his lips. “You think I’m pretty?”

“Of course I think you’re pretty.”

He takes a hand off the steering wheel and laces his fingers through yours, squeezing tightly. “I apologize in advance for whatever they have to say. And whatever they do.”

You roll your eyes at him. “It can’t be that bad.”

===

Turns out, it can be that bad.

Steve’s dad is a literal Bond villain. He smokes a cigar around the house and never takes it out. He has a painful handshake and pointed eyes. He just looks angry, even when he is happy. You’re very nervous around him, but you understand where Steve gets his looks.

His mother is beautiful and meek, compared to her husband. She is very doting on Steve, but has some passive aggressive comments. She hugs you, and she smells like perfume that costs too much for what it is. Steve has her brown eyes.

The atmosphere is tense and hangs over the room like smoke, suffocating and thick. You clear your throat and ask questions in an attempt to stop his father from glaring and his mother from wringing her hands, decorated with diamonds and jewels.

“What was Steve like when he was a kid?” you ask, smiling. You bump into him beside you. “Probably a menace.”

“You can say that again,” his father says, his cigar still hanging from his lips. Steve stiffens beside you and you attempt to quell his anger by rubbing your thumb over his, but it doesn’t do much.

“Awe, Steve wasn’t that bad,” his mom says. Her eyes shine. “He was a little troublemaker, but he was a cutetroublemaker.”

“Mom,” Steve hisses, and you laugh genuinely.  

“He liked to get in trouble with the girls, that’s for sure,” his father mumbles. “And how many times have you gotten your ass kicked?”

Steve’s mom slaps his father’s arm, glaring, and you tense up, too, in shock. Your brows furrow and you open and close your mouth. You want to say something, but you can’t. You know it’s probably not a great idea to confront your boyfriend’s father. You can practically hear Steve’s teeth cracking as his jaw clenches again. Your heart aches – there’s nothing you can do to make him feel better except get him out of that house as soon as possible.

“Dinner ready?” you ask, looking directly at his mother, who nods eagerly and jumps up. You follow her to a dining table, decorated with porcelain that must have been imported. She goes to the kitchen to get the food, which leaves you, Steve, and his dad sitting at the table in an awkward silence. You bump your feet into Steve’s repeatedly as a way of silently telling him that you’re here and he’s okay. His mom comes out a second later with a pan, then some pots, and then a pitcher of water infused with fruit.

You feel like you’re at a five-star hotel, if it were run by a Bond villain and a mouse.

Perhaps the worst part of the visit is how everyone sits in complete silence while they eat; or, more accurately, push their food around. You cannot believe this is their actual chemistry with each other; and although Steve is moved out now, you feel horrible that he had to live like this for twenty years. Every night he had to sit at a huge table that could easily sit 8 but is set for 4, watching his father smoke a cigar and read the paper, as his mother desperately tried to get his approval and attention. The thought of it spikes irritation in you, only fueled by the sickly smell of the cigar smoke.

“Like your cigars, huh?” you ask his father, eyes narrowed.

“Imported from Cuba,” he says, as if it’s something to be proud of.

“So, do you smoke while you eat, or?”

Steve chokes on his water beside you and kicks your leg, silently begging you to shut up. You glance at him and smirk – you think it’s kind of funny. His father glares again and slowly sets it on a nearby ashtray, the sizzling of it going out the only sound in the room, aside from forks pushing meat on the china.

“Thanks,” you say sweetly, a shoulder cocking up and back down.

“I like this one,” his father says, pointing a finger at you and smiling. “Does she push you around too, Steve?”

“Sometimes,” you answer for him, forcing a smile.

Steve knows this will simply not be ending well for anyone, and he wants to scream and run out of the room, leaving a Steve-shaped hole in the wall in his wake. He’s nauseous and anxious, bouncing his knee up and down erratically. It makes the table shake, but his folks don’t seem to notice. They’re used to it.

“Steve needs someone to push him around,” his father continues. “He needs someone to give him some motivation.”

You bite your cheek, contemplating if you want to respond or bite back.

You bite back.

“That’s not true. I think Steve needs someone who doesn’t hound him at all hours of the day.”

Steve wants to die.

Steve’s mom wants to die.

“Anybody want dessert?” she asks weakly.

“Well, hounding him all day every day didn’t do much,” his father replies.

“Yeah? I wonder why.”

Steve kicks you under the table again, hissing your name under his breath. He pointedly avoids eye contact with his father.

“Steve must be different around you,” his father says, smiling bitterly. “When he lived here, we couldn’t get him to do anything. It was like he wasn’t capable. Ain’t that right, honey?”

His mother shields her face.

“Steve’s more than capable.” It comes out without thought, and you want so desperately to swallow the anger that rises and sits at the base of your throat, but it comes out in a rush. “Steve’s smart, and caring, and a hard worker.”

His father laughs and your fists clench.

“Maybe Steve didn’t thrive around you because it’s hard to have an asshole as a dad.”

“Y/N,” he hisses, clutching your forearm.

“You know, they always say it’s like father like son. So how many times did you get your ass beat, Mr. Harrington?”

“Too many to count,” Steve’s mom responds, and you stifle a laugh.

“Enough,” Steve and his father say simultaneously, and while his mother slinks back, you sit straight, chin up.

“Don’t like being hounded much yourself, huh?” you ask, and his father’s pupils flare, but he stays quiet.

“Think we better get going,” Steve says, standing up, but you pull him back down.

“I thought your mom said something about dessert. It would be rude to leave now, wouldn’t it?”

Steve is conflicted. On one hand, he hates that you’re talking back to his dad, because he knows more than anyone how it ends. On the other hand, it’s really amazing to have someone see his worth and verbalize it to his biggest critic’s face.

So he decides to sit back down, relaxing at your touch as your fingers swirl circles on his wrist.

“I’ve got a pie in the kitchen –“ his mother starts.

“Let me help you with that!” you say quickly, folding your napkin and sitting it on the table. Steve excuses himself to the bathroom – no way in hell is he going to sit at the table alone with his dad – and you follow his mother to the kitchen while his father follows with his eyes.

“I’m sorry,” you start as soon as you get to the kitchen. “I don’t mean to make you uncomfortable –“

“My husband needs to be told off,” she says, hushed. “And Steve needs someone to tell him he’s worth it.” She grabs your hand and squeezes it, and you swear her eyes are welling with tears. “You’re perfect.”

Over pie, you talk to his mother about Steve, making a point to tell his parents about all the good things he does and everything he is good at. You tell him about how protective he is, how he defended a child from a teenage bully – leaving out the part where he almost got beat to death for it – how kind, caring, thoughtful, courageous he is. Steve blushes the entire time, but he radiates with happiness. For the first time, he feels loved for all he is.

You leave by giving his mother a hug and shaking his father’s hand again, your grip matching his, and while it hurts, it feels good. You smile at him and he frowns. You enjoy his confusion at your behavior. You also enjoy how he hasn’t said a word since you spoke up.

Steve pulls you into a long, tight hug once the front door shuts. It’s so tight that you can hardly breathe. He leans down and kisses you deeply, pulled close to him. Resting his forehead on yours, he whispers, “Thank you.”

“Wasn’t so bad,” you say cheekily. “And I even have something to celebrate with.”

Steve’s brows furrow and you smile before reaching into your jacket and pulling out a box of his father’s beloved Cuban cigars. Steve’s eyes widen and then he laughs – hearty, fully, happily.

“Let’s go home and trash them,” he suggests.

You stand on your tip toes and kiss him again. “That’s just what I was thinking.”

===

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[fangirlandiknowit101]

Based on this post, with the idea by @itachiscatears, a very unhinged possible epilogue to The sun within me where Naruto collects all the Sasukes, because why wouldn’t he?? 

Under a cut bc it ended up long. To put it simply, Sasuke suffers. Naruto lives in Sasuke-filled heaven for two (2) weeks until Sasuke comes back and ruins all his dreams (or something like that)

Rated T probably to be safe

______________________________________

Sasuke returns from his trip, and all thoughts are immediately erased from his head as he enters the Uchiha compound, finding it full of copies of himself.

Has Naruto finally gone off the deep end and decided to surround himself by clones transformed into Sasuke? He catches the eye of another Sasuke passing by, and this version of him is wearing glasses.

“Hello,” glasses-Sasuke says as he reaches him. “Are you new? I thought Naruto started out by introducing everyone, but you seem like you wandered in here by yourself.”

“I…”

He’s speechless. Actually speechless. He considers yelling Naruto’s name at the top of his lungs, because either he’s playing a bad prank on him, or this person standing in front of him is really another version of him. Was Charasuke not enough?!

“Where the hell did you come from?” he asks, and glasses-him pushes the glasses up his nose, sniffing at him.

“Another dimension.”

The obviously is left implied.

“I’m a scientist,” is added, and then he turns halfway to shout at someone. “Oi, Friendly Sasuke! Would you come over here, please?”

Sasuke stares, and stares a little more as another Sasuke walks over with a happy grin on his face. Even knowing Charasuke, it’s unsettling to look at.

“Sure, what’s up, Researcher Sasuke?”

Sasuke – the real Sasuke, that is, although he is starting to doubt the reality of things – glares at both of them.

“Where’s Naruto?” he demands, fists clenching and unclenching in anger.  

“Pretty sure he’s still at the Hokage tower,” Friendly Sasuke replies, giving him a pleasantly questioning look. “Is he new? He seems kind of similar to Avenger Sasuke. Bad temper, I mean.”

“Oh!” Researcher Sasuke taps his lips, scrutinizing Sasuke as one might scrutinize a lab experiment. “Maybe this is the Sasuke of this world? Naruto said he’d be coming back soon.”

Telling himself firmly that Naruto (and Charasuke, too) would be upset with him if he started killing versions of himself, Sasuke takes a deep breath and flickers out of sight, heading for the Hokage tower.

“Sasuke!” Naruto greets him with, a beaming smile on his face as he holds his arms out from behind his office desk.

As if Sasuke would run into his arms. As if he didn’t already have another version of him standing by the desk, glaring sullenly at Sasuke.

“You,” Sasuke hisses out from between clenched teeth. “Explain.”

Naruto chuckles, rubbing at the back of his neck.

“Ah, well, you see, I was talking to Charasuke if maybe there could be other dimensions, and maybe there would also be other versions of us there? And so, guess what? There is!”

Perhaps Sasuke should go on another trip. A year-long one. He’ll pretend for a moment that he won’t miss the dumb idiot, and that he hadn’t spent most of this trip looking forward to coming back home to him.

“And what, I repeat, what, are they all doing in the Uchiha district? I leave you alone for two weeks and this is how desperate-“

The edge of a katana is pointed at his throat, fast enough that Sasuke can’t finish speaking, but slow enough that he deems it’s not a serious attempt on his life. The other Sasuke’s eyes bore into his, a little unhinged.

“Maybe you shouldn’t leave him alone,” this barely restrained version of him says.

“No, no, it’s alright,” Naruto says, slowly walking over to delicately push the other Sasuke’s katana down. “I know you like violence, Avenger Sasuke, but we’ve talked about this.”

Again, Sasuke is speechless. Naruto pouts at the other Sasuke until he sheaths his katana with a huff, still eyeing him with suspicion. He never acted like that, did he?

(Okay fine, he did. But still.)

“Return them,” he grits out, just as the door to the Hokage’s office slams open and several copies enter the room.

“Now, he really can’t do that,” Researcher Sasuke informs him, shaking out a long scroll and glancing over the contents. “You see, the Uchiha district is now a booming economy, restoring the wealth of the Uchiha clan, which was unjustly usurped by this village. Without us, this village will collapse.”

He does not like the sound of this. His eyes find Naruto, who clears his throat with a sheepish look on his face.

“Don’t worry,” another Sasuke says, wearing pastel-colored clothing and chewing loudly on something as he speaks. There are obnoxious sun glasses on top of his messy hair. “It’s cool. We like it here.”

“See?” Naruto pleads with him, attempting an innocent look. “There’s even a Ramen Chef Sasuke! His ramen is to die for, you have to try it!”

“I’d rather die,” Sasuke mutters, contemplating escape. Two weeks. He wonders what the kyuubi’s opinion is on this madness.

“Aw, come on. Don’t be like that,” Naruto says, moving closer and clearly aiming for a hug, possibly a kiss.

Sasuke’s dignity will not allow it.

“You are not allowed to touch me or even think about touching me until they’re all gone,” he spits out, taking a few steps back. “You can sleep here in the office.”

“Or with me,” Friendly Sasuke suggests.

“I think it was Stripper Sasuke’s turn tonight,” Researcher Sasuke points out.

Well, that’s it. He’s out of here.

Naruto calls after him as he leaves through the window, but no one tries to stop him. Naruto prefers the stripper version of him? Fair enough. He’ll let them have fun while he…

Ends up moping in a bar, Sakura giving him pitying looks.

“I tried to stop him,” she says again, for the umpteenth time. “Told him you’d be unhappy.”

“That’s an understatement.”

Another pitying look, and he’s starting to feel tired down to the bone. Why, oh why, did he decide to dedicate his life to this absolute moron? This imbecile? This Sasuke-obsessed nutcase? He can’t even bring himself to feel surprised, just resigned.

“I have to admit though, they’ve done a lot to improve the economy. Some versions of you are terribly smart. There’s even a doctor one, he’s teaching me-“

Sasuke gives her a look, and she promptly shuts up. Maybe that version of him is straight and they can live happily ever after. He. Does. Not. Care.

Someone wanders over to their table, pausing until Sasuke tilts his head up. He’s been resting it against the tabletop, for reasons. It is, of course, another version of him. Just really old. Like, older than he ever imagined he’d become.

“I heard you are this Naruto’s Sasuke,” he says in a gravelly voice, cane gripped tight in one gnarled hand. “This must all be terribly confusing to you.”

Another understatement. The old him clears his throat, and Sakura rushes up to get him a chair. He sinks down on it with a heavy sigh, placing the cane over his lap and peering at Sasuke with too knowing eyes.

“We are all here of our free will,” he states, as if Sasuke is included in that. He’s no longer sure he is. “In my case, I lost my Naruto to old age, which inevitably awaits us all, if we are lucky.”

As sad as that is, Sasuke won’t offer him any sympathy.

“Some came out of curiosity, some came because their Naruto is unavailable. Some came because Naruto asked them to. I think it unsettles him to know that there are few other universes where the two of us live together in true happiness.”

“Maybe he just entered your dimensions at the wrong point in time,” Sasuke surprises himself by saying, raising an eyebrow at the old man. “I mean, if you at least had a long life together…”

He receives a thoughtful nod for his comment.

“Maybe he found us at a time when we most miss his presence. Researcher Sasuke, for example, is studying in another country. He’s convinced that all the data shows that his Naruto is not interested.”

“Not my problem.”

Sakura kicks him under the table.

“Either way, none of you belong here,” he adds, grimacing at the thought that Naruto would be attracted to this wrinkly old version of him. “How long do you plan to stay, anyway?”

Old Sasuke smiles sweetly at him. It’s terrifying.

“Oh, I for one don’t mind staying for the rest of my life. This young Naruto is so invigorating.”

Sasuke cannot deal with this. He does not deserve this. He stands up and leaves, stalking out of the bar and out of the village and doesn’t stop until he’s an hour away and Naruto pops into existence next to him, using the damn mark still on the nape of his neck.

“Are you leaving?” Naruto asks, looking alarmed. “Why? Where are you going?”

“Does it matter?” It’s unfair of him to ask, but Naruto is seriously testing his patience. “You’ve got your harem to entertain you.”

“It’s not a harem,” Naruto splutters, waving his arms around wildly. “It’s just-“

Sasuke waits, crossing his arms.

“I, uh, may have a slight problem,” Naruto confesses, nervously tapping his hands together. “You see, I just wanted to check on us in the other dimensions, but then I was noticed, and then you, well a version of you, convinced me to find more of you, it was just for research-“

Oh, Researcher Sasuke is going to die a gruesome death.

“And then suddenly! There were so many of you! And things were kind of happening!”

“You’re an idiot,” Sasuke tells him, but he can’t stay angry at Naruto.

Of course, Naruto knows this, and his hopeful little smile is entirely too effective. Sasuke closes his eyes and groans, listlessly holding out his arms, just enough that Naruto takes it as an invitation. He launches himself at Sasuke, clinging to him like a monkey, burying his face in Sasuke’s neck.

“I missed you,” he mutters, and it’s the final blow to Sasuke’s defenses.

He wraps his arms around Naruto, telling himself he’s definitely going to make him pay for this, just later.

“You’re taking them all back tomorrow morning at the latest,” he scolds Naruto, who lets out a muffled noise of complaint. “Either they leave or I do.”

It’s an empty threat, but Naruto still stiffens in his hold.

“Fine,” he huffs, lowering his legs until he’s at least supporting his own weight. “But… what about Grandpa Sasuke? Can we keep him?”

Sasuke pushes him away, ignoring the betrayed look on his face.

“No.”

“But he’s so nice! And harmless! And his Naruto is already dead!”

“I am not sharing you.”

Wait. That’s not what he meant to say. Naruto blinks up at him from where he’s sprawled on the ground, mouth open like a fish. Then his eyes fill with glee, a smug grin spreading across his face.

“Ooh, you were jealous,” he teases, and Sasuke turns his back on him. “You were! Admit it! You want me all to yourself, because you love me soooo much-“

One of these days, Sasuke tells himself silently as Naruto continues to blabber on about how Sasuke still needs to learn how to communicate, and obviously Naruto loves him the most, he just can’t help but wonder if maybe Sasuke could be a little nicer to him, learn a ramen recipe or two…

Yeah, one of these days, for sure, he’ll knock some sense into Naruto. But not today.

Clearly, not today.

[applepiry]

Fluffvember Day 2

Prompt: Meeting the Family

Word count: 1.4k+

MidoriyaxAchiya!Reader

Contains: Fluff, mentioned/implied child abuse 

!!! As this is inspired by my character Sade, while it is gender neutral, the powers “you” possess are Sade’s, and your history is hers !!!

This was a terrible idea. An awful idea. You had only agreed to this because your sweet cinnamon roll of a boyfriend had been begging… well, since he met you, to meet your parents. Izuku Midoriya was obsessed with Heros and your parents were the top Pro Hero Duo in Europe, but as they were also… well, you and Todoroki weren't friends because your parents weren't similar, that was for sure. (In fact, Shouto is constantly telling you you likely had it rougher than him with two parents constantly on your case)

They had come into Japan to watch your graduation, something you hadn’t assumed they would actually do when you told them the date. You and Izuku had only been dating for a few months, him having nervously asked you out after the Sports Festival, when he had won first place. You had sobbed out a yes right before he had collapsed from his fight with Bakugou, who had been knocked out. 

There was a day before the ceremony, and Principal Nezu had given your parents special permission to come onto campus, but you had not expected them to show up at the dorms so early in the morning. You had wanted to meet them later in the day, for dinner and nothing more. 

Coming downstairs to the common room after a weird text from your father, wanting to see your friends to complain… You found your parents in civilian clothing, standing around with your friends around them. 

“WHAT THE FUCK!” you scream in german, rushing towards the crowd. “What are you two doing here?!” 

Bakugou hits in the corner with a sneer on his face, the only one of your friend group who really knows what they’re like. He was angry every time when Izuku kept asking about them, but had been nice enough not to tell your secrets to him. Luckily, Izuku had never suspected anything since Bakugou was just an angry person.

“That’s no way to talk to your parents, Sade,” her mother said in german, with a smile that Sade knew was fake. 

“We just wanted to see you, honey,” her father said, also in german.

‘Bullshit, but whatever.’ You think before sighing, “Well, can we go somewhere else?” you ask, still speaking in german. 

You only realize when all your friends seem very confused. Although, it's not far off from Kaminari’s usual looks.

“No, how about you introduce us to your friends?” your mother says with a cool tone, speaking perfect japanese, looking around to the three teenagers who had come up to her and her husband.

“This is Mina Ashito, Denki Kaminari and Eijirou Kirishima,” you say, defeated and knew there was no way you were going to get away before Izuku came downstairs. It was nearly 8am, and he came down around that time. “Oh, and that’s Katsuki Bakugou,” you add, pointing to the angry ash blond in the corner. 

Of course, all your friends, minus Bakugou, are extremely happy to be introduced and chat with your parents for a bit. Kirishima thought your dad was the coolest thing, while both Mina and Kaminari had their eyes sparkling for your mother. 

“Let’s go out to breakfast!” you shout as you try to shove your parents towards the door quickly.

Hearing the elevator ding, you knew it was time. You were not emotionally ready for your sweet boyfriend to meet your parents. You thought you had more time. 

Hearing your voice sounding frantic, Izuku quickly ran towards you, leaving Iida and Ochaco behind in the elevator. 

“What’s wrong, puppy?” he calls to you.

Feeling your face go hot, you slowly stopped shoving on your parents, turning around to meet those sweet green eyes. 

“Heyyyy, Izuku…” you said nervously, letting out a soft awkward laugh.

“Hey Deku! ____’s parents are here!” Kaminari said happily.

Idiot! God, you wished you could punch him through the wall right now.

“Oh, oh!” he said, realizing he was finally going to meet them. He went to your side quickly, smiling at your parents with his scarred hand out for them. “I’m Izuku Midoriya! I’ve been dating ____ for a while now. I am really glad to meet you.” he said, holding out his hand.

Your mother’s golden eyes looked at him, studying him silently. Your father, on the other hand, took Izuku’s hand and shook it. 

“Nice to meet you, son,” your father said, smiling softly, “I had my assistant find all the news on you. Busy kid, aren’t you?” he said as if that was normal.

“Dad!” you shouted, groaning. 

“Oh, well, Sir, erm, I want to be the number 1 Hero and save everyone. So.. I have to always do my best!” Izuku replied honestly.

Maybe this would go over better than you thought…

“And can you?” your mother's cold voice piercing the air. Everyone’s breath seemed to hitch, everyone watching them.

“I-” Izuku started, stumbling as he was rather flustered, but got cut off.

“He can, auntie,” the voice said, Shouto appearing from the elevator area. “Midoriya is very strong,” he added.

“Shouto! My sweet boy,” your mother's tone changed as she went to the icy-hot boy, hugging him happily to her. 

You could see the strain on Izuku’s face, though grateful for Shouto’s words, he felt horrible that your mother seemed to not like him. All he wanted was to be accepted by your parents.

“Sorry about my wife,” your father said with a chuckle. “You seem like an okay boy, Midoriya, but my wife cares more about power,” he informed them, shrugging. “It’s why we are together. To create power. Which we did. Although it took some breaking...” he said, looking at you before looking back at Izuku, “Think about why you’re together. What do you want to create? What can you do for ____?” he said before going to Shouto and his wife, greeting the boy he hadn’t seen in several years.

Izuku was shaking beside you, likely feeling horrible. 

“Babe…” you murmur, squeezing his hand tightly. 

“Are they… this way with you… all the time?” he wondered quietly as he led you towards the kitchen, not that your parents noticed.

“You finally realized, you damn Deku?” Bakugou’s voice surprised you. He was sitting in the corner of the kitchen, having not wanted to be a part of what was going on out in the common room. “That’s why ____ is always avoiding your questions about them!” he snapped, irritated.

“Is that true…?” Izuku asked, his voice hurt that it seemed Bakugou knew you better than he did.

Swallowing a lump, you nod slowly, “I just… didn’t want to ruin your impression of Heros..” you said pitifully.

“I know what Endeavor was like! I handled that when Todoroki told me,” he said, feeling a bit hurt. It was more that Bakugou knew something about you that he didn’t.

You look away, as does Bakugou. Izuku looks between you two, his eyes going wide. “Was it… worse?” he said, his voice barely audible. You can feel the anger rising inside him. Finding out his sweet angel had been abused as a child was very hard news for him.

“L-Look, Izuku, it’s not like that anymore and I never have to let them control me again,” you say quickly, hoping it will soothe the anger. 

Bakugou had a smirk on his face at this new development, liking the fact Izuku was so angry for your sake. All he wanted to do was encourage the anger, but he knew that would anger you… which he actually did not like being on the receiving end of. Instead, he just got up and left, deciding you needed alone time.

Holding his face in your hands, you gently kiss the tip of his nose, “It’s okay, Izuku,” you coo softly.

Slowly, his fists unclench, finding their way to your hips to pull you into a protective hug. “Puppy, please don’t hide things from me,” he murmured, looking into your eyes. “Especially not if Kacchan already knows,” he added quietly. 

Your face got hot again, was he jealous? 

“He found out on accident,” you tell him, sighing softly. If it had been up to you, no one would have known. “Come on, we should go back… They’ll leave soon enough,” you assured him, squeezing him as you two embraced. 

Leaning into your ear, he whispered sweetly into it, “I’ll make sure you’re never scared like that again,” he told you. He meant it, too.

Smiling and walking out hand in hand with your sweet green haired boyfriend to go show him off. 

Even if your parents didn’t accept him, you did and that was all that mattered.

[a-tiny-vixen]

Torug x F!Reader

Pairings: M!Orc Torug x F!Reader

Warnings: Sexual content

From the moment that he arrived at the castle you had felt attracted to him.

Torug came to service your father as war counselor, the war against the faerie folk haven only gotten worse. The attraction was mutual, but the pledge of loyalty he took weighed on his conscience.

Your different statuses also made him feel like he wasn’t deserving of you. He’s a big, bulky orc with long braids and one cut off ear, only able to be a counselor because of the many wars he has experienced. And there you were, a human princess who’s beauty is talked about all over the land, the jewel off the kingdom.

But you were determined to get to know him, and you succeeded.

After weeks of talking you shared your first kiss, and another month after that you gave him your maidenhood.

Tonight you were once again waiting impatiently for him to sneak into your room. Your bare feet feel cold against the ground as you pace around, your nightdress covering your skin with only a thin layer of fabric. You stare into your dressing mirror, eyeing yourself up and down. You want to look beautiful for Torug, you want him to want to make love to you.

The creaking from your door tears you out of your thoughts and you make your way to it as a talk figure darts into your room. Torug locks the door behind me before facing you, his eyes trailing over you. ‘You are gorgeous.’ He tells you, taking your hands into his. You blush and give him a bashful look. Your heart always flutters when he’s near, the love you feel for him begging to come out. You can tell from the look in his eyes that he loves you as well.

Torug kisses you gently, his tusks pressing up against your cheeks. His hands let go of yours and you eagerly reach out to feel his warm chest under your finger tips, moving them under his shirt.

You smile up at Torug, his dark eyes locking into yours. ‘We don’t have to do this tonight. You know that, right?’ He asks you and you nod your head. It makes you feel happy that he’s so concerned about you, but you want him to know that this is what you want. ‘I truly want to Torug, if you do too of course.’ Your cheeks color pink as you tell him.

A smile spreads on Torug’s face, and you are even seeing a hint of a blush. He takes a lock of your hair into his hand, gently letting it run over it. ‘I have never desired anyone more.’ He tells you, making your heart skip a couple beats.

You take one of his big hands into his, guiding him to your big, fluffy bed. You stop in front of it and lift your nightdress up, taking it off with a giggle as you see Torug’s expression. Sitting down on the bed you watch him as he takes off his clothes, revealing his broad stature. Your eyes linger on a big scar on his shoulder before moving down his body.

Torug’s cock is already getting hard with excitement, making you even more eager to touch him. He reaches forward, sliding his hands over your thighs before urging them forward. You open your legs and mewl as his fingers slowly slide towards your pussy. He takes his time, teasing the sensitive skin around it before spreading your folds with his fingers.

Giving you a mischievous look, Torug dips his head between your thighs, giving your head a fast lick. You moan and buck up against him, making him more sure of what he’s doing. His tongue slowly strokes over your folds before dipping between them. It darts over your opening, back to your folds and then finally onto your clit. His hands knead your thighs as he sucks on your clit and you eagerly lift your legs to rest onto his back.

Torug starts variating between licking your clit in small circles and sucking it, pushing you close to your climax. ‘T-Torug... I’m close.’ You moan out and he quickly looks up to you. His face soon returns to your pussy, one finger easily slipping into your wet heat. You writhe against him as he pumps his finger out slowly while continuing his movements on your clit.

Feeling eager to have you, Torug adds a second finger, preparing you for his thick cock. Your arousal makes them slide in and out easily and Torug groans against you at the sound of it. One of your hands grabs onto his arm as his fingers inside you push you over the edge, the other on your mouth to muffle the loud moan escaping you.

Torug keeps his fingers inside of you until he feels your body unclench. He eagerly licks his fingers off and you can’t help but turner redder at the sight. ‘Do you feel ready?’ He asks you, scanning your face for any discomfort. You nod your head and urge him upwards with your hand. He moves up to be on top of you and you can feel his cock dragging against your thigh as he gets in position.

You give Torug a little smile before cupping his face in your hands, pulling him into a kiss. He kisses you back and you can tell he’s getting impatient. Reaching between your bodies, he grips his cock and guides it into you, making you moan loudly into his mouth. Torug breaks the kiss while he starts to slowly thrust into you, wanting to see the face you are making. His quickly catch your attention as well. The way he scrunches his eyebrows together, how his eyelids drop a little and how his pointed ear twitches slightly every time he thrusts into your pussy. You admire him just as much as he does you.

Torug’s slow thrusts start getting faster, the force of his body slamming into yours moving your body up in the bed. He groans out your name and you feel his cock twitching inside of you, making you wonder how long he will last. You grab onto his shoulders and pull him closer to you, eager to have another orgasm before he has his. His hands grab onto your hips, bringing you down harder onto his cock. The new force behind his thrusts make you have to muffle your voice again with your hand, not wanting anybody to find out.

Moving his head down to your chest, Torug takes one of your nipples into his mouth sucking on it as he keeps on fucking you. His name slips out louder than you intended it to and you feel your body tense up again. Torug, feeling this as well can’t hold himself back anymore. His cock twitches inside you, hot spurts of cum coming out as he grunts loudly against your chest. You mewl as his seed coats your insides, the last shallow thrusts making you cum as well. You choke back your cries as your body moves in pleasure.

Torug look up at your face, both of you panting heavily. He pulls out slowly and you can immediately feel his cum starting to spill out of you. He plops down onto the bed, pulling you onto the side of his chest with one arm wrapped around you. He kisses the top of your head as you lay it down on his chest, hearing his heart beating just as fast as yours.

You take a moment to calm down before looking up at Torug’s face, being met with a grin. You smile back at him and lean in to kiss his cheek. ‘I love you.’ You say sweetly, and you can feel his heart skipping a beat. ‘I love you too.’ He tells you, his fingers stroking over your arm before kissing you gently.

[volturialice]

well since you ask so nicely

it’s rated uhhhh T+ I guess? bordering on M but there’s no actual smut so. here you are, 100% raw and unbetaed. warnings etc in tags

read on ao3 or ff.net

1949

When Jasper was a sixteen-year-old human, he stood opposite the army recruiter and told him he was twenty. The man squinted at his face. “Not much of a beard on you, son,” he said, scratching at his own patchy muttonchops. “But I reckon you’re taller than half the officers. Mind you don’t scrape your head on the ceiling, now.” And Jasper was waved on to the examining surgeon without ceremony, because he was tall.

When Jasper was a twenty-year-old vampire, he stood opposite a stocky, bull-necked newborn from Laredo in a life-or-death battle. The woman had forearms like saplings and radiated so much aggression it was palpable. She lunged, lightning-fast and lethal, and her head flew from her shoulders before she could land a single blow. Jasper had snapped her neck without much difficulty, because he was tall.

When Jasper is a mature and worldly vampire of one hundred and five, he stands opposite Alice in the lobby of a hotel in Atlantic City and decides to kiss her. She’s wearing red heels and a pearl gray dress she likes and her customary knowing smile, the one she reserves for whenever he’s about to do something stupid, or clever, or endearing. She tilts her face up and Jasper bends down to brush her lips with his—and bends down some more—and still more, and at last kisses her with burgeoning frustration because he is too damn tall.

Alice must know what he’s about to say, because she laughs.

“What?” he demands through a laugh of his own as she tucks her hand through the crook of his arm.

“You are not too tall,” Alice insists. “You’re just right.”

“If I’m not too tall, then you must be too small,” counters Jasper as they step out into the bright gray afternoon.

“Hmm. Now I know you don’t mean that,” says Alice, waving a dismissive hand as she tugs him toward the streetcar stop.

“Do you indeed. How?”

The knowing smile turns slightly wicked. “You like that I’m small. You have a”—her forehead furrows, vocabulary not quite measuring up to her ideas—“a thing.”

Her meaning is about as clear as the foggy gray sky above them. “A thing?”

Alice detaches from his arm and pulls a delicate silver bangle, the kind with no clasp, from her pocket. “You know,” she insists, sliding it ostentatiously over her fingers. But even Alice’s dainty knuckles are too big to slip through, and she stops, careful not to damage the metal. It’s oddly engrossing to watch as she works the fragile thing over her hand: slowly, gently, pushing her way in a few millimeters at a time until—snick!—hand, wrist, and forearm are through in a harsh instant, the gesture reminding him of nothing so much as—

“A thing,” repeats Alice, gazing up at him with satisfaction.

Jesus Christ. How long has she been carrying that bracelet around, just waiting for the moment she’d need to illustrate her point?

Jasper can hardly make his mouth form words. “That’s—I don’t—”

He looks around wildly, paranoid that some passerby might have witnessed her little display, but the only feelings of unwelcome arousal he picks up on are coming from within. Stop. A deep breath of bracing sea air is enough to restore some composure. He forces himself to meet Alice’s eyes like normal. It’s only a bracelet, for Heaven’s sake.

He grits his teeth. “I do not, as you so eloquently put it, have a thing.”

She doesn’t answer, as the streetcar has just arrived. Jasper helps her on, deftly taking the hand without the bangle. He’s forced to hold his breath in the proximity of so many humans, and Alice settles against his side in comfortable silence, not petty enough to keep slinging accusations when he can’t respond. But he knows better than to consider the conversation over. She’ll pick up the thread when it suits her next.

They make it three blocks before a few anemic sunbeams start to pierce the clouds. The streetcar stops by the boardwalk, across from a café with wide, blue-and-white striped umbrellas over little white tables. It will do for a temporary refuge from the sun.

Alice waits until he’s lifted her down from the streetcar to ask,

“how big is Maria?”

Jasper holds back a groan. How has she managed to make the subject of Maria even more distasteful? He’s grateful for the interruption of the humans at the café, who seat them at the table with the most shade and the best view.

“How big?” demands Alice again, as soon as the waiter who’s delivered their coffee is out of earshot.

Jasper crosses his arms. “I’m not answering that.”

Alice’s eyes narrow. “So she’s small, then.”

He shakes his head, half disbelieving at the direction the conversation has taken. A stab of irritation pierces Alice as something else occurs to her.

“As small as me?” she demands.

He sighs. “No.”

Definitely not. He has yet to meet a vampire as small as Alice.

“Good,” she says, radiating smugness.

“Why should it matter?”

She clambers to her knees in the chair, leaning precariously forward to rest her chin in her hands and her elbows on the table.

“Because if you have this thing—”

“Which I don’t—”

“—then I have to be better than her,” Alice insists.

“Ridiculous,” says Jasper flatly. As if she isn’t already better than Maria in every way that matters. The thought of any sort of competition between them is…bizarre, to say the least. The suggestion that they are in fact similar in some ways—however arbitrary—verges on disturbing. And the idea that he might rank them by relative smallness? Ludicrous.

Alice gazes up at him as though, with the revelation of Maria’s size, some decisive verdict has been reached. She’s massively irritating, but it’s difficult to stay irritated when he’s looking at her face. He resolves to never, ever tell her that her lips are prettiest when she’s smug.

He turns to look out across the empty beach, the ocean a deep gray-green now that the sun has slipped back behind the clouds. “Size has nothing to do with why I love you,” he grumbles.

Alice nods. “But it does have something to do with how you love me,” she points out.

“Does it?” He would love her just as much if she were taller.

Her mood turns thoughtful. She climbs back down to sit properly in the chair, scooting closer so she can take his hand and face it, palm out, toward her. She brings her own hand up, concentration never wavering as she stretches out her fingers as far as they’ll go, still nowhere near the span of his. She stops, palm hovering a hair’s breadth away.

“I like when you open doors and carry things for me,” she says, “and help me onto streetcars even though I don’t need help.” She bites her lip, still intent on their not-quite-joined hands.

“I like that you have an excuse to touch me all the time, that you can lift me down and no humans question it. I like how your hands reach all the way around my waist. I like that when strangers look at us, they wonder how on earth we fit together—and I like that they’ll never know.” Her eyes flicker up to his. “I like that you have to work to fit inside me. I like feeling so full of you I can hardly breathe. I like that I have to use both hands to—”

“Stop, stop.”

Jasper claps a hand over her mouth. If she keeps talking, he’s going to crush the table to splinters between them. His hand on her face looks enormous, a reminder of exactly what she’s talking about. He jerks away, fingers clenching and unclenching.

“I’ll stop if you admit it,” says Alice sweetly, all innocence again. She recaptures his hand and kisses his knuckles, making him shudder.

“Yes. God. Yes. You win. I have a thing. I have a thing so badly that I am seconds away from indulging it right here in the middle of all these humans,” he warns.

Alice’s tongue darts out to wet her lower lip. “No need for that.” She shifts in her chair.  

The frustration in his chest—and elsewhere—is reaching critical mass. “Alice, so help me—”

The sly glance through her lashes nearly does him in. “There’s an abandoned cinema around the corner.”

She gets up, tosses a few bills onto the table.

Her delicate hand is engulfed in his large one as she pulls him to his feet.

[yandere-daydreams]

Some mature, lemon-rated, Yandere!Oc/Reader content for a lovely anonymous commissioner. Gotta say, one of the main aspects of this was how *southern* the Yandere was, and I’m both disappointed and proud to say I remember way too many phrases from my six months on a farm.

Word Count: 1.5k

~

Somedays, you couldn’t help but think that he just thought of this as taking care of another animal.

Zacharia was a field-hand, first and foremost. A farmer through and through, even if he insisted he had other hobbies besides growing so attached to his hens he couldn’t stand to slaughter them, when the time came. It was a life-style that bled into everything he did, including holding someone hostage, apparently. From the rural, wicker furniture he’d leave scattered around your room, to the herbs he’d leave to sprout in the sunlight of the only window of your room, to the way he mumbled to himself as he tied to bowline-knot around your wrists every morning. Zacharia would talk to you as he did his animals, feed you on a precise schedule as he did with his livestock, and groom you so thoroughly, you nearly thought you’d be presented in front of a county-fair as a blue-ribbon captive.

Maybe there’d be judges, and psychos who did this kind of thing as a fun, low-impact sport. It would’ve made sense, you supposed, considering how excited Zacharia had been when he first hit you over the head with the back of his shotgun.

Even now, he mumbled quietly as you leaned against his chest, your wrists bound loosely to your neck with a long stretch of pink rope, thinner than the kind he’d use to guide cattle, but not exactly soft, still. The denim he insisted on covering himself with didn’t help much, either, rough fabric scratching against your barely-covered back. For once, you wished you’d accepted his offer to let you wear one of his flannels, something you’d rejected because he’d kidnapped you and you weren’t crazy. But, it wasn’t like fighting off the heat in the thin bralette and lingerie he’d provided was any less unpleasant.

He must’ve noticed you were no longer paying attention to whatever he was saying, your eyes starting to close as you lulled into a warmth-oriented daze, because Zacharia was quick to loop an arm under your restraints, pulling you further into him and resting his free hand on your thigh, as he so often did. “You’re not paying attention, darlin’. And we’ve talked about how much I love that, already.”

His voice was already dripping with venom, and although you usually tried to ignore him, you decided it’d be easier to relent. Just this time. “I’m sorry, my mind was-” Your voice caught in your throat has the hand on your thigh squeezed gently, kneading your skin for a moment before sliding inward, falling onto the inside of your knee and pushing ever so slightly. Regardless, you clenched your legs together, glaring forward. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

“You were stressin’ about something else, I’m making it better,” He laughed, the arm still wrapped around your chest pulling you closer, making it so difficult to breathe. But, you didn’t have time to think about your now-limited access to air, not as Zacharia’s hand smoothed over your leg, fingers lingering a little too close to something a little too high. Small, slow circles were soon being rubbed into white lace, and despite your best efforts, you twitched, writhing and struggling subconsciously, only allowing your captor to better access more… vital regions. “Y’know, I was thinking… a pretty little gal like you ain’t never had a boyfriend to go home to, right?”

The embarrassment flooded in before your common sense could, heat rising to your cheeks as you opened your mouth, quickly shutting it and gritting your teeth as his fingers found your clit, pressing down harshly. You only gave yourself a second to get used to the feeling, still trying to shift away from his hand. But, every little movement just ended with something hard becoming more evident as it pressed against your back. “Fuck off, don’t touch me!”

“That doesn’t sound like a ‘no’, baby.” The arm around your stomach loosened its hold on you, but only slightly, just enough to grope at your sides while he spoke. “And you’re needy enough for it, too. You’ve been begging for me to touch you since I first saw those big, ol’ doe-eyes.” His smile faded, a slight frown soon pressed against your skin. Zacharia’s voice was deeper than it had been, when he continued, vibrations reverberating against your neck. “You should thank me, just for holding back this long.”

You weren’t sure what it was, really. Maybe something in his voice, or the way he held you so possessively, or anything to do with this fucked up situation, but before you knew it, you were thrashing as violently as your restraints would allow. If Zacharia was something besides simply annoyed, he didn’t show it, his nails only digging into your side. It was a silent warning, but one you were more than familiar with, the light pressure enough to stop you from struggling beyond a cold, over-the-shoulder glare and a few bared teeth.

Zacharia huffed, smirking cockily as he pulled his hand back, slowly slipping three fingers into his mouth, his eyes never leaving yours as he swirled his tongue around his fingers. You were the one to look away first, shutting your eyes and taking a deep breath, trying to regain some composure. But, you were brought out of your brief meditation seconds too early, Zacharia pushing your panties to the side and shoving three long, thick fingers into your heat.

You could help but mewl, keeling forward from the shock, Zacharia giving you no time to adjust as he moved ruthlessly against you, slick noises quickly filling the room, both from your own wetness and the man’s saliva. He curled his fingers as he worked, forcing you to bite your cheek raw just to suppress the noises trying to crawl up your throat. Absentmindedly, you reached for his hand with your bound wrists, attempting to make him slow down, at least, but Zacharia just grabbed the pink fucking rope, twisting your arms into your chest and damn-near choking you.

“Nuh-uh, naughty girls have to ask for what they want,” He mocked, his pace never slowing. And yet, as the pain diminished, sparks of pleasure began to race up your spine, your stomach tieing itself in knots, tightening and heating up and fuck, it felt good. All it took was his palm rubbing against your clit to have your thighs unclenching on their own, bending before going stiff, just moving to open, better accommodating the man assaulting you. There was a soft hum as your keened and squirmed, Zacharia occupying his free hand with rough gropes and prodds to your chest. “Look at you, such a goddamn whore for anyone who touches you right. I bet you’re glad I gotcha first, or would you open up your legs for anyone who asks nicely?”

His voice was just a blur, at this point, barely audible to the pulse now beating in your ears. Hell, your own voice sounded further than it should’ve, distant but pathetic, all the same. “Zachy, please, I can’t-” The words died on your tongue, his thumb making contact with your clit and rubbing violently, like he was trying to silence you. You could feel his fingers spreading apart inside of you, stretching your cunt. “No, if you do that, I’ll…”

You fade into a whine, burying your cheek in his jacket as you came. Expecting Zacharia to stop, already having thoroughly humiliated you, you let yourself relax, only to find Zacharia finger-fucking you faster. The pleasure bordered on painful, your heat now raw and spent, sharp spikes of discomfort accompanying the electricity quickly building up. Fruitlessly, you shook your head, looking for something to grab despite knowing he’d never let you have that kind of support.

At some point, you must’ve started crying, Zacharia kissing your cheek so sweetly as he forced another orgasm out of you, coaxing it from you as much as he tore it from your body. His voice was too childish, too innocent, you almost didn’t recognize him. “It’s not so bad, babydoll. I’m pretty, aren’t I? C’mon, doncha think I’m cute?”

You couldn’t hold yourself back now, whining and mewling and moaning at every little movement, Zacharia giving you no reprieve, no time to rest. Another climaxed washed over you like a haze, making you twitch and scream, but with your cunt as oversensitive as it was, you weren’t given much time to prepare before another hit you like an oncoming freight train.

Thankfully, he must’ve gotten bored with torturing you, because soon, Zacharia slowed down, easing his fingers out of you while brushing past your clit, grinning as you curled into yourself. He continued to hold your hands in place, for a second, watching with cold, blue eyes as cum dripped onto your thighs, your pussy trying to clench around nothing despite the lack of stimulation. With a chuckle, he let go of the rope, allowing you scramble to your knees, panting heavily and trying desperately to recover.

But, the color hardly had time to drain from your face before a strong hand wrapped around the twine collar, jerking you back onto the mattress, throwing you down as Zacharia straddled your waist, that terrible, confident, alluring smirk plastered across his face. You didn’t have to guess at what he wanted, but that didn’t stop the boy from making it blatant.

“Don’t think I’m gonna let you run away that quickly, now, darlin’,” He laughed, leaning down to kiss the tip of your nose. “I did something real nice for you, so it’s only fair that you... return the favor.”

[lukatheselkie]

HMC - “I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

@hetaliamondaychallenge

Here’s number two! Gah I’m so late. I still have one to write as well. I figured I should probably post these two close together since they use Albert and Alrik (OCs).

Alrik is the personification of Fika. It’s a wonderful Swedish tradition, I recommend looking into it. He’s loud, expressive, energetic, brash, and a sweetheart (in his own way). However, he’s got sensory overload, which has a big part in this. It’s also important to note Norway gave him a ring after the last coffee ban in Sweden ended, and he wears it on a ribbon around his neck. There’s a significance behind this ring, but it’s not important to this story. Possibly the MOST important thing about this is his main pairing is Italy. He’s absolutely in love with him. BUT I’m also a big fan of alternate pairings, and that’s what this is. If you can’t handle reading bad qualities about him, maybe don’t read this. I had to use those to convince Alrik to choose Lovino (who I’m REALLY starting to love pairing with him, help.)  He also doesn’t like that Germany is so close to Italy, so he picks fights. This results in Prussia stepping in like the good big brother he is, and it almost always gets physical.

Pairings: OC x South Italy/Romano

Warnings: Cussing, beginning of a fight, mentions of wanting to strangle but never doing it, very slight sexual innuendos

    Alrik smiles sweetly at Feliciano, waving after him as he leaves. The moment he’s out of sight, his expression falls to one of sorrow. Lovino nudges him, trying to get his attention. “I know you came to visit him, but we can still have fun together, can’t we?” The corners of Alrik’s mouth quirk up slightly, but not enough for it to be a smile. He looks up at the Italian, nodding solemnly. Lovino ruffles his hair, successfully pulling a laugh from him.

    “Hey! Stop that! It takes a lot to get my hair to look presentable!” He sticks his tongue out at Lovino, smoothing down his hair in a desperate attempt to fix it.

    “I can’t help it. It’s just so tempting. You’re so small!” Alrik huffs loudly through his nose, and crosses his arms over his chest.

    “I’m only about ten centimeters shorter than you!” Lovino raises a brow at him, mouth pulled up into a smirk. “...And five centimeters shorter than Kiku.”

    “There it is. You’re short. But it’s cute. Don’t ever tell anyone I said that.” His cheeks tint pink, and he looks away. Alrik presses a hand to his mouth.

    “Nej one shall ever know. Not even through torture. I’ll take it to my grave!” He falters at the word, but only for a moment.

    “I’m not sure anyone would be brave enough to torture you after hearing your growl,” he comments, opening the door to the house. “Let’s play some games or something. It’ll help to take your mind off Vene leaving so soon. I told him you were coming over! I don’t know why he left like that.” Lovino’s curl bobs in annoyance. Alrik catches it between his hands, making sure not to tug on it.

    “It’s fine. He’s probably got more important things to do.” He sighs sadly, then shakes his head. “I’m not too upset! I get to play games with my friend! Race you to the couch.” He releases his curl, and takes off.

    “That’s not fair! You’re faster than I am!” He runs after him, rolling his eyes when he sees him sprawled on the couch, shoes kicked off and controller in hand. The console is already booting up. “Make yourself at home,” he mumbles, grabbing a controller for himself. He sits next to Alrik, leaning against him slightly. It’s his way of offering comfort without having to say anything embarrassing. Judging by the way Alrik visibly relaxes, it’s working.

~

    Lovino groans loudly when his cell phone rings, and pauses their game of Mario Kart. He answers it begrudgingly when he sees who’s calling. “What do you want, Antonio? I’m sort of in the middle of something.”

    “Ah, mi amigo! Can you open your door? Francis, Gilbert, and I are coming to visit! Gil says Ludwig went out with your brother, so you’re all alone right now!” Lovino glances at Alrik. Sure. Alone. “We’re less than a minute away, so hurry!” His curl starts to sway with agitation.

    “You’ll get the door open when I’m finished jacking off!” He screams into the phone, then hangs up. Alrik snaps his head around to him, eyes wide. “I’m not actually going to, don’t worry. I just wanted to make that asshole uncomfortable. Let’s finish our level.” The shorter man nods, and turns his attention back to the television. He sticks his tongue out slightly in concentration, and Lovino unpauses the game. They both wreck immediately, but get back on course after that. Lovino wins, with Alrik a close second place.

    “I’m always so close! Teach me how to winnnnnnnnnn,” he whines out. The Italian chuckles, and stands.

    “I wouldn’t be able to win if I taught you how though. I’ll be right back. I have to get the door for Antonio.” He rolls his eyes, and goes toward the door. Alrik puffs his cheeks and sticks his tongue out toward it jokingly. When the door opens, his heart sinks to his feet, and his expression falls into a carefully neutral one. Gilbert sees him before anyone can say a word.

    “Vhat ist he doing here!?” He points an accusing finger at Alrik.

    “Playing Mario Kart. If you don’t like it, then leave.” He flops onto the couch, feet toward the ceiling and head touching the ground. The air in the room grows tense, and he closes his eyes tightly. He *can’t* face Gilbert without his brother nearby. He knows he won’t stop, unless he’s pulled away from him and restrained. No one needs that today.

    “Gil. Non. Take a deep breath.” There’s heavy steps, and Alrik is yanked into a standing position. He sighs, readying himself for a fight. “Gilbert! Listen to me! Your brother isn’t here. Don’t start anything. Don’t let your need to protect him overshadow the fact he’s not even here.” Alrik gives him a pleading look.

    “I really don’t want to fight today. Please. I just want to have fun with Lovino.” He lifts the shorter man off the ground, sneering at him. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

    “Oh yeah? Vhat are jou going to do?” Alrik growls in the back of his throat. It’s quiet at first, but it quickly gains volume. It sounds just like Berwald’s growl. Gilbert goes pale—well, paler than usual—and throws him to the ground. “Vhat ze hell! Jou’re not a personification! Jou’re a-”

    “That’s enough. If you’re going to start a fight because he’s here, then you can fucking leave! You’re the one that showed up unannounced! Alrik is supposed to be here! And, if you want to go into even more detail, your brother showed up out of nowhere and whisked my brother away! Alrik came to hang out with both of us! Not just me! So this is your family’s fault!” He shoves a finger in GIlbert’s face. “Got it?”

    “G-got it,” he stutters out as he stumbles backwards. Lovino nods in satisfaction, and turns to Alrik. He furrows his brows when he sees he’s still on the ground, face hidden.

    “Hey. Are you alright?” He kneels next to him, placing a hand on his back reassuringly. “It’s under control now. No one will hurt you. I promise. If they even try, they’ll have to answer to me.” He sends a glare in Gilbert’s direction. Alrik wiggles his hand off, and curls in tighter on himself. Oh. Shit. “This is your fucking fault, you stupid potato bastard! I hope you know that! No one touch him. I’ll be right back.” He runs to his room, looking around frantically for a comfort object. He grabs one of his pillows, and his blanket. He returns to Alrik’s side, and wraps the blanket around him carefully. “You’re okay. Take deep breaths. Count to ten and back. Focus on things that make you happy.” He keeps his voice a whisper, so as not to overwhelm him anymore.

    “What happened?” Lovino decides he’s going to kill Antonio. He places the pillow down, and stalks over to Antonio, yanking him into the kitchen by his ear.

    “Your stupid idea of bringing Gilbert here set off his sensory overload, you idiota!”

    “He has sensory overload?” Lovino forces himself to take a deep breath instead of strangling him then and there.

    “Sì. Do you even know who he is?” Antonio stares at him for a moment, then nods. “Good. At least you’re not completely incompetent. He has sensory overload because of his past. Don’t bring it up.” He turns, and walks out of the room. He’s glad to see Alrik sitting on the couch now, blanket wrapped around him and pillow in his arms. He buries his face in the pillow when he sees Lovino, and takes a deep breath. “Shit,” Lovino whispers under his breath. Francis takes his wrist and pulls him into the kitchen.

    “You have feelings for him, don’t you?” He tenses, and shakes his head frantically. “You’re denying your feelings even though it’s safe to tell me. Why?”

    “He has feelings for Vene. I won’t get in the way of that.” Francis stares him down uncomfortably. When he’s sure that’s the reason, he speaks.

    “But how does your brother feel about him?”

    “I don’t see how that-”

    “Lovino.”

    “He sees them as close friends. Nothing more. He wouldn’t treat him right anyway! Alrik needs too much reassurance. I love Vene, but he enjoys being the center of attention too much to be able to care for him properly.” He unclenches the fist he hadn’t realized he made.

    “And what about you?”

    “I think you already know.” He glances toward the couch, even though it’s through a wall.

    “I do. You de-escalated the situation, and the moment you knew he was overwhelmed, you got him some comfort items. He’s definitely in love with the wrong Vargas.” Lovino looks away from his intense gaze.

    “There’s nothing I can do about it. He’s loved Vene for too long.”

    “That’s where you’re wrong. He’s bound to realize you’re better for him sooner or later. Maybe sooner, now that you’ve stood up for him against Gilbert. Those two have had a quarrel going for quite a while. Do you think it could have anything to do with your brother?” Lovino grimaces.

    “Probably. They only fight because Alrik upsets Ludwig, and Gilbert’s a protective older brother. He might be picking a fight with Ludwig over…” He can’t finish the sentence. It hurts too much. Francis nods. Instead of continuing the conversation, he pulls him back into the room with the other three.

    “I think you should tell him how you feel. You might be surprised with how he responds. Remember, I’m dating his brother. He talks a lot about him.” That only helps to reassure Lovino slightly. But it’s a start, he supposes.

    “You four can play. I’ll watch.” He sits next to Alrik, smiling at him when he peeks out. He giggles, and hides his face again.

    “We can share a controller. Let’s alternate turns! Then you can show me how to win!” He lifts his head up, and smiles brightly at him. “Unless you want those three to beat us?” He hugs the pillow close. Lovino realizes he’s sitting with his legs crossed, feet tucked under him. He wants to squeeze his thigh, but he doesn’t. That doesn’t stop him from imaging it though. Especially considering Alrik is wearing shorts. They’re not too short, but they’re not too long either. And they’re tight enough his thighs are struggling with being contained by them. This is most noticeable where the shorts end, and there’s a bit of pudge poking out. Tauntingly. He forces himself to look away.

    “I’ll teach you how to win against them, but not me. How does that sound?” He nods, humming happily.

    “I can deal with that!” He giggles, and leans against Lovino. He hands him the controller, and stares at his hands.

    “You need to watch the screen too. I’ll explain it to you.” He ignores the smug expression on Francis’ face. This doesn’t prove you know anything.

~

    “I think you’ve actually gotten worse.” Alrik sticks his bottom lip out in a pout.

    “Teach me hands on, then! It’s easier to learn when I’m being controlled.” That statement shoots straight down Lovino’s spine, into his dick. He steadfastly ignores it. Gilbert, Francis, and Antonio all whistle.

    “Jou heard him. Control him, Lovi.”

    “Oui. He did tell you to, after all.”

    “I have to agree with them, mi amigo! There’s only so many ways to interpret that.” He’s going to strangle all three of them. Preferably in their sleep. He glances over at Alrik, whose face is as red as an overripe tomato.

    “I-I didn’t mean-”

    “I know, I know.” He pulls the Swedish man into a gentle hug. “My acquaintances just like making sex jokes.”

    “Ouch. Zat hurts. Jou don’t even consider us friends?” Lovino glares at Gilbert.

    “Not if you keep making him uncomfortable.”

    “Oh gut. Ve’re still friends, zen!” He blows a playful kiss at him. “Love jou!”

    “I’m ignoring you until this next round is over.” He looks at Alrik again. “I’ll help you navigate. Can you press the speed?” He nods happily.

    “Mmhmm! I think so! Just tell me if I need to let off!” He crawls into Lovino’s lap, snuggling back into his chest. “So you can move my hands better,” he explains as the Italian’s brain short circuits. He looks at Francis for help, but he’s too busy whispering to Antonio and Gilbert. Probably catching them up on his feelings. Great. He’s very glad he didn’t decide on shorts today. He wouldn’t be able to coax himself into focusing if that were the case. As it is, he’s having trouble navigating them through the selection menu. Alrik smells like coffee, cinnamon, chocolate, and marzipan. It’s overwhelming, but in a good way. Well, maybe not entirely. He wants to taste him now, which is *not* a thought he should be having with Alrik sitting on his lap. “I wanna do Moonview Highway!”

    “That one’s got-” He sighs. Alrik’s already picked it. “Traffic in it.” The man on his lap shrugs, and tilts his head back to look at him.

    “You can still help me win, can’t you?”

    “Of course I can.” He smiles reassuringly at him. “But look back at the screen please.”

    “Okej!” He wiggles a bit, obviously excited. Lovino mouths ‘help me’ at the others in the room, but they pretend not to see him. His joking consideration of choking them quickly becomes more serious. The moment the course starts, Alrik has his tongue stuck out in concentration. Thankfully it’s not very distracting. He wiggles because he’s not very good at aiming at the arrows though. “You stupid arrows! I’m supposed to run over you! Lovi!”

    “I’m trying. You have to stop tilting the remote so much. A little goes a long way.” After that, he lets up on turning so much. But his wiggling doesn’t stop. It’s going to be the death of him. He huffs angrily when he comes in fourth, and hands the controller to Lovino, but doesn’t get out of his lap. He leans back against him, flush with his chest. “Are you just going to stay there until you get good enough to beat them?”

    “Ja! Of course. I don’t see the point in leaving your lap and coming back a few minutes later. Why not just stay? I promise I won’t get in your way!” That’s not what I’m worried about. When the round starts, he quickly figures out his half-erection isn’t going to stay a secret for much longer. Stop moving so much! Thankfully, Francis sees his distress, and asks Alrik if he can speak with him alone. Once they’re in the kitchen, he raises a brow at him.

    “Are you aware of what you’re doing to Lovino?” He gives him an innocent smile and shakes his head. “I’m not buying that. There’s mischief behind your eyes.”

    “Of course I know what I’m doing. I’ve suspected he’s had romantic feelings for me for awhile, but I couldn’t be sure. But then I saw you looking smug that we were so close. I thought for a bit after that. Lovino’s always here for me when Feli hurts me. He doesn’t mean to, but he does. And Lovi’s helped me through more than one Sensory Overload episode. He’s so patient with me. I could never thank him enough for that.” He brings his hand up and tugs lightly on the ring tied around his neck. He bites his bottom lip as well. Both are nervous habits of his. “I dunno. I guess… I guess I thought I should start trying for him instead. But he’s so damn oblivious! That’s something those two have in common.” He grimaces. “I can’t believe I spent all those years loving Feli, when I had someone better for me right there. I must be oblivious, too.”

    “Don’t be so hard on yourself. Also, you’re telling Lovino how you feel right now. Lovino! Come here, please!” Alrik’s eyes widen, and he shakes his head frantically.

    “I-I c-can’t. Please! P-please d-don’t-” Lovino walks into the room. He runs over to Alrik when he sees him, and hugs him tightly.

    “Hey. Shh. It’s okay. I’m right here. Use me to ground yourself.” He glares daggers at Francis. “What did you do?”

    “I apparently set off his sensory overload? I’m not sure how.”

    “Were you distressing him?” Francis bows his head guiltily. “Idiota! That reminds him of the outrage at the coffee bans. He was stressed when it was happening, so it’s an indirect link to his hearing sensory overload. Rik, I’m right here. I won’t let you go. Feel free to squeeze me as tight as you want. Anything to help you calm down.” Alrik takes a few deep breaths, calming down a bit more with each one. “That’s right. A few more. Then look at me.” He takes three more, then focuses on Lovino. “Better?” He nods, giving a tiny smile. “Good.” He pulls away from him, and glares harder at Francis. “Why were you stressing him out?”

    “I think you should tell him that thing we spoke about earlier. The situation has changed.” Lovino looks down at Alrik, and frowns. He wipes away his tears carefully.

    “There. All better. It never happened. And I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about, Francis.”

    “Oh for the love of-fine! Have it your way!” He shoves a hand into his pocket, and pulls out some mistletoe. He places it over their heads, staring both of them down. “Kiss. You’ll both enjoy it.”

    “Francis, don’t be ridi-” Lovino is cut short by a solid tug on his collar, and lips pressed against his own. It quickly turns to a French kiss. Alrik pulls away much too early, wiping at his mouth.

    “Why didn’t you do that to begin with? I swear, I don’t know what my brother sees in you!” He huffs, crossing his arms over his chest. “And you’re my boyfriend now, Lovi. If you want to be. Will you be? I would like that very much.”

    “If you would like it, then I would be honoured. Why the change of heart?”

    “Feli has never looked at me the way you do. And I like having someone that’s able to ground me if I get overwhelmed. I think he would freak out.” Lovino kisses his forehead.

    “Perhaps. Thank you for choosing me.” Alrik looks away, cheeks flushed.

    “Those aren’t the only reasons I chose you! I’ll tell you the rest when we’re not in the company of a well-meaning idiot.”

    “I deserve that. But it got you together, didn’t it?”

    “Ja. Now never do it again.” He snarls slightly. “As for us, I think we have a game to play together. Can I stay on your lap? I promise not to move around so much this time.”

    “Move around as much as you want. Just don’t complain if you feel something.”

    “I won’t.” Alrik takes his hand, and drags him back to the couch. Francis follows after, shaking his head.

[quirkfics]

prove it

a commission for the fantastic @marigold-magpie !

wordcount: 4k warnings: smut, lemon, praise, body worship, keeping warm, marathon sex, touch starvation pairing: Tomura Shigaraki x Female OC (Ai)

This entire trip has felt like an utter waste of time. 

He knows it’s not, that it’s his impatience speaking. He can hear both Sensei and Kurogiri repeating the phrase, over and over as he watches the snow covered hills rolling by. If he’d found more though, if he’d just gotten a chance to-

The absolutely pitiful sigh of a noise that Ai has been making for the last half hour interrupts his thoughts. Again. Tomura presses his lips together, noticing the slowing windshield wipers and the atrocious lack of visibility, and easily puts two and two together. He can’t ignore her forever, but he waits anyway, barely glancing at her out of the corner of his eye. He drums his fingertips impatiently over the armrest, waiting- and then catches her trying to watch him. Her lips are pursed in a pretty little pout and the longer he waits, the more her eyebrows lower in disappointment. 

He should acknowledge her distress. Tomura only scowls a little harder. 

Ai sighs again, dramatic and drawn out, just to drive her point home as the car slows and the windshield wipers slow to a pitiful crawl.   

"Problem?" Tomura finally asks, snorting when her expression immediately smooths into a sweet smile. She’s always like this, yo-yoing into a better mood as soon as she gets what she wants. And usually? That’s his attention. 

"We’re going to have to pull over and wait this out," Ai says, her smile wavering for a moment as she tucks a long lock of hair behind her ear. “Even my car isn’t going to get through this.” 

Tomura grimaces. They've been searching these damn mountains for ages now, and all they've come up with are mere crumbs of a trail for a man who’s supposed to be as large as a mountainside. The lack of progress has been grating on him, and he wants to get out of this fucking place nearly as much as he wants to find Gigantomachia. 

Not badly enough to risk their safety though.

He turns his scowl to the window, watching the heavy snowfall with distaste. The chill has been seeping into his bones this entire damn trip, and it’s been no kinder to Ai. He doesn’t want to hole up on the side of the road with nothing for entertainment, with little for warmth. Never mind that it’s dangerous, that if an officer or someone who keeps up with the news stops to help… Well, turning them to dust won’t be a problem for Tomura, but it will put a damper on things. It will announce their presence here, and- His eyes dart back to Ai, to the thick sweater that covers her curves and the sweet pout of her mouth. It doesn’t matter how much he worries about it all, they have to stop. 

Maybe he doesn’t like the venue, but he sure as hell is enjoying the company, when she’s not acting like an absolute brat. Not that he’d ever willingly admit it. 

“You’re right,” Tomura mutters, and for a split second surprise is bright on her face.

“I am,” Ai agrees, and it makes Tomura want to sneer.

“Find a place to stop,” he demands instead, looking back outside the window and ignoring her gaze currently trying to burn a hole in the back of his head. It’s slow going though, finding a spot wide and stable enough to park in. The tires lose traction once, and even Tomura will admit that it sends his heart racing. As soon as the car comes to a complete stop in a flat location, Tomura unclenches his fingers. 

“You could have said please, Tomura,” Ai says archly, turning off the engine. “I do like to feel like I’m appreciated.” The key turns over and the sudden lack of whooshing air in the car leaves Tomura’s head ringing. The cold starts to creep through the cabin, leaving Ai rubbing her hands together for warmth, shoulders still tense because of his waspish tone. They can’t exactly sit there with the engine idling and burn up all the gas, Tomura knows that, but it’s frigid and he hates it. 

Tomura digs in his pocket, pulling out his phone and desperately hoping that they’ve got some kind of signal- but the bars are empty. “You?” He asks, glancing at Ai when she pulls out her own, unlocking it with a smart little twirl of her finger across the screen. For a moment, Tomura is distracted by how cute the motion is, by the way her pretty lips are pouting again. It's utterly ruined when she starts whining again. 

“This is miserable,” Ai whines, dropping her phone into her lap and knocking her head against the back of her seat. “I thought this would be a snap and we could-”

“You and me, both,” Tomura interrupts, trying to ignore the ache in his bones as the car grows colder.

“You don’t even know what I was going to say!” Ai grumps, straightening back up in her seat. 

“So?” He asks, and then rolls his eyes when she frowns harder. “‘We could’ - I don’t know. Get out of this weather. Go back to the base? There’s nothing else to do up here on this frigid block of ice.” It’s… It’s strange, being in such a small, enclosed space with her. It would be with anyone, really, but especially with Ai. His shoulders are starting to shake and his feet- he probably shouldn’t have worn these particular shoes in the snow. His toes are aching, and he’s fairly sure that his socks are damp. He stretches his hands out to try and ease the tension in them, and then promptly closes them again. The last thing he wants to do is brush his fingers over something accidentally and leave a hole for more cold air to come in. What they have is bad enough.

Ai frowns at him, like she can’t quite believe that is what he came up with, and then her violet eyes drop down to his shaking shoulders. A bright little smile blooms on her mouth as she leans over the console. “Cold?” She asks sweetly, fluttering her eyelashes, but before Tomura can snap at her or summon up even a wisp of annoyance, Ai is taking off her shoes. She has the gall to grin, unbuckling herself and hurriedly climbing over the center console, uncaring when her hip and thigh brush against Tomura’s arm. The contact makes him tense, makes him want to lean against her, just so he can prolong it, but then she’s in the back. “Into the back seat,” Ai declares, barely waiting for more than a breath before she’s huffing, leaning back towards the front to meet Tomura's eyes. “Well? Do you want to be cold and miserable, or warm up?”

Tomura doesn’t think he can politely word any kind of answer, so he grits his teeth, unbuckles and starts tugging roughly at the ties of his shoes. He isn’t sure exactly what he’s expecting - he knows that they’re both going to be huddling together for warmth - it’s the smartest idea, but seeing Ai laid out on the back seat, adjusting a throw blanket over herself… Tomura’s heart starts beating a little faster. She’s curvy and her clothes look soft as does her skin and the sweet arch of her mouth-

Tomura kicks off his shoes and clambers into the back seat. He throws himself down next to her, feeling testy and awkward as he tries to adjust, and then Ai grunts in discomfort. She shoves him in the back when he half rolls onto her arm. “Hey,” she starts, as soon as he tugs too hard at the blanket, nearly yanking it off of her. “You’re meant to-”

“Shut up,” Tomura mutters, turning towards her, heart pounding as he yanks her close against his chest. He crosses his forearms behind her back. It’s logical, he reasons in silence. Body heat is the best way to keep warm, and if she doesn’t like it, then she’ll tell him. She always tells everyone when and if she doesn’t like something or someone, and if she decides she doesn’t want this? Then she can suffer a bit of frostbite, hopefully in absolute silence. He doesn’t care- but holding her like this, even with his pulse near choking him, feels… Good. Really good. He can’t recall what it was like to place the flat of his palm and all of his fingers against anything, but if he could, he would stroke his hands down her back or wrap her long dark hair around his fingers. He hopes she doesn’t push him away, doesn’t put a halt to this because he.. He needs it. Her touch, her warmth. He wants- Tomura stops breathing when she tilts back her head, hand resting gently on his hip, and then presses a tender, eager kiss to his throat. 

He’s figuratively frozen, waiting for her to pull away or bite him and insist he give her room, that he takes his hands off of her- Instead her mouth moves to another carefully chosen spot on his neck and she repeats the gesture, gentle, reverent. Her lips part, tongue darting out to trace over one of the scars on the hollow of his throat, left behind from his own fingernails, endlessly scratching, gouging at his own skin. He doesn’t know that he’s ever felt something so.. Soft.

He both wants and abhors the feelings rising up to drown him. Being touched, being needed- He has to be so careful with anything and everything that he doesn’t want to turn to dust. It’s a hassle on his best days, worth burning everything down for on his worst. What’s the point of the world around him if it may as well be intangible? God though, Ai- The soft noises she makes as her mouth pays homage to his scars, as her tongue laves over them or she sucks them into her mouth? Tomura is aching. Even with her typical coy smiles, with the way she pouts or stamps her feet, even with the blistering arguments she gets into with anyone who tries to tell her that something isn’t her due - Ai is the only one Tomura wants. 

He can’t get enough of her attention, even if he ignores it half the time, even if he flinches away from most of her casual touches or from anyone who even dares get in close. Right now, pressed against her, cock hard and twitching as she hooks a leg over his thighs, Tomura doesn’t care about his usual hangups. He wants to get closer, he wants more, wants her to keep looking at him from underneath the fan of her eyelashes, wants her to touch him, to keep him warm with her hands and her mouth, wants- 

Tomura hisses when she sucks a little too hard, her hand starting to wander underneath his partially rucked up shirt. He tenses, a cruel thought occurring to him far too late for his comfort. 

“You’re not being a tease?” He rasps, grabbing hold of her wandering hand with only three fingers and gripping just this side of too tight. “You want this, want me?” He knows he sounds needy, almost childish, but he can’t find it within him to care. He needs an honest answer. Ai pulls back, frowning, and Tomura can’t quite understand why his heart flip-flops when he sees the expression. He doesn't like it, wants her to go back to simpering, to trying to please him, desperately wants her answer to be something positive. 

“No,” Ai says sharply, and for the first time today, she doesn’t have that wheedling tone, that sulky look in her eyes. "You think I'd waste my time teasing?" She asks, reaching up to tug viciously on a lock of his hair. Tomura sneers, but he'd be lying if he said he didn't enjoy it, her snapping, the way her cheeks flush when she's angry. The way the pain is almost synonymous with pleasure as it makes his cock throb. He ruts against her, eyelids growing heavy when she makes a sweet little noise of surprise. She doesn't move away, doesn't push him or pull back, she leans into him, like she truly wants him too.

“Let me prove it,” she says, voice immediately softer, kinder, and- 

Tomura could stop it, just to rile her up. He could do it in a million and one ways, guaranteed to push her buttons and leave her seething, trapped against the back of the seat with nowhere to go. They could try and sleep, it would achieve the important thing here - conserving body heat. But.. he would rather let her prove it. Prove herself. 

He releases his hold on her hand, lets her tug him close, thigh flexing. His hips arch and then Tomura is tilting his head back to curse because she’s wonderfully, blisteringly hot between her thighs, dressed rucked up around her waist. “Fuck,” he growls, letting his eyes fall closed as he rolls up against her. He’s still chilled, the back of his neck is uncomfortably cool and if he thinks about it too much, he knows his back is cold, but suddenly it feels like there are way too many layers between them. 

Ai’s hand slips back beneath his shirt, fingers chilled at first, but growing hotter as she strokes over his chest, over his nipples, and then back down to the fair trail of hair disappearing beneath his trousers. Part of him wants to rush, to demand she touch him where he wants, for her to strip- but Ai’s mouth is brushing over his, tongue touching against the scars on his lips and Tomura can’t find it within himself to move. She tastes like her lip gloss, faintly sweet, but beneath that is Ai. Tomura’s mouth opens, slowly, hesitant to deepen the kiss, but Ai makes wonderfully encouraging noises, thumb stroking rhythmically over his hip bones, thigh tensing where she's hooked it over him. Tomura rolls his hips again, grinding his cock against her as firmly as he can, just to get her to make noise, to hear that desperate, needy sound caught in the back of her throat. 

“Tomura,” Ai whispers, one hand fumbling with the button of his trousers. It takes her a few tries because of the angle, because of the way they’re pressed so closely together. “Do you- do you know how badly I’ve wanted you?” She says, starting to pant against his ear and when Tomura reaches down, pulls back his hips so he can brush a knuckle over her, his brain seems to short circuit. “How often I’ve thought about your hands on me?” She asks, grinding herself against his knuckle, until he can feel her wetness soaking through her underwear. It’s utterly tempting to rip the offending material away, to push it to the side and rush things along, but everything Ai is saying keeps him still. He wants more of everything - her touch, her mouth, everything she says. He knows a platitude when he hears one, he knows when people are paying lip service - but Ai sounds like she means every single word. 

“That lovely mouth?” Ai whispers, teeth nipping at his earlobe. His cock pulses again, but Ai falls back into sucking kisses along his throat, slowly pulling down his zipper. He doesn’t want her to stop talking, doesn’t want to interrupt what she’s moving towards, but .. He needs it, those words. 

“What else?” He demands, thrusting as soon as her hand wraps around him. 

Ai whimpers when he adjusts his hand, pushing aside her underwear so he can rub his thumb frantically against her clit. “Your- I think a-about how pretty your cock is- you’re so hard,” she whispers, stroking down until she can squeeze the base of him. Tomura curses, rushing to kiss her, knowing it’s messy and irritated that his teeth clack against hers in his haste but fuck, he wants her so badly. Ai moans, trying to roll her hips in time with his rubbing, but Tomura can’t make himself slow. The sounds she’s making whenever he hits that fast rhythm have him too impatient, and then Ai’s hand is squeezing him almost too tight as her thighs shudder. Her cheeks are red and her lips look swollen and she’s whimpering- and then she’s letting go of him, seizing his hand to still his fingers.

“Wait, wait, fuck, Tomura I need a second,” she gasps, leaning her forehead against his collarbone. “You sure know how to-” She squeaks when he presses forward, rubbing the head of his cock against her oversensitive flesh. 

“Tell me to stop,” he murmurs, “tell me and I will.” He grinds a little harder, enjoying the feeling of thrusting against her, enjoying the wonderful heat of her. Breath whooshes out of his lungs when she pulls him closer instead. 

“Keep going,” she whispers, taking his face in both of her hands to press another kiss to his mouth. Tomura groans, hips rocking, sweat starting to bead on the back of his neck. The cold is- minimal now. An afterthought. He doesn’t much want to roll out from under the blankets, but there are still too many clothes between them.

“On me,” he says, careful to only stroke two fingers and a thumb down her thigh. “Get on me,” he adds, when Ai simply blinks, gaze clouded with lust. “Please,” he hisses, and then his heart skips a beat when she smiles. He can’t get enough of this. They roll, with Ai settling herself over his thighs, trapping his cock against his abdomen so she can grind herself against him. He plucks at the hem of her sweater dress and then meets her eyes. “Take it off?” He asks, and then wants to buck when she stops moving, keeping balance with her hands on his chest. 

“It’s cold,” she whines, and then has the audacity to roll her hips again, nearly making his eyes roll back in his head. Tomura sucks in a sharp breath through clenched teeth.

“Isn’t this,” he says, punctuating the word with an upwards thrust, “supposed to help warm us up? I can use this lovely mouth,” he says, almost mocking, even though- even though the words mean everything to him right now. The way she touches him, the way she talks about his body - Tomura is starving for it. 

“Rude,” Ai snaps, but she bites at her lip and Tomura can almost taste victory- and then she changes the angle of her hips and presses. Tomura slips into her, cursing up a storm as she makes soft, breathy little moans that nearly have him coming before he can even blink. As soon as she’s fully seated, licking at her lips, hands trembling against his chest, Tomura arches. 

“Such a tease,” he growls, shivering when cold air seeps underneath the blanket from his frantic movements. “You did that on purpose,” he accuses, and can’t even summon up a wit of irritation when she smiles.

“It’s cold,” she reiterates, wiggling until she’s laying on him, tugging at the neck of his shirt so her mouth can reach the skin of his chest. 

He has to concentrate, nearly has to hold his breath, but then Ai starts moving, her thigh highs catching on his trousers as she starts to lift her hips up. Tomura places a hand on either hip, pinkies and ring fingers curled inward for safety and pulls her back down. 

“Tomura,” Ai gasps, thighs tensing on either side of him, “I thought I was the one setting-” She whimpers when he thrusts again, and stays wordless for a few moments, hands stroking gently up and down his sides. “You feel so good,” she whispers, like she wants to keep the admission secret, like she’s afraid he might stop. 

Tomura’s cock twitches and he tilts his chin up, glancing at the ceiling and the rapidly darkening windows. All of them are fogged up, beaded with condensation, and he’s fairly sure the whole car is covered with snow by now. He picks up the pace. He doesn’t care how long they’ll be stuck here any longer, having Ai in his arms, hearing her say such sweet things as she works him over- Tomura is so fucking close. 

“Good,” he pants, fingers pressing tightly into her hips as he fucks up into her. “I want to- Ai,” he almost snaps, starting to lose his rhythm. He thinks he should tell her to move, to get off of him or he’s not going to last, but Ai picks up his slack, meeting his every thrust his abdomen is burning with the effort, until his legs are trembling with the force of holding back. 

Ai’s mouth finds his neck again, tongue tracing another scar, and then that’s it. Tomura bucks a little too hard, pulling at her hips until he slips out of her and then comes over his own belly. He’s seeing stars and he’s plenty warm, but as soon as Ai is settled back against his still hard cock, he wants more. Ai makes an appreciative noise and doesn’t resist when he takes himself in hand, pressing the head of his cock back into her. “Please?” He asks, breathless and shaking from overstimulation. He wants to squirm underneath her, to thrust back up into her heat. 

Ai leans close, and says yes against his mouth. She muffles his groan, tongue against his, hair a curtain as it pools to either side of him, half spilling off of the seat. 

This is better than anything he could have dreamed up, than anything he could have put together, mulling over her sly little innuendos and imagining- He could only ever hope to imagine how good this feels. Everywhere she touches feels like it’s hot, like he’s coming back to life after being out in the snow, after months - after years - of barely there touches and aborted gestures of kindness. 

“Can’t,” Tomura says between messy kisses, “get enough.” The sight of her on top of him, the way her dress is pushed up to her hips, baring her thigh highs in the perfect way, and the way her hair is a mess, spilling over her shoulders as she sits up- He’s not sure he can come again, not any time soon, but the way she squeezes him, rocking her hips so her clit brushes against his skin.

“Then keep going,” she breathes. Tomura can’t stop staring, at the blush heavy on her cheeks, trailing beneath the neck of her dress, at her parted lips- He loses time, fucking into her until his abdomen and thighs are burning with exertion. Eventually he has to roll them back onto their sides, and something about the angle change must be good because then Ai is falling apart again, whispering his name and leaning her forehead against his chest, hands shaking. 

Tomura slows, just enough to keep himself hard, to keep grinding into her and then stops completely so they both can catch their breath.

“Have I?” Ai asks, sounding almost drowsy, eyelashes dark against her pink cheeks. Tomura snorts and then she’s shuddering all over again. 

“Have you what?” He asks, only half serious. He knows exactly what she’s getting at, but he wants her to say it, wants her to get riled up one more time. 

“Have I proved myself?” She asks, her normal sharpness coloring every word. She still doesn’t open her eyes though, just relaxes against his chest when he laughs a little roughly.

“I think you know the answer to that,” he offers, knowing she’ll want more, that she’ll push for it. 

“Humor me then, Tomura,” she groans, muffling her voice into his shirt. The windows are fully covered with snow now, a strange shadowy blue, and now that they’re not moving-

“You proved yourself,” he confesses then, happily pressing in a little closer. 

[mygalfriday]

like fresh plates and clean slates, our future is white

Third in the blind date au series. 

{ao3}

Crowley has never seen the point of Christmas. Growing up in a children’s home, he had never had much reason to give any thought to the holiday. It was a day mostly like any other, lonely and unremarkable. Maybe the caretaker might don a Santa suit and hand out cheap little trinkets from the pound shop that broke by the end of the day. He’d go to bed empty-handed, the hole in his chest just a little wider with every passing year.

As an adult, not much had changed. He tolerated most every holiday season by drinking too much and looking for someone to warm his bed until the snow melted. The crowded stores made him irritable and there always came a point in the middle of December where he knew with visceral certainty that if he heard “All I Want For Christmas Is You” one more time he’d lose his goddamn mind. He spent most of the month just waiting for it to be over.

Ezra Fell, on the other hand, was made for Christmas. The cold air makes his cheeks rosy and turns the tip of his prim nose pink. Snowflakes catch in his white-blond hair and his eyelashes. The brightness of his smile against a backdrop of twinkle lights and snow-blanketed streets is so dazzling Crowley usually has to look away for fear of going blind. Ezra hums along to Christmas songs in the stores so sweetly that Crowley doesn’t actually mind hearing the same ones over and over again. He’s like an angel amidst the madness — a light in the heavy darkness and a kind smile among a sea of frowning, impatient faces jostling for the best gifts.

For the first time in his life, Crowley is starting to understand the point of all this Christmas nonsense. With a warm hand in his and a pale head on his shoulder it’s never been easier to see the truth of it. Ezra is the point of everything for him now. Always will be.

“What do you think of this? Be honest.”

Crowley blinks, pulled from his embarrassingly sappy thoughts to find Ezra holding up a scarf with a rather unfortunate pattern and smiling hopefully at him. “Umm…”

He grimaces when Ezra’s smile drops. “You hate it.”

“I don’t hate it…” He wavers, squinting. “I just think we can find something better, is all.”

Ezra stares at him, waiting patiently.

Crowley groans. “All right, it’s bloody hideous.”

“Was that so hard?” Ezra places the scarf back on the shelf with a little pout Crowley does his absolute best not to find charming. Brow furrowed, Ezra wrings his hands together and asks, “What am I going to do? The party is next week and I haven’t found a single thing for this blasted Secret Santa nonsense.”

With a sigh, Crowley follows Ezra past a rack of discount jumpers. “What’s the big deal? This girl isn’t your boss, angel.”

“No, but Uriel can be quite intimidating when she wants to be.” Ezra pokes at a hideous jumper with a tartan pattern until Crowley makes a noise conveying ugh, not that either. He huffs, moving to the next rack. “I just want to get her something she’ll like.”

Crowley frowns, shoving his hands into his pockets and wondering not for the first time why Ezra cares so much about what his coworkers think. Crowley himself has never felt the need to be liked by anyone — coworkers or otherwise. Ezra’s deep-seated desire to be liked by absolutely everybody is bewildering to him and none of Crowley’s assurances that he hasn’t encountered a single person who knows Ezra and doesn’t adore him have had any effect. So instead of going through the whole tired argument again, he shrugs and says, “So we’ll get her something good.”

Ezra pauses, casting Crowley one of those shy, sideways glances that never fails to make Crowley’s heart skip a beat. “We? Really?”

“Course.” He shifts uncomfortably, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck. “S’important to you so… it’s important to me too. Or whatever.”

Ezra beams at him, bright enough to make Crowley feel a little less ridiculous. “You know,” he begins, abandoning another eyesore jumper to step closer to Crowley with twinkling eyes. Crowley catches the scent of his cologne and feels his mouth go dry. “Since we’re on the subject, I’ve wanted to ask you for several weeks now but — well, it never seemed like the right time and I know your feelings about this particular holiday are less than benevolent-”

Crowley quirks an eyebrow. “Out with it, angel.”

“Would you come with me?” Ezra bites his lip, briefly distracting Crowley from the matter at hand. “To the party, I mean.”

Normally, the thought of enduring an office Christmas party — especially someone else’s — would make Crowley balk, scrambling for an excuse to get out of it. But this is Ezra and for the entire six months they’ve been together, there hasn’t been a single thing Crowley has been capable of denying him. He isn’t about to start now.

Besides, he’d never say no to spending more time with Ezra. If it were up to Crowley, they’d spend every waking moment together. He’d drag Ezra into work with him and sit him in the corner of his office with a book so he could look up throughout the day and see him there. He wants to wake up in the same flat together. He wants his black jeans in a drawer alongside Ezra’s pressed trousers; his leather jacket hanging in the closet beside Ezra’s old-fashioned waistcoats. Books on his nightstand and too many sweets in his kitchen. It sounds like everything he could ever want but Crowley, still sure on some level this much happiness can’t possibly last, is still working up the courage to ask for it.

For now, he slips his fingers into Ezra’s coat pockets, tugging him close enough to kiss. He pauses briefly to enjoy the sudden flush of Ezra’s cheeks and his surprised, shy smile before their lips meet in a warm, tender kiss right there in the middle of Harrods. When they part, Crowley noses gently at Ezra’s pink cheek and murmurs, “Love to, angel.”

Ducking his head to the crook of Crowley’s neck with a delighted grin, wide enough that Crowley can feel it even though he can’t see it, Ezra sounds adorably relieved as he breathes out, “Oh. Lovely.”

Yes, Crowley thinks, glaring briefly over Ezra’s shoulder at the old biddy gawking at them. He waits until she turns away with a startled flinch before he bends his head for another kiss. Lovely.

-

It takes Crowley all of thirty seconds after meeting Gabriel the museum director — Ezra’s boss, for all intents and purposes — to decide the man is an arrogant prick who probably bullied his peers throughout his entire childhood and just never bothered to grow up and stop. He greets Ezra with a wide, fake grin that doesn’t come even close to reaching his eyes and doesn’t bother shaking Crowley’s hand when they’re introduced. He only stares, like he can’t quite believe sweet, soft Ezra Fell is hanging off the arm of some lanky, tattooed man swaggering about in leather trousers.

It wouldn’t have bothered Crowley normally. He’s used to the curious glances he and Ezra tend to garner when they’re out together, but there’s something about Gabriel’s Armani suit and cashmere scarf that sets his teeth on edge. The feeling only grows as he lets Ezra tug him further into the room and he sees the place is full of Gabriel lookalikes — beautiful, stuffily dressed people cradling flutes of champagne and eyeing him like gum sticking to the bottom of their Gucci loafers.

Ezra doesn’t seem to notice the stares or the whispers, smiling brightly at everyone and waving occasionally as they make their way to the drinks table. He keeps his hand tucked snugly into Crowley’s and the warmth of him against Crowley’s side is comforting enough to help him unclench just a little. Ezra passes him a drink and as their fingers brush, Crowley winks at him.

“Flirt,” Ezra mutters fondly, sipping his champagne.

Crowley scoffs. “Says the man who can’t go five minutes without batting his eyes at me.” He arches a brow and assures under his breath, “Not that I’m complaining. Just keep those eyes on me, angel.”

Six months in, Ezra still blushes so beautifully. He sways into Crowley like he can’t help himself and their fingers brush again as he promises, “Only for you.” He lowers his voice, blue eyes twinkling with mischief when he adds, “My eyes and everything else.”

Crowley swallows, wondering how soon is too soon to drag Ezra out of the party and find a broom cupboard to ravish him in. “Ngk. I-”

“Ezra?”

Ezra startles, the warmth of him so near Crowley disappearing as he takes a step back and pastes on a polite smile for the tall, slender brunette approaching them. “Michael,” Ezra greets, and mutters curator under his breath for Crowley’s benefit. “Don’t you look lovely, my dear. Happy Christmas.”

Michael leans in to kiss his cheek and while she seems a bit stiff, Crowley can tell she’s making an effort so he doesn’t hold it against her. “Happy Christmas, Ezra.” She glances questioningly at Crowley and asks, “Is this him then?”

“Oh, yes. Do forgive me.” Ezra beams, threading his arm through Crowley’s. “This is my Anthony.”

Everything goes a bit fuzzy around the edges the moment Crowley hears Ezra refer to him as my Anthony and he doesn’t hear a single thing Michael says in reply. He can barely make his tongue work long enough to utter a simple greeting and decides to go with a reliably basic, “Hey.”

Michael arches an eyebrow, lips quirked in amusement as she confides, “I’ve heard a lot about you these past few months. I dare say our Ezra smitten with you.”

Ezra chokes on a sip of champagne, darting a weak glare at Michael.

Crowley grins, intrigued at once. “Oh?”

With a hum of assent, Michael eyes him over the rim of her glass and admits, “You’re not quite what I pictured.”

“Too tall?”

“Too… worldly, I suppose.” Michael leans in conspiratorially and confides, “Ezra’s usual type is the professorial sort. Tweed coats and elbow patches. Greying around the temples. Boring tales of guided African safaris.”

Crowley grimaces. “Mm. Disappointed?”

“Not at all.” She smirks. “This is more fun.”

“Oh honestly.” Ezra huffs, staring into his champagne like if he just concentrates hard enough, the floor will open up and swallow him. “Aren’t there more interesting things to discuss than this sort of salacious-”

“Salacious?” Crowley leers, thoroughly enjoying himself. “My, my, angel. What have you been telling people about me?”

Michael sighs, apparently pleased, and declares, “Yes. Much more fun.”

Just about to pry a little more into the details of Ezra’s “usual type”, Crowley scowls when Gabriel appears out of nowhere and hovers at Michael’s elbow. Dropping a firm hand to her shoulder, he says with another of those eerily vacant smiles, “How’re we doing? Having fun yet?”

Michael’s easy smile falters and Ezra goes stiff beside Crowley, leaving him with no choice but to vow hatred of Gabriel the museum director forever. Before either of them can recover from the sudden appearance of their boss, Crowley eyes him with barely concealed disdain and says dryly, “Oh, just tickety-boo.”

Gabriel points a finger at him and Crowley twitches, suddenly itching for a fag. “Ha. Someone’s been spending a little too much time with their new beau.” With a nudge to Michael’s ribs, he asks, “What do you think? Is he good enough for our Ezra?”

Still looking like she’d enjoy nothing more than shoving Gabriel out of her personal space, Michael sips at her champagne and pastes on a polite smile. Her eyes meet Crowley’s as she says, “He’ll do, I think.”

Gabriel’s smile remains frozen on his face and Crowley wonders if he might be some sort of automaton. There is absolutely no feeling in those eyes whatsoever and it’s starting to give him the creeps. “Good, good.” He steps back from Michael with one final tap to her shoulder. “I hate to break up the fun but I need you for a sec.”

Michael nods, setting aside her drink and smiling faintly at Ezra’s commiserating glance. “It was lovely to meet you, Anthony. Perhaps we’ll talk later.”

At Crowley’s nod, Gabriel grasps Ezra by the elbow and suggests, “You two should visit the dessert table over there. But don’t go too crazy.” He lands a light, playful punch to Ezra’s stomach and laughs. “You’re starting to go a little soft around the middle there.”

Ezra somehow manages to smile and grimace at once.

Too busy gaping at the exchange in shock, Crowley doesn’t gather a resounding fuck you on his tongue until Gabriel has disappeared through the crowd with Michael. “Did he just-” He turns to look at Ezra, too stunned to trust his ears. Avoiding his gaze, Ezra wring his hands in embarrassment and Crowley realizes that yeah, he’d definitely heard correctly. “Ezra, what the fuck-”

“Shh.” Ezra swats at him gently, with a warning glance to lower his voice. Crowley scowls. “It’s nothing, darling. He’s always like that. Nothing to fuss about.”

Crowley opens his mouth to argue that yes it very much is something to fuss about but Ezra sways into him again and his smile is soft and hopeful. He struggles to cling to his indignation on Ezra’s behalf. “Angel, he can’t just-”

“Let’s not let him ruin the evening.” Ezra’s fingers brush his and he inclines his head in the direction of the dance floor. “Shall we?”

There’s an underlying request for Crowley to please drop the matter and though he definitely plans on bringing it up again, he allows himself to be distracted long enough to escort Ezra onto the dance floor. He draws Ezra into his arms and they sway together, Crowley occasionally offering guidance murmured low in his ear. Ezra has come a long way since that first dance at the Serpent but he still forgets himself every now and then, trying to lead instead of follow or looking down at his shoes instead of into Crowley’s eyes.

He doesn’t mind playing teacher — any reason to stay pressed close enough to whisper instruction and watch Ezra lick his lips. He does so like to be told what to do. And Crowley has always been rather bossy. They fit beautifully.

Despite their closeness and the soft music playing, anger still simmers under his skin, ready to boil over. How dare he. How dare anyone talk to Ezra like that. Perfect, kind, lovely Ezra. He knew that Gabriel was a wanker right from the start. He fucking knew it. No one who smiles like that while wearing Armani can possibly be trusted.

Silently fuming, he spends half of their first dance conjuring fantasies of cornering Gabriel in a dark alley and making him regret ever opening his stupid smug mouth. And then Ezra rests his head on Crowley’s bony shoulder and all other thoughts but him go spinning away, scattering like snowflakes.

There was a time, not so long ago, when Crowley thought intimacy like this was far beyond him. He refuses to waste a single moment of it thinking about that utter twat. With Ezra in his arms and the smell of his cologne tickling Crowley’s nose, there are far more important things to dwell on.

“So,” he drawls, forcing himself into the present. A smirk curls his mouth. “Been discussing me at work, have you?”

Even without looking, he can sense Ezra’s pink cheeks. “Oh, do shut up,” he says, and there’s laughter in his voice. “You’re hardly innocent of that yourself. Don’t think I don’t remember all those pointed comments about the man who tamed Anthony Crowley.”

Crowley makes a noise of agreement in the back of his throat. “Well, yeah. Not sure if you’ve noticed but I am a bit of a hopeless sap about you, angel.” He shrugs and glances down, silently enjoying Ezra’s ruffled expression. “I’m pathetic, really. Hardly counts. You, on the other hand-”

A soft hand cups his cheek, stalling the rest of Crowley’s words on his tongue. Difficult to concentrate anyway with all that warmth and softness directed at him. Ezra sighs quietly and says with a smile, “Just as hopeless and pathetic, I’m afraid.”

“Right.”

Crowley clears his throat, cursing inwardly when he feels his own cheeks grow warm. Ezra has never been shy about voicing his adoration but Crowley has gotten no better at receiving it, always stuttering through some garbled response and trying not to let Ezra see him blush. He takes a moment to process the twinkle lights and Ezra’s soft smile and Judy Garland singing her heart out over the speakers. It’s all too much and he still doesn’t quite feel that he deserves any of it but he’ll be damned if that stops him from grasping it with both hands anyway.

“Well,” he finally manages to croak out. “Glad we’re on the same page.”

Things are better after that.

They dance a bit more and Crowley actually manages to coax Ezra underneath the mistletoe long enough to steal a kiss right in front of everyone. Someone whistles and Crowley laughs, relishing Ezra’s embarrassed smile as he hides his face in the crook of Crowley’s neck.

Eventually they do investigate the dessert table, with Crowley making certain Ezra has a generous helping of cake because seriously, fuck Gabriel. They linger over new glasses of champagne and Ezra leans into Crowley’s side, whispering office gossip and pointing out some of his other coworkers.

“That’s Sandalphon.” Ezra surreptitiously points out a portly, balding fellow trailing after Gabriel like a puppy. “He’s a docent but Gabriel favors him so I dare say he’ll outrank me in another year or so.”

Watching Ezra wrinkle his nose and furrow his brow as he observes Sandalphon pant after Gabriel, Crowley grins. “You hate him, don’t you?”

Ezra blinks, lips parting in shock as he turns to stare at Crowley. “I do not.” He straightens his bowtie and sniffs. “I don’t hate anybody, thank you very much.”

“Mm.” Crowley nods, keeping his mouth shut, and arches an eyebrow. “Right. Course.”

“Although…” Ezra hesitates, glancing at Crowley out of the corner of his eye. He purses his lips, prim as anything, and Christ does Crowley love him — the prissy little hypocrite. “I do have trouble understanding exactly the sort of underlying genius Gabriel seems to see in him.”

Still grinning, Crowley curls a hand around the back of Ezra’s neck and leans in to press a lingering, adoring kiss to his temple. Nosing at his blond curls, he murmurs giddily, “You hate him.”

Ezra sighs. And to Crowley’s delight, doesn’t bother denying it again.

Near the end of the night, Gabriel announces the start of the Secret Santa gift exchange and everyone gathers around the Christmas tree in the corner of the room to watch one another open presents. Crowley hovers just behind Ezra, watching the proceedings with increasing boredom. He glances at his watch, beginning to count down the seconds until he can drag Ezra back to his flat and into bed.

Uriel, Ezra’s Secret Santa recipient, loves the expensive leather gloves Crowley had talked Ezra into buying. Ezra tosses a grateful glance over his shoulder at Crowley when she thanks him, stroking the supple leather with her fingertips, and Crowley winks at him.

And then it’s Ezra’s turn to open his gift — an envelope from Gabriel.

The moment Gabriel hands it over with that same caricature of a smile, Crowley tightens his grip around his champagne flute and takes a step toward Ezra. Something primal and protective unfurls in his gut as Ezra slips his thumb beneath the flap and gently pries open the envelope to slide out the card inside. Crowley holds his breath, peering over Ezra’s shoulder.

The card seems harmless enough, displaying a glitter-covered snowman on the front. The inside is blank save for Gabriel’s signature. A gift card slips out into Ezra’s palm and before Crowley can even make out what it’s for, he hears the soft hitch in Ezra’s breathing and goes still.

“A gym membership,” Gabriel announces to everyone with a triumphant laugh. He glances around at his employees, clearly looking for some fellow co-conspirators, but the only one to laugh is that worm Sandalphon. “Got to stay in shape for that new man of yours, right Ezra?”

Ezra laughs weakly and mutters, “Yes, I suppose I do.” Ezra who had tried so hard to find the right gift for Uriel only to be handed this abomination in return. Ezra, who is the kindest, sweetest human being Crowley has ever known and who doesn’t deserve a single mean-spirited word spoken to him, let alone this thoughtless excuse for a gift.

No one else says a word, all of them staring at the floor or into their drinks or even at each other in clear discomfort. But no one says a word. And Crowley has a feeling it’s always like this — Gabriel being a shit to Ezra and absolutely no one speaking up for the sweet-natured man too polite to say anything on his own behalf.

Well, fuck them.

Crowley is here now, with no intention of going anywhere. And it just so happens, he’s been itching to tell this prick off all night. Fuming, he plucks the membership card from Ezra’s numb grasp before stepping in front of him like a shield. With a snap of his fingers, he flicks the card violently right into Gabriel’s face. He recoils as it flutters to the floor at his feet, blinking at Crowley like a startled bird.

And Crowley smiles, sharp enough to cut. “You know what I think, Gabe?” His expression flickers and oh, he doesn’t like that nickname. Good to know. “I think you look at Ezra and see someone infinitely more likable than you. Someone kind and intelligent and with better hair. Someone who could easily take your place if he wasn’t content exactly where he is. And that just scares the shit out of you, doesn’t it?”

Gabriel stiffens, his eyes narrowing as Crowley saunters forward and crowds right into his space. Crowley curls his hands into fists, telling himself no matter how many scuffles in pubs and nightclubs he has emerged from bloody but victorious, his wiry limbs and sheer determination are no match for Gabriel’s solidity. He still really wants to punch him anyway.  

“And then on top of being threatened by him professionally,” Crowley goes on, fighting to keep his voice just this side of nonchalant rather than hissing through his teeth like he wants to. “Ezra starts talking about someone new in his life. Someone who thinks he’s perfect just as he is. And since there isn’t a gym where you can go and work on your shitty personality, you’re probably stuck being an unloveable fuckwit forever.” Crowley tilts his head and sticks out his lower lip, affecting a little pout. “Course that’s probably why you felt like lashing out, yeah?”

Considerably paler and no longer smiling that stupid smug grin, Gabriel avoids the fascinated gazes of his employees and glares at Crowley. “Listen” he begins, clearing his throat. “It was just a joke-”

“Well it wasn’t funny, Gabe.” Crowley sniffs, watching in satisfaction as Gabriel deflates like a balloon. “And just a piece of advice. The next time you think about taking out your own deficiencies on Ezra or sharing your shitty sense of humor at his expense?” He leans in, finally allowing his words to hiss through his teeth. “Fucking don’t.”

Gabriel breathes in sharply, nostrils flaring.

Under Crowley’s narrow gaze, he nods stiffly. Crowley flashes him a grin, clapping him on the shoulder and relishing Gabriel’s flinch. “Brilliant. Thanks.”

Gabriel shuffles away with his tail between his legs and the crowd around them begins to disperse, murmuring excitedly to one another about the whole spectacle. Crowley, realizing Ezra has been rather quiet, turns to check on him. Maybe he’d like to ditch the rest of this disaster of a party and hit that pub over on Oxford Street before they head back to Crowley’s flat. Except the space where he’d been is empty now and one quick glance around reveals Ezra isn’t actually in the room anymore. And Crowley has no idea when he’d managed to slip out.

“Shit,” he mutters, and stalks off after him.

At this time in the late evening, the museum has been shut down to the public for hours and consequently, Crowley wanders aimlessly through darkened corridors calling for Ezra and hearing only his footsteps echo around him. He passes through a room of old Greek vases, another of Egyptian sculptures, and what seems to be an entire area dedicated to Alexander the Great before he finally stumbles across the only room Ezra could possibly be in — the Enlightenment Gallery.

The long, vast space doesn’t even look like it belongs in the museum. City lights slant in from the windows of the balcony overhead and the whole room looks like it must have been lifted from some posh git’s 18th century mansion, filled as it is with bookshelves stuffed with aging manuscripts and brittle tomes. Statues dot the space, along with marble busts on pedestals and glass cases filled with curiosities. When Crowley finally spots Ezra sitting at a gleaming mahogany bench in the middle of it all, dressed in his usual old-fashioned clothes, he can’t help but think he looks perfectly at home here.

The ancient wooden floor creaks beneath Crowley’s boots as he moves closer but Ezra doesn’t glance up from his careful study of a massive stone monstrosity just ahead of him. The plaque beside it reads Piranesi Vase. Crowley sniffs at it and drops down beside Ezra, legs stretched out in front of him and hands curled over the edges of the bench to brace himself. What he wants more than anything is to sit close enough to drape an arm around Ezra’s shoulders and tug him close, to bury his nose in pale hair and whisper just how perfect he is. In the time Crowley has been with Ezra, he’s gotten a bit better about saying how he feels but he can’t be sure such affection would be welcome just now so he keeps to himself and glances cautiously at him.

“All right?”

Ezra hums, glancing away from the vase to meet Crowley’s uncertain gaze. “Oh yes, just dandy.” He lifts one shoulder in an elegant but uncharacteristic shrug. “Gabriel has always been…”

“A complete tosser?”

A weak, grateful smile curls his mouth. “Yes. That.”

And the words won’t be contained another second, spilling past Crowley’s lips in a breathless rush. “You’re perfect, you know.”

“You’re sweet, Anthony.” Ezra reaches across the space between them to pat his knee fondly when Crowley grimaces. “You are, hush. But we both know I’m hardly your type.”

Crowley bristles. “Well according to Michael I’m not yours either. But I don’t think either of us were particularly happy with our type, were we?”

“Well…no.” Ezra concedes, folding his hands in his lap. “No, I suppose not.”

Having been fairly confident but still relieved to have it confirmed, Crowley leans in close enough to bump his shoulder gently against Ezra’s and is further delighted when Ezra leans in too — just enough to make sure they keep touching. He ducks his head to hide a grin, studying his fingers curled tightly around the edge of the bench.

“You’re clever though. And kind — kinder than you should be, really. And you make me laugh.” He blows out a soft breath, lifting his head again to stare fixedly at the stupid bloody vase as he pours his heart out and hears it echo in this great empty room. “I hate tartan but on you it looks downright sodding edible. You’re a snob about so many things — music and wine and books, for a start — and I don’t know why but I find that really hot.”

Ezra makes a faint noise, half amusement and half protest.

Crowley ignores him, determined to finish now that he’s gotten started. “You actually look like an angel, I swear you do. Your hair and those cheeks and your eyes. You smile and it’s like a new sun.” He swallows, licking his lips. “I like how soft you are when we curl up in bed together. I like how broad your shoulders are and I like draping my arms them when we dance. I like how deceptively strong you are.” He smirks suddenly. “And I really like it when you use that against me in bed.”

Ezra makes another strangled noise. “Anthony-”

“I mean it, Ezra.” Crowley finally forces his gaze away from the towering vase to look at him and finds Ezra staring at him with flushed cheeks and glittering eyes. “I wouldn’t change one single thing about you and anyone who would can fuck right off.”

Wordlessly, Ezra reaches out and gently pries Crowley’s hand away from the bench. He twines their fingers together and squeezes, his lashes fluttering as he blinks back the tears in his eyes. His mouth opens and closes more than once before he finally settles on a quiet, overwhelmed, “Thank you, darling.”

Crowley lifts their joined hands to his lips, mouth brushing his knuckles. “My pleasure.”

“Not only for all those lovely things you just said.” Ezra inclines his head behind him, silently indicating the scene Crowley had made right in the middle of the party. Crowley might have been embarrassed if Ezra wasn’t looking at him with clear admiration in his gaze. As it is, he’s starting to feel a bit hot under the collar. “You were rather magnificent back there. No one has ever stood up to Gabriel like that before. Least of all for me.” Ezra smiles, looking at once scandalized and adorably giddy. “My knight in shining armor.”

It takes a considerable amount of Crowley’s willpower to ignore what the thought of being Ezra’s knight does to him. Plenty of time to revisit that later. “So you’re not…embarrassed by me?”

Ezra stares at him. “Why on earth would I be — Anthony, what are you talking of?”

He sighs. “Surely you’ve noticed I don’t exactly fit in here. I’ve been ignoring stares all night. Feels like I’m at a zoo, not a museum.”

With a hum of understanding, Ezra squeezes his hand again. His thumb caresses Crowley’s knuckles soothingly. “That’s rather how I felt when you took me to your club,” he confesses with a wry smile. “We don’t look much like a couple, do we, my dear?”

“Maybe not.” Crowley shrugs, clenching his jaw. “But I don’t care what anyone else thinks. So long as you don’t either, I mean.”

Ezra scoffs. “Of course not.”

“You sure?” Crowley hates himself for pressing the issue, for not grabbing the reassurance with both hands and clinging to it. But he needs Ezra to be certain. Because if he falls any further into this and Ezra changes his mind… Crowley isn’t sure he could ever recover. “Because I’m not… I’ll never be-”

Ezra turns to face him, sacrificing his perfect posture to look at Crowley properly. He does not release Crowley’s hand. “I wouldn’t change a thing about you either. You are —“ He purses his lips, glancing away briefly to gather himself before he risks meeting Crowley’s open, hungry gaze again. “Crowley, you’ve become…essential to me. You’re my best friend. My lover. My…family.” He smiles when Crowley falters, fingers going lax in Ezra’s grip from the shock. “Mine, in every way that matters. I feel as though I belong with you. I have since the day we met.”

“You do, angel,” Crowley says hoarsely, and slips his hand from Ezra’s to press his palm to a soft cheek. “You do belong with me. Always.”

Ezra leans into his palm and then into Crowley’s eager kiss. His arms wind around Crowley’s neck and his lush mouth is open and hot, lips parted readily for Crowley’s impatient tongue. They trade heated, greedy kisses right there in the middle of all of history — dusty books and centuries old statues bearing witness to the greatest love Crowley has ever known. And it just tumbles out, between one trembling kiss and the next.

“Move in with me.”

Ezra freezes, pulling back just enough to stare at him with wide blue eyes. “What?”

Crowley swallows, darting a glance away and licking his lips. “I want you to live with me.” He huffs out a dry laugh, shaking his head. “No, that’s not it. I want to drag myself home from the Serpent at two am and find you asleep in our bed. I want you to kiss me on your way out the door in the morning. I want your stupid chipped tea mugs next to my crystal wine glasses in the kitchen cabinet. I want your books all over my living room and your stuffy old Oxfords lined up beside my boots in the closet.” He takes a deep breath, turning pleading eyes to Ezra’s stunned face. “You said yourself you belong with me, angel. So just…stay with me.”

For a moment, Ezra simply stares at him blankly and Crowley steels himself to be summarily rejected. He’s already planning to spend his evening drunk and alone in his flat when Ezra throws his arms around his neck and nearly sends Crowley tumbling arse over head off the bench. Warm lips press against his and Ezra beams into an exuberant kiss as he breathes, “Yes, darling. To all that and more.”

And Crowley laughs.

“What, really?”

Ezra nods, still grinning widely. And for no good reason Crowley can think of, considering they were about to have another extraordinarily thorough snog right there on the bench, Ezra climbs to his feet and holds out a hand to him. Crowley shrugs and takes it. Ezra leans into his side and his smile is bright enough to light their way as they stroll toward the exit pressed snugly together.

Feeling light-headed and more than half sure he’s dreaming, Crowley asks dazedly, “Back to the party then?”

“Oh no.” Ezra shakes his head, his warm hand finding the small of Crowley’s back. “I want to go home and pack.”

Unable to bite back the grin taking over his whole face despite how ridiculous it feels, Crowley throws back his head and laughs. It rings out, echoing in the empty corridor as he drags Ezra in and kisses him again. Exhilarated and bruising and with a little too much teeth. “Christ,” he breathes, scattering kisses over rosy cheeks and down a posh nose just to hear Ezra giggle like a schoolboy. “I love you.”

For a moment, Crowley almost panics. He’d never intended to say it like that — he’d wanted it to be a moment. He’d wanted to say it over flowers and champagne and those hopelessly fancy little strawberry tarts Ezra likes. He looks up, eyes wide, and finds Ezra gazing tenderly up at him like he’d already known. “I love you too,” he whispers, and it soothes some empty place inside Crowley he hadn’t even realized was there. It heals over like it never existed at all. Crowley has never felt so full. “Happy Christmas, Anthony.”

With a blinding smile, Crowley slings an arm around Ezra’s shoulders and steers him toward the door — toward a cab, his flat, their future. “Happy Christmas, angel.”

[redhoodieone]

Destroyed Each Other Part 2

A/N: I didn’t exactly know how to end this (since each of my smuts was supposed to be how each guy fucks the reader, but it ended up being something else), so I ended it on a good note. I absolutely love Jason Todd, and I guess my love for him changed the direction of the story. I do have other smuts in mind. I’m just happy this fulfilled my dirty fantasies and I hope you all enjoy it! (Also, I won’t write Tim Drake or Damian Wayne smut, since they’re way too young in my mind and I’m not even sure if I could pull it off successfully, so I just made a joke about them in the story!)

Warning: Unprotected sex, Oral sex, birth control, condom talk, language, and happy ending!

 It’s happening so quick. Before I can even say a word, Jason’s head is already lowered down, and his mouth contacts my overly-sensitive pussy. He licks an agonizingly slow lick up my slit and to my clit. “Oh! Fuck!” I cry out. The touch of his tongue is wonderful. I can hear him smirk and repeat the same actions. But it’s torturing me more and more. I reach out to tug on his dark hair; and gain some stability because I know I’ll be falling apart soon. “Fuck Y/N...you taste so fucking good. I think I wanna stay here and eat you all day long,” Jason moans against me. The vibrations send heat throughout my body. He begins to suck my clit gently and then furiously. The long torturous circular licks around my clit has me whining beneath him. His patterns, techniques, and patience prove how much this means to him. How in the fucking world can Jason Todd be the master of eating pussy? I’ve never felt this way during oral sex. Maybe my ex-boyfriend’s never knew what to do and never took in consideration how to build me up, and instead just fuck me without giving me an orgasm first. Jason Todd is the perfect fucking gentleman. It’s like he knew what my body was dying for. He knew the sensitive spots and knew how to work me up instead of just ramming fingers and fists inside me. Jason moves away for a second to quickly kiss to my thigh. I whine and try to grip the tile beneath me. He returns to my clit and licks it slowly but runs his tongue faster now and looks up at me to see my face flushed and sweaty. My moans must be boosting his self-esteem. He chuckles when I try to move my hips against his mouth. I need more now!  

Jason becomes protective in a sense to hold me, but since he’s eating me out, he uses his hands to hold my legs down, but one hand continues to rub my thigh. I’m gasping and whimpering pathetically, Jason has me under his spell. One of my hands is holding myself up in a sitting position, while the other is pulling Jason’s hair. My hips move against his mouth, I need more constant friction and touching. A long finger enters me. “Jason! Oh my God!” I pant, as he moves it inside and out of me. It’s not enough. “I need more! Please!” Jason glances up at me. His mouth is wet from my arousal, but the shit-eating grin is there again. “What’s that doll? You want more than that? How about this instead?” Another finger, and the curling motion to rub against that sensitive but perfect spot has me a moaning and gasping mess. My body feels like I’m on fire, and I’m only going to keep burning and burning until the last spark. “Oh fuck, Y/N. You’re so fucking beautiful. I wanna see you cum so bad. I wanna taste your cum. And to think it’s all because of me would make it so fucking delicious,” Jason pants. His fingers continue working their magic inside me; stroking my g-spot, as his thumb rubs relentlessly against my clit. It’s all too much. The overwhelming pleasure has me gasping for air, and tears are running down my reddish cheeks. I remove my hand from his hair and reach out to move him up to where I’m sitting. Jason’s eyes are focused on me. The pupils are dilated to where the blueish, gray eyes are vanishing for a moment. His mouth is parted, and he’s breathing heavily too. Instinct takes over. I grab Jason’s face to kiss him. The second our lips touch, an electric spark shoots from my toes and to my stomach. I can taste myself on him, which triggers another moan from me. Our tongues are battling for dominance, he wins as usual and licks and searches throughout my mouth until I’m whimpering for more. And then I clench and unclench around his fingers; gushing all over his fingers as the dam has been broken. I break away from his mouth and scream, the searing pleasure has me gasping for air. Jason quickly moves back down and licks up my juices. Moaning and savoring the taste he helped me make shows me what kind of man he really is. It’s like Jason Todd takes pleasure in making girls cum that he might actually get off on just that. He raises his head back up and licks around his lips. I stare at him and wonder what’s in those mischievous eyes. “Holy fuck, doll. That was fucking hot, wasn’t it? And better yet, there’s still more.” I shake my head no. I don’t think my pussy can handle more. The thought of more pleasure makes my thighs clench to shield my pussy. “No, I don’t think so, Jason. I-I don’t think I can do anything else.” “Oh, come on baby girl. I need a release too! And since I made you cum, I think I deserve to cum as well, right?” Jason practically whines. He frees his thick cock from his boxers, and hastily parts my legs. He rubs the tip against my juices for lubricant. “And besides, I don’t think I’ll last much longer considering your orgasm was like foreplay for me. Just seeing you moaning and cumming on my fingers is enough to bring me on the edge. I don’t think this’ll be very long.” With one more kiss from Jason, he thrusts himself into me; stretching me to the point where it hurt a bit but was pleasurable enough to want him more. He begins to thrust slowly and deeply, before my nails on his shoulders and chest scratch him to pick up the pace. The sounds of skin on skin slapping is loud; I immediately wonder if Bruce and Dick can hear us. Dick must have already heard me during oral sex, and I wonder why if he’s still out there and listening to us. It’s as if Jason knew I was thinking about Bruce and Dick. He snarls and slams his cock deeper and harder into me. I release a long overdue moan and scratch his back once more. He then lifts me up a bit, to the point where he’s holding me up and fucking me upwards to where he can hit that spot he knows so well. “There...I-I found it...How many fuckers can say that when they’re fucking you, Y/N?” Jason pants, breathing heavily from his nose. He’s struggling to speak, but he wants to do much. “N-not many!” I choke out. Jason’s cock is deliciously rubbing hard against the spot, and I know I’ll be coming undone any second. “Good! Because this spot is MINE! Only I can find it and make you cum! You’re my cum queen now, Y/N!” And Jason isn’t even quiet during sex; he’s very vocal. He often drops his head beside mine to groan loudly. Between our panting bodies, his hand slips down and rubs my clit hastily to get me to the edge where he’s waiting for release. But Jason is still that guy who needs reassurance; who needs compliments because the guy has never been praised for much in his life. “Oh Y/N. You’re so fucking good! You’re taking my cock so well in that beautiful pussy of yours. P-please tell me I’m good, too. P-please tell me I’m fucking you good, too,” Jason pleads, the look in his eyes breaks my heart. “Y-you’re fucking me so good, Jason! You’re doing so good! I-I need more of your cock!” I shout uncontrollably. Jason smiles sweetly. He kisses me harder which shows the confidence is back, and his thrusts are deeper, faster, and harder now. I kiss him back harshly. Our lips must be red and chapped from sucking and biting each other’s moans. I bite his bottom lip once more, and I gasp into his mouth. My pussy clenches and unclenches around Jason’s, and my juices soak his cock. “Fuck! Y/N! I’m fucking you so good! I’m gonna cum in you!” Jason groans loudly. His thrusts are getting sloppy. “Jason, don’t cum in me! Pull out!” I warn him. Jason thrusts a few more times, and then he shuts his eyes. His mouth is open, and he chokes back on his gasps. His orgasm must have been strong, and it takes a moment for him to open his eyes and breathe again. He pulls his cock out, and he grimaced. “Oops.” “J-Jason! Did you cum inside me?” I demand. “Yeah...but you’re kinda ruining the sexy sex glow. It was hot, wasn’t it?” Jason breathes out. “But you came inside me! Why? Why would you do that, Jason? It’s not exactly safe!” “Yeah, but you’re on the pill, right?” “Yes, but it doesn’t matter! It’s not a hundred percent effective! Oh my God! Do you do this with your other girlfriends?” I panic. Pushing him far away from me, I begin to get dressed, despite my legs shaking and my breathing uneven. I’ll have to tell Bruce. He’ll know what to do. Jason quickly gets dressed and stops me from walking around him. “Look, I-I know what I did was stupid, but I don’t go around fucking girls without protection. I don’t trust any of them, and I’m obviously clean. So, you don’t have to worry about me giving you STD’s and shit,” he explains worriedly. “I know you’re clean! I didn’t think you were a manwhore or anything. I just hope I don’t get pregnant because of one unprotected fucking!” I cry out. “You let Bruce pull out. Isn’t pulling out just as dangerous as me cumming inside you?” Jason argues back. I frown. I’m being a hypocrite. Jason’s right. Maybe I should be more careful and have better judgment. But truth be told, I don’t think I really regret anything. “You’re right. I’m sorry. It’s just...well, you can go ahead and call me a whore too, but all I want is to have fun. I don’t want to settle down, have kids, and do the whole ‘family thing’ yet. After everything that has happened, I just...want to have fun and not worry. So, I guess in a way I’m only looking for sex and nothing serious right now,” I confess. I hope Jason goes easy on me and my confession. Jason’s tall as fuck, he towers over me to where I must look up at him. He sighs, and then smiles at me. “I get it. It doesn’t make you a whore unless you just fuck one person from now on. So, I guess you have to pick someone and just stick with them until you figure yourself out. The question is...” Jason says, before he tilts his head to the side. “Is it me?” Before I can say anything, Tim and Damian come into the kitchen. The smell of sex is still strong and evident, and the paper towel with Bruce’s cum is still on the counter (which I believed I threw it away earlier, but I guess I never did). They raise their eyebrows at us, before Tim clears his throat. “Wow, kitchen’s crowded. So, um...we’re going to leave now and see you guys soon,” Tim says anxiously before he turns away first to leave. Damian raises an eyebrow at me. “Don’t even think Drake and I are next for your sexually active sessions, sister. If I had to support one of them for your sexual activities, choose the one man who really makes you feel special and worth it. But believe me when I say I’m just shocked and relieved you didn’t resort to male prostitution for your strong urges. Carry on then.” With Damian gone, I exhale. Maybe it had been too long since I’ve been intimate and loved. And even though I’m not biologically related to anyone here, it just makes it more difficult to understand how I feel. Never once has any guy here used me and thrown me to the side. Never once has any guy here ignored me and abandoned me when I needed him the most. Never once has any guy here made me feel unloved and alone. I’m drowning in these thoughts when I barely notice Jason has been staring at me the whole time. I wonder why he’s even staring at me. We just fucked, so shouldn’t he be off bragging about it to Bruce and Dick? Because even now, I don’t know what he wants from me. I don’t even know what I want. It’s as if he’s read my mind again. Jason wraps his arms around me and brings me into a bear hug I’ve seen and heard so much about. With a kiss on the forehead, he lowers his head to where our foreheads almost touch. “Stop thinking so negative, Y/N. I really like you, and I’m not going to stop anytime soon.” “We just had sex. So, shouldn’t we be done with each other?” I ask curiously. Jason manages to look down at me. He frowns. “Why would we be done with each other? What we had was the most fucking hottest sex ever, and you don’t want me now?” “I didn’t say I didn’t want you. I just figured you wouldn’t want me now after you’ve had your taste and fun,” I defend myself. Jason looks destroyed. Pained, heartbroken, and rejected. The natural glow of happiness in his smile and eyes are gone. He releases me and takes a step backwards away from me. “So...that’s what this is all about. You think I would just use you for sex, Y/N? You think Bruce and Dick are better than me, and would want you after a good fucking? Bruce and Dick may be more emotionally stable than me and have their shit figured out but look who’s still here after the good fucking! I’m the only one here, doll!” Jason snaps. He raises his voice and his fists are clenched at his sides, but I know that he wouldn’t hurt me. “What do I have to do for you to believe in me and see that maybe I’m worth it, too?!” “You made Dick leave,” I point out. “If he was man enough, he would have taken me out of the kitchen instead of just leaving you here!” I feel like total shit. Maybe I shouldn’t have said what I said. Maybe Jason has grown up since I’ve known him. “I-I’m sorry...Jason. I just...well, I can’t make excuses for what I’ve said and done, but maybe I have shit I have to work on, as well. I really need to work on self-esteem issues and having more faith in those I love. I guess I’m not exactly on Bruce and Dick’s level.” Jason sighs, and then looks back down at me. “I’m sorry, Y/N. I guess we’re more alike than what we thought.” “I guess so,” I agree. “Let’s just...start over. Can we?” he asks softly. Looking at me with hope in his beautiful and strong eyes. “I don’t think I can have any more sex today, Jason.” He laughs hard. “I was thinking of maybe getting food or something, and then just sit and talk,” Jason suggests. “That sounds much better,” I accept excitedly. “But I should probably point out, I can’t exactly walk right now.” Jason smirks, and throws me over his shoulder. With one slap on my ass, he walks us to the front door. “Then that means I did my job well.”

“That you did!” I approve. “You’re one lucky girl, Y/N.” “You’re one lucky son of a bitch, Jason.” “I am, but just remember, Y/N: you’re mine from now on. No more fucking other guys.” “Same to you, Jaybird. I mean, other girls though.” I laugh and receive another spanking from Jason.

[crazy-little-cool-cat]

Gold Digger - Chapter 4 | Gwilym Lee x OFC

A/N:  Well, worlds collided. And merged into one, big, chaotic universe.

Warnings: Unexpected plot twist ahead. Swearing. That's pretty much it.

Word Count: ~2K

The Playlist (Updates Regularly)

Chapter List:  Prologue, Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3

"Mornin'." Joe murmured when he entered the kitchen to find Lizzie.

"Morning." Lizzie echoed and covered her mouth as she yawned. "Sleep well?" 

"As well as a hangover will allow." He chuckled, his voice an octave deeper than it usually is after a night of partying and drinking. "Is that breakfast?" 

"Mhm." Lizzie nodded and shoveled a forkful of omelet into her mouth. "Help yourself." 

"My God, it's like a hotel buffet up in here!" he remarked as he loaded a plate with pastry, eggs, hashbrowns, and vegetables. "Is this what you have for breakfast every day?" 

"Only on weekends," Lizzie said after swallowing. "Shelly, my roommate, works at a club and comes home at the crack of dawn, so she stops by the bakery to get the first batch of the day." 

"Oh?" 

"Yeah. Shells tends bar. Sometimes she's sort of a go-go dancer." Lizzie shrugged. "She basically makes people get drunk and spend money, either way." 

"Huh." Joe tore a piece of a croissant with his fingers and tossed it in his mouth. He noted to himself that he could see Shelly's bedroom door over Lizzie's shoulder. 

"So, last night was..." Lizzie started. 

"Fun." Joe finished her sentence. 

"Oh, definitely." Lizzie blushed slightly. "The thing is -" 

"Calm down, kiddo." Joe smiled, "it was a one-time thing. I know the drill." 

"Oh, that's not what I was going to..." Lizzie fumbled to find the right words. "It's just that I didn't expect to..." She wanted to slap herself into using language properly again. "You're Gwil's best mate, you know?" She noticed Joe nodded blankly as she spoke, not making eye contact. Following his gaze, she noticed he was staring intently at Shelly's door as if willing it to open with his mind. "You've met Shelly, then." _________________________________________________ 'About last night...' 

Lizzie held her breath as she waited for Gwilym to reply to her text and say something. Anything. She woke up with a horrible sense of guilt for hooking up with his best mate. Yes, she was drunk. Yes, she was gutted that Gwilym didn't seem to give her the time of day... but she still wanted him. He was just... better. For her, that is. He was taller, wealthy, British. Classy. A gentleman. Smooth. Charming. Other than that, Joe was wrapped around Shelly's finger, and all it took was for them to meet once. She wished Gwilym was like that with her. She had no idea he secretly was. 

'Don't worry about it. Did you have a good time?'

'You mean at the party?'

'Yeah.' Lizzie mulled over her answer. Yes, she had a blast. Did she go home with the man she hoped she would? No. Did she regret hooking up with Joe? Not at all. Did she wish he was Gwilym? Definitely.  

'Yeah, it was good stuff!' she finally replied and mentally kicked herself once the message was sent. 'Sorry for being a drunk mess.'

'You were adorable.'

'Yeah?' Lizzie felt her heart stop. 'Thought you found me a bit of a bother. You hardly spoke to me.'

'You were busy. I didn't want to intrude.' 

'You could never!' she wanted to reply. 'I wish you had!' was a close second option. 

'Joe's a blast!' was all she could manage to type out. _______________________________________________ "Do you happen to have that redhead's number?" Shelly asked as Lizzie brushed her teeth. 

"Huh?" Lizzie asked with a foamy mouth, holding her toothbrush pointing up as if it were a magic wand.

"The one you hooked up with. Joe?" Shelly leaned against the door frame. "Or were you that far gone that you don't remember hooking up with someone?"  

"Ugh." Lizzie rolled her eyes and rinsed her mouth. "Yes, I have his number. Why do you want it?" 

"I'm doing a telephone survey about your levels of oblivion." Shelly snarked. 

"You are just so bloody cunty sometimes!" Lizzie laughed. "You fancy Joe, eh?" "Just give me his number." 

"No."

"No?!" Shelly guffawed and took a step back.

"Nah." Lizzie shrugged.

"Elizabeth, you will give me his number." Shelly squared her shoulders. 

"If you fuck anything up with that man and fuck my chances up with Gwilym -" 

"Oh, unclench. It'll be impossible to ruin your chances with Prince Charming."   _________________________________________________ Lizzie and Gwilym sat on the sofa in Lizzie's flat, sharing a bowl of popcorn, watching Netflix on a rainy Sunday. They sat in what felt like comfortable silence for Lizzie but was clearly awkward for Gwilym. "I'm recently broken up." Gwilym blurted out. 

"What?" Lizzie's handful of popcorn froze halfway to her mouth as she turned to look up at him, raising an eyebrow. 

"I'm... I'm recently broken up." Gwilym repeated. 

"I'm aware." 

"Oh. Didn't think you knew that much about me..." Gwilym looked down at his hands and rubbed his thighs, sinking lower into the sofa. "So, yeah. There's that." 

"Okay." Lizzie shrugged. 

"You don't care?" Gwilym raised an eyebrow. "She's still very much around. My ex."

"I know." 

"Oh." Gwilym blinked, perplexed. "So..." 

"Do you need to talk about it, Gwil?" Lizzie asked and paused the episode of Stranger Things the two had been watching. 

"No, no." Gwil shook his head slightly. "I'm just... I felt like I should tell you. If I'm acting weird or distant or something, it's not you. It's Clara." 

"What happened to you two?" 

"Disagreements. Fights. Routine." Gwilym seemed to be brainstorming for reasons. "I think... I just didn't see her in my future. I wanted to end it for a while, but she ended up making that move for me and left me. Said the connection died, and she wasn't feeling it anymore." Gwilym took some popcorn in his big hands. "It's fine, though, because I felt the same way. I was just shocked that she actually made that move, you know?"

"Huh."

"What?" 

"Nothing. Just feels a bit knobby to leave someone like you." Lizzie put her hand on top of Gwilym's and gave it a squeeze. "How long ago did it happen?" 

"Thought you've heard the story," Gwilym smirked cheekily. 

"There's a difference between what really happens and what the press says, don't you think?" Lizzie retorted. 

"Touche." Gwilym chuckled. "Two months before I met you."  

Lizzie quickly did the math. She's known Gwilym for just about three months. 

"Wow. That is quite recent." _________________________________________________ Annie felt exhausted. Dealing with a colicky Alfie, a whirlwind of a Rory and Ben being away on some fashion appearance yet again had her running on very few hours of sleep. Gwilym, however, came to the rescue and used the opportunity to run his thoughts by one of his favourite people. 

"So, the problem is...?" Annie pinched the bridge of her nose in frustration. 

Her hair stuck out of her messy bun in different directions. Ben's cutoff t-shirt was skewed on her shoulders. Her sweatpants had unrecognizable stains adorning them.

"Either she's hitting on me because she knows who I am and everything that comes with it," Gwilym bounced Alfie on his hip, "or she genuinely likes me." 

"Do you think she's after fame and money?" Annie looked at Gwilym as if he grew two heads. "Really?" 

"Look, Banana," Gwilym hoisted Alfie up higher, "when we first met, I had to chase her like a dog chasing a fox. She was unreachable. Aloof. She could give two shits about me."

"Right."

"Now she's texting me all day, every day. She's giving me these looks..." 

"How dare she!" Annie cried mockingly. 

"Look, I mean it. Something's off."

"Could it be that she genuinely likes you, you fucking insect?" Annie groaned. "It's not that deep! She likes you!" 

"How would you know? You've met her once, and she hooked up with Joe." 

"Because you kept pushing her away, you twat!" Annie scoffed. "What?" 

"I did not -"

"This is my friend Lizzie!" Annie lowered her voice to sound more manly and glared at Gwilym. "Over and over and over and over and -"

"I get it." Gwilym groaned.

"You played yourself there," Annie noted. "Pushed her right into Joe's arms. You have a thing or two to learn from Ben about neutralizing that Mazzello charm."  

"Shut it." Gwilym huffed. 

"Never." Annie smiled sweetly. "And either way, it's obvious you two are into each other. The ball's in your court, Gwilly." 

"It's too soon, Clara and I -" 

"Had a great run, but it's over, and it's time to move on."  

"Christ, Annie, have some emotion, will you?" Gwilym laughed. "It's hardly been half a year!" 

"There's something you should know -"

"I don't want to know." Gwilym interrupted her. "Whatever it is you're going to say, I don't want to know. Her life is no longer any of my business." 

"Gwil, we can't keep you two separated forever. Things are too weird." 

"And this, right here," Gwilym pointed at Annie, "is why I'm not doing shit with Lizzie. It's too weird. What if they meet up and -"

"Oh, are we playing the What If game now?" Annie feigned enthusiasm. "What if I ended up with Joe and not Ben?" 

"What?!" 

"What if Alfie was a girl?" 

"Annie..." 

"What if you and Ben were gay lovers?" 

"Your point's made, Annabelle." 

"So, what are you going to do?" She asked and took Alfie from him as he fussed around. "Hm?" 

"Nothing." _________________________________________________ "Do you think he knows?" Shelly asked Lizzie over brunch on a cold Sunday morning.

"Who?" Lizzie frowned in confusion, "Knows what?" 

"Gwilym." Shelly rolled her eyes. "About his ex." 

"What's there to know?" Lizzie looked puzzled. 

"You live under a bloody rock, eh?" Shelly chuckled. "She's getting real close with the Jamie bloke." 

"That's just tabloids being tabloids." Lizzie waved Shelly's comment off. "And even if it is true, I doubt Gwil gives a shit. They're over." 

"Enter Lizzie, stage right!" Shelly raised her eyebrows playfully and smirked. "To the rescue!" 

"Oh, come off it, Shells." 

"You clearly fancy him." Shelly laughed. "Make your bloody move!" 

"No!" Lizzie countered. "If I make my move now I'll look like some clout chasing, gold-digging -" 

"Who cares?!" Shelly groaned. "Dig that gold! Chase that clout! Maybe you'll be able to quit your teaching job and become a human again!" _________________________________________________

'Greensleeves Castmates Caught Up Close And Personal!'

Gwilym stared at his laptop and blinked, his mind utterly empty of any thought. He would never have imagined that this would ever happen. He was utterly shocked, and yet not at all surprised. 

On the screen, in bright, vivid colours, were Clara and Jamie, snogging on a white, sandy beach in the Caribbeans. He took a long swig from his beer and pursed his lips, scrolling down to read the article. On the one hand, he resented Annie for sending him the link. On the other hand, he was thankful. It was finally time for him to move on; Clara sure did. 

He sighed as he read what he already knew. Jamie's engagement broke off abruptly just weeks before the wedding. A couple of weeks earlier, he and Clara had broken up. He didn't really think she could do this, but at this point - who knew. 

'Did you read it?'

'Yes, Annabelle.' Gwilym replied.

'Are you livid?' her response came within seconds. 

'Not really, no.'

When no reply came swooshing in, he tossed the phone on the sofa next to him. He looked at the picture of a bikini-clad Clara and board-shorts clad Jamie kissing again. She looked happy, as far as he could tell. He was positive Jamie was over the moon. He always suspected there was a weird love triangle situation going on in that close-knit friendship, but now he knew for sure. 

Biting the inside of his cheek, he closed his laptop screen and looked at his phone. His fingers were tingling. He had to text Lizzie.

____________________________________________________

TAGLIST: @ramibaby @filmslutt @lose-you-to-find-me @sonic-volcano  @nosferatyou @rogertaylorin1976

[alloveroliver]

Evil!Harr Part 1

harr anon: part 1 of some very evil!harr! its quite a doozy, so i had to split it, but harr/alice will come in the 2nd part (and guess who thoroughly enjoys the cradle gothic vibes…:D)

tw: Gore

The yawning nights never made the Magic Tower any more inviting. Loki climbs the steps with the same apprehension as always; after all, it was very hard to shake away the memories of the atrocities that had very nearly been inflicted upon him. If he listens carefully enough, he can almost hear the moans and cries of those who had been confined here, bodies prepared to undergo the gauntlets Amon Jabberwock would orchestrate.

And yet, he fears the cries he hears now may just be history repeating itself.

The marble staircase coils upward towards the private chambers of the new master, perched over an ornate writing desk like a haggard crow. Only this time, the robes have been changed from violet to black, fine silk for ragged six-string…gold eyes for red ones.

“Harr? When did you come back?”

Since the death of Amon, Harr had been swift to overthrow the Magic Tower and its brainwashed occupants. They had cowered under his superior magical abilities, the crystals holding now sway over the deflective spells and ancient incantations that forced them to their knees, burnt their hands and filled their veins with pestilence. Casting the robes of the Tower aside, Harr stood proud and furious above all, as if punch-drunk on the power he had suddenly acquired. The few that had been deemed worthy to live treated him like a god in the flesh, immediately obeyed his every whim, and allowed him to carry on with his games. For his magic was innate, beautifully so, and he was worth dying for.

Even if Loki had hated how the color of his eyes had changed.

“Loki? Ah, I’ve only been back a short time,” At the sound of his name, the elder sorcerer looks up from what appears to be numerous torn papers, detailing correspondence between members of the Red Army. Loki tries his hardest to overlook the splatters of blood and viscera on each page. He focuses on the smile he was so used to seeing, soft and reassuring, and hopes back for the days before all of this madness. “But I’m glad you’re here. I have something to show you.”

Papers flying, Loki crouches down on the other side of desk as Harr seems to reach down behind it, fiddling on with the straps on a battered leather sack. His hums a soft melody as he works, and the younger kindles faint memories in the back of his mind, when the same tune was hummed over a kitchen sink, a solo tune that soon drifted into a duet when he would come to help with dinner.

I’ve been reminiscing a lot, he thinks…and it’s with a twinge of sadness as he realizes the sorry state of affairs that have forced him to do so, if only for his own mental well-being.

But soon enough, Harr’s voice cuts into his reverie. “I’ve been thinking long and hard how to finally get through to the King of Hearts,” he hums, though there’s a distinct edge to his tone as the buckles come loose on the sack. “And I think I may have finally done it. My greatest achievement.”

The King of Hearts? “But Lancelot has always…refused your offers before.”

“Then perhaps my latest attempt has caused a…change of heart, if you will.”

No…

Harr reveals a glass tankard from the confines of his bag, sloshing around with a glossy red liquid that instantly forces the hairs on Loki’s neck to prickle. He can smell it before he sees it - spilled blood - and the sight is unfortunately not unique. He wants to vomit every time, but his throat is dry and tight, and he wants to run…but Harr is there, grinning, and Loki can only remain dumbfounded.

An adult human heart, beating wildly within a glass cage.

Loki’s slit pupils flare for a second. He looks ready to protest, jaw clenching and unclenching…but nothing leaves his lips. Perhaps he realizes what an objection means by now, and instead occupies himself by watching the disembodied organ throb in the jar. It mesmerizes him in a sickening way, how it squeezes and oozes in the red liquid, pulsing with gentle magical light.

The heart ripped from the Queen of Spades’ chest didn’t glow like this. Or the others. None of their hearts glowed at all.

Would my heart glow this way?, he thinks, only to quickly push that line of thought to the depths of his subconscious. His fingers tremble over the breastbone under his skin, where even now, he wonders if there is anything left at all.

Invisible hands pulling at the frantic muscle, ready to tear it clean from its shell…despite the heat of the room around them, Loki shivers in poorly-masked terror.

“Beautiful, no?” Harr resumes his gentle harmony, fingers curling over the remaining vessels upon the tables. “I knew Lance wouldn’t disappoint.”

Ten jars for ten men, each housing a beating heart. And Loki remembers them all too clearly. How each one faltered at the most crucial moment, letting Harr’s wicked fingers slide over their chests and drag the bleeding muscle from under the flesh, only to shove a jagged crystal into the cavity instead. They were living puppets, meat caskets for the Joker to toy with as he saw fit.

The Queen of Spades had been first, so eager to help his former friend that he hadn’t even seen it coming. But the horror on his face as Harr had stood over him, heart dripping his own blood onto the carpet, had been unforgettable. And with a single snap, the first puppet was made, jumping to his feet with vacant eyes and a luring call to draw the King into a secluded spot. Unversed in the intricacies of magic, the Black Army was swift to fall asunder.

Lancelot proved to be more difficult. He had visited Kyle that morning. Kyle had never thrown up blood before…Kyle’s eyes…had never looked so milky.

Knowing Amon’s ways, he had been privy to the darker side of magic, so when Zero had attempted to beckon him toward the training room alone, eyes vacant like those of a doll, he had already suspected foul play. But by then, he was exhausted from the years of futile conflict with the Black Army, as well as the weight of potentially retreading the footsteps of the very man who had held his father’s soul overhead. Falling to his knees with a soft smile upon his face, he had willingly surrendered his flesh to the Joker and his sickening cause.

And so, life would go on….or at least, it would seem to. Now at the helms of each side of Cradle, Harr had only to simply will his word into law. Who would go against him? Who was even left?

Loki cast a forlorn glance up the staircase towards the private quarters of his master…and the strange girl he kept caged up there.

“What do you plan to do with it, Harr?”

When the wizard turns back to his apprentice, his voice softens. “It doesn’t quite fit…does it?” he sighs. He runs his fingertips over Lancelot’s vessel, nails tapping an ancient rhythm over the glass. “Only further proof how we are not the same as the normal populace.”

Loki flinches at the use of ’we’. The dichotomy he had once fought against, being championed by his mentor, makes his gut twist uncomfortably. “Then what are you going to do?”

“There is always room for further study into the archaic world of magic,” comes the response, though there was a dangerous glint in Harr’s scarlet gaze. His mouth twists ever so slightly, the edge of a smile gracing his lips, though never enough to reach his eyes. “And I would find it most useful to expand my knowledge. The Tower may have gone far in their research…but there is always more.”

The younger wriggles a bit where he stands, pulling the hem of his jacket. “I don’t know if you should go any further, Harr. You know what…what the Tower did, do you really want to know that much?”

“You make a fair point, but this heart has such boundless energy…and I could always…consume the excess myself.”

The fear sinks deeper into Loki’s bones, his entire form only kept from shaking by every muscle locking stiff. He looks for any sign that the elder is joking, but his face is remarkably serious. “Harr…y-you can’t be serious-”

“But I very much am, Loki,” comes the cold reply, and the younger flinches at how his master’s lip curls into a sneer. Were his teeth always so sharp? “There is no need for Lancelot to entertain the masses with his magic, not when I have my rule implemented in Cradle. It would be a waste to let it simply sit here as a trophy.” And with unfamiliar malice, he suddenly grimaces. Loki’s blood freezes in his veins, and he can barely breathe “Besides, Loki Genetta, you have no right to pass judgment on me for eating the hearts of men.”

The glare was piercing. Cutting right through his soul, Loki’s legs give out beneath him. Blood-soaked memories flicker behind closed eyelids, servants in violet cloaks and a frightened madman cowering underneath his claws. It was frightening to imagine, that loss of control, the sheer desire to maim and consume…like some kind of beast. But the thrill of the hunt had pounded wild through his veins, deliciously stringing him along toward the lifeblood that he could scent in the air…feral, hot, hungry…

“You remember it, don’t you?” Harr senses the confusion in the younger’s body, how his eyes flit to the floor and his lips quivers. Moving ever closer, he wreathes himself around Loki, stroking his hair and crooning ever so sweetly into his ear. “Tell me how powerful you felt, Loki. Did it feel good to rip that man to shreds?” The contrast between face and voice was jarring, but Harr’s soothing tone still pulls tenderly upon the boy’s heartstrings. Somewhere, he hopes that his old friend is still there. “Tell me how good it felt when you cleaved that devil open. How good it felt to consume his essence.”

It was sickening to say…but Loki couldn’t deny it. The hedonistic rush of magical power as he had ripped through Amon Jabberwock with fang and claw, wild as a hellcat and with an appetite to match. Yanked by puppet strings and with Harr holding the sticks, he had lunged and clawed and bit and killed. It was sweet vengeance; surely, Harr had even told him so. Harr had promised he hadn’t been wrong, he had promised…

You were the one who told me to do it.

“It felt…amazing.”

“Then you know it’s only fair that I should also enjoy such pleasure. I gave you the opportunity, after all, and absolved your sins upon the deed’s completion.”

“So I was wrong to do it?”

“Oh, Loki…taking life is wrong, but it had to be done. Come to me.

The embrace is warm, familiar, and Loki cannot contain himself any longer. He sobs into Harr’s warm arms, clinging to the cloak that now reeks of earth and freshly-spilled blood. He lets himself be soothed, coddled, lied to under the pretense of sweet whispers of comfort. He knows there is something horribly wrong with the man he had once come to know as his carer, a friend in the darkest of times, but he is powerless to stop it. Because Harr was all he had left in this world, even though the corruption that had filled his soul was nothing like the kind, gentle human being who had swept him off the ground as a child and into a loving home.

Fingers come to rub gentle circles into the individual bumps along the younger’s spine, where the same corruption begins to take hold. Loki notices it every day, his body contorting into something more animal, more beastly by the day. First had been the teeth…then the claws…then the twisting of his spine, some days leaving him yowling like a creature on all fours. A punishment by the gods, perhaps? Or a sickness of the soul, brought by Harr as he takes the worst of the sins wrought by their terror?

All he knows is that he will follow Harr until the end, even when his body contorts and his voice leaves him, until he is nothing but a monster with a feline grin.

"Your place is here with me. Cradle is still cruel to the likes of you and me, for they don’t understand the gifts we come to bear,” A pregnant pause fills the air, only punctuated by the irregular thumps of distended hearts. Unbeknownst to the young man, Harr’s grin twists into something more sinister. “Your parents were not the only ones. And I only do my work so that no more children come to suffer as you did. I keep you and rid you of your sins, and you help me to achieve the paradise we deserve.”

When Loki looks up at him once more, tears track messy lines down his cheeks. His eyes are so lost, so full of fear and hope, clinging to whatever scrap of stability he can. Harr has Loki pinned under his claws, eager to please and fearing every detachment, lest he disappear…just like his parents had.

Twisted pleasure runs hot through Harr’s veins.

“You know how much I love you,” Harr only reaches forward to stroke his apprentice’s wild hair. He watches those mismatched eyes harden to flint, only to melt once more as his fingernails scratch into the young man’s scalp. The lies taste sweet on his tongue, almost as sweet as the look of adoration upon his charge’s face. “I don’t want the pain you felt to ever come back. I want to protect you. You know that, right?”

A soft sigh breaches those plump lips, and a barbed tongue rasps his palm in a gesture of submission.

“Do not disappoint me, Loki.”

“Not you. Never you, Harr.”

[umimop-tryout]

Fandom: Akatsuki no Yona

Characters: DDHHB

Pairings: HakYona, and a hint of Jae-Ha's crush on them both =)

Genres: general DDHHB mess of friendship, humor and parody.

Warnings: un-beta ed, possible OOC, first finished attempt of longer fic in English, possible mistakes.

Length: 1127 words.

Prompt:

"But! You... You, my beloved little brother... I entrust...prmham" — with that legendary warrior of the White Dragon hit the wooden table with his beautiful face and went right back to fussy sleep.

Shin-Ah next to him nodded in agreement, firmly and seriously. Zeno, performing some kind of weird dance for two other lone customers, who were brave enough to stay and watch, cheered loudly.

Yun facepalmed.

"And that's why I said you shouldn't teach Kija, how to drink 'properly'..." — he turned to Jae-Ha, the only one, who looked at least relatively worth any reasoning right now. Ryokuryuu just grinned smugly, not bothered the slightest by the boy's words.

Yun huffed in annoyance. Fine, he will have a whole day to tell some sense into these Rare Beasts tomorrow. As for now...

"The owner of this place gave us twenty minutes to get out! Don't you dare to make things anymore difficult for us... We are returning to the camp, and now!" — the young genius ordered.

"To think you all had a nerve to get drunk like this outside of the camp... What a pain..." — he sighed then, watching closely quite unsteady Ryokuryuu, who raised to gather his problematic brothers.

Zeno, forced to stop his performance, loudly protested in most childish voice he could master. And knowing the old man couldn't even get drunk for real...

"Diet," — Yun deadpanned, causing Ouryuu to drop some of his act and to help very serious, but overall quiet Seiryuu to get up. And as Shin-Ah stood, a bit wobbly, Ao, hidden somewhere in her best friend's clothes, fell out and landed on her head with a trademark 'pukyuu', which, despite everything, sounded complitely content and...drunk. Wait, did those guys really..? No way!Yun suddenly felt very wise, tired and old.

"Honestly, — he shook his head in disbelief. — I'd rather just left you all here without second thought, if not for Yona being worried about you, ungrateful Rare Beasts!" Dragons (except Kija, who was fast asleep, leaning on Jae-Ha's shoulder) tried their best to look guilty with very little success.

"Speaking of which... — as realization hit him, Yun turned his attention away from this useless family and rushed towards Yona in horror. — Stop it!"

Red-haired princess, stubbornly bitting her lower lip, grunting and huffing, dragged a huge figure, whose hand was hung lifelessly over her shoulder.

For one dreadful moment Yun thought, it was Hak's corpse, but when he got closer to the pair, it become obvious, — the 'corpse' was giggling: drunkly, happily and very quietly.

Pretty genius boy sighed loudly in relief and unclenched the fabric of his tunic right over the heart.

"Even you, Thunder Beast... And now..." — he helplessly shook his head again.

"You can't really blame him, Yun-kun, — Jae-Ha pointed out, watching the couple fondly. His smug grin didn't weaver the slightest even now, when the impromptu party was over. — Yona-chan said 'Yes'!"

"And I said 'No'! — Yun blushed slightly from the anger (or otherwise). — To all this mess! And did anyone listen to me, like, at all?"

"I'm not going to make a hungover medicine for you in the morning" — he proceed to grumble, as Zeno and Jae-Ha grunted from the laughter in unison.

"But you will anyway, — Ryokuryuu, whose sense of danger was obviously as drunk as the rest of him, noted. — You are, after all, our beloved mo...most caring younger brother, I mean," — he quickly corrected himself under the deathly glare.

"That's enough! — annoyed "mother boy" all but roared. — To home, beasts!".

That (finally) worked. Zeno bounced to collect Ao from the floor, helped Shin-Ah to steady himself a little better, and they headed off first. Jae-Ha, who obviously didn't want to leave "the younger ones" all by themselves for too long, quickly become (more) serious and extended his free hand towards the princess, securing his hold on sleeping Kija's form with the other one.

"Yona dear, you can hand Hak to me, — he said. — Don't worry, I will take a good care of your beloved..." — he winked.

"Jae-Ha!!!" — the girl blushed promptly and nearly droped the young man she was holding.

"You can't really complain, — Jae-Ha loudly whispered, as he quickly leaned over her to take Hak. — Oof, can you help me with Kija-kun, please?" And, after Yona and Yun hurried to steady a clueless White Dragon, who was snoring quietly, and Ryokuryuu regained his balance enough not to drop the both younger men every next moment, he added sweetly, heading towards the exit: "You said 'Yes', remember?".

"And she is going to regret it soon, if he will drink this much," — Yun pointed out, as the girl was fighting the urge to scold the Green Dragon. She couldn't really argue with what he was saying, it was just...

"Will you...really?"— Hak's voice, sounding almost sober, suddenly asked. Yona and Yun, who still helped to support Kija, both nearly jumped and looked up. Hak was gazing Yona intently, his blue eyes cloudy and cheeks slightly blushing. Jae-Ha, much to Yun disapproval, just smirked really wide at that.

"W-what?"— Yona stuttered a bit, surprised.

"Regret?" — the question sounded all too serious for Thunder Beast's current state.

"N-no... never," — the girl's response was quiet, but her gaze hold the same seriousness, as his voice.

Hak stared at her for a second more, and then fainted on Jae-Ha's shoulder. Yun could practically see all the teasing ideas forming in the Ryokuryuu's mind right now.

"Are you finished? — the boy asked tiredly. — Time's up".

And so, the group headed off to reunite with Shin-Ah and Zeno, who were, thankfully, waiting for them nearby. Yun could hear the Gold Dragon's voice, calmly telling the other some story, and could swear to gods, he catched a name "Hiryuu" being mentioned. Granted, Zeno rarely ever brag about the past, unless something provoked him. Probably, the old man really managed to get himself drunk this time around. All the more hangover medicine to prepare until the noon...What a bother is to deal these problematic beasts! And by the way...

"You got really strong, you know," — he smiled to Yona. — To hold Tunder Beast all this time until Jae-Ha gathered his wits... That was really impressive".

"Thanks, Yun!" — the princess replied happily, watching the three men they helped to support. — Hak is pretty heavy, but I finally did it!".

"I really hope, that was the last time you had to do it this way..." — Yun sighed, inhaling the fresh air of the summer night. They would be really lucky to get to the camp until the dawn...